N VERSITYOF CA RIVERS DE, LIBRARY
' ' ST"
3 1210018172146
THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
RIVERSIDE
FROM THE LIBRARY
OF
DR. J. LLOYD EATON
PERKINS, THE FAKEER
"/ groaned aloud, and felt the tears come to Caroline's
beautiful eyes."
PERKINS,/^ FAKEER
A TRAISESTT ON REINCARNATION
His Wonderful Workings in the Cases of
"When Reginald Was Caroline"
"How Chopin Came to Remsen"
and " Clarissa s Troublesome Baby"
BY EDWARD S. VAN ZILE
Author of "ffitb Sivord and Crucifix" etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY HY MAYER
1903
PUBLISHING CO.
NEW YORK LONDON
COPYRIGHTED
July, 1900, December,
i 9 o i , J ul y , 1902
BY ESS ESS
PUBLISHING CO.
COPYRIGHTED
1903, BY
THE SMART SET
PUBLISHING CO.
First Printing in ^jpril
PREFACE.
IN offering to the public in book form the fol
lowing tales, from the pages of THE SMART
SET, the opportunity is presented to the author
of answering the questions that have frequently
been asked of him and the publishers, since these
stories first appeared in print, concerning their
origin. He is not, and has not been, the deus ex
machina.
One Perkins, a Yankee who lived for fifty years
in India, and became an adept in mysteries re
jected by the Occidental mind, is responsible for
the curious psychical transpositions described in
the following pages. I am not at liberty to say
much about Perkins. He has control of a power
that is so peculiar, and I may say erratic, that I
dare not offend him. If, in this preface, I should
Preface.
tell the public too much about Perkins, he has both
the ability and the inclination to work me harm
of the disastrous sort herein described. I do not
dare to defy him.
I have taken the liberty of telling these stories
in the first person. My choice of this method
will at once commend itself to the thoughtful
reader; and, what is more important, I am sure
that it will satisfy the amour propre of Perkins,
the Fakeer a consummation devoutly to be
wished.
E. S. VAN Z.
Hartford, Conn., March, 1903.
CONTENTS.
WHEN REGINALD WAS CAROLINE.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. TRANSPOSED 15
II. A WEIRD TOILETTE 29
III. CAROLINE'S USURPATION 43
IV. THE STRENUOUS LIFE 56
V. SUZANNE'S BUSY DAY 69
VI. VERSES AND VIOLETS 82
VII. IRRITATION AND CONSOLATION 94
VIII. NEWS FROM CAROLINE 106
IX. AFTERNOON CALLERS 1 16
X. RECRIMINATIONS 128
XL A DINNER AND A DISCUSSION 140
XII. YAMAMA AND RELEASE 151
HOW CHOPIN CAME TO REMSEN.
I. CHOPIN'S OPUS 47 167
II. REMSEN CONFRONTS A MYSTERY 179
9
Contents.
CUAPTER JACK
III. BIOGRAPHICAL DATA 190
IV. SlGNORINA MOLATTl 2OI
V. A POLISH FANTASIA 212
VI. CONSULTING A SPECIALIST 221
VILA PRELIMINARY CANTER , 234
VIII. THE CHOPIN SOCIETY 244
IX. AN UNRECORDED OPUS 254
X. TOM'S RECOVERY 263
CLARISSA'S TROUBLESOME BABY.
I. MY LATE HUSBAND 279
II. A FOND FATHER 288
III. MY FIRST AND SECOND 298
IV. NURSERY CONFESSIONS 308
V. A SPOILED CHILD 317
VI. PROTOPLASM AX D FROTH 326
VII. A BIOLOGIST AND A BABY 336
VIII. HUSH-A-BY, NUMBER ONE ! 344
IX. A BOSTON GIRL 352
X. AN UNCANNY FLIRTATION 363
XL A MYSTERIOUS ELOPEMENT 372
10
I.
When Reginald Was Caroline.
That night the wife of King S&ddhbdana,
Maya the Queen, asleep beside her Lord,
Dreamed a strange dream.
THE LIGHT OF ASIA.
WHEN REGINALD WAS CAROLINE.
CHAPTER I.
TRANSPOSED.
But what a mystery this erring mind !
It wakes within a frame of various powers
A stranger in a new and wondrous world.
N. P. Willis.
To begin at the beginning : the tragedy or
farce whichever it may prove to be opened just
a week ago. I turned on my side, as I awoke
last Wednesday morning, to look into my wife's
face, and, lo, I beheld, as in a mirror, my own
countenance. My first thought was that I was
under the influence of the tag end of a quaint
dream, but presently my eyes, or rather my wife's,
opened slowly and an expression of mingled hor
ror and amazement shone therein.
" What what " groaned Caroline, in my
'5
Perkins, the Fakeer.
voice, plucking at my or perhaps I should say
our beard. " Reginald, am I mad you look
where are you? What is this on my chin and
what have you done to yourself? "
Whether to laugh or swear or weep I hardly
knew. The bedroom looked natural, thank God,
or I think that at the outset we should have
lost our transposed minds even more completely
than we had. The sun came in through the win
dow as usual. I could see my trousers if they
were mine lying across a chair at the further
end of my dressing-room. It was all common
place, natural, homelike. But when I glanced
again at my wife, there she lay, pale and trem
bling, with my face, beard, tousled hair and heavy
features. I rubbed a slender white hand across
my brow or, to be accurate, the brow that had
been my wife's. There could be no doubt that
something uncanny, supernatural, theosophical
or diabolical had happened. While we lay dead
with sleep our respective identities had changed
places, through some occult blunder that, I real-
16
When Reginald Was Caroline.
ized clearly enough, was certain to cause us no
end of annoyance.
" Don't move," I whispered to Caroline, and
there flashed before my mind a circus-poster that
I had gazed at as a boy, marveling in my young
impressionability at the hirsute miracle that had
been labeled in red ink, " The Bearded Lady."
" Don't move," I continued, hoping against
hope that by prompt measures I might repair the
mysterious damage that had been done to us by
this psychical transposition. " Shut your eyes,
Caroline, and lie perfectly still. Don't worry, my
dear. Make your mind perfectly blank recep
tive to impressions. Now, we'll put forth an
effort together. I'm lying with my eyes closed,
and I am willing myself to return to my own
body. Do likewise, Caroline. Don't tremble so!
There's no danger. Things can't be worse, can
they? There's comfort in that, is there not?
Now ! Are you ready ? Use your will power, my
dear, for all it's worth."
We lay motionless, blind, silent for a time.
17
Perkins, the Fakeer.
That I should gaze into my wife's own face when
I opened my eyes again I fondly imagined, for
I had always been proud of my force of will.
Caroline, too as I had good reason to know
possessed a stubborn determination that had great
dynamic possibilities.
" Ready ! " I exclaimed, presently. " Open
your eyes, my dear ! "
Horror! There was my wife gazing at me
with my eyes and pulling nervously at my infer
nal beard. As she saw that I was still occupying
her fair body, my eyes began to fill, and a man's
hoarse sobs relieved my wife's overwrought feel
ings.
"Is it oh, Reginald! is it reincarnation, do
you think ? " she questioned in her misery.
" Ah, something of that nature, I fear, Car
oline," I admitted, reluctantly. " It's a new one
on me, anyway. But it can't last. Don't be
impatient, my dear. It'll soon pass off."
But even as I spoke I knew that I was using
my wife's sweet, soft voice for deception. What-
18
When Reginald Was Caroline.
ever it was, it had come to stay for a time at
least.
" I think, Reggie, dear, that, if you don't mind,
I'll have breakfast in bed."
Like a flash, Caroline's remark revealed to me
the frightful problems that would crop up con
stantly from our present plight. Number one pre
sented itself instantly; I had an important en
gagement at my office at 9:30. If Caroline re
mained in bed I couldn't keep it. Then it came
to me that if she rose and dressed I should be
in no better case. Dressed? She would be
obliged to put on my clothes, anyway! What
other alternative was there?
" I think, Caroline, dear," I suggested, gently,
" that we'd better wait awhile before we make
our plans. It may go away suddenly. A change
may take place at any moment."
" It came in our sleep, and it'll go in our sleep,"
said my wife, confidently, and I was struck by
the gruffness that a firm conviction gave to my
19
Perkins, the Fakeer.
voice. I had never noticed it when I had been
in full and free possession thereof.
" If we could only go to sleep," I sighed,
glancing again at my trousers and suppressing
a harsh expletive that arose to my beautiful
lips.
" I couldn't sleep, Reginald. I'm sure of that.
I feel a horror of sleep, but I need something.
Perhaps oh, Reggie, it can't be that! but I
can't help thinking that I want a a cock
tail."
Caroline hid her borrowed face in my great,
clumsy hands.
It required an effort of memory for me to put
myself into sympathy with her present craving.
I hadn't thought of a cocktail since I had awak
ened. It was only once in a very great while that
I indulged in an eye-opener. But I had been out
very late Tuesday night in fact, it had been
this morning before I had reached home from the
club and I was not, upon reflection, altogether
astonished at the wish that my poor wife had
29
When Reginald Was Caroline.
expressed wi .h such awkward coyness. But to
grant her request demanded heroic action, and
I hesitated lefore taking what might prove
to be an irrevocable step. If I left the bed
under existing conditions, a temporary psychical
maladjustment night become permanent. Then,
again, I realized that my little feet felt repelled
by the chill thai would come to them if exposed
to a cold draught that blew through a window
open in my oi, rather, Caroline's dressing-
room. \
" Go into the-, bathroom and take a cold
plunge," I suggested to Caroline, to gain time.
" It's more bracing than a cocktail."
" You ought to know, Reginald," she re
marked, in my most playful voice.
Her ill-timed jocosity struck me as ghastly.
" Caroline, dear," I began, " we must beware
of recriminations. ' It is a condition, not a the
ory, that confronts us/ " I quoted, mournfully,
" If we should fall out, you and I "
" If we only could ! " sighed Caroline.
21
Perkins, the Fakeer.
"Could what?" I cried, in shrill falsetto.
" Fall out, Reginald," she answered, grimly.
"Can't you think of something slse to try?
Really, it's too absurd! What is the matter with
us, Reggie? Are we dreaming? "
I listened, intently. The servr nts were astir
down-stairs, and through the windows came the
clatter of early vehicles and the thin voice of a
newsboy crying at eight o'clock the ten o'clock
"extra" of a yellow journal. There was noth
ing in our environment to suggest the supernat
ural or to explain a mystery tint deepened as the
moments passed. The external world w T as un
changed, and startling thought! Caroline and
I must confront it presently under conditions that
were, so far as I knew, unprecedented in the his
tory of the race.
" That's no dream ! " I exclaimed, terror-
stricken. My wife's maid had rapped, as usual,
at the outer door of our apartments. " Good God,
Caroline, what shall we do?"
" Tell her I don't want her this morning, Reg-
22
When Reginald Was Caroline.
inalcl ! Send her away, will you ? She mustn't see
me yet."
" But my your this hair, Caroline? How'll
I get it up without Suzanne's help? "
" I'll do it for you," answered Caroline, in a
voice that sounded like a despairing moan.
" Look at those hands my hands, Caroline !
You can't dress hair with them. Take my word
for that."
Suzanne rapped again, thinking, doubtless, that
we were still asleep.
" I'll be there directly, Suzanne," cried Caro
line, in my voice.
We turned cold with consternation. What
would Suzanne think of this? My reputation in
my own household had been jeopardized on the
instant.
" Caroline ! Caroline ! You must pull yourself
together ! " I whispered. " Have courage, and
do keep your wits about you! Act like a man,
will you? Keep quiet, now. I'll speak to Su
zanne."
23
Perkins, the Fakeer.
With a courage begotten by desperation, I sat
erect. Fear and hope had been at war within me
as, for the first time since I had awakened, I
changed my posture. I had dreaded the uncanny
sensation that would spring from further proof
that I was really imprisoned in my wife's body.
But I had clung to a shred of hope. It might
be that Caroline and I in motion would find the
psychical readjustment that had been denied to us
in repose. I was instantly undeceived. As I sat
up in bed, Caroline's luxuriant dark tresses fell
over my shoulders and I looked down at a lock of
hair that lay black against my tapering white fin
gers. A wave of physical well-being swept over
me, and, despite the horror of my situation, my
heart beat with a great joy in life. The blood
came into my well-rounded cheeks, as I recalled
Caroline's recent request for a cocktail. What a
shame it was that a big, healthy man should want
a stimulant early in the day !
" Suzanne! " I cried. " Suzanne, are you still
there?"
24
When Reginald Was Caroline.
" Oni, madame," came the maid's voice, a note
echoing through it that I did not like.
" I shall not want you for fifteen minutes, Suz
anne," I said. " Come back in a quarter of an
hour." I felt a cold chill creeping over me, and
Caroline's sweet voice trembled slightly. " And
may the devil fly away with you, Suzanne ! " I
muttered, as I fell back against the pillows.
" We've had our sentence suspended for fifteen
minutes, Caroline," I said, presently. " But how
the deuce am I going to get through my toilet?
My French is not like yours, my dear, and you
never speak English to Suzanne. It's actually
immoral, Caroline, the way I get my genders
mixed up in French."
" Oh, don't say that, Reginald! " exclaimed my
wife, in a horrified basso.
" Say what, Caroline? " I asked, petulantly.
" That about mixing genders being immoral,
Reggie," she fairly moaned. " I'm not immoral,
even if if if I have got your gender, Reginald.
I didn't want it," she added, sternly, " and I can't
25
Perkins, the Fakeer.
be held responsible if I am masculine or neuter
or intransitive. My advice to you, Reginald, is
not to say much to Suzanne in any language."
I could not refrain from a silvery chuckle, the
sound of which changed my mood instantly.
" How often I've said that to you, Caroline!"
I remarked, most unkindly.
" I don't gossip with Suzanne any more than
you do with your man," growled Caroline, in a
tone that hurt me deeply.
My man! Great Lucifer, I had almost for- ,
gotten his existence. He would be in my dress
ing-room presently to trim my beard and make of
himself a nuisance in various ways. Jenkins had
his good points as a valet, but he was too talk
ative at times and always inquisitive. I could
have murdered Suzanne and Jenkins at that mo
ment with good appetite.
" Caroline," I said, gloomily, " Fate has or
dained that you a-nd I, for some reason that
is not apparent, must make immediate choice
between two courses of action. We can commit
26
When Reginald Was Caroline.
suicide there's a revolver in the room. Or we
may face the ordeal bravely, helping each other,
as the day passes, to conceal from the world our
strange affliction. I have no doubt that while we
sleep to-night the ah psychical mistake that
has been made will be rectified."
My voice faltered as I uttered the last sentence.
Neither my experience nor reading had furnished
me with data upon which I could safely base so
optimistic a conclusion.
" I I don't want to die, Reggie/' muttered
Caroline, with a gesture of protest.
" The club was rather quiet last night," I re
marked, musingly; but my wife did not catch
the significance of the words. " Well, if we're
4*to brace up and stand the racket, Caroline, we
must begin at once. You must give me a few
pointers about Suzanne. I'll reciprocate of
course, and you'll have no trouble in bluffing
Jenkins to a standstill. There he is now! Call
out to him, my dear. Don't be afraid of using
27
Perkins, the Fakeer.
ah my voice. Tell him you are coming to him
at once." Unbroken silence ensued.
" Now, Caroline, be a man that's a good girl !
Tell him you'll be out in five minutes."
My wife's stalwart figure was shaking with
nervousness.
" Oh ah oh, Jenkins," she roared, presently.
" Jenkins, go away. I don't want you this morn
ing. Go away ! go away ! Do you hear me ? Go
away ! "
" Yes, sir," came Jenkins's voice to us, amaze
ment and flunkeyism mingled therein in equal
parts. " Yes, sir. I'm going at once, sir."
"Now you have done it, Caroline!" I cried,
in a high treble of anger. " Great Scott ! how that
man will talk down-stairs ! "
For a moment the sun-lighted room whirled
before my eyes like a golden merry-go-round, and
I lay there, limp and helpless, awaiting in misery
Suzanne's imminent return.
28
CHAPTER II.
A WEIRD TOILETTE.
My spirit wrestles in anguish
With fancies that will not depart ;
A ghost who borrowed my semblance
Has hid in the depth of my heart.
Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen.
" MADAME seems to be in very low spirits this
morning," Suzanne had the audacity to remark
to me as she deftly manipulated my wife's dark,
luxuriant hair, to my infinite annoyance. She
spoke in French, a language that always rubs
me the wrong way. I gazed restlessly at the
dainty furnishings of Caroline's dressing-room,
and remained silent.
Presently Suzanne spoke again. " I hope that
madame has received no bad news."
" Great Scott, girl! what are you driving at? "
I heard my wife's voice exclaim, and my reck-
29
Perkins, the Fakeer.
lessness appalled me. Suzanne was paralyzed for
a moment. I could see her pretty face in the mir
ror, and it had turned pale on the instant.
" Pardon me, madame," she gasped, " but I
I thought "
" Don't think! " I cried, crossly. " Tie up my
this ah, hair, and let me do the thinking, will
you?"
Repentance for my harsh words came to me
at once. Suzanne stifled a gasp and a sob and
continued her work as a coiffeuse. I realized that
I must control my impulsiveness at once. I had
never understood what my friends had meant
when they had accused me of a lack of imagina
tion. I had taken pride in the fact that I was a
straightforward, two-plus-two-makes-four kind
of a man, not given to foolish fancies nor errant
day-dreams. I had attributed my success in bus
iness to this tendency toward the matter-of-fact,
but now, for the first time in my life, I regretted
my lack of imaginative power. I must, for my
dear Caroline's sake yes, in the name of com-
30
When Reginald Was Caroline.
mon decency preserve my psychical incognito
in the presence of my wife's maid. Suddenly, I
was startled by hearing my voice in the bath
room uttering something that sounded much like
an exclamation of horror. In my consternation
I sat erect, listening intently.
"What is the matter, madame?" whispered
Suzanne, excitedly. " Monsieur, too, seems out
of sorts this morning."
I realized that Caroline had found sufficient
courage to set out in quest of the cold plunge
that I had advised in lieu of a cocktail. There
came the sound of running water from the bath
room.
" Go on, Suzanne," I said, gently. " Get
through with this hair of mine, will you?
There's nothing the matter. Caroline Reginald
ah Mr. Stevens didn't get quite enough sleep,
that's all. He's made the spray too cold."
Suzanne's hands trembled perceptibly as she
resumed her task.
" There's a note for madame this morning,"
31
Perkins, the Fakeer.
she said, presently, lowering her voice again, and
always speaking her detestable mother-tongue.
" Of course there is," I remarked, astonished
at the maid's manner. " Her ah my mail is
full of 'em. Who's the note from, Suzanne? "
" Madame is so remote to-day ! " murmured
Suzanne, helplessly. " Did I not tell madame that
he would write to her ? "
A chill ran through my veins, but I made nei
ther sound nor movement. Apparently my wife's
maid had become a discreet postmistress, whose
good offices it might behoove me to look into.
" I'll read the note later in the day, Suzanne.
Are you nearly done with this infernal hair ? "
" Mon Dieu! " exclaimed the girl, but she went
no further.
A splash, a groan, followed by a hoarse yell,
echoed through the suite.
"Damn it!" I cried, desperately. "Why
didn't Jenkins stay here? She he'll never get
dressed ! "
"Where is Jenkins, madame?" asked Su-
32
When Reginald Was Caroline.
zanne, nervously. " Monsieur seems to be ex
cited. And madame what is the matter with
madame ? "
The girl's consternation was not strange. Car
oline, the grand dame, gentle, self-poised, unex-
citable, sat before the wide-eyed Suzanne, swear
ing in a voice that had been fashioned by nature
for nothing harsher than a drawing-room expletive.
" Caroline," came my wife's borrowed voice,
faintly, as if she were talking to herself. It was
'some time before I realized that she was calling
me.
" Yes ah Reginald ! " I managed to cry, in a
trembling falsetto.
" Monsieur seems to want you, madame," said
Suzanne, wonderingly. " Where is Jenkins,
madame? "
" God only knows ! " I exclaimed, desperately.
" Down-stairs, I suppose, talking through his hat.
Send him to me at once, girl."
" Madame ! Jenkins ? Send Jenkins to you ?
Madame, I do not comprehend."
3 33 4
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" To me ? I didn't say to me, did I ? Send
him to Car Reginald Mr. Stevens! Wasn't
that what I said? Go, Suzanne! And wait a
minute. If you mention my name to Jenkins
that is, if you gossip with him coming up-stairs,
I'll dismiss you this morning. Tell Jenkins to
hold his chattering tongue, or he'll get the grand
ah, manner nayst palif'
Suzanne burst into tears, and, instead of obey
ing my behest, fell, with true French impetuosity,
upon her knees at my feet, and, seizing my cold
hands, buried her face in them, sobbing hysteric
ally.
" Oh, madame ! madame ! What have I done
to deserve this?" she moaned, in her diabolical
French. " Why do you speak to me treat me
this way? It is so cruelly cruel! Oh, madame,
have I not been faithful, discreet, blind, deaf,
dumb? Have I ever betrayed even a little, little
secret of yours? "
" Caroline ! ' There was a note of mingled
anger and dismay in my voice as it came to me,
34
When Reginald Was Caroline.
harsh and unwelcome, from my distant dress
ing-room, the door of which Caroline had
closed.
" I must go to her ! " I cried, springing to
my feet, and tripping over my dressing-gown as
I pushed by the kneeling, hysterical maid. Su
zanne grasped what I now believe to have been
the hem of my garment.
" Oh, madame, you must not go to him ! Mon
sieur's voice is so wild! I am sure that he is
not well. You must rest here, madame! See, I
am going. I will send Jenkins to monsieur at
once. Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! I go, madame!
I shall return to you very soon."
Suzanne had really gone, and, pulling myself
together by a strong effort of will, I stumbled
from the dressing-room, crossed our bed-chamber
and knocked on the door, behind which I could
hear Caroline uttering subdued exclamations in
my raucous voice.
" Who's there ? Go away ! Who is it ? " cried
my wife, in a panic.
35
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Don't get rattled, my dear," I called out, in
Caroline's sweetest tones. " Suzanne has gone to
find Jenkins. Let me in, my dear. I may be
able to give you a few tips."
The door flew open and I saw that Caroline
had managed to don my underclothing. My
heavy features displayed the joy that my wife felt
at my arrival. I learned afterward that she had
been having serious trouble with my linen shirt.
" Oh, Reggie," she exclaimed, making my
voice tremble with emotion. " I've had such a
horrible time ! " She threw my great, muscular
arms around her neck, and I felt my beard
scratching my her smooth, delicate cheeks.
" Sit down, Caroline, and calm yourself," I
implored her. " This is no time for this kind of
thing. We've got but a moment to ourselves.
Suzanne has gone to bring Jenkins back."
Caroline shuddered, but said nothing.
' You gave me a terrible shock, my dear," I
remarked, calmly. " I feared that some terrible
accident had happened to you."
36
When Reginald Was Caroline.
" The very worst has happened, Reggie," she
mused, in something like a prolonged growl. " I
don't think I'll ever be able to go through with
it."
" We've made a bad beginning, Caroline. I'll
admit that. But all is not yet lost. Jenkins and
Suzanne doubtless imagine that you are merely
suffering from a somewhat stubborn and persist
ent jag."
" How horribly vulgar ! " groaned Caroline.
" Don't disabuse Jenkins's mind of the idea,"
I implored her. " It's hard on you, I'll admit,
but it's better than the truth. We can't tell them
that we've changed bodies for a time. They'd
think us crazy, Caroline."
" We will be, Reginald," growled the dismayed
giant, seemingly on the verge of tears. " If I
were only dressed I wouldn't be so frightened.
But you are such a clumsy creature, Reggie."
I sprang to my feet. I thought I heard voices
in the lower hall.
" They're coming, Caroline. Don't say much
37
Perkins, the Fakeer.
to Jenkins, but, if you think of it, my dear, swear
at him softly now and then. It'll quiet his sus
picions, if he has any."
As I started to leave the room, I turned sharp
ly, and eyed my own face searchingly. Imitating
Suzanne's voice as well as I could, I said :
" There's a note for madame this morning.
Did I not tell madame that he would write to
her?"
Bitterly did I regret my untimely sarcasm.
Caroline, white to the lips, tottered where she
stood.
" Reginald ! " she cried, in a deep, horror-
stricken voice that could have been heard through
out the house and in the street outside.
Rushing back, I helped her towards a chair.
" It's all right, Caroline," I said, in dulcet,
pleading tones. " Don't mind it, my dear. I am
sure that you will be able to explain the ah
little matter wholly to my satisfaction." Then
a thought flashed through my mind that was like
a cold douche, and I added : " And don't forget
38
When Reginald Was Caroline.
about Jenkins, my dear. Don't encourage him to
talk. And, above all, don't believe anything that
he may say. He's a most stupendous liar."
With that I hurried back to Caroline's dressing-
room just in time to seat myself before Suzanne,
panting from haste and excitement, rushed into
the room.
" Jenkins, madame," she cried, wringing her
hands, " Jenkins is a villain, a rascal, a scoun
drel." The girl appeared to have a long list of
opprobrious French epithets in her vocabulary.
" Calm yourself, Suzanne," I said, coolly.
" You have sent Jenkins to monsieur ? "
" Alas, madame, he refused to obey me unless
I agreed to kiss him. The horrid, degenerate, un
principled English beast! Mon Dieu! I could
not kiss him, madame."
" Curse the man's devilish impudence ! " I ex
claimed, while Suzanne stared at me, her pretty
mouth wide open in amazement.
" You say such queer things to-day, madame ! "
she murmured, presently, resuming her duties in
39
Perkins, the Fakeer.
a melancholy way. " What will madame wear
for breakfast? "
Her question startled me. My mind endeav
ored, without much success, to recall Caroline's
morning costumes.
" What's the matter with her ah my plum-
colored ah tea-gown?" I asked, recklessly.
" Madame is jocose facetious," remarked Su
zanne, pretending to laugh. I reflected bitterly
that I could not see the joke.
" You have such excellent taste, Suzanne," I
said, proud of my cleverness. " Tog me out in
any old thing. But it must be warm and snug,
girl. I have had chills up my back until I feel
like a small icicle in a cold wind." Suddenly an
inspiration came to me. " Suzanne, you'll find a
bottled cocktail in the bedroom closet. Never
mind the cracked ice. Pour me out about four
fingers and bring it to me at once. Don't stare
at me like that, girl! Quick work, now. And
ah don't let Caro that is, Mr. Stevens hear
you. Go ! "
40
When Reginald Was Caroline.
Suzanne, pale with amazement, hurried away
to find the stimulant that had become suddenly the
one thing on earth that I really desired. Pres
ently, she returned, carrying a half-filled cocktail
glass.
"Here's how, Suzanne!" I cried, joyously,
forgetting caste distinctions in my delight at the
opportunity of restoring my waning vitality. I
swallowed the smooth concoction at a gulp, Su
zanne watching me with a puzzled smile on her
disturbed countenance.
" Jenkins is with monsieur," she remarked as
she took the empty glass from my white, slender
hand. Apprehension clutched at my heart again.
" Does ah Mr. Stevens monsieur seem
to be ah quiet ? " I asked, eagerly.
" I didn't hear his voice, madame," answered
Suzanne, arranging a sky-blue morning-gown for
my use. " But Jenkins is talking, talking, talk
ing all the time, madame."
" Damn him for a confounded cockney gas
bag! " I murmured, despondently, but fortunately
Perkins, the Fakeer.
Suzanne was at that moment busy at the further
end of the dressing-room. I stood erect, impa
tient of further delay.
" Look here, girl," I exclaimed, " will you quit
this fussy nonsense and get me out of here ? I've
got an engagement at "
My sweet, velvety voice failed me as I realized
that I was again forgetting myself, or, rather,
Caroline.
The long suffering Suzanne was at my side, in
stantly.
" Madame may go now," she said, giving a
finishing touch here and there to my hair and
costume. I made for the bedroom eagerly, but
tripped over my dress, recovering my equilibrium
and went on. Suzanne said something to herself
in French, but the only words that came distinctly
to my ears were:
" Le cocktail! II est diabolique! "
CHAPTER III.
CAROLINE'S USURPATION.
In philosophic mood last night, as idly I was lying,
That souls may transmigrate, methought, there could be no
denying ;
So just to know to what I owe propensities so strong,
I drew my soul into a chat our gossip lasted long.
B&ranger.
IT was not wholly unpleasant to find myself
facing Caroline across the breakfast-table. There
she sat, attired in my most becoming gray busi
ness suit, in outward seeming a large, well-
groomed man-of-the-world. The light in her
or my eyes suggested the possibility that she had
found compensations for her soul's change of
base. If that was the case, Caroline was more
to be envied than I was, for, despite the feminine
beauty that had become mine for a time, I was
43
Perkins, the Fakeer.
wholly ill-at-ease and disgruntled. My hand
trembled and I spilled the coffee that it had be
come my duty to serve. Jones, our phlegmatic
butler, appeared to be politely astonished at my
clumsiness and glanced at me furtively now and
again.
" Two lumps, Caroline ? " I asked, absently.
Catching my wife's masculine eye, I felt the blood
rush to my cheeks. " Reginald, I mean ! "
" Three lumps, and plenty of cream, Caro
line," said my wife, with ready wit. What a
domineering note there was in my voice when
used vicariously! I wondered if Caroline had
noticed it.
" You may go, Jones," I said, presently. " I'll
ring if we need you."
A gleam of surprise came into the butler's eyes,
but he controlled it instantly, and strode from
the breakfast-room like a liveried automaton.
" You are not eating, Reginald," said my wife,
in a gruff whisper, glancing at the door through
which Jones had made his exit. " You must not
44
When Reginald Was Caroline.
give way to your nervousness, dear boy. You'll
need all your strength before the day is over."
" Gad, you're right if I can judge by the last
hour, Caroline," I remarked, endeavoring by force
of will to beget an appetite for toast and eggs.
" Just hand me my letters, will you ? Here are
yours, my dear."
I saw the masculine cheeks redden, but Caro
line made no effort to act upon the suggestion
that I had thrown out.
" Reggie ! Reggie ! " she moaned, hoarsely,
" is there no help for us ? Can't you think of
something that will change us back again? It's
simply unbearable. Sometimes it makes me
laugh, but I almost died before I got out of the
bath-room. And Jenkins was simply detestable!
You must get us out of this, Reginald, or I warn
you I shall read these letters, go down to your
office and your club and enjoy life in your way
for a while, my dear."
There was something in all this that I did not
altogether like, but I smiled as I said:
45
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Are you laboring under the delusion, Caro
line, that my daily life, filled to overflowing with
business cares that you know nothing about, is
pleasanter than yours ? You can do as you please
all day long see people or deny yourself to them,
as you choose. I had noticed a tendency upon your
part, my dear, before this ah accident occurred,
to complain that your existence was dull, that a
man had a happier lot than a woman. It's all bosh,
that idea. From the moment when I leave this
house in the morning, Caroline, I am a slave to
duties that I cannot shirk. I am under a terrific
strain all day long. As for you, my dear, you
may go and come as you please, see the people you
like, and dodge those you detest; take a nap if
you're tired, a drive if you're suffocated, a walk
if you feel energetic. And you have nothing but
petty worries that don't amount to a row of beans.
Great Scott ! Caroline, what an easy job a woman
in your position has ! "
Caroline refused to meet my gaze, and I ob
served with annoyance that my eyes sometimes
46
When Reginald Was Caroline.
had a shifty way with them. She had placed
one large relentless hand over my small pile of
letters. Presently, she said, in a tone that indi
cated a stubborn spirit :
" You are off the track, Reginald. What I
want to know is whether you think that we have
exhausted every method for getting out of this
queer scrape? "
" Drop that, will you, Caroline? " I exclaimed,
petulantly. " I'm no theosophist nor faith-curist.
I'm not going to fool with this thing at all. If
we get to tampering with it whatever it is you
may find yourself in Jenkins's shoes and I may
be Suzanne or Jones for a change. I'm banking
on a readjustment in our sleep to-night. Until
then, we'll have to accept the situation as it
stands."
" Then I'm going to boss things, Reggie," re
marked my wife, firmly. " If I'm obliged to get
about in your great, hulking figure, my dear, I'm
going to enjoy all the perquisites for the next few
hours. I don't believe I never did believe
47
Perkins, the Fakeer.
that you work half as hard as you say you do,
nor that you have such horrible dragons to slay
every day before dinner. Then, I want you to
see for yourself how much leisure I really enjoy.
You can stay at home and run my affairs, Reg
gie, dear. I'm going down -town to see 'the
boys ' at work ! "
" Good heavens, Caroline, you are joking! " I
cried, my delicate hand trembling as I endeavored
to raise my coffee-cup to my white lips. " It
would be utter madness what you plan ! I'll have
to let things slide for to-day. I'll telephone to
the office saying that I'm down with the grip.
Grip? That's good," I went on, hysterically.
" It's just what we've lost, Caroline. But never
mind ! It's a word that will serve my turn. And
then, my dear, we'll pass the day together here.
We might get a readjustment at any moment,
don't you see, if we stick close to each other. If
you're down- town great Nebuchadnezzar! any
thing might happen to us, Caroline."
" But there's the telephone, Reginald," sug-
48
When Reginald Was Caroline.
gested my wife, coldly. " As soon as I reach
your office I'll call you up. If you don't leave
the house to-day you'll have me at the end of
a 'phone most of the time. And let me tell you,
Reggie, you'll need me. I am very much in
clined to think, my dear, that you'll wonder, be
fore the day is over, what has become of my sine
cure. I am quite sure that you'll not find time
for a great many naps."
" If you leave me, Caroline," I said, musingly,
" I shouldn't dare to fall asleep. But I really
can't believe, my dear, that you seriously con
template the expedition you have mentioned.
You'll have the devil's own time, let me tell you,
Caroline. Let me glance at that memorandum-
book in your inside coat-pocket. Thanks. Wed
nesday? To-day is Wednesday. Nine-thirty
Boggs and Scranton. We'll scratch that off. I'm
late for that, as it is. Rogers ! " To myself, I
cried : " Lord, she mustn't meet Rogers ! I
shouldn't have given him my office address."
As I glanced through the day's appointments,
4 49
Perkins, the Fakeer.
item by item, my horror grew apace. Caroline,
if she went to my office, was bound to derive a
wholly false impression of the general tenor of
my life. There would be so many things that
would be open to misconstruction! Unimagina
tive I might be, but my memoranda enabled me
to foretell just what kind of an experience awaited
Caroline in my daily haunts. The methods by
which a successful business is conducted in New
York would puzzle her sorely, and place me in a
most uncomfortable light.
" It can't be done, my dear," I said, presently;
and Caroline's sweet voice annoyed me by its
lack of an imperative note. It seemed to beat
impotently against that stubborn-looking counte
nance across the breakfast-table. " You'd bungle
matters most desperately if I allowed you to go
down. As it is, I dread the outcome of my en
forced absence. Playing lady to-day will cost
me a cool ten thousand, at the very least."
I could see, plainly enough, that what I had
said had made very little impression upon my
50
When Reginald Was Caroline.
wife. Perhaps she doubted my word or felt
confidence in her own business ability. In des
peration, I took a new tack.
" I think, Caroline, that, on the whole, it would
be much better for you to remain here with me
and tell me all about that note to which Suzanne
referred. It may take some time, my dear, to
get that ah little matter straightened out."
My eyes never wavered as I gazed into their
depths.
" It's easily explained, Reggie, dear," said
Caroline, coldly. " It will take me but a moment.
As to your interpretation of what Jenkins has
been saying to me that, of course, is another
matter. Your explanations may require consid
erable time, Reggie, darling."
I dropped my coffee-cup, which went to pieces
with its saucer.
" Jenkins ? " I cried ; in a tone so high that it
gave me a headache. " Didn't I warn you that
he was a great liar, Caroline? You mustn't be
lieve more than ten per cent, of what he says."
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" H'm ! " growled Caroline, while she glanced
idly at the outside of the envelopes beside her
coffee-cup.
" I tell you, Caroline," I went on, feverishly,
wondering why I had grown to hate my wife's
voice so quickly, " I tell you, Caroline, that Jen
kins is a waif from the School for Scandal. He
was valet to Lord Runabout before he came over
here. Jenkins's standards, I must say, are low.
You know what Runabout is, my dear. Well,
Jenkins seems to think that to be a gentleman
one must have Runabout's tastes. I was idly
curious at first to hear what Jenkins had to say.
Naturally, he got a wrong impression, and there
you are! Sometimes, Caroline, you'd think, to
hear Jenkins talk to me, that I was a wild blade,
a dare-devil rake, of trfe latest English pattern.
In certain moods, he amuses me ; at other times, I
don't listen to him. But I can readily under
stand, my dear, what a shock he must have given
you. Of course, you couldn't know I should
have told you more about it in detail that I'm
52
When Reginald Was Caroline.
really a hero to my valet. It's not a nice kind of
hero, of course, but it's the kind that Jenkins ad
mires. In short, Caroline, dear, while I'm Dr.
Jekyll to the world, I'm Mr. Hyde to my man."
" H'm," came my gruff voice again, and there
was a smile on my face that aroused my anger.
During our five years of married life I had never
lost my temper with Caroline. But her present
manner, made doubly offensive by the use of my
own body as its medium, filled me with rage.
" By the eternal horn spoon, Caroline, you must
drop that ! " I cried, in a shrill treble. " If you
say ' h'm ' to me again in that cheap actor's man
ner I'll I'll "
" Get a divorce, perhaps," suggested Caroline,
pleasantly. " Come, come, Reginald, you've gone
far enough. You have no cause for anger un
less, indeed, your conscience goads you. But I've
put up a flag of truce. Suppose we drop this un
pleasant subject foir the present." Here she
calmly stuck my letters into a pocket of my coat.
" I'll look these over riding down-town. Just
53
Perkins, the Fakeer.
ring for Jones, will you, and ask him if the coupe
is at the door."
" Caroline ! Caroline ! " I moaned, falling back
in my chair, limp and hopeless, " you must not
you dare not attempt this mad prank ! I tell you,
Caroline, that you will regret your foolhardiness
to the last day of your life."
" Listen to me, Reginald," said my wife, stand
ing erect and drawing herself up to my full
height. " Jones will come to you up-stairs for
his orders. Think of it, my dear! You can or
der whatever you like best for dinner. The Van
Tromps and Edgertons dine with us to-night.
Don't forget that."
I groaned aloud, and felt the tears rushing to
Caroline's beautiful eyes.
" This morning," she went on, seemingly in
high spirits, " my new ball dress should arrive.
Mrs Taunton you never liked her, Reggie, but
she's really charming is to lunch with me.
Professor Von Gratz will be here at eleven to
hear me play Beethoven's Opus 22. He's apt to
54
When Reginald Was Caroline.
be severe, but don't mind him, my dear. His
bark is worse than his bite." Caroline bent down
and touched the bell in front of me.
"Is the coupe ready, Jones?" she asked, as
the butler entered.
" Yes, sir."
" Ta-ta, Reggie," cried my wife, in my most
playful voice. " I'll call you by 'phone the mo
ment I reach the office. Hope you'll have a
pleasant day. Ta-ta ! "
A moment later, I sat alone in the breakfast-
room, gazing down at my broken coffee-cup and
saucer. I regretted their accidental destruction.
It would have pleased me now to smash them by
design.
55
CHAPTER IV.
THE STRENUOUS LIFE.
No longer memory whispers whence arose
The doom that tore me from my place of pride.
Whittier.
I HAD had the telephone placed in the library
for reasons that need not be given here, and it
was to this room that I betook myself after I
had recovered from Caroline's cruel exit. I re
alized, in a vague kind of way, that the library
was not my wife's customary haunt after break
fast, but I lacked the courage to seek a clue to her
usual morning habits. That Suzanne would dis
cover me presently in my hiding-place, I had no
doubt, but I was safe from intrusion for a time,
at least, and might find in solitude a poultice for
the blows that this deplorable day always to be
remembered as Black Wednesday had already
given to me.
56
When Reginald Was Caroline.
As I seated myself beside a table covered with
books and magazines, a feeling of rebellion, not
unmingled with envy, came over me. It was a
clear, bracing, sunny morning, and Caroline, in
my outward seeming, was rolling down-town, re
joicing, doubtless, like a bird that has escaped un
expectedly from a narrow cage. A new life lay
before her. She had gone forth to see the world,
while I, beautiful but despondent, sat trembling,
in momentary dread of discovery by Jones or Su
zanne. Menaced by a ball-dress, a music teacher,
Mrs. Taunton and various unknown household
duties, my mind exaggerated the miseries of
my situation. Unworthy passions agitated my
throbbing bosom. A longing for vengeance, a
mad desire to make Caroline regret her base de
sertion of the man whom she had vowed to love,
honor and obey, swept through me. It would
go hard with me, indeed, if some opportunity for
punishing my errant spouse did not present itself
during the long day that confronted me.
With great presence of mind, despite my agi-
57
Perkins, the Fakeer.
tation, I had brought Caroline's mail into the
library with me. Should I open it? Why not?
She had carried off my letters with a piratical
nonchalance quite consistent with her present
high-handed methods of procedure. It was only
fair that I should dip into her correspondence at
my leisure. But I feared, just now, any further
shock to my nerves, and sat motionless, gazing
listlessly at the little pile of notes addressed to
Caroline. Suddenly, a thought came into my
mind that sent the blood rushing through my
veins. Was it not more than probable that my
library contained a few volumes dealing with the
occult sciences? At all events, I was sure that
I owned several books relating to Oriental philo
sophy. Then there was Sir Edwin Arnold's
" Light of Asia " at my disposal, and, if I became
impatient of research, I could look up " Reincar
nation," " Transmigration " and kindred topics
in the encyclopaedia.
But what had become of my courage? Great
as was my curiosity regarding the strange psychi-
58
When Keginald Was Caroline.
cal displacement that had made me practically a
prisoner in my own home, I feared to take steps
that, while they might increase my erudition,
might also deprive me of all hope of the night's
readjustment.
" I'd better leave it alone," I murmured to my
self, despondently. " My very ignorance of this
kind of thing may prove to be my salvation in
the end. I'm up against it, there's no doubt of
that. And the queer thing about it all is that
I'm not more astonished at what has happened.
It didn't hurt a bit ! It was like taking gas. You
wake up in a dentist's chair, and the only tooth
you knew you possessed has gone. I wonder, by
the way, if it would pay to consult a doctor
some specialist in nervous disorders ? I could use
an assumed name, and Bosh ! I haven't the
sand to do it. And it might lead to an investi
gation as to my sanity. Great guns, girl! You
here again ? " The last words I spoke aloud,
gazing upward into Suzanne's pale, disturbed
face.
59
Perkins the Fakeer.
" I am so worried about madame," said Su
zanne in French, glancing nervously around the
library, as if she sought in my environment an ex
planation of her mistress's eccentricity. " Would
it not be well for madame to come up-stairs and
try to get a nap? "
" A nap ! " I cried, in a vibrant treble. " Not
on your life, girl! I'm up for all day, you may
bet on that. Get me the morning papers, Su
zanne. And wait ! Where's Jenkins ? "
Suzanne gazed at me in surprise.
" He's eating his breakfast, madame."
" Bring me the papers, and then tell Jenkins
to take a day off. Tell him he may go as far
away as Hoboken if he wants to. He needn't
return until to-morrow."
Suzanne glided from my side with a quick,
silent movement that reminded me of a black cat.
A wild, fleeting hope seized me that Jenkins
would carry the girl away with him, but presently
Suzanne entered the library again.
" Jenkins sends his thanks to madame, and will
60
When Reginald Was Caroline.
take a holiday, after reporting to monsieur at
his office," said my pretty gadfly, glibly, placing
the morning newspapers beside me.
" Confound his impudence! " I exclaimed, and
I saw at once that Suzanne considered me " no
better."
" And now, girl, what next ? Jones, I sup
pose."
" Yes, madame. He is awaiting your pleas
ure outside the door."
At that moment Jones entered the library.
" You called me, madame," he said, pompously,
magnificent as a liar. " Your orders, madame? "
" We have guests for dinner, Jones," I re
marked, bravely.
" Yes, madame. How many? "
" Four, Jones. Six at the table, that is. Cock
tails to start with, Jones, and serve my best wines
freely, do you understand? I want you to
give us a dinner to-night, Jones, that'll make a
new man of me," I murmured under my breath.
" Yes, madame," said the butler, respectfully,
61
Perkins, the Fakeer.
but I certainly caught a gleam of delight in his
heavy eyes. " You give me carte blanche, ma-
dame?"
" Throw everything wide open, and let 'er go,
Jones," I cried, with enthusiasm. Caroline
should see that I know how " to provide."
Jones bowed, more, I believe, to conceal his
astonishment than for mere ceremony, and turned
to leave the room.
" Jones," I called, before he had disappeared,
" if you talk to Jenkins before he leaves the house
I shall discharge you."
The butler turned, with a flush in his face, and
gave me a haughty stare. Then he said, recover
ing his machine-made humility :
" Yes, madame. Your orders shall be obeyed."
With that he was gone.
" Go to the 'phone Suzanne," I said at once,
"and call up 502, Rector. When you've got
'em, let me know."
Suzanne was too nervous to accomplish this
task, and I was forced to go to her assistance.
62
I
When Reginald Was Caroline.
" Hello ! " I heard Caroline's voice crying pres
ently, and it warned me to be careful.
Standing at a 'phone it was hard for me to re
member that I was far from being quite myself.
"Who's this?" came to my ears from 502,
Rector.
" Has ah Mr. Stevens reached the office
yet?" I asked.
" We expect him every moment. He's late
this morning," came the answer in a man's voice,
(I had grown very sensitive to sex in voices.)
"Who is this?"
" I am ah Mrs. Stevens." Suddenly, I re
alized that I was talking to Morse, my head-
clerk. How he happened to be in my inner office
puzzled me. " Anything new this morning,
Morse?" I inquired, impulsively. There was a
sound that can be described as an electric gurgle
at his end of the line.
" Hello," he cried, above a buzzing of the wires
that might have been caused by his astonishment.
" Are you still there, Mrs. Stevens ? "
63
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Well, rather," I said to myself. Then aloud :
" Will you kindly call me up ah Mr. Morse,
the moment Mr. Stevens arrives ? "
" On the instant, Mrs. Stevens," said Morse,
deferentially.
Curiosity overcame my discretion.
"How did the market open, Mr. Morse?" I
asked, recklessly.
Again that electric gurgle escaped from my
startled clerk.
" It seems to be very feverish, madame," an
swered Morse, evidently recovering his equanim
ity.
" Naturally ! " I exclaimed, feelingly, but I
doubt that Morse caught the word.
"Is that all, M'-s. Stevens?" he asked, pres
ently.
" That'll do for the present ah Mr. Morse,"
I said, reluctantly. " Good-bye! "
I returned to my seat beside the reading-table
and found Suzanne gazing at me with soft, sym
pathetic eyes.
64
When Reginald Was Caroline.
" If I had but dared to tell him to unload," I
mused aloud, but went no further, for the French
girl's glance had become an interrogation-
mark.
" Tell monsieur to unload ? " murmured Su
zanne, who sometimes spoke English when she
especially craved my confidence. " But mon
Dicu! monsieur is not what you say, madame,
loaded?"
I broke into a silvery, high-pitched laugh that
annoyed me, exceedingly. But it was not un
pleasant to realize that the girl knew that Mr.
Stevens was a gentleman. I felt grateful to Su
zanne for her good opinion. A moment later, the
telephone rang, sharply.
"There's Caroline," I said to myself; but I
was quickly undeceived when I had placed the re
ceiver to my ear.
" Is that you, Caroline? " I heard a voice say
ing. " This is Louise. What have you decided
to do about those lectures on Buddhism? Will
you join the class, my dear? "
5 65
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Not in a thousand years ! " I fairly shrieked
through the 'phone. " Good-bye ! "
"More trouble, madame?" asked Suzanne, as
I tottered back to my chair. " I am so sorry.
Really, I think madame should come up-stairs
with me and lie down. I will bathe madame's
head, and she may drop off for a time."
" Suzanne," I said, solemnly, making a strong
effort of will and controlling my temper nicely
" Suzanne, if you suggest a sleep to me again to
day I shall be forced to send you to Hoboken to
find Jenkins. What's that? The telephone
again ? Ah Mr. Stevens must have reached his
office."
I was right this time. If my memory is not
at fault, our conversation across the wire ran as
follows.
"Hello!"
"Hello!"
Silence for a time and a buzzing in my ear.
" Is that you, Caroline? " from my office.
" You know best ah Reginald," in the
66
When Reginald Was Caroline.
sweetest tones that I could beget in my wife's
voice.
" Hello ! "
"Hello!" I returned. "Pleasant ride down
ah Reginald ? "
"Do be serious, will you?" gruffly, from the
office.
" Tell Morse to sell L stock and industrials at
once. Do you get that ? "
"I'll have to use my own judgment in that
matter, Caroline." My voice came to me through
the 'phone with its own stubborn note.
"Great Scott!" I cried, realizing that I was
absolutely helpless. " Be careful what you do
ah Reginald. It's a very treacherous market.
For heaven's sake, sell out at once, will you? "
" I must get to work now, my dear," said my
wife, gruffly. " There's a heavy mail this morn
ing, and several men are waiting to see me. Mr.
Rogers comes in to me at once."
A cold chill ran through me, and Caroline's
voice trembled as I cried :
67
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Don't see Rogers ah Reginald ! I haven't
decided yet what answer to give the man. Bluff
him off, if you've got a spark of sense left in you.
Tell him to call at the office next week."
" Good-bye, Caroline," came my voice to me,
remorselessly. " I'll call you up again later.
How's your ball dress? Does it fit you nicely?
Don't over-exert yourself, my dear. You weren't
looking well at breakfast. Ta-ta ! See you later."
I heard the uncompromising click of the re
ceiver, and knew that my wife had returned to my
affairs. As I turned my back to the telephone, I
felt that ruin was staring me in the face. If
Caroline played ducks and drakes with my va
rious stocks I stood to lose half my fortune.
What a fool I had been, engaged in a profitable
business, to go into speculation ! Had it not been
for what may be considered a feeling of false
pride I should have sent Suzanne for a cocktail
at once. It seemed to me that my masculine in
dividuality exhausted Caroline's nervous energy
at a most deplorable rate.
68
CHAPTER V.
SUZANNE'S BUSY DAY.
Births have brought us richness and variety, and other
births have brought us richness and variety. Walt Whit
man.
BUTTONS, the hall-boy was accustomed to sit
where he could keep one ear on the 'phone in the
library, the other on the bell in the main entrance,
and both of them on the voice of Jones, the butler.
The library stifled me, and the very sight of the
telephone threatened me with nervous prostra
tion.
" Tell Buttons," I said to Suzanne, " to listen
to the 'phone, and if ah Mr. Stevens calls me
up again, to let me know of it at once. Then
come to me up-stairs. And, Suzanne, say
to Buttons that if what was her name? ah,
yes, Louise rings me up again to tell her I've
69
Perkins, the Fakeer.
got an attack of neuralgia in my ah astral
body, and that I'm writing to Buddha to ask for
his advice in the matter. That'll shut her off for
all day, I imagine."
; " Oui, madame," murmured Suzanne, wearily.
She was beginning to feel the effects of a great
nervous strain. As I reached the door of the
library, the effort to carry myself like a lady over
came my momentary infusion of energy.
" Suzanne," I said, " it might be well for you
to bring some cracked ice with you. Ask Jones
for it. Tell him I have a headache, if he glares
at you."
As I mounted the stairs slowly, wondering how
women manage to hold their skirts so that their
limbs move freely, a feeling of relief came over
me. It was pleasant to get away from the floor
over which Jones, the phlegmatic and tyrannical,
presided. I had lost all fear of Suzanne, but
the butler chilled my blood. If Caroline and I
failed to obtain a psychical exchange to-night
Jones must leave the house to-morrow. Sud-
70
When Reginald Was Caroline.
denly, I stood motionless in the upper hallway and
laughed aloud, nervously. What would Jones
think could he learn that he had become unwit
tingly a horror in livery to a lost soul? The ab
surdity of the reflection brought a ray of sun
shine to my darkened spirit, and I entered Caro
line's morning-room in a cheerful mood.
" Pardon me, Mrs. Stevens, but I was told to
wait for you here."
A pretty girl confronted me, standing guard
over a large pasteboard box that she had placed
upon a chair.
" You ah have something for me? " I asked,
coldly. I was beginning to wonder where Caro
line's leisure came in.
" Your new ball-dress, Mrs. Stevens. You
promised to try it on this morning, you remem
ber."
" Very well ! Leave it, then. I'll get into it
later on. I've no doubt it'll fit me like a glove."
The girl stared at me for a moment, then re
covered herself and said :
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Madame Bonari will be displeased with me,
Mrs. Stevens, if I do not return to her with the
report that you find the dress satisfactory. I may
await your pleasure, may I not? Madame Bon
ari would discharge me if I went back to her
now."
" Let me see the dress, girl," I muttered, re
luctantly. To don a ball-dress in full daylight
to save a poor maiden from losing her situation
was for me to make a greater sacrifice than this
dressmaker's apprentice could realize.
The girl opened the box, and I gazed, awe
struck, at a garment that filled me with a strange
kind of terror. There was not a great deal of it.
It was not its size that frightened me; it was the
shape of the thing that was startling.
" That'll do, girl," I exclaimed, somewhat hys
terically. " Tell ah Madame Bonari that this
ah polonaise is a howling success. I can see
at a glance that it was made for me," and added,
under my breath, " to pay for."
72
When Reginald Was Caroline.
The girl stood rooted to the spot, gazing at me
in mingled sorrow and amazement.
" But oh, Mrs. Stevens," she cried, the tears
coming into her eyes, " you will not dismiss me
this way? I will lose my place if you do! "
I sank into a chair, torn by conflicting emo
tions, as a novelist would say of his distraught
heroine.
" Do you want me to climb into that thing,
here and now ? " I gasped.
" If madame will be so kind," murmured the
girl, imploringly.
With joy, I now heard the tinkling of cracked
ice against cut-glass. Suzanne, to my great re
lief, entered the room.
" Suzanne," I said, courageously, " I will trou
ble you to tog me out in this ah silk remnant.
Have you got a kodak, girl? " I asked, playfully,
turning toward the astonished young dressmaker.
" You're not a yellow reporter? "
"Oh, Mrs. Stevens!" cried the girl, depreca-
ingly, glancing interrogatively at Suzanne. Per-
73
Perkins, the Fakeer.
haps the cracked ice and my eccentric manner had
aroused suspicions in her mind.
A moment later, I found myself in Caroline's
dressing-room alone with Suzanne, who had re
covered her spirits in the delight that her present
task engendered.
" Madame's neck and arms are so beautiful ! "
she murmured in French, pulling the skirt of the
ball-dress, a dainty affair made of mauve silk,
with a darker shade of velvet for trimmings, into
position. " Ah, such a wonderful hang ! It is
worthy of Paris, madame."
" Don't stop to talk, Suzanne," I grumbled.
" This is indecent exposure of mistaken identity,
and I can't stand much of it ; so keep moving, will
you?"
"The corsage is a marvel, madame!" ex
claimed Suzanne, ecstatically.
" It is, girl," I muttered, glancing at myself in
a mirror. " It feels like a cross between a mod
ern life-preserver and a mediaeval breast-plate.
74
When Reginald Was Caroline.
Don't lace the thing so tight, Suzanne. I've got
to talk now and then ! "
Suzanne was too busy to listen to my some
what delirious comments.
' It is a miracle ! " she cried in French. " Ma
dame is a purple dream, is she not ? "
" Madame will be a black-and-blue what-is-it
before you know it," I moaned. " Does that
girl outside there expect to have a look at ah
this ridiculous costume?" I asked, testily.
" Madame is so strange to-day," murmured
Suzanne, wearily. " You are free to go now,
madame."
I clutched at the train that anchored me to my
place of torture, and moved clumsily toward the
room in which the young dressmaker awaited me.
" Ah ! " cried the girl, as I broke upon her vis
ion, a creature of beauty, but very far from grace
ful. " Madame Bonari will be overjoyed. The
dress is perfection, is it not, Mrs. Stevens? I've
never seen such a fit."
" It feels like a fit," I remarked, pantingly.
75
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Suzanne," I called out, desperately, " slip a few
cogs in front here, will you? This is only a re
hearsal, you know. If I must suffocate at the
ball I'll school myself for the occasion. But I
refused to be a pressed flower this morning.
Thanks, that's better. It's like a quick recovery
from pneumonia. You may go, girl. Give my
compliments to Madame ah Bonari, and tell
her I'm on the road to recovery. Good morn-
ing!"
Suzanne and I were alone.
" A cocktail, girl. Quick, now ! Do you think
I wanted that ice as a musical instrument? If I
ever needed a stimulant, Suzanne, I need one
now. Make the dose stiff, Suzanne, for I'm not
as young as I was. Do you hear me? Hurry! "
A rap at the door checked Suzanne in full ca
reer. We heard the strident voice of Buttons in
the hallway.
" Open the door, Suzanne." I cried, nervously,
bracing myself for another buffet from fate.
" Mr. Stevens is asking for Mrs. Stevens on the
76
When Reginald Was Caroline.
'phone," I heard Buttons say to Suzanne. "He*
seems to be in a hurry, too."
Suzanne hastened back to me.
" I know the worst, girl ! Say nothing ! " I
exclaimed, petulantly. " I must go down-stairs
in this infernal ball-dress," and the ordeal before
me filled me with consternation. If Jones
should find me skulking around his domain in a
decollete dress at this time of day the glance of
his arrogant eyes would terrify me. But there
wasn't time for reflection, nor, alas! for a cock
tail. Caroline was calling vainly to me with my
voice through an unresponsive telephone. I must
go to her at once. Doubtless, she craved im
mediate advice regarding the manipulation of my
margins. Why, oh! why, had I jeopardized my
fortune for the sake of quick returns, when my
legitimate business was sufficient for my needs?
" I fly, Suzanne ! " I cried, as I stumbled to
ward the hall. " If anybody calls to ask if I'm
engaged for the next dance, tell 'em my card is
full." Suzanne smiled. " And I wish I was ! "
77
Perkins, the Fakeer.
I muttered to myself, desperately, as I looked
down the staircase and wondered if it would be
well to use my mauve train as a toboggan.
How I managed to reach the telephone, I can
not say. In the lower hall, I caught a glimpse of
Jones's self-made face, and just saved myself
from coming a cropper. To acquire a firm seat in
a ball-dress requires practice.
."Hello!" I shouted, desperately, through the
'phone. " Is that you ah Reginald ? "
" Jenkins is here." I heard my voice, saying
at the other end of the line. " What'll I do with
him?"
" Send him to ah Hoboken, will you ? " I
returned, in a shrill falsetto. " But you have
the better of it, my dear. He's not a marker to
Jones. What have you done with the special
ties?"
" Buying! buying! buying! " cried Caroline, in
a triumphant basso that froze my blood. " Rog
ers gave me an inside tip, as he calls it. It was
awfully nice of him, wasn't it ? "
78
When Reginald Was Caroline.
" Damn Rogers! " I exclaimed.
" Good-bye ! " cried Caroline, with righteous
indignation, and my attempt to call her back was
futile.
My heart was heavy as I made my way, slowly
and clumsily, from the library. Buttons, as bad
luck would have it, had just opened the front
door to a black-eyed, long-haired little man, who
carried a roll of music under his arm. As I hesi
tated, hoping to make good my retreat to the
library, Professor Von Gratz as he proved to
be hurried toward me. If he was amazed at my
costume, he managed to control his mobile face
and musical voice.
" Oh, madame, I am zo glad to zee you are
eager for de lezzon ! " he exclaimed, bowing al
most down to his knees. " Ve vill haf grade
muzic, nicht war? You vill blay de vonderful
Opuz 22 ! Beethoven, de giant among de pyg
mies, vill open de gates of baradize to us. It vill
be beautiful. You are ready, madame? "
My bosom rose and fell with a conflict of emo-
79
Perkins the Fakeer.
tions. I felt an almost irresistible longing to
throw this detestable little foreigner out of the
house. The sudden realization that my biceps,
etc., were at my office cooled my ardor for action,
and I said, presently, marveling at my own in
genuity :
" I regret to say ah Professor, that my doc
tor has put me upon a very slim musical diet. He
says that ah Beethoven is ruining my nerves.
But if you want to sing ' Danny Deever,' come
into the music-room. I think I could manage to
knock out the accompaniment."
Von Gratz stared at me in most apparent agi
tation, pulling at his horrid little black goatee
with his left hand.
" I vill pid you gute morgen, madame," he
gasped, bowing again. " Ven you are much
petter you vill zend for me, -merit war? Gute
morgen ! "
The gates of paradise were not to be opened
to the professor this morning. On the contrary,
Buttons, to my great relief, shut the front door
80
When Reginald was Caroline.
behind the hurrying figure of the master-pianist,
whose farewell glance of mingled astonishment
and anger haunted me as I mounted the stairs.
" Suzanne ! " I gasped, as I tottered into the
room in which the girl awaited my return. " Su
zanne, unbuckle this chain-armor, will you? It's
breaking my heart. That's better, Suzanne.
Oh, yes, I'm going to a ball, all right. Or, rather,
you're going to bring me one at once."
81
CHAPTER VI.
VERSES AND VIOLETS.
Oh, my brothers blooming yonder, unto Him the ancient
pray
That the hour of my transplanting He will not for long de
lay.
From the Persian.
RELIEVED of Caroline's new ball-dress and hav
ing swallowed a cocktail, I was horrified to find
a feeling of almost irresistible drowsiness steal
ing over me.
" Suzanne," I cried, " it is imperative that you
keep me awake even if is becomes necessary
for you to do the skirt-dance to drive sleep from
my eyelids. Not that I approved of these Orien
tal vagaries. Far from it, Suzanne. Though I
may at present come under that head myself
but n'importe! You might assert, plausibly
enough, that all this is Occidental. In a certain
sense, I suppose that it is. But Great Scott ! "
82
When Reginald Was Caroline .
I sank back in an easy-chair, startled by my
own flippancy. The uncanny, inexplicable change
that had made me what I was must not be re
vealed to Suzanne ! Was it not enough that I had
already driven my maid to the very verge of hys
teria ? And here I sat, talking recklessly to keep
awake, and wearing my secret on my sleeve.
Should Suzanne learn the truth from my pun
ning tongue, her mind might become unhinged.
In that case, another sudden transposition of
identities might take place! Frightful possibil
ity ! I must not yield to the inclination creeping
over me to indulge in a short nap. Perhaps
Caroline's mail would revive me!
And just here I found myself confronted by a
difficult problem in ethics. Despite the fact that
my wife, with a heartless disregard of my wishes
in the matter, had seized my letters, captured my
business office, and assumed the full possession
of all my business affairs, great and small, I could
not forget that I still remained a gentleman.
That Caroline had taken advantage of a psychi-
83
Perkins, the Fakeer.
cal mischance to lay bare my inner life before
her prying gaze could not excuse my surrender
to a not unfounded but, perhaps, unwholesome
: curiosity.
" Suzanne," I said presently, and the girl stole
softly to my side. " You spoke of a letter that
you had received for me. It is ah from ah ? "
" Yes, madame," answered Suzanne, eagerly,
but somewhat irrelevantly. " Here it is, madame.
It is from him, I feel sure."
I gazed at the envelope with Caroline's brilliant
eyes, but I was not thankful for my temporary
perfection of face and form. It came to me
grimly that beauty may be a nuisance, or even a
curse. I lacked the courage to open this note
an unconventional, perhaps lawless, tribute to my
my wife's powers of fascination. There was an
air of Spanish or Italian intrigue about the whole
affair that shocked me. My imagination, which
had developed wonderfully since early morning,
likened myself and Suzanne to Juliet and her
nurse.
84
When Reginald Was Caroline.
" O, Romeo, Romeo ! wherefore art thou,
Romeo?" I exclaimed, somewhat wildly. Su
zanne drew back from me nervously.
" Will you not read the note, madame ? "
" Anon, good nurse ! But if thou mean'st not
well, I do beseech thee "
" Man Dieu!" gasped Suzanne, gazing at me,
awe-struck. But I was pitiless.
" Suzanne," I said, firmly, glancing at the note
in my hand, the chirography upon which seemed
to be familiar, " Suzanne, I am very beautiful,
am I not?"
" Oui, madame," assented Suzanne, enthusias
tically.
" And I love my husband dearly, do I not? "
" Devotedly, madame."
" Then, surely, Suzanne, I should not receive
this epistle. What did I do with his ah for
mer notes? "
I had made a most egregious blunder. An ex
pression of amazement came into the French
maid's mobile face.
85
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" But, madame, this is the first one, is it not ?
I know of no others, madame."
There was a gleam of suspicion in the girl's
eyes. It was evident that, for a moment, she
suspected my dear Caroline of a lack of straight
forwardness. Impulsively I tore Romeo's note
into a dozen fragments.
" There, Suzanne," I cried, in a triumphant
treble, " my alibi is perfect. Who wrote this
note I do not know. What he had to say I do
not care. If you can get word to him, girl, tell
him that if he comes prowling around my bal
cony again I'll have ah Reginald pull his nose
for him. A bas Romeo ! "
" But, madame," murmured Suzanne, evi
dently pained by my flippant fickleness and fickle
flippancy, " monsieur, the writer of the note, dines
here to-night, you know."
"The deuce he does, girl!" I cried, impulsively,
making as if to pull my beard, and bruising my
spirit against new conditions. " Who are our
guests? Edgerton and his wife. It can't be
86
When Reginald Was Caroline.
Edgerton. He's not a blooming id jit. Van
Tromp? Dear little Van Tromp! It must be
Van Tromp. Oh, Van Tromp, Van Tromp,
wherefore art thou, Romeo? Van Tromp's the
man, eh, Suzanne? "
Caroline's maid was red and tearful.
" Madame is so strange this morning," she
complained. " It was Mr. Van Tromp's man
who brought the note, madame."
My soul waxed gay in Caroline's bosom. I
warbled a snatch of song from Gounod's
" Faust."
" Suzanne," I cried, " gather up the fragments
of Romeo's billet-doux. Possibly his note is not
what I supposed it was. I'll read what the dear
little boy has to say. Thank you, Suzanne. I
think I can put these pieces together in a way to
extract the full flavor of Van Romeo's sweet
message. What saith the youth ? Ha ! I
have it.
87
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" ' MY DEAR MRS. STEVENS : Is it presumption
upon my part to believe that you meant what you
*
said to me at the Cromptons' dance? At all
events, I have had the audacity to cherish your
words in my heart of hearts. I am sending you
a few violets to-day. If you do me the honor of
wearing them at dinner to-night, I shall know
that there was a basis of earnestness underneath
the words that were as honey to my soul.'
" Listen to that, Suzanne," I cried, hysterically.
" Is it not worthy of a young poet? I wonder
what the dev what Caro ah I said to this
ah Romeo? Here's richness, Suzanne! I'll
wear his flowers with a string to 'em, eh?
We'll have a merry dinner, Suzanne! I told
Jones to throw everything wide open. I'll in
clude young Van Tromp in the order. He shall
be my special care, Suzanne. Van Tromp's
mine oyster ! What think you, Suzanne ? Should
I not quaff a toast to the success of my little
game ? "
" Madame, I do not understand," murmured
88
When Reginald Was Caroline.
the girl, in French. " Madame is feverish. Let
me bathe madame's head, and she may get a quiet
ing nap. If you could lose yourself only for an
instant, madame ! "
" Great Jupiter, Suzanne, will you get that
idea out of your head? I don't want to lose
myself. On the contrary but n'importe, as we
say when we're feverish. You'll find some cigar
ettes in the bedroom, girl. Bring 'em to me at
once. Don't stare at me that way! If I don't
smoke I'll drink another cocktail, and then what'll
happen ? "
Suzanne shuddered and hurried away. Pres
ently I was blowing smoke into the air, much to
my own satisfaction and to Suzanne's ill-dis
guised amazement.
' Tobacco is quieting, Suzanne ; soothing,
cheerful. It stimulates hope and calms the per
turbed soul. Damn it! what's that? Some
body's knocking, Suzanne. See who it is. If
it's anyone for me, tell them that I won't draw
cards this morning, but may take a hand later on.
89
Perkins, the Fakeer.
Don't stand staring at me, girl! Put a stop to
that rapping at once."
" Mon Dieu! " groaned Suzanne, as she crossed
the room. How much longer she could stand the
strain of my eccentricities was becoming proble
matical. Presently she returned to me, carrying
a box of flowers.
" Romeo's violets," I murmured, rapturously.
" Tell me, nurse, did Juliet mean what she said
to Romeo? Well, rather! I'll wear thy flowers,
little boy! What's this? Another note, smoth
ered in violets. Listen, Suzanne! Romeo has
dropped into poetry. Listen :
" ' Go, purple blossoms, the glory of Spring,
Gladden her eyes with thy velvety hue ;
What are the words of the song that I sing ?
They came to my heart as the dew came to you.
" ' My love is a flower, my song is its scent ;
Let it speak to her soul in the violet's breath !
And my spirit with thee, by a miracle blent,
Shall drink deep of life, of love unto death.'
" Take these away, Suzanne ! Take them
away!" I cried, in a panic. ''Haven't I had
enough of this theosophical, transmigration idiocy
90
When Reginald Was Caroline.
for one day ? Take them away ! ' By a miracle
blent ! ' Confound the boy ! if I got into that
little Van Tromp's body through these infer
nal flowers I could never hold up my head again.
What's that, Suzanne? Yes, keep them fresh.
Give them water. But do-n't let me get near them
again until I've got my courage back. Perhaps
I'll dare to wear them to-night. I can't say yet."
I needed rest. Reclining in my chair, I idly
watched Suzanne as she moved restlessly about
the room trying to quiet her excitement by action.
" Suzanne," I cried, softening toward the maid,
" don't look so sad. All will come right in the
end. Brace up, girl. ' While there's life there's
hope.' "
" Do I look sad, madame ? I am very sorry.
I will try to be more cheerful, for madame's sake.
But if madame could put herself into my place
for a moment "
" There you go again, Suzanne," I exclaimed,
testily. " We'll change the subject, girl. W'hat
next?"
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" I think it might be well for madame to dress
for luncheon," suggested Suzanne, nervously. It
was evident that she had begun to lose confidence
in my intervals of calm.
" Let me think, Suzanne. Somebody lunches
with me. Who is it? Oh, yes, Mrs. Taunton.
And now I think of it, Suzanne, Mrs. Taunton is
little Van Tromp's sister. That's the reason I
never liked her, I suppose."
" But madame and Mrs. Taunton seem to be
such good friends," remarked Suzanne, in French,
moving about in a way that filled me with fore
boding. It was evident that she contemplated
changing my costume at once.
" Appearances are often deceptive, Suzanne,"
I remarked, feelingly, lighting a fresh cigarette,
somewhat clumsily. " What are you up to now,
girl?"
" Madame must look her best at luncheon," re
marked Suzanne, professionally. " Mrs. Taun
ton has such exquisite taste."
I was not pleased at Suzanne's remark. Mrs.
92
When Reginald Was Caroline.
Taunton, an avowed admirer of Caroline, had
never disguised the fact that she considered me
a nonentity. But fate had vouchsafed to me a
great opportunity for proving to Mrs. Taunton
that I was not altogether insignificant. Dis
guised in Caroline's outward seeming I might
readily avenge myself for Mrs. Taunton's per
sistent indifference to my good points. Little
Van Tromp had placed a double-edged weapon
in my hand.
" Suzanne," I said, gazing grimly at the dress
that she had laid out for me, " before you go
further with my toilet, I wish you would make
a copy of these verses for me. You write Eng
lish, do you not ? "
Suzanne glanced at me, inquisitively.
" Madame knows well that I do," she re
marked, mournfully. But the trembling of her
slender hand as she grasped Van Tromp' s screed
to do my bidding augured ill for the copy that
she would make of his verses.
93
CHAPTER VII.
IRRITATION AND CONSOLATION.
Waste not your hour, nor in the vain pursuit
Of this and that endeavor and dispute ;
Better be merry with the fruitful grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter fruit.
Omar Khayydm.
I MUST get on more rapidly with my narrative.
It has been a great temptation to me to indulge
in conjectures and surmises regarding the soul-
displacement that may make my story a present
ment worthy of attentive consideration from the
Society for Psychical Research. But from the
outset I have endeavored to resist this inclination
and to give to the reader merely a bald state
ment of facts in their actual sequence. It must
be apparent by this time, furthermore, that I am
not fitted by education to discuss the uncanny
94
When Reginald Was Caroline.
problems begotten by the strange affliction that
had befallen niy wife and myself. That I have
become perforce a sadder and wiser man may be
true, but, despite my practical experience of what
may be called instability of soul, I am not in any
sense a psychologist. From various points of
view ; therefore, it seems best that I should eschew
all philosophical or scientific comments on the
curious phenomena with which I have been forced
to deal, leaving, as it were, the circumference of
my story to the care of the erudite, and confining
my own endeavors strictly to its diameter.
Behold me, then, fresh from Suzanne's deft
hands, confronting Caroline's bosom friend, Mrs.
Taunton, across the luncheon-table. Our conver
sation, if my memory is not at fault, ran some
thing as follows:
" You look flushed and excited, Caroline," said
Mrs Taunton, a large, blond, absurdly haughty
woman, strangely unlike little Van Tromp, her
poetical brother. " Something has happened to
upset you, my dear? "
95
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Well, rather! " I could not refrain from ex
claiming. What the deuce was Mrs. Taunton's
given name ? If I did not recall it soon she would
begin to wonder at Caroline's peculiar bearing.
It was not Mrs. Taunton, however, who was driv
ing me toward hysteria, To find myself again
in the realm over which the phlegmatic but ter
rifying Jones presided was to lose confidence in
my ability to stem the tide of disaster. Jones was
so conservative ! Such a radical change as I had
undergone would be even more incomprehensible
to him than it had been to me. I realized vaguely
that I had grown to be supersensitive, and that
what I took to be suspicion in the butler's eyes
must be a product of my own overwrought
nerves. But, struggle as I might against the im
pression, I could not free myself from the feel
ing that Jones watched me furtively, question-
ingly, as if he had gained possession of a clue to a
great mystery.
" Tell me all about it, Caroline," urged Mrs.
Taunton, sweetly. " If you were not so beauti-
96
When Reginald Was Caroline.
ful, my dear, you would not have so much trou
ble."
The blood rushed into Caroline's cheeks, and
I found myself glaring angrily at Jones, who was
serving croquettes to Mrs. Taunton. The latter
had displayed the most wretched taste in prais
ing my, or rather Caroline's, appearance before the
butler. But Mrs. Taunton evidently looked upon
a servant as a mere automaton, not to be con
sidered even in heart-to-heart talks with young
women. My growing annoyance made itself
manifest in Caroline's voice, as I stammered :
" My ah beauty, such as it is, don't you
know, is only ah skin deep. But my troubles
ah Jones! Don't be so slow! Spend as
much time outside as you can, will you ? "
Mrs. Taunton stared at me in amazement,
while Jones, showing no signs of emotion, made a
most dignified exit.
"What is the matter with you, Caroline?"
asked my vis-a-vis, anxiously. " I never heard
you speak like that before."
7 97
Perkins, the Fakeer.
An explanation seemed to be due to my
guest.
" It's curious, don't you know," I began, lame
ly, trying to recall Mrs. Taunton's baptismal
name, " it's curious ah my dear, what an in
tense repulsion I feel toward that man Jones.
It came upon me suddenly. It's intermittent, not
chronic, I think, but it's all there, and means
business. Did you ever feel that way ? "
"Caroline!" gasped Mrs. Taunton, pained
surprise resting upon her patrician face.
"It's beneath me, I acknowledge," I went on,
feverishly, making an effort to eat a croquette
between sentences. " A butler's merely a neces
sary piece of movable furniture, and should ah
not arouse a feeling of antagonism. But Jones
has got an eye to ah induce intoxication."
"Caroline," queried Mrs. Taunton, solemnly,
" have you forgive me, my dear, for the ques
tion have you been taking anything? "
" A fair exchange is no robbery," I remarked,
impulsively, in my own defense, but Mrs. Taun-
When Reginald Was Caroline.
ton's face assured me that I had spoken irrele
vantly.
" I should advise a cup of black coffee, Caro
line," said my guest, in her iciest tone.
" We'll wait a bit, if you don't mind," I ven
tured to suggest. " No coffee without Jones.
I'm not quite up to Jones at this moment er
my dear."
Mrs. Taunton held my gaze to hers, and her
light-gray eyes chilled me. It was evident that
little Van Tromp's sister had no poetical nonsense
in her make-up. Practical, obstinate, strong-
willed she seemed to be, as she endeavored to
solve from Caroline's beautiful eyes the mystery
of my eccentric demeanor.
" Your sudden and inexplicable aversion to
your butler, Caroline," remarked my guest, pres
ently, apparently desirous of soothing my nerves
by a poultice of gossip, " reminds me of the lec
ture upon Buddhism that I heard yesterday rriorn-
ing. An adept from India Yamama, I think,
is his name talked to us, you know, about our
99
Perkins, the Fakeer.
Western blindness, as he called it, to the marvels
of soul-sensitiveness."
My fork rattled against my plate, and I gazed
down in dismay at Caroline's trembling hand.
Mrs. Taunton overlooked my agitation and con
tinued :
" He was so entertaining ! But it's all absurd,
of course. Louise told me that you were going
with her to hear him this morning."
"Yes?" I managed to gasp. "She ah
Louise called me up by the 'phone. I couldn't
get away, you see ah my dear."
" It's such utter nonsense, don't you know,"
went on Mrs. Taunton, evidently convinced that
the worst was over with me. " I made notes,
just for practice. He the adept, or whatever
he was was a lovely piece of mahogany, with
perfectly stunning eyes. I memorized one of my
notes. The dear little brownie said just listen
to fhis, Caroline: 'The Hindu conception of re
incarnation embraces all existence gods, men,
animals, plants, minerals. It is believed that
100
When Reginald Was Caroline.
everything migrates, from Buddha down to inert
matter. Buddha himself was born an ascetic
eighty-three times, a monarch fifty-eight times,
the soul of a tree forty-three times, and many
other times as an ape, deer, lion, snipe, chicken,
eagle, serpent, pig, frog four hundred times in
all ! ' Isn't it all perfectly silly ? Good gracious,
Caroline, what is the matter with you? Are you
faint?"
" Just a bit rocky," I found sufficient nerve to
say. " Are you quite sure ah my dear that
he said pigs and and frogs? "
Mrs. Taunton caught her breath, as if she
struggled to swallow her amazement.
" You ought to be in bed, Caroline," she said,
severely. " If you could get to sleep, my
clear"
" Et hi, Brut el " I murmured, with sardonic
playfulness. " Look here ah my dear ! You
find a change in your Caroline, eh? You have
suspected me of drinking, and now you imply
that I need sleep. I swear that the next person
JOI
Perkins, the Fakeer.
who hints that I'm not up for all day shall hear
something to ah her disadvantage."
Such talk was madness. Mrs. Taunton very
naturally resented my childish ultimatum. She
arose from her chair with a cool, calm dignity
that shocked me like a cold shower-bath.
" I regret, Caroline, that I find my patience
exhausted," she remarked, more in sadness than
in wrath, transfixing me with her pale-gray eyes.
" I shall leave you now, but not in anger. I can
see, plainly enough, that you are not yourself."
" Don't you dare to say that in public ah
Mrs. Taunton," I cried, hotly, fearful that, as
it was, Jones might have overheard her remark.
Reason assured me that her words were used
figuratively, but the undeniable fact that she had
hit the target and rung the bell drove me to des
peration. Mrs. Taunton gazed at me for a mo
ment in mingled scorn and astonishment, and then
swept from the dining-room with head high in
air and a rustle of skirts that seemed to sweep
Caroline into outer darkness.
102
When Reginald Was Caroline.
The next thing that I remember, as the flam
boyant romancers remark, was an entrance even
more theatrical than Mrs. Taunton's exit. Jones,
impressing my errant fancy as Nemesis in the
semblance of an imported butler, strode into the
room bearing a tray upon which rested a coffee
pot, the aroma from which stirred hope in my
heart. Much as I detested Jones, I welcomed the
stimulant that he carried toward me. If Mrs.
Taunton's disappearance\surprised him, he suc-
^^
ceeded in suppressing any ohtovard exhibition of
emotion.
Realizing for the moment that my fear of the
man was unreasonable, I summoned common
sense to my aid and said:
" One good bracer deserves another, Jones.
Put a stick into my coffee, will you?"
The butler gave me a furtive glance, a cross
between an exclamation and an interroga
tion.
" Brandy, madam ? " he asked, smoothly.
When he had fortified my coffee with a dash
103
Perkins, the Fakeer.
of fine old French cognac, I looked him straight
in the eye.
" Jones," I said, impressively, " Mr. Stevens
has complained of you of late. But I don't want
you to lose your place. I shall see to it that
my ah husband becomes reconciled to you, but
you must obey my instructions to the letter. To
begin with, you are to leave this room at once,
close the door, stand on guard outside and allow
no one to disturb me until I give you word. If
you open the door before I call to you, you leave
the house immediately. Do you understand me ? "
" Yes, madam," gasped Jones, thrown out of
his orbit for once. But he retained sufficient self-
control to make a hurried exit, noisily shutting
the door behind him.
I swallowed my coffee and cognac at a gulp,
and stumbled toward the sideboard. After a
short search I came upon a box of excellent
cigars. Presently I was seated at the luncheon-
table again, sipping a pony of brandy neat and
blowing cigar-smoke into the air. For a glorious
104
When Reginald Was Caroline.
half-hour, I reflected joyously, I could enjoy my
self in my own way. Glancing over my shoulder,
I caught sight of my reflection in the sideboard
mirror. Caroline, with a long, black panatella
between her beautiful lips, held a pony of brandy
poised in the air, with the other hand raised to
remove the cigar from her mouth. An inex
plicable wave of diabolical exultation swept over
me. Bowing to my wife's handsome image
which cordially returned the salutation I re
moved my cigar and raised the brandy to Caro
line's mouth.
" Here's how, my dear! " I cried, gaily. " No
heel-taps ! "
Caroline's reflection drank the toast, and the
warm glow of good-fellowship that crept through
my veins reconciled me for the time being to my
strange, uncanny fate.
105
CHAPTER VIII.
NEWS FROM CAROLINE.
Young and enterprising is the West,
Old and meditative is the East.
Turn, O youth ! with intellectual zest
Where the sage invites thee to his feast.
Milnes.
ON the whole, I enjoyed my cigar. The waters
of affliction had rolled over me and I basked in
the sunshine of peaceful comfort for a full half-
hour. Under like conditions, many good fellows
of my set would have toyed too freely with the
cognac. But I was cautious and conservative as
regards the liquor. I glanced at Caroline's face,
which wore a humorous smile as it gazed at me
from the mirror.
" Spirits," I cried, facetiously, winking at Car
oline's reflection, and receiving a winking re
sponse, " spirits are to be handled with care, my
1 06
When Reginald Was Caroline.
dear. There's no telling what they may do to
us."
At first I derived considerable amusement from
the grotesque effects that I could obtain from the
juxtaposition of my cigar and Caroline's deli
cate face. If it was a kind of sacrilege to sit
there and watch the smoke issuing from my wife's
dainty lips, I comforted my better self with the
thought that I was in no way to blame for exist
ing conditions. If the sideboard's mirror at that
moment framed a picture that might have been
taken from the Police Gazette, was I not power
less to alter the decrees of fate? I had come into
my wife's butterfly-beauty without first slough
ing off my gross chrysalis-habits.
I playfully shook my fist at the accusatory mir
ror.
" It's no reflection on me," I murmured, jo
cosely. A sickly kind of smile flitted across Car
oline's face, driving me to a stimulant again. I
poured out a pony of brandy.
" To drink or not to drink that is the ques-
107
Perkins, the Fakeer.
tion," I soliloquized; observing with satisfaction
that Shakespeare tended to remove the expression
of untimely hilarity in my wife's countenance.
" O Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo? "
A joyful gleam came into Caroline's eyes as
I thought of Van Tromp. I swallowed the cog
nac and presently saw a flush creep into my wife's
cheeks. The sight angered me.
" If two or three fingers of old brandy show
themselves at once in this ah borrowed face of
mine," I reflected,"! might as well take the pledge
at once. Caroline," I continued, addressing my
remarks to the mirror, " I am ashamed of you.
If you don't quit this kind of thing, you'll lose
your complexion and what'll poor robin do
then? I am ashamed of you, Caroline. I really
didn't think that you'd go so far."
It suddenly came to me that I was talking in
a most idiotic way, and I turned Caroline's left
shoulder to the mirror. Resisting the temptation
to follow the changing expressions of her face,
I watched the smoke from my cigar as it floated
1 08
When Reginald Was Caroline.
across the luncheon-table or mounted toward the
ceiling. At the outset, I derived a good deal
of satisfaction from the change of attitude. My
thoughts assumed a healthier tendency. The
morbid, half-crazy inclinations that my mind had
begun to display passed away and something like
contentment with the present and hope for the
future came gently to me. Even the question
that would force itself upon me -now and again
as to what Caroline might be doing or undoing
at my office failed to destroy wholly the pleasura
ble calm begotten of solitude, cognac and tobacco.
I even found myself contemplating Caroline's
white, tapering fingers, outstretched to flip the
ashes from my panatella, with a satisfaction that
was a strange compound of pride and jealousy.
I could not refrain from an unworthy sense of
delight at the thought that Caroline was being
punished for her brazen defiance of my wishes
every time she glanced at my hands.
But I had become a creature of changing
moods, a prey to errant fancies. As I realized
109
Perkins, the Fakeer.
that my cigar shrinking reminder of happier
days was nearly smoked out, and that my term
of comparative freedom drew toward its end, the
fever of impotent rebellion burned in my veins
if they were mine. To a practical, energetic in
dividual, accustomed to having his own way in
small matters and great, the recurrent conviction
that he has become the plaything of mischief-lov
ing powers concerning which he knows little or
nothing is not conducive to long intervals of re
pose. I was growing restless again, eager for
action, but afraid to indulge in it; craving news
of Caroline, but lacking courage to obtain it.
Suddenly a startling thought flashed upon my
darkened mind, illuminating, convincing, expla
natory. Caroline and her friends had been dip
ping into Oriental philosophy. Was it not more
than probable that my wife had deliberately
planned a soul-transposition that had ensured her
freedom and made me a captive?
The longer I contemplated this supposition, the
stronger grew my belief that Caroline had at-
no
When Reginald Was Caroline.
tempted a psychical experiment, the success of
which accounted for her haughty, domineering
manner after breakfast. It was clear enough,
now, as I looked back upon the episodes that I
have been recording. My wife's horror at the
discovery of our soul-transposition had been
merely a clever bit of acting. Her seizure of
my mail and insistence upon a visit to my office
had been parts of a well-laid plan. It was evi
dent that she had become an adept in the theory
and practice of transmigration, and had sacrificed
me beneath the Juggernaut of her eccentric am
bition. If she found the life of a business man
attractive, I was at her mercy, doomed to skirts
and corsets until she wearied of my career.
Futhermore, it was not unreasonable to suppose
that, while Caroline had acquired sufficient dia
bolical power to transpose our identities, she had
not gained enough occult wisdom to restore our
souls to their respective bodies. If that should
prove to be the case, if she was only half-edu
cated as a psychical switch-tender, the future for
in
'Perkins, the Fakeer.
me became dark indeed. I could see before me
a long stretch of weary, hopeless years, down
which I tottered toward a welcome grave, solaced
only now and then by the creature-comforts that
I loved, the while Caroline made merry with my
affairs. Beset day after day by Suzanne, Mrs.
Taunton and other women in various stages of
imbecility, I should be driven to desperation at
last and bring disgrace, in some form or other,
upon a proud name.
And how cleverly Caroline had played her little
game ! Had I not often complained loudly of the
annoyances appertaining to a business man's life?
Could not Caroline silence my accusing tongue
with the assertion that she had presented me with
a life of luxurious leisure, to take up burdens
and responsibilities under which I had always
grumbled ? Had I not often protested against the
new woman's efforts to better her condition, on
the ground that woman had long enjoyed more
special privileges than fell to the lot of man? I
was forced to acknowledge that, even if Caroline
112
When Reginald Was Caroline.
was responsible for our psychical interchange, I
could not remain consistent and utter any very
emphatic complaint. She would fall back upon
my own propositions and prove conclusively,
quoting my remarks, that, whatever may be the
case with his soul, it may profit a man to lose
his own body.
A hot wave of impotent anger swept through
me, and I turned in a rage toward the mirror.
The expression that my rebellious soul had thrust
into Caroline's face destroyed the last vestige of
my self-control. Seizing a carafe from the table,
I hurled it at the sideboard, and my wife's face
disappeared in a chaos of broken looking-
glass.
Horrified at my recklessness, I hurried toward
the door as rapidly as my skirts would permit.
In the hall stood Jones, motionless, phlegmatic,
gazing at me with a calmness that had in it some
thing of superiority.
" Go in there ah butler, and make yourself
useful," I cried, angrily, as I brushed past him
8 113
Perkins, the Fakeer.
to seek the library. " Don't be so damned statu
esque ! "
A few moments later, I had hooked Caroline
at the end of a telephone wire.
" When are you coming up-town ah my
dear?" I managed to gasp, with some show of
diplomacy.
" Is that you, Caroline? " asked my wife, with
my voice, which I was foolishly glad to hear
again. " I've got good news for you. I'm twenty
thousand ahead on the day and every transac
tion is cleaned out."
" Great Scott ! " I exclaimed, forgetting my
suspicions and rage in the amazement that her
words had caused.
" I'll stop at the club on the way up," went
on Caroline, in a deep basso that vibrated with
a note of intense self-satisfaction. " Have you
had a pleasant day? How's Mrs. Taunton? By
the way, my dear, Edgerton was here a few mo
ments ago. Mrs. Edgerton has a treat in store
for us to-night."
114
When Reginald Was Caroline.
A chill of apprehension swept over me.
" What do you mean ah Reginald? " I fal
tered.
" She went to the lecture this morning, Caro
line," explained my wife, glibly. " She is aw
fully clever, don't you think? She made him
promise to look in on us at nine to-night."
"Him? Who's him?" I cried, cold with
dread.
" Yamama," answered my voice, exultantly.
" Good God, Caroline ! " I yelled through the
'phone, but my wife had cut me off.
Stumbling into a chair, I rested Caroline's
aching head upon her moist, trembling hand.
" Yamama ! " I murmured, terror-stricken.
" He's the chocolate-colored adept that Mrs.
Taunton referred to. Pigs! Frogs! He's the
scoundrel that put Caroline up to this. He is
coming here to look at me ! Damn him ! "
Excess of emotion had undone me. I felt the
hot tears scorching Caroline's cold hand.
CHAPTER IX.
AFTERNOON CALLERS.
Still in dreams it comes upon me that I once on wings did
soar ;
But or e'er my flight commences this my dream must all be
o'er.
From the Persian.
As I look back upon it now, that afternoon
wears the aspect of a variegated nightmare, from
which I could not awaken.
"What will madame wear this afternoon?"
Suzanne had asked me when I had returned to my
apartments above-stairs.
I kicked viciously at the empty air with one
of Caroline's dainty feet. The time had come, evi
dently, for Suzanne to change my costume again.
Should I take a ride or a walk, or remain at
home? If I went out for a ride, I should have
116
When Reginald Was Caroline.
only my own bitter thoughts for company. If
I took a stroll up the Avenue, almost anything
unpleasant might happen to me. If I stayed in
the house, I must receive callers. No one of these
alternatives was alluring, but I was forced to
choose the latter. For a number of rather vague
reasons, I did not dare to cut off my line of com
munication with Caroline. She had become, as
it were, a flying column not yet out of touch with
headquarters.
" And she ought to be shot for disobedience to
orders," I mused, aloud.
"Pardon me, madame?" exclaimed Suzanne,
interrogatively.
" N'importc, girl," I answered, testily. " I
shall remain at home, Suzanne. Give orders
down-stairs that I have a headache and can re
ceive no one."
" But Madame is looking so much better ! "
protested Suzanne. " And the debutantes will call
to-day. It is madame's afternoon."
" Well, do your worst, then," I grumbled, dis-
117
Perkins, the Fakeer.
contentedly. " Can you get me some cloves, Su
zanne?"
An hour later, I entered the drawing-room after
a perilous descent from the second story, to con
front three young women, who, I had gathered
from Suzanne, held Caroline in high esteem as a
chaperon. I had committed their names to mem
ory before leaving the dressing-room, but the
effort to get down-stairs without spraining my
wife's ankles had obliterated from my mind all
traces of its recent acquisition. I stood, flushing
painfully, gazing into the smiling faces of three
handsome, modish girls who were wholly stran
gers to their vicarious hostess.
" Oh, Mrs. Stevens, what a charming day ! "
" How lovely you are looking ! "
" Wasn't the Crompton dance perfectly stun
ning?"
" Mr. Van Tromp made such a pretty epigram
about your costume ! "
"Just a moment ah girls," I gasped, seat
ing myself awkwardly, and inclined to lose my
118
When Reginald Was Caroline.
temper. " There's a painful lack of method about
all this. Suppose we begin at the beginning.
You were saying ah my dear ? " I remarked
to the calmest of the trio. The latter exchanged
puzzled glances with her companions.
" I was speaking of the compliment that Mr.
Van Tromp paid to you," explained the maiden,
rather dolefully.
" He's a bad lot, that young Van Tromp," I
exclaimed, impulsively. " Perhaps I ought not
to talk against another man ah behind her
I mean his back, but Van Romeo's too easy,
girls. He writes poetry. I have no doubt that
he makes puns. Charming ah day, isn't it ? "
My beautiful callers had lost their vivacity.
One of them a pretty little brunette had grown
pale.
" What about the coaching-party, Mrs. Stev
ens? " the one I took to be the eldest of the three
ventured to ask, presently.
" It's all arranged ah my dear," I answered,
recklessly. " We're to have a dozen cases of
119
Perkins, the Fakeer.
champagne and a brass band of ten pieces. I'm
up for all day, you see. If little Van Tromp
praised my executive ability ah girls, he'd
have a career open to him. Merrily we'll bowl
along, bowl along I'm to handle the reins,
you know."
There were now three pallid maidens confront
ing me. In the eyes of the eldest I saw a gleam
of mingled suspicion and fear.
" I must be going," she gasped.
" Don't go," I implored her, overacting my
hospitable role a bit. There flashed through my
mind a scene from a Gilbert-Sullivan opera
" The Mikado " and I caught myself humming
the air of " Three Little Girls from School Are
We."
Jones, to my consternation, stalked into the
drawing-room, as if about to reprove me for my
lack of dignity.
"Pardon me, madame," said my bete noir, pom
pously, " but Mr. Stevens insists upon your com
ing to the telephone."
1 20
When Reginald Was Caroline.
My callers were on their feet, instantly. They
appeared to be glad of an excuse for leaving me,
and, also, somewhat astonished at the butler's
choice of words.
" Don't let us keep you a moment," cried the
eldest.
" Remember me to- Mr. Stevens," urged the
little brunette, mischievously.
" Good-bye! We are so grateful to you, Mrs.
Stevens," exclaimed the third, with a sigh of
relief.
" Be good! " I answered, gaily. " Come again
ah young ladies. Don't mind Jones. You'll
get used to him. Look in next month, won't
you? Ta-ta!"
I stumbled over my skirts as I stepped forward,
and the little flock of debutantes hurried away in
affright, glancing over their shoulders at me in a
manner that suggested gossip to come.
" Hello! " I shouted through the 'phone, when
I had managed to reach the library. " Is that
you ah Reginald ? Where are you ? "
121
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Yes. This is Reginald," I heard my voice in
answer. " I'm at the 'Varsity Club. Charming
place. Nice boys here. You seem to be popular,
my dear. ' Here's to you, good as you are, and
here's to me, bad as I am; but as good as you
are, and as bad as I am, I'm as good as you are,
bad as I am!'"
" Good Lord ah ah Reginald ! " I faltered,
horror-stricken.
" Don't worry, Caroline," came my voice,
soothingly. " It's all right. I know when to
stop. Had any callers? This is your day at
home, is it not? "
" I'll send the coupe for you at once ah
Reginald," I said, with great presence of mind.
" Go easy till it arrives, will you ? "
" What do you mean to imply, Caroline ? "
growled my wife, a note of anger in my voice.
" I'm going to walk home by-and-bye. You
needn't bother about the coupe. I hear the boys
calling to me. Here's to you, my dear! Good
bye!"
122
When Reginald Was Caroline.
Before I could utter another word, Caroline
had cut me off, and I turned from the 'phone, de
spondently. For a moment, it seemed to me that
the library was surrounded by an iron grating
and that I wore a ball and chain attached to
my legs. Caroline and " the Old Crowd ! " I
am forced to confess that the hot tears came
into my wife's eyes as I seated myself in a read
ing-chair and found myself face to face with a
loneliness that was provocative of despair.
Jones was hot on the scent. He strode into
the library and bore down upon me relentlessly,
carrying a tray upon which rested two calling-
cards.
" They are in the drawing-room, madame,"
said the butler, indifferently.
Caroline's toast came ringing to my ears.
" Here's to you, good as you are, and here's to
me, bad as I am ! " And here I sat, bullied
by Jones and the plaything of a lot of light-headed
women of all ages. For one wild, feverish, mo
ment the thought of revolt darted through my
123
Perkins, the Fakeer.
mind. I might faint, or have a fit, and Jones
would be forced to dismiss my callers. But I
quickly realized that I was not up to a brilliant
histrionic effort. Even as it was, I was playing
another's role with but indifferent success.
Two elderly women, richly garbed, arose as I
reentered the drawing-room.
" I'm so glad to see you ah my dears," I
said, in a voice pitched to indicate cordiality.
One of my callers tossed her head haughtily,
while the prim mouth of her companion fell open.
This was not encouraging, and I remained silent.
We stared at each other for a long, agonizing
moment.
" How do you do? " I began again, with much
less assurance. " Go away, little girls," kept run
ning through my mind from that diabolical, tink
ling " Mikado."
" We are very well, I believe," remarked Mrs.
Martin, as she proved to be, coldly. " I think
I may answer for Mrs. Smythe's health."
" I am in perfect health," exclaimed Mrs.
124
When Reginald Was Caroline.
Smythe, with emphasis, staring at me in a su
perior kind of way.
" There's nothing like perfect health ah my
friends," I said, in a high, almost hysterical, fal
setto. " Who is it who says that a man is as
old as he feels and a woman as old as she looks? "
" Whoever said it, Mrs. Stevens, did us a great
injustice," commented Mrs. Martin, with some
warmth. " I am as young in spirit as I was ten
years ago, but I don't look it."
" No, you don't look it," I hastened to remark,
cordially ; but my comment was not well received.
Mrs. Martin glanced at Mrs. Smythe, and they
stood erect on the instant.
' You're not going ah my dears? " I cried,
thinking it too good to be true.
' You will pardon the liberty that I am about
to take, Mrs. Stevens," began Mrs. Martin, stern
ly, " but it seems only fair to you that we should
ask a question before leaving you. You are out
of sorts to-day? Not quite yourself, are you?"
" Not quite," I answered, drawing myself up
125
Perkins, the Fakeer.
to Caroline's full height and struggling against an
inclination to give vent to wild, feverish laughter.
" I may say Mrs. ah my dear that I'm not
quite myself. Not quite! It'll pass off. I have
every reason to believe it'll pass off. But you're
right. I'm not quite myself."
My frankness, which appalled me as I thought
of it afterward, seemed to have a soothing effect
upon my callers.
" You really do too much, Mrs. Stevens," re
marked Mrs. Smythe, in a motherly way. " You
should try to get a nap at once."
" Your nerves are affected," Mrs. Martin
added, speaking gently. " You are overdoing
things. Did you ever try the rest cure ? "
" Yes. I've been giving it a chance to-day,"
I confessed. " But it doesn't work. I can't sleep
in the daytime. Bear that in mind ah my
dear. Don't talk to me about a nap. As I said
to Caroline ah Reginald, I'm up for all day.
But you know what nerves are, do you not ? "
Mrs. Martin again glanced furtively at Mrs.
126
When Reginald Was Caroline.
Smythe, and without more ado they swept out of
the drawing-room.
I dropped into a chair, a feeling of relief min
gled with self-disgust sweeping over me. I real
ized that I had been making a sad botch of the
part that I had attempted to play. At that mo
ment, heavy footsteps behind me aroused me from
my black-and-white revery. Two large, hot
hands were placed over my eyes, and the end of
a beard tickled Caroline's forehead.
"Guess who it is?" I heard my deep voice
saying. " Here's to you, good as you are ! "
" Caroline ! " I exclaimed, conflicting emotions
agitating my soul.
" Guess again, little woman," said my wife,
playfully, in my voice. " They call me ' Reggie '
at the club."
127
CHAPTER X.
RECRIMINATIONS.
We know these things are so, we ask not why,
But act and follow as the dream goes on.
Milnes.
" YES, I've had a simply perfect day, ray dear,"
remarked Caroline, frankly, as we left the library
to ascend to our second-story suite. " I've made
twenty thousand dollars by not taking your ad
vice and as to the ' Old Crowd ' at the 'Varsity
Club, I think they're really charming. I've been
doing a good deal of miscellaneous thinking, my
dear, and I'm convinced that women have a great
future before them."
"What women?" I cried, impatiently, as I
tripped against the top stair and caught my bet
ter half by the tail of my coat.
128
When Reginald Was Caroline.
" You'll do better with practice," remarked
Caroline, soothingly. " I'm sure you enjoyed the
day. Who has been here ? "
" That'll keep," I answered, resisting an incli
nation to tweak my own nose. " Where's Jen
kins?"
Caroline indulged in a hoarse chuckle.
" Jenkins has gone to Hoboken. He won't be
back for at least a month. I think I can get
on without a man. How's Suzanne? "
We had come to a standstill in the upper hall,
just outside of the main door to our private
rooms.
" How'll you manage to dress for dinner ? " I
asked, gazing at my flushed, triumphant face with
sharply contrasted emotions. I was glad to see
it again, but I did not like Caroline's way of
using it.
" I'm very quick to learn," answered my voice,
tauntingly. " You must admit, my dear, that
I've been a success to-day. You don't think that
I'm to be overcome by a man's dinner costume?
9
Perkins, the Fakeer.
A chill ran through me, and Caroline's voice
trembled as I said:
" What do you ah think I'd better wear to
night? Suzanne'll ask me presently."
A jovial laugh greeted my words. The hum
orous side of our horrible plight seemed to be al
ways apparent to Caroline.
" You must be sure to do me credit, my dear
boy," said my wife, gruffly. " You've glanced
over my wardrobe, have you not ? "
The hot blood came into my adopted cheeks at
the suggestion.
" I I've been too ah busy to look into the
ah matter," I faltered. " Damn it, Caroline,
don't be so confoundedly superior! I'm crushed
and discouraged. That's straight. Give me a
word of advice, will you? What shall I wear
to-night? I don't want to make a fool of my
self before Suzanne."
" Poor Suzanne ! " growled Caroline, some
what irrelevantly, I thought. " She must have
had a day of it! Tell her you'll wear the dress
130
When Reginald Was Caroline.
I wore at the Leonards' dinner-party last week.
You needn't say much about my hair. Suzanne'll
know what to do with it."
Her hand, or rather mine, was on the knob of
the door, when a hideous and persistent horror
that had haunted me for some time forced me to
say, in Caroline's most insistent treble :
" Why oh, why did you allow Edgerton to
ask that infernal Yamama to come here to-night ?
It was madness, Caroline."
" Call me Reginald," interposed my wife,
coolly.
" It was madness, I say ah Reginald. It was
that or worse."
My heart beat fast in Caroline's bosom.
" What do you mean? " asked my wife, thrust
ing my face forward, and transfixing me with my
own eyes.
"You've enjoyed the day, haven't you?" I
asked, my temper overcoming my prudence.
" Well, I haven't. I've been driven nearly crazy
Perkins, the Fakeer.
by a lot of fool women, while you've had the
time of your life."
" I don't follow you," remarked my wife,
severely.
" That's just it," I cried, angrily. " You lead
me, and I'm forced to follow you. I tell you
frankly that I've grown suspicious. You've been
studying Oriental mysticism. You've been to
lectures and seances, and, for all I know, you may
be a favorite pupil of this chocolate-drop, Ya-
mama."
My wife drew herself up to my full height, and
gazed down at me, freezingly.
" You mean to imply, Mrs. Stevens." she re
marked, with studied coldness, " that I was de
liberately responsible for what happened this
morning, or last night ? "
" Don't dare to call me Mrs. Stevens, Caro
line," I whispered, shaking with futile rage. " If
I have suspected you, have I not had sufficient
circumstantial evidence? Mrs. Taunton tells me
that this rascally fakir Yamama turns people into
132
When Reginald Was Caroline.
pigs, frogs, any old thing. And you've allowed
Edgerton to bring him here to-night! I don't
believe that you have the slightest desire to ah
change back again."
My wife laughed aloud in my most disagree
able manner.
" Here's to you, good as you are, and here's
to me, bad as I am ! " she cried, with most un
timely geniality, and, without more ado, threw
open the door to our apartments. In the center
of the room stood Suzanne, pale but self-
contained, awaiting my advent. For a moment,
a mad project tempted me. If I rushed down
stairs and had a fit in the lower hall, I might
escape many of the horrors that the evening
threatened to bring with it. But if I took this
heroic course a doctor would be called in. On
the whole, I preferred Suzanne to a physi
cian.
I realize, clearly enough, that I lack the ability
to keep or reject data with the unerring judg
ment of the professional story-teller. I should
133
Perkins, the Fakeer.
like to give to my testimony a somewhat artistic
structure, but I am hampered in this inclination
by the necessity of following the actual sequence
of events. Being neither a novelist nor a scient
ist, I am in danger of making an amorphous pre
sentment of facts that shall fail either to con
vince the psychologist or entertain the idle reader
of an empty tale. On the whole, I am prone to
make sacrifices in behalf of the latter. My nat
ural inclination is toward Art rather than toward
Science, and for this reason I shall remain silent
regarding the petty episodes of the hour that fol
lowed my talk with Caroline. As it is, my nar
rative is overweighted with what may be called
details of the toilet.
At half-after six my wife and I entered our
drawing-room under a flag of truce. The an
noyances that had hampered Caroline's unaided
efforts to don my evening clothes had had a bene
ficial effect upon her exultant, overbearing ten
dencies. She was subdued in manner to the
verge of gloom.
134
When Reginald Was Caroline.
" Why are you so downhearted, my dear ? " I
asked. " Don't you like ah my appearance ? "
" Which appearance? " growled Caroline, glar
ing at me. " Are the studs in the right place ? "
" Of course they are," I answered cheerfully.
" I never looked better, I'm sure. I congratulate
you. And Suzanne tells me that this costume is
very becoming to you. The one I have on, I
mean. Have you noticed, Caroline, what an in
fernal nuisance pronouns have become? I'm
glad our nouns have no gender. What did you
say to young Van Tromp at the Cromptons'
dance? "
My beard seemed to fairly bristle with Caro
line's anger and astonishment.
" Van Tromp ! " she exclaimed, in a surly
basso. " What has he been doing now ? Hor
rid little thing ! He's not one of the boys, is he,
my dear? "
I had seated myself with some difficulty, an
noyed at Suzanne for lacing Caroline so tightly,
but rather pleased, inwardly, at my feminine
135
Perkins, the Fakeer.
beauty and Parisian costume. Caroline stood
not far away, six feet tall, broad-shouldered, a
manly figure in black and white.
" Van Tromp," I remarked, in the soft musical
tones that had at last reconciled me to my bor
rowed voice, " Van Tromp is a wandering- min
strel, a troubadour out of his time, an age-end
Romeo, who haunts Juliet's balcony at all hours
of the day and night playing a hurdy-gurdy and
reciting his own rhymes. Van Tromp is the one
bright gleam in a black and starless night. He
would atone for a dreary day were not Yamama
coming too."
" I don't understand you, Caroline," growled
my wife, shifting my feet uneasily.
" You haven't told me what Van Tromp said
to you at the Cromptons' dance," I said, relent
lessly. " I'll return to the subject later on.
Now tell me ah Reginald, what you know
abou Yamama. You intimated, unless I am mis
taken, that my suspicions as to your collusion with
this Oriental fakir were unfounded ? "
136
When Reginald Was Caroline.
" Unfounded! " exclaimed my wife, scornfully.
" Absurd ! ridiculous ! Do you imagine that I
would choose this clumsy body of yours in prefer
ence to mine? Look at me, and then glance at
the mirror, my dear. I'll admit that I've had a
very enjoyable day. But I assure you I know
little more about Yamama than you do. I am
very nervous about him. I don't know what he'll
do to us. But I have a horrible fear that he will
read our secret at a glance."
" If he does ah Caroline," I cried, excitedly,
" slug him ! Never mind about hospitality. Hit
him a crack on the nose. You can apologize to
Edgerton afterward."
" That's just like a man," grumbled Caroline.
" You think you can defeat esoteric Buddhism
with your fists. I'm rather ashamed of you, my
dear."
I felt the blood coming into Caroline's cheeks.
" It won't do, of course," I murmured, pres
ently. " We must use diplomacy, not force, in
dealing with this Oriental nuisance. Perhaps
137
Perkins, the Fakeer.
Yamama will find little Van Tromp sufficiently
amusing to enable us to escape detection. I'm
inclined to think that Van Tromp is the outward
and visible sign of a love-sick tadpole. His sis
ter, the debutante, is not so bad. I suppose she'll
fall to Edgerton at dinner? "
" We must have a rehearsal, you and I," re
marked Caroline, gruffly. " I escort Mrs. Edger
ton, of course, and you'll take Van Tromp' s arm.
You'll like that."
"Do you see these violets ah Reginald?"
I cried, dramatically, making a gesture toward
Van Tromp's floral offering, now bedecking my
corsage. " He sent them to you. What was
Van Romeo's little game? You were to wear
the violets to-night, if you really meant what you
said to him at the Cromptons' dance. As you al
ways mean what you say, my dear, I have hung
out the sign of your ah veracity, so to speak.
There's more to come, of course. There's a
poem, for one thing. I'll read it aloud when we
get our coffee."
138
When Reginald Was Caroline.
I saw that my heavy face was flushed and that
my eyes glowed with anger as I glanced upward
at my wife. She strode toward me menacingly,
and laid a heavy hand upon her bare shoulder.
Seizing Van Tromp's violets, before I could re
cover from my astonishment, she tore them from
their fastenings, and hurled them toward a remote
corner of the drawing-room.
" You carry a joke too far," she growled,
menacingly. " If you dare to read that poem I'll
I'll tell Yamama the whole story when he
comes. I know what to say to him, and he'll do
what I ask him to do. I give you fair warning."
I fell back in my chair, cold and disheartened.
My worst suspicions seemed to be confirmed.
Caroline was in league, as I had feared, with that
sunburnt fakir from the Far East! At that mo
ment, Jones entered the room.
" Mr. and Mrs. Edgerton," he announced, and,
an instant later, " Miss Van Tromp, Mr. Van
Tromp."
139
CHAPTER XI.
A DINNER AND A DISCUSSION.
Yesterday This Day's Madness did prepare :
To-morrow's Silence, Triumph, or Despair.
Drink ! for you know not whence you came, nor why.
Drink ! for you know not why you go, nor where.
Omar Kh&yy&m.
IT is always, under the best of conditions, un
certain how a dinner-party will " go off." Peo
ple are not unlike the ingredients of a salad-dress
ing. The smoothness of the dressing depends
upon a mysterious chemical affinity that is recog
nized by the salad-maker but never wholly under
stood. All the arts are closely related to each
other. A dinner-party, a salad-dressing or an
epic poem demands creative effort, and is success
ful in so far as its creator has made an effective
fusion of its separate parts.
Caroline had been inclined to believe that her
140
When Reginald Was Caroline.
fame as a dinner-giver was no more than her due.
She had reached an altitude as a triumphant host
ess from which she could make experiments of
a more or less interesting kind. She enjoyed
bringing together around our board seemingly
antagonistic social molecules to see if they would
fuse. She had planned to-night's dinner much
as a chemist prepares his materials for a novel
combination. Edgerton and Mrs. Edgerton, Van
Tromp and Miss Van Tromp formed the basis
for an experiment that might produce either a
perfume or an explosion.
What the result would have been had Caro
line's effort not been hampered by a soul-trans
position that made many things awkward to us
that were unobserved by our guests, I cannot say.
A large portion of the function, especially its ear
lier stages, is a blur and a buzz in my memory.
It had been like this from the first, whenever I
had come into the butler's sphere of influence.
Van Tromp and Edgerton were not especially ter
rifying. I knew their limitations. But Jones
141
Perkins, the Fakeer.
impressed me as a mystery, concealing in a
wooden exterior most frightful possibilities for
mischief. I did not fully recover my self-control,
if such it could be called, until after the fish had
been served. By that time, the situation in the
dining-room was about as follows :
Caroline, playing the role of host, was doing
nicely, but was, I feared, inclined to over-act the
part a bit. Little Van Tromp, a blue-eyed, in
significant-looking man, with a tender mustache,
pointed blond beard and too much hair on his
head, was lowspirited and inclined to wander in
his talk. He would glance at my corsage, and
then cast a reproachful, languishing glance at
Caroline's eyes, into which I found it possible,
now and then, to throw an expression of coquetry
that revived the poet's drooping spirits for a time.
Mrs. Edgerton, a handsome mondaine, was al
ways self-poised, animated and self-satisfied.
Miss Van Tromp, unlike her sister, Mrs. Taun-
ton, was petite, vivacious and rather pretty, but
somewhat in awe of her brother's genius. Edger-
142
When Reginald Was Caroline.
ton was a typical New Yorker of the prosperous
type, possessing blood, breeding and a pleasing
exterior.
Mrs. Edgerton thought that I looked some
what fagged.
" I've had such a busy day, don't you know
ah my dear," I exclaimed, glancing at my face
across the table, and flushing at the gleam of
merriment that Caroline flashed at me from my
eyes.
" You and Mrs. Edgerton really do too much,"
commented Edgerton, politely. " We are apt to
underestimate a woman's cares and burdens,
Reggie," he added, addressing Caroline.
" Indeed we are," Caroline asserted, readily,
in my deep voice. " I'm inclined to think, Edger
ton," she continued, giving a splendid imitation
of my most impressive manner, " that we do scant
justice to our wives, while we are forever harp
ing upon our own importance."
" Hear ! hear ! " cried little Van Tromp, play-
143
Perkins, the Fakeer.
fully. I manfully resisted an inclination to hurl a
wine-glass at his too picturesque head.
Mrs. Edgerton smiled at me. " What has hap
pened to Mr. Stevens, Caroline?" she cried, jo
cosely. " Unless my memory is at fault, I have
heard him say that you and I are ' long on leisure
and short on work.' '
" An epigram ! " piped the poet, rolling his
eyes in exaggerated rapture.
"Did I ever make that remark? " I heard my
voice asking in surprise. " I'm afraid, Mrs.
Edgerton, that you have misrepresented the
source of what Mr. Van Tromp has mistaken for
an epigram. It sounds to me, who never said
it, more like a Wall street bull."
" I can't bear that," I ventured, in Caroline's
merriest tones, and Miss Van Tromp giggled.
" The point at issue, as I understand it," began
Edgerton, genially, " is whether Reggie is mak
ing a confession. Did you cry ' Peccavi ! ' old
man?"
" You are as great a sinner in this matter as I
144
When Reginald Was Caroline.
am," answered Caroline, seriously, looking at
Edgerton. " How often have I heard you com
plain of overwork, my dear fellow! They were
saying at the club this afternoon that you seldom
reached there before four o'clock."
A flush came into Edgerton's face, and Mrs.
Edgerton laughed aloud.
"Betrayed! betrayed!" she exclaimed, glee
fully. " Reggie has deserted you, hubbie dear."
" This is absolutely shocking ! " cried Miss Van
Tromp. " I shall never marry."
" Let us change the subject," I suggested, sup
pressing a shudder as Jones glided past me. " We
have become a horrible warning to our two un
married guests ah Reginald."
" I am not easily frightened, Mrs. Stevens," the
poet dared to say, looking at me courageously.
" Discretion is the better part of bachelorhood,"
I retorted, and Van Romeo collapsed at once.
" I am so excited at the prospect of meeting
Yamama," said Mrs Edgerton, presently. " He
says such wonderful things ! "
10 145
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" And does 'em, too," I murmured, under my
breath, and flashing a glance at my smiling face
across the table.
" What does he say? " asked Miss Van Tromp,
with youthful curiosity.
" Oh, I can't begin to tell you," protested Mrs.
Edgerton, and then began : " He says that
poetry suffices; that he cannot understand why
prose was invented."
" Hear ! hear ! " cried little Van Tromp, with
enthusiasm.
" He abhors egotism. Intellectual self-satis
faction is hideous, he says."
" He ought to know," I exclaimed, and Caro
line had the audacity to laugh.
" Go on, Mrs. Edgerton," cried the Van
Tromps with one voice.
" Yamama tells us that our Western world is
not only self-satisfied, but ignorant. We are con
tented with half-truths. Science makes a discov
ery, as it imagines, and, behold! it is something
that the East has known for ages."
146
When Reginald Was Caroline.
" But how about the famine in India? " asked
Edgerton, argumentatively. " If they know so
much, these Eastern wise men, why don't they
make grain grow in a dry season? They are
great frauds, eh, Reggie? "
" I don't agree with you, Edgerton," I heard
my voice in answer. " You fail to get their
point of view."
" Betrayed again, Edgerton," laughed the poet.
"What's their point of view?" grumbled
Edgerton, casting a glance of surprise at Caro
line.
" If you believed in reincarnation," exclaimed
my wife, in my somewhat overbearing manner,
" you would look upon death as merely a step
ping-stone to a higher existence. A famine,
don't you see, helps a large number of souls up
the spiral."
" Mr. Stevens has become a theosophist," cried
Mrs. Edgerton, in exaggerated amazement.
" How perfectly lovely," commented Miss Van
Tromp, somewhat irrelevantly. I saw Jones
147
Perkins, the Fakeer.
pouring wine at the poet's corner, and I thought
that his hand trembled. I'm sure that my voice
was unsteady as I remarked :
" But ah Reginald, what about snakes and
ah frogs ? Starvation is bad enough, but you
aren't going up a spiral if you are changed into
something that squirms and crawls."
" It's not like climbing a ladder," answered my
voice, authoritatively. " You may go down, now
and then, but as the ages pass the general trend
is upward."
" It's adfully interesting," reflected Miss Van
Tromp, aloud. " But how is it done? "
" It isn't done ! " exclaimed Edgerton, almost
angrily, " it's only half-baked. Of all the absurd
nonsense that is talked this Oriental mysticism
is the worst. That's why I was glad to get this
man Yamama to come here this evening. I want
to prove to Mrs. Edgerton that he's just about
as significant as a Bab ballad."
" Do you think that Yamama will be inclined to
do ah stunts, Mr. Edgerton?" I faltered,
148
When Reginald Was Caroline.
catching the butler's eye, and wondering why
Caroline's toes got cold so easily.
"What do you mean by stunts, my dear?"
Caroline asked, using my voice, rather sternly.
" Yamama, I imagine, would not understand the
word. He is not here to play tricks."
"What is he here for ah my dear?" I
asked, in a falsetto that was too shrill to be good
form. Mrs. Eclgerton looked annoyed, and
Edgerton said, half-apologetically :
" Really, Mrs. Stevens, I thought that you
would be glad to have Yamama come to us to
night. Frankly, I wanted to make a closer study
of the man, and your husband assured me
that it would be pleasing to you to have him
here."
" Don't think me inhospitable and ungrateful,
Mr. Edgerton," I began in Caroline's smoothest
manner. " I shall enjoy meeting Yamama, of
course. But do you really think that a man who
prefers poetry to prose can be trusted? "
Van Tromp gasped and glanced furtively at
149
Perkins, the Fakeer.
Caroline. The latter raised her wine-glass, smiled
at me gaily, and I heard my voice crying :
" Here's to you, my dear, good as you are! "
"What are you staring at, Jones?" I asked,
angrily, turning sharply toward the butler. He
continued his task of serving the course without
noticing my reproof. My wife and guests were
gazing at me in surprise.
" A toast ! A toast ! " cried little Van Tromp,
almost hysterically.
Edgerton laughed aloud. " Let us drink to the
mysterious East," he suggested, like one who bore
an olive branch in his hand.
" To the secrets of the Orient and Yamama ! "
amended Caroline, showing my teeth to me in a
cruel smile.
" Yamama ! Yamama ! " murmured my guests.
As we sipped our wine, I glanced at Jones.
There was a flush on his phlegmatic face, but he
appeared to be paying no attention to anything
but his duties.
150
CHAPTER XII.
YAMAMA AND RELEASE.
Then dimness passed upon me, and that song
Was sounding o'er me when I woke
To be a pilgrim on the nether earth.
Dean Alford.
ON our return to the drawing-room, I found
myself annoyed by the attention of little Van
Tromp and appalled by the imminent advent of
Yamama. A new and most distressing dread
had crept into my errant soul. I had begun to
think that I should come to hate my wife, unless
she altered at once her mode of procedure. The
fear was upon me that she had enjoyed the day's
experience sufficiently to tempt her to make ex
isting conditions permanent. Angry as I was
with her, I realized that diplomacy was a better
tool at present than denunciation.
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" I must speak to her at once," I mused aloud,
glancing- at my manly, patrician, well-groomed
outward seeming as Caroline stood at the further
end of the room, chatting with Miss Van Tromp
and the Edgertons. An exclamation beside me
convinced me that little Van Tromp was very
wide-awake.
" Shall I take you to her, Mrs. Stevens ?
There is no sacrifice that I would not make for
you. You would go to Mrs Edgerton ? "
"Mrs. Edgerton?" I exclaimed, somewhat
dazed for the moment. " No ; I was referring to
ah Reginald. Tell him I want to see him, will
you, old man? These infernal skirts are such a
nuisance! "
The poet's eloquent eyes recalled me to my
senses. He was gazing at me in amazement,
evidently wondering if I had drunk too deep a
toast to Yamama.
" What a pitiable fate is mine ! " murmured
Van Romeo, gloomily. " I have been dreaming
of this moment for days, and, lo! you destroy my
152
'Unannounced and unattended, Yamana glided into the
drawing-room."
When Reginald Was Caroline.
happiness by a word. Chasing a rainbow is so
much more delightful that summoning your lesser
half!"
"Lesser half, indeed!" I could not refrain
from saying, bitterly. " My three-quarters, or
more. Look here, Van Tromp, if you don't
move more rapidly I shall read those silly verses
of yours to Yamama when he arrives, and he'll
turn you into a green-and-yellow parrot. Good
heavens, man, it's too late ! There he is ! "
Unannounced and unattended, Yamama glided
into the drawing-room. I recognized him at a
glance, and Caroline's bosom heaved with a con
flict of emotions. Little Van Tromp had jumped
to his feet.
"Isn't he stunning?" he exclaimed most un-
poetically.
Yamama was, indeed, pleasing to the eye. His
light-brown complexion, dark brilliant eyes and
gorgeous costume made a picture that gave an
Oriental splendor to our drawing-room. He
stood motionless for a moment, half-way between
153
Perkins, the Fakeer.
Caroline and me. Suddenly it flashed upon me
that I had a duty to perform. Caroline and I
reached Yamama at the same time.
" It was so kind of you to come to us," I heard
Caroline saying to the adept. " Mrs. Stevens
was overjoyed to hear that you had consented to
honor us."
Yamama's black, fathomless eyes smiled at me,
like deep, dark pools touched by sunshine. A
chill ran through me, but I found strength to
say, falteringly:
" Glad to see you, Mr. ah Yamama. We're
so interested ah Reginald and I in Bhesoteri-
cuddhism! Glad to see you! Aren't we ah
Reggie?"
I suspected that Caroline chuckled behind my
beard. I am sure that the smile in Yamama's
eyes deepened.
We had grouped ourselves around the adept,
who stood calm, picturesque, silent, in the center
of the room; the majesty and mystery of the
brooding East seeming to fill the universe of
154
When Reginald Was Caroline.
a sudden. It was as some priceless Orien
tal rug had become on the instant not merely
an ornament, but a creation of infinite psychical
significance.
" Does he talk ? " Edgerton whispered to me,
and I glanced at him, reprovingly. Mrs. Edger
ton was gazing, awestruck, at Yamama. Pres
ently, the adept spoke, in a voice that drove from
my fevered mind all thoughts of frogs, snakes
and tadpoles.
" Man is composed of seven principles, a unit,
but capable of partial separation."
" Well, rather ! " I could not refrain from say
ing, but Yamama ignored my rudeness. He went
on impressively, while the group surrounding
him listened eagerly, fascinated by his appearance
and manner.
" The evolutionary process demands a number
of planets, corresponding to the seven principles.
On each of these planets a long series of lives is
required before a full circuit is made."
"How wildly exciting!" cried Miss Van
155
Perkins, the Fakeer.
Tromp. Yamama smiled, indulgently. Then he
said:
" Before reaching the perfection attainable,
every soul must pass through many minor circuits.
We are said to be in the middle of the fifth circuit
of our fourth round, and the evolution of this cir
cuit began about a million years ago."
" It knocks the Ferris Wheel silly," I overheard
Edgerton mutter to himself, and I felt an unac
countable anger at his flippancy.
" I should so like to ask you a question," fal
tered Miss Van Tromp, and Yamama bowed his
inspired head, resignedly.
" How soon do we come back after we die ? "
" When a man dies," answered the adept, in
his low, soft, musical voice, " his ego holds the
impetus of his earthly desires until they are
purged away from that higher self, which then
passes into a spiritual state, when all the psychic
and spiritual forces it has generated during the
earthly life are unfolded. It progresses on those
planes until the dormant physical impulses assert
156
When Reginald Was Caroline.
themselves, and curve the soul around to another
incarnation, whose form is the resultant of the
earlier lives."
" That's easy," muttered Edgerton, at my
shoulder.
" I've often felt that way," exclaimed Van
Tromp, gazing ecstatically at Yamama.
"Are you making converts?" asked Mrs.
Edgerton.
A haughty smile, dark-red streaked with white
against a brown background, the whole lighted
by two eyes of marvelous power, met our gaze.
" Only by soul itself is soul perceived," an
swered Yamama, somewhat irrelevantly, I
thought.
" You're out, my dear," whispered Edgerton,
playfully, to his wife.
" May I trouble you, my dear sir," began Van
Tromp, pompously " may I trouble you to ex
plain to a mind darkened by Occidental erudition
why it is that the West is so blind to the mighty
truths that you teach ? "
157
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" That's a touchdown/' muttered Edgerton.
Yamama gazed fixedly at the poet for a time.
Then he said :
" The West is not blind to the mighty truths
of which you speak. You only imagine that you
do not see them. Your great thinkers have
taught what we teach. Schopenhauer, Lessing,
Hegel, Leibnitz, Herder, Fichte the younger, are
with us. Your great poets sing the eternal veri
ties. It is nothing new, that which I bring to
you from the East."
" Is there ah any reason to fear," I dared
to ask, " that when we ah change around
again I mean ah get reincarnaed, you see.
that we become ah frogs or or snakes that
is, if we don't ah so to speak, stay put ? "
My voice had been gradually ascending Caro
line's scale until it hit the interrogation mark in
a sharp falsetto. As Yamama's eyes met mine I
thought for an instant that I had been struck by
lightning. What his strange glance cutting
through me until I knew that I had no secrets
158
When Reginald Was Caroline.
left meant I had no way of determining. I was
like a rabbit fascinated by an anaconda.
" There is salvation for him whose self disap
pears before truth, whose will is bent upon what
he ought to do, whose sole desire is the perform
ance of his duty. The root of all evil is ignor
ance." Thus spake Yamama, whether in answer
to my question I could not decide.
" What's the matter with the love of money ? "
asked Edgerton, in an unconventional tone of
voice. His bump of reverence is not well devel
oped.
" 'Tis but a small part of the ignorance that en
folds you like a worthless garment," answered the
adept, coldly.
" That's one on me," I heard Edgerton mutter,
while Mrs. Edgerton laughed, softly.
" The Enlightened One," went on Yamama,
literally in a brown study, " saw the four noble
truths which point out the path that leads to Nir
vana or the extinction of self."
159
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Good eye ! " murmured Edgerton, and his
wife whispered " Hush ! "
As I glanced at Caroline, I saw that my face
had undergone a change. She was watching the
adept with my eyes, but the expression on my
countenance was wholly her own.
" The attainment of truth," continued Ya-
mama, " is possible only when self is recognized
as an illusion. Righteousness can be practiced
only when we have freed our mind from the pas
sion of egotism. Perfect peace can dwell only
where all vanity has disappeared."
" I've known that for years," exclaimed Van
Tromp, brushing his hair back from his forehead
in a self-conscious way.
I had begun to feel faint.
"Won't you be seated ah Mr. Yamama?"
I asked, hoping that he would observe my indis
position. Even as I spoke, I lost sight of him.
The lights went out of a sudden, and a sharp,
exquisite pain shot through me. I was sur
rounded by a fathomless gloom, as if the universe
160
When Reginald Was Caroline.
had turned black at a word. I was conscious, but
seemingly alone in a dark void. For a moment
only was I cognizant of self. Then there came
a flash of dazzling light, and I knew no more.
My testimony is at an end. A week has passed
since Caroline and I awoke one morning to find
our souls transposed. We are still confined to
our rooms, suffering, our physician tells us, from
acute nervous prostration. But " Richard's him
self again ! " When we recovered our senses
for Caroline had fainted at the moment when Ya-
mama dissappeared from my sight we found
ourselves restored to our respective bodies; but
the shock of our psychical interchange had left us
physically weak and depressed.
I have not yet had the energy to compare notes
with Caroline in regard to our uncanny experi
ences. But, fearing that my memory might play
me false, I have relieved the tedium of my con
valescence by jotting down the foregoing present
ment, in the hope, as I have said before, that the
ii ' 161
Perkins, the Fakeer.
data may prove of interest to minds more erudite
than mine and my wife's.
Jenkins has returned from Hoboken or wher
ever he went and I have had him remove my
beard. It had become a horror to me. Suzanne
is very attentive to Caroline, and seems to have
recovered her spirits.
One significant fact I have reserved for the
last. It has caused me much uneasiness, not un-
mingled with a sense of relief. Jones has not
been seen since the night of our weird dinner
party. No trace of him has been found. I have
advertised for a butler, but have not yet received
an application that appealed to me in my present
supersensitive condition. What I want is a but
ler as unlike Jones as possible. Unfortunately,
he was a pattern of his kind. But I hate the
very thought of him, and so I shall drop my pen
at this point and watch Suzanne and Caroline
through the open door. I think I shall try to
get down to the club to-morrow to see the boys.
1 62,
II.
How Chopin Came to &emsen.
There corns th eri! to my house,
And none of ye have unt to help me know
What the great gods portend sending me this.
THE LIGHT OF ASIA.
HOW CHOPIN CAME TO REMSEN.
CHAPTER I.
CHOPIN'S OPUS 47
It brings an instinct from some other sphere,
For its fine senses are familiar all,
And with the unconscious habit of a dream,
It calls and they obey.
N. P. Willis.
IT has been with the greatest reluctance that I
have agreed to submit to the public all the details,
so far as they are known to me, of my husband's
seemingly miraculous change from an average
man into a genius. Poor Tom ! He was so
happy as a phlegmatic, well-balanced, common
place lawyer and clubman, devoted to his wife,
his profession and his friends! But now, alas,
his amazing eccentricities demand from me a pres
entation of his case that shall change censure
167
Perkins, the Fakeer.
into sympathy and malicious gossip into either
silence or truth.
I am forced to admit at the outset that Tom is
justified in attributing his present predicament
to my own fondness for music. He had pro
tested, gently but firmly, against the series of
musicals that I had planned to give last season.
" They'll be an awful nuisance, my dear," he
had remarked, gloomily, gazing at me appealingly
across the table at which we were dining en tete-a-
tete. il Why not substitute bridge whist in place
of the music? Why will you insist on asking a
crowd of people who don't care a rap for anything
but ragtime to listen to your high-priced soloists ?
A musical, Winifred, is both expensive and tire
some."
" What a Philistine you are, Tom ! " I ex
claimed, protestingly, knowing, however, that my
dear old pachyderm would not wince at the epi
thet I had hurled at him across the board. Tom's
vocabulary is not large, and possesses a legal
rather than a Biblical flavor.
168
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
" What's a Philistine? " he asked, indifferently.
" If it's a fellow who objects to inviting a lot o'
people that he doesn't like to listen to a lot o*
playing and singing that they don't like, well,
then, I'm it. But what's the use of my getting
out an injunction ? If you've made up your mind
to give these musicals, Winifred, I might as well
quash my appeal. I've no standing in this court."
One of the advantages of living with a man for
ten years is that one is eventually confronted by
a most fascinating problem. " Why did I marry
him?" is the question that adds a keen zest to
existence. We derive a new interest in life from
the hope that the future may provide us with an
answer to this query. I can remember now, to
my sorrow, that I gazed across the table at Tom's
heavy, immobile face, and longed for some radi
cal, perhaps supernatural, change in the man that
should render him more congenial to me, more
sympathetic, less practical, matter-of-fact, com
monplace. A moment later I felt ashamed of
myself for the disloyalty of my wish. It may be
169
Perkins, the Fakeer.
that subsequent events were preordained as a pun
ishment to me for the internal discontent to
which I had temporarily succumbed.
" Tom doesn't look quite fit, my dear," re
marked Mrs. Jack Van Corlear to me early in
the evening of my first and last musical. " Is
he working too hard ? Jack tells me that Tom has
been made counsel for the Pepper and Salt Trust."
" It's not that," I answered, lightly, glancing at
Tom and noting the unusual pallor of his too
fleshy face. " He's expecting an evening of tor
ture, you know. He hates music. He can't tell
a nocturne from a ballade and they both torment
him. But he's an awfully good fellow, isn't he?
See, he's trying to talk to Signer Turino. I hope
he'll remember that Verdi didn't write ' Lohen
grin.' I've been coaching Tom for several days,
but it's hard, my dear Mrs. Jack, to make a man
who doesn't play or sing a note remember that the
Moonlight Sonata is not from Gounod's ' Faust,'
and that it's bad form to ask Mile. Vanoni if she
admires ' Florodora.' '
170
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
My duties as hostess and the pronounced suc
cess of the earlier numbers of my program led
me presently to forget Tom's existence. He had
been cruelly unjust to my guests in asserting that
they would prefer ragtime to the classics. The
applause that had rewarded the efforts of both
Turino and Vanoni had been spontaneous and
genuine. Signorina Molatti had created an ac
tual furor with her violin solo, intensified, no
doubt, by her marvelous beauty. It was Molatti's
success that presently recalled Tom to my reluc
tant consciousness. As the dark-eyed, fervid
young woman responded smilingly to an insis
tent encore, I caught a glimpse of my unimpres
sionable husband, standing erect at the rear of the
crowded music-room and watching the girl's
every movement with eyes alight with interest
and approval. I had not seen his unresponsive
countenance so animated before in years. Mrs.
Jack Van Corlear had followed my glance, and a
mischievous smile was in her face as she leaned
toward me.
171
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Perhaps Tom is more musical than you imag
ine, my dear," she whispered, maliciously.
"Do you think it's the violin?" I returned,
laughingly, ashamed of the feeling of annoyance
that her playful pin-prick had given me.
Jealous of Tom ! The idea was too absurd. I
had so often wished to be, but his devotion to me
had always been chronic and incurable. " It's
really bad form," I had once said to him ; " your
indifference to other women, Tom, causes com
ment. Overemphasis is always vulgar. You
underscore our conjugal bliss, my dear boy, in a
way that has become a kind of silent reproach
to other people. You must really have a mild
flirtation now and then, Tom."
It seemed to me that the vivacious Molatti had
noted Tom's too apparent enthusiasm, for she
smiled and nodded to him as she made ready to
coax her Cremona into giving her silent auditors
new proof of her most amazing genius. I, a
lover of music, had been carried into unknown,
blissful realms by the magic of her bow, my whole
172
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
being throbbing with the joy of strange, weird
harmonies that lured my errant soul away from
earth, away from my duties as a hostess, my wor
ries as a wife. I came back to my music-room
with a thump. Something unusual, out of the
common, was taking place, but at first I could not
concentrate my faculties in a way to put me in
touch with my environment. Presently I realized
that Signorina Molatti had left the dais and
could I believe my senses? that Tom brazenly,
nonchalantly, before the gaze of two hundred
wondering eyes, had seated himself at the
piano.
"What's the matter with him?" whispered
Mrs. Van Corlear to me in an awe-struck tone.
"Wait," I answered, irrelevantly; "maybe he
won't do it."
" Do what? " she returned, almost hysterically.
"I don't know," I gasped; and the thought
flashed through my mind that possibly Tom had
been drinking.
There lay the hush of expectancy on the aston-
173
Perkins, the Fakeer.
ished throng. Here and there furtive glances
were cast at my program cards in search of Tom's
name on a little list made up wholly of world-
famous artists. But the large majority of my
guests knew as well as I that Tom had never
touched a piano in his life, that his ignorance of
music was as pronounced as his detestation of it.
But he might have been a Paderewski in his total
absence of all awkwardness or self-consciousness
as he sat motionless at the instrument for a mo
ment, coolly surveying us all, in very truth like a
master musician sure of himself and rejoicing in
the delight that he was about to vouchsafe to his
auditors.
I cannot recall now without a shudder the sen
sation that cut through my every nerve as Tom
raised his large, pudgy hands above the keyboard,
his small, gray eyes turned toward the ceiling just
above my throbbing head. He looked at that in
stant like the very incarnation of Philistinism
poised to hurl down destruction upon the center of
all harmonies.
174
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
" It's revenge," I groaned, under my breath,
and felt Mrs. Jack's cold hand creep into mine.
Down came the paws of Nemesis, and lo, the
injustice that I had done to Tom was revealed to
me. His touch was masterly. I could not have
been more amazed had I seen an elephant thread
ing a needle. The whole episode was strangely
blended of the uncanny and realistic. I found
myself noting the angle at which Tom held his
chin. He always raised it thus when his man
shaved him, his head thrown back and his eyes
half-closed.
Then gradually it dawned on me that I was tak
ing keen delight in his rendition of that mar
velous ballade in A flat major that Chopin dedi
cated to Mile, de Noailles. There is nothing more
thoroughly Chopinesque in all the master's works
than this perfect exposition of the refined in art.
Tom's rendering of the lovely theme in F major,
one of the most delicate in the world of music,
thrilled me with startled admiration. But a chill
came over me. What would he do with the sec-
'75
Perkins, the Fakeer.
tion in C sharp minor, with its inverted dominant
pedal in the right hand while the left is carrying
on the theme? Without both skill and passion
on the part of the performer the interpretation
of this passage is certain to be commonplace.
But hardly had this doubt assailed me when I
knew that Tom had triumphed over every obstacle
of technique and temperament, that he was ap
proaching the harmonic grandeur of the finale
with the poise and power of genius in full con
trol of itself and its medium.
I have never fainted. Swooning went out of
fashion long before my time, and I am devoted to
the modern cult of self-control, but if it hadn't
been for Mrs. Jack, who is really fond of me at
times, I think that the last bar of Tom's Opus 47
would have seen my finish. The room had be
gun to whirl in a circle, like a merry-go-round in
evening dress, when she steadied me by whisper
ing:
" It's all right, my dear. Tom wins by four
lengths, well in hand."
176
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
I came to myself in the very center of a storm
of applause. Our guests had forgotten the con
ventionalities pertaining to a will-ordered musical.
The men were on their feet, cheering. The
women waved fans and handkerchiefs, and pelted
Tom with violets and roses. The poor fellow
sat at the piano in a half-dazed condition. A
bunch of flowers, deftly thrown, struck him on the
forehead, and he put his gifted hand to his brow
as if he had just been recalled to consciousness.
" Encore ! Encore ! " cried our guests. Tu-
rino was gesticulating frantically, while Mlle.Va-
noni and Signorina Molatti smiled and clapped
their hands in exaggerated ecstasy.
I was worried by the expression that had come
into Tom's face, and made my way quickly to
ward the piano.
" Aren't you well, my dear? " I asked, bending
toward him, while the uproar behind me decreased
a bit.
" What have I been doing, Winifred ? " he
asked, sheepishly, like one who wakens from a
12 177
Perkins, the Fakeer.
dream. " Get one of your damned dagos to sing,
will you ? I've got to have a drink or die ! "
Standing erect abruptly, Tom cast a defiant
glance at the chattering throng behind me and
hurriedly made his way through a side door from
the music-room. As I turned away from the
piano I saw that Signorina Molatti's eyes were
fixed upon his retreating figure with an expression
that my worldly wisdom could not interpret.
There was more of wonder than of admiration in
her gaze, a gleam of questioning and longing
that might, it seemed to me, readily flame into hot
anger.
178
CHAPTER II.
REMSEN CONFRONTS A MYSTERY.
From memories that come not and go not ;
Like music once heard by an ear
That cannot forget or reclaim it ;
A something so shy it would shame it
To make it a show.
JAMES RUSSELL
AFTER saying good-night to the last of my
guests, who had expressed regret at the rumor
that my husband was seriously indisposed, I hur
ried to the smoking-room, having learned that
Tom had fled thither as a refuge from the curious
and the congratulatory. As I came upon him he
was alternately puffing a cigar and sipping a
brandy-and-soda. On the instant the conflicting
emotions that had beset me during the evening
became a wave of anger, sweeping over me with
irresistible force.
179
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Why have you deceived me, Tom Remsen? "
I cried, sinking into a chair and resting my aching
head against its back, as I scanned his pale, weary
countenance attentively. " You have always pre
tended that you had no knowledge of music. I
have heard you say that you could not whistle
even a bar of ' Yankee Doodle ' correctly. What
a poseur you have been ! And to-night, in a vul
gar, theatrical way you suddenly exhibit the most
astonishing talent. There is not an ameteur in
the world, Tom, who can interpret Chopin with
such sympathy, such perfection of technique, such
reserved power as you displayed this evening.
You have placed me in a ridiculous position, and
I can't conceive of any reasonable motive for your
unnatural reticence. Why, Tom answer me!
why have you concealed from me the fact that
you are an accomplished yes, a brilliant musi
cian? Think of all the pleasure that we have
lost in the last ten years by your deception and
falsehoods for that's what they were, Tom ! "
My voice broke a little, and I felt the tears creep-
180
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
ing toward my eyes. " You have been cruel,
Tom! Knowing my passionate love for music,
why did you choose to hide a talent that would
have drawn us so close together? And your
revelation! It was the very refinement of bru
tality, Tom Remsen, to place me in such an awk
ward attitude! How could I explain my ignor
ance of your genius to our friends? They must
consider me either a fool or a liar. As for what
they think of you, Tom "
" Stop it, Winifred ! " cried my husband,
hoarsely, putting up a hand protestingly. " I've
had enough. I can't stand anything more to
night. If I tried to tell you the truth you
wouldn't believe it, so you'd better leave me. I'll
smoke another cigar. I'll never get to sleep
again, I fear."
His last words sounded like a groan. My
mood was softened by his evident distress.
"Do try to tell me the truth, Tom," I said,
gently. " I'll believe what you say. There's a
difference between positive and negative lying. I
181
Perkins, the Fakeer.
don't think you'd tell me a deliberate falsehood,
Tom."
There was something in his appearance at this
moment that suggested to me a wounded animal
at bay. Presently he lighted a fresh cigar, and
gazing at me steadily, said :
" The cold, hard truth is this, Winifred : I
never touched the keys of a piano in my life until
an hour ago. I remember being drawn irresisti
bly to the instrument. What happened afterward
I don't know. The first thing that I can recall
was being hit in the head with some fool woman's
bouquet. I remember saying, ' No flowers,
please,' in a silly kind of way, but what it all
meant I didn't know, and I don't know now. Do
you?"
I sat speechless, gazing at Tom in amazement.
He had never, in the twelve years of our be
trothal and marriage, told me an untruth. I had
often caught myself envying women whose hus
bands spiced the realism of domestic life with a
romantic tale now and again. I know a woman
182
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
who derives great intellectual enjoyment from
cross-questioning her lesser half every twenty-
four hours in an effort to prove that nature de
signed her for a clever detective. She would have
drooped and died had she married Tom.
As I watched his honest face, pale now and
careworn, I realized that I was confronted by two
explanations of the present crisis, either one of
which was inconceivable. Tom had told me a
deliberate lie, or a miracle, to use an unscientific
word, had been wrought through forces the ex
istence of which I had always denied.
" No, Tom, I don't know what it means," I
answered, presently. " How did you happen to
choose the Chopin ballade for your debut? "
I had not intended to hurt the poor fellow's
feelings, but the change in his expression from
weariness to wonderment filled me with remorse.
" I didn't choose anything," he muttered, re
proachfully. " If I made an ass of myself, Wini
fred, I was not responsible. What the deuce did
I do ? You haven't told me and I don't know."
183
Perkins, the Fakeer.
By an effort of will I controlled the nerv
ous chill that was threatening me, and said,
quietly :
" Tom, you played Chopin's Ballade Number 3,
Opus 47, in a way that would have satisfied
Chopin himself. No performer living could have
equaled your rendition. It was masterly."
Tom's mouth fell open in amazement. He
closed it over a brandy-and-soda. " I can't be
lieve it," he cried, setting down his glass and
gazing at the smoke curling up from his cigar.
" Why, Winifred, the thing's absurd. I never
heard the what do you call it? in my life.
And if I'd listened to it every day for a year I
couldn't play it. I couldn't even whistle it."
I laughed aloud hysterically. There was a lu
dicrous side to the situation, despite its uncanny
features.
"What are you laughing at, Winifred?" de
manded Tom, angrily. " Is there anything funny
about all this? It seems, if I can believe what
you say, that I made a kind of pianola of myself
184
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
without knowing it. Is that a joke? I tell you,
Winifred, it's paresis or something worse. May
be I'll rob a bank next. And when I'm bailed out,
I suppose I'll find you on a broad grin."
I was too near the verge of nervous collapse
to repress the feeling of unreasonable annoyance
that came over me at Tom's words. " I think
you're very unjust, Tom," I exclaimed, with great
lack of judgment.
" Unjust ! " he echoed, petulantly. " Unjust
to whom to what ? "
" You're unjust to Chopin," I answered, hotly,
realizing that I was talking in a distinctly childish
way. " Playing one of his masterpieces is not
quite like robbing a bank."
" Why not," he snapped, " if I don't know how
to play it? I certainly robbed those fool women
of their flowers, didn't I? They pelted me with
bouquets as if I were a boy wonder or a long
haired bang-the-keys, and I don't know the soft
pedal from the key of E. I wouldn't do Chopin
an injustice. He's dead, isn't he? But you
185
Perkins, the Fakeer.
mustn't do me an injustice, Winifred. I can't
stand anything more to-night."
My heart seemed to come into my throat with
a sob, and I drew my chair close to Tom's and
took his cold hand in mine. " I'm sorry, Tom.
I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, but I've been
sorely tried, you must admit. I'm not quite my
self, I fear."
Tom turned quickly and gazed squarely into
my eyes. " Don't you worry, Winifred. You're
yourself, all right. But who the dickens am I?
If I'm Tom Remsen, I can't play Chopin.
And you say I did play Chopin. I don't say I
didn't. But how did I do it? Tom Remsen
couldn't do it. Look at my hands, Winifred.
Could my fingers knock a pianissimo out of a
minor chord? if that's what that fellow Chopin
does. I tell you, it's queer, and I don't like it."
A well defined shudder shook Tom's heavy
frame, and his hand, as it rested in mine, trem
bled perceptibly. His voice had sunk to a whisper
as he asked : " Do you think it possible, Winifred,
1 86
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
I was hypnotized, Winifred? I never took any
stock in hypnotism, but there may be something
in it. That Signer Turino has got a queer eye."
" I'm sure I don't know what to think, Tom,"
I admitted, reluctantly. By abandoning the the
ory that Tom had deceived me for a dozen years
I was plunged into a tempestuous sea of mystery
and conjecture. " But come, my dear boy, you
are fagged out. We'll talk it over in the morn
ing. Perhaps our minds will be clearer after a
few hours' sleep."
" I couldn't sleep now," he returned nervously,
glancing at his watch. " Don't go yet, Winifred.
It's only two o'clock."
We sat silent for a time, hand clasped in hand,
like a youth and maiden awed by a sudden reali
zation of the marvelous mysteries of existence.
Presently Tom spoke again, and I felt that it
was a lawyer, in full control of his nerves, who
questioned me. " Did I look ah dazed or
queer when I went to the piano, my dear ? "
" No, Tom," I answered, after a pause. " You
187
Perkins, the Fakeer.
you now, don't think me flippant you looked
just as you do when you're being shaved."
" Before all those people ! " he gasped. " What
do you mean, Winifred ? "
" Your chin was up in the air, Tom, and your
head was thrown back."
"But you didn't see any lather?" he asked,
foolishly.
" Don't be silly, Tom," I cried, petulantly. But
I had done him another injustice; he had not
intended to be jocose.
" And then what did I do? " he asked, eagerly.
" And then you played that ballade with the
inspiration of genius and the technique of a mas
ter."
" It stumps me! " he muttered. " Winifred, is
there anything about this fellow Chopin in the
library? Any books about him? "
" Yes, Tom, several ; but you'd better not look
at them to-night if at all. Perhaps to-morrow
you won't care to."
Tom's heavy features assumed their most stub-
188
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
born aspect. He stood erect, still holding my
hand, and I was forced to rise.
" Come with me, Winifred. I'm going to solve
this mystery before I sleep, even if it takes two
days. Come ! "
Without further protest I accompanied Tom
to the library.
189
CHAPTER III.
BIOGRAPHICAL DATA.
And, to meet us, nectar fountains still
Poured forever forth their blissful rill ;
Forcibly we broke the seal of Things,
And to Truth's bright sunny hills our wings
Joyously were soaring.
SCHH.I,E;R.
IT was a real relief to get into the library.
Tom felt it, and his face soon resumed its nor
mal expression. The heavy shadows beneath his
eyes remained, but there had come a flush into
his cheeks, and he carried himself with the air
of a man who has a purpose in life and is in a
fair way to accomplish it. I remember that the
idea came into my mind that Tom had assumed
the attitude of a lawyer who has been retained
by the prosecution and has but little time in which
to prepare his case. I had grown tactless, I
190
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
fear, in my change of mood, for I was indiscreet
enough to say, as Tom seated himself beside the
library-table, leaving it to me to find the books
that he wished to consult ; " In the case of Wini
fred Remsen and others, against the late Frederic
Frangois Chopin, charged with house-breaking
and breach of the peace."
Tom turned instantly, and a gleam of anger
flashed in his eyes as they met mine. " If you
cannot treat this matter with the seriousness that
I think that it deserves, Winifred, you would do
well to retire. It's no joke. When I make a
donkey of myself before a lot of perfectly respect
able people, I consider it a matter of some im
portance. You don't seem to grasp the full hor
ror of it all. I suppose that I'm liable to have
another attack at any time. In fact, it may be
come chronic. I have of late come across very
curious psychical phenomena in a professional
way, Winifred, and I insist on taking every pre
caution before you are forced to place me in the
hands of the alienists."
191
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Tom ! " I cried, in horror, and remorse.
" You musn't talk like that. There's nothing the
matter with your mind. I'll admit that I can't
explain what happened to-night, but I'm sure that
it was not caused by any mental trouble on your
part. There is doubtless some very simple and
commonplace explanation of your your "
" Call it seizure," suggested Tom, curtly.
" What do you find there? "
I carried a little armful of books to the table,
and placed them within Tom's reach.
" Here's a ' Life of Chopin,' by Niecks," I said.
" ' Frederic Chopin,' by Franz Liszt. Here's Jo
seph Bennett and Karasowski and the * Histoire
de ma Vie,' by George Sand. And here are
Willeby and Mme. Audley. And I think I
have "
" That'll do for to-night," remarked Tom, seiz
ing the volume nearest to his hand. " What kind
of a chap was this Chopin, anyway? "
" He was simply fascinating," I remarked, in
discreetly.
192
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
" H'm ! " growled Tom, angrily. " Not very
respectable, I suppose you mean. George Sand!
She was a woman, wasn't she? How did she
happen to write his life? What did she know
about him? "
I have called Tom a Philistine. Perhaps that
was too harsh a term to use, but I'm sure there
is a good deal of the Puritan about him.
" She used to see a good deal of him," I an
swered, rather lamely. " They were great chums
for a while."
" H'm," growled Tom, throwing aside George
Sand's work and opening another. Presently, he
began to read biographical scraps aloud, for all
the world like an angry police official drawing up
a sweeping indictment against a man of genius.
" ' The little Frederick duly received the name
of Frederic Frangois, after the son of Count Shar-
bek, who stood as his godfather,' " began Tom.
" ' We are told that he very soon showed a great
susceptibility to musical sounds, although hardly
in the direction which we should have expected,
13 193
Perkins, the Fakeer.
for he howled lustily whenever he heard
them.' "
Tom looked up from the printed page, and our
eyes met.
" That's a curious coincidence, Winifred," he
remarked, musingly. " It's a family tradition
that I used to yell like a young Indian whenever
they tried to sing to me in my babyhood. A
rattle-box would quiet me, but the sweetest lul
laby always made me howl. But I must get on.
Chopin began well, didn't he ? "
There was silence for a time as Tom feverishly
scanned the pages of his book.
" The dickens ! Listen to this ! " he exclaimed,
presently. " ' During his ninth year he was in
vited to assist at a concert for the benefit of the
poor. He played a pianoforte concerto, the com
position of Adalbert Gyrowetz, a famous com
poser of the time.' '
Tom placed the book on the table, and held the
pages open with his hand as he glanced at me
over his shoulder. " If he played that kind of
194
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
thing at nine years of age, Winifred, there was
something uncanny about it. It was just as un
natural as what happened to me to-night. I'm
beginning to formulate a theory about this kind
of thing, my dear." Tom placed the open book
face downward, and turned squarely toward me.
" Music, you see, may be, like electricity, impris
oned, as it were, in a universe of both conductors
and non-conductors. It may be that a temper
ament, like mine for instance, that is perma
nently a non-conductor might, under given con
ditions become temporarily a conductor. Chopin
played like a master at nine years of age. He had
become a conductor, and remained so permanent
ly. When he howled at music as a baby he was
still a non-conductor just as I had been up to
to-night or rather last night. Possibly, the con
ditions that made me a kind of spasmodic music-
box, with the Chopin peg pulled out, may never
occur again. What do you think, Winifred?
Doesn't all that sound reasonable? "
Before I could formulate a sensible answer to
195
Perkins, the Fakeer.
a not very sensible proposition Tom had resumed
the perusal of his book. He appeared to me like
a man fascinated against his will by a line of in
vestigation that he had begun as a disagreeable
duty. But I was glad to see that he had regained
full control of himself, and that his countenance
no longer displayed traces of intense mental dis
quietude.
" He was a pretty lively boy," remarked Tom,
a few moments later. " Listen, Winifred ! ' At
school, Frederic was a prime favorite, and was
always in the midst of any fun or mischief that
was going on. His talent for mimicry was al
ways extraordinary, and has been commented on
not only by George Sand and Liszt but by Bal
zac.' "
Tom gazed at me, musingly. " Do you consider
that significant, my dear? " he asked, with a ser
iousness that struck me as both ludicrous and
pathetic. I was getting worried by Tom's per
sistence in this futile line of endeavor.
" It's nearly three o'clock, Tom Remsen," I
196
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
cried, standing erect. " Come up-stairs at once.
It won't be fair to your clients for you to get to
your office fagged out for lack of sleep."
" Sit down, Winifred," he said, peremptorily.
" It's little use I'll be to my clients until I find
out what happened to me in the music-room.
Suppose that I should have an attack of what
shall I call it? Chopinitis in the court-room?
I should suddenly begin to sing or perhaps
whistle a what-d'you-call'em ? pianoforte con
certo what would the judge say? I'd be
disbarred, Winifred, for indecent exposure of
musical genius. No; I'm going to find out more
about this strange affair here and now."
I was forced to reseat myself, protesting silent
ly against Tom's absurd stubbornness. I endeav
ored in vain to shake off a feeling of uneasiness
that was creeping over me, a sensation that was
closely akin to fear of the phlegmatic man who
sat before me motionless and calm, pursuing a
course of study that had been inspired by a most
untenable supposition. What had Chopin to do
197
Perkins, the Fakeer.
with the matter? What difference could it make
to Tom whether the latter had been one kind of
man or another ? It was ridiculous to assert that
in Chopin's personality might be found an ex
planation of the curious incident that had made
my musical so memorable. My prejudice against
Spiritualists, Christian Scientists, Theosophists
and other eccentrics had been, I had believed,
shared by my husband. But there he sat at three
o'clock in the morning trying to find among the
biographical data before him some explanation of
his recent " seizure," that must, of necessity, lean
toward the occult. That a well-balanced, rather
materialistic lawyer, whose mental methods were
habitually logical, should suddenly begin to dab
ble in psychical mysteries in this way frightened
me the more the longer I weighed Tom's words
and actions in all their bearings. Nevertheless,
I was forced to admit to myself that he had never
looked saner in his life than he did at that mo
ment, as he turned from his book again and gazed
straight into my tired eyes.
198
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
" He was a very flirtatious chap, Winifred, and
very fickle. Listen to this : ' Although of a pecul
iarly impressionable and susceptible disposition,
and, as a not unnatural consequence, more or less
fickle where women were concerned, Chopin's
love affairs did, on more than one occasion, as
sume a serious aspect. He had conceived a fancy
for the granddaughter of a celebrated master,
and although contemplating matrimony with her,
he had at the same time in his mind's eye another
lady resident in Poland, his loyalty being engaged
nowhere and his fickle heart concentrated on no
one passion. One day, when visiting the former
young lady in company with a musician who was
at the time better known in Paris that he himself,
she unconsciously offered a chair to his companion
first. So piqued was he at what he considered
a slight that he not only never called on her again,
but dismissed her entirely from his thoughts.'
Do you begin to see, Winifred, what a queer fel
low he was? Really, I'm inclined to think "
I was standing erect, gazing at him, angrily.
199
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" If you are joking, Tom," I exclaimed, having
lost all patience, " I think you are displaying most
wretched taste. If you are really in earnest, I
am very sorry for you. I'm going to bed. I hope
I'll find you fully recovered at breakfast."
He did not seem to be at all impressed by
my exhibition of temper.
" Wait just a moment, Winifred," he sug
gested, his eyes fixed on his book. " Here it is
about George Sand their first meeting, you
know. Wait ! I'll read it to you."
" I shall not wait, Tom Remsen," I cried.
" Chopin's love affairs are nothing to me and
they should be nothing to you. Good night.
This is my last word. Good night."
As I reached the door, I glanced over my shoul
der. Tom seemed to have forgotten my exist
ence. He had plunged again into the dust-heap
of an old scandal that seemed to fascinate him
Tom Remsen, who had hitherto always deprecat
ed and avoided that kind of research.
200
CHAPTER IV.
SIGNORINA MOLATTI.
And thou, too when on me fell thine eye,
What disclos'd thy cheek's deep-purple dye?
SCHILLER.
Two days went by, and while I still pondered
the great mystery and kept a close watch on Tom,
I had begun to hope that the exactions of his
profession had led him to abandon his effort to
explain what he had called his " seizure." He
had been busy of late with the technicalities in
volved in the formation of a new trust, and his
mind seemed to be wholly engrossed by this gi
gantic task. By tacit consent we had both
avoided all reference to my recent musical and its
weird and inexplicable outcome. At times, I was
almost inclined to believe that Tom had forgot
ten Chopin and all his works.
201
Perkins, the Fakeer.
As for myself, I could not recover a normal
state of mind. For the first time in my life, I felt
an admiration for the very characteristics of my
husband's make-up that hitherto had annoyed and
wearied me. His ability to rebound at once from
the shock that he had sustained filled me with
both envy and amazement. I had begun to realize
that the mental poise of an unimpressionable, un
imaginative man is a very desirable and praise
worthy possession.
I regretted at times that I could not throw my
self into some despotic occupation that should de
mand all my physical and mental energies. As
yet, I had not found the courage to face the world
and its questionings. For two days, I had denied
myself to even my most intimate friends, not
excepting Mrs. Jack Van Corlear, who had hur
ried to me on the day succeeding my musical.
I knew that my callers were actuated by a not un
natural curiosity, and I lacked the nervous energy
to face people who would politely claim the right
to know why Tom had always concealed his gen-
202
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
ius as a pianist. I think I fully understand the
set in which I move. We dearly love a new sen
sation. Without leaving my house or receiving
a single visitor, I could readily grasp the fact that
the leading topic of conversation in society at
the moment revolved around Tom Remsen as a
masterly interpreter of Chopin.
Chopin ! I had begun to hate the name. But
I had not been able to resist the temptation to
spend many hours in the library poring over the
books that dealt, directly or indirectly, with his
personality and achievements. The temporary
enthusiasm that Tom had displayed for research
into the life of Frederic Chopin bade fair to be
come a permanent passion in my case. I devoted
whole afternoons to playing, in my amateurish
way, his waltzes, mazurkas, nocturnes and bal
lads. One of the latter, his Opus 47, I had not
the audacity to attempt. Somehow, Tom's recent
rendition of the piece seemed to stand as a bar
rier that it would be sacrilege for me to cross.
Nevertheless, I longed to hear the ballad again,
203
Perkins, the Fakeer.
and was almost tempted to ask Tom to play it
to me alone. That he was wholly incapable of
repeating his recent performance, my mind re
fused to believe. I had returned, almost uncon
sciously, to my first conviction, that my husband
had wilfully deceived me for years regarding his
musical ability.
I sat poring over an English criticism of
Chopin's posthumous works late one afternoon
when a card was brought to me in the library that
tempted me to come out of my self-imposed re
treat. It bore the name :
SlGNORINA MOLATTI.
In the half-light of the drawing-room, the girl
looked handsomer than in the glare of evening
lamps. Her dark, oriental beauty was at its best
in the subdued glow of early twilight. She was
dressed in a rich but quiet Parisian costume, and
I felt that her attractiveness increased the fur
ther she was removed from Signer Turino, Mile.
204
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
Vanoni and the other noted artists with whom
she associated. Nevertheless, I realized that my
manner was cold and unsympathetic as we seated
ourselves and I awaited her pleasure. Having
had business dealings with the signorina I was
not willing to admit that she could assume the
right to call on me as a social equal.
But patrician blood must have flowed in Mo-
latti's veins, for she sat there silent and calm,
and my skirmish line was driven back. I spoke
first. The self-confidence in the girl's smile hurt
me.
" It is a pleasure, signorina, to have an oppor
tunity I had not hoped for, to thank you again
for the great pleasure you afforded my guests the
night before last."
" But it is me, signora, who is in the debt of
you," said Molatti, in her soft, musical, broken
English. " I hava coma to you to thanka you
and to ask a leetle favor. Signer Remsen! oh,
eet was so wonderful so vera wonderful! I
hava waited all my leetle life for eet."
205
Perkins, the Fakeer.
*"**
I stared at the girl in astonishment. Her en
thusiasm, her gestures, the brilliant glow in her
dark eyes offended me. And " eet ! " What was
" eet," for which she had waited all her life ? "
" Yes? " I remarked, interrogatively. Her fer
vor was not cooled by the iced water of my
question mark.
" Leesten to me, signora. I hava worsheeped
Chopin since I was a leetle girl. I have heard
alia the great interpretaires of the maestro. But
I have nevaire heard Chopin. In my dreams si,
signora, but nevaire in my hours that are awake.
But I cama here! Signer Remsen he playa
Chopin! Eet was no dream. Eet was the soul
of the maestro speaking to the soul of me. Eet
was wonderful so vera wonderful ! "
Conflicting emotions warred within me. I
hardly dared speak lest I should either laugh or
cry hysterically. With lips compressed I sat mo
tionless, staring at the girl, into whose eloquent
eyes there had come a pleading look that sug
gested tears.
206
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
" Signer Remsen," she murmured, presently,
like a devotee who breathes the name of an idol
" do you thinka, signora, that he would let me
hear him play again ? Peety me, signora ! I can
not sleep. I cannot eat. I crave only the music
of the maestro music that I hava heard only
once in my leetle life. Signer Remsen! Eef he
would permeet me justa once to accompany
him on my leetle violin oh, signora, I coulcta
then die happy. I should hava leeved just a leetle
while, and then I would not care. But now, I
am so unhappy so vera miserable ! "
I was too nervous to stand this kind of thing
any longer. I rose, and Molatti faced me, erect
at once.
" You pay my husband's talent a great com
pliment, signorina," I said, coldly ; " but I cannot
take it on myself to answer you in his name.
However, I shall present your request to him and
let you know at once what he says." A dia
bolical impulse came over me, and I added : " Of
course, Mr. Remsen would not wish you to
207
Perkins, the Fakeer.
starve, signorina, nor to die a horrible death from
insomnia."
The girl spiked my guns if that be the right
expression by a merry, musical laugh.
" You are so vera kind ! " she cried. " I kissa
your lovely hand."
Before I could prevent it she had touched my
outstretched hand with her red, smiling lips ; then
she took her departure. I returned to the library
in a condition that verged dangerously on com
plete nervous collapse.
At dinner that evening, Tom was unwontedly
silent. As I glanced at him over my soup there
was something in his face that suggested thoughts
not connected with the Pepper and Salt Trust.
I was soon to become accustomed to this expres
sion and to identify it in my mind as " Chopin-
esque."
" Aren't you feeling well to-night, Tom ? " I
ventured presently, noting that he was drinking
more wine than usual.
208
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
" A bit tired, Winifred," he answered, absent
ly. Then his eyes met mine, and I saw that he
was worried. I had planned to fulfill conscien
tiously my promise to Signorina Molatti, but the
time seemed inopportune. I was glad, presently,
that I had refrained from mentioning my caller
and her mission. As we were sipping our coffee
Tom tossed an envelope across the table to me.
I opened it with a chill misgiving. It ran as
follows :
MR. THOMAS REMSEN.
DEAR SIR : As it has come to the knowledge of
the Executive Committee of the Chopin Society
of New York that your rendition of the works
of our master is unexcelled by any living per
former, we humbly beg of you to accept the hospi
tality of our association at an early date, to be
chosen by you. Our members and their guests
would consider it the highest of privileges could
they be permitted to hear you play such selections
from Chopin as you might wish to perform.
Thanking you in advance for the great joy that
14 209
Perkins, the Fakeer.
you will vouchsafe to us by accepting this invita
tion, we remain, etc.
There lay a wan smile on Tom's face as he met
my gaze. "Kind, aren't they?" he muttered.
"What the deuce'll I write to 'em, Winifred?"
" You can't accept, of course," I said, confi
dently. Then I hesitated, surprised at the queer
gleam in Tom's eyes. "Can you?" I added,
weakly.
" I can, I suppose," he remarked, with an effort
at playfulness. " There's no law against it."
His answer struck me as strangely unlike him.
If he had cried, " The Chopin Society be
damned ! " I should have felt more at ease, less
oppressed by a sensation of nameless dread.
There was something distinctly uncanny in Tom's
manner.
" It would be a good joke on 'em, wouldn't it,
if I should accept their bid? " he remarked as he
lighted his cigar. "Confound their impudence!
That's what they deserve."
210
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
" But but Tom, would you try to to
play? " I gasped, in dismay.
Tom laughed in a way that shocked my over
wrought nerves. It was a shrill, unnatural note
of merriment, that struck me as diabolical.
" Play? " he repeated, sardonically. " Why not?
Do you imagine, madame, that the marvelous gen
ius of Thomas Remsen, interpreter of Frederic
Frangois Chopin, is to be confined strictly to your
musicals ? That would be a gross injustice to the
music-loving world, would it not ? But come into
the library with me, Winifred. I must resume my
studies as a student of ' the master.' '
I followed Tom mechanically, fascinated by his
gruesome mood. For the life of me I couldn't
tell whether he was joking or in earnest, whether
it was his mind or mine that had lost its poise.
211
CHAPTER V.
A POLISH FANTASIA.
Ah, sure, as Hindoo legends tell,
When music's tones the bosom swell
The scenes of former life return.
DR. LEYDEN.
I MADE a clean breast of the whole matter to
Mrs. Jack Van Corlear the next morning. I had
sent for her early in the day, saying that I was
in trouble and needed advice, and she came to me
at once. It was a great relief to me just to look
into her eyes and hold her hand.
" It's about Tom ! " she remarked,sagely.
" Has he done it again? ''
Her question made me realize fully the awk
wardness of my position. Close as our friend
ship had been, I had never gossipped about Tom
212
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
to Mrs. Jack. If there is anything more vulgar
than what Tom had once called " extra-marital
confidences between women," I don't know what
it is. But I was forced to talk about my hus
band's increasing eccentricity to somebody, or en
danger my own mental health. I knew that I
should derive temporary nervous restoration from
a heart-to-heart confab with a woman who has
the reputation of being " a mighty good fellow."
I have heard people complain that Mrs. Jack was
" too horsey " for their taste. But if you are
seeking a friend who shall possess courage, reti
cence and common sense, pick out a woman that
rides. A fondness for horses seems to enlarge
a woman's sympathies, while at the same time it
increases her discretion.
" He has not actually done it again, my dear,"
I answered ; " but he threatens to. He informed
me at breakfast this morning that he intended to
accept the invitation of the Chopin Society. Fur
thermore, he said he was going to send the society
a cheque for their Chopin Monument Fund."
213
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Tom's a thoroughbred, isn't he? " exclaimed
Mrs. Jack, with what struck me as ill-timed en
thusiasm. " But tell me more about Signorina
Molatti. Did you keep your promise to her? "
" Yes ; I told him this morning about her call.
Do you know, he seemed to be actually pleased.
It wasn't like Tom at all. Young women always
bore him. And he has a special abhorrence for
people connected in any way with the stage."
" Now, Winifred, tell me honestly : Has Tom
never played a note in all the twelve years that
you have known him ? "
" Never ! never ! never ! " I cried, hotly. It was
so hard to make even Mrs. Jack, who fully under
stands me, get at my point of view.
" And he wins a big handicap the first time he
starts," mused my confidante. " It's miraculous!
Is there a strain of music in his blood, my dear?
Any of the Remsens gifted that way ? "
" Not that I ever heard of," I answered, rather
petulantly. Mrs. Jack's surmises seemed to be as
unsatisfactory as my own solitary musings.
214
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
" Is he going to play for Molatti ? " she asked,
presently.
The blood rushed to my cheeks as I realized
that this was the keynote to the whole conversa
tion. " He says he is," I confessed, reluctantly.
" You may not believe it, but he actually joked
about it; said that it would be cruel on his part
to withhold from ' a worthy young woman '
what an expression ! a pleasure that might re
store her appetite and sleep."
Mrs. Jack laughed aloud, despite the frown
on my brow. " Give him the bit, my dear," she
advised, playfully. " You aren't afraid of a little
black filly over a distance, are you ? But tell me,
what does Tom say about it all ? You tell me that
he speaks of his recent rendition of the Chopin
ballad as ' a seizure.' '
" For nearly two days, my dear, I fondly imag
ined he had forgotten all about it. He didn't
speak of it. But last night he went into the
library and recommenced his researches into the
life of Chopin. I couldn't help laughing at some
215
Perkins, the Fakeer.
of the comments he made, but he was in dead
earnest all the time. I am forced to believe Tom
really thinks he is it seems so absurd when one
puts it into words thinks he is haunted by
Chopin's spirit, or something of that kind."
Mrs. Jack's mood changed and the merriment
in her face disappeared. " Do you know," she re
marked, thoughtfully. " I am sometimes inclined
to think that we are awfully ignorant about some
things. I have heard of so many queer occurences
of an uncanny nature lately and among the very
nicest kind of people, too. And it used to be really
good form to have a family ghost, you know.
Perhaps it's coming in again. Old fashions have
a way of cropping up again, haven't they ? "
I could not refrain from smiling at Mrs. Jack's
peculiar attitude toward psychical mysteries.
However, I refused to be led into generalities.
" But just look at the ludicrousness of the idea,"
I began. " Admitting, my dear, that Chopin's
soul has grown uneasy and desires a temporary
reincarnation, would he be likely to select Tom
216
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
as a what shall I call it? medium? Wouldn't
he be more inclined to haunt a man who was nat
urally musical, or at least loved music ? But you
know, Mrs. Jack, what Tom is. He hasn't the
slightest liking for music of any kind. Unless he
has been a great actor for many years, never for
an instant forgetting his role, I'm sure of this."
" What can we know about the methods or
longings of a disembodied spirit ? " argued my
confidante, logically enough. " Perhaps Chopin
was backing a long shot, just for the excitement
of the thing."
I glanced at Mrs. Jack, half-angrily. I thought
for a moment that she was inclined to poke fun
at me. But her face was as serious as mine, and
I repented quickly of my unjust suspicion.
And thus we talked in a circle for an hour or
more. Mrs. Jack lunched with me, and finally
persuaded me to spend the afternoon with her,
driving along the river side. As we drew up in
front of the house about five o'clock, I turned to
her with gratitude in my heart and eyes and voice.
217
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Thank you so much, my dear," I said, grate
fully. " I'll come to you in the morning if there
are any new developments in the case." I had
turned away when Mrs. Jack called me back.
" It's a problem that you and I can't solve,
little woman," she said, affectionately. " If he
has another attack, or any new symptoms develop,
what would you think of consulting a specialist?
I'd go with you, of course. 'We needn't give out
names, you know."
"A specialist in what?" I asked, trying to
repress a feeling of annoyance that I must con
ceal from a friend who had been all kindness to
me at a crisis.
" Think it over," returned Mrs. Jack, vaguely.
" I'm sure I don't know who is an authority on
what did Tom call it Chopinitis. But come to
me in the morning, anyway; I may have some
thing really practical to suggest. And don't touch
him with the whip! Tom's a thoroughbred, you
know, my dear. Good-bye ! "
As I entered the hall, depressed by a quick reac-
218
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
tion from my recent cheerfulness, I was roused
from my self-absorption by a revelation that drove
the blood to my head and made me dizzy for a mo
ment. From the music-room, always unoccupied
at this hour of the day, came the weird, searching
harmonies of a Polish fantasia arranged for the
piano and violin. The effect was marvelous.
Softened by distance, the perfect accord of the
two instruments bore testimony to the complete
sympathy that existed between the pianist and the
wielder of the bow. There was something in this
half-barbaric music that set my veins on fire.
Hardly knowing what I did and with no thought
of what I intended to do, I crossed the drawing-
room quickly and noiselessly, and stood motion
less at the entrance to the music-room.
I remember now that I felt no sensation of
astonishment at what I saw. It seemed to me
that the picture before my eyes was just what I
had come from a remote distance to gaze upon.
Tom was seated at the piano, his back toward
me. Beside him stood Signorina Molatti, her
219
Perkins, the Fakeer.
Cremona resting against her shoulder. They had
not heard my footsteps, and I realized that if I
had yelled like a wild Indian they would not
have come to earth. They played like creatures
in a trance, and I felt the strange, seductive hyp
notism of the mad, sweet, feverish music that
they made, as I stood there voiceless, motionless,
helpless, hopeless. Vainly I appealed to my pride.
Vainly I strove to act as one worthy of the name
of mondaine. The shock had been too sudden,
too severe, and I could not trust myself.
As silently as I had come, I crept away. Re-
crossing the drawing-room, I encountered the
butler in the hall. My face flushed with shame
as I said to him :
" If Mr. Remsen asks for me, James, say that
I have not returned."
Then I stumbled up-stairs to my rooms, dis
missed my maid curtly, and gave way like a fool
ish girl to foolish tears.
220
"They played like creatures in a trance. . .
CHAPTER VI.
CONSULTING A SPECIALIST.
An angel is too fine a thing
To sit behind my chair and sing
And cheer my passing day.
EDMUND E. GOSSE.
" BUT, madam, the symptoms, in so far as I
can gather them, are insufficient for an accurate
diagnosis. You have stated the case clearly and
in minute detail, but my experience in the new
school of medicine if such it can be called con
vinces me that you have inadvertently omitted
some significant factor in the premises, without
which I can vouchsafe to you nothing more valu
able than sweeping generalities. In other words,
you have given me an opportunity to lay before
you a theory, but no chance to suggest to you
a practical line of action."
221
Perkins, the Fakeer.
I looked helplessly at Mrs. Van Corlear and
saw that she was scanning Dr. Emerson Wood
ruff's strong, thoughtful face attentively. Pres
ently, she glanced at me, as if asking my permis
sion to speak, and I nodded to her in acquiescence.
" We have told you, doctor," began Mrs. Jack,
" that this ah friend of ours plays nothing but
Chopin. That's important, of course? "
" Exceedingly," remarked Dr. Woodruff, im
pressively, his hands folded across his chest and
his head bent forward. Even at that critical mo
ment, I found myself wondering if all practi
tioners of the anti-materialistic school were large,
dignified, magnetic men, with majestic brows and
bright, searching eyes.
" But he's not always a soloist," went on Mrs.
Jack, in a low but vibrant tone; " he has shown
an inclination of late to travel in double harness
piano and violin, you know."
An enigmatical smile came into Dr. Wood
ruff's face for an instant. The man's intuition
was so quick and keen that I had begun to fear
222
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
I should find it difficult to maintain my incog
nita.
" You say," he asked, presently, turning to
ward me, " that his general health remains good ?
He has no tendency towards melancholia; doesn't
grow flighty at times in his talk ? "
" I have never seen him look so well as he
does at present," I answered, wearily. I had
come to Dr. Woodruff against my will, succumb
ing weakly to Mrs. Jack's insistence. And now
the whole affair appeared ridiculous and the doc
tor's questions irrelevant and futile. My interest
in the seance if that is the word for it was
reawakened, however, by the physician's next
question.
" Who plays the violin for him ? " he asked,
curtly.
Mrs. Jack answered him at once. " Signorina
Molatti. You know her by reputation?"
" Yes," he answered ; " I have heard her play.
She has a touch of genius. They must make
great music together Molatti and your friend."
223
Perkins, the Fakeer.
A lump came into my throat and I clutched the
arms of my chair awkwardly. That Dr. Wood
ruff had noticed my emotion, I felt sure.
" Well, what is your explanation of all this,
doctor? " I asked, impatiently. I was thoroughly
out of harmony with myself, Mrs. Jack and the
physician, and my pride revolted at the false posi
tion in which I had been placed. A skeptic who
goes to a clergyman for guidance sacrifices both
his logic and his dignity. Here I sat in Dr. Emer
son Woodruff's office, under an assumed name,
telling a stranger weird tales about a suppositi
tious acquaintance who was in reality my own
husband. Had I not been unfair to Tom, Dr.
Woodruff and myself? Surely the road to truth
is not through a zigzag lane of lies !
" My dear madam," began the doctor, in his
most pompous manner, " the case as you have
stated it is unique in the annals of what I take
the liberty to call the new science new, that is,
to the Western world. To the brooding East,
the introspective, sapient, miracle-working Orient,
224
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
there would be nothing strange or inexplicable in
what your er friend calls his ' seizure.' I have
seen in India phenomena that, should I describe
them to you, would wholly destroy what little
confidence you have in my veracity and common
sense. May I ask why you have come to me,
madam? You have no faith in the school to
which I am devoted."
His voice had grown suddenly stern, and I
avoided his gaze in confusion. The ease with
which he had read my thoughts offended and
frightened me.
"It's my fault, Dr. Woodruff," cried Mrs.
Jack, loyally ; " I persuaded her to come. I have
been over the jumps before, and I rather like the
course. But it's pretty stiff going at first, you
must acknowledge."
To my surprise, Dr. Woodruff laughed aloud.
His merriment restored my equilibrium, and I
hastened to explain.
'* Won't you believe me, doctor, when I say that
I have not come to you in an antagonistic mood ?
15 225
Perkins, the Fakeer.
I am intensely interested in the problem we have
laid before you and I feel sure you can help us to
read the riddle. We have a friend who has no
music in his soul. Suddenly, he begins to play
Chopin like a master. Then he develops a fond
ness for duets. We fear the future. Presently, he
will begin to neglect his business and his and "
" And his wife," added the doctor, glancing at
me, quizzically. Then he turned sharply toward
Mrs. Jack. " Is this man fond of horses? Does
he ride?"
" Before he became so completely absorbed in
his profession he was a marvel over timber," she
answered, with enthusiasm. " I remember "
she began, reminiscently.
" Never mind ancient history," I cried, rather
rudely. " I really can't see, Dr. Woodruff, what
his cross-country skill has to do with his Chopin
seizure."
" As I understand it, madam," explained the
physician, evidently hurt by my petulance, " as
I understand it, you are desirious of turn-
226
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
ing your ah friend's mind from music. You
tell me that his professional duties have had no
effect in this connection. To use an expression
that is not often employed by psychologists, a
counter-irritant is what I had in mind. It is not
strictly scientific to prescribe a remedy before the
diagnosis is completed, but, as I gather from your
words, you wish to attempt a cure at once."
I am sure there flashed a gleam of suspicion,
not unmingled with contempt, from my eyes as
I scanned the doctor's face. Surely, it was absurd
to suppose that if Tom was really the victim of
some supernatural manifestation he could be re
stored to a normal condition by a resumption of
his equestrian enthusiasm. Futhermore, what
was I to gain by the line of treatment that this
psychological poseur seemed to have in mind?
Was it not just as well for my peace of mind
to have Tom playing duets with Signorina Mo-
latti as chasing an anise-seed bag across fields
and ditches in company with Mrs. Jack Van Cor-
lear or some other horsey woman?
227
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Do you think he has been hypnotized by
Signorina Molatti ? " I asked, bluntly, anxious to
pin the physician down to some explanation of
Tom's eccentricities that should not offend against
probability.
" Admitting the possibility of hypnotism in this
instance," answered Dr. Woodruff, gravely, " it
would seem to be much more likely that your
friend had hypnotized Signorina Molatti. Do
you not agree with me? "
Taking all the circumstances into considera
tion, I was forced to admit to myself that his
argument was sound. But I could not imagine
Tom in the role of a Svengali. Whichever way
I turned I was at the horn of a dilemma.
" The fact is, madam," began Dr. Woodruff,
very seriously, " the fact is that your reticence has
placed me in a somewhat awkward position.
While you have apparently made a clean breast
of the whole affair, there are several gaps in your
story that I must fill up before I can be of any
great service to you. There are various expla-
228
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
nations of your friend's remarkable outbreak that
naturally suggest themselves. Most people would
assert at once that he had deliberately concealed
his musical ability for years, planning to make
a sensational debut when occasion served. You
have rejected this explanation as inconsistent with
your knowledge of the man's character. I accept
your view of the matter, and lay aside as unten
able the seemingly most reasonable solution of the
problem. Practically, but two lines of conjecture
remain open to us. Your friend may have been
hypnotized, may have become the plaything of a
harmless medium who possesses a sense of humor
and enjoys a practical joke. But, I must admit,
this explanation appears far-fetched and involves
several very improbable hypotheses."
The doctor paused for a time and eyed us mus
ingly. I felt better disposed toward him than
heretofore, recognizing the fact that I had been
listening to the words of a well-balanced, logical
man who might tread lofty heights, but who al
ways stepped with care. If Dr. Emerson Wood-
229
Perkins, the Fakeer.
ruff was a mystic and a dreamer, there was noth
ing in his outward seeming or his mental methods
to indicate it.
" How many hurdles on the other track ? "
asked Mrs. Jack, abruptly.
" Pardon me," said the physician, gently ; " I
didn't catch your meaning."
" There were two lines of conjecture open to
us," explained Mrs. Jack, " after we had agreed
that what shall I call him? the man with
Chopinitis is not a liar. You don't accept the
hypnotic theory, Dr. Woodruff. What's the
other?"
" Would you be shocked," asked the psychol
ogist, sauvely, " if I should suggest that your
friend may be possibly under the direct influence
of the spirit of the late Frederic Frangois Cho
pin?"
" That's what Tom thinks ! " I cried, excitedly,
and then bit my tongue, regretfully. Dr. Wood
ruff's penetrating eyes were fixed on me.
" I said that there were gaps in your narra-
230
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
live," he remarked, reproachfully. " Your friend
I take it that his name is Tom believes, then,
that he is under the control of Chopin? "
" I think he does/' I answered, not very gra
ciously; " he has spent much time of late reading
the details of Chopin's life."
" H'm ! " exclaimed the doctor, like one who
comes gladly on a new symptom in a puzzling
case ; " would it not be possible, madam, for me
to see this man, unobserved myself? If I could
hear him play it would be throwing a flood of
light on the case. As it is, I am groping in
the dark."
" And and in case, sir, that your worst fears
are realized," I faltered, " can you do anything
for him? Can he be cured? "
' You see, doctor, she didn't marry Chopin.
Naturally"
The look that I gave Mrs. Jack quieted her
restless tongue. But the fat was in the fire.
" Yes, the murder's out, Dr. Woodruff," I con
fessed, wearily. " We've been talking about my
231
Perkins, the Fakeer.
husband. We were very happy together before
his seizure. And and now "
" And now his wife isn't one, two, three," cried
Mrs. Jack, excitedly; " and it's a burning shame.
Can you do something for him, doctor? Surely
you don't think it's chronic, do you ? "
The suspicion of a smile crossed the physician's
face, and I felt the blood come into my cheeks.
I had no intention of laying my marital misery
before the keen eyes of this strangely powerful
man, but somehow I felt a sense of relief now
that he had come into possession of all the facts.
" If you think it advisable, doctor, for you to
hear my husband play," I said, presently, " I'm
sure it can be arranged. He has agreed to give
a recital at the rooms of the Chopin Society to
morrow evening. He has asked us to go with
him. Could you not obtain a card? He would
not know, of course, why you were there."
" I have many friends among the Chopin idola
ters ; it is easily arranged," remarked Dr. Wood
ruff, as he rose and ushered us toward the exit
232
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
from his inner office. " Meanwhile, madam, I
shall make a close study of the case from the
data already at hand. I am very grateful to you
for coming to me, and I think I can safely prom
ise to be of service to you. Au revoir. To-mor
row evening at eight."
As we seated ourselves in the carriage, I turned
angrily to Mrs. Jack. " Why did you betray
me? " I cried. " It was cruel, cruel ! "
Mrs. Jack smiled affectionately and seized my
hand. " Don't be annoyed at me, my dear. I
was merely doing justice to Dr. Woodruff. It's
absurd to try to put a thoroughbred over the
water jump with blinders. It's unfair to the
horse, to say the least."
233
CHAPTER VII.
A PRELIMINARY CANTER.
So comes, at last,
The answer from the Vast.
MAURICE THOMPSON.
" Do you really intend to go, Tom ? But sup
pose, dear, you don't feel like playing; what will
happen then? Do be sensible, old fellow, and
stay home with me. You always shunned noto
riety and now you go in search of it. What is
the matter with you, Tom? You haven't been
at all frank with me since since "
"Since when, my dear?" asked my husband,
smiling at me kindly over his demi-tasse.
" Since you played that duet with Signorina
Molatti in the music-room," I answered, ashamed
of the feeling of jealousy that I had nourished for
several days. As I gazed at Tom's honest face
234
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
the absurdity of the accusation that I had brought
against him in this undirect way forced itself
upon me. My husband at that moment struck
me as the least flirtatious-looking man I had ever
seen. But facts are stubborn things. I had
good reason to believe that Tom had accompanied
a famous violiniste, not only in our music-room
but in the signorina's own drawing-room. It is
astonishing how quickly a suspicious wife de
velops into a female Sherlock Holmes !
" I plead guilty to the indictment," said Tom
presently, lighting a cigar. " Suppose we go into
the library, Winifred. We can have a quiet half-
hour at least before we start."
I derived both pleasure and pain from this sug
gestion. It was satisfactory to find Tom more
inclined to be companionable than he had been
for nearly a week. On the other hand, I was dis
appointed at discovering that his determination to
attend the meeting of the Chopin Society re
mained unshaken. That any further protest
from me would be futile, I fully realized, and it
235
Perkins, the Fakeer.
was with a feeling of apprehension and disquie
tude that I seated myself in the library, and
watched Tom as he dreamily blew smoke into the
air, seemingly forgetful of my presence. After a
time, he began to speak, more like a poet solilo
quizing than an unimaginative lawyer addressing
his wife.
" It was a strangely vivid vision. I have had
dreams that were like reality, but none that ap
proached this one in intensity. I passed first
through a doorway that led into old picturesque,
crumbling cloisters, forming a quadrangle.
Stretching away from these cloisters ran long cor
ridors, I hurried toward a light that seemed to
ridors I hurried toward a light that seemed to
come through a rose window, intensifying the
grim darkness surrounding me. It was bitterly
cold; the chill of death seemed to clutch at my
heart. And always I heard the sound of mourn
ful voices through the resounding galleries."
" Tom ! " I cried, shocked by the queer gleam
in his eyes.
236
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
But he went on as if he had not heard me.
" There were other noises, some harsh, others
majestically musical, There came to me the
mighty roaring of a storm-swept sea beating
against a rocky shore. The winds sobbed and
thundered and whistled and fell away. Then I
could hear the plaintive notes of sea-birds out
side the stone walls of the monastery. But al
ways it was the chill dampness that appalled me.
I was forever hurrying toward the rose window,
where warmth and love and joy awaited me; but
always it fled before me, and the long black corri
dor lay between me and my goal. It was horri
ble."
" What had you been doing, Tom?" I asked,
in a desperate effort to recall him to his present
environment. " Had you been eating a Welsh
rabbit at the club?"
He gazed at me, defiantly. " No," he said,
gloomily, " I had been playing Chopin with Sig-
norina Moletti."
By an effort of will, I restrained the words that
237
Perkins, the Fakeer.
rushed to my lips, and asked, quietly : " And
which of his works had you been playing? "
" I don't know," he answered, wearily. " I
think the signorina said our last rendition was
No i of Opus 40, whatever that may mean."
Tom glanced at me sheepishly, for all the world
like a mischievous schoolboy who has been forced
to make a confession. My mind was hard at
work trying to recall the details of my recent re
searches into the life of Chopin. To refresh my
memory, I opened a book that lay among other
Lives of " the master " on the library-table.
" ' No. i of Opus 40,' " I presently found my
self reading aloud, " 'is in A major, and is
throughout an intensely martial composition.
There is a spirit of victory and conquest about it.
The most remarkable circumstances attached to it
seems to lie in the fact that it is supposed to have
been written during Chopin's sojourn at the Car
thusian monastery on the island of Mallorca with
George Sand.' '
Bitterly did I regret my indiscreet quotation.
238
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
Tom had turned white and there had come into
his eyes an appealing, despairing expression that
reminded me of a deer I had once seen brought to
bay in the Adirondack forest.
" Mrs. Van Corlear," announced the butler at
the door of the library, and Mrs. Jack, who had
the run of the house, came toward us gaily.
"And how is our boy-wonder this evening?"
she cried, laughingly. " I'm backing Tom Rem
sen for the great Chopin handicap to-night. Are
you quite fit, Tom? Do I get a run for my
money? "
How easy it is for our most intimate friends
to take our troubles lightly ! Although I realized
that underlying Mrs. Jack's levity was a kindly
motive a desire to carry off an awkward situa
tion with the least possible friction I could not
help feeling annoyed at her flippant words. Great-
ful as I was to her for her loyal interest in my pe
culiar affliction, it was unpleasant to feel that Mrs.
Jack was treating as a light comedy what seemed
to me to involve all the elements of a tragedy.
239
Perkins, the Fakeer.
There was nothing farcical, surely, in Tom's ap
pearance as he stood there, pale, silent, smiling
perfunctorily at our guest, every inch a modern
gentleman, but strangely like the tagonist of some
classic drama, the rebellious but impotent play
thing of vindictive gods.
" Come, let us go," I cried, nervously, anxious
to put an end to a most uncomfortable situation.
"Do you really feel up to it, Tom ? There is still
time to back out of it, you know. A solo before
a crowd is much more trying than a duet in pri
vate."
I had not intended to hurt Tom's feelings, but
my words had displayed a plentiful lack of tact.
And the worst of it was that Mrs Jack seemed
to be in a diabolical mood, for she at once jumped
at the chance to make mischief.
" I have heard of your fondness for duets,
Tom," she remarked, and I was reminded of the
soft purring of a cat preparing to pounce on a
helpless mouse. "What a delight it must be to
Signorina Molatti to find an interpreter of Chopin
240
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
worthy of her riddle! You find her a very in
teresting personality, do you not?"
Tom stopped short we were slowly making
our exit from the library and gazed at Mrs. Jack
with a puzzled expression in his eyes. " Signor-
ina Molatti ? " he queried, musingly. " What do
I think of her? I really don't know. I never
considered the question before. She's merely a
part of the music not an individual, don't you
see?" Suddenly his face changed, and he put
his hand to his brow as if a sharp pain had tor
mented him. " Wait a moment ! Don't go ! " he
implored us, in a labored, unnatural voice.
" What does it all mean ? Tell me ! What am
I doing ? I can't play Chopin ! I can't play any
thing! Have I been hypnotized? I tell you,
Winifred Mrs. Jack 'tis all a mistake, a mys
tery, an uncanny, hideous bedevilment. It's de
moniac possession or something of that kind.
And what'll the Chopin Society think if I make
a horrible flunk? At this moment, I don't feel
as if I could play a note. Come into the music-
16 241
Perkins, the Fakeer.
room!" he ended, a touch of wildness in his
voice and manner.
Mrs. Jack and I followed him, silently. There
was in Tom's way of hurrying across the draw
ing-room a mingling of eagerness and dread that
was wholly uncharacteristic of the man. As he
hastened feverishly toward the piano, a hectic
flush on his cheeks and his eyes aglow, he re
minded me of a youth I had seen at Monte Carlo
staking his whole fortune on a turn of the roulette
wheel.
For a time, Tom sat at the instrument, his head
bowed low and his hands hanging listlessly at
his side. Mrs. Jack's arm was round my waist,
and I could hear her deep, hurried breathing and
feel the nervous tremor of her slender, well-knit
form. It was indeed a most trying crisis that
could disturb the poise of the athletic woman be
side me.
" He doesn't connect," she whispered to me,
presently. " I wish Dr. Woodruff were here."
But Mrs. Jack had spoken prematurely. Sud-
242
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
denly Tom's hands were raised and he struck the
opening chords of Chopin's Scherzo in B minor,
Opus 20. The fury of the following measures
he rendered with stunning effect. Then the vigor
of the rushing quaver figure lessened gradually,
and, at the repeat, Tom sprang erect and turned
toward us, an expression of weird ecstasy on his
face.
" It's all right, girls! " he cried, with a boyish
lack of dignity. " Come on ! We're late, as it
is. I'll show those Chopin people something
they'll never forget ! Come on ! "
" He's fit! " whispered Mrs. Jack to me. " It
wasn't much of a preliminary canter but he's in
the running fast enough ! "
243
CHAPTER VIII.
THE CHOPIN SOCIETY.
In this dark world where now I stay,
I scarce can see myself ;
The radiant soul shines on my way
As my fair guiding elf.
VICTOR HUGO.
MOLATTI was a marvel of beauty that evening.
Great as was my prejudice against the girl, I was
forced to admit to myself, as we entered the
crowded rooms of the Chopin Society, that I had
never seen a handsomer creature, nor one more
radiant with the joy of life. The glory of youth,
the fire of genius were in her eyes. There were
many striking faces in evidence that evening,
faces full of the subtle charm that the worship of
music frequently begets; ugly faces alight with
an inward glow, symmetrical faces whose regu
larity was not insipid; plebeian faces stamped by
244
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
an acquired distinction; patrician faces warmed
by an esthetic enthusiasm; faces that told their
story of struggle and defeat, and others that bore
the mysterious imprint of success. But there was
only one countenance in all that picturesque
throng to which my gaze constantly returned,
paying unwilling homage to a fascination against
which I vainly rebelled. I found it difficult to
believe that Tom had never noticed the signorina's
wonderful beauty of face and form, that he had
always considered her, as he had said, " merely a
part of the music."
Mrs. Jack, who had been watching me closely,
seemed to read my mind, for she whispered to me
teasingly : " Tom'll sit up and take notice to
night, don't you think ? She's well groomed and
shows blood, doesn't she? "
From Mrs. Jack Van Corlear this was high
praise indeed, and Molatti deserved it. The
studied simplicity of her low-cut black gown, re
lieved by a small cluster of diamonds below the
neck, harmonized with the quiet arrangement of
245
Perkins, the Fakeer.
her luxuriant, dark hair, seemingly held in place
by a miniature aigrette of small diamonds. The
marmoreal whiteness of her perfect neck and
firm, well-rounded arms was emphasized by a
sharp contrast. Of color there was none, save
for the slight flush of health in her cheeks and the
rich, red line of her strong, sensitive mouth.
I glanced at Tom, who stood not far from me,
listening to the words of the president of the
society, a short, slender, nervous-looking man,
whose mobile countenance at that moment sug
gested the joy of a lion-hunter who has achieved
unexpectedly a difficult feat. Tom was pale, and
there was a wrinkle in his brow just between the
eyes that assured me he was not completely at
ease. But he seemed to be wholly indifferent to
the presence of Signorina Molatti. That he had
not glanced at her since our entrance to the hall
I felt quite sure. Was Tom really a great actor ?
It was a question that was constantly recurring
to me, despite the weight of evidence against an
affirmative answer.
246
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
Presently Tom returned to my side, and Mrs.
Jack deliberately stuck a pin into him or, rather,
us.
" Is music antagonistic to manners, Tom Rem
sen? Go over and speak to Signorina Molatti.
It is your duty, sir."
" And my pleasure, Mrs. Jack," said Tom, with
a smile that recalled his former self, my Tom of
the ante-Chopin days. He left us at once to
make his way through the crowd to Molatti's
corner.
" I take it, madam, that that is your hubsand,"
remarked a deep, low, carefully modulated voice.
I turned to find Dr. Emerson Woodruff beside
me. " He doesn't look musical."
" No, but he is," Mrs. Jack put in, hastily.
" We've heard him play to-night, doctor. He's
good for any distance with something to spare.
Mark my words, sir."
" Have you reached any conclusion about the
case, Dr. Woodruff?" I whispered, nervously.
" Mrs. Van Corlear is right. He was in splendid
247
Perkins, the Fakeer.
form just before we left home. He seemed to be
delighted at the prospect of astonishing these peo
ple. But he had had a curious outbreak. He
had remarked, rather wildly, that he was not a
musician, couldn't play a note, and was, he be
lieved, suffering from ' demoniac possession.' '
I saw that my statement had made a deep im
pression on the psychologist. His face was very
grave as he watched Tom, who stood beside Mo-
latti, evidently conversing with her with more
vivacity than I had ever seen him display before.
" He's a phlegmatic, well-balanced man, in per
fect health," muttered the doctor, musingly. " I
am inclined to think," he went on, addressing me
directly, " that your husband's case, madam, is
the most remarkable that has ever come under my
personal observation. I am very anxious to hear
and see him play before saying anything fur
ther about it. You feel sure that he intends to
perform to-night?"
Before I could answer this question I found
myself beset by the fussy little president of the
248
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
society, who appeared to believe that he owed me
a great debt of gratitude.
" I tried to thank Mr. Remsen for coming here
to our so great joy ! but he referred me to you,
madam. Oh, how much I owe you! And it is
so charming to find the wife of a man of genius
wholly in sympathy with his career. It is not
always thus, you know, Mrs. Remsen."
I could feel the internal laughter that I knew
Mrs. Jack was suppressing behind me. I longed
to turn round and glare at her, but I was forced
to smile down into the excited face of the Chopin
enthusiast, who, ex oflicio, was my host for the
evening.
" I trust you will not find Mr. Remsen a great
disappointment," I managed to say, weakly. For
an instant a hot, almost irresistible inclination
stung me to tell this overwrought, undersized
bundle of nerves the plain truth, to assure him
that Tom Remsen, my husband, couldn't tell a
nocturne from a negro lullaby, that he was as
ignorant of music as I was of law.
249
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" I am sure," commented the president, politely,
" that no disappointment awaits us rather a
great and holy joy. But I regret that our pleas
ure must be deferred for a few moments. Won't
you and your friends find seats, please? I have
prepared at the request of the society a short
paper on ' The Personality of Chopin.' It will
take not more than ten minutes for me to read it.
After that, Mrs. Remsen, we are to have a most
wonderful duet from Signorina Molatti and Mr.
Remsen."
The little man disappeared, and I was glad to
rest myself in the chair that Dr. Woodruff had
found for me. I turned toward Mrs. Jack, who
had seated herself beside me. She saw the gleam
of annoyance in my eyes as they met hers, but
smiled, sweetly.
" Why are you angry with me, my dear? " she
whispered. " Am I responsible if nature granted
me a sense of humor? You must acknowledge
that the situation is amusing even if it is a bit
uncanny."
250
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
Tom had seated himself beside Molatti to lis
ten to the president's essay. Presently, I found
myself hearkening, with almost feverish interest,
to the latter.
" I have thought it well, my friends," the presi
dent was saying, " to confine my remarks this
evening to Chopin in his great general relations
to the world. I shall endeavor to draw a picture
of the man rather than of the musician. And
first of all, let me quote from Liszt in regard to
the master's appearance."
I glanced at Tom. He sat motionless, almost
rigid, with a face so lacking in expression that it
was hard to believe he had caught the significance
of the speaker's words.
" ' The ensemble of his person,' " quoted the
president, " ' was harmonious, and called for no
special comment. His eye was more spiritual
than dreamy; his bland smile never writhed into
bitterness. The transparent delicacy of his com
plexion pleased the eye ; his fair hair was soft and
silky, his nose slightly aquiline, his bearing so
251
Perkins, the Fakeer.
distinguished and his manner stamped with so
much of high breeding that involuntarily he was
always treated en prince. He was generally
gay; his caustic spirit caught the ridiculous rap
idly, and far below the surface at which it usually
strikes the eye. His gaiety was so much the more
piquant because he always restrained it within
the bounds of good taste, holding at a distance
all that might tend to wound the most fastidious
delicacy.' ' To this quotation, the president
added a few words from Orlowski : " ' Chopin is
full of health and vigor; all the Frenchwomen
dote on him, and all the men are jealous of him.
In a word, he is the fashion, and we shall no
doubt shortly have gloves a la Chopin' '
The president paused, and I saw with conster
nation that he was glaring at my husband. The
cause of this interruption was apparent at once
as I shifted my gaze. Tom was rocking back
and forth in his chair, shaking with laughter.
His effort to keep his merriment in check, to re
strain the loud guffaws that seemed to rack his
2*2
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
very frame, was painfully in evidence. There
was something almost heroic in his endeavor to
repress an outbreak that would have been brutally
rude. Tom had become the center of all eyes
through the president's lack of tact.
" What's the matter with him ? " whispered
Mrs. Jack, hysterically.
" I don't know," I answered, lamely. " He's
had a funny thought. Is he better?" I had
turned away from him.
" He's growing worse, I think," answered Mrs.
Jack, despondently. " Why doesn't the presi
dent go on? There, it's all right. He's quiet
now."
Mrs. Jack spoke truly. The president had re
sumed his lecture, and I turned and saw that Tom
was no longer swaying with mirth.
"How did it happen?" I murmured in Mrs.
Jack's ear.
" I'm not sure," she whispered, " but I think
Molatti touched his hand. Oh, isn't it weird? I
can't help feeling it's like breaking a colt."
253
CHAPTER IX.
AN UNRECORDED OPUS.
Meth ought it was a glorious joy, indeed,
To shut and open heaven as he did.
EMMA TATHAM.
WHENEVER a number of men and women
whose lives are devoted to some one line of art
are gathered together the social atmosphere be
comes surcharged with electricity. If one is
impressionable, acutely sensitive to an environ
ment, it is best, perhaps, to avoid the haunts of
genius. I am inclined to believe that sociologists
will investigate eventually the eternal antagonism
between Belgravia and bohemia by strictly scien
tific methods. How large an infusion of genius
can be safely sustained by a throng in search of
social relaxation it would be well to know. One
254
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
fact, at least, in this connection has been repeat
edly demonstrated as I had learned to my cost
namely, that a social function based on music
rests on a powder mine. Belgravia had witnessed
an explosion at my recent musical. And now, I
felt convinced, bohemia was to undergo a like
ordeal.
Tom was at the root of this disquieting con
viction. His hysterical attack of wholly irrelevant
hilarity, his quick response to Molatti's soothing
touch, and now the tense, unnatural expression
of his face filled me with painful apprehension.
I both craved and dreaded the end of the presi
dent's discourse, and my forebodings were dark
ened by a remark made by Mrs. Jack, who seemed
to derive real pleasure from the excitement of the
crisis.
" Look at Tom," she whispered. " He's fret
ful at the post. He'll get the bit in his teeth,
presently. Do you see Dr. Woodruff over there ?
He's taking notes."
Before she had ceased to speak Tom was out of
255
Perkins, the Fakeer.
hand and had bolted down the track, as Mrs. Jack
would have put it. In other words, he had
sprung from Molatti's side as the president ended
his discourse and had rushed to the piano at the
end of the room. I caught the look of amaze
ment on the president's quaint face, and laughed
aloud, nervously. Utterly ashamed of my lack of
self-control, I glanced at the crowd surrounding
me, but nobody had noticed my touch of hysteria.
Every eye in the room was fastened on Tom, who
was seated motionless at the piano in an appar
ently dazed condition. His eyes were closed and
the corners of his mouth drawn down. He
looked at that moment like the very incarnation
of all that was unmusical in the universe. I feared
that Mrs. Jack would comment on his ridiculous
appearance, but she was kind enough to keep
quiet. She told me afterward that my raucous
laugh had frightened her.
Suddenly Tom's chin went up, he opened his
eyes, fixed them on Molatti's white face, and be
gan to play. Such weird, intoxicating harmonies
256
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
as filled the room, setting every soul therein
athrob with an ecstasy that was close akin to
agony, no earthly audience had ever heard before.
Men and women were there who had memorized
each and every note that Chopin wrote, but there
was not among them one who could identify this
marvelous improvisation, this strange exposition
of a great master in his most inspired mood. It
was Chopin, but Chopin unrecorded; his genius
in its most characteristic tendency, but raised, as
a mathematician would say, to the n ih power. It
was as if the soul of the composer, dissatisfied
with the heritage that he had left to us, had re
turned to earth to exhibit to his worships the one
perfect flower of his creative spirit.
How long Tom played I have never known. I
had forgotten all about him before many minutes
had passed, losing in my impressionability to
music my sensitiveness as the wife of a man mis
understood. There were in the universe only
my soul and a throbbing splendor of great music,
mighty harmonies that filled all space, magic
I? 257
Perkins, the Fakeer.
chords that awakened dim memories of a life
long past, filled to overflowing with joy and s*or-
row, tossing waves of melody that bore me to the
stars or sank with me into vast, mysterious
realms peopled by gray shadows that I had
learned to love.
Presently I felt Mrs. Jack's hand clasping mine.
" Don't go to him, dear. He has only fainted,"
I heard her saying, her voice seeming to reach
me from a remote distance. " He was all out,
and collapsed under the wire. But it's nothing
serious."
Tom had sunk back into Molatti's arms, and
his head rested against her shoulder. She had
sprung toward him, as I learned later, just in
time to save him from a fall. She now stood gaz
ing mournfully down on his white, upturned face,
sorrow, pity and, I imagined, remorse in her
glance. For an instant a hot rage swept over
me, and I strove to stand erect, despite Mrs. Jack's
restraining hand.
" Don't make a scene ! " she whispered to me,
258
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
passionately in earnest. " He is in no danger.
See? Dr. Woodruff is feeling his pulse."
Even at that awful moment, when I knew not
whether Tom was alive or dead, I remember that
my mind dwelt for a moment on the tendency of
new schools of medicine to cling to old traditions.
Of what significance to a psychologist could the
rapidity of Tom's pulse be? I heard people all
around me talking excitedly.
" Did you ever hear anything like it? "
" I tell you, it's one of the master's posthumous
works. I couldn't identify it, but perhaps it was
discovered by Remsen."
" That's absurd ! Where could he find it? "
" He's better now. See, he opens his eyes."
" I don't wonder he fainted; I was just on the
verge of collapse myself."
" Parbleu! Chopin a la diable! Non, non, no
more pour mot, s'il vous plait! "
" I can now die so vara happy! I hava justa
once heard the maestro himself. I hava nothing
left for to live."
259
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Who is this wonderful Remsen ? Never
heard of him before."
" You'll hear of him again, then. He's the
only man living who can interpret the master."
It was, all of it, intolerable. How I hated these
chattering idiots, w r ho were making an idol of
clay, setting up my poor Tom who was to me
at that moment an object of pity as the incarna
tion of their cult, to whom they must pay reverent
homage! I longed to cry aloud to them that
they had been tricked, that my husband was a sen
sible, commonplace, lovable man, as far removed
from a musical crank as he was from a train-
robber or a pirate. All my former love for mu
sic seemed to have turned suddenly into detesta
tion, and I longed to get away from this nest of
Chopiniacs into the noisy, wholesome atmosphere
of the outside world. It seemed to me that noth
ing could restore my equilibrium but the uproar
of the streets and the unmelodious clatter of my
coach.
" We must get out of this at once," I said to
260
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
Mrs. Jack, standing erect and checking the dizzi
ness in my head by an effort of will. I saw that
Tom had fully recovered his senses and that he
seemed to be actually enjoying the homage the
excited throng pressing toward him offered to his
vicarious genius. Beside him stood Molatti, her
face radiant, as if her mission on earth were to
reflect the glory of Tom Remsen's musical mir
acle.
" We must get out of this," I found myself
saying again, as I urged Mrs. Jack toward the
exit. " I'll send the carriage back for Tom."
" But it's such bad form to run away like this,"
protested Mrs. Jack. " What will the president
think of us? And Dr. Woodruff! Surely you
want to ask him what he thinks of the ah
case."
But my will for the time being was stronger
than hers, and presently we were seated in my car
riage, homeward bound, and I was fighting back
the hot tears that had rushed to my eyes.
" I I don't care what what Dr. Woodruff
261
Perkins, the Fakeer.
thinks about the the case," I sobbed. " I I
know what I think about it."
Mrs. Jack said nothing for a time, but it was
pleasant to feel the pressure of her hand and to
realize that she could be tactful now and again.
We had nearly reached the house before she
ventured to ask : " And what, my dear, do you
think of the case?"
I pulled myself together and restrained my
sobs. I am not of the weeping variety of woman,
and I was ashamed of my hysterical exhibition of
weakness.
" I think," I began, and then I hesitated, weigh
ing my words carefully " I think that Signorina
Molatti is in love w r ith Tom."
Mrs. Jack laughed outright, both to my amaze
ment and anger. " You've wholly lost the scent,
my dear," she remarked, while I removed my
hand from hers. " Signorina Molatti is not in
love with Tom she's in love with Chopin."
262
CHAPTER X.
TOM'S RECOVERY.
At length the man perceives it die away
And fade into the light of common day.
WH.UAM WORDSWORTH.
AFTER rereading the foregoing deposition I am
forced to the conclusion that I was designed by
nature neither for a novelist nor a historian. I
can see that my -narrative fails to be convincing,
considered either as a work of fiction or as a state
ment of fact. But may I not comfort myself
with the thought that I have given my testimony
conscientiously, and that if the outcome of my lit
erary efforts is unsatisfactory my failure is due
rather to the inexplicable phenomena with which
I have been obliged to deal than to my own defects
as an annalist and witness? I have endeavored
263
Perkins, the Fakeer.
to inscribe simply and in chronological order the
unadorned tale of my husband's sudden attack of
genius and its consequences, and I realize now
that my data will not be accepted by the scientific,
nor will their arrangement appeal to the artistic.
But I have told the truth, and if not the whole
truth, at least nothing but the truth. As litera
ture my story belongs to the realistic school and
is of the present. As a contribution to science it
will have no standing to-day, but I am firmly con
vinced that the psychologists of the future will
read the details of Tom Remsen's case with en
lightened interest.
I have felt too deeply the nervous strain of set
ting down in black and white the story of the
greatest crisis in my life to go into details here
and now regarding the ups and downs of the long
illness that Tom underwent after his triumphant
appearance before the Chopin Society.
For two days before he collapsed I saw that he
was fighting in grim silence against weakness and
fever. He was like a man struggling to over-
264
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
come an unnatural appetite and growing con
stantly more weary of the contest. He would
stroll with reluctant steps into the music-room,
stand for a time gazing defiantly at the piano,
with his hands clenched and beads of perspiration
on his troubled brow; then he would turn away,
meeting my gaze with a melancholy smile, and
hurry off to his office or his club, to return to me
after a time pale and listless, but always stub
bornly silent as to the cause of his evident suffer
ing. Only once before he was forced to take to
his bed, where he tossed for a week in delirium,
did he refer, even indirectly, to the cause of his
disquietude.
"Has Signorina Molatti been here to-day?"
he asked me, abruptly, one evening at dinner.
" No, Tom," I answered, a note in my voice
that I'm sure he did not like. " Did you expect
her?"
" I always expect her," he muttered, speaking
more to himself than to me.
That evening the magnetism of the open piano
265
Perkins, the Fakeer.
in the music-room proved irresistible to him. To
my mingled consternation and delight he played
selections from Chopin until long after midnight,
the while I sat behind him fascinated by his ren
ditions but appalled by the persistent recurrence
of his " seizures." " To-morrow," I said to my
self, " I will consult Dr. Woodruff again. Per
haps he has made his diagnosis and can suggest
some line of treatment."
But on the morrow Tom was in charge of our
family doctor and two trained nurses. The
morning had found him hot with fever, and by
noon he was out of his head and inclined to be vio
lent. Then followed days and nights of alterna
ting hope and fear, during which there came to
me a complete revelation of what the old Tom had
been to me, the Tom who had bored me at times
ungrateful woman that I was! by his practi
cal, unimaginative, inartistic personality. How
I treasured a word of encouragement from the
doctor or a nurse! How bitterly I repented my
former discontent, my disloyal longing for some-
266
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
thing in Tom's make-up that nature had not
vouchsafed to him! It had come to him this
" something " and it had well-nigh ruined our
lives. Whatever it had been, demoniac posses
sion, hypnotism or what-not, it had been a thing
of evil, despite the uncanny beauty of its mani
festation. In my heart of hearts I craved one of
two alternatives either Tom's death or his resto
ration to his former self, freed forever from the
black shadow of Chopin's genius.
It was not until one afternoon well on in his
convalescence that I knew my fondest hopes had
been realized. We had betaken ourselves to the
library, not to read but to enjoy in an indolent
way our new freedom from trained nurses and
the discipline of the sick-room. Tom, leaning
back comfortably in a reclining-chair and puffing
a cigarette, wore on his invalid's face an expres
sion of supreme contentment Not once, I was
glad to note, did his eyes wander to the distant
shelf on which stood our Chopin literature, books
that I had doomed in my mind to an auto-da-fe
267
Perkins, the Fakeer.
when a fitting opportunity for the sacrifice should
arise.
"Isn't this cozy?" remarked Tom, presently,
glancing at me affectionately. " But I suppose
I must hasten my recovery, my dear. The Pep
per and Salt Trust and other enterprises don't
take much stock in sick men."
" Don't worry about business matters, Tom
Remsen," I said, with playful sternness. " We
can get on very well if you never do another
stroke of work in your life."
A shadow passed over Tom's face, and he
puffed his cigarette nervously. " I'm not fitted
for a life of leisure, my dear," he remarked,
grimly. " A man may get into so many kinds
of mischief if he isn't busy."
I hastened to change the subject. " Remem
ber, sir, that you are under orders. You are to
do as you are told to do. You may not know it,
Tom, but the fact is that you and I sail for
Europe just as soon as you are strong enough to
stand the voyage."
268
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
" Where are we going?" he asked, apprehen
sively. "Not to Paris?"
" No, not to Paris," I answered, understanding
him. " We'll spend all our time in Scotland and
Ireland. They're the only countries over there
that we have not seen, Tom."
The next day I discharged our butler for an
indiscretion that he committed at this moment.
" Signorina Molatti," he announced from the
doorway of the library, and turning my head I
saw the violiniste, with her Cremona under her
arm, coming toward us. I glanced at Tom.
The two red spots that had leaped into his white
cheeks seemed to be an outward manifestation,
not of joy but of hot anger. I rose and went to
ward our visitor, a question in my face.
"Will you not forgiva me, signora?" cried
Molatti, in soft, pleading tones. " Eet ees what
you calla vera bad form, but I hava been so vera
unhappy. They tolda me that Signer Remsen
was dying. Can you not forgiva me ? "
" But he is on the road to recovery, signorina,"
269
Perkins, the Fakeer.
I said, perfunctorily. It would not do to give
way to my inclination to chide this insinuating
girl for her presumption. A scene might cause
Tom to have a relapse.
" I see," she cried. " And I am so glad ! And
I hava broughta my violin. That the signer
would lika to hear the voice of the maestro "
" Stop right there, will you ah signorina,"
exclaimed Tom, gruffly, endeavoring, as I saw, to
control his annoyance and show no discourtesy to
even an unwelcome guest. " I'm not it, young
woman. He's gone away, whoever he was. If
he comes back which God forbid I'll notify
you. But you won't catch me drumming any
more on a piano. My musical career is at an
end. I'm under the care of a doctor, and he says
that I'm on the road to recovery. Forgive me if
I have spoken too plainly. You're a very charm
ing young woman, and I admire your ah gen
ius. But mine's gone, and I'll take good care
that it doesn't come back. If you'd like that
piano in the music-room, Signorina Molatti, I'm
270
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
sure that my wife would be glad to send it over to
your apartments. We're through with it for
ever!"
I was sorry for the girl. The expression of
amazement even horror that had come into her
dark, expressive face touched my heart, and I laid
my hand gently on her arm.
" It's a great mystery, signorina," I whispered
to her, as I led her from the library. " I can't ex
plain it to you very clearly, for I don't understand
it myself. But Mr. Remsen told you the truth.
He is no longer musical. In his normal condi
tion he is the most unmusical man in the world.
The Signer Remsen that you have known, with
whom you have played duets, is dead I can
hardly believe that he ever existed. Will you,
Signorina Molatti, grant me the great privilege
of presenting to you yonder piano? Frankly, it
would be a great relief to me to be rid of it."
There were tears in her splendid black eyes as
she turned her face toward me. " I do not un
derstand," she said, mournfully. " You do not
271
Perkins, the Fakeer.
know whata it all meant to me. I cannot taka
your piano. There is nobody in the wide world
to playa eet, now that he ees gone. And you are
telling me the truth ? I was dreaming ? Eet did
not really happen? But, signora, there were so
many who hearda heem hearda me hearda us !
Eet could not hava been a dream. Whata was
eet?"
Her voice broke with a sob, and I bent down
and kissed her tear-stained face.
" I cannot tell you, signorina. But do not let
your heart break. You may find him again some
day."
" Nevaire again," she sighed, seizing my hands
impulsively. " Nevaire again. But I thanka
you so much. Fareawell."
My heart was heavy as I returned to Tom, un
certain of the state in which I should find him.
To my delight, I saw as I entered the library that
he had suddenly made a great stride toward re
newed health. He was sitting erect, and there
was little of the invalid in his face or voice.
272
How Chopin Came to Remsen.
" That's over, my dear ! " he cried, gaily, " and
I'm going to celebrate Chopin's utter rout. Order
me a brandy and soda, will you? and push that
box of cigars toward me. Then we'll read up a
bit, little woman, about Scotland and Ireland.
On the whole, I'm inclined to believe you and I
will have a very jolly outing."
I leaned forward and kissed the dear fellow's
smiling lips. " It's so good to have you back
again, Tom," I murmured.
"And the signorina?" he asked, presently.
" How did she take it ? I'm afraid I was cruel
to her, my dear. Did I speak too harshly to
her?"
" You had no alternative, Tom," I assured him,
soothingly ; " you had been placed in a very awk
ward position."
" I had in a very awkward position," he ac
knowledged. " And who the deuce put me there?
I wonder "
" Don't wonder, Tom," I cried, sharply. " The
273
Perkins, the Fakeer.
less wondering you do the better it will be for us
both."
" You're right, Winifred, as you always are,"
he said, raising aloft the glass of bubbling brandy
that the butler had brought to him, and nodding
toward me. " Here's your good health, my
dear, and bon voyage to us both ! "
274
III.
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
For while the wheel of birth and death turns round,
Past things and thoughts, and buried lives come back ;
I now remember, myriad rains ago,
What time I roamed Htmdla's hanging woods,
A tiger, with my striped and hungry kind.
THE LIGHT OF ASIA.
CLARISSA'S TROUBLESOME BABY.
CHAPTER I.
MY LATE HUSBAND.
And while the wheel of birth and death turns round
That which hath been must be between us two.
Sir Edwin Arnold.
I WAS alone in the nursery with the baby, a
chubby boy whose eight months of life had amaz
ingly increased his weight and vigor, when I
heard the crack of doom issuing from his minia
ture mouth !
I wonder if your imagination is strong enough
to put you, for a moment, in my place. Sup
pose that you had dismissed the nurse for a time
that you might have a mother's frolic in the twi
light with your only child, the blessing that had
come to you as a reward for marrying again after
279
Perkins, the Fakeer.
five years of widowhood. Suppose that the baby,
opening his little eyes to their widest extent, had
said to you, as my baby said to me :
" You don't seem to recognize me, my dear,
but I've come back to you."
Wedded to Tom, already jealous of your ma
ternal fondness for the boy, what effect would
Jack's voice, silenced five years ago by death,
have had upon you, rising in gruff maturity from
a baby's tiny throat? Was it strange that I came
within a hair's breadth of dropping the uncanny
child to the floor? Mechanically I glanced over
my shoulder, in cold dread lest the nurse might
return at any moment. Then I found courage
to glance down into the baby's upturned face.
There was something in the child's eyes so old
and wise that I realized my ears had not deceived
me I had not been the victim of an hallucination
resulting from the strain of an afternoon of calls
and teas. The conviction came to me, like an
icy douche, that I was standing there in a stun
ning afternoon costume, holding my first hus-
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Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
band in my arms, and liable to let him fall if our
weird tete-a-tete should be sharply interrupted.
" You aren't glad to see me," grumbled Jack,
wiggling uneasily against my gloves and coat.
" But it isn't my fault that I'm here, Clarissa.
There's a lot of reincarnation going on, you know,
and a fellow has to take his chances."
Softly, I stole to a chair and seated myself,
holding the baby on my trembling knees.
" Are you are you comfortable, Jack ? " I
managed to whisper, falteringly, the thought
flashing through my mind that I had gone sud
denly insane.
" Keep quiet, can't you? " he pleaded. " Don't
shake so ! I'm not a rattle-box. I wish you'd
tell the nurse, Clarissa, to put a stick in my milk,
'will you? There's a horrible sameness to my
present diet that is absolutely cloying. Will you
stop shaking? I can't stand it."
By a strong effort of will I controlled my nerv
ous tremors, glancing apprehensively at the door
through which the nurse must presently return.
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Perkins, the Fakeer.
" There, that's better," commented Jack, con
tentedly. " You don't know much about us, do
you, Clarissa ? "
" About about who ? " I gasped, wondering
if he meant spirits.
" About babies," he said, with a wiggle and a
chuckle that both attracted and repelled me.
" Where's your handkerchief ? Wipe my nose
pardon me, Clarissa, that sounds vulgar, doesn't
it? But what the deuce am I to do? I'm abso
lutely helpless, don't you know ? "
I could feel the tears near my eyes, as I gently
touched the puckered baby face with a bit of lace.
" There was only one chance in ten thousand
millions that I should come here," went on Jack,
apologetically. " It's tough on you, Clarissa. Do
you think that you can stand it? I've heard the
nurse say that I make a pretty good baby."
I sat speechless for a time, trying to adapt
myself to new conditions so startling and fantas
tic that I expected to waken presently from a
dream a dream that promised to become a night-
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Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
mare. But there was an infernal realism about
the whole affair that had impressed me from the
first. Jack's matter-of-fact way of accepting the
situation was so strikingly characteristic of him
that I had felt, at once, a strong temptation to
laugh aloud.
" I want you to make me a promise, Clarissa,"
he said, presently, seizing one of my gloved fin
gers with his fat little dimpled hand and making
queer mouths, as if he were trying to whistle.
"You won't tell ah Tom, will you? He
wouldn't understand it at all. I don't myself, and
I've been through it, don't you see? In a way,
of course, it's mighty bad form. I know that.
I feel it deeply. But I was powerless, Clarissa.
You know I never took any stock in those Ori
ental philosophies. I was always laughing at
Buddhism, metempsychosis, and that kind of
thing. But there's really something in it, don't
you think? Keep quiet, will you? You're shak
ing me up again."
" There's more in it than I had ever imagined,
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Perkins, the Fakeer.
Jack," I remarked, gloomily. " Of course, I'll
say nothing to Tom about it. It'll have to be
our secret. I understand that."
" You'll have to be very careful about what
you call me before people, Clarissa," said the
baby, presently. "My name's Horatio, isn't it?
What the dickens did you call me that for? I
always hated the name Horatio."
" It was Tom's choice," I murmured. " I'm
sorry you don't like it Jack."
" If you called me ' Jack ' for short no, that
wouldn't do. Tom wouldn't like it, would he?
Your handkerchief again, please. Thank you,
my dear. By the way, Clarissa, I wish you'd
tell the nurse that she gets my bath too hot in
the morning. I'd like a cold shower, if she
doesn't mind."
" You'll have to adapt yourself to circum
stances, my child," I remarked, wearily, wonder
ing if this horrible ordeal would never come to
an end. I longed to get away by myself, to think
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Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
it all over and quiet my nerves, if possible, be
fore I should be forced to meet Tom at dinner.
" Adapt myself to circumstances ! " exclaimed
Jack, bitterly, kicking savagely with his tiny feet
at his long white gown. " Don't get sarcastic,
Clarissa, or I'll yell. If I told the nurse the
truth, where'd you be?"
" Jack ! " I cried, in consternation. There
seemed to be a hideous threat in his words.
" You'd better call me Horatio, for practice,"
he said, calmly, but I could feel him chuckling
against my arm. " I'll get used to it after a
time. But it's a fool name, just the same. How
about the cold shower ? "
" Jack," I said, angrily, " I'll put you in your
crib and leave you alone in the dark if you an
noy me. You must be good ! Your nurse knows
what kind of a bath you should have."
" And she'll know who I am, if you leave me
here alone, Clarissa," he exclaimed, doubling up
his funny little fists and shaking them in the air.
" I've got the whip-hand of you, my dear, even
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Perkins, the Fakeer.
if I am only a baby. By the way, Clarissa, how
old am I?"
" Eight months, Jack," I managed to answer, a
chill sensation creeping over me, as the shadows
deepened in the room and a mysterious horror
clutched at my heart. I am not a dreamer by
temperament; I am, in fact, rather practical and
commonplace in my mental tendencies, but there
was something awful in the revelation made to
me which seemed to change my whole attitude
toward the universe and filled me, for the mo
ment, with a novel dread of my surroundings. I
was recalled sharply to a less fantastic mood by
Jack's querulous voice :
" Will you stop shaking, Clarissa ? " he cried,
petulantly. " You make me feel like a milk-bot
tle with delirium tremens. Call the nurse, will
you ? She hasn't got palsy in her knees. I want
to go to sleep."
At that instant the nurse bustled into the room,
apologizing for her long absence.
" I'm going to make a slight change in his diet,
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Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
Mrs. Minturn/' she explained, taking Jack from
my arms and gazing down with professional sat
isfaction at his cherubic face. " He's in fine con
dition aren't you, you tunnin' 'ittle baby boy?
But he's old enough to have a bit of variety now
and then. There are several preparations that
I've found very satisfactory in other cases, and
I've ordered one of them for there, there, 'ittle
Horatio! Don't 'oo cry! Kiss 'oo mamma, and
then 'oo'll go seepy-bye."
As I bent down to press my lips against the
baby's fat cheeks, I caught a gleam in his eyes
that the nurse could not see, and, unless my ears
deceived me, Jack whispered " Damn ! " under his
breath.
287
CHAPTER II.
A FOND FATHER.
As in the world of dream whose mystic shades
Are cast by still more mystic substances,
We ofttimes have an unreflecting sense,
A silent consciousness of some things past.
Richard Monckton Milnes.
I REMEMBER that Tom impressed me as an ex
tremely handsome man, as he faced me across the
dinner-table and smilingly congratulated me on
my appearance.
" You must have had an interesting day, Clare.
You look very animated. I am so glad that you
are beginning to get around a bit. There's a
golden mean, you know. A woman should be
come a slave to neither society nor the nursery."
I realized that there was an abnormal vivacity
in my manner as I added : " Nor to her hus
band, Tom. Do you accept the amendment ? "
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Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
" Do you imply that I am inclined to be tyran
nical, my dear?" he asked, laughingly. "It's
not that, Clare. But I can't help being jealous
of you. How's the baby ? "
My wine-glass trembled in my hand, and I
replaced it on the table, not daring to raise it to
my lips. " He grows more interesting every
day, Tom," I answered, truthfully. " You don't
appreciate him." I wanted to laugh hysterically,
but managed to control myself.
"Don't I, though?" cried Tom, protestingly.
" He's the finest boy that ever happened, Clare,
and I'm the proudest father. But I don't believe
in a man's making an ass of himself all over
the place because there's a baby in the house.
After all, it's hereditary, so to speak, and quite
common."
I glanced at the butler, but his wooden face
showed no comprehension of the bad taste of
Tom's remarks. I was glad of that, for Tom
has earned a reputation among all classes for al
ways saying and doing the right thing at the
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right time. I could not help wondering how he
would act if I should tell him over our coffee
that my first husband was in the nursery, doomed
to another round of earthly experience in the out
ward seeming of Horatio Minturn.
" Forgive me, Clare," implored Tom, misin
terpreting the expression of my face. " I didn't
intend to hurt your feelings, my dear. And you
mustn't do me an injustice. You have hinted
several times of late that I am not as fond of the
baby as I should be. Now, I know exactly what
you mean, and I "
" Suppose, Tom, that we defer further discus
sion of the subject until later on," I suggested,
realizing that I was losing rapidly my grip on
my nerves. " Tell me about your day. Where
have you been? What have you done? Whom
have you seen ? "
It was not until we were seated in the smoking-
room and Tom had lighted a long black cigar that
he returned to a topic I had learned to dread.
Heretofore, Tom's interest in the baby had
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Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
seemed to me to be intermittent and never very
intense. To-night is struck me as persistent and
painfully strong.
" What I was going to say, Clare, when you
interrupted me at the table," he recommenced,
gazing at me thoughtfully through a nimbus of
tobacco smoke, " was this : Theoretically, I am
a fond and enthusiastic father; practically, I
haven't seen the baby more than a dozen
times and he has always yelled at sight of
me."
I laughed aloud, nervously, and Tom's glance
had in it much astonishment and a little annoy
ance.
"It's hardly a subject for merriment, is it?"
he queried, coldly. " You accuse me of not ap
preciating Horatio. May I ask you, my dear,
when I have had an opportunity of observing his
ah good points, so to speak? To be frank
with you, Clare, and to paraphrase a popular
song, ' all babies look alike to me.' '
" But there are great differences among them,
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Perkins, the Fakeer.
Tom," I cried, impulsively; and again a touch of
hysteria got into my voice.
" And ours, of course, is the finest in the
world," he remarked, good-naturedly. " But
what I was getting at, Clara, is this: I want to
become better acquainted with the boy. He's old
enough now, isn't he, to begin to what is it they
call it ? take notice ? "
" Oh, yes," I managed to answer, without
breaking down. If Tom would only change the
subject ! But how could I lead his mind to other
things? Surely, I couldn't tell him flatly that
hereafter the baby must be a tabooed topic be
tween us, that there really was not any Horatio,
that the law of pyschic evolution through re
peated reincarnations was making in our nursery
a demonstration unprecedented in our knowledge
of the race. All that I could do was to sit silent,
pressing my cold hands together, and endeavor
to prevent Tom from observing my increasing
agitation.
" He sits up and takes notice," repeated Tom,
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Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
as if proud of his old nurse's phrase. " Well,
it's about time that Horatio ceased to treat me
with that antagonistic uproariousness that has
characterized his demeanor hitherto in my pres
ence. I have decided to cultivate his acquaint
ance, Clare, and I need your help."
" He's he's very young, Tom," I remarked,
catching at a straw as I sank.
" I actually believe that you're jealous of the
boy, my dear," cried Tom, laughingly. " Frank
ly, I'm greatly disappointed at your reception
of my suggestion. You're so illogical, Clare!
In one breath you charge me with lack of appre
ciation of the baby, and in the next you intimate
that he's too young to endure my society. You
place me in a very awkward position. I had
honestly thought to please you, but I seem to have
made a mess of it."
I was sorry for Tom, and realized that the ac
cusation he had made against me was just. For
a moment the mad project flashed through my
mind of telling him the whole truth, the weird,
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Perkins, the Fakeer.
absurd, unprecedented fact that lay at the bot
tom of my apparent inconsistency. But the in
stant that the thought took shape in unspoken
words I rejected it as wildly impracticable.
Furthermore, there had come to me, under the
matter-of-fact influences surrounding me, a possi
bility that appealed to me as founded on common
sense. Was it not reasonable to suppose that I
had been the victim before dinner of overwrought
nerves, of an hallucination that could be readily
explained by purely scientific methods? I had
gone to the nursery worn out by social exertions
to which I had not been recently accustomed.
Alone with the baby in the twilight, would it have
been strange if I had fallen asleep for a moment
and had dreamed that the child was talking to
me? As I looked back upon the episode at this
moment, it appeared to me more like the vagary
of a transient doze than an actual occurrence.
Even the " Damn ! " that had seemed to issue
from Horatio's tiny mouth as I had kissed his
cheek might have been merely the tag-end of an
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Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
interrupted nightmare, the reflex action of my
disordered nervous system.
" You haven't made a mess of it, Tom," I
said, presently, " and you have pleased me. The
baby's old enough to to "
" To find my companionship bracing and en
lightening? " suggested Tom, merrily.
" Yes, he's old enough for that," I answered,
lightly, glad to feel the fog of my uncanny im
pressions disappearing before the sunlight of a
rising conviction. With every minute that
passed thus gaily in Tom's companionship, the
certainty grew on me that in the nursery I had
been the prey of nervous exhaustion, not the help
less protagonist of a startling psychic drama.
" I'll tell you what we'll do, Clare," remarked
Tom, toward the close of an evening that had
grown constantly more enjoyable to me as time
passed, for, as I playfully misquoted to myself,
Horatio was himself again, " I'll tell you what
we'll do. I'll come home to luncheon to-mor
row and we'll have the baby down from the nurs-
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ery. I suppose we're all out of high chairs; but
you can telephone for one in the morning, my
dear."
" But, Tom, Horatio is is only eight months
old," I protested. " He he doesn't know how
to act at the table."
" Well, I'll teach him, then," cried Tom, pa
ternally. " He needs a few lessons in manners,
Clare. He has always treated me with the most
astounding rudeness. It's really time for him to
come under my influence, don't you think? Of
course, I may be wrong. I don't know much
about these matters, but I can learn a thing or
two by experimenting with Horatio."
" He doesn't like his " I began, impulsively,
and then laughed, rather foolishly. The influ
ence of my dream, it appeared, was still upon me.
"Doesn't like what?" asked Tom, eying me
searchingly, evidently surprised at my untimely
hilarity.
" Game and salads and other luncheon things,"
I explained, adroitly, suddenly glad that the even-
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Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
ing was at an end and that I could soon quiet my
throbbing nerves by sleep.
" We'll have some bread and milk for him,"
suggested Tom, hospitably. " Maybe he won't
yell at me if we give him something to eat some
thing in his line, you know."
Again I succumbed to temptation and laughed
aloud. " How little you know about babies,
Tom," I remarked, in my most superior way; but
even as I spoke the horrible suspicion crept over
me again that I, also, might have much to learn
about my own little boy.
297
CHAPTER III.
MY FIRST AND SECOND.
Sometimes a breath floats by me,
An odor from Dreamland sent,
Which makes the ghost seem nigh me
Of a something that came and went.
James Russell Lowell.
I LUNCHED with Tom and Jack the next day.
It was an appalling function, driving me to the
very verge of hysteria and destroying forever my
belief in my dream theory. My first husband sat
in his new high chair, pounding the table with
a spoon, as if calling the meeting to order, while
my second husband sat gazing at the baby with
a fatuous smile on his handsome face that testi
fied to his inability to rise to the situation. Be
hind the baby's chair stood his nurse, evidently
prepared to defend her prerogatives as the pro
tector of the child's health. Lurking in the back-
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Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
ground was the phlegmatic butler, no better
pleased than the nurse at this experiment of
Tom's.
"That's it! Go it, Horatio!" cried Tom,
nervously. " Hit the table again, my boy.
That's what it's for."
" I thought that your idea, Tom, was to teach
Horatio how to behave in public," I suggested,
playfully, still calm in the belief that I had been
deceived in the nursery by a dream.
" But as you said, Clare," argued Tom, " he's
very young. It's really not bad form, you know,
for a baby to pound a table with a spoon. Is it,
nurse? "
" I think not, sir," answered the nurse, push
ing the high chair back to its place. The baby
had kicked it away from the table while Tom was
speaking.
" Isn't he isn't he rather ah nervous, my
dear ? " asked Tom, glancing at me with paternal
solicitude. " It's quite normal, this ah tend
ency to bang things and kick? "
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Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Perhaps he's hungry, Tom," I suggested,
lightly. My spirits were rising. In the pres
ence of the baby, whose appearance and manner
were those of a healthy child something under a
year in age, the absurdity of my recent incipient
nightmare was so evident that I blushed at the
recollection of my nonsensical panic. Reincarna
tion? Bah! what silly rubbish we do get from
the far East !
" Of course he's hungry," assented Tom,
glancing down at a bird the butler had put before
him. " With your permission, nurse, I'll give
the youngster a square meal. How would a bit
of the breast from this partridge do? It's very
tender and digestible "
"How absurd, Tom!" I cried. "He'd
choke!"
" He's choking as it is ! " exclaimed Tom, half
rising from his chair. " Pat him on the back,
nurse ! "
" He's all right, sir," said the nurse, calmly as
Horatio's cheeks lost their sudden flush and he
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Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
opened his pretty little eyes again. " You
needn't worry, Mr. Minturn. He's in perfect
health, sir."
"Aren't they queer?" exclaimed Tom, glanc
ing at me, laughingly.
" Sir?" cried the nurse in pained amazement.
" I meant babies, nurse," explained Tom, sooth
ingly, motioning to the disaffected butler to re
fill his wine-glass. "But look here, Clare; you
and I are eating and drinking heartily, but poor
little Horatio is still the hungry victim of a
dietary debate. What is he to have? milk? "
The baby leaned forward in his chair, seized
his empty silver bowl with a chubby hand, and
hurled it to the floor.
" Horatio ! " Tom's voice was stern as he
scowled at the mischievous youngster. I could
not refrain from laughing aloud.
" Is that bad form, Tom, for a little baby ? " I
asked, mischievously.
" No," answered Tom, repentantly. " I don't
blame you at all, Horatio. Your prejudice, my
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Perkins, the Fakeer.
boy, against an empty bowl when you are both
hungry and thirsty is not unnatural. Give him
some bread and milk, nurse, or he'll overturn the
table. What a wonderful study it is, Clare, to
watch a baby develop! Do you know, Horatio
is actually able to grasp a syllogism ! "
" Or a milk-bowl," I added.
" Don't interrupt my scientific train of
thought," protested Tom, gazing musingly at the
child. " I saw his mind at work just now. I'm
hungry/ thought Horatio. ' There's my silver
bowl. The bowl is empty. There are bread and
milk in the house. If I throw the empty bowl
to the floor, my nurse will return it to me filled
with food. So here goes! Q. E. D.' Clever
baby, isn't he?"
It was at that moment I met the baby's eyes,
and a sharp chill ran down my back and found
its way to my finger-tips. There was an expres
sion in the child's troubled gaze so eloquent that
its meaning flashed upon me at once. If the baby
had cried aloud, " What an amazing fool that
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Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
man is ! " I could not have been more sure than I
was of the thought that had passed through his
infantile mind.
"What's the matter, Clare?" I heard Tom
asking me, apprehensively. " Do you feel
faint?"
" Not at all," I hastened to say, turning my
eyes from my first to my second husband. The
former was eating bread and milk reluctantly,
it seemed to me from a spoon manipulated by
his nurse. That it was really Jack who was sit
ting there in a high chair, doomed to swallow
baby food while he craved partridge and Bur
gundy was a conviction that had come to me for
a fleeting moment, to be followed by a return to
conventional common sense and a renewed satis
faction in my environment. Tom sat opposite
me, smiling contentedly, while between us, at a
side of the table, the baby perfunctorily absorbed
a simple but nutritious diet, deftly presented to
his tiny mouth by his attentive nurse. It was a
charming scene of domestic bliss at that moment,
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Perkins, the Fakeer.
and I realized clearly how much I had to lose by
giving way, even intermittently, to the wretched
hallucinations that my overwrought nerves
begot.
" Just look at him, Clare ! " exclaimed Tom,
presently. " I tell you it's an interesting study.
It's elevating and enlightening, my dear. To an
evolutionist there's a world of meaning in that
baby's enthusiasm for bread and milk. Here he
sits at the table covered with gastronomic lux
uries and actually rejoices in the simplest kind of
food. You see, Clare, how well the difference
between Horatio and myself in regard to diet il
lustrates Spencer's definition of evolution as a
continuous change from indefinite, incoherent ho
mogeneity to definite, coherent heterogeneity
through successive differentiations and integra
tions. Great Scott, nurse! What's the matter
with him ? He's choking again ! "
" It's nothing, sir," remarked the nurse, quietly,
as the baby recovered from a fit of coughing and
resumed his meal. " But, if you'll pardon the re-
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Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
mark, sir, I think that he's much better off in the
nursery."
It was not a tactful suggestion, and I knew
that Tom felt hurt; but he maintained his self-
control and made no further comment, merely
glancing at me with a smile in his eyes. I real
ized, with a vague uneasiness, that open and ac
tive hostilities between baby's nurse and Tom
were among the possibilities of the near future,
and it was not a pleasing thought.
"What does he top off with?" asked Tom,
presently, grinning at Horatio, who had emptied
his bowl and had stuck a fist into his rosebud
mouth, as if still hungry. " Have you got an ice
for him, James? "
The butler stood motionless, gazing fixedly at
the nurse.
" What queer ideas you have, Tom ! " I cried,
to break the strain of an uncomfortable situation.
" An ice would give him an awful pain."
"Perhaps he'd like a Welsh rabbit, then?"
growled Tom, crossly.
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Perkins, the Fakeer.
The baby seized a spoon and rapped gleefully
on the table.
" Isn't he cunning ! " I cried, delightedly.
"He's happy now, isn't he? I am inclined to
think, Tom, that he'd rather have a nap than a
rabbit."
" Not on your life ! " came a deep, gruff voice
from nowhere in particular. I looked at Tom in
amazement, thinking that he had playfully dis
guised his tones and was poking fun at me and
the baby. But Tom's expression of wonderment
was as genuine as my own, while the nurse was
gazing over her shoulder at the butler, who was
eying us all in a bewildered way. Tom glanced
at the nurse.
" Leave the room, James," he said hotly. " I'll
see you later in the smoking-room." Then, to
the nurse: "Remove the baby, will you, please?
Thank you for letting us have him for an
hour."
As soon as we were alone in the dining-room,
Tom leaned toward me and said : " Shall I dis-
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Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
charge James, my dear? He was most infer
nally impudent, to put it mildly."
But the frightful certainty had come to me that
the butler was innocent of any wrong-doing. Ab
surd as the bald statement of fact seemed to be,
my first husband was the guilty man, and, strug
gle as I might against the conviction, I knew it.
" Give him another chance, Tom," I managed
to say, my voice unsteady and my tongue parched.
" James was not quite himself, I imagine. I'm
not well, Tom. Give me a swallow of cognac,
will you, please? "
Tom, alarmed at my voice and face, hastily
handed me a stimulant, and presently I felt my
courage and my color coming back to me.
307
CHAPTER IV.
NURSERY CONFESSIONS.
The priceless sight
Springs to its curious organ, ana the ear
Learns strangely to detect the articulate air
In its unseen divisions, and the tongue
Gets its miraculous lesson with the rest.
N. P. Willis.
I LONGED, yet dreaded, to have an hour alone
with the baby. I could no longer doubt that,
through some psychical mischance, Jack's soul
had found a lodgment in a family hospitable by
habit and inclination, but not accustomed to dis
quieting intrusions. It was thus that I put the
matter to myself, as I sat alone in my boudoir
after luncheon, having dismissed Marie, my maid,
with a message to Horatio's nurse; and the con
ventional make-up of my thought revealed to me,
in a flash of insight, the materialistic tendencies
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Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
of my mental methods. Metempsychosis had
never assumed to my mind the dignity of even
a philosophical working hypothesis. Much less
had the idea ever come to me that reincarnation
actually furnished a process through which the
physical laws of evolution and the conservation
of energy might find a psychical demonstration.
My natural inclination to take the world as I
found it, and to leave the inner mysteries of life
to profounder minds than mine, had been intensi
fied by my association with Tom, a disciple of
Haeckel, Buchner and other extremists of the
materialistic school. I had come to admire
Tom's intellectuality and to find satisfaction in the
fact that his fondness for scientific studies would
strengthen him to resist the temptations that sur
rounded him to become a mere man of leisure
and luxury. Possessed of great wealth and with
out a profession, it was fortunate for Tom that
he had found in scientific research an outlet for
his superabundant energies. He had begun to
make a reputation for himself as a clear-headed,
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Perkins, the Fakeer.
well-balanced evolutionist, both conservative in
method and progressive in spirit, and at our table
could be found at times the leading scientific
minds of New York. And now, into our little
stronghold of enlightened materialism had been
dropped a miraculous mystery, or mysterious
miracle, that had overthrown all my precori-r
ceived ideas of the universe and opened before me
a limitless field of groping conjecture. I real
ized, with due gratitude to fate, that if I had been
born with an imaginative, poetical temperament
my present predicament would have driven me
insane at the outset. Fortunately for everybody
concerned, I am a woman who rebounds quickly
from the severest nervous shock, and I have taken
a great deal of pride in retaining my mental poise
in crises of my life that would have made hysteria
excusable.
Nevertheless, it was a severe test of my nerv
ous strength to hold Horatio in my arms at four
o'clock that afternoon and watch his nurse don
ning her coat and hat preparatory to a short ride
310
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
with Marie. I had carefully planned this oppor
tunity for an uninterrupted hour with the baby,
but now that it lay just before me I longed to run
away from it. The nursery had become to me
a temple of mysteries within which I felt chilled
and awe-stricken, a victim of supernatural
forces against which I was both rebellious and
powerless.
After the nurse had left the room I seated my
self in a rocking-chair, cuddling Horatio in my
arms and softly humming a lullaby, attempting
to deceive myself by the thought that I really
wished him to sleep for an hour. In my inner
most consciousness lay the conviction that I had
actually come to the nursery for a heart-to-heart
talk with Jack. My deepest desire was to be
quickly gratified. A gruff whisper came to me
presently from his pretty lips.
" Stop that ' bye-bye, baby/ will you, Clar
issa ? " he said, petulantly. " Haven't I had
enough annoyance for one day ? "
"Hush! hush!" I murmured, rocking franti-
Perkins, the Fakecr.
cally in the effort to put the child to sleep, despite
my realization of the utter inconsistency of my
action.
" Don't ! don't ! " growled the baby. " Do
you want me to have mal-de-mer, Clarissa? I
can't be responsible for what may happen.
Where did everybody get the notion that a baby
must be shaken after taking? It's getting to be
an unbearable nuisance, Clarissa."
"Is that better, Jack?" I whispered, holding
him upright on my knees and peering down into
his disturbed face, puckered into a little knot, as
if he were about to cry aloud.
" Thank you," he muttered, gratefully. " Un
der the circumstances, my dear, perhaps it's well
that I didn't get that Welsh rabbit. But, frankly,
I was bitterly disappointed at the moment."
" What can you expect, Jack? " I asked, argu-
mentatively, again astonished at the matter-of-
fact way in which I was handling this astounding
crisis. " You seem to have a man's appetite but
only a baby's digestive apparatus."
312
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
*' That's my punishment, Clarissa," he ex
plained, in awe-struck tones. " In the former
cycle I ate too many rabbits. That was scored
against me, under the general head of ' Gluttony,'
and the sub-title ' Midnight Unnecessaries.' I'm
up against it, Clarissa. I wouldn't complain if it
were merely a question of not getting what I
want. But it's getting what I don't want that
jars me. You understand, of course, my dear,
that, generally speaking, I refer to milk. Isn't
there something in its place that you could per
suade the nurse to give me? Don't babies get
cr malt extract, for instance? "
" I'll do what I can for you, Jack," I said, sud
denly struck by a brilliant idea. " But I must
make a condition, and you must make me a prom
ise."
" I'd promise you anything for a change of
diet," muttered Jack, kicking vigorously with his
tiny legs and waving his fat fists in the air.
" If you'll swear to me, Jack, never to speak
aloud again unless you and I are alone together,
313
Perkins, the Fakeer.
I'll agree to make every effort in my power to
add to your physical comforts."
" Comforts be blowed ! " exclaimed the baby,
crossly. " What I want are a few luxuries.
And, furthermore, my dear, I'm getting very
weary of that machine-made nurse. She's nar
row, Clarissa. I don't wish to speak harshly
about a woman whose heart seems to be in the
right place, but you must get rid of her, if you
care a continental rap about your little baby.
You'll have to fill her place, Clarissa, with some
body more broad-minded and up-to-date. She
bores me to death."
" You don't mean that you've been talking to
her, Jack ? " I cried, horrified.
" That's not necessary," growled the child.
" What with her ' 'ittle baby go to seepy,' and
' now, Horatio, 'oo dear 'ittle pet lambie,' she
freezes the words upon my tongue. Another
thing, Clarissa, that you can't fully understand
I'm not permitted, through psychological con
ditions that you cannot grasp, to talk to anybody
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
but you. It will relieve your mind to know that
I'm as dumb as a as a real baby when you're not
within hearing."
" I'm so glad of that, Jack/' I exclaimed, im
pulsively. " From things you've said before, I
had obtained a different impression."
" I was only trying to scare you, Clarissa," re
marked Jack, mischievously. " But I've told you
the truth at last. By the way, what a stupendous
idiot Tom Minturn is! How in the world did
you happen to marry him ? "
" Jack," I cried, angrily, " I am amazed at your
lack of good taste. You are hardly in a position
to do Tom justice. Unless you refrain from
making such brutal remarks in the future, I shall
leave you entirely to the care of the nurse."
" And be accused of neglecting your only
child," suggested the baby, slyly.
I had not grasped the full scope of this clever
remark, before I was startled by a quick step in
the hallway, the throwing open of the door, and
the sound of Tom's voice, crying :
315
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Oh, here you are ! I've found you at last,
have I ? What a pretty picture you make, Clare,
there in the half-lights with the baby on your
knees. How is the dear little chap? Poor fel
low, he must have thought that his dismissal
from the luncheon-table was rather abrupt."
" What an ass he is ! " whispered Jack, under
his breath. Then he began to cry lustily, as had
been his custom whenever Tom had deigned to
enter the nursery.
CHAPTER V.
A SPOILED CHILD.
Yes, 'tis my dire misfortune now
To hang between two ties,
To hold within my furrowed brow
The earth's clay, and the skies.
Victor Hugo.
TOM had come to the nursery in high spirits
and with the best possible intention. Freed from
the depressing presence of the nurse and butler
he had argued, I felt sure, that now was the time
for a frolic with the baby that should put their
relations upon a smoother footing. He had said
to me, more than once, that little Horatio's ap
parent prejudice against him was due to the fact
that hirelings were always coming between chil
dren and parents in these latter days.
The baby's voice, however, was still for war.
I did not dare to trot him upon my knees, know-
317
Perkins, the Fakeer.
ing his prejudice against a shaking, so I sat there
gazing up at Tom's smiling face in perplexity and
holding my first husband, now howling lustily,
firmly upright on my lap.
" Let me take him, my dear," suggested Tom,
with what struck me as rather artificial enthusi
asm. " I'll walk with him awhile. It may quiet
him."
To my astonishment, the baby stopped crying
at once, as Tom bent down and clasped him,
rather awkwardly, in his arms. Hope began to
dance merrily in my heart, and I laughed aloud.
It was a sight to bring smiles to the saddest face.
Tom paced up and down the nursery, sedately,
furtively watching Jack, as he nestled against his
shoulder, making no sound and apparently con
tented for the moment with the situation. But
a sudden fear fell upon me. The thought that this
might be the calm before the storm flashed
through my mind, and the lightning of premoni
tion was almost instantly followed by the thunder
of fulfilment.
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
" What the dickens ! " cried Tom, in anger and
amazement. Jack, having deftly hurled Tom's
eyeglasses to the floor, had begun to pummel his
nose with one hand while he pulled his hair with
the other, making strange, guttural sounds the
while that were unlike anything that had ever is
sued from his baby throat before.
"Take him away, will you, Clare?" implored
Tom, wildly. " He's the worst that ever hap
pened. What's the matter with him? "
" Perhaps he's sleepy, Tom," I suggested, un
certain whether I should laugh or weep, as I re
moved the baby from my second husband's arms.
" What a bad little boy you have been, Horatio ! "
I managed to say, chidingly, wondering if nature
had not designed me for an actress.
" He ought to be spanked," growled Tom,
bending to the floor to grope for his eye-glasses
in the twilight.
" Spanked, eh? " whispered the baby, close to
my ear. " We'll see about that. I've got it in
for him, all right. Just wait ! "
319
Perkins, the Fakeer.
"Hush! hush!" I implored him, hurrying
back to the rocking-chair, to get as far away from
Tom as possible.
" What an infernal temper the boy has," re
marked the latter, standing erect again and re
placing his eye-glasses upon his nose. " I'm
afraid my visit to the nursery has not been a suc
cess, Clare," he added, as he stalked to the door
way, evidently sorely hurt at heart.
When we were alone together again, I planted
the baby firmly on my knees and bent down till I
could look straight into his tear-stained eyes.
" You are very unkind, Jack," I said to him,
earnestly. " Have you ever paused to consider
what are you here for? Of course, I'm a convert
to the theory of reincarnation. You're sufficient
proof of its truth. As I understand it, it is in
cumbent upon you to lead a better life this time
than you led before. Frankly, Jack, you aren't
beginning well."
" I realize that, Clarissa," said the baby, re
pentantly. " If I don't brace up, I'll make a terri-
320
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
ble mess of it, and my next birth'll be sure to jar
me. Maybe I'll be doomed to show up in Brook
lyn or even Hoboken. If you care anything
about my ah psychical future, my dear, you'll
keep Tom Minturn away from me. He's so con
foundedly patronizing! He's actually insuffer
able, my dear. Did you hear him quoting Her
bert Spencer at the table, gazing at me all the
while as if I were some kind of a germ that might
develop in time? And the funny part of it is,
Clarissa, that I am a sage, and he's nothing but a
misguided ignoramus."
" But Tom has the reputation of being quite
learned, Jack," I protested. " He's an active
member of the Darwin Society, and has just been
elected to the Association for the Promulgation
of the Doctrine of Evolution."
" ' And the dead, steered by the dumb, moved
upward with the flood.' " quoted the baby, some
what irrelevantly, I thought. " They are blind
leaders of the blind, Clarissa. I could tell Tom
in a minute more than he'll ever know if he al-
321
Perkins, the Fakeer.
ways clings to the idea that the universe is a
machine that was made by chance and is run by
luck. But I sha'n't take the trouble to give him
the tip. He'll know a thing or two some day.
Meanwhile, my dear, you'd better keep him away
from me. If worse comes to the worst you
might send me to some institution. I realize,
bitterly enough, that I'll be an awful nuisance to
you if you keep me here."
I felt the tears coming into my eyes, and im
pulsively I drew the baby closer to me. I was in
the most deplorable predicament that my imagina
tion could conceive, torn by conflicting emotions
and horrified by the awful possibilities presented
to me by the immediate future. If Tom, through
Jack's hot temper, should discover the truth, and
be forced suddenly to abandon materialism by
coming face to face with a convincing psychi
cal demonstration, what would happen? I
shuddered, there in the gloaming, as my mind
dwelt reluctantly upon the unprecedented perils
menacing my happiness. It was no comfort to
322
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
my distraught soul to realize that, in all proba
bility, no woman, since the world began, had been
afflicted in just this way. Neither was there any
relief in the conviction that I had been in no way
to blame for this incongruous psychical visitation.
" No, I couldn't send you away, Jack," I said,
musingly ; " that is practically impossible. We'll
have to make the best of it, and our successful
manipulation of the situation depends almost
wholly upon your self-control. You must adapt
yourself to your environment, my boy ; become a
baby in fact as well as in theory. You'll be hap
pier that way."
" Don't talk nonsense, Clarissa," grumbled
Jack, kicking viciously at his long clothes. " I'm
the victim of what might be called a temporary
maladjustment of the machinery of psychical evo
lution. Ordinarily, a baby is not cognizant of a
former existence. You advise me to forget the
past and remember only that I am your cunning
little eight-months-old Horatio. If I only could !
It's the only thing that could give me permanent
323
Perkins, the Fakeer.
relief, my dear. But it's not possible. Here I
am doomed to a kind of dual punishment,
ashamed of myself as Horatio and afraid of my
self as Jack. And all because I clogged my psy
chical progress in my late life by a carnal craving
for Welsh rabbits ! It sounds absurd, doesn't it,
when one puts it into words ? But, my dear, the
sublime and the ridiculous are as close together in
one realm of existence as in another. Truth has
many faces, and there's always a grin on one of
them."
" I think that I hear your nurse coming, Jack,"
I whispered. " Is there anything that I can do
for you? "
" Yes," he answered, excitedly, lowering his
voice, however. " Do you think, Clarissa, that
you could secrete a flask of bottled cocktails in
the room somewhere? I've learned a thing or
two of late that might prove useful to me if I
needed a stimulant and knew where to find it. I
can raise my body by my arms and hold up my
whole weight for ten minutes at a time. I've
3 2 4
Clarissa's Troublesome Bab} r .
been experimenting at night, when the nurse was
asleep. Tom's an evolutionist; ask him about it.
He'll explain to you how it happens. You'll
bring the cocktails, my dear? "
I hesitated, bewildered by his request; daring
neither to grant nor deny it. The nurse was half
way down the hall, and nearing the door rapidly.
" Take your choice, Clarissa," whispered the
baby, coolly. " Unless you promise me at once,
I shall tell the nurse who I am, the moment she
enters the room."
My heart sprang chokingly into my throat, and
I whispered, hoarsely :
" Very well, Jack. I'll do as you wish. But
do be careful, won't you ? Don't take more than
a sip at a time, will you? "
Before the baby could reply, the nurse had en
tered the room, smiling gaily.
325
CHAPTER VI.
PROTOPLASM AND FROTH.
We have forgot what we have been,
And what we are we little know.
Thomas W. Parsons.
THERE was not the least doubt that our dinner
in honor of the German biologist, Platner, had
been a tremendous success. Long before we had
reached the game course I had caught the gleam
of triumph in Tom's eyes, and across the long
board my gaze had met his in joyous congratu
lation. It was not merely personal glory that we
had won by this well-conceived and smoothly exe
cuted social function. In a way, we had vindi
cated our caste, had proved to a censorious world
that the inner circle of metropolitan society is not
wholly frivolous, utterly indifferent to the achieve-
326
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
ments of genius and the marvelous feats of mod
ern science.
When Tom had first suggested to me the possi
bility of our entertaining Platner, whose efforts
had won the enthusiasm of materialists in all parts
of the world, I had fought shy of the project.
Tom's idea was to gather at our table the most
noted scientists of the city, with the German biolo
gist as the magnet, and to select our women from
among the cleverest of our set, once vulgarly
known as the " Four Hundred." Upon his first
presentation of the scheme I had argued that it
was impracticable, that the scientists would find
our women frivolous, and that our women would
be horribly bored by the sages. Even up to the
moment of our entrance to the dining-room I had
been annoyed by the fear that me pessimistic at
titude toward the function was to be vindicated,
that Tom's effort to make oil and water mix was
doomed to failure.
And the funniest thing about the whole affair
is that we were saved from disaster and raised to
327
Perkins, the Fakeer.
glory through the quaint personality of the Herr
Doctor, our guest of honor. A typical German
savant in appearance, with spectacles, beard and
agitated hair, he displayed from the outset a per
fect self-control beneath which, one quickly real
ized, glowed the fires of a fine enthusiasm.
Speaking French or English with a fluency that
was enviable, he aired his hobby in a genial, en
tertaining way, which saved him from being the
bore that a man with a fixed idea is so apt to
prove. Protoplasm may seem to be a most un
promising topic upon which to base the conversa
tion at a fashionable dinner-party, but I found
myself intensely interested, before the oyster-
plates had been removed, in the scientific discus
sion that the learned Herr Doctor had set in mo
tion and Tom had deftly kept alive.
" I had been impressed, years ago," Plainer
had begun, in answer to a polite question from
Mrs. " Ned " Farrington, who is a very tactful
woman ; " I had been impressed by the similar
ity of protoplasm to a fine froth." Here the Ger-
328
Clarissa^ Troublesome Baby.
man scientist held an oyster poised on a fork and
gazed at it musingly, the while he continued, in
almost flawless English : " The most available
froth, soap lather, is made up of air bubbles en
tangled in soap solution. After years of experi
menting, my friends, I succeeded in making an oil
foam from soapy water and olive oil. Under the
microscope my solution closely resembles proto
plasm."
" Does it really ? " cried Mrs. " Ned," raptur
ously.
" Wonderful ! " commented Professor Shanks,
America's most noted zoologist.
" It's curious," remarked Elinor Scarsdale,
rather cleverly, I thought, " that from protoplasm
to the highest civilization there should have been
a struggle from soap to soap."
The Herr Doctor glanced approvingly at the
brightest debutante of the season.
" In those words, young lady," he said, with
flattering emphasis, " you have summed up the
whole history of physical evolution. But to con-
329
Perkins, the Fakeer.
tinue : My drops of oil foam act as if they were
alive, their movements bearing a most marvelous
resemblance to the activities of Pelomyxa, a jelly-
like marine creature, protoplasmic in its simplic
ity." The Herr Doctor was again addressing his
remarks to his oyster fork.
"Do I understand you, Dr. Platner," asked
Tom, from the foot of the table, " that, under
the microscope, rhozopod protoplasm, for exam
ple, would resemble your ah oil foam ? "
" So closely, sir," answered Herr Platner, in
stantly, " that I have often deceived the most ex
pert microscopists in Germany. Futhermore, Mr.
Minturn, my artificial protoplasm retains its ac
tivity for long periods of time. I made one
drop, sir, that was alive, so to speak, for six
days."
"And then it died?" asked Mrs. "Ned,"
mournfully.
" To speak unscientifically, yes," answered the
German, carefully. " Now, what are we to gath
er from all this, my friends?" The butler had
330
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
removed the oysters, and the Herr Doctor was
forced to glance at his audience.
" New reverence for soap and olive oil," sug
gested one of the younger scientists, a professor
at a neighboring university.
Platner eyed the speaker suspiciously, and then
said:
" That, of course, sir ; but much more than
that. I have proved conclusively, my friends,
that the primary movements of life are due to
structure, and that there is absolutely no neces
sity for believing in any peculiar vital essence or
force. The living cell, I confidently assert, may
be built up out of inert matter. The old-fash
ioned idea of a vital spark being absolutely essen
tial is as obsolete as the belief in special creation.
Let me live a hundred years, my friends, and I'll
make for you a Goethe or a Shakespeare out of
soap lather and olive oil."
" Just imagine it ! " exclaimed Mrs. Farring-
don, gazing with exaggerated admiration at the
German genius.
331
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" It's really not so shocking to our pride of
ancestry as it seems at first sight," Tom ventured
to suggest. " Our generation has become recon
ciled, perforce, to its humble origin. It is hard
for us to realize how severely Darwinism shocked
our fathers and mothers."
" As I understand you, Dr. Platner," broke in
Mrs. " Bob " Vincent, turning the blaze of her
great, dark eyes full upon the German's face,
" your discovery is a triumph for the extreme
materialists? It destroys absolutely all the bases
upon which the belief in psychic forces rests?
We are machines, wound up to run for a while,
and then to stop forever? "
" You have practically stated my creed, mad-
ame," answered the Herr Doctor, gravely. " Con
stant motion, constant change these are the al
pha and the omega of the universe. Why should
we superimpose the concept of a psychical exist
ence upon a structure that is already perfect?
As I said in other words, my friends, I could, if
332
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
sufficient time were granted to me, rebuild the
earth and its creatures in my laboratory."
" Provided that it was situated near a barber
shop and a delicatessen store," whispered Dr.
Hopkins, who had been listening in silence on
my left to our guest of honor. I was glad to hear
this subdued note of protest from so eminent a
source, but he shook his gray head as I glanced
at him approvingly. Professor Hopkins, Ph. D.,
loves science but hates controversy. Had he
crossed swords at that moment with the German
he would have found, I imagine, that the sym
pathies of my guests were with the materialist.
When a scientist frankly tells you that he can
manufacture protoplasm, and goes on to describe
to you his method of procedure, it's well to pause
before plunging into an argument with him. But
I, who had good reason to know that Herr Plat-
ner was ludicrously at fault in his conception of
the universe, could not but regret that so bril
liant a champion as Dr. Hopkins had not rushed
to the defense of the truth. For a moment I was
333
Perkins, the Fakeer.
almost tempted to defy the rules of hospitality
and voice the new faith that had come to me in
the existence of psychic mysteries. This incli
nation was intensified by Herr Planner's answer
to a question put to him by one of the men/'
" It's all the veriest rubbish," I heard the Ger
man saying, with great emphasis. " All those
Oriental philosophies and religions are merely
picturesque presentments of the truths that are
clearly stated by modern materialism, so-called.
What is Nirvana but simply cessation of motion ?
Admitting reincarnation, for example, as a work
ing hypothesis, it would mean simply the coming
and going of atomic vibrations with successive
losses of identity. They are dreamers, those Ori
entals, seeing half truths clearly enough, but
never following them out to their logical con
clusions."
" And yet the East is the mother of lather and
olive oil," murmured Dr. Hopkins, under his
breath.
At that instant my heart leaped into my throat,
334
" 'He's bewitched. . . . He's been talking like a man.' "
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
and I sprang to my feet in affright. With Ho
ratio in her arms, his nurse had rushed frantically
into the dining-room, despite the interference of
the butler, and, with blanched face and staring
eyes, was bearing down on me, with the purpose,
evidently, of thrusting the baby into my grasp.
" Take him ! take him ! " she cried, hysteric
ally, and before I could resist her insistence, Ho
ratio was squirming in my bare arms. " He's
bewitched," continued his nurse, frantically.
" He's been talking like a man. I'm through with
him. He ain't a baby! You just wait a mo
ment, Mrs. Minturn. He'll speak again in a mo
ment. He's got a voice like a steam calliope.
And what he says ! Oh, my ! "
" Take her away at once," Tom was crying to
the butler. " She has gone crazy," he went on,
rushing past our astounded guests to my assist
ance. " Don't be frightened, my dear ! I always
thought that she was unbalanced, and now I know
it. Poor little Horatio! He looks scared to
death!"
335
CHAPTER VII.
A BIOLOGIST AND A BABY.
We know these things are so, we ask not why,
But act and follow as the dream goes on.
Lord Houghton.
" ISN'T he a lovely baby ! "
" Don't send him away, Mrs. Minturn."
" Get his high chair for him, James."
" See him smile ! I don't wonder at his relief.
Just imagine being in the care of a crazy nurse ! "
" What wild eyes she had ! You say she was
always eccentric, Mr. Minturn?"
"The baby's only eight months old? Really,
Mrs. Minturn, he looks older."
" He has such pretty eyes ! And look at the
dimples in his little hands. Doesn't he ever cry?
How good he is, dear little fellow ! "
336
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
" Horatio ! What a fine, dignified name ! Ho
ratio held a bridge, didn't he? or was it a full
house? "
" What a question for a famous scientist to
ask ! "
The baby, erect and smiling in his high chair,
had wonderfully enlivened our dinner-party.
Even Tom, startled as he had been by the advent
of the distraught nurse, was now wholly at his
ease and beamed genially from the foot of the
table upon the youngster, who seemed to be de
lighted at the attention that he was receiving
from beautiful women and famous men. As he
sat there, merrily waving a spoon in the air and
crowing lustily, I watched him with mingled
pride and consternation. Although a most dis
tressing episode had been brought to a pictur
esque conclusion, there seemed to me to be start
ling possibilities in the present situation. I did
not like the flush upon the baby's cheeks, the
unnatural gleam in his laughing eyes. Impulsive
ly I bent down and kissed him upon his pretty
337
Perkins, the Fakeer.
mouth. My worst fears were instantly realized,
and I felt my spinal marrow turn to ice. I had
detected the odor of a cocktail upon Horatio's
or, rather, Jack's breath.
" I am forced to acknowledge, madame," I
heard Herr Platner saying, in answer to one of
Mrs. Farringdon's leading questions, " I am
forced to acknowledge that my theories destroy
much of the poetry of life. It is a most prosaic
attitude that I am forced to hold toward yonder
most beautiful baby, for example. Romance
would point to him as an immortal soul in em
bryo. Realism asserts that he is a machine, like
the rest of us, with a longer lease of activity be
fore him than you or I have, who have been
ticking, so to speak, for several years."
" Be good, Horatio ! " I whispered. " Don't
cry. You can have an ice pretty soon."
The baby brought his spoon down upon the
table with a thump, and actually glared at the
German professor, while my guests laughed gaily
at the child's precocious demonstration.
338
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
"Isn't he cunning!" exclaimed Elinor Scars-
dale, delightedly.
" He seems to have a prejudice against me,
nicht wahrf " remarked the Herr Doctor, laugh
ing aloud.
" You aren't to blame for that, little boy," mur
mured Dr. Hopkins, so that I alone could hear
him. " He says that you are sprung from oil
and lather and are rushing toward annihilation."
" Bah ! " yelled the baby. " Bah ! bah ! bah ! "
" ' Ba-ba, ba-ba- black sheep, have 'oo any
wool ? ' ' quoted Professor Rogers, the noted
comparative philologist, who has identified the
germ of epic poetry in the earliest known cradle
songs.
"Isn't he fascinating!" cried Elinor Scars-
dale, referring to the baby, not to the philologist.
" If you'll excuse me for a time," I said to my
guests, seeing that Tom was growing weary of
Horatio's prominence at the table, " I'll take the
baby to the nursery."
" You'll do it at your peril," I heard a deep
339
Perkins, the Fakeer.
voice grumble, and Dr. Hopkins jumped nerv
ously and glanced at me in amazement.
" Don't run off with him, Mrs. Minturn," cried
Mrs. Farringdon; and her protest was sustained
by a chorus of " don't " and " do let him stay."
" It may be only temporary," I heard Dr.
Plainer saying, as he gazed at Professor Shanks,
who had asked him, evidently, a question about
the baby's nurse. " It's not an uncommon form
of insanity, and may be only temporary. I recall
an instance of a very learned and perfectly harm
less professor at Gottingen who believed for
years that his pet cat talked Sanskrit to him.
There was at my own university a young man
wholly sane, apparently, who made a record of
conversations that he had held with the skeleton
of a gorilla. Both of these men were eventually
restored to mental health, and have never had a
return of their delusions. It is fortunate, how
ever, that the poor woman, whose insanity we
have so recently witnessed, exhibited her mania
at this time. What might have happened other-
340
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
wise to that charming little baby I shudder to
think."
Horatio was pounding the table with a spoon,
as if applauding the Herr Doctor's remarks.
Suddenly he dropped the spoon and made a grab
for Dr. Hopkins's wine-glass.
" What vivacity he has! " remarked Professor
Shanks, as if addressing a roomful of students
interested in a zoological specimen.
" He seems to know a rare vintage when he
sees it," suggested Dr. Hopkins, intending, of
course, to compliment his hostess.
" I think my dear " began Tom, nervously.
" Don't go any further, Mr. Minturn," cried
Elinor Scarsdale, playfully. " The baby is so
much more interesting than "
" Protoplasm," added Dr. Hopkins, under his
breath.
Dr. Platner was gazing at the baby searching-
ly. He had been impressed evidently by certain
eccentricities in Horatio's bearing.
341
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" How old did you say the boy was, madame? "
asked the German savant, presently.
" Eight months," I answered, a catch in my
voice that I could not control.
" He's ah very intelligent for a child of that
age," commented Platner, laboring under the mis
take that he was saying something complimen
tary. " He has a most expressive face."
As the baby was scowling savagely at the Ger
man at that moment, and frantically shaking his
little fists at him, there were both pith and point
to the latter' s remark.
" Rot ! " muttered Jack, wickedly. I sprang
to my feet and lifted him from his chair. He
kicked protestingly for a moment, and gave vent
to a yell that bore witness to his possession of a
marvelous pair of lungs.
" Be quiet, Horatio," I whispered, imploringly,
hurrying toward the door, without further apol
ogy to my guests. " If you'll be silent now, I'll
have a bottle of champagne brought to the nur
sery."
342
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
At these words the baby nestled affectionately
in my arms, and I felt that the fight was won.
Just as we reached the doorway, however, Jack
clambered to my shoulder and waved his little fist
defiantly at my guests.
" Damn that frowsy old German donkey ! " he
muttered, close to my ear. " I'd give half a bot
tle of cocktails to prove to him what an amazing
ignoramus he is! Just wait a minute, will you,
Clarissa? "
I rushed out of the dining-room without more
ado. In another instant Jack would have said
the word that trembled on his tiny mouth, the
word that would have brought the whole temple
of modern materialism toppling down upon Herr
Planner's devoted head.
343
CHAPTER VIII.
HUSH-A-BY, NUMBER ONE!
Methinks that e'en through my laughter
Oft trembles a strain of dread ;
A shivery ghost of laughter
That is loath to rise from the dead.
Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen,
THE nursery was in a condition of much dis
order as I entered it with the baby's arms around
my neck. Much to my surprise and delight Jack
had fallen asleep as we mounted the stairs. How
to get him into his crib without rousing him was
a problem that I longed to solve, although I had
determined not to return to the dining-room. I
would send a maid presently to tell the butler to
inform Tom that I could not leave the baby at
this crisis. Surely our guests would consider a
344
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
crazy nurse sufficient excuse for the retirement of
their hostess.
But Jack opened his little eyes and crowed,
rather hilariously, as I laid him on his pillows.
" Don't go, my dear Clarissa," he said, his
baby tones strangely out of harmony with his
words. " I have much to say to you at once.
I owe you an explanation and apology. Sit down,
won't you? "
" Keep quiet, Jack," I whispered, " I'll be back
in a moment."
After I had despatched a servant to the dining-
room with my message to Tom, and had assured
myself that the baby's hysterical nurse had left
the house poor woman, I was sincerely sorry
for her ! I returned to the nursery and shut my
self in, with a feeling of great relief. So intense,
indeed, was my nervous reaction after hours of
varied emotions that I sank at once into a chair
to check a sensation of dizziness that had come
over me as I crossed the room.
" Isn't this cosy ! " exclaimed the baby, kneel-
345
Perkins, the Fakeer.
ing at the side of his crib and striving to touch
me with his fat, uncertain little hands. " I
wanted to say to you, Clarissa, that I did not de
liberately plan to frighten that tyrannical nurse
of mine. To tell you the truth, my dear, I had
taken just one swallow too much of those cock
tails and was astonished to discover that, while
thus slightly elevated, so to speak, I could com
municate in the language of maturity with this
ah comparative stranger. Naturally, it was
a great shock to the nurse. As I remarked to
you before, my dear, she's narrow. A more
broad-minded woman would not have rushed be
fore the public, making a kind of Balaam's ass of
a helpless baby. But she's been discharged, of
course? "
" She has gone away, if that's what you mean,"
I answered, laughing rather hysterically. " How
do you account for your sudden loquacity in her
presence, Jack ? "
" That's a mystery," said the baby, screwing
346
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
up his tiny mouth into a funny little knot. " Spir
its had something to do with it, I suppose."
" Spirits ! " I repeated, nervously.
" Yes," responded Jack, clapping his palms to
gether with a ludicrously infantile gesture.
" You see, my dear, there were spirits in the
cocktail. To tell you the truth, Clarissa, I'm
a bit scared. I'm going to swear off. By the
way, did you order that champagne ? "
" No," I answered, curtly.
" Well, perhaps it's better, on the whole, that
you didn't," sighed the baby, tumbling back on
his pillows and waving his chubby legs in the
air. " I've about made up my mind, my dear,
to lead a better life. It'll be easier for me to be
good than it has been, now that the nurse is gone.
She was so narrow, Clarissa! It was always on
my mind, and it finally drove me to drink."
" I'll have to replace her at once, Jack," I re
marked, drawing my chair closer to the crib.
" What ah that is have you some idea as to
just what kind of a nurse you'd like? "
347
Perkins, the Fakeer.
The baby was on his knees again at the side
of the crib, waving his expressive fists in the air.
" Understand me, Clarissa," he said, sternly,
" I refuse to risk my life again by placing myself
in the power of a hireling nurse. You can't ex
pect people of that kind to be open to new ideas.
To a man of my temperament, my dear,
you must realize that repeated doses of baby-
talk are actually cloying. If you could engage
some broad-minded, elderly woman who had been
deaf and dumb from birth, I might put up with
her for a while. But, of course, it would be
hard to find such a prize. You'll have to look
after your little baby yourself, my dear, until I'm
a few years older. It'll be hard for you, I realize
that, Clarissa. But, frankly, is there any other
alternative ? If I'm to lead a better life, my dear,
I must have some encouragement."
I leaned back in my chair, and closed my eyes
wearily. The burden that had been thrust upon
me was growing greater than I could bear.
" We'll postpone this discussion until to-mor-
348
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
row, Jack," I said, presently. " I must think it
all out carefully before I can come to a decision.
Meanwhile, you'd better go to sleep. It's get
ting late, you know."
" You aren't going to leave me here alone,
Clarissa ? " cried the baby, nervously. " You'd
better not. There'll be trouble if you do."
The fact was that I was in a quandary as to
what was the proper thing to do, under the circum
stances. I had only just begun to realize how
many problems had been solved by the presence
of the nurse. At this time of night it was im
possible, of course, to get anybody to take her
place. At such a crisis as this the natural so
lution of the problem lay in my temporary occu
pancy of her position. But I shrank from the
obligation that fate had so unkindly thrust upon
me. Lifting the very willing baby from the crib,
I carried him to a rocking-chair, hoping that I
might get him to sleep while I came thoughtfully
to a determination regarding my course of action
for the immediate future.
349
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" Gently ! " murmured Jack, cuddling grate
fully in my arms. " A long, slow, dreamy kind
of rocking is not so bad, Clarissa. It's the tem
pestuous, jerky style that I object to. That con
founded nurse had a secret sorrow. It used to
bother her whenever she got me into this chair.
She'd groan and weep and swing me up and
down, as if she were trying to pulverize her
grief, with me as the hammer. Then I'd begin
to yell, and she'd rock all the harder. You can't
imagine, Clarissa, what your little Horatio has
suffered of late."
I laughed aloud nervously, knowing that my
merriment had a cruel sound, but unable to con
trol it.
" Did you think that I was joking! " growled
Jack, clutching at my chin, angrily.
" Forgive me, Jack ! " I exclaimed, repentantly.
" I know that you've had an awfully hard time,
poor boy. And I promise you that I shall try my
best to make life easier for you, from now on.
And now, Jack, do try to get to sleep! I'll see
350
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
to it that you are perfectly comfortable to-night,
and to-morrow we'll talk about the future.
Would you like to have me sing to you, Jack, as
I rock you ? "
The baby fairly shook with suppressed laugh
ter at the suggestion.
"Doesn't it seem absurd, Clarissa?" he
gasped, between chuckles. " Just imagine what
it really means. You're about to hum hush-a-
bye-baby to Number One, while Number Two is
down-stairs talking scientific rubbish to a lot
of old fogies ! If you should ever write your
memoirs, my dear "
" Hush, Jack ! " I cried, petulantly, setting the
chair in motion. " I shall never write anything
for publication."
" Nonsense," commented the baby, drowsily.
" Everybody does. You'll be sure to try it on
some day. What a story you could tell, couldn't
you, my dear? You might call it, with my per
mission, ' Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.' '
CHAPTER IX.
A BOSTON GIRL.
It would be curious if we should find science and philoso
phy taking up again the old theory of metempsychosis.
But strangei things have happened in the history of human
opinion.
James Freeman Clarke.
IT was only through the exercise of the nicest
care that I escaped a complete nervous collapse
during the weeks immediately following our now
famous dinner to Herr Platner. I was tempted
at times to run off to Europe and leave my fev
ered household to fend for itself. I seemed to
spend the larger part of my time in keeping Jack
quiet and Tom cool. Which was the more diffi
cult task I am unable to say. Jack remained
stubbornly unreasonable regarding the kind of
nurse he was willing to submit to, while Tom
352
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
grumbled continually because I spent so much
time with the baby.
" What is the trouble in the nursery, Claris
sa ? " the latter asked me one morning at break
fast. " You have tried ten different experi
ments there since that crazy woman left us, and
now you tell me that her place is again vacant.
We pay the highest wages, Horatio is not a sickly,
fretful child, but still these alleged nurses come
and go, offering, so far as I can learn, only the
flimsiest excuses for throwing up a seemingly de
sirable situation. There must be something rad
ically wrong up there. Have you any idea, my
dear, what it is? "
How could I tell Tom the truth about the
matter? Had I informed him that the baby still
insisted upon my engaging an elderly woman
deaf and dumb from birth, and refused to adapt
himself to any one of the many compromises that
I had offered to him, Tom would have been justi
fied in suspecting the existence of insanity germs
in our nursery. He had seen one woman issue
353
Perkins, the Fakeer.
therefrom in an apparently crazy condition, and
he had noted the eccentric fickleness of her suc
cessors. If I should now lay the actual facts
before him, he would have good reason to be
lieve that I also had lost my mental balance. At
that moment there came to me a vague dread of
my second husband's scientific habit of mind. It
was evident that he was bent upon collecting data
about the baby and his nurses, in order that he
might reach some reasonable conclusion in ex
planation of the existing disturbed conditions in
our formerly unruffled household. And the un
fortunate part of it was that Tom had the leisure
and, I feared, the inclination to wrestle with this
problem until he had solved it in some way satis
factory to his exacting mind.
" The root of the trouble, Tom," I answered,
presently, after carefully weighing my words be
fore uttering them, " the root of the trouble is
not in the baby or the nursery or the wages or
in me. It is to be found in the great change that
is going on in the conditions of domestic service.
354
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
A child's nurse to-day I mean one of the kind
that we should be willing to employ is a highly-
trained specialist who has grown haughty and
despotic in the mere exercise of her profession.
She realizes that the demand for experts in her
line is greater than the supply, and "
" I see," interrupted Tom, rather rudely, I
thought. " But it does seem to me that if other
people in our position, Clare, can find satisfactory
nurses, we should not be the one family in the
city that is forced to take care of its own baby.
I am willing to pay any amount of money to
insure Horatio's comfort. I'll admit that he is
difficult at times. He seems to be a very sensi
tive, highly-strung child, but there's nothing ab
normal about him. He's pugnacious and hot-
tempered, but most healthy boy babies are in
clined to be spunky, aren't they? What I object
to is that he is gradually absorbing all your time,
day and night, Clare. I'm not jealous of Ho
ratio, my dear, but I don't believe in the old-
fashioned idea that parents should sacrifice their
355
Perkins, the Fakeer.
comfort upon the altar of the nursery. You un
derstand my position, do you not ? "
" Gwendolen will be here to-day, Tom," I said,
smiling at his disturbed face from across the
table. " I hope that she'll take a fancy to the
baby. At all events, she'll relieve the situation.
When your wife's in the nursery, Tom, you'll
have your cousin to talk to."
" Bah ! " grumbled Tom, rising and placing a
hand on the back of his chair, " Gwendolen's
pretty and chic and up to date, but she's not in
your class intellectually, my dear."
I smiled gratefully at Tom's compliment, but
my mind was not at ease. Wasn't the presence
of Gwendolen Van Voorhees in the house more
likely to prove disastrous than satisfactory?
When, however, Tom had insisted that his cous
in's long-deferred visit to us be made at once, I
could find no reasonable argument to oppose to
his wishes. From various points of view, Gwen
dolen's advent to the household appeared to be
desirable. She was a charming girl, well read,
356
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
widely traveled and a thoroughbred little inon-
daine. But I dreaded her arrival, despite the fact
that I could not have put the vague fears that
haunted me into specific words. I was beginning
to realize what it means in this prosaic, unimag
inative world to hide in one's bosom an uncanny
secret. There had come to me, of late, moments
when the inclination to tell Tom the whole truth
about Horatio or, rather, Jack was almost ir
resistible. Perhaps my real reason for objecting
to Gwendolen's presence was my fear, unac
knowledged to myself, that I should be tempted
eventually to tell her the amazing tale of Jack's
ridiculous reincarnation. There were times, and
they had constantly become more frequent, when
the burden of my secret seemed greater than I
could bear, when the longing to confess to some
body that the baby was a psychical freak of the
most astounding kind burned hot within me. As
I lingered over my coffee in the breakfast-room
that morning, after Tom's departure, the imme
diate future looked black enough, and I could not
357
Perkins, the Fakeer.
see that the coming of Gwendolen gave it a
lighter shade.
Nevertheless, I was really glad to welcome her
later in the morning as I met her at the door of
the drawing-room, and kissed her pretty, piquante
mouth affectionately.
" I was awfully glad to come to you, Clare,"
she cried, vivaciously, as we mounted the stairs
that I might show her to her rooms. " You know
the song with the chorus, ' There's one New
York, only one New York ? ' It's been running
through my mind for two days."
" But I thought that you were wedded to Bos
ton, Gwen," I remarked, my mind wandering
for a moment as we passed the closed door of the
nursery.
Presently we were seated cozily before an open
fire in the guest chamber, while Gwendolen, dark,
petite, smiling, appeared to me to be a most or
namental and fascinating addition to our little
circle.
" Boston is amusing," she was saying, in her
358
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
pleasantly emphatic way, " but it's so erratic,
don't you know. My nerves always begin to
ache after I've been there a few weeks. They
are so fond of fads, Clare, those clever Boston-
ians ! They take up everything, you know, and
always go to extremes."
"It's American history now, is it not?" I
asked.
" Yes," answered Gwen, gazing at the fire mus
ingly. " That's coming in again. But they're
perfectly crazy about theosophy just at present.
You'd be amazed, Clare, to discover how much
I know about Nirvana and adepts and metem
psychosis, and all that kind of thing. Several of
my most intimate friends have become vegetarians
and live mostly on baked beans. It's awfully
funny they take it all so seriously."
" And what do you really think of it, Gwen? "
I asked, nervously.
' Think of what, of which, my dear ? Of
living on beans, do you mean? "
" No. Beans are only a side issue, or, to speak
359
Perkins, the Fakeer.
with Tom's scientific accuracy, a side dish. What
do you think, for instance, of reincarnation ? "
" I don't know what to think about it, Clare,"
she answered, reflectively, pushing her dainty lit
tle feet toward the fire and gazing into my face
with earnest eyes. " Do you know, there are
times when I really imagine that there's some
thing in it! Of course, it's absurd in a way, but
it does solve a great many problems, does it
not? It conforms beautifully to the laws of evo
lution and the conservation of energy, and there
are so many things that can't be explained by
any other theory ! But it always makes me shud
der to think of it. Imagine, Clare, being born
again in Turkey, for example. Wouldn't it be
shocking? "
I laughed, rather hysterically.
" The whole subject is too silly for any use,"
I managed to say, in a superior kind of way.
" It does very well for Boston, of course, but it
will never have much of a run here in New
York."
360
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
" What a narrow way of looking at it, Clare ! "
exclaimed Gwendolen, protestingly. " Of course,
I'm not a theosophist, but I'm broad-minded
enough to realize that what's true in Benares or
Boston must be true in New York. If reincar
nation is really going on in this world, I can't
believe that any exception is made in favor of
our Knickerbocker families."
Again I laughed aloud, nervously. It was
pleasing to me to discover that Gwendolen had
a mind open to startling truths, but I regretted
the fact that I must henceforth constantly fight
against the temptation to tell her my great secret.
The imminence of my peril in this regard was
illustrated at once, for she turned to me suddenly
and asked, with great vivacity of manner :
"Where is the baby, Clare? Won't you let
me see him at once? I came to visit him, you
know; not you or Tom. He's got such a lovely
name ! ' Horatio ' is so fine and dignified ! What
do you call him for short, my dear? "
" I have not given him a nickname, Gwendo-
361
Perkins, the Fakeer.
len," I answered, coldly. " If you wish to, we'll
go to the nursery at once. As I told you in my
letter, we've had difficulty in getting the baby
a nurse. Just at present, I'm obliged to spend
most of my time with him. But I gave you fair
warning, you know."
" I'm so glad that I can have the run of the
nursery," cried Gwendolen, gaily, springing to
her feet. " I do so love really nice children,
Clare! Is he a jolly baby? Will he take to me,
do you think ? "
I answered her question as we reached the door
of the nursery : " I am sure I can't say, Gwen.
Horatio is very eccentric and pronounced in his
likes and dislikes. But if he goes to you at once,
follow my advice and don't toss him up and down
violently. He says that is, he doesn't like to
be shaken after taken."
362
CHAPTER X.
AN UNCANNY FLIRTATION.
And thou, too when on me fell thine eye,
What disclos'd thy cheek's deep-purple dye?
Tow'rd each other, like relations dear,
As an exile to his home draws near,
Were we not then flying ?
Schiller.
I MUST acknowledge that the enthusiasm dis
played by the baby when he caught sight of
Gwendolen filled me with mingled astonishment
and annoyance. He sat bolt upright in his crib,
waved his hands joyously in the air, and crowed
lustily. I realized that the poor little chap was
laboring under a delusion, that he had mistaken
Tom's fascinating cousin for a new nurse; but,
even so, why should he act as if he were intox
icated with happiness? I could not check the
conviction that Jack was making an exhibition
363
Perkins, the Fakeer.
of very bad taste by his warm reception of Gwen
dolen. That I was jealous of her was not true
that would have been absurd but it was not
pleasant to realize that the baby could rejoice
openly in the advent of one who, as he believed
at the moment, was to take my place in the nur
sery. Jack's horrible psychical disaster had great
ly endeared him to me, and I could not help feel
ing hurt at his eagerness to go to a perfect
stranger. There was something not altogether
infantile in the way in which he threw his chubby
little arms around Gwendolen's neck and tucked
his smiling little face into her cheek, chuckling
contentedly, while the girl laughed aloud.
" Isn't he just the sweetest little thing that
ever lived ! " cried Gwendolen, with spontaneous
enthusiasm. " Did you see him jump right into
my arms, Clare? Such a thing never happened
to me before. Is he always so cordial to stran
gers?"
" As I told you, Gwendolen, Horatio goes to
extremes in his likes and dislikes. He evi-
364
Clarissas Troublesome Baby.
dently approves of you." For the life of me,
I could not prevent my voice from sounding cold
and harsh. But the girl was too thoroughly in
terested in the baby to note the lack of cordiality
in my tones.
"'Oo dear 'ittle angelic creature," she was mur
muring to him, as she seated herself in the rock
ing-chair, with Jack cuddled in her arms. " Will
'oo always love 'oo cousin Gwen? "
Here was a kind of baby-talk that Jack seemed
to like, for his every sound and movement ex
pressed approval of Gwendolen's nonsensical en
dearments. But, I must admit, it annoyed me.
Logically, I could not blame Gwendolen for dis
playing a sudden fondness for the baby. She
had no way of knowing that she was holding
my first husband on her lap. I was glad that
she was ignorant of the fact, but, while my mind
fully exonerated her, my heart protested against
her fetching ways with the child. Jack as a baby
had never appeared to such advantage. He
smiled and laughed, winked his eyes, made funny
365
Perkins, the Fakeer.
little holes with his mouth, and waved his tiny
fists in the air in a kind of oratorical way that
was irresistibly amusing.
" He's perfectly sweet ! " cried Gwendolen,
glancing at me with dancing eyes. " I don't think
that I ever cared much for a baby before. Clare,
but Horatio has cleared the first bunker beauti
fully. Is he always like this ?"
I laughed aloud, nervously. I hadn't the cour
age to say anything uncomplimentary of the baby
at that moment, not knowing how far I could
trust Jack's self-control, and so I remarked, in
a non-committal way :
" He's a very good baby, on the whole, my
dear. Of course, he isn't to be blamed for pro
testing if things don't go just right with him."
" Of course 'oo aren't, 'oo lovely 'ittle cara
mel," murmured Gwendolen, her cheeks pressed
against Jack's baby face. " I've always been so
sorry for babies, Clare, because they couldn't talk.
It must be trying when a pin is sticking into you
somewhere to have your gums rubbed by a mis-
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Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
guided nurse, or to be rocked violently when the
heat of the room has made your head ache."
The baby gave vent to a most astounding yell
of delight, a very precocious exhibition of emo
tion that made Gwendolen laugh merrily. But
his vivacity quite upset me. I feared, momentar
ily, that his enthusiasm would find speech an im
perative necessity, and that Gwendolen would dis
cover to her consternation that what was theory
in Boston had become practice in New York.
Thereupon I acted in a most tactless way. I bent
down and removed Jack from Gwendolen's arms
to mine.
" Put me back, or I'll denounce you," whis
pered the baby, in my ear. Then he began to
howl in the most exaggerated infantile manner.
I was annoyed to realize that my cheeks had
flushed with anger and that a feeling of hot jeal
ousy had swept over me. Gwendolen, sympa
thetic and impressionable, had noticed the out
ward manifestations of my inward turmoil and
had hurried toward the door.
367
Perkins, the Fakeer.
" I'll go back to my room, Clare," she said,
as she passed me. " When you've put him to
sleep, come to me. I want to tell you what I
think of him. Au rcvoir, 'oo clear, sweet 'ittle
marshmallow ! "
Jack and I were alone in the nursery, and I
seated myself wearily in the rocking-chair, hold
ing the uneasy baby on my lap.
"What did you do that for, Clarissa?" he
growled, kicking violently with his expressive
legs. " I was in for the time of my life this
life, I mean and you deliberately snatched me
from that lovely girl's arms and practically drove
her from the room. Do you not realize that you
have been very cruel, my dear ? Surely you can't
be ignorant of the fact that I lead a very color
less life. Suddenly the tiresome humdrum of my
existence is broken by a chance for a perfectly
harmless flirtation. Do you rejoice at your little
baby's momentary relief from ennui ? Not at all ;
you treat me with the most tyrannical harshness,
grudging me the slightest change in the horrible
368
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
monotony of this infernal nursery. What's that
girl's name? "
" Gwendolen Van Voorhees," I murmured.
" She's Tom's cousin."
" She called herself Cousin Gwen and ex
pressed the hope that I might always love her,"
mused Jack, gazing with eyes too old for his face
at his dimpled, restless fists. " I don't like Tom,
Clarissa, but his cousin does him credit. I shall
always love her. No, don't rock, my dear. I
don't want to go to sleep. If you don't mind,
Clarissa, I should like to lie very quiet and think
about Gwendolen. Isn't it a beautiful name?
I'm sorry my name's Horatio. Don't rock, not
even a little bit. I'm very nervous, am I not?
I'd give half a dozen slips and my silver rattle-
box for a smoke, Clarissa. Do you think that a
cigarette would hurt me? "
" You remember, Jack, that cocktails didn't
agree with you," I argued, soothingly. " I'm sure
that tobacco would be very bad for you."
" Of course you are," grumbled the baby, re-
369
Perkins, the Fakeer.
suming his impatient gestures with his legs.
" You think that everything worth having is bad
for me, Clarissa. I suppose that you intend to
cut me off entirely from Cousin Gwen? "
" Don't be unreasonable, Jack," I implored
him. " Gwen can come here just as often as she
cares to. But you must realize, Jack, that I have
no confidence left in your veracity or discretion.
You don't keep your promises to me and you seem
to have no realization of the terrible results that
might come from a discovery of your identity."
" Is this a curtain-lecture, Clarissa ? " growled
Jack. " I tell you flatly, my dear, that I can't
stand much more. I've about reached the limit
of my self-control. There's a deadly dullness to
this kind of a life that is slowly driving your
sweet 'ittle baby-boy, Cousin Gwen's caramel and
marshmallow, to desperation."
" But what can you do, Jack ? " I asked, fright
ened by the peculiar tones in his voice. " My
role is as hard to play as yours, is it not? We
must both be brave and circumspect, my dear."
370
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
" Bah ! " exclaimed the baby, rudely, clutching
at my chin with his absurd little hands. " You
may rock a little now, Clarissa, very gently. Per
haps I could get a nap if you'd stop scolding me
for a few moments."
371
CHAPTER XL
A MYSTERIOUS ELOPEMENT.
Empty is the cradle ; baby's gone !
Old Song.
FROM one standpoint I have come close to the
end of rny narrative; from another, I am still at
its beginning. But, with Tom's permission, I
have placed the foregoing facts before the public
in the hope that the statement may be read by
somebody in Europe, Asia, Africa or America,
who is able to assist us in solving a hard prob
lem. The New York "newspapers have mingled
fact and fiction, realism and romance, in the arti
cles bearing upon what they call " The Great Min-
turn Mystery," in a manner most annoying to my
husband and myself. The only really sympa
thetic and enlightening account of the awful afflic-
ton that has fallen on our erstwhile happy home
372
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
was printed by a Boston journal whose editor is
a Buddhist. But I'm getting too far ahead of
my story.
Yet I have nothing to relate that you, who
keep abreast of the times, do not already know.
You remember reading in your morning news
paper, a few months ago, of the strange disap
pearance from Mr. Thomas Minturn's town house
of his baby, Horatio Minturn, and a guest, the
well-known society favorite, Miss Gwendolen
Van Voorhees. You have perused, I suppose,
subsequent journalistic presentments of the case,
telling how futile had been the search for our
lost ones. Tom, as the public knows, has offered
enormous rewards for the slightest clue that
should serve to throw even a glimmer of light
upon the most astounding disappearance of mod
ern times. We have employed the most famous
detectives in all parts of the world in our vain
efforts to find some trace of the fugitives if such
Jack and Gwendolen may be called. But, up to
the present moment, we have learned nothing
373
Perkins, the Fakeer.
that can help us in any way in our weary quest.
In desperation, and as a last resort, I have writ
ten and published this account of the events that
led up to our great loss. When the editor of a
magazine insisted that I should choose a title
for my amazing presentment of our weird exper
ience, a lump came into my throat and tears be-
dimmed my eyes. Had not Jack himself, with a
most uncanny foresight, chosen the title of my
unwilling deposition ? " Clarissa's Troublesome
Baby ! " Alas, how little did I realize at the
time of his suggestion how appropriate would
be this caption to my melancholy tale !
" Where's Gwendolen ? " Tom had asked of me
at breakfast upon the morning of the fateful day
that was to shatter for all time my second hus
band's materialistic tendency of thought. " In
the nursery, as usual, I presume? "
" She'd rather play with the baby than eat or
sleep, Tom," I answered laughingly. " In the
present dearth of nursemaids, Gwendolen's en
thusiasm for Horatio is most opportune."
374
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
Tom laughed as he lighted his after-breakfast
cigar.
" Let's go to the nursery, Clarissa, and bid
them good morning. I haven't seen Horatio for
forty-eight hours. I'm glad that Gwen likes him
so well, but I really feel that I am entitled to
a glimpse of the youngster now and again."
Thus did Tom and I gaily mount the stairway
to our doom. We rushed, so to speak, with
laughing faces, to the very edge of a precipice,
and toppled over, with a quip half spoken upon
our white lips.
As we entered the nursery, crying playfully to
Gwendolen to abdicate the throne she had
usurped, we were struck silent and motionless by
the sudden discovery that the room was empty.
Tom was, of course, less shocked than I by Jack's
deserted nest. There came to me, as I stood there,
cold and trembling, on the threshold of the nurs
ery, the conviction that I was confronting the
scene of another miracle, an environment within
which I should never again be annoyed by psychi
cal mysteries.
375
Perkins, the Fakeer.
I was recalled to myself by Tom's voice say
ing:
" What do you suppose has become of them,
my dear? Gwendolen! Horatio! Where are
you?"
Ah, but the pathos of it all ! Gwendolen ! Ho
ratio! Where are you? Were you wilfully,
heartlessly selfish, indifferent, in your strange
ecstasy, to the sorrow that you brought to others,
or were you powerless in the grasp of fate, forced
through psychical affinity to disappear thus weird
ly from the sight of men ?
You must see, dear reader, that what I have
written cannot come to an end that will satisfy
either your mind or your heart. I began with an
exclamation point; I must conclude with an in
terrogation mark. And in that obligation I find
that my tale resembles every human life. We
come to earth with a cry, and we leave it with
a question. So far as man is concerned, evolution
has been merely a zigzag progress up from proto
plasm to a problem.
376
Clarissa's Troublesome Baby.
And how has Tom withstood the unmaterialis-
tic revelation that I have been forced to make to
him and to the public? Has he been shaken in
his faith in the teachings of Buchner, Haeckel and
Herr Platner? Of course, being a man, he is
slow to admit that his nursery has vouchsafed to
him more enlightenment than his library, but he
has grown very gentle and sympathetic when I
talk to him about the possibility that the dreams
of the brooding East may be nearer the ultimate
truth than the syllogisms of the practical West.
You see, it was a condition, not a theory, which
confronted Tom that morning in our empty nurs
ery.
Nevertheless, he tells me that he has just hired
a young detective, who is said to have a genius
for solving mysteries that his older colleagues have
abandoned as beyond their skill. Let me assure
you, dear reader, that if Tom's latest employee
gets on the track of Gwendolen Van Voorhees
and little Horatio Minturn, I shall see to it that
the public be instantly informed of the fact.
377
A PURITAN WITCH
<A Romantic Love Story
Author of ''The Woman of Orchids? etc.
THRILLING TENDER ABSORBING
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THE ILLUSTRATIONS ARE FROM
DRAWINGS IN PHOTOGRAVURE
IE*. IR. .A.TJIDIIBEIR'I?
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The Vulgarians
BY EDGAR FAWCETT
Author of "The Evil that Men Do," etc.
An account of a trio from the West, who become immensely
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The Fighting Chance
THE ROMANCE OF AN INGENUE
By Gertrude Lynch
The story is a modern romance dealing with
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-
DATE DUE
HIGHSMITH 45- 102
PRINTED IN U.S.A.
PS31 19 V45P47
Van Zile, .Edward Sims, 1863-
Perkins, the fakeer, a
travesty on reincarnation
001260215 7
