A Fool and His Money. George Barr McCutcheon

mystery unless we charge it to the account of a much-abused eccentricity attributed to genius and which usually turns out to be arrant stupidity.

      I have no patience with the so-called eccentricity of genius. It is merely an excuse for unkempt hair, dirty finger-nails, unpolished boots, open placquets, bad manners and a tendency to forget pecuniary obligations, to say nothing of such trifles as besottednesss, vulgarity and the superior knack of knowing how to avoid making suitable provision for one's wife and children. All the shabby short-comings in the character of an author, artist or actor are blithely charged to genius, and we are content to let it go at that for fear that other people may think we don't know any better. As for myself, I may be foolish and inconsequential, but heaven will bear witness that I am not mean enough to call myself a genius.

      So we will call it stupidity that put me where I might be rained upon at any moment, or permanently interrupted by a bolt of lightning. (There were low mutterings of thunder behind the hills, and faint flashes as if a monstrous giant had paused to light his pipe on the evil, wind-swept peaks of the Caucasus mountains.)

      I was scribbling away in serene contempt for the physical world, when there came to my ears a sound that gave me a greater shock than any streak of lightning could have produced and yet left sufficient life in me to appreciate the sensation of being electrified.

      A woman's voice, speaking to me out of the darkness and from some point quite near at hand! Indeed, I could have sworn it was almost at my elbow; she might have been peering over my shoulder to read my thoughts.

      "I beg your pardon, but would you mind doing me a slight favour?"

      Those were the words, uttered in a clear, sweet, perfectly confident voice, as of one who never asked for favours, but exacted them.

      I looked about me, blinking, utterly bewildered. No one was to be seen. She laughed. Without really meaning to do so, I also laughed—nervously, of course.

      "Can't you see me?" she asked. I looked intently at the spot from which the sound seemed to come: a perfectly solid stone block less than three feet from my right shoulder. It must have been very amusing. She laughed again. I flushed resentfully.

      "Where are you?" I cried out rather tartly.

      "I can see you quite plainly, and you are very ugly when you scowl, sir. Are you scowling at me?"

      "I don't know," I replied truthfully, still searching for her. "Does it seem so to you?"

      "Yes."

      "Then I must be looking in the right direction," I cried impolitely. "You must be—Ah!"

      My straining eyes had located a small, oblong blotch in the curve of the tower not more than twenty feet from where I stood, and on a direct line with my balcony. True, I could not at first see a face, but as my eyes grew a little more accustomed to the darkness, I fancied I could distinguish a shadow that might pass for one.

      "I didn't know that little window was there," I cried, puzzled.

      "It isn't," she said. "It is a secret loop-hole, and it isn't here except in times of great duress. See! I can close it." The oblong blotch abruptly disappeared, only to reappear an instant later. I was beginning to understand. Of course it was in the beleaguered east wing! "I hope I didn't startle you a moment ago."

      I resolved to be very stiff and formal about it. "May I enquire, madam, what you are doing in my hou—my castle?"

      "You may."

      "Well," said I, seeing the point, "what are you doing here?"

      "I am living here," she answered distinctly.

      "So I perceive," said I, rather too distinctly.

      "And I have come down to ask a simple, tiny little favour of you, Mr. Smart," she resumed.

      "You know my name?" I cried, surprised.

      "I am reading your last book—Are you going?"

      "Just a moment, please," I called out, struck by a splendid idea. Reaching inside the window I grasped the lanthorn and brought its rays to bear upon the—perfectly blank wall! I stared open-mouthed and unbelieving. "Good heaven! Have I been dreaming all this?" I cried aloud.

      My gaze fell upon two tiny holes in the wall, exposed to view by the bright light of my lamp. They appeared to be precisely in the centre of the spot so recently marked by the elusive oblong. Even as I stared at the holes, a slim object that I at once recognised as a finger protruded from one of them and wiggled at me in a merry but exceedingly irritating manner.

      Sensibly I restored the lanthorn to its place inside the window and waited for the mysterious voice to resume.

      "Are you so homely as all that?" I demanded when the shadowy face looked out once more. Very clever of me, I thought.

      "I am considered rather good-looking," she replied, serenely. "Please don't do that again. It was very rude of you, Mr. Smart." "Oh, I've seen something of you before this," I said. "You have long, beautiful brown hair—and a dog."

      She was silent.

      "I am sure you will pardon me if I very politely ask who you are?" I went on.

      "That question takes me back to the favour. Will you be so very, very kind as to cease bothering me, Mr. Smart? It is dreadfully upsetting, don't you feeling that at any moment you may rush in and—"

      "I like that. In my own castle, too!"

      "There is ample room for both of us," she said sharply. "I shan't be here for more than a month or six weeks, and I am sure we can get along very amiably under the same roof for that length of time if you'll only forget that I am here."

      "I can't very well do that, madam. You see, we are making extensive repairs about the place and you are proving to be a serious obstacle. I cannot grant your request. It will grieve me enormously if I am compelled to smoke you out but I fear—"

      "Smoke me out!"

      "Perhaps with sulphur," I went on resolutely. "It is said to be very effective."

      "Surely you will not do anything so horrid."

      "Only as a last resort. First, we shall storm the east wing. Failing in that we shall rely on smoke. You will admit that you have no right to poach on my preserves."

      "None whatever," she said, rather plaintively.

      I can't remember having heard a sweeter voice than hers. Of course, by this time, I was thoroughly convinced that she was a lady—a cultured, high-bred lady—and an American. I was too densely enveloped by the fogginess of my own senses at this time, however, to take in this extraordinary feature of the case. Later on, in the seclusion of my study, the full force of it struck me and I marvelled.

      That plaintive note in her voice served its purpose. My firmness seemed to dissolve, even as I sought to reinforce it by an injection of harshness into my own manner of speech.

      "Then you should be willing to vacate my premises er—or—" here is where I began to show irresoluteness—"or explain yourself."

      "Won't you be generous?"

      I cleared my throat nervously. How well they know the cracks in a man's armour!

      "I am willing to be—amenable to reason. That's all you ought to expect." A fresh idea took root. "Can't we effect a compromise? A truce, or something of the sort? All I ask is that you explain your presence here. I will promise to be as generous as possible under the circumstances."

      "Will you give me three days in which to think it over?" she asked, after a long pause.

      "No."

      "Well, two days?"

      "I'll give you until to-morrow afternoon at five, when I shall expect you to receive me in person."

      "That is quite impossible."

      "But I demand the right to go wherever I please