by Rahul Singh
THE GOLDEN BOX
BY: RAHUL SINGH
Copyright © 2019 by Rahul Singh
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Table of contents
Chapter 1: The golden box Page 4
Chapter 2: The ball at the capitol Page 7
Chapter 3: The frozen bride Page 14
CHAPTER 1: THE GOLDEN BOX
On the evening of the eleventh of March, year of grace nineteen hundred and twelve, Mr. Jack Brown devoted several hours to the consummation of a rather elaborate toilet. That accomplished, he placed himself before a mirror and critically surveyed the results of his patient art.
The effect appeared to give him satisfaction. In the glass, he beheld a comely young man of thirty, something under the medium stature, faultlessly attired in evening dress. The face was a perfect oval, the complexion delicate, the features refined. The high cheekbones and a slight elevation of the outer corners of the eyes, the short upper lip, from which drooped a slender but aristocratic moustache, the tapered fingers of the hand, and the remarkably small feet, confined tonight in dancing pumps of polished red morocco, were all unmistakable heirlooms of a pure Mongolian ancestry. The long, stiff, black hair, brushed straight back from the forehead, fell in profusion over the neck and shoulders. Several rich decorations shone on the breast of the black broadcloth coat. The knickerbocker breeches were tied at the knees with scarlet ribbons. The stockings were of flowered silk. Mr. Brown's face sparked with intelligent good sense; his figure poised itself before the glass with easy grace.
A soft, distinct utterance, filling the room yet appearing to proceed from no particular quarter, now attracted Mr. Brown's attention. He at once recognized the voice of his friend, Mr. Hector Smith.
"How are we off for a time, old friend?"
"It's getting late," replied Mr. Brown, without turning his face from the mirror. "You had better come over directly."
In a very few minutes, the curtains at the entrance to Mr. Brown's apartments were unceremoniously pulled open, and Mr. Smith strode in. The two friends cordially shook hands.
"How is the honorable member from the New York district?" inquired the newcomer gaily. "And what is there new in Washington society? Prepared to conquer tonight, I see. What's all this? Red ribbons and flowered silk hose! Ah, Jack. I thought you had outgrown these frivolities!"
The faintest possible blush appeared on Mr. Brown's cheeks. "It is cool tonight?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Infernally cold," replied his friend. "I wonder you have no snow here. It is snowing hard in New York. There were at least three inches on the ground just now when I took the Pneumatic."
"Pull an easy-chair up to the thermo-electrode," said Mr. Brown. "You must get the New York climate thawed out of your joints if you expect to waltz creditably. The Washington women are critical in that respect."
Mr. Smith pushed a comfortable chair toward a sphere of shining platinum that stood on a crystal pedestal in the center of the room. He pressed a silver button at the base, and the metal globe began to glow incandescently. A genial warmth diffused itself through the apartment. "That feels good," said Mr. Smith, extending both hands to catch the heat from the thermo-electrode.
"By the way," Mr. Smith continued, "you haven't accounted for me yet for the scarlet bows. What would your constituents say if they saw you thus- you, the impassioned young orator of the Pacific slope; the thoughtful student of progressive statesmanship; the mainstay and hope of the Extreme Left; the thorn in the side of conservative Vegetarianism; the bete noire of the whole Indo-European gang- you, in knee ribbons and florid extensions, like a club man at a fashionable Harlem hop, or a-"
Mr. Smith interrupted himself with a hearty but good-natured laugh.
Mr. Brown seemed ill at ease. He did not reply to his friend's raillery. He cast a stealthy glance at his knees in the mirror and then went to one side of the room, where an endless strip of printed paper, about three feet wide, was slowly issuing from between noiseless rollers and falling in neat folds into a willow basket placed on the floor to receive it. Mr. Brown bent his head over the broad strip of paper and began to read attentively.
"You take the Contemporaneous News, I suppose," said Mr. Smith.
"No, I prefer the Interminable Intelligencer," replied Mr. Brown. "The Contemporaneous is too much of my way of thinking. Why should a sensible man ever read the organ of his party? How much wiser it is to keep posted on what your political opponents think and say."
"Do you find anything about the event of the evening?"
"The ball has opened," said Mr. Brown, "and the floor of the Capitol is already crowded. Let me see," he continued, beginning to read aloud: "'The wealth, the beauty, the chivalry, and the brains of the nation combine to lend unprecedented luster to the Inauguration Ball, and the brilliant success of the new Administration is assured beyond all question.'"
"That is encouraging logic," Mr. Smith remarked.
"'President Johnson has just entered the rotunda, escorting his beautiful and stately wife, and accompanied by ex-President Mrs. Gibson, Mr. Gibson, and Miss Dorah Gibson. The illustrious group is, of course, the cynosure of all eyes. The utmost cordiality prevails among statesmen of all shades of opinion. For once, bitter political animosities seem to have been laid aside with the ordinary habiliments of everyday wear. Conspicuous among the guests are some of the most distinguished radicals of the opposition. Even General Reildo, the defeated Mongol-Vegetarian candidate, is now proceeding across the rotunda, leaning on the arm of the Chinese ambassador, with the evident intention of paying his compliments to his successful rival. Not the slightest trace of resentment or hostility is visible upon his strongly marked Asiatic features.'
"The hero of the Battle of Cheyenne can afford to be magnanimous," remarked Mr. Brown, looking up from the paper.
"True," said Mr. Smith, warmly. "The noble old hoodlum fighter has settled forever the question of the equality of your race. The presidency could have added nothing to his fame."
Mr. Brown went on reading: "'The toilets of the ladies are charming. Notable among those which attract the reportorial eye is the peacock feather train of Princess Jasmine; the mauve-'"
"Cut that," suggested Mr. Smith. "We shall see for ourselves presently. And give me dinner, like a good fellow. It occurs to me that I have eaten nothing for fifteen days."
The honorable Mr. Brown drew from his waistcoat pocket a small gold box, oval. He pressed a spring and the lid flew open. Then he handed the box to his friend. It contained several little grey pastilles, hardly larger than peas. Mr. Smith took one between his thumb and forefinger and put it into his mouth. "Thus do I satisfy my hunger," he said, "or, to borrow the language of the opposition orators, thus do I lend myself to the vile and degrading practice, subversive of society as at present constituted, and outraging the very laws of nature."
Mr. Brown was paying no attention. With eager gaze, he was again scanning the columns of the Intermi
nable Intelligencer. As if involuntarily, he read aloud: "-Secretary Clinton and Mrs. Clinton, Count Jacobs, the Austrian ambassador, Mrs. White and the Misses White of Washington D.C., Senator Banks of Massachusetts, whose arrival with his lovely daughter is causing no small sensation-'"
He paused, stammering, for he became aware that his friend was regarding him earnestly. Coloring to the roots of his hair, he affected indifference and began to read again: "Senator Banks of Massachusetts, whose arrival with his lovely-"
"I think, my dear boy," said Mr. Smith, with a smile, "that it is high time for us to proceed to the Capitol."
CHAPTER 2: THE BALL AT THE CAPITOL
Through a brilliant throng of happy men and charming women, Mr. Smith and his friend made their way into the rotunda of the Capitol. Accustomed as they both were to the spectacular efforts that society arranged for its delectation, the young men were startled by the enchantment of the scene before them. The dingy historical panorama that girds the rotunda was hidden behind a wall of flowers. The heights of the dome were not visible, for beneath that was a temporary interior dome of red roses and white lilies, which poured down from the concavity a continual and almost oppressive shower of fragrance. From the center of the floor ascended to the height of forty or fifty feet a single jet of water, rendered intensely luminous by the newly discovered hydro-electric process, and flooding the room with a light ten times brighter than daylight, yet soft and graceful as the light of the moon. The air pulsated with music, for every flower in the dome overhead gave utterance to the notes which Bond, in the conservatoire at Paris, was sent across the Atlantic from the vibrant tip of his baton.
The friends had hardly reached the centre of the rotunda, where the hydro-electric fountain threw aloft its jet of blazing water, and where two opposite streams of promenades from the north and the south wings of the Capitol met and mingled in an eddy of polite humanity, before Mr. Smith was seized and led off captive by some of his Washington acquaintances.
Mr. Smith pushed on, scarcely noticing his friend's defection. He directed his steps wherever the crowd seemed thickest, casting ahead and on either side of him glances of inquiry, now and then exchanging bows with people whom he recognized, but pausing only once to enter into conversation. That was when he was accosted by General Reildo, the leader of the Mongol-Vegetarian party and the defeated candidate for President in the campaign of 1912. The veteran spoke familiarly to the young congressman and detained him only a moment. "You are looking for somebody, Mr. Smith," said General Reildo, kindly. "I see it in your eyes. I grant you leave of absence."
Mr. Brown proceeded down the long corridor that leads to the Senate’s chamber, and continued there his eager search. Disappointed, he turned back, retraced his steps to the rotunda, and went to the other extremity of the Capitol. The Hall of Representatives was reserved for the dancers. From the great clock above the Speaker's desk issued the music of a waltz, to the rhythm of which several hundred couples were whirling over the polished floor.
Mr. Brown stood at the door, watching the couples as they moved before him in making the circuit of the hall. Presently his eyes began to sparkle. They were resting upon the beautiful face and supple figure of a girl in white satin, who waltzed in perfect form with a young man, apparently an Italian. Mr. Brown advanced a step or two, and at the same instant, the lady became aware of his presence. She said a word to her partner, who immediately relinquished her waist.
"I have been expecting you this age," said the girl, holding out her hand to Brown. "I am delighted that you have come."
"Thank you, Miss Banks," said Brown.
"You may retire, John," she continued, turning to the young man who had just been her partner. "I shall not need you again."
The young man addressed as John bowed respectfully and departed without a word.
"Let us not lose this lovely waltz," said Miss Banks, putting her hand upon Brown's shoulder. "It will be my first this evening."
"Then you have not danced?" asked Mr. Brown, as they glided off together.
"No, Jack," said Miss Banks, "I haven't danced with any gentlemen."
Mr. Brown thanked her with a smile.
"I have made good use of John, however," she went on. "What a blessing a competent protentional partner is! Only think, our grandmothers, and even our mothers were obliged to sit dismally around the walls waiting for the pleasure of their high and mighty-"
She paused suddenly, for a shade of annoyance had fallen upon her partner's face. "Forgive me," she whispered, her head almost upon his shoulder. "Forgive me if I have wounded you. You know, love, that I would not-"
"I know it," he interrupted. "You are too good and too noble to let that weigh a feather's weight in your estimation of the Man. You never pause to think that my mother and my grandmother were not accustomed to meeting your mother and your grandmother in society- for the very excellent reason," he continued, with a little bitterness in his tone, "that my mother had her hands full in my father's laundry in San Diego, while my grandmother's social ideas hardly extended beyond the cabin of our ancestral san-pan on the Yangtze Kiang. You do not care about that. But there are others-'
They waltzed on for some time in silence, he, thoughtful and moody, and she, sympathetically concerned.
"And the senator; where is he tonight?" asked Brown at last.
"Papa!" said the girl, with a frightened little glance over her shoulder. "Oh! Papa merely made his appearance here to bring me and because it was expected of him. He has gone home to work on his tiresome speech against the vegetables."
"Do you think," asked Brown, after a few minutes, whispering the words very slowly and very low, "that the senator has any suspicion?"
It was her turn now to manifest embarrassment. "I am very sure," she replied, "that Papa has not the least idea in the world of it all. And that is what worries me. I constantly feel that we are walking together on a volcano. I know that we are right and that heaven means it to be just as it is; yet, I cannot help trembling in my happiness. You know as well as I do the antiquated and absurd notions that still prevail in Massachusetts, and that Papa is the most conservative among the conservatives. He respects your ability, that I discovered long ago. Whenever you speak in the House, he reads your remarks with great attention. I think," she continued with a forced laugh, "that your arguments bother him a good deal."
"This must have an end, Kiara," said the Chinaman, as the music ceased stopped. "I cannot allow you to remain a day longer in an equivocal position. My honor and your peace of mind require that there shall be an explanation to your father. Have you the courage to stake all our happiness on one bold move?"
"I have courage," frankly replied the girl, "to go with you before my father and tell him all. And furthermore," she continued, slightly pressing his arm and looking into his face with a charming blush, "I have courage even beyond that."
"You beloved little Girl" he replied.
As they passed out of the Hall of Representatives, they encountered Mr. Smith with Miss Banks of Massachusetts. The Massachusetts lady spoke cordially to Miss Banks but recognized Brown with a rather distant bow. Brown's eyes sought and met those of his friend. "I may need your counsel before morning," he said in a low voice.
"All right, my dear fellow," said Mr. Smith. "Depend on me." And the two couples separated.
The Mongolian and his Massachusetts sweetheart drifted with the tide into the supper-room. Both were preoccupied with their thoughts. Almost mechanically, Brown led his companion to a corner of the supper room and established her in a seat behind a screen of palmettos, sheltered from the observation of the throne.
"It is nice of you to bring me here," said Miss Banks, "for I am hungry after our waltz."
Intimate as their souls had become, this was the first time that she had ever asked him for food. It was an innocent and natural request, yet Mr. Brown shuddered when he heard it, and bit his under the lip to control his agitation. He looked from behind the palmettos at
the tables heaped with delicate viands and surrounded by men, eagerly pressing forward to obtain refreshment for the ladies in their care. Mr. Brown shuddered again at the spectacle. After a momentary hesitation, he returned to Miss Banks, seated himself beside her, and taking her hand in his, began to speak deliberately and earnestly.
"Kiara," he said, "I am going to ask you for a final proof of your affection. Do not start and look alarmed, but hear me patiently. If, after hearing me, you still bid me bring you a pâté, or the wing of a fowl, or a salad, or even a plate of fruit, I will do so, though it wrenches the heart in my bosom. But first, listen to what I have to say."
"Certainly, I will listen to all you have to say," she replied.
"You know enough of the political theories that divide parties," he went on, nervously examining the rings on her slender fingers, "to be aware that what I conscientiously believe to be true is very different from what you have been educated to believe."
"I know," said Miss Banks, "that you are a Vegetarian and do not approve the use of meat. I know that you have spoken eloquently in the House on the right of every living being to protection in its life and that that is the theory of your party. Papa says that it is demagogy - that the opposition parade an absurd and sophistical theory to win votes and get themselves into office. Still, I know that a great many excellent people, friends of ours in Massachusetts, are coming to believe with you, and, of course, loving you as I do, I have the firmest faith in the honesty of your convictions. You are not a demagogue, Mr. Brown. You are above pandering to the radicalism of the rabble. Neither my father nor all the world could make me think the contrary."
Mr. Brown squeezed her hand and went on:
"Living as you do in the most ultra-conservative of circles, dear Kiara, you have had no opportunity to understand the tremendous significance and force of the movement that is now sweeping over the land, and of which I am a very humble representative. It is something more than a political agitation; it is an upheaval and reorganization of society based on science and abstract right. It is fit and proper that I, belonging to a race that has only been emancipated and enfranchised by the march of time, should stand in the advance guard- in the forlorn hope, it may be- of the new revolution."