Part 12

It was easy to understand why Mr. Zzyx took such a fancy to Pat. During his convalescence, she had tried to teach him the alphabet by means of a primer; had shown him picture books, and built houses out of vari-colored blocks, entertaining and amusing him in various ways.

That particular night--early in the evening--she had gone to Mr. Zzyx's apartment with Henry. She happened to be carrying a new novel which she was particularly anxious to begin reading that night. Mr. Zzyx took a fancy to the book, probably on account of the picture of an African jungle luridly depicted in colors on its cover. Pat refused to give it to him, which put him in a bad temper.

She was in a dressing-gown and mules, when she discovered that, after all her trouble in holding on to the book, she had left it behind in Mr. Zzyx's apartment. She hurried back just as she was, and knocked at the door. Niki answered her knock, and on her request, returned the novel, and then closed the door. She went back to her own apartment, and was just about to re-enter it, when she glanced back, down the hall.

Mr. Zzyx was peering out of the doorway of his bedroom. This gave her quite a start, and she darted into her room, quickly locking the door after her.

Her story of what followed was an odd one.

"I wasn't so awfully frightened when I saw Mr. Zzyx peeping out at me," she said, "or I would have gone straight into Aunt Jane's apartment, the safest place in the castle. I had become so accustomed to Mr. Zzyx's antics--he's just as playful as a child--I saw no reason why I should become unduly alarmed. So I settled down, and read my novel until about midnight. I went to sleep almost as soon as my head touched the pillow.

"I don't know how long I'd been asleep when something aroused me. It was a sound outside my bedroom door. I switched on the lights, slid out of bed, caught up my dressing-gown and went to the door and listened. I distinctly heard a scratching noise outside my door--a sound my pet poodle makes when it wants to come into my room. Then I saw the brass knob, inside my door, moving, and I got the impression that some one was pressing his full weight against the door. Well, I was just too scared to scream, so I started hammering on the door.

"Then I listened again, by placing my ear close against the door. I'm sure I heard a stealthy movement outside, a soft, cat's-foot movement, as though some one was moving away, down the hall; then everything became quiet. Finally, I became more composed myself, and finding that I had not aroused anyone by hammering on the door, I went back to bed. But I never closed my eyes again that night."

When Pat recounted her adventure the next morning at breakfast, Henry was inclined to dismiss it as trivial. "My dear, you had a nightmare," he said. "Who on earth would want to get into your apartment at that hour of the night? As for Mr. Zzyx, why, he wouldn't hurt a fly."

Jane was stunned by Pat's story, and immediately added another bolt to her bedroom door. For myself, I had heard no sound during the night, and I'm a very light sleeper, and easy to waken. I felt, like Henry, that perhaps Pat may have dreamed it.

At least, that was my opinion, until shortly after breakfast, while examining the outside of her bedroom door, I found several distinct marks, where the paint had been scratched, or clawed, off. Discovering these marks, I felt it was not a nightmare of Pat's. So I questioned Niki.

"You don't think it could have been Mr. Zzyx at Pat's door?" I asked him.

Niki looked startled, then he grinned, and established a complete alibi for our guest. "No," he said. "Mr. Zzyx never left his room last night."

I left him, my mind confused in many ways, but entirely clear on one point. There was something at Pat's door, that was sure.

Jane was naturally upset and uncomfortable the first night Mr. Zzyx dined formally with us. We were both dressed for dinner, and waiting in the entrance hall for the others to come down. She had just been telling me of her resolve not to close the castle on November first, and open our town house, a custom we had rigidly followed for so many years, when she happened to glance up the grand staircase. Clutching my arm suddenly, she whispered: "My God, Livingston! Look!"

I turned, and gave one look, and then I burst out laughing, the sight that met my eyes was so incredulous. Marching down the staircase, three abreast, came Henry and McGinity, with Mr. Zzyx between them, all three in immaculate dinner dress and enveloped in an atmosphere of complete dignity. Henry seemed more astounded than affronted at my mirth. Before he could voice his sentiments one way or the other, an excited murmur came from Pat, who had just entered the hall from the drawing room.

"Good work, Uncle Henry!" she exclaimed, rushing over to the foot of the staircase. "And Mr. Zzyx! He looks as smart as they make them!"

Mr. Zzyx seemed pleased at the furore he was causing, and proud of his tailed dinner clothes. He kept drawing our attention to his pearl shirt-studs and cuff-links.

"Now, I suppose Mr. Zzyx will be expected to escort me into dinner," said Pat.

"Not a chance," said McGinity, moving quickly to her side; "unless he's smarter than I think."

As Mr. Zzyx advanced towards Jane, she walked away. She stopped when Henry said: "Don't be afraid, Jane. Mr. Zzyx has no idea of hurting anyone. What interests him is that gold-beaded bag you're carrying."

"Oh!" said Jane, flushing. Then she handed the bag to Mr. Zzyx, who inspected it closely, smelt it, and then gave it back to her.

"Really!" she exclaimed. "He acts almost human!"

At this stage of the proceedings, Schweizer appeared on the scene, to announce that dinner was served. And to my dying day, I shall never forget the mingled look of amazement and horror that spread over the butler's rotund face as his eyes fell on Mr. Zzyx.

And one couldn't blame him. It was enough to give any one the jitters to see this half-human creature in smart evening dress, his heavy animal fur framing a human face, and his hairy hands and forearms protruding from the white cuffs of a stiff-bosomed shirt.

We had not been seated long at the table before I realized that Mr. Zzyx, despite his repulsive appearance, possessed the mentality and playful urge of a child. This was evident during the entrée course, when he began to make wig-wag signals with his napkin, in an effort to attract the butler's attention. What possible motive could he have? Then, suddenly, the truth dawned on me. It was Schweizer who served the dinner, and it was the food he brought that interested Mr. Zzyx most. He had a most voracious appetite.

He sat between Henry and McGinity, in a great throne-chair which Henry had brought from Europe. I must admit Niki had accomplished wonders in teaching him how to handle his knife, fork and spoon. He ate everything that was set before him, and showed a great fondness for Henry's choice wines and champagne. Now and then, he would pause in his eating, and look round the table, his sharp black eyes taking us all in, one at a time; then he would chatter something unintelligible, and resume his eating.

Henry noted this, and remarked: "Of course, we all appear very strange to our honored guest, as it would be if we, ourselves, were catapulted to Mars in a rocket, and suddenly found ourselves dining with a group of Martians. In time, I hope he will be able to speak our language."

"And then we'll know what he thinks about us," McGinity suggested. "But he must realize by this time, how much we all think of him." Turning to Mr. Zzyx, he patted him on the arm, and added: "You're in pretty soft, aren't you, young fellow?"

And to out utter amazement, Mr. Zzyx turned to McGinity and spoke--actually spoke for the first time. He distinctly mouthed a word that sounded like "Spaghet!" with emphasis on the last syllable. He sort of hissed the word.

"There you are!" exclaimed Henry. "I thought all along he had the power of speech. I shall engage a tutor for him the very first thing tomorrow morning."

"He certainly said something," McGinity observed; "sounded like Latin to me."

And then Pat distinguished herself. "My opinion is that he tried to say 'spaghetti'," she offered. "That has some Latin connection, hasn't it? Niki says he's terribly fond of it."

After dinner, Mr. Zzyx lounged indolently in the largest easy chair in the library, while Schweizer served coffee. He smoked one cigarette after another with evident enjoyment. When Henry first offered him one of his big cigars, he surprised and amused us by biting off the end of it, and then throwing the cigar away. The end he thrust in his mouth and began chewing it.

A little later, as I placed my empty coffee cup on the butler's tray--this was after Niki had taken Mr. Zzyx upstairs, to undress him and put him to bed--Schweizer whispered: "I beg pardon, sir, but I don't like the looks of that fellow!"

"I'm afraid, Schweizer," I rejoined, "that you'll be seeing a good deal of this 'fellow' from now on."

The butler reflected a moment in silence on this information, and then walked away, muttering: "I don't like his looks--I don't like his looks!"

XVIII

The following morning, while Henry was making arrangements about engaging a tutor for Mr. Zzyx, and McGinity busied himself in giving proper publicity to our guest's first attempt at speech, Pat and I strolled down to our dock. We went there on Niki's pressing invitation to see the progress Mr. Zzyx was making in operating a runabout Henry had recently acquired.

When we arrived at the dock, Mr. Zzyx was seated in the bow, at the steering-wheel, looking very nautical and important in a blue worsted suit, a white, soft-collar shirt, with a blue and white polka dot tie, and a smart yachting cap. He beckoned at once to Pat to come down and get into the boat.

"Oh, no! Thanks!" she called down to him.

He looked up at Pat and me imploringly. "I guess he wants us both to come for a ride," I said. But Pat said she didn't want to go.

What happened, then and there, was an exhibition of handling a runabout I didn't believe possible in a creature of such low mental caliber. He seemed to take to it instinctively. Knowing there was a great scarcity of water on Mars, I wondered how it came to him so easily.

At Niki's word of command, he started the engine, and then steered the boat, as unerringly as an arrow, in a swift and successful quarter-mile run between the dock and our tiny island of rock, on which stands the ruins of the old, stone lighthouse.

Pat and I applauded his feat on his return. In fact, Pat became so enthusiastic over his expertness in steering the boat, that she took her courage in hand, and ran down the steps, and jumped into the runabout. "Now, Mr. Zzyx," I heard her say, "please give me a ride to the island, and back."

Before I could voice my objection, Niki hopped out, and I was horrified to see the boat race off again towards the island. While I was protesting to Niki, I was keeping my eyes trained on the runabout, which had now reached the island. Even from that distance, I could see Mr. Zzyx doing a peculiar thing.

He had pulled up alongside the small dock; the engine was still running, and the propeller kicking up a lot of foam. Apparently, he didn't know how to tie up the boat. He was standing up, and making funny motions to Pat, who seemed to be protesting by gestures. To say I was not only puzzled but frightened is rather to understate the situation.

If I had any coherent thoughts at all, they were that Mr. Zzyx wanted Pat to go ashore with him and explore the island; he had an abnormal sense of curiosity. There was really nothing of interest to see there. It was all rock, devoid of trees and grass. The only habitable building was a small shanty, which the Government had used for storage purposes before Henry purchased the island.

"Why, in heaven's name, did you let him take Pat off like that?" I protested to Niki. "Why didn't you stay aboard? He's dangerous."

Niki shrugged rather insolently at my fears. Since receiving a liberal payment from Henry on the reward he had earned by first discovering the rocket, he had become rather impudent. "Mr. Zzyx is not dangerous, Meester Livingston," he countered. "He only likes fun--like a leetle kitten!"

"When I say he's dangerous I mean that he is," I replied, with vehemence. Then, profoundly shaken over Pat's security, I cried: "Oh, what shall I do?" and turned round to run back to the castle. The next moment, I had run full tilt into McGinity.

McGinity's reaction to the situation was typical. "That bird is too dangerous to trifle with," he said; and within a few minutes he was in one of our row-boats, heading for the island.

To my amazement, the next thing I saw was Mr. Zzyx bringing the speed-boat back to the dock. I had pulled myself together somewhat when he returned. I was surprised to see Pat, lolling comfortably among some cushions, a cigarette in her hand and a cool smile on her face. By that time, McGinity had put back to the dock. He arrived in time to help Pat out of the runabout.

"What's all the trouble?" she asked him, a little sharply.

"Oh, I don't know," he replied, vaguely. "We just thought you might be stuck over there, and couldn't get back."

"No fear," she returned, and laughed a little. "Mr. Zzyx has too much common sense for that. The way he handles the boat is simply marvelous. It was real excitement. I wouldn't have missed the ride--not for anything!"

"All the same," McGinity remarked, "it was lucky for you, perhaps, that I got here in time--that is, in case anything did happen."

Pat waved that off with a light gesture, and turned to me. "How does Uncle Livingston feel about it?" she inquired.

"I was pretty well excited myself, Pat," I replied; "uneasy-like."

"I simply wanted to show Mr. Zzyx that I'm not afraid to be alone with him, and that I'm a good sport besides," Pat explained.

"It's bad business," said McGinity, "any way you look at it. Matter of fact, I think Mr. Zzyx is bad business."

"I don't see it," Pat retorted.

It was not until an hour later, when I found myself alone with Pat, that I learned the truth about the situation, although I was convinced from the first that she had deliberately overplayed her attitude of indifference to danger.

"I was nearly scared to death," she confessed. "I did not miss Niki until we were well on our way to the island. Mr. Zzyx showed by his actions that he wanted me to tie up the boat, and go ashore with him, but I wouldn't budge. If he had remained there, at the dock, a minute longer, I would have yelled, screamed--jumped overboard. But--" she concluded, as she tightened her grasp of my arm, "never mind what I felt--Bob mustn't suspect."

In other words, she was still concealing her fear of Mr. Zzyx lest something might happen to spoil McGinity's news stories, and remove him from our midst. For some weeks now, he had been assigned by his paper to "cover" Mr. Zzyx's every movement, and to report all the news developments in connection with Henry's theories about Mars. This necessitated his remaining at the castle.

The Daily Recorder, however, long since, had announced in its editorial columns that while it printed all the news concerning the recent Martian revelations, the publishers assumed no responsibility for their veracity, and their readers were left to render a verdict in accordance with the facts. This was a little raw on Henry, I thought.

Anyhow, the incident of the runabout was forgotten in the excitement of the following day, when the Swedish-born Mayor of New York, His Honor, Oscar Swenson, gave an official reception for Mr. Zzyx at the City Hall. And what happened there became local history.

There was a large crowd outside our lodge-gate as we drove off, in an open car; and all along the way, in the suburbs, and through the city, to the downtown district, police reserves had to be called out to control the vast throngs which lined our route.

It was a triumphal procession through the city. Mr. Zzyx waved to the people in response to their loud huzzas. From the clouds of ticker-tape and confetti that descended upon us, he collected a great quantity. He and Henry, sitting in the rear seat, were knee-deep in it by the time we reached the City Hall. On our way, while the procession was held up by cross-town traffic, I bought a raspberry lollypop from a street vendor for Mr. Zzyx. Henry frowned on this as very undignified, but Mr. Zzyx sucked it with great enjoyment. His actions reminded me of a small boy at his first circus.

The day was perfect--the air cool and crisp. We found City Hall plaza one vast sea of faces. As we passed through a barrage of cameramen, a Swedish chorus burst into song; and we had no sooner taken our places on the steps, beside the Mayor, scores of other city officials, and many notable invited guests, when several hundred Swedish gymnasts entertained us with feats of physical prowess.

I wished that Jane and Pat had come with us, but they both had elected to remain at home, and enjoy the happenings at the City Hall through the medium of the radio and television.

Mayor Swenson is a tall, gaunt, rosy-cheeked Swede, but his head only reached to the shoulders of Mr. Zzyx when they stepped in front of the microphone and television transmission instruments. Niki had accompanied us as the Martian's bodyguard, and never left his side. He carried an automatic pistol, ready for any emergency, as I learned afterwards.

It was not my first experience of an official reception at the City Hall, but many years had intervened since I attended the last one. Although I was very familiar with the great changes that had taken place, politically, in the city administration, this first close personal contact with the Mayor, the Board of Aldermen, and the various Commissioners, was in the nature of a shock. There was not one single Irishman in the Aldermanic board, nor even a Jew. The board was composed mostly of Chinese, Turks, Filipinos, and Bulgarians, and one Eskimo, who had entered politics after graduating with honors from Princeton University.

Amid this gathering of mixed nationalities, Mr. Zzyx was an outstanding figure. As time passed, he grew restless, and kept running a long, hairy finger around his immaculate collar as though it choked him. He was attired in a formal cutaway coat and striped trousers, topped with a silk hat, which he wore at an angle that gave him a rather rakish appearance. He looked to me exactly like a huge, over-stuffed piece of furniture, with the hair sticking out.

A breathless hush fell upon the thousands as the Mayor raised his hand to command silence. His voice sounded a bit squeaky through the loud speakers, not thunderous, as I had anticipated. I took notes of his speech, which follows:

"I t'ank it's about time I introduced the city's distinguished visitor from Mars." (A pause until the cheering had subsided.) "I bane t'anking as I stood here that Mr. Zzyx is probably the most unique visitor the great city of New York has ever welcomed, officially, yah?" (More applause.) "Some of you no doubt bane t'anking that he is a great fakir. My wife and me, we bane having an argument about this. My wife, she t'anks he's just a big monkey that's got loose from some zoo." (Laughter.) "When I ask our good friend, Mr. Henry Royce," (Mayor's voice lost in a tumult of cheers)--"when I ask him what he bane t'anking about Mr. Zzyx, and his coming in a rocket, on a beach out on Long Island, he only shakes his head, and says he knows next to noddings; and I t'ank he's just as much fooled as the rest of us. But whether our distinguished guest comes from Mars or the moon, I bane t'anking we must hold fast to our traditions, and bestow on him the key to our great city of fifteen million people--yah? Therefore, it is with the greatest pleasure that I confer such an honor upon Mr. Zzyx, the jungle man from Mars."

So saying, the Mayor handed an important-looking scroll to Mr. Zzyx, who took it, and immediately unfolded it and began to look for pictures. Not finding any, he passed it over to Henry, at whose signal, Niki stepped forward to superintend Mr. Zzyx's introduction at the microphone.

Our Martian visitor made a better showing at the microphone than I had expected. I did not know then that for several days previous to the reception, Niki had coached him in the use of the instrument. First, he peered curiously into it, then he stuck his finger in, as though he had seen some imprisoned insect inside.

Suddenly, he began to chatter, and then, just as suddenly, he stopped. Hearing his own voice amplified through the loud speakers seemed to have startled him. After Niki had patted him reassuringly on the arm, he burst into chatter again, concluding with the only word he could pronounce--"Spaghet!" He seemed to spit the word into the microphone, which sent the crowd into convulsions of laughter and cheers.

That practically ended the official city reception. After stepping into our car, Mr. Zzyx further amused the crowd by smoking a cigarette, and tipping his hat to the ladies, another trick Niki had taught him. On the return trip to Long Island, he was greeted with even greater acclaim than had been shown him earlier in the day.

We found Pat in a state of excitement. Mrs. Cornelius Van Dyk, she said, had telephoned during our absence, to announce that she was giving a dinner for Mr. Zzyx on the following Monday. After dinner, she planned to take Mr. Zzyx to the opening performance of the winter season at the Metropolitan-Civic Opera House.

Naturally, Pat was excited about this; we all were. Mrs. Van Dyk is the last word in fashionable exclusiveness in New York society; even European royalty is more accessible.

XIX

Mr. Zzyx behaved beautifully at the very brilliant dinner given in his honor by Mrs. Cornelius Van Dyk at her town residence, the last red brick mansion of a remote period, except our own, still left standing in Washington Square. A dinner made more memorable than it otherwise would have been by the distinguished array of guests. Among them, Henry's beloved and revered old friend, the venerable Episcopalian prelate, Bishop William Buckingham, who had grown a bit queer in his dotage.

"A very novel idea on the part of our hostess," the Bishop remarked to Henry after dinner, in the smoking-room, while I sat by, listening and silent. "This sort of thing was done, years ago, at Newport, a monkey-dinner, as I recall reading about it, and the clergy and the newspapers made an awful row. Certainly times have changed when we can sit down to dinner with a man-ape without the flicker of an eye-lash. After this, I shan't be at all surprised to have one of my old parishioners invite me to dine with a white rabbit. Mrs. Van Dyk sets the fashions in New York, you know."

"After all," remarked Henry, "brutes and humans really belong to one great family by common descent."

"Hold your miserable tongue, sir!" the Bishop responded, perkily.

"Not until I've extended an invitation to your reverence, to attend the banquet the Exploration Club is giving for Mr. Zzyx on November thirtieth," Henry rejoined.

"The Exploration Club! How extraordinary!" the Bishop exclaimed. "The most exclusive club of its kind in the city. What's up?"

"Oh, just another revelation concerning Mars," Henry replied, nonchalantly. "You will come, won't you?"

"Do my best to oblige," the Bishop replied.