Part 3
They both looked intently at the bird. The weather was a little unfavorable for close observation, for, as it may be remembered, Saturday morning was by turns foggy and rainy. A light mist hung over the wet grass now, but the tropical visitor, or whatever he was, could be descried without much difficulty.
He sat, or stood, either on the lower branches of the bush, or amongst them, on the ground. His feathers were decidedly ruffled, and he turned his back toward his observers. His shoulders were a little drawn up, in the attitude usually ascribed by artists to Napoleon, looking out over the ocean from St. Helena's rocky isle. But it was possible, even at that distance, to see his magnificent crimson crest.
Mr. Kookle took a deep breath. "Yes," he said, "I suspected it."
"What?" inquired Mrs. Mayo, eagerly, "What is it?"
"Madam," returned the bird author, impressively, "you have my sincerest congratulations. I envy you. You have the distinction of having been the first observer, to the best of my knowledge, of the only specimen of the Bulbus Claristicus Giganticus ever known to come north of the fourteenth parallel of latitude."
Mrs. Mayo was moved nearly to tears. Never in all her career as a bird enthusiast, not even when she addressed the Twenty Minute Culture Club on "Sparrows I Have Known"--never had she felt the solemn joy that filled her at this minute.
"Are you sure that is what it is?" she asked in hushed tones.
"Absolutely positive," replied the authority, "at least--if I could only get a nearer view of his feet, I could speak with certainty. Now, if we could surround the bush, so to speak, you creeping up from one side and I from the other, we might get nearer to him. I will make a détour to your driveway, and so get on the other side of him. You approach him from the house."
"Just let me get my rubbers," said Mrs. Mayo.
"Please hurry," the other returned.
When the rubbers were procured they commenced their strategic movement. "If I could only be sure that it is the Bulbus!" ejaculated Mr. Kookle.
Mrs. Mayo turned toward him.
"Do you suppose," she whispered, "that it is the great condor of the Andes?"
Mr. Kookle shook his head.
Then they both started again on their stealthy errand. Slowly, quietly, they proceeded until they stood opposite each other, with the syringa and its strange visitant half-way between them. Then Mr. Kookle raised his hand as a signal, and they began to approach the bush. The bird seemed to hear them, for he immediately took interest in the proceedings. He raised his head, hopped out from the bush, and uttered a peculiar, hoarse note that sounded like:
"Craw-w-w-w!"
Mr. Kookle and Mrs. Mayo stopped in their tracks, electrified. Then the bird put its other foot on the ground and gave vent to this remarkable song:
"Cut, cut, cut, cut, cut, ker-dar-cut! Ker-dar-cut! Ker-dar-cut!"
Then it gave two or three more raucous squawks, ran toward the fence, flew over it, ran across the street, under Mr. Higgins's fence, and joined his other Black Minorca fowls that were seeking their breakfast in the side yard.
Then Mrs. Mayo returned to the house, and Mr. Reginald Kookle, the author of "Winged Warblers of Waltham" and "The Chickadee and His Children," returned his field glasses to their case, turned up the collar of his famous brown suit, and walked rapidly down the street.
* * * * *
But Miss Patterson had been busy at the library telephone all this time. Scarcely had she ended her conversation with Mrs. Mayo when someone called her to have her repeat "Curfew Shall Not Ring To-night" over the telephone. This was only finished when the bell rang again.
"Hello! This the library?"
"Yes."
"Well, I wish you'd tell me the answer to this. There's a prize offered in the 'Morning Howl' for the first correct answer. 'I am only half as old as my uncle,' said a man, 'but if I were twice as old as he is I should only be three years older than my grandfather, who was born at the age of sixteen. How old was the man?' Now, would you let x equal the age of the uncle, or the man?"
Miss Patterson could not think of any immediate answer to this, nor of any book of reference that would tell her instantly. So she appealed to Mr. Vanhoff, who had returned to the room.
"What was that?" inquired Mr. Vanhoff; "get him to repeat it."
She did so, and the librarian struggled with it for a moment. "Why, it is all nonsense. Tell him that we cannot solve any newspaper puzzles over the telephone. He will have to come to the library."
Then Mrs. Pomfret Smith announced herself on the telephone.
"That the library? Who is this? Miss Patterson? Oh, how do you do? This is so nice of Mr. Vanhoff. I was coming down to the library this morning, but the weather is so horrid that I thought I would telephone instead. Now, my cousin is visiting me, and I have told her about a novel I read last summer, and she is just crazy to read it, too. But I can't for the life of me recall the name of it. Now, do you remember what it was?"
"Why--I'm afraid I don't. Who was the author?"
"That's just the trouble. I can't remember his name to save my life! I'm not even sure that I noticed his name--or her name--whoever it was. I never care much who wrote them--I just look them through, and if they're illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy or anybody like that, I just take them, because I know then they'll be all right. This one had pictures by Christy or Wenzell or one of those men. It was a lovely book--oh, I do wish you could tell me what it was! Where is Miss Anderson? She would know. Isn't she there?"
"No--I am sorry, she will not be here till afternoon. If you could tell me something about the novel--the plot, and so forth, I might have read it myself."
"Oh, of course you've read it. Why, you read all the books that come into the library, don't you?"
"Not quite all."
"You don't? How funny! Why, whatever do you find to do with yourselves down there? You're sure you don't remember the one I want?"
"Why, Mrs. Smith, you haven't told me about the plot of it yet."
"Oh, no, so I haven't. Well--let me see--Um! why, it was about--now, what in the world _was_ it about? Oh dear, I never can think, with this thing up to my ear! What's that, Central? Yes, I got them all right--hold the line, please. Oh dear, I'll have to ring off and think it over, and as soon as I remember, I'll call you up again. Thank you, so much! Good-by."
The next was a man who spoke in a deep voice. "Hello! Is this the library? Have you a history of Peru? You have? Now, that is very fortunate. I do not know how many places I have inquired. I only want a few facts--only a paragraph or two. You can tell them to me over the 'phone, can you not, and I will take them down?"
Miss Patterson had her finger on an article about Peru in the encyclopædia. "'Peru,'" she began to read, "'the ancient kingdom of the Incas--'"
"Of the whichers?" interrupted the man.
"The Incas," she repeated.
"Spell it," he commanded.
"_I n c a s_," she spelled.
"Oh, Lord!" said the man, "that's South America. I've been hearing about them all day. The principal of the High School gave me a song and dance about the Incas. I mean Peru, Indiana. Here, I'll come down to the library--this telephone booth is so hot I can't get my breath. Good-by."
* * * * *
Mrs. Pomfret Smith, unlike Jeffries, had come back. She greeted Miss Patterson with enthusiasm.
"Oh, Miss Patterson, I've remembered all about it now. You see, it starts this way. There is a girl, a New York girl, who has married an English lord, or, rather, she is just going to marry him--the brother of the first man she was engaged to steps in, and tells her that the lord isn't genuine, and he presents her maid with a jeweled pin which his mother, the countess, received from her husband--her first husband, that is--three days after the battle of--oh, I don't know the name of the battle--the 'Charge of the Light Brigade,' it was, and he was in that--no, his uncle was, and he said to his tent-mate, the night before the battle: 'Charley, I'm not coming out of this alive, and my cousin will be the lawful heir, but I want you to take this and dig with it underneath the floor of the old summer house, and the papers that you will find there will make Gerald a rich man.' And so he took it and when he got to Washington he handed it to the old family servant who hadn't seen him for sixty years, and then dropped dead, so they never knew whether he was the real one or only the impostor, and so just as the wedding was about to take place the uncle--he was a senator--said to the bishop, who was going to marry them: '_Please get off this line, I am using it!_' And so it never took place, after all. Now, can you tell me what the name of the book is, Miss Patterson?"
"Why, I am afraid I do not recognize it. It sounds a little like Mrs. Humphry Ward and Ouida and Frances Hodgson Burnett, and someone else, all at once. Was it by any of them, Mrs. Smith?"
"Oh, no, I am sure it was not. Why, I am surprised--I thought you would know it now, without any hesitation!"
"I am sorry."
"Oh, very well, then. Good-by."
The last in a tone as acid and cold as lemon ice. It seemed to express Mrs. Smith's opinion of all librarians. Miss Patterson was much grieved, but the telephone bell rang again before she had time to reflect.
"Is this the library? Oh, yes. I wonder if you have a life of Mrs. Browning?"
"Yes--I think so. What would you like to know about her?"
"Well, there--I am certainly glad. This is Miss Crumpet, you know! Miss Hortense Crumpet. I have had such a time. Have you the book right there? I do wish you would--"
"If you will wait just a minute, I will send for the book--I haven't it here."
"Oh, thank you so much."
The book was fetched, and Miss Patterson informed Miss Crumpet that she now held the volume ready.
"Have you it right there?"
"Yes."
"Well, I want to see a picture of Mrs. Browning. We have a portrait here, and my aunt says it is George Eliot, and I know it is Mrs. Browning. Now, if you could just hold up the book--why, how perfectly ridiculous of me! I can't see it over the telephone, can I? Why, how absolutely absurd! I never thought at all! I was going to come to the library for it, only it is so horrid and rainy, and then I remembered that I saw in the paper about your answering questions by telephone, and I thought, why, how nice, I'll just call them up on the 'phone--and now it won't do me any good at all, will it?"
"I'm afraid not."
"And I'll have to come to the library after all. Oh, dear! Good-by."
"Good-by."
The bell rang again as soon as the receiver had been replaced.
"Hello! How are you for pigs' feet to-day?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Pigs' feet! How many yer got?"
"This is the public library. Did you call for us?"
"Who? The what? No; I'm trying to get Packer and Pickleums. I don't want no public library. What's the matter with that girl at central? This is the third time--"
His conversation ended abruptly as the receiver was hung up. Miss Patterson was soon called again. Mrs. Pomfret Smith was once more unto the breach.
"Miss Patterson? I've remembered some more about that book, now. It had a bright red cover and the name of it was printed in gilt letters. It was about so high--oh, I forgot, you can't see over the telephone, can you? Well, it was about as big as books usually are, you know, and it was quite thick--oh, it must have had a hundred or two hundred pages--perhaps more than that, I am not sure. And the front picture was of a girl--the heroine, I guess, and a man, and he had his arms around her and she was looking up into his face. _Now_, you can remember what book it was, can't you, Miss Patterson?"
A LITERARY MEET
A LITERARY MEET
Dr. Gotthold, formerly librarian to H. H. Prince Otto of Grunewald, has very kindly forwarded a copy of the "Olympian Times" containing an account of the recent field day, gymkhana, and general meet of the Fictitious and Historical Characters' Amateur Athletic Association. It is reproduced here verbatim:
On the morning of the meet everyone was delighted to see that fair weather prevailed. As it was well known that the pious Æneas was going to act as one of the field judges, a good many persons had expected that his old enemy Æolus would contrive some kind of a kibosh in the shape of high winds. But nothing of the sort happened, and thousands streamed out to the grounds in the best of spirits.
The assemblage was a brilliant one. The "Times's" representative noticed a number of automobile parties. A magnificent new car belonging to Helen of Troy carried its fair owner, and a select party consisting of Iseult of Ireland, Mme. Anna Karenina, Paris, Tristram and Don Juan. Another car, belonging to Baron Chevrial, contained that nobleman, as well as Mr. Dorian Gray, Iago, and James Steerforth, Esq. A special railway car belonging to Croesus, King of Lydia, brought a large party, including Omar Khayyam, Comus, Shylock and the Marquis of Carabas.
The football game was scheduled as the first event. The two teams came on the field at a dog-trot led by their respective captains. This was the line-up:
Achilles (Captain), l.e. r.e., Umslopogaas Mercutio, l.t. r.t., Raffles John Ridd, l.g. r.g., Learoyd Ursus, c. c., Falstaff (Hercules) Robinson Crusoe, r.g. l.g., Roderick Dhu Sir Launcelot, r.t. l.t., Capt. Brassbound Robin Hood, r.e. l.e., Hamlet (Captain) Ulysses, q.b. q.b., S. Ortheris Othello, r.h.b. l.h.b., Lars Porsena Rawdon Crawley, l.h.b. r.h.b., Sydney Carton T. Mulvaney, f.b. f.b., Hector
Officials: Referee, Sherlock Holmes; umpire, King Arthur; field judge, Henry Esmond; linesmen, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
We do not know who was responsible for the make-up of the teams, and we cannot enter into a detailed description of the game, but we must say that a more hopelessly one-sided affair we have never witnessed. The team captained by the Prince of Denmark had about as much chance against that led by the swift-footed son of Peleus as Miss Lindsay's Select School for Girls would against the Yale 'varsity.
Both teams were badly off for tackles, and while we do not wish to criticise the fairly good game played by Sir Launcelot and Captain Brassbound, we cannot help remarking that neither Mercutio nor Raffles had any business in that position.
We understand that Mr. Raffles formerly had some reputation as a cricketer, and we advise him to stick to that game. As for Mercutio (whose reputation, we believe, rests chiefly on a rather unsuccessful duel in Verona a number of years ago) it was plain that his was the weakest part of the line. Time and again Hector tore through Mercutio for big gains.
Indeed, if Hamlet had had the sense to keep pounding at left tackle his team might at least have scored one touchdown. But instead, Captain Hamlet would wander off between the plays, muttering to himself something about to punt or not to punt, and the quarter, Ortheris, was left to run the team alone.
This was unfortunate, for although Mr. Ortheris played a quick and snappy game himself, his signals were badly chosen. We believe that the climate of India, where he used to reside, affected him in some unfavorable manner, so that he is subject to occasional fits of madness. What with the peculiarity of the captain of his team in this respect, it seemed as if their side were badly handicapped. Umslopogaas played brilliantly at right end, but it was no use.
What in the name of common sense impelled their coach to put Sir John Falstaff at center? The day has gone by when weight is the only consideration in that position. Moreover, you cannot train for football on sack and capons. Ursus made the old knight look like thirty cents in counterfeit money. Luckily he was taken out at the end of the first period--wheezing badly--and Hercules took his place.
The game ended as might have been expected--34 to 0, in favor of Achilles's team.
The football game had occupied most of the morning, but after it was over there was still time for the spectators to witness some minor contests before luncheon.
Many wandered over to the tennis courts. A set of mixed doubles was in progress, with Lady Macbeth and Pudd'nhead Wilson opposed by Morgan le Fay and Mr. Isaacs. The Queen of Scotland and her partner from Missouri took a love set at the beginning of the match, but the second set was hotly contested, and finally went to Morgan le Fay and Mr. Isaacs, 7-5.
Morgan le Fay won ace after ace, proving herself the mistress of a very powerful and puzzling service, while Mr. Isaacs covered the court with the agility of a cat. They took the final set, and the match, winning easily with a score of 6-1.
Gentlemen's singles were also being played, and at the time when our representative had to leave the courts the tournament was practically won by Nathan Burke, as the only undefeated players remaining were Hugh Wynne and Alfred Jingle.
Under the trees near by, some games of cards were in progress. Miss Lily Bart was instructing Diana of the Crossways, Major Pendennis, and Mr. Pickwick in auction bridge.
Horatius, hearing the word "bridge" mentioned, hurried over to the table, but when he saw what was going on, lost his interest and walked away toward the golf links with Sir Patrick Spens.
At another table Mr. John Oakhurst seemed to have obliterated the color-line, for he was deeply engaged in a three-handed game of poker with Rev. Mr. Johnsing and Brother Cyanide Whiffles of the Thompson Street Poker Club.
Everybody was interested in aviation, and when the rumor got about that the aviators were going to make some flights there was a general rush toward the hangars. Only three made ascents, however--Darius Green, Icarus, and Peter Pan. The first tried one of his celebrated spiral descents, and of course came to the ground with a crash. His machine was a total wreck.
Icarus did not have much better luck--he was carried off to the hospital. He rose to an enormous height, and is said to have beaten all previous records for altitude, but something went wrong with his biplane, and he fell with terrible force.
King Arthur, his duties as umpire of the football game finished, challenged Macbeth to nine holes of golf, and beat the Scottish king, on his own heath, so to speak. King Arthur's drives were magnificent, showing that the arm that once wielded Excalibur had not weakened since its owner's retirement to the island valley of Avilion. They play very classy golf in Avilion.
Macbeth's putts were beautiful to watch, but as he usually arrived on the green in at least two strokes more than the monarch of the Round Table, they did him very little good. Twice on the drive he sliced, and the ball went wide into a grove of trees. When he asked his caddie the name of the grove, and the youth replied, "Birnam Wood, your Majesty," the former Thane of Cawdor turned pale and hammered the ground with his brassie.
When the royal players came to the ninth tee, Macbeth was heard to mutter, "What though I foozle, top, and slice, and thou opposed be now three up--yet will I try the last--lay on, Mac--I mean, it's your honor, Arthur!"
King Arthur did the difficult ninth hole in bogey, but poor old Macbeth plowed up the turf all along the fair green, and finally holed out amid a burst of Scotch profanity sad to hear.
Neither of their queens was present--her Majesty of Scotland being engaged, as we have said, on the tennis courts, while Queen Guinevere--well, it is enough for anyone to read the line-up of one of the football teams to know that Queen Guinevere was still lingering around the clubhouse, waiting for the players to come out. We have no wish to mention unpleasant things, and we abhor scandals--still facts are facts, and it is the duty of a conscientious newspaper to record them.
Down on the lake that expert submarine navigator, Captain Nemo, was entertaining a large crowd by the maneuvers of his celebrated boat, the Nautilus, and an exhibition of skillful paddling was offered by Hiawatha in his canoe.
The sound of revolver shots drew a number of spectators to see a match between Sherlock Holmes and The Virginian.
The greatest throng, however, surrounded a fencing bout between Cyrano de Bergerac and D'Artagnan. Cyrano had some dispute with the referee, before beginning, on the question of whether he should be allowed to compose a poem while he was fencing. He alleged that it was his custom to do so, and that he could not possibly appear at his best if the privilege were denied. His opponent objected, however.
"Just a ballade, monsieur," pleaded Cyrano, "or at least, a vilanelle."
"Cut out the poet business, Cy!" shouted someone--it is suspected that Chimmie Fadden was the man, and the referee so ruled. D'Artagnan was declared the winner of the match that followed.
* * * * *
After luncheon the whole assemblage were gathered about the diamond for the long expected game of baseball. This was to be played between two scrub teams known as "The Boys" and "The Old Men"--though some of the latter (notably Romeo and Richard Feverel) objected to the classification. These were the nines:
THE BOYS THE OLD MEN
Tom Sawyer, 2b. Allan Quartermain, 2b. Joe Harper, 3b. Natty Bumppo, r.f. Tom Bailey, l.f. Friar Tuck, c.f. Kim, c.f. Romeo, 1b. Tom Brown, r.f. Sam Weller, s.s. Jack Hall, s.s. Richard Feverel, l.f. Frank Nelson, 1b. Tom Jones, 3b. Mark the Match Boy, c. Don Quixote, c. Huck Finn, p. Hotspur, p.
The Old Men banged into Huck Finn's delivery for three hits right at the start and came back for a couple more in the second inning. Huck, however, began to look better, and after the fourth he was swinging the ball over in great shape. The Old Men made but two hits in the last seven innings and none in the last five. Kim was the star on the attack. Up four times he made just that many hits, one going for a double.
One of Kim's drives came fast on a long bound and hit Romeo in the face. Kim drove in a pair of runs with his double and started the scoring for The Boys in the first inning, while in the sixth he himself came across with the tally which eventually proved the winning one.
Hotspur pitched a fair game. The greatest difference came in the defensive work of the teams. The Boys went through without a break.
Tom Jones had a case of the wabbles for The Old Men, and there was a lot of uncertainty about the work of the infield because of the breaks he made. The outfielders for The Old Men were also having trouble fielding the ball clean and throwing to the plate.
Sam Weller was the one chap on his team who was going at speed. He pulled off one play which belongs in the Hall of Fame, Joe Harper losing a hit and The Boys two runs as a result.
With Allan Quartermain and Leatherstocking down in the first inning, Friar Tuck fattened his batting average a bit by bunting and beating the throw to first. Romeo put the ball over Tom Brown's head up against the bleacher front and legged it around to third, while Friar Tuck scored, a fumble by Frank Nelson on Tom Brown's return cinching things. Sam Weller lambed a single to center and Romeo scored. Sam was out stealing a moment later.
Tom Sawyer got The Boys away in fine style with a smash to left for a single. Joe Harper drew a walk. Tom Bailey sacrificed, and Kim drove a hot grounder right through Allan Quartermain and wound up on second before the outfielders could get the leather back to the infield. Tom Sawyer and Joe Harper came home. Tom Brown popped up a foul to Romeo, and Kim was doubled off second after the catch.