LORDS OF THE HOUSETOPS THIRTEEN CAT TALES

 _BOOKS BY CARL VAN VECHTEN_

 INTERPRETERS IN THE GARRET THE MUSIC OF SPAIN THE MERRY-GO-ROUND MUSIC AND BAD MANNERS THE TIGER IN THE HOUSE LORDS OF THE HOUSETOPS MUSIC AFTER THE GREAT WAR

 WITH A PREFACE BY CARL VAN VECHTEN

 _C'est l'esprit familier du lieu; Il juge, il préside, il inspire Toutes choses dans son empire; Peut-être est-il fée, est-il dieu. _

 CHARLES BAUDELAIRE. 

 NEW YORK ALFRED · A · KNOPF MCMXXI

 COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC. 

 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

 _These stories I have collected to amuse Avery Hopwood_

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks are due to the following authors and publishers for permission touse the stories contained in this book:

Harper and Brothers and Mrs. Mary E. Wilkins Freeman for _The Cat_, from_Understudies_ (copyright 1901 by Harper and Brothers). 

Houghton Mifflin Co. , for _Zut_, from _Zut and Other Parisians_(copyright 1903 by Guy Wetmore Carryl). 

E. P. Dutton and Co. , for _A Psychical Invasion_, from _John Silence_. 

Doubleday, Page and Co. , and Booth Tarkington for Gipsy, from _Penrodand Sam_ (copyright 1916 by Doubleday, Page and Co. ). 

Harper and Brothers and the Mark Twain Estate for _Dick Baker's Cat_, from _Roughing It_ (copyright 1871-1899 by the American Publishing Co. ;copyright 1899 by Samuel L. Clemens; copyright 1913 by ClaraGabrilowitsch). 

Harper and Brothers for _Madame Jolicoeur's Cat_, from _From the Southof France_ (copyright 1912 by Harper and Brothers). 

George H. Doran Co. , for _A Friendly Rat_, from _The Book of aNaturalist_ (copyright 1919 by the George H. Doran Co. ). 

The Four Seas Co. , and Peggy Bacon for _The Queen's Cat_, from _TheTrue Philosopher_ (copyright 1919 by the Four Seas Co. ). 

Houghton Mifflin Co. , for _Calvin_, from _My Summer in a Garden_(copyright 1870 by Fields, Osgood and Co. ; copyright 1898 by CharlesDudley Warner; copyright 1912 by Susan Lee Warner). 

PREFACE

In the essay and especially in poetry the cat has become a favouritesubject, but in fiction it must be admitted that he lags considerablybehind the dog. The reasons for this apparently arbitrary preference onthe part of authors are perfectly easy to explain. The instinctive actsof the dog, who is a company-loving brute, are very human; hispsychology on occasion is almost human. He often behaves as a man wouldbehave. It is therefore a comparatively simple matter to insert a doginto a story about men, for he can often carry it along after thefashion of a human character. 

But, as Andrew Lang has so well observed, literature can never take athing simply for what it is worth. "The plain-dealing dog must bedistinctly bored by the ever-growing obligation to live up to theanecdotes of him. . . . These anecdotes are not told for his sake; they aretold to save the self-respect of people who want an idol, and who aredistorting him into a figure of pure convention for their domesticaltars. He is now expected to discriminate between relations and merefriends of the house; to wag his tail at _God Save the Queen_; to countup to five in chips of fire-wood, and to seven in mutton bones; to howlfor all deaths in the family above the degree of second cousin; to postletters, and refuse them when they have been insufficiently stamped; andlast, and most intolerable, to show a tender solicitude when tabby isout of sorts. " The dog, indeed, for the most part, has become assentimental and conventional a figure in current fiction as the ghostwho haunts the ouija board or the idealistic soldier returned from thewars to reconstruct his own country. 

Now the cat, independent, liberty-loving, graceful, strong, resourceful, dignified, and self-respecting, has a psychology essentially feline, which has few points of contact with human psychology. The cat does notrescue babies from drowning or say his prayers in real life;consequently any attempt to make him do so in fiction would beridiculous. He has, to be sure, his own virtues. To me these areconsiderably greater than those of any other animal. But the factremains that the satisfactory treatment of the cat in fiction requiresnot only a deep knowledge of but also a deep affection for the sphinx ofthe fireside. Even then the difficulties can only be met in part, forthe novelist must devise a situation in which human and felinepsychology can be merged. The Egyptians probably could have written goodcat stories. Perhaps they did. I sometimes ponder over the possibilityof a cat room having been destroyed in the celebrated holocaust ofAlexandria. The folk and fairy tales devoted to the cat, of which thereare many, are based on an understanding, although often superficial, ofcat traits. But the moderns, speaking generally, have not been able todo justice, in the novel or the short story, to this occult and lovablelittle beast. 

On the whole, however, the stories I have chosen for this volume meetthe test fairly well. Other cat stories exist, scores of them, butthese, with one or two exceptions, are the best I know. In someinstances other stories with very similar subjects might have beensubstituted, for each story in this book has been included for somespecial reason. Mrs. Freeman's story is a subtle symbolic treatment ofthe theme. In _The Blue Dryad_ the cat is exhibited in his usefulcapacity as a killer of vermin. _A Psychical Invasion_ is a successfulattempt to exploit the undoubted occult powers of the cat. Poe's famoustale paints puss as an avenger of wrongs. In _Zut_ the ofteninexplicable desire of the cat to change his home has a charmingsetting. Booth Tarkington in _Gipsy_ has made a brilliant study of awild city cat, living his own independent life with no apparent means ofsupport. I should state that the ending of the story, which is a chapterfrom _Penrod and Sam_, is purely arbitrary. Gipsy, you will be glad tolearn, was not drowned. He never would be. If you care to read the restof his history you must turn to the book from which this excerpt wastorn. There seem to be three excellent reasons for including MarkTwain's amusing skit: in the first place it is distinctly entertaining;in the second place Mr. Clemens adored cats to such an extent that itwould be impertinent to publish a book of cat stories without includingsomething from his pen; in the third place _Dick Baker's Cat_[1]celebrates an exceedingly important feline trait, the inability to beduped twice by the same phenomenon. It is interesting to record thatTheodore Roosevelt liked this yarn so much that he named a White Housecat, Tom Quartz. 

 [1: Those who have attempted to form anthologies or collections of stories similar to this know what difficulties have to be overcome. The publishers of Mark Twain's works were at first unwilling to grant me permission to use this story. I wish here to take occasion to thank Mrs. Clara Clemens Gabrilowitsch and Mr. Albert Bigelow Paine for their successful efforts in my behalf. I am sure that the readers of this book will be equally grateful. ]

Thomas A. Janvier's narrative reveals the cat in his luxurious capacityas a treasured pet, and Mr. Alden's story is a good example of the kindof tale in which a friendless human being depends upon an animal foraffection. There are, of course, many such, but in most cases dogs arethe heroes. _The Queen's Cat_ is a story about an ailurophobe, or acat-fearer, and his cure. Mr. Hudson's contribution is fact rather thanfiction. I have included it because it is delightful and because it isthe only good example available of that sort of story in which a catbecomes friendly with a member of an enemy race, although in life thething is common. Mr. Warner's _Calvin_, too, certainly is not fiction, but as it shares with Pierre Loti's _Vies de deux chattes_ thedistinction of being one of the two best cat biographies that have yetbeen written I could not omit it. 

There remains _The Afflictions of an English Cat_ which, it will beperceived by even a careless reader, is certainly a good deal more thana cat story. It is, indeed, a satire on British respectability, but weAmericans of today need not snicker at the English while reading it, forthe point is equally applicable to us. When I first run across this talewhile preparing material for my long cat book, _The Tiger in the House_, I was immensely amused, and to my great astonishment I have not beenable to find an English translation of it. The story, the original titleof which is _Peines de coeur d'une chatte anglaise_, first appeared ina volume of satires called _Scènes de la vie privée et publique desanimaux_, issued by Hetzel in Paris in 1846, and to which George Sand, Alfred de Musset, and others contributed. The main purpose of thecollaboration was doubtless to furnish a text to the extraordinarydrawings of Grandville, who had an uncanny talent for merging human andanimal characteristics. The volume was translated into English by J. Thompson and published in London in 1877, but for obvious reasons _TheAfflictions of an English Cat_ was not included in the translation, although Balzac's name would have added lustre to the collection. But inthe Victorian age such a rough satire would scarcely have beentolerated. Even in French the story is not easily accessible. Aside fromits original setting I have found it in but one edition of Balzac, the_OEuvres Complètes_ issued in de luxe form by Calmann-Levy in 1879, where it is buried in the twenty-first volume, _OEuvres Diverses_. 

Therefore I make no excuse for translating and offering it to myreaders, for although perhaps it was not intended for a picture of catlife, the observation on the whole is true enough, and the story itselfis too delicious to pass by. I should state that the opening and closingparagraphs refer to earlier chapters in the _Vie privée et publique desanimaux_. I have, I may add, omitted one or two brief passages out ofconsideration for what is called American taste. 

 CARL VAN VECHTEN. 

_April_ 6, 1920. _New York_. 

 CONTENTS

 PREFACE, vii

 I MARY E. WILKINS FREEMAN: THE CAT, 1

 II GUY WETMORE CARRYL: ZUT, 11

 III ALGERNON BLACKWOOD: A PSYCHICAL INVASION, 29

 IV HONORÉ DE BALZAC: THE AFFLICTIONS OF AN ENGLISH CAT, 103 (translated from the French by Carl Van Vechten)

 V BOOTH TARKINGTON: GIPSY, 124

 VI G. H. POWELL: THE BLUE DRYAD, 131

 VII MARK TWAIN: DICK BAKER'S CAT, 144

 VIII EDGAR ALLAN POE: THE BLACK CAT, 149

 IX THOMAS A. JANVIER: MADAME JOLICOEUR'S CAT, 163

 X W. H. HUDSON: A FRIENDLY RAT, 198

 XI WILLIAM LIVINGSTON ALDEN: MONTY'S FRIEND, 203

 XII PEGGY BACON: THE QUEEN'S CAT, 220

 XIII CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER: CALVIN, 226

LORDS OF THE HOUSETOPSTHIRTEEN CAT TALES

THE CAT

The snow was falling, and the Cat's fur was stiffly pointed with it, buthe was imperturbable. He sat crouched, ready for the death-spring, as hehad sat for hours. It was night--but that made no difference--all timeswere as one to the Cat when he was in wait for prey. Then, too, he wasunder no constraint of human will, for he was living alone that winter. Nowhere in the world was any voice calling him; on no hearth was there awaiting dish. He was quite free except for his own desires, whichtyrannized over him when unsatisfied as now. The Cat was veryhungry--almost famished, in fact. For days the weather had been verybitter, and all the feebler wild things which were his prey byinheritance, the born serfs to his family, had kept, for the most part, in their burrows and nests, and the Cat's long hunt had availed himnothing. But he waited with the inconceivable patience and persistencyof his race; besides, he was certain. The Cat was a creature of absoluteconvictions, and his faith in his deductions never wavered. The rabbithad gone in there between those low-hung pine boughs. Now her littledoorway had before it a shaggy curtain of snow, but in there she was. The Cat had seen her enter, so like a swift grey shadow that even hissharp and practised eyes had glanced back for the substance following, and then she was gone. So he sat down and waited, and he waited still inthe white night, listening angrily to the north wind starting in theupper heights of the mountains with distant screams, then swelling intoan awful crescendo of rage, and swooping down with furious white wingsof snow like a flock of fierce eagles into the valleys and ravines. TheCat was on the side of a mountain, on a wooded terrace. Above him a fewfeet away towered the rock ascent as steep as the wall of a cathedral. The Cat had never climbed it--trees were the ladders to his heights oflife. He had often looked with wonder at the rock, and miauled bitterlyand resentfully as man does in the face of a forbidding Providence. Athis left was the sheer precipice. Behind him, with a short stretch ofwoody growth between, was the frozen perpendicular wall of a mountainstream. Before him was the way to his home. When the rabbit came out shewas trapped; her little cloven feet could not scale such unbrokensteeps. So the Cat waited. The place in which he was looked like amaelstrom of the wood. The tangle of trees and bushes clinging to themountain-side with a stern clutch of roots, the prostrate trunks andbranches, the vines embracing everything with strong knots and coils ofgrowth, had a curious effect, as of things which had whirled for ages ina current of raging water, only it was not water, but wind, which haddisposed everything in circling lines of yielding to its fiercest pointsof onset. And now over all this whirl of wood and rock and dead trunksand branches and vines descended the snow. It blew down like smoke overthe rock-crest above; it stood in a gyrating column like somedeath-wraith of nature, on the level, then it broke over the edge ofthe precipice, and the Cat cowered before the fierce backward set ofit. It was as if ice needles pricked his skin through his beautifulthick fur, but he never faltered and never once cried. He had nothing togain from crying, and everything to lose; the rabbit would hear him cryand know he was waiting. 

It grew darker and darker, with a strange white smother, instead of thenatural blackness of night. It was a night of storm and death superaddedto the night of nature. The mountains were all hidden, wrapped about, overawed, and tumultuously overborne by it, but in the midst of itwaited, quite unconquered, this little, unswerving, living patience andpower under a little coat of grey fur. 

A fiercer blast swept over the rock, spun on one mighty foot ofwhirlwind athwart the level, then was over the precipice. 

Then the Cat saw two eyes luminous with terror, frantic with the impulseof flight, he saw a little, quivering, dilating nose, he saw twopointing ears, and he kept still, with every one of his fine nerves andmuscles strained like wires. Then the rabbit was out--there was one longline of incarnate flight and terror--and the Cat had her. 

Then the Cat went home, trailing his prey through the snow. 

The Cat lived in the house which his master had built, as rudely as achild's block-house, but stanchly enough. The snow was heavy on the lowslant of its roof, but it would not settle under it. The two windows andthe door were made fast, but the Cat knew a way in. Up a pine-treebehind the house he scuttled, though it was hard work with his heavyrabbit, and was in his little window under the eaves, then down throughthe trap to the room below, and on his master's bed with a spring and agreat cry of triumph, rabbit and all. But his master was not there; hehad been gone since early fall and it was now February. He would notreturn until spring, for he was an old man, and the cruel cold of themountains clutched at his vitals like a panther, and he had gone to thevillage to winter. The Cat had known for a long time that his master wasgone, but his reasoning was always sequential and circuitous; always forhim what had been would be, and the more easily for his marvellouswaiting powers so he always came home expecting to find his master. 

When he saw that he was still gone, he dragged the rabbit off the rudecouch which was the bed to the floor, put one little paw on the carcassto keep it steady, and began gnawing with head to one side to bring hisstrongest teeth to bear. 

It was darker in the house than it had been in the wood, and the coldwas as deadly, though not so fierce. If the Cat had not received his furcoat unquestioningly of Providence, he would have been thankful that hehad it. It was a mottled grey, white on the face and breast, and thickas fur could grow. 

The wind drove the snow on the windows with such force that it rattledlike sleet, and the house trembled a little. Then all at once the Catheard a noise, and stopped gnawing his rabbit and listened, his shininggreen eyes fixed upon a window. Then he heard a hoarse shout, a hallooof despair and entreaty; but he knew it was not his master come home, and he waited, one paw still on the rabbit. Then the halloo came again, and then the Cat answered. He said all that was essential quite plainlyto his own comprehension. There was in his cry of response inquiry, information, warning, terror, and finally, the offer of comradeship; butthe man outside did not hear him, because of the howling of the storm. 

Then there was a great battering pound at the door, then another, andanother. The Cat dragged his rabbit under the bed. The blows camethicker and faster. It was a weak arm which gave them, but it was nervedby desperation. Finally the lock yielded, and the stranger came in. Thenthe Cat, peering from under the bed, blinked with a sudden light, andhis green eyes narrowed. The stranger struck a match and looked about. The Cat saw a face wild and blue with hunger and cold, and a man wholooked poorer and older than his poor old master, who was an outcastamong men for his poverty and lowly mystery of antecedents; and he hearda muttered, unintelligible voicing of distress from the harsh piteousmouth. There was in it both profanity and prayer, but the Cat knewnothing of that. 

The stranger braced the door which he had forced, got some wood from thestock in the corner, and kindled a fire in the old stove as quickly ashis half-frozen hands would allow. He shook so pitiably as he workedthat the Cat under the bed felt the tremor of it. Then the man, who wassmall and feeble and marked with the scars of suffering which he hadpulled down upon his own head, sat down in one of the old chairs andcrouched over the fire as if it were the one love and desire of hissoul, holding out his yellow hands like yellow claws, and he groaned. The Cat came out from under the bed and leaped up on his lap with therabbit. The man gave a great shout and start of terror, and sprang, andthe Cat slid clawing to the floor, and the rabbit fell inertly, and theman leaned, gasping with fright, and ghastly, against the wall. The Catgrabbed the rabbit by the slack of its neck and dragged it to the man'sfeet. Then he raised his shrill, insistent cry, he arched his back high, his tail was a splendid waving plume. He rubbed against the man's feet, which were bursting out of their torn shoes. 

The man pushed the Cat away, gently enough, and began searching aboutthe little cabin. He even climbed painfully the ladder to the loft, lita match, and peered up in the darkness with straining eyes. He fearedlest there might be a man, since there was a cat. His experience withmen had not been pleasant, and neither had the experience of men beenpleasant with him. He was an old wandering Ishmael among his kind; hehad stumbled upon the house of a brother, and the brother was not athome, and he was glad. 

He returned to the Cat, and stooped stiffly and stroked his back, whichthe animal arched like the spring of a bow. 

Then he took up the rabbit and looked at it eagerly by the firelight. His jaws worked. He could almost have devoured it raw. He fumbled--theCat close at his heels--around some rude shelves and a table, andfound, with a grunt of self-gratulation, a lamp with oil in it. That helighted; then he found a frying-pan and a knife, and skinned the rabbit, and prepared it for cooking, the Cat always at his feet. 

When the odour of the cooking flesh filled the cabin, both the man andthe Cat looked wolfish. The man turned the rabbit with one hand andstooped to pat the Cat with the other. The Cat thought him a fine man. He loved him with all his heart, though he had known him such a shorttime, and though the man had a face both pitiful and sharply set atvariance with the best of things. 

It was a face with the grimy grizzle of age upon it, with fever hollowsin the cheeks, and the memories of wrong in the dim eyes, but the Cataccepted the man unquestioningly and loved him. When the rabbit was halfcooked, neither the man nor the Cat could wait any longer. The man tookit from the fire, divided it exactly in halves, gave the Cat one, andtook the other himself. Then they ate. 

Then the man blew out the light, called the Cat to him, got on the bed, drew up the ragged coverings, and fell asleep with the Cat in his bosom. 

The man was the Cat's guest all the rest of the winter, and winter islong in the mountains. The rightful owner of the little hut did notreturn until May. All that time the Cat toiled hard, and he grew ratherthin himself, for he shared everything except mice with his guest; andsometimes game was wary, and the fruit of patience of days was verylittle for two. The man was ill and weak, however, and unable to eatmuch, which was fortunate, since he could not hunt for himself. All daylong he lay on the bed, or else sat crouched over the fire. It was agood thing that fire-wood was ready at hand for the picking up, not astone's-throw from the door, for that he had to attend to himself. 

The Cat foraged tirelessly. Sometimes he was gone for days together, andat first the man used to be terrified, thinking he would never return;then he would hear the familiar cry at the door, and stumble to his feetand let him in. Then the two would dine together, sharing equally; thenthe Cat would rest and purr, and finally sleep in the man's arms. 

Towards spring the game grew plentiful; more wild little quarry weretempted out of their homes, in search of love as well as food. One daythe Cat had luck--a rabbit, a partridge, and a mouse. He could not carrythem all at once, but finally he had them together at the house door. Then he cried, but no one answered. All the mountain streams wereloosened, and the air was full of the gurgle of many waters, occasionally pierced by a bird-whistle. The trees rustled with a newsound to the spring wind; there was a flush of rose and gold-green onthe breasting surface of a distant mountain seen through an opening inthe wood. The tips of the bushes were swollen and glistening red, andnow and then there was a flower; but the Cat had nothing to do withflowers. He stood beside his booty at the house door, and cried andcried with his insistent triumph and complaint and pleading, but no onecame to let him in. Then the cat left his little treasures at the door, and went around to the back of the house to the pine-tree, and was upthe trunk with a wild scramble, and in through his little window, anddown through the trap to the room, and the man was gone. 

The Cat cried again--that cry of the animal for human companionshipwhich is one of the sad notes of the world; he looked in all thecorners; he sprang to the chair at the window and looked out; but no onecame. The man was gone and he never came again. 

The Cat ate his mouse out on the turf beside the house; the rabbit andthe partridge he carried painfully into the house, but the man did notcome to share them. Finally, in the course of a day or two, he ate themup himself; then he slept a long time on the bed, and when he waked theman was not there. 

Then the Cat went forth to his hunting-grounds again, and came home atnight with a plump bird, reasoning with his tireless persistency inexpectancy that the man would be there; and there was a light in thewindow, and when he cried his old master opened the door and let him in. 

His master had strong comradeship with the Cat, but not affection. Henever patted him like that gentler outcast, but he had a pride in himand an anxiety for his welfare, though he had left him alone all winterwithout scruple. He feared lest some misfortune might have come to theCat, though he was so large of his kind, and a mighty hunter. Therefore, when he saw him at the door in all the glory of his glossy winter coat, his white breast and face shining like snow in the sun, his own face litup with welcome, and the Cat embraced his feet with his sinuous bodyvibrant with rejoicing purrs. 

The Cat had his bird to himself, for his master had his own supperalready cooking on the stove. After supper the Cat's master took hispipe, and sought a small store of tobacco which he had left in his hutover winter. He had thought often of it; that and the Cat seemedsomething to come home to in the spring. But the tobacco was gone; not adust left. The man swore a little in a grim monotone, which made theprofanity lose its customary effect. He had been, and was, a harddrinker; he had knocked about the world until the marks of its sharpcorners were on his very soul, which was thereby calloused, until hisvery sensibility to loss was dulled. He was a very old man. 

He searched for the tobacco with a sort of dull combativeness ofpersistency; then he stared with stupid wonder around the room. Suddenlymany features struck him as being changed. Another stove-lid was broken;an old piece of carpet was tacked up over a window to keep out the cold;his fire-wood was gone. He looked and there was no oil left in his can. He looked at the coverings on his bed; he took them up, and again hemade that strange remonstrant noise in his throat. Then he looked againfor his tobacco. 

Finally he gave it up. He sat down beside the fire, for May in themountains is cold; he held his empty pipe in his mouth, his roughforehead knitted, and he and the Cat looked at each other across thatimpassable barrier of silence which has been set between man and beastfrom the creation of the world. 

 MARY E. WILKINS FREEMAN. 

ZUT

Side by side, on the avenue de la Grande Armée, stand the épicerie ofJean-Baptiste Caille and the salle de coiffure of Hippolyte Sergeot, andbetween these two there is a great gulf fixed, the which has come to bethrough the acerbity of Alexandrine Caille (according to EspéranceSergeot), though the duplicity of Espérance Sergeot (according toAlexandrine Caille). But the veritable root of all evil is Zut, and Zutsits smiling in Jean-Baptiste's doorway, and cares naught for anythingin the world, save the sunlight and her midday meal. 

When Hippolyte found himself in a position to purchase the salle decoiffure, he gave evidence of marked acumen by uniting himself in theholy--and civil--bonds of matrimony with the retiring patron's daughter, whose dot ran into the coveted five figures, and whose heart, saidHippolyte, was as good as her face was pretty, which, even by theunprejudiced, was acknowledged to be forcible commendation. Theinstallation of the new establishment was a nine days' wonder in thequartier. It is a busy thoroughfare at its western end, is the avenue dela Grande Armée, crowded with bicyclists and with a multitude ofcreatures fearfully and wonderfully clad, who do incomprehensible thingsin connection with motor-carriages. Also there are big cafés in plenty, whose waiters must be smoothly shaven: and moreover, at the time whenHippolyte came into his own, the porte Maillot station of theMétropolitain had already pushed its entrée and sortie up through thesoil, not a hundred metres from his door, where they stood likeatrocious yellow tulips, art nouveau, breathing people out and in bythousands. There was no lack of possible custom. The problem was to turnpossible into probable, and probable into permanent; and here the sevenwits and the ten thousand francs of Espérance came prominently to thefore. She it was who sounded the progressive note, which is half thesecret of success. 

"Pour attirer les gens, " she said, with her arms akimbo, "il fautd'abord les épater. "

In her creed all that was worth doing at all was worth doing gloriously. So, under her guidance, Hippolyte journeyed from shop to shop in thefaubourg St. Antoine, and spent hours of impassioned argument withcarpenters and decorators. In the end, the salle de coiffure wasglorified by fresh paint without and within, and by the addition of along mirror in a gilt frame, and a complicated apparatus of gleamingnickel-plate, which went by the imposing title of appareil antiseptique, and the acquisition of which was duly proclaimed by a special placardthat swung at right angles to the door. The shop was rechristened, too, and the black and white sign across its front which formerly bore thesimple inscription "Kilbert, Coiffeur, " now blazoned abroad the vastlymore impressive legend "Salon Malakoff. " The window shelves fairlygroaned beneath their burden of soaps, toilet waters, and perfumery, astring of bright yellow sponges occupied each corner of the window, and, through the agency of white enamel letters on the pane itself, public attention was drawn to the apparently contradictory facts thatEnglish was spoken and "schampoing" given within. Then Hippolyte engagedtwo assistants, and clad them in white duck jackets, and his wifefabricated a new blouse of blue silk, and seated herself behind the deskwith an engaging smile. The enterprise was fairly launched, andexperience was not slow in proving the theories of Espérance to be wellfounded. The quartier was épaté from the start, and took with enthusiasmthe bait held forth. The affairs of the Salon Malakoff prosperedprodigiously. 

But there is a serpent in every Eden, and in that of the Sergeot thisrôle was assumed by Alexandrine Caille. The worthy épicier himself wasof too torpid a temperament to fall a victim to the gnawing tooth ofenvy, but in the soul of his wife the launch, and, what was worse, theimmediate prosperity of the Salon Malakoff, bred dire resentment. Herown establishment had grown grimy with the passage of time, and theannual profits displayed a constant and disturbing tendency towardcomplete evaporation, since the coming of the big cafés, and theresultant subversion of custom to the wholesale dealers. This persistentnarrowing of the former appreciable gap between purchase and sellingprice rankled in Alexandrine's mind, but her misguided efforts tomaintain the percentage of profit by recourse to inferior qualities onlymade bad worse, and, even as the Sergeot were steering the SalonMalakoff forth upon the waters of prosperity, there were nightlyconferences in the household next door, at which impending ruinpresided, and exasperation sounded the keynote of every sentence. Theresplendent façade of Hippolyte's establishment, the tide of customwhich poured into and out of his door, the loudly expressed admirationof his ability and thrift, which greeted her ears on every side, and, finally, the sight of Espérance, fresh, smiling, and prosperous, behindher little counter--all these were as gall and wormwood to Alexandrine, brooding over her accumulating debts and her decreasing earnings, amongher dusty stacks of jars and boxes. Once she had called upon herneighbour, somewhat for courtesy's sake, but more for curiosity's, andsince then the agreeable scent of violet and lilac perfumery dweltalways in her memory, and mirages of scrupulously polished nickel andglass hung always before her eyes. The air of her own shop was heavywith the pungent odours of raw vegetables, cheeses, and dried fish, andno brilliance redeemed the sardine and biscuit boxes which surroundedher. Life became a bitter thing to Alexandrine Caille, for if nothing ismore gratifying than one's own success, surely nothing is less so thanthat of one's neighbour. Moreover, her visit had never been returned, and this again was fuel for her rage. 

But the sharpest thorn in her flesh--and even in that of her phlegmatichusband--was the base desertion to the enemy's camp of Abel Flique. Inthe days when Madame Caille was unmarried, and when her ninety kiloswere fifty still, Abel had been youngest commis in the very shop overwhich she now held sway, and the most devoted suitor in all her train. Even after his prowess in the black days of '71 had won him theattention of the civil authorities, and a grateful municipality hadtransformed the grocer-soldier into a guardian of law and order, hestill hung upon the favour of his heart's first love, and only gave upthe struggle when Jean-Baptiste bore off the prize and enthroned her instate as presiding genius of his newly acquired épicerie. Later, anunwittingly kindly prefect had transferred Abel to the seventeentharrondissement, and so the old friendship was picked up where it hadbeen dropped, and the ruddy-faced agent found it both convenient andagreeable to drop in frequently at Madame Caille's on his way home, andexchange a few words of reminiscence or banter for a box of sardines ora minute package of tea. But, with the deterioration in his old friends'wares, and the almost simultaneous appearance of the Salon Malakoff, hisloyalty wavered. Flique sampled the advantages of Hippolyte'sestablishment, and, being won over thereby, returned again and again. His hearty laugh came to be heard almost daily in the salle de coiffure, and because he was a brave homme and a good customer, who did not standupon a question of a few sous, but allowed Hippolyte to work his will, and trim and curl and perfume him to his heart's content, there wasalways a welcome for him, and a smile from Madame Sergeot, andoccasionally a little present of brillantine or perfumery, forfriendship's sake, and because it is well to have the good-will of theall-powerful police. 

From her window Madame Caille observed the comings and goings of Abelwith a resentful eye. It was rarely now that he glanced into theépicerie as he passed, and still more rarely that he greeted his formerflame with a stiff nod. Once she had hailed him from the doorway, sardines in hand, but he had replied that he was pressed for time, andhad passed rapidly on. Then indeed did blackness descend upon the soulof Alexandrine, and in her deepest consciousness she vowed to haverevenge. Neither the occasion nor the method was as yet clear to her, but she pursed her lips ominously, and bided her time. 

In the existence of Madame Caille there was one emphatic consolation forall misfortunes, the which was none other than Zut, a white angora catof surpassing beauty and prodigious size. She had come intoAlexandrine's possession as a kitten, and, what with much eating and aninherent distaste for exercise, had attained her present proportions andher superb air of unconcern. It was from the latter that she derived hername, the which, in Parisian argot, at once means everything andnothing, but is chiefly taken to signify complete and magnificentindifference to all things mundane and material: and in the matter ofindifference Zut was past-mistress. Even for Madame Caille herself, whofed her with the choicest morsels from her own plate, brushed her finefur with excessive care, and addressed caressing remarks to her atminute intervals throughout the day, Zut manifested a lack of interestthat amounted to contempt. As she basked in the warm sun at the shopdoor, the round face of her mistress beamed upon her from the littledesk, and the voice of her mistress sent fulsome flattery winging towardher on the heavy air. Was she beautiful, mon Dieu! In effect, all thatone could dream of the most beautiful! And her eyes, of a blue like theheaven, were they not wise and calm? Mon Dieu, yes! It was a cat amongthousands, a mimi almost divine. 

Jean-Baptiste, appealed to for confirmation of these statements, repliedthat it was so. There was no denying that this was a magnificent beast. And of a chic. And caressing--(which was exaggeration). And of anaffection--(which was doubtful). And courageous--(which was whollyuntrue). Mazette, yes! A cat of cats! And was the boy to be the wholeafternoon in delivering a cheese, he demanded of her? And Madame Caillewould challenge him to ask her that--but it was a good, great beast allthe same!--and so bury herself again in her accounts, until herattention was once more drawn to Zut, and fresh flattery poured forth. For all of this Zut cared less than nothing. In the midst of hermistress's sweetest cajolery, she simply closed her sapphire eyes, withan inexpressibly eloquent air of weariness, or turned to the intricaciesof her toilet, as who should say: "Continue. I am listening. But it isunimportant. "

But long familiarity with her disdain had deprived it of any sting, sofar as Alexandrine was concerned. Passive indifference she could suffer. It was only when Zut proceeded to an active manifestation of ingratitudethat she inflicted an irremediable wound. Returning from her marketingone morning, Madame Caille discovered her graceless favourite seatedcomplacently in the doorway of the Salon Malakoff, and, in a paroxysmof indignation, bore down upon her, and snatched her to her breast. 

"Unhappy one!" she cried, planting herself in full view of Espérance, and, while raining the letter of her reproach upon the truant, contriving to apply its spirit wholly to her neighbour. "What hast thoudone? Is it that thou desertest me for strangers, who may destroy thee?Name of a name, hast thou no heart? They would steal thee from me--andabove all, _now_! Well then, no! One shall see if such things arepermitted! Vagabond!" And with this parting shot, which passedharmlessly over the head of the offender, and launched itself full atMadame Sergeot, the outraged épicière flounced back into her own domain, where, turning, she threatened the empty air with a passionate gesture. 

"Vagabond!" she repeated. "Good-for-nothing! Is it not enough to haverobbed me of my friends, that you must steal my child as well? We shallsee!"--then, suddenly softening--"Thou art beautiful, and good, andwise. Mon Dieu, if I should lose thee, and above all, _now_!"

Now there existed a marked, if unvoiced, community of feeling betweenEspérance and her resentful neighbour, for the former's passion for catswas more consuming even than the latter's. She had long cherished thedream of possessing a white angora, and when, that morning, of her ownaccord, Zut stepped into the Salon Malakoff, she was received withdemonstrations even warmer than those to which she had long since becomeaccustomed. And, whether it was the novelty of her surroundings, ormerely some unwonted instinct which made her unusually susceptible, herhabitual indifference then and there gave place to animation, and hersatisfaction was vented in her long, appreciative purr, wherewith it wasnot once a year that she vouchsafed to gladden her owner's heart. Espérance hastened to prepare a saucer of milk, and, when this wasexhausted, added a generous portion of fish, and Zut then made a tour ofthe shop, rubbing herself against the chair-legs, and receiving thehomage of customers and duck-clad assistants alike. Flique, his ruddyface screwed into a mere knot of features, as Hippolyte worked violethair-tonic into his brittle locks, was moved to satire by theapparition. 

"Tiens! It is with the cat as with the clients. All the world forsakesthe Caille. "

Strangely enough, the wrathful words of Alexandrine, as she snatched herdarling from the doorway, awoke in the mind of Espérance her firstsuspicion of this smouldering resentment. Absorbed in the launching ofher husband's affairs, and constantly employed in the making of changeand with the keeping of her simple accounts, she had had no time tobestow upon her neighbours, and, even had her attention been free, shecould hardly have been expected to deduce the rancour of Madame Caillefrom the evidence at hand. But even if she had been able to ignore thesignificance of that furious outburst at her very door, its meaning hadnot been lost upon the others, and her own half-formed conviction wasspeedily confirmed. 

"What has she?" cried Hippolyte, pausing in the final stage of hisoperations upon the highly perfumed Flique. 

"Do I know?" replied his wife with a shrug. "She thinks I stole hercat--_I_!"

"Quite simply, she hates you, " put in Flique. "And why not? She is old, and fat, and her business is taking itself off, like that! You are youngand"--with a bow, as he rose--"beautiful, and your affairs march to amarvel. She is jealous, c'est tout! It is a bad character, that. "

"But, mon Dieu!"--

"But what does that say to you? Let her go her way, she and her cat. Aur'voir, 'sieurs, 'dame. "

And, rattling a couple of sous into the little urn reserved for tips, the policeman took his departure, amid a chorus of "Merci, m'sieu', aur'voir, m'sieu', " from Hippolyte and his duck-clad aids. 

But what he had said remained behind. All day Madame Sergeot ponderedupon the incident of the morning and Abel Flique's comments thereupon, seeking out some more plausible reason for this hitherto unsuspectedenmity than the mere contrast between her material conditions and thoseof Madame Caille seemed to her to afford. For, to a natural placidity oftemperament, which manifested itself in a reluctance to incur thedispleasure of any one, had been lately added in Espérance a shrewdcommercial instinct, which told her that the fortunes of the SalonMalakoff might readily be imperilled by an unfriendly tongue. In thequartier, gossip spread quickly and took deep root. It was quiteimaginably within the power of Madame Caille to circulate such rumoursof Sergeot dishonesty as should draw their lately won custom from themand leave but empty chairs and discontent where now all was prosperityand satisfaction. 

Suddenly there came to her the memory of that visit which she had neverreturned. Mon Dieu! and was not that reason enough? She, the youngestpatronne in the quartier, to ignore deliberately the friendly call of aneighbour! At least it was not too late to make amends. So, whenbusiness lagged a little in the late afternoon, Madame Sergeot slippedfrom her desk, and, after a furtive touch to her hair, went in nextdoor, to pour oil upon the troubled waters. 

Madame Caille, throned at her counter, received her visitor withunexampled frigidity. 

"Ah, it is you, " she said. "You have come to make some purchases, nodoubt. "

"Eggs, madame, " answered her visitor, disconcerted, but tactfullyaccepting the hint. 

"The best quality--or--?" demanded Alexandrine, with the suggestion of asneer. 

"The best, evidently, madame. Six, if you please. Spring weather atlast, it would seem. "

To this generality the other made no reply. Descending from her stool, she blew sharply into a small paper bag, thereby distending it into aminiature balloon, and began selecting the eggs from a basket, holdingeach one to the light, and then dusting it with exaggerated care beforeplacing it in the bag. While she was thus employed Zut advanced from asecluded corner, and, stretching her fore legs slowly to their utmostlength, greeted her acquaintance of the morning with a yawn. Finding inthe cat an outlet for her embarrassment, Espérance made another effortto give the interview a friendly turn. 

"He is beautiful, madame, your matou, " she said. 

"It is a female, " replied Madame Caille, turning abruptly from thebasket, "and she does not care for strangers. "

This second snub was not calculated to encourage neighbourly overtures, but Madame Sergeot had felt herself to be in the wrong, and was not tobe so readily repulsed. 

"We do not see Monsieur Caille at the Salon Malakoff, " she continued. "We should be enchanted"--

"My husband shaves himself, " retorted Alexandrine, with renewed dignity. 

"But his hair"--ventured Espérance. 

"_I_ cut it!" thundered her foe. 

Here Madame Sergeot made a false move. She laughed. Then, in confusion, and striving, too late, to retrieve herself--"Pardon, madame, " sheadded, "but it seems droll to me, that. After all, ten sous is a sum sosmall"--

"All the world, unfortunately, " broke in Madame Caille, "has not thewherewithal to buy mirrors, and pay itself frescoes and appareilsantiseptiques! The eggs are twenty-four sous--but we do not prideourselves upon our eggs. Perhaps you had better seek them elsewhere forthe future!"

For sole reply Madame Sergeot had recourse to her expressive shrug, andthen laying two francs upon the counter, and gathering up the sous whichAlexandrine rather hurled at than handed her, she took her way towardthe door with all the dignity at her command. But Madame Caille, feelingher snub to have been insufficient, could not let her go without a finalthrust. 

"Perhaps your husband will be so amiable as to shampoo my cat!" sheshouted. "She seems to like your 'Salon'!"

But Espérance, while for concord's sake inclined to tolerate allrudeness to herself, was not prepared to hear Hippolyte insulted, andso, wheeling at the doorway, flung all her resentment into two words. 

"Mal élevée!"

"Gueuse!" screamed Alexandrine from the desk. And so they parted. 

Now, even at this stage, an armed truce might still have been preserved, had Zut been content with the evil she had wrought, and not thought itincumbent upon her further to embitter a quarrel that was a very prettyquarrel as it stood. But, whether it was that the milk and fish of theSalon Malakoff lay sweeter upon her memory than any of the familiardainties of the épicerie Caille, or that, by her unknowable felineinstinct, she was irresistibly drawn toward the scent of violet andlilac brillantine, her first visit to the Sergeot was soon repeated, andfrom this visit other visits grew, until it was almost a dailyoccurrence for her to saunter slowly into the salle de coiffure, andthere receive the food and homage which were rendered as her undisputeddue. For, whatever was the bitterness of Espérance toward Madame Caille, no part thereof descended upon Zut. On the contrary, at each visit herheart was more drawn toward the sleek angora, and her desire butstrengthened to possess her peer. But white angoras are a luxury, and anexpensive one at that, and, however prosperous the Salon Malakoff mightbe, its proprietors were not as yet in a position to squander eightyfrancs upon a whim. So, until profits should mount higher, MadameSergeot was forced to content herself with the voluntary visits of herneighbour's pet. 

Madame Caille did not yield her rights of sovereignty without astruggle. On the occasion of Zut's third visit, she descended upon theSalon Malakoff, robed in wrath, and found the adored one contentedlyfeeding on fish in the very bosom of the family Sergeot. An appallingscene ensued. 

"If, " she stormed, crimson of countenance, and threatening Espérancewith her fist, "if you _must_ entice my cat from her home, at _least_ Iwill thank you not to give her food. I provide all that is necessary;and, for the rest, how do I know what is in that saucer?"

And she surveyed the duck-clad assistants and the astounded customerswith tremendous scorn. 

"You others, " she added, "I ask you, is it just? These people take mycat, and feed her--_feed_ her--with I know not what! It is overwhelming, unheard of--and, above all, _now_!"

But here the peaceful Hippolyte played trumps. 

"It is the privilege of the vulgar, " he cried, advancing, razor in hand, "when they are at home, to insult their neighbours, but here--no! Mywife has told me of you and of your sayings. Beware! or I shall arrangeyour affair for you! Go! you and your cat!"

And, by way of emphasis, he fairly kicked Zut into her astonishedowner's arms. He was magnificent, was Hippolyte!

This anecdote, duly elaborated, was poured into the ears of Abel Fliquean hour later, and that evening he paid his first visit in many monthsto Madame Caille. She greeted him effusively, being willing to pardonall the past for the sake of regaining this powerful friend. But theglitter in the agent's eye would have cowed a fiercer spirit than hers. 

"You amuse yourself, " he said sternly, looking straight at her over thehandful of raisins which she tendered him, "by wearying my friends. Icounsel you to take care. One does not sell inferior eggs in Pariswithout hearing of it sooner or later. I know more than I have told, butnot more than I _can_ tell, if I choose. "

"Our ancient friendship"--faltered Alexandrine, touched in a vulnerablespot. 

"--preserves you thus far, " added Flique, no less unmoved. "Beware howyou abuse it!"

And so the calls of Zut were no longer disturbed. 

But the rover spirit is progressive, and thus short visits became longvisits, and finally the angora spent whole nights in the Salon Malakoff, where a box and a bit of carpet were provided for her. And one fatefulmorning the meaning of Madame Caille's significant words "and above all, _now_!" was made clear. 

The prosperity of Hippolyte's establishment had grown apace, so that, onthe morning in question, the three chairs were occupied, and yet othercustomers awaited their turn. The air was laden with violet and lilac. A stout chauffeur, in a leather suit, thickly coated with dust, wasundergoing a shampoo at the hands of one of the duck-clad, and, underthe skilfully plied razor of the other, the virgin down slid from thelips and chin of a slim and somewhat startled youth, while from avaporizer Hippolyte played a fine spray of perfumed water upon the ruddycountenance of Abel Flique. It was an eloquent moment, eminently fittedfor some dramatic incident, and that dramatic incident Zut supplied. Sheadvanced slowly and with an air of conscious dignity from the cornerwhere was her carpeted box, and in her mouth was a limp something, which, when deposited in the immediate centre of the Salon Malakoff, resolved itself into an angora kitten, as white as snow!

"Epatant!" said Flique, mopping his perfumed chin. And so it was. 

There was an immediate investigation of Zut's quarters, which revealedfour other kittens, but each of these was marked with black or tan. Itwas the flower of the flock with which the proud mother had won herpublic. 

"And they are all yours!" cried Flique, when the question of ownershiparose. "Mon Dieu, yes! There was such a case not a month ago, in theeighth arrondissement--a concierge of the avenue Hoche who made acontrary claim. But the courts decided against her. They are all yours, Madame Sergeot. My felicitations!"

Now, as we have said, Madame Sergeot was of a placid temperament whichsought not strife. But the unprovoked insults of Madame Caille hadstruck deep, and, after all, she was but human. 

So it was that, seated at her little desk, she composed the followingmasterpiece of satire:

 CHÈRE MADAME, --We send you back your cat, and the others--all but one. One kitten was of a pure white, more beautiful even than its mother. As we have long desired a white angora, we keep this one as a souvenir of you. We regret that we do not see the means of accepting the kind offer you were so amiable as to make us. We fear that we shall not find time to shampoo your cat, as we shall be so busy taking care of our own. Monsieur Flique will explain the rest. 

 We pray you to accept, madame, the assurance of our distinguished consideration, HIPPOLYTE AND ESPÉRANCE SERGEOT. 

It was Abel Flique who conveyed the above epistle, and Zut, and four ofZut's kittens, to Alexandrine Caille, and, when that wrathful personwould have rent him with tooth and nail, it was Abel Flique who laid hisfinger on his lip, and said, --

"Concern yourself with the superior kitten, madame, and I concern myselfwith the inferior eggs!"

To which Alexandrine made no reply. After Flique had taken hisdeparture, she remained speechless for five consecutive minutes for thefirst time in the whole of her waking existence, gazing at the spot ather feet where sprawled the white angora, surrounded by her mottledoffspring. Even when the first shock of her defeat had passed, shesimply heaved a deep sigh, and uttered two words, --

"Oh, _Zut_!"

The which, in Parisian argot, at once means everything and nothing. 

 GUY WETMORE CARRYL. 

A PSYCHICAL INVASION

I

"And what is it makes you think I could be of use in this particularcase?" asked Dr. John Silence, looking across somewhat sceptically atthe Swedish lady in the chair facing him. 

"Your sympathetic heart and your knowledge of occultism--"

"Oh, please--that dreadful word!" he interrupted, holding up a fingerwith a gesture of impatience. 

"Well, then, " she laughed, "your wonderful clairvoyant gift and yourtrained psychic knowledge of the processes by which a personality may bedisintegrated and destroyed--these strange studies you've beenexperimenting with all these years--"

"If it's only a case of multiple personality I must really cry off, "interrupted the doctor again hastily, a bored expression in his eyes. 

"It's not that; now, please, be serious, for I want your help, " shesaid; "and if I choose my words poorly you must be patient with myignorance. The case I know will interest you, and no one else could dealwith it so well. In fact, no ordinary professional man could deal withit at all, for I know of no treatment or medicine that can restore alost sense of humour!"

"You begin to interest me with your 'case, '" he replied, and madehimself comfortable to listen. 

Mrs. Sivendson drew a sigh of contentment as she watched him go to thetube and heard him tell the servant he was not to be disturbed. 

"I believe you have read my thoughts already, " she said; "your intuitiveknowledge of what goes on in other people's minds is positivelyuncanny. "

Her friend shook his head and smiled as he drew his chair up to aconvenient position and prepared to listen attentively to what she hadto say. He closed his eyes, as he always did when he wished to absorbthe real meaning of a recital that might be inadequately expressed, forby this method he found it easier to set himself in tune with the livingthoughts that lay behind the broken words. 

By his friends John Silence was regarded as an eccentric, because he wasrich by accident, and by choice--a doctor. That a man of independentmeans should devote his time to doctoring, chiefly doctoring folk whocould not pay, passed their comprehension entirely. The native nobilityof a soul whose first desire was to help those who could not helpthemselves, puzzled them. After that, it irritated them, and, greatly tohis own satisfaction, they left him to his own devices. 

Dr. Silence was a free-lance, though, among doctors, having neitherconsulting-room, book-keeper, nor professional manner. He took no fees, being at heart a genuine philanthropist, yet at the same time did noharm to his fellow-practitioners, because he only acceptedunremunerative cases, and cases that interested him for some veryspecial reason. He argued that the rich could pay, and the very poorcould avail themselves of organized charity, but that a very large classof ill-paid, self-respecting workers, often followers of the arts, couldnot afford the price of a week's comforts merely to be told to travel. And it was these he desired to help; cases often requiring special andpatient study--things no doctor can give for a guinea, and that no onewould dream of expecting him to give. 

But there was another side to his personality and practice, and one withwhich we are now more directly concerned; for the cases that especiallyappealed to him were of no ordinary kind, but rather of that intangible, elusive, and difficult nature best described as psychical afflictions;and, though he would have been the last person himself to approve of thetitle, it was beyond question that he was known more or less generallyas the "Psychic Doctor. "

In order to grapple with cases of this peculiar kind, he had submittedhimself to a long and severe training, at once physical, mental, andspiritual. What precisely this training had been, or where undergone, noone seemed to know, --for he never spoke of it, as, indeed, he betrayedno single other characteristic of the charlatan, --but the fact that ithad involved a total disappearance from the world for five years, andthat after he returned and began his singular practice no one everdreamed of applying to him the so easily acquired epithet of quack, spoke much for the seriousness of his strange quest and also for thegenuineness of his attainments. 

For the modern psychical researcher he felt the calm tolerance of the"man who knows. " There was a trace of pity in his voice--contempt henever showed--when he spoke of their methods. 

"This classification of results is uninspired work at best, " he saidonce to me, when I had been his confidential assistant for some years. "It leads nowhere, and after a hundred years will lead nowhere. It isplaying with the wrong end of a rather dangerous toy. Far better, itwould be, to examine the causes, and then the results would so easilyslip into place and explain themselves. For the sources are accessible, and open to all who have the courage to lead the life that alone makespractical investigation safe and possible. "

And towards the question of clairvoyance, too, his attitude wassignificantly sane, for he knew how extremely rare the genuine powerwas, and that what is commonly called clairvoyance is nothing more thana keen power of visualizing. 

"It connotes a slightly increased sensibility, nothing more, " he wouldsay. "The true clairvoyant deplores his power, recognizing that it addsa new horror to life, and is in the nature of an affliction. And youwill find this always to be the real test. "

Thus it was that John Silence, this singularly developed doctor, wasable to select his cases with a clear knowledge of the differencebetween mere hysterical delusion and the kind of psychical afflictionthat claimed his special powers. It was never necessary for him toresort to the cheap mysteries of divination; for, as I have heard himobserve, after the solution of some peculiarly intricate problem--

"Systems of divination, from geomancy down to reading by tea-leaves, aremerely so many methods of obscuring the outer vision, in order that theinner vision may become open. Once the method is mastered, no system isnecessary at all. "

And the words were significant of the methods of this remarkable man, the keynote of whose power lay, perhaps, more than anything else, in theknowledge, first, that thought can act at a distance, and, secondly, that thought is dynamic and can accomplish material results. 

"Learn how to _think_, " he would have expressed it, "and you havelearned to tap power at its source. "

To look at--he was now past forty--he was sparely built, with speakingbrown eyes in which shone the light of knowledge and self-confidence, while at the same time they made one think of that wondrous gentlenessseen most often in the eyes of animals. A close beard concealed themouth without disguising the grim determination of lips and jaw, and theface somehow conveyed an impression of transparency, almost of light, sodelicately were the features refined away. On the fine forehead was thatindefinable touch of peace that comes from identifying the mind withwhat is permanent in the soul, and letting the impermanent slip bywithout power to wound or distress; while, from his manner, --so gentle, quiet, sympathetic, --few could have guessed the strength of purpose thatburned within like a great flame. 

"I think I should describe it as a psychical case, " continued theSwedish lady, obviously trying to explain herself very intelligently, "and just the kind you like. I mean a case where the cause is hiddendeep down in some spiritual distress, and--"

"But the symptoms first, please, my dear Svenska, " he interrupted, witha strangely compelling seriousness of manner, "and your deductionsafterwards. "

She turned round sharply on the edge of her chair and looked him in theface, lowering her voice to prevent her emotion betraying itself tooobviously. 

"In my opinion there's only one symptom, " she half whispered, as thoughtelling something disagreeable--"fear--simply fear. "

"Physical fear?"

"I think not; though how can I say? I think it's a horror in thepsychical region. It's no ordinary delusion; the man is quite sane; buthe lives in mortal terror of something--"

"I don't know what you mean by his 'psychical region, '" said the doctor, with a smile; "though I suppose you wish me to understand that hisspiritual, and not his mental, processes are affected. Anyhow, try andtell me briefly and pointedly what you know about the man, his symptoms, his need for help, _my_ peculiar help, that is, and all that seems vitalin the case. I promise to listen devotedly. "

"I am trying, " she continued earnestly, "but must do so in my own wordsand trust to your intelligence to disentangle as I go along. He is ayoung author, and lives in a tiny house off Putney Heath somewhere. Hewrites humorous stories--quite a genre of his own: Pender--you must haveheard the name--Felix Pender? Oh, the man had a great gift, and marriedon the strength of it; his future seemed assured. I say 'had, ' for quitesuddenly his talent utterly failed him. Worse, it became transformedinto its opposite. He can no longer write a line in the old way that wasbringing him success--"

Dr. Silence opened his eyes for a second and looked at her. 

"He still writes, then? The force has not gone?" he asked briefly, andthen closed his eyes again to listen. 

"He works like a fury, " she went on, "but produces nothing"--shehesitated a moment--"nothing that he can use or sell. His earnings havepractically ceased, and he makes a precarious living by book-reviewingand odd jobs--very odd, some of them. Yet, I am certain his talent hasnot really deserted him finally, but is merely--"

Again Mrs. Sivendson hesitated for the appropriate word. 

"In abeyance, " he suggested, without opening his eyes. 

"Obliterated, " she went on, after a moment to weigh the word, "merelyobliterated by something else--"

"By some _one_ else?"

"I wish I knew. All I can say is that he is haunted, and temporarily hissense of humour is shrouded--gone--replaced by something dreadful thatwrites other things. Unless something competent is done, he will simplystarve to death. Yet he is afraid to go to a doctor for fear of beingpronounced insane; and, anyhow, a man can hardly ask a doctor to take aguinea to restore a vanished sense of humour, can he?"

"Has he tried any one at all--?"

"Not doctors yet. He tried some clergymen and religious people; but they_know_ so little and have so little intelligent sympathy. And most ofthem are so busy balancing on their own little pedestals--"

John Silence stopped her tirade with a gesture. 

"And how is it that you know so much about him?" he asked gently. 

"I know Mrs. Pender well--I knew her before she married him--"

"And is she a cause, perhaps?"

"Not in the least. She is devoted; a woman very well educated, thoughwithout being really intelligent, and with so little sense of humourherself that she always laughs at the wrong places. But she has nothingto do with the cause of his distress; and, indeed, has chiefly guessedit from observing him, rather than from what little he has told her. And he, you know, is a really lovable fellow, hard-working, patient--altogether worth saving. "

Dr. Silence opened his eyes and went over to ring for tea. He did notknow very much more about the case of the humorist than when he firstsat down to listen; but he realized that no amount of words from hisSwedish friend would help to reveal the real facts. A personal interviewwith the author himself could alone do that. 

"All humorists are worth saving, " he said with a smile, as she pouredout tea. "We can't afford to lose a single one in these strenuous days. I will go and see your friend at the first opportunity. "

She thanked him elaborately, effusively, with many words, and he, withmuch difficulty, kept the conversation thenceforward strictly to theteapot. 

And, as a result of this conversation, and a little more he had gatheredby means best known to himself and his secretary, he was whizzing in hismotor-car one afternoon a few days later up the Putney Hill to have hisfirst interview with Felix Pender, the humorous writer who was thevictim of some mysterious malady in his "psychical region" that hadobliterated his sense of the comic and threatened to wreck his life anddestroy his talent. And his desire to help was probably of equalstrength with his desire to know and to investigate. 

The motor stopped with a deep purring sound, as though a great blackpanther lay concealed within its hood, and the doctor--the "psychicdoctor, " as he was sometimes called--stepped out through the gatheringfog, and walked across the tiny garden that held a blackened fir treeand a stunted laurel shrubbery. The house was very small, and it wassome time before any one answered the bell. Then, suddenly, a lightappeared in the hall, and he saw a pretty little woman standing on thetop step begging him to come in. She was dressed in grey, and thegaslight fell on a mass of deliberately brushed light hair. Stuffed, dusty birds, and a shabby array of African spears, hung on the wallbehind her. A hat-rack, with a bronze plate full of very large cards, led his eye swiftly to a dark staircase beyond. Mrs. Pender had roundeyes like a child's, and she greeted him with an effusiveness thatbarely concealed her emotion, yet strove to appear naturally cordial. Evidently she had been looking out for his arrival, and had outrun theservant girl. She was a little breathless. 

"I hope you've not been kept waiting--I think it's _most_ good of you tocome--" she began, and then stopped sharp when she saw his face in thegaslight. There was something in Dr. Silence's look that did notencourage mere talk. He was in earnest now, if ever man was. 

"Good evening, Mrs. Pender, " he said, with a quiet smile that wonconfidence, yet deprecated unnecessary words, "the fog delayed me alittle. I am glad to see you. "

They went into a dingy sitting-room at the back of the house, neatlyfurnished but depressing. Books stood in a row upon the mantelpiece. Thefire had evidently just been lit. It smoked in great puffs into theroom. 

"Mrs. Sivendson said she thought you might be able to come, " venturedthe little woman again, looking up engagingly into his face andbetraying anxiety and eagerness in every gesture. "But I hardly dared tobelieve it. I think it is really too good of you. My husband's case isso peculiar that--well, you know, I am quite sure any _ordinary_ doctorwould say at once the asylum--"

"Isn't he in, then?" asked Dr. Silence gently. 

"In the asylum?" she gasped. "Oh dear, no--not yet!"

"In the house, I meant, " he laughed. 

She gave a great sigh. 

"He'll be back any minute now, " she replied, obviously relieved to seehim laugh; "but the fact is, we didn't expect you so early--I mean, myhusband hardly thought you would come at all. "

"I am always delighted to come--when I am really wanted, and can be ofhelp, " he said quickly; "and, perhaps, it's all for the best that yourhusband is out, for now that we are alone you can tell me somethingabout his difficulties. So far, you know, I have heard very little. "

Her voice trembled as she thanked him, and when he came and took a chairclose beside her she actually had difficulty in finding words with whichto begin. 

"In the first place, " she began timidly, and then continuing with anervous incoherent rush of words, "he will be simply delighted thatyou've really come, because he said you were the only person he wouldconsent to see at all--the only doctor, I mean. But, of course, hedoesn't know how frightened I am, or how much I have noticed. Hepretends with me that it's just a nervous breakdown, and I'm sure hedoesn't realize all the odd things I've noticed him doing. But the mainthing, I suppose--"

"Yes, the main thing, Mrs. Pender, " he said encouragingly, noticing herhesitation. 

"--is that he thinks we are not alone in the house. That's the chiefthing. "

"Tell me more facts--just facts. "

"It began last summer when I came back from Ireland; he had been herealone for six weeks, and I thought him looking tired and queer--raggedand scattered about the face, if you know what I mean, and his mannerworn out. He said he had been writing hard, but his inspiration hadsomehow failed him, and he was dissatisfied with his work. His sense ofhumour was leaving him, or changing into something else, he said. Therewas something in the house, he declared, that"--she emphasized thewords--"prevented his feeling funny. "

"Something in the house that prevented his feeling funny, " repeated thedoctor. "Ah, now we're getting to the heart of it!"

"Yes, " she resumed vaguely, "that's what he kept saying. "

"And what was it he _did_ that you thought strange?" he askedsympathetically. "Be brief, or he may be here before you finish. "

"Very small things, but significant it seemed to me. He changed hisworkroom from the library, as we call it, to the sitting-room. He saidall his characters became wrong and terrible in the library; theyaltered, so that he felt like writing tragedies--vile, debasedtragedies, the tragedies of broken souls. But now he says the same ofthe smoking-room, and he's gone back to the library. "

"Ah!"

"You see, there's so little I can tell you, " she went on, withincreasing speed and countless gestures. "I mean it's only very smallthings he does and says that are queer. What frightens me is that heassumes there is some one else in the house all the time--some one Inever see. He does not actually say so, but on the stairs I've seen himstanding aside to let some one pass; I've seen him open a door to letsome one in or out; and often in our bedroom he puts chairs about asthough for some one else to sit in. Oh--oh yes, and once or twice, " shecried--"once or twice--"

She paused, and looked about her with a startled air. 

"Yes?"

"Once or twice, " she resumed hurriedly, as though she heard a sound thatalarmed her, "I've heard him running--coming in and out of the roomsbreathless as if something were after him--"

The door opened while she was still speaking, cutting her words off inthe middle, and a man came into the room. He was dark andclean-shaven sallow rather, with the eyes of imagination, and dark hairgrowing scantily about the temples. He was dressed in a shabby tweedsuit, and wore an untidy flannel collar at the neck. The dominantexpression of his face was startled--hunted; an expression that mightany moment leap into the dreadful stare of terror and announce a totalloss of self-control. 

The moment he saw his visitor a smile spread over his worn features, andhe advanced to shake hands. 

"I hoped you would come; Mrs. Sivendson said you might be able to findtime, " he said simply. His voice was thin and reedy. "I am very glad tosee you, Dr. Silence. It is 'Doctor, ' is it not?"

"Well, I am entitled to the description, " laughed the other, "but Irarely get it. You know, I do not practice as a regular thing; that is, I only take cases that specially interest me, or--"

He did not finish the sentence, for the men exchanged a glance ofsympathy that rendered it unnecessary. 

"I have heard of your great kindness. "

"It's my hobby, " said the other quickly, "and my privilege. "

"I trust you will still think so when you have heard what I have to tellyou, " continued the author, a little wearily. He led the way across thehall into the little smoking-room where they could talk freely andundisturbed. 

In the smoking-room, the door shut and privacy about them, Pender'sattitude changed somewhat, and his manner became very grave. The doctorsat opposite, where he could watch his face. Already, he saw, it lookedmore haggard. Evidently it cost him much to refer to his trouble at all. 

"What I have is, in my belief, a profound spiritual affliction, " hebegan quite bluntly, looking straight into the other's eyes. 

"I saw that at once, " Dr. Silence said. 

"Yes, you saw that, of course; my atmosphere must convey that much toany one with psychic perceptions. Besides which, I feel sure from all Ihave heard, that you are really a soul-doctor, are you not, more than ahealer merely of the body?"

"You think of me too highly, " returned the other; "though I prefercases, as you know, in which the spirit is disturbed first, the bodyafterwards. "

"I understand, yes. Well, I have experienced a curious disturbancein--_not_ in my physical region primarily. I mean my nerves are allright, and my body is all right. I have no delusions exactly, but myspirit is tortured by a calamitous fear which first came upon me in astrange manner. "

John Silence leaned forward a moment and took the speaker's hand andheld it in his own for a few brief seconds, closing his eyes as he didso. He was not feeling his pulse, or doing any of the things thatdoctors ordinarily do; he was merely absorbing into himself the mainnote of the man's mental condition, so as to get completely his ownpoint of view, and thus be able to treat his case with true sympathy. Avery close observer might perhaps have noticed that a slight tremor ranthrough his frame after he had held the hand for a few seconds. 

"Tell me quite frankly, Mr. Pender, " he said soothingly, releasing thehand, and with deep attention in his manner, "tell me all the steps thatled to the beginning of this invasion. I mean tell me what theparticular drug was, and why you took it, and how it affected you--"

"Then you know it began with a drug!" cried the author, with undisguisedastonishment. 

"I only know from what I observe in you, and in its effect upon myself. You are in a surprising psychical condition. Certain portions of youratmosphere are vibrating at a far greater rate than others. This is theeffect of a drug, but of no ordinary drug. Allow me to finish, please. If the higher rate of vibration spreads all over, you will become, ofcourse, permanently cognisant of a much larger world than the one youknow normally. If, on the other hand, the rapid portion sinks back tothe usual rate, you will lose these occasional increased perceptions younow have. "

"You amaze me!" exclaimed the author; "for your words exactly describewhat I have been feeling--"

"I mention this only in passing, and to give you confidence before youapproach the account of your real affliction, " continued the doctor. "All perception, as you know, is the result of vibrations; andclairvoyance simply means becoming sensitive to an increased scale ofvibrations. The awakening of the inner senses we hear so much aboutmeans no more than that. Your partial clairvoyance is easily explained. The only thing that puzzles me is how you managed to procure the drug, for it is not easy to get in pure form, and no adulterated tincturecould have given you the terrific impetus I see you have acquired. But, please proceed now and tell me your story in your own way. "

"This _Cannabis indica_, " the author went on, "came into my possessionlast autumn while my wife was away. I need not explain how I got it, forthat has no importance; but it was the genuine fluid extract, and Icould not resist the temptation to make an experiment. One of itseffects, as you know, is to induce torrential laughter--"

"Yes; sometimes. "

"--I am a writer of humorous tales, and I wished to increase my ownsense of laughter--to see the ludicrous from an abnormal point of view. I wished to study it a bit, if possible, and--"

"Tell me!"

"I took an experimental dose. I starved for six hours to hasten theeffect, locked myself into this room, and gave orders not to bedisturbed. Then I swallowed the stuff and waited. "

"And the effect?"

"I waited one hour, two, three, four, five hours. Nothing happened. Nolaughter came, but only a great weariness instead. Nothing in the roomor in my thoughts came within a hundred miles of a humorous aspect. "

"Always a most uncertain drug, " interrupted the doctor. "We make a verysmall use of it on that account. "

"At two o'clock in the morning I felt so hungry and tired that I decidedto give up the experiment and wait no longer. I drank some milk and wentupstairs to bed. I felt flat and disappointed. I fell asleep at once andmust have slept for about an hour, when I awoke suddenly with a greatnoise in my ears. It was the noise of my own laughter! I was simplyshaking with merriment. At first I was bewildered and thought I had beenlaughing in dreams, but a moment later I remembered the drug, and wasdelighted to think that after all I had got an effect. It had beenworking all along, only I had miscalculated the time. The onlyunpleasant thing _then_ was an odd feeling that I had not wakednaturally, but had been wakened by some one else--deliberately. Thiscame to me as a certainty in the middle of my noisy laughter anddistressed me. "

"Any impression who it could have been?" asked the doctor, now listeningwith close attention to every word, very much on the alert. 

Pender hesitated and tried to smile. He brushed his hair from hisforehead with a nervous gesture. 

"You must tell me all your impressions, even your fancies; they arequite as important as your certainties. "

"I had a vague idea that it was some one connected with my forgottendream, some one who had been at me in my sleep, some one of greatstrength and great ability--or great force--quite an unusualpersonality--and, I was certain, too--a woman. "

"A good woman?" asked John Silence quietly. 

Pender started a little at the question and his sallow face flushed; itseemed to surprise him. But he shook his head quickly with anindefinable look of horror. 

"Evil, " he answered briefly, "appallingly evil, and yet mingled with thesheer wickedness of it was also a certain perverseness--the perversityof the unbalanced mind. "

He hesitated a moment and looked up sharply at his interlocutor. A shadeof suspicion showed itself in his eyes. 

"No, " laughed the doctor, "you need not fear that I'm merely humouringyou, or think you mad. Far from it. Your story interests me exceedinglyand you furnish me unconsciously with a number of clues as you tell it. You see, I possess some knowledge of my own as to these psychic byways. "

"I was shaking with such violent laughter, " continued the narrator, reassured in a moment, "though with no clear idea what was amusing me, that I had the greatest difficulty in getting up for the matches, andwas afraid I should frighten the servants overhead with my explosions. When the gas was lit I found the room empty, of course, and the doorlocked as usual. Then I half dressed and went out on to the landing, myhilarity better under control, and proceeded to go downstairs. I wishedto record my sensations. I stuffed a handkerchief into my mouth so asnot to scream aloud and communicate my hysterics to the entirehousehold. "

"And the presence of this--this--?"

"It was hanging about me all the time, " said Pender, "but for the momentit seemed to have withdrawn. Probably, too, my laughter killed all otheremotions. "

"And how long did you take getting downstairs?"

"I was just coming to that. I see you know all my 'symptoms' in advance, as it were; for, of course, I thought I should never get to the bottom. Each step seemed to take five minutes, and crossing the narrow hall atthe foot of the stairs--well, I could have sworn it was half an hour'sjourney had not my watch certified that it was a few seconds. Yet Iwalked fast and tried to push on. It was no good. I walked apparentlywithout advancing, and at that rate it would have taken me a week to getdown Putney Hill. "

"An experimental dose radically alters the scale of time and spacesometimes--"

"But, when at last I got into my study and lit the gas, the change camehorridly, and sudden as a flash of lightning. It was like a douche oficy water, and in the middle of this storm of laughter--"

"Yes; what?" asked the doctor, leaning forward and peering into hiseyes. 

"--I was overwhelmed with terror, " said Pender, lowering his reedyvoice at the mere recollection of it. 

He paused a moment and mopped his forehead. The scared, hunted look inhis eyes now dominated the whole face. Yet, all the time, the corners ofhis mouth hinted of possible laughter as though the recollection of thatmerriment still amused him. The combination of fear and laughter in hisface was very curious, and lent great conviction to his story; it alsolent a bizarre expression of horror to his gestures. 

"Terror, was it?" repeated the doctor soothingly. 

"Yes, terror; for, though the Thing that woke me seemed to have gone, the memory of it still frightened me, and I collapsed into a chair. ThenI locked the door and tried to reason with myself, but the drug made mymovements so prolonged that it took me five minutes to reach the door, and another five to get back to the chair again. The laughter, too, keptbubbling up inside me--great wholesome laughter that shook me like gustsof wind--so that even my terror almost made me laugh. Oh, but I may tellyou, Dr. Silence, it was altogether vile, that mixture of fear andlaughter, altogether vile!

"Then, all at once, the things in the room again presented their funnyside to me and set me off laughing more furiously than ever. Thebookcase was ludicrous, the arm-chair a perfect clown, the way the clocklooked at me on the mantelpiece too comic for words; the arrangement ofpapers and inkstand on the desk tickled me till I roared and shook andheld my sides and the tears streamed down my cheeks. And that footstool!Oh, that absurd footstool!"

He lay back in his chair, laughing to himself and holding up his handsat the thought of it, and at the sight of him Dr. Silence laughed too. 

"Go on, please, " he said, "I quite understand. I know something myselfof the hashish laughter. "

The author pulled himself together and resumed, his face growing quicklygrave again. 

"So, you see, side by side with this extravagant, apparently causelessmerriment, there was also an extravagant, apparently causeless, terror. The drug produced the laughter, I knew; but what brought in the terror Icould not imagine. Everywhere behind the fun lay the fear. It was terrormasked by cap and bells; and I became the playground for two opposingemotions, armed and fighting to the death. Gradually, then, theimpression grew in me that this fear was caused by the invasion--so youcalled it just now--of the 'person' who had wakened me; she was utterlyevil; inimical to my soul, or at least to all in me that wished forgood. There I stood, sweating and trembling, laughing at everything inthe room, yet all the while with this white terror mastering my heart. And this creature was putting--putting her--"

He hesitated again, using his handkerchief freely. 

"Putting what?"

"--putting ideas into my mind, " he went on, glancing nervously about theroom. "Actually tapping my thought-stream so as to switch off the usualcurrent and inject her own. How mad that sounds! I know it, but it'strue. It's the only way I can express it. Moreover, while the operationterrified me, the skill with which it was accomplished filled me afreshwith laughter at the clumsiness of men by comparison. Our ignorant, bungling methods of teaching the minds of others, of inculcating ideas, and so on, overwhelmed me with laughter when I understood this superiorand diabolical method. Yet my laughter seemed hollow and ghastly, andideas of evil and tragedy trod close upon the heels of the comic. Oh, doctor, I tell you again, it was unnerving!"

John Silence sat with his head thrust forward to catch every word of thestory which the other continued to pour out in nervous, jerky sentencesand lowered voice. 

"You _saw_ nothing--no one--all this time?" he asked. 

"Not with my eyes. There was no visual hallucination. But in my mindthere began to grow the vivid picture of a woman--large, dark-skinned, with white teeth and masculine features, and one eye--the left--sodrooping as to appear almost closed. Oh, such a face--!"

"A face you would recognize again?"

Pender laughed dreadfully. 

"I wish I could forget it, " he whispered, "I only wish I could forgetit!" Then he sat forward in his chair suddenly, and grasped the doctor'shand with an emotional gesture. 

"I _must_ tell you how grateful I am for your patience and sympathy, " hecried, with a tremor in his voice, "and--that you do not think me mad. Ihave told no one else a quarter of all this, and the mere freedom ofspeech--the relief of sharing my affliction with another--has helped mealready more than I can possibly say. "

Dr. Silence pressed his hand and looked steadily into the frightenedeyes. His voice was very gentle when he replied. 

"Your case, you know, is very singular, but of absorbing interest tome, " he said, "for it threatens, not your physical existence, but thetemple of your psychical existence--the inner life. Your mind would notbe permanently affected here and now, in this world; but in theexistence after the body is left behind, you might wake up with yourspirit so twisted, so distorted, so befouled, that you would be_spiritually insane_--a far more radical condition than merely beinginsane here. "

There came a strange hush over the room, and between the two men sittingthere facing one another. 

"Do you really mean--Good Lord!" stammered the author as soon as hecould find his tongue. 

"What I mean in detail will keep till a little later, and I need onlysay now that I should not have spoken in this way unless I were quitepositive of being able to help you. Oh, there's no doubt as to that, believe me. In the first place, I am very familiar with the workings ofthis extraordinary drug, this drug which has had the chance effect ofopening you up to the forces of another region; and, in the second, Ihave a firm belief in the reality of super-sensuous occurrences as wellas considerable knowledge of psychic processes acquired by long andpainful experiment. The rest is, or should be, merely sympathetictreatment and practical application. The hashish has partially openedanother world to you by increasing your rate of psychical vibration, andthus rendering you abnormally sensitive. Ancient forces attached to thishouse have attacked you. For the moment I am only puzzled as to theirprecise nature; for were they of an ordinary character, I should myselfbe psychic enough to feel them. Yet I am conscious of feeling nothing asyet. But now, please continue, Mr. Pender, and tell me the rest of yourwonderful story; and when you have finished, I will talk about the meansof cure. "

Pender shifted his chair a little closer to the friendly doctor and thenwent on in the same nervous voice with his narrative. 

"After making some notes of my impressions I finally got upstairs againto bed. It was four o'clock in the morning. I laughed all the way up--atthe grotesque banisters, the droll physiognomy of the staircase window, the burlesque grouping of the furniture, and the memory of thatoutrageous footstool in the room below; but nothing more happened toalarm or disturb me, and I woke late in the morning after a dreamlesssleep, none the worse for my experiment except for a slight headache anda coldness of the extremities due to lowered circulation. "

"Fear gone, too?" asked the doctor. 

"I seemed to have forgotten it, or at least ascribed it to merenervousness. Its reality had gone, anyhow for the time, and all that dayI wrote and wrote and wrote. My sense of laughter seemed wonderfullyquickened and my characters acted without effort out of the heart oftrue humour. I was exceedingly pleased with this result of myexperiment. But when the stenographer had taken her departure and I cameto read over the pages she had typed out, I recalled her sudden glancesof surprise and the odd way she had looked up at me while I wasdictating. I was amazed at what I read and could hardly believe I haduttered it. "

"And why?"

"It was so distorted. The words, indeed, were mine so far as I couldremember, but the meanings seemed strange. It frightened me. The sensewas so altered. At the very places where my characters were intended totickle the ribs, only curious emotions of sinister amusement resulted. Dreadful innuendoes had managed to creep into the phrases. There waslaughter of a kind, but it was bizarre, horrible, distressing; and myattempt at analysis only increased my dismay. The story, as it readthen, made me shudder, for by virtue of these slight changes it had comesomehow to hold the soul of horror, of horror disguised as merriment. The framework of humour was there, if you understand me, but thecharacters had turned sinister, and their laughter was evil. "

"Can you show me this writing?"

The author shook his head. 

"I destroyed it, " he whispered. "But, in the end, though of course muchperturbed about it, I persuaded myself that it was due to someafter-effect of the drug, a sort of reaction that gave a twist to mymind and made me read macabre interpretations into words and situationsthat did not properly hold them. "

"And, meanwhile, did the presence of this person leave you?"

"No; that stayed more or less. When my mind was actively employed Iforgot it, but when idle, dreaming, or doing nothing in particular, there she was beside me, influencing my mind horribly--"

"In what way, precisely?" interrupted the doctor. 

"Evil, scheming thoughts came to me, visions of crime, hateful picturesof wickedness, and the kind of bad imagination that so far has beenforeign, indeed impossible, to my normal nature--"

"The pressure of the Dark Powers upon the personality, " murmured thedoctor, making a quick note. 

"Eh? I didn't quite catch--"

"Pray, go on. I am merely making notes; you shall know their purportfully later. "

"Even when my wife returned I was still aware of this Presence in thehouse; it associated itself with my inner personality in most intimatefashion; and outwardly I always felt oddly constrained to be polite andrespectful towards it--to open doors, provide chairs and hold myselfcarefully deferential when it was about. It became very compelling atlast, and, if I failed in any little particular, I seemed to know thatit pursued me about the house, from one room to another, haunting myvery soul in its inmost abode. It certainly came before my wife so faras my attentions were concerned. 

"But, let me first finish the story of my experimental dose, for I tookit again the third night, and underwent a very similar experience, delayed like the first in coming, and then carrying me off my feet whenit did come with a rush of this false demon-laughter. This time, however, there was a reversal of the changed scale of space and time; itshortened instead of lengthened, so that I dressed and got downstairsin about twenty seconds, and the couple of hours I stayed and worked inthe study passed literally like a period of ten minutes. "

"That is often true of an overdose, " interjected the doctor, "and youmay go a mile in a few minutes, or a few yards in a quarter of an hour. It is quite incomprehensible to those who have never experienced it, andis a curious proof that time and space are merely forms of thought. "

"This time, " Pender went on, talking more and more rapidly in hisexcitement, "another extraordinary effect came to me, and I experienceda curious changing of the senses, so that I perceived external thingsthrough one large main sense-channel instead of through the fivedivisions known as sight, smell, touch, and so forth. You will, I know, understand me when I tell you that I _heard_ sights and _saw_ sounds. Nolanguage can make this comprehensible, of course, and I can only say, for instance, that the striking of the clock I saw as a visible picturein the air before me. I saw the sounds of the tinkling bell. And inprecisely the same way I heard the colours in the room, especially thecolours of those books in the shelf behind you. Those red bindings Iheard in deep sounds, and the yellow covers of the French bindings nextto them made a shrill, piercing note not unlike the chattering ofstarlings. That brown bookcase muttered, and those green curtainsopposite kept up a constant sort of rippling sound like the lower notesof a woodhorn. But I only was conscious of these sounds when I lookedsteadily at the different objects, and thought about them. The room, youunderstand, was not full of a chorus of notes; but when I concentratedmy mind upon a colour, I heard, as well as saw, it. "

"That is a known, though rarely-obtained, effect of _Cannabis indica_, "observed the doctor. "And it provoked laughter again, did it?"

"Only the muttering of the cupboard-bookcase made me laugh. It was solike a great animal trying to get itself noticed, and made me think of aperforming bear--which is full of a kind of pathetic humour, you know. But this mingling of the senses produced no confusion in my brain. Onthe contrary, I was unusually clear-headed and experienced anintensification of consciousness, and felt marvellously alive andkeen-minded. 

"Moreover, when I took up a pencil in obedience to an impulse tosketch--a talent not normally mine--I found that I could draw nothingbut heads, nothing, in fact, but one head--always the same--the head ofa dark-skinned woman, with huge and terrible features and a verydrooping left eye; and so well drawn, too, that I was amazed, as you mayimagine--"

"And the expression of the face--?"

Pender hesitated a moment for words, casting about with his hands in theair and hunching his shoulders. A perceptible shudder ran over him. 

"What I can only describe as--_blackness_, " he replied in a low tone;"the face of a dark and evil soul. "

"You destroyed that, too?" queried the doctor sharply. 

"No; I have kept the drawings, " he said, with a laugh, and rose to getthem from a drawer in the writing-desk behind him. 

"Here is all that remains of the pictures, you see, " he added, pushing anumber of loose sheets under the doctor's eyes; "nothing but a fewscrawly lines. That's all I found the next morning. I had really drawnno heads at all--nothing but those lines and blots and wriggles. Thepictures were entirely subjective, and existed only in my mind whichconstructed them out of a few wild strokes of the pen. Like the alteredscale of space and time it was a complete delusion. These all passed, ofcourse, with the passing of the drug's effects. But the other thing didnot pass. I mean, the presence of that Dark Soul remained with me. It ishere still. It is real. I don't know how I can escape from it. "

"It is attached to the house, not to you personally. You must leave thehouse. "

"Yes. Only I cannot afford to leave the house, for my work is my solemeans of support, and--well, you see, since this change I cannot evenwrite. They are horrible, these mirthless tales I now write, with theirmockery of laughter, their diabolical suggestion. Horrible! I shall gomad if this continues. "

He screwed his face up and looked about the room as though he expectedto see some haunting shape. 

"The influence in this house, induced by my experiment, has killed in aflash, in a sudden stroke, the sources of my humour, and, though I stillgo on writing funny tales--I have a certain name, you know--myinspiration has dried up, and much of what I write I have to burn--yes, doctor, to burn, before any one sees it. "

"As utterly alien to your own mind and personality?"

"Utterly! As though some one else had written it--"

"Ah!"

"And shocking!" He passed his hand over his eyes a moment and let thebreath escape softly through his teeth. "Yet most damnably clever in theconsummate way the vile suggestions are insinuated under cover of a kindof high drollery. My stenographer left me, of course--and I've beenafraid to take another--"

John Silence got up and began to walk about the room leisurely withoutspeaking; he appeared to be examining the pictures on the wall andreading the names of the books lying about. Presently he paused on thehearthrug, with his back to the fire, and turned to look his patientquietly in the eyes. Pender's face was grey and drawn; the huntedexpression dominated it; the long recital had told upon him. 

"Thank you, Mr. Pender, " he said, a curious glow showing about his fine, quiet face, "thank you for the sincerity and frankness of your account. But I think now there is nothing further I need ask you. " He indulged ina long scrutiny of the author's haggard features, drawing purposely theman's eyes to his own and then meeting them with a look of power andconfidence calculated to inspire even the feeblest soul with courage. "And, to begin with, " he added, smiling pleasantly, "let me assure youwithout delay that you need have no alarm, for you are no more insaneor deluded than I myself am--"

Pender heaved a deep sigh and tried to return the smile. 

"--and this is simply a case, so far as I can judge at present, of avery singular psychical invasion, and a very sinister one, too, if youperhaps understand what I mean--"

"It's an odd expression; you used it before, you know, " said the authorwearily, yet eagerly listening to every word of the diagnosis, anddeeply touched by the intelligent sympathy which did not at onceindicate the lunatic asylum. 

"Possibly, " returned the other, "and an odd affliction too, you'llallow, yet one not unknown to the nations of antiquity, nor to thosemoderns, perhaps, who recognize the freedom of action under certainpathogenic conditions between this world and another. "

"And you think, " asked Pender hastily, "that it is all primarily due tothe _Cannabis_? There is nothing radically amiss with myself--nothingincurable, or--?"

"Due entirely to the overdose, " Dr. Silence replied emphatically, "tothe drug's direct action upon your psychical being. It rendered youultra-sensitive and made you respond to an increased rate of vibration. And, let me tell you, Mr. Pender, that your experiment might have hadresults far more dire. It has brought you into touch with a somewhatsingular class of Invisible, but of one, I think, chiefly human incharacter. You might, however, just as easily have been drawn out ofhuman range altogether, and the results of such a contingency wouldhave been exceedingly terrible. Indeed, you would not now be here totell the tale. I need not alarm you on that score, but mention it as awarning you will not misunderstand or underrate after what you have beenthrough. 

"You look puzzled. You do not quite gather what I am driving at; and itis not to be expected that you should, for you, I suppose, are thenominal Christian with the nominal Christian's lofty standard of ethics, and his utter ignorance of spiritual possibilities. Beyond a somewhatchildish understanding of 'spiritual wickedness in high places, ' youprobably have no conception of what is possible once you break down theslender gulf that is mercifully fixed between you and that Outer World. But my studies and training have taken me far outside these orthodoxtrips, and I have made experiments that I could scarcely speak to youabout in language that would be intelligible to you. "

He paused a moment to note the breathless interest of Pender's face andmanner. Every word he uttered was calculated; he knew exactly the valueand effect of the emotions he desired to waken in the heart of theafflicted being before him. 

"And from certain knowledge I have gained through various experiences, "he continued calmly, "I can diagnose your case as I said before to beone of psychical invasion. "

"And the nature of this--er--invasion?" stammered the bewildered writerof humorous tales. 

"There is no reason why I should not say at once that I do not yetquite know, " replied Dr. Silence. "I may first have to make one or twoexperiments--"

"On me?" gasped Pender, catching his breath. 

"Not exactly, " the doctor said, with a grave smile, "but with yourassistance, perhaps. I shall want to test the conditions of thehouse--to ascertain, if possible, the character of the forces, of thisstrange personality that has been haunting you--"

"At present you have no idea exactly who--what--why--" asked the otherin a wild flurry of interest, dread and amazement. 

"I have a very good idea, but no proof rather, " returned the doctor. "The effects of the drug in altering the scale of time and space, andmerging the senses have nothing primarily to do with the invasion. Theycome to any one who is fool enough to take an experimental dose. It isthe other features of your case that are unusual. You see, you are nowin touch with certain violent emotions, desires, purposes, still activein this house, that were produced in the past by some powerful and evilpersonality that lived here. How long ago, or why they still persist soforcibly, I cannot positively say. But I should judge that they aremerely forces acting automatically with the momentum of their terrificoriginal impetus. "

"Not directed by a living being, a conscious will, you mean?"

"Possibly not--but none the less dangerous on that account, and moredifficult to deal with. I cannot explain to you in a few minutes thenature of such things, for you have not made the studies that wouldenable you to follow me; but I have reason to believe that on thedissolution at death of a human being, its forces may still persist andcontinue to act in a blind, unconscious fashion. As a rule they speedilydissipate themselves, but in the case of a very powerful personalitythey may last a long time. And, in some cases--of which I incline tothink this is one--these forces may coalesce with certain non-humanentities who thus continue their life indefinitely and increase theirstrength to an unbelievable degree. If the original personality wasevil, the beings attracted to the left-over forces will also be evil. Inthis case, I think there has been an unusual and dreadful aggrandizementof the thoughts and purposes left behind long ago by a woman ofconsummate wickedness and great personal power of character andintellect. Now, do you begin to see what I am driving at a little?"

Pender stared fixedly at his companion, plain horror showing in hiseyes. But he found nothing to say, and the doctor continued--

"In your case, predisposed by the action of the drug, you haveexperienced the rush of these forces in undiluted strength. They whollyobliterate in you the sense of humour, fancy, imagination, --all thatmakes for cheerfulness and hope. They seek, though perhaps automaticallyonly, to oust your own thoughts and establish themselves in their place. You are the victim of a psychical invasion. At the same time, you havebecome clairvoyant in the true sense. You are also a clairvoyantvictim. "

Pender mopped his face and sighed. He left his chair and went over tothe fireplace to warm himself. 

"You must think me a quack to talk like this, or a madman, " laughed Dr. Silence. "But never mind that. I have come to help you, and I can helpyou if you will do what I tell you. It is very simple: you must leavethis house at once. Oh, never mind the difficulties; we will deal withthose together. I can place another house at your disposal, or I wouldtake the lease here off your hands, and later have it pulled down. Yourcase interests me greatly, and I mean to see you through, so you have noanxiety, and can drop back into your old groove of work tomorrow! Thedrug has provided you, and therefore me, with a short-cut to a veryinteresting experience. I am grateful to you. "

The author poked the fire vigorously, emotion rising in him like a tide. He glanced towards the door nervously. 

"There is no need to alarm your wife or to tell her the details of ourconversation, " pursued the other quietly. "Let her know that you willsoon be in possession again of your sense of humour and your health, andexplain that I am lending you another house for six months. Meanwhile Imay have the right to use this house for a night or two for myexperiment. Is that understood between us?"

"I can only thank you from the bottom of my heart, " stammered Pender, unable to find words to express his gratitude. 

Then he hesitated for a moment, searching the doctor's face anxiously. 

"And your experiment with the house?" he said at length. 

"Of the simplest character, my dear Mr. Pender. Although I am myself anartificially trained psychic, and consequently aware of the presence ofdiscarnate entities as a rule, I have so far felt nothing here at all. This makes me sure that the forces acting here are of an unusualdescription. What I propose to do is to make an experiment with a viewof drawing out this evil, coaxing it from its lair, so to speak, inorder that it may _exhaust itself through me_ and become dissipated forever. I have already been inoculated, " he added; "I consider myself tobe immune. "

"Heavens above!" gasped the author, collapsing on to a chair. 

"Hell beneath! might be a more appropriate exclamation, " the doctorlaughed. "But, seriously, Mr. Pender, that is what I propose to do--withyour permission. "

"Of course, of course, " cried the other, "you have my permission and mybest wishes for success. I can see no possible objection, but--"

"But what?"

"I pray to Heaven you will not undertake this experiment alone, willyou?"

"Oh dear, no; not alone. "

"You will take a companion with good nerves, and reliable in case ofdisaster, won't you?"

"I shall bring two companions, " the doctor said. 

"Ah, that's better. I feel easier. I am sure you must have among youracquaintances men who--"

"I shall not think of bringing men, Mr. Pender. "

The other looked up sharply. 

"No, or women either; or children. "

"I don't understand. Who will you bring, then?"

"Animals, " explained the doctor, unable to prevent a smile at hiscompanion's expression of surprise--"two animals, a cat and a dog. "

Pender stared as if his eyes would drop out upon the floor, and then ledthe way without another word into the adjoining room where his wife wasawaiting them for tea. 

II

A few days later the humorist and his wife, with minds greatly relieved, moved into a small furnished house placed at their free disposal inanother part of London; and John Silence, intent upon his approachingexperiment, made ready to spend a night in the empty house on the top ofPutney Hill. Only two rooms were prepared for occupation: the study onthe ground floor and the bedroom immediately above it; all other doorswere to be locked, and no servant was to be left in the house. The motorhad orders to call for him at nine o'clock the following morning. 

And, meanwhile, his secretary had instructions to look up the pasthistory and associations of the place, and learn everything he couldconcerning the character of former occupants, recent or remote. 

The animals, by whose sensitiveness he intended to test any unusualconditions in the atmosphere of the building, Dr. Silence selected withcare and judgment. He believed (and had already made curious experimentsto prove it) that animals were more often, and more truly, clairvoyantthan human beings. Many of them, he felt convinced, possessed powers ofperception far superior to that mere keenness of the senses common toall dwellers in the wilds where the senses grow specially alert; theyhad what he termed "animal clairvoyance, " and from his experiments withhorses, dogs, cats, and even birds, he had drawn certain deductions, which, however, need not be referred to in detail here. 

Cats, in particular, he believed, were almost continuously conscious ofa larger field of vision, too detailed even for a photographic camera, and quite beyond the reach of normal human organs. He had, further, observed that while dogs were usually terrified in the presence of suchphenomena, cats on the other hand were soothed and satisfied. Theywelcomed manifestations as something belonging peculiarly to their ownregion. 

He selected his animals, therefore, with wisdom so that they mightafford a differing test, each in its own way, and that one should notmerely communicate its own excitement to the other. He took a dog and acat. 

The cat he chose, now full grown, had lived with him since kittenhood, akittenhood of perplexing sweetness and audacious mischief. Wayward itwas and fanciful, ever playing its own mysterious games in the cornersof the room, jumping at invisible nothings, leaping sideways into theair and falling with tiny mocassined feet on to another part of thecarpet, yet with an air of dignified earnestness which showed that theperformance was necessary to its own well-being, and not done merely toimpress a stupid human audience. In the middle of elaborate washing itwould look up, startled, as though to stare at the approach of someInvisible, cocking its little head sideways and putting out a velvet padto inspect cautiously. Then it would get absent-minded, and stare withequal intentness in another direction (just to confuse the onlookers), and suddenly go on furiously washing its body again, but in quite a newplace. Except for a white patch on its breast it was coal black. And itsname was--Smoke. 

"Smoke" described its temperament as well as its appearance. Itsmovements, its individuality, its posing as a little furry mass ofconcealed mysteries, its elfin-like elusiveness, all combined to justifyits name; and a subtle painter might have pictured it as a wisp offloating smoke, the fire below betraying itself at two points only--theglowing eyes. 

All its forces ran to intelligence--secret intelligence, wordless, incalculable intuition of the Cat. It was, indeed, _the_ cat for thebusiness in hand. 

The selection of the dog was not so simple, for the doctor owned many;but after much deliberation he chose a collie, called Flame from hisyellow coat. True, it was a trifle old, and stiff in the joints, andeven beginning to grow deaf, but, on the other hand, it was a veryparticular friend of Smoke's, and had fathered it from kittenhoodupwards so that a subtle understanding existed between them. It was thisthat turned the balance in its favour, this and its courage. Moreover, though good-tempered, it was a terrible fighter, and its anger whenprovoked by a righteous cause was a fury of fire, and irresistible. 

It had come to him quite young, straight from the shepherd, with the airof the hills yet in its nostrils, and was then little more than skin andbones and teeth. For a collie it was sturdily built, its nose blunterthan most, its yellow hair stiff rather than silky, and it had fulleyes, unlike the slit eyes of its breed. Only its master could touch it, for it ignored strangers, and despised their pattings--when any dared topat it. There was something patriarchal about the old beast. He was inearnest, and went through life with tremendous energy and big things inview, as though he had the reputation of his whole race to uphold. Andto watch him fighting against odds was to understand why he wasterrible. 

In his relations with Smoke he was always absurdly gentle; also he wasfatherly; and at the same time betrayed a certain diffidence or shyness. He recognized that Smoke called for strong yet respectful management. The cat's circuitous methods puzzled him, and his elaborate pretencesperhaps shocked the dog's liking for direct, undisguised action. Yet, while he failed to comprehend these tortuous feline mysteries, he wasnever contemptuous or condescending; and he presided over the safety ofhis furry black friend somewhat as a father, loving but intuitive, mightsuperintend the vagaries of a wayward and talented child. And, inreturn, Smoke rewarded him with exhibitions of fascinating and audaciousmischief. 

And these brief descriptions of their characters are necessary for theproper understanding of what subsequently took place. 

With Smoke sleeping in the folds of his fur coat, and the collie lyingwatchful on the seat opposite, John Silence went down in his motor afterdinner on the night of November 15th. 

And the fog was so dense that they were obliged to travel at quarterspeed the entire way. 

 * * * * *

It was after ten o'clock when he dismissed the motor and entered thedingy little house with the latchkey provided by Pender. He found thehall gas turned low, and a fire in the study. Books and food had alsobeen placed ready by the servant according to instructions. Coils of fogrushed in after him through the opened door and filled the hall andpassage with its cold discomfort. 

The first thing Dr. Silence did was to lock up Smoke in the study with asaucer of milk before the fire, and then make a search of the house withFlame. The dog ran cheerfully behind him all the way while he tried thedoors of the other rooms to make sure they were locked. He nosed aboutinto corners and made little excursions on his own account. His mannerwas expectant. He knew there must be something unusual about theproceeding, because it was contrary to the habits of his whole life notto be asleep at this hour on the mat in front of the fire. He keptlooking up into his master's face, as door after door was tried, with anexpression of intelligent sympathy, but at the same time a certain airof disapproval. Yet everything his master did was good in his eyes, andhe betrayed as little impatience as possible with all this unnecessaryjourneying to and fro. If the doctor was pleased to play this sort ofgame at such an hour of the night, it was surely not for him to object. So he played it too; and was very busy and earnest about it into thebargain. 

After an uneventful search they came down again to the study, and hereDr. Silence discovered Smoke washing his face calmly in front of thefire. The saucer of milk was licked dry and clean; the preliminaryexamination that cats always make in new surroundings had evidently beensatisfactorily concluded. He drew an arm-chair up to the fire, stirredthe coals into a blaze, arranged the table and lamp to his satisfactionfor reading, and then prepared surreptitiously to watch the animals. Hewished to observe them carefully without their being aware of it. 

Now, in spite of their respective ages, it was the regular custom ofthese two to play together every night before sleep. Smoke always madethe advances, beginning with grave impudence to pat the dog's tail, andFlame played cumbrously, with condescension. It was his duty, ratherthan pleasure; he was glad when it was over, and sometimes he was verydetermined and refused to play at all. 

And this night was one of the occasions on which he was firm. 

The doctor, looking cautiously over the top of his book, watched the catbegin the performance. It started by gazing with an innocent expressionat the dog where he lay with nose on paws and eyes wide open in themiddle of the floor. Then it got up and made as though it meant to walkto the door, going deliberately and very softly. Flame's eyes followedit until it was beyond the range of sight, and then the cat turnedsharply and began patting his tail tentatively with one paw. The tailmoved slightly in reply, and Smoke changed paws and tapped it again. Thedog, however, did not rise to play as was his wont, and the cat fell topatting it briskly with both paws. Flame still lay motionless. 

This puzzled and bored the cat, and it went round and stared hard intoits friend's face to see what was the matter. Perhaps some inarticulatemessage flashed from the dog's eyes into its own little brain, making itunderstand that the program for the night had better not begin withplay. Perhaps it only realized that its friend was immovable. But, whatever the reason, its usual persistence thenceforward deserted it, and it made no further attempts at persuasion. Smoke yielded at once tothe dog's mood; it sat down where it was and began to wash. 

But the washing, the doctor noted, was by no means its real purpose; itonly used it to mask something else; it stopped at the most busy andfurious moments and began to stare about the room. Its thoughts wanderedabsurdly. It peered intently at the curtains; at the shadowy corners; atempty space above; leaving its body in curiously awkward positions forwhole minutes together. Then it turned sharply and stared with a suddensignal of intelligence at the dog, and Flame at once rose somewhatstiffly to his feet and began to wander aimlessly and restlessly to andfro about the floor. Smoke followed him, padding quietly at his heels. Between them they made what seemed to be a deliberate search of theroom. 

And, here, as he watched them, noting carefully every detail of theperformance over the top of his book, yet making no effort to interfere, it seemed to the doctor that the first beginnings of a faint distressbetrayed themselves in the collie, and in the cat the stirrings of avague excitement. 

He observed them closely. The fog was thick in the air, and the tobaccosmoke from his pipe added to its density; the furniture at the far endstood mistily, and where the shadows congregated in hanging clouds underthe ceiling, it was difficult to see clearly at all; the lamplight onlyreached to a level of five feet from the floor, above which came layersof comparative darkness, so that the room appeared twice as lofty as itactually was. By means of the lamp and the fire, however, the carpet waseverywhere clearly visible. 

The animals made their silent tour of the floor, sometimes the dogleading, sometimes the cat; occasionally they looked at one another asthough exchanging signals; and once or twice, in spite of the limitedspace, he lost sight of one or other among the fog and the shadows. Their curiosity, it appeared to him, was something more than theexcitement lurking in the unknown territory of a strange room; yet, sofar, it was impossible to test this, and he purposely kept his mindquietly receptive lest the smallest mental excitement on his part shouldcommunicate itself to the animals and thus destroy the value of theirindependent behaviour. 

They made a very thorough journey, leaving no piece of furnitureunexamined, or unsmelt. Flame led the way, walking slowly with loweredhead, and Smoke followed demurely at his heels, making a transparentpretence of not being interested, yet missing nothing. And, at length, they returned, the old collie first, and came to rest on the mat beforethe fire. Flame rested his muzzle on his master's knee, smilingbeatifically while he patted the yellow head and spoke his name; andSmoke, coming a little later, pretending he came by chance, looked fromthe empty saucer to his face, lapped up the milk when it was given himto the last drop, and then sprang upon his knees and curled round forthe sleep it had fully earned and intended to enjoy. 

Silence descended upon the room. Only the breathing of the dog upon themat came through the deep stillness, like the pulse of time marking theminutes; and the steady drip, drip of the fog outside upon thewindow-ledges dismally testified to the inclemency of the night beyond. And the soft crashings of the coals as the fire settled down into thegrate became less and less audible as the fire sank and the flamesresigned their fierceness. 

It was now well after eleven o'clock, and Dr. Silence devoted himselfagain to his book. He read the words on the printed page and took intheir meaning superficially, yet without starting into life thecorrelations of thought and suggestion that should accompany interestingreading. Underneath, all the while, his mental energies were absorbed inwatching, listening, waiting for what might come. He was not oversanguine himself, yet he did not wish to be taken by surprise. Moreover, the animals, his sensitive barometers, had incontinently goneto sleep. 

After reading a dozen pages, however, he realized that his mind wasreally occupied in reviewing the features of Pender's extraordinarystory, and that it was no longer necessary to steady his imagination bystudying the dull paragraphs detailed in the pages before him. He laiddown his book accordingly, and allowed his thoughts to dwell upon thefeatures of the Case. Speculations as to the meaning, however, herigorously suppressed, knowing that such thoughts would act upon hisimagination like wind upon the glowing embers of a fire. 

As the night wore on the silence grew deeper and deeper, and only atrare intervals he heard the sound of wheels on the main road a hundredyards away, where the horses went at a walking pace owing to the densityof the fog. The echo of pedestrian footsteps no longer reached him, theclamour of occasional voices no longer came down the side street. Thenight, muffled by fog, shrouded by veils of ultimate mystery, hung aboutthe haunted villa like a doom. Nothing in the house stirred. Stillness, in a thick blanket, lay over the upper storeys. Only the mist in theroom grew more dense, he thought, and the damp cold more penetrating. Certainly, from time to time, he shivered. 

The collie, now deep in slumber, moved occasionally, --grunted, sighed, or twitched his legs in dreams. Smoke lay on his knees, a pool of warm, black fur, only the closest observation detecting the movement of hissleek sides. It was difficult to distinguish exactly where his head andbody joined in that circle of glistening hair; only a black satin noseand a tiny tip of pink tongue betrayed the secret. 

Dr. Silence watched him, and felt comfortable. The collie's breathingwas soothing. The fire was well built, and would burn for another twohours without attention. He was not conscious of the least nervousness. He particularly wished to remain in his ordinary and normal state ofmind, and to force nothing. If sleep came naturally, he would let itcome--and even welcome it. The coldness of the room, when the fire dieddown later, would be sure to wake him again; and it would then be timeenough to carry these sleeping barometers up to bed. From variouspsychic premonitions he knew quite well that the night would not passwithout adventure; but he did not wish to force its arrival; and hewished to remain normal, and let the animals remain normal, so that, when it came, it would be unattended by excitement or by any strainingof the attention. Many experiments had made him wise. And, for the rest, he had no fear. 

Accordingly, after a time, he did fall asleep as he had expected, andthe last thing he remembered, before oblivion slipped up over his eyeslike soft wool, was the picture of Flame stretching all four legs atonce, and sighing noisily as he sought a more comfortable position forhis paws and muzzle upon the mat. 

 * * * * *

It was a good deal later when he became aware that a weight lay upon hischest, and that something was pencilling over his face and mouth. A softtouch on the cheek woke him. Something was patting him. 

He sat up with a jerk, and found himself staring straight into a pair ofbrilliant eyes, half green, half black. Smoke's face lay level with hisown; and the cat had climbed up with its front paws upon his chest. 

The lamp had burned low and the fire was nearly out, yet Dr. Silence sawin a moment that the cat was in an excited state. It kneaded with itsfront paws into his chest, shifting from one to the other. He felt themprodding against him. It lifted a leg very carefully and patted hischeek gingerly. Its fur, he saw, was standing ridgewise upon its back;the ears were flattened back somewhat; the tail was switching sharply. The cat, of course, had wakened him with a purpose, and the instant herealized this, he set it upon the arm of the chair and sprang up with aquick turn to face the empty room behind him. By some curious instinct, his arms of their own accord assumed an attitude of defence in front ofhim, as though to ward off something that threatened his safety. Yetnothing was visible. Only shapes of fog hung about rather heavily in theair, moving slightly to and fro. 

His mind was now fully alert, and the last vestiges of sleep gone. Heturned the lamp higher and peered about him. Two things he became awareof at once: one, that Smoke, while excited, was _pleasurably_ excited;the other, that the collie was no longer visible upon the mat at hisfeet. He had crept away to the corner of the wall farthest from thewindow, and lay watching the room with wide-open eyes, in which lurkedplainly something of alarm. 

Something in the dog's behaviour instantly struck Dr. Silence asunusual, and, calling him by name, he moved across to pat him. Flame gotup, wagged his tail, and came over slowly to the rug, uttering a lowsound that was half growl, half whine. He was evidently perturbed aboutsomething, and his master was proceeding to administer comfort when hisattention was suddenly drawn to the antics of his other four-footedcompanion, the cat. 

And what he saw filled him with something like amazement. 

Smoke had jumped down from the back of the arm-chair and now occupiedthe middle of the carpet, where, with tail erect and legs stiff asramrods, it was steadily pacing backwards and forwards in a narrowspace, uttering, as it did so, those curious little guttural sounds ofpleasure that only an animal of the feline species knows how to makeexpressive of supreme happiness. Its stiffened legs and arched back madeit appear larger than usual, and the black visage wore a smile ofbeatific joy. Its eyes blazed magnificently; it was in an ecstasy. 

At the end of every few paces it turned sharply and stalked back againalong the same line, padding softly, and purring like a roll of littlemuffled drums. It behaved precisely as though it were rubbing againstthe ankles of some one who remained invisible. A thrill ran down thedoctor's spine as he stood and stared. His experiment was growinginteresting at last. 

He called the collie's attention to his friend's performance to seewhether he too was aware of anything standing there upon the carpet, andthe dog's behaviour was significant and corroborative. He came as faras his master's knees and then stopped dead, refusing to investigateclosely. In vain Dr. Silence urged him; he wagged his tail, whined alittle, and stood in a half-crouching attitude, staring alternately atthe cat and at his master's face. He was, apparently, both puzzled andalarmed, and the whine went deeper and deeper down into his throat tillit changed into an ugly snarl of awakening anger. 

Then the doctor called to him in a tone of command he had never known tobe disregarded; but still the dog, though springing up in response, declined to move nearer. He made tentative motions, pranced a littlelike a dog about to take to water, pretended to bark, and ran to and froon the carpet. So far there was no actual fear in his manner, but he wasuneasy and anxious, and nothing would induce him to go within touchingdistance of the walking cat. Once he made a complete circuit, but alwayscarefully out of reach; and in the end he returned to his master's legsand rubbed vigorously against him. Flame did not like the performance atall: that much was quite clear. 

For several minutes John Silence watched the performance of the cat withprofound attention and without interfering. Then he called to the animalby name. 

"Smoke, you mysterious beastie, what in the world are you about?" hesaid, in a coaxing tone. 

The cat looked up at him for a moment, smiling in its ecstasy, blinkingits eyes, but too happy to pause. He spoke to it again. He called to itseveral times, and each time it turned upon him its blazing eyes, drunkwith inner delight, opening and shutting its lips, its body large andrigid with excitement. Yet it never for one instant paused in its shortjourneys to and fro. 

He noted exactly what it did: it walked, he saw, the same number ofpaces each time, some six or seven steps, and then it turned sharply andretraced them. By the pattern of the great roses in the carpet hemeasured it. It kept to the same direction and the same line. It behavedprecisely as though it were rubbing against something solid. Undoubtedly, there was something standing there on that strip of carpet, something invisible to the doctor, something that alarmed the dog, yetcaused the cat unspeakable pleasure. 

"Smokie!" he called again, "Smokie, you black mystery, what is itexcites you so?"

Again the cat looked up at him for a brief second, and then continuedits sentry-walk, blissfully happy, intensely preoccupied. And, for aninstant, as he watched it, the doctor was aware that a faint uneasinessstirred in the depths of his own being, focusing itself for the momentupon this curious behaviour of the uncanny creature before him. 

There rose in him quite a new realization of the mystery connected withthe whole feline tribe, but especially with that common member of it, the domestic cat--their hidden lives, their strange aloofness, theirincalculable subtlety. How utterly remote from anything that humanbeings understood lay the sources of their elusive activities. As hewatched the indescribable bearing of the little creature mincing alongthe strip of carpet under his eyes, coquetting with the powers ofdarkness, welcoming, maybe, some fearsome visitor, there stirred in hisheart a feeling strangely akin to awe. Its indifference to human kind, its serene superiority to the obvious, struck him forcibly with freshmeaning; so remote, so inaccessible seemed the secret purposes of itsreal life, so alien to the blundering honesty of other animals. Itsabsolute poise of bearing brought into his mind the opium-eater's wordsthat "no dignity is perfect which does not at some point ally itselfwith the mysterious"; and he became suddenly aware that the presence ofthe dog in this foggy, haunted room on the top of Putney Hill wasuncommonly welcome to him. He was glad to feel that Flame's dependablepersonality was with him. The savage growling at his heels was apleasant sound. He was glad to hear it. That marching cat made himuneasy. 

Finding that Smoke paid no further attention to his words, the doctordecided upon action. Would it rub against his leg, too? He would take itby surprise and see. 

He stepped quickly forward and placed himself upon the exact strip ofcarpet where it walked. 

But no cat is ever taken by surprise! The moment he occupied the spaceof the Intruder, setting his feet on the woven roses midway in the lineof travel, Smoke suddenly stopped purring and sat down. It lifted up itsface with the most innocent stare imaginable of its green eyes. He couldhave sworn it laughed. It was a perfect child again. In a single secondit had resumed its simple, domestic manner; and it gazed at him in sucha way that he almost felt Smoke was the normal being, and _his_ was theeccentric behaviour that was being watched. It was consummate, themanner in which it brought about this change so easily and so quickly. 

"Superb little actor!" he laughed in spite of himself, and stooped tostroke the shining black back. But, in a flash, as he touched its fur, the cat turned and spat at him viciously, striking at his hand with onepaw. Then, with a hurried scutter of feet, it shot like a shadow acrossthe floor and a moment later was calmly sitting over by thewindow-curtains washing its face as though nothing interested it in thewhole world but the cleanness of its cheeks and whiskers. 

John Silence straightened himself up and drew a long breath. He realizedthat the performance was temporarily at an end. The collie, meanwhile, who had watched the whole proceeding with marked disapproval, had nowlain down again upon the mat by the fire, no longer growling. It seemedto the doctor just as though something that had entered the room whilehe slept, alarming the dog, yet bringing happiness to the cat, had nowgone out again, leaving all as it was before. Whatever it was thatexcited its blissful attentions had retreated for the moment. 

He realized this intuitively. Smoke evidently realized it, too, forpresently he deigned to march back to the fireplace and jump upon hismaster's knees. Dr. Silence, patient and determined, settled down oncemore to his book. The animals soon slept; the fire blazed cheerfully;and the cold fog from outside poured into the room through everyavailable chink and crannie. 

For a long time silence and peace reigned in the room and Dr. Silenceavailed himself of the quietness to make careful notes of what hadhappened. He entered for future use in other cases an exhaustiveanalysis of what he had observed, especially with regard to the effectupon the two animals. It is impossible here, nor would it beintelligible to the reader unversed in the knowledge of the region knownto a scientifically trained psychic like Dr. Silence, to detail theseobservations. But to him it was clear, up to a certain point--and forthe rest he must still wait and watch. So far, at least, he realizedthat while he slept in the chair--that is, while his will wasdormant--the room had suffered intrusion from what he recognized as anintensely active Force, and might later be forced to acknowledge assomething more than merely a blind force, namely, a distinctpersonality. 

So far it had affected himself scarcely at all, but had acted directlyupon the simpler organisms of the animals. It stimulated keenly thecentres of the cat's psychic being, inducing a state of instanthappiness (intensifying its consciousness probably in the same way adrug or stimulant intensifies that of a human being); whereas it alarmedthe less sensitive dog, causing it to feel a vague apprehension anddistress. 

His own sudden action and exhibition of energy had served to disperse ittemporarily, yet he felt convinced--the indications were not lackingeven while he sat there making notes--that it still remained near tohim, conditionally if not spatially, and was, as it were, gatheringforce for a second attack. 

And, further, he intuitively understood that the relations between thetwo animals had undergone a subtle change: that the cat had becomeimmeasurably superior, confident, sure of itself in its own peculiarregion, whereas Flame had been weakened by an attack he could notcomprehend and knew not how to reply to. Though not yet afraid, he wasdefiant--ready to act against a fear that he felt to be approaching. Hewas no longer fatherly and protective towards the cat. Smoke held thekey to the situation; and both he and the cat knew it. 

Thus, as the minutes passed, John Silence sat and waited, keenly on thealert, wondering how soon the attack would be renewed, and at what pointit would be diverted from the animals and directed upon himself. 

The book lay on the floor beside him, his notes were complete. With onehand on the cat's fur, and the dog's front paws resting against hisfeet, the three of them dozed comfortably before the hot fire while thenight wore on and the silence deepened towards midnight. 

It was well after one o'clock in the morning when Dr. Silence turned thelamp out and lighted the candle preparatory to going up to bed. ThenSmoke suddenly woke with a loud sharp purr and sat up. It neitherstretched, washed nor turned: it listened. And the doctor, watching it, realized that a certain indefinable change had come about that verymoment in the room. A swift readjustment of the forces within the fourwalls had taken place--a new disposition of their personal equations. The balance was destroyed, the former harmony gone. Smoke, mostsensitive of barometers, had been the first to feel it, but the dog wasnot slow to follow suit, for on looking down he noted that Flame was nolonger asleep. He was lying with eyes wide open, and that same instanthe sat up on his great haunches and began to growl. 

Dr. Silence was in the act of taking the matches to re-light the lampwhen an audible movement in the room behind made him pause. Smoke leapeddown from his knee and moved a few paces across the carpet. Then itstopped and stared fixedly; and the doctor stood up on the rug to watch. 

As he rose the sound was repeated, and he discovered that it was not inthe room as he first thought, but outside, and that it came from moredirections than one. There was a rushing, sweeping noise against thewindow-panes, and simultaneously a sound of something brushing againstthe door--out in the hall. Smoke advanced sedately across the carpet, twitching his tail, and sat down within a foot of the door. Theinfluence that had destroyed the harmonious conditions of the room hadapparently moved in advance of its cause. Clearly, something was aboutto happen. 

For the first time that night John Silence hesitated; the thought ofthat dark narrow hall-way, choked with fog, and destitute of humancomfort, was unpleasant. He became aware of a faint creeping of hisflesh. He knew, of course, that the actual opening of the door was notnecessary to the invasion of the room that was about to take place, since neither doors nor windows, nor any other solid barriers couldinterpose an obstacle to what was seeking entrance. Yet the opening ofthe door would be significant and symbolic, and he distinctly shrankfrom it. 

But for a moment only. Smoke, turning with a show of impatience, recalled him to his purpose, and he moved past the sitting, watchingcreature, and deliberately opened the door to its full width. 

What subsequently happened, happened in the feeble and flickering lightof the solitary candle on the mantelpiece. 

Through the opened door he saw the hall, dimly lit and thick with fog. Nothing, of course, was visible--nothing but the hat-stand, the Africanspears in dark lines upon the wall and the high-backed wooden chairstanding grotesquely underneath on the oilcloth floor. For one instantthe fog seemed to move and thicken oddly; but he set that down to thescore of the imagination. The door had opened upon nothing. 

Yet Smoke apparently thought otherwise, and the deep growling of thecollie from the mat at the back of the room seemed to confirm hisjudgment. 

For, proud and self-possessed, the cat had again risen to his feet, andhaving advanced to the door, was now ushering some one slowly into theroom. Nothing could have been more evident. He paced from side to side, bowing his little head with great _empressement_ and holding hisstiffened tail aloft like a flagstaff. He turned this way and that, mincing to and fro, and showing signs of supreme satisfaction. He was inhis element. He welcomed the intrusion, and apparently reckoned that hiscompanions, the doctor and the dog, would welcome it likewise. 

The Intruder had returned for a second attack. 

Dr. Silence moved slowly backwards and took up his position on thehearthrug, keying himself up to a condition of concentrated attention. 

He noted that Flame stood beside him, facing the room, with bodymotionless, and head moving swiftly from side to side with a curiousswaying movement. His eyes were wide open, his back rigid, his neck andjaws thrust forward, his legs tense and ready to leap. Savage, ready forattack or defence, yet dreadfully puzzled and perhaps already a littlecowed, he stood and stared, the hair on his spine and sides positivelybristling outwards as though a wind played through them. In the dimfirelight he looked like a great yellow-haired wolf, silent, eyesshooting dark fire, exceedingly formidable. It was Flame, the terrible. 

Smoke, meanwhile, advanced from the door towards the middle of the room, adopting the very slow pace of an invisible companion. A few feet awayit stopped and began to smile and blink its eyes. There was somethingdeliberately coaxing in its attitude as it stood there undecided on thecarpet, clearly wishing to effect some sort of introduction between theIntruder and its canine friend and ally. It assumed its most winningmanners, purring, smiling, looking persuasively from one to the other, and making quick tentative steps first in one direction and then in theother. There had always existed such perfect understanding between themin everything. Surely Flame would appreciate Smoke's intentions now, andacquiesce. 

But the old collie made no advances. He bared his teeth, lifting hislips till the gums showed, and stood stockstill with fixed eyes andheaving sides. The doctor moved a little farther back, watching intentlythe smallest movement, and it was just then he divined suddenly from thecat's behaviour and attitude that it was not only a single companion ithad ushered into the room, but _several_. It kept crossing over from oneto the other, looking up at each in turn. It sought to win over the dogto friendliness with them all. The original Intruder had come back withreinforcements. And at the same time he further realized that theIntruder was something more than a blindly acting force, impersonalthough destructive. It was a Personality, and moreover a greatpersonality. And it was accompanied for the purposes of assistance by ahost of other personalities, minor in degree, but similar in kind. 

He braced himself in the corner against the mantelpiece and waited, hiswhole being roused to defence, for he was now fully aware that theattack had spread to include himself as well as the animals, and he mustbe on the alert. He strained his eyes through the foggy atmosphere, trying in vain to see what the cat and dog saw; but the candlelightthrew an uncertain and flickering light across the room and his eyesdiscerned nothing. On the floor Smoke moved softly in front of him likea black shadow, his eyes gleaming as he turned his head, still tryingwith many insinuating gestures and much purring to bring about theintroductions he desired. 

But it was all in vain. Flame stood riveted to one spot, motionless as afigure carved in stone. 

Some minutes passed, during which only the cat moved, and there came asharp change. Flame began to back towards the wall. He moved his headfrom side to side as he went, sometimes turning to snap at somethingalmost behind him. _They_ were advancing upon him, trying to surroundhim. His distress became very marked from now onwards, and it seemed tothe doctor that his anger merged into genuine terror and becameoverwhelmed by it. The savage growl sounded perilously like a whine, andmore than once he tried to dive past his master's legs, as thoughhunting for a way of escape. He was trying to avoid something thateverywhere blocked the way. 

This terror of the indomitable fighter impressed the doctor enormously;yet also painfully; stirring his impatience; for he had never beforeseen the dog show signs of giving in, and it distressed him to witnessit. He knew, however, that he was not giving in easily, and understoodthat it was really impossible for him to gauge the animal's sensationsproperly at all. What Flame felt, and saw, must be terrible indeed toturn him all at once into a coward. He faced something that made himafraid of more than his life merely. The doctor spoke a few quick wordsof encouragement to him, and stroked the bristling hair. But withoutmuch success. The collie seemed already beyond the reach of comfort suchas that, and the collapse of the old dog followed indeed very speedilyafter this. 

And Smoke, meanwhile, remained behind, watching the advance, but notjoining in it; sitting, pleased and expectant, considering that all wasgoing well and as it wished. It was kneading on the carpet with itsfront paws--slowly, laboriously, as though its feet were dipped intreacle. The sound its claws made as they caught in the threads wasdistinctly audible. It was still smiling, blinking, purring. 

Suddenly the collie uttered a poignant short bark and leaped heavily toone side. His bared teeth traced a line of whiteness through the gloom. The next instant he dashed past his master's legs, almost upsetting hisbalance, and shot out into the room, where he went blundering wildlyagainst walls and furniture. But that bark was significant; the doctorhad heard it before and knew what it meant: for it was the cry of thefighter against odds and it meant that the old beast had found hiscourage again. Possibly it was only the courage of despair, but at anyrate the fighting would be terrific. And Dr. Silence understood, too, that he dared not interfere. Flame must fight his own enemies in his ownway. 

But the cat, too, had heard that dreadful bark; and it, too, hadunderstood. This was more than it had bargained for. Across the dimshadows of that haunted room there must have passed some secret signalof distress between the animals. Smoke stood up and looked swiftly abouthim. He uttered a piteous meow and trotted smartly away into the greaterdarkness by the windows. What his object was only those endowed with thespirit-like intelligence of cats might know. But, at any rate, he had atlast ranged himself on the side of his friend. And the little beastmeant business. 

At the same moment the collie managed to gain the door. The doctor sawhim rush through into the hall like a flash of yellow light. He shotacross the oilcloth, and tore up the stairs, but in another second heappeared again, flying down the steps and landing at the bottom in atumbling heap, whining, cringing, terrified. The doctor saw him slinkback into the room again and crawl round by the wall towards the cat. Was, then, even the staircase occupied? Did _They_ stand also in thehall? Was the whole house crowded from floor to ceiling?

The thought came to add to the keen distress he felt at the sight of thecollie's discomfiture. And, indeed, his own personal distress hadincreased in a marked degree during the past minutes, and continued toincrease steadily to the climax. He recognized that the drain on his ownvitality grew steadily, and that the attack was now directed againsthimself even more than against the defeated dog, and the too muchdeceived cat. 

It all seemed so rapid and uncalculated after that--the events that tookplace in this little modern room at the top of Putney Hill betweenmidnight and sunrise--that Dr. Silence was hardly able to follow andremember it all. It came about with such uncanny swiftness and terror;the light was so uncertain; the movements of the black cat so difficultto follow on the dark carpet, and the doctor himself so weary and takenby surprise--that he found it almost impossible to observe accurately, or to recall afterwards precisely what it was he had seen or in whatorder the incidents had taken place. He never could understand whatdefect of vision on his part made it seem as though the cat hadduplicated itself at first, and then increased indefinitely, so thatthere were at least a dozen of them darting silently about the floor, leaping softly on to chairs and tables, passing like shadows from theopen door to the end of the room, all black as sin, with brilliant greeneyes flashing fire in all directions. It was like the reflections from ascore of mirrors placed round the walls at different angles. Nor couldhe make out at the time why the size of the room seemed to have altered, grown much larger, and why it extended away behind him where ordinarilythe wall should have been. The snarling of the enraged and terrifiedcollie sounded sometimes so far away; the ceiling seemed to have raiseditself so much higher than before, and much of the furniture had changedin appearance and shifted marvellously. 

It was all so confused and confusing, as though the little room he knewhad become merged and transformed into the dimensions of quite anotherchamber, that came to him, with its host of cats and its strangedistances, in a sort of vision. 

But these changes came about a little later, and at a time when hisattention was so concentrated upon the proceedings of Smoke and thecollie, that he only observed them, as it were, subconsciously. And theexcitement, the flickering candlelight, the distress he felt for thecollie, and the distorting atmosphere of fog were the poorest possibleallies to careful observation. 

At first he was only aware that the dog was repeating his shortdangerous bark from time to time, snapping viciously at the empty air, afoot or so from the ground. Once, indeed, he sprang upwards andforwards, working furiously with teeth and paws, and with a noise likewolves fighting, but only to dash back the next minute against the wallbehind him. Then, after lying still for a bit, he rose to a crouchingposition as though to spring again, snarling horribly and making shorthalf-circles with lowered head. And Smoke all the while meowed piteouslyby the window as though trying to draw the attack upon himself. 

Then it was that the rush of the whole dreadful business seemed to turnaside from the dog and direct itself upon his own person. The collie hadmade another spring and fallen back with a crash into the corner, wherehe made noise enough in his savage rage to waken the dead before he fellto whining and then finally lay still. And directly afterwards thedoctor's own distress became intolerably acute. He had made a halfmovement forward to come to the rescue when a veil that was denser thanmere fog seemed to drop down over the scene, draping room, walls, animals and fire in a mist of darkness and folding also about his ownmind. Other forms moved silently across the field of vision, forms thathe recognized from previous experiments, and welcomed not. Unholythoughts began to crowd into his brain, sinister suggestions of evilpresented themselves seductively. Ice seemed to settle about his heart, and his mind trembled. He began to lose memory--memory of his identity, of where he was, of what he ought to do. The very foundations of hisstrength were shaken. His will seemed paralysed. 

And it was then that the room filled with this horde of cats, all darkas the night, all silent, all with lamping eyes of green fire. Thedimensions of the place altered and shifted. He was in a much largerspace. The whining of the dog sounded far away, and all about him thecats flew busily to and fro, silently playing their tearing, rushinggame of evil, weaving the pattern of their dark purpose upon the floor. He strove hard to collect himself and remember the words of power he hadmade use of before in similar dread positions where his dangerouspractice had sometimes led; but he could recall nothing consecutively; amist lay over his mind and memory; he felt dazed and his forcesscattered. The deeps within were too troubled for healing power to comeout of them. 

It was glamour, of course, he realized afterwards, the strong glamourthrown upon his imagination by some powerful personality behind theveil; but at the time he was not sufficiently aware of this and, as withall true glamour, was unable to grasp where the true ended and the falsebegan. He was caught momentarily in the same vortex that had sought tolure the cat to destruction through its delight, and threatened utterlyto overwhelm the dog through its terror. 

There came a sound in the chimney behind him like wind booming andtearing its way down. The windows rattled. The candle flickered and wentout. The glacial atmosphere closed round him with the cold of death, anda great rushing sound swept by overhead as though the ceiling had liftedto a great height. He heard the door shut. Far away it sounded. He feltlost, shelterless in the depths of his soul. Yet still he held out andresisted while the climax of the fight came nearer and nearer. . . . He hadstepped into the stream of forces awakened by Pender and he knew that hemust withstand them to the end or come to a conclusion that it was notgood for a man to come to. Something from the region of utter cold wasupon him. 

And then quite suddenly, through the confused mists about him, thereslowly rose up the Personality that had been all the time directing thebattle. Some force entered his being that shook him as the tempestshakes a leaf, and close against his eyes--clean level with his face--hefound himself staring into the wreck of a vast dark Countenance, acountenance that was terrible even in its ruin. 

For ruined it was, and terrible it was, and the mark of spiritual evilwas branded everywhere upon its broken features. Eyes, face and hairrose level with his own, and for a space of time he never could properlymeasure, or determine, these two, a man and a woman, looked straightinto each other's visages and down into each other's hearts. 

And John Silence, the soul with the good, unselfish motive, held his ownagainst the dark discarnate woman whose motive was pure evil, and whosesoul was on the side of the Dark Powers. 

It was the climax that touched the depth of power within him and beganto restore him slowly to his own. He was conscious, of course, ofeffort, and yet it seemed no superhuman one, for he had recognized thecharacter of his opponent's power, and he called upon the good withinhim to meet and overcome it. The inner forces stirred and trembled inresponse to his call. They did not at first come readily as was theirhabit, for under the spell of glamour they had already beendiabolically lulled into inactivity, but come they eventually did, rising out of the inner spiritual nature he had learned with so muchtime and pain to awaken to life. And power and confidence came withthem. He began to breathe deeply and regularly, and at the same time toabsorb into himself the forces opposed to him, and to _turn them to hisaccount_. By ceasing to resist, and allowing the deadly stream to pourinto him unopposed, he used the very power supplied by his adversary andthus enormously increased his own. 

For this spiritual alchemy he had learned. He understood that forceultimately is everywhere one and the same; it is the motive behind thatmakes it good or evil; and his motive was entirely unselfish. Heknew--provided he was not first robbed of self-control--how vicariouslyto absorb these evil radiations into himself and change them magicallyinto his own good purposes. And, since his motive was pure and his soulfearless, they could not work him harm. 

Thus he stood in the main stream of evil unwittingly attracted byPender, deflecting its course upon himself; and after passing throughthe purifying filter of his own unselfishness these energies could onlyadd to his store of experience, of knowledge, and therefore of power. And, as his self-control returned to him, he gradually accomplished thispurpose, even though trembling while he did so. 

Yet the struggle was severe, and in spite of the freezing chill of theair, the perspiration poured down his face. Then, by slow degrees, thedark and dreadful countenance faded, the glamour passed from his soul, the normal proportions returned to walls and ceiling, the forms meltedback into the fog, and the whirl of rushing shadow-cats disappearedwhence they came. 

And with the return of the consciousness of his own identity JohnSilence was restored to the full control of his own will-power. In adeep, modulated voice he began to utter certain rhythmical sounds thatslowly rolled through the air like a rising sea, filling the room withpowerful vibratory activities that whelmed all irregularities of lesservibrations in its own swelling tone. He made certain sigils, gesturesand movements at the same time. For several minutes he continued toutter these words, until at length the growing volume dominated thewhole room and mastered the manifestation of all that opposed it. Forjust as he understood the spiritual alchemy that can transmute evilforces by raising them into higher channels, so he knew from long studythe occult use of sound, and its direct effect upon the plastic regionwherein the powers of spiritual evil work their fell purposes. Harmonywas restored first of all to his own soul, and thence to the room andall its occupants. 

And, after himself, the first to recognize it was the old dog lying inhis corner. Flame began suddenly uttering sounds of pleasure, that"something" between a growl and a grunt that dogs make upon beingrestored to their master's confidence. Dr. Silence heard the thumping ofthe collie's tail against the ground. And the grunt and the thumpingtouched the depth of affection in the man's heart, and gave him someinkling of what agonies the dumb creature had suffered. 

Next, from the shadows by the window, a somewhat shrill purringannounced the restoration of the cat to its normal state. Smoke wasadvancing across the carpet. He seemed very pleased with himself, andsmiled with an expression of supreme innocence. He was no shadow-cat, but real and full of his usual and perfect self-possession. He marchedalong, picking his way delicately, but with a stately dignity thatsuggested his ancestry with the majesty of Egypt. His eyes no longerglared; they shone steadily before him; they radiated, not excitement, but knowledge. Clearly he was anxious to make amends for the mischief towhich he had unwittingly lent himself owing to his subtle and electricconstitution. 

Still uttering his sharp high purrings he marched up to his master andrubbed vigorously against his legs. Then he stood on his hind feet andpawed his knees and stared beseechingly up into his face. He turned hishead towards the corner where the collie still lay, thumping his tailfeebly and pathetically. 

John Silence understood. He bent down and stroked the creature's livingfur, noting the line of bright blue sparks that followed the motion ofhis hand down its back. And then they advanced together towards thecorner where the dog was. 

Smoke went first and put his nose gently against his friend's muzzle, purring while he rubbed, and uttering little soft sounds of affection inhis throat. The doctor lit the candle and brought it over. He saw thecollie lying on its side against the wall; it was utterly exhausted, andfoam still hung about its jaws. Its tail and eyes responded to thesound of its name, but it was evidently very weak and overcome. Smokecontinued to rub against its cheek and nose and eyes, sometimes evenstanding on its body and kneading into the thick yellow hair. Flamereplied from time to time by little licks of the tongue, most of themcuriously misdirected. 

But Dr. Silence felt intuitively that something disastrous had happened, and his heart was wrung. He stroked the dear body, feeling it over forbruises or broken bones, but finding none. He fed it with what remainedof the sandwiches and milk, but the creature clumsily upset the saucerand lost the sandwiches between its paws, so that the doctor had to feedit with his own hand. And all the while Smoke meowed piteously. 

Then John Silence began to understand. He went across to the fartherside of the room and called aloud to it. 

"Flame, old man! come!"

At any other time the dog would have been upon him in an instant, barking and leaping to the shoulder. And even now he got up, thoughheavily and awkwardly, to his feet. He started to run, wagging his tailmore briskly. He collided first with a chair, and then ran straight intoa table. Smoke trotted close at his side, trying his very best to guidehim. But it was useless. Dr. Silence had to lift him up into his ownarms and carry him like a baby. For he was blind. 

III

It was a week later when John Silence called to see the author in hisnew house, and found him well on the way to recovery and already busyagain with his writing. The haunted look had left his eyes, and heseemed cheerful and confident. 

"Humour restored?" laughed the doctor, as soon as they were comfortablysettled in the room overlooking the Park. 

"I've had no trouble since I left that dreadful place, " returned Pendergratefully; "and thanks to you--"

The doctor stopped him with a gesture. 

"Never mind that, " he said, "we'll discuss your new plans afterwards, and my scheme for relieving you of the house and helping you settleelsewhere. Of course it must be pulled down, for it's not fit for anysensitive person to live in, and any other tenant might be afflicted inthe same way you were. Although, personally, I think the evil hasexhausted itself by now. "

He told the astonished author something of his experiences in it withthe animals. 

"I don't pretend to understand, " Pender said, when the account wasfinished, "but I and my wife are intensely relieved to be free of itall. Only I must say I should like to know something of the formerhistory of the house. When we took it six months ago I heard no wordagainst it. "

Dr. Silence drew a typewritten paper from his pocket. 

"I can satisfy your curiosity to some extent, " he said, running his eyeover the sheets, and then replacing them in his coat; "for by mysecretary's investigations I have been able to check certain informationobtained in the hypnotic trance by a 'sensitive' who helps me in suchcases. The former occupant who haunted you appears to have been a womanof singularly atrocious life and character who finally suffered death byhanging, after a series of crimes that appalled the whole of England andonly came to light by the merest chance. She came to her end in the year1798, for it was not this particular house she lived in, but a muchlarger one that then stood upon the site it now occupies, and was then, of course, not in London, but in the country. She was a person ofintellect, possessed of a powerful, trained will, and of consummateaudacity, and I am convinced availed herself of the resources of thelower magic to attain her ends. This goes far to explain the virulenceof the attack upon yourself, and why she is still able to carry on afterdeath the evil practices that formed her main purpose during life. "

"You think that after death a soul can still consciously direct--"gasped the author. 

"I think, as I told you before, that the forces of a powerfulpersonality may still persist after death in the line of their originalmomentum, " replied the doctor; "and that strong thoughts and purposescan still react upon suitably prepared brains long after theiroriginators have passed away. 

"If you knew anything of magic, " he pursued, "you would know thatthought is dynamic, and that it may call into existence forms andpictures that may well exist for hundreds of years. For, not farremoved from the region of our human life, is another region wherefloats the waste and drift of all the centuries, the limbo of the shellsof the dead; a densely populated region crammed with horror andabomination of all descriptions, and sometimes galvanized into activelife again by the will of a trained manipulator, a mind versed in thepractices of lower magic. That this woman understood its vile commerce, I am persuaded, and the forces she set going during her life have simplybeen accumulating ever since, and would have continued to do so had theynot been drawn down upon yourself, and afterwards discharged andsatisfied through me. 

"Anything might have brought down the attack, for, besides drugs, thereare certain violent emotions, certain moods of the soul, certainspiritual fevers, if I may so call them, which directly open the innerbeing to a cognizance of this astral region I have mentioned. In yourcase it happened to be a peculiarly potent drug that did it. "

"But now, tell me, " he added, after a pause, handing to the perplexedauthor a pencil-drawing he had made of the dark countenance that hadappeared to him during the night on Putney Hill--"tell me if yourecognize this face?"

Pender looked at the drawing closely, greatly astonished. He shudderedas he looked. 

"Undoubtedly, " he said, "it is the face I kept trying to draw--dark, with the great mouth and jaw, and the drooping eye. That is the woman. "

Dr. Silence then produced from his pocket-book an old-fashioned woodcutof the same person which his secretary had unearthed from the records ofthe Newgate Calendar. The woodcut and the pencil drawing were twodifferent aspects of the same dreadful visage. The men compared them forsome moments in silence. 

"It makes me thank God for the limitations of our senses, " said Penderquietly, with a sigh; "continuous clairvoyance must be a soreaffliction. "

"It is indeed, " returned John Silence significantly, "and if all thepeople nowadays who claim to be clairvoyant were really so, thestatistics of suicide and lunacy would be considerably higher than theyare. It is little wonder, " he added, "that your sense of humour wasclouded, with the mind-forces of that dead monster trying to use yourbrain for their dissemination. You have had an interesting adventure, Mr. Felix Pender, and, let me add, a fortunate escape. "

The author was about to renew his thanks when there came a sound ofscratching at the door, and the doctor sprang up quickly. 

"It's time for me to go. I left my dog on the step, but I suppose--"

Before he had time to open the door, it had yielded to the pressurebehind it and flew wide open to admit a great yellow-haired collie. Thedog, wagging his tail and contorting his whole body with delight, toreacross the floor and tried to leap up upon his owner's breast. And therewas laughter and happiness in the old eyes; for they were clear again asthe day. 

 ALGERNON BLACKWOOD. 

THE AFFLICTIONS OF AN ENGLISH CAT

When the report of your first meeting arrived in London, O! FrenchAnimals, it caused the hearts of the friends of Animal Reform to beatfaster. In my own humble experience, I have so many proofs of thesuperiority of Beasts over Man that in my character of an English Cat Isee the occasion, long awaited, of publishing the story of my life, inorder to show how my poor soul has been tortured by the hypocriticallaws of England. On two occasions, already, some Mice, whom I have madea vow to respect since the bill passed by your august parliament, havetaken me to Colburn's, where, observing old ladies, spinsters ofuncertain years, and even young married women, correcting proofs, I haveasked myself why, having claws, I should not make use of them in asimilar manner. One never knows what women think, especially the womenwho write, while a Cat, victim of English perfidy, is interested to saymore than she thinks, and her profuseness may serve to compensate forwhat these ladies do not say. I am ambitious to be the Mrs. Inchbald ofCats and I beg you to have consideration for my noble efforts, O! FrenchCats, among whom has risen the noblest house of our race, that of Pussin Boots, eternal type of Advertiser, whom so many men have imitated butto whom no one has yet erected a monument. 

I was born at the home of a parson in Catshire, near the little town ofMiaulbury. My mother's fecundity condemned nearly all her infants to acruel fate, because, as you know, the cause of the maternal intemperanceof English cats, who threaten to populate the whole world, has not yetbeen decided. Toms and females each insist it is due to their ownamiability and respective virtues. But impertinent observers haveremarked that Cats in England are required to be so boringly proper thatthis is their only distraction. Others pretend that herein may lieconcealed great questions of commerce and politics, having to do withthe English rule of India, but these matters are not for my paws towrite of and I leave them to the _Edinburgh-Review_. I was not drownedwith the others on account of the whiteness of my robe. Also I was namedBeauty. Alas! the parson, who had a wife and eleven daughters, was toopoor to keep me. An elderly female noticed that I had an affection forthe parson's Bible; I slept on it all the time, not because I wasreligious, but because it was the only clean spot I could find in thehouse. She believed, perhaps, that I belonged to the sect of sacredanimals which had already furnished the she-ass of Balaam, and took meaway with her. I was only two months old at this time. This old woman, who gave evenings for which she sent out cards inscribed _Tea andBible_, tried to communicate to me the fatal science of the daughters ofEve. Her method, which consisted in delivering long lectures on personaldignity and on the obligations due the world, was a very successful one. In order to avoid these lectures one submitted to martyrdom. 

One morning I, a poor little daughter of Nature, attracted by a bowl ofcream, covered by a muffin, knocked the muffin off with my paw, andlapped the cream. Then in joy, and perhaps also on account of theweakness of my young organs, I delivered myself on the waxed floor tothe imperious need which young Cats feel. Perceiving the proofs of whatshe called my intemperance and my faults of education, the old womanseized me and whipped me vigorously with a birchrod, protesting that shewould make me a lady or she would abandon me. 

"Permit me to give you a lesson in gentility, " she said. "Understand, Miss Beauty, that English Cats veil natural acts, which are opposed tothe laws of English respectability, in the most profound mystery, andbanish all that is improper, applying to the creature, as you have heardthe Reverend Doctor Simpson say, the laws made by God for the creation. Have you ever seen the Earth behave itself indecently? Learn to suffer athousand deaths rather than reveal your desires; in this suppressionconsists the virtue of the saints. The greatest privilege of Cats is todepart with the grace that characterizes your actions, and let no oneknow where you are going to make your little toilets. Thus you exposeyourself only when you are beautiful. Deceived by appearances, everybodywill take you for an angel. In the future when such a desire seizes you, look out of the window, give the impression that you desire to go for awalk, then run to a copse or to the gutter. "

As a simple Cat of good sense, I found much hypocrisy in this doctrine, but I was so young!

"And when I am in the gutter?" thought I, looking at the old woman. 

"Once alone, and sure of not being seen by anybody, well, Beauty, youcan sacrifice respectability with much more charm because you have beendiscreet in public. It is in the observance of this very precept thatthe perfection of the moral English shines the brightest: they occupythemselves exclusively with appearances, this world being, alas, onlyillusion and deception. "

I admit that these disguises were revolting to all my animal good sense, but on account of the whipping, it seemed preferable to understand thatexterior propriety was all that was demanded of an English Cat. Fromthis moment I accustomed myself to conceal the titbits that I lovedunder the bed. Nobody ever saw me eat, or drink, or make my toilet. Iwas regarded as the pearl of Cats. 

Now I had occasion to observe those stupid men who are called savants. Among the doctors and others who were friends of my mistress, there wasthis Simpson, a fool, a son of a rich landowner, who was waiting for abequest, and who, to deserve it, explained all animal actions byreligious theories. He saw me one evening lapping milk from a saucer andcomplimented the old woman on the manner in which I had been bred, seeing me lick first the edges of the saucer and gradually diminish thecircle of fluid. 

"See, " he said, "how in saintly company all becomes perfection: Beautyunderstands eternity, because she describes the circle which is itsemblem in lapping her milk. "

Conscience obliges me to state that the aversion of Cats to wettingtheir fur was the only reason for my fashion of drinking, but we willalways be badly understood by the savants who are much more preoccupiedin showing their own wit, than in discovering ours. 

When the ladies or the gentlemen lifted me to pass their hands over mysnowy back to make the sparks fly from my hair, the old woman remarkedwith pride, "You can hold her without having any fear for your dress;she is admirably well-bred!" Everybody said I was an angel; I was loadedwith delicacies, but I assure you that I was profoundly bored. I waswell aware of the fact that a young female Cat of the neighbourhood hadrun away with a Tom. This word, Tom, caused my soul a suffering whichnothing could alleviate, not even the compliments I received, or ratherthat my mistress lavished on herself. 

"Beauty is entirely moral; she is a little angel, " she said. "Althoughshe is very beautiful she has the air of not knowing it. She never looksat anybody, which is the height of a fine aristocratic education. Whenshe does look at anybody it is with that perfect indifference which wedemand of our young girls, but which we obtain only with greatdifficulty. She never intrudes herself unless you call her; she neverjumps on you with familiarity; nobody ever sees her eat, and certainlythat monster of a Lord Byron would have adored her. Like a tried andtrue Englishwoman she loves tea, sits, gravely calm, while the Bible isbeing explained, and thinks badly of nobody, a fact which permits one tospeak freely before her. She is simple, without affectation, and has nodesire for jewels. Give her a ring and she will not keep it. Finally, she does not imitate the vulgarity of the hunter. She loves her home andremains there so perfectly tranquil that at times you would believe thatshe was a mechanical Cat made at Birmingham or Manchester, which is the_ne plus ultra_ of the finest education. "

What these men and old women call education is the custom ofdissimulating natural manners, and when they have completely depraved usthey say that we are well-bred. One evening my mistress begged one ofthe young ladies to sing. When this girl went to the piano and began tosing I recognized at once an Irish melody that I had heard in my youth, and I remembered that I also was a musician. So I merged my voice withhers, but I received some raps on the head while she receivedcompliments. I was revolted by this sovereign injustice and ran away tothe garret. Sacred love of country! What a delicious night! I at lastknew what the roof was. I heard Toms sing hymns to their mates, andthese adorable elegies made me feel ashamed of the hypocrisies mymistress had forced upon me. Soon some of the Cats observed me andappeared to take offence at my presence, when a Tom with shaggy hair, amagnificent beard, and a fine figure, came to look at me and said to thecompany, "It's only a child!" At these condescending words, I boundedabout on the tiles, moving with that agility which distinguishes us; Ifell on my paws in that flexible fashion which no other animal knows howto imitate in order to show that I was no child. But these calinerieswere a pure waste of time. "When will some one serenade me?" I askedmyself. The aspect of these haughty Toms, their melodies, that the humanvoice could never hope to rival, had moved me profoundly, and were thecause of my inventing little lyrics that I sang on the stairs. But anevent of tremendous importance was about to occur which tore meviolently from this innocent life. I went to London with a niece of mymistress, a rich heiress who adored me, who kissed me, caressed me witha kind of madness, and who pleased me so much that I became attached toher, against all the habits of our race. We were never separated and Iwas able to observe the great world of London during the season. It wasthere that I studied the perversity of English manners, which have powereven over the beasts, that I became acquainted with that cant whichByron cursed and of which I am the victim as well as he, but withouthaving enjoyed my hours of leisure. 

Arabella, my mistress, was a young person like many others in England;she was not sure whom she wanted for a husband. The absolute libertythat is permitted girls in choosing a husband drives them nearly crazy, especially when they recall that English custom does not sanctionintimate conversation after marriage. I was far from dreaming that theLondon Cats had adopted this severity, that the English laws would becruelly applied to me, and that I would be a victim of the court at theterrible Doctors' Commons. Arabella was charming to all the men she met, and every one of them believed that he was going to marry this beautifulgirl, but when an affair threatened to terminate in wedlock, she wouldfind some pretext for a break, conduct which did not seem veryrespectable to me. "Marry a bow-legged man! Never!" she said of one. "Asto that little fellow he is snub-nosed. " Men were all so much alike tome that I could not understand this uncertainty founded on purelyphysical differences. 

Finally one day an old English Peer, seeing me, said to her: "You have abeautiful Cat. She resembles you. She is white, she is young, she shouldhave a husband. Let me bring her a magnificent Angora that I have athome. "

Three days later the Peer brought in the handsomest Tom of the Peerage. Puff, with a black coat, had the most magnificent eyes, green andyellow, but cold and proud. The long silky hair of his tail, remarkablefor its yellow rings, swept the carpet. Perhaps he came from theimperial house of Austria, because, as you see, he wore the colours. Hismanners were those of a Cat who had seen the court and the great world. His severity, in the matter of carrying himself, was so great that hewould not scratch his head were anybody present. Puff had travelled onthe continent. To sum up, he was so remarkably handsome that he hadbeen, it was said, caressed by the Queen of England. Simple and naïve asI was I leaped at his neck to engage him in play, but he refused underthe pretext that we were being watched. I then perceived that thisEnglish Cat Peer owed this forced and fictitious gravity that in Englandis called respectability to age and to intemperance at table. Hisweight, that men admired, interfered with his movements. Such was thetrue reason for his not responding to my pleasant advances. Calm andcold he sat on his unnamable, agitating his beard, looking at me andat times closing his eyes. In the society world of English Cats, Puffwas the richest kind of catch for a Cat born at a parson's. He had twovalets in his service; he ate from Chinese porcelain, and he drank onlyblack tea. He drove in a carriage in Hyde Park and had been toparliament. 

My mistress kept him. Unknown to me, all the feline population of Londonlearned that Miss Beauty from Catshire had married Puff, marked with thecolours of Austria. During the night I heard a concert in the street. Accompanied by my lord, who, according to his taste, walked slowly, Idescended. We found the Cats of the Peerage, who had come tocongratulate me and to ask me to join their Ratophile Society. Theyexplained that nothing was more common than running after Rats and Mice. The words, shocking, vulgar, were constantly on their lips. To conclude, they had formed, for the glory of the country, a Temperance Society. Afew nights later my lord and I went on the roof of Almack's to hear agrey Cat speak on the subject. In his exhortation, which was constantlysupported by cries of "Hear! Hear!" he proved that Saint Paul in writingabout charity had the Cats of England in mind. It was then the specialduty of the English, who could go from one end of the world to the otheron their ships without fear of the sea, to spread the principles of the_morale ratophile_. As a matter of fact English Cats were alreadypreaching the doctrines of the Society, based on the hygienicdiscoveries of science. When Rats and Mice were dissected littledistinction could be found between them and Cats; the oppression of onerace by the other then was opposed to the Laws of Beasts, which arestronger even than the Laws of Men. "They are our brothers, " hecontinued. And he painted such a vivid picture of the suffering of a Ratin the jaws of a Cat that I burst into tears. 

Observing that I was deceived by this speech, Lord Puff confided to methat England expected to do an immense trade in Rats and Mice; that ifthe Cats would eat no more, Rats would be England's best product; thatthere was always a practical reason concealed behind English morality;and that the alliance between morality and trade was the only allianceon which England really counted. 

Puff appeared to me to be too good a politician ever to make asatisfactory husband. 

A country Cat made the observation that on the continent, especially atParis, near the fortifications, Tom Cats were sacrificed daily by theCatholics. Somebody interrupted with the cry of "Question!" Added tothese cruel executions was the frightful slander of passing the braveanimals off for Rabbits, a lie and a barbarity which he attributed to anignorance of the true Anglican religion which did not permit lying andcheating except in the government, foreign affairs, and the cabinet. 

He was treated as a radical and a dreamer. "We are here in the interestsof the Cats of England, not in those of continental Cats!" cried a fieryTory Tom. Puff went to sleep. Just as the assembly was breaking up ayoung Cat from the French embassy, whose accent proclaimed hisnationality, addressed me these delicious words:

"Dear Beauty, it will be an eternity before Nature forms another Cat asperfect as you. The cashmere of Persia and the Indies is like camel'shair when it is compared to your fine and brilliant silk. You exhale aperfume which is the concentrated essence of the felicity of the angels, an odour I have detected in the salon of the Prince de Talleyrand, whichI left to come to this stupid meeting. The fire of your eyes illuminatesthe night! Your ears would be entirely perfect if they would listen tomy supplications. There is not a rose in England as rose as the roseflesh which borders your little rose mouth. A fisherman would search invain in the depths of Ormus for pearls of the quality of your teeth. Your dear face, fine and gracious, is the loveliest that England hasproduced. Near to your celestial robe the snow of the Alps would seem tobe red. Ah! those coats which are only to be seen in your fogs! Softlyand gracefully your paws bear your body which is the culmination of themiracles of creation, but your tail, the subtle interpreter of thebeating of your heart, surpasses it. Yes! never was there such anexquisite curve, more correct roundness. No Cat ever moved moredelicately. Come away from this old fool of a Puff, who sleeps like anEnglish Peer in parliament, who besides is a scoundrel who has soldhimself to the Whigs, and who, owing to a too long sojourn at Bengal, has lost everything that can please a Cat. "

Then, without having the air of looking at him, I took in the appearanceof this charming French Tom. He was a careless little rogue and not inany respect like an English Cat. His cavalier manner as well as his wayof shaking his ear stamped him as a gay bachelor without a care. I avowthat I was weary of the solemnity of English Cats, and of their purelypractical propriety. Their respectability, especially, seemed ridiculousto me. The excessive naturalness of this badly groomed Cat surprised mein its violent contrast to all that I had seen in London. Besides mylife was so strictly regulated, I knew so well what I had to count onfor the rest of my days, that I welcomed the promise of the unexpectedin the physiognomy of this French Cat. My whole life appeared insipid tome. I comprehended that I could live on the roofs with an amazingcreature who came from that country where the inhabitants consoledthemselves for the victories of the greatest English general by thesewords:

 Malbrouk s'en va-t-en guerre, _Mironton_, TON, TON, MIRONTAINE!

Nevertheless I awakened my lord, told him how late it was, and suggestedthat we ought to go in. I gave no sign of having listened to thisdeclaration, and my apparent insensibility petrified Brisquet. Heremained behind, more surprised than ever because he considered himselfhandsome. I learned later that it was an easy matter for him to seducemost Cats. I examined him through a corner of my eye: he ran away withlittle bounds, returned, leaping the width of the street, then jumpedback again, like a French Cat in despair. A true Englishman would havebeen decent enough not to let me see how he felt. 

Some days later my lord and I were stopping in the magnificent house ofthe old Peer; then I went in the carriage for a drive in Hyde Park. Weate only chicken bones, fishbones, cream, milk, and chocolate. Howeverheating this diet might prove to others my so-called husband remainedsober. He was respectable even in his treatment of me. Generally heslept from seven in the evening at the whist table on the knees of hisGrace. On this account my soul received no satisfaction and I pinedaway. This condition was aggravated by a little affection of theintestines occasioned by pure herring oil (the Port Wine of EnglishCats), which Puff used, and which made me very ill. My mistress sent fora physician who had graduated at Edinburgh after having studied a longtime in Paris. Having diagnosed my malady he promised my mistress thathe would cure me the next day. He returned, as a matter of fact, andtook an instrument of French manufacture out of his pocket. I felt akind of fright on perceiving a barrel of white metal terminating in aslender tube. At the sight of this mechanism, which the doctor exhibitedwith satisfaction, Their Graces blushed, became irritable, and mutteredseveral fine sentiments about the dignity of the English: for instancethat the Catholics of old England were more distinguished for theiropinions of this infamous instrument than for their opinions of theBible. The Duke added that at Paris the French unblushingly made anexhibition of it in their national theatre in a comedy by Molière, butthat in London a watchman would not dare pronounce its name. 

"Give her some calomel. "

"But Your Grace would kill her!" cried the doctor. 

"The French can do as they like, " replied His Grace. "I do not know, nomore do you, what would happen if this degrading instrument wereemployed, but what I do know is that a true English physician shouldcure his patients only with the old English remedies. "

This physician, who was beginning to make a big reputation, lost all hispractice in the great world. Another doctor was called in, who asked mesome improper questions about Puff, and who informed me that the realdevice of the English was: _Dieu et mon droit congugal!_

One night I heard the voice of the French Cat in the street. Nobodycould see us; I climbed up the chimney and, appearing on the housetop, cried, "In the rain-trough!" This response gave him wings; he was at myside in the twinkling of an eye. Would you believe that this French Cathad the audacity to take advantage of my exclamation. He cried, "Come tomy arms, " daring to become familiar with me, a Cat of distinction, without knowing me better. I regarded him frigidly and, to give him alesson, I told him that I belonged to the Temperance Society. 

"I see, sir, " I said to him, "by your accent and by the looseness ofyour conversation, that you, like all Catholic Cats, are inclined tolaugh and make sport, believing that confession will purge you, but inEngland we have another standard of morality. We are always respectable, even in our pleasures. "

This young Cat, struck by the majesty of English cant, listened to mewith a kind of attention which made me hope I could convert him toProtestantism. He then told me in purple words that he would do anythingI wished provided I would permit him to adore me. I looked at himwithout being able to reply because his very beautiful and splendid eyessparkled like stars; they lighted the night. Made bold by my silence, hecried "Dear Minette!"

"What new indecency is this?" I demanded, being well aware that FrenchCats are very free in their references. 

Brisquet assured me that on the continent everybody, even the Kinghimself, said to his daughter, _Ma petite Minette_, to show hisaffection, that many of the prettiest and most aristocratic young wivescalled their husbands, _Mon petit chat_, even when they did not lovethem. If I wanted to please him I would call him, _Mon petit homme_!Then he raised his paws with infinite grace. Thoroughly frightened I ranaway. Brisquet was so happy that he sang _Rule Britannia_, and the nextday his dear voice hummed again in my ears. 

"Ah! you also are in love, dear Beauty, " my mistress said to me, observing me extended on the carpet, the paws flat, the body in softabandon, bathing in the poetry of my memories. 

I was astonished that a woman should show so much intelligence, and so, raising my dorsal spine, I began to rub up against her legs and to purrlovingly with the deepest chords of my contralto voice. 

While my mistress was scratching my head and caressing me and while Iwas looking at her tenderly a scene occurred in Bond Street which hadterrible results for me. 

Puck, a nephew of Puff's, in line to succeed him and who, for the timebeing, lived in the barracks of the Life Guards, ran into my dearBrisquet. The sly Captain Puck complimented the _attaché_ on his successwith me, adding that I had resisted the most charming Toms in England. Brisquet, foolish, vain Frenchman that he was, responded that he wouldbe happy to gain my attention, but that he had a horror of Cats whospoke to him of temperance, the Bible, etc. 

"Oh!" said Puck, "she talks to you then?"

Dear French Brisquet thus became a victim of English diplomacy, butlater he committed one of these impardonable faults which irritate allwell-bred Cats in England. This little idiot was truly veryinconsistent. Did he not bow to me in Hyde Park and try to talk with mefamiliarly as if we were well acquainted? I looked straight through himcoldly and severely. The coachman seeing this Frenchman insult meslashed him with his whip. Brisquet was cut but not killed and hereceived the blow with such nonchalance, continuing to look at me, thatI was absolutely fascinated. I loved him for the manner in which he tookhis punishment, seeing only me, feeling only the favour of my presence, conquering the natural inclination of Cats to flee at the slightestwarning of hostility. He could not know that I came near dying, in spiteof my apparent coldness. From that moment I made up my mind to elope. That evening, on the roof, I threw myself tremblingly into his arms. 

"My dear, " I asked him, "have you the capital necessary to pay damagesto old Puff?"

"I have no other capital, " replied the French Cat, laughing, "than thehairs of my moustache, my four paws, and this tail. " Then he swept thegutter with a proud gesture. 

"Not any capital, " I cried, "but then you are only an adventurer, mydear!"

"I love adventures, " he said to me tenderly. "In France it is the customto fight a duel in the circumstances to which you allude. French Catshave recourse to their claws and not to their gold. "

"Poor country, " I said to him, "and why does it send beasts so denudedof capital to the foreign embassies?"

"That's simple enough, " said Brisquet. "Our new government does not lovemoney--at least it does not love its employees to have money. It onlyseeks intellectual capacity. "

Dear Brisquet answered me so lightly that I began to fear he wasconceited. 

"Love without money is nonsense, " I said. "While you were seeking foodyou would not occupy yourself with me, my dear. "

By way of response this charming Frenchman assured me that he was adirect descendant of Puss in Boots. Besides he had ninety-nine ways ofborrowing money and we would have, he said, only a single way ofspending it. To conclude, he knew music and could give lessons. In fact, he sang to me, in poignant tones, a national romance of his country, _Auclair de la lune_. . . . 

At this inopportune moment, when seduced by his reasoning, I hadpromised dear Brisquet to run away with him as soon as he could keep awife comfortably, Puck appeared, followed by several other Cats. 

"I am lost!" I cried. 

The very next day, indeed, the bench of Doctors' Commons was occupied bya _procès-verbal_ in criminal conversation. Puff was deaf; his nephewstook advantage of his weakness. Questioned by them, Puff said that atnight I had flattered him by calling him, _Mon petit homme_! This wasone of the most terrible things against me, because I could not explainwhere I had learned these words of love. The judge, without knowing it, was prejudiced against me, and I noted that he was in his secondchildhood. His lordship never suspected the low intrigues of which I wasthe victim. Many little Cats, who should have defended me against publicopinion, swore that Puff was always asking for his angel, the joy of hiseyes, his sweet Beauty! My own mother, come to London, refused to see meor to speak to me, saying that an English Cat should always be abovesuspicion, and that I had embittered her old age. Finally the servantstestified against me. I then saw perfectly clearly how everybody losthis head in England. When it is a matter of a criminal conversation, allsentiment is dead; a mother is no longer a mother, a nurse wants to takeback her milk, and all the Cats howl in the streets. But the mostinfamous thing of all was that my old attorney who, in his time, wouldbelieve in the innocence of the Queen of England, to whom I hadconfessed everything to the last detail, who had assured me that therewas no reason to whip a Cat, and to whom, to prove my innocence, Iavowed that I did not even know the meaning of the words, "criminalconversation" (he told me that the crime was so called precisely becauseone spoke so little while committing it), this attorney, bribed byCaptain Puck, defended me so badly that my case appeared to be lost. Under these circumstances I went on the stand myself. 

"My Lords, " I said, "I am an English Cat and I am innocent. What wouldbe said of the justice of old England if. . . . "

Hardly had I pronounced these words than I was interrupted by a murmurof voices, so strongly had the public been influenced by the_Cat-Chronicle_ and by Puck's friends. 

"She questions the justice of old England which has created the jury!"cried some one. 

"She wishes to explain to you, My Lords, " cried my adversary'sabominable lawyer, "that she went on the rooftop with a French Cat inorder to convert him to the Anglican faith, when, as a matter of fact, she went there to learn how to say, _Mon petit homme_, in French, to herhusband, to listen to the abominable principles of papism, and to learnto disregard the laws and customs of old England!"

Such piffle always drives an English audience wild. Therefore the wordsof Puck's attorney were received with tumultuous applause. I wascondemned at the age of twenty-six months, when I could prove that Istill was ignorant of the very meaning of the word, Tom. But from allthis I gathered that it was on account of such practices that Albionwas called Old England. 

I fell into a deep miscathropy which was caused less by my divorce thanby the death of my dear Brisquet, whom Puck had had killed by a mob, fearing his vengeance. Also nothing made me more furious than to hearthe loyalty of English Cats spoken of. 

You see, O! French Animals, that in familiarizing ourselves with men, weborrow from them all their vices and bad institutions. Let us return tothe wild life where we obey only our instincts, and where we do not findcustoms in conflict with the sacred wishes of Nature. At this moment Iam writing a treatise on the abuse of the working classes of animals, inorder to get them to pledge themselves to refrain from turning spits, torefuse to allow themselves to be harnessed to carriages, in order, tosum up, to teach them the means of protecting themselves against theoppression of the grand aristocracy. Although we are celebrated for ourscribbling I believe that Miss Martineau would not repudiate me. Youknow that on the continent literature has become the haven of all Catswho protest against the immoral monopoly of marriage, who resist thetyranny of institutions, and who desire to encourage natural laws. Ihave omitted to tell you that, although Brisquet's body was slashed witha wound in the back, the coroner, by an infamous hypocrisy, declaredthat he had poisoned himself with arsenic, as if so gay, so light-headeda Cat could have reflected long enough on the subject of life toconceive so serious an idea, and as if a Cat whom I loved could have theleast desire to quit this existence! But with Marsh's apparatus spotshave been found on a plate. 

 HONORÉ DE BALZAC. 

 Translated by Carl Van Vechten. 

GIPSY

On a fair Saturday afternoon in November Penrod's little old dog Dukereturned to the ways of his youth and had trouble with a strange cat onthe back porch. This indiscretion, so uncharacteristic, was due to theagitation of a surprised moment, for Duke's experience had inclined himto a peaceful pessimism, and he had no ambition for hazardousundertakings of any sort. He was given to musing but not to avoidableaction, and he seemed habitually to hope for something which he waspretty sure would not happen. Even in his sleep, this gave him an air ofwistfulness. 

Thus, being asleep in a nook behind the metal refuse-can, when thestrange cat ventured to ascend the steps of the porch, his appearancewas so unwarlike that the cat felt encouraged to extend its field ofreconnaissance--for the cook had been careless, and the backbone of athree-pound whitefish lay at the foot of the refuse-can. 

This cat was, for a cat, needlessly tall, powerful, independent, andmasculine. Once, long ago, he had been a roly-poly pepper-and-saltkitten; he had a home in those days, and a name, "Gipsy, " which heabundantly justified. He was precocious in dissipation. Long before hisadolescence, his lack of domesticity was ominous, and he had formed badcompanionships. Meanwhile, he grew so rangy, and developed such lengthand power of leg and such traits of character, that the father of thelittle girl who owned him was almost convincing when he declared thatthe young cat was half broncho and half Malay pirate--though, in thelight of Gipsy's later career, this seems bitterly unfair to even thelowest orders of bronchos and Malay pirates. 

No; Gipsy was not the pet for a little girl. The rosy hearthstone andsheltered rug were too circumspect for him. Surrounded by the comfortsof middle-class respectability, and profoundly oppressed, even in hisyouth, by the Puritan ideals of the household, he sometimes experienceda sense of suffocation. He wanted free air and he wanted free life; hewanted the lights, the lights, and the music. He abandoned the_bourgeoisie_ irrevocably. He went forth in a May twilight, carrying theevening beefsteak with him, and joined the underworld. 

His extraordinary size, his daring, and his utter lack of sympathy soonmade him the leader--and, at the same time, the terror--of all theloose-lived cats in a wide neighbourhood. He contracted no friendshipsand had no confidants. He seldom slept in the same place twice insuccession, and though he was wanted by the police, he was not found. Inappearance he did not lack distinction of an ominous sort; the slow, rhythmic, perfectly controlled mechanism of his tail, as he impressivelywalked abroad, was incomparably sinister. This stately and dangerouswalk of his, his long, vibrant whiskers, his scars, his yellow eye, soice-cold, so fire-hot, haughty as the eye of Satan, gave him the deadlyair of a mousquetaire duellist. His soul was in that walk and in thateye; it could be read--the soul of a bravo of fortune, living on hiswits and his valour, asking no favours and granting no quarter. Intolerant, proud, sullen, yet watchful and constantly planning--purelya militarist, believing in slaughter as in a religion, and confidentthat art, science, poetry, and the good of the world were happilyadvanced thereby--Gipsy had become, though technically not a wildcat, undoubtedly the most untamed cat at large in the civilized world. Such, in brief, was the terrifying creature which now elongated its neck, and, over the top step of the porch, bent a calculating scrutiny upon thewistful and slumberous Duke. 

The scrutiny was searching but not prolonged. Gipsy mutteredcontemptuously to himself, "Oh, sheol; I'm not afraid o' _that_!" And heapproached the fishbone, his padded feet making no noise upon theboards. It was a desirable fishbone, large, with a considerable portionof the fish's tail still attached to it. 

It was about a foot from Duke's nose, and the little dog's dreams beganto be troubled by his olfactory nerve. This faithful sentinel, on guardeven while Duke slept, signalled that alarums and excursions by partiesunknown were taking place, and suggested that attention might well bepaid. Duke opened one drowsy eye. What that eye beheld was monstrous. 

Here was a strange experience--the horrific vision in the midst ofthings so accustomed. Sunshine fell sweetly upon porch and backyard;yonder was the familiar stable, and from its interior came the busy humof a carpenter shop, established that morning by Duke's young master, inassociation with Samuel Williams and Herman. Here, close by, were thequiet refuse-can and the wonted brooms and mops leaning against thelatticed wall at the end of the porch, and there, by the foot of thesteps, was the stone slab of the cistern, with the iron cover displacedand lying beside the round opening, where the carpenters had left it, not half an hour ago, after lowering a stick of wood into the water, "toseason it. " All about Duke were these usual and reassuring environs ofhis daily life, and yet it was his fate to behold, right in the midst ofthem, and in ghastly juxtaposition to his face, a thing of nightmare andlunacy. 

Gipsy had seized the fishbone by the middle. Out from one side of hishead, and mingling with his whiskers, projected the long, spiked spineof the big fish: down from the other side of that ferocious head dangledthe fish's tail, and from above the remarkable effect thus produced shotthe intolerable glare of two yellow eyes. To the gaze of Duke, stillblurred by slumber, this monstrosity was all of one piece--the boneseemed a living part of it. What he saw was like those interestinginsect-faces which the magnifying glass reveals to great M. Fabre. Itwas impossible for Duke to maintain the philosophic calm of M. Fabre, however; there was no magnifying glass between him and this spined andspiky face. Indeed, Duke was not in a position to think the matter overquietly. If he had been able to do that, he would have said to himself:"We have here an animal of most peculiar and unattractive appearance, though, upon examination, it seems to be only a cat stealing a fishbone. Nevertheless, as the thief is large beyond all my recollection of catsand has an unpleasant stare, I will leave this spot at once. "

On the contrary, Duke was so electrified by his horrid awakening that hecompletely lost his presence of mind. In the very instant of his firsteye's opening, the other eye and his mouth behaved similarly, the latterloosing upon the quiet air one shriek of mental agony before the littledog scrambled to his feet and gave further employment to his voice in afrenzy of profanity. At the same time the subterranean diapason of ademoniac bass viol was heard; it rose to a wail, and rose and rose againtill it screamed like a small siren. It was Gipsy's war-cry, and, at thesound of it, Duke became a frothing maniac. He made a convulsive frontalattack upon the hobgoblin--and the massacre began. 

Never releasing the fishbone for an instant, Gipsy laid back his ears ina chilling way, beginning to shrink into himself like a concertina, butrising amidships so high that he appeared to be giving an imitation ofthat peaceful beast, the dromedary. Such was not his purpose, however, for, having attained his greatest possible altitude, he partially satdown and elevated his right arm after the manner of a semaphore. Thissemaphore arm remained rigid for a second, threatening; then it vibratedwith inconceivable rapidity, feinting. But it was the treacherous leftthat did the work. Seemingly this left gave Duke three lightning littlepats upon the right ear, but the change in his voice indicated thatthese were no love-taps. He yelled "help!" and "bloody murder!"

Never had such a shattering uproar, all vocal, broken out upon apeaceful afternoon. Gipsy possessed a vocabulary for cat-swearingcertainly second to none out of Italy, and probably equal to the bestthere, while Duke remembered and uttered things he had not thought offor years. 

The hum of the carpenter shop ceased, and Sam Williams appeared in thestable doorway. He stared insanely. 

"My gorry!" he shouted. "Duke's havin' a fight with the biggest cat youever saw in your life! C'mon!"

His feet were already in motion toward the battlefield, with Penrod andHerman hurrying in his wake. Onward they sped, and Duke was encouragedby the sight and sound of these reinforcements to increase his ownoutrageous clamours and to press home his attack. But he wasill-advised. This time it was the right arm of the semaphore thatdipped--and Duke's honest nose was but too conscious of what happened inconsequence. 

A lump of dirt struck the refuse-can with violence, and Gipsy beheld theadvance of overwhelming forces. They rushed upon him from twodirections, cutting off the steps of the porch. Undaunted, theformidable cat raked Duke's nose again, somewhat more lingeringly, andprepared to depart with his fishbone. He had little fear for himself, because he was inclined to think that, unhampered, he could whipanything on earth; still, things seemed to be growing rather warm and hesaw nothing to prevent his leaving. 

And though he could laugh in the face of so unequal an antagonist asDuke, Gipsy felt that he was never at his best or able to do himselffull justice unless he could perform that feline operation inaccuratelyknown as "spitting. " To his notion, this was an absolute essential tocombat; but, as all cats of the slightest pretensions to techniqueperfectly understand, it can neither be well done nor produce the besteffects unless the mouth be opened to its utmost capacity so as toexpose the beginnings of the alimentary canal, down which--at least thatis the intention of the threat--the opposing party will soon be passing. And Gipsy could not open his mouth without relinquishing his fishbone. 

Therefore, on small accounts he decided to leave the field to hisenemies and to carry the fishbone elsewhere. He took two giant leaps. The first landed him upon the edge of the porch. There, without aninstant's pause, he gathered his fur-sheathed muscles, concentratedhimself into one big steel spring, and launched himself superbly intospace. He made a stirring picture, however brief, as he left the solidporch behind him and sailed upward on an ascending curve into the sunlitair. His head was proudly up; he was the incarnation of menacing powerand of self-confidence. It is possible that the white-fish's spinalcolumn and flopping tail had interfered with his vision, and inlaunching himself he may have mistaken the dark, round opening of thecistern for its dark, round cover. In that case, it was a leapcalculated and executed with precision, for as the boys clamoured theirpleased astonishment, Gipsy descended accurately into the orifice andpassed majestically from public view, with the fishbone still in hismouth and his haughty head still high. 

There was a grand splash! BOOTH TARKINGTON. 

THE BLUE DRYAD

"According to that theory"--said a critical friend, _à propos_ of thelast story but one--"susceptibility of 'discipline' would be the chieftest of animal character, which means that the best dogs get theircharacter from men. If so--"

"You pity the poor brutes?"

"Oh no. I was going to say that on that principle cats should have nextto no character at all. "

"They have plenty, " I said, "but it's usually bad--at least hopelesslyunromantic. Who ever heard of a heroic or self-denying cat? Cats do whatthey like, not what you want them to do. "

He laughed. "Sometimes they do what you like very much. You haven'theard Mrs. Warburton-Kinneir's cat-story?"

"The Warburton-Kinneirs! I didn't know they were back in England. "

"Oh yes. They've been six months in Hampshire, and now they are in town. She has Thursday afternoons. "

"Good, " I said, "I'll go the very next Friday, and take my chance. . . . "

Fortunately only one visitor appeared to tea. And as soon as I hadexplained my curiosity, he joined me in petitioning for the story whichfollows:--

 * * * * *

Stoffles was her name, a familiar abbreviation, and Mephistophelian washer nature. She had all the usual vices of the feline tribe, includinga double portion of those which men are so fond of describing asfeminine. Vain, indolent, selfish, with a highly cultivated taste forluxury and neatness in her personal appearance, she was distinguished byall those little irritating habits and traits for which nothing but anaffectionate heart (a thing in her case conspicuous by its absence) canatone. 

It would be incorrect, perhaps, to say that Stoffles did not care forthe society of my husband and myself. She liked the best of everything, and these our circumstances allowed us to give her. For the rest, thoughin kitten days suspected of having caught a mouse, she had never beenknown in after life to do anything which the most lax of economistscould describe as useful. She would lie all day in the best arm-chairenjoying real or pretended slumbers, which never affected her appetiteat supper-time; although in that eventide which is the feline morn shewould, if certain of a sufficient number of admiring spectators, condescend to amuse their dull human intelligence by exhibitions of herdexterity. But she was soon bored, and had no conception of altruisticeffort. Abundantly cautious and prudent in all matters concerning herown safety and comfort, she had that feline celerity of vanishing likeair or water before the foot, hand, or missile of irritated man; whileon the other hand, when a sensitive specimen of the gentler sex (mygrandmother, for example) was attentively holding the door open for her, she would stiffen and elongate her whole body, and, regardless of allexhibitions of kindly impatience, proceed out of the drawing-room asslowly as a funeral _cortège_ of crocodiles. 

A good-looking Persian cat is an ornamental piece of furniture in ahouse; but though fond of animals, I never succeeded in getting up anaffection for Stoffles until the occurrence of the incident here to berelated. Even in this, however, I cannot conceal from myself that theshare which she took was taken, as usual, solely for her ownsatisfaction. 

We lived, you know, in a comfortable old-fashioned house facing thehighroad, on the slope of a green hill from which one looked across thegleaming estuary (or the broad mud-flats) of Southampton Water on to therich, rolling woodland of the New Forest. I say we, but in fact for somemonths I had been alone, and my husband had just returned from one ofhis sporting and scientific expeditions in South America. He had alreadywon fame as a naturalist, and had succeeded in bringing home alive quitea variety of beasts, usually of the reptile order, whose extreme rarityseemed to me a merciful provision of Nature. 

But all his previous triumphs were completely eclipsed, I soon learned, by the capture, alive, on this last expedition, of an abominablypoisonous snake, known to those who knew it as the Blue Dryad, or morefamiliarly in backwoods slang, as the Half-hour Striker, in vaguereference to its malignant and fatal qualities. The time in which asnake-bite takes effect is, by the way, no very exact test of itsvirulence, the health and condition not only of the victim, but of thesnake, having of course to be taken into account. 

But the Blue Dryad, sometimes erroneously described as a variety ofrattlesnake, is, I understand, supposed to kill the average man, underfavourable circumstances, in less time even than the deadlyCopperhead--which it somewhat resembles, except that it is larger insize, and bears a peculiar streak of faint peacock-blue down the back, only perceptible in a strong light. This precious reptile was destinedfor the Zoological Gardens. 

Being in extremely delicate health at the time, I need hardly say that Iknew nothing of these gruesome details until afterwards. Henry (that ismy husband), after entering my room with a robust and sunburnedappearance that did my heart good, merely observed--as soon as we hadexchanged greetings--that he had brought home a pretty snake which"wouldn't (just as long, that is to say, as it couldn't) do theslightest harm, "--an evasive assurance which I accepted as became thenervous wife of an enthusiastic naturalist. I believe I insisted on itsnot coming into the house. 

The cook, indeed, on my husband expressing a wish to put it in thekitchen, had taken up a firmer position: she had threatened to "scream"if "the vermin" were introduced into her premises; which ultimatum, coming from a stalwart young woman with unimpaired lungs, wassufficient. 

Fortunately the weather was very hot (being in July of theever-memorable summer of 1893), so it was decided that the Blue Dryad, wrapped in flannel and securely confined in a basket, should be left inthe sun, on the farthest corner of the verandah, during the hour or soin the afternoon when my husband had to visit the town on business. 

He had gone off with a cousin of mine, an officer of Engineers inIndia, stationed, I think, at Lahore, and home on leave. I remember thatthey were a long time, or what seemed to me a long time, over theirluncheon; and the last remark of our guest as he came out of thedining-room remained in my head as even meaningless words will run inthe head of any idle invalid shut up for most of the day in a silentroom. What he said was, in the positive tone of one emphasizing acurious and surprising statement, "D'you know, by the way, it's the_one_ animal that doesn't care a rap for the cobra. " And, my husbandseeming to express disbelief and a desire to change the subject as theyentered my boudoir, "It's a holy fact! Goes for it, so smart! Has thebeggar on toast before you can say 'Jack Robinson!'"

The observation did not interest me, but simply ran in my head. Thenthey came into my room, only for a few moments, as I was not to betired. The Engineer tried to amuse Stoffles, who was seized with such afit of mortal boredom that he transferred his attentions to Ruby, theGordon setter, a devoted and inseparable friend of mine, under whosecharge I was shortly left as they passed out of the house. TheLieutenant, it appears, went last, and inadvertently closed withoutfastening the verandah door. Thereby hangs a tale of the most tryingquarter of an hour it has been my lot to experience. 

I suppose I may have been asleep for ten minutes or so when I wasawakened by the noise of Ruby's heavy body jumping out through the openwindow. Feeling restless and seeing me asleep, he had imagined himselfentitled to a short spell off guard. Had the door not been ostensiblylatched he would have made his way out by it, being thoroughly used toopening doors and such tricks--a capacity which in fact proved fatal tohim. That it was unlatched I saw in a few moments, for the dog on hisreturn forced it open with a push and trotted up in a disturbed mannerto my bedside. I noticed a tiny spot of blood on the black side of hisnose, and naturally supposed he had scratched himself against a bush ora piece of wire. "Ruby, " I said, "what have you been doing?" Then hewhined as if in pain, crouching close to my side and shaking in everylimb. I should say that I was myself lying with a shawl over my feet ona deep sofa with a high back. I turned to look at Stoffles, who wasslowly perambulating the room, looking for flies and other insects (herfavourite amusement) on the wainscot. When I glanced again at the doghis appearance filled me with horror; he was standing, obviously frompain, swaying from side to side and breathing hard. As I watched, hisbody grew more and more rigid. With his eyes fixed on the half-opendoor, he drew back as if from the approach of some dreaded object, raised his head with a pitiful attempt at a bark, which broke off into astifled howl, rolled over sideways suddenly, and lay dead. The horridstiffness of the body, almost resembling a stuffed creature overset, made me believe that he had died as he stood, close to my side, perhapsmeaning to defend me--more probably, since few dogs would be proofagainst such a terror, trusting that I should protect him against the_thing coming in at the door_. Unable to resist the unintelligible ideathat the dog had been frightened to death, I followed the direction ofhis last gaze, and at first saw nothing. The next moment I observedround the corner of the verandah door a small, dark, and slender object, swaying gently up and down like a dry bough in the wind. It had passedright into the room with the same slow, regular motion before I realizedwhat it was and what had happened. 

My poor, stupid Ruby must have nosed at the basket on the verandah tillhe succeeded somehow in opening it, and have been bitten in return forhis pains by the abominable beast which had been warranted in thisinsufficient manner to do no harm, and which I now saw angrily rearingits head and hissing fiercely at the dead dog within three yards of myface. 

I am not one of those women who jump on chairs or tables when they see amouse, but I have a constitutional horror of the most harmless reptiles. Watching the Blue Dryad as it glided across the patch of sunlightstreaming in from the open window, and knowing what it was, I confess tobeing as nearly frightened out of my wits as I ever hope to be. If I hadbeen well, perhaps I might have managed to scream and run away. As itwas, I simply dared not speak or move a finger for fear of attractingthe beast's attention to myself. Thus I remained a terrified spectatorof the astonishing scene which followed. The whole thing seemed to melike a dream. As the beast entered the room, I seemed again to hear mycousin making the remark above mentioned about the cobra. _What_ animal, I wondered dreamily, could he have meant? Not Ruby! Ruby was dead. Ilooked at his stiff body again and shuddered. The whistle of a trainsounded from the valley below, and then an errand-boy passed along theroad at the back of the house (for the second or third time that day)singing in a cracked voice the fragment of a popular melody, of which Iam sorry to say I know no more--

 "I've got a little cat, And I'm very fond of that; But daddy wouldn't buy me a bow, wow, wow;"

the _wow-wows_ becoming fainter and further as the youth strode down thehill. If I had been "myself, " as the poor folk say, this coincidencewould have made me laugh, for at that very moment Stoffles, weary ofpatting flies and spiders on the back, appeared gently purring on thecrest, so to speak, of the sofa. 

It has often occurred to me since that if the scale of things had beenenlarged--if Stoffles, for example, had been a Bengal tiger, and theDryad a boa-constrictor or crocodile, --the tragedy which followed wouldhave been worthy of the pen of any sporting and dramatic historian. Ican only say that, being transacted in such objectionable proximity tomyself, the thing was as impressive as any combat of mastodon andiguanodon could have been to primitive man. 

Stoffles, as I have said, was inordinately vain and self-conscious. Stalking along the top of the sofa-back and bearing erect the bushybanner of her magnificent tail, she looked the most ridiculous creatureimaginable. She had proceeded half-way on this pilgrimage towards mewhen suddenly, with the rapidity of lightning, as her ear caught thesound of the hiss and her eyes fell upon the Blue Dryad, her wholecivilized "play-acting" demeanour vanished, and her body stiffened andcontracted to the form of a watchful wild beast with the ferocious andinstinctive antipathy to a natural enemy blazing from its eyes. Nochange of a shaken kaleidoscope could have been more complete or morestriking. In one light bound she was on the floor in a compressed, defensive attitude, with all four feet close together, near, but not toonear, the unknown but clearly hostile intruder; and to my surprise, thesnake turned and made off towards the window. Stoffles trotted lightlyafter, obviously interested in its method of locomotion. Then she made along arm and playfully dropped a paw upon its tail. The snake wriggledfree in a moment, and coiling its whole length, some three and a halffeet, fronted this new and curious antagonist. 

At the very first moment, I need hardly say, I expected that one shortstroke of that little pointed head against the cat's delicate body wouldquickly have settled everything. But one is apt to forget that a snake(I suppose because in romances snakes always "dart") can move but slowlyand awkwardly over a smooth surface, such as a tiled or wooden floor. The long body, in spite of its wonderful construction, and of theattitudes in which it is frequently drawn, is no less subject to thelaws of gravitation than that of a hedgehog. A snake that "darts" whenit has nothing secure to hold on by, only overbalances itself. With halfor two-thirds of the body firmly coiled against some rough object orsurface, the head--of a poisonous snake at least--is indeed a deadlyweapon of precision. This particular reptile, perhaps by some instinct, had now wriggled itself on to a large and thick fur rug about twelvefeet square, upon which arena took place the extraordinary contest thatfollowed. 

The audacity of the cat astonished me from the first. I have no reasonto believe she had ever seen a snake before, yet by a sort of instinctshe seemed to know exactly what she was doing. As the Dryad raised itshead, with glittering eyes and forked tongue, Stoffles crouched withboth front paws in the air, sparring as I had seen her do sometimes witha large moth. The first round passed so swiftly that mortal eye couldhardly see with distinctness what happened. The snake made a dart, andthe cat, all claws, aimed two rapid blows at its advancing head. Thefirst missed, but the second I could see came home, as the brute, shaking its neck and head, withdrew further into the jungle--I mean, ofcourse, the rug. But Stoffles, who had no idea of the match ending inthis manner, crept after it, with an air of attractive carelessnesswhich was instantly rewarded. A full two feet of the Dryad's bodystraightened like a black arrow, and seemed to strike right into thefurry side of its antagonist--seemed, I say, to slow going human eyes;but the latter shrank, literally _fell_ back, collapsing with suchsuddenness that she seemed to have turned herself inside out, and becomethe mere skin of a cat. As the serpent recovered itself, she pounced onit like lightning, driving at least half a dozen claws well home, andthen, apparently realizing that she had not a good enough hold, spranglightly into the air from off the body, alighting about a yard off. There followed a minute of sparring in the air; the snake seeminglyhalf afraid to strike, the cat waiting on its every movement. 

Now, the poisonous snake when provoked is an irritable animal, and thenext attack of the Dryad, maddened by the scratchings of puss and itsown unsuccessful exertions, was so furious, and so close to myself, thatI shuddered for the result. Before this stage, I might perhaps, with alittle effort have escaped, but now panic fear glued me to the spot;indeed I could not have left my position on the sofa without almosttreading upon Stoffles, whose bristling back was not a yard from myfeet. At last, I thought--as the Blue Dryad, for one second coiled closeas a black silk cable, sprang out the next as straight and sharp as thepiston-rod of an engine, --this lump of feline vanity and conceit is donefor, and--I could not help thinking--it will probably be my turn next!Little did I appreciate the resources of Stoffles, who without a changein her vigilant pose, without a wink of her fierce green eyes, sprangbackwards and upwards on to the top of me and there confronted the enemyas calm as ever, sitting, if you please, upon my feet! I don't know thatany gymnastic performance ever surprised me more than this, though Ihave seen this very beast drop twenty feet from a window-sill on to astone pavement without appearing to notice any particular change oflevel. Cats with so much plumage have probably their own reasons for notflying. 

Trembling all over with fright, I could not but observe that she wastrembling too--with rage. Whether instinct inspired her with theadvantages of a situation so extremely unpleasant to me, I cannot say. The last act of the drama rapidly approached, and no more strategiccatastrophe was ever seen. 

For a snake, as everybody knows, naturally rears its head when fighting. In that position, though one may hit it with a stick, it is extremelydifficult, as this battle had shown, to get hold of. Now, as the Dryad, curled to a capital S, quivering and hissing advanced for the last timeto the charge, it was bound to strike across the edge of the sofa onwhich I lay, at the erect head of Stoffles, which vanished with ajuggling celerity that would have dislocated the collar-bone of anyother animal in creation. From such an exertion the snake recovereditself with an obvious effort, quick beyond question, but not nearlyquick enough. Before I could well see that it had missed its aim, Stoffles had launched out like a spring released, and, burying eight orten claws in the back of its enemy's head, pinned it down against thestiff cushion of the sofa. The tail of the agonized reptile flung wildlyin the air and flapped on the arched back of the imperturbable tigress. The whiskered muzzle of Stoffles dropped quietly, and her teeth metonce, twice, thrice, like the needle and hook of a sewing-machine, inthe neck of the Blue Dryad; and when, after much deliberation, she letit go, the beast fell into a limp tangle on the floor. 

When I saw that the thing was really dead I believe I must have fainted. Coming to myself, I heard hurried steps and voices. "Great heavens!" myhusband was screaming, "where has the brute got to?" "It's all right, "said the Engineer; "just you come and look here, old man. Commend me tothe coolness of that cat. After the murder of your priceless specimen, here's Stoffles cleaning her fur in one of her serenest Anglo-Saxonattitudes. "

So she was. My husband looked grave as I described the scene. "Didn't Itell you so?" said the Engineer, "and this beast, I take it, is worsethan any cobra. "

I can easily believe he was right. From the gland of the said beast, asI afterwards learned, they extracted enough poison to be the death oftwenty full-grown human beings. 

Tightly clasped between its minute teeth was found (what interested memore) a few long hairs, late the property of Stoffles. 

Stoffles, however--she is still with us--has a superfluity of long hair, and is constantly leaving it about. 

 G. H. POWELL. 

DICK BAKER'S CAT

One of my comrades there--another of those victims of eighteen years ofunrequited toil and blighted hopes--was one of the gentlest spirits thatever bore its patient cross in a weary exile: grave and simple DickBaker, pocket-miner of Dead-Horse Gulch. He was forty-six, grey as arat, earnest, thoughtful, slenderly educated, slouchily dressed andclay-soiled, but his heart was finer metal than any gold his shovel everbrought to light--than any, indeed, that ever was mined or minted. 

Whenever he was out of luck and a little downhearted, he would fall tomourning over the loss of a wonderful cat he used to own (for wherewomen and children are not, men of kindly impulses take up with pets, for they must love something). And he always spoke of the strangesagacity of that cat with the air of a man who believed in his secretheart that there was something human about it--maybe even supernatural. 

I heard him talking about this animal once. He said:

"Gentlemen, I used to have a cat here, by the name of Tom Quartz, whichyou'd 'a' took an interest in, I reckon--, most anybody would. I had himhere eight year--and he was the remarkablest cat _I_ ever see. He was alarge grey one of the Tom specie, an' he had more hard, natchral sensethan any man in this camp--'n' a _power_ of dignity--he wouldn't let theGov'ner of Californy be familiar with him. He never ketched a rat inhis life--'peared to be above it. He never cared for nothing but mining. He knowed more about mining, that cat did, than any man _I_ ever, eversee. You couldn't tell _him_ noth'n' 'bout placer-diggin's--'n' as forpocket-mining, why he was just born for it. He would dig out after mean' Jim when we went over the hills prospect'n', and he would trot alongbehind us for as much as five mile, if we went so fur. An' he had thebest judgment about mining-ground--why you never see anything like it. When we went to work, he'd scatter a glance around, 'n' if he didn'tthink much of the indications, he would give a look as much as to say, 'Well, I'll have to get you to excuse _me_, ' 'n' without another wordhe'd hyste his nose into the air 'n' shove for home. But if the groundsuited him, he would lay low 'n' keep dark till the first pan waswashed, 'n' then he would sidle up 'n' take a look, an' if there wasabout six or seven grains of gold _he_ was satisfied--he didn't want nobetter prospect 'n' that--'n' then he would lay down on our coats andsnore like a steamboat till we'd struck the pocket, an' then get up 'n'superintend. He was nearly lightnin' on superintending. 

"Well, by an' by, up comes this yer quartz excitement. Everybody wasinto it--everybody was pick'n' 'n' blast'n' instead of shovelin' dirt onthe hillside--everybody was putt'n' down a shaft instead of scrapin' thesurface. Noth'n' would do Jim, but _we_ must tackle the ledges, too, 'n'so we did. We commenced putt'n' down a shaft, 'n' Tom Quartz he begin towonder what in the Dickens it was all about. _He_ hadn't ever seen anymining like that before, 'n' he was all upset, as you may say--hecouldn't come to a right understanding of it no way--it was too many for_him_. He was down on it too, you bet you--he was down on itpowerful--'n' always appeared to consider it the cussedest foolishnessout. But that cat, you know, was _always_ agin new-fangledarrangements--somehow he never could abide 'em. _You_ know how it iswith old habits. But by an' by Tom Quartz begin to git sort ofreconciled a little, though he never _could_ altogether understand thateternal sinkin' of a shaft an' never pannin' out anything. At last hegot to comin' down in the shaft, hisself, to try to cipher it out. An'when he'd git the blues, 'n' feel kind o' scruffy, 'n' aggravated 'n'disgusted--knowin' as he did, that the bills was runnin' up all the timean' we warn't makin' a cent--he would curl up on a gunny-sack in thecorner an' go to sleep. Well, one day when the shaft was down abouteight foot, the rock got so hard that we had to put in a blast--thefirst blast'n' we'd ever done since Tom Quartz was born. An' then we litthe fuse 'n' clumb out 'n' got off 'bout fifty yards--'n' forgot 'n'left Tom Quartz sound asleep on the gunny-sack. In 'bout a minute weseen a puff of smoke bust up out of the hole, 'n' then everything let gowith an awful crash, 'n' about four million ton of rocks 'n' dirt 'n'smoke 'n' splinters shot up 'bout a mile an' a half into the air, an' byGeorge, right in the dead centre of it was old Tom Quartz a-goin' endover end, an' a-snortin' an' a-sneez'n, an' a-clawin' an' a-reach'n' forthings like all possessed. But it warn't no use, you know, it warn't nouse. An' that was the last we see of _him_ for about two minutes 'n' ahalf, an' then all of a sudden it begin to rain rocks and rubbage an'directly he come down ker-whoop about ten foot off f'm where we stood. Well, I reckon he was p'raps the orneriest-lookin' beast you ever see. One ear was sot back on his neck, 'n' his tail was stove up, 'n' hiseye-winkers was singed off, 'n' he was all blacked up with powder an'smoke, an' all sloppy with mud 'n' slush f'm one end to the other. Well, sir, it warn't no use to try to apologize--we couldn't say a word. Hetook a sort of a disgusted look at hisself, 'n' then he looked atus--an' it was just exactly the same as if he had said--'Gents, maybe_you_ think it's smart to take advantage of a cat that ain't had noexperience of quartz-minin', but _I_ think _different_'--an' then heturned on his heel 'n' marched off home without ever saying anotherword. 

"That was jest his style. An' maybe you won't believe it, but after thatyou never see a cat so prejudiced agin quartz-mining as what he was. An'by an' by when he _did_ get to goin' down in the shaft ag'in, you'd 'a'been astonished at his sagacity. The minute we'd tetch off a blast 'n'the fuse'd begin to sizzle, he'd give a look as much as to say, 'Well, I'll have to git you to excuse _me_, ' an' it was supris'n' the way he'dshin out of that hole 'n' go f'r a tree. Sagacity? It ain't no name forit. 'Twas _inspiration_!"

I said, "Well, Mr. Baker, his prejudice against quartz-mining _was_remarkable, considering how he came by it. Couldn't you ever cure him ofit?"

"_Cure him!_ No! When Tom Quartz was sot once, he was _always_ sot--andyou might 'a' blowed him up as much as three million times 'n' you'dnever 'a' broken him of his cussed prejudice ag'in quartz-mining. "

 MARK TWAIN. 

THE BLACK CAT

For the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, Ineither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it ina case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet mad am Inot--and very surely do I not dream. But tomorrow I die, and today Iwould unburthen my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before theworld plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of merehousehold events. In their consequences these events haveterrified--have tortured--have destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt toexpound them. To me they presented little but horror--to many they willseem less terrible than _baroques_. Hereafter, perhaps, some intellectmay be found which will reduce my phantasm to the commonplace--someintellect more calm, more logical, and far less excitable than my own, which will perceive, in the circumstances I detail with awe, nothingmore than an ordinary succession of very natural causes and effects. 

From my infancy I was noted for the docility and humanity of mydisposition. My tenderness of heart was even so conspicuous as to makeme the jest of my companions. I was especially fond of animals, and wasindulged by my parents with a great variety of pets. With these I spentmost of my time, and never was so happy as when feeding and caressingthem. This peculiarity of character grew with my growth, and in mymanhood I derived from it one of my principal sources of pleasure. Tothose who have cherished an affection for a faithful and sagacious dog, I need hardly be at the trouble of explaining the nature or theintensity of the gratification thus derivable. There is something in theunselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute which goes directly tothe heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltryfriendship and gossamer fidelity of mere _Man_. 

I married early, and was happy to find in my wife a disposition notuncongenial with my own. Observing my partiality for domestic pets, shelost no opportunity of procuring those of the most agreeable kind. Wehad birds, gold-fish, a fine dog, rabbits, a small monkey, and _a cat_. 

This latter was a remarkably large and beautiful animal, entirely black, and sagacious to an astonishing degree. In speaking of his intelligence, my wife, who at heart was not a little tinctured with superstition, madefrequent allusion to the ancient popular notion which regarded all blackcats as witches in disguise. Not that she was ever _serious_ upon thispoint, and I mention the matter at all for no better reason than that ithappens just now to be remembered. 

Pluto--this was the cat's name--was my favourite pet and playmate. Ialone fed him, and he attended me wherever I went about the house. Itwas even with difficulty that I could prevent him from following methrough the streets. 

Our friendship lasted in this manner for several years, during which mygeneral temperament and character--through the instrumentality of theFiend Intemperance--had (I blush to confess it) experienced a radicalalteration for the worse. I grew, day by day, more moody, moreirritable, more regardless of the feelings of others. I suffered myselfto use intemperate language to my wife. At length, I even offered herpersonal violence. My pets of course were made to feel the change in mydisposition. I not only neglected but ill-used them. For Pluto, however, I still retained sufficient regard to restrain me from maltreating him, as I made no scruple of maltreating the rabbits, the monkey, or even thedog, when by accident, or through affection, they came in my way. But mydisease grew upon me--for what disease is like Alcohol!--and at lengtheven Pluto, who was now becoming old, and consequently somewhatpeevish--even Pluto began to experience the effects of my ill-temper. 

One night, returning home much intoxicated from one of my haunts abouttown, I fancied that the cat avoided my presence. I seized him, when, inhis fright at my violence, he inflicted a slight wound upon my hand withhis teeth. The fury of a demon instantly possessed me. I knew myself nolonger. My original soul seemed at once to take its flight from my body, and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fiberof my frame. I took from my waistcoat-pocket a penknife, opened it, grasped the poor beast by the throat, and deliberately cut one of itseyes from the socket! I blush, I burn, I shudder, while I pen thedamnable atrocity. 

When reason returned with the morning--when I had slept off the fumes ofthe night's debauch--I experienced a sentiment half of horror, half ofremorse, for the crime of which I had been guilty, but it was at best afeeble and equivocal feeling, and the soul remained untouched. I againplunged into excess, and soon drowned in wine all memory of the deed. 

In the meantime the cat slowly recovered. The socket of the lost eyepresented, it is true, a frightful appearance, but he no longer appearedto suffer any pain. He went about the house as usual, but, as might beexpected, fled in extreme terror at my approach. I had so much of my oldheart left as to be at first grieved by this evident dislike on the partof a creature which had once so loved me. But this feeling soon gaveplace to irritation. And then came, as if to my final and irrevocableoverthrow, the spirit of PERVERSENESS. Of this spirit philosophy takesno account. Yet I am not more sure that my soul lives than I am thatperverseness is one of the primitive impulses of the human heart--one ofthe indivisible primary faculties or sentiments which gave direction tothe character of Man. Who has not, a hundred times, found himselfcommitting a vile or a silly action for no other reason than because heknows he should _not_? Have we not a perpetual inclination, in the teethof our best judgment, to violate that which is _Law_, merely because weunderstand it to be such? This spirit of perverseness, I say, came to myfinal overthrow. It was this unfathomable longing of the soul to _vexitself_--to offer violence to its own nature--to do wrong for thewrong's sake only--that urged me to continue and finally to consummatethe injury I had inflicted upon the unoffending brute. One morning, incool blood, I slipped a noose about its neck and hung it to the limb ofa tree; hung it with the tears streaming from my eyes, and with thebitterest remorse at my heart; hung it _because_ I knew it had loved me, and _because_ I felt it had given me no reason of offence; hung it_because_ I knew that in so doing I was committing a sin--a deadly sinthat would so jeopardize my immortal soul as to place it, if such athing were possible, even beyond the reach of the infinite mercy of theMost Merciful and Most Terrible God. 

On the night of the day on which this cruel deed was done, I was arousedfrom sleep by the cry of fire. The curtains of my bed were in flames. The whole house was blazing. It was with great difficulty that my wife, a servant, and myself, made our escape from the conflagration. Thedestruction was complete. My entire worldly wealth was swallowed up, andI resigned myself forward to despair. 

I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause andeffect between the disaster and the atrocity. But I am detailing a chainof facts, and wish not to leave even a possible link imperfect. On theday succeeding the fire, I visited the ruins. The walls with oneexception had fallen in. This exception was found in a compartment wall, not very thick, which stood about the middle of the house, and againstwhich had rested the head of my bed. The plastering had here in greatmeasure resisted the action of the fire, a fact which I attributed toits having recently spread. About this wall a dense crowd werecollected, and many persons seemed to be examining a particular portionof it with very minute and eager attention. The words "Strange!""Singular!" and other similar expressions, excited my curiosity. Iapproached and saw, as if graven in _bas relief_ upon the white surfacethe figure of a gigantic _cat_. The impression was given with anaccuracy truly marvellous. There was a rope about the animal's neck. 

When I first beheld this apparition--for I could scarcely regard it asless--my wonder and my terror were extreme. But at length reflectioncame to my aid. The cat, I remembered, had been hung in a gardenadjacent to the house. Upon the alarm of fire this garden had beenimmediately filled by the crowd, by some one of whom the animal musthave been cut from the tree and thrown through an open window into mychamber. This had probably been done with the view of arousing me fromsleep. The falling of other walls had compressed the victim of mycruelty into the substance of the freshly-spread plaster; the lime ofwhich, with the flames and the _ammonia_ from the carcass, had thenaccomplished the portraiture as I saw it. 

Although I thus readily accounted to my reason, if not altogether to myconscience, for the startling fact just detailed, it did not the lessfail to make a deep impression upon my fancy. For months I could not ridmyself of the phantasm of the cat, and during this period there cameback into my spirit a half-sentiment that seemed, but was not, remorse. I went so far as to regret the loss of the animal, and to look about meamong the vile haunts which I now habitually frequented for another petof the same species, and of somewhat similar appearance, with which tosupply its place. 

One night, as I sat half-stupefied in a den of more than infamy, myattention was suddenly drawn to some black object, reposing upon thehead of one of the immense hogsheads of gin or of rum, which constitutedthe chief furniture of the apartment. I had been looking steadily at thetop of this hogshead for some minutes, and what now caused me surprisewas the fact that I had not sooner perceived the object thereupon. Iapproached it, and touched it with my hand. It was a black cat--a verylarge one--fully as large as Pluto, and closely resembling him in everyrespect but one. Pluto had not a white hair upon any portion of hisbody; but this cat had a large, although indefinite splotch of white, covering nearly the whole region of the breast. 

Upon my touching him he immediately arose, purred loudly, rubbed againstmy hand, and appeared delighted with my notice. This, then, was the verycreature of which I was in search. I at once offered to purchase it ofthe landlord; but this person made no claim to it--knew nothing ofit--had never seen it before. 

I continued my caresses, and when I prepared to go home the animalevinced a disposition to accompany me. I permitted it to do so, occasionally stooping and patting it as I proceeded. When it reached thehouse it domesticated itself at once, and became immediately a greatfavourite with my wife. 

For my own part, I soon found a dislike to it arising within me. Thiswas just the reverse of what I had anticipated, but--I know not how orwhy it was--its evident fondness for myself rather disgusted andannoyed. By slow degrees these feelings of disgust and annoyance roseinto the bitterness of hatred. I avoided the creature; a certain senseof shame, and the remembrance of my former deed of cruelty, preventingme from physically abusing it. I did not, for some weeks, strike orotherwise violently ill-use it, but gradually--very gradually--I came tolook upon it with unutterable loathing, and to flee silently from itsodious presence as from the breath of a pestilence. 

What added, no doubt, to my hatred of the beast was the discovery, onthe morning after I brought it home, that, like Pluto, it also had beendeprived of one of its eyes. This circumstance, however, only endearedit to my wife, who, as I have already said, possessed in a high degreethat humanity of feeling which had once been my distinguishing trait, and the source of my simplest and purest pleasures. 

With my aversion to this cat, however, its partiality for myself seemedto increase. It followed my footsteps with a pertinacity which it wouldbe difficult to make the reader comprehend. Whenever I sat, it wouldcrouch beneath my chair or spring upon my knees, covering me with itsloathsome caresses. If I arose to walk it would get between my feet andthus nearly throw me down, or, fastening its long and sharp claws in mydress, clamber in this manner to my breast. At such times, although Ilonged to destroy it with a blow, I was yet withheld from so doing, partly by a memory of my former crime, but chiefly--let me confess it atonce--by absolute _dread_ of the beast. 

This dread was not exactly a dread of physical evil--and yet I should beat a loss how otherwise to define it. I am almost ashamed to own--yes, even in this felon's cell, I am almost ashamed to own--that the terrorand horror with which the animal inspired me had been heightened by oneof the merest chimeras it would be possible to conceive. My wife hadcalled my attention more than once to the character of the mark of whitehair, of which I have spoken, and which constituted the sole visibledifference between the strange beast and the one I had destroyed. Thereader will remember that this mark, although large, had been originallyvery indefinite, but by slow degrees--degrees nearly imperceptible, andwhich for a long time my reason struggled to reject as fanciful--it hadat length assumed a rigorous distinctness of outline. It was now therepresentation of an object that I shudder to name--and for this aboveall I loathed and dreaded, and would have rid myself of the monster _hadI dared_--it was now, I say, the image of a hideous--of a ghastlything--of the GALLOWS!--O, mournful and terrible engine of horror and ofcrime--of agony and of death!

And now was I indeed wretched beyond the wretchedness of mere humanity. And _a brute beast_--whose fellow I had contemptuously destroyed--_abrute beast_ to work out for _me_--for me a man, fashioned in the imageof the High God--so much of insufferable woe! Alas! neither by day norby night knew I the blessing of rest any more! During the former thecreature left me no moment alone; and in the latter I started hourlyfrom dreams of unutterable fear, to find the hot breath of _the thing_upon my face, and its vast weight--an incarnate nightmare that I had nopower to shake off--incumbent eternally upon my _heart_!

Beneath the pressure of torments such as these, the feeble remnant ofthe good within me succumbed. Evil thoughts became my soleintimates--the darkest and most evil of thoughts. The moodiness of myusual temper increased to hatred of all things and of all mankind; whilefrom the sudden frequent and ungovernable outbursts of a fury to which Inow blindly abandoned myself, my uncomplaining wife, alas! was the mostusual and the most patient of sufferers. 

One day she accompanied me upon some household errand into the cellar ofthe old building which our poverty compelled us to inhabit. The catfollowed me down the steep stairs, and nearly throwing me headlong, exasperated me to madness. Uplifting an ax, and forgetting in my wraththe childish dread which had hitherto stayed my hand, I aimed a blow atthe animal, which of course would have proved instantly fatal had itdescended as I wished. But this blow was arrested by the hand of mywife. Goaded by the interference into a rage more than demoniacal, Iwithdrew my arm from her grasp and buried the ax in her brain. She felldead upon the spot without a groan. 

This hideous murder accomplished, I set myself forthwith and with entiredeliberation to the task of concealing the body. I knew that I could notremove it from the house, either by day or by night, without the risk ofbeing observed by the neighbours. Many projects entered my mind. At oneperiod I thought of cutting the corpse into minute fragments anddestroying them by fire. At another I resolved to dig a grave for it inthe floor of the cellar. Again, I deliberated about casting it in thewell in the yard--about packing it in a box, as if merchandise, with theusual arrangements, and so getting a porter to take it from the house. Finally I hit upon what I considered a far better expedient than eitherof these. I determined to wall it up in the cellar--as the monks of themiddle ages are recorded to have walled up their victims. 

For a purpose such as this the cellar was well adapted. Its walls wereloosely constructed and had lately been plastered throughout with arough plaster, which the dampness of the atmosphere had prevented fromhardening. Moreover, in one of the walls was a projection caused by afalse chimney or fireplace, that had been filled up and made to resemblethe rest of the cellar. I made no doubt that I could readily displacethe bricks at this point, insert the corpse, and wall the whole up asbefore, so that no eye could detect anything suspicious. 

And in this calculation I was not deceived. By means of a crowbar Ieasily dislodged the bricks, and having carefully deposited the bodyagainst the inner wall, I propped it in that position, while with littletrouble I relaid the whole structure as it originally stood. Havingprocured mortar, sand, and hair with every possible precaution, Iprepared a plaster which could not be distinguished from the old, andwith this I very carefully went over the new brick-work. When I hadfinished I felt satisfied that all was all right. The wall did notpresent the slightest appearance of having been disturbed. The rubbishon the floor was picked up with the minutest care. I looked aroundtriumphantly, and said to myself--"Here at last, then, my labour has notbeen in vain. "

My next step was to look for the beast which had been the cause of somuch wretchedness, for I had at length firmly resolved to put it todeath. Had I been able to meet with it at the moment there could havebeen no doubt of its fate, but it appeared that the crafty animal hadbeen alarmed at the violence of my previous anger, and forbore topresent itself in my present mood. It is impossible to describe or toimagine the deep, the blissful sense of relief which the absence of thedetested creature occasioned in my bosom. It did not make its appearanceduring the night--and thus for one night at least since its introductioninto the house I soundly and tranquilly slept, aye, _slept_ even withthe burden of murder upon my soul!

The second and the third day passed, and still my tormentor came not. Once again I breathed as a freeman. The monster, in terror, had fled thepremises forever! I should behold it no more! My happiness was supreme!The guilt of my dark deed disturbed me but little. Some few inquirieshad been made, but these had been readily answered. Even a search hadbeen instituted--but of course nothing was to be discovered. I lookedupon my future felicity as secured. 

Upon the fourth day of the assassination, a party of the police camevery unexpectedly into the house, and proceeded again to make rigorousinvestigation of the premises. Secure, however, in the inscrutability ofmy place of concealment, I felt no embarrassment whatever. The officersbade me accompany them in their search. They left no nook or cornerunexplored. At length, for the third or fourth time they descended intothe cellar. I quivered not in a muscle. My heart beat calmly as that ofone who slumbers in innocence. I walked the cellar from end to end. Ifolded my arms upon my bosom, and roamed easily to and fro. The policewere thoroughly satisfied, and prepared to depart. The glee at my heartwas too strong to be restrained. I burned to say if but one word by wayof triumph, and to render doubly sure their assurance of myguiltlessness. 

"Gentlemen, " I said at last, as the party ascended the steps, "I delightto have allayed your suspicions. I wish you all health, and a littlemore courtesy. By the by, gentlemen, this--this is a verywell-constructed house, " [In the rabid desire to say something easily, Iscarcely knew what I uttered at all, ] "I may say an _excellently_well-constructed house. These walls--are you going, gentlemen?--thesewalls are solidly put together;" and here, through the mere frenzy ofbravado, I rapped heavily with a cane which I held in my hand upon thatvery portion of the brick-work behind which stood the corpse of the wifeof my bosom. 

But may God shield and deliver me from the fangs of the arch-fiend! Nosooner had the reverberation of my blows sunk into silence than I wasanswered by a voice from within the tomb!--by a cry, at first muffledand broken, like the sobbing of a child, and then quickly swelling intoone long, loud, and continuous scream, utterly anomalous and inhuman--ahowl--a wailing shriek, half of horror and half of triumph, such asmight have arisen only out of hell, conjointly from the throats of thedamned in their agony and of the demons that exult in the damnation. 

Of my own thoughts it is folly to speak. Swooning, I staggered to theopposite wall. For one instant the party upon the stairs remainedmotionless, through extremity of terror and of awe. In the next a dozenstout arms were toiling at the wall. It fell bodily. The corpse, alreadygreatly decayed and clotted with gore, stood erect before the eyes ofthe spectators. Upon its head, with red extended mouth and solitary eyeof fire, sat the hideous beast whose craft had seduced me into murder, and whose informing voice had consigned me to the hangman. I had walledthe monster up within the tomb. 

 EDGAR ALLAN POE. 

MADAME JOLICOEUR'S CAT

Being somewhat of an age, and a widow of dignity--the late MonsieurJolicoeur has held the responsible position under Government ofIngénieur des Ponts et Chaussées--yet being also of a provocativelyfresh plumpness, and a Marseillaise, it was of necessity that MadameVeuve Jolicoeur, on being left lonely in the world save for thecompanionship of her adored Shah de Perse, should entertain expectationsof the future that were antipodal and antagonistic: on the one hand, ofan austere life suitable to a widow of a reasonable maturity and of anassured position; on the other hand, of a life, not austere, suitable toa widow still of a provocatively fresh plumpness and by birth aMarseillaise. 

Had Madame Jolicoeur possessed a severe temperament and a resolutemind--possessions inherently improbable, in view of her birthplace--shewould have made her choice between these equally possible futures with apromptness and with a finality that would have left nothing at looseends. So endowed, she would have emphasized her not excessive age by aslightly excessive gravity of dress and of deportment; and would haveadorned it, and her dignified widowhood, by becoming dévote: andthereafter, clinging with a modest ostentation only to her piety, wouldhave radiated, as time made its marches, an always increasinglyexemplary grace. But as Madame Jolicoeur did not possess atemperament that even bordered on severity, and as her mind was a sortthat made itself up in at least twenty different directions in a singlemoment--as she was, in short, an entirely typical and therefore anentirely delightful Provençale--the situation was so much too much forher that, by the process of formulating a great variety ofirreconcilable conclusions, she left everything at loose ends by notmaking any choice at all. 

In effect, she simply stood attendant upon what the future had in storefor her: and meanwhile avowedly clung only, in default of piety, to heradored Shah de Perse--to whom was given, as she declared in disconsolatenegligence of her still provocatively fresh plumpness, all of thebestowable affection that remained in the devastated recesses of herwithered heart. 

To preclude any possibility of compromising misunderstanding, it is butjust to Madame Jolicoeur to explain at once that the personage thus inreceipt of the contingent remainder of her blighted affections--far frombeing, as his name would suggest, an Oriental potentate temporarilydomiciled in Marseille to whom she had taken something more than apassing fancy--was a Persian superb black cat; and a cat of such rareexcellencies of character and of acquirements as fully to deserve all ofthe affection that any heart of the right sort--withered, orotherwise--was disposed to bestow upon him. 

Cats of his perfect beauty, of his perfect grace, possibly might befound, Madame Jolicoeur grudgingly admitted, in the Persian royalcatteries; but nowhere else in the Orient, and nowhere at all in theOccident, she declared with an energetic conviction, possibly couldthere be found a cat who even approached him in intellectualdevelopment, in wealth of interesting accomplishments, and, above all, in natural sweetness of disposition--a sweetness so marked that evenunder extreme provocation he never had been known to thrust out an angrypaw. This is not to say that the Shah de Perse was a characterless cat, a lymphatic nonentity. On occasion--usually in connection with food thatwas distasteful to him--he could have his resentments; but they weremanifested always with a dignified restraint. His nearest approach toill-mannered abruptness was to bat with a contemptuous paw the offendingmorsel from his plate; which brusque act he followed by fixing upon thebestower of unworthy food a coldly, but always politely, contemptuousstare. Ordinarily, however, his displeasure--in the matter of unsuitablefood, or in other matters--was exhibited by no more overt action thanhis retirement to a corner--he had his choices in corners, governed bythe intensity of his feelings--and there seating himself with his backturned scornfully to an offending world. Even in his kindliest corner, on such occasions, the expression of his scornful back was as a wholevolume of wingéd words!

But the rare little cat tantrums of the Shah de Perse--if to his sogentle excesses may be applied so strong a term--were but as sun-spotson the effulgence of his otherwise constant amiability. His regnantdesires, by which his worthy little life was governed, were to love andto please. He was the most cuddlesome cat, Madame Jolicoeurunhesitatingly asserted, that ever had lived; and he had a purr--softlythunderous and winningly affectionate--that was in keeping with hiscuddlesome ways. When, of his own volition, he would jump into herabundant lap and go to burrowing with his little soft round head beneathher soft round elbows, the while gurglingly purring forth his love forher, Madame Jolicoeur, quite justifiably, at times was moved to tears. Equally was his sweet nature exhibited in his always eager willingnessto show off his little train of cat accomplishments. He would give hispaw with a courteous grace to any lady or gentleman--he drew the casteline rigidly--who asked for it. For his mistress, he would spring to aconsiderable height and clutch with his two soft paws--never by anymistake scratching--her outstretched wrist, and so would remainsuspended while he delicately nibbled from between her fingers heredible offering. For her, he would make an almost painfully realpretence of being a dead cat: extending himself upon the rug with anexaggeratedly death-like rigidity--and so remaining until her command tobe alive again brought him briskly to rub himself, rising on his hindlegs and purring mellowly, against her comfortable knees. 

All of these interesting tricks, with various others that may be passedover, he would perform with a lively zest whenever set at them by a mereword of prompting; but his most notable trick was a game in which heengaged with his mistress not at word of command, but--such was hisintelligence--simply upon her setting the signal for it. The signal wasa close-fitting white cap--to be quite frank, a night-cap--that shetied upon her head when it was desired that the game should be played. 

It was of the game that Madame Jolicoeur should assume her cap with anair of detachment and aloofness: as though no such entity as the Shah dePerse existed, and with an insisted-upon disregard of the fact that hewas watching her alertly with his great golden eyes. Equally was it ofthe game that the Shah de Perse should affect--save for his alertwatching--a like disregard of the doings of Madame Jolicoeur: usuallyby an ostentatious pretence of washing his upraised hind leg, or by alike pretence of scrubbing his ears. These conventions duly having beenobserved, Madame Jolicoeur would seat herself in her especialeasy-chair, above the relatively high back of which her night-cappedhead a little rose. Being so seated, always with the air of aloofnessand detachment, she would take a book from the table and make a show ofbecoming absorbed in its contents. Matters being thus advanced, the Shahde Perse would make a show of becoming absorbed in searchings for animaginary mouse--but so would conduct his fictitious quest for thatsupposititious animal as eventually to achieve for himself a strategicposition close behind Madame Jolicoeur's chair. Then, dramatically, the pleasing end of the game would come: as the Shah de Perse--leapingwith the distinguishing grace and lightness of his Persian race--wouldflash upward and "surprise" Madame Jolicoeur by crowning herwhite-capped head with his small black person, all a-shake withtriumphant purrs! It was a charming little comedy--and so wellunderstood by the Shah de Perse that he never ventured to essay itunder other, and more intimate, conditions of night-cap use; even as henever failed to engage in it with spirit when his white lure properlywas set for him above the back of Madame Jolicoeur's chair. It was asthough to the Shah de Perse the white night-cap of Madame Jolicoeur, displayed in accordance with the rules of the game, were an oriflamme:akin to, but in minor points differing from, the helmet of Navarre. 

Being such a cat, it will be perceived that Madame Jolicoeur hadreason in her avowed intention to bestow upon him all of the bestowableaffection remnant in her withered heart's devastated recesses; and, equally, that she would not be wholly desolate, having such a cat tocomfort her, while standing impartially attendant upon the decrees offate. 

 * * * * *

To assert that any woman not conspicuously old and quite conspicuouslyof a fresh plumpness could be left in any city isolate, save for a cat'scompany, while the fates were spinning new threads for her, would be toput a severe strain upon credulity. To make that assertion specificallyof Madame Jolicoeur, and specifically--of all cities in the world!--ofMarseille, would be to strain credulity fairly to the breaking point. Onthe other hand, to assert that Madame Jolicoeur, in defence of herisolation, was disposed to plant machine-guns in the doorway of herdwelling--a house of modest elegance on the Pavé d'Amour, at thecrossing of the Rue Bausset--would be to go too far. Nor indeed--asidefrom the fact that the presence of such engines of destruction wouldnot have been tolerated by the other residents of the quietlyrespectable Pavé d'Amour--was Madame Jolicoeur herself, as has beenintimated, temperamentally inclined to go to such lengths asmachine-guns in maintenance of her somewhat waveringly desired privacyin a merely cat-enlivened solitude. 

Between these widely separated extremes of conjectural possibility laythe mediate truth of the matter: which truth--thus resembling preciousgold in its valueless rock matrix--lay embedded in, and was to beextracted from, the irresponsible utterances of the double row ofloosely hung tongues, always at hot wagging, ranged along the two sidesof the Rue Bausset. 

Madame Jouval, a milliner of repute--delivering herself with thegenerosity due to a good customer from whom an order for a trousseau wasa not unremote possibility, yet with the acumen perfected by herprofessional experiences--summed her views of the situation, in talkwith Madame Vic, proprietor of the Vic bakery, in these words: "It is ofthe convenances, and equally is it of her own melancholy necessities, that this poor Madame retires for a season to sorrow in a suitableseclusion in the company of her sympathetic cat. Only in such retreatcan she give vent fitly to her desolating grief. But after storm comessunshine: and I am happily assured by her less despairing appearance, and by the new mourning that I have been making for her, that even now, from the bottomless depth of her affliction, she looks beyond thestorm. "

"I well believe it!" snapped Madame Vic. "That the appearance of MadameJolicoeur at any time has been despairing is a matter that hasescaped my notice. As to the mourning that she now wears, it is adefiance of all propriety. Why, with no more than that of colour in herfrock"--Madame Vic upheld her thumb and finger infinitesimallyseparated--"and with a mere pin-point of a flower in her bonnet, shewould be fit for the opera!"

Madame Vic spoke with a caustic bitterness that had its roots. Her ownventure in second marriage had been catastrophic--so catastrophic thather neglected bakery had gone very much to the bad. Still more closelyto the point, Madame Jolicoeur--incident to finding entomologicspecimens misplaced in her breakfast-rolls--had taken the leading partin an interchange of incivilities with the bakery's proprietor, and hadwithdrawn from it her custom. 

"And even were her mournings not a flouting of her short year ofwidowhood, " continued Madame Vic, with an acrimony that abbreviated theterm of widowhood most unfairly--"the scores of eligible suitors whoopenly come streaming to her door, and are welcomed there, are astrumpets proclaiming her audacious intentions and her indecorousdesires. Even Monsieur Brisson is in that outrageous procession! Is itnot enough that she should entice a repulsively bald-headed notary andan old rake of a major to make their brazen advances, without sufferingthis anatomy of a pharmacien to come treading on their heels?--he withhis hands imbrued in the life-blood of the unhappy old woman whom hismismade prescription sent in agony to the tomb! Pah! I have no patiencewith her! She and her grief and her seclusion and her sympathetic cat, indeed! It all is a tragedy of indiscretion--that shapes itself as arevolting farce!"

It will be observed that Madame Vic, in framing her bill of particulars, practically reduced her alleged scores of Madame Jolicoeur's suitorsto precisely two--since the bad third was handicapped so heavily by thatnotorious matter of the mismade prescription as to be a negligiblequantity, quite out of the race. Indeed, it was only the preposteroustemerity of Monsieur Brisson--despairingly clutching at any chance toretrieve his broken fortunes--that put him in the running at all. Withthe others, in such slighting terms referred to by Madame Vic--MonsieurPeloux, a notary of standing, and the Major Gontard, of the Twenty-ninthof the Line--the case was different. It had its sides. 

"That this worthy lady reasonably may desire again to wed, " declaredMonsieur Fromagin, actual proprietor of the Épicerie Russe--anestablishment liberally patronized by Madame Jolicoeur--"is as true asthat when she goes to make her choosings between these estimablegentlemen she cannot make a choice that is wrong. "

Madame Gauthier, a clear-starcher of position, to whom Monsieur Fromaginthus addressed himself, was less broadly positive. "That is a matter ofopinion, " she answered; and added: "To go no further than the verybeginning, Monsieur should perceive that her choice has exactly fiftychances in the hundred of going wrong: lying, as it does, between ameagre, sallow-faced creature of a death-white baldness, and a fine bigpattern of a man, strong and ruddy, with a close-clipped but abundantthatch on his head, and a moustache that admittedly is superb!"

"Ah, there speaks the woman!" said Monsieur Fromagin, with a patronizingsmile distinctly irritating. "Madame will recognize--if she will butbring herself to look a little beyond the mere outside--that what I haveadvanced is not a matter of opinion but of fact. Observe: Here isMonsieur Peloux--to whose trifling leanness and aristocratic baldnessthe thoughtful give no attention--easily a notary in the very firstrank. As we all know, his services are sought in cases of the mostexigent importance--"

"For example, " interrupted Madame Gauthier, "the case of the insurancesolicitor, in whose countless defraudings my own brother was a sufferer:a creature of a vileness, whose deserts were unnumbered ages ofdungeons--and who, thanks to the chicaneries of Monsieur Peloux, at thismoment walks free as air!"

"It is of the professional duty of advocates, " replied MonsieurFromagin, sententiously, "to defend their clients; on the successfuldischarge of that duty--irrespective of minor details--depends theirfame. Madame neglects the fact that Monsieur Peloux, by his masterlyconduct of the case that she specifies, won for himself from his legalcolleagues an immense applause. "

"The more shame to his legal colleagues!" commented Madame Gauthiercurtly. 

"But leaving that affair quite aside, " continued Monsieur Fromaginairily, but with insistence, "here is this notable advocate who reposeshis important homages at Madame Jolicoeur's feet: he a man of an agethat is suitable, without being excessive; who has in the community anassured position; whose more than moderate wealth is known. I insist, therefore, that should she accept his homages she would do well. "

"And I insist, " declared Madame Gauthier stoutly, "that should she turnher back upon the Major Gontard she would do most ill!"

"Madame a little disregards my premises, " Monsieur Fromagin spoke in atone of forbearance, "and therefore a little argues--it is the privilegeof her sex--against the air. Distinctly, I do not exclude from MadameJolicoeur's choice that gallant Major: whose rank--now approaching himto the command of a regiment, and fairly equalling the position at thebar achieved by Monsieur Peloux--has been won, grade by grade, by deedsof valour in his African campaignings which have made him conspicuouseven in the army that stands first in such matters of all the armies ofthe world. Moreover--although, admittedly, in that way Monsieur Pelouxmakes a better showing--he is of an easy affluence. On the Camargue hehas his excellent estate in vines, from which comes a revenue more thansufficing to satisfy more than modest wants. At Les Martigues he has hischarming coquette villa, smothered in the flowers of his own planting, to which at present he makes his agreeable escapes from his militaryduties; and in which, when his retreat is taken, he will pass softly hissunset years. With these substantial points in his favour, the standingof the Major Gontard in this matter practically is of a parity with thestanding of Monsieur Peloux. Equally, both are worthy of MadameJolicoeur's consideration: both being able to continue her in the lifeof elegant comfort to which she is accustomed; and both being on asocial plane--it is of her level accurately--to which the widow of aningénieur des ponts et chaussées neither steps up nor steps down. Havingnow made clear, I trust, my reasonings, I repeat the proposition withwhich Madame took issue: When Madame Jolicoeur goes to make herchoosings between these estimable gentlemen she cannot make a choicethat is wrong. "

"And I repeat, Monsieur, " said Madame Gauthier, lifting her basket fromthe counter, "that in making her choosings Madame Jolicoeur eithergoes to raise herself to the heights of a matured happiness, or toplunge herself into bald-headed abysses of despair. Yes, Monsieur, thatfar apart are her choosings!" And Madame Gauthier added, in communionwith herself as she passed to the street with her basket: "As for me, itwould be that adorable Major by a thousand times!"

 * * * * *

As was of reason, since hers was the first place in the matter, MadameJolicoeur herself carried on debatings--in the portion of her heartthat had escaped complete devastation--identical in essence with thedebatings of her case which went up and down the Rue Bausset. 

Not having become dévote--in the year and more of opportunity open toher for a turn in that direction--one horn of her original dilemma hadbeen eliminated, so to say, by atrophy. Being neglected, it hadwithered: with the practical result that out of her very indecisions hadcome a decisive choice. But to her new dilemma, of which the horns werethe Major and the Notary--in the privacy of her secret thoughts she madeno bones of admitting that this dilemma confronted her--the atrophyingprocess was not applicable; at least, not until it could be applied witha sharp finality. Too long dallied with, it very well might lead to theatrophy of both of them in dudgeon; and thence onward, conceivably, toher being left to cling only to the Shah de Perse for all the remainderof her days. 

Therefore, to the avoidance of that too radical conclusion, MadameJolicoeur engaged in her debatings briskly: offering to herself, ineffect, the balanced arguments advanced by Monsieur Fromagin in favourequally of Monsieur Peloux and of the Major Gontard; taking as her own, with moderating exceptions and emendations, the views of Madame Gauthieras to the meagreness and pallid baldness of the one and the sturdinessand gallant bearing of the other; considering, from the standpoint ofher own personal knowledge in the premises, the Notary's dispositiontoward a secretive reticence that bordered upon severity, in contrastwith the cordially frank and debonair temperament of the Major; and, atthe back of all, keeping well in mind the fundamental truths thatopportunity ever is evanescent and that time ever is on the wing. 

As the result of her debatings, and not less as the result of experiencegained in her earlier campaigning, Madame Jolicoeur took up astrategic position nicely calculated to inflame the desire for, byassuming the uselessness of, an assault. In set terms, confirmingparticularly her earlier and more general avowal, she declared equallyto the Major and to the Notary that absolutely the whole of herbestowable affection--of the remnant in her withered heart available fordistribution--was bestowed upon the Shah de Perse: and so, with analluring nonchalance, left them to draw the logical conclusion thattheir strivings to win that desirable quantity were idle--since adefinite disposition of it already had been made. 

The reply of the Major Gontard to this declaration was in keeping withhis known amiability, but also was in keeping with his military habit ofcommand. "Assuredly, " he said, "Madame shall continue to bestow, withinreason, her affections upon Monsieur le Shah; and with them that braveanimal--he is a cat of ten thousand--shall have my affections as well. Already, knowing my feeling for him, we are friends--as Madame shall seeto her own convincing. " Addressing himself in tones of kindly persuasionto the Shah de Perse, he added: "Viens, Monsieur!"--whereupon the Shahde Perse instantly jumped himself to the Major's knee and broke forth, in response to a savant rubbing of his soft little jowls, into hisgurgling purr. "Voilà, Madame!" continued the Major. "It is to beperceived that we have our good understandings, the Shah de Perse and I. That we all shall live happily together tells itself without words. Butobserve"--of a sudden the voice of the Major thrilled with a deepearnestness, and his style of address changed to a familiarity that onlythe intensity of his feeling condoned--"I am resolved that to me, aboveall, shall be given thy dear affections. Thou shalt give me the perfectflower of them--of that fact rest thou assured. In thy heart I am to bethe very first--even as in my heart thou thyself art the very first ofall the world. In Africa I have had my successes in my conquests andholdings of fortresses. Believe me, I shall have an equal success inconquering and in holding the sweetest fortress in France!"

Certainly, the Major Gontard had a bold way with him. But that it hadits attractions, not to say its compellings, Madame Jolicoeur couldnot honestly deny. 

On the part of the Notary--whose disposition, fostered by hisprofession, was toward subtlety rather than toward boldness--MadameJolicoeur's declaration of cat rights was received with no suchbelligerent blare of trumpets and beat of drums. He met it with a lightshow of banter--beneath which, to come to the surface later, lay hiddendark thoughts. 

"Madame makes an excellent pleasantry, " he said with a smile of theblandest. "Without doubt, not a very flattering pleasantry--but I knowthat her denial of me in favour of her cat is but a jesting at which weboth may laugh. And we may laugh together the better because, in theroots of her jesting, we have our sympathies. I also have an intensityof affection for cats"--to be just to Monsieur Peloux, who loathed cats, it must be said that he gulped as he made this flagrantly untruthfulstatement--"and with this admirable cat, so dear to Madame, it goes tomake itself that we speedily become enduring friends. "

Curiously enough--a mere coincidence, of course--as the Notary utteredthese words so sharply at points with veracity, in the very moment ofthem, the Shah de Perse stiffly retired into his sulkiest corner andturned what had every appearance of being a scornful back upon theworld. 

Judiciously ignoring this inopportunely equivocal incident, MonsieurPeloux reverted to the matter in chief and concluded his deliverance inthese words: "I well understand, I repeat, that Madame for the momentmakes a comedy of herself and of her cat for my amusing. But I persuademyself that her droll fancyings will not be lasting, and that she willbe serious with me in the end. Until then--and then most of all--I am ather feet humbly: an unworthy, but a very earnest, suppliant for hergood-will. Should she have the cruelty to refuse my supplication, itwill remain with me to die in an unmerited despair!"

Certainly, this was an appeal--of a sort. But even without perceivingthe mitigating subtlety of its comminative final clause--so skilfullyworded as to leave Monsieur Peloux free to bring off his threatenedunmeritedly despairing death quite at his own convenience--MadameJolicoeur did not find it satisfying. In contrast with the MajorGontard's ringingly audacious declarations of his habits in dealing withfortresses, she felt that it lacked force. And, also--this, of course, was a sheer weakness--she permitted herself to be influenced appreciablyby the indicated preferences of the Shah de Perse: who had jumped to theknee of the Major with an affectionate alacrity; and who undeniably hadturned on the Notary--either by chance or by intention--a back of scorn. 

As the general outcome of these several developments, MadameJolicoeur's debatings came to have in them--if I so may state thetrend of her mental activities--fewer bald heads and more moustaches;and her never severely set purpose to abide in a loneliness relievedonly by the Shah de Perse was abandoned root and branch. 

 * * * * *

While Madame Jolicoeur continued her debatings--which, in theirmodified form, manifestly were approaching her to conclusions--water wasrunning under bridges elsewhere. 

In effect, her hesitancies produced a period of suspense that gaveopportunity for, and by the exasperating delay of it stimulated, theresolution of the Notary's dark thoughts into darker deeds. With reason, he did not accept at its face value Madame Jolicoeur's declarationtouching the permanent bestowal of her remnant affections; but he didbelieve that there was enough in it to make the Shah de Perse a delayingobstacle to his own acquisition of them. When obstacles got in thisgentleman's way it was his habit to kick them out of it--a habit thathad not been unduly stunted by half a lifetime of successful practice atthe criminal bar. 

Because of his professional relations with them, Monsieur Peloux had anextensive acquaintance among criminals of varying shades ofintensity--at times, in his dubious doings, they could be useful tohim--hidden away in the shadowy nooks and corners of the city; and healso had his emissaries through whom they could be reached. All theconditions thus standing attendant upon his convenience, it was a facilematter for him to make an appointment with one of these disreputablesat a cabaret of bad record in the Quartier de la Tourette: aregion--bordering upon the north side of the Vieux Port--that is at oncethe oldest and the foulest quarter of Marseille. 

In going to keep this appointment--as was his habit on such occasions, in avoidance of possible spying upon his movements--he went deviously:taking a cab to the Bassin de Carènage, as though some maritime matterengaged him, and thence making the transit of the Vieux Port in a bateaumouche. It was while crossing in the ferryboat that a sudden shudderingbeset him: as he perceived with horror--but without repentance--the pitinto which he descended. In his previous, always professional, meetingswith criminals his position had been that of unassailable dominance. Inhis pending meeting--since he himself would be not only a criminal butan inciter to crime--he would be, in the essence of the matter, theunder dog. Beneath his seemly black hat his bald head went whiter thaneven its normal deathly whiteness, and perspiration started from itsevery pore. Almost with a groan, he removed his hat and dried with hishandkerchief what were in a way his tears of shame. 

Over the interview between Monsieur Peloux and his hireling--cheerfullymoistened, on the side of the hireling, with absinthe of a vileness inkeeping with its place of purchase--decency demands the partial drawingof a veil. In brief, Monsieur Peloux--his guilty eyes averted, theshame-tears streaming afresh from his bald head--presented his criminaldemand and stated the sum that he would pay for its gratification. Thissum--being in keeping with his own estimate of what it paid for--was somuch in excess of the hireling's views concerning the value of a merecat-killing that he fairly jumped at it. 

"Be not disturbed, Monsieur!" he replied, with the fervour of one reallygrateful, and with the expansive extravagance of a Marseillais keyed upwith exceptionally bad absinthe. "Be not disturbed in the smallest! Inthis very coming moment this camel of a cat shall die a thousand deaths;and in but another moment immeasurable quantities of salt and ashesshall obliterate his justly despicable grave! To an instantaccomplishment of Monsieur's wishes I pledge whole-heartedly the word ofan honest man. "

Actually--barring the number of deaths to be inflicted on the Shah dePerse, and the needlessly defiling concealment of his burial-place--thisradical treatment of the matter was precisely what Monsieur Pelouxdesired; and what, in terms of innuendo and euphuism, he had asked for. But the brutal frankness of the hireling, and his evident delight insinning for good wages, came as an arousing shock to the enfeebledremnant of the Notary's better nature--with a resulting vacillation ofpurpose to which he would have risen superior had he been longerhabituated to the ways of crime. 

"No! No!" he said weakly. "I did not mean that--by no means all of that. At least--that is to say--you will understand me, my good man, thatenough will be done if you remove the cat from Marseille. Yes, that iswhat I mean--take it somewhere. Take it to Cassis, to Arles, toAvignon--where you will--and leave it there. The railway ticket is mycharge--and, also, you have an extra napoléon for your refreshment bythe way. Yes, that suffices. In a bag, you know--and soon!"

Returning across the Vieux Port in the bateau mouche, Monsieur Peloux nolonger shuddered in dread of crime to be committed--his shuddering wasfor accomplished crime. On his bald head, unheeded, the gushing tears ofshame accumulated in pools. 

 * * * * *

When leaves of absence permitted him to make retirements to his coquettelittle estate at Les Martigues, the Major Gontard was as anotherCincinnatus: with the minor differences that the lickerish cookings ofthe brave Marthe--his old femme de ménage: a veritable protagonist amongcooks, even in Provence--checked him on the side of severe simplicity;that he would have welcomed with effusion lictors, or others, come toannounce his advance to a regiment; and that he made no use whatever ofa plow. 

In the matter of the plow, he had his excuses. His two or three acres ofland lay on a hillside banked in tiny terraces--quite unsuited to theuse of that implement--and the whole of his agricultural energies weregiven to the cultivation of flowers. Among his flowers, intelligentlyassisted by old Michel, he worked with a zeal bred of his affection forthem; and after his workings, when the cool of evening was come, smokedhis pipe refreshingly while seated on the vine-bowered estrade beforehis trim villa on the crest of the slope: the while sniffing with a justinterest at the fumes of old Marthe's cookings, and placidly delightingin the ever-new beauties of the sunsets above the distant mountains andtheir near-by reflected beauties in the waters of the Étang de Berre. 

Save in his professional relations with recalcitrant inhabitants ofNorthern Africa, he was of a gentle nature, this amiable warrior: everkindly, when kindliness was deserved, in all his dealings with mankind. Equally, his benevolence was extended to the lower orders ofanimals--that it was understood, and reciprocated, the willing jumpingof the Shah de Perse to his friendly knee made manifest--and wasexhibited in practical ways. Naturally, he was a liberal contributor tothe funds of the Société protectrice des animaux; and, what was more tothe purpose, it was his well-rooted habit to do such protecting as wasnecessary, on his own account, when he chanced upon any sufferingcreature in trouble or in pain. 

Possessing these commendable characteristics, it follows that the doingsof the Major Gontard in the railway station at Pas de Lanciers--on theday sequent to the day on which Monsieur Peloux was the promoter of acriminal conspiracy--could not have been other than they were. Equallydoes it follow that his doings produced the doings of the man with thebag. 

Pas de Lanciers is the little station at which one changes trains ingoing from Marseille to Les Martigues. Descending from a first-classcarriage, the Major Gontard awaited the Martigues train--his leave wasfor two days, and his thoughts were engaged pleasantly with thebreakfast that old Marthe would have ready for him and with plans forhis flowers. From a third-class carriage descended the man with thebag, who also awaited the Martigues train. Presently--the two happeningto come together in their saunterings up and down the platform--theMajor's interest was aroused by observing that within the bag went on apersistent wriggling; and his interest was quickened into characteristicaction when he heard from its interior, faintly but quite distinctly, avery pitiful half-strangled little mew!

"In another moment, " said the Major, addressing the man sharply, "thatcat will be suffocated. Open the bag instantly and give it air!"

"Pardon, Monsieur, " replied the man, starting guiltily. "This excellentcat is not suffocating. In the bag it breathes freely with all itslungs. It is a pet cat, having the habitude to travel in this manner;and, because it is of a friendly disposition, it is accustomed thus tomake its cheerful little remarks. " By way of comment upon thisexplanation, there came from the bag another half-strangled mew that wasnot at all suggestive of cheerfulness. It was a faint miserablemew--that told of cat despair!

At that juncture a down train came in on the other side of the platform, a train on its way to Marseille. 

"Thou art a brute!" said the Major, tersely. "I shall not suffer thycruelties to continue!" As he spoke, he snatched away the bag from itsuneasy possessor and applied himself to untying its confining cord. Oppressed by the fear that goes with evil-doing, the man hesitated for amoment before attempting to retrieve what constructively was hisproperty. 

In that fateful moment the bag opened and a woebegone little blackcat-head appeared; and then the whole of a delighted little blackcat-body emerged--and cuddled with joy-purrs of recognition in itsdeliverer's arms! Within the sequent instant the recognition was mutual. "Thunder of guns!" cried the Major. "It is the Shah de Perse!"

Being thus caught red-handed, the hireling of Monsieur Peloux cowered. "Brigand!" continued the Major. "Thou hast ravished away this charmingcat by the foulest of robberies. Thou art worse than the scum of Arabcamp-followings. And if I had thee to myself, over there in the desert, "he added grimly, "thou shouldst go the same way!"

All overawed by the Major's African attitude, the hireling took towhining. "Monsieur will believe me when I tell him that I am but anunhappy tool--I, an honest man whom a rich tempter, taking advantage ofmy unmerited poverty, has betrayed into crime. Monsieur himself shalljudge me when I have told him all!" And then--with creditablyimaginative variations on the theme of a hypothetical dying wife incombination with six supposititious starving children--the man cameclose enough to telling all to make clear that his backer incat-stealing was Monsieur Peloux!

With a gasp of astonishment, the Major again took the word. "Whatmatters it, animal, by whom thy crime was prompted? Thou art theperpetrator of it--and to thee comes punishment! Shackles and prisonsare in store for thee! I shall--"

But what the Major Gontard had in mind to do toward assisting the marchof retributive justice is immaterial--since he did not do it. Even ashe spoke--in these terms of doom that qualifying conditions rendereddoomless--the man suddenly dodged past him, bolted across the platform, jumped to the foot-board of a carriage of the just-starting train, cleverly bundled himself through an open window, and so was gone:leaving the Major standing lonely, with impotent rage filling his heart, and with the Shah de Perse all a purring cuddle in his arms!

Acting on a just impulse, the Major Gontard sped to the telegraphoffice. Two hours must pass before he could follow the miscreant; butthe departed train ran express to Marseille, and telegraphic heading-offwas possible. To his flowers, and to the romance of a breakfast that oldMarthe by then was in the very act of preparing for him, his thoughtswent in bitter relinquishment: but his purpose was stern! Plumping theShah de Perse down anyway on the telegraph table, and seizing a penfiercely, he began his writings. And then, of a sudden, an inspirationcame to him that made him stop in his writings--and that changed hisflames of anger into flames of joy. 

His first act under the influence of this new and better emotion was totear his half-finished dispatch into fragments. His second act was toassuage the needs, physical and psychical, of the Shah de Perse--near tocollapse for lack of food and drink, and his little cat feelings hurt byhis brusque deposition on the telegraph table--by carrying him tenderlyto the buffet; and there--to the impolitely over-obvious amusement ofthe buffetière--purchasing cream without stint for the allaying of hisfamishings. To his feasting the Shah de Perse went with the avid energybegotten of his bag-compelled long fast. Dipping his little red tonguedeep into the saucer, he lapped with a vigour that all cream-splatteredhis little black nose. Yet his admirable little cat manners were notforgotten: even in the very thick of his eager lappings--patheticallyeager, in view of the cause of them--he purred forth gratefully, with agurgling chokiness, his earnest little cat thanks. 

As the Major Gontard watched this pleasing spectacle his heart was allaglow within him and his face was of a radiance comparable only withthat of an Easter-morning sun. To himself he was saying: "It is a dreamthat has come to me! With the disgraced enemy in retreat, and with theShah de Perse for my banner, it is that I hold victoriously the wholeuniverse in the hollow of my hand!"

 * * * * *

While stopping appreciably short of claiming for himself a clutch uponthe universe, Monsieur Peloux also had his satisfactions on the eveningof the day that had witnessed the enlèvement of the Shah de Perse. Byhis own eyes he knew certainly that that iniquitous kidnapping of avirtuous cat had been effected. In the morning the hireling had broughtto him in his private office the unfortunate Shah de Perse--allunhappily bagged, and even then giving vent to his patheticcomplainings--and had exhibited him, as a pièce justificatif, whenmaking his demand for railway fare and the promised extra napolèon. Inthe mid-afternoon the hireling had returned, with the satisfyingannouncement that all was accomplished: that he had carried the cat toPas de Lanciers, of an adequate remoteness, and there had left him witha person in need of a cat who received him willingly. Being literallytrue, this statement had in it so convincing a ring of sincerity thatMonsieur Peloux paid down in full the blood-money and dismissed hisbravo with commendation. Thereafter, being alone, he rubbed hishands--gladly thinking of what was in the way to happen in sequence tothe permanent removal of this cat stumbling-block from his path. Although professionally accustomed to consider the possibilities ofpermutation, the known fact that petards at times are retroactive didnot present itself to his mind. 

And yet--being only an essayist in crime, still unhardened--certaincompunctions beset him as he approached himself, on the to-be eventfulevening of that eventful day, to the door of Madame Jolicoeur'smodestly elegant dwelling on the Pavé d'Amour. In the back of his headwere justly self-condemnatory thoughts, to the general effect that hewas a blackguard and deserved to be kicked. In the dominant front of hishead, however, were thoughts of a more agreeable sort: of how he wouldfind Madame Jolicoeur all torn and rent by the bitter sorrow of herbereavement; of how he would pour into her harried heart a flood ofsympathy by which that injured organ would be soothed and mollified; ofhow she would be lured along gently to requite his tender condolencewith a softening gratitude--that presently would merge easily into theyet softer phrase of love! It was a well-made program, and it had itskernel of reason in his recognized ability to win bad causes--as thatof the insurance solicitor--by emotional pleadings which in the samebreath lured to lenience and made the intrinsic demerits of the causeobscure. 

"Madame dines, " was the announcement that met Monsieur Peloux when, inresponse to his ring, Madame Jolicoeur's door was opened for him by atrim maid-servant. "But Madame already has continued so long herdining, " added the maid-servant, with a glint in her eyes that escapedhis preoccupied attention, "that in but another instant must come theend. If M'sieu' will have the amiability to await her in the salon, itwill be for but a point of time!"

Between this maid-servant and Monsieur Peloux no love was lost. Instinctively he was aware of, and resented, her views--practicallyidentical with those expressed by Madame Gauthier to MonsieurFromagin--touching his deserts as compared with the deserts of the MajorGontard. Moreover, she had personal incentives to take her revenges. From Monsieur Peloux, her only vail had been a miserable two-francChristmas box. From the Major, as from a perpetually verdantChristmas-tree, boxes of bonbons and five-franc pieces at all timesdescended upon her in showers. 

Without perceiving the curious smile that accompanied this youngperson's curiously cordial invitation to enter, he accepted theinvitation and was shown into the salon: where he seated himself--aleft-handedness of which he would have been incapable had he been lessperturbed--in Madame Jolicoeur's own special chair. An anatomicalvagary of the Notary's meagre person was the undue shortness of his bodyand the undue length of his legs. Because of this eccentricity ofproportion, his bald head rose above the back of the chair to a heightapproximately identical with that of its normal occupant. 

His waiting time--extending from its promised point to what seemed tohim to be a whole geographical meridian--went slowly. To relieve it, he took a book from the table, and in a desultory manner turned theleaves. While thus perfunctorily engaged, he heard the clicking of anopening door, and then the sound of voices: of Madame Jolicoeur'svoice, and of a man's voice--which latter, coming nearer, he recognizedbeyond all doubting as the voice of the Major Gontard. Of other voicesthere was not a sound: whence the compromising fact was obvious thatthe two had gone through that long dinner together, and alone! Knowing, as he did, Madame Jolicoeur's habitual disposition toward theconvenances--willingly to be boiled in oil rather than in the smallestparticular to abrade them--he perceived that only two explanations ofthe situation were possible: either she had lapsed of a sudden intomadness; or--the thought was petrifying--the Major Gontard had won outin his French campaigning on his known conquering African lines. Thecheerfully sane tone of the lady's voice forbade him to clutch at thepoor solace to be found in the first alternative--and so forced him toaccept the second. Yielding for a moment to his emotions, thedeath-whiteness of his bald head taking on a still deathlier pallor, Monsieur Peloux buried his face in his hands and groaned. 

In that moment of his obscured perception a little black personagetrotted into the salon on soundless paws. Quite possibly, in his thenoverwrought condition, had Monsieur Peloux seen this personage enter hewould have shrieked--in the confident belief that before him was a catghost! Pointedly, it was not a ghost. It was the happy little Shah dePerse himself--all a-frisk with the joy of his blessed home-coming andvery much alive! Knowing, as I do, many of the mysterious ways of littlecat souls, I even venture to believe that his overbubbling gladnesslargely was due to his sympathetic perception of the gladness that hishome-coming had brought to two human hearts. 

Certainly, all through that long dinner the owners of those hearts haddone their best, by their pettings and their pamperings of him, to makehim a participant in their deep happiness; and he, gratefullyrespondent, had made his affectionate thankings by going through all ofhis repertory of tricks--with one exception--again and again. Naturally, his great trick, while unexhibited, repeatedly had been referred to. Blushing delightfully, Madame Jolicoeur had told about the night-capthat was a necessary part of it; and had promised--blushing still moredelightfully--that at some time, in the very remote future, the Majorshould see it performed. For my own part, because of my knowledge oflittle cat souls, I am persuaded that the Shah de Perse, while missingthe details of this love-laughing talk, did get into his head thegeneral trend of it; and therefore did trot on in advance into the salonwith his little cat mind full of the notion that Madame Jolicoeurimmediately would follow him--to seat herself, duly night-capped, bookin hand, in signal for their game of surprises to begin. 

Unconscious of the presence of the Shah de Perse, tortured by the gaytones of the approaching voices, clutching his book vengefully as thoughit were a throat, his bald head beaded with the sweat of agony and thepallor of it intensified by his poignant emotion, Monsieur Peloux satrigid in Madame Jolicoeur's chair!

 * * * * *

"It is declared, " said Monsieur Brisson, addressing himself to MadameJouval, for whom he was in the act of preparing what was spoken ofbetween them as "the tonic, " a courteous euphuism, "that that villainNotary, aided by a bandit hired to his assistance, was engaged inadministering poison to the cat; and that the brave animal, freeingitself from the bandit's holdings, tore to destruction the whole of hisbald head--and then triumphantly escaped to its home!"

"A sight to see is that head of his!" replied Madame Jouval. "So swathedis it in bandages, that the turban of the Grand Turk is less!" MadameJouval spoke in tones of satisfaction that were of reason--already shehad held conferences with Madame Jolicoeur in regard to the trousseau. 

"And all, " continued Monsieur Brisson, with rancour, "because of hisjealousies of the cat's place in Madame Jolicoeur's affections--theaffections which he so hopelessly hoped, forgetful of his ownrepulsiveness, to win for himself!"

"Ah, she has done well, that dear lady, " said Madame Jouval warmly. "Asbetween the Notary--repulsive, as Monsieur justly terms him--and thecharming Major, her instincts rightly have directed her. To her worthycat, who aided in her choosing, she has reason to be grateful. Now hercruelly wounded heart will find solace. That she should wed again, andhappily, was Heaven's will. "

"It was the will of the baggage herself!" declared Monsieur Brisson withbitterness. "Hardly had she put on her travesty of a mourning than shebegan her oglings of whole armies of men!"

Aside from having confected with her own hands the mourning to whichMonsieur Brisson referred so disparagingly, Madame Jouval was not one tohear calmly the ascription of the term baggage--the word has not lost inits native French, as it has lost in its naturalized English, itsoriginal epithetical intensity--to a patroness from whom she was in thevery article of receiving an order for an exceptionally rich trousseau. Naturally, she bristled. "Monsieur must admit at least, " she saidsharply, "that her oglings did not come in his direction;" and with anirritatingly smooth sweetness added: "As to the dealings of MonsieurPeloux with the cat, Monsieur doubtless speaks with an assuredknowledge. Remembering, as we all do, the affair of the unhappy oldwoman, it is easy to perceive that to Monsieur, above all others, anyone in need of poisonings would come!"

The thrust was so keen that for the moment Monsieur Brisson met it onlywith a savage glare. Then the bottle that he handed to Madame Jouvalinspired him with an answer. "Madame is in error, " he said withpoliteness. "For poisons it is possible to go variously elsewhere--as, for example, to Madame's tongue. " Had he stopped with that retortcourteous, but also searching, he would have done well. He did ill byadding to it the retort brutal: "But that old women of necessity come tome for their hair-dyes is another matter. That much I grant to Madamewith all good will. "

Admirably restraining herself, Madame Jouval replied in tones ofsympathy: "Monsieur receives my commiserations in his misfortunes. "Losing a large part of her restraint, she continued, her eyesglittering: "Yet Monsieur's temperament clearly is over-sanguine. It isnot less than a miracle of absurdity that he imagined: that he, weighteddown with his infamous murderings of scores of innocent old women, hadeven a chance the most meagre of realizing his ridiculous aspirations ofMadame Jolicoeur's hand!" Snatching up her bottle and making for thedoor, without any restraint whatever she added: "Monsieur and hisaspirations are a tragedy of stupidity--and equally are abounding in allthe materials for a farce at the Palais de Cristal!"

Monsieur Brisson was cut off from opportunity to reply to this outburstby Madame Jouval's abrupt departure. His loss of opportunity had itsadvantages. An adequate reply to her discharge of such a volley of hometruths would have been difficult to frame. 

 * * * * *

In the Vic bakery, between Madame Vic and Monsieur Fromagin, adiscussion was in hand akin to that carried on between Monsieur Brissonand Madame Jouval--but marked with a somewhat nearer approach toaccuracy in detail. Being sequent to the settlement of MonsieurFromagin's monthly bill--always a matter of nettling dispute--itnaturally tended to develop its own asperities. 

"They say, " observed Monsieur Fromagin, "that the cat--it was among hismany tricks--had the habitude to jump on Madame Jolicoeur's head when, for that purpose, she covered it with a night-cap. The use of the cat'sclaws on such a covering, and, also, her hair being very abundant--"

"_Very_ abundant!" interjected Madame Vic; and added: "She, she is of arichness to buy wigs by the scores!"

"It was his custom, I say, " continued Monsieur Fromagin with insistence, "to steady himself after his leap by using lightly his claws. Hisillusion in regard to the bald head of the Notary, it would seem, led tothe catastrophe. Using his claws at first lightly, according to hishabit, he went on to use them with a truly savage energy--when he foundhimself as on ice on that slippery eminence and verging to a fall. "

"They say that his scalp was peeled away in strips and strings!" saidMadame Vic. "And all the while that woman and that reprobate of a Majorstanding by in shrieks and roars of laughter--never raising a hand tosave him from the beast's ferocities! The poor man has my sympathies. He, at least, in all his doings--I do not for a moment believe the storythat he caused the cat to be stolen--observed rigidly the convenances:so recklessly shattered by Madame Jolicoeur in her most compromisingdinner with the Major alone!"

"But Madame forgets that their dinner was in celebration of theirbetrothal--following Madame Jolicoeur's glad yielding, in justgratitude, when the Major heroically had rescued her deserving cat fromthe midst of its enemies and triumphantly had restored it to her arms. "

"It is the man's part, " responded Madame Vic, "to make the best of suchmatters. In the eyes of all right-minded women her conduct has been of ashamelessness from first to last: tossing and balancing the two of themfor months upon months; luring them, and countless others with them, toher feet; declaring always that for her disgusting cat's sake she willhave none of them; and ending by pretending brazenly that for her cat'ssake she bestows herself--second-hand remnant that she is--on thehandsomest man for his age, concerning his character it is well to besilent; that she could find for herself in all Marseille! On suchactions, on such a woman, Monsieur, the saints in heaven look down withan agonized scorn!"

"Only those of the saints, Madame, " said Monsieur Fromagin, warmlytaking up the cudgels for his best customer, "as in the matter of secondmarriages, prior to their arrival in heaven, have had regrettableexperiences. Equally, I venture to assert, a like qualification appliesto a like attitude on earth. That Madame has her prejudices, incident toher misfortunes, is known. "

"That Monsieur has his brutalities, incident to his regrettable badbreeding, also is known. His present offensiveness, however, passes alllimits. I request him to remove himself from my sight. " Madame Vic spokewith dignity. 

Speaking with less dignity, but with conviction--as Monsieur Fromaginleft the bakery--she added: "Monsieur, effectively, is a camel! I bestowupon him my disdain!"

 THOMAS A. JANVIER. 

A FRIENDLY RAT

Most of our animals, also many creeping things, such as our "wildewormes in woods, " common toads, natter-jacks, newts, and lizards, andstranger still, many insects, have been tamed and kept as pets. 

Badgers, otters, foxes, hares, and voles are easily dealt with; but thatany person should desire to fondle so prickly a creature as a hedgehog, or so diabolical a mammalian as the bloodthirsty flat-headed littleweasel, seems very odd. Spiders, too, are uncomfortable pets; you can'tcaress them as you could a dormouse; the most you can do is to provideyour spider with a clear glass bottle to live in, and teach him to comeout in response to a musical sound, drawn from a banjo or fiddle, totake a fly from your fingers and go back again to its bottle. 

An acquaintance of the writer is partial to adders as pets, and hehandles them as freely as the schoolboy does his innocuous ring-snake;Mr. Benjamin Kidd once gave us a delightful account of his pethumble-bees, who used to fly about his room, and come at call to be fed, and who manifested an almost painful interest in his coat buttons, examining them every day as if anxious to find out their truesignificance. Then there was my old friend, Miss Hopely, the writer onreptiles, who died recently, aged 99 years, who tamed newts, but whosefavourite pet was a slow-worm. She was never tired of expatiating onits lovable qualities. One finds Viscount Grey's pet squirrels moreengaging, for these are wild squirrels in a wood in Northumberland, whoquickly find out when he is at home and make their way to the house, scale the walls, and invade the library; then, jumping upon hiswriting-table, are rewarded with nuts, which they take from his hand. Another Northumbrian friend of the writer keeps, or kept, a petcormorant, and finds him no less greedy in the domestic than in the wildstate. After catching and swallowing fish all the morning in aneighbouring river, he wings his way home at meal-times, screaming to befed, and ready to devour all the meat and pudding he can get. 

The list of strange creatures might be extended indefinitely, evenfishes included; but who has ever heard of a tame pet rat? Not the smallwhite, pink-eyed variety, artificially bred, which one may buy at anydealer's, but a common brown rat, _Mus decumanus_, one of the commonestwild animals in England and certainly the most disliked. Yet this wonderhas been witnessed recently in the village of Lelant, in West Cornwall. Here is the strange story, which is rather sad and at the same time alittle funny. 

This was not a case of "wild nature won by kindness"; the rat simplythrust itself and its friendship on the woman of the cottage: and she, being childless and much alone in her kitchen and living-room, was notdispleased at its visits: on the contrary, she fed it; in return the ratgrew more and more friendly and familiar towards her, and the morefamiliar it grew, the more she liked the rat. The trouble was, shepossessed a cat, a nice gentle animal not often at home, but it wasdreadful to think of what might happen at any moment should pussy walkin when her visitor was with her. Then, one day, pussy did walk in whenthe rat was present, purring loudly, her tail held stiffly up, showingthat she was in her usual sweet temper. On catching sight of the rat, she appeared to know intuitively that it was there as a privilegedguest, while the rat on its part seemed to know, also by intuition, thatit had nothing to fear. At all events these two quickly became friendsand were evidently pleased to be together, as they now spent most of thetime in the room, and would drink milk from the same saucer, and sleepbunched up together, and were extremely intimate. 

By and by the rat began to busy herself making a nest in a corner of thekitchen under a cupboard, and it became evident that there would soon bean increase in the rat population. She now spent her time running aboutand gathering little straws, feathers, string, and anything of the kindshe could pick up, also stealing or begging for strips of cotton, orbits of wool and thread from the work-basket. Now it happened that herfriend was one of those cats with huge tufts of soft hair on the twosides of her face; a cat of that type, which is not uncommon, has aquaint resemblance to a Mid-Victorian gentleman with a pair ofmagnificent side-whiskers of a silky softness covering both cheeks andflowing down like a double beard. The rat suddenly discovered that thishair was just what she wanted to add a cushion-like lining to her nest, so that her naked pink little ratlings should be born into the softestof all possible worlds. At once she started plucking out the hairs, andthe cat, taking it for a new kind of game, but a little too rough toplease her, tried for a while to keep her head out of reach and to throwthe rat off. But she wouldn't be thrown off, and as she persisted inflying back and jumping at the cat's face and plucking the hairs, thecat quite lost her temper and administered a blow with her clawsunsheathed. 

The rat fled to her refuge to lick her wounds, and was no doubt as muchastonished at the sudden change in her friend's disposition as the cathad been at the rat's new way of showing her playfulness. The result wasthat when, after attending her scratches, she started upon her task ofgathering soft materials, she left the cat severely alone. They were nolonger friends; they simply ignored one another's presence in the room. The little ones, numbering about a dozen, presently came to light andwere quietly removed by the woman's husband, who didn't mind his missiskeeping a rat, but drew the line at one. 

The rat quickly recovered from her loss and was the same niceaffectionate little thing she had always been to her mistress; then afresh wonder came to light--cat and rat were fast friends once more!This happy state of things lasted a few weeks; but, as we know, the ratwas married, though her lord and master never appeared on the scene, indeed, he was not wanted; and very soon it became plain to see thatmore little rats were coming. The rat is an exceedingly prolificcreature; she can give a month's start to a rabbit and beat her at theend by about 40 points. 

Then came the building of the nest in the same old corner, and when itgot to the last stage and the rat was busily running about in search ofsoft materials for the lining, she once more made the discovery thatthose beautiful tufts of hair on her friend's face were just what shewanted, and once more she set vigorously to work pulling the hairs out. Again, as on the former occasion, the cat tried to keep her friend off, hitting her right and left with her soft pads, and spitting a little, just to show that she didn't like it. But the rat was determined to havethe hairs, and the more she was thrown off the more bent was she ongetting them, until the breaking-point was reached and puss, in a suddenrage, let fly, dealing blow after blow with lightning rapidity and withall the claws out. The rat, shrieking with pain and terror, rushed outof the room and was never seen again, to the lasting grief of hermistress. But its memory will long remain like a fragrance in thecottage--perhaps the only cottage in all this land where kindly feelingsfor the rat are cherished. 

 W. H. HUDSON. 

MONTY'S FRIEND

The discovery of gold at Thompson's Flat, near the northern boundary ofMontana, had been promptly followed by the expected rush of bold andneedy adventurers. But disappointment awaited them. Undoubtedly therewas gold a few feet below the surface, but it was not found inquantities sufficient to compensate for the labour, privation, anddanger, which the miners were compelled to undergo. 

It is true that the first discoverer of gold, who had given his name tothe Flat, had found a "pocket, " which had made him a rich man; but hisluck remained unique, and as Big Simpson sarcastically remarked, "A manmight as well try to find a pocket in a woman's dress as to search for asecond pocket in Thompson's Flat. " For eight months of the year theground was frozen deep and hard, and during the brief summer the heatwas intense. There were hostile Indians in the vicinity of the camp, andalthough little danger was to be apprehended from them while the campswarmed with armed miners, there was every probability that they wouldsooner or later attack the handful of men who had remained, after thegreat majority of the miners had abandoned their claims and gone insearch of more promising fields. 

In the early part of the summer following Thompson's discovery of goldthere were but thirty men left in the camp, with only a single combinedgrocery and saloon to minister to their wants. Partly because ofobstinacy, and partly because of a want of energy to repeat theexperiment of searching for gold in some other unprofitable place, thesethirty men remained, and daily prosecuted their nearly hopeless searchfor fortune. Their evenings were spent in the saloon, but there was aconspicuous absence of anything like jollity. The men were too poor togamble with any zest, and the whiskey of the saloon keeper was bad anddear. 

The one gleam of good fortune which had come to the camp was the factthat the Indians had disappeared, having, as it was believed, gonehundreds of miles south to attack another tribe. Gradually the minersrelaxed the precautions which had at first been maintained against anattack, and although every man went armed to his work, sentinels were nolonger posted either by day or night, and the Gatling gun that had beenbought by public subscription in the prosperous days of the campremained in the storeroom of the saloon without ammunition, and with itsmechanism rusty and immovable. 

Only one miner had arrived at Thompson's Flat that summer. He was amiddle-aged man who said that his name was Montgomery Carleton--a namewhich instantly awoke the resentment of the camp, and was speedilyconverted into "Monte Carlo" by the resentful miners, who intimated veryplainly that no man could carry a fifteen-inch name in that camp andlive. Monte Carlo, or Monty, as he was usually called, had the furtherdistinction of being the ugliest man in the entire north-west. He had, at some unspecified time, been kicked in the face by a mule, with theresult that his features were converted into a hideous mask. He seemedto be of a social disposition, and would have joined freely in theconversation which went on at the saloon, but his advances were coldlyreceived. 

Instead of pitying the man's misfortune, and avoiding all allusion toit, the miners bluntly informed him that he was too ugly to associatewith gentlemen, and that a modest and retiring attitude was what publicsentiment required of him. Monty took the rebuff quietly, and thereafterrarely spoke unless he was spoken to. He continued to frequent thesaloon, sitting in the darkest corner, where he smoked his pipe, drankhis solitary whisky, and answered with pathetic pleasure any remark thatmight be flung at him, even when it partook of the nature of a coarsejest at his expense. 

One gloomy evening Monty entered the saloon half an hour later thanusual. It had been raining all day, and the spirits of the camp had gonedown with the barometer. The men were more than ever conscious of theirbad luck, and having only themselves to blame for persistently remainingat Thompson's Flat, were ready to cast the guilt of their folly on thenearest available scapegoat. Monty was accustomed to entering the roomunnoticed, but on the present occasion he saw that instead ofcontemptuously ignoring his presence, the other occupants of the saloonwere unmistakably scowling at him. Scarcely had he made his timid way tohis accustomed seat when Big Simpson said in a loud voice:

"Gentlemen, have you noticed that our luck has been more particularlylow down ever since that there beauty in the corner had the cheek tosneak in among us?"

"That's so!" exclaimed Slippery Jim. "Monty is ugly enough to spoil theluck of a blind nigger. "

"You see, " continued Simpson, "thishyer beauty is like the ApostleJonah. While he was aboard ship there wasn't any sort of luck, and atlast the crew took and hove him overboard, and served him right. There'sa mighty lot of wisdom in the Scriptures if you only take hold of 'em inthe right way. My dad was a preacher, and I know what I'm talkingabout. "

"That's more than the rest of us does, " retorted Slippery Jim. "We ain'tno ship's crew and Monty ain't no apostle. If you mean we ought to heavehim into the creek, why don't you say so?"

"It wouldn't do him any harm, " replied Simpson. "He's a dirty beast, andthis camp hasn't no call to associate with men that's afraid of water, except, of course, when it comes to drinking it. "

"I'm as clean as any man here, " said Monty, stirred for the moment toindignation. "Mining ain't the cleanest sort of work, and I don't findno fault with Simpson nor any other man if he happens to carry a littleof his claim around with him. "

"That'll do, " said Simpson severely. "We don't allow no such cuss as youto make reflections on gentlemen. We've put up with your ugly mugaltogether too long, and I for one ain't going to do it no longer. Whatdo you say, gentlemen?" he continued, turning to his companions, "shallwe trifle with our luck, and lower our self-respect any longer bytolerating the company of that there disreputable, low-down, miserablecoyote? I go for boycotting him. Let him work his own claim and sleep inhis own cabin if he wants to, but don't let him intrude himself intothis saloon or into our society anywhere else. "

The proposal met with unanimous approval. The men wanted something onwhich to wreak their spite against adverse fortune, and as Monty wasunpopular and friendless he was made the victim. Simpson ordered him towithdraw from the saloon and never again to enter it at an hour whenother gentlemen were there. "What's more, " he added, "you'll not ventureto speak to anybody; and if any gentleman chances to heave a remark atyou you'll answer him at your peril. We're a law-abiding camp, and wedon't want to use violence against no man; but if you don't conform tothe kind and reasonable regulations that I've just mentioned to you, there'll be a funeral, and you'll be required to furnish the corpse. Youhear me?"

"I hear you, " said Monty. "I hear a man what's got no more feelings thana ledge of quartz rock. What harm have I ever done to any man in thecamp? I know I ain't handsome, but there's some among you that ain'texactly Pauls and Apolloses. If you don't want me here why don't youtake me and shoot me? It would be a sight kinder and more decent thanthe way you say you mean to treat me. "

"Better dry up!" said Simpson, warningly. "We don't want none of yourlip. We've had enough of you, and that's all about it. "

"I've no more to say, " replied Monty, rising and moving to the door. "If you've had enough of me I've had enough of you. I've been treatedworse than a dog, and I ain't going to lick no man's hand. Good evening, gentlemen. The day may come when some of you will be ashamed of thisday's work, that is if you've heart enough to be ashamed of anything. "

So saying Monty walked slowly out, closing the door ostentatiouslybehind him. His departure was greeted by a burst of laughter, and thecheerfulness of the assembled miners having been restored by thesacrifice of Monte Carlo, a subdued gaiety once more reigned in thesaloon. 

Monty returned to his desolate cabin, and after lighting his candlethrew himself into his bunk. The man was coarse and ignorant, but he wascapable of keenly feeling the insult that had been put upon him. He knewthat he was hideously ugly, but he had never dreamed that the fact wouldbe made a pretext for thrusting him from the society of his kind. Strange to say he felt little anger against his persecutors. No thoughtsof revenge came to him as he lay in the silence and loneliness of hiscabin. For the time being the sense of utter isolation crowded out allother sensations. He felt infinitely more alone when the sound of voicesreached him from the saloon than he would have felt had he been lost inthe great North forest. 

Before coming to Thompson's Flat he had lived in one of the large townsof Michigan, where decent and civilized people had not been ashamed toassociate with him. Here, in this wretched mining camp, a gang of men, guiltless of washing, foul in language, and brutal in instinct, hadinformed him that he was unfit to associate with them. There had neverbeen any one among the miners for whom he had felt the slightest liking;but it had been a comfort to exchange an occasional word with afellow-being. Now that he was sentenced to complete isolation he felt asa shipwrecked man feels who has been cast alone on an uninhabitedisland. If the men would only retract their sentence of banishment, andwould permit him to sit in his accustomed corner of the saloon he wouldnot care how coarsely they might insult him--if only he could feel thathis existence was recognized. 

But no! There was no hope for him. The men hated him because of hismaimed and distorted face. They despised him, possibly because he didnot permit himself to resent their conduct with his revolver, and thusgive them an excuse for killing him. He could not leave the camp andmake his way without supplies to the nearest civilized community. Therewas nothing for him to do but to work his miserable claim, and bear theimmense and awful loneliness of his lot. As Monty thought over thesituation and saw the hopelessness of it, his breath came in quick gaspsuntil he broke into a sob, and the tears flowed down his scarred andgrimy cheeks. 

A low, inquiring mew drew his attention for a moment from his woes. Thecamp cat--a ragged, disreputable animal, who owned no master, andrejected all friendly advances--stood in the door of Monty's cabin, withan interrogative tail pointing to the zenith and a friendly arch in hisshabby back. 

Monty had often tried to make friends with the cat, but Tom had repulsedhim as coldly as the miners themselves. Now in his loneliness the manwas glad to be spoken to, even by the camp cat; and he called it to him, though without any expectation that the animal would come to him. ButTom, stalking slowly into the cabin, sprang after a moment's hesitationinto Monty's bunk, and purring loudly in a hoarse voice, as one by whomthe accomplishment of purring had long been neglected, gently andtentatively licked the man's face, and kneaded his throat with two softand caressing paws. A vast sob shook both Monty and the cat. The man puthis arms around the animal, and hugging him closely, kissed his head. The cat purred louder than ever, and presently laying his head againstMonty's cheek, he drew a long breath and sank into a peaceful slumber. 

Monty was himself again. He was no longer alone. Tom, the cat, had cometo him in the hour of his agony and had brought the solace of a lovethat did not heed his ugliness. Henceforth he would never be whollyalone, no matter how strictly the men might enforce their boycottagainst him. He no longer cared what they might do or say. He felt thewarm breath of the friendly animal on his cheek. The remnant of itsright ear twitched from time to time and tickled his lip. The longsinewy paws pressed against his neck trembled nervously, as the catdreamed of stalking fat sparrows, or of stealing fried fish. Its hoarsecroupy purr sounded like the sweetest music to the lonely man. "There'syou and me, and me and you, Tom!" said Monty, stroking the cat's raggedand crumpled fur. "We'll stick together, and neither of us won't care acuss what them low-down fellows says or does. You and me'll be all theworld to one another. God bless you forever for coming to me thisnight. "

From that time onward, Monte Carlo and Tom were the most intimate offriends. Wherever the man went the cat followed. When he was working inthe shallow trench, where the sparse gold dust was found, Tom sat orslept on the edge of the trench, and occasionally reminded Monty of thepresence of a friend, by the soft crooning sound which a mother catmakes to her newborn kittens. The two shared their noon meal together;and it was said by those who professed to have watched them that the catalways had the first choice of food, while the man contented himselfwith what his comrade rejected. In the evening Monty and Tom sattogether at the door of the cabin, and conversed in low tones of anysubject that happened to interest them for the time being. Monty setforth his political and social views, and the cat, listening withattention, mewed assent, or more rarely expressed an opposite opinion bythe short, sharp mew, or an unmistakable oath. 

Once or twice a week Monty was compelled to visit the saloon forgroceries and other necessities. He always made these visits when themen of the camp were working in their claims; and he was invariablyaccompanied by Tom, who trotted by his side, and sprang on his shoulderwhile he made his purchases. The saloon keeper declared that when onceby accident he gave Monty the wrong change, Tom loudly called hisfriend's attention to the error and insisted that it should berectified. "That there cat, " said the saloon keeper to his assembledguests on the following evening, "ain't no ordinary cat, for it standsto reason that if he was he wouldn't chum with Monty. A cat that takesup with such a pal, and that talks pretty near as well as you or me, orany other Christian is, according to what I learned at Sunday School, possessed with the devil. You mark my word, Monty sold his soul to thatpretended cat, and presently he'll be shown a pocket chuck full ofnuggets, and will go home with his ill-gotten gains while we stay hereand starve. "

The feeling that there was something uncanny in the relations thatexisted between Monte Carlo and the cat gradually spread through thecamp. While no man condescended to speak to the boycotted Monty, a closewatch was kept upon him. Slippery Jim asserted that he had heard Montyand Tom discuss the characters of nearly every man in the camp, while hewas concealed one evening in the tall grass near Monty's cabin. 

"First, " said Jim, "Monty asked kind o' careless like, 'What may be youropinion of that there Big Simpson?' The cat, he just swears sort ofcontemptuous, and then Monty says, 'Jest so! That's what I've alwayssaid about him; and I calculated that a cat of your intelligence wouldsay the same thing. ' By and by Monty says, 'What's that you're sayingabout Red-haired Dick? You think he'd steal mice from a blind cat, andthen lay it on the dog? Well! my son! I don't say he wouldn't. He'sabout as mean as they make 'em, and if I was you I wouldn't trust himwith a last year's bone!' Then they kept on jawing to each other aboutthis and that, and exchanging views about politics and religion, tillafter a while Tom lets out a yowl that sounded as if it was meant for abig laugh. Monty, he laughed too; and then he says, 'I never thought youwould have noticed it, but that's exactly what Slippery Jim does everytime he gets a chance. '

"I don't know, " continued Jim, "what they were referring to, but I doknow that Monty and the cat talk together just as easy as you and mecould talk, and I say that if it's come to this, that we're going toallow an idiot of a man and a devil of a cat to take away the charactersof respectable gentlemen, we'd better knuckle down and beg Monty to takecharge of this camp and to treat us like so many Injun squaws. "

Other miners followed Slippery Jim's example, in watching and listeningto his conversations with the cat, and the indignation against theanimal and his companion grew deep and bitter. It was decided that thescandal of an ostentatious friendship between a boycotted man and a catthat was unquestionably possessed by the devil must be ended. Thesuggestion that the cat should be shot would undoubtedly have beencarried out, had it not been that Boston, who was a spiritualist, asserted that the animal could be hit only by a silver bullet. The campwould gladly have expended a silver bullet in so good a cause, but therewas not a particle of silver in the camp, except what was contained intwo or three silver watches. 

After several earnest discussions of the subject it was resolved thatthe cat should be hung on a stout witch-hazel bush, growing within a fewyards of Simpson's cabin. It was recognized that hanging was aneminently proper method of treatment in the case of a cat of suchmalevolent character; and as for Monty himself, more than one man openlysaid that if he made any trouble about the disposal of the cat, he wouldinstantly be strung up to a convenient pine tree which stood close tothe witch-hazel bush. 

The next morning a committee of six, led by Big Simpson, cautiouslyapproached the trench in which Monty was working. There was nearly aneighth of a mile between Monty's claim and those of the other miners. The latter had taken possession of that part of Thompson's Flat whichseemed to hold out the best promise for gold, and Monty, partly becauseof his unprepossessing appearance, had been compelled to content himselfwith what was considered to be the least valuable claim in the camp. 

The committee made its way through the long coarse grass, which hadsprung up under the fierce heat of summer, and was already as parchedand dry as tinder. They had intended to seize the cat before Monty hadbecome aware of their presence; and they were somewhat disconcerted whenMonty, with the cat clasped tightly in his arms, came running towardsthem. "There's Injuns just over there in the woods, " he cried. "Tomsighted them first, and after he'd called me I looked and see threedevils sneaking along towards your end of the camp. You boys, rush andget your Winchesters, and I'll be with you in a couple of minutes. "

The men did not stop to question the accuracy of Monty's story. Theyforgot their designs against the cat, and no longer thought of theirpromise to shoot the boycotted man if he ventured to address them. Theyran to their cabins, and seizing their rifles, rallied at the saloon, which was the only building capable of affording shelter. It was builtof stout logs, and its one door was immensely thick and strong. Byfiring through the windows the garrison could keep at bay, at least fora time, the cautious Indian warriors, who would not charge through theopen, so long as they could harass the miners from the shelter of thewood. 

After Monty had placed his cat in his bunk he took his rifle, andcarefully closing the door of his cabin, joined his late enemies in thesaloon. Several of them nodded genially to him as he entered, andSimpson, who was arranging the plan of defence, told him to take aposition by one of the rear windows. The men understood perfectly wellthat Monty's warning had saved them from a surprise in which they wouldhave been cruelly massacred. Perhaps they felt somewhat ashamed of theirprevious treatment of the man, but they offered no word of apology. 

However Monty thought little of their manner. Although he knew that inall probability the siege would be prolonged until not a single minerwas left alive, his thoughts were not on himself or his companions. Would the Indians overlook his cabin, or in case they found it, wouldthey offer violence to Tom? These were the questions that occupied hismind as he watched through the window for the gleam of a rifle barrel inthe edge of the forest and answered every puff of smoke with aninstantaneous shot from his Winchester. The enemy kept carefully undercover, and devoted their efforts to firing at the windows of the saloon. Already three shots had taken effect. Two dead bodies lay on the floor, and a wounded man sat in the corner, leaning against the wall, andslowly bleeding to death. Suddenly a cloud of smoke shot up in thedirection of Monty's cabin. The Indians had set fire to the dry grass, and the flames were sweeping towards the cabin in which the cat wasimprisoned. 

Monty took in the situation and came to a decision with the sameswiftness and certainty with which he pulled the trigger. "You'll haveto excuse me, boys, for a few minutes, " he said, rising from hiscrouched attitude and throwing his rifle into the hollow of his arm. 

"What's the matter with you?" growled Simpson. "Have you turned cowardall of a sudden, or are you thinking of scaring the Injuns by givingthem a sight of your countenance?"

"That there cabin of mine will be blazing inside of five minutes, andI've left Tom in it with the door fastened, " replied Monty, ignoring theinsulting suggestions of Simpson, and beginning to unbar the door. 

"Here! Come back, you blamed lunatic!" roared Simpson. "Do you callyourself a white man, and then throw your life away for a measly, rascally cat?"

"I am going to help my friend if I kin, " said Monty. "He stood by mewhen thishyer camp throwed me over, and I'll stand by him now he's introuble. "

So saying he quietly passed out and vanished from the sight of theastonished miners. 

"I told you, " said Slippery Jim, "that Monty was bewitched by that therecat. Who ever heard of a man that was a man who cared whether a cat gotburned to death or not?"

"You shut up!" exclaimed Simpson. "You haven't got sand enough to standby your own brother--let alone standing by a cat. "

"What's the matter with you?" retorted Jim. "You was the one whoproposed boycotting Monty, and now you're talking as if he was a tinsaint on wheels. "

"Monty's acted like a man in this business, " replied Simpson, "and it'smy opinion that we've all treated him pretty particular mean. If we pullthrough this scrimmage Monty's my friend, and don't you forget it. "

Monte Carlo lost none of his habitual caution, although he was engagedin what he knew to be a desperate and nearly hopeless enterprise. Onleaving the saloon he threw himself flat on the ground, and slowly drewhimself along until he reached the shelter of the high grass. Thenrising to his hands and knees he crept rapidly and steadily in thedirection of his cabin. 

His course soon brought him between the fire of the miners and that ofthe Indians, but as neither could see him he fancied he was safe for themoment. He was drawing steadily closer to his goal, and was alreadybeginning to feel the thrill of success, when a sharp blow on the rightknee brought him headlong to the ground. A stray shot, fired possibly bysome nervous miner who had taken his place at the saloon window, hadstruck him and smashed his leg. 

He could no longer creep on his hands and knees, but with indomitableresolution he dragged himself onward by clutching at the strong roots ofthe grass. His disabled leg gave him exquisite pain as it trailed behindhim, and he knew that the wound was bleeding freely; but he still hopedto reach his cabin before faintness or death should put a stop to hisprogress. He felt sure that the shot which had struck him had not beenaimed at him by an Indian, for if it had been he would already have feltthe scalping knife. The nearer he drew to his cabin the less dangerthere was that the Indians would perceive him. If he could only endurethe pain and the hemorrhage a few minutes longer he could reach and pushopen the door of his cabin, and give his imprisoned friend a chance forlife. He dragged himself on with unfaltering resolution, and with hissilent lips closed tightly. Not a groan nor a curse nor a prayer escapedhim. He stuck to his task with the grim fortitude of the wolf who gnawshis leg free from the trap. All his thoughts and all his fast-vanishingstrength were concentrated on the effort to save the creature that hadloved him. 

After an eternity of anguish he reached the open space in front of thecabin, where the thick smoke hid him completely from the sight of bothfriends and foes. The flames had just caught the roof, and the heat wasso intense that for an instant it made him forget the pain of his wound, as his choked lungs gasped for air. The wail of the frightened animalwithin the cabin gave him new energy. Digging his fingers into theground he dragged himself across the few yards that separated him fromthe door. He reached it at last, pushed it open, and with a smile on hisface lost consciousness as the cat bounded out and fled like a madcreature into the grass. 

Two hours later a troop of Mounted Police, who had illegally andgenerously crossed the border in time to drive off the Indians and torescue the few surviving members of the camp, found, close to thesmouldering embers of Monty's cabin, a scorched and blackened corpse, bythe side of which sat a bristling black cat. The animal ceased to lickthe maimed features of the dead man, and turned fiercely on theapproaching troopers. When one of them dismounted and attempted to touchthe corpse the cat flew at him with such fury that he hurriedlyremounted his horse, amid the jeers of his comrades. The cat resumed theeffort to recall the dead man to life with its rough caresses, and themen sat silently in their saddles watching the strange sight. 

"We can't bury the man without first shooting the cat, " said one of thetroopers. 

"Then we'll let him lie, " said the sergeant in command. "We can stophere on our way back from the Fort, and maybe by that time the cat'lllisten to reason. I'd as soon shoot my best friend as shoot the poorbeast now. "

And the troop passed on, leaving Tom alone in the wilderness with hissilent friend. 

 WILLIAM LIVINGSTON ALDEN. 

THE QUEEN'S CAT

Once there was a great and powerful King who was as good as gold and asbrave as a lion, but he had one weakness, which was a horror of cats. Ifhe saw one through an open window he shuddered so that his medalsjangled together and his crown fell off; if any one mentioned a cat atthe table he instantly spilled his soup all down the front of hisermine; and if by any chance a cat happened to stroll into the audiencechamber, he immediately jumped on to his throne, gathering his robesaround him and shrieking at the top of his lungs. 

Now this King was a bachelor and his people didn't like it; so beingdesirous of pleasing them, he looked around among the neighbouring royalfamilies and hit upon a very sweet and beautiful princess, whom he askedin marriage without any delay, for he was a man of action. 

Her parents giving their hearty consent, the pair were married at herfather's palace; and after the festivities were over, the King sped hometo see to the preparation of his wife's apartments. In due time shearrived, bringing with her a cat. When he saw her mounting the stepswith the animal under her arm, the King, who was at the door to meether, uttering a horrid yell, fell in a swoon and had to be revived withspirits of ammonia. The courtiers hastened to inform the Queen of herhusband's failing, and when he came to, he found her in tears. 

"I cannot exist without a cat!" she wept. 

"And I, my love, " replied the King, "cannot exist with one!"

"You must learn to bear it!" said she. 

"You must learn to live without it!" said he. 

"But life would not be worth living without a cat!" she wailed. 

"Well, well, my love, we will see what we can do, " sighed the King. 

"Suppose, " he went on, "you kept it in the round tower over there. Thenyou could go to see it. "

"Shut up my cat that has been used to running around in the open air?"cried the Queen. "Never!"

"Suppose, " suggested the King again, "we made an enclosure for it ofwire netting. "

"My dear, " cried the Queen, "a good strong cat like mine could climb outin a minute. "

"Well, " said the King once more, "suppose we give it the palace roof, and I will keep out of the way. "

"That is a good scheme, " said his wife, drying her eyes. 

And they immediately fitted up the roof with a cushioned shelter, and abed of catnip, and a bench where the Queen might sit. There the cat wasleft; and the Queen went up three times a day to feed it, and twice asmany times to visit it, and for almost two days that seemed the solutionof the problem. Then the cat discovered that by making a spring to thelimb of an overhanging oak tree, it could climb down the trunk and gowhere it liked. This it did, making its appearance in the throne-room, where the King was giving audience to an important ambassador. Much tothe amazement of the latter, the monarch leapt up screaming, and wasmoreover so upset, that the affairs of state had all to be postponedtill the following day. The tree was, of course, cut down; and the nextday the cat found crawling down the gutter to be just as easy, andjumped in the window while the court was at breakfast. The Kingscrambled on to the breakfast table, skilfully overturning the cream andthe coffee with one foot, while planting the other in the poached eggs, and wreaking untold havoc among the teacups. Again the affairs of statewere postponed while the gutter was ripped off the roof, to the fury ofthe head gardener, who had just planted his spring seeds in the bedsaround the palace walls. Of course the next rain washed them all away. 

This sort of thing continued. The wistaria vine which had covered thefront of the palace for centuries, was ruthlessly torn down, thetrellises along the wings soon followed; and finally an ancient grapearbour had perforce to be removed as it proved a sure means of descentfor that invincible cat. Even then, he cleverly utilized the balconiesas a ladder to the ground; but by this time the poor King's nerves werequite shattered and the doctor was called in. All he could prescribe wasa total abstinence from cat; and the Queen, tearfully finding a home forher pet, composed herself to live without one. The King, well cared for, soon revived and was himself again, placidly conducting the affairs ofstate, and happy in the society of his beloved wife. Not so the latter. 

Before long it was noticed that the Queen grew wan, was often heard tosniff, and seen to wipe her eyes, would not eat, could not sleep, --inshort, the doctor was again called in. 

"Dear, dear, " he said disconsolately, combing his long beard with histhin fingers. "This is a difficult situation indeed. There must not be acat on the premises, or the King will assuredly have nervousprostration. Yet the Queen must have a cat or she will pine quite awaywith nostalgia. "

"I think I had best return to my family, " sobbed the poor Queen, dejectedly. "I bring you nothing but trouble, my own. "

"That is impossible, my dearest love, " said the King decidedly--"Here mypeople have so long desired me to marry, and now that I am at lastsettled in the matrimonial way, we must not disappoint them. They enjoya Queen so much. It gives them something pretty to think about. Besides, my love, I am attached to you, myself, and could not possibly managewithout you. No, my dear, there may be a way out of our difficulties, but that certainly is not it. " Having delivered which speech the Kinglapsed again into gloom, and the doctor who was an old friend of theKing's went away sadly. 

He returned, however, the following day with a smile tangled somewherein his long beard. He found the King sitting mournfully by the Queen'sbedside. 

"Would your majesty, " began the doctor, turning to the Queen, "objectto a cat that did not look like a cat?"

"Oh, no, " cried she, earnestly, "just so it's a _cat_!"

"Would your majesty, " said the doctor again, turning to the King, "object to a cat that did not look like a cat?"

"Oh, no, " cried he, "just so it doesn't _look_ like a cat!"

"Well, " said the doctor, beaming, "I have a cat that is a cat and thatdoesn't look any more like a cat than a skillet, and I should be onlytoo honoured to present it to the Queen if she would be so gracious asto accept it. "

Both the King and the Queen were overjoyed and thanked the doctor withtears in their eyes. So the cat--for it was a cat though you never wouldhave known it--arrived and was duly presented to the Queen, who welcomedit with open arms and felt better immediately. 

It was a thin, wiry, long-legged creature, with no tail at all, andlarge ears like sails, a face like a lean isosceles triangle with thenose as a very sharp apex, eyes small and yellow like flat buttons, brown fur short and coarse, and large floppy feet. It had a voice like asteam siren and its name was Rosamund. 

The King and Queen were both devoted to it; she because it was a cat, hebecause it seemed anything but a cat. No one indeed could convince theKing that it was not a beautiful animal, and he had made for it ahandsome collar of gold and amber--"to match, " he said, sentimentally, "its lovely eyes. " In sooth so ugly a beast never had such a pamperedand luxurious existence, certainly never so royal a one. Appreciatingits wonderful good fortune, it never showed any inclination to depart;and the King, the Queen, and Rosamund lived happily ever after. 

 PEGGY BACON. 

CALVIN

Calvin is dead. His life, long to him, but short for the rest of us, wasnot marked by startling adventures, but his character was so uncommonand his qualities were so worthy of imitation, that I have been asked bythose who personally knew him to set down my recollections of hiscareer. 

His origin and ancestry were shrouded in mystery; even his age was amatter of pure conjecture. Although he was of the Maltese race, I havereason to suppose that he was American by birth as he certainly was insympathy. Calvin was given to me eight years ago by Mrs. Stowe, but sheknew nothing of his age or origin. He walked into her house one day outof the great unknown and became at once at home, as if he had beenalways a friend of the family. He appeared to have artistic and literarytastes, and it was as if he had inquired at the door if that was theresidence of the author of _Uncle Tom's Cabin_, and, upon being assuredthat it was, had decided to dwell there. This is, of course, fanciful, for his antecedents were wholly unknown, but in his time he could hardlyhave been in any household where he would not have heard _Uncle Tom'sCabin_ talked about. When he came to Mrs. Stowe, he was as large as heever was, and apparently as old as he ever became. Yet there was in himno appearance of age; he was in the happy maturity of all his powers, and you would rather have said in that maturity he had found the secretof perpetual youth. And it was as difficult to believe that he wouldever be aged as it was to imagine that he had ever been in immatureyouth. There was in him a mysterious perpetuity. 

After some years, when Mrs. Stowe made her winter home in Florida, Calvin came to live with us. From the first moment, he fell into theways of the house and assumed a recognized position in the family, --Isay recognized, because after he became known he was always inquired forby visitors, and in the letters to the other members of the family healways received a message. Although the least obtrusive of beings, hisindividuality always made itself felt. 

His personal appearance had much to do with this, for he was of royalmould, and had an air of high breeding. He was large, but he had nothingof the fat grossness of the celebrated Angora family; though powerful, he was exquisitely proportioned, and as graceful in every movement as ayoung leopard. When he stood up to open a door--he opened all the doorswith old-fashioned latches--he was portentously tall, and when stretchedon the rug before the fire he seemed too long for this world--as indeedhe was. His coat was the finest and softest I have ever seen, a shade ofquiet Maltese; and from his throat downward, underneath, to the whitetips of his feet, he wore the whitest and most delicate ermine; and noperson was ever more fastidiously neat. In his finely formed head yousaw something of his aristocratic character; the ears were small andcleanly cut, there was a tinge of pink in the nostrils, his face washandsome, and the expression of his countenance exceedinglyintelligent--I should call it even a sweet expression if the term werenot inconsistent with his look of alertness and sagacity. 

It is difficult to convey a just idea of his gaiety in connection withhis dignity and gravity, which his name expressed. As we know nothing ofhis family, of course it will be understood that Calvin was hisChristian name. He had times of relaxation into utter playfulness, delighting in a ball of yarn, catching sportively at stray ribbons whenhis mistress was at her toilet, and pursuing his own tail, withhilarity, for lack of anything better. He could amuse himself by thehour, and he did not care for children; perhaps something in his pastwas present to his memory. He had absolutely no bad habits, and hisdisposition was perfect. I never saw him exactly angry, though I haveseen his tail grow to an enormous size when a strange cat appeared uponhis lawn. He disliked cats, evidently regarding them as feline andtreacherous, and he had no association with them. Occasionally therewould be heard a night concert in the shrubbery. Calvin would ask tohave the door opened, and then you would hear a rush and a "pestzt, " andthe concert would explode, and Calvin would quietly come in and resumehis seat on the hearth. There was no trace of anger in his manner, buthe wouldn't have any of that about the house. He had the rare virtue ofmagnanimity. Although he had fixed notions about his own rights, andextraordinary persistency in getting them, he never showed temper at arepulse; he simply and firmly persisted till he had what he wanted. Hisdiet was one point; his idea was that of the scholars aboutdictionaries, --to "get the best. " He knew as well as any one what was inthe house, and would refuse beef if turkey was to be had; and if therewere oysters, he would wait over the turkey to see if the oysters wouldnot be forthcoming. And yet he was not a gross gourmand; he would eatbread if he saw me eating it, and thought he was not being imposed on. His habits of feeding, also, were refined; he never used a knife, and hewould put up his hand and draw the fork down to his mouth as gracefullyas a grown person. Unless necessity compelled, he would not eat in thekitchen, but insisted upon his meals in the dining-room, and would waitpatiently, unless a stranger were present; and then he was sure toimportune the visitor, hoping that the latter was ignorant of the ruleof the house, and would give him something. They used to say that hepreferred as his table-cloth on the floor a certain well-known churchjournal; but this was said by an Episcopalian. So far as I know, he hadno religious prejudices, except that he did not like the associationwith Romanists. He tolerated the servants, because they belonged to thehouse, and would sometimes linger by the kitchen stove; but the momentvisitors came in he arose, opened the door, and marched into thedrawing-room. Yet he enjoyed the company of his equals, and neverwithdrew, no matter how many callers--whom he recognized as of hissociety--might come into the drawing-room. Calvin was fond of company, but he wanted to choose it; and I have no doubt that his was anaristocratic fastidiousness rather than one of faith. It is so withmost people. 

The intelligence of Calvin was something phenomenal, in his rank oflife. He established a method of communicating his wants, and even someof his sentiments; and he could help himself in many things. There was afurnace register in a retired room, where he used to go when he wishedto be alone, that he always opened when he desired more heat; but nevershut it, any more than he shut the door after himself. He could doalmost everything but speak; and you would declare sometimes that youcould see a pathetic longing to do that in his intelligent face. I haveno desire to overdraw his qualities, but if there was one thing in himmore noticeable than another, it was his fondness for nature. He couldcontent himself for hours at a low window, looking into the ravine andat the great trees, noting the smallest stir there; he delighted, aboveall things, to accompany me walking about the garden, hearing the birds, getting the smell of the fresh earth, and rejoicing in the sunshine. Hefollowed me and gambolled like a dog, rolling over on the turf andexhibiting his delight in a hundred ways. If I worked, he sat andwatched me, or looked off over the bank, and kept his ear open to thetwitter in the cherry-trees. When it stormed, he was sure to sit at thewindow, keenly watching the rain or the snow, glancing up and down atits falling; and a winter tempest always delighted him. I think he wasgenuinely fond of birds, but, so far as I know, he usually confinedhimself to one a day; he never killed, as some sportsmen do, for thesake of killing, but only as civilized people do, --from necessity. Hewas intimate with the flying-squirrels who dwell in thechestnut-trees, --too intimate, for almost every day in the summer hewould bring in one, until he nearly discouraged them. He was, indeed, asuperb hunter, and would have been a devastating one, if his bump ofdestructiveness had not been offset by a bump of moderation. There wasvery little of the brutality of the lower animals about him; I don'tthink he enjoyed rats for themselves, but he knew his business, and forthe first few months of his residence with us he waged an awful campaignagainst the horde, and after that his simple presence was sufficient todeter them from coming on the premises. Mice amused him, but he usuallyconsidered them too small game to be taken seriously; I have seen himplay for an hour with a mouse, and then let him go with a royalcondescension. In this whole matter of "getting a living, " Calvin was agreat contrast to the rapacity of the age in which he lived. 

I hesitate a little to speak of his capacity for friendship and theaffectionateness of his nature, for I know from his own reserve that hewould not care to have it much talked about. We understood each otherperfectly, but we never made any fuss about it; when I spoke his nameand snapped my fingers, he came to me; when I returned home at night, hewas pretty sure to be waiting for me near the gate, and would rise andsaunter along the walk, as if his being there were purelyaccidental, --so shy was he commonly of showing feeling; and when Iopened the door he never rushed in, like a cat, but loitered, andlounged, as if he had had no intention of going in, but would condescendto. And yet, the fact was, he knew dinner was ready, and he was boundto be there. He kept the run of dinner-time. It happened sometimes, during our absence in the summer, that dinner would be early, and Calvinwalking about the grounds, missed it and came in late. But he never madea mistake the second day. There was one thing he never did, --he neverrushed through an open doorway. He never forgot his dignity. If he hadasked to have the door opened, and was eager to go out, he always wentdeliberately; I can see him now, standing on the sill, looking about atthe sky as if he was thinking whether it were worth while to take anumbrella, until he was near having his tail shut in. 

His friendship was rather constant than demonstrative. When we returnedfrom an absence of nearly two years, Calvin welcomed us with evidentpleasure, but showed his satisfaction rather by tranquil happiness thanby fuming about. He had the faculty of making us glad to get home. Itwas his constancy that was so attractive. He liked companionship, but hewouldn't be petted, or fussed over, or sit in any one's lap a moment; healways extricated himself from such familiarity with dignity and with noshow of temper. If there was any petting to be done, however, he choseto do it. Often he would sit looking at me, and then, moved by adelicate affection, come and pull at my coat and sleeve until he couldtouch my face with his nose, and then go away contented. He had a habitof coming to my study in the morning, sitting quietly by my side or onthe table for hours, watching the pen run over the paper, occasionallyswinging his tail round for a blotter, and then going to sleep amongthe papers by the inkstand. Or, more rarely, he would watch the writingfrom a perch on my shoulder. Writing always interested him, and, untilhe understood it, he wanted to hold the pen. 

He always held himself in a kind of reserve with his friend, as if hehad said, "Let us respect our personality, and not make a 'mess' offriendship. " He saw, with Emerson, the risk of degrading it to trivialconveniency. "Why insist on rash personal relations with your friend?""Leave this touching and clawing. " Yet I would not give an unfair notionof his aloofness, his fine sense of the sacredness of the me and thenot-me. And, at the risk of not being believed, I will relate anincident, which was often repeated. Calvin had the practice of passing aportion of the night in the contemplation of its beauties, and wouldcome into our chamber over the roof of the conservatory through the openwindow, summer and winter, and go to sleep on the foot of my bed. Hewould do this always exactly in this way; he never was content to stayin the chamber if we compelled him to go upstairs and through the door. He had the obstinacy of General Grant. But this is by the way. In themorning, he performed his toilet and went down to breakfast with therest of the family. Now, when the mistress was absent from home, and atno other time, Calvin would come in the morning, when the bell rang, tothe head of the bed, put up his feet and look into my face, follow meabout when I rose, "assist" at the dressing, and in many purring waysshow his fondness, as if he had plainly said, "I know that she has goneaway, but I am here. " Such was Calvin in rare moments. 

He had his limitations. Whatever passion he had for nature, he had noconception of art. There was sent to him once a fine and very expressivecat's head in bronze, by Frémiet. I placed it on the floor. He regardedit intently, approached it cautiously and crouchingly, touched it withhis nose, perceived the fraud, turned away abruptly, and never wouldnotice it afterward. On the whole, his life was not only a successfulone, but a happy one. He never had but one fear, so far as I know: hehad a mortal and a reasonable terror of plumbers. He would never stay inthe house when they were here. No coaxing could quiet him. Of course hedidn't share our fear about their charges, but he must have had somedreadful experience with them in that portion of his life which isunknown to us. A plumber was to him the devil, and I have no doubt that, in his scheme, plumbers were foreordained to do him mischief. 

In speaking of his worth, it has never occurred to me to estimate Calvinby the worldly standard. I know that it is customary now, when any onedies, to ask how much he was worth, and that no obituary in thenewspapers is considered complete without such an estimate. The plumbersin our house were one day overheard to say that, "They say that _she_says that _he_ says that he wouldn't take a hundred dollars for him. " Itis unnecessary to say that I never made such a remark, and that, so faras Calvin was concerned, there was no purchase in money. 

As I look back upon it, Calvin's life seems to me a fortunate one, forit was natural and unforced. He ate when he was hungry, slept when hewas sleepy, and enjoyed existence to the very tips of his toes and theend of his expressive and slow-moving tail. He delighted to roam aboutthe garden, and stroll among the trees, and to lie on the green grassand luxuriate in all the sweet influences of summer. You could neveraccuse him of idleness, and yet he knew the secret of repose. The poetwho wrote so prettily of him that his little life was rounded with asleep, understated his felicity; it was rounded with a good many. Hisconscience never seemed to interfere with his slumbers. In fact, he hadgood habits and a contented mind. I can see him now walk in at the studydoor, sit down by my chair, bring his tail artistically about his feet, and look up at me with unspeakable happiness in his handsome face. Ioften thought that he felt the dumb limitation which denied him thepower of language. But since he was denied speech, he scorned theinarticulate mouthings of the lower animals. The vulgar mewing andyowling of the cat species was beneath him; he sometimes uttered a sortof articulate and well-bred ejaculation, when he wished to callattention to something that he considered remarkable, or to some want ofhis, but he never went whining about. He would sit for hours at a closedwindow, when he desired to enter, without a murmur, and when it wasopened he never admitted that he had been impatient by "bolting" in. Though speech he had not, and the unpleasant kind of utterance given tohis race he would not use, he had a mighty power of purr to express hismeasureless content with congenial society. There was in him a musicalorgan with stops of varied power and expression, upon which I have nodoubt he could have performed Scarlatti's celebrated cat's-fugue. 

Whether Calvin died of old age, or was carried off by one of thediseases incident to youth, it is impossible to say; for his departurewas as quiet as his advent was mysterious. I only know that he appearedto us in this world in his perfect stature and beauty, and that after atime, like Lohengrin, he withdrew. In his illness there was nothing moreto be regretted than in all his blameless life. I suppose there neverwas an illness that had more of dignity and sweetness and resignation init. It came on gradually, in a kind of listlessness and want ofappetite. An alarming symptom was his preference for the warmth of afurnace-register to the lively sparkle of the open wood-fire. Whateverpain he suffered, he bore it in silence, and seemed only anxious not toobtrude his malady. We tempted him with the delicacies of the season, but it soon became impossible for him to eat, and for two weeks he ateor drank scarcely anything. Sometimes he made an effort to takesomething, but it was evident that he made the effort to please us. Theneighbours--and I am convinced that the advice of neighbours is nevergood for anything--suggested catnip. He wouldn't even smell it. We hadthe attendance of an amateur practitioner of medicine, whose real officewas the cure of souls, but nothing touched his case. He took what wasoffered, but it was with the air of one to whom the time for pellets waspassed. He sat or lay day after day almost motionless, never once makinga display of those vulgar convulsions or contortions of pain which areso disagreeable to society. His favourite place was on the brightestspot of a Smyrna rug by the conservatory, where the sunlight fell and hecould hear the fountain play. If we went to him and exhibited ourinterest in his condition, he always purred in recognition of oursympathy. And when I spoke his name, he looked up with an expressionthat said, "I understand it, old fellow, but it's no use. " He was to allwho came to visit him a model of calmness and patience in affliction. 

I was absent from home at the last, but heard by daily postal-card ofhis failing condition; and never again saw him alive. One sunny morning, he rose from his rug, went into the conservatory (he was very thinthen), walked around it deliberately, looking at all the plants he knew, and then went to the bay-window in the dining-room, and stood a longtime looking out upon the little field, now brown and sere, and towardthe garden, where perhaps the happiest hours of his life had been spent. It was a last look. He turned and walked away, laid himself down uponthe bright spot in the rug, and quietly died. 

It is not too much to say that a little shock went through theneighbourhood when it was known that Calvin was dead, so marked was hisindividuality; and his friends, one after another, came in to see him. There was no sentimental nonsense about his obsequies; it was felt thatany parade would have been distasteful to him. John, who acted asundertaker, prepared a candle-box for him, and I believe assumed aprofessional decorum; but there may have been the usual levityunderneath, for I heard that he remarked in the kitchen that it was the"dryest wake he ever attended. " Everybody, however, felt a fondness forCalvin, and regarded him with a certain respect. Between him and Berthathere existed a great friendship, and she apprehended his nature; sheused to say that sometimes she was afraid of him, he looked at her sointelligently; she was never certain that he was what he appeared to be. 

When I returned, they had laid Calvin on a table in an upper chamber byan open window. It was February. He reposed in a candle-box, lined aboutthe edge with evergreen, and at his head stood a little wine-glass withflowers. He lay with his head tucked down in his arms, --a favouriteposition of his before the fire, --as if asleep in the comfort of hissoft and exquisite fur. It was the involuntary exclamation of those whosaw him, "How natural he looks!" As for myself, I said nothing. Johnburied him under the twin hawthorn-trees, --one white and the otherpink, --in a spot where Calvin was fond of lying and listening to the humof summer insects and the twitter of birds. 

Perhaps I have failed to make appear the individuality of character thatwas so evident to those who knew him. At any rate, I have set downnothing concerning him but the literal truth. He was always a mystery. Idid not know whence he came; I do not know whither he has gone. I wouldnot weave one spray of falsehood in the wreath I lay upon his grave. 

 CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER. 

+----------------------------------------------------------------------+| || Transcriber's Note || || Printer's errors have been corrected and hyphenation standardized. || The author's spelling has been maintained. || || || Page number in Contents for Preface corrected from vii to ix. || || The following spelling corrections have been made:-- || || Page 41 'practise' to 'practice'. 'do not practice as a' || || Page 98 'necesssary' to 'necessary'. 'the door was not necessary'. || || Page 122 'with' to 'which'. 'with that agility to which'. || || Page 125 'Accompaned' to 'Accompanied'. 'Accompanied by my lord'. || || Page 181 'undersood' to 'understood'. 'and so well understood'. || | || Page 238 'icoseles' to 'isoceles'. 'a lean isoceles triangle'. || || Page 241 'obstrusive' to 'obtrusive'. 'the least obtrusive of || beings'. || |+----------------------------------------------------------------------+