3tf 
 
IN MEMORY OF 
 WILLIAM C. HABBERLEY 
 
JHedtatit* 
 
 " O y thou hast been a most prodigious comet I " 
 
 (The White Devil) 
 
Metfyznte 
 
 or 
 
 Life as it Should Be: 
 
 Being Divers Precious Episodes 
 In the Life of a Naughty Nonpareille 
 
 A Farce in Filigree 
 
 By GELETT BURGESS 
 
 Author of "Vivette," "Are You a Bromide ? J 
 "The Maxims of Methuselah," &c. 
 
 With Illustrations by the Author 
 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 NEW YORK 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1901, 1909 
 By THE Ess Ess PUBLISHING Co. 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1909 
 BY GELETT BURGESS 
 
 IFT 
 
 October, 1909 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. 
 
TO THE WHILOM 
 
 ASSOCIATE EDITOR OF 
 
 "PHYLLIDA" 
 
 AND 
 
 "LE PETIT JOURNAL DES REFUSfiES" 
 FELLOW ENTHUSIAST AND PARTNER IN 
 MANY ACTS OF UNREGRETTED FOLLY 
 
 CRITIC ARTIST FRIEND 
 
 THIS ABANDONED NARRATIVE 
 
 IS CORDIALLY DEDICATED 
 
PORTER GARNETT, ESQUIRE, 
 
 IF I adopt the old-world manner informally inscrib 
 ing to you this last fantastic product of my mad-witted 
 endeavor, and build a needless portico upon that monstrous 
 Temple of Frivolity which you have entered so often 
 with me and which I have been overlong erecting, you 
 will, I am sure, count it as of a piece with my customary 
 impertinence, and smile good-naturedly enough at my 
 gambado. Were I to push this inscription home to 
 you I could, no doubt, justify the liberty I now take 
 by acclaiming you as an enthusiastic co-laborer in many 
 an act of desperate and inconsequent trifling. It is more 
 than likely, however, you will be by way of accusing me 
 of lagging and shirking, swear that the metropolis has 
 dried a mind that the wind from the Pacific urged to 
 action ; that, in short, New York has tamed me. For 
 this I have but to plead too guilty. My Lady Mechante 
 has all but died of inanition. This seven years she has 
 fainted at the window of my soul, looking in vain for a 
 rescuer. And yet, this very effete coast first gave her 
 
 Vll 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 birth ; she is of the Atlantic, which should cause you 
 to revise your theories. 
 
 I prefer, though, to rest upon your indulgent approval 
 of that same lady, my heroine, and your appreciation of 
 my efforts to make her what she should be to satisfy 
 a certain whim we have in common. You have been 
 complaisant enough with her errantries to dub her 
 Nonparella, and to give her your guaranty of a pre 
 cious, if a faint and wan immortality. Alas, there 
 shall be few who are minded to the same opinion ! He 
 must wear rare spectacles, nowadays, who does not see 
 categories wherever he looks, and this essay is too per 
 sonal to be classed with any of the schools. (Most 
 humbly do I wear my garland of conceit.} 
 
 There is, however, a third consideration which de 
 mands your name upon this page. Tou are, happily for 
 me, of my caste. We possess the same terminology; we 
 talk without speaking ; we use the same shrugs and smiles. 
 But this letter is to go forth to others ; let it stand, 
 therefore, as our cartel to the world. We have stood 
 for Nonsense per se, you and I ; we have named it the 
 Fourth Dimension of Literature. We have found it 
 akin to music in its subtle, esoteric reactions. We have, 
 so far, practised it for itself for a mere sensuous 
 delight in an occult Style. But of the higher Nonsense, 
 what ? Is it debased by the adulteration of Satire and 
 Parody ? Faith, we have been recusant, you and I, 
 who have been for an unmixed art. Now, if I back 
 slide, if I step on some toes a-purpose, will you follow 
 
 Vlll 
 
DEDICATORY LETTER 
 
 me 
 
 For I started with you, blithely, without a desti 
 nation^ and ended galloping into town. Perhaps you, of 
 all the world^ are still alone. But I must go where my 
 steed carries me. 
 
 Nevertheless, you know my distinction between Fancy 
 and Imagination, quote your Poe as you like well^ I 
 am in such wise for Fancy, having had my fling with 
 Experience. No doubt it is but to reconcile my con 
 science, in despair of Chestertons who achieve all my 
 abandon and more than my theses ; yet still the chance 
 to be sui generis must be taken, since my Lady Mechante 
 has found favor in the sight of a publisher. Is the thing 
 worth doing? Shall a smile suffice for my reward? I 
 am sure only of yours ! 
 
 I shoot my arrow into the air, but I shall find it, at 
 last, in the heart of a friend. For we are of the gar 
 goyle s kin, you and I. We know that there is a re 
 verse of beauty, not ugliness, which is the inverse. We 
 have studied its laws, which few have known since the 
 spirit of wonder died from men. And as with art, so 
 with literature ; men can stand on their heads, but they 
 may not get through the looking-glass. Let s draw 
 nearer modern music, perhaps, and try in some such 
 way for emotions, though they be thin and frail. 
 
 And if I ape the Elizabethans, past masters, for so 
 small, so vapid a purpose, it is but to strive for the 
 impossibility of a freedom that lasted while books were 
 few. A word was slang to-day, and to-morrow, lo, it 
 was literature ! No patented phrases, no balanced 
 
 [ix] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 periods, and all form inchoate ! What V left to do ? 
 Everything, till our Academy comes in to decree the 
 murder of our mother-tongue and so, have at it, and 
 strive once more, even though one is caught striving. 
 Better -precious than patterned, say I. What s a sen 
 tence to be afraid of? If all the squares, triangles, and 
 circles are invented, I // try an irregular polygon ! Full 
 well you know the rules of the game when I play with 
 my words. 
 
 So it was you who gave me a hoist to the saddle and 
 a flick at the flank of my steed; it was you who, in your 
 sober fashion creature of fierce extremes bade me 
 God-speed with the stirrup cup. Tou have watched 
 me break my neck before ; haply you // be at the hurdle 
 to help me up. At least, technician, purist, academe 
 though you be, you are also as mad as I, my friend, as 
 mad as jade and Ho-ku ; and I trust you to grin at 
 my raised airs and watch my high manege until my 
 fall. For you, then, my curvet and capriole, my volt, 
 demi-volt, caracole, and curvet. I ride my smock- 
 rampant with bridle slack! 
 
 GELETT BURGESS. 
 NEW YORK, APRIL i 
 
ADVERTISEMENr 
 
 To the Indulgent Reader 
 
 SUCH helter-skelter rigamarole as this is a pudding that 
 needs a rare sauce of indulgence to drench its wild taste ; 
 though if you will, it should still be eaten hot from the 
 spoon. These be parlous days for the stylist when a new- 
 shaped phrase or a crooked word makes the girls jump a 
 page, hoping to light on sober verity. Now, though I writ 
 this with my left hand while my wits were astray over the 
 candle, though my Lady have no soul and my book no 
 manners, you must not think Fancy may not have her way, 
 too, in this arid time, if she but knock on the right door. 
 One may create as well as construct, and there are bricks 
 not made of experience. Nor do such airy castles always 
 perish in the night. 
 
 So, though all this happened before Holywell Street fed 
 the Strand with its trickling stream of antiquity, ere San 
 Francisco became unpicturesque with iron frames, while yet 
 the Boston Symphony rehearsed in the old Music Hall, and 
 before the Metropolitan tower had carried New York s 
 exclamatory note in architecture uptown Romance does 
 not die, and there is still material for Fancy. My tale needs 
 not verisimilitude to sustain its life ; let my grandchildren 
 bear me out. 
 
 [xi] 
 
ADFER TISEMENT 
 
 If you are for a fiction plugged with propriety, sobriety, 
 and the Magazine virtues, with sincerity, conviction, and all 
 that, go soak in the monthlies ! the periodical orthodoxy 
 of the day. But if you have antennae, if you are for the 
 far ends of the spectrum, if you can count corpuscles, I cry 
 you mercy when you see where abandon may go, withal, 
 and how a teaspoonful of brains might butter this fragile 
 custard. Some quodling will do it yet, I dare say, and to 
 him Lady Mechante holds out the delicate tip of her pink 
 little finger ! Well, she seemed a most prodigious comet 
 as I let her in, but even this impertinent tale has had its 
 face slapped for its laggard blood. She bade me drink her 
 adjectives, and she turned my sentences downsideup, but 
 even then the story fell into the rut seven times too often. 
 Never mind, here s for the diversion, now: it may not run 
 away with you, but it may point a sermon for some bigger 
 fool than I. 
 
 [xii] 
 

 BOOK I. LONDON 
 THE CAD AND THE COUNTESS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. A Burglar s Widow 3 
 
 II. A Sentimental Felon 10 
 
 III. The Cadger of Chelsea 22 
 
 IV. The Platonist 31 
 
 V. Business is Business 37 
 
 VI. A Scandal in Sussex Square 43 
 
 BOOK II. SAN FRANCISCO 
 THE WALKING PEANUT 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. The Peanut Shell . 53 
 
 II. No. 7, Key Court 62 
 
 III. Mr. Braghampton Entertains 69 
 
 IV. A Lunch at Campi s 78 
 
 V. The Hypnotic Club 89 
 
 VI. The Countess Rouge 100 
 
 VII. The League of Dreams 115 
 
 VIII. The Prehistoric Parade 120 
 
 IX. Reductio ad Absurdam 129 
 

 CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK III. BOSTON 
 THE CULT OF MARS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. A Symphony Rehearsal ....... 147 
 
 II. The Queen of Boston ....... 155 
 
 III. Cat Park s Serio-Comic ...... 163 
 
 IV. A Flirtation in Copley Square ..... 175 
 V. Miss Mischief s Mediumship ..... 183 
 
 VI. Entr acte ........... 195 
 
 VII. The Manifestation of Phryko ..... 203 
 
 VIII. The Interplanetary Plan . . : . . . 214 
 
 IX. The Book of Bosh ........ 227 
 
 X. The Temple of Mars ....... 242 
 
 XI. Bounder s Apotheosis 
 
 252 
 
 BOOK IV. NEW YORK 
 
 THE CAVE MAN 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. The Fairy of the Flatiron ...... 267 
 
 II. Smagg s Florescence ....... 280 
 
 III. Highbrow Hall ......... 290 
 
 IV. Blue Blood and Red ....... 307 
 
 V. A Sulphite in Disguise ....... 316 
 
 VI. The Best Best Seller ....... 334 
 
 VII. The Beast of New York ...... 342 
 
 VIII. Smagg in Apogee ........ 357 
 
 IX. New Worlds for Old ....... 379 
 
 [xiv ] 
 
iltst of <argartsms 
 
 PAGE 
 
 In which a perfect coal-heaver meets with his Destiny 
 
 in the shape of the Genius of the Book . Frontispiece 
 
 Showing how our Heroine became deservedly popu 
 lar in London without succeeding in her Quest . 19 
 
 Portrait of the Walking Peanut discovering his matu- * 
 tinal Reward rr 
 
 View of the Assault upon the Peanut Shell on Rus 
 sian Hill and the heroic Defense of an amateur 
 Shakespeare 
 
 The Gentleman in the mangy Bath Robe descends 
 into Cat Park by an unaccustomed Approach 
 
 The Apotheosis of the Minor Priest of the Seven- 
 Headed Salamander at the Temple of Mars . . 
 
 Wherein the Wild Beast of New York becomes for 
 the first time Articulate 
 
 Scene during the Peroration of the converted Cave 
 Man just prior to the Birth of his New World . 
 
 169 
 
 261 
 
 353 
 
 [xv] 
 
THE CAD 
 AND THE COUNTESS 
 
 What y s here ? Poetic fury and historic storms ! 
 
 (Volpone ; or, The Fox. ) 
 
Chapter 
 
 A BURGLAR S WIDOW 
 
 And by gadslid, I scorn it, I, so I do, to be a consort for every 
 
 humdrum ; bang hem, scroyles ! 
 
 (Every Man in his Humour.) 
 
 T the age of three-and-twenty, Mrs. Flori- 
 zelle Gaillarde found, among her charms and 
 tokens, item : a flamboyant youth which had 
 at last got its second wind in the rather 
 splendid pace she had set for herself, and, to 
 this, a nimble wit sharpened to a wire edge 
 by alternate poverty and wealth ; also a footing in the beau 
 monde won by finesse, the attainment of which scarce repaid 
 her for the struggle. She had, moreover, a sense of the 
 Relative Importance of Things by which she was able to 
 classify her desires and to lay a tiny curly finger upon her 
 nearest wish. First, then, she touched Romance ; for, 
 despite her variations of social altitude, neither Time nor 
 Fortune had yet brought to her door an Interesting Man. 
 
 The experience of this ruddy-haired whimsically-smiling 
 devillette with the arched eyebrows had been various. A 
 double dose of matrimony had not tamed her; her mind 
 and her heart were still virgin. Her first spouse was a 
 certain Baron of Bayswater, who had achieved importance 
 in the later Victorian Beerage for his movement towards 
 the abolition of the British barmaid. It need hardly be 
 added that he was unpopular, although his Lady suffered 
 
 [3] 
 
LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 no loss of prestige. Even the hospitals he had founded 
 repudiated him. Ostracized by the hideous violence he had 
 done to public opinion, he died soon afterward, and his 
 widow followed him into obscurity on account of her 
 romantic attachment for Leopold Gaillarde, a picturesque 
 burglar whose fingers were better developed than his brain. 
 
 While her second husband had lived, life had gone, in 
 a way, merrily enough, for his profession (he was a swell 
 " cracksman " of acknowledged ability) had savored their 
 nights with the truths that are stranger than fiction ; but 
 even then she was by no means satisfied. No matter how 
 picturesque a man s trade may be, if he is not of the fibre 
 of fancy, he grows dulled sooner or later to the beautiful 
 opportunities of his vocation, and inevitably he gets to 
 taking his emotions cavalierly. Leopold did his poor 
 best to satisfy his wife s idealism, but he was internally 
 cursed with the fatal quality of " meaning well." Though 
 after the honeymoon he had given himself up to her 
 empire, she had never really succeeded in scanning any 
 poetical quality into the bald prose of his profession. 
 Such things must come intuitively, and Leopold was a 
 hopeless Uitlander to the fate-marked aristocracy of pure 
 Romance. 
 
 He was a clever burglar, as burglars go, but he had more 
 of the artisan than of the artist in him. His fingers were 
 facile, but his fancy faint. He dabbled in wee sensations ; 
 he was quick enough at a hint, but slow to see for him 
 self, at a din cTceil, what risks were raw, what ripe, what 
 rotten. 
 
 Mrs. Gaillarde, who had an infinite capacity for being 
 bored and a still greater facility for rescuing herself from 
 such dilemmas, had not poisoned Leopold, however near 
 
 [4] 
 
A BURGLAR S WIDOW 
 
 she may have come to it in that first year after marriage 
 which is said to be a purgatory of marital adjustments. 
 She had never adjusted herself; the process was rendered 
 unnecessary by Leopold s encounter with a policeman 
 named Slithery, who emptied four shots into the burglar s 
 stomach. Leopold never digested the pellets, and, four 
 days afterward, Mrs. Gaillarde was a widow. She bobbed 
 up merrily at Madame Qui-Vive s, under her previous title, 
 and said nothing of her second experience in matrimony. 
 
 After his death, Florizelle, who in her salad days before 
 the mesalliance, had been a regularly apprenticed debutante 
 in the service of Madame Qui-Vive, was enabled, thanks to 
 her departed husband s industry, to take up again her card- 
 case and lorgnette, brougham and liveries, and enter London 
 society through the Gate of Affluence as a sort of journeyman 
 mondaine to practice the mechanics of high-life amenities. 
 
 The assumption of the old-new routine, however, entailed 
 many onerous punctilios that chafed her more mature en 
 thusiasm. The receptions to which she was invited were 
 dull, the dinners homicidal. She found that her associates 
 played at the game of Society now with the stolidity of 
 whist fiends competing for points and prizes rather than 
 with any true sporting instinct. In short, she had returned 
 to her world to find one dimension gone. Her sphere had 
 become a mere circle, with longitude and latitude, but 
 without depths of possibility. 
 
 She might have escaped, it is true, by staying away from 
 such mummeries had she not unwittingly fascinated a dozen 
 or so frock-coats, who, before she was aware of the inva 
 sion, came a-vaulting the walls of her Mayfair Street 
 privacy and trampled the garden of her domestic life. 
 They would not come on her u days," but persisted in 
 
 [5] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 dropping into her seclusion to bore her one by one. It 
 was useless to forbid them entrance ; they lay in wait for 
 her at every corner. The worst of it all was, that what 
 agile wits there were among them were frightened away 
 by this siege, and Florizelle was encompassed by a retinue 
 of slow-minded retainers whom it was impossible to dis 
 courage. Her back yard was littered with the bouquets 
 that she flung with impetuous adjectives from her morning- 
 room windows, and her maids grew affluent on ancillary 
 arles. Lady Mechante was forced to live a large portion 
 of her time in her brougham in order to escape the insist 
 ence of her satellites. 
 
 Despite all this, the gayety of the town held the charming 
 widow captive, for she was city-bred and disdained the 
 unspiced flavor of rural joys. She could no more deny 
 herself the stimulus of gas-lit frivolity than she could refuse 
 her lips the invisible aid of vermeil. She was a creature 
 who craved exotic intellectual sensations. As she was 
 clever and imaginative, she could not help seeing all about 
 her the avenues of Indiscretion which led to tiny twilight 
 paradises, little carousels of fashion, into which her comrades 
 strayed, hand in hand, questing adventure ; but these were 
 not for her. She was for a marvel ; the caverns of her joy 
 must be not stucco but crystal and ruby. 
 
 She thought time and again of flinging away her fortune 
 and making for the purlieus again, but the memory of her 
 former society checked her ; she did not like second-story 
 men, she found forgers and counterfeiters, cracksmen and 
 confidence sharps, all one-sided and vulgar. There were, 
 on the contrary, many men in the world polite whom she 
 would welcome into her acquaintance if they could be 
 induced to come, but they would not come. In short, she 
 
 [6] 
 
A BURGLAR S WIDOW 
 
 longed to pick her own friends as men used, and to be free 
 to go and come at will among them, without card or caution. 
 
 But she lacked the precise impelling motive till, at a 
 dinner given by Madame Qui-Vive, she found herself taken 
 in to table by a man whose face seemed piquantly sugges 
 tive. She tried to pick up, in her memory, his name from 
 the mumble that had served as her introduction, but except 
 that it began or ended with an " R," she found nothing to 
 prompt her. She read his name on the card beside his 
 plate. It was " Mr. Guy Bounder." 
 
 She said, then, as he began his oysters with the wrong 
 fork, " Mr. Bounder, I seem to recall your face, as of one 
 I have known, but I cannot put you quite in your place in 
 that rogues gallery of my mind. Something in your gauc her ie, 
 too, cries out for recognition ; a certain slipshod habit of 
 your attire, an unpleasant though familiar expression in your 
 eyes, proclaim you an old friend, but I am at a loss to class 
 you. If you have this stolen property of mine, I pray you 
 return me my recognition." 
 
 " I thank you a thousand times for your insults," said 
 Mr. Bounder, dropping his serviette and planting a kiss 
 upon Florizelle s carelessly dropped hand as he stooped 
 to pick up the linen before the waiter could intervene. u I 
 thank you, since it proves you really are what I had sus 
 pected ; you are Florry Gaillarde ! " 
 
 Lady Mechante nearly swooned. " But your name ! " 
 she cried, in a tone that brought twenty eyes jumping 
 toward them, hurdling the lighted candlesticks to throw 
 themselves mercilessly upon the pair. 
 
 u I call her Emily, only Emily, and she has just com 
 menced to talk ! " he replied with rare presence of mind. 
 " Only the other day she toddled in, and said " 
 
 [7] 
 
LADT M EC H ANTE 
 
 But by this time the inquisitors had turned their atten 
 tion from the two, and he resumed with more adulation, 
 u Surely you remember Mustard, the hero of the Belgrave 
 Square job ? I remember your own congratulations one 
 evening at the Burglars Ball ! And so poor Leopold is 
 dead ? I suppose you keep on with the business ? " 
 
 " What, in heaven s name, do you mean ? " said Lady 
 Mechante. Then, turning to the human being on her 
 left, she murmured, "No, I haven t been to the theatre for 
 two days ! c The Atom was so clever that it absolutely 
 exhausted me. . . . Yes, you must come and see me ! 
 I am always at home on the fifth Wednesday in February, 
 from eleven to quarter-to-twelve. ... No, really ? " 
 And then, to Mr. Bounder she added, " Is it possible that 
 there is a profession that my sex has not adventured? Are 
 there, then, female burglars ? " 
 
 "Heaven forbid!" said Mr. Bounder, "but I thought 
 that one of your Ladyship s attainments and cleverness 
 would have profited by your husband s tutelage." 
 
 " I am no Lady," said Florizelle. " I have dropped 
 the sobriquet. Here are ladies around you ; do you 
 confound me with such waxwork ? But seriously, you 
 have, for once, put an idea into my head. No, no; not 
 that there was not plenty of room," she added; "but that 
 you should have done it ! " 
 
 " I could find you the necessary tools," said Mr. Bounder. 
 " I have myself a silver-mounted set that I would willingly 
 place at your service." The love-light had stolen into his 
 face. 
 
 " It is not that it is not even the lack of familiarity 
 with the old-time fences, " she said, casting down her 
 eyes. " I have not lost my proficiency. See here ! " 
 
 [8] 
 
A BURGLAR S WIDOW 
 
 As he looked, she abstracted the gold watch from her 
 neighbor s pocket, while she feigned to reach for the 
 celery. 
 
 u Ah, yes ; I remember that trick well," said Mr. 
 Bounder, accepting the little token of old friendship. " I 
 once waltzed with you ! " 
 
 " Do not mention it," the widow replied, summoning a 
 blush. " It was such a little thing to do for a friend. I 
 am sure you profited by it in the long run. But this is the 
 point: I am bored. Frankly, dull as you are, you are a 
 Haroun-al-Raschid compared with these half-witted objects 
 here. You have unwittingly, I acknowledge pointed 
 out to me an avenue of escape. You still love me ? " 
 
 " Madly," murmured Mr. Bounder. 
 
 u Then accept your reward ! Kiss me ! " She slightly 
 inclined her head. 
 
 " What ho ! Before all these people r " cried Bounder. 
 
 "You are a poor fool," said the little widow. "One 
 does not offer such a favor twice. You have lost that one 
 forever. But you still have the watch, and it will stand 
 you ten quid at least. Let that suffice. As for me, I have 
 found my career. The world shall once more hear of 
 Lady Mechante ! " And, though the entree had just been 
 served, she rose and left the table. 
 
 In this wise did Mrs. Florizelle make her dignified exit 
 from Society. 
 
 9] 
 
Chapter ttoo 
 
 A SENTIMENTAL FELON 
 
 Ye dross, ye powdered pigsbones, rhubarb glisters ! 
 
 (Thierry and Theodoret.) 
 
 was not long before Lady Mechanic s 
 prestige had flooded the crepuscular sub- 
 world of extra-ritualistic functions ; for, 
 among that Submerged Tenth, her skill 
 and daring, combined with the compulsion 
 of her ardent nature and lambent tempera 
 ment, would have insured her leadership even if she had not 
 had the handicap of Leopold s connection with the pro 
 fession. She had no need, then, to begin with Shoreditch 
 or the Newington Causeway, and, though she was known 
 and feared at the " Elephant and Castle," her fame jumped 
 boldly into the secret councils of Soho. In the empire of 
 Crime and Adventure women have larger rights and lesser 
 privileges, so she threw off the insistence of chivalry ; she 
 w.as no longer over-sexed, she had become an Economic 
 Factor, taking her place as an equal. 
 
 London, indeed, soon began to hear of Lady Mechante, 
 as she had predicted. She fitted modern methods to modern 
 needs, and, not content with harassing the better known 
 districts of Society, she became an explorer and laid her 
 tribute upon new territories. Her ablest accomplice in this 
 work was Guy Bounder, who, though a child compared 
 with her, in the field of invention, was familiar with the 
 
 [10] 
 
A SENTIMENTAL FELON 
 
 machinery of the profession, having kept in touch with af 
 fairs while she was rusting in the aristocracy. 
 
 But, though it is not of these industries that our tale is 
 concerned, let us mention some of her more important de 
 partures. First among these came her innovations in the 
 scandal market; she replaced the private detective in im 
 portant divorce proceedings, and became a purveyor of sen 
 sation to the more lurid journals. Her skill in breaking and 
 entering gave her marvelous proficiency and usefulness to 
 her clients, but by reason of her intimate familiarity with 
 the classes, she was enabled to select and obtain what ordi 
 nary thieves would hardly have noticed. She did, it is true, 
 pick up a rare first edition here and a particularly attractive 
 etching there, but this was mere by-play. 
 
 Yet, in spite of these activities, and too many more to 
 describe, she lacked adventure of proper quality to satisfy 
 her multiplex necessities. Guy Bounder and her lesser asso 
 ciates she saw as through the wrong end of the opera-glass 
 small, sharply set in a wonder-world of insignificant emo 
 tions, delicately colored, but cold and unreal. After all, 
 they were no more worth while than her five-o clock frock- 
 coats. They were indurated ; the crust of their profession 
 alism could be broken into by no pang of novelty, nor by 
 the stabs with which the mad-hearted little Florizelle sought 
 to pierce their calm. 
 
 Still, she knew that there were men worth while know 
 ing, and if they attended neither the ordeals of Belgravia nor 
 the occult processes in Soho, she must find them out at 
 home. What use was her marvelous capacity if she must 
 be balked of such glorious booty as the acquaintance with 
 an Entertaining Man ? A lively appetite for originality 
 grew into a hunger unbearable, and from that to an intel- 
 
LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 lectual starvation. Such was her London. It has been 
 many another s. 
 
 She was lunching at Dieudonne s one day, saucing her 
 duck with such reflections, when a gentleman entered who 
 probed her curiosity to the quick. Here, possibly, was 
 one of the three interesting men in London. The un 
 known seated himself near her table and proceeded to give 
 evidences of taste and originality. His judgment of the 
 menu was of a hair-trigger accuracy and swiftness ; his 
 order was sharp without being hurried, and his treatment 
 of the waiter and the waiter s treatment of him exhibited 
 patently the importance of the guest, both to the community 
 and to himself. Lady Mechante could not help contrasting 
 such individuality with Guy Bounder s nonentical rule-of- 
 thumb savoir faire. Guy, too, had a rabbit lip, with the 
 chin of a lizard ; he had a rush of teeth to the mouth, and 
 yet she spent her time with him and his commonplaces 
 when she might have been collecting such patrons as 
 this genius for her clientele. Surely she had lost much 
 time ! 
 
 She gave the word to her groom upon leaving, and an 
 hour later received the information that the man was a 
 Mr. Saul Edam, living at No. 67 Knightsbridge, and that 
 he carried on business as an East India warehouseman in 
 the city. The last item was a shock to her, yet the attrac 
 tion of his personality drew her, and she persuaded herself 
 of his worth by many feminine excuses. That very night, 
 indeed, she set out ; she was not one to linger long while 
 her egg cooled. 
 
 " I will do him the honor of robbing him with my own 
 hands," she said to herself, u and, incidentally, I will find 
 out what manner of man it is who has hands like that and 
 
A SENTIMENTAL FELON 
 
 who wears a brown that is at least six weeks in advance of 
 the mode ! " 
 
 Lady Mechante like Love laughed at locksmiths, but 
 unlike Love she was by no means blind. Yet, for the first 
 time in her life, she bungled. She entered and threaded her 
 way through the house with dexterity, giving a quick glance 
 here and there as to the importance or value of the mental 
 furnishings of the place. Try as she might, however, there 
 was little trace of any secret that could be made worth her 
 time or trouble. The man s life was absurdly blameless, 
 she estimated there was hardly ten shillings worth of 
 blackmail from cellar to garret. It was, after all, a house 
 for the rank and file of sneak-thieves, surely no place for a 
 lady. Still, she dared not go till she had taken a look 
 through the secretary in the library. 
 
 A few old love letters, yes; and she smiled at their un 
 compromising character. The man s life must, she thought, 
 have been singularly dull. It would be a charity to write a 
 note and leave it here for him, perhaps to smoulder like a 
 spark till his glance kindled it into flame. She was feeling 
 for a pen when a noise behind her turned her head. Mr. 
 Edam had entered, and his face wore an unaccustomed look 
 of surprise. It was evident that he was unused to enter 
 taining ladies in his rooms ; he was even ungallant enough 
 to exhibit his displeasure. 
 
 " What, in heaven s name, does this mean, madam ? 
 And by what right are you ransacking my desk at this hour 
 of the night ? " 
 
 "Pray don t disturb yourself; I have just finished," said 
 Lady Mechante, drawing on her gloves. " I was just pick 
 ing up a few trifles, but I assure you that I have found 
 nothing of value. I won t trouble you longer really, I 
 
LADT M ECU ANTE 
 
 s 
 
 must be moving. But that old scarab seal there, yes, I 
 might take that. Thank you, good-night ! " She turned 
 as she passed him : " Poor, dear man ! You are bored, 
 are n t you ? Now, I know of a lady who is so good at that 
 sort of thing. Really, she does it very well indeed ! ! 
 
 " Who and what are you ? " Mr. Edam insisted. " Am 
 I to take you for a common burglar ? How did you enter 
 my house ? " 
 
 " Pat-a-tie, pat-a-ta ! " mocked Florizelle. " In a mo 
 ment I shall be annoyed, and then I shall never, never come 
 again! I came in by the window we modern English 
 women are agile. A burglar, yes a wnmon burglar, no! 
 My word, sir, do I look it ? " And she ran up to the 
 mirror. 
 
 " You are young for this business, my dear," said Edam, 
 who could not help but be charmed by the lady s manners. 
 "But think what this means at your age, too !" Lady 
 Mechante blew him a kiss. " You a thief! God help me ! 
 I can hardly believe my eyes ! 
 
 " Oh, I beg you not to inflict your Nonconformist mo 
 rality upon me at this hour ! " she answered. " What, 
 then, is your honesty you, a city merchant ? You buy, 
 it is true, but you sell for more than you gave, cheating 
 your victim out of one or two hundred per cent. What 
 more do I ? I take, here and there, what I can find, and 
 I sell it again at an insignificant advance; think of the 
 risks, too, should I fall in with those who are not gentle 
 men ! " She gave him a searching glance, which embar 
 rassed him visibly. " No, no, I believe you honorable, 
 Mr. Edam ; I do not accuse you. You believe in compe 
 tition. You know that honesty is an outworn policy in 
 your business. It has as little place in mine. I know, 
 
 [H] 
 
A SENTIMENTAL FELON 
 
 too, that you play the stock market ; you are, in short, a 
 gambler. Well, then, you prefer chance, and I, skill. Yet 
 I had fancied you might understand that you might ap 
 preciate the compliment I paid you. Never mind. You 
 may yet regret your treatment of Lady Mechanic. And 
 now, sir, though I am far from angry, there is nothing I 
 desire so much as a way to the door. I have a shattered 
 ideal to nurse. It is very late. Yes, the tips of my fingers 
 only. Well, perhaps we may yet be friends. Good 
 night ! " She ran downstairs lightly and was into her 
 brougham before Saul Edam could pursue. 
 
 Disastrous as was this sentimental experiment, she could 
 not help confessing whimsically to Guy Bounder, who 
 heard the tale with a lowering brow. 
 
 " Oh, I say ! " he interrupted. " You d better steer 
 clear of Johnnies like that, you know ! It was all right 
 when you were in the swim, but business is business now, 
 and I don t like it." The vital point of the episode had, 
 as usual, utterly failed him, and Florizelle sighed. 
 
 Yet she was only twenty-three, youth was still bubbling 
 in the glass of life, and she coaxed her illusion back to con 
 valescence. From many pleasing hints and anecdotes the 
 name of Sir Seton Maldivers, Q. C., became known to her 
 as an advocate of unusual astuteness. In all her life she 
 had not met a barrister. A few phrases of his lodged in 
 her mind. He had a way with men and children. He 
 was a woman-hater, to boot, and this alone was enough to 
 pay for the trip to St. John s Wood. Up she went, then, 
 and in she got by way of a parlor casement. She hoped 
 he would be at home, for she was minded to steal a glimpse 
 of his profile. There was an odor of good tobacco in the 
 house as she tripped upstairs. She laid hand upon the 
 
 [-5] 
 
LADT M EC H ANTE 
 
 door whence it proceeded most plainly, and walked in 
 boldly. She was bound, this time, to put the matter to the 
 touch without preliminary skirmish. 
 
 Sir Seton Maldivers was reading, but he rose hurriedly 
 as she entered. I beg pardon," he exclaimed ; " really, 
 I had not heard you announced ; you know, you quite 
 surprised me ! " 
 
 " It is close upon three in the morning," Florizelle re 
 turned, " and I had not thought it worth while to disturb 
 the servants." 
 
 " But I don t quite understand - " began the baronet. 
 
 " I shall try to make it easier for you," said the lady. 
 u Fancy, for the instant, that you are back in the days 
 of Romance. Your book, yes, as I thought Anthony 
 Hope that simplifies matters. Let us proceed, then, 
 en regie. I come in the guise of a highwayman, by bur 
 glarious entry ; I ask you to stand and deliver. Your ideas, 
 then, or your life ! I need not say I am desperate. Thank 
 your stars that I am also beautiful. You are indeed for 
 tunate, and this relief should be a pleasure. But I am in 
 haste. What ideas, thoughts, fancies, quips, jests, conceits, 
 inventions, judgments, theories, speculations, notions, opin 
 ions, beliefs, sentiments, or what-not you have, you must 
 make over, for I must fill my head before morning breaks. 
 I prefer a marketable commodity, surely, yet I shall not 
 stick for commerce. Speak, then, if you dare answer a 
 hot-headed woman ! I am in no mood to wait while you 
 consult the encyclopedia ! Understand, my dear sir, if 
 you please, you are being bullied. I am prepared to use 
 force ! " 
 
 " My dear Miss Rigmarole," cried the barrister, u I pray 
 that you attempt to calm yourself. I will ring for attend- 
 
A SENTIMENTAL FELON 
 
 ance ; surely you are distraught ! Just a minute, and my 
 maid " 
 
 The little lady whipped out a revolver and presented it 
 at his head. " Must I be more explicit ? " she said. " Do 
 you imagine that because I can gossip I shall not face 
 death if necessary ? I have not touched your property as 
 yet, but pray do not found too high a conception of my 
 scruples upon that restraint. I am of the criminal class, I 
 assure you, and though I have neither a low, receding fore 
 head nor the unsym metrical stigmata of the mattoid, yet I 
 am bad enough, in a way, as the world judges. Are you a 
 man, then, or a mouse ? " 
 
 " Are you a woman or a devil ? " retorted the barrister. 
 
 Lady Mechante dropped the end of her weapon. " The 
 retort courteous," she mused. " He may do." 
 
 In an instant she was disembarrassed of the pistol and 
 found herself violently seated upon a lounge. The tete-a- 
 tete had become intense. 
 
 " By your eye, you are mad ! " said Sir Seton, " and I 
 shall take immediate steps for your apprehension." 
 
 The lady forced a laugh. " Oh, no ; never mind. My 
 apprehension is satisfactory to me." She opened her chate 
 laine and displayed several instruments, the use of which 
 is unmistakably illegal. " Here ! I may convince you, at 
 least, of my sanity." 
 
 " Heavens ! How came you to this pitch of corrup 
 tion ? " said the other. 
 
 " Mere enthusiasm," asserted the lady, lightly. " Much 
 as you have attained your own eminence in the law. Yet 
 I object to your substantive. Corruption is an unpleasant 
 term ; it is horridly suggestive of physical decay." 
 
 " Yet you acknowledge that you have chosen a career of 
 [ 7] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 vice," the baronet said, still feeling her with his two eyes. 
 " Have you no conscience, then, madam, that you pros 
 titute your intellect in such an infamous pursuit ? " 
 
 " Enough of such Philistinism. I am sick of such con 
 ventional-minded obloquy ! You dare speak to me of 
 conscience, of infamous pursuits you who trade in pro 
 fessional hypocrisy ? You, sir, are a criminal advocate ; it 
 is your business to defend or to prosecute, as your retainer 
 bids ; to shut your eyes to the verities and attempt to close 
 others vision. What are you but a licensed liar ? It is 
 the same to you whether you are keeping a criminal from 
 his just deserts or stretching the neck of an innocent father 
 whose little ones shall cast his blood upon your head ! 
 Sac-a-papler ! My trade is open and holy beside yours. I 
 pit my craft against organized society and take all chances. 
 Even you know me by name and by fame. I am Lady 
 Mechante, the heroine of ten thousand actionable works of 
 art and genius ! " 
 
 With that she turned and left him. At the door she 
 stopped and turned to him, as an actress pauses at the 
 wings before the customary stage exit. " I shall not come 
 again," she said ; " I shall not come again ! " Her veil 
 was tied, her gloves buttoned ; she ducked her head and 
 threw herself out of the doorway, leaving the baronet wip 
 ing his eyeglasses nervously. 
 
 " My word, you surprise me," said Guy Bounder, when 
 he heard of the exploit. " But I sye, you know, you don t 
 want to go and make gyme of a toff like Sir Seton, blimy, 
 or I m fair to split ! What s the use of being so cocky ? 
 Why, Sir Seton is by wye of being the best criminal advo 
 cate in the city, and we re like to need him any time, s help 
 
 [18] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 me ! My word, it 11 tyke a bit of doing to get you off, 
 Florry, when you re pulled ! " Guy s fortunes had fallen 
 to a low ebb, and his manners usually kept them company. 
 
 Such remonstrances, however, failed to dampen Mrs. 
 Gaillarde s enthusiasm. Nor, indeed, did a series of un 
 successful attempts at nocturnal adventure during the en 
 suing season. She flitted here and there, breaking and 
 entering, and now and again, as her moods grew more 
 reckless, she hazarded interviews with her patrons. She 
 confined her attentions to gentlemen whose birth and 
 repute promised the greatest intellectual satisfaction, and 
 she became a polite register of the town s bachelordom 
 and jeunesse doree. Many a youth awakened at two in the 
 morning to find a beautiful woman, masked, and attired in 
 tune with the latest cry, sitting in his favorite armchair, 
 smoking a perfumed cigarette, waiting for him to compose 
 his wits for the colloquy. She ranged wide with such as 
 were fit opponents, touching religion, conduct, art, fash 
 ion, and sport, working delicately along the lines of least 
 resistance. 
 
 How few there were, however, worth her while ! From 
 Mayfair to St. John s Wood, from St. James s to Chelsea 
 and Bayswater, she followed every clue, and the legend of 
 Lady Mechante arose and flew from club to club and from 
 pub to pub. Last night she had visited young Barnegat, 
 the Australian millionaire, at his rooms in Duke Street ; last 
 week she had fascinated Lord George Cobhouse, and he 
 had chased her half-way across Kensington Gardens in his 
 pajamas before her grooms had caught him and beaten him 
 blue. To-night wagers had been laid on Blankinsop, the 
 American plunger, and men walked the streets about 
 Cavendish Square, hoping for a sight of the green Brougham. 
 
 [20] 
 
A SENTIMENTAL FELON 
 
 Gentlemen of fashion began to leave their house doors 
 unlocked and their watches prominently displayed to net 
 this butterfly. Her mots were retailed at afternoon 
 functions ; the women of the innermost circles conspired 
 together to put a stop to the innovator. The man who 
 had last received Lady Mechante was the popular hero 
 until the next was chosen ; and before long it came to pass 
 that there were false witnesses enough for a dozen duels. 
 No one, as yet, had seen her face ; no one had touched her 
 lips. With all her prominence in the arena of gossip, 
 scandal had not wounded her; there were too many men- 
 about-town infatuated with Lady Mechante to make that 
 safe. 
 
Chapter Wyttt 
 
 THE CADGER OF CHELSEA 
 
 Both their brains buttered cannot make two spoonfuls. 
 
 (Rule a Wife and Have a Wife.) 
 
 ,HERE was a time when Guy Bounder had 
 kept up a dummy residence in Jermyn 
 Street and built from that pied-a-terre a 
 flimsy fabric of fashionable prestige. It 
 was at Madame Qui-Vive s, indeed, that 
 Mrs. Gaillarde first encountered him after 
 her re-entrance into Society, but Mr. Bounder s presence 
 there would hardly bear investigation. There are paid as 
 well as paying guests at the functions of the beau monde. 
 That had been Guy Bounder s unique appearance at the 
 Hotel Qui-Vive. 
 
 For a while the magnificent successes of Lady Mcchante 
 enabled her partner to keep up the Jermyn Street apart 
 ments upon a still more solid basis than before, and Guy 
 found his professional connections with Society by day 
 gave him many advantages which he was not slow to use 
 by night. The partnership flourished for a while, but 
 my Lady Mechanic s fantastic taste for originality and the 
 spicery of genius led her steadily away from the industries 
 that Guv himself considered most remunerative. The weekly 
 accountings grew smaller and smaller, and, not to put too 
 fine a point to his sufferings, four months later found Guy 
 Bounder installed permanently in rooms on the Queen s 
 
 [22] 
 
 
THE CADGER OF CHELSEA 
 
 Road, Chelsea, opposite the Royal Hospital, a seedy, 
 plucked thing of questionable antecedents and suspicious 
 habits. He at his perihelion was no Adonis, but in this 
 phase of disrespectability his weakness betrayed itself in 
 face, speech, and gesture as he sat at his tiny window and 
 thought of the recidivation of his associate. 
 
 At the rare intervals when he was permitted to see his 
 patroness, he was, of course, unable to give voice to his re 
 proaches. Florizelle was too gay and irresponsible for that ; 
 she had but to crook a little finger and he melted into a 
 canine submission and sentimentality. She twittered and 
 laughed away his disappointment, and yet he lacked the 
 stamina to break with her directly to plunge alone into 
 manly enterprises of his own and reinstate himself in the 
 profession and at the secret councils of the Fraternity. 
 Lady Mechante had long since begun to neglect the con 
 spiracies of Soho, and was in open revolt, playing her own 
 part in the town as a free lance, and reporting to no central 
 authority, claiming no vote in the tribunal. Guy feared for 
 her. She was already suspected, but he had defended her 
 as well as his standing permitted ; he had no suspicion yet 
 of any cardinal lapse from the primitive ethics of the 
 clique. If such a -mouse can love, he loved Florizelle, and 
 love can accomplish marvels. His passion was in a fair 
 way soon to make a man of him. A drop of jealousy in 
 that sweet solution would at any moment turn it to a 
 mordant acid. 
 
 He was sitting indolently at his window one day, watch 
 ing the daily pavement quarrel whose actors were usually 
 recruited from Paradise Alley across the street, when a green 
 brougham came into the road from Tite Street and drew 
 up at the curb. From this alighted something in veil and 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 lace and fashionable frippery woman or angel, he guessed. 
 The crowd, staring, made way for her ; she pushed open the 
 iron gate of the tiny garden and rapped at the knocker with 
 a gusto that rattled the windows. It was not two minutes 
 before a flutter outside his door told him the honor was to 
 be his, and, after a moment of suspense, Florizelle entered 
 to him, borne up from below on a wave of curiosity visible 
 and audible from his landlady, her father, daughter, and the 
 slavey who whispered and peeped on the second landing. 
 Mr. Bounder welcomed his caller with surprise, stuffed a 
 wad of paper into the keyhole, and showed the lady a seat. 
 
 " Oh, Guy ! " she commenced, casting a lively eye over 
 the dingy chamber, u what a dear, funny little room ! " 
 
 " It s all o that," said Guy, " at eight-and-six a week in 
 advance, and sixpence a scuttle for coals. It s beastly 
 funny, ain t it ? Want to tyke a room here ? " 
 
 " Poor old Guy," the visitor murmured. " Are you 
 strapped again, boy ? " 
 
 " Strapped ain t wot it is I m bust, Florry ! I ve 
 winked me jerry, I ve popped me topper, and I ve hung 
 up me waistcoats, and I Ve done in every last flash at 
 Uncle Jacob s. I ain t got chalk fer a arf-pint o bitter at 
 the Six Bells. I m a vag, I am." 
 
 u My word ! " cried the little lady, drawing out her hand 
 kerchief, a lace bit, a two-guinea affair from New Bond 
 street, and wiping a tear from her lid. " Are n t you doing 
 any jobs now ? " 
 
 " I ain t got the nerve without you, Florry, blimy if I 
 have ! I ain t bust a ouse since you give me the sneak. 
 Strike me blue if I won t be carryin the flag in another 
 week ! I ve got down to w istlin up ansoms fer the toffs 
 and cab-duckin , / ave. An you flashin abart in brooms, 
 
 [H] 
 
THE CADGER OF CHELSEA 
 
 s help me ! Christmas ! I feel as mean as a dyin duck in 
 a thunderstorm, Florry. But I ain t tried to touch you, old 
 girl, ave I ? Not fer a half-crown, I ain t. I 11 do time 
 first ! " 
 
 " Poor old Guy ! Think of the good jobs we ve been in 
 together ! How I have neglected you ! But that s all right, 
 Guy ; I ve been busy myself." 
 
 u Busy at wot, I d like to arsk ? I Ve heerd o Lady 
 Meshant s doin s abart town, Florry, an I ain t winked. I 
 kin trust you fer a pal, old girl, cos I know yer stryte, but 
 wot s the little gyme ? Ain t it time to let me in?" 
 
 " Never mind my affairs in the past, but I Ve a pony for 
 you now, for the luck s turned. Yes, a l monkey, if you 
 like, and you fit. See here : how much are you in for with 
 your landlady ? " 
 
 Bounder took out a roll of greasy sheets from an empty 
 tobacco jar. " I don t do much eatin ," he mumbled. " I 
 get sevenpence-ha penny breakfasts, w ich means tea like 
 paynt, an a orrid egg with two slabs o toast to it, and 
 mangy butter. There s fourteen bob four a week fer six 
 weeks, is two pun six, an I ain t give the slavey a tanner 
 sinct I come. Oh, I m a igh Willy, 7am ! " 
 
 " Here, take this for the present," said Lady Mechante, 
 handing over a pair of ten-pound notes. " There s more to 
 come when you Ve got your clothes out of pawn. I hope 
 you have n t forgotten how to speak English, though, Guy ; 
 you re no use to me on the other side of the water/ I 
 don t do much business in Battersea or the New Cut 
 nowadays." 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Gaillarde," protested Mr. Bounder, with 
 emphasis, " you will find that when you leave cards like 
 this with me, Guy Forsythe Bounder, Esquire, is always at 
 
LADT M EC H ANTE 
 
 f 
 
 home. I can learn more English from a Bank of England 
 note in four minutes than from all the pawn tickets on the 
 Old King s Road, I assure you. I am by way of being a 
 creature of environment. Contact with the purlieus of 
 Paradise Alley gilds one, in a way, with a manner. I take 
 on color. From this moment I am all West End. When 
 1 wear varnished boots I promise you that everything else 
 shall correspond. I shall tub daily while this munificence 
 lasts, and I forswear Shag for Egyptian Deities forthwith." 
 
 " Here, take one," cried Lady Mechante, merrily, pro 
 ducing an enameled cigarette case. "I confess your room 
 reeks. Now you are rehabilitated, you surely must notice 
 it. Matches ? " she added, and she shook the box as she 
 passed it. " And now to business, for I see my carriage is 
 creating an excitement in the neighborhood, and there are 
 goings and comings on the stair. You can still do my bid 
 ding without unnecessary curiosity as to my motives ? " 
 
 " Madam, I am your champion again," Mr. Bounder 
 protested. " In our profession the days of chivalry have 
 never died." 
 
 " Let us call it nights of chivalry, to be more precise. I 
 have need of you." 
 
 " Otherwise you would not be here," said Bounder, 
 
 sadly. 
 
 " No, no ; not that exactly," she replied. u But that is 
 beside the mark. You have mentioned my green brougham. 
 I am sincerely sorry to find it has become so conspicuous. 
 Yet I may as well use the advertisement. I propose to ply 
 it, then, henceforth as a decoy ; that is, if you will be my 
 duck." She leaned toward him semi-affectionately. 
 
 Such demonstrations always made Mr. Bounder nervous. 
 Like most men, he preferred to make his own advances, 
 
 [26] 
 
THE CADGER OF CHELSEA 
 
 and grew embarrassed when forced to play up to such 
 trumps. There was, indeed, more difficulty in Lady 
 Mechanic s leniency than in her reserve, so her demeanor 
 sobered him. He rose awkwardly. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he stammered. 
 
 Florizelle laughed wickedly, knowing her hold over 
 him was so sure. " This, if I must put it into words of 
 one syllable," she said. " I propose to ransack the town 
 while you play ducks and drakes with these silly men. 
 You take my brougham and my mask and entertain my 
 friends. I assure you I have a wide acquaintance, and your 
 entries will be easy. Meanwhile, I have my part to act, 
 which need not concern you." 
 
 " What shall I say ? " cried Mr. Bounder, pitifully. 
 u I ve heard the talk on the Row, and I know you ve 
 been up to some game with the Johnnies ; but, my word ! 
 I don t see myself sitting in men s chambers in an even 
 ing gown, prattling Ascot and Goodwood at three in the 
 morning ! I m out for the oof, Florry. Business is 
 business. I don t complain, mind you. I know you re 
 straight, as I said, and I don t pretend to fathom your 
 tricks. If I did n t trust you, you know I have only to 
 put them onto you at Soho Square." 
 
 " Sac-a-papier ! " cried Mrs. Gaillarde. "Do I under 
 stand you to threaten me ? Do you know I am Lady 
 Mechante ? I could undo the Burglars Central Committee 
 in ten minutes. Man, I am in with the Privy Council, to 
 the last Lord ! I need n t mention the Prince you may 
 have heard." 
 
 " That s all gammon, Florry ; but I said I was sure of 
 you. Still, business is business, too," he repeated. 
 
 " Well, you won t complain. See here : this chatelaine 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 I found on the dressing-table of well, never mind whom. 
 It was laid there for me. It s a Queen Anne, too. Charlie 
 Northbrooke .you know Charlie? Dear boy! It s a 
 pity he has n t brains ! Why, he leaves ten-pound notes 
 about, with poems on the back. No trick, either, for they 
 cash all right. Why, you stupid, you have only to take 
 a Gladstone bag and pick the swag everywhere you go. 
 You 11 find they re fond of me. I ve been offered twenty 
 guineas to drop my mask. The town s wild over me ! 
 You can make a thousand a week ! " 
 
 " Why do you leave it, then ? " asked the astounded 
 Bounder. 
 
 " Never mind ! I Ve a better graft than that. Will you 
 do it or not, that s the question ? " 
 
 " I will, if it s like that," said Guy. " When do I 
 
 commence : 
 
 "To-night. Come to No. 45 Fitzroy Street, and jump 
 into the carriage as it goes past at one o clock. You 11 
 find all the information in the right-hand pocket by the 
 clock, and mind, be sharp. Do as much as you can. 
 There are several expecting me ; and don t drop the mask, 
 not for anything they offer. Here you 11 find a sergeant 
 of police at the corner of Brook street and Grosvenor 
 Square. I owe him five pounds. He s a dear Your 
 costume ? Oh, yes; I ll leave all the necessary things in 
 the carriage, and you can change while you re riding." 
 
 " Fancy ! " interjected Bounder. " I don t mind a bit 
 of acting, for I m by way of being a proper c serio, but, 
 Lord ! I can t train down to your figure ! " And he looked at 
 her with complimentary glances. 
 
 " You 11 have to lace ; it must be done, my dear fellow, 
 and the cape will help. But study your part well, mind. 
 
 [28] 
 
THE CADGER OF CHELSEA 
 
 There s Sir Cyril Heatherby talk polo to him, and say 
 you ve seen him in the Park with Dolly Chatterton. He 11 
 protest. Then Lord Suddenleigh ; he s engaged to the 
 Honorable Maude Evelyn Poke, and you can twit him with 
 that. Leave him the note you ll find in the left-hand 
 pocket of the brougham, and borrow all you can. Look 
 out sharp for Colonel Wetmore; he ll jolly well chase 
 you downstairs if you don t have your revolver ready. 
 The Marquis of Newbury will probably offer you jewelry, 
 but insist on cash." 
 
 " Do they know you re coming ? " 
 
 " Lord, no ; that is, not just when. I ve no doubt 
 they ve all paid the bobbies to look the other way. No, 
 I never make engagements ; it s too risky. I just drop in 
 casually." 
 
 " Well, you have got a calling list, Florry ; my word ! 
 I 11 do what I can, but I d like to know what you re 
 up to ! " 
 
 u You 11 be busy enough without wondering about that ! 
 Well, I must be off. So long, old boy, do it well ! " She 
 opened the door, blew him a kiss, and tripped downstairs. 
 The front door slammed, the carriage door snapped, and 
 the green brougham was off toward the West End. 
 
 Quickly as she vanished, however, the landlady was up 
 stairs for her rent before the horses felt the whip. Bounder 
 had already begun to shave, and was practicing the airs and 
 graces of a gentleman. 
 
 " H m, h m," murmured Lady Mechante to herself, as 
 the houses flew by, " I thought he was in a way to make 
 me trouble. I think I looked him up just in time. He 11 
 talk about me at the Committee Rooms in Soho, will he ? 
 Well, I Ve got rid of that. He 11 be too busy to watch me 
 
LADT M EC H ANTE 
 
 for a while, I give my word. I 11 settle him, just as sure as 
 my name is Lady Mechante, and that s no joke, either. 
 And now, and now, for Mortimer Stencill. Ye gods, a 
 whole winter gone and no one yet worth while ! London 
 Oo >j I is the dullest place on earth. If he is as much a c card as 
 
 the others, heaven help me, for the devil won t ! Yet what 
 an actor he is ! He ought to be the one at last ! Heigho, 
 I m bored to death. Tim s my last chance; if he fails 
 me, I 11 join the Salvation Army and be a lieutenant of 
 the Kennington Devil Drivers ! " 
 
 ^ 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 i 
 
Chapter Jf our 
 
 THE PLATONIST 
 
 You * re passionately met i?i this sad world ! 
 
 (The White Devil.) 
 
 ORTIMER STENCILL was an American, 
 which fact may or may not have been the 
 foundation of Lady Mechanic s hopes. He 
 was good looking, even for a matinee idol, 
 having the sort of face that men admire 
 without contempt, and not of that conven 
 tional, shaved cast which proclaims the profession. Travel 
 had tuned him ; he did not jar or discord in any society. 
 He had wit, the dry humor of his nationality, and not a little 
 of the romantic conservatism of the American in London. 
 He lived, during his London seasons, in a little street oft 
 Westbourne Grove, called Something Crescent, a street on a 
 curve, boasting front gardens elevated above the pavement. 
 
 It was a " typical London evening," as tourists would 
 call it, when Florizelle drove past the warehouses of 
 Whiteley, the u Universal Provider," wondering whether, 
 even in that famous magazine, she could find her quest 
 an interesting man. The fog had obliterated perspective 
 as a coat of whitewash destroys the scrawls and shadows of 
 a cellar wall. The horse padded on, doubtfully, coming to 
 rude stops occasionally as the driver attempted to force him 
 up over a curb or into a hydrant, and Lady Mechanic was 
 buffeted to and fro inconsiderately. She had changed her 
 
 [3-] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 brougham for a private hansom and her evening gown for 
 a white shirt and swallowtail. An Inverness cape was 
 over all. Upon her coiled hair sat a mohair opera hat, 
 securely pinned. Between her lips was a white cigarette, 
 burning reluctantly, for the lady was a bit nervous. 
 
 Yet there was a smile on the face of this beautiful Non- 
 pareille, and her mind was alert and ware. When she 
 reached the house of her new client, she sprang from the 
 seat, and the cab passed on without stopping. She ran up 
 the wooden steps, passed quickly round the house, and 
 paused at a window in the rear. In a moment her mask 
 was adjusted and she had begun to force the sash. That 
 done, she slid over the sill, navigated the floor without 
 disaster, and passed into the hall. 
 
 Above, it seemed to her that she heard the sound of 
 voices, so she dropped to a seat on the stair to listen and 
 wait till the house grew quiet. Someone was speaking in 
 a mellow, modulated tone ; it was not the tune of any 
 English inflection, for the sentences ended with a falling 
 accent. No Briton, she knew, could finish a sentence 
 without the customary " is n t it ? " with the characteristic 
 circumflex. No Briton, either, could make a statement 
 without interlarding the phrases with u what I mean to say 
 is this" And yet there was not the nasal drawl she had 
 been wont to call American. It was evidently the voice of 
 a gentleman. After a while the monologue ceased, and 
 waiting a half-hour, she stole up to the upper landing. 
 
 In the upper hall a thin pencil of light shot from a single 
 keyhole, and she bowed her head to peep in, with a 
 muttered apology. Within the chamber a gentleman was 
 standing with his back to her, in front of a mirror. He 
 was swathed in a dressing-gown or bath-robe of Japanese 
 
 [3*1 
 
THE PLATONIST 
 
 flowered crepe and was brushing his hair vigorously with 
 two brushes without handles. Below, a cuckoo clock set 
 up a distressing double hiccough. 
 
 Lady Mechante turned the handle, but the door was 
 locked; then she cried "Mortimer !" through the key-hole, 
 and waited. The occupant of the room answered directly, 
 and threw open the door. His aplomb certified to his 
 gentility, for he bowed politely, and then threw up his 
 hands in the American fashion, in token of submission to 
 the " hold-up." 
 
 " My watch and what money I have you will find on the 
 bureau," he said. (Florizelle wondered what " bureau " 
 meant.) " I beg you to make no more noise than is con 
 veniently necessary. These incidents, I suppose, will hap 
 pen, even in London, and, so long as you do not shoot at 
 my toes, to force me to dance, I can only admire your en 
 terprise." He waved her toward the mirror, and then, see 
 ing no weapon in her hand, let his arms drop and waited 
 for his cue. 
 
 Mrs. Gaillarde, accustomed as she was to cordial recep 
 tions in her wanderings, could not but wonder at the man s 
 courtesy. She reflected, too, that she was in masculine 
 attire, and the astonishment grew to a marvel. She dropped 
 into a chair, therefore, smiling behind her mask. "You 
 take me, then, for a burglar ? " she murmured. 
 
 " I had sincerely hoped so ! " Mr. Stencill explained. 
 u To my mind, it is the most picturesque of professions. 
 I have long desired to become acquainted with the frater 
 nity. I beg you," he added, "do not disappoint me. Your 
 informal entrance has, you will admit, given me grounds 
 for my suspicion." 
 
 " It is a nasty trade," cried the newcomer. " I loathe it ; 
 
 3 [331 
 
and yet, when you learn my real condition, what will you 
 think ? " 
 
 u Come, come," replied the actor. " Why, my dear fel 
 low, when I think of the shame and deceptions of my own 
 profession, the simulation of vices, the affectation of vir 
 tues, the eternal disguise of another s thoughts, speech, and 
 costume, the absolute impossibility of any spontaneous act 
 your own craft strikes me as being noble in comparison. 
 You may at least be yourself, you do not have to wear the 
 second-hand robes of Hypocrisy ! " 
 
 u Yet I am a criminal and an outcast," his visitor in 
 sisted. How often had she not used his very words ; how 
 strange it seemed to hear his defense ! More than one 
 swift, silent, sympathetic glance shot from the eye-holes of 
 her visor. How she delighted in his sophistries ! How 
 often had she not prated thus ! 
 
 u A criminal, yes ! And what am I ? While I do mur 
 der the pit applauds ; but what benefit do I get from my 
 imitated crimes ? You go gloriously at large. You cry 
 Open Sesame, and the doors that are closed to me give 
 you a sensational entry. Who receives an Adelphi player? 
 My God ! man, it is I who am branded, not you ! I, who 
 am surrounded by Romance, can never taste it myself. I 
 perish of thirst, surrounded by the sea! I have not even 
 the tinsel glamor of the stage to feed my hunger for the 
 picturesque. I am behind the scenes I see the back of 
 painted flats, faces heckled with rouge, mock properties and 
 empty wineglasses. You have the run of the town ! " 
 
 " I would not deceive you," answered the lady, affected 
 potently ; " think so, if you can. Romance ? Pish ! Not an 
 Englishman in London can so much as spell the word. Yet 
 you seem to have ideals. I have looked for you long, Mr. 
 
 [34] 
 
THE PLATONIST 
 
 Stencill ! You are one of three millions. I speak timidly at 
 such a visitation ; you may think I am but a timid burglar, 
 even at three-and-twenty, but I should like tokrunvyou" 
 
 " Is this possible ? " cried Mr. Stencill. " You do me too 
 much honor, sir ! " 
 
 " I have not yet confessed," Mrs. Gaillarde answered. 
 " I have still to test you. You Americans are so absurdly 
 chivalrous that you must compensate somehow in your atti 
 tude toward women. Yes, I am a woman ! Hate me now, 
 despise me, and my long quest is over, and I shall return to 
 respectability ! " So saying, in a fervor of suspense she 
 threw off her mask and fell to weeping. 
 
 Stencill s whole appearance changed. cc Heavens ! " he 
 cried, as he saw her young, fresh face, lighted by imagina 
 tion and sentiment, very beautiful. Then, " Hush !" and 
 he sprang to the door and closed it. " My wife ! " he cried, 
 in a low, piercing voice. 
 
 The words stabbed her, but it was not so much that 
 name as the tone in which it was uttered that sent a shaft 
 of despair into her heart. He was an American, and there 
 fore of the Middle Ages of sentiment. He was in love 
 with his wife. The accent of his emotion proved it. She 
 looked up at him a little haggardly. She must rob him, and 
 that quickly, or her reputation would be gone with him. 
 She drew out her pistol with a forced braggadocio and 
 pointed it tremblingly at his head. She saw on the moment 
 that at this demonstration his conscience was relieved. 
 
 " I shall not disturb Mrs. Stencill, and, now that I know 
 who is in the house, I need trouble you no longer with my 
 fictions. Forgive me my ruse ! " She stepped to the chif 
 fonier and shoveled the trinkets listlessly into a pocket of 
 her Inverness. His interest in her had been extinguished 
 
 [35] 
 
LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 the moment he discovered her sex. Married, and still in 
 love ! It was ridiculous, effeminate, anachronistic, yet the 
 pose fascinated her. She must have time to think it over. 
 
 StencilPs keen interest in the waywardness of her busi 
 ness exhibited an obvious struggle with his fear of her dis 
 covery. His voice sank into a hushed double piano as he 
 said, " You interest me, madam, beyond words. Had you 
 been the man you seemed, I would have liked nothing bet 
 ter than to know you ; we could be much to each other. 
 And, too, I am very curious ; I have ideas of my own that 
 might I speak in all modesty assist you. But I confess 
 I am in an uncomfortable position. You understand 
 
 "Perfectly," said Lady Mechante, freezingly. 
 
 " Still," he continued, weakening under her scorn, " under 
 other circumstances you might call upon my wife, 
 perhaps." 
 
 " Sir ! " she cried, with a fine histrionic scorn. 
 
 u Ah, well, of course ! " he assented. u I remember one 
 of Methuselah s earliest maxims : c Never introduce female 
 contemporaries. But may I -not ask your name ? " 
 
 For the first time in her illicit career Florizelle hesitated. 
 She even blushed. " I am she who has been known as 
 Lady Mechante," she murmured, casting down her eyes. 
 
 " Good heavens ! " exclaimed the other, almost aloud. 
 Not quite. The burden of a presence in a proximate apart 
 ment still cowed him. He sat down on his bed and put his 
 head in his hands. 
 
 The gesture was opportune. When he looked up again 
 his visitor had vanished. He threw open the door and 
 began to whistle loudly, but out of tune, an insistently 
 apologetic melody. 
 
 36] 
 
Chapter Jftoe 
 
 BUSINESS IS BUSINESS 
 
 They // pull you all to pieces for your zvbim-zubams, 
 Tour garters and your gloves : go modestly ! 
 
 (The Night Walker.) 
 
 SED as she was to calling Guy Bounder a 
 " cake," Mrs. Gaillarde could not deny his 
 gifts, and she had not picked him for a stool- 
 pigeon without a good opinion of his powers 
 of mimicry. He was not half bad as an 
 actor, his form was plastic, his voice capable 
 of much distortion, and he could even imitate the floating 
 diminuendo of Lady Mechanic s quicksilver laughter. He 
 had her mannerisms by heart, as when she sat down with a 
 gyratory curl of her skirt ; he had caught the pat-a-tie, pat- 
 a-ta tattoo of her fingers, the tilt of her chin, and her 
 wavelike step. 
 
 So it it was that his first attempts at impersonation suc 
 ceeded miraculously, and his studies to maintain her distin 
 guished prestige did her no little credit. Her stock went 
 up all over town, as she was found to be more than ever 
 amenable to complimentary benefices. Lord Suddenleigh s 
 generosity induced Guy to visit at Belgrave Square more 
 often, perhaps, than Florizelle would have approved had 
 Florizelle known, but Guy gathered other valuables besides 
 "tenners" and "twenties," and she acquired an amount of 
 scandal that might sometime be of use with the Honorable 
 
 [37] 
 
LADT M EC H ANTE 
 
 Maude Evelyn. Bounder found an easy method of erasing 
 Charley Northbrooke s poems from the back of his bank 
 notes, and he had less fear of the Marquis of Newbury s 
 jewels than did his principal. Of Colonel Wetmore, more 
 later. He was by far the most intractable, but as he was 
 disgustingly wealthy, poor Guy could not keep away, as 
 shall be seen in the sequel. 
 
 He went and came, then, for a time in blissful content, 
 too busily employed to notice Lady Mechanic s delin 
 quency. No offers would induce his favor even to the 
 extent of a kiss. It goes without saying that he did not 
 allow the mask to be dropped for an instant. 
 
 All this while he trusted Florizelle as a dog trusts his 
 master, but, once on the path of wonder, there was but a 
 single destination. Lady Mechante, in her proper person, 
 was heard of no more, and he began to suspect her disap 
 pearance. The spark traveled slowly, but at last it came 
 upon some inflammable fibres of sensibility, when suspicion 
 flamed up, burning with a fire colored by presentiment. 
 Had Florry gone wrong ? Enough manhood was melted 
 down into a lump of resolve to give his fears solidity, and 
 he set himself to hunt the lady down and prove her. 
 
 It was not long before he found his opportunity. He 
 dropped in at the Adelphi one night, and there, with her 
 eyes glued to the stage, with her lace handkerchief ready 
 for an explosion of emotion, sat Florizelle. Behind the 
 footlights the actors ranted and sawed the air, and for 
 some time Guy could not distinguish the particular 
 attraction to his lively and affected patron. As the scene 
 changed, my Lady Mechante grew distraite, but the en 
 trance of Mr. Mortimer Stencill, spouting a bombastic 
 soliloquy, drew her from her reverie, and her opera glasses 
 
 [38] 
 
.B [AS/NESS LS 
 
 flew up. This was enough for Bounder, and he did not 
 notice the interested occupant of the opposite box, a lady of 
 sprightly figure, dressed in the outrageous good taste that 
 becomes the American woman. She seemed a good- 
 natured observer of the ingenuous occupation of her -y/j-tf- 
 v/V, and laughed merrily in a manner that to the pit seemed 
 inconsequent. 
 
 A word at the box-office gave Guy Bounder informa 
 tion of the star s abode, and two hours later, after a game 
 of draughts at the Cafe Royal, he hailed a cab and set off 
 for Something Crescent, Westbourne Grove. The equi 
 page was dismissed at the Royal Oak, and Guy set out on 
 foot into the fastnesses of Bayswater. The house was 
 found without difficulty, and he smiled to see a front upper- 
 story room alight. 
 
 He was a u second-story " man of old, and the veranda 
 columns were no trick. From the top of the portico he 
 had a clear view into the room through a slit between -the 
 curtains, and, by a rare chance, the window was slightly 
 open. There, in very fact, was Stencill, ensconced in an 
 easy-chair, smoking a perfecto, conversing with someone 
 in evening dress, someone whose back was turned. This 
 person still wore a hat, and was not smoking, nor was the 
 glass propinquous upon the table filled. These things were 
 disagreeably suspicious. 
 
 " My dear fellow," Stencill was saying, "if you insist 
 upon my calling you that, I can t put you out, you know, 
 but I assure you I am trepid. You have seen enough of 
 me to know I am unique. I am a man who can love but 
 once. A platonic affection ? If you like, and if you still 
 believe in such follies, well enough. You are still young 
 and enthusiastic. I have paid for that farce in my day, 
 
 [39] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 and if you are willing to take the consequences, I can t 
 help saying that I like you ! " 
 
 "And you the only interesting man in London!" said 
 the other, while Guy gasped at the timbre of the voice 
 which uttered this familiar sentiment. " What hope is left 
 for me ? For the first time in my life I have made a fool 
 of myself. To think of Lady Mechante, Lady Mechante, 
 forcing her attentions on a man ! " She turned her profile; 
 it was indeed she, and Guy felt the portico sway under 
 him. 
 
 " Florry, Florry here, for pleasure ! " he muttered. 
 " Calling on this play-actor, free ? My Gawd ! " 
 
 " I have had a strange life," she went on, u cursed by 
 the continuous desire for human interest. Men may make 
 their own friends, aye, and keep them with no fear. We 
 women are bound to take what the gods send us. The 
 good old days are gone by, when the males compete and 
 the females select. I have vibrated between the limits of 
 Society and Crime. I have ranged high and low ; I tried 
 even marriage ! I have found you too late. What is left ? 
 More dinners at Madame Qui-Vive s ? I was no more 
 born for those ceremonials than for the conspiracies of 
 Soho Square. I have had my fling, and I have lost. 
 Mon Dieu ! How I have fallen, to pursue you like this ! " 
 
 " There are others ; I am by no means the only man 
 with an imagination in the world," Stencill protested, mildly. 
 " The way is open for you to explore ; there, too, lies 
 America." 
 
 u I am fastidious," she responded. " I want all or 
 nothing that is, all my own way. Tell me, do you 
 believe in Affinities?" she asked. 
 
 " Affinities !" and Mortimer Stencill hid his smile. 
 
BUSINESS IS BUSINESS 
 
 " Why, my dear, I am thirty-three ! Go seek a chame- 
 lone. You may find Affinities to throw at the birds ! My 
 dear child, heaven forgive me, but I believe you are an 
 American ! " 
 
 Guy Bounder heard no more. His soul wa N s sick with 
 this sentimentality. Hardly had he left the house, however, 
 before Mrs. Stencill opened the door where the two were 
 conversing, and entered with a smile. Mortimer started 
 guiltily. As for Lady Mechante, she had foregone the 
 possibility of embarrassment long ago. 
 
 u Tim," said the hostess of this somewhat dizzy group, 
 " pray present me ! " 
 
 She did not wait, however, but went gaily up to Florizelle 
 with a great show of frankness. Lady Mechante rose and 
 met her. The two kissed theatrically. Mortimer Stencill 
 looked on puzzled. Then his face brightened. 
 
 "Well," said Florizelle, " it s up to you, Mrs. Stencill!" 
 She had not been calling upon the American twice a week 
 without imbibing a few new metaphors. 
 
 " Why," began Roberta Stencill, " you see, my dear, it s 
 no sort of use. I knew it would n t be, in the beginning, 
 but I did so want dear old Tim to have a good time. He s 
 so romantic that it seemed a shame to have him all to my 
 self, and yet he s utterly incapable of an actual affair. His 
 sentiment is all theoretical. You are a creature of action 
 I can see that, my dear and I knew you d never believe 
 it if I told you how partial Tim was. He s done you good, 
 and you ve done him good. So now I don t see why we 
 can t all three have a good time together. Bless you, you 
 need n t call ! You may burgle us to your heart s content ; 
 the more scandal the better in our business. But the im 
 mediate fact is that there s been a man outside your win- 
 
 [4 ] 
 
-4 
 
 LADT M EC H ANTE 
 
 o~ 
 
 ^ 
 
 dow, listening. I thought you d like to know. It seemed 
 to me that he fainted away and fell off the roof of the por 
 tico. Anyway, he s gone, and he left this behind." She 
 pointed to a small but exquisitely tooled silver lantern. It 
 bore a monogram u G. B." 
 
 11 Guy Bounder ! " cried Lady Mechanic. " He was 
 here, and he listened ? " 
 
 "With interest," said Roberta Stencill. "As much as 
 mine," she added, naively. 
 
 u It was a psychological moment ! " said Mortimer. 
 
 " My dear," said Lady Mechante, " it was climacteric." 
 
 QO, 
 
 oS 
 
 -^ 
 
 Q 
 
 ^ 
 
Chapter is>tx 
 
 A SCANDAL IN SUSSEX SQUARE 
 
 O, tbou abominable, loathsome gargarism ! 
 
 (The White Devil.) 
 
 days after this the "All Smoke and 
 No Fire " company finished its engagement 
 at the Adelphi, and the actors and actresses 
 of the troupe had their farewell dinner at 
 Kettner s. Mr. Stencill, true to the Quix 
 otic chivalry of his continent, had dined 
 there with his wife. He was a monomaniac on the sub 
 ject of connubial faith. Mrs. Stencill shared his views, 
 moreover, and the two kept up the national pose with 
 childlike confidence. 
 
 They returned from this banquet, on foot, at two in the 
 morning, fascinated by the secret charms of the deserted 
 city, now vacant as a beach at low tide. Now and again the 
 jingling note of a passing hansom sang from a distant square 
 like the cry of a belated October mosquito. Hardly a light 
 was visible save the row of lamps that divides the traffic 
 and guides the eastward vehicles down into the constellation 
 of islands at the Piccadilly archipelago. The Circus was a 
 polar sea of white electric light as they crossed, and above, 
 the stars sprang for a few hours from their daily eclipse as 
 the curtain of smoke and vapor thinned. Piccadilly was 
 theirs alone, as far as the eye could reach. The very houses 
 seemed to sleep. 
 
 [43] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 They took the path across Hyde Park, along the Ser 
 pentine, and out the Victoria Gate, talking ever of Lady 
 Mechante ; of the absurd incongruity of a lady with a tem 
 perament in this supercivilized town; of her tantalizing 
 efforts to find a man of her mettle. She was a sport, a hy 
 brid, exotic to the anemic, hypercultivated hothouse. Peril 
 was in store for her. 
 
 They crossed toward Sussex Square, and there, as a car 
 riage flashed past, gently trotting round the ring, Roberta 
 pressed the arm of her husband. 
 
 " See, the green brougham ! " she cried. " I saw it from 
 the Park ; it has been round three times since I first looked. 
 It must be waiting for Lady Mechante. Let s wait and 
 see her." 
 
 As she spoke the carriage came again into view, travel 
 ing like a star about its orbit, hugging the curb by the iron 
 palings. The two walked slowly, circling in an opposite 
 direction round the Square. 
 
 They had hardly completed the circuit, however, when 
 the front door of a house in Stanhope Street directly op 
 posite was suddenly flung open with violence, displaying a 
 square of brilliant light in the facade of the residence. 
 Silhouetted against this background was a confused mass 
 human beings intermingled in a preposterous skirmish, from 
 which arms were flung and legs gesticulated. The melee 
 was over in a moment, the door was slammed with a jar, 
 locking the house in darkness, while a frenzied figure flung 
 down the steps. 
 
 Whether man or woman could not be determined at first, 
 though the grotesque form bore a skirt and the remnants of 
 a hat waved from a wig atop the disheveled head. It tot 
 tered into the light of a lamp-post, staggered, and then 
 
 [44] 
 
A SCANDAL IN SUSSEX SQUARE 
 
 made at a sharp run for the brougham swinging into sight. 
 The upper half of the creature proclaimed manhood, yet 
 the gown hung at his belt and the hat was cast loose upon 
 the pavement. He was almost bare from the waist up, and 
 round his bleeding breast circled the remnants of a pair of 
 stays and a few fripperies of lace and ribbon. He ran like 
 a madman, an unholy spectacle, through the stillness of 
 the night, swearing horribly in strange coster s oaths. He 
 sprang upon the brougham and wrenched at the door. 
 
 Then from the window a pretty head appeared, and a 
 ripple of quicksilver laughter rang out. Lady Mechante 
 had come again by her own. It was a ridiculous colloquy. 
 The lady tittered to die at his plight, but kept the door of 
 the carriage locked, while the driver fingered his whip 
 apprehensively. 
 
 "Oh, you guy, Guy!" she screamed. "I told you to 
 look sharp for the mask, and be careful of Colonel Wet- 
 more. You 11 eavesdrop on me, on Lady Mechante, will 
 you? You ll report my case in Soho, my dear fellpw, will 
 you ? Why could n t you attend to your own affairs, 
 Bounder? I m shocked. You re a sight for the gods 
 not for a lady my friend. Get to the Park, you inebri 
 ated tatterdemalion ! " She rang the electric bell for the 
 driver. 
 
 Bounder broke out into oaths, fuming furious. He put 
 his fist through the carriage window, and the broken glass 
 tinkled merrily against the cobbles. He dodged back then, 
 but not quick enough to escape the lash of the coachman s 
 whip, which landed on his bare back, curling him up in 
 agony. They were off at a hand gallop forthwith, brougham, 
 driver, and the fair passenger inside whirling past Mr. and 
 Mrs. Stencill, gaping on the pavement. Guy stood, an in- 
 
 [45] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 human scarecrow, in all his outrageous circumstance, fair in 
 the middle of the street, and continued his profanity, ges 
 turing the moon. He had dropped his h s with his waist 
 and corsage, and his talk was the talk of a bargee the next 
 morning of a mad Bank Holiday. 
 
 Mortimer Stencill drew his wife away, though there was 
 not a word audible that a lady should understand, and left 
 the victim to his apostrophe. But at the next turning the 
 indecent nightmare shot by them, sprinting like a demon, 
 a marvel of preposterous deshabille, an outrage to sound 
 and sight, dripping lingerie and buttons, as he galloped 
 to the top of the street and collided with a policeman 
 at the turning. As the couple went out of sight, officer 
 and maniac were locked in each other s arms, and a 
 shrill whistle was being echoed from several directions 
 at once. 
 
 The actor and his spouse were by this time too weak to 
 talk, and they went home, borne by gasps and concussions 
 of inane hysteria. It was too late to sleep, for they were 
 to take the 2.15 train at Victoria for Southampton, and for 
 several hours the husband and wife sat in excited conver 
 sation on the freaks and madcap perfervor of my Lady 
 Mechante. That her rope was short they could not 
 but believe. The capture of Bounder would inevitably 
 compromise her, and the hue-and-cry would surely set 
 the fashionable districts of London by the ears. She was 
 doubtless betrayed at Soho Square long before this, and 
 Fate must soon overtake her who had mocked high and 
 low. 
 
 "Tim," Mrs. Stencill said, finally, " we must rescue her. 
 It would be a shame to let such a spirit languish here, even 
 were she to escape from the clutches of the law. What an 
 
 [46] 
 
A SCANDAL IN SUSSEX SQUARE 
 
 American she would make ! What a wife for some nice 
 
 man ! 
 
 " What a wife, indeed ! " mused Mortimer. " A man 
 with nerve and sentiment might tame her, if he lived." 
 
 " Nonsense ! You won t understand. What is her vi 
 vacity but the reaction from the canons of this effete com 
 munity ? In the West her eccentricity would never be 
 noticed. And give her the sight of real men and women 
 living sane and untrammeled lives, I am sure she would be 
 a new woman. She has balked and kicked over the traces 
 because she felt the restraint, but once show her liberty and 
 she will be tractable enough. She s a thousand times too 
 good for London." 
 
 u She s too good to be true, I m afraid. Have you any 
 amiable snake-charmer or lion-tamer in mind, my dear little 
 match-maker ? " he added. 
 
 " Tim, don t jolly me, for I m in earnest," she protested. 
 "As to my plans, you shall see. The first and immediate 
 thing is to find her and get her away." She rose and put 
 on her hat. 
 
 Mortimer Stencill followed her, as was his wont, being 
 an ideal American husband. There was no denying her in 
 this mood. It was now nearly five o clock. They hap 
 pened on a cab at their very door, and drove at a well-tipped 
 pace in the direction of Bloomsbury. 
 
 " Are you going to break in ? " he asked, as they passed 
 out of Holborn. 
 
 Mrs. Stencill made a mouth. u If necessary," she 
 said. 
 
 But it was not necessary. The front door of No. 
 31 Fitzroy Street was seen, as they drew up, to stand 
 ajar. 
 
 [471 
 
LADT M ECU ANTE 
 
 " We must hurry," cried the wife. " I am afraid we are 
 too late." 
 
 They ran up the steps and in unhindered. But as they 
 reached the second landing a jaded, hispid French maid con 
 fronted them. 
 
 " Eet ees ze poleece ? " she asked. " I am ready ; but 
 here-zere ees nozzing ! " 
 
 There was, indeed, nothing in Lady Mechanic s boudoir 
 but the wreck of a luxuriant apartment, still odorous with 
 violets. Every stick of furniture had been removed 
 hurriedly, it might seem, by the evidence of the scratches 
 and rags of tapestry on the walls. In my lady s chamber 
 a few gowns still remained ; the maid had evidently been 
 interrupted in her work. 
 
 Mrs. Stencill then explained that she was a friend of the 
 vanished mistress, and anxious to help her away. 
 
 u Ah, zat ees diffairente," said Suzette. " But vraiment, 
 I not know ! My lady left one hour ago, een a hurry, yes! 
 She deed not say to where I should send ze things, but I 
 veesh not ze poleece to get everyzing. So I have removed 
 them. Perhaps I shall hear, perhaps not. hie voulez-vous 
 que je fasse ? " 
 
 There was no time to wait. The gay bird had flown, 
 and Mr. and Mrs. Stencill returned sadly to their house in 
 Something Crescent, in bare time to get their own impedi 
 menta ready for the train. They made the trip down to 
 Southampton quietly, in . a first-class compartment. The 
 only other occupant was a little old lady with gray hair and 
 a deep mourning veil. It seemed she, too, was bound for 
 the American steamer, for she was still with them when the 
 tender put off. But they did not see her again for several 
 days, owing to Mrs. Stencill s mal de mer. 
 
 [48] 
 
A SCANDAL IN SUSSEX SQUARE 
 
 It was when Roberta crawled down to the dining-room 
 for dinner on the fourth day out. trembling but victorious, 
 
 J D 
 
 that she found, seated opposite her at the table, pink of 
 cheek, curly of hair, bright of eye, and with an inimitable 
 expression of some devil turned saint who but my Lady 
 Mechanic ! 
 
 49] 
 

 o 
 
 1500ft 
 
 THE WALKING PEANUT 
 
 Here is a gentleman^ my scholar^ whom (for some 
 -private reasons me specially moving) I am covetous to 
 gratify with title of master in the noble and subtile 
 science of courtship. 
 
 (Cynthia s Revels.) 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
A 
 
 Chapter 
 
 THE PEANUT SHELL 
 
 Then were my thoughts so frail an d unconfirmed, 
 A?id I was chained to follies of the world. 
 
 (The Jew of Malta.) 
 
 jIFT the city of San Francisco block by 
 block, and you would have found no queerer, 
 quainter, crookeder a house, nor a house in 
 worse array, of more tatterdemalion an 
 aspect and cock-sided disrepute than the 
 chunk of queer cottage at No. 1031 Vallejo 
 Street. Knock-kneed and out of elbows as it was, it clung 
 to the very pinnacle of Russian Hill with a pitch of conceit 
 ridiculous to behold, the scandal of its upright, straight-sided 
 neighbors, crazy and rough as a peanut shell on an elephant s 
 back. It stood, leaning uneasily on rotting foundations, 
 little as a trunk, battered, spattered and tattered with dust, 
 fog, and the vandal gaminerie of the vicinity. The place 
 cornered on a little cul-de-sac known to the hardy climbers 
 of the Hill as Florence Street, and its windows, when not 
 blinded by the missiles of the neighboring hoodlums, looked 
 impertinently across the Golden Gate to Mount Tamalpais, 
 sweeping the slopes of the Presidio, the Bay of San Fran 
 cisco, the Oakland foothills, and the Contra Costa shore, 
 three-quarters of a circle of panorama fit for the outlook 
 from an imperial porphyry palace. 
 
 [53] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 This pert box once contained, for a matter of some ten 
 hours a day, the very appropriate person of our hero. 
 
 Reader, Mr. Roulhac Braghampton ! Manufacturer of 
 the best hand-made folly the city of San Francisco afforded 
 at that time, a purveyor of assorted deviltries, with a repu 
 tation amongst the mischief-makers of his club and caste 
 attained only after years of persistent frivolity. As highty- 
 tighty a gambolier as ever was, was Roulhac ; a wag, a 
 madcap, and, in his own way, a bit of a fop to boot ; in 
 short, an accomplished devil-may-care, thoroughly aban 
 doned to his harlequin peccadillos. 
 
 Cooped in his ramshackle cage during the first quarter of 
 every day, this precious Braghampton fighting-cocklet was 
 known to the inhabitants of the summit of Russian Hill as a 
 queer bird who flitted from window to window during the 
 forenoon, in scant attire, or sat gazing seaward at his table, 
 writing, writing, writing. He was wont to appear later 
 upon the deck of his rear porch, lathered and toweled, 
 addressing a scrap of broken mirror, and, towards noon, 
 he was likely to emerge in long, yellow mackintosh, or, 
 mayhap, if the sun shone, in more befitting raiment, to 
 descend into the gayety of the lower town. The prowling 
 Arab of the Hill dubbed him, thereat, " Walking Peanut," 
 for obscure reasons, and with this epithet he was always 
 hailed in scurrilous sing-song as he made down the twenty- 
 three slimy, slippery, sloping, heartrending wooden steps 
 to the greasy incline which, at the lower end of this Vallejo 
 Street block, did service for a sidewalk. 
 
 It was an October morning, well along towards ten 
 o clock, when Roulhac arose and, as usual, pulled on a 
 mangy red flannel bath-robe and peered down the steep 
 little two-foot stair in his hallway to see what Fate had sent 
 
 [54] 
 
 rcn 
 
 y 
 
 1ST 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 him by way of the post. On the floor, to his astonishment, 
 was a litter of pale blue envelopes, extending from the door 
 of his small front parlor down the narrow passage to the 
 entrance to the middle room. His half-awakened eyes 
 blinked at the miracle, for this morning s mail was suspi 
 ciously prolific even for his customary profusion, and he 
 shuffled down in his Chinese slippers and waded luxuriously 
 through the flood of missives. The welter of letters car 
 peted the bare hall with blue ; all the envelopes appeared 
 to be directed in the same hand, and were alike in shape 
 and color ; they were obviously the work of one Titanic 
 correspondent ; the script, it is needless to say, was boldly 
 feminine. 
 
 He scuffed them together in a noble armful, ascended 
 and laid them on his sitting-room table, disposing them as 
 one spreads a game of solitaire, in rows of sevens ; there 
 were, in all, fifty communications a very debauch. In 
 the intervals of his matutinal occupation he crept often to 
 the hoard arid cast hungry eyes at the feast. After his tub, 
 while he was cooking his bubbling pint of brown chocolate, 
 as the kindling lighted in his toy fireplace, and during the 
 inspiration of his first cigarette, he came and returned, sav 
 ing epicurean investigation until, thoroughly prepared for a 
 new day, he bolstered himself upon his couch and disembow 
 eled the messengers of this new flirtation, one by one, with 
 a paper-cutter. 
 
 See Mr. Roulhac Braghampton, very quiet now, envel 
 oped by the invisible smoke of incense, for the letters 
 breathed the sweet odor of flattery and promise. So, while 
 he inhales the perfume, let us whisper aside that Roulhac 
 was, with all his gentlemanly roystering, as bold a carpet 
 knight as ever let loose a glance at a fair widow or stormed 
 
 [56] 
 
 W^V^F 
 

 
 O 
 
 PEANUT SHELL 
 
 a battery of kisses on a corner of the staircase. He was 
 what is, in feminine parlance, termed u promiscuous," 
 which means that he earned his spurs only after several 
 engagements. He was as one who always travels with a 
 gun ; at the first sight of game he shot ; he was never un 
 prepared. An open door was to him an unmistakable invi 
 tation to enter, a glance from a saucy eye drew him on as 
 by a cord ; in short, Roulhac lived well along the line, sharp 
 and fit for any emergency. 
 
 But he blanched, in spite of himself, before this fusillade. 
 His correspondent nearly prostrated him with her shrapnel, 
 and her adjectives exploded in his brain with disaster. He 
 had answered her advertisement in the Matrimonial Ex 
 change, as debonairly as he had taken up four thousand 
 other fancies, in response to the piquant diction with which 
 her text was strewn. It was not the custom in the Ex 
 change for desirous ladies to appeal to the intellects of 
 amorous aspirants. Rather did they probe the masculine 
 appetite with specific details of physical conformity. They 
 wrote themselves down, for the most part, as " five feet six 
 inches" and as "130 pounds"; they proclaimed them 
 selves " dark-complected " and as possessing a " kind and 
 affectionate nature," and one and all specified as their ob 
 ject " a wish to marry a suitable, loving, elderly gentleman, 
 of temperate habits and fond of home life. No objection 
 to a widower. References and photos exchanged." 
 
 She who was catalogued in the Matrimonial Exchange as 
 " No. 2465," however, demanded " wit, the education of 
 travel, and a smooth-shaven face." She claimed the pos 
 session of a "tolerable sensibility and a genuinely natural 
 figure," and, in all simplicity, she wanted " only to be 
 adored." What wonder this bait led Mr. Braghampton 
 
 [57] 
 
 1 
 

 LADY MECHANTE. 
 
 ,0 
 
 into the trap ! His reply had been swift and ardent, the 
 whole steeped in a rollicking humor. It was this that had 
 let down upon him the present deluge, and Kitty Carmine, 
 as she signed herself, had sent him enough incentive to put 
 him through all his paces from reckless braggadocio to sen 
 timental pathos. It was up to him now to reflect these rays 
 of promise. 
 
 Filling his pipe, he sat down at his casement opposite 
 the eternal violet mountains to inscribe his responses. To 
 each note he fitted a reply, answering mood for mood, boast 
 for boast, as if every letter were written by a separate sub 
 liminal self, colored with a unique personality. 
 
 Before this he had regarded women as u easy." They 
 played the same old game, he was wont to observe, and he 
 knew every possible gambit. Well, he was to play fifty 
 games at once now, and those blindfold. Would she take 
 the same moves, ask the same immortal questions ? Would 
 she ask him "WHY he loved her and HOW MUCH he 
 loved her and for HOW LONG ? " Would she take his 
 temperature every fifteen minutes, and demand the answers 
 to the questions she knew were unanswerable to a man 
 who has known more than four women in his life ? So 
 be it. He could still counter, parry and feint and lunge ; 
 what did he care ? Softly, as his pen scratched, he hummed 
 the air : 
 
 " T is well to be on with the new love 
 Before you are off with the old ! 
 
 Nevertheless, keen as he was, it took a day in the doing, 
 this amorous battle, and the afternoon came and went be 
 fore his assault was mustered, deployed and charged. From 
 the Pacific the great army of the fog had massed and already, 
 
 [58] 
 
THE PEANUT SHELL 
 
 at sunset, the vanguard of light cavalry mists scouted in 
 through the Gate, riding high and gray past Point Bonita, 
 and behind, the clouds packed and started, marching 
 slowly in great gray volumes past the Heads. In the bay 
 the fight was imminent between Darkness, Wind, and 
 Fog, and the outposts were harried with confusion as the 
 breezes met the incoming torrent. The night fell, and 
 from afar the wailing siren at the Lime Point light sobbed 
 into the sea. Still Roulhac wrote, blotted, sealed, and 
 addressed. 
 
 The pangs of hunger smote him below the belt towards 
 six o clock, and he arose, yawning, to appease the famine. 
 As he sat before his open fire, broiling a chop upon the point 
 of a Japanese sword, he conjured a few last spells, and, 
 gulping down the mutton with a soft shredded biscuit or two 
 dipped in raw egg, he lighted four candles and despatched 
 the remaining letters with swift succession. One tenth of 
 a grain of strychnia in a glass of water hastened the finish, 
 and he arose unsteadily, looked in the glass, and cursed 
 gently, soothingly to himself. 
 
 " Saint Chrysostom ! " he ejaculated. " I look like the 
 spanking committee of an orphan asylum after a hard day s 
 session ! " 
 
 In an access of pride and relief, he donned evening dress, 
 stuffed the batch of letters in the pockets of his Inverness 
 and opened his front door. The fog swept the base of the 
 hill, extinguishing the constellation of lights he was used 
 to see below, and from the heart of the city a jangle of 
 noises arose, piercing the vapor. He set out, with a vir 
 tuous glow of exhaustion. It was as if he had earned 
 money, that day, for he felt the sting of accomplishment 
 enliven him. After all, his day had but just begun, and he 
 
 [ 59] 
 
br%j^ 
 
 LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 ventured to hope for a new marvel before he saw the 
 Peanut Shell again. 
 
 A fat, voluptuous cigar reconciled him with the sordid- 
 ness of the streets as he walked down through the penumbra. 
 His hands were in his pockets, and he strolled leisurely as 
 if to meet some timely appointment with Destiny. To 
 him the city was like a plum cake, and he was a John 
 Horner who could find a pleasant mystery at every block ; 
 he would stick in his thumb when he felt in the mood; 
 just now he must digest his last romance. 
 
 As he dropped down the steep streets the cable cars toiled 
 uphill, clanging with gongs ; their headlights, piercing the 
 fog, cast long arrows of yellow glare. Chinatown sent up 
 her odors in whiffs of stinking oil, opium, and joss-sticks, 
 and from far away came the pum-pum of the Salvation 
 Army s band. He made a detour to rid himself of all this 
 activity, and struck into a side street, but always working, 
 as if by attraction, towards the focus of San Francisco life 
 at Market Street and the corner by Lotta s Fountain. Of 
 a sudden the Tenderloin was upon him, and he debouched 
 into Geary Street and turned towards the newspaper towers 
 looming above the mist towards the ferry. 
 
 He had now become one amongst the many boulevardiers, 
 alive to the exhibition of street and pavement, and had be 
 gun to revolve in his mind some plan for the evening s 
 entertainment. He was in the middle of the block between 
 Mason and Powell Streets when he was startled by the sight 
 of a two-horsed equipage careering across his path, issuing, 
 as it seemed to his suddenly excited fancy, from the very 
 walls of the house in front of him ! On inspection, how 
 ever, he saw that it had emerged from a narrow little street 
 which penetrated the middle of the block and whose sides 
 
 [60] 
 
THE PEANUT SHELL 
 
 were strictly enclosed by the walls of the adjacent houses. 
 As he had passed that opening many times without noticing 
 the place, he turned in to explore the passage. This, at the 
 far end, ran into a short and narrow street, both of whose 
 extremities were closed by high whitewashed board fences 
 surmounted by wistaria vines. The alley, with its two arms 
 or branches, formed a sort of T, and was called, as he saw 
 by the sign on a lamp-post, Key Court. 
 
 The whole was paved with asphalt without sidewalks 
 and was completely shut in by buildings, most of which 
 were two-story wooden houses, painted white with green 
 blinds, in the style of the earlier days of the town. The 
 air of the place offered the greatest contrast to that of the 
 busy street outside, and Roulhac fell to studying its charms 
 with the pride of discovery. A solitary gas lamp cast a 
 glimmer of light on the wet pavement by the junction of 
 the ways, but, save for one or two windows that shone 
 faintly behind lace curtains, the rest of the court hid dim 
 and secret in the mist. 
 
 The little area lay remote and hugger-mugger in the 
 center of the town. It had a character of its own ; it was, 
 one might say, a place, if not with a past, with at least a 
 future. It was set like the scene on a stage awaiting the 
 entrance of the players. With a low hum the night voices 
 of the city were tuning, like the strings of a great orchestra. 
 
 [61 
 
 O 
 
 O 
 
Chapter Itoo 
 
 NO. 7, KEY COURT 
 
 Such a drench of balderdash, 
 Such a strange carded cunningness. 
 
 (The Woman s Prize.) 
 
 OULHAC had already decided to return, 
 when, at the farther end of the court, a 
 door was thrown open, casting a fan of 
 yellow light into the street, and then 
 quickly and silently it closed. He had 
 just time to spy the figure that emerged 
 before the illumination faded, but he was able to follow 
 the approach of the issuant through the obscurity in the 
 shadow of the wooden fence. As he drew near, Roulhac 
 made him out to be a gentleman in a frock-coat, a man of 
 some sixty years, stout, collarless, with a bullet head half 
 thatched with sponge-colored hair. He ambled down the 
 court in a red-striped shirt and suspenders, intent upon 
 something ahead of him, at which he gesticulated authori 
 tatively. Still nearer, a certain stiffness marked him as a 
 man who had seen military adventure, though he now was 
 of a spirit decayed with alcohol. His eyes bulged with an 
 intent passion, but from them downward, his face fell weak 
 and insignificant. 
 
 He zigzagged down the way, waving and pointing his 
 arms, intent upon some obsession, some wild whim Roulhac 
 could not fathom. Another tack across the court brought 
 
 WWW 
 
7 
 
 COURT 
 
 the two together with a banging buffet which seemed to 
 rally the old man s wits. 
 
 His face loosened and he grabbed the young man s arm 
 with a tight grip, gazing into Roulhac s eyes with a start 
 ling fervor. 
 
 " For God s sake," he cried, in a thin, wavering voice, 
 " has n t Lee come up yet ? " He turned and took a grand 
 posture. " My right s smashed into powder, and I can t 
 hold ten minutes ! We re falling back all along the line. 
 Hell s bells! Where s Lee?" 
 
 Roulhac stood silent, gaping at the vagary, at a loss for 
 words. Then, at sight of a brown dachshund coming down 
 the court with much divagation, an idea came into his head 
 as slyly as a cartridge is slipped into a pistol. 
 
 " There s Lee ! " he exclaimed. He violently turned 
 the .oldster s head and swung it into range of the quadru 
 ped. The ancient stared wildly, but his gaze was aimed. 
 Then, as the suggestion took fire, his mouth went off. 
 
 " My God, it s Lee ! Thank the Lord ! See, he s 
 swinging into position ! Now he fires ! There s a charge, 
 by the Sons of Hell ! Look !" He held to the young man 
 with the grip of a Nuremberg virgin and followed the dog s 
 silly progress. " Gimme cavalry like that, and I 11 drive 
 Satan and all his pea-green devils out of the bleeding Pit !" 
 he cried. Then, as the dog turned and approached, his face 
 grew chalk. " Damnation ! " he yelled in terror. " It s 
 not Lee ! It s the enemy ! They re coming ! " He broke 
 and ran back a few steps, then rose to a magnificent ges 
 ture. "Rally, rally, we ll hold em yet! Wait till they 
 are in range, now, and give em purple pestilence ! " 
 
 The dog crawled up, smelled of the old warrior s leg, and 
 whined. " Let em veil," he cried, " we 11 give em some- 
 
 [63] 
 
 o 
 
A^3^33^ 
 
 LADY MECHANTE 
 
 thing to yell at ! " and, with a vigorous kick, he sent the 
 beast howling through the fog in a somersault. " Victory ! " 
 he cried. " Victory ! " 
 
 The repetition of the sentiment exhausted him, and he 
 sank upon the steps of the nearest house and put his hand 
 to his head. " Water," he murmured. " Water, water ! 
 I m wownded ! " 
 
 Dumfounded at the spectacle of this extravagant drama, 
 Roulhac stood, his eyes fascinated by the extraordinary dis 
 play the old man had vouchsafed. That this blood-curdling 
 ruffian was out of his head was easy to perceive, and yet, 
 somehow, he seemed to be neither entirely mad nor vulgarly 
 drunk. The show moved its auditor with alternate bewil 
 derment and mirth. In its juxtaposition of tragedy and com 
 edy the by-play was like an atrocious nightmare ; Roulhac 
 looked to see the actor go up suddenly in smoke. 
 
 But, as he recovered control of his nerves, the old man 
 arose, cast an important glance around, and marched stol 
 idly down the court with blatant pomp. 
 
 At this moment the door of the house at the end of the 
 court was reopened, a pair of feet clattered down the painted 
 wooden steps, and a new figure came hurrying up to the 
 lamp-post. The comer was of a more commonplace type, 
 of a rounder build, with puffy cheeks, a florid countenance, 
 and huge gold spectacles under bushy eyebrows. Alto 
 gether, he was the type of a retired merchant and bon viveur. 
 He was hatless, and wore evening dress. He gave Roulhac 
 a furtive, purblind glance as he sweltered by ; an anxious 
 look it was, as if fearful of a spectator s curiosity. He ran 
 up to the military stranger and snatched his arm, as a mother 
 captures an errant child. 
 
 " Here, come along back with me ! " he cried, wheedling. 
 
 [64] 
 
AgJk^k^k^^ 
 
 NO. 7 
 
 COURT 
 
 The commander turned haughtily and looked a hole 
 through his pursuer. " Salute ! " he roared. u Who the 
 Dark Brown Hell are you, by God, sir ? Got any de 
 spatches ? Hand em over; damn you, what are you snivel 
 ing at, you two-inch caterpillar ? " 
 
 The man humored him, though he towered before the 
 august and terrible frown of his truant. He saluted with a 
 semblance of martial training. "You re ordered to re- 
 
 O 
 
 treat, sir. You re to come back with me," he said, 
 apologetically. 
 
 " Retreat ? " thundered the other. " By the Archangel 
 of Death ! Who dares order Colonel Arthur McArthur to 
 retreat ? I 11 be cut into primitive patchwork first ! 
 Where s General Lee?" 
 
 The disqualified messenger was nonplussed, and his em 
 barrassment was painful to behold. His charge edged grad 
 ually toward the street. Already a curtain or two on the 
 opposite side of the way had been run up, and silhouetted 
 heads appeared in the windows. Roulhac had been a pas 
 sive spectator of the comedy, groping in his mind for a 
 solution of the problem, but now a hint sprouted and 
 blossomed, and he entered the stage as a god out of the 
 machine. He went up to the two men with authority and 
 looked straight into the Colonel s face. 
 
 " Here s Lee ! " he said. " You want Lee, do you ? 
 By Gideon, I 11 teach you to mutiny against my orders ! 
 Did n t I send word for you to fall back ? " He turned to 
 the other, who, with an eye full of wistful relief at the un 
 expected reinforcement, regarded him with joy. " Captain, 
 put Colonel McArthur under arrest ! Colonel, we 11 
 attend to your court-martial as soon as the engagement is 
 over." 
 
 < [6;] 
 
 Y 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 The Colonel broke down into a whimper and put his 
 arms round the messenger s neck. " My God, I m ruined ! 
 What 11 I do ? God knows I only wanted to die at my 
 post ! You know that, don t you ? Shot at daybreak for 
 disobedience of orders in action ! Oh, Lord, save me ! " 
 The other led him back with comforting words, and with 
 this wretched parley the three drew to the door of the 
 house. The situation mastered, Roulhac lapsed into his 
 place as spectator, though determined to see an end of the 
 affair. This the third man noticed, and his discomfort 
 returned. 
 
 " Much obliged, much obliged, I m sure. Thank you 
 very much, sir; really you ve helped me no end. You ve 
 been of great assistance. Here s the headquarters, 
 Colonel, four steps up, now ; there, forward, sir ! I m 
 much obliged to you, sincerely obliged. Forward, Colonel, 
 steady ! Thank you no end, you ve helped out tremen 
 dously. Right ahead, Colonel, there ! " 
 
 He pushed the prisoner through the door, half closed it 
 and stood on the steps, wiping the perspiration from his 
 forehead, glancing nervously inside to make sure his 
 charge was safe, and evidently anxious to be rid of his new 
 acquaintance. Inside was a long entry laid with a strip of 
 green carpet. There were several doors leading from this 
 passage, and from it rose a staircase, opposite the white 
 vestibule in which they stood. The house, however, was, 
 for all visible signs, deserted. 
 
 Roulhac was ungentlemanly enough to persist. The 
 means this fat gentleman in dress coat had taken to quiet 
 his charge seemed inconsistent with the methods of a 
 keeper of a private asylum, and the Braghampton curiosity, 
 potent and paramount when excited, was sharply bitten by 
 
 [66] 
 
 rcr 
 
 TO! 
 
J r~i L^f-b^-J ti L-\H7^-J Hl^ CT^O n \ 
 
 NO. 7, KEY COURT 
 
 the mystery. He was hard against an adventure and was 
 in no mood to be fobbed off at the threshold. He deter 
 mined to push his advantage. 
 
 "You d better let me go in and help you with him," he 
 suggested, presently. " The Colonel needs quieting, and 
 you ve seen that I can handle him. I 11 stay with you 
 till he s calmed down." 
 
 The other kindled with some fear or suspicion at this. 
 " No, no ! " he said, hurriedly, with his eyes still fumbling 
 inside the hallway. u I can manage him all right now. 
 Good-night, sir, I m very much obliged. Thank you so 
 much; you ve been a great help. I don t know what I 
 should have done, really. Good-night, sir, I m very much 
 obliged!" and he entered the hall. 
 
 His fear betrayed him, and Roulhac put his foot delib 
 erately across the sill to prevent the closing of the door. 
 The man was evidently of too weak a fiber to resist, if bul 
 lied, and he was already shuffling. But, as he opened his 
 mouth to answer, some noise from within braced his 
 resolve. His presence was, no doubt, imperatively de 
 manded, and he faltered between the two fires, fidgeting in 
 an agony of uncertainty, when an electric bell sounded, 
 singing a thin and persistent note. The man s face flushed 
 crimson, and he cast an uneasy glance upward. 
 
 Then, " Gimme your card," he said to Roulhac. " I 
 can t stay here a minute longer. You got to let me shut 
 the door. I 11 call and see you tomorrow, I swear to God 
 I will, if you let me go now. Perhaps they 11 let you in, 
 but if you make any trouble here I won t be responsible 
 for you." 
 
 Roulhac handed over a card with his address. The old 
 man grabbed it, and said : " You keep your mouth shut, 
 
 [67] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 mind you, or you 11 be sorry ! " Then, with a swift kick, 
 he attacked the foot on the threshold and vigorously 
 slammed the door. The next minute he was heard run 
 ning upstairs. 
 
 The play was, for the moment, over, and Roulhac 
 Braghampton retired down the court, his head whirling 
 with an ecstasy of perplexity. What did it mean ? He 
 would know tomorrow, if the fat man kept his word ; if 
 not, he would look at the place again. He noted the 
 number, 7, an easy figure to remember, appropriate as it 
 was to mystery. From there he followed the procession 
 of doors. Number 5, a discreet abode, whose entrance 
 was half hidden by a low awning ; number 3, a one-story 
 frame that bore the sign " Pedigreed Belgian Hares, 
 Golden West Rabbitry, P. Goslinson." Number i was 
 dark within, but, standing at an angle of the street, was 
 meagerly illuminated by the gas-lamp. In the window he 
 perceived a young woman standing, but, before he had had 
 time to notice more than her light blue gown and her 
 auburn hair, she withdrew from her post. On the other 
 branch of the court there stood a Chinese laundry, a stable, 
 and a few residences similar to those he had noticed. 
 
 68 
 
Chapter 
 
 MR. BRAGHAMPTON ENTERTAINS 
 
 / would fain see the careful fool deluded ! 
 
 (Bartholomew Fair.) 
 
 (OULHAC BRAGHAMPTON, at an hour 
 too scandalous to mention, returned to 
 Vallejo Street, climbing the goat path that 
 escalades the eastern slope of Russian Hill. 
 At the top he stood a few minutes, orey-eyed, 
 and gazed upon the display below him. 
 San Francisco had withdrawn her mantle of fog and 
 sprawled at his feet in an uneasy posture. The little 
 wooden boxes which serve for architecture in this strange 
 land covered hill and valley, clinging to slope and hollow, 
 furrowed with straight and narrow streets defying the 
 topography of the peninsula. The lights sown over this 
 vast rolling tract of mountainous land were fading, one by 
 one. The odors still came up from Chinatown, where the 
 Oriental pot bubbled night and day, but fewer noises rose 
 from the gut where Market Street lay. A solitary loco 
 motive, important and demonstrative, perfervent with the 
 world s traffic, screamed from the freight sheds on Tar 
 Flat. 
 
 " In one of these little wooden houses, pale and flat 
 under the stars," thought Roulhac, u lives the mysterious 
 Kitty Carmine ! In which one ? " And with this vision 
 peaceful at his door, he went in and lay down upon his bed. 
 
 [691 
 
 rcn 
 
 O 
 
 
Op 
 
 MECHANTE 
 
 He was awakened at nine in the morning by his tele 
 phone bell and groped to the receiver, a dazed emigrant 
 from Dreamland, to be greeted by a musical feminine voice 
 that he did not recognize. 
 
 " Is this Mr. Braghampton ? " it inquired. 
 
 " It will be, as soon as 1 am awake." 
 
 "Wake up, then, for you will need all your wits!" 
 
 " To whom am I indebted for this reveille ? " 
 
 " E Pluribus Unum! I am Fifty! " the voice proclaimed. 
 
 " Kitty Carmine ! " was the entranced return. 
 
 "And in which of your half-hundred moods do 1 find 
 you ? " 
 
 "In fifty new ones ! " 
 
 " I believe you. You re accepted ! " 
 
 " I never proposed ! " 
 
 " Never mind, I have fifty breach of promise cases 
 against you ; you can t escape ! " mocked the little voice 
 in the wire. 
 
 " Where do you live ? " pleadingly. 
 
 " On Hyde Street, of course ! Gosling ! Do you 
 think I would tell you ? " 
 
 " When shall I see you ? " 
 
 " Soon, but you 11 not know me." 
 
 " Nor you me, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, I have your true name, you know." 
 
 " Really ? How ? " 
 
 " Never mind. I have no time to explain now, but 
 you ll learn soon enough. Today I have a favor to ask 
 you. I 11 know, from the way you answer me, how you 
 value the affair. Promise me you ll assent to any request 
 that is made you this day ! " 
 
 Roulhac hesitated while the nickel-plated alarm clock on 
 
 [70] 
 
 "O 
 

 MR. BRAGHAMPTON ENTERTAINS 
 
 his bureau pulsed thrice, and then, casting aside discretion, 
 which, though it may be the better part of valor, has little 
 place in a modern flirtation, he said, "I promise ! " 
 
 " Good-bye, then ! " said the lady. " I 11 try to make 
 it worth your while ! " 
 
 Worth while, indeed ! Though Roulhac Braghampton 
 lives to be a nonagenarian, though he palsy, dote, and 
 crumple as the fading leaf, he will yet collapse with 
 hysteria at the thought of all she brought about. Though 
 he grow misogynist or gynophobiac, one woman will be 
 free from his disregard. The tinkle of Kitty Carmine s 
 laughter shall flow when the falls of Minnehaha dry in 
 their unmade bed. 
 
 The morning s mail, although not so sensational as that 
 of the day before, kept Roulhac busy till nearly noon, and 
 he was still in his dingy, patched red flannel bath-robe when 
 a knock at the door apprised him of the advent of a visitor. 
 Few hazarded the climb to the summit of Russian Hill 
 without urgent business or ardent affection, and the occu 
 pant of the Peanut Shell suspected that his fat friend of 
 yesterday s almost Arabian night s entertainment had 
 honored him. 
 
 It was so indeed, and, as Mr. Braghampton answered 
 the summons, he beheld the unwieldy guardian of No. 7 
 Key Court in the Liliputian front yard admiring the view 
 through his spectacles, still panting from his struggle up 
 the ascent. He turned, with a scarlet face, as the door 
 was opened. 
 
 " Ugh ! " he said. " Devilish climb, this. How-de-do, 
 Mr. Braghampton ? D you really live up here with the 
 goats ? " 
 
^^A^P^qpA^^^^^^^ 
 
 LADY MECHANTE 
 
 " It is a bit desperate," Roulhac replied, " but we get 
 used to it, and the inaccessibility serves to prove our 
 friends. I m charmed to find you so punctual. Come in, 
 please. There s hardly room for two and the mortgage, 
 but we 11 make a fierce, supernal try at it ! " 
 
 They entered the cottage and sat down upon a pink 
 couch beneath bookshelves. The visitor cleared his throat. 
 
 " My name is Rappp," he began, u R, a, double p, p ; 
 three /> s, you know." 
 
 " Extraordinary way to spell it," Roulhac observed, as 
 comment seemed to be called for. 
 
 " Quite so, quite so ; I flatter myself it is very unique, 
 my name. But you 11 find only two ^> s in the directory ; 
 they positively refuse to spell it correctly. I m often ad 
 dressed that way, with two /> s ; in fact, people sometimes 
 use only one. Beasts ! " 
 
 " Well," said Roulhac, " people always misspell one s 
 name, you know, Mr. Rappp," and he pronounced the 
 final consonants with emphasis. " You ought to think 
 yourself lucky if they don t call you c Rapps. 
 
 " They do, damn em ! " said his visitor. 
 
 "I must say," Roulhac went on, "I am consumed with 
 curiosity in regard to last night s adventure. I m so glad 
 you took the trouble to call up here and do me the honor." 
 
 " I have my instructions and I must follow them, so 
 you must n t blame me if I don t entirely satisfy you. 
 You see, you stumbled into something that s usually kept 
 pretty dark. It would n t do to have the thing get into the 
 papers, you know. It s square, and all that," he hastened 
 to explain, " but you see it s a bit new, and you know how 
 the yellow supplements take up a novelty. One can t be too 
 careful. Besides, it s nobody s business but the members ." 
 
, s A t:: {^^ 
 
 MR. BRAGHAMPTON ENTERTAINS 
 
 " Oh, I see," said his host. " A club, I presume." 
 
 " Exactly," said Mr. Rappp. " A gentleman s club, 
 and strictly private." 
 
 " What s the little game ? " said Roulhac, gently. 
 
 Mr. Rappp shook his head so violently that his ears 
 nearly dropped off. " Ob ! No, there s no play allowed. 
 Looks like a private gambling-house, you think ? Not at 
 all, sir ! Merely for entertainment and culture." 
 
 " I hardly see why you need such secrecy," Roulhac 
 ventured. 
 
 " As I said, I am not at liberty to tell you. I will say, 
 however, that the entertainment provided for members is 
 not only extraordinarily amusing, but practically inaccessible 
 to ordinary persons." 
 
 " Against the law, perhaps," said Roulhac, blowing forth 
 a smoke-ring. 
 
 " Wrong again ! " said Rappp. " Only because it s un 
 known, and not understood or appreciated if it were n t." 
 
 Roulhac wondered in vain what new and mysterious 
 pleasure was purveyed in No. 7 Key Court. " Women? " 
 he suggested, at last. 
 
 u Never ! " cried his visitor. u Better give it up. 
 You 11 never guess. / could n t, though I m twenty years 
 your senior," which by his tone appeared to give the final 
 proof of impossibility. 
 
 " Then, if you can t tell me more than I already know, 
 I 11 be quartered if I see why you have taken the trouble 
 to climb this hill." 
 
 " See here," the other explained with a placating gesture, 
 " I was ruffled at your persistence and insistence the other 
 evening, I confess. I ain t used to it from boys who might 
 be my sons. But in spite of that I don t know as I blame 
 
 [73] 
 
 d 6 
 O 
 
 d 
 O 
 
QQ^^QPvA^QpA^q^^ 
 
 LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 you. Young blood, you know, and all that sort of thing ! 
 I liked the look of you. Besides, there s been influence 
 brought to bear, when your name was read on the card. 
 We want new members, and there are three vacancies. 
 And it s damned hard to find the right sort of men, too. 
 It s irregular to let you in this way, and all that, but as I 
 say, you ve got a pretty good reputation for nerve and 
 cleverness, and so on. Not enough to elect you, perhaps, 
 but you can be a candidate if you want. Would you like 
 to try it on ? I warn you fairly, you may be blackballed, 
 and it s a pig in poke for you ; but if you re not game we 
 don t want you. See ? " 
 
 Roulhac did not see at all. But he was not the man to 
 look too hard before he leapt. He had done ten thousand 
 madder things without winking. "Cost much ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Merely nominal. Rent of clubhouse and salaries of 
 service. But we re very economical. It varies. Ten 
 dollars a month, maybe." 
 
 "All right. Me for the fatal plunge," assented the 
 scallawag. "What do I have to do to qualify ? " 
 
 "I 11 tell you. Glad you re not a paper sport. You ll 
 do, all right, I m sure. Here you have it. You re to be 
 at Campi s restaurant on Clay Street, Friday noon, for 
 lunch. Take the third table in the second row, count 
 ing from the window. See here ! " He took out a stub of 
 pencil and drew a diagram on a sheet of paper. " Here s 
 the front by the windows ; upstairs, you understand. 
 Here s the stairway. Row of tables along the partition, 
 row of tables down the middle, row of tables on the side 
 by the stairs. You re in the middle. First table by the 
 window, second table, third ; there you are. Number the 
 seats ; one, two, three, four. You sit down in Number three." 
 
 [74] 
 
p-A qp A ?-gj^y? 9 , j^? r 
 
 MR. BRAGHAMPTON ENTERTAINS 
 
 Roulhac folded up the paper and put it into his pocket. 
 " But what if it s taken ? " 
 
 " It won t be taken, we 11 attend to that. Besides, 
 you re to be there at twelve, sharp, and stay till two." 
 
 " Who s to take the other seats ? " 
 
 u Anybody. Never mind them. You ve got nothing 
 to do but eat your lunch. Get a good one. Don t try to 
 find out anything more." 
 
 " Oh, I see ! " said Roulhac. " The club members will 
 lunch there, too, and know I m to be present and watch 
 me. Godfrey ! That s fey ! " 
 
 " We won t judge you by your table manners, though, 
 don t be afraid. Meanwhile we ll look you up. But the 
 members want to see a man before they let him in, and 
 naturally they don t want to be identified themselves. See ? 
 Well, if you ve got that straight, I 11 go. Friday at 
 twelve. Goo-by ! " 
 
 He had risen, shaken hands, and was about to leave, 
 when his eye caught, through a half-opened door, a narrow 
 view of the inner room. His eye hung there for a second, 
 and then he turned on the young man with ferocity. 
 
 " The devil ! " he cried. " There s a woman in that 
 room. We Ve been overheard ! " 
 
 u There s no woman there," Roulhac protested. " Look 
 for yourself! " He flung open the door and entered. Half 
 way in, he stopped and a smile grew on his face. u Oh 
 yes ! " he said. " I forgot. But she has n t been listening, 
 I give you my word. Allow me to introduce you to Miss 
 Harmony, Mr. Rappp." 
 
 The lady in question stood upright with a rigid pose, 
 auburn of hair and with pink round cheeks, looking 
 abstractedly at the opposite wall. She was neatly, one 
 
 [75] 
 
 % 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 might say stylishly arrayed, if the cut of her garments had 
 not been, to the practiced eye, significant of the styles of a 
 year or more ago. Her hands hung rather stiffly at her 
 sides, and, as the two drew nearer, she made no sign of 
 recognition or greeting. This, however, was not so re 
 markable as it would have been had she not been made of 
 wax and wood, with glass eyes which were incapable 
 of movement. Mr. Braghampton s female friend was, in 
 short, a draped lay figure, such as dwell commonly within 
 the narrow limits of a plate glass show window. 
 
 " My word ! " exclaimed Mr. Rappp, approaching her 
 with a certain shyness. "A dummy, by Jimminy-Jove ! 
 And do you know, I fancied that I recognized her ! Shows 
 what a bad conscience will do ! How the devil do you 
 happen to have this piece of pink perfection in your sitting- 
 room ? " 
 
 " It s a long story," Roulhac drawled, " and I 11 not 
 bore you with it, except for the fact that my father was, at 
 one time, in the dry-goods and mantle business. When 
 the firm dissolved, I appropriated this figure and I ve kept 
 it here ever since. The fact is, it s by way of being a 
 composite of several of my friends." 
 
 " Queer sort of dolls you must run with," said Mr. 
 Rappp. 
 
 " Oh, not the head, you know ; that might be any girl s," 
 Roulhac explained, " but the clothes. I ve borrowed, or 
 pinched, or had presented to ner everything she s got on. 
 This skirt was given me by a girl I flirted with at Mon 
 terey. The shirt-waist belonged to a sunset blonde up at 
 Castle Crags you d know the name if I told you ; it s in 
 the society column every week and the hat has been 
 frequently seen at San Rafael." He turned up the skirt. 
 
 [76] 
 
MR. BRAGHAMPTON ENTERTAINS 
 
 " Fervid petticoats, eh ? They belonged to never mind ! 
 Oh, she s complete, even to Jaegers. I m not disclosing 
 their authorship, of course, but well, you understand. 
 Swell girls, all of em rudement chic! Oh, Miss Har 
 mony s a silk-lined thoroughbred, I assure you ! She s a 
 pretty hot piece of pie, she is, I give you my word if any 
 one should ring you up and inquire ! Green stockings, 
 too ! How they carry me back ! A girl in London 
 bought em for her and wore em once to give em atmos 
 phere. Gladys, kiss your hand to the fat gentleman! She 
 speaks French, too, when she talks at all, par la fan- 
 faronnade ! Luckily, she s dumb. Bye-bye, Glad ! " 
 
 u Say, you re a queer stick ! " said Mr. Rappp. " You re 
 fertile, by Crickey ! You can help us lots with suggestions, 
 you can. We ll have to have you, sure ! Say, you re all 
 right, all right ! " 
 
 And with this remark he took his leave and climbed 
 cautiously down the Hill. 
 
 [77] 
 
Chapter Jfour 
 
 A LUNCH AT CAMPI S 
 
 So I meant. What is she ? 
 
 A bonnibel ? 
 
 (The Alchemist.) 
 
 PSTAIRS at Campi s was a long, low room 
 with sanded floor, filled by three rows of 
 I T !HI$ ta bl es running from the French windows 
 overlooking Clay Street back to the parti 
 tions shutting off the kitchen in the rear. 
 Between the dingy lace curtains of the win 
 dows, on a wall bracket, stood the dusty bust of Campi pere, 
 the original founder of the establishment, gazing down, 
 between fierce moustaches trimmed a la Vittor Emmanu- 
 ello, upon the habitues of the restaurant. Below, in the 
 main room, there was a clatter of plates and spoons, as 
 clerks and book-keepers gulped through their half-hour 
 lunch ; above it was more quiet. Here the regular cus 
 tomers gathered in little cliques and took their time over 
 long cigars, and the waiters served with less briskness. 
 Here, too, more ladies appeared: pretty typewriters, the 
 cashiers of small business houses, the proprietress of the 
 bindery next door, and so on. 
 
 Here, in the old days, Barowich presided. Barowich 
 the Slav, whose mother was a countess and had disinherited 
 him. Not to know Barowich by name was a badge of the 
 alien ; to his regular customers he was an old friend, and 
 he would linger at the table after the room had thinned, and 
 
 [78] 
 
 V 
 
 YlFY 
 
A LUNCH AT CAMPFS 
 
 would show you the miniature of his lady mother, set in 
 dull pearls, and talk of Italy and Botticelli. 
 
 Roulhac was early at his appointment, and, entering the 
 upper hall and looking for his position, found that, at the 
 table where he was to sit, all the chairs were placed back 
 wards, in sign that the place was reserved. A waiter came 
 up and regarded him intently. u Is this table taken ? " 
 said Roulhac. 
 
 " Would you mind telling me your name, sir ? " said 
 Barowich. 
 
 " Braghampton," said Roulhac, in some surprise at the 
 inquisition. 
 
 " All right," said the waiter, and he turned the chairs 
 back to their normal position. 
 
 Roulhac sat down and shook the napkin out of the glass 
 in front of him lazily, looking curiously about the room, 
 with which he was not familiar. There were as yet few 
 occupants. The corner table, by the window, always the 
 most popular, was taken by two women. One of them, 
 sitting with her back to him, he could not well make out ; 
 the other, facing him, had heavy eyebrows and black hair 
 pulled out in a flourish over her ears. Her costume was 
 loud and cheap; it was evident she was from the south of 
 Market Street slot ; and he transferred his attention to the 
 other end of the room, where a portly German was eating 
 soup with audible gusto. Here, again, he found little to 
 interest him. It was evident that he was not regarded 
 and must wait for further visitors. 
 
 The place began to fill up, and the room before long 
 bustled with activity. At half-after-twelve the business 
 men of the vicinity, printers, market men, and paper mer 
 chants, began to arrive. As they entered, Roulhac gave 
 
 [79] 
 
 "Se 
 o 
 
LADT M EC H ANTE 
 
 each one a searching glance, but he had little clue to go by 
 and he soon gave up the investigation. Here one or an 
 other might be a possible member of the club, but there 
 was small satisfaction in the surmise. 
 
 And yet, as he proceeded with his lunch, the feeling that 
 he was being watched grew upon him. He caught, it is 
 true, no direct glance, but all about him he knew the spies 
 of the mysterious organisation to be placed. They might 
 be at his right or his left, facing him, or behind. There 
 was no knowing, but the feeling made him awkward and 
 self-conscious. He succeeded in spilling a bottle of red 
 wine upon the tablecloth, which did not increase his peace 
 of mind. His food remained untasted, but he made a bold 
 pretense of appetite and nursed his lunch that it might last 
 as long as possible. Behind him, in the corner by the stair, 
 was a table set for eight, and here a gay company assembled, 
 whose laughter, loud talking, and congeniality proclaimed 
 them frequenters of the place. He caught now and then 
 an easy, obvious jest, and he wondered if he were to become 
 the associate of such a crew as that. His mind turned 
 backward at the thought. 
 
 So far the ordeal bored him, and he had conceived a huge 
 disgust at the undignified situation in which he was placed, 
 when a lady entered, and, after casting an inquisitive look 
 about the room, approached his table and sat down directly 
 opposite him. It was, in point of fact, almost the only 
 place now vacant, and its selection showed no signs of pre 
 meditation. Nevertheless, the possibility set Roulhac on 
 the qui vive. It gave an entirely new turn to the affair, 
 in his mind, and he began to view it with a renascent 
 interest. 
 
 She removed her veil slowly, revealing a coil of hair of 
 
 
A^=c^- 
 
 .a^vas-A^- 
 
 A LUNCH AT CAMPFS 
 
 that particular shade of red for which Titian and number 
 less imitators have given us an acquired taste. The color 
 was, in short, what any painter would term " wonderful," 
 and it accompanied that dazzling complexion with which 
 it is usually associated. Her mouth was small, but mis 
 chievously curved ; two nimble, entertaining dimples punc 
 tuated her cheeks, and her eyebrows wrote humor upon her 
 face; her eyes, when she let them open to their full size, 
 shone blue as deep-sea water. She wore a costume de 
 scribed in the fashion-books as "jaunty." A blue waist, 
 dotted with white, trimmed with gold braid in military 
 style, adorned with brass buttons, and a belt, captured, no 
 doubt, without a struggle from some devoted ensign in the 
 navy. From this depended a collection of bijouterie strung 
 on a gold chain. She drew off her gloves, and, with the 
 fraction of a second s peep at her vis-a-vis, she contem 
 plated the printed menu. Her white left hand drew the 
 alert Braghampton eye, for on its fourth finger was a Regard 
 ring, fastened by a crossed gold chain to her wrist a piece 
 of piquantly amusing idiocy that pleased him well. Thus 
 posed as if for a photograph by Genthe, or a cover for 
 "Jugend, she was as nearly perfect as anything at which 
 Roulhac Braghampton had ever loosed a giddy glance. 
 
 At any other time such a delirious flirt as Roulhac Brag 
 hampton would have attempted his wiles upon the fair 
 creature at his table. He was not the kind to make goo- 
 goo eyes, or ogle a beauty out of countenance ; his ways 
 were lubricated with tact and delicacy ; but now the pres 
 ence of possible surveillors of his actions kept down his 
 temperature. None the less did he aim many a covert 
 stiletto glance in the direction of his auburn-haired partner, 
 and he could not but perceive that she was conscious of his 
 6 [81] 
 

 LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 presence. His attention was limited to passing her the 
 salt and oil, and a casual, seemingly accidental, collision 
 with her foot under the table. The cloth being short, he 
 did this with dexterity, nicely calculating the possible angle 
 and range of vision for possible observers. His conceit led 
 him to suspect more danger from them than from her, and, 
 above the table, his demeanor was sobriety itself. He 
 contented himself, then, with admiring her air and style, 
 which had distinction out of accord with the dun and dim 
 apartment. She should have been dining at the Maison 
 Riche, he thought, and that, too, with him, tete-a-tete 
 upstairs. 
 
 Engaged in these alluring fancies, he dabbled [leisurely 
 through his lunch. Whitebait and spaghetti had been dal 
 lied with, and he was just about to plunge his knife into a 
 small bird when a commotion at the far end of the room 
 drew his eyes in that direction. There a small, robust lump 
 of a man with eyeglasses and a brown beard was making 
 himself conspicuous. A friend at his side was evidently 
 dissuading him from some exhibition, but the man (he wore 
 a pink shirt with a red necktie) was in revolt. He strug 
 gled to his feet, finally, with the other tugging at his coat- 
 tails, and cleared his throat. 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen," he announced. " My subject 
 today is one that promises to revolutionize Modern Science. 
 The question of the possibility of a Fourth Dimension, in 
 comprehensible as it is to our conception of Space, is one 
 that was foreshadowed by Kant, and has since been pro 
 foundly investigated by Lobatchewski and other German 
 mathematicians. Today Non-Euclidean geometry is rec 
 ognized as a possible hypothesis to account for many un 
 answered problems in Physics and Natural Science. Indeed, 
 
 F 82 1 
 
A LUNCH AT CAMP PS 
 
 it has been used by Spiritists to explain several remarkable 
 manifestations, notably at Berne 
 
 " Sit down, for God s sake, sit down ! " cried the man 
 at his table, a thin creature with a pointed beard, who 
 looked like Shakespeare in a concave mirror. But the au 
 dience, amused by this unforeseen entertainment, yelled 
 encouragement and rapped their wineglasses with their 
 knives. 
 
 "At Berne, I repeat, where in an empty room a light 
 appeared underneath a table and cast an undlstorted shadow 
 in its true size and shape upon the wall, thus proving the 
 light had come from an infinite distance. The mathemati 
 cal elucidation of the theory of Higher Space, involving as 
 it does Quaternions and Least Squares, is not easily 
 followed by the lay mind, but," and here he struggled pain 
 fully with his oppressor, " upon the speculative side, the 
 subject is possible of simple illustration." 
 
 He paused for breath, and his friend attacked him more 
 vigorously. Roulhac noticed that all over the room men 
 had risen, some ten or twelve in all, and were evidently 
 more than ordinarily interested in the episode. They got 
 together in twos and threes, and a few made their way 
 down between the tables as if to second the attempts of the 
 man who was trying to interrupt the lecture. Barowich 
 himself hastened to the spot, and spoke to one of the groups 
 in passing. But the professor, for so he appeared, would 
 not down, and after a terrific struggle he broke loose 
 again. 
 
 " I shall not be interrupted ! " he cried. u I will go on ! 
 We must proceed by analogy. Suppose, if you will, a 
 Space limited to one dimension in short, a world where 
 consciousness is limited to a line . . ." 
 
 [83] 
 
 dS^v^als vcR> 
 o Y o Y o 
 
^S^^y^^A^ 
 
 .\A^mL-V3O7?TlXQ^frn\JVVJ?Tt^^ 
 
 LADY MECHANTE 
 
 While Roulhac had been intent upon the talker, the 
 lady opposite him had risen and glided swiftly down the 
 room till she stood directly in front of the professor. She 
 caught his eye. 
 
 " The inhabitants of this linear world," he proceeded, 
 disconcerted, "can conceive of but one direction, back 
 and forth . . . they cannot pass each other . . . but . . . 
 suppose, now, the line to be intersected by a square. . . . 
 It would appear only as two receding points . . . but, to 
 the square. . . ." His voice died out in a mumble, as the 
 lady in the blue blouse whispered in his ear. He collapsed 
 and sat down, took up his fork and attacked his lunch 
 again. 
 
 The sprightly beauty returned to her place and resumed 
 her occupation as if nothing unusual had happened. The 
 little knots of excited men disintegrated and took their for 
 mer places. The rest of the company, after much inquisi 
 tive staring at the professor and the lady, recommenced 
 their repast, and in a few minutes the place had taken on 
 its customary aspect. 
 
 It was now half-after-one o clock, and the customers be 
 gan to leave. One by one they pushed their chairs back, 
 lit cigarettes, and arose. There were some, however, who 
 lingered, and to these, one after another, Roulhac observed 
 Barowich go. He handed each a small slip of paper, and, 
 careful as they were to do so stealthily, Roulhac noticed 
 several of them write upon the checks and return them to 
 the head waiter. It seemed as if they were tipping him at 
 the time ; he hardly commented upon the action. 
 
 At quarter-to-two the lady opposite him called for her 
 bill, gave Barowich the money in payment, placed a dollar 
 upon the table, and left. She did not do so, however, with- 
 
 [84] 
 
 ^ 
 
A LUNCH AT CAMP PS 
 
 out another gaze at Mr. Braghampton, and she even in 
 dulged him with a swift, barbed smile as she turned. 
 Roulhac started, at this, to follow her ; but, remembering 
 his promise to stay till two o clock, he remained in his 
 chair, and, palpitant, watched her descend the stair. 
 
 It had become patent by this time, to the observation of 
 the young man, that Barowich occupied in that place a 
 far more important figure than that of mere head waiter. 
 So many of the patrons appeared to know him and col 
 logued him with affability, and his bearing was so distin 
 guished as he presided over the welfare of the guests, that 
 the desire was born in Roulhac s breast for conversation. 
 As Barowich approached him, therefore, Roulhac made a 
 sign. 
 
 "Queer sort of business, that speech," he remarked, 
 pleasantly. 
 
 "Very strange," said the waiter. "But we see strange 
 sights here at times. Your waiter, like your doctor, probes 
 secrets every day." 
 
 "Who was the speaker?" was the next interrogation. 
 
 Barowich leaned against an iron pillar unprofessionally. 
 " He s Professor Dolittle, of the University," he answered. 
 "He s an authority on Hyperspace, you know." 
 
 " What the devil is Hyperspace ? " asked Roulhac 
 
 " Speculation, rank speculation ; to my mind there s 
 nothing in it. Of course, it s a useful working theory in 
 chemistry, you know; gives a modus operandi for the group 
 ing of atoms in molecules of certain volatile hydrocarbons, 
 that can t possibly be done with three-dimensional forms. 
 But it s the professor s fad. You ought to see his models. 
 Projections of Tessaracts and Octohedroids upon Three- 
 Space, you know." 
 
 o 
 
^V\3-gVsJ^^V?^-^!^-S- 
 
 LADY MECHANTE 
 
 " Indeed," said Roulhac, marveling at the waiter s cul 
 ture. u Have you seen them ? " 
 
 " Oh } 7 es," said Barowich. " In fact, I have pointed out 
 to the professor gross inaccuracies in his calculations of the 
 perimetry of certain warped surfaces, and I m inclined to 
 dispute his authority on such subjects. You are aware, of 
 course, that mathematics is not, strictly, an exact science." 
 
 The subject began to bore his victim, and he turned to 
 more congenial topics. " Who was the young lady sitting 
 opposite me ?" he asked. " Do you know her ?" 
 
 "That was the Countess Rouge," said Barowich. 
 
 " Indeed," Roulhac remarked. " I would have laid four 
 bits she was an American girl." 
 
 " Wrong ; she s English, and she s a countess to boot," 
 Barowich explained. " Beautiful woman, no ? Every 
 inch an aristocrat, too, I know, for my mother was of 
 the Polish nobility." 
 
 " She seemed to have a remarkable influence with the 
 professor," suggested Roulhac ; but Barowich s veil dropped, 
 and he began to resume his capacity as waiter. The young 
 man began again. 
 
 " I noticed when I entered that this table had been re 
 served in the customary manner. May I ask by whose 
 direction ? " 
 
 Barowich returned to his pose, and, to Roulhac s surprise, 
 seated himself at the table. 
 
 "That brings me to an important matter," he said. "I 
 am requested to inform you of your election." 
 
 " You don t say so ! " ejaculated the other. " I had no 
 idea a ballot would be taken so soon." 
 
 The waiter took from his pocket a small packet of papers, 
 seemingly torn from the ordinary check-pad of the estab- 
 
 [ 86 1 
 
 T31 
 
A LUNCH AT CAMPI S 
 
 lishment. As he spread them upon the table, each was seen 
 to bear the printed words " Campi s Restaurant, 531 Clay 
 Street, San Francisco. * Upon each, also, but in different 
 handwritings, was written in pencil the word u YES." 
 
 " There is the official ballot," the waiter explained. 
 " Unanimous, you see." 
 
 " But what have you to do with this ? " Roulhac inquired. 
 " Is it possible that you belong to the club ? " Then, as 
 he considered that his tone of surprise might be miscon 
 strued as scornful, he added : "I m delighted to meet a 
 fellow-member." 
 
 " I have that honor," said Barowich, " and I combine 
 with it the office of chef de cuisine. I assure you the club 
 sets a very good table." 
 
 " Then, in heaven s name, make me acquainted with the 
 object of this mysterious organization," demanded the other. 
 u I have been in suspense long enough. I want to know 
 whether I join with blacklegs, vaudeville artists, or madmen. 
 I m as puzzled as a cat in a coffin." 
 
 "The time has come," said Barowich. "Here s the 
 scheme in a word. The Hypnotic Club 
 
 "Oh, yes, of course !" interrupted Roulhac, slapping 
 the table violently, " I might have guessed that. What a 
 blockhead ! But how, why, and when ? " 
 
 " As I was saying," resumed the waiter, smiling, " we 
 are associated together to enable us to entertain ourselves 
 in a way that is not often possible. You know, well 
 enough, the vagaries of the mesmerist, and how a sugges 
 tion may be given that will set the subject off on a dream 
 life as real and ten thousand times more agreeable, perhaps, 
 than his waking existence. This is our practice; to meet, 
 and be put into a state of hypnosis, in which condition we 
 
9 P 
 
 as. 
 
 MECHANTE 
 
 can pursue any form of entertainment we desire. Each 
 man has a separate room and is well attended. There, as 
 often as he pleases of an evening, he can live the dream-life 
 undisturbed." 
 
 "What an idea !" said the initiate. " But I don t care, 
 myself, to put myself in the power of any mesmerist, thank 
 you. I should have investigated this, before accepting the 
 election. It sounds dangerous." 
 
 " Nothing could be more harmless. You see, the mem 
 bers take turns in taking the part of hypnotist. Each 
 has an equal part in controlling the others. You yourself, 
 in your turn, put the members that are present on your 
 night into trances and give them the required suggestions." 
 
 " But I know nothing of mesmerism." 
 
 " You will be instructed. It is easy enough when the 
 subjects are willing to be hypnotized. Now, you are re 
 quested to appear for your instruction tomorrow night. I 
 hope you have no engagement for then ? " 
 
 " No," said Roulhac. I 11 be there." 
 
 " Come at eight, sharp, then, and, as it happens to be 
 my night, I 11 explain more at detail what you are to read 
 and do, and you will have the opportunity of watching me 
 attend to the members. Here is a key to No. 7 Key 
 Court. Go right in. You may see Rappp and Colonel 
 McArthur, and I think you 11 find them more hospitable 
 than they were the other evening. 
 
 " Your bill ? " he answered, in reply to Roulhac s query. 
 "Never mind that, you are the guest of the club today. 
 Good-bye. I shall expect you tomorrow at eight." 
 
 88 ] 
 

 Chapter Jftoe 
 
 THE HYPNOTIC CLUB 
 
 Is not this a fantastic house we are in, 
 And all a dream we do ? 
 
 (Rule a. Wife and Have a Wife.) 
 
 fT eight o clock precisely, the next evening, 
 Roulhac Braghampton turned into Key 
 Court. The place was dark and quiet 
 save that, from the rabbitry where P. Gos- 
 linson bred his Belgian hares, came a sound 
 of muffled pounding. The key fitted, the 
 door opened, and Roulhac found himself at last within the 
 secret precincts of the Hypnotic Club. A door at his left 
 was marked "OFFICE," and here he penetrated cava 
 lierly. The room was narrow and high of ceiling, the 
 walls hung in crimson paper. At a desk sat Barowich, in 
 full evening dress, writing in a blank book. There was a 
 long settee, upholstered in leather, upon which lounged 
 three or four men. Amongst these he recognized Colonel 
 Arthur McArthur, now quite sane. Beside him was Rappp, 
 smoking a tiny cigar and reading an enormous book. 
 
 All three rose to welcome him, and he was formally 
 presented to the other members. Colonel McArthur 
 began the conversation. 
 
 " I don t know how to apologize for the ass I made of 
 myself," he began. "The fact is, my door was left un 
 locked and I escaped. I was fighting the battle of Antie- 
 
 [89] 
 
 *^^r&*f ] J~ > f r &?f l ^ J J - 
 
 Y&Y-^Y^- 
 
JL^^^^ 
 
 MECHANTE 
 
 tarn, you understand, and thought I was making a forced 
 march. I had hard enough work to escape the enemy, 
 here, I assure you," and he pointed to Rappp. 
 
 " You saved us from a very disagreeable scene," said 
 Mr. Rappp, looking up from his book, a profound work on 
 microscopy. 
 
 u Let me show you the place before the rest of the mem 
 bers arrive," interrupted Barowich, slamming his accounts 
 upon the desk. " This is, as you see, the general office. 
 Here is a list of members, showing the rotation of the office 
 of controller." He ran his finger down the line. " My 
 night, you see your turn will come in a week, unless 
 some of the others fail. Here s our library; Moll, Binet 
 and Fere, Charcot, Prince, all the best authorities, including 
 the suppressed report of the French Academy on Mesmer s 
 experiments. We re of the newer German school and 
 follow pure suggestion. Braid was all right, but the mir 
 rors and things he used to paralyze the sight or hearing 
 and so on are but a pis alter. You 11 discover the differ 
 ence between Mesmerism and Hypnotism soon. Animal 
 Magnetism, perhaps, comes nearer the mark, but the name 
 signifies little. The passes and the staring eyeballs help 
 to fascinate the subject, but it s purely mental. It depends 
 far more upon the subject than the hypnotist. Now we re 
 all good subjects, because we help the controller and are 
 willing to give ourselves up to his influence. There s a 
 grill-room in the rear where you can get a very good 
 sprig, teal, or mallard at this time of the year, and I 11 guar 
 antee that it will be well cooked, for I have the chef per 
 manently under my influence. What I know about sauces 
 and condiments and basting, he knows. It s the same as 
 if I broiled it myself. Upstairs there are ten rooms with 
 

 THE HYPNOTIC CLUB 
 
 beds, if you wish to stay all night. Each one is numbered, 
 every member has his own apartment. You are in Number 
 8. Like to see it ? " 
 
 But, as more of the members now came in, Roulhac 
 contented himself with meeting them and shaking hands. 
 A tray of drinks was brought in ; mild cocktails, Baro- 
 wich explained, so as not to interfere with the trance to be 
 invoked, and then each member went to his room. Baro- 
 wich and Roulhac were left alone in the office. 
 
 "It goes without saying," said the waiter, "that all you 
 see and hear is in strict confidence. You re not to men 
 tion one member s affairs, even to another. You re to 
 suggest any subject a member requests provided it s not 
 immoral or constituting a statutory offense. We ve got 
 to be careful of the good name of the club. Each room is 
 connected with the office by an electric bell and this an 
 nunciator. Here is a list of the times the members are to 
 be wakened, but it s usual practice to suggest it to the sub 
 ject when he s put into his trance. The bells are more 
 for emergencies. Now we 11 come up. Usually we begin 
 with the first man who comes in, and the others wait their 
 turn." 
 
 He led the way upstairs into the upper hall and opened 
 the door of Number i. A gentleman in a dressing-gown 
 was lying upon the lounge. His hair and moustaches 
 were elaborately curled and bore suspicion of dye. Roul 
 hac had marked the foppery of his manner in the office, 
 where he swaggered as only an old buck can. His fingers 
 were covered with rings, and, though he appeared in a po 
 lite neglige every article of his apparel was elegant, in the 
 extreme of style. One would imagine him a lady-killer 
 who could count his affairs by thousands. His feet were 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 enclosed in patent-leather shoes several sizes too small. 
 To crown the ridiculous vanity of this coxcomb, he held in 
 his arms a wax doll, the largest Roulhac had ever seen, be 
 decked in a garment of an ultra-modish make. Underneath 
 her blonde wig a pair of staring eyes looked out and ques 
 tioned the ceiling. As the two entered, the gentleman, 
 who had been introduced as Mr. Ruby, arose and placed 
 his charge upon the chair beside him, then seated himself 
 and composed his features for the seance. 
 
 " The same old game," he requested, with a smirk. 
 
 Barowich approached and made a few passes. The 
 man s eyes, at first fixed upon the controller, grew glassy ; 
 then the lids fell, and in a few minutes he breathed heavily, 
 fast asleep. Barowich turned from the unconscious sub 
 ject and explained : 
 
 " This man, whom you might take for a gallant of the 
 first water, is of so singularly modest a nature that any real 
 pleasure of communication with the other sex is impossible, 
 unbearable, and painful to an excruciating degree. At heart 
 he is a very Lothario ; Don Juan and Casanova himself 
 could not equal his imaginary amours. But he is cursed, as 
 I say, with a most immoderate bashfulness the very sight 
 of a woman turns his knees to water ; he is so shy, Mr. 
 Braghampton, I have seen him blush to meet a little girl 
 four years old ! The case is most extraordinary, especially 
 as the man has written some of the keenest things of 
 women ever printed. Why, only last month there appeared 
 in Mimsey s Magazine a story, over a feminine pseudonym, 
 that has made talk in this town, I assure you. He s the 
 devil-and-all, when he s alone, and will give advice to 
 the youngsters that comes in handy ; oh, he knows all the 
 ropes, theoretically, but he dare n t pull em." 
 
 (9*1 
 
AqpAqpA^^m^^Aa^ 
 
 THE HTPNOriC CLUB 
 
 " But hypnotism should be the very cure for all this," 
 suggested Roulhac. " I ve heard of its efficacy in dentistry 
 and the alcoholic habit, and so on. Why don t you suggest 
 that he ll get on all right with the girls ? " 
 
 " He won t hear of it," said Barowich. " I tell you 
 he s a monomaniac on that subject. He d rather go into 
 a den of Colorado catamounts than to an afternoon tea." 
 
 u Well, so would I, for that matter," Roulhac grinned, 
 " but proceed." 
 
 The controller turned to his subject and said, pointing 
 to the doll : " Mr. Ruby, this is Miss Virginia Yerrington, 
 of Pacific Avenue, you know. You are well acquainted 
 with her brother, you remember, and he has told you that 
 the young lady is very much smitten with your charms. 
 I Ve no doubt that she s expecting a proposal. She s a 
 bit timid, but you 11 be able to bring her out. The fact is, 
 she s jealous, for she s heard of that affair of yours with 
 Belle Gerrish. She s a nice girl, but she needs educating, 
 and you re the man to do it. She s pretty used to com 
 pliments; you know the kind. She s been spoiled, but a 
 man who s sure of himself can tear the heart out of her 
 and eat her alive. She s the prettiest peach in San Fran 
 cisco, and all the women in town are afraid of her, for 
 she s got brains, to boot. Money, too, but you won t mind 
 that. It s up to you, old man ; so long ! 
 
 The dandy was now sitting upright and twirling his 
 moustache. His eye lighted and he cast it obliquely at his 
 victim, as if estimating her defense. Then he leaned back 
 upon the couch, crossed his legs, and said : 
 
 "They say you re pretty and they say you re bright. 
 You ve proven one, of course ; now you must make good 
 on the other." Some inaudible sally from the coun- 
 
 [93] 
 
 O 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
^ 
 
 V-J r^UA^V^JTTl^VVjTrLXQ^rr^YAQTO r-i UV^yCrTn: 
 
 M EC H ANTE 
 
 terfeit Miss Yerrington convulsed him, and he leaned to 
 wards her with empressement. "Well, I 11 try to be a match 
 for you, and touch off your skyrockets, if you have em 
 to burn ! I would n t have thought you used powder, 
 though ! " Here his mouth writhed in what was meant 
 to be a smile of devilish sarcasm. 
 
 " That s enough drivel for me," said Roulhac, edging 
 towards the door. u I think we re de trap. These things 
 never sound so funny when you hear them as when you 
 say them." 
 
 " Why, he imagines that he s having the spiciest sort of 
 a conversation," said the controller. "You ve no idea how 
 he ll brag of this. We all magnify our happiness, I sup 
 pose," he added, as he closed the door. Mr. Ruby had 
 edged a shade nearer his quarry as they made their exit. 
 
 Within the next room they discovered Professor Do- 
 little, he who had stood his ground so well at Campi s. He 
 was busy with pencil and paper, and folding little models 
 of pasteboard. He looked up at the two with a near-sighted 
 inclination. 
 
 " I m all ready," he said. Then, to Braghampton, he 
 added : u I hear you were at Campi s when I made a show 
 of myself. I can t imagine how I came to be possessed 
 that way. Most extraordinary episode. The fact is, I m 
 investigating the Fourth Dimension along the lines of Pro 
 fessor Hinton s theories. He s the only one of us, you 
 know, who holds that it is possible to build up, by infinitely 
 patient practice, an actual conception of Higher Space ob 
 jects. On the face of it it s a contradiction of terms, but 
 he thinks we have rudimentary possibilities of comprehend 
 ing Four-Space at least. I m following his exercises in 
 analogy with these cubes." 
 
 [94] 
 
THE HTPNOTIC CLUB 
 
 "Yes, yes, quite so," remarked Roulhac, nervously. 
 lc I m very anxious to see what you say under the influence 
 of hypnotism." 
 
 " You won t understand a word, when I get going," 
 remarked the professor, discouragingly, as if his previous 
 discourse had been the veriest ABC. " This Tessaract 
 is all named, you know. Here are the cubes ; first face, 
 4 Mars, Merces, Tyro: Spicula, Mora, Oliva : Lars, Tibi- 
 cen, Vestis, and so forth. Rather difficult, eh? That s 
 elementary. I have to memorize one hundred and forty- 
 four names in the first cube alone. But we won t waste 
 time now explaining." 
 
 At an agonized gesture of appeal from Roulhac, the 
 Controller put the professor into a trance, and the subject 
 began a series of rapid calculations upon the paper, cover 
 ing sheet after sheet with figures. Looking over his shoul 
 der, Roulhac saw that he had begun with this lucid theorem : 
 
 " Suppose Arctos, Cuspis, and Dos are each cut half-way. 
 This figure is an Octo-Tessaract whose sides are the diag 
 onal of a half-unit squared. 
 
 The figure Z X Y is also an equilateral triangle 
 
 1. 1. 1 
 and the figure Z X Y is an equilateral hexagon." 
 
 He took Barowich s hand and hurried him from the 
 room. 
 
 " Give me a little more human nature ! " he exclaimed. 
 " That man gets on my nerves. Show me a man with 
 blood in his veins, not ink, even if he s an ass like Ruby ! " 
 
 Barowich smiled. "You must use philosophy," he said. 
 " This Non-Euclidean fanatic may yet become famous. 
 
 [95] 
 

 LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 He stands to discover a new era of thought. But we 
 must hurry ; I have taken too much time, the members will 
 grow impatient." 
 
 The next visit brought them to a broken-down musician. 
 He was a man who had never left the State in which he 
 was born, but he considered himself competent to criticise 
 any performer living, whether he had heard him or not. 
 At present he was almost stone deaf; tone-deaf and color 
 blind, too, many said, and he held an important position as 
 musical and art critic on the great daily of the town. He 
 was a sorry, carping old fool, and his prattle of tone and 
 shading, arpeggios, and scales like strands of pearls, chiaro 
 scuro and such bosh, was no more diverting to Roulhac 
 than the madness of the mathematician. He had a toy 
 musical box upon the table and was winding it up as they 
 entered. A few passes, and the critic was in a dream 
 where the picking of the little comb upon the bristled cyl 
 inder passed for the strains of divine harmony. With con-, 
 stant winding, Barowich explained, the musical box could 
 be made to produce a half-dozen operas in an evening, and 
 this with an execution and finish that even the critic could 
 not deprecate. They left the man, his eyes closed, his 
 hands clasped, and a meaningful smile upon his foolish face, 
 and turned into the next room. 
 
 The arts and sciences were well represented in the club, 
 and it seemed to Roulhac that only professional men had 
 made use of the opportunity for such delights as the hyp 
 notists provided. He began to itch for some stronger bond 
 of fellowship, some madcap like himself who might suggest 
 more unconventional emotions. Here again was a scientist ; 
 it was, in fact, his old friend Rappp, now about to enjoy 
 his hobby of microscopy. He was provided, for his sug- 
 
 [96] 
 
A-9P 
 
 HTPNOTIC CLUB 
 
 gestions, with a small toy instrument, such as is used by 
 children with which to examine the scales of a moth s wine 
 
 o 
 
 or the eyes of a house fly. It depressed the novitiate to 
 see such opportunities wasted. He had no appetite for 
 the dry topics of natural science; living, breathing human 
 nature was his hobby, and he almost longed to put back 
 to where Mr. Ruby sat in entranced reverie. Rappp s 
 microscope was promised by the controller to magnify one 
 million diameters, and a hidden world, a microcosm un 
 dreamed of, save by the discoverer of Fitzjames O Brien s 
 " Diamond Lens," was Rappp s to explore. Diatoms were 
 there of the size of ostrich eggs animalculae so minute 
 that billions find roomy existence in a drop of water the 
 eyes of the enthusiast grew eager and powerful as wild pan 
 thers he was, as he said, with a fine glow of pride, at 
 the point of discovering the Ultimate Atom itself! 
 
 And Roulhac cared not a chew of pepsin gum for these 
 delights. By this time he was sunk in an infinite disgust. 
 It was, to him, but an extension of the same old game, as 
 Ruby had said. If hypnotism could accomplish such mar 
 vels, why, to a man of imagination, could it not do more ? 
 He, in his time, would put it to the test and wring from its 
 mysterious clutch some momentous stimulus. 
 
 Full of such hopes, he turned back to the office with the 
 controller and seated himself on the divan. " Tell me," 
 he demanded, " is there no man here with a soul above 
 these petty games of art and science ? Is Ruby the only 
 man with human entrails in this organization ? I scarcely 
 know which is the greater fool : Dolittle, the dupe of an 
 outlandish fairytale; bah! I could turn mathematics topsy 
 turvy myself and get more out of it I did it myself at 
 school, and defied my teacher to prove that two and two 
 
 7 [97] 
 

 LADT MECHANTE 
 
 were not five. Scientific Method ? Speculation ? My col 
 lar button has more speculation ! Or the old musician who 
 would prefer a scientifically perfect rendering to all the 
 vibrant emotions, faults, and failings of a wonderful human 
 voice ! He d expurgate sharps and flats from the diapa 
 son ! Is there no one, then, who has feeling, and great, 
 red, fierce, brutal, passionate, primal emotions ? " 
 
 Barowich drew himself up against the wall, tall, slender, 
 dignified as the Emperor Wilhelm, with a light tawny 
 moustache, too, bristling under his nose. 
 
 "Yes ! " he cried. " I am one. The joie de vivre is in 
 me ! I Eat ! " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Roulhac. 
 
 " I eat, yes ; eat, eat, Eat ! Every night when they put 
 me into my trance I Eat things. Take your soul and 
 heart and mind and fill them with your little, petty, starvel 
 ing emotions, if you will. Bless God, I have a Stomach ! 
 Do you know what is the life of a waiter ? Every day to 
 see people eating, eating, eating. Ye gods in heaven, and 
 what swill, too ! I know, for I live in a restaurant. I could 
 tell secrets, tell of ragouts and stews and made-dishes ! And 
 the swine fill their faces with the garbage and tip me for the 
 privilege. God, I earn my salary ! I see them eating, eating, 
 eating, when I go in the park, when I go to the theatre, when 
 I smoke a cigar at home, I am haunted by the thought of 
 them ! Do you think I can eat, then, in that place, or 
 anywhere but here ? Have you ever sat at table while a 
 newcomer began his dinner, after you were sated ? Well, 
 multiply that by a hundred, by two hundred, by a thousand! 
 Raise it to the billionth power ! It makes me sick, and it 
 makes my sainted mother sick in heaven ! I must keep up, 
 I must satisfy hunger, but that is all. There is no pleas- 
 
 [98] 
 

 THE HYPNOTIC CLUB 
 
 ure. It is an operation, every meal, to me ! But here, in 
 my trance, I truly Eat. Such food ! Fried octopus from 
 Honolulu, the essence of wild oysters from the Gulf of 
 California ; I eat the Harwich whelk, live Japanese yellow- 
 fish, reindeer hide stewed in the Norwegian fashion, seal- 
 blubber, and whales tails, Congo locusts, and the juicy 
 porcupine of South America. Have you tasted boiled mas 
 todon ? One gets such a chance hardly once in a lifetime ! 
 I have desserts and sweets prepared from receipts translated 
 from Lucullus himself. My God, you should see me Eat ! " 
 
 It was not Roulhac s practice to laugh aloud, but now 
 his sleeves were full. The picture was abominably funny, 
 and here, he thought, was the one member of the club who 
 achieved sincere bliss. He arose and shook Barowich by 
 the hand, saying nothing. The controller was touched by 
 this tribute of silence, and, after a tear, turned to the desk. 
 He was evidently preparing the menu for his next debauch. 
 
 Such was the Hypnotic Club. There were unsuccessful 
 artists who painted shrieking canvases at night and swooned 
 at sight of them next day, veterans like McArthur who re 
 hearsed their old-time martial exploits, chess fiends who 
 played interminable games, authors who wrote impossible 
 essays, tradesmen who became emperors, and politicians who 
 traveled over the whole globe with atlases and sought to 
 spell a constituency in the planet Mars. One and all min 
 istered to their private weakness and sought to ingrain folly, 
 extending in dream the dominant foible till it grew into a 
 monstrous obsession. Roulhac, scatterbrain as he was, in 
 some way realized this, and he grew into a superb superi 
 ority. He would play with the players, but such games 
 should not control him. He was for the outrageous ulti 
 mate he would discover the New World of P olly. 
 
 [99] 
 
 UN, 
 
 TIT 
 
 doX/ 
 
 Y o Y 
 
 o 
 
Chapter 
 
 THE COUNTESS ROUGE 
 
 What pushes are we wenches driven fo, 
 When fifteen once has found us ! 
 
 (Two Noble Kinsmen. ) 
 
 1EFORE he had had time enough to formu 
 late his revolt against the misapplied op 
 portunities of the Hypnotic Club, before 
 he had concocted any game sufficiently ma 
 niacal to inspire his enthusiasm, Roulhac 
 Braghampton received inspiration from an 
 unlooked-for source. 
 
 Meanwhile, he attended the daily seances and observed 
 the methods of the several controllers. He took his hand, 
 little by little, under the direction of authority, and suc 
 ceeded easily in inducing the first stages of hypnosis, all 
 that was required in the elementary experiments of the as 
 sociation. He read all the works upon mesmerism in the 
 library, and, before long, he was thoroughly informed upon 
 the science, down to the last details of modern develop 
 ment. He attempted experiments described in foreign sci 
 entific and medical papers, and carried many of them far 
 beyond the point where his informant stopped. The field 
 of post-hypnotic suggestion attracted him most, for here, 
 he saw, the most wonderful results could be obtained. 
 Now, this form of magnetism was forbidden by the by-laws 
 of the club, and his excursions into this field of dream were 
 
 [ I00 1 
 
^nV^^ 
 
 THE COUNTESS ROUGE 
 
 attempted only with the greatest circumspection, so as not 
 to arouse suspicion. He limited his suggestions to the 
 opening of a watch at a certain hour, yawning, or the im 
 pelling of some banal remark. He stood in great danger, 
 but he took the risk, for the trivial experiments of the club 
 bored him. 
 
 Thus Roulhac s interest began to depend more upon his 
 trials with others than upon his own amusement while 
 under the influence of the controller. At those times he 
 gave some unimportant suggestion, and spent his evenings 
 in dreams of the theater, rehearsing some particularly well 
 spiced incident of his past, or indulging his insatiable curi 
 osity with regard to the denizens of the town. 
 
 U I passed a curious house on Pacific Avenue, today," 
 he would say to the controller. u The architecture was 
 conceived in the most horrid taste. Aborted columns, im 
 possible brackets, and shocking finials sprawled over the 
 facade, and the fret-saw and turning lathe had done their 
 worst. The whole structure, over-ornamented and mis- 
 proportioned, was so uneasily designed that the place seemed 
 about to explode. I wish the whole front of this structure 
 to be removed, so that I may see the occupants in their 
 several rooms, like fish in an aquarium, or like those side- 
 less houses we see set upon the melodramatic stage, where 
 a snowstorm howls outside and the villain tortures the vir 
 tuous heroine within. I wish to observe the manners and 
 customs of the inhabitants of this architectural nightmare. 
 I would know what kind of persons are content to in 
 habit so atrocious a receptacle, and see what effect it has 
 had upon their lives, their liberties, and their pursuit of 
 happiness." 
 
 In this way Roulhac amused himself during the first 
 
 cr 
 
 O 
 
 
 

 LADT MECHANTE 
 
 >O 
 
 week or so, but his comparatively aimless machinations 
 were soon interrupted by a more definite attraction. 
 
 The memory of the Countess Rouge still survived, and 
 he often apostrophized Miss Harmony, in his sitting-room, 
 with the praises of the missing lady. u Until you wear a 
 blue blouse with white spots, gold braid, and brass buttons," 
 he said to her often enough, " I shall not be happy. You 
 have her figure, her complexion, her hair; why not her 
 shirt-waist ? Some day you may, Gladdy, old girl, and 
 then all these old-fashioned rags will go to the dump." 
 
 It must not, however, be imagined from this that Roulhac 
 was unfaithful to the memory of the mysterious Kitty Car 
 mine. He thought of her, at times, and there was room 
 enough in his heart for both. He was glad, on the whole, 
 remembering her strenuous capacity, that she had not writ 
 ten again, though he would have been delighted at the pros 
 pect of an interview. Roulhac had been spoiled. And 
 besides, to tell the truth, he was not idle, he had other traps 
 set, and these he attended to in the dreary interim while 
 both Kitty and the Countess held themselves aloof. His 
 correspondence kept him busy every morning at his table 
 in the front window of the Peanut Shell, and there, while 
 Roulhac scribbled, bit his pen, and cast, now and then, a 
 nod at the mountain over the way, or a wink at a Pacific 
 steamer promenading with officious pretense through the 
 passage of the Golden Gate, the Lincoln ogrillon over the 
 mantel found sufficient excuse for its cynical plaster sneer, 
 contemplating this sedentary clerk casting his epistolary 
 boomerangs. 
 
 He was discovered thus, one day, as we have discovered 
 him before, by three feet of messenger boy and cigarette, 
 who had leisurely but surely carried the hill, after a lively 
 
 [102] 
 
THE COUNTESS ROUGE 
 
 skirmish with the gang of Jones Street juveniles. The 
 A. D. T. Kid, as he had earned the right to be called, had 
 not, however, exhausted his ammunition. There remained 
 still a tongueful of slang, which he handed out when Roul- 
 hac opened the door to the infant terror. 
 
 u Say, is youse de Walkin Peanut ? " inquired the 
 prodigy. 
 
 u You get onto yourself," Roulhac cheerfully observed, 
 " or I 11 make you look like the northeast corner of a 
 Hamburg steak after the dachshund has got through 
 with it ! " 
 
 The A. D. T. Kid looked pleased to have met, at last, 
 a gentleman of intelligence. u Say," he said, " youse all 
 right, all right. Youse one of Nature s aldermen, for fair ! 
 I t ought youse run wid de tall-talk push, but I guess yer 
 know de American langwidge down to de rubber heels." 
 
 u If. you ve got anything for me, hand it out, young 
 Shakespeare," said Roulhac, " then go and talk fog and tour 
 ists to Mount Tamalpais, if your mouth needs exercise ! " 
 
 u Gee ! I never t ought I d get up against de real t ing 
 on top of dis mountain," the messenger went on. "Youse 
 ought to call dis street de Roo de Ashbarrel. De sidewalks 
 is a part of de view, up here, ain t dey ? Here s yer bill. 
 Sign here, on de same colyum as where it s wrote. See ? " 
 And a dirty finger traveled along the blue line in his receipt 
 book. 
 
 "Where did this letter come from?" Roulhac asked, 
 before opening the envelope. 
 
 "You ll find de alias inside," opined the Kid. "It was 
 give me by a peacherolooino on Pine Street. Say, youse 
 got a dead good graft, dere, I m next after youse. 
 Youse just lights em an trows em away, don t yer ? " 
 
 [03] 
 

 LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 "Never mind the lady ; you ve got nerve enough to try 
 to make Saint Peter jump through the hoop. Chase your 
 self, now ! " 
 
 " Oh, youse can t side-step me," the youngster said, 
 jauntily. " I shakes every tree an I play notin but blue 
 chips ! De A. D. T. Kid seldom gets truncated. Youse 
 ain t got a smoke, now, have yer ? " 
 
 Roulhac indulgently handed him a large cigar, which his 
 guest looked at knowingly. " Tree parts body-Brussels 
 an one part rubber boot," he said to himself. " So long ! 
 Don t take no Patagonian currency till I see youse again ! " 
 
 The two, mutually refreshed by the picturesque colloquy, 
 separated, one to run the gauntlet at the bottom of the hill, 
 and the other to light a pipe and throw himself upon the 
 pink couch to read his note, as an epicure should, in leisure 
 and comfort. 
 
 He was disappointed to find the letter consisting of but 
 five words. " Come at once. Kitty Carmine." It was 
 dated and contained the address of a fashionable apartment 
 house on Pine Street. 
 
 Luckily, Roulhac was shaved, and to tumble into morn 
 ing coat, ribbed trousers, and fawn-colored waistcoat took 
 him little time. A silk hat, worn usually only by politi 
 cians and undertakers in San Francisco, and English lead- 
 colored gloves made him a mark for the depraved insurgents 
 waiting below, but he risked the notoriety. As he stum 
 bled down the wooden steps of the rotting sidewalk, he saw 
 the A. D. T. Kid engaged in the noble art of self-defense, 
 easily opposing tongue and fist to the pusillanimous assaults 
 of a horde of thin-blooded vagrants at the corner grocery. 
 This diversion saved the Braghampton hat, and he escaped 
 easily in the direction of the Hyde Street grip. 
 
 Y1TY1F 
 
^^fe4^A^i^A^^^: 
 THE COUNTESS ROUGE 
 
 Arrived at the house on Pine Street, a boy in buttons 
 answered the bell, and, taking Roulhac s card, left him, for 
 a time, in a high and somber hall, decorated in blue and 
 orange. Here the young man spent his time in front of a 
 long mirror, criticising his costume, till a voice called him, 
 and he was beckoned up by the boy on the stairs and piloted 
 through several halls and passages, round many right angles, 
 into a small room. Pinned to the outside of the door was 
 a torn envelope, bearing the penciled legend: "In Miss 
 Wilder s room. Back in ten minutes." 
 
 Here, for a while longer, Roulhac was left to contem 
 plate, in some surprise, a confusion of newspapers, photo 
 graphs, and various minor articles of a lady s wardrobe, 
 till, with a sibilance of silken skirts, a young lady swept 
 into the room with a careless stride. 
 
 It was the Countess Rouge ! 
 
 She was whistling cheerfully, and her hands were knot 
 ting the scarf under her white linen collar, when her eyes 
 first encountered the young man. She stared at him point 
 blank for a second, then, before he had a chance to speak, 
 she seized his hand and ran him swiftly down the hallway, 
 dodging one corner after another, skiving the furniture on 
 the way, and propelled him, finally, into a large bare room 
 filled with windows. Here she pointed to a chair and, 
 laughing as if her heart would break, disappeared to com 
 plete her toilet. 
 
 Roulhac, mystified by the whole proceeding and the 
 haste of their flight, dazed with its sudden revelation, sat 
 gagged with emotion. The discovery that Kitty Carmine 
 and the Countess Rouge were the same, though the suspi 
 cion has not, it is likely, escaped the avid reader, came 
 upon him with unexpected delight. Like the dazzling 
 
 [ 05 ] 
 
 % 
 
o 
 
 n l 
 
 nvnrXQTC^ 
 
 >o 
 
 LADT MECHANTE 
 
 burst of a Roman candle, many starry memories exploded 
 in his mind. 
 
 He looked about him to gain some hint of explanation 
 from the chamber in which he now found himself, but it 
 was barren of suggestion. The ceiling was lofty, out of 
 all proportion to the plan of the apartment. Upon the 
 vast wallscape a little sketch or two was pinned, islands in 
 the universal sea of brown tint. A folding bed bedizened 
 with a plate glass mirror, a sofa, and two chairs shared his 
 loneliness ; naked poles of vanished portieres hung at the 
 several doors. Upon the glaring white marble mantel were 
 huddled a few pictures in gilt frames. Four lighted gas 
 jets in the central chandelier mingled with the sunlight. 
 At an open window the north wind tugged snappishly at a 
 half-raised shade. The carpet was a wild green, tangled 
 with a restless, intricate pattern, repeating itself laboriously 
 over the waste of floor. 
 
 He walked to the window to curb the restless shade, and 
 looked out. Below him the city fell towards Market Street 
 in a jumble of flat roofs, pierced by the spires of churches. 
 Here the twin minarets of the synagogue rose in Oriental 
 curves and bulbs, and farther away the few tall buildings 
 occupied by the newspaper offices rose like towers over a 
 two-story landscape. Nearer, on Hyde Street, the cable 
 cars came and went, patrolling a scenic railway over the 
 tops of hills, down into wooden valleys, round sharp curves 
 and up steep grades, over a track unequaled for outlook 
 in the whole world the conductor picking his teeth, 
 unconscious of his gorgeous fortune. But of a sudden, 
 directly below him, the front door banged and a man hur 
 ried down the steps to board a passing car. 
 
 In Roulhac s mind a turmoil of suspicion hissed and 
 F 106! 
 

 COUNTESS ROUGE 
 
 frothed. The figure was strangely like and yet, it was 
 impossible at this hour of the day, too ! It was eleven 
 o clock. Could it be? It was, it was not, it might be, 
 would it be ? could it be ? should it be ? Was it ? Was 
 it not ? And why and how ? No, it was not ! Yes, it 
 was Barowitch, the waiter! 
 
 The Countess Rouge laid a jeweled finger upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Now the stage is set," she said, " shall we ring up the 
 curtain ? * 
 
 "Who in Heaven s name are 
 
 you r 
 
 Roulhac de 
 
 manded, turning to her. " How many names have you ? " 
 "As many as I have costumes," she replied. "Just at 
 present, I am Miss Cicely Fex. In the blue and gold 
 blouse, the Countess Rouge, at your service. In bottle- 
 green velvet, you may call me Lady Mechante. Oh, I 
 don t spare the list of names in the back of the diction 
 ary ! As soon as I hear a new one that I like, off" I go to 
 my dressmaker s or my tailor s, and order an appropriate 
 suit. The Christian name or title goes always with the 
 same waist, and the surname with the skirt ; so, if I had the 
 bad taste to wear a blue blouse with this, I should be forced 
 to call myself the Countess Fex. In the same way I might 
 tomorrow be Lady Rouge or Cicely Mechante. It is a 
 simple problem in Permutation and Combination." 
 
 "But sometimes pardon me you must be under the 
 necessity of wearing no gown. In your robe de nuit, now, 
 for instance, who are you then ? " 
 
 "When I reveal one, I shall reveal the other," A liss 
 Fex replied. " At present the question borders on famil 
 iarity." Unable to resist the temptation, she added : "And 
 Familiarity breeds Attempt ! " 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 " Kitty Carmine, then ; who is she ? " Roulhac pursued. 
 
 u Ah, that was because I happened to wear a red cloak 
 to the Matrimonial Exchange," said the Countess, for it 
 was this title Roulhac chose to adopt. "You would not 
 care to know her. No style." 
 
 Whether or not Miss Carmine had style, the present 
 incumbent of that vivacious personality possessed it to a 
 degree that did Roulhac s heart good. He regarded her 
 with admiration. His mind went to her advertisement 
 where, as No. 2465, she had stated her charms and require 
 ments. "Surely," he said, "you cannot find it hard to be 
 adored. Why need you advertise in a Matrimonial Ex 
 change to secure that ? " 
 
 " Cheap compliment debarred," said the Countess. " Ad 
 oration, you must know, is a lost art. Instead, we have the 
 modern flirtation, which is, I am informed, strictly Amer 
 ican ; a half-way between friendship and love, in which the 
 ghost of passion coquettes with the wraith of comradeship ; 
 where each tries to get as much as he can and to give as 
 little; which has a sickly sensuality and a morbid vanity 
 for its progenitors and is the most immoral and degenerate 
 underminer of character that ever cursed a people! " 
 
 She spoke soberly; but, this turgid declamation over, her 
 head- tilted and out of her mouth bubbled the most deli 
 cious fountain of laughter. Then she brought down her 
 eyes from the ceiling and leveled them at her companion. 
 " There s enough for your catechism. It s my turn now. 
 What is your name ? Is it really such excess baggage as 
 you pretend ? Roulhac Braghampton, indeed ! What penny- 
 dreadful did you emerge from ? " 
 
 The young man almost blushed at his lack of invention. 
 Then he said, " I have been called the c Walking Peanut. 
 
 [108] 
 

 THE COUNTESS ROUGE 
 
 at this. " Walking Peanut ! ! 
 on Vallejo Street," she cried. 
 
 Such is the fame conferred by a residence on Russian 
 Hill." 
 
 The Countess shrieked 
 I must go up and live 
 
 "They may call me an Upright Egg! There s no knowing 
 what inspiration I might have there. But fancy attempting 
 to provide a costume for such a sobriquet ! " 
 
 Roulhac furtively scanned his coat and felt of his neck 
 tie. Was he, then, appropriately clad? "Why didn t 
 you answer my letters? " he asked, appealing now to Kitty 
 Carmine. 
 
 The Countess smiled. Indeed, she had smiled before, 
 but this expression had more meaning. " I found out all 
 I wished to know," she admitted. " You proved to be the 
 one I was looking for, and, once sure of you, I preferred to 
 wait till a few further preparations were completed." 
 
 " Indeed," said Roulhac, somewhat haughtily. " Are you 
 so sure of me ? " 
 
 " I am as sure of you as you appear to be sure of 
 yourself! " 
 
 This remark baffled the young man, but, to be on the 
 safe side, he decided to regard it as a compliment. "Now 
 what are you going to do with me ? What s the little game ? " 
 
 " Game ? " she replied, " everything is a game. Is n t it 
 game enough for us two to be sitting here, in this naked 
 room, two strangers trying to get acquainted ? Every word 
 you say is a revelation. It is too exciting to stand, almost ! 
 What do I know about you ? Here we are, to all intents 
 and purposes alone in the whole world ! At any moment 
 you may strip off your conventional disguise as a Walking 
 Peanut and confront me with a glimpse of your character 
 in the nude. You may draw a dagger on me, or you may 
 
 [ 10 9 ] 
 
^ 
 
 LADT M EC H ANTE 
 
 murder me with some compromising remark. You may 
 say c cosy or chat, or you may shoot some vulgarism 
 such as c proposition or c party or balance that will slay 
 my sensibilities like a bullet ! Game ! I tell you there is 
 nothing so exciting in the whole world as a first interview 
 with one who assays over eighty-five per cent in the mint 
 of Mentality ! " 
 
 As Roulhac s head went round, he remembered saying, 
 " But it is not the first time, is it ? There was that day at 
 Campi s." 
 
 " That was but my reconnoissance," protested the 
 Countess. " This skirmish is where I must unmask your 
 batteries and feel your defense. But, seriously," she went 
 on, " I have my idea. I embraced the opportunities pro 
 vided by the Matrimonial Exchange to gain access to men 
 whom I might never have been able to meet. I tried them 
 all, and you were the only one qualified to become my ac 
 complice. You have humor, tact, and resource, I believe. 
 Now, if you care to follow such a will-o -the-wisp as I, I 
 can propose a stupendous piece of folly, well worth the 
 while of the man who pulled down the Cogswell Statue. 
 I like you ! " 
 
 " Ah, you are an American girl, after all ! " said Roulhac. 
 "You will soon be making love to me." 
 
 " Slowpoke ! " cried the Countess, in a rage. Then 
 flinging a small chair into the mirror with a furious gesture, 
 she returned to her place. " Pardon my temper, but you 
 exasperate me," she said. " I must play my part, and act 
 up to my title, for we aristocrats have become too lenient 
 with our duties. Is this your idea of a first call ? Why," 
 and she pulled out a little watch encrusted with rubies, 
 "here you have been in my presence ten minutes and you 
 
 [MO] 
 

 THE COUNTESS ROUGE 
 
 have neither kissed me, nor obtained a lock of my hair or 
 a photograph ! Am I such a moonface ? " She ran to the 
 shattered glass. 
 
 It is not by such sorties as this that a man s temperature 
 is raised, and the Countess knew it. She had seen the 
 young man s eyes grow restless and his temperament master 
 him. She adopted the desperate remedy, and with this 
 extravagant charge repelled his growing impertinence of 
 manner. The bluff succeeded, and Roulhac grew calm. 
 It would be time enough, when he lagged, for her to at 
 tempt the Masterly Retreat. She resumed the attitude of 
 the lioness couchant. 
 
 Roulhac regarded her, with his hands in his pockets, 
 having lighted a cigarette to hide his confusion. Her gay 
 gambado eclipsed his own addle-pated idiosyncrasies, yet 
 he was not fool enough to mistake the method in her bad 
 ness. u Every inch a Countess," he mused. u I 11 look 
 out to see she does n t throw scissors. Lord ! Have I got 
 to play up to this ? " Then, aloud, as he saw her smile re 
 appear, he said, imitating the sibilant flight of a sky-rocket : 
 " Thank you for the fireworks ! But we re getting away 
 from the subject. About your game, now, if you please ! 
 Your mirror is not at fault. But no more psychology ; you 
 need that no more than you need a beauty doctor. Besides, 
 I know how to make the best of this stupid world I m 
 a confirmed optimist and you need n t coach me on 
 drawing-room amenities. All the world s a game, and you 
 and I are professional gamblers. Granted. Now for your 
 scheme to bunco this city and country." 
 
 " Are you truly so subtle ? " demanded the Countess, in 
 delight. " Will you follow me blindfold ? " 
 
 Is it a Blind Man s Buff, then ? " said Roulhac. 
 [in] 
 
^ 
 
 ^VV^^ 
 
 LADY M ECU ANTE 
 
 ,o 
 
 oJ: 
 
 " There s a Niagara of energy going to waste in this 
 town," the Countess went on. " This I want to divert, 
 that it may divert us. Now, you are the one to help me, 
 if you have the deplorable inconsequence of purpose that I 
 have diagnosed. In a word, you are a member of the 
 Hypnotic Club." 
 
 " You know that, too ! " ejaculated Roulhac. " What 
 secret influence connects you with that society ? Your 
 look conjures up many suspicions. I seem to have seen 
 you before, besides that strange appearance at Campi s." 
 
 " First, let me ask your opinion of the club and its man 
 agement," she wheedled. 
 
 Moved by a singular confidence, Roulhac poured out his 
 contempt for the inadequacy of the association. He nar 
 rated the childish methods the members adopted to provide 
 an evening s entertainment, and, growing bolder, he con 
 fessed his own experiments with his fellow-members. The 
 Countess aided his breast-cleaning with many nods of 
 encouragement. 
 
 " I thought the evidence of your fifty letters could not 
 deceive me," she said. " But I don t see why. you have not 
 discovered the handle with which to brandish this instru 
 ment. Now let me explain, in my turn, for I am sure I 
 can trust you." 
 
 She went on, then, with her own experience, explaining 
 many of the circumstances that had perplexed him. She 
 had become acquainted with the possibilities of the Hypnotic 
 Club through her acquaintance with Barowich, whose post 
 prandial indiscretions had put her in possession of all the 
 secrets of the association. 
 
 Fascinating his conceit with many quiet conversations at 
 Campi s after the lunchers had left that establishment quiet 
 
 O 
 

 THE COUNTESS ROUGE 
 
 for their tete-a-tete, the Countess Rouge had obtained a 
 supremacy over the waiter sufficient to ensure her a large 
 interest in the private history of the club. She had even 
 allowed him to call at her Pine Street rooms and had prac 
 ticed upon him the art of mesmerism, in order, through 
 him, to gain sway over the other members. She had com 
 pelled him to give to the members many post-hypnotic 
 suggestions that he himself was made to forget, and in 
 this way, to test her power, she had conceived the idea of 
 compelling Professor Dolittle to rise and speak that 
 Friday noon when Roulhac was present. She had re 
 served the power to awaken the Professor from that 
 specially induced trance, and had calmed him with the 
 proper words. 
 
 In order to observ.e the workings of the club to better 
 advantage, she had taken rooms at No. I Key Court ; she 
 had witnessed Roulhac s part in the scene with Colonel 
 McArthur, and, seeing his name upon the card given to Mr. 
 Rappp, she had identified him with the versatile correspond 
 ent of the Matrimonial Exchange. Thus provided with a 
 skillful accomplice, it remained necessary only to dispose 
 of Barowich, and in this she had been interrupted by the 
 hall boy s stupidity in showing her guest up to her private 
 apartment, where Barowich himself had barely escaped see 
 ing the newcomer. 
 
 " And now," she concluded, " to work ! There is much 
 to be done. We are to entertain, not only ourselves, but 
 a city ! Inch by inch we must obtain control of the 
 club, we must enlarge the field of post-hypnotic suggestion 
 till we have the members thoroughly under our influence, 
 we must start branch organizations, and bring them into 
 the attraction of the magnet we hold. Are you mad enough, 
 
 8 ["3] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 glad enough, bad enough for this ? We shall be monarchs 
 of Dreamland ! " 
 
 Roulhac, Walking Peanut though he was, embraced her 
 with rapture. The mirror had not been smashed for 
 nothing ! 
 
-9-2- 
 
 -9v^sa^y- 
 
 Chapter 
 
 THE LEAGUE OF DREAMS 
 
 These are the pranks and friskins of her madness. 
 
 (Two Noble Kinsmen.) 
 
 obtain a supremacy in the Hypnotic Club, 
 and bring all the members under his direct 
 control, was now Roulhac s set purpose, 
 and, aided by the fertile suggestions of the 
 Countess Rouge, this proved to be no very 
 difficult affair. By skillful manipulation 
 he arranged, first, that his evening as controller came round 
 oftener than the rotative scheme provided. The officer of 
 the night was prevented from appearing by means of false 
 telegrams, to accomplish which the A. D. T. Kid was 
 suborned. Others found themselves, at his suggestion, 
 indisposed to attempt the labor of hypnotizing the members, 
 and so, by means of a hint here and a word there, an intro 
 duction to his fascinating copartner, the liberal use of 
 cigars, and many other wiles and ruses, Mr. Roulhac Brag- 
 hampton became the popular and trusted center about which 
 the club revolved. 
 
 This, however, was not accomplished without incurring 
 the enmity of the head waiter at Campi s. His questions 
 were often embarrassing, and his curiosity hard to divert. 
 A streak of misfortune coming to Barowich at about this 
 time, however, played into Roulhac s hand, and the loan of 
 
 [ "Si 
 
 w 
 
 tFY 
 
 V 
 
MECHANTE 
 
 a considerable sum of money bribed the man for a while to 
 abstain from any open revolt. It was evident, nevertheless, 
 that he was biding his time, a snake coiled in the grass, 
 and that he hoped to take advantage later of the influence 
 Roulhac had attained. 
 
 The club once well in hand, the two conspirators experi 
 mented tentatively with the tool at their disposal. While 
 Roulhac had essayed only such simple suggestions as the 
 passing of an absurd remark, this had been easy. It was 
 not extraordinary, in that city, for a man to burst out with 
 the statement that the climate of California was canned in 
 Paradise and sent to the Pacific Coast for the especial delec 
 tation of the Native Sons of the Golden West, or that the 
 present season was exceptional, it having not been so hot 
 or so cold, so wet or so dry, as the case might be, since 
 49. In that land every citizen is a self-constituted real- 
 estate agent, and feels it his duty to boom the country. It 
 was even declared, by Roulhac s victims, that Market Street 
 was the finest boulevard in the world, and that the City 
 Hall compared favorably with the capitols of most Euro 
 pean cities. But he now essayed a more dangerous game. 
 The Countess Rouge was at his elbow, and such innocuous 
 pleasantry was not sufficiently exciting for her ravenous 
 appetite for sensation. It was her aim to Londonize San 
 Francisco, to plant the seeds of culture, refinement, and 
 convention, to raise the wooden village, in short, and that 
 as suddenly as possible, to the rank of a modern city. 
 
 It was not long, then, before the town was shocked with 
 the eccentric behavior of the Hypnotic Club. The mem 
 bers, incited by the alluring insinuations of the giddy 
 Countess, began to prate of Nietzsche, Stephen Phillips, and 
 Conrad, instead of Ella Wheeler Wilcox and Ambrose 
 
 [116] 
 
A 90 A go 
 
 THE LEAGUE OF DREAMS 
 
 Bierce. One heard of " Les Fauves," of De Bussy, of 
 Bahiism, of Feminism and Marcelle Tinayre. The latest 
 cry in Kensington "The Souls," or Sociological Ro 
 mance flew to No. 7 Key Court and there found 
 nourishing lodgment. Silk hats and frock-coats were seen 
 on Kearny Street of a weekday forenoon, and warehouses 
 began to be opened at nine A. M. Merchants, live mer 
 chants, had tea and toast brought in at four o clock for 
 their office boys, and hosiers made fortunes in lead-colored 
 gloves. 
 
 From this, the next step was easy. The members were 
 sent as emissaries into various quarters of the town, and 
 soon, with this original organization as a nucleus, lodges 
 were invested all over San Francisco. In the Mission 
 there was a congregation of mechanics. In Tar Flat the 
 hoodlums combined under the banner of the league. Aris 
 tocrats from the Western Addition flocked to the club- 
 rooms. The Barbary Coast emptied its dance halls, and 
 on Rincon Hill the oldest residents bore them company. 
 In Chinatown there were lodges of coolies, laundrymen, and 
 shopkeepers. In Butchertown the cattlemen fought for 
 admittance. The craze for hypnotism spread down the San 
 Bruno Road as far as the eye could reach. Nob Hill was 
 infected with millionaires and railway magnates well under 
 the spell. In the Latin Quarter the seed grew, and along 
 the Water Front the branch organizations were alive with 
 sleepy stevedores and fishermen. Across the Bay, Oakland 
 and Alameda and Berkeley came into line, and in Sausalito 
 and Belvedere the English residents and cottagers pledged 
 their faith. 
 
 Thus, like a mighty pestilence, grew the League of 
 Dreams. From one to another lodge Roulhac and the 
 

 LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 Countess Rouge flew, weaving the meshes of the great 
 conspiracy. Slowly but surely, with irresistible cunning, 
 they bound their followers head and foot in their toils, till 
 each branch was well in hand. This task was completed 
 with the training of some intelligent subordinate controller, 
 who proceeded along the lines that Roulhac had himself 
 appointed. 
 
 There came a day, at last, when each lieutenant had 
 announced that his supremacy over the affairs of the lodge 
 to which he belonged was welded firm. It now remained 
 only to bind these petty tyrants and lead all the wires into 
 the hands of the mischievous pair. By early spring the 
 herculean task was accomplished and Countess Rouge made 
 ready for the master-stroke. 
 
 By this time, in and about the city of San Francisco, 
 there had been established some fifty lodges of the League 
 of Dreams. The membership of each stood at nearly 
 twenty ; there were, therefore, at least a thousand men 
 under the influence of the twin rulers of this secret fra 
 ternity. Each lodge had been put through its paces and 
 extraordinary trials had merited the confidence of Roulhac 
 and his irresponsible partner. On Nob Hill wealthv and 
 influential but private-spirited citizens had presented the 
 city with valuable gifts of real estate. Chinamen had dis 
 carded cues, butchers had started Tolstoi clubs, Italian 
 fishermen had joined the Prohibition party, Oakland resi 
 dents had instituted an all-night ferry ; but the end was not 
 yet. The Countess had tired of utilitarian tests ; reform 
 bored the Walking Peanut. The world was too dull and 
 colorless, they both agreed. Both were, at heart, merry 
 makers, and nothing but a jest in wild Rococo or Baroque 
 would satisfy them. 
 
 [ "8] 
 

 THE 
 
 LEAGUE 
 
 OF 
 
 DREAMS 
 
 Lurking constantly in the background of their hopes, 
 however, was Barowich, the waiter. Impecunious and 
 dyspeptic, he yet had the power to annoy them with his 
 espionage. He had persistently defied their hypnotic influ 
 ence, and in secret he attempted to undo, strand by strand, 
 the skeins of their gorglorious net. But Roulhac s power, 
 increasing by steady employment and experience, had grown 
 too strong for the opposition of this cynical gourmet. Roul 
 hac s sway, besides, had been largely fortified by his tact and 
 daring suggestion. He was able to keep the whole mem 
 bership of the League employed in entrancing occupations 
 which none of them would have been able to invent for 
 himself. He had the whole world at his disposal and the 
 paltriest initiate could be treated to the sport of kings, the 
 existence of which, however, he would never have known 
 had it not been for the controller s paternal advice. The 
 League, sunk in such sensuality, drinking deep of hitherto 
 unsuspected delights, was as slothful as the Roman Empire 
 in the Decadence, and Roulhac, like a virile Gothic con 
 queror, held it in the hollow of his hand, or, to be more 
 strict with our metaphor, passed it over to the dainty, deli 
 cate and delightful palm of the Countess Rouge. 
 
 V1TY1FY1? 
 
-aS-Aj2-2-A-2-. 
 
 ^V$4 
 
 M^-Jr-il 
 
 A 
 
 Chapter tgf)t 
 
 THE PREHISTORIC PARADE 
 
 7V0 woman-keeper ; /<? world, 
 
 Though she had practiced seven year at tbe pest-bouse, 
 Could have done / quaint Her. 
 
 (The White Devil.) 
 
 was May in California ! The rains were 
 over and the sodden hills, changing from 
 brown to vivid green, bloomed with wild 
 flowers. The spring came galloping up from 
 the south in triumph, scattering violets and 
 poppies, trillium and buttercups widecast, 
 and the skies, leaden before, were frescoed in living blue. 
 The meadow-lark was heard in the open and the odor of 
 early roses came up on the breeze. It was May in California ! 
 Constant association with the debonair Countess had 
 weakened Roulhac s heart, and any violent shock now 
 would be likely to bring about a serious affection. If he 
 knew it, he did not care, and, hand in hand with her, he 
 danced through their frolic farce, watching for her smile, 
 more and more swayed by her dominant personality. What 
 depths in her heart were touched he did not know. There 
 were so many frivolous waves upon the surface of her emo 
 tions one could never judge of the currents below. It is 
 not only still waters that run deep. She distracted him, 
 however, whenever he would be serious, and, even in their 
 quieter moments, she seemed on her guard. This much 
 
 120 
 
 
 
^^^ 
 
 THE PREHISTORIC PARADE 
 
 only he knew of her past : that she was English, that she 
 had been married to one Leopold Gaillarde, and that, after 
 his death, she had achieved a sensational career in London. 
 Roulhac was of the opinion that, in a previous incarnation, 
 the pseudo Countess had been a pin-wheel. She combined 
 in her character and action the brilliancy, the fire, and the 
 apparently useless and fitful energy of that humble pyro- 
 technical engine. When she died, Roulhac thought with a 
 smile, her soul would pass into an automobile. She was 
 one to give one a run for one s money, was Florizelle 
 Gaillarde, alias Lady Mechante, alias the Countess Rouge, 
 alias Kitty Carmine, alias Cicely Fex, alias et alia:. 
 
 She was congenial, however, and amenable to his ways ; 
 complaisant beyond the strict limits of conventional deco 
 rum. She came, occasionally, to his rooms in the Peanut 
 Shell, and there they had often a snug and easy lunch, a 
 matter of underdone steaks, broiled oysters deftly spitted on 
 hat pins, Welsh rabbit stewed in a tin pie plate at Roul- 
 hac ? s open fire, or an egg or two stuffed by the Countess s 
 fair hands, the corpulent strawberries of the season, and a 
 bon ?not or two for condiment to flavor companionship, 
 withal, and always a kiss or three for dessert. It was at 
 such a quiet hour that the climax was brought about. 
 Roulhac was dangerously near to a proposal, and the 
 Countess feared him. 
 
 " We are now at the acme of success," the Countess 
 began. "We are the gods in the machine; it is time for 
 us to enter and give a sharp change to all this routine. We 
 have tried didactic suggestion, and I confess I am wearied 
 of that pursuit. There are too many reformers in the world 
 already." Here she lighted a cigarette. " Philanthropy is 
 death to Romance. I suspect even you, sometimes, of 
 
-9-?rA ?-^$-2r<<^ 
 
 OnLAc^^li^rr^^^rt^^A/rr?^^ 
 
 LADY MECHANTE 
 
 being inclined in that direction. No doubt you d pull 
 down this ramshackle little cottage and put up an c Artistic 
 Home, if I d give my consent. But see, now, how delir 
 iously all the doors stand ajar. There is not a right angle 
 in the house ! " 
 
 " What do you propose, then ? " said Roulhac. u I 
 deny the accusation. I am no fonder of the level and per 
 pendicular standards than you. Have n t we had our fun 
 with the League of Dreams ? What more can we do ? I 
 see the necessity, but who was the father of Invention ? 
 I 11 stand for anything ! " 
 
 " If I believed that," said the Countess, dreamily. 
 
 " I swear it ! " cried her adorer. u Turn San Francisco 
 upside down and I 11 help you push ! " 
 
 " Tell me, then," she said, with a strange light in her 
 blue eyes, "do you wear night-shirts ? " 
 
 "Never!" cried the young man. "Pajamas have I 
 worn since I slept in red flannels." 
 
 " I was once married to a man who wore night-shirts," 
 pursued the erratic lady, " and, though I saw them seldom, 
 I always hailed their appearance with infinite glee ! " 
 
 u Why with glee, and why did you see them seldom?" 
 Roulhac allowed himself to inquire. 
 
 " Seldom, because my husband, dear old Leopold, was a 
 burglar ; he was not often at home nights, except on Sun 
 days and bank holidays. And with glee, because, saving 
 the domestic hen, there is nothing so ridiculous under 
 Heaven as a man in a night-shirt. That long, stiff, 
 starched jet white straight-sided garment will be the death 
 of me yet ! Give me a man in a night-shirt to contem 
 plate, and you may pull out all my teeth and I shall never 
 notice it ! It is the sublimest creation of masculine attire. 
 
 [122] 
 
^^Av^^A^.^ 
 THE PREHISTORIC PARADE 
 
 All your cylindrical clothes are, to the artist, laughable, but 
 the night-shirt eclipses folly. Jupiter in a night-shirt would 
 lose his godhead. No wonder no man is a hero to his valet, 
 if he wears an object like that ! 
 
 Roulhac felt himself borne along on this wave of enthu 
 siasm, and in his mind s eye the diverting pantomime glowed. 
 He saw Colonel McArthur, with his wad of sponge-colored 
 hair, in a night-shirt. There was no possible doubt that he 
 wore them. He was a gentleman of the old school. He 
 saw Rappp thus clad, and Professor Dolittle in a waving 
 robe of white linen, with three buttons down the front. 
 Ruby, too, Ruby, the beau, in this absurd attire, scaring 
 away Cupid. He mentioned his vision to the Countess, 
 and, infected by this madness, the two gasped with 
 hysteria. 
 
 The Countess went on. " If one man in a night-shirt 
 is so ridiculous, then what under Heaven would be the spec 
 tacle of ten, of a hundred ? " She arose and waxed theatri 
 cal. " A THOUSAND MEN IN NIGHT-SHIRTS ! ! ! 
 Eureka !" she screamed, and went off into a new paroxysm. 
 
 In a half-hour they had calmed, and exiled Reason stalked 
 
 through the door to handshake Madness. Meanwhile the 
 
 t> 
 
 two had cut and dried their ways and means. The hide 
 ous plot was hatched and brooded in their minds. The 
 Supreme Adventure began to take shape. 
 
 A week sufficed for preparation. This was the pro 
 gramme : a general convention of the League was to be 
 called, and during its session the heads of lodges were to 
 be gathered and instructed in the details of this monstrous 
 jest. 
 
 Roulhac s work had been done too well not to succeed. 
 Every order was strictly obeyed. The clans gathered, and 
 
 TT1 
 
 TDT 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 the whole membership was mustered in Golden Gate Hall 
 for speeches and feed. Speeches and feed, feed and 
 speeches, held them spellbound while the lieutenants were 
 hypnotized and the last hideous suggestions injected into 
 their sodden brains. The membership at large was in turn 
 inoculated, until the league as a whole was primed for the 
 public display. The procession was ordered to assemble 
 at Key Court, and to proceed down Geary Street preceded 
 by a band of martial music. 
 
 On the festal night the Countess Rouge, in her blue 
 dotted blouse, took her place with Roulhac Braghampton in 
 the windows of a rented room in the third floor of the Lick 
 House. Spick and span was the dainty widow, her red 
 hair glowing underneath a Russian toque, her eyes burning 
 with expectation. The Walking Peanut beside her sent 
 many a fervent glance in her direction, and his fingers, 
 clasped in hers, tightened as the dimple went and came in 
 her smooth pink cheek. They sat like two children await 
 ing a circus parade eager, fearful, curious. 
 
 Then, from afar, the strains of a brass band floated down 
 to them in a slow crescendo, first in the steady punctuation 
 of the bass drum, then the scream of the cornets, finally 
 throbbing with the thumping accompaniment of the pump 
 ing trombones. Then, with a great bursting wave of har 
 mony, the head of the procession swung round the corner 
 and turned into Montgomery Street, and swept towards 
 them. The crowd, keen for a new sensation, halted on 
 the curb, or rushed up to meet the advancing throng. The 
 show was a surprise to the town, and, here and there, po 
 licemen hurried to the center of interest, making impromptu 
 preparations for the moving procession. Now the band, 
 
 [ Hi 
 
 3 u IS4-V-1 U |S4->^1 u IS4-VI u f" 
 
 ^v^T^W 
 
JL^A^L^ 
 
 THE PREHISTORIC PARADE 
 
 bursting in the throes of a bombastic march, was under 
 neath the windows of the Lick House, and the first ranks 
 of the League of Dreams tramped heavily across Post 
 Street, a burly stevedore at the head bearing the banner 
 of the Barbary Coast Lodge No. 37. A broad passage was 
 opened for them ; the street cars were halted, and, from 
 the Wave office, across the street, a faint scattering cheer 
 rose like a cluster of pink balloons. 
 
 The Countess s clasp on Roulhac s hand had grown 
 tighter at sight of the lines of men. Now she rose with a 
 fire in her eye, her lips half open, her small fists clenched. 
 She leaned far out over the sill, shooting an entrancing look 
 at the procession, which had now filled the street. Sud 
 denly, in a piercing voice she cried to the mob below : 
 
 "Halt!" 
 
 The parade stopped, instantly paralyzed at the sound of 
 her command. A triple row of turned-up faces whitened 
 the street below. Nothing stirred, till, fighting his way 
 through the press, his eyes rolling with passion, his lips 
 churning a foam of froth, his arms waving a fierce protest, 
 screaming commands to the galvanized figures that packed 
 the street, his hat off, his collar loose, Barowich, the waiter, 
 boiling with Slavonic fury, now a raving madman, appeared 
 below. " Wake up, wake up!" he howled. "Wake up 
 and don t mind her ! " He was seized by an immense Irish 
 policeman and held in an iron grip. 
 
 Then again the shrill voice of the Countess Rouge rang 
 out like a bugle call : 
 
 "READY, NOW! ! !" 
 
 There was a prolonged wriggle all along the line, incom 
 prehensible to the dazed minds of the inquisitive onlookers. 
 A thousand hats were thrown off, and silk topper, derby, 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 straw, and pugaree were strewn upon the asphalt. Then, 
 two thousand arms writhed in the air and a thousand coats 
 frock, sack, and cutaway, blouse, jacket, and jumper car 
 peted the street. With one prolonged convulsive squirm, as 
 if some monstrous serpent were shedding its skin, the trou 
 sers of the whole League came off, vests were discarded, 
 and, standing stiff as a human Stonehenge, an army in white 
 linen uniform, naked of shin and hoof, the League of Dreams 
 stood assembled in its night-shirt, quivering wretchedly in the 
 evening chill. Up and down the street the procession was 
 stalled like a snow-drift. Dago fishermen and negro barber, 
 millionaire and contractor, scavengers and bankers, all 
 equal now, all reduced to the lowest terms, the Greatest 
 Common Denominator being, for that historic hour, a 
 bleached night-shirt. As they stood there, transfixed, rich 
 and poor in one common condition, their equality was that 
 bestowed by Death alone. Along the sidewalks the vast 
 crowd brooded, too overcome by the display to move. 
 Mothers clutched their little children in their arms and 
 turned away their eyes. Strong men held their strong 
 breaths and dared not speak. Careless youths chewed 
 tobacco to pulp, wondering if such things might be. The 
 police, who had at first made frenzied attempts to stop 
 the general disrobing, sheathed their clubs and glared, 
 abandoning the futile attempt at interference with the 
 tableau. 
 
 Above, in the third story of the Lick House, the Count 
 ess could hardly control herself. Her beauteous bosom 
 heaved. The strident excitement of the moment all but 
 prostrated her. But, before the mass beneath had begun 
 to move, she cried out again into the street her magic 
 command : 
 

 THE PREHISTORIC PARADE 
 
 " SLEEP ! " 
 
 With that, a thousand inanimate forms fell before the 
 eyes of the ever-increasing throng ; and, falling, did not rise 
 again. There in the paved street they lay in windrows, 
 like corpses after some mighty battle, piled in lines, their 
 shirt-tails fluttering, their bare feet projecting with meaning 
 less gestures, a thousand men asleep in the public highway, 
 a thousand men in night-shirts blocking the traffic of Mont 
 gomery Street, a thousand noses snoring in unison under 
 the spitting violet rays of the cold, calm electric arcs, a 
 thousand breasts rising and falling in abandoned inspiration. 
 
 It was not till the rout fell that the Countess s emotion, 
 rising to fever pitch, threatened her reason. Her face went 
 white, her smile frozen upon her lips. She sank back into 
 the room and clung to her partner with her eyeballs staring, 
 her face convulsed with an expression of agony. 
 
 " Roulhac ! Roulhac ! " she shrieked, " save me ! If I 
 laugh, I shall die ! iMy mind will give way if I let my 
 self laugh once, I shall roll in convulsions ! Oh, oh, oh ! 
 Roulhac, if you love me, save me from laughing. Don t 
 let me look at them ! " 
 
 Years hence, perhaps, the Countess may safely recall that 
 sight. Now heroic measures were necessary to prevent 
 collapse. He sought for a counter-irritant, slapped her 
 sharply upon the face and hands, swore a punctilious oath 
 at her, and hurried her down the back stairway into a rear 
 courtyard, and thence into Sutter Street, where, hailing a 
 cab, he drove with haste towards her rooms. He did not 
 allow her to look back, lest, like Lot s wife, some terrible 
 visitation should paralyze her; but as he bespoke the driver 
 he saw, in the end of his eye, the patrol wagons and fire 
 
 IP 
 

 LADY MECHANTE 
 
 companies dashing down the street, and a detachment of 
 police loading the bodies upon a dray at the corner, cover 
 ing them with a heterogeneous mass of clothing. An eager 
 crowd was collecting stray watches and purses along the 
 pavement. 
 
 12% ] 
 
Chapter 
 
 REDUCTIO AD ABSURDUM 
 
 That I could shoot mine eyes at him, like gun-stones! 
 
 (Volpone ; or, The Fox.) 
 
 S Roulhac tottered to his room that night, he 
 felt that the last act of a sublime farce had 
 been played out ; what, then, was to follow ? 
 Little gushes of regret, remorse, and eve 
 of fear broke in his heart and a premonition 
 of coming evil smote htm. Then, with a 
 swift intuition, the vision of the thousand outraged men that 
 would soon be on his trail appalled him with dread. Even 
 now, at the station houses, no doubt, batches of members 
 were being resuscitated, and the physicians were busy over 
 the more obdurate cases. He thought with a pang of 
 Barowich and his insensate resistance, his collision with the 
 policeman, and the mad hash he would make of the League 
 with the Commissioners. The conspiracy was matter for a 
 Vigilance Committee; the machinery of the law must soon 
 be at work to punish the perpetrators of so gross an indig 
 nity. Haunted with the ghosts of such terrors, he spent a 
 sleepless night, awaiting the dawn. With the first sign of 
 morning he would seek the Countess, and, together, the 
 two would prepare for escape. 
 
 Before he had breakfasted, however, the telephone bell 
 aroused him, and he took down the instrument to hear the 
 voice of his co-partner welcoming him to a sort of courage. 
 9 [ 129 ] 
 
LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 " I m coming up immediately," she said. " I fear the 
 worst. We must take counsel and organize our defense." 
 
 He was dressed by the time she came, and they spent 
 an anxious half-hour together on the pink divan, with the 
 plaster ogrillon sneering above them over its cynical motto : 
 " I Wonder Why ? " They discussed only the possible 
 ways of escape ; neither had the courage to refer to the 
 previous evening s atrocity. Fly they must, but a few pre 
 cautions were first necessary. There were incriminating 
 papers and accounts at No. 7 Key Court to be destroyed, 
 there was money to be raised ; and, finally, their destination 
 was to be decided. 
 
 Absorbed in these affairs, they were startled by a fero 
 cious knock at the front door of the Peanut Shell. Roul- 
 hac crept to the window and looked out, haggardly. 
 
 It was the A. D. T. Kid. The Walking Peanut went 
 into the narrow hall and opened the door ; the messenger 
 boy was admitted and then locked in. He was steaming 
 with perspiration and out of breath. 
 
 " Howdy ! " he said, and he took off" his cap to the Count 
 ess. u Say," he continued, " de graft s played out ! Yer 
 up against it now, sure, an it ll come to sour eggs if yer 
 don t git a move on ! Yer got to slope or else run fer 
 mayor. Dey got it in fer de Countess, too ! De hull 
 town s as mad as a dog wid a tin can on his tail. Dey 
 won t do a detailed ting to yer if dey catches yer ! " 
 
 The three looked at each other in dismay. Then Roul- 
 hac asked, " Tell us all you know, and what they are doing 
 down there ! " 
 
 " See here. It was dis way. I seen de hull show, and 
 Mudder, it was a peach. It beat out de minstrels ! I seen 
 youse two in de Lick House, an I seen dat de fly cops was 
 
 [ 30] 
 
 TDT 
 

 REDUCriO AD ABSURDUM 
 
 all onto yer. Den I took a crawl down to de city jail 
 when dey ran in de stiffs and I got a hunch dat Barovitch 
 was goin to make a ragged old rough-house for youse hot . 
 Well, he come in spittin blood and lather like he was a 
 glass eater, and he braced up to de sergeant and begun to 
 chew de rag good. Den I went back to de offis cos it was 
 my night on deck. Well, I was give a deespatch fer de 
 chief of perlice, and I got a hunch dat it was goin to get 
 you into a scrap, so I pried it open. It said 1031 Vallejo 
 Street at nine termorrer, an I copped de hull game. So I 
 wrote a bum wire and pushed it along, tellin him ten 
 instead of nine. Yer ain t got four minutes ter trow away, 
 or youse bot will be ridin home in de hurry-up waggin ! " 
 
 " By jove ! " cried Roulhac, u you Ve saved us, Infant ! " 
 Then he turned curiously to the prodigy. " See here, 
 what s your graft ? You don t look like you lived on bal 
 loon juice. There ain t a half a biscuit in this for you, I m 
 afraid. 1 m broke. Sorry, kid, but if you expect to snatch 
 any long green you ve been buncoed. All the same, I m 
 much obliged ! " 
 
 The A. D. T. Kid squared himself against the wall. 
 "Youse give me de Willies ! " he exclaimed. " I ain t in 
 dis fer my health, cos it comes to bein trun out of de force, 
 see! But all de same I ain t no bum. I never t ought 
 youse burned government bonds in dat fireplace, but I knew 
 youse was straight goods. c A feller dat kin sling English 
 like dat guy, I says, he s all right ! An de Countess she 
 kin put her close in my trunk an open all me letters. 
 Dat s straight. Now just come down ter brass tacks. 
 c I 11 flag em, I says, an if dey don t get pinched I 11 go 
 up to de cathedral and give Saint Joseph an earache of de 
 33rd degree. I don t very often get up to de old charac- 
 
 [ 3 1 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 ter foundry on Sundays, but if de Walkin Peanut comes 
 out alive I 11 do time wid de holy Willies. As fer de 
 Countess, she s a t oroughbred greyhound, and she ll side 
 step de Chief easy widout tryin ! " 
 
 The lady in question tore off a pair of rings and handed 
 them to the boy. " Here, take these, bless you, my son. 
 They 11 stand you the car fare home, anyway ! " 
 
 The Kid put one on each thumb and regarded himself 
 with a pert gesture. " Say ! " he said, " I look like a drug 
 store winder on a dark night ! Dem s swell lamps, all right. 
 But youse gotter slope pretty pronto ! We can t stand 
 here and shoot hot air all day ! De cops is due in ten min 
 utes an dey 11 be on time ! " 
 
 The trio held a hasty consultation. Before it had come 
 to any definite point, the messenger, lolling with a cigarette 
 in the window, cried : " Hully Arrarat ! Here dey come 
 now ! " 
 
 The case was, indeed, desperate, for a group of men, 
 headed by the gesticulating Barowich, were climbing the 
 wooden stairs. They came up to the front door and 
 pounded without consideration for the quaking nerves of 
 the occupants. 
 
 The A. D. T. Kid put his head out of the window. 
 " Maybe youse tink dis is a bass drum," he remarked. " Go 
 on and get yer uniform on, foirst, an den let de bug 
 wriggle ! " 
 
 " Who s inside there ? " demanded the waiter. 
 
 u A Maxim son-of-a-gun wid a pocket full of six-inch 
 rapid firers ! " said the imp. 
 
 "You young scoundrel, open that door, or I ll break it 
 down ! " cried one of the men, whose voice was recognized 
 as Colonel McArthur s. 
 
REDUCTIO AD ABSURDUM 
 
 " Hand out yer search-warrant ! " said the youngster. 
 " But don t push on de door, or else you might be liable to 
 fall into de six-shooter." 
 
 The men, evidently without the legal instrument neces 
 sary to formalize a forced opening of the Peanut Shell, drew 
 aside for a colloquy. Meanwhile Roulhac and the Countess 
 had racked their wits for a possible means of escape. The 
 hint came first to the Walking Peanut, and he ran up to his 
 young ally. 
 
 " See here," he asked, " can you stand em off for ten 
 minutes ? Can you give em the Grand Transcontinental 
 Jolly while we change our clothes and slide out the back 
 window ? " 
 
 "Sure!" said the boy, scornfully. "I ll shoot off me 
 mout till furder notice, if dat goes. Jolly em ! " he re 
 peated. " Why, I could spiel fer Satan outside o de bad 
 place till de saints came down outer Heaven wid their 
 haloes ter stand in line at de box office ! I 11 give em de 
 Grand Wot s-Dis-and-all ! Why, I belong in de Orpheum, 
 only I m too good fer vodeville stunts ! Just watch me ! " 
 
 He went up to the second story and opened the window 
 without fear. The crowd had gathered since his previous 
 burst of eloquence, and it now consisted of fifty or more 
 men and children. Some dozen of these were the tatter 
 demalion refugees of the Hypnotic Club, attired in incon 
 gruous garb, seized haphazard from the mass of clothing 
 abandoned the night before on Montgomery Street. Here 
 was a citizen in frock-coat attempting to cover a pair of 
 blue jean overalls, there a Chinaman in tweed cutaway and 
 silk hat, or an Italian organ grinder in knickerbockers. 
 Barowich was clad in his own proper raiment, but his evi 
 dent insanity made him an equal butt of ridicule with the 
 
 [ 133] 
 
^ 
 
 LADT MECHANTE 
 
 others. The sight of this increasing audience was like a 
 Martini cocktail to the spirits of the A. D. T. Kid, and 
 there descended upon him the gift of tongues. 
 
 " Say, dis here looks like de layin de corner-stone of a 
 Fourt Street saloon by de Ancient Order of Hibernians ! 
 Youse guys in de rear ranks wants ter move up, or youse 
 won t hear de speech! If youse lookin fer de Walkin 
 Peanut an his steady, dey s in behind de door wid six- 
 shooters, and de guy what tries to do any barn-stormin 
 had better step right up and get it in de epiglottis. If youse 
 got a warrant fer to break into dis shack, youse can shove 
 it t rough de keyhole and we 11 O. K. it and file it wid de 
 assets of de Company. If not, youse better get outer de 
 range of de artillery. Youse cheap sports wot played in de 
 Christmas pantomime at de Lick House last night can step 
 up, an if dey s any kick comin we settle all claims on 
 Saturdays and yer two days ahead o yerself. Youse oughter 
 go down Sout o Market Street and git a job to be wooden 
 Injun fer de cigar stands. As fer dat bale o dope down 
 dere wot woiks de plates at Campi s bun shop, he can spit 
 out his teeth in de front yard w ere de las guy wot come 
 lookin fer a scrap left his face. Now we got no time to 
 give a poke-out to all dese hobos an Weary Willies, an 
 de push had better get legs to demselves before de fight s 
 pulled off. If youse try ter pull up de landscape and trun 
 it at de windows, somethin s going to happen ! I 11 order 
 out de Boxers in de cellar as soon as de foirst man breathes. 
 De price of admission to dis show is a bump in de back of 
 de neck, an I m spielin fer de undertaker, sure. We 
 did n t expect to run no cheap Morgue, but dey s room 
 inside fer any bloke what wants ter be struck by lightnin , 
 see ? " 
 
 O 
 
REDUCriO AD ABSURDUM 
 
 While this impassioned flight of oratory cozened the 
 mob outside, the two refugees within had not been idle. 
 Casting rapidly about for a disguise, the Countess fell upon 
 the silent form of Miss Gladys Harmony, and, in a trice, 
 the manikin was stripped and her clothing transferred to 
 a living form. The costume, as has been said, was incon 
 gruous, and the Countess winced as she slid on a jacket 
 with the huge sleeves of the year 1894. The skirt, too, 
 was of an ancient cut, and the combination dowdy to the 
 point of absurdity. On they went, however, garment after 
 garment, until the lady stood, a spectacle of mirth to her 
 self, as she must soon be to the community. 
 
 " Well," she said, daring a glance at the mirror, u it s 
 only the worst step that costs ! " Then, with a pang, she 
 dressed the lay figure in her own discarded gown and but 
 toned on the blue waist with its gold braid and buttons, the 
 navy belt buckled over all. 
 
 Roulhac had also been at work, and in a minute or two 
 he appeared in golf suit and tennis cap. He looked at the 
 Countess with a sickly grin. " Ready for the fancy dress 
 ball?" he asked. 
 
 " Tell me first," she implored, " who I am ! What is my 
 name ? Before, I was pure Countess Rouge all over. I 
 must know the name for this costume. Quick ! Hurry ! 
 A moment s delay may ruin us ! " 
 
 "That red waist," said Roulhac, with an effort of mem 
 ory, u belonged to a Miss Myot." 
 
 " Her first name ! Quick ! " 
 
 " Her name was Valeria," confessed the young man. 
 
 " Now the skirt ! Don t you understand, gander ? I 
 must know my name ! " 
 
 " The skirt oh, it was Celestine s ! " 
 
 [ 35] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 The Countess lost her patience. " Dunce, fool, ninny, 
 dolt, blockhead, numskull, moon-calf, noodle, nincompoop, 
 jackass, donkey, gaby, zany, ASS!" she cried. "What 
 was her last name ? Don t you know I take my family 
 name from my skirt ? " she wept. Excitement had un 
 nerved her. 
 
 " Oh, pardon me. Jewburg," he said, " Celestine 
 Jewburg." 
 
 The smile came back to her lips as the sunshine pierces 
 a cloud. " I am Valeria Jewburg, then, God help me ! 
 But I must have a title ! " she insisted, insatiate. " Am I 
 maid, wife, or widow, miss or mistress, lady, princess, or 
 what ? It s the hat" she explained madly, holding in her 
 impatience. "I must have something on my head, even if 
 I am to be called Auntie ! " 
 
 Roulhac dodged to and fro amongst his properties in de 
 spair, then he ran upstairs to his chamber closet. As he 
 entered the front room, a rock smashed through the window, 
 and broken glass spattered him. 
 
 " Dey s begun to take a little whirl in real estate," re 
 marked the A. D. T. Kid. " Youse better hustle ! " 
 
 Down the stairs again, four at a time, jumped the Walk 
 ing Peanut, in his hands the blue bonnet of a Salvation 
 Army lassie. " It was Major Bessie Looyer s," he gasped. 
 A shock at the front door warned them that peril was 
 imminent. 
 
 u We must make our get-away quick," he added. " We 11 
 have to go the back way." 
 
 Somewhat sheltered from Florence Street by a high fence 
 was a window in the ell of a vacant house next door, and, 
 spanning with a shutter the little gulf between, the runaways 
 crept into the damp and mouldy sanctuary of Number 35. 
 

 REDUCTIO AD ABSURDUM 
 
 At the Peanut Shell the battle royal still went on, and the 
 A. D. T. Kid poured virile trope and metaphor and graphic 
 synonyms upon the heads of the encircling horde. Baro- 
 wich, fearful of using force until vindicated by the presence 
 of the police, so unaccountably detained, vented his wrath 
 in spasmodic blasphemy. Rappp and McArthur stood guard 
 at the door, ready at the word to break it down, and Pro 
 fessor Dolittle, in a foolish masquerade of misshappen 
 clothiery, pounded incessantly at the side of the house with a 
 picket torn from the fence. But the sarcastic farrago of 
 the messenger in the window kept the crowd together in a 
 lump, spellbound at his volubility. When that cascade of 
 verbiage ceased, it was evident that the house would fall. 
 The A. D. T. Kid, with a sublime faith in his cause, 
 lighted another cigarette and burnt it as incense upon the 
 altar of the Muse of Slang. 
 
 "See here," he enjoined the multitude. "I m over 
 whelmed by dis entoosiastic reception ! But I ain t quite 
 up to such a swell push, an I m afraid Chinamen wid 
 Willieboy coats ain t in my class. I feel like a wart on de 
 nose of a real t oroughbred Razmataz Lulu. I m conspic 
 uous, but I spoil de looks of de cake. But de truble is, we 
 ain t got more n enough blushes in de coop for breakfast, 
 an so yer gotter put up wid dis apology. God created me 
 in an absent-minded moment, jus before de w istle blew for 
 to quit woirk. It was t ree minutes to six an he had a 
 little speck o mud left over. c Gosh ! he says, l on y a tea- 
 spoonful o brains left in de bin, wot am I a-goin to do ? 
 Dat s w y I ain t put up to address such a gang o high 
 brows as I see before me, but if de A. D. T. Kid is good 
 enough fer youse, he s good enough fer me. Now, de 
 Walkin Peanut here, and his lady frien is willin ter arbi- 
 
 [ 137] 
 
LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 trate dis strike as soon as de walkin delegate screws his nut 
 and de sheriffs make good wid de warrant. But if youse 
 tries to push a hole t rough de house wid a log, dere 11 be a 
 hot time in de ol boi g dis forenoon, an we 11 give yer all 
 de contrac calls fer w ere de hair is short. Now, youse 
 swell guys wot s got a kick comin fer me frien Svengali, 
 brace up, an we 11 make yer t ink yer oughter live on de 
 dark side o de moon, and de Perfessor dere wid de stick 
 what s trvin to raise black an blue spots on de side of dis 
 door, I give him notice to quit before he gets pulled up 
 by de roots an trun inter de ash barrel. Now, I don t 
 wanter give de Angel Gabriel any chanct ter chalk down a 
 1 damn against my name in de Judgment Book, fer dere s 
 a lady present, an bein as I got a toad in me gullet from 
 spoutin so much po try to dis here Browning Club, I 11 in- 
 terdooce de nex speaker." 
 
 He left the window for a moment and soon reappeared 
 with the stiff" form of Miss Harmony, now clad in the 
 Countess s garments and hat. Her ruddy hair was a good 
 counterfeit of the auburn locks of the lady who was at that 
 moment crawling through the kitchen window, but her calm 
 and placid expression should have betrayed the cheat. The 
 dummy, however, was instantly hailed as the deposed Queen 
 of the Hypnotic Club, and her appearance was greeted with 
 a yell from the furious members of the League ; all except 
 Ruby, who shrunk into a voluminous waistcoat. Water 
 enough will put out a fire; a little will but make it burn 
 brighter. The apparition of the imitation Countess inflamed 
 a revolution. With a yell, Barowich vaulted the fence and 
 sprang to the side of the house on Florence Street. He 
 was followed by a score of members, with whom he had 
 just held whispered consultation. 
 
 [ 3 8 1 
 
 V 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 The cottage stood, top-heavy and leaning sadly out of 
 the perpendicular, on rotting foundations. It was old and 
 insecure, a decayed shell. The volunteers, seeing its state, 
 put their shoulders manfully to the side of the house, and, 
 heaving with all their might, rocked the Peanut Shell to and 
 fro. The fringe of spectators, amongst whom were the 
 permanent foes of the A. D. T. Kid and the scurrilous tor 
 mentors of the Walking Peanut, reinforced the agonists at 
 the wall of the cottage. With their mighty struggle the 
 frame leaned, hung in unstable equilibrium and fell with a 
 crash into the vacant lot at the side. Professor Dolittle 
 swarmed over the top of the wreck and struck a heroic 
 gesture. 
 
 Roulhac had, meanwhile, made all haste, and, with the 
 spirited monologue of his gallant rear-guard ringing in his 
 ears, he had towed his partner through the aperture in Num 
 ber 35, past several bare rooms, and had opened the front 
 door. This he reached at the psychological moment, and 
 the two stepped into the little narrow lane of Florence Street 
 just as the Peanut Shell collapsed. In the confusion of that 
 exciting moment, the Walking Peanut and Major Valeria 
 Jewburg, S. A., hurried down the street in the direction 
 of Broadway. 
 
 A half-block south of the Peanut Shell, Florence Street 
 ends point-blank in a small precipice, the drop into Broad 
 way being some twenty feet high. Down this declivity 
 runs a wooden ditch or flume box set to carry off the 
 water into the street below, and this the two descended, 
 not without damage to their clothing. They tumbled fi 
 nally upon the sidewalk with no bones broken, and made 
 down Broadway with all the haste that the concrete pave- 
 
OP P 
 
 / 
 
 og 
 
 Av 
 
 
 REDUCTIO AD ABSURDUM 
 
 ment of this, the steepest block in San Francisco, permitted. 
 From there they plunged into the Latin Quarter, and, at 
 last discovering a tramp hack, jumped in and were driven 
 with fury to Key Court. 
 
 This was like entering the lions den, but the risk must 
 be taken. It was likely that any members free at that time 
 of day would be present at the storming of Russian Hill; 
 they had to fear, at any rate, only the more strenuous lieu 
 tenants betrayed by last night s orgy. The club-house was 
 deserted, as it proved, and ten minutes at No. 7 sufficed to 
 destroy all trace of their conspiracy and to make sure of 
 the realizable assets of the League. Here, too, the Countess 
 found an appropriate though modest gown in the house 
 keeper s room, and, clad in this, she dared adventure the 
 town. Roulhac, too, was in a similar manner rehabilitated, 
 and, this work finished, the twain made ready for their final 
 flight, hoping to cross the Bay to Oakland before notice 
 was sent to head them off" at the Ferry. 
 
 They had just emerged from the Court into Geary Street, 
 where their carriage was waiting, when, running down 
 towards them, more a maniac than ever, Barowich hurtled, 
 hatless, dusty, but alone. With a fierce cry he ran up to 
 the elopers and laid a heavy hand upon Roulhac. 
 
 " By heavens, I ve got you now ! " he screamed, and 
 then he yelled over his shoulder for the police. 
 
 It seemed all up with the unhappy pair, when the 
 Countess, with the calmness of despair, said freezingly to 
 their captor, " Barowich, you re an ass ! " 
 
 At the words a sudden miracle was wrought. Barowich, 
 before so defiant and so impregnable to the hypnotic influ 
 ence of the Controller-in-Chief of the League, who had 
 boasted of his independence of all hypnotic suggestion, 
 
^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 LADY MECHANTE 
 
 succumbed instantly to the gaze of the infuriated scornful 
 lady he had attempted to detain. Roulhac remembered, 
 now, her confession of having had Barowich under her con 
 trol before she had chosen a newer and cleverer accomplice 
 in the great conspiracy. Like a fakir s magic tree the 
 suggestion in the spoken words took root and grew. The 
 waiter collapsed ; he fell upon all fours, and, stiffening his 
 legs and arms, protruding his head and neck, there on 
 Geary Street he brayed aloud, a very ass, as the Countess 
 had so carelessly proclaimed. 
 
 They were not slow in taking advantage of this opportune 
 rescue from their oppressor. Jumping into the hack, they 
 drove post-haste to the Ferry. They were saved. 
 
 " Wait here," the Countess ordered, " while I buy the 
 tickets." She was standing in the great arcade of the depot, 
 and she came up to him and took his hands. " Look at 
 me!" she said. "We ve had a good time together, 
 haven t we? We ve turned the town upside down, as I 
 promised, have n t we ? I have made life interesting for you, 
 and you do love me just a little, don t you ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, of course, but we must hurry ! " said Roul 
 hac, looking about nervously. " This is no time for a 
 lover s dialogue ! " 
 
 The Countess Rouge came a bit nearer. " Look in my 
 eyes," she said. Then, as he gazed at her, he saw a differ 
 ent expression than usual upon her face. 
 
 " What is it ? " he cried. "What is the matter ? Why 
 do you look at me so, Countess ? " 
 
 " Kiss me ! " she said in a deliberate voice that rang with 
 a strange cadence. He stooped and kissed her on the 
 
 lips. 
 
 #*** **** 
 
 [ 42] 
 

 REDUCTIO AD ABSURDUM 
 
 The next thing Roulhac knew, he found himself sitting 
 on the bulkhead of a wharf on East Street, his legs dangling 
 over the water. Beside him huge ships and barques pushed 
 their bowsprits into the street, a maze of masts and spars 
 towered over his head, and all around sat loafers like 
 himself, idly watching the stevedores loading or unloading 
 the vessels docked alongside. The Oakland ferryboat was 
 pushing her huge ungainly bulk across the fairway towards 
 Goat Island. Where was the Countess ? He did not 
 know. 
 
 Then a spark of suspicion traveled through his brain, 
 lighting here and there the tinder of his memory. Was it 
 all a dream ? Was the escape but a hallucination ? Had 
 there been no storming of the Peanut Shell would it be 
 safe to return ? Then, with a rush, his doubts closed in on 
 him. The Thousand Men in Night-shirts was that, too, 
 a vision ? It was too improbable to credit. But then, the 
 winter s preparation, the whole history of the conspiracy 
 what, then, was true? His mind had nothing real left to 
 catch hold on. He thought of his first mad call on the 
 Countess, in her Hyde Street apartment, when she threw 
 the chair into the mirror. Who could believe such a whim 
 as that ? And, finally, retracing his steps, he came back 
 to Campi s, where he had first seen her, where she had 
 given him that mysterious smile ! Was even that true, or 
 did his mania date from that moment ? 
 
 There was no doubt, however, that the Countess had 
 hypnotized him, somewhere, somehow at Campi s on 
 Hyde Street - in his rooms or at the Ferry? When? 
 By what means was he to disentangle truth from error 
 in the mad history of the winter? Perhaps it was not even 
 yet winter. One could never tell in California. 
 
 [ H3] 
 
o 
 
 o 
 
 "O 
 
 > 
 
 LADY MECHANTE 
 
 Perhaps, indeed, and his courage went down, now, totally 
 extinguished before the sudden whirling of his fears per 
 haps there was not, and never had been, any such person 
 as the Countess Rouge ! 
 
 He did not know. 
 
 [H4] 
 
THE CULT OF MARS 
 
 By Phoebus^ my sweet facetious rascal^ I could 
 eat water-gruel with thee a month for this jest, my 
 dear rogue I 
 
 (Cynthia s Revels.) 
 
Chapter 
 
 A SYMPHONY REHEARSAL 
 
 Here s notable order ! now for a trick to tame ye ! 
 
 (The Knight of Malta.) 
 
 OSTON S haut ton, cloaked and bonneted 
 with propriety, was assembled in the old 
 Music Hall. Culture was out in its war 
 paint, improving the occasion to the death. 
 The cream of the city, assiduously skimmed 
 by a myriad intellectual processes, branded 
 "elect" and warranted chemically pure, sterilized from the 
 last .germ of vulgarity, flooded the floor. Outwardly the 
 scene was not gay, for the woman of the Hub is a somber 
 ungainly bird at times, but if the tops of the heads of 
 the audience had been opened, the brilliance would have 
 flooded three rows of balconies. 
 
 Sets within sets, circles within circles, the social machine 
 whirred and clicked about a dozen important pivots like an 
 accurate chronometer, setting the absolutely correct time 
 for the outer world. The escapement was nicely regu 
 lated to the prevailing pitch of precise and positive appre 
 ciation. The minute hand of Boston s aesthetic dial pointed 
 to the exact degree of musical ability the Symphony 
 Orchestra had attained. Like a conscientious alarm-clock 
 the applause w x as timed and went off with a flapping of 
 gloved hands at the psychological moments. There was 
 
 [ 47] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 no fervor, no excitement or feverish approval, except the 
 minor spasms of the upper galleries, where Temperament 
 and Emotion sat, crowded to the stairs. 
 
 The Orchestra was on trial, the new leader pleading 
 not guilty at the bar. The programme, couched in occult 
 terms, analytical, technical, abstruse, guided the few bar 
 barians, but the description and history of the Opus was 
 disregarded by the members of the assembly, who boasted 
 an unbroken line of attendance at these celebrated Re 
 hearsals. The chosen representatives of Boston s imme 
 morial precedence in the arts sat with averted eyes, or 
 spoke in low polysyllabic tones of the individual merits of 
 members of the Orchestra, whom they knew, each hairy 
 head, by name. 
 
 The violin bows rose and fell in unison, each handled 
 by a master. The serried performers on the brass pumped 
 rhythmically, accompanying the birdlike pleasantry of the 
 wind instruments. Vibrant color schemes blossomed and 
 died into sonorous silences, waved up in forte and prestissimo 
 to expire again in the titillating agony of the wood. The 
 leader waved his baton, now suavely, now with emphatic 
 urgency, as if to affright from his score invisible flies 
 swarming like semi-quavers upon the staves. 
 
 There were women, women everywhere. Women to 
 burn, women to throw at the birds, women to sweep up 
 and empty out of window. Those upon the floor and in 
 the first balcony were all known and named ; each had her 
 station set and signed, Back Bay, West End, Brookline, 
 or Cambridge, and each was identified by club, cult, or 
 charity, each a thinker, a reader, and a goer-to-lectures, 
 proficient in the rant, cant, slang, and patter of her tribe. 
 
 In the center of the hall, where her seat had been held in 
 [148] 
 
A SYMPHONY REHEARSAL 
 
 almost feudal tenure for years and a year is long in 
 Boston sat Mrs. Braxton-Burlap. Not a soul in the 
 audience but knew, by sight or by fable, this uncrowned 
 Queen of Boston, and her bonnet was the first thing 
 pointed out to the rural visitor at the Rehearsal. But who 
 was the lady directly in front of her? Nobody knew, and 
 the mystery of her presence bathed her exclusive abutters in 
 a mist of gossip. Was she from Roxbury, Chicago, or 
 beyond ? A parvenue, newly promoted from the South 
 End ? Some country cousin usurping the high place of 
 Fashion ? Little glances flew to her, circled round her 
 head, sniffed, pecked, and fluttered back to their nests in 
 female eyes. 
 
 The stranger was an airy figure, fluttering with femininity, 
 faultless in form, in commendable millinery of foreign 
 make, and of a surety of presence that invited remark. 
 Her head was entrancingly set upon her shoulders and 
 heavy with dull red hair. Her eyes were blue, her gown 
 was blue, her blood also, no doubt of that. Her violets 
 perfumed the air far up and down the center aisle where 
 she had entered. 
 
 The horns had mounted in a harrowing crescendo ending 
 in a fatal crash of all the drums and brasses; and, in the 
 rapt stillness following the cataclysm, a little wood-pipe was 
 twittering, when the History of Boston turned over a new 
 leaf. The beautiful unknown rose in her seat, stretched 
 her arms aloft, tottered in the aisle, ejaculated a phrase 
 of unintelligible jargon, and fainted away. 
 
 Frozen in shocked horror, female Boston sat aghast at 
 the scandal. Two pale striplings plunged unwillingly from 
 their seats, their long lank locks awry, and gave succor to 
 the unfortunate lady, drew her feet foremost to the door 
 
 [ H9] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 and out into the corridor. The audience, faithful to its 
 traditions, did not turn its head, deprecating the outrage to 
 musical sensibility, though the rustic occupants of the seats 
 just below the ceiling pierced the distance with strenuous 
 eyes. In four minutes the disturbance was over and the 
 insulted community reassumed its dignity. In the con 
 vulsive interim, however, some of the more impressionable 
 had, to regain their composure, committed the heartrending 
 solecism of reading their programmes. 
 
 What had happened ? No one realized the full tenor of 
 the event, but it was as if Boston had seen a ghost. Who 
 was it who had sat in her unwarrantable seat cocking a 
 flighty, jimpriculate blue hat at Boston s purest and best ? 
 Whoever it was, she had become a celebrity, for she had 
 made Boston marvel. 
 
 Such was Miss Mischief s entry into the intellectual cap 
 ital of the new world. She was come to take Boston by 
 storm, and already she had carried the outer barrier of the 
 barbican. Bastion, scarp and ramp, tower, dungeon, draw 
 bridge and keep would yet be hers. She had sworn it by the 
 polished pale pink nail of her littlest left-hand finger, and by 
 not so much as the filing her manicure would sacrifice in a 
 scant half-second would she abate her promise. She was 
 here to pull up culture by the roots and replant it nearer to 
 her heart s desire. Naughty nonpareille ! She was again at 
 her pyrotechnics, for it was indeed my Lady Mechante, 
 now to be new named and famed in Massachusetts. 
 
 She unhanded herself in the corridor from her lacka 
 daisical rescuers and tossed a kiss through the small round 
 windows of the swinging doors. Then she skipped down 
 stairs towards Bromfield Street and jauntily collided with 
 
 Who but Guy Bounder ; and he in a plaid waistcoat ! 
 
 [-5] 
 
A STMPHONT REHEARSAL 
 
 u Florry, by the Lord George Hell ! " cried the Lon 
 doner, all trace of the Cockney gone, rehabilitated, glowing 
 with success, consummate in style, a monocle agog in his 
 left eye, and a grin of astonishing proportion. Miss Mis 
 chief slid into his arms, biting his sleeve to coerce her 
 laughter. The two quivered with the astonishment of 
 the recognition. 
 
 A policeman eyed them strictly, and they fell apart to 
 tripple down the stairs into the court by the flower-sellers. 
 From the inside of the building a wave of harmony thrilled ; 
 the end of the Symphony was dangerously near. Already 
 a spattering of spasmodic suburbanites had fallen out and 
 were bustling for the electric cars and the Subway. 
 
 Seeing this, the lady drew Mr. Bounder aside and, taking 
 his arm, floated him to the Common, aiming her course for 
 the Long Walk that springs up Beacon Hill from the 
 Tremont Street Mall. 
 
 " Guy here ! " she said to herself, thinking sharply, " Mer 
 cury help me, for I have no lie ready in my bodice ! I must 
 use him, though, for he is ready at my hand, and the old 
 glamour sticks by him." Yet the memory of his last prank 
 came to her in all its hideous indecency and upset her with 
 mirth. She saw him in London raving through Sussex 
 Square, naked to the waist, with a shredded corset, and a 
 green hat off one ear, in a woman s skirt, fleeing into Bays- 
 water, a flibbergibbet pariah, undone by her own neglect ! 
 And now he was dressed for a wedding at high noon, the 
 pinnacle and cap of fashion with an American set-scene ! 
 It was too much. 
 
 She led him to a bench under a maple bearing a Latin 
 inscription and sat him down. Then, with characteristic 
 shrewdness, she delivered her question before he could 
 
 [ 5 ] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 interrogate her first. " What, in the name of the Green 
 Brougham, does it mean, your being here ? " she said. 
 
 Guy had lolled along with her without sharing the excite 
 ment. Events, it seemed, had steadied him. He was 
 reinstated, and resumed the caste of the Unastonishable 
 Briton. " Florry," he said, and he laid a lavender glove 
 upon her muff, " if I have ever reproved you, I apologize 
 now. Twice you have made my fortune, and I have no 
 ill feelings." 
 
 " Nor should you," she added, " for I am about to make 
 it again ! " 
 
 "I believe you," he replied. "Ask me to jump over 
 that steeple at Brimstone Corner, and I would turn into a 
 flea to accomplish it ! " 
 
 " But do go on," Miss Mischief insisted. u I must con 
 fess you arouse my curiosity. When I last saw you, Guy, 
 you er were slightly embarrassed, you know. Tell 
 me whatever happened next." And she bit the end of one 
 finger of her glove in repressing a smile. 
 
 " I 11 tell you, in two words," he said, and he gazed at 
 her fondly as he spoke. " See here. You rather bilked 
 me in our partnership, you know. No, I don t complain. 
 That s all right, as it turned out. But you bilked me. We 
 were in the game together as straight pals, the Mechante 
 Burglary Company, Limited. My word, I did n t know 
 how limited it was till I caught you making love to Morti 
 mer Stencill. But I kept up my end of the game, and did 
 my turns in the green brougham, dressed in your clothes, 
 according to our agreement. Well, that last night Colonel 
 Wetmore caught me, and let me have it good with the fire- 
 irons and the butt end of a brass candlestick, gouty old 
 fiend ! " 
 
A SYMPHONY REHEARSAL 
 
 " I warned you," interrupted the lady, " I told you he d 
 try to kiss me ! " 
 
 " Well, he did, and I thought I could work him better 
 for it, but he snatched my masque, and the fat was in the 
 fire. I 11 pass over my exit, and the little promenade up 
 Stanhope Street. What happened in the Square, I don t 
 blame you for, but I 11 squeeze that coachman of yours 
 when I catch him ! Well, I was pulled by two bobbies 
 in no time, and locked up. I turned Queen s evidence, 
 Florry, you don t mind, .do you? And I put em after 
 you and the house at 31 Fitzroy Street. I did that, 
 but I was desperate, and they gave me a chance free if 
 I split. I knew you would n t wait long, and would 
 be safe." 
 
 " But the fortune," cried Miss Mischief. " Of course 
 you were lucky to get off, but where does the fortune 
 come in ? " 
 
 "You know our little experience with the Plagiaristic 
 Bureau and all that ? Well, it struck me you d be good 
 material. I found your diary, and all London was talking 
 about your visits to the Johnnies. There were names 
 enough in your list to make em talk more yet, so I made 
 the whole story into a book, The Amours of a Burglar, I 
 called it, and it went like a runaway horse. Forty-three 
 thousand copies first week before publication ! " 
 
 " You wrote a book?" Florizelle exclaimed, in blank 
 surprise. "Lord, Guy, but you have changed ! " 
 
 " Of course I did n t write it up myself" Mr. Bounder 
 explained. " You remember that poet chap we pinched 
 A Pilgrimage to Parnassus from ? Well, he was always 
 whining about, after our royalties began to come in, you re 
 member, and I took pity on him, and gave it to him to do. 
 
 [ S3] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 Tipped him twenty guineas, and he turned out some swell 
 stuff, for once in his life." 
 
 H m I think I d like to read it," murmured the 
 lady, lost in admiration of her partner s enterprise. 
 
 " I ve got a copy here," said Bounder, and produced a 
 small volume. 
 
 Miss Mischief examined it curiously. u Bound in pink, 
 oh, Guy ! don t you know I never wear pink ? It s shock 
 ingly unbecoming ! And what s this ? That s not my 
 picture, Guy ; how dared you ! 
 
 " Oh, nobody knows it is n t," he replied, cavalierly ; " it s 
 not quite so pretty, of course, but that makes no 
 difference ! " 
 
 u I 11 never forgive you, never, never ! " sobbed the lady. 
 
 " Oh, please don t take on so," said her escort, painfully 
 disturbed. " I had no idea that would make any difference. 
 I say, I 11 get out another edition ! " 
 
 She looked up, her eyes misty with tears. "There s 
 only one way you can atone for this," she said. "You must 
 help my game in Boston ! " 
 
 " Done ! " cried Guy Bounder. And they descended into 
 the Subway and took a Reservoir car. 
 
 [ 154] 
 
Chapter 
 
 THE QUEEN OF BOSTON 
 
 Ten such campbire constitutions as this would call the golden age 
 
 again in question 
 
 (Philaster.) 
 
 [T was sacrilege!" exclaimed Mrs. Essery. 
 cc The hoyden! At the Symphony! In 
 credible ! Bless me, she acted as if she 
 were at a negro camp meeting. She 
 screamed, Mrs. Burlap, she actually 
 screamed ! She might shriek aloud in 
 King s Chapel of an Easter Sunday and go scot free she 
 might prance up the aisle backwards at a Lowell lecture 
 she might take ofF her shoes on the Common and throw 
 them at the Colonel of the Ancient and Honorable Artil 
 lery Company during the Governor s Review, but scream 
 at a Symphony Rehearsal ! It was vandalism ! We are 
 disgraced, my dear Mrs. Burlap, disgraced ! It was my 
 one hundred and fiftieth attendance at the Music Hall; 
 there was something more than religious in the ceremony. 
 They- were playing Brahms. And she was actually in the 
 seat in front of you ! In front of Mrs. Braxton-Burlap ! 
 Why, in the old times she would have been l ducked, 
 feathered, and rode in a cart ! And you profess an interest 
 in this shameless creature ? I am overwhelmed ! 
 
 Her silken thorax distended in a mighty gasp, and she 
 held up one hand with a gesture. Her agitation was pictur- 
 
 [ 155] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 esque. Mrs. Essery afloat upon the troubled waters of 
 emotion was a sight for the scientific alienist. She towered 
 like an inverted pyramid ; she swung, in her profound mood, 
 like a man-o -war at anchor tickled by restless currents. 
 She was top-heavy with the bulk and weight of her anger, 
 and stared convulsively at the leader of society, who sat at 
 the little silver-mounted tea-table. 
 
 Mrs. Braxton-Burlap was not beautiful. That is not 
 necessary in Boston ; but she had achieved a throne. Her 
 hats, her fads, her protege s, had inspired legends. In Bos 
 ton s folk-lore she stood pre-eminent. To know her or 
 of her, to be familar with what she patronized, to be ac 
 quainted with her enthusiasms, was a post-graduate course 
 for every Boston debutante. Original and forceful, eccen 
 tric even for Boston, Mrs. Braxton-Burlap had no rival to 
 question her reign. 
 
 " Ah, Mrs. Essery," she said, dissolving a crystal of 
 rock-candy in a dish of Young Hyson tea, and adding a 
 clove, daintily, " I am not so sure ; really, I am not so 
 sure ! " She scrutinized the bubbles upon the meniscus of 
 the liquor. u It was not musical mania, certainly. As 
 suredly there was something deeper in it. Did you catch 
 what she said ? Do you realize that the phrase closely re 
 sembled the ancient Cymric? She fainted, you think; 
 I am not sure that it was not trance, somnambulism, or 
 some more mysterious abnormal state. She had the hand 
 of the psychic , her eyebrows sloped upward ; her hair, too, 
 was red. Surely these are not the stigmata of degeneracy. 
 She must be a Person. It was very wonderful ! " 
 
 " But she was seen sitting upon a bench on the Com 
 mon ! " cried Mrs. Essery, fuming with the indignity. 
 
 " Ah, yes, there is the marvel ! " Mrs. Burlap assented. 
 
THE QIJEEN OF BOSTON 
 
 " But her companion was no common man. Did you 
 notice how much he looked like a Belgian Hare ? I have 
 observed that the most spiritual men that have come from 
 the Orient resemble animals. Extremes meet, my dear 
 Mrs. Essery, and the nearer we approach the spiritual, the 
 greater the analogy to the animal. The spiral curves up 
 ward, it is true, but it comes opposite the same pole at 
 last, completing the circle. That man was, I am convinced, 
 a mystic of a new sort. He reminded me of Vivekananda 
 by, so to speak, his very dissimilarity. We must escape the 
 obvious at all costs, and seek paradoxes where we may. 
 Depend upon it, we shall hear more of them both ! 
 
 " Oh, of course, if you think that" gasped the elder 
 woman, and subsided at the dictum. 
 
 " It used to be said," continued the uncrowned queen, 
 " that we Bostonians knew nothing that was not believed, 
 and believed nothing that was not new. The pun bears 
 internal evidence of a Western origin. It is flippant and 
 meretricious. But we do demand novelties. In other 
 places, I believe, it takes seven years to accomplish the 
 physical transubstantiation of personality, particle by par 
 ticle. Here we have a more rapid growth, and, intellec 
 tually at least, we are newly created every year. This 
 woman, if I am not mistaken, has a Mission, and has it 
 come to pass that Boston shall contemn the importer of 
 new tidings? I shall watch her !" 
 
 "But there is nothing left," said Mrs. Essery, nodding 
 her beaded plumes. " What cult can she create ? We 
 have thought of everything here in Boston, have we not? " 
 
 " My dear, my dear, it is not in new truths, but in the 
 revival of old beliefs, that Boston has achieved her suprem 
 acy," Mrs. Burlap insisted. " She may restore Calvinism, 
 
 [157] 
 
LADT M EC H ANTE 
 
 for all I know ; she might well go back to the musical 
 glasses, the time is ripe for it." She pointed her finger at 
 an array of modern daguerreotypes upon the mantel. " Per 
 haps that is why she was at the Rehearsal, but I fancy not. 
 I hope she is no alarmist ! " 
 
 To the two now entered Miss Hetty Hattitude from the 
 brick house across Chestnut Street. She was as correctly 
 packed into her tailor-made garb as a fine cigar in its 
 wrapper, and labeled with the standard hall-marks of con 
 vention. One felt assured of mildness and quality. In 
 shape a slim gracile Panatela, in coloring a rich Colorado 
 Claro, Miss Hattitude breathed an aroma of good taste and 
 perfect construction according to the models in vogue. 
 Her light chocolate hair hung about her head like smoke. 
 She was dapperly dressed in brown with a golden belt 
 which alone defied the strictness of her make-up. Her 
 eye showed her a creature of possibilities ; she had temper 
 ament ; once lighted and she would burn ! But as yet she 
 was crisp and mannered, molded, as Boston molds her 
 young, into a suspiciously prim severity. Her restless blue 
 eye peeped, diminished, from a concave lens. 
 
 She walked straight up to Mrs. Burlap, exchanged a 
 salute upon the cheek, and drifted to a chaise longue, draw 
 ing off" a pair of ashen-hued gloves. 
 
 " And where have you been, dear ? " said her hostess. 
 
 "In Vagabondia in the Latin Quarter in Nazareth," 
 said Miss Hattitude, "that is, in the South End. One 
 never knows nowadays where the Century Plant will 
 bloom. The Saturday M9rning lectures fixed a center to 
 the town, but now new prophets arise in every suburb. It 
 was on Columbus Avenue ! " 
 
 The two ladies seemed surprised, but Mrs. Burlap re- 
 
 [ 58] 
 
THE gJJEEN OF BOSTON 
 
 covered her customary point of view. "And what more 
 likely ? " she said. " Columbus Avenue has long been con 
 sidered but a row of cheap lodging-houses and Chinese 
 laundries, but I assure you it is, in a way, positively Me 
 dieval. I have seen the legends of Practical Psychome- 
 trists, heaven save the mark, and there is, I believe, a 
 College of Astrology extant upon that ill-paved boulevard. 
 It is like a bit of twelfth-century Paris, except that the 
 modern grisette and the Technology student are anachro 
 nisms. Mysticism flourishes on Columbus Avenue, I am 
 well aware ! " 
 
 " Indeed it does," assented the girl in brown. " It was 
 really quite amusing. One longs so to believe this trash, 
 you know. It is quite picturesque. If it were not so 
 badly composed, this tinge of transcendentalism would be 
 positively decorative ! " 
 
 " Something will come yet, I am sure," said the Queen 
 of Boston. "It is quite time and why not in the South 
 End? It is near fifteen years since it brought forth its 
 last priestess." 
 
 " I really think so," Miss Hattitude complied. " One 
 must investigate, one must place oneself in a passive state of 
 mind. But this was too funny. It was, of course, as usual 
 all about Phenomena. I am so wearied with Phenomena." 
 
 " Commend me to the terminology of your South End 
 mystic for baldness of vocabulary," interposed Mrs. Essery. 
 " They talk like musical boxes, the same scrap of tune 
 perpetually repeated." 
 
 " But you may miss the inner significance, after all," 
 Mrs. Burlap hastily interposed. " Say it is more like the 
 prattle of infants. Who knows but they both are express 
 ing the vague universal truths of the Cosmos, so rapidly lost, 
 
 [ 59] 
 
LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 so hopelessly confused in their ignorance of the phraseology 
 of this present existence ? " 
 
 Mrs. Essery was silenced, and Miss Hattitude went on. 
 
 u Perhaps you can translate the farrago, then ! It was 
 a Soul-Measuring Parlor I went to, and I was received 
 by a mad Professor, a tall curly man with patent-leather 
 slippers, who looked as if he had been waiting for us sev 
 eral hours. His wife was lying upo,n a sofa asleep, appar 
 ently having been talked to death. It was a horrid room, 
 a jungle of old collars, newspapers, and photographs. The 
 man said he was developing his wife s sub-conscious ego, 
 and her second self was supposed to be wonderfully clair 
 voyant. He said I was a psychic, too, and I think I must 
 have blushed ! " 
 
 " But was n t there anything new ? " queried Mrs. 
 Essery. 
 
 u New ! It was new to me to be received in the pres 
 ence of a disheveled, semi-comatose wife," said Miss 
 Hattitude. " But as near as I can remember, he was some 
 kind of combination of Mesmerist and Phrenologist. He 
 said he was writing a paper on the Relativity of Knowl 
 edge and the Unknowable for the Institute of Occult 
 
 o 
 
 Science. And he was simply mad on Phenomena. He 
 said we were only just beginning to understand Nature." 
 
 " What did I tell you ? " said Mrs. Burlap, triumphantly. 
 
 " Well, he had n t more than just begun, I m sure of 
 that," said the brown girl. " He said Science has given us 
 only Facts, but what lies behind those Eacts we don t 
 know ourselves, in our normal condition. What we have 
 to do is to develop the sub-cerebrum by what he called 
 Hyptonism, and bring about Phenomena! The true cause 
 of things, according to him, was Phenomena and Sub- 
 
 [ 160 1 
 
THE QUEEN OF BOSTON 
 
 consciousness. 
 
 Well, that woman was a phenomenon, if 
 anything ever was. He said, What I claim is we need a 
 new Media, and in that way we develop Aura and Condi 
 tions leading us to the Absolute ! Did you ever? Then 
 he said a lot more about Consanguinity and Types and 
 Tendencies and Anthropomorphism and ^Estivation and 
 Philopropogenitativeness and Amatitativeness and, of course, 
 Nirvana ! " 
 
 " Chuh ! we stopped talking about Nirvana in 1889!" 
 exclaimed Mrs. Essery. 
 
 " Yes, it is hardly time for more of that yet," said the 
 hostess. "I admit he was cheap. But there s still hope." 
 
 "Then Miss Mischief came in, and he told her she was 
 an Amalgamated Type ! " said Miss Hattitude. 
 
 " Who ? " cried both the other ladies. 
 
 " Why, she said her name was that, and I think she was 
 the woman who fainted at the last Symphony Rehearsal ! " 
 
 Mrs. Burlap sat bolt upright. 
 
 " There ! I knew it ! " she proclaimed. " Tell us about 
 her ! " 
 
 " She came in with a man with a plaid waistcoat and a 
 monocle, and she whispered all the time. She seemed 
 rather hurt to be called an Amalgamated Type, but when 
 the Professor informed her she was super-conscious rather 
 than sub-conscious, she rallied. I came out with her and 
 walked as far as the Providence Depot." 
 
 u How could you ! " cried the lady of the silken thorax. 
 
 "Easily," asserted the young woman. "She was very 
 interesting. She said she could do better than that herself, 
 and had a mind to try. I promised her I d come to her 
 seance, and she said she d send me a card. The man with 
 her is going to help her out." 
 ii [ 161 ] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 " The idea ! It s a very serious thing," said Mrs. Essery, 
 who had become a convert to Mrs. Burlap s empressement. 
 
 "She s trifling, indeed," said Mrs. Burlap, "but she may 
 not realize her powers. I shall go too ; decidedly she is a 
 person to be studied. Did she say where she was from ? " 
 
 "I did not inquire," said Miss Hattitude. "She had an 
 English accent, but she used barbarous slang. She must 
 have been out West a considerable time. I doubt if Mis 
 chief is her true name, though." 
 
 The two ladies were scandalized. An alias in Boston ! 
 
 " iVJark my words, something will come of this ! " was 
 Mrs. Burlap s warning as the two callers left the house. 
 
Chapter 
 
 CAT PARK S SERIO-COMIC 
 
 I feel a stark affrighted motion in my blood! 
 
 (The Maid s Tragedy.) 
 
 OT alone in its intellectual character is 
 Boston unique. Its geography, its topog 
 raphy, and the very plan upon which it is 
 laid out, all are different from most Ameri 
 can cities. Most original of all is the 
 secondary system of alleys subdividing the 
 blocks of houses, and whose minor passages, like tiny veins, 
 connect the more important arteries. Down town, one 
 may parallel Tremont Street from Boylston Street to 
 Temple Place, and if you are a native, even to the City 
 Hall, without ever traveling the main street, but by cutting 
 across them and by successive plunges into the interior of 
 blocks, escaping the thoroughfares. It is so even in the 
 more modern district known as the South End, except that 
 here the explorer may discover secret little parks, hidden 
 hugger-mugger in the midst of wildernesses of back yards 
 closes given upon by the windows of the surrounding 
 houses, but unsuspected of the wayfarer. They are for 
 the most part ill-kept, with slovenly trees and gravel walks, 
 and visited seldom by anyone save urchins, scavengers, and 
 rag-men. 
 
 Such as this is the mysterious islet of scant verdure, 
 fenced with palings, that lies inside the triangle formed by 
 
LADY M EC II ANTE 
 
 Warren Avenue, Columbus Avenue, and West Canton 
 Street. Ninety-nine out of a hundred Bostonians will 
 profess ignorance of the precinct, which to the abutting 
 residents is known as Cat Park. It is visited, on rare 
 occasions, by a perfunctory gardener, but the single gate is 
 usually locked. It lies surrounded by alleys which form a 
 figure 4, and has a single inlet, down a flight of stone steps, 
 out of West Canton Street. 
 
 It was near the end of A/larch, and the long suspense 
 which in this climate precedes the spring had for the day 
 given place to a sunlit sky of surprising frankness. The 
 weather was acting one of its endless lies, and came out, 
 tricked in all the colors of May to induce Bostonians to 
 believe that winter was dead. The two who sat on a 
 bench in Cat Park were seemingly imposed upon, though 
 they gazed at the double windows which upon the backs 
 of the houses of the triangle betrayed the scepticism of the 
 residents. The man sat bareheaded, and the woman was 
 without wrap, in innocent trustfulness. The several trees, 
 too, were guileless enough to put forth their green buds 
 and spread a tinge of mild verdancy across the enclosure. 
 Down the alley from Brookline Street a vagabond ped 
 dler came slowly, whining his call, "Rags sacks or 
 bot-tles ! " 
 
 There was something touchingly simple in the naive 
 seclusion of the pair upon the bench. The whole of the 
 Back Bay Park, the Fens, or the Riverway had been theirs 
 for the price of two trolley-tickets, but they preferred this 
 homely recess in Cat Park, with its circular gravel walk, 
 its eight elms, and the lead-colored palings that kept off the 
 encroachment of a hideous line of back-yard fences. 
 
 As they sat there in the sunshine, their eyes were 
 [ "Hi 
 
CAT PARK S SERIO-COMIC 
 
 fastened upon the machinations of two young girls in 
 the rear window of a Columbus Avenue boarding-house. 
 These were, it would seem, in a fit of the female giggles. 
 Their hair flopped a la Pompadour over their brows and 
 they were clad well, not for the street. PVom time to 
 time they held to the pane of their window large white 
 letters cut from writing paper. It was not difficult to 
 discover their system and its efficacy, for across the tri 
 angle, in the third-story window of a Warren Avenue 
 room, a young man in a red flannel bath-robe commanded 
 the comedy with a pair of opera glasses. 
 
 The two on the bench followed the pantomime with a 
 listless abstraction and a feline comfort in the balm of the 
 atmosphere. A painter daubing a back-yard fence with 
 ochre had also been the mute participant in the scene and 
 had vainly attempted to attract the attention of the frowsy 
 damsels by inscribing huge yellow letters upon the unpainted 
 portion of the boarding. He now held his brush idly and 
 watched his rival in the window. Three small boys armed 
 with wooden swords came dashing down the alley, filling 
 the wooden lane with their cries. They galloped up the 
 passage pursued by their opposing clan. The upper part of 
 the figure 4, at its apex, was a cul-de-sac of high fences, but 
 these the fugitives took manfully, escalading the barriers and 
 swarming across the labyrinth towards an intricate but to 
 them possible escape by way of Columbus Square. The 
 riot spent itself in echoes, and all would have been still, but 
 the rag-man had circumnavigated the parklet and was now 
 droning down the other side. 
 
 The flirtation proceeded laboriously, but seemed to be, 
 upon the whole, worth while to the ardent participants, 
 who had obviously little else to do. The telegraph was 
 
 [ -65] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 clumsy and patent to any observer as it spelled out its silly 
 message. M E E TU S A T T H E 
 
 - P U B I I_C L I B R A R Y " 
 
 came, letter after letter, against the glass, the manipulators 
 having not wit enough even to abbreviate. The youth 
 across the way had begun his reply when the man on the 
 bench spoke. 
 
 "This place hasn t changed a bit since I was a boy, 
 Roberta," sai d the hatless man. " To all appearances the 
 scene inevitably generates the same incidents, year after 
 year. How many such languid days I have spent, for all 
 the world like that fool yonder, flirting across the park. 
 Here, too, I was a juvenile barbarian. I tasted feudal days 
 and fought out duels with wooden swords ! I was tied up 
 by my thumbs in that very corner ! I believe this rag 
 man is the same old Wandering Jew of my boyhood ! But 
 I never sat in this Park before ! I never saw anyone ever 
 sit here. I always thought it impossible. Even now I 
 am wondering at my temerity. It was a place sacred to 
 the predatory tom-cat, unsullied by human footprint ! This 
 adventure looms heroic, but I have lost an ideal. It 
 is an anticlimax. I am almost sorry I came. We are a 
 spectacle for the residents. This park is like a bouquet of 
 wax flowers under a bell-glass, not meant to be touched, 
 smelled, or even looked at, except askance, apologetically ! : 
 
 " But whom did you flirt with across the way ? " inquired 
 his wife, Roberta. " Were you ever such a precious sim 
 pleton as that ? Look at that nincompoop making a poster 
 of himself in the window, now ! " 
 
 U I confess," replied the gentleman, fanning himself with 
 a pot hat, " Cat Park, revisited after twenty years, does 
 appear a bit tame, not to say foolish. Yet I must say the 
 
 [,66] 
 
CAT PARK S SERIO-COMIC 
 
 ass in that window arouses a passing tender memory. If I 
 am not mistaken, Hetty Hattitude once lived at Number 
 467. That was before the great exodus from the South End. 
 Her father made something like four hundred thousand 
 dollars one afternoon, and the Hattitudes joined the migra 
 tion. The Hegira had just set in, and the Back Bay was 
 the land of promise for every humble resident of this dis 
 trict. The Hattitudes, however, were not satisfied with 
 Flatland, and the desert of parvenues round about Newbury 
 Street. They made boldly for Beacon Hill, and no one 
 knows, now, that their propriety was not dyed in the wool. 
 
 Roberta yawned from the combined effects of the sun 
 shine and her husband s soliloquy and turned her attention 
 to the aerial flirtation. The Pompadours had just exhibited 
 the figure " 5 " and it was answered by the letters " O K " 
 from the window of the young man in the red robe. The 
 dialogue seemed to be completed with the details arranged 
 for the assignation, for at this the curtain of the Columbus 
 Avenue apartment was discreetly drawn. Young Lothario, 
 however, proceeded with his toilet in Arcadian simplicity, 
 careless of observation. 
 
 Out of his window hung from short pieces of twine, 
 three beer bottles. No doubt his amatory efforts had 
 dried his tongue. At any rate, he appeared to be seized 
 with a desire to possess himself of the liquid refreshment, 
 and he raised the sash with that intent. The sill was low, 
 the knot was troublesome, the breeze caught at his lace 
 curtains and wrapped them slyly about his head. In his 
 effort to free himself, something appeared to give way behind 
 him, and, of a sudden, the gentleman found himself dis 
 lodged from his foothold and navigating the air. 
 
 Mrs. Stencill screamed. Mortimer turned just in time 
 [ 167] 
 
LADT M ECU ANTE 
 
 to astonish himself with the spectacle of a meteoric descent, 
 from the third-story window, of an animated red bath-robe 
 -a Darius Green dropped like an exploded firecracker 
 projected from space. He jumped up, ran to the fence, 
 vaulted the pickets and up the alleyway to the back door of 
 Number 175 Warren Avenue, found it open, and entered, 
 aghast at the expectation of a tragedy. 
 
 But it was a Monday, and every back yard in the block 
 was hung with the washing of the dwellers. Here the 
 place was grotesque with a display of damp linen of reveal 
 ing shapes, black stockings, and other unmentionable articles 
 of apparel. The young man s flight had ended with a vio 
 lent bounce upon the tense clothes-lines stretched from 
 fence to fence, and as Mr. Stencill entered, the victim was 
 still enmeshed and shrouded in a trap of rope and moist, 
 clinging sheets, growling profanely. Mortimer advanced 
 delicately through the maze of wet cloth, and lent a hand 
 to the unfortunate aeronaut. 
 
 Plucked of his winding sheets, the youth s appearance 
 was hardly less ridiculous. The beer bottle was still firmly 
 clutched in his hand, and his gaping robe permitted a display 
 of sea-green underwear, as if he had been a frog who had 
 jumped by mistake into an ocean of red ink. One might 
 have permitted a certain air of bashfulness in the circum 
 stances, but the new arrival from higher regions gave a 
 polite and well-poised expression of thanks to his rescuer. 
 
 " This is so sudden, as the girl said," he remarked, 
 jocosely. " Have a beer with me ? " 
 
 " I expected to provide the bier myself! " said Mortimer 
 Stencill. " Is it possible that your back s not broken ? " 
 
 " Oh no," replied the stranger, " I usually come down 
 this way. I believe a fellow named Darwin wrote a book 
 
 [ 168] 
 
mm-mmm 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 about me once. Ever read the l Descent of Man ? I 
 thought so. But who s the lady at the gate ? I don t 
 usually receive callers in the back yard, but I feel honored, 
 really !" 
 Roberta s white face appeared. "Is he much hurt?" 
 
 she cried. 
 
 " Not so much hurt, madam, but that I shall forgive you 
 the intrusion," said the madcap, and he made a low bow 
 amongst a row of table-cloths. " I may have strained a 
 point or two, in my haste, but I ll live, I warrant you. 
 T is not so bad as a broken heart." 
 
 See here," said Mr. Stencill. " You d better come up 
 to my room and let me look you over. You must have 
 several inches of skin missing, at least, and I 11 rub you 
 down. I live here next door. I 11 lend you something to 
 put on to get home in, too." 
 
 " Many thanks," was the response. " I 11 accept your 
 invitation. I 11 not conceal the fact that, for especial rea 
 sons, I d rather not go upstairs looking like this. So, if 
 you 11 show me the way, I 11 come with pleasure. I believe 
 I have, on the back of my pate, a bump you might anchor 
 a warship to. The next time I do a two-step out of the 
 window, I 11 wear football uniform or carry a parachute ! " 
 
 "You certainly could n t be said to have a nervous, sen 
 sitive organization," said Stencill, "you d make a good 
 wooden Indian " ; and he led the fallen angel out of the 
 yard, and into the house next door. They went upstairs in 
 quest of a suit of clothes and arnica. Roberta discreetly 
 retired. 
 
 In the upper room the youth introduced himself as Mr. 
 Roulhac Braghampton, of San Francisco. He was, he as 
 serted, a Harvard medical student, though his method with 
 
 [ 170] 
 
CAT PARK S SERIO-COMIC 
 
 his contusions belied him. He hinted darkly at ulterior 
 pursuits, and Mortimer Stencill, always upon the lookout 
 for the picturesque, plied him with hints and questions. 
 
 "I m after a girl," Mr. Braghampton confessed at last. 
 " I ve chased her across the continent, and I have good 
 reason to believe she s taken refuge in Boston, as the most 
 unlikely place in the world to find one of her antecedents. 
 I had a mix-up with her in San Francisco, and she s as 
 mysterious as a gold brick. I was very fond of the defend 
 ant, but she gave me paper flowers, and I want to try another 
 heat with her. She made me that an ass of, Mr. Stencill, 
 that I could n t see a load of hay coming down the street 
 without feeling hungry ! No, I hadn t a blush in the house 
 for breakfast, after she got through with me. She made me 
 think I was about eight years old, and I ve barely caught 
 up with myself yet. I thought I was a stem-winder, but I 
 found out she had the only key that would fit." 
 
 ct Who was she, and what did she look like ? " demanded 
 his interlocutor. 
 
 "She was anybody you cared to name," was the reply. 
 " Kitty Carmine first of all, then Cicely Fex, and the 
 Countess Rouge too. \Vhen we eloped, she was Celestine 
 Jewburg, and when you knew Celestine Jewburg, you knew 
 the limit ! Look like ? She looked like the lady on the 
 twenty-dollar gold piece ! Hair of the color of the inside 
 of a cantaloupe, eyes like blue agate marbles, and a mouth 
 like a pipe-dream ! Oh, she was of the greyhound type, easy 
 enough ! She could pull down all the prizes in the show 
 without a collar ! Why, Congress would adjourn if she 
 came into the room, sure. She used to wear blue, mostly ; 
 Parsifal blue, and gold braid that would jerk you right up 
 and throw you over the fence. I went dotty at the first 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 rattle out of the box, and she had me labeled and checked 
 and her initials burned into me from the word go! To 
 come right down to brass tacks, I fell in love, and now I m 
 high and dry, with the tide going out. Would n t that slice 
 you ? I wanted to marry that girl, Mr. Stencill, I had it 
 all mapped out for a Home Sweet Home factory, complete 
 including triplicate mirrors and cockroaches in the kitchen, 
 but she gave me the invisible footprint, and now I m up a 
 tree ! " 
 
 u She must have been a lively baggage to get ahead of 
 V0#," said Mortimer Stencill. " I never knew of but one 
 that I think could do it." 
 
 " She was a pretty hot piece of pie ! But who was 
 yours ? " said the Braghampton, pulling on StencilPs coat, 
 after carefully inspecting the tailor s name in the inside of 
 the collar. 
 
 u They called her Lady Mechanic, and she was the talk 
 of London, two years since," was the reply. " I d have 
 fallen in love with her myself if I had n t already been so 
 deep in I couldn t come up to the surface. She came over 
 on the steamer with us, and she disappeared in New York 
 as soon as we landed." 
 
 u If there s two of her kind on earth, it s time for me to 
 go out of business," said Roulhac. " One is about ten 
 million too many for me, and I m no yop, either. But if 
 I meet her, I 11 die game. If she wants me to pull down 
 the moon and paint the back side of it green, I 11 have a go 
 at it somehow ! Did your seraph wear red hair ?" 
 
 " Romanesque and blue eyes, too," said Stencill. 
 
 " What d you think ? " said Braghampton, half closing 
 his eyes. 
 
 " I think it was the same one." 
 
 [ i?*] 
 
CAT: PARK S SERIO-COMIC 
 
 Sure ? " 
 
 " Sure ! " said the older man. " She was cold death on 
 Romance ! London was too small for her. She turned 
 the city inside out and went through all the pockets. 
 They re looking for her yet." 
 
 Who are ? " 
 
 " The police." 
 
 " It s the same, then," the young man observed, hope 
 fully. " All we got to do is to lay low and wait for things 
 to happen. If she s in this town, there ll he something 
 doing pretty soon. I say, what was the little game in 
 London ? " 
 
 u Crime," said the other. "She was a burglar the 
 most sentimental felon afloat. Oh, she was running far 
 
 O 
 
 out of the ordinary criminal orbit when I knew her, and 
 she had so many motives the police could n t do a thing. 
 What was she up to in San Francisco ? " 
 
 " Hypnotism and general deviltry. She can get drunker 
 over a good joke than a short session of the D. T s. Say, 
 her mind will hold nails, all right. You can t side-step her. 
 When I flagged her, the town was up against a jolly that 
 threw all the cars ofF the track. I always said a 28-inch 
 waist was better than a high forehead, but, by the Purple 
 Cow, she s got em both ! D you know, we called out 
 the town in night-shirts! " 
 
 " What in the world do you mean ? " Stencill ejaculated. 
 
 u That s what! We called em out. Parade, band of 
 music, and all the side dishes. Hypnotic Club outfit it was. 
 We got control of the whole shooting-match, fired them up 
 with post-hypnotic suggestions, and they went ofT bang! 
 A thousand of em turned out in nighties, as slick as 
 ghosts ! Then the place got too hot for us, and we sloped." 
 
 [ 173] 
 
LADT M EC H ANTE 
 
 " How did you lose her ? " 
 
 " She gave me the mesmeric eye at the ferry, and I was 
 lost in the shuffle. Hence these tears ! " 
 
 " Godfrey de Bouillon ! " exclaimed the Mortimer Sten- 
 cill. " I think I 11 stay in Boston and see if she turns up." 
 
 " You better ! " said Roulhac. " There s going to be a 
 landslide in this neck of woods. I don t know whether it 
 will be a skirt dance on the roof of the Old State House, 
 
 filling up Charles River with pink molasses, but there ll 
 
 or 
 
 certainly be something doing, sure ! 
 
 [174] 
 
Chapter Jfour 
 
 A FLIRTATION IN COPLEY SQUARE 
 
 Fore God, she s a delicate dab chick ! I must have her. 
 
 (The Alchemist.) 
 
 lOBERTA STENCILL S interest in her 
 friends and acquaintances was scarcely 
 sharp and keen enough to be termed in 
 quisitive, yet her husband called her a 
 matchmaker. She had an observing eye, 
 and no disguise was safe from her inspec 
 tion. To travel with her upon a street car was to hear 
 read the character and intimate habits of every passenger 
 aboard the conveyance, and one felt the burden that was 
 put upon her by being, even though unsuspected, a confi 
 dant of every sufferer from love or pride in the vicinity. 
 Mortimer Stencill was an actor of indifferent merit, but his 
 wife might have made a name for herself upon the stage. 
 She was, however, condemned to the part of auditor and 
 spectator, and she made it her business to read life from the 
 evidence of tiny traits of deportment. 
 
 It was her whim, that afternoon, to spy upon the amour 
 of the young man with whom she and her husband had 
 become so strangely acquainted, and, towards half-past-four, 
 the two made their way to the Public Library to enjoy the 
 spectacle of Roulhac Braghampton at his arts. Affecting 
 interest in the bronzes and frescoes, they endured the tedium 
 of a half-hour s wait, but were unrewarded with a view of 
 
 [175] 
 
 jy 
 
 o*-b v 
 
 <rt> 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 the San Francisco precocity. Two maidens in pompadours, 
 chewing gum surreptitiously, they did see, the forerunners 
 of the comedy, but their hero was apparently playing the 
 laggard lover. The two girls at last, wearied of his incon 
 stancy, departed in high dudgeon, bridling scornfully. 
 
 Like all women who are blessed with the powers of in 
 tuition Mrs. Stencill sometimes overshot the mark. In her 
 pragmatic mind, from this time forth, Roulhac Braghamp- 
 ton was branded craven. It did not matter that she 
 strongly disapproved such cheap and easy familiarity as he 
 had shown in his brazen flirtation, she felt herself person 
 ally aggrieved. 
 
 Her wrath was not diminished, therefore, when, upon 
 leaving the Library with Mortimer, she met, face to face, 
 the young reprehensible in full flower of decorum, smartly 
 attired to the tune of the season, walking in assiduous 
 converse with a young lady in brown. Roulhac bowed 
 sedately and passed on. The girl with the smoky choco 
 late hair did not so much as look up. Roberta gasped at 
 the change of partners, and turned to her husband with 
 opened lips. 
 
 " Did you ever ? " she ejaculated. 
 
 "Only once!" was his reply. "That man is a very 
 Lochinvar! If I am not mistaken, the lady he is fasci 
 nating is none other than Hetty Hattitude. Braghampton 
 flies high." 
 
 The compliment to Roulhac s audacity was, in point of 
 fact, not undeserved, but Fate had aided him. What he 
 did not quite deserve, however, was Mrs. Stencill s scorn. 
 Some aberration of memory had misled him, and, with the 
 strong conviction that it was upon the steps of the Art 
 Museum, across Copley Square from the Library, that he 
 
 [176] 
 
A FLIRTATION IN COPLEY SQUARE 
 
 was to meet the damsels of Columbus Avenue, had made 
 him wait a dreary half-hour at the door of the terra-cotta 
 edifice for the two who came not, having a more exact 
 recollection of the rendezvous. It may be that Roulhac 
 had in mind some previous assignation. At any rate, he 
 was innocent of any trick of disloyalty to his promise. 
 
 He had waited, then, with what patience a line of im 
 petuous ancestors had meagerly endowed his soul. He had 
 thrice rearranged his tie under cover of the portal s gloom, 
 and he had often resisted the temptation to use the nearly 
 folded handkerchief in his breast pocket. But he had not 
 waited alone. There was, it had seemed, another truant 
 missing, and he cast glances of increasing interest upon the 
 girl in brown who paced up and down in front of the Art 
 Museum, in apparent anticipation of an appointment. 
 When she came up and stood in the same archway, he 
 felt encouraged, and the smouldering fires of curiosity burst 
 into flames of resolve. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he ventured, at last, to the girl, 
 "but have you seen two young ladies enter this building? 
 They wore no glasses," he added, u and 1 thought you 
 mijrht have noticed them." 
 
 O 
 
 The girl moved away a step and answered, " No, I have 
 not." 
 
 " I was to have met them at five," he went on. 
 
 u Indeed ? " said the lady. 
 
 "On the steps of the Library," Roulhac continued. 
 
 " Then they are probably waiting there. That is the 
 Library, across the Square." She could not resist a smile. 
 
 Braghampton caught at the smile and ignored the 
 information. 
 
 " I am very stupid," he remarked. 
 
 [177] 
 
LADT M EC H ANTE 
 
 The girl said nothing. 
 
 Roulhac was now at his wit s end to prolong the con 
 versation. "I am afraid it may be incipient aphasia," he 
 said, after a pause, without any sign of departing. 
 
 The girl seemed uninterested in his diagnosis, but evi 
 dently demurred. " It is undoubtedly nothing but an 
 obsession," she asserted. 
 
 " Maybe you are right, for I am a victim to such com 
 plaints. Indeed, I have another now, which has replaced 
 the original occupant of my mind." 
 
 The lady kept her silence, and looked across at the 
 towers of Trinity Church. 
 
 " I am strongly under the impression that I know you," 
 was Roulhac s next move. 
 
 " That is an illusion, delusion, or misconception," she 
 said, without turning her head. She walked slowly down 
 the stone steps. 
 
 " Don t you believe in intuition ? " he insisted, following 
 her. 
 
 She turned to him angrily. " I do. I have an intuitive 
 knowledge that you are not a gentleman ! 
 
 " I lay no claim to the term," he replied, airily ; " an 
 honest man is the noblest work of God ! " 
 
 " Honest ! " she said, scornfully. " I beg you to leave 
 me. If you say another word to me, I shall call that police 
 man on the corner." 
 
 "Then I shall be obliged to opine that you are unable 
 to answer my argument," said Braghampton. " I was told 
 that in Boston women were not beautiful, but intellectual. 
 Must you shatter both beliefs at once ? " 
 
 There was enough subtlety in this to make the maiden 
 pause, despite her obvious reluctance to a continuation of 
 
A FLIRTATION IN COPLEY SQUARE 
 
 the scene. She looked him over deliberately. u You are 
 from the West, I presume. Is it usual, in your native 
 place, for men to accost haphazard any lady they may 
 chance to meet ? Pray discontinue this annoyance. I am, 
 as you see, awaiting a friend here, and I don t care to miss 
 the appointment on your account." 
 
 " If you will answer me one question, I promise to ac 
 cept my dismissal," said Braghampton. 
 
 Miss Hattitude hesitated, but the temptation was alluring. 
 Her pause betrayed her. It was the fraction of a second 
 too long. She saw this too late, cast down her eyes, and 
 said, " Proceed ! " 
 
 " Tell me then," said Roulhac, " if I were a new arrival 
 from the planet Mars, or Venus, unused to your manners 
 and customs, would you be equally willing to deny me free 
 speech with you ? " 
 
 "No," said Miss Hattitude. "I must say, I could 
 hardly resist your insistence, in that case. Are you from 
 Mars ? " 
 
 " I am from as strange a country," he proceeded. " To 
 all intents and purposes, I am as much an alien to your 
 civilization. It happens that I speak the same tongue ; 
 but in my land a man dares be himself, and most women, 
 also. It is, if I remember rightly, 90,000,000 miles to the 
 red planet " 
 
 " It is nearer 140,000,000, at present," interrupted the 
 lady. 
 
 u So be it. It is only 3500 miles to the Pacific. The 
 ratio is no doubt inadequate, yet I am curious to know 
 where you draw the line of conventionality. I am as 
 anxious to make your acquaintance as any Martian could 
 be, I assure you. We are total strangers to each other, 
 
 [ 79] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 but, by your own admission, that should encourage rather 
 than deny acquaintance. It seems to me that the less you 
 know of me, the more anxious you should be to make 
 friends with me. I assert my originality. I swear I am 
 unlike any man you have ever met betore. By a parity of 
 reasoning, I am eligible. If I am not a gentleman, I have 
 at least frankness, unconvcntionality, and courage. Does- 
 such an amicable alliance disturb your ideas of decorum ? 
 Think for yourself, I beg of you. Tell me any reason why 
 you should fear me." 
 
 u I am afraid I am already compromised," confessed the 
 girl, overbalanced by his torrential rhetoric. " I feel sure 
 that your logic is mere casuistry, yet it carries you so far 
 afield, I can t help being amused at your fallacy. The 
 manners of the West must be more interesting than I have 
 been taught. Yet you say you are unique " 
 
 u My point of view is almost Japanese in its incongruity, 
 but I hold to the Romantic aspect of life. I was taught 
 in a good school to regard every woman as a dramatic 
 possibility." 
 
 " You touch me on a sensitive nerve," said Miss Hatti- 
 tude, " and again I must respond reflexively. If you are 
 indeed of the extraordinary sensitiveness of the Japanese 
 if you can see life as the color prints show it, without sharps 
 or flats, as I might say, then you are indeed worth knowing. 
 I have spent many months in this very building seeking to 
 understand their conception of art." 
 
 " It is simple," said Braghampton. " I feel, rather than 
 understand, the method. It is entirely a question of com 
 position. If you hold a frame before any collection of 
 objects, it must become pure pattern. Conventionalize this, 
 place it in its true position with regard, not to the environ- 
 
 [180] 
 
A FLIRTATION IN COPLEY SQUARE 
 
 ment, but to the frame, and you have motive, composition, 
 design. It is thus that I regard you ; I hold up my frame 
 and disconnect you from your surroundings of Boston 
 haughtiness and conventionality. You are an intricate and 
 interesting study. You have line, color, and notan. It is 
 thus that the man from Mars would perceive you. He 
 would miss the accidental shadows of tradition and estab 
 lishment, he would see you yourself, disfranchized from 
 Society, a person. In that lay all my audacity. The 
 affront, if any, was offered to your family, set, position 
 you yourself escaped the impertinence." 
 
 " The Japanese are undoubtedly a hundred years ahead 
 of us in their conception of Art," said Miss Hattitude. 
 " Am I to infer then that your system is equally advanced ? 
 But you contravene Emerson, however, for does he not say 
 that when one separates any object from the connection 
 of things and contemplates it alone, it becomes at once 
 comic? " 
 
 " I refer you to Korin," said Roulhac Braghampton, 
 "but, were I to quote your own sage, I might say that you, 
 at least, have not answered his own definition of the comic 
 frustrated expectation. 
 
 " I verily believe you are from Mars," Miss Hattitude 
 exclaimed. " At least I cannot hear the hinges of the 
 Golden Gate creak in your conversation ! " 
 
 u I am from Nowhere," was the reply, " and if you will 
 accompany me to my home for the afternoon, I will present 
 to you the freedom of the city ! " 
 
 "I have committed myself," bewailed Miss Hattitude. 
 " You have been too agile. I will reward you. We 
 shall walk, not to Nowhere, but as far as the Leif Ericson 
 statue, and from there you may take me home. But 
 
 [181] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 you will think me as little a Bostonian as you are a San 
 Franciscan." 
 
 " I hope to convince you that you, on the contrary, 
 belong Everywhere," said the youth, as he crossed the 
 street with her. 
 
Cfjapter Jftoe 
 
 MISS MISCHIEF S MEDIUMSHIP 
 
 One fit of our own mirth, and then we are for you. 
 
 (The Bloody Brother.) 
 
 O a person of Roulhac Braghampton s 
 temper, all was fish that came to the net. 
 In his amatory duellos with members of 
 the passive sex, he was, as the challenger, 
 always willing to leave to his opponent the 
 choice of weapons, and these he flourished 
 with a natural dexterity that usually brought him victory. 
 Having trapped Miss Hattitude s guard, he lost no time in 
 forcing home the point of his charge, and she soon cried, 
 u touche" Needless to say, however, it was not so much 
 Hetty Hattitude s heart that was touched as her head, and, 
 as Roulhac felt, that was the more to his credit. Her 
 appeal, in short, had been from Philip drunk to Philip 
 sober, and the inconsequential trifler hardly knew himself 
 in the new part. 
 
 The acquaintance with the Stencills was also main 
 tained, although Roberta s pose was one of steady disap 
 proval. She found the rogue ingenuous and entertaining, 
 but, her first trust having gone astray, she treated him with 
 scant favor. Mortimer, on the other hand, gave the 
 young man his frank sympathy, swallowing his shameless 
 recitals with the appetite of one who has to act all his 
 most romantic and fanciful adventures in the back attic of 
 
LADT M ECU ANTE 
 
 his own brain, Mr. Stencill was very much in love with 
 his wife, but what he might have been, had he not married, 
 he knew well; and it was the devil-and-all, to be sure! 
 
 And where did Roulhac Braghampton s money come 
 from ? He himself proclaimed that it was a rich aunt who 
 provided his revenue, and that it was her whim for her 
 nephew to enjoy himself. " Do anything you like," he 
 said she said, "except be commonplace and respectable. 
 Behold, T send you forth as an emissary of gayety to the 
 nations. Let it be your task to amuse the world, and 
 paint this drab Universe a second coat more vivid and 
 jocose. Here be too few fools to go round, what with the 
 emancipation of women and hygienic underwear! The 
 world needs an occasional laugh as much as any other 
 remedy, and do you divert the Philistine and Bohemian 
 alike ! " The vivacious old lady, according to his legend, 
 died of laughter, after dreaming that she was trying to tie 
 a cannon-ball to a log with six shoestrings. 
 
 His income, at any rate, enabled Roulhac to put on a 
 good front in Society, and lined with gold his misfit 
 manners. He endured an ordeal at dinner with Herod 
 Hattitude, Esq., and family with an easy grace and with 
 a certain distinction. He did, to be sure, warn the children 
 never to put chewing-gum in the stew, nor idly stuff cheese 
 in their ears, but he himself neither ate his soup with a 
 sponge nor called too loudly for butter in his tea. He once 
 absent-mindedly took his knife to the folded and starched 
 napkins, cutting the leaves of linen as if the serviette had 
 been a pamphlet, but from such solecisms as this he could 
 recover himself easily and drown the blunder in a jest. 
 His language was slangy, or, let us say, poetic; but it was 
 never ungrammatical. When his lips were unstoppered 
 
 [ iH] 
 
MISS MISCHIEF S MEDIUMSHIP 
 
 of the plug of propriety, he used his native tongue with 
 the abandon of Ben Jonson, and his tropes budded and 
 flowered with equatorial profusion. 
 
 To Hetty Hattitude the young man was, indeed, from 
 another sphere, and she took a sharp relish in his piquant 
 personality. He was not one to be "taken up" or she 
 would have produced him at the houses of her friends. It 
 is needless to say that he did not make her acquainted with 
 his mission in Boston, and she gave her relatives to under 
 stand that Mr. Braghampton was a gentleman who, to pass 
 away the time, was dallying through courses in the Harvard 
 Medical School. 
 
 This was his status when, one morning in April, 
 Roulhac was discovered by a small bluish envelope con 
 taining a note in a bold ultra-feminine hand, signed Hetetia 
 Hattitude. It ran, at the rate of about six words to the 
 page, as follows : 
 
 " If you have nothing to do this afternoon, my dear Air. Brag- 
 hampton, I would be very glad to have you accompany me to a 
 meeting or seance which may prove sufficiently interesting to keep 
 you awake. Please come, or answer before eight o clock." 
 
 Roulhac had already done a turn or two in maddest 
 Boston. He had succeeded in obtaining an invitation to 
 the Thursday Evening Club, and he had listened to ex 
 cruciating papers on u Tendencies," of sorts, at the Twen 
 tieth Century. The Visionists were gone, but Mr. 
 Braghampton was invited to the Wassail Club, a society 
 of Boston s most timorously radical, which had arisen 
 from the remains of the older association. His initia 
 tion had been completed with storms of applause and 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 floods of beer, and, having so successfully fulfilled the or 
 deal in the Italian restaurant affected by these precocious 
 disciples of the Decadence, he made friends with the Grand 
 Prior of the Order of the White Rose, and strutted, talk 
 ing wildly of Bonnie Prince Charlie, of the Restoration and 
 of the glorious virtues of the House of Stuart, drinking to 
 His Most Gracious Majesty the King u over the water " 
 the King who should come by his own again, thanks to the 
 efforts of the Clan into the last degree of Anglomania, 
 that of the feather-headed Jacobites of New England. He 
 signed the telegram sent to Don Carlos upon the birthday 
 of that picturesque pretender, and was even now antici 
 pating a decoration who knows but a title? from the 
 rightful King of Spain and the Two Americas. From 
 this sublime height of fancy the drop to the Author s 
 Club had landed him in the Commonplace, but he ex 
 changed the epigrammatists of the one for the abolitionists, 
 type-worn heroes, and pretty poetesses of the other with a 
 good grace. 
 
 He hardly looked, then, for great sensations at the prom 
 ised seance, but he had determined never to miss an oppor 
 tunity for investigating the intellectual mazes of Boston s 
 immemorial activity. He despatched a messenger to warn 
 Miss Hattitude of his compliance, whistled his way, to the 
 tune of " The Rose that All are Praising," into a long black 
 coat, painted the cracks in his patent leather shoes with 
 India ink, and set out for the West End, willing enough 
 to meet his " Perfecto," as he already called her, though but 
 slightly intrigued with the prospect of psychic adventure. 
 
 The house to which Hetty took him was upon West 
 Cedar Street. It was a three-story brick structure, flat 
 sidewalk, of an old-fashioned plan, with 
 
 prim upon 
 
 186] 
 
MISS MISCHIEF S MEDIUMSHIP 
 
 a sloping slate roof and two small dormers thereon. They 
 opened the storm door and went up into the porch stairway 
 to a white door upon which was a nickeled plate bearing 
 the inscription, " T. Gray." 
 
 The two visitors were admitted and went upstairs into a 
 front parlor with long mirrors and red velvet furniture, 
 originally of good make and design, but reupholstered in 
 horrid taste and woolly fringe. Here they found Mrs. 
 Burlap filling the apartment with patronage. Mr. Brag- 
 hampton was introduced to the Queen of Boston, and she 
 gave him two fingers of a black glove. Beside her Mrs. 
 Essery loomed, as if she had been built in the room and was 
 waiting to be crated. 
 
 " If I am not mistaken," began Mrs. Burlap, " we are to 
 witness some interesting developments, Mr. Braghampton. 
 The young lady who is to play the medium is an amateur, 
 and she has never given seances in public. We are wait 
 ing only for the President of the Society for Psychical Re 
 search, so as to have the affair witnessed in proper form. 
 The room has been accurately measured, the carpet has 
 been inspected, and we are to have flash-light photographs 
 taken of the place. We go at these things scientifically 
 in Boston, you know. We are too near the Twentieth 
 Century to investigate psychical phenomena in any hit-or- 
 miss spirit. There is no knowing what may come of this. 
 I intend to write a report of the proceedings myself, what 
 ever happens. You understand, of course, that in the study 
 of modern mysticism what does not happen is of as much im 
 portance as what does happen. We must compile statistics 
 and collate all the information that is obtainable. We have 
 learned much from seances that, to the lay mind, would ap 
 pear to be entirely unsuccessful. We are computing aver- 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 ages and attempting to prove the possibilities and chances 
 of extra-natural manifestations all along the line. I have 
 sent out over four thousand return postal-cards requesting 
 answers upon the subject of u Semi-Nudity in Dream" 
 a very suggestive field for research, I assure you. If you 
 will be kind enough to give me your address, I shall be 
 glad to send you one, and have you fill out the answers to 
 the questions at your leisure/ 
 
 "I shall be charmed," was Mr. Braghampton s reply. 
 " But could you tell me who is to be the medium ? " 
 
 " It is a Miss Mischief, an Englishwoman, I believe ; 
 someone that Miss Hattitude discovered. The remarkable 
 part of her manifestations is that she does not believe in 
 them herself. She maintains that they are all rubbish - 
 fancy ! rubbish ! I take that as a better indication of sin 
 cerity than even the measuring of the room ; though that, 
 of course, if we are to proceed scientifically, is absolutely 
 necessary. But here she comes, now." 
 
 Roulhac Braghampton looked up as the folding doors 
 opened and the medium entered. Her coming drew the 
 other eyes also, and they did not see the expression that 
 came over the young man s face. He was, for the mo 
 ment, quite off his guard, and the figure appeared like an 
 apparition. It was as if he had drawn first prize in a lot 
 tery when he looked and saw this lady in blue cloth, this 
 lady with the warm red hair coiled over her brow, smiling, 
 equal to the occasion, superb of poise, fragrant with gentil 
 ity, radiating an engaging personality. It was the woman 
 of his dream, she who had bedeviled him in California, 
 whom he had seen, known, loved, and followed through a 
 whole winter s delirious escapades. It was Kitty Carmine, 
 it was Cicely Fex, it was the Countess Rouge, it was Ce- 
 
 [188] 
 
MISS MISCHIEF S MEDIUMSHIP 
 
 lestine Jewburg still in blue, still with her eyes of lambent 
 ardor, winsome, electric, compelling! 
 
 Her glance traveled quickly around the room until it 
 met that of Roulhac, who sat trepid and entranced. Then 
 quickly she tossed her eyes upward to the ceiling and down 
 again. 
 
 It was a sign and warning. It was a part of their old 
 code, one of a set of secret messages she had taught him 
 when they ran together on the great hypnotic hunt in San 
 Francisco. It meant " Do not recognize me ! " and he 
 obeyed as of old. But his hands were clenched and he 
 trembled as if a cold wave had struck him. 
 
 She was introduced to the company, which now numbered 
 almost a dozen persons, including the President of the So 
 ciety for Psychical Research with his notebooks and foot 
 rule. And then, seating herself in an armchair, Lady 
 Mechante laid her right hand to her eyes and remained 
 quiescent. 
 
 The room was hushed and seemed full of floating wings. 
 The President looked at his watch and set down the hour 
 and minute. Mrs. Burlap silently drew ofY her glove and 
 counted the number of gas jets, collecting data for her re 
 port. Miss Hattitude took the scene more easily, with no 
 professional duties to complicate her observation ; yet, as a 
 woman, she could not help noting the costume of Miss 
 Mischief, and balancing, mentally, its faults and successes. 
 Roulhac was in a stupor of astonishment, yet he braced 
 himself, knowing that what was to come might well need 
 his assistance. 
 
 u It is very dark," came in measured tones from the lips 
 of Miss Mischief. " It is dark, with rolling clouds. I am 
 being borne upward and outward, and the globe recedes. It 
 
 [189] 
 
LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 is cold, as cold as Labrador. Someone is calling me 
 Phryko ! Phryko ! It is very dark. Now it is lighter, 
 with a warm red light. It is the moon ; it is a red, round 
 rolling moon, cut all criss-cross with little lanes. I see 
 more clouds. I am falling, falling, falling! " 
 
 Suddenly she sat up, with her eyes open and staring at 
 the wall. u Oiv mu nishoram ! " she cried aloud, and then 
 she laughed. " What funny people ! " she said, as if to 
 herself. u They have three legs ! See ! They are talking 
 with their toes ! " Then she stood up and spoke with the 
 grand air, " Yes, I am Phryko ! " 
 
 She took a step forward, unsteadily, as if she too had 
 three legs and was a bit unused to managing them. She 
 made a strange gesture with her head, as if she were rubbing 
 out a chalk mark with her chin. Mrs. Burlap and the 
 President looked with all their eyes. 
 
 The President had trained himself to write without 
 watching the paper. He could write in the dark, write 
 inside his pocket, write on top of his head. He needed all 
 these accomplishments in his business, for ghosts give no 
 favors to the unprepared. 
 
 As for Roulhac, he could make no method out of this 
 gibberish, but he knew that his heroine was not the person 
 to act aimlessly. 
 
 Her next move was to clasp her forehead with her hand 
 and call hysterically for a pencil. The President was, of 
 course, prepared, and overjoyed at the prospect of securing 
 documentary evidence from the somnambulist, which he 
 might be able to have reproduced and printed in the Report 
 of the Society. He handed her an extra pencil and leaned 
 over her shoulder anxiously, as she wrote a line of strange 
 characters. 
 
MISS MISCHIEF S MEDIUMSHIP 
 
 She continued with the rude sketches of queer three- 
 legged animals, their noses in the air, and under the whole 
 she wrote : 
 
 " Ow mu nisboram. Pbryko." 
 
 There was much more dumb show of the same sort, a 
 mouthful or so of her outlandish gobble, a weird gesture, 
 and then the clouds came back, she rose, pierced the dark, 
 beheld another sphere, and fell with all the symptoms of ex 
 treme nausea. All, that is, save one. Then she opened her 
 eyes in a babyfied stare and smiled at the company. 
 
 " Where am I ? " she said. " Why are you all looking 
 at me so queerly ? What have I been saying ? " 
 
 After drinking a glass of water she shook her hands to 
 bring the blood back to her fingers and smiled again. 
 
 The audience, fascinated at the pantomime, now broke 
 into a babbling chorus, and Mrs. Burlap and the President 
 began exchanging notes. 
 
 " I forgot to take her pulse and her temperature," he said, 
 " but it was very remarkable, very. Most extraordinary. 
 A most susceptible and delicate medium. A most interest 
 ing case. Most interesting. Very different. Very. This 
 seance, I think, Mrs. Burlap, can hardly be classed with any 
 of the three hundred and fifty-three we have investigated. I 
 must say I am at a loss what to make of it. Glossalalia, 
 too ! Ah, that is rare good fortune. Pronounced type of 
 glossalalia. I shall carefully analyze her words and the 
 diagrams. Singular, very. Very singular, indeed f" 
 
 Mrs. Burlap had been lost in thought, posed like Michael 
 Angelo s David. She turned and replied : u It certainly is 
 a most interesting case, as you say. I have no doubt but 
 that it will prove to be of transcendent importance. 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 " My child," she continued, turning to Miss Mischief, 
 u is, it possible that you have no idea of the importance of the 
 power you have manifested ? Really, you know, you have 
 psychic impulses that are denied to nine hundred and ninety- 
 nine out of a thousand. As you develop, as you undoubt 
 edly must, you will, no doubt, be able to bring to our 
 knowledge marvelous truths undreamed of before ! You 
 must let me take you under my wing, my dear Miss Mis 
 chief, really, I insist ! You will do me a great honor, 
 really. Your manifestations were most remarkable." 
 
 Miss Mischief made a little mouth and said : " Now, my 
 dear Mrs. Burlap, really, you know, I m afraid it s all 
 twaddle and poppycock. I don t know what I did say, but 
 it must have been very silly. I Ve had these queer feelings 
 ever since I was a child, and I am sure there s nothing in 
 them." 
 
 " Upon my word," cried the President. " Is that so, 
 really ! " And he immediately wrote it down in his note 
 book. 
 
 " Ever since I can remember I have slipped off into these 
 queer dreams and seen curious things," she continued, 
 "but nothing ever came of it." 
 
 Roulhac Braghampton was listening with all his might. 
 Hetty Hattitude was talking to him, but he heeded it no 
 more than one might heed a typewriter s rattle. No doubt 
 it meant something, but his mind was elsewhere. His 
 mind was upon the girl in the blue waist, who had turned 
 San Francisco upside down and danced on its prostrate 
 dignity. 
 
 " But, my dear ! " Mrs. Burlap was saying, almost indig 
 nant at the waste of so many of Miss Mischief s trances. 
 " My dear ! Nothing ever came of it ? That was because 
 
 [192] 
 
MISS MISCHIEF S MEDIUMSHIP 
 
 there has been no one intelligent enough to investigate your 
 case ! We shall leave no stone unturned, I assure you. 
 You are in the right hands now, and you must promise to 
 give seances to no one else ! " 
 
 She turned to the President of the Society, and the two 
 compared notes. Roulhac and Miss Hattitude went up 
 and spoke to Miss Mischief. 
 
 " We ve been no end amused," said Hetty. 
 
 u Oh, if you like this sort of thing," said the medium, 
 coldly, with an eye on Braghampton, " we can keep you 
 busy. You are a stranger, are you not, Mr. Braghampton ? 
 So I think Mrs. Burlap told me." 
 
 " Yes, it seems that I am a stranger," he admitted, eyeing 
 her in his turn. u But I hope to become better acquainted 
 with the town and its people. I have been much edified, 
 Miss Mischief. This has given me much food for thought." 
 
 " Were you so hungry ? " she said, slyly. Miss Hatti 
 tude had left and was looking at the drawings. 
 
 " I had been chewing on one idea for twelve months, * 
 he replied. 
 
 u And it was so indigestible ? " 
 
 " It was hard to swallow, that truth." 
 
 She touched his arm, and the old thrill awoke his nerves. 
 
 " Tomorrow, at four. Here ! " She spoke through her 
 teeth. 
 
 The colloquy was interrupted by an exclamation from 
 Mrs. Burlap. u Stupendous ! Stupendous ! " she cried. 
 She waved her notes in the President s face. " I see it 
 as plain as daylight ! And to think I fancied those words 
 were Cymric. Glossalalia, indeed ! Before a month is over, 
 we shall have the whole language, grammar, prosody, and 
 syntax. Don t you see ? She was borne upward, she said, 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 into the dark and cold. The cold of Space ! What else, 
 indeed? Then there was a warm red light a new 
 sphere she thought it was the moon, but was it not cut 
 into little channels ? Then the strange new language, the 
 grotesque inhabitants, with their tripedal anatomy and novel 
 gestures. Was there ever anything plainer? Can you 
 come to any other possible conclusion ? Why, my dear 
 girl, you are a celebrity ; this seance is epoch-making ! 
 Who knows who knows but that through you the most 
 marvelous truths ever known shall be revealed ! " 
 
 " But I don t understand," said Miss Mischief, with her 
 hand to her brow in a puzzled gesture. " What is it ? 
 What have I done?" 
 
 u Done ! " cried Mrs. Burlap, "done? You have visited 
 Mars ! You have talked the Martian tongue ! You have 
 drawn a picture of the inhabitants of the mysterious planet! " 
 
 For the fraction of a second Roulhac fancied he saw a 
 rebellious smile struggling behind his friend s eyes, attempt 
 ing to control her expression. Then an innocent gaze of 
 juvenile bewilderment filled them, and turned on the illu 
 mination of incandescent innocence. 
 
r^S 
 
 e 
 
 Chapter 
 
 ENT RACTE 
 
 Is this your zuencb ? You // find her a sharp mistress. 
 
 (The Lover s Progress.) 
 
 |N the afternoon following the stance, Roul- 
 hac Braghampton called at West Cedar 
 Street. He was admitted by a gentleman 
 in a frock-coat and a colored shirt. This 
 being s hair was parted extravagantly on 
 one side, in the manner affected by cheap 
 barbers ; his lower lip fell away from the upper and disap 
 peared where his chin should have been. He had beady 
 black eyes, a half-inch too close together, and his figure was 
 constantly drooping from the erectness with which he en 
 deavored to hold himself. He took Roulhac s card, read 
 it, and then left him in a small dining-room by the door. 
 
 After a few minutes wait the portiere was raised and 
 in stepped a lady like an elfin sprite, smiling and fantastic 
 in a blue kimono tied with a gay red sash. She went up 
 to her caller, kissed him upon the forehead, and dropped to 
 a seat beside him upon the haircloth sofa. Then she cast 
 down her eyes and protruded a very small silk sandal 
 beneath her robe. 
 
 Roulhac looked her up and down, with what reproach 
 he could summon to his eyes, and said, gloomily, u Well, 
 and who are you now ? " 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 " Miss Madelaine Mischief, at your service ! " was the 
 reply. 
 
 "And what has become of the Countess Rouge?" he 
 demanded. 
 
 u You murdered her with your insistence," said the lady. 
 
 u And Cicely Fex, and Kitty Carmine, and all the rest?" 
 he said. 
 
 " Poisoned," she replied, " by your love. Poor Peanut ! 
 Can you not understand that I am made for love but not for 
 loving? You frightened me. You are too inflammable; 
 I feared an explosion." 
 
 " I love you, yes," said the young man. " Heaven help 
 me ! " 
 
 " Oh, some other woman is more likely to do that" said 
 Miss Mischief. " You have a good constitution, and it 
 will be easily amended." 
 
 u Have I followed you three thousand five hundred miles 
 to hear you taunt me like this ? " inquired the unfortunate 
 youth. 
 
 " You have not followed me, for I came the other way. 
 I have been playing horse with the court of Korea. The 
 Emperor used to jump off his throne to shake hands before 
 I got through with him. Then I studied with the Mahat- 
 mas of India and went to Persia to put the followers of the 
 Bab through a course of enlightenment. No, you have n t 
 followed me, my dear ! If you had n t broken, you might 
 have been leading the cotillion with me yet, but you com 
 plicated things. I can t bear philandering. Now will you 
 be good ! " 
 
 u You shall not fob me off with your highfalutin," cried 
 Roulhac. u You blow hot and blow cold ; you will and 
 you won t! Wherever you have been, I have found you 
 
ENTRACTE 
 
 and tagged you, and you re it. I love you so hard it 
 hurts when I breathe." 
 
 " The light is in your eyes, my dear, I dazzle you," she 
 said, softly. u Would you clip my wings and cage me ? 
 Where would I have been now if I had married you, for 
 I presume you speak of marriage or its equivalent ? I have 
 no time for that. Here in Boston is a field so fertile that 
 we have but to drop in a seed of mirth and it shall increase 
 an hundred fold. The town is wonderful, wonderful ! My 
 word, I thought San Francisco to be the veritable Midway 
 Plaisance of the continent, but this city is a madhouse ; 
 the place is already hypnotized and we need but give it the 
 proper suggestion. Ah, dear, would you sober me before 
 my time and make me sign the pledge ? Can you see me 
 in a checked apron, frying steak and potatoes ? I am cook 
 ing a bigger pie than that, my Peanut, and all of white 
 blackbirds. When the pie is opened, they will sing, I 
 warrant you ! " 
 
 "Whatever you are up to," said Roulhac, "can we not 
 do it as well together, and married r " 
 
 "No. I have tried that twice and I shall never forget 
 the attempt. My second husband was a burglar, but not 
 even that most romantic of professions could preserve the 
 illusion. And I must keep my ideals. I would regard 
 you as a mere possibility. You, as a pencil sketch, as a 
 promise, are interesting. Finished and inked in, you would 
 be a bore. In three words, I refuse you. Now make your 
 scene and have it over. Or, if you will, embark with me 
 in the shallop of nonsense and navigate the stormy seas of 
 gayety." 
 
 " I m thirsty for you and I want to drink. There s too 
 much froth on your beer. But I 11 wait a while longer, 
 
 [-97] 
 
LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 till this pot begins to boil, and then I warn you I 11 marry 
 you up the first chance I get without stopping to ask 
 permission." 
 
 " Well, if you can mesmerize me, go ahead ! " 
 
 " Now explain your fanfarronade, and I 11 sign the 
 articles." 
 
 " It s simple enough," she explained. " Boston is out for 
 more Culture ; it is shrieking for a New Word. It 
 demands a High Priestess and a more modern terminology. 
 It has eaten the bread of Transcendentalism, Orientalism, 
 and strange systems of religion and therapeutics by the 
 baker s dozen and it is hungry for more. Can you refuse 
 such an appetite ? There s an intellectual famine in the 
 town and I propose to feed the people. Not bread, but 
 cake, spiced and frosted with a new flavor. We ve used 
 up the Ten Great Religions of this earth and we must 
 exploit Space for a new Manifestation. Now I ve struck 
 oil on the planet Mars, and the rest is easy." 
 
 u But was n t your game a bit lumpy ? " Roulhac in 
 quired. u The thing seemed foisted upon you. You 
 denied all consequence and you declared the whole exhibi 
 tion was flim-flam. I wonder why ! " 
 
 " Trust me ! " said the would-be priestess. u I know my 
 Boston ! They won t stand for self-made genius, one must 
 be discovered. I ve served my apprenticeship and I under 
 stand intellectual burglary ! I got in through the window 
 and I 11 go out by the front door. The thing is as big as 
 the Common. We must do lobbying here and get the 
 fashionable set. We must have an esoteric and exoteric 
 form ; we must pull in the whole population. Rely upon 
 me for fine shading. I 11 train this city like a pet monkey 
 till it eats out of my hand ! " 
 
ENTRACTE 
 
 " One more thing, first, then," said Roulhac. " Who is 
 this chap with the head made out of a cocoanut, who let 
 me in at the door ? I *m your leading man, or I don t go 
 on the stage. That man with his mouth open and the 
 fingers like Frankfurters is a new one on me ! I don t 
 like the taste of him." 
 
 " The idea ! Afraid of that stool-pigeon ? Why, Guy 
 Bounder s in my kindergarten, and you ve taken your 
 degree ! " 
 
 " My education is not completed till he s lost, my Count 
 ess, and you can sew a button on that ! " Roulhac tapped 
 his foot. 
 
 "We need him in our business and we can t do without 
 him, but he can be shipped at a moment s notice when the 
 curtain goes down," said the lady. 
 
 u Even as you dismissed me ! " remarked Roulhac, 
 bitterly. 
 
 "I promise you he ll have an exit that will match that 
 of the Barber s Second Brother," the arch-conspirator de 
 clared. "But there s a man I need more than this apple- 
 faced Cockney, and that s a man with wit and imagination 
 who can see the under side of a joke and show me the 
 stitches. You re willing, but you re not up to these par 
 lor tricks, dear boy. I know how it ought to be done, 
 but my scientific education was neglected. There were 
 several in the Hypnotic Club who were intelligent, but they 
 each knew only one thing. What I want is a smatterer, 
 a dilettante, someone who can varnish the game so as to 
 bring out the high lights. Oh, 1 knew the man in London, 
 who could give us a twist of the wrist to perfection. He 
 was the only interesting man within the Four Mile Radius ! 
 I came across the Atlantic with him, too ! " 
 
 [ 199] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 Roulhac stared. " Was he an actor ? " he asked. 
 
 " He was, and a bad one, too. But he would have made 
 a good ringmaster if he had n t been married." 
 
 " His name was Stencill ! " cried Braghampton. 
 
 "Sac a papier!" ejaculated the lady in the kimono. 
 u You know him ? " 
 
 " And I know you ! You are Lady Mechante ! " 
 
 " Fifteen, too, fifteen four ! " she replied, gayly. " Now 
 for a run of eight ! Where is he ? We must have him, 
 dead or alive ! I 11 put a price on his head ; we need him ! " 
 
 " But he is married," said Roulhac. 
 
 u Alas, yes," said Lady Mechante. 
 
 " And he is therefore impossible ? " Roulhac insinuated. 
 
 " Alas, no ! " was the reply. " He loves his wife, indeed, 
 and I would that that put him out of the running. But 
 though she is a wool-haired chit with eyeglasses, she is 
 bent on having him amused. With a jealous woman there 
 might be some spice to the game, but she is so sure of him 
 that it spoils sport. Still, we must have him. He has a 
 genius for the picturesque, except in his views of marriage ; 
 and perhaps, after all, that is picturesque nowadays. He 
 has a memory, too, and he knows more impracticable 
 flim-flam than enough. Why, he spent two years studying 
 Volapiik, simply because it could be of no earthly use to 
 him whatever. He told me of the Bab before I went to 
 Persia. He s an encyclopedia of useless information, and 
 we must consult him. But you must see your partner first ! " 
 And she went to the stair and whistled. 
 
 In a moment Bounder entered, big in his frock-coat and 
 waistcoat, bowing pompously. Lady Mechante introduced 
 the two men. 
 
 " Guy," she said, " this gentleman is from San Francisco, 
 [ 200] 
 
ENT RACTE 
 
 and though he parts his hair in the middle, he is as pert a 
 gambolier as ever put a town through its paces. He s to 
 do the outside fancy work, post the bills, and hobnob the 
 elite. You must be friends." To Roulhac, writhing under 
 this description, she remarked : " Mr. Guy Bounder of Lon 
 don, and you can t deny he looks the part. He is cast for 
 the heavy character work in costume. Turn your toes out, 
 Guy, and straighten up ! Mr. Bounder is to descend from 
 the ruddy planet and agitate society." 
 
 " That s what I call Florrididdle," said Guy. "You 
 can butter me all you like after the show. It s about time 
 to talk business. My idea is, there s money in this, and 
 that s my specialty. You two can have all the fun you 
 want, but I m for a System. What is there in it ? That s 
 what I want to know." 
 
 " We are in the land where dollars grow," said Lady 
 Mechante. " Do you plant the trees, ay, and pick them. 
 We take the flowers and you the golden fruit. I promised 
 to make your fortune and I 11 do it. Mr. Stencill will 
 show us more ways than one." 
 
 u What, another ? " Guy exclaimed. " I s pose he parts 
 his hair in the middle, too ! " 
 
 " His wife parts it the way it suits her fancy," said 
 Lady Mechante. 
 
 u I 11 have a look at that wife," said Bounder. 
 
 "You ll be too busy learning to walk on three legs and 
 studying Martian," was the countercheck. 
 
 u Oh, I say ! " cried Guy. u They ve got to pay me 
 for that, I give you my word ! I m by way of being the 
 clown in this circus, I know, but it s got to do me in 
 something before I m through ! Little Guy is going to 
 saw wood in this city." 
 
 [201] 
 
LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 Roulhac, already disgusted at the Cockney s appearance, 
 felt his gorge rise at the vulgarity of such mercenary mo 
 tives. The tip given him by his Countess, however, re 
 minded him that, whatever Guy Bounder was paid for his 
 share of the conspiracy, it would not be too much for the 
 ordeals he would have to suffer. To the artist in frivolity the 
 whole scheme appeared in roseate colors, a slim naked joke 
 which he and the fair Countess would deck in fantastic 
 garb and set giggling in the streets of Boston, to dance 
 widdershins through the town. But behind the plot they 
 were incubating in council, crouched a plan that Roulhac 
 confided to his heart alone. He had his idea. He would 
 manoeuver with the rest, twist the wiles and ruses of cun 
 ning to their ends, but watch his chance, countermine, and 
 spring his own trap when the time came. 
 
 The confabulation ended with Bounder s dismissal to his 
 studies of Martian idiom and manner, and the ex-leaders of 
 the League of Dream parted with an agreed rendezvous. 
 
 That night Mortimer Stencill saw a pair of animated 
 faces in a box at Keith s Theater. That night he dis 
 covered that the fuse had reached the gunpowder. That 
 night a trio of triflers dined at the Restaurant Slavoni on 
 Harrison Avenue, dancing through the anticipation of their 
 hoax till the gunpowder ran out of the heels of their boots. 
 
 And that night Roberta Stencill, dozing over a novel by 
 Mrs. Humphry Ward, did not hear the Warren Avenue 
 door slam till nigh upon two o clock. 
 
 [202] 
 
Chapter 
 
 THE MANIFESTATION OF PHRYKO 
 
 And breed a bub bub in the bouse, I am happy. 
 
 (The Night Walker.) 
 
 lOVE, O my story, now on swifter feet ! 
 The spring is wound, the balance regulated ; 
 let the wheels turn and the alarum strike 
 to awaken Boston to the Cult of Mars ! 
 Lady Mechante, with a saucy ambitious 
 devil in her eye, Roulhac Braghampton with 
 the Abracadabra filling his mouth, that mouth the whilom 
 engine but for vaunts and kisses, Guy Bounder Esquire with 
 his well-conned lesson stuffed within his bulging skull, 
 and Mortimer Stencill now a mummer off the stage all 
 were ready, with each a finger to the trigger, aiming at 
 Boston s brains, awaiting the signal to blow them sky high, 
 as high as Mars! The Muse of Nonsense be my guide, 
 and thou, O Momus, inspire my chronicle ! 
 
 The second and third seances, following closely upon the 
 first, were but variations and amplifications of Miss Mis 
 chief s primary state of somnambulism. She still denied 
 credence in the interpretation Mrs. Burlap had put upon 
 her manifestations, and that lady frothed with impatience at 
 the lack of more definite messages. At the fourth meeting, 
 however, Miss Mischief came boldly forth as an evangel 
 and filled Mrs. Burlap s hopes to overflowing. 
 
 [2031 
 
 ^Kr 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 It was a mixed gathering of society captains, reporters, 
 skeptics, and the riff- raff of vacuous intellects that the last 
 new word collects. The President of the Society for Psy 
 chical Research was there with eyeglasses, whiskers, and 
 notebooks, sniffing for data for his report. It was to be 
 Roulhac s debut, and he waited a bit nervously for his cue. 
 The seance-chamber had been moved, under Mortimer 
 Stencill s direction, to an upper room with a skylight and 
 dormer windows, and here the company assembled one 
 evening in March. 
 
 The apartment was a spacious one, papered with wrig 
 gling stripes of blue forget-me-nots that climbed the walls in 
 rows. The floor was bare, a fact that pleased the President 
 mightily. Into the two dormers a haggard moon peeped, and 
 shot a glance of lunacy at the already preposterous fancies 
 of the gathering. 
 
 All eyes centred at a cabinet of black cambric, a circu 
 lar curtain, rather, that depended from a corner of the 
 ceiling, shutting off a portion of the room in the manner 
 affected by the devotees of Spiritism. There was a table 
 provided with pencil and paper for the medium, and all else 
 was chairs; chairs and eager, apprehensive watchers sitting 
 them with expectancy. With Roulhac Braghampton was 
 a maid in brown, her eyes smouldering as she glanced 
 secretly at her companion. Miss Hattitude was already 
 alight ; the young man from San Francisco had stimulated 
 her curiosity at first, but with their more and more frequent 
 meetings something more furious had awakened.. It was as 
 if she had been waiting many years for him and had but 
 just caught sight of him on the horizon of her hopes, riding 
 post-haste into her heart. Women, according to Hafiz, are 
 creatures of inertia ; once started, they go far and fast. 
 
 [204] 
 
THE MANIFESTATION OF PHRTKO 
 
 But Roulhac was as yet unconscious of his capture ; she 
 seemed to him still emotionally inaccessible, and his mind 
 was too full of Lady Mechante to perceive that the door to 
 Hetty s heart was so slightly latched that one knock might 
 open it. 
 
 At eight o clock Miss Mischief entered in a costume that 
 made the ladies start. It was of peau de soie, of a 
 periwinkle blue, pervaded with graduated spots in the 
 form of small silvery stars. The bodice, zouave-shape, was 
 covered with string-colored lace, and there was a deeply- 
 pointed corselet belt coming from a cleverly-tied bow on 
 the bust, held in place by a quaint paste ornament. There 
 was a delicate tracery of applique lace about the hips, and 
 she wore soft kid slippers of a tender gray. 
 
 All this Hetty Hattitude saw, and Mrs. Burlap and Mrs. 
 Essery saw also ; but to Roulhae nothing was noticeable 
 save two blue eyes pistoling him with delicious naughtiness, 
 a swirl of hair the color of fire-lit smoke, and a mouth that 
 tried to be mutely sedate, primly sober, tempted by a pair 
 of impertinent dimples in her cheeks. He gazed at her with 
 the intense fascination with which one regards a lighted 
 fuse, awaiting the explosion. 
 
 The lights were lowered as she took her seat by the table, 
 and the murmur of whispers ceased. The silence was sud 
 denly punctured by two brisk raps on the ceiling. 
 
 The medium, her head sunk in her jeweled hands, 
 seemed asleep. The knocks were repeated and she looked 
 up, dreamily. 
 
 " Who is there ? " she asked. 
 
 Rap by rap the word " Phryko " was spelled out in the 
 universal code, and the table shuddered. 
 
 " It is the spirit Phryko," announced the medium, "and 
 
 f 20,- 1 
 
LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 she wishes to communicate, through me. I must go into 
 trance and she will take possession of my body and make 
 her communication." So saying, she fetched a few groans 
 and let her head drop upon the table. 
 
 There was a pause of several moments, after which the 
 lady s body began to writhe. It was as if someone were 
 attempting to force a hand into a glove several sizes too 
 small. Phryko was evidently a misfit for the svelte form of 
 Miss Mischief. But at last the transmigration of souls was 
 effected, and the spirit Phryko, ensconced in the flesh of this 
 tender, kissable adventuress, equipped with the soft, rich 
 cadences of Florizelle s voice, was prepared to give her 
 message. 
 
 " O snurt in oro su Ingnld ! " she cried with rhetorical 
 gestures of an unearthly intensity. " Ow fi scrim roo ingtow 
 et stufinom uth ratirog nishsnipsod fal jelun ! Di slth jessum ! 
 rappip roy sidnum rif thart, din willif slisnok fal Phryko din 
 roy tenilpo lush dinif dirworif ut roo slip tslngmy uth sarfus ! " 
 
 The President of the Psychical Research Society, crouch 
 ing by the window, made eager notes, penciling the words 
 as well as he could in shorthand. It sounded to him like 
 Esperanto, but he had no time now for speculation. He 
 would strive with the syllables later. But in his haste to 
 keep up with the words he had no time to insert vowel 
 sounds. Well, if worst came to worse, he would fake them. 
 No one would know. 
 
 This eloquent Jabberwocky achieved, the spirit Phryko 
 seemed to recede, turning Miss Mischief almost inside-out 
 in the withdrawal. The process was not too pleasant, but 
 the lady at last revived somewhat and forced a smile. 
 
 " I do feel like a stick of barley-candy, that someone has 
 sucked a pickled lime through ! " she confessed. The ten- 
 
 [ 206 1 
 
THE MANIFESTATION OF PHRTKO 
 
 sity of the excitement relaxed at this pleasant simile, and 
 tongues clucked in gossip over the revelation. It was in 
 comprehensible but that did not matter, in Boston. It 
 was new ! 
 
 The impersonation of Phryko was, however, but the 
 overture to the serious business of the evening. The lights 
 were again lowered and Miss Mischief went into another 
 comatose state. She soon began to talk intelligibly, to the 
 great relief of her audience. 
 
 u I am in a dense fog," she began, " and there is a noise 
 like the celebration of a Chinese New Year the explosion 
 of ten million fire crackers, and an odor to suit. I am 
 rising, floating through space the world recedes I see 
 it now as little as a liver pill, with South America upside 
 down, pointing a thin triangle towards the Southern pole ! 
 I am passing the moon. It is sailing through the darkness 
 like a fire-balloon. Now it is cold, cold and black as vel 
 vet. My ! how the cold burns me ! There are globes all 
 about me, they are rolling like marbles. This must be 
 Venus, shining like a glass agate, and I feel the sun pulling 
 me towards its fires. I am roasted on one side and frozen 
 on the other ! Oh, oh, oh ! There is a red globe coming 
 towards me a round red disc like a big old-fashioned one- 
 cent piece, all scratched with little lines ! It is growing 
 larger and larger now it is as big as the dome of the State 
 House! Now I am falling, falling I am afraid! It is 
 like a dream, I am afraid that if I don t wake up before 
 I reach the ground I shall be killed ! AH ! ! ! " She 
 sprang up, and the table shook convulsively. 
 
 " It is a new planet ! It is Mars ! " she explained, and 
 then spattered the room with a shower of laughter. u What 
 funny people ! They have three legs and no teeth ! They 
 
 [207] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 "Larger 
 even more 
 
 stand on their heads and wave their feet in the air ! It is 
 like a circus. Their faces are red orange red, and they 
 have no hair ! " 
 
 It was as if she were describing a painting that she saw 
 before her, and the President could not resist the temptation 
 to address her. To him the description seemed unscien 
 tific. He desired verisimilitude. At such investigations 
 naked Truth shocked him ; it should be clothed in figures. 
 So he interposed : " How large are they, these Martians ? 
 As large as I am, for instance ? Somewhere, say, between 
 five feet four and five feet seven ? " 
 
 than you!" said the medium. "Larger and 
 ugly ! They are examining their thumbs, and 
 one is separating them into groups. They are in a large 
 hall, all hung in orange red." 
 
 " This hall, how large is it ? " said the President. " Is 
 it round or square ? " 
 
 " It is a large hall, about as big as a plot of ground, 
 and it is a funny shape the shape of a half-melted cara 
 mel," she said. 
 
 The President writhed, but committed the information 
 to his notebook. 
 
 The medium continued. "There is a large thing swing 
 ing, like a golden top, suspended by cords, queerly. It is 
 marking diagrams on sheets of gold. Here, I will show 
 you," and she scrawled a curling network of lines upon a 
 paper. The President descended upon it like a hawk on 
 the wing. 
 
 "They speak a strange language," she continued. "It 
 is like English spoken backward. And they roll, like pin- 
 wheels, upon their three legs and two arms. Now I am 
 passing from the hall into the open country. It is flat and 
 
 [208] 
 
THE MANIFESTATION OF PHRTKO 
 
 covered with rusty trees. There is a straight canyon, 
 straight as a ruler, several miles wide, extending into the 
 distance." 
 
 "These are the so-called canals, " murmured Mrs. 
 Burlap to Mrs. Essery, "only they should be several hun 
 dreds of miles wide. No doubt this is a secondary or ter 
 tiary system, too small for our telescopes to discover." 
 
 " I d like to ask her if these beings are clothed or not," 
 replied Mrs. Essery. " Do you know, I m really afraid 
 to know. There are disadvantages in having a mixed 
 company of both sexes. We really ought to arrange for a 
 private seance, Mrs. Burlap ! : 
 
 "Nonsense!" cried the Queen of Boston. "It is a 
 purely scientific investigation, and, after all, these Martians 
 are not strictly human beings at all. We must regard them, 
 in a way, as animals." 
 
 " But they are supposed to be of a higher order of intel 
 ligence than men, are they not ? " 
 
 " I very much doubt it," said Mrs. Burlap, authorita 
 tively. "The fact that they have three legs is against 
 them. In the processes of evolution fewer and fewer 
 members are needed as we go up in the scale. We are 
 higher beings than quadrupeds, and the quadrupeds higher 
 than sexiped insects. And so on. I would much prefer, 
 myself, to hear that Martians have but one leg. It would 
 be far more satisfactory." 
 
 During this colloquy Miss Mischief had described in 
 detail several peculiarities of the vision. But, after some 
 minutes of such talk, there was another spasm in Miss 
 Mischief s frame like what had preceded the usurpation 
 of her person by the mysterious Phryko. Again she strug 
 gled in paroxysms, and, as these cooled, she rose, with the 
 14 [ 209 1 
 
LADT M EC H ANTE 
 
 same chin gesture, and taking a step forward fixed a glassy 
 eye upon Roulhac Braghampton. Slowly she extended her 
 hand, pointing at his nose, and cried aloud : 
 
 u Oy ro Nishoram ! Oy ro Nisboram ! Kiwee ! Kiwee ! " 
 
 Then, fainting with emotion, she fell to the floor. She 
 was assisted to her seat by the President, and attention was 
 divided between her and the young man so sensationally 
 introduced. He, in his turn, shuddered, and his fingers 
 twitched nimbly. " What was it ? " he said to his com 
 panion. , " She looked through and through me. I seem 
 to have awakened to some kind of a past consciousness. 
 It is so strange, so terrible. There is a queer feeling in 
 my legs, as if one were missing ! " He looked, and as 
 sured himself that he was still a biped. 
 
 Miss Hattitude s eyes bulged so with interest that her 
 glasses would scarce remain in place. " Roulhac," she 
 whispered, " Roulhac ! It is true ! You are different ! 1 
 always knew it, from the first ! You seem, as you sit there, 
 like a god or a prophet ! Speak, and give us the tidings we 
 long for ! " 
 
 This excited appeal drew the attention of all. Mrs. 
 Braxton-Burlap, polarized with the thrilling denouement, 
 came up and took his hand. Mrs. Essery raised her 
 lorgnette and scanned him more calmly. The President 
 bustled about him, like a fly on a window-pane. 
 
 "Take the seat there," he insisted. "Let us see if you, 
 too, have not a power over the manifestations of this strange 
 sphere ! You were clearly pointed out by Phryko as one of 
 the Cognoscenti ! I have it in my notes ! " He drew the 
 unwilling Braghampton to the chair by the table, and Miss 
 Mischief, weak and tremulant, tottered to an armchair. 
 
 u Now wait till I measure the table," said the President, 
 
 [210] 
 
THE MANIFESTATION OF PHRTKO 
 
 drawing out his foot-rule. After a calculation he noted in 
 his books the valuable information, cc three feet five by 
 five feet two," and seated himself in front of the new 
 medium, staring inquisitorially. 
 
 It was up to Roulhac Braghampton now, and well he 
 played his hand. Under the domination of his occult 
 magnetism the table jumped and waggled on one leg anew. 
 Raps sounded from all corners of the room, and, suddenly, 
 the interior of the cloth cabinet was lighted by a warm 
 ruddy glow. 
 
 A chorus of " ohs ! " and u ahs ! " hailed this weird 
 development, subsiding into an expectant hush at the stern 
 reproval of the President of the investigating society. In 
 the calm the red light grew more intense, and after a heart 
 rending period of suspense the curtain was raised. 
 
 There, bathed in a sizzling illumination that seemed to 
 pour from above, appeared a monstrous caricature of a 
 human being, a scandal, a libel on mankind, a peaked and 
 wizened thing with three legs, with an orange-red hairless 
 pate, without teeth, and with arms like dead branches. The 
 object, had it not been so repulsive, would have been funny; 
 had it not been so funny, it would have been repulsive, and 
 there you were ! He, she, or it, whatever might be the sex 
 of the curiosity, gibbered a few words and shundled up and 
 down in front of the cabinet. Pointing to Roulhac, who 
 sat rapt, his head upon the three-feet-five by five-feet-two 
 table, the freak cried, as Phryko had cried, " Oy ro Nisho- 
 ram ! " and disappeared within the folds of the curtain. 
 The red glare subsided and went out. The manifestation 
 was over. Surely this was enough ! 
 
 " Oh, brave new worlds, that have such people in them ! " 
 quoted Miss Madelaine Mischief as the marveling audience 
 
 [211] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 curdled into groups. "Ah yes, now I am convinced ! 
 Were there nothing but my own foolish babblings to as 
 sert the mysteries, I would have none of them. But that 
 Mr. Braghampton has shared with me the power seems 
 too much for my doubts. Yes, I am the Manifestation, 
 the Light! Through me shall men hear and know. 
 Phryko herself has crowned me high priestess ! Now I 
 shall found my cult and establish my creed and code. I 
 shall raise up a church, a temple of Mars, and you shall 
 be my disciples. Go forth then, and publish the tid 
 ings from every house-top. It is the New Dispensation ! 
 What boots the telescope, the spectroscope, and all the 
 other toys and tools of the materialists ? It is not in this 
 way we shall know Truth ! No 42-inch objective shall re 
 veal what I have seen the knowledge must come through 
 psychic sources through the channels of intuition ! " 
 
 " Ah, but if we only had a key to those pregnant Mar 
 tian syllables," murmured Mrs. Burlap. 
 
 " Fear not," said the medium ; " all shall be revealed." 
 
 " Fear not," said the President of the Society for Psychi 
 cal Research ; " I shall reveal it myself. Intuition is all 
 very well in a way, but Science must supplement these 
 extra-natural phenomena. Mr. Braghampton, would you 
 kindly give me a few particulars necessary to complete all 
 the data respecting this most extraordinary occasion ? It 
 is of the greatest consequence that we proceed in a scien 
 tific spirit. What size collar do you wear, now ? And 
 what did you have for breakfast ? Have you ever seen a 
 ghost before ? And if not, why not ? " 
 
 Absorbed in these portentous details, the President did 
 not find time to turn his attention to the examination of 
 the cabinet with its curtain which swayed suspiciously as 
 
 [212] 
 
THE MANIFESTATION OF PHRTKO 
 
 the Martian disappeared. It did not occur to him to 
 notice that the fabric completely enclosed the skylight in 
 the ceiling, nor that from above a draught of night air 
 still agitated the folds of the canopy. 
 
 To Miss Hattitude the evening loomed big with proph 
 ecy. She had found her hero. She had long cherished 
 the belief that Boston held no man worthy her worship, 
 and, to her, love and worship were one. She had sought 
 in New York, in Chicago, and as far West as the Missis 
 sippi for a demigod without success. The thought had 
 grown in her mind that indeed she was too good for any hu 
 man being alive, and, thus prepared, she embraced the 
 glorious prospect of an interplanetary alliance. Still, she 
 was relieved to know that Mr. Roulhac Braghampton, 
 whatever might be his proper physical condition upon his 
 native planet, did not, in this incarnation, have three legs ! 
 
Chapter Ctgfjt 
 
 THE INTERPLANETARY PLAN 
 
 Tell your lady-mistress she has shot up a sweet mushroom ! 
 
 (Thierry and Theodoret.) 
 
 Mrs. Burlap, arbiter of Boston s culture, 
 the revelations of the seance laid hold like 
 an immense octopus with the tentacles of 
 tremendous tidings. She writhed in proph 
 ecy, but the devil-fish enshrouded her in a 
 sepia mist of mystery. She would have 
 been glad to become the oracle of the new manifestation, to 
 hold this ingenuous simple-minded Miss Mischief in patron 
 izing control, to preserve the philosophy for the polite elect 
 and keep the herd at bay ; but to keep back such dynamic 
 news was something like attempting to conceal a lighted 
 sky-rocket. Miss Mischief was a teaspoonful of wildfire of 
 which some dozen enthusiasts had tasted, and already they 
 began themselves to burst into flames. Who could combat 
 such an appetite ? Not this amiable gryphon, this proper 
 caryatid, staggering under the weight of Society. 
 
 The daily papers with * flair for a new sensation, wormed 
 their way into ken of the miracle, and it soon transpired in 
 hint and gossip till, atop the general interest and curiosity, 
 sprang the printed report of the President of the Society for 
 
THE INTERPLANETARY PLAN 
 
 Psychical Research. It was copied in every Boston news 
 paper and discussed by laborers, cab-drivers, and million 
 aires alike. The interest centred about the speech of the 
 materialized Phryko, and more than one Professor at Har 
 vard College sat up in his wrapper and slippers endeavoring 
 to be the first to interpret the message. But the illuminat 
 ing ray was to come from an unexpected quarter. 
 
 It will be remembered that the President, in transcribing 
 the words phonetically, according to Ben Pitman s immortal 
 system of shorthand, had omitted the vowels. What he 
 had to publish, then, was a series of groups of consonants, 
 running something like this : 
 
 " O Snrt n r s ngnd w f srm r ngtw t stfnm th 
 
 rtrg nshsnpsd f jln D sth jsm . . . rppp r sdnm rf 
 
 thrt dn wlf slsnk f Phryko dn r tnlp Ish dnf drwrf t r sip 
 tsngm th srfs." 
 
 Two days after the publication of this cypher, a letter 
 appeared in the Boston Transcript announcing the fact that 
 a translation had been achieved in the following manner. 
 The consonants in each group were reversed, and upon 
 this, as a skeleton, vowels were inserted experimentally 
 until a modicum of sense had proved the efficacy of the 
 method. 
 
 For instance, the first sentence so reversed read : " O, 
 
 T r n s n r s d n ng." With the proper vowels 
 
 added, this was transposed into the startling announcement, 
 "T(e)rr(e)n(e)s, (a) n(ew) (E)r(a) (i)s d(aw)n(i)ng ! " 
 Proceeding thus with the whole speech, it was found to 
 continue as follows : 
 
 " We of Mars are waiting to manifest the Greater Dis 
 pensation of Knowledge. Heed 
 your minds for the Truth and 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 Phryko, and your planet shall bound forward to a higher 
 place amongst the spheres ! " 
 
 In the same way Phryko s wild cri-du-cceur, when point 
 ing to Roulhac Braghampton, " Oy ro Nishoram ! Kiwee ! " 
 was easily translated, u You are a Martian ! Awake ! " 
 
 The effect of this discovery, which was attributable to 
 Mr. Mortimer Stencill, an actor doing a supper-turn at 
 Keith s Theater, was tremendous. Seance followed seance 
 till the room on West Cedar Street was inadequate to pro 
 vide accommodations for the seekers after extra-planetary 
 truth. For a while Mrs. Braxton-Burlap viseed the appli 
 cations for seats, but upon the removal to a hall the control 
 of the cult escaped her, and, though she was still one of the 
 chief disciples, the tone of the fellowship was never after 
 ward of the quality she could quite approve. The earlier 
 days were patronized by select assemblies, but as soon as the 
 news of a new faith was bruited abroad, cranks and eccen 
 trics of all orders hastened to renounce their former meta 
 physical allegiance and swell the congregation that already 
 had begun to attend the lectures of the Illuminati. 
 
 D 
 
 With the discovery of the translation of the Martian 
 tongue the public interest increased a thousand fold. Line 
 upon line, precept upon precept, a Martian Science, Reli 
 gion, and Philosophy was made known through the medium- 
 ship of Miss Madelaine Mischief, by the thaumaturgic 
 Phryko. The bitter verdict of astronomers that life under 
 human conditions was impossible upon the planet Mars, 
 that the planet possessed neither water nor atmosphere, that 
 the so-called land and water surfaces as shown upon Shia- 
 parelli s maps were such in name only, that the variation of 
 the polar caps could be caused by the melting of nothing 
 less volatile than carbon dioxid, that the " canals " were in 
 
 [216] 
 
THE INTERPLANETARY PLAN 
 
 all probability but huge fissures in the outer skin of the red 
 globe, caused by the expansion of the inner nucleus, or per 
 haps but mere visual aberrations, all and sundry scientific 
 pedantries were overthrown by the apodictical asseverations 
 of the incarnated High Priestess now vouchsafed to the men 
 of Earth. The cult grew, and a campaign of education 
 was inaugurated as the data warranted creed, dogma, and 
 formula for the new sect. 
 
 Roulhac Braghampton, had he been but one-eighth the 
 hot-headed enthusiast that he was, could not have helped 
 being drawn into the maelstrom. The apostrophe of 
 Phryko had brought him of a sudden to the center of the 
 stage, and the gathering audience looked to him as an inter 
 mediator between the ecstatic mediumship of Miss Mischief 
 and humankind. The theory became prevalent that he 
 himself was the product of a prenatal metempsychosis, and 
 that, incubating in his subliminal self, was the teleological 
 explanation of the relation betwixt the two spheres. It was 
 only a matter of the proper development, and, in time under 
 the promptings of Phryko, this subconsciousness would 
 come to the surface and offer the practical explanation of 
 the unification of the worlds. In the popular parlance, he 
 was a Terrene, but he held deep hidden in his soul a Mar 
 tian consciousness that would soon make known its secret. 
 Hetty Hattitude was red-hot and smoking with hero- 
 worship, and the most eager of the eager Martian cult. 
 With Mrs. Braxton-Burlap she made the tour of Boston 
 Society and brought every laggard into the fold. The 
 pent-up enthusiasm could hardly find escape in the knowl 
 edge that trickled through the seeress the demand was 
 constant for more Truth, more definite facts, and, above 
 all, for a ritual and a terminology. To satisfy this craving, 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 Mortimer Stencill, working behind the scenes, toiled long 
 and late. 
 
 And so, at last, was organized the First Temple of 
 Mars. With Miss Mischief as High Priestess, and Roul- 
 hac Braghampton as a kind of archdeacon or precentor, 
 the services were begun in the Mechanics Pavilion, and 
 the conoreoration took its part in the adoration of the red 
 sphere. Capital for the erection of a fitting edifice had 
 been easily subscribed by influential citizens vaunting 
 Boston s paramount claim for recognition as the initiator of 
 every truly modern movement ; and soon upon a lot hard 
 by the Public Library, a site that had been held jealously 
 for some most worthy purpose, the building was erected. 
 
 It was of red brick, and in its design Mortimer Stencill 
 had had free hand and had given his fancy the rein. 
 Circular in plan and triangular in elevation, the pile rose, 
 a huge cone pointing to the zenith. About its middle a 
 stone torus bore this inspiring inscription in the Martian 
 tongue : 
 
 "SOME THINGS THOUGH SEEMINGLY 
 INCONSEQUENT IN THEIR IMMEDIATE EN 
 VIRONMENT YET INDUBITABLY BEAR AN 
 OBSCURE CORRELATION TO THE VAST 
 PRINCIPLES OF TRANSCENDENTAL HAR 
 MONY." 
 
 The central hall was circular, and from the middle of 
 its ceiling hung a compound pendulum, swinging in har 
 monic curves traced by a golden inverted cone. Above, a 
 conical chamber was devoted to the use of the High 
 Priestess -, it was lined with red marble and furnished with 
 
 r 218 1 
 
THE INTERPLANETARY PLAN 
 
 sumptuous taste. Here Madelaine Mischief received the 
 initiates, or administered to acolytes the higher degrees of 
 Martian Science. It was decorated with texts inspired by 
 the superhuman Phryko, and contained a large stained glass 
 window showing the high priestess holding a red globe. 
 
 The fad raged for a while unchecked by a reaction, but 
 it was, like all great movements, destined to pass through 
 three great epochs. First, then, it was greeted with the 
 ridicule of the materialists the gibes of the man in the 
 street. The papers lampooned the cult unmercifully and 
 published bogus messages from Mercury, Saturn, and Venus. 
 The Martian cocktail was retailed over the Parker House 
 bar, and red hair and whiskers received the slangy obloquy 
 of the gamin. Three-legged stools, or camera tripods, were 
 dubbed " Martian mules." The hog-latin of the adolescent 
 was parodied as Martian idiom, and so the wind of derision 
 raged. Through all this era the cult clung to its creed 
 with the strength of a masterful minority. The devotees 
 told each other that, after all, these materialistic facts were 
 but the outward and visible signs of the new truth. The 
 manifestations had a kernel of virtue only to be cracked by 
 deep study of the letter of the message. Members of the 
 Cult of Mars boasted to the incredulous that their doctrines 
 had an esoteric significance undreamed of by the scoffers. 
 
 Next came the epoch of persecution. The sect grew 
 more and more powerful, and the conventional beliefs at last 
 began to recognize in it a rival. The churches rose 
 against this weird unearthly creed and sowed their tracts 
 abroad. Science came out in lecture and magazine article 
 to prove the illogical basis of its pretended revelations, and 
 finally the Law was aroused and bestirred itself in opposi 
 tion to the alarming machinations of the inspired quartette. 
 
 [2,9] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 This last enemy was the most powerful threat ; and the 
 cabal held many counsels in order to protect itself against 
 the danger. 
 
 But, meanwhile, several divisions of the work had been 
 made, which it is necessary to treat in detail. Miss Mis 
 chief had organized the exploitation of the Martian cult 
 with consummate executive ability. Roulhac she appointed 
 her chief lieutenant and suffragan; through him were held 
 all communications with the congregation of believers. 
 He was, in fact, a bureau of publicity, the barker outside 
 the side-show of this strange sect. Upon Mr. Stencill fell 
 the invention of the material accessories and the machinery 
 of the science, while Guy Bounder was entrusted with the 
 creation and maintenance of an exchequer. 
 
 To keep Mrs. Stencill out of the conspiracy was, of 
 course, impossible. Miss Mischief knew more than to try. 
 It was, in fact, her perennial despair that Roberta proved 
 so complaisant. Bitter jealousy would have been more 
 easy to combat. The wife of the actor encouraged him in 
 the game to the top of his bent, and seconded with hilarity 
 his endeavors for the advancement of the cult. Neverthe 
 less she was a woman, and therefore a victim of mixed 
 motives. She had her eye on young Braghampton and 
 watched her chance to undo him. The affair with the 
 two Pompadours had awakened a lively desire to defeat him 
 in whatever love affair he happened to be engaged, and, 
 irrational and fantastic as was that impulse, it was always 
 with her. She played up to her husband, then, seconding 
 his capacity for elaborate gaming with a lively imagination. 
 
 Mortimer had dabbled, as Miss Mischief had said, in all 
 corners of science; his was a most curious lore. He had 
 sought first for some striking and convincing peg upon 
 
 [220] 
 
THE INTERPLANETART PLAN 
 
 which to hang his system, and hunted long for the clou to 
 the exposition of Irrational Science. He discarded the 
 doctrine of Hyperspace as too abstruse and technical. He 
 bethought himself of the modern affectations of the cult of 
 Color-Bores those who trace color in sound, in word, 
 and even in letters. But this was too easy. It was like 
 inventing dreams, and it would disgust the intelligent. 
 
 The hint came at last when, one day, he chanced to 
 drive a splinter into his thumb. In removing it his 
 attention was called to the capillary markings upon the ball 
 of his finger, and here he saw his opportunity. It was so 
 simple ! It was so applicable to permutation ! By these 
 capillary markings, differing in each hand, but divisible into 
 categories, all mankind could be classified. He set about 
 the analysis. He pored over reports of the Chinese 
 methods of identification of criminals by thumb-prints; 
 he faithfully went through Bertillon s exhaustive reports 
 and Gallon s system of classification. These data proved 
 enormously valuable, and he tabulated the possible varia 
 tions under the three great heads : Arches, Whorls, and 
 Loops. He assigned varying attributes to Tented and 
 Forked Arches, to Loops Nascent, Invaded, and Crested, to 
 Spiral Whorls and Circlets, to Rings Duplex and Banded, 
 and dissected them into Eyelets, Rods, Staples, and Cores, 
 according to their elementary nuclei. 
 
 Here was a terminology already made to his hand, and it 
 was adopted by the cabal with whoops of enthusiasm. 
 Roulhac found upon the ball of his own thumb the Circlet- 
 Whorl of the High Order of Mars, Miss Mischief bore the 
 immortal Banded Duplex Spiral, but Guy was marked with 
 the stigmatic evidence of the Invaded Loop. The key to 
 this cryptographic revelation was soon mastered by the High 
 
 [221] 
 
LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 Priestess, and the divination of caste by the Martian Mark 
 of the Thumb became a part of the Primary Initiation. 
 The compound or twin-elliptic pendulum heretofore 
 
 described was a pretty extension of the idea. If a 
 
 ;ht, 
 
 suspended from a cord attached to the bottom of a V-shaped 
 loop, is permitted to swing with a rotary motion, it will 
 describe what is known as a harmonic curve, varying accord 
 ing to the proportions of the parts of the pendulum. To 
 trace similarities between these mysterious curves and the 
 lines on the thumb was easy, but pregnant with meaning. 
 The dimensions of the proper pendulum for any particular 
 marking gave significant numbers by which were figured 
 the fatal dates and destinies of the subject. One more 
 invention, however, might be described. In the circumfer 
 ence of the circular audience hall was set a huge organ. Not 
 the gaudy mass of painted tubes to be found in the church 
 terrestrial was this, however ; its machinery shot forth pure 
 color instead of sound. Mr. Stencill had calculated the 
 analogy between vibrations of sound and light waves, and 
 had constructed his scale of color to correspond with the 
 notes of the staff. The keys of his instrument touched, 
 there flashed forth upon a black screen rays of colored 
 light, in solo or chord, varying as music varies in tone, 
 from hue to hue. Waves of tender green burned into 
 red, blues and purples melted into orange and yellow with 
 soft gradations or triumphant metamorphoses. Lights flick 
 ered like driftwood fires, violet, rose, and opal, and swept in 
 waves to the more virile tones of the spectrum. Through 
 smoky harmonies of brown broke melodies of heliotrope and 
 pink. Minor nuances in gray and mauve changed into major 
 exultant combinations of primary color. The effect was 
 inspiring and superb as a summer sunset. It was Heaven 
 
 [222] 
 
THE INTERPLANETART PLAN 
 
 grown visible, the glory of the Lord made manifest. And 
 such, said Phryko, was Martian music. 
 
 These are but examples of Mortimer Stencill s ingenuity. 
 There was more, much more. His mind, thrown into this 
 work, blossomed with genius, and invention after invention 
 bewildered the anxious inquirers after the wonderful truths 
 of his Martian Science. In the sanctum of the High Priest 
 ess, half was laboratory and half boudoir. Here were the 
 super-scientific instruments that gauged the spirit, intellect, 
 and morals of the initiate. Delicate, sensitive, and precise, 
 these wonderful apparatuses could measure the minutest 
 heart-throb, the quaternary thrill of passion, the faintest 
 yearning, the tiniest desire. Here was the Telepathoscope, 
 a cunning contrivance of golden springs and lissome levers 
 the first inheritance from Mars of that higher civilization 
 which the red planet, twenty-five millions of years ahead 
 of the earth in development, revealed to terrestrial use. 
 Here was the Circumspectroscope that could analyze fact 
 and assay the ore of thought, transmuting it into its quan 
 tum of abstract Truth. Here was the Intelligraph, trans 
 mitting thought by a subtle and direct process from mind 
 to paper. Here was the Cardiometer, registering affection, 
 love, passion, ecstasy, in degrees upon a dial. 
 
 And here, too, of equal interest to the spectator, were 
 the artful tools of Miss Mischief s human affairs; hair 
 brushes, all in gold, diamond-set combs, lacquered powder 
 boxes, caskets of vermeil and bistre, phials of belladonna, 
 and a thousand more dainty instruments ministering to the 
 equally important offices of the High Priestess. Ah, she 
 was no such half-wit as to neglect the outward and visible 
 signs of divinity ! It was not in her theory of reform that 
 the hair must be short and the gown ill-fitting. She flashed 
 
 ["3] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 with the iridescent rainbow hues of a dying carp. Blue 
 first, and all the other colors afterwards as accessories 
 she could not give up that cerulean caprice even for the 
 obvious choice consistent with the aspect of her adopted 
 planet. 
 
 But Bounder ! Too long have we neglected him, the 
 Chancellor of the Martian Exchequer, the cockney treas 
 urer financing the merry movement. He was not slow to 
 see his opportunity in the mysteries of Capillary Caste and 
 in the economic value of the Compound Harmonic Pendu 
 lum. He established a bureau of Divination where, in a 
 little room off the main hall of the church edifice, charac 
 ters were told while anxious inquirers waited in line for 
 hours and hours for their turn. The curves traced by the 
 pendulum were sold at exorbitant rates, each patient pur 
 chasing the diagram in accord with the markings upon his 
 thumb. A printed treatise was published, formulating the 
 calculation of these personal-curves. But this was not 
 enough. Money had been made more easily than that in 
 Boston. His next step, therefore, was more in accord 
 with his training and intellect. 
 
 The most remunerative form of investment, he con 
 sidered, was in that form of speculation where one gets 
 something for nothing. The statement was axiomatic, and 
 he racked his wits to embody it in some practical method. 
 It was easy enough to give nothing, what tortured his fancy 
 was how to get the people to give something. It was at 
 last achieved, as usual, by the appeal to a primary passion. 
 He ran over the list on his ten fingers, the fingers Roulhac 
 had once compared to Frankfurter sausages : Love, Hate, 
 Passion, Jealousy, Vanity, Covetousness, Selfishness, Glut 
 tony, Pride, Greed. There upon the little finger (not 
 
THE INTERPLANETARY PLAN 
 
 so little, either) of his left hand he found the reagent for 
 transmuting nothing into something. 
 
 The new cult had not, as yet, formulated the precise 
 principles of its code. Speculations were rife. It was 
 known that Roulhac Braghampton and Miss Mischief were 
 engaged in the translation of Martian messages, that before 
 long the newer Bible, the book of modern revelation, would 
 be given to the world. Guy Bounder s mind, sly and sinu 
 ous, must anticipate the code he must, of his own initia 
 tive, spring a sensation and reap the reward before his 
 authority could be contravened. He .toiled in secret, there 
 fore, and perfected his scheme in the dark. He made 
 clandestine trips to a printer s shop, and one fine morning 
 when the arch-conspirators were absent he sprung his mine. 
 A huge sign in his office announced in staring letters that : 
 
 " Licences to steal will be issued by the High Priestess of Mars, 
 under the Authority of the Spirit Phryko. Prices as follows : 
 
 Permission to steal, from values $i to $100 $1.00 
 
 from $100 to $1000 . ... $5.00 
 from $1000 to $1,000,000 . . . $50.00 
 
 These licence-certificates must be kept secret upon pain of abro 
 gation of penalty." 
 
 The response was immediate and active. The first 
 morning Guy Bounder s idea netted him $5500. He cau 
 tioned each buyer to say nothing either of the offer or of 
 the transaction, and he succeeded in keeping the news of 
 the business from becoming known to his principals for 
 several weeks. The effect of this enormous increase in his 
 revenues was to make him supremely satisfied with his share 
 of the plot. Most of his reward was stored, either in solid 
 or in liquid form, beneath his plaid waistcoat. He strutted, 
 5 [225] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 now, like a turkey gobbler crammed with vanity, swollen 
 with an inflamed conceit. He smiled to himself at the 
 child s play that contented his partners. 
 
 So much for the subordinates; upon the High Priestess 
 and her lieutenant, Braghampton, was laid a far more im 
 portant task. It was their part to perpetrate the propa 
 ganda of the faith, to formulate the ritual, to establish the 
 cult complete with creed, dogma, theology, cosmogony, 
 philosophy, and metaphysic. For this there must be some 
 definite text to be placed in the hands of the believers, some 
 book so suggestive, so irrational, so verbose, so ambiguous 
 and obscure that it might be interpreted as meaning every 
 thing, anything, or nothing. It must follow the precedent 
 of religious development ; it must be divinely inspired 
 that was easy, for Phryko had been hailed with acclamation 
 by the multitude as one of a higher intelligence it must 
 create a new terminology, if only by the mere writing of 
 common nouns with initial capital letters. Above all, it 
 must be long enough, new enough, to sell for five dollars a 
 volume. But it had come to pass in Boston that Truth, 
 All-in~All, and Mind had already been over-capitalized 
 they must discover some new territory of the emotions. 
 
 Night after night, after the fatiguing work of seancing in 
 the new church, after the royal Martian robes had been laid 
 off, and the money from the collections counted, Roulhac 
 Braghampton and Lady Mechante toiled over the literary 
 task, dictating, revising, amending and emending the manu 
 script. Chapter after chapter, part after part, his arm about 
 her waist and her head on his shoulder, the two traveled 
 with their Apocalypse the Martian Book of Bosh. 
 
 [2Z6] 
 
Chapter J^tne 
 
 THE BOOK OF BOSH 
 
 How her brain coins ! 
 
 (Two Noble Kinsmen.) 
 
 AID Roulhac to Miss Mischief one morning 
 several weeks after their final lucubration : 
 " I dreamed that I was trying to keep a 
 horde of savages at bay, with a 22-caliber 
 revolver which shot pink balloons ! " 
 
 " It was prophetic," replied the lady. 
 "Some such work is indeed before us. Let me interpret 
 the dream for you. The savages are the members of the 
 Great and General Court of Massachusetts, and the pink 
 balloons are texts from the Book of Bosh, being the apo- 
 dictic revelation of Martian Science now first vouchsafed to 
 Terrenes by the Spirit Phryko, Daughter of the Fire, as our 
 sub-title hath it ! 
 
 " But what have we to do with the Legislature ? " he 
 queried. 
 
 " Are you so soon satisfied ? " she said cynically. " Have 
 you then reached the limit of your ambition ? Why, 
 Bounder himself has higher ideals ! Bounder, by the way, 
 is up to something queer I confess I can t quite make 
 him out." 
 
 " Heaven hates a hog," said the young man from the 
 West. "We have stayed with the game in good style, 
 
 [227] 
 
LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 and we ve played nothing but blue chips. But I m hungry 
 for San Francisco again. Lordy, but that town is frothy ! 
 There s about as much excitement in this place as you 
 could find in a clam fritter. It s too easy ! All bluffs are 
 called on Kearney Street, but everything goes here. I hate 
 to bet on a sure thing. I long for the old days when the 
 sun shone on all sides of the house, when we weren t 
 lorgnetted to death when we went outdoors and did n t 
 have our pictures in the papers. I m for a quiet 
 life and no awning and yellow carpet down the front 
 steps ! " 
 
 ct Don t try to seduce me, for I m implacable," said 
 Miss Mischief. u We must raise the limit. I have my 
 idea, and it s not half accomplished yet. The town and 
 country are aroused ; they ve stood for Martian Science, 
 and they re keen on Metaphysics. But we need a brass 
 band for our procession we must attack the legislature. 
 We want a charter, we want licence to practice and to 
 give degrees ; we want immunity from taxation for the 
 cult. We want an investigation and appropriation for 
 official communication with Mars. And we re going 
 to get it ! " 
 
 " What it is ? " cried Roulhac, wildly. " What it is 
 that which it is, which it is what ? " 
 
 u Here s my petition to the Great and General Court. 
 We shall present it, secure a hearing, and make speeches. 
 We shall impress the Representatives from Hull and Dux- 
 bury, and I shall wear blue a gown of pale blue bice-color 
 and we shall preach the Gospel of the Fire. Bounder 
 shall give a materialization, and Martian Science shall 
 sweep across New England like a cyclone ! " Miss Mis 
 chief smiled at the chandelier. 
 
THE BOOK OF BOSH 
 
 " And then ? " stammered Roulhac. 
 
 "And then," she said, with an i8-carat smile, "and then 
 you shall marry the High Priestess as the Book of Bosh 
 has foretold ! Tar^-ra ! " 
 
 Braghampton jumped up and made for her. " Do you 
 mean it ? " he cried. 
 
 She spun out of his grasp and hopped to the seat of a 
 chair as if she had caught sight of a mouse, shaking a finger 
 at his ardor. " I mean it ! The Children of the Fire be 
 my witness ! But don t count your kisses before they are 
 snatched ! " she added. 
 
 Roulhac helped her down from her perch with trembling 
 arms. "You ve laid me on the table for the last time," 
 he said. " The next time you re going to be passed by 
 acclamation. We 11 have a three-ply wedding with extras, 
 sure ! But I feel like an old tin can with the tomatoes 
 emptied out. It s too good to be true ! I never thought 
 I d be proposed to, outside the female ward of an insane 
 asylum ! Have I taken a drink about seventeen sizes too 
 large for me or what? By the thumping plush pile-driver 
 of Cheops, I m as silly as the square root of minus one ! 
 I could roar like a bull of Bashan. My Countess, next 
 month we 11 write our letters on asbestos ! " 
 
 But Miss Mischief, like Alice s snail, replied "Too 
 far, too far ! " and gave a look askance. Said she thanked 
 Braghampton kindly, but she couldn t join the dance 
 would n t, could n t, could n t, would n t, would n t, could n t 
 join the dance until the hearing was over. And so he 
 departed, backing out of the door for a last languishing look 
 at her and, encountering Hetty Hattitude on the corner, 
 escorted her enthusiastically across the Common to Huyler s 
 for an ice-cream soda. 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 Upon Mrs. Essery and Mrs. Burlap now fell the task of 
 petitioning the Legislature and arranging for the Commit 
 tee s reception. Every February for fourteen years they 
 had gone up to the State House to attend the hearing given 
 the claimants and opposers of women s suffrage; and like 
 moral war-horses they scented the approaching battle with 
 dilated nostrils. It would be a gala day for Boston s ad 
 vanced thinkers, and they booted and spurred themselves 
 with New Thought. What was Osteopathy to the 
 magnificent promises of this great transcendental move 
 ment ? What was Single Tax, Mental Science, Bahiism, 
 Vivekananda, Prentice Mulford, Cuban Independence, Anti- 
 imperialism, Roman Catholic Parochial Schools, Psycho 
 therapy, Tenement House Reform, Sociology, Graft, 
 Frenzied Finance, the Hygienic Dangers of Slates in the 
 Public Schools, the Vedantic Philosophy, the regulation of 
 the microbe-laden Kiss and the Gypsy Moth, the Index 
 Expurgatorius of the Public Library, or the preservation of 
 Boston Common to this Heaven s last, best gift the 
 Communication with Mars ? The nation should hear from 
 it ! Boston should once again set the intellectual pace for 
 these United States. It was a new Revolution; it was a 
 stroke for the Union of the Spheres ; it was Abolition of 
 Mental Slavery. 
 
 So Mrs. Burlap said, and so Mrs. Essery said also, shaking 
 the feathery antennae in her bonnet over the teacups of 
 Trimount. In a thousand women s clubs the movement 
 was discussed, and resolution after resolution reinforced the 
 Cult of Mars. Mrs. Burlap showed the capillary Looped 
 Spiral on the palm of her thumb to the scoffers ; reply was 
 impossible. 
 
 The day was set, late in June. The joint Committee, 
 [230] 
 
THE BOOK OF BOSH 
 
 including the Representatives from Kingston, Hingham, 
 Northfield, Hull (as it happened), Charlemont, and Peru, 
 arrayed themselves in frock-coats, pared their nails with 
 the four-bladed tc Congress " knives which on the open 
 ing day they had found upon their desks, and struggled 
 into white ties. Perspiration poured from their faces at the 
 thought of the encounter with the operose women they must 
 face, but they assumed masks of wisdom and twirled their 
 thumbs or busied their fingers with their rolled-gold watch- 
 chains. Every man crossed his right leg over his left knee 
 except the member from Peru, who crossed his left leg 
 over his right knee. It was an omen. 
 
 The room was full and rustling with sibilant gossip. In 
 the corridors an ill-tempered crush of partisans strove like 
 commuters for the gangway to the door. Well in front of 
 those seated was Miss Mischief in a daringly sensational 
 costume of pale blue and amber. Beside her, Roulhac 
 Braghampton surveyed the gathering, and from time to 
 time raised his patent-leather shoes to prevent injury to 
 their polish. Ever and again, too, his gaze sprang to a 
 window beside the members of the Committee, rested there 
 a moment in anxiety, and fell away. 
 
 The chairman, he of Kingston, rose and called the meet 
 ing to order in a few embarrassed phrases and opened the 
 discussion. The petitioners were first to be heard from, 
 and Miss Mischief arose, walked to the front by the rail, and 
 opened a red book the now famous Book of Bosh. In 
 the silence which followed five of the Representatives re- 
 crossed their legs and smoothed their beards. 
 
 In supporting the petition for a charter, license and ap 
 propriation for the Temple of Mars," began Miss Mischief, 
 " it is no doubt fitting that I, through whom this new 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 Science was first manifested, should open the discussion. 
 I need not tell your Committee of the wonderful growth of 
 Martian Science, nor how its Truth, sweeping in wildfire 
 over the hearts of men, has flooded them with the waters of 
 Life abounding, raising up clouds of prayer in the midst of 
 the dry sands of Doubt. I invented Martian Science and 
 founded the First Temple of Mars three months ago next 
 Wednesday. For years the Lords of the Sphere have been 
 fitting me for the final revelation of the absolute Principle 
 of the Gospel of the Fire. 
 
 " The importance of this movement is so transcendent, 
 so far-reaching, that we have, I am sure, but to describe 
 its aims to secure from your Committee the recognition 
 due its importance. It is fitting that Massachusetts should 
 be the first to welcome and abet a Truth so illuminating. 
 We ask you, then, to report in favor of our petition that 
 we may keep the wolves in sheep s clothing from preying 
 upon our pearls, clogging the wheels of Martian Science. 
 
 " But what is this creed ? For those of you who have 
 not become acquainted already with the glorious tidings of 
 our Martian Apocalypse let me describe in brief the new 
 revelation of Cosmogony, Theology, and Philosophy vouch 
 safed to terrestrial mortals by the Lords of the Third 
 Sphere. 
 
 " There is not one god, but many, comprising a hierar 
 chy of divinities increasing in Omnipotence, Omnipresence, 
 and Omniscience to the uttermost confines of Space. For 
 each System there is one God, with his circle of lesser 
 Planetary divinities. The One God of the Solar System 
 abides in the Sun, which is not fire as we understand it, 
 but a mass of celestial magnetism generated by the love of 
 purified spirits, radiating their ineffable effulgence upon the 
 
 [232] 
 
THE BOOK OF BOSH 
 
 members of the family of planets. Incarnation into the 
 Sun is only attained after learning the Secret of the Fire, 
 which is imparted to each planet in turn by the planet next 
 nearest the Sun, and it is by them passed on to the next 
 planet away, and so the flame of Truth passes from sphere 
 to sphere till all the Sons and Daughters of the Fire are 
 purified. Thus the children of Mercury have learned the 
 Secret of the Fire from the Celestials dwelling in the Sun. 
 They have passed the Secret after millions of years to the 
 inhabitants of Venus, who in their turn have made it 
 known to Mars. The time has now come when the flame 
 of Truth passes from Mars to Terra, and we are becoming 
 awakened to the knowledge of that manifestation. We 
 have had signs and tokens, but we have misconstrued them 
 wildly. All the so-called phenomena of Spiritism are but 
 the endeavors of Martians to make known to us the Secret 
 of the Fire. It is an age of Materialism upon the Earth, 
 but already we see the promise of a dawn of Psychic in 
 telligence. It is through the soul, and not through the 
 telescope, that we shall have news of the Third planet 
 which men call Mars. It is already in the air. Men talk 
 of this red sphere with hope and prophecy. The time is 
 at hand; and in the Temple of Mars is the Truth already 
 made manifest. The tidings are revealed ! In my hand I 
 hold the letter of the Word. Let me read, then, what 
 says the incarnated Phryko, Daughter of the Martian Fire, 
 in her message to Terrenes : 
 
 "And in the One Sphere there is a Fire and the Fire is Red. 
 Yet do purified spirits dwell therein and the One God. For the 
 Fire burns not nor doth it consume, but is of the Spirit of Love. 
 From the One Sphere speedeth Light and Heat Celestial to the 
 
 [233] 
 
LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 Seven Spheres, that the Children of the Fire may be raised up 
 and become purified. . . . 
 
 "For there be Children of the Fire raised up to their God on 
 each Sphere to pass into the Celestial Fire. From Flame to Flame 
 passeth the Fire from the One God to Each God. To the First 
 Sphere the First Flame and to the Second Sphere the Second Flame. 
 But to the First Sphere shall the Flame pass from the One Sphere. 
 And from the First Sphere to the Second Sphere and from the Sec 
 ond Sphere to the Third Sphere shall the Flame of the Fire pass till 
 Children of the Fire are raised up in the Seven Spheres. 
 
 " Now from the First Sphere to the Second Sphere hath the Flame 
 passed, and from the Second Sphere to the Third Sphere also. 
 And upon the Three Spheres Children of the Fire are raised up 
 and are Purified. 
 
 " Now Flameth the Fire from the Third to the Fourth Sphere ; 
 wherefore rise up, O Children of the Fire, that ye may know 
 Truth. 
 
 "So saith the Book of BOSH, divinely inspired by the 
 Daughter of the Fire, by name PHRYKO, through my 
 mediumship! My conclusions were reached by allowing 
 the evidences of this revelation to multiply with mathemat 
 ical certainty, and the lesser demonstration to prove the 
 greater. That is, my discovery that the Secret of the Fire 
 was passed from Sphere to Sphere set my mind to work in 
 new channels and led to my demonstration of the proposi 
 tion that Desire is Red ; that all real Being is in Desire, 
 that Life, Truth, and Love are Red, and that the opposite 
 of Truth, called Error, Sin, Sickness, Disease, and Death 
 are Blue, arise from mere Intellect rather than from Desire, 
 the Verity of Redness." 
 
 She paused, and a whisper went around the room. Bon 
 nets nodded, and bald heads bowed. The five Committee- 
 
 [ 234] 
 
THE BOOK .OF BOSH 
 
 men, semi-comatose with the abstractions of this whirling 
 metaphysic, tugged at their rolled-gold watch-chains and 
 tried to keep themselves awake. It was at the tip of Roul- 
 hac s tongue to entreat her to brevity, for the minute-hand 
 of his watch told of the speedy coming of a wonder. But 
 she proceeded : 
 
 " Color is the Heart of Being. Fire is the embodiment, 
 of which God or Desire is the Soul. Theorizing about 
 man s development from mushrooms to monkeys and from 
 monkeys into men amounts to nothing in the right direc 
 tion, and very much in the wrong. Spirit can form no real 
 link in this supposed chain of material Being; the stimu 
 lation of Desire is the only development in the Soul History 
 of the Race. All apparent Phenomena are but the mani 
 festations of gross Mind or Intellect. All is, to the Martian, 
 pure Red. To those who perfect their Desires, all is Red 
 also. So I have clad myself in Red as High Priestess 
 of the Fire. To the groveling brains of the materialists 
 it would appear another color, but to you, who are nearly 
 purified, it must appear at least a delicate Orange or 
 Citrus." 
 
 The Committeemen stared with all their eyes. To them, 
 indeed, the gown that Miss Mischief wore seemed pale sky- 
 blue, but they dared not acknowledge it, one to the other. 
 In the audience the devotees spoke in undertones, affirming 
 the hue of the skirt ; it was indubitably red to them, though 
 some felt a gash of pain at the apparent ascendency of 
 their brutal intellects. Miss Mischief again opened the 
 Book of Bosh and began to read aloud, when she was 
 rudely interrupted by a whacking blow at the window-pane 
 that startled the Committee into a change of legs. Brag- 
 hampton rushed to the window and threw up the sash. 
 
 [235] 
 
LADT 
 
 More raps fell upon the ceiling and walls, and with a fierce 
 cry in the Martian tongue, a being appeared outside the 
 window, dangling in the air. 
 
 It descended slowly, laboriously, as if in great pain. 
 Now it set three feet upon the sill, and now it bounded in 
 and capered upon the floor of the assembly hall, in full 
 of the Committee, the Petitioners, and the Remon 
 
 strants, who, banded together in a sulky group at one side 
 of the chamber, had been impatiently awaiting the end of 
 the High Priestess s harangue. 
 
 Bedight in a harlequin attire of orange-red, with three 
 half-naked legs and skinny arms of the same bloody hue, 
 bald-headed and without visible means of mastication, leering 
 and gibbering, the Martian envoy to the Great and General 
 Court of Massachusetts pranced and rolled along the rail in 
 front of the Committee and spat out mouthfuls of fire at 
 every revolution. He paused for a moment with a gesture 
 of his chin and looked at Roulhac. The young man from 
 San Francisco sprang to the rostrum. 
 
 " Gentlemen of the Committee," he cried, " what more 
 need we sav to prove the overwhelming importance of this 
 petition ? Behold here in your very midst the proof of 
 our claims ! Here, in visible embodiment is a messenger 
 from the Third Sphere which men call Mars. And behold 
 he is very Red. Let me interrogate him, that he may con 
 firm the tidings of Phryko ! " 
 
 From the Martian s mouth appeared forks of red flame. 
 His bloodshot eyes roved, and he moved ever nearer the door. 
 
 Suddenly from the back of the hall rose a cry of rage. 
 " Fake ! Fake ! " roared a voice, and springing to his feet and 
 pushing women down in his vehemence, a man came bellow 
 ing up the crowded aisle. He was dark, with a blue shadow 
 
 [236] 
 
THE BOOK OF BOSH 
 
 across his unshaved chin, horridly haggard, hispid with 
 rage and menace. He spoke with a weird Slavonic 
 
 dialect and brandished a 
 the assembly. " Fake ! 
 
 fierce fist over the heads of 
 Fake ! " he cried again and 
 
 " Barowich ! " screamed Miss Mischief. 
 
 Roulhac turned ; and then with a cry in Martian to the 
 three-legged creature cowering by the rail, he started to 
 intercept the progress of the mysterious malcontent. The 
 Martian, whinnying with terror, blowing flames and smoke 
 from his writhing mouth, forced his way towards the door. 
 The crowd made a slim way for him, though the contin 
 gent of remonstrants, chortling with fury, rose en masse and 
 struggled to head him off. 
 
 Roulhac and Barowich met in the center of the room 
 and closed in a mighty struggle. The Committeemen, now 
 thoroughly awake, jumped up and elbowed their way towards 
 the melee in the corridor. The chairman, he from King 
 ston, led the way with an oath, shrieking for the populace to 
 arrest the intruder, the three-legged miserable, who now T , 
 tearing at coats and mantles, swiping off hats and bonnets, 
 clutching skirts and trousers, tore his way through the press 
 and raced up the corridor. 
 
 With a throaty sob of frenzy, the crowd of spectators 
 plunged after the fugitive, headed by the Member from 
 Kingston, yelling to heaven for the Sergeant-at-Arms. 
 Past the central hall, where are exhibited the colors taken 
 in the Civil War, past marble statue and bronze tablet, flew 
 this human comet, with the Martian, like a fiercely burn 
 ing star at its head, with a riot of frightened females in his 
 wake, and a hurtling conglomeration of combatants over 
 whelming them. A trail of veils, belts, purses, and hats 
 
 [237] 
 
LADT M EC H ANTE 
 
 marked the passage of this whirlwind. Down the tessel 
 lated corridor, up the broad stairs, it passed. 
 
 The Senate was in session. A member from Duxbury 
 had arisen and had just begun to read his maiden effort. It 
 was entitled "An Act to Amend an Act to Regulate the 
 
 D 
 
 Propagation of Clams and Ouahogs in Plymouth Bay and 
 Vicinity." He had but begun to attain his presence of 
 mind, after floundering in the verbiage of the first clause of 
 his bill, when the green swinging doors of the Senate 
 Chamber were flung violently open. In an instant the 
 chamber was flooded with a surging sea of agonized human 
 ity, swarming through the narrow opening, flying the ragged 
 colors of Tatterdermalia. A short length ahead of this 
 rabble flew a shocking form, running, rolling, stumbling on 
 three legs, one of which seemed palsied with his haste. 
 This atrocious object hurdled members desks, and over 
 threw books and inkstands in spatters of writing fluid. One 
 after one the senators in his path were swept from their 
 chairs and crawled underneath the tables to escape the tor 
 rent that swept after him. Over the Speaker s rail, across 
 the rostrum on the platform, dashing down gas lamps and 
 leaving fragments of his costume here and there like the 
 spoor of a hunted hyena, the Martian bounded and the mad- 
 eyed throng pelted in pursuit. 
 
 Upstairs and along the upper halls the outrageous man 
 hunt raged. The Member from Kingston had thrown 
 off coat and vest, and the St. Andrew s cross of his 
 red suspenders against the milk-white field of his shirt led 
 the way like a guidon to the charge. Behind him the 
 Honorable Members from Hull and Northfield galloped 
 and swore, and stringing down hall and stair, plung 
 ing through door and entry, scattered the handicapped 
 
THE BOOK OF BOSH 
 
 slowpokes of the procession, still steaming after the 
 refugee. 
 
 In the third story, at the end of a long narrow corridor, 
 the half-crazed Martian came upon a small door. It was 
 locked, but the key was twinkling in its hole. In an instant 
 it was whipped out, the door was opened ; the lithe form 
 of the visitant slid through and snapped was the lock in the 
 closed portal. It was just in time. The Member from 
 Kingston laid hand on the knob just as the bolt clicked; 
 at his terrific wrench the china handle came off, and 
 the reaction landed him on his back on the floor, where 
 he was nearly trampled to death by the surging chorus 
 which followed him. The mob penned in this narrow 
 space jammed the whole hall, and for five minutes no one 
 could move an elbow. Their shrieks, however, in time 
 warned the rearward strugglers to make way, and by 
 degrees the crowd thinned and permitted the Sergeant-at- 
 Arms to force his way to the door and open the lock. 
 Now burst the charge anew up the winding stair, through 
 the cavernous hollow of the dome, and up the spiral to the 
 upper cupola. 
 
 When the Sergeant-at-Arms, the policeman, and the 
 members from Hull and Kingston reached the cupola cham 
 ber, it was empty, save of a few rags, and a sponge stained 
 a bloody red. A bucket of water was of the same suspicious 
 hue, but of human occupants the room had none. The 
 searchers opened the windows and gazed down upon the 
 huge hemisphere of gilded dome. It was uninhabitated, 
 though upon the bulbs of the incandescent lights that punc 
 tuated the circle at its foot there fluttered a few fragments 
 of red cloth. The pursuers were nonplussed. Finally the 
 policeman, craning his neck out of the window, felt a spat- 
 
 [239] 
 
LADT M EC H ANTE 
 
 ter upon his neck. He wiped it with his hand and perceived 
 a dash of white paint upon his fingers. Then, looking up, over 
 the round roof of the cupola, he saw what the crowd below, 
 gathered in Beacon Street opposite the Shaw Memorial, saw. 
 They blocked the thoroughfare, and all eyes were aimed 
 upward. The policeman gave a cry, and it was answered 
 by a cheer from the street. The Sergeant-at-Arms and the 
 Members from Hull and Kingston shot their heads, also, 
 through the windows and gazed skyward. 
 
 There, at the very top of the flagpole, slung from the 
 halliards sat a painter in jumper and overalls daubing the 
 staff with white lead. Thirty feet above them, swinging in 
 perilous mid-air, he looked down at the passion-branded 
 visages below, and gayly flicked his brush. Like white rain 
 the drops fell into the eyes and ears of the Committee. 
 " Come down out of that ! " they yelled ; and the policeman 
 brandished his club with authority. 
 
 Now slowly, deliberately, descended Bounder, lowering 
 himself with caution down the halliards. He crawled 
 over the curve of the roof, guiding his feet one after 
 the other with precision to the steps nailed to the copper 
 sheathing. He navigated the ledge and handed his paint 
 pot and brush to the waiting delegation. Then he 
 stepped through the window and hopped with a snicker 
 to the floor. 
 
 The battery of inquisitors opened a fire of questions. 
 The interrogations went off like the corns in a popper. But 
 Bounder took his time. He wiped a smooch of white from 
 his brow with the back of his wrist, and he wiped the back 
 of his wrist on the seat of his overalls. Then he opened 
 his mouth to speak. 
 
 " Yep," he said, u I seen him. He came to this here 
 
 [ 240] 
 
THE BOOK OF BOSH 
 
 window and he yelled like a mad dog. He crorled onto 
 the sill and I seen he had three laigs like a bloomin 
 giraffe, and then, whoop ! jumped outer winder and flew 
 up inter the sky like a bird ! And that s all I know 
 about it ! " 
 
Sht 
 
 Chapter Cm 
 
 THE TEMPLE OF MARS 
 
 . lives in mists and smokes where none can find her. 
 
 (Rule a Wife and Have a Wife.) 
 
 HE miraculous disappearance of the Martian 
 made an enormous sensation. Bounder s 
 cool-headed ruse in donning the uniform of 
 a house-painter and hoisting himself to the 
 top of the flagpole with pot and brush had 
 saved the day against huge odds. If Mar 
 tian Science were at its darkest just before that spectacular 
 dawn, its day now burst into legislative effulgence unlocked 
 for even by the inner council of the cult. Miss Mischief s 
 rhetoric had driven the nail of logic into the thick skulls of 
 the committeemen, and Bounder s coup d etat had clinched 
 the argument in their pates. They had been proven ma 
 terialists by the evidence of Miss Mischiefs blue gown. 
 Well, as materialists they had been given confirmation by 
 their senses in the disappearance of the Martian envoy, who 
 had, according to definite testimony, plunged into space 
 and had regained his planetary home from the cupola of the 
 State House. The cupola was still there to witness the 
 translation of this new Elijah ! 
 
 The Martian Bill, therefore, backed by these five prose 
 lytes, was rushed through a first and second reading ; the 
 debate was made upon the question of public policy, and 
 patriotism prevailed. It was well proven that, if Massachu- 
 
 [242] 
 
THE TEMPLE OF MARS 
 
 setts did not avail herself of the divine possibilities of Mar 
 tian aid, some other state would reap the benefit. Delegates 
 from Kansas and South Dakota had appeared to lobby 
 against the bill and secure for the Far West the prestige of 
 initiating the New Era of Thought. It needed but this 
 rivalry to carry the act. The era of psychic science was 
 dawning, and the Bay State stood boldly, at last, by an over 
 mastering majority for the new epoch of transplanetary 
 Truth. Licence was given the Martian College of Psychic 
 Science to confer degrees, the Temple was subsidized and 
 exempted from taxes, and a generous appropriation was 
 granted for the development of systematic research in the 
 psychic laboratory of the High Priestess. 
 
 As Miss Mischief had predicted, the Cult of Mars now 
 became a rage, an epidemic, a crusade. The Temple 
 boiled with ardent believers lashed into an almost Mahom 
 etan bigotry with the scourging texts of the Book of Bosh. 
 The movement stood, not only for a religion, but for a 
 definite reform. It was consecrated, not to the good of the 
 individual, but to the development of the race. It was no 
 mere system of medicine, though that too was included in 
 its work, but it stood for pure Science anew Philosophy, 
 Mathematics, Physics, everything. Its claims were as huge 
 as the Cosmos itself. The Gospel of the Flame was in its 
 first effect intoxicating it needed the digestion of analytic 
 feeling rather than any process of coarse reason. 
 
 Temples were instituted in outlying suburbs to accommo 
 date the increasing demands put upon the official head 
 quarters of the High Priestess, and over these members of 
 the higher Orders were placed in charge. The Spiral 
 Arched Whorl constituted the caste mark of this hierarchy 
 of the Minor Priestcraft, and these ministered through the 
 
 [243] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 direct inspiration of the Book of Bosh. In that volume 
 everything essential to terrestrial progress had been laid 
 down. Extemporaneous speaking was prohibited. The 
 authority of the High Priestess was sacred and absolute. 
 When she entered a Temple, the whole audience arose and 
 stood with eyes cast down until she had taken her place. 
 Her effigy was portrayed in stained glass and marble bust, 
 and texts from the Book of Bosh appeared streaming from 
 her mouth in the symbolistic engravings of the " Martian 
 Monthly." 
 
 But, as the weeks went on, she was seen less and less 
 frequently. The revenues from the sale of the Book, at 
 five dollars per copy, printed on India paper, had swollen 
 her treasury. Times were prosperous with Madelaine 
 Mischief. She lived, now, in a villa at Manchester-by-the- 
 Sea, and she went and came in special trains, appearing and 
 disappearing in Boston, with the exclusive mystery of a 
 reigning monarch. Roulhac s protestations were of no 
 avail, and she kept him to his post at the First Temple of 
 Mars with the implacability of a slave-driver. At each 
 revolt she soothed him with glitteringly slippery promises 
 and riveted his chains anew. The wedding should come 
 off, she promised him, when she was ready, and not before. 
 
 He assuaged his impatience with cordial doses of Hetty 
 Hattitude. She, at least, was willing to prescribe, and her 
 companionship was tonic. Did he know what he did 
 want ? Perhaps not. He was so used to driving four-in- 
 hand that sometimes he trembled to think of traveling with 
 a single companion, and especially at the break-neck pace 
 Miss Mischief would be likely to set for him. Miss Hatti 
 tude, now, gave him her whole worship. She did not blow 
 hot and blow cold, she did not put him off and take him 
 
 [244] 
 
THE TEMPLE OF MARS 
 
 on, when the mood pleased her. And so he floated in an 
 eddy of doubt. 
 
 Meanwhile Bounder, despite his desperate victory in the 
 State House, seemed tormented with a secret fear. " Who 
 is this Barowich ? " he asked Roulhac one day. 
 
 " Oh, he s a San Francisco Nemesis," was the reply. 
 " We rather had it in for him there, and he seems anxious 
 to get even with us." 
 
 The answer affected Bounder uncomfortably, and he 
 withdrew to his own office. But the sudden and nearly 
 disastrous apparition of the ex-waiter of Campi s had more 
 meaning to him than the rest of the cabal were aware. 
 As yet nothing concerning the Licences or Indulgences 
 uttered by Bounder had transpired. He still plied the 
 traffic in secret, hoarding his winnings till the time should 
 come when he could break away from this rigamarole and 
 decamp with his profits. But he had recognized in the 
 Slav a hideous menace to his plans. He searched his 
 memory for evidence, and he went over his personal ac 
 counts with his victims. At last, after much introspection, 
 he was able to put his memory and his notes together and 
 add up the threatening amount. It was a curse; to Baro 
 wich he had, some weeks previous, sold a permit to steal to 
 the enormous amount of a million of dollars. Such a 
 grand larceny as this would undoubtedly make a stir. The 
 theft would be traced, and Bounder himself might be impli 
 cated. He must escape before the crime was perpetrated. 
 Perhaps it was even now too late, and detectives were on 
 his trail. 
 
 He went to the safe where the community assets were 
 kept, and where also, in a separate compartment, he 
 hoarded his own resources. The annual appropriation 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 from the legislature had been paid by the State Treasurer, 
 and had been converted into specie for distribution to the 
 different sub-temples. This, with contributions, donations, 
 and subscriptions, the takings from the sales of the Book 
 of Bosh and other sources, added up to something like 
 $789,040 in safe and easily negotiable securities. His 
 own fortune ran up to some $210,960. It was almost a 
 competence. As soon as he had secured for himself a full 
 quarter of a million he would disappear, quit the conspir 
 acy, and fly high on Piccadilly again. He locked the com 
 bination, with this comforting assurance, and quieted his 
 fears. 
 
 Mortimer Stencill alone seemed to take the swelling 
 bubble of the Martian cult calmly. Mortimer was a 
 philosopher of sorts. His dreams were all subjective. 
 Active, whenever that pose seemed to be on the whole 
 worth while, he was at his best in a passive state in his 
 slippers before the fire, or gazing upon the easily found 
 spectacle of the Fool at Large. He was not averse to 
 lending a quiet hand at any game that promised diversion, 
 but his work was preferably behind the scenes. He was 
 fond of humming the refrain of a Rochester poet and 
 dreamer : 
 
 * I love to watch the pictures of the things inside of me ! " 
 
 His wife afforded him perpetual amusement. She was 
 curiously anxious for his pleasure and incited him repeat 
 edly to endeavor, but with little result. He was for a 
 game of solitaire, and there his queens were all alike; there 
 are no trumps in " Patience." Roberta he watched with 
 a mild scrutiny, but held his hand. He did not warn the 
 young Braghampton that peril was in store for him, though 
 
 [246] 
 
THE TEMPLE OF MARS 
 
 he knew well enough that his wife was not in secret 
 council with the Hi";h Priestess for nothing. He did not 
 
 O O 
 
 mention to the San Francisco youth that Mrs. Stencill had 
 made several hasty trips to Manchester-by-the-Sea, nor 
 that a match-maker cares not whom she entangles in the 
 toils of matrimony so long as she can make a victim of 
 somebody. 
 
 A manifesto finally came from the retreat of the High 
 Priestess in the form of a specific interpretation to a much 
 discussed chapter of the Book of Bosh. It was given, with 
 out comment, to Roulhac Braghampton for publication and, 
 as he read it, his eyes watered. 
 
 u It is written," it went, u in the Seventy-seventh Chap 
 ter of the Book of Bosh that c the Gospel of the Fire shall 
 be revealed by a Woman and a Man from the Third Sphere, 
 coming in Flame to arouse the Children of the Fire. By 
 them shall the Word come and the Truth be made mani 
 fest. And they shall have dominion over the Fourth Sphere 
 and pass on the Flame. And the Two Flames shall be 
 One Flame and shall burn withal. 
 
 " Now the time for this union, predicted of Phryko, has 
 come, and the union of the High Priestess with the incarnate 
 Flame shall come to pass upon the Third Day of July ap 
 proaching. Wherefore shall all Believers in the Fire be 
 summoned to witness the Ritual of the Union of the Flames 
 that the one Flame which is Red shall burn upon the Fourth 
 Sphere." 
 
 Right gayly did the bridegroom set out to share his rap 
 ture with his promised bride, but Miss Mischief kept herself 
 aloof by hook and crook with a teasing shrewdness. Not 
 till the day before the ordeal did she appear at the Temple, 
 but there Roulhac found her in the upper Mysterium, clos- 
 
LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 eted with Roberta Stencill and Miss Hattitucle. The three, 
 surprised at his entrance, looked up guiltily enough, but 
 Miss Mischief composed them, and entered into the discus 
 sion of the ceremony, without allowing herself to be cate 
 chized. The wedding was to be solemnized at noon, 
 according to the great sidereal clock, before a gathering of 
 the original members of the First Temple of Mars. The 
 groom was to enter and await his bride before the red altar, 
 where the flame burned day and night, and the High Priest 
 ess, robed and veiled in red, was to come separately from the 
 conical tower above. Guy Bounder, licenced and duly or 
 dained as a Minor Priest of the Order of the Seven-Headed 
 Salamander, was to administer the ritual. Mrs. Burlap and 
 Mrs. Essery, representing the laity, were to offer the alle 
 giance of the cult to the United Priests of the Fire ; and 
 Mortimer Stencill, presiding at the keys of the color organ, 
 was to provide the accessories. 
 
 After these details had been arranged and rehearsed, Roul- 
 hac found himself at last with Miss Mischief in the gloom 
 of the immense audience room. They sat together 
 
 in si- 
 
 he believed 
 
 lence for a while, and she did not reprove him when he 
 slipped his hand into hers. 
 
 " And do you really love me, foolish boy ? " said Miss 
 Mischief. 
 
 " Yes," said Roulhac, and without doubt 
 it. He gazed at her hungrily, at any rate. 
 
 " Yet you have loved many," said the slender girl at his 
 side, turning away her eyes. 
 
 "Indeed I have," he replied. "I have loved Lady 
 Mechante, I have loved Kitty Carmine, and the Countess 
 Rouge, and Florizelle Gaillarde, and Cicely P ex, and Celestine 
 Jewburg, and Madelaine Mischief! " 
 
 [248] 
 
THE TEMPLE OF M^RS 
 
 " And Hetty Hattitude ? " queried the lady with the many 
 names. 
 
 " She is a Bostonian," he answered, fingering a button. 
 " She has impressed me, I admit, but I have given her only 
 the fealty of my intellect. But why mention Hetty ? " 
 
 "You must love her ! " was the reply. u But you must 
 love me better ! Kiss me ! " 
 
 " No, no ! " cried Roulhac, wildly. " I have kissed you 
 but once and in that kiss I lost you. Not till we are mar 
 ried and I am sure of you shall I dare try it again ! " 
 
 Miss Mischief arose, and with a sign to Roulhac not to 
 follow her, left the hall. There was a look upon her face 
 as if she had discovered a fly in the cream. 
 
 The third of July was hot and still. The thermometer 
 climbed up and up, as if the weather were to testify to the 
 coming of the universal gospel of Fire. Across Copley 
 Square delegation after delegation marched towards the red 
 brick cone of the First Temple of Mars. The audience 
 chamber filled, and still the members from the country ar 
 rived, till the steps, sidewalks, and courtyard were packed 
 with Martian Scientists. 
 
 In the hall the vast throng, hushed into silence by the 
 solemnity of the coming service, sat and in the twilight of 
 the shaded windows watched the shifting harmonies of color 
 that came and went upon the black screen. As the sidereal 
 clock pealed forth the meridian, the tones grew more and 
 more vivid, till, at last, bathed in a fierce red light, Roulhac 
 Braghampton, clad in the velvet robes of the Supreme Order 
 of the Fire of iYtars, stepped forth upon the platform in the 
 center of the hall and took his place beside the flaming 
 altar. Guy Bounder, crowned with the abacot of the seven- 
 
 [ 2 49 ] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 headed salamander, drew to his side and mustered what dig 
 nity he could in the thousand eyes of the congregation. 
 They were not, however, for long pointed in his direction. 
 
 The secret door leading to the stairway opened, and the 
 High Priestess, garbed in flowing red, appeared in the arch, 
 stood for a moment against the shadow, and then came up 
 the aisle, followed by Mrs. Burlap and Mrs. Esscry in black 
 bonnets. It was not imperative, in the ritual of Mars, that 
 bridesmaids should be virgins. 
 
 The ceremony proceeded. Bounder outdid himself. The 
 audience was impressed, and many wept. In the silence 
 following the first responses was heard the trotting of a 
 horse s hoofs, two horses in fact. There was also the 
 scrape of a wheel skiving a curbstone. Then all was still 
 again, and the service went on. 
 
 The bride, still veiled, spoke her answers in a low, 
 maidenly voice, unlike the ordinary assertiveness of Miss 
 Mischief. Roulhac was supremely himself, a hero in his 
 own eyes, and seemed worthy the dignity of alliance with 
 this red-robed Daughter of the Fire. The time at last 
 came for the wife to throw off her veil and salute the 
 throng. This she did with an august fling of her arm, and 
 stood revealed as she who, but a half minute ago, had been 
 Miss Hetetia Hattitude, now the plighted spouse of Roulhac 
 Braghampton. 
 
 Upon Roulhac the revelation fell with an almost stunning 
 force. Bounder could not believe his eyes. Mrs. Burlap 
 stared and Mrs. Esscry tottered in a fainting spell. But 
 the High Priestess gave the spectators no time to express 
 their astonishment. With a wave of her hand she com 
 pelled silence, and drawing from a fold of her gown a 
 scroll, she read the following words : 
 
 [ 25] 
 
THE TEMPLE OF MARS 
 
 " Know ye, Children of the Fire, and members of 
 the Temples of Mars by me instituted and all others of 
 the Cult, that this day 1, Madelaine Mischief, resign the 
 office of High Priest and hereby confer it upon her who 
 shall proclaim these presents. The time is at hand when 
 my work shall be accomplished. The Science, fully and 
 well ordained, has made its way despite threat and persecu 
 tion, and, wearied with the labor of directing its energies, 1 
 have renounced my office, never to return. Labor ye in 
 the vineyard that I have planted, that the whole Truth be 
 made known and the Fourth Sphere attain the full Flame of 
 the Fire. When at last the time shall come for the flame to 
 be passed on to the Fifth Sphere which men call Saturn, then 
 shall I be reembodied and direct the communication. Peace., 
 and Desire forever ! " 
 
 Threading the wondering worshipers who murmured 
 together at the news, the dazed Braghampton and his bride 
 passed up the aisle, through the arch, and climbed the stair 
 way to the Mysterium. 
 
Chapter Clebm 
 
 BOUNDER S APOTHEOSIS 
 
 Did your eyes ever taste like clown of him ? 
 
 (Every Man in his Humour.) 
 
 HE pair were at last alone in the conical 
 apartment of the High Priestess. Roulhac, 
 who from the moment of the metamorpho 
 sis in his bride had said no word, and had 
 well hidden his surprise from the congrega 
 tion, turned to the slight airy witch at his 
 side. She had indeed done quaintly so to outwit him and 
 to marry him despite himself. He could not but smile at 
 her knavery, though the memory of the prettier wretch, 
 her accomplice, pricked him where his heart had been. 
 
 But Hetty s bravado had now broken. The achieve 
 ment of the end she had for so long worked left her hysteri 
 cal, and she was no sooner in the room than she fell to 
 crying. To her young husband she wept poniards. He 
 was not one to resist such feminine entreaty. After all, it 
 was Fate. The marriage had been decided for him. The 
 weather-vane of his heart would now no longer shuffle him 
 this way and that; the wind had set forever in Hetty s 
 favor. Miss Mischief had disappeared, and Roulhac knew 
 with what energy she augmented her decisions. She was 
 not for him, nor ever could be. Something new was born 
 in his soul; he was steadied as if, after much zig-zag 
 drifting and circumlocution, he had dropped anchor. Made- 
 
 [252] 
 
BOUNDER S APOTHEOSIS 
 
 laine s spirit was too fine and impalpable, too audacious 
 and fantastic for permanent safety. He saw that, now, 
 and the personality of Hetty began to assert itself. She 
 was a warm, brown little woman, and in spite of her Puri 
 tan ancestry she was burning with temperament. So they 
 scrutinized each other, like two babi es making acquaintance. 
 She had thrown herself upon a couch, while he had assumed 
 the posture of outraged dignity. From this, his attitude 
 had slowly sloped towards magnanimity, to extenuation, 
 till it had reached a generous gratitude. From this mood 
 he sprang into her arms and was smothered in roses. . . . 
 
 " Roulhac," she whisperejd after a time, " I must make 
 a confession ; I have a secret to tell you. I have always 
 been ashamed of it, for I was proud to be called a typical 
 Bostonian, of Puritan blood. But somehow you make 
 me think that you might forgive the adulteration. My 
 grandmother was Portuguese ! " And she covered her 
 face. 
 
 Roulhac Braghampton s heart exploded in kisses. She 
 had, then, red blood, and at the revelation he burst into 
 
 flames. 
 
 ******* 
 
 In the quiet of that hot afternoon the two voyaged 
 through Paradise, and almost out of sight of the land, upon 
 that Sea of Dreams, the monstrous developments of the 
 last few months gleamed far and faint upon the horizon. 
 The world receded. The strenuous endeavors of the 
 winter, the complications of the intellectual prodigy they 
 had travailed for, the activities of organization, the in 
 volved machinery of the Cult of Mars, now seemed so 
 little in comparison with their new bliss that it was all 
 
 [253] 
 
LADT M EC H ANTE 
 
 drowned in a corner of Hetty s first small tear. The High 
 Priestess herself had abandoned the movement. It had 
 reached its climax ; it had gone up like a huge hot-air bal 
 loon, flaming resplendent through the night of Boston s 
 sober reason. Should they wait alone till the fire burned 
 out, and the charred airship ceased its ascent, wavered, and 
 began to drop? 
 
 A thousand times, No ! They resolved to leave the 
 bark with all sails set, climb over the side, and let the Cult 
 of Mars plunge forward to ruin alone, wrecking with a 
 magnificent disaster. 
 
 u Hetty," said Roulhac, u we 11 off to the Southern Seas ! 
 There, in the land of the raw-boned pineapple, where the 
 uncombed cocoanut defies the digestion, where bananas 
 grow upon every tree like bunches of red and yellow fire 
 crackers, and the simpering natives go clad in a subcuta 
 neous garment of blue ink, there shall we make our home ! 
 There on some coral islet, where the booming billows of 
 the reef peal forth the table d hote hour for sharks, where 
 the loveliest ladies have faces like patterns for rag-carpets, 
 and brave warriors dye their hair in vegetable soup, where 
 the missionary on his prayer-bones beseeches the Grand 
 Panjandrum to accept the honor of a bicep of mansteak a 
 la Corbett, where the black-and-tan warriors go forth to the 
 fray with pea-shooters, there we shall build up our Renais 
 sance, and do our wedding-cake-walk upon the beach. We 
 have exhausted Civilization. Let us begin again at the 
 beginning ! " 
 
 They crept out of the Mysterium as the dusk fell, locked 
 the door quietly, and stole out by way of a secret door. 
 There was a light burning in the Treasurer s Office, and 
 they avoided that exit elaborately. 
 
 [254] 
 
BOUNDER S APOTHEOSIS 
 
 After the excitement of the day, Guy Bounder had felt 
 privileged to go off on a prolonged tear. His old instincts 
 reverted under the effects of the stimulation, and for the 
 whole afternoon he forgot that he had ever been a Minor 
 Priest of the Martian Order of the Seven Headed Sala 
 mander. Not for him, now, the Martian cocktail, with 
 its insidious combination of egg and cochineal ; his thirst 
 was only to be assuaged by bitter beer and arf-and- arf s, 
 and still more congenial gin. His progress from bar to bar 
 became unsteady ; had he practiced ten years on the Ma 
 zurka he could not have mapped out his travels with more 
 eccentric divagation. He could well afford the expense of 
 inviting his familiar spirits to share the celebration, for that 
 day he had received the fee for his offices at the Temple, 
 and the quarter of a million dollars was nearly attained. 
 The tide was rising ; he saw no reason why, in the 
 course of a month at least, he might not prepare his 
 escape. 
 
 The plaid waistcoat and all contained therein was, at last, 
 under the patronage of a friendly policeman, loaded aboard 
 a herdic, and Bounder, in a husky but cordial voice, directed 
 it towards Copley Square and the quiet refuge of the 
 Temple. With his bowler hat over one eye, his feet be 
 daubing the front seat-cushion, the Grand Treasurer rolled 
 down Boylston Street, singing, with a bubbling barytone 
 accented by many original semi-quavers : 
 
 " Jaivn was a narce good ^-band, E never cared to roam, 
 only wanted a quiet life ; only wanted a quid wife ; 
 There e would sit by the preside, such a chilly 
 
 Jawn 
 
 Oh, I ope and trust there s a narce ot fire, 
 Were my old man s gone ! " 
 
 man was 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 The Temple of Mars was at last reached, and Guy 
 tumbled out upon the sidewalk. The driver fished in the 
 Treasurer s pocket, found a five-dollar gold piece, bit it, 
 mounted, and drove off. Bounder staggered to his feet. 
 There was an express wagon at the corner, and a man 
 appeared from a back alley with a large sack, which he de 
 posited upon the cart. Guy stared, with half a wonder at 
 the phenomenon, but then, striking gayly into the air again, 
 he made his circuitous way to his private door and fell in 
 slumber upon a chair in the office. 
 
 The slamming of a gate awakened him finally, and he 
 rose, drank like a horse of the cold water standing in the 
 basin, and wiped his face with a towel. Then he looked 
 in the glass. " Won t do ! Won t do, for Grand Treshrer ! " 
 he informed himself, and, to assure himself of his dignity, 
 he stumbled to the safe to refresh himself with a sight of 
 his money. 
 
 The safe door stood open. All the drawers were pulled 
 out and lay bottom up upon the floor of the vault. He 
 made a mad dash at his own particular compartment, and 
 found it as empty as the rest. In an instant he was sobered, 
 as sane as if he had been held under a pump. With a 
 raucous guttural howl, an oath ripped out of his throat, and 
 he sprang up with the fury of a million demons. 
 
 The Cockney, reduced to poverty at this dire snatch, 
 relapsed, with a mouthful of horrid oaths, into his normal 
 condition. It was atavism. The varnish, so long and so 
 carefully smeared over his brutality by the brush of Lady 
 Mechante, peeled off at the shock of ire. He was once 
 more the professional criminal, the pot-house brawler, the 
 sneak-thief Hooligan of the Newington Causeway. He 
 spoke once again in the bitter biting tropes of London s 
 
 [256] 
 
BOUNDER S APOTHEOSIS 
 
 submerged tenth. He became a " Lag," and he gave voice 
 to the jargon of the Penitentiary. 
 
 u Bilked ! " he shrieked. " Bilked, by the Lord George 
 Hell ! Holy Harry ! They ve done a bust here to beat 
 the bloodiest Brum in the New Cut ! They ain t enough 
 splosh left to pay for a arf a pint pot o bitter, s welp me ! 
 Strike me pink if the blitherin swine ain t gort the hull 
 swag, dam their bleedin fyces for em ! Narce little red 
 lot they gort too, my word ! They might jolly well have 
 tyken the bloody syfe and bean done with it ! Hell s teeth ! 
 but they pinched a good haul, the rotten beggars, my word 
 they know their way abart, damn em ! They ve bleedin 
 well nipped the rolls o thick-uns, and the long greens and 
 the sparklers and every last tiddlin bally bit o loot an I 
 ain t gort a tuppeny left to bless myself with. S help me 
 Gawd, I m back on me knuckle again as bad as Lambeth. 
 Damn their bleedin eyelids, but it mykes me sick ! An 
 me payin the pots for a lot o bleedin bums in ther kip- 
 house darn town like a bleedin toff on a furlough ! Holy 
 Mike ! wot a charnst they ad, blimy, with the bloke on 
 the cart doggin em off and watchin for slops while they 
 done the job with gloves on ! An I carn t snap em nor 
 put a Teck onto em fer fear o bein nabbed fer a little 
 trick o me own ! They can grease off an bally well do 
 in the whole swag while I whistle for a tuck-in ! Strike 
 me blind if I ain t a bleedin ass an I carn t squeal! I gort 
 to stand pals with ther blitherin swine an hold me jaw. 
 Gawd, but I d like to bloomin well bryke their narsty fyces !" 
 
 The rest was too awful. 
 
 Then his eye caught sight of a note that was conspicu 
 ously pinned to a jamb of the door. He rubbed his watery 
 eyes and pulled it off with a jerk. It was one of his 
 
 V [257] 
 
LADY M EC H ANTE 
 
 own indulgences, a licence to steal to the amount of 
 $1,000,000, and dated three months previously. And so 
 was the biter bit. He did not need to inquire of his 
 books who had victimized him. A great wave of fury 
 told him that it was Barowich the Slav. 
 
 " I dreamed o that airy w elp," he said to himself. 
 " I knew he d bilk me, after he gort that mad-on at the 
 State House. Curse his dirty fyce, if I only could get at 
 him once, I d stand him on is ugly ed an show him ow ! 
 I expect the swine calls this ere thing a joke on me. 
 Gawd, I 11 land im in the Pen. for this, blimy if I don t. 
 I 11 jolly well set the bleedin house afire an have im 
 snapped for arson, swelp me if I don t ! I 11 pull the 
 bloomin plyce down an swear to his doin it, curse im ! " 
 
 With this desperate resolve, Bounder arose, and, de 
 scending to the cellar, filled a large watering-pot with 
 kerosene oil. With this he proceeded up and down the 
 main aisles of the Temple, sprinkling the carpet generously 
 with the fluid in every direction from the central altar. It 
 was hard work, and his repeated trips to the lower regions 
 inspired him with a gorgeous thirst. He had in his office 
 the wherewithal to alleviate such an emergency, and he 
 partook freely of a demijohn after each trip. His previous 
 excitement, lulled by the shock of the burglary, arose fiercely 
 again under the encouragement, and Bounder s present con 
 dition was now, as compared with his former lapse of 
 sobriety, as Hell to rose-water. It came then to his reeling 
 mind that an appropriate costume for the deed would be 
 the robes and abacot of a Minor Priest. The picture he 
 drew of himself in this garb, signaling the Fire Brigade 
 from an upper window, and subsequently accusing Baro 
 wich of the crime at the Police Headquarters, appealed 
 
 [258] 
 
BOUNDER S APOTHEOSIS 
 
 to his exotic fancy as dramatic and sensational. With 
 what wit he had left, therefore, he fastened on the red 
 robe, and balanced the copper crown with its seven-headed 
 salamander unsteadily upon his pate. 
 
 In Bounder s brain a billion devils now raged. For a 
 while he fought them single-handed, and with mighty re 
 solve. But the combination of liquors was too fierce for 
 even the well-seasoned body of the Cockney. He reeled 
 up the aisle and, with a gesture worthy of a larger audience, 
 swept the fire from the altar to the floor. The flames sped 
 north, south, east, and west like the blazing rays of a 
 star. With a shriek of frenzy the Minor Priest ran from 
 bench to bench in the direction of the door to the upper 
 stairway. The feat could hardly have been achieved by a 
 man in his sober senses, but Bounder was above all ordi 
 nary laws of equilibrium. He fumbled his way up the 
 stairway, and, half-way up to the Mysterium, came upon a 
 door. This led to a balcony some fifty feet from the 
 ground, encircling the cone at the carved torus. 
 
 Midnight had but just been greeted by a cannonade of 
 crackers and bombs, and the Fourth of July was beginning 
 with fury. To Bounder s mind, unaware of the public 
 celebration of Independence Day, these fireworks seemed 
 but a part of his own magnificent plan, and he congratu 
 lated himself upon his success. Rockets and Roman can 
 dles ascended from all parts of the city, and the Minor 
 Priest hailed them with lusty cheers. 
 
 His exuberance at last attracted the attention of the 
 few pedestrians afloat at that hour, and soon a little flock 
 of spectators gathered in the square watching the inebriated 
 enthusiast who had found it desirable to herald the Fourth 
 in such splendor. Stranger things than that had been wit- 
 
 [259] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 nessed at the Temple of Mars, and there was no suspicion 
 that the exhibition was not held by authority. It was not 
 long, however, before the Treasurer s consummate work in 
 the hall below made itself evident. The lower windows 
 were gradually lighted with a dull glow, which turned rapidly 
 to a more brilliant red. Smoke curled from many orifices. 
 The Temple was indubitably afire. 
 
 A policeman hurriedly rang an alarm, and all interest 
 centered upon the figure upon the balcony. Bounder, not 
 a little touched by the consideration he received, ran round 
 the circle and stopped above the great door to address the 
 congregation. The speech, had it been intelligible, would 
 have proved infinitely diverting, but Bounder s tongue had 
 now swollen beyond the possibilities of articulation. 
 
 With a clang and a roar three fire-engines swung into 
 Copley Square, anchored, and affixed their great tubes to 
 three several hydrants. The police roped off the enclosure 
 to hold back the ever-increasing multitude, and a ladder- 
 wagon, loaded with its long, swaying paraphernalia, gal 
 loped to the scene. Bounder s position had now become 
 critical. With yells the crowd, seething below, sought to 
 warn him of his danger, but it was not till he looked be 
 hind him that he realized that the spectacle had a nearer 
 interest for him. Flames, sparks, and cinders were now 
 darting in every direction about him, and his perch was 
 hardly tenable. A wave of heat smothered him, but he 
 stood in all the ridiculous pomp of his Martian character. 
 
 Fiercer grew the fire, and now Guy Bounder danced 
 upon the heated iron balcony like a Hamburg goose upon 
 a hot shovel. He climbed over the rail and held himself off 
 the fury of the conflagration, howling obscene appeals and 
 imprecations to the firemen below. It seemed impossible 
 
 [260] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 for him to exist there a minute longer, and as yet the lad 
 ders were not ready. Almost naked, clinging like a fly to 
 the wall, his round head dripping with sweat, he was all 
 but singed alive when the Chief ordered the hose turned 
 upon him. Then began a drenching that brought him rea 
 son, deep dyed with horror. He shrunk alike from the 
 flames and from the stream of water, but the fireman mer 
 cilessly held the nozzle of his hose in the direction of the 
 now half-boiled wretch. 
 
 At last a ladder was raised and a fireman ran up to the 
 rescue. Down they came, he and what was left of Bounder. 
 A place was made for him, and the crowd closed in about 
 him. Shivering, soggy, nude, Guy Bounder, Minor Priest 
 of the Order of the Seven Headed Salamander, Grand 
 Treasurer of the Temple and Cult of Mars, the last sur 
 vivor of the Transplanetary Movement, lay in a tinted 
 puddle of slush, a thing unspeakable. 
 
 A patrol wagon hurried up, the crowd parted, and the 
 incendiary was loaded in. Then, held by four giggling 
 policemen, he was galloped towards the police station. It 
 was finished. 
 
 A week after, Mortimer Stencill, having finished his turn 
 at Keith s, joined his wife, who was waiting for him in the 
 foyer, and the two proceeded leisurely up the Tremont Street 
 Mall. The day was warm, but the air was sweet. Boston 
 is very good to those of her residents who honor her with 
 their presence in the summer. The two were as happy as 
 children. Theirs was a perpetual honeymoon. 
 
 At an exit of the Subway on the Common they came 
 suddenly upon two ladies toiling up the subterraneous marble 
 steps. One wore the unmistakable garment of authority. 
 
 [262] 
 
BOUNDER S APOTHEOSIS 
 
 The other was enveloped, as ever, in black silk, shiny and 
 hard, over her thorax. It might have been suspected by 
 their attitude that these companions would have preferred 
 to pass unnoticed, but the collision was unavoidable. 
 
 " How de do ! " chirped Mrs. Stencill, with the greatest 
 amiability in the world, and she shook hands effusively. 
 
 " How de do ! " said Mortimer, and the two ladies mur 
 mured the same appropriate greeting. 
 
 Mr. Stencill eyed them, with mild amusement at their 
 embarrassment, but Roberta forced home her barb. 
 
 "And how is the Cult of Mars now, Mrs. Burlap? I 
 hear little of it nowadays. Are you become High Priestess ? 
 Or perhaps it is Mrs. Essery ! " 
 
 " Oh no ! " Mrs. Braxton-Burlap said, in visible confu 
 sion. "I m really afraid that movement is quite at an end. 
 We were hardly ready for it even in Boston, you know ! 
 Sometime, perhaps, when we are developed further, we may- 
 take up the work again. But I have just been to hear a 
 lecture upon the Use of the Toes. Do you know, our evo 
 lution has so neglected those members that they are now 
 lapsed into mere extremities. They have great possibilities, 
 however, I assure you, and it seems quite possible to edu 
 cate their function so as to make them valuable aids in 
 manipulation. Perhaps I should say pedipulation. It is 
 really most extraordinary, and Mrs. Essery and I are think 
 ing of starting classes in toe-culture this fall. Really, 
 you know, it s wonderful ! But there s our car now ! We 
 really must be off. Do come and see us sometime, Mrs. 
 Stencill. Good bye ! Good bye, Mr. Stencill, how well 
 you re looking ! Good bye, then/ 
 
 And Mrs. Essery echoed, " Good bye ! " 
 
 [263] 
 
Jf0ttr 
 
 THE CAVE MAN 
 
 / have a new soul in me y made of a north-wind. 
 
 (The Woman s Prize.) 
 
r 
 
 Cfmpter 
 
 THE FAIRY OF THE FLATIRON 
 
 How now, lime-twig, bast thou touched ? 
 
 (Bartholomew Fair.) 
 
 >T is the French who have, to perfection, 
 the art of making whatever is naughty 
 nice, and what is nice naughty. Where 
 fore let us not call the lady s beauty dev 
 ilish, but nominate its fascinating quality 
 that of diablerie. Beaute de diable she had 
 as well though that is quite another thing for she was 
 but twenty-five. She had, in short, that sort of beauty 
 which is called "troublesome," and few men will need 
 further commentary upon her looks. 
 
 By what was written in the delicious curve of her lips, 
 in the evanescent, shadowy, waxing-waning dimple in her 
 cheek, in the very crinkles of her eyelids, women might 
 have said that she was probably more fond of men than of 
 women. They might have said with perhaps more truth 
 that women were less fond of her than were men. But 
 whether one be the cause or the effect of the other, who 
 can say ? Ask Demiourgos, maker of men. 
 
 Women, also, might say that she had no soul. A man s 
 answer would come as plainly; she did not need one. 
 She did very well without, thank you ; for there she was, 
 most intensely and distractingly her own whimsical self, 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 gifted with an original and provocative originality. She had 
 more cinnamon and clove than sugar in her nature, though 
 she was sweet enough too. But her charm was unanalyz- 
 able. Let us finish an impossible description, and call her 
 u rare." 
 
 Rare she was, and fair she was, and she was twenty-five, 
 this precious, ruddy-haired bonnibel who, in the seven 
 teenth story of the Flatiron Building, gazed jauntily from 
 the window down upon the traffic of New York. Gazed, 
 and wondered ; wondered, and let loose an exquisite smile, 
 more dangerous than dynamite, more searching than radium, 
 more swift and potent than electricity. One seeing her 
 might have said of her, as the old slab in the Plymouth 
 graveyard says of Fanney Crombie at the age of eight : 
 
 " As young as beautiful ! as soft as young ! 
 As gay as soft ! as innocent as gay ! " 
 
 and would have missed her description by but one adjective. 
 She was not, perhaps, so innocent as she looked, though her 
 peccadillos were venial. 
 
 The room, in the acute angle of the building, was trian 
 gular, and the window in its point looked up both Broadway 
 and Fifth Avenue. It commanded Madison Square with 
 its greenery as well. It gave upon the heart of the metrop 
 olis, at the lower end of the Great White Way. The 
 apartment, intended for some sober, unimaginative insurance 
 office, contained an exotic collection of furnishings. It 
 was, in point of fact, a lady s drawing-room, conceived in 
 European style, a finished perfect whole in schema and 
 detail. Yet it was as original as the taste of so rare a lady 
 should be, and showed the same personality, the same spicy 
 
 [268] 
 
THE FAIRY OF THE FLAT IRON 
 
 taste. Commodious, comfortable even to restfulness, it 
 dared risk high lights, admirably disposed, and showed a 
 virile note of composition, a tendency that ran rather to 
 contrasts than to harmonies, showing the mark of her 
 mind throughout, and fitting her as a frame its portrait. 
 No man would have feared to trust her chairs; no woman 
 could criticize her hangings, but neither would have noticed 
 aught else when their hostess was in evidence. No need, 
 then, to catalogue the room s items, except, perhaps, to 
 remark a portrait of the lady herself by Boldini, which set 
 the appropriate keynote of the whole. In that present 
 ment she sat upon a golden chair, a little more feline, a 
 little more fluently composed, a little more pointed as to 
 mouth and eyes, a little more eighteenth century, than was 
 due her charm, but the lady herself indubitably, apparently 
 about to smile and toss a jest across the Bokhara rug. 
 During her rare moments of sober introspection it even 
 rivaled her in liveliness and persuasive force; but when the 
 real smile came, the picture receded into its frame, sighed, 
 and fell asleep. 
 
 And, to finish, there was no silver in the place, no whitish 
 sheen such as ladies commonly affect ; what was not gold 
 was copper, burnished to a glowing red. 
 
 But she has rested there at the window, ambient-eyed, too 
 long. Let s move her, like a puppet, and permit New 
 York to thrill at the touch of her pink finger. 
 
 Did your pulse quicken that day, as you passed the 
 windy angle of the great building? Did no titillation X-ray 
 you as you maneuvered along the blown thoroughfare of 
 Twenty-third Street ? Perhaps not, for you were not her 
 mark. Yet that smile of hers found its bullseye, though 
 
 [269] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 she shot with one eye shut. Destiny aimed her arrow; 
 this lovely lady did but pull the cord. 
 
 That ingenious smile had been fathered by a deft resolve, 
 and mothered by the lady s love of mystery. Her mind 
 made up, she returned to her escritoire and drew from a 
 pigeonhole a yellow hundred-dollar bill. This, with a 
 quick motion of her gracile ringers, she tore in halves. One 
 went back to the pigeonhole, the other into a square enve 
 lope. Next, she sat down to write. There was some 
 small nibbling of her gold penholder, some scowling of her 
 arched brows, before ink touched paper; but, a few sec 
 onds after, there appeared, in a bold feminine hand and 
 with but a single flourish at the end, the following wet 
 words : 
 
 "If the finder of this is a woman, give it to the nearest man. 
 If a man, call at Room No. 1798, Flatiron Building, as soon as 
 .possible for the other half of the enclosed bill." 
 
 This note she tucked into the envelope and sealed the 
 flap. Lastly, she walked gayly to the window, looked out 
 for a moment, and then flung her missive forth upon the 
 breeze. 
 
 The wind, parted by the wedge-shaped bulk of the Flat- 
 iron Building, plays many capers in the vicinity. With 
 wanton wiles it mischiefs with the skirts of pedestrians, it 
 snatches hats from heads and sends them aeroplaning aloft, 
 it scurries in eddies and whirlpools, it describes helter-skelter 
 routes in curves and dizzying zigzags. The most sedate 
 blast, in its progress across the island, here plays truant for 
 a half-hour to torture and baffle passers-by. The air was 
 
 [270] 
 
THE FAIRT OF THE FLAT IRON 
 
 an arrant madcap that day ; it blew in six directions at once, 
 like an intoxicated tornado. My lady s square envelope 
 went up and north, then downward toward the east, then 
 slanted, skimming one way and another, suddenly dropping, 
 suddenly rising, ofF on a tangent, round in a curve, sweep 
 ing to right and sloping to left, now fast, now slow. It 
 rose at one time far above the roof of the building and 
 hurried towards Madison Square tower; in another minute 
 it had sailed downward almost to the sidewalk ; then it 
 went up and up again almost perpendicularly to change its 
 mind before it sought an entrance to the Fifth Avenue Hotel 
 and drive post-haste over Madison Square. 
 
 And as it dipped and tilted, the sunlight caught it, or the 
 shadow obscured its form. For minutes it was invisible, 
 only to appear higher and beyond, or nearer and below, in 
 a flash like a heliograph. Then it drew a bright arc across 
 the facade of a Broadway store and was lost again. It 
 fluttered into sight like a butterfly and disappeared. The 
 last sitrht of it showed a twinkling dot of white over the 
 shadowy green of the Square. Its light went out and it 
 was gone. 
 
 The lady sighed and closed the window. Her bolt was 
 sent. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders and turned to the telephone. 
 An order for a manicure was despatched, with specifications 
 that she should be a blonde not red. Another message 
 called a masseuse here she required a brunette. These 
 errands accomplished, the lady threw herself upon a couch, 
 took up a magazine, fluttered its pages for a while and 
 finally composed herself to wait for her attendance, plunged 
 in a day dream. 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 Haulick Smagg, his eyes fixed upon the ground, his coal 
 shovel over his shoulder, heaved his six feet of bulk stolidly 
 across Madison Square, walking as heavily as a dray horse. 
 From his bony ovoid head his eyeballs looked out through 
 a grime of coal dust, and beneath them a row of white teeth 
 cut a horizontal line across his visage. The rest of his 
 face was lost in the melange of dirt, hair, and matted whis 
 kers, all save two great ears, one on each side of his skull, 
 poised wing-like, as if for flight. His carnivorous jaw 
 worked ponderously upon a cud of tobacco; his left arm 
 swung back and forth like a piece of crude machinery. 
 His dress was nondescript, blackened to a homogeneous 
 filthiness by the pasty soot. There was little charm about 
 Haulick Smagg, small subtlety, and less poetry. He was a 
 walking clod, a human animal, a Thing. 
 
 He had been discharged from the coal yard that noon, and 
 no vernal joyance filled his heart. As he crossed the 
 Square, his thoughts, if he thought at all, were fixed on 
 dinner. The spasmodic rise and fall of the fountain in; 
 the pool sent him no message of hope or beauty ; the leafage,, 
 so tenderly green about him, conjured no aesthetic thrill.. 
 Dinner obsessed him. He still had twenty-two cents left 
 wherewith to eat and drink, and sulkily he planned his 
 meal. The necessity, at this crisis, of getting drunk 
 worried him, and he planned his campaign. To get dinner 
 and get drunk on twenty-two cents was the greatest problem, 
 so far, he had ever had to solve. 
 
 Haulick Smagg but why Haulick? Ah! His mother 
 had been a gipsy ; she gave him a strain of something < ; 
 Oriental that wandered errant through his thick blood., 
 Kidnapped on Hampstead Heath by a pious, erratic NoriM 
 conformist parson who had hoped to rescue a soul from . 
 
 1*7*] 
 
THE FAIRY OF THE FLAT I RON 
 
 vagrancy and perdition, the Romany waif had grown up in 
 the scullery of the parson s home at Dorking. Her hered 
 ity, however, had proved stronger than environment. 
 The call of the wind stirred her and she was off a-roving 
 at fifteen. Her voyage, brief but lively, ended when she 
 met Bill Smagg, and she came safely into the port of wife- 
 hood. With that she espoused respectability, her only in 
 fidelities being occasional dreams of romance consequent 
 upon her habitual fondness for eel pie. It was in one of 
 these pleasant visions that the name was revealed unto her. 
 It was a dream of a gorgeous Italian with a green shirt and 
 yellow, floating scarf, who swore heroically upon a Thames 
 river barge. As he stood upon the stern of his craft, the 
 name "Samuel J. Haulick " showed plainly beneath him. 
 The dream, recounted to Mr. Smagg so soon after his 
 ninth son was bom, seemed portentous to both the parents. 
 The neighbors thought so, too, and the greengrocer, as well 
 as the keeper of the eel-pie house round the corner. The 
 result was that the infant was named Haulick Smagg and 
 thrived notwithstanding. 
 
 At the age of five, however, Haulick Smagg had suc 
 ceeded in running away from home, made his way to 
 Southampton, and, after a few years of vicissitude, stowed 
 himself away upon the bark Scarlatina and was carried to 
 New York. From this port he had never departed. For 
 got was his gipsy mother, forgot his father, forgot the eel- 
 pie house, and forgot his native idiom and dialect. Haulick 
 was, for all he knew, an American ; he knew, at least, that 
 he was a coal-heaver who had lost his job and was now 
 treading an unaccustomed part of the city. 
 
 (At last we have caught up with him. He has passed 
 the nursemaids now, passed the policeman watching the 
 
 18 
 
 2 73 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 nursemaids, passed the sleeping men with newspapers, 
 passed the khaki-clad recruiting sergeant.) 
 
 Why he crossed the Square he did not know. But 
 Destiny drew him. Destiny and dinner. 
 
 Of a sudden something drew his eyes from the flagged 
 walk and raised them to a figure ahead. To him it was 
 but a lady a creature out of his world, out of his ken, an 
 object as foreign as the angels, as inaccessible as cham 
 pagne, as mysterious as money. What ladies were made 
 of he neither knew nor desired to know ; what they did he 
 had never even wondered. He accepted them as parts of 
 the city s fauna, a little less strange than pigeons, a little 
 more difficult than dogs bright-clad animals which, though 
 seemingly harmless, he distrusted and avoided. That they 
 were human, that they had anything physically or mentally 
 in common with such women as he had known, had never 
 entered his head. 
 
 With a thrill of annoyance, the fact broke through his 
 torpor that this one, holding something white in her hand, 
 smiling magically, was definitely, positively approaching 
 him ; she was intending to speak. To speak to him. The 
 idea was madness ; but he had scant time for wonder. 
 
 She was jauntily clad in the extreme of the jaunty 
 fashion of that day, complete from hat to heels, as smart 
 as he was squalid, as graceful as he was glum. Slim as a 
 snake was Dolly Van Dream that April day, in a blue 
 tailor-made suit that made every female passer-by suspect 
 her figure. Her hat was black, her gloves milk-white, 
 her shoes twinkled like mirrors on her high-arched little 
 feet. The modiste who had turned her out, fresh and 
 sharp from the stylish mold of the hour, may have 
 turned out many like her, but none so spick, none so 
 
 [274] 
 
THE FAIRY OF THE FLAT IRON 
 
 clean, none so silkily smooth and cleverly right and trig 
 and taut and gladsome. 
 
 She stopped in front of him actually stopped, did she 
 
 and held a white envelope out to him. He had never 
 
 been so near to a lady s clean-cut head, white skin, and 
 animated eyes. He gripped his shovel and stared wildly, 
 his mouth ajar. 
 
 " Here," she said, and to Haulick Smagg her voice was 
 cadcnced as if it came from miles away from the moon 
 or Sirius. " Here, my good man, take this. It may be 
 worth your while." 
 
 He was now stricken, and stood an insensate statue of 
 surprise. 
 
 " Let me explain it for you," she went on, and, drawing 
 a sheet of paper from the envelope, she pointed to some 
 writing. " It says here that if you take this to Room 1798 
 in the Flatiron Building " - she waved airily to the colossal 
 
 wec [ge "you will get a hundred dollars. See, here is one 
 
 half of a hundred-dollar bill." Her slim ringers plucked 
 the torn yellow bill from its nest. " Would you like to 
 try it ? " 
 
 He had never seen a hundred-dollar bill before; no, 
 never a fifty. To him money was green and dirty and 
 wrinkled always, and always stained and torn. But her 
 worc l s though with her accent they came as foreign as 
 French aroused an instinct, and he put forth his hand. If 
 this thing were indeed money, he should lose no time. He 
 grabbed it from her with a crafty plunge, and crumpled it 
 in his fingers. But speech came not unto him. 
 
 "You see, it says that a woman mayn t get it," Miss 
 Van Dream went sweetly on, "and I was requested to give 
 it to the nearest man. It sounds interesting, and I m sorry 
 
 [275 ] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 I m not eligible. So you re to take this to the room and 
 you 11 be given the other half. A hundred dollars. Will 
 you do it ? " She looked at him with well-bred curiosity. 
 Social emergencies had schooled her and she dared to smile. 
 
 Slowly he released his ringers and gazed at the crumpled 
 half-bill as if it had been an imprisoned bird and might 
 escape. He put it to his nose and smelled it. Yes, it 
 smacked of money. Then the dream was true ! Then he 
 opened his lips. Perhaps a drop of gipsy blood grew potent 
 in him ; perhaps there is a very spirit in lucre that in 
 spires and exalts, a power that informs ignorance and 
 quickens apathy. 
 
 " Thanks ! " His voice came raucous, but it came. 
 " I 11 do ut ! " It was his first moral victory. The spark 
 had lighted up his soul. He had spoken to a lady. 
 But, with a sudden reflex, his fingers tightened upon the 
 treasure. 
 
 Then, " Gimme the paper ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 He grabbed that, too, and read it painfully, the stumpy 
 end of his black forefinger traveling slowly along the lines. 
 Miss Van Dream gazed at him amused. A few passers- 
 by stopped and stared. Her proud gaze swept them on 
 like a chill breeze. As they stood there, a policeman 
 caught sight of this Beauty and the Beast and started 
 saunteringly their way. The movement aroused her to 
 action. 
 
 " Listen, my good man," she said. u Now that I ve done 
 something for you, I m going to ask you to do something 
 for me. After you ve got the hundred dollars up there, 
 will you come and tell me all about it?" 
 
 Huh ? " 
 
 She repeated the question. 
 
THE FAIRT OF THE FLAT I RON 
 
 " Oh, sure ! " he grinned. The leaven of wealth was 
 working in his brain. 
 
 " But perhaps it will take some time," she added. ct I 
 think I d better make an appointment with you for to 
 morrow. I 11 tell you ! Come up to my studio at any 
 time tomorrow and tell me all about it, and I 11 give you 
 another hundred dollars ! " 
 
 This was too much. One glass of wine will exhilarate ; 
 the second may stupefy. So with money. One hundred 
 had awakened Haulick Smagg s dormant manhood. Two 
 hundred was not so easily digested. He sank back into 
 dumbness, and could only wag his head. 
 
 It was enough for Dolly, however, and she opened a red 
 leather bag and drew out a card. Upon it was her name, 
 with the address, " 404 Highbrow Hall." He groped for 
 it, as through the dark. 
 
 u A hundred dollars ! " she said cheerily, nodding at 
 him, and was off before the policeman could take her 
 measure. 
 
 There was no need for repetition to stun Haulick 
 Smagg ; he was already almost unconscious in contempla 
 tion of his fortune. Two hundred dollars ! To him it 
 spelled millions drunks perpetual, an alcoholic epic. He 
 dropped onto a bench to set his dull wits to an unaccus 
 tomed labor. His gipsy blood, adjuvant, came to the rescue 
 again, and, pushing at his mind, set it at last in motion. 
 With increasing momentum mere thoughts grew to ideas and 
 ideas to projects. He turned to his neighbor, an old lady 
 with a dewlap and an ash-barrel bonnet, and grinned at 
 her. She hiccoughed and looked at him with bleared eyes. 
 His soul stirred in him. He opened his eyes and saw that 
 the sky was blue ; he saw the grass, the trees, the fountain ; 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 he perceived that it was spring. Slowly, deliberately, but 
 with massive power, he clenched his fist, tightened his 
 biceps, and bent his arm to prove his strength. Two 
 hundred potential dollars coursed through his veins and he 
 became a giant. Then he rose, swearing a new oath, and 
 stepped off towards the Flatiron Building, giving the police 
 man a glowering look as he passed scornfully by. 
 
 He shouldered his way magnificently down the corridor, 
 his shovel still in his clutch, and tried to press into the 
 elevator cage. A uniformed starter barred the way. The 
 elevator boy grinned and snapped the door shut, shot up 
 the shaft. Sheepishly shrinking back into his old humil 
 ity, Haulick Smagg started to walk upstairs, since he was 
 not good enough to be carried. His mind worked, but it 
 was not till he had climbed nine stories that he had solved 
 his new problem. Then, cursing himself volubly, he 
 descended nine flights, took the starter by the shoulder and 
 flung him the full length of the hallway, broke past the 
 elevator boy and kicked him after the starter, then slammed 
 the door shut and pulled the rope. The car shot upward. 
 There was nothing sheepish about Smagg s grin now ; it 
 was victorious, arrogant, outright. 
 
 Before he knew it the car stopped with a crash ; 
 stopped automatically, but with violence. He wrenched 
 the door open and emerged with his shovel and looked 
 about him. By sheer good luck it was the seventeenth 
 floor. He consulted his letter and began to explore the 
 hallway, gazing at the numbers on the ground glass doors. 
 
 Here it was, at last, 1798; and he stopped to wonder 
 how he would get in. There was an electric button by the 
 side of the door jamb, but it was too little for him to 
 notice. He wanted a handle to pull or a stout oaken 
 
THE FAIRY OF THE FL ATI RON 
 
 panel to bang. The glass gave him no chance, unless he 
 boldly pushed his fist through it. He would have done 
 that in another minute, probably, had not the door suddenly 
 opened of itself. 
 
 Two women appeared in the opening, one blonde, one 
 brunette. At sight of him they ran shrieking inside. One 
 tried to close the door, but Haulick Smagg s immense hoof 
 was over the threshold and prevented. They retreated 
 down the inner hall. The coal-heaver ploughed his way 
 after them. He lost them as they ran round a corner and 
 disappeared into a little room, but he kept on toward a 
 door at the end of the passage. There was no glass in the 
 panel of this, and he pounded lustily with his shovel. In 
 six seconds it was opened and flung wide. 
 
 I 79} 
 
Chapter Ctoo 
 
 SMAGG S FLORESCENCE 
 
 / am your creature. 
 
 And any shape that tbou would^st have me wear 
 I gladly will put on. 
 
 (The Duke of Milan.) 
 
 lOR a second time Haulick Smagg was con 
 fronted by a lady, but she was no twin to 
 Dolly Van Dream. Even Haulick Smagg 
 apprehended a difference. This one was 
 to the other what Christmas was to Election 
 Day, what a cigarette was to a cigar, what 
 dull red is to pale blue no such denizen of the world as 
 had walked ofttime, tailor-fitted, across the outskirts of his 
 inattention, or had ridden barouched and landaued, with pet 
 dogs and uniformed slaves, along the avenues where he was 
 wont to shovel coal. Unfamiliar as were the habits of 
 Dolly Van Dream to him, and as remote from his compre 
 hension, she was as clear as beer compared with the sprite 
 who now welcomed him with a fairy smile. The most he 
 could be sure of was that he was welcomed. The ray of 
 delight she emanated bathed him and refreshed. 
 
 The lady has been already described with ambiguous 
 tropes ; but who can describe the impression she made upon 
 the rods and cones of Haulick Smagg s retina, the wild at 
 tempts of Haulick Smagg s optic nerve to telegraph an 
 impossible translation of the reaction to Haulick Smagg s 
 
 f 280 1 
 
SMAGG S FLORESCENCE 
 
 poor brain ? He saw, or thought he saw, or dreamed he saw, 
 or, in some unique intoxication, saw, or felt, a creature all 
 gray-and-silver shimmery, slenderly tender, mystic, wrapped 
 in a perfumed mood a smiling, feminine something that 
 drew him as by a spell and made him glad. Such a costume 
 was as provocative to his imagination as such a face. He 
 glowed and turned faint. There were jewels, too, upon 
 that form ; doll s hands and arms, a rapturous throat and 
 neck, and fragrant hair all curls and billows. Slowly, one 
 by one, the details came out of the mist of her presence. 
 He swallowed his tobacco in his pleasant alarm. His 
 shovel dropped upon the floor. 
 
 She greeted him as if he had been a long-lost friend, or a 
 rich uncle from Cambodia, dripping rubies. If there were 
 symptoms of surprise, they were hidden on the instant in the 
 chime of her laughter. She laughed for a full minute bv 
 the clock, then reeled to a chair and laughed again. At 
 last she rose with more dignity and held forth her 
 hand. 
 
 " I m delighted to see you," she said. "Do sit down 
 and tell me your name. I presume you came in answer to 
 my message." 
 
 u I came for that hundred dollars," said Haulick Smagg, 
 and his voice growled and grumbled through the room. 
 
 She jumped up as if she had been touched off with a 
 match, and exploded again into laughter. Then from her 
 escritoire she drew the missing portion of the bank note and 
 tendered it. 
 
 He plucked it from her, scrutinized it, and matched it with 
 the other half, which had lain hidden in his fist. A smile 
 broke through the gloom of grime on his face, and the two 
 fragments, reunited at last, were closed in upon by the fin- 
 
 [281 ] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 and 
 few 
 and 
 
 gers of his big right hand. From that moment, even to the 
 end, the money never left his grasp. 
 
 She motioned him to a seat, straightened her face, and 
 spoke to him. " Who are you, Vulcan ? " 
 
 "Haulick Smagg. I m a coal-heaver. I worked for 
 Blackstone and Company, but I was fired today. What do 
 you want, anyway ? " 
 
 " What do I want ? I want you, Blackamoor ! Not till 
 a minute ago did I know what I did want, but now I 
 know." 
 
 Something of this got into the mire of his brain 
 stirred him ; he rose, black and mighty, and lurched a 
 steps nearer her. She evaded him like a sunbeam 
 laughed again. " Sit down," she commanded, and a new 
 note in her voice took away his strength. Fie dropped like 
 a carcass into a chair. 
 
 " Let me think," she murmured. " It was my whim to 
 play with Fate, to win Destiny to my side, to challenge 
 Fortune rather than play my wit in my first encounter with 
 this town. I sent my message to Chance and you were 
 the answer, it seems." She looked at him from under her 
 golden brows fixedly. u What do you mean, I wonder?" 
 
 " What d you mean yourself?" He crossed his long 
 
 legs. 
 
 She still stared at him and continued : " I take you, 
 Caliban ; I take you, shirt and shovel, cap and clumsiness, 
 dirt, dust, and cinders. No, I forswear the coal dust. I 11 
 have you laundered." She rose and shook a finger at him. 
 " And then, by Frankenstein, I 11 make and model you - 
 I 11 tool you over and file you down, pump a soul into you, 
 infuse you with fame. I 11 finance and exploit you, and 
 set you walking up Broadway. Come, would you like to 
 
 [ 282 ] 
 
SMAGGS FLORESCENCE 
 
 be reborn? Would you flower, Monster? Would you 
 cajole a metropolis ? " 
 
 He looked awkwardly about him. " Got any beer ? " 
 he said. 
 
 She walked to a cabinet, took down a curious netted flask 
 and poured a high-waisted glassful and handed it to him like 
 Circe. It was down in an instant. He almost bit the 
 glass, then smacked his lips and heaved a sigh. 
 
 Now she dared approach him, and her gaze was that of 
 a snake. 
 
 u I have you ! " she whispered. " Forget ! " She ex 
 tended her fore and little ringers. 
 
 There was no visible effect at first. His wild eyeballs 
 still roved the room. His tongue was still seen cuddling 
 the roof of his mouth for the last flavor of the liquor; but 
 as she stared at him he shrunk a little and his personality 
 grew less insistent. He did not know yet that he was con 
 quered, and tried at intervals to talk. But gradually peace 
 enveloped him ; his muscles relaxed, all but those that held 
 his fingers tight about his fortune. With a gesture of sud 
 den shame his greasy cap came off, his left hand awkwardly 
 stroked his hair, he attempted furtively to kick his coal 
 shovel out of sight. 
 
 The lady s gaze softened now, and she curled herself 
 into a corner of a huge divan. She still watched him, but 
 her curiosity seemed constructive, as if she travailed with 
 his recreation. Her brows sprang in a tense arch ; her fore 
 head puckered ; a smile came and went, evanescent ; her 
 nostrils dilated once in a while, as if impulsed by some 
 bolder whim. 
 
 new. 
 
 " The land of possibilities," she murmured, " the city of 
 solecisms ! What path shall your feet tread, my amiable 
 
 1 283 ] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 ogre ? What walls shall you destroy for me, my battering 
 ram ? When you are painted and powdered, when you 
 are frocked and finished, where shall I ride you rough 
 shod ? What prestige shall harness you wherewith to 
 haul my chariot ? Oh, well, it suffices that the game is 
 begun." She stretched herself and yawned. " Now for 
 the christening ! " 
 
 She went to the telephone and called up the tonsorial 
 establishment on the eleventh floor. 
 
 a Send two big barbers," she commanded, " with soap and 
 towels, razors, scissors, combs, a quart of violet water, 
 and a ton of energy. I pay by the hour." She hung 
 up and went back to the couch. 
 
 If Haulick Smagg was drunk, it was a new form of in 
 toxication. Rather was it a dorming dream he was sunk in, 
 or a manner of psychological enchantment. But the very 
 air he breathed bewildered him. New sights dazzled him. 
 The apparition on the couch seduced his mood. All had 
 been strange since noon; all grew steadily stranger. He was 
 off the earth now, without mental foothold, without expe 
 rience, without knowledge of this quaint form of existence. 
 It was easier not to think, not to wonder, not to look for 
 ward. He drifted as if in sleep, lulled, beatified, non- 
 expectant, serene. Blackstone s coal yard receded towards 
 infinity. Ten minutes before, his heaven lay in Beer. He 
 had reveled in the prospect of a ten days carouse, of which 
 the hundred-dollar bill in his hand was prophet. Even that 
 joyous future now lost color and grew dim in this tran 
 scendent well-being; but he held to the money in his fist, 
 nevertheless, though he cared little and less every moment 
 whether or not that egg of hope ever hatched. 
 
 These hazy, vagrom speculations ceased suddenly at 
 
 [284] 
 
SMAGG S FLORESCENCE 
 
 the entrance of two white-clothed hair-dressers. He was 
 fallen upon forthwith and dragged incontinently into the 
 bathroom and ordered to strip. 
 
 He wondered vaguely where his will had gone, that he 
 obeyed with such docility. A colloquy came to him through 
 the keyhole, as his hostess gave her orders with precision. 
 He had time but to hide his hundred dollars in his mouth, 
 when the room was filled with steam and flying spray; a 
 torrent of waters hissed and bubbled ; a warm, wet wave 
 lapped his sticky skin ; his eyes were full of soap ; bare, 
 brawny arms brandished brushes ; Italian exclamatives 
 astounded his ears ; his skin, lathered and scrubbed, grew 
 smooth and slippery ; his ears filled with water. It went on 
 seemingly for hours, bristles biting his head and legs and back. 
 Then there came the sudden shock of an ice-cold flood freez 
 ing his flesh, and he shrank under the ordeal. Next, he was 
 slapped and rubbed with towels, swaddled with soft linen. 
 His skin tingled and glowed, and a new life shot into him. 
 It was pleasant now to feel the click of scissors in his hair, 
 the smooth, sweet stroke of the razor on his cheek, the deft 
 touches of the file and buffer on his nails. The odor of 
 violets was fragrant about him, a conciliatory powder-puff* 
 played gently over his chin. He grew young and younger, 
 sweeter and more soft. 
 
 But through the flood and suds, the wiping and the pol 
 ishing, still his mouth caged his bank note, a wad of wet 
 paper. It prevented speech, but speech was unnecessary. 
 The barbers worked upon him like sculptors on a block of 
 marble, fashioning a man. Nor protestation nor entreaty 
 could move them, and Haulick Smagg submitted to the 
 inevitable. 
 
 When he was dry and shiny, his hair parted and his 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 moustache gone, he was supported into an adjacent chamber, 
 where, set out in orderly arrangement on a table, new raiment 
 awaited him. Underwear of hitherto unknown form and 
 texture, hosiery of impossible sheen, neckwear of simple 
 chastity, trousers, waistcoat and coat whose shape aston 
 ished him, all were hung and buttoned upon him. The 
 process was long and intricate, but when Haulick Smagg, 
 complete and cap-a-pie, approached a cheval glass with 
 timorous apprehension, he met a stranger resembling, to 
 his mind, some plausible villain of some Bowery melo 
 drama. That it was indeed he himself did not occur to 
 him for several minutes. The image perplexed him, and he 
 turned away to accustom himself to strange weights and 
 surfaces, tight feelings here and there in zones that had all 
 his life been free. There was a cool stiffness about his 
 wrists, a brittle, crackling plane encasing his chest. His 
 feet were bound with new stresses and new strains ; his 
 cheeks and chin felt naked ; his pockets were all wrong and 
 empty. Yet, strangely, he liked the sensation. Nothing 
 about him reminded him of Haulick Smagg, but he felt a 
 tolerant, friendly interest in himself, as in a stranger who 
 might invite him, possibly, to take a drink. Thus amiably 
 constrained, he was pushed by the two barbers into the re 
 ception room and left alone with his expectant hostess. 
 
 It is the test of excellency in any profession not to be 
 branded by one s occupation so as to be infallibly recog 
 nized as of it. Haulick Smagg was too much of an artist 
 in coal-heaving to show, especially in his rehabilitation, the 
 slightest trace of his trade. Lean and gaunt he was, with 
 high cheek bones and smallish, violet eyes. His hands 
 were large and bony, his feet long and wide. With 
 the coal dust washed off, his face showed keenly alert, 
 
 f 286 1 
 
SMAGG S FLORESCENCE 
 
 almost intelligent. When he smiled, there was a charm 
 about him like the charm of a child, compelling, irresist 
 ible. In short, as he stood there, immaculate and tailored, 
 there was subtle evidence in his being of an inchoate 
 personality that might prove susceptible and sensitive in its 
 reaction upon environment. 
 
 Let us not scrutinize Lady Mechante s methods with 
 her protege too closely. How she wormed herself into his 
 brain, tightened a screw here, strung a wire there, drove a 
 few nails to hang thoughts on, and installed a few primary 
 principles of etiquette and culture, need not be disclosed. 
 Scrub and shave a stevedore yourself, and you will find how 
 amenable he is to formative processes when immaculate 
 and rehabilitated. Lady Mechante was patient and perse 
 vering and inspired with a sense of humor. Her patient 
 breathed pure oxygen in her presence, and was stimulated 
 till he vibrated with overtones. So one may string a cocoa- 
 nut shell with catgut and a master s bow may call forth 
 harmonies. 
 
 His first tuitions were practical and utilitarian ; a dash 
 of persiflage, an epigram, a lively limerick or two, and the 
 art of complimenting a lady without having his face slapped, 
 came later in the game. He was taught to enter a room 
 less like a giraffe than a gazelle. He was taught to leave 
 it with a trail of fire. Not to be too interested nor too 
 bored, to preserve the fine natural distinction of his person 
 ality, these and other graces she instilled in words of one 
 syllable. 
 
 Then, rudiments of art and culture she taught him, 
 primary working axioms, the maxims of the elect. She 
 taught him to say, wistfully, after an egregious piano solo 
 
 [ 287! 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 had finished, " What is that ? " She taught him how to 
 criticize pictures without being caught, how to use u con 
 vincing " and " sincere." She disclosed the mysterious art 
 of evading invitations. She showed him the three answers 
 to the awful inquiry : " How d you do, Mr. Smagg ! you 
 don t remember me, do you ? " She resolved him, in fact, 
 the patter of the cognoscenti, the shibboleths of the inner 
 few. So in music, so in art, etiquette, and literature; 
 maxims, a well-selected phrase-book, enough to carry him 
 up the first flight of stairs in the abode of ^Esthetics. 
 
 In all this his fly-paper memory let no word escape. 
 What he could not understand he learned by rote and 
 practiced like a machine ; but no one would have known 
 the difference. 
 
 How did she gain his complaisance ? There was some 
 thing of glamour, something of hypnotic suggestion in it. 
 The exotic atmosphere induced a mood of dream. The 
 novelty of his environment acted on him subtly like radium 
 upon a diamond. His elements suffered allotropic modifi 
 cation. Not that he realized any of this. He was led like 
 a steer to the butcher. He groped dimly forward as if 
 through jelly. It was enough for him the first evening that, 
 though he was fed with strange viands at a little pink-lit 
 table and irrigated with rare vintages, at the end he still 
 had his hundred-dollar bill, now not clutched in his horny 
 palm, but safe ensconced in a corner of his white waistcoat 
 pocket. His clothes upheld him with dignity like the 
 armor of a knight. If Lady Mechante turned aside to 
 giggle on occasion at his legerdemain with knife or spoon, 
 his jugglery with mushrooms, he did not perceive the cause. 
 Once started on his career, his patience and willingness 
 were pathetic. 
 
 [288] 
 
SMAGG S FLORESCENCE 
 
 She did not let him go, however, without the rehearsal of 
 a dialogue that was to ensue upon the morrow. Already 
 the story of his meeting with Miss Van Dream had been 
 corkscrewed out of him between the fish and the entree. 
 Mr. Smagg, with his thick tongue loosened with Chateau 
 Yquem (he damned it, under his breath, as having u too 
 much sugar into it," but drank it nevertheless), struggled 
 valorously with a description of the girl till his hostess 
 screamed with glee. She gleaned from the expected inter 
 view a hope of conquest. By that her scheme would be 
 made easy ; so Smagg was put through the paces he was 
 to step at the studio in a polite dialogue fraught with an 
 occult policy. 
 
 At midnight Haulick Smagg, still in evening clothes, 
 still with a faint odor of violets upon him, descended the 
 elevator of the Flatiron Building the bonded slave of my 
 Lady Mechante. It was dangerous to let him loose to 
 rove alone in search, perhaps, of his heaven of beer, but it 
 could not be helped. Destiny had sent him; let Destiny 
 guide him safe. His instructions, carefully written upon 
 heliotrope notepaper, sent him across the street to the 
 nearest hotel. This he entered, and here he took a room. 
 A half-hour later, Lady Mechante, her head out of her 
 seventeenth-story window, questioning the night, imagined 
 she could hear his snores. 
 
 [289 
 
Chapter Wyctt 
 
 HIGHBROW HALL 
 
 Nay then, I see that tbou art but a puisne 
 In the subtle mystery of a woman. 
 
 (The Revenger s Tragedy.) 
 
 JGHBROW HALL is like a huge sponge, 
 in whose multitudinous labyrinthine holes 
 are housed the maddest cranks in the city 
 of New York. It is the abode of a thou 
 sand freaks. There are over twelve hun 
 dred suites of apartments in this big, blonde 
 building, and each room contains an inmate insaner than 
 the next. 
 
 A mass of intricate, hard-paved, cross-cut corridors and 
 tunnels twelve stories of catacombs, covering heaven 
 knows how many acres in extent. To traverse its mysteri 
 ous halls and staircases is like threading the returning, 
 elusive vagaries of a nightmare. 
 
 The halls are usually deserted, but not silent, for of a 
 sudden, if it be Sunday morning for instance, the whole 
 fabric groans and trembles with the titanic vibrations of an 
 orchestra pent in some small room in the secret entrails of 
 the house, and the mellow pounding of kettledrums fills 
 every artery of the place ; while quaintly above the strains 
 of Palestrina echo from some jubilant choral society over 
 your head. 
 
 [ 2 9] 
 
HIGHBROW HALL 
 
 " Curfews Shall Not Ring Tonight ! " have at you 
 through keyholes, from mad pupils of mad elocutionary 
 teachers, and as for u Papa s Letters," why, they sweep 
 them up in dozens in the hallways every morning ! 
 
 Artistic to the bone are the Highbrows. Art comes high 
 in this asylum, but one must have it. Maids and widows 
 who paint on plush and placque, by their hair you shall know 
 them. Starving musicians and teachers sublet and double 
 sublet their rooms, their pianos, their reputations, and, 
 forced from their lairs and Lares u from I to 3 on Tue., 
 Thu. and Sat.," are forced to walk the streets. Frail girls 
 chum together in one room, suspicious with Japanese screens 
 and couches, behind which one dares not look for fear of 
 finding a cook-stove or bath. Where in heaven s name 
 do they sleep ? In the grand piano ? Beware of any par 
 ticularly plausible-looking bookcase ask no questions of 
 oak bureaus whose drawers will not open. What econo 
 mies are dovetailed into this pile ! What illicit cuisines ! 
 What bathrooms made over into pantries or nurseries ! 
 Children ? One sees them in the kindergarten on the ninth 
 floor only. Their mothers are above in the gymnasium, 
 taking lessons in golf. There are no homes in Highbrow 
 Hall only studios. 
 
 There are Schools of Dramatic Art, too ; and women 
 journalists, where they read "papers," as women will, and 
 discuss them over tea ; where it is " sociable," thanks to the 
 presence of men in bygone collars and white satin em 
 broidered ties, contributors, they, to the weeklies of the 
 Middle West. 
 
 But we are not half down the corridor yet. We pass a 
 few assorted poets, supported by wives who give " talks " at 
 three dollars per listener. If she does n t talk Hegel, or 
 
 [ 291 ] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 Verlaine, or the newest Neo-Celtic poet, she talks Veroni, 
 and the influence of the earlier post-Raphaelites, or she 
 monologues away on Brahms, and discloses the archi 
 tecture of the Sonata with two grand pianos and eight- 
 handed "ensembles." It is most exciting; especially 
 when you re in the corner of the couch with the 
 pretty geniusette from Kansas City and don t have to 
 listen. 
 
 And then, if you would bite the other side of the social 
 pie, the true upper crust of Highbrow Flail, come with me 
 to a very devilish little musicale in the northeast corner, 
 down a secret passage, unsuspected and remote. Here, now, 
 is the truly smart set dollared dowagers and men with 
 prefixes to their names (if they would only use them), artists 
 who receive five hundred a night for singing at aristocratic 
 palaces, Viennese swells, and the ultimate affectations in 
 Art, if not in Society. Here, also, are a few timorously 
 wicked debutantes and ladies-who-would-be-thought-clever 
 being initiated into the most select circles of Bohemia. It 
 is a place which one boasts of having been invited to, and 
 shudders prettily at having gone. Your host is the spoiled 
 pet of the hour. You may be assured that the Buda-Pesth 
 street ballad he exploits languidly, with naughty, half-shut 
 eyes and alluring smile, is unspeakably risque. Here Mrs. 
 Munich, for whom every man in the room has a confessed 
 tendresse, plays shivery Hungarian waltzes, retarding the time 
 voluptuously with suggestive abandon, while you become 
 hysterically confidential with your partner over the marrons 
 glaces, and she, under the demoralizing influence of such 
 fantastic harmonies, ventures to smoke half of a perfumed 
 Petroff cigarette. Here reigns the Effete, where it is always 
 the end-of-the-century. 
 
 [292] 
 
HIGHBROW HALL 
 
 It was in such an exotic environment that Miss Dolly 
 Van Dream s studio was placed, a secret nook at the end 
 of a long tunnel-like corridor, up two steps and round a 
 corner on the avenue front. Within, one entered through 
 a small hall to a sort of dining-room, well stocked with 
 old oaken furniture, whence one could see through a wide 
 arch the vast two-story atelier. 
 
 The apartment was suspiciously commodious for the 
 scant use Dolly made of it ; but any such suspicions were 
 futile. Dolly really painted, and that alone was crime 
 enough to her world, for in the social structure of the 
 town the Van Dreams dwelt very near the top. Not quite 
 at the top, however, for their name permeated the society 
 columns and Dystart Van Dream was a millionaire, so 
 called. There were those who questioned the " Van," and 
 Dystart s grandfather was said to have been a cabin boy. 
 Their position, nevertheless, was what is called " assured," 
 and Dolly, who had made a name for herself on account of 
 the accidental surplus of brains accorded her, was looked 
 upon only with tolerant amusement when she took up the 
 artistic life. Dolly s fads were well known, and this was 
 by no means her first. She had, in a way, taken her cue 
 from Mrs. Braxton-Burlap of Boston, and was a constant 
 source of ct copy " for the yellow journals. She was at 
 present still famous for having ventured alone into New 
 York in August wearing a taupe veil. It was not the fact 
 that she was unaccompanied, or even the taupe veil, that 
 made the story : it was because there was nobody in New 
 York except Dolly Van Dream and three or four millions of 
 nameless ones. In virtue of these eccentricities she dwelt 
 upon the borderland between Bohemia and Philistia ; her 
 studio was a sort of Debatable Ground where the guide- 
 
 [293] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 boards pointed in both directions. Here were found both 
 manners and customs; the one coming down from Society, 
 the other coming up from Art. Here debutantes had shiv 
 ered in the presence of genius, and talent had trembled at 
 the proximity of wealth. 
 
 It was as near like the professional studio as Dolly could 
 make it, the studio of the successful artist, the studio of a 
 thousand amateur stories in the ten-cent magazines, with 
 tapestries, old wooden carvings, embroidered altar cloths, 
 and all that sort of thing, you know. Dolly s canvases 
 stood on the floor turned face to the wall. Dolly s pur 
 chases, in genuine Georgian frames, classic nudes and 
 impressionist landscapes, filled the vertical acreage. 
 
 It was the hour for tea and a precious poet or two, and 
 perhaps a painter, in Dolly Van Dream s studio. A tre 
 mendous bang on the door startled the tete-a-tete at the tea- 
 table into a sharp surprise. Dolly stared and Dante Lilliput 
 stared, and the maid ran to the door. There was a colloquy 
 of which only the bass half was heard, then a visitor tramped 
 heavily through the dining-room and appeared in the arch- 
 wav. Miss Van Dream rose, took a step forward, and 
 gazed with puzzled curiosity. 
 
 A frock-suit and a pair of large, varnished boots came 
 forward to meet her, propelled by a creature who seemed to 
 have little part in them, so strangely they sat upon him. The 
 man seemed reluctant, but the frock-coat was perfectly will 
 ing and agreeable. The frock-coat could not speak ; neither, 
 for a moment, could Haulick Smagg, and Dolly Van Dream, 
 absolutely at a loss to account for his presence, stood staring 
 at him for a moment. She could not recognize the prodigy, 
 of course; if he had brought his shovel with him, now, it 
 
 [ 294] 
 
HIGHBROW HALL 
 
 might have been different. But at last she reached out a 
 hand to him hesitantly, and said: " Why how do you 
 do ? How nice of you to come ! You re just in time 
 for tea." 
 
 "Thank you," saiH Mr. Smagg, and he wrung her hand 
 with a terrible grip. Then he swallowed violently, turned 
 his eyes to the wall, caught sight of the picture of a nude 
 female with an orange, and blushed. 
 
 This gave Dolly Van Dream no clue to his identity. She 
 tried it again. 
 
 " It s a long time since I ve seen you." 
 
 " Thank you. Did n t you want me to come ? You 
 said so yesterday." 
 
 It was now Dolly s turn to blush. She did it the more 
 prettily. 
 
 " Yesterday ? " she repeated. 
 
 "You gave me the torn hundred-dollar bill, you know, 
 and the letter." 
 
 " Oh ! " Dolly Van Dream looked at him with a new 
 pair of eyes as if at a toadstool turned orchid. " Really ? 
 Are you the man ? Why, I thought oh, 1 see! Some 
 thing did happen, then ? " She looked him up and she 
 looked him down, while his eyes roved stealthily about 
 the room. 
 
 " Thank you." He threw it at her, all he could recall 
 that might fit, waiting for another cue. 
 
 " Do sit down and tell me all about it ! " Dolly pointed 
 to a chair and to the minor poet, then hesitated. " It s 
 awkward, but I can t quite recall your name." 
 
 " Haulick Smagg." He dropped into the chair with a 
 thud. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Lilliput, let me present Mr. Smagg. He s 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 just had a curious experience. Now do tell me about it, 
 Mr. Smagg." 
 
 His answer came as from an automaton, as he tried to 
 remember Lady Mechanic s phrases. His mind held fear 
 at the strangeness of his situation, but its very difficulty pre 
 vented his collapse. He had a part to perform, and there 
 was something in the will of the brute that urged him on, 
 though it was like walking a tight rope in the dark. He 
 groped mentally for his mistress s hand to guide him ; men 
 tally he shut his eyes and plodded dully forward, why, he 
 knew not, unless, indeed, it were for the hundred-dollar 
 bill that Miss Van Dream had promised him and which he 
 had promised not to accept. 
 
 He shut his eyes in order to concentrate his attention and 
 declaimed: "You thought I was a coal-heaver. I ain t 
 a coal-heaver. Sociologist. Studying the Submerged 
 Tenth. Investigating the drinking habits of the lower 
 classes. Collecting data for three years. My thesis for a 
 Doctor s degree. l The Lower Classes attain their Maxi 
 mum Capacity for Alcoholic Beverages on Tuesdays at 7.16 
 p. M. Minimum on Fridays at 3.05 A. M. I plot statistics 
 collected by actual personal research. Diagrams, showing 
 diurnal inebriety on cross-section paper, show bibacity- 
 curvc of equation, x 2 X y = 2 G. l G is weekly income." 
 
 How relieved he was now he had got it out ! He 
 opened his eyes and looked about him. Dolly Van Dream 
 was gazing wonderingly. Mr. Lilliput had his mouth open, 
 and his false teeth gleamed. 
 
 " What a splendid work ! " she ejaculated. " Is n t it, 
 Mr. Lilliput? Why, it ought to solve the whole drink 
 problem, surely ! But I confess I can t quite see yet how 
 the theory can be applied." 
 
HIGHBROW HALL 
 
 " Applied " was his cue for something but what ? He 
 had forgotten, but he made a brave attempt. 
 
 " Only an advertising scheme," he ventured. 
 
 Now, this was the answer to a wholly different question, 
 as he perceived dimly by Miss Van Dream s expression. 
 He was quite over his head now and struggled madly. " It 
 is quite natural that you should be amazed," he brought 
 out -, a remark which should have come earlier in the 
 conversation. 
 
 Dolly was indubitably amazed, and her curiosity was still 
 unsatisfied. " But what happened in the Flatiron Build 
 ing ? " she inquired. 
 
 "The collection of statistics and plotting of tendency- 
 curves is an end, not a means, in the science of Sociology. 
 Ten diagrams make one doctor s degree." He looked up 
 in triumph. What if he had his replies mixed? His 
 gipsy memory had not failed in his phrasing. 
 
 Mr. Lilliput was obviously impressed. "I say," he 
 exclaimed, "you ought to get a jolly good lot of material 
 down there. Human nature in the rough and all that sort 
 of thing. I never saw a drunken man in my life ! 
 
 Haulick Smagg turned his head, ga/,ed at the poet, and 
 spoke : " Well, you won t be a man till you get full, I 11 
 tell you that ! " He added something further about a " mag 
 got," but it was lost in a growl. 
 
 Dolly pieced it out to suit herself. " So you were really 
 in disguise yesterday?" she said. "How interesting and 
 romantic ! But did you get the other half of the hundred- 
 dollar bill ? Do tell me just what happened." 
 
 "New brand of soap. They wanted a name. I told 
 em l Latherinc. 
 
 u Oh, I sec." Dolly sighed. 
 
 [297] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 " Advertising writers and press agents are the only ro 
 manticists left nowadays," Mr. Lilliput remarked blandly. 
 " The only modern fairy tales have patent medicines and 
 actresses for their heroines." 
 
 Haulick Smagg reached for a piece of toast on the tea- 
 table and crammed it into his mouth. It recalled Dolly to 
 the amenities. 
 
 "Oh, do have some tea, Mr. Smagg. Perhaps I should 
 call you Professor." She poured him out a cup. 
 
 " I got the hundred dollars," he said, chewing his toast. 
 "I m going to give it to the poor." Which was, so far, 
 his first original venture, and in it showed the cunning of- 
 the primitive man. " / got that hundred dollars" he re 
 peated meaningly, a little louder. 
 
 u Oh, I quite forgot ! I promised you a hundred my 
 self." Dolly jumped up and sought her purse on the shelf 
 of a great easel. Then she turned toward him hesitatingly. 
 " Of course I thought you were really a coal-heaver 
 yesterday, or I would n t have insulted you by offering it. I 
 hardly dare do so now." 
 
 u For the poor," he reiterated, and held out his great 
 hand. 
 
 She handed the yellow bill to him with admiration. "So 
 you are a philanthropist as well ! " she said. 
 
 " Sociologist ! " he corrected -, " I draw diagrams." 
 
 He crowded the money into his waistcoat pocket, then 
 stretched out his hand for the cup of tea, but so clumsily 
 that it fell to the floor with a crash. With an oath he 
 brought the sole of his boot savagely down upon the 
 fragments, crushing them to morsels. His manner was as 
 wanton as if he were stamping upon a beetle. 
 
 Dolly Van Dream turned white and the minor poet s 
 [298] 
 
HIGHBROW HALL 
 
 eyebrows rose, shocked at an expression of real emotion. 
 But Haulick Smagg, having vented his wrath, grew mild 
 again. He took the second cup of tea which Dolly poured 
 for him hurriedly, emptied it into his saucer and gulped it 
 down audibly. Then, infused with strength and courage, 
 he looked about him. Singling out a landscape, an im 
 pressionistic mosaic of colored dabs, he thrust out his 
 thumb and wiggled it with a technical gesture. 
 
 " Lot of bully good stuff in that," he said, with a mag 
 nificent effect of sagacity. " I like this part in here." His 
 thumb described a small semicircle. " A bit tricky, 
 though." 
 
 This reinstated him. " I m so glad you like it," said 
 Dolly. " You really are discriminating. I hardly dare to 
 show you my own work, but I would like your opinion. 
 Do tell me what you think of this. It s only a study, you 
 know. Tell me frankly." She turned over a canvas, 
 showing in bold, vigorous brush-work the half-done head 
 and shoulders of a silk-clad girl. 
 
 He stared at it and clutched his chin with his fist. What 
 was it Lady Mechante had said ? There was a master key 
 she had given him by which he might pick the lock of any 
 social dilemma. Oh yes. "There was once a fox," he 
 began slowly, wagging his head. 
 
 " Oh, if it s as bad as that, for heaven s sake don t tell 
 me ! Quickly she turned the canvas about. " My, you 
 are shrewd ! You have discovered the very thing. I knew 
 it all along, of course, and it is just because I did know it I 
 wanted to be told it was n t so." 
 
 Dante Lilliput sat up and took notice. One could almost 
 see him scribbling something down in a little notebook for 
 future use. 
 
 [ 2 99 ] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 As for Haulick Smagg, he was profoundly satisfied with 
 himself. He was dabbling in magic. He understood it 
 not one whit, but his power was. pleasant. This little vic 
 tory gave him the nerve to walk up and boldly inspect the 
 nudes, something he had wanted to do ever since he entered 
 the apartment. A glance back over his shoulder showed 
 him that even this was permissible. He ranged from one 
 to another, then reluctantly examined a piece of still life 
 representing a dead fish, a dozen onions, and two dishpans. 
 There was one last remark in his catalogue. He recalled 
 that it had to be effected with his hands in his pockets and 
 his head on one side. He assumed the attitude and 
 risked it. 
 
 " Good," he said, " but why do it ? " 
 He scored a bullseye. " You terrible man ! " said Dolly 
 Van Dream. "You know everything! Now do come 
 back and be sociable, before you destroy everything in my 
 studio. Mr. Lilliput was just going to read me one of his 
 poems." 
 
 Smagg made for his chair, and, dazed with his success so 
 far, could not resist the temptation to try another of the 
 maxims he had rehearsed with his tutor. Three or four 
 remarks about pictures she had taught him, one or two on 
 music and architecture. What was that about poetry? 
 " The worst thing about blank verse is that it s usually so 
 damned blank." 
 
 He tried it. Trite as it was, it had been funny before, 
 often enough, and might be again, as Lady Mechante knew. 
 But this time its only apparent effect was to make the minor 
 poet jam his manuscript back into his pocket and change it 
 for another. 
 
 "You are terribly modern, Mr. Smagg," said Dolly. 
 [ 300] 
 
HIGHBROW HALL 
 
 a Have n t you any room for the classic in your soul ? Mr. 
 Lilliput is of the neo-Greek school." 
 
 "I am the neo-Greek school!" said Dante Lilliput. U I 
 stand for the voluptuousness of sound, for colored words and 
 phrases, for perfumed cadences and the mellifluous conse 
 cration of vowels." 
 
 u Let me feel your muscle," said Smagg, starting to his 
 feet. He reached out a paw and gripped the biceps of the 
 
 Go 
 
 on 
 
 minor poet till he drew forth a stifled shriek. 
 he muttered. u You ain t got no more n a cockroach. 
 Look at this ! " He took a fork in one hand and bent it 
 till it looked like a sugar tongs, then tossed it through the 
 archway. Then, suddenly, he wished he had not done it, 
 and he grinned sillily. Lady Mechanic s invisible finger 
 beckoned him to safety. 
 
 " Miss Van Dream," he said, " I have associated so long 
 with the lower classes that really I have forgotten how to 
 behave. I beg your pardon." 
 
 Again the spell worked, and the effect steadied him. He 
 was, during the whole call, like a somnambulist traversing a 
 perilous path, now hypnotically sure of his footing, now 
 suddenly awakening to a cognizance of dizzy heights. So 
 he changed from moods of security to sudden embarrass 
 ments and fears. His first essays at repartee had been 
 timorously delivered, but he grew to an increasing faith in 
 the counsels of his mistress. He felt dimly that his security 
 lay in a blind acquiescence to her dicta, to say nothing 
 original, to watch for his cue. Yet, from time to time, the 
 natural man asserted himself and his spirit broke loose. 
 
 Dante Lilliput had drawn a typewritten manuscript from 
 his pocket, and, urged by Dolly Van Dream s honeyed com 
 pliments, had begun to read. His voice flowed evenly; the 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 drawn-out vowels were given quantity rather than accent ; 
 the lines were intoned monotonously with deep intensity, 
 as if each word were displayed and valued, a jewel upon a 
 necklace. His feathery head wagged as he spoke : 
 
 " Last night I slept with Rhodomonte, 
 
 With Rhodomonte the fair, and she was dead ! 
 Cold were her breasts 
 As last year s nests, 
 
 And weary, weary hung her tired head. 
 How should I know that Rhodomonte was dead ? 
 Was she more cold 
 Than e er of old ? 
 
 Was she more languid than when oft I said, 
 God, how I love you, Rhodomonte! 
 Last night I slew my Rhodomonte, 
 
 Slew Rhodomonte the fair, and she is dead ! " 
 
 Dolly Van Dream jumped to her feet. " Splendid ! " 
 she cried. " What power, what feeling, what daring ! 
 Ah, that is poetry, indeed, is it not, Mr. Smagg ? " 
 
 Haulick Smagg had, during the recitation, succeeded in 
 catching a fly in his fist and was now busy pulling off its 
 wings. He looked up guiltily and sought in his phrase 
 book. 
 
 " Take care of the sounds, and the sense will take care 
 of itself, said Alice." He feared he had got it backwards, 
 but it was too late. 
 
 " My theory exactly," said Dante Lilliput. " Take care of 
 the passion and the person will take care of herself, too." 
 
 "Yes," sighed Miss Van Dream. "One s person 
 does n t matter. It s a wonderful piece of symbolism, I 
 think. Rhodomonte ! How well I know her, how well 
 we all know her, everyone who has lived and loved ! 
 
 [302] 
 
HIGHBROW HALL 
 
 While the others took up the thread of their con 
 versation, Smagg composed himself to a passive role and 
 studied the mild, sane tonalities of the academic oils about 
 him. Work like this he had seen often enough hung over 
 glittering bars, lithographed on calendars, pasted on the 
 sides of tomato tins, man s feeble attempt to impress the 
 retina as nature itself impresses it ; to do, many, many de 
 grees below in tone, what the sunlight did. He saw the 
 attempts to capture the transitory effect of things, accidental 
 illuminations whose shadows and half-lights concealed or 
 distorted the actual form, the immemorial scholastic attempt 
 to reproduce mere charm. Every painting presented a 
 petty, subjective point of view, pictured in heavy pigment, 
 each one a deification of the casual, the obvious, the tem 
 porary. All this he saw, but, seeing, did not yet under 
 stand. He accepted it as right and proper in its correla 
 tion with the unknown qualities of an unknown culture. 
 He accepted it as he had accepted his frock-coat. 
 That was the consistent costume, these the consistent 
 properties and scenery for the undreamed-of drama in 
 which he figured. He was still in the dark, but when 
 the light should begin to come to him he was to perceive 
 new ideas as a babe sees new objects, without perspective 
 or distance or size. What was near to him now seemed 
 big and potent. 
 
 Dante Lilliput meanwhile had let himself go and grew 
 lyric. u Oh, there s nothing worth writing about but love. 
 I love love ! It s the greatest of all the arts. It is as neces 
 sary to a man of genius as fuel is to a fire. What could I 
 do without women, or what could women do without me ? 
 Do you know, there s one curious district in this city like 
 a little foreign island where I don t know a single woman ! 
 
 [303] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 It is between Seventy-second Street and Seventy-ninth, west 
 of Broadway. On West Seventy-first Street there s a girl 
 named Rose who is a perfect violet. On Eightieth Street 
 there s a girl named Violet who is a perfect rose. But 
 between the two there s a vast, arid waste where not a 
 woman knows me, where not a woman loves me ! Oh, I 
 never dine alone. There s always some fresh young thing 
 who loves to look up at me and hear my voice." 
 
 " You do read your poems very well," said Dolly. 
 
 " Oh, I can t do them justice unless I m holding a girl s 
 hand. If you would let me hold your hand, now, I 11 re 
 cite my Abnegation. I always need a woman s hand to 
 sustain me and give me magnetism. I need sympathy. I 
 need the tremor of the soul, you know the polarity of 
 sex." 
 
 He reached forward and took her hand in his velvet 
 grasp, rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand as he 
 recited with vibrant, suppressed passion : 
 
 " Sweet ! If thy feet 
 
 Trample my bosom in scornfulness, 
 Why would my mournfulness 
 Teach me deceit ? 
 
 " Pure ! As the starlight is sure, 
 
 My love would accept thy duplicity, 
 Faint with felicity 
 So to endure ! " 
 
 " It really does thrill me," sighed Dolly. " Why, I can 
 feel it pulsing in my finger tips as you speak. How one 
 gets your heart-beats ! " 
 
 " Gawd ! " cried Smagg, jumping up. " I m sick. Sick 
 
 [ 304] 
 
HIGHBROW HALL 
 
 as a horse." He laid his tremendous hand against his 
 stomach, and his eyes rolled up. 
 
 "What s the matter? Don t you like it?" the poet 
 asked stiffly. 
 
 ct It s that damn drink there. I ain t used to swallowing 
 slops like that." 
 
 " Would you like a little Scotch ? " Dolly asked. 
 
 " Huh ? " 
 
 " I have some Scotch whiskey here." 
 
 " Gawd, have you ? " The very word restored him and 
 he looked wistfully about. Miss Van Dream arose and 
 sought the decanter. He grabbed it from her, doused out 
 a tall glassfull, and poured it into his mouth. Then he 
 wiped his lips with the back of his hand and gave a satisfied 
 grunt, while the liquor stung its way down his alimentary 
 canal and tore at his vitals. He looked proudly about 
 the room for a while, then his gaze centered upon Dante 
 Lilliput. 
 
 " Put that man out ! " he thundered. " I want to talk 
 to you. I like you, but I ain t got no use for a poll-parrot ! " 
 
 Miss Dolly Van Dream had backed to the other side of 
 the table, and now her voice came proud but tremulous. 
 " Mr. Smagg," she said, tc I can t stand this exhibition, 
 really. I m sorry, but I 11 have to ask you to leave if 
 you can t contain yourself." 
 
 A thin, small memory of Lady Mechante managed to 
 reach his brain, and he keyed down a little. " Miss 
 Van Dream," he said, " I have sociated s long with the 
 lower classes really forgot how to behave. Beg y 
 pardon." 
 
 " Oh, it s all right ; don t apologize, I beg of you ! " 
 Miss Van Dream came out from behind the table. 
 
 20 [ 305 ] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 Mr. Lilliput rose and spoke suavely. " The scientific 
 mind, I suppose, is apt to find the poetic temperament 
 heretical. I can quite understand, Mr. Smagg, how - 
 
 "Mister yourself! " He bellowed it forth. The wire 
 of his psychic telephone with the Fairy of the Flatiron was 
 now rent asunder. " I m going to go over there and step 
 on you, you rocking horse ! " 
 
 At this Dolly displayed a sudden unwonted energy and 
 proved herself a Van Dream. She spoke deliberately. u I 
 must positively ask you to leave us now, Mr. Smagg ! " 
 
 He wheeled on her like a thirteen-inch gun. u Gimme 
 my hat ! " he said. 
 
 She drew herself up proudly. 
 
 " Gimme my hat ! " 
 
 She wilted and cowered. Then she reached under his 
 chair, took his silk hat, and gave it to him abjectly. Dante 
 Lilliput turned the pages of a little book nervously, and 
 made himself small by the window. 
 
 " Gimme my stick !" 
 
 She waited on him, her eyes fixed on his ; though, 
 strangely enough, in hers there was no symptom of fear. 
 
 Smagg fished a pair of yellow gloves from his hip 
 pocket and dipped his hands into them, dragged them over 
 his fingers, and jammed in his thumbs. 
 
 " I have to thank you for a very pleasant time, Miss 
 Van Dream." 
 
 Haulick Smagg tramped out of the room, opened the 
 door, and slammed it behind him. The walls shook with 
 the concussion. 
 
Chapter Jfour 
 
 BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 Ob, Slime ! ob y Brickbat ! do not you know that comparisons 
 are odious ? 
 
 (A Woman Killed with Kindness.) 
 
 HE has been called, heretofore, Lady Me- 
 chante, apparently in a spirit of jest, even 
 as she herself had adopted the name of 
 Madelaine Mischief. But, and may it 
 not prejudice you against her, a lady she 
 was in very sooth, and hight Mechante. 
 She has been seen before this working overtime in social 
 harness in Mayfair. She has been seen in her dramatic 
 exit from the dinner-table of Madame Qui-Vive. This 
 was interregnum, to be sure ; but she had her rights, her 
 styles, and her privileges in that high world as the wife 
 of Lord Mechante, her first husband. The dainty coronet 
 upon the side of her six-cylinder Pancake car, therefore, 
 was in a way justified. She was, it is true, a good deal 
 more proud of her extra attachable wheel, her electric horn, 
 and several shiny brass attachments on the dashboard. Yet 
 the insignia, with its motto, " Why not ? " was placed there 
 for a reason. Every afternoon at four found Lady Mechante 
 in a black and white double veil and an oleander princess 
 gown at the sportily whipped steering wheel of her racing 
 runabout, a long, low, lead-colored craft with a wicked, 
 raking running board that made it look like a torpedo 
 
 [307] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 destroyer. It was a car any traffic officer might be ex 
 cused for arresting on sight. As it crept up Fifth Avenue, 
 still as a mouse, at six miles an hour, it seemed to be doing 
 twenty-three, at least. When she opened the throttle on 
 Riverdale Avenue, it went up the oily, heart-breaking hill 
 like butter sliding off a hot plate. But Lady Mechante 
 was seldom arrested ; her eyes prevented. Hats came off 
 and apologies were offered on occasion, and the officers 
 forgot her number. 
 
 There was one number, however, that Lady Mechante 
 herself did not forget; it was 38,002. This, as she had 
 taken pains to discover, registered a thirty horse-power 
 Hustler belonging to Wrestling Brewster Bradford, of 
 Number 3 Madison Avenue. She was going to play 
 with Wrestling Brewster Bradford, and play hard. She 
 had picked him, as an American of the Americans, Boston 
 born but New York bred. Her delectable coal-heaver 
 was not to absorb her whole energy. She intended to 
 use them both ; the contrast appealed exquisitely to 
 her. 
 
 For this reason she patrolled Madison Avenue, and cor 
 rupted the floorman of her Thirty-second Street garage, 
 questing her prey. Sometimes, as she was directing the 
 change of a spark plug, Mr. Bradford would come in and 
 go out with his car, the Hustler with a toy tonneau, which 
 he was old-fashioned enough sometimes to drive himself. 
 Then down went the hood of the Pancake and it was 
 snapped and strapped; up went the chauffeuse into the low 
 seat, and she was out and after him as stealthily as a gray 
 snake. 
 
 Many such pursuits were made in vain ; she escaped his 
 notice usually, but he afforded her no opportunity for the 
 
 [308] 
 
BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 achievement of her plot. His visits to his publishers and to 
 magazine editors and the like kept her in the heart of the 
 traffic where the going was slow. She encountered him 
 occasionally in the Park or on Riverside Drive, but here 
 there was as little chance. She needed an empty road for 
 immunity. 
 
 So she stalked her quarry for a week without avail. On 
 the nineteenth of April she discovered him in the Hustler, 
 which was decorated with a small American flag in honor 
 of the shot that was heard around the world. This was 
 at five o clock, hard by Grant s Tomb. 38,002 swept 
 by her, going downhill under the guidance, this time, of a 
 leather-clad chauffeur. Lady Mechante turned immediately 
 in a great curve and was after him. Across the Viaduct 
 she purred along, three lengths behind. Bradford looked 
 back once. Lady Mechante smiled. Over the Dam and 
 out Jerome Avenue she trailed them, then leftward into Van 
 Cortlandt Park. Here, after a little they passed the lake, 
 and the road ran up and down hill in sinuous curves. Lady 
 Mechante dropped a rod or so behind, and a little inverted 
 " V " was printed on her brow. Like this : A. 
 
 At the top of a long, winding slope she opened her throttle 
 wide for a quarter of a minute, then jammed it back and 
 released the clutch. The machine jumped forward like an 
 unhooded falcon and sailed after the Bradford car, as silent 
 as the wind. Her foot was steady on the brake as she drew 
 At ten feet distance she jammed it hard enough to 
 
 near. 
 
 check her momentum a little ; then, dodging round the 
 steering-wheel to escape the shock of it, she sent her right 
 mud-guard into the tail lamp of the car in front. The 
 mud-guard buckled, and her forward spring crashed into 
 his body. Her car slewed suddenlv and nearly went over. 
 
 [ 39] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 She had just time to shriek beautifully and fall half out of 
 the car. 
 
 It was a great success. When Bradford, with white 
 cheeks, reached her pink ones, her eyes were shut, one arm 
 hung limp, one hand clutched her heart. The chauffeur 
 came hurrying up. 
 
 Luckily they were mere men. Had Bradford s sister 
 been there, or any other woman, she would have understood 
 the situation perfectly. Whether the accident were genu 
 ine or not, the lady s pose was theatrical. Any woman 
 would have said that, for the audience, nothing could have 
 been more effective than the tangle of hair Lady Mechante 
 had contrived to dislodge. Her display of hosiery, consid 
 ering the few seconds in which she had to accomplish it, 
 was nicely calculated between revelation and suggestion. 
 True, she was not quite white enough, though she was hold 
 ing her breath resolutely. Her eyelids were not quite inert, 
 though they showed her lashes to good advantage. But there 
 was no fault to be found with her entrancing, half-open 
 mouth, showing, nestling between her white teeth, her little 
 pointed tongue. It takes skill to stage-manage such a 
 scheme, to be shot out of a catapult, so to speak, and fall 
 into a graceful tableau. 
 
 Suffice it to say that the picture was not lost on Wrest 
 ling Brewster Bradford, nor even on his chauffeur. It re 
 ceived a moment s hushed pause in tribute of its beauty 
 before even horror could assert itself. Horror did, how 
 ever, with several " My Gods" for its expression. Then 
 Bradford and his man, in an agony of fear and ignorance, 
 raised the beauteous victim in their arms and laid her upon 
 the grass beside the road. As they were too timorous to 
 feel of her to ascertain the quality of her injuries, Lady 
 
 [310] 
 
BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 Mechante paid them out in suspense, and the two wretched 
 men, knowing they ought to do something but not knowing 
 what to do, nor how to do it if they had, gazed down on 
 her as at a wounded butterfly. Then Bradford dropped on 
 his creased knees to fan her with his cap, and his mechani 
 cian was despatched for water. 
 
 Not a second too long, not a second too short, was the 
 time Lady Mechante accorded his anguish. Then she flut 
 tered her eyelids, quivered her lips, and looked up at him as 
 a babe looks up for milk. Bradford s relief was written in 
 his face. 
 
 " Are you hurt ? " he demanded huskily. 
 
 She noticed with delight that his hand trembled, that al 
 ready drops of sweat had gathered on his forehead. Perhaps 
 that was why she smiled. " What happened?" she in 
 quired faintly. 
 
 " You ran into me. I think your brake must have failed, 
 or something. Do see if you re hurt anywhere, please. I 
 hope we have n t broken any bones ! I d never forgive 
 myself." 
 
 u It was my fault," she murmured, and closed her eyes 
 again. 
 
 " Won t you see if you can t get up ? " he insisted gently. 
 " It s terrible to see you lying there that way." 
 
 " Is it ? " She opened her eyes and smiled mischievously. 
 
 "Oh I did n t mean that ! You re so beautiful, in 
 deed, that I can t bear to think of your being hurt. Do see 
 if you can rise." 
 
 She did not immediately, for she had not yet decided just 
 where to be hurt. Certainly her ankle should be strained 
 in order to enlist proper physical support, but she must not 
 overdo the thing or make her injuries too specific, on ac- 
 
 [3" ] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 count of a possible doctor, though she was not afraid of 
 doctors, either. So she first let loose a little " Oh! " as she 
 drew up her knee. Then she shook a white hand stiffly 
 and knotted her brows into a frown. Her smile came heroic 
 now, as she played the Spartan. 
 
 " Oh, it s nothing at all, much. I expect I m all right, 
 but I m afraid I can t drive my car home. By the way, is 
 there anything left of it r " 
 
 Bradford glanced back at the road. 
 
 I don t know," he said. " It looks a little ragged, but 
 don t worry. I 11 attend to it. You must n t think of going 
 home alone, anyway. I 11 see you re taken care of." 
 
 " It s my ankle," she said wearily, and she made a wry 
 little mouth. " Now if you 11 give me your hand I 11 try 
 to get up." 
 
 He drew her up tenderly, only to find she could not set 
 the right foot to the ground. Coyly she looked at him ; 
 timidly she consented to put her arm about his neck, to 
 have him put his arm about her waist, her little waist, her 
 little oleander waist. Bradford could feel her tremble; 
 indeed, she could feel him tremble, too. She knew her busi 
 ness, the little scamp, this pretty liar. Could n t she man 
 age to make him carry her ? she wondered. She might have, 
 had not the chauffeur come back, on the run, with a canvas 
 bucket of slopping water and eyes like owls . Catching 
 sight of the interesting composition of the picture, he set 
 down the bucket, backed off, and began to inspect the 
 
 machines. 
 
 Bradford and his charge sat down again on the bank. 
 " I 11 be all right in a minute," she said. " Let me rest a 
 little." That minute she proposed to spend in studying 
 the young man she had trapped. 
 
BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 He had a head like Seneca or was it Erasmus ? 
 Rough-hewn, yet with subtle planes a head any portrait 
 painter would tell you was hard to draw, and prove it. 
 Cynicism and kindness were in his mouth, but mostly cyni 
 cism. His eyes were thinking eyes- -brook hazel. It 
 .was a face most women were afraid of, but not so Lady 
 Mechante. She saw the difference between his two lips 
 and played for the more sensitive and sensuous lower one. 
 Nor was she afraid of the cynicism. New York had 
 rubbed off on him, that was all ; at the bottom all was 
 Boston enough still. Seven generations of Mayflower 
 stock were behind him, she knew, bred in-and-in. It gave 
 him a sharp individuality. His hands, she noticed, were 
 square. He would not be easily fooled ; still, it was lucky 
 for her they were not conic. 
 
 "I m not badly hurt," she said, "except that my ankle 
 seems to be twisted. I got off easy. It s a good job I 
 did n t plough right through you. I thought I was going 
 to. Will they take away my license ? " She looked up 
 at him with a fifteen-year-old expression. "Are you going 
 to sue me for damages ? I fancy I scratched you up a 
 bit." 
 
 " Oh, don t think of that. I think your car got rather 
 the worst of it." He called to his chauffeur. " How did 
 they stand it ? " 
 
 "Not bad. Crumpled up a little in front that s all. 
 If I hadn t slowed up when I saw her coming, it would n t 
 have amounted to anything at all." He turned discreetly 
 away. 
 
 " I 11 give you my name in case you want to have me 
 arrested. You d better take my number to be sure I m 
 not fooling you." 
 
 [3-3] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 < 
 
 < 
 
 He laughed as he took the card she produced from a 
 small red purse, then raised his eyebrows as he read the 
 legend. She noticed it and snatched it away from him. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," she exclaimed. " I gave you the 
 wrong one. I m not using my title here in America." 
 The card she now handed him bore the name Mrs. Nelly^ 
 
 Hellysh." 
 
 My name is Bradford," he remarked, looking at her. 
 " Wrestling Brewster Bradford." 
 
 " Wrestling ? What an odd name ! " 
 
 " I was named for an ancestor of mine. It was origi 
 nally Wrestling-with-the-Lord-in-prayer Brewster. He was 
 the son of the original Elder Brewster, the Pilgrim, you 
 
 know." 
 
 " My ! You are blue-blooded, are n t you ? Fancy 
 knowing who your ancestors were! I can t remember 
 further back than my grandfather, and he was only an 
 earl. I m quite afraid of you ! : 
 
 "Oh, ancestry is nothing; it s the man that counts," 
 said Bradford, modestly. 
 
 She sat up now with animation. "But . suppose 
 you re all sorts of things besides, are n t you ? Of course 
 you belong to the Scions of Shays Rebellion ? " 
 
 " Oh yes." 
 
 " And the Descendants of the Colonial Skirmishes ? " 
 
 " Of course, and many others. All of them, in fact." 
 
 "To think I dared run into you with my car! Why, 
 I 11 be colliding with the President of the United States 
 yet ! But I did get jolly well paid out for it, did n t I ? " 
 She caressed her silken ankle with a dismal smile. 
 
 " You must let me take you home now, or to a doctor s, 
 before it grows any worse." 
 
 [3 4l 
 
BLUE BLOOD AND RED 
 
 " Well, if you don t mind. I m afraid, really, I can t 
 manage that clutch." 
 
 He called to his chauffeur to help him support her, and 
 they lifted her into the seat. A few explanations as to 
 the control of her car, and he started off, followed by the 
 Hustler. 
 
 On the way back he gave her many a side glance, and 
 usually caught her looking at him. When Lady Mechante 
 looked like that, something had to ache before long. The 
 machine was too new to him, however, for him to give her 
 much attention or much talk, and she subsided into silence 
 as well, but her silence was quick with electricity. He 
 could feel her when he did not see her. The vibrations 
 of her presence kept him in a mild excitement, like a low 
 fever coursing in his veins. 
 
 With his chauffeur he assisted her into the Flatiron 
 Building, up the elevator and to her rooms without remark 
 as to their extraordinary location. Here he left her, with 
 a request to be permitted to call on the morrow to see how 
 she had fared. 
 
 That she would fare well enough he might have found 
 out if he could have seen her through the keyhole after 
 he left. She walked spryly enough then, and made first 
 for the mirror to estimate the impression she might have 
 made. She seemed satisfied, for she blew a kiss at her 
 reflection before she rang for her maid. 
 
 " But he does smell of ink, though," she said. " I prefer 
 coal dust ! " 
 
Chapter Jftoe 
 
 A SULPHITE IN DISGUISE 
 
 Faith, you are too outrageous, but come near! 
 
 (Doctor Faustus.) 
 
 HE immediate result of the tempest in the 
 tea party where Haulick Smagg had taken 
 his initial plunge into society was an invi 
 tation to call on upper Fifth Avenue for 
 Miss Van Dream s "at home." It was 
 evident that she had found him amusing, 
 and she, as no one else in her world, could afford to 
 patronize him. 
 
 Lady Mechante smiled when he brought her the news. 
 It was evident that her protege was to be a success. At 
 the story of his atavism she had been a little fearful 
 whether he might not overdo the part ; and, to prevent the 
 recurrence of such psychoses, she pledged him to forswear 
 such vulgar stimulants as might reawaken his mind to his 
 former pursuits of pleasure. Champagne, she had already 
 found, he could be safely trusted with. It merely sent 
 him to a bizarre heaven where he communed with angels 
 and wore strange roj}es of light and glory. Vintage wines 
 keyed him up to his part, and liqueurs maintained his faith 
 in the fairy-tale wherein his godmother had enchanted 
 him. But whiskey tore the magic veil asunder; beer 
 dashed him to the earth with a thump. 
 
A SULPHITE IN DISGUISE 
 
 However, if Smagg were to go to the Van Dreams , 
 Lady Mechante must go, too. She was by no means the 
 kind of practical joker who sends things by mail and 
 never witnesses the effect. No, she must see him in all 
 his glory and his light ; she must watch her Wooden Horse 
 make his entry into the City of Solecisms, and watch from 
 inside. As Frankenstein played with his monster, so she 
 would play with hers. True, Frankenstein s monster had 
 destroyed him, but then Frankenstein had been a German. 
 There was nothing German about Lady Mechante ; she 
 came from the dark side of the moon ; her blood ran 
 quicksilver. 
 
 How, then, to get to Dolly Van Dream s ? She com 
 muned with herself in the glass. Surely they would not 
 put her out. She would simply go, and be done with it. 
 She had seen hostesses before disguise their lack of memory 
 by a fulsome welcome ; she had done it herself often 
 enough in the old days in May fair, where all men looked 
 alike, all women talked alike, and none was wanted any 
 way. Dolly Van Dream would without doubt pretend to 
 recognize her and be exuberant. Trust Lady Mechante 
 for the rest. Besides, the Van Dreams had been in 
 London for the season some years ago. She would work 
 Smagg in, too then turn him loose and dazzle them. 
 
 Haulick Smagg, his two hundred dollars still unspent 
 for his lady paid the bills had come back and back for 
 further tutelage. He was well through his table manners 
 now. He could blow his nose lightly and almost with 
 charm, saving the back of his hand for other uses. His 
 tread was less rhinoceros-like. She had him into corsets 
 and gave him a genteel figure. His profanity was pruned 
 down to milder expletives. He was taught to say nothing 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 at all if he could help it, save sentences from her phrase 
 book. To teach him to contemplate ladies in decollete 
 without obvious wonder and delight was harder. In short, 
 some of Smagg s corners and edges had already been 
 blunted, and he moved among his fellows with less friction. 
 From being totally without sight in the life social, he was 
 now only purblind, dimly seeing his way, though still 
 holding her hand. 
 
 "This is a mere game of follow-your-leader," she said 
 to him. " You must watch like a monkey and do the same 
 as they do, so far as mere habits are concerned. After 
 that, you must do everything differently ; scorn everything 
 they praise and praise everything they scorn." 
 
 He did not quite understand it yet, but the game pleased 
 him. Paupers have played at being princes before, and 
 Smagg, as the Sleeper Awakened, rose mightily to grasp the 
 situation. He was avid for instruction. She tried to im 
 press upon him that women were alike in her world as in 
 his, but it took some time for him to believe it. When she 
 advised him to be familiar with old ladies and serious with 
 young girls, to be risque with prudes and proper with an 
 easier sort, he gaped at her and wondered that such things 
 might be. But he had the goddess Minerva for his mentor 
 and she could not err. 
 
 From her cab window she saw him enter the Fifth Ave 
 nue chateau, to be swallowed up by French Renaissance, 
 p ive minutes afterwards she was at the same portal, which 
 was opened by the same striped waistcoat. She breathed 
 the name of Hellysh ; the butler took it up and shot it into 
 the salon. Dolly Van Dream looked up with a puzzled 
 expression and came a couple of steps forward with a set 
 
A SULPHITE IN DISGUISE 
 
 smile and an outstretched hand. Her greeting was, as Lady 
 Mechante had expected, without trace of embarrassment. 
 She even kissed both of Lady Mechanic s pink cheeks. She 
 held her hand long and affectionately, reproaching her for 
 not having come before. At this moment Haulick Smagg 
 reinforced them. 
 
 u My dear Lady Mechante, how awfully jolly to see you 
 again ! I had no idea you were in New York ! " 
 
 Dolly s glance became more intelligent. The word 
 u Lady " rang in her ears with a pleasant sound ; but Lady 
 Mechante put her forefinger to her lips and frowned deli- 
 ciously. " Oh, don t call me that here, Mr. Smagg. I Ve 
 dropped my title since I came to America. It s too per 
 fectly absurd to exploit that here in a democracy. Mrs. 
 Hellysh, please, remember. I prefer it, really." 
 
 Then she turned to Dolly. " It seems positively years 
 since I met you, my dear. Where was it ? At Lord Sud- 
 denleigh s ? Or was it at that very naughty place in Surrey ? 
 I was so madly in love that I don t remember, except that 
 I believe I was very jealous of you. You 11 forgive me, 
 won t you ? Well, I said I d come, and I have come, and 
 it s awfully decent of you to want me, only don t breathe a 
 word about who I am, if you don t mind. Just let me be 
 plain Mrs. Hellysh, though you may call me Nelly, if you 
 like. Now I hope you ve got some nice men here and 
 some good strong tea. I 11 have the tea first, please." And, 
 as she walked away, she whispered to Dolly : " Isn t Mr. 
 Smagg a dear? I m just crazy about him. You re in 
 great luck to get him. He does n t go everywhere. I m 
 afraid we are going to be rivals again." And she was off 
 to the tea-table after a quick introduction to Mrs. Van 
 Dream. She towed Haulick Smagg in her wake. 
 
 [3-9] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 After she had sipped her first cup of tea she sent him 
 forth, errant, to break a few lances, and watched him, cat 
 like, from her corner. Men came up and talked and 
 stayed, and stayed and talked. Lady Mechante, rallying 
 them, volleying them, flattering or cajoling them, still kept 
 an eye and an ear alert for Smagg. 
 
 He stood with both hands behind his back, now, deep in 
 conversation with a jet-clad dowager. " Opera ! * His 
 voice was deep with scorn. u It s the most ridiculous and 
 inane exhibition known to modern civilization ! It s noth 
 ing but an expensive noise made by fat German women in 
 thick velvet clothes." 
 
 "You don t like music, then ? " she said timidly. 
 
 " I don t like damn fools. I don t want my music to come 
 out of a pasteboard dragon or cloth trees. I m too fond of 
 music to like opera." Then he lowered his voice. "Say, 
 they got anything to drink here ? " 
 
 She chuckled amiably. " How amusing you are, Mr. 
 Smagg ! You must come and see me. Here s my daugh 
 ter. Mr. Smagg, Emily. Emily s wild about artists, Mr. 
 Smagg. All the time she can spare from bridge and golf 
 and dances she spends down at Dolly Van Dream s studio. 
 Is n t it wonderful, Dolly s energy ? I don t see how she 
 ever gets up in time to paint by daylight." 
 
 " I hear you are a great art critic and a perfectly tremen 
 dous sociologist, Mr. Smagg," said Emily. 
 
 " I try to strike the modern note," was his grave reply. 
 
 " I suppose it is something awfully wicked," said Emily. 
 " Mamma, you go along and have some tea and let Mr. 
 Smagg tell me about it. I m sure he s going to be too 
 improper for you to listen to." 
 
 " Now," she continued, when -they were alone, " don t be 
 
 [320] 
 
A SULPHITE IN DISGUISE 
 
 afraid of shocking me. I m not afraid of the modern note. 
 Only we girls have so little opportunity of getting the expe 
 rience a man has. Do tell me something exciting ! I d 
 love it." 
 
 Smagg considered a while. Then he said slowly, " Well, 
 there was once a fox 
 
 She gave a little exclamation. " Oh, you re going to be 
 just clever ! I did n t want tbat^ at all. I hoped you d be 
 naughty ! " 
 
 He looked down at her and perceived that she was young 
 and slim and pretty. His blood stirred in him. "You ve 
 got awfully small hands," he said. "Let s see em." 
 
 She held out her little hand, and he grabbed it, squeezing 
 it till her rings cut into her fingers and the tears started to 
 her eyes. Then he let it go, satisfied. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Smagg," she faltered, "there s something so 
 awfully big and strong about you ! I can t tell you how I 
 admire you. I think you understand me." And she cast 
 down her eyes in confusion. 
 
 Just then he caught Lady Mechanic s amused glance. 
 " Oh, women understand each other, but they never under 
 stand themselves," he stammered. " Did I hurt you ? " 
 
 " Of course you did. You re the only man I ever met 
 who ever dared to. It was wonderful ! Why, the men in 
 my set would no more dare to strike a woman than they 
 would ride a bicycle up Fifth Avenue ! I really think you 
 would really dare to be rude. Please do ; I d adore it ! 
 You are so different, and everything. I don t see how you 
 can do it and still not wear funny collars, or anything." 
 
 "You never can tell what you can do till you stop try 
 ing," he said, and wondered to see her giggle. He said it 
 with just the proper amount of distracted attention, because 
 
 [ 3 21 ] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 his eyes had become fascinated by a glittering diamond pin 
 at Emily s throat. But, perceiving that he had pleased, he 
 ventured to reach forth his hand and say : 
 
 u Gimme that thing, will you ? I want it." 
 
 "You adorable man!" Emily unfastened the pin and 
 handed it to him. After he had looked at it for a minute, 
 he dropped it into the tail pocket of his coat, turned sud 
 denly away, and left her staring. 
 
 A lady seated in a gold chair interfering with his progress 
 through the room, he put his foot on the rung of the chair 
 and shoved it, with its occupant, out of his way. He el 
 bowed between two black coats, trod across several lacy 
 trains, and took Lady Mechante by the arm. She pinched 
 him well for it. 
 
 " Do I do it all right ? " he asked. " It seems to go 
 slick enough." 
 
 " Oh, you 11 never get on this way," she said. " You 
 are too smooth, altogether. You ve got to bully them if 
 you want to make a success. It looks as if you were just 
 trying to be agreeable. Remember what I told you. You 
 have to go either saddled and bridled or booted and spurred. 
 Drive them, Incubus, drive them ! Make them afraid of 
 you ! Shoot a little fire or I 11 perish of ennui. Do you 
 think I took the trouble to come here to see you tamed ? 
 Make them jump through the hoop; crack your whip! 
 Bark, ringmaster." 
 
 She turned to her neighbor. " Why, of course. It s 
 absurd to say that society in America is not so refined and 
 well bred and well organized as it is abroad. I don t see 
 any difference. You say the same things as we do, whatever 
 you think. You worship the inconspicuous and the un 
 original. Why, look at this delightful Mr. Smagg. Of 
 
 [3"] 
 
A SULPHITE IN DISGUISE 
 
 course he s an intellectual type, a sociologist, a critic, a con 
 noisseur, and all that sort of thing. He has all the modern 
 point of view as a thorough man of the world, but he is a 
 gentleman through and through, such as you might find in 
 the highest circles of English Society. In point of fact, I 
 did find him there, at the Bishop of Shoreditch s, and he 
 was hand in glove with the Duke of Billingsgate and all that 
 set. He has even played bridge with W. B. See how 
 well he fits in here ! Does n t it prove my point ? " 
 
 Since her arrival .Lady Mechanic s name had buzzed 
 from corner to corner about the room. There was already 
 a press of men encompassing her, and ladies waited to be 
 introduced. It was not so surprising, for Dolly Van Dream 
 led her circle and had produced queen bees before able to 
 set the hive swarming. So Lady Mcchante s apologia was 
 passed about as well. Haulick Smagg on Dolly Van 
 Dream s acceptance was accepted, and on Lady Mechanic s 
 praise was praised. With the lash she gave him he went 
 back into the ring, stimulated to find his work so easy. 
 
 He could not see what they were all doing there, any 
 way, merely standing about and talking, without drink or 
 diversion. It was all nonsense, any way you looked at it. 
 How could one be a bigger fool than another ? What the 
 hell was there to be afraid of? He had seen crowds on 
 election night, crowds at Coney Island, crowds going or 
 coming. But this was a different sort. It seemed to have 
 no object ; he wondered how anyone would know when 
 to go home. The women were pretty enough, but they 
 hung back so, curse them ! They seemed half asleep. 
 They began to inspire him with a dull resentment. He 
 did not know yet that he was beginning to be bored. 
 Afraid of them ? He had money now and was afraid of 
 
LADT M EC H ANTE 
 
 nothing. His first hundred dollars had given him the will 
 to kick an elevator starter down the hall. His second had 
 made him give his orders to Dolly Van Dream herself. 
 Lady Mechanic ? She was another breed altogether, a 
 thoroughbred, a prize winner, far out of his reach. There 
 was a lady if you like ! As distant as a rainbow, yet as 
 beautifully near. 
 
 Still, though he was not cowed, he was dazed. Lady 
 Mechanic s advice had greased his way so far ; he would 
 try it again. What did it all mailer ? He had nothing lo 
 lose. If worst came lo worst, he still had his two hundred 
 dollars, and he could make it all up in such a drunk as 
 would get in the papers. Why, they were all afraid of /;/;, 
 for all he knew. He decided to see if they were n t. 
 
 He had started across ihe room, he had reached Dolly 
 Van Dream and opened his mouth to speak to her, when 
 of a sudden all the electric lights went out. The salon 
 was as black as midnight in a tunnel. There was a startled 
 murmur of exclamations all over the room, and a nervous 
 laugh ran around. Men and women jostled each other 
 and giggled ; voices rose calling for lights ; a match was 
 struck here and there, showing up half-scared, half-amused 
 faces. 
 
 The effccl on Haulick Smagg was instantaneous ; he 
 became a cave man ; his costume was forgotten ; forgollen 
 was the newness of the scene, the unwonted glitter, the 
 display of ladies shoulders, the luxurious environment, ihe 
 slones and silks, ihe calm, myslerious order of ihe place. 
 The darkness made il a cavern. In a momenl he was 
 himself again, a primitive man. His glance had faslened 
 on Dolly Van Dream as the light went oul. He pul 
 oul his hand wilh surety ; he seized her, closed his arm 
 
A SULPHITE IN DISGUISE 
 
 about her neck, and drew her face to his. His grasp was 
 like an orang-outang s, so fierce and rapid that his embrace 
 strangled her sudden cry of fear. Then a light came travel 
 ing in through the door, a flame on a taper. He released 
 her like an animal afraid of fire, and when the gas was 
 turned on he wondered at his temerity. 
 
 But more he wondered at the effect on Dolly Van 
 Dream. 
 
 "How dare you ? Really, you mustn t do such things 
 here. Why, what if anyone saw you ? " But there was 
 no reproach in her eyes ; only embarrassment, and perhaps 
 even admiration. 
 
 So he had made his love in the underworld, and so he had 
 been received. It gave him a strange sense of exultation. 
 It was the victory and not the kiss that went to his head. 
 Lady Mechante s words of advice came to him. In order to 
 get acquainted with a woman, a secret shared with her was 
 the first requisite. Was this a secret he had with Dolly 
 Van Dream ? Perhaps, with their strange manners, a kiss 
 was a thing to be denied or hidden. Perhaps ladies did not 
 kiss men. He had not seen any kissing done since his entry 
 into society. Lady Mechante had told him, too, that these 
 women were no different from those he had known. Well, 
 he would find out. 
 
 By the time the excitement had lulled and the lights had 
 come on again, there was a movement toward the supper 
 room. Lady Mechante shook off her suitors and captured 
 her charge. She had spent her time well in the corner 
 with her heiresses and tame young men. By this time she 
 had found out about several of the guests and had marked 
 them for the massacre. As they threaded the throng she 
 filled Smagg s ears with information ; as they sat in the 
 
 [325] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 supper-room she coached him between lively remarks to 
 right and left as to the personalities present. 
 
 There was old Huggins, for instance, the president of 
 the Peanut Trust, whose nefarious operations had forced 
 up prices till there was scarce sustenance in a quart. The 
 poor cursed him nightly on the Elevated and in the public 
 parks, yet he was received in this company of the elect as 
 without smirch. The Peanut Trust was already indicted, 
 but it was the miserable hucksters and sidewalk vendors 
 who were suffering, while Huggins raced in two-thousand- 
 ton yachts. 
 
 Over against them was a member of the Committee of 
 Fifty, already sold out to the Prohibition Party, as every 
 one present knew. In the corner was Theodore Glush, a 
 manufacturer of flypaper so notoriously adulterated and be- 
 drugged that he had twice been arrested by the Society for 
 the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. He had made his 
 millions in flies, and was said to breed them at a marshy 
 stock farm in New Jersey to boom the sale of his product. 
 
 There was an P^piscopal bishop who was known to have 
 put musical comedies on the stage in order to cure audi 
 ences of going to the theater. Why, at their very side, 
 was young McSmick, who had shot a tailor for attempting 
 to collect his bill, and who had been acquitted on a defense 
 of the Unwritten Law. Not to speak of John Rock 
 well, Jr., a millionaire Sunday-school superintendent who 
 had been found guilty of sending obscene matter through 
 the mails. True, the evidence of the crime was but a post 
 card bearing a verse from the Bible ; but, as the law requires 
 a jury to convict if the probable effect upon a purely hypo 
 thetical person would be evil, the authorship of the text did 
 not prevent the Sunday-school teacher s sentence. These 
 
A SULPHITE IN DISGUISE 
 
 and many other monsters she showed him ; the starched 
 shirts covered a multitude of sinners. But since they 
 had sinned so far successfully, they were still received. 
 
 " Gawd, what a rotten lot ! " said Smagg. " Why, down 
 our way when they find a lump of stone in the coal, they 
 heave it at the driver. I seen a barkeeper once who put 
 soap in the beer to make it lather ; he did n t live long. 
 Let s go over and punch some of their faces. Me for 
 Glush ! Gawd ! We got flies at home so thick you 
 can t tell custard pie from huckleberry." 
 
 " Oh, the women are just as good ! " said Lady Mechante. 
 " There s one over there now, the one with the feather 
 duster in her hair and the gold harness round her neck. 
 She sold her daughter for three millions to an ex-bootblack 
 called Prince Gondola. There s another one who has 
 married thirteen men in fourteen years. She has got a 
 Senator now ; she may work up to a coal-heaver in 
 time." 
 
 "Not me!" said Smagg. " When I marry a woman 
 I want a new one. But what do they all do ? " 
 
 " Oh, things like this, and bridge and golf and dances." 
 
 " Don t they ever have any fun ? " 
 
 " Oh, they go to the theater and the Opera." 
 
 Smagg grunted. " I ve heard what Opera s like. Not 
 for mine ! They all have automobiles, though, same as 
 you do." 
 
 "There s not a man in the room can run one," said 
 Lady Mechante, " and airships are n t for sale yet. Oh, 
 they have a very good time playing about." 
 
 "I don t see where it comes in, if it s like this. 
 Damned if I know why they come here and stand around 
 on their hind legs." 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 " Hush ! They have to ! " Lady Mechanic shot a 
 keen glance at him. 
 
 " Have to ? Ain t they got money ? Why don t they 
 spend it ? " 
 
 " It s spending them." 
 
 Smagg looked puzzled. " I ain t on to this game," he 
 said. " There must be something in it or they would n t 
 do it." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Lady Mechanic. " You chew on that for a 
 while." 
 
 He had finished his salad and his lobster, and had thrust 
 a plate of ice cream away from him so violently that it had 
 dropped from the waiter s hands. As usual, but now with 
 a detached, distrait manner, he had stamped upon the 
 broken plate. The Extra Dry had mounted to his brain 
 and set it in motion. It lifted him to equality, even to 
 superiority, and it gave to Lady Mechanic s words wings. 
 
 As his lady was now again encompassed by her admirers, 
 he set forth for new flights, inspired by her parting precept 
 to specialize on the old ladies. The champagne gave him 
 charm ; it freed him somewhat from the constraint of the 
 place, and his native character came out more and more. 
 It has been remarked that Haulick Smagg was not ill- 
 favored ; it would be too much to claim for him graceful 
 ness, but he did have strength, almost power, and his 
 courage waxed stronger and stronger with his scorn. 
 
 His eyes singled out Mrs. Van Dream, and he forced 
 his way to her through the press. She made a seat for him 
 beside her. She was solidly built, plump and round and 
 smooth, with a sensationally low cut corsage sewn with 
 sequins. From her shoulders to her lowest chin there was 
 scarce room for a neck, but what there was was white and 
 
 [328] 
 
A SULPHITE IN DISGUISE 
 
 fat. Her lips were suspiciously red, her eyebrows suspi 
 ciously black, and even her ears were made up. A tiara, 
 exploding with diamonds, adorned her too-black hair. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Smagg, you re not often so frivolous as 
 this, are you ? I suppose sociology occupies most of your 
 time, does n t it ? It s good of you to let us have you a 
 little while." 
 
 He clasped his knees with his great white-gloved hands 
 and thrust out his great feet. " Oh, I got to take the bad 
 with the good in my business." 
 
 She raised her lorgnon to look at him, but it did not 
 frighten him. "My daughter tells me you re so terribly 
 learned. Positively, I m afraid of you, Professor." 
 
 " Gawd ! I can remember when I used to be afraid of 
 V<?, too when I was shoveling coal into your cellar. 
 I ve seen you, many s a time, all baled up in furs with a 
 couple of them little snipes with tall hats and tight pants 
 waiting for you on the sidewalk. Huh ! I did n t think 
 I d ever see the inside of this house." 
 
 " Well, I hope you 11 see it often again. I think you re 
 most amusing. It s good to see a new face occasionally. 
 I know the history of everyone here by heart." 
 
 " It would n t bear bein printed, from what / hear." 
 
 " My dear man, of course not, but what s the good of 
 having money if we can t keep things out of the papers ? 
 In time I hope we can own all the papers in our set, and 
 then we can do quite as we please, as they do in England 
 now." 
 
 " Have you got much money ? " Mr. Smagg inquired. 
 
 She chuckled. " I wish I had enough to pay you to 
 come oftener. You re delightful." She reached over and 
 tapped him on the arm. 
 
 [329] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 He grabbed her fat hand and shook it cordially. " Say, 
 you re all right, old girl, if you did n t put so much flour on 
 your face. You don t need it, and it don t fool anybody." 
 
 She gasped delightedly. " Oh, Mr. Smagg, you re 
 simply terrible ! " 
 
 He was staring at her point blank. " I knew a girl 
 what had eyes like yours," he remarked, " and she was a 
 devil, too." 
 
 Old lady Van Dream bridled and was coy. " Well," 
 she sighed, "there was a time 
 
 " I 11 bet you re good for it yet ! " He slapped her on 
 the knee. 
 
 " Flatterer ! " 
 
 " I like a woman with a temper, myself. Now you d 
 give a man a run for his money, I 11 bet ! " He leaned 
 nearer and smiled full in her face. " Say, men are crazy 
 about you, ain t they ? " 
 
 " Oh, I won t say that but of course if you had seen 
 me when I was younger 
 
 "Younger ! Why, you got a good forty years yet to eat 
 men up in. Wash off some of that paint and you ll be 
 young enough ! What s them rings worth, about ? " He 
 took up her hand casually and pulled off a marquise. 
 
 u Oh, some thousands perhaps; why?" She had 
 stopped looking about to see if anyone were listening. 
 
 "I suppose a different man give you each one of them, 
 did n t they ? You must be a whirlwind, from what I 
 hear. They say the girls in your crowd ain t in it with 
 you. I don t wonder. I don t mind weight, myself; I 
 like something I can feel when I pick up good and 
 husky like you a good eater and all that." 
 
 Mrs. Van Dream invited him to dinner on the spot. 
 
 [330] 
 
A SULPHITE IN DISGUISE 
 
 Mr. Smagg said airily that he did n t know whether he 
 could come or not, but he d see about it. 
 
 He left her to wander, hands in pockets, to other be- 
 diamonded matrons, and wherever he saw a gray hair or a 
 too blonde one he continued his impertinences. He spared 
 neither the widow nor the divorcee. His eyes were auda 
 cious ; his lips were free with compliment and with criti 
 cism. Instinctively he adopted the only safe way to win 
 a woman s interest by making the conversation personal 
 from the first. 
 
 With the men he fairly swaggered. 
 
 The bishop he accused of being a Jesuit in justifying his 
 means to his end. He called old Huggins to his face one 
 of the Predatory Rich, and waxed eloquent over the wrongs 
 done holiday makers. 
 
 " Corporations have no souls," he stormed, " except the 
 soles of their boots to stomp on the poor with. You 11 be 
 making customers return their peanut shells next, for you 
 to grind up to make hardwood floors of. Then you 11 
 < : nt the skins of em for red firecrackers, to compete with 
 Cninese pauper labor. Peanuts 11 be a cent apiece before 
 you get through with us, and only the rich can afford to 
 eat em. They re getting littler every Saturday. They 
 was eighty-one to the pint last week, and it ain t one in ten 
 is a double one, nowadays. You 11 bring on a riot if you 
 don t look out, you plutocrats. The common people won t 
 stand it much longer. If you take away the poor man s 
 peanut, you 11 take away the poor man s pie, and then 
 there s going to be trouble." 
 
 Then he turned on Glush. " I ve known mean men in 
 my day. I ve known automobile tire manufacturers who 
 had tack works on the side, and sprinkled the streets with 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 them out of special carts. I ve know phonograph men 
 who worked in advertising features in the middle of Ca 
 ruso s songs ; but a man who 11 dope the food of a dying 
 fly ought to be prosecuted under the Pure Food Law." 
 
 And lastly, to McSmick : " If there s many more like 
 you gets off, there 11 be a law passed to make every tailor 
 sew a cloth receipt into the seat of every pair of pants he 
 makes before he sends them out. How 11 we look then 
 walking up Broadway ? " he demanded savagely. 
 
 So he bullied the men and cajoled the women, while 
 Lady Mechante followed him about with her eyes and ears 
 and Greek-chorused his epic progress toward popularity. 
 The net result was six invitations to dinner, five lunches 
 down-town, unnumbered requests to call, a few bids for 
 week-end parties, and an ingenuous declaration, in the 
 corner of the music room, from little Emily. 
 
 " I don t know why I should n t tell you that I love you, 
 Mr. Smagg. The girls in my set believe in frankness. 
 We re terribly modern. So, if it s true, why shouldn t I 
 say so ? It is true." She looked up at him with melting 
 eyes. " I suppose perhaps I ought to wait until I m sure 
 you love me, but perhaps you never will love me, or if you 
 do you 11 forget to say so. Men are so terribly thoughtless 
 about such things. But surely there is nothing to be 
 ashamed of, is there, in honest affection ? I believe things 
 would be much easier if men and woman were perfectly 
 simple with each other and said what they really thought. 
 I would only be acting a lie if I kept this from you. 
 
 " I want to be perfectly straightforward. I respect you 
 too much, Mr. Smagg, not to give you my whole confidence. 
 I want to be honorable, as men are honorable. Women 
 have been accused of deceit so long that I think every really 
 
 [332] 
 
SULPHITE IN DISGUISE 
 
 honest and noble-hearted girl ought to take a stand in the 
 matter. She ought to be on the right side and make no 
 pretenses about her emotions. You move me ; you trouble 
 me ; I can t take my eyes off you ! You re handsome and 
 strong and fine. I think you are kind too. Somehow, I 
 can t bear not to have you know it. It seems like doing 
 you a wrong to conceal it. I can t help feeling as I do, 
 can I ? It s all a question of electricity, magnetism, 
 chemistry. I m not responsible, and I don t want to be 
 held responsible. All I do want is to be able to tell you 
 outright that I m wildly in love with you, I m crazy about 
 you. I don t really think I can live without you but 
 that s a different thing, for I don t want to give you any 
 trouble at all. I don t expect anything ; I don t want any 
 thing only to be permitted to adore you. I know I can 
 trust you. I know you are worthy of my honesty. It s 
 simply fate, that s all ; fate has thrown us together and I 
 must cling to you. You need n t mind it at all, Haulick 
 I don t want to marry you ! That would be too much, but 
 I must be true to myself. I may not be true to you, Hau 
 lick, but I shall always be true to myself. There ! Do 
 you hate me ? Do you think I m a bold, immodest thing, 
 just because I ve shown you my naked soul ? " 
 
 He had been chewing steadily at a toothpick .the while, 
 his eyes watching idly the couples barn-dancing in the ball 
 room. Now he spat it out and turned to the little temper 
 amental, passion-swept, hungry-eyed figure beside him. 
 " Oh, that s all right," he said. " I guess I 11 go out and 
 have a smoke." 
 
 He left her and walked out of the room without exactly 
 understanding what had happened. 
 
 [333] 
 
Chapter 
 
 THE BEST BEST SELLER 
 
 I 9 II fit kirn aptly: either PH awake 
 His wits (if be have any} or force him 
 
 To appear (as yet I cannot think him) 
 
 Without any. 
 
 (Wit at Several Weapons.) 
 
 RESTLING BREWSTER BRADFORD 
 
 had called at the Flatiron Building once, 
 twice, thrice ; the result being that, at the 
 third call, he had produced and read the 
 manuscript of a singularly keen and subtle 
 piece of symbolistic fiction, done with 
 masterly style. Lady Mechante positively thrilled under it. 
 " Is n t that rotten ? " he asked. u It is positively the 
 nearest I can come to it." He looked at her hopelessly. 
 
 " Why, it s superb ! " she exclaimed. " You ve actu 
 ally got it ! It s life ! " 
 
 " It s death for me," he said. " That s the sort of stuff 
 I am doomed to write." 
 
 " I d be glad to be able to do it." 
 
 " It s as easy as talking. I can do it by the week at a 
 stretch. What good does it do ? I can t possibly sell it 
 to anything except the North American Monthly or the 
 Atlantic Review. I 11 get fourteen dollars for it and nobody 
 will ever see it except educated people. Nobody but men and 
 a few school-teachers. Why can t I write anything that s fit 
 for women, and for Mimsey s?" His look was pathetic. 
 
 [334] 
 
THE BEST BEST SELLER 
 
 " Do you like Mlmseys ? : she asked, raising her 
 eyebrows. 
 
 " Like it ? Why, I adore it, and that s no mere figure 
 of speech. Why, people read that magazine ; they don t 
 leave it on the lower shelf of the library table, or send it to 
 the lighthouse men. They gloat ; they devour. Jf^omen 
 read it, and it s women who make fame and fortune for 
 writers. God ! If I could ever take up that magazine, 
 with its picture of a slim, anemic female on the cover, with 
 the blub underneath : c I consider this number of my magazine 
 about the hottest piece of pie that was ever shoved over the counter. 
 It has snap and go and pepper and brains in it. Read it, and 
 see if I haven t got Kipling locked into the coal cellar ringing 
 up Information - if I could find a story of mine under 
 neath that cover I d know I d made good ! " He strode 
 up and down the room in his excitement. 
 
 " Still, there are n t many who can turn out the sort of 
 fiction that you are capable of. Why, it s equal to George 
 Meredith, it seems to me. You have the true literary 
 instinct." 
 
 " That s just the trouble. I don t want the true literary 
 instinct. I want to write one of the Six Best Sellers. I 
 want to appear in that immortal list of names for at least 
 one month, in at least one town." 
 
 " I suppose you would get more royalties," said Lady 
 Mechante, leading him on. 
 
 " Royalties be hanged ! I d get more fame, hot off the 
 saucepan, made while you wait. I want to be able to go 
 into the public library at East Bend, Iowa, and take down 
 my novel off the shelf and find it read to a frazzle worn 
 and torn and sticky with chewing-gum, half the leaves 
 gone, the covers loose and scrawled across the title page, 
 
 [335 1 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 This is a good book ! That s the test of literary 
 
 success. 
 
 " But you must get good reviews," said Lady Mechante. 
 " That ought to console you some." 
 
 " Reviewers ! They re all prostituted to the advertising 
 department in the papers. There s no such thing left as 
 literary criticism. Why, I know a girl on the Boston Ledger 
 who is a friend of the literary editor. She takes home six 
 volumes a week. Two she reads herself; she gives one 
 to her grandmother, one to her mother, one to her little 
 sister, and one to the Irish cook. They tell her what they 
 think about them, and she writes it down and turns it in. 
 No, there s only one reviewer worth considering." He 
 shook his finger at her. " And that s the little girl in 
 Terre Haute who goes down to the book store and rum 
 mages the counter till she finds a book with a pretty girl 
 on the cover and illustrations by Misty, plenty of conversa 
 tion, and a happy ending the little girl that takes it home 
 with a box of caramels, pins a blanket over the transom of 
 her door, and sits up and reads till three o clock and then 
 talks about it next day. That j who I want .to write for. 
 There s a string of em from here to San Francisco, all 
 reading the same book at the same time. I d like to marry 
 one of them and find out what they re like. Perhaps I 
 could get an idea how to sell more than twenty-five hun 
 dred copies then." 
 
 " Why, you have set your name in American literature ! " 
 Lady Mechante protested. 
 
 u I d rather set my name in the Woman" s Own Comrade. 
 I never saw a girl in a street car reading one of my books. 
 Why, even when I do sell one, the publisher is frightened 
 to death of my copy. In the last one they even made me 
 
 [336] 
 
THE BEST BEST SELLER 
 
 expurgate three dots . . . that they said were too suggestive. 
 Could my heroine have a l laughing devil in her eye ? 
 Not much. They changed it to laughing light. They 
 made her go home at ten o clock instead of eleven, and 
 forbade her to wear silk stockings. The natural inference 
 was, of course, that she went round bare-legged. Pub 
 lishers did n t care, so long as it was n t mentioned. I 
 don t care, either ! If I could invent a woman who had 
 nothing but a head and hands, I d do it, too. The trouble 
 is, I suppose, I know too much about society to write about 
 it successfully, and I ve seen too many real women with 
 characters and brains to be able to draw the paper dolls 
 the little girls want nowadays. But I 11 do it, by heaven, 
 if I have to get my little niece to help me ! I 11 sell in the 
 Middle West yet. But I 11 have to get a bottle of pale 
 blue ink to write with." 
 
 So, in Lady Mechanic s little salon, Wrestling Brewster 
 Bradford delivered his jeremiad. She assured him that such 
 magnificent determination must win, and repeated effort 
 would undoubtedly place him in the ranks of the select 
 company which changes year by year. 
 
 " Well," she said, u meanwhile I can only congratulate 
 any grandchildren you may have for your posthumous fame. 
 You 11 have that, anyway ! " 
 
 " I want it myself, now ; I don t care a snap for my 
 posterity." 
 
 " Tut, tut ! what if William and Wrestling had said 
 that ! You would n t be such an aristocrat to-day ! I 
 can t help being terribly afraid of you," she declared. 
 " Why, I suppose you have coats-of-arms on your walls 
 and family trees reaching clear to the ceiling, have n t you ? 
 I have never before met one of the Mayflower Descend- 
 
 [337] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 ants. It seems very wonderful to the poor little grand 
 daughter of a wretched earl. I hope you won t come here 
 with all your blue ribbons and things on. I m terribly 
 afraid of a badge ! You 11 think I m a miserable little 
 parvenu. Don t tell me you re a Son of the Draft Riots ! 
 I could n t stand that ! " 
 
 " Oh, you must n t mind it. I won t patronize you, 
 I m sure. For my part, I think a lord is fully the equal 
 of a member of the Boston Tea Party. They are nothing 
 but names, anyway, and we re not responsible for our 
 ancestors." 
 
 " But they are, in a way, for us." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; it s best to do them credit, if you can. But 
 if you don t happen to have any that were particularly im 
 portant it should n t matter much." 
 
 "Still, it gives a certain something a poise, a dignity, 
 that I could never attain, I m sure. My first husband, 
 Lord Mechante, used to say that he felt like a perfect 
 bounder every time he met a New Englander. It s tre 
 mendously decent of you to come and see me, and I 11 have 
 to try and not disgrace you if I can manage it. Do you 
 think I ought to wear my coronet ? Or would it be too 
 pitiful to try and keep up with you ? Why, your sister 
 may be the president of a Chapter, for all I know, and have 
 her picture in the paper every time there s a fight in the 
 Board of Governors ! I m afraid I m perfectly hopeless." 
 
 He twirled his moustache deprecatingly. "Nonsense, 
 my dear Mrs. Hellysh ; you re quite fit for any circle of 
 American society. I can t think you would seem out 
 of place in even our oldest families. I m sure I find you 
 most au fait. It does me good to see another sort of 
 person for a change." 
 
 [338] 
 
THE BEST BEST SELLER 
 
 " Thank you," said Lady Mechante. " It s awfully 
 good of you to say it. And I ve been thinking, don t you 
 know, that still more of it might do you good. What I 
 mean to say is that you can t get the popular point of view 
 you need by association with your blue-blooded set." 
 
 u Well, I m associating with you now, am I not ? I do 
 find the change beneficial, I. confess." 
 
 " Oh, I know, but you see the trouble is that, while of 
 course I m your social inferior, I happen to be, mentally, 
 quite your equal. It s precisely that mental atmosphere 
 which you should change. As you yourself said, you can t 
 write about society if you re in society yourself. One 
 does n t get local color that way at all. Society people 
 don t read society novels ; they don t need to. Society 
 novels are written for the benefit and amusement of the 
 folk beyond the pale. It is their conception of society you 
 want to get before you become one of the immortal Six. 
 One doesn t expect burglar stones to be written by bur 
 glars, does one ? Nor detective stories by detectives. Why 
 should a society man write a society story, then ? It is 
 perfectly absurd." 
 
 " But I never wrote a society story," said Bradford. 
 
 u Which is precisely why you are not a Best Seller." 
 
 " Well, I don t see any way out of it, then." 
 
 The lady laughed, and she used on him that peculiar 
 searching glance which had so often been effective. " The 
 way out of it is perfectly plain. You must change your 
 milieu your view-point, your habits, your companions." 
 Her eyes sparkled. 
 
 u How can I do that, I wonder ? " He mused on the 
 problem. 
 
 " I 11 tell you. You must go down into the under-world, 
 
 [339] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 where people feel and do not think. You must study life 
 at close range, forget your proud ancestry, your intellectual 
 processes, your critical sense. Find out what the other 
 half reads, and why." 
 
 " Not a bad idea," said Bradford. " Of course I do 
 know how to write, and, if I could manage to forget it, I 
 might do something great." 
 
 " Oh, it is n t so much learning how not to write, as what 
 not to write." 
 
 "Well, I believe I 11 try it. I might get a position as 
 secretary, say, to some millionaire." 
 
 Lady Mechanic snickered as she looked at him. " What 
 you ought to do," she said, "is I know it is, but it would 
 be too perfect, too delicious to be a coal-heaver." She 
 raised her eyes to the ceiling. " What poetic justice ! 
 What a gorgeous piece of symmetry ! What composi 
 tion ! What compensation ! " 
 
 u A coal-heaver ! Do you really think it is necessary to 
 be quite as dirty as that, Mrs. Hellysh ? " He hung upon 
 her words anxiously. 
 
 " Well, perhaps not," she sighed, " though it would do 
 me infinite good if you could only bring yourself to it. I 
 think I 11 have to let you off with footman. I happen to 
 know a very respectable, deserving family, entirely out of 
 your world and, of course, miles below you socially. They 
 are millionaires, named Van Dream. I think I might get 
 you in there, and I m sure that you d find among the ser 
 vants exactly that secret of life and literature which you 
 will find essential if you are really determined to succeed 
 in fiction." 
 
 " By Jove ! I believe you have got the solution of it ! " 
 And he went over to her, patrician though he was so 
 
 [34] 
 
THE BEST BEST SELLER 
 
 shocked out of his traditional calm and took both Lady 
 Mechanic s hands in his, shaking them in gratitude. 
 
 She looked up at him through half-closed lids and shot 
 him a dangerous little message, secret as a Masonic pass 
 word. He did not receive it, though the little adventuress 
 got her answer. The complacency of the Bradfords pro 
 tected him. There was too much ink in his blood. He 
 was too intent upon the scheme she had proposed. The 
 more he thought of it, the more sure he was that the easiest 
 path to literary eminence led up Mrs. Van Dream s back 
 stairs. 
 
 He gave Lady Mechante, in fact, no rest until she had 
 secured the position for him. With the invention of his 
 previous history and the forging of several " characters " 
 from English housekeepers, it was hardly a week before 
 Wrestling Brewster Bradford, in a striped waistcoat and 
 brass buttons, opened the front door to callers at the Fifth 
 Avenue chateau. 
 
 [ 34 1 
 
Chapter 
 
 THE BEAST OF NEW YORK 
 
 You are next a prophet, sign tor, 
 And, but the sexes differ, speak my thoughts. 
 
 (The Brothers.) 
 
 progressed by leaps and bounds. 
 He ran rampant through society, which 
 followed him, gasping at the exhibition. 
 He was booted and spurred now, whip 
 ping them right and left with flattery and 
 abuse, debutante, dancing man and matron. 
 Surely, as Methuselah has it, " For him who careth not, the 
 garlands are hung in every house. * Smagg cared not one 
 whit ; he was playing the game now, and was more inter 
 ested in the moves than the winning. Little Emily was 
 not the only dabchick who would traffic with him in the 
 peculiarly modern manner of flirtship then regnant. Old 
 lady Van Dream was but one of his conquests among 
 the dowagers. With them, however, he was no mere 
 handy man, or tame cat, to do their bidding. Smagg had 
 no champagne to sell and no axes to grind ; his own bright 
 hatchet Lady Mechante kept well sharpened for him. With 
 the men he was as potent ; he dominated and blustered, 
 bluff for their bluff, brag for their boast. Indeed, his 
 patron, seeing how well his words carried, how magnifi 
 cent was his face with them, had serious thoughts of estab 
 lishing him downtown in a splendid mahogany office, with 
 
 [342] 
 
THE BEAST OF NEW TORK 
 
 counters, brass rails, glass doors, and blonde typists galore. 
 Why, in this city, as she soon discovered, a letterhead suf 
 ficed. All he would have to do would be to refuse money, 
 select his clients from the line, and bag the sport. If he 
 could only be induced to fear a waiter enough to spend as 
 much as his fellows in the fashionable restaurants, he would 
 inspire confidence. Smagg, however, had a way of order 
 ing only what he wished to eat, and a rooted dislike of 
 paying more than four times its worth. With such low 
 tendencies Lady Mechante was afraid to risk him among 
 the men of the city. To be as eccentric as that one must 
 needs have millions, which she had not. 
 
 She followed him, then, like a shadow in his social career. 
 He opened doors for her, for he was branded by the matrons 
 as an Interesting Young Man. She kept in the middle 
 distance, occasionally venturing near enough to slip him an 
 aphorism or epigram or a paradox, or to push him on when 
 he grew faint-hearted. By this time, however, Smagg had 
 passed the first corner and was now well into the straight. 
 His eyes began to open. To be sulphide with bromides, 
 and with sulphites bromidic, he found, was the way to suc 
 cess. He needed no longer the advice : " Get into a 
 corner and say anything you can think of only talk! " 
 He began to have secrets of sorts with others than Dolly 
 Van Dream. He had an ingenious way of discovering what 
 girls most liked and most feared to talk about, and he was 
 wonderful with the mothers of babes. He was taught bridge 
 and learned adroitly when to lose or win. He talked of 
 Aitken and Jekyll Island to one set, or Virginia Hot Springs 
 and Lenox to another, while, with those on the perimeter 
 of his circle, he had discrimination enough to mention Palm 
 Beach or Lakewood. He knew now how many buttons 
 
 [343] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 should be on the coat of a butler, and could tell a parlor 
 maid from an upstairs servant, and just who cleaned the 
 silver. He grew to know every horse on upper Fifth 
 Avenue and could tell when a landau s lines followed the 
 latest mode. 
 
 Meanwhile he was leaving cards, eating dinners mark 
 ing with the end of his fork on the tablecloth, to illustrate 
 his remarks loafing in clubs with his hat on and dally 
 ing on the links with the best of them. He deplored the 
 inquisitiveness and impertinence of the newspapers with the 
 rest of his set, and, with the rest of his set, read the society 
 column every morning, looking for the latest scandal and to 
 see if his name were mentioned. He sneered at politics and 
 the corruption of the municipal administration, but thought 
 it foolish to attend the primaries. At this phase of his career 
 lie was, in his circle, an average man and slipped along 
 smoothly and easily in the groove. He had thoughts on 
 sociology, too, and here his reputation gave him authority. 
 These, however, were for club and tea table use, when the 
 social secretaries were out of earshot. 
 
 "You can t tell me. I know the whole thing, and I ve 
 seen how education affects the working people. It s only 
 making the masses discontented. It s merely showing them 
 things that are and should be out of their reach. What s 
 the good of teaching a hod carrier astronomy ? He 11 never 
 be able to own an observatory he 11 only fall off his ladder 
 with his bricks while he s gawking up into the sky. So 
 long as they don t know how to read, they re happy. No, 
 I don t mind a coal-heaver trying to pass for a gentleman, 
 if he can do it." Here Smagg would lean back and roll his 
 Carolina Perfecto between his teeth. 
 
 "No, a coal-heaver couldn t do it and he wouldn t 
 
 [344] 
 
THE BEAST OF NEW YORK 
 
 be happy if he did. He could n t do it because his psy 
 chology is entirely different \ he has n t evolved suffi 
 ciently \ he could n t make the fine distinctions we all 
 make. Why, he could n t tell a foreign champagne from 
 a domestic brand. He d show the mark of the beast and 
 prefer beer to either." Here Smagg s eyes grew sad. 
 
 " He would n t be happy just because he did prefer beer. 
 He would n t be happy because he could n t have his way 
 with women ; he could n t order em about and kiss em 
 the way he used to. He would n t be happy on account of 
 his clothes and his tobacco. You can teach a man quater 
 nions and Spenser s poetry, but you can t teach him to for 
 get the taste of a five-cent plug of Navy chewing tobacco. 
 It s nature s law. The coherence of the social fabric must 
 be maintained or our civilization will all go to pot." And 
 Haulick Smagg would sigh and tap the bell and send the boy 
 for his mail and a couple of gin rickeys. 
 
 He was strong, too, for the family as the indivisible unit 
 of our civilization, strong against divorce in its attempt to 
 divide the indivisible, strong for the " social fabric," to 
 which divorce was indubitably hostile. This, in the second 
 ary stage of Smagg s evolution. The time was to come 
 when, breaking free from his house of bondage, he was to 
 proclaim that divorce should be as easy as marriage that 
 one should be able to be wedded by telephone or postcard 
 and be divorced by the nearest policeman. But this is 
 premature. 
 
 Through all this conventional career Dolly Van Dream 
 followed him, panting and breathless. She was fascinated 
 by him, alternately delighted and disgusted. By just that 
 extra ounce of brains which was her unique birthright in 
 her world she perceived dimly that something was wrong. 
 
 [345] 
 
LADY M ECU ANTE 
 
 She noted tiny inconsistencies in his character. Traces of 
 Smagg s smaggery appeared at times, like a lozenge of 
 naked skin shown in the back of a lady s neck when a 
 button has gone astray. That touch of humanity in him 
 distinguished him from the staid sobriety of other men in her 
 set. It was as if she saw the first whiffs of smoke from a 
 slumbering volcano. Her social instinct disapproved of all 
 evidences of originality, but her mind rejoiced. It made 
 him impossible, but it made him charming. When he was 
 proper, he overdid propriety ; his polish was suspiciously 
 smooth, so smooth that the scratches of smaggery showed 
 too plainly on his surface. 
 
 There was another source of disturbance similar to this 
 in the aspect of her new footman. He, too, was too perfect 
 in his manner when he was correct, not to make his occa 
 sional lapses from a beautiful servility noticeable. He had 
 come, extravagantly recommended, from Lady Mechante. 
 He had been Lord Suddenleigh s man, and valet to the Duke 
 of Billingsgate. If so, why, when she caught him off guard, 
 should this very well-trained servant eye her so hungrily ? 
 He waited on her with a little too much alacrity. He failed 
 to achieve that fine scorn, that bored look, that marks the 
 acme of service. She could not put her finger on the 
 trouble yet with either of them, but both worried her. 
 
 To Lady Mechante, however, of course the secret was 
 clear, it having been confided to her by the footman in a 
 hurried interview in the hall. 
 
 " This is just exactly what I wanted," said Bradford. u Do 
 you know, these people below stairs have precisely the point 
 of view on society that is necessary for successful fiction. 
 They know all the manners and customs of millionaires, 
 
 [346] 
 
THE BEAST OF NEW YORK 
 
 and nothing of their real thoughts and emotions. All one 
 has to do is to take a lot of lay figures and put them into 
 the attitudes any well-trained servant can recognize and 
 there you have a Best Seller ready made to your hand. 
 This butler, Tillotson, I believe, has the thing better than 
 even my little girl in Terre Haute, and I m studying his 
 taste night and day. I m finding out what he thinks of 
 these people, and what are his theories as to their actions. 
 I m not so sure that Tillotson has n t written a lot of Best 
 Sellers himself. Sometimes I suspect him of being really 
 Robert Hallroom himself. There are a lot of Hallroom s 
 books whose scenes might have been laid in this very 
 house. His whole interpretation of society convinces 
 
 me. 
 
 "I believe you are right," said Lady Mechante. "It 
 must be infinitely amusing to be a servant. I quite envy 
 you ! " 
 
 u The trouble is I can t help forgetting occasionally that 
 I am a servant. Miss Van Dream does disturb me some, 
 I confess. I had n t expected to find a girl like that in a 
 nest of mere multimillionaires. Why, you d never imagine 
 but what she had Family ! Actually, I should n t won 
 der but her ancestry goes back a couple of hundred years. 
 Of course you d never mistake her for a Mayflower 
 Descendant, you know, but her people might have come 
 over in the Blessing of the Bay, say. That vessel did n t 
 land at Plymouth, you know, but at Salem, and not till 
 1630. Ten years makes a lot of difference to an ancestor 
 in America." 
 
 She laughed and left him to his point of view and his 
 dilemma, for she had started him and he would go straight 
 enough to the inevitable climax. Haulick Smagg required 
 
 [347] 
 
new attention now, for he was developing rapidly in a new 
 direction. 
 
 Haulick Smagg, in fact, had suddenly become the victim 
 of a yearning for Art. He longed for expression. Many 
 days of dalliance in Dolly Van Dream s studio and the 
 workrooms of similar academic painters had inspired in 
 him a desire for creation. He wanted to go and do like 
 wise; have admiring visitors "oh!" and "ah!" at his 
 canvases while he shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly. 
 This fitted Lady Mechanic s plans to a T. She established 
 him in a studio on Twenty-third Street and bought him the 
 paraphernalia of his craft, taking care that his stretchers 
 should be huge, his colors violent. She expected some 
 thing elemental, titanic. She would know now how 
 the cave man graved his mammoth upon the reindeer s 
 horn. 
 
 Nor was she disappointed. 
 
 for a while she left him alone with his genius, while the 
 roc s egg hatched. Not by one maxim or platitude, such 
 as guided his course in society, did she direct his path in 
 art. Round the second corner in his career he must steer 
 alone. She had wound him up and set him but for this, 
 and she anticipated delight in his wild curves and flights. 
 7 he mechanics of it was easy enough. He had seen 
 paints mixed and applied. He had seen painters at work, 
 with nude models posed stiffly against leather screens or 
 draperies. He had seen artists imitate the photograph with 
 realism, or imitate the mist with impressionism. He had 
 studied still life and genre. He had seen men frame nature 
 and dismember it. Which would he choose ? Calm, sane 
 tonalities, or the perfervid rapture of pure color? 
 
 A week, two weeks, elapsed before Lady Mechante dared 
 [348] 
 
THE BEAST OF NEW YORK 
 
 visit his studio, but at the first peep through the door she 
 shrieked with delight and astonishment. No well-bred 
 nudes, no complacent landscapes or still lifes confronted 
 her. The vision was stunning; a less courageous mind 
 than hers would have thought it horrid. On the easel, 
 upon the wall, or standing upon the floor, here, there, and 
 everywhere, impossible of escaping, were such pictures 
 drawn with such ferocity, colored with such violent hues, 
 as made the place desperate. His canvases challenged rea 
 son, defied art, boldly proclaimed themselves for the impos 
 sible. The outrageous appeal of the primitive had called 
 forth monsters from his brush. 
 
 But, by every law of Nietzsche, he had proved himself 
 no decadent. His wild art was ascendant. Surely it was 
 a surplus of life that had urged him to his fearful work ; 
 he had painted, not to express himself but to satisfy him 
 self to create a new world. He had come to his "will 
 to power" -he had evoked new objects of desire. What 
 ravenous hunger stimulated him she well knew, for she had 
 marked the rise of his virile mentality she was prepared 
 for this outburst of fiery emotion and rejoiced. 
 
 Yet it was not this apotheosis of the ugly that surprised 
 her most. Wild work she had expected and desired, but 
 that he had in his initial conception and in his utter abroga 
 tion of technique happened unconsciously to fall in line 
 with the latest cry of Paris was miraculous. He, who had 
 never been in France, who had never seen a single disciple 
 of its school, was of " les fauves " he was a Wild Beast 
 -wilder, if possible, than Derain, as wild as Czobel or 
 Picasso. Haulick Smagg, as the first priest of Horror, had 
 brought the unholy doctrine at last into New York. 
 
 Exquisitely modern herself, she had long been familiar 
 [ 349] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 with the new revolt against Impressionism in Paris. She 
 had followed that crazy little band of artists when, in their 
 first break away from tradition, they had been dubbed the 
 " Incoherents " ; followed them till Matisse took the lead 
 of the " Invertebrates." In two weeks Haulick Smagg 
 had proved himself more invertebrate, more incoherent, 
 than the wildest Beast. He had no classic education to 
 forget or eschew ; he had neither mottled his canvases with 
 pigment nor laid on his tones transparent with turpentine. 
 So, without imitation, with no knowledge of the vocabulary 
 of " les fauves," with no prating of " harmonies of volume," 
 voicing no scorn for " mere charm," his native abandon 
 had eclipsed the maddest of these foreign sensationalists. 
 
 The rudely carven African gods that had delighted and 
 stimulated Derain, the Alaskan totem poles to which Picasso 
 was indebted for his fury, the Aztec graven images that had 
 urged Czobel to his ferocity, were all unknown to Haulick 
 Smagg. Unknown was the simplicity of Egyptian sculp 
 tures, the directness of Hindoo indecency, the ingenuous 
 frankness of Bayeux broderies, the naif freaks of Malayan 
 or Fijian art. He had for a stimulus only a hunger for 
 something more furiously emotional than he had seen, more 
 blood-curdling, more dire. Matisse, the Master, drew 
 women with six fingers. Smagg drew them with twelve 
 or thirteen. Picasso drew them with triangles; Smagg s 
 were fused trapezoids. Derain s shrill blues and tumul 
 tuous reds, Czobel s harsh greens, and Picasso s hot yellows 
 Smagg, in his artistic orgy, rewove into crazier forms. His 
 nudes, if they were nudes, these jagged nightmare-hued 
 objects, were revolting to the ordinary spectator, not with 
 suggestive nakedness, but with their immoral, unspeakable 
 garments of frenetic color. 
 
 [350] 
 
THE BEAST OF NEW YORK 
 
 Lady Me*chante, seeing all this, perceived that Smagg s 
 wings had begun to sprout. How long could she hold 
 him ? 
 
 She had found the outer door ajar and had gone in to 
 wander in amazement through the studio for a while, gloat 
 ing over his barbaric essays. Now she noticed upon the 
 table a huge white bowl of liquid red paint standing on the 
 exact center. She was looking at it, smiling, at no loss to 
 interpret its meaning, when Smagg burst in bearing a leather 
 suit-case. He looked up at her like a hound. 
 
 " What do you think of em ? " 
 
 " I want to know what they mean, first." 
 
 " Don t you know ? " 
 
 " Yes, but do you ? " 
 
 He set down the suit-case and opened it. Out tumbled 
 a model cube of white painted wood, a glass sphere, and a 
 piece of intricately twisted telegraph wire. He placed them 
 affectionately upon the table, then stepped back and re 
 garded them musingly. " How do you like them ? " he 
 asked. " Do they mean anything, too ? " 
 
 She caressed the crystal sphere gently. " I suppose this 
 is a symbol of simplicity and unity" she touched the 
 telegraph wire "as this is of complexity." She looked 
 at him out of the corner of her eyes as if anxious as to his 
 reply. 
 
 " Symbols be durned ! " He took up the cube, feeling 
 gratefully its edges and corners. " I like em for themselves, 
 the same as I like you for yourself, don t I ? I like this 
 cube because it s square and straight and sharp ! He 
 took up the sphere. " I like this because it s round and 
 transparent and heavy." He fingered the telegraph wire. 
 " I like this because it s one thing and yet it squirms into 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 a mixed-up mess. It has a character of its own. It s 
 funny, and it makes me happy." 
 
 " And this bowl of red paint ? " she asked, scarcely able 
 to resist her impulse to hug him. 
 
 " I like it because it s RED ! " He dipped his big fore 
 finger into it and held up his hand, dripping, as if it had 
 been plunged in blood. So keen was the delight written 
 upon his face that she almost expected him to lick his finger 
 to gain another vivid, sensuous impression. " Can t you 
 understand it ? " he asked plaintively. " Can t you see 
 that mere heaviness and squareness and redness are won 
 derful and compelling ? " 
 
 " My dear Haulick," she exclaimed, u it s you who are 
 wonderful and compelling ! You ve quite crawled out of 
 the chrysalis! I m afraid of you. I feel as if I were 
 struggling to hold down a half-filled balloon. If you can 
 only explain your pictures as well but that would be too 
 much!" 
 
 "Do you think they re beautiful?" he asked. 
 
 " Well, hardly that." 
 
 " Do you think they re ugly ? " 
 
 " They re not that either, exactly. They re something 
 different to both." 
 
 He nodded his head thoughtfully, and his lean, spare face 
 seemed to become faintly transfused with light, as if it 
 were being gradually illuminated by some increasing spark 
 within his brain. Then he spoke slowly. "It s this way, 
 it seems to me." He held up the twisted wire. "Suppose 
 this is beautiful. Now, if I turn it upside down it repre 
 sents the ugly, we 11 say, because the ugly is the opposite 
 of the beautiful." He walked with his symbol toward the 
 mirror. " Then what does the image in the glass mean, I d 
 
 [35*] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 like to know ? It s the beautiful backwards or inside out, 
 ain t it? That s what I mean! That s what I tried to 
 paint. I don t know what you call it, but it s a new kind 
 of beauty that no one s ever seen. And, by Gawd, it s my 
 kind ! I ve felt it all my life, dimly. I can t do it yet, but 
 that s what I m after." 
 
 " My dear amiable Titan," she said, going up to him 
 and taking his hand, "if you only knew it, there are 
 hundreds of young men in Paris who are after the same 
 thing and have n t come half as near to it as you have. 
 Before long you ll be talking of harmonies of volume, 
 too ! " 
 
 And while he listened rapt, she told him of" les fauves " 
 and the school of experimenters who were pursuing the 
 neo-primitive in Montmartre and Montparnasse. She told 
 him of Picasso, who, since Matisse had said the triangle 
 was the symbol of the absolute, had contrived huge, colored 
 females entirely of triangles and named them " Absolute 
 Woman." She told of Chabot, the gay-hearted Provencal, 
 who did his landscapes with thick black lines, as if by a 
 red-hot poker. She told him of Herbin, whose perspec 
 tives were more violent than the Japanese. Lastly, she told 
 him of the Japanese, too, who cast no shadows, portraying 
 the Thing Itself. 
 
 " And I suppose that, like them, you use no models," she 
 ended. " I don t know where you d get a woman to paint 
 such things from, unless she d been through an earthquake 
 and half a dozen railroad accidents." 
 
 "Models? Of course I used them! Pretty girls, too, 
 you d call em, some of em ; some of em homely. Can t 
 a homely woman have bulk and what was it you called 
 it ? " 
 
 [354] 
 
THE BEAST OF NEW TORK 
 
 " Harmony of volume," she smiled. " You ve come to 
 it at last ; I thought you would." 
 
 He threw out his hands in a despairing gesture. " Don t 
 you understand ? I don t try to paint what I see that s 
 what they all do, and it can t be done ! I paint what I 
 feel when I look at a thing. Why, see here; what did 
 you tell me yourself about this here Chopin that prelude 
 he did in a thunder-storm, was n t it ? He did n t try to 
 imitate thunder on the piano, or rain, or waves, or anything 
 like that. But when you played it I felt like I was dying. 
 That s what I want to do. When I see a thing I like, it 
 gives me a kind of an ache somewhere. I ain t trying to 
 paint the thing ; I m painting the ache, kind of." 
 
 " My poor fellow, how you must have suffered ! " 
 
 Lady Mechante gazed at the representation of a flayed 
 female on an easel. One arm was curved like the handle 
 of a pitcher ; the other was as angular as a fylfot. The 
 lady s toes were like a coarse tooth comb upon the end of 
 her oblong feet. There was Smagg s beauty, not intrinsic, 
 but subjective, forthright in his primitive, direct appeal to 
 the emotions. With all its decorative might, she could, by 
 standing mentally upon her head, see that the thing had 
 feeling. It was no mere message to the senses. 
 
 " If we can only keep it out of the Sunday supplements," 
 she said thoughtfully, " and get it into the heads of one or 
 two I know, I 11 soon have you another title. You 11 be as 
 famous in Art as you are in Society. By the way, how are 
 you getting along at the Van Dreams now ? I ve quite 
 lost sight of you." 
 
 " Oh, that s so," said Smagg. " The old lady wanted me 
 to come up this afternoon and go over a list of people she 
 wants to invite for a dinner dance. I m afraid she s going 
 
 [355] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 to ask two or three debutantes I don t like the looks of, and 
 she had a rotten wine last time. I guess I ll run up and 
 see that she does it right." 
 
 He took up a pound tube of Prussian blue and squeezed 
 it viciously till it squirmed like a snake all over his immense 
 palate, then daubed a fat brush into the fierie color. 
 
 [356 
 
Chapter tgf)t 
 
 SMAGG IN APOGEE 
 
 / warrant you, you shall see me prove the very periwig to 
 
 cover 
 
 the pate of brainless gentility 
 
 (Antonio and Mellida.) 
 
 IS Lady Mechanic, alias Mrs. Nelly Hellysh, 
 left Dolly Van Dream s own sitting-room, 
 she was plucked at in the hall by a hand 
 some and distinguished footman and drawn 
 into the reception room. Bradford s eyes 
 were alight with emotion ; Bradford s hands 
 trembled. He had dropped his servility in this clandestine 
 retreat and was once more the Scion of Shays Rebellion. 
 
 " What do you think ? " he whispered. " I have discov 
 ered the most tremendous piece of graft and corruption ever 
 known ! There s an outrageous traffic going on in this 
 house and, I believe, in almost every other big Fifth Avenue 
 residence, that will make the most sensational articles ever 
 printed in a magazine. Why, I 11 only have to pick my 
 editors and name my terms ! " 
 
 " Whatever do you mean ? Have you ferreted out the 
 Shame of the Debutantes, or Frenzied Lingerie, the Crimes 
 of the Chaperones, or what ? " 
 
 " Oh, it s too revolting ! All these butlers, it seems, 
 take tips from their millionaire employers for teaching them 
 etiquette in their leisure moments. They Ve leagued them 
 selves together and concocted all sorts of new rules of de- 
 
 [357] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 portment for society. By this time the millionaires are 
 completely under the thumbs of the butlers. The location 
 of the forks and spoons on the table is changed every week, 
 so nobody will know how to use them without instruction. 
 Same way with the handshake, with visiting cards, and all 
 sorts of things. How to use a valet, tipping in country 
 houses, good form at the opera all extra. They re try 
 ing to make the whole thing so complicated that nobody 
 will know what to do or how to do it. Why, I Ve seen 
 butlers bully their employers in a way to make your blood 
 run cold ! It s come to a pass where these merchant 
 princes never know whether they re good form or not till 
 they have their daily lesson. These butlers won t let a man 
 see his own friends if they don t like them. They can pro 
 nounce a debutante dedass ee, and she can t get to a dinner in 
 a season. You wouldn t believe how far it s gone, and 
 it s getting worse every day." 
 
 Well, how are you going to cope with it ? Have you a 
 remedy ? " 
 
 "Surely. I m going to propose the establishment of a 
 clearing-house for visiting-cards at the Plaza Hotel. Then 
 nobody will have to call at all. Every card will be credited 
 and statements issued every month. The same way with 
 the dinners. Mrs. A. will give a promissory note for one to 
 Mrs. B. Mrs. B. will do the same for Mrs. A., and when 
 the books are balanced the whole thing will be evened up 
 without dining at all. It will rescue the millionaires from 
 the clutches of the butlers, and give them time and oppor 
 tunity to enjoy themselves in a sane human fashion." 
 
 u You will become famous ! " 
 
 " I should say so," said Bradford, exultantly. " For the 
 first time in my life I ll achieve a blurb. There ll be a 
 
 [358] 
 
SMAGG IN APOGEE 
 
 blurb in the magazines booming me as the newest muck- 
 raker, a blurb on the paper jacket of my book telling how 
 many heart throbs there are in the volume, and blurbs in 
 the advertising columns of the papers saying that thirteen 
 editions were exhausted before publication, blurbs in the 
 Editor s Guff of the Twocenter Magazine blurbing me as 
 their latest discovery. I m going to be discovered, Mrs. 
 Hellysh ; there s no doubt about that now ! 
 
 "Fancy Wrestling Brewster Bradford being discovered! 
 Fancy the author of c Essays in Enchantment being dis 
 covered in a muck heap ! " 
 
 Bradford looked far away, through the silken tapestry of 
 the wall, through the shell of French Renaissance to where 
 lay his dream. Lady Mechante called him out of his rev 
 erie. "And how about Dolly ?" she asked. 
 
 He started convulsively and looked at her. " I can t get 
 her out of my mind," he said ; u she seems so incongruous 
 here in the midst of all this mere vulgar wealth. It does n t 
 seem to rub off on her at all, somehow; she s like a white 
 pigeon in the slums. I hate to think of her as being below 
 me. Mrs. Hellysh, I am seriously intrigued ; I am very 
 much afraid that I am in danger of becoming entangled in 
 a mesalliance ." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Bradford ! " she cried, clasping her hands. 
 " Think of your mother ! Think of your sister think of 
 the Colonial Skirmishers! You, a nephew-in-law of a Sec 
 retary of the Descendants of the Survivors of the Indian 
 Massacres ! Let me beg of you to think twice before you 
 offer your hand to the daughter of a mere millionaire." 
 
 " Oh, it s not in that quality that I shall offer myself," 
 he replied. " In fact, I don t want her to know that I m 
 in any way her superior. I want her to love me for myself 
 
 [359] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 alone. If she accepts me as a simple footman, I 11 know 
 her heart s all right, and she will be worthy to be a Scion- 
 by-marriage of Shays Rebellion." 
 
 " James ! " Miss Van Dream s voice came singing down 
 the hall, searching her lackey. Lady Mechante hurriedly 
 withdrew. 
 
 It was lucky for the footman s peace of mind and matri 
 monial air castles that he did not hear a conversation that 
 was even then taking place in the library, where old lady 
 Van Dream, gazing indulgently at poor Smagg, was unbur 
 dening a mother s breast. Haulick Smagg, in pin-pointed 
 morning coat, in fawn waistcoat and shepherd s-plaid trou 
 sers, was giving negligent attention, dividing his interest in 
 her with a petulant Pomeranian puppy that gnawed at his 
 heels. 
 
 cc I don t know what I m going to do with Dolly," said 
 Mrs. Van Dream. 
 
 " Well, I guess you need n t worry. If there s anything 
 going to be done, she 11 do it herself." 
 
 " Ah, but this is a thing she can hardly do herself." 
 
 " Why not ? Ain t she clever enough ? " 
 
 "But this is a man s work, Mr. Smagg." 
 
 cc She can do a bigger man s work than most men I know. 
 I seen her pick up and carry a wad of clay as heavy as a 
 cartwheel the other day." 
 
 " Oh, it is n t a question of strength, but of delicacy." 
 
 " What is it then, Lulu ? Out with it ! " 
 
 " Can t you guess, Mr. Smagg ? " She assumed a senti 
 mental attitude. " I want Dolly to be happy." 
 
 " Why, ain t she happy ? She looks all right. I should 
 say she d gained four pounds in the last week." 
 
SMAGG IN APOGEE 
 
 " She needs protection. She needs a man to lean upon. 
 She needs you, Mr. Smagg." She watched the effect of her 
 words anxiously. 
 
 " First I ever heard of it," said Smagg, kicking the 
 Pomeranian till it yelped. 
 
 " She would n t be likely to tell you ; she would n t want 
 you to know." 
 
 " What do you tell me for then ? " 
 
 u Because I know you love her. I know my mother s 
 eyes are not deceived." She added soulfully : u You can t 
 deceive me, Mr. Smagg. I am never mistaken in these things. 
 I can feel your vibrations." 
 
 " Huh ! " said Smagg. " You may feel em, but I 11 be 
 durned if I can." 
 
 She shook her finger at him playfully. u I know ! You 
 men are all alike." 
 
 u If they re all alike, would n t somebody else do just as 
 well ? " Smagg was sullen. 
 
 " Do you mean to say you don t want to marry her ? 
 Why, you ve been paying her all sorts of attentions." 
 
 He began to fear the old lady ; like a spider she was 
 drawing him into her web. For the first time he felt unable 
 to cope with her. As a last resource he fell back on his 
 vade me cum. 
 
 " Well," he said, " there was once a fox - 
 
 She shook her finger at him playfully. " Oh, I know, I 
 know," she said. " But Dolly will be well provided for, Mr. 
 Smagg. I 11 see to that. You won t find me ungenerous." 
 
 "I d rather marry you," said Smagg. "There ain t 
 quite enough of her to suit me." 
 
 Mrs. Van Dream, though not displeased, pursued the 
 subject. u Don t you think she s pretty ? " 
 
 [36.] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 " I don t know," said Smagg, thoughtfully. " She might 
 do. I 11 think it over. You was n t thinking of getting 
 married yourself, I suppose ? " 
 
 "My dear boy, I m old enough to be your mother; I 
 hope I shall be your mother before long." 
 
 " Mother-in-laws are a pile different from mothers, from 
 all I hear." 
 
 He left Mrs. Van Dream dangling in doubt, yet hop 
 ing against hope that this interesting young man, who had 
 made such a furore in her set and was fast becoming a 
 society leader, would, before long, become a member of the 
 family. 
 
 She had spoken of Dolly s happiness, voicing her mater 
 nal instinct more than Dolly s own views on the subject. 
 Mother and daughter had indulged in touching confidences, 
 one to the other, but, though Dolly acknowledged that she 
 was fascinated, she was by no means sure she was willing to 
 marry any such society comet as Smagg had proved to be, 
 social arbiter though he might become. 
 
 True, most of the traces of what Dolly had called 
 " smaggery " had vanished. He no longer smagged flies. 
 He did not smagg into a room in the old way she had 
 laughed at, nor did he smagg his food. He fell asleep less 
 often upon the couch when he was bored ; he seldom 
 cleaned his nails in public now, or spat upon the sidewalk. 
 But he had lost none of his virility ; he radiated force. 
 Indeed, his very smaggery, transformed, sublimated in 
 the world of art, had thrilled her even more deeply than 
 she had been thrilled that evening that he smagged her 
 when the lights went out. 
 
 She was, in fact, his first disciple, the first eagerly to ac 
 cept his ideas and manufacture phrases by which to justify 
 
 [362] 
 
SMAGG IN APOGEE 
 
 them. She had rallied the more radical of both the groups 
 she led, the Intellectuals and the Endowed. Already one 
 heard much of "harmonies of volume," much diatribe 
 directed against " mere charm." Dolly herself was inca 
 pable of wielding her own brush in so heroic a manner, but 
 something in his masculine potency of appeal she answered 
 to. Answered sub-consciously as yet; for, as yet, she thought 
 herself moved more by a theory than by a man. Intellect 
 ually and emotionally she embraced his ideas, but embracing 
 Smagg himself was a different matter. She could not yet 
 forget his smaggery that appeared as the scratches on his 
 varnish, when, occasionally, he yawned or stared. Still, 
 he disturbed her. Many a night she wet her pillow with 
 her tears, wondering how such a man could move her. 
 
 But he was to move her more, consciously and uncon 
 sciously, in intellect and in emotion ; for Smagg s wings 
 grew from day to day. He had turned his second corner. 
 His surplus vitality urged him on. His lesson learned, 
 he found the task too easy. He grew like a weed. He 
 was now almost free of Lady Mechante s guidance and 
 observation. The platitudes with which he had won his 
 entrance into society were discarded, for he no longer 
 needed them. The bromidic views upon the Submerged 
 Tenth with which she had so artfully impregnated his mental 
 system were, in this new phase, thrown off, defeated by the 
 virile power of Smagg s new-fledged mind. He no longer 
 indulged in polite asteisms and pedantic patronage with re 
 gard to Socialism. Seeing the old industrial order was as 
 bad as could be conceived, he flew to the ranks of the only 
 camp of thought that offered a remedy. 
 
 He marveled at the heavy, useless burdens of the rich 
 their unnecessary responsibilities, their fatuous frivolity, their 
 
 [363] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 foolish harness of fashion. He marveled at their uncon 
 sciousness of so much he considered essential in life. Why, 
 they were like hunting-dogs who used their ears and noses, 
 but never their eyes. He heard them talking freely of 
 themselves and each other before servants, as if they were 
 being waited on by deaf-mutes. He saw men everywhere 
 dominated by women, and women scarcely ever clever 
 enough to profit by their advantage save in the most petty 
 transactions. He marveled at men who owned a hundred 
 and fifty pairs of shoes apiece, and women apparently with 
 six husbands each. And all kept up the marvelous game 
 of hypocrisy, each pretending to the other that he was doing 
 something everyone knew he was n t. How they boasted 
 of their chains ! 
 
 And much he marveled at that sad, equivocal creature 
 who, occulted by the brilliance of rich relatives, wore her 
 pathetic masquerade as lady in the world she had all but 
 lost. He watched these "companions," or social secreta 
 ries, belike, and when occasion offered gave them sympathy 
 in their dubious state. While on country visits he often 
 saw one of these hapless, luckless ones in her decayed gen 
 tility when the house was crowded share her room with a 
 maid without daring to protest. He saw her in the city 
 carrying dogs across the street like lackeys. He saw her 
 on the front seats of motor-cars, when gentlemen rode in 
 side. He saw her in hotels, going down to breakfast in the 
 dining-room to save the fifty-cent service in her room. He 
 saw her forced to stay indoors on a Sunday afternoon, 
 when the servants went free. He saw her spending herself 
 in an infinite number of capacities, as maid, trained nurse, 
 secretary, dressmaker, milliner or, when a fourth lady 
 failed to appear, he saw her come down to dinner in a made- 
 
 [364] 
 
SMAGG IN APOGEE 
 
 over gown of her rich aunt s, which did not spare her youth 
 and shadowed her freshness a strange, timid creature, 
 drowning in a sea of affluent success. He saw how, every 
 time a man made bold to speak to her, the whole family 
 listened with eager ears, and five minutes afterwards tore 
 out of her heart the secret of his attention. Fie saw her in 
 her isolation, with not an evening to herself, with the 
 impossibility of making friends, taking tea and desperate 
 chances with personable young men in clandestine rendez 
 vous when she was supposed to be shopping. Truly, it 
 had no tendency to teach her to be truthful, this regime ; 
 her one object in life, he discovered, was to deceive her 
 employer. Employer ? Never that, of course ! Did she 
 not have presents of her rich aunt s old hats black things 
 with little stick-ups in them ? Did not her rich aunt instruct 
 her how to wear her hair in a prim, old-fashioned, incon 
 spicuous manner, so as to be uncompromisingly labeled as 
 dependent ? 
 
 From such as these, in stolen interviews, he learned much 
 of life, and wondered at this sacrifice of virgins. Why, 
 down on Delancey Street where he had lived, the working 
 girls had a Settlement House, where amiable young social 
 istic millionaires met them on terms of equality, took them 
 out riding, gave them the best of modern culture ! Here 
 celebrated authors and foreign statesmen came, till the girls 
 were surfeited with opportunity. Here the best music was 
 played, select clubs were established, motor cars could be 
 had free for Sundays, and excursions were planned for every 
 holiday. He told these poor companions about it, and 
 urged them to emigrate to the slums, where they could be 
 sure of every social advantage and an occasional evening off 
 for diversion amateur theatricals trained by New York s 
 
 [ 365 1 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 cleverest young men, and lectures on Fridays by the world- 
 famous. But ever they hugged the delusion of caste, and 
 dwelt purblind in their slavery. 
 
 Once started, he went faster and faster. He roamed 
 hungrily from one art to another, all that was primitive in 
 him rejoicing in all that was modern. Herein lay no para 
 dox, for Smagg had but to look upward and see modernity 
 over his head. The cycle of culture in its spiral rise had 
 completed the circle, and had returned to view from a 
 higher altitude the clean-cut truths which had, at the begin 
 ning of the helix, inspired the primal man. 
 
 " Architecture ! " said Smagg, one day, looking up from 
 Lady Mechanic s photographs and engravings, after listen 
 ing to her lecture, " there s been no such thing since that 
 first drunk and disorderly Dago tripped over a smashed 
 Corinthian capital and saw it for the first time after he and 
 the rest of em had been messing around it for a thousand 
 years. That there Renaissance you been talking about was 
 nothing but a surgical operation for the emasculation of 
 thought, the first idiot correspondence school for the 
 suppression of intellect. Fenestrations and ratios ! Men 
 were so crazy about their foot-rulers they d rather measure 
 an old cornice than figure out a new groined arch. They ve 
 been playing a game of dominoes ever since, with every 
 third counter a double-blank ! It took brains and blood 
 to build Karnak and the Parthenon and St. Mark s and 
 Durham and Chartres ! But these modern monkeys are 
 only working out puzzle-pictures for fools, and when they 
 get the chopped-up bits of " Columbus Crossing the 
 Delaware" or "Washington Discovering America" they 
 expect me to yelp ! A man would think the Parthenon 
 had gone wrong and come over and littered all over Man- 
 
SM4GG IN APOGEE 
 
 hattan ! Greek temples for bun-shops, Greek temples for 
 Subway-entrances, and Greek temples for garages ! Judg 
 ing from the Pennsylvania Station, how far have we ad 
 vanced from the Taj Mahal ? Is the Singer Building 
 better than the Doge s palace ? And how about that bum 
 Cathedral, that garbage box with the badly foozled ap 
 proach ? Is it up to the standard of any little old parish 
 church in England ? 
 
 " Oh, I ve been talking with these architect-chaps who 
 think on a scale of one-sixteenth-of-an-inch-to-the-foot, and 
 I know what s wrong. There s a bucket-shop called the 
 Ecole des Beaux-Arts over in Paris where the little Yankee 
 kids go and give up the last bit of small change of feeling 
 they have, and they get in return a bunch of stock-certifi 
 cates in a bum gold-brick mine that was played out before 
 it was ever dug, and is now nothing but a rive gauche 
 Rathskeller where the menu is hash, sausage, and dope. 
 Then they chest themselves back over the Atlantic, and 
 the hayseeds of high-life gurgle, l Oh, ain t them colyums 
 and consoles and cartouches elegant ! That s all they 
 get a Parisian version of a Renaissance misunderstanding 
 of a Roman translation of the original Greek ! Gawd ! 
 every time I see an Ionic column I know it s a vulgar 
 gravestone in memory of the unknown dead. Yes, I know 
 they s a few men trying to do Gothic, though they ain t 
 got Gothic minds. Well, they re butchering a real style, 
 anyway ; and they re to be pitied, because they know 
 right from wrong. But these academic asses, I envy em. 
 They don t even know there is any such thing as right ! : 
 
 In music, also, he dared to walk without a guide. An 
 evening at the Chinese theater set him a-wondering. 
 " What s everybody so afraid of discords for ? " he asked 
 
 [367] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 afterwards. u They re all slaves to the old forms and the 
 old intervals. What difference does it make if G flat 
 vibrates thirty-two thousand times a second and A sharp 
 forty-one thousand, or whatever it is ? You can prove 
 there s a mathematical ratio that s what we call harmony, 
 but you can t prove some other ratio won t give some 
 other kind of a psychological effect, can you ? Why 
 ain t the interval of a fourth as good as that of a fifth 
 or a third ? " 
 
 " Oh, it s been tried," said Lady Mechante. "Grieg 
 used it ; so did Tschaikowsky and Dvorak. But it was a 
 sort of compromise ; they did n t dare trust new harmonies 
 as the modern Frenchmen have. Listen to this ! " and 
 she sat down to the piano and played a few measures of 
 Debussy. 
 
 " What d you think of it?" she asked, watching him 
 queerly. 
 
 Smagg s gaze roved. He put his hand to his head, puz 
 zled. " It makes me feel funny," he said, at last. " I 
 never heard anything before that made me feel so queer. 
 It reminds me of something. And, somehow, I can seem 
 to hear notes you don t play at all. Plow is that ? " 
 
 " I believe you hear the overtones ! " she cried, and she 
 explained the theory of vibrations to him. 
 
 " That s it ! " he exclaimed. " That fellow s got the 
 idea. The reason why most people can t understand it is 
 because their ears are wrong. They re so used to the 
 we ll-known intervals they can t catch anything new. I ve 
 heard tell that there s some insect notes so high we can t 
 hear em. Well, there can be some kind of harmonies so 
 new and subtle we can t understand em, can t there ? " 
 
 Lady Mechante played on, softly and dreamily. " How 
 [368] 
 
SMAGG IN APOGEE 
 
 can I tell what you may hear, O cave man ? " she mur 
 mured. u We have gone back ; civilization has robbed us 
 of our pristine sense of smell we can no longer scent our 
 friends and enemies -it has robbed us of our ears, too 
 once we lived in the woods we listened for the tiniest 
 sounds we heard things that are now imperceptible to 
 our auditory nerves we heard, perhaps, all overtones 
 we have lost our ears ! have not Strauss and Debussy 
 found them for us, and you, O Troglodyte ? " She 
 finished her Pelleas. 
 
 " What s them black keys for ? " asked Smagg. 
 
 She explained the diatonic scale. 
 
 u But why does there have to be half tones between 
 three and four and seven and eight ? Why can t you go 
 up, a whole tone at a time ? " 
 
 " Ah ! " She jumped up and nearly kissed him ; not 
 quite. u You can!" she exclaimed. Then she played a 
 queer old rune, an ancient Greek chorus, and Smagg s 
 eyes opened wide. She repeated, by ear, the Chinese song 
 he had heard. She hummed a primordial chant, thousands 
 of years old. 
 
 " There ! I knew it ! " she said. u Yours is the penta- 
 tonic scale ; like Strauss, you know its mysterious harmo 
 nies, which men call dissonance ! How else could it be but 
 that you should comprehend the most ancient and the most 
 modern of music ! " 
 
 "There s one queer thing about it," said Smagg. "I 
 like it, but I can t hear it ! When you play something I 
 like, it makes me feel funny. I forget to think. I go off 
 like in a dream, and so I don t hear it at all. But when 
 you play anything cheap, I hear it all right, but it makes 
 me itch ! " 
 
 H [ 369 ] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 "There s the tragedy of music," said Lady Mcchante. 
 " She s so beautiful that she s invisible ! Lucky for you 
 you re not a technician and don t understand the mathe 
 matics of the science. I envy you ! " 
 
 u Well," said Smagg, gripping his chin in his fist, "I d 
 like to try writing some of that stuff, all the same. I 
 believe I could show that French chap a thing or two ! " 
 
 Lady Mechanic was one, at least, who quite believed 
 him capable of it. 
 
 Before he had turned his third corner Lady Mechante 
 had, in an idle moment, planned for him a literary career. 
 She knew what marvelous chances the beginner had in 
 America; how often, while the work of old established 
 writers was rejected, the first sign of a new writer from 
 Ypsilanti or Barriboo would be hailed with wild acclaim 
 by the editors. The manuscript might be rejected, but 
 the author would be welcomed with complimentary letters 
 requesting the sight of all future work ; and, if the second 
 contribution were tolerable, special envoys, literary confi 
 dence men, were sent out to lunch and dine the new-born 
 celebrity. Blurbed into a moment s scintillating fame, how 
 many a young star she had seen rise, glitter, and fall back 
 into the dark to perish in the black unknown ! How many 
 prize-winners had been discovered, touted, and left by the 
 wayside ! 
 
 She had even blocked out for him a series of stories that 
 should begin his career little masterpieces of originality 
 and unconventionally. There was one for Macaloor s about 
 a heroic brakeman who climbed over the tender, half burned 
 to death in a forest fire, and rescued the engineer, a u sin 
 cere " tale. There was the story of a coward whose physi- 
 
 [37] 
 
SMAGG IN APOGEE 
 
 cal fear was adroitly contrasted with his spiritual courage. 
 This was "convincing." There was a football story, for 
 a November number, in which the despised Freshman in 
 spired by a pretty co-ed, scored a touchdown for his eleven. 
 There was a story of very poor whites who spoke unintelligi 
 ble dialect, one of a tender-hearted cowboy with red hair. 
 There was a story of a picturesque lover, versus a practical 
 husband, in which the heroine was referred to as the Beauti 
 ful Lady. There was the story of a "cub" reporter, who 
 achieved a " scoop," with much local color (" copy 
 readers," "city desks," "flimsies," and so on). There 
 was the story of a homely girl, who being (as they always 
 are) kind and tactful, won over a pretty, feather-headed 
 rival. There was a Christmas story where Somebody 
 Came Back. Animal stories, of fleas and mosquitoes 
 conversing together. Story of an Under Dog. How 
 the Old Automobile won the Race. Story of an im 
 possibly precocious and sentimental child and so on. 
 In all these she used for a title the Inverted Possessive 
 dear to the editor s soul, usually the " Rehabilitation of 
 Somebody." 
 
 These rough sketches she had cast aside for poetry ; for, 
 while he was but partly evolved, it pleased her fancy to 
 speculate upon the kind of verse he would be likely to 
 indite. 
 
 Long afterwards she picked a manuscript out of a pigeon 
 hole of her escritoire and showed it to him. 
 
 " Here ! " she said. " This is what I was going to have 
 you pull out of your inside pocket some night at Highbrow 
 Hall. What do you think of it ? Would you have been 
 proud to acknowledge the authorship ? " She read it to 
 him, mimicking his smaggish manner : 
 
 [371] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 "Blood of the meat 
 
 Soul of the flesh, striving in sinew and gristle, 
 
 Burrowing bone, 
 
 Lusty in fatherhood, riotous giver of life 
 
 Crassly I crunch at the corpse, 
 
 Drinking its force, 
 
 Robbing the strength of the beast ! 
 
 Lo, thou hast pilfered the grasses, 
 
 Soul of their flesh ! 
 
 Lo, they have sifted the rocks 
 
 To capture the spirit of Life ! 
 
 Dwell in my carcass and build it, 
 
 Ere in the round of thy going 
 
 Back to the earth that hath whelped me, 
 
 Little and weak, 
 
 Thin through the leaf and the stalk, 
 
 Thou climbest thy path to fulfillment." 
 
 Smagg scrowlcd, reached for it, and looked it over. Then 
 he pointed to a word. u I never would have said capture/ 
 
 Lady Mechante shrieked. " That s a fact. Of course 
 you v/ould n t. Bless your big Anglo-Saxon heart ! I be 
 lieve you ve picked out the only Latin word in the poem. 
 I would like to see what you would write now if you tried." 
 Smagg in his orbit was at this time rounding the focus of 
 its parabola. 
 
 He gloomed for a while, then paced the floor heavily. 
 He stopped suddenly once or twice, glared at her and went 
 on. He walked to the window and looked out, rubbed his 
 nose against the pane, then thoughtfully inspected the 
 grease spot on the glass. He snapped his fingers and 
 came back, stopped and tapped his toes and scowled again. 
 He exhibited, in short, all the tricks and manners of a minor 
 poet absorbed in composition. 
 
SMAGG IN APOGEE 
 
 Lady Mechanic watched him with infinite amusement. 
 " Can you do it ? " she asked. " Did you catch a sight of 
 your muse out of the window ? " 
 
 He shoved his hands in his pockets, and his soul shot out 
 of his eyes, terrible. 
 
 " How can I do it ? " he demanded. u How can any 
 body do it that s decent ? Poetry is the language of 
 feeling, ain t it ? You can t put it into words. Even 
 them pictures of mine don t put it into words ; no 
 more does music. Nobody means what they say when 
 they write lyrics ; if they did, they ought to be ashamed 
 of themselves. When you have a feeling that s poetic, 
 it s like having a woman you re in love with. No 
 man as is a man wants to go to work and expose it for 
 everybody to stare at. If a poet come to see me, I d 
 kick him downstairs and then go and wipe my shoes on 
 the mat ! 
 
 " All the same," he continued, " I 11 give it to you if 
 you want to hear it; but you understand this is something 
 sacred and holy; it s a part of the mystery of my own 
 being ; it s like a love-letter, I expect ; it s the sort of 
 thing one does n t confess. 
 
 " My shirt is sticky and clings to my back, 
 
 Gawd, my Gawd, but I d like to cry ! 
 I got up at night and stepped on a tack, 
 Gawd, but I want to die ! 
 
 I got some ink under my thumb-nail, 
 
 Gawd, my Gawd, but I d like to cry ! 
 
 I had to laugh at a thrice-told tale, 
 Gawd, but I want to die ! 
 
 [373] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 " I got my hair all covered with glue, 
 
 Gawd, my Gawd, but I d like to cry ! 
 I wiped my face on a towel new, 
 Gawd, but I want to die! 
 
 " I seen a guy with a light blue scarf, 
 
 Gawd, my Gawd, but I d like to cry ! 
 And a pretty girl with a horrid laugh 
 Gawd, but I want to die ! " 
 
 "Ah, I see," said Lady Mechante, the tears in her eyes. 
 " It s wonderfully beautiful. You are right. These are 
 quite the things a delicate person hesitates to confess. 
 And rhythmic, of course. That s where I failed. I for 
 got that all prehistoric poetry is rhythmic. In yours I hear 
 the cadenced rune of the ancient tribal dances. I can 
 almost hear the tomtoms and see the naked forms in the 
 firelight. I should have known you would be atavistic." 
 
 u Say," Smagg exclaimed suddenly, "what do you think 
 old lady Van Dream told me today ? Said she wanted me 
 to marry Dolly." 
 
 Lady Mechante jumped up. " Not really ? " 
 
 What was there in her look now that had not been 
 there before ? Something slumbering awoke. Her breath 
 came quickly. 
 
 " What did you say ? " 
 
 " I said, Not much ! or, leastways, I d think it over. 
 What I meant was, I d ask you. What do you think ? " 
 
 " What do you think ? " she asked eagerly. 
 
 "Oh, she s got money and plenty of hair that s the 
 main thing. But I rather prefer the old lady, myself. 
 More to her. Besides, she s on to things. Dolly might 
 do so long as I could n t possibly I mean, of course 
 
 [374] 
 
SMAGG IN APOGEE 
 
 " What ever do you mean ? " said Lady Mechante. 
 
 Smagg walked off to the window again, found the grease 
 spot still there on the pane, and gazed at it morosely. 
 " I don t know what I do mean ; only sometimes I feel 
 funny." 
 
 She watched him through half-closed lids, then turned 
 away, and sighed. " I expect you had better marry her, 
 Haulick," she said decidedly. Her lips closed tightly. 
 
 " All right," said Haulick, gloomily. " I 11 propose to 
 her tomorrow." 
 
 He % did propose on the morrow, heavy-heartedly enough, 
 but with sufficient unction to impress Miss Van Dream, 
 who, warned by her mother, had lain awake half the night 
 wondering what she should say to him. What she did say 
 was merely that she wanted time. She was n t ready yet to 
 decide so important a question. Little Emily, she knew, 
 would have snapped him up in a minute. Almost every 
 other girl in her set would, smaggery or no smaggery. 
 That was in itself, she admitted, good reason for taking 
 him. She began to feel the man himself, now, more 
 strongly than his art ; but there was something too clever 
 about him. There was no knowing where such a cat 
 would jump. 
 
 So Smagg went away, not too disheartened at being put 
 off. 
 
 He had hardly gone before James, the footman, appeared 
 to remove the tea things. He had been in and out during 
 the whole interview and, as Dolly Van Dream, with 
 characteristic aplomb, had ignored his presence as a human 
 being, he had heard the entire conversation through with 
 imperturbable gravity. Smagg s one failing had always 
 
 [375] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 been a fear of servants public waiters excepted and he 
 would have become awkwardly embarrassed had his pro 
 posal been more enthusiastic. But Smagg had been plunged 
 in turgid thoughts, of which the reader is supposed to know 
 nothing. James had waited a decent interval after this 
 tender episode, and now laid his tray on the table and 
 approached his mistress with a sentimental expression upon 
 the face which so long had been masked in sobriety. 
 
 " I d like to speak to you, Miss Van Dream, if I might 
 be so bold," he said. 
 
 Dolly raised her eyebrows and regarded him with sur 
 prise. " Why, what is it, James ? Have you anything to 
 complain of? Aren t they giving you real cream in your 
 coffee, or what is it ? I hope you are not going to tell me 
 you want to marry one of the maids." 
 
 u No, Miss Van Dream, it s not one of the maids I wish 
 to marry. It s you^ if you don t mind me saying of it." 
 
 "James, I hope you have n t been helping yourself to 
 the brandy ! I gave strict orders that it was to be kept 
 locked up." 
 
 James shook his head. "No, Miss Van Dream. It 
 is n t the brandy. If I m intoxicated, it s you that s done 
 it, in a way of speaking." 
 
 How he restrained himself! How hard he strived to 
 copy the manner of the best English servants as depicted 
 in the best society novels ! He longed to lapse into 
 dialect, to say " mem," and to drop his " //s," but he was 
 not yet sure of the proper idiom and accent. He did his 
 best with the few of Hallroom s novels he had been able 
 to read. 
 
 " I don t think you quite know what you are saying, 
 James," said Dolly, rising and looking about her uneasily. 
 
 [376] 
 
SMAGG IN APOGEE 
 
 " I do know what I m saying, Miss Van Dream, if you 
 please, for I have said it often enough to myself. I have 
 been in this house and in your service, man and boy, for 
 two weeks ; and it was a long, long time before I could 
 make bold to tell you about it. But I love you, Miss 
 Van Dream, and, if you would be contented to marry a 
 poor man, so far beneath you, I can offer you a heart, Miss 
 Van Dream, that has as much devotion as you have 
 dollars. I am afraid I can t put it very well to the likes 
 of you, but I Ve heard tell you re a Socialist, and I went 
 and joined the Party so s to be able to call you comrade 
 without being accuged of disrespect. It s on the plane of 
 our common humanity and the cause of Labor that I ap 
 peal to you, Miss Van Dream I beg your pardon 
 comrade ! " 
 
 Dolly had listened at first with amusement, then with 
 increasing impatience to scornful fury. She was about to 
 order him out of the room when the first word of his final 
 period caused her to stop and tremble. Her hand flew to 
 her heart. Dollv, the last two weeks, had become as fiery 
 a little Socialist as ever spoke on a street corner. True, 
 she never had spoken on a street corner, for her comrades 
 were theorists of the parlor variety, who had taken it up in 
 a dreamy sort of way, mainly on account of Bernard Shaw. 
 Even thus, however, there was magic in the name " com 
 rade," and she dared not consider herself insulted. 
 
 "You re quite right, of course, in speaking to me, 
 Comrade James, and your sentiments do you honor. I 
 know I am thoroughly fascinating, and it s no wonder that 
 you could n t stand the strain for long. I m not surprised 
 that you have broken down under it. Tn fact, I ve 
 noticed for several days that your manner had changed. 
 
 [377] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 You winked quite conspicuously yesterday as you passed 
 the fish. Mamma noticed it and thought you were ill. So 
 I think, on the whole, you d better change your work for 
 something out of doors, where I won t trouble you so 
 much. Can you do anything else but footmanship ? " 
 
 " I can drive an automobile," said James, hanging his 
 head. 
 
 u Very well, then, I 11 see about making you a chauffeur. 
 That Frenchman we ve had eloped last night with my 
 Aunt Harriet, as you may have heard. If you 11 promise 
 not to elope, James Comrade James, I beg your pardon 
 I 11 see that you are installed. But you must live in 
 the coach house, and you must n t expect any increase in 
 wages." 
 
 James took up his tray, placed on it a plate of nibbled 
 tea-cakes, and walked out of the room, his shattered hopes 
 torturing his breast. 
 
 [378] 
 
Chapter J^tne 
 
 NEW WORLDS FOR OLD 
 
 Though she have heavenly gifts, virtue and beauty, 
 Is she not earthly metal, fesh and blood? 
 
 (Campaspe.) 
 
 HAT was the matter with Smagg ? Still 
 he pursued his social orbit with increasing 
 splendor, pursued breathlessly by a comet s 
 tail of debutantes, widowettes, and marrying 
 mammas. Still in the studios the prosely 
 tizing for Smagg s new order of art went 
 on. He was called " the Master " by many of the younger 
 female art students at the League. True, their attempts 
 at imitation could be received at no regular salon, but an 
 independent exhibition had been held, producing a surfeit 
 of smaggery. In both these worlds, Dolly Van Dream 
 followed him, still unable to make up her mind, still un 
 able to distinguish between the genius and the man. 
 
 But of late she thought she noticed a slight recrudescence 
 of his smaggery. At one time it was nothing more than 
 the production of a red bandanna handkerchief; at another 
 it was the omission of the handkerchief altogether after a 
 particularly violent sneeze. Smagg, by this time, was a 
 sufficiently important figure to be able to do pretty much 
 what he liked, but what he liked to do was singularly 
 reminiscent of his earlier smaggishness, with the difference 
 that, nowadays, he seemed to do it consciously and with 
 
 [379] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 defiance. Of this attitude, one of his early gaucberles was 
 symbolic. He not only upset his cup on the floor, but he 
 stamped viciously on the fragments. There was that same 
 vicious note in his present mental state. He rubbed things 
 in. She wondered what it meant. 
 
 She followed his progress from call to call, to theaters, 
 teas, receptions, house parties, and noticed that he seemed 
 more and more sullen ; his badinage often frightened the 
 buds, tough as they had become by the end of the season s 
 dissipation. The young married women, inured to the 
 persistent attacks of male flirts (fair game, now they were 
 wedded, for all sorts of surreptitious amorous annoyance), 
 found Smagg a terror in quite a new way. His mockery 
 of the matrons, his derision of the dowagers, had become 
 blatant, almost offensive. People said he was spoiled, but 
 Dolly knew better. Some yeast was working in his brain. 
 
 u Do you know, you have n t paid your dinner call on 
 Mrs. Pendulous yet?" she said to him one day. "It s 
 two weeks since you were there." 
 
 "What do I want to go there for?" said Smagg. 
 " The dinner was bad enough, let alone calling again." 
 
 " But you have to go," Dolly insisted. 
 
 " Why, if I don t want to ? " 
 
 " Because it s the thing to do. You must pay your 
 social debts." 
 
 " But she invited me herself. I did n t want to go, 
 anyway. She ought to call on me f " 
 
 tc Oh, we all have to do a great many things we don t 
 want to do." 
 
 He thought about it sulkily. " 1 don t see the good of 
 being in society, then," he grumbled. 
 
 " I think I m very lucky to be able to get down to my 
 
 [380] 
 
NEW WORLDS FOR OLD 
 
 studio twice a week," Dolly went on. u I m fearfully 
 behind on my calls now, and I ve got to give at least six 
 more dinners and two big receptions to even up my score. 
 I think you ought to consider yourself fortunate." 
 
 " You 11 be saying I Ve got to go to Emily s theater 
 party, next, and sit around for three hours in the back of 
 the box when I want to be home in bed." 
 
 " Well, if you keep it up as well as you have you 11 
 soon get to the point where you 11 be invited to everything 
 and won t have to go to anything, and that s the goal we 
 all hope to reach in time." 
 
 u I don t see the fun in being invited to things you don t 
 want to go to. Sounds like nonsense to me." 
 
 If Dolly was puzzled at these symptoms of Smagg s 
 uneasiness, Lady Me chante was more so. When he was 
 with her, however, Smagg s demeanor took another air. 
 She was almost frightened at times, and in her encounters 
 she needed every art and ruse with which that fantastic 
 lady was familiar. He would stop suddenly and glower 
 upon her, showing his teeth under his tense upper lip. At 
 times she almost expected this reconstructed cave man to 
 drag her off by the hair of her head to his lair. In point 
 of fact, he did grab her by the wrist savagely enough once ; 
 but then the lady s eyes were stilettos, and he cowered and 
 apologized. She had to acknowledge that he was more 
 and more difficult to cope with, like a kitten grown into a 
 wild-cat. Success had given him confidence. Was the 
 distance lessening between them ? she thought. Was she, 
 at the top of the spiral, now in closer proximity than ever 
 to Smagg at the bottom, one whole round of the circle 
 behind her ? Strangely they had thrilled to the same 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 themes, he the barbarian, she effete. What he had looked 
 up to she had looked down upon, but now at times she 
 seemed to meet his gaze full on the level. How long 
 would her brains be a match for his brute strength and 
 will ? 
 
 He came and went now, his own master. Once or 
 twice he had even offered her advice her, Lady Me- 
 chante, who had played with cities, with societies, with 
 religions, in her time; whose touch was magic, whose 
 fancy was immortal ! She had had a queer, numb feeling 
 when he had offered that advice. What if he gave her his 
 orders ? What if he forced her will ? Already she seemed 
 to hear a warning, like the music of a rattlesnake s tail. It 
 made her numb, indeed, but it awoke a strange, outrageous 
 delight in her which she had never known before. 
 
 It was well into May when Lady Mechante drove up to 
 the Van Dreams in her Pancake to have a talk with Dolly 
 and see how far she had noticed the change. On the pave 
 ment she found the new chauffeur at the wheel of the tre 
 mendous yellow limousine car of the Van Dreams. At 
 first she did not know him in his leathern uniform, but 
 when she recognized him she went up immediately to 
 ascertain the cause. 
 
 Wrestling Brewster Bradford, too, had changed. He 
 told her of his proposal. " And, do you know," he said, 
 "on thinking it over, I m sure I should n t have liked it at 
 all if she had accepted me as a footman. Why, I would have 
 distrusted every servant I ever had, once I was married to her. 
 No, I selfishly wanted her to like me for myself alone, 
 and I m now thoroughly ashamed of it. I owe a debt to 
 my ancestry and have no right to leave the Scions of Shays 
 
 [382.] 
 
NEW WORLDS FOR OLD 
 
 Rebellion out of the question. I m as much a Scion as I 
 am myself, it seems to me. I am as much a Descendant 
 of the Survivors of the Indian Massacres as I am Wrestling 
 Brewster Bradford. Have n t Elder Brewster, the Pilgrim, 
 and Wrestling, his son, any respect due them ? What 
 would the Colonial Skirmishers think ? Then, again, my 
 sister is to be considered. Would she want her brother 
 accepted as a footman ? The fact is, it s all horridly com 
 plicated on account of the aristocracy of my lineage. I ve 
 decided to wait until. I ve got all the material necessary for 
 my book there are a lot of secrets in the Van Dream 
 family that I have n t wormed out of the butler yet, then 
 I m going to propose to her as a gentleman. I suppose 
 she will be frightened to death, but I 11 try and make it as 
 easy as I can for her. She never will be a Scion of Shays 
 Rebellion, but her son will be." 
 
 " I think you are quite right," said Lady Mechante, 
 "but I hope you will break it to her gently. Can t you 
 begin with the Mexican War, say, and work gradually 
 back ? I would n t let her know that your family is more 
 than two or three generations old, at first. I d be very 
 careful how I approached the seventeenth century, if I were 
 you, and be sure and not mention the Boston Tea Party 
 until she is thoroughly prepared for the shock. When you 
 get to the Plymouth Colony, I beg of you, go slowly and 
 have the smelling-salts ready. I d start from Boston and 
 work my way down the Old Massachusetts Trail along the 
 South Shore. When you get to the Plymouth Rock, she 11 
 be ready for the worst." 
 
 The running tremor in her voice died out. She smiled 
 saucily and ran up the steps of the chateau. She found 
 Dolly and her mother talking Lenox. They were due at 
 
 [383] 
 
LADY MECHANTE 
 
 their country house, a spick and span Tudor pile they 
 called " Goldmere," early next week. Smagg had already 
 been invited, and Lady Mechante, when she appeared, was 
 made to say that she would run up with them en auto on 
 the coming Monday. 
 
 " I see you have a new chauffeur," said she who was still 
 called Mrs. Hellysh. " Are you going to trust yourself to 
 him ? He does n t look machiny enough to me." 
 
 " Oh, my dear, he s remarkably intelligent," said Dolly, 
 " and he knows his place perfectly." 
 
 Mrs. Van Dream put in: " He s a perfect servant, really. 
 There must be generations of footmen and butlers behind 
 him, I m sure. It s written all over him." 
 
 So the party was arranged. Lady Me chante, after an 
 unsuccessful attempt to probe the secrets of Dolly s heart, 
 went home to make her preparations for the trip. 
 
 They started early in the yellow car, with Wrestling 
 Brewster Bradford at the wheel. Once out of the crowded 
 streets, Smagg s face seemed to grow more and more dis 
 consolate every minute, and he ^ harangued the three ladies 
 gloomily. 
 
 " What am I going to Lenox for ? " he demanded. " I 
 don t want to go. I don t believe you want to go your 
 selves. It s just because we all have to go, ain t it ?" 
 
 Lady Mechante spoke up. u You may go because you 
 have to, because you are a society leader and a lion and a 
 Master. Dolly and Mrs. Van Dream have to go because 
 they are harnessed into the chariot and can t escape. But 
 I don t have to go ; I don t have to do anything I don t 
 want to. I never have in my life ! I m going because I 
 want to see the fun." 
 
NEW WORLDS FOR OLD 
 
 "What fun ? " said Haulick Smagg. 
 
 " The fun of seeing you outside of New York. I don t 
 believe you ve ever been outside of the city before in your 
 life." 
 
 "No more have I," he said. 
 
 " Why, how absurd ! " Mrs. Van Dream put in. 
 " You ve told us about Marienbad and Monte Carlo and 
 Versailles and the Lido times enough. Why, I ve seen 
 your trunks, even ! There is n t a single foreign hotel label 
 on any of them. That s enough of itself to prove you 
 know the Continent thoroughly. And you never speak a 
 word of French or Italian, either. You are fibbing, Mr. 
 Smagg ! " 
 
 " Oh, I ve known a lot of people who can speak French, 
 although they ve lived years in Paris," said Dolly. 
 
 "You watch him," said Lady Mechanic. "Wait till 
 we get out of Bronx Park." 
 
 O 
 
 They did watch him, but through a plate glass window, 
 for Smagg, announcing that he was tired of women, and 
 that Mrs. Van Dream s odor of Santal made him sick, rang 
 the electric bell, told the chauffeur to stop, got out, banged 
 the door, and took the seat beside Bradford. 
 
 They had gone a little way farther when a trunk dropped 
 off the rear of the car. Smagg, defying the chauffeur s polite 
 protest, insisted upon getting out himself to lift it on the 
 rack. The trunk had fallen in a pool of oily tar, which 
 covered the road, and Smagg s hands, for the first time in a 
 mouth, became actually dirty. With a careless, unconscious 
 gesture he wiped them off roughly on the seat of his light, 
 pearl-colored worsted trousers. He climbed into the front 
 seat again and began to bully the chauffeur, urging him to go 
 faster and run over as many hens as possible. He tried to 
 *5 [385] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 induce Bradford to let him take the wheel himself, but 
 Br-ad ford s eyes grew as cold as steel. 
 
 Within, Lady Me chante s glance never left him. Just 
 this side of Portchester a front tire blew out with an ex 
 plosion like a pistol shot. Bradford did not decline Smagg s 
 aid this time, and the two of them worked for half an hour 
 in the sun with a refractory shoe before it was clinched and 
 fastened and the inner tube pumped up. Smagg insisted 
 upon doing most of the hard work, and by the time the job 
 was finished the knees of the light pearl worsted trousers 
 aroused Dolly Van Dream s mirth. Smagg had doffed his 
 coat and had laid it on the asphalt. When he put it on 
 there was a large oily X on the small of its back. There 
 was oil, also, upon Smagg s arms and under his left 
 eye ; his hair lacked that slick assurance of arrangement 
 
 O 
 
 and particularly the curl that Lady Mechante had ever 
 objected to, and which she had named the " hoodlum 
 twist." 
 
 But somehow Smagg himself seemed rejuvenated, happier, 
 and more buoyant. The terrific oaths which had caused 
 Mrs. Van Dream hurriedly to pull up the sash in the door 
 had ended. Smagg clapped the chauffeur lustily upon the 
 back and invited him to a saloon just visible up the street. 
 Wrestling Brewster Bradford, looking fearful and em 
 barrassed, accompanied him. Lady Mdchante jumped up 
 and opened the door, about to call them back, but Mrs. 
 Van Dream pulled her down. 
 
 When they returned, Smagg strutted. His eyes were 
 light and his spirit was strong. In his mouth was a smack 
 of beer the first he had tasted since he had sold his soul 
 into slavery. Hilariously he hopped upon the seat and bade 
 the chauffeur chase himself. On they sped along the Old 
 
NEW WORLDS FOR OLD 
 
 Boston Road, while Smagg laughed and sang aloud and told 
 infamous tales to the descendant of the Pilgrims. 
 
 The road was narrow and wound in sharp curves up 
 and down hill. Smagg lurched from side to side, not drunk, 
 but exhilarated. That touch of hops was working in him 
 mysteriously. The sight of his dirty hands had begun to 
 call up memories of freedom, careless joyance. The very 
 smears on his clothes thrilled him with forgotten delights. 
 He had sweated with his labor, the first manual work he 
 had done for long, and now the cool breeze caressed his 
 damp temples. He turned round and gazed in through the 
 plate glass window at Lady Mechante with a yellow glow 
 in his eyes like a tiger s. The car suddenly came to a stop 
 and Smagg looked round. 
 
 They were at the bottom of a sharp curving rise in the 
 narrow road, and a hundred feet ahead he saw a coal wagon 
 with one hind wheel off, overturned on the road. Its cargo 
 had escaped in a huge pile that entirely filled the thorough 
 fare. With such narrow passage and the up grade, it was 
 impossible to pass. The only way round, the chauffeur 
 informed him, had diverged ten miles behind them. What 
 was to be done ? 
 
 Haulick Smagg was equal to the emergency. He left 
 the car and strode up to the driver, who was sitting in the 
 shade of the wagon waiting for reinforcements. 
 
 " Got a shovel ? " said Smagg. 
 
 " I got a shovel all right. What d ye want with it ? " 
 
 " I want to move this coal," said Smagg. 
 
 " Go on, you can t shovel coal ! " the driver mocked. 
 
 " You re nothing but a gentleman ! " 
 
 u A what ? " said Smagg. 
 
 "A gent The driver got no further, for Smagg s 
 
 [387] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 heavy hand had closed his mouth. The driver got up 
 as far as his knees, but was promptly knocked down 
 again. 
 
 Smagg seized a shovel, looked it over carefully, hefted 
 it with delicate appreciation, then brandished it aloft like a 
 battle-axe rescued from his grandsire s tomb. He thrust it 
 at the hillside as if he would move the mountain; he 
 chopped out a piece of cloud from the sky and tossed it 
 over his shoulder into the Atlantic, miles away. Then, in 
 a Berserk fury, he attacked the coal. 
 
 The yellow car drew stealthily and cautiously up to 
 watch his labor. 
 
 The lumps flew steadily from his shovel in a sparkling 
 cascade. He stood in the middle of the pile, knee deep, and 
 his weapon scooped and thrust with lightning-like regularity. 
 He was like a human engine, revolving at the rate of a hun 
 dred strokes a minute. Occasionally, in the wantonness of 
 his joy, he would hurl a shovelful high over his head, or 
 toward the Van Dreams car. He began to wallow to right 
 and left, ploughing furrows in the anthracite. He had stripped 
 off his coat at the beginning, and soon he tore off his vest, 
 plucked out a striped Madras shirt and threw it away. In 
 short-sleeved undershirt at last, and with his pink satin 
 suspenders knotted round his waist for a belt, he rested for 
 a moment and looked about him in ecstasy. 
 
 Lady Mechante had already left the car and stood watch 
 ing him, fascinated. Dolly stood on the running board, the 
 tail of her skirt held firmly by Mamma Van Dream, her 
 eyes fixed on the laborer. Wrestling Brewster Bradford, 
 in his leathern coat, gazed impassively at the exhibition. 
 
 The pile was lowered to half its height now, and a dusty 
 smoke enveloped the heroic figure. His neck and head 
 
 [388] 
 
NEW WORLDS FOR OLD 
 
 and arms were bathed with sweat. It had caught the 
 drifting particles and colored him with a light coat of 
 black. From his hands to his elbows he was like a negro. 
 He went to work still more savagely. The beer sang in 
 his veins. It felt good to sweat. The lust for labor be 
 came a passion. He looked neither to right nor left, only 
 at the diminishing talus beneath his feet. He was at home 
 again, he who had sold this precious, grimy birthright for a 
 mess of verbiage. 
 
 Dolly Van Dream could stand it no longer. With a 
 wrench she tore herself free, leaving a handful of ecru 
 Valenciennes in old lady Van Dream s clutch, and sprang 
 forward to the bottom of the heap of coal. In her breath, 
 also, something new fluttered. There was a wild excite 
 ment there, conjured by the strangeness of the sight. 
 
 She had never seen a man work before at least, never a 
 man she had known and to see Smagg s titanic toil moved 
 her potently. More than this, the pristine power of the 
 primitive appealed to her soul. The immemorial desire for 
 man s mastery agitated her woman s heart. Primordial and 
 paramount, in this magnificent exhibition of physical en 
 deavor, she perceived Smagg as a man, a mate, a master, a 
 demigod. With a wild, stifled cry on her lips, she waded 
 up through the lumps that shifted and slid beneath her feet, 
 reached him and threw her arms about his neck. 
 
 " Haulick," she sobbed, "you are magnificent! I love 
 you ! I accept you ! I 11 give you your answer now ! " 
 And she held her lips to his. 
 
 With a consummate Delancey Street oath, he hurled her 
 to the bottom of the pile. Then he shook his fist over 
 her prostrate form. 
 
 " Accept me, do you ? " he thundered. " I would n t 
 
 [389] 
 
LADT MECHANTE 
 
 marry you, you broom-haired doll, for a ton of coal ! I m 
 through with yer, an yer whole crowd ! The whole thing s 
 a sham from top to bottom. There ain t a real man or a 
 real woman north of Fourteenth Street ! I ve had enough 
 of society ; I m on to it now ! You re all doing what 
 you don t want to do, an thinking what you re told to think, 
 an saying what the rest say, an paying four times what 
 everything s worth to make a show. What I want is men 
 and women with blood in their necks ! When I want a 
 wife, I 11 get somethin beside a corset and a lot of false 
 hair and a visiting-card." 
 
 He turned his head slowly and beheld Lady Me chante, who 
 stood in the posture of an attendant angel, but with an 
 amiable devil looking out of her eyes. Her hand was slightly 
 outstretched, the fingers tentatively extended as if awaiting 
 him. Fragile and dainty and delicate as she was, one could 
 perceive that her soul was as tense as a tightly coiled spring. 
 She was quiet, with the quiet of a rapidly revolving wheel. 
 One could almost see her aura, faintly luminous, enshroud 
 ing her. For a moment she stood there, a living miracle 
 of loveliness and grace ; then she reached forth her hand and 
 she spoke, scarcely above her breath : 
 
 " Haulick Smagg, come ! I want you ! " 
 
 He waded to her and put his arm about her waist. 
 
 " I know ! " she said. " I have dwelt in your world, too. 
 You have proved yourself and you are mine. Come, and 
 let me come with you, back to freedom, back to truth, back 
 to reality, back to Delancey Street and the Submerged 
 Tenth." She drew a lace pocket handkerchief from her 
 purse, wiped off his lips, and kissed him. 
 
 Dolly Van Dream had risen to her feet and stood 
 streaked from chin to toe with coal dust. Wrestling 
 
 [ 39] 
 

LADY MECHANTE 
 
 Brewster Bradford came running up to help her. As she 
 turned to him, her eye caught sight of a red and blue button 
 in his buttonhole. 
 
 " The Loyal Legion," she gasped. 
 
 He tore off his leather coat, unbuttoned his jacket, and 
 smiled. There was an eagle pendant on the end of his 
 watch chain. 
 
 " My God ! The Society of the Cincinnati ! Is it 
 possible that you are a gentleman ? Oh, take me away 
 from this monster ! " 
 
 He drew her gently away from the wreck, hurried her 
 into the limousine, jumped to his seat, and started the ma 
 chinery. The car plunged forward. The exhaust barked 
 like musketry, and with a fierce burst of speed the vehicle 
 jumped at the coal pile, crushed through it, and swept up the 
 hill out of sight. 
 
 u Now that we are alone," said Lady Mechante, " you 
 may kiss me. Kiss me like a cave man, Haulick, if you 
 will ! Kiss me as I ve never been kissed before, then 
 take me by the hair of my head and drag me into your 
 cave ! " 
 
 When it was over, Haulick Smagg looked about and per 
 ceived two horses, black Percherons, tethered to a tree. 
 He walked over to them, drawing a knife from his pocket 
 as he went. 
 
 Lady Mechante looked up the hill- toward the cloud of 
 dust, raised by the flying wheels of the Van Dreams 
 limousine. Softly she spoke to herself, as the cloud thinned 
 and floated away into space : 
 
 [392] 
 
NEW WORLDS FOR OLD 
 
 "From the partial impact of two dead stars new worlds 
 are born ! " 
 
 Haulick Smagg came forward, sitting his ponderous black 
 Percheron. Gently he stooped ; lightly he lifted her to a 
 seat in front of him. Then he dug his heels into the 
 horse s flanks. 
 
 [393] 
 
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