Apparently they didn’t understand, for they looked at me with all the stupidity they could command.
“You try, Mr. Poopendyke,” I said, giving it up in despair. He sought to improve on my German, but I think he made it worse. They positively refused to be intelligent.
“Give me the hammer,” I said at last in desperation. Max surrendered the clumsy, old-fashioned instrument with a grin and I motioned for them all to stand back. Three successive blows with all the might I had in my body failed to shatter the lock, whereupon my choler rose to heights hitherto unknown, I being a very mild-mannered, placid person and averse to anything savouring of the tempestuous. I delivered a savage and resounding thwack upon the broad oak panel of the door, regardless of the destructiveness that might attend the effort. If any one had told me that I couldn’t splinter an oak board with a sledge-hammer at a single blow I should have laughed in his face. But as it turned out in this case I not only failed to split the panel but broke off the sledge handle near the head, putting it wholly out of commission for the time being as well as stinging my hands so severely that I doubled up with pain and shouted words that Dame Schmick could not put into her prayers.
The Schmicks fairly glowed with joy! Afterwards Max informed me that the door was nearly six inches thick and often had withstood the assaults of huge battering rams, back in the dim past when occasion induced the primal baron to seek safety in the east wing, which, after all, appears to have been the real, simon pure fortress. The west wing was merely a setting for festal amenities and was by no means feudal in its aspect or appeal. Here, as I came to know, the old barons received their friends and feasted them and made merry with the flagon and the horn of plenty; here the humble tithe payer came to settle his dues with gold and silver instead of with blood; here the little barons and baronesses romped and rioted with childish glee; and here the barons grew fat and gross and soggy with laziness and prosperity, and here they died in stupid quiescence. On the other side of that grim, staunch old door they simply went to the other extreme in every particular. There they killed their captives, butchered their enemies, and sometimes died with the daggers of traitors in their shivering backs.
As we trudged back to the lower halls, defeated but none the less impressed by our failure to devastate our stronghold, I was struck by the awful barrenness of the surroundings. There suddenly came over me the shocking realisation: the “contents” of the castle, as set forth rather vaguely in the bill of sale, were not what I had been led to consider them. It had not occurred to me at the time of the transaction to insist upon an inventory, and I had been too busy since the beginning of my tenancy to take more than a passing account of my belongings. In excusing myself for this rather careless oversight, I can only say that during daylight hours the castle was so completely stuffed with workmen and their queer utensils that I couldn’t do much in the way of elimination, and by night it was so horribly black and lonesome about the place and the halls were so littered with tools and mops and timber that it was extremely hazardous to go prowling about, so I preferred to remain in my own quarters, which were quite comfortable and cosy in spite of the distance between points of convenience.
Still I was vaguely certain that many articles I had seen about the halls on my first and second visits were no longer in evidence. Two or three antique rugs, for instance, were missing from the main hall, and there was a lamentable suggestion of emptiness at the lower end where we had stacked a quantity of rare old furniture in order to make room for the workmen.
“Herr Schmick,” said I, abruptly halting my party in the centre of the hall, “what has become of the rugs that were here last week, and where is that pile of furniture we had back yonder?”
Rudolph allowed the lantern to swing behind his huge legs, intentionally I believe, and I was compelled to relieve him of it in order that we might extract ourselves from his shadow. I have never seen such a colossal shadow as the one he cast.
Old Conrad was not slow in answering.
“The gentlemen called day before yesterday, mein herr, and took much away. They will return tomorrow for the remainder.”
“Gentlemen?” I gasped. “Remainder?”
“The gentlemen to whom the Herr Count sold the rugs and chairs and chests and—”
“What!” I roared. Even Poopendyke jumped at this sudden exhibition of wrath. “Do you mean to tell me that these things have been sold and carried away without my knowledge or consent? I’ll have the law—”
Herr Poopendyke intervened. “They had bills of sale and orders for removal of property dated several weeks prior to your purchase, Mr. Smart. We had to let the articles go. You surely remember my speaking to you about it.”
“I don’t remember anything,” I snapped, which was the truth. “Why—why, I bought everything that the castle contained. This is robbery! What the dickens do you mean by—”
Old Conrad held up his hands as if expecting to pacify me. I sputtered out the rest of the sentence, which really amounted to nothing.
“The Count has been selling off the lovely old pieces for the past six months, sir. Ach, what a sin! They have come here day after day, these furniture buyers, to take away the most priceless of our treasures, to sell them to the poor rich at twenty prices. I could weep over the sacrifices. I have wept, haven’t I, Gretel? Eh, Rudolph? Buckets of tears have I shed, mein herr. Oceans of them. Time after time have I implored him to deny these rascally curio hunters, these blood-sucking—”
“But listen to me,” I broke in. “Do you mean to say that articles have been taken away from the castle since I came into possession?”
“Many of them, sir. Always with proper credentials, believe me. Ach, what a spendthrift he is! And his poor wife! Ach, Gott, how she must suffer. Nearly all of the grand paintings, the tapestries that came from France and Italy hundreds of years ago, the wonderful old bedsteads and tables that were here when the castle was new—all gone! And for mere songs, mein herr,—the cheapest of songs! I—I—”
“Please don’t weep now, Herr Schmick,” I made haste to exclaim, seeing lachrymose symptoms in his blear old eyes. Then I became firm once more. This knavery must cease, or I’d know the reason why. “The next man who comes here to cart away so much as a single piece is to be kicked out. Do you understand? These things belong to me. Kick him into the river. Or, better still, notify me and I’ll do it. Why, if this goes on we’ll soon be deprived of anything to sit on or sleep in or eat from! Lock the doors, Conrad, and don’t admit any one without first consulting me. By Jove, I’d like to wring that rascal’s neck. A Count! Umph!”
“Ach, he is of the noblest family in all the land,” sighed old Gretel. “His grandfather was a fine man.” I contrived to subdue my rage and disappointment and somewhat loudly returned to the topic from which we were drifting.
“As for those beastly padlocks, I shall have them filed off tomorrow. I give you warning, Conrad, if the keys are not forthcoming before noon tomorrow, I’ll file ’em off, so help me.”
“They are yours to destroy, mein herr, God knows,” said he dismally. “It is a pity to destroy fine old padlocks—”
“Well, you wait and see,” said I, grimly.
His face beamed once more. “Ach, I forgot to say that there are padlocks on the other side of the door, just as on this side. It will be of no use to destroy these. The door still could not be forced. Mein Gott! How thankful I am to have remembered it in time.”
“Confound you, Schmick, I believe you actually want to keep me out of that part of the castle,” I exploded.
The four of them protested manfully, even Gretel.
“I have a plan, sir,” said Britton. “Why not place a tall ladder in the courtyard and crawl in through one of the windows?”
“Splendid! That’s what we’ll do!” I cried enthusiastically. “And now let’s go to bed! We will breakfast at eight, Mrs. Schmick. The early bird catches the worm, you know.”
“Will you see the American ladies and
gentlemen who are coming tomorrow to pick out the—”
“Yes, I’ll see them,” said I, compressing my lips. “Don’t let me over-sleep, Britton.”
“I shan’t, sir,” said he.
Sleep evaded me for hours. What with the possible proximity of an undesirable feminine neighbour, mysterious and elusive though she may prove to be, and the additional dread of dogs and babies, to say nothing of the amazing delinquencies to be laid to the late owner of the place, and the prospect of a visit from coarse and unfeeling bargain-hunters on the morrow, it is really not surprising that I tossed about in my baronial bed, counting sheep backwards and forwards over hedges and fences until the vociferous cocks in the stable yard began to send up their clarion howdy-dos to the sun. Strangely enough, with the first peep of day through the decrepit window shutters I fell into a sound sleep. Britton got nothing but grunts from me until half-past nine. At that hour he came into my room and delivered news that aroused me more effectually than all the alarm clocks or alarm cocks in the world could have done.
“Get up, sir, if you please,” he repeated the third time. “The party of Americans is below, sir, rummaging about the place. They have ordered the workmen to stop work, sir, complaining of the beastly noise they make, and the dust and all that, sir. They have already selected half a dozen pieces and they have brought enough porters and carriers over in the boats to take the stuff away in—”
“Where is Poopendyke?” I cried, leaping out of bed. “I don’t want to be shaved, Britton, and don’t bother about the tub.” He had filled my twentieth century portable tub, recently acquired, and was nervously creating a lather in my shaving mug,
“You look very rough, sir.”
“So much the better.”
“Mr. Poopendyke is in despair, sir. He has tried to explain that nothing is for sale, but the gentlemen say they are onto his game. They go right on yanking things about and putting their own prices on them and reserving them. They are perfectly delighted, sir, to have found so many old things they really want for their new houses.”
“I’ll—I’ll put a stop to all this,” I grated, seeing red for an instant.
“And the ladies, sir! There are three of them, all from New York City, and they keep on saying they are completely ravished, sir,—with joy, I take it. Your great sideboard in the dining-room is to go to Mrs. Riley-Werkheimer, and the hall-seat that the first Baron used to throw his armour on when he came in from—”
“Great snakes!” I roared. “They haven’t moved it, have they? It will fall to pieces!”
“No, sir. They are piling sconces and candelabra and andirons on it, regardless of what Mr. Poopendyke says. You’d better hurry, sir. Here is your collar and necktie—”
“I don’t want ’em. Where the dickens are my trousers?”
His face fell. “Being pressed, sir, God forgive me!”
“Get out another pair, confound you, Britton. What are we coming to?”
He began rummaging in the huge clothespress, all the while regaling me with news from the regions below.
“Mr. Poopendyke has gone up to his room, sir, with his typewriter. The young lady insisted on having it. She squealed with joy at seeing an antique typewriter and he—he had to run away with it, ’pon my soul he did, sir.”
I couldn’t help laughing.
“And your golf clubs, Mr. Smart. The young gentleman of the party is perfectly carried away with them. He says they’re the real thing, the genuine sixteenth century article. They are a bit rusted, you’ll remember. I left him out in the courtyard trying your brassie and mid-iron, sir, endeavouring to loft potatoes over the south wall. I succeeded in hiding the balls, sir. Just as I started upstairs I heard one of the new window panes in the banquet hall smash, sir, so I take it he must have sliced his drive a bit.”
“Who let these people in?” I demanded in smothered tones from the depths of a sweater I was getting into in order to gain time by omitting a collar.
“They came in with the plumbers, sir, at half-past eight. Old man Schmick tried to keep them out, but they said they didn’t understand German and walked right by, leaving their donkeys in the roadway outside.”
“Couldn’t Rudolph and Max stop them?” I cried, as my head emerged.
“They were still in bed, sir. I think they’re at breakfast now.”
“Good lord!” I groaned, looking at my watch. “Nine-thirty! What sort of a rest cure am I conducting here?”
We hurried downstairs so fast that I lost one of my bedroom slippers. It went clattering on ahead of us, making a shameful racket on the bare stones, but Britton caught it up in time to save it from the clutches of the curio-vandals. My workmen were lolling about the place, smoking vile pipes and talking in guttural whispers. All operations appeared to have ceased in my establishment at the command of the far from idle rich. Two portly gentlemen in fedoras were standing in the middle of the great hall, discussing the merits of a dingy old spinet that had been carried out of the music room by two lusty porters from the hotel. From somewhere in the direction of the room where the porcelains and earthenware were stored came the shrill, excited voices of women. The aged Schmicks were sitting side by side on a window ledge, with the rigid reticence of wax figures.
As I came up, I heard one of the strangers say to the other:
“Well, if you don’t want it, I’ll take it. My wife says it can be made into a writing desk with a little—”
“I beg your pardon, gentlemen,” said I confronting them. “Will you be good enough to explain this intrusion?”
They stared at me as if I were a servant asking for higher wages. The speaker, a fat man with a bristly moustache and a red necktie, drew himself up haughtily.
“Who the devil are you?” he demanded, fixing me with a glare.
I knew at once that he was the kind of an American I have come to hate with a zest that knows no moderation; the kind that makes one ashamed of the national melting pot. I glared back at him.
“I happen to be the owner of this place, and you’ll oblige me by clearing out.”
“What’s that? Here, here, none of that sort of talk, my friend. We’re here to look over your stuff, and we mean business, but you won’t get anywhere by talking like—”
“There is nothing for sale here,” I said shortly. “And you’ve got a lot of nerve to come bolting into a private house—”
“Say,” said the second man, advancing with a most insulting scowl, “we’ll understand each other right off the reel, my friend. All you’ve got to do is to answer us when we ask for prices. Now, bear that in mind, and don’t try any of your high-and-mighty tactics on us.”
“Just remember that you’re a junk-dealer and we’ll get along splendidly,” said the other, in a tone meant to crush me. “What do you ask for this thing?” tapping the dusty spinet with his walking-stick.
It suddenly occurred to me that the situation was humorous.
“You will have to produce your references, gentlemen, before I can discuss anything with you,” I said, after swallowing very hard. (It must have been my pride.)
They stared. “Good Lord!” gasped the bristly one, blinking his eyes. “Don’t you know who this gentleman is? You—you appear to be an American. You must know Mr. Riley-Werkheimer of New York.”
“I regret to say that I have never heard of Mr. Riley-Werkheimer. I did not know that Mrs. Riley-Werkheimer’s husband was living. And may I ask who you are?”
“Oh, I am also a nobody,” said he, with a wink at his purple-jowled companion. “I am only poor old Rocksworth, the president of the—”
“Oh, don’t say anything more, Mr. Rocksworth,” I cried. “I have heard of you. This fine old spinet? Well, it has been reduced in price. Ten thousand dollars, Mr. Rocksworth.”
“Ten thousand nothing! I’ll take it at seventy-five dollars. And now let’s talk about this here hall-seat. My wife thinks it’s a fake. What is its history, and what sort of guarantee can you—”
�
�A fake!” I cried in dismay. “My dear Mr. Rocksworth, that is the very hall-seat that Pontius Pilate sat in when waiting for an audience with the first of the great Teutonic barons. The treaty between the Romans and the Teutons was signed on that table over there,—the one you have so judiciously selected, I perceive. Of course, you know that this was the Saxon seat of government. Charlemagne lived here with all his court.”
They tried not to look impressed, but rather overdid it.
“That’s the sort of a story you fellows always put up, you skinflints from Boston. I’ll bet my head you are from Boston,” said Mr. Rocksworth shrewdly.
“I couldn’t afford to have you lose your head, Mr. Rocksworth, so I shan’t take you on,” said I merrily.
“Don’t get fresh now,” said he stiffly.
Mr. Riley-Werkheimer walked past me to take a closer look at the seat, almost treading on my toes rather than to give an inch to me.
“How can you prove that it’s the genuine article?” he demanded curtly.
“You have my word for it, sir,” I said quietly.
“Pish tush!” said he.
Mr. Rocksworth turned in the direction of the banquet hall.
“Carrie!” he shouted. “Come here a minute, will you?”
“Don’t shout like that, Orson,” came back from the porcelain closet. “You almost made me drop this thing.”
“Well, drop it, and come on. This is important.”
I wiped the moisture from my brow and respectfully put my clenched fists into my pockets.
A minute later, three females appeared on the scene, all of them dusting their hands and curling their noses in disgust.
“I never saw such a dirty place,” said the foremost, a large lady who couldn’t, by any circumstance of fate, have been anybody’s wife but Rocksworth’s. “It’s filthy! What do you want?”
“I’ve bought this thing here for seventy-five. You said I couldn’t get it for a nickle under a thousand. And say, this man tells me the hall seat here belonged to Pontius Pilate in—”
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories Page 232