Winsome Winnie and other New Nonsense Novels
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Stephen Leacock >> Winsome Winnie and other New Nonsense Novels
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"I was so frightened, Mr. Kent, I couldn't stay any longer. I rushed
downstairs and ran all the way home. Then next day I read what had
happened, and I knew that I had left my hat there, and was afraid. Oh,
Mr. Kent, save me!"
"Miss Delary," said the Investigator, taking again the girl's hands and
looking into her eyes, "you are safe. Tell me only one thing. The man
who played against Kivas Kelly--did you see him?"
"Only for one moment"--the girl paused--"through the keyhole."
"What was he like?" asked Kent. "Had he an impenetrable face?"
"He had."
"Was there anything massive about his face?"
"Oh, yes, yes, it was all massive."
"Miss Delary," said Kent, "this mystery is now on the brink of solution.
When I have joined the last links of the chain, may I come and tell you
all?"
She looked full in his face.
"At any hour of the day or night," she said, "you may come."
Then she was gone.
CHAPTER VIII
YOU ARE PETER KELLY
Within a few moments Kent was at the phone.
"I want four, four, four, four. Is that four, four, four, four? Mr.
Throgton's house? I want Mr. Throgton. Mr. Throgton speaking? Mr.
Throgton, Kent speaking. The Riverside mystery is solved."
Kent waited in silence a moment. Then he heard Throgton's voice--not a
note in it disturbed:
"Has anybody found Kelly?"
"Mr. Throgton," said Kent, and he spoke with a strange meaning in his
tone, "the story is a long one. Suppose I relate it to you"--he paused,
and laid a peculiar emphasis on what followed--"_over a game of
billiards_."
"What the devil do you mean?" answered Throgton.
"Let me come round to your house and tell the story. There are points in
it that I can best illustrate over a billiard table. Suppose I challenge
you to a fifty point game before I tell my story."
It required no little hardihood to challenge Masterman Throgton at
billiards. His reputation at his club as a cool, determined player was
surpassed by few. Throgton had been known to run nine, ten, and even
twelve at a break. It was not unusual for him to drive his ball clear
off the table. His keen eye told him infallibly where each of the three
balls was; instinctively he knew which to shoot with.
In Kent, however, he had no mean adversary. The young reporter, though
he had never played before, had studied his book to some purpose. His
strategy was admirable. Keeping his ball well under the shelter of the
cushion, he eluded every stroke of his adversary, and in his turn caused
his ball to leap or dart across the table with such speed as to bury
itself in the pocket at the side.
The score advanced rapidly, both players standing precisely equal. At
the end of the first half-hour it stood at ten all. Throgton, a grim
look upon his face, had settled down to work, playing with one knee on
the table. Kent, calm but alive with excitement, leaned well forward to
his stroke, his eye held within an inch of the ball.
At fifteen they were still even. Throgton with a sudden effort forced a
break of three; but Kent rallied and in another twenty minutes they were
even again at nineteen all.
But it was soon clear that Transome Kent had something else in mind than
to win the game. Presently his opportunity came. With a masterly stroke,
such as few trained players could use, he had potted his adversary's
ball. The red ball was left over the very jaws of the pocket. The white
was in the centre.
Kent looked into Throgton's face.
The balls were standing in the very same position on the table as on the
night of the murder.
"I did that on purpose," said Kent quietly.
"What do you mean?" asked Throgton.
"The position of those balls," said Kent. "Mr. Throgton, come into the
library. I have something to say to you. You know already what it is."
They went into the library. Throgton, his hand unsteady, lighted a
cigar.
"Well," he said, "what is it?"
"Mr. Throgton," said Kent, "two weeks ago you gave me a mystery to
solve. To-night I can give you the solution. Do you want it?"
Throgton's face never moved.
"Well," he said.
"A man's life," Kent went on, "may be played out on a billiard table. A
man's soul, Throgton, may be pocketed."
"What devil's foolery is this?" said Throgton. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that your crime is known--plotter, schemer that you are, you are
found out--hypocrite, traitor; yes, Masterman Throgton, or rather--let
me give you your true name-_Peter Kelly_, murderer, I denounce you!"
Throgton never flinched. He walked across to where Kent stood, and with
his open palm he slapped him over the mouth.
"Transome Kent," he said, "you're a liar."
Then he walked back to his chair and sat down.
"Kent," he continued, "from the first moment of your mock investigation,
I knew who you were. Your every step was shadowed, your every movement
dogged. Transome Kent--by your true name, _Peter Kelly_, murderer, I
denounce you."
Kent walked quietly across to Throgton and dealt him a fearful blow
behind the ear.
"You're a liar," he said, "I am not Peter Kelly."
They sat looking at one another.
At that moment Throgton's servant appeared at the door.
"A gentleman to see you, sir."
"Who?" said Throgton.
"I don't know, sir, he gave his card."
Masterman Throgton took the card.
On it was printed:
_PETER KELLY_
CHAPTER IX
LET ME TELL YOU THE STORY OF MY LIFE
For a moment Throgton and Kent sat looking at one another.
"Show the man up," said Throgton.
A minute later the door opened and a man entered. Kent's keen eye
analysed him as he stood. His blue clothes, his tanned face, and the
extraordinary dexterity of his fingers left no doubt of his calling. He
was a sailor.
"Sit down," said Throgton.
"Thank you," said the sailor, "it rests my wooden leg."
The two men looked again. One of the sailor's legs was made of wood.
With a start Kent noticed that it was made of East Indian sandalwood.
"I've just come from Java," said Kelly quietly, as he sat down.
Kent nodded. "I see it all now," he said. "Throgton, I wronged you. We
should have known it was a sailor with a wooden leg from Java. There is
no other way."
"Gentlemen," said Peter Kelly, "I've come to make my confession. It is
the usual and right thing to do, gentlemen, and I want to go through
with it while I can."
"One moment," said Kent, "do you mind interrupting yourself with a
hacking cough?"
"Thank you, sir," said Kelly, "I'll get to that a little later. Let me
begin by telling you the story of my life."
"No, no," urged Throgton and Kent, "don't do that!"
Kelly frowned. "I think I have a right to," he said. "You've got to hear
it. As a boy I had a wild, impulsive nature. Had it been curbed----"
"But it wasn't," said Throgton. "What next?"
"I was the sole relative of my uncle, and heir to great wealth. Pampered
with every luxury, I was on a footing of----"
"One minute," interrupted Kent, rapidly analysing as he listened. "How
many legs had you then?"
"Two--on a footing of ease and indolence. I soon lost----"
"Your leg," said Throgton. "Mr. Kelly, pray come to the essential
things."
"I will," said the sailor. "Gentlemen, bad as I was, I was not
altogether bad."
"Of course not," said Kent and Throgton soothingly. "Probably not more
than ninety per cent."
"Even into my life, gentlemen, love entered. If you had seen her you
would have known that she is as innocent as the driven snow. Three years
ago she came to my uncle's house. I loved her. One day, hardly knowing
what I was doing, I took her----" he paused.
"Yes, yes," said Throgton and Kent, "you took her?"
"To the Aquarium. My uncle heard of it. There was a violent quarrel. He
disinherited me and drove me from the house. I had a liking for the sea
from a boy."
"Excuse me," said Kent, "from what boy?"
Kelly went right on. "I ran away as a sailor before the mast."
"Pardon me," interrupted Kent, "I am not used to sea terms. Why didn't
you run _behind_ the mast?"
"Hear me out," said Kelly, "I am nearly done. We sailed for the East
Indies--for Java. There a Malay pirate bit off my leg. I returned home,
bitter, disillusioned, the mere wreck that you see. I had but one
thought. I meant to kill my uncle."
For a moment a hacking cough interrupted Kelly. Kent and Throgton nodded
quietly to one another.
"I came to his house at night. With the aid of my wooden leg I scaled
the wall, lifted the window and entered the billiard-room. There was
murder in my heart. Thank God I was spared from that. At the very moment
when I got in, a light was turned on in the room and I saw before
me--but no, I will not name her--my better angel. 'Peter!' she cried,
then with a woman's intuition she exclaimed, 'You have come to murder
your uncle. Don't do it.' My whole mood changed. I broke down and cried
like a--like a----"
Kelly paused a moment.
"Like a boob," said Kent softly. "Go on."
"When I had done crying, we heard voices. 'Quick,' she exclaimed, 'flee,
hide, he must not see you.' She rushed into the adjoining room, closing
the door. My eye had noticed already the trap above. I climbed up to
it. Shall I explain how?"
"Don't," said Kent, "I can analyse it afterwards."
"There I saw what passed. I saw Mr. Throgton and Kivas Kelly come in. I
watched their game. They were greatly excited and quarrelled over it.
Throgton lost."
The big man nodded with a scowl. "By his potting the white," he said.
"Precisely," said Kelly, "he missed the red. Your analysis was wrong,
Mr. Kent. The game ended. You started your reasoning from a false
diaeresis. In billiards people never mark the last point. The board still
showed ninety-nine all. Throgton left and my uncle, as often happens,
kept trying over the last shot--a half-ball shot, sir, with the red over
the pocket. He tried again and again. He couldn't make it. He tried
various ways. His rest was too unsteady. Finally he made his tie into a
long loop round his neck and put his cue through it. 'Now, by gad!' he
said, 'I can do it.'"
"Ha!" said Kent. "Fool that I was."
"Exactly," continued Kelly. "In the excitement of watching my uncle I
forgot where I was, I leaned too far over and fell out of the trap. I
landed on uncle, just as he was sitting on the table to shoot. He fell."
"I see it all!" said Kent. "He hit his head, the loop tightened, the cue
spun round and he was dead."
"That's it," said Kelly. "I saw that he was dead, and I did not dare to
remain. I straightened the knot in his tie, laid his hands reverently
across his chest, and departed as I had come."
"Mr. Kelly," said Throgton thoughtfully, "the logic of your story is
wonderful. It exceeds anything in its line that I have seen published
for months. But there is just one point that I fail to grasp. The two
bullet holes?"
"They were old ones," answered the sailor quietly. "My uncle in his
youth had led a wild life in the west; he was full of them."
There was silence for a moment. Then Kelly spoke again:
"My time, gentlemen, is short." (A hacking cough interrupted him.) "I
feel that I am withering. It rests with you, gentlemen, whether or not I
walk out of this room a free man."
Transome Kent rose and walked over to the sailor.
"Mr. Kelly," he said, "here is my hand."
CHAPTER X
SO DO I
A few days after the events last narrated, Transome Kent called at the
boarding-house of Miss Alice Delary. The young Investigator wore a light
grey tweed suit, with a salmon-coloured geranium in his buttonhole.
There was something exultant yet at the same time grave in his
expression, as of one who has taken a momentous decision, affecting his
future life.
"I wonder," he murmured, "whether I am acting for my happiness."
He sat down for a moment on the stone steps and analysed himself.
Then he rose.
"I am," he said, and rang the bell.
"Miss Delary?" said a maid, "she left here two days ago. If you are Mr.
Kent, the note on the mantelpiece is for you."
Without a word (Kent never wasted them) the Investigator opened the note
and read:
"Dear Mr. Kent,
"Peter and I were married yesterday morning, and have taken an
apartment in Java, New Jersey. You will be glad to hear that
Peter's cough is ever so much better. The lawyers have given Peter
his money without the least demur.
"We both feel that your analysis was simply wonderful. Peter says
he doesn't know where he would be without it.
"Very sincerely,
"Alice Kelly.
"P.S.--I forgot to mention to you that I saw Peter in the
billiard-room. But your analysis was marvellous just the same."
That evening Kent sat with Throgton talking over the details of the
tragedy.
"Throgton," he said, "it has occurred to me that there were points about
that solution that we didn't get exactly straight somehow."
"So do I," said Throgton.
V
BROKEN BARRIERS
OR, RED LOVE ON A BLUE ISLAND
(_The kind of thing that has replaced the good Old Sea Story_)
_V.--Broken Barriers; or, Red Love on a Blue Island._
It was on a bright August afternoon that I stepped on board the steamer
_Patagonia_ at Southampton outward bound for the West Indies and the
Port of New Orleans.
I had at the time no presentiment of disaster. I remember remarking to
the ship's purser, as my things were being carried to my state-room,
that I had never in all my travels entered upon any voyage with so
little premonition of accident. "Very good, Mr. Borus," he answered.
"You will find your state-room in the starboard aisle on the right." I
distinctly recall remarking to the Captain that I had never, in any of
my numerous seafarings, seen the sea of a more limpid blue. He agreed
with me so entirely, as I recollect it, that he did not even trouble to
answer.
Had anyone told me on that bright summer afternoon that our ship would
within a week be wrecked among the Dry Tortugas, I should have laughed.
Had anyone informed me that I should find myself alone on a raft in the
Caribbean Sea, I should have gone into hysterics.
We had hardly entered the waters of the Caribbean when a storm of
unprecedented violence broke upon us. Even the Captain had never, so he
said, seen anything to compare with it. For two days and nights we
encountered and endured the full fury of the sea. Our soup plates were
secured with racks and covered with lids. In the smoking-room our
glasses had to be set in brackets, and as our steward came and went, we
were from moment to moment in imminent danger of seeing him washed
overboard.
On the third morning just after daybreak the ship collided with
something, probably either a floating rock or one of the dry Tortugas.
She blew out her four funnels, the bowsprit dropped out of its place,
and the propeller came right off. The Captain, after a brief
consultation, decided to abandon her. The boats were lowered, and, the
sea being now quite calm, the passengers were emptied into them.
By what accident I was left behind I cannot tell. I had been talking to
the second mate and telling him of a rather similar experience of mine
in the China Sea, and holding him by the coat as I did so, when quite
suddenly he took me by the shoulders, and rushing me into the deserted
smoking-room said, "Sit there, Mr. Borus, till I come back for you." The
fellow spoke in such a menacing way that I thought it wiser to comply.
When I came out they were all gone. By good fortune I found one of the
ship's rafts still lying on the deck. I gathered together such articles
as might be of use and contrived, though how I do not know, to launch it
into the sea.
On my second morning on my raft I was sitting quietly polishing my boots
and talking to myself when I became aware of an object floating in the
sea close beside the raft. Judge of my feelings when I realized it to be
the inanimate body of a girl. Hastily finishing my boots and stopping
talking to myself, I made shift as best I could to draw the unhappy girl
towards me with a hook.
After several ineffectual attempts I at last managed to obtain a hold of
the girl's clothing and drew her on to the raft.
She was still unconscious. The heavy lifebelt round her person must (so
I divined) have kept her afloat after the wreck. Her clothes were
sodden, so I reasoned, with the sea-water.
On a handkerchief which was still sticking into the belt of her dress, I
could see letters embroidered. Realizing that this was no time for
hesitation, and that the girl's life might depend on my reading her
name, I plucked it forth. It was Edith Croyden.
As vigorously as I could I now set to work to rub her hands. My idea was
(partly) to restore her circulation. I next removed her boots, which
were now rendered useless, as I argued, by the sea-water, and began to
rub her feet.
I was just considering what to remove next, when the girl opened her
eyes. "Stop rubbing my feet," she said.
"Miss Croyden," I said, "you mistake me."
I rose, with a sense of pique which I did not trouble to conceal, and
walked to the other end of the raft. I turned my back upon the girl and
stood looking out upon the leaden waters of the Caribbean Sea. The ocean
was now calm. There was nothing in sight.
I was still searching the horizon when I heard a soft footstep on the
raft behind me, and a light hand was laid upon my shoulder. "Forgive
me," said the girl's voice.
I turned about. Miss Croyden was standing behind me. She had, so I
argued, removed her stockings and was standing in her bare feet. There
is something, I am free to confess, about a woman in her bare feet which
hits me where I live. With instinctive feminine taste the girl had
twined a piece of seaweed in her hair. Seaweed, as a rule, gets me every
time. But I checked myself.
"Miss Croyden," I said, "there is nothing to forgive."
At the mention of her name the girl blushed for a moment and seemed
about to say something, but stopped.
"Where are we?" she queried presently.
"I don't know," I answered, as cheerily as I could, "but I am going to
find out."
"How brave you are!" Miss Croyden exclaimed.
"Not at all," I said, putting as much heartiness into my voice as I was
able to.
The girl watched my preparations with interest.
With the aid of a bent pin hoisted on a long pole I had no difficulty in
ascertaining our latitude.
"Miss Croydon," I said, "I am now about to ascertain our longitude. To
do this I must lower myself down into the sea. Pray do not be alarmed or
anxious. I shall soon be back."
With the help of a long line I lowered myself deep down into the sea
until I was enabled to ascertain, approximately at any rate, our
longitude. A fierce thrill went through me at the thought that this
longitude was our longitude, hers and mine. On the way up, hand over
hand, I observed a long shark looking at me. Realizing that the fellow
if voracious might prove dangerous, I lost but little time--indeed, I
may say I lost absolutely no time--in coming up the rope.
The girl was waiting for me.
"Oh, I am so glad you have come back," she exclaimed, clasping her
hands.
"It was nothing," I said, wiping the water from my ears, and speaking as
melodiously as I could.
"Have you found our whereabouts?" she asked.
"Yes," I answered. "Our latitude is normal, but our longitude is, I
fear, at least three degrees out of the plumb. I am afraid, Miss
Croyden," I added, speaking as mournfully as I knew how, "that you must
reconcile your mind to spending a few days with me on this raft."
"Is it as bad as that?" she murmured, her eyes upon the sea.
In the long day that followed, I busied myself as much as I could with
my work upon the raft, so as to leave the girl as far as possible to
herself. It was, so I argued, absolutely necessary to let her feel that
she was safe in my keeping. Otherwise she might jump off the raft and I
should lose her.
I sorted out my various cans and tins, tested the oil in my chronometer,
arranged in neat order my various ropes and apparatus, and got my
frying-pan into readiness for any emergency. Of food we had for the
present no lack.
With the approach of night I realized that it was necessary to make
arrangements for the girl's comfort. With the aid of a couple of upright
poles I stretched a grey blanket across the raft so as to make a
complete partition.
"Miss Croyden," I said, "this end of the raft is yours. Here you may
sleep in peace."
"How kind you are," the girl murmured.
"You will be quite safe from interference," I added. "I give you my
word that I will not obtrude upon you in any way."
"How chivalrous you are," she said.
"Not at all," I answered, as musically as I could. "Understand me, I am
now putting my head over this partition for the last time. If there is
anything you want, say so now."
"Nothing," she answered.
"There is a candle and matches beside you. If there is anything that you
want in the night, call me instantly. Remember, at any hour I shall be
here. I promise it."
"Good night," she murmured. In a few minutes her soft regular breathing
told me that she was asleep.
I went forward and seated myself in a tar-bucket, with my head against
the mast, to get what sleep I could.
But for some time--why, I do not know--sleep would not come.
The image of Edith Croyden filled my mind. In vain I told myself that
she was a stranger to me: that--beyond her longitude--I knew nothing of
her. In some strange way this girl had seized hold of me and dominated
my senses.
The night was very calm and still, with great stars in a velvet sky. In
the darkness I could hear the water lapping the edge of the raft.
I remained thus in deep thought, sinking further and further into the
tar-bucket. By the time I reached the bottom of it I realized that I was
in love with Edith Croyden.
Then the thought of my wife occurred to me and perplexed me. Our unhappy
marriage had taken place three years before. We brought to one another
youth, wealth and position. Yet our marriage was a failure. My wife--for
what reason I cannot guess--seemed to find my society irksome. In vain I
tried to interest her with narratives of my travels. They seemed--in
some way that I could not divine--to fatigue her. "Leave me for a
little, Harold," she would say (I forgot to mention that my name is
Harold Borus), "I have a pain in my neck." At her own suggestion I had
taken a trip around the world. On my return she urged me to go round
again. I was going round for the third time when the wrecking of the
steamer had interrupted my trip.
On my own part, too, I am free to confess that my wife's attitude had
aroused in me a sense of pique, not to say injustice. I am not in any
way a vain man. Yet her attitude wounded me. I would no sooner begin,
"When I was in the Himalayas hunting the humpo or humped buffalo," than
she would interrupt and say, "Oh, Harold, would you mind going down to
the billiard-room and seeing if I left my cigarettes under the
billiard-table?" When I returned, she was gone.
By agreement we had arranged for a divorce. On my completion of my third
voyage we were to meet in New Orleans. Clara was to go there on a
separate ship, giving me the choice of oceans.
Had I met Edith Croyden three months later I should have been a man free
to woo and win her. As it was I was bound. I must put a clasp of iron on
my feelings. I must wear a mask. Cheerful, helpful, and full of
narrative, I must yet let fall no word of love to this defenceless girl.
After a great struggle I rose at last from the tar-bucket, feeling, if
not a brighter, at least a cleaner man.
Dawn was already breaking. I looked about me. As the sudden beams of the
tropic sun illumined the placid sea, I saw immediately before me, only a
hundred yards away, an island. A sandy beach sloped back to a rocky
eminence, broken with scrub and jungle. I could see a little stream
leaping among the rocks. With eager haste I paddled the raft close to
the shore till it ground in about ten inches of water.
I leaped into the water.
With the aid of a stout line, I soon made the raft fast to a rock. Then
as I turned I saw that Miss Croyden was standing upon the raft, fully
dressed, and gazing at me. The morning sunlight played in her hair, and
her deep blue eyes were as soft as the Caribbean Sea itself.
"Don't attempt to wade ashore, Miss Croyden," I cried in agitation.
"Pray do nothing rash. The waters are simply infested with bacilli."
"But how can I get ashore?" she asked, with a smile which showed all, or
nearly all, of her pearl-like teeth.
"Miss Croyden," I said, "there is only one way. I must carry you."
In another moment I had walked back to the raft and lifted her as
tenderly and reverently as if she had been my sister--indeed more so--in
my arms.
Her weight seemed nothing. When I get a girl like that in my arms I
simply don't feel it. Just for one moment as I clasped her thus in my
arms, a fierce thrill ran through me. But I let it run.
When I had carried her well up the sand close to the little stream, I
set her down. To my surprise, she sank down in a limp heap.
The girl had fainted.
I knew that it was no time for hesitation.
Running to the stream, I filled my hat with water and dashed it in her
face. Then I took up a handful of mud and threw it at her with all my
force. After that I beat her with my hat.
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