Literary Lapses Page 9

  Very good. You have answered correctly. Now, suppose youfind, a little later in the book, that the killing ofHairy Hank has compelled De Vaux to flee from his nativeland to the East. Are you not fearful for his safety inthe desert?

  Answer. Frankly, I am not. De Vaux is all right. His nameis on the title page, and you can't kill him.

  Question. Listen to this, then: "The sun of Ethiopia beatfiercely upon the desert as De Vaux, mounted upon hisfaithful elephant, pursued his lonely way. Seated in hislofty hoo-doo, his eye scoured the waste. Suddenly asolitary horseman appeared on the horizon, then another,and another, and then six. In a few moments a whole crowdof solitary horsemen swooped down upon him. There was afierce shout of 'Allah!' a rattle of firearms. De Vauxsank from his hoo-doo on to the sands, while the affrightedelephant dashed off in all directions. The bullet hadstruck him in the heart."

  There now, what do you think of that? Isn't De Vaux killednow?

  Answer. I am sorry. De Vaux is not dead. True, the ballhad hit him, oh yes, it had hit him, but it had glancedoff against a family Bible, which he carried in hiswaistcoat in case of illness, struck some hymns that hehad in his hip-pocket, and, glancing off again, hadflattened itself against De Vaux's diary of his life inthe desert, which was in his knapsack.

  Question. But even if this doesn't kill him, you mustadmit that he is near death when he is bitten in thejungle by the deadly dongola?

  Answer. That's all right. A kindly Arab will take De Vauxto the Sheik's tent.

  Question. What will De Vaux remind the Sheik of?

  Answer. Too easy. Of his long-lost son, who disappearedyears ago.

  Question. Was this son Hairy Hank?

  Answer. Of course he was. Anyone could see that, but the Sheiknever suspects it, and heals De Vaux. He heals him with anherb, a thing called a simple, an amazingly simple, known onlyto the Sheik. Since using this herb, the Sheik has used no other.

  Question. The Sheik will recognize an overcoat that DeVaux is wearing, and complications will arise in thematter of Hairy Hank deceased. Will this result in thedeath of the boy lieutenant?

  Answer. No. By this time De Vaux has realized that thereader knows he won't die and resolves to quit the desert.The thought of his mother keeps recurring to him, and ofhis father, too, the grey, stooping old man--does hestoop still or has he stopped stooping? At times, too,there comes the thought of another, a fairer than hisfather; she whose--but enough, De Vaux returns to theold homestead in Piccadilly.

  Question. When De Vaux returns to England, what willhappen?

  Answer. This will happen: "He who left England ten yearsbefore a raw boy, has returned a sunburnt soldierly man.But who is this that advances smilingly to meet him? Canthe mere girl, the bright child that shared his hours ofplay, can she have grown into this peerless, gracefulgirl, at whose feet half the noble suitors of Englandare kneeling? 'Can this be her?' he asks himself inamazement."

  Question. Is it her?

  Answer. Oh, it's her all right. It is her, and it is him,and it is them. That girl hasn't waited fifty pages fornothing.

  Question. You evidently guess that a love affair willensue between the boy lieutenant and the peerless girlwith the broad feet. Do you imagine, however, that itscourse will run smoothly and leave nothing to record?

  Answer. Not at all. I feel certain that the scene of thenovel having edged itself around to London, the writerwill not feel satisfied unless he introduces the followingfamous scene:

  "Stunned by the cruel revelation which he had received,unconscious of whither his steps were taking him, Gaspardde Vaux wandered on in the darkness from street to streetuntil he found himself upon London Bridge. He leaned overthe parapet and looked down upon the whirling streambelow. There was something in the still, swift rush ofit that seemed to beckon, to allure him. After all, whynot? What was life now that he should prize it? For amoment De Vaux paused irresolute."

  Question. Will he throw himself in?

  Answer. Well, say you don't know Gaspard. He will pauseirresolute up to the limit, then, with a fierce struggle,will recall his courage and hasten from the Bridge.

  Question. This struggle not to throw oneself in must bedreadfully difficult?

  Answer. Oh! dreadfully! Most of us are so frail we shouldjump in at once. But Gaspard has the knack of it. Besideshe still has some of the Sheik's herb; he chews it.

  Question. What has happened to De Vaux anyway? Is itanything he has eaten?

  Answer. No, it is nothing that he has eaten. It's about her.The blow has come. She has no use for sunburn, doesn't carefor tan; she is going to marry a duke and the boy lieutenantis no longer in it. The real trouble is that the modernnovelist has got beyond the happy-marriage mode of ending.He wants tragedy and a blighted life to wind up with.

  Question. How will the book conclude?

  Answer. Oh, De Vaux will go back to the desert, fall uponthe Sheik's neck, and swear to be a second Hairy Hank tohim. There will be a final panorama of the desert, theSheik and his newly found son at the door of the tent,the sun setting behind a pyramid, and De Vaux's faithfulelephant crouched at his feet and gazing up at him withdumb affection.

  Helping the Armenians

  The financial affairs of the parish church up at Doogalvillehave been getting rather into a tangle in the last sixmonths. The people of the church were specially anxiousto do something toward the general public subscriptionof the town on behalf of the unhappy Armenians, and tothat purpose they determined to devote the collectionstaken up at a series of special evening services. To givethe right sort of swing to the services and to stimulategenerous giving, they put a new pipe organ into thechurch. In order to make a preliminary payment on theorgan, it was decided to raise a mortgage on the parsonage.

  To pay the interest on the mortgage, the choir of thechurch got up a sacred concert in the town hall.

  To pay for the town hall, the Willing Workers' Guild helda social in the Sunday school. To pay the expenses ofthe social, the rector delivered a public lecture on"Italy and Her Past," illustrated by a magic lantern.To pay for the magic lantern, the curate and the ladiesof the church got up some amateur theatricals.

  Finally, to pay for the costumes for the theatricals,the rector felt it his duty to dispense with the curate.

  So that is where the church stands just at present. Whatthey chiefly want to do, is to raise enough money to buya suitable gold watch as a testimonial to the curate.After that they hope to be able to do something for theArmenians. Meantime, of course, the Armenians, the onesright there in the town, are getting very troublesome.To begin with, there is the Armenian who rented thecostumes for the theatricals: he has to be squared. Thenthere is the Armenian organ dealer, and the Armenian whoowned the magic lantern. They want relief badly.

  The most urgent case is that of the Armenian who holdsthe mortgage on the parsonage; indeed it is generallyfelt in the congregation, when the rector makes hisimpassioned appeals at the special services on behalf ofthe suffering cause, that it is to this man that he hasspecial reference.

  In the meanwhile the general public subscription is notgetting along very fast; but the proprietor of the bigsaloon further down the street and the man with the shortcigar that runs the Doogalville Midway Plaisance havebeen most liberal in their contributions.

  A Study in Still Life.--The Country Hotel

  The country hotel stands on the sunny side of Main Street.It has three entrances.

  There is one in front which leads into the Bar. There isone at the side called the Ladies' Entrance which leadsinto the Bar from the side. There is also the Main Entrancewhich leads into the Bar through the Rotunda.

  The Rotunda is the space between the door of the bar-roomand the cigar-case.

  In it is a desk and a book. In the book are written downthe names of the guests, together with marks indicatingthe direction of the wind and the height of the barometer.It is here that the newly arrived guest waits until hehas time to open the door leading to the Bar.

  The
bar-room forms the largest part of the hotel. Itconstitutes the hotel proper. To it are attached a seriesof bedrooms on the floor above, many of which containbeds.

  The walls of the bar-room are perforated in all directionswith trap-doors. Through one of these drinks are passedinto the back sitting-room. Through others drinks arepassed into the passages. Drinks are also passed throughthe floor and through the ceiling. Drinks once passednever return. The Proprietor stands in the doorway ofthe bar. He weighs two hundred pounds. His face isimmovable as putty. He is drunk. He has been drunk fortwelve years. It makes no difference to him. Behind thebar stands the Bar-tender. He wears wicker-sleeves, hishair is curled in a hook, and his name is Charlie.

  Attached to the bar is a pneumatic beer-pump, by meansof which the bar-tender can flood the bar with beer.Afterwards he wipes up the beer with a rag. By this meanshe polishes the bar. Some of the beer that is pumped upspills into glasses and has to be sold.

  Behind the bar-tender is a mechanism called a cash-register,which, on being struck a powerful blow, rings a bell,sticks up a card marked NO SALE, and opens a till fromwhich the bar-tender distributes money.

  There is printed a tariff of drinks and prices on the wall.

  It reads thus:

  Beer . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 cents. Whisky. . . . . . . . . . 5 cents. Whisky and Soda. . . . . . . 5 cents. Beer and Soda . . . . . . 5 cents. Whisky and Beer and Soda . . 5 cents. Whisky and Eggs . . . . . 5 cents. Beer and Eggs . . . . . . 5 cents. Champagne. . . . . . . 5 cents. Cigars . . . . . . . . 5 cents. Cigars, extra fine . . . . . 5 cents.

  All calculations are made on this basis and are workedout to three places of decimals. Every seventh drink ison the house and is not followed by a distribution ofmoney.

  The bar-room closes at midnight, provided there are enoughpeople in it. If there is not a quorum the proprietorwaits for a better chance. A careful closing of the barwill often catch as many as twenty-five people. The baris not opened again till seven o'clock in the morning;after that the people may go home. There are also,nowadays, Local Option Hotels. These contain only oneentrance, leading directly into the bar.

  An Experiment With Policeman Hogan

  Mr. Scalper sits writing in the reporters' room of TheDaily Eclipse. The paper has gone to press and he isalone; a wayward talented gentleman, this Mr. Scalper,and employed by The Eclipse as a delineator of characterfrom handwriting. Any subscriber who forwards a specimenof his handwriting is treated to a prompt analysis ofhis character from Mr. Scalper's facile pen. The literarygenius has a little pile of correspondence beside him,and is engaged in the practice of his art. Outside thenight is dark and rainy. The clock on the City Hall marksthe hour of two. In front of the newspaper office PolicemanHogan walks drearily up and down his beat. The damp miseryof Hogan is intense. A belated gentleman in clericalattire, returning home from a bed of sickness, gives hima side-look of timid pity and shivers past. Hogan followsthe retreating figure with his eye; then draws forth anotebook and sits down on the steps of The Eclipse buildingto write in the light of the gas lamp. Gentlemen ofnocturnal habits have often wondered what it is thatPoliceman Hogan and his brethren write in their littlebooks. Here are the words that are fashioned by the bigfist of the policeman:

  "Two o'clock. All is well. There is a light in Mr.Scalper's room above. The night is very wet and I amunhappy and cannot sleep--my fourth night of insomnia.Suspicious-looking individual just passed. Alas, howmelancholy is my life! Will the dawn never break! Oh,moist, moist stone."

  Mr. Scalper up above is writing too, writing with thecareless fluency of a man who draws his pay by the column.He is delineating with skill and rapidity. The reporters'room is gloomy and desolate. Mr. Scalper is a man ofsensitive temperament and the dreariness of his surroundingsdepresses him. He opens the letter of a correspondent,examines the handwriting narrowly, casts his eye aroundthe room for inspiration, and proceeds to delineate:

  "G.H. You have an unhappy, despondent nature; yourcircumstances oppress you, and your life is filled withan infinite sadness. You feel that you are without hope--"

  Mr. Scalper pauses, takes another look around the room,and finally lets his eye rest for some time upon a tallblack bottle that stands on the shelf of an open cupboard.Then he goes on:

  "--and you have lost all belief in Christianity and afuture world and human virtue. You are very weak againsttemptation, but there is an ugly vein of determinationin your character, when you make up your mind that youare going to have a thing--"

  Here Mr. Scalper stops abruptly, pushes back his chair,and dashes across the room to the cupboard. He takes theblack bottle from the shelf, applies it to his lips, andremains for some time motionless. He then returns tofinish the delineation of G.H. with the hurried words:

  "On the whole I recommend you to persevere; you are doingvery well." Mr. Scalper's next proceeding is peculiar.He takes from the cupboard a roll of twine, about fiftyfeet in length, and attaches one end of it to the neckof the bottle. Going then to one of the windows, he opensit, leans out, and whistles softly. The alert ear ofPoliceman Hogan on the pavement below catches the sound,and he returns it. The bottle is lowered to the end ofthe string, the guardian of the peace applies it to hisgullet, and for some time the policeman and the man ofletters remain attached by a cord of sympathy. Gentlemenwho lead the variegated life of Mr. Scalper find it wellto propitiate the arm of the law, and attachments of thissort are not uncommon. Mr. Scalper hauls up the bottle,closes the window, and returns to his task; the policemanresumes his walk with a glow of internal satisfaction.A glance at the City Hall clock causes him to enteranother note in his book.

  "Half-past two. All is better. The weather is milder witha feeling of young summer in the air. Two lights in Mr.Scalper's room. Nothing has occurred which need be broughtto the notice of the roundsman."

  Things are going better upstairs too. The delineatoropens a second envelope, surveys the writing of thecorrespondent with a critical yet charitable eye, andwrites with more complacency.

  "William H. Your writing shows a disposition which, thoughnaturally melancholy, is capable of a temporarycheerfulness. You have known misfortune but have made upyour mind to look on the bright side of things. If youwill allow me to say so, you indulge in liquor but arequite moderate in your use of it. Be assured that no harmever comes of this moderate use. It enlivens the intellect,brightens the faculties, and stimulates the dormant fancyinto a pleasurable activity. It is only when carried toexcess--"

  At this point the feelings of Mr. Scalper, who had beenwriting very rapidly, evidently become too much for him.He starts up from his chair, rushes two or three timesaround the room, and finally returns to finish thedelineation thus: "it is only when carried to excess thatthis moderation becomes pernicious."

  Mr. Scalper succumbs to the train of thought suggestedand gives an illustration of how moderation to excessmay be avoided, after which he lowers the bottle toPoliceman Hogan with a cheery exchange of greetings.

  The half-hours pass on. The delineator is writing busilyand feels that he is writing well. The characters of hiscorrespondents lie bare to his keen eye and flow fromhis facile pen. From time to time he pauses and appealsto the source of his inspiration; his humanity promptshim to extend the inspiration to Policeman Hogan. Theminion of the law walks his beat with a feeling of morethan tranquillity. A solitary Chinaman, returning homelate from his midnight laundry, scuttles past. The literaryinstinct has risen strong in Hogan from his connectionwith the man of genius above him, and the passage of thelone Chinee gives him occasion to write in his book:

  "Four-thirty. Everything is simply great. There are fourlights in Mr. Scalper's room. Mild, balmy weather withprospects of an earthquake, which may be held in checkby walking with extreme caution. Two Chinamen have justpassed--mandarins, I presume. Their walk was unsteady,but their faces so benign as to disarm suspicion."

  Up in the office Mr. Scalper has reached the letter ofa correspondent which appears t
o give him particularpleasure, for he delineates the character with a beamingsmile of satisfaction. To the unpractised eye the writingresembles the prim, angular hand of an elderly spinster.Mr. Scalper, however, seems to think otherwise, for hewrites:

  "Aunt Dorothea. You have a merry, rollicking nature. Attimes you are seized with a wild, tumultuous hilarity towhich you give ample vent in shouting and song. You aremuch addicted to profanity, and you rightly feel thatthis is part of your nature and you must not check it.The world is a very bright place to you, Aunt Dorothea.Write to me again soon. Our minds seem cast in the samemould."

  Mr. Scalper seems to think that he has not done fulljustice to the subject he is treating, for he proceedsto write a long private letter to Aunt Dorothea in additionto the printed delineation. As he finishes the City Hallclock points to five, and Policeman Hogan makes the lastentry in his chronicle. Hogan has seated himself uponthe steps of The Eclipse building for greater comfortand writes with a slow, leisurely fist:

  "The other hand of the clock points north and the secondlongest points south-east by south. I infer that it isfive o'clock. The electric lights in Mr. Scalper's roomdefy the eye. The roundsman has passed and examined mynotes of the night's occurrences. They are entirelysatisfactory, and he is pleased with their literary form.The earthquake which I apprehended was reduced to a fewminor oscillations which cannot reach me where I sit--"