You should see me dance the polka,You should see me cover the ground;You should see my coat-tails flying--
You should see me dance the polka,You should see me cover the ground;You should see my coat-tails flying--
My coat-tails were anything but flying. We made no attempt at keeping time with Hughes. Under the most favourable circumstances the thing would have been impossible. We moved, Margaret and I, as if we were treading a funeral measure. My legs were going at the knees. I felt her frail frame quivering in my arms.
"Now, then, Pybus," shouted Hughes, "off you go with Mrs. Chalmers. Don't ask her; make her. Pull her off the couch and jump her about!"
Pybus appeared to be endeavouring to persuade Mrs. Chalmers to join him in the mazy dance. The lady had suddenly become still, which, for some reasons, the chief one being the noise which Hughes was making, was perhaps as well.
"How can I pull her off the couch," answered Pybus, "when she's in a fit, or dead, or something?"
Up jumped Hughes.
"Keep going, you two! Don't stop for a single instant. Lucas, everything depends upon your keeping Miss Hammond circulating."
"I can't," I said.
"Nor can I," said Margaret.
The utterances were almost simultaneous. Simultaneously we sank into an ottoman.
"Mrs. Chalmers! Mrs. Chalmers!" shouted Hughes, "Pybus, help me to lift her off the couch. Now, then, you two, what have you stopped for?"
He turned to Margaret and me. Something in our faces or in our attitudes appeared to frighten him. He ran to the door yelling in a manner which absolutely frightened me.
"Brooks! Brooks! Oh, my God, why doesn't the doctor come?"
Just as he reached the door it was opened. A very tall, and very stout, old gentleman entered. He had a black bag in his hand. But he did not seem to be the least in a hurry.
"Good evening. I trust there is nothing serious the matter."
I suppose that in the agitated state of his nervous system, the stranger's sudden appearance took Hughes by surprise. He stared at him as though he were a ghost.
"Are--are you the doctor?"
"I am the doctor--Dr. Goldsmith."
I had already recognised him as the doctor who lived at the corner of the square. Although I had not the pleasure of his personal acquaintance, I had more than once wondered why he did not try Banting. Leaving off sugar, and butter, and milk, and trying a piece of lemon in your tea, is an excellent method of reducing the flesh. He looked round the room, and bowed--a little vaguely. Then he said, addressing Hughes, whom he apparently took to be the master of the house, "Where is the patient?"
"They're--they're all patients."
This answer seemed to cause the doctor to experience a slight sense of mystification. He placed a pair of gold glasses upon the bridge of his nose. He cast another glance around the room.
"All patients?"
Pybus came forward. Pybus knows everyone.
"How are you, Dr. Goldsmith?"
"How are you, Mr. Pybus? Charmed to see you."
"Whether I am charmed to see you remains to be seen. May I ask--and don't think it's an impertinent question--what you have come for?"
"Come for? I----" The doctor threw a glance of interrogation towards Hughes. "I--someone came to my house and said that I was wanted for a case of----"
Old Pybus laid his hand upon the doctor's arm.
"Case of what?"
"A case of laudanum poisoning."
"Laudanum poisoning!"
"I understood that it was a----" The doctor ceased. Pybus's face had assumed a very singular hue. "I--I hope that I have said nothing----"
"No, you have said nothing. Laudanum poisoning?" He turned to Hughes. "So that is it." And then to me. "So that was 'Aunt Jane's Jalap.' It's--it's rather hard--that a man of my years--should--die of--jalap."
Pybus took a seat. The doctor stared at him.
"Mr. Pybus, I hope that nothing is the matter."
"Nothing, only--I'm the man--that's poisoned."
"You!"
"Me, Sam Pybus. I've been dining with a man, who asked me to meet--his girl--and smooth the tabby--and he gives me--jalap, which is another name for laudanum."
The doctor seemed bewildered.
"I am afraid I don't understand."
Hughes endeavoured to explain. He was suffering as much as either of us. The words fell from his stammering lips.
"What Mr. Pybus says is correct. There's been a mistake."
"Yes," said Pybus, "there's been a mistake."
"My friend, Lucas, thought he was giving his guests 'Aunt Jane's Jalap,' and instead of that he was giving them--I am afraid, through my carelessness--pure laudanum."
"Oh, it was through your carelessness, was it?" Pybus assumed towards Hughes a little air of ferocity. But it soon disappeared. "But what does it matter if I must die?"
"Pure laudanum!" said the doctor. "Of what strength?"
"The highest possible."
"In what quantity?"
"Enough to kill a dozen men. A bottleful."
"A bottleful of laudanum!"
The words were uttered by a newcomer--a little man who came running in as if he ran a race. It was Dunn, another doctor, who had recently started practice round the corner. In appearance he was a complete contrast to Goldsmith. He was a little, wiry, hungry-looking man, who seemed as though he never could keep still. He hurried past Pybus, patting him on the shoulder as he went. Had Pybus been more himself he would have resented the insult to the death.
"Come, my dear sir, keep yourself alive. That's the great secret; let us keep our spirits up!" he paused in front of Margaret. "Now, my dear young lady, don't we feel quite well? Just a little out of sorts. Come, wake up!"
He actually caught Margaret by the shoulder and shook her. I don't know what Margaret's feelings were, but if I myself had not been quite so prostrate, I fancy that I should have let him know that he presumed. Then he turned and shook me.
"Come, my dear sir, wake up, wake up, wake up! We must keep ourselves awake." He wheeled round; he marched to the couch. When he saw Mrs. Chalmers lying on it, still in a dead faint--so far as I know no one had moved a finger to bring her round--he shook his head.
"Serious; I am afraid it's very, very serious. But we will do our best; always do our best. Let all the servants in the house be summoned, and let assistance be given to carry the poor dear sufferers up to their beds."
The little man took command of everything. The servants were summoned and they came trooping in. Several other doctors came in also. There is no necessity to specify their number. Brooks liberally carried out the instructions Hughes had given him. He fetched as many as he could. There were not one or two, but several. I have their bills.
I will not dwell upon the dreadful details of that night. There are scenes, not necessarily pathetic scenes, on which a curtain should be drawn. Through it all I never once lost consciousness. I wish I had. One need but allude to the stomach pump to draw up visions from the vasty deep. Over such agonies let a veil be drawn. This is not an episode of vivisection. And, afterwards, when--when a too eager medical man, thinking the process had not gone far enough--he meant well; it was his zeal; may he be forgiven--tried emetics, mustard and water, and other preparations from the medical pharmacop[oe]ia--do not let us touch upon these subjects. Never, when the sea was at its wildest, among passengers entirely unused to the mysteries of navigation, was ever seen the like. I still live, and I was through it all. It is wonderful what a vigorous constitution will endure.
Mrs. Chalmers was put into my bedroom. There was nothing particular of mine lying about, but I would rather they had put her somewhere else. Margaret had the best guest-room, Pybus the second best, and I was put into an apartment which had not been occupied for years. It was done in the confusion, I suppose. Looking back, I am surprised they did not overlook me altogether. I wish they had. And all through the night the issue was hanging in the balance. Hamlet's question was waiting for an answer. "To be, or not to be?" What their sufferings were--Margaret's, her aunt's, and Pybus's--I can imagine when I let memory hark back to my own. But none of them succumbed. And in the morning I, for one, was able to leave my room; in fact, I insisted on doing so. Had I remained any longer in that dreadful chamber I should certainly have died. Pale and ghastly, with my dressing-gown wrapped round my trembling limbs, I descended to my snuggery. I felt that I was but the wreck of what once I was. Hughes was there--the sight of me seemed to give him pain--well it might!--and Dr. Dunn, and Dr. Goldsmith, and a Dr. Casey. He was a tall, thin man, with a serious manner. I always think of Dr. Casey when I think of Mr. Stiggins. Dunn seemed in quite a cheerful frame of mind.
"Well, that's over. With a little care, Mr. Lucas, you'll forget all about it in a week."
Never! But I did not tell him so. And he went on:
"And this all comes of what I venture to call a trifling indiscretion. You think it's jalap, and it's laudanum."
"Laudanum is not a thing to trifle with," said Dr. Casey.
"It certainly isn't a thing to drink in pailfuls."
As he said this, Dr. Goldsmith rattled his keys and coppers.
"Nor is it to be recommended as a liqueur with dessert--eh, Mr. Lucas?" Dunn rubbed his hands, and grinned at me.
"The poor lady," said Dr. Casey, "whom I treated found it a very serious matter."
This was Mrs. Chalmers.
"The sweet young thing," said Goldsmith, "for whom I did my best, did not seem to think that the occasion was altogether a festive one," and this was how he spoke of her.
"I dare say, Mr. Lucas," sniggered Dunn, "that you have spent far more agreeable nights."
Dunn was the fiend who had pushed his zeal too far. And now he laughed at me!
"Dr. Lambert," observed Dr. Casey, "who treated the other gentleman, assured me that his patient asked him to put him out of his misery rather than push his treatment further."
That was Pybus. I could easily believe it. Death was preferable to Dunn's emetics.
"Now, where is the bottle which contained the cause of all the mischief?"
The fatal bottle had been brought into my snuggery for safety. It was handed to Dunn. He sniffed at it.
"Hum!" He sniffed again. "Hum!" He seemed surprised. "Rather--rather an odd smell for laudanum. Smell that!"
He handed it to Goldsmith.
"Very"--sniff!--"odd"--sniff!--"indeed"--sniff. "You are sure it is the bottle?"
There was not the slightest doubt about its being the bottle. It was passed to Casey. He had a smell.
"This isn't laudanum," he declared.
"Notlaudanum!" Back it went to Dunn.
"It doesn't smell like laudanum."
"It isn't laudanum," said Goldsmith.
"Not a trace of it," said Casey.
NOT laudanum! I looked at Hughes. He looked at me. Then he staggered towards that fatal bottle.
"Let me--let me smell it."
They let him. An extraordinary change came over his countenance as he applied it to his nose. He staggered against the wall.
"Good--good heavens!"
What was it? Had he mistaken the poison? Was it strychnine, arsenic, prussic acid? Would the treatment have to be gone through all over again? For me, death rather than that.
"I see it all," cried Hughes, "I see the mistake I made. After all, it was not the bottle I supposed. I remember now that I placed that upon the shelf above."
"What is it?" I screamed.
"It's--it's what I thought it was."
"What you thought it was?"
"It's 'Aunt Jane's Jalap.'"
"'Aunt Jane's Jalap!'"
The words came from the three medical gentlemen in a sort of chorus. As for me, in spite of my piteous condition, I felt inclined to tear my hair--and Hughes's!
"I see, quite clearly, how the mistake arose. It was in this way. There were two sample bottles of the mixture, only in one of them the quantities were wrong. I placed it where I generally keep my laudanum--so that I shouldn't mistake it. And when I found it missing, of course I thought it was the laudanum which had gone."
"Was it--was it poison?"
"Not a bit of it, dear boy! The finest medicine in the world! Only in that particular bottle there was a little too much jalap, and, taking it on the top of such a dinner as you'd been eating, it a little upset you--that was all."
That was all?
I thought of how those doctors had spent the night in practising on us their dreadful arts, of their bills, and----that was all.
I had been seated in the next chair to hers for at least two minutes. I felt that it was time to introduce myself.
"It's a fine evening."
She turned, she looked me up and down, then she looked straight in front of her again.
"I don't know you."
But I was not to be crushed; there was something about the shape of her that which suggested sociability.
"That is my misfortune, rather than my fault."
"I don't know nothing at all about that. I do not speak to strangers as a rule. Sometimes there's never no knowing who they are."
I felt that I was getting on--so I went on.
"What do you think of the band?"
"It's not loud enough for me. I like a band as I can hear."
One suspected there might be occasions on which one could almost like a band which one could not hear, but I did not say so. That broke the ice, and the conversation drifting on to personal topics she explained to me that she had a young man, who, so to speak, was "resting," owing to what she called a "difference" which she had had with him. It struck me that the tale, as she told it, contained elements of tragedy.
"Bakers," she observed, "is what I like. I have a sister who likes butchers. To me there's always the smell of the meat about a butcher. But it's as you're made. The worst of bakers is, they're such a thirsty lot."
"Possibly," I suggested, "that is in a measure owing to the nature of their occupation."
"That may be, but still there is a limit, and when a man is always drinking, I think it's time for him to stop."
I thought so too, but she went on:
"My young man, his name is Willyum Evans, is a baker, and him and me have been walking out together four years come next month. So I said to him, 'Willyum, it's my day out, Tuesday. I shall expect you to take me somewhere.' So he said, 'I will.' So I said, 'Hyde Park Corner, half-past ten.' I was there as the clock was striking, and a fine scuffle I had to get there too; and, if you'll believe me, he kept me waiting two hours and three-quarters by the clock what's over the gatekeeper's lodge--which is longer than any gentleman ought to keep a lady waiting, I don't care who he is. So when he did come, I was a bit huffy.
"So I said, 'Well, Willyum, I hope I've put you to no hurry, and it's a pity you should have troubled yourself to come at this time of day, seeing as how I'm just off home.' So he said, and he wiped his lips, and I could see he had had a moistener, if not more, 'It's like this--I accidentally had an appointment, which was of the nature of business, and which I couldn't help; and that's how it is I'm a little behind!' 'I see,' I said, 'and it had something to do with pint pots, I have no doubt.' So he sat down on a seat, which was wet, owing to there being a drizzle on, and as it seemed silly for me to stand whilst he was sitting, I sat down likewise.
"So there we sat, neither of us saying nothing, till I began to feel a little damp, because I had my thin things on, and it was beginning to come down heavy. So I said, 'Well, Willyum, have you forgotten it's my day out? I thought you was going to take me somewhere.' He said, 'So I am.' So I said, 'Where are you going to take me to? It's getting on, and I'm likewise getting wet'--which I was. So he said, 'What do you say to Battersea Park?' So I said, 'I say nothing. And the idea, Willyum, of your talking about taking me to Battersea Park, when, as you very well know, it is raining cats and dogs, is not what I expected'-because, as he could very well see, I only had a parasol, which was red, and the rain was coming through, and the colour coming out. But he didn't care for the rain no more than nothing; because, as I tell you, he being a baker, to him it was a kind of a change.
"You must know that Willyum is that near about money that I never saw nothing like him; not that it's a bad thing in a man, though it may be carried too far and I must say I do think Willyum do carry it too far. He has never given me nothing which he didn't want me to pay for, not even half a pint of beer. So I was not surprised when he said, 'The fact is Matilda'--which is me--'I haven't got no money.' 'Well,' I said, 'that's a nice thing, to promise to take me out, and then to have no money.' So he said, 'If you was to pay the expenses for both the two of us, it might make things more pleasant.' So I said, 'No, I thank you,' because I had been had that way before, and more than once. So I got up, and I said, 'Well, Willyum, I will now wish you a good day; because I have been here since half-past ten, and it is now past two, and my clothes is sticking to me, and I don't care to stop no longer.' So he said, 'Now, Matilda, don't you get disagreeable'--which I was beginning to feel it, and so I own. 'We are both of us having a day out,' he said, 'and don't let no bad tempers spoil our pleasure. I may have some money somewhere, unbeknown to myself, so I will look and see; though I must say I do think it hard that all the expenses should be borne by me!'
"So he begins feeling in his pockets, and, presently, he gives a kind of a start, and he brings out half-a-crown. 'There,' he said, 'is half-a-crown; and if you put five shillings to it, it will make it seven and six!' 'No!' I said, 'I shall put no five shillings of mine to no half-crown of yours, and so the least said the soonest mended. And, if you don't mind, I will go and get myself something to eat, being hungry, and having, I am thankful to say, money of my own with which to pay for it.' Then he gives another kind of start, and he says, 'There! If I didn't make a pasty for you, last night, with my own hands, and I've been sitting on it all the time,' which he had, and anything like the mess he'd made of it you never saw. He held it out to me. 'No,' I said. 'I thank you. I am particular about my vittles, and I never eat no scraps, and, still less, things what have been sat down upon.' 'Well,' he said, 'it's a pity it should be wasted, I'll eat it myself.' Which he did, and me standing in the rain there looking on. That did put my back up. 'Mr. Evans,' I said, short and sharp, 'I wish you a good day. I am going.' So I goes. And he comes running after me, picking at the bits of pasty what was stuck to the paper; I must say this for Willyum, that it takes a deal to get his temper up. So I pulls up. 'Now, let us understand each other. Willyum, if you please, are you going to pay for something for me to eat, or are you not?' He gives himself a kind of a shake, so as to get his courage up, and he says, 'You shall have anything you like to eat, at my expense, Matilda, so long as the cost does not exceed'--then he hesitated--'ninepence.' Then he gave himself another kind of shake, which I took as a sign that his courage was running down, 'for both the two of us.'
"That made me fairly wild it really did. To think that he had promised to take me somewhere, and that I had been more than three hours there in the rain, and got wet through, and my things all spoiled--which it was a new dress I had on, what I had got special for the occasion, and it had only come home from the dressmaker's the day before--and the colour was coming out of my parasol--which was likewise new--and my hair all coming out of curl, and me feeling as limp as a rag, and starving hungry, and that he should want to put me off with fourpence-halfpenny worth of food, drawn from him as if it were his eye-tooth--it did make me feel really wild.
"I never said a word to him, but I walks right out of the park. He comes running after me, and he catches hold of my arm and he says, 'Now, Matilda, what did I say just now about letting no bad tempers spoil our pleasure?' I said, 'I don't know what your idea of pleasure is, but it isn't mine, and as I don't want to have no more to do with you, Mr. Evans, perhaps you will be so kind as to let me go.' But he holds on to me all the tighter, and he says, 'I tell you what, Matilda, a idea has just come into my head 'My brother, as you have heard me talk about, lives close by here, we will go and dine with him. He being a married man, and with a comfortable home, he will be glad to see us.'
"Well, I didn't know what to do, not liking to have no quarrel with him in the street, so off we starts for his brother's. He took me to a mews what led out of Park Lane, and, as we was turning the corner, he said, 'There's only this one thing about my brother, him and me has had a little difference of opinion, and he is not of a forgiving disposition.' So I said, 'Now, Willyum, what do you mean by that?' So he said, 'No. 32, on the other side, is where he lives, and if you was to go on and knock at the door, and ask for Mrs. Henry Evans, what is my brother's wife, so to speak, it might smooth the way.' So I said, 'I do not understand you. Just now you was saying as how your brother would be glad to see us. Are you now insinuating otherwise?' He catches a glimpse of my eye, and he sees the kind of mood I was in, and he plucks up, and he walks on, and he says, 'We will hope for the best. Do not let us spoil our day's pleasure by no disagreeable observations. There is never no knowing what might happen.' All of a sudden he cries out, 'There is my brother! Now, Matilda, don't you let him start hitting me.' And he jumps behind me, so as to get into the shadow, as it were. So I says, 'Willyum, whatever is the matter now? Your conduct do seem to me to be of the most extraordinary character.'
"And there was a great big giant of a man on the other side of the road, washing a carriage, with a bucket of water and I don't know what, and as I moves on one side he catches sight of Willyum, and anything like the way in which he started swearing you never heard. 'Hollo' he says, 'there's that putty-faced brother of mine. I've been looking for you for some time. Here's something for you, Willyum.' And before I had no idea of what he was going to do, he catches up the bucket of water and he throws it over Willyum, and some of it went over me. Oh, dear me, you never saw nothing like the mess that I was in! And he grabs hold of Willyum by the collar, and he says, 'Hang me if I don't wipe down the street with you!' And he shouts out, ''Enrietta, here's Brother Willyum. Haven't you got anything for him? You bet your life he's come for something.' And a window opens over the way, and a woman puts her head out, and she empties something out of a pail over Willyum, and again some of it went over me. Oh dear! oh dear! And that giant of a man he set about Willyum something cruel; and all the mews was in a uproar, and I hurried away as hard as ever I could, I was that frightened, and I got into a cab, just as I was--and you should have seen how the cabman stared, and drove right away to a sister of mine what lives at Camberwell, and I nearly cried my eyes out, and I've never spoken to Willyum nor set eyes on him since then, which it's a fortnight the day after to-morrow, and if you had been in my place, and had been treated as I was, would you have let things go on as usual, just as if there hadn't been no difference?"
No, I said, I should not. I should have insisted on their going on in quite a different kind of way.
And so I told her.
Last winter George Pownceby spent some weeks at the Empire Hotel. One morning he was coming along the corridor leading from the smoking-room when he met Mrs. Pratt. The lady stopped.
"What is that you have in your hand?" she asked.
Mr. Pownceby had in his hand a slim pamphlet, in a green paper cover. He held it up.
"I've got it!"
"No?"
"Yes!"
"Oh, I say!"
These remarks are not given here as examples of English conversation, but with a view of presenting the reader with an accurate report of what was spoken. There was a pause. Then the lady said, with great solemnity:--
"You don't mean to say that it has actually come?"
"I do!" Mr. Pownceby held out the slim pamphlet at arm's length in front of him. He pointed at it with the index-finger of his other hand: "'How to Hypnotise. A Practical Treatise. Hints to Amateurs. With full instructions for marvellous experiments. Price 7d. post free, eight stamps.'"
"Oh, Mr. Pownceby, I am so sorry."
"Sorry, Mrs. Pratt! Why, it was, at your instigation I plunged to the extent of those eight stamps."
"But you don't understand; my husband's coming; I have to meet him at the station at 12.32." Mr. Pownceby stroked his moustache; there was not much, but he was fond of stroking what there was of it. Mrs. Pratt's husband had been rather a joke. People who winter in hotels are, as a rule, quite prepared to be epigrammatic at the expense of a pretty married woman whose husband is not in evidence. And Mrs. Pratt's husband had not been in evidence--as yet.
"I don't quite follow you." Mr. Pownceby spoke with a little malice. "Whence your sorrow? Because your husband is coming by the 12.32?"
"Don't you see, I want to be the first to be experimented on. I've been waiting for that book two days, and now it just comes when I can't stay. Don't' you think there's time? Come into my sitting-room."
They went into her sitting-room. When they were there, the lady again assailed the gentleman with the inquiry:
"Don't you think there's time?"
"It depends. I think you're going too fast. To commence with, I've been looking through the thing in the smoking-room, and I believe it's a swindle."
"A swindle! Oh, don't say that."
"It's nothing but a hash of old mesmeric tricks I've seen performed at country fairs."
"But doesn't it tell you how to do them?"
"It pretends to. It gives some ridiculous directions--but I don't believe they can be done that way."
"Try!--do!--on me!"
Mr. Pownceby laughed. Mrs. Pratt amused him; and not for the first time either.
"To begin with, we have to sit face to face and stare at each other for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour."
"Come along! Let's begin."
The lady brought forward a couple of chairs and they sat down on them, face to face; and very close together. Opening the pamphlet, Mr. Pownceby searched for further instructions.
"You're not staring at me," remarked the lady.
"Half a minute; I'm looking for what comes next."
"What does it say? Read it aloud."
"After I've stared at you long enough----It doesn't sound civil, does it?"
"Never mind the civility; go on!"
"'After I've stared at you long enough, you begin to feel queer. Then'"--Mr. Pownceby read from the pamphlet, "'Place the thumb of your left hand on the subject's forehead'--you're the subject--'just above the nose, and level with the eyebrows.'" Mrs. Pratt placed her pretty little hand above her pretty little nose to point out the exact spot denoted. Mr. Pownceby read on. "'This is the locality of the Phrenological Organ of Individuality.'"
"Is it?" said Mrs. Pratt in an awe-struck whisper. The reader continued:
"'Rest the ends of your fingers on the top of the subject's head. At the same time take hold of the left hand with your right hand, applying the inside part of your thumb to the middle of the palm of the hand.' I'm punctuating this," interpolated Mr. Pownceby, "as I go on. The man who printed it seems to have had a fount of type containing no other stops but commas. 'The object of this is for the operator to get in contact with two very important nerves that pass in the palm of the hand which are called Ulnar and Median nerves'--I don't know if that's true, or what it means, but it says so here--'with your left hand, still keeping the thumb on the forehead between the eyes, and the fingers resting on the subject's head, which must be inclined slightly back. Say, "Look into my eyes." After gazing in his eyes intently for a few seconds, say in a loud, clear, firm tone of voice, "Close your eyes quite tight." Let him remain a few seconds like this,'--and the trick is done. There's a lot more nonsense to follow, but when you've remained for a few seconds like that you're supposed to be mesmerised, or hypnotised, or whatever they call the thing."
"Really! It sounds quite simple."
"It does--simple folly."
"Hush! You shouldn't speak like that. Perhaps, if you don't believe, you mayn't succeed."
"It says something to that effect in these precious pages."
"Then try to believe. Let us begin."
They began. The lady was preternaturally solemn, but the gentleman was tortured by a desire to smile. He felt that the lady might resent his laughter. Under these circumstances the ten minutes' stare was trying. Mrs. Pratt had sweet blue eyes, which were large and round--the sort of eyes which the average man would not object to stare at for ten minutes or even longer. As the appointed space of time drew to a conclusion even Mr. Pownceby became reconciled to his lot. He placed his left thumb on the lady's forehead above her nose.
"Is that level with my eyebrows?" she inquired. He reproved her.
"I don't think you ought to speak. You destroy the connection."
Mrs. Pratt was dumb. Mr. Pownceby proceeded in accordance with the directions contained in the pamphlet. He rested the tips of his fingers on the top of the lady's head. He took hold of her left hand with his right. He applied the "inside part" of his thumb to the centre of her palm. He said to her:
"Look into my eyes."
She looked into his eyes, her head inclined a little backwards. This part of the proceedings was, so far as the gentleman was concerned, on the whole agreeable. He gazed fixedly into her pretty eyes. Then he added, in a "loud, clear, firm tone of voice":
"Close your eyes quite tight."
She closed her eyes. There was a pause for a few seconds. Remembering the instructions contained in the pamphlet, he proceeded another step:
"You cannot open your eyes," he said. "Your eyes are fast, quite fast."
The pamphlet had it, "Should the subject be very sensitive he will be unable to open them." Apparently the subject, though in this case feminine, was very sensitive. At least Mrs. Pratt kept her eyes shut fast. Mr. Pownceby was a little startled. He removed his touch from her brow and released her hand.
"Mrs. Pratt, are you hypnotised already?" Mrs. Pratt was silent. "Mrs. Pratt, you don't mean you're really hypnotised?" Still silence. He leant forward and stared at the lady, not in the same way he had done before, but quite as fixedly. "By Jove! I believe she is!" He got up from the chair. He glanced at the pamphlet. He wanted to know how to reverse the process--how to bring the lady to again.
"This is a pretty state of things! The thing is not such a swindle as I thought it was. But it's all nonsense. She can't be magnetised, or mesmerised, or hypnotised, or whatever it is. If she is, the thing's as easy as winking. If I'd only known it I'd have been mesmerising people since the days of childhood. Mrs. Pratt!"
But Mrs. Pratt was silent. If she was not "hypnotised," then she was in some condition which was equally curious. She sat back in her chair, with her face turned up to the ceiling, in a state of the most complete quiescence. Something in her appearance struck Mr. Pownceby as even unpleasantly odd. He recommenced searching down the page of the green covered pamphlet for the reversal process. It was beautifully simple.
"In order to release him," the pamphlet said--throughout the writer had taken it for granted that the "subject" would be masculine--"blow a sharp, cold wind from your mouth on his eyes, and say with authority, 'Now you can open them.' Repeat if necessary. It is important to recollect that a cold wind blown from the operator destroys the effect and demagnetises."
One could not but suspect that some subjects might not like this. But its simplicity was charming. If that was all that was necessary, then, so far as Mr. Pownceby was concerned, the whole science of hypnotism was already mastered.
He approached Mrs. Pratt. He bent over her, devoutly hoping that no one might enter the room as he was engaged in doing so. Quite a shock went through him as he advanced his face towards hers, the expression of her countenance was so very much like death. He blew a "cold wind" on her eyes--those pretty blue eyes, whose cerulean hue he had veiled.
"Now you can open them."
The words were spoken with as much "authority" as he could muster in the then agitated state of his mind; but Mrs. Pratt did not open them. The pamphlet said, "Repeat if necessary." Mr. Pownceby repeated. He blew, and he blew. He blew the "cold wind" all out of him, so that the beads of perspiration stood upon his brow, but still the "subject" gave no signs.
"Mrs. Pratt! Mrs. Pratt! I say, Mrs. Pratt, for heaven's sake do look at me!"
All signs of "authority" had gone from him now. But wind and voice alike were ineffectual. Apparently it was easier to hypnotise than to do the other thing. In his trouble Mr. Pownceby told himself that the writer of that pamphlet was--well, untrustworthy. Or else something had gone wrong in the working. But what could it be? He looked at his watch.
"Half-past twelve! I shall have her husband here directly. I imagine that he will make some observations if he finds his wife like this."
Such a contingency was only to be expected. When a man, after long absence from his wife, returns to find a stranger experimenting on her, and she in a "hypnotic" condition, from which the stranger cannot release her, his first feelings towards that stranger are not, in civilised countries, invariably friendly. Mr. Pownceby, when he had blown the "cold wind" all out of him, arrived at a resolution.
"I will tell Doris. I must get her to help me. It is quite certain that, whatever happens, I mustn't let that man come and find me alone with his wife."
It was only the dread of such a catastrophe that brought him to the "sticking-point" of his resolution. Miss Haseltine--christened Doris--was Mr. Pownceby's betrothed. She also was wintering in the hotel with her mamma. Mr. Pownceby was aware, even painfully aware, that the young lady's feelings towards Mrs. Pratt were not of the warmest possible kind. He was equally conscious that her impression was that his feelings were, if anything,toowarm. He would rather anything had happened, almost, than that he should have been reduced to the necessity of acquainting Miss Haseltine with the situation he was in. But it was certainly impossible for him to allow the returning husband to come in and find him there, alone with his wife, and she apparently in a chronic hypnotic condition.
So he went in search of the young lady. Of course he found her where he would have least wished to find her--in the drawing-room with the ladies. He had to call her out, and at first she wouldn't come.
But as it would have been impossible for him to tell his tale in the presence of a dozen sharp-eared and sharp-tongued women, he protested that there was something of the utmost importance which he must say to her alone. "Well, what is it?" she asked, directly he had got her outside the door. He perceived that she was not in one of her sentimental moods. Perhaps something in his manner had roused her suspicions.
"Mrs. Pratt has fainted."
"Indeed? What has that to do with me? Let her faint. She looks to me as though she were the sort of person who could faint at pleasure."
"Doris, for goodness' sake hear me out; I want your help. It's through me she's fainted."
"Pray what do you mean?"
"It's--it's this confounded thing." Mr. Pownceby held out the slim, green-covered pamphlet. "You know I told you I'd written for that pamphlet, 'How to Hypnotise.' Well, the thing came this morning; here it is! I've been experimenting on her, and I've not only hypnotised her, but, by George, I can't get her round again."
"A pretty state of things, upon my word."
"Don't pitch into me now, Doris, don't. There she is in her sitting-room in a fit or something; I don't know what's the matter with her; and her husband's coming this morning."
"He is coming at last, is he?"
"I expect him every moment; he's due at 12.32."
"She seems to have told you all about it."
"She told me so much, at any rate. I know I've been an ass, I can see that now, but lend me a hand first, and let me have it afterwards. I was obliged to come to you. I couldn't let him find me alone with her in such a state as that. Come and see what you can do for her, there's a darling, do! After all, it's for me, you know, not her."
Miss Haseltine yielded so far as to advance with him along the corridor. There was a fresh arrival when they reached the hall--a gentleman. He was speaking to the young lady, who acted as book-keeper, through the office window.
"My name is Pratt--Gilead J. Pratt. I believe my wife is staying here."
Mr. Pownceby clutched Miss Haseltine's arm.
"It's he!" he whispered.
"There is a Mrs. Pratt staying here," replied the book-keeper. "Her sitting-room is No. 13."
The new arrival was about to be ushered into No. 13, when Mr. Pownceby interposed. He hurried across the hall and touched him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, may I speak to you? My name is Pownceby."
The new arrival turned and faced him. As he did so Mr. Pownceby perceived, a little dimly perhaps, what sort of a man he was. He was of medium height, slightly built, about forty years of age, very dark, with a clean-shaven face and a pair of keen black eyes, which looked at Mr. Pownceby as though they meant to pierce him.
"Delighted to hear you speak, or any man, even if his name's not Pownceby."
Directly the words were spoken Mr. Pownceby became conscious that the new arrival was an American.
"I believe you are Mr. Pratt--Mrs. Pratt's husband."
"I am--worse luck."
"Eh--she intended to meet you at 12.32."
"She did, did she? That's her all through. As she used to be. She never did get farther than intentions. It is about two years since I saw her, and I don't see her now. Have you a message to deliver? Does she desire that I should go away for another two years? If so, I'm willing."
As this was said out loud, without the slightest attempt at concealment, so that every word was audible, not only to Mr. Pownceby, to whom the remarks were addressed, but also to Miss Haseltine, and the book-keeper, and the porter, and the boots, and the waiter, and the chambermaid, and any other straggler who might happen to be within fifty yards or so, it would seem that in her husband Mrs. Pratt possessed a man of character. But Mr. Pownceby was not fond of such publicity.
"Can I say a word to you alone?"
"No, sir, you cannot. If you have a message from my wife, say it. If not, lead on to No. 13."
"The fact is, Mr. Pratt, eh--Mrs. Pratt is not--eh--quite well."
"Is that so? I'm glad to hear it. It's a comfort to know that only sickness would keep her from her husband; though it wouldn't need much of that to keep her from a chance of seeing me."
"The fact is, I wish, Mr. Pratt, you would let me speak to you alone."
"No, sir, I will not. If she's dead, don't spare my feelings. If she has left me for a better man, don't spare my feelings either."
"The fact is, she's in a hypnotic state."
"In a what state?"
"A hypnotic state."
"What state's that?"
"'Hypnotic' 's a new word--it's been brought in lately--it means 'mesmeric.'"
Mr. Pratt paused before replying. He looked Mr. Pownceby up and down.
"Look here, Mr. ---- I think you mentioned Pownceby; I don't know who you are, but you seem a friendly kind of man. Take my advice and get something off your chest. I see you've got it on."
Mr. Pownceby smiled, rather faintly. He did not lack presence of mind, as a rule, though just then the situation was as much as he could manage. He made a dash at it.
"I wish you would give me half a minute alone; but, since you will not, I must try to tell my story where we are. You see this book?" Mr. Pownceby held up the fatal treatise. "It contains instructions for the performance of mesmeric experiments. Mrs. Pratt insisted on my performing one of them on her. I succeeded in producing the mesmeric state, but I--I couldn't get her out of it."
There was a curious twinkle in Mr. Pratt's eyes.
"I don't catch on," he said.
"I say that I hypnotised her--that is, produced the mesmeric state, but that I--I couldn't get her out of it."
"Well?"
"She's in it now."
"In what?"
"The mesmeric state."
"Does she seem to like it?"
"That is more than I can say. I had just induced Miss Haseltine to come to my assistance when we were so fortunate as to encounter you."
"Then I am to understand that when she ought to have been at the depôt looking out for me, she was engaged in looking out for the mesmeric state along with you; is that so?"
"I'm afraid it is."
"Where is she?"
"In her sitting-room, No. 13."
"Lead on to No. 13."
The procession started. The waiter went first, Mr. Pratt next, and after him Miss Haseltine and Mr. Pownceby. Miss Haseltine's demeanour was severe. Either her severity or something else seemed to weigh upon her lover, who did not appear to be altogether at his ease. They reached No. 13. The waiter knocked. There was no reply. He knocked again; still no reply. Mr. Pratt turned towards Mr. Pownceby.
"I guess she's still in that state of yours. I think we'll all go in." He turned the handle of the door and entered. "I guess she's quitted."
The room was empty.