Fancies and Goodnights Part 35

The bell-hop, waiting for him to sign the check, watched Davies fold down the front side of the box, which carried part of the top with it. Thus opened, it displayed an interior lined with black velvet, against which gleamed an odd-looking skeletal arrangement in chromium-plated metal. "Now look at that!" said the bell-hop, much intrigued. "Wouldn't be surprised if that ain't an invention you got there."

"Interesting, eh?" said Davies. "Catches the eye?"

"Sure does," said the bell-hop. "There ain't nothing much more interesting than an invention." He peered reverently at the odd-looking apparatus in the box. "Now what sort of invention would you say that might be?"

"That," said Davies proudly, "is the Steel Cat."

"Steel Cat?" cried the bell-hop. "No kidding?"

He shook his head, a plain man baffled by the wonders of science. "So that's the Steel Cat! Well now, what do you know?"

"Good name, you think?" asked Davies.

"Boy, that's a t.i.tle!" replied the bell-hop. "Mister, how come I ain't never heard of this here Steel Cat?"

"That's the only one in the world," said Davies. "So far."

"I come from Ohio," said the bell-hop. "And I got folks in Ohio. And they're going to hear from me how I got to see this one and only Steel Cat."

"Glad you like it," said Davies. "Wait a minute. Fond of animals? I'll show you something."

As he spoke, he opened a small compartment that was built into one end of the box. Inside was a round nest of toilet tissues. Davies put his fingers against his nest. "Come on, Georgie," he said. "Peep! Peep! Come on, Georgie!"

A small, ordinary mouse, fat as a b.u.t.ter-ball, thrust his quick head out of the nest, turned his berry-black eyes in all directions, and ran along Davies' finger, and up his sleeve to his collar, where he craned up to touch his nose to the lobe of Davies' ear.

"Well, sir!" cried the bell-hop in delight. "If that ain't a proper tame, friendly mouse you got there!"

"He knows me," said Davies. "In fact, this mouse knows pretty near everything."

"I betcha!" said the bell-hop with conviction.

"He's what you might call a demonstration mouse," said Davies. "He shows off the Steel Cat. See the idea? You hang the bait on this hook. Mr. Mouse marches up this strip in the middle. He reaches for the bait. His weight tips the beam, and he drops into this jar. Of course, I fill it with water."

"And that's his name - Georgie?" asked the bell-hop, his eyes still on the mouse.

"That's what I call him," said Davies.

"You know what?" said the bell-hop thoughtfully. "If I had that mouse, mister, I reckon I'd call him Simpson."

"D'you know how I came to meet up with this mouse?" said Davies. "I was in Poughkeepsie - that's where I come from - and one night last winter I ran my bath, and somehow I sat on, reading the paper, and forgot all about it. And I felt something sort of urging me to go into the bathroom. So I went in, and there was the bath I'd forgotten all about. And there was Master Georgie in it, just about going down for the third time."

"Hey! Hey!" cried the bell-hop in urgent distress. "No third time for President Simpson!"

"Oh, no!" said Davies. "Life-guard to the rescue! I picked him out, dried him, and I put him in a box."

"Can you beat that?" cried the bell-hop. "Say, would it be all right for me to give him just a little bit of the cheese?"

"No. That's just demonstration cheese," said Davies. "Mice aren't so fond of cheese as most people think. He has his proper meal after the show. A balanced diet. Well, as I was saying, in a couple of days he was just as friendly as could be."

"Sure thing," said the bell-hop. "He knows who saved him."

"You know, a thing like that," said Davies, "it starts a fellow thinking. And what I thought of - I thought of the Steel Cat."

"You thought of that cat from seeing that mouse in that bath?" cried the bell-hop, overwhelmed by the processes of the scientific mind.

"I did," said Davies. "I owe it all to Georgie. Drew it up on paper. Borrowed some money. Got a blue-print made; then this model here. And now we're going around together, demonstrating. Cleveland, Akron, Toledo - everywhere. Nowhere."

"Just about sweeping the country," said the bell-hop. "That's a real good-luck mouse, that is. He certainly ought to be called Simpson."

"Well, I'll tell you," said Davies. "It needs one really big concern to give the others a lead. Otherwise, they hang back. That's why we're in Chicago. Do you know who's coming here this afternoon? Mr. Hartpick of Lee and Waldron. They don't only manufacture; they own the outlets. Six hundred and fifty stores, all over the country! No middle-man, if you see what I mean. If they push it, oh, boy!"

"Oh, boy!" echoed the bell-hop with enthusiasm.

"He'll be here pretty soon, "said Davies. "Three o'clock. By appointment. And Georgie'll show him the works."

"He don't never balk?" inquired the bell-hop. "He ain't afraid of being drowned?"

"Not Georgie," said Davies. "He trusts me."

"Ah, that's it!" said the bell-hop. "He trusts you."

"Of course I make the water luke-warm for him," said Davies. "All the same, it takes some character in a mouse to take the dip every time like that. Never mind - if he puts this deal over, we get him a little collar made."

"Mister," cried the bell-hop, "I want to see that mouse in that collar. You ought to get his photo taken. You could give it to anybody. They could send it back home to their families. Yes, sir, their folks 'ud sure be tickled to death to get a photo of that mouse in that collar."

"Maybe I will," said Davies, smiling.

"You do that thing, mister," said the bell-hop. "Well, I got to be getting. Goodbye, Georgie!" He went out, but at once re-opened the door. "All the same," he said, "if I had that mouse I sure would call him Simpson".

Davies, left alone, set out his apparatus to advantage, washed, even shaved, and powdered his face with talc.u.m. When he had nothing more to do, he took out his billfold, and laid six dollar bills one by one on the top of the bureau, counting them out as if he had hoped to find there were seven. He added thirty-five cents from one pocket, and a nickel from another. "We've got to put it over this time," said he to the mouse, who was watching him brightly from the top of the box. "Never get down-hearted, Georgie! That gang of short-sighted, narrow-minded, small-town buyers, they just don't mean a thing. This fellow's the guy that counts. And he's our last chance. So do your stuff well, pal, and we'll be on top of the world yet."

Suddenly the telephone rang. Davies s.n.a.t.c.hed it up. "Mr. Hartpick to see you," said the desk-clerk.

"Send Mr. Hartpick up right away," said Davies.

He stowed away the money, put Georgie back in his nest, and dried his moist palms on his handkerchief. He remembered, just as the tap came on the door, to banish the anxious expression from his face and put on a genial smile.

Mr. Hartpick was a square and heavy man, with fingers twice as thick as ordinary fingers, and the lower joints of them were covered with wiry, reddish hair.

"Mr. Hartpick," said Davies. "I certainly appreciate your coming up here like this."

"Long as I'm not wasting my time," returned Mr. Hartpick. "Let's see the goods. I got a rough idea from your letter."

Davies had set the box on the table. Now getting behind it, he attempted a persuasive, hearty, salesmanlike tone. "Mr. Hartpick, you know the old adage about the better mouse-trap. You've been good enough to beat a path to my door, and ..."

"Show me an idea, and I'll beat a path to it," said Mr. Hartpick. "However nutty it sounds."

"... and here," said Davies, "is the Steel Cat." With that he flung open the box.

"Selling name!" said Hartpick. "Might be able to use the name, anyway."

"Mr. Hartpick, the idea is this," said Davies, beginning to count off his points on his fingers. "More mice caught. More humanely. No mutilation of mice as with inferior traps. No mess. No springs to catch the fingers. Some women are just scared to death of those springs. No family disagreements, Mr. Hartpick. That's an important angle. I've gone into that angle psychologically."

His visitor paused in the rooting out of a back tooth, and stared at Davies. "Eh?" said he.

"Psychologically," said Davies. "The feminine angle, the masculine angle. Now, the wife doesn't generally like to see a cat playing with a mouse."

"She can poison 'em," said Hartpick.

"That's what she says," said Davies. "That's the woman angle. Poisoners throughout the ages. Lucrezia Borgia - lots of 'em. But a good many husbands are allergic to having their wives playing around with poison. I think a nation-wide poll would show most husbands prefer a cat. Remember, it was Nero - a man - fed the Christians to the lions. So that starts an argument. Besides, you've got to put a cat out, get it fed when on vacation."

"Any mice we catch, the missus flushes 'em down the toilet," said Mr. Hartpick, with a shrug.

"Feminine angle again," said Davies. "Cleopatra fed her slaves to the crocodiles. Only many women haven't the levelheadedness of Mrs. Hartpick to take a mouse out of a trap and get rid of it that way."

"Oh, I dunno," said Mr. Hartpick in tones of complete boredom.

"In one way this is the same sort of thing," said Davies, beginning to talk very fast. "Only more scientific and labour-saving. See - I fill the gla.s.s jar here with water, lukewarm water. It's gla.s.s in this demonstration model. In the selling product it'd be tin to keep the cost down to what I said in my letter. The frame needn't be chromium either. Well, having filled it, I place it right here in position. Kindly observe the simplicity. I take a morsel of ordinary cheese, and I bait the hook. If economy's the subject, a piece of bread rubbed in bacon fat is equally effective. Now look! Please look, Mr. Hartpick! I'll show you what the mouse does. Come on, Georgie!"

"Live mouse, eh?" observed Hartpick, with a flicker of interest.

"Mus domesticus, the domestic mouse," said Davies. "Found in every home. Now watch him! He's found the way in. See him go along that strip in the middle! Right to the bait - see? His weight tilts the ..."

"He's in!" cried Hartpick, his interest entirely regained.

"And the trap," said Davies triumphantly, "has automatically set itself for another mouse. In the morning you just remove the dead ones."

"Not bad! "said Hartpick. "Gosh - he's trying to swim! My friend, I think you may have something there."

"You know the old adage, Mr. Hartpick," said Davies, smiling. "It's the better mouse-trap!"

"Like h.e.l.l it is!" said Hartpick. "Pure nut, that's what it is. But what I always say - there's a nut market for nut inventions. Play up the humane angle ... get the old dames het up ..."

"Gee, that's great!" said Davies. "I was beginning to ... Well, never mind! Excuse me! I'll just get him out."

"Wait a minute," said Hartpick, putting his heavy hand on Davies' wrist.

"I think he's getting a bit tired," said Davies.

"Now look," said Hartpick, still watching the mouse. "We've got our standard contract for notions of this sort. Standard rate of royalties. Ask your attorney if you like; he'll tell you the same thing."

"Oh, that'll be all right, I'm sure," said Davies. "Just let me ..."

"Hold on! Hold on!" said Hartpick. "We're talking business, ain't we?"

"Why sure," said Davies uneasily. "But he's getting tired. You see, he's a demonstration mouse."

Mr. Hartpick's hand seemed to grow heavier. "And what's this?" he demanded. "A demonstration - or what?"

"A demonstration? Yes," said Davies.

"Or are you trying to put something over on me?" said Hartpick. "How do I know he won't climb out? I was going to suggest you step around to the office in the morning, and we sign. If you're interested, that is."

"Of course, I'm interested," said Davies, actually trembling. "But ..."

"Well, if you're interested," said Hartpick, "let him alone."

"But, my G.o.d, he's drowning!" cried Davies, tugging to free his wrist. Mr. Hartpick turned his ma.s.sive face toward Davies for a moment, and Davies stopped tugging.

"The show," said Hartpick, "goes on. There you are! Look! Look! He's going!" His hand fell from Davies' arm. "Going! Going! Gone! Poor little b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Okay, Mr. Davies, let's say ten-thirty o'clock then, in the morning."

With that he strode out. Davies stood stock-still for a little, and then moved toward the Steel Cat. He put out his hand to take up the jar, but turned abruptly away and walked up and down the room. He had been doing this for some time when there came another tap on the door. Davies must have said "come in," though he wasn't aware of doing so. At all events the bell-hop entered, carrying a covered platter on a tray. "Excuse me," said he, smiling all over his face. "It's on the house, sir. b.u.t.tered corn-cob for Brother George Simpson!"

SLEEPING BEAUTY.

Edward Laxton had everything in the world that he wanted except a sweetheart, fiancee, or wife.

He had a very civilized little Regency house, whose ivory facade was reflected in a few acres of ornamental water. There was a small park, as green as moss, and well embowered with sober trees. Outside this, his land ran over some of the s.h.a.ggiest hills in the south of England. The ploughed fields were on the small side, and lay locked in profound woods. A farmhouse and a cottage or two sent their blue smoke curling into the evening sky.

With all this, his income was very small, but he was blessed with good taste, and was therefore satisfied with simple fare. His dinner was a partridge roasted plain, a bottle of Hermitage, an apple pie, and a crumb of Stilton cheese. His picture was a tiny little Constable left to him by his great-uncle. His gun was his father's old Holland and Holland, which fitted him to a hair. His dogs were curly-coated retrievers, one liver coloured and one black. Such dogs are now considered very old-fashioned, and so, by those who knew him, was their master. He was now over thirty, and had begun to tell his tailor to make him exactly the same suits as last year, and when his friends went abroad it did not occur to him to find out others.

He turned more and more to the placid beauty of his house, and to the rich, harsh beauty of the upland farms. A man should beware of surrendering too much of himself to this sort of thing, for the beauty of a place can be as possessive as other beauties. Believe it or not, when Edward met a girl who attracted him, a certain hill would thrust its big shoulder, furred with oak woods, between them, for all the world like a jealous dog. It would at once be obvious that the girl was weak in the ankles, and wore too much make-up. The bare, prim front of a certain stock-man's cottage, like the disapproving face of an old servant, could make a merry girl seem altogether too smart, and there was a certain faded little nursery room, the memory of which could make any young woman of these days look like something out of the cinema.

Thus Edward was under the necessity of sitting alone after dinner and telling himself, firmly, that he was the most fortunate man in the world. Into this felicity came a letter: it was from his oldest friend, inviting him to spend a season on his ranch in New Mexico. Edward reflected that he had never had the pleasure of seeing his own place after a long and homesick absence. He telegraphed, packed, and set forth.

He arrived in New Mexico, and admired immensely the beautiful immensities of that state. Nevertheless, he soon began to long excruciatingly to see a certain turn in a certain lane at home; a very ordinary corner, of which he had never taken any particular notice when he was there. He said good-bye to his host, and started for New York, but, wishing to see something of the country before leaving it, he bought an old car and set out by road.

His way lay along the northern edge of what was then called the dust-bowl, a landscape from which, after a few hours of driving, the eye seems to recoil in blank disbelief. This is a very dangerous tendency, especially in one who is dreaming of a far-distant lane. Edward followed a gentle curve which happened to be some four thousand miles away, and found himself halted in a back alley, with a severe pain in his ribs, a watermelon by his side, and an impression of having driven through a small country store. "Now I am in trouble," thought Edward. He was soon to learn that he was also in Heeber's Bluff, Arkansas, and, what with settling up for the damage and getting his car repaired, he was likely to be there some days.

Heeber's Bluff is the dreariest town that ever sweltered on the devastated prairie. Sickly trees, tipsy posts, and rusty wire effectively dissipate the grandeur of the endless plain. The soil has all been blown away in the droughts; the fields are nothing but a hideous clay, with here and there the skeleton of a horse or a cow. A sunken creek, full of tin cans, oozes round a few hundred shacks whose proportions are as mean as the materials of which they are built. The storekeepers have the faces of alligators; all the other people have the faces and voices of frogs.

Edward deposited his bags in Mergler's Hotel, which stands opposite the funeral parlour. After a minute or two he stepped outside and checked up on the signs. He went into the hotel dining-room and was confronted with a corned-beef hash more terrible than the town itself, because, after all, he did not have to eat the town. Emboldened by this consideration, he went out to stroll along the main street When he had strolled a few yards, he had a strong apprehension that he was losing his mind, so he returned to Mergler's Hotel. Here he soon found himself biting the ends of his fingers, and shaken by a strong impulse to rush out again. He was restrained by a quaking and a dread which seized upon him as he stepped into the doorway. "Here is a place," said he to himself, "in which one suffers simultaneously from claustrophobia and agoraphobia. Now I see the purpose of the porch, and understand the motion of the rocking chair!"

He hastened to plant himself in one of these agreeable devices, and oscillated every few seconds between the horrors of the hotel and the terrors of the street. On the third day, at about eleven in the morning, this therapy failed of its effect, and something within him broke. "I must get out of this," said he. "And quickly!"

His money had arrived. His fine was paid, and his ribs were taped. He still had to settle with the owner of the store, but what had seemed disproportionate as damages appeared dirt-cheap when regarded as ransom. He paid it, and was free to go. He went to collect his car from the garage where it was being repaired, and there he met with a little disappointment. He returned to the hotel, packed his bag, and called for his bill. "At what time does the next train leave this town?" he asked.

"Eight o'clock," said the hotel-keeper calmly.

Edward looked at his watch, which now expressed the h.o.a.r of noon. He looked at the hotel-keeper, and then he looked across the street at the funeral parlour. "Eight hours!" said he in the low, broken voice of despair. "What am I to do?"