CHAPTER X
E PLURIBUS UNUM!
Virgil and Theodolinda were returning from their honeymoon, which theyhad spent touring in Quimbleton's Spad plane. They had been in SouthAmerica most of the time, where they found charming hosts eager toconsole them for the tragical developments in the northern continent.
It was a superb morning in early autumn when they were flying homeward.Beneath them lay the green and level meadows of New Jersey, and thedusky violet blue of the ocean shading to a translucent olive wherelong ridges of foam crumbled upon pale beaches. They turned inland,flying leisurely to admire the beauty of the scene. The mounting sunspread a golden shimmer over woods and corn-stubble. White roads ranlike ribbons across the landscape. Quimbleton glided gently downward,intending to skim low over the treetops so that his bride might enjoythe rich loveliness of the view.
Suddenly the great plane dipped sharply, tilted, and very nearly fellinto a side-slip. Quimbleton was just able to pull her up again andclimbed steeply to a safer altitude. He looked at his dashboard dialsand indicators with a puzzled face. "Very queer," he said toTheodolinda through the speaking tube, "the air here has very littlecarrying power. It seems extraordinarily thin. You might think we wereflying in a partial vacuum."
From the behavior of the plane it was evident that some curiousatmospheric condition was prevailing. There seemed to be a large holeor pocket in the air, and in spite of his best efforts the pilot wasunable to get on even wing. Finally, fearing to lapse into a tail spin,he planed down to make a landing. Beneath them was a beautiful greenlawn surrounded by groves of trees. In the middle of this lawn theystruck gently, taxied across the smooth turf, and came to a stopbeneath a splendid oak. Quimbleton assisted his wife to get out, andthey sat down for a few minutes' rest under the tree.
"What a heavenly spot!" cried Theodolinda, "I wonder where we are?"
"Somewhere in New Jersey," said her husband. "I don't understand whatwas the matter with the air. It didn't act according to Hoyle."
They gazed about them in some surprise at the opulent beauty of thescene. It seemed to be a kind of park, laid out in lawns, gardens andshrubbery, with groves of old trees here and there. A little artificiallake twinkled in a hollow.
They happened to be gazing upward when a small round ball of tawnycolor fell from the tree. It was a robin. Folded solidly for sleep, hefell unresisting by the flutter of a wing, turning over and over gentlyuntil he struck the turf with the tiniest of soft thuds. He bouncedslightly, rolled a little distance, and settled motionless in the grass.
Quimbleton, amazed, stooped over the fallen bird, supposing it to bedead. Without lifting it from the ground he withdrew its head fromunder its wing. The bright eye unlidded and gazed at him sleepily. Thenthe bird closed its eye with a certain weary resignation, put its headback under its wing, and relaxed comfortably in the grass.
Quimbleton was no very acute student of nature, but this seemed veryodd to him. And then, examining the lower limbs of the tree, he utteredan exclamation. He swung himself up into the oak and shook one of thebranches. Five other birds plopped comfortably into the grass andrested as easily as the first. He examined them one by one. They wereall sound asleep.
"Most amazing!" he said. "My dear, we will have to take up naturestudy. I am really ashamed of my ignorance. I always thought that owlswere the only birds that slept by day."
Theodolinda was looking at the five small bodies. She raised one ofthem gently, and sniffed gingerly.
"Virgil," she said solemnly, "this is not mere slumber. These birds aredrunk!"
Quimbleton was about to speak when a grasshopper went by like anairplane, zooming in a twenty-foot leap. A bee sagged along heavily inan irregular zig-zag, and a caterpillar, more agile and purposeful thanany caterpillar they had ever seen, staggered swiftly across a carpetof moss.
The same thought struck them simultaneously, and at that momentTheodolinda noticed a small white signboard affixed to a tree-trunk inthe grove. They ran to it, and saw in neat lettering:
TO THE PERPETUAL SOUSE, ONE MILE
"Bless me!" cried Quimbleton. "What a stroke of luck! You know oldBleak wrote us when we were in Rio that he had been installed in histemple, but he didn't say where it was. Let's toddle up and have a lookat him. That's why the bus acted so queerly. No wonder: we wereprobably flying in alcohol vapor."
They walked through the grove and emerged upon a lawn that slopedgently upward. At the brow stood a beautiful little temple of Greekarchitecture. As they approached they read, carved into the marblearchitrave:
AEDES TEMULENTI PERPETUI E PLURIBUS UNUM
The little porch, under the marble columns, was cool and shady. Asignboard said: Visiting Hours, Noon to Midnight. Quimbleton looked athis watch. "It's not noon yet," he said, "but as we're old friends Idare say he'll be willing to see us."
Pushing through a slatted swinging door of beautifully carved bronze,they found themselves in a charmingly furnished reference library.There were lounges and deep leather chairs, and ash trays for smokers.Quimbleton, who was something of a bookworm, ran his eye along theshelves. "A very neat idea," he said. "They have collected a littlelibrary of all the standard works on drink. This should be of greatvalue to future historians and researchers."
Through another swinging door they found the central shrine.
It was circular in shape, illuminated through a clear skylight. Underthe rotunda was a low, broad marble counter, surmounted by a gleamingmirror and a noble array of bottles, flasks, decanters, goblets andglasses of every size. The pale yellow of white wines, the ruby ofclaret, the tawny brown of port, the green and violet and rose ofvarious liqueurs, sparkled in their appointed vessels. In front of thisaltar stood a three-foot mahogany bar, with its scrolled rim anddiminutive brass rail, all complete. A red velvet cord hung from brassposts separated it from the open floor.
A series of mural paintings, in the vivid coloring and superb techniqueof Maxfield Parrish, adorned the walls of the room. They portrayed thehistory of Alcohol from the dawn of time down to the summer of 1919. Aspace for one more painting was left blank, and Mr. and Mrs. Quimbletonconcluded that the artist was still at work upon the final panel.
An attendant in white was polishing glasses behind the tiny bar. He wasan elderly man with a pink clean-shaven face and the initials P. S.were embroidered on the collar of his starched jacket. There was an airof evident pride in his bearing as he listened to their exclamations ofadmiration.
"Your first visit, sir?" he said.
"Yes," said Quimbleton. "I must confess I had no idea it would be asfine as this. What time does Mr. Bleak get in?"
"He usually opens up with a nip of Scotch about eleven-thirty," saidthe bartender. "Just so as to get up a little circulation beforeopening time. He's got a hard afternoon before him to-day," he added.
"How do you mean?" said Quimbleton.
"One of the excursion trains coming. The railroad runs cheap excursionshere three days a week, and the crowds is enormous. When there's abunch like that there's always a lot wants Mr. Bleak to take somespecial drink they used to be partial to, just to recall old times. Ofcourse, being what you might call a servant of the public, he doesn'tlike not to oblige. But I doubt whether he's got the constitution tostand it long. The other day the Mint Julep Veterans of Kentucky held amemorial day here, and Mr. Bleak had to sink fifteen juleps to satisfythem. I tell him not to push himself too far, but he's still pretty newat the job. He likes to go over the top every day."
"Your face is very familiar," said Theodolinda. "Where have we seen youbefore?"
"I wondered if you'd recognize me," said the bartender. "I've shavedoff my mustache. I'm Jerry Purplevein. When I was turned down in thatelection I thought this would be the next best thing. As a matter offact, it's better. I don't really care for the stuff; I just like tosee it around. Miss Absinthe felt the same way. She's head stewardessup to the Hostess House."
"It seems to me I used to see you somewhere in N
ew York," saidQuimbleton.
"I was head bar at the Hotel Pennsylvania," said Jerry. "We had thefinest bar in the world, had only been running a couple of months whenprohibition come in. They turned it into a soda fountain. Ah, that wasa tragedy! But this is a grand job. Government service, you see: surepay, tony surroundings, and what you might call steady custom. Mr.Bleak is as nice a gentleman to mix 'em for as I ever see."
"But what is this for?" asked Theodolinda, pointing to a beautifulmarble cash register. "Surely Mr. Bleak doesn't have to BUY his drinks?"
"No, ma'am," said Jerry, "but he likes to have 'em rung up same ascustomary. He says it makes it seem more natural. Here he is now!"
Jerry flew to attention behind the three-foot bar, and they turned tosee their friend enter through the bronze swinging doors.
"Well, well!" cried Bleak. "This is a delightful surprise!"
He was dressed in a lounging suit of fine texture, and while he seemeda little thinner and paler, and his eyes a little weary, he was inexcellent spirits.
"Come," he said, "you're just in time for a bite of lunch. Jerry,what's on the counter to-day?"
Jerry bustled proudly over to the free-lunch counter, whipped off thesteam-covers, and disclosed a fragrant joint of corned beef nestlingamong cabbages and boiled potatoes. With the delight of the true artisthe seized a long narrow carving knife, gave it a few passes along asteel, and sliced off generous portions of the beef onto plates bearingthe P. S. monogram. This they supplemented with other selections fromthe liberally supplied free-lunch counter. Soft, crumbling orangecheese, pickles, smoked sardines, chopped liver, olives, pretzels--allthe now-forgotten appetizers were laid out on broad silver platters.
"I wish I could offer you a drink," said Bleak, "but as you know, itwould be unconstitutional. With your permission, I shall have to havesomething. My office hours begin shortly, and some one might come in."
He took up his station at the little bar behind the velvet cord, andslid his left foot onto the miniature rail. Jerry, with the air of anartist about to resume work on his favorite masterpiece, stoodexpectant.
"A little Scotch, Jerry," said Bleak.
In the manner reminiscent of an elder day Jerry wiped away imaginarymoisture from the mahogany with a deft circular movement of a whitecloth. Turning to the gleaming pyramid of glassware, he set out thedecanter of whiskey, a small empty glass, and a twin glass two-thirdsfull of water. His motions were elaborately careless and automatic, buthe was plainly bursting with joy to be undergoing such expert andaffectionate scrutiny.
Bleak poured out three fingers of whiskey, and held up the baby tumbler.
"Here's to the happy couple!" he cried, and drank it in one swift,practiced gesture. He then swallowed about a tablespoonful of thewater. Jerry removed the utensils, again wiped the immaculate bar, andrang the cashless cash-register. The Perpetual Souse smiled happily.
"That's how it's done," he said. "Do you remember?"
"We're just back from South America," said Quimbleton.
"Some of the boys from the old Balloon office were in here the otherday," said Bleak. "I'm afraid it was rather too much for them--in anemotional way, I mean. I tossed off a few for their benefit, and one ofthem--the cartoonist he used to be, perhaps you remember him--faintedwith excitement."
"Well, how do you like the job?" said Quimbleton.
Bleak did not answer this directly. Making an apology to Jerry andpromising to be back in a few minutes, he escorted his visitors roundthe temple and gave them some of the picture postcards of himself thatwere sold to souvenir hunters at five cents each. He showed them thecafeteria for the convenience of visitors, the Hostess House (wherethey found Mrs. Bleak comfortably installed), the ice-making machinery,the private brewery, and the motor-truck used to transport supplies. Ina corner of the garden they found the children playing.
"It's a good thing the children enjoy playing with empty bottles," saidBleak. "It's getting to be quite a problem to know what to do withthem. I'm using some of them to make a path across the lawn, bury thembottom up, you know.
"But you ask how I like it? I would never admit it before Jerry,because the good fellow expects more of me than I am able to fulfill,but as a matter of fact this is hardly a one-man job. There ought to beat least seven of us, each to go on duty one day a week. No--you see,being a kind of government museum, I don't even get Sundays off becauselots of people can only get here that day. Next after Mount Vernon andIndependence Hall, I get more visitors than any other national shrine.And almost all of them expect me to have a go at their favorite drinkwhile they're watching me. Being what you might call the most publicspirited man in the country, I have to oblige them as much as possible.But I doubt whether I shall be a candidate for reelection.
"I think the government has rather overestimated my capacity," hecontinued. "They import a shipload of stuff from abroad every month,and send an auditor here to check over my empties. I've been hard putto it to get away with all the stuff. I've had to fall back on your oldplan of using wine to irrigate the garden. It's had rather adissipating effect on the birds and insects, though. Really, you oughtto spend an evening here some time. The birds sing all night long: theyhave to sleep it off in the morning. A robin with a hang-over is one ofthe funniest things in the world."
"We saw one!" cried Theodolinda. "He was more than hanging over--he hadfallen right off!"
"There's a butterfly here," said Bleak--"Rather a friend of mine, whocan give a bumble bee the knock-out after he gets his drop of rum. I'veseen him chase a wasp all over the lot."
From the temple came the sound of chimes striking twelve, and down inthe valley they heard the whistle of a train.
"There's the excursion train leaving Souse Junction," said Bleak. "Imust get back to the bar!"
They returned to the shrine, and Bleak entered his little enclosure.
"Jerry," he said, "the crowd will soon be here. I must get busy. Whatdo you recommend?"
"Better stick to the Scotch," said Jerry, and put the decanter on themahogany. Bleak drank two slugs hastily, and turned to his friends withan almost wistful air.
"Come again and stay longer," he said. "I see so many strangers, I gethomesick for a friendly face." He called Quimbleton aside. "Does Mrs.Quimbleton keep up her trances?" he whispered.
"Not recently," said Virgil. "You see, in South America there was nonecessity--but when we get settled--"
"You are a lucky fellow," whispered Bleak. "All the enjoyment withoutany of the formalities!" And he added aloud, grasping their hands,"Next time, come in the evening. A man in my line of work is hardly athis best before nightfall."
As they walked back to the plane, Mr. and Mrs. Quimbleton saw theexcursionists, a thousand or so, hastening through the park on foot andin huge sight-seeing cars where men with megaphones were roaringcomments. One group of pedestrians bore a large banner lettered EGG NOGMEMORIAL ASSOCIATION OF CAMDEN, N. J.
"Poor Mr. Bleak!" said Theodolinda. "On top of all that Scotch!"
When they took the air again they circled over the temple at a safeheight. They could see the crowd gathered densely round the littlewhite columns. Virgil shut off the motor for a moment, and even at thatdistance they could hear the sound of cheers.