Book: Raspberry Jam

C >> Carolyn Wells >> Raspberry Jam




"Well, bite where you like. By the way, my Tiger girl, you
didn't get that information from our friend last evening."

"No, San, I couldn't, without making it too pointed. I thought I
could bring it in more casually to-day--say, at luncheon."

"Yes; that's good. But find out, Eunice, just where the
Merediths stand. They may swing the whole vote."

"What vote?" asked Aunt Abby, who was interested in everything.

"Our club, Auntie," and Embury explained. "You know Hendricks is
president--has been for years--and we're trying to oust him in
favor of yours truly."

"You, Sanford! Do you mean you want to put him out and put
yourself in his place?"

"Exactly that, my lady."

"But-how queer! Does he know it?"

"Rather! Yes--even on calm second thought, I should say
Hendricks knows it!"

"But I shouldn't think you two would be friends in such
circumstances."

"That's the beauty of it, ma'am; we're bosom friends, as you
know; and yet, we're fighting for that presidency like two cats
of Kilkenny."

"The New York Athletic Club, is it?"

"Oh, no, ma'am! Not so, but far otherwise. The Metropolitan
Athletic Club if you please."

"Yes, I know--I'd forgotten the name."

"Don't mix up the two--they're deadly rivals."

"Why do you want to be president, Sanford?"

"That's a long tale, but in a nutshell, purely and solely for the
good of the club."

"And that's the truth," declared Eunice. "Sanford is getting
himself disliked in some quarters, influential ones, too, and
he's making life-long enemies--not Alvord, but others--and it is
all because he has the real interests of the club at heart.
Al Hendricks is running it into--into a mud-puddle! Isn't he,
San?"

"Well, yes, though I shouldn't have thought of using that word.
But, he is bringing its gray hairs in sorrow to the grave--or
will, if he remains in office, instead of turning it over to a
well-balanced man of good judgment and unerring taste--say, like
one Sanford Embury."

"You certainly are not afflicted with false pride, Sanford," and
Aunt Abby bit into her crisp toast with a decided snap.

"Why, thank you," and Embury smiled as he purposely
misinterpreted her words. "I quite agree, Aunt, that my pride is
by no means false. It is a just and righteous pride in my own
merits, both natural and acquired."

He winked at Eunice across the table, and she smiled back
appreciatively. Aunt Abby gave him what was meant to be a
scathing glance, but which turned to a nod of admiration.

"That's so, Sanford," she admitted. "Al Hendricks is a nice man,
but he falls down on some things. Hasn't he been a good
president?"

"Until lately, Aunt Abby. Now, he's all mixed up with a crowd of
intractables--sporty chaps, who want a lot of innovations that
the more conservative element won't stand for."

"Why, they want prize-fights and a movie theatre-right in the
club!" informed Eunice. "And it means too much expense, besides
being a horrid, low-down--"

"There, there, Tiger," and Sanford shook his head at her. "Let
us say those things are unpalatable to a lot of us old fogies--"

"Stop! I won't have you call yourself old--or fogyish, either!
You're the farthest possible removed from that! Why, you're no
older than Al Hendricks."

"You were all children together," said Aunt Abby, as if
imparting a bit of new information; "you three, and Mason
Elliott. Why, when you were ten or eleven, Eunice, those three
boys were eternally camping out in the front yard, waiting for
you to get your hair curled and go out to play. And later, they
all hung around to take you to parties, and then, later still
--not so much later, either--they all wanted to marry you."

"Why, Auntie, you're telling the 'whole story of my life and
what's my real name!'--Sanford knows all this, and knows that he
cut out the other two--though I'm not saying they wanted to marry
me."

"It goes without saying," and her husband gave her a gallant bow.
"But, great heavens, Eunice, if you'd married those other two--I
mean one of 'em--either one--you'd have been decidedly out of
your element. Hendricks, though a bully chap, is a man of
impossible tastes, and Elliott is a prig--pure and simple! I,
you see, strike a happy medium. And, speaking of such things,
are your mediums always happy, Aunt Abby?"

"How you do rattle on, Sanford! A true medium is so absorbed in
her endeavors, so wrapped up in her work, she is, of course,
happy--I suppose. I never thought about it."

"Well, don't go out of your way to find out. It isn't of vital
importance that I should know. May I be excused, Madam Wife?
I'm called to the busy marts--and all that sort of thing."
Embury rose from the table, a big, tall man, graceful in his
every motion, as only a trained athlete can be. Devoted to
athletics, he kept himself in the pink of condition physically,
and this was no small aid to his vigorous mentality and splendid
business acumen.

"Wait a minute, San," and for the first time that morning there
was a note of timidity in Eunice's soft voice. "Please give me a
little money, won't you?"

"Money, you grasping young person! What do you want it for?"

"Why--I'm going to Newark, you know--"

"Going to Newark! Yes, but you're going in Hendricks' car--that
doesn't require a ticket, does it?"

"No--but I--I might want to give the chauffeur something when I
get out--"

"Nonsense! Not Hendricks' chauffeur. That's all right when
you're with formal friends or Comparative strangers--but it would
be ridiculous to tip Hendricks' Gus!"

Embury swung into the light topcoat held by the faithful
Ferdinand.

"But, dear," and Eunice rose, and stood by her husband, "I do
want a little money," she fingered nervously the breakfast
napkin she was still holding.

"What for?" was the repeated inquiry.

"Oh, you see--I might want to do a little shopping in Newark."

"Shop in Newark! That's a good one! Why, girlie, you never want
to shop outside of little old New York, and you know it. Shop in
Newark!"

Embury laughed at the very idea.

"But--I might see something in a window that's just what I want."

"Then make a note of it, and buy it in New York. You have an
account at all the desirable shops here, and I never kick at the
bills, do I, now?"

"No; but a woman does want a little cash with her--"

"Oh, that, of course! I quite subscribe to that. But I gave you
a couple of dollars yesterday."

"Yes, but I gave one to a Red Cross collector, and the other I
had to pay out for a C.O.D. charge."

"Why buy things C.O.D. when you have accounts everywhere?"

"Oh, this was something I saw advertised in the evening paper--"

"And you bought it because it was cheap! Oh, you women! Now,
Eunice, that's just a case in point. I want my wife to have
everything she wants--everything in reason, but there's no sense
in throwing money away. Now, kiss me, sweetheart, for I'm due at
a directors' meeting in two shakes--or thereabouts."

Embury snapped the fastening of his second glove, and, hat in
hand, held out his arms to his wife.

She made one more appeal.

"You're quite right, San, maybe I didn't need that C.O.D. thing.
But I do want a little chickenfeed in my purse when I go out
to-day. Maybe they'll take up a collection."

"A silver offering for the Old Ladies' Home,--eh? Well, tell
'em to come to me and I'll sign their subscription paper! Now,
good-by, Dolly Gray! I'm off!"

With a hearty kiss on Eunice's red lips, and a gay wave of his
hand to Aunt Abby, Embury went away and Ferdinand closed the door
behind him.

"I can't stand it, Aunt Abby," Eunice exclaimed, as the butler
disappeared into the pantry; "if Sanford were a poor man it would
be different. But he's made more money this year than ever
before, and yet, he won't give me an allowance or even a little
bit of ready money."

"But you have accounts," Aunt Abby said, absently, for she-was
scanning the paper now.

"Accounts! Of course, I have! But there are a thousand things
one wants cash for! You know that perfectly well. Why, when our
car was out of commission last week and I had to use a taxicab,
Sanford would give me just enough for the fare and not a cent
over to fee the driver. And lots of times I need a few dollars
for charities, or some odds and ends, and I can't have a cent to
call my own! Al Hendricks may be of coarser clay than Sanford
Embury, but he wouldn' treat a wife like that!"

"It is annoying, Eunice, but Sanford is so good to you--"

"Good to me! Why shouldn't he be? It isn't a question of
goodness or of generosity--it's just a fool whim of his, that I
mustn't ask for actual cash! I can have all the parties I want,
buy all the clothes I want, get expensive hats or knick-knacks of
any sort, and have them all charged. He's never even questioned
my bills--but has his secretary pay them. And I must have some
money in my purse! And I will! I know ways to get it, without
begging it from Sanford Embury!"

Eunice's dark eyes flashed fire, and her cheeks burned scarlet,
for she was furiously angry.

"Now, now, my dear, don't take it so to heart," soothed Aunt
Abby; "I'll give you some money. I was going to make you a
present, but if you'd rather have the money that it would cost,
say so."

"I daren't, Aunt Abby. Sanford would find it out and he'd be
terribly annoyed. It's one of his idiosyncrasies, and I have to
bear it as long as I live with him!"

The gleam in the beautiful eyes gave a hint of desperate remedies
that might be applied to the case, but Ferdinand returned to the
room, and the two women quickly spoke of other things.

Hendricks' perfectly appointed and smooth-running car made the
trip to Newark in minimum time. Though the road was not a
picturesque one, the party was in gay spirits and the host was
indefatigable in his efforts to be entertaining.

"I've looked up this Hanlon person," he said. "and his record is
astonishing. I mean, he does astonishing feats. He's a juggler,
a sword swallower and a card sharp--that is, a card wizard. Of
course, he's a faker, but he's a clever one, and I'm anxious to
see what his game is this time. Of course, it's, first of all,
advertisement for the paper that's backing him, but it's a new
game. At least, it's new over here; they tell me it's done to
death in England."

"Oh, no, Alvord, it isn't a game," insisted Miss Ames; "if the
man is blindfolded, he can't play any tricks on us. And he
couldn't play tricks on newspaper men anyway--they're too bright
for that!"

"I think they are, too; that's why I'm interested. Warm enough,
Eunice?"

"Yes, thank you," and the beautiful face looked happily content
as Eunice Embury nestled her chin deeper into her fur collar.

For, though late April, the day was crisply cool and there was a
tang in the bright sunshiny air. Aunt Abby was almost as warmly
wrapped up as in midwinter, and when, on reaching Newark, they
encountered a raw East wind, she shrugged into her coat like a
shivering Esquimau.

"Where do we go to see it?" asked Eunice, as later, after
luncheon, she eagerly looked about at the crowds massed
everywhere.

"We'll have to reconnoiter," Hendricks replied, smiling at her
animated face. "Drive on to the Oberon, Gus."

As they neared the theatre the surging waves of humanity barred
their progress, and the big car was forced to come to a
standstill.

"I'll get out," said Hendricks, "and make a few inquiries. The
Free Press office is near here, and I know some of the people
there."

He strode off and was soon swallowed up in the crowd.

"I think I see a good opening," said Gus, after a moment. "I'll
get out for a minute, Mrs, Embury. I must inquire where cars can
be parked."

"Go ahead, Gus," said Eunice; "we'll be all right here, but don't
go far. I'll be nervous if you do."

"No, ma'am; I won't go a dozen steps."

"Extry! Extry! All about the Great Magic! Hanlon the Wonderful
and his Big Stunt! Extry!"

"Oh, get a paper, Eunice, do," urged Aunt Abby from the depths of
her fur coat. "Ask that boy for one! I must have it to read
after I get home--I can't look at it now, but get it! Here, you
--Boy--say, Boy!"

The newsboy came running to them and flung a paper into Eunice's
lap.

"There y'are, lady," he said, grinning; "there's yer paper!
Gimme a nickel, can't yer? I ain't got time hangin' on me
hands!"

His big black eyes stared at Eunice, as she made no move toward a
purse, and he growled: "Hurry up lady; I gotta sell some papers
yet. Think nobuddy wants one but you?"

Eunice flushed with annoyance.

"Please pay him, Aunt Abby," she said, in a low voice; "I
--haven't any money."

"Goodness gracious me! Haven't five cents! Why, Eunice, you
must have!"

"But I haven't, I tell you! I can't see Alvord, and Gus is too
far to call to. Go over there, boy, to that chauffeur with the
leather coat--he'll pay you."

"No, thanky mum! I've had that dodge tried afore! Pity a grand
dame like you can't scare up a nickel! Want to work a poor
newsie! Shame for ya, lady!"

"Hush your impudence, you little wretch!" cried Aunt Abby.
"Here, Eunice, help me get my purse. It's in my inside coat
pocket--under the rug--there, see if you can reach it now."

Aunt Abby tried to extricate herself from the motor rug that had
been tucked all too securely about her, and failing in that,
endeavored to reach into her pocket with her gloved hand, and
became hopelessly entangled in a mass of fur, chiffon scarf and.
eyeglass chain.

"I can't get at my purse, Eunice; there's no use trying," she
wailed, despairingly. "Let us have the paper, my boy, and come
back here when the owner of this car comes and he'll give you a
quarter."

"Yes--he will!" shouted the lad, and he'll give me a di'mon' pin
an' a gold watch! I'd come back, willin' enough, but me root
lays the other way, an' I must be scootin' or I'll miss the hull
show. Sorry!" The boy, who had no trouble in finding customers
for his papers, picked up the one he had laid on Eunice's lap and
made off.

"Never mind, Auntie," she said, "we'll get another. It's too
provoking--but I haven't a cent, and I don't blame the boy. Now,
find your purse--or, never mind; here comes Alvord."

"Just fell over Mortimer!" called out Hendricks as the two men
came to the side of the car. "I made him come and speak to you
ladies, though I believe its holding up the whole performance.
Let me present the god in the machine!"

"Not that," said Mr. Mortimer, smiling; "only a small mechanical
part of to-day's doings. I've a few minutes to spare, though but
a few. How do you do, Miss Ames? Glad to see you again. And
Mrs, Embury; this brings back childhood days!"

"Tell me about Hanlon," begged Miss Ames. "Is he on the square?"

"So far as I know, and I know all there is to know, I think. I
was present at a preliminary test this morning, and I'll tell you
what he did." Mortimer looked at his watch and proceeded
quickly. "In at the Free Press office one of the men took a
piece of chalk and drew a line from where we were to a distant
room of the building. The line went up and down stairs, in and
out of various rooms, over chairs and under desks, and finally
wound up in a small closet in the city editor's office. Well
--and I must jump away now--that wizard, Hanlon, being securely
blindfolded--I did it myself--followed that line, almost without
deviation, from start to finish. Through a building he had never
seers before, and groping along in complete darkness."

"How in the world could he do it?" Aunt Abby asked, breathlessly.

"The chap who drew the line was behind him--behind, mind you--and
he willed him where to go. Of course, he did his best, kept his
mind on the job, and earnestly used his mentality to will Hanlon
along. And did! There, that's all I know, until this
afternoon's stunt is pulled off. But what I've told you, I do
know--I saw it, and I, for one, am a complete convert to
telepathy!"

The busy man, hastily shaking hands, bustled away, and Hendricks
told in glee how, through his acquaintance with Mortimer, he had
secured a permit to drive his car among the front ones that were
following the performance, which was to begin very soon now.

Gus returned, and they were about to start when Aunt Abby set up
a plea for a copy of the paper that she wanted.

Good-natured Gus tried his best, Hendricks himself made
endeavors, but all in vain. The papers were gone, the edition
exhausted. Nor could any one whom they asked be induced to part
with his copy even at a substantial premium.

"Sorry, Miss Ames," said Hendricks, "but we can't seem to nail
one. Perhaps later we can get one. Now we must be starting or
we'll soon lose our advantage."

The crowd was like a rolling sea by this time, and only the
efficiency of the fine police work kept anything like order.

Cautiously the motor car edged along while the daring pedestrians
seemed to scramble from beneath the very wheels.

And then a cheer arose which proclaimed the presence of Hanlon,
the mysterious possessor of second sight, or the marvelous reader
of another's mind--nobody knew exactly which he was.




CHAPTER III

THE STUNT


Bowing in response to the mighty cheer that greeted his
appearance, Hanlon stood, smiling at the crowd.

A young fellow he seemed to be, slender, well-knit and with a
frank, winning face. But he evidently meant business, for he
turned at once to Mr. Mortimer, and asked that the test be begun.

A few words from one of the staff of the newspaper that was
backing the enterprise informed the audience that the day before
there had been hidden in a distant part of the city a penknife,
and that only the hider thereof and the Hon. Mr. Mortimer knew
where the hiding place was.

Hanlon would now undertake to go, blindfolded, to the spot and
find the knife, although the distance, as the speaker was willing
to disclose, was more than a mile. The blindfolding was to be
done by a committee of prominent citizens and was to be looked
after so carefully that there could be no possibility of Hanlon's
seeing anything.

After that, Hanlon engaged to go to the hiding place and find the
knife, on condition that Mr. Mortimer would follow him, and
concentrate all his willpower on mentally guiding or rather
directing Hanlon's footsteps.

The blindfolding, which was done in full view of the front ranks
of spectators, was an elaborate proceeding. A heavy silk
handkerchief had been prepared by folding it in eight
thicknesses, which were then stitched to prevent Clipping. This
bandage was four inches wide and completely covered the man's
eyes, but as an additional precaution pads of cotton wool were
first placed over his closed eyelids and the bandage then tied
over them.

Thus, completely blindfolded, Hanlon spoke earnestly to Mr.
Mortimer.

"I must ask of you, sir, that you do your very best to guide me
aright. The success of this enterprise depends quite as much on
you as on myself. I am merely receptive, you are the acting
agent. I strive to keep my mind a blank, that your will may sway
it in the right direction. I trust you, and I beg that you will
keep your whole mind on the quest. Think of the hidden article,
keep it in your mind, look toward it. Follow me--not too
closely--and mentally push me in the way I should go. If I go
wrong, will me back to the right path, but in no case get near
enough to touch me, and, of course, do not speak to me. This
test is entirely that of the influence of your will upon mine.
Call it telepathy, thought-transference, will-power--anything you
choose, but grant my request that you devote all your attention
to the work in hand. If your mind wanders, mine will; if your
mind goes straight to the goal, mine will also be impelled
there."

With a slight bow, Hanlon stood motionless, ready to start.

The preliminaries had taken place on a platform, hastily built
for the occasion, and now, with Mortimer behind him, Hanlon
started down the steps to the street.

Reaching the pavement, he stood motionless for a few seconds and
then, turning, walked toward Broad Street. Reaching it, he
turned South, and walked along, at a fairly rapid gait. At the
crossings he paused momentarily, sometimes as if uncertain which
way to go, and again evidently assured of his direction.

The crowd surged about him, now impeding his progress and now
almost pushing him along. He gave them no heed, but made his way
here or there as he chose and Mortimer followed, always a few
steps behind, but near enough to see that Hanlon was in no way
interfered with by the throng.

Indeed, so anxious were the onlookers that fair play should
obtain, the ones nearest to the performer served as a cordon of
guards to keep his immediate surroundings cleared.

Hanlon's actions, in all respects, were those that might be
expected from a blindfolded man. He groped, sometimes with
outstretched hands, again with arms folded or hands clasped and
extended, but always with an expression, so far as his face could
be seen, of earnest, concentrated endeavor to go the right way.
Now and then he would half turn, as if impelled in one direction,
and then hesitate, turn and march off the other way. One time,
indeed, he went nearly half a block in a wrong street. Then he
paused, groped, stumbled a little, and gradually returned to the
vicinity of Mortimer, who had stood still at the corner.
Apparently, Hanlon had no idea of his detour, for he went on in
the right direction, and Mortimer, who was oblivious to all but
his mission, followed interestedly.

One time Hanlon spoke to him. "You are a fine 'guide,' sir," he
said. "I seem impelled steadily, not in sudden thought waves,
and I find my mind responds well to your will. If you will be so
good as to keep the crowd away from us a little more carefully.
I don't want you any nearer me, but if too many people are
between us, it interferes somewhat with the transference of your
guiding thought."

"Do you want to hear my footsteps?" asked Mortimer, thoughtfully.

"That doesn't matter," Hanlon smiled. "You are to follow me,
sir, even if I go wrong. If I waited to hear you, that would be
no test at all. Simply will me, and then follow, whether I am on
the right track or not. But keep your mind on the goal, and look
toward it--if convenient. Of course, the looking toward it is no
help to me, save as it serves to fix your mind more firmly on the
matter."

And then Hanlon seemed to go more carefully. He stepped slowly,
feeling with his foot for any curbstone, grating or irregularity
in the pavement. And yet he failed in one instance to feel the
edge of an open coalhole, and his right leg slipped down into it.

Some of the nearby watchers grabbed him, and pulled him back
without his sustaining injury, for which he thanked them briefly
and continued.

Several times some sceptical bystanders put themselves
deliberately in front of the blindfolded man, to see if he would
turn out for them.

On the contrary, Hanlon bumped into them, so innocently, that
they were nearly thrown down.

He smiled good-naturedly, and said, "All right, fellows; I don't
mind, if you don't. And I don't blame you for wanting to make
sure that I'm not playing 'possum!"

Of course, Hanlon carried no light cane, such as blind men use,
to tap on the stones, so he helped himself by feeling the way
along shop windows and area gates, judging thus, when he was
nearing a cross street, and sometimes hesitating whether to cross
or turn the corner.

After a half-hour of this sort of progress he found himself in a
vacant lot near the edge of the city. There had been a building
in the middle of the plot of ground, but it had been burned down
and only a pile of blackened debris marked the place.

Reaching the corner of the streets that bounded the lot, Hanlon
made no pause, but started on a straight diagonal toward the
center of the lot. He stepped into a tangle of charred logs and
ashes, but forged ahead unhesitatingly, though slowly, and picked
his way by thrusting the toe of his shoe tentatively forward.

Mortimer, about three paces behind him, followed, unheeding the
rubbish he stalked through, and very evidently absorbed in doing
his part to its conclusion.

For the knife was hidden in the very center of the burned-down
house. A bit of flooring was left, on which Hanlon climbed,
Mortimer getting up on it also.

Hanlon walked slowly round in a circle, the floor being several
yards square. Mortimer stepped behind him, gravely looking
toward the hiding-place, and exerting all his mentality toward
"guiding" Hanlon to it. At no time was he nearer than two feet,
though once, making a quick turn, Hanlon nearly bumped into him.
Finally, Hanlon, poking about in the ashes with his right foot,
kicked against something. He picked it up and it proved to be
only a bit of wire. But the next moment he struck something
else, and, stooping, brought up triumphantly the hidden penknife,
which he waved exultantly at the crowd.

Loud and long they cheered him. Cordially Mr. Mortimer grasped
the hands of the hero, and it was with some difficulty that
Alvord Hendricks restrained Miss Abby Ames from getting out of
his car and rushing to congratulate the successful treasure-
seeker.

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