Eleven Possible Cases
Page 16
A LOST DAY.
BY EDGAR FAWCETT.
"My Family," John Dalrymple would say, "have the strange failing (thatis, nearly all of them except myself, on the paternal side) of----"
And then somebody would always try to interrupt him. At the Gramercy,the small but charming club of which he had been for years an honoredmember, they made a point of interrupting him when he began on hisfamily failing. Not a few of them held to the belief that it was a mythof Dalrymple's imagination. Still, others argued, all of the clan exceptJohn himself had been a queer lot; there was no real certainty that theyhad not done extraordinary acts. Meanwhile, apart from his desire todelve among ancestral records and repeat tales which had been told manytimes before, he was a genuine favorite with his friends. But thatseries of family anecdotes remained a standing joke.
They all pitied him when it became known that his engagement to thepretty winsome widow, Mrs. Carrington, was definitely broken. He waspast forty now, and had not been known to pay serious court to any womanbefore in at least ten years. Of course Mrs. Carrington was rich. Butthen her money could not have attracted Dalrymple, for he was richhimself, in spite of his plain way of living there in that smallTwenty-second Street basement house.
But the widow's money had doubtless lured to her side the gentleman whohad cut poor Dalrymple out. A number of years ago, when this littleoccurrence which we are chronicling took place, it was not so easy as itis now to make sure of a foreigner's credentials and antecedents. TheCount de Pommereul, a reputed French nobleman of high position, hadmanaged to get into the Gramercy as a six-months' member, and hadmanaged also to cross the thresholds of numerous select New Yorkdrawing-rooms. At the very period of his introduction to Mrs. Carringtonher engagement with Dalrymple had already become publicly announced.Then, in a few weeks, society received a shock. Dalrymple was thrownover, and it transpired that the brilliant young widow was betrothed tothe Count.
Dalrymple, calm and self-contained, had nothing to say on the subject ofwhy he had received such shabby treatment, and nobody ventured tointerrogate him. Some people believed in the Count, others thought thatthere was a ring of falsity about him, for all his frame was soelegantly slender and supple, for all his mustache was so glossily dark,and his eyes so richly lustrous. Dalrymple meanwhile hid his wound, metthe Count constantly at the Club, though no longer even exchanging bowswith him, and--worked at his revenge in secret as a beaver works at thebuilding of his winter ranch. He succeeded, too, in getting superbmaterials for that revenge. They surprised even himself when a fewrelatives and friends in Paris mailed him appalling documentary evidenceas to what sort of a character this Count really was. There is no doubtthat he now held in his hand a thunderbolt, and had only to hurl it whenhe pleased.
He did not tell a single soul what he had learned. The thought of justhow he should act haunted him for several days. One evening he went homefrom the club a little earlier than usual, and tossed restlessly for agood while after going to bed. When sleep came it found him stillirresolute as to what course he should take.
It seemed to him that he had now a succession of dreams, but he couldrecall none of them on awaking. And he awoke in a peculiar way. Therewas yet no hint of dawn in the room, and only the light from his gas,turned down to a very dim star. He was sitting bolt upright in bed, andfeverish, fatigued sensations oppressed him. "What have I beendreaming?" he asked himself again and again. But as only a confusedjumble of memories answered him, he sank back upon the pillows, and wassoon buried in slumber.
It was past nine o'clock in the morning when he next awoke. He feltdecidedly better. Both the feverishness and the fatigue had left him. Hewent to the club and breakfasted there. It was almost empty of members,as small clubs are apt to be at that hour of the morning. But in thehall he met his old friend Langworth and bowed to him. Langworth, whowas rather near-sighted, gave a sudden start and a stare. "How odd,"thought Dalrymple, as he passed on into the reading-room, "I hopethere's nothing unexpected about my personal appearance." Just at thedoorway of the room he met another old friend, Summerson, a manextremely strict about all matters of propriety. Summerson saw him andthen plainly made believe that he had not seen. As they moved by oneanother Dalrymple said lightly, "Good-morning, old chap. How's yourgout?"
Summerson, who was very tall and excessively dignified, gave a comicsquirm. Then his eyelids fluttered and with the tips of his lips hemurmured, "Better," as he glided along.
"Pooh," said Dalrymple to himself. "Getting touchy, I suppose, in hisold age. How longevity disagrees with some of us mortals."
He nearly always took a bottle of seltzer before breakfast, and thismorning old Andrew (a servant who had been in the club many years)poured it out for him.
"I hope you're all right again this mornin', sorr," said Andrew with hisCeltic accent and in an affable half whisper.
"All right, Andrew," was the reply. "Why, you must be thinking of someone else. I haven't been ill. My health has been excellent for a longtime past."
"Yes, sorr," said Andrew, lowering his eyes and respectfully retiring.
That last "Yes, sorr," had a dubious note about its delivery that almostmade Dalrymple call the faithful old fellow back and further questionhim. "All right again?" As if he had ever been all wrong! Oh, well, poorAndrew was ageing; others had remarked that fact months ago.
A different servant came to announce breakfast. There were only aboutfive men in the dining-room as Dalrymple entered it. All of them gazedat him in an unusual way, or had late events led him to think that theydid so? At the table nearest him sat Everdell, one of the jolliest menin the club, a person whose face was nearly always wreathed in smiles.
"Good-morning!" said Dalrymple, as he caught Everdell's eye!
"Good-morning!" The tones were replete with mild consternation, and thelook that went with them was smileless to the degree of actual gloom.Then Everdell, who had just finished his breakfast, rose and drew nearto Dalrymple.
"'Pon my word," he said, "I'm delighted to see you all right again sosoon."
"All right again so soon?" was the reply. "What in mercy's name do youmean?"
"Oh, my dear old fellow," began Everdell, fumbling with his watch-chain,"it was pretty bad, you know, yesterday."
"Pretty--bad--yesterday?"
"I saw you in the morning, and for an hour or so in the afternoon.Perhaps no one would have noticed it if you hadn't stayed here all day,and poured those confidences into people's ears about De Pommereul. Youdidn't appear to have drank a drop in the club; there's the funny partof it. You went out several times, though, and came back again. All thatyou had to drink (except some wine here at dinner, you remember) youmust have got outside. I wasn't here at ten o'clock when De Pommereulcame in. I'm glad I wasn't. You must have been dreadful. If Summersonand Joyce hadn't rushed in between you and the Count, heaven knows whatwould have happened. As it is----"
At this point Dalrymple broke in with cold harshness: "Look here,Everdell, I always disliked practical jokes, and I've known for a numberof years that you're given to them. You've never attempted to make meyour butt before, however, and you'll have the kindness to discontinueany such proceeding now."
Everdell drew back for a moment, frowned, shrugged his shoulders, andthen muttering, "Oh, if you're going to put it in that way," strodequickly out of the dining-room.
Dalrymple scarcely ate a morsel of breakfast. After he had gulped downsome hot coffee he repaired to the reading-room. As he re-entered it awaiter handed him several letters. One, which he opened first, wasmarked "immediate," and had been sent him from his own house by anintelligent and devoted woman servant there, who had been for a longperiod in his employ. This letter made poor Dalrymple's head swim as heread it. Written and signed by Mr. Summerson himself, as chairman of thehouse committee of the club, it ordered him to appear that same eveningbefore a meeting of the governors and answer to a charge of disorderlyconduct on the previous night. Then it went on to state that he(Dalrymple) had been seen thr
oughout the previous day at the club in astate of evident intoxication, and had, finally, between the hours of 10and 11 P. M., accosted and grossly insulted the Count de Pommereul inthe main drawing-room of the Gramercy.
"Disorderly conduct," "evident intoxication," "grossly insulted theCount de Pommereul." These words were trembling on Dalrymple's lips ashe presently approached Summerson himself, the very gentleman who hadsigned the letter, and who stood in the hall, arrayed for the street.
"What--what does it all mean?" gasped Dalrymple. "I--I never wasintoxicated in my life, Lawrence Summerson; you ought to know that! Iplayed euchre last night, up in the card-room, from nine o'clock tilltwelve, with Ogden and Folsom and yourself. If there's any practicaljoke being got up against me, for God's sake----"
"Wait a minute, please," said Summerson. He went back into thecoat-room, disarrayed himself of his street wraps, and finally joinedDalrymple. His first words, low and grave, ran thus: "Can it be possibleyou don't recollect that our game of euchre was played the night beforelast and not last night?" Then he went with Dalrymple into a corner ofthe reading room, and they talked together for a good while.
Dalrymple went back to his home that day in a mental whirl. It stillwanted a number of hours before the Governing Committee would meet. Hehad lost a day out of his life--there could be no doubt of that. If hehad moved about the Club at all yesterday with a drunken manner,reviling De Pommereul to everybody who would lend him an ear--if he hadafterward met De Pommereul in the Club and directed toward him in loudand furious tones a perfect torrent of accusation--he himself wascompletely, blankly ignorant.
For a good while he sat quite still and thought. Then he summoned Ann,the elderly and very trustworthy Ann, who had been his dear mother'smaid, and was now his housekeeper. He questioned Ann, and afterdismissing her he pondered her answers. Three times yesterday she hadseen him, and regarding his appearance Ann had her distinct opinions.
Suddenly a light flashed upon Dalrymple while he sat alone and brooded.He sprang up and a cry, half of awe, half of gladness, left his lips.The baffling problem had been solved!
That evening he presented himself before the Governing Committee. Allassembled were sorry for him. Of course, punishment must be dealt, butfor an old and popular member like Dalrymple it must not be expulsion.The general feeling of the Club had indeed already been gauged, and itwas in favor of suspension for six months or a year at the farthest.
Dalrymple, however, was determined that he should be visited with nopunishment at all. And he meant to state why.
The judges, as he faced them, all looked politely grim. The President,after a few suave preliminaries, asked Dalrymple if he had anything tosay concerning the charges preferred against him. Dalrymple thenproceeded to speak with a clear voice and composed demeanor.
His first sentences electrified his hearers. "I have no possiblerecollection of yesterday," he began, "and it is precisely as much of alost day to me as though I had lain chloroformed for twenty-four hours.On Wednesday night I returned home from this club and went to rest. Inever really woke until Friday, possibly a little while after midnight,and then within my own bed. On Thursday morning I must have risen in astate of somnambulism, hypnotism, mental aberration, whatever youplease, and not come to myself until Thursday had passed, and I had oncemore retired. Of what yesterday occurred I therefore claim to have beenthe irresponsible agent, and to have become so through no fault of myown. I am completely innocent of the misdemeanors charged against me,and I now solemnly swear this, on my word of honor as a gentleman."
Here Dalrymple paused. The members of the committee interchanged glancesamid profound silence. On some faces doubt could be read, but on othersits veriest opposite. The intense stillness had become painful whenDalrymple spoke again.
"I had hoped that I should escape throughout my own lifetime allvisitations of this distressing kind. My grandfather and two of myuncles not only walked in their sleep to an alarming degree, but wereeach subject to strange conditions of mind, in which acts were performedby them that they could not possibly remember afterward." Here thespeaker paused, soon continuing, however, in a lower and more reflectivetone:
"Yes, my family have had the strange failing (that is, nearly all ofthem except myself, on the paternal side) of----"
But he said no more. The tension was loosened, and a great roar oflaughter rose from the whole committee. How often every man there hadjoked him about that marvelous budget of stories which he infalliblybegan one way and one way only! And when the familiar formula soundedforth, it was all the funnier to those who heard it because of thesolemn, judicial circumstances in which it again met their hearing.
The plaintiff was honorably acquitted. As for De Pommereul, as everyword that Dalrymple had said concerning his past life in France happenedto be perfectly true, the Count never reappeared at the Gramercy. Hisengagement with Mrs. Carrington was soon afterward broken off by thelady herself, and for a good while it was rumored that this lady hadrepentantly made it optional with Dalrymple whether he should once morebecome her accepted sweetheart.
But Dalrymple remained a bachelor. He is quite an old man now, yet hemay be found in the card-room of the Gramercy nearly every evening. Heis very willing to tell you the story of his "lost day" if you ask himcourteously for it, and not in any strain of fun-poking; but he attemptsno more voluntary recitals on the subject of his "family's" maladies ormishaps.
A TRAGEDY OF HIGH EXPLOSIVES.
BY BRAINARD GARDNER SMITH.