^ 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 University of California. 
 
 Class 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
On the Lightship 
 
 BY 
 
 Herman Knickerbocker Viele 
 
 Author of *'The Inn of the Silver Moon," "Myra op 
 
 THE Pines," "The Last of the Knickerbockers," 
 
 "Heartbreak Hill," etc. 
 
 Introduction by 
 THOMAS A. JANVIER 
 
 i > 
 
 
 NEW YORK 
 DUFFIELD & COMPANY 
 
 1909 
 
Copyright, 1909, bv 
 DUFFIELD & COMPANY 
 
 Published September, 1909 
 
 
 THE PREMIER PRESS 
 NEW YORK 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction . . . .... i.i 9 
 
 The Story of Ignatius, the Almoner . . 19 
 The Dead Man's Chest 41 
 
 The Carhart Mystery 
 
 The Monstrosity 
 
 The Priestess of Amen Ra 
 
 The Girl from Mercury 
 
 The Unexpected Letter 
 
 The Money Meter 
 
 The Guest of Honor 
 
 The Man without a Pension 
 
 !•! I< 
 
 l»i !• 
 
 (• 
 
 83 
 
 .. 107 
 
 . 135 
 
 ,. 167 
 
 ,. 213 
 
 .. 233 
 
 ,. 263 
 
 . 287 
 
 226405 
 
introduction; 
 
, J' 1 > ^ 1 J ' , 
 
 ' . 1 , ) 11 1 •) , 
 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 ON Board the Light- Ship " is the 
 title — retained in loving defer- 
 ence to his intention — that would 
 have been given to this collection 
 of stories by their author. Had Viele lived 
 but a little while longer, he would have jus- 
 tified it by placing them in a setting char- 
 acteristically fantastic and characteristically 
 original. 
 
 He had planned to frame them in an en- 
 circling story describing, and duly account- 
 ing for, the chance assemblage aboard a 
 vessel of that unusual type of a heteroge- 
 neous company; and — having in his own 
 fanciful way convincingly disposed of con- 
 ditions not precisely in line with the strict- 
 est probability — so to dovetail the several 
 stories into their encirclement that the tell- 
 ing of them, in turn, would have come 
 
 9 
 
• < 
 
 « « " • • • g 
 
 * e •«•♦•» 
 
   mm * 
 
 
 .-..:• -''i j^' Tj^ Q D u c T I O N 
 
 easily and naturally from those upcasts of 
 the sea. 
 
 It was a project wholly after his own 
 heart. I can imagine the pleasure that he 
 would have found in working his machin- 
 ery — always out of sight, and always run- 
 ning with a silent smoothness — for getting 
 together in that queer place his company 
 of story-tellers. He would have used, of 
 course, the Light-ship and the light-keepers 
 as his firmly real ground-work. Ship and 
 crew w^ould have been presented in a mat- 
 ter-of-fact way, in keeping with their rec- 
 ognized matter-of-fact existence, that subtly 
 would have instilled the habit of belief into 
 the minds of his readers : and so would have 
 led them onward softly, being in a way 
 hypnotized, to an equal belief — as he slipped 
 lightly along, with seemingly the same sim- 
 plicity and the same ingenuousness — in 
 what assuredly w^ould not have been matter- 
 of-fact explanations of how those story- 
 tellers happened to be at large upon the 
 ocean before they were taken on board! 
 
 10 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 That far I can follow him: but the play 
 of fancy that he would have put into his 
 explanations — as he accounted in all man- 
 ner of quite probable impossible ways for 
 such flotsam being adrift, and for its salvage 
 aboard the Light-ship — would have been so 
 wholly the play of his own alert individual 
 fancy that it is beyond my ken. All that 
 I can be sure of — and be very sure of — 
 is that his explanations of that marine phe- 
 nomenon, and of the coming of its several 
 members up out of the sea and over the 
 ship's rail, would have been very delight- 
 fully and very speciously satisfying. That 
 the explanations might have been less con- 
 vincing when critically analyzed is a negli- 
 gible detail: the only essential requirement 
 of a fantastic tale being that it shall be 
 convincing as it goes along. 
 
 Even my bald outline of this story — that 
 now never will be told — shows how harmo- 
 niously in keeping it is with Viele's literary 
 method. He delighted in creating deli- 
 cately fantastic conditions lightly border- 
 
 IX 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 ing upon the impossible; and, having cre- 
 ated them, in so re-solving their elements 
 into the seemingly commonplace and the 
 apparently probable that the fine art with 
 which he worked his transmutations was 
 veiled by the very perfection of its accom- 
 plishment. 
 
 Such was the method that He employed 
 in the making of what I cherish as his 
 master-piece: "The Inn of the Silver 
 Moon" — a story told so simply and so di- 
 rectly, and with such a color of engaging 
 frankness, that each turn in its series of 
 airily-adjusted impossible situations is ac- 
 cepted with an unquestioning pleasure; and 
 that leaves upon the mind of the reader 
 — even when released from the spell that 
 compels belief throughout the reading of it 
 — a lasting impression of verity. It was 
 the method, precisely, of an exquisite form 
 of literary art that has not flowered more 
 perfectly, I hold with submission, since the 
 time of the so-called Romantic School in 
 Germany: when de la JMotte Fouque cre- 
 
 12 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 ated " Undine," and EichendorfF created 
 the " Good-f or-Nothing," and all the world 
 went at a gay quick-step to bright soft 
 music that had been silent for nearly three 
 hundred years. 
 
 Beyond recognizing the fact that it is of 
 the same genre, to class " The Inn of the 
 Silver Moon " with " Undine " is to belittle 
 it by an over-claim; but to class it with 
 " Aus dem Leben eines Tongenichts " is to 
 make a comparison in its favor : since Eich- 
 endorif's happy ending is a little forced 
 and a little tawdry; while Viele's happy 
 ending is as inevitable as it is gracious — a 
 result flowing smoothly from all the pre- 
 cedent conditions, and so deftly revealed at 
 the crisic culminating moment that a per- 
 fecting finish is given to the delightingly 
 perfect logic of its surprise. 
 
 The manner of the making of the two 
 stories is identical; and so is their peculiar 
 charm. In his preface to his translation of 
 the " Good-for-Nothing," forty years and 
 more ago, Charles Godfrey Leland wrote: 
 
 1$ 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 " Lite a bird, tHe youthful hero flits along 
 with his music over Austria and Italy — ' 
 as semi-mysterious in his unpremeditated 
 course, fed by chance, and as pleasing in 
 his artless character"; which is close to 
 being — if for artless we read sophisticated 
 artlessness — an accurate description of the 
 joint journeying of Monsieur V if our and 
 Mademoiselle de Belle Isle, And Leland 
 added: "It is strikingly characteristic of 
 the whole book that it abounds in adroitly- 
 hidden touches of art which produce an 
 effect without betraying effort on the part 
 of the writer. We are willing to declare 
 that we never read a story so light and airy, 
 or one betraying so little labor; but critical 
 study soon tells us quanf e difficile questa 
 facilitd! All this ease is the grace of a 
 true genius, who makes no false steps and 
 has carefully estimated his own powers." 
 That description fits " The Inn of the Sil- 
 ver Moon" to a hair! 
 
 In part, it applies only a little less closely 
 to " Myra of the Pines " — in which is much 
 
 14 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 the same gay irresponsibility of motive and 
 of action ; the same light touch, so sure that 
 each delicate point is made with a firm 
 clearness; and the same play — save for the 
 jarring note struck by the " pig-man " — of 
 a gently keen and a very subtle humour: 
 that maintains farce on the plane of high 
 comedy by hiding artful contrivance under 
 a seeming artlessness; and that sparklingly 
 crystallizes into turns of phrase so seemingly 
 spontaneous in their accurate appositeness 
 that the look of accident is given to them 
 by their carefully perfected felicity. 
 
 *' The Last of the Knickerbockers " has 
 this same humour and this same happiness 
 of phrasing; and in its serious midst is set 
 the fantastic episode of " The Yellow 
 Sleigh " — that needs only to be amplified to 
 become another " Inn of the Silver Moon." 
 But there its resemblance to Viele's other 
 stories ends. Least of all has " The Inn of 
 the Silver Moon " anything in common witH 
 it. That delectable thistle-down romance 
 goes trippingly over sunbeams in a straight- 
 
 15 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 away course that has no intricacies : with all 
 the interest constantly f ocussed upon a her- 
 oine and a hero to whom all the other char- 
 acters are minor and accessory; and with 
 never a break in the light-hearted note that 
 is struck at the start. " The Last of the 
 Knickerbockers," a blend of comedy and 
 semi-tragedy, is far aw^ay from all this — 
 both in spirit and in form. It is the most 
 largely and the most seriously conceived of 
 Viele's works: not a romance, but a novel 
 with a substantial plot carefully developed 
 in intricate action; and while the main in- 
 terest is centred — as properly it should be 
 — ^upon a wholly charming heroine and a 
 wholly satisfying hero, these pleasing young 
 people are made to know, and to keep, their 
 place in a crowd of strong characters 
 strongly drawn. 
 
 It is a good story to read simply as a 
 story; but it is more than that, it is a docu- 
 ment: an ambered preservation of a phase 
 of New York society that already almost 
 has vanished, and that soon will have van- 
 
 16 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 ished absolutely — ^when the last Mrs. and 
 Mr. Bella Ruggles shall have closed to de- 
 cayed aristocracy the last shabbily preten- 
 tious boarding house in the last dingy Ken- 
 ilworth Place; and when decayed aristoc- 
 racy, so evicted, shall be forced to dwell in 
 apartment-houses of the bell-and-speaking- 
 tube type, and to dine (as Alida prophet- 
 ically put it) " at Italian tables-d'hote — 
 like the Cafe Chianti, in grandfather's old 
 house, where they have music and charge 
 only fifty cents, including wine"! 
 
 So true a presentment as this story is of 
 New York's old-time strait faiths and 
 straiter social customs will outlive long, I 
 am confident, the great mass of the fiction 
 of Viele's day. It will be actively alive 
 while even a faint memory of those faiths 
 and customs is cherished by living people; 
 and when all of such ancients shall have re- 
 tired (with the final befitting dignity at- 
 tendant upon a special license) to their 
 family homes beneath the shadows of St. 
 Mark's and Trinity, carrying their mem- 
 
 17 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 ones with them, it will become, as I have 
 said, a document: preserving the traditions 
 which otherwise would have been buried with 
 them; and so linking permanently — as they 
 linked temporarily — New York's ever-in- 
 creasingly ardent present with its ever- 
 paling less strenuous past. 
 
 As to " The Inn of the Silver Moon," I 
 can see no end to the lastingness of it: since 
 in the very essence of it is that which holds 
 humanity with an enduringly binding spell. 
 The luring charm of a happy love-story — 
 charged with gay fantasy and epigrammatic 
 grace and gently pungent humour — is a 
 charm perpetual and irresistible: that must 
 hold and bind while ever the world goes 
 happily in ever- fresh sunshine, and happily 
 has in it ever-fresh young hearts. 
 
 Thomas A. Janvier. 
 
 New York, 
 June 20, 1909. 
 
THE STORY OF IGNATIUS, THE 
 
 ALMONER 
 
THE STORY OF IGNATIUS, THE 
 
 ALMONER 
 
 THOUGH this happened at the 
 Butler Penfields' garden party, 
 the results concern Miss Mabel 
 Dunbar more than any one else, 
 except, perhaps, one other. Mabel had 
 been invited, as she was invited everywhere, 
 partly because she was a very pretty girl, 
 and helped to make things go, and partly 
 through public policy. 
 
 " So long as the dear child remains un- 
 married," Mrs. Fessenden had said, "we 
 must continue to buy our tea from her." 
 
 For Mabel owed her amber draperies to 
 the tea she sold and everybody bought be- 
 cause her grandmother had lived on Wash- 
 ington Square. In society, to speak of tea 
 was to speak of Mabel Dunbar; to look in 
 Mabel's deep brown eyes was to think of 
 tea, and, incidentally, of cream and sugar. 
 
 21' 
 
DNj OGHE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 "I used to consider her clever," Mrs. 
 Fessenden remarked, "until she became so 
 popular with clever men. ... It is really 
 most discouraging. . . . See, there is 
 Lena Livingston, vrho has read Dante, pre- 
 tending to talk to her own brother-in-law, 
 while Mabel, who is not even married, walks 
 off with Archer Ferris and Horace Hop- 
 worthy, one on each side." 
 
 " I do wonder what she talks to them 
 about," speculated Mrs. Penfield, and Mrs, 
 Fessenden repUed: 
 
 " My dear, you may depend, they do not 
 let her talk." 
 
 Mrs. Penfield reflected, while three backs, 
 two broad and one slender and sinuous as 
 a tea-plant, receded toward the shrubbery. 
 
 " I wonder which one Mabel will come 
 back with?" she said. 
 
 " If Jack were here, He would give odds 
 on Mr. Hopworthy," replied Jack's wife. 
 
 " Of course, Mr. Hopworthy is the com- 
 ing man," observed Mrs. Penfield. " But 
 Mr. Ferris has ' arrived.' " 
 
 22 
 
ON ffiHE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 " Yes," assented Mrs. Fessenden, " as 
 Jack says, he has arrived and taken all the 
 rooms. . . . But, then, I have great faith 
 in Mr. Hopworthy. You know Jack's aunt 
 discovered him." 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Penfield, "I remem- 
 ber, but, Clara, it was you that introduced 
 him." 
 
 "Oh, that was nothing," murmured 
 Clara. " We were very glad " 
 
 "My two best men!" sighed Mrs. Pen- 
 field, her eyes upon the shrubbery, where 
 nothing now was to be seen. 
 
 " Yes," acquiesced her friend, " but think 
 how badly that last Ceylon turned out." 
 
 Meanwliile, the three had found a cool 
 retreat, an arbour sheltered from the sun and 
 open to the air, wherein a rustic garden 
 seat, a table and a chair extended cordial 
 invitations. 
 
 " Ah, this is just the place! " cried Archer 
 Ferris. " By shoving this seat along a 
 trifle, and putting this chair here, we can 
 be very comfortable." 
 
 2S 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 It was noticeable that Mr. Ferris re- 
 tained possession of the chair. As for the 
 vacant place beside her on the bench, 
 Mabel's parasol lay upon it. Mr. Ferris 
 beamed as only the arrived can beam. 
 
 "With your permission, I will take the 
 table," said Mr. Hopworthy, looking to 
 Miss Dunbar, who smiled. Mr. Ferris be- 
 came overcast. 
 
 "I fear our conversation may not inter- 
 est you," he told the other man. " You 
 know, you do not write short stories." 
 
 And this was not the first time in the last 
 half hour that Mr. Ferris had offered Mr. 
 Hopworthy an opportunity to withdraw. 
 The latter smiled, a broad, expansive smile. 
 
 " Oh, but I read them," he persisted, 
 perching on the table. " That is," he added, 
 "when there is plot enough to keep one 
 awake." 
 
 Here Mr. Ferris smiled, or, rather, 
 pouted, for his mouth, contrasted with that 
 of Mr. Hopworthy, seemed child-like, not 
 to say cherubic. 
 
 24 
 
ii 
 
 ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 "Plots," he observed, "are quite Victo- 
 rian. We are, at least, decadent, are we 
 not, Miss Mabel?" 
 
 Mabel smoothed her amber skirt, and 
 tried to look intelligent. 
 
 Oh, yes, indeed," she said. 
 Now, there was a story in last week's 
 Bee called 'Ralph RatclifFe's Reincarna- 
 tion,' " continued the gentleman on the 
 table. "Did you read it. Miss Dunbar?" 
 
 " I laid it aside to read," she answered, 
 with evasion. 
 
 " Pray don't. It's in my weakest vein," 
 remonstrated Mr. Ferris. " One writes 
 down for the BeCj, you know." 
 
 " Pardon me," said Mr. Hopworthy, " I 
 did not recognize the author's name as one 
 of vours." 
 
 " No one with fewer than twelve names 
 should call himself in literature," the other 
 said, a little vauntingly. 
 
 Mr. Hopworthy embraced his knee. 
 
 " The plot of that story " he had be- 
 gun to say, when Mr. Ferris interrupted. 
 
 25 
 
DN OTHE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 "There are but seven plots," he ex- 
 plained, " and thirty situations. To one 
 that knows his trade, the outcome of a 
 story should be from the very beginning as 
 obvious as a properly opened game of 
 chess." 
 
 " How interesting it must be to write," 
 put in Miss Dunbar appreciatively. Per- 
 haps, in her simple way, she speculated as 
 to where the present situation came among 
 the thirty, and whether the sunbeam she was 
 conscious of upon her hair had any literary 
 value. 
 
 " Do you ever see the Stylus? '' inquired 
 Mr. Hopworthy, from whose position the 
 sunbeam could be observed to best advan- 
 tage. 
 
 " Sir," said Mr. Ferris, through his 
 Boucher lips, " I may say I am the Stylus!' 
 
 "Really!" cried the lady, though she 
 could not have been greatly surprised. 
 
 In truth, her exclamation veiled the ten- 
 dency to yawn often induced in the young 
 by objective conversation. If clever people 
 
 26 
 
ON, ffiHE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 V 
 
 only knew a little more, they would not so' 
 often talk of stupid things. 
 
 "Ah, then it is to you we owe that spir- 
 ited little fabliau called ' The Story of Ig- 
 natius, the Almoner'?" remarked Mr, 
 Hopworthy, almost indifferently. 
 
 "A trifle," said the other; "what we 
 scribblers call ' hack.' " 
 
 Mr. Hopworthy's broad mouth con- 
 tracted, and he might have been observed 
 to suffer from some suppressed emotion. 
 
 "But you wrote it, did you not?" he 
 asked, beneath his breath. 
 
 " I dashed it off in twenty minutes," said 
 the other. 
 
 " But it was yours? " insisted Mr. Hop- 
 worthy. 
 
 "When I wrote that little story " 
 
 said Mr. Archer Ferris. 
 
 (< < 
 
 The Story of Ignatius, the Al- 
 moner? ' " prompted Mr. Hopworthy, with 
 unnecessary insistence. 
 
 "*The Story of Ignatius, the Al- 
 moner,' " repeated Mr. Ferris, flushing 
 
 27 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 slightly, while Mr. Hopworthy seemed to 
 clutch the table to keep himself from bound- 
 ing upward. 
 
 " I was convinced of it! " he cried. " No 
 other hand could have penned it. The 
 pith, the pathos, passion, power, and pur- 
 pose of the tale were masterly, and yet it 
 was so simple and sincere, so logical, so 
 convincing, so inevitable, so " 
 
 " Spare me," protested Mr. Ferris, not 
 at all displeased. " But it had a sort of 
 rudimentary force, I own." 
 
 "And have you read it. Miss Dunbar?" 
 inquired Mr. Hopworthy, almost letting slip 
 one anchor. 
 
 "No," she replied, "but I have laid it 
 aside to read. I shall do so now with added 
 pleasure." 
 
 " Unless the author would consent to tell 
 
 it to us in his own inspired words " said 
 
 Mr. Hopworthy, regarding his boot toe 
 with interest. Miss Dunbar caught at the 
 suggestion. 
 
 "Oh, do!" she pleaded. "I should so 
 love to hear a story told by the author." 
 
 28 
 
<6 
 
 ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " An experience to remember," murmured 
 Mr. Hopworthy. 
 
 " I am afraid it would be rather too long 
 to tell this afternoon," demurred the author, 
 with a glance of apprehension toward the 
 sky. 
 
 " But you dashed it off in twenty min- 
 utes," the other man reminded him. 
 
 That is another reason," said the writer. 
 
 Work done with such rapidity is apt to 
 leave but a slight impression on the 
 memory." 
 
 "Perhaps a little turn about the 
 grounds — — " suggested Mr. Hopworthy. 
 
 Miss Dunbar had put up her amber para- 
 sol, and the lace about it fell just across her 
 eyes. This left the seat beside her free. 
 
 "Perhaps a little turn " urged Mr. 
 
 Hopworthy again. Mr. Ferris regarded 
 him defiantly. 
 
 " As you have read my story, sir," he said, 
 " I can scarcely hope to include you in my 
 audience." 
 
 " But it is not at all the sort of thing one 
 is sfifisfied to hear but once," Mr. Hop- 
 
 29 
 
ON TiHE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 worthy declared, in a tone distinctly flatter- 
 ing, Mr. Ferris moved uneasily. 
 
 " I really forget how it began," he as- 
 serted. " Perhaps another time " 
 
 "If I might presume to jog your mem- 
 ory — ^ — " said Mr. Hopworthy, with defer- 
 ence. 
 
 "OH, that would be delightful!" ex- 
 claimed Miss Dunbar. " With two such 
 story-tellers, I feel just like Lalla Rookh." 
 
 Mr, Ferris was upon his feet at once. 
 
 " I suggest we adjourn to the striped 
 tent," he said; "they have all sorts of ices 
 there." 
 
 " Oh, but I mean the Princess, not frozen 
 punch," declared Mabel, settling herself 
 more securely in the corner of the garden 
 seat. " Please sit down, and begin by tell- 
 ing me exactly what an almoner is," 
 
 Mr. Ferris hesitated, cast one glance to- 
 ward the open lawn beyond the shrubbery, 
 another to the amber parasol, and sat down 
 in the other corner. Mr. Hopworthy slipped 
 
 from the table to the vacant chair. 
 
 so 
 
ON SCHE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 "An almoner," explained the Stylus^ in 
 as nearly an undertone as the letter of cour- 
 tesy permitted, " is a sort of treasurer, you 
 know. • . . In a monastery, you un- 
 derstand. . . . The monk who distrib- 
 utes alms and that sort of thing." 
 
 " Oh, then it is a mediaeval story! " cried 
 Mabel. " How delightful ! " 
 
 " No, modern," corrected Mr. Hop- 
 worthy. 
 
 " Modern in setting, though mediaeval in 
 spirit," said Mr. Ferris, taking off his hat. 
 
 "Ah, that, indeed!" breathed Mr. Hop- 
 worthy. "I shall not soon forget your 
 opening description; that picture of the old 
 cathedral, hghted only by the far, faint 
 flicker of an occasional taper, burning be- 
 fore some shrined saint. I can see him now, 
 Ignatius, the young monk, as he moves in 
 silence from one to another of the alms- 
 boxes, gathering into his leathern bag the 
 offerings that have been deposited by the 
 faithful." 
 
 " I think he had a light," suggested the 
 
 31 
 

 ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 author of short stories, who was listening, 
 critically. 
 
 Of course; a flaming torch." 
 How sweet of him! " Mabel murmured, 
 and Mr. Hopworthy went on. 
 
 "There were twelve boxes — were there 
 not? — ^upon as many pillars, and in each box, 
 in addition to the customary handful of cop- 
 per souSj, there lay, as I recall it, a silver 
 com 
 
 " You will perceive the symbolism," the 
 author whispered. 
 
 " It is perfect," sighed Mabel. 
 
 "Never had such a thing occurred be- 
 fore," continued Mr. Hopworthy, who ap- 
 peared to know the story very w^ell, " and 
 in the solitude of his cell, Ignatius sat for 
 hours contemplating the riches that had so 
 strangely come into his hand. His first 
 thought was of the poor, to whom, of right, 
 the ahns belonged ; but, when he recalled the 
 avarice of The Abbots his heart misgave 
 him " 
 
 " Rather a strildng situation, I thought," 
 
 S2 
 
ON SHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 remarked the writer. " Go on a little fur- 
 ther, please." 
 
 " I wish I could," said Mr. Hopworthy, 
 " but this is where your keen analysis comes 
 in, your irresistible logic. I confess you went 
 a shade beyond my radius of thought." 
 
 " Perhaps," admitted the other. " Very 
 likely." But he had now caught the spirit 
 of his own production, and, turning to his 
 neighbor, he went on to explain : 
 
 "My purpose was to present a problem, 
 to suggest a conflict of emotions, quite in 
 the manner of Huysmans. Should The Ah- 
 hot, who is but the type of sordid wisdom, 
 be consulted, or should The Almoner, sym- 
 bolizing self, obey the higher call of elemen- 
 tary impulse?" 
 
 "And which did Ignatius do?" Mabel 
 asked. 
 
 " I fear you fail to catch my meaning," 
 said the author. " It is the soul-struggle we 
 are analyzing " 
 
 " But he must have come to some conclu- 
 sion? " 
 
 S3 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " Not necessarily/' said Mr. Ferris, 
 gravely. " A soul-struggle is continuous, it 
 
 goes on " Mr. Ferris waved his white 
 
 hand toward infinity. 
 
 " But did not Ignatius decide to put the 
 money where it would do the most good?" 
 inquired Mr. Hopworthy. 
 
 " The phrase is yours," responded Mr. 
 Ferris, " but it conveys my meaning 
 dimly." 
 
 "As I recall the story," the other went 
 on, " he resolved to sacrifice his own preju- 
 dices to the service of his fellow-creatures. 
 But, when he thought of all who stood in 
 need — the peasants tilling the fields, the sail- 
 ors on the sea, the soldiers in the camp — he 
 decided that it would be better to confine the 
 benefit to one deserving object." 
 
 " A very sensible decision," Mabel opined, 
 and Mr. Ferris muttered: 
 
 " Yes, that was my idea." 
 
 As the voices of the garden came to them 
 on the summer breeze, he made a movement 
 to consult his watch. 
 
 34 
 
ON lXHE lightship 
 
 '* You see my little problem," he observed. 
 " The rest is immaterial." 
 
 " But I so liked the part where the young 
 monk, filled with his noble purpose, stole 
 from the monastery by night," said Mr. 
 Hopworthy. " Ah, there was a touch of 
 realism." 
 
 "I'm glad you fancied it," replied the 
 author, relapsing into silence. 
 
 Mabel tapped the gravel with her foot; 
 it is strange how audible a trifling sound be- 
 comes at times. 
 
 " Please tell me what He did," she begged. 
 " I never heard a story in which so little 
 happened." 
 
 The writer of short stories bit his full red 
 lip, and sat erect. 
 
 "The young monk waited till the house 
 was wrapped in sleep," he said, almost de- 
 fiantly, it seemed. " Then, drawing the 
 great bolt, he went out into the night. The 
 harvest moon was in the sky, and " 
 
 " It rained, I think," suggested Mr. Hop- 
 worthy. 
 
 $5 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " No matter if it did," rejoined the other. 
 " Unmindful of the elements, he wound his 
 cowl about him, and pressed on, fearlessly, 
 into the forest, hearing nothing, seeing noth- 
 ing. Mile after mile he strode — and strode 
 — and strode— until — ^until — it was time to 
 return " 
 
 " You forget the peasant festival," 
 prompted Mr. Hopworthy. 
 
 " Festival? " said Mr. Ferris. " Ah, that 
 was a mere episode, intended to give a sense 
 of contrast." 
 
 "Of course," Mr. Hopworthy assented. 
 " How frivolous beside his own austere life 
 appeared these rustic revels. How calm, by 
 contrast, was the quiet of the cloister " 
 
 "Yes," Mr. Ferris took up the screed, 
 " and, as from a distance he watched their 
 clumsy merriment, he — ^he — ^he " 
 
 " He determined to have just one dance 
 for luck," assisted Mr. Hopworthy. 
 
 Perhaps the author, thus hearing the story 
 from another, detected here some flaw of 
 logic, for he did not proceed at once, al- 
 
 S6 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 though Miss Dunbar waited with the most 
 encouraging interest. The momentary 
 pause was put to flight by Mr. Hopworthy. 
 
 " Ah, Zola never did anything more dar- 
 ing," he declared. " Even Zola might have 
 hesitated to make Ignatius change clothes 
 with the intoxicated soldier, and leaping into 
 the middle of the ballroom, shout that every 
 glass must be filled to the brim." 
 
 " Hold on! " gasped Mr. Ferris. " There 
 must be some mistake. I swear I never 
 wrote anything like that in my life." 
 
 "But you have admitted it!" the other 
 cried. " You cannot conceal it from us now. 
 You are grand. You are sublime!" 
 
 "I deny it absolutely," returned Mr. 
 Ferris. 
 
 " Please stop discussing, and let me hear 
 the rest," Mabel pouted. " Do go on, Mr. 
 Ferris." 
 
 " I can't," said Mr. Ferris, sadly. " My 
 story has been garbled by the printer." 
 But the waltz," urged Mr. Hopworthy. 
 
 Surely, that waltz was yours." 
 
 37 
 
 
ON .THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 Perhaps once more the ki*esistible logic 
 of events became apparent, for, with an ef- 
 fort, Mr. Ferris said: 
 
 "Oh, yes, that waltz was mine. Enrap- 
 tured by its strains, and giddy with the 
 fumes of wine, The Almoner floated in a 
 dream of sensuous delight till suddenly he 
 recalled — suddenly he recalled " 
 
 " If you will pardon another interrup- 
 tion," put in Mr. Hopworthy, " he did noth- 
 ing of the sort. Suddenly, as you must 
 remember, word was brought that The Ah- 
 hot was dead, and that Ignatius had been 
 elected in his place." 
 
 " You spoil my climax, sir," the au- 
 thor cried. "Dashing the wine cup from 
 his lips, Ignatius then rushed into the 
 night— — " 
 
 "But he could not find the soldier any- 
 where," Mr. Hopworthy interposed. 
 
 "Why should he want to find the con- 
 founded soldier?" demanded the narrator, 
 fiercely. 
 
 "Why, to get his cowl, of course." 
 
 38 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " Splendid 1" exclaimed Mabel, clapping 
 her hands. 
 
 *' He — he " the author stammered, 
 
 and again the other lent a friendly tongue 
 to say: 
 
 ^^ Ignatius returned to the monastery at 
 once. And what should he discover there 
 but The Soldier J seated in the chair of office, 
 presiding at the council. But, see here, old 
 chap, perhaps you had better finish your 
 own story yourself?" 
 
 " Sir!" cried the author, springing to his 
 feet. " I detect your perfidy, and I call this 
 about the shabbiest trick one gentleman ever 
 attempted to play upon another. I shall 
 not hesitate to denounce you far and 
 wide as one capable of the smallest mean- 
 ness!" 
 
 " That is what The "Almoner told The Sol- 
 dier/' Mr. Hopworthy explained to Mabel, 
 in a whisper, but the other, becoming almost 
 violent, went on: 
 
 ** You are unfit, sir, to associate with peo- 
 ple of refinement, and, when I meet you 
 
 39 
 
ON .THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 alone, it will give me a lively satisfaction 
 to repeat the observation ! " 
 
 " That is what The Soldier replied to The 
 'Almoner f' Mr. Hop worthy again explained. 
 But the other gentleman had lifted his hat, 
 and was moving rapidly toward the striped 
 tent, where ices were to be had. 
 
 " I shall never forgive him for leaving the 
 story unfinished," announced the lady of 
 the bench. " And, don't you think his man- 
 ner toward the end was rather strange?" 
 
 Mr, Hopworthy sighed, and shook his 
 head. 
 
 " Those magazine men are all a trifle 
 odd," he said. " Does not that parasol fa- 
 tigue your hand? " 
 
 " Yes, you may hold it, if you like," she 
 answered. " I am glad everybody does not 
 tell stories." 
 
 m 
 
THE DEAD MAN'S CHEST 
 
^^ 
 
THE DEAD MAN'S CHEST 
 
 ONE May morning in the brave 
 year 1594, Mistress Betty 
 Hodges, from the threshold 
 of the narrowest house in the 
 narrowest of the narrow streets in the an- 
 cient parish of St. Helen's, Bishopsgate, 
 observed with more than passing interest 
 the movements of a gentleman in black. 
 
 "Whist, neighbor!" she called outi to 
 Mistress Judd, whose portly person well- 
 nigh filled a kindred doorway just across 
 the street. " Yonder stranger should be by 
 every sign in quest of lodgings, and by my 
 horoscope this is a day most favorable for 
 affairs of business. I pray thee, get thy 
 knitting, lest he take us for no better than 
 a pair of idle gossips." 
 
 " In faith," retorted Mistress Judd, fold- 
 ing her arms complacently after a side 
 glance in the loiterer's direction, "an he 
 
 '43 
 
ON IHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 should ever lodge with thee let us hope 
 his shillings prove more nimble than his 
 feet." 
 
 The gentleman indeed advanced with 
 much deliberation, pausing from time to 
 time to look about him as a man who bal- 
 ances advantages and disadvantages one 
 against the other. It was a quaint old-man- 
 nered thoroughfare he moved in; a crooked 
 street of overhanging eaves and jutting 
 gable ends which nearly met against the 
 sky; a shadowy, sunless, damp, ill-savored 
 street, paved with round pebbles and divided 
 in the middle by a trickling stream of unat- 
 tractive water. For London, still in happy, 
 dirty infancy, had yet to learn her lessons 
 at the hands of those grim teachers, plague 
 and fire. 
 
 " A proper man enough! " Mistress Judd 
 added, " though I'll warrant over-cautious 
 and of no great quality. To me he looks 
 a traveling leech." 
 
 " Better a country student of divinity," 
 suggested Mistress Hodges. 
 
 44 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " Or better, a minor cleric, or at best some 
 writing-master," Mistress Judd opined. 
 
 " Please God, then he can read," rejoined 
 her neighbor, already debating within her- 
 self a small advance of rent. '* Mayhap he 
 might acquaint me whether those rolls of 
 paper left by Master Christopher in his 
 oaken chest be worth the ten shillings he 
 died owing me." 
 
 " An they would fetch as many pence," 
 sniffed Mistress Judd, "our master poet 
 had long ago resolved them into Malmsey." 
 
 " Nay, speak not harshly of the dead," 
 protested Mistress Hodges, conveying fur- 
 tively a corner of her apron to one eye. 
 " Marry, if Master Kit did sometimes sing 
 o' nights 'twas but to keep the watch awake. 
 I'd wipe my shutter clean and willingly to 
 hear his merry catch again. Ah, he was ever 
 free with money when he had it. And 'twas 
 a pleasure to see him with his bottle. In 
 faith, he'd speak to it and kiss it as a woman 
 would her child." 
 
 "And kiss it he did once too often, to 
 
 45 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 my thinking/' murmured Mistress Judd un- 
 sympathetically, " the night he got to brawl- 
 ing in the street and met his death." 
 
 " Marry, he was no brawler," Mistress 
 Hodges protested warmly, " but ever cheer- 
 fullest when most in drink. They were 
 thieving knaves who set upon him, and, God 
 be good to sinners, ran him through the 
 heart before the poor young man could so 
 much as recite a couplet to prove himself a 
 poet." 
 
 " How thinkst thou poetry would save 
 him?" Mistress Judd demanded curtly. 
 
 " Marry, come up ! What thief would 
 kill a poet for his purse? " cried Mistress 
 Hodges. " Quick, neighbor, get thy knit- 
 ting 1" she added hurriedly, and catching up 
 a pewter plate began to polish with her 
 apron as the stranger, attracted by their 
 chatter, quickened his pace. 
 
 He was a slight man, apparently of thirty 
 or thereabout, with deep-set, penetrating 
 eyes and a lean face ending in the short, 
 sharp, pointed beard in fashion at the time. 
 
 46 
 

 ON .THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " Give you good-morrow, dames," he said, 
 when within speaking distance; "can you 
 direct me to some proper lodging here- 
 about?" 
 
 Mistress Hodges dropped a deeper cour- 
 tesy to draw attention to herself as the per- 
 son of most importance. 
 
 In truth an't please you, sir," she said, 
 
 tis my good fortune to have this moment 
 ready for your worship the fairest chambers 
 to be had in all the town at four and six 
 the week. Gentility itself could ask no bet- 
 ter, for doth not the Lord Mayor live around 
 the corner in his newly purchased Crosby 
 Hall, the tallest house in London, and near 
 at hand do not the gardens of Sir John 
 Gresham stretch from Bishopsgate to Broad 
 Street like a park? And if one would seek 
 recreation, 'tis not five minutes to Cornhill, 
 which is amusing as a fair o' pleasant even- 
 ings, with the jugglers and peddlers and 
 goldsmiths and " 
 
 "Ah, by my faith," the stranger inter- 
 rupted gravely, " I should seek elsewhere, 
 
 47 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 for I am not a man born under Sol, that 
 loveth honor, nor under Jupiter, that loveth 
 business, for the contemplative planet car- 
 rieth me away wholly." 
 
 "An you be disposed toward contempla- 
 tion," interposed Mistress Hodges, quickly, 
 " there can be found no purer place in Lon- 
 don for such diversion than is my second 
 story back. From thence one may contem- 
 plate at will either the almhouse gardens and 
 the woodland beyond Houndsditch, or the 
 turrets of the Tower itself, in winter when 
 the leaves are gone." 
 
 " Please Heaven the leaves are thick at 
 present 1 " said the stranger with a grim half 
 smile. " Nevertheless, I have a mind to 
 look from your back windows. The alms- 
 house gardens may at least teach one resig- 
 nation." 
 
 " Enter an't please you, sir," replied the 
 landlady with a low obeisance. 
 
 The stranger made a close inspection of 
 the chamber, peering into cupboards, testing 
 the bed and stools and chairs, and finally 
 
 48 
 
ON TjHE lightship 
 
 pausing before a small oak box secluded in 
 a corner. 
 
 "'Tis but a chest of papers left by my 
 last lodger, one Master Christopher," Mis- 
 tress Hodges explained, adding, " A poet, 
 sir, an't please you, who was slain by high- 
 waymen, and I know not if his lines be fitted 
 for honest ears to hear, though, an one might 
 believe it, they have been spoken in the pub- 
 lic play-house. Think you," she added, 
 raising the lid of the chest to disclose a 
 dozen manuscripts or more, bound together 
 with bits of broken doublet lacing, '' the lot 
 would bring as much as ten shillings at the 
 rag fair? " 
 
 The stranger laughed and shook his head. 
 
 " 'Tis a great price for any dead man's 
 thoughts," he said, taking up a package at 
 random and hastily turning over the leaves, 
 while Mistress Hodges regarded him anx- 
 iously. His interest deepened as he read, 
 and presently his eyes devoured page af- 
 ter page, oblivious of the other's pres- 
 ence. 
 
 49 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " In truth," he said at length, "there be 
 lines not wholly without merit," 
 
 "And pray you, sir, what is the matter 
 they set forth? " the landlady ventured to 
 inquire. 
 
 " This seems the story of a ghost returned 
 to earth to make discovery of his murder — " 
 the stranger was beginning to explain, but 
 Mistress Hodges checked him. 
 
 "Marry!" she cried, "such things be 
 profanations and heresy against the Prot- 
 estant religion, which Heaven defend. 
 Marry, 'twould go ill with the poor woman 
 who should offer such idolatries for sale," 
 
 More protestations followed, prompted, 
 no doubt, by fear lest disloyalty to the domi- 
 nant party be charged against her ; to prove 
 her detestation of the documents she de- 
 clared her purpose to burn the last of them 
 unread, 
 
 " Still better, shift responsibility to me," 
 suggested the stranger, smiling grimly at 
 her zeal, " Sell me the lot for two shillings 
 and sixpence, and my word for it the trans- 
 
 ^0 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 action shall be kept a secret. The reading 
 of these idle fancies will serve as a relaxa- 
 tion from my own employment." 
 
 "Marry, they shall be yours and will- 
 ingly," cried the woman, glad to be rid of 
 dangerous property on such generous terms. 
 And it was thus that the stranger became 
 possessor of the chest of manuscripts. His 
 bargaining for the lodgings proved him a 
 man of thrift to the point of meanness, a 
 quality not to be despised in lodgers, for, 
 as Mistress Hodges often said to Mistress 
 Judd, " Gentlemen are ever most liberal who 
 least mean to pay." In answer to reasonable 
 inquiries he would say no more than, " My 
 predecessor was known as Master Christo- 
 pher; let me be, therefore. Master Francis, 
 a poor scholar w^ho promises only to take 
 himself off before his purse is empty." 
 
 The new lodger entered into possession 
 of his chamber on the afternoon of the day 
 on which he saw it first. His luggage, 
 brought thither by two porters on a single 
 barrow, and consisting chiefly of books and 
 
 51 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 manuscripts, proved him to be the humble 
 student he had represented himself, and in 
 a week his neighbors were agreed in rating 
 him a rather commonplace recluse. His days 
 were spent in reverie by the open window 
 or in writing at the parchment-littered table. 
 If he stirred abroad at all it was but for an 
 hour in the long twilight after supper, and 
 his candle rarely burned later than ten 
 o'clock. It was not until a fortnight had 
 gone by that Mistress Hodges had the satis- 
 faction of announcing a visitor. 
 
 " Come in ! " cried Master Francis, re- 
 sponding to her knock at his chamber door, 
 and not a little surprised by a summons so 
 unusual, for the remnants of his supper had 
 been removed, and he was himself preparing 
 for his evening stroll. 
 
 " A gentleman attends below, an't please 
 you, sir," she announced, entering hurriedly. 
 
 " Impossible! " her lodger protested, " for 
 how should a visitor inquire for one who has 
 
 no name? 
 
 ? » 
 
 By your description, an't please you, 
 
 52 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 sir," replied the woman. " He drew you to 
 the life. By mj^ faith, there could be no 
 mistake, and when he said you might be 
 known as Master Francis how could I but 
 admit him? Grand gentleman that he is, 
 with a servant at his heels and half a score 
 of varlets waiting within call! " 
 
 Master Francis bit his li^:) and moved im- 
 patiently about the room. 
 
 " Go tell this grand gentleman that you 
 were wrong," he said. " Tell him I was re- 
 quested out to supper at half an hour before 
 seven. Tell him what falsehood slips most 
 easily from your tongue, and as you are a 
 woman, tell it truthfully." 
 
 " 'T would not avail, for even now your 
 visitor, grown impatient, mounts the stair," 
 replied the hostess, w^hile a heavy footfall 
 coming every moment nearer testified to the 
 truth of her assertion. 
 
 " Then off vvith vou and let us be alone," 
 commanded Master Francis, stopping reso- 
 lutely in his walk, while Mistress Hodges 
 in the doorway found herself thrust uncere- 
 
 5^ 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 moniously aside to give place to a dignified 
 man in middle life. The visitor's dress was 
 black, relieved only by a broad white ruif , 
 yet of so rich a quality that the appoint- 
 ments of the room descended in the scale 
 from homeliness to shabbiness by contrast. 
 But apparently he concerned himself no 
 more with the apartment than with Mistress 
 Hodges. 
 
 " How now, nephew? " he began at once. 
 ** What means this hiding like a hedgehog 
 in a hole?" 
 
 Master Francis bowed with almost servile 
 deference and clasped his hands, making at 
 the same time a gesture with his foot in- 
 tended to convey to Mistress Hodges an in- 
 timation that she was free to go. 
 
 " My uncle, this is far too great an honor 
 that you pay me," he said, when the landlady 
 had closed the door behind her. 
 
 "Odsblood! For once, I hear the truth 
 from you. Why have you left your cham- 
 bers in Gray's Inn for this? " the other an- 
 swered with a movement of the nostrils as 
 
 54 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 though the whole environment was compre- 
 hended in a whiff of Mistress Hodges' mut- 
 ton broth. 
 
 "In truth, most gracious kinsman," the 
 younger man rejoined, " since my exclusion 
 from the Court some certain greasy bailiffs 
 have favored me with their company a trifle 
 over often, nor had I otherwhere to go while 
 waiting for a fitting opportunity to recall 
 myself to your lordship's memory," 
 
 " And pray you, to what end? " the other 
 asked impatiently. 
 
 " You are not ignorant, uncle, of the state 
 of my poor fortune," said the scholar. 
 
 " No," was the answer, " nor can you be 
 forgetful, nephew, of my efforts in the past 
 to mend that fortune," 
 
 " For all of which believe me truly grate- 
 ful," responded Master Francis with a touch 
 of irony, " 'Tis to your gracious favor that 
 I owe my appointment to the reversion of 
 the Clerkship of the Star Chamber, worth 
 sixteen hundred pounds a year, provided that 
 I, a weak man, survive in poverty a strong 
 
 55 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 affluence. 'Tis like another man's ground 
 buttaling upon his house, which may 
 mend his prospect but does not fill his 
 barn." 
 
 The other, crossing to the open window, 
 half seated himself upon the sill, folding his 
 arms while ^xing disapproving eyes on his 
 nephew's face. 
 
 " This attitude becomes you not at all," 
 he said. "Through me you were returned 
 to Parliament, and through me you might 
 have been advanced to profitable office had 
 you not seen fit to antagonize the JMinistry, 
 opposing, for the sake of paltry public fa- 
 vour, that four years' subsidy of which the 
 Treasury stood in dire need to meet the Pop- 
 ish plots." 
 
 " I sought to shield the ISIinistry and 
 Crown from public disapproval," replied 
 Master Francis. " The country in my judg- 
 ment was not able to endure the tax." 
 
 " 'Tw^as most presumptuous to set up your 
 judgment against that of your betters," said 
 the other. " Your part is plain. This act 
 
 56 
 
ON lThe lightship. 
 
 of yours must be forgotten. It must be 
 known that you have once for all abandoned 
 public life for study. Publish some learned 
 disquisition upon what you will. Absent 
 yourself from town, and in a twelvemonth, 
 perhaps, or less if things go well " 
 
 "A twelvemonth!" cried Master Fran- 
 cis. " Unless my pockets be replenished I 
 shall have starved to death by early sum- 
 mer." 
 
 The gentleman upon the window-sill re- 
 mained for a space silent with knitted brows. 
 Presently he said: 
 
 " I shall arrange to pay you an allowance, 
 small, but sufficient for your needs, upon 
 condition that you go at once to France, 
 where you already have acquaintances." 
 
 "It may be you are right, my lord," re- 
 sponded Master Francis, " but it suits my 
 humor not at all to exile mj^self, and be- 
 fore accepting your offer grant me permis- 
 sion to speak to the Earl of Essex. He has 
 the favor of the Queen." 
 
 The other laughed a scornful laugh, and 
 
 57 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 rising deliberately drew on a glove he had 
 been holding in one hand. 
 
 "Enough!" he said. "Depend on Es- 
 sex's favor with the Queen and follow him 
 to the Tower in good time." 
 
 "But, uncle, give me your kind permis- 
 sion at least to speak with him." 
 
 " My kind permission and my blessing ! " 
 the uncle answered suavely, moving toward 
 the door. With his hand upon the latch he 
 stood to add, across his shoulder, " You are 
 behind the times in news, nephew. Three 
 days ago my Lord of Essex departed some- 
 what suddenly for his estates — upon a hunt- 
 ing expedition, it is said, though beldame 
 Rumor will insist that our most gracious 
 Queen hath turned the icy eye at last upon 
 his fawning." 
 
 "A morning frost! " cried Master Fran- 
 cis with a gesture. "A frost that the re- 
 curring sun of pity turns full soon to ten- 
 der dew. But 'tis a chill of which to take 
 advantage. Let me but follow my peevish 
 lord to his retirement, lock in my humble 
 
 58 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 cause with his, and in due season claim the 
 meet reward of faithful service." 
 
 His manner had grown so earnest that 
 the other turned to listen, albeit with a smile 
 of contempt. 
 
 " Look you, uncle," the younger man went 
 on, " were I to start at once, travelling in 
 modest state, yet as befitting the nephew of 
 the Lord Treasurer of England, well 
 mounted and attended by a single man-serv- 
 ant, the whole adventure might be managed 
 for a matter of one hundred pounds." 
 
 " Good! " cried the other with suspiciously 
 ready acquiescence. " Thou art in verity a 
 diplomat. By all means put your fortunes 
 to the test, and when you have, acquaint me 
 with the issue." 
 
 He turned and once more laid a hand 
 upon the latch. 
 
 " But," protested Master Francis, " I 
 have still to find the hundred pounds ^" 
 
 "A riddle for diplomacy to solve!" re- 
 plied the Lord Treasurer of England, 
 laughing sardonically. " I can tell you no 
 
 59 
 
ON tXHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 more than that you shall not find it in my 
 purse! " And so saying, he strode from the 
 room, leaving the door wide open. 
 
 For many minutes Master Francis paced 
 the floor, muttering to himself, now angry 
 imprecations at his own folly, now curses on 
 the relentless arrogance of the Lord Treas- 
 urer. As the long twilight of the season fell 
 he caught up his wide-brimmed hat and 
 hurried from the house. 
 
 He took his way through narrow winding 
 streets, and after several turnings came at 
 length to one much wider, a thoroughfare 
 lined with little shops, whose owners when 
 not occupied with customers stood on their 
 thresholds soliciting the patronage of pass- 
 ers-by. 
 
 "What do you lack? " they cried; "hats, 
 shoes, or hosiery; gloves, ruff*s, or farthin- 
 gales?" each setting forth the value of his 
 wares in frantic effort to outshout competi- 
 tors. Along the pavement worthy citizens 
 sauntered with wives and sweethearts, or 
 
 stood in interested groups about some 
 
 60 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 mountebank or maker of music performing 
 upon several ill-tuned instruments at once. 
 On a patch of trodden grass young men 
 played noisy games of bowls until a gilded 
 coach in passing wantonly destroyed their 
 goal. Here a bout with single-stick was in 
 progress, there a contest with bare fists 
 which must have grown serious had not the 
 watch arrived in time to separate the bel- 
 ligerents with their pikes. But the centre 
 of most interest was a seafaring man who 
 smoked a long-stemmed pipe w^ith rather 
 ostentatious unconcern. The men regarded 
 him with furtive admiration, the women dis- 
 approvingly, while children ran to catch a 
 whiff of the strange aromatic scent. When 
 he blew puffs of vapor from his nostrils 
 everybody laughed. 
 
 Master Francis, moving Hastily aside to 
 make way for the smoker and his escort, 
 came into collision with a man of his own 
 age, whose broad good-humored face 
 showed due appreciation of the scene. 
 
 "What think you, friend?" the stranger 
 
 61 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 asked, laughing. " Will this new savagery; 
 become an institution? Have we been at 
 such pains to banish smoke from our 
 churches only to turn our heads into cen- 
 sers? Mayhap this be another PopisK 
 plot?" 
 
 "It seems to me a bit of arrant folly,'* 
 Master Francis answered somewhat list- 
 lessly, " and as such, certain to become the 
 rage." 
 
 " They tell us it will prolong the life," 
 went on the other, " for it is well known a 
 herring when smoked outlasts a fresh 
 one." 
 
 " Say rather he who smokes will live the 
 longer because the wise die young," re- 
 torted Master Francis, pleased by the con- 
 ceit. 
 
 " At least," remarked the stranger, " the 
 fashion will make trade for fairy chimney- 
 sweeps." 
 
 Some further conversation followed nat- 
 urally, for Master Francis, weary of his 
 own society, was in the mood to welcome 
 
 6d 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 any companionship, and, moreover, the new- 
 comer, who seemed a man of understanding'^ 
 met another's eyes too frankly to leave the 
 question of his honesty in doubt. They 
 spoke of tobacco as a possible feature in 
 social life, and both agreed that a whifF of 
 the new herb might be an interesting ex- 
 periment. 
 
 " Let us go then to the Bull," the stranger 
 suggested, "where in a small room behind 
 the tap one may smoke a pipe for three- 
 pence under the tutelage of this very sea- 
 man, who acquired the art in our Virginia 
 colonies." 
 
 "Agreed!" cried Master Francis will- 
 ingly ; though at another time he might have 
 rejected such an offer. " 'Twill be an ex- 
 perience to remember." 
 
 " Marry," replied the other, " 'tis he who 
 lags behind the cavalcade who must take 
 the dust. For my part I like not to be out- 
 faced by any idle boaster who may lisp — 
 *Ah, 'tis an art to keep the bowl aglow! 
 Ah, shouldst see me fill my mouth with 
 
 63 
 
ON aCHE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 smoke, and blow it out in rings! Odd's 
 bodkin, the Duke himself said bravo! ' " 
 
 The stranger's mimicry of the mincing 
 gallants of the day was to the life, and as 
 they turned their steps toward the tavern. 
 Master Francis laughed with satisfaction 
 at finding himself in such good company. 
 When presently his companion quoted 
 Horace, he ventured to inquire at what 
 school he had read the classics. 
 
 " At none," was the reply. " Let those 
 w^ho will perform the threshing. I am con- 
 tent to pick up kernels here and there like 
 a sleek rat in a farmer's barn. Your tip- 
 pling scholar of the taproom will set forth 
 a rasher of lean Xenophon with every cup 
 of sack, and as for churchmen — they be all 
 unnatural sons who so bedeck their mother 
 tongue in scraps and shreds of foreign 
 phrase, the poor beldame walks abroad as 
 motley mantled as a fiddler's wanton." 
 
 " But surely — Justitia eum cuique dis- 
 tribuit — as Cicero hath it," Master Francis 
 cried in protest against such heresy. " You 
 
 64 
 
ON iTjHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 will not deny that an apt quotation lends 
 grace to our too barren English." 
 
 " 'Tis a thin sauce to a rich meat," replied 
 the other; adding modestly, " I am, an't 
 please you, sir, but one who, having little 
 Latin and less Greek, must make a shift with 
 what is left to him." 
 
 " Your speech belies you, sir," retorted 
 Master Francis courteously, " for it pro- 
 claims a man of nice discrimination. I 
 could swear you are a doctor of the law." 
 
 " Then would you be forsworn," replied 
 the other, laughing, " for, by the grace of 
 God, I am near kinsman to the dancing 
 poodle of a country fair. Come any after- 
 noon at three o'clock to the Curtain Play- 
 house at Shoreditch, and there for sixpence 
 you may see my antics." 
 
 "Ah, then you are a player!" Master 
 Francis cried, well pleased. 
 
 " For the lack of a more honest calling," 
 his companion answered with a gesture as 
 who should say, "Tell me where can be 
 found an honester?" 
 
 65 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " Then we are in like case," laughed Mas- 
 ter Francis. "Fere totus mundus exercet 
 histrionem^ says Phsedrus; or as one 
 might put it bluntly, 'AH the world's a 
 stage.' " 
 
 "Methinks our English hath the better 
 jingle," commented the player. " Would 
 that some wordsmith might e'en recoin these 
 ancient mintages to fill the meager purses 
 of our mouths ! " 
 
 They had come now to the broad low arch- 
 way leading to the courtyard of the Bull, 
 and passing in beneath its shadow. Master 
 Francis recalled the plays he had witnessed 
 there in boyhood. 
 
 " Ah," said his companion, " 'tis not so 
 long since we poor players hung our single 
 rag of curtain where we might. Now we 
 have playhouses of our own, and when the 
 servants of the Lord Chamberlain shall oc- 
 cupy the Globe at Bankside, you shall see 
 how plays may be presented. But Navita 
 de ventis de tauris narrat orator , as thy gos- 
 sip Propertius hath it, though I like best 
 
 66 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 the homely adage, 'A tinker will talk of 
 his trade.' " 
 
 They found the seaman in the little room 
 behind the tap, a veritable high priest of 
 some mystic cult in dignity. He bowed a 
 hearty welcome to the visitors and presently 
 made clear to them the true relationship be- 
 tween his pot of dried tobacco and the 
 earthen pipe bowls at the ends of hollow 
 reeds. He cautioned them to have a care, 
 when the coal of fire was applied, not to 
 draw the smoke into their mouths too sud- 
 denly and fall to coughing. He was a 
 swarthy man, with brass rings in his ears 
 and long hair braided in a queue behind, and 
 his account of the savage king held captive 
 until the inner secrets of the art of smoking 
 were revealed by way of ransom was in it- 
 self a yarn well worth his fee. 
 
 " I pray you, gentlemen, hold not the pipe 
 too lightly lest it be overset and mar your 
 garments," he instructed them. " And, by 
 your leave, it must be grasped between the 
 thumb and second finger, nicely balanced 
 
 67 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 that the forearm grow not weary. Should 
 the brain become afflicted by the vapor it is 
 well to pause and inhale some breaths of 
 common air. Extend the little finger care- 
 lessly and compose the face as though 
 the flavor were agreeable, for to spit and 
 grimace at the pipe were most inele- 
 gant." 
 
 "Out upom you for an arrant knave!" 
 cried Master Francis, springing to his feet, 
 exasperated by the solemn affectation of su- 
 perior wisdom. " 'Tis but an indifferent en- 
 tertainment at the best, and as for the art, 
 I know of none too great a fool to com- 
 pass it." 
 
 He had grown a trifle pale about the lips 
 and his nerves tingled. 
 
 " Nay, then," protested his fellow inves- 
 tigator, " were the taste less vile and the 
 savor less like a smithy 'twould make an ex- 
 cellent good physic for one afflicted with 
 too much health." 
 
 The sailor was a man of evil disposition, 
 who had not only sailed with Raleigh's god- 
 less mariners but, had the truth been known, 
 
ON lTjHE lightship, 
 
 in other service still less creditable. Hearing 
 his enterprise thus flouted, his anger rose, 
 and with a mighty oath he turned upon his 
 clients. 
 
 "A pest upon such horse boys! " he ex- 
 claimed. " Get back to the stables whose 
 smells best suit you. Leave elegant accom- 
 plishments to your betters." 
 
 Master Francis, grown fearful lest his 
 knees give way beneath him, and blinded 
 by a film which swam before his eyes, moved 
 unsteadily toward the door, half throwing, 
 half dropping his pipe upon the oaken table, 
 where the red clay bowl fell shattered in a 
 dozen fragments. 
 
 "Hold! " cried the sailor. " Not another 
 step, my gallant, till you have paid me ten 
 shillings for my broken pipe." 
 
 He sprang upon the slighter man and, 
 grasping him by the shoulders, would have 
 done him violence had not the other smoker 
 interposed a doubled sinewy fist beneath his 
 irate nose and bade him let go his hold. As 
 the command was not instantly obeyed, a 
 sharp blow followed. 
 
 69 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " Beshrew my blood ! " the pirate roared, 
 turning to strike at random. 
 
 "Gadslid!" returned the player, facing 
 him and bringing both fists into action with 
 such good effect that presently the table 
 groaned beneath the weight of the strug- 
 gling freebooter, while pipes, jug, and pre- 
 cious weed went flying. 
 
 The uproar brought the company from 
 the taproom at a run, customers, servants, 
 the drawer, the pot-boy, a brace of hostlers, 
 until the small room filled to suffocation. 
 Swords were drawn, cudgels brandished, 
 above the din the seaman's oaths boomed 
 like the cannon of a sloop of war in action. 
 
 " Good friends," the player bawled out, 
 springing to a stool to command attention, 
 " behold to what a pass the smoking of this 
 weed will bring a man. I pray you bind this 
 fellow fast and get him safe to Bedlam 
 before some mischief happens." 
 
 Master Francis sank down into the corner 
 of a high-backed seat, too ill for much con- 
 cern with what passed about him, and it was 
 
 70 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 not till some moments later, in the open air 
 and propped against a wall, that conscious- 
 ness returned. His champion in the late en- 
 counter stood beside him. 
 
 " Sir," said the student, " it is to you I 
 owe my preservation, though, by my honor, 
 I should have cut a better figure in the skir- 
 mish had not the vapors of that vile weed 
 overpowered me. How made you our es- 
 cape?" 
 
 " Even as !^neas with Anchises on his 
 back," replied the other, laughing. " 'Twas 
 high time to take ourselves away, being but 
 two against so many, though, by my faith, 
 I've rarely seen a merrier opening for a 
 game of skull cracking." 
 
 The player, whether actuated by humor 
 or generosity, seemed disposed to make light 
 of the whole affair. Grasping his com- 
 panion's arm he supported that gentleman's 
 still uncertain steps in the direction of the 
 lodging-house of Mistress Hodges. He 
 spoke of broils and frays as though such 
 pastimes were of every-day occurrence with 
 
 71 
 
ON tTiHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 men of spirit, whether the sport were put- 
 ting a pinnace crew of drunken sailors to 
 their heels, or by some trickery outwitting 
 the watch. At the door Master Francis 
 could do no less in hospitality than invite 
 so stanch an ally to enter. 
 
 *' Come to my chambers and rest awhile," 
 he said, adding regretfully, " though they 
 be plain indeed, and offer no better enter- 
 tainment than my poor company." 
 
 *' Good cheer enough," replied the other, 
 stepping back for a better view of the house. 
 "By my estates in Chancery!" he cried, 
 " yon bristling roof that sets its lance 
 against the very buckler of the moon hatK 
 met mine eyes before. 'Twas here, unless 
 my memory be a lying kitchen wench, our 
 noble Christopher did lodge, the prince and 
 potentate of pewter pots." 
 
 "And knew you Master Christopher?" 
 asked Master Francis with increasing in- 
 terest. 
 
 "Marry, I knew him well," replied the 
 player. " Marry, a poet. Marry, a rimester 
 to couple you a couplet while your Flemish 
 
 .72; 
 
ON THE LIGHT SHIR 
 
 fighter quaffs a mug of sack, and pay tHe 
 reckoning with a sonnet to his landlord's 
 honesty. ' The first line,' he would say, 
 ' shall tell the weight of it.* And here he did 
 set down a naught. ' So likewise with the 
 second, which doth sing its breadth; the 
 third proclaims its depth ' — another naught, 
 and thus until the measure of the verse was 
 writ. * Now add them for thyself,' he bids 
 the rum- fed Malmsey monger, ' and by the 
 thirst of Tantalus, the sum shall blazon both 
 thine honor and my debt.' " 
 
 " Methinks 'twas but a scurvy trick," pro- 
 tested Master Francis, laughing tolerantly. 
 "What said the host to it?" 
 
 " In faith," replied the player, " he found 
 the meter falling short and clamored for 
 money. * Money! ' quoth Kit. * Think well 
 on't! for if, as men of reason all agree, 
 naught is better than money, you are over- 
 paid in getting naught ! ' " 
 
 " His was a pretty wit indeed," assented 
 Master Francis. "Enter!" he urged ^\^th 
 a gesture of hospitality. 
 
 "Nay!" cried the other. "As I am a 
 
 73 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 just man it is perilous to enter into a writer's 
 castle where one without offense is often 
 lashed with lyrics or — what is more fearful 
 — pilloried in prose. And furthermore, this 
 Hebe of all Hodges, I have heard, this 
 Helen of Houndsditch, hath a stout broom- 
 stick hid behind her door for players," he 
 added, making a pretense of looking about 
 him warily as he followed his host up the 
 stairs. Master Francis going first to light 
 a candle with a flint and steel. 
 
 " Come in," he said as the flame flickered 
 up, " and welcome to my chambers, though 
 this poor farthing dip is little better than 
 a glowworm that doth serve to make the 
 darkness visible." 
 
 " So shines a good deed in a naughty 
 world," returned the other, throwing him- 
 self into a seat. 
 
 "You are yourself a poet!" Master 
 Francis cried, "for you temper the cold 
 iron of rough speech with oil of meta- 
 phor." 
 
 " Nay," said the player, " I am no rime- 
 
 74 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 ster, but like a scissors-grinder I sometimes 
 put a keener edge on better men's inven- 
 tions. Faith," he continued, looking about 
 him with approval, " I knew not that our 
 Kit was housed so well. This is a very- 
 bower in which to woo the Muse. Friend, 
 had I your table and your chair, your ink- 
 well and your wit, it would not take me 
 long to be the owner of one hundred 
 pounds." 
 
 " One hundred pounds?" gasped Master 
 Francis. " Believe me, it is not from ink- 
 wells that such miraculous drafts are made." 
 He waved his hand toward the scattered 
 papers on the table. " Look," he said, " it 
 hath taken me a year to make that much 
 fair paper valueless." 
 
 " You waste your time," replied the 
 player lightly, " Instead of learned dis- 
 courses, treatises, and theses, in which our 
 age will not believe and the next most cer- 
 tainly prove false, you should devise a mask, 
 a mummery, a play to set the groundlings' 
 
 munching mouths agape, and make the gen- 
 
 75 
 
ON ffiHE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 tie ladies of the boxes mince and murmur 
 to' their cavaliers, * All, me, 'tis such a sweet 
 death! Oh, la! and 'twould be pure to be 
 so undone!'" 
 
 "A play!" exclaimed the scholar in sur- 
 prise, "That's a task for poets, not for 
 men of learning." 
 
 " Say not so! " the other interposed. " For 
 learning is but poetry turned prude. Coax 
 her with kisses, cozen her with a sigh, give 
 her a broidered girdle and a fan, and call 
 me Cerberus if thy staid Minerva will 
 not tread a merry measure to Orpheus's 
 lute." 
 
 " An' should she play tHe wanton thus for 
 me, how should advantage follow? " Master 
 Francis asked 'wdth growing interest, as he 
 leaned forward in the candle-light to catch 
 the answer. 
 
 " 'Tis simplicity itself," replied the 
 player. " Look you, this new-built play- 
 house of the Globe is shortly to be opened, 
 and the town is at the very finger pricks of 
 curiosity to behold its marvels. The players 
 
 76 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 stand like greyhounds in their gyves, the 
 counters wait the welcome buifets of the 
 coin, and Burbage, madder than a hare in 
 March, ibounds doubling on his track hither 
 and thither to find a play." 
 
 " Sure London hath as many playwrights 
 as a cheese hath mites," commented Master 
 Francis. 
 
 " True," the other answered, " but look 
 you, here's a case when mite and wright 
 agree not. For one is mad, and one hath 
 lost his cunning, and one will spend in 
 drink the money given him for ink, and 
 Kit, the master of them all, is writing come- 
 dies for shades in Pluto's courtyard. In 
 troth, there seems no better market for a 
 hundred pounds than 'twere a huckster's 
 hat of rotten cherries." 
 
 "An hundred pounds!" gasped Master 
 Francis. " The sum doth spell for me am- 
 bition gratified." 
 
 "Ah, ha, my lean sciholar!" cried the 
 player. " Is not the matter worth consider- 
 ing? " 
 
 .77 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP, 
 
 
 Marry, it is," admitted Master Francis, 
 
 if one had but the fancy." 
 
 Oh, as to that," returned the other, " I'll 
 warrant when your blood ran hot from the 
 full caldron of lip-scalding youth, thy fancy 
 played you many a pretty mask, for young 
 imagination dreams more dreams than wak- 
 ing age doth have the wit to write. These 
 conjure up again, unbar your closet, unlock 
 your treasure chest — " Here Master Fran- 
 cis gave a start, but the player went on 
 heedlessly: " By my faith, yon rascal cof- 
 fer well might be the grave wherein the 
 best of thee lies buried." 
 
 He made a motion of the hand toward 
 the box of the departed Christopher, and 
 Master Francis's visage in the candle-light 
 turned pale. 
 
 "What ails you, man?" the other in- 
 quired. " Have you a memory of that last 
 tobacco pipe?" 
 
 " Sir," cried Master Francis, rising 
 slowly to his feet, "is it the truth that a 
 play can be sold for so much money?" 
 
 7« 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 "In the Queen's coin," the other an- 
 swered. "So that it be worth the playing, 
 so it be such a play as Kit could have writ- 
 ten." 
 
 Master Francis, taking up the candle, 
 moved toward the chest. 
 
 "I'll take you at your word," he said. 
 "Like one who creeps with shrouded Ian- 
 thorn and with muffled spade to force the 
 moldering hinges of the gate of Death, I'll 
 bring you back a play." 
 
 He stooped, and lifting the lid seized 
 the first manuscript that met his hand and 
 waved it triumphantly at his companion sit- 
 ting on the table. 
 
 "A play!" cried the other, catching at 
 the roll. " Ah, then I guessed aright. 'Tis 
 a dull writer, fitted best for slumber- wooing 
 churchmen's homilies, who has not in his 
 time chucked blushing Thalia under her fair 
 chin. . . . What have we here? " he de- 
 manded, spreading the pages open before 
 him. " A play, indeed! A comedy, i' faith! 
 Gadslid, a tragedy! A miracle of master- 
 
 79 
 
ON, EGHE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 pieces, a masterpiece of miracles! 'Twill be 
 the talk of London town and in the ages 
 yet to come, when stately playhouses shall 
 stand where now the painted savage cleaves 
 his enemy, your play shall win the coy and 
 cautious coin of nations yet unborn, your 
 fame " 
 
 " Peace, peace I " protested Master Fran- 
 cis, with a smile that would have done credit 
 to his uncle, the Lord Treasurer, " you are 
 like a paid praisemonger who bawls loudest 
 to extol the book he has not read." 
 
 " 'Tis my prophetic soul," returned the 
 player merrily, and waving the scroll above 
 his head he went on: " Hear ye, hear ye, 
 good servants of the Queen, here's meat for 
 your digestions, matter for your minds; 
 here's wit and wisdom, prose and poetry, to 
 make ye swear that brave Kit Marlowe 
 walks the earth again, . . . Come, gos- 
 sip, write your name upon the title sheet. 
 You are too modest." 
 
 " My name I may not sell," said Master 
 Francis, holding back. 
 
 80 
 
ON T.HE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 "Unnatural parent !" roared the other. 
 " Would you thus turn your offspring loose 
 upon the world without parentage?" 
 
 " I'll not be father to a brat so ill-begot- 
 ten," replied Master Francis. 
 
 "How shall I answer then to Burbage 
 should he ask the writer?" demanded the 
 player. 
 
 " As you may," returned Master Francis 
 with a shrug. " An't please you, say it was 
 yourself. I care not, so my name be not 
 revealed." 
 
 " 'Twill be a jest," the player cried, laugh- 
 ing, "a jest which, should the play find 
 favor, may be at any time corrected." 
 
 And taking up a pen he dipped it in the 
 ink-horn to write across the page: 
 
 The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet 
 BY William Shakespeare 
 
 " A proper title, surely! " commented the 
 scholar, looking across his shoulder. " Your 
 name, friend Will, should lure the public 
 eye more cunningly than that of Francis 
 Bacon." 
 
 81 
 
THE CARHART MYSTERY 
 
THE CARHART MYSTERY 
 
 THE conversation had grown rem- 
 iniscent, as conversations will 
 when old acquaintance stirs its 
 coffee after dinner and the blue 
 wreaths of good tobacco-smoke float ceil- 
 ingward, like pleasant specters, in the sub- 
 dued light of the shaded lamps. 
 
 Barton and I, in following back some 
 winding paths of memory now well-nigh 
 overgrown, were in danger of forgetting 
 our good manners till Willoughby reminded 
 us of his presence. 
 
 " I might as well embrace this oppor- 
 tunity for a nap," he said, stretching his 
 long legs to the fire, and sinking back into 
 one of Barton's most engaging armchairs. 
 " Just wake me up when you fellows hit 
 upon a subject I know something of. I 
 happen to have been living in India during 
 
 85 
 
ON lTHE lightship 
 
 the time the thrilling tea-and-tennis episodes 
 you recall so fondly were taking place, and, 
 to tell the truth, they bore me." 
 
 Barton laughed. 
 
 " Oh, we have done with recollections, and 
 now you shall have a chance to bore us with 
 an Indian tale or so by way of recompense," 
 he said, with the candor permissible only 
 between men who know each other well. 
 " Make clear to us the difference between a 
 maharajah and a pongee pa jama, and go 
 ahead." 
 
 "At least, my stories do not deal with 
 duels that ended in Delmonico's, and flirta- 
 tions which fell flat," asserted Willoughby, 
 blowing, a cloud of fragrant incense into 
 space. "I've no idea of wasting occult ma- 
 terial on a brace of rank Philistines, but if 
 I were so disposed " 
 
 " Dear boy! " I put in, rather testily; for 
 I dislike fatuous patronage even in fun. 
 " Either Barton or I could relate to you an 
 incident which occurred in this very room, 
 within a yard of where you sit, remarkable 
 
 86 
 
ON lThe lightship 
 
 enough to make your Kiplingest jungle- tale 
 seem as tame as ' Mother Hubbard's 
 Dog!'" 
 
 "Indeed!" he said, sinking still farther 
 into his chair, with something very like a 
 yawn; and Barton, as he arose and moved 
 to the mantelpiece, cast a look of remon- 
 strance toward me which I was careful not 
 to recognize. 
 
 " Ah, here comes Nathan with fresh cof- 
 fee," our host announced, clearly to change 
 the subject, as the round-shouldered figure 
 of his worthy valet appeared in the lamp- 
 light. " Pray let him fill your cups, and, if 
 it is not strong enough, don't hesitate to 
 tell him." 
 
 " It'th not the coffee gentlemen dethired 
 when I wath young," commented Nathan, 
 a trifle sadly, and with the amusing lisp 
 which made him something of a character, 
 albeit he was rather a dull man even for a 
 valet. 
 
 " I never take a second cup," Willoughby 
 
 declared, adding: " But. if it's all the same, 
 
 87 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 I might be tempted by a sip of soda later, 
 say in half an hour or so." 
 
 This struck me as an excellent sugges- 
 tion, and Barton evidently thought the 
 same. 
 
 " Bring soda in half an hour," he in- 
 structed the servant, " and mind you have it 
 cold." 
 
 "It'th never any other way you've had 
 your thoda a thingle night for fifteen 
 yearth, thir," retorted Nathan, with quite 
 sufficient truth, no doubt, to justify the pro- 
 test; and as he shuffled from the room, 
 " Jim " Barton's guests chuckled. 
 
 "I move we give the half-hour to your 
 yarn," said Willoughby, crossing his legs. 
 "That is, if it can be told in thirty min- 
 utes." 
 
 " It's not worth half that time if it were 
 told at all," replied our host. " The story is 
 not worth much at best, but to give old Joe 
 here the chance to intimate a too-elaborate 
 dinner." 
 
 My name is Joseph, by the way. 
 
 88 
 
66 
 66 
 
 ON iTHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " Oh, if you will admit that explana- 
 tion " I began, to draw him on, for I 
 
 was anxious Willoughby should understand 
 that interesting things could happen else- 
 where than in India. 
 
 " I don't admit it in the least ! " cried 
 Barton, interrupting. " I assure you, Wil- 
 loughby, upon my word, as sure as I stand 
 here, I had tasted nothing more potent than 
 a glass or two of Burgundy that night." 
 What night?" inquired Willoughby. 
 The night young Carhart disappeared," 
 I interposed impressively. " The night a 
 fellow six feet high and heavier than any 
 one of us vanished as completely from this 
 room as a puff of smoke dissolves in air." 
 
 " I have seen a puff of smoke go flying 
 through a window," Willoughby suggested, 
 laughing, though his interest had evidently 
 been aroused, for he glanced toward the 
 bay of leaded glass which made one of the 
 pleasantest features of Barton's cozy smok- 
 ing-room. 
 
 " But no man ever went through this par- 
 
 89 
 
ON lThe lightship 
 
 ticular window," I replied, taking the bur- 
 den of enlightenment upon myself, in spite 
 of my host's very apparent disapproval. 
 " This window looks out upon a neighbor's 
 yard, and ever since the house was built it 
 has been barred as heavily as you see it 
 now." 
 
 I sprang up, and, when I had pressed a 
 button which set a dozen electric bulbs aglow 
 in the four corners of the room, drew the 
 light curtains to one side. 
 
 "Examine for yourself!" I cried, much 
 in the manner of a showman. 
 
 "I'll take your word for it the iron in 
 that grille is genuine," said Willoughby, 
 without rising. " And I will admit that no 
 fasting Yogi could worm himself through 
 interstices so small. But how about the 
 door?" 
 
 " The door," I hastened to assure him, 
 " was then just as you see it now, an open- 
 ing three feet wide, and Barton himself 
 stood before it in the hall, a single step be- 
 yond the threshold." 
 
 90 
 
a 
 
 i( 
 
 ON /THE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 I should have gone on in my eagerness to 
 call attention to the walls and ceiling and 
 floor, all obviously free from secret open- 
 ings, had not Barton interrupted. 
 
 Shifting uneasily on his feet before the 
 mantelpiece, he said : " Our friend Joe has 
 not explained that he knows nothing of the 
 circumstances beyond what I have told him." 
 
 But not in confidence," I protested. 
 
 No," admitted Barton, " not in confi- 
 dence." And to his other guest he said: 
 " I have made no secret of this strange oc- 
 currence, Willoughby, and my reluctance 
 to discuss it arises from a doubt that long 
 familiarity with the circumstances has not 
 made it impossible for me to give to each 
 its proper weight. I am in constant fear 
 of coming upon a weakness which I have 
 overlooked in the chain, and yet it would 
 be a relief to discover such a flaw. I should 
 have called in an expert at once. I should 
 have sought the counsel of detectives; and 
 such would unquestionably have been my 
 
 course had not those most interested dis- 
 
 91 
 
ON iTHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 suaded me. Young Carhart's father tele- 
 graphed me: ' Say nothing to authorities. 
 Disappearance satisfactorily explained.' 
 And, at the time, that was enough. It was 
 not till some months later that I learned the 
 family were theosophists, a sect to which 
 nothing is so satisfactory as the inexplicable. 
 I have, myself, no theory to advance. The 
 man, my guest, was here one moment, and 
 the next he had gone from a room where 
 the only openings were a grilled window 
 and a guarded door. His overcoat and hat 
 are still in my possession; and, from all I 
 have been able to learn, he has not been 
 heard of since." 
 
 " I beg that you will not think it neces- 
 sary to tell me more of the story if it dis- 
 tresses you," protested Willoughby, courte- 
 ously; for Barton's face had grown grave, 
 and I had begun to feel my introduction 
 of the subject ill-timed. But our host was 
 quick to reassure him with a gesture. 
 
 " On the contrary," he said, " you have 
 but just returned from India, where, as I 
 
 92 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 have heard, mysterious disappearances are 
 not uncommon, and occult matters are bet- 
 ter understood. Your opinion will be of 
 the greatest service.'* 
 
 *' In that case," Willoughby replied, be- 
 coming instantly, judicially alert, " let us 
 begin at the beginning. Who was Carhart? 
 How came he here? What was the manner 
 of his going? " 
 
 That's just the mystery," I interposed. 
 Joe, please don't interrupt," said Bar- 
 ton, making an effort to collect his thoughts. 
 
 " Sit down, old man," Willoughby sug- 
 gested. " We'll choke Joe if he speaks 
 again. Now let us have the facts — I'm 
 deeply interested. Do sit down." 
 
 Barton complied in so far as to perch him- 
 self upon the broad arm of a leather chair. 
 
 "I shan't be tragic," he began; *' for, 
 as I said, there may be — in fact, there must 
 be — some purely natural explanation. Of 
 course, you never met young Carhart; for 
 he came here while you were away. He had 
 but few acquaintances in New York; for, 
 
 93 
 
 

 ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 although he brought good letters from Bos- 
 ton, where his people lived, he had not 
 chosen to present them. He was a most at- 
 tractive sort — half-back at Harvard, stroke- 
 oar and all the rest. Great fellow in the 
 Hasty Pudding Club, and poet of his class, 
 but just a trifle — shall I say — susceptible 
 
 and " 
 
 Soft," I suggested. 
 
 No," contradicted Barton ; " though, to 
 tell the truth, he never could resist a pretty 
 face. That was his failing." 
 
 "Remarkable man!" Willoughby com- 
 mented, with fervor. 
 
 " He was," assented Barton. " In that 
 respect, at least. He carried it too far. He 
 wanted to marry every good-looking girl 
 he met. He M^ould have been married a 
 dozen times before he graduated, had not 
 his friends interfered." 
 
 "Thank heaven for friends!" com- 
 mented Willoughby, with still more fervor. 
 
 " Till at last," continued Barton, now 
 sufficiently himself to punctuate his narra- 
 
 94. 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 tive with occasional whifFs of his cigar, " at 
 last Carhart fell under the influence of a 
 widow." 
 
 " A designing widow," I put in, to make 
 the situation clearer. 
 
 "Attractive? " Willoughby inquired. 
 
 " Oh, decidedly." 
 
 " Encumbrances? " 
 
 " No," answered Barton. " Not exactly. 
 There were rumors of a husband in the back- 
 ground somewhere, but he was not pro- 
 duced." 
 
 " A pretty widow is beyond the habeas 
 corpus act," mused Willoughby. 
 
 " Quite so," Barton admitted. " But, at 
 all events, there was nothing really known 
 against the lady except a maiden aunt, and 
 this objectionable relative was, by the way, 
 quite as much opposed to the match as were 
 Carhart's own people." 
 
 And why were they opposed to it? " 
 Oh, you see, with his proclivities for 
 poetry and acting, they were afraid an un- 
 happy marriage would drive him to the 
 
 9.5 
 
 6i 
 
 (( 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 stage, and, naturally, they took every meas- 
 ure to prevent it." 
 
 Here Barton paused to light a fresh cigar, 
 while we others sipped our coffee thought- 
 fully. 
 
 " And what were these preventive meas- 
 ures? " Willoughby inquired. 
 
 " Oh, the usual thing," said Barton. 
 " Threats, badgering, advice and promises. 
 All these failed to move him; he was de- 
 termined to make her his wife, and, as a 
 last resource, his father wrote to me, put- 
 ting the matter in my hands without re- 
 serve. Our ancestors came over on the same 
 boat, so it appeared." 
 
 " The Mayflower;' I breathed, but that 
 was scarcely necessary. 
 
 "Quite so," he admitted; "and that, of 
 course, entailed a certain obligation." 
 
 " Of course," we both assented, and the 
 narrative continued. 
 
 " An elopement had been planned, as we 
 had every reason to believe, for a certain 
 evening; and the elder Carhart kept the 
 
 96 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 Boston wires hot all day with appeals to me 
 to save his son.'* 
 
 "And did you?" Willoughby inquired. 
 
 " Yes," answered Barton, cautiously, " in 
 a way." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " I began by inviting him to dinner." 
 
 " And, of course, he did not accept? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, he did. He both accepted and 
 arrived on time, and I must say I never 
 saw a man confront a filet mignon borde- 
 laise with more outward satisfaction; and, 
 though we spoke upon indifferent topics, 
 his spirits seemed exuberant beyond all 
 bounds. But you may be sure I kept an 
 eye upon his every movement. I was deter- 
 mined he should not escape. In an extrem- 
 ity, I was prepared to administer a harmless 
 sleeping-potion in his coffee." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Willoughby, as he set 
 down his cup, and ran an investigating and 
 suspicious tongue along the edges of his 
 lips. 
 
 "A drastic measure, I admit," con- 
 
 97 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 tinued Barton, "but one which I should 
 have considered justifiable, could I have 
 foreseen the miscarriage of my other plan. 
 You know my eldest sister, Emily? " 
 
 We bowed, for it was a duty to know 
 Emily. 
 
 "And you know her eldest daughter, 
 Emeline?" 
 
 We bowed again; it was a pleasure to 
 know Emeline. 
 
 " Well," went on Barton, " it so happened 
 that they were to dine that evening in the 
 neighborhood, and I arranged with them to 
 drop in upon me in an offhand way soon 
 after their dinner, which was a small, in- 
 formal one. I was convinced, you see, that 
 Carhart could not fail to fall desperately in 
 love with Emeline, which would have sim- 
 plified affairs at once." 
 
 Of course, we both assented — I through 
 civility, but Willoughby, as I fancied, with 
 a somewhat heightened color. 
 
 " I presume you did not take Miss Eme- 
 line into your confidence," he said, a trifle 
 stiffly. 
 
 98 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " No," answered Barton, " but I have 
 often wished since that I had been more 
 frank. It's just the sort of thing she's good 
 at." 
 
 Willoughby tossed his excellent cigar, 
 half smoked, into the grate, with what ap- 
 peared unnecessary violence. 
 
 "You were saying that your plan fell 
 through," he prompted, 
 
 "It did," rejoined the host. "It fell 
 through completely, as you shall see. I 
 kept my young friend at the table as long 
 as possible, and Nathan — to his credit I will 
 say it — was never more deliberate ; but when 
 Carhart had declined almonds and raisins 
 rather pointedly for the third time, we rose 
 from the table, as the clock struck ten, and 
 came in here to smoke. The lights were 
 low, as they were before our friend Joe 
 tried to blind us." 
 
 " I beg your pardon!" I exclaimed, and, 
 hastening to the button, I reduced the room 
 again to semi-darkness. 
 
 Ah, that's more like it," said Barton. 
 
 I much prefer the light subdued. Well, 
 
 (C 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 here we were — Carhart before the mantel- 
 piece, where I stood just now, smoking 
 composedly enough, and I between him and 
 the door, listening for the sound of the bell 
 which might at any moment announce the 
 arrival of the ladies. I remember perfectly 
 that we were discussing setter-dogs ; and, as 
 you may well believe, I was never so put to 
 it for anecdotes in my life, when at last the 
 welcome summons came." 
 
 " I thought you said your plan fell 
 through," Willoughby interposed. 
 
 "It did," retorted Barton. "The bell, 
 which echoed through the house, was not 
 rung by Emily at all, but by a servant with 
 a note from her to say that, being indis- 
 posed, my sister had decided to drive di- 
 rectly home. Emeline, she added, was go- 
 ing on to some infernal dance. I had given 
 Carhart no intimation of my sister's com- 
 ing, and, naturally, I did not reveal the con- 
 tents of her note. In fact, I made the dim 
 light an excuse for stepping into the 
 brighter hall, and this enabled me to con- 
 
 100 
 
■> t 5 3 
 
 ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 ceal from him my first chagrin. As I stood 
 not two feet from the threshold, debating 
 what my course should be, I observed that 
 Nathan closed the front door upon the 
 messenger; and presently he passed me, go- 
 ing to his pantry, as I thought. I must 
 have remained standing there before the 
 door nearly a minute, though it seemed 
 much less, for, when I turned, Nathan was 
 at my elbow again, holding in his hand a 
 tray of cups. 
 
 " ' You served the coffee not a minute 
 ago, you idiot ! ' I said, betraying the irri- 
 tation which I felt ; and, furthermore, I will 
 confess, the smell of coffee brought back to 
 me most painfully the only plan which then 
 remained. 
 
 " ' I thought you might be ready for 
 thum more,' persisted Nathan, with his most 
 aggravating lisp. ' I did not know the gen- 
 tleman had gone.' 
 
 " ' Gone ! ' I exclaimed. * You must be 
 blind. The gentleman, Mr. Carhart, is in 
 the smoking-room.' 
 
 101 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 (C < 
 
 I beg your pardon, thir ; but he'th not/ 
 retorted Nathan, moving from me as 
 though to avoid a blow. * The gentleman 
 ain't in the thmoking-room.' 
 
 " ' Fool! ' I cried, and darted from him, 
 but the next moment I had found his vrords 
 too true, Carhart had vanished, disap- 
 peared, melted, as one might say, into the 
 element of air." 
 
 "Strange!" I reflected, lowering my 
 voice as an aid to Barton's climax. 
 
 "Strange enough!" cried Willoughby, 
 less impressed than I had hoped. " And so 
 yom' servant was the first to make the dis- 
 covery?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Barton; "although I 
 have never allowed him to know of my as- 
 tonishment. I did my best to pass it off 
 as a joke. I allowed him to believe that 
 Carhart had taken leave of me before the 
 stupid blunder of the second coffee." 
 
 " Athking your pardon, thir," came in 
 injured, lisping accents from the gloom. 
 "I never brought no thecond coffee that 
 
 102 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 night, becauth the cat upthet the coffee-pot, 
 nor did I thay, thir, that the gentleman had 
 gone." 
 
 Barton, conceahng his annoyance, sat re- 
 garding his domestic for a moment with as- 
 sumed indifference. 
 
 " And pray, what did you say, then, when 
 you stood there beside me at the door? " he 
 demanded. 
 
 " Nothing at all, thir," answered Nathan. 
 " I wathn't there. I went back to my pan- 
 try when I had let out the methenger, and 
 there I thtayed until I heard you hammer- 
 ing on the wallth and floor with the fire- 
 shovel." 
 
 " That will do, Nathan," returned Bar- 
 ton stiffly; and I perceived an odd expres- 
 sion on the face of Willoughby. 
 
 " Thoda, thir?" inquired Nathan of the 
 other guest. 
 
 " Yes," was the answer. " And please 
 fill it up." 
 
 We settled down into an awkward si- 
 lence, while Nathan fidgetted with soda- 
 
 103 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 water bottles. Barton fingering his cigar, I 
 toying with a paper-weight, and Wil- 
 loughby intent upon the fire. 
 
 " Carhart," he kept repeating, almost to 
 himself. " Where have I heard that name 
 before? Carhart!" 
 
 "Carhart?" said Barton inquiringly. 
 
 "Carhart!" repeated Willoughby, with 
 still more abstraction. " Carhart! " 
 
 "Yes, Carhart!" I put in, by way of 
 keeping up the train of thought. 
 
 "Carhart!" roared Barton, springing to 
 his feet. " Can't anybody say anything but 
 Carhart?" 
 
 " And what became of the widow? " Wil- 
 loughby demanded meditatively. 
 
 " I never knew nor cared to know," re- 
 plied our host. 
 
 " Pretty, I think you said," continued 
 Willoughby. "And auburn-haired?" 
 
 "Yes, deuced pretty, deuced auburn- 
 haired. What are you driving at?" 
 
 Willoughby held up a soothing hand. 
 
 " Just let me think," he said. " I used to 
 
 104 
 
ox THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 know a man once in Calcutta. An Amer- 
 ican from Boston; sold canned goods, cal- 
 ico and caramels at wholesale; had a pretty 
 wife. Clever fellow, too; and great at giv- 
 ing imitations — could mimic anything. 
 Used to do an old domestic with a lisp in 
 a way that would make your sides ache. I 
 wish I could recall that fellow's name. By 
 Jove, it was — ^it was! — it was! " 
 
 "Was what?" I asked. 
 
 "Why, 'Carhart'!" 
 
 Barton, before the fire, swayed on his 
 feet unsteadily, and clutched the mantel- 
 piece for support. Old Nathan shuffled to 
 his side. 
 
 Thoda, thir? " the servant asked. 
 Yes," said the master absently. "If 
 57'ou please, one lump of sugar and a httle 
 
 
 cream." 
 
 105 
 
THE MONSTROSITY 
 
THE MONSTROSITY 
 
 FIFTEEN minutes after Mr. and 
 Mrs. Lemuel Livermore, accom- 
 panied by their daughter Selma, 
 had driven away from their com- 
 fortable West Side residence, for the pur- 
 pose of attending an annual family gath- 
 ering at the house of Mrs. Livermore's wid- 
 owed mother, Mrs. Pease, on the opposite 
 side of Central Park, the Livermore do- 
 mestics were stirred by a more than usually 
 imperative ring at the front door-bell. It 
 was Christmas Eve, a season when mercan- 
 tile delivery wagons may appear at any 
 hour. Presents had been arriving all the 
 afternoon, and the sight of a large van 
 backed up against the curbstone occasioned 
 no surprise. 
 
 " What are they bringing us now? " in- 
 quired Bates, the butler, who rarely conde- 
 
 109 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 scended to open the door in the absence of 
 the family, from his pantry. 
 
 " It looks to me something like a sofa," 
 replied the smiling housemaid, who gener- 
 ally knew by instinct when the ringer was 
 to be young and good-looking, " and the 
 delivery gentlemen want to know where to 
 put it." 
 
 "A sofa, is it?" exclamed the butler, 
 coming forward. "I'd like to know who 
 has been silly enough to make a present of 
 a sofa to a family who have already more 
 household goods than they know what to do 
 with. They'll be sending in a porcelain 
 bath-tub next," he added with a grunt, as 
 he unbolted the second half of the front 
 door to make room for a cumbrous piece 
 of furniture, just then ascending the steps 
 apparently upon four lusty legs. " Here, 
 you fellows, wipe your feet and put it in 
 the parlor, and when the family comes 
 home I bet somebody'll get a blessing." 
 
 The sofa was, in point of fact, a well- 
 fed lounge, corpulent and plushy and be- 
 
 110 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 flowered, and when, its wrappings removed, 
 it occupied the center of the Livermore 
 pink and white drawing-room, the Liver- 
 more bric-a-brac and bibelots and bijouterie 
 appeared to turn a trifle pale and to shrink 
 within themselves, as though a note of dis- 
 cord had distressed them. 
 
 " Lord! " said the housemaid frankly, as 
 she regarded the latest unwelcome acquisi- 
 tion, " but it is a beast! " 
 
 " Sets the room ofl", don't it? " remarked 
 the fattest and most optimistic of the fur- 
 niture men, as he consulted a memorandum 
 in his hat. " Come in handy, won't it, when 
 the missus wants to snatch a nap in the 
 afternoon?" 
 
 The butler and the housemaid exchanged 
 a glance of tolerant pity, but such be- 
 nighted ignorance of social use was beyond 
 enlightenment. 
 
 " Best give it a good brush-up to bring 
 
 out the colors," the optimist admonished, 
 
 surveying his late burden admiringly. 
 
 " I wouldn't touch it with the tongs," de- 
 
 111 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 clared the housemaid, and the butler proph- 
 esied, *' It won't stop long to gather dust 
 where it is when the missus sets eyes on it 
 once." 
 
 " Well," moralized the other, with a com- 
 prehensive glance about the room, " it's cer- 
 tainly a fact that rich folks does come in 
 for all the luck." 
 
 And so saying he withdrew, accompanied 
 by his mate, and the bolts were shot behind 
 them. 
 
 " Our dinner will be getting cold," ob- 
 served the butler. " Go down, Mary Anne, 
 and tell the cook I'm coming, and I'll bring 
 down the decanters. That sherry's hardly 
 fit to serve upstairs again." 
 
 The housemaid sniffed. 
 
 "Be careful, Mr. Bates," she cautioned 
 him. " The old butler, Auguste, was dis- 
 charged because he found so many bottles 
 of champagne that were unfit to serve up- 
 stairs." 
 
 "Auguste," rejoined the butler, "was a 
 French duffer. He ought to have known 
 
 112 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 that even broad-minded gentlemen alwaj^s 
 count champagne." 
 
 " Shall we leave the lights all burning in 
 the parlor? " asked the housemaid. 
 
 " Certainly," replied Bates; " it wouldn't 
 do for the missus to stumble over that thing 
 in the dark.*' 
 
 "Lord!" said the housemaid, with a 
 parting glance across her shoulder. " Lord ! 
 but it is a beast." 
 
 "An out and out monstrosity," the but- 
 ler agreed. 
 
 Time passed; the servants went their 
 ways ; the parlor gas purred soothingly ; the 
 bric-a-brac engaged in whispered consulta- 
 tion. Whatever happened, the monstrosity 
 should be made to feel its isolation — and it 
 did. It stood a thing apart from its envi- 
 ronment; it seemed to sigh, and presently 
 its plebeian breast began to heave as with 
 emotion. A crack developed in its tufted 
 side, a pair of eyes appeared within the 
 crack. The gas purred on; sounds from 
 the servants' hall below suggested that the 
 
 iii.a. 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 sherry had begun to express itself in terms 
 of merriment. The crack grew wider until 
 the sofa opened like a fat and flowery 
 trunk. The eyes became a head, the head a 
 man, who sat upon the sofa's edge and 
 looked about him. 
 
 " All zings is the same," he murmured to 
 himself in broken English. " Nothing is 
 changed except that ze arrangements are in 
 less taste zan in my time. Ah, people do 
 not know when zay have ze good fortune." 
 
 He sighed, and, rising, ventured one 
 large foot, encased in a felt shoe, upon the 
 rug. He stood and gazed about him lov- 
 ingly, as one who contemplates inanimate 
 things once dear. He moved with noiseless 
 caution to the nearest door and disap- 
 peared. Presently he returned, bearing a 
 salver laden with pieces of silver from the 
 dining-room — an ice-pitcher, an epergne, 
 some dishes; these he proceeded deftly to 
 roll in flannel bags, depositing each with 
 loving care in the interior of the Monstros- 
 ity. Another expedition resulted in an 
 
 114* 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 equally attractive lot of plate, to be be- 
 stowed as carefuUy. Next, stepping to the 
 mantel-piece, he selected a modest pair of 
 Dresden images from the assortment there 
 displayed. 
 
 " These," he soliloquized, " are mine un- 
 doubtedly. I might have broken them a 
 thousand times and did not, and, therefore, 
 they are mine." 
 
 He laid the figures tenderly and almost 
 with a sigh beside the silver and closed the 
 heavy tufted lid upon them. 
 
 " I will go upstairs for ze last time," he 
 mused, a trace of sadness on his Gallic fea- 
 tures, "and behold if Madame is still as 
 careless with her jewel-box as in old days. 
 I will ascertain for myself if Monsieur stiU 
 sticks his scarf-pins in ze pin-cushion. . . . 
 Ah, but it is depressing to revisit once fa- 
 miliar scenes. It makes one shed ze tear." 
 
 The tall clock in the hall struck half -past 
 eight. 
 
 Even as the clock struck the butler below 
 was rising to propose a toast. 
 
 115 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 (c < 
 
 Here's to those that love us,'" it be- 
 gan, and went on: "'Here's to us that 
 love those/ " — but as this was not the way 
 it should have gone on, the butler paused 
 and blinked in disapproval at the cook, who 
 laughed. 
 
 " ' Here's to those that love those that 
 love those that love those,' " he persisted 
 solemnly, and might have continued the 
 hierarch}^ still further had not an electric 
 summons from the front door interrupted 
 him. 
 
 " Sakes! " cried the cook, " what can that 
 be?" 
 
 "More presents," the housemaid sug- 
 gested. 
 
 "Another monstrosity, I'll be bound," 
 the butler chuckled, stumbling from the 
 room, " Let'sh all go shee about it." 
 
 He climbed the stairs unsteadily? and 
 made his way along the hall with noticeable 
 digressions from an even course. 
 
 " ' Here's to those that love us that love 
 them,' " he caroled cheerily, and when, with 
 
 116 
 
ON aiHE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 fumbling fingers, he had thrown the front 
 door open, his eyes, still blinking, failed to 
 perceive for the moment that Mr. Liver- 
 more himself stood on the threshold, sur- 
 rounded by some half a score of muffled 
 figures. 
 
 " Bates," began Mr. Livermore, " I for- 
 got my latch-key, and ..." 
 
 " Get away with you," cried cheerful Mr. 
 Bates ; " we've got all the monstrosities we 
 want already. ' Here's to them that love 
 them that we love ' . . ." 
 
 *' Bates," said Mr. Livermore, " you're 
 drunk." 
 
 "Shir," said Bates; "shir, I ashure you 
 sherry was not fit to sherve upstairs." 
 
 " Bates," said Mr, Livermore, " you are 
 very drunk." 
 
 " Shir," said Bates, " shir, I ashure you 
 it's all owing to that monstrosity. Mon- 
 strosity not fit to sherve upstairs." 
 
 Meanwhile INIrs. Livermore had lost no 
 time in pushing past her husband into the 
 hall, followed by Selma, followed by her 
 
 117 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 widowed mother, Mrs. Pease, and Mr. Ber- 
 tram Pease, her brother, and Miss McCunn, 
 to whom Mr. Pease was supposed to be 
 attentive, and Cousin Laura Fanshaw, and 
 the two Misses Mapes, and Mr. Sellars, and 
 Doctor Van Cott, all old friends, and a 
 young gentleman by the name of Mickle- 
 worth, whom nobody knew much about, ex- 
 cept Selma, who, for reasons of her own, 
 kept her knowledge to herself. He had 
 been invited to the family party as a chum 
 of Cousin Dick Busby's, and was to have 
 come with Dick, but the latter gentleman, 
 at the last moment having received a more 
 promising invitation, had sent word that he 
 was ill. 
 
 While Mr. Livermore drew Bates aside, 
 the housemaid busied herself with the 
 ladies' wraps. 
 
 "You're through dinner early, ma'am," 
 she said to Mrs. Livermore. 
 
 "We haven't had any dinner, Mary 
 Anne," replied her mistress. "Mother's 
 range exploded, or something awful hap- 
 
 118 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 pened to the pipes just after we sat down, 
 and everything was ruined. So we brought 
 the entire party here in cabs. Tell cook she 
 must give us some sort of a meal at once 
 . . • canned tomato soup to begin with, 
 followed by cold canned tongue, and . . ." 
 
 " The breakfast iishballs," suggested 
 Mary Anne. 
 
 "Excellent!" exclaimed her mistress. 
 "And after that we might have . . ." 
 
 " Marmalade," suggested Mary Anne. 
 
 "And buckwheat cakes," Selma inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 Of course," her mother acquiesced, 
 
 that will have to do . • . with lots of 
 bread and butter. . . . And now," she 
 added cheerfully, turning to her guests, 
 "we'll all go into the drawing-room and 
 guess conundrums till dinner is ready. 
 How fortunate it was that we had had our 
 oysters before the accident ! " 
 
 "My dear," said Mr. Livermore in a 
 whisper, " I fear that Bates is hopelessly 
 intoxicated." 
 
 119 
 
 <c 
 

 ON KHE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 "Oh, Lemuel, what are we to do?" 
 gasped the hostess, clutching the hat-rack 
 for support. 
 
 They were alone together in the hall and 
 face to face with a dilemma. 
 
 I give it up," said Mr. Livermore. 
 You can't," rejoined his wife. " You'll 
 have to think of something." 
 
 " Perhaps," suggested the gentleman 
 foolishly, "an angel might be induced to 
 come down from heaven ..." 
 
 But his words were truer than he 
 thought; a figure which had been creeping 
 unobserved down the stairs now stood be- 
 fore them. 
 
 "Auguste!" gasped Mrs. Livermore, 
 with an almost superstitious start. 
 
 "Yes, Madame," replied her former 
 servant, while his benignant smile brought 
 reassurance; "it is 1. I have taken ze lib- 
 erty of dropping in to wish Madame a 
 merry Christmas." 
 
 "Thank Heaven!" cried the Hostess, re- 
 straining her impulse to fall upon his neck. 
 
 120 
 
ON .THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " Now you must stay and help us out of 
 our difficulties. You know exactly where 
 all the silver is," 
 
 "Perfectly," replied the man respect- 
 fully, " and it will give me great pleasure 
 to once more serve Madame." 
 
 "Auguste," said Mr. Livermore, "let 
 bygones be forgotten. Go quickly and set 
 the table, and put on everything to make it 
 look attractive." 
 
 " Pardon, Monsieur," Auguste protested. 
 " might it not seem out of place to display 
 too much silver at such a simple meal? " 
 
 " He is right," declared Mrs. Livermore, 
 "Auguste is right. His taste was always 
 perfect — even in champagne." 
 
 Further discussion was prevented for the 
 time by Selma's appearance at the draw- 
 ing-room door, convulsed with mirth. Close 
 at her side stood JMr. Mickleworth, also 
 laughing. 
 
 "Oh, mamma!" cried the daughter of 
 the house, " will you come and see what 
 somebody has sent us as a present? The 
 
 121 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 ugliest thing conceivable, an absolute mon- 
 strosity." 
 
 But the Livermores were thankful for 
 the sofa, and the diversion which it brought. 
 As no one present could possibly have made 
 such a choice, they felt at liberty to abuse it 
 to their hearts' content, and they stood just 
 then in dire need of something to abuse 
 • . . until the fishballs filled the atmos- 
 phere >vith welcome fragrance. 
 
 Later, after Auguste had compounded 
 his celebrated punch, they said some most 
 amusing things about the lounge. 
 
 " It would make a capital wedding gift," 
 laughed Mr. Livermore, with a sly glance 
 at Mr. Bertram Pease, and Miss McCunn 
 declared that she would die single rather 
 than begin married life in the society of 
 the monstrosity. 
 
 As time went on the spirit of the joyous 
 season filled the company, and Yule-tide 
 pastimes were suggested. 
 
 " In my young days," said Mrs. Pease, 
 growing distinctly sporty, " we used to play 
 
 122 
 
ox THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 hide-and-seek all over the old homestead, 
 and whoever found the person hiding was 
 entitled to a kiss." 
 
 "Capital!" pronounced Doctor Van 
 Cott, debating" which of the ]Misses Mapes 
 a prosperous practitioner would be most 
 fortunate in finding. 
 
 " Let's play it now," cried Uncle Ber- 
 tram, knowing quite well whom he himself 
 should seek most diligently. 
 
 "Good!" put in Mr. Mickleworth, "111 
 be It first. All go into the little smoking- 
 room, and when I say ' Coo ' come out and 
 look for me." To Selma he added, in a 
 whisper, "If you, while searching, should 
 hum 'In the Gloaming' softly, may I 
 scratch to let you know where I am? " 
 
 Miss Livermore blushed. 
 
 Now, of course, the game was all a joke, 
 not to be taken seriously, and to make the 
 situation funnier, Mr. INIickleworth, who, 
 in his boarding-house commonly kept his 
 evening clothes in a divan box, went 
 direct to the monstrosity and climbed in, 
 
 123 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 closing the lid upon himself. But, as it 
 happened, Mr. Mickleworth's box was old- 
 fashioned and unprovided with the latest 
 patent catch, impregnable to those unac- 
 quainted with the combination. His posi- 
 tion, therefore, in the lounge's dark interior 
 must have been alarming for a moment, 
 had he not discovered an ample breathing 
 hole, concealed from outward observation 
 by a fringe. Some bundles, hard and angu- 
 lar, occasioned but a trifling inconvenience 
 at his feet. 
 
 "Coo!" cried Mr. Mickleworth through 
 the hole, when he had allowed sufficient time 
 to mystify his fellow players. But for a 
 moment it seemed to him that the others 
 had not been playing fair, for there were 
 voices speaking close to him. 
 
 *' Say, you're a slick one, Frenchy," 
 somebody remarked in unfamiliar accents. 
 " You'll have your picture in the Gallery 
 
 yet." 
 
 "Zat is all right," a foreign voice re- 
 plied, " I know my business." 
 
 Now others appeared to join in the con- 
 
 124 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 versation, and it became evident that the 
 entire company had entered, 
 
 "Let me out!" cried Mr. Mickleworth, 
 but in the general Babel no one heard, and 
 presently Mrs. Livermore's silvery notes 
 were audible above the rest. 
 
 " It was a very stupid mistake," she said. 
 *' You should have known such an ugly 
 thing could not be for us. Please take it 
 away at once, and another time be more 
 careful about reading the address." 
 
 " I'm sorry, mum," retorted somebody, 
 " but I do hope you won't go for to report 
 us to the firm? We're just pore working- 
 
 men." 
 
 a 
 
 You have probably been drinking," put 
 in Mr. Livermore magnanimously, " and as 
 it is Christmas we will overlook the error. 
 Auguste, see that they do not scratch the 
 wood- work." 
 
 "Hurrah!" cried Selma joyfully. "It's 
 going. The Monstrosity is being taken 
 away. I hope whoever gets it will appre- 
 ciate its merits more than we did." 
 
 " Let me out ! Let me out ! " cried Mr. 
 
 [125 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 Mickleworth, but by this time all the guests 
 were chattering louder than ever. 
 
 Doctor Van Cott and the two Misses 
 Mapes joined hands and danced as King 
 David did before the Ark. Mr. Bertram 
 Pease at the piano began to play the first 
 selection that occurred to him, which 
 chanced to be the Wedding March. The 
 others clapped their hands and cheered. 
 
 "Let me out!" cried Mr. Mickleworth 
 for the last time from his prison, but an 
 oily apron was now pressed tight against 
 the hole, and he caught the whispered ob- 
 servation : 
 
 " Say, Frenchy, you must have chucked 
 the cat in by mistake." 
 
 He felt himself raised, jolted, tipped; he 
 felt the chill of cold night air as it found 
 access through the crack. He realized that 
 he was being thrust feet first into a van 
 and driven rapidly, he knew not where. 
 
 " And now," said Mr. Sellars, " I think 
 we had better look for Mr. Mickleworth." 
 
 126 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 "Let us begin in the butler's pantry," 
 suggested Cousin Laura Fanshaw, not loud 
 enough for anyone else to hear. 
 
 The Christmas party sought high and 
 low; they penetrated to the upper floors, 
 and not until Selma had sung "In the 
 Gloaming " before every closet door did 
 they give up the quest. 
 
 " It's most mysterious," asserted the host. 
 
 " It's worse," his wife corrected him ; 
 " it's most ill-bred." 
 
 " Oh, we must look again," cried Selma, 
 now in real distress; "he may be lying 
 somewhere faint and ill." 
 
 "Nonsense!" rejoined Mrs. Pease. 
 " Leave him alone, and, my word for it, he 
 will make his appearance in a little while 
 looking silly enough. Lemuel, a glass of 
 water, if you please." 
 
 While the good lady sank exhausted to 
 a chair, her devoted son-in-law hastened to 
 the dining-room to supply her want. 
 
 " The ice-pitcher is not there," he said, 
 returning. " I'll ring." 
 
 127 
 
ON tTHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 "But the pitcher must be in its usual 
 place on the sideboard with the other sil- 
 ver," his wife protested. 
 
 " But all the same, it isn't," he insisted. 
 *' There is nothing on the sideboard; not a 
 thing. Come see for yourself." 
 
 This gave occasion for the playful aphor- 
 ism concerning the inability of man to see 
 beyond his nose, but presently a scream 
 from Mrs. Livermore confirmed her hus- 
 band's statement. 
 
 "My pitcher!" she cried piteously. 
 "My silver dishes! My epergne! Where 
 have they gone? Where is Auguste?" 
 
 " Auguste," said Mary Anne, who, 
 scenting an excitement, now ran up the 
 kitchen stairs, " has also gone. He drove 
 oif with the sofa in the van." 
 
 "With the sofa?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am; sitting on it." 
 
 " Robbed! " cried Mr. Livermore, with a 
 lightning flash of keen conviction, and the 
 entire company repeated in a hollow chorus : 
 
 "Robbed!" 
 
 128 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 But Mr. Livermore's lightning, after the 
 manner of such fluids, was not satisfied to 
 score a single bull's-eye. 
 
 " It was a deep conspiracy/* he went on, 
 becoming clairvoyant, " and ten to one that 
 Mickle worth young man was in the plot." 
 
 " You shall not say such horrid things of 
 him, papa," cried Selma. 
 
 " A thief! " persisted Mr. Livermore, dis- 
 regarding her. "A villain in disguise! I 
 don't believe that this impostor was ever 
 Cousin Dick's old chum." 
 
 " Oh, papa," Selma interrupted, trem- 
 bling; "Dick himself introduced Mr. Mic- 
 kle worth to me at Southampton last sum- 
 mer. I did not tell you about it till 
 you could know him and see how nice he 
 is." 
 
 " Nice? " gasped her mother. " Nice? " 
 
 "Yes, mamma," Selma cried, sobbing, 
 but still undaunted; "awfully nice, and he 
 can write the most respectful little notes." 
 
 " Notes? " screamed her mother. " Selma, 
 you stand there and tell me you have cor- 
 
 129 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 responded with a burglar? Oh, that I 
 should have lived to see this day ! " 
 
 Miss McCunn, much disturbed, had re- 
 tired to the smoking-room, where Mr. Ber- 
 tram Pease did all he could to comfort her. 
 Doctor Van Cott on the stairs had put an 
 impartial arm about each of the Misses 
 Mapes. Cousin Laura Fanshaw, behind a 
 screen, wept copiously on Mr. Sellars's left 
 lapel. 
 
 " In my young days," said Mrs. Pease, 
 " we kept a closer watch on both our chil- 
 dren and our silverware." 
 
 " Mother," cried Mrs. Livermore, " don't 
 make things worse by being aggravating. 
 Poor Selma is suiFering enough." 
 
 " I am not suffering at all," protested 
 Selma stoutly. " My faith in George re- 
 mains unshaken." 
 
 George!" ejaculated her mother. 
 
 Lemuel, do you hear? " 
 
 I do," replied Mr. Livermore, " and I'll 
 attend to George's case just as soon as I 
 can get Mulberry Street on the telephone." 
 
 ISO 
 
 (C 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " Stop! " cried his wife; "we must avoid 
 a scandal." 
 
 The doorbell, which had taken such an 
 active part in this eventful evening, now 
 rang again. A silence followed, while the 
 form of Bates was seen to pass through the 
 hall. Then, almost with his accustomed 
 dignity, though somewhat pale and wet 
 about the head, he reappeared. 
 
 "Mr. Mickleworth ! " he announced. 
 
 "I knew itl" Selma cried, with jubila- 
 tion. 
 
 And Mr. Mickleworth it was, in truth, 
 though much disheveled as to dress. A 
 streak of mud lay on his rumpled shirt- 
 front, and his evening coat suggested active 
 combat. From each shoulder hung a nose- 
 bag, such as teamsters use for feeding 
 horses in the street, and each bag bulged 
 with priceless silver heirlooms. Behind him 
 came a stalwart minion of the law, bearing 
 the family ice-pitcher on a massive salver. 
 
 " Ah, ha ! " cried Mr. Livermore compla- 
 cently. " So, ho! ' Caught with the goods 
 
 isi 
 
ON iTHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 on,' as you say officially. You have done 
 well, officer, and this night's work shall not 
 go unrewarded." 
 
 " It wasn't me," the policeman protested 
 ungrammatically; "this here young feller 
 did it all himself." 
 
 " That we already know," said Mrs. Liv- 
 ermore. 
 
 "Be quiet, my child, until we hear the 
 story," put in Mrs. Pease, who usually ob- 
 jected to her daughter's methods. 
 
 And the i)oliceman told his tale. 
 
 " This here young chap," he said, witK 
 generous fervor, " must be a regular Her- 
 culaneum. He burst the lock and stopped 
 the van and knocked two of the robbers out 
 of time. When I came up he had the 
 Frenchman by the throat, a-rolling of him 
 in the mud. All I had to do was to ring 
 for the patrol, and help him bring the stuff 
 right back to you for recognition." 
 
 "Ahem!" said Mr. Livermore, "Ahem! 
 Ahem!" 
 
 " Papa," cried Selma, while tears of tri- 
 
 132 
 
ON tTHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 umph made her eyes more bright, " aren't 
 you going to shake hands with George?" 
 
 And thereupon Mr. Livermore cordially 
 enough did shake hands with George. 
 
 " Papa," said Selma, " won't you tell 
 George that his part in this night's w^ork 
 shall not go unrewarded? " 
 
 *' Oh, tell him that yourself," cried old 
 Mrs. Pease impatiently. 
 
 In the drawing-room Mr. Bertram Pease 
 was playing the Wedding March. 
 
 iss 
 
THE PRIESTESS OF AMEN RA 
 
THE PRIESTESS OE AMEN RA 
 
 IN tHe cold light from the tall studio 
 window Frank INIorewood's face 
 seemed almost haggard, and certainly 
 the right hand which held the little 
 square of photographic paper trembled per- 
 ceptibly. His left hand still retained its 
 glove, although he had been George Dun- 
 barton's guest for fully half an hour; his 
 hat was pushed back on his head, his cane 
 beneath his arm, as though he had forgot- 
 ten everything except the negative before 
 his eyes. 
 
 " Dunbarton," he demanded, with an ob- 
 vious effort at unconcern, " is this some silly 
 trick you have been playing me? " 
 
 The other, openly impatient, shrugged 
 
 his shoulders beneath the velvet painter's 
 
 jacket, and took a step toward the Frisian 
 
 cabinet upon which lay a box of cigarettes. 
 
 "A trick, indeed!" he repeated across 
 
 137 
 
ON tTHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 the flaming match. "You must think I 
 have very Httle on my mind! " Then, under 
 the inspiring influence of the Melachrino, 
 his just resentment of the charge expressed 
 itself more vehemently. " You break in 
 upon me like a wild man; you insist that I 
 stop in my serious work to develop your 
 wretched little film; you watch every step 
 of the process with the most unflattering 
 suspicion, and now, by Jove, you're not 
 satisfied!" 
 
 " Dunbarton," Morewood calmly replied, 
 holding the print above his head, " you can- 
 not realize what this may mean to me; the 
 thing is too strange, too weird." 
 
 Dunbarton blew a smoke ring toward the 
 ceiling, thoughtfully. " These amateur 
 snap-shots are usually a trifie weird," he 
 admitted, " they seldom do the subject jus- 
 tice, especially in the eyes of ardent admi- 
 ration. Better keep your treasure covered 
 up, old man, if you don't want it to fade 
 out altogether. It isn't fixed, you know; 
 it's just a negative." 
 
 1S8 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 " It's the most positive thing that ever 
 came into the world," his visitor asserted; 
 " the truest, the most wonderful." 
 
 " And so have twenty other pretty faces 
 been for you, my dear boy," the confidant 
 urged. "Each wonder commonly endures 
 about a month." 
 
 " This wonder has endured three thou- 
 sand years and more," retorted More wood, 
 once more regarding the photograph with 
 reverent awe. 
 
 "A case of re-incarnation, I suppose?" 
 the other suggested lightly, with a glance 
 at his neglected easel that might have been 
 accepted as a hint. " You'll excuse me if I 
 daub a little on the masterpiece while the 
 light lasts?" he added. "Going; no? 
 Well, I'm glad to have you stay. Trouble? 
 Oh, none at all. Always happy to oblige a 
 friend. Of course, if vou mean to follow 
 up photography you ought to learn how to 
 do these little things for yourself. And, by 
 the way, do get a decent camera instead of 
 a Cheap Jack department store affair such 
 
 139 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 as every Seeing New Yorker has slung 
 across his shoulder. Get out of the light, 
 please. Sit down, do! Take off your hat; 
 have a cigarette; make yourself comfort- 
 able, confound you! " 
 
 " Thanks, old man," Morewood an- 
 swered, " I won't smoke; and, as for work 
 this afternoon, I mean to tell you something 
 which shall put all other thoughts out of 
 your head for a while. I mean to tell you 
 presently of the most wonderful thing that 
 ever happened in the world." 
 
 "Great Scott!" the artist groaned; "is 
 it as bad as that? Please keep your stick a 
 little farther from my canvas, if you don't 
 mind." 
 
 " It's quite a long story," Morewood ad- 
 mitted, disposing of the cane. 
 
 "Most of yours are!" his friend inter- 
 jected. 
 
 Already the shadows were beginning to 
 invade the painter's spacious studio; lurk- 
 ing in the folds of Flemish tapestry and 
 Oriental stuffs, and filling distant corners 
 where the glint of steel and copper arms 
 
 140 
 
ON rTrHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 and arabesques suggested the twinkling 
 eyes of impish and unearthly listeners. If 
 there is a time for everything, the early twi- 
 light is the season for story-telling, and the 
 painter felt far less reluctance than he 
 feigned when he resigned himself to listen. 
 Throwing himself upon a divan and clasp- 
 ing his hands about an elevated knee, he 
 said, " Begin your yarn, old fellow, I'm 
 all attention." 
 
 Morewood tooK oif his Hat, bestrode a 
 chair, and rested both elbows on its 
 back. 
 
 " Dunbarton,^' He remarked, by way of 
 introduction, "I don't suppose you have 
 ever so mucK as heard of the college of 
 Amen Ra?" 
 
 " Never in my life! " the other admitted 
 frankly. " Where under the sun may be the 
 college of Amen Ra? " 
 
 '' No longer anywhere beneath tHe sun," 
 Morewood replied, "but it used to be in 
 Thebes about sixteen hundred years before 
 Christ, as nearly as I can remember." 
 
 "Quite near enough," Dunbarton as- 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 sented amiably. " We will not let a century 
 or so retard a narrative which is to compre- 
 hend three thousand years." 
 
 " Don't jump too quickly at conclu- 
 sions!" protested More wood. "The story 
 as I know it goes no farther back than the 
 early sixties, when a party of five friends 
 from Philadelphia " 
 
 " Quakers? " inquired the painter. 
 
 "I don't know!" replied the other, not 
 without a touch of irritation. " Five ac- 
 quaintances, men of cultivation and means, 
 who in the course of travel ascended the 
 Nile as far as the first cataract. At Luxor 
 they rested for a week, with a view to visit- 
 ing the site of the great city of Thebes, and 
 especially its marvelous and mystic temple 
 of Amen Ra, unequaled upon earth for the 
 sublimity of its ruined magnificence " 
 
 " For further particulars, see Baedeker! " 
 Dunbarton muttered. 
 
 "Upon the night of their arrival," con- 
 tinued the narrator, unheeding the inter- 
 ruption, " a fete was given in their honor 
 
 142 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 by the Consul, Mustapha Aga. It was in 
 the middle of this festivity, and during a 
 dance by the Gaivasi girls of Luxor, that a 
 strange nomad from the desert made his 
 appearance unexpectedly. The Sheik Ben 
 Ali, he was called, and his errand was to in- 
 form Mustapha Aga of the discovery, near 
 a certain oasis, of an object of unusual in- 
 terest, nothing less than a mimimy case of 
 surpassing beauty which had once held the 
 body of a high priestess of Amen Ra." 
 
 " Hold on! " Dunbarton interrupted, re- 
 linquishing his grasp upon his knee. " Your 
 local color is so intense that I feel mvself 
 in danger of becoming interested." 
 
 ** Just wait until I get a little farther," 
 answered Morewood, with a touch of tri- 
 umph; "I only wish you could hear the 
 story as it was told to me." 
 
 " By whom, if one might ask? " inquired 
 Dunbarton, and his friend replied impres- 
 sively : 
 
 " By a venerable man whom I met by the 
 merest chance late one afternoon in the 
 
 143 
 
ON lTjHE lightship 
 
 Egyptian room of the Metropolitan Mu- 
 seum — a strange old man, poorly dressed, 
 but who had evidently seen better days, for 
 he had traveled much in the East and knew 
 the country well." 
 
 " I recognize the type," Dunbarton com- 
 mented, " and make no doubt your learned 
 friend was in the end prevailed upon to 
 accept a trifling loan " 
 
 " That has nothing to do with the story," 
 Morewood retorted. ** How far had I 
 got? " 
 
 " You were in Luxor, at the last re- 
 ports," the other prompted, " attending an 
 informal little dance of Gaivasi ladies." 
 
 "Yes, yes," cried Morewood, taking up 
 his thread again. " It was, indeed, a scene 
 to captivate the traveler's fancy." 
 Never mind the scene ! " 
 I don't intend to. Escorted by Musta- 
 pha Aga and his guard, they left the revels 
 and followed the mysterious sheik out into 
 the desert to a grove of palm-trees, where, 
 
 T44 
 
 (C 
 
ON OGHE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 bathed in the Egyptian moonlight, lay the 
 marvelous mummy-case." 
 
 "What had become of the mummy?" 
 asked Dunbarton. 
 
 "Hush!" Morewood whispered rever- 
 ently. *' Hear the story. The case, though 
 decorated throughout with a surpassing 
 skill, was most remarkable for the extreme 
 beauty of the woman's face portrayed upon 
 its upper end, in colors which had defied 
 the ravages of time." 
 
 " I know the kind! " the painter put in. 
 ** Flat nose, wdde mouth, two staring eyes, 
 that might be either rights or lefts." 
 
 " The art of that period was, as we know, 
 conventional," returned Morewood, "and 
 it was that very fact which made this par- 
 ticular painting so remarkable, for it was 
 realistic, vivid; it conveyed, indeed, a dis- 
 tinct impression of personality." 
 
 "Oh, amazing!" Dunbarton murmured. 
 
 "The most amazing thing in the world, 
 as you yourself will presently admit," con- 
 
 145 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 tinued the story-teller. " You may believe 
 the travelers were overjoyed to be the first 
 outsiders to whom the treasure had been 
 shown. They were not only men of talent 
 and cultivation, but each was abundantly 
 able to pay the very moderate price de- 
 manded by the sheik, and they lost no time 
 in closing the bargain. To avoid conten- 
 tion, they drew lots among themselves for 
 the privilege of becoming the owner of the 
 mummy-case." 
 
 Here the narrator made an effective 
 pause, and Dunbarton took the opportunity 
 to light another cigarette. 
 
 " At first," pursued Morewood, " good 
 fortune seemed to favor the eldest of the 
 party, who was designated to me simply as 
 Mr, X., though I strongly suspect him to 
 have been no other than my old acquaint- 
 ance of the Museum. But he had a gener- 
 ous disposition, and, touched by the keen 
 disappointment of another member of the 
 party, he relinquished his rights in favor of 
 the second liighest number, after an owner- 
 
 U6 
 
ON OGHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 ship of barely thirty seconds. Mr. P. forth- 
 with became the sole possessor of the cov- 
 eted object. I need not now recount the 
 circumstances which led in the course of a 
 few months to the transfer of the property 
 to each in turn of the remaining members 
 of the company, Mr. G. and Mr. Q. But 
 here begins the mystery." 
 
 Another dramatic pause and the 
 speaker's voice deepened. 
 
 " Within the year, P. lost his life by the 
 explosion of a fowling piece without visible 
 cause; G. disappeared while bathing in the 
 Nile in the vicinity of a crocodile pool, and 
 Q,, after a period of captivity among hos- 
 tile Arabs, died of a snake bite. Mr. X. 
 alone survived, and arrived in Cairo broken 
 in health, only to learn that the greater part 
 of his fortune had been lost through the 
 knavery of an agent. Truly, the priestess 
 of Amen Ra had signified her displeasure 
 in a most convincing manner." 
 
 "Who the deuce was she?" demanded 
 
 Dunbarton. 
 
 [1455 
 
ON -THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 "Why, the mummy, as I should have 
 told you." 
 
 " But you didn't," remarked the painter. 
 "And why do you suppose she was dis- 
 pleased?" 
 
 " Because," the other replied, with con- 
 viction, " she had been accustomed in life 
 to veneration, worship, love, and naturally 
 she did not like to have her cofBn knocked 
 about from place to place." 
 
 " I see," Dunbarton admitted gravely, 
 but with the suspicion of a yawn sup- 
 pressed. " What became of the coffin? " 
 
 " It had been shipped meanwhile to Ger- 
 mantown as a gift to the aunt of the last 
 owner, a lady of so far unblemished repu- 
 tation, who almost unmediately acquired 
 the cocaine habit." 
 
 "What? Cocaine in the sixties?" cried 
 the painter captiously. 
 
 "Perhaps it may have been opium," 
 Morewood admitted. " At all events she 
 took to something pernicious, lost every- 
 thing she had, and finally sold the precious 
 
 148 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 relic to a Mrs. Meiswinkle, of Tuckahoe, 
 who gave it a conspicuous place in her ba- 
 ronial hall." 
 
 "Which promptly burnt down without 
 insurance,'* Dunbarton supplemented at a 
 venture. 
 
 "As it happens, it didn't," Morewood 
 answered with spirit. " But from that day 
 misfortune following misfortune fell upon 
 the family — troubles, disappointments, 
 losses. I have all the details, if you care to 
 hear them." 
 
 Dunbarton made a sweeping gesture of 
 negation, and his friend resumed: "It so 
 happened that this Mrs. Meiswinkle, who 
 was something of an amateur in occultism, 
 received one day a visit from a noted adept 
 in theosophy. This gentleman, who had 
 newly come from Thibet and was in conse- 
 quence highly sensitive, had scarcely set 
 foot in the house when he announced the 
 presence of a sinister influence. ' There is 
 something here,' he cried, 'that simply ra- 
 diates misfortune.' " 
 
 149 
 
ON lTHE lightship 
 
 " Extraordinary acumen ! " Dunbarton 
 murmured, having got the better of the 
 yawn. 
 
 "Of course," Morewood proceeded, "it 
 did not take an expert long to identify the 
 mummy-case, and of course a weight of 
 evidence to support the adept's assertion 
 was not long in accumulating. All the mis- 
 fortunes which had befallen its recent 
 owners were quickly traced in some direct 
 way to the possession of the mysterious 
 coffin, and in the end Mrs. Meiswinkle 
 needed no great persuasion to rid herself of 
 the thing forever." 
 
 How?" Dunbarton asked. 
 She made a present of it to the city of 
 New York." 
 
 "Noble woman!" cried the painter. 
 " That simple act of patriotism may ac- 
 count for much! " 
 
 It was a frivolous remark, but more than 
 once Morewood had noticed that his com- 
 panion glanced over his shoulder when a 
 breeze from the open windows stirred some 
 
 150 
 
 « 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 bit of drapery, although the studio was still 
 well lighted by a golden sunset. The story- 
 teller's manner would have made a stoic 
 nervous. His muscles twitched, his eyes 
 had brightened, and his bearing was that of 
 one determined to throw off the burden of 
 a mighty secret. 
 
 "Dunbarton," he said solemnly, "that 
 mummy-case stands at this moment in the 
 uptown corner of the first Egyptian room, 
 numbered 22,542 in the catalogue, which 
 reads, * Lid of Egyptian coffin, unearthed 
 at Thebes,' and the name of the donor; 
 nothing more. No word to tell that this 
 poor shell of papier-mache once contained 
 the mortal body of a priestess of Amen Ra ; 
 no hint of her surpassing loveliness except 
 the lineaments you painters sneer at, and 
 the ill-drawn hands crossed on her breast. 
 She is gone; she is forgotten — she that was 
 the most beautiful of Nature's works ! " 
 
 " Frank," said Dunbarton, " has this 
 story of yours anything to do with your 
 Kodak film?" 
 
 151 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 "Yes, everything!" Morewood declared, 
 speaking rapidly. " Listen. To-day I 
 smuggled my camera into the Museum, and 
 stood before the mummy-case undetected. 
 But scarcely had I pressed the button when 
 I was arrested by an official, who confis- 
 cated the machine and took it to the parcel 
 room. I lost no time in finding the Direc- 
 tor, gave my name and yours for surety 
 for my respectability, and, after some de- 
 lay and red tape, got back my prop- 
 erty." 
 
 " You were lucky," the other commented 
 coolly. " The rules are very strict. Well? 
 Is that the end?" 
 
 "No!" exclaimed Morewood, "only the 
 beginning, as I firmly believe. I am now 
 about to tell you of an extraordinary fact, 
 which I have so far purposely kept back." 
 Dunbarton sighed. 
 
 " I am going to startle you," went on 
 Morewood. " While the casket was still in 
 the possession of Mrs. Meiswinkle, she, act- 
 ing under the theosophist's direction, sent 
 
 152 
 
ON tTHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 for an expert and had a photograph taken 
 of the lid, with every possible safeguard 
 against deception or mistake." 
 
 He spoke with tremulous deliberation; 
 now he rose to his feet, and his eyes, fixed 
 upon the wall above his listener's head, 
 seemed to gaze beyond its limits. 
 
 " G^eorge, I should not tell you this, had 
 I not the proof of its truth which even a 
 scoffer like yourself can hardly question. 
 tWhen the plate was developed it was not 
 the painted features of the mummy-case 
 that looked from the negative, but — the 
 face of a living woman! The face of the 
 priestess of Amen Ra, unchanged through 
 three thousand years, and alive! '* 
 
 "That must have jarred them!" Dun- 
 barton commented irreverently. " It was go- 
 ing it pretty strong, even for Thibet." But 
 his cigarette dropped to the floor unheeded. 
 
 "And mark me, George," Morewood 
 said, very gravely, "it was the same face, 
 I have not the slightest doubt, that you and 
 I beheld to-day appear before us, the same 
 
 153 
 
ON lThe lightship 
 
 strange, wonderfully beautiful face that I 
 hold now in my hand." 
 
 " By Jove! " ejaculated Dunbarton, alive 
 at once to the arcane significance of the 
 statement. "But you can't really be- 
 lieve " 
 
 " I believe nothing that I have not seen," 
 asseverated More wood. " Nothing that you 
 have not seen yourself. I, too, was incred- 
 ulous at first; I laughed at the story of the 
 photograph as the figment of a disordered 
 brain ; but it took possession of me, haunted 
 me night and day, until I determined to 
 prove its wild impossibility to myself. I 
 bought a camera, took it to the Museum, 
 as I have told you, and came directly here 
 with the result. You yourself developed the 
 film; you saw the face appear; if you can 
 suggest any other explanation of the mys- 
 tery, in Heaven's name let us discuss it 
 reasonably." 
 
 "Let me look at the glass film again," 
 Dunbarton suggested, below his breath. He 
 picked up the smoldering cigarette and, 
 
 154 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 coming to his friend's side, looked long and 
 gravely at the glass film. Both men were 
 silent for a time, so silent that they could 
 hear their own hearts beating. 
 
 " She is indeed beautiful," said the 
 painter, finally. " To our eyes she seems 
 about twenty years old, though Eastern 
 women reach perfection early. That dia- 
 dem upon her brow is, I think, the two- 
 horned crown of Isis. The drapery falling 
 down on either side is certainly Egyptian 
 and probably of a period antedating the 
 Pharaohs, but the type of feature is scarcely 
 Oriental." 
 
 " Yet Cleopatra was a blonde," More- 
 wood suggested. 
 
 " True," assented the other, " and pos- 
 sibly the race three thousand years ago dif- 
 fered materially from the degenerate 
 Sphinx-like personalities of the hiero- 
 glyphics. We must get Biggins of the 
 Smithsonian to give us his opinion." 
 
 " Never! " cried Morewood, thrusting the 
 negative in his breast. 
 
 155 
 
ON (THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " But in the interest of science " pro- 
 tested Dunbarton. 
 
 "Science?" Morewood returned scorn- 
 fully; "what has science to do with this? 
 What right have I to betray a lady's con- 
 fidence? " 
 
 Dunbarton made a sign of impatience. 
 "Your lady has been dead a matter of 
 three thousand years or more," he re- 
 marked. 
 
 "That's not true!" the other contra- 
 dicted, warmly. " I tell you, man, that 
 woman is alive to-day. Don't ask me to 
 explain the unexplainable. I simply know 
 that she lives, as young and innocent as 
 every feature of her face proclaims her. 
 For years, for centuries, perhaps, she has 
 been trying to make herself known to the 
 stupid brutes who have been incapable of 
 comprehending. But now, thank heaven, 
 she has selected me to do her will — what- 
 ever it may be — and I shall consecrate my 
 life to her!" 
 
 He grew very pale as he spoke, but there 
 was a rapt joy in his face. 
 
 156 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " See here, old man," Dunbarton remon- 
 strated kindly, with a hand on his shoulder, 
 " you're rather overwrought just now, and 
 I don't blame you. But take a friend's ad- 
 vice, and don't get spoony on a girl so very 
 much older than yourself. It never turns 
 out well." 
 
 "That's my affair!'* Morewood said, 
 doggedly. 
 
 "Of course, of course!" Dunbarton as- 
 sented. " She's awfully pretty, I admit, and 
 no doubt well connected; but, even if we 
 overlook her playful little way of killing 
 people, think of the difficulties about meet- 
 ing, and that sort of thing." 
 
 " I'm willing to leave it all to her," More- 
 wood said. " A priestess of Amen Ra must 
 have learned by this time every mystery of 
 life and death, and I am confident that in 
 the proper time and place I shall meet her 
 face to face." 
 
 " Old chap," Dunbarton pronounced with 
 conviction, " what you need is a good night's 
 rest." 
 
 But Morewood did not reply to this, for 
 
 157 
 
ON lTjHE lightship 
 
 the gentle swaying of an Eastern curtain 
 just then caught his eye. It hung before 
 the open door of the studio, and the move- 
 ment might have come from some breath of 
 air. But immediately it occurred again, 
 and this time accompanied by the vision of 
 a human hand, clearly in search of some- 
 thing on which to rap. 
 
 " There's someone there," said the 
 painter, whose eyes had followed the other's, 
 and he spoke lower: "Possibly a model in 
 search of work." Then he raised his voice 
 in an encouraging "Come in!" — the tone 
 that painters use to models who are often 
 pretty and sometimes timid. 
 
 Morewood paid no attention; he stood 
 transfixed, watching the swaying curtain. 
 His finger tips tingled with a strange elec- 
 tric current and his pulses beat with an un- 
 reasoning hope. Then Dunbarton said, a 
 little louder: 
 
 " Come in; please come in." 
 
 "I think the curtain must be caught," 
 replied a low, melodious voice without. 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 Dunbarton took three strides across the 
 room, seized the drapery, and, with a 
 single movement of his arm, swept it aside. 
 
 "Oh!" he cried, starting back, while 
 Morewood clutched the table for support. 
 Then, instantly recovering themselves, 
 both men bowed as in the presence of a 
 queen. And well they might. 
 
 Against the background of green velvet 
 curtain with its embroidery of dull gold, 
 there stood a lady all in poppy red, 
 crowned with a headdress seemingly of the 
 flowers themselves. It was not the dress of 
 any period of time, for since the beginning 
 of time flowers have grown for women to 
 wear, and the two onlookers, being mascu- 
 line, knew only that she wore them, and 
 cared not whether they had bloomed in Eden 
 or the Rue de la Paix. Time was for the mo- 
 ment eliminated, disregarded: the centuries 
 rolled away like dewdrops from a rose, for, 
 by the grace of Isis and Osiris, were they 
 not bowing before the peerless priestess of 
 the rites of Amen Ra? It was she and none 
 
 159 
 
ON lThe lightship 
 
 other — the mistress of the mummy-case, the 
 mystery of the Kodak film; the lady of 
 Thebes three thousand years ago. 
 
 More wood passed his hand across his 
 brow and caught his breath; Dunbarton 
 was the first to recover the power of 
 speech. 
 
 " Madam," he said, and his voice shook a 
 little, " you do me far too great an honor. 
 What is your will? You have but to com- 
 mand me." 
 
 " I venture to assert a prior claim to do 
 your bidding," put in Morewood, coming 
 forward quickly. 
 
 The priestess of Amen Ra tried to con- 
 trol a little laugh, and failed bewitchingly. 
 " I am looking for a Mr. Dunbarton," she 
 explained. 
 
 The painter drew himself erect and 
 bowed with dignity. *' I have the good for- 
 tune to bear that name," he said, taking a 
 sidewise step which left his friend a trifle in 
 the background. 
 
 "Oh, I am so glad!" cried the lady. 
 
 160 
 
ox iTHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 ** Then perhaps you can tell me where to 
 find a Mr. Morewood?" 
 
 "Your humble and devoted servant!" 
 the other man pronounced himself, execu- 
 ting a maneuver which totally eclipsed 
 Dunbarton. 
 
 " Really? " asked the lady, her face radi- 
 ant with pleasure. " How very fortunate! " 
 
 At this Morewood fairly beamed w^ith 
 satisfaction, but she went on rapidly, in a 
 silvery ripple of feminine narrative: 
 
 " Do you know, Mr. Morewood, that you 
 have something" of mine and I have some- 
 thing of yours? It was not my fault and 
 it wasn't yours, either; it was the stupid 
 person in the parcel room of the Museum. 
 Of course two Kodaks are exactly alike, 
 if one of them hasn't got a name scratched 
 on the bottom with a pin; but I don't sup- 
 pose he ever thought of looking, so he gave 
 you mine and me yours, and I should never 
 have found out who you were if you hadn't 
 been arrested. Of course it wouldn't have 
 made very much difference, after all, if 
 
 a6% 
 
ON .THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 my Cousin Jack hadn't snapped me in a 
 most ridiculous Egyptian fancy dress." 
 
 Dunbarton gave a groan as of agony 
 suppressed, and Morewood's face might 
 have been in color a fragment of the sacer- 
 dotal robe of Ra. 
 
 "Oh!" moaned the painter, "if I could 
 only howl!" 
 
 "Don't mind him, please!" the other 
 man pleaded. " You see, I, too, had used 
 a film, and we were rather interested in 
 seeing how it came out." 
 
 "Oh, but yours came out beautifully!" 
 she reassured him. " My Cousin Jack de- 
 veloped it after lunch. That's the way we 
 discovered the mistake, and here it is. We 
 made up our minds that you must be at 
 least seventy-five years old to want to pho- 
 tograph a hideous mummy-case." 
 
 It was then that Dunbarton mastered 
 himself and became once more conscious of 
 the duties of hospitality. 
 
 "A thousand pardons!" he protested, 
 
 " for not offering you a seat. This is a 
 
 162 
 
ON IHE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 painter's workshop, as you see, and there- 
 fore public property in a way. Might I 
 suggest a cup of tea? It won't take me a 
 minute to telephone for a chaperon." 
 
 The priestess was graciously pleased to 
 laugh. 
 
 " I should like tea," she said, with an ap- 
 proving glance about the room, flooded with 
 the last of a long sunset ; " but, if you don't 
 mind, I detest chaperons. You see, I'm 
 from Oklahoma." 
 
 There was an instant's Hesitation, then: 
 
 " My friend, Mr. Morewood," remarked 
 the painter, " has just been telling me the 
 strangest story in the world. Perhaps you 
 can induce him to repeat it for you." 
 
 He laughed a mocking laugh and turned 
 to busy himself with the silver tea-service 
 standing on an Adams table, while More- 
 wood drew forward a low chair for the 
 lady. 
 
 " Is your story romantic? " she asked, as 
 she settled her poppy-colored ruffles; *'has 
 it a heroine ? " 
 
 16S 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 "Oh, yes, indeed," he answered, by no 
 means including Dunbarton in the confi- 
 dence. "No less a personage than the 
 priestess of Amen Ra." 
 
 She looked at him suspiciously, while the 
 veriest suggestion of a blush suffused her 
 cheek. 
 
 " Is there anything about photograplis 
 in it?" she demanded, regarding him defi- 
 antly. 
 
 "Yes," he replied, "there is; a lot!" 
 
 " Then I don't care to hear it, for it's 
 certain to be stupid," she protested, pout- 
 ing. 
 
 " It IS," he told her, frankly; " and I shall 
 not inflict it on you now. But some day, 
 when we know each other better." 
 
 " We start for Boston to-morrow morn- 
 ing early," she interrupted; "and from 
 there we go to Bar Harbor for mamma's 
 hay fever. We're staying at the Wal- 
 dorf." 
 
 " Then I shall return the camera this 
 evening," said Morewood. 
 
 164 
 
ON iTHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 "If you do," she said, "my Cousin Jack 
 will be very glad to talk photographs with 
 you." 
 
 "How old is your Cousin Jack? " More- 
 wood demanded. 
 
 " Twelve," replied the lady, with just the 
 shadow of a smile. 
 
 165 
 
THE GIRL FROM MERCURY 
 
 AN INTERPLANETARY LOVE STORY 
 
 Being the interpretation of certain phonic vibragraphs 
 recorded by the Long's Peak Wireless Installation, now for 
 the first time made public through the courtesy of Pro- 
 fessor Caducious, Ph. D., sometime seceretary of the 
 Boulder branch of the association for the advancement of 
 interplanetary communication. 
 
 It is evident that the following logograms form part of 
 a correspondence between a young lady, formerly of Mer- 
 cury, and her confidential friend still resident upon the 
 inferior planet. The translator has thought it best to 
 preserve as far as possible the spirit of the original by the 
 employment of mundane colloquialisms; the result, in spite 
 of many regrettable trivialities will, it is believed, be of 
 interest to students of Cosmic Sociology. 
 
THE GIRL FROM MERCURY 
 
 THE FIRST RECORD 
 
 YES, dear, it's me. I'm down 
 here on the Earth, and in our 
 Settlement House, safe and 
 sound. I meant to have called 
 you up before, but really this is the first 
 moment I have had to myself all day. — 
 Yes, of course, I said " all day." You 
 know very well they have days and nights 
 here, because this restless little planet spins, 
 or something of the sort. — I haven't the 
 least idea why it does so, and I don't care. 
 — I did not come here to make intelligent 
 observations like a dowdy " Seeing Saturn " 
 tourist. So don't be Uranian. Try to ex- 
 ercise intuitive perception if I say anything 
 you can't understand. — What is that? — 
 Please concentrate a little harder. — Oh! 
 Yes, I have seen a lot of human beings al- 
 
 169 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 ready, and would you believe it? some of 
 them seem almost possible — especially one, 
 — But I will come to that one later. I've 
 got so much to tell you all at once I scarcely 
 know where to begin. — Yes, dear, the One 
 happens to be a man. You would not have 
 me discriminate, would you, when our ob- 
 ject is to bring whatever happiness we can 
 to those less fortunate than ourselves? You 
 know success in slumming depends first of 
 all upon getting yourself admired, for then 
 the others will want to be like you, and once 
 thoroughly dissatisfied with themselves they 
 are almost certain to reform. Of course I 
 am only a visitor here, and shall not stay 
 long enough to take up serious work, so 
 Ooma says I may as well proceed along the 
 line of least resistance. — If you remember 
 Ooma's enthusiasm when she ran the Board 
 of Missions to Inferior Planets, you can 
 fancy her now that she has an opportunity 
 to carry out all her theories. Oh, she's 
 srreat ! 
 
 My transmigration was disappointing as 
 
 170 
 
 to 
 
ON THE LIGHT SH IE 
 
 an experience. It was nothing more tKan 
 going to sleep and dreaming about circles 
 — orange circles, yellow circles, with a thou- 
 sand others of graduated shades between, 
 and so on through the spectrum till you 
 pass absolute green and get a tone or two 
 toward blue and strike the Earth color-note. 
 Then with me everything got jumbled to- 
 gether and seemed about to take new 
 shapes, and I woke up in the most common- 
 place manner and opened my eyes to find 
 myself externalized in our Earth Settle- 
 ment House with Ooma laughing at me, 
 
 "Don't stir!" she cried. "Don't lift a 
 finger till we are sure your specific gravity 
 is all right." And then she pinched me to 
 see if I was dense enough, because the at- 
 mosphere is heavier or lighter or something 
 here than with us. 
 
 I reminded her that matter everywhere 
 must maintain an absolute equilibrium with! 
 its environment, but she protested. 
 
 " That's well enough in theory ; you must 
 understand that the Earth is awfully out 
 
 171 
 
ON fCHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 of tune at present, and sometimes it re- 
 quires time to readjust ourselves to its con- 
 ditions." 
 
 — I did not say so, but I fancy Ooma 
 may have been undergoing readjustment. 
 — My dear, she has grown as pudgy as a 
 Jupitan, and her clothes — but then she al- 
 ways did look more like a spiral nebula than 
 anything else. 
 
 {The record here becomes unintelligible by 
 reason of the passage of a thunderstorm 
 above the summit of Long's Peak,) 
 
 — There must be star-dust in the ether. 
 — I never had to concentrate so hard be- 
 fore. — That's all about the Settlement 
 House, and don't accuse me again of slight- 
 ing details. I'm sure you know the place 
 now as well as Ooma herself, so I can go 
 on to tell what little I have learned about 
 human beings. 
 
 It seems I am never to admit that I was 
 not born on Earth, for, like all provincials, 
 the humans pride themselves on disbelieving 
 everything beyond their own experience, 
 
 172 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 and if they understood they would be cer- 
 tain to resent intrusions from another 
 planet. I'm sure I don't blame them alto- 
 gether when I recall those patronizing Ju- 
 pitans. — And I'm told they are awfully 
 jealous and distrustful even of one another, 
 herding together for protection and gov- 
 erned by so many funny little tribal codes 
 that what is right on one side of an imagin- 
 ary boundary may be wrong on the other. 
 — Ooma considers this survival of the 
 group-soul most interesting, and intends to 
 make it the subject of a paper. I mention 
 it only to explain why we call our Settle- 
 ment a Boar ding-House. A Boarding- 
 House, you must know, is fundamentally a 
 hunting pack which one can affiliate with or 
 separate from at will. — Rather a pale yel- 
 low idea, isn't it? Ooma thinks it necessary 
 to conform to it in order to be considered 
 respectable, which is the one thing on Earth 
 most desired. — What, dear? — Oh, I don't 
 know what it means to be respectable any 
 more than you do. — One thing more. 
 
 17s 
 
ON iTjHE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 You'll have to draw on your imagination! 
 Ooma is called here Mrs. Bloomer. — Her 
 own name was just a little too unearthly. 
 Mrs. signifies that a woman is married. — 
 What? — Oh, no, no, no, nothing of the sort. 
 — But I shall have to leave that for another 
 time. I'm not at all sure how it is my- 
 self. 
 
 By the way, if any one should ask you 
 where I am, just say IVe left the planet, 
 and you don't know when I shall be back. 
 — Yes, you know who I mean. — And, dear, 
 perhaps you might drop a hint that I de- 
 test all foreigners, especially Jupitans. — 
 Please don't laugh so hard; you'll get the 
 atmospheric molecules all woozy. — Indeed, 
 there's not the slightest danger here. Just 
 fancy, if you please, beings who don't know 
 when they are hungry without consulting 
 a wretched little mechanism, and who meas- 
 ure their radius of conception bj^ the length 
 of their own feet. — Of course I shall be 
 on hand for the Solstice! I wouldn't miss 
 that for an asteroid! — Oh, did I really 
 
 [I74i 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 promise that? Well, I'll tell you about him 
 another time. 
 
 THE SECOND RECORD — THOUGH PROBABLY 
 THIRD COMMUNICATIOlSr 
 
 — I really must not waste so much gray 
 matter, dear, over unimportant details. But 
 I simply had to tell you all about my 
 struggles with the clothes. When Ooma 
 came back, just as I had mastered them 
 with the aid of her diagrams, the dear thing 
 was so much pleased she actually hugged 
 me, and I must confess the effect made me 
 forget my discomfort. Really, an Earth 
 girl is not so much to be pitied if she has 
 becoming dresses to wear. As you may be 
 sure I was anxious to compare myself with 
 others, I was glad enough to hear Ooma 
 suggest going out. 
 
 " Come on," she said, executively, " I 
 have only a half -hour to devote to your first 
 walk. Keep close beside me, and remem- 
 ber on no account to either dance or sing." 
 
 175 
 
ON PCHE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 " But if I see others dancing may I not 
 join them? " I inquired. 
 
 "You won't see anybody dancing on 
 Broadway," she replied, a trifle snubbily, 
 but I resolved to escape from her as soon 
 as possible and find out for myself. 
 
 I shall never forget my shock on discov- 
 ering the sky blue instead of the color it 
 should be, but soon my eyes became accus- 
 tomed to the change. In fact, I have not 
 since that first moment been able to conceive 
 of the sky as anything but blue. And the 
 city? — Oh, my dear, my dear, I never ex- 
 pected to encounter anything so much out 
 of key with the essential euphonies. Of 
 course I have not traveled very much, but 
 I should say there is nothing in the universe 
 like a street they call Broadway — unless it 
 be upon the lesser satellite of Mars, where 
 the poor people are so awfully cramped for 
 space. When I suggested this to Ooma 
 she laughed and called me clever, for it 
 seems there is a tradition that a mob of 
 meddling Martians once stopped on Earth 
 
 176 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 long enough to give the foohsh humans 
 false ideas about architecture and many 
 other matters. But I soon forgot every- 
 thing in my interest in the people. Such a 
 poor puzzle-headed lot they are. One's 
 heart goes out to them at once as they push 
 and jostle one another this way and that, 
 with no conceivable object other than to get 
 anywhere but where they are in the shortest 
 time possible. One longs to help them; to 
 call a halt upon their senseless struggles ; to 
 reason with them and explain how all the 
 psychic force they waste might, if exerted 
 in constructive thought, bring everything 
 they wish to pass. Mrs. Bloomer assures 
 me they only ridicule those who venture to 
 interfere, and it will take at least a Saturn 
 century to so much as start them in the 
 right direction. Our settlement is their only 
 hope, she says, and even we can help them 
 only indirectly. 
 
 Not long ago, it appears, they had to 
 choose a King or Mayor, or whatever the 
 creature is called who executes their silly 
 
 177 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 laws, and our people so manipulated the 
 election that the choice fell on one of us. 
 
 I thought this a really good idea, and 
 supposed, of course, we must at once have 
 set about demonstrating how a planet 
 should be managed. But no! that was not 
 our system, if you please. Instead of mak- 
 ing proper laws our agent misbehaved 
 himself in every way the committee could 
 suggest, until at last the humans rose 
 against him and put one of themselves in 
 his place, and after that things went just 
 a little better than before. This is the only 
 way in which they can be taught. But, 
 dear me, isn't it tedious? 
 
 Of course, I soon grew anxious for an 
 exchange of thought with almost anyone, 
 but it was a long while before I discovered 
 a single person who was not in a violent 
 hurry. At last, however, we came upon a 
 human drawn apart a little from the throng, 
 who stood with folded arms, engaged ap- 
 parently in lofty meditation. His counte- 
 nance was amiable, although a little red. 
 
 Saying nothing to Ooma of my purpose, 
 
 178 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 I slipped away from her, and looking up 
 into the creature's eyes inquired mentally 
 the subject of his thoughts; also, how he 
 came to be so inordinately stout, and why 
 he wore bright metal buttons on his gar- 
 ment. But my only answer was a stupid 
 blink, for his mentality seemed absolutely 
 incapable of receiving suggestions not ex- 
 pressed in sounds. I observed farther that 
 his aura inclined too much toward violet 
 for perfect equipoise. 
 
 " G'wan out of this, and quit yer fool- 
 in'," he remarked, missing my meaning al- 
 together. 
 
 Of course I spoke then, using the human 
 speech quite glibly for a first attempt, and 
 hastened to assure him that though I had 
 no idea of fooling, I should not go on until 
 my curiosity had been satisfied. But just 
 then Ooma found me. 
 
 " My friend is a stranger," she explained 
 to the brass-buttoned man. 
 
 " Then why don't you put a string to 
 her?" he asked. 
 
 I learned later that I had been address- 
 
 179 
 
ON XHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 ing one of the public jesters employed by 
 the community to keep Broadway from be- 
 coming intolerably dull. 
 
 " But you must not speak to people in 
 the street," said Ooma, " not even to police- 
 men." 
 
 " Then how am I to brighten others' 
 lives? " I asked, more than a little disap- 
 pointed, for several humans hurrying past 
 had turned upon me looks indicating moods 
 receptive of all the brightening I could 
 give. 
 
 I might have amused myself indefinitely, 
 studying the rapid succession of varying 
 faces, had not Bloomer cautioned me not 
 to stare. She said people would think me 
 from the country, which is considered dis- 
 creditable, and as this reminded me that I 
 had as yet seen nothing growing, I asked 
 to be shown the gardens and groves. 
 
 " There is one," she said, indicating an 
 open space not far away where sure enough 
 there stood some wretched looking trees 
 which I had not recognized before, forget- 
 
 180 
 
ON THE LIGHTS HIE 
 
 ting that, of course, leaves here must be 
 green. I saw no flowers growing, but pres- 
 ently we came upon some in a sort of crys- 
 tal bower guarded by a powerful black per- 
 son. I wanted so to ask him how he came 
 to be black, but the memory of my last at- 
 tempt at information deterred me. In- 
 stead, I inquired if I might have some roses. 
 
 *' Walk in, JNIiss," he replied most civilly, 
 and in I walked through the door, past the 
 sweetest little embryonic, who wore the ves- 
 ture of a young policeman. 
 
 " Bo}^" I said, " have you begun to 
 realize your soul?" 
 
 " Nope," he replied. " I ain't in frac- 
 tions yet." 
 
 — Some stage of earthly progress, I sup- 
 pose, though I did not like a certain move- 
 ment of his eyelid, and one never can tell, 
 you know, how hard embryonics are really 
 striving. So I made haste to gather all the 
 roses I could carry, and was about to hurry 
 after Ooma, when a person barred my way. 
 
 "Hold on!" he cried. "Ain't you for- 
 
 181 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 getting something? Why don't you take 
 the whole lot?" 
 
 " Because I have all I want for the pres- 
 ent," I answered, rather frightened, per- 
 ceiving that his aura had grown livid, and 
 I don't know how I could have soothed him 
 had not Ooma once more come to my relief. 
 I could see that she was annoyed with me, 
 but she controlled herself and placed some 
 token in the being's hand which acted on 
 his agitation like a charm. 
 
 As I told you. Bloomer had given me 
 with the other things, a crown of artificial 
 roses which, now that I had real flowers 
 to wear, I wanted to throw away, but this 
 she would not permit, insisting that such a 
 proceeding would make the humans laugh 
 at me — though to look into their serious 
 faces one would not believe this possible. 
 The thoughts of those about me, as I di- 
 vined them, seemed anything but jocular. 
 They came to me incoherent and inconsecu- 
 tive, a jumble of conditional premises lead- 
 ing to approximate conclusions expressed 
 
 182 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 in symbols having no intrinsic meaning. — 
 Of course, it is unfair to judge too soon, 
 but I have akeady begun to doubt the ex- 
 istence of direct perception among them. — 
 What did you say, dear? — Bother direct 
 perception? — Well, I wonder how we 
 should like to apprehend nothing that could 
 not be put into words? You, I'm sure, 
 would have the most confused ideas about 
 Earthly conditions if you depended en- 
 tirely upon my remarks. — Now concentrate, 
 and you shall hear something really inter- 
 esting. 
 
 — No, not the One yet. — He comes 
 later. — 
 
 We had not gone far, I carrying my 
 roses, and Bloomer not too well pleased, as 
 I fancied, because so many people turned 
 to look at us (Bloomer has retrograded 
 physically until she is at times almost Ura- 
 nian, probably as the result of wearing 
 black, which appears to be the chromatic 
 equivalent of respectability), when sud- 
 denly I became sensible of a familiar in- 
 
 183 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 fluence, which was quite startling because 
 so unexpected. Looking everywhere, I 
 caught sight of — who do you suppose? Our 
 old friend Tuk.— Mr. Tuck, T-u-c-k here, 
 if you please. He was about to enter a — 
 a means of transportation, and though his 
 back was towards me, I recognized that 
 drab aura of his at once, and projected a 
 reactionary impulse which was most ef- 
 fective. 
 
 In his surprise he was for the moment 
 in danger of being trampled upon by a 
 rapidly moving animal. — Yes, dear, I said 
 " animal." — I don't know and I don't con- 
 sider it at all important. I do not pre- 
 tend to be familiar with mundane zoology. 
 — Tuck declared himself delighted to see 
 me, and so I believe he was, thoug'h he 
 controlled his radiations in the supercilious 
 way he always had. But upon one point 
 he did not leave me long in doubt. Exter- 
 nally, at least, my Earthly Ego is a — ^ 
 
 (Note: The word which signifies a spe- 
 cies of peach or nectarine peculiar to the 
 
 184 
 
ON tXHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 planet Mercury is doubtless used here in a 
 symbolic sense,) 
 
 — I caught on to that most interesting 
 fact the moment his eyes rested on me. 
 
 "By all that's fair to look upon!" he 
 cried, jumping about in a manner human 
 people think eccentric, " are you astral or 
 actualized?" 
 
 " See for yourself," I said, holding out 
 my hand, which it took him rather longer 
 than necessary to make sure of. 
 
 "Well, what on Earth brings you here? 
 Come down to paint another planet red? " 
 he rattled on, believing himself amus- 
 ing. 
 
 " Now haven't I as much right to light 
 on Earth as on any other bit of cosmic 
 dust?" I asked, laughing and forgetting 
 how much snubbing he requires in the de- 
 light of seeing anyone I knew. 
 
 Then he insisted that I had a "date" 
 with him. — A date, as I discovered later, 
 means something nice to eat — and hinted 
 very broadly that Bloomer need not wait if 
 
 185 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 she had more important matters to attend 
 to. I must confess she did not seem at all 
 sorry to have me taken off her hands, for 
 after cautioning me to beware of a number 
 of things I did not so much as know by 
 name, she shot off like a respectable old 
 aerolite with a black trail streaming out be- 
 hind. If she remains here much longer she 
 will be coming back upon a mission to re- 
 form us. As for Tuck, he became insuf- 
 ferably patronizing at once. 
 
 " Well, how do you like the Only Planet? 
 and how do you like the Only Town? and 
 how do you like the Only Street? " he be- 
 gan, waving his hands and looking about 
 him as though there were anything here 
 that one of us could admire. But, of 
 course, I refused to gratify him with my 
 crude impressions. I simply said: 
 
 " You appear very well pleased with them 
 yourself." 
 
 " And so will you be," he replied, " when 
 you have realized their possibilities. Re- 
 mark that elderly entity across the street. 
 
 186 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 I have to but exert my will that he shall 
 sneeze and drop his eyeglasses, and behold, 
 there they go." — Yes, my dear, eyeglasses. 
 They are worn on the nose by people who 
 imagine they cannot see very well. 
 
 "I consider such actions cruel and un- 
 kind," I said, at the same time willing an 
 embryonic girl to pick the glasses up, and 
 though the child was rather beyond my 
 normal circle, I was delighted to see her 
 obey. But I have an idea Tuck regretted 
 an experiment which taught me something 
 I might not have found out, at least for a 
 while. 
 
 I had now been on Earth several hours, 
 and change of atmosphere gives one a 
 ravenous appetite. You see, I had forgot- 
 ten to ask Ooma how, and how often, hu- 
 mans ate, so when Tuck suggested break- 
 fast as a form of entertainment I put my- 
 self in sympathy with the idea at once. Be- 
 sides, it is most important to know just 
 where to find the things you want, and you 
 may be sure I made a lot of mental notes 
 
 187 
 
ON tXHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 when we came, as presently we did, to a 
 tower called Astoria. 
 
 I understand that the upper portions of 
 the edifice are used for study of the Stars, 
 but we were made welcome on the lower 
 story by a stately being, who conducted us 
 to honorable seats in an inner court. There 
 were small trees growing here, green, of 
 course, but rather pretty for all that; the 
 people, gathered under their shade in little 
 groups, were much more cheerful and sus- 
 taining than any I had seen so far, and an 
 elemental intelligence detailed to minister 
 to our wants seemed well-trained and docile. 
 
 " Here you have a glimpse of High 
 Life," announced Tuck, when he had writ- 
 ten something on a paper. 
 
 " The Higher Life? " I inquired, eagerly, 
 and I did not like the flippant tone in which 
 he answered: 
 
 " No, not quite — just high enough." 
 
 I was beginning to be so bored by his 
 conceit and self-complacency that I cast 
 my eyes about and smiled at several pleas- 
 
 188 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 ant-looking persons, who returned the smile 
 and nodded in a friendly fashion, till I 
 could perceive Tuck's aura bristle and turn 
 greenish-brown. 
 
 " You can't possibly see anyone you know 
 here," he protested, crossly. 
 
 "All the better reason why I should 
 reach out in search of affinities," I retorted. 
 But after that, though I was careful to 
 keep my eyes lowered most of the time, 
 I resolved to come some day to the Astoria 
 alone and smile at every one I liked, I 
 don't beUeve I should ever know a human 
 if Tuck could have his way. 
 
 Presently the elemental brought us de- 
 licious things, and while we ate them Tuck 
 talked about himself. It appears he has 
 produced an opera here which is a success. 
 People throng to hear it and consider him 
 a great composer. At all of which, you may 
 believe, I was astonished — just fancy our 
 Tuck posing as a genius! — ^but presently 
 when he became elated by the theme and 
 hummed a bar or two, I understood. The 
 
 189 
 
ox THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 wretch had simply actuaUzed a few essen- 
 tial harmonies — and done it verv badlv. I 
 see now why he likes so much being here, 
 and miderstand whv his associates are al- 
 most altogether hmiian. I don't remember 
 ever meeting with such deceit and effron- 
 tery before. I was so indignant that I 
 could feel my astral fingers tremble. I 
 could not bear to look at him. and as bv 
 that time I had eaten all I could, I rose 
 and walked directlv from the court without 
 another word. I am sure he would have 
 pursued me had not the elemental, divining 
 my wish to escape, detained him forcibly. 
 Once in the street again, I immediately 
 h^'pnotized an old lady, willing her to go 
 direct to Bloomer's Boarding-House wliile 
 I followed behind. It mav not have been 
 convenient for her, I am afraid, but I knew 
 of no other way to get back. — Dear me, the 
 hght is growing dim, and I must be dress- 
 ing for the evening. Good-byl — By the 
 wav. I forgot to tell von something else 
 
 that happened — remind me of it next time! 
 
 190 
 
ox THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 THE THIED EECOED 
 
 — Yes, I remember, and vou shall hear 
 all about it before I describe an eveninor 
 at the Settlement, but it doesn't amount to 
 much. — I told vou how cross and over- 
 bearing Tuck was at the Astoria tower, 
 and of the mean wav in which he restricted 
 my observations. Well, of all the people 
 in the crpove that dav there was onlv one 
 whom I could see without being criticized, 
 and he sat all alone and facing me, just 
 beliind Tuck's back. Some green leaves 
 hung between us, and whenever I moved 
 mv head to note what he was doinpr he 
 moved liis, too, to look at me. He seemed 
 so lonelv that I was sorrv for him. but his 
 atmosphere showed him to be neither sullen 
 nor Uranian, and I could not help it if I 
 was just a httle bit responsive. Besides, 
 Tuck, once on the subject of his opera, 
 grew so self-engrossed and dominant that 
 one had either to assert one's own mentahtv 
 or become subjective. 
 
 191 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 — No, dear, that is not the only reason. 
 There may be such a thing as an isolated 
 reason, but I have never met one — they al- 
 ways go in packs. I confess to a feeling 
 of interest in the stranger. Nobody can 
 look at you with round blue eyes for half 
 an hour steadily without exercising some 
 attraction, either positive or negative, and 
 I felt, too, that he was trying to tell me 
 something which would have been a great 
 deal more interesting than Tuck's opera, 
 and I believe had I remained a little longer 
 we could have understood each other be- 
 tween the trees just as you and I can un- 
 derstand each other across the intervals of 
 space. But then it is so easy to be mis- 
 taken. — I had to pass quite close to him in 
 going out, and I am not sure I did not drop 
 a rose. 
 
 — There may be just a weenie little bit 
 more about the Astorian, but that will come 
 in its proper place. Now I must get on 
 to the evening. — It was not much of an oc- 
 casion, merely the usual gathering of our 
 
 192 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 crowd, or rather of those of us who have no 
 special assignment for the time in the large 
 Council Room I have described to you. 
 
 The President of the Board of Control 
 at present is Marlow, Marlow the Great, 
 as he is called, the painter whose pictures 
 did so much to elevate the Patagonians. — 
 No, dear, I never heard of Patagonia be- 
 fore, but I'm almost sure it's not a planet. 
 — With Marlow came a Mrs. Mopes, who 
 is engaged in creating schools of fiction by 
 writing stories under different names and 
 then reviewing them in her own seven mag- 
 azines. Next, taking the guests at random, 
 was Baxter, a deadly person in his human 
 incarnation, whose business it is to make 
 stocks fly up or tumble down. — I don't 
 know what stocks are, but they must be 
 something very easily frightened. — Then 
 there was a Mr. Waller, nicknamed the 
 Reverend, whom the Council allows to 
 speak the truth occasionally, while the rest 
 of the time he tells people anything they 
 want to hear to vnn their confidence. And 
 
 193 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 the two Miss Dooleys, who sing so badly 
 that thousands who cannot sing at all leave 
 off singing altogether when they once hear 
 them. And Mr. Flick, who misbehaves at 
 funerals to distract mourners from their 
 grief, and a Mr. O'Brien, whose duty it 
 is to fly into violent passions in public 
 places just to show how unbecoming tem- 
 per is. 
 
 There were many others, so many I can- 
 not begin to enumerate them. Some had 
 written books and were known all over the 
 planet, and some who were not known at 
 all had done things because there was no- 
 body else to do them. And some were sing- 
 ers and some were actors, and some were 
 rich and some were poor to the outside 
 world, but in the Council Room they met 
 and laughed and matched experiences and 
 made jokes; from the one who had built a 
 battleship so terrible that all the other ships 
 were burnt on condition that his should be 
 also, to the ordinary helpers who applaud 
 stupid plays till intelligent human beings 
 
 194 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 become thoroughly disgusted with bad 
 art. 
 
 In the world, of course, they are all seri- 
 ous enough, and often know each other only 
 by secret signs, while every day and night 
 and minute our poor earth-brothers come 
 a little nearer the light — pushed toward it, 
 pulled toward it, wheedled and tricked and 
 bullied and coaxed, and thinking all the 
 while how immensely clever they are, and 
 what a w^onderful progressive, glorious age 
 they have brought about for themselves. — 
 At all events, this is the rather vague com- 
 posite impression I have received of the 
 plans and purposes of the Board of Di- 
 rectors, and doubtless it is wrong. 
 
 I suppose with a little trouble I might 
 have recognized nearly everyone, but the 
 fancy took me to suspend intuition just to 
 see how Earth girls feel, and you know 
 when one is hearing a lot of pleasant things 
 one does not much care who happens to be 
 saying them. 
 
 I fancy Marlow thought less of me when 
 
 195 
 
ON iTHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 I confessed that I am here only for the 
 lark, and really do not care a meteor 
 whether the planet is ever elevated or not. 
 But he is a charming old fellow all the 
 same, and the onl}^ one of the lot who has 
 not grown the least bit smudgy. 
 
 Marlow announced that the evening 
 would be spent in harmony with the vibra- 
 tions of Orion, and set us all at work to 
 get in touch. I love Orion light myself, 
 for none other suits my aura quite so well, 
 and I was glad to find they had not taken 
 up the Vega fad. — The light here? My 
 dear, it is not even filtered. — Some of us, 
 no doubt for want of practice, were rather 
 slow about perfecting, but finally we all 
 caught on, and when O'Brien, no longer fat 
 and florid, and the elder Miss Dooley, no 
 longer scrawny, moved out to start the 
 dance, there was only one who had not as- 
 sumed an astral personality. Poor fellow, 
 though I pitied him, I did admire his spunk 
 in holding back. It seems that as an editor 
 he took to telling falsehoods on his own ac- 
 
 196 
 
ON EHE LIGHTSHIP, 
 
 count so often that the Syndicate is pack- 
 ing him off as Special Correspondent to a 
 tailless comet. 
 
 Tuck never came at all ; either he realizes 
 how honest people must regard him and 
 his opera, or else the elementals at the As- 
 toria are stiU detaining him. 
 
 We had a lovely dance, and while we 
 rested Marlow called on some of us for spe- 
 cialties. Mrs. Mopes did a paragraph by 
 a man named Henry James, translated into 
 action, which seemed quite difficult, and 
 then a person called Parker externalized a 
 violin and gave the Laocoon in terms of 
 sound. To me his rendering of marble re- 
 sembled terra-cotta until I learned that the 
 copy of the statue here is awfully weather- 
 stained. After this three pretty girls gave 
 the Aurora Borealis by telepathic sug- 
 gestion rather well, and then I sang 
 " Love Lives Everywhere " — just plain 
 song. 
 
 — I know this must all sound dreadfully 
 flat to you, quite like "Pastimes for the 
 
 197 
 
ON iTHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 Rainy Season in Neptune," but Bloomer 
 says she doesn't know what would happen 
 if we should ever give a really characteristic 
 jolly party. 
 
 We wound up with an Earth dance called 
 the Virginia Reel, the quickest means you 
 ever saw for descending to a lower psychic 
 plane. That's all I have to tell, and quite 
 enough, I'm sure you'll think. — What? 
 The Astorian? I have not seen him since. 
 — But there is a little more, a very little, 
 if you are not tired. — This morning I re- 
 ceived a gift of roses, just like the one I 
 dropped yesterday, brought me by the same 
 small embryonic I had seen in the flower 
 shop. I asked the child in whose intelli- 
 gence the impulse had originated, and he 
 replied : 
 
 " A blue-eyed feller with a mustache, but 
 he gave me a plunk not to tell." 
 
 I understood a plunk to be a token of 
 confidence, and I at once expressed dis- 
 pleasure at the boy's betrayal of his trust. 
 I told him such an act would make dark 
 
 198 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 lines upon his aura which might not fade 
 for several days. 
 
 " Say, ain't you got some message 'to 
 send back? " he asked. 
 
 " Boy! " said I, " don't forget your little 
 aura." 
 
 "All right," he answered, "I'll tell him 
 ' Don't forget your little Aura.' I'll bet he 
 coughs up another plunk." 
 
 I don't know what he meant, but I am 
 very much afraid there may be some mis- 
 take. — Oh, yes, I am quite sure to be back 
 in time for the Solstice. — Or at least for 
 the Eclipse. 
 
 THE FOURTH RECORD 
 
 (Note. — Between this logogram and the last the Long's 
 Peak Receptive Pulsator was unfortunately not in opera- 
 tion for the space of a fortnight, as the electrician who 
 took the instrument apart for adjustment found it neces- 
 sary to return to Denver for oil.) 
 
 — Yes, dear, it's me, though if I did not 
 know personality to be indestructible I 
 should begin to have my doubts. I have 
 not made any more mistakes, that is, not 
 any bad ones, since I went to the Astoria 
 
 199 
 
ON) aSHE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 alone for lunch, and the elementals were so 
 very disagreeable just because I had no 
 money. I know all about money now, ex- 
 cept exactly how you get it, and Tuck as- 
 sures me that is really of no importance. 
 I never told Ooma how the blue-eyed As- 
 torian paid my bill for me, and her per- 
 ceptive faculties have grown too dull to ap- 
 prehend a thing she is not told. Fresh 
 roses still come regularly every day, and of 
 course I can do no less than express my 
 gratitude now and then. — Oh, I don't know 
 how often, I don't remember. — But it is 
 ever so much pleasanter to have some one 
 you like to show you the way about than 
 to depend on hypnotizing strangers, who 
 may have something else to do. 
 
 — I told you last week about the picnic, 
 did I not? The day, I mean, when Bloomer 
 took me into the country, and Tuck so far 
 forgave my rudeness to him as to come with 
 us to carry the basket. — Oh, yes, indeed, I 
 am becoming thoroughly domesticated on 
 Earth. And, my dear, these humans are 
 
 200 
 
ON lTHE lightshir 
 
 docility itself when you once acquire the 
 knack of making them do exactly as you 
 wish, which is as easy as falling off a log. 
 — A log is the external evidence of a pre- 
 existent tree, cylindrical in form, and though 
 often sticky, not sufficiently so to be adhe- 
 sive. 
 
 — That picnic was so pleasant — or would 
 have been but for Bloomer's anxiety that I 
 should behave myself, and Tuck's anxiety 
 that I should not — that I determined to 
 have another all by myself — and I have 
 had it. 
 
 I traveled to the same little dell I de- 
 scribed before, and I put my feet in the 
 water just as I wasn't allowed to do the 
 other day. And I built a fire and almost 
 cooked an egg and ate cake (an egg is the 
 bud of a bird, and cake is edible poetry) 
 sitting on a fence. — Fences grow horizon- 
 tally and have no leaves. — Don't ask so 
 many questions! 
 
 After a while, however, I became tired 
 of being alone, so I started off across some 
 
 201 
 
 M" 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 beautiful green meadows toward a hillside, 
 where I had observed a human walking 
 about and waving a forked wand. He 
 proved the strangest-looking being I have 
 met with yet, more like those wild and 
 woolly space-dwellers who tumbled out 
 when that tramp comet bumped against 
 our second moon. But he was a considerate 
 person, for when he saw me coming and 
 divined that I should be tired, he piled up 
 a quantity of delicious-scented herbage for 
 me to sit on. 
 
 "Good-morning, mister," I said, plump- 
 ing myself down upon the mound he had 
 made, and he, being much more impression- 
 able than you would suppose from his 
 Uranian appearance, replied. 
 
 " I swan, I like your cheek.'* 
 
 " It's a pleasant day," I said, because 
 one is always expected to announce some 
 result of observation of the atmosphere. It 
 shows at once whether or not one is an idiot. 
 
 " I call it pretty danged hot," he re- 
 turned, intelligently. 
 
 203 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " Then why don't you get out of the 
 sun?" I suggested, more to keep the con- 
 versation fluid than because I cared a bit. 
 
 " I'm a-goin' to," he answered, " just as 
 soon as that goU-darned wagon comes." (A 
 " goU-darned " wagon is, I think, a wagon 
 without springs.) 
 
 "What are you going to do then?" I 
 asked, beginning to fear I should be left 
 alone again after all my trouble. 
 
 " Goin' home to dinner," he replied, and 
 I at once said I would go with him. — You 
 see, I had placed a little too much reliance 
 on the egg. 
 
 " I dunno about that, but I guess it will 
 be all right," he urged, hospitably, and 
 presently the goU-darned wagon arrived 
 with another man, who turned out to be the 
 first one's son and who looked as though he 
 bit. 
 
 Together the two threw all the herbage 
 into the wagon till it was heaped far above 
 their heads. 
 
 "How am I ever to get up?" I asked, 
 
ON OCHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 for I had no idea of walking any farther, 
 and I could see the man's white house ever 
 so far away. 
 
 " Who said you was goin' to get up at 
 all?" inquired the biter, disagreeably, but 
 the other answered for me. 
 
 " I said it, that's who, you consarned 
 jay," he announced, reprovingly. 
 
 When I had made them both climb up 
 first and give me each a hand, I had no 
 difficulty at all in mounting, but I was 
 very careful not to thank the Jay, which 
 seemed to make him more morose than 
 ever. Then they slid down again, and off 
 we started. 
 
 Once when we came to some lovely blue 
 flowers growing in water near the roadside 
 I told the Jay to stop and wade in and pick 
 them for me. 
 
 "I'll be dogged if I do," he answered; 
 so I said: 
 
 " I don't know what being ' dogged ' 
 means, but if it is a reward for being nice 
 and kind and polite, I hope you will be." 
 
 204 
 
ox THE LIGHT SHIR 
 
 Whereupon he bit at me once and waded 
 in, while the older man, whose name, it 
 seems, was Pop, sat down upon a stone and 
 laughed. 
 
 " Gosh! If this don't beat the cats," he 
 said, slapping his knee, which was his way 
 of making himself laugh harder. 
 
 I put the flowers in my hair and in my 
 belt and wherever I could stick them. But 
 there was still a lot left over, and whenever 
 we met people I threw them some, which 
 appeared to please Pop, but made the Jay 
 still more bite-y. 
 
 Presently we came to a very narrow 
 place and there, as luck would have it, we 
 met an automobile. — Thank goodness, I 
 need not explain automobile. — And who 
 should be at the lever all alone but — the As- 
 torian. 
 
 I recognized him instantly, and he recog- 
 nized me, which was, I suppose, his reason 
 for forgetting to stop till he had nearly run 
 us down. In a moment we were in the wild- 
 est tangle, though nothing need have hap- 
 
 205 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 pened had not the Jay completely lost his 
 temper. 
 
 "Hang your picture!" he called out, 
 savagely, "What do you want? — The 
 Earth?" 
 
 And with that He struck the animals — - 
 the wagon was not self-propelling — a vio- 
 lent blow, and they sprang forward with 
 a lurch which made the hay begin to slip. 
 I tried to save myself, but there was noth- 
 ing to catch hold of, so off I slid and — oh, 
 my dear, my dear, just fancy it! — I landed 
 directly in his lap. — No, not the Jay's. — - 
 Of course, I stayed there as short a time as 
 possible, for he was very nice about moving 
 up to make room for me on the seat, but I 
 am afraid it did seem frightfully informal 
 just at first. 
 
 " It was all the fault of that consarned 
 Jay," I explained, as soon as I had recov- 
 ered my composure, " and I shall never ride 
 in his goll-darned wagon again." 
 
 " I sincerely hope you will not," replied 
 Astoria, looking at me with the most curi- 
 
 206 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 ous expression. ** It would be much better 
 to let me take you wherever you wish 
 to go." 
 
 " That's awfully kind of you," I said, 
 "but I don't care to go anywhere in par- 
 ticular this afternoon, except as far as pos- 
 sible from that objectionable young man." 
 
 The Astorian did not speak again till he 
 had turned something in the machine to 
 make it back and jerk, and, once free from 
 the upset hsiy, go on again. 
 
 " Say, Sissy, I thought ^^-ou was comin' 
 to take dinner," Pop called out from under 
 the wagon, where he had crawled for safety, 
 and when I replied as nicely as I could, 
 " No, thank you, not to-day," he said 
 again, quite sadly as I thought, " Gosh 
 blim me, if that don't beat the cats ! " and 
 also several other things I could not hear, 
 because we were moving away so rapidly. 
 
 When we had gone about a hundred miles 
 — or yards, or inches, whichever it was — 
 the Astorian, who had been sitting very 
 straight, inquired if those gentlemen — 
 
 207 
 
ON lTjHE lightship 
 
 meaning Pop and Jay; — ^^^ere near rela- 
 tions. 
 
 I showed him plainly that I thought his 
 question Uranian, and explained that I had 
 not a relative on Earth. Then I told him 
 exactly how I had come to be with them, 
 and about my picnic and the egg, I am 
 afraid I did not take great pains to make 
 the story very clear, for it was such fun to 
 perplex him. He is not at all like the 
 Venus people, who have become so super- 
 latively clever that they are always bored 
 to death. 
 
 "Were you surprised to see me flying 
 through the air? " I asked. 
 
 "Oh, no," he said; "I have always 
 thought of you as coming to Earth in some 
 such way from some far-distant planet." 
 
 " Oh, then, you know! " I gasped. 
 
 [The Astorian laughed. 
 
 "I know you are the one perfect being 
 in the world, and that is quite enough," he 
 said, and I saw at once that whatever he 
 had guessed about me he knew nothing at 
 all of the Settlement. 
 
 208 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " Miss Aura," he went on, — he has called 
 me that ever since that little embryonic 
 made his stupid blunder, and I have not 
 corrected him — ^here it is almost necessary 
 to have some sort of a name — " Miss Aura, 
 don't you think we have been mere acquaint- 
 ances long enough? I'm only human " 
 
 *'Yes, of course," I interrupted, "but 
 then that is not your fault " 
 
 " I'm glad you look upon my misfortune 
 so charitably," he said, a trifle more puzzled 
 than usual, as I fancied. 
 
 " It is my duty," I replied. " I want to 
 elevate you; to brighten your existence." 
 
 ** My Aura!" he whispered; and I was 
 not quite sure whether he meant me or 
 not. 
 
 We w^ere moving rapidly along a broad 
 road beside a river. There were hills in the 
 distance and the air from them was in the 
 key of the Pleiades. There were gardens 
 everywhere full of sunlight translated into 
 flowers, and without an efl'ort one divined 
 the harmony of growing things. I felt that 
 something was about to happen; I knew it, 
 
 209 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 but I did not care to ask what it might be. 
 Perhaps if I had tried I could not have 
 known; perhaps for that hour I was only 
 an Earth girl and could only know things 
 as they know them, but I did not care. 
 
 We were going faster, faster every mo- 
 ment. 
 
 " Was it you who willed me to come out 
 into the country? " I asked. " Have you 
 been watching for me and expecting me? " 
 
 We were moving now as clouds that rush 
 across a moon. 
 
 " I think I have been watching for you 
 all my life and willing you to come," he 
 said, which shows how dreadfully unjust we 
 sometimes are to humans. 
 
 " While I was on another planet? " I in- 
 quired. " While we were millions and mil- 
 lions of miles apart? Suppose that I had 
 never come to Earth?" 
 
 We were moving like the falling stars 
 one journeys to the Dark Hemisphere to 
 see, 
 
 " I should have found you all the same," 
 
 210 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 he whispered, half laughing, but his blue 
 eyes glistened. " I do not think that space 
 itself could separate us." 
 
 "Oh, do you realize that?" I asked, 
 " and do you really know? " 
 
 " I know I have you with me now," he 
 said, " and that is all I care to know." 
 
 We were flying now, flying as comets fly 
 to perihelion. The world about was slip- 
 ping from us, disintegrating and dissolving 
 into cosmic thoughts expressed in color. 
 Only his eyes were actual, and the blue hills 
 far away, and the wind from them in the 
 key of the Pleiades. 
 
 " There shall never anv more be time or 
 space for us," he said. 
 
 "But," I protested, "w^e must not over- 
 look the fundamental facts." 
 
 " In all the universe there is just one 
 fact," he cried, catching my hand in his, 
 and then — 
 
 (Note: Here a portion of the logogram 
 
 becomes indecipherable , owing, perhaps, to 
 
 the passage of some large bird across the 
 
 211 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 line of projection. What follows is the last 
 recorded vibragraph to date,) 
 
 — ^Yes, dear, I know I should have been 
 more ckcumspect. I should have remem- 
 bered my position, but I didn't. And that's 
 why I'm engaged to be married. — You have 
 to here, when you reach a certain point — • 
 I know you will think it a great come-down 
 for one of us, but after all do we not owe 
 something to our sister planets? — 
 
 212 
 
THE UNEXPECTED LETTER 
 
THE UNEXPECTED LETTER 
 
 AS much as I dislike superlatives, I 
 /^L must confess that nothing in my 
 / ^^ life has given me greater sur- 
 prise than that letter addressed 
 to me in a firm but unfamiliar hand, face 
 upward on the counter of a small curiosity 
 shop in an insignificant by-street of a 
 strange city, 
 
 I have a weakness for such small shops, 
 where one is commonly permitted to roam 
 at will amid a multitude of attractive ob- 
 jects without the slightest obligation to buy, 
 and the proprietors are often men of intel- 
 ligence and education. When I have leisure 
 I rarely resist the temptation to enter, and 
 in this case the impulse had been almost 
 mandatory. 
 
 It was my first visit to Selbyville, and I 
 may say that it will probably be my last; 
 
 215 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 for I have never seen a duller, less interest- 
 ing place. A bad connection had left me 
 stranded at the railway station there, with 
 several hours to be disposed of, as I feared, 
 in aimless wanderings along streets and 
 avenues each one more crude and common- 
 place than the last; but the chance dis- 
 covery of a favorite haunt filled me at once 
 with lively satisfaction. 
 
 A dark and musty little shop, it proved 
 to be, and its owner all I could have wished 
 — a mild old Dickens person who had a 
 virtuous pride in his collection, and at once 
 divined in me a sympathetic listener. At 
 first I followed him from case to case with 
 unaffected interest and attention; but pres- 
 ently, I own, his conversation grew a trifle 
 wearisome, and I allowed my thoughts to 
 stray. 
 
 He had produced, as I remember well, a 
 tray of antique cameos, and to make room 
 for it upon the counter brushed aside a lit- 
 ter of disordered papers. Neglected bills, 
 
 they seemed to be, and circulars such as a 
 
 216 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 careless man forgets to throw away. But 
 I noted nothing more; for suddenly amid 
 the trash my own familiar name confronted 
 me, bold, clear, and unmistakable, across 
 a large and square envelope of a bluish tint : 
 " Josiah Brunson Dykefellow, Esq., 109 
 South Ninth Street, City." 
 
 Now, I am not a man to jump at rasH 
 conclusions. The address, of course, was 
 one that might be found in almost any city; 
 but as it happened to be mine in Mason- 
 burg, and as my name was not "a common 
 one, to say the least, the letter seemed so 
 clearly meant for me that I should have 
 taken it without compunction, could I have 
 done so unobserved. But the merchant 
 never left me for a moment, and though 
 most amiable I gave him credit for too 
 much good sense to deliver a sealed com- 
 munication on the unsupported statement 
 of a perfect stranger; for I had left my 
 card-case in my satchel at the station, and 
 as I am a bachelor my linen is unmarked. 
 
 However the letter came to be there, it was 
 
 217 
 
ON tXHE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 evident that I should have to exercise diplo- 
 macy to gain possession of my own. And 
 so, continuing our circuit of the shop, I 
 weighed the matter nicely. My final reso- 
 lution was, I shall always think, little short 
 of inspiration. 
 
 We had reached an ancient rosewood 
 wardrobe of enormous size and hideous de- 
 sign before I found the opportunity to put 
 my plan in operation. 
 
 "Ah! this is something I should like to 
 own," I cried, '' provided that my new 
 rooms are large enough to hold it. And," I 
 added carelessly, "perhaps you can direct 
 me to the address" — I feigned to consult 
 a memorandum — "109 South Ninth Street." 
 
 The worthy dealer turned on me a look 
 of half -amused surprise. " That's here," 
 he said — " right here, this street and house." 
 
 "Indeed!" I cried, though I had not 
 been wholly unprepared for such an an- 
 swer. " That's really odd! for this, my dear 
 sir, is the very place where I was told to 
 
 seek lodgings." 
 
 218 
 
ON -THE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 "There must be some mistake," replied 
 the dealer civilly; " for as it is the house is 
 too small to accommodate my family." 
 
 At this I must have feigned the signs of 
 extreme annoyance rather cleverly; for the 
 dealer joined in condemnation of officious 
 friends in general, and especially of one 
 McPherson, a second auditor, who had so 
 misled me. 
 
 "That ass McPherson," I explained, 
 "has put me to the greatest inconvenience 1 
 For, feeling certain of the rooms, I have 
 actually given this address to correspond- 
 ents. But," I hastened to assure my cour- 
 teous listener, " I shall, of course, write at 
 once and save you any trouble on that score. 
 Please save the wardrobe for a day or two. 
 My name is Josiah Brunson Dykefellow." 
 
 As I pronounced each syllable with dis- 
 tinctness, I could perceive the dealer's 
 kindly face expand with pleasure. "Why, 
 Mr. Dykefellow! " he exclaimed, " a letter 
 came for you this morning. I was about 
 to return it to the carrier. Here it is." 
 
 219 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 I thanked him, gave the square envelope 
 only a casual glance before slipping it into 
 an inner pocket, and then bought a curio, 
 scarcely knowing what I did. I could 
 hardly wait to see my purchase wrapped 
 in newspaper. I feared the dealer might 
 think better of his confidence and make de- 
 mands on me for identification, I felt the 
 prick of conscience that an honest man 
 must feel w^ho gains even a righteous vic- 
 tory by disingenuous means. 
 
 When the door had closed behind me and 
 I was free to stride up Ninth Street with 
 my curio beneath my arm, I dreaded at 
 every step to hear the hue and cry of " Stop 
 thief! " at my heels. Once safe beyond the 
 nearest corner, I actually ran. Up one 
 street, down another, now running, and 
 now short of breath, proceeding at a rapid 
 walk, I came at length to a small, well- 
 nigh deserted public square, and here, seated 
 on a retired bench, I cautiously took out my 
 blue envelope, and for the first time scruti- 
 nized its inscription. 
 
 The writer was evidently a person of de- 
 
 220 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 cided character ; but whether man or woman 
 it was impossible to guess. There was some- 
 thing mascuUne about the stationery, which 
 suggested a well-appointed club; but on the 
 other hand, the seal of violet wax, the rather 
 blurred impression of what might have 
 been a dainty crest, the smell of orris, I 
 fancied, spoke of a lady's boudoir. As for 
 the postmark, it was non-committal as to 
 place, but the hour and date w^ere clearly 
 nine-thirty p. m. the previous day, which 
 seemed rather late for a lady; but again, 
 few men ever write " In haste " across the 
 corner of a letter. Of course it would have 
 been a simple matter to have solved the 
 mystery then and there; but a mystery 
 solved can never be itself again, and for 
 the moment I determined to prolong the 
 pleasures of anticipation. I chuckled to 
 myself, and cast a friendly glance about 
 me, vaguely imagining what Selbyville 
 might mean to me in after years. Assum- 
 ing an easy attitude upon the bench, I 
 gazed into the sky. 
 
 *'Ah, Fate!" I was beginning to solilo- 
 
 221 
 
ON aCHE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 quize, when a rude voice beside me inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 " Say, kape yer feet ofFen the grass, un- 
 less ye own the earth! " it said, and looking 
 up I saw before me the sinister visage of a 
 minion of the law. " And what are ye doin' 
 here anyway? '' the voice went on while the 
 visage turned with undisguised suspicion 
 toward my curio, which did look something 
 like an infant wrapped in newspaper. 
 
 I said that I was waiting for my train, 
 and asked with all humility to be directed 
 to the station. 
 
 I was answered with contumely. I was 
 commanded to " Get a move on! " I was 
 told with scant civihty that the Union Sta- 
 tion was only one block away. " Even you 
 can't miss it," my informant said. " Follow 
 South Ninth Street." 
 
 I rose and thanked the man witH all the 
 dignity at my command. I also gave him 
 a cigar, which seemed to mollify him; but 
 if my random flight had brought me once 
 
 more to the far end of Ninth Street, I 
 
 B22 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 should have let every train that ever cleared 
 from Selbyville depart without me rather 
 than have risked another meeting with the 
 curiosity man. As I sauntered nonchalantly 
 in the wrong direction, I am sure that I 
 caught a vulgar idiom muttered by official 
 lips. 
 
 But the experience had taught me that 
 one who has a secret to conceal should 
 avoid above all things making himself con- 
 spicuous. So, carrying my curio — which 
 was of bronze and growing every moment 
 heavier — as though it was a package from 
 the laundry, I struck into a swinging gait, 
 and hummed a popular refrain. My single 
 wish now was to seem absolutely sane; for 
 to be " bug-house " (such was the police- 
 man's phrase), though not a crime, may 
 lead to inquiries, perhaps examination, and 
 I was by no means certain what incrimina- 
 ting matter my hidden letter might contain. 
 Thus reasoning, I became doubtful all at 
 once of my right to the blue envelope. And 
 the more I thought about it, the weaker 
 
ON .THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 grew my confidence in the course I had pur- 
 sued. What if after all I had appropriated 
 some one's else business, some one's else se- 
 cret, the hideous clue to some one's else 
 misdemeanor? 
 
 It had been my half-formed purpose to 
 walk until the town was far behind me, out 
 into the quiet country where there were 
 surely haystacks and deserted barns, or at 
 least, if nothing better offered, trees to 
 climb. But now the thought occurred to me 
 that it might be safer to read my letter in 
 broad daylight and the open street, than in 
 uncertain and suspicious solitude. 
 
 The decision was a wise one, and I lost 
 no time in turning it into action; for my 
 surroundings at the moment could scarcely 
 have been more favorable. I stood before 
 what appeared to be a public building, 
 tightly closed and to all appearance unused, 
 and right at hand there was a most con- 
 venient newel-post on which to rest my 
 curio, which had for some time been threat- 
 ening to shed its wrappings altogether. I 
 
 224. 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 can't remember now just what it was — 
 some Eastern object, doubtless — ^but 
 scarcely had it left my hands when all the 
 air grew resonant with yells as though the 
 fiends of Tophet were released from dur- 
 ance ; the great doors of the building opened, 
 and children, innumerable children, issued 
 forth. I have never in mv life beheld so 
 many children all at once. They swarmed 
 about me and my curio, uttering uncouth 
 cries, and pointing with their horrid little 
 fingers urged their young companions far 
 and near to join in the affray. I yield to 
 no one in my love for childhood — properly 
 conducted childhood — but Selbyville is not 
 the place to find it. 
 
 With one disheartened cry, I grabbed my 
 property, and started whither I neither 
 knew nor cared, the children pursuing like 
 a pack of misbehaved young wolves. I 
 crossed a crowded thoroughfare, doubled on 
 my tracks, overturned a push-cart full of 
 oranges, threw a matinee audience into wild 
 alarm, and everywhere I seemed to hear two 
 
 225 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 fatal words. And when at last I threw, 
 myself upon a trolley-car the stupid vul- 
 garism still rang in my ears. 
 
 I am sure the conductor eyed me witK 
 suspicion; but I did not care; for I was 
 moving every moment farther from the 
 scenes of my discomfiture, my curio out of 
 sight beneath the seat, and my letter safely 
 in my inside pocket. I picked up an aban- 
 doned paper, and read it, or appeared to 
 do so, with composure, though all the while 
 the fingers of my left hand never ceased to 
 pinch the blue envelope, making fresh dis- 
 coveries. 
 
 Within the sheet of folded note-paper 
 there was unquestionably an inclosure of a 
 smaller size and softer texture, perhaps a 
 bank-note, perhaps a draft. Of course I 
 held my imagination well in check, and 
 tried to think of nothing more important 
 than a newspaper cutting; but even this al- 
 lowed a certain scope for fancy. Adver- 
 tisements for missing heirs are not uncom- 
 mon, and even poems when embalmed in 
 
 226 
 
ON .THE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 orris may have deep significance. Ah! 
 What if I were rich? What if I were 
 loved? What if both at once? The thing 
 is not impossible. Soon I should know all, 
 beneath my haystack, in my barn, or, bird- 
 like, swinging in my tree. I was so cer- 
 tain now that what had cost so much incon- 
 venience must be all my own, that I would 
 have parted from the blue envelope only 
 with my life. 
 
 It was a shock to Have my dreaming in- 
 terrupted by the conductor's cheerful call, 
 "All out!" and to find that the thrice 
 accursed trolley had all the while been fly- 
 ing, not toward the country, but into the 
 depths of darkest Selbyville, where gas- 
 works, rolling-mills, and docks compete for 
 grimy precedence. But if by that time I 
 had not grown used to disappointment, the 
 opportunity to abandon my curio beneath 
 the seat would have made up for much. 
 
 I have often wondered since my after- 
 noon in Selbyville where the man who wrote 
 in praise of solitude obtained his informa- 
 
 227 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 tion. I feel convinced that Crusoe never 
 sat down for a quiet pipe without black 
 Friday butting in to ask what time it was. 
 But this is idle speculation. 
 
 Once freed from my incumbrance, my 
 heart beat high with hope, and crawling 
 through a broken fence I found myself 
 within a lumber-yard. On every hand well- 
 ordered planks were piled repose fully, and 
 under foot the ground was soft with saw- 
 dust. And here I lost no time in taking 
 out my letter. As I did so, a new and most 
 absorbing possibility flashed upon me. The 
 smaller inclosure might be a photograph, 
 one of those unmounted carbon prints taken 
 by amateurs, and so frankly truthful that 
 only good-looking people care to send them 
 to their friends. I felt my pulses flutter at 
 the thought and pressed the blue envelope 
 to my lips, secure from observation, as I 
 fancied. 
 
 But such was not the case. A large 
 check- jumpered person, with a protruding 
 jaw, perched on a heap of railway ties, had 
 
 22a 
 
ON lTjHE lightship. 
 
 been regarding me witH tolerant amuse- 
 ment all the while. " Well, what in Para- 
 dise are you up to anyhow?" he drawled 
 complacently. 
 
 " I trust that you will pardon the intru- 
 sion," I replied politely; **but I have taken 
 the liberty of stepping in to read a letter." 
 
 " Then you can just step out again," re- 
 turned the man with a deliberation in itself 
 a rudeness. " This ain't no reading-room." 
 
 " But," I protested, " surely you will not 
 grudge me a modicum of solitude and 
 quiet? " 
 
 " I guess we ain't got what you w^ant in 
 stock to-day. I guess you'd better inquire 
 up at the jail; they make a sort of specialty 
 of just them things." 
 
 I left, unwilling to expose myself to fur- 
 ther incivility; and presently I quitted the 
 gas-house region altogether; but not before 
 I had been driven from a brewery by a dog, 
 and from a canal-boat by a woman barge- 
 man; a stevedore had challenged me to 
 fight, and an intoxicated roustabout had 
 
 229 
 
ON ,TjHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 given me an apple. And nowhere, nowhere, 
 did I find a spot to read my letter. 
 
 Time passed; how much I shall never 
 know, for I had lost all track of it. Nor 
 could I find to-day the little bridge where, 
 weary and disheartened, I sank down upon 
 the broad stone coping to rest. Below, the 
 waters tumbled foaming through a raceway 
 toward the turbines of a power-house, with 
 a sound that mingled pleasantly with the 
 whir of wheels and dynamos within. In 
 contrast with the sordid sights and sounds 
 of Selbyville, the place was grateful and 
 refreshing to the eye and ear, and looking 
 from the coping I was pleased to perceive 
 a shelf of masonry projecting below, wide 
 enough to form a comfortable seat, and 
 easily reached by a short drop from the 
 bridge. Here, indeed, was an oasis, a 
 refuge, a retreat. But unfortunately the 
 place had been preempted by a negro, who 
 appeared to be asleep. 
 
 "Hello!" I shouted, for nothing short 
 of manslaughter could now^ balk me of my 
 
 230 
 
ON tXHE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 purpose. "Hello, my colored friend! 
 Would you not like to earn a dollar? " 
 
 "Sure, boss!" he answered, waking in^ 
 stantly. 
 
 " Then go," I said, " directly to the City 
 Hall and find out if the Mayor is in town." 
 
 (The man demurred, until the actual con- 
 tact of the dollar with his palm convinced 
 him of my good faith. And presently he 
 clambered to the bridge, while I lost little 
 time in dropping to his place. 
 
 " Say, boss," he called down to me in a 
 nervous whisper, " if youse done goin' to 
 drown yourself, won't you please wait till 
 I get off where I cain't hear you splash? " 
 
 At last I was alone, at last secure from 
 interruption! And scarcely daring to be- 
 lieve in such good fortune, I crouched 
 against the w^all and held my breath. So 
 minutes went by, each one an agony of fear 
 that some fresh difficulty might yet confront 
 me. Then, gaining strength, I cautiously 
 drew forth once more the treasured blue 
 envelope. 
 
 23 1: 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 My hands were tremulous, my; nerves 
 tingling with emotion; but I had schooled 
 myself to bear whatever good or evil Fate 
 might have in store. The strong cool wind 
 from beneath the bridge brought me new 
 courage, and the very machinery seemed to 
 murmur promises. I pressed my blue en- 
 velope to my heart; I laid it on my knee 
 for one brief instant, to experience again 
 the tantalizing delights of anticipation. 
 
 The breeze became a gale. It threatened 
 to dislodge my hat, and in one mad moment 
 I raised both hands. In the next — I know 
 not how it happened — in the next, I saw my 
 letter far below where the wild waters 
 whirled. For an instant it leaped and 
 danced before me, lighter than the foam, 
 and then with one last flash of blue it dis- 
 appeared in the black waters of the turbine 
 
 pit. — " Continued on page 14," Sunday Magazine, April 1, '07. 
 
 Much as I dislike superlatives, I may say 
 that never have I been so disappointed and 
 annoyed. 
 
 ("If you have read this story, it may be well to remind 
 you that this is April 1st." — Ed. Sunday Magazine.) 
 
THE MONEY METER 
 
THE MONEY METER 
 
 HIRAM CLATFIELD, upon 
 the threshold of his office, 
 peered out into the counting- 
 room in a manner difficult to 
 associate with the inscriptions on the plate- 
 glass door half open at his back. " Pri- 
 vate " was printed there in gilded letters, 
 and " President," but the tone of the presi- 
 dent was almost that of one who asks a 
 favor as he said: 
 
 "Mr. Wattles, if you should happen to 
 be disengaged, I should like to speak with 
 you a moment." 
 
 The cashier, wheeling on his lofty-legged 
 stool, gave one regretful glance toward a 
 regiment of figures, a marching column six 
 abreast from which he had been casting out 
 the nines, and replied resignedly: 
 " I'm disengaged at present." 
 
 235 
 
ON tXHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 "Then please come in," said Mr. Clat- 
 field, accepting the untruth with gratitude, 
 " Come in and shut the door." 
 
 The room marked " President," paneled 
 in quartered oak much like the state apart- 
 ment of a private car, contained a polished 
 desk, six chairs with red morocco seats, a 
 Turkish rug, and the portrait of a former 
 president done in oil. Beneath the picture, 
 upon a pedestal and protected by a dome of 
 glass, stood a small machine which, from 
 time to time, emitted jerky, nervous clicks, 
 and printed mystic characters upon an end- 
 less paper tape. 
 
 The former president upon the wall 
 smiled perpetually, with eyes directed to the 
 plate-glass door, as though it pleased him 
 to observe through it the double row of neat 
 young men on lofty stools so well em- 
 ployed. Perhaps it pleased him better still 
 to watch the little, brass-barred windows 
 farther on, where countless faces came and 
 went all day from ten till three — thin faces 
 and fat, and old and young, and hands, in- 
 
 236 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 numerable hands, some to carry and some 
 to fetch, but all to leave a tribute for whom- 
 ever might be sitting at the polished desk. 
 
 *' Please read this item, Mr. Wattles,'* 
 said the president, indicating with a well- 
 kept finger-nail a paragraph in the Morn- 
 ing Mercury, and, putting on his glasses, 
 Mr. Wattles read: 
 
 " Conservative estimates place the for- 
 tune of Hiram Clatfield at seven million 
 dollars." 
 
 At the same moment the small machine 
 appeared to rouse itself. 
 
 " Con-ser-vat-ive - est-i-ma-tes - place-the- 
 
 for-tune - of - Hi-ram-Clat-field-at " it 
 
 seemed to repeat deliberately; as for dicta- 
 tion, and stopped. 
 
 " S.e.v.e.n.m.i.U.i.o.n.d.o.Ll.a.r.s," con- 
 cluded a typewriter in the counting-room 
 beyond the plate-glass doors, and the sen- 
 tence ended in the tinkle of the little bell 
 which gives warning that a line is nearly 
 finished. 
 
 Mr. Wattles, having laid the paper on 
 
 237 
 
« 
 
 ON tXHE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 tHe table, wiped his glasses with a pocket- 
 handkerchief and held them to the light. 
 
 "Do you propose to take action in the 
 matter? " he inquired. " Is there anything 
 I can do?" 
 
 Mr. Clatfield moved to the center of the 
 rug and thrust both hands into his trousers' 
 pockets. 
 
 Wattles," he said, " is that thing true? " 
 Not altogether," said the other, betray- 
 ing nothing in his tone beyond a wish for 
 accuracy. " I think it would be safe to say 
 at least — allowing for fluctuations — ten 
 million dollars." 
 
 " Al-low-ing-f or-fluc-tua-tions " re- 
 peated the ticker. 
 
 " T.e.n.m.i.l.l.i.o.n.d.o.l.l.a.r,s," the type- 
 writer concluded. 
 
 Between the two men on the Turkish rug 
 there was so little to choose that, with straw 
 cylinders to protect his cuffs and a left coat 
 sleeve somewhat marred by wiping pens, 
 either might have been cashier, and with- 
 out these tokens either might very well have 
 
 238 
 
ON lTHE lightshie 
 
 been president. The banker was a trifle 
 bald and gray about the temples. The 
 other's hair was still erect and of a hue which 
 had suggested " Chipmunk " as a fitting 
 nickname in his school days. 
 
 " Wattles," said the banker slowly, 
 "what is ten million dollars?" 
 
 " Why, it's — it's a heap of money," fal- 
 tered the cashier. 
 
 The other took a turn towards the mar- 
 gin of the rug and back. 
 
 " That doesn't help me," he protested. 
 " That doesn't give me an idea. You used 
 to be so full of fancies," he went on, some- 
 what pettishly; "you used to bring a book 
 of poetry to read at lunch when we were 
 kids outside there " — he nodded toward the 
 counting-room. " You used to laugh at me 
 for puzzling over discounts, and say I went 
 about with blinders, like a horse, to shut out 
 everything that was not right ahead. I 
 never could imagine anything — I can't 
 imagine ten millions now. How long 
 would it be if it were all in dollar bills 
 
 2S9 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 placed end to end? How big would it be 
 if it were in two-cent postage stamps? " 
 
 " It would take a little time to work that 
 out," replied the other man respectfully, 
 though not without a twinkle in his eye. 
 " I can let you have a statement in half an 
 hour." 
 
 " Don't do it, then," rejoined the banker. 
 " I'm sick of figures, and you never needed 
 them when you used to make up fairy tales 
 as we went roaming through the streets 
 after the bank had closed." 
 
 " I often make up fairy stories still," 
 said Mr. Wattles, "after the bank has 
 closed." 
 
 "Do you?" demanded the other. "Do 
 you still? And do you still take walks be- 
 fore going home to supper? " 
 
 " Yes, when it does not rain." 
 
 " And do you think it will be clear to- 
 night?" 
 
 Mr. Wattles laughed. 
 
 " To-night I shall be late in getting off," 
 he said, " because to-morrow^ is a holiday." 
 
 240 
 
ON iTrHE LIGHTSHIB 
 
 l-Lj 
 
 What holiday?'' inquired Mr. Clatfield. 
 
 " Christmas," said Mr. Wattles. 
 
 " I don't pretend to keep track of all the 
 holidays," said Mr. Clatfield. 
 
 **No," said Mr. Wattles, "I suppose 
 not." 
 
 It was a busy day at the bank, and the 
 city clocks had sounded six before the cash- 
 ier set the time-locks in the vault and bade 
 good-night to the watchman at the door. 
 iBut if he was surprised to find an old com- 
 panion waiting on the steps, his face did 
 not betray the fact. 
 
 " I thought I'd walk a little way with 
 you," explained the banker, with an at- 
 tempt at carelessness that overshot the 
 mark. 
 
 "All right," said Mr. Wattles, button- 
 ing up his serviceable coat and bestowing a 
 quick, chipmunk glance upon the weather. 
 " You won't mind if I stop to get my col- 
 lars?" 
 
 A misty rain was falling, and the streets 
 were filled with people hurrying home from 
 
 241 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 work. As the two men fell in with the pro- 
 cession the banker gave an awkward little 
 hop to catch the step. 
 
 " I don't suppose you take your laundry 
 to the same place still? " he speculated. 
 
 " Oh, yes, the same old place," replied 
 the other. " Mrs. Brennan's dead, of 
 course, but Mary Ann still carries on the 
 business." 
 
 " You don't mean httle Mary Ann? " 
 
 " Yes, she's big Mary Ann now, and has 
 five children of her own. Her husband was 
 a switchman in the yards until he got run 
 over by an engine two years ago." 
 
 Connected talk was difficult in the jos- 
 tling crowd, and often the two men pro- 
 ceeded for half a block in silence. Once 
 Mr. Wattles dived into a little shop to buy 
 tobacco for his pipe. On his return he 
 found the banker occupied with landmarks. 
 
 *' Didn't there use to be a grocery over 
 there?" asked Mr. Clatfield. 
 
 "Yes, where the tall building now 
 stands," replied the other. "Do you re- 
 
 242 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 member the fat groceryman who used to 
 sell us apples?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," the banker rejoined, " and 
 they were first rate apples, too. Strange, 
 but I can't eat apples now ; they don't agree 
 with me." 
 
 "No," said Mr. Wattles, "I suppose 
 not." 
 
 The lighted windows of a great depart- 
 ment store made an arcade of radiance in 
 the murky night, creating an illusion of 
 protection so strong that one might well 
 believe oneself indoors. The rain was 
 changing into snow, which melted under 
 foot but hung about the hair and beards 
 and shoulders of the passers-by. Along 
 the curb a row of barrows displayed cheap 
 toys and Christmas greens for sale. 
 
 "Do you remember how we used to lin- 
 ger at the shops, and pick out presents and 
 imagine we had lots of money? " Mr. Wat- 
 tles asked. 
 
 " That was your game," answered Mr. 
 Clatfield. "I never could imagine any- 
 
 243 
 
ON lXHE lightship 
 
 thing. I could see only the things you 
 pointed out." 
 
 It seemed to the banker that in the place 
 of his middle-aged cashier there walked be- 
 side him an odd, alert little boy, with bris- 
 tling hair and beady eyes, and he caught 
 himself looking about him in an old, vain 
 hope of being able first to catch sight of 
 something interesting. As they turned into 
 a less frequented street he asked: 
 
 " What became of the old woman who 
 made butterscotch? " 
 
 " She made the last in '81," replied the 
 other. " The penny-in-the-slot machines 
 broke up her business." 
 
 " Really? " the banker commented. " It 
 seems a pity." 
 
 The air was growing colder and the 
 dancing motes of snow made halos about 
 every street-lamp. 
 
 "Don't they look like swarms of May- 
 flies ? " remarked Mr. Wattles. " One might 
 almost believe it was summer." 
 
ON QCHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " Yes, so one might," assented Mr. Clat- 
 field, " now that you speak of it." 
 
 A few steps up a slippery alley they 
 stopped before a shabby little house, the 
 shabbiest of a row of little houses, each one 
 of which displayed the legend "Washing 
 Done." 
 
 " Come in," said the cashier, as he pushed 
 open the door. 
 
 Within, a tall spare woman stood with 
 bare red arms before a washtub on a back- 
 less wooden chair. Upon the floor, amid 
 the heaps of linen waiting for the tub, a 
 litter of small children rolled and tumbled 
 like so many puppies. Festoons of drying 
 shirts and handkerchiefs hung in an atmos- 
 phere of steam and suds. 
 
 At sight of Mr. Wattles the w^oman 
 broke into a flood of explanation and ex- 
 cuse. The water had been frozen all the 
 week, the sun had refused to shine, the baby 
 had been sick. There w^ere a dozen reasons 
 why he could not have his collars, as the 
 
 245 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 speaker called on Heaven to bear witness. 
 
 " You'd have 'em on your neck this min- 
 ute," she declared, " if work could put them 
 there, for it's meself that needs the money 
 for me rint." 
 
 "Ahem!" said Mr. Wattles, "I fancied 
 that your claim against the railway had left 
 you pretty comfortably oif ." 
 
 "Claim, is it?" cried the laundress. 
 " Claim against the railway? Faith, after 
 keeping me waiting for two years they 
 threw me out of court. They said that 
 Mike contributed his negligence and that 
 it served him right." 
 
 " That seems a little hard," commented 
 Mr. Clatfield guardedly, for he was a di- 
 rector in the railway. 
 
 " Small blame to you, but you're a gen- 
 tleman!" exclaimed the washerwoman. 
 
 "At least your husband left you quite a 
 little family," the banker ventured to sug- 
 gest. 
 
 "Contributory negligence again!" said 
 Mr. Wattles under his breath. 
 
 246 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " It's all a body has to do to keep them 
 fed," lamented Mary Ann, " as maybe you 
 know well yourself, sir, if you've childer 
 of your own." 
 
 " I have none," said the other. 
 
 "God pity you!" returned big Mary 
 Ann. 
 
 " Ah, that reminds me," put in Mr. Wat- 
 tles, and coming nearer to the laundress, he 
 explained: " My friend here is the banker, 
 Mr. Clatfield." 
 
 " It's proud I am this day," she answered^ 
 with a courtesy. 
 
 " He has no children," went on Mr. Wat- 
 tles, " but he is very anxious to adopt one, 
 and knowing that you have more than you 
 really need " 
 
 "What are you saying?" began Mr. 
 Clatfield, but his voice was drowned in an 
 outbreak from the woman. 
 
 "Is it daft ye are?" she cried. Mr. 
 Wattles continued, unheeding: 
 
 " He is willing to give you ten thousand 
 dollars for such a one as this " — indicating 
 
 247 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 with his cane an animated lump upon the 
 floor. 
 
 "Me Teddy, is it?" cried the mother, 
 catching up the lump and depositing it for 
 safety in an empty tub. 
 
 " Or what would you say to twenty thou- 
 sand for this one here?" persisted Mr. 
 Wattles, again making use of his cane. 
 
 " Sure that's me Dan," the woman almost 
 shrieked, and another lump went into the 
 tub. 
 
 " Well, we are not disposed to quarrel 
 over trifles," went on Mr. Wattles cheer- 
 fully. " You select the child and name the 
 price — twenty, thirty, forty thousand — all 
 in cash." 
 
 " Gwan out of this, and take your dirty 
 money wid yez! " cried Mrs. Murphy, omi- 
 nously rolling a wet sock into a ball. 
 
 "Of course, if you feel that way, we shall 
 not urge the matter," said INIr. Wattles 
 coldly. Good-evening, Mrs. IVIurphy." 
 
 "Bad luck to yez for a pair of thavin' 
 vipers!" she called after their retreating 
 
 248 
 
ON lTHe lightship. 
 
 figures. " If I had me strength ye'd not 
 get far." 
 
 *'I am astonished at you, Wattles," said 
 Mr. Clatfield when they were safe beyond 
 the alley. " I would not have given a dol- 
 lar for the lot." 
 
 "No," said Mr. Wattles, "I suppose 
 not." 
 
 The two men walked along in silence for 
 a time, while Mr. Clatfield occupied him- 
 self with efforts to divine the point of Mr. 
 Wattles's ill-timed jest. More than once he 
 would have cut short the expedition could 
 he have thought of an excuse, and though 
 the course was somewhat devious, they were 
 headed in a general way toward his own 
 front door, with its broad marble steps and 
 iron lions. The people in the street were 
 few and uninteresting, the houses dull and 
 monotonous, each with its drawn yellow 
 shades and dimly lighted transom, and the 
 banker welcomed the sight of what ap- 
 peared to be a gathering of some sort up 
 ahead, 
 
 249 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 They had come out upon a dreary square, 
 surrounded by tall warehouses and whole- 
 sale stores, now tightly closed and barred 
 with iron shutters. A line of vans and 
 drays without their horses occupied an open 
 space in violation of the law. From one of 
 these a man addressed a little group of in- 
 attentive loiterers. 
 
 The audience changed constantly as those 
 whose passing curiosity was satisfied moved 
 off to be replaced by others, but the man 
 did not appear to care how few or many 
 stayed to listen. He was a young man, and 
 his face, in the full glare of the electric 
 light, was radiant with enthusiasm for his 
 theme, whatever it might be. The cashier 
 pushed his way into the crowd and Mr. 
 Clatfield followed. 
 
 " I should think he would prefer to speak 
 indoors a night like this/' remarked the 
 banker. 
 
 The speaker's subject was an old one, 
 old as the tree of Eden, but never had the 
 two newcomers heard a more effective 
 
 250 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 speech. Perhaps the setting of the bleak, 
 deserted market-place created an illusion. 
 
 " That man is getting rich," he cried, 
 " who can every day add a little to the sur- 
 plus in his heart " 
 
 " What interest do you pay? " called out 
 a bystander facetiously. 
 
 " None," repHed the young man. " Ours 
 is a profit-sharing enterprise." 
 
 " That don't mean anything," com- 
 mented Mr. Wattles ; " but it was a first- 
 rate answer all the same. It made the peo- 
 ple laugh." 
 
 "I wonder why?" demanded Mr. Clat- 
 field. 
 
 The discourse ended presently and the 
 audience dispersed, some with swinging 
 dinner-pails and some with thin coats but- 
 toned tightly at the neck. 
 
 " It does a fellow good to hear the world 
 ain't going to the dogs," remarked a burly 
 laborer, " even if it is just a crank who says 
 it." 
 
 "Good-evening," said the young man^ 
 
 251 
 
ON lXhe lightship. 
 
 jumping from his dray and landing within 
 speaking distance of the two adventurers. 
 " I'm glad to see you here." 
 
 " And we are glad to be here," answered 
 Mr. Wattles. " We have been greatly in- 
 terested, especially my friend Mr. Clatfield, 
 the banker." 
 
 Mr. Clatfield drew himself erect, for he 
 considered such an introduction unneces- 
 sary. 
 
 " I have Heard of Mr. Clatfield often," 
 said the other simply, "and I am happy 
 now to make his acquaintance. Good- 
 evening, gentlemen; I hope you'll come 
 again." 
 
 " One moment, please," the cashier inter- 
 posed. " We will not detain you long, but 
 my friend here has a proposition to make 
 you. He is about to build a large church 
 on the Heights, and he is anxious to secure 
 a preacher who entertains the views you 
 have expressed so well. May I ask you, 
 sir, if you are free to undertake such a 
 charge?" 
 
ON tTHE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 The young man's face blushed red witK 
 gratified amazement. 
 
 "A church? — and on the Heights?" he 
 stammered. 
 
 "Yes," went on Mr. Wattles, "a large 
 church — very large. I don't suppose you 
 would be sorry to give up this sort of 
 thing." He made a motion of his head 
 toward the dray. 
 
 "Would that be necessary?" tHe young 
 man asked, 
 
 "Naturally," rejoined the other. "iThe 
 two could scarcely be combined." 
 
 " In that case," said the preacher, " I am 
 not free," 
 
 " The salary, I should have told you, will 
 be twenty thousand dollars." 
 
 "You ought to get a first-rate man for 
 that amount," replied the preacher. " I 
 should advise you to consult the Bishop." 
 
 "Thank you," said Mr. Wattles, "and 
 good-night." 
 
 " Wattles," cried Mr. Clatfield, who had 
 heard the conversation with stupefied aston- 
 
 253 
 
O ISr T H E LIGHTSHIP 
 
 ishment which deprived him of the power 
 of speech; " Wattles, I have not the slight- 
 est idea of building a church either on the 
 Heights or anywhere else." 
 
 "No," said Mr. Wattles, "I suppose 
 not." 
 
 " I'm going home," announced the 
 banker. 
 
 " All right," agreed the other. " We'll 
 strike through here to Main Street." 
 
 At Main Street they were detained for 
 several minutes at the corner where the 
 trolleys cross, by the crowds waiting for 
 the cars or flocking about the transfer 
 agent like so many sheep for salt. They 
 seemed a dull, bedraggled lot to Mr. Clat- 
 field, just like every other lot who waited 
 every night there for blue or red or yellow 
 trolley cars. But the cashier's eyes went 
 wandering from face to face, more in selec- 
 tion than in search, and presently he nudged 
 his companion to call attention to a couple 
 who stood apart a little from the rest under 
 the shelter of a small, inadequate urn- 
 brella. 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 "What of them?" asked the banker 
 crossly. " You need not look far to see a 
 fellow and a girl." 
 
 The fellow in this case was tall and 
 stoutly built, and the fact that he wore no 
 overcoat might have been set down to stren- 
 uous habits. But as Mr. Wattles noted, he 
 was the only man without an evening 
 paper, and he wore his derby hat reversed 
 in order that a worn place on the rim might 
 be less conspicuous. 
 
 "I'll bet that young man is terribly hard 
 up," remarked Mr. Wattles. 
 
 " You don't want me to adopt him, do 
 you? " demanded Mr. Clatfield. 
 
 " Oh, no, but just see how his shoulder is 
 getting soaked with drippings from the wet 
 umbrella." 
 
 "That's the girl's fault," said Mr. Clat- 
 field. " I guess he wishes she were home." 
 
 She was a plain girl with freckles on her 
 nose; she carried a lunch basket and her 
 gloves were white about the seams, but as 
 the young man whispered something in her 
 ear even Mr. Clatfield thought that he had 
 
 255 
 
ON JCHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 never seen a more attractive smile. When 
 a blue car came along the young man helped 
 her carefully to mount the step, and in 
 shaking hands they laughed and made a 
 little secret of the act. As the car went on 
 its way the young man ran for cover to the 
 awning beneath which stood the banker and 
 the cashier. 
 
 " Good-evening, sir," said Mr. Wattles. 
 " I have seen you often at the bank." 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed," replied the other, 
 highly gratiiied to be recognized by one so 
 great as Mr. Wattles. " I am there every 
 day for my employers, Pullman & Push- 
 ings." 
 
 "An excellent firm," commented Mr. 
 Wattles. " I understand they pay their 
 people handsomely." 
 
 " Oh, as to that," responded the other, 
 laughing, "it's rather handsome to pay at 
 all in times like these." 
 
 "That's true," assented Mr. Wattles. 
 " Times are dull, and more than likely to 
 get worse." 
 
 256 
 
ox THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " Oh, do you think so, really? " the young 
 man asked rather wistfully. 
 
 " Sure of it," answered the cashier, " and 
 if you've any thought of asking for a raise 
 of salary, I should advise you not to do so." 
 
 " I'm very much obliged for the advice," 
 rejoined the other, *' because I have been 
 thinking " 
 
 "Ahem!" coughed Mr. Wattles, inter- 
 rupting. " I w^ant to introduce you to our 
 president, Mr. Clatfield." 
 
 The junior clerk took off his hat and put 
 it on again the right way by mistake. In 
 his confusion he had not observed that 
 Hiram Clatfield looked frigidly above his 
 head; he only heard the cashier's voice con- 
 tinuing like enchanted music: 
 
 " Mr. Clatfield has for some time been 
 looking for a private secretary. The salary 
 would be commensurate wdth the responsi- 
 bility from the first, and should you prove 
 the right man — but of course we would 
 make no promises. Do you think you would 
 be disposed to consider such an opening? " 
 
 257 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 "Would I?" gasped the junior clerk. 
 
 " And, by the way, you are not married, 
 are you?" 
 
 " No," said the young man, " I'm not, 
 but " 
 
 " That's good," continued the cashier. 
 " That's very fortunate, for Mr. Clatfield 
 prefers that his confidential secretaries 
 should be single men. In fact, he makes 
 that an absolute condition." 
 
 " The deuce he does! " replied the junior 
 clerk. " Then he can give the place to any- 
 one but me. There comes my yellow car. 
 Good-night, and much obliged." 
 
 "Wattles," cried Mr. Clatfield, "have 
 you gone crazy? I do not want a private 
 secretary on any terms!" 
 
 "No," answered Mr. Wattles, "I sup- 
 pose not." 
 
 The lighted trolley cars went shooting 
 past. The wind had risen till the big um- 
 brella of the transfer agent threatened to 
 go sailing skyward like a yellow parachute. 
 Already at the corners the ground was get- 
 
 258 
 

 ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 ting white. A muffled clock somewhere 
 struck seven. 
 
 "Wattles," said Mr. Clatfield, "come 
 home and dine with me. I'd like to talk 
 about our walk." 
 
 I can't to-night," replied the cashier. 
 I'm going to take dinner with a man 
 named Briggs." 
 
 Mr. Clatfield tried to fancy what this Mr. 
 Briggs was like and what his dinner would 
 be like, but in either case failed to make a 
 picture because he never could imagine any- 
 thing. 
 
 " At least come with me to the door," he 
 said. 
 
 It was not far to where the iron lions 
 crouched, and presently the two men stood 
 before them shaking hands. 
 
 " Good-night," said Mr. Clatfield. " This 
 has been like old times. I suppose you'll 
 not be at the bank to-morrow?" 
 
 " I shall be there for an hour perhaps to 
 finish up some work," replied the cashier. 
 " Is there anything I can do? " 
 
 259 
 
ON tTHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 He drew a memorandum book from his 
 I)ocket. Holding the page in the light of 
 a street lamp, his eyes fell on some small, 
 neatly penciled figures. 
 
 " By the way," he said, " I have figured 
 out your problem. Ten million one-dollar 
 bills placed end to end would reach one 
 hundred and ten miles, forty-eight hun- 
 dredths and a fraction." 
 
 " Thank you," said Mr. Clatfield. 
 
 " In two-cent stamps " continued 
 
 the cashier, but his employer interfered. 
 
 " Never mind the stamps," he said. " To- 
 morrow, if you have time, I should like you 
 to draw three checks upon my private ac- 
 count." 
 
 " Three checks " repeated Mr. Wat- 
 tles, preparing to make a note. 
 
 '' For twenty thousand each — no, make it 
 fifty thousand each." 
 
 "For fifty thousand dollars eacH — and 
 payable to " 
 
 Mr. Clatfield hesitated an instant, then 
 went on desperately: 
 
 260 
 
ON a^HE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " One payable to big Mary Ann; one to 
 the preaching fellow, and one — make it out 
 to the girl with the freckles on her nose." 
 
 The cashier paused, and for the first time 
 in his long service ventured to dispute in- 
 structions. 
 
 " Hiram," he said, " what harm have they 
 done you? " 
 
 Mr. Clatfield did not answer, but stood 
 in silence, poking his cane into the iron 
 lion's open mouth. 
 
 26r 
 
THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
THE GUEST OF HONOR 
 
 LETTERS of introduction!" Clara 
 sighed. " One can't help wishing 
 i they were made misdemeanors like 
 other lottery tickets." And this 
 being Her third remark of kindred import, 
 curiosity became at least excusable. So 
 Mrs. Penfield stroked a sable muff in si- 
 lent sympathy. 
 
 " We had one yesterday from Jack's 
 Boston aunt," went on her charming host- 
 ess, " a Mrs. Bates, who is continually send- 
 ing us spiritualists or people who paint 
 miniatures, or Armenian refugees, just be- 
 cause we spent a w^ek or so with her one 
 summer when the children had the mumps. 
 In Lent one does not mind, one rather looks 
 for trials, but now one's dinner-table is 
 really not one's own. Maude, do let me 
 give you another cup of tea; it's awfully 
 
 265 
 
ON SHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 bad, I know; we have to buy it from the 
 Dunbar girls. If one's friends would only 
 not sell things one has to drink! " 
 
 " Such a delightful httle tea-pot would 
 make any tea delicious, I am sure," mur- 
 mured Mrs. Penfield, and the conversation 
 rested while a noiseless menial entered, put 
 wood upon the fire, and illuminated an elec- 
 tric bulb within an opalescent shell. An 
 odor of cut flowers floated in the air and an 
 exotic whiff* of muffin. 
 
 Mrs. Fessenden, when she had made the 
 tea, sank back once more among the cush- 
 ions and stretched her small feet to the 
 blaze. 
 
 "I am not at home, Pierre," she an- 
 nounced. 
 
 "Perfectly, Madame," replied the me- 
 nial, as though the absence were self- 
 evident. 
 
 Mrs. Penfield mused and sipped. 
 
 " Some women are so inconsiderate when 
 they are old," she said remindingly. 
 
 "And so are most men when they are 
 
 ^66 
 
ON iTHE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 young," rejoined the lady of the cushions, 
 " and Jack, though nice in many ways, is 
 no exception. When I ask him to help by 
 having unexpected men who must be fed to 
 luncheon at the club, he says champagne at 
 midday gives him apoplexy. And so we 
 have to invite an unknown person to our 
 very nicest dinner." 
 
 " What unknown person? " inquired Mrs. 
 Penfield, and Clara sighed. 
 
 "A Mr. Hopworthy," she replied. 
 "Fancy, if you can, a man named Hop- 
 worthy." 
 
 Mrs. Penfield tried and failed. 
 
 " What is he like? " she asked. 
 
 " I haven't an idea. He called here yes- 
 terday at three o'clock — fancy a man who 
 calls at three o'clock! and Jack insisted on 
 inviting him for to-morrow night — and I 
 had to give so much thought to to-morrow 
 night!" 
 
 "Of course Ke is coming," put im Mrs. 
 Penfield; " such people never send regrets." 
 Or acceptances either, it would seem," 
 
 267 
 
 a 
 
ON lTjHE lightship 
 
 returned her friend; *' the wretch has not so 
 much as answered, and soon it will be too 
 late to get even an emergency girl." 
 
 " Oh, one can always scare up a girl," the 
 other said consolingly. 
 
 Pierre entered with a little silver tray. 
 
 "A note, if Madame pleases," he an- 
 nounced. Perhaps had Madame pleased a 
 pineapple or a guinea-pig might have been 
 forthcoming. When he had retired, Ma- 
 dame tore open the envelope. A flush of 
 pleasure made her still more charming. 
 
 " Hopworthy has been seriously in- 
 jured!" she, cried almost in exulta- 
 tion. 
 
 "And how much anxiety you Have had 
 for nothing, dear!" said Mrs. Penfield, 
 rising. " So often things turn out much 
 better than we dare to hope. What does he 
 say? " 
 
 "Oh, only this; he writes abominably," 
 and Clara read: 
 
 Dear Mrs. Fessenden: 
 
 I assure you, nothing less than a serious injury could 
 prevent my availing myself of your charming invitation 
 for Wednesday evening. . . . 
 
 268 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " Oh, Maude, you can't think what a re- 
 lief this is!" 
 
 "But " began Mrs. Penfield and 
 
 paused, while Clara, folding the note, tore 
 it deliberately in twain. 
 
 *' I don't believe he has been seriously 
 hurt at all," she said on second thought. 
 " He simply did not want to come. Fancy 
 a man who invents such an excuse!" 
 
 "But " began Mrs. Penfield once 
 
 more, when Mrs. Fessenden interposed. 
 
 " I shall hope never to hear his wretched 
 name again," she said. " Maude, dear, you 
 won't forget to-morrow night?" 
 
 " Not unless Butler forgets me," said 
 Mrs. Penfield, whereat both ladies laughed 
 the laugh that rounds a pleasant visit. 
 
 " Jack," w^hispered Clara, " please count 
 and see if everyone is here; there should be 
 twenty." 
 
 It was Wednesday evening, and the Fes- 
 senden's Colonial drawing-room housed an 
 assembly to make the snow}^ breast of any 
 hostess glow with satisfaction, especially a 
 
 269 
 

 ON ,XHE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 Kostess possessing one inch less of waist and 
 one inch more of husband than any lady^ 
 present. 
 
 Exactly twenty," Jack announced; 
 
 that is, if we count the Envoy and the 
 Countess each as only one, which don't 
 seem quite respectful." 
 
 "Please don't try to be silly," said his 
 wife, suspecting stimulant unjustly. 
 
 To her the function was a serious achieve- 
 ment, nicely proportioned, complete in all 
 its parts; from Mrs. Ballington's tiara — a 
 constellation never known to shine in hazy 
 social atmospheres — to the Envoy Extraor- 
 dinary's extraordinary foreign boots. Even 
 the Countess, who wore what was in effect 
 a solferino tea-gown with high-bred uncon- 
 cern, was not a jarring note. Everybody 
 knew how the Countess's twenty priceless 
 trunks had gone to Capetown by mistake, 
 and her presence made the pretty drawing- 
 room a salorij just as the Envoy's presence 
 made the occasion cosmopolitan. When 
 the mandolin club in the hall struck up a 
 
 spirited fandango, no pointed chin in all 
 
 270 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 the town took on a prouder tilt than Clara 
 Fessenden's. 
 
 The Envoy Extraordinary had just let 
 fall no less a diplomatic secret than that, in 
 his opinion, a certain war would end in 
 peace eventually, when Mrs. Penfield, who 
 happened to be near, inquired: 
 
 " Oh, Clara, have you heard anything 
 more of that Mr. Hop worthy? " 
 
 "Don't speak to me of him!" retorted 
 Clara, clouding over. *'When Jack called 
 at his hotel to leave a card, he had the ef- 
 frontery to be out. Just fancy, and we 
 had almost sent him grapes! " 
 
 " But " began Mrs. Penfield. 
 
 Pierre was at the door; one hand behind 
 him held the orchestra in check. 
 
 "Madame is served," he formed his lips 
 to say, but having reached "Madame," he 
 found himself effaced by someone entering 
 hurriedly — a tall young man with too abun- 
 dant hair and teeth, but otherwise permis- 
 sible. 
 
 iThe new arrival paused, took soundings, 
 as it were, divined the hostess, and advanced 
 
 271 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 upon her wdtH extended hand. Evidently 
 it was one of those amusing Httle incidents 
 called " contretemps," which often happen 
 where front doors are much alike, and the 
 people on the left have odd acquaintances. 
 
 "I trust I am not late," the blunderer 
 began at once. *' It was so kind of you to 
 think of me ; so altogether charming, so de- 
 lightful." His eyes were dark and keen, 
 his broad, unsheltered mouth, which seemed 
 less to utter than to manufacture words, 
 gave the impression of astonishing produc- 
 tive power, and Clara, though sorry for a 
 fellow-creature doomed to rude enlighten- 
 ment, was glad he was not to be an element 
 in her well-ordered little dinner. But as 
 her guests were waiting she gave a slight 
 impatient flutter to her fan. The other 
 went on unobservant. 
 
 " One can say so little of one's pleasure 
 in a hurried note, but I assure you, my dear 
 Mrs. Fessenden, nothing short of a serious 
 accident " 
 
 Where had she met this formula before? 
 
 *\0h, Mr. Hop worthy!" she responded 
 
 272 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 with a smile, an automatic smile, self -regu- 
 lating and self-adjusting, like the phrase 
 that followed, " I am so glad you were ahle 
 to come." And turning to her husband, she 
 announced, too sweetly to leave her state of 
 mind in doubt: 
 
 " Jack, here is Mr. Hop worthy, your 
 aunt's old friend." 
 
 With her eyes she added: 
 
 "Fiend, behold your work!" 
 
 Jack grasped the stranger's hand and 
 wrung it warmly. 
 
 " I'm glad you're out again," he said. 
 " Now tell my wife just how you left Aunt 
 Bates," And so saying he backed toward 
 the door, for he could be resourceful on 
 occasion. Two minutes later when he 
 reappeared his face was wreathed in 
 smiles. 
 
 " It's all serene," He whispered to his 
 wife. " They have crowded in another 
 place at your end. We'll make the best of 
 it." 
 
 Perhaps it occurred to Clara that things 
 to be made the best of were oftenest 
 
 273 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP, 
 
 crowded in at her end, but she had no time 
 to say so, for Pierre had come into his own 
 again — Madame was served. 
 
 Jack led, of course, with scintillescent 
 Mrs. Ballington, he having flatly refused 
 to take in the Countess. Jack's point of 
 view was always masculine, and often ele- 
 mentary. 
 
 The Countess followed with a Mr. 
 Walker, who collected eggs, and was be- 
 lieved to have been born at sea, which made 
 him interesting in a way. Then came 
 Maude Penfield, preceding Lena Living- 
 ston, according to the tonnage of their hus- 
 bands' yachts. In truth, the whole proces- 
 sion gave in every rank new evidence of 
 Clara's kindly forethought. For herself, 
 she had not only the Extraordinary, but, by 
 perverse fate, another. 
 
 " Mr. Hopworthy," she explained, bring- 
 ing both dimples into play, " a very charm- 
 ing girl has disappointed us. I hope you 
 don't mind walking three abreast." 
 
 Clara's imtruths were never compromises. 
 
 274 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 When they should be told, she told them, 
 scorning to keep her score immaculate by 
 subterfuge. " Though the Recording An- 
 gel may be strict," she often said with child- 
 like faith, " I am convinced he is well-bred." 
 
 The pleasant flutter over dinner cards 
 ended as it should in each guest being next 
 the persons most desired — each guest, but 
 not the hostess. For Jack's resourceful- 
 ness having accomplished the additional 
 place, stopped short, and his readjustment 
 of the cards, which had been by chance, 
 had brought the Envoy upon Clara's left 
 and given to Mr. Hopworthy the seat of 
 honor. 
 
 For a moment Clara hesitated, hoping 
 against hope for someone to be taken ill, 
 for almost anything that might create an 
 opportunity for a change of cards. But 
 while she stood in doubt the diplomat 
 most diplomatically sat down. Beyond him 
 the Countess was already drawing off her 
 gloves as though they had been stockings, 
 and further on the gentleman born at sea 
 
 275 
 
ON aCHE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 seemed pleased to find his dinner roll so like 
 an egg. 
 
 It was one of those unrecorded tragedies 
 known only to woman. The failures of a 
 man leave ruins to bear testimony to en- 
 deavor; a woman's edifice of cobweb falls 
 without commotion, whatever pains its 
 building may have cost. 
 
 " I gave you that seat," said Clara to the 
 diplomat in dimpled confidence, "because 
 the window on the other side lets in a per- 
 fect gale of draught." 
 
 " A most kind draught to blow me nearer 
 my hostess's heart," he answered, much too 
 neatly not to have said something of the 
 sort before. 
 
 Fortunately botK the Envoy and the 
 
 Countess appreciated oysters, and before the 
 
 soup came, Clara, outwardly herself again, 
 
 could turn a smiling face to her unwelcome 
 
 guest. But Mr. Hopworthy was bending 
 
 toward Maude, who seemed very much 
 
 amused. So was the man between them, 
 
 and so were several others. 
 
 276 
 
ON T.HE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 Already he had begun to make himself 
 conspicuous. People with broad mouths al- 
 ways make themselves conspicuous. She 
 felt that Maude was gloating over her dis- 
 comfiture. She detected this in every note 
 of Maude's well-modulated laugh, and could 
 an interchange of beakers with the stranger 
 have been sure of Florentine results, Clara 
 would have faced a terrible temptation. 
 As it was, she asked the Envoy if he had 
 seen the Automobile Show. 
 
 He had, and by good luck machinery was 
 his favorite topic, a safe one, leaving little 
 ground for argument. From machinery 
 one proceeds by certain steps to things 
 thereby created, silk and shoes and books, 
 and comes at length, as Clara did, to silver- 
 ware and jewels, pearls and emeralds. And 
 here the Countess, who mistrusted terrapin, 
 broke in. 
 
 She had known an emerald larger than an 
 egg — Mr. Walker looked up hopefully. It 
 had been laid by Royalty at the feet of 
 Beauty — Mr. Walker, who had been about 
 
 277 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 to speak, resumed his research, and the 
 Countess held the floor. 
 
 She wore a bracelet given her by a poten- 
 tate, whose title suggested snufF, as a re- 
 ward for great devotion to his cause, and 
 its exhibition occupied a course. 
 
 Meanwhile the hostess, as with astral 
 ears, heard snatches of the conversation all 
 about her. 
 
 " And do you think so really, Mr. Hop- 
 worthy?" 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Hop worthy, were you actually 
 there?" 
 
 "Please tell us your opinion " 
 
 Evidently Jack's aunt's acquaintance 
 was being drawn out, encouraged to display 
 himself, made a butt of, in point of fact! 
 This came from taking Maude Penfield 
 into her confidence. There was always a 
 streak of something not exactly nice in 
 Maude. As Clara, with her mind's eye, 
 saw the broad Hopworthian mouth in ac- 
 tive operation, she felt — the feminine in- 
 stinct in such matters is unerring — that 
 
 278 
 
ON lXHE lightship. 
 
 Butler Penfield cherished every phrase for 
 future retahation at the club, and Lena 
 Livingston, who never laughed, was laugh- 
 ing. After all, if foreigners are often 
 dull, at least they have no overmastering 
 sense of humor. 
 
 " My Order of the Bull was given me at 
 twenty-six," the Envoy was relating, and 
 though the story was a long one, Clara lis- 
 tened to it all with swimming eyes. 
 
 " Diplomacy is full of intrigue as an egg 
 of meat," it ended, and once more Mr. 
 Walker looked up hopefully. 
 
 Again the hostess forced herself to turn 
 with semblance of attention to her right. 
 But Mr. Hopworthy did not appear to no- 
 tice the concession. He did not appear to 
 notice anything. He w^as haranguing, ac- 
 tually haranguing, oblivious that all within 
 the hearing of his resonant voice regarded 
 him with open mockery. Jack in the dis- 
 tance, too far aw^ay to apprehend the truth, 
 exhibited his customary unconcern, for 
 Jack's ideals were satisfied if at his table 
 
 279 
 
ON ,THE LIGHTSHIP, 
 
 people only ate enough and talked. And 
 perhaps it 5vas as well Jack did not com- 
 prehend. 
 
 *' To illustrate," the orator was saying — 
 fancy a man wKo says "to illustrate." 
 " This wine is, as we may say, dyophysitic " 
 — ^here Mr. Hopworthy held up his glass 
 and looked about him whimsically — " pos- 
 sessed of dual potentialities containing 
 germs of absolute antipathies — " Even 
 Jack, could he have heard, must have re- 
 sented the suggestion of germs in his cham- 
 pagne. 
 
 "Perhaps you would rather have some 
 Burgundy with your duck," suggested 
 Mrs. Fessenden with heroic fortitude, and 
 ]Mr. Hopworthy checked his train of 
 thought at once. 
 
 " Aye, Madam," he rejoined, " there you 
 revive an ancient controvers5^" 
 
 " I am sure I did not mean to," Clara 
 said regretfully, and Mr. Hopworthy 
 smiled his most open smile. 
 
 " A controversy," drawled Lena Living- 
 ston, "how very odd!" 
 
 280 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 " It was indeed," assented Mr. Hop- 
 worthy, and went on: "Once, as you 
 know, the poets of Reims and Beaune 
 waged war in verse over the respective 
 claims of the blond wine and the brunette, 
 and so bitter grew the fight that several 
 provinces sprang to arms, and Louis the 
 Foiu-teenth was forced to go to war to keep 
 the peace." 
 
 It was pure malice in Maude to show so 
 marked an interest in a statement so ab- 
 surd, and it was fiendish in the rest to en- 
 courage Mr. Hopworthy. Even the most 
 insistent talker comes in time to silence if 
 nobody listens. 
 
 " Oh, M. Hop — Hop — Hopgood," cried 
 the Countess, " if you are a savant, perhaps 
 you know my Axel! " 
 
 " And have you taken out a patent for 
 your axel? " asked the diplomat, whose mind 
 reverted to mechanics. 
 
 The Countess favored him witK one 
 glance through her lorgnettes — a present 
 from the exiled King of Crete — and 
 straightway took her bag and baggage to 
 
 281 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 the hostile camp. For, of course, the 
 young Count Axel was known to Mr. Hop- 
 worthy, or at least he so declared. 
 
 " Please tell me how you won your Or- 
 der of the Bull," said Clara to the diplo- 
 mat, her one remaining hope. 
 
 " I think I mentioned that just now," he 
 answered, and conversation perished. 
 
 And thus the dinner wore away, a grim 
 succession of demolished triumphs. When 
 after an seon or two Clara gave the signal 
 for retreat, she sought her own reflection in 
 the glass to make sure her hair was still 
 its normal brown. 
 
 " Clara," said Mrs. Penfield, when the la- 
 dies were alone, " you might at least have 
 warned us whom we were to meet." 
 
 Mrs. Fessenden drew herself erect. Her 
 breath came fast, here eyes were bright, 
 and she had nearly reached the limit of for- 
 bearance toward Maude. 
 
 *' Mrs. Penfield — " she began with dig- 
 nity, but Maude broke in. 
 
 " I must have been a baby not to have 
 recognized the name." 
 
 282 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 Clara hesitated, checking the word upon 
 her hps, for with her former friend, to be 
 inelegant was to be sincere. 
 
 " I do not understand," she substituted 
 prudently. 
 
 " To think, my dear, of you being the 
 first of us to capture Horace Hop worthy 
 and keeping it from me! " cried Maude. 
 
 " I am sure I mentioned that we hoped to 
 have him," murmured JNIrs. Fessenden. 
 
 " So sweet of you to give us such a sur- 
 prise, it was most delightful," Lena Living- 
 ston drawled. 
 
 " Your house is always such a Joppa for 
 successful genius," declared Mrs. Balling- 
 ton, " or is it Mecca? I've forgotten which. 
 How did you come to know he was in 
 town? " 
 
 " Jack's relatives in Boston always send 
 us the most charming people with letters," 
 answered Clara. " Shall we take coffee on 
 the balcony? The men are laughing so in 
 the smoking-room we can't talk here with 
 anv comfort." 
 
 Later — an hour later — when the last car- 
 
 283 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 riage-door had slammed, Jack lit a cigarette 
 and said; 
 
 " That Hoppy fellow seemed to make a 
 hit." 
 
 Clara yawned. 
 
 " Yes, he was rather a fortunate discov- 
 ery," she said, " but. Jack, we really ought 
 to take a literary magazine," 
 
 284 
 
THE MAN WITHOUT A PENSION 
 
THE MAN WITHOUT A PENSION 
 
 E was a dapper little man with 
 a gray pointed beard, and he 
 wore knickerbockers and rus- 
 set hunting gaiters, nearly new. 
 A jaunty Alpine hat was perched upon his 
 head, and as he pursued his cautious way 
 along the canon's edge it would be hard to 
 fancy anyone less in touch with his sur- 
 roundings. He seemed uncertain of the 
 trail, mistrustful of himself, or unaccus- 
 tomed to mountain atmosphere, for within 
 the last hundred yards of the camp he 
 paused in every dozen steps to listen or to 
 recover breath. 
 
 There was no sound anywhere except 
 the moan of pine trees, and no motion but 
 the perpetual trembling in the aspen im- 
 dergrowth. The greater trees nearly met 
 above the canon; the lesser clung along its 
 brink, leaning far out to catch the sun and 
 
 287 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 send broken lights and colors to the water 
 far below. Contrasting with the unchang- 
 ing twilight and boundless solitude of the 
 forest, the meadow where the tents were 
 pitched seemed to blaze with light, and the 
 three small shelters took on the importance 
 of a settlement, whose visible inhabitants 
 consisted of a pair of mountain magpies 
 possessed of an idle spirit of investigation. 
 
 The little man coughed a dry inadequate 
 cough to herald his approach, while his foot 
 dislodged a pebble which, rattling down the 
 canon, sent the magpies to a tree top in 
 affected terror. From under the shelter of 
 his hand he cast a glance about the camp 
 which mastered its small array of unimpor- 
 tant details ; two tents, wide open to the air, 
 disclosed elementary sleeping quarters for 
 half a score of men, coarse blankets cover- 
 ing heaps of twigs and pine needles, the 
 bare necessities of a bivouac. The third 
 tent was closed. 
 
 Evidently perplexed, the visitor stood 
 still. Had anyone been watching him, say 
 
 288 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 from behind the ragged canvas of the closed 
 tent, he must have seemed a nervous, ap- 
 prehensive little man. There came a sound 
 which might have been a derisive chuckle 
 and might have been a magpie in the trees. 
 The visitor controlled a start and clenched 
 his hands as though summoning courage. 
 Then loudly as one who gives a challenge, 
 he shouted, "Is there anybody here?" 
 
 The voice w^as resonant for so small a 
 body, and the echoes caught the last word 
 eagerly, and sent it back, clear from the 
 canon, faint from where the snow peaks cut 
 the blue, deep from the hollow of the tim- 
 ber. "Here! Here!" as though a scat- 
 tered army answered to a roll call. Im- 
 mediately there followed another and 
 louder " Here! " distinctly not an echo, and 
 a gruif ungracious laugh, 
 
 rThe multitude of answers must have be- 
 wildered the stranger, for he looked every- 
 where about him, almost stupidly, except 
 toward the only possible hiding place. It 
 needed a second derisive laugh to guide him 
 
 289 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 to the tent whose half-closed flap concealed 
 the only custodian of the camp, a man so 
 tall that in his little shelter he gave the im- 
 pression of a large animal inadequately 
 caged or in a trap. His black hair fell be- 
 low the ears; his jaws were hidden by a 
 heavy beard cut square, through some freak 
 of fancy, like the carved beards of human- 
 headed Assyrian beasts. 
 
 " Ahem! I beg your pardon," began the 
 little man after another cough. 
 
 " What do you want? " returned the other 
 without looking up. He bent above a tin 
 pan of dough, kneading the pliant stuff 
 almost fiercely, with red knotted knuckles 
 and sinewy forearms. 
 
 " My name," replied the visitor, " is 
 Sands — Professor Sands of Charbridge 
 University." 
 
 The man in the tent rolled his dough into 
 a cannon ball and held it up at arm's 
 length. " Sands," he repeated. " Char- 
 bridge University? " And striking his 
 dough with his palm sts though it could ap- 
 
 290 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 preciate a joke, he added, *' Well, you looK 
 it!" 
 
 He wiped his hands upon a strip of bur- 
 lap bagging which served him as apron, and 
 deliberately surveyed the new comer. " How 
 did you ever get so far from home all by 
 yourself? " he asked with open insolence. 
 A fuller view of his face disclosed incon- 
 gruous tones of red about the roots of hair 
 and beard, and a long scar on the left 
 cheek. 
 
 ** I am connected with our geological ex- 
 pedition," Professor Sands explained con- 
 cisely. " We are camping in the valley, and 
 this morning I ventured to explore the 
 canon on my own account, and have been 
 tempted farther than I intended." 
 
 The large man put his hands upon his 
 thighs and leaned against the tent pole. *' So 
 that's it?" he commented patronizingly. 
 '*Well, if I was you, I'd stick to camp, 
 and not go roaming in the timber where you 
 might get lost." 
 
 " Quite so," the little man assented read- 
 
 291 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 ily; "but I was told I should surely come 
 upon the railway survey somewhere in the 
 canon, and I have had your stakes to guide 
 me. The engineers are doubtless working 
 somewhere near here? " he added, taking off 
 his hat to cool his head with its thin gray 
 hair. 
 
 The other spat and eyed his visitor with 
 amused contempt. " We don't lay out rail- 
 roads sitting round the fire," he volunteered. 
 " The boys are working up near timber 
 line, and won't be back till dark, and the 
 teamster's gone to Freedom City for more 
 grub." 
 
 "Ah!" remarked the scientist. "Then 
 we are quite alone. I'll rest a little, if I 
 may." 
 
 He deposited an army haversack that he 
 
 carried slung about his shoulder upon a flat 
 
 boulder just outside the tent door and sat 
 
 down beside it. " My geological specimens 
 
 are rather heavy," he went on, wiping his 
 
 brow. " With your permission I should 
 
 292 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 like to label them before I forget their iden- 
 tity." 
 
 The other, with his hands in his overall 
 pockets, took a slouching step beyond the 
 tent to overlook the sack's contents as they 
 appeared — a small steel sorting hammer, a 
 heap of broken bits of float, and a large 
 flask with a silver top. He watched the 
 geologist sort his specimens with an idle in- 
 terest mingled with contempt — for the 
 trade he did not understand, for the spot- 
 less handkerchief, for the physical weak- 
 ness of the man himself. 
 
 " I suppose that's some sort of acid 
 you've got in your bottle?" he speculated 
 presently. 
 
 " I beg your pardon? " asked the profes- 
 sor, absorbed in his work ; then added as the 
 question's meaning reached him, " Ah, the 
 flask? No, that contains whiskej^ I always 
 carry a supply in case of accident." Whis- 
 tling softly, he marked another specimen, 
 
 ignoring his host's nearer approach. 
 
 29s 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 "Partner," tHe latter suggested, "If 
 you'd like a bite to eat, you've only got to 
 say so. That's mountain manners." 
 
 The professor glanced up now and with 
 an odd intentness in his look; no doubt his 
 mind was still with his specimens. " You're 
 very kind, I'm sure," he responded courte- 
 ously; "but I have lunched already on my 
 
 sandwiches. Thank you, Mr. " He 
 
 paused for a name. 
 
 The other chuckled with new-found amia- 
 bility. "You needn't * Mister' me," he 
 said. " I'm Budd, Jim Budd the Scorcher, 
 and if any man in camp don't like my 
 grub he's got the privilege of going hun- 
 gry." 
 
 " Ah, quite so, quite so," rejoined the 
 scientist. "I'm very sure your cooking is 
 excellent." 
 
 " That's what the boys tell me," returned 
 the scorcher; "but, by blood! I've got 'em 
 educated. Ill just set them biscuits to 
 raise, and then we'll have a chat." He re- 
 entered the tent, limping noticeably, and 
 
 294 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 from the interior his voice was heard 
 mingled with the clatter of utensils in blas- 
 phemous denunciation of everything about 
 him. During this explosion the scientist 
 from Charbridge made a rather singular 
 experiment. 
 
 He rose, and after a cautious glance be- 
 hind him he crept to the verge of the preci- 
 pice, looked down into the water swirling 
 over jagged rocks far below, and pulling 
 up a sod of wire grass let it drop, and 
 watched it sink and reappear in single 
 straws that circled and sank again. This 
 done, he went back to his specimens. 
 
 The Scorcher's pibrock of vituperation 
 had now changed to a tuneless chant, 
 scarcely less vindictive in its cadence: 
 
 Old John Rogers was burnt at the stake; 
 His poor wife cried until her heart did break! 
 
 he sang, and the professor's listening face 
 took on an expression out of keeping with 
 the meaningless doggerel, the look of one 
 who responds to an inexorable call. 
 
 295 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " * Until her heart did break! ' " he mur- 
 mured. But when Budd appeared again 
 he only asked if he was interested in geol- 
 ogy. 
 
 " I am if it's the sort that's got silver in 
 
 it," replied the cook. 
 
 *' One does not look for silver in sand- 
 stone formation," the professor explained. 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me the Almighty 
 couldn't put silver in this here red rock?" 
 Jim demanded, from the stone on w-hich he 
 had seated himself. 
 
 "No," replied the professor guardedly: 
 " I say only that He did not. However, 
 here is a bit of quartz " 
 
 "Say!" interrupted the cook, "I'm a 
 heap more interested in the specimen you've 
 got in that bottle." He was staring at the 
 polished cap of the flask. 
 
 "Indeed, are you?" the other smiled a 
 a tolerant smile. " Then perhaps you will 
 do me the honor " 
 
 Budd seized the flask without a second 
 invitation and raised it to his lipsv He? 
 
 2-96 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 drank as dying men drink water, and when 
 he stopped for lack of breath his face was 
 fiery but for the white scar. As he lowered 
 the bottle he met the professor's curious 
 fixity of gaze, and wriggled uneasily be- 
 fore it. 
 
 "Say, partner," he remonstrated, " your 
 w^hiskey's all right ; but I'm hanged if I Hke 
 your eye! By blood! it goes ag'in me!" 
 
 "Ivbegyour pardon," said the professor 
 without averting his look. " I have the 
 habit of close observation. And," he prof- 
 fered the flask afresh, "the more^you drink 
 of that, the less I'll have to carry home." 
 
 Budd poured a generous portion into a 
 tin cup and stared reflectivel}^ at the bright 
 cap. His next remark, mellowed by 
 whiskey, had a genial candor. " Say! if I'd 
 a popped you over, as I had a mind to when 
 you came along the trail, just think what 
 I'd a missed!" 
 
 "And so you had a mind to pop me 
 over?" queried the other. "May I ask 
 why? " Having finished his labeling, he 
 
 297 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 was at leisure to regard his companion still 
 more closely. 
 
 " There's fellers prowling in the timber 
 I ain't got no use for," the cook explained, 
 drinking. "But you're all right! You 
 haven't got a cigar handy, now, have 
 you?" 
 
 The scientist was well supplied, and as 
 the cook bit off the end of a large and 
 black cigar he sighed with satisfaction. 
 
 " I get the horrors sometimes," he ex- 
 plained. " I get as scary as a cottontail. 
 Them quaking asps is enough to drive a 
 feller crazy, anyhow." 
 
 " There's nothing like a little whiskey in 
 such cases," remarked the professor, filling 
 the extended cup. 
 
 " If this keeps up, one of us is liable to 
 get drunk," remarked Budd. " That's a 
 handy flask of yours. Come all the way 
 from New York? " 
 
 " From Richmond, I believe," responded 
 the other. " My brother found it on a bat- 
 tle field and sent it home to me." 
 
 298 
 
6i 
 
 ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 " I take it you wasn't there yourself," the 
 Scorcher chuckled. 
 
 " No," said Professor Sands. " I was in 
 bad health at the time." 
 
 So was a lot of others," sneered Budd. 
 I wasn't feeling what you might call well 
 myself; but I stuck to it till they biffed me 
 in the leg — the hounds! — and put me out 
 of business." 
 
 " Of course, you draw a pension," ven- 
 tured the professor. 
 
 " No," said the cook, " I never asked for 
 no pension. They've given one to about 
 every feller what wasn't dead when the war 
 broke out, but there hasn't been a bill passed 
 yet that takes me in." 
 
 " Indeed? " His listener was politely ob- 
 servant. 
 
 " Yes, that's the truth," went on the cook. 
 " I declare I feel real dopy or dotty or 
 something. They pensioned every beat that 
 came back with a knapsack full of rebel 
 watches, but they left out old Jim. He 
 don't wear no medals; he don't parade on 
 
 299 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 Decoration Day to scatter posies; he don't 
 get no free beer while the band plays 
 * Georgia ' — ' Hurrah for the flag that 
 makes us free ! ' " he chanted hoarsely. 
 "Hurrah for the Devil! that's what I 
 say. Hurrah for the man without a pen- 
 
 sion! 
 
 "You interest me," interposed Profes- 
 sor Sands. 
 
 "Oh, do I?" cried the cook. "By 
 blood! I've half a mind to interest you 
 more. But don't look at me like that — I 
 tell you, I don't like your eye! " He tried 
 to shield himself from that unmoved gaze. 
 "You're interested, are you? You'd like 
 to put my case before your influential 
 friends back East? You with j^our little 
 bag of rocks and your little hammer and 
 your gloves! Did you ever in your life see 
 anyone who wasn't a nickel-plated angel? 
 Did you ever run across a real live black- 
 guard out of a story paper? Did you ever 
 see a man who couldn't show his face in 
 
 a settlement by the light of day, and had 
 
 aoo 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 to take up any job that kept him out of 
 sight? I don't know why, but I've got to 
 shoot my mouth off now if it hangs me. 
 I've got to blab or go stark mad!" 
 
 " I understand," said the professor. 
 
 " I was one of them patriots," Budd went 
 on, speaking almost mechanically, as though 
 hypnotized, "who enlisted for the boodle 
 and then skipped out to work the racket 
 somewhere else." 
 
 " In point of fact, a bounty jumper," his 
 listener put in. 
 
 " Yes," agreed the cook, " that's what I 
 was. They were paying three hundred gold 
 for likely men to go down South and head 
 off bullets, and that beat getting drafted, 
 so I joined. Oh, those were great old days, 
 great old days! " 
 
 How long were you in the service?" 
 About an hour and a quarter the first 
 time," Budd replied. " It happened in 
 New York, and when I'd signed the roll 
 they put me in a squad to march off some- 
 where to get our uniforms. The sergeant 
 
 SOI 
 
 (( 
 
 (( 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 was a tall guy, greener than spinach, who'd 
 drifted down from Maine a week before, 
 and didn't know no more about New York 
 than a bull calf knows about the New Je- 
 rusalem; but he made a bluff and asked 
 the feller next me, whose name was Butch, 
 to give him points at every corner. Well, 
 Butch directed, and His Nibs kept on com- 
 manding ' Column left ! ' and ' Column 
 right ! ' till we got down to the toughest sort 
 of a district — gas works and lumber yards 
 and such. I didn't know the game, but I 
 dropped to it quick enough when Butch 
 says in a whisper, * Here's our chance ! ' and 
 it happened to be the neatest chance a new 
 beginner ever had. You see, in those days 
 when there was a fire pretty near everybody 
 was welcome to catch hold and help pull 
 the machine, and there was always a crowd 
 that come along to holler and keep up the 
 excitement. Well, that's the sort of outfit 
 we come up against. They filled the whole 
 street, yelling and pushing, and a feller 
 either had to turn and run with them or get 
 
(C 
 
 OlSr THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 knocked down. I didn't stop to see what 
 became of the balance of the squad. I 
 sloped up one street and down another, go- 
 ing like a jack rabbit, till I found m^^self 
 before a ferry boat. I paid my fare and 
 crossed the river, just to get a chance to 
 think." 
 
 Quite so," the professor sympathized. 
 
 I never meant no harm," the cook pro- 
 tested — "not then. There wouldn't have 
 been much sense in going back, especially 
 when there were other recruitins^ offices 
 right there in Jersey City. I got another 
 three hundred, but my new sojer clothes 
 was spoiled when I fell off the transport 
 in the dark the night before we sailed — 
 and got drownded. Oh, it was easy enough 
 those days, before a lot of duffers took to 
 the business. But it got so arter awhile that 
 we professionals had to keep away from 
 cities and play the country stations — Citi- 
 zens' Committees, Women's Aid Associa- 
 tions, and the substitute racket. Sometimes 
 I did the farmer boy with cowhide boots 
 
 303 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 and hayseed in my hair, and told about the 
 mortgage on the old place, and the kid that 
 was expected; and there wasn't anything 
 they wouldn't do so I could leave the folks 
 comfortable when I went off to the war. 
 Oh, those were great times. In one day, 
 out the next! " 
 
 " And — and was the getting out as 
 easy?" his hearer asked. 
 
 "Not quite," Budd admitted; "but 
 pretty near. Say you were at a camp of 
 instruction; then it might be a pass, or a 
 little something to the sentry, or a brick- 
 bat in the dark, if you could throw straight. 
 I gave a feller fifty to let me through once, 
 and then the sucker peached on me, the low- 
 down sneak ! But I got even with him later 
 on. So I went marching out of Philadel- 
 phia with the band playing and the women 
 crying and the men what was too delicate 
 to go themselves singing out ' God bless 
 you, boys ! ' I tell you what, professor, for 
 a moment I come pretty near to wishing I 
 was playing square." 
 
 304 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 "A passing sentiment, I'm sure," said 
 the geologist. 
 
 "Sure!" cried Budd, delighted with his 
 hearer's sympathy. " I'd like to see the 
 sentiment that would hold out after a 
 couple of nights building intrenchments in 
 the rain. How could I help it if when the 
 sentry's back was turned the pick flew out 
 of my hand and clipped him right behind 
 the ear? It was the same cuss who had 
 blocked my game the week before." 
 
 "Good!" laughed the professor. 
 
 " He dropped," w^ent on the cook, " and 
 that was all I wanted. I lit out and lay 
 around in barns and corn cribs, living on 
 raw carrots and what eggs I found in the 
 straw, till I guessed they must be tired 
 looking for me, and then one morning early 
 I crept out and scared an old black aunty 
 who was feedin' chickens into fits. But I 
 reckon I wasn't the first strange bird she'd 
 seen that summer, for she fed me, and that 
 night she steered me to a friend of hers who 
 was in the clothing business and did a little 
 
 305 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 bartering evenings. He charged a hundred 
 for a suit of hand-me-downs and twenty 
 for a hair cut and a shave — we enlisters 
 never argued over trifles — and shipped me 
 back to Pennsylvania. Eut maybe you 
 won't believe it — by that time I had sorter 
 lost my nerve. I got a notion in my head 
 that every man who looked my way was 
 spying on me. I couldn't pass the time of 
 day with anyone who didn't seem to talk 
 about deserters. I was afraid to get a gold 
 piece changed, for all the gold w^nt out of 
 sight about that time, and just to have one 
 was suspicious. So what do you think I 
 did? I walked right into a recruiting sta- 
 tion and enlisted without getting a cent. 
 * Rah for the flag ! ' I says. ' Gimme a 
 gun. I want to fight.' That was in Pitts- 
 burgh." 
 
 The professor's start was too slight to 
 break the narrative, but if possible his 
 watchfulness deepened; he leaned forward 
 and his eyes held those of Budd. 
 
 " Yes," the cook continued, " in Pitts- 
 
 306 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 burgh. Same old band; same old handker- 
 chiefs waving; same old ' God bless you, 
 boys!' I thought at first I was all right 
 and 'twould be the same old game, but it 
 wasn't. They had me spotted with a lot of 
 others, and they kept us guarded like a par- 
 cel of wild beasts, for all we was enlisted 
 regular in the 120th Pennsylvania." 
 
 "The 120th Pennsylvania?" repeated 
 the professor slowly. 
 
 " That's what I said! " Budd resented the 
 interruption. "And I tell you it was no 
 way to treat men. There must have been 
 forty of us shut up in a baggage car with 
 no light or air but from one door open at 
 the end, and there we was for days and 
 nights, and a tough lot, too! Bounty men 
 and substitutes and drafted truck, slam- 
 ming along to the front, cussing our luck, 
 and everyone of us ready to bolt at the first 
 chance. I stood it till I heard the guns 
 roaring like sin, not five miles off. Say, 
 did you ever hear that sound? Did you 
 ever hear a gun you knew was fired at real 
 
 307 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 men and sending them to Kingdom Come? 
 I heard it once, and that was enough. We 
 was laying flat along the floor, side by side 
 as though we was dead already, and next 
 me was a German-looking guy, what had 
 been praying and swearing, turn about, 
 ever since we started. When he heard the 
 firing, he went clean off his nut; he'd have 
 blown his brains out rather than take the 
 chance of letting somebody else do it for 
 him; he'd have fought the Union army 
 single-handed sooner than listen to them 
 shots another minute* Well, to make sb 
 long story short, him and me we fixed up 
 a scheme." 
 
 The speaker caught his breath to listen, 
 for the forest seemed suddenly alive with 
 sound and motion. A cloud swept down the 
 valley of the North Fork, so low that shreds 
 of scud were caught in the topmost 
 branches. Hail pattered on the w^ire grass. 
 iThe tent curtains flapped noisily, and in 
 the shadow the aspen leaves flashed white 
 as though a mailed army sprang from am- 
 busK. 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 "Go on!" the professor urged, and the 
 cook held up a brawny fist and shook it 
 at the universe defiantly. 
 
 " I'll tell it now," he cried, " and all the 
 winds that ever ble^vr sha'n't shout me down ! 
 Here's how it was." He faltered, and the 
 professor prompted him. 
 
 " There's where you lay," he said, making 
 a gesture to indicate the ranks of trembling 
 men. 
 
 "There's where we lay," Budd echoed 
 dully. 
 
 " And there was the door," said the pro- 
 fessor softly. He pointed to a tree at the 
 canon's brink. 
 
 "Yes, yes! " cried Budd, " there was the 
 door. The platform was outside, and there 
 were two on guard. I was to spring out 
 first — so," he jumped up — " and tackle the 
 one farthest off. The Dutchman was to 
 grab the other from behind. Mine was a 
 stout young feller." 
 
 "A stout young fellow," repeated the 
 professor. 
 
 " Yes," and the cook stood motionless as 
 
 S09 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 though some vision rose before him. " I 
 can see him now, with straight back and 
 crisp curly brown hair." 
 
 " A httle curly," murmured the other. 
 
 "Percy, they called him," said Budd. 
 
 "Percy?" echoed the professor, "You 
 are sure it was Percy?" 
 
 "Sure as you're sitting there!" cried 
 Budd. " ' Keep your eyes open, Percy, 
 they're a bad lot.' That's what the corporal 
 told him when he went on guard. Lord! 
 but it was a pity!" He chuckled inanely, 
 swaying on his feet. 
 
 "What then?" inquired the man from 
 Charbridge, rising slowly. 
 
 Budd cowered before his questioner's 
 eyes as he might have cowered when those 
 long silent guns were booming had the tall 
 young fellow turned, 
 
 "Nothing!" he muttered sullenly. 
 "Nothing, so help me God! I didn't 
 do it." 
 
 "You lie!" retorted tHe small man 
 quietly. 
 
 Budd laughed a foolish laugK. " There's 
 
 sio 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP 
 
 where we lay," he babbled, " just where 
 your foot is, me and the Dutchman and the 
 balance of us, and here was the door " 
 
 He lurched toward the aspen tree and 
 laid a hand upon its trunk to keep from 
 falling. The professor followed and stood 
 close behind. 
 
 "What do you want?" cried Budd, 
 wheeling in sudden panic. 
 
 " To learn the manner of my brother's 
 death," the other answered between lips 
 that scarcely moved. 
 
 The voice of the pines was like the rumble 
 of a railway train ; the winds boomed down 
 from timber line like thunders of artillery; 
 the hailstones struck the aspens' leaves like 
 bullets, and over all the laugh of Budd 
 rang in maniacal mirth. 
 
 The professor held his eye steadily; then 
 abruptly: "Turn out the guard I" he 
 shouted. 
 
 " Choke him, you big Dutch fool! " Budd 
 called back in response, as with his bare 
 arms he grappled with an invisible adver- 
 sary. 
 
 ^11 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIE 
 
 He of the straight back and curly hair 
 had been a strong young fellow, but, taken 
 unawares, the contest was bound to go 
 against him. Once, it seemed, he had 
 brought Budd to his knees; once he had 
 nearly hurled him from the rocking car; 
 but his knapsack must have hampered him, 
 and his musket and heavy cartridge box. 
 The bounty jumper fought in silence and 
 with desperate method, gaining advantage 
 every moment; while one hand pinioned a 
 phantom forearm, the other closed with 
 murderous clutch upon a ghostly throat'. 
 Meanwhile the professor stood by with 
 folded arms watching critically, one would 
 have thought impartially. 
 
 It was over presently, and Budd stood 
 breathing hard. Then — 
 
 "Jump for your life!" commanded the 
 professor. 
 
 Without an instant's hesitation, Budd 
 crept to the canon's brink and peered be- 
 low* 
 
ON THE LIGHTSHIP. 
 
 " All right! " he whispered. " Good-by, 
 Dutch! We're free!" 
 
 And with a last grasp of the aspen tree 
 he swung himself across the edge and 
 dropped. 
 
 The boys were mad enough to find no 
 supper ready when they came from timber 
 line ; but not surprised, for Budd was never 
 one to give long notice when he changed his 
 habitation. And if somewhere on a high 
 shelf in an Eastern university — not Char- 
 bridge, by the way — there is still a cube of 
 red rock labeled " North Fork Canon," it 
 is the only memorial left of the man with- 
 out a pension. 
 
 THE END 
 
By The Same Author 
 
 The INN of the SILVER MOON 
 Pictures by Cucuel 
 ;^i.25 Postpaid 
 
 SOME OPINIONS 
 
 Decidedly lively, agreeable and amusing. — The 
 
 Outlook. 
 
 It is a fanciful bit of writing, full of charm and 
 humor. — The Bookman, 
 
 A prettier idyll of a summer's day it would be 
 difficult to find. — Chicago Times-Herald. 
 
 It is told in a charmingly fresh way^ and will 
 prove attractive to tired readers. — St. Paul Globe. 
 
 Mr. Viele is gracefully nimble, dainty, and artistic. 
 In fact, he has produced a book successful in every 
 way. — New York Tribune. 
 
 Mr. Viele has given us as light and dainty, as 
 delightful and satisfying a bit of humorous writing 
 as has been penned. — Baltimore Sun. 
 
 Although the whole book has practically nothing 
 to do with actual life, it now and then touches the 
 fringes adroitly and with distinction. — London 
 Academy. 
 
 The writer is to be congratulated on a successful 
 and thoroughly wholesome bit of fun. — London 
 4thenceum. 
 
In the **Inn of the Silver Moon" Mr. Herman 
 K. Vide has written a piece of Hght comedy so 
 thoroughly good that it ought to win for him a 
 strong reputation. ... A very clever and finished 
 little book. — The Baltimore Herald. 
 
 This is a delicious little extravaganza. ... A 
 series of the maddest, merriest adventures. It is 
 brimful of innocent fun . . . carried off with a 
 spirit and gaiety that make it very taking ... all 
 admirably innocent and fresh in tone. — New York 
 Globe. 
 
 Through all the fun and frolic of the story runs 
 a thread of idyllic sentiment, too elusive for a name, 
 but which adds a touch producing something very 
 near perfection. Whoever misses reading this play- 
 idyll will miss one real pleasure which it is possible 
 for a book to give. — Albany Argus. 
 
 "The Inn of the Silver Moon" brings the reader 
 into an enchanted sphere ... it is a land of swift 
 action and unconventional travel and a very pleasing 
 one. The chief characters are two of the most 
 agreeable young persons, with whom we are sorry 
 to part at the close of their dainty adventure. — Hart- 
 ford Courant. 
 
 We do not hesitate to call "The Inn of the Silver 
 Moon" an entertaining and artistically told tale. 
 . . . This author has read his Stevenson and has 
 remembered him — and this shall not be counted to 
 him for a reproach. For here is a light-hearted tale 
 that Stevenson himself might have enjoyed. — New 
 York Sun. 
 
 A bright little extravaganza in which is no at- 
 tempt at probability or reason; so we smile at 
 romantic impossibilities and enjoy the farce. — 
 London Vanity Fair. 
 
The book is like a spring in an Arizona desert 
 — if there could be such a thing in an Arizona 
 desert — like the face of a friend in a strange city — 
 like land after a long sea voyage. It can be read 
 in two hours. It is delightful to weary souls tired 
 with much reading. — Chicago American. 
 
 "The Inn of the Silver Moon" is as merry a little 
 extravaganza as a bored reader could wish. It 
 relates the adventures of two young French persons 
 who have surreptitiously imbibed the ''American 
 idea" through American romances. The youth de- 
 clares that, "beneath the exterior of a provincial 
 rentier may lurk the spirit of Uncas, the Last of the 
 Mohicans." The young girl's confession is that, 
 after reading Howells, smuggled into her convent, 
 "the insidious poison of confidence in mankind has 
 entered my blood, and that I shall never know again 
 the sweet suspicion and mistrust of my earlier years." 
 Chance throwing these emancipated spirits together 
 into a tangle of predicament, it requires the clever- 
 ness of both to bring them to a safe harbor, which is 
 accomplished in a delightfully comic fashion. One 
 agreeable innovation, among many, upon the usual 
 scheme of such stories is the refreshing recklessness 
 with which embarrassments are sloughed, never to 
 reappear. We are spared that tiresome, "And now 
 to return to the dragon," which has cast a gloom 
 over many funny si^etchts.— Evening Post, New 
 York. 
 
 The humor is so fresh, the ideas so novel, the 
 handling so Hght and dexterous, that the reader 
 finds himself enchanted by the spontaneity of this 
 engaging little sketch. — London Daily Graphic. 
 
HEARTBREAK HILL 
 
 It is with a sense of keen personal loss that we 
 chronicle the death of Herman Knickerbocker Viele, 
 which took place in New York City on the 14th of 
 last December. In thinking of him as a man we 
 remember a kindly, courteous gentleman who pos- 
 sessed to a rare degree the gift of inspiring and 
 retaining friendships. As a writer he stood essentially 
 for many things that we are unfortunately too prone 
 to ignore in this swiftly moving day. He possessed 
 style and he possessed charm. Of how many others 
 can we say the same.''" was the brief but felicitous 
 comment of a distinguished novelist and playwright 
 when the news of Mr. Viele' s death was brought to 
 a club of which he had been a member. And no 
 one who has read **The Inn of the Silver Moon,'* 
 ''Myra of the Pines," "The Last of the Knicker- 
 bockers," or the recently published *' Heartbreak 
 Hill" will be inclined to doubt the justice of this 
 verdict. — The Bookviaii^ N. Y. 
 
 cc 
 
 Heartbreak Hill," in fine, is a charming tissue 
 of attractive improbabilities, leavened with some 
 shrewd observation, and handled with the lightness 
 of touch which one naturally expects from the author 
 of *'The Inn of the Silver Moon." If any of our 
 readers are disappointed with Mr. Viele' s new book, 
 they should be grateful for being reminded of or in- 
 troduced to its predecessor. — The Spectator, London, 
 
 Herman Knickerbocker Viele, whether he knows 
 it or not, fills a long-felt want, the desire of the 
 reading public for well-told, interesting and refresh- 
 ing stories all about those good things, — love, adven- 
 ture and money, with the play and sparkle of every- 
 day American life, at its best, over the whole, — 
 Philadelphia Telegraph, 
 
By the Same Author 
 
 The Last of the 
 Knickerbockers 
 
 A Comedy-Romance 
 
 $1.50 Postpaid 
 
 SOME OPINIONS 
 
 Those who remember that dainty little fantasy " The 
 Inn of the Silver Moon," will greet this new story by the 
 same author with pleasure ; while those who have it still 
 to enjoy have two pleasures in store. — Philadelphia 
 Times. 
 
 In " The Last of the Knickerbockers " Herman 
 Knickerbocker Yiele gives a further extension to the 
 method and spirit shown in " The Inn of the Silver 
 Moon." His present field is not provincial France, 
 but New York City, yet the ethereal humor and fan- 
 tastic charm of the first book are fully manifested in 
 the second. He throws over the rather repellent form 
 of the Eastern metropolis such a diaphanous tissue of 
 fancy, legend and old-time sentiment as only an artist 
 thoroughly in sympathy with his theme can weave. — 
 Evening Post, Chicago. 
 
 To invest a story of the passing hour, and scenes in 
 which we take our daily walks, with the rich and soft 
 atmosphere, the delicate coloring, the artistic light 
 and shade, the tone and proportion that are usually 
 
looked for only in a picture of the past, is a great 
 achievement. Mr. Viele has achieved it; and since 
 he is the author of but one story before this, conceived 
 in a very different spirit and environment, it affords 
 good ground for hope that he is to be one of the true 
 artists and foremost novelists of the young genera- 
 tion. — Post, Denver, Colo, 
 
 In " The Last of the Knickerbockers " Mr. Herman 
 Knickerbocker Viele has given us not a good second 
 to his " Inn of the Silver Moon," but an excellent 
 first, in an entirely different field. The tale is one of 
 the old families, but the telling is in a new vein. The 
 plot is novel as well as ingenious. Under all there is 
 a play of the most delicious humor, and a familiarity 
 with the ways and foibles of old families that could 
 only come by birthright membersliip. — N, Y. Times 
 Saturday Review, 
 
 The quality we call charm is imponderable. There 
 is no use trying to measure it or to put your finger on 
 it. Mr. Viele's books possess charm to a high degree, 
 but one must read him, not be told about him, to ap- 
 preciate his work. We hope he will give us many such 
 lively and pretty conceits, like the one just issued. — 
 Record-Herald, Chicago. 
 
 This is one of the most delightful bits of light 
 literature the season has yet produced. — Evening Star, 
 Washington, D. C, 
 
 Anybody who knows New York will enjoy this book 
 on the strength of its descriptive passages alone. The 
 
streets, tlie conveyances, the idiosyncrasies, the effects 
 of weather and light, the buildings and the interiors, 
 the feeling, the tone, all are here, and win our pleased 
 assent as they pass before us. And the environment 
 keeps the characters who move in it sane and genuine. 
 As in " The Inn of the Silver Moon," there are no 
 villains in the tale and all ends happily. There is no 
 problem in the book, no social reform is advocated, we 
 leave the community neither better nor worse than 
 we found it. But no one can read the story without 
 feeling a greater kindliness toward his fellow creatures 
 and gratitude toward the author. — North American, 
 Philadelphia, 
 
 Mr. Herman K. Viele has told a delightful story in 
 " The Last of the Knickerbockers." If the reader 
 does not like Alida Van Wandeleer, we shall feel 
 obliged to have a small opinion of him. There have 
 been ill-natured criticisms of this metropolis. They 
 have never disturbed us. We do not even remember 
 the names of the ingenious persons who invented 
 them. Should it curiously be the case that they linger 
 painfully in the memory of any, we recommend to 
 such the great solace of this corrective and reassuring 
 story. — The Sun, New YorJc. 
 
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