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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dreamers, by John Kendrick Bangs
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Dreamers
+       A Club
+
+Author: John Kendrick Bangs
+
+Illustrator: Edward Penfield
+
+Release Date: February 23, 2011 [EBook #35374]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DREAMERS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Steve Read, Suzanne Shell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  [Illustration: Cronkey Gudehart
+                        [Page 103
+  THE FIRST GLOOMSTER]
+
+
+
+
+  THE DREAMERS
+  A Club. _Being a More or Less Faithful
+  Account of the Literary Exercises
+  of the First Regular Meeting
+  of that Organization, Reported by_
+  JOHN KENDRICK BANGS
+  _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
+  _By_ EDWARD PENFIELD
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+  NEW YORK AND LONDON
+  HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
+  1899
+
+
+
+
+  BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
+
+     PEEPS AT PEOPLE. Passages from the Writings of Anne Warrington
+     Witherup, Journalist. Illustrated by EDWARD PENFIELD. 16mo, Cloth,
+     Ornamental, Uncut Edges and Colored Top, $1.25.
+
+     GHOSTS I HAVE MET, AND SOME OTHERS. With Illustrations by NEWELL,
+     FROST, and RICHARDS. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.
+
+     A HOUSE-BOAT ON THE STYX. Being Some Account of the Divers Doings
+     of the Associated Shades. Illustrated by PETER NEWELL. 16mo, Cloth,
+     Ornamental, $1.25.
+
+     THE PURSUIT OF THE HOUSE-BOAT. Being Some Further Account of the
+     Doings of the Associated Shades, under the Leadership of Sherlock
+     Holmes, Esq. Illustrated by PETER NEWELL. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental,
+     $1.25.
+
+     PASTE JEWELS. Being Seven Tales of Domestic Woe. 16mo, Cloth,
+     Ornamental $1.00.
+
+     THE BICYCLERS, AND THREE OTHER FARCES. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth,
+     Ornamental, $1.25.
+
+     A REBELLIOUS HEROINE. A Story. Illustrated by W. T. SMEDLEY. 16mo,
+     Cloth, Ornamental, Uncut Edges, $1.25.
+
+     MR. BONAPARTE OF CORSICA. Illustrated by H. W. MCVICKAR. 16mo,
+     Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.
+
+     THE WATER GHOST, AND OTHERS. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental,
+     $1.25.
+
+     THE IDIOT. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.00.
+
+     THREE WEEKS IN POLITICS. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, Ornamental, 50
+     cents.
+
+     COFFEE AND REPARTEE. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, Ornamental, 50
+     cents.
+
+  NEW YORK AND LONDON:
+  HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS.
+
+
+  Copyright, 1899, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
+  _All rights reserved._
+
+
+
+
+  Dedicated
+  WITH ALL
+  DUE RESPECT AND PROPER APOLOGIES
+
+  TO
+
+  RICHARD HARDING DAVIS
+  JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
+  WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
+  RUDYARD KIPLING
+  HALL CAINE
+  SUNDRY MAGAZINE POETS
+  ANTHONY HOPE
+  THE WAR CORRESPONDENTS
+  A. CONAN DOYLE
+  IAN MACLAREN
+  JAMES M. BARRIE
+  THE INVOLVULAR CLUB
+  AND
+  MR. DOOLEY
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER                                                         PAGE
+     I. THE IDEA                                                     1
+    II. IN WHICH THOMAS SNOBBE, ESQ., OF YONKERS, UNFOLDS A TALE    21
+   III. IN WHICH A MINCE-PIE IS RESPONSIBLE FOR A REMARKABLE
+            COINCIDENCE                                             44
+    IV. BEING THE CONTRIBUTION OF MR. BEDFORD PARKE                 59
+     V. THE SALVATION OF FINDLAYSON                                 80
+    VI. IN WHICH HARRY SNOBBE RECITES A TALE OF GLOOM              102
+   VII. THE DREAMERS DISCUSS A MAGAZINE POEM                       123
+  VIII. DOLLY VISITS CHICAGO                                       142
+    IX. IN WHICH YELLOW JOURNALISM CREEPS IN                       163
+     X. THE MYSTERY OF PINKHAM'S DIAMOND STUD                      185
+    XI. LANG TAMMAS AND DRUMSHEUGH SWEAR OFF                       207
+   XII. CONCLUSION--LIKEWISE MR. BILLY JONES                       228
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+  THE FIRST GLOOMSTER                                   _Frontispiece_
+  DISCUSSING THE IDEA                                                3
+  AND SO TO DREAM                                                   17
+  THE DREAMERS DINE                                                 25
+  "'REMEMBER TO BE BRAVE'"                                          35
+  "'ELEANOR HUYLER HAS DISAPPEARED'"                                39
+  "WRIT A POME ABOUT A KID"                                         47
+  "I BOUGHT A BOOK OF VERSE"                                        51
+  "IT FILLED ME WITH DISMAY"                                        55
+  "'COME IN'"                                                       61
+  MARY                                                              65
+  EDWARDS REBELS                                                    71
+  THE VICEROY EXAMINES HIS RUINED SMILE                             85
+  THEY GAVE HIM _PUNCH_                                             89
+  THE DONKEY ENGINE CALLS ON FINDLAYSON                             93
+  THE END OF THE GLOOMSTER                                         109
+  WISHED HER A HAPPY NEW-YEAR                                      117
+  "'O ARGENT-BROWED SARCOPHAGUS'"                                  125
+  "_SARCOPHAGUSTUS_"                                               131
+  MR. BILLY JONES                                                  137
+  "'I MUST SEE HIM,' SAID DOLLY"                                   145
+  "'KAPE YOUR HOOSBAND HOME'"                                      155
+  MIXING ILLUSTRATIONS                                             159
+  THE SHIP'S BARBER AT WORK                                        167
+  A CLEVER CAROM                                                   177
+  SINKING THE _CASTILLA_                                           181
+  THE LAMP-POSTS WERE TWISTED                                      191
+  HOLMES IN DISGUISE INTERVIEWS WATTLES                            199
+  "'YOU DID TOO!' SAID POLLY"                                      203
+  "'HOOT MON!'"                                                    209
+  "A SWEET-FACED NURSE APPEARED"                                   213
+  TAMMAS MEETS DRUMSHEUGH                                          221
+  MR. JONES BEGINS                                                 231
+  HE DID NOT SEE                                                   243
+  THE STENOGRAPHER SLEPT                                           247
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: The Dreamers: A Club]
+
+
+
+
+THE DREAMERS: A CLUB
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+THE IDEA
+
+
+The idea was certainly an original one. It was Bedford Parke who
+suggested it to Tenafly Paterson, and Tenafly was so pleased with it
+that he in turn unfolded it in detail to his friend Dobbs Ferry,
+claiming its inception as his very own. Dobbs was so extremely
+enthusiastic about it that he invited Tenafly to a luncheon at the
+Waldoria to talk over the possibilities of putting the plan into
+practical operation, and so extract from it whatever of excellence it
+might ultimately be found to contain.
+
+"As yet it is only an idea, you know," said Dobbs; "and if you have ever
+had any experience with ideas, Tenny, you are probably aware that,
+unless reduced to a practical basis, an idea is of no more value than a
+theory."
+
+"True," Tenafly replied. "I can demonstrate that in five minutes at the
+Waldoria. For instance, you see, Dobbsy, I have an idea that I am as
+hungry as a bear, but as yet it is only a theory, from which I derive no
+substantial benefit. Place a portion of whitebait, a filet Bearnaise,
+and a quart of Sauterne before me, and--"
+
+"I see," said Dobbsy. "Come along."
+
+[Illustration: DISCUSSING THE IDEA]
+
+And they went; and the result of that luncheon at the Waldoria was the
+formation of "The Dreamers: A Club." The colon was Dobbs Ferry's
+suggestion. The objects of the club were literary, and Dobbs, who was an
+observant young man, had noticed that the use of the colon in these days
+of unregenerate punctuation was confined almost entirely to the literary
+contingent and its camp-followers. With small poets particularly was
+it in vogue, and Dobbs--who, by-the-way, had written some very dainty
+French poems to the various _fiancées_ with whom his career had been
+checkered--had a sort of vague idea that if his brokerage business would
+permit him to take the necessary time for it he might become famous as a
+small poet himself. The French poems and his passion for the colon,
+combined with an exquisite chirography which he had assiduously
+cultivated, all contributed to assure him that it was only lack of time
+that kept him in the ranks of the mute, inglorious Herricks.
+
+As formulated by Dobbs and Tenafly, then, Bedford Parke's suggestion
+that a Dreamers' Club be formed was amplified into this: Thirteen choice
+spirits, consisting of Dobbs, Tenafly, Bedford Parke, Greenwich Place,
+Hudson Rivers of Hastings, Monty St. Vincent, Fulton Streete, Berkeley
+Hights, Haarlem Bridge, the three Snobbes of Yonkers--Tom, Dick, and
+Harry--and Billy Jones of the _Weekly Oracle_, were to form themselves
+into an association which should endeavor to extract whatever latent
+literary talent the thirteen members might have within them. It was a
+generally accepted fact, Bedford Parke had said, that all literature,
+not even excepting history, was based upon the imagination. Many of the
+masterpieces of fiction had their basis in actual dreams, and, when they
+were not founded on such, might in every case be said to be directly
+attributable to what might properly be called waking dreams. It was the
+misfortune of the thirteen gentlemen who were expected to join this
+association that the business and social engagements of all, with the
+possible exception of Billy Jones of the _Weekly Oracle_, were such as
+to prevent their indulgence in these waking dreams, dreams which should
+tend to lower the colors of Howells before those of Tenafly Paterson,
+and cause the memory of Hawthorne to wither away before the scorching
+rays of that rising sun of genius, Tom Snobbe of Yonkers. Snobbe,
+by-the-way, must have inherited literary ability from his father, who
+had once edited a church-fair paper which ran through six editions in
+one week--one edition a day for each day of the fair--adding an
+unreceipted printer's bill for eighty-seven dollars to the proceeds to
+be divided among the heathen of Central Africa.
+
+"It's a well-known fact," said Bedford--"a sad fact, but still a
+fact--that if Poe had not been a hard drinker he never would have
+amounted to a row of beans as a writer. His dreams were induced--and I
+say, what's the matter with our inducing dreams and then putting 'em
+down?"
+
+That was the scheme in a nutshell--to induce dreams and put them down.
+The receipt was a simple one. The club was to meet once a month, and eat
+and drink "such stuff as dreams are made of"; the meeting was then to
+adjourn, the members going immediately home and to bed; the dreams of
+each were to be carefully noted in their every detail, and at the
+following meeting were to be unfolded such soul-harrowing tales as
+might with propriety be based thereon. An important part of the
+programme was a stenographer, whose duty it would be to take down the
+stories as they were told and put them in type-written form, which Dobbs
+was sure he had heard an editor say was one of the first steps towards a
+favorable consideration by professional readers of the manuscripts of
+the ambitious.
+
+"I am told," said he, "that many a truly meritorious production has gone
+unpublished for years because the labor of deciphering the author's
+handwriting proved too much for the reader's endurance--and it is very
+natural that it should be so. A professional reader is, after all, only
+human, and when to the responsibilities of his office is added the
+wearisome task of wading through a Spencerian morass after the
+will-o'-wisp of an idea, I don't blame him for getting impatient. Why, I
+saw the original manuscript of one of Charles Dickens's novels once, and
+I don't see how any one knew it was good enough to publish until it got
+into print!"
+
+"That's simply a proof of what I've always said," observed one of the
+Snobbe boys. "If Charles Dickens's works had been written by me, no one
+would ever have published them."
+
+"I haven't a doubt of it," returned Billy Jones of the _Oracle_, dryly.
+"Why, Snobbey, my boy, I believe if you had written the plays of
+Shakespeare they'd have been forgotten ages ago!"
+
+"So do I," returned Snobbe, innocently. "This is a queer world."
+
+"The stenographer will save us a great deal of trouble," said Bedford.
+"The hard part of literary work is, after all, the labor of production
+in a manual sense. These real geniuses don't have to think. Their ideas
+come to them, and they let 'em develop themselves. In realistic writing,
+as I understand it, the author sits down with his pen in his hand and
+his characters in his mind's eye, and they simply run along, and he does
+the private-detective act--follows after them and jots down all they
+do. In imaginative writing it's done the same way. The characters of
+these ridiculous beings we read of are quite as real to the imaginative
+writer as the characters of the realist are to the latter, and they do
+supernatural things naturally. So you see these things require very
+little intellectual labor. It's merely the drudgery of chasing a
+commonplace or supernatural set of characters about the world in order
+to get 400 pages full of reading-matter about 'em that makes the
+literary profession a laborious one. Our stenographer will enable us to
+avoid all this. There isn't a man of us but can talk as easily as he can
+fall off a log, and a tale once told at our dinners becomes in the
+telling a bit of writing."
+
+"But, my dear Parke," said Billy Jones of the _Oracle_, who had been a
+"literary journalist," as his fond grandmother called it, for some
+years, "a story told is hardly likely to be in the form calculated to
+become literature."
+
+"That's just what we want you for, Billy," Bedford replied. "You know
+how to give a thing that last finishing-touch which will make it go,
+where otherwise it might forever remain a fixture in the author's
+pigeon-hole. When our stories are told and type-written, we want you to
+go over them, correct the type-writer's spelling, and make whatever
+alterations you may think, after consulting with us, to be necessary.
+Then, if the tales are ever published as a collection, you can have your
+name on the title-page as editor."
+
+"Thanks," answered Billy, gratefully. "I shall be charmed."
+
+And then he hurried back to his apartments, and threw himself on his bed
+in a paroxysm of laughter which seemed never-ending, but which in
+reality did not last more than three hours at the most.
+
+Hudson Rivers of Hastings, when the idea was suggested to him, was the
+most enthusiastic of all--so enthusiastic that the Snobbe boys thought
+that, in their own parlance, he ought to be "called down."
+
+"It's bad form to go crazy over an idea," they said. "If Huddy's going
+to behave this way about it, he ought to be kept out altogether. It is
+all very well to experience emotions, but no well-bred person ever shows
+them--that is, not in Yonkers."
+
+"Ah, but you don't understand Huddy," said Tenafly Paterson. "Huddy has
+two great ambitions in this life. One is to get into the Authors' Club,
+and the other is to marry a certain young woman whose home is in Boston
+and whose ambitions are Bostonian. To appear before the world as a
+writer, which the Dreamers will give him a chance to do at small
+expense, will help him on to the realization of his most cherished
+hopes; in fact, Huddy told me that he thought we ought to publish the
+proceedings of the club at least four times a year, so establishing a
+quarterly magazine, to which we shall all be regular contributors. He
+thinks it will pay for itself, and knows it will make us all famous,
+because Billy Jones is certain to see that everything that goes out is
+first chop, and I'm inclined to believe Huddy is right. The continual
+drip, drip, drip of a drop of water on a stone will gradually wear away
+the stone, and, by Jove! before we know it, by constant hammering away
+at this dream scheme of ours we'll gain a position that won't be
+altogether unenviable."
+
+"That's so," said Billy. "I wouldn't wonder if with the constant drip,
+drip, drip of your drops of ink and inspiration you could wear the
+public out in a very little while. The only troublesome thing will be in
+getting a publisher for your quarterly."
+
+"I haven't any idea that we want a publisher," said Bedford Parke.
+"We've got capital enough among ourselves to bring the thing out, and so
+I say, what's the use of letting anybody else in on the profits? A
+publisher wouldn't give us more than ten per cent. in royalties. If we
+publish it ourselves we'll get the whole thing."
+
+"Yes," assented Tom Snobbe, "and, what's more, it will have a higher
+tone to it if we can say on the title-page 'Privately printed,' eh?
+That'll make everybody in society want one for his library, and
+everybody not in society will be crazy to get it because it's
+aristocratic all through."
+
+"I hadn't thought of that," said Billy Jones. "I've no doubt you are
+right, only I'd think you'd sell more copies if you'd also put on the
+title-page 'For circulation among the élite only.' Then every man,
+woman, or child who happened to get a copy would take pride in showing
+it to others, who would immediately send for it, because not having it
+would seem to indicate that one was not in the swim."
+
+Nor were the others to whom the proposition was advanced any less
+desirous to take part. They saw, one and all, opportunities for a very
+desirable distinction through the medium of the Dreamers, and within two
+weeks of the original formation of the plan the club was definitely
+organized. Physicians were consulted by the various members as to what
+edibles contained the properties most likely to produce dreams of the
+nature desired, and at the organization meeting all but Billy Jones were
+well stocked with suggestions for the inauguration dinner. Hudson Rivers
+was of the opinion that there should be six courses at that dinner, each
+one of Welsh-rabbit, but varying in form, such as Welsh-rabbit purée,
+for instance, in which the cheese should have the consistency of
+pea-soup rather than of leather; such as Welsh-rabbit pâté, in which the
+cheese should rest within walls of pastry instead of lying quiescent and
+inviting like a yellow mantle upon a piece of toast; then a Welsh-rabbit
+roast; and so on all through the banquet, rabbit upon rabbit, the whole
+washed down with the accepted wines of the ordinary banquet, which
+experience had taught them were likely in themselves to assist in the
+work of dream-making.
+
+[Illustration: AND SO TO DREAM]
+
+Monty St. Vincent observed that he had no doubt that the Welsh-rabbit
+dinner would work wonders, but he confessed his inability to see any
+reason why the club should begin its labors by committing suicide. He
+added that, for his part, he would not eat six Welsh rabbits at one
+sitting if he was sure of Shakespeare's immortality as his reward,
+because, however attractive immortality was, he preferred mortality in
+the flesh to the other in the abstract. If the gentlemen would begin the
+meal with a grilled lobster apiece, he suggested, going thence by an
+easy stage to a devilled bird, rounding up with a "slip-on"--which, in
+brief, is a piece of mince-pie smothered in a blanket of molten
+cheese--he was ready to take the plunge, but further than this he would
+not go. The other members were disposed to agree with Monty. They
+thought the idea of eating six Welsh rabbits in a single evening was
+preposterous, and that in making such a suggestion Huddy was inspired by
+one of but two possible motives--that he wished to leap to the foremost
+position in imaginative literature at one bound, or else was prompted,
+by jealousy of what the others might do, to wish to kill the club at its
+very start. Huddy denied these aspersions upon his motives with
+vociferous indignation, and to show his sincerity readily acquiesced in
+the adoption of Monty St. Vincent's menu as already outlined.
+
+The date of the dinner was set, Billy Jones was made master of
+ceremonies, the dinner was ordered, and eaten amid scenes of such
+revelry as was possible in the presence of the Snobbe boys, to whom
+anything in the way of unrestrained enjoyment was a bore and bad form,
+and at its conclusion the revellers went straight home to bed and to
+dream.
+
+Two weeks later they met again over viands of a more digestible nature
+than those which lent interest to the first dinner, and told the tales
+which follow. And I desire to add here that my report of this dinner and
+the literature there produced is based entirely upon the stenographer's
+notes, coupled with additional information of an interesting kind
+furnished me by my friend William Jones, Esq., Third Assistant Exchange
+Editor of _The Weekly Oracle, a Journal of To-day, Yesterday, and
+To-morrow_.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+IN WHICH THOMAS SNOBBE, ESQ., OF YONKERS, UNFOLDS A TALE
+
+
+The second dinner of the Dreamers had been served, all but the coffee,
+when Mr. Billy Jones, of the _Oracle_, rapped upon the table with a
+dessert-spoon and called the members to order.
+
+"Gentlemen," said he, when all was quiet, "we have reached the crucial
+crisis of our club career. We have eaten the stuff of which our dreams
+were to be made, and from what I can gather from the reports of those
+who are now seated about this festal board--and I am delighted to note
+that the full membership of our organization is here represented--there
+is not a single one of you who is unprepared for the work we have in
+hand, and, as master of ceremonies, it becomes my pleasant duty to
+inform you that the hour has arrived at which it behooveth us to begin
+the narration of those tales which--of those tales which I am
+certain--yes, gentlemen, very certain--will cause the unlaid ghosts of
+those masters of the story-tellers' art--"
+
+"Is this a continued story Billy is giving us?" observed Tenafly
+Paterson.
+
+"No," replied Bedford Parke, with a laugh; "it is only a life sentence."
+
+"Get him to commute it!" ejaculated Hudson Rivers.
+
+"Order, gentlemen, order!" cried the master of ceremonies, again rapping
+upon the table. "The members will kindly not interrupt the speaker. As I
+was saying, gentlemen," he continued, "we are now to listen to the
+narration of tales which I am convinced will cause the unlaid ghosts of
+the past grand masters of the story-tellers' art to gnash their spirit
+teeth with anguish for that they in life failed to realize the
+opportunities that were theirs in not having told the tales to which we
+are about to listen, and over which, when published, the leading living
+literary lights will writhe in jealousy."
+
+When the applause which greeted these remarks had subsided, Mr. Jones
+resumed:
+
+"That there may be no question of precedence among the gifted persons
+from whom we are now to hear, I have provided myself with a small
+leathern bottle, such as is to be seen in most billiard-parlors, within
+which I have placed twelve numbered ivory balls. These I will now
+proceed to distribute among you. When you receive them, I request that
+you immediately return them to me, that I may arrange the programme
+according to your respective numbers."
+
+Mr. Jones thereupon distributed the ivory balls, and when the returns
+had been made, according to his request, he again rose to his feet and
+announced that to Mr. Thomas Snobbe, of Yonkers, had fallen the lot of
+telling the first story, adding that he took great pleasure in the
+slightly supererogative task that devolved upon him of presenting Mr.
+Snobbe to his audience. Mr. Snobbe's health was drunk vociferously,
+after which, the stenographer having announced himself as ready to
+begin, the distinguished son of Yonkers arose and told the following
+story, which he called
+
+  VAN SQUIBBER'S FAILURE
+
+[Illustration: THE DREAMERS DINE]
+
+You can't always tell what kind of a day you are going to have in town
+in October just because you happen to have been in town on previous
+October days, and Van Squibber, for that reason, was not surprised when
+his man, on waking him, informed him that it was cold out. Even if he
+had been surprised he would not have shown it, for fear of demoralizing
+his man by setting him a bad example. "We must take things as they
+come," Van Squibber had said to the fellow when he engaged him, "and I
+shall expect you to be ready always for any emergency that may arise.
+If on waking in the morning I call for a camel's-hair shawl and a bottle
+of Nepaul pepper, it will be your duty to see that I get them without
+manifesting the slightest surprise or asking any questions. Here is your
+next year's salary in advance. Get my Melton overcoat and my box, and
+have them at the Rahway station at 7.15 to-morrow morning. If I am not
+there, don't wait for me, but come back here and boil my egg at once."
+
+This small bit of a lecture had had its effect on the man, to whom
+thenceforth nothing was impossible; indeed, upon this very occasion he
+demonstrated to his employer his sterling worth, for when, on looking
+over Van Squibber's wardrobe, he discovered that his master had no
+Melton overcoat, he telegraphed to his tailor's and had one made from
+his previous measure in time to have it with Van Squibber's box at the
+Rahway station at the stipulated hour the following morning. Of course
+Van Squibber was not there. He had instructed his man as he had simply
+to test him, and, furthermore, the egg was boiled to perfection. The
+test cost Van Squibber about $150, but it was successful, and it was
+really worth the money to know that his man was all that he should be.
+
+"He's not half bad," said Van Squibber, as he cracked the egg.
+
+"It's wintry," said Van Squibber's man on the morning of the 5th of
+October.
+
+"Well," Van Squibber said, sleepily, "what of that? You have your
+instructions as to the bodily temperature I desire to maintain. Select
+my clothing, as usual--and mark you, man, yesterday was springy, and you
+let me go to the club in summery attire. I was two and a half degrees
+too warm. You are getting careless. What are my engagements to-day?"
+
+"University settlement at eleven, luncheon at the Actors' at one, drive
+with the cynical Miss Netherwood at three, five-o'clock tea at four--"
+
+"What?" cried Van Squibber, sharply.
+
+"At fuf--five, I should say, sir," stammered the embarrassed man.
+
+"Thought so," said Van Squibber. "Proceed, and be more careful. The very
+idea of five-o'clock tea at four is shocking."
+
+"Dinner with the Austrian ambassador at eight, opera at eleven--"
+
+"In October? Opera?" cried Van Squibber.
+
+"Comic," said the man. "It is Flopper's last night, sir, and you are to
+ring down the curtain."
+
+"True," said Van Squibber, meditatively--"true; I'd forgotten. And
+then?"
+
+"At midnight you are to meet Red Mike at Cherry Street and Broadway to
+accompany him to see how he robs national banks, for the _Sunday
+Whirald_."
+
+"What bank is it to be?"
+
+"The Seventeenth National."
+
+"Gad!" cried Van Squibber, "that's hard luck. It's my bank. Wire Red
+Mike and ask him to make it the Sixteenth National, at once. Bring me my
+smoking-jacket and a boiled soda mint drop. I don't care for any
+breakfast this morning. And, by-the-way, I feel a little chilly. Take a
+quinine pill for me."
+
+"Your egg is ready, sir," said the man, tremulously.
+
+"Eat it," said Van Squibber, tersely, "and deduct the Café Savarin price
+of a boiled egg from your salary. How often must I tell you not to have
+my breakfast boiled until I am boil--I mean ready until I am ready for
+it?"
+
+The man departed silently, and Van Squibber turned over and went to
+sleep.
+
+An hour later, having waited for his soda mint drop as long as his
+dignity would permit, Van Squibber arose and dressed and went for a walk
+in Central Park. It was eccentric of him to do this, but he did it
+nevertheless.
+
+"How Travers would laugh if he saw me walking in Central Park!" he
+thought. "He'd probably ask me when I'd come over from Germany," he
+added. And then, looking ahead, a thing Van Squibber rarely did,
+by-the-way--for you can't always tell by looking ahead what may happen
+to you--his eyes were confronted by a more or less familiar back.
+
+"Dear me!" he said. "If that isn't Eleanor Huyler's back, whose back is
+it, by Jove?"
+
+Insensibly Van Squibber quickened his pace. This was also a thing he
+rarely did. "Haste is bad form," he had once said to Travers, who, on
+leaving Delmonico's at 7.20, seemed anxious to catch the 7.10 train for
+Riverdale. Insensibly quickening his pace, he soon found himself beside
+the owner of the back, and, as his premonitions had told him, it was
+Eleanor Huyler.
+
+"Good-morning," he said.
+
+"Why, Mr. Van Squibber!" she replied, with a terrified smile. "You
+here?"
+
+"Well," returned Van Squibber, not anxious to commit himself, "I think
+so, though I assure you, Miss Huyler, I am not at all certain. I seem to
+be here, but I must confess I am not quite myself this morning. My
+man--"
+
+"Yes--I know," returned the girl, hastily. "I've heard of him. He is
+your _alter ego_."
+
+"I had not noticed it," said Van Squibber, somewhat nonplussed. "I think
+he is English, though he may be Italian, as you suggest. But," he added,
+to change the subject, "you seem disturbed. Your smile is a terrified
+smile, as has been already noted."
+
+"It is," said Miss Huyler, looking anxiously about her.
+
+"And may I ask why?" asked Van Squibber, politely--for to do things
+politely was Van Squibber's ambition.
+
+"I--I--well, really, Mr. Van Squibber," the girl replied, "I am always
+anxious when you are about. The fact is, you know, the things that
+happen when you are around are always so very extraordinary. I came here
+for a quiet walk, but now that you have appeared I am quite certain that
+something dramatic is about to occur. You see--you--you have turned up
+so often at the--what I may properly call, I think, the nick of time,
+and so rarely at any other time, that I feel as though some disaster
+were impending which you alone can avert."
+
+"And what then?" said Van Squibber, proudly. "If I am here, what bodes
+disaster?"
+
+"That is the question I am asking myself," returned Miss Huyler, whose
+growing anxiety was more or less painful to witness. "Can your luck hold
+out? Will your ability as an averter of danger hold out? In short, Mr.
+Van Squibber, are you infallible?"
+
+The question came to Van Squibber like a flash of lightning out of a
+clear sky. It was too pertinent. Had he not often wondered himself as to
+his infallibility? Had he not only the day before said to Travers, "You
+can't always tell in advance just how a thing you are going into may
+turn out, even though you have been through that thing many times, and
+think you do."
+
+"I do lead a dramatic life," he said, quietly, hoping by a show of
+serenity to reassure her. "But," he added, proudly, "I am, after all,
+Van Squibber; I am here to do whatever is sent me to do. I am not a
+fatalist, but I regard myself as the chosen instrument of fate--or
+something. So far, I have not failed. On the basis of averages, I am not
+likely to fail now. Fate, or something, has chosen me to succeed."
+
+"That is true," said Eleanor--"quite true; but there are exceptions to
+all rules, and I would rather you would fail to rescue some other girl
+from a position of peril than myself."
+
+That Miss Huyler's words were prophetic, the unhappy Van Squibber was to
+realize, and that soon, for almost as they spoke the cheeks of both were
+blanched by a dreadful roar in the bushes beside the path upon which
+they walked.
+
+"Shall I leave you?" asked Van Squibber, politely.
+
+[Illustration: "'REMEMBER TO BE BRAVE'"]
+
+"Not now--oh, not now, I beg!" cried Miss Huyler. "It is too late. The
+catastrophe is imminent. You should have gone before the author
+brought it on. Finding me defenceless and you gone, he might have spared
+me. As it is, you are here, and must fulfil your destiny."
+
+"Very well," returned Van Squibber. "That being so, I will see what this
+roaring is. If it is a child endeavoring to frighten you, I shall get
+his address and have my man chastise his father, for I could never
+strike a child; but if it is a lion, as I fear, I shall do what seems
+best under the circumstances. I have been told, Miss Huyler, that a show
+of bravery awes a wild beast, while a manifestation of cowardice causes
+him to spring at once upon the coward. Therefore, if it be a lion, do
+you walk boldly up to him and evince a cool head, while I divert his
+attention from you by running away. In this way you, at least, will be
+saved."
+
+"Noble fellow!" thought Eleanor to herself. "If he were to ask me, I
+think I might marry him."
+
+Meanwhile Van Squibber had investigated, and was horror-struck to find
+his misgivings entirely too well founded. It was the lion from the park
+menagerie that had escaped, and was now waiting in ambush to pounce upon
+the chance pedestrian.
+
+"Remember, Eleanor," he cried, forgetting for the moment that he had
+never called her by any but her last name with its formal
+prefix--"remember to be brave. That will awe him, and then when he sees
+me running he will pursue me."
+
+[Illustration: "'ELEANOR HUYLER HAS DISAPPEARED'"]
+
+Removing his shoes, Van Squibber, with a cry which brought the hungry
+beast bounding out into the path, started on a dead run, while Miss
+Huyler, full of confidence that the story would end happily whatever she
+might do, walked boldly up to the tawny creature, wondering much,
+however, why her rescuer had removed his shoes. It was strange that,
+knowing Van Squibber as well as she did, she did not at once perceive
+his motive in declining to run in walking-shoes, but in moments of peril
+we are all excusable for our vagaries of thought! You never can tell,
+when you are in danger, what may happen next, for if you could you
+would know how it is all going to turn out; but as it is, mental
+disturbance is quite to be expected.
+
+For once Van Squibber failed. He ran fast enough and betrayed enough
+cowardice to attract the attention of ten lions, but this special lion,
+by some fearful idiosyncrasy of fate, which you never can count on, was
+not to be deceived. With a louder roar than any he had given, he pounced
+upon the brave woman, and in an instant she was no more. Van Squibber,
+turning to see how matters stood, was just in time to witness the final
+engulfment of the fair girl in the lion's jaws.
+
+"Egad!" he cried. "_I have failed!_ And now what remains to be done?
+Shall I return and fight the lion, or shall I keep on and go to the
+club? If I kill the lion, people will know that I have been walking in
+the park before breakfast. If I continue my present path and go to the
+club, the fellows will all want to know what I mean by coming without
+my shoes on. What a dilemma! Ah! I have it; I will go home."
+
+And that is what Van Squibber did. He went back to his rooms in the
+Quigmore at once, hastily undressed, and when, an hour later, his man
+returned with the soda mint drop, he was sleeping peacefully.
+
+That night he met Travers at the club reading the _Evening Moon_.
+
+"Hello, Van!" said Travers. "Heard the news?"
+
+"No. What?" asked Van Squibber, languidly.
+
+"Eleanor Huyler has disappeared."
+
+"By Jove!" cried Van Squibber, with well-feigned surprise. "I heard the
+boys crying 'Extra,' but I never dreamed they would put out an extra for
+her."
+
+"They haven't," said Travers. "The extra's about the lion."
+
+"Ah! And what's happened to the lion?" cried Van Squibber, nervously.
+
+"He's dead. Got loose this morning early, and was found at ten o'clock
+dying of indigestion. It is supposed he has devoured some man, name
+unknown, for before his nose was an uneaten patent-leather pump, size
+9-3/4 B, and in his throat was stuck the other, half eaten."
+
+"Ha!" muttered Van Squibber, turning pale. "And they don't know whose
+shoes they were?" he added, in a hoarse whisper.
+
+"No," said Travers. "There's no clew, even."
+
+Van Squibber breathed a sigh of relief.
+
+"Robert!" he cried, addressing the waiter, "bring me a schooner of
+absinthe, and ask Mr. Travers what he'll have." And then, turning, he
+said, _sotto voce_, to himself, "Saved! And Eleanor is revenged. Van
+Squibber may have failed, but his patent-leather pumps have conquered."
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+IN WHICH A MINCE-PIE IS RESPONSIBLE FOR A REMARKABLE COINCIDENCE
+
+
+When Mr. Snobbe sat down after the narration of his story, there was a
+thunderous outburst of applause. It was evident that the exciting
+narrative had pleased his fellow-diners very much--as, indeed, it was
+proper that it should, since it dealt in a veiled sort of way with
+characters for whom all right-minded persons have not only a deep-seated
+admiration, but a feeling of affection as well. They had, one and all,
+in common with the unaffected portion of the reading community, a liking
+for the wholesome and clean humor of Mr. Van Bibber, and the fact that
+Snobbe's story suggested a certain original, even in a weak sort of
+fashion, made them like it in spite of its shortcomings.
+
+"Good work," cried Hudson Rivers. "Of course it's only gas in comparison
+with the sun, but it gives light, and we like it."
+
+"And it's wholly original, too, even though an imitation in manner. The
+real Van Bibber never failed in anything he undertook," said Tenafly
+Paterson. "I've often wished he might have, just once--it would have
+made him seem more human--and for that reason I think Tom is entitled to
+praise."
+
+"I don't know about that," observed Monty St. Vincent. "Tom hadn't
+anything to do with it--it was the dinner. Honor to whom honor is due,
+say I. Praise the cook, or the caterer."
+
+"That's the truth," put in Billie Jones. "Fact is, when this book of
+ours comes out, I think, instead of putting our names on the title-page
+as authors, the thing to do is to print the menu."
+
+"You miss the point of this association," interjected Snobbe. "We
+haven't banded ourselves together to immortalize a Welsh rabbit or a
+mince-pie--nay, nor even a ruddy duck. It's our own glory we're after."
+
+"That's it," cried Monty St. Vincent--"that's the beauty of it. The
+scheme works two ways. If the stuff is good and there is glory in it,
+we'll have the glory; but if it's bad, we'll blame the dinner. That's
+what I like about it."
+
+"It's a valuable plan from that point of view," said the presiding
+officer. "And now, if the gentleman who secured the ball numbered two
+will make himself known, we will proceed."
+
+Hudson Rivers rose up. "I have number two," he said, "but I have nothing
+to relate. The coffee I drank kept me awake all night, and when I
+finally slept, along about six o'clock next morning, it was one of those
+sweet, dreamless sleeps that we all love so much. I must therefore ask
+to be excused."
+
+[Illustration: "WRIT A POME ABOUT A KID"]
+
+"But how shall you be represented in the book?" asked Mr. Harry Snobbe.
+
+"He can do the table of contents," suggested St. Vincent.
+
+"Or the fly-leaves," said Tenafly Paterson.
+
+"No," said Huddy; "I shall ask that the pages I should have filled be
+left blank. There is nothing helps a book so much as the leaving of
+something to the reader's imagination. I heard a great critic say so
+once. He said that was the strong point of the French writers, and he
+added that Stockton's _Lady or the Tiger_ took hold because Stockton
+didn't insist on telling everything."
+
+"It's a good idea," said Mr. Jones. "I don't know but that if those
+pages are left blank they'll be the most interesting in the book."
+
+Mr. Rivers sat down with a smile of conscious pride, whereupon Mr.
+Tenafly Paterson rose up.
+
+"As I hold the number three ball, I will give you the fruits of my
+dinner. I attribute the work which I am about to present to you to the
+mince-pie. Personally, I am a great admirer of certain latter-day poets
+who deal with the woes and joys of more or less commonplace persons. I
+myself would rather read a sonnet to a snow-shovel than an ode to the
+moon, but in my dream I seem to have conceived a violent hatred for
+authors of homely verse, as you will note when I have finished reading
+my dream-poem called 'Retribution.'"
+
+"Great Scott!" murmured Billie Jones, with a deep-drawn sigh. "Poetry!
+From Tenafly Paterson! Of all the afflictions of man, Job could have
+known no worse."
+
+"The poem reads as follows," continued Paterson, ignoring the chairman's
+ill-timed remark:
+
+[Illustration: "I BOUGHT A BOOK OF VERSE"]
+
+
+RETRIBUTION
+
+    Writ a pome about a kid.
+    Finest one I ever did.
+
+    Heaped it full o' sentiment--
+    Very best I could invent.
+
+    Talked about his little toys;
+    How he played with other boys;
+
+    How the beasts an' birdies all
+    Come when little Jamie'd call.
+
+    'N' 'en I took that little lad,
+    Gave him fever, mighty bad.
+
+    'N' 'en it sorter pleased my whim
+    To have him die and bury him.
+
+    It got printed, too, it did
+    That small pome about the kid,
+
+    In a paper in the West;
+    Put ten dollars in my vest.
+
+    Every pa an' ma about
+    Cried like mighty--cried right out.
+
+    I jess took each grandma's heart,
+    Lammed and bruised it, made it smart;
+
+    'N' everybody said o' me,
+    "Finest pote we ever see,"
+
+    'Cept one beggar, he got mad.
+    Got worst lickin' ever had;
+
+    Got my head atween his fists,
+    Called me "Prince o' anarchists."
+
+    Clipped me one behind my ear--
+    Laid me up for 'most a year.
+
+    "'Cause," he said, "my poetry
+    'D made his wife an' mother cry;
+
+    "'Twarn't no poet's bizness to
+    Make the wimmin all boo-hoo."
+
+    'N' 'at is why to-day, by Jings!
+    I don't fool with hearts an' things.
+
+    I don't care how high the bids,
+    I've stopped scribblin' 'bout dead kids;
+
+    'R if I haven't, kinder sorter
+    Think 'at maybe p'r'aps I'd oughter.
+
+The lines were received with hearty appreciation by all save Dobbs
+Ferry, who looked a trifle gloomy.
+
+[Illustration: "IT FILLED ME WITH DISMAY"]
+
+"It is a strange thing," said the latter, "but that mince-pie affected
+me in precisely the same way, as you will see for yourselves when I
+read my contribution, which, holding ball number four as I do, I will
+proceed to give you."
+
+Mr. Ferry then read the following poem, which certainly did seem to
+indicate that the man who prepared the fatal pie had certain literary
+ideas which he mixed in with other ingredients:
+
+    I bought a book of verse the other day,
+    And when I read, it filled me with dismay.
+
+    I wanted it to take home to my wife,
+    To bring a bit of joy into her life;
+
+    And I'd been told the author of those pomes
+    Was called the laureate of simple homes.
+
+    But, Jove! I read, and found it full of rhyme
+    That kept my eyes a-filling all the time.
+
+    One told about a pretty little miss
+    Whose father had denied a simple kiss,
+
+    And as she left, unhappy, full of cares,
+    She fell and broke her neck upon the stairs.
+
+    And then he wrote a lot of tearful lines
+    Of children who had trouble with their spines;
+
+    And 'stead of joys, he penned so many woes
+    I sought him out and gave him curvature 'f the nose;
+
+    And all the nation, witnessing his plight,
+    Did crown me King, and cry, "It served him right."
+
+"A remarkable coincidence," said Thomas Snobbe. "In fact, the
+coincidence is rather more remarkable than the poetry."
+
+"It certainly is," said Billie Jones; "but what a wonderfully suggestive
+pie, considering that it was a mince!"
+
+After which dictum the presiding officer called upon the holder of the
+fifth ball, who turned out to be none other than Bedford Parke, who
+blushingly rose up and delivered himself of what he called "The
+Overcoat, a Magazine Farce."
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+BEING THE CONTRIBUTION OF MR. BEDFORD PARKE
+
+THE OVERCOAT
+
+A FARCE. IN TWO SCENES
+
+
+SCENE FIRST
+
+_Time_: MORNING AT BOSTON
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards._ "I think it will rain to-day, but there is no
+need to worry about that. Robert has his umbrella and his mackintosh,
+and I don't think he is idiotic enough to lend both of them. If he does,
+he'll get wet, that's all." Mrs. Edwards is speaking to herself in the
+sewing-room of the apartment occupied by herself and her husband in the
+Hotel Hammingbell at Boston. It is not a large room, but cosey. A
+frieze one foot deep runs about the ceiling, and there is a carpet on
+the floor. Three pins are seen scattered about the room, in one corner
+of which is a cane-bottomed chair holding across its back two black
+vests and a cutaway coat. Mrs. Edwards sits before a Wilcox & Wilson
+sewing-machine sewing a button on a light spring overcoat. The overcoat
+has one outside and three inside pockets, and is single-breasted. "It is
+curious," Mrs. Edwards continues, "what men will do with umbrellas and
+mackintoshes on a rainy day. They lend them here and there, and the
+worst part of it is they never remember where." A knock is heard at the
+door. "Who's there?"
+
+_Voice_ (_without_). "Me."
+
+[Illustration: "'COME IN'"]
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards_ (_with a nervous shudder_). "Come in." Enter Mary
+the house-maid. She is becomingly attired in blue alpaca, with green
+ribbons and puffed sleeves. She holds a feather duster in her right
+hand, and in her left is a jar of Royal Worcester. "Mary," Mrs. Edwards
+says, severely, "where are we at?"
+
+_Mary_ (_meekly_). "Boston, ma'am."
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards._ "South Boston or Boston proper?"
+
+_Mary._ "Boston proper, ma'am."
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards._ "Then when I say 'Who's there?' don't say 'Me.'
+That manner of speaking may do at New York, Brooklyn, South Boston, or
+Congress, but at Boston proper it is extremely gauche. 'I' is the word."
+
+_Mary._ "Yes, ma'am; but you know, ma'am, I don't pretend to be
+literary, ma'am, and so these little points baffles I very often." Mrs.
+Edwards sighs, and, walking over to the window, looks out upon the
+trolley-cars for ten minutes; then, picking up one of the pins from the
+floor and putting it in a pink silk pin-cushion which stands next to an
+alarm-clock on the mantel-piece, a marble affair with plain caryatids
+and a brass fender around the hearth, she resumes her seat before the
+sewing-machine, and threads a needle. Then--
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards._ "Well, Mary, what do you want?"
+
+_Mary._ "Please, Mrs. Edwards, the butcher is came, and he says they
+have some very fine perairie-chickens to-day."
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards._ "We don't want any prairie-chickens. The prairies
+are so very vulgar. Tell him never to suggest such a thing again. Have
+we any potatoes in the house?"
+
+_Mary._ "There's three left, ma'am, and two slices of cold roast beef."
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards._ "Then tell him to bring five more potatoes, a
+steak, and--Was all the pickled salmon eaten?"
+
+_Mary._ "All but the can, ma'am."
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards._ "Well--Mr. Edwards is very fond of fish.
+Tell him to bring two boxes of sardines and a bottle of anchovy paste."
+
+_Mary._ "Very well, Mrs. Edwards."
+
+[Illustration: MARY]
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards._ "And--ah--Mary, tell him to bring some Brussels
+sprouts for breakfast. What are you doing with that Worcester vase?"
+
+_Mary._ "I was takin' it to cook, ma'am. Sure she broke the bean-pot
+this mornin', and she wanted somethin' to cook the beans in."
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards._ "Oh, I see. Well, take good care of it, Mary.
+It's a rare piece. In fact, I think you'd better leave that here and
+remove the rubber plant from the jardinière, and let Nora cook the beans
+in that. Times are a little too hard to cook beans in Royal Worcester."
+
+_Mary._ "Very well, ma'am." Mary goes out through the door. Mrs. Edwards
+resumes her sewing. Fifteen minutes elapse, interrupted only by the
+ticking of the alarm-clock and the occasional ringing of the bell on
+passing trolley-cars. "If it does rain," Mrs. Edwards says at last, with
+an anxious glance through the window, "I suppose Robert won't care about
+going to see the pantomime to-night. It will be too bad if we don't go,
+for this is the last night of the season, and I've been very anxious to
+renew my acquaintance with 'Humpty Dumpty.' It is so very dramatic, and
+I do so like dramatic things. Even when they happen in my own life I
+like dramatic things. I'll never forget how I enjoyed the thrill that
+came over me, even in my terror, that night last winter when the
+trolley-car broke down in front of this house; and last summer, too,
+when the oar-lock broke in our row-boat thirty-three feet from shore;
+that was a situation that I enjoyed in spite of its peril. How people
+can say that life is humdrum, I can't see. Exciting things, real
+third-act situations, climaxes I might even call them, are always
+happening in my life, and yet some novelists pretend that life is
+humdrum just to excuse their books for being humdrum. I'd just like to
+show these apostles of realism the diary I could have kept if I had
+wanted to. Beginning with the fall my brother George had from the
+hay-wagon, back in 1876, running down through my first meeting with
+Robert, which was romantic enough--he paid my car-fare in from Brookline
+the day I lost my pocket-book--even to yesterday, when an entire
+stranger called me up on the telephone, my life has fairly bubbled with
+dramatic situations that would take the humdrum theory and utterly
+annihilate it." As Mrs. Edwards is speaking she is also sewing the
+button already alluded to on Mr. Edwards's coat as described. "There,"
+taking the last stitch in the coat, "that's done, and now I can go and
+get ready for luncheon." She folds up the coat, glances at the clock,
+and goes out. A half-hour elapses. The silence is broken only by
+occasional noises from the street, the rattling of the wheels of a
+herdic over the pavement, the voices of newsboys, and an occasional
+strawberry-vender's cry. At the end of the half-hour the alarm-clock
+goes off and the curtain falls.
+
+
+SCENE SECOND
+
+_Time_: EVENING AT BOSTON
+
+The scene is laid in the drawing-room of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Edwards.
+Mrs. Edwards is discovered reading _Pendennis_, and seems in imminent
+danger of going to sleep over it. Mr. Edwards is stretched out upon the
+sofa, quite asleep, with _Ivanhoe_ lying open upon his chest.
+Twenty-five minutes elapse, when the door-bell rings.
+
+_Mr. Edwards_ (_drowsily_). "Let me off at the next corner, conductor."
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "Why, Robert--what nonsense you are talking!"
+
+_Mr. Edwards_ (_rubbing his eyes and sitting up_). "Eh? What? Nonsense?
+I talk nonsense? Really, my dear, that is a serious charge to bring
+against one of the leading characters in a magazine farce. Wit, perhaps,
+I may indulge in, but nonsense, never!"
+
+[Illustration: EDWARDS REBELS]
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "That is precisely what I complain about. The idea of
+a well-established personage like yourself lying off on a sofa in his
+own apartment and asking a conductor to let him off at the next corner!
+It's--"
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "I didn't do anything of the sort."
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "You did, too, Robert Edwards. And I can prove it. If
+you will read back to the opening lines of this scene you will find that
+I have spoken the truth--unless you forgot your lines. If you admit
+that, I have nothing to say, but I will add that if you are going to
+forget lines that give the key-note of the whole situation, you've got
+no business in a farce. You'll make the whole thing fall flat some day,
+and then you will be discharged."
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "Well, I wish I might be discharged; I'm tired of the
+whole business. Anybody'd take me for an idiot, the way I have to go on.
+Every bit of fun there is to be had in these farces is based upon some
+predicament into which my idiocy or yours gets me. Are we idiots? I ask
+you that. Are we? You may be, but, Mrs. Edwards, I am not. The idea of
+my falling asleep over _Ivanhoe_! Would I do that if I had my way? Well,
+I guess not! Would I even dare to say 'I guess not' in a magazine farce?
+Again, I guess not. I'm going to write to the editor this very night,
+and resign my situation. I want to be me. I don't want to be what some
+author thinks I ought to be. Do you know what I think?"
+
+_Mrs. Edwards_ (_warningly_). "Take care, Robert. Take care. You aren't
+employed to think."
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "Precisely. That's what makes me so immortally mad. The
+author doesn't give me time to think. I could think real thoughts if
+he'd let me, but then! The curtain wouldn't stay up half a second if I
+did that; and where would the farce be? The audience would go home
+tired, because they wouldn't get their nap if the curtain was down. It's
+hard luck; and as for me, I wouldn't keep the position a minute if I
+could get anything else to do. Nobody'd give me work, now that I've been
+made out to be such a confounded jackass. But let's talk of other
+things."
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "I'd love to, Robert--but we can't. There are no other
+things in the farce. The Billises are coming."
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "Hang the Billises! Can't we ever have an evening to
+ourselves?"
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "How you do talk! How can we? There's got to be some
+action in the farce, and it's the Billis family that draws out our
+peculiarities."
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "Well, I'm going out, and you can receive the Billises,
+and if it's necessary for me to say anything to give go to the play, you
+can say it. I make you my proxy."
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "It can't be done, Robert. They are here. The bell rang
+ten minutes ago, and they ought to have got in here five minutes since.
+You can't go out without meeting them in the wings--I mean the
+hallway."
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "Lost!"
+
+    _Enter_ MR. _and_ MRS. BILLIS.
+
+_Billis._ "Ah, Edwards! Howdy do? Knew you were home. Saw light in--"
+
+_Mrs. Billis._ "Don't rattle on so, my dear. Speak more slowly, or the
+farce will be over before nine."
+
+_Billis._ "I've got to say my lines, and I'm going to say them my way.
+Ah, Edwards! Howdy do? Knew you were home. Saw light in window. Knew
+your economical spirit. Said to myself must be home, else why gas? He
+doesn't burn gas when he's out. Wake up--"
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "I'm not asleep. Fact is, I am going out."
+
+_Mrs. Billis._ "Out?"
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "Robert!"
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "That's what I said--out. _O-u-t._"
+
+_Billis._ "Not bad idea. Go with you. Where to?"
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "Anywhere--to find a tragedy and take part in it. I'm
+done farcing, my boy."
+
+_Billis_ (_slapping_ Edwards _on back_). "Rah! my position exactly. I'm
+sick of it too. Come ahead. I know that fellow Whoyt--he'll take us in
+and give us a chance."
+
+_Mrs. Billis._ "I've been afraid of this."
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "Robert, consider your family."
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "I have; and if I'm to die respected and honored, if my
+family is to have any regard for my memory, I've got to get out of
+farcing. That's all. Did you sew the button on my overcoat?"
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "I did. I'll go get it."
+
+She goes out. Mrs. Billis throws herself sobbing on sofa. Billis dances
+a jig. Forty minutes elapse, during which Billis's dance may be encored.
+Enter Mrs. Edwards, triumphantly, with overcoat.
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "There's your overcoat."
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "But--but the button isn't sewed on. I can't go out in
+this."
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "I knew it, Robert. I sewed the button on the wrong
+coat."
+
+Billis and Robert fall in a faint. Mrs. Billis rises and smiles,
+grasping Mrs. Edwards's hand fervently.
+
+_Mrs. Billis._ "Noble woman!"
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "Yes; I've saved the farce."
+
+_Mrs. Billis._ "You have. For, in spite of these--these strikers--these
+theatric Debses, you--you got in the point! _The button was sewed on the
+wrong overcoat!_"
+
+
+CURTAIN.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"When the farce was finished," said Mr. Parke, "and the applause which
+greeted the fall of the curtain had subsided, I dreamed also the
+following author's note: 'The elapses' in this farce may seem rather
+long, but the reader must remember that it is the author's intention
+that his farce, if acted, should last throughout a whole evening. If it
+were not for the elapses the acting time would be scarcely longer than
+twenty minutes, instead of two hours and a half."
+
+"I mention this," Mr. Parke added, "not only in justification of myself,
+but also as a possible explanation of certain shortcomings in the work
+of the original master. Sometimes the action may seem to drag a trifle,
+but that is not the fault of the author, but of life itself. To be real
+one must be true, and truth is not to be governed by him who holds the
+pen."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mr. Parke's explanation having been received in a proper and
+appreciative spirit by his fellow-Dreamers, Mr. Jones announced that Mr.
+Monty St. Vincent was the holder of the sixth ball, whereupon Mr. St.
+Vincent arose and delivered himself as follows:
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+THE SALVATION OF FINDLAYSON
+
+     _Being the story told by the holder of the sixth ball, Mr. Monty
+     St. Vincent._
+
+
+A donkey engine, next to a Sophomore at a football match that is going
+his way, is the noisiest thing man ever made, and No. 4-11-44, who
+travelled first-class on the American liner _New York_, was not inclined
+to let anybody forget the fact. He held a commanding position on the
+roof of the deck state-room No. 10, just aft of the forecastle stringer
+No. 3, and over the main jib-stay boom No. 6-7/8, that held the
+rudder-chains in place. All the little Taffrails and Swashbucklers
+looked up to him, and the Capstan loved him like a brother, for he very
+often helped the Capstan to bring the Anchor aboard, when otherwise
+that dissipated bit of iron would have staid out all night. The Port
+Tarpaulins insisted that the Donkey Engine was the greatest humorist
+that ever lived, although the Life Preservers hanging by the rail did
+not like him at all, because he once said they were Irish--"Cork all
+through," said he. Even the Rivets that held the Top Gallant Bilges
+together used to strain their eyes to see the points of the Donkey
+Engine's jokes, and the third Deputy-assistant Piston Rod, No. 683, in
+the hatchway stoke-hole, used to pound the cylinders almost to pieces
+trying to encore the Donkey Engine's comic songs.
+
+The Main Mast used to say that the Donkey Engine was as bright as the
+Starboard Lights, and the Smoke Stack is said to have told the Safety
+Valve that he'd rather give up smoking than lose the constant flow of
+wit the Donkey Engine was always giving forth.
+
+Findlayson discovered all this. After his Bridge had gone safely through
+that terrible ordeal when the Ganges rose and struck for higher tides,
+Findlayson collapsed. The Bridge--But that is another story. This is
+this one, and there is little profit in telling two stories at once,
+especially in a day when one can get the two stories printed separately
+in the several magazines for which one writes exclusively.
+
+After the ordeal of the Kashi Bridge, Findlayson, as I have said,
+collapsed, and it is no wonder, as you will see for yourself when you
+read that other story. As the Main Girder of the Bridge itself wrote
+later to the Suspension Cables of the Brooklyn Bridge, "It's a wonder to
+me that the Sahib didn't have the _Bashi-bazouks_ earlier in the game.
+He suffered a terrible strain that night."
+
+To which the Cables of the Brooklyn Bridge wittily replied that while
+they sympathized with Findlayson, they didn't believe he really knew
+what strain was. "Wait until he has five lines of trolley-cars running
+over him all day and night. That _is_ a strain! He'd be worse cut up
+than ever if he had that. And yet we thrive under it. After all, for
+solid health, it's better to be a Bridge than a Man. When are you coming
+across?"
+
+Now Findlayson might have collapsed a dozen times before the Government
+would have cared enough to give him the vacation he needed. Not that
+Government is callous, like an elephant, but because it is conducted, as
+a witty Cobra once remarked in the jungle as he fascinated a Tigress, by
+a lot of Red Tapirs. Findlayson put in an application for a six months'
+vacation, but by the time the necessary consent had reached him the six
+months were up. Everybody remembers the tale of Dorkins of the Welsh
+Fusileers and his appointment to the Department of the Poloese, how his
+term of office was to be six years, and how by the time his credentials
+reached him his term of office had expired. So with Findlayson. On the
+very date of the expiration of his desired leave he received permission
+to go, and of course could not then do so, because it was too late.
+Fortunately for Findlayson, however, the Viceroy himself happened to be
+passing through, and Findlayson entertained him at a luncheon on the
+Bridge. By some curious mistake, when the nuts and raisins were passed,
+Findlayson had provided a plateful of steel nuts, designed to hold
+rivets in place, instead of the usual assortment of almonds and
+_hiki-ree_.
+
+"This man needs a rest," said the Viceroy, as he broke his front tooth
+trying to crack one of the steel nuts, and he immediately extended
+Findlayson's leave to twenty years without pay, for which Findlayson was
+very grateful.
+
+"What is the matter with the man?" asked the Viceroy, as he drove to the
+station with the practising Jinrikshaw of the place.
+
+[Illustration: THE VICEROY EXAMINES HIS RUINED SMILE]
+
+"It's my professional opinion," replied the Jinrikshaw, "that the Sahib
+has a bad attack of melancholia. He hasn't laughed for six months. If we
+could only get him to laugh, I think he'd recover."
+
+"Then it was not in a jocular spirit that he ruined my teeth with those
+nuts?" demanded the Viceroy, taking a small mirror out of his pocket and
+gazing ruefully on his ruined smile.
+
+"No, your most Excellent Excellency," replied the Jinrikshaw. "The fact
+that he ate five of them himself shows that it was an error, not a
+jest."
+
+It was thus that Findlayson got his vacation, and even to this day the
+Kaskalooloo folk are laughing over his error more heartily than they
+ever laughed over a joke.
+
+A month after leaving his post Findlayson reached London, where he was
+placed under the care of the most famous physicians. They did everything
+they could to make him laugh, without success. _Punch_ was furnished,
+and he read it through day after day, and burst into hysterical weeping.
+They took him to the theatres, and he never even smiled. They secured a
+front seat in the House of Commons for him during important debates, and
+he merely sobbed. They took him to the Army and Navy Stores, and he
+shivered with fear. Even Beerbohm Tree as Lady Macbeth, or whatever rôle
+it was he was playing at the time, failed to coax the old-time dimple to
+his cheek. His friends began to whisper among themselves that "old
+Findlayson was done for," when Berkeley Hauksbee, who had been with him
+in the Soudan, suggested a voyage to the United States.
+
+"He'll see enough there to laugh at, or I'm an unshod, unbroken,
+saw-backed, shark-eating skate!" he asserted, and as a last resource
+Findlayson was packed, bag and baggage, aboard the liner _New York_.
+
+The first three days out Findlayson was dead to the world. He lay like a
+fallen log in the primeval forest. Stewards were of no avail. Even the
+repeated calls of the doctor, whose apprehensions were aroused, could
+not restore him to life.
+
+[Illustration: THEY GAVE HIM _PUNCH_]
+
+"They'll be sewin' him up in a jute bag and droppin' him overboard if
+he doesn't come to by to-morrow," observed the Water Bottle to the Soap
+Dish, with a sympathetic glance at the prostrate Findlayson.
+
+"He'll be seasicker than ever if they do," returned the Soap Dish. "It's
+a long swim from here to Sandy Hook."
+
+But Findlayson came to in time to avert the catastrophe, and took
+several turns up and down the deck. He played horse-billiards with an
+English curate, but showed no sign of interest or amusement even at the
+curious aspect of the ladies who lay inert in the steamer chairs ranged
+along the deck.
+
+"I'm afraid it's hopeless," said Peroo, his valet, shaking his head
+sadly. "Unless I take him in hand myself." And Peroo was seized with an
+idea.
+
+"I'll do it!" he cried.
+
+He approached Findlayson.
+
+"The Sahib will not laugh," he said. "He will not smile even. He has not
+snickered all day. Take these, then. They're straight opium, but
+there's fun in them."
+
+He took a small zinc bait-box from his fishing-kit and handed it to
+Findlayson, who, on opening it, found a dozen or more brown pellets.
+Hastily swallowing six of them, the sick man turned over in his bunk and
+tried to go to sleep, while Peroo went into the smoking-room for a game
+of _Pok-Kah_ with a party of _Drummerz_ who were crossing to America.
+
+A soft yellow haze suffused the state-room, and Findlayson, nervously
+starting to his feet to see what had caused it, was surprised to find
+himself confronted by a grinning row of Technicalities ranged in a line
+upon the sofa under the port, while seated upon his steamer trunk was
+the Donkey Engine 4-11-44.
+
+"Well, here we are," said the Deck Beam, addressing the Donkey Engine.
+"What are we here for?"
+
+"That's it," said the Capstan. "We've left our places at your command.
+Now, why?"
+
+[Illustration: THE DONKEY ENGINE CALLS ON FINDLAYSON]
+
+"I wanted you to meet my friend Findlayson," said the Donkey Engine.
+"He's a good fellow. Findlayson, let me present you to my
+associates--Mr. Capstan, Mr. Findlayson. And that gentleman over in the
+corner, Mr. Findlayson, is the Starboard Upper Deck Stringer. Rivet,
+come over here and meet Mr. Findlayson. The Davits will be here in a
+minute, and the Centrifugal Bilge Pump will drop in later."
+
+"I'm glad to meet you all," said Findlayson, rather dazed.
+
+"Thought you would be," returned the Donkey Engine. "That's why I asked
+them to come up."
+
+"Do you mind if I smoke in here?" said the Funnel.
+
+"Not a bit," said Findlayson, solemnly. "Let me offer you a cigar."
+
+The party roared at this.
+
+"He doesn't smoke cigars, Fin, old boy," said the Donkey Engine. "Offer
+him a ton of coal Perfectos or a basket of kindling Invincibles and
+he'll take you up. Old Funnel makes a cigarette of a cord of pine logs,
+you know."
+
+"I should think so much smoking would be bad for your nerves," suggested
+Findlayson.
+
+"'Ain't got any," said the Funnel. "I'm only a Flue, you know. Every
+once in a while I do get a sooty feeling inside, but beyond that I don't
+suffer at all."
+
+"Where's the Keel?" asked the Thrust Block, taking off one of his six
+collars, which hurt his neck.
+
+"He can't come up to-night," said the Donkey Engine, with a sly wink at
+Findlayson, who, however, failed to respond. "The Hold is feeling a
+little rocky, and the Keel's got to stay down and steady him."
+
+Findlayson looked blankly at the Donkey Engine. As an Englishman in a
+nervously disordered state, he did not seem quite able to appreciate the
+Donkey Engine's joke. The latter sighed, shook his cylinder a trifle,
+and began again.
+
+"Hear about the Bow Anchor's row with the Captain?" he asked the
+Garboard Strake.
+
+"No," replied the Strake. "Wouldn't he bow?"
+
+"He'd bow all right," said the Donkey Engine, "but he wouldn't ank.
+Result is he's been put in chains."
+
+"Serves him right," said the Bilge Stringer, filling his pipe with
+Findlayson's tooth-powder. "Serves him right. He ought to be chucked
+overboard."
+
+"True," said the Donkey Engine. "An anchor can't be made to ank unless
+you chuck him overboard."
+
+The company roared at this, but Findlayson never cracked a smile.
+
+"That is very true," he said. "In fact, how could an anchor ank, as you
+put it, without being lowered into the sea?"
+
+"It's a bad case," observed Bulwark Plate, in a whisper, to the Upper
+Deck Plank.
+
+"It floors me," said the Plank. "I don't think he'd laugh if his uncle
+died and left him a million."
+
+"Shut up," said the Donkey Engine. "We've got to do it or bust. Let's
+try again."
+
+Then he added, aloud,
+
+"Say, Technicalities, did you ever hear that riddle of the Starboard
+Coal Bunker's?"
+
+The company properly had not.
+
+"Well, the Starboard Coal Bunker got it off at Lady Airshaft's last
+reception at Binks's Ship-yard: 'What's the difference between a
+man-o'-war going through the Suez Canal under tow of a tug-boat and a
+boiler with a capacity of 6000 tons of steam loaded to 7000 tons, with
+no safety-valve, in charge of an engineer who has a certificate from
+Bellevue Hospital showing that he is a good ambulance-driver, but
+supports a widowed mother and seven uncles upon no income to speak of,
+all of which is invested in Spanish fours, bought on a margin of two per
+cent. in a Wall Street bucket-shop conducted by two professional
+card-players from Honolulu under indictment at San Francisco for
+arson?'"
+
+"Tutt!" said the Rudder. "What a chestnut! I was brought up on riddles
+of that kind. _They can't climb a tree._"
+
+"Nope," said the Donkey Engine. "That's not the answer."
+
+"You don't know it yourself," suggested the Funnel.
+
+"Nope," said the Donkey Engine.
+
+"Well, what the deuce is the answer?" said Findlayson, irritably.
+
+"Give it up--the rest of you?" cried the Donkey Engine.
+
+"We do," they roared in chorus.
+
+"I'm surprised at you," said the Donkey Engine. "It's very simple
+indeed. The man-o'-war going through the Suez Canal under tow of a
+tug-boat has a pull--and the other hasn't, don't you know--eh?"
+
+Findlayson scratched his forehead.
+
+"I don't see--" he began.
+
+"There is no reason why you should. You're not feeling well,"
+interrupted the Donkey Engine, "but it's a good riddle--eh?"
+
+"Quite so," said Findlayson.
+
+"It's long, anyhow," said the Screw.
+
+"Which we can't say for to-day's run--only 867 miles?" suggested the
+Donkey Engine, interrogatively.
+
+"It's long enough," growled the Screw.
+
+"It certainly is, if it is reckoned in minutes," retorted the Donkey
+Engine. "I never knew such a long day."
+
+And so they continued in an honest and technical effort to restore
+Findlayson. But he wouldn't laugh, and finally the Screw and the
+Centrifugal Bilge Pump and the Stringers and the other well-meaning
+Technicalities rose up to leave. Day was approaching, and all were
+needed at their various posts.
+
+"Good-night--or good-morning, Findlayson," said the Donkey Engine.
+"We've had a very pleasant night. I am only sorry, however, we cannot
+make you laugh."
+
+"I never laugh," said Findlayson. "But tell me, old chap, are you
+really human? You talk as if you were."
+
+"No," returned the Donkey Engine, sadly. "I am neither fish, flesh, nor
+fowl. I'm a _bivalve--a cockney bivalve_," he added.
+
+"Oh," replied Findlayson, with a gesture of deprecation, "you are not a
+clam!"
+
+"No," the Donkey Engine replied, as with a sudden inspiration; "but I'm
+a hoister."
+
+And Findlayson burst into a paroxysm of mirth--it must be remembered
+that he was English--the like of which the good old liner never heard
+before.
+
+And later, when Peroo returned, having won at _Pok-Kah_ with the
+_Drummerz_, he found his master sleeping like the veriest child.
+
+Findlayson was saved.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+IN WHICH HARRY SNOBBE RECITES A TALE OF GLOOM
+
+
+Monty St. Vincent had no sooner seated himself after telling the
+interesting tale of the Salvation of Findlayson, when Billy Jones, of
+the _Oracle_, rose up and stated that Mr. Harry Snobbe, as the holder of
+the seventh ball, would unfold the truly marvellous story that had come
+to him after the first dinner of the Dreamers.
+
+"Mr. Snobbe requests all persons having nerves to be unstrung to
+unstring them now. His tale, he tells me, is one of intense gloom; but
+how intense the gloom may be, I know not. I will leave it to him to
+show. Gentlemen, Mr. Snobbe."
+
+Mr. Snobbe took the floor, and after a few preliminary remarks, read as
+follows:
+
+
+THE GLOOMSTER
+
+A TALE OF THE ISLE OF MAN
+
+Old Gloomster Goodheart, of Ballyhack, left the Palace of the Bishop of
+Man broken-hearted. The Bishop had summoned him a week previous to show
+cause why he should not be removed from his office of Gloomster, a
+position that had been held by members of his family for ten
+generations, aye, since the days of that ancient founder of the family,
+Cronky Gudehart, of whom tradition states that his mere presence at a
+wedding turned the marriage feast into a seeming funeral ceremony,
+making men and women weep, and on two occasions driving the bride to
+suicide and the groom into the Church. Indeed, Cronky Gudehart was
+himself the first to occupy the office of Gloomster. The office was
+created for his especial benefit, as you will see, for it was the mere
+fact that the two grooms bereft at the altar sought out the consolation
+of the monastery that called the attention of the ecclesiastical
+authorities to the desirability of establishing such a functionary. The
+two grooms were men of wealth, and, had it not been for Cronky
+Gudehart's malign influence, neither they nor their wealth would have
+passed into the control of the Church, a fact which Ramsay Ballawhaine,
+then Bishop of Man, was quick to note and act upon.
+
+"The gloomier the world," said he, "the more transcendently bright will
+Heaven seem; and if we can make Heaven seem bright, the Church will be
+able to declare dividends. Let us spread misery and sorrow. Let us
+destroy the sunshine of life that so gilds with glory the flesh and the
+devil. Let all that is worldly be made to appear mean and vile and
+sordid."
+
+"But how?" Ramsay Ballawhaine was asked. "That is a hard thing to do."
+
+"For some 'twill doubtless so appear, but I have a plan," the Bishop had
+answered. "We have here living, not far from Jellimacksquizzle, the
+veriest spoil-sport in the person of Cronky Gudehart. He has a face that
+would change the August beauties of a sylvan forest into a bleak scene
+of wintry devastation. I am told that when Cronky Gudehart gazes upon a
+rose it withers, and children passing him in the highways run shrieking
+to their mothers, as though escaping from the bogie man of Caine
+Hall--which castle, as you know, has latterly been haunted by horrors
+that surpass the imagination. His voice is like the strident cry of
+doom. Hearing his footsteps, strong men quail and women swoon; and I am
+told that, dressed as Santa Claus, on last Christmas eve he waked up his
+sixteen children, and with a hickory stick belabored one and all until
+they said that mercy was all they wanted for their Yule-tide gifts."
+
+"'Tis true," said the assistant vicar. "'Tis very true; and I happen to
+know, through my own ministrations, that when a beggar-woman from Sodor
+applied to Cronky Gudehart for relief from the sorrows of the world, he
+gave her a bottle of carbolic acid, saying that therein lay the cure of
+all her woes. But what of Cronky and your scheme?"
+
+"Let us establish the office of Gloomster," returned the Bishop. "Set
+apart Nightmare Abbey as his official residence, and pay him a salary to
+go about among the people spreading grief and woe among them until they
+fly in desperation to us who alone can console."
+
+"It's out of sight!" ejaculated the assistant vicar, "and Cronky's just
+the man for the place."
+
+It was thus that the office of Gloomster was instituted. As will be
+seen, the duties of the Gloomster were simple. He was given liberty of
+entrance to all joyous functions in the life of the Isle of Man, social
+or otherwise, and his duties were to ruin pleasure wherever he might
+find it. Cronky Gudehart was installed in the office, and Nightmare
+Abbey was set apart as his official residence. He attended all
+weddings, and spoiled them in so far as he was able. It was his custom,
+when the vicar asked if there was any just reason why these two should
+not be joined together in holy wedlock, to rise up and say that, while
+he had no evidence at hand, he had no doubt there was just cause in
+great plenty, and to suggest that the ceremony should be put off a week
+or ten days while he and his assistants looked into the past records of
+the principals. At funerals he took the other tack, and laughed joyously
+at every manifestation of grief. At hangings he would appear, and dilate
+humorously upon the horrid features thereof; and at afternoon teas he
+would appear clad in black garments from head to foot, and exhort all
+present to beware of the future, and to give up the hollowness and
+vanities of tea and macaroons.
+
+Results were not long in their manifestation. In place of open marriage
+the young people of the isle, to escape the malignant persecution of the
+Gloomster, took up the habit of elopement, and as elopements always end
+in sorrow and regret, the monasteries and nunneries waxed great in the
+land. To avoid funerals, at which the Gloomster's wit was so fearsome a
+thing, the sick or the maimed and the halt fled out into the open sea
+and drowned themselves, and all sociability save that which came from
+book sales and cake auctions--in their very nature destructive of a love
+of life--faded out of the land.
+
+"Cronky Gudehart was an ideal Gloomster," said the Bishop of Man, with a
+sigh, when that worthy spoil-sport, having gone to Africa for a
+vacation, was eaten by cannibals. "We shall not look upon his like
+again."
+
+"I've no doubt he disagreed with the cannibals," sobbed the vicar, as he
+thought over the virtues of the deceased.
+
+[Illustration: THE END OF THE GLOOMSTER]
+
+"None who ate him could escape appendicitis," commented the Bishop,
+wiping a tear from his eye; "and, thank Heaven, the operation for that
+has yet to be invented. Those cannibals have been taken by this time
+from their wicked life."
+
+So it had gone on for ten generations. Cronky had been succeeded by his
+son and by his son's son, and so on. To be Gloomster of the Isle of Man
+had by habit become the prerogative of the Gudehart family until the
+present, when Christian Goodheart found himself summoned before the
+Bishop to show cause why he should not be removed. Hitherto the
+Gloomster had given satisfaction. It would be hard to point to one of
+them--unless we except Eric Goodheart, the one who changed the name from
+Gudehart to Goodheart--who had not filled the island with that kind of
+sorrow that makes life seem hardly worth living. Eric Goodheart had once
+caught his father, "Bully Gudehart," as he was called, in a moment of
+forgetfulness, doing a kindly act to a beggar at the door. A wanderer
+had appeared at the door of Nightmare Abbey in a starving condition, and
+Eric had surprised the Gloomster in the very act of giving the beggar a
+piece of apple-pie. The father found himself suddenly confronted by the
+round, staring eyes of his son, and he was frightened. If it were ever
+known that the Gloomster had done a kindly thing for anybody, he might
+be removed, and Bully Gudehart recognized the fact.
+
+"Come here!" he cried brutally, to Eric, as the beggar marched away
+munching hungrily on the pie. "Come here, you brat! Do you hear? Come
+_here_!" The boy was coming all the while. "You saw?"
+
+"Yes, your Honor," he replied, "I saw. The man said he was nearly dead
+with hunger, and you gave him food."
+
+"No," roared the Gloomster, full of fear, for he knew how small boys
+prattle, "I did not give him food! _I gave him pie!_"
+
+"All right, your Majesty," the boy answered. "You gave him pie. And I
+see now why they call you Bully. For pie is bully, and nothing less."
+
+"My son," the Gloomster responded, seizing a trunk-strap and whacking
+the lad with it forcefully, "you don't understand. Do you know why I
+fed that man?"
+
+"Because he was dying of hunger," replied the lad, ruefully, rubbing his
+back where the trunk-strap had hit him.
+
+"Precisely," said the Gloomster. "If I hadn't given him that pie he'd
+have died on the premises, and I can't afford the expense of having a
+tramp die here. As it is, he will enjoy a lingering death. _That was one
+of your mother's pies._"
+
+Eric ran sobbing to his room, but in his heart he believed that he had
+detected his father in a kindly act, and conceived that a Gloomster
+might occasionally relax. Nevertheless, when he succeeded to the office
+he was stern and unrelenting, in spite of the fact that occasionally
+there was to be detected in his eye a glance of geniality. This was
+doubtless due to the fact that from the time of his intrusion upon his
+father's moment of weakness he was soundly thrashed every morning before
+breakfast, and spanked before retiring at night, as a preliminary to his
+prayers.
+
+But Christian Goodheart, the present incumbent, had not given
+satisfaction, and his Bishop had summoned him to show cause why he
+should not be removed, and, as we have seen, the Gloomster had gone away
+broken-hearted. Shortly after having arrived at Nightmare Abbey he was
+greeted by his wife.
+
+"Well, Christian," she said, "what did the Bishop say?"
+
+"He wants my resignation," sighed Christian. "He says I have shown
+myself unworthy, and I fear he has evidence."
+
+"Evidence? Against you, my husband, the most disagreeable man in the
+isle?" cried his wife, fondly.
+
+"Yes," sighed Christian. "Do you remember, you old termagant, how,
+forgetting myself and my position, last Tuesday I laughed when Peter
+Skelly told us what his baby said to his nurse?"
+
+"I do, Christian," the good woman answered. "You laughed heartily, and I
+warned you to be careful. It is not the Gloomster's place to laugh, and
+I feared it might reach the Bishop's ears."
+
+"It has done so," sighed Christian, shaking his head sadly and wringing
+his hands in his agony. "It has reached the Bishop's ears. Little Glory
+Grouse was passing by the door at the moment and saw me. Astonished, the
+child ran home and told her mother. 'Mommer!' she cried, 'I have seen
+the Gloomster laugh! I have seen the Gloomster laugh!' The child was
+cross-questioned, but stuck to her story until Mrs. Grouse was
+convinced, and told her neighbors, and these neighbors told other
+neighbors, until the story came to the ears of Canon Cashman, by whom it
+was conveyed to the Bishop himself."
+
+"What a little gossip that Glory Grouse is! She'll come to a bad end,
+mark my words!" cried Mrs. Goodheart, angrily. "She'll have her honored
+father's name on the circus posters yet."
+
+"Do not blame the child," said Christian, sadly. "She was right. Who
+had ever seen a Gloomster smile before? As well expect a ray of
+sunshine or a glimpse of humor in a Manx novel--"
+
+"But the Bishop is not going to remove you for one false step, is he,
+Christian? He cannot do that, can he?" pleaded the woman.
+
+"That is what I asked him," Christian answered. "And he handed me a
+type-written memorandum of what he called my record. It seems that for
+six months they have been spying upon me. Read it for yourself."
+
+Mrs. Goodheart took the paper and read, with trembling hands:
+
+"'January 1, 1898--wished Peggy Meguire a happy New Year.' Did you
+really, Christian?"
+
+"I don't remember doing so," sighed the Gloomster. "If I did, it must
+have been in sarcasm, for I hate Peggy Meguire, and I am sure I wish her
+nothing of the sort. I told the Bishop so, but all he would say was,
+'Read on.'"
+
+[Illustration: WISHED HER A HAPPY NEW-YEAR]
+
+"'February 23, 1898,'" Mrs. Goodheart continued, reading from the
+paper--"'took off his coat and wrapped it about the shivering form of a
+freezing woman.'
+
+"How very imprudent of you, Christian!" said his wife.
+
+"But the Bishop didn't know the circumstances," said Christian. "It was
+the subtlest kind of deviltry, not humanity, that prompted the act. If I
+hadn't given her my coat, the old lady would have frozen to death and
+been soon out of her misery. As it was, my wet coat saved her from an
+immediate surcease of sorrow, and, as I had foreseen, gave her muscular
+rheumatism of the most painful sort, from which she has suffered ever
+since."
+
+"You should have explained to the Bishop."
+
+"I did."
+
+"And what did he say?"
+
+"He said my methods were too damned artistic."
+
+"What?" cried Mrs. Goodheart. "The Bishop?"
+
+"Oh, well," said Christian, "words to that effect. He doesn't
+appreciate the subtleties of gloom distinction. What he looks for is
+sheer brutality. Might as well employ an out-and-out desperado for the
+work. I like to infuse a little art into my work. I've tried to bring
+Gloomsterism up to the level of an art, a science. Slapping a man in the
+face doesn't make him gloomy; it makes him mad. But subtlely infusing
+woe into his daily life, so that he doesn't know whence all his trouble
+comes--ah! that is the perfect flower of the Gloomster's work!"
+
+"H'm!" said Mrs. Goodheart. "That's well enough, Christian. If you are
+rich enough to consume your own product with profit, it's all right to
+be artistic; but if you are dependent on a salary, don't forget your
+consumer. What else have they against you?"
+
+"Read on, woman," said the Gloomster.
+
+"'April 1, 1898,'" the lady read. "'Gave a half-crown to a starving
+beggar.'"
+
+"That was another highly artistic act," said Christian. "I told the
+Bishop that I had given the coin to the beggar knowing it to be
+counterfeit, and hoping that he would be arrested for trying to pass it.
+The Bishop cut me short by saying that my hope had not been fulfilled.
+It seems that that ass of a beggar bought some food with the half-crown,
+and the grocer who sold him the food put the counterfeit half-crown in
+the contribution-box the next Sunday, and the Church was stuck. That's
+what I call hard luck."
+
+"Oh, well," returned Mrs. Goodheart, putting the paper down in despair.
+"There's no need to read further. That alone is sufficient to cause your
+downfall. When do you resign?"
+
+"At once," sighed Christian. "In fact, the Bishop had already written my
+resignation--which I signed."
+
+"And the land is without a Gloomster for the first time in five hundred
+years?" demanded Mrs. Goodheart.
+
+"No," said Christian, the tears coursing down his nose. "The place is
+filled already, and by one who knows gloom only theoretically--a mere
+summer resident of the Isle of Man. In short, a famous London author has
+succeeded me."
+
+"His name!" cried Mrs. Goodheart.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Just then," said Snobbe, "I awoke, and did not catch the author's name.
+It is a curious thing about dreams that just when you get to the crucial
+point you wake up."
+
+"I wonder who the deuce the chap could have been?" murmured the other
+diners. "Has any London author with a residence on the Isle of Man ever
+shown any acquaintance with gloom?"
+
+"I don't know for sure," said Billy Jones. "But my impression is that it
+must be the editor of _Punch_. What I am uncertain about is his
+residence on the Isle of Man. Otherwise I think he fills the bill."
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+THE DREAMERS DISCUSS A MAGAZINE POEM
+
+
+The pathetic tale of the Gloomster having been told and discussed, it
+turned out that Haarlem Bridge was the holder of the next ball in the
+sequence, the eighth. Haarley had been looking rather nervous all the
+evening, and two or three times he manifested some desire to withdraw
+from the scene. By order of the chairman, however, the precaution had
+been taken to lock all the doors, so that none of the Dreamers should
+escape, and, consequently, when the evil hour arrived, Haarley was
+perforce on hand.
+
+He rose up reluctantly, and, taking a single page of manuscript from his
+pocket, after a few preliminary remarks that were no more nor less
+coherent than the average after-dinner speech, read the following
+lines, which he termed a magazine poem:
+
+[Illustration: "'O ARGENT-BROWED SARCOPHAGUS'"]
+
+    "O argent-browed Sarcophagus,
+      That looms so through the ethered trees,
+    Why dost thou seem to those of us
+      Who drink the poisoned chalice on our knees
+    So distant and so empyrean,
+      So dour yet full of mystery?
+    Hast thou the oracle as yet unseen
+      To guide thy fell misogyny?
+
+    "Nay, let the spirit of the age
+      With all its mystic beauty stand
+    Translucent ever, aye, in spite the rage
+      Of Cossack and of Samarcand!
+    Thou art enough for any soul's desire!
+    Thou hast the beauty of cerulean fire!
+    But we who grovel on the damask earth
+    Are we despoilt of thy exigeant mirth?
+
+    "Canst listen to a prayer, Sarcophagus?
+    Indeed O art thou there, Sarcophagus?
+    What time the Philistine denies,
+    What time the raucous cynic cries,
+    Avaunt, yet spare! Let this thy motto be,
+    With thy thesaurian verbosity.
+    Nor think that I, a caterpillian worm,
+    Before thy glance should ever honk or squirm.
+
+    "'Tis but the stern condition of the poor
+    That panting brings me pottering at thy door,
+    To breathe of love and argent charity
+    For thee, for thee, iguanodonic thee!"
+
+"That's an excellent specimen of magazine poetry," said Billy Jones.
+"But I observe, Haarley, that you haven't given it a title. Perhaps if
+you gave it a title we might get at the mystery of its meaning. A title
+is a sort of Baedeker to the general run of magazine poems."
+
+Haarlem grew rather red of countenance as he answered, "Well, I didn't
+exactly like to give it the title I dreamed; it didn't seem to shed
+quite as much light on the subject as a title should."
+
+"Still, it may help," said Huddy Rivers. "I read a poem in a magazine
+the other day on 'Mystery.' And if it hadn't had a title I'd never have
+understood it. It ran this way:
+
+    "Life, what art thou? Whence springest thou?
+    The past, the future, or the now?
+    Whence comes thy lowering lunacy?
+    Whence comes thy mizzling mystery?
+    Hast thou a form, a shape, a lineament?
+    Hast thou a single seraph-eyed medicament
+    To ease our sorrow and our twitching woe?
+    Hast thou one laudable Alsatian glow
+    To compensate, commensurate, and condign
+    For all these dastard, sleekish qualms of mine?
+    Hast thou indeed an abject agate plot
+    To show that what exists is really not?
+    Or art thou just content to sit and say
+    Life's but a specious, coral roundelay?"
+
+"I committed the thing to memory because it struck me as being a good
+thing to remember--it was so full of good phrases. 'Twitching woe,' for
+instance, and 'sleekish qualms,'" he continued.
+
+"Quaking qualms would have been better," put in Tenafly Paterson, who
+judged poetry from an alliterative point of view.
+
+"Nevertheless, I liked sleekish qualms," retorted Huddy. "Quaking qualms
+might be more alliterative, but sleekish qualms is _less_ commonplace."
+
+"No doubt," said Tenafly. "I never had 'em myself, so I'll take your
+word for it. But what do you make out of 'coral roundelay'?"
+
+"Nothing at all," said Huddy. "I don't bother my head about 'coral
+roundelay' or 'seraph-eyed medicament.' I haven't wasted an atom of my
+gray matter on 'lowering lunacy' or 'agate plot' or 'mizzling mystery.'
+And all because the poet gave his poem a title. He called the thing
+'Mystery,' and when I had read it over half a dozen times I concluded
+that he was right; and if the thing remained a mystery to the author, I
+don't see why a reader should expect ever to be able to understand it."
+
+"Very logical conclusion, Huddy," said Billy Jones, approvingly. "If a
+poet chooses a name for his poem, you may make up your mind that there
+is good reason for it, and certainly the verses you have recited about
+the 'coral roundelay' are properly designated."
+
+"Well, I'd like to have the title of that yard of rhyme Haarlem Bridge
+just recited," put in Dobbs Ferry, scratching his head in bewilderment.
+"It strikes me as being quite as mysterious as Huddy's. What the deuce
+can a man mean by referring to an 'auburn-haired Sarcophagus'?"
+
+"It wasn't auburn-haired," expostulated Haarlem. "It was argent-browed."
+
+"Old Sarcophagus had nickel-plated eyebrows, Dobby," cried Tom Snobbe,
+forgetting himself for a moment.
+
+"Well, who the dickens was old Sarcophagus?" queried Dobby, unappeased.
+
+"He was one of the Egyptian kings, my dear boy," vouchsafed Billy Jones,
+exploding internally with mirth. "You've heard of Augustus Cæsar,
+haven't you?"
+
+"Yes," said Dobby.
+
+"Well," explained Billy Jones, "Sarcophagus occupied the same relation
+to the Egyptians that Augustus did to the Romans--in fact, the
+irreverent used to call him Sarcophagustus, instead of Sarcophagus,
+which was his real name. This poem of Haarley's is manifestly addressed
+to him."
+
+[Illustration: "SARCOPHAGUSTUS"]
+
+"Did he have nickel-plated eyebrows?" asked Bedfork Parke, satirically.
+
+"No," said Billy Jones. "As I remember the story of Sarcophagus as I
+read of him in college, he was a very pallid sort of a potentate--his
+forehead was white as marble. So they called him the Argent-browed
+Sarcophagus."
+
+"It's a good thing for us we have Billy Jones with us to tell us all
+these things," whispered Tom Snobbe to his brother Dick.
+
+"You bet your life," said Dick. "There's nothing, after all, like a
+classical education. I wish I'd known it while I was getting mine."
+
+"What's 'fell misogyny'?" asked Tenafly Paterson, who seemed to be
+somewhat enamoured of the phrase. "Didn't old Sarcophagus care for
+chemistry?"
+
+"Chemistry?" demanded the chairman.
+
+"That's what I said," said Tenny. "Isn't misogyny a chemical compound of
+metal and gas?"
+
+Tenny had been to the School of Mines for two weeks, and had retired
+because he didn't care for mathematics and the table at the college
+restaurant wasn't good.
+
+"I fancy you are thinking of heterophemy, which is an infusion of
+unorthodox gases into a solution of vocabulary particles," suggested
+Billy Jones, grasping his sides madly to keep them from shaking.
+
+"Oh yes," said Tenny, "of course. I remember now." Then he laughed
+somewhat, and added, "I always get misogyny and heterophemy mixed."
+
+"Who wouldn't?" cried Harry Snobbe. "I do myself! There's no chance to
+talk about either where I live," he added. "Half the people don't know
+what they mean. They're not very anthropological up my way."
+
+"What's a Samarcand?" asked Tenafly, again. "Haarley's poem speaks of
+Cossack and of Samarcand. Of course we all know that a Cossack is a
+garment worn by the Russian peasants, but I never heard of a Samarcand."
+
+"It's a thing to put about your neck," said Dick Snobbe. "They wear 'em
+in winter out in Siberia. I looked it up some years ago."
+
+"Let's take up 'cerulean fire,'" said Bedford Parke, Tenafly appearing
+to be satisfied with Snobbe's explanation.
+
+"What's 'cerulean fire'?"
+
+"Blue ruin," said Huddy.
+
+"And 'damask earth'?" said Bedford.
+
+"Easy," cried Huddy. "Even I can understand that. Did you never hear,
+Beddy, of painting a town red? That's damask earth in a small way. If
+you can paint a town red with your limited resources, what couldn't a
+god do with a godlike credit? As I understand the poem, old Sarcophagus
+comes down out of the cerulean fire, and goes in for a little damask
+earth. That's why the poet later says:
+
+    "'Canst listen to a prayer, Sarcophagus?
+    Indeed O art thou there, Sarcophagus?'
+
+He wanted to pray to him, but didn't know if he'd got back from damask
+earth yet."
+
+"You're a perfect wonder, Huddy," said Billy Jones. "As a
+thought-detector you are a beauty. I believe you'd succeed if you opened
+up a literary bureau somewhere and devoted your time to explaining
+Browning and Meredith and others to a mystified public."
+
+"'Tis an excellent idea," said Tom Snobbe. "I'd really rejoice to see
+certain modern British masterpieces translated into English, and, with
+headquarters in Boston, the institution ought to flourish. Do worms
+honk?"
+
+[Illustration: MR. BILLY JONES]
+
+"I never heard of any doing so," replied the chairman, "but in these
+days it is hardly safe to say that anything is impossible. If you have
+watched the development of the circus in the last five years--I mean the
+real circus, not the literary--you must have observed what an advance
+intellectually has been made by the various members of the animal
+kingdom. Elephants have been taught to sit at table and dine like
+civilized beings on things that aren't good for them; pigs have been
+educated so that, instead of evincing none but the more domestic
+virtues and staying contentedly at home, they now play poker with the
+sangfroid of a man about town; while the seal, a creature hitherto
+considered useful only in the production of sacques for our wives, and
+ear-tabs for our children, and mittens for our hired men, are now
+branching out as rivals to the college glee clubs, singing songs,
+playing banjoes, and raising thunder generally. Therefore it need
+surprise no one if a worm should learn to honk as high as any goose that
+ever honked. Anyhow, you can't criticise a poet for anything of that
+kind. His license permits him to take any liberties he may see fit with
+existing conditions."
+
+"All of which," observed Dick Snobbe, "is wandering from the original
+point of discussion. What is the meaning of Haarley's poem? I can't see
+that as yet we have reached a definite understanding on that point."
+
+"Well, I must confess," said Jones, "that I can't understand it myself;
+but I never could understand magazine poetry, so that doesn't prove
+anything. I'm only a newspaper man."
+
+"Let's have the title, Haarley," cried Tenafly Paterson. "Was it called
+'Life,' or 'Nerve Cells,' or what?"
+
+For a second Bridge's cheeks grew red.
+
+"Oh, well, if you must have it," he said, desperately, "here it is. It
+was called, 'A Thought on Hearing, While Visiting Gibraltar in June,
+1898, that the War Department at Washington Had Failed to Send Derricks
+to Cuba, Thereby Delaying the Landing of General Shafter Three Days and
+Giving Comfort to the Enemy.'"
+
+"Great Scott!" roared Dick Snobbe. "What a title!"
+
+"It is excellent," said Billy Jones. "I now understand the intent of the
+poem."
+
+"Which was--?" asked Rivers.
+
+"To supply a real hiatus in latter-day letters," Jones replied; "to give
+the public a war poem that would make them think, which is what a true
+war poem should do. Who has the ninth ball?"
+
+"I am the unfortunate holder of that," said Greenwich Place. "I'd just
+been reading Anthony Hope and Mr. Dooley. The result is a composite,
+which I will read."
+
+"What do you call it, Mr. Place?" asked the stenographer.
+
+"Well, I don't know," replied Greenwich. "I guess 'A Dooley Dialogue'
+about describes it."
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+DOLLY VISITS CHICAGO
+
+     _Being the substance of a Dooley dialogue dreamed by Greenwich
+     Place, Esq._
+
+
+"I must see him," said Dolly, rising suddenly from her chair and walking
+to the window. "I really must, you know."
+
+"Who?" I asked, rousing myself from the lethargy into which my morning
+paper had thrust me. It was not grammatical of me--I was somewhat under
+the influence of newspaper English--but Dolly is quick to understand.
+"Must see who?" I continued.
+
+"Who indeed?" cried Dolly, gazing at me in mock surprise. "How stupid of
+you! If I went to Rome and said I must see him, you'd know I must mean
+the Pope; if I went to Berlin and said I must see it, you'd know I
+meant the Emperor. Therefore, when I come to Chicago and say that I must
+see him, you ought to be able to guess that I mean--"
+
+"Mr. Dooley?" I ventured, at a guess.
+
+"Good for you!" cried Dolly, clapping her hands together joyously; and
+then she hummed bewitchingly, "The Boy Guessed Right the Very First
+Time," until I begged her to desist. When Dolly claps her hands and
+hums, she becomes a vision of loveliness that would give the most
+confirmed misogynist palpitation of the heart, and I had no wish to die.
+
+"Do you suppose I could call upon him without being thought too
+unconventional?" she blurted out in a moment.
+
+"You can do anything," said I, admiringly. "That is, with me to help," I
+added, for I should be sorry if Dolly were to grow conceited. "Perhaps
+it would be better to have Mr. Dooley call upon you. Suppose you send
+him your card, and put 'at home' on it? I fancy that would fetch him."
+
+"Happy thought!" said Dolly. "Only I haven't one. In the excitement of
+our elopement I forgot to get any. Suppose I write my name on a blank
+card and send it?"
+
+"Excellent," said I.
+
+And so it happened; the morning's mail took out an envelope addressed to
+Mr. Dooley, and containing a bit of pasteboard upon which was written,
+in the charming hand of Dolly:
+
+    Mrs. R. Dolly-Rassendyll.
+            At Home.
+         The Hippodorium.
+        Tuesday Afternoon.
+
+The response was gratifyingly immediate.
+
+The next morning Dolly's mail contained Mr. Dooley's card, which read as
+follows:
+
+[Illustration: "'I MUST SEE HIM,' SAID DOLLY"]
+
+          Mr. Dooley.
+           At Work.
+    Every Day.      Archie Road.
+
+"Which means?" said Dolly, tossing the card across the table to me.
+
+"That if you want to see Dooley you'll have to call upon him at his
+place of business. It's a saloon, I believe," I observed. "Or a
+club--most American saloons are clubs, I understand."
+
+"I wonder if there's a ladies' day there?" laughed Dolly. "If there
+isn't, perhaps I'd better not."
+
+And I of course agreed, for when Dolly thinks perhaps she'd better not,
+I always agree with her, particularly when the thing is a trifle
+unconventional.
+
+"I am sorry," she said, as we reached the conclusion. "To visit Chicago
+without meeting Mr. Dooley strikes me as like making the Mediterranean
+trip without seeing Gibraltar."
+
+But we were not to be disappointed, after all, for that afternoon who
+should call but the famous philosopher himself, accompanied by his
+friend Mr. Hennessey. They were ushered into our little parlor, and
+Dolly received them radiantly.
+
+"Iv coorse," said Dooley, "I hatter come t' see me new-found cousin.
+Hennessey here says, he says, 'She ain't yer cousin,' he says; but whin
+I read yer car-r-rd over th' second time, an' see yer na-a-ame was R.
+Dooley-Rassendyll, wid th' hifalution betwixt th' Dooley an' th'
+Rassendyll, I says, 'Hennessey,' I says, 'that shmall bit iv a coupler
+in that na-a-ame means only wan thing,' I says. 'Th' la-ady,' I says,
+'was born a Dooley, an' 's prood iv it,' I says, 'as she'd ought to be,'
+I says. 'Shure enough,' says Hennessey; 'but they's Dooleys an'
+Dooleys,' he says. 'Is she Roscommon or Idunnaw?' he says. 'I dinnaw
+meself,' I says, 'but whichiver she is,' I says, 'I'm goin' to see her,'
+I says. 'Anny wan that can feel at home in a big hotel like the
+Hippojorium,' I says, 'is wort' lookin' at, if only for the curawsity
+of it,' I says. Are ye here for long?"
+
+"We are just passing through," said Dolly, with a pleased smile.
+
+"It's a gud pla-ace for that," said Dooley. "Thim as pass troo Chicago
+ginerally go awaa pleased, an' thim as stays t'ink it's th' only pla-ace
+in th' worruld, gud luk to 'em! for, barrin' Roscommon an' New York,
+it's th' only pla-ace I have anny use for. Is yer hoosband anny relation
+t' th' dood in the _Prizner iv Cinders_?"
+
+I laughed quietly, but did not resent the implication. I left Dolly to
+her fate.
+
+"He is the very same person," said Dolly.
+
+"I t'ought as much," said Dooley, eying me closely. "Th' strorberry mark
+on his hair sort of identified him," he added. "Cousin Roopert, I ta-ak
+ye by the hand. Ye was a bra-ave lad in th' first book, an' a dom'd fool
+in th' second; but I read th' second first, and th' first lasht, so whin
+I left ye ye was all right. I t'ought ye was dead?"
+
+"No," said I. "I am only dead in the sense that Mr. Hope has no further
+use for me."
+
+"A wise mon, that Mr. Ant'ny Hawp," said Dooley. "Whin I write me book,"
+he continued, "I'm goin' t' shtop short whin folks have had enough."
+
+"Oh, indeed!" cried Dolly, enthusiastically. "Are you writing a book,
+Mr. Dooley? I am so glad."
+
+"Yis," said Dooley, deprecatingly, yet pleased by Dolly's enthusiasm.
+"I'm half finished already. That is to say, I've made th'
+illusthrations. An' the publishers have accepted the book on th'
+stringth iv them."
+
+"Really?" said Dolly. "Do you really draw?"
+
+"Nawm," said Dooley. "I niver drew a picture in me life."
+
+"He draws corks," put in Hennessey. "He's got a pull that bates--"
+
+"Hennessey," interrupted Mr. Dooley, "since whin have ye been me
+funnygraph? Whin me cousin ashks me riddles, I'll tell her th' answers.
+G' down-shtairs an' get a cloob san'wich an' ate yourself to death.
+Char-rge it to--er--char-rge it to Misther Rassendyll here--me cousin
+Roop, be marritch. He looks liks a soft t'ing."
+
+Hennessey subsided and showed an inclination to depart, and I, not
+liking to see a well-meaning person thus sat upon, tried to be pleasant
+to him.
+
+"Don't go just yet, Mr. Hennessey," said I. "I should like to talk to
+you."
+
+"Mr. Rassendyll," he replied, "I'm not goin' just yet, but an invitation
+to join farces with one iv the Hippojorium's cloob sandwhiches is too
+much for me. I must accept. Phwat is the noomber iv your shweet?"
+
+I gave him the number, and Hennessey departed. Before he went, however,
+he comforted me somewhat by saying that he too was "a puppit in th'
+han's iv an auter. Ye've got to do," said he, "whativer ye're sint t'
+do. I'm told ye've killed a million Germans--bless ye!--but ye're
+nawthin' but a facthory hand afther all. I'm th' background iv Dooley.
+If Dooley wants to be smar-rt, I've got t' play th' fool. It's the same
+with you; only you've had yer chance at a printcess, later on pla-acin'
+the la-ady in a 'nonymous p'sition--which is enough for anny man, Dooley
+or no Dooley."
+
+Hennessey departed in search of his club sandwich, which was
+subsequently alluded to in my bill, and for which I paid with pleasure,
+for Hennessey is a good fellow. I then found myself listening to the
+conversation between Dolly and Dooley.
+
+"Roscommon, of course," Dolly was saying. What marvellous adaptability
+that woman has! "How could you think, my dear cousin, that I belonged to
+the farmer Dooleys?"
+
+"I t'ought as much," said Mr. Dooley, genially, "now that I've seen ye.
+Whin you put th' wor-rds 'at home' on yer car-rd, I had me doots. No
+Dooley iv th' right sor-rt iver liked annyt'ing a landlord gave him; an'
+whin y' expreshed satisfaction wid th' Hippojorium, I didn't at first
+t'ink ye was a true Dooley. Since I've seen ye, I love ye properly,
+ma'am--like th' cousin I am. I've read iv ye, just as I've read iv yer
+hoosband, Cousin Roopert here be marritch, in th' biojographies of Mr.
+Ant'ny Hawp, an' while I cudn't help likin' ye, I must say I didn't
+t'ink ye was very deep on th' surface, an' when I read iv your elopin'
+with Cousin Roop, I says to Hennessey, I says, 'Hennessey,' I says,
+'that's all right, they'd bote iv 'em better die, but let us not be
+asashinators,' I says; 'let 'em be joined in marritch. That's punishment
+enough,' I says to Hennessey. Ye see, Miss Dooley, I have been marrit
+meself."
+
+"But I have found married life far from punishment," I heard Dolly say.
+"I fear you're a sad pessimist, Mr. Dooley," she added.
+
+"I'm not," Mr. Dooley replied. "I'm a Jimmycrat out an' out, if ye refer
+to me politics; but if your remark is a reflection on me religion, let
+me tell ye, ma'am, that, like all me countrymen in this beautiful land,
+I'm a Uni-tarrian, an' prood iv it."
+
+I ventured to interpose at this point.
+
+"Dooley," said I, "your cousin Roop, as you call him, is very glad to
+meet you, whatever your politics or your religion."
+
+"Mosht people are," said he, dryly.
+
+"That shows good taste," said I. "But how about your book? It has been
+accepted on the strength of its illustrations, you say. How about them?
+Can we see them anywhere? Are they on exhibition?"
+
+"You can not only see thim, but you can drink 'em free anny time you
+come out to Archie Road," Dooley replied, cordially.
+
+"Drink--a picture?" I asked.
+
+[Illustration: "'KAPE YOUR HOOSBAND HOME'"]
+
+"Yis," said Dooley. "Didn't ye iver hear iv dhrinkin' in a picture,
+Cousin Roopert? Didn't ye hear th' tark about th' 'Angelus' whin 'twas
+here? Ye cud hear th' bells ringin' troo th' paint iv it. Ye cud almost
+hear th' couple in front just back iv th' varnish quar'lin as t'whether
+'twas th' Angelus er the facthery bell that was goin' off. 'Twas big
+an' little felt th' inflooance iv Misther Miller's jaynius, just be
+lukin' at ut--though as fer me, th' fir-rst time I see the t'ing I says,
+says I, 'Is ut lukin' for bait to go fishin' with they are?' I says.
+'Can't ye hear the pealin' iv the bells?' says Hennessey, who was with
+me. 'That an' more,' I says. 'I can hear the pealin' o' th' petayties,'
+I says. 'Do ye dhrink in th' feelin' iv it?' says Hennessey. 'Naw, t'ank
+ye,' I says. 'I'm not thirsty,' I says. 'Besides, I've swore off
+dhrinkin' ile-paintin's,' I says. 'Wathercoolers is gud enough fer me,'
+I says. An' wid that we wint back to the Road. But that was th' fir-rst
+time I iver heard iv dhrinkin' a work iv ar-rt."
+
+"But some of the things you--ah--you Americans drink," put in Dolly,
+"are works of art, my dear Mr. Dooley. Your cousin Rupert gave me a
+cocktail at dinner last night--"
+
+"Ye've hit ut, Miss Dooley," returned the philosopher, with a beautiful
+enthusiasm. "Ye've hit ut square. I see now y're a thrue Dooley. An'
+wid yer kind permission I'll dedicate me book to ye. Ut's cocktails that
+book's about, ma'am. _Fifty Cocktails I Have Met_ is th' na-ame iv ut.
+An' whin I submitted th' mannyscrip' wid th' illusthrations to the
+publisher, he dhrank 'em all, an' he says, 'Dooley,' he says, 'ut's a
+go. I'll do yer book,' he says, 'an' I'll pay ye wan hoondred an'
+siventy-five per cent.,' he says. 'Set 'em up again, Dooley,' he says;
+an' I mixed 'em. 'I t'ink, Dooley,' he says, afther goin' troo th'
+illusthrations th' second toime--'I t'ink,' he says, 'ye'd ought to get
+two hoondred an' wan per cent. on th' retail price iv th' book,' he
+says. 'Can't I take a bottle iv these illusthrations to me office?' he
+says. 'I'd like to look 'em over,' he says; an' I mixed 'im up a quar-rt
+iv th' illusthrations to th' chapther on th' Mar-rtinney, an' sent him
+back to his partner in th' ambylanch."
+
+[Illustration: MIXING ILLUSTRATIONS]
+
+"I shall look forward to the publication of your book with much
+interest, Mr. Dooley," said Dolly. "Now that I have discovered our
+cousinship, I am even more interested in you than I was before; and let
+me tell you that, before I met you, I thought of you as the most vital
+figure in American humor that has been produced in many years."
+
+"I know nothin' iv American humor," said Dooley, "for I haven't met anny
+lately, an' I know nothin' iv victuals save what I ate, an' me appytite
+is as satisfoid wid itself as Hobson is wid th' kisses brawt onto him by
+th' sinkin' iv th' Merrimickinley. But for you an' Misther Rassendyll,
+ma'am, I've nothin' but good wishes an' ah--illusthrations to me book
+whenever ye give yer orders. Kape your hoosband home, Miss Dooley," he
+added. "He's scrapped wanst too often already wi' th' Ruraltarriers, an'
+he's been killed off wanst by Mr. Ant'ny Hawp; but he'll niver die if ye
+only kape him home. If he goes out he'll git fightin' agin. If he
+attimpts a sayquil to the sayquil, he's dead sure enough!"
+
+And with this Dolly and Dooley parted.
+
+For myself, Rupert Rassendyll, I think Dooley's advice was good, and as
+long as Dolly will keep me home, I'll stay. For is it not better to be
+the happy husband of Dolly of the Dialogues, than to be going about like
+a knight of the Middle Ages clad in the evening dress of the nineteenth
+century, doing impossible things?
+
+As for Dooley's impression of Dolly, I can only quote what I heard he
+had said after meeting her.
+
+"She's a Dooley sure," said he, being novel to compliment. And I am glad
+she is, for despite the charms of Flavia of pleasant memory, there's
+nobody like Dolly for me, and if Dolly can only be acknowledged by the
+Dooleys, her fame, I am absolutely confident, is assured.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+IN WHICH YELLOW JOURNALISM CREEPS IN
+
+
+The applause which followed the reading of the Dooley Dialogue showed
+very clearly that, among the diners at least, neither Dooley nor Dolly
+had waned in popularity. If the dilution, the faint echo of the
+originals, evoked such applause, how potent must have been the genius of
+the men who first gave life to Dooley and the fair Dolly!
+
+"That's good stuff, Greenwich," said Billie Jones. "You must have eaten
+a particularly digestible meal. Now for the tenth ball. Who has it?"
+
+"I," said Dick Snobbe, rising majestically from his chair. "And I can
+tell you what it is; I had a tough time of it in my dream, as you will
+perceive when I recite to you the story of my experiences at the battle
+of Manila."
+
+"Great Scott, Dick!" cried Bedford Parke. "You weren't in that, were
+you?"
+
+"Sir," returned Dick, "I was not only _in_ it, I was the thing itself. I
+was the war correspondent of the Sunday _Whirnal_, attached to Dewey's
+fleet."
+
+Whereupon the talented Mr. Snobbe proceeded to read the following cable
+despatch from the special correspondent of the _Whirnal_:
+
+  MANILA FALLS
+  THE SPANISH FLEET DESTROYED
+  THE SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT OF THE _WHIRNAL_
+  AIDED BY COMMODORE DEWEY AND HIS FLEET
+  CAPTURES THE PHILIPPINES
+
+[Illustration: THE SHIP'S BARBER AT WORK]
+
+MANILA, _May 1, 1898_.--I have glorious news. I have this day destroyed
+the Spanish fleet and captured the Philippine Islands. According to my
+instructions from the City Editor of the _Whirnal_, I boarded the
+_Olympia_, the flag-ship of the fleet under Commodore Dewey at
+Hong-kong, on Wednesday last. Upon reading my credentials the Commodore
+immediately surrendered the command of the fleet to me, and retired to
+his state-room, where he has since remained. I deemed it well to keep
+him there until after the battle was over, fearing lest he should annoy
+me with suggestions, and not knowing but that he might at any time
+spread dissension among the officers and men, who, after the habit of
+seamen, frequently manifest undue affection and sympathy for a deposed
+commander. I likewise, according to your wishes, concealed from the
+officers and crew the fact that the Commodore had been deposed,
+furthering the concealment by myself making up as Dewey. Indeed, it was
+not until after the battle this morning that any but Dewey and the
+ship's barber were aware of the substitution, since my disguise was
+perfect. The ship's barber I had to take into my confidence, for
+unfortunately on leaving Hong-kong I had forgotten to provide myself
+with a false mustache, so that in concealing the deposition of the
+Commodore by myself assuming his personality I was compelled to have the
+gentleman's mustache removed from his upper lip and transferred to my
+own. This the barber did with neatness and despatch, I having first
+chloroformed the Commodore, from whom some resistance might have been
+expected, owing to his peculiar temperament. Fortunately the fellow was
+an expert wig-maker, and within an hour of the shaving of Dewey I was
+provided with a mustache which could not fail to be recognized as the
+Commodore's, since it was indeed that very same object. When five
+hundred miles at sea I dropped the barber overboard, fearing lest he
+should disturb my plans by talking too much. I hated to do it, but in
+the interest of the _Whirnal_ I hold life itself as of little
+consequence, particularly if it is the life of some one else--and who
+knows but the poor fellow was an expert swimmer, and has by this time
+reached Borneo or some other bit of dry land? He was alive when I last
+saw him, and yelling right lustily. If it so happen that he has swum
+ashore somewhere, kindly let me know at your convenience; for beneath a
+correspondent's exterior I have a warm heart, and it sometimes troubles
+me to think that the poor fellow may have foundered, since the sea was
+stressful and the nearest dry point was four hundred and sixty knots
+away to S.E. by N.G., while the wind was blowing N.W. by N.Y.C. & H.R.R.
+But to my despatch.
+
+Dewey done for, despoiled of his mustache and rifled of his place, with
+a heavy sea running and a dense fog listing to starboard, I summoned my
+officers to the flag-ship, and, on the evening of April 30th, the
+fog-horns of Cavité having indicated the approach of the Philippine
+coast, gave them, one and all, their final instructions. These were, in
+brief, never to do anything without consulting with me.
+
+"To facilitate matters, gentlemen," said I, ordering an extra supply of
+grog for the captains, and milk punches for the lieutenants, "we must
+connect the various vessels of the fleet with telephone wires. Who will
+undertake this perilous duty?"
+
+They rose up as one man, and, with the precision of a grand-opera
+chorus, replied: "Commodore"--for they had not penetrated my
+disguise--"call upon us. If you will provide the wires and the 'phones,
+we will do the rest." And they followed these patriotic words with
+cheers for me.
+
+Their heroism so affected me that I had difficulty in frowning upon the
+head-butler's suggestion that my glass should be filled again.
+
+"Gentlemen," said I, huskily--for I was visibly affected--"I have
+provided for all. I could not do otherwise and remain myself. You will
+find ten thousand miles of wire and sixty-six telephones in the larder."
+
+That night every ship in the fleet was provided with telephone service.
+I appointed the _Olympia_ to be the central office, so that I might
+myself control all the messages, or at least hear them as they passed to
+and fro. In the absence of ladies from the fleet, I appointed a somewhat
+effeminate subaltern to the post of "Hello Officer," with complete
+control over the switch-board. And, as it transpired, this was a very
+wise precaution, because the central office was placed in the hold, and
+the poor little chap's courage was so inclined to ooze that in the midst
+of the fight he was content to sit below the water-line at his post, and
+not run about the promenade-deck giving orders while under fire. I have
+cabled the President about him, and have advised his promotion. His
+heroic devotion to the switch-board ought to make him a naval attaché to
+some foreign court, at least. I trust his bravery will ultimately result
+in his being sent to the Paris Exposition as charge d'affaires in the
+Erie Canal department of the New York State exhibit.
+
+But to return to my despatch--which from this point must disregard
+space and move quickly. Passing Cape Bolinao, we soon reached Subig Bay,
+fifty miles from Manila. Recognizing the cape by the crop of hemp on its
+brow, I rang up the _Boston_ and the _Concord_.
+
+"Search Subig Bay," I ordered.
+
+"Who's this?" came the answer from the other end.
+
+"Never mind who I am," said I. "Search Subig Bay for Spaniards."
+
+"Hello!" said the _Boston_.
+
+"Who the deuce are you?" cried the _Concord_.
+
+"I'm seventeen-five-six," I replied, with some sarcasm, for that was not
+my number.
+
+"I want sixteen-two-one," retorted the _Boston_.
+
+"Ring off," said the _Concord_. "What do you mean by giving me
+seventeen-five-six?"
+
+"Hello, _Boston_ and _Concord_," I put in in commanding tones. "I'm
+Dewey."
+
+This is the only false statement I ever made, but it was in the
+interests of my country, and my reply was electrical in its effect. The
+_Boston_ immediately blew off steam, and the _Concord_ sounded all hands
+to quarters.
+
+"What do you want, Commodore?" they asked simultaneously.
+
+"Search Subig Bay for Spaniards, as I have already ordered you," I
+replied, "and woe be unto you if you don't find any."
+
+"What do you want 'em for, Commodore?" asked the _Boston_.
+
+"To engage, you idiot," I replied, scornfully. "What did you suppose--to
+teach me Spanish?"
+
+Both vessels immediately piped all hands on deck and set off. Two hours
+later they returned, and the telephone subaltern reported, "No Spaniards
+found."
+
+"Why not?" I demanded.
+
+"All gone to Cuba," replied the _Boston_. "Shall we pipe all hands to
+Cuba?"
+
+"Wires too short to penetrate without a bust," replied the _Concord_.
+
+"On to Manila!" was my answer. "Ding the torpedoes--go ahead! Give us
+Spaniards or give us death!"
+
+These words inspired every ship in the line, and we immediately strained
+forward, except the _McCulloch_, which I despatched at once to Hong-kong
+to cable my last words to you in time for the Adirondack edition of your
+Sunday issue leaving New York Thursday afternoon.
+
+The rest of us immediately proceeded. In a short while, taking advantage
+of the darkness for which I had provided by turning the clock back so
+that the sun by rising at the usual hour should not disclose our
+presence, we turned Corregidor and headed up the Boca Grande towards
+Manila. As we were turning Corregidor the telephone-bell rang, and
+somebody who refused to give his name, but stating that he was aboard
+the _Petrel_, called me up.
+
+"Hello!" said I.
+
+"Is this Dewey?" said the _Petrel_.
+
+"Yes," said I.
+
+"There are torpedoes ahead," said the _Petrel_.
+
+"What of it?" said I.
+
+"How shall we treat 'em?"
+
+"Blow 'em off--to soda water," I answered, sarcastically.
+
+"Thank you, sir," the _Petrel_ replied, as she rang off.
+
+Then somebody from the _Baltimore_ rang me up.
+
+"Commodore Dewey," said the _Baltimore_, "there are mines in the
+harbor."
+
+"Well, what of it?" I replied.
+
+"What shall we do?" asked the _Baltimore_.
+
+"Treat them coldly, as they do in the Klondike," said I.
+
+"But they aren't gold-mines," replied the _Baltimore_.
+
+"Then salt 'em," said I, dryly. "Apply for a certificate of
+incorporation, water your stock, sell out, and retire."
+
+"Thank you, Commodore," the _Baltimore_ answered. "How many shares shall
+we put you down for?"
+
+"None," said I. "But if you'll use your surplus to start a
+life-insurance company, I'll take out a policy for forty-eight hours,
+and send you my demand note to pay for the first premium."
+
+I mention this merely to indicate to your readers that I felt myself in
+a position of extreme peril, and did not forget my obligations to my
+family. It is a small matter, but if you will search the pages of
+history you will see that in the midst of the greatest dangers the
+greatest heroes have thought of apparently insignificant details.
+
+At this precise moment we came in sight of the fortresses of Manila.
+Signalling the _Raleigh_ to heave to, I left the flag-ship and jumped
+aboard the cruiser, where I discharged with my own hand the
+after-forecastle four-inch gun. The shot struck Corregidor, and,
+glancing off, as I had designed, caromed on the smoke-stack of the
+_Reina Cristina_, the flag-ship of Admiral Montojo. The Admiral,
+unaccustomed to such treatment, immediately got out of bed, and,
+putting on his pajamas, appeared on the bridge.
+
+[Illustration: A CLEVER CAROM]
+
+"Who smoked our struck-stack?" he demanded, in broken English.
+
+"The enemy," cried his crew, with some nervousness. I was listening to
+their words through the megaphone.
+
+"Then let her sink," said he, clutching his brow sadly with his clinched
+fist. "Far be it from me to stay afloat in Manila Bay on the 1st of May,
+and so cast discredit on history!"
+
+The _Reina Cristina_ immediately sank, according to the orders of the
+Admiral, and I turned my attention to the _Don Juan de Austria_. Rowing
+across the raging channel to the _Baltimore_, I boarded her and pulled
+the lanyard of the port boom forty-two. The discharge was terrific.
+
+"What has happened?" I asked, coolly, as the explosion exploded. "Did we
+hit her?"
+
+"We did, your honor," said the Bo's'n's mate, "square in the eye; only,
+Commodore, it ain't a her this time--it's a him. It's the _Don Juan
+de_--"
+
+"Never mind the sex," I cried. "Has she sank?"
+
+"No, sir," replied the Bo's'n's mate, "she 'ain't sank yet. She's
+a-waiting orders."
+
+"Fly signals to sink," said I, sternly, for I had resolved that she
+should go down.
+
+They did so, and the _Don Juan de Austria_ immediately disappeared
+beneath the waves. Her commander evidently realized that I meant what I
+signalled.
+
+"Are there any more of the enemy afloat?" I demanded, jumping from the
+deck of the _Baltimore_ to that of the _Concord_.
+
+"No, Commodore," replied the captain of the latter.
+
+"Then signal the enemy to charter two more gunboats and have 'em sent
+out. I can't be put off with two boats when I'm ready to sink four," I
+replied.
+
+[Illustration: SINKING THE _CASTILLA_]
+
+The _Concord_ immediately telephoned to the Spanish commandant at the
+Manila Café de la Paix, who as quickly chartered the _Castilla_ and
+the _Velasco_--two very good boats that had recently come in in ballast
+with the idea of loading up with bananas and tobacco.
+
+While waiting for these vessels to come out and be sunk, I ordered all
+hands to breakfast, thus reviving their falling courage. It was a very
+good breakfast, too. We had mush and hominy and potatoes in every style,
+beefsteak, chops, liver and bacon, chicken hash, buckwheat cakes and
+fish-balls, coffee, tea, rolls, toast, and brown bread.
+
+Just as we were eating the latter the _Castilla_ and _Velasco_ came out.
+I fired my revolver at the _Castilla_ and threw a fish-ball at the
+_Velasco_. Both immediately burst into flames.
+
+Manila was conquered.
+
+The fleet gone, the city fell. It not only fell, but slid, and by
+nightfall Old Glory waved over the citadel.
+
+The foe was licked.
+
+To-morrow I am to see Dewey again.
+
+I think I shall resign to-night.
+
+     P.S.--Please send word to the magazines that all articles by Dewey
+     must be written by Me. Terms, $500 per word. The strain has been
+     worth it.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+THE MYSTERY OF PINKHAM'S DIAMOND STUD
+
+     _Being the tale told by the holder of the eleventh ball,
+     Mr. Fulton Streete_
+
+
+"It is the little things that tell in detective work, my dear Watson,"
+said Sherlock Holmes as we sat over our walnuts and coffee one bitter
+winter night shortly before his unfortunate departure to Switzerland,
+whence he never returned.
+
+"I suppose that is so," said I, pulling away upon the very excellent
+stogie which mine host had provided--one made in Pittsburg in 1885, and
+purchased by Holmes, whose fine taste in tobacco had induced him to lay
+a thousand of these down in his cigar-cellar for three years, and then
+keep them in a refrigerator, overlaid with a cloth soaked in Château
+Yquem wine for ten. The result may be better imagined than described.
+Suffice it to say that my head did not recover for three days, and the
+ash had to be cut off the stogie with a knife. "I suppose so, my dear
+Holmes," I repeated, taking my knife and cutting three inches of the
+stogie off and casting it aside, furtively, lest he should think I did
+not appreciate the excellence of the tobacco, "but it is not given to
+all of us to see the little things. Is it, now?"
+
+"Yes," he said, rising and picking up the rejected portion of the
+stogie. "We all see everything that goes on, but we don't all know it.
+We all hear everything that goes on, but we are not conscious of the
+fact. For instance, at this present moment there is somewhere in this
+world a man being set upon by assassins and yelling lustily for help.
+Now his yells create a certain atmospheric disturbance. Sound is merely
+vibration, and, once set going, these vibrations will run on and on and
+on in ripples into the infinite--that is, they will never stop, and
+sooner or later these vibrations must reach our ears. We may not know it
+when they do, but they will do so none the less. If the man is in the
+next room, we will hear the yells almost simultaneously--not quite, but
+almost--with their utterance. If the man is in Timbuctoo, the vibrations
+may not reach us for a little time, according to the speed with which
+they travel. So with sight. Sight seems limited, but in reality it is
+not. _Vox populi, vox Dei_. If _vox_, why not _oculus_? It is a simple
+proposition, then, that the eye of the people being the eye of God, the
+eye of God being all-seeing, therefore the eye of the people is
+all-seeing--Q. E. D."
+
+I gasped, and Holmes, cracking a walnut, gazed into the fire for a
+moment.
+
+"It all comes down, then," I said, "to the question, who are the
+people?"
+
+Holmes smiled grimly. "All men," he replied, shortly; "and when I say
+all men, I mean all creatures who can reason."
+
+"Does that include women?" I asked.
+
+"Certainly," he said. "Indubitably. The fact that women _don't_ reason
+does not prove that they can't. I _can_ go up in a balloon if I wish to,
+but I _don't_. I _can_ read an American newspaper comic supplement, but
+I _don't_. So it is with women. Women can reason, and therefore they
+have a right to be included in the classification whether they do or
+don't."
+
+"Quite so," was all I could think of to say at the moment. The
+extraordinary logic of the man staggered me, and I again began to
+believe that the famous mathematician who said that if Sherlock Holmes
+attempted to prove that five apples plus three peaches made four pears,
+he would not venture to dispute his conclusions, was wise. (This was the
+famous Professor Zoggenhoffer, of the Leipsic School of Moral Philosophy
+and Stenography.--ED.)
+
+"Now you agree, my dear Watson," he said, "that I have proved that we
+see everything?"
+
+"Well--" I began.
+
+"Whether we are conscious of it or not?" he added, lighting the gas-log,
+for the cold was becoming intense.
+
+"From that point of view, I suppose so--yes," I replied, desperately.
+
+"Well, then, this being granted, consciousness is all that is needed to
+make us fully informed on any point."
+
+"No," I said, with some positiveness. "The American people are very
+conscious, but I can't say that generally they are well-informed."
+
+I had an idea this would knock him out, as the Bostonians say, but
+counted without my host. He merely laughed.
+
+"The American is only self-conscious. Therefore he is well-informed only
+as to self," he said.
+
+"You've proved your point, Sherlock," I said. "Go on. What else have you
+proved?"
+
+"That it is the little things that tell," he replied. "Which all men
+would realize in a moment if they could see the little things--and when
+I say 'if they could see,' I of course mean if they could be conscious
+of them."
+
+"Very true," said I.
+
+"And I have the gift of consciousness," he added.
+
+I thought he had, and I said so. "But," I added, "give me a concrete
+example." It had been some weeks since I had listened to any of his
+detective stories, and I was athirst for another.
+
+He rose up and walked over to his pigeon-holes, each labelled with a
+letter, in alphabetical sequence.
+
+"I have only to refer to any of these to do so," he said. "Choose your
+letter."
+
+"Really, Holmes," said I, "I don't need to do that. I'll believe all you
+say. In fact, I'll write it up and _sign my name_ to any statement you
+choose to make."
+
+[Illustration: THE LAMP-POSTS WERE TWISTED]
+
+"Choose your letter, Watson," he retorted. "You and I are on terms that
+make flattery impossible. Is it F, J, P, Q, or Z?"
+
+He fixed his eye penetratingly upon me. It seemed for the moment as if I
+were hypnotized, and as his gaze fairly stabbed me with its intensity,
+through my mind there ran the suggestion "Choose J, choose J, choose J."
+To choose J became an obsession. To relieve my mind, I turned my eye
+from his and looked at the fire. Each flame took on the form of the
+letter J. I left my chair and walked to the window and looked out. The
+lamp-posts were twisted into the shape of the letter J. I returned, sat
+down, gulped down my brandy-and-soda, and looked up at the portraits of
+Holmes's ancestors on the wall. They were all J's. But I was resolved
+never to yield, and I gasped out, desperately,
+
+"Z!"
+
+"Thanks," he said, calmly. "Z be it. I thought you would. Reflex
+hypnotism, my dear Watson, is my forte. If I wish a man to choose Q, B
+takes hold upon him. If I wish him to choose K, A fills his mind. Have
+you ever observed how the mind of man repels a suggestion and flees to
+something else, merely that it may demonstrate its independence of
+another mind? Now I have been suggesting J to you, and you have chosen
+Z--"
+
+"You misunderstood me," I cried, desperately. "I did not say Z; I said
+P."
+
+"Quite so," said he, with an inward chuckle. "P was the letter I wished
+you to choose. If you had insisted upon Z, I should really have been
+embarrassed. See!" he added. He removed the green-ended box that rested
+in the pigeon-hole marked Z, and, opening it, disclosed an emptiness.
+
+"I've never had a Z case. But P," he observed, quietly, "is another
+thing altogether."
+
+Here he took out the box marked P from the pigeon-hole, and, opening it,
+removed the contents--a single paper which was carefully endorsed, in
+his own handwriting, "The Mystery of Pinkham's Diamond Stud."
+
+"You could not have selected a better case, Watson," he said, as he
+unfolded the paper and scanned it closely. "One would almost think you
+had some pre-vision of the fact."
+
+"I am not aware," said I, "that you ever told the story of Pinkham's
+diamond stud. Who was Pinkham, and what kind of a diamond stud was
+it--first-water or Rhine?"
+
+"Pinkham," Holmes rejoined, "was an American millionaire, living during
+business hours at Allegheny City, Pennsylvania, where he had to wear a
+brilliant stud to light him on his way through the streets, which are so
+dark and sooty that an ordinary search-light would not suffice. In his
+leisure hours, however, he lived at the Hotel Walledup-Hysteria, in New
+York, where he likewise had to wear the same diamond stud to keep him
+from being a marked man. Have you ever visited New York, Watson?"
+
+"No," said I.
+
+"Well, when you do, spend a little of your time at the
+Walledup-Hysteria. It is a hotel with a population larger than that of
+most cities, with streets running to and from all points of the compass;
+where men and women eat under conditions that Lucullus knew nothing of;
+where there is a carpeted boulevard on which walk all sorts and
+conditions of men; where one pays one's bill to the dulcet strains of a
+string orchestra that woo him into a blissful forgetfulness of its size;
+and where, by pressing a button in the wall, you may summon a grand
+opera, or a porter who on request will lend you enough money to enable
+you and your family to live the balance of your days in comfort. In
+America men have been known to toil for years to amass a fortune for the
+one cherished object of spending a week in this Olympian spot, and then
+to be content to return to their toil and begin life anew, rich only in
+the memory of its luxuries. It was here that I spent my time when, some
+years ago, I went to the United States to solve the now famous Piano
+Case. You will remember how sneak thieves stole a grand piano from the
+residence of one of New York's first families, while the family was
+dining in the adjoining room. While in the city, and indeed at the very
+hotel in which I stopped, and which I have described, Pinkham's diamond
+stud disappeared, and, hearing that I was a guest at the
+Walledup-Hysteria, the owner appealed to me to recover it for him. I
+immediately took the case in hand. Drastic questioning of Pinkham showed
+that beyond all question he had lost the stud in his own apartment. He
+had gone down to dinner, leaving it on the centre-table, following the
+usual course of most millionaires, to whom diamonds are of no particular
+importance. Pinkham wanted this one only because of its associations.
+Its value, $80,000, was a mere bagatelle in his eyes.
+
+"Now of course, if he positively left it on the table, it must have been
+taken by some one who had entered the room. Investigation proved that
+the maid, a valet, a fellow-millionaire from Chicago, and Pinkham's
+children had been the only ones to do this. The maid and the valet were
+above suspicion. Their fees from guests were large enough to place them
+beyond the reach of temptation. I questioned them closely, and they
+convinced me at once of their innocence by conducting me through the
+apartments of other guests wherein tiaras of diamonds and necklaces of
+pearls--ropes in very truth--rubies, turquoise, and emerald ornaments of
+priceless value, were scattered about in reckless profusion.
+
+"'D' yez t'ink oi'd waste me toime on an eighty-t'ousand-dollar shtood,
+wid all dhis in soight and moine for the thrubble uv swipin' ut?" said
+the French maid.
+
+[Illustration: HOLMES IN DISGUISE INTERVIEWS WATTLES]
+
+"I acquitted her at once, and the valet similarly proved his innocence,
+only with less of an accent, for he was supposed to be English, and not
+French, as was the maid, although they both came from Dublin. This
+narrowed the suspects down to Mr. Jedediah Wattles, of Chicago, and
+the children. Naturally I turned my attention to Wattles. A six-year-old
+boy and a four-year-old girl could hardly be suspected of stealing a
+diamond stud. So drawing on Pinkham for five thousand dollars to pay
+expenses, I hired a room in a tenement-house in Rivington Street--a
+squalid place it was--disguised myself with an oily, black, burglarious
+mustache, and dressed like a comic-paper gambler. Then I wrote a note to
+Wattles, asking him to call, saying that I could tell him something to
+his advantage. He came, and I greeted him like a pal. 'Wattles,' said I,
+'you've been working this game for a long time, and I know all about
+you. You are an ornament to the profession, but we diamond-thieves have
+got to combine. Understand?' 'No, I don't' said he. 'Well, I'll tell
+you,' said I. 'You're a man of good appearance, and I ain't, but I know
+where the diamonds are. If we work together, there's millions in it.
+I'll spot the diamonds, and you lift 'em, eh? You can do it,' I added,
+as he began to get mad. 'The ease with which you got away with old
+Pinky's stud, that I've been trying to pull for myself for years, shows
+me that.'
+
+"I was not allowed to go further. Wattles's indignation was great enough
+to prove that it was not he who had done the deed, and after he had
+thrashed me out of my disguise, I pulled myself together and said, 'Mr.
+Wattles, I am convinced that you are innocent.' As soon as he recognized
+me and realized my object in sending for him, he forgave me, and, I must
+say, treated me with great consideration.
+
+"But my last clew was gone. The maid, the valet, and Wattles were proved
+innocent. The children alone remained, but I could not suspect them.
+Nevertheless, on my way back to the hotel I bought some rock-candy, and,
+after reporting to Pinkham, I asked casually after the children.
+
+[Illustration: "'YOU DID TOO!' SAID POLLY"]
+
+"'They're pretty well,' said Pinkham. 'Billie's complaining a little,
+and the doctor fears appendicitis, but Polly's all right. I guess
+Billie's all right too. The seventeen-course dinners they serve in the
+children's dining-room here aren't calculated to agree with Billie's
+digestion, I reckon.'
+
+"'I'd like to see 'em,' said I. 'I'm very fond of children.'
+
+"Pinkham immediately called the youngsters in from the nursery. 'Guess
+what I've got,' I said, opening the package of rock-candy. 'Gee!' cried
+Billie, as it caught his eye. 'Gimme some!' 'Who gets first piece?' said
+I. 'Me!' cried both. 'Anybody ever had any before?' I asked. 'He has,'
+said Polly, pointing to Billie. The boy immediately flushed up. ''Ain't,
+neither!' he retorted. 'Yes you did, too,' said Polly. '_You swallered
+that piece pop left on the centre-table the other night!_' 'Well,
+anyhow, it was only a little piece,' said Billie. 'An' it tasted like
+glass,' he added. Handing the candy to Polly, I picked Billie up and
+carried him to his father.
+
+"'Mr. Pinkham,' said I, handing the boy over, 'here is your diamond. It
+has not been stolen; it has merely been swallowed.' 'What?' he cried.
+And I explained. The stud mystery was explained. Mr. Pinkham's boy had
+eaten it."
+
+Holmes paused.
+
+"Well, I don't see how that proves your point," said I. "You said that
+it was the little things that told--"
+
+"So it was," said Holmes. "If Polly hadn't told--"
+
+"Enough," I cried; "it's on me, old man. We will go down to Willis's and
+have some Russian caviare and a bottle of Burgundy."
+
+Holmes put on his hat and we went out together. It is to get the money
+to pay Willis's bill that I have written this story of "The Mystery of
+Pinkham's Diamond Stud."
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+LANG TAMMAS AND DRUMSHEUGH SWEAR OFF
+
+     _A tale of dialect told by Mr. Berkeley Hights, holder of the
+     twelfth ball_
+
+
+"Hoot mon!"
+
+The words rang out derisively on the cold frosty air of Drumtochty, as
+Lang Tammas walked slowly along the street, looking for the residence of
+Drumsheugh. The effect was electrical. Tammas stopped short, and turning
+about, scanned the street eagerly to see who it was that had spoken. But
+the highway was deserted, and the old man shook his stick, as if at an
+imaginary foe.
+
+"I'll hoot-mon the dour eediot that's eensoolted a veesitor to
+Drumtochty!" he shouted. "I haena brought me faithfu' steck for
+naething!" he added.
+
+He glared about, now at this closed window, now at that, as if inviting
+his enemy to come forth and be punished, but seeing no signs of life,
+turned again to resume his walk, muttering angrily to himself. It was
+indeed hardly to be tolerated that he, one of the great characters of
+fiction, should be thus jeered at, as he thought, while on a friendly
+pilgrimage from Thrums to Drumtochty, the two rival towns in the
+affections of the consumers of modern letters; and having walked all the
+way from his home at Thrums, Lang Tammas was tired, and therefore in no
+mood to accept even a mild affront, much less an insult.
+
+He had scarcely covered ten paces, however, when the same voice, with a
+harsh cackling laugh, again broke the stillness of the street:
+
+"Gang awa', gang awa'--ha, ha, ha!"
+
+Tammas rushed into the middle of the way and picked up a stone.
+
+[Illustration: "'HOOT MON!'"]
+
+"Pit your bogie pate oot o' your weendow, me gillie!" he cried. "I'll
+gie it a garry crack. Pit it oot, I say! Pit it oot!"
+
+And the old man drew himself back into an attitude which would have
+defied the powers of Phidias to reproduce in marble, the stone poised
+accurately and all too ready to be hurled.
+
+"Ye ramshackle macloonatic!" he cried. "Standin' in a weendow, where
+nane may see, an' heepin' eensoolts on deecint fowk. Pit it oot--pit it
+oot--an' get it crackit!"
+
+The reply was instant:
+
+"Gang awa', gang awa'--ha, ha, ha!"
+
+Had Lang Tammas been a creation of Lever, he would at this point have
+removed his coat and his hat and thrown them down violently to earth,
+and then have whacked the walk three times with the stout stick he
+carried in his right hand, as a preliminary to the challenge which
+followed. But Tammas was not Irish, and therefore not impulsive. He was
+Scotch--as Scotch as ever was. Wherefore he removed his hat, and, after
+dusting it carefully, hung it up on a convenient hook; took off his coat
+and folded it neatly; picked up his "faithfu' steck," and observed:
+
+"I hae naething to do that's of eemportance. Drumsheugh can wait, an'
+sae can ee. Pit it oot, pit it oot! Here I am, an' here I stay until ye
+pit it oot to be crackit."
+
+"Gang awa', gang awa'--ha, ha, ha!" came the reply.
+
+Lang Tammas turned on the instant to the sources of the sound. He fixed
+his eyes sternly on the very window whence he thought the words had
+issued.
+
+"Number twanty-three, saxth floor," he muttered to himself. "I will
+call, and then we shall see what we _shall_ see; and if what we see gets
+off wi'oot a thorough 'hootin',' then I dinna ken me beezniss."
+
+[Illustration: "A SWEET-FACED NURSE APPEARED"]
+
+Hastily discarding his outward wrath, and assuming such portions of his
+garments as went with his society manner, Tammas walked into the lobby
+of the apartment-house in which his assumed insulter lived. He pushed
+the electric button in, and shortly a sweet-faced nurse appeared.
+
+"Who are you?" she asked.
+
+"Me," said Lang Tammas, somewhat abashed. "I've called too see the head
+o' the hoose."
+
+"I am sorry," said the trained nurse, bursting into tears, "but the head
+of the house is at the point of death, sir, and cannot see you until
+to-morrow. Call around about ten o'clock."
+
+"Hoots an' toots!" sighed Lang Tammas. "Canna we Scuts have e'er a story
+wi'oot somebody leein' at the point o' death! It's most affectin', but
+doonricht wearin' on the constitootion."
+
+"Was there anything you wished to say to him?" asked the nurse.
+
+"Oh, aye!" returned Lang Tammas. "I dinna ken hoo to deny that I hed
+that to say to him, an' to do to him as weel. I'm a vairy truthfu' mon,
+young lady, an' if ye must be told, I've called to wring his garry neck
+for dereesively gee'in an unoffending veesitor frae Thrums by yelling
+deealect at him frae the hoose-tops."
+
+"Are you sure it was here?" asked the nurse, anxiously, the old
+gentleman seemed so deeply in earnest.
+
+"Sure? Oh, aye--pairfectly," replied Lang Tammas; but even as he spoke,
+the falsity of his impression was proved by the same strident voice that
+had so offended before, coming from the other side of the street:
+
+"What a crittur ye are, ye cow! What a crittur ye are!"
+
+"Soonds are hard to place, ma'am," said Lang Tammas, jerking about as if
+he had been shot. It was a very hard position for the old man, for, with
+the immediate need for an apology to the nurse, there rushed over him an
+overwhelming wave of anger. Hitherto it was merely a suspicion that he
+was being made sport of that had irritated him, but this last
+outburst--"What a crittur ye are, ye cow!"--was convincing evidence that
+it was to him that the insults were addressed; for in Thrums it is
+history that Hendry and T'nowhead and Jim McTaggart frequently greeted
+Lang Tammas's jokes with "Oh, ye cow!" and "What a crittur ye are!" But
+the old man was equal to the emergency, and fixing one eye upon the
+house opposite and the other upon the sweet-faced nurse, he darted
+glances that should kill at his persecutor, and at the same time
+apologized for disturbing the nurse. The latter he did gracefully.
+
+"Ye look aweary, ma'am," he said. "An' if the head o' the hoose maun
+dee, may he dee immejiately, that ye may rest soon."
+
+And with this, pulling his hat down over his forehead viciously, he
+turned and sped swiftly across the way. The nurse gazed anxiously after
+him, and in her secret soul wondered if she would not better send for
+Jamie McQueen, the town constable. Poor Tammas's eye was really so
+glaring, and his whole manner so manifestly that of a man exasperated to
+the verge of madness, that she considered him somewhat in the light of
+a menace to the public safety. She was not at all reassured, either,
+when Tammas, having reached the other side of the street, began
+gesticulating wildly, shaking his "faithfu' steck" at the façade of the
+confronting flat-house. But an immediate realization of the condition of
+the sick man above led her to forego the attempt to protect the public
+safety, and closing the door softly to, she climbed the weary stairs to
+the sixth floor, and soon forgot the disturbing trial of the morning in
+reading to her patient certain inspiring chapters from the Badminton
+edition of _Haggert's Chase of Heretics_, relieved with the lighter
+_Rules of Golf; or, Auld Putt Idylls_, by the Rev. Ian McCrockett, one
+of the most exquisitely confusing humorous works ever published in the
+Highlands.
+
+Lang Tammas meanwhile was addressing an invisible somebody in the
+building over the way, and in no uncertain tones.
+
+"If I were not a geentlemon and a humorist," he said, impressively,
+agitating his stick nervously at the building front, "I could say much
+that nae Scut may say. But were I nae Scut, I'd say this to ye: 'Ye have
+all the eelements of a confairmed heeritic. Ye've nae sense of deecint
+fun. Ye're not a man for a' that, as most men air--ye're an ass, plain
+and simple, wi' naether the plainness nor the simpleecity o' the
+individual that Balaam rode. Further--more--'"
+
+What Lang Tammas would have said furthermore had he not been a Scot the
+world will never know, for from the other side of the street--farther
+along, however--came the squawking voice again:
+
+"Gang awa', gang awa', ye crittur, ye cow! Hoot mon--hoot mon--hoot mon!
+Gang awa', gang awa'!" And this was followed by a raucous cry, which
+might or might not have been Scottish, but which was, in any event,
+distinctly maddening. And even as the previous insults had electrified
+poor Tammas, so this last petrified him, and he stood for an
+appreciable length of time absolutely transfixed. His mind was a curious
+study. His coming had been prompted entirely by the genial spirit which
+throbbed beneath his stony Scottish exterior. For a long time he had
+been a resident of the most conspicuous Scotch town in all literature,
+and he was himself its accepted humorist. Then on a sudden Thrums had a
+rival. Drumtochty sprang forth, and in the matter of pathos, if not
+humor, ran Thrums hard; and Lang Tammas, attracted to Drumsheugh, had
+come this distance merely to pay his respects, and to see what manner of
+man the real Drumsheugh was.
+
+[Illustration: TAMMAS MEETS DRUMSHAUGH]
+
+And this was his reception! To be laughed at--he, a Scotch humorist! Had
+any one ever laughed at a Scotch humorist before? Never. Was not the
+test of humor in Scotland the failure to laugh of the hearer of the
+jest? Would Scotch humor ever prove great if not taken seriously? Oh,
+aye! Hendry never laughed at his jokes, and Hendry knew a joke when
+he saw one. McTaggart never smiled at Lang Tammas; and as for the little
+Minister--he knew what was due to the humorist of Thrums, as well as to
+himself, and enjoyed the exquisite humor of Tammas with a reserve well
+qualified to please the Presbytery and the Congregation.
+
+How long Lang Tammas would have stood petrified no man may say; but just
+then who should come along but the person he had come to call
+upon--Drumsheugh himself.
+
+"_Knox et præterea nihil!_" he exclaimed. "What in Glasgie hae we here?"
+
+Lang Tammas turned upon him.
+
+"Ye hae nowt in Glasgie here," he said, sternly. "Ye hae a vairy muckle
+pit-oot veesitor, wha hae coom on an airand o' good-will to be gret wi'
+eensoolts."
+
+"Eensoolts?" retorted Drumsheugh. "Eensoolts, ye say? An' wha hae bin
+eensooltin' ye?"
+
+"That I know nowt of, save that he be a doonricht foo' a-heepin' his
+deealect upon me head," said Lang Tammas.
+
+"And wha are ye to be so seensitive o' deealect?" demanded Drumsheugh.
+
+"My name is Lang Tammas--"
+
+"O' Thrums?" cried Drumsheugh.
+
+"Nane ither," said Tammas.
+
+Drumsheugh burst into an uproarious fit of laughter.
+
+"The humorist?" he cried, catching his sides.
+
+"Nane ither," said Tammas, gravely. "And wha are ye?"
+
+"Me? Oh, I'm--Drumsheugh o' Drumtochty," he replied. "Come along hame
+wi' me. I'll gie ye that to make the eensoolt seem a compliment."
+
+And the two old men walked off together.
+
+An hour later, on their way to the kirk, Drumsheugh observed that after
+the service was over he would go with Lang Tammas and seek out the man
+who had insulted him and "gie" him a drubbing, which invitation Tammas
+was nothing loath to accept. Reverently the two new-made friends walked
+into the kirk and sat themselves down on the side aisle. A hymn was
+sung, and the minister was about to read from the book, when the silence
+of the church was broken by a shrill voice:
+
+"Hoot mon! Hoot mon!"
+
+Tammas clutched his stick. The voice was the same, and here it had
+penetrated the sacred precincts of the church! Nowhere was he safe from
+insult. Drumsheugh looked up, startled, and the voice began again:
+
+"Gang awa' a-that, a-that, a-that--gang awa'! Oh, ye crittur! oh, ye
+cow!"
+
+And then a titter ran through that solemn crowd; for, despite the
+gravity of the situation, even John Knox himself must have smiled. A
+great green parrot had flown in at one of the windows, and had perched
+himself on the pulpit, where, with front undismayed, he addressed the
+minister:
+
+"Gang awa', gang awa'!" he cried, and preened himself. "Hoot mon, gang
+awa'!"
+
+"_Knox nobiscum!_" ejaculated Drumsheugh. "It's Moggie McPiggert's
+pairrut," and he chuckled; and then, as Lang Tammas realized the
+situation, even he smiled broadly. He had been insulted by a parrot
+only, and the knowledge of it made him feel better.
+
+The bird was removed and the service proceeded; and later, when it was
+over, as the two old fellows walked back to Drumsheugh's house in the
+gathering shades of the night, Lang Tammas said:
+
+"I acquet Drumtochty o' its eensoolts, Drumsheugh, but I've lairnt a
+lesson this day."
+
+"What's that?" asked Drumsheugh.
+
+"When pairruts speak Scutch deealect, it's time we Scuts gae it oop,"
+said Tammas.
+
+"I think so mysel'," agreed Drumsheugh. "But hoo express our thochts?"
+
+"I dinna ken for ye," said Lang Tammas, "but for me, mee speakee heathen
+Chinee this timee on."
+
+"Vairy weel," returned Drumsheugh. "Vairy weel; I dinna ken heathen
+Chinee, but I hae some acqueentance wi' the tongue o' sairtain
+Amairicans, and that I'll speak from this day on--it's vairy weel called
+the Bowery eediom, and is a judeecious mixture o' English, Irish, and
+Volapeck."
+
+And from that time on Lang Tammas and Drumsheugh spoke never another
+word of Scotch dialect; and while Tammas never quite mastered
+pidgin-English, or Drumsheugh the tongue of Fadden, they lived happily
+ever after, which in a way proves that, after all, the parrot is a
+useful as well as an ornamental bird.
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+CONCLUSION--LIKEWISE MR. BILLY JONES
+
+
+The cheers which followed the narration of the curious resolve of Lang
+Tammas and Drumsheugh were vociferous, and Berkeley Hights sat down with
+a flush of pleasure on his face. He construed these as directed towards
+himself and his contribution to the diversion of the evening. It never
+entered into his mind that the applause involved a bit of subtle
+appreciation of the kindness of Tammas and of Drumsheugh to the reading
+public in thus declining to give them more of something of which they
+had already had enough.
+
+When the cheers had subsided Mr. Jones rose from his chair and
+congratulated the club upon its exhibit.
+
+"Even if you have but faintly re-echoed the weaknesses of the strong,"
+he said, "you have done well, and I congratulate you. It is not every
+man in your walk in life who can write as grammatically as you have
+dreamed. I have failed to detect in any one of the stories or poems thus
+far read a single grammatical error, and I have no doubt that the
+manuscripts that you have read from are gratifyingly free from mistakes
+in spelling as well, so that, from a newspaper man's stand-point, I see
+no reason why you should not get these proceedings published, especially
+if you do it at your own expense.
+
+"I now declare The Dreamers adjourned _sine die_!"
+
+"Not much!" cried the members, unanimously. "Where's your contribution?"
+
+"Out with it, William!" shouted Tom Snobbe. "I can tell by the set of
+your coat that you've got a manuscript concealed in your pocket."
+
+"There's nothing ruins the set of a coat more quickly than a rejected
+manuscript in the pocket," put in Hudson Rivers. "I've been there
+myself--so, as Lang Tammas said, Billy, 'Pit it oot, and get it
+crackit.'"
+
+"Well," Jones replied, with a pleased smile, "to tell you the truth,
+gentlemen, I had come prepared in case I was called upon; but the hour
+is late," he added, after the manner of one who, though willing, enjoyed
+being persuaded. "Perhaps we had better postpone--"
+
+"Out with it, old man. It is late, but it will be later still if you
+don't hurry up and begin," said Tenafly Paterson.
+
+"Very well, then, here goes," said Jones. "Mine is a ghost-story,
+gentlemen, and it is called 'The Involvular Club; or, The Return of the
+Screw.' It is, like the rest of the work this evening, imitative, after
+a fashion, but I think it will prove effective."
+
+[Illustration: MR. JONES BEGINS]
+
+Mr. Jones hereupon took the manuscript from his bulging pocket and read
+as follows:
+
+
+THE INVOLVULAR CLUB; OR, THE RETURN OF THE SCREW
+
+The story had taken hold upon us as we sat round the blazing hearth of
+Lord Ormont's smoking-room, at Castle Aminta, and sufficiently
+interfered with our comfort, as indeed from various points of view, not
+to specify any one of the many, for they were, after all, in spite of
+their diversity, of equal value judged by any standard, not even
+excepting the highest, that of Vereker's disturbing narrative of the
+uncanny visitor to his chambers, which the reader may recall--indeed,
+must recall if he ever read it, since it was the most remarkable
+ghost-story of the year--a year in which many ghost-stories of wonderful
+merit, too, were written--and by which his reputation was made--or
+rather extended, for there were a certain few of us, including Feverel
+and Vanderbank and myself, who had for many years known him as a
+constant--almost too constant, some of us ventured, tentatively
+perhaps, but not the less convincedly, to say--producer of work of a
+very high order of excellence, rivalling in some of its more conspicuous
+elements, as well as in its minor, to lay no stress upon his subtleties,
+which were marked, though at times indiscreetly inevident even to the
+keenly analytical, hinging as these did more often than not upon
+abstractions born only of a circumscribed environment--circumscribed, of
+course, in the larger sense which means the narrowing of a circle of
+appreciation down to the select few constituting its essence--the
+productions of the greatest masters of fictional style the world has
+known, or is likely, in view of present tendencies towards miscalled
+romance, which consists solely of depicting scenes in which bloodshed
+and murder are rife, soon to know again--it was proper it should, in a
+company chosen as ours had been from among the members of The Involvular
+Club, with Adrian Feverel at its head, Vereker as its vice-president,
+and Lord Ormont, myself, and a number of ladies, including Diana of the
+Crossways, and little Maisie--for the child was one of our cares, her
+estate was so pitiable a one--Rhoda Fleming, Daisy Miller, and Princess
+Cassimassima, one and all, as the reader must be aware, personages--if I
+may thus refer to a group of appreciation which included myself--who
+knew a good thing when they saw it, which, it may as well be confessed
+at once, we rarely did in the raucous fields of fiction outside of,
+though possibly at times moderately contiguous to, our own territory,
+although it should be said that Miss Miller occasionally manifested a
+lamentable lack of regard for the objects for which The Involvular was
+formed, by showing herself, in her semi-American way, regrettably direct
+of speech and given over not infrequently to an unhappy use of slang,
+which we all, save Maisie, who was young, and, in spite of all she knew,
+not quite so knowledgeable a young person as some superficial observers
+have chosen to believe, sincerely deprecated, and on occasion when it
+might be done tactfully, endeavored to mitigate by a reproving glance,
+or by a still deeper plunge into nebulous rhetoric, as a sort of
+palliation to the Muse of Obscurity, which in our hearts we felt that
+good goddess would accept, strove to offset.
+
+    ["Excuse me," said Mr. Tom Snobbe, rising and interrupting the
+    reader at this point, "but is that all one sentence, Mr. Jones?"
+
+    "Yes," Jones replied. "Why not? It's perfectly clear in its
+    meaning. Aren't you used to long sentences on the Hudson?" he
+    added, sarcastically.
+
+    "No," retorted Snobbe; "that is to say, not where I live. I
+    believe they have 'em at Sing Sing occasionally. But they never
+    get used to them, I'm told."
+
+    "Be quiet, Tom," said Harry Snobbe. "It's bad form to interrupt.
+    Let Billy finish his story." Mr. Jones then resumed his
+    manuscript.]
+
+A perceptible shudder ran through, or rather rolled over, the group, for
+it was corrugating in its quality, bringing forcibly to mind, quite as
+much for its chill, too, as for the wrinkling suggestion of its passage
+up and down our backs, turned as some of these were towards the fire,
+and others towards the steam-radiator, which now and again clicked
+startlingly in the dull red glow of the hearth light, augmenting the all
+too obvious nervousness of the listeners, the impassive and uninspiring
+squares of iron of which certain modern architects of a limited
+decorative sense--if, indeed, they have any at all, for the mere use of
+corrugated iron in the construction of a façade would seem not to admit
+of an æsthetic side to its designer's nature, however ornately
+distributed over the surface of an exterior it may be--have chosen to
+avail themselves, prompted either by an appalling parsimony on the part
+of a client, or for reasons of haste employed for the lack of more
+immediately available material, it being an undeniable fact that in some
+portions of the world stucco and terracotta, now frequently used in
+lieu of more substantial, if not more enduring materials, are difficult
+of access, and the use of a speedily obtainable substitute becoming thus
+a requirement as inevitable as it is to be regretted, as in the case of
+the fruit-market at Venice, standing as it does on the bank of the Grand
+Canal, a pile of stark, staring, obtrusive, wrinkling zinc thrusting
+itself brazenly into the line of a vision attuned to the most gloriously
+towering palazzos, as rich in beauty as in romance, with such
+self-sufficiency as to bring tears to the eyes of the most stolidly
+unappreciative, of the most coldly unæsthetic, or, in short, as some one
+has chosen to say, in an essay the title of which and the name of whose
+author escape us at this moment, with such complacent vulgarity as to
+amount to nothing less than a dastardly blot upon the escutcheon of the
+Venetians, which all of their glorious achievements in art, in history,
+and in letters can never quite ineradically efface, and alongside of
+which the whistling steam-tugs with their belching funnels, which are
+by slow degrees supplanting the romantic gondolier with his picturesque
+costume and his tender songs of sunny climes in the cab service of the
+Bride of the Adriatic, seem quite excusable, or, in any event, not so
+unforgivable as to constitute what the Americans would call an infernal
+shame.
+
+    [At this point the reader was interrupted again.
+
+    "Hold on a minute, Billy--will you, please?" said Tenafly
+    Paterson. "Let's get this story straight. As I understand the
+    first sentence somebody told a ghost-story, didn't he?"
+
+    "Yes," replied Jones, a trifle annoyed.
+
+    "And the second sentence means that those who heard it felt
+    creepy?"
+
+    "Precisely."
+
+    "Then why the deuce couldn't you have said, 'When So-and-So had
+    finished, the company shuddered'?"
+
+    "Because," replied Jones, "I am reading a story which is
+    constructed after the manner of a certain school. I'm not reading
+    a postal-card or a cable message."
+
+    The reader then resumed.]
+
+Miss Miller, to relieve the strain upon the nerves of those present,
+which was becoming unbearably tense--and, in fact, poor Maisie had burst
+into tears with the sheer terror of the climax, and had been taken off
+to be put to bed by Mrs. Brookenham, who, in spite of many other
+qualities, was still a womanly woman at heart, and not wholly deficient
+in those little tendernesses, those trifling but ineffable softnesses of
+nature, which are at once the chief source of woman's strength and of
+her weakness, a fact she was constantly manifesting to us during our
+stay at Lord Ormont's, and which we all remarked and in some cases
+commented upon, since the discovery had in it some of the qualities of a
+revelation--began to sing one of those extraordinary popular songs that
+one hears at the music-halls in London, and in the politer and more
+refined circles of American society, if indeed there may be said to be
+such a thing in a land so new as to be as yet mostly veneer, with little
+that is solid in its social substructure, beginning as its constituent
+factors do at the top and working downward, rather than choosing the
+more natural course of beginning at the bottom and working upward, and
+which must materially, one may think, affect the social solidarity of
+the nation by retarding its growth and in otherwise interfering with its
+healthy, not to say normal development, and which, as the words and
+import of it come back to me, was known by the rather vulgar and
+vernacular title of "All Coons Look Alike to Me," thus indicating that
+the life treated of in the melody, which was not altogether unmusical,
+and was indeed as a matter of fact quite fetching in its quality,
+running in one's ears for days and nights long after its first hearing,
+was that of the negro, and his personal likeness to his other black
+brethren in the eyes even of one who was supposed to have been at one
+time, prior to the action of the song if not coincidently with it, the
+object of his affections.
+
+    [Had Jones not been wholly absorbed in the reading of this
+    wonderful story, he might at this moment have heard a slight but
+    unmistakable rumbling sound, and have looked up and seen much that
+    would have interested him. But, as this kind of a story requires
+    for its complete comprehension a complete concentration of mind,
+    he did not hear, and so, continuing, did not see.]
+
+[Illustration: HE DID NOT SEE]
+
+Diana was the first to mitigate the silence with comment [he read] a
+silence whose depth had only been rendered the more depressing by Miss
+Miller's uncalled-for intrusion upon our mood of something that smacked
+of a society towards which most of us, in so far as we were able to do
+so, had always cultivated a strenuous aloofness, prompted not by any
+whelmful sense of our own perfection, latent or obvious, but rather by a
+realization on our part that it lacked the essentials that could make of
+it an interesting part of the lives of a group given over wholly, or
+at least as nearly wholly as the exiguities of existence would permit of
+a persistent and continuous devotion, to the contemplation of the
+beautiful in art, letters, or any other phase of human endeavor.
+
+"And did his soul never thaw?" Diana asked.
+
+"Never," replied Vanderbank, "It is frozen yet."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Here the rumbling sound grew to such volume that, absorbed as he was in
+his reading, Jones could no longer fail to hear it. Lowering his
+manuscript, he looked sternly upon the company. The rumbling sound was a
+chorus, not unmusical, of snores.
+
+_The Dreamers slept._
+
+"Well, I'll be hanged!" cried Jones, angrily, and then he walked over
+and looked behind the screen where the stenographer was seated. "I'll
+finish it if it takes all night," he muttered. "Just take this down,"
+he added to the stenographer; but that worthy never stirred or made
+reply. _He too was sleeping._
+
+Jones muttered angrily to himself.
+
+"Very well," he said. "I'll read it to myself, then," and he began
+again. For ten minutes he continued, and then on a sudden his voice
+faltered; his head fell forward upon his chest, his knees collapsed
+beneath him, and he slid inert, and snoring himself, into his chair. The
+MS. fluttered to the floor, and an hour later the waiters entering the
+room found the club unanimously engaged in dreaming once more.
+
+The Involvular Club was too much for them, even for the author of it,
+but whether this was because of the lateness of the hour or because of
+the intricacies of the author's style I have never been able to
+ascertain, for Mr. Jones is very sore on the point, and therefore
+reticent, and as for the others, I cannot find that any of them remember
+enough about it to be able to speak intelligently on the subject.
+
+[Illustration: THE STENOGRAPHER SLEPT]
+
+All I do know is what the landlord tells me, and that is that at 5 A.M.
+thirteen cabs containing thirteen sleeping souls pursued their thirteen
+devious ways to thirteen different houses, thus indicating that the
+Dreamers were ultimately adjourned, and, as they have not met since, I
+presume the adjournment was, as usual, _sine die_.
+
+
+THE END
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+  BY A. CONAN DOYLE
+
+
+  THE REFUGEES. A Tale of Two Continents. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth,
+  Ornamental, $1.75.
+
+
+  THE WHITE COMPANY. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.75.
+
+
+  MICAH CLARKE. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.75; 8vo,
+  Paper, 45 cents.
+
+
+  THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth,
+  Ornamental, $1.50.
+
+     CONTENTS: A Scandal in Bohemia, The Red-headed League, A Case of
+     Identity, The Boscombe Valley Mystery, The Five Orange Pips, The
+     Man with the Twisted Lip, The Blue Carbuncle, The Speckled Band,
+     The Engineer's Thumb, The Noble Bachelor, The Beryl Coronet, The
+     Copper Beeches.
+
+
+  MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental,
+  $1.50.
+
+     CONTENTS: Silver Blaze, The Yellow Face, The Stock-Broker's Clerk,
+     The "Gloria Scott," The Musgrave Ritual, The Reigate Puzzle, The
+     Crooked Man, The Resident Patient, The Greek Interpreter, The Navy
+     Treaty, The Final Problem.
+
+
+  THE PARASITE. A Story. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental,
+  $1.00.
+
+
+  THE GREAT SHADOW. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.00.
+
+
+  HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS
+  NEW YORK AND LONDON
+
+  _Any of the above works will be sent by mail, postage prepaid,
+  to any part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt
+  of the price._
+
+
+
+
+  BY FRANK R. STOCKTON
+
+
+  THE ASSOCIATE HERMITS. A Novel. Illustrated by A. B. Frost. Post 8vo,
+  Cloth, Ornamental, $1.50.
+
+     If there is a more droll or more delightful writer now living than
+     Mr. Frank R. Stockton we should be slow to make his acquaintance,
+     on the ground that the limit of safety might be passed.... Mr.
+     Stockton's humor asserts itself admirably, and the story is
+     altogether enjoyable.--_Independent._
+
+     The interest never flags, and there is nothing intermittent about
+     the sparkling humor.--_Philadelphia Press._
+
+
+  THE GREAT STONE OF SARDIS. A Novel. Illustrated by PETER NEWELL. Post
+  8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.50.
+
+     The scene of Mr. Stockton's novel is laid in the twentieth century,
+     which is imagined as the culmination of our era of science and
+     invention. The main episodes are a journey to the centre of the
+     earth by means of a pit bored by an automatic cartridge, and a
+     journey to the North Pole beneath the ice of the Polar Seas.
+     These adventures Mr. Stockton describes with such simplicity
+     and conviction that the reader is apt to take the story in all
+     seriousness until he suddenly runs into some gigantic pleasantry of
+     the kind that was unknown before Mr. Stockton began writing, and
+     realizes that the novel is a grave and elaborate bit of fooling,
+     based upon the scientific fads of the day. The book is richly
+     illustrated by Peter Newell, the one artist of modern times who
+     is suited to interpret Mr. Stockton's characters and situations.
+
+
+  HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS
+  NEW YORK AND LONDON
+
+  _Either of the above works will be sent by mail, postage prepaid,
+  to any part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of
+  the price._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Transcribers Notes:
+
+
+The following printing mistakes have been corrected:
+
+    Page 116 - question mark removed, comma substituted
+    Page 121 - period replaced by comma
+    Pages 154, 180 - spurious double quote removed
+
+Also illustrations have been moved to adjust within paragraph breaks.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dreamers, by John Kendrick Bangs
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+    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Dreamers: a Club, by Frank R. Stockton.
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css">
+
+    p {  margin-top: .75em;
+         text-align: justify;
+         margin-bottom: .75em;
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+	 margin-top: 2em;
+	 margin-bottom: 2em;
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+         margin-right: auto;
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+
+    table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;}
+
+    body{margin-left: 10%;
+         margin-right: 10%;
+        }
+
+    .pagenum  { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */
+            /*  visibility: hidden;  */
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+
+    .center   {text-align: center;}
+    .smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
+    .u        {text-decoration: underline;}
+
+    .caption  {font-weight: bold;}
+
+    .figcenter   {margin: auto; text-align: center;  margin-bottom: 2em;}
+
+    .poem             {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;}
+    .poem br          {display: none;}
+    .poem .stanza     {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;}
+    .poem span.i0     {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i2     {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem span.i4     {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+
+    </style>
+  </head>
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dreamers, by John Kendrick Bangs
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Dreamers
+       A Club
+
+Author: John Kendrick Bangs
+
+Illustrator: Edward Penfield
+
+Release Date: February 23, 2011 [EBook #35374]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DREAMERS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Steve Read, Suzanne Shell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 403px;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="403" height="600" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 385px;">
+<img src="images/tp.jpg" width="385" height="600" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+
+<h1>THE DREAMERS</h1>
+<p class="center">A Club. <i>Being a More or Less Faithful<br />
+Account of the Literary Exercises of<br />
+the First Regular Meeting of that<br />
+Organization, Reported by</i></p>
+<h2>JOHN KENDRICK BANGS</h2>
+<h3><i>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS<br />
+By</i> EDWARD PENFIELD
+</h3>
+
+<p class="center">
+NEW YORK AND LONDON<br />
+HARPER &amp; BROTHERS PUBLISHERS<br />
+1899</p>
+
+<hr />
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 474px;">
+<a name="Frontispiece" id="Frontispiece"></a>
+<img src="images/gs01.jpg" width="474" height="546" alt="THE FIRST GLOOMSTER" title="" />
+<span class="caption">THE FIRST GLOOMSTER</span>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<h3>BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Peeps at People.</span> Passages
+from the Writings
+of Anne Warrington
+Witherup, Journalist.
+Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Edward
+Penfield</span>. 16mo, Cloth,
+Ornamental, Uncut
+Edges and Colored Top,
+$1.25.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Ghosts I Have Met, and
+Some Others.</span> With Illustrations
+by <span class="smcap">Newell</span>,
+<span class="smcap">Frost</span>, and <span class="smcap">Richards</span>.
+16mo, Cloth, Ornamental,
+$1.25.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">A House-Boat on the
+Styx.</span> Being Some Account
+of the Divers Doings
+of the Associated
+Shades. Illustrated by
+<span class="smcap">Peter Newell</span>. 16mo,
+Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">The Pursuit of the
+House-Boat.</span> Being
+Some Further Account
+of the Doings of the Associated
+Shades, under
+the Leadership of Sherlock
+Holmes, Esq. Illustrated
+by <span class="smcap">Peter Newell</span>.
+16mo, Cloth, Ornamental,
+$1.25.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Paste Jewels.</span> Being
+Seven Tales of Domestic
+Woe. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental
+$1.00.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">The Bicyclers, and Three
+Other Farces.</span> Illustrated.
+16mo, Cloth, Ornamental,
+$1.25.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">A Rebellious Heroine.</span>
+A Story. Illustrated by
+<span class="smcap">W. T. Smedley.</span> 16mo,
+Cloth, Ornamental, Uncut
+Edges, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Bonaparte of Corsica.</span>
+Illustrated by <span class="smcap">H.
+W. McVickar</span>. 16mo,
+Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">The Water Ghost, and
+Others.</span> Illustrated.
+16mo, Cloth, Ornamental,
+$1.25.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">The Idiot.</span> Illustrated.
+16mo, Cloth, Ornamental,
+$1.00.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Three Weeks in Politics.</span>
+Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth,
+Ornamental, 50 cents.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Coffee and Repartee.</span> Illustrated.
+32mo, Cloth,
+Ornamental, 50 cents.</p></div>
+
+<h4>
+NEW YORK AND LONDON:<br />
+
+HARPER &amp; BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS.<br /><br />
+
+
+Copyright, 1899, by <span class="smcap">Harper &amp; Brothers</span>.<br />
+
+<i>All rights reserved.</i></h4>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center">
+Dedicated<br />
+WITH ALL<br />
+DUE RESPECT AND PROPER APOLOGIES<br />
+<br />
+TO<br />
+<br />
+RICHARD HARDING DAVIS<br />
+JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY<br />
+WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS<br />
+RUDYARD KIPLING<br />
+HALL CAINE<br />
+SUNDRY MAGAZINE POETS<br />
+ANTHONY HOPE<br />
+THE WAR CORRESPONDENTS<br />
+A. CONAN DOYLE<br />
+IAN MACLAREN<br />
+JAMES M. BARRIE<br />
+THE INVOLVULAR CLUB<br />
+<span class="smcap">AND</span><br />
+MR. DOOLEY<br />
+</p>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="">
+<tr><td align='left'><small>CHAPTER</small></td><td align='right'><small>PAGE</small></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>I. <span class="smcap">The Idea</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_1'>1</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>II. <span class="smcap">In which Thomas Snobbe, Esq., of Yonkers, Unfolds a Tale</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_21'>21</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>III. <span class="smcap">In which a Mince-pie is Responsible for a Remarkable Coincidence</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_44'>44</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>IV. <span class="smcap">Being the Contribution of Mr. Bedford Parke</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_59'>59</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>V. <span class="smcap">The Salvation of Findlayson</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_80'>80</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>VI. <span class="smcap">In which Harry Snobbe Recites a Tale of Gloom</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_102'>102</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>VII. <span class="smcap">The Dreamers Discuss a Magazine Poem</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_123'>123</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>VIII. <span class="smcap">Dolly Visits Chicago</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_142'>142</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>IX. <span class="smcap">In which Yellow Journalism Creeps In</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_163'>163</a><span class='pagenum'>[vi]</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>X. <span class="smcap">The Mystery of Pinkham&rsquo;s Diamond Stud</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_185'>185</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>XI. <span class="smcap">Lang Tammas and Drumsheugh Swear off</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_207'>207</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>XII. <span class="smcap">Conclusion&mdash;Likewise Mr. Billy Jones</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_228'>228</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="">
+<tr><td align='left'><h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'><span class="smcap">Page</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>THE FIRST GLOOMSTER</td><td align='left'><a href='#Frontispiece'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>DISCUSSING THE IDEA</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_3'>3</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>AND SO TO DREAM</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_17'>17</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>THE DREAMERS DINE</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_25'>25</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>&ldquo;&lsquo;REMEMBER TO BE BRAVE&rsquo;&rdquo;</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_35'>35</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>&ldquo;&lsquo;ELEANOR HUYLER HAS DISAPPEARED&rsquo;&rdquo;</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_39'>39</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>&ldquo;WRIT A POME ABOUT A KID&rdquo;</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_47'>47</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>&ldquo;I BOUGHT A BOOK OF VERSE&rdquo;</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_51'>51</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>&ldquo;IT FILLED ME WITH DISMAY&rdquo;</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_55'>55</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>&ldquo;&lsquo;COME IN&rsquo;&rdquo;</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_61'>61</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>MARY</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_65'>65</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>EDWARDS REBELS</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_71'>71</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>THE VICEROY EXAMINES HIS RUINED SMILE</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_85'>85</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>THEY GAVE HIM <i>PUNCH</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_89'>89</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>THE DONKEY ENGINE CALLS ON FINDLAYSON</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_93'>93</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>THE END OF THE GLOOMSTER</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_109'>109</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>WISHED HER A HAPPY NEW-YEAR</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_117'>117</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>&ldquo;&lsquo;O ARGENT-BROWED SARCOPHAGUS&rsquo;&rdquo;</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_125'>125</a><span class='pagenum'>[viii]</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>&ldquo;<i>SARCOPHAGUSTUS</i>&rdquo;</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_131'>131</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>MR. BILLY JONES</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_137'>137</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>&ldquo;&lsquo;I MUST SEE HIM,&rsquo; SAID DOLLY&rdquo;</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_145'>145</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>&ldquo;&lsquo;KAPE YOUR HOOSBAND HOME&rsquo;&rdquo;</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_155'>155</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>MIXING ILLUSTRATIONS</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_159'>159</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>THE SHIP&rsquo;S BARBER AT WORK</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_167'>167</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>A CLEVER CAROM</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_177'>177</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>SINKING THE <i>CASTILLA</i></td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_181'>181</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>THE LAMP-POSTS WERE TWISTED</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_191'>191</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>HOLMES IN DISGUISE INTERVIEWS WATTLES</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_199'>199</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>&ldquo;&lsquo;YOU DID TOO!&rsquo; SAID POLLY&rdquo;</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_203'>203</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>&ldquo;&lsquo;HOOT MON!&rsquo;&rdquo;</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_209'>209</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>&ldquo;A SWEET-FACED NURSE APPEARED&rdquo;</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_213'>213</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>TAMMAS MEETS DRUMSHEUGH</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_221'>221</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>MR. JONES BEGINS</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_231'>231</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>HE DID NOT SEE</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_243'>243</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>THE STENOGRAPHER SLEPT</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_247'>247</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/gs02.jpg" width="500" height="267" alt="The Dreamers: A Club" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+<h1>THE DREAMERS: A CLUB</h1>
+
+<hr />
+<h2>I</h2>
+
+<h3>THE IDEA</h3>
+
+<p>The idea was certainly an original one.
+It was Bedford Parke who suggested it
+to Tenafly Paterson, and Tenafly was so
+pleased with it that he in turn unfolded
+it in detail to his friend Dobbs Ferry,
+claiming its inception as his very own.
+Dobbs was so extremely enthusiastic about
+it that he invited Tenafly to a luncheon at
+the Waldoria to talk over the possibilities
+of putting the plan into practical operation,
+and so extract from it whatever of
+excellence it might ultimately be found to
+contain.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;As yet it is only an idea, you know,&rdquo;
+said Dobbs; &ldquo;and if you have ever had
+any experience with ideas, Tenny, you are
+probably aware that, unless reduced to a
+practical basis, an idea is of no more value
+than a theory.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;True,&rdquo; Tenafly replied. &ldquo;I can demonstrate
+that in five minutes at the Waldoria.
+For instance, you see, Dobbsy, I
+have an idea that I am as hungry as a bear,
+but as yet it is only a theory, from which
+I derive no substantial benefit. Place a
+portion of whitebait, a filet Bearnaise, and
+a quart of Sauterne before me, and&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I see,&rdquo; said Dobbsy. &ldquo;Come along.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/gs03.jpg" width="500" height="350" alt="DISCUSSING THE IDEA" title="" />
+<span class="caption">DISCUSSING THE IDEA</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>And they went; and the result of that
+luncheon at the Waldoria was the formation
+of &ldquo;The Dreamers: A Club.&rdquo; The
+colon was Dobbs Ferry&rsquo;s suggestion. The
+objects of the club were literary, and
+Dobbs, who was an observant young man,
+had noticed that the use of the colon in
+these days of unregenerate punctuation
+was confined almost entirely to the literary
+contingent and its camp-followers. With
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>
+small poets particularly was it in vogue,
+and Dobbs&mdash;who, by-the-way, had written
+some very dainty French poems to the various
+<i>fianc&eacute;es</i> with whom his career had
+been checkered&mdash;had a sort of vague idea
+that if his brokerage business would permit
+him to take the necessary time for it he
+might become famous as a small poet himself.
+The French poems and his passion
+for the colon, combined with an exquisite
+chirography which he had assiduously cultivated,
+all contributed to assure him that
+it was only lack of time that kept him in
+the ranks of the mute, inglorious Herricks.</p>
+
+<p>As formulated by Dobbs and Tenafly,
+then, Bedford Parke&rsquo;s suggestion that a
+Dreamers&rsquo; Club be formed was amplified
+into this: Thirteen choice spirits, consisting
+of Dobbs, Tenafly, Bedford Parke,
+Greenwich Place, Hudson Rivers of Hastings,
+Monty St. Vincent, Fulton Streete,
+Berkeley Hights, Haarlem Bridge, the
+three Snobbes of Yonkers&mdash;Tom, Dick,
+and Harry&mdash;and Billy Jones of the <i>Weekly
+Oracle</i>, were to form themselves into an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
+association which should endeavor to extract
+whatever latent literary talent the
+thirteen members might have within them.
+It was a generally accepted fact, Bedford
+Parke had said, that all literature, not even
+excepting history, was based upon the imagination.
+Many of the masterpieces of
+fiction had their basis in actual dreams,
+and, when they were not founded on such,
+might in every case be said to be directly
+attributable to what might properly be
+called waking dreams. It was the misfortune
+of the thirteen gentlemen who were
+expected to join this association that the
+business and social engagements of all,
+with the possible exception of Billy Jones
+of the <i>Weekly Oracle</i>, were such as to prevent
+their indulgence in these waking
+dreams, dreams which should tend to
+lower the colors of Howells before those
+of Tenafly Paterson, and cause the memory
+of Hawthorne to wither away before
+the scorching rays of that rising sun of
+genius, Tom Snobbe of Yonkers. Snobbe,
+by-the-way, must have inherited literary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
+ability from his father, who had once
+edited a church-fair paper which ran
+through six editions in one week&mdash;one
+edition a day for each day of the fair&mdash;adding
+an unreceipted printer&rsquo;s bill for
+eighty-seven dollars to the proceeds to be
+divided among the heathen of Central
+Africa.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a well-known fact,&rdquo; said Bedford&mdash;&ldquo;a
+sad fact, but still a fact&mdash;that if Poe
+had not been a hard drinker he never would
+have amounted to a row of beans as a
+writer. His dreams were induced&mdash;and I
+say, what&rsquo;s the matter with our inducing
+dreams and then putting &rsquo;em down?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>That was the scheme in a nutshell&mdash;to
+induce dreams and put them down. The
+receipt was a simple one. The club was
+to meet once a month, and eat and drink
+&ldquo;such stuff as dreams are made of&rdquo;; the
+meeting was then to adjourn, the members
+going immediately home and to bed; the
+dreams of each were to be carefully noted
+in their every detail, and at the following
+meeting were to be unfolded such soul-harrowing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
+tales as might with propriety
+be based thereon. An important part of
+the programme was a stenographer, whose
+duty it would be to take down the stories
+as they were told and put them in type-written
+form, which Dobbs was sure he
+had heard an editor say was one of the
+first steps towards a favorable consideration
+by professional readers of the manuscripts
+of the ambitious.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am told,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that many a
+truly meritorious production has gone
+unpublished for years because the labor
+of deciphering the author&rsquo;s handwriting
+proved too much for the reader&rsquo;s endurance&mdash;and
+it is very natural that it should
+be so. A professional reader is, after all,
+only human, and when to the responsibilities
+of his office is added the wearisome
+task of wading through a Spencerian morass
+after the will-o&rsquo;-wisp of an idea, I
+don&rsquo;t blame him for getting impatient.
+Why, I saw the original manuscript of
+one of Charles Dickens&rsquo;s novels once,
+and I don&rsquo;t see how any one knew it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
+good enough to publish until it got into
+print!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s simply a proof of what I&rsquo;ve always
+said,&rdquo; observed one of the Snobbe
+boys. &ldquo;If Charles Dickens&rsquo;s works had
+been written by me, no one would ever
+have published them.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t a doubt of it,&rdquo; returned
+Billy Jones of the <i>Oracle</i>, dryly. &ldquo;Why,
+Snobbey, my boy, I believe if you had
+written the plays of Shakespeare they&rsquo;d
+have been forgotten ages ago!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;So do I,&rdquo; returned Snobbe, innocently.
+&ldquo;This is a queer world.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The stenographer will save us a great
+deal of trouble,&rdquo; said Bedford. &ldquo;The
+hard part of literary work is, after all, the
+labor of production in a manual sense.
+These real geniuses don&rsquo;t have to think.
+Their ideas come to them, and they let
+&rsquo;em develop themselves. In realistic writing,
+as I understand it, the author sits
+down with his pen in his hand and his
+characters in his mind&rsquo;s eye, and they
+simply run along, and he does the private-detective<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
+act&mdash;follows after them and jots
+down all they do. In imaginative writing
+it&rsquo;s done the same way. The characters
+of these ridiculous beings we read of are
+quite as real to the imaginative writer as
+the characters of the realist are to the latter,
+and they do supernatural things naturally.
+So you see these things require very
+little intellectual labor. It&rsquo;s merely the
+drudgery of chasing a commonplace or
+supernatural set of characters about the
+world in order to get 400 pages full of
+reading-matter about &rsquo;em that makes the
+literary profession a laborious one. Our
+stenographer will enable us to avoid all
+this. There isn&rsquo;t a man of us but can
+talk as easily as he can fall off a log, and
+a tale once told at our dinners becomes in
+the telling a bit of writing.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But, my dear Parke,&rdquo; said Billy Jones
+of the <i>Oracle</i>, who had been a &ldquo;literary
+journalist,&rdquo; as his fond grandmother called
+it, for some years, &ldquo;a story told is hardly
+likely to be in the form calculated to become
+literature.&rdquo;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s just what we want you for,
+Billy,&rdquo; Bedford replied. &ldquo;You know
+how to give a thing that last finishing-touch
+which will make it go, where otherwise
+it might forever remain a fixture in
+the author&rsquo;s pigeon-hole. When our stories
+are told and type-written, we want you to
+go over them, correct the type-writer&rsquo;s
+spelling, and make whatever alterations
+you may think, after consulting with us,
+to be necessary. Then, if the tales are
+ever published as a collection, you can have
+your name on the title-page as editor.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; answered Billy, gratefully.
+&ldquo;I shall be charmed.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And then he hurried back to his apartments,
+and threw himself on his bed in a
+paroxysm of laughter which seemed never-ending,
+but which in reality did not last
+more than three hours at the most.</p>
+
+<p>Hudson Rivers of Hastings, when the
+idea was suggested to him, was the most
+enthusiastic of all&mdash;so enthusiastic that the
+Snobbe boys thought that, in their own
+parlance, he ought to be &ldquo;called down.&rdquo;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s bad form to go crazy over an idea,&rdquo;
+they said. &ldquo;If Huddy&rsquo;s going to behave
+this way about it, he ought to be kept out
+altogether. It is all very well to experience
+emotions, but no well-bred person
+ever shows them&mdash;that is, not in Yonkers.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, but you don&rsquo;t understand Huddy,&rdquo;
+said Tenafly Paterson. &ldquo;Huddy has
+two great ambitions in this life. One is
+to get into the Authors&rsquo; Club, and the
+other is to marry a certain young woman
+whose home is in Boston and whose ambitions
+are Bostonian. To appear before
+the world as a writer, which the Dreamers
+will give him a chance to do at small expense,
+will help him on to the realization
+of his most cherished hopes; in fact,
+Huddy told me that he thought we ought
+to publish the proceedings of the club at
+least four times a year, so establishing a
+quarterly magazine, to which we shall all
+be regular contributors. He thinks it will
+pay for itself, and knows it will make us all
+famous, because Billy Jones is certain to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
+see that everything that goes out is first
+chop, and I&rsquo;m inclined to believe Huddy
+is right. The continual drip, drip, drip
+of a drop of water on a stone will gradually
+wear away the stone, and, by Jove! before
+we know it, by constant hammering
+away at this dream scheme of ours we&rsquo;ll
+gain a position that won&rsquo;t be altogether
+unenviable.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s so,&rdquo; said Billy. &ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t
+wonder if with the constant drip, drip,
+drip of your drops of ink and inspiration
+you could wear the public out in a very
+little while. The only troublesome thing
+will be in getting a publisher for your
+quarterly.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t any idea that we want a
+publisher,&rdquo; said Bedford Parke. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ve
+got capital enough among ourselves to
+bring the thing out, and so I say, what&rsquo;s
+the use of letting anybody else in on the
+profits? A publisher wouldn&rsquo;t give us
+more than ten per cent. in royalties. If
+we publish it ourselves we&rsquo;ll get the whole
+thing.&rdquo;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; assented Tom Snobbe, &ldquo;and,
+what&rsquo;s more, it will have a higher tone to
+it if we can say on the title-page &lsquo;Privately
+printed,&rsquo; eh? That&rsquo;ll make everybody
+in society want one for his library, and
+everybody not in society will be crazy to
+get it because it&rsquo;s aristocratic all through.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I hadn&rsquo;t thought of that,&rdquo; said Billy
+Jones. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve no doubt you are right,
+only I&rsquo;d think you&rsquo;d sell more copies if
+you&rsquo;d also put on the title-page &lsquo;For circulation
+among the &eacute;lite only.&rsquo; Then
+every man, woman, or child who happened
+to get a copy would take pride in
+showing it to others, who would immediately
+send for it, because not having it
+would seem to indicate that one was not
+in the swim.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Nor were the others to whom the proposition
+was advanced any less desirous to
+take part. They saw, one and all, opportunities
+for a very desirable distinction
+through the medium of the Dreamers,
+and within two weeks of the original formation
+of the plan the club was definitely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
+organized. Physicians were consulted
+by the various members as to what edibles
+contained the properties most likely to
+produce dreams of the nature desired, and
+at the organization meeting all but Billy
+Jones were well stocked with suggestions
+for the inauguration dinner. Hudson
+Rivers was of the opinion that there
+should be six courses at that dinner, each
+one of Welsh-rabbit, but varying in form,
+such as Welsh-rabbit pur&eacute;e, for instance,
+in which the cheese should have the consistency
+of pea-soup rather than of leather;
+such as Welsh-rabbit p&acirc;t&eacute;, in which
+the cheese should rest within walls of
+pastry instead of lying quiescent and inviting
+like a yellow mantle upon a piece
+of toast; then a Welsh-rabbit roast; and
+so on all through the banquet, rabbit upon
+rabbit, the whole washed down with the
+accepted wines of the ordinary banquet,
+which experience had taught them were
+likely in themselves to assist in the work
+of dream-making.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 478px;">
+<img src="images/gs04.jpg" width="478" height="500" alt="AND SO TO DREAM" title="" />
+<span class="caption">AND SO TO DREAM</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Monty St. Vincent observed that he had
+no doubt that the Welsh-rabbit dinner
+would work wonders, but he confessed his
+inability to see any reason why the club
+should begin its labors by committing
+suicide. He added that, for his part, he
+would not eat six Welsh rabbits at one sitting
+if he was sure of Shakespeare&rsquo;s immortality
+as his reward, because, however
+attractive immortality was, he preferred
+mortality in the flesh to the other in the
+abstract. If the gentlemen would begin
+the meal with a grilled lobster apiece, he
+suggested, going thence by an easy stage
+to a devilled bird, rounding up with a
+&ldquo;slip-on&rdquo;&mdash;which, in brief, is a piece of
+mince-pie smothered in a blanket of molten
+cheese&mdash;he was ready to take the
+plunge, but further than this he would
+not go. The other members were disposed
+to agree with Monty. They thought
+the idea of eating six Welsh rabbits in a
+single evening was preposterous, and that
+in making such a suggestion Huddy was
+inspired by one of but two possible motives&mdash;that
+he wished to leap to the foremost
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
+position in imaginative literature at
+one bound, or else was prompted, by jealousy
+of what the others might do, to wish
+to kill the club at its very start. Huddy
+denied these aspersions upon his motives
+with vociferous indignation, and to show
+his sincerity readily acquiesced in the
+adoption of Monty St. Vincent&rsquo;s menu as
+already outlined.</p>
+
+<p>The date of the dinner was set, Billy
+Jones was made master of ceremonies,
+the dinner was ordered, and eaten amid
+scenes of such revelry as was possible in
+the presence of the Snobbe boys, to whom
+anything in the way of unrestrained enjoyment
+was a bore and bad form, and at
+its conclusion the revellers went straight
+home to bed and to dream.</p>
+
+<p>Two weeks later they met again over
+viands of a more digestible nature than
+those which lent interest to the first dinner,
+and told the tales which follow. And
+I desire to add here that my report of this
+dinner and the literature there produced
+is based entirely upon the stenographer&rsquo;s<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
+notes, coupled with additional information
+of an interesting kind furnished me
+by my friend William Jones, Esq., Third
+Assistant Exchange Editor of <i>The Weekly
+Oracle, a Journal of To-day, Yesterday,
+and To-morrow</i>.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p>
+<h2>II</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH THOMAS SNOBBE, ESQ., OF
+YONKERS, UNFOLDS A TALE</h3>
+
+
+<p>The second dinner of the Dreamers had
+been served, all but the coffee, when Mr.
+Billy Jones, of the <i>Oracle</i>, rapped upon
+the table with a dessert-spoon and called
+the members to order.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; said he, when all was
+quiet, &ldquo;we have reached the crucial crisis
+of our club career. We have eaten the
+stuff of which our dreams were to be
+made, and from what I can gather from
+the reports of those who are now seated
+about this festal board&mdash;and I am delighted
+to note that the full membership
+of our organization is here represented&mdash;there
+is not a single one of you who is unprepared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
+for the work we have in hand,
+and, as master of ceremonies, it becomes
+my pleasant duty to inform you that the
+hour has arrived at which it behooveth us
+to begin the narration of those tales which&mdash;of
+those tales which I am certain&mdash;yes,
+gentlemen, very certain&mdash;will cause the
+unlaid ghosts of those masters of the
+story-tellers&rsquo; art&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Is this a continued story Billy is giving
+us?&rdquo; observed Tenafly Paterson.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied Bedford Parke, with a
+laugh; &ldquo;it is only a life sentence.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Get him to commute it!&rdquo; ejaculated
+Hudson Rivers.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Order, gentlemen, order!&rdquo; cried the
+master of ceremonies, again rapping upon
+the table. &ldquo;The members will kindly
+not interrupt the speaker. As I was saying,
+gentlemen,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;we are
+now to listen to the narration of tales
+which I am convinced will cause the unlaid
+ghosts of the past grand masters of
+the story-tellers&rsquo; art to gnash their spirit
+teeth with anguish for that they in life<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
+failed to realize the opportunities that
+were theirs in not having told the tales to
+which we are about to listen, and over
+which, when published, the leading living
+literary lights will writhe in jealousy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>When the applause which greeted these
+remarks had subsided, Mr. Jones resumed:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That there may be no question of precedence
+among the gifted persons from
+whom we are now to hear, I have provided
+myself with a small leathern bottle, such
+as is to be seen in most billiard-parlors,
+within which I have placed twelve numbered
+ivory balls. These I will now proceed
+to distribute among you. When you
+receive them, I request that you immediately
+return them to me, that I may arrange
+the programme according to your
+respective numbers.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Jones thereupon distributed the
+ivory balls, and when the returns had
+been made, according to his request, he
+again rose to his feet and announced that
+to Mr. Thomas Snobbe, of Yonkers, had
+fallen the lot of telling the first story,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
+adding that he took great pleasure in the
+slightly supererogative task that devolved
+upon him of presenting Mr. Snobbe to his
+audience. Mr. Snobbe&rsquo;s health was drunk
+vociferously, after which, the stenographer
+having announced himself as ready to begin,
+the distinguished son of Yonkers arose
+and told the following story, which he
+called</p>
+
+<p> &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; VAN SQUIBBER&rsquo;S FAILURE</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/gs05.jpg" width="500" height="200" alt="THE DREAMERS DINE" title="" />
+<span class="caption">THE DREAMERS DINE</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>You can&rsquo;t always tell what kind of a day
+you are going to have in town in October
+just because you happen to have been in
+town on previous October days, and Van
+Squibber, for that reason, was not surprised
+when his man, on waking him, informed
+him that it was cold out. Even
+if he had been surprised he would not
+have shown it, for fear of demoralizing
+his man by setting him a bad example.
+&ldquo;We must take things as they come,&rdquo;
+Van Squibber had said to the fellow when
+he engaged him, &ldquo;and I shall expect you
+to be ready always for any emergency that
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
+may arise. If on waking in the morning
+I call for a camel&rsquo;s-hair shawl and a bottle
+of Nepaul pepper, it will be your duty to
+see that I get them without manifesting
+the slightest surprise or asking any questions.
+Here is your next year&rsquo;s salary in
+advance. Get my Melton overcoat and
+my box, and have them at the Rahway
+station at 7.15 to-morrow morning. If
+I am not there, don&rsquo;t wait for me, but
+come back here and boil my egg at once.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>This small bit of a lecture had had its
+effect on the man, to whom thenceforth
+nothing was impossible; indeed, upon this
+very occasion he demonstrated to his employer
+his sterling worth, for when, on
+looking over Van Squibber&rsquo;s wardrobe, he
+discovered that his master had no Melton
+overcoat, he telegraphed to his tailor&rsquo;s
+and had one made from his previous measure
+in time to have it with Van Squibber&rsquo;s
+box at the Rahway station at the stipulated
+hour the following morning. Of
+course Van Squibber was not there. He
+had instructed his man as he had simply<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
+to test him, and, furthermore, the egg
+was boiled to perfection. The test cost
+Van Squibber about $150, but it was successful,
+and it was really worth the money
+to know that his man was all that he
+should be.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s not half bad,&rdquo; said Van Squibber,
+as he cracked the egg.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s wintry,&rdquo; said Van Squibber&rsquo;s
+man on the morning of the 5th of October.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; Van Squibber said, sleepily,
+&ldquo;what of that? You have your instructions
+as to the bodily temperature I desire
+to maintain. Select my clothing, as
+usual&mdash;and mark you, man, yesterday was
+springy, and you let me go to the club in
+summery attire. I was two and a half degrees
+too warm. You are getting careless.
+What are my engagements to-day?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;University settlement at eleven, luncheon
+at the Actors&rsquo; at one, drive with the
+cynical Miss Netherwood at three, five-o&rsquo;clock
+tea at four&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo; cried Van Squibber, sharply.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;At fuf&mdash;five, I should say, sir,&rdquo; stammered
+the embarrassed man.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thought so,&rdquo; said Van Squibber.
+&ldquo;Proceed, and be more careful. The very
+idea of five-o&rsquo;clock tea at four is shocking.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Dinner with the Austrian ambassador
+at eight, opera at eleven&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;In October? Opera?&rdquo; cried Van
+Squibber.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Comic,&rdquo; said the man. &ldquo;It is Flopper&rsquo;s
+last night, sir, and you are to ring
+down the curtain.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;True,&rdquo; said Van Squibber, meditatively&mdash;&ldquo;true;
+I&rsquo;d forgotten. And then?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;At midnight you are to meet Red
+Mike at Cherry Street and Broadway to
+accompany him to see how he robs national
+banks, for the <i>Sunday Whirald</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What bank is it to be?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The Seventeenth National.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Gad!&rdquo; cried Van Squibber, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s
+hard luck. It&rsquo;s my bank. Wire Red Mike
+and ask him to make it the Sixteenth National,
+at once. Bring me my smoking-jacket
+and a boiled soda mint drop. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
+don&rsquo;t care for any breakfast this morning.
+And, by-the-way, I feel a little chilly.
+Take a quinine pill for me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Your egg is ready, sir,&rdquo; said the man,
+tremulously.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Eat it,&rdquo; said Van Squibber, tersely,
+&ldquo;and deduct the Caf&eacute; Savarin price of a
+boiled egg from your salary. How often
+must I tell you not to have my breakfast
+boiled until I am boil&mdash;I mean ready until
+I am ready for it?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The man departed silently, and Van
+Squibber turned over and went to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>An hour later, having waited for his
+soda mint drop as long as his dignity would
+permit, Van Squibber arose and dressed
+and went for a walk in Central Park. It
+was eccentric of him to do this, but he did
+it nevertheless.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How Travers would laugh if he saw
+me walking in Central Park!&rdquo; he thought.
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;d probably ask me when I&rsquo;d come over
+from Germany,&rdquo; he added. And then,
+looking ahead, a thing Van Squibber rarely
+did, by-the-way&mdash;for you can&rsquo;t always tell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
+by looking ahead what may happen to
+you&mdash;his eyes were confronted by a more
+or less familiar back.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Dear me!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;If that isn&rsquo;t
+Eleanor Huyler&rsquo;s back, whose back is it,
+by Jove?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Insensibly Van Squibber quickened his
+pace. This was also a thing he rarely did.
+&ldquo;Haste is bad form,&rdquo; he had once said to
+Travers, who, on leaving Delmonico&rsquo;s at
+7.20, seemed anxious to catch the 7.10
+train for Riverdale. Insensibly quickening
+his pace, he soon found himself beside
+the owner of the back, and, as his premonitions
+had told him, it was Eleanor
+Huyler.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Good-morning,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why, Mr. Van Squibber!&rdquo; she replied,
+with a terrified smile. &ldquo;You here?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; returned Van Squibber, not
+anxious to commit himself, &ldquo;I think so,
+though I assure you, Miss Huyler, I am
+not at all certain. I seem to be here, but
+I must confess I am not quite myself this
+morning. My man&mdash;&rdquo;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes&mdash;I know,&rdquo; returned the girl,
+hastily. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve heard of him. He is your
+<i>alter ego</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I had not noticed it,&rdquo; said Van Squibber,
+somewhat nonplussed. &ldquo;I think he
+is English, though he may be Italian, as
+you suggest. But,&rdquo; he added, to change
+the subject, &ldquo;you seem disturbed. Your
+smile is a terrified smile, as has been already
+noted.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It is,&rdquo; said Miss Huyler, looking anxiously
+about her.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And may I ask why?&rdquo; asked Van
+Squibber, politely&mdash;for to do things politely
+was Van Squibber&rsquo;s ambition.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I&mdash;well, really, Mr. Van Squibber,&rdquo;
+the girl replied, &ldquo;I am always anxious
+when you are about. The fact is, you
+know, the things that happen when you
+are around are always so very extraordinary.
+I came here for a quiet walk, but
+now that you have appeared I am quite
+certain that something dramatic is about
+to occur. You see&mdash;you&mdash;you have turned
+up so often at the&mdash;what I may properly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
+call, I think, the nick of time, and so rarely
+at any other time, that I feel as though
+some disaster were impending which you
+alone can avert.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And what then?&rdquo; said Van Squibber,
+proudly. &ldquo;If I am here, what bodes disaster?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That is the question I am asking myself,&rdquo;
+returned Miss Huyler, whose growing
+anxiety was more or less painful to
+witness. &ldquo;Can your luck hold out?
+Will your ability as an averter of danger
+hold out? In short, Mr. Van Squibber,
+are you infallible?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The question came to Van Squibber like
+a flash of lightning out of a clear sky.
+It was too pertinent. Had he not often
+wondered himself as to his infallibility?
+Had he not only the day before said to
+Travers, &ldquo;You can&rsquo;t always tell in advance
+just how a thing you are going into
+may turn out, even though you have been
+through that thing many times, and think
+you do.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I do lead a dramatic life,&rdquo; he said,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
+quietly, hoping by a show of serenity to
+reassure her. &ldquo;But,&rdquo; he added, proudly,
+&ldquo;I am, after all, Van Squibber; I am here
+to do whatever is sent me to do. I am
+not a fatalist, but I regard myself as the
+chosen instrument of fate&mdash;or something.
+So far, I have not failed. On the basis of
+averages, I am not likely to fail now. Fate,
+or something, has chosen me to succeed.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That is true,&rdquo; said Eleanor&mdash;&ldquo;quite
+true; but there are exceptions to all rules,
+and I would rather you would fail to rescue
+some other girl from a position of peril
+than myself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>That Miss Huyler&rsquo;s words were prophetic,
+the unhappy Van Squibber was to
+realize, and that soon, for almost as they
+spoke the cheeks of both were blanched
+by a dreadful roar in the bushes beside
+the path upon which they walked.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/gs06.jpg" width="500" height="330" alt="REMEMBER TO BE BRAVE" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;&lsquo;REMEMBER TO BE BRAVE&rsquo;&rdquo;</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Shall I leave you?&rdquo; asked Van Squibber,
+politely.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not now&mdash;oh, not now, I beg!&rdquo; cried
+Miss Huyler. &ldquo;It is too late. The
+catastrophe is imminent. You should
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
+have gone before the author brought it on.
+Finding me defenceless and you gone, he
+might have spared me. As it is, you are
+here, and must fulfil your destiny.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; returned Van Squibber.
+&ldquo;That being so, I will see what this roaring
+is. If it is a child endeavoring to
+frighten you, I shall get his address and
+have my man chastise his father, for I
+could never strike a child; but if it is a
+lion, as I fear, I shall do what seems best
+under the circumstances. I have been
+told, Miss Huyler, that a show of bravery
+awes a wild beast, while a manifestation
+of cowardice causes him to spring at once
+upon the coward. Therefore, if it be a
+lion, do you walk boldly up to him and
+evince a cool head, while I divert his attention
+from you by running away. In
+this way you, at least, will be saved.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Noble fellow!&rdquo; thought Eleanor to
+herself. &ldquo;If he were to ask me, I think
+I might marry him.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Van Squibber had investigated,
+and was horror-struck to find his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
+misgivings entirely too well founded. It
+was the lion from the park menagerie that
+had escaped, and was now waiting in ambush
+to pounce upon the chance pedestrian.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Remember, Eleanor,&rdquo; he cried, forgetting
+for the moment that he had never
+called her by any but her last name with
+its formal prefix&mdash;&ldquo;remember to be brave.
+That will awe him, and then when he sees
+me running he will pursue me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 480px;">
+<img src="images/gs07.jpg" width="480" height="480" alt="ELEANOR HUYLER HAS DISAPPEARED" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;&lsquo;ELEANOR HUYLER HAS DISAPPEARED&rsquo;&rdquo;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>Removing his shoes, Van Squibber,
+with a cry which brought the hungry
+beast bounding out into the path, started
+on a dead run, while Miss Huyler, full of
+confidence that the story would end happily
+whatever she might do, walked boldly
+up to the tawny creature, wondering much,
+however, why her rescuer had removed his
+shoes. It was strange that, knowing Van
+Squibber as well as she did, she did not at
+once perceive his motive in declining to
+run in walking-shoes, but in moments of
+peril we are all excusable for our vagaries
+of thought! You never can tell, when
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
+you are in danger, what may happen next,
+for if you could you would know how it
+is all going to turn out; but as it is, mental
+disturbance is quite to be expected.</p>
+
+<p>For once Van Squibber failed. He ran
+fast enough and betrayed enough cowardice
+to attract the attention of ten lions,
+but this special lion, by some fearful idiosyncrasy
+of fate, which you never can
+count on, was not to be deceived. With
+a louder roar than any he had given, he
+pounced upon the brave woman, and in
+an instant she was no more. Van Squibber,
+turning to see how matters stood,
+was just in time to witness the final engulfment
+of the fair girl in the lion&rsquo;s
+jaws.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Egad!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;<i>I have failed!</i>
+And now what remains to be done? Shall
+I return and fight the lion, or shall I keep
+on and go to the club? If I kill the lion,
+people will know that I have been walking
+in the park before breakfast. If I
+continue my present path and go to the
+club, the fellows will all want to know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
+what I mean by coming without my shoes
+on. What a dilemma! Ah! I have it;
+I will go home.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And that is what Van Squibber did.
+He went back to his rooms in the Quigmore
+at once, hastily undressed, and when,
+an hour later, his man returned with the
+soda mint drop, he was sleeping peacefully.</p>
+
+<p>That night he met Travers at the club
+reading the <i>Evening Moon</i>.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hello, Van!&rdquo; said Travers. &ldquo;Heard
+the news?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No. What?&rdquo; asked Van Squibber,
+languidly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Eleanor Huyler has disappeared.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;By Jove!&rdquo; cried Van Squibber, with
+well-feigned surprise. &ldquo;I heard the boys
+crying &lsquo;Extra,&rsquo; but I never dreamed they
+would put out an extra for her.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;They haven&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said Travers. &ldquo;The
+extra&rsquo;s about the lion.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! And what&rsquo;s happened to the
+lion?&rdquo; cried Van Squibber, nervously.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s dead. Got loose this morning
+early, and was found at ten o&rsquo;clock dying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>
+of indigestion. It is supposed he has devoured
+some man, name unknown, for
+before his nose was an uneaten patent-leather
+pump, size 9&frac34; B, and in his throat
+was stuck the other, half eaten.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; muttered Van Squibber, turning
+pale. &ldquo;And they don&rsquo;t know whose shoes
+they were?&rdquo; he added, in a hoarse whisper.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Travers. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s no clew,
+even.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Van Squibber breathed a sigh of relief.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Robert!&rdquo; he cried, addressing the
+waiter, &ldquo;bring me a schooner of absinthe,
+and ask Mr. Travers what he&rsquo;ll have.&rdquo;
+And then, turning, he said, <i>sotto voce</i>, to
+himself, &ldquo;Saved! And Eleanor is revenged.
+Van Squibber may have failed,
+but his patent-leather pumps have conquered.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p>
+<h2>III</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH A MINCE-PIE IS RESPONSIBLE
+FOR A REMARKABLE COINCIDENCE</h3>
+
+
+<p>When Mr. Snobbe sat down after the
+narration of his story, there was a thunderous
+outburst of applause. It was evident
+that the exciting narrative had pleased
+his fellow-diners very much&mdash;as, indeed,
+it was proper that it should, since it dealt
+in a veiled sort of way with characters
+for whom all right-minded persons
+have not only a deep-seated admiration,
+but a feeling of affection as well. They
+had, one and all, in common with the unaffected
+portion of the reading community,
+a liking for the wholesome and clean
+humor of Mr. Van Bibber, and the fact
+that Snobbe&rsquo;s story suggested a certain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
+original, even in a weak sort of fashion,
+made them like it in spite of its shortcomings.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Good work,&rdquo; cried Hudson Rivers.
+&ldquo;Of course it&rsquo;s only gas in comparison
+with the sun, but it gives light, and we
+like it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And it&rsquo;s wholly original, too, even
+though an imitation in manner. The real
+Van Bibber never failed in anything he
+undertook,&rdquo; said Tenafly Paterson. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve
+often wished he might have, just once&mdash;it
+would have made him seem more human&mdash;and
+for that reason I think Tom is entitled
+to praise.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know about that,&rdquo; observed
+Monty St. Vincent. &ldquo;Tom hadn&rsquo;t anything
+to do with it&mdash;it was the dinner.
+Honor to whom honor is due, say I. Praise
+the cook, or the caterer.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the truth,&rdquo; put in Billie Jones.
+&ldquo;Fact is, when this book of ours comes
+out, I think, instead of putting our names
+on the title-page as authors, the thing to
+do is to print the menu.&rdquo;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You miss the point of this association,&rdquo;
+interjected Snobbe. &ldquo;We haven&rsquo;t
+banded ourselves together to immortalize
+a Welsh rabbit or a mince-pie&mdash;nay, nor
+even a ruddy duck. It&rsquo;s our own glory
+we&rsquo;re after.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s it,&rdquo; cried Monty St. Vincent&mdash;&ldquo;that&rsquo;s
+the beauty of it. The scheme
+works two ways. If the stuff is good and
+there is glory in it, we&rsquo;ll have the glory;
+but if it&rsquo;s bad, we&rsquo;ll blame the dinner.
+That&rsquo;s what I like about it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a valuable plan from that point
+of view,&rdquo; said the presiding officer. &ldquo;And
+now, if the gentleman who secured the
+ball numbered two will make himself
+known, we will proceed.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 480px;">
+<img src="images/gs08.jpg" width="480" height="530" alt="WRIT A POME ABOUT A KID" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;WRIT A POME ABOUT A KID&rdquo;</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Hudson Rivers rose up. &ldquo;I have number
+two,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but I have nothing
+to relate. The coffee I drank kept me
+awake all night, and when I finally slept,
+along about six o&rsquo;clock next morning, it
+was one of those sweet, dreamless sleeps
+that we all love so much. I must therefore
+ask to be excused.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But how shall you be represented in
+the book?&rdquo; asked Mr. Harry Snobbe.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He can do the table of contents,&rdquo; suggested
+St. Vincent.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Or the fly-leaves,&rdquo; said Tenafly Paterson.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Huddy; &ldquo;I shall ask that
+the pages I should have filled be left blank.
+There is nothing helps a book so much as
+the leaving of something to the reader&rsquo;s
+imagination. I heard a great critic say so
+once. He said that was the strong point
+of the French writers, and he added that
+Stockton&rsquo;s <i>Lady or the Tiger</i> took hold because
+Stockton didn&rsquo;t insist on telling
+everything.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a good idea,&rdquo; said Mr. Jones. &ldquo;I
+don&rsquo;t know but that if those pages are left
+blank they&rsquo;ll be the most interesting in
+the book.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Rivers sat down with a smile of
+conscious pride, whereupon Mr. Tenafly
+Paterson rose up.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;As I hold the number three ball, I
+will give you the fruits of my dinner. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
+attribute the work which I am about to
+present to you to the mince-pie. Personally,
+I am a great admirer of certain latter-day
+poets who deal with the woes and joys
+of more or less commonplace persons. I
+myself would rather read a sonnet to a
+snow-shovel than an ode to the moon,
+but in my dream I seem to have conceived
+a violent hatred for authors of
+homely verse, as you will note when I
+have finished reading my dream-poem
+called &lsquo;Retribution.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Great Scott!&rdquo; murmured Billie Jones,
+with a deep-drawn sigh. &ldquo;Poetry! From
+Tenafly Paterson! Of all the afflictions of
+man, Job could have known no worse.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/gs09.jpg" width="500" height="350" alt="I BOUGHT A BOOK OF VERSE" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;I BOUGHT A BOOK OF VERSE&rdquo;</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The poem reads as follows,&rdquo; continued
+Paterson, ignoring the chairman&rsquo;s ill-timed
+remark:</p>
+
+
+<h4>RETRIBUTION</h4>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>
+Writ a pome about a kid.<br />
+Finest one I ever did.<br />
+<br />
+Heaped it full o&rsquo; sentiment&mdash;<br />
+Very best I could invent.<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
+<br />
+Talked about his little toys;<br />
+How he played with other boys;<br />
+<br />
+How the beasts an&rsquo; birdies all<br />
+Come when little Jamie&rsquo;d call.<br />
+<br />
+&rsquo;N&rsquo; &rsquo;en I took that little lad,<br />
+Gave him fever, mighty bad.<br />
+<br />
+&rsquo;N&rsquo; &rsquo;en it sorter pleased my whim<br />
+To have him die and bury him.<br />
+<br />
+It got printed, too, it did<br />
+That small pome about the kid,<br />
+<br />
+In a paper in the West;<br />
+Put ten dollars in my vest.<br />
+<br />
+Every pa an&rsquo; ma about<br />
+Cried like mighty&mdash;cried right out.<br />
+<br />
+I jess took each grandma&rsquo;s heart,<br />
+Lammed and bruised it, made it smart;<br />
+<br />
+&rsquo;N&rsquo; everybody said o&rsquo; me,<br />
+&ldquo;Finest pote we ever see,&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+&rsquo;Cept one beggar, he got mad.<br />
+Got worst lickin&rsquo; ever had;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span><br />
+Got my head atween his fists,<br />
+Called me &ldquo;Prince o&rsquo; anarchists.&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+Clipped me one behind my ear&mdash;<br />
+Laid me up for &rsquo;most a year.<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Cause,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;my poetry<br />
+&rsquo;D made his wife an&rsquo; mother cry;<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twarn&rsquo;t no poet&rsquo;s bizness to<br />
+Make the wimmin all boo-hoo.&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+&rsquo;N&rsquo; &rsquo;at is why to-day, by Jings!<br />
+I don&rsquo;t fool with hearts an&rsquo; things.<br />
+<br />
+I don&rsquo;t care how high the bids,<br />
+I&rsquo;ve stopped scribblin&rsquo; &rsquo;bout dead kids;<br />
+<br />
+&rsquo;R if I haven&rsquo;t, kinder sorter<br />
+Think &rsquo;at maybe p&rsquo;r&rsquo;aps I&rsquo;d oughter.<br />
+</p></div>
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 483px;">
+<img src="images/gs10.jpg" width="483" height="490" alt="IT FILLED ME WITH DISMAY" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;IT FILLED ME WITH DISMAY&rdquo;</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The lines were received with hearty appreciation
+by all save Dobbs Ferry, who
+looked a trifle gloomy.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It is a strange thing,&rdquo; said the latter,
+&ldquo;but that mince-pie affected me in precisely
+the same way, as you will see for
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
+yourselves when I read my contribution,
+which, holding ball number four as I do,
+I will proceed to give you.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Ferry then read the following poem,
+which certainly did seem to indicate that
+the man who prepared the fatal pie had
+certain literary ideas which he mixed in
+with other ingredients:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>
+I bought a book of verse the other day,<br />
+And when I read, it filled me with dismay.<br />
+<br />
+I wanted it to take home to my wife,<br />
+To bring a bit of joy into her life;<br />
+<br />
+And I&rsquo;d been told the author of those pomes<br />
+Was called the laureate of simple homes.<br />
+<br />
+But, Jove! I read, and found it full of rhyme<br />
+That kept my eyes a-filling all the time.<br />
+<br />
+One told about a pretty little miss<br />
+Whose father had denied a simple kiss,<br />
+<br />
+And as she left, unhappy, full of cares,<br />
+She fell and broke her neck upon the stairs.<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span><br />
+And then he wrote a lot of tearful lines<br />
+Of children who had trouble with their spines;<br />
+<br />
+And &rsquo;stead of joys, he penned so many woes<br />
+I sought him out and gave him curvature &rsquo;f the nose;<br />
+<br />
+And all the nation, witnessing his plight,<br />
+Did crown me King, and cry, &ldquo;It served him right.&rdquo;<br />
+</p></div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A remarkable coincidence,&rdquo; said
+Thomas Snobbe. &ldquo;In fact, the coincidence
+is rather more remarkable than
+the poetry.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It certainly is,&rdquo; said Billie Jones;
+&ldquo;but what a wonderfully suggestive pie,
+considering that it was a mince!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>After which dictum the presiding officer
+called upon the holder of the fifth ball,
+who turned out to be none other than
+Bedford Parke, who blushingly rose up
+and delivered himself of what he called
+&ldquo;The Overcoat, a Magazine Farce.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p>
+<h2>IV</h2>
+
+<h3>BEING THE CONTRIBUTION OF MR. BEDFORD
+PARKE</h3>
+
+<h3><big>THE OVERCOAT</big><br />
+A FARCE. IN TWO SCENES</h3>
+
+
+<p class="center">SCENE FIRST<br />
+<br />
+<i>Time</i>: <span class="smcap">Morning at Boston</span></p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Robert Edwards.</i> &ldquo;I think it will
+rain to-day, but there is no need to worry
+about that. Robert has his umbrella and
+his mackintosh, and I don&rsquo;t think he is
+idiotic enough to lend both of them. If
+he does, he&rsquo;ll get wet, that&rsquo;s all.&rdquo; Mrs.
+Edwards is speaking to herself in the sewing-room
+of the apartment occupied by
+herself and her husband in the Hotel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
+Hammingbell at Boston. It is not a large
+room, but cosey. A frieze one foot deep
+runs about the ceiling, and there is a
+carpet on the floor. Three pins are seen
+scattered about the room, in one corner
+of which is a cane-bottomed chair holding
+across its back two black vests and a cutaway
+coat. Mrs. Edwards sits before a
+Wilcox &amp; Wilson sewing-machine sewing
+a button on a light spring overcoat.
+The overcoat has one outside and three
+inside pockets, and is single-breasted. &ldquo;It
+is curious,&rdquo; Mrs. Edwards continues,
+&ldquo;what men will do with umbrellas and
+mackintoshes on a rainy day. They lend
+them here and there, and the worst part
+of it is they never remember where.&rdquo; A
+knock is heard at the door. &ldquo;Who&rsquo;s
+there?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/gs11.jpg" width="500" height="365" alt="COME IN" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;&lsquo;COME IN&rsquo;&rdquo;</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>Voice</i> (<i>without</i>). &ldquo;Me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Robert Edwards</i> (<i>with a nervous
+shudder</i>). &ldquo;Come in.&rdquo; Enter Mary the
+house-maid. She is becomingly attired in
+blue alpaca, with green ribbons and puffed
+sleeves. She holds a feather duster in
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
+her right hand, and in her left is a jar of
+Royal Worcester. &ldquo;Mary,&rdquo; Mrs. Edwards
+says, severely, &ldquo;where are we at?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mary</i> (<i>meekly</i>). &ldquo;Boston, ma&rsquo;am.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Robert Edwards.</i> &ldquo;South Boston
+or Boston proper?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mary.</i> &ldquo;Boston proper, ma&rsquo;am.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Robert Edwards.</i> &ldquo;Then when I
+say &lsquo;Who&rsquo;s there?&rsquo; don&rsquo;t say &lsquo;Me.&rsquo; That
+manner of speaking may do at New York,
+Brooklyn, South Boston, or Congress, but
+at Boston proper it is extremely gauche.
+&lsquo;I&rsquo; is the word.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mary.</i> &ldquo;Yes, ma&rsquo;am; but you know,
+ma&rsquo;am, I don&rsquo;t pretend to be literary,
+ma&rsquo;am, and so these little points baffles I
+very often.&rdquo; Mrs. Edwards sighs, and,
+walking over to the window, looks out
+upon the trolley-cars for ten minutes;
+then, picking up one of the pins from the
+floor and putting it in a pink silk pin-cushion
+which stands next to an alarm-clock
+on the mantel-piece, a marble affair
+with plain caryatids and a brass fender
+around the hearth, she resumes her seat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
+before the sewing-machine, and threads a
+needle. Then&mdash;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Robert Edwards.</i> &ldquo;Well, Mary,
+what do you want?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mary.</i> &ldquo;Please, Mrs. Edwards, the
+butcher is came, and he says they have
+some very fine perairie-chickens to-day.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Robert Edwards.</i> &ldquo;We don&rsquo;t want
+any prairie-chickens. The prairies are so
+very vulgar. Tell him never to suggest
+such a thing again. Have we any potatoes
+in the house?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mary.</i> &ldquo;There&rsquo;s three left, ma&rsquo;am, and
+two slices of cold roast beef.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Robert Edwards.</i> &ldquo;Then tell him
+to bring five more potatoes, a steak, and&mdash;Was
+all the pickled salmon eaten?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mary.</i> &ldquo;All but the can, ma&rsquo;am.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Robert Edwards.</i> &ldquo;Well&mdash;Mr. Edwards
+is very fond of fish. Tell him to
+bring two boxes of sardines and a bottle
+of anchovy paste.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 484px;">
+<img src="images/gs12.jpg" width="484" height="500" alt="MARY" title="" />
+<span class="caption">MARY</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>Mary.</i> &ldquo;Very well, Mrs. Edwards.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Robert Edwards.</i> &ldquo;And&mdash;ah&mdash;Mary,
+tell him to bring some Brussels
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
+sprouts for breakfast. What are you doing
+with that Worcester vase?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mary.</i> &ldquo;I was takin&rsquo; it to cook, ma&rsquo;am.
+Sure she broke the bean-pot this mornin&rsquo;,
+and she wanted somethin&rsquo; to cook the
+beans in.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Robert Edwards.</i> &ldquo;Oh, I see.
+Well, take good care of it, Mary. It&rsquo;s a
+rare piece. In fact, I think you&rsquo;d better
+leave that here and remove the rubber
+plant from the jardini&egrave;re, and let Nora
+cook the beans in that. Times are a little
+too hard to cook beans in Royal Worcester.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mary.</i> &ldquo;Very well, ma&rsquo;am.&rdquo; Mary goes
+out through the door. Mrs. Edwards resumes
+her sewing. Fifteen minutes elapse,
+interrupted only by the ticking of the
+alarm-clock and the occasional ringing of
+the bell on passing trolley-cars. &ldquo;If it
+does rain,&rdquo; Mrs. Edwards says at last,
+with an anxious glance through the window,
+&ldquo;I suppose Robert won&rsquo;t care about
+going to see the pantomime to-night. It
+will be too bad if we don&rsquo;t go, for this is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
+the last night of the season, and I&rsquo;ve been
+very anxious to renew my acquaintance
+with &lsquo;Humpty Dumpty.&rsquo; It is so very
+dramatic, and I do so like dramatic
+things. Even when they happen in my
+own life I like dramatic things. I&rsquo;ll
+never forget how I enjoyed the thrill
+that came over me, even in my terror, that
+night last winter when the trolley-car
+broke down in front of this house; and
+last summer, too, when the oar-lock broke
+in our row-boat thirty-three feet from
+shore; that was a situation that I enjoyed
+in spite of its peril. How people can say
+that life is humdrum, I can&rsquo;t see. Exciting
+things, real third-act situations, climaxes
+I might even call them, are always
+happening in my life, and yet some novelists
+pretend that life is humdrum just to
+excuse their books for being humdrum.
+I&rsquo;d just like to show these apostles of realism
+the diary I could have kept if I had
+wanted to. Beginning with the fall my
+brother George had from the hay-wagon,
+back in 1876, running down through my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
+first meeting with Robert, which was romantic
+enough&mdash;he paid my car-fare in
+from Brookline the day I lost my pocket-book&mdash;even
+to yesterday, when an entire
+stranger called me up on the telephone,
+my life has fairly bubbled with dramatic
+situations that would take the humdrum
+theory and utterly annihilate it.&rdquo; As Mrs.
+Edwards is speaking she is also sewing the
+button already alluded to on Mr. Edwards&rsquo;s
+coat as described. &ldquo;There,&rdquo; taking the last
+stitch in the coat, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s done, and now
+I can go and get ready for luncheon.&rdquo; She
+folds up the coat, glances at the clock,
+and goes out. A half-hour elapses. The
+silence is broken only by occasional noises
+from the street, the rattling of the wheels
+of a herdic over the pavement, the voices
+of newsboys, and an occasional strawberry-vender&rsquo;s
+cry. At the end of the
+half-hour the alarm-clock goes off and the
+curtain falls.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center">SCENE SECOND<br /><br />
+
+<i>Time</i>: <span class="smcap">Evening at Boston</span></p>
+
+<p>The scene is laid in the drawing-room
+of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Edwards. Mrs.
+Edwards is discovered reading <i>Pendennis</i>,
+and seems in imminent danger of going to
+sleep over it. Mr. Edwards is stretched
+out upon the sofa, quite asleep, with <i>Ivanhoe</i>
+lying open upon his chest. Twenty-five
+minutes elapse, when the door-bell
+rings.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Edwards</i> (<i>drowsily</i>). &ldquo;Let me off
+at the next corner, conductor.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;Why, Robert&mdash;what
+nonsense you are talking!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 484px;">
+<img src="images/gs13.jpg" width="484" height="525" alt="EDWARDS REBELS" title="" />
+<span class="caption">EDWARDS REBELS</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Edwards</i> (<i>rubbing his eyes and sitting
+up</i>). &ldquo;Eh? What? Nonsense? I
+talk nonsense? Really, my dear, that is
+a serious charge to bring against one of
+the leading characters in a magazine farce.
+Wit, perhaps, I may indulge in, but nonsense,
+never!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;That is precisely what
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
+I complain about. The idea of a well-established
+personage like yourself lying
+off on a sofa in his own apartment and
+asking a conductor to let him off at the
+next corner! It&rsquo;s&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t do anything
+of the sort.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;You did, too, Robert
+Edwards. And I can prove it. If you
+will read back to the opening lines of this
+scene you will find that I have spoken the
+truth&mdash;unless you forgot your lines. If
+you admit that, I have nothing to say,
+but I will add that if you are going to forget
+lines that give the key-note of the
+whole situation, you&rsquo;ve got no business in
+a farce. You&rsquo;ll make the whole thing fall
+flat some day, and then you will be discharged.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;Well, I wish I might
+be discharged; I&rsquo;m tired of the whole
+business. Anybody&rsquo;d take me for an
+idiot, the way I have to go on. Every bit
+of fun there is to be had in these farces is
+based upon some predicament into which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
+my idiocy or yours gets me. Are we
+idiots? I ask you that. Are we? You
+may be, but, Mrs. Edwards, I am not. The
+idea of my falling asleep over <i>Ivanhoe</i>!
+Would I do that if I had my way? Well,
+I guess not! Would I even dare to say
+&lsquo;I guess not&rsquo; in a magazine farce? Again,
+I guess not. I&rsquo;m going to write to the
+editor this very night, and resign my situation.
+I want to be me. I don&rsquo;t want
+to be what some author thinks I ought to
+be. Do you know what I think?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Edwards</i> (<i>warningly</i>). &ldquo;Take care,
+Robert. Take care. You aren&rsquo;t employed
+to think.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;Precisely. That&rsquo;s what
+makes me so immortally mad. The author
+doesn&rsquo;t give me time to think. I could
+think real thoughts if he&rsquo;d let me, but
+then! The curtain wouldn&rsquo;t stay up half
+a second if I did that; and where would
+the farce be? The audience would go
+home tired, because they wouldn&rsquo;t get
+their nap if the curtain was down. It&rsquo;s
+hard luck; and as for me, I wouldn&rsquo;t keep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>
+the position a minute if I could get anything
+else to do. Nobody&rsquo;d give me work,
+now that I&rsquo;ve been made out to be such
+a confounded jackass. But let&rsquo;s talk of
+other things.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;I&rsquo;d love to, Robert&mdash;but
+we can&rsquo;t. There are no other
+things in the farce. The Billises are
+coming.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;Hang the Billises!
+Can&rsquo;t we ever have an evening to ourselves?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;How you do talk!
+How can we? There&rsquo;s got to be some
+action in the farce, and it&rsquo;s the Billis
+family that draws out our peculiarities.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m going out,
+and you can receive the Billises, and if it&rsquo;s
+necessary for me to say anything to give
+go to the play, you can say it. I make you
+my proxy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;It can&rsquo;t be done, Robert.
+They are here. The bell rang ten
+minutes ago, and they ought to have got
+in here five minutes since. You can&rsquo;t go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
+out without meeting them in the wings&mdash;I
+mean the hallway.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;Lost!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Mr.</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Billis</span>.</p>
+
+<p><i>Billis.</i> &ldquo;Ah, Edwards! Howdy do?
+Knew you were home. Saw light in&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Billis.</i> &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t rattle on so, my
+dear. Speak more slowly, or the farce will
+be over before nine.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Billis.</i> &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got to say my lines, and
+I&rsquo;m going to say them my way. Ah,
+Edwards! Howdy do? Knew you were
+home. Saw light in window. Knew your
+economical spirit. Said to myself must be
+home, else why gas? He doesn&rsquo;t burn
+gas when he&rsquo;s out. Wake up&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not asleep. Fact
+is, I am going out.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Billis.</i> &ldquo;Out?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;Robert!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;That&rsquo;s what I said&mdash;out.
+<i>O-u-t.</i>&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Billis.</i> &ldquo;Not bad idea. Go with you.
+Where to?&rdquo;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;Anywhere&mdash;to find a
+tragedy and take part in it. I&rsquo;m done
+farcing, my boy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Billis</i> (<i>slapping</i> Edwards <i>on back</i>).
+&ldquo;Rah! my position exactly. I&rsquo;m sick of
+it too. Come ahead. I know that fellow
+Whoyt&mdash;he&rsquo;ll take us in and give us a
+chance.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Billis.</i> &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been afraid of this.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;Robert, consider your
+family.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;I have; and if I&rsquo;m to
+die respected and honored, if my family
+is to have any regard for my memory,
+I&rsquo;ve got to get out of farcing. That&rsquo;s all.
+Did you sew the button on my overcoat?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;I did. I&rsquo;ll go get it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>She goes out. Mrs. Billis throws herself
+sobbing on sofa. Billis dances a jig. Forty
+minutes elapse, during which Billis&rsquo;s dance
+may be encored. Enter Mrs. Edwards,
+triumphantly, with overcoat.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;There&rsquo;s your overcoat.&rdquo;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><i>Mr. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;But&mdash;but the button
+isn&rsquo;t sewed on. I can&rsquo;t go out in this.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;I knew it, Robert. I
+sewed the button on the wrong coat.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Billis and Robert fall in a faint. Mrs.
+Billis rises and smiles, grasping Mrs. Edwards&rsquo;s
+hand fervently.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Billis.</i> &ldquo;Noble woman!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Edwards.</i> &ldquo;Yes; I&rsquo;ve saved the
+farce.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><i>Mrs. Billis.</i> &ldquo;You have. For, in spite
+of these&mdash;these strikers&mdash;these theatric
+Debses, you&mdash;you got in the point! <i>The
+button was sewed on the wrong overcoat!</i>&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+<h4><span class="smcap">Curtain.</span></h4>
+
+<hr style='width:30%' />
+
+<p>&ldquo;When the farce was finished,&rdquo; said
+Mr. Parke, &ldquo;and the applause which
+greeted the fall of the curtain had subsided,
+I dreamed also the following author&rsquo;s
+note: &lsquo;The elapses&rsquo; in this farce
+may seem rather long, but the reader must
+remember that it is the author&rsquo;s intention
+that his farce, if acted, should last<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
+throughout a whole evening. If it were
+not for the elapses the acting time would
+be scarcely longer than twenty minutes,
+instead of two hours and a half.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I mention this,&rdquo; Mr. Parke added,
+&ldquo;not only in justification of myself, but
+also as a possible explanation of certain
+shortcomings in the work of the original
+master. Sometimes the action may seem
+to drag a trifle, but that is not the fault
+of the author, but of life itself. To be real
+one must be true, and truth is not to be
+governed by him who holds the pen.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<hr style='width:30%' />
+
+<p>Mr. Parke&rsquo;s explanation having been received
+in a proper and appreciative spirit
+by his fellow-Dreamers, Mr. Jones announced
+that Mr. Monty St. Vincent was
+the holder of the sixth ball, whereupon
+Mr. St. Vincent arose and delivered himself
+as follows:</p>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p>
+<h2>V</h2>
+
+<h3>THE SALVATION OF FINDLAYSON</h3>
+
+
+<p class="center"><i>Being the story told by the holder of the sixth ball,
+Mr. Monty St. Vincent.</i></p>
+
+
+<p>A donkey engine, next to a Sophomore
+at a football match that is going his
+way, is the noisiest thing man ever made,
+and No. 4-11-44, who travelled first-class on
+the American liner <i>New York</i>, was not inclined
+to let anybody forget the fact.
+He held a commanding position on the
+roof of the deck state-room No. 10, just
+aft of the forecastle stringer No. 3, and
+over the main jib-stay boom No. 6<small><sup>7</sup>/<sub>8</sub></small>, that
+held the rudder-chains in place. All the
+little Taffrails and Swashbucklers looked
+up to him, and the Capstan loved him like
+a brother, for he very often helped the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
+Capstan to bring the Anchor aboard, when
+otherwise that dissipated bit of iron would
+have staid out all night. The Port Tarpaulins
+insisted that the Donkey Engine
+was the greatest humorist that ever lived,
+although the Life Preservers hanging by
+the rail did not like him at all, because he
+once said they were Irish&mdash;&ldquo;Cork all
+through,&rdquo; said he. Even the Rivets that
+held the Top Gallant Bilges together used
+to strain their eyes to see the points of
+the Donkey Engine&rsquo;s jokes, and the third
+Deputy-assistant Piston Rod, No. 683, in
+the hatchway stoke-hole, used to pound
+the cylinders almost to pieces trying to
+encore the Donkey Engine&rsquo;s comic songs.</p>
+
+<p>The Main Mast used to say that the
+Donkey Engine was as bright as the Starboard
+Lights, and the Smoke Stack is
+said to have told the Safety Valve that
+he&rsquo;d rather give up smoking than lose
+the constant flow of wit the Donkey Engine
+was always giving forth.</p>
+
+<p>Findlayson discovered all this. After
+his Bridge had gone safely through that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
+terrible ordeal when the Ganges rose and
+struck for higher tides, Findlayson collapsed.
+The Bridge&mdash;But that is another
+story. This is this one, and there
+is little profit in telling two stories at once,
+especially in a day when one can get the
+two stories printed separately in the several
+magazines for which one writes exclusively.</p>
+
+<p>After the ordeal of the Kashi Bridge,
+Findlayson, as I have said, collapsed, and
+it is no wonder, as you will see for yourself
+when you read that other story. As
+the Main Girder of the Bridge itself wrote
+later to the Suspension Cables of the Brooklyn
+Bridge, &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a wonder to me that the
+Sahib didn&rsquo;t have the <i>Bashi-bazouks</i> earlier
+in the game. He suffered a terrible strain
+that night.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>To which the Cables of the Brooklyn
+Bridge wittily replied that while they
+sympathized with Findlayson, they didn&rsquo;t
+believe he really knew what strain was.
+&ldquo;Wait until he has five lines of trolley-cars
+running over him all day and night.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
+That <i>is</i> a strain! He&rsquo;d be worse cut up
+than ever if he had that. And yet we
+thrive under it. After all, for solid health,
+it&rsquo;s better to be a Bridge than a Man.
+When are you coming across?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Now Findlayson might have collapsed
+a dozen times before the Government
+would have cared enough to give him the
+vacation he needed. Not that Government
+is callous, like an elephant, but because
+it is conducted, as a witty Cobra
+once remarked in the jungle as he fascinated
+a Tigress, by a lot of Red Tapirs.
+Findlayson put in an application for a six
+months&rsquo; vacation, but by the time the
+necessary consent had reached him the
+six months were up. Everybody remembers
+the tale of Dorkins of the Welsh
+Fusileers and his appointment to the Department
+of the Poloese, how his term of
+office was to be six years, and how by the
+time his credentials reached him his term
+of office had expired. So with Findlayson.
+On the very date of the expiration
+of his desired leave he received permission<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
+to go, and of course could not then do
+so, because it was too late. Fortunately
+for Findlayson, however, the Viceroy himself
+happened to be passing through, and
+Findlayson entertained him at a luncheon
+on the Bridge. By some curious mistake,
+when the nuts and raisins were passed,
+Findlayson had provided a plateful of
+steel nuts, designed to hold rivets in
+place, instead of the usual assortment of
+almonds and <i>hiki-ree</i>.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;This man needs a rest,&rdquo; said the Viceroy,
+as he broke his front tooth trying to
+crack one of the steel nuts, and he immediately
+extended Findlayson&rsquo;s leave to
+twenty years without pay, for which Findlayson
+was very grateful.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 484px;">
+<img src="images/gs14.jpg" width="484" height="490" alt="THE VICEROY EXAMINES HIS RUINED SMILE" title="" />
+<span class="caption">THE VICEROY EXAMINES HIS RUINED SMILE</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What is the matter with the man?&rdquo;
+asked the Viceroy, as he drove to the station
+with the practising Jinrikshaw of the
+place.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s my professional opinion,&rdquo; replied
+the Jinrikshaw, &ldquo;that the Sahib has a
+bad attack of melancholia. He hasn&rsquo;t
+laughed for six months. If we could
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
+only get him to laugh, I think he&rsquo;d recover.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then it was not in a jocular spirit
+that he ruined my teeth with those nuts?&rdquo;
+demanded the Viceroy, taking a small
+mirror out of his pocket and gazing ruefully
+on his ruined smile.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, your most Excellent Excellency,&rdquo;
+replied the Jinrikshaw. &ldquo;The fact that
+he ate five of them himself shows that it
+was an error, not a jest.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>It was thus that Findlayson got his vacation,
+and even to this day the Kaskalooloo
+folk are laughing over his error
+more heartily than they ever laughed
+over a joke.</p>
+
+<p>A month after leaving his post Findlayson
+reached London, where he was
+placed under the care of the most famous
+physicians. They did everything they
+could to make him laugh, without success.
+<i>Punch</i> was furnished, and he read
+it through day after day, and burst into
+hysterical weeping. They took him to
+the theatres, and he never even smiled.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
+They secured a front seat in the House of
+Commons for him during important debates,
+and he merely sobbed. They took
+him to the Army and Navy Stores, and he
+shivered with fear. Even Beerbohm Tree
+as Lady Macbeth, or whatever r&ocirc;le it was
+he was playing at the time, failed to coax
+the old-time dimple to his cheek. His
+friends began to whisper among themselves
+that &ldquo;old Findlayson was done
+for,&rdquo; when Berkeley Hauksbee, who had
+been with him in the Soudan, suggested a
+voyage to the United States.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll see enough there to laugh at,
+or I&rsquo;m an unshod, unbroken, saw-backed,
+shark-eating skate!&rdquo; he asserted, and as a
+last resource Findlayson was packed, bag
+and baggage, aboard the liner <i>New York</i>.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/gs15.jpg" width="500" height="330" alt="THEY GAVE HIM PUNCH" title="" />
+<span class="caption">THEY GAVE HIM PUNCH</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The first three days out Findlayson was
+dead to the world. He lay like a fallen
+log in the primeval forest. Stewards
+were of no avail. Even the repeated calls
+of the doctor, whose apprehensions were
+aroused, could not restore him to life.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ll be sewin&rsquo; him up in a jute
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
+bag and droppin&rsquo; him overboard if he
+doesn&rsquo;t come to by to-morrow,&rdquo; observed
+the Water Bottle to the Soap Dish, with
+a sympathetic glance at the prostrate
+Findlayson.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll be seasicker than ever if they
+do,&rdquo; returned the Soap Dish. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a long
+swim from here to Sandy Hook.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But Findlayson came to in time to
+avert the catastrophe, and took several
+turns up and down the deck. He played
+horse-billiards with an English curate,
+but showed no sign of interest or amusement
+even at the curious aspect of the
+ladies who lay inert in the steamer chairs
+ranged along the deck.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid it&rsquo;s hopeless,&rdquo; said Peroo,
+his valet, shaking his head sadly. &ldquo;Unless
+I take him in hand myself.&rdquo; And
+Peroo was seized with an idea.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do it!&rdquo; he cried.</p>
+
+<p>He approached Findlayson.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The Sahib will not laugh,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;He will not smile even. He has not
+snickered all day. Take these, then.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>
+They&rsquo;re straight opium, but there&rsquo;s fun
+in them.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He took a small zinc bait-box from his
+fishing-kit and handed it to Findlayson,
+who, on opening it, found a dozen or more
+brown pellets. Hastily swallowing six of
+them, the sick man turned over in his
+bunk and tried to go to sleep, while Peroo
+went into the smoking-room for a game
+of <i>Pok-Kah</i> with a party of <i>Drummerz</i>
+who were crossing to America.</p>
+
+<p>A soft yellow haze suffused the state-room,
+and Findlayson, nervously starting
+to his feet to see what had caused it, was
+surprised to find himself confronted by a
+grinning row of Technicalities ranged in
+a line upon the sofa under the port, while
+seated upon his steamer trunk was the
+Donkey Engine 4-11-44.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, here we are,&rdquo; said the Deck
+Beam, addressing the Donkey Engine.
+&ldquo;What are we here for?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 464px;">
+<img src="images/gs16.jpg" width="464" height="500" alt="THE DONKEY ENGINE CALLS ON FINDLAYSON" title="" />
+<span class="caption">THE DONKEY ENGINE CALLS ON FINDLAYSON</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s it,&rdquo; said the Capstan. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ve
+left our places at your command. Now,
+why?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I wanted you to meet my friend
+Findlayson,&rdquo; said the Donkey Engine.
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a good fellow. Findlayson, let me
+present you to my associates&mdash;Mr. Capstan,
+Mr. Findlayson. And that gentleman
+over in the corner, Mr. Findlayson,
+is the Starboard Upper Deck Stringer.
+Rivet, come over here and meet Mr.
+Findlayson. The Davits will be here in
+a minute, and the Centrifugal Bilge Pump
+will drop in later.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad to meet you all,&rdquo; said Findlayson,
+rather dazed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thought you would be,&rdquo; returned the
+Donkey Engine. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s why I asked
+them to come up.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Do you mind if I smoke in here?&rdquo;
+said the Funnel.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not a bit,&rdquo; said Findlayson, solemnly.
+&ldquo;Let me offer you a cigar.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The party roared at this.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He doesn&rsquo;t smoke cigars, Fin, old
+boy,&rdquo; said the Donkey Engine. &ldquo;Offer
+him a ton of coal Perfectos or a basket of
+kindling Invincibles and he&rsquo;ll take you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
+up. Old Funnel makes a cigarette of a
+cord of pine logs, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I should think so much smoking
+would be bad for your nerves,&rdquo; suggested
+Findlayson.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Ain&rsquo;t got any,&rdquo; said the Funnel.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m only a Flue, you know. Every
+once in a while I do get a sooty feeling
+inside, but beyond that I don&rsquo;t suffer at
+all.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s the Keel?&rdquo; asked the Thrust
+Block, taking off one of his six collars,
+which hurt his neck.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He can&rsquo;t come up to-night,&rdquo; said the
+Donkey Engine, with a sly wink at Findlayson,
+who, however, failed to respond.
+&ldquo;The Hold is feeling a little rocky, and
+the Keel&rsquo;s got to stay down and steady
+him.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Findlayson looked blankly at the Donkey
+Engine. As an Englishman in a nervously
+disordered state, he did not seem
+quite able to appreciate the Donkey Engine&rsquo;s
+joke. The latter sighed, shook his
+cylinder a trifle, and began again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hear about the Bow Anchor&rsquo;s row
+with the Captain?&rdquo; he asked the Garboard
+Strake.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied the Strake. &ldquo;Wouldn&rsquo;t
+he bow?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;d bow all right,&rdquo; said the Donkey
+Engine, &ldquo;but he wouldn&rsquo;t ank. Result
+is he&rsquo;s been put in chains.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Serves him right,&rdquo; said the Bilge
+Stringer, filling his pipe with Findlayson&rsquo;s
+tooth-powder. &ldquo;Serves him right.
+He ought to be chucked overboard.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;True,&rdquo; said the Donkey Engine. &ldquo;An
+anchor can&rsquo;t be made to ank unless you
+chuck him overboard.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The company roared at this, but Findlayson
+never cracked a smile.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That is very true,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;In
+fact, how could an anchor ank, as you
+put it, without being lowered into the
+sea?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a bad case,&rdquo; observed Bulwark
+Plate, in a whisper, to the Upper Deck
+Plank.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It floors me,&rdquo; said the Plank. &ldquo;I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
+don&rsquo;t think he&rsquo;d laugh if his uncle died
+and left him a million.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Shut up,&rdquo; said the Donkey Engine.
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve got to do it or bust. Let&rsquo;s try
+again.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then he added, aloud,</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Say, Technicalities, did you ever hear
+that riddle of the Starboard Coal Bunker&rsquo;s?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The company properly had not.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, the Starboard Coal Bunker got
+it off at Lady Airshaft&rsquo;s last reception at
+Binks&rsquo;s Ship-yard: &lsquo;What&rsquo;s the difference
+between a man-o&rsquo;-war going through the
+Suez Canal under tow of a tug-boat and a
+boiler with a capacity of 6000 tons of
+steam loaded to 7000 tons, with no safety-valve,
+in charge of an engineer who has a
+certificate from Bellevue Hospital showing
+that he is a good ambulance-driver,
+but supports a widowed mother and seven
+uncles upon no income to speak of, all of
+which is invested in Spanish fours, bought
+on a margin of two per cent. in a Wall
+Street bucket-shop conducted by two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
+professional card-players from Honolulu
+under indictment at San Francisco for
+arson?&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Tutt!&rdquo; said the Rudder. &ldquo;What a
+chestnut! I was brought up on riddles
+of that kind. <i>They can&rsquo;t climb a tree.</i>&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Nope,&rdquo; said the Donkey Engine.
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s not the answer.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t know it yourself,&rdquo; suggested
+the Funnel.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Nope,&rdquo; said the Donkey Engine.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, what the deuce is the answer?&rdquo;
+said Findlayson, irritably.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Give it up&mdash;the rest of you?&rdquo; cried
+the Donkey Engine.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We do,&rdquo; they roared in chorus.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m surprised at you,&rdquo; said the Donkey
+Engine. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s very simple indeed.
+The man-o&rsquo;-war going through the Suez
+Canal under tow of a tug-boat has a pull&mdash;and
+the other hasn&rsquo;t, don&rsquo;t you know&mdash;eh?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Findlayson scratched his forehead.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t see&mdash;&rdquo; he began.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There is no reason why you should.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>
+You&rsquo;re not feeling well,&rdquo; interrupted the
+Donkey Engine, &ldquo;but it&rsquo;s a good riddle&mdash;eh?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Quite so,&rdquo; said Findlayson.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s long, anyhow,&rdquo; said the Screw.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Which we can&rsquo;t say for to-day&rsquo;s run&mdash;only
+867 miles?&rdquo; suggested the Donkey
+Engine, interrogatively.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s long enough,&rdquo; growled the Screw.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It certainly is, if it is reckoned in
+minutes,&rdquo; retorted the Donkey Engine.
+&ldquo;I never knew such a long day.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And so they continued in an honest
+and technical effort to restore Findlayson.
+But he wouldn&rsquo;t laugh, and finally the
+Screw and the Centrifugal Bilge Pump
+and the Stringers and the other well-meaning
+Technicalities rose up to leave.
+Day was approaching, and all were needed
+at their various posts.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Good-night&mdash;or good-morning, Findlayson,&rdquo;
+said the Donkey Engine. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ve
+had a very pleasant night. I am only sorry,
+however, we cannot make you laugh.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I never laugh,&rdquo; said Findlayson.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
+&ldquo;But tell me, old chap, are you really
+human? You talk as if you were.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; returned the Donkey Engine,
+sadly. &ldquo;I am neither fish, flesh, nor
+fowl. I&rsquo;m a <i>bivalve&mdash;a cockney bivalve</i>,&rdquo;
+he added.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; replied Findlayson, with a gesture
+of deprecation, &ldquo;you are not a clam!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; the Donkey Engine replied, as
+with a sudden inspiration; &ldquo;but I&rsquo;m a
+hoister.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And Findlayson burst into a paroxysm
+of mirth&mdash;it must be remembered that he
+was English&mdash;the like of which the good
+old liner never heard before.</p>
+
+<p>And later, when Peroo returned, having
+won at <i>Pok-Kah</i> with the <i>Drummerz</i>, he
+found his master sleeping like the veriest
+child.</p>
+
+<p>Findlayson was saved.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p>
+<h2>VI</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH HARRY SNOBBE RECITES A TALE
+OF GLOOM</h3>
+
+
+<p>Monty St. Vincent had no sooner
+seated himself after telling the interesting
+tale of the Salvation of Findlayson, when
+Billy Jones, of the <i>Oracle</i>, rose up and
+stated that Mr. Harry Snobbe, as the
+holder of the seventh ball, would unfold
+the truly marvellous story that had come
+to him after the first dinner of the
+Dreamers.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Snobbe requests all persons having
+nerves to be unstrung to unstring
+them now. His tale, he tells me, is one
+of intense gloom; but how intense the
+gloom may be, I know not. I will leave it
+to him to show. Gentlemen, Mr. Snobbe.&rdquo;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Mr. Snobbe took the floor, and after a
+few preliminary remarks, read as follows:</p>
+
+
+<h4>THE GLOOMSTER</h4>
+
+<p class="center">A TALE OF THE ISLE OF MAN</p>
+
+
+<p>Old Gloomster Goodheart, of Ballyhack,
+left the Palace of the Bishop of Man
+broken-hearted. The Bishop had summoned
+him a week previous to show cause
+why he should not be removed from his
+office of Gloomster, a position that had
+been held by members of his family for
+ten generations, aye, since the days of
+that ancient founder of the family, Cronky
+Gudehart, of whom tradition states that
+his mere presence at a wedding turned
+the marriage feast into a seeming funeral
+ceremony, making men and women weep,
+and on two occasions driving the bride to
+suicide and the groom into the Church.
+Indeed, Cronky Gudehart was himself the
+first to occupy the office of Gloomster.
+The office was created for his especial benefit,
+as you will see, for it was the mere<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
+fact that the two grooms bereft at the
+altar sought out the consolation of the
+monastery that called the attention of the
+ecclesiastical authorities to the desirability
+of establishing such a functionary. The
+two grooms were men of wealth, and, had
+it not been for Cronky Gudehart&rsquo;s malign
+influence, neither they nor their wealth
+would have passed into the control of the
+Church, a fact which Ramsay Ballawhaine,
+then Bishop of Man, was quick to note
+and act upon.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The gloomier the world,&rdquo; said he,
+&ldquo;the more transcendently bright will
+Heaven seem; and if we can make Heaven
+seem bright, the Church will be able to
+declare dividends. Let us spread misery
+and sorrow. Let us destroy the sunshine
+of life that so gilds with glory the flesh
+and the devil. Let all that is worldly be
+made to appear mean and vile and sordid.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But how?&rdquo; Ramsay Ballawhaine was
+asked. &ldquo;That is a hard thing to do.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;For some &rsquo;twill doubtless so appear,
+but I have a plan,&rdquo; the Bishop had answered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
+&ldquo;We have here living, not far
+from Jellimacksquizzle, the veriest spoil-sport
+in the person of Cronky Gudehart.
+He has a face that would change the
+August beauties of a sylvan forest into a
+bleak scene of wintry devastation. I am
+told that when Cronky Gudehart gazes
+upon a rose it withers, and children passing
+him in the highways run shrieking to
+their mothers, as though escaping from
+the bogie man of Caine Hall&mdash;which castle,
+as you know, has latterly been haunted
+by horrors that surpass the imagination.
+His voice is like the strident cry of doom.
+Hearing his footsteps, strong men quail
+and women swoon; and I am told that,
+dressed as Santa Claus, on last Christmas
+eve he waked up his sixteen children, and
+with a hickory stick belabored one and all
+until they said that mercy was all they
+wanted for their Yule-tide gifts.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis true,&rdquo; said the assistant vicar.
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis very true; and I happen to know,
+through my own ministrations, that when
+a beggar-woman from Sodor applied to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
+Cronky Gudehart for relief from the sorrows
+of the world, he gave her a bottle of
+carbolic acid, saying that therein lay the
+cure of all her woes. But what of Cronky
+and your scheme?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Let us establish the office of Gloomster,&rdquo;
+returned the Bishop. &ldquo;Set apart
+Nightmare Abbey as his official residence,
+and pay him a salary to go about among
+the people spreading grief and woe among
+them until they fly in desperation to us
+who alone can console.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s out of sight!&rdquo; ejaculated the assistant
+vicar, &ldquo;and Cronky&rsquo;s just the man
+for the place.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>It was thus that the office of Gloomster
+was instituted. As will be seen, the duties
+of the Gloomster were simple. He was
+given liberty of entrance to all joyous
+functions in the life of the Isle of Man,
+social or otherwise, and his duties were to
+ruin pleasure wherever he might find it.
+Cronky Gudehart was installed in the office,
+and Nightmare Abbey was set apart
+as his official residence. He attended all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>
+weddings, and spoiled them in so far as he
+was able. It was his custom, when the
+vicar asked if there was any just reason
+why these two should not be joined together
+in holy wedlock, to rise up and say
+that, while he had no evidence at hand,
+he had no doubt there was just cause in
+great plenty, and to suggest that the ceremony
+should be put off a week or ten days
+while he and his assistants looked into the
+past records of the principals. At funerals
+he took the other tack, and laughed joyously
+at every manifestation of grief. At
+hangings he would appear, and dilate
+humorously upon the horrid features
+thereof; and at afternoon teas he would
+appear clad in black garments from head
+to foot, and exhort all present to beware
+of the future, and to give up the hollowness
+and vanities of tea and macaroons.</p>
+
+<p>Results were not long in their manifestation.
+In place of open marriage the
+young people of the isle, to escape the
+malignant persecution of the Gloomster,
+took up the habit of elopement, and as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
+elopements always end in sorrow and
+regret, the monasteries and nunneries
+waxed great in the land. To avoid funerals,
+at which the Gloomster&rsquo;s wit was so
+fearsome a thing, the sick or the maimed
+and the halt fled out into the open sea and
+drowned themselves, and all sociability
+save that which came from book sales and
+cake auctions&mdash;in their very nature destructive
+of a love of life&mdash;faded out of
+the land.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cronky Gudehart was an ideal Gloomster,&rdquo;
+said the Bishop of Man, with a sigh,
+when that worthy spoil-sport, having gone
+to Africa for a vacation, was eaten by
+cannibals. &ldquo;We shall not look upon his
+like again.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/gs17.jpg" width="500" height="330" alt="THE END OF THE GLOOMSTER" title="" />
+<span class="caption">THE END OF THE GLOOMSTER</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve no doubt he disagreed with the
+cannibals,&rdquo; sobbed the vicar, as he thought
+over the virtues of the deceased.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;None who ate him could escape appendicitis,&rdquo;
+commented the Bishop, wiping
+a tear from his eye; &ldquo;and, thank
+Heaven, the operation for that has yet
+to be invented. Those cannibals have
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
+been taken by this time from their wicked
+life.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>So it had gone on for ten generations.
+Cronky had been succeeded by his son
+and by his son&rsquo;s son, and so on. To be
+Gloomster of the Isle of Man had by habit
+become the prerogative of the Gudehart
+family until the present, when Christian
+Goodheart found himself summoned before
+the Bishop to show cause why he
+should not be removed. Hitherto the
+Gloomster had given satisfaction. It
+would be hard to point to one of them&mdash;unless
+we except Eric Goodheart, the one
+who changed the name from Gudehart to
+Goodheart&mdash;who had not filled the island
+with that kind of sorrow that makes life
+seem hardly worth living. Eric Goodheart
+had once caught his father, &ldquo;Bully Gudehart,&rdquo;
+as he was called, in a moment of
+forgetfulness, doing a kindly act to a
+beggar at the door. A wanderer had appeared
+at the door of Nightmare Abbey
+in a starving condition, and Eric had surprised
+the Gloomster in the very act of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
+giving the beggar a piece of apple-pie. The
+father found himself suddenly confronted
+by the round, staring eyes of his son, and
+he was frightened. If it were ever known
+that the Gloomster had done a kindly
+thing for anybody, he might be removed,
+and Bully Gudehart recognized the fact.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Come here!&rdquo; he cried brutally, to
+Eric, as the beggar marched away munching
+hungrily on the pie. &ldquo;Come here, you
+brat! Do you hear? Come <i>here</i>!&rdquo; The
+boy was coming all the while. &ldquo;You saw?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, your Honor,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;I saw.
+The man said he was nearly dead with
+hunger, and you gave him food.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; roared the Gloomster, full of fear,
+for he knew how small boys prattle, &ldquo;I did
+not give him food! <i>I gave him pie!</i>&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;All right, your Majesty,&rdquo; the boy answered.
+&ldquo;You gave him pie. And I see
+now why they call you Bully. For pie is
+bully, and nothing less.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My son,&rdquo; the Gloomster responded,
+seizing a trunk-strap and whacking the
+lad with it forcefully, &ldquo;you don&rsquo;t understand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>
+Do you know why I fed that
+man?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Because he was dying of hunger,&rdquo;
+replied the lad, ruefully, rubbing his back
+where the trunk-strap had hit him.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Precisely,&rdquo; said the Gloomster. &ldquo;If
+I hadn&rsquo;t given him that pie he&rsquo;d have
+died on the premises, and I can&rsquo;t afford
+the expense of having a tramp die here.
+As it is, he will enjoy a lingering death.
+<i>That was one of your mother&rsquo;s pies.</i>&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Eric ran sobbing to his room, but in
+his heart he believed that he had detected
+his father in a kindly act, and conceived
+that a Gloomster might occasionally relax.
+Nevertheless, when he succeeded to the
+office he was stern and unrelenting, in
+spite of the fact that occasionally there
+was to be detected in his eye a glance of
+geniality. This was doubtless due to the
+fact that from the time of his intrusion
+upon his father&rsquo;s moment of weakness he
+was soundly thrashed every morning before
+breakfast, and spanked before retiring at
+night, as a preliminary to his prayers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But Christian Goodheart, the present
+incumbent, had not given satisfaction,
+and his Bishop had summoned him to
+show cause why he should not be removed,
+and, as we have seen, the Gloomster had
+gone away broken-hearted. Shortly after
+having arrived at Nightmare Abbey he
+was greeted by his wife.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, Christian,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;what did
+the Bishop say?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He wants my resignation,&rdquo; sighed
+Christian. &ldquo;He says I have shown myself
+unworthy, and I fear he has evidence.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Evidence? Against you, my husband,
+the most disagreeable man in the
+isle?&rdquo; cried his wife, fondly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; sighed Christian. &ldquo;Do you remember,
+you old termagant, how, forgetting
+myself and my position, last Tuesday
+I laughed when Peter Skelly told us what
+his baby said to his nurse?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I do, Christian,&rdquo; the good woman answered.
+&ldquo;You laughed heartily, and I
+warned you to be careful. It is not the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>
+Gloomster&rsquo;s place to laugh, and I feared
+it might reach the Bishop&rsquo;s ears.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It has done so,&rdquo; sighed Christian,
+shaking his head sadly and wringing his
+hands in his agony. &ldquo;It has reached the
+Bishop&rsquo;s ears. Little Glory Grouse was
+passing by the door at the moment and
+saw me. Astonished, the child ran home
+and told her mother. &lsquo;Mommer!&rsquo; she
+cried, &lsquo;I have seen the Gloomster laugh!
+I have seen the Gloomster laugh!&rsquo; The
+child was cross-questioned, but stuck to
+her story until Mrs. Grouse was convinced,
+and told her neighbors, and these
+neighbors told other neighbors, until the
+story came to the ears of Canon Cashman,
+by whom it was conveyed to the Bishop
+himself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What a little gossip that Glory Grouse
+is! She&rsquo;ll come to a bad end, mark my
+words!&rdquo; cried Mrs. Goodheart, angrily.
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;ll have her honored father&rsquo;s name
+on the circus posters yet.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Do not blame the child,&rdquo; said Christian,
+sadly. &ldquo;She was right. Who had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
+ever seen a Gloomster smile before? As
+well expect a ray of sunshine or a glimpse
+of humor in a Manx novel&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But the Bishop is not going to remove
+you for one false step, is he, Christian?
+He cannot do that, can he?&rdquo; pleaded the
+woman.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That is what I asked him,&rdquo; Christian
+answered. &ldquo;And he handed me a type-written
+memorandum of what he called
+my record. It seems that for six months
+they have been spying upon me. Read it
+for yourself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Goodheart took the paper and read,
+with trembling hands:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;January 1, 1898&mdash;wished Peggy Meguire
+a happy New Year.&rsquo; Did you really,
+Christian?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 458px;">
+<img src="images/gs18.jpg" width="458" height="510" alt="WISHED HER A HAPPY NEW-YEAR" title="" />
+<span class="caption">WISHED HER A HAPPY NEW-YEAR</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t remember doing so,&rdquo; sighed the
+Gloomster. &ldquo;If I did, it must have been
+in sarcasm, for I hate Peggy Meguire, and
+I am sure I wish her nothing of the sort.
+I told the Bishop so, but all he would say
+was, &lsquo;Read on.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;February 23, 1898,&rsquo;&rdquo; Mrs. Goodheart
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>
+continued, reading from the paper&mdash;&ldquo;&lsquo;took
+off his coat and wrapped it about
+the shivering form of a freezing woman.&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How very imprudent of you, Christian!&rdquo;
+said his wife.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But the Bishop didn&rsquo;t know the circumstances,&rdquo;
+said Christian. &ldquo;It was the
+subtlest kind of deviltry, not humanity,
+that prompted the act. If I hadn&rsquo;t given
+her my coat, the old lady would have
+frozen to death and been soon out of her
+misery. As it was, my wet coat saved her
+from an immediate surcease of sorrow,
+and, as I had foreseen, gave her muscular
+rheumatism of the most painful sort,
+from which she has suffered ever since.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You should have explained to the
+Bishop.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I did.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And what did he say?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He said my methods were too damned
+artistic.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo; cried Mrs. Goodheart. &ldquo;The
+Bishop?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, well,&rdquo; said Christian, &ldquo;words to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
+that effect. He doesn&rsquo;t appreciate the
+subtleties of gloom distinction. What he
+looks for is sheer brutality. Might as
+well employ an out-and-out desperado for
+the work. I like to infuse a little art into
+my work. I&rsquo;ve tried to bring Gloomsterism
+up to the level of an art, a science.
+Slapping a man in the face doesn&rsquo;t make
+him gloomy; it makes him mad. But
+subtlely infusing woe into his daily life, so
+that he doesn&rsquo;t know whence all his trouble
+comes&mdash;ah! that is the perfect flower
+of the Gloomster&rsquo;s work!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;H&rsquo;m!&rdquo; said Mrs. Goodheart. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
+well enough, Christian. If you are rich
+enough to consume your own product
+with profit, it&rsquo;s all right to be artistic;
+but if you are dependent on a salary, don&rsquo;t
+forget your consumer. What else have
+they against you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Read on, woman,&rdquo; said the Gloomster.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;April 1, 1898,&rsquo;&rdquo; the lady read.
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Gave a half-crown to a starving beggar.&rsquo;&rdquo;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That was another highly artistic act,&rdquo;
+said Christian. &ldquo;I told the Bishop that
+I had given the coin to the beggar knowing
+it to be counterfeit, and hoping that
+he would be arrested for trying to pass it.
+The Bishop cut me short by saying that
+my hope had not been fulfilled. It seems
+that that ass of a beggar bought some
+food with the half-crown, and the grocer
+who sold him the food put the counterfeit
+half-crown in the contribution-box the
+next Sunday, and the Church was stuck.
+That&rsquo;s what I call hard luck.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, well,&rdquo; returned Mrs. Goodheart,
+putting the paper down in despair.
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no need to read further. That
+alone is sufficient to cause your downfall.
+When do you resign?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;At once,&rdquo; sighed Christian. &ldquo;In fact,
+the Bishop had already written my resignation&mdash;which
+I signed.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And the land is without a Gloomster
+for the first time in five hundred years?&rdquo;
+demanded Mrs. Goodheart.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Christian, the tears coursing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
+down his nose. &ldquo;The place is filled already,
+and by one who knows gloom only
+theoretically&mdash;a mere summer resident of
+the Isle of Man. In short, a famous London
+author has succeeded me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;His name!&rdquo; cried Mrs. Goodheart.</p>
+
+<hr style='width:30%' />
+
+<p>&ldquo;Just then,&rdquo; said Snobbe, &ldquo;I awoke,
+and did not catch the author&rsquo;s name. It
+is a curious thing about dreams that just
+when you get to the crucial point you
+wake up.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I wonder who the deuce the chap
+could have been?&rdquo; murmured the other
+diners. &ldquo;Has any London author with a
+residence on the Isle of Man ever shown
+any acquaintance with gloom?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know for sure,&rdquo; said Billy
+Jones. &ldquo;But my impression is that it
+must be the editor of <i>Punch</i>. What I am
+uncertain about is his residence on the
+Isle of Man. Otherwise I think he fills
+the bill.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p>
+<h2>VII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE DREAMERS DISCUSS A MAGAZINE POEM</h3>
+
+
+<p>The pathetic tale of the Gloomster having
+been told and discussed, it turned out
+that Haarlem Bridge was the holder of the
+next ball in the sequence, the eighth.
+Haarley had been looking rather nervous
+all the evening, and two or three times he
+manifested some desire to withdraw from
+the scene. By order of the chairman,
+however, the precaution had been taken
+to lock all the doors, so that none of the
+Dreamers should escape, and, consequently,
+when the evil hour arrived, Haarley
+was perforce on hand.</p>
+
+<p>He rose up reluctantly, and, taking a
+single page of manuscript from his pocket,
+after a few preliminary remarks that were
+no more nor less coherent than the average<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
+after-dinner speech, read the following
+lines, which he termed a magazine
+poem:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 458px;">
+<img src="images/gs19.jpg" width="458" height="425" alt="O ARGENT-BROWED SARCOPHAGUS" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;&lsquo;O ARGENT-BROWED SARCOPHAGUS&rsquo;&rdquo;</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>
+&ldquo;O argent-browed Sarcophagus,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That looms so through the ethered trees,</span><br />
+Why dost thou seem to those of us<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who drink the poisoned chalice on our knees</span><br />
+So distant and so empyrean,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So dour yet full of mystery?</span><br />
+Hast thou the oracle as yet unseen<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To guide thy fell misogyny?</span><br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Nay, let the spirit of the age<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With all its mystic beauty stand</span><br />
+Translucent ever, aye, in spite the rage<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Cossack and of Samarcand!</span><br />
+Thou art enough for any soul&rsquo;s desire!<br />
+Thou hast the beauty of cerulean fire!<br />
+But we who grovel on the damask earth<br />
+Are we despoilt of thy exigeant mirth?<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Canst listen to a prayer, Sarcophagus?<br />
+Indeed O art thou there, Sarcophagus?<br />
+What time the Philistine denies,<br />
+What time the raucous cynic cries,<br />
+Avaunt, yet spare! Let this thy motto be,<br />
+With thy thesaurian verbosity.<br />
+Nor think that I, a caterpillian worm,<br />
+Before thy glance should ever honk or squirm.<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
+<br />
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis but the stern condition of the poor<br />
+That panting brings me pottering at thy door,<br />
+To breathe of love and argent charity<br />
+For thee, for thee, iguanodonic thee!&rdquo;<br />
+</p></div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s an excellent specimen of magazine
+poetry,&rdquo; said Billy Jones. &ldquo;But I
+observe, Haarley, that you haven&rsquo;t given it
+a title. Perhaps if you gave it a title we
+might get at the mystery of its meaning.
+A title is a sort of Baedeker to the general
+run of magazine poems.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Haarlem grew rather red of countenance
+as he answered, &ldquo;Well, I didn&rsquo;t exactly
+like to give it the title I dreamed; it
+didn&rsquo;t seem to shed quite as much light
+on the subject as a title should.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Still, it may help,&rdquo; said Huddy Rivers.
+&ldquo;I read a poem in a magazine the other
+day on &lsquo;Mystery.&rsquo; And if it hadn&rsquo;t had a
+title I&rsquo;d never have understood it. It ran
+this way:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>
+&ldquo;Life, what art thou? Whence springest thou?<br />
+The past, the future, or the now?<br />
+Whence comes thy lowering lunacy?<br />
+Whence comes thy mizzling mystery?<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>Hast thou a form, a shape, a lineament?<br />
+Hast thou a single seraph-eyed medicament<br />
+To ease our sorrow and our twitching woe?<br />
+Hast thou one laudable Alsatian glow<br />
+To compensate, commensurate, and condign<br />
+For all these dastard, sleekish qualms of mine?<br />
+Hast thou indeed an abject agate plot<br />
+To show that what exists is really not?<br />
+Or art thou just content to sit and say<br />
+Life&rsquo;s but a specious, coral roundelay?&rdquo;<br />
+</p></div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I committed the thing to memory because
+it struck me as being a good thing
+to remember&mdash;it was so full of good
+phrases. &lsquo;Twitching woe,&rsquo; for instance,
+and &lsquo;sleekish qualms,&rsquo;&rdquo; he continued.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Quaking qualms would have been better,&rdquo;
+put in Tenafly Paterson, who judged
+poetry from an alliterative point of
+view.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Nevertheless, I liked sleekish qualms,&rdquo;
+retorted Huddy. &ldquo;Quaking qualms might
+be more alliterative, but sleekish qualms
+is <i>less</i> commonplace.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No doubt,&rdquo; said Tenafly. &ldquo;I never
+had &rsquo;em myself, so I&rsquo;ll take your word for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>
+it. But what do you make out of &lsquo;coral
+roundelay&rsquo;?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing at all,&rdquo; said Huddy. &ldquo;I
+don&rsquo;t bother my head about &lsquo;coral roundelay&rsquo;
+or &lsquo;seraph-eyed medicament.&rsquo; I
+haven&rsquo;t wasted an atom of my gray matter
+on &lsquo;lowering lunacy&rsquo; or &lsquo;agate plot&rsquo;
+or &lsquo;mizzling mystery.&rsquo; And all because
+the poet gave his poem a title. He called
+the thing &lsquo;Mystery,&rsquo; and when I had read
+it over half a dozen times I concluded
+that he was right; and if the thing remained
+a mystery to the author, I don&rsquo;t
+see why a reader should expect ever to be
+able to understand it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Very logical conclusion, Huddy,&rdquo; said
+Billy Jones, approvingly. &ldquo;If a poet
+chooses a name for his poem, you may
+make up your mind that there is good
+reason for it, and certainly the verses you
+have recited about the &lsquo;coral roundelay&rsquo;
+are properly designated.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;d like to have the title of that
+yard of rhyme Haarlem Bridge just recited,&rdquo;
+put in Dobbs Ferry, scratching his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
+head in bewilderment. &ldquo;It strikes me as
+being quite as mysterious as Huddy&rsquo;s.
+What the deuce can a man mean by referring
+to an &lsquo;auburn-haired Sarcophagus&rsquo;?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It wasn&rsquo;t auburn-haired,&rdquo; expostulated
+Haarlem. &ldquo;It was argent-browed.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Old Sarcophagus had nickel-plated
+eyebrows, Dobby,&rdquo; cried Tom Snobbe,
+forgetting himself for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, who the dickens was old Sarcophagus?&rdquo;
+queried Dobby, unappeased.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He was one of the Egyptian kings,
+my dear boy,&rdquo; vouchsafed Billy Jones, exploding
+internally with mirth. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve
+heard of Augustus C&aelig;sar, haven&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Dobby.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/gs20.jpg" width="500" height="350" alt="SARCOPHAGUSTUS" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;SARCOPHAGUSTUS&rdquo;</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; explained Billy Jones, &ldquo;Sarcophagus
+occupied the same relation to
+the Egyptians that Augustus did to the
+Romans&mdash;in fact, the irreverent used to
+call him Sarcophagustus, instead of Sarcophagus,
+which was his real name. This
+poem of Haarley&rsquo;s is manifestly addressed
+to him.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Did he have nickel-plated eyebrows?&rdquo;
+asked Bedfork Parke, satirically.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Billy Jones. &ldquo;As I remember
+the story of Sarcophagus as I read of
+him in college, he was a very pallid sort
+of a potentate&mdash;his forehead was white as
+marble. So they called him the Argent-browed
+Sarcophagus.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a good thing for us we have Billy
+Jones with us to tell us all these things,&rdquo;
+whispered Tom Snobbe to his brother
+Dick.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You bet your life,&rdquo; said Dick. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s
+nothing, after all, like a classical education.
+I wish I&rsquo;d known it while I was
+getting mine.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s &lsquo;fell misogyny&rsquo;?&rdquo; asked Tenafly
+Paterson, who seemed to be somewhat
+enamoured of the phrase. &ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t old
+Sarcophagus care for chemistry?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Chemistry?&rdquo; demanded the chairman.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what I said,&rdquo; said Tenny.
+&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t misogyny a chemical compound
+of metal and gas?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Tenny had been to the School of Mines<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
+for two weeks, and had retired because he
+didn&rsquo;t care for mathematics and the table
+at the college restaurant wasn&rsquo;t good.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I fancy you are thinking of heterophemy,
+which is an infusion of unorthodox
+gases into a solution of vocabulary particles,&rdquo;
+suggested Billy Jones, grasping his
+sides madly to keep them from shaking.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes,&rdquo; said Tenny, &ldquo;of course. I
+remember now.&rdquo; Then he laughed somewhat,
+and added, &ldquo;I always get misogyny
+and heterophemy mixed.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Who wouldn&rsquo;t?&rdquo; cried Harry Snobbe.
+&ldquo;I do myself! There&rsquo;s no chance to talk
+about either where I live,&rdquo; he added.
+&ldquo;Half the people don&rsquo;t know what they
+mean. They&rsquo;re not very anthropological
+up my way.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s a Samarcand?&rdquo; asked Tenafly,
+again. &ldquo;Haarley&rsquo;s poem speaks of
+Cossack and of Samarcand. Of course
+we all know that a Cossack is a garment
+worn by the Russian peasants, but I never
+heard of a Samarcand.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a thing to put about your neck,&rdquo;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
+said Dick Snobbe. &ldquo;They wear &rsquo;em in
+winter out in Siberia. I looked it up
+some years ago.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s take up &lsquo;cerulean fire,&rsquo;&rdquo; said
+Bedford Parke, Tenafly appearing to be
+satisfied with Snobbe&rsquo;s explanation.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s &lsquo;cerulean fire&rsquo;?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Blue ruin,&rdquo; said Huddy.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And &lsquo;damask earth&rsquo;?&rdquo; said Bedford.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Easy,&rdquo; cried Huddy. &ldquo;Even I can
+understand that. Did you never hear,
+Beddy, of painting a town red? That&rsquo;s
+damask earth in a small way. If you can
+paint a town red with your limited resources,
+what couldn&rsquo;t a god do with a
+godlike credit? As I understand the
+poem, old Sarcophagus comes down out
+of the cerulean fire, and goes in for a little
+damask earth. That&rsquo;s why the poet
+later says:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Canst listen to a prayer, Sarcophagus?<br />
+Indeed O art thou there, Sarcophagus?&rsquo;<br />
+</p></div>
+
+<p>He wanted to pray to him, but didn&rsquo;t know
+if he&rsquo;d got back from damask earth yet.&rdquo;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a perfect wonder, Huddy,&rdquo; said
+Billy Jones. &ldquo;As a thought-detector you
+are a beauty. I believe you&rsquo;d succeed if
+you opened up a literary bureau somewhere
+and devoted your time to explaining
+Browning and Meredith and others to
+a mystified public.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis an excellent idea,&rdquo; said Tom
+Snobbe. &ldquo;I&rsquo;d really rejoice to see certain
+modern British masterpieces translated
+into English, and, with headquarters
+in Boston, the institution ought to
+flourish. Do worms honk?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 488px;">
+<img src="images/gs21.jpg" width="488" height="490" alt="MR. BILLY JONES" title="" />
+<span class="caption">MR. BILLY JONES</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I never heard of any doing so,&rdquo; replied
+the chairman, &ldquo;but in these days it is
+hardly safe to say that anything is impossible.
+If you have watched the development
+of the circus in the last five years&mdash;I
+mean the real circus, not the literary&mdash;you
+must have observed what an advance
+intellectually has been made by the
+various members of the animal kingdom.
+Elephants have been taught to sit at table
+and dine like civilized beings on things
+that aren&rsquo;t good for them; pigs have been
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>
+educated so that, instead of evincing none
+but the more domestic virtues and staying
+contentedly at home, they now play
+poker with the sangfroid of a man about
+town; while the seal, a creature hitherto
+considered useful only in the production
+of sacques for our wives, and ear-tabs for
+our children, and mittens for our hired
+men, are now branching out as rivals to
+the college glee clubs, singing songs, playing
+banjoes, and raising thunder generally.
+Therefore it need surprise no one
+if a worm should learn to honk as high
+as any goose that ever honked. Anyhow,
+you can&rsquo;t criticise a poet for anything of
+that kind. His license permits him to
+take any liberties he may see fit with existing
+conditions.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;All of which,&rdquo; observed Dick Snobbe,
+&ldquo;is wandering from the original point of
+discussion. What is the meaning of Haarley&rsquo;s
+poem? I can&rsquo;t see that as yet we
+have reached a definite understanding on
+that point.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I must confess,&rdquo; said Jones,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
+&ldquo;that I can&rsquo;t understand it myself; but I
+never could understand magazine poetry,
+so that doesn&rsquo;t prove anything. I&rsquo;m only
+a newspaper man.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s have the title, Haarley,&rdquo; cried
+Tenafly Paterson. &ldquo;Was it called &lsquo;Life,&rsquo;
+or &lsquo;Nerve Cells,&rsquo; or what?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>For a second Bridge&rsquo;s cheeks grew red.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, well, if you must have it,&rdquo; he said,
+desperately, &ldquo;here it is. It was called,
+&lsquo;A Thought on Hearing, While Visiting
+Gibraltar in June, 1898, that the War Department
+at Washington Had Failed to
+Send Derricks to Cuba, Thereby Delaying
+the Landing of General Shafter Three
+Days and Giving Comfort to the Enemy.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Great Scott!&rdquo; roared Dick Snobbe.
+&ldquo;What a title!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It is excellent,&rdquo; said Billy Jones. &ldquo;I
+now understand the intent of the poem.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Which was&mdash;?&rdquo; asked Rivers.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;To supply a real hiatus in latter-day
+letters,&rdquo; Jones replied; &ldquo;to give the public
+a war poem that would make them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>
+think, which is what a true war poem
+should do. Who has the ninth ball?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am the unfortunate holder of that,&rdquo;
+said Greenwich Place. &ldquo;I&rsquo;d just been
+reading Anthony Hope and Mr. Dooley.
+The result is a composite, which I will
+read.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What do you call it, Mr. Place?&rdquo;
+asked the stenographer.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; replied Greenwich.
+&ldquo;I guess &lsquo;A Dooley Dialogue&rsquo;
+about describes it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p>
+<h2>VIII</h2>
+
+<h3>DOLLY VISITS CHICAGO</h3>
+
+
+<p class="center"><i>Being the substance of a Dooley dialogue dreamed
+by Greenwich Place, Esq.</i></p>
+
+
+<p>&ldquo;I must see him,&rdquo; said Dolly, rising
+suddenly from her chair and walking to
+the window. &ldquo;I really must, you know.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Who?&rdquo; I asked, rousing myself from
+the lethargy into which my morning paper
+had thrust me. It was not grammatical
+of me&mdash;I was somewhat under the influence
+of newspaper English&mdash;but Dolly
+is quick to understand. &ldquo;Must see who?&rdquo;
+I continued.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Who indeed?&rdquo; cried Dolly, gazing at
+me in mock surprise. &ldquo;How stupid of
+you! If I went to Rome and said I must
+see him, you&rsquo;d know I must mean the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>
+Pope; if I went to Berlin and said I must
+see it, you&rsquo;d know I meant the Emperor.
+Therefore, when I come to Chicago and
+say that I must see him, you ought to be
+able to guess that I mean&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Dooley?&rdquo; I ventured, at a guess.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Good for you!&rdquo; cried Dolly, clapping
+her hands together joyously; and then
+she hummed bewitchingly, &ldquo;The Boy
+Guessed Right the Very First Time,&rdquo; until
+I begged her to desist. When Dolly
+claps her hands and hums, she becomes
+a vision of loveliness that would give
+the most confirmed misogynist palpitation
+of the heart, and I had no wish to
+die.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Do you suppose I could call upon
+him without being thought too unconventional?&rdquo;
+she blurted out in a moment.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You can do anything,&rdquo; said I, admiringly.
+&ldquo;That is, with me to help,&rdquo; I added,
+for I should be sorry if Dolly were to
+grow conceited. &ldquo;Perhaps it would be
+better to have Mr. Dooley call upon you.
+Suppose you send him your card, and put<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>
+&lsquo;at home&rsquo; on it? I fancy that would
+fetch him.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Happy thought!&rdquo; said Dolly. &ldquo;Only
+I haven&rsquo;t one. In the excitement of our
+elopement I forgot to get any. Suppose I
+write my name on a blank card and send
+it?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Excellent,&rdquo; said I.</p>
+
+<p>And so it happened; the morning&rsquo;s
+mail took out an envelope addressed to
+Mr. Dooley, and containing a bit of pasteboard
+upon which was written, in the
+charming hand of Dolly:</p>
+
+<div class="bbox">
+<p class="center">Mrs. R. Dolly-Rassendyll.<br />
+At Home.<br />
+ &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; The Hippodorium.<br />
+Tuesday Afternoon.  &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<br />
+</p></div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/gs22.jpg" width="500" height="340" alt="I MUST SEE HIM" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;&lsquo;I MUST SEE HIM,&rsquo; SAID DOLLY&rdquo;</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The response was gratifyingly immediate.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning Dolly&rsquo;s mail contained
+Mr. Dooley&rsquo;s card, which read as
+follows:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="bbox">
+<p class="center">
+Mr. Dooley.<br />
+At Work.<br />
+Every Day. &nbsp;  &nbsp;  &nbsp;  &nbsp;  Archie Road.<br />
+</p></div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Which means?&rdquo; said Dolly, tossing
+the card across the table to me.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That if you want to see Dooley you&rsquo;ll
+have to call upon him at his place of business.
+It&rsquo;s a saloon, I believe,&rdquo; I observed.
+&ldquo;Or a club&mdash;most American saloons are
+clubs, I understand.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I wonder if there&rsquo;s a ladies&rsquo; day
+there?&rdquo; laughed Dolly. &ldquo;If there isn&rsquo;t,
+perhaps I&rsquo;d better not.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And I of course agreed, for when Dolly
+thinks perhaps she&rsquo;d better not, I always
+agree with her, particularly when the
+thing is a trifle unconventional.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am sorry,&rdquo; she said, as we reached
+the conclusion. &ldquo;To visit Chicago without
+meeting Mr. Dooley strikes me as like
+making the Mediterranean trip without
+seeing Gibraltar.&rdquo;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But we were not to be disappointed,
+after all, for that afternoon who should
+call but the famous philosopher himself,
+accompanied by his friend Mr. Hennessey.
+They were ushered into our little parlor,
+and Dolly received them radiantly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Iv coorse,&rdquo; said Dooley, &ldquo;I hatter
+come t&rsquo; see me new-found cousin. Hennessey
+here says, he says, &lsquo;She ain&rsquo;t yer
+cousin,&rsquo; he says; but whin I read yer
+car-r-rd over th&rsquo; second time, an&rsquo; see yer
+na-a-ame was R. Dooley-Rassendyll, wid th&rsquo;
+hifalution betwixt th&rsquo; Dooley an&rsquo; th&rsquo; Rassendyll,
+I says, &lsquo;Hennessey,&rsquo; I says, &lsquo;that
+shmall bit iv a coupler in that na-a-ame
+means only wan thing,&rsquo; I says. &lsquo;Th&rsquo; la-ady,&rsquo;
+I says, &lsquo;was born a Dooley, an&rsquo; &rsquo;s
+prood iv it,&rsquo; I says, &lsquo;as she&rsquo;d ought to be,&rsquo;
+I says. &lsquo;Shure enough,&rsquo; says Hennessey;
+&lsquo;but they&rsquo;s Dooleys an&rsquo; Dooleys,&rsquo; he says.
+&lsquo;Is she Roscommon or Idunnaw?&rsquo; he says.
+&lsquo;I dinnaw meself,&rsquo; I says, &lsquo;but whichiver
+she is,&rsquo; I says, &lsquo;I&rsquo;m goin&rsquo; to see her,&rsquo; I
+says. &lsquo;Anny wan that can feel at home
+in a big hotel like the Hippojorium,&rsquo; I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
+says, &lsquo;is wort&rsquo; lookin&rsquo; at, if only for the
+curawsity of it,&rsquo; I says. Are ye here for
+long?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We are just passing through,&rdquo; said
+Dolly, with a pleased smile.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a gud pla-ace for that,&rdquo; said Dooley.
+&ldquo;Thim as pass troo Chicago ginerally
+go awaa pleased, an&rsquo; thim as stays t&rsquo;ink
+it&rsquo;s th&rsquo; only pla-ace in th&rsquo; worruld, gud
+luk to &rsquo;em! for, barrin&rsquo; Roscommon an&rsquo;
+New York, it&rsquo;s th&rsquo; only pla-ace I have
+anny use for. Is yer hoosband anny relation
+t&rsquo; th&rsquo; dood in the <i>Prizner iv Cinders</i>?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>I laughed quietly, but did not resent
+the implication. I left Dolly to her fate.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He is the very same person,&rdquo; said
+Dolly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I t&rsquo;ought as much,&rdquo; said Dooley, eying
+me closely. &ldquo;Th&rsquo; strorberry mark on his
+hair sort of identified him,&rdquo; he added.
+&ldquo;Cousin Roopert, I ta-ak ye by the hand.
+Ye was a bra-ave lad in th&rsquo; first book, an&rsquo;
+a dom&rsquo;d fool in th&rsquo; second; but I read th&rsquo;
+second first, and th&rsquo; first lasht, so whin I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>
+left ye ye was all right. I t&rsquo;ought ye was
+dead?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;I am only dead in the
+sense that Mr. Hope has no further use
+for me.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A wise mon, that Mr. Ant&rsquo;ny Hawp,&rdquo;
+said Dooley. &ldquo;Whin I write me book,&rdquo; he
+continued, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m goin&rsquo; t&rsquo; shtop short whin
+folks have had enough.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, indeed!&rdquo; cried Dolly, enthusiastically.
+&ldquo;Are you writing a book, Mr.
+Dooley? I am so glad.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yis,&rdquo; said Dooley, deprecatingly, yet
+pleased by Dolly&rsquo;s enthusiasm. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m half
+finished already. That is to say, I&rsquo;ve made
+th&rsquo; illusthrations. An&rsquo; the publishers have
+accepted the book on th&rsquo; stringth iv them.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Really?&rdquo; said Dolly. &ldquo;Do you really
+draw?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Nawm,&rdquo; said Dooley. &ldquo;I niver drew
+a picture in me life.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;He draws corks,&rdquo; put in Hennessey.
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s got a pull that bates&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hennessey,&rdquo; interrupted Mr. Dooley,
+&ldquo;since whin have ye been me funnygraph?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>
+Whin me cousin ashks me riddles, I&rsquo;ll tell
+her th&rsquo; answers. G&rsquo; down-shtairs an&rsquo; get
+a cloob san&rsquo;wich an&rsquo; ate yourself to death.
+Char-rge it to&mdash;er&mdash;char-rge it to Misther
+Rassendyll here&mdash;me cousin Roop, be
+marritch. He looks liks a soft t&rsquo;ing.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Hennessey subsided and showed an inclination
+to depart, and I, not liking to
+see a well-meaning person thus sat upon,
+tried to be pleasant to him.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t go just yet, Mr. Hennessey,&rdquo;
+said I. &ldquo;I should like to talk to you.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Rassendyll,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not
+goin&rsquo; just yet, but an invitation to join
+farces with one iv the Hippojorium&rsquo;s cloob
+sandwhiches is too much for me. I must
+accept. Phwat is the noomber iv your
+shweet?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>I gave him the number, and Hennessey
+departed. Before he went, however, he
+comforted me somewhat by saying that
+he too was &ldquo;a puppit in th&rsquo; han&rsquo;s iv an
+auter. Ye&rsquo;ve got to do,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;whativer
+ye&rsquo;re sint t&rsquo; do. I&rsquo;m told ye&rsquo;ve killed
+a million Germans&mdash;bless ye!&mdash;but ye&rsquo;re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>
+nawthin&rsquo; but a facthory hand afther all.
+I&rsquo;m th&rsquo; background iv Dooley. If Dooley
+wants to be smar-rt, I&rsquo;ve got t&rsquo; play th&rsquo;
+fool. It&rsquo;s the same with you; only you&rsquo;ve
+had yer chance at a printcess, later on
+pla-acin&rsquo; the la-ady in a &rsquo;nonymous p&rsquo;sition&mdash;which
+is enough for anny man, Dooley
+or no Dooley.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Hennessey departed in search of his
+club sandwich, which was subsequently
+alluded to in my bill, and for which I paid
+with pleasure, for Hennessey is a good fellow.
+I then found myself listening to the
+conversation between Dolly and Dooley.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Roscommon, of course,&rdquo; Dolly was saying.
+What marvellous adaptability that
+woman has! &ldquo;How could you think, my
+dear cousin, that I belonged to the farmer
+Dooleys?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I t&rsquo;ought as much,&rdquo; said Mr. Dooley,
+genially, &ldquo;now that I&rsquo;ve seen ye. Whin
+you put th&rsquo; wor-rds &lsquo;at home&rsquo; on yer
+car-rd, I had me doots. No Dooley iv th&rsquo;
+right sor-rt iver liked annyt&rsquo;ing a landlord
+gave him; an&rsquo; whin y&rsquo; expreshed satisfaction<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>
+wid th&rsquo; Hippojorium, I didn&rsquo;t at
+first t&rsquo;ink ye was a true Dooley. Since I&rsquo;ve
+seen ye, I love ye properly, ma&rsquo;am&mdash;like
+th&rsquo; cousin I am. I&rsquo;ve read iv ye, just as
+I&rsquo;ve read iv yer hoosband, Cousin Roopert
+here be marritch, in th&rsquo; biojographies of
+Mr. Ant&rsquo;ny Hawp, an&rsquo; while I cudn&rsquo;t help
+likin&rsquo; ye, I must say I didn&rsquo;t t&rsquo;ink ye was
+very deep on th&rsquo; surface, an&rsquo; when I read
+iv your elopin&rsquo; with Cousin Roop, I says
+to Hennessey, I says, &lsquo;Hennessey,&rsquo; I says,
+&lsquo;that&rsquo;s all right, they&rsquo;d bote iv &rsquo;em better
+die, but let us not be asashinators,&rsquo; I says;
+&lsquo;let &rsquo;em be joined in marritch. That&rsquo;s
+punishment enough,&rsquo; I says to Hennessey.
+Ye see, Miss Dooley, I have been marrit
+meself.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But I have found married life far from
+punishment,&rdquo; I heard Dolly say. &ldquo;I fear
+you&rsquo;re a sad pessimist, Mr. Dooley,&rdquo; she
+added.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not,&rdquo; Mr. Dooley replied. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
+a Jimmycrat out an&rsquo; out, if ye refer to me
+politics; but if your remark is a reflection
+on me religion, let me tell ye, ma&rsquo;am,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>
+that, like all me countrymen in this beautiful
+land, I&rsquo;m a Uni-tarrian, an&rsquo; prood iv it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>I ventured to interpose at this point.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Dooley,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;your cousin Roop,
+as you call him, is very glad to meet you,
+whatever your politics or your religion.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mosht people are,&rdquo; said he, dryly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That shows good taste,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;But
+how about your book? It has been accepted
+on the strength of its illustrations,
+you say. How about them? Can we see
+them anywhere? Are they on exhibition?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You can not only see thim, but you
+can drink &rsquo;em free anny time you come
+out to Archie Road,&rdquo; Dooley replied, cordially.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Drink&mdash;a picture?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 449px;">
+<img src="images/gs23.jpg" width="449" height="510" alt="KAPE YOUR HOOSBAND HOME" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;&lsquo;KAPE YOUR HOOSBAND HOME&rsquo;&rdquo;</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yis,&rdquo; said Dooley. &ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t ye iver
+hear iv dhrinkin&rsquo; in a picture, Cousin Roopert?
+Didn&rsquo;t ye hear th&rsquo; tark about th&rsquo;
+&lsquo;Angelus&rsquo; whin &rsquo;twas here? Ye cud hear
+th&rsquo; bells ringin&rsquo; troo th&rsquo; paint iv it. Ye
+cud almost hear th&rsquo; couple in front just
+back iv th&rsquo; varnish quar&rsquo;lin as t&rsquo;whether
+&rsquo;twas th&rsquo; Angelus er the facthery bell that
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>
+was goin&rsquo; off. &rsquo;Twas big an&rsquo; little felt
+th&rsquo; inflooance iv Misther Miller&rsquo;s jaynius,
+just be lukin&rsquo; at ut&mdash;though as fer me, th&rsquo;
+fir-rst time I see the t&rsquo;ing I says, says I,
+&lsquo;Is ut lukin&rsquo; for bait to go fishin&rsquo; with
+they are?&rsquo; I says. &lsquo;Can&rsquo;t ye hear the
+pealin&rsquo; iv the bells?&rsquo; says Hennessey, who
+was with me. &lsquo;That an&rsquo; more,&rsquo; I says. &lsquo;I
+can hear the pealin&rsquo; o&rsquo; th&rsquo; petayties,&rsquo; I says.
+&lsquo;Do ye dhrink in th&rsquo; feelin&rsquo; iv it?&rsquo; says
+Hennessey. &lsquo;Naw, t&rsquo;ank ye,&rsquo; I says. &lsquo;I&rsquo;m
+not thirsty,&rsquo; I says. &lsquo;Besides, I&rsquo;ve swore off
+dhrinkin&rsquo; ile-paintin&rsquo;s,&rsquo; I says. &lsquo;Wathercoolers
+is gud enough fer me,&rsquo; I says. An&rsquo;
+wid that we wint back to the Road. But
+that was th&rsquo; fir-rst time I iver heard iv
+dhrinkin&rsquo; a work iv ar-rt.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But some of the things you&mdash;ah&mdash;you
+Americans drink,&rdquo; put in Dolly, &ldquo;are
+works of art, my dear Mr. Dooley. Your
+cousin Rupert gave me a cocktail at dinner
+last night&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ye&rsquo;ve hit ut, Miss Dooley,&rdquo; returned
+the philosopher, with a beautiful enthusiasm.
+&ldquo;Ye&rsquo;ve hit ut square. I see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>
+now y&rsquo;re a thrue Dooley. An&rsquo; wid yer
+kind permission I&rsquo;ll dedicate me book to
+ye. Ut&rsquo;s cocktails that book&rsquo;s about,
+ma&rsquo;am. <i>Fifty Cocktails I Have Met</i> is th&rsquo;
+na-ame iv ut. An&rsquo; whin I submitted th&rsquo;
+mannyscrip&rsquo; wid th&rsquo; illusthrations to the
+publisher, he dhrank &rsquo;em all, an&rsquo; he says,
+&lsquo;Dooley,&rsquo; he says, &lsquo;ut&rsquo;s a go. I&rsquo;ll do yer
+book,&rsquo; he says, &lsquo;an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll pay ye wan hoondred
+an&rsquo; siventy-five per cent.,&rsquo; he says.
+&lsquo;Set &rsquo;em up again, Dooley,&rsquo; he says; an&rsquo;
+I mixed &rsquo;em. &lsquo;I t&rsquo;ink, Dooley,&rsquo; he says,
+afther goin&rsquo; troo th&rsquo; illusthrations th&rsquo; second
+toime&mdash;&lsquo;I t&rsquo;ink,&rsquo; he says, &lsquo;ye&rsquo;d ought
+to get two hoondred an&rsquo; wan per cent. on
+th&rsquo; retail price iv th&rsquo; book,&rsquo; he says.
+&lsquo;Can&rsquo;t I take a bottle iv these illusthrations
+to me office?&rsquo; he says. &lsquo;I&rsquo;d like to
+look &rsquo;em over,&rsquo; he says; an&rsquo; I mixed &rsquo;im
+up a quar-rt iv th&rsquo; illusthrations to th&rsquo;
+chapther on th&rsquo; Mar-rtinney, an&rsquo; sent him
+back to his partner in th&rsquo; ambylanch.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 449px;">
+<img src="images/gs24.jpg" width="449" height="548" alt="MIXING ILLUSTRATIONS" title="" />
+<span class="caption">MIXING ILLUSTRATIONS</span>
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I shall look forward to the publication
+of your book with much interest, Mr.
+Dooley,&rdquo; said Dolly. &ldquo;Now that I have
+discovered our cousinship, I am even more
+interested in you than I was before; and
+let me tell you that, before I met you,
+I thought of you as the most vital figure
+in American humor that has been produced
+in many years.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>&ldquo;I know nothin&rsquo; iv American humor,&rdquo;
+said Dooley, &ldquo;for I haven&rsquo;t met anny lately,
+an&rsquo; I know nothin&rsquo; iv victuals save
+what I ate, an&rsquo; me appytite is as satisfoid
+wid itself as Hobson is wid th&rsquo; kisses
+brawt onto him by th&rsquo; sinkin&rsquo; iv th&rsquo;
+Merrimickinley. But for you an&rsquo; Misther
+Rassendyll, ma&rsquo;am, I&rsquo;ve nothin&rsquo; but good
+wishes an&rsquo; ah&mdash;illusthrations to me book
+whenever ye give yer orders. Kape your
+hoosband home, Miss Dooley,&rdquo; he added.
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s scrapped wanst too often already
+wi&rsquo; th&rsquo; Ruraltarriers, an&rsquo; he&rsquo;s been killed
+off wanst by Mr. Ant&rsquo;ny Hawp; but he&rsquo;ll
+niver die if ye only kape him home. If
+he goes out he&rsquo;ll git fightin&rsquo; agin. If he
+attimpts a sayquil to the sayquil, he&rsquo;s dead
+sure enough!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And with this Dolly and Dooley parted.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>For myself, Rupert Rassendyll, I think
+Dooley&rsquo;s advice was good, and as long as
+Dolly will keep me home, I&rsquo;ll stay. For
+is it not better to be the happy husband
+of Dolly of the Dialogues, than to be going
+about like a knight of the Middle
+Ages clad in the evening dress of the nineteenth
+century, doing impossible things?</p>
+
+<p>As for Dooley&rsquo;s impression of Dolly, I
+can only quote what I heard he had said
+after meeting her.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s a Dooley sure,&rdquo; said he, being
+novel to compliment. And I am glad she
+is, for despite the charms of Flavia of
+pleasant memory, there&rsquo;s nobody like Dolly
+for me, and if Dolly can only be acknowledged
+by the Dooleys, her fame, I
+am absolutely confident, is assured.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p>
+<h2>IX</h2>
+
+<h3>IN WHICH YELLOW JOURNALISM CREEPS
+IN</h3>
+
+
+<p>The applause which followed the reading
+of the Dooley Dialogue showed very
+clearly that, among the diners at least,
+neither Dooley nor Dolly had waned in
+popularity. If the dilution, the faint echo
+of the originals, evoked such applause, how
+potent must have been the genius of the
+men who first gave life to Dooley and the
+fair Dolly!</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s good stuff, Greenwich,&rdquo; said
+Billie Jones. &ldquo;You must have eaten a
+particularly digestible meal. Now for the
+tenth ball. Who has it?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I,&rdquo; said Dick Snobbe, rising majestically
+from his chair. &ldquo;And I can tell you
+what it is; I had a tough time of it in my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>
+dream, as you will perceive when I recite
+to you the story of my experiences at the
+battle of Manila.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Great Scott, Dick!&rdquo; cried Bedford
+Parke. &ldquo;You weren&rsquo;t in that, were you?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; returned Dick, &ldquo;I was not only
+<i>in</i> it, I was the thing itself. I was the
+war correspondent of the Sunday <i>Whirnal</i>,
+attached to Dewey&rsquo;s fleet.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Whereupon the talented Mr. Snobbe
+proceeded to read the following cable despatch
+from the special correspondent of
+the <i>Whirnal</i>:</p>
+
+
+<p class="center">MANILA FALLS<br />
+<small>THE SPANISH FLEET DESTROYED</small><br />
+THE SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT OF THE <i>WHIRNAL</i><br />
+<span class="smcap">Aided by Commodore Dewey and his Fleet</span><br />
+CAPTURES THE PHILIPPINES</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Manila</span>, <i>May 1, 1898</i>.&mdash;I have glorious
+news. I have this day destroyed the
+Spanish fleet and captured the Philippine
+Islands. According to my instructions
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
+from the City Editor of the <i>Whirnal</i>, I
+boarded the <i>Olympia</i>, the flag-ship of the
+fleet under Commodore Dewey at Hong-kong,
+on Wednesday last. Upon reading
+my credentials the Commodore immediately
+surrendered the command of the
+fleet to me, and retired to his state-room,
+where he has since remained. I deemed
+it well to keep him there until after the
+battle was over, fearing lest he should annoy
+me with suggestions, and not knowing
+but that he might at any time spread
+dissension among the officers and men,
+who, after the habit of seamen, frequently
+manifest undue affection and sympathy
+for a deposed commander. I likewise,
+according to your wishes, concealed from
+the officers and crew the fact that the
+Commodore had been deposed, furthering
+the concealment by myself making up as
+Dewey. Indeed, it was not until after
+the battle this morning that any but
+Dewey and the ship&rsquo;s barber were aware
+of the substitution, since my disguise was
+perfect. The ship&rsquo;s barber I had to take
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>into my confidence, for unfortunately on
+leaving Hong-kong I had forgotten to
+provide myself with a false mustache, so
+that in concealing the deposition of the
+Commodore by myself assuming his personality
+I was compelled to have the gentleman&rsquo;s
+mustache removed from his upper
+lip and transferred to my own. This
+the barber did with neatness and despatch,
+I having first chloroformed the Commodore,
+from whom some resistance might
+have been expected, owing to his peculiar
+temperament. Fortunately the fellow was
+an expert wig-maker, and within an hour
+of the shaving of Dewey I was provided
+with a mustache which could not fail to
+be recognized as the Commodore&rsquo;s, since it
+was indeed that very same object. When
+five hundred miles at sea I dropped the
+barber overboard, fearing lest he should
+disturb my plans by talking too much. I
+hated to do it, but in the interest of the
+<i>Whirnal</i> I hold life itself as of little consequence,
+particularly if it is the life of
+some one else&mdash;and who knows but the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>
+poor fellow was an expert swimmer, and
+has by this time reached Borneo or some
+other bit of dry land? He was alive when
+I last saw him, and yelling right lustily. If
+it so happen that he has swum ashore somewhere,
+kindly let me know at your convenience;
+for beneath a correspondent&rsquo;s
+exterior I have a warm heart, and it sometimes
+troubles me to think that the poor
+fellow may have foundered, since the sea
+was stressful and the nearest dry point
+was four hundred and sixty knots away
+to S.E. by N.G., while the wind was blowing
+N.W. by N.Y.C. &amp; H.R.R. But to
+my despatch.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 449px;">
+<img src="images/gs25.jpg" width="449" height="490" alt="THE SHIP'S BARBER AT WORK" title="" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p>
+<span class="caption">THE SHIP&rsquo;S BARBER AT WORK</span>
+</div>
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p>
+<p>Dewey done for, despoiled of his mustache
+and rifled of his place, with a heavy
+sea running and a dense fog listing to
+starboard, I summoned my officers to the
+flag-ship, and, on the evening of April 30th,
+the fog-horns of Cavit&eacute; having indicated
+the approach of the Philippine coast, gave
+them, one and all, their final instructions.
+These were, in brief, never to do anything
+without consulting with me.</p>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p>
+<p>&ldquo;To facilitate matters, gentlemen,&rdquo; said
+I, ordering an extra supply of grog for the
+captains, and milk punches for the lieutenants,
+&ldquo;we must connect the various
+vessels of the fleet with telephone wires.
+Who will undertake this perilous duty?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>They rose up as one man, and, with the
+precision of a grand-opera chorus, replied:
+&ldquo;Commodore&rdquo;&mdash;for they had not penetrated
+my disguise&mdash;&ldquo;call upon us. If
+you will provide the wires and the &rsquo;phones,
+we will do the rest.&rdquo; And they followed
+these patriotic words with cheers for me.</p>
+
+<p>Their heroism so affected me that I had
+difficulty in frowning upon the head-butler&rsquo;s
+suggestion that my glass should be
+filled again.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; said I, huskily&mdash;for I was
+visibly affected&mdash;&ldquo;I have provided for
+all. I could not do otherwise and remain
+myself. You will find ten thousand
+miles of wire and sixty-six telephones in
+the larder.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>That night every ship in the fleet was
+provided with telephone service. I appointed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
+the <i>Olympia</i> to be the central
+office, so that I might myself control all
+the messages, or at least hear them as they
+passed to and fro. In the absence of ladies
+from the fleet, I appointed a somewhat
+effeminate subaltern to the post of &ldquo;Hello
+Officer,&rdquo; with complete control over the
+switch-board. And, as it transpired, this
+was a very wise precaution, because the
+central office was placed in the hold, and
+the poor little chap&rsquo;s courage was so inclined
+to ooze that in the midst of the
+fight he was content to sit below the water-line
+at his post, and not run about
+the promenade-deck giving orders while
+under fire. I have cabled the President
+about him, and have advised his promotion.
+His heroic devotion to the switch-board
+ought to make him a naval attach&eacute;
+to some foreign court, at least. I trust
+his bravery will ultimately result in his
+being sent to the Paris Exposition as
+charge d&rsquo;affaires in the Erie Canal department
+of the New York State exhibit.</p>
+
+<p>But to return to my despatch&mdash;which
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>from this point must disregard space and
+move quickly. Passing Cape Bolinao, we
+soon reached Subig Bay, fifty miles from
+Manila. Recognizing the cape by the
+crop of hemp on its brow, I rang up the
+<i>Boston</i> and the <i>Concord</i>.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Search Subig Bay,&rdquo; I ordered.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s this?&rdquo; came the answer from
+the other end.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Never mind who I am,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Search
+Subig Bay for Spaniards.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hello!&rdquo; said the <i>Boston</i>.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Who the deuce are you?&rdquo; cried the
+<i>Concord</i>.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m seventeen-five-six,&rdquo; I replied, with
+some sarcasm, for that was not my number.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I want sixteen-two-one,&rdquo; retorted the
+<i>Boston</i>.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ring off,&rdquo; said the <i>Concord</i>. &ldquo;What
+do you mean by giving me seventeen-five-six?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hello, <i>Boston</i> and <i>Concord</i>,&rdquo; I put in
+in commanding tones. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m Dewey.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>This is the only false statement I ever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>
+made, but it was in the interests of my
+country, and my reply was electrical in
+its effect. The <i>Boston</i> immediately blew
+off steam, and the <i>Concord</i> sounded all
+hands to quarters.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What do you want, Commodore?&rdquo;
+they asked simultaneously.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Search Subig Bay for Spaniards, as I
+have already ordered you,&rdquo; I replied, &ldquo;and
+woe be unto you if you don&rsquo;t find any.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What do you want &rsquo;em for, Commodore?&rdquo;
+asked the <i>Boston</i>.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;To engage, you idiot,&rdquo; I replied,
+scornfully. &ldquo;What did you suppose&mdash;to
+teach me Spanish?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Both vessels immediately piped all hands
+on deck and set off. Two hours later they
+returned, and the telephone subaltern reported,
+&ldquo;No Spaniards found.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; I demanded.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;All gone to Cuba,&rdquo; replied the <i>Boston</i>.
+&ldquo;Shall we pipe all hands to Cuba?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Wires too short to penetrate without
+a bust,&rdquo; replied the <i>Concord</i>.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;On to Manila!&rdquo; was my answer. &ldquo;Ding
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>the torpedoes&mdash;go ahead! Give us Spaniards
+or give us death!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>These words inspired every ship in the
+line, and we immediately strained forward,
+except the <i>McCulloch</i>, which I despatched
+at once to Hong-kong to cable
+my last words to you in time for the Adirondack
+edition of your Sunday issue
+leaving New York Thursday afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>The rest of us immediately proceeded.
+In a short while, taking advantage of the
+darkness for which I had provided by
+turning the clock back so that the sun by
+rising at the usual hour should not disclose
+our presence, we turned Corregidor
+and headed up the Boca Grande towards
+Manila. As we were turning Corregidor
+the telephone-bell rang, and somebody
+who refused to give his name, but stating
+that he was aboard the <i>Petrel</i>, called me up.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hello!&rdquo; said I.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Is this Dewey?&rdquo; said the <i>Petrel</i>.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said I.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There are torpedoes ahead,&rdquo; said the
+<i>Petrel</i>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What of it?&rdquo; said I.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How shall we treat &rsquo;em?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Blow &rsquo;em off&mdash;to soda water,&rdquo; I answered,
+sarcastically.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, sir,&rdquo; the <i>Petrel</i> replied,
+as she rang off.</p>
+
+<p>Then somebody from the <i>Baltimore</i>
+rang me up.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Commodore Dewey,&rdquo; said the <i>Baltimore</i>,
+&ldquo;there are mines in the harbor.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, what of it?&rdquo; I replied.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What shall we do?&rdquo; asked the <i>Baltimore</i>.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Treat them coldly, as they do in the
+Klondike,&rdquo; said I.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But they aren&rsquo;t gold-mines,&rdquo; replied
+the <i>Baltimore</i>.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then salt &rsquo;em,&rdquo; said I, dryly. &ldquo;Apply
+for a certificate of incorporation, water
+your stock, sell out, and retire.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thank you, Commodore,&rdquo; the <i>Baltimore</i>
+answered. &ldquo;How many shares shall
+we put you down for?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;None,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;But if you&rsquo;ll use
+your surplus to start a life-insurance company,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
+I&rsquo;ll take out a policy for forty-eight
+hours, and send you my demand note to
+pay for the first premium.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>I mention this merely to indicate to
+your readers that I felt myself in a position
+of extreme peril, and did not forget
+my obligations to my family. It is a small
+matter, but if you will search the pages of
+history you will see that in the midst of
+the greatest dangers the greatest heroes
+have thought of apparently insignificant
+details.</p>
+
+<p>At this precise moment we came in
+sight of the fortresses of Manila. Signalling
+the <i>Raleigh</i> to heave to, I left the
+flag-ship and jumped aboard the cruiser,
+where I discharged with my own hand the
+after-forecastle four-inch gun. The shot
+struck Corregidor, and, glancing off, as
+I had designed, caromed on the smoke-stack
+of the <i>Reina Cristina</i>, the flag-ship
+of Admiral Montojo. The Admiral, unaccustomed
+to such treatment, immediately
+got out of bed, and, putting on his
+pajamas, appeared on the bridge.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/gs26.jpg" width="500" height="350" alt="A CLEVER CAROM" title="" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p>
+<span class="caption">A CLEVER CAROM</span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Who smoked our struck-stack?&rdquo; he
+demanded, in broken English.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The enemy,&rdquo; cried his crew, with some
+nervousness. I was listening to their
+words through the megaphone.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then let her sink,&rdquo; said he, clutching
+his brow sadly with his clinched fist.
+&ldquo;Far be it from me to stay afloat in
+Manila Bay on the 1st of May, and so
+cast discredit on history!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Reina Cristina</i> immediately sank,
+according to the orders of the Admiral,
+and I turned my attention to the <i>Don
+Juan de Austria</i>. Rowing across the
+raging channel to the <i>Baltimore</i>, I boarded
+her and pulled the lanyard of the port
+boom forty-two. The discharge was terrific.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What has happened?&rdquo; I asked, coolly,
+as the explosion exploded. &ldquo;Did we hit
+her?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;We did, your honor,&rdquo; said the Bo&rsquo;s&rsquo;n&rsquo;s
+mate, &ldquo;square in the eye; only, Commodore,
+it ain&rsquo;t a her this time&mdash;it&rsquo;s a him.
+It&rsquo;s the <i>Don Juan de</i>&mdash;&rdquo;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Never mind the sex,&rdquo; I cried. &ldquo;Has
+she sank?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; replied the Bo&rsquo;s&rsquo;n&rsquo;s mate,
+&ldquo;she &rsquo;ain&rsquo;t sank yet. She&rsquo;s a-waiting
+orders.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Fly signals to sink,&rdquo; said I, sternly,
+for I had resolved that she should go
+down.</p>
+
+<p>They did so, and the <i>Don Juan de
+Austria</i> immediately disappeared beneath
+the waves. Her commander evidently
+realized that I meant what I signalled.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Are there any more of the enemy
+afloat?&rdquo; I demanded, jumping from the
+deck of the <i>Baltimore</i> to that of the <i>Concord</i>.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, Commodore,&rdquo; replied the captain
+of the latter.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then signal the enemy to charter two
+more gunboats and have &rsquo;em sent out. I
+can&rsquo;t be put off with two boats when I&rsquo;m
+ready to sink four,&rdquo; I replied.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 451px;">
+<img src="images/gs27.jpg" width="451" height="490" alt="SINKING THE CASTILLA" title="" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p>
+<span class="caption">SINKING THE CASTILLA</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>The <i>Concord</i> immediately telephoned to
+the Spanish commandant at the Manila
+Caf&eacute; de la Paix, who as quickly chartered
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>
+the <i>Castilla</i> and the <i>Velasco</i>&mdash;two very
+good boats that had recently come in in
+ballast with the idea of loading up with
+bananas and tobacco.</p>
+
+<p>While waiting for these vessels to come
+out and be sunk, I ordered all hands to
+breakfast, thus reviving their falling courage.
+It was a very good breakfast, too.
+We had mush and hominy and potatoes
+in every style, beefsteak, chops, liver and
+bacon, chicken hash, buckwheat cakes
+and fish-balls, coffee, tea, rolls, toast,
+and brown bread.</p>
+
+<p>Just as we were eating the latter the
+<i>Castilla</i> and <i>Velasco</i> came out. I fired my
+revolver at the <i>Castilla</i> and threw a fish-ball
+at the <i>Velasco</i>. Both immediately
+burst into flames.</p>
+
+<p>Manila was conquered.</p>
+
+<p>The fleet gone, the city fell. It not
+only fell, but slid, and by nightfall Old
+Glory waved over the citadel.</p>
+
+<p>The foe was licked.</p>
+
+<p>To-morrow I am to see Dewey again.</p>
+
+<p>I think I shall resign to-night.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>P.S.&mdash;Please send word to the magazines
+that all articles by Dewey must be written
+by Me. Terms, $500 per word. The
+strain has been worth it.</p></div>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p>
+<h2>X</h2>
+
+<h3>THE MYSTERY OF PINKHAM&rsquo;S DIAMOND
+STUD</h3>
+
+
+<p class="center"><i>Being the tale told by the holder of the eleventh ball,
+Mr. Fulton Streete</i></p>
+
+
+<p>&ldquo;It is the little things that tell in detective
+work, my dear Watson,&rdquo; said Sherlock
+Holmes as we sat over our walnuts
+and coffee one bitter winter night shortly
+before his unfortunate departure to Switzerland,
+whence he never returned.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose that is so,&rdquo; said I, pulling
+away upon the very excellent stogie which
+mine host had provided&mdash;one made in
+Pittsburg in 1885, and purchased by
+Holmes, whose fine taste in tobacco had
+induced him to lay a thousand of these
+down in his cigar-cellar for three years,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>
+and then keep them in a refrigerator,
+overlaid with a cloth soaked in Ch&acirc;teau
+Yquem wine for ten. The result may be
+better imagined than described. Suffice
+it to say that my head did not recover for
+three days, and the ash had to be cut off
+the stogie with a knife. &ldquo;I suppose so,
+my dear Holmes,&rdquo; I repeated, taking my
+knife and cutting three inches of the
+stogie off and casting it aside, furtively,
+lest he should think I did not appreciate
+the excellence of the tobacco, &ldquo;but it is
+not given to all of us to see the little
+things. Is it, now?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, rising and picking up
+the rejected portion of the stogie. &ldquo;We
+all see everything that goes on, but we
+don&rsquo;t all know it. We all hear everything
+that goes on, but we are not conscious of
+the fact. For instance, at this present
+moment there is somewhere in this world
+a man being set upon by assassins and
+yelling lustily for help. Now his yells
+create a certain atmospheric disturbance.
+Sound is merely vibration, and, once set<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>
+going, these vibrations will run on and on
+and on in ripples into the infinite&mdash;that
+is, they will never stop, and sooner or later
+these vibrations must reach our ears. We
+may not know it when they do, but they
+will do so none the less. If the man is in
+the next room, we will hear the yells almost
+simultaneously&mdash;not quite, but almost&mdash;with
+their utterance. If the man
+is in Timbuctoo, the vibrations may not
+reach us for a little time, according to the
+speed with which they travel. So with
+sight. Sight seems limited, but in reality
+it is not. <i>Vox populi, vox Dei</i>. If
+<i>vox</i>, why not <i>oculus</i>? It is a simple proposition,
+then, that the eye of the people
+being the eye of God, the eye of God being
+all-seeing, therefore the eye of the
+people is all-seeing&mdash;Q. E. D.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>I gasped, and Holmes, cracking a walnut,
+gazed into the fire for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;It all comes down, then,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;to
+the question, who are the people?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Holmes smiled grimly. &ldquo;All men,&rdquo; he
+replied, shortly; &ldquo;and when I say all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
+men, I mean all creatures who can reason.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Does that include women?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Indubitably.
+The fact that women <i>don&rsquo;t</i> reason does
+not prove that they can&rsquo;t. I <i>can</i> go up in
+a balloon if I wish to, but I <i>don&rsquo;t</i>. I <i>can</i>
+read an American newspaper comic supplement,
+but I <i>don&rsquo;t</i>. So it is with women.
+Women can reason, and therefore
+they have a right to be included in the
+classification whether they do or don&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Quite so,&rdquo; was all I could think of to
+say at the moment. The extraordinary
+logic of the man staggered me, and I again
+began to believe that the famous mathematician
+who said that if Sherlock
+Holmes attempted to prove that five apples
+plus three peaches made four pears,
+he would not venture to dispute his conclusions,
+was wise. (This was the famous
+Professor Zoggenhoffer, of the Leipsic
+School of Moral Philosophy and Stenography.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Ed.</span>)</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Now you agree, my dear Watson,&rdquo; he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
+said, &ldquo;that I have proved that we see
+everything?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well&mdash;&rdquo; I began.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Whether we are conscious of it or
+not?&rdquo; he added, lighting the gas-log, for
+the cold was becoming intense.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;From that point of view, I suppose so&mdash;yes,&rdquo;
+I replied, desperately.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, then, this being granted, consciousness
+is all that is needed to make
+us fully informed on any point.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; I said, with some positiveness.
+&ldquo;The American people are very conscious,
+but I can&rsquo;t say that generally they are
+well-informed.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>I had an idea this would knock him out,
+as the Bostonians say, but counted without
+my host. He merely laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The American is only self-conscious.
+Therefore he is well-informed only as to
+self,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve proved your point, Sherlock,&rdquo;
+I said. &ldquo;Go on. What else have you
+proved?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That it is the little things that tell,&rdquo;
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
+he replied. &ldquo;Which all men would realize
+in a moment if they could see the little
+things&mdash;and when I say &lsquo;if they could
+see,&rsquo; I of course mean if they could be
+conscious of them.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Very true,&rdquo; said I.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And I have the gift of consciousness,&rdquo;
+he added.</p>
+
+<p>I thought he had, and I said so. &ldquo;But,&rdquo;
+I added, &ldquo;give me a concrete example.&rdquo;
+It had been some weeks since I had listened
+to any of his detective stories, and I was
+athirst for another.</p>
+
+<p>He rose up and walked over to his
+pigeon-holes, each labelled with a letter,
+in alphabetical sequence.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I have only to refer to any of these
+to do so,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Choose your letter.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Really, Holmes,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
+need to do that. I&rsquo;ll believe all you say.
+In fact, I&rsquo;ll write it up and <i>sign my
+name</i> to any statement you choose to
+make.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 451px;">
+<img src="images/gs28.jpg" width="451" height="490" alt="THE LAMP-POSTS WERE TWISTED" title="" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p>
+<span class="caption">THE LAMP-POSTS WERE TWISTED</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Choose your letter, Watson,&rdquo; he retorted.
+&ldquo;You and I are on terms that
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>
+make flattery impossible. Is it F, J, P,
+Q, or Z?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He fixed his eye penetratingly upon me.
+It seemed for the moment as if I were hypnotized,
+and as his gaze fairly stabbed me
+with its intensity, through my mind there
+ran the suggestion &ldquo;Choose J, choose J,
+choose J.&rdquo; To choose J became an obsession.
+To relieve my mind, I turned my
+eye from his and looked at the fire. Each
+flame took on the form of the letter J. I
+left my chair and walked to the window
+and looked out. The lamp-posts were
+twisted into the shape of the letter J. I
+returned, sat down, gulped down my
+brandy-and-soda, and looked up at the
+portraits of Holmes&rsquo;s ancestors on the
+wall. They were all J&rsquo;s. But I was resolved
+never to yield, and I gasped out,
+desperately,</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Z!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; he said, calmly. &ldquo;Z be it.
+I thought you would. Reflex hypnotism,
+my dear Watson, is my forte. If I wish a
+man to choose Q, B takes hold upon him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>
+If I wish him to choose K, A fills his
+mind. Have you ever observed how the
+mind of man repels a suggestion and flees
+to something else, merely that it may
+demonstrate its independence of another
+mind? Now I have been suggesting J to
+you, and you have chosen Z&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You misunderstood me,&rdquo; I cried,
+desperately. &ldquo;I did not say Z; I said
+P.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Quite so,&rdquo; said he, with an inward
+chuckle. &ldquo;P was the letter I wished you
+to choose. If you had insisted upon Z,
+I should really have been embarrassed.
+See!&rdquo; he added. He removed the green-ended
+box that rested in the pigeon-hole
+marked Z, and, opening it, disclosed an
+emptiness.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve never had a Z case. But P,&rdquo; he
+observed, quietly, &ldquo;is another thing altogether.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Here he took out the box marked P
+from the pigeon-hole, and, opening it, removed
+the contents&mdash;a single paper which
+was carefully endorsed, in his own handwriting,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>
+&ldquo;The Mystery of Pinkham&rsquo;s Diamond
+Stud.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You could not have selected a better
+case, Watson,&rdquo; he said, as he unfolded
+the paper and scanned it closely. &ldquo;One
+would almost think you had some prevision
+of the fact.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am not aware,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;that you
+ever told the story of Pinkham&rsquo;s diamond
+stud. Who was Pinkham, and what kind
+of a diamond stud was it&mdash;first-water or
+Rhine?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Pinkham,&rdquo; Holmes rejoined, &ldquo;was an
+American millionaire, living during business
+hours at Allegheny City, Pennsylvania,
+where he had to wear a brilliant stud
+to light him on his way through the
+streets, which are so dark and sooty that
+an ordinary search-light would not suffice.
+In his leisure hours, however, he lived at
+the Hotel Walledup-Hysteria, in New York,
+where he likewise had to wear the same
+diamond stud to keep him from being a
+marked man. Have you ever visited New
+York, Watson?&rdquo;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said I.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, when you do, spend a little of
+your time at the Walledup-Hysteria. It
+is a hotel with a population larger than
+that of most cities, with streets running
+to and from all points of the compass;
+where men and women eat under conditions
+that Lucullus knew nothing of;
+where there is a carpeted boulevard on
+which walk all sorts and conditions of
+men; where one pays one&rsquo;s bill to the
+dulcet strains of a string orchestra that
+woo him into a blissful forgetfulness of
+its size; and where, by pressing a button
+in the wall, you may summon a grand
+opera, or a porter who on request will
+lend you enough money to enable you and
+your family to live the balance of your
+days in comfort. In America men have
+been known to toil for years to amass a
+fortune for the one cherished object of
+spending a week in this Olympian spot,
+and then to be content to return to their
+toil and begin life anew, rich only in the
+memory of its luxuries. It was here that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>
+I spent my time when, some years ago,
+I went to the United States to solve the
+now famous Piano Case. You will remember
+how sneak thieves stole a grand piano
+from the residence of one of New York&rsquo;s
+first families, while the family was dining
+in the adjoining room. While in the city,
+and indeed at the very hotel in which I
+stopped, and which I have described, Pinkham&rsquo;s
+diamond stud disappeared, and, hearing
+that I was a guest at the Walledup-Hysteria,
+the owner appealed to me to
+recover it for him. I immediately took
+the case in hand. Drastic questioning of
+Pinkham showed that beyond all question
+he had lost the stud in his own apartment.
+He had gone down to dinner, leaving it
+on the centre-table, following the usual
+course of most millionaires, to whom diamonds
+are of no particular importance.
+Pinkham wanted this one only because of
+its associations. Its value, $80,000, was
+a mere bagatelle in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Now of course, if he positively left it
+on the table, it must have been taken<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>
+by some one who had entered the room.
+Investigation proved that the maid, a valet,
+a fellow-millionaire from Chicago, and
+Pinkham&rsquo;s children had been the only ones
+to do this. The maid and the valet were
+above suspicion. Their fees from guests
+were large enough to place them beyond
+the reach of temptation. I questioned
+them closely, and they convinced me at
+once of their innocence by conducting me
+through the apartments of other guests
+wherein tiaras of diamonds and necklaces
+of pearls&mdash;ropes in very truth&mdash;rubies,
+turquoise, and emerald ornaments of priceless
+value, were scattered about in reckless
+profusion.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;D&rsquo; yez t&rsquo;ink oi&rsquo;d waste me toime on
+an eighty-t&rsquo;ousand-dollar shtood, wid all
+dhis in soight and moine for the thrubble
+uv swipin&rsquo; ut?&rdquo; said the French maid.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 418px;">
+<img src="images/gs29.jpg" width="418" height="530" alt="HOLMES IN DISGUISE INTERVIEWS WATTLES" title="" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p>
+<span class="caption">HOLMES IN DISGUISE INTERVIEWS WATTLES</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I acquitted her at once, and the valet
+similarly proved his innocence, only with
+less of an accent, for he was supposed to
+be English, and not French, as was the
+maid, although they both came from Dublin.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>
+This narrowed the suspects down to
+Mr. Jedediah Wattles, of Chicago, and
+the children. Naturally I turned my attention
+to Wattles. A six-year-old boy
+and a four-year-old girl could hardly be
+suspected of stealing a diamond stud. So
+drawing on Pinkham for five thousand
+dollars to pay expenses, I hired a room in
+a tenement-house in Rivington Street&mdash;a
+squalid place it was&mdash;disguised myself
+with an oily, black, burglarious mustache,
+and dressed like a comic-paper gambler.
+Then I wrote a note to Wattles, asking
+him to call, saying that I could tell him
+something to his advantage. He came,
+and I greeted him like a pal. &lsquo;Wattles,&rsquo;
+said I, &lsquo;you&rsquo;ve been working this game for
+a long time, and I know all about you.
+You are an ornament to the profession,
+but we diamond-thieves have got to combine.
+Understand?&rsquo; &lsquo;No, I don&rsquo;t&rsquo; said
+he. &lsquo;Well, I&rsquo;ll tell you,&rsquo; said I. &lsquo;You&rsquo;re
+a man of good appearance, and I ain&rsquo;t,
+but I know where the diamonds are. If
+we work together, there&rsquo;s millions in it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
+I&rsquo;ll spot the diamonds, and you lift &rsquo;em,
+eh? You can do it,&rsquo; I added, as he began
+to get mad. &lsquo;The ease with which you
+got away with old Pinky&rsquo;s stud, that I&rsquo;ve
+been trying to pull for myself for years,
+shows me that.&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I was not allowed to go further. Wattles&rsquo;s
+indignation was great enough to
+prove that it was not he who had done
+the deed, and after he had thrashed me
+out of my disguise, I pulled myself together
+and said, &lsquo;Mr. Wattles, I am convinced
+that you are innocent.&rsquo; As soon
+as he recognized me and realized my object
+in sending for him, he forgave me, and, I
+must say, treated me with great consideration.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But my last clew was gone. The
+maid, the valet, and Wattles were proved
+innocent. The children alone remained,
+but I could not suspect them. Nevertheless,
+on my way back to the hotel I bought
+some rock-candy, and, after reporting to
+Pinkham, I asked casually after the children.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/gs30.jpg" width="500" height="380" alt="YOU DID TOO!" title="" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p>
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;&lsquo;YOU DID TOO!&rsquo; SAID POLLY&rdquo;</span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;They&rsquo;re pretty well,&rsquo; said Pinkham.
+&lsquo;Billie&rsquo;s complaining a little, and the
+doctor fears appendicitis, but Polly&rsquo;s all
+right. I guess Billie&rsquo;s all right too. The
+seventeen-course dinners they serve in the
+children&rsquo;s dining-room here aren&rsquo;t calculated
+to agree with Billie&rsquo;s digestion, I
+reckon.&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;I&rsquo;d like to see &rsquo;em,&rsquo; said I. &lsquo;I&rsquo;m
+very fond of children.&rsquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Pinkham immediately called the
+youngsters in from the nursery. &lsquo;Guess
+what I&rsquo;ve got,&rsquo; I said, opening the package
+of rock-candy. &lsquo;Gee!&rsquo; cried Billie,
+as it caught his eye. &lsquo;Gimme some!&rsquo;
+&lsquo;Who gets first piece?&rsquo; said I. &lsquo;Me!&rsquo;
+cried both. &lsquo;Anybody ever had any before?&rsquo;
+I asked. &lsquo;He has,&rsquo; said Polly,
+pointing to Billie. The boy immediately
+flushed up. &lsquo;&rsquo;Ain&rsquo;t, neither!&rsquo; he retorted.
+&lsquo;Yes you did, too,&rsquo; said Polly. &lsquo;<i>You swallered
+that piece pop left on the centre-table
+the other night!</i>&rsquo; &lsquo;Well, anyhow, it was
+only a little piece,&rsquo; said Billie. &lsquo;An&rsquo; it
+tasted like glass,&rsquo; he added. Handing the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>
+candy to Polly, I picked Billie up and
+carried him to his father.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Mr. Pinkham,&rsquo; said I, handing the
+boy over, &lsquo;here is your diamond. It has
+not been stolen; it has merely been swallowed.&rsquo;
+&lsquo;What?&rsquo; he cried. And I explained.
+The stud mystery was explained. Mr.
+Pinkham&rsquo;s boy had eaten it.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Holmes paused.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I don&rsquo;t see how that proves your
+point,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;You said that it was the
+little things that told&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;So it was,&rdquo; said Holmes. &ldquo;If Polly
+hadn&rsquo;t told&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Enough,&rdquo; I cried; &ldquo;it&rsquo;s on me, old
+man. We will go down to Willis&rsquo;s and
+have some Russian caviare and a bottle
+of Burgundy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Holmes put on his hat and we went out
+together. It is to get the money to pay
+Willis&rsquo;s bill that I have written this story
+of &ldquo;The Mystery of Pinkham&rsquo;s Diamond
+Stud.&rdquo;</p>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p>
+<h2>XI</h2>
+
+<h3>LANG TAMMAS AND DRUMSHEUGH SWEAR
+OFF</h3>
+
+
+<p class="center"><i>A tale of dialect told by Mr. Berkeley Hights, holder
+of the twelfth ball</i></p>
+
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hoot mon!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The words rang out derisively on the
+cold frosty air of Drumtochty, as Lang
+Tammas walked slowly along the street,
+looking for the residence of Drumsheugh.
+The effect was electrical. Tammas stopped
+short, and turning about, scanned the
+street eagerly to see who it was that had
+spoken. But the highway was deserted,
+and the old man shook his stick, as if at
+an imaginary foe.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll hoot-mon the dour eediot that&rsquo;s
+eensoolted a veesitor to Drumtochty!&rdquo; he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
+shouted. &ldquo;I haena brought me faithfu&rsquo;
+steck for naething!&rdquo; he added.</p>
+
+<p>He glared about, now at this closed
+window, now at that, as if inviting his
+enemy to come forth and be punished, but
+seeing no signs of life, turned again to
+resume his walk, muttering angrily to
+himself. It was indeed hardly to be
+tolerated that he, one of the great characters
+of fiction, should be thus jeered at,
+as he thought, while on a friendly pilgrimage
+from Thrums to Drumtochty, the
+two rival towns in the affections of the
+consumers of modern letters; and having
+walked all the way from his home at
+Thrums, Lang Tammas was tired, and
+therefore in no mood to accept even a
+mild affront, much less an insult.</p>
+
+<p>He had scarcely covered ten paces, however,
+when the same voice, with a harsh
+cackling laugh, again broke the stillness
+of the street:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Gang awa&rsquo;, gang awa&rsquo;&mdash;ha, ha, ha!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Tammas rushed into the middle of the
+way and picked up a stone.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 457px;">
+<img src="images/gs31.jpg" width="457" height="500" alt="HOOT MON!" title="" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p>
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;&lsquo;HOOT MON!&rsquo;&rdquo;</span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
+</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Pit your bogie pate oot o&rsquo; your weendow,
+me gillie!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll gie it a
+garry crack. Pit it oot, I say! Pit it
+oot!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And the old man drew himself back
+into an attitude which would have defied
+the powers of Phidias to reproduce in
+marble, the stone poised accurately and
+all too ready to be hurled.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ye ramshackle macloonatic!&rdquo; he cried.
+&ldquo;Standin&rsquo; in a weendow, where nane may
+see, an&rsquo; heepin&rsquo; eensoolts on deecint fowk.
+Pit it oot&mdash;pit it oot&mdash;an&rsquo; get it crackit!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The reply was instant:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Gang awa&rsquo;, gang awa&rsquo;&mdash;ha, ha, ha!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Had Lang Tammas been a creation of
+Lever, he would at this point have removed
+his coat and his hat and thrown them
+down violently to earth, and then have
+whacked the walk three times with the
+stout stick he carried in his right hand, as
+a preliminary to the challenge which followed.
+But Tammas was not Irish, and
+therefore not impulsive. He was Scotch&mdash;as
+Scotch as ever was. Wherefore he removed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
+his hat, and, after dusting it carefully,
+hung it up on a convenient hook;
+took off his coat and folded it neatly;
+picked up his &ldquo;faithfu&rsquo; steck,&rdquo; and observed:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I hae naething to do that&rsquo;s of eemportance.
+Drumsheugh can wait, an&rsquo; sae can
+ee. Pit it oot, pit it oot! Here I am,
+an&rsquo; here I stay until ye pit it oot to be
+crackit.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Gang awa&rsquo;, gang awa&rsquo;&mdash;ha, ha, ha!&rdquo;
+came the reply.</p>
+
+<p>Lang Tammas turned on the instant to
+the sources of the sound. He fixed his
+eyes sternly on the very window whence
+he thought the words had issued.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Number twanty-three, saxth floor,&rdquo;
+he muttered to himself. &ldquo;I will call, and
+then we shall see what we <i>shall</i> see; and
+if what we see gets off wi&rsquo;oot a thorough
+&lsquo;hootin&rsquo;,&rsquo; then I dinna ken me beezniss.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 479px;">
+<img src="images/gs32.jpg" width="479" height="572" alt="A SWEET-FACED NURSE APPEARED" title="" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p>
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;A SWEET-FACED NURSE APPEARED&rdquo;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Hastily discarding his outward wrath,
+and assuming such portions of his garments
+as went with his society manner,
+Tammas walked into the lobby of the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
+apartment-house in which his assumed insulter
+lived. He pushed the electric button
+in, and shortly a sweet-faced nurse
+appeared.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Me,&rdquo; said Lang Tammas, somewhat
+abashed. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve called too see the head o&rsquo;
+the hoose.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I am sorry,&rdquo; said the trained nurse,
+bursting into tears, &ldquo;but the head of the
+house is at the point of death, sir, and cannot
+see you until to-morrow. Call around
+about ten o&rsquo;clock.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hoots an&rsquo; toots!&rdquo; sighed Lang Tammas.
+&ldquo;Canna we Scuts have e&rsquo;er a story
+wi&rsquo;oot somebody leein&rsquo; at the point o&rsquo;
+death! It&rsquo;s most affectin&rsquo;, but doonricht
+wearin&rsquo; on the constitootion.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Was there anything you wished to say
+to him?&rdquo; asked the nurse.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, aye!&rdquo; returned Lang Tammas.
+&ldquo;I dinna ken hoo to deny that I hed that
+to say to him, an&rsquo; to do to him as weel.
+I&rsquo;m a vairy truthfu&rsquo; mon, young lady, an&rsquo;
+if ye must be told, I&rsquo;ve called to wring his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>
+garry neck for dereesively gee&rsquo;in an unoffending
+veesitor frae Thrums by yelling
+deealect at him frae the hoose-tops.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Are you sure it was here?&rdquo; asked the
+nurse, anxiously, the old gentleman seemed
+so deeply in earnest.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Sure? Oh, aye&mdash;pairfectly,&rdquo; replied
+Lang Tammas; but even as he spoke, the
+falsity of his impression was proved by the
+same strident voice that had so offended
+before, coming from the other side of the
+street:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What a crittur ye are, ye cow! What
+a crittur ye are!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Soonds are hard to place, ma&rsquo;am,&rdquo; said
+Lang Tammas, jerking about as if he had
+been shot. It was a very hard position for
+the old man, for, with the immediate need
+for an apology to the nurse, there rushed
+over him an overwhelming wave of anger.
+Hitherto it was merely a suspicion that he
+was being made sport of that had irritated
+him, but this last outburst&mdash;&ldquo;What a crittur
+ye are, ye cow!&rdquo;&mdash;was convincing evidence
+that it was to him that the insults<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>
+were addressed; for in Thrums it is history
+that Hendry and T&rsquo;nowhead and
+Jim McTaggart frequently greeted Lang
+Tammas&rsquo;s jokes with &ldquo;Oh, ye cow!&rdquo; and
+&ldquo;What a crittur ye are!&rdquo; But the old
+man was equal to the emergency, and fixing
+one eye upon the house opposite and
+the other upon the sweet-faced nurse, he
+darted glances that should kill at his persecutor,
+and at the same time apologized
+for disturbing the nurse. The latter he
+did gracefully.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ye look aweary, ma&rsquo;am,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;An&rsquo; if the head o&rsquo; the hoose maun dee,
+may he dee immejiately, that ye may rest
+soon.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And with this, pulling his hat down
+over his forehead viciously, he turned and
+sped swiftly across the way. The nurse
+gazed anxiously after him, and in her secret
+soul wondered if she would not better
+send for Jamie McQueen, the town constable.
+Poor Tammas&rsquo;s eye was really so
+glaring, and his whole manner so manifestly
+that of a man exasperated to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>
+verge of madness, that she considered
+him somewhat in the light of a menace
+to the public safety. She was not at all
+reassured, either, when Tammas, having
+reached the other side of the street, began
+gesticulating wildly, shaking his &ldquo;faithfu&rsquo;
+steck&rdquo; at the fa&ccedil;ade of the confronting
+flat-house. But an immediate realization
+of the condition of the sick man
+above led her to forego the attempt to
+protect the public safety, and closing the
+door softly to, she climbed the weary
+stairs to the sixth floor, and soon forgot
+the disturbing trial of the morning in
+reading to her patient certain inspiring
+chapters from the Badminton edition of
+<i>Haggert&rsquo;s Chase of Heretics</i>, relieved with
+the lighter <i>Rules of Golf; or, Auld Putt
+Idylls</i>, by the Rev. Ian McCrockett, one
+of the most exquisitely confusing humorous
+works ever published in the Highlands.</p>
+
+<p>Lang Tammas meanwhile was addressing
+an invisible somebody in the building
+over the way, and in no uncertain tones.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;If I were not a geentlemon and a humorist,&rdquo;
+he said, impressively, agitating
+his stick nervously at the building front,
+&ldquo;I could say much that nae Scut may say.
+But were I nae Scut, I&rsquo;d say this to ye:
+&lsquo;Ye have all the eelements of a confairmed
+heeritic. Ye&rsquo;ve nae sense of deecint fun.
+Ye&rsquo;re not a man for a&rsquo; that, as most men
+air&mdash;ye&rsquo;re an ass, plain and simple, wi&rsquo;
+naether the plainness nor the simpleecity
+o&rsquo; the individual that Balaam rode.
+Further&mdash;more&mdash;&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>What Lang Tammas would have said
+furthermore had he not been a Scot the
+world will never know, for from the other
+side of the street&mdash;farther along, however&mdash;came
+the squawking voice again:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Gang awa&rsquo;, gang awa&rsquo;, ye crittur, ye
+cow! Hoot mon&mdash;hoot mon&mdash;hoot mon!
+Gang awa&rsquo;, gang awa&rsquo;!&rdquo; And this was
+followed by a raucous cry, which might
+or might not have been Scottish, but
+which was, in any event, distinctly maddening.
+And even as the previous insults
+had electrified poor Tammas, so this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
+last petrified him, and he stood for an appreciable
+length of time absolutely transfixed.
+His mind was a curious study.
+His coming had been prompted entirely
+by the genial spirit which throbbed beneath
+his stony Scottish exterior. For a
+long time he had been a resident of the
+most conspicuous Scotch town in all literature,
+and he was himself its accepted
+humorist. Then on a sudden Thrums
+had a rival. Drumtochty sprang forth,
+and in the matter of pathos, if not humor,
+ran Thrums hard; and Lang Tammas,
+attracted to Drumsheugh, had come this
+distance merely to pay his respects, and
+to see what manner of man the real
+Drumsheugh was.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/gs33.jpg" width="500" height="390" alt="TAMMAS MEETS DRUMSHAUGH" title="" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p>
+<span class="caption">TAMMAS MEETS DRUMSHAUGH</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>And this was his reception! To be
+laughed at&mdash;he, a Scotch humorist! Had
+any one ever laughed at a Scotch humorist
+before? Never. Was not the test of humor
+in Scotland the failure to laugh of
+the hearer of the jest? Would Scotch
+humor ever prove great if not taken seriously?
+Oh, aye! Hendry never laughed
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
+at his jokes, and Hendry knew a joke when
+he saw one. McTaggart never smiled at
+Lang Tammas; and as for the little Minister&mdash;he
+knew what was due to the humorist
+of Thrums, as well as to himself, and
+enjoyed the exquisite humor of Tammas
+with a reserve well qualified to please the
+Presbytery and the Congregation.</p>
+
+<p>How long Lang Tammas would have
+stood petrified no man may say; but just
+then who should come along but the person
+he had come to call upon&mdash;Drumsheugh
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;<i>Knox et pr&aelig;terea nihil!</i>&rdquo; he
+exclaimed. &ldquo;What in Glasgie hae we
+here?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Lang Tammas turned upon him.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ye hae nowt in Glasgie here,&rdquo; he said,
+sternly. &ldquo;Ye hae a vairy muckle pit-oot
+veesitor, wha hae coom on an airand o&rsquo;
+good-will to be gret wi&rsquo; eensoolts.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Eensoolts?&rdquo; retorted Drumsheugh.
+&ldquo;Eensoolts, ye say? An&rsquo; wha hae bin
+eensooltin&rsquo; ye?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;That I know nowt of, save that he be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
+a doonricht foo&rsquo; a-heepin&rsquo; his deealect
+upon me head,&rdquo; said Lang Tammas.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And wha are ye to be so seensitive o&rsquo;
+deealect?&rdquo; demanded Drumsheugh.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;My name is Lang Tammas&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;O&rsquo; Thrums?&rdquo; cried Drumsheugh.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Nane ither,&rdquo; said Tammas.</p>
+
+<p>Drumsheugh burst into an uproarious
+fit of laughter.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The humorist?&rdquo; he cried, catching
+his sides.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Nane ither,&rdquo; said Tammas, gravely.
+&ldquo;And wha are ye?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Me? Oh, I&rsquo;m&mdash;Drumsheugh o&rsquo; Drumtochty,&rdquo;
+he replied. &ldquo;Come along hame
+wi&rsquo; me. I&rsquo;ll gie ye that to make the eensoolt
+seem a compliment.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And the two old men walked off together.</p>
+
+<p>An hour later, on their way to the kirk,
+Drumsheugh observed that after the service
+was over he would go with Lang
+Tammas and seek out the man who had
+insulted him and &ldquo;gie&rdquo; him a drubbing,
+which invitation Tammas was nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>
+loath to accept. Reverently the two new-made
+friends walked into the kirk and
+sat themselves down on the side aisle. A
+hymn was sung, and the minister was
+about to read from the book, when the
+silence of the church was broken by a
+shrill voice:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hoot mon! Hoot mon!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Tammas clutched his stick. The voice
+was the same, and here it had penetrated
+the sacred precincts of the church! Nowhere
+was he safe from insult. Drumsheugh
+looked up, startled, and the voice
+began again:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Gang awa&rsquo; a-that, a-that, a-that&mdash;gang
+awa&rsquo;! Oh, ye crittur! oh, ye cow!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And then a titter ran through that
+solemn crowd; for, despite the gravity of
+the situation, even John Knox himself
+must have smiled. A great green parrot
+had flown in at one of the windows, and
+had perched himself on the pulpit, where,
+with front undismayed, he addressed the
+minister:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Gang awa&rsquo;, gang awa&rsquo;!&rdquo; he cried, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>
+preened himself. &ldquo;Hoot mon, gang
+awa&rsquo;!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;<i>Knox nobiscum!</i>&rdquo; ejaculated Drumsheugh.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s Moggie McPiggert&rsquo;s pairrut,&rdquo;
+and he chuckled; and then, as Lang
+Tammas realized the situation, even he
+smiled broadly. He had been insulted by
+a parrot only, and the knowledge of it
+made him feel better.</p>
+
+<p>The bird was removed and the service
+proceeded; and later, when it was over,
+as the two old fellows walked back to
+Drumsheugh&rsquo;s house in the gathering
+shades of the night, Lang Tammas said:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I acquet Drumtochty o&rsquo; its eensoolts,
+Drumsheugh, but I&rsquo;ve lairnt a lesson this
+day.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s that?&rdquo; asked Drumsheugh.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;When pairruts speak Scutch deealect,
+it&rsquo;s time we Scuts gae it oop,&rdquo; said Tammas.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I think so mysel&rsquo;,&rdquo; agreed Drumsheugh.
+&ldquo;But hoo express our thochts?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I dinna ken for ye,&rdquo; said Lang Tammas,
+&ldquo;but for me, mee speakee heathen
+Chinee this timee on.&rdquo;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Vairy weel,&rdquo; returned Drumsheugh.
+&ldquo;Vairy weel; I dinna ken heathen Chinee,
+but I hae some acqueentance wi&rsquo; the tongue
+o&rsquo; sairtain Amairicans, and that I&rsquo;ll speak
+from this day on&mdash;it&rsquo;s vairy weel called
+the Bowery eediom, and is a judeecious
+mixture o&rsquo; English, Irish, and Volapeck.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And from that time on Lang Tammas
+and Drumsheugh spoke never another
+word of Scotch dialect; and while Tammas
+never quite mastered pidgin-English,
+or Drumsheugh the tongue of Fadden,
+they lived happily ever after, which in a
+way proves that, after all, the parrot is a
+useful as well as an ornamental bird.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p>
+<h2>XII</h2>
+
+<h3>CONCLUSION&mdash;LIKEWISE MR. BILLY
+JONES</h3>
+
+
+<p>The cheers which followed the narration
+of the curious resolve of Lang Tammas
+and Drumsheugh were vociferous,
+and Berkeley Hights sat down with a
+flush of pleasure on his face. He construed
+these as directed towards himself
+and his contribution to the diversion of
+the evening. It never entered into his
+mind that the applause involved a bit of
+subtle appreciation of the kindness of
+Tammas and of Drumsheugh to the reading
+public in thus declining to give them
+more of something of which they had
+already had enough.</p>
+
+<p>When the cheers had subsided Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>
+Jones rose from his chair and congratulated
+the club upon its exhibit.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Even if you have but faintly re-echoed
+the weaknesses of the strong,&rdquo; he said,
+&ldquo;you have done well, and I congratulate
+you. It is not every man in your walk in
+life who can write as grammatically as you
+have dreamed. I have failed to detect in
+any one of the stories or poems thus far
+read a single grammatical error, and I
+have no doubt that the manuscripts that
+you have read from are gratifyingly free
+from mistakes in spelling as well, so that,
+from a newspaper man&rsquo;s stand-point, I see
+no reason why you should not get these
+proceedings published, especially if you
+do it at your own expense.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I now declare The Dreamers adjourned
+<i>sine die</i>!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Not much!&rdquo; cried the members, unanimously.
+&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s your contribution?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Out with it, William!&rdquo; shouted Tom
+Snobbe. &ldquo;I can tell by the set of your
+coat that you&rsquo;ve got a manuscript concealed in
+your pocket.&rdquo;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing ruins the set of a
+coat more quickly than a rejected manuscript
+in the pocket,&rdquo; put in Hudson Rivers.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been there myself&mdash;so, as
+Lang Tammas said, Billy, &lsquo;Pit it oot, and
+get it crackit.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; Jones replied, with a pleased
+smile, &ldquo;to tell you the truth, gentlemen,
+I had come prepared in case I was called
+upon; but the hour is late,&rdquo; he added,
+after the manner of one who, though willing,
+enjoyed being persuaded. &ldquo;Perhaps
+we had better postpone&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Out with it, old man. It is late, but
+it will be later still if you don&rsquo;t hurry up
+and begin,&rdquo; said Tenafly Paterson.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Very well, then, here goes,&rdquo; said Jones.
+&ldquo;Mine is a ghost-story, gentlemen, and it
+is called &lsquo;The Involvular Club; or, The
+Return of the Screw.&rsquo; It is, like the rest
+of the work this evening, imitative, after a
+fashion, but I think it will prove effective.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 464px;">
+<img src="images/gs34.jpg" width="464" height="518" alt="MR. JONES BEGINS" title="" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p>
+<span class="caption">MR. JONES BEGINS</span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>
+</p>
+
+
+<p>Mr. Jones hereupon took the manuscript
+from his bulging pocket and read
+as follows:</p>
+
+<h4>THE INVOLVULAR CLUB; OR, THE RETURN
+OF THE SCREW</h4>
+
+<p>The story had taken hold upon us as we
+sat round the blazing hearth of Lord Ormont&rsquo;s
+smoking-room, at Castle Aminta,
+and sufficiently interfered with our comfort,
+as indeed from various points of
+view, not to specify any one of the many,
+for they were, after all, in spite of their
+diversity, of equal value judged by any
+standard, not even excepting the highest,
+that of Vereker&rsquo;s disturbing narrative of
+the uncanny visitor to his chambers, which
+the reader may recall&mdash;indeed, must recall
+if he ever read it, since it was the
+most remarkable ghost-story of the year&mdash;a
+year in which many ghost-stories of
+wonderful merit, too, were written&mdash;and
+by which his reputation was made&mdash;or
+rather extended, for there were a certain
+few of us, including Feverel and Vanderbank
+and myself, who had for many years
+known him as a constant&mdash;almost too constant,
+some of us ventured, tentatively<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>
+perhaps, but not the less convincedly, to
+say&mdash;producer of work of a very high
+order of excellence, rivalling in some of
+its more conspicuous elements, as well as
+in its minor, to lay no stress upon his
+subtleties, which were marked, though at
+times indiscreetly inevident even to the
+keenly analytical, hinging as these did
+more often than not upon abstractions
+born only of a circumscribed environment&mdash;circumscribed,
+of course, in the larger
+sense which means the narrowing of a circle
+of appreciation down to the select few
+constituting its essence&mdash;the productions
+of the greatest masters of fictional style
+the world has known, or is likely, in view
+of present tendencies towards miscalled
+romance, which consists solely of depicting
+scenes in which bloodshed and murder
+are rife, soon to know again&mdash;it was
+proper it should, in a company chosen as
+ours had been from among the members
+of The Involvular Club, with Adrian Feverel
+at its head, Vereker as its vice-president,
+and Lord Ormont, myself, and a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>
+number of ladies, including Diana of the
+Crossways, and little Maisie&mdash;for the child
+was one of our cares, her estate was so
+pitiable a one&mdash;Rhoda Fleming, Daisy
+Miller, and Princess Cassimassima, one
+and all, as the reader must be aware, personages&mdash;if
+I may thus refer to a group
+of appreciation which included myself&mdash;who
+knew a good thing when they saw it,
+which, it may as well be confessed at
+once, we rarely did in the raucous fields
+of fiction outside of, though possibly at
+times moderately contiguous to, our own
+territory, although it should be said that
+Miss Miller occasionally manifested a
+lamentable lack of regard for the objects
+for which The Involvular was formed, by
+showing herself, in her semi-American
+way, regrettably direct of speech and given
+over not infrequently to an unhappy
+use of slang, which we all, save Maisie,
+who was young, and, in spite of all she
+knew, not quite so knowledgeable a young
+person as some superficial observers have
+chosen to believe, sincerely deprecated,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>
+and on occasion when it might be done
+tactfully, endeavored to mitigate by a reproving
+glance, or by a still deeper plunge
+into nebulous rhetoric, as a sort of palliation
+to the Muse of Obscurity, which in
+our hearts we felt that good goddess
+would accept, strove to offset.</p>
+
+<p>[&ldquo;Excuse me,&rdquo; said Mr. Tom Snobbe,
+rising and interrupting the reader at this
+point, &ldquo;but is that all one sentence, Mr.
+Jones?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; Jones replied. &ldquo;Why not? It&rsquo;s
+perfectly clear in its meaning. Aren&rsquo;t you
+used to long sentences on the Hudson?&rdquo;
+he added, sarcastically.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; retorted Snobbe; &ldquo;that is to
+say, not where I live. I believe they have
+&rsquo;em at Sing Sing occasionally. But they
+never get used to them, I&rsquo;m told.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Be quiet, Tom,&rdquo; said Harry Snobbe.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s bad form to interrupt. Let Billy
+finish his story.&rdquo; Mr. Jones then resumed
+his manuscript.]</p>
+
+<p>A perceptible shudder ran through, or
+rather rolled over, the group, for it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>
+corrugating in its quality, bringing forcibly
+to mind, quite as much for its chill,
+too, as for the wrinkling suggestion of its
+passage up and down our backs, turned as
+some of these were towards the fire, and
+others towards the steam-radiator, which
+now and again clicked startlingly in the
+dull red glow of the hearth light, augmenting
+the all too obvious nervousness
+of the listeners, the impassive and uninspiring
+squares of iron of which certain
+modern architects of a limited decorative
+sense&mdash;if, indeed, they have any at all, for
+the mere use of corrugated iron in the
+construction of a fa&ccedil;ade would seem not
+to admit of an &aelig;sthetic side to its designer&rsquo;s
+nature, however ornately distributed
+over the surface of an exterior it may
+be&mdash;have chosen to avail themselves,
+prompted either by an appalling parsimony
+on the part of a client, or for
+reasons of haste employed for the lack
+of more immediately available material, it
+being an undeniable fact that in some
+portions of the world stucco and terracotta,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>
+now frequently used in lieu of more
+substantial, if not more enduring materials,
+are difficult of access, and the use
+of a speedily obtainable substitute becoming
+thus a requirement as inevitable as it
+is to be regretted, as in the case of the
+fruit-market at Venice, standing as it does
+on the bank of the Grand Canal, a pile of
+stark, staring, obtrusive, wrinkling zinc
+thrusting itself brazenly into the line of a
+vision attuned to the most gloriously towering
+palazzos, as rich in beauty as in
+romance, with such self-sufficiency as to
+bring tears to the eyes of the most stolidly
+unappreciative, of the most coldly un&aelig;sthetic,
+or, in short, as some one has chosen
+to say, in an essay the title of which and
+the name of whose author escape us at
+this moment, with such complacent vulgarity
+as to amount to nothing less than a
+dastardly blot upon the escutcheon of
+the Venetians, which all of their glorious
+achievements in art, in history, and in
+letters can never quite ineradically efface,
+and alongside of which the whistling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>
+steam-tugs with their belching funnels,
+which are by slow degrees supplanting
+the romantic gondolier with his picturesque
+costume and his tender songs of
+sunny climes in the cab service of the
+Bride of the Adriatic, seem quite excusable,
+or, in any event, not so unforgivable
+as to constitute what the Americans would
+call an infernal shame.</p>
+
+<p>[At this point the reader was interrupted
+again.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Hold on a minute, Billy&mdash;will you,
+please?&rdquo; said Tenafly Paterson. &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s
+get this story straight. As I understand
+the first sentence somebody told a ghost-story,
+didn&rsquo;t he?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; replied Jones, a trifle annoyed.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And the second sentence means that
+those who heard it felt creepy?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Precisely.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Then why the deuce couldn&rsquo;t you
+have said, &lsquo;When So-and-So had finished,
+the company shuddered&rsquo;?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Because,&rdquo; replied Jones, &ldquo;I am reading
+a story which is constructed after the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>
+manner of a certain school. I&rsquo;m not reading
+a postal-card or a cable message.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The reader then resumed.]</p>
+
+<p>Miss Miller, to relieve the strain upon
+the nerves of those present, which was
+becoming unbearably tense&mdash;and, in fact,
+poor Maisie had burst into tears with the
+sheer terror of the climax, and had been
+taken off to be put to bed by Mrs. Brookenham,
+who, in spite of many other qualities,
+was still a womanly woman at heart,
+and not wholly deficient in those little
+tendernesses, those trifling but ineffable
+softnesses of nature, which are at once the
+chief source of woman&rsquo;s strength and of
+her weakness, a fact she was constantly
+manifesting to us during our stay at Lord
+Ormont&rsquo;s, and which we all remarked and
+in some cases commented upon, since the
+discovery had in it some of the qualities
+of a revelation&mdash;began to sing one of those
+extraordinary popular songs that one hears
+at the music-halls in London, and in the
+politer and more refined circles of American
+society, if indeed there may be said to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>
+be such a thing in a land so new as to be
+as yet mostly veneer, with little that is
+solid in its social substructure, beginning
+as its constituent factors do at the top
+and working downward, rather than choosing
+the more natural course of beginning
+at the bottom and working upward, and
+which must materially, one may think,
+affect the social solidarity of the nation
+by retarding its growth and in otherwise
+interfering with its healthy, not to say
+normal development, and which, as the
+words and import of it come back to me,
+was known by the rather vulgar and
+vernacular title of &ldquo;All Coons Look Alike
+to Me,&rdquo; thus indicating that the life treated
+of in the melody, which was not altogether
+unmusical, and was indeed as a matter of
+fact quite fetching in its quality, running
+in one&rsquo;s ears for days and nights long
+after its first hearing, was that of the
+negro, and his personal likeness to his
+other black brethren in the eyes even of
+one who was supposed to have been at
+one time, prior to the action of the song<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>
+if not coincidently with it, the object of his
+affections.</p>
+
+<p>[Had Jones not been wholly absorbed
+in the reading of this wonderful story, he
+might at this moment have heard a slight
+but unmistakable rumbling sound, and
+have looked up and seen much that
+would have interested him. But, as this
+kind of a story requires for its complete
+comprehension a complete concentration
+of mind, he did not hear, and so, continuing,
+did not see.]</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/gs35.jpg" width="500" height="348" alt="HE DID NOT SEE" title="" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p>
+<span class="caption">HE DID NOT SEE</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Diana was the first to mitigate the
+silence with comment [he read] a silence
+whose depth had only been rendered the
+more depressing by Miss Miller&rsquo;s uncalled-for
+intrusion upon our mood of something
+that smacked of a society towards which
+most of us, in so far as we were able to do
+so, had always cultivated a strenuous aloofness,
+prompted not by any whelmful sense
+of our own perfection, latent or obvious,
+but rather by a realization on our part
+that it lacked the essentials that could
+make of it an interesting part of the lives
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>
+of a group given over wholly, or at least
+as nearly wholly as the exiguities of existence
+would permit of a persistent and
+continuous devotion, to the contemplation
+of the beautiful in art, letters, or any
+other phase of human endeavor.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;And did his soul never thaw?&rdquo; Diana
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Never,&rdquo; replied Vanderbank, &ldquo;It is
+frozen yet.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<hr style='width:30%' />
+
+<p>Here the rumbling sound grew to such
+volume that, absorbed as he was in his
+reading, Jones could no longer fail to hear
+it. Lowering his manuscript, he looked
+sternly upon the company. The rumbling
+sound was a chorus, not unmusical,
+of snores.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Dreamers slept.</i></p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;ll be hanged!&rdquo; cried Jones, angrily,
+and then he walked over and looked
+behind the screen where the stenographer
+was seated. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll finish it if it takes all
+night,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;Just take this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>
+down,&rdquo; he added to the stenographer;
+but that worthy never stirred or made
+reply. <i>He too was sleeping.</i></p>
+
+<p>Jones muttered angrily to himself.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll read it to
+myself, then,&rdquo; and he began again. For
+ten minutes he continued, and then on a
+sudden his voice faltered; his head fell
+forward upon his chest, his knees collapsed
+beneath him, and he slid inert, and snoring
+himself, into his chair. The MS.
+fluttered to the floor, and an hour later
+the waiters entering the room found the
+club unanimously engaged in dreaming
+once more.</p>
+
+<p>The Involvular Club was too much for
+them, even for the author of it, but
+whether this was because of the lateness
+of the hour or because of the intricacies
+of the author&rsquo;s style I have never been
+able to ascertain, for Mr. Jones is very
+sore on the point, and therefore reticent,
+and as for the others, I cannot find that
+any of them remember enough about it to
+be able to speak intelligently on the subject.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 366px;">
+<img src="images/gs36.jpg" width="366" height="492" alt="THE STENOGRAPHER SLEPT" title="" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p>
+<span class="caption">THE STENOGRAPHER SLEPT</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>All I do know is what the landlord tells
+me, and that is that at 5 <small>A.M.</small> thirteen
+cabs containing thirteen sleeping souls
+pursued their thirteen devious ways to
+thirteen different houses, thus indicating
+that the Dreamers were ultimately adjourned,
+and, as they have not met since,
+I presume the adjournment was, as usual,
+<i>sine die</i>.</p>
+
+
+<h4>THE END</h4>
+
+<hr style='width:100%' />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p>
+<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> A. CONAN DOYLE</h3>
+
+
+<p class="center"><b>THE REFUGEES.</b> A Tale of Two Continents.<br />
+Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.75.<br />
+<br />
+<b>THE WHITE COMPANY.</b><br />
+Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.75.<br />
+<br />
+<b>MICAH CLARKE.</b><br />
+Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.75; 8vo, Paper, 45 cents.<br />
+<br />
+<b>THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES.</b><br />
+Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.50.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Contents</span>: A Scandal in Bohemia, The Red-headed
+League, A Case of Identity, The Boscombe Valley Mystery,
+The Five Orange Pips, The Man with the Twisted
+Lip, The Blue Carbuncle, The Speckled Band, The Engineer&rsquo;s
+Thumb, The Noble Bachelor, The Beryl Coronet,
+The Copper Beeches.</p></div>
+
+<p class="center"><b>MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES.</b><br />
+Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.50.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Contents</span>: Silver Blaze, The Yellow Face, The Stock-Broker&rsquo;s
+Clerk, The &ldquo;Gloria Scott,&rdquo; The Musgrave Ritual,
+The Reigate Puzzle, The Crooked Man, The Resident
+Patient, The Greek Interpreter, The Navy Treaty, The
+Final Problem.</p></div>
+
+<p class="center"><b>THE PARASITE.</b> A Story.<br />
+Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.00.<br />
+<br />
+<b>THE GREAT SHADOW.</b><br />
+Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.00.<br />
+</p>
+
+<h4>HARPER &amp; BROTHERS, <span class="smcap">Publishers</span><br />
+NEW YORK AND LONDON</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Any of the above works will be sent by mail, postage<br />
+prepaid, to any part of the United States, Canada, or<br />
+Mexico, on receipt of the price.</i></p>
+
+
+
+<hr />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p>
+<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> FRANK R. STOCKTON</h3>
+
+
+<p class="center"><b>THE ASSOCIATE HERMITS.</b> A Novel.<br />
+Illustrated by A. B. Frost. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.50.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>If there is a more droll or more delightful writer now
+living than Mr. Frank R. Stockton we should be slow to
+make his acquaintance, on the ground that the limit of
+safety might be passed.... Mr. Stockton&rsquo;s humor asserts
+itself admirably, and the story is altogether enjoyable.&mdash;<i>Independent.</i></p>
+
+<p>The interest never flags, and there is nothing intermittent
+about the sparkling humor.&mdash;<i>Philadelphia Press.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="center"><b>THE GREAT STONE OF SARDIS.</b> A Novel.<br />
+Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Peter Newell</span>. Post 8vo, Cloth,
+Ornamental, $1.50.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>The scene of Mr. Stockton&rsquo;s novel is laid in the twentieth
+century, which is imagined as the culmination of
+our era of science and invention. The main episodes are
+a journey to the centre of the earth by means of a pit
+bored by an automatic cartridge, and a journey to the
+North Pole beneath the ice of the Polar Seas. These
+adventures Mr. Stockton describes with such simplicity
+and conviction that the reader is apt to take the story in
+all seriousness until he suddenly runs into some gigantic
+pleasantry of the kind that was unknown before Mr.
+Stockton began writing, and realizes that the novel is a
+grave and elaborate bit of fooling, based upon the scientific
+fads of the day. The book is richly illustrated by
+Peter Newell, the one artist of modern times who is
+suited to interpret Mr. Stockton&rsquo;s characters and situations.</p></div>
+
+
+<h4>HARPER &amp; BROTHERS, <span class="smcap">Publishers</span><br />
+NEW YORK AND LONDON</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Either of the above works will be sent by mail, postage<br />
+prepaid, to any part of the United States, Canada, or<br />
+Mexico, on receipt of the price.</i></p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr style='width:100%' />
+
+<h3>** Transcribers Notes **</h3>
+
+
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>The following printing mistakes have been corrected:</p>
+
+<p>
+&nbsp; &nbsp; Page 116 - typo - question mark removed, comma substituted
+<br />
+&nbsp; &nbsp; Page 121 - typo - period replaced by comma
+<br />
+&nbsp; &nbsp; Pages 154, 180 - typo - spurious double quote removed
+</p>
+
+<p>Also illustrations have been moved to adjust within paragraph breaks.</p></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dreamers, by John Kendrick Bangs
+
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+</pre>
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+</body>
+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dreamers, by John Kendrick Bangs
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Dreamers
+       A Club
+
+Author: John Kendrick Bangs
+
+Illustrator: Edward Penfield
+
+Release Date: February 23, 2011 [EBook #35374]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DREAMERS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Steve Read, Suzanne Shell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  [Illustration: Cronkey Gudehart
+                        [Page 103
+  THE FIRST GLOOMSTER]
+
+
+
+
+  THE DREAMERS
+  A Club. _Being a More or Less Faithful
+  Account of the Literary Exercises
+  of the First Regular Meeting
+  of that Organization, Reported by_
+  JOHN KENDRICK BANGS
+  _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
+  _By_ EDWARD PENFIELD
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+  NEW YORK AND LONDON
+  HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
+  1899
+
+
+
+
+  BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
+
+     PEEPS AT PEOPLE. Passages from the Writings of Anne Warrington
+     Witherup, Journalist. Illustrated by EDWARD PENFIELD. 16mo, Cloth,
+     Ornamental, Uncut Edges and Colored Top, $1.25.
+
+     GHOSTS I HAVE MET, AND SOME OTHERS. With Illustrations by NEWELL,
+     FROST, and RICHARDS. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.
+
+     A HOUSE-BOAT ON THE STYX. Being Some Account of the Divers Doings
+     of the Associated Shades. Illustrated by PETER NEWELL. 16mo, Cloth,
+     Ornamental, $1.25.
+
+     THE PURSUIT OF THE HOUSE-BOAT. Being Some Further Account of the
+     Doings of the Associated Shades, under the Leadership of Sherlock
+     Holmes, Esq. Illustrated by PETER NEWELL. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental,
+     $1.25.
+
+     PASTE JEWELS. Being Seven Tales of Domestic Woe. 16mo, Cloth,
+     Ornamental $1.00.
+
+     THE BICYCLERS, AND THREE OTHER FARCES. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth,
+     Ornamental, $1.25.
+
+     A REBELLIOUS HEROINE. A Story. Illustrated by W. T. SMEDLEY. 16mo,
+     Cloth, Ornamental, Uncut Edges, $1.25.
+
+     MR. BONAPARTE OF CORSICA. Illustrated by H. W. MCVICKAR. 16mo,
+     Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25.
+
+     THE WATER GHOST, AND OTHERS. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental,
+     $1.25.
+
+     THE IDIOT. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.00.
+
+     THREE WEEKS IN POLITICS. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, Ornamental, 50
+     cents.
+
+     COFFEE AND REPARTEE. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, Ornamental, 50
+     cents.
+
+  NEW YORK AND LONDON:
+  HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS.
+
+
+  Copyright, 1899, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
+  _All rights reserved._
+
+
+
+
+  Dedicated
+  WITH ALL
+  DUE RESPECT AND PROPER APOLOGIES
+
+  TO
+
+  RICHARD HARDING DAVIS
+  JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
+  WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
+  RUDYARD KIPLING
+  HALL CAINE
+  SUNDRY MAGAZINE POETS
+  ANTHONY HOPE
+  THE WAR CORRESPONDENTS
+  A. CONAN DOYLE
+  IAN MACLAREN
+  JAMES M. BARRIE
+  THE INVOLVULAR CLUB
+  AND
+  MR. DOOLEY
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER                                                         PAGE
+     I. THE IDEA                                                     1
+    II. IN WHICH THOMAS SNOBBE, ESQ., OF YONKERS, UNFOLDS A TALE    21
+   III. IN WHICH A MINCE-PIE IS RESPONSIBLE FOR A REMARKABLE
+            COINCIDENCE                                             44
+    IV. BEING THE CONTRIBUTION OF MR. BEDFORD PARKE                 59
+     V. THE SALVATION OF FINDLAYSON                                 80
+    VI. IN WHICH HARRY SNOBBE RECITES A TALE OF GLOOM              102
+   VII. THE DREAMERS DISCUSS A MAGAZINE POEM                       123
+  VIII. DOLLY VISITS CHICAGO                                       142
+    IX. IN WHICH YELLOW JOURNALISM CREEPS IN                       163
+     X. THE MYSTERY OF PINKHAM'S DIAMOND STUD                      185
+    XI. LANG TAMMAS AND DRUMSHEUGH SWEAR OFF                       207
+   XII. CONCLUSION--LIKEWISE MR. BILLY JONES                       228
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+  THE FIRST GLOOMSTER                                   _Frontispiece_
+  DISCUSSING THE IDEA                                                3
+  AND SO TO DREAM                                                   17
+  THE DREAMERS DINE                                                 25
+  "'REMEMBER TO BE BRAVE'"                                          35
+  "'ELEANOR HUYLER HAS DISAPPEARED'"                                39
+  "WRIT A POME ABOUT A KID"                                         47
+  "I BOUGHT A BOOK OF VERSE"                                        51
+  "IT FILLED ME WITH DISMAY"                                        55
+  "'COME IN'"                                                       61
+  MARY                                                              65
+  EDWARDS REBELS                                                    71
+  THE VICEROY EXAMINES HIS RUINED SMILE                             85
+  THEY GAVE HIM _PUNCH_                                             89
+  THE DONKEY ENGINE CALLS ON FINDLAYSON                             93
+  THE END OF THE GLOOMSTER                                         109
+  WISHED HER A HAPPY NEW-YEAR                                      117
+  "'O ARGENT-BROWED SARCOPHAGUS'"                                  125
+  "_SARCOPHAGUSTUS_"                                               131
+  MR. BILLY JONES                                                  137
+  "'I MUST SEE HIM,' SAID DOLLY"                                   145
+  "'KAPE YOUR HOOSBAND HOME'"                                      155
+  MIXING ILLUSTRATIONS                                             159
+  THE SHIP'S BARBER AT WORK                                        167
+  A CLEVER CAROM                                                   177
+  SINKING THE _CASTILLA_                                           181
+  THE LAMP-POSTS WERE TWISTED                                      191
+  HOLMES IN DISGUISE INTERVIEWS WATTLES                            199
+  "'YOU DID TOO!' SAID POLLY"                                      203
+  "'HOOT MON!'"                                                    209
+  "A SWEET-FACED NURSE APPEARED"                                   213
+  TAMMAS MEETS DRUMSHEUGH                                          221
+  MR. JONES BEGINS                                                 231
+  HE DID NOT SEE                                                   243
+  THE STENOGRAPHER SLEPT                                           247
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: The Dreamers: A Club]
+
+
+
+
+THE DREAMERS: A CLUB
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+THE IDEA
+
+
+The idea was certainly an original one. It was Bedford Parke who
+suggested it to Tenafly Paterson, and Tenafly was so pleased with it
+that he in turn unfolded it in detail to his friend Dobbs Ferry,
+claiming its inception as his very own. Dobbs was so extremely
+enthusiastic about it that he invited Tenafly to a luncheon at the
+Waldoria to talk over the possibilities of putting the plan into
+practical operation, and so extract from it whatever of excellence it
+might ultimately be found to contain.
+
+"As yet it is only an idea, you know," said Dobbs; "and if you have ever
+had any experience with ideas, Tenny, you are probably aware that,
+unless reduced to a practical basis, an idea is of no more value than a
+theory."
+
+"True," Tenafly replied. "I can demonstrate that in five minutes at the
+Waldoria. For instance, you see, Dobbsy, I have an idea that I am as
+hungry as a bear, but as yet it is only a theory, from which I derive no
+substantial benefit. Place a portion of whitebait, a filet Bearnaise,
+and a quart of Sauterne before me, and--"
+
+"I see," said Dobbsy. "Come along."
+
+[Illustration: DISCUSSING THE IDEA]
+
+And they went; and the result of that luncheon at the Waldoria was the
+formation of "The Dreamers: A Club." The colon was Dobbs Ferry's
+suggestion. The objects of the club were literary, and Dobbs, who was an
+observant young man, had noticed that the use of the colon in these days
+of unregenerate punctuation was confined almost entirely to the literary
+contingent and its camp-followers. With small poets particularly was
+it in vogue, and Dobbs--who, by-the-way, had written some very dainty
+French poems to the various _fiancees_ with whom his career had been
+checkered--had a sort of vague idea that if his brokerage business would
+permit him to take the necessary time for it he might become famous as a
+small poet himself. The French poems and his passion for the colon,
+combined with an exquisite chirography which he had assiduously
+cultivated, all contributed to assure him that it was only lack of time
+that kept him in the ranks of the mute, inglorious Herricks.
+
+As formulated by Dobbs and Tenafly, then, Bedford Parke's suggestion
+that a Dreamers' Club be formed was amplified into this: Thirteen choice
+spirits, consisting of Dobbs, Tenafly, Bedford Parke, Greenwich Place,
+Hudson Rivers of Hastings, Monty St. Vincent, Fulton Streete, Berkeley
+Hights, Haarlem Bridge, the three Snobbes of Yonkers--Tom, Dick, and
+Harry--and Billy Jones of the _Weekly Oracle_, were to form themselves
+into an association which should endeavor to extract whatever latent
+literary talent the thirteen members might have within them. It was a
+generally accepted fact, Bedford Parke had said, that all literature,
+not even excepting history, was based upon the imagination. Many of the
+masterpieces of fiction had their basis in actual dreams, and, when they
+were not founded on such, might in every case be said to be directly
+attributable to what might properly be called waking dreams. It was the
+misfortune of the thirteen gentlemen who were expected to join this
+association that the business and social engagements of all, with the
+possible exception of Billy Jones of the _Weekly Oracle_, were such as
+to prevent their indulgence in these waking dreams, dreams which should
+tend to lower the colors of Howells before those of Tenafly Paterson,
+and cause the memory of Hawthorne to wither away before the scorching
+rays of that rising sun of genius, Tom Snobbe of Yonkers. Snobbe,
+by-the-way, must have inherited literary ability from his father, who
+had once edited a church-fair paper which ran through six editions in
+one week--one edition a day for each day of the fair--adding an
+unreceipted printer's bill for eighty-seven dollars to the proceeds to
+be divided among the heathen of Central Africa.
+
+"It's a well-known fact," said Bedford--"a sad fact, but still a
+fact--that if Poe had not been a hard drinker he never would have
+amounted to a row of beans as a writer. His dreams were induced--and I
+say, what's the matter with our inducing dreams and then putting 'em
+down?"
+
+That was the scheme in a nutshell--to induce dreams and put them down.
+The receipt was a simple one. The club was to meet once a month, and eat
+and drink "such stuff as dreams are made of"; the meeting was then to
+adjourn, the members going immediately home and to bed; the dreams of
+each were to be carefully noted in their every detail, and at the
+following meeting were to be unfolded such soul-harrowing tales as
+might with propriety be based thereon. An important part of the
+programme was a stenographer, whose duty it would be to take down the
+stories as they were told and put them in type-written form, which Dobbs
+was sure he had heard an editor say was one of the first steps towards a
+favorable consideration by professional readers of the manuscripts of
+the ambitious.
+
+"I am told," said he, "that many a truly meritorious production has gone
+unpublished for years because the labor of deciphering the author's
+handwriting proved too much for the reader's endurance--and it is very
+natural that it should be so. A professional reader is, after all, only
+human, and when to the responsibilities of his office is added the
+wearisome task of wading through a Spencerian morass after the
+will-o'-wisp of an idea, I don't blame him for getting impatient. Why, I
+saw the original manuscript of one of Charles Dickens's novels once, and
+I don't see how any one knew it was good enough to publish until it got
+into print!"
+
+"That's simply a proof of what I've always said," observed one of the
+Snobbe boys. "If Charles Dickens's works had been written by me, no one
+would ever have published them."
+
+"I haven't a doubt of it," returned Billy Jones of the _Oracle_, dryly.
+"Why, Snobbey, my boy, I believe if you had written the plays of
+Shakespeare they'd have been forgotten ages ago!"
+
+"So do I," returned Snobbe, innocently. "This is a queer world."
+
+"The stenographer will save us a great deal of trouble," said Bedford.
+"The hard part of literary work is, after all, the labor of production
+in a manual sense. These real geniuses don't have to think. Their ideas
+come to them, and they let 'em develop themselves. In realistic writing,
+as I understand it, the author sits down with his pen in his hand and
+his characters in his mind's eye, and they simply run along, and he does
+the private-detective act--follows after them and jots down all they
+do. In imaginative writing it's done the same way. The characters of
+these ridiculous beings we read of are quite as real to the imaginative
+writer as the characters of the realist are to the latter, and they do
+supernatural things naturally. So you see these things require very
+little intellectual labor. It's merely the drudgery of chasing a
+commonplace or supernatural set of characters about the world in order
+to get 400 pages full of reading-matter about 'em that makes the
+literary profession a laborious one. Our stenographer will enable us to
+avoid all this. There isn't a man of us but can talk as easily as he can
+fall off a log, and a tale once told at our dinners becomes in the
+telling a bit of writing."
+
+"But, my dear Parke," said Billy Jones of the _Oracle_, who had been a
+"literary journalist," as his fond grandmother called it, for some
+years, "a story told is hardly likely to be in the form calculated to
+become literature."
+
+"That's just what we want you for, Billy," Bedford replied. "You know
+how to give a thing that last finishing-touch which will make it go,
+where otherwise it might forever remain a fixture in the author's
+pigeon-hole. When our stories are told and type-written, we want you to
+go over them, correct the type-writer's spelling, and make whatever
+alterations you may think, after consulting with us, to be necessary.
+Then, if the tales are ever published as a collection, you can have your
+name on the title-page as editor."
+
+"Thanks," answered Billy, gratefully. "I shall be charmed."
+
+And then he hurried back to his apartments, and threw himself on his bed
+in a paroxysm of laughter which seemed never-ending, but which in
+reality did not last more than three hours at the most.
+
+Hudson Rivers of Hastings, when the idea was suggested to him, was the
+most enthusiastic of all--so enthusiastic that the Snobbe boys thought
+that, in their own parlance, he ought to be "called down."
+
+"It's bad form to go crazy over an idea," they said. "If Huddy's going
+to behave this way about it, he ought to be kept out altogether. It is
+all very well to experience emotions, but no well-bred person ever shows
+them--that is, not in Yonkers."
+
+"Ah, but you don't understand Huddy," said Tenafly Paterson. "Huddy has
+two great ambitions in this life. One is to get into the Authors' Club,
+and the other is to marry a certain young woman whose home is in Boston
+and whose ambitions are Bostonian. To appear before the world as a
+writer, which the Dreamers will give him a chance to do at small
+expense, will help him on to the realization of his most cherished
+hopes; in fact, Huddy told me that he thought we ought to publish the
+proceedings of the club at least four times a year, so establishing a
+quarterly magazine, to which we shall all be regular contributors. He
+thinks it will pay for itself, and knows it will make us all famous,
+because Billy Jones is certain to see that everything that goes out is
+first chop, and I'm inclined to believe Huddy is right. The continual
+drip, drip, drip of a drop of water on a stone will gradually wear away
+the stone, and, by Jove! before we know it, by constant hammering away
+at this dream scheme of ours we'll gain a position that won't be
+altogether unenviable."
+
+"That's so," said Billy. "I wouldn't wonder if with the constant drip,
+drip, drip of your drops of ink and inspiration you could wear the
+public out in a very little while. The only troublesome thing will be in
+getting a publisher for your quarterly."
+
+"I haven't any idea that we want a publisher," said Bedford Parke.
+"We've got capital enough among ourselves to bring the thing out, and so
+I say, what's the use of letting anybody else in on the profits? A
+publisher wouldn't give us more than ten per cent. in royalties. If we
+publish it ourselves we'll get the whole thing."
+
+"Yes," assented Tom Snobbe, "and, what's more, it will have a higher
+tone to it if we can say on the title-page 'Privately printed,' eh?
+That'll make everybody in society want one for his library, and
+everybody not in society will be crazy to get it because it's
+aristocratic all through."
+
+"I hadn't thought of that," said Billy Jones. "I've no doubt you are
+right, only I'd think you'd sell more copies if you'd also put on the
+title-page 'For circulation among the elite only.' Then every man,
+woman, or child who happened to get a copy would take pride in showing
+it to others, who would immediately send for it, because not having it
+would seem to indicate that one was not in the swim."
+
+Nor were the others to whom the proposition was advanced any less
+desirous to take part. They saw, one and all, opportunities for a very
+desirable distinction through the medium of the Dreamers, and within two
+weeks of the original formation of the plan the club was definitely
+organized. Physicians were consulted by the various members as to what
+edibles contained the properties most likely to produce dreams of the
+nature desired, and at the organization meeting all but Billy Jones were
+well stocked with suggestions for the inauguration dinner. Hudson Rivers
+was of the opinion that there should be six courses at that dinner, each
+one of Welsh-rabbit, but varying in form, such as Welsh-rabbit puree,
+for instance, in which the cheese should have the consistency of
+pea-soup rather than of leather; such as Welsh-rabbit pate, in which the
+cheese should rest within walls of pastry instead of lying quiescent and
+inviting like a yellow mantle upon a piece of toast; then a Welsh-rabbit
+roast; and so on all through the banquet, rabbit upon rabbit, the whole
+washed down with the accepted wines of the ordinary banquet, which
+experience had taught them were likely in themselves to assist in the
+work of dream-making.
+
+[Illustration: AND SO TO DREAM]
+
+Monty St. Vincent observed that he had no doubt that the Welsh-rabbit
+dinner would work wonders, but he confessed his inability to see any
+reason why the club should begin its labors by committing suicide. He
+added that, for his part, he would not eat six Welsh rabbits at one
+sitting if he was sure of Shakespeare's immortality as his reward,
+because, however attractive immortality was, he preferred mortality in
+the flesh to the other in the abstract. If the gentlemen would begin the
+meal with a grilled lobster apiece, he suggested, going thence by an
+easy stage to a devilled bird, rounding up with a "slip-on"--which, in
+brief, is a piece of mince-pie smothered in a blanket of molten
+cheese--he was ready to take the plunge, but further than this he would
+not go. The other members were disposed to agree with Monty. They
+thought the idea of eating six Welsh rabbits in a single evening was
+preposterous, and that in making such a suggestion Huddy was inspired by
+one of but two possible motives--that he wished to leap to the foremost
+position in imaginative literature at one bound, or else was prompted,
+by jealousy of what the others might do, to wish to kill the club at its
+very start. Huddy denied these aspersions upon his motives with
+vociferous indignation, and to show his sincerity readily acquiesced in
+the adoption of Monty St. Vincent's menu as already outlined.
+
+The date of the dinner was set, Billy Jones was made master of
+ceremonies, the dinner was ordered, and eaten amid scenes of such
+revelry as was possible in the presence of the Snobbe boys, to whom
+anything in the way of unrestrained enjoyment was a bore and bad form,
+and at its conclusion the revellers went straight home to bed and to
+dream.
+
+Two weeks later they met again over viands of a more digestible nature
+than those which lent interest to the first dinner, and told the tales
+which follow. And I desire to add here that my report of this dinner and
+the literature there produced is based entirely upon the stenographer's
+notes, coupled with additional information of an interesting kind
+furnished me by my friend William Jones, Esq., Third Assistant Exchange
+Editor of _The Weekly Oracle, a Journal of To-day, Yesterday, and
+To-morrow_.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+IN WHICH THOMAS SNOBBE, ESQ., OF YONKERS, UNFOLDS A TALE
+
+
+The second dinner of the Dreamers had been served, all but the coffee,
+when Mr. Billy Jones, of the _Oracle_, rapped upon the table with a
+dessert-spoon and called the members to order.
+
+"Gentlemen," said he, when all was quiet, "we have reached the crucial
+crisis of our club career. We have eaten the stuff of which our dreams
+were to be made, and from what I can gather from the reports of those
+who are now seated about this festal board--and I am delighted to note
+that the full membership of our organization is here represented--there
+is not a single one of you who is unprepared for the work we have in
+hand, and, as master of ceremonies, it becomes my pleasant duty to
+inform you that the hour has arrived at which it behooveth us to begin
+the narration of those tales which--of those tales which I am
+certain--yes, gentlemen, very certain--will cause the unlaid ghosts of
+those masters of the story-tellers' art--"
+
+"Is this a continued story Billy is giving us?" observed Tenafly
+Paterson.
+
+"No," replied Bedford Parke, with a laugh; "it is only a life sentence."
+
+"Get him to commute it!" ejaculated Hudson Rivers.
+
+"Order, gentlemen, order!" cried the master of ceremonies, again rapping
+upon the table. "The members will kindly not interrupt the speaker. As I
+was saying, gentlemen," he continued, "we are now to listen to the
+narration of tales which I am convinced will cause the unlaid ghosts of
+the past grand masters of the story-tellers' art to gnash their spirit
+teeth with anguish for that they in life failed to realize the
+opportunities that were theirs in not having told the tales to which we
+are about to listen, and over which, when published, the leading living
+literary lights will writhe in jealousy."
+
+When the applause which greeted these remarks had subsided, Mr. Jones
+resumed:
+
+"That there may be no question of precedence among the gifted persons
+from whom we are now to hear, I have provided myself with a small
+leathern bottle, such as is to be seen in most billiard-parlors, within
+which I have placed twelve numbered ivory balls. These I will now
+proceed to distribute among you. When you receive them, I request that
+you immediately return them to me, that I may arrange the programme
+according to your respective numbers."
+
+Mr. Jones thereupon distributed the ivory balls, and when the returns
+had been made, according to his request, he again rose to his feet and
+announced that to Mr. Thomas Snobbe, of Yonkers, had fallen the lot of
+telling the first story, adding that he took great pleasure in the
+slightly supererogative task that devolved upon him of presenting Mr.
+Snobbe to his audience. Mr. Snobbe's health was drunk vociferously,
+after which, the stenographer having announced himself as ready to
+begin, the distinguished son of Yonkers arose and told the following
+story, which he called
+
+  VAN SQUIBBER'S FAILURE
+
+[Illustration: THE DREAMERS DINE]
+
+You can't always tell what kind of a day you are going to have in town
+in October just because you happen to have been in town on previous
+October days, and Van Squibber, for that reason, was not surprised when
+his man, on waking him, informed him that it was cold out. Even if he
+had been surprised he would not have shown it, for fear of demoralizing
+his man by setting him a bad example. "We must take things as they
+come," Van Squibber had said to the fellow when he engaged him, "and I
+shall expect you to be ready always for any emergency that may arise.
+If on waking in the morning I call for a camel's-hair shawl and a bottle
+of Nepaul pepper, it will be your duty to see that I get them without
+manifesting the slightest surprise or asking any questions. Here is your
+next year's salary in advance. Get my Melton overcoat and my box, and
+have them at the Rahway station at 7.15 to-morrow morning. If I am not
+there, don't wait for me, but come back here and boil my egg at once."
+
+This small bit of a lecture had had its effect on the man, to whom
+thenceforth nothing was impossible; indeed, upon this very occasion he
+demonstrated to his employer his sterling worth, for when, on looking
+over Van Squibber's wardrobe, he discovered that his master had no
+Melton overcoat, he telegraphed to his tailor's and had one made from
+his previous measure in time to have it with Van Squibber's box at the
+Rahway station at the stipulated hour the following morning. Of course
+Van Squibber was not there. He had instructed his man as he had simply
+to test him, and, furthermore, the egg was boiled to perfection. The
+test cost Van Squibber about $150, but it was successful, and it was
+really worth the money to know that his man was all that he should be.
+
+"He's not half bad," said Van Squibber, as he cracked the egg.
+
+"It's wintry," said Van Squibber's man on the morning of the 5th of
+October.
+
+"Well," Van Squibber said, sleepily, "what of that? You have your
+instructions as to the bodily temperature I desire to maintain. Select
+my clothing, as usual--and mark you, man, yesterday was springy, and you
+let me go to the club in summery attire. I was two and a half degrees
+too warm. You are getting careless. What are my engagements to-day?"
+
+"University settlement at eleven, luncheon at the Actors' at one, drive
+with the cynical Miss Netherwood at three, five-o'clock tea at four--"
+
+"What?" cried Van Squibber, sharply.
+
+"At fuf--five, I should say, sir," stammered the embarrassed man.
+
+"Thought so," said Van Squibber. "Proceed, and be more careful. The very
+idea of five-o'clock tea at four is shocking."
+
+"Dinner with the Austrian ambassador at eight, opera at eleven--"
+
+"In October? Opera?" cried Van Squibber.
+
+"Comic," said the man. "It is Flopper's last night, sir, and you are to
+ring down the curtain."
+
+"True," said Van Squibber, meditatively--"true; I'd forgotten. And
+then?"
+
+"At midnight you are to meet Red Mike at Cherry Street and Broadway to
+accompany him to see how he robs national banks, for the _Sunday
+Whirald_."
+
+"What bank is it to be?"
+
+"The Seventeenth National."
+
+"Gad!" cried Van Squibber, "that's hard luck. It's my bank. Wire Red
+Mike and ask him to make it the Sixteenth National, at once. Bring me my
+smoking-jacket and a boiled soda mint drop. I don't care for any
+breakfast this morning. And, by-the-way, I feel a little chilly. Take a
+quinine pill for me."
+
+"Your egg is ready, sir," said the man, tremulously.
+
+"Eat it," said Van Squibber, tersely, "and deduct the Cafe Savarin price
+of a boiled egg from your salary. How often must I tell you not to have
+my breakfast boiled until I am boil--I mean ready until I am ready for
+it?"
+
+The man departed silently, and Van Squibber turned over and went to
+sleep.
+
+An hour later, having waited for his soda mint drop as long as his
+dignity would permit, Van Squibber arose and dressed and went for a walk
+in Central Park. It was eccentric of him to do this, but he did it
+nevertheless.
+
+"How Travers would laugh if he saw me walking in Central Park!" he
+thought. "He'd probably ask me when I'd come over from Germany," he
+added. And then, looking ahead, a thing Van Squibber rarely did,
+by-the-way--for you can't always tell by looking ahead what may happen
+to you--his eyes were confronted by a more or less familiar back.
+
+"Dear me!" he said. "If that isn't Eleanor Huyler's back, whose back is
+it, by Jove?"
+
+Insensibly Van Squibber quickened his pace. This was also a thing he
+rarely did. "Haste is bad form," he had once said to Travers, who, on
+leaving Delmonico's at 7.20, seemed anxious to catch the 7.10 train for
+Riverdale. Insensibly quickening his pace, he soon found himself beside
+the owner of the back, and, as his premonitions had told him, it was
+Eleanor Huyler.
+
+"Good-morning," he said.
+
+"Why, Mr. Van Squibber!" she replied, with a terrified smile. "You
+here?"
+
+"Well," returned Van Squibber, not anxious to commit himself, "I think
+so, though I assure you, Miss Huyler, I am not at all certain. I seem to
+be here, but I must confess I am not quite myself this morning. My
+man--"
+
+"Yes--I know," returned the girl, hastily. "I've heard of him. He is
+your _alter ego_."
+
+"I had not noticed it," said Van Squibber, somewhat nonplussed. "I think
+he is English, though he may be Italian, as you suggest. But," he added,
+to change the subject, "you seem disturbed. Your smile is a terrified
+smile, as has been already noted."
+
+"It is," said Miss Huyler, looking anxiously about her.
+
+"And may I ask why?" asked Van Squibber, politely--for to do things
+politely was Van Squibber's ambition.
+
+"I--I--well, really, Mr. Van Squibber," the girl replied, "I am always
+anxious when you are about. The fact is, you know, the things that
+happen when you are around are always so very extraordinary. I came here
+for a quiet walk, but now that you have appeared I am quite certain that
+something dramatic is about to occur. You see--you--you have turned up
+so often at the--what I may properly call, I think, the nick of time,
+and so rarely at any other time, that I feel as though some disaster
+were impending which you alone can avert."
+
+"And what then?" said Van Squibber, proudly. "If I am here, what bodes
+disaster?"
+
+"That is the question I am asking myself," returned Miss Huyler, whose
+growing anxiety was more or less painful to witness. "Can your luck hold
+out? Will your ability as an averter of danger hold out? In short, Mr.
+Van Squibber, are you infallible?"
+
+The question came to Van Squibber like a flash of lightning out of a
+clear sky. It was too pertinent. Had he not often wondered himself as to
+his infallibility? Had he not only the day before said to Travers, "You
+can't always tell in advance just how a thing you are going into may
+turn out, even though you have been through that thing many times, and
+think you do."
+
+"I do lead a dramatic life," he said, quietly, hoping by a show of
+serenity to reassure her. "But," he added, proudly, "I am, after all,
+Van Squibber; I am here to do whatever is sent me to do. I am not a
+fatalist, but I regard myself as the chosen instrument of fate--or
+something. So far, I have not failed. On the basis of averages, I am not
+likely to fail now. Fate, or something, has chosen me to succeed."
+
+"That is true," said Eleanor--"quite true; but there are exceptions to
+all rules, and I would rather you would fail to rescue some other girl
+from a position of peril than myself."
+
+That Miss Huyler's words were prophetic, the unhappy Van Squibber was to
+realize, and that soon, for almost as they spoke the cheeks of both were
+blanched by a dreadful roar in the bushes beside the path upon which
+they walked.
+
+"Shall I leave you?" asked Van Squibber, politely.
+
+[Illustration: "'REMEMBER TO BE BRAVE'"]
+
+"Not now--oh, not now, I beg!" cried Miss Huyler. "It is too late. The
+catastrophe is imminent. You should have gone before the author
+brought it on. Finding me defenceless and you gone, he might have spared
+me. As it is, you are here, and must fulfil your destiny."
+
+"Very well," returned Van Squibber. "That being so, I will see what this
+roaring is. If it is a child endeavoring to frighten you, I shall get
+his address and have my man chastise his father, for I could never
+strike a child; but if it is a lion, as I fear, I shall do what seems
+best under the circumstances. I have been told, Miss Huyler, that a show
+of bravery awes a wild beast, while a manifestation of cowardice causes
+him to spring at once upon the coward. Therefore, if it be a lion, do
+you walk boldly up to him and evince a cool head, while I divert his
+attention from you by running away. In this way you, at least, will be
+saved."
+
+"Noble fellow!" thought Eleanor to herself. "If he were to ask me, I
+think I might marry him."
+
+Meanwhile Van Squibber had investigated, and was horror-struck to find
+his misgivings entirely too well founded. It was the lion from the park
+menagerie that had escaped, and was now waiting in ambush to pounce upon
+the chance pedestrian.
+
+"Remember, Eleanor," he cried, forgetting for the moment that he had
+never called her by any but her last name with its formal
+prefix--"remember to be brave. That will awe him, and then when he sees
+me running he will pursue me."
+
+[Illustration: "'ELEANOR HUYLER HAS DISAPPEARED'"]
+
+Removing his shoes, Van Squibber, with a cry which brought the hungry
+beast bounding out into the path, started on a dead run, while Miss
+Huyler, full of confidence that the story would end happily whatever she
+might do, walked boldly up to the tawny creature, wondering much,
+however, why her rescuer had removed his shoes. It was strange that,
+knowing Van Squibber as well as she did, she did not at once perceive
+his motive in declining to run in walking-shoes, but in moments of peril
+we are all excusable for our vagaries of thought! You never can tell,
+when you are in danger, what may happen next, for if you could you
+would know how it is all going to turn out; but as it is, mental
+disturbance is quite to be expected.
+
+For once Van Squibber failed. He ran fast enough and betrayed enough
+cowardice to attract the attention of ten lions, but this special lion,
+by some fearful idiosyncrasy of fate, which you never can count on, was
+not to be deceived. With a louder roar than any he had given, he pounced
+upon the brave woman, and in an instant she was no more. Van Squibber,
+turning to see how matters stood, was just in time to witness the final
+engulfment of the fair girl in the lion's jaws.
+
+"Egad!" he cried. "_I have failed!_ And now what remains to be done?
+Shall I return and fight the lion, or shall I keep on and go to the
+club? If I kill the lion, people will know that I have been walking in
+the park before breakfast. If I continue my present path and go to the
+club, the fellows will all want to know what I mean by coming without
+my shoes on. What a dilemma! Ah! I have it; I will go home."
+
+And that is what Van Squibber did. He went back to his rooms in the
+Quigmore at once, hastily undressed, and when, an hour later, his man
+returned with the soda mint drop, he was sleeping peacefully.
+
+That night he met Travers at the club reading the _Evening Moon_.
+
+"Hello, Van!" said Travers. "Heard the news?"
+
+"No. What?" asked Van Squibber, languidly.
+
+"Eleanor Huyler has disappeared."
+
+"By Jove!" cried Van Squibber, with well-feigned surprise. "I heard the
+boys crying 'Extra,' but I never dreamed they would put out an extra for
+her."
+
+"They haven't," said Travers. "The extra's about the lion."
+
+"Ah! And what's happened to the lion?" cried Van Squibber, nervously.
+
+"He's dead. Got loose this morning early, and was found at ten o'clock
+dying of indigestion. It is supposed he has devoured some man, name
+unknown, for before his nose was an uneaten patent-leather pump, size
+9-3/4 B, and in his throat was stuck the other, half eaten."
+
+"Ha!" muttered Van Squibber, turning pale. "And they don't know whose
+shoes they were?" he added, in a hoarse whisper.
+
+"No," said Travers. "There's no clew, even."
+
+Van Squibber breathed a sigh of relief.
+
+"Robert!" he cried, addressing the waiter, "bring me a schooner of
+absinthe, and ask Mr. Travers what he'll have." And then, turning, he
+said, _sotto voce_, to himself, "Saved! And Eleanor is revenged. Van
+Squibber may have failed, but his patent-leather pumps have conquered."
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+IN WHICH A MINCE-PIE IS RESPONSIBLE FOR A REMARKABLE COINCIDENCE
+
+
+When Mr. Snobbe sat down after the narration of his story, there was a
+thunderous outburst of applause. It was evident that the exciting
+narrative had pleased his fellow-diners very much--as, indeed, it was
+proper that it should, since it dealt in a veiled sort of way with
+characters for whom all right-minded persons have not only a deep-seated
+admiration, but a feeling of affection as well. They had, one and all,
+in common with the unaffected portion of the reading community, a liking
+for the wholesome and clean humor of Mr. Van Bibber, and the fact that
+Snobbe's story suggested a certain original, even in a weak sort of
+fashion, made them like it in spite of its shortcomings.
+
+"Good work," cried Hudson Rivers. "Of course it's only gas in comparison
+with the sun, but it gives light, and we like it."
+
+"And it's wholly original, too, even though an imitation in manner. The
+real Van Bibber never failed in anything he undertook," said Tenafly
+Paterson. "I've often wished he might have, just once--it would have
+made him seem more human--and for that reason I think Tom is entitled to
+praise."
+
+"I don't know about that," observed Monty St. Vincent. "Tom hadn't
+anything to do with it--it was the dinner. Honor to whom honor is due,
+say I. Praise the cook, or the caterer."
+
+"That's the truth," put in Billie Jones. "Fact is, when this book of
+ours comes out, I think, instead of putting our names on the title-page
+as authors, the thing to do is to print the menu."
+
+"You miss the point of this association," interjected Snobbe. "We
+haven't banded ourselves together to immortalize a Welsh rabbit or a
+mince-pie--nay, nor even a ruddy duck. It's our own glory we're after."
+
+"That's it," cried Monty St. Vincent--"that's the beauty of it. The
+scheme works two ways. If the stuff is good and there is glory in it,
+we'll have the glory; but if it's bad, we'll blame the dinner. That's
+what I like about it."
+
+"It's a valuable plan from that point of view," said the presiding
+officer. "And now, if the gentleman who secured the ball numbered two
+will make himself known, we will proceed."
+
+Hudson Rivers rose up. "I have number two," he said, "but I have nothing
+to relate. The coffee I drank kept me awake all night, and when I
+finally slept, along about six o'clock next morning, it was one of those
+sweet, dreamless sleeps that we all love so much. I must therefore ask
+to be excused."
+
+[Illustration: "WRIT A POME ABOUT A KID"]
+
+"But how shall you be represented in the book?" asked Mr. Harry Snobbe.
+
+"He can do the table of contents," suggested St. Vincent.
+
+"Or the fly-leaves," said Tenafly Paterson.
+
+"No," said Huddy; "I shall ask that the pages I should have filled be
+left blank. There is nothing helps a book so much as the leaving of
+something to the reader's imagination. I heard a great critic say so
+once. He said that was the strong point of the French writers, and he
+added that Stockton's _Lady or the Tiger_ took hold because Stockton
+didn't insist on telling everything."
+
+"It's a good idea," said Mr. Jones. "I don't know but that if those
+pages are left blank they'll be the most interesting in the book."
+
+Mr. Rivers sat down with a smile of conscious pride, whereupon Mr.
+Tenafly Paterson rose up.
+
+"As I hold the number three ball, I will give you the fruits of my
+dinner. I attribute the work which I am about to present to you to the
+mince-pie. Personally, I am a great admirer of certain latter-day poets
+who deal with the woes and joys of more or less commonplace persons. I
+myself would rather read a sonnet to a snow-shovel than an ode to the
+moon, but in my dream I seem to have conceived a violent hatred for
+authors of homely verse, as you will note when I have finished reading
+my dream-poem called 'Retribution.'"
+
+"Great Scott!" murmured Billie Jones, with a deep-drawn sigh. "Poetry!
+From Tenafly Paterson! Of all the afflictions of man, Job could have
+known no worse."
+
+"The poem reads as follows," continued Paterson, ignoring the chairman's
+ill-timed remark:
+
+[Illustration: "I BOUGHT A BOOK OF VERSE"]
+
+
+RETRIBUTION
+
+    Writ a pome about a kid.
+    Finest one I ever did.
+
+    Heaped it full o' sentiment--
+    Very best I could invent.
+
+    Talked about his little toys;
+    How he played with other boys;
+
+    How the beasts an' birdies all
+    Come when little Jamie'd call.
+
+    'N' 'en I took that little lad,
+    Gave him fever, mighty bad.
+
+    'N' 'en it sorter pleased my whim
+    To have him die and bury him.
+
+    It got printed, too, it did
+    That small pome about the kid,
+
+    In a paper in the West;
+    Put ten dollars in my vest.
+
+    Every pa an' ma about
+    Cried like mighty--cried right out.
+
+    I jess took each grandma's heart,
+    Lammed and bruised it, made it smart;
+
+    'N' everybody said o' me,
+    "Finest pote we ever see,"
+
+    'Cept one beggar, he got mad.
+    Got worst lickin' ever had;
+
+    Got my head atween his fists,
+    Called me "Prince o' anarchists."
+
+    Clipped me one behind my ear--
+    Laid me up for 'most a year.
+
+    "'Cause," he said, "my poetry
+    'D made his wife an' mother cry;
+
+    "'Twarn't no poet's bizness to
+    Make the wimmin all boo-hoo."
+
+    'N' 'at is why to-day, by Jings!
+    I don't fool with hearts an' things.
+
+    I don't care how high the bids,
+    I've stopped scribblin' 'bout dead kids;
+
+    'R if I haven't, kinder sorter
+    Think 'at maybe p'r'aps I'd oughter.
+
+The lines were received with hearty appreciation by all save Dobbs
+Ferry, who looked a trifle gloomy.
+
+[Illustration: "IT FILLED ME WITH DISMAY"]
+
+"It is a strange thing," said the latter, "but that mince-pie affected
+me in precisely the same way, as you will see for yourselves when I
+read my contribution, which, holding ball number four as I do, I will
+proceed to give you."
+
+Mr. Ferry then read the following poem, which certainly did seem to
+indicate that the man who prepared the fatal pie had certain literary
+ideas which he mixed in with other ingredients:
+
+    I bought a book of verse the other day,
+    And when I read, it filled me with dismay.
+
+    I wanted it to take home to my wife,
+    To bring a bit of joy into her life;
+
+    And I'd been told the author of those pomes
+    Was called the laureate of simple homes.
+
+    But, Jove! I read, and found it full of rhyme
+    That kept my eyes a-filling all the time.
+
+    One told about a pretty little miss
+    Whose father had denied a simple kiss,
+
+    And as she left, unhappy, full of cares,
+    She fell and broke her neck upon the stairs.
+
+    And then he wrote a lot of tearful lines
+    Of children who had trouble with their spines;
+
+    And 'stead of joys, he penned so many woes
+    I sought him out and gave him curvature 'f the nose;
+
+    And all the nation, witnessing his plight,
+    Did crown me King, and cry, "It served him right."
+
+"A remarkable coincidence," said Thomas Snobbe. "In fact, the
+coincidence is rather more remarkable than the poetry."
+
+"It certainly is," said Billie Jones; "but what a wonderfully suggestive
+pie, considering that it was a mince!"
+
+After which dictum the presiding officer called upon the holder of the
+fifth ball, who turned out to be none other than Bedford Parke, who
+blushingly rose up and delivered himself of what he called "The
+Overcoat, a Magazine Farce."
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+BEING THE CONTRIBUTION OF MR. BEDFORD PARKE
+
+THE OVERCOAT
+
+A FARCE. IN TWO SCENES
+
+
+SCENE FIRST
+
+_Time_: MORNING AT BOSTON
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards._ "I think it will rain to-day, but there is no
+need to worry about that. Robert has his umbrella and his mackintosh,
+and I don't think he is idiotic enough to lend both of them. If he does,
+he'll get wet, that's all." Mrs. Edwards is speaking to herself in the
+sewing-room of the apartment occupied by herself and her husband in the
+Hotel Hammingbell at Boston. It is not a large room, but cosey. A
+frieze one foot deep runs about the ceiling, and there is a carpet on
+the floor. Three pins are seen scattered about the room, in one corner
+of which is a cane-bottomed chair holding across its back two black
+vests and a cutaway coat. Mrs. Edwards sits before a Wilcox & Wilson
+sewing-machine sewing a button on a light spring overcoat. The overcoat
+has one outside and three inside pockets, and is single-breasted. "It is
+curious," Mrs. Edwards continues, "what men will do with umbrellas and
+mackintoshes on a rainy day. They lend them here and there, and the
+worst part of it is they never remember where." A knock is heard at the
+door. "Who's there?"
+
+_Voice_ (_without_). "Me."
+
+[Illustration: "'COME IN'"]
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards_ (_with a nervous shudder_). "Come in." Enter Mary
+the house-maid. She is becomingly attired in blue alpaca, with green
+ribbons and puffed sleeves. She holds a feather duster in her right
+hand, and in her left is a jar of Royal Worcester. "Mary," Mrs. Edwards
+says, severely, "where are we at?"
+
+_Mary_ (_meekly_). "Boston, ma'am."
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards._ "South Boston or Boston proper?"
+
+_Mary._ "Boston proper, ma'am."
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards._ "Then when I say 'Who's there?' don't say 'Me.'
+That manner of speaking may do at New York, Brooklyn, South Boston, or
+Congress, but at Boston proper it is extremely gauche. 'I' is the word."
+
+_Mary._ "Yes, ma'am; but you know, ma'am, I don't pretend to be
+literary, ma'am, and so these little points baffles I very often." Mrs.
+Edwards sighs, and, walking over to the window, looks out upon the
+trolley-cars for ten minutes; then, picking up one of the pins from the
+floor and putting it in a pink silk pin-cushion which stands next to an
+alarm-clock on the mantel-piece, a marble affair with plain caryatids
+and a brass fender around the hearth, she resumes her seat before the
+sewing-machine, and threads a needle. Then--
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards._ "Well, Mary, what do you want?"
+
+_Mary._ "Please, Mrs. Edwards, the butcher is came, and he says they
+have some very fine perairie-chickens to-day."
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards._ "We don't want any prairie-chickens. The prairies
+are so very vulgar. Tell him never to suggest such a thing again. Have
+we any potatoes in the house?"
+
+_Mary._ "There's three left, ma'am, and two slices of cold roast beef."
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards._ "Then tell him to bring five more potatoes, a
+steak, and--Was all the pickled salmon eaten?"
+
+_Mary._ "All but the can, ma'am."
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards._ "Well--Mr. Edwards is very fond of fish.
+Tell him to bring two boxes of sardines and a bottle of anchovy paste."
+
+_Mary._ "Very well, Mrs. Edwards."
+
+[Illustration: MARY]
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards._ "And--ah--Mary, tell him to bring some Brussels
+sprouts for breakfast. What are you doing with that Worcester vase?"
+
+_Mary._ "I was takin' it to cook, ma'am. Sure she broke the bean-pot
+this mornin', and she wanted somethin' to cook the beans in."
+
+_Mrs. Robert Edwards._ "Oh, I see. Well, take good care of it, Mary.
+It's a rare piece. In fact, I think you'd better leave that here and
+remove the rubber plant from the jardiniere, and let Nora cook the beans
+in that. Times are a little too hard to cook beans in Royal Worcester."
+
+_Mary._ "Very well, ma'am." Mary goes out through the door. Mrs. Edwards
+resumes her sewing. Fifteen minutes elapse, interrupted only by the
+ticking of the alarm-clock and the occasional ringing of the bell on
+passing trolley-cars. "If it does rain," Mrs. Edwards says at last, with
+an anxious glance through the window, "I suppose Robert won't care about
+going to see the pantomime to-night. It will be too bad if we don't go,
+for this is the last night of the season, and I've been very anxious to
+renew my acquaintance with 'Humpty Dumpty.' It is so very dramatic, and
+I do so like dramatic things. Even when they happen in my own life I
+like dramatic things. I'll never forget how I enjoyed the thrill that
+came over me, even in my terror, that night last winter when the
+trolley-car broke down in front of this house; and last summer, too,
+when the oar-lock broke in our row-boat thirty-three feet from shore;
+that was a situation that I enjoyed in spite of its peril. How people
+can say that life is humdrum, I can't see. Exciting things, real
+third-act situations, climaxes I might even call them, are always
+happening in my life, and yet some novelists pretend that life is
+humdrum just to excuse their books for being humdrum. I'd just like to
+show these apostles of realism the diary I could have kept if I had
+wanted to. Beginning with the fall my brother George had from the
+hay-wagon, back in 1876, running down through my first meeting with
+Robert, which was romantic enough--he paid my car-fare in from Brookline
+the day I lost my pocket-book--even to yesterday, when an entire
+stranger called me up on the telephone, my life has fairly bubbled with
+dramatic situations that would take the humdrum theory and utterly
+annihilate it." As Mrs. Edwards is speaking she is also sewing the
+button already alluded to on Mr. Edwards's coat as described. "There,"
+taking the last stitch in the coat, "that's done, and now I can go and
+get ready for luncheon." She folds up the coat, glances at the clock,
+and goes out. A half-hour elapses. The silence is broken only by
+occasional noises from the street, the rattling of the wheels of a
+herdic over the pavement, the voices of newsboys, and an occasional
+strawberry-vender's cry. At the end of the half-hour the alarm-clock
+goes off and the curtain falls.
+
+
+SCENE SECOND
+
+_Time_: EVENING AT BOSTON
+
+The scene is laid in the drawing-room of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Edwards.
+Mrs. Edwards is discovered reading _Pendennis_, and seems in imminent
+danger of going to sleep over it. Mr. Edwards is stretched out upon the
+sofa, quite asleep, with _Ivanhoe_ lying open upon his chest.
+Twenty-five minutes elapse, when the door-bell rings.
+
+_Mr. Edwards_ (_drowsily_). "Let me off at the next corner, conductor."
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "Why, Robert--what nonsense you are talking!"
+
+_Mr. Edwards_ (_rubbing his eyes and sitting up_). "Eh? What? Nonsense?
+I talk nonsense? Really, my dear, that is a serious charge to bring
+against one of the leading characters in a magazine farce. Wit, perhaps,
+I may indulge in, but nonsense, never!"
+
+[Illustration: EDWARDS REBELS]
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "That is precisely what I complain about. The idea of
+a well-established personage like yourself lying off on a sofa in his
+own apartment and asking a conductor to let him off at the next corner!
+It's--"
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "I didn't do anything of the sort."
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "You did, too, Robert Edwards. And I can prove it. If
+you will read back to the opening lines of this scene you will find that
+I have spoken the truth--unless you forgot your lines. If you admit
+that, I have nothing to say, but I will add that if you are going to
+forget lines that give the key-note of the whole situation, you've got
+no business in a farce. You'll make the whole thing fall flat some day,
+and then you will be discharged."
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "Well, I wish I might be discharged; I'm tired of the
+whole business. Anybody'd take me for an idiot, the way I have to go on.
+Every bit of fun there is to be had in these farces is based upon some
+predicament into which my idiocy or yours gets me. Are we idiots? I ask
+you that. Are we? You may be, but, Mrs. Edwards, I am not. The idea of
+my falling asleep over _Ivanhoe_! Would I do that if I had my way? Well,
+I guess not! Would I even dare to say 'I guess not' in a magazine farce?
+Again, I guess not. I'm going to write to the editor this very night,
+and resign my situation. I want to be me. I don't want to be what some
+author thinks I ought to be. Do you know what I think?"
+
+_Mrs. Edwards_ (_warningly_). "Take care, Robert. Take care. You aren't
+employed to think."
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "Precisely. That's what makes me so immortally mad. The
+author doesn't give me time to think. I could think real thoughts if
+he'd let me, but then! The curtain wouldn't stay up half a second if I
+did that; and where would the farce be? The audience would go home
+tired, because they wouldn't get their nap if the curtain was down. It's
+hard luck; and as for me, I wouldn't keep the position a minute if I
+could get anything else to do. Nobody'd give me work, now that I've been
+made out to be such a confounded jackass. But let's talk of other
+things."
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "I'd love to, Robert--but we can't. There are no other
+things in the farce. The Billises are coming."
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "Hang the Billises! Can't we ever have an evening to
+ourselves?"
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "How you do talk! How can we? There's got to be some
+action in the farce, and it's the Billis family that draws out our
+peculiarities."
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "Well, I'm going out, and you can receive the Billises,
+and if it's necessary for me to say anything to give go to the play, you
+can say it. I make you my proxy."
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "It can't be done, Robert. They are here. The bell rang
+ten minutes ago, and they ought to have got in here five minutes since.
+You can't go out without meeting them in the wings--I mean the
+hallway."
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "Lost!"
+
+    _Enter_ MR. _and_ MRS. BILLIS.
+
+_Billis._ "Ah, Edwards! Howdy do? Knew you were home. Saw light in--"
+
+_Mrs. Billis._ "Don't rattle on so, my dear. Speak more slowly, or the
+farce will be over before nine."
+
+_Billis._ "I've got to say my lines, and I'm going to say them my way.
+Ah, Edwards! Howdy do? Knew you were home. Saw light in window. Knew
+your economical spirit. Said to myself must be home, else why gas? He
+doesn't burn gas when he's out. Wake up--"
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "I'm not asleep. Fact is, I am going out."
+
+_Mrs. Billis._ "Out?"
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "Robert!"
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "That's what I said--out. _O-u-t._"
+
+_Billis._ "Not bad idea. Go with you. Where to?"
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "Anywhere--to find a tragedy and take part in it. I'm
+done farcing, my boy."
+
+_Billis_ (_slapping_ Edwards _on back_). "Rah! my position exactly. I'm
+sick of it too. Come ahead. I know that fellow Whoyt--he'll take us in
+and give us a chance."
+
+_Mrs. Billis._ "I've been afraid of this."
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "Robert, consider your family."
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "I have; and if I'm to die respected and honored, if my
+family is to have any regard for my memory, I've got to get out of
+farcing. That's all. Did you sew the button on my overcoat?"
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "I did. I'll go get it."
+
+She goes out. Mrs. Billis throws herself sobbing on sofa. Billis dances
+a jig. Forty minutes elapse, during which Billis's dance may be encored.
+Enter Mrs. Edwards, triumphantly, with overcoat.
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "There's your overcoat."
+
+_Mr. Edwards._ "But--but the button isn't sewed on. I can't go out in
+this."
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "I knew it, Robert. I sewed the button on the wrong
+coat."
+
+Billis and Robert fall in a faint. Mrs. Billis rises and smiles,
+grasping Mrs. Edwards's hand fervently.
+
+_Mrs. Billis._ "Noble woman!"
+
+_Mrs. Edwards._ "Yes; I've saved the farce."
+
+_Mrs. Billis._ "You have. For, in spite of these--these strikers--these
+theatric Debses, you--you got in the point! _The button was sewed on the
+wrong overcoat!_"
+
+
+CURTAIN.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"When the farce was finished," said Mr. Parke, "and the applause which
+greeted the fall of the curtain had subsided, I dreamed also the
+following author's note: 'The elapses' in this farce may seem rather
+long, but the reader must remember that it is the author's intention
+that his farce, if acted, should last throughout a whole evening. If it
+were not for the elapses the acting time would be scarcely longer than
+twenty minutes, instead of two hours and a half."
+
+"I mention this," Mr. Parke added, "not only in justification of myself,
+but also as a possible explanation of certain shortcomings in the work
+of the original master. Sometimes the action may seem to drag a trifle,
+but that is not the fault of the author, but of life itself. To be real
+one must be true, and truth is not to be governed by him who holds the
+pen."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mr. Parke's explanation having been received in a proper and
+appreciative spirit by his fellow-Dreamers, Mr. Jones announced that Mr.
+Monty St. Vincent was the holder of the sixth ball, whereupon Mr. St.
+Vincent arose and delivered himself as follows:
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+THE SALVATION OF FINDLAYSON
+
+     _Being the story told by the holder of the sixth ball, Mr. Monty
+     St. Vincent._
+
+
+A donkey engine, next to a Sophomore at a football match that is going
+his way, is the noisiest thing man ever made, and No. 4-11-44, who
+travelled first-class on the American liner _New York_, was not inclined
+to let anybody forget the fact. He held a commanding position on the
+roof of the deck state-room No. 10, just aft of the forecastle stringer
+No. 3, and over the main jib-stay boom No. 6-7/8, that held the
+rudder-chains in place. All the little Taffrails and Swashbucklers
+looked up to him, and the Capstan loved him like a brother, for he very
+often helped the Capstan to bring the Anchor aboard, when otherwise
+that dissipated bit of iron would have staid out all night. The Port
+Tarpaulins insisted that the Donkey Engine was the greatest humorist
+that ever lived, although the Life Preservers hanging by the rail did
+not like him at all, because he once said they were Irish--"Cork all
+through," said he. Even the Rivets that held the Top Gallant Bilges
+together used to strain their eyes to see the points of the Donkey
+Engine's jokes, and the third Deputy-assistant Piston Rod, No. 683, in
+the hatchway stoke-hole, used to pound the cylinders almost to pieces
+trying to encore the Donkey Engine's comic songs.
+
+The Main Mast used to say that the Donkey Engine was as bright as the
+Starboard Lights, and the Smoke Stack is said to have told the Safety
+Valve that he'd rather give up smoking than lose the constant flow of
+wit the Donkey Engine was always giving forth.
+
+Findlayson discovered all this. After his Bridge had gone safely through
+that terrible ordeal when the Ganges rose and struck for higher tides,
+Findlayson collapsed. The Bridge--But that is another story. This is
+this one, and there is little profit in telling two stories at once,
+especially in a day when one can get the two stories printed separately
+in the several magazines for which one writes exclusively.
+
+After the ordeal of the Kashi Bridge, Findlayson, as I have said,
+collapsed, and it is no wonder, as you will see for yourself when you
+read that other story. As the Main Girder of the Bridge itself wrote
+later to the Suspension Cables of the Brooklyn Bridge, "It's a wonder to
+me that the Sahib didn't have the _Bashi-bazouks_ earlier in the game.
+He suffered a terrible strain that night."
+
+To which the Cables of the Brooklyn Bridge wittily replied that while
+they sympathized with Findlayson, they didn't believe he really knew
+what strain was. "Wait until he has five lines of trolley-cars running
+over him all day and night. That _is_ a strain! He'd be worse cut up
+than ever if he had that. And yet we thrive under it. After all, for
+solid health, it's better to be a Bridge than a Man. When are you coming
+across?"
+
+Now Findlayson might have collapsed a dozen times before the Government
+would have cared enough to give him the vacation he needed. Not that
+Government is callous, like an elephant, but because it is conducted, as
+a witty Cobra once remarked in the jungle as he fascinated a Tigress, by
+a lot of Red Tapirs. Findlayson put in an application for a six months'
+vacation, but by the time the necessary consent had reached him the six
+months were up. Everybody remembers the tale of Dorkins of the Welsh
+Fusileers and his appointment to the Department of the Poloese, how his
+term of office was to be six years, and how by the time his credentials
+reached him his term of office had expired. So with Findlayson. On the
+very date of the expiration of his desired leave he received permission
+to go, and of course could not then do so, because it was too late.
+Fortunately for Findlayson, however, the Viceroy himself happened to be
+passing through, and Findlayson entertained him at a luncheon on the
+Bridge. By some curious mistake, when the nuts and raisins were passed,
+Findlayson had provided a plateful of steel nuts, designed to hold
+rivets in place, instead of the usual assortment of almonds and
+_hiki-ree_.
+
+"This man needs a rest," said the Viceroy, as he broke his front tooth
+trying to crack one of the steel nuts, and he immediately extended
+Findlayson's leave to twenty years without pay, for which Findlayson was
+very grateful.
+
+"What is the matter with the man?" asked the Viceroy, as he drove to the
+station with the practising Jinrikshaw of the place.
+
+[Illustration: THE VICEROY EXAMINES HIS RUINED SMILE]
+
+"It's my professional opinion," replied the Jinrikshaw, "that the Sahib
+has a bad attack of melancholia. He hasn't laughed for six months. If we
+could only get him to laugh, I think he'd recover."
+
+"Then it was not in a jocular spirit that he ruined my teeth with those
+nuts?" demanded the Viceroy, taking a small mirror out of his pocket and
+gazing ruefully on his ruined smile.
+
+"No, your most Excellent Excellency," replied the Jinrikshaw. "The fact
+that he ate five of them himself shows that it was an error, not a
+jest."
+
+It was thus that Findlayson got his vacation, and even to this day the
+Kaskalooloo folk are laughing over his error more heartily than they
+ever laughed over a joke.
+
+A month after leaving his post Findlayson reached London, where he was
+placed under the care of the most famous physicians. They did everything
+they could to make him laugh, without success. _Punch_ was furnished,
+and he read it through day after day, and burst into hysterical weeping.
+They took him to the theatres, and he never even smiled. They secured a
+front seat in the House of Commons for him during important debates, and
+he merely sobbed. They took him to the Army and Navy Stores, and he
+shivered with fear. Even Beerbohm Tree as Lady Macbeth, or whatever role
+it was he was playing at the time, failed to coax the old-time dimple to
+his cheek. His friends began to whisper among themselves that "old
+Findlayson was done for," when Berkeley Hauksbee, who had been with him
+in the Soudan, suggested a voyage to the United States.
+
+"He'll see enough there to laugh at, or I'm an unshod, unbroken,
+saw-backed, shark-eating skate!" he asserted, and as a last resource
+Findlayson was packed, bag and baggage, aboard the liner _New York_.
+
+The first three days out Findlayson was dead to the world. He lay like a
+fallen log in the primeval forest. Stewards were of no avail. Even the
+repeated calls of the doctor, whose apprehensions were aroused, could
+not restore him to life.
+
+[Illustration: THEY GAVE HIM _PUNCH_]
+
+"They'll be sewin' him up in a jute bag and droppin' him overboard if
+he doesn't come to by to-morrow," observed the Water Bottle to the Soap
+Dish, with a sympathetic glance at the prostrate Findlayson.
+
+"He'll be seasicker than ever if they do," returned the Soap Dish. "It's
+a long swim from here to Sandy Hook."
+
+But Findlayson came to in time to avert the catastrophe, and took
+several turns up and down the deck. He played horse-billiards with an
+English curate, but showed no sign of interest or amusement even at the
+curious aspect of the ladies who lay inert in the steamer chairs ranged
+along the deck.
+
+"I'm afraid it's hopeless," said Peroo, his valet, shaking his head
+sadly. "Unless I take him in hand myself." And Peroo was seized with an
+idea.
+
+"I'll do it!" he cried.
+
+He approached Findlayson.
+
+"The Sahib will not laugh," he said. "He will not smile even. He has not
+snickered all day. Take these, then. They're straight opium, but
+there's fun in them."
+
+He took a small zinc bait-box from his fishing-kit and handed it to
+Findlayson, who, on opening it, found a dozen or more brown pellets.
+Hastily swallowing six of them, the sick man turned over in his bunk and
+tried to go to sleep, while Peroo went into the smoking-room for a game
+of _Pok-Kah_ with a party of _Drummerz_ who were crossing to America.
+
+A soft yellow haze suffused the state-room, and Findlayson, nervously
+starting to his feet to see what had caused it, was surprised to find
+himself confronted by a grinning row of Technicalities ranged in a line
+upon the sofa under the port, while seated upon his steamer trunk was
+the Donkey Engine 4-11-44.
+
+"Well, here we are," said the Deck Beam, addressing the Donkey Engine.
+"What are we here for?"
+
+"That's it," said the Capstan. "We've left our places at your command.
+Now, why?"
+
+[Illustration: THE DONKEY ENGINE CALLS ON FINDLAYSON]
+
+"I wanted you to meet my friend Findlayson," said the Donkey Engine.
+"He's a good fellow. Findlayson, let me present you to my
+associates--Mr. Capstan, Mr. Findlayson. And that gentleman over in the
+corner, Mr. Findlayson, is the Starboard Upper Deck Stringer. Rivet,
+come over here and meet Mr. Findlayson. The Davits will be here in a
+minute, and the Centrifugal Bilge Pump will drop in later."
+
+"I'm glad to meet you all," said Findlayson, rather dazed.
+
+"Thought you would be," returned the Donkey Engine. "That's why I asked
+them to come up."
+
+"Do you mind if I smoke in here?" said the Funnel.
+
+"Not a bit," said Findlayson, solemnly. "Let me offer you a cigar."
+
+The party roared at this.
+
+"He doesn't smoke cigars, Fin, old boy," said the Donkey Engine. "Offer
+him a ton of coal Perfectos or a basket of kindling Invincibles and
+he'll take you up. Old Funnel makes a cigarette of a cord of pine logs,
+you know."
+
+"I should think so much smoking would be bad for your nerves," suggested
+Findlayson.
+
+"'Ain't got any," said the Funnel. "I'm only a Flue, you know. Every
+once in a while I do get a sooty feeling inside, but beyond that I don't
+suffer at all."
+
+"Where's the Keel?" asked the Thrust Block, taking off one of his six
+collars, which hurt his neck.
+
+"He can't come up to-night," said the Donkey Engine, with a sly wink at
+Findlayson, who, however, failed to respond. "The Hold is feeling a
+little rocky, and the Keel's got to stay down and steady him."
+
+Findlayson looked blankly at the Donkey Engine. As an Englishman in a
+nervously disordered state, he did not seem quite able to appreciate the
+Donkey Engine's joke. The latter sighed, shook his cylinder a trifle,
+and began again.
+
+"Hear about the Bow Anchor's row with the Captain?" he asked the
+Garboard Strake.
+
+"No," replied the Strake. "Wouldn't he bow?"
+
+"He'd bow all right," said the Donkey Engine, "but he wouldn't ank.
+Result is he's been put in chains."
+
+"Serves him right," said the Bilge Stringer, filling his pipe with
+Findlayson's tooth-powder. "Serves him right. He ought to be chucked
+overboard."
+
+"True," said the Donkey Engine. "An anchor can't be made to ank unless
+you chuck him overboard."
+
+The company roared at this, but Findlayson never cracked a smile.
+
+"That is very true," he said. "In fact, how could an anchor ank, as you
+put it, without being lowered into the sea?"
+
+"It's a bad case," observed Bulwark Plate, in a whisper, to the Upper
+Deck Plank.
+
+"It floors me," said the Plank. "I don't think he'd laugh if his uncle
+died and left him a million."
+
+"Shut up," said the Donkey Engine. "We've got to do it or bust. Let's
+try again."
+
+Then he added, aloud,
+
+"Say, Technicalities, did you ever hear that riddle of the Starboard
+Coal Bunker's?"
+
+The company properly had not.
+
+"Well, the Starboard Coal Bunker got it off at Lady Airshaft's last
+reception at Binks's Ship-yard: 'What's the difference between a
+man-o'-war going through the Suez Canal under tow of a tug-boat and a
+boiler with a capacity of 6000 tons of steam loaded to 7000 tons, with
+no safety-valve, in charge of an engineer who has a certificate from
+Bellevue Hospital showing that he is a good ambulance-driver, but
+supports a widowed mother and seven uncles upon no income to speak of,
+all of which is invested in Spanish fours, bought on a margin of two per
+cent. in a Wall Street bucket-shop conducted by two professional
+card-players from Honolulu under indictment at San Francisco for
+arson?'"
+
+"Tutt!" said the Rudder. "What a chestnut! I was brought up on riddles
+of that kind. _They can't climb a tree._"
+
+"Nope," said the Donkey Engine. "That's not the answer."
+
+"You don't know it yourself," suggested the Funnel.
+
+"Nope," said the Donkey Engine.
+
+"Well, what the deuce is the answer?" said Findlayson, irritably.
+
+"Give it up--the rest of you?" cried the Donkey Engine.
+
+"We do," they roared in chorus.
+
+"I'm surprised at you," said the Donkey Engine. "It's very simple
+indeed. The man-o'-war going through the Suez Canal under tow of a
+tug-boat has a pull--and the other hasn't, don't you know--eh?"
+
+Findlayson scratched his forehead.
+
+"I don't see--" he began.
+
+"There is no reason why you should. You're not feeling well,"
+interrupted the Donkey Engine, "but it's a good riddle--eh?"
+
+"Quite so," said Findlayson.
+
+"It's long, anyhow," said the Screw.
+
+"Which we can't say for to-day's run--only 867 miles?" suggested the
+Donkey Engine, interrogatively.
+
+"It's long enough," growled the Screw.
+
+"It certainly is, if it is reckoned in minutes," retorted the Donkey
+Engine. "I never knew such a long day."
+
+And so they continued in an honest and technical effort to restore
+Findlayson. But he wouldn't laugh, and finally the Screw and the
+Centrifugal Bilge Pump and the Stringers and the other well-meaning
+Technicalities rose up to leave. Day was approaching, and all were
+needed at their various posts.
+
+"Good-night--or good-morning, Findlayson," said the Donkey Engine.
+"We've had a very pleasant night. I am only sorry, however, we cannot
+make you laugh."
+
+"I never laugh," said Findlayson. "But tell me, old chap, are you
+really human? You talk as if you were."
+
+"No," returned the Donkey Engine, sadly. "I am neither fish, flesh, nor
+fowl. I'm a _bivalve--a cockney bivalve_," he added.
+
+"Oh," replied Findlayson, with a gesture of deprecation, "you are not a
+clam!"
+
+"No," the Donkey Engine replied, as with a sudden inspiration; "but I'm
+a hoister."
+
+And Findlayson burst into a paroxysm of mirth--it must be remembered
+that he was English--the like of which the good old liner never heard
+before.
+
+And later, when Peroo returned, having won at _Pok-Kah_ with the
+_Drummerz_, he found his master sleeping like the veriest child.
+
+Findlayson was saved.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+IN WHICH HARRY SNOBBE RECITES A TALE OF GLOOM
+
+
+Monty St. Vincent had no sooner seated himself after telling the
+interesting tale of the Salvation of Findlayson, when Billy Jones, of
+the _Oracle_, rose up and stated that Mr. Harry Snobbe, as the holder of
+the seventh ball, would unfold the truly marvellous story that had come
+to him after the first dinner of the Dreamers.
+
+"Mr. Snobbe requests all persons having nerves to be unstrung to
+unstring them now. His tale, he tells me, is one of intense gloom; but
+how intense the gloom may be, I know not. I will leave it to him to
+show. Gentlemen, Mr. Snobbe."
+
+Mr. Snobbe took the floor, and after a few preliminary remarks, read as
+follows:
+
+
+THE GLOOMSTER
+
+A TALE OF THE ISLE OF MAN
+
+Old Gloomster Goodheart, of Ballyhack, left the Palace of the Bishop of
+Man broken-hearted. The Bishop had summoned him a week previous to show
+cause why he should not be removed from his office of Gloomster, a
+position that had been held by members of his family for ten
+generations, aye, since the days of that ancient founder of the family,
+Cronky Gudehart, of whom tradition states that his mere presence at a
+wedding turned the marriage feast into a seeming funeral ceremony,
+making men and women weep, and on two occasions driving the bride to
+suicide and the groom into the Church. Indeed, Cronky Gudehart was
+himself the first to occupy the office of Gloomster. The office was
+created for his especial benefit, as you will see, for it was the mere
+fact that the two grooms bereft at the altar sought out the consolation
+of the monastery that called the attention of the ecclesiastical
+authorities to the desirability of establishing such a functionary. The
+two grooms were men of wealth, and, had it not been for Cronky
+Gudehart's malign influence, neither they nor their wealth would have
+passed into the control of the Church, a fact which Ramsay Ballawhaine,
+then Bishop of Man, was quick to note and act upon.
+
+"The gloomier the world," said he, "the more transcendently bright will
+Heaven seem; and if we can make Heaven seem bright, the Church will be
+able to declare dividends. Let us spread misery and sorrow. Let us
+destroy the sunshine of life that so gilds with glory the flesh and the
+devil. Let all that is worldly be made to appear mean and vile and
+sordid."
+
+"But how?" Ramsay Ballawhaine was asked. "That is a hard thing to do."
+
+"For some 'twill doubtless so appear, but I have a plan," the Bishop had
+answered. "We have here living, not far from Jellimacksquizzle, the
+veriest spoil-sport in the person of Cronky Gudehart. He has a face that
+would change the August beauties of a sylvan forest into a bleak scene
+of wintry devastation. I am told that when Cronky Gudehart gazes upon a
+rose it withers, and children passing him in the highways run shrieking
+to their mothers, as though escaping from the bogie man of Caine
+Hall--which castle, as you know, has latterly been haunted by horrors
+that surpass the imagination. His voice is like the strident cry of
+doom. Hearing his footsteps, strong men quail and women swoon; and I am
+told that, dressed as Santa Claus, on last Christmas eve he waked up his
+sixteen children, and with a hickory stick belabored one and all until
+they said that mercy was all they wanted for their Yule-tide gifts."
+
+"'Tis true," said the assistant vicar. "'Tis very true; and I happen to
+know, through my own ministrations, that when a beggar-woman from Sodor
+applied to Cronky Gudehart for relief from the sorrows of the world, he
+gave her a bottle of carbolic acid, saying that therein lay the cure of
+all her woes. But what of Cronky and your scheme?"
+
+"Let us establish the office of Gloomster," returned the Bishop. "Set
+apart Nightmare Abbey as his official residence, and pay him a salary to
+go about among the people spreading grief and woe among them until they
+fly in desperation to us who alone can console."
+
+"It's out of sight!" ejaculated the assistant vicar, "and Cronky's just
+the man for the place."
+
+It was thus that the office of Gloomster was instituted. As will be
+seen, the duties of the Gloomster were simple. He was given liberty of
+entrance to all joyous functions in the life of the Isle of Man, social
+or otherwise, and his duties were to ruin pleasure wherever he might
+find it. Cronky Gudehart was installed in the office, and Nightmare
+Abbey was set apart as his official residence. He attended all
+weddings, and spoiled them in so far as he was able. It was his custom,
+when the vicar asked if there was any just reason why these two should
+not be joined together in holy wedlock, to rise up and say that, while
+he had no evidence at hand, he had no doubt there was just cause in
+great plenty, and to suggest that the ceremony should be put off a week
+or ten days while he and his assistants looked into the past records of
+the principals. At funerals he took the other tack, and laughed joyously
+at every manifestation of grief. At hangings he would appear, and dilate
+humorously upon the horrid features thereof; and at afternoon teas he
+would appear clad in black garments from head to foot, and exhort all
+present to beware of the future, and to give up the hollowness and
+vanities of tea and macaroons.
+
+Results were not long in their manifestation. In place of open marriage
+the young people of the isle, to escape the malignant persecution of the
+Gloomster, took up the habit of elopement, and as elopements always end
+in sorrow and regret, the monasteries and nunneries waxed great in the
+land. To avoid funerals, at which the Gloomster's wit was so fearsome a
+thing, the sick or the maimed and the halt fled out into the open sea
+and drowned themselves, and all sociability save that which came from
+book sales and cake auctions--in their very nature destructive of a love
+of life--faded out of the land.
+
+"Cronky Gudehart was an ideal Gloomster," said the Bishop of Man, with a
+sigh, when that worthy spoil-sport, having gone to Africa for a
+vacation, was eaten by cannibals. "We shall not look upon his like
+again."
+
+"I've no doubt he disagreed with the cannibals," sobbed the vicar, as he
+thought over the virtues of the deceased.
+
+[Illustration: THE END OF THE GLOOMSTER]
+
+"None who ate him could escape appendicitis," commented the Bishop,
+wiping a tear from his eye; "and, thank Heaven, the operation for that
+has yet to be invented. Those cannibals have been taken by this time
+from their wicked life."
+
+So it had gone on for ten generations. Cronky had been succeeded by his
+son and by his son's son, and so on. To be Gloomster of the Isle of Man
+had by habit become the prerogative of the Gudehart family until the
+present, when Christian Goodheart found himself summoned before the
+Bishop to show cause why he should not be removed. Hitherto the
+Gloomster had given satisfaction. It would be hard to point to one of
+them--unless we except Eric Goodheart, the one who changed the name from
+Gudehart to Goodheart--who had not filled the island with that kind of
+sorrow that makes life seem hardly worth living. Eric Goodheart had once
+caught his father, "Bully Gudehart," as he was called, in a moment of
+forgetfulness, doing a kindly act to a beggar at the door. A wanderer
+had appeared at the door of Nightmare Abbey in a starving condition, and
+Eric had surprised the Gloomster in the very act of giving the beggar a
+piece of apple-pie. The father found himself suddenly confronted by the
+round, staring eyes of his son, and he was frightened. If it were ever
+known that the Gloomster had done a kindly thing for anybody, he might
+be removed, and Bully Gudehart recognized the fact.
+
+"Come here!" he cried brutally, to Eric, as the beggar marched away
+munching hungrily on the pie. "Come here, you brat! Do you hear? Come
+_here_!" The boy was coming all the while. "You saw?"
+
+"Yes, your Honor," he replied, "I saw. The man said he was nearly dead
+with hunger, and you gave him food."
+
+"No," roared the Gloomster, full of fear, for he knew how small boys
+prattle, "I did not give him food! _I gave him pie!_"
+
+"All right, your Majesty," the boy answered. "You gave him pie. And I
+see now why they call you Bully. For pie is bully, and nothing less."
+
+"My son," the Gloomster responded, seizing a trunk-strap and whacking
+the lad with it forcefully, "you don't understand. Do you know why I
+fed that man?"
+
+"Because he was dying of hunger," replied the lad, ruefully, rubbing his
+back where the trunk-strap had hit him.
+
+"Precisely," said the Gloomster. "If I hadn't given him that pie he'd
+have died on the premises, and I can't afford the expense of having a
+tramp die here. As it is, he will enjoy a lingering death. _That was one
+of your mother's pies._"
+
+Eric ran sobbing to his room, but in his heart he believed that he had
+detected his father in a kindly act, and conceived that a Gloomster
+might occasionally relax. Nevertheless, when he succeeded to the office
+he was stern and unrelenting, in spite of the fact that occasionally
+there was to be detected in his eye a glance of geniality. This was
+doubtless due to the fact that from the time of his intrusion upon his
+father's moment of weakness he was soundly thrashed every morning before
+breakfast, and spanked before retiring at night, as a preliminary to his
+prayers.
+
+But Christian Goodheart, the present incumbent, had not given
+satisfaction, and his Bishop had summoned him to show cause why he
+should not be removed, and, as we have seen, the Gloomster had gone away
+broken-hearted. Shortly after having arrived at Nightmare Abbey he was
+greeted by his wife.
+
+"Well, Christian," she said, "what did the Bishop say?"
+
+"He wants my resignation," sighed Christian. "He says I have shown
+myself unworthy, and I fear he has evidence."
+
+"Evidence? Against you, my husband, the most disagreeable man in the
+isle?" cried his wife, fondly.
+
+"Yes," sighed Christian. "Do you remember, you old termagant, how,
+forgetting myself and my position, last Tuesday I laughed when Peter
+Skelly told us what his baby said to his nurse?"
+
+"I do, Christian," the good woman answered. "You laughed heartily, and I
+warned you to be careful. It is not the Gloomster's place to laugh, and
+I feared it might reach the Bishop's ears."
+
+"It has done so," sighed Christian, shaking his head sadly and wringing
+his hands in his agony. "It has reached the Bishop's ears. Little Glory
+Grouse was passing by the door at the moment and saw me. Astonished, the
+child ran home and told her mother. 'Mommer!' she cried, 'I have seen
+the Gloomster laugh! I have seen the Gloomster laugh!' The child was
+cross-questioned, but stuck to her story until Mrs. Grouse was
+convinced, and told her neighbors, and these neighbors told other
+neighbors, until the story came to the ears of Canon Cashman, by whom it
+was conveyed to the Bishop himself."
+
+"What a little gossip that Glory Grouse is! She'll come to a bad end,
+mark my words!" cried Mrs. Goodheart, angrily. "She'll have her honored
+father's name on the circus posters yet."
+
+"Do not blame the child," said Christian, sadly. "She was right. Who
+had ever seen a Gloomster smile before? As well expect a ray of
+sunshine or a glimpse of humor in a Manx novel--"
+
+"But the Bishop is not going to remove you for one false step, is he,
+Christian? He cannot do that, can he?" pleaded the woman.
+
+"That is what I asked him," Christian answered. "And he handed me a
+type-written memorandum of what he called my record. It seems that for
+six months they have been spying upon me. Read it for yourself."
+
+Mrs. Goodheart took the paper and read, with trembling hands:
+
+"'January 1, 1898--wished Peggy Meguire a happy New Year.' Did you
+really, Christian?"
+
+"I don't remember doing so," sighed the Gloomster. "If I did, it must
+have been in sarcasm, for I hate Peggy Meguire, and I am sure I wish her
+nothing of the sort. I told the Bishop so, but all he would say was,
+'Read on.'"
+
+[Illustration: WISHED HER A HAPPY NEW-YEAR]
+
+"'February 23, 1898,'" Mrs. Goodheart continued, reading from the
+paper--"'took off his coat and wrapped it about the shivering form of a
+freezing woman.'
+
+"How very imprudent of you, Christian!" said his wife.
+
+"But the Bishop didn't know the circumstances," said Christian. "It was
+the subtlest kind of deviltry, not humanity, that prompted the act. If I
+hadn't given her my coat, the old lady would have frozen to death and
+been soon out of her misery. As it was, my wet coat saved her from an
+immediate surcease of sorrow, and, as I had foreseen, gave her muscular
+rheumatism of the most painful sort, from which she has suffered ever
+since."
+
+"You should have explained to the Bishop."
+
+"I did."
+
+"And what did he say?"
+
+"He said my methods were too damned artistic."
+
+"What?" cried Mrs. Goodheart. "The Bishop?"
+
+"Oh, well," said Christian, "words to that effect. He doesn't
+appreciate the subtleties of gloom distinction. What he looks for is
+sheer brutality. Might as well employ an out-and-out desperado for the
+work. I like to infuse a little art into my work. I've tried to bring
+Gloomsterism up to the level of an art, a science. Slapping a man in the
+face doesn't make him gloomy; it makes him mad. But subtlely infusing
+woe into his daily life, so that he doesn't know whence all his trouble
+comes--ah! that is the perfect flower of the Gloomster's work!"
+
+"H'm!" said Mrs. Goodheart. "That's well enough, Christian. If you are
+rich enough to consume your own product with profit, it's all right to
+be artistic; but if you are dependent on a salary, don't forget your
+consumer. What else have they against you?"
+
+"Read on, woman," said the Gloomster.
+
+"'April 1, 1898,'" the lady read. "'Gave a half-crown to a starving
+beggar.'"
+
+"That was another highly artistic act," said Christian. "I told the
+Bishop that I had given the coin to the beggar knowing it to be
+counterfeit, and hoping that he would be arrested for trying to pass it.
+The Bishop cut me short by saying that my hope had not been fulfilled.
+It seems that that ass of a beggar bought some food with the half-crown,
+and the grocer who sold him the food put the counterfeit half-crown in
+the contribution-box the next Sunday, and the Church was stuck. That's
+what I call hard luck."
+
+"Oh, well," returned Mrs. Goodheart, putting the paper down in despair.
+"There's no need to read further. That alone is sufficient to cause your
+downfall. When do you resign?"
+
+"At once," sighed Christian. "In fact, the Bishop had already written my
+resignation--which I signed."
+
+"And the land is without a Gloomster for the first time in five hundred
+years?" demanded Mrs. Goodheart.
+
+"No," said Christian, the tears coursing down his nose. "The place is
+filled already, and by one who knows gloom only theoretically--a mere
+summer resident of the Isle of Man. In short, a famous London author has
+succeeded me."
+
+"His name!" cried Mrs. Goodheart.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Just then," said Snobbe, "I awoke, and did not catch the author's name.
+It is a curious thing about dreams that just when you get to the crucial
+point you wake up."
+
+"I wonder who the deuce the chap could have been?" murmured the other
+diners. "Has any London author with a residence on the Isle of Man ever
+shown any acquaintance with gloom?"
+
+"I don't know for sure," said Billy Jones. "But my impression is that it
+must be the editor of _Punch_. What I am uncertain about is his
+residence on the Isle of Man. Otherwise I think he fills the bill."
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+THE DREAMERS DISCUSS A MAGAZINE POEM
+
+
+The pathetic tale of the Gloomster having been told and discussed, it
+turned out that Haarlem Bridge was the holder of the next ball in the
+sequence, the eighth. Haarley had been looking rather nervous all the
+evening, and two or three times he manifested some desire to withdraw
+from the scene. By order of the chairman, however, the precaution had
+been taken to lock all the doors, so that none of the Dreamers should
+escape, and, consequently, when the evil hour arrived, Haarley was
+perforce on hand.
+
+He rose up reluctantly, and, taking a single page of manuscript from his
+pocket, after a few preliminary remarks that were no more nor less
+coherent than the average after-dinner speech, read the following
+lines, which he termed a magazine poem:
+
+[Illustration: "'O ARGENT-BROWED SARCOPHAGUS'"]
+
+    "O argent-browed Sarcophagus,
+      That looms so through the ethered trees,
+    Why dost thou seem to those of us
+      Who drink the poisoned chalice on our knees
+    So distant and so empyrean,
+      So dour yet full of mystery?
+    Hast thou the oracle as yet unseen
+      To guide thy fell misogyny?
+
+    "Nay, let the spirit of the age
+      With all its mystic beauty stand
+    Translucent ever, aye, in spite the rage
+      Of Cossack and of Samarcand!
+    Thou art enough for any soul's desire!
+    Thou hast the beauty of cerulean fire!
+    But we who grovel on the damask earth
+    Are we despoilt of thy exigeant mirth?
+
+    "Canst listen to a prayer, Sarcophagus?
+    Indeed O art thou there, Sarcophagus?
+    What time the Philistine denies,
+    What time the raucous cynic cries,
+    Avaunt, yet spare! Let this thy motto be,
+    With thy thesaurian verbosity.
+    Nor think that I, a caterpillian worm,
+    Before thy glance should ever honk or squirm.
+
+    "'Tis but the stern condition of the poor
+    That panting brings me pottering at thy door,
+    To breathe of love and argent charity
+    For thee, for thee, iguanodonic thee!"
+
+"That's an excellent specimen of magazine poetry," said Billy Jones.
+"But I observe, Haarley, that you haven't given it a title. Perhaps if
+you gave it a title we might get at the mystery of its meaning. A title
+is a sort of Baedeker to the general run of magazine poems."
+
+Haarlem grew rather red of countenance as he answered, "Well, I didn't
+exactly like to give it the title I dreamed; it didn't seem to shed
+quite as much light on the subject as a title should."
+
+"Still, it may help," said Huddy Rivers. "I read a poem in a magazine
+the other day on 'Mystery.' And if it hadn't had a title I'd never have
+understood it. It ran this way:
+
+    "Life, what art thou? Whence springest thou?
+    The past, the future, or the now?
+    Whence comes thy lowering lunacy?
+    Whence comes thy mizzling mystery?
+    Hast thou a form, a shape, a lineament?
+    Hast thou a single seraph-eyed medicament
+    To ease our sorrow and our twitching woe?
+    Hast thou one laudable Alsatian glow
+    To compensate, commensurate, and condign
+    For all these dastard, sleekish qualms of mine?
+    Hast thou indeed an abject agate plot
+    To show that what exists is really not?
+    Or art thou just content to sit and say
+    Life's but a specious, coral roundelay?"
+
+"I committed the thing to memory because it struck me as being a good
+thing to remember--it was so full of good phrases. 'Twitching woe,' for
+instance, and 'sleekish qualms,'" he continued.
+
+"Quaking qualms would have been better," put in Tenafly Paterson, who
+judged poetry from an alliterative point of view.
+
+"Nevertheless, I liked sleekish qualms," retorted Huddy. "Quaking qualms
+might be more alliterative, but sleekish qualms is _less_ commonplace."
+
+"No doubt," said Tenafly. "I never had 'em myself, so I'll take your
+word for it. But what do you make out of 'coral roundelay'?"
+
+"Nothing at all," said Huddy. "I don't bother my head about 'coral
+roundelay' or 'seraph-eyed medicament.' I haven't wasted an atom of my
+gray matter on 'lowering lunacy' or 'agate plot' or 'mizzling mystery.'
+And all because the poet gave his poem a title. He called the thing
+'Mystery,' and when I had read it over half a dozen times I concluded
+that he was right; and if the thing remained a mystery to the author, I
+don't see why a reader should expect ever to be able to understand it."
+
+"Very logical conclusion, Huddy," said Billy Jones, approvingly. "If a
+poet chooses a name for his poem, you may make up your mind that there
+is good reason for it, and certainly the verses you have recited about
+the 'coral roundelay' are properly designated."
+
+"Well, I'd like to have the title of that yard of rhyme Haarlem Bridge
+just recited," put in Dobbs Ferry, scratching his head in bewilderment.
+"It strikes me as being quite as mysterious as Huddy's. What the deuce
+can a man mean by referring to an 'auburn-haired Sarcophagus'?"
+
+"It wasn't auburn-haired," expostulated Haarlem. "It was argent-browed."
+
+"Old Sarcophagus had nickel-plated eyebrows, Dobby," cried Tom Snobbe,
+forgetting himself for a moment.
+
+"Well, who the dickens was old Sarcophagus?" queried Dobby, unappeased.
+
+"He was one of the Egyptian kings, my dear boy," vouchsafed Billy Jones,
+exploding internally with mirth. "You've heard of Augustus Caesar,
+haven't you?"
+
+"Yes," said Dobby.
+
+"Well," explained Billy Jones, "Sarcophagus occupied the same relation
+to the Egyptians that Augustus did to the Romans--in fact, the
+irreverent used to call him Sarcophagustus, instead of Sarcophagus,
+which was his real name. This poem of Haarley's is manifestly addressed
+to him."
+
+[Illustration: "SARCOPHAGUSTUS"]
+
+"Did he have nickel-plated eyebrows?" asked Bedfork Parke, satirically.
+
+"No," said Billy Jones. "As I remember the story of Sarcophagus as I
+read of him in college, he was a very pallid sort of a potentate--his
+forehead was white as marble. So they called him the Argent-browed
+Sarcophagus."
+
+"It's a good thing for us we have Billy Jones with us to tell us all
+these things," whispered Tom Snobbe to his brother Dick.
+
+"You bet your life," said Dick. "There's nothing, after all, like a
+classical education. I wish I'd known it while I was getting mine."
+
+"What's 'fell misogyny'?" asked Tenafly Paterson, who seemed to be
+somewhat enamoured of the phrase. "Didn't old Sarcophagus care for
+chemistry?"
+
+"Chemistry?" demanded the chairman.
+
+"That's what I said," said Tenny. "Isn't misogyny a chemical compound of
+metal and gas?"
+
+Tenny had been to the School of Mines for two weeks, and had retired
+because he didn't care for mathematics and the table at the college
+restaurant wasn't good.
+
+"I fancy you are thinking of heterophemy, which is an infusion of
+unorthodox gases into a solution of vocabulary particles," suggested
+Billy Jones, grasping his sides madly to keep them from shaking.
+
+"Oh yes," said Tenny, "of course. I remember now." Then he laughed
+somewhat, and added, "I always get misogyny and heterophemy mixed."
+
+"Who wouldn't?" cried Harry Snobbe. "I do myself! There's no chance to
+talk about either where I live," he added. "Half the people don't know
+what they mean. They're not very anthropological up my way."
+
+"What's a Samarcand?" asked Tenafly, again. "Haarley's poem speaks of
+Cossack and of Samarcand. Of course we all know that a Cossack is a
+garment worn by the Russian peasants, but I never heard of a Samarcand."
+
+"It's a thing to put about your neck," said Dick Snobbe. "They wear 'em
+in winter out in Siberia. I looked it up some years ago."
+
+"Let's take up 'cerulean fire,'" said Bedford Parke, Tenafly appearing
+to be satisfied with Snobbe's explanation.
+
+"What's 'cerulean fire'?"
+
+"Blue ruin," said Huddy.
+
+"And 'damask earth'?" said Bedford.
+
+"Easy," cried Huddy. "Even I can understand that. Did you never hear,
+Beddy, of painting a town red? That's damask earth in a small way. If
+you can paint a town red with your limited resources, what couldn't a
+god do with a godlike credit? As I understand the poem, old Sarcophagus
+comes down out of the cerulean fire, and goes in for a little damask
+earth. That's why the poet later says:
+
+    "'Canst listen to a prayer, Sarcophagus?
+    Indeed O art thou there, Sarcophagus?'
+
+He wanted to pray to him, but didn't know if he'd got back from damask
+earth yet."
+
+"You're a perfect wonder, Huddy," said Billy Jones. "As a
+thought-detector you are a beauty. I believe you'd succeed if you opened
+up a literary bureau somewhere and devoted your time to explaining
+Browning and Meredith and others to a mystified public."
+
+"'Tis an excellent idea," said Tom Snobbe. "I'd really rejoice to see
+certain modern British masterpieces translated into English, and, with
+headquarters in Boston, the institution ought to flourish. Do worms
+honk?"
+
+[Illustration: MR. BILLY JONES]
+
+"I never heard of any doing so," replied the chairman, "but in these
+days it is hardly safe to say that anything is impossible. If you have
+watched the development of the circus in the last five years--I mean the
+real circus, not the literary--you must have observed what an advance
+intellectually has been made by the various members of the animal
+kingdom. Elephants have been taught to sit at table and dine like
+civilized beings on things that aren't good for them; pigs have been
+educated so that, instead of evincing none but the more domestic
+virtues and staying contentedly at home, they now play poker with the
+sangfroid of a man about town; while the seal, a creature hitherto
+considered useful only in the production of sacques for our wives, and
+ear-tabs for our children, and mittens for our hired men, are now
+branching out as rivals to the college glee clubs, singing songs,
+playing banjoes, and raising thunder generally. Therefore it need
+surprise no one if a worm should learn to honk as high as any goose that
+ever honked. Anyhow, you can't criticise a poet for anything of that
+kind. His license permits him to take any liberties he may see fit with
+existing conditions."
+
+"All of which," observed Dick Snobbe, "is wandering from the original
+point of discussion. What is the meaning of Haarley's poem? I can't see
+that as yet we have reached a definite understanding on that point."
+
+"Well, I must confess," said Jones, "that I can't understand it myself;
+but I never could understand magazine poetry, so that doesn't prove
+anything. I'm only a newspaper man."
+
+"Let's have the title, Haarley," cried Tenafly Paterson. "Was it called
+'Life,' or 'Nerve Cells,' or what?"
+
+For a second Bridge's cheeks grew red.
+
+"Oh, well, if you must have it," he said, desperately, "here it is. It
+was called, 'A Thought on Hearing, While Visiting Gibraltar in June,
+1898, that the War Department at Washington Had Failed to Send Derricks
+to Cuba, Thereby Delaying the Landing of General Shafter Three Days and
+Giving Comfort to the Enemy.'"
+
+"Great Scott!" roared Dick Snobbe. "What a title!"
+
+"It is excellent," said Billy Jones. "I now understand the intent of the
+poem."
+
+"Which was--?" asked Rivers.
+
+"To supply a real hiatus in latter-day letters," Jones replied; "to give
+the public a war poem that would make them think, which is what a true
+war poem should do. Who has the ninth ball?"
+
+"I am the unfortunate holder of that," said Greenwich Place. "I'd just
+been reading Anthony Hope and Mr. Dooley. The result is a composite,
+which I will read."
+
+"What do you call it, Mr. Place?" asked the stenographer.
+
+"Well, I don't know," replied Greenwich. "I guess 'A Dooley Dialogue'
+about describes it."
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+DOLLY VISITS CHICAGO
+
+     _Being the substance of a Dooley dialogue dreamed by Greenwich
+     Place, Esq._
+
+
+"I must see him," said Dolly, rising suddenly from her chair and walking
+to the window. "I really must, you know."
+
+"Who?" I asked, rousing myself from the lethargy into which my morning
+paper had thrust me. It was not grammatical of me--I was somewhat under
+the influence of newspaper English--but Dolly is quick to understand.
+"Must see who?" I continued.
+
+"Who indeed?" cried Dolly, gazing at me in mock surprise. "How stupid of
+you! If I went to Rome and said I must see him, you'd know I must mean
+the Pope; if I went to Berlin and said I must see it, you'd know I
+meant the Emperor. Therefore, when I come to Chicago and say that I must
+see him, you ought to be able to guess that I mean--"
+
+"Mr. Dooley?" I ventured, at a guess.
+
+"Good for you!" cried Dolly, clapping her hands together joyously; and
+then she hummed bewitchingly, "The Boy Guessed Right the Very First
+Time," until I begged her to desist. When Dolly claps her hands and
+hums, she becomes a vision of loveliness that would give the most
+confirmed misogynist palpitation of the heart, and I had no wish to die.
+
+"Do you suppose I could call upon him without being thought too
+unconventional?" she blurted out in a moment.
+
+"You can do anything," said I, admiringly. "That is, with me to help," I
+added, for I should be sorry if Dolly were to grow conceited. "Perhaps
+it would be better to have Mr. Dooley call upon you. Suppose you send
+him your card, and put 'at home' on it? I fancy that would fetch him."
+
+"Happy thought!" said Dolly. "Only I haven't one. In the excitement of
+our elopement I forgot to get any. Suppose I write my name on a blank
+card and send it?"
+
+"Excellent," said I.
+
+And so it happened; the morning's mail took out an envelope addressed to
+Mr. Dooley, and containing a bit of pasteboard upon which was written,
+in the charming hand of Dolly:
+
+    Mrs. R. Dolly-Rassendyll.
+            At Home.
+         The Hippodorium.
+        Tuesday Afternoon.
+
+The response was gratifyingly immediate.
+
+The next morning Dolly's mail contained Mr. Dooley's card, which read as
+follows:
+
+[Illustration: "'I MUST SEE HIM,' SAID DOLLY"]
+
+          Mr. Dooley.
+           At Work.
+    Every Day.      Archie Road.
+
+"Which means?" said Dolly, tossing the card across the table to me.
+
+"That if you want to see Dooley you'll have to call upon him at his
+place of business. It's a saloon, I believe," I observed. "Or a
+club--most American saloons are clubs, I understand."
+
+"I wonder if there's a ladies' day there?" laughed Dolly. "If there
+isn't, perhaps I'd better not."
+
+And I of course agreed, for when Dolly thinks perhaps she'd better not,
+I always agree with her, particularly when the thing is a trifle
+unconventional.
+
+"I am sorry," she said, as we reached the conclusion. "To visit Chicago
+without meeting Mr. Dooley strikes me as like making the Mediterranean
+trip without seeing Gibraltar."
+
+But we were not to be disappointed, after all, for that afternoon who
+should call but the famous philosopher himself, accompanied by his
+friend Mr. Hennessey. They were ushered into our little parlor, and
+Dolly received them radiantly.
+
+"Iv coorse," said Dooley, "I hatter come t' see me new-found cousin.
+Hennessey here says, he says, 'She ain't yer cousin,' he says; but whin
+I read yer car-r-rd over th' second time, an' see yer na-a-ame was R.
+Dooley-Rassendyll, wid th' hifalution betwixt th' Dooley an' th'
+Rassendyll, I says, 'Hennessey,' I says, 'that shmall bit iv a coupler
+in that na-a-ame means only wan thing,' I says. 'Th' la-ady,' I says,
+'was born a Dooley, an' 's prood iv it,' I says, 'as she'd ought to be,'
+I says. 'Shure enough,' says Hennessey; 'but they's Dooleys an'
+Dooleys,' he says. 'Is she Roscommon or Idunnaw?' he says. 'I dinnaw
+meself,' I says, 'but whichiver she is,' I says, 'I'm goin' to see her,'
+I says. 'Anny wan that can feel at home in a big hotel like the
+Hippojorium,' I says, 'is wort' lookin' at, if only for the curawsity
+of it,' I says. Are ye here for long?"
+
+"We are just passing through," said Dolly, with a pleased smile.
+
+"It's a gud pla-ace for that," said Dooley. "Thim as pass troo Chicago
+ginerally go awaa pleased, an' thim as stays t'ink it's th' only pla-ace
+in th' worruld, gud luk to 'em! for, barrin' Roscommon an' New York,
+it's th' only pla-ace I have anny use for. Is yer hoosband anny relation
+t' th' dood in the _Prizner iv Cinders_?"
+
+I laughed quietly, but did not resent the implication. I left Dolly to
+her fate.
+
+"He is the very same person," said Dolly.
+
+"I t'ought as much," said Dooley, eying me closely. "Th' strorberry mark
+on his hair sort of identified him," he added. "Cousin Roopert, I ta-ak
+ye by the hand. Ye was a bra-ave lad in th' first book, an' a dom'd fool
+in th' second; but I read th' second first, and th' first lasht, so whin
+I left ye ye was all right. I t'ought ye was dead?"
+
+"No," said I. "I am only dead in the sense that Mr. Hope has no further
+use for me."
+
+"A wise mon, that Mr. Ant'ny Hawp," said Dooley. "Whin I write me book,"
+he continued, "I'm goin' t' shtop short whin folks have had enough."
+
+"Oh, indeed!" cried Dolly, enthusiastically. "Are you writing a book,
+Mr. Dooley? I am so glad."
+
+"Yis," said Dooley, deprecatingly, yet pleased by Dolly's enthusiasm.
+"I'm half finished already. That is to say, I've made th'
+illusthrations. An' the publishers have accepted the book on th'
+stringth iv them."
+
+"Really?" said Dolly. "Do you really draw?"
+
+"Nawm," said Dooley. "I niver drew a picture in me life."
+
+"He draws corks," put in Hennessey. "He's got a pull that bates--"
+
+"Hennessey," interrupted Mr. Dooley, "since whin have ye been me
+funnygraph? Whin me cousin ashks me riddles, I'll tell her th' answers.
+G' down-shtairs an' get a cloob san'wich an' ate yourself to death.
+Char-rge it to--er--char-rge it to Misther Rassendyll here--me cousin
+Roop, be marritch. He looks liks a soft t'ing."
+
+Hennessey subsided and showed an inclination to depart, and I, not
+liking to see a well-meaning person thus sat upon, tried to be pleasant
+to him.
+
+"Don't go just yet, Mr. Hennessey," said I. "I should like to talk to
+you."
+
+"Mr. Rassendyll," he replied, "I'm not goin' just yet, but an invitation
+to join farces with one iv the Hippojorium's cloob sandwhiches is too
+much for me. I must accept. Phwat is the noomber iv your shweet?"
+
+I gave him the number, and Hennessey departed. Before he went, however,
+he comforted me somewhat by saying that he too was "a puppit in th'
+han's iv an auter. Ye've got to do," said he, "whativer ye're sint t'
+do. I'm told ye've killed a million Germans--bless ye!--but ye're
+nawthin' but a facthory hand afther all. I'm th' background iv Dooley.
+If Dooley wants to be smar-rt, I've got t' play th' fool. It's the same
+with you; only you've had yer chance at a printcess, later on pla-acin'
+the la-ady in a 'nonymous p'sition--which is enough for anny man, Dooley
+or no Dooley."
+
+Hennessey departed in search of his club sandwich, which was
+subsequently alluded to in my bill, and for which I paid with pleasure,
+for Hennessey is a good fellow. I then found myself listening to the
+conversation between Dolly and Dooley.
+
+"Roscommon, of course," Dolly was saying. What marvellous adaptability
+that woman has! "How could you think, my dear cousin, that I belonged to
+the farmer Dooleys?"
+
+"I t'ought as much," said Mr. Dooley, genially, "now that I've seen ye.
+Whin you put th' wor-rds 'at home' on yer car-rd, I had me doots. No
+Dooley iv th' right sor-rt iver liked annyt'ing a landlord gave him; an'
+whin y' expreshed satisfaction wid th' Hippojorium, I didn't at first
+t'ink ye was a true Dooley. Since I've seen ye, I love ye properly,
+ma'am--like th' cousin I am. I've read iv ye, just as I've read iv yer
+hoosband, Cousin Roopert here be marritch, in th' biojographies of Mr.
+Ant'ny Hawp, an' while I cudn't help likin' ye, I must say I didn't
+t'ink ye was very deep on th' surface, an' when I read iv your elopin'
+with Cousin Roop, I says to Hennessey, I says, 'Hennessey,' I says,
+'that's all right, they'd bote iv 'em better die, but let us not be
+asashinators,' I says; 'let 'em be joined in marritch. That's punishment
+enough,' I says to Hennessey. Ye see, Miss Dooley, I have been marrit
+meself."
+
+"But I have found married life far from punishment," I heard Dolly say.
+"I fear you're a sad pessimist, Mr. Dooley," she added.
+
+"I'm not," Mr. Dooley replied. "I'm a Jimmycrat out an' out, if ye refer
+to me politics; but if your remark is a reflection on me religion, let
+me tell ye, ma'am, that, like all me countrymen in this beautiful land,
+I'm a Uni-tarrian, an' prood iv it."
+
+I ventured to interpose at this point.
+
+"Dooley," said I, "your cousin Roop, as you call him, is very glad to
+meet you, whatever your politics or your religion."
+
+"Mosht people are," said he, dryly.
+
+"That shows good taste," said I. "But how about your book? It has been
+accepted on the strength of its illustrations, you say. How about them?
+Can we see them anywhere? Are they on exhibition?"
+
+"You can not only see thim, but you can drink 'em free anny time you
+come out to Archie Road," Dooley replied, cordially.
+
+"Drink--a picture?" I asked.
+
+[Illustration: "'KAPE YOUR HOOSBAND HOME'"]
+
+"Yis," said Dooley. "Didn't ye iver hear iv dhrinkin' in a picture,
+Cousin Roopert? Didn't ye hear th' tark about th' 'Angelus' whin 'twas
+here? Ye cud hear th' bells ringin' troo th' paint iv it. Ye cud almost
+hear th' couple in front just back iv th' varnish quar'lin as t'whether
+'twas th' Angelus er the facthery bell that was goin' off. 'Twas big
+an' little felt th' inflooance iv Misther Miller's jaynius, just be
+lukin' at ut--though as fer me, th' fir-rst time I see the t'ing I says,
+says I, 'Is ut lukin' for bait to go fishin' with they are?' I says.
+'Can't ye hear the pealin' iv the bells?' says Hennessey, who was with
+me. 'That an' more,' I says. 'I can hear the pealin' o' th' petayties,'
+I says. 'Do ye dhrink in th' feelin' iv it?' says Hennessey. 'Naw, t'ank
+ye,' I says. 'I'm not thirsty,' I says. 'Besides, I've swore off
+dhrinkin' ile-paintin's,' I says. 'Wathercoolers is gud enough fer me,'
+I says. An' wid that we wint back to the Road. But that was th' fir-rst
+time I iver heard iv dhrinkin' a work iv ar-rt."
+
+"But some of the things you--ah--you Americans drink," put in Dolly,
+"are works of art, my dear Mr. Dooley. Your cousin Rupert gave me a
+cocktail at dinner last night--"
+
+"Ye've hit ut, Miss Dooley," returned the philosopher, with a beautiful
+enthusiasm. "Ye've hit ut square. I see now y're a thrue Dooley. An'
+wid yer kind permission I'll dedicate me book to ye. Ut's cocktails that
+book's about, ma'am. _Fifty Cocktails I Have Met_ is th' na-ame iv ut.
+An' whin I submitted th' mannyscrip' wid th' illusthrations to the
+publisher, he dhrank 'em all, an' he says, 'Dooley,' he says, 'ut's a
+go. I'll do yer book,' he says, 'an' I'll pay ye wan hoondred an'
+siventy-five per cent.,' he says. 'Set 'em up again, Dooley,' he says;
+an' I mixed 'em. 'I t'ink, Dooley,' he says, afther goin' troo th'
+illusthrations th' second toime--'I t'ink,' he says, 'ye'd ought to get
+two hoondred an' wan per cent. on th' retail price iv th' book,' he
+says. 'Can't I take a bottle iv these illusthrations to me office?' he
+says. 'I'd like to look 'em over,' he says; an' I mixed 'im up a quar-rt
+iv th' illusthrations to th' chapther on th' Mar-rtinney, an' sent him
+back to his partner in th' ambylanch."
+
+[Illustration: MIXING ILLUSTRATIONS]
+
+"I shall look forward to the publication of your book with much
+interest, Mr. Dooley," said Dolly. "Now that I have discovered our
+cousinship, I am even more interested in you than I was before; and let
+me tell you that, before I met you, I thought of you as the most vital
+figure in American humor that has been produced in many years."
+
+"I know nothin' iv American humor," said Dooley, "for I haven't met anny
+lately, an' I know nothin' iv victuals save what I ate, an' me appytite
+is as satisfoid wid itself as Hobson is wid th' kisses brawt onto him by
+th' sinkin' iv th' Merrimickinley. But for you an' Misther Rassendyll,
+ma'am, I've nothin' but good wishes an' ah--illusthrations to me book
+whenever ye give yer orders. Kape your hoosband home, Miss Dooley," he
+added. "He's scrapped wanst too often already wi' th' Ruraltarriers, an'
+he's been killed off wanst by Mr. Ant'ny Hawp; but he'll niver die if ye
+only kape him home. If he goes out he'll git fightin' agin. If he
+attimpts a sayquil to the sayquil, he's dead sure enough!"
+
+And with this Dolly and Dooley parted.
+
+For myself, Rupert Rassendyll, I think Dooley's advice was good, and as
+long as Dolly will keep me home, I'll stay. For is it not better to be
+the happy husband of Dolly of the Dialogues, than to be going about like
+a knight of the Middle Ages clad in the evening dress of the nineteenth
+century, doing impossible things?
+
+As for Dooley's impression of Dolly, I can only quote what I heard he
+had said after meeting her.
+
+"She's a Dooley sure," said he, being novel to compliment. And I am glad
+she is, for despite the charms of Flavia of pleasant memory, there's
+nobody like Dolly for me, and if Dolly can only be acknowledged by the
+Dooleys, her fame, I am absolutely confident, is assured.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+IN WHICH YELLOW JOURNALISM CREEPS IN
+
+
+The applause which followed the reading of the Dooley Dialogue showed
+very clearly that, among the diners at least, neither Dooley nor Dolly
+had waned in popularity. If the dilution, the faint echo of the
+originals, evoked such applause, how potent must have been the genius of
+the men who first gave life to Dooley and the fair Dolly!
+
+"That's good stuff, Greenwich," said Billie Jones. "You must have eaten
+a particularly digestible meal. Now for the tenth ball. Who has it?"
+
+"I," said Dick Snobbe, rising majestically from his chair. "And I can
+tell you what it is; I had a tough time of it in my dream, as you will
+perceive when I recite to you the story of my experiences at the battle
+of Manila."
+
+"Great Scott, Dick!" cried Bedford Parke. "You weren't in that, were
+you?"
+
+"Sir," returned Dick, "I was not only _in_ it, I was the thing itself. I
+was the war correspondent of the Sunday _Whirnal_, attached to Dewey's
+fleet."
+
+Whereupon the talented Mr. Snobbe proceeded to read the following cable
+despatch from the special correspondent of the _Whirnal_:
+
+  MANILA FALLS
+  THE SPANISH FLEET DESTROYED
+  THE SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT OF THE _WHIRNAL_
+  AIDED BY COMMODORE DEWEY AND HIS FLEET
+  CAPTURES THE PHILIPPINES
+
+[Illustration: THE SHIP'S BARBER AT WORK]
+
+MANILA, _May 1, 1898_.--I have glorious news. I have this day destroyed
+the Spanish fleet and captured the Philippine Islands. According to my
+instructions from the City Editor of the _Whirnal_, I boarded the
+_Olympia_, the flag-ship of the fleet under Commodore Dewey at
+Hong-kong, on Wednesday last. Upon reading my credentials the Commodore
+immediately surrendered the command of the fleet to me, and retired to
+his state-room, where he has since remained. I deemed it well to keep
+him there until after the battle was over, fearing lest he should annoy
+me with suggestions, and not knowing but that he might at any time
+spread dissension among the officers and men, who, after the habit of
+seamen, frequently manifest undue affection and sympathy for a deposed
+commander. I likewise, according to your wishes, concealed from the
+officers and crew the fact that the Commodore had been deposed,
+furthering the concealment by myself making up as Dewey. Indeed, it was
+not until after the battle this morning that any but Dewey and the
+ship's barber were aware of the substitution, since my disguise was
+perfect. The ship's barber I had to take into my confidence, for
+unfortunately on leaving Hong-kong I had forgotten to provide myself
+with a false mustache, so that in concealing the deposition of the
+Commodore by myself assuming his personality I was compelled to have the
+gentleman's mustache removed from his upper lip and transferred to my
+own. This the barber did with neatness and despatch, I having first
+chloroformed the Commodore, from whom some resistance might have been
+expected, owing to his peculiar temperament. Fortunately the fellow was
+an expert wig-maker, and within an hour of the shaving of Dewey I was
+provided with a mustache which could not fail to be recognized as the
+Commodore's, since it was indeed that very same object. When five
+hundred miles at sea I dropped the barber overboard, fearing lest he
+should disturb my plans by talking too much. I hated to do it, but in
+the interest of the _Whirnal_ I hold life itself as of little
+consequence, particularly if it is the life of some one else--and who
+knows but the poor fellow was an expert swimmer, and has by this time
+reached Borneo or some other bit of dry land? He was alive when I last
+saw him, and yelling right lustily. If it so happen that he has swum
+ashore somewhere, kindly let me know at your convenience; for beneath a
+correspondent's exterior I have a warm heart, and it sometimes troubles
+me to think that the poor fellow may have foundered, since the sea was
+stressful and the nearest dry point was four hundred and sixty knots
+away to S.E. by N.G., while the wind was blowing N.W. by N.Y.C. & H.R.R.
+But to my despatch.
+
+Dewey done for, despoiled of his mustache and rifled of his place, with
+a heavy sea running and a dense fog listing to starboard, I summoned my
+officers to the flag-ship, and, on the evening of April 30th, the
+fog-horns of Cavite having indicated the approach of the Philippine
+coast, gave them, one and all, their final instructions. These were, in
+brief, never to do anything without consulting with me.
+
+"To facilitate matters, gentlemen," said I, ordering an extra supply of
+grog for the captains, and milk punches for the lieutenants, "we must
+connect the various vessels of the fleet with telephone wires. Who will
+undertake this perilous duty?"
+
+They rose up as one man, and, with the precision of a grand-opera
+chorus, replied: "Commodore"--for they had not penetrated my
+disguise--"call upon us. If you will provide the wires and the 'phones,
+we will do the rest." And they followed these patriotic words with
+cheers for me.
+
+Their heroism so affected me that I had difficulty in frowning upon the
+head-butler's suggestion that my glass should be filled again.
+
+"Gentlemen," said I, huskily--for I was visibly affected--"I have
+provided for all. I could not do otherwise and remain myself. You will
+find ten thousand miles of wire and sixty-six telephones in the larder."
+
+That night every ship in the fleet was provided with telephone service.
+I appointed the _Olympia_ to be the central office, so that I might
+myself control all the messages, or at least hear them as they passed to
+and fro. In the absence of ladies from the fleet, I appointed a somewhat
+effeminate subaltern to the post of "Hello Officer," with complete
+control over the switch-board. And, as it transpired, this was a very
+wise precaution, because the central office was placed in the hold, and
+the poor little chap's courage was so inclined to ooze that in the midst
+of the fight he was content to sit below the water-line at his post, and
+not run about the promenade-deck giving orders while under fire. I have
+cabled the President about him, and have advised his promotion. His
+heroic devotion to the switch-board ought to make him a naval attache to
+some foreign court, at least. I trust his bravery will ultimately result
+in his being sent to the Paris Exposition as charge d'affaires in the
+Erie Canal department of the New York State exhibit.
+
+But to return to my despatch--which from this point must disregard
+space and move quickly. Passing Cape Bolinao, we soon reached Subig Bay,
+fifty miles from Manila. Recognizing the cape by the crop of hemp on its
+brow, I rang up the _Boston_ and the _Concord_.
+
+"Search Subig Bay," I ordered.
+
+"Who's this?" came the answer from the other end.
+
+"Never mind who I am," said I. "Search Subig Bay for Spaniards."
+
+"Hello!" said the _Boston_.
+
+"Who the deuce are you?" cried the _Concord_.
+
+"I'm seventeen-five-six," I replied, with some sarcasm, for that was not
+my number.
+
+"I want sixteen-two-one," retorted the _Boston_.
+
+"Ring off," said the _Concord_. "What do you mean by giving me
+seventeen-five-six?"
+
+"Hello, _Boston_ and _Concord_," I put in in commanding tones. "I'm
+Dewey."
+
+This is the only false statement I ever made, but it was in the
+interests of my country, and my reply was electrical in its effect. The
+_Boston_ immediately blew off steam, and the _Concord_ sounded all hands
+to quarters.
+
+"What do you want, Commodore?" they asked simultaneously.
+
+"Search Subig Bay for Spaniards, as I have already ordered you," I
+replied, "and woe be unto you if you don't find any."
+
+"What do you want 'em for, Commodore?" asked the _Boston_.
+
+"To engage, you idiot," I replied, scornfully. "What did you suppose--to
+teach me Spanish?"
+
+Both vessels immediately piped all hands on deck and set off. Two hours
+later they returned, and the telephone subaltern reported, "No Spaniards
+found."
+
+"Why not?" I demanded.
+
+"All gone to Cuba," replied the _Boston_. "Shall we pipe all hands to
+Cuba?"
+
+"Wires too short to penetrate without a bust," replied the _Concord_.
+
+"On to Manila!" was my answer. "Ding the torpedoes--go ahead! Give us
+Spaniards or give us death!"
+
+These words inspired every ship in the line, and we immediately strained
+forward, except the _McCulloch_, which I despatched at once to Hong-kong
+to cable my last words to you in time for the Adirondack edition of your
+Sunday issue leaving New York Thursday afternoon.
+
+The rest of us immediately proceeded. In a short while, taking advantage
+of the darkness for which I had provided by turning the clock back so
+that the sun by rising at the usual hour should not disclose our
+presence, we turned Corregidor and headed up the Boca Grande towards
+Manila. As we were turning Corregidor the telephone-bell rang, and
+somebody who refused to give his name, but stating that he was aboard
+the _Petrel_, called me up.
+
+"Hello!" said I.
+
+"Is this Dewey?" said the _Petrel_.
+
+"Yes," said I.
+
+"There are torpedoes ahead," said the _Petrel_.
+
+"What of it?" said I.
+
+"How shall we treat 'em?"
+
+"Blow 'em off--to soda water," I answered, sarcastically.
+
+"Thank you, sir," the _Petrel_ replied, as she rang off.
+
+Then somebody from the _Baltimore_ rang me up.
+
+"Commodore Dewey," said the _Baltimore_, "there are mines in the
+harbor."
+
+"Well, what of it?" I replied.
+
+"What shall we do?" asked the _Baltimore_.
+
+"Treat them coldly, as they do in the Klondike," said I.
+
+"But they aren't gold-mines," replied the _Baltimore_.
+
+"Then salt 'em," said I, dryly. "Apply for a certificate of
+incorporation, water your stock, sell out, and retire."
+
+"Thank you, Commodore," the _Baltimore_ answered. "How many shares shall
+we put you down for?"
+
+"None," said I. "But if you'll use your surplus to start a
+life-insurance company, I'll take out a policy for forty-eight hours,
+and send you my demand note to pay for the first premium."
+
+I mention this merely to indicate to your readers that I felt myself in
+a position of extreme peril, and did not forget my obligations to my
+family. It is a small matter, but if you will search the pages of
+history you will see that in the midst of the greatest dangers the
+greatest heroes have thought of apparently insignificant details.
+
+At this precise moment we came in sight of the fortresses of Manila.
+Signalling the _Raleigh_ to heave to, I left the flag-ship and jumped
+aboard the cruiser, where I discharged with my own hand the
+after-forecastle four-inch gun. The shot struck Corregidor, and,
+glancing off, as I had designed, caromed on the smoke-stack of the
+_Reina Cristina_, the flag-ship of Admiral Montojo. The Admiral,
+unaccustomed to such treatment, immediately got out of bed, and,
+putting on his pajamas, appeared on the bridge.
+
+[Illustration: A CLEVER CAROM]
+
+"Who smoked our struck-stack?" he demanded, in broken English.
+
+"The enemy," cried his crew, with some nervousness. I was listening to
+their words through the megaphone.
+
+"Then let her sink," said he, clutching his brow sadly with his clinched
+fist. "Far be it from me to stay afloat in Manila Bay on the 1st of May,
+and so cast discredit on history!"
+
+The _Reina Cristina_ immediately sank, according to the orders of the
+Admiral, and I turned my attention to the _Don Juan de Austria_. Rowing
+across the raging channel to the _Baltimore_, I boarded her and pulled
+the lanyard of the port boom forty-two. The discharge was terrific.
+
+"What has happened?" I asked, coolly, as the explosion exploded. "Did we
+hit her?"
+
+"We did, your honor," said the Bo's'n's mate, "square in the eye; only,
+Commodore, it ain't a her this time--it's a him. It's the _Don Juan
+de_--"
+
+"Never mind the sex," I cried. "Has she sank?"
+
+"No, sir," replied the Bo's'n's mate, "she 'ain't sank yet. She's
+a-waiting orders."
+
+"Fly signals to sink," said I, sternly, for I had resolved that she
+should go down.
+
+They did so, and the _Don Juan de Austria_ immediately disappeared
+beneath the waves. Her commander evidently realized that I meant what I
+signalled.
+
+"Are there any more of the enemy afloat?" I demanded, jumping from the
+deck of the _Baltimore_ to that of the _Concord_.
+
+"No, Commodore," replied the captain of the latter.
+
+"Then signal the enemy to charter two more gunboats and have 'em sent
+out. I can't be put off with two boats when I'm ready to sink four," I
+replied.
+
+[Illustration: SINKING THE _CASTILLA_]
+
+The _Concord_ immediately telephoned to the Spanish commandant at the
+Manila Cafe de la Paix, who as quickly chartered the _Castilla_ and
+the _Velasco_--two very good boats that had recently come in in ballast
+with the idea of loading up with bananas and tobacco.
+
+While waiting for these vessels to come out and be sunk, I ordered all
+hands to breakfast, thus reviving their falling courage. It was a very
+good breakfast, too. We had mush and hominy and potatoes in every style,
+beefsteak, chops, liver and bacon, chicken hash, buckwheat cakes and
+fish-balls, coffee, tea, rolls, toast, and brown bread.
+
+Just as we were eating the latter the _Castilla_ and _Velasco_ came out.
+I fired my revolver at the _Castilla_ and threw a fish-ball at the
+_Velasco_. Both immediately burst into flames.
+
+Manila was conquered.
+
+The fleet gone, the city fell. It not only fell, but slid, and by
+nightfall Old Glory waved over the citadel.
+
+The foe was licked.
+
+To-morrow I am to see Dewey again.
+
+I think I shall resign to-night.
+
+     P.S.--Please send word to the magazines that all articles by Dewey
+     must be written by Me. Terms, $500 per word. The strain has been
+     worth it.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+THE MYSTERY OF PINKHAM'S DIAMOND STUD
+
+     _Being the tale told by the holder of the eleventh ball,
+     Mr. Fulton Streete_
+
+
+"It is the little things that tell in detective work, my dear Watson,"
+said Sherlock Holmes as we sat over our walnuts and coffee one bitter
+winter night shortly before his unfortunate departure to Switzerland,
+whence he never returned.
+
+"I suppose that is so," said I, pulling away upon the very excellent
+stogie which mine host had provided--one made in Pittsburg in 1885, and
+purchased by Holmes, whose fine taste in tobacco had induced him to lay
+a thousand of these down in his cigar-cellar for three years, and then
+keep them in a refrigerator, overlaid with a cloth soaked in Chateau
+Yquem wine for ten. The result may be better imagined than described.
+Suffice it to say that my head did not recover for three days, and the
+ash had to be cut off the stogie with a knife. "I suppose so, my dear
+Holmes," I repeated, taking my knife and cutting three inches of the
+stogie off and casting it aside, furtively, lest he should think I did
+not appreciate the excellence of the tobacco, "but it is not given to
+all of us to see the little things. Is it, now?"
+
+"Yes," he said, rising and picking up the rejected portion of the
+stogie. "We all see everything that goes on, but we don't all know it.
+We all hear everything that goes on, but we are not conscious of the
+fact. For instance, at this present moment there is somewhere in this
+world a man being set upon by assassins and yelling lustily for help.
+Now his yells create a certain atmospheric disturbance. Sound is merely
+vibration, and, once set going, these vibrations will run on and on and
+on in ripples into the infinite--that is, they will never stop, and
+sooner or later these vibrations must reach our ears. We may not know it
+when they do, but they will do so none the less. If the man is in the
+next room, we will hear the yells almost simultaneously--not quite, but
+almost--with their utterance. If the man is in Timbuctoo, the vibrations
+may not reach us for a little time, according to the speed with which
+they travel. So with sight. Sight seems limited, but in reality it is
+not. _Vox populi, vox Dei_. If _vox_, why not _oculus_? It is a simple
+proposition, then, that the eye of the people being the eye of God, the
+eye of God being all-seeing, therefore the eye of the people is
+all-seeing--Q. E. D."
+
+I gasped, and Holmes, cracking a walnut, gazed into the fire for a
+moment.
+
+"It all comes down, then," I said, "to the question, who are the
+people?"
+
+Holmes smiled grimly. "All men," he replied, shortly; "and when I say
+all men, I mean all creatures who can reason."
+
+"Does that include women?" I asked.
+
+"Certainly," he said. "Indubitably. The fact that women _don't_ reason
+does not prove that they can't. I _can_ go up in a balloon if I wish to,
+but I _don't_. I _can_ read an American newspaper comic supplement, but
+I _don't_. So it is with women. Women can reason, and therefore they
+have a right to be included in the classification whether they do or
+don't."
+
+"Quite so," was all I could think of to say at the moment. The
+extraordinary logic of the man staggered me, and I again began to
+believe that the famous mathematician who said that if Sherlock Holmes
+attempted to prove that five apples plus three peaches made four pears,
+he would not venture to dispute his conclusions, was wise. (This was the
+famous Professor Zoggenhoffer, of the Leipsic School of Moral Philosophy
+and Stenography.--ED.)
+
+"Now you agree, my dear Watson," he said, "that I have proved that we
+see everything?"
+
+"Well--" I began.
+
+"Whether we are conscious of it or not?" he added, lighting the gas-log,
+for the cold was becoming intense.
+
+"From that point of view, I suppose so--yes," I replied, desperately.
+
+"Well, then, this being granted, consciousness is all that is needed to
+make us fully informed on any point."
+
+"No," I said, with some positiveness. "The American people are very
+conscious, but I can't say that generally they are well-informed."
+
+I had an idea this would knock him out, as the Bostonians say, but
+counted without my host. He merely laughed.
+
+"The American is only self-conscious. Therefore he is well-informed only
+as to self," he said.
+
+"You've proved your point, Sherlock," I said. "Go on. What else have you
+proved?"
+
+"That it is the little things that tell," he replied. "Which all men
+would realize in a moment if they could see the little things--and when
+I say 'if they could see,' I of course mean if they could be conscious
+of them."
+
+"Very true," said I.
+
+"And I have the gift of consciousness," he added.
+
+I thought he had, and I said so. "But," I added, "give me a concrete
+example." It had been some weeks since I had listened to any of his
+detective stories, and I was athirst for another.
+
+He rose up and walked over to his pigeon-holes, each labelled with a
+letter, in alphabetical sequence.
+
+"I have only to refer to any of these to do so," he said. "Choose your
+letter."
+
+"Really, Holmes," said I, "I don't need to do that. I'll believe all you
+say. In fact, I'll write it up and _sign my name_ to any statement you
+choose to make."
+
+[Illustration: THE LAMP-POSTS WERE TWISTED]
+
+"Choose your letter, Watson," he retorted. "You and I are on terms that
+make flattery impossible. Is it F, J, P, Q, or Z?"
+
+He fixed his eye penetratingly upon me. It seemed for the moment as if I
+were hypnotized, and as his gaze fairly stabbed me with its intensity,
+through my mind there ran the suggestion "Choose J, choose J, choose J."
+To choose J became an obsession. To relieve my mind, I turned my eye
+from his and looked at the fire. Each flame took on the form of the
+letter J. I left my chair and walked to the window and looked out. The
+lamp-posts were twisted into the shape of the letter J. I returned, sat
+down, gulped down my brandy-and-soda, and looked up at the portraits of
+Holmes's ancestors on the wall. They were all J's. But I was resolved
+never to yield, and I gasped out, desperately,
+
+"Z!"
+
+"Thanks," he said, calmly. "Z be it. I thought you would. Reflex
+hypnotism, my dear Watson, is my forte. If I wish a man to choose Q, B
+takes hold upon him. If I wish him to choose K, A fills his mind. Have
+you ever observed how the mind of man repels a suggestion and flees to
+something else, merely that it may demonstrate its independence of
+another mind? Now I have been suggesting J to you, and you have chosen
+Z--"
+
+"You misunderstood me," I cried, desperately. "I did not say Z; I said
+P."
+
+"Quite so," said he, with an inward chuckle. "P was the letter I wished
+you to choose. If you had insisted upon Z, I should really have been
+embarrassed. See!" he added. He removed the green-ended box that rested
+in the pigeon-hole marked Z, and, opening it, disclosed an emptiness.
+
+"I've never had a Z case. But P," he observed, quietly, "is another
+thing altogether."
+
+Here he took out the box marked P from the pigeon-hole, and, opening it,
+removed the contents--a single paper which was carefully endorsed, in
+his own handwriting, "The Mystery of Pinkham's Diamond Stud."
+
+"You could not have selected a better case, Watson," he said, as he
+unfolded the paper and scanned it closely. "One would almost think you
+had some pre-vision of the fact."
+
+"I am not aware," said I, "that you ever told the story of Pinkham's
+diamond stud. Who was Pinkham, and what kind of a diamond stud was
+it--first-water or Rhine?"
+
+"Pinkham," Holmes rejoined, "was an American millionaire, living during
+business hours at Allegheny City, Pennsylvania, where he had to wear a
+brilliant stud to light him on his way through the streets, which are so
+dark and sooty that an ordinary search-light would not suffice. In his
+leisure hours, however, he lived at the Hotel Walledup-Hysteria, in New
+York, where he likewise had to wear the same diamond stud to keep him
+from being a marked man. Have you ever visited New York, Watson?"
+
+"No," said I.
+
+"Well, when you do, spend a little of your time at the
+Walledup-Hysteria. It is a hotel with a population larger than that of
+most cities, with streets running to and from all points of the compass;
+where men and women eat under conditions that Lucullus knew nothing of;
+where there is a carpeted boulevard on which walk all sorts and
+conditions of men; where one pays one's bill to the dulcet strains of a
+string orchestra that woo him into a blissful forgetfulness of its size;
+and where, by pressing a button in the wall, you may summon a grand
+opera, or a porter who on request will lend you enough money to enable
+you and your family to live the balance of your days in comfort. In
+America men have been known to toil for years to amass a fortune for the
+one cherished object of spending a week in this Olympian spot, and then
+to be content to return to their toil and begin life anew, rich only in
+the memory of its luxuries. It was here that I spent my time when, some
+years ago, I went to the United States to solve the now famous Piano
+Case. You will remember how sneak thieves stole a grand piano from the
+residence of one of New York's first families, while the family was
+dining in the adjoining room. While in the city, and indeed at the very
+hotel in which I stopped, and which I have described, Pinkham's diamond
+stud disappeared, and, hearing that I was a guest at the
+Walledup-Hysteria, the owner appealed to me to recover it for him. I
+immediately took the case in hand. Drastic questioning of Pinkham showed
+that beyond all question he had lost the stud in his own apartment. He
+had gone down to dinner, leaving it on the centre-table, following the
+usual course of most millionaires, to whom diamonds are of no particular
+importance. Pinkham wanted this one only because of its associations.
+Its value, $80,000, was a mere bagatelle in his eyes.
+
+"Now of course, if he positively left it on the table, it must have been
+taken by some one who had entered the room. Investigation proved that
+the maid, a valet, a fellow-millionaire from Chicago, and Pinkham's
+children had been the only ones to do this. The maid and the valet were
+above suspicion. Their fees from guests were large enough to place them
+beyond the reach of temptation. I questioned them closely, and they
+convinced me at once of their innocence by conducting me through the
+apartments of other guests wherein tiaras of diamonds and necklaces of
+pearls--ropes in very truth--rubies, turquoise, and emerald ornaments of
+priceless value, were scattered about in reckless profusion.
+
+"'D' yez t'ink oi'd waste me toime on an eighty-t'ousand-dollar shtood,
+wid all dhis in soight and moine for the thrubble uv swipin' ut?" said
+the French maid.
+
+[Illustration: HOLMES IN DISGUISE INTERVIEWS WATTLES]
+
+"I acquitted her at once, and the valet similarly proved his innocence,
+only with less of an accent, for he was supposed to be English, and not
+French, as was the maid, although they both came from Dublin. This
+narrowed the suspects down to Mr. Jedediah Wattles, of Chicago, and
+the children. Naturally I turned my attention to Wattles. A six-year-old
+boy and a four-year-old girl could hardly be suspected of stealing a
+diamond stud. So drawing on Pinkham for five thousand dollars to pay
+expenses, I hired a room in a tenement-house in Rivington Street--a
+squalid place it was--disguised myself with an oily, black, burglarious
+mustache, and dressed like a comic-paper gambler. Then I wrote a note to
+Wattles, asking him to call, saying that I could tell him something to
+his advantage. He came, and I greeted him like a pal. 'Wattles,' said I,
+'you've been working this game for a long time, and I know all about
+you. You are an ornament to the profession, but we diamond-thieves have
+got to combine. Understand?' 'No, I don't' said he. 'Well, I'll tell
+you,' said I. 'You're a man of good appearance, and I ain't, but I know
+where the diamonds are. If we work together, there's millions in it.
+I'll spot the diamonds, and you lift 'em, eh? You can do it,' I added,
+as he began to get mad. 'The ease with which you got away with old
+Pinky's stud, that I've been trying to pull for myself for years, shows
+me that.'
+
+"I was not allowed to go further. Wattles's indignation was great enough
+to prove that it was not he who had done the deed, and after he had
+thrashed me out of my disguise, I pulled myself together and said, 'Mr.
+Wattles, I am convinced that you are innocent.' As soon as he recognized
+me and realized my object in sending for him, he forgave me, and, I must
+say, treated me with great consideration.
+
+"But my last clew was gone. The maid, the valet, and Wattles were proved
+innocent. The children alone remained, but I could not suspect them.
+Nevertheless, on my way back to the hotel I bought some rock-candy, and,
+after reporting to Pinkham, I asked casually after the children.
+
+[Illustration: "'YOU DID TOO!' SAID POLLY"]
+
+"'They're pretty well,' said Pinkham. 'Billie's complaining a little,
+and the doctor fears appendicitis, but Polly's all right. I guess
+Billie's all right too. The seventeen-course dinners they serve in the
+children's dining-room here aren't calculated to agree with Billie's
+digestion, I reckon.'
+
+"'I'd like to see 'em,' said I. 'I'm very fond of children.'
+
+"Pinkham immediately called the youngsters in from the nursery. 'Guess
+what I've got,' I said, opening the package of rock-candy. 'Gee!' cried
+Billie, as it caught his eye. 'Gimme some!' 'Who gets first piece?' said
+I. 'Me!' cried both. 'Anybody ever had any before?' I asked. 'He has,'
+said Polly, pointing to Billie. The boy immediately flushed up. ''Ain't,
+neither!' he retorted. 'Yes you did, too,' said Polly. '_You swallered
+that piece pop left on the centre-table the other night!_' 'Well,
+anyhow, it was only a little piece,' said Billie. 'An' it tasted like
+glass,' he added. Handing the candy to Polly, I picked Billie up and
+carried him to his father.
+
+"'Mr. Pinkham,' said I, handing the boy over, 'here is your diamond. It
+has not been stolen; it has merely been swallowed.' 'What?' he cried.
+And I explained. The stud mystery was explained. Mr. Pinkham's boy had
+eaten it."
+
+Holmes paused.
+
+"Well, I don't see how that proves your point," said I. "You said that
+it was the little things that told--"
+
+"So it was," said Holmes. "If Polly hadn't told--"
+
+"Enough," I cried; "it's on me, old man. We will go down to Willis's and
+have some Russian caviare and a bottle of Burgundy."
+
+Holmes put on his hat and we went out together. It is to get the money
+to pay Willis's bill that I have written this story of "The Mystery of
+Pinkham's Diamond Stud."
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+LANG TAMMAS AND DRUMSHEUGH SWEAR OFF
+
+     _A tale of dialect told by Mr. Berkeley Hights, holder of the
+     twelfth ball_
+
+
+"Hoot mon!"
+
+The words rang out derisively on the cold frosty air of Drumtochty, as
+Lang Tammas walked slowly along the street, looking for the residence of
+Drumsheugh. The effect was electrical. Tammas stopped short, and turning
+about, scanned the street eagerly to see who it was that had spoken. But
+the highway was deserted, and the old man shook his stick, as if at an
+imaginary foe.
+
+"I'll hoot-mon the dour eediot that's eensoolted a veesitor to
+Drumtochty!" he shouted. "I haena brought me faithfu' steck for
+naething!" he added.
+
+He glared about, now at this closed window, now at that, as if inviting
+his enemy to come forth and be punished, but seeing no signs of life,
+turned again to resume his walk, muttering angrily to himself. It was
+indeed hardly to be tolerated that he, one of the great characters of
+fiction, should be thus jeered at, as he thought, while on a friendly
+pilgrimage from Thrums to Drumtochty, the two rival towns in the
+affections of the consumers of modern letters; and having walked all the
+way from his home at Thrums, Lang Tammas was tired, and therefore in no
+mood to accept even a mild affront, much less an insult.
+
+He had scarcely covered ten paces, however, when the same voice, with a
+harsh cackling laugh, again broke the stillness of the street:
+
+"Gang awa', gang awa'--ha, ha, ha!"
+
+Tammas rushed into the middle of the way and picked up a stone.
+
+[Illustration: "'HOOT MON!'"]
+
+"Pit your bogie pate oot o' your weendow, me gillie!" he cried. "I'll
+gie it a garry crack. Pit it oot, I say! Pit it oot!"
+
+And the old man drew himself back into an attitude which would have
+defied the powers of Phidias to reproduce in marble, the stone poised
+accurately and all too ready to be hurled.
+
+"Ye ramshackle macloonatic!" he cried. "Standin' in a weendow, where
+nane may see, an' heepin' eensoolts on deecint fowk. Pit it oot--pit it
+oot--an' get it crackit!"
+
+The reply was instant:
+
+"Gang awa', gang awa'--ha, ha, ha!"
+
+Had Lang Tammas been a creation of Lever, he would at this point have
+removed his coat and his hat and thrown them down violently to earth,
+and then have whacked the walk three times with the stout stick he
+carried in his right hand, as a preliminary to the challenge which
+followed. But Tammas was not Irish, and therefore not impulsive. He was
+Scotch--as Scotch as ever was. Wherefore he removed his hat, and, after
+dusting it carefully, hung it up on a convenient hook; took off his coat
+and folded it neatly; picked up his "faithfu' steck," and observed:
+
+"I hae naething to do that's of eemportance. Drumsheugh can wait, an'
+sae can ee. Pit it oot, pit it oot! Here I am, an' here I stay until ye
+pit it oot to be crackit."
+
+"Gang awa', gang awa'--ha, ha, ha!" came the reply.
+
+Lang Tammas turned on the instant to the sources of the sound. He fixed
+his eyes sternly on the very window whence he thought the words had
+issued.
+
+"Number twanty-three, saxth floor," he muttered to himself. "I will
+call, and then we shall see what we _shall_ see; and if what we see gets
+off wi'oot a thorough 'hootin',' then I dinna ken me beezniss."
+
+[Illustration: "A SWEET-FACED NURSE APPEARED"]
+
+Hastily discarding his outward wrath, and assuming such portions of his
+garments as went with his society manner, Tammas walked into the lobby
+of the apartment-house in which his assumed insulter lived. He pushed
+the electric button in, and shortly a sweet-faced nurse appeared.
+
+"Who are you?" she asked.
+
+"Me," said Lang Tammas, somewhat abashed. "I've called too see the head
+o' the hoose."
+
+"I am sorry," said the trained nurse, bursting into tears, "but the head
+of the house is at the point of death, sir, and cannot see you until
+to-morrow. Call around about ten o'clock."
+
+"Hoots an' toots!" sighed Lang Tammas. "Canna we Scuts have e'er a story
+wi'oot somebody leein' at the point o' death! It's most affectin', but
+doonricht wearin' on the constitootion."
+
+"Was there anything you wished to say to him?" asked the nurse.
+
+"Oh, aye!" returned Lang Tammas. "I dinna ken hoo to deny that I hed
+that to say to him, an' to do to him as weel. I'm a vairy truthfu' mon,
+young lady, an' if ye must be told, I've called to wring his garry neck
+for dereesively gee'in an unoffending veesitor frae Thrums by yelling
+deealect at him frae the hoose-tops."
+
+"Are you sure it was here?" asked the nurse, anxiously, the old
+gentleman seemed so deeply in earnest.
+
+"Sure? Oh, aye--pairfectly," replied Lang Tammas; but even as he spoke,
+the falsity of his impression was proved by the same strident voice that
+had so offended before, coming from the other side of the street:
+
+"What a crittur ye are, ye cow! What a crittur ye are!"
+
+"Soonds are hard to place, ma'am," said Lang Tammas, jerking about as if
+he had been shot. It was a very hard position for the old man, for, with
+the immediate need for an apology to the nurse, there rushed over him an
+overwhelming wave of anger. Hitherto it was merely a suspicion that he
+was being made sport of that had irritated him, but this last
+outburst--"What a crittur ye are, ye cow!"--was convincing evidence that
+it was to him that the insults were addressed; for in Thrums it is
+history that Hendry and T'nowhead and Jim McTaggart frequently greeted
+Lang Tammas's jokes with "Oh, ye cow!" and "What a crittur ye are!" But
+the old man was equal to the emergency, and fixing one eye upon the
+house opposite and the other upon the sweet-faced nurse, he darted
+glances that should kill at his persecutor, and at the same time
+apologized for disturbing the nurse. The latter he did gracefully.
+
+"Ye look aweary, ma'am," he said. "An' if the head o' the hoose maun
+dee, may he dee immejiately, that ye may rest soon."
+
+And with this, pulling his hat down over his forehead viciously, he
+turned and sped swiftly across the way. The nurse gazed anxiously after
+him, and in her secret soul wondered if she would not better send for
+Jamie McQueen, the town constable. Poor Tammas's eye was really so
+glaring, and his whole manner so manifestly that of a man exasperated to
+the verge of madness, that she considered him somewhat in the light of
+a menace to the public safety. She was not at all reassured, either,
+when Tammas, having reached the other side of the street, began
+gesticulating wildly, shaking his "faithfu' steck" at the facade of the
+confronting flat-house. But an immediate realization of the condition of
+the sick man above led her to forego the attempt to protect the public
+safety, and closing the door softly to, she climbed the weary stairs to
+the sixth floor, and soon forgot the disturbing trial of the morning in
+reading to her patient certain inspiring chapters from the Badminton
+edition of _Haggert's Chase of Heretics_, relieved with the lighter
+_Rules of Golf; or, Auld Putt Idylls_, by the Rev. Ian McCrockett, one
+of the most exquisitely confusing humorous works ever published in the
+Highlands.
+
+Lang Tammas meanwhile was addressing an invisible somebody in the
+building over the way, and in no uncertain tones.
+
+"If I were not a geentlemon and a humorist," he said, impressively,
+agitating his stick nervously at the building front, "I could say much
+that nae Scut may say. But were I nae Scut, I'd say this to ye: 'Ye have
+all the eelements of a confairmed heeritic. Ye've nae sense of deecint
+fun. Ye're not a man for a' that, as most men air--ye're an ass, plain
+and simple, wi' naether the plainness nor the simpleecity o' the
+individual that Balaam rode. Further--more--'"
+
+What Lang Tammas would have said furthermore had he not been a Scot the
+world will never know, for from the other side of the street--farther
+along, however--came the squawking voice again:
+
+"Gang awa', gang awa', ye crittur, ye cow! Hoot mon--hoot mon--hoot mon!
+Gang awa', gang awa'!" And this was followed by a raucous cry, which
+might or might not have been Scottish, but which was, in any event,
+distinctly maddening. And even as the previous insults had electrified
+poor Tammas, so this last petrified him, and he stood for an
+appreciable length of time absolutely transfixed. His mind was a curious
+study. His coming had been prompted entirely by the genial spirit which
+throbbed beneath his stony Scottish exterior. For a long time he had
+been a resident of the most conspicuous Scotch town in all literature,
+and he was himself its accepted humorist. Then on a sudden Thrums had a
+rival. Drumtochty sprang forth, and in the matter of pathos, if not
+humor, ran Thrums hard; and Lang Tammas, attracted to Drumsheugh, had
+come this distance merely to pay his respects, and to see what manner of
+man the real Drumsheugh was.
+
+[Illustration: TAMMAS MEETS DRUMSHAUGH]
+
+And this was his reception! To be laughed at--he, a Scotch humorist! Had
+any one ever laughed at a Scotch humorist before? Never. Was not the
+test of humor in Scotland the failure to laugh of the hearer of the
+jest? Would Scotch humor ever prove great if not taken seriously? Oh,
+aye! Hendry never laughed at his jokes, and Hendry knew a joke when
+he saw one. McTaggart never smiled at Lang Tammas; and as for the little
+Minister--he knew what was due to the humorist of Thrums, as well as to
+himself, and enjoyed the exquisite humor of Tammas with a reserve well
+qualified to please the Presbytery and the Congregation.
+
+How long Lang Tammas would have stood petrified no man may say; but just
+then who should come along but the person he had come to call
+upon--Drumsheugh himself.
+
+"_Knox et praeterea nihil!_" he exclaimed. "What in Glasgie hae we here?"
+
+Lang Tammas turned upon him.
+
+"Ye hae nowt in Glasgie here," he said, sternly. "Ye hae a vairy muckle
+pit-oot veesitor, wha hae coom on an airand o' good-will to be gret wi'
+eensoolts."
+
+"Eensoolts?" retorted Drumsheugh. "Eensoolts, ye say? An' wha hae bin
+eensooltin' ye?"
+
+"That I know nowt of, save that he be a doonricht foo' a-heepin' his
+deealect upon me head," said Lang Tammas.
+
+"And wha are ye to be so seensitive o' deealect?" demanded Drumsheugh.
+
+"My name is Lang Tammas--"
+
+"O' Thrums?" cried Drumsheugh.
+
+"Nane ither," said Tammas.
+
+Drumsheugh burst into an uproarious fit of laughter.
+
+"The humorist?" he cried, catching his sides.
+
+"Nane ither," said Tammas, gravely. "And wha are ye?"
+
+"Me? Oh, I'm--Drumsheugh o' Drumtochty," he replied. "Come along hame
+wi' me. I'll gie ye that to make the eensoolt seem a compliment."
+
+And the two old men walked off together.
+
+An hour later, on their way to the kirk, Drumsheugh observed that after
+the service was over he would go with Lang Tammas and seek out the man
+who had insulted him and "gie" him a drubbing, which invitation Tammas
+was nothing loath to accept. Reverently the two new-made friends walked
+into the kirk and sat themselves down on the side aisle. A hymn was
+sung, and the minister was about to read from the book, when the silence
+of the church was broken by a shrill voice:
+
+"Hoot mon! Hoot mon!"
+
+Tammas clutched his stick. The voice was the same, and here it had
+penetrated the sacred precincts of the church! Nowhere was he safe from
+insult. Drumsheugh looked up, startled, and the voice began again:
+
+"Gang awa' a-that, a-that, a-that--gang awa'! Oh, ye crittur! oh, ye
+cow!"
+
+And then a titter ran through that solemn crowd; for, despite the
+gravity of the situation, even John Knox himself must have smiled. A
+great green parrot had flown in at one of the windows, and had perched
+himself on the pulpit, where, with front undismayed, he addressed the
+minister:
+
+"Gang awa', gang awa'!" he cried, and preened himself. "Hoot mon, gang
+awa'!"
+
+"_Knox nobiscum!_" ejaculated Drumsheugh. "It's Moggie McPiggert's
+pairrut," and he chuckled; and then, as Lang Tammas realized the
+situation, even he smiled broadly. He had been insulted by a parrot
+only, and the knowledge of it made him feel better.
+
+The bird was removed and the service proceeded; and later, when it was
+over, as the two old fellows walked back to Drumsheugh's house in the
+gathering shades of the night, Lang Tammas said:
+
+"I acquet Drumtochty o' its eensoolts, Drumsheugh, but I've lairnt a
+lesson this day."
+
+"What's that?" asked Drumsheugh.
+
+"When pairruts speak Scutch deealect, it's time we Scuts gae it oop,"
+said Tammas.
+
+"I think so mysel'," agreed Drumsheugh. "But hoo express our thochts?"
+
+"I dinna ken for ye," said Lang Tammas, "but for me, mee speakee heathen
+Chinee this timee on."
+
+"Vairy weel," returned Drumsheugh. "Vairy weel; I dinna ken heathen
+Chinee, but I hae some acqueentance wi' the tongue o' sairtain
+Amairicans, and that I'll speak from this day on--it's vairy weel called
+the Bowery eediom, and is a judeecious mixture o' English, Irish, and
+Volapeck."
+
+And from that time on Lang Tammas and Drumsheugh spoke never another
+word of Scotch dialect; and while Tammas never quite mastered
+pidgin-English, or Drumsheugh the tongue of Fadden, they lived happily
+ever after, which in a way proves that, after all, the parrot is a
+useful as well as an ornamental bird.
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+CONCLUSION--LIKEWISE MR. BILLY JONES
+
+
+The cheers which followed the narration of the curious resolve of Lang
+Tammas and Drumsheugh were vociferous, and Berkeley Hights sat down with
+a flush of pleasure on his face. He construed these as directed towards
+himself and his contribution to the diversion of the evening. It never
+entered into his mind that the applause involved a bit of subtle
+appreciation of the kindness of Tammas and of Drumsheugh to the reading
+public in thus declining to give them more of something of which they
+had already had enough.
+
+When the cheers had subsided Mr. Jones rose from his chair and
+congratulated the club upon its exhibit.
+
+"Even if you have but faintly re-echoed the weaknesses of the strong,"
+he said, "you have done well, and I congratulate you. It is not every
+man in your walk in life who can write as grammatically as you have
+dreamed. I have failed to detect in any one of the stories or poems thus
+far read a single grammatical error, and I have no doubt that the
+manuscripts that you have read from are gratifyingly free from mistakes
+in spelling as well, so that, from a newspaper man's stand-point, I see
+no reason why you should not get these proceedings published, especially
+if you do it at your own expense.
+
+"I now declare The Dreamers adjourned _sine die_!"
+
+"Not much!" cried the members, unanimously. "Where's your contribution?"
+
+"Out with it, William!" shouted Tom Snobbe. "I can tell by the set of
+your coat that you've got a manuscript concealed in your pocket."
+
+"There's nothing ruins the set of a coat more quickly than a rejected
+manuscript in the pocket," put in Hudson Rivers. "I've been there
+myself--so, as Lang Tammas said, Billy, 'Pit it oot, and get it
+crackit.'"
+
+"Well," Jones replied, with a pleased smile, "to tell you the truth,
+gentlemen, I had come prepared in case I was called upon; but the hour
+is late," he added, after the manner of one who, though willing, enjoyed
+being persuaded. "Perhaps we had better postpone--"
+
+"Out with it, old man. It is late, but it will be later still if you
+don't hurry up and begin," said Tenafly Paterson.
+
+"Very well, then, here goes," said Jones. "Mine is a ghost-story,
+gentlemen, and it is called 'The Involvular Club; or, The Return of the
+Screw.' It is, like the rest of the work this evening, imitative, after
+a fashion, but I think it will prove effective."
+
+[Illustration: MR. JONES BEGINS]
+
+Mr. Jones hereupon took the manuscript from his bulging pocket and read
+as follows:
+
+
+THE INVOLVULAR CLUB; OR, THE RETURN OF THE SCREW
+
+The story had taken hold upon us as we sat round the blazing hearth of
+Lord Ormont's smoking-room, at Castle Aminta, and sufficiently
+interfered with our comfort, as indeed from various points of view, not
+to specify any one of the many, for they were, after all, in spite of
+their diversity, of equal value judged by any standard, not even
+excepting the highest, that of Vereker's disturbing narrative of the
+uncanny visitor to his chambers, which the reader may recall--indeed,
+must recall if he ever read it, since it was the most remarkable
+ghost-story of the year--a year in which many ghost-stories of wonderful
+merit, too, were written--and by which his reputation was made--or
+rather extended, for there were a certain few of us, including Feverel
+and Vanderbank and myself, who had for many years known him as a
+constant--almost too constant, some of us ventured, tentatively
+perhaps, but not the less convincedly, to say--producer of work of a
+very high order of excellence, rivalling in some of its more conspicuous
+elements, as well as in its minor, to lay no stress upon his subtleties,
+which were marked, though at times indiscreetly inevident even to the
+keenly analytical, hinging as these did more often than not upon
+abstractions born only of a circumscribed environment--circumscribed, of
+course, in the larger sense which means the narrowing of a circle of
+appreciation down to the select few constituting its essence--the
+productions of the greatest masters of fictional style the world has
+known, or is likely, in view of present tendencies towards miscalled
+romance, which consists solely of depicting scenes in which bloodshed
+and murder are rife, soon to know again--it was proper it should, in a
+company chosen as ours had been from among the members of The Involvular
+Club, with Adrian Feverel at its head, Vereker as its vice-president,
+and Lord Ormont, myself, and a number of ladies, including Diana of the
+Crossways, and little Maisie--for the child was one of our cares, her
+estate was so pitiable a one--Rhoda Fleming, Daisy Miller, and Princess
+Cassimassima, one and all, as the reader must be aware, personages--if I
+may thus refer to a group of appreciation which included myself--who
+knew a good thing when they saw it, which, it may as well be confessed
+at once, we rarely did in the raucous fields of fiction outside of,
+though possibly at times moderately contiguous to, our own territory,
+although it should be said that Miss Miller occasionally manifested a
+lamentable lack of regard for the objects for which The Involvular was
+formed, by showing herself, in her semi-American way, regrettably direct
+of speech and given over not infrequently to an unhappy use of slang,
+which we all, save Maisie, who was young, and, in spite of all she knew,
+not quite so knowledgeable a young person as some superficial observers
+have chosen to believe, sincerely deprecated, and on occasion when it
+might be done tactfully, endeavored to mitigate by a reproving glance,
+or by a still deeper plunge into nebulous rhetoric, as a sort of
+palliation to the Muse of Obscurity, which in our hearts we felt that
+good goddess would accept, strove to offset.
+
+    ["Excuse me," said Mr. Tom Snobbe, rising and interrupting the
+    reader at this point, "but is that all one sentence, Mr. Jones?"
+
+    "Yes," Jones replied. "Why not? It's perfectly clear in its
+    meaning. Aren't you used to long sentences on the Hudson?" he
+    added, sarcastically.
+
+    "No," retorted Snobbe; "that is to say, not where I live. I
+    believe they have 'em at Sing Sing occasionally. But they never
+    get used to them, I'm told."
+
+    "Be quiet, Tom," said Harry Snobbe. "It's bad form to interrupt.
+    Let Billy finish his story." Mr. Jones then resumed his
+    manuscript.]
+
+A perceptible shudder ran through, or rather rolled over, the group, for
+it was corrugating in its quality, bringing forcibly to mind, quite as
+much for its chill, too, as for the wrinkling suggestion of its passage
+up and down our backs, turned as some of these were towards the fire,
+and others towards the steam-radiator, which now and again clicked
+startlingly in the dull red glow of the hearth light, augmenting the all
+too obvious nervousness of the listeners, the impassive and uninspiring
+squares of iron of which certain modern architects of a limited
+decorative sense--if, indeed, they have any at all, for the mere use of
+corrugated iron in the construction of a facade would seem not to admit
+of an aesthetic side to its designer's nature, however ornately
+distributed over the surface of an exterior it may be--have chosen to
+avail themselves, prompted either by an appalling parsimony on the part
+of a client, or for reasons of haste employed for the lack of more
+immediately available material, it being an undeniable fact that in some
+portions of the world stucco and terracotta, now frequently used in
+lieu of more substantial, if not more enduring materials, are difficult
+of access, and the use of a speedily obtainable substitute becoming thus
+a requirement as inevitable as it is to be regretted, as in the case of
+the fruit-market at Venice, standing as it does on the bank of the Grand
+Canal, a pile of stark, staring, obtrusive, wrinkling zinc thrusting
+itself brazenly into the line of a vision attuned to the most gloriously
+towering palazzos, as rich in beauty as in romance, with such
+self-sufficiency as to bring tears to the eyes of the most stolidly
+unappreciative, of the most coldly unaesthetic, or, in short, as some one
+has chosen to say, in an essay the title of which and the name of whose
+author escape us at this moment, with such complacent vulgarity as to
+amount to nothing less than a dastardly blot upon the escutcheon of the
+Venetians, which all of their glorious achievements in art, in history,
+and in letters can never quite ineradically efface, and alongside of
+which the whistling steam-tugs with their belching funnels, which are
+by slow degrees supplanting the romantic gondolier with his picturesque
+costume and his tender songs of sunny climes in the cab service of the
+Bride of the Adriatic, seem quite excusable, or, in any event, not so
+unforgivable as to constitute what the Americans would call an infernal
+shame.
+
+    [At this point the reader was interrupted again.
+
+    "Hold on a minute, Billy--will you, please?" said Tenafly
+    Paterson. "Let's get this story straight. As I understand the
+    first sentence somebody told a ghost-story, didn't he?"
+
+    "Yes," replied Jones, a trifle annoyed.
+
+    "And the second sentence means that those who heard it felt
+    creepy?"
+
+    "Precisely."
+
+    "Then why the deuce couldn't you have said, 'When So-and-So had
+    finished, the company shuddered'?"
+
+    "Because," replied Jones, "I am reading a story which is
+    constructed after the manner of a certain school. I'm not reading
+    a postal-card or a cable message."
+
+    The reader then resumed.]
+
+Miss Miller, to relieve the strain upon the nerves of those present,
+which was becoming unbearably tense--and, in fact, poor Maisie had burst
+into tears with the sheer terror of the climax, and had been taken off
+to be put to bed by Mrs. Brookenham, who, in spite of many other
+qualities, was still a womanly woman at heart, and not wholly deficient
+in those little tendernesses, those trifling but ineffable softnesses of
+nature, which are at once the chief source of woman's strength and of
+her weakness, a fact she was constantly manifesting to us during our
+stay at Lord Ormont's, and which we all remarked and in some cases
+commented upon, since the discovery had in it some of the qualities of a
+revelation--began to sing one of those extraordinary popular songs that
+one hears at the music-halls in London, and in the politer and more
+refined circles of American society, if indeed there may be said to be
+such a thing in a land so new as to be as yet mostly veneer, with little
+that is solid in its social substructure, beginning as its constituent
+factors do at the top and working downward, rather than choosing the
+more natural course of beginning at the bottom and working upward, and
+which must materially, one may think, affect the social solidarity of
+the nation by retarding its growth and in otherwise interfering with its
+healthy, not to say normal development, and which, as the words and
+import of it come back to me, was known by the rather vulgar and
+vernacular title of "All Coons Look Alike to Me," thus indicating that
+the life treated of in the melody, which was not altogether unmusical,
+and was indeed as a matter of fact quite fetching in its quality,
+running in one's ears for days and nights long after its first hearing,
+was that of the negro, and his personal likeness to his other black
+brethren in the eyes even of one who was supposed to have been at one
+time, prior to the action of the song if not coincidently with it, the
+object of his affections.
+
+    [Had Jones not been wholly absorbed in the reading of this
+    wonderful story, he might at this moment have heard a slight but
+    unmistakable rumbling sound, and have looked up and seen much that
+    would have interested him. But, as this kind of a story requires
+    for its complete comprehension a complete concentration of mind,
+    he did not hear, and so, continuing, did not see.]
+
+[Illustration: HE DID NOT SEE]
+
+Diana was the first to mitigate the silence with comment [he read] a
+silence whose depth had only been rendered the more depressing by Miss
+Miller's uncalled-for intrusion upon our mood of something that smacked
+of a society towards which most of us, in so far as we were able to do
+so, had always cultivated a strenuous aloofness, prompted not by any
+whelmful sense of our own perfection, latent or obvious, but rather by a
+realization on our part that it lacked the essentials that could make of
+it an interesting part of the lives of a group given over wholly, or
+at least as nearly wholly as the exiguities of existence would permit of
+a persistent and continuous devotion, to the contemplation of the
+beautiful in art, letters, or any other phase of human endeavor.
+
+"And did his soul never thaw?" Diana asked.
+
+"Never," replied Vanderbank, "It is frozen yet."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Here the rumbling sound grew to such volume that, absorbed as he was in
+his reading, Jones could no longer fail to hear it. Lowering his
+manuscript, he looked sternly upon the company. The rumbling sound was a
+chorus, not unmusical, of snores.
+
+_The Dreamers slept._
+
+"Well, I'll be hanged!" cried Jones, angrily, and then he walked over
+and looked behind the screen where the stenographer was seated. "I'll
+finish it if it takes all night," he muttered. "Just take this down,"
+he added to the stenographer; but that worthy never stirred or made
+reply. _He too was sleeping._
+
+Jones muttered angrily to himself.
+
+"Very well," he said. "I'll read it to myself, then," and he began
+again. For ten minutes he continued, and then on a sudden his voice
+faltered; his head fell forward upon his chest, his knees collapsed
+beneath him, and he slid inert, and snoring himself, into his chair. The
+MS. fluttered to the floor, and an hour later the waiters entering the
+room found the club unanimously engaged in dreaming once more.
+
+The Involvular Club was too much for them, even for the author of it,
+but whether this was because of the lateness of the hour or because of
+the intricacies of the author's style I have never been able to
+ascertain, for Mr. Jones is very sore on the point, and therefore
+reticent, and as for the others, I cannot find that any of them remember
+enough about it to be able to speak intelligently on the subject.
+
+[Illustration: THE STENOGRAPHER SLEPT]
+
+All I do know is what the landlord tells me, and that is that at 5 A.M.
+thirteen cabs containing thirteen sleeping souls pursued their thirteen
+devious ways to thirteen different houses, thus indicating that the
+Dreamers were ultimately adjourned, and, as they have not met since, I
+presume the adjournment was, as usual, _sine die_.
+
+
+THE END
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+  BY A. CONAN DOYLE
+
+
+  THE REFUGEES. A Tale of Two Continents. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth,
+  Ornamental, $1.75.
+
+
+  THE WHITE COMPANY. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.75.
+
+
+  MICAH CLARKE. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.75; 8vo,
+  Paper, 45 cents.
+
+
+  THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth,
+  Ornamental, $1.50.
+
+     CONTENTS: A Scandal in Bohemia, The Red-headed League, A Case of
+     Identity, The Boscombe Valley Mystery, The Five Orange Pips, The
+     Man with the Twisted Lip, The Blue Carbuncle, The Speckled Band,
+     The Engineer's Thumb, The Noble Bachelor, The Beryl Coronet, The
+     Copper Beeches.
+
+
+  MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental,
+  $1.50.
+
+     CONTENTS: Silver Blaze, The Yellow Face, The Stock-Broker's Clerk,
+     The "Gloria Scott," The Musgrave Ritual, The Reigate Puzzle, The
+     Crooked Man, The Resident Patient, The Greek Interpreter, The Navy
+     Treaty, The Final Problem.
+
+
+  THE PARASITE. A Story. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental,
+  $1.00.
+
+
+  THE GREAT SHADOW. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.00.
+
+
+  HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS
+  NEW YORK AND LONDON
+
+  _Any of the above works will be sent by mail, postage prepaid,
+  to any part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt
+  of the price._
+
+
+
+
+  BY FRANK R. STOCKTON
+
+
+  THE ASSOCIATE HERMITS. A Novel. Illustrated by A. B. Frost. Post 8vo,
+  Cloth, Ornamental, $1.50.
+
+     If there is a more droll or more delightful writer now living than
+     Mr. Frank R. Stockton we should be slow to make his acquaintance,
+     on the ground that the limit of safety might be passed.... Mr.
+     Stockton's humor asserts itself admirably, and the story is
+     altogether enjoyable.--_Independent._
+
+     The interest never flags, and there is nothing intermittent about
+     the sparkling humor.--_Philadelphia Press._
+
+
+  THE GREAT STONE OF SARDIS. A Novel. Illustrated by PETER NEWELL. Post
+  8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.50.
+
+     The scene of Mr. Stockton's novel is laid in the twentieth century,
+     which is imagined as the culmination of our era of science and
+     invention. The main episodes are a journey to the centre of the
+     earth by means of a pit bored by an automatic cartridge, and a
+     journey to the North Pole beneath the ice of the Polar Seas.
+     These adventures Mr. Stockton describes with such simplicity
+     and conviction that the reader is apt to take the story in all
+     seriousness until he suddenly runs into some gigantic pleasantry of
+     the kind that was unknown before Mr. Stockton began writing, and
+     realizes that the novel is a grave and elaborate bit of fooling,
+     based upon the scientific fads of the day. The book is richly
+     illustrated by Peter Newell, the one artist of modern times who
+     is suited to interpret Mr. Stockton's characters and situations.
+
+
+  HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS
+  NEW YORK AND LONDON
+
+  _Either of the above works will be sent by mail, postage prepaid,
+  to any part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of
+  the price._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Transcribers Notes:
+
+
+The following printing mistakes have been corrected:
+
+    Page 116 - question mark removed, comma substituted
+    Page 121 - period replaced by comma
+    Pages 154, 180 - spurious double quote removed
+
+Also illustrations have been moved to adjust within paragraph breaks.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dreamers, by John Kendrick Bangs
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