CHAPTER IV.
THE MANSARD ROOF.
Again, for the second time, the student of the occult gazed upon hisaffinity; and again the lovely Typewriter, versed in the highercriticism of Chicago social life, sized up her caller withcosmopolitan grace.
The meeting was relieved of embarrassment by the spontaneousinterrogation of the city-bred business woman.
"And what can we do for you today, Mr. Leffingwell?"--sweetly.
"I have come, Miss Sheets,"--murmured Mr. Leffingwell, and he lookeddirectly through the maiden at the wall paper,--"I have come to inviteyou, to implore you, to go with me to--to--to--stroll with me.Walls--walls--that is, some of them, have ears. I would be alone withyou. There is much of moment to impart to you--to you alone. There isa secret--"
"That catches me,"--broke in the beauty, and she rose, donning herpicture hat hastily, and grabbing her long-handled umbrella andmany-buttoned kids.
"Well, come along, Mr. Leffingwell; I'm ready"--and the dear girl'shand was on the hall door-knob.
And the man and the maiden passed on down Asylum Avenue.
The Mystic appeared actually to know where he wanted to go. Afterconducting her to the outskirts he led her upward to the summit of abluff overlooking the City, the Asylum and the Vanderhook drug store.
Then he became strangely silent. Indeed, he had spoken but once intheir long walk, and then only when his companion halted suddenly,dropping a few paces behind him.
"What is it, dear Miss Sheets, art weary?"--he had murmured softly,and he anxiously contemplated her listless expression.
"It's nothing," the lady replied, and then she smiled bravely.
But it was something, very unpleasant and very painful. Miss Sheetswas breaking in a new pair of boots--an immense feat, as any Chicagogirl knows.
It made her very tired.
Finally they reached and paused upon the summit. It was the hour whenthe sun is apparently sinking. Kankakee lay bathed in that rosyafterglow.
"Is not this inspiring--uplifting? Is not this Realization? Let usVIBRATE."
His large, round, blue eyes were fixed steadfastly upon nothing. Hewore an expression of ineffable self-satisfaction.
But the lady was silent. She seemed not to hear. She was busy withsome burrs on her gown. Her gaze lingered fondly upon her newsparkling diamond.
"Still silent," he murmured, "still wrapped in your own thoughts. Whythat disturbed expression, why no response? You frown; alas, whatdoes this portend?" and Alonzo, the Guru, momentarily diverted fromcontemplation of Himself, clasped his hands, cast his eyes upward andbent as if he might kneel.
"It isn't anything," indifferently.
"Alas, and alas!" ejaculated her escort. "Not anything you say; yet wewho walk the Path are taught that everything Objective is the outcomeof something which is Subjective, and therefore nothing is somethingand 'not anything' is everything to me, when it disharmonizes YOU.Tell me, fair one, what and why?"
"O, well, if you must know," and Miss Sheets sniffed, "I was justwondering if I could ever tie up to these dreadful, grassy smells ofthe country. One gets _so_ used to City odors, you know. And Chicagohas more of 'em, especially about the Yards, and better mixed than inany city in the world. When you're in Chicago you know what'sa-coming"--and the city-bred girl held up her dainty "mouchoir" toward off the scent of new mown hay.
A wave of perplexity, of doubt over-swept the solemn countenance ofthe Mystic.
"Then you would tell me--"
"Yes, that I don't like the odors, and I don't like thisdead-and-alive stillness. Why, anybody who comes from the Yards, andis used to the roar and crash and squealing, gets nervous prostrationin a cemetery like this."
Alonzo contemplated her, wonderingly; then, as if dismissing the wholething, he said in a tone that hinted of impetuosity, "Let us not talkof Chicago, nor the Yards. Let us forget the smelly things and thedead ones. Let us only think of each other, Miss Sheets," and he drewcloser to her. "Miss Sheets, Imogene, my own, my very own, tell me,tell me now that you feel a subtle something drawing you to ME!"
The sharp, bright eyes of the Typewriter opened with astonishment. Itwas the lady's turn to look bewildered. She gazed blankly at thesmitten Seer who had already dropped on one knee. She gazed upon himin wonderment. It was the look of mingled awe and admiration a childbestows upon a circus Poster.
"I--I--don't catch on," she said simply. The rapt lover smiled. It wasa pale, luminous ripple of compassion. He lifted himself to theperpendicular--drawing still closer. He gazed upon her. He seemedalmost ready to take her hand.
"Most perfect of mortals," he began. "Let me explain:
"As you may have heard, I am under orders for Gnaniship. To accomplishthis I must soon go from the sophomore grade of Illinois to the seniorcourse in far off Hindustan. In the line of my profession I come toknow pretty much everything. I am as familiar with the IS, as with theAPPARENT. The NOTHINGNESS of the IS NOT I have demonstrated severaltimes. The oneness of UNITY and the ISNESS of BEING I have alreadymastered. And by a patient pursuit of the WHITHER and WHENCE, I haveanticipated my contemporaries by thousands of years. I have distancedposterity by many a lap."
The Mystic paused to note the impression he was making. Then he wenton;--"Through the esoteric fundaments of nature and through certainoccult experiments in primordial polarity, I was enabled to apprehend,to comprehend, to cognize the great law of affinity. I discovered thatsomewhere there was a ONE, a particular ONE, a dear, sweet, beautifulSHE to whom I was bound in protoplasmic energies and biologicalconsequences.
"And there came a time when she whom I sought was visioned in theastral light. I saw her--SHE--that one, essential, correlatedSHE,--SHE that was my other half--that satisfying SHE--that onlySHE--was none other than your own sweet self, Miss Sheets.
"Nay, do not interrupt me. It was not until you realized in materialsubstance this ethereal vision that I had, as it were, solved theproblem. I had proved the law. Though as yet far beneath MYSELF inphysical refinement, mental acquirements and spiritual illumination, Iam yet resolved to accept you as my own and wait until you _doattain_. I am patient. I can and will wait until you have beeninstructed in the Path of Yog, and attain to ME. And now, my own,speak to me. Express your joy. Speak, ah, speak!"
Mr. Leffingwell paused. There was something almost akin to humandesire in his voice, but there was no reply. Miss Sheets was silent.She seemed to be only half listening. In her eyes was now thatfar-offness, so habitual to mystics, gnanis and gurus. It was now thelady who was abstracted. Her glance traveled down and backward alongthe avenue. She was looking in the direction of the drug store.
"Hear me again, fair one"--whispered the occultist. "I am yours only.You are mine only. I co-ordinate with you, not as Bill does on theearth plane. Mine is a love not desecrated by thoughts of diamondrings, sealskin sacques, oyster suppers, pink candies and frozenmushes. Mine is the primordial passion that vibrates in the ethericspaces of the universe. It is a passion which scorns material bribes.Mine is a devotion that looks only to soul communion, and the solemnabsorption of OURSELF back into Nirvanic nothingness. The hour is comeand now is. Imogene, my onliest, sweet bird of paradise, it is yourmate who calls. Come, O come, this day, this hour, and we willfly-by-night to Hindustan."
Miss Sheets started--but not to Hindustan. She was roused from herreverie of drugs, drug stores and druggists. She had but mistilysensed the monologue of the Mystic. But the last propositionpenetrated her inner consciousness. His reference to birds hadrecalled her to herself, for she was a member of the Audubon Societyand quite up on birds. She now realized that she had been indifferentand almost rude to one whom Kankakee regarded as harmless.
Her Chicago good nature asserted itself. "Well, you do just talk tobeat the band"--politely--"as we girls say at the Yards. Now what wasthat you were just saying about birds and flies?"
"I was trying to say this"--gasped the Mystic huskily, as he reachedout, touching the border of her belt ribbon to hold her at
tention. "Iwas saying that you must be mine. Listen,--this secret shall not bemine alone, but ours henceforth. Together in aeons past you and I,sweet creature, proceeded from primordial One-Substance. From theremote to the now, from the now to the ultimate we have been and shallbe one. As we hereinbefore evolved ourselves from the potentialitiesof the duplex soul, so shall we together involve ourselves hereinafterin the blessedness of nothing. Though you have not reached my ownkarmic height, you may _Aspire_. Though you do not cognize theimmutable from my own lofty perch of perfect attainment, I will wait,calmly wait, until you by long self-unfoldment shall rise to the stateof being of ME."
"O, come off!"--ejaculated the fair girl, at last losing patience."You make me tired. I say, let's get a move"--and emphasizing herspeech with a yawn, she gathered up a handful of back draperies andturned away.
"Alas, and alas,"--mournfully murmured the mystic. "It is as I waswarned by the Director of our division. You have not as yet cognizedyour higher self, hence have not perceived ME. You have not as yetsensed this fair fleshly veil as but the vehicle of your higherprinciples and quite separate from your ultimate ego. All the same,you're mine. I will not repudiate you. You are the feminine principleco-ordinating with myself, and though you may ignore this onlyopportunity, yet I will bide your awakening and your renunciation oferror. Though you may defeat your own illumination by renouncing ME,yet will I continue to walk the fifty-seven Paths-of-Self and wait. Itrests with you, girl, to fix the happy day now, or to postpone itthrough tedious incarnations. It is for you to say now whether youwill fly with me to India and share with me in the coming centuries inthe ecstatic contemplation of the One-Horned-Hair of theSacred-Rabbit. Are you ready to aspire for aeons? Are you prepared tomeditate for cycles upon the oneness of substance and the Be-Ness ofBeing; attaining thereby to the ultimate exaltation of Nirvanicvacuity? Speak, bright one, sweet spirit of Chicago, say,--I WILL.Delay not. Your consent I implore. Miss Sheets, Imogene, what is youranswer?"
"R--a--a--t--," but the maiden checked herself with a little scream,for unheard and unperceived came Nemesis.
Bill Vanderhook stood face to face with the importunate Mystic and theruffled Typewriter.
And the druggist, fresh, rosy and sleek, from the best of barbers andhaberdashers, loomed up handsomely by contrast with the now weary,wilted and woebegone Lonnie.
"Imogene Sheets"--and the words cut the air like a whipcracker,--"and I also say that the day and the hour is now. There's tobe no more fooling. Business is business. Here's where we change thescore. Here's where we decide who's captain of this game. I'm up toall sorts of games, and I'm going to know now which of us rooters isIT. I'm a kicker and a catcher and a shortstop and a batter all inone."
Miss Sheets turned deadly pale as Bill continued: "Now, which is it,the Yogy cave with him in India, or the two-story--basement--brownstone--swell front--modern conveniences and mansard roof with BillVanderhook in Kankakee? Speak, girl."
"The--the--man--sar-r-d roof." The words came faintly from thetrembling lips of the agitated girl. But the rivals caught the import.Had they been inaudible the rejected lover would have sensed thethought and perceived her answer.
But he made no protest. Philosophers never do. He did not speak. Hedid not even cast upon her a reproachful look, nor one of anger uponhis rival. He only made one little moan with a faint far-offness inthe vibration, and then for the second time the unhappy Mystic lay asone dead at the feet of his affinity.
"Well, isn't that fierce?" and Imogene looked on with sweet womanlysympathy while Bill, the now triumphant lover, lifted Lonnie like hewas a pigskin and hoisted him into the auto. "Sure thing," said Bill,joyously. "He got it in the neck that time. Come, Petsy, we've got tohonk some. We must revive him on the Q. T.
"I'll take him home with me and give him about four fingers withginger on the side. That'll fetch him."
Imogene looked her admiration of Bill's generosity, and then,gathering her draperies and snuggling down by her future Chauffeur,she sighed a little as she looked upon the inert gentleman on the backseat--saying more to herself than to Bill, "Isn't it a pity he hasfits?"
Oh, wild and wooly Wizard of the West; Worthy, winsome worker of the Test; Wakeful, watchful, wise one, whiskerless; Weird and woozy wight, all unexpressed.