“Yes.... Do you t-take me for your — wife?”
“Yes, dear — —”
“Don’t say that!... Is it — over?”
“All over,” he said, forcing a gayety that rang hollow in the pathos of the mockery and farce.... But he smiled to be kind to her; and, to make the poor, clouded mind a little happier still, he took her hand again and said very gently:
“Will it surprise you to know that you are now a princess?”
“A — what?” she asked sharply.
“A princess.” He smiled benignly on her, and, still beaming, struck a not ungraceful attitude.
“I,” he said, “am the Crown Prince of Rumtifoo.”
She stared at him without a word; gradually he lost countenance; a vague misgiving stirred within him that he had rather overdone the thing.
“Of course,” he began cheerfully, “I am an exile in disguise — er — disinherited and all that, you know.”
She continued to stare at him.
“Matters of state — er — revolution — and that sort of thing,” he mumbled, eying her; “but I thought it might gratify you to know that I am Prince George of Rumtifoo — —”
“What!”
The silence was deadly.
“Do you know,” she said deliberately, “that I believe you think I am mentally unsound. Do you?”
“I — you—” he began to stutter fearfully.
“Do you?”
“W-well, either you or I — —”
“Nonsense! I thought that marriage ceremony was a miserably inadequate affair!... And I am hurt — grieved — amazed that you should do such a — a cowardly — —”
“What!” he exclaimed, stung to the quick.
“Yes, it is cowardly to deceive a woman.”
“I meant it kindly — supposing — —”
“That I am mentally unsound? Why do you suppose that?”
“Because — Good Heavens — because in this century, and in this city, people who never before saw one another don’t begin to talk of marrying — —”
“I explained to you” — she was half crying now, and her voice broke deliciously— “I told you what I’d done, didn’t I?”
“You said you had got a spark,” he admitted, utterly bewildered by her tears. “Don’t cry — please don’t. Something is all wrong here — there is some terrible misunderstanding. If you will only explain it to me — —”
She dried her eyes mechanically: “Come here,” she said. “I don’t believe I did explain it clearly.”
And, very carefully, very minutely, she began to tell him about the psychic waves, and the instrument, and the new company formed to exploit it on a commercial basis.
She told him what had happened that morning to her; how her disobedience had cost her so much misery. She informed him about her father, and that florid and rotund gentleman’s choleric character.
“If you are here when I tell him I’m married,” she said, “he will probably frighten you to death; and that’s one of the reasons why I wish to get it over and get you safely away before he returns. As for me, now that I know the worst, I want to get the worst over and — and live out my life quietly somewhere.... So now you see why I am in such a hurry, don’t you?”
He nodded as though stunned, leaning there on the table, hands folded, head bent.
“I am so very sorry — for you,” she said. “I know how you must feel about it. But if we are obliged to marry some time had we not better get it over and then — never — see — one another — —”
He lifted his head, then stood upright.
Her soft lips were mute, but the question still remained in her eyes.
So, for a long while, they looked at each other; and the color under his cheekbones deepened, and the pink in her cheeks slowly became pinker.
“Suppose,” he said, under his breath, “that I — wish — to return — to you?”
“I do not wish it — —”
“Try.”
“Try to — to wish for — —”
“For my return. Try to wish that you also desire it. Will you?”
“If you are going to — to talk that way—” she stammered.
“Yes, I am.”
“Then — then — —”
“Is there any reason why I should not, if we are engaged?” he asked. “We are — engaged, are we not?”
“Engaged?”
“Yes. Are we?”
“I — yes — if you call it — —”
“I do.... And we are to be — married?” He could scarcely now speak the word which but a few moments since he pronounced so easily; for a totally new significance attached itself to every word he uttered.
“Are we?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“Then — if I — if I find that I — —”
“Don’t say it,” she whispered. She had turned quite white.
“Will you listen — —”
“No. It — it isn’t true — it cannot be.”
“It is coming truer every moment.... It is very, very true — even now.... It is almost true.... And now it has come true. Sybilla!”
White, dismayed, she gazed at him, her hands instinctively closing her ears. But she dropped them as he stepped forward.
“I love you, Sybilla. I wish to marry you.... Will you try to care for me — a little — —”
“I couldn’t — I can’t even try — —”
“Dear — —”
He had her hands now; she twisted them free; he caught them again. Over their interlocked hands she bowed her head, breathless, cheeks aflame, seeking to cover her eyes.
“Will you love me, Sybilla?”
She struggled silently, desperately.
“Will you?” “No.... Let me go — —”
“Don’t cry — please, dear—” His head, bowed beside hers over their clasped hands, was more than she could endure; but her upflung face, seeking escape, encountered his. There was a deep, indrawn breath, a sob, and she lay, crying her heart out, in his arms.
“Darling!”
“W-what?”
It is curious how quickly one recognizes unfamiliar forms of address.
“You won’t cry any more, will you?” he whispered.
“N-n-o,” sighed Sybilla.
“Because we do love each other, don’t we?”
“Y-yes, George.” Then, radiant, yet sweetly shamed, confident, yet fearful, she lifted her adorable head from his shoulder.
“George,” she said, “I am beginning to think that I’d like to get off this table.”
“You poor darling!”
“And,” she continued, “if you will go home and change your overalls for something more conventional, you shall come and dine with us this evening, and I will be waiting for you in the drawing-room.... And, George, although some of your troubles are now over — —”
“All of them, dearest!” he cried with enthusiasm.
“No,” she said tenderly, “you are yet to meet Pa-pah.”
XIV
GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS
A Chapter Concerning Drusilla, Pa-pah and a Minion
Capital had now been furnished for The Green Mouse, Limited; a great central station of white marble was being built, facing Madison Avenue and occupying the entire block front between Eighty-second and Eighty-third streets.
The building promised to be magnificent; the plans provided for a thousand private operating rooms, each beautifully furnished in Louis XVI style, a restaurant, a tea room, a marriage licence bureau, and an emergency chapel where first aid clergymen were to be always in attendance.
In each of the thousand Louis XVI operating rooms a Destyn-Carr wireless instrument was to stand upon a rococo table. A maid to every two rooms, a physician to every ten, and smelling salts to each room, were provided for in this gigantic enterprise.
Millions of circulars were being prepared to send broadcast over the United States. They read as follows:
> ARE YOU IN LOVE? IF NOT, WHY NOT?
Wedlock by Wireless. Marriage by Machinery. A Wondrous Wooer Without Words! No more doubt; no more hesitation; no more uncertainty. The Destyn-Carr Wireless Apparatus does it all for you. Happy Marriage Guaranteed or money eagerly refunded!
Psychical Science says that for every man and woman on earth there is a predestined mate!
That mate can be discovered for you by The Green Mouse, Limited.
Why waste time with costly courtship? Why frivol? Why fuss?
There is only ONE mate created for YOU. You pay us; We find that ONE, thereby preventing mistakes, lawsuits, elopements, regrets, grouches, alimony.
Divorce Absolutely Eliminated
By Our Infallible Wireless Method
Success Certain
It is now known the world over that Professor William Augustus Destyn has discovered that the earth we live on is enveloped in Psychical Currents. By the Destyn-Carr instrument these currents may be tapped, controlled and used to communicate between two people of opposite sex whose subconscious and psychic personalities are predestined to affinity and amorous accord. In other words, when psychic waves from any individual are collected or telegraphed along these wireless psychical currents, only that one affinity attuned to receive them can properly respond.
We catch your psychic waves for you. We send them out into the world.
WATCH THAT SPARK!
When you see a tiny bluish-white spark tip the tentacle of the Destyn-Carr transmitter,
THE WORLD IS YOURS!
for $25.
Our method is quick, painless, merciful and certain. Fee, twenty-five dollars in advance. Certified checks accepted.
THE GREEN MOUSE, Limited.
President PROF. WM. AUGUSTUS DESTYN.
Vice-Presidents THE HON. KILLIAN VAN K. VANDERDYNK.
THE HON. GEORGE GRAY, 3D.
Treasurer THE HON. BUSHWYCK CARR.
These circulars were composed, illuminated and printed upon vellum by what was known as an “Art” community in West Borealis, N.J. Several tons were expected for delivery early in June.
Meanwhile, the Carr family and its affiliations had invested every cent they possessed in Green Mouse, Limited; and those who controlled the stock were Bushwyck Carr; William Augustus Destyn and Mrs. Destyn, née Ethelinda Carr; Mr. Killian Van K. Vanderdynk and Mrs. Vanderdynk, née Sacharissa Carr; George Gray and Mrs. Gray, very lately Sybilla Carr; and the unmarried triplets, Flavilla and Drusilla Carr.
Remembering with a shudder how Bell Telephone and Standard Oil might once have been bought for a song, Bushwyck Carr determined that in this case his pudgy fingers should not miss the forelock of Time and the divided skirts of Chance.
Squinting at the viewless ether through his monocle he beheld millions in it; so did William Augustus Destyn and the other sons-in-law.
Only the unmarried triplets, Flavilla and Drusilla, remained amiably indifferent in the midst of all these family financial scurryings and preparations to secure world patents in a monopoly which promised the social regeneration of the globe.
The considerable independent fortunes that their mother had left them they invested in Green Mouse, at their father’s suggestion; but further than that they took no part in the affair.
For a while the hurry and bustle and secret family conferences mildly interested them. Very soon, however, the talk of psychic waves and millions bored them; and as soon as the villa at Oyster Bay was opened they were glad enough to go.
Here, at Oyster Bay, there was some chance of escaping their money-mad and wave-intoxicated family; they could entertain and be entertained by both of the younger sets in that dignified summer resort; they could wander about their own vast estate alone; they could play tennis, sail, swim, ride, and drive their tandem.
But best of all — for they were rather seriously inclined at the age of eighteen, or, rather, on the verge of nineteen — they adored sketching, in water colors, out of doors.
Scrubby forelands set with cedars, shadow-flecked paths under the scrub oak, meadows where water glimmered, white sails off Center Island and Cooper’s Bluff — Cooper’s Bluff from the north, northeast, east, southeast, south — this they painted with never-tiring, Pecksniffian patience, boxing the compass around it as enthusiastically as that immortal architect circumnavigated Salisbury Cathedral.
And one delicious morning in early June, when the dew sparkled on the poison ivy and the air was vibrant with the soft monotone of mosquitoes and the public road exhaled a delicate aroma of crude oil, Drusilla and Flavilla, laden with sketching-blocks, color-boxes, camp-stools, white umbrellas and bonbons, descended to the great hall, on sketching bent.
Mr. Carr also stood there, just outside on the porch, red, explosive, determined legs planted wide apart, defying several courtly reporters, who for a month had patiently and politely appeared every hour to learn whether Mr. Carr had anything to say about the new invention, rumors of which were flying thick about Park Row.
“No, I haven’t!” he shouted in his mellow and sonorously musical bellow. “I have told you one hundred times that when I have anything to say I’ll send for you. Now, permit me to inform you, for the hundred and first consecutive time, that I have nothing to say — which won’t prevent you from coming back in an hour and standing in exactly the same ridiculous position you now occupy, and asking me exactly the same unmannerly questions, and taking the same impertinent snapshots at my house and my person!”
He executed a ferocious facial contortion, clapped the monocle into his left eye, and squinted fiercely.
“I’m getting tired of this!” he continued. “When I wake in the morning and look out of my window there are always anywhere from one to twenty reporters decorating my lawn! That young man over there is the worst and most persistent offender!” — scowling at a good-looking youth in white flannels, who immediately blushed distressingly. “Yes, you are, young man! I’m amazed that you have the decency to blush! Your insolent sheet, the Evening Star, refers to my Trust Company as a Green Mouse Trap and a Mouseleum. It also publishes preposterous pictures of myself and family. Dammit, sir, they even produce a photograph of Orlando, the family cat! You did it, I am told. Did you?”
“I am trying to do what I can for my paper, Mr. Carr,” said the young man. “The public is interested.”
Mr. Carr regarded him with peculiar hatred.
“Come here,” he said; “I have got something to say to you.”
The young man cautiously left the ranks of his fellows and came up on the porch. Behind Mr. Carr, in the doorway, stood Drusilla and Flavilla. The young man tried not to see them; he pretended not to. But he flushed deeply.
“I want to know,” demanded Mr. Carr, “why the devil you are always around here blushing. You’ve been around here blushing for a month, and I want to know why you do it.”
The youth stood speechless, features afire to the tips of his glowing ears.
“At first,” continued Mr. Carr, mercilessly, “I had a vague hope that you might perhaps be blushing for shame at your profession; I heard that you were young at it, and I was inclined to be sorry for you. But I’m not sorry any more!”
The young man remained crimson and dumb.
“Confound it,” resumed Mr. Carr, “I want to know why the deuce you come and blush all over my lawn. I won’t stand it! I’ll not allow anybody to come blushing around me — —”
Indignation choked him; he turned on his heel to enter the house and beheld Flavilla and Drusilla regarding him, wide-eyed.
He went in, waving them away before him.
“I’ve taught that young pup a lesson,” he said with savage satisfaction. “I’ll teach him to blush at me! I’ll — —”
“But why,” asked Drusilla, “are you so cruel to Mr. Yates? We like him.”
“Mr. — Mr. Yates!” repeated her father, astonished. “Is that his name? And who told you?”
“He did,” said Drusilla, innocently.
&
nbsp; “He — that infernal newspaper bantam — —”
“Pa-pah! Please don’t say that about Mr. Yates. He is really exceedingly kind and civil to us. Every time you go to town on business he comes and sketches with us at — —”
“Oh,” said Mr. Carr, with the calm of deadly fury, “so he goes to Cooper’s Bluff with you when I’m away, does he?”
Flavilla said: “He doesn’t exactly go with us; but he usually comes there to sketch. He makes sketches for his newspaper.”
“Does he?” asked her father, grinding his teeth.
“Yes,” said Drusilla; “and he sketches so beautifully. He made such perfectly charming drawings of Flavilla and of me, and he drew pictures of the house and gardens, and of all the servants, and” — she laughed— “I once caught a glimpse in his sketch-book of the funniest caricature of you — —”
The expression on her father’s face was so misleading in its terrible calm that she laughed again, innocently.
“It was not at all an offensive caricature, you know — really it was not a caricature at all — it was you — just the way you stand and look at people when you are — slightly — annoyed — —”
“Oh, he is so clever,” chimed in Flavilla, “and is so perfectly well-bred and so delightful to us — to Drusilla particularly. He wrote the prettiest set of verses — To Drusilla in June — just dashed them off while he was watching her sketch Cooper’s Bluff from the southwest — —”
“He is really quite wonderful,” added Drusilla, sincerely, “and so generous and helpful when my drawing becomes weak and wobbly — —”
“Mr. Yates shows Drusilla how to hold her pencil,” said Flavilla, becoming warmly earnest in her appreciation of this self-sacrificing young man. “He often lays aside his own sketching and guides Drusilla’s hand while she holds the pencil — —”
“And when I’m tired,” said Drusilla, “and the water colors get into a dreadful mess, Mr. Yates will drop his own work and come and talk to me about art — and other things — —”
“He is so kind!” cried Flavilla in generous enthusiasm.
“And so vitally interesting,” said Drusilla.
“And so talented!” echoed Flavilla.
Works of Robert W Chambers Page 475
