CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME 
 OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT 
 FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY 
 
 HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE 
 
Cornell Unlverslly Library 
 PS 2414.G9 
 
 3 1924 022 154 904 
 
The original of tliis bool< is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022154904 
 
THE 
 GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 BY 
 
 S.%EIR MITCHELL, M.D., LL.D. 
 
 with illustrations by 
 andr£ castaigne and F. R. GRUGER 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE CENTURY CO. 
 
 1910 
 
■i,, 3^13-4^ 
 
 Copyright, 1907, 1909, 1910, by 
 
 ThI ClNTVKy Co. 
 
 Published October, igio 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 rAGK 
 
 The Guillotine Club i 
 
 The Fourteenth Guest loi 
 
 The Mind-Reader 141 
 
 The House Beyond Prettymarsh .... 247 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Alphonse, the Valet Frontispiece 
 
 PACK 
 
 M. Blanchelande 7 
 
 Captain Merton 14 
 
 I am rather an ascendant than a descendant . . 22 
 
 M. le Vicomte de Laisne 31 
 
 An archbishop in his full episcopal attire ... 41 
 
 En garde, Messieurs . 81 
 
 The Colonel 88 
 
 As he grew better, he talked to me of 
 
 my own life 149 
 
 That, he said, was of course hopeless . . . .156 
 
 Told her some of their genealogies were 
 
 more genial than logical 169 
 
 Susan, where was the silver kept? . . . . .201 
 
 Good gracious ! 220 
 
 Talk to me. Tell stories. Laugh. 
 
 Do anything 229 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 THOSE who have read "A Diplomatic Ad- 
 venture" are aware that the valet Al- 
 phonse, who effectually aided in the historic 
 burglary, was, perhaps with reason, uneasy 
 as to the consequences. He finally decided to 
 emigrate to America, where, he said, his con- 
 science would be more at rest, a moral inference 
 with which my friend and fellow-burglar. 
 Captain Merton, was much pleased, remarking 
 "that conscience was a name for several 
 things." 
 
 It was, however, some months before Al- 
 phonse could persuade Mile. Marie to promise 
 to marry and go among a people who were just 
 then industriously killing one another. The 
 captain's wound was long since well. Certain 
 other matters in which he was interested were 
 
 3 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 prospering, but it was not until later that they 
 agreeably matured. After our brilliant suc- 
 cess in baffling the police of Paris, I felt no de- 
 sire to go in search of other adventures, and 
 hoped none would come in search of me. I 
 was sadly mistaken. 
 
 One morning while taking breakfast in my 
 little salon, I said to Alphonse : "There must 
 be in Paris some curious things strangers do 
 not see. You have been on the police — ^you 
 must know. I hear that there are thieves' 
 clubs, or rather a thief club." 
 
 "I believe," said Alphonse, "that there is a 
 club of thieves ; but it is very exclusive, and un- 
 less monsieur should qualify — " 
 
 "Qualify?" 
 
 "No one can enter who has not been in the 
 chain-gang or committed some well-known 
 crime." 
 
 "Such as our burglary, Alphonse?" 
 
 "Not mine, mon Dieu! It may please mon- 
 sieur to speak of it, but as for my humble self, 
 even when I go to confession I reserve certain 
 sins until I am in America. I never knew any 
 
 4 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 one who had seen this club, but — " and he hesi- 
 tated. "Shall I bring- some more toast?" 
 
 I said no. 
 
 "Monsieur is neglecting the omelet. I made 
 it myself." He was as usual enjoying the im- 
 portance a half -told story gives. 
 
 "I asked you a question. The omelet may 
 wait." 
 
 "Pardon, Monsieur, an omelet is one of the 
 things which cannot wait. I was about to be 
 imprudent." 
 
 "Since we stole those papers you are ab- 
 surdly cautious. Go on." 
 
 "There are other clubs — other strange clubs 
 — ^more interesting." 
 
 "Such as?" 
 
 "Has monsieur ever heard of the Societe des 
 Ancetres?" 
 
 "Of Ancestors? No. What is there curi- 
 ous about that? It sounds commonplace." 
 
 Alphonse smiled. "For the members it is 
 the Society of the Guillotine. No one belongs 
 to it who is not of the family of some one who 
 was guillotined." 
 
 5 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 I questioned him eagerly. 
 
 "It is," he said, "of course registered, — all 
 societies must be, — ^but as it is quiet and meets 
 rarely, the pblice, when I was on the active 
 force, did not disturb it." 
 
 "I should like to see it," I said. 
 
 "Perhaps some of the gentlemen who dine 
 here to-day may be able further to inform mon- 
 sieur. There is another club more closely 
 watched." 
 
 "Ah, and what is that?" 
 
 "It is the Club of Jacobins." 
 
 "What ! H,ere tb'day in France ! Hardly." 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur. It is more of a secret so- 
 ciety." 
 
 "Then it is serious. Political, I presume." 
 
 "Probably. But it was a matter of rumor 
 when I was of the police that it contained per- 
 sons no one would suspect of being in such com- 
 pany." 
 
 "And so," I said, "it is let alone to avoid 
 scandal." 
 
 "We did so conclude. But of course there is 
 6 
 
THli COLONEL 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 gossip among the police. Monsieur may give 
 up all idea of -seeing it." 
 
 I did not, and resolved to speak of both clubs 
 at dinner, which on this occasion was to be in 
 my own rooms. 
 
 I was on intimate terms with two of my din- 
 ner guests, and especially with M. Blanche- 
 lande, a manufacturer, the owner of great 
 cloth mills near Lyons. Our United States 
 legation had secured for him certain contracts 
 with our government which had proved satis- 
 factory to the war-office and profitable to him. 
 He was known to me as a quiet, cautious, mid- 
 dle-aged man, who had married in the royalist 
 class, but who avoided politics, and collected 
 Palissy ware, snuff-boxes, and chatelaines. 
 He liked my dinners because of their freedom 
 and on account of my father's Madeira and cer- 
 tain American luxuries. 
 
 He arrived early and said: "I have here, 
 for the future Mme. Greville, a gold chatelaine 
 said to have belonged to Mme. de Sevigne." 
 
 While I was admiring it and saying, "Mme. 
 
 9 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 Possible will adore it," Alphonse announced 
 the Count Andre- Joseph de la Motte and my 
 friend Captain Arthur Merton, U. S. Army. 
 Both men being army-officers, — the count of 
 the Imperial Guard, — as they entered they were 
 eagerly discussing the value of cavalry in war. 
 The count, a man of twenty-six, owed his at- 
 tractiveness to perfect manners, a certain 
 sweetness of disposition, constant gaiety, and 
 an amiability rarely equaled. He was intelli- 
 gent rather than intellectual, but not a person 
 of much force. I liked him. 
 
 "I asked your uncle M. Granson to dine," i 
 said to the count, "but he would not come." 
 
 The officer shrugged his shoulders and smil- 
 ing returned: "I am not sorry. He is fast 
 breaking in mind and body and talks danger- 
 ously much about republics and the desirability 
 of a return in France to Jacobin methods. It 
 is rather sad. What a charming chatelaine!" 
 he added, turning to Blanchelande. 
 
 As we stood admiring the gift, my last guest; 
 M. Varin, sous-prefet of the Seine, joined us. 
 The prefect was one of the adventurous few 
 
 10 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 who come up out of the peasant class to forage 
 successfully in the capital. He looked about 
 him, seeing at a glance who were present, and 
 turned on me a rosy face, strong of feature, 
 but without distinction. An avocat of note, a 
 gay liver, a pronounced imperialist, and now a 
 man of wealth, he was too apt to speak of 
 having owed everything to himself, and had 
 the double pride of former poverty and 
 achieved riches. Nevertheless, he was inter- 
 esting because of a successful career and be- 
 cause' of the type he represented. 
 
 Alphonse announced, "Monsieur is served," 
 and we went into the little salon, chatting gaily. 
 There were no politics ; a word about our war 
 and Mexico, and by common consent we passed 
 to safer ground and talked theaters, actors, the 
 races, with at last a discussion of French dia- 
 lects, a favorite study of mine. My Burgundy 
 was good, my father's Madeira highly ap- 
 proved, and the imported cigar of the legation 
 such as Paris knew not. I had no least idea 
 that I was about to put a disturbing question, 
 what Captain Merton called a "queery." I 
 
 II 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 said lightly, during a pause in the talk, that I 
 was curious about the Parisian things stran- 
 gers rarely see or never see. 
 
 "Such as?" asked the prefect, carelessly. 
 "I may be of service. There are odd fish and 
 tmfathomed depths in this great turbulent sea 
 of Paris. What are you curious about?" 
 
 "The queer clubs," I replied. "I have heard 
 of two — no, three." 
 
 "What are they?" asked the count. 
 
 "Oh, one I have heard about is, I am told, 
 the Society of Ancestors." 
 
 I was filling my glass as I spoke and, looking 
 up, saw that I had variously surprised my 
 guests. The count was glancing at Blanche- 
 lande, who had lifted his eyes from a lighted 
 match just long enough to entitle him to be 
 justified by surprise at my question or by a 
 burned finger in exclaiming, "Sacre!" and 
 then: "Some one has been amusing you, 
 mon cher Greville, with Parisian fables. The 
 Club of Ancestors! Everybody has ances- 
 tors." 
 
 Captain Merton glanced from one to another 
 
 12 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 and, as he said later, felt the social temperature 
 fall. He became at once a partner in my curi- 
 osity.- 
 
 The prefect seemed to be unconcerned and 
 somewhat amused. 
 
 "It sounds very Chinese," he remarked. 
 "Ancestor- worship! Any folly is possible in 
 Paris." 
 
 "But," asked the count, "who told you of the 
 club, Greville?" 
 
 I shook my head, and, smiling, declined to 
 answer, 
 
 Blanchelande laughed. "Tell us ignorant 
 Parisians about this club. Come, now. Cap- 
 tain Merton, are you, too, in the secret?" 
 
 The captain shook his head, and smoked. 
 
 "Well," I said, not quite liking this unex- 
 pected appearance of satirical desire to be en- 
 lightened — "well, I know nothing more except 
 that in private this body is fairly well known 
 as the Society of the Guillotine." 
 
 "Cheerful, that !" remarked Merton. "Must 
 some man or his ancestor have been guillo- 
 tined as a condition of membership ?" 
 
 15 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 "Delightful!" cried Blanchelande. "Ask 
 the prefect." 
 
 That official said gravely : "I am not in the 
 way of knowing personally anything about it; 
 I was never guillotined. There is such a so- 
 ciety, as some of you very well know" — 
 
 "Oh, really. Prefect!" cried BlanchelandCg 
 laughing. 
 
 Either M. Varin did not see that the subject 
 was unwelcome or more likely had some ma- 
 licious enjo)Tnent in the discussion, for he 
 returned : 
 
 "Yes, although I am not what I may label 
 ancestral, I have heard of the club. For my 
 part, if I am anything, I am rather an ascen- 
 dant than a descendant." 
 
 The young count looked at him with an ex- 
 pression of grave surprise, but said nothing, 
 while the prefect continued, his face growing 
 sterner, "My people were still digging the 
 earth when our betters acquired title to this so- 
 ciety by the accolade of the guillotine." Mer- 
 ton looked up from the nut he was cracking. 
 
 "Accolade of the guillotine! I like that." 
 i6 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 Blanchelande was evidently annoyed. "How 
 absurd. Prefect I Why not a society of the 
 hanged, or, rather, to be accurate, of their de- 
 scendants?" 
 
 "Why not ascendants? It seems a rise in 
 life," laughed Merton. 
 
 "I might possibly have a claim," returned the 
 prefect, coolly. "The old noblesse took that 
 liberty at times with their peasants. The guil- 
 lotine was the answer of the ages to the gallows 
 of the noble." 
 
 For a moment no one spoke. It was a 
 stanch Bonapartist who sat by me, well dressed, 
 prim, and decorated with the ribbon of the 
 Legion of Honor. It was a Jacobin in revolt 
 who thus broke out. De la Motte's constant 
 smile fell off like a dropped mask. Blanche- 
 lande's well-governed, middle-aged face ex- 
 pressed some faint disgust, for the intonation 
 of the prefect was, of a sudden, as that of a 
 peasant, rough, aggressive, and his manner 
 like a challenge. 
 
 To my relief, Merton broke into the mo- 
 ment's emphasis of silence. "Thank heaven 
 
 17. 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 that we in America have no claim to either 
 honor !" 
 
 "You will not continue so fortunate," said 
 the prefect. "You have not as yet history 
 enough. Just now you are doing fairly well, 
 but when you fail, as you of the North will, 
 some heads may tumble — or even if Europe 
 permits you to win, which is unlikely." 
 
 Perhaps my Madeira had been too often hon- 
 ored, for certainly the prefect had made him- 
 self unpleasant to every one. I saw Merton 
 frown, and then, catching my warning look, 
 resume his cigar as I said : 
 
 "Ah, Monsieur le Prefet, how little you un- 
 derstand us !" 
 
 "Let us drop politics," said Blanchelande. 
 
 "As you like," murmured the official. "Ex- 
 cuse me, M. Greville," 
 
 "Oh, the future will answer you," I re- 
 turned, laughing. The talk had come so near 
 to perils of insult that I was glad to move on 
 and away. By mishap I got at once upon still 
 thinner ice, for I said: "I seem at least with 
 my curiosity to have excited curiosity. I must 
 
 i8 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 rest unsatisfied, I fear. But what of the other 
 society I have heard about?" 
 
 "What is that?" said De la Motte. 
 
 "The Jacobin Club." 
 
 "Delightful!" laughed the prefect. "Better 
 and better. I must tell the minister of police." 
 
 "A Jacobin Club to-day in Paris!" said 
 Blanchelande. "Well! well! Did ever you 
 hearof it, Prefect?" 
 
 "Never." 
 
 I seemed unlucky, and made haste again to 
 shift the talk, quite sure that both clubs were 
 known to one or another of my guests, and 
 aware that my dinner had not been a complete 
 success. 
 
 "Try this other Madeira/' I said; "you may 
 like it." 
 
 "None of us, it seems, appears to know much 
 of your clubs," said the prefect, with a queer, 
 cynic smile; "but there certainly is a famous 
 club of thieves." 
 
 "Political, Prefect?" queried Merton in his 
 languid after-dinner way of saying dubious 
 things, pleased that social justice, kind to those 
 
 19 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 who wait, had given him the chance of retort. 
 
 The prefect smiled. "Merci, Monsieur — 
 Touche." 
 
 "Do they make ballads?" said De la Motte, 
 
 "They may." 
 
 "This club is said to be as old as Francois 
 Villon," said Varin. "Whether or not they 
 still have poet thieves, I cannot say," 
 
 "Or thieving poets," added Merton. "They 
 all steal from one another." 
 
 I gladly welcomed this diversion of the talk, 
 and, soon after, all except Blanchelande went 
 away, gaily chaffing me about those wonderful 
 clubs. 
 
 The count detained me a moment in the ante- 
 chamber, and said, as we stood aside: "My 
 uncle would not dine with Blanchelande, 
 Greville. He is, as you know, a wild republi- 
 can, and of late has been in a condition of senile 
 irritability and, I think I said so, imprudent to 
 the last degree." 
 
 "And so that was it. How strange ! Good 
 night," and I went back to Blanchelande. 
 
 As I sat down, he said: "Greville, do you 
 20 
 
'i AM RATHER AN ASCKNDANT THAN A DESCENDANT" 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 really want to hear more about those clubs? 
 Of course, as you must have gathered, we are 
 all cautious in our talk. In these days of sus- 
 picion and espionage we rarely refer elsewhere 
 than in royalist circles to the Club of Ancestors, 
 and never except among members to the Guil- 
 lotine Club. You could not know that, and 
 your curiosity was quite natural." 
 
 "Then all of you know of these organiza- 
 tions?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. There is a Club of Jacobins. I 
 should not be surprised to learn that Varin was 
 a member. We are less disposed to be secret. 
 You heard his denial." 
 
 "Yes ; and I was annoyed at the man's talk. 
 One does sometimes make a mistake in mixing 
 one's salad-dressing. That is Alphonse's 
 wisdom. M. Varin will not be in my next 
 salad." 
 
 Blanchelande laughed. 
 
 "The vinegar was certainly in excess." 
 
 "I may venture to ask if you are not of that 
 Guillotine Club?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; as are many French gentlemen. 
 23 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 While little is said of it, there is no nonsense, 
 no Freemason business. It is merely, a very 
 exclusive society, designed to keep fresh certain 
 memories." 
 
 "1 should like to see these clubs." 
 "That may be possible for ours, impossible 
 for the Jacobin. We now and then admit 
 strangers not Frenchmen, and we once pur- 
 posely invited the chief of police. We have 
 every reason to be thought of as non-political ; 
 but nevertheless — However, leave it with me, 
 and I will see what I can do to gratify your 
 curiosity. It might interest you." 
 
 I thanked him, and we began to speak of 
 other matters. 
 
 2? 
 
II 
 
 MY dinner was in October, and I heard 
 no more until January 15, when 
 'Blanchelande called on me. 
 
 He said : "I have here an invitation for you 
 to be present at the annual meeting of the Guil- 
 lotine Club. Pray read it." 
 
 The President and Council of the Society of An- 
 cestors will be honoured by the presence of Monsieur 
 Greville on the 21st of January at half-after nine 
 A. M. punctually. 
 
 "An unusual hour," said I. 
 
 "Yes; but there is a reason for it. I shall 
 call for you in time. I ought to say that you 
 will be so good as to wear evening dress, all 
 black, with black necktie." 
 
 Somewhat surprised at these directions, I 
 thanked him. As he was leaving, he said: 
 "You know, my friend, how much I owe to you, 
 
 25 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 and I like, therefore, to say that this special in- 
 vitation is unusual. It has been twice asked 
 for in vain by — ^but no matter. You will learn 
 at the meeting why I was able to secure it for 
 you. I am sure that you will be interested." 
 
 At nine, on January 21st, I was dressed as 
 my friend had desired me to be. When Al- 
 phonse knew the evening before what I re- 
 quired, to my astonishment he said : "It is for 
 the Royalist club. Monsieur should also have 
 black shirt-studs and black gloves. I ventured 
 to buy them this morning." 
 
 "Very good," I said. "Much obliged." 
 He evidently knew what was my errand, al- 
 though of this I had said nothing. I had given 
 up being amazed at my valet. I now supposed 
 him to have known of the club through his po- 
 lice affiliations. 
 
 "Monsieur will not want me until evening?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I have left the clothes for change, and the 
 diimer dress as usual." 
 
 "Thanks," said I. "You may go." 
 
 Presently I was with Blanchelande, and we 
 26 
 
M. BLANCHELANDE 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 drove a long distance through the Rue Lafa-| 
 yette. We turned at last under an archway 
 into the courtyard of what seemed to have been 
 a large, two-story chateau. The street frontj 
 was occupied by shops. The courtyard space 
 seemed neglected, and there was a ruined foun- 
 tain, long out of business. Two or more car- 
 riages came in behind us. We went up the 
 steps under a crumbling scutcheon and through 
 the doorway. A servant in black received our 
 cards on a silver salver. As I looked up from 
 the plate I saw that the attendant was my own 
 valet, Alphonse. I was, of course, surprised,! 
 but neither he nor I gave any sign of recog- 
 nition, and followed by several gentlemen in 
 full mourning, we went up a wide stairway, 
 past a second servant, to whom again we gave 
 our cards. 
 
 Then we entered a large room where heavy 
 curtains excluded the daylight. Numerous 
 wax candles set in sconces afforded a scarce 
 sufficient illumination, so that it was some time] 
 before I saw clearly enough to decide from thej 
 cupids and roses of the ceiling that I was in the 
 
 27 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 ball-room of what had been a surburban 
 chateau of the time of the regency. There 
 was on one side a dais with tables and chairs 
 for the presiding officers, well lighted with 
 large candelabra. Behind the dais two crossed 
 flags draped with black bore the arms and 
 lilies of the Bourbons. 
 
 As we moved into view, all present rose and 
 bowed to Blanchelande, who, returning the 
 salute, said to me, "Sit here," and went on to 
 the dais, where he took the chair as presiding 
 officer. Several minutes passed in silence, and 
 then he said: "Close the doors. It is ten 
 o'clock. There will be no more admissions." 
 
 During the interval of quiet, I had begun to 
 use my eyes, and saw in the first row of chairs 
 several whom I knew, and, not to my surprise, 
 the Count de la Motte. As I leaned forward 
 to look, I was sure that the recognition was 
 mutual. 
 
 The absolute silence, the air of gravity, and 
 the dark figures of, as I guessed,, three-score 
 gentlemen, set me to marveling. At this mo- 
 ment Blanchelande rose. He said : "I hereby 
 
 28 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 declare open upon this 21st day of January, 
 1864, the fiftieth annual meeting of the society 
 of gentlemen members of whose families died 
 by the guillotine. I have the honor to present 
 as a guest M. Greville of the American Lega- 
 tion, invited for reasons satisfactory to the 
 council. Gentlemen, M. Greville." 
 
 The entire assembly rose, bowed, and re- 
 mained standing. I returned the courtesy. 
 Blanchelande laid his watcji on the table and 
 waited. The stillness was complete. 
 
 In a low but distinct voice the president said : 
 "As the grandson of Victor-Andre Blanche- 
 lande, sometime governor of St. Domingo, the 
 first victim of the guillotine, on this 21st day 
 of January I announce to you the approach of 
 the hour of the murder of Louis XVI, King of 
 France." He spoke slowly as he added, glanc- 
 ing at his watch : "Now the King ascends the 
 scaffold." He paused. "Now the King 
 kneels. Now" — and again he paused — "it is 
 twenty minutes after ten o'clock. The King is 
 dead." 
 
 There was a faint stir as of controlled emo- 
 29 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 tion, and I heard from all present the words, 
 "God rest his soul !" For a moment there was 
 silence and all resumed their seats. 
 
 Then Blanchelande said: "It is our custom 
 to call next the roll of members, who will re- 
 spond for those of their family who died by the 
 guillotine." 
 
 "They will come forward in turn, and com- 
 memorate by their presence and their answers 
 the unfailing remembrance by the gentlemen of 
 France of those of their ord^r who died for the 
 cause of their rightful monarch. His Grace 
 the secretary will now honor us by calling the 
 roll." 
 
 What I next saw and heard impressed me as 
 few scenes in my life have done. On the right 
 of the president rose an archbishop in his full 
 episcopal attire. In a clear voice he read from 
 a roll in his hand, "M. Victor-Andre Blanche- 
 lande." 
 
 The president stood up. "I answer for my 
 ancestor, the first victim of the guillotine, April 
 
 9. 1793." 
 
 As the roll went on with name after name 
 
 30 
 
i ^~} 
 
 M. LE VJCOMTE DE LAISN^ 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 of the French noblesse, at each summons a man 
 came forward and gave the date of the death 
 and the name of some relative. I Hstened with 
 intense interest and something like awe to this 
 impressive ceremony so remote from the every- 
 day life of gay Paris. 
 
 One old man murmured: "Le Marquis, la 
 Marquise, et Mile, de Beauchastel," and I 
 heard, "Father, mother, sister, guillotined on 
 the 3d, 5th, and 9th of May, 1793." Then with 
 bent head he tottered away to his chair. And 
 the list went on, with titles old in story, with 
 names famous in history. 
 
 I heard De la Motte reply for his ancestor, 
 and then another and another, while in the 
 hush of the dimly lighted room the summoning 
 voice of the prelate rose, or fell to low notes as 
 something in the answers left him emotionally 
 disturbed. 
 
 At the last he read, "M. le Vicomte de 
 Laisne." An aged gentleman, very feeble and 
 evidently blind, came forward, leaning on the 
 arm of a younger man. His voice was scarce 
 audible as he said, "I appear for Mile, de Mar- 
 
 33 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 san, dead — " he hesitated — "dead on — " he 
 seemed to have forgotten; it was painful — 
 "dead on — on the 9th of the month Floreal, 
 1794." 
 
 I understood the low murmur of pity and 
 surprise. In this terrible recall of a day of 
 sorrow he had stumbled in his failing memory 
 upon the Revolutionary name of the month of 
 May. A gentleman beside me said in a whis- 
 per: "He was to have married her. He is 
 nearly a century old." It seemed to bring very 
 near to me this tragic history. 
 
 As I sat and now and again caught sound 
 of the roar of traffic without, the complex note 
 of the great city, my thoughts were disturbed 
 by Blanchelande's voice. "It is now time," he 
 said, "that we hold our private meeting and 
 receive the report of the council. I must ask, 
 therefore, that the guest who honors us with 
 his presence will withdraw." On this, again, 
 all present stood up, and bowing to the chair 
 and to the assembly, I left the room. At the 
 foot of the stair I received from Alphonse my 
 
 34 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 hat and coat, and returned home to change my 
 dress. 
 
 At breakfast next day I said : "I am much 
 obliged, Alphonse, by what you said to me in 
 regard to these clubs. It was well worth while 
 to see that ceremony; but how do you chance 
 to serve there?" 
 
 "It was not chance, Monsieur. My grand- 
 father was the servant of the Baron de Lorme, 
 and because he aided his master to escape was 
 guillotined. The meetings are rare, and while 
 I remain in France they will not interfere with 
 my service." 
 
 I reassured him, and then said: "But what 
 of the Jacobin Club? I should like to see it 
 also." 
 
 Alphonse seemed disturbed. "They are not 
 of monsieur's class. They would not interest 
 him. It is not quite safe." 
 
 "I am not at all sure that it will not interest 
 me. As to safety, nonsense! Come, now, 
 how can I manage it?" 
 
 "But they admit no strangers." 
 35 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 "You seem to know their ways." 
 
 "Yes. With some years of police service, 
 one learns many things; but this is impossible 
 to be done." 
 
 I was intent to learn something of this other 
 club, and when I rode in the Bois that after- 
 noon with De la Motte, I said: "What is 
 known of this Club of Jacobins ? I mentioned 
 it the other day at dinner, and all of you shut 
 up, as we say, like clams. There is such a 
 club," I persisted. 
 
 "Then you know, mon ami, as much of it as 
 I do. What a charming mees ! How well she 
 rides!" 
 
 "Yes; an American," I said, as I bowed to 
 her. As we rode on I said, "Why were you all 
 so silent about your Royalist club?" 
 
 "My dear Greville, we could not discuss it 
 before Varin. He would not understand, or 
 might have made himself, in fact did make him- 
 self, unpleasant. The club is rather a private 
 association than an ordinary society, and the 
 memories it consecrates and revives are just 
 such as we do not talk of lightly even thus far 
 
 36 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 away from their realities. You must have 
 seen how solemn a thing it was." 
 
 "I did indeed. I shall never forget it. But 
 about the Jacobin Club?" 
 
 "Oh, about that. There is such a club, but 
 of it I know nothing except that it exists and 
 that there is an old and serious feud between 
 our society and this nest of Jacobins. You 
 may be sure you will never see the inside of 
 the Jacobins." 
 
 "Indeed, I will bet you a dinner at Magny's 
 that I shall be present at a meeting of the Jaco- 
 bin Club." 
 
 "Done," he said. "You are a very obstinate 
 man. Well, the Corton Vieux is good at 
 Magny's. Shall we gallop?" 
 
 Two days later I said to Alphonse, "Is that 
 Jacobin Club active?" 
 
 "Yes, of late, or so my cousin of the police 
 tells me. It is an old society, and when I was 
 on the force there was at the central bureau 
 a list of its members. I was once ordered to 
 shadow two of whom little was known. Why, 
 under the empire, it is allowed at all, some one 
 
 37 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 in power knows. If monsieur is set on a dif- 
 ficult matter, I might mention that any very 
 violent republican might assist." 
 
 I did not know any one to whom I eould or 
 would apply. 
 
 I had that day to see M. Blanchelande, who, 
 like me, was boldly buying our government 
 bonds, much to his future profit. After a 
 word about a recent contract and mode of ship- 
 ment, I said how profoundly impressed I had 
 been by the tragic roll-call I had heard. Then 
 I added, "About that Jacobin Club, I should 
 like to see it. I have a bet with M. de la Motte 
 that I shall visit that club." 
 
 "You may as well pay. If you are in ear- 
 nest, ask M. Granson, La Motte's uncle. He 
 is a silly, old, maundering republican. He is 
 just as like as not to be a member ; but keep me 
 out of the matter, and stay out yourself, my 
 friend." 
 
 "Of course I shall not use your name; and as 
 for myself, I do not see what risk I run." 
 
 "Only such risks as a diplomatist ought not 
 to run. None of your legation is altogether 
 
 38 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 persona grata. A word from the police, and 
 you may be sent home, to my regret." 
 
 He was quite right, but curiosity is with me 
 an appetite which is not very respectful of ad- 
 vice. I resolved to see M. Granson. 
 
 When I found the old gentleman in question 
 at his apartments, I saw at once that, as his 
 nephew, the count, had told me, he was ap- 
 proaching his dotage. I lost no time, but said, 
 "M. Granson, you are, I believe, a prominent 
 member of the Club of Jacobins." I supposed 
 that he would deny it. 
 
 "I am," he said; "I am proud to say I am. 
 Some day it will make itself felt." 
 
 "I should like to see this club." 
 
 "See it. Monsieur — see it? You never can, 
 unless you are a Jacobin." He cackled thin, 
 aged laughter. 
 
 Then I said, seeing a way open, "I am not a 
 Jacobin, but my grandfather was." 
 
 "What ! How can that be ?" He laid down 
 the paper-cutter with which he had been toy- 
 ing, and sat up in his chair, attentive. 
 
 "Yes," said I; "in 1792 there were twenty 
 
 39 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 Jacobin Clubs in America. One, in Charles^ 
 ton, South Carolina, was affiliated with the 
 Jacobin Club of Paris. My grandfather lived 
 for a time in Charleston, and was a member of 
 this club." I did not say that his Federalist 
 sons were by no means proud of it. "I have at 
 home in America his certificate of member- 
 ship." 
 
 He was at once enthusiastic. "Th^n, mon 
 ami, it may be done. The case, your case is 
 unique. Leave it with me. I shall fail, I fear, 
 but I have influence, great influence. I gladly 
 do much to sustain the club ; and to feel that we 
 have allies in America is most helpful. We 
 must correspond with that club." 
 
 I said, with all the gravity I could command, 
 that just now, in this year 1864, it would be 
 difficult; that we had found it as yet hard to 
 get our own mail into Chai-leston, on account 
 of certain pi-ejudices. 
 
 This seemed to revive his mind, for he re- 
 turned: "Oh, yes. Now I remember — t 
 good jok6 that. Prejudices ! You shall heai" 
 
 soon." 
 
 40 
 
AN ARCHBISHOP IN HIS FULL El'ISCOFAL ATTIRE 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 I went away, leaving him to consider the 
 joke with his meek smile of aging mirth. The 
 red eyes, the uncertainly balanced head, the 
 look of senile, complacent satisfaction, I car- 
 ried away as a momentary memory, and, too, 
 some unpleasant doubt concerning the pro- 
 priety of using the weakness of a man in his 
 condition in order to satisfy mere curiosity. 
 
 I heard no further until, in February, I re- 
 ceived this letter : 
 
 Pluviose 9. 
 Dear Citizen: 
 
 I have succeeded. Your claim to be of us is ad- 
 mitted, and excited great interest. I vouched with 
 pleasure for your Jacobin descent. I regret that you 
 were not with us at our annual meeting on the second 
 of the month of Pluviose, being January 21st. We 
 celebrate that as the day when justice was done upon 
 Louis Capet, the enemy of the republic. On the nth 
 of March I shall call for you at eleven in the morning. 
 
 Yours, etc., 
 
 Eugbne Granson. 
 
 THere was in this letter enough cause for re- 
 flection. Had I known at the time that this 
 club was attracting the closer attention of the 
 
 43 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 police, I might have taken Blanchelande's ad- 
 vice, and hesitated in regard to attending a 
 meeting. I did accept, however, and out of 
 this arose some unlooked-for consequences. 
 
 44 
 
Ill 
 
 AN omnibus took M. Granson and me far 
 into the Quartier St. Denis. Alighting, 
 we passed through a small tobacco shop into a 
 walled space behind it. Thence we entered an 
 unused factory, where, at the foot of the stairs,, 
 stood two persons in ordinary dress. One, to 
 my surprise, was an avocat used at times by 
 our own legation. He made no sign of recog- 
 nition. My companion said: "This/ is M. 
 Greville. Permit him to pass." They made 
 way in silence. The second man gave us each 
 a tricolored cockade, which, imitating Granson, 
 I set on my coat. 
 
 With other generally well-dressed persons 
 we went up-stairs, Granson saying to me, "The 
 password is Robespierre." I heard it with a 
 sudden sense of the quality of the club. At a 
 door on the second floor a plainly clad man 
 stopped us. "The word," he said. 
 
 ^ 45 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 "Robespierre," replied Granson. I repeated 
 it. 
 
 "Couthon," returned the guard. "Pass on." 
 
 I remembered to have read of Couthon as 
 one of the most atrociously cruel of the Revo- 
 lutionists. 
 
 At once we were in a large, plain, well- 
 lighted room with many windows. Here were 
 seated quite a hundred men, not any, I thought, 
 of the mechanic class. One or two faces I had 
 seen before. It was plain, however, that it was 
 neither a simple bourgeois assembly nor made 
 up of such as I expected to see. 
 
 Over the seat of the president was the tri- 
 color and the red cap of the old republic. I 
 sat down with Granson and looked about me. 
 The president took his chair, and I knew him 
 at once as a noted republican. He said, "Call 
 the roll." A secretary did so, and as one 
 after another responded I recognized some as 
 opponents of the empire and wondered that 
 they were thus allowed to meet. In fact, it 
 was a registered club, as it had to be, but un- 
 
 46 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 der the name of the Historical Society. That 
 it had ulterior purposes I was sure. 
 
 My next surprise followed upon the an- 
 nouncement of my presence and of my election 
 as an honorary member by the council, the 
 name of my voucher, and of my claim to be a 
 Jacobin. It excited much att-ention, as evi- 
 dently unusual. 
 
 "Citizen Greville," said the president, "is 
 therefore a non-resident honorary member." 
 A member, indeed! I was anything but 
 pleased. It was vain to remonstrate. I kept 
 my seat, and no more seemed to be expected of 
 me. There were no such courtesies as in the 
 Royalist club. 
 
 "Very gratifying," murmured Granson. 
 "All here, or nearly all, are descendants of the 
 men of the Revolution. I congratulate you." 
 
 The president, still standing, said: "The 
 latest newly elected member. Citizen Joseph, 
 will now rise. Citizen Joseph. His sponsor 
 is Citizen Granson." 
 
 Granson looked a little bewildered as he 
 47 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 stood up and said: "I have paid his dues for 
 him, but, to his regret, he is not able to attend 
 to-day. He will come to the next meeting, this 
 Citizen Joseph." He chuckled feebly as he sat 
 down. 
 
 "Citizen Joseph, the last elected member, is 
 excused," said the president. "He must be 
 present at the next meeting." 
 
 "Oh, he will come," said Granson. 
 
 The president then went on at some length 
 to say there was other business, and that he 
 had learned with concern that the police were 
 giving too much attention to the club. He 
 therefore warned all present to be cautious, and 
 said that the council would as usual conduct 
 such affairs as needed immediate attention. 
 The club would not meet for some time, and 
 would then be called by trusty messengers to 
 reassemble in another place. Men near me 
 whispered to one another, and seemed dis- 
 turbed by this announcement. An adjourn- 
 ment was moved and there was evidently a 
 desire to get away. 
 
 Granson went with me to the courtyard, 
 48 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 where he detained me while he talked loudly of 
 matters concerning which prudent people in 
 those days did not talk at all. At last, while 
 trying to release myself on the plea of an en- 
 gagement, he said to me, "Did you hear about 
 Citizen Joseph ? I thought you would know." 
 
 "How should I?" 
 
 "Ask him. Citizen ; ask him." I had no least 
 idea of what he meant, but concluding that the 
 excitement of the meeting had entirely upset 
 an ill-balanced mind, I said, "Adieu, Mon- 
 
 sieur." 
 
 "A has les Messieurs!" he cried after me. 
 "Citizen, congratulate Citizen Joseph." 
 
 Looking back, I saw the old man shaking 
 with rhythmic giggling, an unwholesome par- 
 ody of healthy laughter. 
 
 As the Jacobins passed out, he went on talk- 
 ing. One or two smiled, but others, ill pleased, 
 looked at him gravely. As for myself, I felt 
 that I had paid too much for the gratification 
 of a curiosity without reasonable cause. 
 
 Some days went by before there were any 
 sequels to my recently acquired knowledge of 
 
 49 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 clubs. Meanwhile my valet was in an unusual 
 condition of rather melancholy silence. 
 
 One day, while I was eating my breakfast, 
 Alphonse said, "Monsieur will excuse me, but 
 he has seen the Club of Jacobins," 
 
 "How do you know that?" 
 
 "Because monsieur has ceased to talk of it, 
 and because, also, he was seen by the police to 
 enter with M. Granson." 
 
 I did not like it. "Here," thought I, "is con- 
 sequence number one." "Oh, is that all?" I 
 remarked lightly. 
 
 "No, Monsieur. My cousin of the police, 
 who was to report on the meeting, has lost his 
 memory, and monsieur has unfortunately mis- 
 laid three napoleons." 
 
 "Take them out of my porte-monnaie there 
 on the desk." 
 
 "Thanks, sare." He now and then ventured 
 upon English. "May I beg monsieur to be 
 satisfied and go no more to such clubs ? Mon- 
 sieur is aware that I am soon to marry and go 
 to America. The coming of marriage does 
 sober a man, and I know not who will care for 
 
 50 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 zmonsieur when I leave him to the Captain 
 Merton, who is a boy for mischief." 
 
 When Alphonse was serious, he stayed be- 
 hind my chair ; when he became humorous, he 
 -moved into view. 
 
 I said that he might be at ease; that for a 
 time at least I had had enough of clubs, and 
 not even a marriage club would tempt me. 
 
 "Ah," he laughed, "the Two Club— the mar- 
 riage club." And now he came around the 
 table with some manual excuse of his perfect 
 service. "I have given up the police, Mon- 
 sieur. Of course I reported monsieur's visit 
 at the Society of Ancestors. It was of no mo- 
 ment. Now I give up. I have resigned. 
 Marriage is quite police enough for me. The 
 dear women, are they not all spies?" And 
 then in his odd English he added, "It gives to 
 think. Monsieur." 
 
 "Certainly," I said. "Circumstances?" 
 
 "Ah, since I had the honor to rob a house 
 with monsieur, I use not any more that good 
 word which so much explains. I use it no 
 more. I am become exact." 
 
 51 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 "There is the bell," I said. 
 
 "Dame! It is the Captain Merton. First 
 he skirmishes with the bell, then it is war, and 
 the apartment resounds. I go." 
 
 The American entered with M. de la Motte, 
 Merton with his queer look of latent joy at 
 having found something worthy of attention in 
 the life he called dull. The French officer's 
 face had lost its constant smile. 
 
 "You are late if you want breakfast," I said. 
 
 "No," said Merton, as he stood rolling a 
 cigarette; "our friend De la Motte is in trou- 
 ble. I could dispose of it easily, but for him, 
 as he sees it, it is more than grave, and I have 
 brought him here that we might consider the 
 matter from his point of view." 
 
 "Very good," I said; "sit down. I am due 
 at the legation at noon. Until then I am 
 yours." 
 
 "Go on and tell him," said Merton. 
 
 De la Motte, declining a cigar, said : "You 
 who are my friend know of my engagement to 
 Mile. Granson, my cousin. You know, too, 
 her father, who we think is becoming insane 
 
 52 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 and giving, quite too much money to some low 
 kind of democratic club." 
 
 "Possibly Jacobin," I said gaily. 
 
 "Ah, my bet." 
 
 "Yes, I went there with M. Granson." 
 
 "Did you? Indeed!" Then he paused. 
 
 "At your service," I said. "Go on." 
 
 "My uncle told me to-day with the delight 
 of a child that he had had me elected a mem- 
 ber of his sacre Jacobin Club, had generously 
 paid my dues, and expected me to attend their 
 next meeting." 
 
 "Good heavens !" I said. 
 
 "Yes; if it is known, I am ruined. I, an 
 ofificer of the Emperor's Guard, and my aunt 
 the marquise, whose heir I am ! When I said 
 these obvious things to this old fool, he said of 
 course he couldn't think of making trouble: 
 I was quite safe : he had nominated me by my 
 baptismal name." 
 
 "What!" I exclaimed. 
 
 "Ah, mon ami Greville, behold me as Citizen 
 Joseph, a Jacobin." 
 
 Then I remembered. This club business 
 53 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 was to be lasting; my own case was bad 
 enough. 
 
 "I am domiciled, it seems. He was cunning, 
 and gave my address as No. 9, rue de Beau- 
 liere, his own hotel. It is atrocious, hideous! 
 — this crazy old man and his Jacobin Club." 
 
 "Yes, I was there," I returned. 
 
 "You really saw this den of animals ?" 
 
 "Yes, I did. I won my bet, and I am sorry 
 I did. I heard this feeble old man, your uncle, 
 say M. Joseph could not be present, but at an- 
 other meeting would have the honor." 
 
 "Nom de chien, honor! I told him I never 
 would go, that it is a fraud. He was furious. 
 Good-by to everything. It is adieu to my in- 
 come and to my aunt's estate and my cousin." 
 
 The note of despair in the voice of a young, 
 handsome, gallant man was too much for Mer- 
 ton's social charity. "Confound it, man," he 
 cried, as he rose to give emphasis to his advice, 
 "what kind of people are you in France ? Run 
 away with the girl. Give up this Bonaparte 
 service. Go to America. Make a fortune." 
 It was impossible not to laugh, and we did, but 
 
 54 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 Merton said indignantly: "I am in earnest. 
 I don't jest about women. It seems to me all 
 very simple." 
 
 "Simple!" said De la Motte. "Ma foi, is it, 
 indeed. The old man will talk. A single 
 careless word, my real name, and no one will 
 believe that M. Joseph is not a safe cover 
 willingly assumed. It is ruin — ruin." 
 
 I said to Merton: "Our friend is right. 
 He is in a false position and, as a member of 
 the Guillotine Club, he is in a doubly false situ- 
 ation. I may as well tell you that the police 
 are just now uneasy about this Jacobin Club, 
 or so I hear." 
 
 "Alphonse?" queried Merton. 
 
 "Yes, Alphonse." 
 
 *T wish they might be more attentive," re- 
 turned Merton. "That would burst the whole 
 circus. We came to consult you, Greville ; but 
 really I see nothing to do except to wait." 
 
 "No ; you are right. There will be no meet- 
 ing for months, and before that the police may 
 'call them,' as we say at home." 
 
 "It is blissfully funny," laughed Merton. 
 
 55 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 There was no fun in it for the young count. 
 He loved the cavalry, the girl, and his aunt's 
 estate. All three were in peril. "I wish some 
 one would shoot me," he said. 
 
 "Come over and join our cavalry. You will 
 have a fair chance of being shot." 
 
 "I may," said the count, and went away 
 despondent, leaving us alone. 
 
 "He is a trifle disgusting, that young man," 
 said the captain. "He comes to see me every 
 day or two and wants advice. I like him, but 
 one can't vary the dose of advice, and so, to 
 have a consulting doctor, I brought him to you, 
 and now you also tell him to wait." 
 
 "What else is there? It is rather hard." 
 
 "Oh, worse than hard. The old man actu- 
 ally told him that he, De la Motte, had author- 
 ized him to nominate him as M. Joseph. It is 
 of course a delusory belief on the part of an 
 insane, cunning old man with an inventive 
 memory — " 
 
 "Inventive memory is good," I said. "What 
 our friend dreads, what most Frenchmen 
 
 56 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 -would fear, is the laughter of Paris, and Paris 
 -would laugh." 
 
 For two days I was busy at the legation; 
 then came a note. 
 
 I must see you to-night. Will call with the count 
 at ten. There is a delightful tangle. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 Arthur Merton. 
 
 57 
 
IV 
 
 AT the time named, my two friends ap- 
 peared. The count sat down, saying, 
 "Be so good as to tell M. Greville the new and 
 hopeless situation in which my uncle's insane 
 folly has placed me." 
 
 I fancied that the captain rather enjoyed the 
 task thus assigned. "I can make it short." 
 
 "Not too short," I said. 
 
 "Well, it's ancient history. Somewhere 
 about 1814 the Royalists founded this Society 
 of Ancestors. How could there be a Soci- 
 ety of Ancestors? Ghosts of the guillotine it 
 seems. Well, soon afterward, the descendants 
 of Jacobins must have a club. The Royalists 
 met on the day of the death of Louis XVI. 
 Messieurs the Jacobins chose that day to re- 
 joice. This got out. There was a challenge, 
 and some one killed, which did not make for 
 
 58 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 peace. Then other duels resulted. Somehow 
 without being accepted as part of the societies' 
 duties, there grew up the lovely custom of 
 limiting this permanent row to one encounter 
 annually. Then for years this beautiful cus- 
 tom lapsed, or the two clubs at times fell away, 
 and then again became lively, when, as of late, 
 some outside social difference or some word of 
 Jacobin insult revived the custom. Interest- 
 ing, isn't it?" 
 
 "How amazing," I said, "and how well 
 guarded!" 
 
 "Yes, with extreme care. Now for a year 
 or two there have been these singular duels; 
 but as neither club desires to be much en evi- 
 dence, they are formally managed and ar- 
 ranged, but have been of late serious pistol 
 affairs. Is n't it splendid?" 
 
 "It is stupid nonsense," I replied. 
 
 "Wait a little. There is more and better." 
 
 "Mon Dieu, better!" groaned the count. 
 "He said better! This morning my Uncle 
 Granson forwarded to me this official letter, 
 addressed to M. Joseph. I presume, as it was 
 
 4 59 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 not open, that he does not know of its contents. 
 Now, read that." 
 
 "It is immense," murmured my captain. 
 "No adjective describes it." 
 
 His unconcealed joy over the situation evi- 
 dently annoyed the man most concerned. 
 "Oh, read it ! Read it !" he exclaimed. I did. 
 
 The Council of the Club of the Jacobins in- 
 forms Citizen Joseph that, in accordance with cus- 
 tom, as the last-elected Jacobin, he will arrange a 
 non-political occasion of insult to enable him as our 
 representative, to meet the citizen named in the sealed 
 inclosure from the challenging Society of the Guillo- 
 tine. Citizen Joseph will without delay contribute 
 whatever is needed to bring about a hostile meeting. 
 His name and address have as a matter of form been 
 sent to the secretary of the Society of the Guillotine. 
 
 "It 's great," cried Merton; "but wait till you 
 hear the rest. It is complete. Nothing like it 
 ever happened since Chance the banker first 
 dealt the fate cards to man." 
 
 I laughed. "Elaborate description that, a 
 little mixed — chance and fate." 
 
 60 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 "Tried it on De la Motte. He was not in an 
 appreciative mood. But how neat it is, how 
 civilized — the situation, not my poetry ! Great 
 Scott! Greville, think of it! You see De la 
 Motte — I beg your pardon, M. Joseph — is to 
 call on the Royalist challenger, somehow insult 
 him, and get up a mock appetite for killing a 
 man with whom he has no quarrel. That's 
 bad enough, but the sequel! Good heavens! 
 Count, don't look so confoundedly done for! 
 How can I help laughing, Greville? Now 
 read this other note." 
 
 I did. It ran thus : 
 
 The gentlemen of the Society of the Guillotine learn 
 that the persons who constitute your club continue to 
 insult the memory of His Sacred Majesty, Louis XVI, 
 foully murdered, by persistently rejoicing on the an- 
 niversary of his death. They have accordingly ap- 
 pointed by lot a gentleman who will represent the 
 honor of the gentlemen of France, and so arrange as 
 to secure the needed opportunity of meeting the. rep- 
 resentative named in your inclosure. This, our note 
 we trust, will be forwarded by you to the person who 
 acts for you. The gentleman who acts for the So- 
 ciety of the Guillotine is the Count Louis Joseph de 
 
 6i 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 la Motte, Captain of Cavalry in the Imperial Guard, 
 No. 7, rue d'Alger, who is duly instructed as to meet- 
 ing M. Joseph. 
 
 The captain checked my cry of amazement. 
 "Just wait a little. Let's have all the docu-; 
 ments. Here is the direct personal letter — 
 our friend received to-day from this other socie- 
 ty, indorsed, 'Note carefully, and burn this' — 
 
 The President and Council of the Society of the 
 Guillotine confide to you, the Count de la Motte, the 
 honor determined by lot of arranging a hostile meeting 
 with the person named in the letter of the Club of 
 Jacobins, As it is desired that, except in the councils, 
 this matter should not be* known as other than of 
 personal origin, you will so a'r^ispge within a month 
 as to avoid the appearance of brmging into the ruatter 
 either of the clubs. As usual, both parties will choose 
 their seconds outside of the members. 
 
 Louis de La Tour, 
 
 Secretary. 
 For God and the King. 
 
 For a moment I was confused by the com- 
 plexity of the thing, and could only contribute 
 exclamations, while De la Motte sat looking 
 from one to the other of his friends, and Mer- 
 lon gave way to such laughter as few men 
 
 62 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 s 
 
 Jaugh. At last I checked him, seeing how 
 serious it all was for the young count. 
 
 "Oh, don't, Greville !" exclaimed the Ameri- 
 can. "De la Motte and I have talked this 
 thing dead. He will tell you I never so much 
 as smiled. But now — now I must haye my 
 laugh out, man, if I am to be of any use. It 
 is like suppressed gout, fatal." 
 
 "I find it," I said, "too strange for laugh- 
 ter." 
 
 "Yes, yes. But, heavens ! De la Motte, don't 
 look as if your mother-in-law was dead. It is" 
 comic-opera, melodrama — ripe mellow, indeed. 
 Have you quite taken it in, Greville ? Here is 
 one man whom the Puck called Chance makes 
 two men. These two men, who are one man, 
 are each to insult and kill one man, who is two 
 men. Come, who shall begin? It is tragic. 
 You are to have a duel with yourself. You 
 have not even the privilege of suicide; a duel 
 implies two." 
 
 "I shall end with killing myself." 
 
 "Nonsense!" said I. "But now let us seri- 
 ously consider how to get you out of this affair. 
 
 63 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 Let me hear, De la Motte, how it looks to you. 
 Of course, it is sure so far that neither club 
 knows who M. Joseph is." 
 
 "Yes, as yet — as yet. The only ray of com- 
 fort is that my uncle, who did not know of 
 these last challenges when he nominated me, is 
 now wild with terror lest I shall be killed, and 
 has gone out of town to his vineyards in the 
 South. Of course the two councils are pru- 
 dently silent, as is their custom." The count 
 seemed relieved at being taken seriously. 
 
 "Go on," said Merton. "Get Greville inside 
 this maze, and see how he can find a way out. 
 I can't. I end by laughing. I should laugh 
 if I were to be married. Go on." 
 
 The count made a weak attempt to smile. 
 "My aunt would not leave me a penny if she 
 knew I were — ah, mon Dieu! — a Jacobin. My 
 uncle is appalled into silence. I cannot resign 
 from either club without disgrace. I cannot 
 explain without both clubs feeling insulted. I 
 should have a dozen aflfairs on my hands. I 
 can't — I can't — Diable! How can M. Joseph 
 insult the Count de la Motte? Or I insult me? 
 
 64 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 It is like some maddening dream." He 
 laughed and seemed to me a trifle hysterical. 
 
 "Where now is the advice?" said Merton to 
 me. 
 
 "Upon my word, it is nowhere." 
 
 De la Motte sat still, regarding with a kind 
 of malignant satisfaction the obvious fact that 
 I had, like Merton himself, been beaten by the 
 remorseless logic of the situation. I consid- 
 ered how it would answer to do this or that. 
 To each suggestion there was a sufficing nega- 
 tive. At last I said: "Suppose you do noth- 
 ing, and your month goes by. What then?" 
 
 "Both clubs would seek explanations. I — 
 what can I — what could I say?" 
 
 "It is bewildering," I said. "Is it permitted 
 to speak of this to M. Blanchelande?" 
 
 "Oh, never. That is not to be thought of." 
 As we talked over this amazing situation, Cap- 
 tain Merton sat silent at my desk, smoking, 
 and seemed to me to be stating the case in 
 equations. In fact he was merely yielding to 
 one of the habits into which thinking men fall 
 while deeply cogitating, and was idly writing 
 
 6s 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 numbers here and there on the page of a blot- 
 ter. At last he threw down the pencil and 
 swinging round said with decision, "If I were 
 in this trap, I should tell the whole pack of 
 fools to go to — well, Hades." 
 
 "Heroic American commonplace," said I. 
 "We are in France." 
 
 "So it seems. It is as interesting as a 
 charade. These societies have no relation that 
 is not hostile. Count?" 
 
 "None, of course. Absolutely none." 
 
 "Very good. Let M. Joseph report to the 
 Jacobins that having personally insulted his 
 chosen antagonist, that is you, he cannot get a 
 fight out of him. You see, De la Motte, you 
 have only to call yourself a fool, or worse, 
 which you at least may feel at liberty to do. 
 You can also write to the other fellows, the 
 Royalists, that so far you have been quite un- 
 able to find the person whose name as respon- 
 dent has been sent to you by the Jacobin Club, 
 with a false address. All this is true. Any- 
 thing," said Merton, "to gain time." 
 
 I laughed great laughter at the new, doubly 
 66 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 comic situation this would create, while the 
 captain insisted that it would let our man out, 
 and fill both clubs with joy at the humiliation 
 presumably inflicted on their hereditary foes. 
 "There, that is all of my wisdom," said the 
 American. "A cigar, please." 
 
 The count's look of puzzled earnestness evi- 
 dently amused my captain, for whom it was all 
 a gigantic joke, and of course also a matter 
 which might at any time become grave — ^with- 
 out which possibility even the humor would for 
 him have lacked something. 
 
 We talked it over endlessly, my own advice 
 being to confess to both councils in confidence. 
 To this neither De la Motte nor Merton would 
 listen. Finally we decided to send the two 
 letters. They were composed with care and 
 duly delivered. Any replies for the count were 
 to be sent by the council of the Society of An- 
 cestors to my care as his second, and letters to 
 M. Joseph from the Jacobins were to be called 
 for at M. Granson's. The American captain 
 continuously enjoyed the new situation, and so 
 having played our cards, we waited. 
 
 67 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 The captain said to me one night, — it was 
 late, I remember, — "I have found Paris pretty 
 slow since we closed out that diplomatic adven- 
 ture, and really I have seen until now nothing 
 to equal our Porthos and Aramis. Will they 
 answer one another or the count?" 
 
 As we talked, De la Motte came in. He was 
 always coming in just now. Overhearing us, 
 he said : "I can gratify your curiosity. Read 
 that." 
 
 THE CLUB OF THE JACOBINS 
 
 Citizen Joseph is informed that this is not the only 
 occasion when the Royalists have shown cowardice. 
 The citizen will be further advised. Caution is need- 
 ful, as the police are troubling the Jacobin Club. 
 
 "So I, the Count de la Motte, am a coward! 
 Mon Dieu!" said he. 
 
 "On your own evidence," laughed Merton. 
 "It gets funnier every minute. To-day it does 
 appear to have reached the earthly maximum 
 of the droll. To-morrow it will be somewhere 
 in the fourth dimension of the comic. If you 
 
 68 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 could only just laugh at it, Count, you would 
 feel better." 
 
 "I find it anything but laughable," said the 
 count. 
 
 "Well," I said, "you are right; it is not alto- 
 gether a mere jest of fate. To-day it is comic 
 enough, to-morrow we may find it anything but 
 amusing." 
 
 "What of the other club?" asked Merton. 
 
 "I have here," I replied, "the letter from the 
 Ancestors sent to my care. Let us hear it." 
 
 De la Motte opened it, and read it aloud : 
 
 The Secretary of the Society of Ancestors has re- 
 ceived the letter of the Count de la Motte. The 
 council has sent to the Jacobin Club a statement of 
 the contents with, as usual, no mention of names. 
 Their council state in a note that you, Monsieur, have 
 been grossly insulted, and will not fight, of course a 
 lie which you will deal with to your satisfaction when 
 you are able to discover this man. 
 
 "What a delicious tangle!" said Merton. 
 "What next? If I am correct, the Jacobins 
 are a bit uneasy because of the police. Yes. 
 
 69 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 That was plain. Just wait a little." Merton 
 reflected in silence, the count studying him 
 with some confidence that he would find an 
 exit from this maze. At last the American 
 officer said decisively, "We want time, but how 
 to get it?" 
 
 "Why time?" I asked. 
 
 "Because — well, something may cause this 
 Jacobin Club to be rounded up. Nothing is 
 more likely or — ^by Jove ! De la Motte, here 's 
 a priceless idea: you could get smallpox or 
 typhoid fever — ^be in bed a month." 
 
 "What, I? Back out? Avoid a fight— " 
 
 "What, with yourself, De la Motte? You 
 ought to, you must, in sonte decent way, dis- 
 appear for a few weeks." 
 
 "I ought to disappear forever or kill some- 
 body. Here is my own club thinking me — oh 
 — ^me, M. Joseph, afraid, and that club of ver- 
 min believes that I, the Count de la Motte, am 
 a coward, and — I — I — I think I shall go mad." 
 
 "That would perhaps, answer," said Mer- 
 ton, "if well managed, but the fun would be at 
 an end. And there would have to be an ex- 
 
 70 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 planation, the thing of all others to avoid. 
 Disappear, my dear friend." 
 
 The count fell back in his chair, the figure 
 of despair. "How can I ? Is it I, M. Joseph, 
 or De la Motte, who is to disappear? Mon 
 Dieu!" 
 
 We continued our talk after he left us. 
 "You are right, Merton, about the police," I 
 said. "Blanchelande was here to-day, and 
 tells me the Guillotine Society has been warned, 
 whatever that may mean." 
 
 "Humph!" said Merton,. "is that so? By 
 Jove ! I mean to see this game played out." 
 
 "Of course; and we must somehow get our 
 friend out of his scrape. But why, Merton, 
 are you so incautious ? Alphonse has been in 
 and out, and you go on talking as if we were 
 discussing a play at the theater." 
 
 "My dear Greville, you may be sure that 
 fellow knows all about it. The other business 
 was far more serious, and you know how use- 
 ful Alphonse was. I want to talk to him. 
 Oh, not now. Send him to me at ten to- 
 
 morrow." 
 
 71 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 "Yes, if you wish it." I had my doubts con- 
 cerning this consultation. The captain's 
 methods were, as I knew, somewhat radical. 
 Before we parted, he asked in a casual way if 
 there had been any personal pledges exacted 
 of those present at either club. I said no. 
 
 "I — see. The police will, I trust, relieve us ; 
 but time is what is needed. Don't forget Al- 
 phonse. I wonder what the next act will be — 
 'How to become Twins' ? Good-by." 
 
 72 
 
AFTER breakfast the next day I saw noth- 
 ing of my valet until evening. He came 
 in, arranged my clothes, and disappeared. At 
 breakfast the following day I thought it well 
 to investigate. 
 
 "So you saw the captain, Alphonse? He 
 kept you busy all day, I presume." 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur. He is in a very good 
 humor, as he was that night in the rain. Well, 
 he told me that I knew all about this affair of 
 M. the Count de la Motte. I could but say 
 the captain has an open-air voice, very good 
 for cavalry orders, easy to hear." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "He said he would tell me the whole busi- 
 ness, if it was not clear to me. I said it was 
 not needed. Then he said the Jacobin Club 
 was objectionable; he was informed it would 
 lave to meet elsewhere. If thd police knew 
 
 7^ 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 that — You see, Monsieur, the captain is an 
 innocent person. If he had known that I had 
 a cousin on the police, he would not have said 
 such things. But you see, he has a confidence 
 in human nature, and is of a liberal nature, a 
 thing most agreeable to my cousin." 
 
 The valet's face was as a mask. What else 
 passed between the captain and this delightful, 
 trustworthy scamp I desired not to know. 
 
 After a brief silence he added, "It may be 
 weeks." 
 
 "What else?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing. Monsieur." 
 
 As the days of the next week went by, De 
 la Motte uneasily shuttle-cocked, as Merton 
 said, between our rooms until I, believing the 
 thing at an end, was rather bored. 
 
 On Saturday I heard Merton's matchless 
 laughter as returning from the Odeon I en- 
 tered my rooms. He was alone. 
 
 "Well," I said, "what now?" Few men 
 laugh outright when alone. "What's up 
 now ?" 
 
 "Oh, it is becoming sweetly simple. The 
 
 74 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 Jacobins desire M. Joseph to make the neces- 
 sary insult physically such as he may find 
 agreeably productive of a row, I like the way 
 they put it. The Royalists do not report ex- 
 cept to say they have again written, denying 
 the slander concerning their man. Both clubs 
 consider some abrupt and specific action de- 
 sirable. It is a sort of mutual hornet's nest, 
 both swarms furious. This young fellow is in 
 a state of panic. He will presently do some- 
 thing rash. I see a rather carefully worded 
 article in 'Le Temps' about clubs and secret 
 societies." 
 
 "Well," I said, "I am getting rather bored 
 with these societies and our hopeless young 
 count. Not the ingenuity of Dumas could 
 answer these last notes. He is at his wit's 
 end." 
 
 "There is more end to mine," said Merton, 
 "and to tell you the truth, in this slow town I 
 am enjoying the position of counselor in this 
 mess. Are you going' to Baron St. Pierre's 
 this afternoon?" 
 
 "Yes," said I. "I will call for you." 
 
 ' 75 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 "Do," he returned. "All of the best fencers 
 in Paris will be there. We are to play our club 
 against the army men." Since his duel with 
 Porthos, a passionate lover of the foil, he had 
 become of unusual competence. 
 
 "Will De la Motte be there?" he added. 
 
 "Yes, he is sure to be." 
 
 A gayer scene than the garden back of the 
 baron's chateau on this sunny afternoon could 
 not be found. Welcomed by the host in the 
 house, we passed out into and through the 
 garden. Beyond it, within a semicircle of tall 
 box, was a grassy space, and about it were 
 chairs and little tables with refreshments. 
 The scene was gay with undress uniforms and 
 well-clad men, devotees of the foil. 
 
 De la Motte and others spoke to us as we 
 strolled about and watched the pairs of fencers 
 on the green. About four, we sat down and 
 saw with interest the prearranged matches. 
 Before five o'clock the army had lost the match. 
 Bets were paid and gay challenges given and 
 accepted, the temporary judges, of whom De 
 
 76 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 la Motte was one, deciding as to the winners 
 in these manly games. 
 
 Then, to my amusement, I saw the Ameri- 
 can captain's athletic figure matched against 
 our old acquaintance the colonel — ^Aramis, as 
 we called him. He was well known to me as 
 one of the best blades in France, but the 
 American was younger and of amazing quick- 
 ness. I saw the couple engage and saw, too, 
 very soon that on the part of Aramis there was 
 some vexed remembrance of an unpleasant 
 past. The button on the foil does not insure 
 good temper, and presently I observed, as did 
 other experts, that both men were too much in 
 earnest. As they fell back after a bout, the 
 French gentleman a little flushed, the captain 
 smiling, something which I did not hear was 
 said by De la Motte about the match. I under- 
 stood him to have decided a disputed point in 
 favor of the French colonel. 
 
 To the amazement of all within earshot, 
 Captain Merton said abruptly in a loud voice, 
 "That is not true." Had we been alone, a 
 
 77 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 word about hasty speech and an apology would 
 have settled the matter; but here, overheard 
 by a group of brother-officers, the reply was 
 unavoidable. De la Motte went up to Merton 
 and said with quiet courtesy, "I may, indeed, I 
 surely have misunderstood your words. An 
 apology — the simplest will answer, a word — " 
 
 "1 do not make apologies." 
 
 There was a murmur of disapprobation, 
 while the captain, entirely undisturbed, stood 
 still. When the unfortunate reply to De la 
 Motte's appeal was made, I hurriedly left a 
 group, seeing Merton as it were without the 
 support he certainly did not deserve. "This 
 way," I said to him, drawinjg him aside. 
 "Cannot this be helped? It is easy to end it; 
 a word will answer. You have both given 
 such proofs of courage as will quiet criticism." 
 
 "My dear Greville, it is going to be helped. 
 I shall have no occasion to have made my will. 
 Droll, is n't it? Fourth act." 
 
 I neither liked nor understood it. I made 
 no rejoinder, for now the reasonable counsel 
 of postponement having failed, and the 
 
 78 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 younger men and the count insisting on imme-' 
 diate action, his seconds, Major Leuret and 
 the baron, asked who were Captain Merton's 
 friends. The American captain turned to me 
 at once, and then, to my astonishment, to 
 Aramis, who accepted. Amid the ominous 
 silence which fell on this gay crowd, I had a 
 word with my principal, asking for instruc- 
 tions. 
 
 "No apology," said he to me sternly, "and 
 swords, as of course we have the choice of 
 weapons." 
 
 With the other seconds I went into the 
 chateau. No attempt at a peaceable ending 
 was even hinted. My proposal of swords was 
 accepted, and weapons were selected from 
 Baron St. Pierre's armory. I was distressed 
 beyond measure, because not only were both 
 men my friends, but I felt ashamed of the be- 
 havior of Merton, whose courteous ways had 
 everywhere made him a favorite. 
 
 As I came out with the dueling-swords under 
 my arm, every one drew back, and the voices 
 fell away. The two men stripped to the waist 
 
 79 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 turned toward us. The American was quiet 
 and smiled faintly as he received his blade. I 
 thought De la Motte looked uneasy and a little 
 flushed. It seemed to me a most outrageous 
 affair. 
 
 Then Major Leuretand I took each a sword 
 and stepped aside. The baron, turning, said 
 to his guests, "Now, gentlemen, I need not ask 
 for absolute silence." 
 
 The major said: "En garde, messieurs. 
 AUez!" 
 
 De la Motte attacked with instant fury and 
 the extreme of imprudence. Merton was cool, 
 careful, and watchful. I had become expert 
 with the foil, and knew very quickly that he 
 was not using his advantages^ He was in 
 splendid condition, and the other man was 
 clearly not so, and began at the close of the 
 second bout to show, signs of, fatigue. 
 
 The captain parried in tierce, and, riposting, 
 to speak technically, thrust quickly, his sword 
 passing through the outside of the count's 
 right arm below the shoulder. The count's 
 sword dropped, hanging from his limp hand, 
 
 80 
 
EN GARDE, MESSIEURS 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 the blood running freely down his bare arm as 
 he stood awaiting our decision, flushed, pant- 
 ing, and looking from one to the other. 
 
 The silence was unbroken as De Leuret 
 called a regimental surgeon, who put on a tem- 
 porary dressing and said, as he turned to us, 
 a few words which forced us as the seconds 
 to conclude the affair at an end. 
 
 De la Motte went away with the surgeon 
 and his major. I said to Merton, "We had 
 better go." 
 
 "Of course I only waited for you to give the 
 signal." With this he said in passing a word 
 of thanks to the colonel we called Aramis, and, 
 taking my arm, walked across the garden 
 through groups of gentlemen, who ceased to 
 speak as we approached, and were evidently 
 by no means pleased with my principal. He 
 went with me quietly, not the least disturbed. 
 At the door he shook hands with the baron, 
 saying to me as we passed out : "Your rooms, 
 Greville. I want to talk to you." I saw that 
 he did not wish to speak for a time, and al- 
 though I was indignant at his loss of temper 
 
 83 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 and what it had cost, I held my tongue until 
 we were seated in my salon. Then I said, 
 "Why did you of all men lose your temper and 
 insult that good fellow ?" 
 
 "Well, now, Greville, for an American I did 
 expect something better of you." 
 
 "What do you mean ?" 
 
 "Yesterday these cursed Jacobins sent M. 
 Joseph a statement to the effect that his report 
 of having insulted his Royalist was denied, and 
 he must at once proceed to extremities or ex- 
 plain to the council. This morning the Guil- 
 lotine Club informed him that he was invited 
 to state to M. Blanchelande what further had 
 passed between him and the lying Jacobin. 
 We were thus invited to explode comic fire- 
 works for Paris." 
 
 "Well," I said, "what has all this got to do 
 with your very unpleasant and needless quar- 
 rel?" 
 
 "Unpleasant, certainly. Needless? No. 
 The man is half-crazy. He can't kick him- 
 self. These two fool clubs have 'called him,' 
 and he holds no hand. Oh, I beg your pardon ; 
 
 84 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 he has two of a kind, after a fashion, much of 
 a kind. Jolly idea. You are not usually slow. 
 For a little sword-wound this gentleman is out 
 of a ruinous scrape." 
 
 "But, Merton, it was outrageous." 
 
 "Oh, perhaps; but now a note to Blanche- 
 lande from you as second will satisfy the An- 
 cestors that the Count de la Motte is off the 
 list of possible duelists for a good while to 
 come. As for the Jacobins, I do not know. 
 My hope lies with Alphonse and the police. 
 You were rather full in your revelations to 
 me." 
 
 "But you did not—" 
 
 "Yes, I did. Where the deuce are your 
 cigarettes? I must see De la Motte, and 
 
 soon." 
 
 "See him ! He will never forgive you." 
 "Then he will be a fool and an ungrateful 
 
 fool. But see him yourself and set his mind 
 
 at ease. Now, don't look at me that way. 
 
 Wasn't it delightful? Couldn't negotiate 
 
 smallpox ; had to take next best." 
 
 I fell back in my chair. He was right, of 
 
 85 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 course. The audacity of the thing, the cool 
 adjustment of a dreadful difficulty by means 
 like these, the risks, the opprobrium caused by 
 seeming ill temper and insult, I do not think 
 troubled the captain for a moment. 
 He said, "You think it abominable." 
 "Frankly, yes. I do." 
 "Well, put it the other way. You were at 
 the end of your resources, I almost, and this 
 man half-crazed. I do a minor surgical op- 
 eration, and presto! the patient is cured. At 
 all events, we gain time. The fact is, Greville, 
 you are cross on account of my apparent be- 
 havior. Now I must go ; but if any one — " 
 "Oh, by George ! no more duels." 
 "Well, let them rage. Good-by." 
 I inquired next day for De la Motte, and 
 learned that he was doing well, but declined to 
 see me. Two days later I called, and was so 
 persistent that he sent me word that I might 
 come up to his room. His apartments were in 
 a small hotel in the rue d' Alger and were very 
 modest and simple. As I approached his bed- 
 side, he said: "You have forced me to see 
 
 86 
 
Missing Page 
 
Missing Pac 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 you, but why, Monsieur, I cannot comprehend. 
 I beg of you to be brief. Pray be seated." 
 
 "I came," said I, "because as your friend and 
 Captain Merton's some explanation — " 
 
 He broke in angrily. "Some explanation. 
 Monsieur? A man insults me as if with in- 
 tention, and presents me, besides, with this 
 sacre wound. I had no idea the thing hurt so 
 much." There was a good deal of the boy 
 about this very pleasant young soldier. 
 "Dame!" and he groaned. 
 
 "But, my dear Count, did it never occur to 
 you that what you desired, that Some one would 
 shoot you, has virtually comie about ? I mean 
 that you are literally hors de combat for 
 months, and that a note to M. Blanchelande 
 from me will relieve you of the necessity of 
 kicking M. Joseph or explaining what you can't 
 explain." 
 
 "Mon Dieu, that is so. I thought of that 
 last night." 
 
 "Might you not also have realized that for 
 a trivial wound — " 
 
 'Trivial! I wish you had it. I can't turn 
 89 
 
 Itr 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 over on that side, and I always sleep on my 
 right side." Then I laughed, and so did he. 
 
 "Trivial, I insist. For a slight wound, you 
 have escaped being the jest of every club and 
 gazette in Paris as the man who was two men 
 and was expected to kick himself. Some clever 
 brute would make a neat little lever de rideau 
 for the Odeon — " 
 
 "I would kill him." 
 
 "You can't kill all Paris when it laughs 
 unanimously." 
 
 He groaned. "Excuse me, that shoulder!" 
 
 "Why," said I, "do you suppose a courteous, 
 honorable man doubted your, word, your de- 
 cision, so — ^well, so brutally and with no rea- 
 son to do so." 
 
 "Lost his temper, I presume." 
 
 "What, this man? Oh, no. And he might 
 have ended your duel easily three or four 
 times. You are no match for him. He 
 played with you." 
 
 "Sacri! But why?" 
 
 "Perhaps he meant to do you the friendly 
 90 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 service of presenting you with three weeks in 
 bed." 
 
 "Incredible." 
 
 "But true. That man is your friend.'* 
 "Mon Dieu! Is this really so? What a 
 man! Has he said so? Come, honestly?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You Americans are singular people." 
 "You have a slight wound. He has more 
 or less accepted in your service the conse- 
 quences of what he said to you in the garden. 
 He neither can nor will explain to these gentle- 
 men. To do so would be impossible. Now, 
 who is the worse wounded, you, his friend, 
 or he?" 
 
 The count was silent. "Any arrangement 
 with you for a mock duel would have been for 
 gentlemen out of the question. He took the 
 risks for himself and you. No, do not answer 
 me, but read this letter from Merton." 
 "Have the kindness to open it for me." 
 I did so, and gave it to him. I had already 
 seen it. There were two notes : 
 
 91 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 My dear Friend: We were at a crisis, and I took 
 the one way to get you over it. You could not sham 
 sick or explain or, in fact, do anything. You must 
 forgive me, and use as seems best the inclosed letter. 
 
 lYours truly, 
 
 Arthur Merton. 
 
 The other note ran thus : 
 
 My dear Count: I beg of you to receive my most 
 humble apology for my display of bad temper and 
 to express my regret at the consequences. You are 
 at liberty to show this to any of the gentlemen who 
 were present. I have already apologized to the baron 
 our host. I have the honor to be 
 
 Yours, etc. 
 
 "St. Denis ! but your captain is a gentleman 
 of the best. Ask him to come and see me." 
 
 "I will, and you must not get well too soon. 
 Your uncle is anxious, and is both silent and 
 scared, no bad thing. Mile. Rosalie is in tears ; 
 altogether you ought not to be an unhappy 
 young man." 
 
 "Well, you have brought me some sunshine, 
 but I am what you call bored. My aunt calls, 
 but cannot mount the stairs. Do come soon 
 again — and Merton." 
 
 92 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUR " 
 
 "I think you want better care. I will let 
 you have Alphonse for a week or so." 
 
 "Delightful. He is most amusing, and at 
 the Guillotine Club is our servant, as you saw." 
 
 "Yes; he will enliven you. By the way, he 
 knows pretty much all there is to know about 
 this embroglio." 
 
 "Indeed." 
 
 "Yes; but you may trust him. He was in 
 and through a very perilous adventure with 
 Merton and me some time ago, and showed 
 courage and discretion. No one will hear of 
 the duel of M. Joseph and Count de la Motte 
 from Alphonse." 
 
 "Thank you, and do send him soon." 
 
 A note from me to M. Blanchelande, speak- 
 ing casually of this unfortunate duel, termi- 
 nated the count's hostile relation to M. Joseph 
 the Jacobin. I, as a Jacobin, also visited M. 
 Granson, the too busy uncle, now again in 
 Paris, and so alarmed him that he reported to 
 the Jacobin Club that his friend M. Joseph had 
 changed his lodgings, and had probably left 
 Paris. It was sadly to be feared, he added, 
 
 93 
 
'^-THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 that M. Joseph had no mind to a serious en- 
 counter with the angfy respondent of the Guil- 
 lotine Club. 
 
 I went away next day to Marseilles on lega- 
 tion business and was gone a week. On my re- 
 turn I found the count still in bed, but patient 
 enough. 
 
 Once or twice a day Alphonse came to care 
 for me and my rooms, and always was present 
 at breakfast. I soon saw that he was eager 
 to talk, but knew that he would as usual wait 
 for me to invite the outflow. Sometimes he 
 was exasperatingly silent, and sometimes quite 
 too free of speech concerning what he saw or 
 heard. 
 
 I said, one morning, "Alphonse, are there no 
 other clubs ?" 
 
 He moved around the table so as to face me. 
 "Clubs! Mon Dieu! I want for monsieur 
 and his friends no more clubs. The Jacobin 
 vermin have gone, broken up." 
 
 "Why not before?" 
 
 "The police is, as Providence, patient. My 
 
 cousin — " 
 
 94 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB^ 
 
 "Ah, your cousin of the police." 
 
 "The captain desired to know him. The rest 
 came of monsieur's amiabiHty." 
 
 "Mine? What do you mean — my amiabil- 
 ity?" 
 
 "Yes, sare." 
 
 "Stuff ! Don't try your English on me." 
 
 'Yes, sare. Monsieur may remember that 
 having been, to my grief, a visitor at this low 
 club, he did say to the captain they were un- 
 easy and would meet elsewhere, and caution 
 was mentioned as desirable. Monsieur did 
 think there was too much politics and perhaps 
 foolish plots of which M. Granson hinted." 
 
 "Well, what then?" 
 
 "The captain saw my cousin. He is in 
 much favor with the superior police. My 
 cousin, alas! loves money. The rest is mys- 
 tery — circumstances. Monsieur — some arrests. 
 The Captain Merton is amazed — ^bored when 
 things go quietly." 
 
 "Well, go on." 
 
 "The club is dead. M. Joseph — ah, the poor 
 Joseph he is in bed. He has also left Paris. 
 ' 95 
 
^ THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 He is no more. Which of him is dead I know 
 not. There should be obsequies, funeral for 
 M. Joseph departed this life, to the joy of the 
 Count de la Motte. When I did tell him, he 
 gave me a napoleon, because he was pleased 
 when I proposed to him, as the surviving rel- 
 ative of M. Joseph, to send out letters de faire 
 part I did tell the captain, but he said to go 
 to the devil, which is not needed, for he too 
 often come to the captain. Pardon, Monsieur, 
 I mean to me. When I thus mourned over M. 
 Joseph, the count gave me another napoleon, 
 and ordered champagne for his dinner." 
 
 Thus, enlightened by Alphonse and some- 
 what annoyed, I asked Captain Merton what 
 use he had made of my careless statement in 
 regard to my brother Jacobins, he said his 
 memory was bad, and declined to confess. W* 
 seemed, to the regret of the captain, to be now 
 done with the complications of our friend's 
 dual personality; but his aunt was still uncom- 
 fortable in regard to the count's engagement. 
 To the amusement of Merton and myself, Al- 
 
 96 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 phonse was the means of adjusting this mat- 
 ter. 
 
 The third week after the duel in the garden, 
 Merton and I were at breakfast in his rooms in 
 the rue du Roi de Rome when Alphonse ap- 
 peared with a note from Count de la Motte. 
 
 The captain read it aloud : 
 
 My dear Merton: Come in to-morrow. My aunt, 
 the Marquise de Chatelet, has written to me that she 
 is much pleased to have learned of my gallant con- 
 duct in an abortive affair with a wretch belonging to 
 the Club of Jacobins, but hopes I will now marry and 
 have no more duels. There may have been of late 
 expenses, she writes, of doctors, etc., and incloses a 
 handsome cheque. Also, Mademoiselle Rosalie is to 
 be taken to see her to-morrow, which will end a long 
 family quarrel. Congratulate me. I do not quite un- 
 derstand how she came to hear of the Jacobin muddle. 
 It revives a little my uneasiness. I hoped it dead and 
 buried. 
 
 Merton looked up. "Alphonse, you rascal, 
 you have been taking notes to madame the 
 aunt." 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 97 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 "Tell us all about it." 
 
 "If my master permits." 
 
 "Oh, go on. What have you been doing 
 now ?" 
 
 "Two days ago I was to bring an answer 
 from the marquise to a note, and was bid to go 
 up-stairs. Monsieur has seen the lady?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "She is of great size. There is much of her. 
 She said: 'You are by the kindness of M. 
 Greville caring for the count. A miserable 
 business, most regrettable.' 'Ah, Madame,' I 
 say, 'there might have been a worse, only — ' 
 and I stopped. 
 
 "Madame says, 'Go on,' and I, 'Ah, Madame 
 may not know that because my grandfather 
 sheltered his master he was guillotined, and I 
 am at times a servant of the Society of Ances- 
 tors, and so chance to know of the -lamentable 
 duels with the low-born Jacobin Club. The 
 count was chosen to represent the Royalist 
 club in an affair, and when the Jacobin was. 
 not easy to insult I know not what the count 
 did to that miserable man. No one does know. 
 
 98 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 The count is reticent, like all the brave. It 
 was one of the name of Joseph — a M. Joseph. 
 He would not think of pistols, that man. He 
 is gone — fled. Even as far as America he is 
 gone, Madame, and — and now it seems that the 
 police has dispersed the Club of Jacobins.' 
 
 "When I told her this, the old lady stood up. 
 She is as the column in the Place Vendome for 
 height. She said: 'The Lord be praised! 
 And so the Jacobin ran away?' 
 
 "I said, 'Yes, else the count would have killed 
 him — that poor Joseph.' 
 
 "After that she said, 'You seem rather too 
 well informed.' 
 
 "I ventured to say madame la marquise must 
 know that servants hear and see many things. 
 I think she agreed with me, but all she said 
 was, 'Some of these things were better not 
 talked about.' Then she asked, 'What did my 
 nephew do to that Jacobin animal?' I said: 
 *I know not all. M. le Comte is not one who 
 talks of himself: M. Joseph was not a gentle- 
 man. He may have kicked him. The person 
 -was, madame perceives, difficult to be insulted, 
 
 99 
 
THE GUILLOTINE CLUB 
 
 like those of his kind. Monsieur found it nec- 
 essary to be demonstrative.' " 
 
 "Great Scott!" said Merton. "What else?" 
 
 "The lady wrote a note to the count, and I 
 think it was of a nature to please. Then she 
 gave me a napoleon, and I am sorry it is all 
 over. It was productive." 
 
 "You are a man of genius, Alphonse." 
 
 "Merci, Monsieur." 
 
 "I, too, am sorry it is over," said Captain 
 Merton. "And now again Paris will be dull. 
 What about the club of thieves, Greville?" 
 
 "No more clubs for me," I said. 
 
 100 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 A STORY OF THIRTEEN AT TABLE 
 
 '"r\0 try to come home early this evening," 
 JL/ said Mrs. Woodburn, as she sat at break- 
 fast. 
 
 "Yes, yes, my dear ; certainly," her husband 
 said in an absent way, the morning paper he 
 was glancing over being between them. Then 
 aware that he had heard without clearly under- 
 standing, and being a man with perfect marital 
 manners, he laid the paper aside as he said: 
 "Pardon me. You were saying, my dear — " 
 
 "I meant to say that I am a little nervous 
 »bout this dinner. I did say that I hoped you 
 (vould come home early because, if anything 
 happens — " 
 
 "But what can happen?" he asked, ignoring 
 103 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 the state of mind in which any such mild enter- 
 prise as a formal dinner always found the mis- 
 tress of their well-ordered household. Ex- 
 perienced middle age, ample means, and un- 
 questioned social place had not sufficed, as he 
 knew, to set her mind at ease. 
 
 "What can happen?" he repeated, as he 
 cracked an egg-shell. "Your dinners are al- 
 ways pleasant. Why do you worry yourself ?" 
 
 "You know, Harry, I never worry; but I am 
 a little anxious when we have fourteen. Some 
 one is sure to fall out just at the last minute." 
 
 "Has it ever happened — ^to us, I mean?" 
 
 "No; but it might." 
 
 "Of all the absurd superstitious survivals, 
 this does seem to me the maddest." 
 
 "Of course; but it does survive. I have it, 
 and so have a good many people who have hot 
 the courage to admit it." 
 
 "That is no doubt true, and of course one 
 does have to consider anything that may make 
 a guest uncomfortable. You are quite right. 
 But now I must go. I saw that you had a let- 
 ter from Sarah." 
 
 104 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 "Yes. She finds Albany pleasant and gay, 
 and her aunts delighted to have her. I wish 
 she were here." 
 
 "Still uneasy? Well, I shall be at home 
 early in case of trouble about that fourteenth 
 man or woman. How is your stenographer 
 doing? You have had her three days. Is she 
 useful?" 
 
 "She is very well dressed," said Mrs. Wood- 
 burn, inconsequently. 
 
 Her husband laughed. 
 
 "What a feminine criticism! But is the 
 young woman what you wanted?" He knew 
 that her household was well managed, but at 
 cost of too much toil, due to his wife's want of 
 method. She, too, lamenting what her inca- 
 pacity cost her, was quite unable to correct the 
 evil. When her husband had insisted on her 
 using his stenographer, she had been amazed, 
 as are such natures, at the, accuracy and easy 
 business ways of the highly competent secre- 
 tary. She had now, as she answered him, one 
 of the outbursts of enthusiasm to which un- 
 stable feminine temperaments are subject. She 
 
 105 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 had little humor and in large and small mat- 
 ters she lacked sense of proportion; for inevi- 
 tably these two defects exist together. 
 
 "Harry, she is wonderful \" 
 
 "Oh, hardly that." 
 
 "Yes, invaluable! A very remarkable per- 
 son. Oh, you may smile, — it was so like a man 
 to smile, — I always want to stop when people 
 smile." 
 
 "My dear, it is one of the forms of social 
 punctuation — useful at times." 
 
 "I really don't understand you, Harry. 
 Miss Smith is invaluable. She writes a lady- 
 like hand, and for the first time in years my 
 check-book balances to a penny. She is here 
 on the stroke of five, and — " 
 
 "What a lesson in punctuality, my dear! I 
 must say for the young woman that, except- 
 ing Mr. Ware, she is the best stenographer in 
 our office. She does not talk unless addressed, 
 and has a kind of reserve not always found in 
 the office woman of her occupation." 
 
 "I confess she puzzles me a little." 
 
 "I am not surprised. She came to us with 
 1 06 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 high commendation from the Union Business 
 College. Mr. Eyton said in his private an- 
 swer to my application that she had one draw- 
 back — she was too strikingly handsome." 
 
 "I should not speak of her as striking in any 
 way," said Mrs. Woodburn. 
 
 Again her husband smiled. 
 
 "And I should. But men and women rarely 
 agree about a woman's looks. This girl's 
 ways — her behavior — are the more important 
 matter. What my head clerk calls her busi- 
 ness manners are all one could desire. She is 
 quiet, industrious, accurate, and calmly repel- 
 lent when any of the juniors speak to her of 
 anything but her work. Certainly she is hand- 
 some." 
 
 "Is she your own stenographer?" 
 
 "Yes," he replied, slightly annoyed. 
 
 "Of course I had some little introductory 
 talk with her the first day you sent her here. 
 I thought her rather self-possessed for so young 
 a woman. I suppose that she may be about 
 twenty-seven ; but it is only a guess." 
 
 "Oh, younger, much younger, I fancy. 
 107 
 

 THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 Have you never observed, my dear, that one 
 handsome woman is apt to set the age of an- 
 other rather in advance of the fact?" 
 
 "There is no fact in this case unless you 
 asked her." 
 
 "Thanks, Madam," he said, laughing. 
 This witness did not ask. Did you?" 
 I did not — that is, not directly. She was 
 uncommunicative. In fact, she has amazingly 
 self-protective manners." 
 
 "Not a bad description. A valuable quality 
 at need." 
 
 "There should be no need of it here." 
 
 "Unless her age were in question. That is a 
 fair matter for feminine self-defense." 
 
 He readily understood that his wife must no 
 doubt have been kindly curious about a young 
 woman whom he himself felt to be an unusual 
 person, and, too, that the girl had shown no in- 
 clination to talk of herself. 
 
 "There certainly is some mystery about her," 
 said Mrs. Woodburn, reflectively. 
 
 "Well, that is no business of ours." 
 
 "Perhaps not." Mrs. Woodburn was m 
 io8 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 doubt. "Her manners are quite too good." 
 
 Her husband laughed. "What! Both dress 
 and manners! Perhaps I had better tell her. 
 Correction of too good manners should be 
 easy." 
 
 "Oh, Harry, I said she was well dressed, not 
 too well dressed." And then, with some dim 
 apprehension of his meaning, "You really are 
 a — a trifle exasperating at times." 
 
 "How literal you are, Helen! Good-by; I 
 shall be here early." 
 
 A busy day and the decision of a large suit in 
 his favor brought him home about seven o'clock 
 in high good humor., He found his wife al- 
 ready dressed and in the drawing-room. 
 
 "Well," he said, "no thirteen at table to- 
 night. Who have we, and who falls to my 
 share?" 
 
 "You are to take in Mrs. Grey." 
 
 "Good!" 
 
 "And do not talk to her all the time. You 
 have Miss Van Seckel on your left." 
 
 He made a wry face. "She is very absor- 
 bent of talk; and— Who else, my dear?" 
 
 109 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 "1 had trouble with the rest, but Miss Smith 
 was helpful and really quite suggestive. She 
 wrote the cards, and now, I think, it is all 
 pretty good. Of course the bishop goes in 
 with me, and the admiral is on my left, with 
 Mrs. Welles. Then comes the French secre- 
 tary, who speaks very little English, and be- 
 tween him and the German engineer, who 
 speaks none, I put Miss Nelson, who can chat- 
 ter in both tongues ; and so on. It is all right, 
 Harry; and I am so relieved. You had better 
 go and dress." 
 
 As he rose. Miss Smith appeared, saying, as 
 she entered: 
 
 "Very fortunately I stayed, Mrs. Woodburn, 
 thinking you might need me. Miss Nelson 
 'phones that she has toothache and cannot 
 come." 
 
 "I knew it !" cried Mrs. Woodburn. "Thir- 
 teen at table ! What shall I do ?" 
 
 "May I not 'phone for some one else?" said 
 the tall girl. 
 
 "Yes," said Woodburn. "Come up to the 
 library, Helen." His wife followed him, la- 
 
 IIO 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 menting her ill luck. Miss Smith sat down at 
 the 'phone while Woodburn turned over the 
 directory. 
 
 "Try Mrs. Smallwood," said his wife. "Not 
 Mrs. George — the widow." 
 
 "Number 3421 Madison," read Woodburn. 
 
 "Hello! hello! Give me 3421 Madison! 
 They do not answer." 
 
 "What is the matter?" said Mrs. Wood- 
 burn. 
 
 "Oh, yes. Central says wire is out of or- 
 der." 
 
 "Of course," cried the hostess. "Then 
 Madge Delaney, Harry." 
 
 "I have her, 209 West," said he. 
 
 "I am sorry," said Miss Smith, turning from 
 the 'phone; "she is dressing to dine out." 
 
 "Oh, this is too dreadful!" wailed Mrs. 
 Woodburn. "Try Helen Carstairs. Tell her 
 I must have her." 
 
 "She is sorry, but the baby has whooping- 
 cough." 
 
 "Well, I certainly do not want her," said 
 Mrs. Woodburn. 
 
 ^ III 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 "Of course not. Try 9202 Fifth Avenue — 
 Miss Jane Crayton." 
 
 "Hello, Central ! Give me 9202 Fifth Ave- 
 nue! . . . The butler says out of town." 
 
 "Harry, what shall we do ! I told you some- 
 thing would happen." 
 
 "If all fails, I can go to bed with a bad head- 
 ache, my dear." 
 
 "Oh, don't joke about it, Harry!" 
 
 Miss Smith sat quiet at the 'phone, appar- 
 ently an uninterested part of the mechanism 
 of communication, while Woodburn, troubled 
 by his wife's evident distress, said at last : 
 
 "No one will notice it, my dear." 
 
 "Every one will notice it. Miss Van Seckel 
 will have a fit." 
 
 "Heavens! if she only would!" said Wood- 
 burn. 
 
 "Why not 'phone her," said the unmoved 
 stenographer, "that you have thirteen at table? 
 Then she would not come." 
 
 Woodburn repressed his mirth. His wife, 
 silently indignant for a moment, said nothing. 
 
 "Come," said Woodburn, once more, "there 
 112 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 is Cousin Susan Maynan. Oh, I have her, 423 
 Stone." 
 
 "Hello! hello! 423 Stone! I said 423 — 
 speak louder. Central!" 
 
 There was a long pause. 
 
 "She says she is engaged; very positively, I 
 infer, sir, from her voice." 
 
 "I don't believe her," said the distracted 
 hostess. "The cat! It is because we asked 
 her so late." 
 
 "Don't go yet, Miss Smith," said Woodburn. 
 "Come with me, Helen." He drew her into a 
 back room. 
 
 "Now, what is it, Harry. We cannot dine 
 thirteen at table. I know you would die, or 
 
 some one." 
 
 "We are at the end of our resources. Sup- 
 pose, my love, we ask Miss Smith — " 
 
 "Oh, Harry—" 
 
 "Now, listen! No one knows her. Your 
 maid can dress her in one of Sarah's gowns. 
 They are much of a size." 
 
 "What an absurd idea! And to put her be- 
 tween two foreigners, a girl unused to society, 
 
 113 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 without a word of either man's tongue — " 
 
 "Well, rearrange the table." 
 
 "Now that is so like a man. How can I? 
 It is half-past seven and later. Oh, twenty 
 minutes to eight !" 
 
 "What else can we do, dear? As of course 
 the girl can't talk to either man at all, there will 
 be no social blunders. Come, dear, decide." 
 
 "But after dinner, Harry! Heavens!" 
 
 "She must be introduced as a young friend 
 on a brief visit ; and, by George ! she will be at 
 least the handsomest of the lot." 
 
 "Will she do it ? What a dilemma !" 
 
 "To die or not to die," he murmured. "Wait 
 a moment, my dear; I will ask her — wait." 
 
 He went back to the 'phone. "Miss Smith, 
 my wife is in despair; will you not take the 
 vacant place at our dinner table? You can 
 wear one of my daughter's gowns, and we shall 
 be greatly obliged." 
 
 She rose, facing him as he spoke. For a mo- 
 ment her chin muscles twitched, — a certain 
 sign of emotion, — her eyes filled. As he 
 
 114 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 waited he wondered what caused her evident 
 distress. 
 
 "Well?" he said. "I am sorry to hurry you, 
 — ^but, pray, decide," 
 
 "I will do it," she said, decisively. 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 In a moment his wife had disappeared with 
 the girl, and he went up-stairs to dress, a little 
 anxious, a little amused, and very curious, con- 
 cerning the outcome of this social venture. 
 When dressed, he met his wife at the head of 
 the staircase. 
 
 "How does she look, Helen?" 
 
 "Look? Terribly handsome. All the men 
 will want to know her. Sarah's slippers are 
 too large for her, but the gown is all right. 
 Had I not better warn her about — about cer- 
 tain things ?" 
 
 "Decidedly not. And, my dear, as Miss Van 
 Seckel and more will be sure to ask who this 
 young woman is, I suppose we had better agree 
 that she is a young friend from the country 
 with us for a day or two, as I said." 
 
 115 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 "Harry, we are committing a social fraud, 
 and I am to fib to support it." 
 
 "A case of conscience for the bishop. You 
 might consult him in strict confidence." 
 
 "I do wish you would take it more seriously." 
 
 "Serious ! Indeed, I consider it so. But do 
 not try to overmanage the actors in our 
 comedy." 
 
 "Comedy! It is tragedy. It will end ill, I 
 
 am sure." 
 
 "I am not so sure. Well, we go on first. I 
 hear the door-bell." 
 
 As he spoke they passed together into the 
 drawing-room, she still anxious, he with diffi- 
 culty restraining the sense of humor of which 
 not the gravest situation entirely deprived him. 
 
 "Delighted to see you. Bishop. Good even- 
 ing. Admiral." Mrs. Woodburn's face cleared 
 as the famous sailor said some pleasant trifle, 
 and the guests came in rapid succession. 
 
 "I think they are all here, Harry." 
 
 "Except the leading lady," he said. 
 
 "Oh, Harry, I forgot, the butler! He will 
 know. I never thought of that." 
 
 Ii6 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 She glanced about the room. The attache 
 was struggling with a tongue unknown to man 
 in which Mrs. Welles was trying to make her- 
 self understood. The German engineer officer, 
 who had received a dinner-card with the name 
 of Miss Smith, was awkwardly waiting, not at 
 all comprehending what he was to do. 
 
 "7 
 
II 
 
 MISS SMITH," announced the butler 
 with unusual lift of voice. In the 
 doorway stood a young woman in full evening 
 dress. There are some women for whom what 
 is charitably described as full dress is a fatal 
 test; there are others for whom it is the pre- 
 cisely perfect setting of a radiant jewel. The 
 master of the house murmured, "By George!" 
 and went promptly to meet her. He was at his 
 courteous best, and felt that the young woman 
 he had committed to an impossible task must be 
 embarrassed by a social position to which she 
 was utterly unused. If so, she showed no sig- 
 nal of distress, but said quietly as she ap- 
 proached : 
 
 "I am late, I fear, Mr. Woodburn; but the 
 streets are so crowded." 
 
 More than Mrs. Woodburn were struck by 
 this tall and graceful girl who came forward 
 
 ii8 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 with her host, white-gloved, fan in hand, smil- 
 ing, and apparently at ease. 
 
 "I have apologized to Mr. Woodburn for be- 
 ing late. I repent and promise to be better be- 
 haved the next time." 
 
 "The next time, indeed !" said to herself the 
 amazed hostess, and then aloud, and with en- 
 tire coolness : 
 
 "You are welcome late or early, my dear. 
 Admiral, let me present you to our friend Miss 
 Smith. She came in on us from the country 
 just in time to save me from thirteen at table. 
 Not that I care—" 
 
 "Oh, yes ; but I do," said the admiral. "You 
 are doubly fortunate in this case. Madam : you 
 preserve life and enrich it." 
 
 "So happy to be a life-saving device!" said 
 Miss Smith. 
 
 Mr. Woodburn presented the German en- 
 gineer officer, and, to Mrs. Woodburn's relief, 
 dinner was announced. The table was pretty, 
 and not loaded with the high flowers which pre- 
 vent a view of opposite neighbors. On the 
 whole, the guests were felt by the hostess to be 
 
 119 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 well seated except for the two foreigners be- 
 tween whom sat Miss Smith, the hapless sac- 
 rifice to a social difficulty. Mrs. Woodburn 
 was more than merely sorry for her, and with 
 some relief and more surprise saw her adjust 
 her gown as she took her place. The hostess's 
 fears made her uneasily watchful for the series 
 of mishaps which she felt certain must soon or 
 late betray awkward inexperience. Distracted 
 into inattention to the bishop, she was only able 
 to keep up an appearance of listening with the 
 aid of exclamatory brevities of "Jtist so!" 
 "Ah, really !" while she stole glances to left or 
 kept watch to hear what would come after the 
 quiet moment of adjustment of napkins. The 
 ill luck which had pursued her dinner had 
 obliged Mrs. Woodburn to place between the 
 attache and the admiral a dull, middle-aged 
 woman, Mrs. Welles, who dined to eat and 
 whose fragmentary French served to add for 
 the diplomat the interest of charades; so an- 
 swerless that at last he was driven to talk 
 across his relieved neighbor to the famous ad- 
 miral, who understood him readily and replied 
 
 I20 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 in French which had the courage and enter- 
 prise of the navy. 
 
 Hearing the young attache say, "Pardon me, 
 Admiral, does my neighbor Miss Smith speak 
 French ?" the hostess replied for him : 
 
 "Not a word — at least, I fear not." Her 
 strange young guest appeared just then to be 
 silently listening to the German. 
 
 "Ah, well," said the diplomat, still speaking 
 across Mrs. Welles, "I shall at least try." 
 
 "It is a new face to me," remarked the ad- 
 miral. "She has the beauty of unusual distinc- 
 tion and the distinction of unusual beauty." 
 He felt that he had said something worthy of 
 his reputation for gallantry. 
 
 "Ah, but what a charming description !" said 
 the diplomat, repeating it in French. 
 
 "You are delightfully elaborate in your com- 
 pliments. Admiral," said the hostess, overhear- 
 ing them. She was not altogether pleased. 
 Here was terrible certainty of attention to the 
 guest whose correct role was to be silent and 
 to excite no remarks. The admiral had spoken 
 in French, and had a voice of command, trained 
 
 121 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 to be heard at distance. To Mrs. Woodburn's 
 amazement, Miss Smith turned from the Grer- 
 man, 
 
 "Ah, Admiral, what woman could be so free 
 from vanity as not to claim property in such a 
 salute from the flag-ship." 
 
 This gay recognition of the sailor's phrase 
 of admiration Mrs. Woodburn felt to be rather 
 in the manner of middle age than what was fit- 
 ting in a young woman. 
 
 "I should not have dared to say it. Made- 
 moiselle," said the young Frenchman, "but I 
 may at least venture not to disagree with the 
 admiral." 
 
 "Merci, Monsieur," said Miss Smith. 
 
 Mrs. Woodburn missed his reply, but knew 
 in a few moments that they were chatting in 
 fluent French and discussing French country 
 life. 
 
 The admiral, as he said later, was left 
 stranded on the engrossing silence of Mrs. 
 Welles's appetite. Mrs. Woodburn for a brief 
 moment sat still, and then, a little bewildered, 
 listened or tried to listen to the admiral. Pres- 
 
 ,122 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 ently she overheard the German say something, 
 and while the Frenchman , turned to Mrs. 
 Welles and the admiral, Miss Smith, in easy 
 German, talked with the enchanted engineer 
 officer. 
 
 It was quite too much for Mrs. Woodburn. 
 "A pencil, James," to the butler, and on the 
 back of a menu-card she wrote: "I knew 
 something would happen. It is bewilder- 
 ing! She is talking French and German. 
 H. W." 
 
 "Take this to Mr. Woodburn," she said. 
 The card came back. 
 
 "Send her down here. I will swop off Miss 
 Van Seckel. My congratulations. H. W." 
 
 The wife tore up the card, threw it under the 
 table, and, resolute to bear this calamity with 
 Christian patience, set herself to the task she 
 liked when at ease, the kindly manoeuvres of a 
 clever hostess intent on seeing to it that no one 
 should have a dull hour. The mid-table 
 guests were out of reach. Mrs. Newton, a 
 middle-aged dame, was left to herself quite too 
 long by the men beside her. It could not be 
 
 123 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 helped. The gaiety at the farther end of the 
 table was growing, as the hostess thought, 
 quite beyond the tranquil tone of a formal din- 
 ner. Her husband was evidently in one of his 
 moods of reckless, social enjoyment of which 
 she mildly disapproved. Neither the German 
 officer nor the attache concerned themselves 
 with any neighbor but Miss Smith, who took 
 no wine, as Mrs. Woodburn noticed, but smil- 
 ing, at ease, and low-voiced, kept up a polyglot 
 exchange of what seemed to keep her dinner 
 comrades in a condition of mirthful glee. 
 
 The admiral, accustomed to being consid- 
 ered, thought the woman on his left hopelessly 
 dull, and calmly gave himself up to a good din- 
 ner, after remarking that Germany and France 
 were contending for Alsace and Lorraine. 
 Mrs. Welles said, "Yes, quite so," and retired 
 into the seclusion of her mind to think it over. 
 Now and then the hostess spoke across the 
 corner of the table, making constantly defeated 
 attempts to secure the attention of the diplomat 
 to the woman between him and the admiral. 
 The attache, understanding her, did his re- 
 
 124 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 sponsive best to interfere with Mrs. Welles's 
 earnest interest in the menu, but between the 
 double difficulty of his own maimed English 
 and the lady's halting French, he soon gave up 
 and waited his chance to renew his gay chat 
 with Miss Smith. The whole thing had got 
 out of hand, and in despair Mrs. Woodburn 
 turned to talk missions to her clerical friend, 
 who preferred any other subject, and soon be- 
 gan to ask embarrassing questions about the 
 young woman who was so very handsome. 
 There was relief and fear in Mrs. Woodburn's 
 mind when, earlier than her husband liked, she 
 rose to leave the men to their wine. As she 
 passed him, she said, laughing: 
 
 "Now, Harry, small cigars," and then in a 
 half - whisper : "Do come soon! What shall I 
 do with her?" 
 
 As the women went up-stairs, Miss Van 
 Seckel in an aside said to her hostess : "Who 
 is that fresh young beauty, Helen? Your hus- 
 band was provokingly mysterious about her. 
 He made us all curious." 
 
 "Did he, indeed? So like him. There is 
 
 125 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 not the least mystery," replied Mrs. Woodburn. 
 "She happened to be here for a day, and saved 
 us from thirteen at table." 
 
 "How fortunate! So Mr. Woodburn told 
 us. It would not have mattered, he said, be- 
 cause he was twins." 
 
 "How confusing!" said Mrs. Welles, over- 
 hearing them. 
 
 Miss Smith had so managed as to fall in at 
 the end of the women guests, and, entering last, 
 went quietly across the drawing-room. Mrs, 
 Woodburn, feeling pity for what she still felt 
 ought to be the embarrassment of a peculiar 
 position, took her hand and saying: 
 
 "This way, Mi^s Smith," led her to the sofa, 
 where Miss Van Seckel sat in the glory of an 
 expanse of sallow neck and many diamonds. 
 
 "Pray be careful!" murmured her hostess, 
 the next moment vexed at herself as the girl, 
 with a little hauteur in her voice, asked, "May 
 I know why?" 
 
 "Our young friend. Miss Smith, Miss Van 
 Seckel," said Mrs. Woodburn. Distinctly 
 angry, and also aware of having made a blun- 
 
 126 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 der, she turned away, leaving her guest to the 
 inquisition which she would gladly have had 
 her escape, but which she knew to be soon or 
 late unavoidable. Miss Van Seckel was rich, 
 positive, accustomed to deference, and made 
 curious by Mr. Woodburn's vague replies. 
 
 "Sit nearer," she said. "I am a little less 
 able to hear than I used to be. The young 
 people nowadays speak so indistinctly. You 
 are here only for a day, I am told." 
 
 "Yes, only for a day." 
 
 "And where do you live, my dear?" 
 
 "Ah, Miss Van Seckel, not everybody lives. 
 I exist." The girl laughed gaily. Miss Van 
 Seckel felt that she was being disrespectfully 
 trifled with. 
 
 "But you do not answer me. I am inter- 
 ested." 
 
 "And I. It is a question in geography, and 
 I was never good at that. Just now I have 
 been back in Germany and Paris. I found my 
 two dinner companions most agreeable." 
 
 "You certainly seemed to be gay," 
 
 "Oh, not noisy, surely not noisy. Count von 
 ' 127 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 Kelser was telling me what the old Empress 
 said about closing the gambling-rooms at 
 Baden. It was really a very clever story. 
 You have been at Baden?" 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Van Seckel, feeling that 
 her investigation had not prospered. 
 
 "Then I will tell you in German; it is really 
 so pretty in German. I suppose you have 
 gambled at Baden — every one did." 
 
 "I do not gamble, and I do not speak Ger- 
 man." 
 
 "Oh, but in Dutch. I can manage it in 
 Dutch. I have an idea that all you old Knick- 
 erbocker people speak Dutch." 
 
 "Then you are mistaken." Miss Van Seckel 
 felt that Miss Smith was amusing herself, and 
 could it be at her expense? She lifted her 
 glasses, and, looking at the young lady, said, 
 "You seem to have been much abroad." 
 
 "Oh, never so much as now. Do tell me 
 who all these nice people are. You see, I am 
 quite an ingenue from the country, and if you 
 would really be so good. Ah, I shall lose my 
 chance!" she said, rising to greet a noble-look- 
 
 128 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 ing, elderly lady, approaching with their host 
 and the bishop, who said : 
 
 "I take the liberty of a house friend to pre- 
 sent myself. I am Mrs. Grey; come and talk 
 to me. We leave you the bishop, Miss Van 
 Seckel. He has deserted the men." 
 
 Relieved to escape. Miss Smith sat down 
 with Mrs. Grey. 
 
 "You are the blessed fourteenth who saved 
 us all. Shall you be here long?" 
 
 "No ; I am here only for a day." 
 
 "What a pity ! Young, lovely, — ^pardon me, 
 my dear, I am not a man, — ^you would enjoy 
 New York. No?" Mrs. Grey detected a 
 strange note in the pleasant young voice, and 
 then heard with surprise: 
 
 "Could not I slip out unnoticed?" 
 
 "Are you ill, child?" 
 
 "Oh, worse. I must go." 
 
 "Keep quiet a little. I will talk," and she 
 talked on until presently there were fresh 
 groupings, and the girl, having lost her chance 
 of escape, rallying, took a share in the light, 
 after-dinner chat, aided by the clever hostess 
 
 129 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 and the sympathetic, sHghtly puzzled elder 
 lady. Then presently the men came in, and the 
 admiral took his seat by the strange guest and 
 fell into talk about the Mediterranean ports, 
 with which she seemed to be well acquainted. 
 
 "What a fascinating young woman!" he 
 said to his host as he moved and gave place to 
 a younger man. "What charm, what distinc- 
 tion!" 
 
 "Yes, quite remarkable. What is it, my 
 dear?" This to his wife, as she turned to 
 speak to him. 
 
 "Count von Kelser will sing for us if some 
 one will accompany him ; but I can find no one." 
 To her amazement. Miss Smith said: 
 
 "Perhaps I may be able." 
 
 "What next?" thought Mrs. Woodburn, as 
 the girl, asking a question or two in quickly 
 spoken German, sat down at the piano and 
 swept the keys with a practised hand. The 
 count sang fairly well two German songs, and 
 then said : 
 
 "You sing — I am sure you sing." 
 
 "Yes, with Mrs. Woodburn's permission," 
 130 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 said the girl. "Have you heard any of the 
 modern Greek love-songs? They are rather 
 unusual." 
 
 "No," said Woodburn, while his wife stood 
 by in speechless astonishment, and a rare 
 soprano rang through the room. 
 
 "Please, another!" said the bishop, and she 
 broke into a soft Italian lullaby. Then rising 
 and gathering up her gloves and fan, which 
 she had laid on the side of the piano, she 
 said: 
 
 "You must excuse me, Mrs. Woodburn, if 
 I run away early." Then in a whispered aside, 
 she added, "I must see you just a moment be- 
 fore I go." As she spoke, a number of young 
 men and girls and an older matron came in, 
 merry and talking. 
 
 "You promised us a little dance. Aunt 
 Helen," said one of them; "and we left the 
 opera early to come here." 
 
 "Ah, now !" said the German officer, "we are 
 promised to dance. Is it not so. Madam?" 
 And to Miss Smith, "You will do me the 
 honor?" 
 
 131 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 Hoping that her amazing guest would now 
 relieve her by leaving, as she had promised, 
 Mrs. Woodburn, having secured a good- 
 natured dame to play, turned again to speak 
 to Miss Smith. The young woman hesitated 
 a moment, and then with a look of elation said, 
 "With pleasure, mein Herr." 
 
 In a moment she was moving in the waltz 
 with the officer, the light of wild enjoyment in 
 her eyes and something, as Woodburn thought, 
 of reckless abandonment to the intoxication of 
 rhythmic movement with a master of the joy- 
 ous art. It was impossible for any one to fail 
 to note the grace of the two tall figures which 
 shared equally the pleasure, and conveyed the 
 impression of some quality of motion which 
 set them apart from the other dancers among 
 whom they moved. 
 
 "Ah!" she exclaimed of a sudden, "pray 
 stop !" for in a quick reverse movement one of 
 Miss Woodburn's slippers, far too large for 
 the dancer's foot, flew off. Two young men 
 ran to pick it up, but the old admiral was 
 quicker, and, slipper in hand, bowed as the 
 
 132 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 young woman sank on the nearest chair. He 
 said merrily: 
 
 "May I have the honor?" 
 
 "It is I who am honored," said Miss Smith. 
 
 "I regret," he said, smiling, "that I am too 
 old for the fairy prince. Miss Cinderella." 
 
 "Fairy princes are of no age," she returned, 
 laughing. 
 
 "One more turn, Frauleih," said her part- 
 ner, and for another minute or two of intense 
 enjoyment she moved in the dance. Then at 
 last, flushed and thrilling with a long-absent 
 joy, as he released her she said to the diplomat, 
 pleading for his turn : 
 
 "No, I shall dance no more; I must go." 
 
 "But later, presently, again," said Von Rei- 
 ser. 
 
 "No — not again ; never !" 
 
 "Ah, Fraulein, that is a long day." 
 
 "Yes, a long day." 
 
 Many eyes followed her as she crossed the 
 room to Mrs. Woodburn. 
 
 "Now I am going." 
 
 "Certainly, my dear, if you must." And 
 
 133 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 aside: "The maid will be up-stairs. I — I 
 thank you. We are both obliged — ^greatly- 
 obliged." 
 
 "I shall wait to see you before I leave. Yes, 
 I — I must wait — up-stairs." 
 
 With a courteous word or two to those who 
 thanked her for the unusual pleasure of her 
 song, she cast a look over the dancers and the 
 well-dressed groups and with filling eyes left 
 the room, murmuring as she went: "Cinder- 
 ella! Cinderella! Ah, why did I do it! But 
 the joy of it — ^the joy 1" 
 
 134 
 
Ill 
 
 WHILE she was changing her dress, and 
 in the hands of a wondering maid, 
 there were those below stairs who were equally 
 curious, and to whom the hostess was making a 
 series of explanations which did more credit to 
 her ingenuity than to her strict regard for 
 truth. The new-comer had created an amount 
 of admiration for which her hosts had been 
 quite unprepared. What they expected was to 
 see an obviously good-looking and clever ste- 
 nographer avoid notice, make social blunders, 
 and be glad to escape early from a society into 
 which her inclination to oblige her employers 
 had led her. To explain to their friends would 
 have been easy. 
 
 They would be praised for their ingenuity, 
 and when she had gone, would confess with 
 laughter who was the shy, unnoticeable girl; 
 but here on their hands was a quite different 
 
 135 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 business. They were glad when the last of 
 their too curious guests had left. Woodburn 
 had felt it well to say to some friends: 
 
 "Yes, a pleasant little escape; so fortunate 
 to have had her. I am sorry to say that she 
 leaves to-morrow." He was aware that now 
 the presence of Miss Smith in his office might 
 require a quite different explanation; but the 
 future concerned him very little when, the last 
 guest having gone, he sat down in his library 
 to smoke a contentful cigar. While he re- 
 flected with wonder, curiosity, and amusement 
 upon the very dramatic outcome of the effort 
 to secure the life-saving guest, Mrs. Wood- 
 burn was on her way up-stairs. For her there 
 was wonder and embarrassment, but certainly 
 nothing amusing, in the social comedy. She 
 was a woman whose inexactness in statement 
 had won her an undeserved reputation of being 
 untruthful, whereas she was keenly sensitive 
 as concerned departure from verity. Now 
 she had to her discredit a dozen fibs and, — oh, 
 to the bishop, — one or two full-blown lies. 
 
 Her mood was one of anger with every body 
 136 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 concerned in this unpleasant experience. 
 Above all, what business had this girl to pass 
 as a stenographer and blossom so inconceivably 
 into an accomplished woma^i? Whatever had 
 been her unreasonable moods, as she went 
 slowly up-stairs, they gave place to a sense of 
 deepest pity as she entered her daughter's 
 room. 
 
 Miss Smith, alone and dressed for the street, 
 sat at the fire, sobbing like a child. 
 
 "Oh, my dear," cried Mrs. Woodburn, "what 
 is the matter? Was it too much for you? 
 We were — we are so much obliged — are you 
 not well ? Stay here and go quietly to bed." 
 
 The girl did not look up, and merely shook a 
 hand in air, a wild gesture of negation. 
 
 Her trouble was the more distressing to the 
 kindly matron because she could not explain 
 it. She drew a chair to the fire, and, as she 
 sat down, captured a reluctant hand. 
 
 "I shall insist on your staying here. Let 
 me send the carriage away — " 
 
 "No, no!" She made a movement as if to 
 rise. 
 
 137 
 
» 
 
 THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 "But do listen, my good child !" 
 
 *T am not good, and I am not a child, 
 Here she turned, facing Mrs. Woodburn. "1 
 waited only because I did not choose to leave 
 you without saying that we shall never meet 
 again. You must thank Mr. Woodburn for his 
 constant courtesy in the office." 
 
 "But, my dear, can we not help you? What 
 is the matter ? Why do you go ?" 
 
 "Because I have again been with people of 
 my own caste, and — ^and I have no right — ^no — 
 right." 
 
 "But what is there — surely — I — " 
 
 "Oh, no, no! I will not be questioned. It 
 is over. I shall see it no more. Let me go." 
 
 She would say nothing further, but went 
 down the stairs silent, unyielding. At the 
 door Mrs. Woodburn said: 
 
 "If we can in any way — " 
 
 "No. Never, never!" She passed out and 
 into the carriage and disappeared. 
 
 When Helen Woodburn returned to her hus- 
 band, and, much distressed, related this inter- 
 view, he said: 
 
 138 
 
THE FOURTEENTH GUEST 
 
 "It is very sad. She is still so young and so 
 beautiful ; what possible explanation can there 
 be?" 
 
 "I might, as a woman, guess." 
 
 "And I, as a man. Poor child ! She will 
 disappear utterly." 
 
 On inquiry at her lodging-house next day, 
 this proved to be the case. 
 
 139 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 A TOO frank cousin of mine once said of 
 me that I was a rolling stone, with the 
 usual result. I replied to this admonitory 
 tribute that I had at least become polished in 
 rolling, and left him to make his own infer- 
 ence. That I have rolled much is true. A 
 part of my rolling, however, has not been of 
 my own will, but the result of circumstance. 
 
 The death of my mother and sister within 
 the same year left me with a very modest in- 
 come; indeed, too little for a man who, after 
 two years, had become sure that success in the 
 practice of medicine was for him unattainable. 
 In fact, I liked the study of medicine, but did 
 not like the ordinary practice of it. Having 
 failed of success as a general practitioner of 
 medicine, I gave it up to become an ill-paid 
 
 ' 143 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 assistant in a hospital for the insane. After 
 three years, a fortunate chance enabled me to 
 become resident physician to the Central Peni- 
 tentiary. Here at last I had work to my lik- 
 ing. The study of the criminal nature deeply 
 interested me, and for two years I was busy 
 and happy. I wrote at this time several 
 papers on the bodily and mental peculiarities 
 of the inmates under my care. One of these 
 contributions is still quoted as authoritative. 
 
 The life in a jail is sure in the end to sadden 
 the kindly and to bring to the most hopefully 
 optimistic a sense of failure. 
 
 This, my third venture, ended in deepening 
 disgust, and I began to lose interest in the 
 work. I had, in fact, one unusual quality — I 
 knew in general when I had failed, and also 
 why. Beyond this, I possessed a still more 
 uncommon talent, which for a time I culti- 
 vated, and which was destined to play a part 
 in my life and that of others. I was called a 
 mind-reader. I never so labeled an undoubted 
 power, but others thus described it. For some 
 years at times I amused myself when travel- 
 
 144 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 ing by the use of this faculty; but at last I gave 
 up doing so because it demanded too intense 
 attention, and because I felt that to pry un- 
 asked into the thoughts of another was hardly 
 decent. 
 
 When one day I was waiting in the outer of- 
 fice of that cousin who had said I was a rolling 
 stone, I saw two men talking on the pavement, 
 and set myself to ascertain what they were 
 engaged upon. It was for me the idle play 
 of a leisure moment ; but when my cousin came 
 in, I said: "Mr. E — will offer you 51 dol- 
 lars for X Y stock. Ask him 52 : he will take 
 it." When I explained to him how I knew 
 this, he said it would not be honest, and 
 whether he acted in accordance with his state- 
 ment, I do not know. I went away thinking 
 over the ethics of the stock market. I have 
 always declined the attribution of mystery to 
 the power I was believed to possess and laugh- 
 ingly refused to be investigated by psychical 
 scientists, who had heard wild accounts of my 
 capacity. 
 
 At this time, being melancholy and restkss, 
 145 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 I went one day into the park for one of the 
 long, solitary cycle-rides which were almost 
 my only diversion. While I was spinning 
 along, deep in thought, a runaway hack flew 
 by. I put on all possible speed, and came up 
 to it just as a park guard caught the horses 
 and for a moment turned them aside. The 
 carriage struck a tree, and upset with a crash 
 of broken glass. The horses broke loose and 
 ran, while, the park guard aiding, we got out 
 of the wreck a lean, little old gentleman, much 
 bruised, and with his face badly cut by glass. 
 
 For a moment he lay dazed, and then sit- 
 ting up, said, "I want my hat." It was found. 
 Then he stood up. "I want a doctor." 
 
 "I am one," I said. I tied a handkerchief 
 over his cut forehead, and, aided by the guard, 
 put him in a cab which chanced to be at hand. 
 I got in after him. The guard stood by ex- 
 pectant. Then the old gentleman took out a 
 well-filled wallet, and selecting a quarter of a 
 dollar, presented it to the guard, who threw it 
 into the cab with an accompaniment of vigor- 
 ous English, which I thought well deserved. 
 
 146 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 My companion said: "Drive on. I ought 
 to report that man for insolence." With this 
 he picked up the money and put it in his pocket. 
 "Girard Hotel," he said, "and tell him to 
 hurry." 
 
 As we drove away, I said,, "You are not 
 much injured." 
 
 "Oh, it's the shock. I have a bad heart, 
 and I am old — I mean, I am not young." 
 
 A queer figure he seemed to me. He was 
 short, singularly thin, and as red as if rouged. 
 
 "Pay the cabman, doctor," he ordered me. 
 
 I did, but I never again saw the money. 
 
 I soon found that my patient was nervous 
 and alarmed. He insisted upon my remain- 
 ing all night, and as he had a very feeble circu- 
 lation and a diseased heart, it was as well to 
 oblige him. He would have no consultation, 
 as it was too expensive, and he was satisfied 
 with me. Neither did he want any one of his 
 family sent for; and so I fought it out alone. 
 
 As he grew better, he talked to me of my 
 own life with a degree of freedom and interest 
 which I could not then comprehend, and which 
 
 147 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 I did not relish. For sotne reason he took to 
 me, one of those fancies to which the neurotic 
 are subject, and after two weeks of grave ill- 
 ness told me that I was the only doctor who 
 had ever understood his constitution. 
 
 When about to leave, he said: "We must 
 now settle our accounts. There were sixty- 
 three visits at one dollar each." ' He had noted 
 them daily, even to the length of my stays. 
 
 "One dollar! Three," I said; "and the 
 nights I spent — ^it comes to — " 
 
 "Don't mention it. Good heavens!" he ex- 
 claimed. "It is enormous.' I can not bear 
 shock. I have a proposal to rnake. You tell 
 me you are tired of youi^ present life, and you 
 are a lover of books. If I secure for you a 
 place in the Brobkhiead library at twelve hun- 
 dred dollars a year,' will you accept that in 
 payment of the large siim you propose to ex- 
 act? I shall expect' you to. take care of me." 
 My first reflection was that he meant to get 
 away without any kind of pa3mient, but I soon 
 saw that the offer was honest. I was of 
 course rather astounded at the scheme of mak- 
 
 148 • I 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 ing the library pay his debt, but the new Ufe 
 thus opened to me was entirely to my taste. 
 
 I said: "Frankly speaking, sir, is that pos- 
 sible?" 
 
 "Yes. I am a benefactor — -I mean, I am 
 regarded as a future benefactor of the library." 
 He chuckled. "They will do as I say, and 
 then, when I want you, I can always get you." 
 
 I said I would think it over, but had no idea 
 it would come to anything. I had heaird of 
 the library as important. After some thought 
 I said I would take the place. After he had 
 gone, a week later, to my surprise, I got the 
 offer, and promptly accepted. It turned out 
 to be the beginning of a freshly happy and, as 
 it proved, a somewhat eventful life. I had 
 rolled into a place that suited me. 
 
 On my arrival I was able to satisfy Mr. 
 Quarton, the librarian, in regard to my 
 scholarship. As concerned my technical ca- 
 pacity as a libirarian, that, he said, was of 
 course hopeless. In time I might learn, oh, 
 something, but unless a man had two genera- 
 tions of librarians back of him, it was of no 
 
 151 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 use to pretend to achieve greatness. I see him 
 now, with his big, inherited horn spectacles, 
 his long gray hair, and a book under each 
 arm. 
 
 I had two rooms assigned to me, with a 
 bath-room, as I was, to my pleasure, to live 
 in the building. My duties included general 
 oversight, selection of such scientific books as 
 were needed, and a variety of lesser matters. 
 
 The day after my arrival I saw my patient, 
 Mr. White, come out of the librarian's room 
 and enter the office assigned to me. "Glad to 
 see you here, doctor," he said. "I am going 
 to the club. No. 20 West street. Come in at 
 seven and dine with me. Quiet place. No 
 form." 
 
 I said I would come. 
 
 "You won't get much to eat," said Quarton. 
 "No one ever dines with him more than once. 
 He wants to consult you ; but/'he won't ask you 
 to come to his house. He rhight have to pay." 
 
 "Then he is a miser, I suppose." 
 
 "Miser! Superlative degree, miserrimus!" 
 152 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 said Quarton, who hated him. "You'll see. 
 By and by he will make you believe he has re- 
 membered you in his will." 
 
 This was a long speech for Mr. Quarton, 
 whose name much amused me. "Never," said 
 one of the assistants — "never ask what his 
 Christian, or heathen, name is. No man 
 knows it. He signs D. Quarton," 
 
 I went that evening to the Midway Club, 
 which proved to be comfortable, and not too 
 exclusive. 
 
 On my way, I reflected upon Mr. White as 
 a curious variety of the genus man. During 
 my life in the penitentiary, — where, alas! few 
 were penitent, — I formed a habit of making 
 notes of the appearance and mental and moral 
 characteristics of criminals, and this habit 
 proved so interesting that I extended it to the 
 officers, and others of the few whom I met out- 
 side. 
 
 Of course Mr. Reuben White had his place. 
 He was now becoming a fascinating study. 
 A miser, — literally wretched? — not at all. 
 
 153 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 He had the positive joy of acquiring and the 
 negative joy of not expending. I was to see 
 and know more of him. 
 
 Mr. White's welcome was most cordial. 
 He had a well-contrived manner of expressing 
 his pleasure upon meeting you. It cost him 
 nothing, but somewhat failed by reason of lack 
 of variety. 
 
 As a contribution to my knowledge of the 
 man, the dinner was notable. As to food, we 
 had soup, one portion, divided; then four mut- 
 ton chops and potatoes. I received one chop 
 and he two. He was long in chewing his 
 food, having a theory that the more you masti- 
 cated, the less food you needed. 
 
 He talked much and talked well, really a 
 cultivated man. I was thinking that I should 
 like to get at the basal motives of the hoarding 
 instinct, if it be, as in some animals, instinctive, 
 when I saw him glance about the room to see 
 if he were observed. Apparently satisfied, 
 and without in the least concerning himself 
 about me, he rose, went oul?, and returning 
 with paper from the club writing-table, 
 
 154 
 
■'THAT," HE SAID, " WAS OF COURSE HOPELESS" 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 wrapped up the remaining chop, tied it in his 
 handkerchief, and put it in his pocket. 
 
 "And now," he said, "do you drink coffee at 
 night?" I did. When taking his cup, he se- 
 cured four lumps of sugar, and added these to 
 his store. I was hungry, but delighted with 
 what I saw. 
 
 I was all this while regaled at times with his 
 symptoms, until I said a physical examination 
 would be required and must be made while he 
 was in bed. I discovered very soon that my 
 salary was meant to cover all the medical care 
 Mr, White might need. The skill and deli- 
 cacy with which this was conveyed to me was 
 most interesting, and as he gave me but little 
 trouble, I calmly accepted the situation, and, 
 as it proved, was most fortunate in having 
 done so. 
 
 He proposed that evening to put me up at 
 the club for membership, and as I could now 
 afford it, I was pleased. My notes of him that 
 night were: "Lover of books; greed for ac- 
 cumulation of money; infinite cunning in this 
 pursuit." 
 
 157 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 My life at the library soon satisfied me. 
 The work was easy, my time much my own. 
 As I have said, I had had no opportunities for 
 acquiring friends or even acquaintances to my 
 taste, but here every week there came to the 
 library a great many persons in all ranks of 
 life. It became my duty to know some of 
 these people, especially the scholars, and gen- 
 erally to aid any one in pursuit of knowledge 
 or entertainment. 
 
 Thus it was that while I was interested in 
 the books, I was even more so in those who 
 read them ; for much as books have been to me 
 in my life, people are still more entertaining; 
 and whether as comrades or counselors, 
 whether evil or good, have for the reader of 
 men advantages not possessed by books. 
 
 Mr. White was in the library every day, 
 and, as one of the governing board from 
 whom much was expected, he was treated with 
 far too great consideration. 
 
 About the fourth month of my residence, a 
 curious incident gave me a notable influence 
 over this man and his increased respect. 
 
 158 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 Mr. Daingerfield, one of our managers, a 
 man of large inherited fortune, was the rich 
 man of the city. He was also the permanent 
 president of the hospital board, and able to 
 indulge the luxury of giving way to a quick 
 temper. When I instantly resented an im- 
 pertinent criticism, he complained to the di- 
 rectors of the library; but as Mr. White was 
 expected to leave money to both hospital and 
 library, his intervention saved me. 
 
 One day in April I was talking to a young 
 woman. Miss Musgrave, about a book, when 
 I saw Mr. Daingerfield pass by. 
 
 Miss Musgrave said : "Did you ever see so 
 bald a man! It looks so nice and smooth. 
 One would like to pat it." I looked, and there 
 was the face, full-bearded, — even to the heavy 
 eyebrows, snow white, — ^with, around the bald 
 head, a tonsure of bright red hair. "Really 
 an exotic, that crop!" said my companion, 
 laughing. 
 
 Mr. Daingerfield came upon Mr. White near 
 my office, and White began to talk. They 
 were facing us, but out of earshot. Presently 
 
 159 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 excusing myself, and with too little thought of 
 my action, I went up to them and said : "I can 
 give you what you want, Mr. White. The 
 average cost of hospital patients per day is 
 from $1.50 to $1.60. Children cost more." 
 I went on to convey in full the required infor- 
 mation, and then retired to my office. 
 
 Presently came Mr. White. "Doctor Al- 
 ston," he said, "did you hear what I asked Mr. 
 Daingerfield?" 
 
 "No, I did not." 
 
 "Then how did you know?" 
 
 Meaning to amuse myself, I said, "Did you 
 ever hear of mind-reading?" 
 
 "Mind-reading! Good heavens, sir, it is 
 most amazing!" 
 
 "Yes," I laughed. "I have been accused of 
 it before; once by Mr. Stevens, the cataloguer. 
 He did not like it." 
 
 "Nor do I, sir. I want you to promise 
 never to try it with me." 
 
 "Oh, I can readily promise that, Mr. White. 
 It is rarely that I use this faculty. It requires 
 intense concentration of attention." 
 
 160 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 "I am relieved, sir." He was queerly un- 
 easy. "It is a perilous faculty, Doctor Alston. 
 Imagine such a power to become general! 
 What a state of things there would be! Aw- 
 ful, sir! awful!" That, indeed, was my own 
 opinion, and I have often since then amused 
 myself with reflections upon the social and 
 commercial consequences of such generalized 
 universal insight. 
 
 Henceforth Mr. White treated me with in- 
 creased respect, and at times regarded me with 
 ill-concealed suspicion. Somehow the story 
 got out and created interest, which I did not 
 add to by any further use of my peculiar en- 
 dowment, nor did I attempt to explain it when 
 Mr. White reopened the subject. 
 
 As time ran on, I made the acquaintance of 
 a man who attracted me as no one else did. 
 He was George Fernwood, an army officer, a 
 captain of engineers, engaged upon some de- 
 fense work in the harbor. I sometimes class- 
 ify people as books. Fernwood was one of 
 those human volumes which, admirably edited 
 by events, are full of such contrasts as make 
 
 i6i 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 unusual appeal to the student of character. 
 In my note-book he is thus described: 
 
 George Fernwood, five feet, ten -inches ; neatly made, 
 a certain harmony in his build. Regular features, 
 bronzed by exposure. General expression gentle and, 
 as I read it, something of a look of appeal. Mouth 
 the most eloquent feature. Lip lines classic. 
 
 Career — Success as engineer, medal of honor for 
 gallant action in Indian battle. So set .down in the 
 army list. 
 
 Studies — ^primary, scientific; secondary, history, es- 
 pecially of the mystics ; rarely fiction. 
 
 Character — Courage, physical, perfect; courage, 
 moral, unknown. 
 
 Mind of high order, investigative. Imagination of 
 S3mipathetic type, not productive. 
 
 Manners, courteous ; a gentleman, a man to trust. 
 
 This was my record after several months of 
 increasing intimacy during which I discov.- 
 ered that after a time the rate of acquaintance 
 with him had limitations such as in my experi- 
 ence are often found in the finer natures. A 
 word is needed to fill the descriptive gap be- 
 tween "acquaintance" and "friend." He evi- 
 dently liked me, but my sly gifts of self-revela- 
 
 162 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 tion. were not returned in kind. About this 
 there was something not unpleasingly woman- 
 Hke, and thus for a long time we drew no 
 closer until certain events took place which 
 materially affected his life and mine. In 
 chemistry it sometimes happens that two sub- 
 stances which decline to unite are of a sudden 
 brought to do so owing to the added presence 
 of a third quite neutral body. In life a similar 
 thing happens; a word, a thought, another's 
 act, some trifle, abruptly alters the inter-rela- 
 tion of two people. 
 
 It so chanced with us. There are friends 
 whom we acquire through the unthinking in- 
 timacies of childhood or owing to business or 
 family relations. There are others whom, if 
 we are wise in the art of life, we deliberately 
 woo or win for some good reason. Of late, 
 being now at ease, I had begun to cultivate 
 the art of friendly capture, but, as concerned 
 the Captain, I was for a time unsuccessful. 
 We dined together at the club now and then, 
 or, what I liked better, we spent an evening 
 in my modest apartments. Here we talked of 
 
 163 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 Indian war, of books and politics; but of his 
 family, his more intimate life, and his opinions 
 on religion, I learned nothing. Nevertheless, 
 I felt rather than knew that we were slowly 
 drawing together. 
 
 164 
 
II 
 
 ONE evening, I asked him to my rooms, 
 meeting him down-stairs. We walked 
 through the vast book-lined reading-hall, now 
 silent and dark except for the oblongs of moon- 
 light cast across the floor. 
 
 I paused midway and said: "Isn't there 
 something solemn and ghostly in this great 
 columbarium of dead thought?" 
 
 "I feel it now, but I hardly think that I 
 should have had the idea without your help- 
 ing. I suppose that an immense number of 
 these volumes will be, are, indeed, for scores 
 of years as unread by man as are the present 
 thoughts of the dead, if the dead still think." 
 
 "But they do speak here, and a great library 
 should give at any cost the rare book some 
 scholar asks for and must have. You of all 
 men, who want the rarer books, must know 
 that." 
 
 I6S 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 "Yes," he returned as we entered my room, 
 and I turned on and lighted the gas — "yes, I 
 suppose that I illustrated the rare need last 
 week when I asked for the four volumes of 
 that fine mystic, Robert Fludd. The old fel- 
 low who found these for me said that in twenty 
 years he had never known them to be asked 
 for. That he could be so sure, struck me as 
 interesting. And he knew, too, the number 
 and place of the book." 
 
 "That form of memory is not very rare in 
 old librarians. I, of course, do not possess it. 
 Did Fludd amuse you?" 
 
 "Yes. I wanted to see what he says on the 
 pulse. You may think that odd. His astrol- 
 ogy was also of interest. I had a pleasant 
 morning over his doctrine of nativities." 
 
 Then I cast a cunning fly. I said: "Rare 
 as Fludd is, a woman asked for it yesterday. 
 She usually waits until she can get me to sup- 
 ply her wants. I set Master Fludd before her, 
 but she soon returned it, remarking that she 
 had not known it was in Latin." 
 
 "Curious that," said Fernwood. 
 1 66 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 I thought I might venture further, and as 
 I stood by the fire filling my pipe, I said: "As 
 a coincidence it is even more than curious ; for 
 twice, just after you have asked for some rare 
 book. Miss Musgrave has inquired for it. 
 Last month it was Lea on Trial by Ordeal.' 
 That did seem rather a queer choice for a 
 young woman." 
 
 "Yes, rather," he returned; "quite unusual." 
 
 I began to understand, but as he thus 
 quickly turned the talk aside, I did not gain 
 much beyond a pleasant suspicion of there be- 
 ing some close relation between the two read- 
 ers. I knew little of the social life of the great 
 fcity, and my own acquaintances were chiefly 
 su^h as I met at the club, which was a some- 
 what informal organization where one was not 
 denied by cold usage the privilege of address- 
 ing a stranger. A day or two later I chanced 
 to sit at luncheon next to a cheerful old man, 
 who in twenty-five minutes asked me a dozen 
 questions. 
 
 Mr. Burke was a bachelor without other 
 business than that of a collector and freight- 
 
 167 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 carrier of harmless gossip, and was the much- 
 used friend of a dozen women. In these 
 gentle pursuits he exhibited the proverbial in- 
 dustry of the bee. In the absence of a handy 
 year-book of genealogy, his accurate knowl- 
 edge of the limited social groups of long-seated 
 American families was usually to be trusted, 
 and his amiable reticence a not unpleasing 
 trait, although at times he could be mildly ma- 
 licious. 
 
 "Good wine that. Dr. Alston. By the way, 
 your people must be South Carolinians." 
 
 "Yes,", I said, "my father was ; but he settled 
 in Pennsylvania." 
 
 "Good breed, sir. Know Mrs. Mertbn? 
 I disturbed her, I fear — Colonial Dame: told 
 her some of their genealogies were more 
 genial than logical. Good that, wasn't it?" 
 I laughed assent. 
 
 "One of them — oh, no names — one of them 
 asked me about her right to belong to that 
 queer society. Told her that her great grand- 
 father in 1 71 3 marriM his deceased wife's 
 
 168 
 
"told her some of 
 
 THEIR GENEALOGIES WERE MORE GENIAL THAN LOGICAL 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 sister. Know the English law? Make your, 
 inference." 
 
 I did. Then I said, "Do you know Miss 
 Musgrave?" I was after information. 
 
 "Know her? Of course; niece of Mrs. 
 Merton, charming girl. Father old friend of 
 mine — dead. Got a fair fortune; not much. 
 Engaged to army officer. Good fellow; damn 
 poor match. Know her?" 
 
 I said, "Yes, slightly." There was no need 
 to pump. The flow was easy, ample. Did I 
 know that army man, name of Fernwood? 
 
 I said, "Yes," and thought the woman for- 
 tunate. 
 
 He did not agree with me. "That man has 
 no common sense." Had I never heard about 
 it? 
 
 I said no, which seemed to please my 
 neighbor. 
 
 He said: "Tell you about it. Has an 
 uncle, old skinflint, about eighty years old, 
 Reuben White. He offered your Captain to 
 leave him all his fortune if he would give up 
 the army and live with him," 
 
 171 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 "And," I asked, "give up the woman?" 
 
 "No; but marry and live with him. The 
 Captain won't do it. Now that does seem 
 silly. Don't you think so?" 
 
 "No. She would starve, and Mr. White 
 may live for years and make a dozen wills." 
 But beyond that I said I had no material for 
 judging. 
 
 "Well, it 's simple. The old man tells every 
 one about it. He has never given away a dol- 
 lar, — says he can't, — and is so pleased with his 
 generous post-mortem intentions that — ^well, 
 he told me all about it at a board meeting last 
 week. The Captain was to leave the army 
 and to live with him and take care of his estate 
 till he dies. Then he was to get it all; the 
 Captain to marry or not^ as he pleased. 
 Would n't you accept?" 
 
 I said : "No. He asks a man already dis- 
 tinguished to give up all his reasonable ambi- 
 tions, and, if he married, to submit his wife to 
 the certainty of a miser's whims and mean- 
 ness. I am sure that Captain Fernwood will 
 
 172 
 
THE MIND-JIEADER 
 
 not do it; besides, White promises the library 
 and the hospital. You can't trust him." 
 
 "Well, Fernwood won't, and the old man is 
 furious. Three days ago I witnessed the will 
 he made. He informed us with pride that he 
 had drawn the will himself. In fact, he had 
 studied law when young. He told his nephew 
 in my presence that he had left him ten thou- 
 sand dollars. Oh, by the way, he had old 
 Quarton there as a witness. It seems he 
 thought he had to sign his name in full. 
 Asked me if he must. Of course I said yes. 
 Lord! he hated it; but he signed at last. Duo- 
 decimo Quarton. That, he explained, was be- 
 cause he was such a little baby. Lord, I was 
 sorry for him. You see, his father was a 
 librarian. Oh, about the will. He tells 
 everybody that a large part goes to the Cen- 
 tral Hospital and that he has remembered 
 other charities. This was all in Mr. White's 
 bedroom. The Captain locked the will in the 
 desk, and gave the key to his uncle, but said, 
 'Better put it in the trust company's safe.' 
 
 173 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 Then the Captain took away some bills and 
 checks to pay them. He did not seem angry. 
 That old fellow uses him, I can assure you. 
 What a fool!" 
 
 "No," I said, "he had made his choice." 
 
 "But think of it — a million or two! I can 
 admire such virtue ; I could not imitate it." 
 
 He went out to radiate news elsewhere, 
 murmuring, "Extraordinary, most extraordi- 
 nary !" 
 
 A day or two later tHe Captain came to my 
 room in the evening, and for the first time 
 without an invitation. I was pleased with this 
 sign of desire for my company, and as usual 
 we fell into talk which took wide ranges of 
 interest. At last he asked me where he could 
 find the singular Chinese doctrines of the 
 pulse, explaining, what I had not as yet heard, 
 that while in Philadelphia on duty he had at- 
 tended medical lectures, a dangerous study for 
 a sensible layman. I referred him to Sir John 
 Floyer's "Pulse Watch," and then said, "By 
 the way, you spent some time over Fludd's 
 book." 
 
 174 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 "Yes, I did." 
 
 "Well, as I mentioned, Miss Musgrave asked 
 for it later." 
 
 "Yes ; rather peculiar for a woman, was n't 
 it?" 
 
 "Rather. I do not fancy she enjoyed it. 
 The queerest thing is that, since she returned 
 it a month ago, it tvas asked for by a stranger, 
 and has disappeared. That is, one of the 
 volumes — ^the one which contains illustra- 
 tions. This is a not uncommon form of theft, 
 and of late we have suffered .several such 
 losses." 
 
 "What can you — what do you do?" 
 
 "I was asked to take up the whole matter. 
 I employed a clever detective. He failed me 
 entirely, but my luck did not. I saw in the 
 'Review of Psychology,' published in Chi- 
 cago, an essay on mystics in which Fludd was 
 quoted and the edition given. I wrote to the 
 author who courteously returned our missing 
 volume, which he had bought from a scamp 
 of a dealer in this city. I set my detective on 
 the track and he will be here shortly with two 
 
 175 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 other of our missing books. The thief was 
 easily traced, and is now awaiting trial. I 
 should think this tale of a book's adventures 
 would amuse you." 
 
 Then the talk wandered on to other matters, 
 and quite late he went away. 
 
 Two days after this talk. Miss Musgrave 
 came for a book. After getting it, she said: 
 "A friend of mine told me of your loss of that 
 curious book by Fludd. Have you ever heard 
 of it again?" 
 
 "Yes," I said. She had evidently heard 
 from her lover of our talk, for she remarked: 
 "If I were a clever writer, I should write the 
 adventures of a book — ^how it helped this one 
 or hurt that one." 
 
 "What a clever idea !" I returned. 
 
 "Well," she said, "if ever I am in trouble or 
 have lost anything, I shall come to you for ad- 
 vice. I think you were ingenious. Mr. 
 Stevens says you are a mind-reader." 
 
 "Does he ? Every one is more or less that, 
 Miss Musgrave. Shall I try to read your 
 thoughts?" 
 
 J76 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 "Oh, no; please don't," and she went away 
 laughing. 
 
 Fernwood's visits became frequent and the 
 more I saw of him the better did I like him. 
 At last, one evening, after a long talk and just 
 before he left he said: "I regret that I shall 
 very soon be ordered away and lose both the 
 library and your company in some bookless 
 Western post. However, that is my life, and 
 I cannot complain, or would not except that — " 
 
 As he paused, I said, smiling: "Except for 
 Miss Musgrave." I liked the man, and was 
 curiously pleased when he said: "Then you 
 knew." There was no reason why I should 
 not have known at any time in the last more 
 intimate months unless for the almost feminine 
 reserve with which he guarded his increas- 
 ingly close relations with me and others. 
 
 I said in reply that Mr. Burke had told me. 
 
 "Yes, all of Miss Musgrave's friends know 
 of it. If you talked with Burke," — and he 
 smiled, — "I suppose there is very little you do 
 not know either about her or me." 
 
 177 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 I laughed. "Nothing that I did not Hke. 
 Nothing that is not common property." 
 
 "Yes, the old fellow is generous in the dif- 
 fusion of what were perhaps better left tintold. 
 But I must go. I shall miss you much. I am 
 engaged to Miss Musgrave, and I hope soon 
 to be married." Then, with some hesitation, 
 he added: "Did Mr. Burke speak of my 
 uncle?" 
 
 "He did; and let me say, as you open the 
 subject, that I think you are right. It is in 
 some sense a sacrifice." 
 
 "Oh, no. I could not take my wife to live 
 with my uncle. How could I? I will not 
 give up my profession. Miss Musgrave 
 agrees with me. It is in no sense a sacrifice. 
 But now I must go. Good night !" 
 
 "And so," said I to myself, "I have made 
 my capture, and the man is worth the trouble." 
 And now I was to lose this friend. 
 
 At the time of which I write I had been 
 thrown very little with women, but since then, 
 considering the question of the values of 
 friendships, I conclude that the best friends 
 
 178 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 are women in middle age. The range of their 
 values is other than that of men, but there are 
 many things of which one may talk to them 
 and which with men one approaches in a spirit 
 of reserve. Indeed, as I have elsewhere said, 
 women are the natural confessors of men. 
 
 The sudden frank opening to me of Fern- 
 wood's heart was a disclosure of the feminine 
 traits of a brave and reticent man. It was, in 
 a way, a compliment, and gratified me, as all 
 such conquests do, and the more so because in 
 the solitude that any great city is for a new- 
 comer I had no one else who held to me the 
 relation of friend. I sat with my pipe, and 
 wondered what manner of woman was Miss 
 Musgrave. I had, in my brief official ac- 
 quaintance, found her an interesting, well-bred 
 person, evidently of a social class which had 
 had the advantages of generations of ease and 
 training. With this I dismissed her and her 
 lover, and turned to some deferred library 
 work, little dreaming of the extent to which I 
 was about to be involved in their lives. 
 
 About this time I was sent to a remote city 
 179 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 to attend an important sale of books. I was 
 kept busy for four days, and as I rarely do 
 more than glance at the papers, I chanced not 
 to observe the paragraphs which might have 
 prepared me for the disaster of which I learned 
 upon my return. 
 
 I arrived at the library about nine in the 
 evening. The janitor said : "There is a lady 
 waiting to see you, sir. She is in your room. 
 She has been there an hour. As she often 
 comes to get books, and I have seen you talk- 
 ing to her, I let her into your study. Have 
 you heard the awful news of Mr. White's 
 death?" 
 
 "No, I have not I am very sorry." Then 
 in haste I went up-stairs, with an inexplicable 
 presentiment of calamity. 
 
 When I entered the room, a maid was seated 
 near the door. Her mistress. Miss Musgrave, 
 rose and came forward to meet me, saying: 
 
 "It seemed to me as if you would never 
 come. Can you give me a half-hour? I — 
 we are in great trouble, and Captain Fernwood 
 has asked me to see you." Then as I said, 
 
 i8o 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 "Of course," she asked the maid tp wait for 
 her down-stairs. When alone, I said, "What 
 is the trouble?" 
 
 "You have not heard?" 
 
 "No. I have been away. Tell me, is he 
 ill?" 
 
 "Yes, and worse, and we were so happy, 
 it seems incredible that you have never heard. 
 It is too awful," she exclaimed. 
 
 It seemed to me natural that she should at 
 once inform me, but there was a half -evident 
 desire to put it off. Indeed, for a moment she 
 was silent, as if gathering resolution. I 
 waited and then said: 
 
 "Now, Miss Musgrave, tell me quietly and 
 fully what is the matter, and let me say that I 
 am entirely at your disposal." 
 
 "He said so. He has no other friends here, 
 no family — oh, I said once I should come to 
 you if ever I needed help !" 
 
 "You say he has no friends. His uncle, I 
 hear, is dead." 
 
 "Good heavens, yes — ^murdered!" 
 
 "Stop," I said. "I know nothing. To help 
 i8i 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 you, I must have a clear, definite statement." 
 
 "Yes, I know. I see." 
 
 She sat up and said simply : "This is all we 
 really know. On Monday last, George spent 
 an hour with me. Then he went, as he gen- 
 erally did at least every other night, to see his 
 uncle. That was about nine. He had col- 
 lected some money for him that day. He put 
 it in his uncle's desk, noticed his will lying in 
 it, locked the desk, and put the key in his 
 uncle's waistcoat, which hung on a chair. 
 He said, 'You should put your will, sir, in the 
 safe at the Union Trust Company.' Oh, I 
 can't go on! You must see Captain Fern- 
 wood at once, please. I want you to see 
 George. He is in a dreadful state. You will 
 see him, won't you — at once, to-night?" 
 
 I said, "Yes, of course. Let me walk home 
 with you." 
 
 "No. I have a carriage. I will leave you 
 at George's." 
 
 As we drove along, neither spoke. What 
 she could not or would not speak of I too easily 
 
 182 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 comprehended. There was the common and 
 often terrible situation of the man who is 
 known to have been last with the murdered 
 and who cannot prove an alibi. 
 
 183 
 
Ill 
 
 No study of character prepared me for the 
 effect on Fernwood. Under this terror, 
 the woman was of a sudden strong, resolute, 
 combative. Under it, the man who was a 
 proverb in his corps for cool courage was 
 broken, nerveless, and timid. 
 
 Indeed, what I saw as I entered his room 
 was enough to create pity and to make it need- 
 ful to exercise the large charity of the physi- 
 cian to lessen the sense of surprise with which 
 one saw a man in the vigor of health so easily 
 routed. Long pain and the bodily feebleness 
 due to disease or wounds often take from a 
 man his moral weapons, and leave him with 
 neither sword nor shield. But this man, in 
 the midst of health and in the sunshine of a 
 rare woman's love, splendidly able to put aside 
 wealth, was like a strong battle-ship on the 
 rocks, a helpless prey of the sea. I saw it all 
 
 184 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 at a glance as I entered his room. He sat 
 crouched low in a chair by the wood fire, with- 
 out other light. As I approached, he turned 
 his head, looked at me, and resumed his atti- 
 tude of defeat, his head in his hands, his elbow 
 on his knees. I went to the mantel, found a 
 match, and lighted two gas-jets. Then I 
 drew a chair and sat down beside him. He 
 said not a word as I took his hand. His pulse 
 was eloquent of his condition. I saw at once 
 that the physician must prepare the way for 
 the friend. I said: "You have not slept and 
 you have not eaten." 
 
 "No. Not for three days." 
 
 "Well, that won't do. I want to talk to you, 
 but now you are in no fit case for talk. Come 
 with me to my rooms." 
 
 "No; I am watched. I should be arrested." 
 
 I persisted, and at last he consented ; but he 
 staggered as he rose, saying, "It is useless," 
 and yet he went. 
 
 When at last we were in my study, I made 
 him take a pretty stiff glass of whisky and, 
 with more difficulty, a couple of biscuits. The 
 
 185 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 influence of the stimulus was interesting and 
 rapid. I said but little, and nothing of the 
 cause of his condition. But after some twenty 
 minutes he sat up and said: "Do you think 
 they followed us?" and then: "I wish you 
 would lock the door." It was childlike, but I 
 did so. Then I returned to my seat, and 
 quietly lighted my pipe and waited. Five 
 minutes went by before he said: "Why did 
 you make me come here? They will think I 
 ran away." 
 
 "No. I shall say where you are. You 
 must stay with me." 
 
 "May I have some more whisky?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 He took it again, and of his own will ate 
 greedily of the biscuits. We were silent. In 
 the way the stimulus and food restored the 
 man's moral vigor with the physical gain in 
 strength, there was something which I felt 
 should have given him a reproachful sense of 
 humiliation at the ease with which he had been 
 crushed. He said suddenly, "Would you 
 mind if I smoked?" 
 
 i86 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 "No," I said, and gave him a cigar. "And 
 now let us talk. You must tell me all about 
 it. You sent for me, and I came. I am your 
 friend, and with what I have heard I am pre- 
 pared, as you are not, to consider calmly this 
 absurd situation. I beg of you not to get ex- 
 cited or explain or reason on the case. Give 
 me the cold facts. Can you, or shall we wait 
 until to-morrow?" 
 
 "Oh, no; I do not want to wait. I am abso- 
 lutely alone here. I have no man but you to 
 whom I can turn. I do not make friends 
 easily. My uncle was my only relative. I 
 want to ask advice. I want to know how it 
 looks to you. Miss Musgrave's aunt is use- 
 less, of course. I have no one — no one." 
 
 I saw how vast was the artificial gain of the 
 hour ; I knew, too, that it would not last. 
 
 "Go on," I said. He laid down his cigar, 
 and went on to state with amazing absence of 
 visible emotion the whole tragic story. 
 
 "About two weeks from the time he made 
 his will, on Monday night, I gave my uncle 
 $745.50, a delayed payment of interest which 
 
 187 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 I had collected on a mortgage. You may not 
 know that he has made this kind of use of me 
 ever since I came to the city. At first he used 
 to say it was merely taking care of my own 
 property, but since-^" 
 
 Here I said: "Do not explain. That may 
 come later. Now I want only the recent bare 
 facts." 
 
 "Very well, you shall have them." 
 
 My witness was still improving. 
 
 "When I called on Monday night, my uncle 
 was in bed. Of late he was mtich of the time 
 in bed. I put the money in his desk, and 
 locked it and put the key in his waistcoat 
 pocket. I said, 'I see your will, sir, is still in 
 the desk.' It was in an envelop, labeled and 
 sealed. I said, Tt should be in your bank 
 safe.' He said, 'Yes; I shall see to that to- 
 morrow. You have only to change your 
 mind, and I will burn that will.' 
 
 "I said no, and that I begged he would not 
 reopen a question to which I could make only 
 one reply. He said I was a fool. I made no 
 answer. The fact is, I think that — " 
 
 i88 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 Once again I broke in. "Facts," I said, 
 "facts." 
 
 This time the man actually smiled as he re- 
 turned, "What are you doing?" 
 
 I had taken up pencil and note-tablet. 
 
 "I am about to take down in shorthand 
 what you tell me." 
 
 I was fairly expert at this. 
 
 "Go on." 
 
 "I read the larger part of the stock-list to 
 my uncle and one or two editorials. After 
 this, as he was evidently sleepy, I said: 
 'Good night, sir. Don't forget to bolt your 
 door.' 
 
 "The old housemaid, his only servant, had 
 gone to bed. In the hall I saw that the tall 
 clock was marking eleven. I put out the gas 
 and went away, leaving the hall door, as usual, 
 unlocked, the maid having gone to bed. I 
 think I said that it was a common occurrence. 
 I walked to my rooms, let myself in, and see- 
 ing no one, went to bed. 
 
 "At half after seven in the morning I was 
 awakened and told that a policeman wanted to 
 
 189 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 see me. I dressed in haste, and found the man 
 outside. 
 
 "He said, 'Mr. Fernwood, your uncle was 
 found dead on the floor this morning.' 
 
 "He had not seen him, and could tell me 
 nothing more. I found two policemen in the 
 hall, and up-stairs in the room a captain of po- 
 lice and others. 
 
 "I said, 'I am Captain Fernwood, Mr. 
 White's nephew.' My uncle lay in his night- 
 dress, dead on the floor, his head near the fire- 
 place, and close by the poker. There was a 
 cut on his left temple. I was about to feel it, 
 to see if there were a fracture, when the cap- 
 tain of police said: 'Don't touch him. The 
 coroner will be here.' 
 
 "I rose, and the man said: 'It may have 
 been an accident or a murder. The desk has 
 been broken open.' 
 
 "I turned, and saw that it had been rudely 
 handled. It was open, the money gone, and 
 the will also. I looked about among the few 
 other papers which lay scattered on the floor, 
 but was warned to touch nothing. I felt sure, 
 
 190 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 however, that the will was not among them. 
 Then for the first time I began to feel — " 
 "Stop," I said. "Stick to the facts." 
 "I sat down and waited. It was hours be- 
 fore the coroner came, and late in the after- 
 noon before the inquest was held. I never left 
 the house. At the inquest the maid swore to 
 my presence the night before, to ignorance as 
 to when I had left, and to finding the chamber 
 door unlocked at 7 a. m., when, as usual, she 
 went to call Mr. White, and, seeing him on the 
 floor, ran screaming into the street. The 
 street door was often left unlocked. I told you 
 that. 
 
 "I stated in turn the facts of my visit and 
 felt at once that I had better speak of the con- 
 tents of the desk. When I spoke of the will, 
 a juror desired to know what I knew about it. 
 I said it left me, as I had been told, by my 
 uncle, ten thousand dollars, the maid the same 
 amount, the rest to charities — or at least so my 
 uncle had said. What else there was I had not 
 been told. A juror asked if Mr. White had 
 other near relatives. I said none. I was then 
 
 191 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 asked concerning my relations with my uncle. 
 On this I stated the circumstances which oc- 
 casioned him to make the will. Asked if we 
 had quarreled, I said no; he had been liberal 
 to my mother, and although he was angry and 
 disappointed, our intercourse had remained 
 pleasant, on my part at least. Asked if I had, 
 felt disappointed about the will, I said yes, but 
 that I considered my course reasonable. 
 Asked if there were no will, who would inherit, 
 I replied that I should in that case be the sole 
 heir. During the day I was not allowed to 
 reenter the room. A post-mortem section 
 showed that the wound on the head was only 
 a surface injury, and could not have been the 
 cause of deatli. He might have been struck, 
 and, as he was over eighty years old, have 
 fallen when hit, and died easily enough. The 
 verdict stated the fact of the robbery and the 
 belief of the jury that Reuben White came to 
 his death through violence at the hands of a 
 person or persons unknown." 
 
 "Was there," I asked, "any evidence of bur- 
 glary?" 
 
 192 
 
"T 
 
 THE MIND-READER 
 
 'No. The maid, who herself is old and 
 stupid, swore that she had, as usual, locked up 
 the back of the house and that the silver on 
 the sideboard, in the dining-room, some of it 
 old and valuable, had not been taken. The 
 only taste my uncle allowed himself was for old 
 silver, in which he was an expert." 
 
 "And now," I said, "a question or two. Be 
 careful how you reply. Did you tell them you 
 locked the desk and where you put the key?" 
 
 "Yes, and they found it. A juror said, 
 'Only a burglar, a man in fear and haste, 
 would have broken the desk,' Another said, 
 'Unless he wanted to simulate a burglary, and 
 knew all the while where to look for the key.' 
 Here the coroner stopped, them, but it was clear 
 that everything pointed to me as the criminal. 
 I had killed my uncle. I had stolen the will. 
 
 "I went away horror-stricken. I walked 
 from place to place and far out into the coun- 
 try. At evening I came home. The next day 
 I: forced myself to go to the house and arrange 
 for the funeral. The maid and a friend of 
 hers, whom she had asked to remain with her, 
 
 193 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 stared at me with horrible curiosity. The old 
 woman was weeping over the loss of her leg- 
 acy. I left them. Before night I became sure 
 that I was shadowed. My God ! the shadow of 
 a murderer! I have not left the house since. 
 I have not slept at all. I have eaten nothing 
 in two days. I wrote Miss Musgrave that our 
 engagement was at an end. She will not hear 
 to it. She came to see me at once, and this is 
 all." 
 
 My pencil had been busy. I had had no time 
 to think. 
 
 I said now : "You must go to bed, and here 
 in my room. I shall send for your things to- 
 morrow." 
 
 He yielded with childlike submissiveness. 
 When I had him safe in bed, I brought him a 
 tablespoonful of whisky in which I had dis- 
 solved a small. dose of morphia. I closed the 
 door and sat down to think, and the more I 
 thought, the less I liked the outlook. At last 
 I tried to put myself in his place. If he had 
 meant to steal the will, it was at any time easy 
 but useless and perilous to do so while his uncle 
 
 194 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 lived. Suppose him to have Hngered in the 
 house intending later to kill, and been con- 
 fronted by his uncle awake, the rest would fol- 
 low. I had gone along a track which would 
 be surely that of any one who did not know 
 Fernwood. To, me it was inconceivable. But 
 what next? Burglary. The old man wakes, 
 is struck down. The desk is opened, the 
 money found. I put myself in the burglar's 
 mental skin. I. see the will. It is labeled, 
 "Will of Reuben White." I read it by my 
 lantern. I am intelligent enough to know its 
 possible value. In my dread of discovery, and 
 with the dead man at my feet, I make haste to 
 leave. But why neglect the silver ? Here my 
 venture into the stranger land of an unknown 
 man's personality failed me. As I have said, 
 my essays on criminal character which at- 
 tracted much attention some years ago, had 
 been the result of long study and much experi- 
 ence when I was, as a younger man, in medical 
 charge of the Central Penitentiary. 
 
 It is easy to classify criminal types, but no 
 experience of the class and the genera and 
 
 195 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 species will enable one entirely to understand 
 surely the motives which govern them while 
 engaged in illegal acts. Here as elsewhere in 
 life the ever-present factor of individual differ- 
 ence may make prediction difficult. 
 
 In the case I now considered there was ac- 
 tion which seemed to me unlike that of the 
 ordinary burglar. By this time I had begun 
 to be deeply interested. Both head and heart 
 were in the game which any friend of Fern- 
 wood must play against the theory I was sure 
 the police would hold. I knew that I should 
 need help, and that I should like to go over the 
 house of the dead man. I wrote a note, ask- 
 ing Mr. South, the detective, to call on me dur- 
 ing the evening of the next day, and went out 
 and mailed it. 
 
 On my return I assured myself that Fern- 
 wood was asleep. At six next morning I 
 called him. He was confused for a moment as 
 he came out of the borderland between sleep 
 and the wakened state. He said: "I was 
 bothered for a little by my surroundings, but 
 
 196 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 now I am better. What a fool I was yester- 
 day!" 
 
 "Do not talk," I said. "Dress. The bath 
 is ready. We can talk at breakfast." 
 
 197 
 
IV 
 
 WHEN he entered my study, although pale 
 and anxious-looking, he was better than. 
 I could have expected. The janitor's wife pro- 
 vided, as usual, coffee, eggs, and bread and but- 
 ter. He sat down, and with too obvious as- 
 sumption of his usual courteous manner 
 apologized for the trouble he had given. I de- 
 clined to talk of his present situation, and when 
 he had finished a fairly good meal, I said, 
 "Come with me." He was at once alarmed, 
 and I saw that he was still far from the state of 
 competence I desired. 
 
 However, we went down-stairs, I saying: 
 "You use the wheel. I "have borrowed our 
 janitor's. I have mine." 
 
 He looked up and down the street, and see- 
 ing no one, mounted. We went away some 
 four miles into the country, and then back, and 
 I saw, as we returned, that the exercise had 
 
 198 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 brought color into his face. He remonstrated 
 as I turned away from the library, and cross- 
 ing the still quiet city, stopped at the door of 
 his uncle's house. Fernwood hesitated, but 
 when I insisted, rang the bell. The old woman 
 who let us in looked at him as if in doubt and 
 said: "I wasn't to let any one in. That's 
 what the police said." The man in charge had 
 gone away for his breakfast. 
 
 I replied, "The Captain has every right to 
 go where he pleases in this house, and I am 
 his friend." She grumbled about our getting 
 her into trouble, but as I insisted, went with us, 
 while I inspected the house with care. I 
 learned nothing of value. Last I went into 
 the room of the dead owner. Fernwood looked 
 about him, and then abruptly turned and went 
 out. The old woman said to me, "He's 
 afraid, and I don't wonder." She had made 
 up her mind that he was suffering the terror of 
 guilt. I said: "Nonsense! The man is ill." 
 
 I had gained nothing by my visit. I saw 
 that in my desire to utilize his knowledge of 
 the house, I had only learned how deeply he 
 
 199 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 was wounded and how close he had come to 
 the boundaries beyond which a man may not 
 pass without becoming a minority of one in the 
 country of the sane. 
 
 I said, "Come back with me a moment." 
 When within, I asked to go once more into the 
 dining-room. I said, "Susan, where was the 
 silver kept?" 
 
 "Oh, some in the bank and some here on the 
 sideboard. It was all right that morning. I 
 cleaned it the day before. He was mighty par- 
 ticular about that." ' 
 
 "Where is it now?" 
 
 "I put it away, there were so many people 
 about." 
 
 "Could I see it?" . 
 
 A five-dollar note relieved her mind, and we 
 went up-stairs. It was in flannel bags. I 
 looked it over piece by piece. At last I care- 
 fully studied a fine Queen Anne tankard. 
 
 Then the old woman said : "That was on a 
 chair the morning after the murder. I might 
 have set it there. No, burglars would n't have 
 left this silver." 
 
 200 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 "Some one has handled it," I said. 
 
 "Well, I did n't, except by the handle." 
 
 "Some one did," I insisted, and we went 
 iiaway. 
 
 My friend was again becoming nervous, and 
 ::my remark on the significant observation of 
 the silver having been handled did no good. 
 
 I said: "Fernwood, if you let yourself go 
 to pieces in this way, you will end by making 
 a lot of idiots think you are really a criminal. 
 We are only at the beginning of an affair 
 which will need cool heads and intelligent man- 
 agement, and now you are behaving like a 
 scared child or an hysterical girl. You have 
 really nothing to fear." 
 
 "Do you think that? I do not mind telling 
 you that what I fear is that I may come to be- 
 lieve I — I killed him. It does look so likely. 
 I have heard of such cases, and even now — I — " 
 
 "Good gracious! Do you want to make 
 me regret that I mean to see this thing 
 through?" 
 
 He came over to where I stood and put a 
 hand on my shoulder. He said: "You must 
 
 203 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 forgive me, and you will, if you think of the 
 hopeless misery of my condition." 
 
 "All right," I said. "Now I must go. We 
 will lunch and dine at a little Italian restaurant 
 near by; but, my dear fellow, I want you clear 
 of head, because we are to have a talk to-night 
 with South. I sent for him." 
 
 "I will try," he said, and appeared relieved 
 by the prospect of something being done. I 
 went to my work, uneasy and feeling that we 
 were in deep water. 
 
 When we went out to lunch, I saw South, 
 the detective, come out of a tobacco shop oppo- 
 site the library. I said to the Captain, "Wait 
 a moment," and crossing over, said to South, 
 "Are you watching Captain Fernwood?" 
 
 He said, "Yes. It is very stupid, but those 
 are my orders." 
 
 "Well," I said, "you know me. He will ap- 
 pear when wanted. You may as well go home, 
 but turn up at nine to-night. I want to ask 
 your advice about him." 
 
 He whistled low. "Well, that's funny. 
 We are on the other side." 
 
 204 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 "There is no other side." 
 
 "Yes; that Hospital Board. They say he 
 has told them over and over they were to get 
 most of his money." 
 
 "Well, we will talk it over." 
 
 "Very good," he said, and sauntered up the 
 street, while I rejoined Fern wood. * 
 
 To my surprise, he said : "I saw that man 
 the day but one after — after — ^my uncle died. 
 Is he watching me?" 
 
 I thought better to say yes, frankly. 
 
 "It 's a strange thing to know. He had bet- 
 ter take care." 
 
 "Wait a little," I said. "We will get him 
 on our side," and we went on to lunch, the 
 Captain now and then looking back suspi- 
 ciously, 
 
 A little before nine that night I asked him 
 to go into my bedroom and wait there until I 
 called him. He asked for a newspaper, I 
 knew better than to give him one. The dailies 
 were still wildly discussing the famous case and 
 the stolen will, 
 
 "This will do," he said, and taking a book 
 205 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 from my shelves, went into the bedroom while 
 I waited for South, my notes on the table at 
 my side. 
 
 When he came in, I said: "Sit down, take 
 a cigar, and run over these memoranda." — I 
 had written them out. — "And speak low when 
 you talk.* The Captain is in my bedroom. 
 Now read this." 
 
 In a few minutes he laid down the notes, 
 and I said, "Now, how does this look to you?" 
 
 "Well, first, let me say I have left the police, 
 and am with the firm of Frost, the detective 
 agents. They are employed by that hospital 
 to find out where that will is, if it is at all. 
 The murder does not concern them except in 
 a way. They want that will. You see, the 
 old man. White, told them all about it. They 
 think your friend has it or had it" 
 
 "Well," I said, "the fools are not all dead, 
 but I want your opinion — ^your theory, if you 
 have one." 
 
 "Well, Dr. Alston, I have none. I have 
 talked to two of that jury, and they think your 
 friend killed the man, or at least struck him 
 
 206 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 and stole the will, but I have n't much respect 
 for coroner's juries. Their notion is that he 
 broke open the desk and disordered the room 
 so as to simulate a burglary. When I men- 
 tioned that he had declined the old man's con- 
 ditions, and at the inquest had called attention 
 to the absence of the will, that seemed to them 
 only a clever dodge, and one said a burglar 
 would never have left the silver. That did 
 seem queer to me. However, I am to be al- 
 lowed to go over the house to-morrow, and I 
 want to see the old man's servant." 
 
 "Ask to see the silver, South." And there- 
 upon I told him, what I had seen. It did not 
 impress him. 
 
 He said: "There was, I hear, no breaking 
 in. If burglars entered, it was easy to do so 
 by the unlocked front door." 
 
 This was exactly what I wanted, and agree- 
 ing, I added: "Now, I want you to see the 
 Captain. I will call him." 
 
 There was no need, for, as I spoke, the door 
 opened, and he entered, a book in his hand. 
 He threw it on the table, and as South rose, 
 
 207 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 he sprang forward, and catching him by the 
 throat, shook him with savage violence, cry- 
 ing, "So you are set to watch me, you hound !" 
 
 The big detective stood still as I caught 
 Fernwood's arm, and said, "Are you insane?" 
 He let go his grip and turned. 
 
 "No. I am sane enough, and no man shall 
 follow me as this man has done." 
 
 I pushed him down into a chair, saying: 
 "Mr. South is here to help us. He is only 
 obeying orders; but he does not believe you 
 guilty." 
 
 "Is that so, Mr. South? Let him say so. 
 He 's got to say so." 
 
 I knew South too well to think he would 
 lie, and I was immensely relieved when he said 
 quietly, "I believe, sir, that you are an inno- 
 cent man." 
 
 "Thank God for that! That accursed book 
 upset me." 
 
 I glanced at it. What evil fate had made 
 him choose it? It was "Eugene Aram." 
 
 "Well," I said, "you owe Mr. South an 
 apology." 
 
 208 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 "He has it, and my gratitude," said Fern- 
 wood, in his courteous way. "I am sorry, 
 but—" 
 
 "Let us talk," I said. 
 
 "No," returned South, readjusting his neck- 
 tie; "not now. To-morrow, perhaps, after I 
 have seen the house. Only one question: 
 Did you often leave without the woman follow- 
 ing you to lock the front door ?" 
 
 "Yes ; because commonly I was late and she 
 in bed. I spoke of it once or twice, but my 
 uncle said no burglars ever came in from the 
 front." 
 
 "No; that is true as a rule. We shall pull 
 through. Captain." 
 
 My friend looked up and said: "It is an 
 unspeakable relief to hear you say that. If the 
 will is never found, I cannot, I could not, take 
 the money; or if I did take his fortune, and 
 gave it to the hospital, that would be sure to 
 be looked upon as the act of a repentant man. 
 I have one hope, and it is that whoever stole 
 the will did so in order to sell it to the hospital." 
 
 "Or to you," said South. 
 209 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 "I see. To give me the chance to burn it." 
 
 "That's about it, sir. Well, good-night, 
 and I just want to say this. I was n't clear 
 about this matter. Now I am. Keep cool, 
 and don't read the papers." 
 
 Said Fernwood, with his pleasant smile, "Let 
 me again ask you to excuse my violence." 
 
 "Why, sir," said the big man, "it was just 
 that settled the matter for me. If you had 
 been guilty, you would not have come down on 
 me like that." 
 
 "I should not." 
 
 I said, "Argumentum ad hominem." 
 
 "What 's that?" said South. 
 
 I failed to be able to put it more clearly, and 
 for the first time we all three laughed. I went 
 down-stairs and talked to South for half an 
 hour about Fernwood and his well-known act 
 of venturing out under a heavy fire, putting a 
 tourniquet on Major Warde, and carrying him 
 into our lines, although himself slightly 
 wounded. 
 
 "That 's the scar on his cheek." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 2IO 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 "Well, well, men are queer, and that man to 
 be broke up this way!" 
 
 "And would not you be ?" 
 
 "I might. There really are several kinds 
 of courage. He was upset a bit by the jury 
 inquest, and the average reporter was sure to 
 consider that an evidence of crime." 
 
 When I went up-stairs I quietly opened my 
 bedroom door. Fernwood was on his knees. 
 I closed the door and sat down with my pipe, 
 with thankful hope in my mind. 
 
 I administered my remedy of the bicycle next 
 day, and left my friend after breakfast, asking 
 him to make a copy of a long list of new books 
 to be bought, which otherwise, I assured him I 
 should have to make myself. He seemed glad 
 to be of use to me, and thenceforward I man- 
 aged to keep him busy and at times even inter- 
 ested. 
 
 When again I saw South, he said, "I have 
 asked to be relieved from further service of the 
 hospital trustees and am now entirely at your 
 command." I thanked him. "Well, sir," he 
 said, "you are right: the silver had been 
 
 211 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 handled. The mug — what she calls the tank- 
 ard — had been picked up from the sideboard 
 and left on the chair. They meant to re- 
 turn and take it all. The man's death scared 
 them, and as they had the money — seven hun- 
 dred and fifty, was it ? — a good haul." 
 
 "And the will," I said. 
 
 "Yes. That is the interesting part. Talk 
 about that later. Then they left as they came. 
 We are only at the beginning of a very diffi- 
 cult business. The next move must come from 
 the burglars, and they won't hurry. But with 
 what I can now say to the chief there will be 
 no arrest of your friend ; but he will have to be 
 patient. After I see the chief and my own 
 people, I shall be able to advise you further. 
 Now, I don't want to talk or to let this evidence 
 get out. The thieves read the papers indus- 
 triously, and they know of the general police 
 belief that the Captain took the will, and so 
 at present they are at ease and can wait." 
 
 Then he added, turning to Fernwood: 
 "The house was entered by the front door. 
 
 212 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 They saw and meant to take the silver." He 
 went on to state the case as it now stood. 
 
 Meanwhile the Captain sat moveless, in- 
 tensely attentive. When South ended, he 
 said: "I see it now. It was not alone my 
 uncle's death that sent them away in a hurry. 
 The man who saw that will knew that he had 
 a prize. The silver became of small moment." 
 
 I heard him with surprise and relief. Here 
 was the quiet, reasoning man I first knew, 
 acute, intelligent, himself again. 
 
 South had only affirmative comment, and 
 left me to advise my friend to be patient, as 
 now we had to play a waiting game. 
 
 Fernwood had, of course, seen Miss Mus- 
 grave often, and now I advised him to go in 
 the evening, and in confidence to tell her that 
 we were on the track of the burglars. 
 
 Still, I was far from being at ease. I was 
 at the end of my mental resources, and was 
 merely anxious as to the way I should keep him 
 quiet. What with the bicycle rides in the 
 country, when Miss Musgrave went with us, 
 
 213 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 and throwing upon him work in connection 
 with the books of our library, I succeeded as 
 well as one could expect to succeed with a sen- 
 sitive man over whom hung so dark a cloud. 
 He insisted, however, on learning whenever 
 anything new turned up, and I, on my part, 
 agreed to this on condition of complete submis- 
 siveness to my orders. 
 
 To keep faith with him, as soon as I heard 
 again from South, I asked him to meet us at 
 my room. This was a day or two later. At 
 this time South said: "There have been sev- 
 eral long consultations with the chief of the 
 city detective force, and here is where we stand. 
 My own people are sure I am right. The chief 
 is still in doubt. The trustees of the hospital 
 want to advertise and offer a reward for the 
 return of the will; but some of these old gentle- 
 men say it is useless, because you have it. 
 They ended by agreeing to wait. You, too, 
 must wait." 
 
 "If," said Fernwood, thoughtfully, "I were 
 to claim the estate on the final failure to recover 
 the will and were to turn it over to them, I 
 
 214 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 should remain forever under the shadow of a 
 tragedy which would rest unexplained." 
 
 "That seems to be on your mind. Captain," 
 said the detective. 
 
 "It is not for a moment to be thought of," 
 said I. "What else, Mr. South?" 
 
 "Well, sir, you know about criminals. Gen- 
 erally, in case of an unusual burglary, we can 
 be pretty sure of the group in which we may 
 find the man. According to Dr. Alston's no- 
 tion, here must have been a burglar intelligent 
 enough to see the great value of this will, which 
 must have been short and simple and decisive 
 enough to content him with his prize. Usu- 
 ally such a man has as his companion some one 
 who is not a swell burglar, and it is here they 
 are apt to get trapped. The second fellow 
 doesn't get enough, or he drinks and talks. 
 It is just here we are at a loss. There are sev- 
 eral we might suspect, but some of them are in 
 jail or have disappeared. We have simply got 
 to wait." 
 
 And wait we did until, despite my care, 
 Fernwood was looking worried and was no 
 '3 215 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 longer manageable. He told Miss Musgrave, 
 to her horror, that he now believed he had 
 killed his uncle, and as to the will, he didn't 
 know. He must have taken it. I became 
 alarmed, and meanwhile a lawyer had failed to 
 help us. We had only to wait. I was in de- 
 spair. I had heard of such cases, and saw 
 that my friend was on the way to become in- 
 sane. Once he declared that he meant to con- 
 fess. 
 
 "If," said South, "he judges others by him- 
 self, the man who has the will is going to fish 
 first for the Captain. If not, he will try the 
 hospital trustees, and that 's all there is of it 
 just now. He 's got first to divide that seven 
 hundred and fifty and spend his share." 
 
 The days which went by without further in- 
 cident must have been for Fernwood the most 
 trying time of his life, but what with work — 
 and I kept him busy — and exercise, and above 
 all the quiet wholesomeness of Miss Mus- 
 grave's influence, we lived it out. His im- 
 patience under continued suspicion and the 
 difficulty in keeping the trustees tranquil re- 
 
 216 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 suited at last in a determination on the part of 
 Fernwood to free himself from any relation to 
 the great estate involved. I was now, at last, 
 so alarmed at his condition, that I reluctantly- 
 consented. A legal paper was drawn up by 
 which he, Fernwood, conveyed to the hospital 
 trustees his entire interest in his uncle's prop- 
 erty, conditioned upon their paying over to the 
 housekeeper ten thousand dollars. 
 
 When this should be made known, the will 
 would become of far less moment. I did not 
 like it, but he was so uneasy that I began to 
 have grave fears lest his reason might give 
 way. Indeed, as we walked to the office of the 
 president of the board, he said to me : "I am 
 again haunted by the idea that perhaps I really 
 did that thing. If I am not relieved in some 
 way I shall lose my mind or say I did it. I 
 am not sure." 
 
 "I hope," said I, laughing, "if you lose your 
 mind, that in that case I shall find it." 
 
 "Oh, don't joke about it," he returned, and 
 we went up-stairs to the office of the president. 
 
 Mr. Daingerfield, the old gentleman with 
 
 217 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 the shiny bald head, which apparently attracted 
 the early flies, asked us to sit down, put on his 
 spectacles, and industriously beat off the flies 
 with a large palm-leaf fan. 
 
 "Well," he said rather grufily, "you want 
 to see me? I supposed you would." 
 
 Fernwood was at his best, gentle, courteous, 
 and quiet. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "I have come to propose to 
 you an arrangement with your board which I 
 am sure — " 
 
 To my surprise the old man stood up, and, 
 interrupting him, exclaimed: "We will make 
 no compromise. None. I am amazed that 
 you should for a moment think it possible." 
 
 "Had you not better hear first what I have to 
 say?" : 
 
 "No, sir. I have no desire to deal with you 
 at all. We expected some advance of this 
 nature." 
 
 "Of what nature?" 
 
 "No matter what. A will is lost by which 
 the poor would have profited and the man who, 
 
 218 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 if it never turns up, will get the estate under 
 circumstances which — " 
 
 Fernwood rose, but, to my satisfaction, quiet 
 and cool. He unrolled the deed as he said: 
 "I am a gentleman placed by disastrous cir- 
 cumstances under suspicion of murder and 
 theft. Even the most unkindly man should, 
 in the total absence of proof, feel for me. You, 
 an old man, simply insult me without even hav- 
 ing the patience and charity to listen. The 
 deed I hold conveys to your board my entire 
 interest in my late uncle's estate and leaves me 
 without a penny." 
 
 As he spoke, he tore the paper to pieces, and 
 was about to cast it into the waste-basket, but 
 smiled and crammed it into his pocket, saying: 
 "I hope that you will be able to explain this 
 matter to your board. I shall have the pleas- 
 ure to let them hear of it by letter." 
 
 The old man cried oUt: "But I could not 
 have imagined — sit down. Sit down, sir !" 
 
 "No," said the Captain, and we left Mr. 
 Daingerfield standing forgetful of the atten- 
 
 221 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 tive flies and exclaiming, "Good gracious !" and 
 apparently confused out of possibility of other 
 utterance. 
 
 "Well," I said to Fernwood, "are you satis- 
 fied?" 
 
 "Entirely." 
 
 It did him good, and afforded him the only 
 bit of humorous incident which this too tragic 
 affair supplied. 
 
 That afternoon I saw Miss Musgrave. She 
 sat with Fernwood a while in my sitting-room 
 and then came down to the delivery-office and 
 asked for me. I took her into my private 
 room, where she began to question me about 
 what would become of the estate if Fernwood 
 should decline to claim it. He had already 
 made the same inquiry, I said I did not know, 
 but that there was a book — a law book on wills 
 — which would tell us. I would get it. It was 
 one of the issues of this complicated affair in 
 which I too felt some interest. 
 
 "Oddly enough," the attendant said, "a gen- 
 tleman asked for that book half an hour ago. 
 
 222 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 He is over there at the table under the win- 
 dows." 
 
 It was near by, and I glanced at the reader. 
 He was, as I remember, a neatly clad man in 
 black clothes, and because of being clean 
 shaven, somehow reminded me of a Catholic 
 priest. He was making notes in a little book. 
 I noticed that he wore in a black neck-scarf a 
 large diamond or paste pin. I had a moment 
 of wonder, because it struck a note of differ- 
 ence from his lean face and the rather simple 
 costume. 
 
 Miss Musgrave and I got little information 
 out of the book, and as we were in agreement 
 as regarded too constant, direct, and useless 
 discussion of our troubles, we fell into other 
 talk. This came of my remarking upon the 
 way in which a crime or any other such matter 
 called upon the resources of a library. Sev- 
 eral persons had recently busied themselves in 
 the library with this question of unclaimed 
 estates and lost wills. 
 
 The day after, a typewritten letter from 
 223 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 Boston addressed to me made me summon 
 South at once. He read it aloud. 
 
 " Dear Sir : I hear a certain document interests 
 you. Answer in next Tuesday's ' New York Herald,' 
 and say ' Yes, it does. A. B.' Then you will hear 
 further. X." 
 
 "But why me?" said I. 
 
 "Well, that beats me," replied South. "Of 
 course this was purposely mailed in Boston. 
 He should have asked for an answer there. 
 Very likely he is here. He has spent that 
 seven hundred and fifty." 
 
 "What do you advise?" said I. "It is get- 
 tSig more and more strange." 
 
 "Answer him as he says, and then wait. 
 To-night I am going to take a look at some 
 of the resorts of the upper class of burglars. 
 Of course it is often done, but the men lately 
 concerned in big robberies keep dark for a 
 while. Sometimes the hangers-on of the swell 
 rascals get picked up in these dens. The upper 
 set, and there aren't many, put on style and 
 go to second-rate hotels or live very quietly out 
 
 224 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 of town. However, I mean to take a look. 
 Like to go with me? Gentleman from Chi- 
 cago wanting to see the city." 
 
 I said: "Yes. I should like to go." 
 
 Fernwood declined, as I supposed he would. 
 
 I have no desire to describe the haunts of 
 those I saw that evening. They had in- 
 terest for an old student of the class which has 
 only one reason for resisting temptation, and 
 again, as often before, I was struck with the 
 exterior order and, in one resort, with the 
 cleanliness of the saloon. I was amused, too, 
 at South's classification. "It is of no use, or 
 generally of no use," he said, "to look for the 
 boss of a big job here." This he said as we 
 came out of the worst of the dens. "Those 
 fellows are the common lot, sneak thieves and 
 so on. They are always poor, hand-to-mouth 
 fellows." 
 
 "Yes," I replied. "The uncertain day- 
 laborers of crime. Sad analogy," I murmured 
 as we moved away. 
 
 South was like a botanist in the country. 
 He knew where to look for this weed or that, 
 
 225 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 and spoke, like the very decent fellow he was, 
 of the women who, themselves degraded, help 
 to degrade. 
 
 It was eleven at night, when, having made 
 nothing by our quest, we went to get a mug of 
 beer at one of the well-known cafes in the lower 
 part of the city. South, as we sat, began to 
 exercise curiosity on those about us with now 
 and then some shrewd comment. Of a sudden 
 he set down his half -raised mug and said: 
 "Don't appear to look, but get a quick look at 
 the man at the third table — the one nearest the 
 window. He is one of our most skilled bur- 
 glars. He has been in and out of jail three 
 times, and is as likely as not to — " 
 
 "By George!" I exclaimed, "I know him. 
 He was at ihe library recently, and wanted to 
 consult a law book about wills." 
 
 "What? What?" said South. "Is that so? 
 Come, let us go. I know the rascal well. He 
 goes by the name of Tom Swing." 
 
 I followed him without a word. When on 
 the pavement he said to a cabman, "I take you; 
 wait," and drew me aside. In a few moments; 
 
 226 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 our man came out, smoking a cigar. He 
 looked at his watch and walked swiftly away. 
 
 "Come," said South, "get in." He said to 
 the cabman: "You see that man? Follow 
 him at a walk. Don't lose him. Five dollars 
 if you keep him in sight till I stop you, and 
 don't get too near." 
 
 "All right, sir," said the man, and we drove 
 away. 
 
 227 
 
THE streets into which we turned were al- 
 most deserted, and the task was not diffi- 
 cult. "If," said South, "we tracked him on 
 foot we might very easily alarm him. You 
 saw him look about him as he came out. He is 
 on his guard. Now he will never dream of be- 
 ing shadowed by a cab unless he is in one." 
 
 This quiet pursuit lasted some ten minutes. 
 We were again among the slums. Our prey 
 turned a corner. South stopped the cab, paid 
 the driver, and saying, "It was cheap," paused 
 a moment, put his police badge on his coat, and 
 said to me : "Our man is, I guess, going to 
 Joe McCoy's. I did not take you there. I 
 only want to see who Tom will talk to. It is 
 a mere chance." 
 
 As we turned the corner, the man was gone. 
 "All right," said South, and I followed him 
 into a drinking-shop. He nodded to the bar- 
 
 228 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 keeper and said cheerfully: "No one wanted, 
 Bill; gent from Chicago to see the town." 
 
 The room at the back was thick with smoke, 
 and two thirds full of as rough a lot as I have 
 ever seen. As we came in, our sudden 
 entrance seemed to disturb them. The voices 
 dropped, and South at once said : "Good even- 
 ing, boys. No one wanted this time; gent 
 from Chicago, seeing the town. Hello, Char- 
 ley!" This to a ruffian near the door. He 
 spoke to several, and last to me. "This is Tom 
 Swing, Mr. Paxton. An ornament to his pro- 
 fession." Mr. Swing got up, and said very 
 quietly in a level voice, and a not unpleasant 
 one : "I see you still like your little joke, Mr. 
 South; but I am out of the business. The 
 ladies of the prison society have got me a job." 
 
 South encouraged this return to morality, 
 and we sat down, calling for lager beer. 
 
 South had his back to Tom. I was facing 
 him some twelve feet away. The noise of 
 voices rose. A drunken group in a corner 
 trolled a thieves' catch, and it was easy to talk 
 unheard by our neighbors. 
 
 231 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 South said to me: "The man with Tom is 
 an old helper of his, a great brute; what we 
 call a yeggman." He rarely used thief -slang, 
 and the word interested me. He explained: 
 "It is the burglar who uses violence. Swing 
 never does. He does not even carry a re- 
 volver." 
 
 "An unusual, a rare case." 
 
 "Yes, sir ; but the man is just that. He was. 
 a bank clerk and the son of a decent school- 
 master. Don't watch him too closely. 
 What's the matter? Take care! I think he 
 may have remembered you. Crime does 
 sharpen a man's memory." 
 
 "But I must watch him," I said. "Talk to 
 me. Tell stories. Laugh. Do anything." 
 I was excited. 
 
 "What's the matter? Mind-reading? Mr. 
 Stevens, at the library, told me about it." 
 
 "Nonsense !" I said. "I want to watch them. 
 Talk ! talk !— anything !" 
 
 I stared at Tom while South, puzzkd, obeyed 
 my order, and did talk, while I considered with 
 
 232 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 intense attention the two scamps. I did not 
 think they suspected me of Hstening. That, in 
 fact, was impossible. The noise was so great 
 that a poHceman looked in and said it would n't 
 do. Then the drunken crowd broke up. 
 
 Swing, too, rose at last, nodded to South, 
 and went out. His friend also rose unsteadily 
 and left. 
 
 "Come," I said ; "an interesting study." 
 
 South besieged me with eager questions. I 
 contented him with a promise to talk if he 
 would come home with me. 
 
 When in my room I called Fernwood out of 
 bed. He asked what was the matter. I said: 
 "Nothing wrong. Dress." 
 
 It was one o'clock when we sat down with 
 our cigars. I hesitated as I stood by the man- 
 tel, amused at South's eagerness, and foresee- 
 ing with anticipative pleasure the relief I was 
 about to give. 
 
 "Mr. South, tell the Captain how we found 
 and followed Swing." 
 
 "Ominous name," said Fernwoo'd. 
 233 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 When South had our man in the saloon, I 
 took up the story. I said: "I faced the two 
 men, and I was near enough — " 
 
 "To hear?" said Fernwood, anxiously. 
 
 "No, not a word; but I know what they 
 said." 
 
 "You do ?" cried South. "I knew it. Mind- 
 reading." 
 
 "Yes," I said. "I read their minds." 
 
 I was enjoying the excitement of South's 
 face and the queer look of bewilderment on that 
 of my friend. 
 
 "Good heavens !" he cried. "Do go on." 
 
 "Well," I said, "I gathered enough. They 
 have the will ; that is sure, and they saw my re- 
 ply in the paper." 
 
 "Yours?" said Fernwood, bewildered. I 
 had not told him of the letter to me. 
 
 "Yes. The short man I could not get at 
 quite so easily, but he assured Swing 'she' was 
 safe, because she did not know its value. I 
 caught bits of his talk. 'Bad thing that, the 
 old fellow dying. He just fell when you 
 grabbed at him; he screamed, and hit the 
 
 234 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 fender knob.' They are puzzled what to do 
 next. That is all I got clearly. There was 
 more of course, but the noise and the smoke 
 distracted my mind. It requires close study." 
 
 Fernwood turned to South. "For heaven's 
 sake, let us end this ! What will you do ? Ar- 
 rest them?" 
 
 South was silent a moment. "Why, Cap- 
 tain, the evidence is good for us, but before a 
 magistrate any shyster of a lawyer would 
 laugh us out of court." 
 
 Fernwood looked the disappointment he felt. 
 He, too, was for a little silent, and then said, 
 smiling : "Of course Dr. Alston, who has the 
 acute sense of some animal ancestor, caught 
 fragments of the compromising talk of these 
 men — enough, I dare say." , 
 
 Mr. South smiled the critical dissent of the 
 better-informed mind. 
 
 "Couldn't of heard, sir. Mind-reading it 
 was, and nothing else." 
 
 "Well," said Fernwood, "no matter. It is 
 all the artillery we have, and we ought to be 
 able to use it." 
 
 '* 235 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 I watched with an expert's satisfaction the 
 return of mental force in a man so lately stum- 
 bling on the boundary of insanity, at times quite 
 hounded over the line by the beliefs of others 
 and the too constant dwelling on one fatal sub- 
 ject. Now he was himself once more, sugges- 
 tive, resourceful, and courageous. 
 
 I checked South with a lift of the hand and 
 waited. 
 
 "Suppose," isaid the Captain, "you arrest 
 Sharkey, as you call him, on a charge of mur- 
 der and burglary." . 
 
 "On suspicion?" said South. "We can, but 
 it will only scare Swing. We have no avail- 
 able evidence, and Sharkey will simply shut up 
 like a clam." 
 
 "No," said I, "he is the lesser scamp. Jail 
 bird as he is, there is always a competent scare 
 for every crow. Let me see him and tell him 
 what I can make him believe I overheard. It 
 was a confession and far plainer than I have 
 told you. Let me say to Sharkey that we will 
 arrest Swing. Why not even do that at once? 
 Tell Sharkey he had better be first to confess 
 
 236 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 and get a chance to escape the gallows. To 
 have incidentally caused death during a bur- 
 glary, is, as I understand it, in the eye of the 
 law, murder." 
 
 "Yes," said South ; "that 's good law. I will 
 see the chief." 
 
 "Might work, but don't mention mind-read- 
 ing. South," said I. 
 
 "Of course not. He must think we over- 
 heard it — ^bits, you know. We must find the 
 girl, too. If my plan works, that will be easy." 
 
 We had some further talk, and South left us. 
 When we were alone, Eernwood came over to 
 where I stood, set a hand on each of my shoul- 
 ders, and said: "I am curious as to what you 
 really did when you saw those villains. But 
 first I want to say that I owe to you such a 
 debt of gratitude as never can be paid." His 
 eyes filled, and he sat down, overcome with 
 such emotion as forbids speech. 
 
 I, too, was for a moment silent. I had 
 learned to like the man and the woman. I, 
 whom the chances of life had made a some- 
 what lonely man, had found a friend. 
 
 237 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 I said: "My dear Fernwood, when I had 
 seen you a few times I was strongly attracted. 
 It is for me a great joy to have served a man 
 I can completely like and, without reserve, ap- 
 prove. In our day the helpful resources of 
 friendship are so few. Once you could stand 
 by a friend in battle or express yourself in 
 verse. Now friendship is limited to small ma- 
 terial kindnesses, to S3mipathy, to money help 
 at need; and that, strange to say, is the sharp- 
 est test to-day, and where too many fail. But 
 I am on a subject which is often in my mind. 
 Such a chance as ours has been, is happily 
 rare." 
 
 "Oh, yours, yours," said Fernwood, smiling 
 through tears. "Ah, and my dear Anne. I 
 shall leave her to thank you." 
 
 "Well, I thank heaven that the chance fell 
 to me. You want to know how I got inside 
 the counsels of Swing & Co. ?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed." 
 
 I laughed. "I shall tell you when we are 
 through with this business." 
 
 238 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 "Oh, by Jove!" cried Fernwood, with a good 
 honest laugh, "tell me now." 
 
 "No, not yet. Now you must go to bed and 
 with an easy mind. I want to put on paper 
 what I gathered. Good-night." 
 
 The next afternoon South arrived. Fern- 
 wood for the first time had gone out alone on 
 my bicycle. 
 
 "We have Sharkey," said South. "Got him 
 easy. The chief is delighted. The man is well 
 scared, and we shall have Swing to-night." 
 
 In half an hour I was with South in a cell 
 at the central police station. Sharkey sat on 
 the cot, a sullen brute. He made no reply when 
 South said, "You are in a bad scrape this time." 
 
 Then I began, "I sat opposite to you at Mc- 
 Coy's. You talked to Swing about the bur- 
 glary and the death at Mr. White's house. 
 You said the girl had the will." 
 
 He looked at me and made no comment. I 
 went on. "You wanted half of what the will 
 would bring. Swing said, 'One third.' You 
 said, 'More, more; too little." 
 
 239 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 He grew attentive. I saw his hands open 
 and shut uneasily. He was sweating and 
 passed a hand across his forehead. 
 
 "Swing said you were counting your chick- 
 ens before they were hatched, and that you 
 were in liquor. He said the old man's death 
 made it a hard job. You said: 'He just 
 died. No one hurt him.' " 
 
 Then Sharkey said, "Guess you think I'm 
 a fool." 
 
 South caught on to this as I 'did not. TKe 
 man felt himself clear of murder. 
 
 "Stop a moment," South said to me. "Look 
 here, Sharkey. You scared an old man, and 
 he fell dead, and don't you deceive yourself. 
 It is murder. Swing will be taken to-night. 
 He will tell the whole of it to save his neck. 
 Come, doctor. The man is an idiot. He has 
 had the first chance. Now we will give Swing 
 his turn." 
 
 We rose, ancl were half but of the door 
 when Sharkey caught South by the arm. "I '11 
 tell," he said. "Give me the chance.' 
 
 240 
 
 » 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 "Well," said South, "come to your senses, 
 have you?" 
 
 Within an hour we had his statement under 
 oath. It was simple. They had watched the 
 house for several nights; knew there was but 
 one servant, an old woman ; had seen that there 
 was a light in a third story usually put out be- 
 fore Fernwood left; reasoned that the front 
 door was left unlocked from within; and had 
 easily entered. They found and handled the 
 silver, and left the tankard on a chair, mean- 
 ing to return for this spoil. Their plan was 
 to tie and gag the old man, get what they could,, 
 and then at last bag the silver, Mr. White 
 may have been awake and heard them for he 
 was up and held the poker in his hand when 
 they came in. He cried "Murder f' and fell, 
 striking his head on the knob of the fender. 
 As he lay still, they did not trouble themselves 
 to see if he were dead, but by their lantern 
 light broke open the desk and took the money. 
 Then Swing saw the will, and tore open the 
 envelopes. He read it. It was brief. He 
 
 241 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 said: "Never mind the silver. This is worth 
 thousands." Sharkey reluctantly yielded, and 
 they went as they came The news of the 
 death alarmed them. Some further threats 
 about his position at last drew out full 
 knowledge as to the whereabouts of the will. 
 In the afternoon the girl was arrested, and 
 was easily persuaded to tell where it was hid- 
 den — under the carpet in her room. It was 
 resealed by Fernwood's wish and without be- 
 ing read was left in the safe in care of the 
 chief. Swing must in some way have been 
 alarmed, for he was long sought for in vain, 
 but was at last arrested in St. Louis. 
 
 I had anxiously waited until the girl and the 
 will were brought in. I hurried away in a 
 cab to see Miss Musgrave. I told her of the 
 happy ending of our weeks of trial, and driving 
 with her to the library, sent her to my study 
 that she might have the joy of entirely relieving 
 her lover's mind. 
 
 When, in half an hour, I entered the room. 
 Miss Musgrave rose, saying: "I want to 
 thank our friend, and how can I — " 
 
 242 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 For my part, I was just a little embarrassed, 
 as I always am by thanks. I said: "Let us 
 all go and dine together." 
 
 "Some quiet place," said Fernwood. 
 
 "Yes. Trust me." 
 
 I think no one of us has ever forgotten that 
 dinner. Gay and glad at first, the talk soon 
 became grave, and at last Fernwood said : "Is 
 it not time, Alston, that we heard about the 
 mind-reading?" 
 
 "Oh, yes !" cried Miss Musgrave. "I am so 
 curious," 
 
 "Well," I said, "my sister was deaf and 
 dumb, and when she was taught Up-reading, I 
 took it up and became very expert. It may 
 have some pretty dangerous uses. I try not 
 to use it. The temptations it offers are too 
 great." ' 
 
 "So that was it!" cried Miss Musgrave. 
 "And I really believed it to have been mind- 
 reading." 
 
 "Well, is it not?" I said. 
 
 As we rose from the table, Fernwood as- 
 tounded the young waiter by saying: "This 
 
 243 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 is a dinner I shall never forget. I want you to 
 remember it," and gave him a five-dollar note. 
 
 I felt more anger at old White's folly than 
 did his nephew; but Miss Musgrave said that 
 with her modest income and the Captain's pay 
 they would be better off than most army offi- 
 cers. They were, in fact, too happy and thank- 
 ful to feel the loss of what they had never had. 
 I said, however, that as under the will, they 
 would get something, Fernwood must be pres- 
 ent when it was presented for probate. 
 
 This took place two days later. The presi- 
 dent of the hospital, several trustees, and two 
 or three lawyers were present. The room was 
 crowded with reporters and others, and Mr. 
 Burke was of course present. 
 
 The president of the trust company which 
 was the executor handed over the will to the 
 registrar, and made the usual application 
 through the company's legal adviser. The reg- 
 istrar looked it over, and then said quietly to 
 the president of the hospital : "Mr. Dainger- 
 field, I regret to say that this will is no more 
 than waste paper as far as concerns the hos- 
 
 244 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 pital. It was witnessed and signed on June 
 first. Mr. White died July third. That is 
 thirty-two days after. A few more days of life 
 would have made good his gift to the hospital. 
 Of course, gentlemen, you all know the law. 
 Forty days must have elapsed. The estate 
 goes in totality to the heirs at law." 
 
 Daingerfield said: "Incredible, Mr. Regis- 
 trar. Mr. White was too good a business man 
 to have made such a mistake!" A roar of 
 laughter broke out among the reporters; the 
 lawyers smiled; Daingerfield grew red with 
 anger, and Mr. Burke, beside me, said: 
 "What a glorious bull! I have not lost my 
 time." 
 
 "I fear that you will find me correct," said 
 the registrar, repressing his mirth. "By the 
 way, I see that among those who benefit is Doc- 
 tor Alston. A codicil gives him a hundred 
 thousand dollars." 
 
 I looked up amazed. 
 
 Mr. Fernwood's lawyer said, "Mr. Regis- 
 trar, unless there is a contest, which seems 
 hardly possible, my client, Captain Fernwood, 
 
 245 
 
THE MIND-READER 
 
 is the chief heir. There are no other relatives 
 — none ; but this is I presume a matter for the 
 courts to decide." 
 
 The faces of Mr. Daingerfield and his friends 
 must have pleased my Captain if he had cared 
 to look at them, as the old gentleman broke out: 
 "We will fight it to the last. It is a swindle." 
 
 Fernwood said: "Mr. Daingerfield, bad 
 manners and an evil temper lost your hospital 
 this estate. Be a little careful what you say. 
 Come, doctor. Good-morning, gentlemen." 
 
 There was, of course, no contest, and in due 
 season my friend was in possession of some two 
 millions. 
 
 My delightful legacy was stated in a codicil 
 to be an expression of gratitude because of my 
 having saved his life, and made him no charge. 
 
 In conclusion, I may say that my friends 
 were married, and that Fernwood sent the hos- 
 pital a check for one hundred thousand dollars. 
 Then they went away to his post at San Fran- 
 cisco, where later I joined them, and finally be- 
 came the manager of a productive mine, a part 
 of the White estate. 
 
 246 
 
THE HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
THE HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 WHEN after breakfast I lounged on the 
 porch of the Newport House and saw 
 the fog's gray nightcaps drift away from the 
 Porcupine Islands, I knew myself secure of a 
 perfect day; a day with a character — ^for in- 
 deed September weather at Bar Harbor leaves 
 one with remembrance of sunshine warm 
 enough to flatter the aging year with summer 
 dreams, and of shade cool enough to remind 
 one that the festal days of the year's life are 
 over. To my regret this was the last of my 
 holiday on the happy island. I meant it to be 
 memorable, and had planned it with such care 
 as the gourmet in the story gave to his last 
 dinner on earth. I meant to walk in the morn- 
 ing, to sail alone in the afternoon, and return 
 to dine where one should dine in order to end 
 
 249 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 perfectly a day without a break in its happi- 
 ness. 
 
 I carried a mood of entire satisfaction into 
 the afternoon, when I stood on Captain Con- 
 ner's slip at Bar Harbor and felt the whole- 
 some northwest wind's promise of the delight 
 of a brisk sail. I was about to step into my 
 skiff in order to go out to where the cat-boat 
 was moored, when I heard behind me, "I say, 
 Afton, w-want a c-crew?" 
 
 I knew the voice too well. My dream of 
 a lonely sail was gone. I turned and saw Tom 
 Westway coming ponderous over the float, 
 which rocked under the weight of a rottmd, 
 short, middle-aged man, clad in faultless white 
 flannel, a straw hat with a red ribbon shading 
 his large, ruddy, clean shaven face. There 
 was now as always something oddly impressive 
 in the changeless gravity of the man. He 
 never seemed depressed or excited, and ap- 
 peared to be so wanting in alertness of mind 
 that his success in the speculations of the grain 
 market was as surprising to me as to others. 
 
 Now he rettiarked as he stood by my side, 
 250 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 "Good thing I c-came. You 'd have had to 
 s-sail alone. Knew you 'd w-want a c-crew." 
 I did noti but to say no to the best natured 
 fellow I knew was quite beyond me. I did not 
 doubt the honesty of his belief that his coming 
 was to relieve my solitude, since to be alone 
 was for Tom himself a serious discomfort, al- 
 though why I never could say, since he was 
 like some domestic animals which are unhappy 
 without human company but have no need of 
 human conversation. Man's craving for talk 
 varies. Tom had none. Not even the bitter 
 of gossip could provoke an appetite. Indeed 
 he transacted the business of life with fewer 
 words than anybody I can recall. Someone, 
 years ago, seeing him at the club, serene, fat, 
 contented and silent, his arms crossed on his 
 ample stomach, called him the club Joss. And 
 now, on the approach of his tranquil largeness 
 and good-natured assurance of welcome, I 
 knew that, although I never more surely de- 
 sired to be alone, I could not with decency de- 
 cline his offer. There seemed to me, for a mo- 
 ment contemplating escape, some vague cruelty 
 's 251 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 in refusing the company of a man who stam- 
 mered. I smiled at the thought and at the 
 quickly added reflection that a fat man who 
 stammered made some mysteriously larger ap- 
 peal to my good-nature. My reflection would 
 have offered the over-analytic novelist occasion 
 for a page of psychological comment, with the 
 usual doubt which stands for a conclusion. 
 
 "All right, Tom," I said sweetly. "Get in," 
 adding something concerning the uncertainties 
 of such as go down to the sea in cat-boats. 
 
 Tom, pleased to escape the solitude of self, 
 merely murmured dislocated thanks and care- 
 fully got his bulky person into the skiflf, which 
 I was steadying to counterbalance his weight. 
 When, however, we were safe in the cat-boat> 
 free of the mooring, and the sail up, he began 
 to ask me, with intervals of silence, how far I 
 was going, and to desire some assurance of re- 
 turn in time for dinner. When he learned 
 with whom I was to dine at Cromwell's Cove, 
 he seemed, and I think with reason, to feel 
 more secure. 
 
 AlS we sped out between Bar Island and the 
 252 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 Porcupines into the open bay, he soon became 
 too uncomfortably busy in keeping his place 
 as ballast on the windward gunwale to attend 
 to any other mental business. He bit hard on 
 his pipe stem and now and then exclaimed, 
 "G-Great Scott!" when the boat lay over. 
 In fact, as the wind rose in perilous gusts and 
 played tricks with the boom, I fancy he may 
 have felt that a lonesome grain broker might 
 pay too dearly for society. At last I saw that 
 his pipe was out and that he was unaware of 
 it. This was too real an expression of dis- 
 comfort not to touch me, and although my 
 hands were full with the viciousness of the 
 wind I began to talk to him, with now and 
 then an eye to the southeast where, over Green 
 Mountain and Sargent, a low-lying range of 
 clouds was changing from minute to minute. 
 In the afternoon light the early autumn yel- 
 lows gave the mountains an appearance of be- 
 ing powdered with gold dust. I spoke of it to 
 Tom, who said, after a reflective pause, 
 "That's so." Then I gave him out of my 
 musings something better to see what he would 
 
 253 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 do with it. I got only brief replies, usually a 
 repetition of my queries in some slightly varied 
 form of assent. 
 
 At last I said, "When a man is in the autumn 
 of life, he makes wild efforts to resist decay, 
 but here are these great forests fading with no 
 effort to stay the march of time. It seems 
 strange to me ; and to think how we poor devils 
 fight, when our fate is just as inevitable." 
 What I thus offered was no way remarkable 
 except for the comment it provoked. 
 
 For a moment the wind held steady, and, 
 more at ease, Tom considered his pipe to see if 
 it were alive, and then remarked, "Y-Yes. It 
 does. It goes on and on, just like the s-slump 
 in the wheat m-market in '91. No f -fellow 
 could stop it, and — " 
 
 There was something exasperating in this 
 contribution to the possibilities of human 
 thought. What more there was I never 
 knew, for just then the wind and a careless 
 hand on the tiller of a sudden tipped the boat 
 so that we took in a little water, and Tom 
 evolved profane generalizations. 
 
 254 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 I supposed the talk to have come to a close, 
 but to my surprise Tom rallied, and after a 
 slight search in his mind, said with the con- 
 sciousness of being valuably productive, "It 's 
 a g-good thing there are no m-middle-aged 
 women in the g-grain market." 
 
 When I asked, "Why middle-aged?" Tom, 
 refreshed by my want of intelligent apprehen- 
 sion, replied, "Why, d-don't you see? Most 
 any fellow c-could see that — autumn and all 
 that." What he meant I do not know; per- 
 haps he did not. 
 
 Just past Badley's Point I concluded to get 
 about for the sail home, since now we had run 
 far to the westward up Frenchman's Bay. 
 I was on the point of getting about when 
 I realized that I was too late. The wind 
 was failing and the dark summer storm long 
 brewing over Sargent and the Bubbles was 
 coming up from the southeast with unexpected 
 speed. I said nothing but held my course un- 
 til I had put the boat through the drawbridge, 
 just opened for a small sloop. Then, at last, 
 Tom began to gather the bitter fruit of a crav- 
 
 255 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 ing for company, and desired to know when 
 we might calculate upon being at Bar Harbor. 
 
 Some mild sense of satisfaction was mine as, 
 with thought of my spoiled afternoon, I said, 
 "There will be no dinner for us to-day, Tom. 
 The norther is dying out. If we try to return, 
 we shall be caught in Frenchman's Bay by the 
 storm you see to the southward. I don't mind 
 a ducking — we are in for that — ^but I won't 
 risk drowning you." 
 
 Tom said it was pretty bad, but took the 
 tiller while I double-reefed. As I resumed my 
 place, the north wind ceased with an abrupt- 
 ness I did not like, and for a minute there was 
 a dead calm. The water took on a leaden tint, 
 and the fast coming cloud masses of a dull 
 greenish hue were aglow now and then with 
 grim javelins of violet light. 
 
 I saw that Tom was more and more uneasy. 
 He crouched a little as the lightning flared, 
 and said with a sorry attempt to look the 
 cotu-age he did not feel, "R-rather a scrape, 
 Afton, isn't it? G-great Scott! That was 
 c-close." As the thunder followed instant on 
 
 256 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 the flash, his shoulders rose and gave him the 
 appearance of a turtle retreating into the se- 
 curity of its shell. 
 
 As it blew harder, I felt that to be caught 
 even in the half shelter of the narrows 
 of Western Bay by the fury of wind out 
 of yonder blackness was not to be risked. 
 Overhead every storm signal was set, and I 
 knew that we were about to encounter some- 
 thing unusual. The north wind came again 
 in puffs and for a time helped my purpose of 
 securing a shelter. Then of a sudden the 
 wind changed and we felt the first irregular 
 gusts of the coming storm. Leaving Tom the 
 tiller with a word of warning, I stood up on 
 the bow to pilot him into a place of security. 
 Although for him it was alarming, and the 
 prospect of wet clothes and no dinner tragic, I 
 was rejoicing in the magnificence of the scene 
 overhead and in the interest of what I saw 
 around me. The rising southeast wind was tak- 
 ing little nips at the black surface, and the large 
 rain drops were making brief, bell-like bub- 
 bles, followed instantly by the upleap of dark 
 
 257 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 spikes of water. To westward, still in a clear 
 sky, the setting sun touched with gold every 
 leaping ripple and turned to lustrous bronze 
 the far seen summits of the Gouldsboro Hills 
 on the mainland. It was really an amazing 
 spectacle with something dramatic in the con- 
 trasts it offered. 
 
 I said at last, "Is n't it glorious?'* 
 
 Tom said it would be if he were n't so cold. 
 I myself felt the chill of the September even- 
 ing and too, in the swift coming wind, the 
 colder air from the mountain tops. Presently 
 it would be far worse. 
 
 Now and then, as the gale gathered force 
 and the rain grew heavier, I heard Tom's ex- 
 clamations. His mind was on his dinner, as 
 to which my conscience was quite at rest. At 
 last, as a terrible zigzag of light flashed over- 
 head, Tom cried out, "Oh, don't stand by that 
 m-mast when you 're g-getting wet. It 's 
 dangerous." 
 
 "Getting wet ? I am wet," I said laughing. 
 "Run her in there, Tom. Put her head up. 
 So. That will do." I let fall the anchor, 
 
 258 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 dropped and secured the sail, and sat down in 
 the partial shelter of Prettymarsh Harbor. 
 
 "I w-won't stay here," protested Tom. 
 "I 'm wet." 
 
 "All right. We will go ashore. Pull up 
 the skiff. We will make for that house on the 
 hill. I should stand by my boat if I were 
 alone." 
 
 "Well, I w-won't." 
 
 "All right," I said. 
 
 It was now raining harder, and in a min- 
 ute I was wet to the skin, and the wind so 
 furious that it was a hard pull to the beach. 
 Tom was in as sorry a plight. "Cheer up, old 
 man," I said. "We will go up to the house 
 and make a good fire." 
 
 "And get some g-grub," said Tom. 
 "What is the place? It looks shut up." 
 
 "Prettymarsh is over yonder," I replied, 
 "and no one lives here. We'll get in some- 
 how." 
 
 "Good heavens!" ejaculated Tom, amid a 
 solid downfall of rain. 
 
 "What 's wrong? Any wetter?" 
 
 259 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 "I c-couldn't be w-wetter. There'll be 
 thirteen at table ! My aunt will never forgive 
 me. I was to dine with her." 
 
 "Can't be helped," said I, and strode on 
 doggedly behind him, contemplating the pon- 
 derous form, the water-soaked flannels, now a 
 dull gray, the limp dripping straw hat giving 
 an air of singular dejection to his figure. 
 
 It was all very sad for a man who divided 
 his time systematically between the grain ex- 
 change, bridge at the club, and an afternoon on 
 the speedway. Adventure, bodily risks and 
 the unusual had no place in his ordered life 
 and for him no charm. I began to pity him 
 as he walked on, growling out his usual brief 
 sentences. Even ordinary talk seemed to be 
 an effort requiring pauses and some slow 
 marshaling of his mental forces. 
 
 As with difficulty facing the wind we topped 
 the hill, I wiped the rain from my eyes for a 
 survey of the house, which before to-day I had 
 seen only at a distance, but always with a cer- 
 tain interested curiosity. It is visible every- 
 wKere from the upper water beyond French- 
 
 260 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 man's Bay as well as from Prettymarsh on the 
 landward side, and is in fact the most notable 
 dwelling in this the flatter part of Mt. Desert 
 Island. I saw it better now, a house of dull 
 ruddy color with a rather small doorway in 
 front and two large windows on each side of 
 the entrance. Some tradition of hospitality 
 and of former importance was indicated by the 
 great size of the house and by the large chim- 
 neys over both gables. As we drew near, I 
 observed that the paling fence was in ruin, 
 and what had once been modest flower beds 
 was overgrown with golden rod and asters. 
 The house, if showing no sign of recent habi- 
 tation, was not dilapidated. 
 
 Two fine red-oaks stood just outside of the 
 fence. Under one of these we took shelter, 
 and, as Tom said, took stock of an unpromis- 
 ing situation. Then, with the manner of a 
 man revealing a secret, Tom said, "Tell you 
 something, Afton. The w-water is running 
 down the b-back of my neck worse than it 
 was." 
 
 "Me too," I said, laughing. 
 261 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 "Is that so?" he returned, as if surprised. 
 "What a house!" 
 
 It was hardly descriptive, but meant, as I 
 soon learned, that it was absurdly big for a 
 farmhouse. 
 
 "How to get in, Tom. It seems pretty se- 
 curely shut up," said I, as we stood, the wind 
 somewhat broken for us by the house. The 
 day was slowly darkening, while the storm not 
 only gave no sign of ending, but in fact was 
 every minute increasing in violence. 
 
 "Let 's go round it and see," said Tom. 
 
 As we turned the corner, the gray lashes of 
 rain driven by a good thirty-mile gale seemed 
 nearly level and stung as they struck the face. 
 Before us were well tilled fields, and beyond 
 the house a barn in ruin. At the back of the 
 house we looked in vain for an easy way of en- 
 trance. The shutters were solid and tightly 
 closed. There were none above the first story. 
 
 Tom went up the steps and tried the door in 
 vain. Leaning against the door he turned to 
 make this clear to me. "It 's no use," he roared, 
 
 262 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 for what with a fury of rain and wind beating 
 on the house I hardly heard him. Then there 
 was an abrupt increase in the violence of the 
 gale. A big maple behind me went down with 
 a loud crack and clatter of broken branches, 
 and the door of the house was blown open, 
 slamming inward so that the wind and Tom 
 burst into the emptiness with a whooping 
 sound like a huge, deep inbreath. 
 
 "Great Scott!" cried Tom. "Thought a 
 f-fellow opened it behind me." 
 
 "He did," I laughed, and darted by him 
 through the solid cascade from the eaves. 
 "Come in," I cried, for the wind-driven rain 
 was flooding the hall. "Quick," I cried, 
 "and get a big stone." And this being 
 fetched, closing the door we set the stone 
 against it, and were thus left in a darkened 
 hall. 
 
 I had been much on the sea, but as wild a 
 storm as this was a notable event in my life. 
 There was comic contrast in what Tom said. 
 
 "I'm glad the w-wind b-burgled for us. 
 263 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 We did n't have to break in after all." This 
 reflection seemed to comfort a conservative 
 commercial citizen facing the unusual. 
 
 I felt it imperative that we should find 
 warmth, since the early chilliness of a Septem- 
 ber evening had set in and we were water- 
 soaked to the skin. It was dark in the hall 
 and I struck match after match until, thus 
 aided, I found a closed door opening from the 
 hall into an eastern room. 
 
 I groped my way to a window, where I 
 raised the sash with difficulty and threw back 
 the shutters. There was no more than light 
 enough from the outside to show me, as I 
 turned from the window, that we were in a 
 room which had the appearance of being really 
 vast. For a moment this remained unex- 
 plained until I saw in the fading light of the 
 storm-shortened day what caused this sense 
 of space without distinct boundaries. Walls, 
 floor, and the heavy rafters overhead were 
 black from the smoke of what seemed to have 
 been a fire once kindled in the middle of the 
 
 264 
 
[BOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 floor of the room. A deeply burned place was 
 left where the fire had burned half-way 
 through the floor. The blackening of the 
 room helped in the twilight to give an ap- 
 pearance of indistinct size and of lack of limit- 
 ing boundaries. It was mysteriously impres- 
 isive even after the delusory effect was ex- 
 plained, and was not quite pleasant. 
 
 If I was puzzled, Tom was not. "W-well," 
 he exclaimed, "m-must have been a t-tramp did 
 that. I w-wonder why it did n't all g-go." 
 
 I made no reply. I did not accept his view 
 of the matter nor yet know why it was not ob- 
 viously as he put it. Then after a pause he 
 brought out another theory. "That's it! 
 Someone m-might have, w- wanted the in- 
 surance." And still I was silent. An effort 
 had been made long ago to destroy the house, 
 but why? Tom's conjectures were reason- 
 able. 
 
 I shook my head as I went over to the win- 
 dow and rubbing away the blackened spider- 
 webs looked through a deluge of rain which 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 beat on the roof with a murmurous humming 
 sound, or swept over it in gusts Uke the patter 
 of numberless small feet. 
 
 "By George !" I cried, "There goes the 
 'Sylvia'!" As the lightning flashed I made 
 out the boat, dimly seen, bottom up, adrift 
 across the water. 
 
 When I announced to Tom that we were 
 mildly marooned, he said that he saw nothing 
 mild about it, but that he would not mind if 
 he had a fire and dinner and a good bed. 
 When I agreed with him, he went on to say 
 that was n't the worst of it. There was Aunt 
 Martha. « 
 
 "Well?" I queried. 
 
 "She hasn't got any head for arithmetic, 
 but she's got enough to know there's thir- 
 teen at table. I can see her c-counting them." 
 I was well aware that Tom had expectations 
 which I was sure made his commercial con- 
 science sensitive in matters concerning Aunt 
 Martha. 
 
 "Perhaps," I returned, laughing, "that fated 
 thirteenth may be Aunt Martha." 
 
 266 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 "I n-n-never th-th-thought of that," said 
 Tom frankly. I trust that he was measurably 
 consoled. 
 
 "Well," I added, "it can't be helped. Come. 
 Let us see what there is in this place to make 
 us comfortable." 
 
 His small resources in the language of de- 
 spair were seemingly at an end. As I spoke 
 he was standing still in wet dismay, all adrip, 
 dolefully regarding the growing pool of water 
 on the floor about him. 
 
 "Come along," I repeated. "There is noth- 
 ing here. It can't be worse anywhere else." 
 
 Thus exhorted, he followed my steps into 
 the hall which ran through the house from 
 north to south. 
 
 As we struck matches — for now, at least 
 within the house, it was quite dark — we saw 
 small evidence of the smoke, and I concluded 
 that whoever kindled the fire had closed the 
 doors and windows of the room and may thus 
 have smothered the blaze. As we lighted our 
 brief-lived little vesta torches, we saw that the 
 hall was wide and that on the western side 
 '« 267 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 was another room. As we passed across it I 
 observed no relics of former habitation ex- 
 cept a crane in the chimney place, which made 
 me think it had been the kitchen. 
 
 The solitude of the place and the sense of its 
 having once been what now it was not trou- 
 bled me. People had lived here, but were here 
 no longer. That was commonplace enough, 
 and yet now, interpreted by a mood, it became 
 uncommonplace. There has always been to 
 me something impressive in an empty house, 
 something which sets me to thinking. 
 
 It was useless to invite Tom to share my 
 thoughts, and perhaps after all there was not 
 enough in them to make division worth while. 
 I stood looking about me, now seeing, now 
 blind, as the wax matches flared and went out. 
 Strange as it may seem, it was Tom who 
 showed the first signal of any sense of the un- 
 usual. In an interval of darkness he clutched 
 my arm and said in the low voice of one 
 startled, "D-did you hear that? Hush! 
 Listen!" 
 
 268 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 "Hear what?" 
 
 "A clock. There! You didn't hear. It 
 struck eight." 
 
 "Struck nonsense. I wish there were a 
 clock." 
 
 "Great heavens^ and you didn't hear that? 
 Someone laughed." 
 
 "Someone laughed, did they? I wish they 
 had. We are alone, you and I, host and guest 
 if you like. You may choose which you will 
 be. That wind has groaned and howled and 
 whistled in the last half-hour, and you heard 
 it laugh, old man. Well, why not?" 
 
 "Damn it," he saidj "wind doesn't strike 
 eight." 
 
 "An old house and a forty-mile gale make a 
 queer orchestra." 
 
 "Oh, stuff!" he broke in rudely, for him an 
 amazing thing. "I am not a child. There 's 
 something wrong in this house." 
 
 "There is n't anything in it wrong or right. 
 Let us have a look at the cellar. There '11 be 
 wood there if anywhere. I am chilled to the 
 
 269 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 bones. We must have a fire. And don't 
 waste matches that way, Tom. Mine are 
 nearly all gone." 
 
 This I said because as we stood in the gloom 
 Tom was flashing the small wax lights and un- 
 easily turning from side to side. As I spoke, 
 he said, "It 's c-coming." 
 
 "What," I broke in. The queer ways of my 
 stout friend were vexing me a little and per- 
 plexing me more. Well used to the pause 
 before his mental mechanism could become 
 vocally expressive, I waited, making no com- 
 ment. I heard him move as he said, "I think 
 you are getting n-nervous." 
 
 "I— I? Nervous?" 
 
 "Yes. I only w-wanted to say that storm 
 would be c-coming back from the northwest. 
 That was all. I don't know what 's the matter 
 with you." 
 
 This was not like him. He was suffering 
 from an attack of abnormal acuteness of per- 
 ception. Of a sudden Tom did an unusual 
 thing, and when he said or did an unusual 
 thing, it disturbed those who knew him well as 
 
 270 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 with a sense of shock. He cried, "I shall not 
 stay here a m-minute," and ran by me and out 
 into the hall. 
 
 When I overtook him, I made him out by 
 my flashed match leaning against the stair- 
 rail, I said, "What the deuce is the matter, 
 Tom?" 
 
 "N-nothing. It was so close in there." 
 He was wiping his forehead. 
 
 "Oh, is that all ! You acted just the way my 
 terrier Susan did last year. I was looking 
 over an empty house. She sat down to howl 
 in one of the rooms and then ran out as if 
 possessed." 
 
 "Hang Susan! I'm cold and wet. Let's 
 get a fire." 
 
 We found the cellar door beneath the stair- 
 way. Striking a match we went down and 
 found ourselves in a damp, earth-paved space 
 under the west half of the house. It was here 
 quite dark. Tom took one side of the cellar 
 and I the other. There was no wood. Guard- 
 ing my feeble taper, I came to a corner. There 
 lay on the ground a rusty spade with a broken 
 
 271 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 handle and a mattock. As I looked idly at 
 the worn tools, Tom called out, "Come here, 
 Afton, that 's q-queer." 
 
 I turned at his summons and fotmd him 
 standing over the wreck of an old-fashioned 
 mahogany cradle. Neither of us spoke for a 
 moment. I had a sense of awe and of unseen 
 human nearness. Except the canopy and 
 rockers, the cradle was in large fragments. 
 It must have been broken very long ago, for in 
 places it was rotten, a rare thing to see in ma- 
 hogany. 
 
 "It has been sm-'smashed with an axe," said 
 Tom. "Queer to want to sm-smash a 
 ch-child's cr-cradle. Who c-could have done 
 that?" 
 
 "Who indeed?" I murmured. 
 
 "What's that?" said Tom. 
 
 I looked down and saw the remnants of a 
 mouldered, mouse-gnawed little slipper — a 
 child's. I picked it up and turned it over and 
 laid it in the broken cradle as Tom said, 
 "Well, there 's fire-wood at last. Got to have 
 
 273 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 a fire. Can't be any harm in b-burning a 
 b-busted cradle." 
 
 "Harm? No," I said, "but something else." 
 I could not have said what else. "I would as 
 soon be warmed by a broken coffin. Let it 
 alone. We'll find something upstairs." 
 
 "Oh, darn your sentiment. I'm ch-chilled 
 to the bone." As he spoke he kicked over the 
 broken fragments of the cradle. 
 
 "Don't do that," I said, "I say— don't." 
 Upon this he growled, but went back with me 
 to the hall and then up the creaking stair to 
 the second story. 
 
 There again was a Hallway with doors open 
 to east and west, so that as we stood we could 
 look to right and left into the dark depths of 
 two large rooms. I chose without reason the 
 room to westward. As I moved into it Tom 
 said, almost in a whisper, "I w-would n't go in. 
 It — it's no g-good, and it's so c-cussed 
 d-dark." 
 
 "Nonsense," I said, "if you go on this way, 
 we shall either see or think we see ghosts." 
 
 273 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 "Great Scott! G-Ghosts?" 
 
 I broke into the comment of a laugh, which 
 brought back a crude echo from the empty 
 chamber. The notion of a ghost's appearing 
 to a stout member of the grain exchange some- 
 how tickled me into a brief mood of whole- 
 some amusement. 
 
 "I don't see anything to 1-laugh at," said 
 Tom. "I say — light up. It 's awful here." 
 
 I said no more. Both struck vestas and we 
 moved into the dark space before us. Then I 
 stood still. I saw far away, across the room, 
 an answering glow of light, and as if coming 
 toward me the dimly-seen form of a woman, 
 and then a confusion of many figures, appear- 
 ing to come out of the gleaming distance. All 
 were indistinct; and now of a sudden they 
 were gone. I was simply startled. 
 
 "Great heavens," cried Tom, "what 's that ?" 
 
 We were moving forward as he stopped, say- 
 ing, "They came out of that — that — " I saw 
 that our lights were reflected back to us from a 
 full length mirror such as in France they call 
 a cheval glass. I had no more doubt than had 
 
 274 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 Tom that these shadowy phantoms came, or 
 seemed to come, out of the mirror, but to reas- 
 sure him and myself I said, "Stuff and non- 
 sense. You saw your own image and mine." 
 
 "I— saw it—" 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 Now that we were nearer I understood why 
 we had seen only the reflected flash from the 
 glass. The tall side columns between which 
 swung the mirror were of dark mahogany 
 worn shabby, and were crowned with brass 
 pineapples green rusted. This bit of lonely 
 furniture troubled me more than the delusion 
 of the figures and set me to thinking. I re- 
 membered to have heard that the house had 
 been built by one of the early French settlers, 
 people with some means and of a class much 
 above the rank of the ordinary English emi- 
 grants. 
 
 Alone in the deserted farmhouse, which was 
 only remarkable for its great size, this broken 
 relic of days of luxury and refinement, aban- 
 doned as worthless when the owners moved 
 away, affected me strangely. Reflecting upon 
 
 275 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 my excited interpretation of the flash of our 
 wax Hghts, I stood alone while Tom was open- 
 ing a window. What fair women had the mir- 
 ror seen; what gay gowns away in France; 
 what looks of love, hate, sorrow, had its far- 
 gone hours caught. Were they all there still — 
 for nothing is lost — the forms and faces of the 
 dead, generations of unseen pictures. 
 
 As Tom's return broke in on my musings I 
 kept up my tiny illuminations, and drawing 
 near to the glass began to examine it more 
 closely. One of the claw-toed legs was 
 broken and the mirror stood awry. There was 
 even in this something pitiful and appealing. 
 A crack crossed the glass from side to side. 
 
 As Tom, a little reassured, came near he an- 
 nounced the limits of his wonder. "Wasn't 
 worth t-taking. Well I never ! That 's queer. 
 Don't you n-notice the smell in this room — 
 like — like — dead rose leaves?" 
 
 "Yes. What is it? It is like— no— I don't 
 know what it is like. I'll open the other win- 
 dow." 
 
 276 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 As I raised the sash the wind came in and 
 blew out Tom's taper. I heard his quickened 
 step across the room as he exclaimed, "G-good 
 heavens !" 
 
 "What?" I said. Not seeing him at all in 
 the deep darkness whence came to me only a 
 scared voice, I put out a hand and touched him. 
 "What nonsense are you talking? Strike a 
 match?" 
 
 He did. It was blown out instantly as he 
 cried, "They came out of the mirror. They 
 came again." 
 
 "Who came? What came? What did you 
 see?" 
 
 "See? Oh, Lord, they are all around me. 
 Can't you feel them?" 
 
 "No, I can't, you idiot." 
 
 "I can't feel them now, but it 's awful." 
 
 I neither felt them in the sense of contact, 
 nor saw, nor heard them, but I was as surely 
 aware in the deep gloom of there being persons 
 around me as I was of the presence of West- 
 way. I was past power to reason. Nor had 
 
 277 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 I any sense of peril. I did have something 
 like awe, such as one has in the face of great 
 elemental forces. 
 
 Tom was stammering broken phrases in 
 pure fear. His condition rallied me and I 
 cried, "Steady, old fellow," casting an arm over 
 his shoulder. "Come," I said, "there is no 
 one." 
 
 "I can't — I can't move." 
 
 I felt like him some sense of difficulty in 
 moving. Then with a great effort I went by 
 him hearing him cry, "Don't 1-leave me." 
 
 I was suddenly aware that they were behind 
 me and none in the front. Tom cried out 
 again in a childlike way, "Don't l-leave me." 
 
 "Come," I called, and at the door, "a match, 
 Tom," and struck it as we stood at the head of 
 the stair. I was in a cold sweat. As I spoke 
 I got a look at Tom in the red flare of the 
 match. I once saw a man who in rude health 
 had come of a sudden into the shadow of 
 death. So looked Tom, his face flushed, his 
 eyes red, the sweat trickling down his fore- 
 head, his jaws dropped. I may have looked no 
 
 278 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 better. I knew vaguely that we were in- 
 truders. All my futile explanatory wrestling 
 was come to a feeble end. I made believe a 
 little. "Come, Tom," I said, "we are a pair 
 of children. Let's go down stairs and wait 
 till morning." 
 
 I was relieved when he said, "N-not I. Not 
 a m-minute." 
 
 As I made my proposal I was again aware 
 of what I hesitate to call "people." I was at 
 once resolute not to confess to Tom; and in- 
 deed my feeling of terror was less and my 
 sense of being unwelcome more distinct. 
 
 Hardly to my surprise Tom ran by me down 
 the stairs. He tore open the hall door, and 
 pausing cried, "Heavens," and bounded down 
 the outer steps. I had no intention of making 
 such a cowardly exit. I went down stair by 
 stair. I was rather in a state of tension 
 than of alarm. What I expected from mo- 
 ment to moment was that I should see some- 
 one — something. At the last step my expec- 
 tant imagination, as I then believed, did its 
 work. While taking out my last two tapers I 
 
 279 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 dropped the match safe, and this slight mate- 
 rial reminder steadied me, so that for an in- 
 stant I was again free from the despotism of 
 my belief that I was accompanied by unseen 
 beings. To recover the little silver case I 
 struck the vestas on the wall and, finding the 
 box at my feet, looked up. I was aware of a 
 woman standing in the open doorway. I got 
 but a moment's glance at her, enough to learn 
 that she was young and was in a plain gown 
 and carried in one hand what was called in my 
 grandmother's time a caleche bonnet. The 
 face I saw in the flare of the matches I shall 
 never forget. It seemed to express fear and 
 horror. I stood still a moment really appalled. 
 She moved aside as though to let me pass. 
 The tapers flickered in the wind and went out, 
 the figure disappeared, and I drew a full breath 
 of relief in the open air. 
 
 The storm was over. The moon was bril- 
 liant overhead. I saw Tom seated under a 
 tree. "Halloa," he cried. "What kept you? 
 A 1-little more and I should have gone to 1-look 
 for you." 
 
 280 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 "Thanks, my dear fellow." 
 
 "No, I w-would n't," said Tom. "Did you, 
 n-now did you see her ?" 
 
 "See whom?" I asked, quick to test the real- 
 ity of what I had seen. 
 
 "A g-girl — a woman. She had a queer bon- 
 net in her hand." 
 
 "Yes, I saw her." 
 
 "Well, I say, Afton, we were n't d-drunk or 
 dreaming. No one will believe us." He 
 wiped his forehead. 
 
 "No one will believe us ; I should think not. 
 Better not try the credulity of our club friends, 
 Tom." 
 
 "No indeed, guess I know what they would 
 say, but a fellow might tell a woman." 
 
 "What, Miss Martha, your Aunt?" 
 
 "Yes, perhaps." The thought struck me as 
 odd. 
 
 "You see it would explain things." 
 
 "Would it indeed ? There would be a more 
 probable explanation. You left your hat in 
 the house. Better go and get it." 
 
 "I will not," said Tom. 
 281 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 Both were disposed to be silent, as we 
 walked down the hill and found refuge in a 
 farmhouse near by, where we told of the 
 wrecked cat-boat, but no more. Early next 
 day I went with Tom to recover his hat. I 
 found it lying in the hall. Tom declined to 
 enter. We both felt, or I at least, the impro- 
 priety of making use of daylight to aid our idle 
 curiosity by a new inspection. I closed the 
 door, and we walked across the fields to re- 
 turn to the farmhouse, where a wagon was 
 ready to take us to Bar Harbor. At the foot 
 of the hill we came upon an inclosure, one of 
 the many pathetic little graveyards to be found 
 here and there on the island. A single large 
 gray stone bore, some scarcely legible, names 
 and dates in the first third of the nineteenth 
 century. Last of all was the single name, 
 "Hortense," and no more. 
 
 "Well now, I w-wonder," said Tom. "Was 
 that Hortense, the ch-child?" 
 
 "Hush!" said I, a faint sense, perhaps a 
 mere remembrance of unseen listeners coming 
 
 282 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 upon me. "What secrets lay beneath these 
 stones?" 
 
 "Now that child b-bothers me," said Tom. 
 "There must have been a b-baby." 
 
 "Hush !" I said. "Come, let us go." 
 
 "W-well, I'd like to know, Afton. You 
 don't want to talk about it." 
 
 "No, I do not." 
 
 "All right, but I can't get that smashed 
 c-cradle out of my head, and the spade and mat- 
 tock and the sh-shoe." 
 
 I stood above the grave-stone silent, hardly 
 hearing him. In a little while the slow mech- 
 anism of Tom's brain ground out, "Well, but 
 now, s-suppose that — " 
 
 "Oh, quit," I cried, and walked away. 
 
 At the farmhouse just as we got into the 
 wagon Tom said to the farmer, "Who owns 
 that house on the hill ?" 
 
 "Some French people did once. They went 
 away in my grandfather's time." 
 
 "Anything queer happen there?" asked Tom. 
 
 "Yes, but my folk would n't ever talk about 
 " 283 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 it. Those French — ^they sold the farm and the 
 house, but they kept the graveyard. My 
 father said that when he was a boy he heard 
 say that the house was set afire the day they 
 left, but it war n't burnt much — only one room 
 damaged." 
 
 "Yes, we saw that?" 
 
 "What! Was you in it?" 
 
 "Yes, we got in." 
 
 The farmer returned, "I own it and the 
 farm, but my wife won't live up there. And 
 you was in it — after dark?" 
 
 "Yes," I said. 
 
 "Well, is that so!" 
 
 "Grood-bye," I cried, as we drove away. 
 
 Tom was as usual silent and I deep in per- 
 plexed thought. I reflected that not always 
 was it Tom who had first felt these ghostly 
 presences. Had I been the victim of the crude 
 imagined phantoms of a cold, hungry, common- 
 place man disturbed by physical discomfort and 
 a novel environment? But then I remembered 
 that we had both seen the woman. That 
 seemed conclusive. 
 
 284 
 
HOUSE BEYOND PRETTYMARSH 
 
 "Give me a 1-light," said Tom. "That 
 cradle was queer, was n't it, and what you said 
 about c-coffins — " 
 
 "Hush !" I said, pointing to the driver. 
 
 "But the little s-shoe," persisted Tom. 
 
 "Oh, let 's drop it," I said. 
 
 THE END 
 
 285