A Fool and His Money. George Barr McCutcheon

      "If you knew just how circumspect I am obliged to be at present you wouldn't impose such terms, Mr. Smart."

      "Oho! Circumspect! That puts a new light on the case. What have you been up to, madam?" I spoke very severely.

      She very properly ignored the banality. "If I should write you a nice, agreeable letter, explaining as much as I can, won't you be satisfied?"

      "I prefer to have it by word of mouth."

      She seemed to be considering. "I will come to this window to-morrow night at this time and—and let you know," she said reluctantly.

      "Very well," said I. "We'll let it rest till then."

      "And, by the way, I have something more to ask of you. Is it quite necessary to have all this pounding and hammering going on in the castle? The noise is dreadful. I don't ask it on my own account, but for the baby. You see, she's quite ill with a fever, Mr. Smart. Perhaps you've heard her crying."

      "The baby?" I muttered.

      "It is nothing serious, of course. The doctor was here to-day and he reassured me—"

      "A—a doctor here to-day?" I gasped.

      She laughed once more. Verily, it was a gentle, high-bred laugh.

      "Will you please put a stop to the noise for a day or two?" she asked, very prettily.

      "Certainly," said I too surprised to say anything else. "Is—is there anything else?"

      "Nothing, thank you," she replied. Then: "Good night, Mr. Smart. You are very good."

      "Don't forget to-morrow—"

      But the oblong aperture disappeared with a sharp click, and I found myself staring at the blank, sphynx-like wall.

      Taking up my pad, my pipe and my pencil, and leaving all of my cherished ideas out there in the cruel darkness, never to be recovered—at least not in their original form—I scrambled through the window, painfully scraping my knee in passing—just in time to escape the deluge.

      I am sure I should have enjoyed a terrific drenching if she had chosen to subject me to it.

CHAPTER IV—I BECOME AN ANCESTOR

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      True to the promise she had extracted from me, I laid off my workmen the next morning. They trooped in bright and early, considerably augmented by fresh recruits who came to share the benefits of my innocuous prodigality, and if I live to be a thousand I shall never again experience such a noisome half hour as the one I spent in listening to their indignant protests against my tyrannical oppression of the poor and needy. In the end, I agreed to pay them, one and all, for a full day's work, and they went away mollified, calling me a true gentleman to my face and heaven knows what to my back.

      I spoke gently to them of the sick baby. With one voice they all shouted:

      "But our babies are sick!"

      One octogenarian—a carpenter's apprentice—heatedly informed me, through Schmick, that he had a child two weeks old that would die before morning if deprived of proper food and nourishment. Somewhat impressed by this pitiful lament, I enquired how his wife was getting along. The ancient, being in a placid state of senility, courteously thanked me for my interest, and answered that she had been dead for forty-nine years, come September. I overlooked the slight discrepancy.

      During the remainder of the day, I insisted on the utmost quiet in our wing of the castle. Poopendyke was obliged to take his typewriter out to the stables, where I dictated scores of letters to him. I caught Britton whistling in the kitchen about noon-time, and severely reprimanded him. We went quite to the extreme, however, when we tiptoed about our lofty halls. All of the afternoon we kept a sharp lookout for the doctor, but if he came we were none the wiser. Britton went into the town at three with the letters and a telegram to my friends in Vienna, imploring them to look up a corps of efficient servants for me and to send them on post-haste. I would have included a request for a competent nurse-maid if it hadn't been for a report from Poopendyke, who announced that he had caught a glimpse of a very nursy looking person at one of the upper windows earlier in the day.

      I couldn't, however, for the life of me understand why my neighbour enjoined such rigid silence in our part of the castle and yet permitted that confounded dog of hers to yowl and bark all day. How was I to know that the beast had treed a lizard in the lower hall and couldn't dislodge it?

      Britton returned with news. The ferrymen, with great joy in the telling, informed him that the season for tourists parties was just beginning and that we might expect, with them, to do a thriving and prosperous business during the next month or two. Indeed, word already had been received by the tourists company's agent in the town that a party of one hundred and sixty-nine would arrive the next day but one from Munchen, bent on visiting my ruin. In great trepidation, I had all of the gates and doors locked and reinforced by sundry beams and slabs, for I knew the overpowering nature of the collective tourist.

      I may be pardoned if I digress at this time to state that the party of one hundred and sixty-nine, both stern and opposite, besieged my castle on the next day but one, with the punctuality of locusts, and despite all of my precautions, all of my devices, all of my objections, effected an entrance and over-ran the place like a swarm of ants. The feat that could not have been accomplished by an armed force was successfully managed by a group of pedagogues from Ohio, to whom "Keep off the Grass" and "No Trespass" are signs of utter impotence on the part of him who puts them up, and ever shall be, world without end. They came, they saw, they conquered, and they tried to buy picture postcards of me.

      I mention this in passing, lest you should be disappointed. More anon.

      Punctually at nine o'clock, I was in the balcony, thanking my lucky stars that it was a bright, moonlit night. There was every reason to rejoice in the prospect of seeing her face clearly when she appeared at her secret little window. Naturally, I am too much of a gentleman to have projected unfair means of illuminating her face, such as the use of a pocket electric lamp or anything of that sort. I am nothing if not gallant—when it comes to a pinch. Besides, I was reasonably certain that she would wear a thick black veil. In this I was wrong. She wore a white, filmy one, but it served the purpose. I naturally concluded that she was homely.

      "Good evening," she said, on opening the window.

      "Good evening," said I, contriving to conceal my disappointment. "How is the baby?"

      "Very much better, thank you. It was so good of you to stop the workmen."

      "Won't you take off your veil and stay awhile?" I asked, politely facetious. "It isn't quite fair to me, you know."

      Her next remark brought a blush of confusion to my cheek. A silly notion had induced me to don my full evening regalia, spike-tail coat and all. Nothing could have been more ludicrously incongruous than my appearance, I am sure, and I never felt more uncomfortable in my life.

      "How very nice you look in your new suit," she said, and I was aware of a muffled quality in her ordinarily clear, musical voice. She was laughing at me. "Are you giving a dinner party?"

      "I usually dress for dinner," I lied with some haughtiness. "And so does Poopendyke," I added as an afterthought. My blush deepened as I recalled the attenuated blazer in which my secretary breakfasted, lunched and dined without discrimination.

      "For Gretel's benefit, I presume."

      "Aha! You do know Gretel, then?"

      "Oh, I've known her for years. Isn't she a quaint old dear?"

      "I shall discharge her in the morning," said I severely. "She is a liar and her husband is a poltroon. They positively deny your existence in any shape or form."

      "They