Chapter 2

"'After all,' I answered, by way of consolation, 'if you think it's like to do you any harm, it doesn't need to get out. I shall respect your confidence.'

"'Too late!' his wife exclaimed. 'The facts have been cabled to America.'

"I was writing letters in my room, next day, when Harry interrupted me with a hurried entrance. He locked the door inside, and in a kind of playful silence drew from under his rain-coat, and deposited on my table, a human skull.

"'The Bishop of St. Clare,' he whispered, in that curious dialect which I shall not try to imitate.

"'He isn't looking very well,' I said, not knowing what he meant.

"'This is the Bishop's head--the Bishop of St. Clare,' Harry whispered again. 'He was one of our ancestors--by Jove!'

"'Is that all that was the matter with him?' I asked.

"'No; his epitaph says that he died of a fever in 1712.'

"'How did you get hold of his head?' I asked. 'Win it in a raffle?'

"'I bribed the old verger in the crypt of St. Mary's. Offered him two sovereigns to lift the stone lid and let me look in. He said he couldn't do that, but discreetly withdrew when I put the money in his hand. It was up to me, don't you know, and here is the Bishop's head.'

"'Going to have him photographed in a group of the family?' I asked.

"'No, but you see Materna paid two pounds for a chunk off a tombstone, and I thought I would give her a souvenir worth having,' said he, and blushed for the first time since our interview had begun. 'This is unique.'

"'And you didn't think the Bishop would miss it?' I suggested.

"'Not seriously,' he answered. 'I guess it's a fool thing to have done, but I thought that I could have some fun with the Bishop's head. Mother is going to round up all the Delances at Christmas for a big dinner--uncles, aunts, and cousins, you know--a celebration of our genealogical discoveries with a great family tree in the center of the table. The history of the Delances will be read, and I thought that I would spring a surprise--tell them that I had invited our old ancestor, Sir Robert Delance, Bishop of St. Clare; that, contrary to my hope, he had accepted, and that I would presently introduce him. In due time I would produce the head and read from his life and writings, which I bought in a London book-stall. Finally, I thought that I would have him tell how he happened to be present. Don't you think he would make a hit?'

"'He would surely make a hit--a resounding hit,' I said, 'but not as a proof of respectability. Even if the Bishop is your ancestor, you have no good title to his bones. I presume that every visitor to the old church puts his name and address in a register?'

"'Yes.'

"'Well, suppose the theft is discovered and the verger gives you away. All the money you've got wouldn't keep you out of prison.'

"Harry began to turn pale. He was a good fellow, but this genealogical frenzy had turned his head, and his head was not as old as the Bishop's. It was unduly young.

"'Assume that you get home with your prize, the Bishop's head would be the worst enemy that his descendants ever had. It would always accuse you and grin at your follies. And would you dare proclaim the truth over in Pointview that you really have the skull of the Bishop of St. Clare?'

"The boy was scared. He had suddenly discovered an important fact. It was the north pole of his education.

"'By Jove! I'm an ass,' he said. 'What shall I do with it?'

"'Say nothing of the thing to anybody, not even to your father, and get rid of it.'

"'That's what I'll do,' he said, as he wrapped the skull in a piece of newspaper, hid it under his coat, and left me.

"We sailed next afternoon, and that evening, when Harry and I sat alone in a corner of the deck, I asked him what he had done with the Bishop's head.

"'Tried to get rid of it, but couldn't,' he said. 'My conscience smote me, and I took the old bone back to St. Mary's. Going to do my duty like a man, you see, but it wouldn't work. New verger on the job! I weakened. Then I put it in a box and had it addressed to a fictitious man in Bristol, and sent my valet to get it off by express. It went on, and was returned for a better address. You see, my valet--officious ass!--had left his address at the express office. How _gauche_ of him! While we were lying at the dock a messenger came to my state-room with the Bishop's head. I had to take it and pay five shillings and a sixpence for the privilege.'

"'The old Bishop seems to be quite attached to his new relative,' I said.

"'Yes, but when the deck is deserted, by and by, I'm going to drop him overboard.'

"And that is what he did--dropped it, solemnly, from the ship's side at dinnertime, and I witnessed the proceeding.

"The adventure had one result that was rather curious and unexpected. It brought Harry close to me and established our relations to each other. That they admitted me to his confidence as a friend and counselor of the utmost frankness was on the whole exceedingly fortunate. From that time he began to trust me and to distrust himself.

"So it happened that I was really introduced to Harry by the Bishop of St. Clare, who died in 1712, and those credentials gave me a standing which I could not otherwise have enjoyed.

"Coming home, I limbered up my imagination and outlied Harry.

"I was forced to invent that cheerful, handy liar the late Dr. Godfrey Vogeldam Guph, Professor of the Romance Languages in the University of Brague and the intimate friend of any great man you may be pleased to mention. With his help I have laid low even the most authoritative, learned, and precise liars in the State of Connecticut. I do it by quoting from his memoirs.

"Harry's specialty were lies of adventure in court and palace, and, as Dr. Guph had known all the crowned heads, he became an ever-present help in time of trouble.

"Every lie of Harry's I outdid with another of ampler proportions. He put on a little more steam, but I kept abreast or a length ahead of him. By and by he broke down and begged for quarter.

"'On my word as a gentleman,' said he, 'that last story I told was true. It really happened, don't you know?'

"'Well, Harry, if you will only notify me when you propose to tell the truth, I shall be glad to take your word for it,' was my answer.

"'And keep Dr. Guph chained,' said he.

"'Exactly, and give you like warning when I have a lie ready to launch.'

"'That's a fair treaty,' he agreed.

"'And a good idea,' I said. 'As a liar of long experience I have found it best to notify all comers what to expect of me when I see a useful lie in the offing. That has enabled me to give my fancy full play without impairing my reputation. My noblest faculties have had ample exercise while my word has remained at par.'

"We made an agreement along that line, and Harry ceased to be a liar, and became a story-teller of much humor and ingenuity."

III

WHICH IS THE STORY OF THE PIMPLED QUEEN AND THE BLACK SPOT

"Well, on our return, Mrs. Delance had a helmet and a battle-ax, with sundry accessories, emblazoned on her letter-heads and the doors of her limousine. Here was another case of charge it, but this time it was charged against her slender capital of good sense. Mrs. Delance was a stout lady of the Dreadnought type. Harry settled down in the home of his father and began to study the 'middle clahsses' with a drag and tandem and garments for every kind of leisure. The girls went to ride with him, and naturally began to smarten their dress and accents and to change their estimates. His 'aristocratic' friends and manners were much in their company and ever in their dreams.

"Of course, all that began to react on the young men: if that was the kind of thing the girls liked, they must try to be in it. Slowly but surely a Pointview aristocracy began its line of cleavage and a process of integration. Crests appeared on the letter-heads and limousine doors of the newly rich. In a month or so people of brain and substance degenerated into a condition of hardened shameless idiocy.

"Some of our best citizens went abroad, each to find his place among the descendants of William the Conqueror. Suddenly I discovered that the clerk in my office was ashamed to be seen on the street with a package in his hands.

"Our young men began to long for wealth and leisure. They grew impatient of the old process of thrift and industry. It was too slow. Many of them opened accounts in Wall Street.

"Young Roger Daniels had some luck there and began to advertise the fact with a small steam-yacht and a cruise. We were going as hard as ever to keep up, but on higher levels of aspiration. The girls were engaged in a strenuous contest for the prize of Harry's favor, with that handsome young _divorcée_ well in the lead.

"Roger and his party were about to return from their cruise, and Harry was to give them a ball at the Yacht Club.

"The day before the ball our best known physician came to see Mrs. Potter, who was ill, and cheered us up with a story. The Doctor was young, attractive, and able. He had threatened every appendix in Pointview, and had a lot of inside information about our men and women--especially the latter. He looked weary.

"'Yesterday was a little hard on me,' he said. 'It began at four in the morning with a confinement case and ended at one A.M. There were two operations at the hospital, a steady stream at the office, and a twenty-mile ride over the hills. Got back in the evening pretty well worn out. Tumbled into bed at two minutes of eleven, and was asleep before the clock struck. The 'phone-bell at my bedside awoke me. I let it go on for a minute. Hadn't energy enough to get up. It rang and rang. Out I tumbled.

"'Hello!' I said.

"'A voice answered. "I am Mrs. So-and-So's butler," it said. "She wishes to see you as soon as you can get here. It's very urgent."

"'"What's the matter?"

"'"Don't know, sir, but it is serious."

"'"All right," I said.

"'My chauffeur was off for the night, so I 'phoned to the stable and got Patrick and told him to hitch up the black mare at once, dressed, and took everything that I was likely to need in an emergency, got into the wagon, and hurried away in the darkness. After all, I thought, it is something to have one's skill so much in request by the rich and the powerful. It was a long ride with one horse-power, but we got there.

"'Many windows of the great house were aglow. The first butler met me in the hall and took me to my lady's chamber--an immense room finished in the style of the First Empire. She was half reclining and playing solitaire as she smoked a cigarette on a divan that occupied a dais overhung with rare tapestries on a side of the room. The effect of the whole thing was queenly--_à la_ Récamier. She greeted me wearily and without rising.

"'"Sit down," said she, and I did so.

"'She turned to a good-looking maid who timidly stood near the divan.

"'"My dear little woman, you weary me--please go," she said.

"'The maid went.

"'"Dawctah," the lady said to me, "I have a nahsty little pimple on my right cheek, and I really cahn't go to the ball, you know, unless it is cuahed. Won't you kindly--ah--see what can be done?"

"'"A pimple! God prosper it!" I said to myself. "Has the great M.D. become a P.D.--a mere doctor of pimples?"

"'I inspected the pimple--a very slight affair.

"'"Why, if I were you, I'd just cover the pimple with a little square of court-plaster," I said. "It would become you."

"'"What a pretty idea! That's just what I will do," she exclaimed.

"'"Please charge it, Dawctah," she said, wearily, as she resumed her solitaire.

"'I charged a hundred dollars, but nothing could pay me for the humiliation I suffered. Going home, I pounded the mare shamefully.'

"'You charged a good price,' I said.

"'Yes; but it's like pulling teeth to get any money out of her. One has to earn it twice. Worth a million, and hangs everybody up. Some have to sue.'

"'Does nothing to-day that can be done to-morrow,' I said.

"'True,' said he; 'she don't look after her business, and thinks that every one is trying to cheat her.'

"'Same old story,' was my remark. I was her husband's lawyer. 'Well, dear, how much do you suppose McCrory's bill is for the last month?' he would ask her. She would look thoughtful and say: 'Oh, about fifteen hundred dollars.' 'My dear,' he would go on, 'it is ten thousand six hundred and forty-three dollars and twenty-four cents.' 'Oh, that's impossible,' she would answer. 'There's some mistake about it. I'll never O.K. such a bill. It's an outrage!' But the bill was always right.

"'I didn't suppose you would know the lady--I haven't mentioned her name,' said the Doctor.

"'I know her, but don't worry--I shall not betray your confidence. I knew her husband. It wore him out looking after the charge-it department. Now she's trying to get Harry Delance for his job.'

"'She's badly in need of a clerk,' said the Doctor, 'and I hope she gets one. He could look after the pimples as well as I can.'

"Many were getting ready for the ball, but this lady was the only one I knew of who had spent a hundred dollars for facial improvement. Harry, however, was about to spend a thousand dollars for the improvement of his conscience. It was one of the necessary expenses and it came about in this way:

"The day of the ball had arrived. Harry came to see me about noon. He said that he had been busy all the morning with preparations for the ball, but--

"He showed me a telegram. It was from Roger Daniels, and it said:

"'The recent slump in the market has put me in hell's hole. Please wire one thousand dollars to Bridgeport, where I am hung up. If you do, I shall give you good collateral and eternal gratitude. If you don't, we shall have to miss the ball. Please remember that I am waiting at the other end of the wire like a hungry cat at a mouse-hole.'

"Harry looked worried. The ball must come off, and, without Roger, it would be like Hamlet minus the melancholy Dane. It was a special compliment to Roger.

"'What do you advise me to do?' he asked.

"'Pay it.'

"'It will probably be a dead loss.'

"'Probably, but it's plainly up to you. He's got in trouble keeping your pace. To tell the honest truth, you're responsible for it, and the public will charge it to your account. You must pay the bill or suffer moral bankruptcy.'

"Harry was taken by surprise.

"'But I can pay for _my_ folly,' he said.

"'Yes; but when it becomes another man's folly it's stolen property, and as much yours as ever. The goods have your mark on 'em, and, by and by, they're dumped at your door. They may be damaged by dirt and vermin, but you've got to take 'em.

"'After all, Harry, why should a young man whose education has cost a hundred thousand dollars, if a cent, be giving up his life to folly? You're too smart to spend the most of your time looking beautiful--trying to excite the admiration of women and the envy of men. That might do in some of the old countries where the people are as dumb as cattle and are capable only of the emotion of awe and need professional gentlemen to excite it, and to feed upon their substance. Here the people have their moments of weakness, but mostly they are pretty level-headed. They judge men by what they do, not by what they look like. The professional gentleman is first an object of curiosity and then an object of scorn. He's not for us. Young man, I knew your father and your grandfather. I like you and want you to know that I am speaking kindly, but you ought to go to work.'

"'Mr. Potter, he said, 'upon my word, sir, I'm going to work one of these days--at something--I don't know what.'

"'The sooner the better,' I said. 'Work is the thing that makes men--nothing else. In Pointview everybody used to work. Now here are some facts for your genealogy that you haven't discovered. Your grandfather and grandmother raised a family of nine children and never had a servant--think of that. Your grandmother made clothes for the family and did all the work of the house. She was a doctor, a nurse, a teacher, a spinner, a weaver, a knitter, a sewer, a cook, a washerwoman, a gentle and tender mother. Now we are beginning to rot with idleness.

"'Let me tell you a story of a modern lady of Pointview.'

"Then I told him of the Doctor's call on the pimpled queen at midnight, and added:

"'Think of that! Think of the fathomless depths of vanity and selfishness that lie under that pimple. It's a monument more sublime than the Matterhorn. Think of the poor fellow that has to marry that human millstone, and be the clerk of her charge-it department.'

"'I can think of no worse luck, really,' said he. 'I wonder who it is!'

"'Doctors never give names,' I said. 'But you might look for the little black square of court-plaster."

"'By Jove!' he exclaimed. 'I shall look with interest.'

"The ball came off, and Roger got there, and so did the lady and the square of black court-plaster; and that night Harry began a new stage in his career.

"After all, Harry was no dunce, but he was not yet convinced."

IV

IN WHICH SOCRATES ENCOUNTERS "NEW THOUGHT" AND PSYCHOLOGICAL HAIR

"When people have little to do they go back to childishness. They long for novelty--new playthings, new adventures, new sensations, new friends. So our upper classes are utterly restless. Every old pleasure is a slough of despond. The ladies have tried jewels, laces, crests, titled husbands, divorces, gambling, cocktails, cigarettes, and other branches of exhilaration. They have passed through the slums of literature and of the East Side of Gotham. The gentlemen have shown them the way and smiled with amusement and gone on to greater triumphs. To these people every old idea is 'bromide.' It bores them. They scoff at men 'who take themselves seriously.' In a word, Moses and the Prophets are so much 'dope.' And they are excellent people who really want to make the world better, but the childish craze for novelty is upon them. Mrs. Revere-Chalmers was one of this kind. Harry came to me next day at my house and said:

"'By Jove! you know, it was my friend Mrs. R.-C. who wore the black square. But she is really a charming woman--not at all a bad sort. I want you to know her better. She made me promise to bring you over to-morrow afternoon if you would come.'

"We went. It was a 'new-thought' tea--a deep, brain-racking, forefinger-on-the-brow function. You could see the thoughts of the ladies and sometimes hear them as a 'professor' with long hair and smiles of fathomless inspiration wrapped himself in obscurity and called unto them out of the depths. He was all depth. They gazed at his soulful eyes and plunged into deep thought, catching at straws, and he returned to New York by the next train and probably made another payment, on account, to his landlady. Tea and conversation followed his departure.

"I had observed that Mrs. Revere-Chalmers had undergone a singular change of aspect, but failed to locate the point of difference until a sister had said to her in a tone of honeyed deviltry:

"'My dear, you are growing younger--quite surely younger, and your hair is so lovely and so--different! You know what I mean--it has the luster of youth, and the shade is adorable without a trace of gray in it.'

"This last phrase was the point of the dagger, and Mrs. Chalmers felt it. Sure enough, her hair had changed its hue, and was undeniably fuller and younger.

"Then our hostess gave out a confession which has made some history and is fully qualified to make more. It is a curious fact that one who is abnormal enough to commit a crime is apt to have poor caution.

"'I have been taking lessons of the Professor, and have produced this hair by concentration,' said she. 'It is a creation of the new thought and so wonderful I could almost forgive one for not believing me.'

"'A gem of thought--a hair poem!' I could not help exclaiming. 'Did it come all at once, in a flood of inspiration, or hair by hair?'

"'All at once,' she answered.

"I charged it and went on as if nothing great had happened.

"'Considered as a work of the imagination, it is wonderful, and should rank with the best of Shakespeare's,' I assured her. 'But it will subject you to unsuspected perils, for your footstool will be the shrine of the hairless and you shall see the top of every bald head in America.'

"Another lady sprang to her assistance by telling how she had extracted a pearl necklace from an unwilling husband who had said that he couldn't afford it, by concentration. The new thought had fetched him.

"The noble unselfishness with which they had used this miraculous gift of the spirit appealed to Harry and to me.

"In that brilliant company was a slim woman of the armored cruiser type, who had come to Betsey one day and said:

"'You're spoiling your husband. You make too much of him. You don't seem to know how to manage a husband, and the husbands of Pointview are being ruined by your example. They expect too much of us. We women have got to stand together. Don't you read the _Female Gazette_?'

"'No--I have been waiting till I could get a rubber-plant and other accessories,' said Betsey.

"'Well, it may not be _en règle_, but it is full of good sense,' said the lady. 'I've brought an article with me that I wish you would read.'

"She left the article, and its title was 'How to Manage a Husband.' It averred that too much petting, too much indulgence, made a man selfish and conceited; that affection should be administered with scientific reserve. Men should be taught to wait on themselves, and all that.

"They called on me for remarks, and I said:

"'I am glad to have become acquainted with the power of concentration. I propose that we all quit work and begin to concentrate. Matter is only a creation of spirit. Let us exercise our several sovereign spirits and try to turn out a better line of matter. Let us have fewer rocks and stones and more comforts. Sweat and toil are a great mistake. Let us turn Delance's Hill into plum-pudding and the stones thereof into caramels and its pond into tomato-soup. Why not? They have no reality, no substance. They are nothing but thoughts--and our thoughts, at that--and why shouldn't we change 'em? But somehow we can't fetch it. According to the Professor, we have got into the habit of thinking in terms of rock, soil, and water, and we can't get over it. There are some few of us who stand for better things; but the majority keep thinking in the old rut, and we can't sway them. The Professor says that all we need is to get together and agree and then concentrate. But agreement doesn't seem to be necessary. You know that there was a time when everybody, after much concentration, agreed that the world was flat--everybody but one man. Now the world was stubborn. It wouldn't give up. It hung on to its roundness, and let the people think what they pleased. They tried to flatten it with countless tons of concentration, but it held its shape. The one man had his way about it. So don't be discouraged by an adverse majority on this plum-pudding project. One lady has shown us a sample of concentrated hair, and it looks good to me. Why all this striving, all this trouble about the problems of life and death, when the straight, broad way of concentration is open to us? Why shouldn't we have concentrated bread and meat and shoes and socks and silks.