VICTIM OF HIS CLOTHES

Cromwell Argus, Volume XXXV, Issue 1933, 17 April 1905, Page 6

VICTIM OF HIS CLOTHES

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But was not the best bf it; he heard Mrs. Powers’ reply. Only two words, indeed, and as irrelevant* as are most feminine utterances in times of emergence; “\1 by. Bessie! was all alii* said, or at least all that Drane heal’d, but he was more than rejoiced. Iter name was Bessie! At last he had something to call her in his thoughts. It was the first Hint on the subject. In his joy.at this discovery he forgot to regret that he didn’t know the other half of her name. He watched her pour her woes into Mrs. Bowers’ ear, and was satisfied.

it. He had a feeling that tho germs of mania were floating,dn the air around him.and that he might break out with the disease any minute. Ho wondered at being left tints alone. A man who had been judicially decided to he crazy should have a keeper. Then he perceived in the shadow of the door a large, ungainly man who seemed to be on watch, lit' stood in a kind of niche, and had thus escaped Drano’s observation when he entered. This man’s eye so glared upon him out of the darkness that Drane’s nerves began to dance in a manner that threatened to fit him very quickly for permanent occupancy of the retreat. He felt that he must escape from that man’s observation or relieve the oppressive silence by a howl. He compromised the matter by stepping into the parlor. At. this, both the ancient and unfortunate ladies assumed an air of modest reserve which was quite frightful to see. Presently one of them drew out her handkerchief and began to weep softly, but with evident determination to do the subject full justice before she got through. ••Madame,” said Drane, gently, "if my presence affects you to tears. I will withdraw.” ••Do not do so on rny account," she said, "it is not your fault that you have revived a sorrow that has long been buried in my breast.” Drane regretted having been the cause of such a joyless resurrection, and he ventured to murmur words to that effect. "It does not matter.” she said. "My conduct must seem strange to you. I can hardly explain it without telling you the story of my life. There is.a romance in it." and she brightened appreciably. "You shall bear the melancholy narrative." "Par be it from me to intrude upon your confidence," said Drane, endeavoring to get away. But site fixed him with

Such a spectacle is always entertaining, for when a woman has embarrassed a man by making a blunder, if she is not too stupid to see it, nor too proud to acknowledge it, nor too nervous to know what she is about, she will sometimes pity him divinely, if he is reasonably good-looking. And if she has begun to feel a lit lie tenderly toward him, she will often accuse herself unjustly, in order that she may have the luxury of telling herself how sorry she is that she has put him into a difficulty. That was why Bessie now gazed at Drane with such angelic sympathy depicted upon her beautiful countenance. .Site said in her heart that her testimony had somehow helped to prove that he was insane. It was a question of the heart, and in such cases a woman never allows an appeal to the higher tribunal of the mind. So Bessie acted upon her first impulse and implored Mrs. Powers to do something, no matter what it was. With Mrs. Bowers it was a question neither of the heart nor of the mind, but of the conscience. Therefore she decided to be merciless, but just. I-t was her plain duty to protect Bessie from impostors, fortune hunters and lunatics: so she frowned at Drane in a way that gave him a chill to supplement the fever which Bessie’s tender glances had put into his blood. “Where will they send him now?” asked Bessie, shuddering. “Probably to Ward's Island, temporarily.” replied Mrs. Powers. , “Will they be good to him there?" * “Ho will bo can'd for.” said Mrs. Bowera, sternly: “and fed—to a certain extent." ' “Oh, my!" cried Bessie, tearfully. “Can't we take him home with us? You have been so kind to me that I look upon your house as home now, you know.” “1 couldn’t think of such a thing," Mrs. Bowers said, firmly. “I can not have a lunatic in my house. It is all that I can do to look out for you." At the thought that Drane would bo sent, partly on her account, to an island where there might be neither pudding nor tea, Bessie developed symptoms of hysteria whi*h touched Mrs. Bowers' heart. “Perhaps I could get him committed to Jenkins’ Retreat,” she said, relenting. *• “Where is that?" asked Bessie, catching at a straw. “It is a private asylum up-town." said Mrs. Bovvers, "where ihev care for mild but hopeless lunatics. 1 will speak to the judge about it." "Is it. better than that awful island?" "It is a’ shade more cheerful." Mrs. Bowers admitted, shutting her lips together firmly. • "Then make the judge send him there.'* cried Bessie. "Tell hint that 1 will give him ten thousand dollars if he will." "My dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Rowers, shocked at the girl's ignorance, "there are only a certain number of judges in Mew York, and you don't want them all." Drane had observed this conversation, though he'could not hear any of it. One can tt"t hear any thing in a New York police court. The testimony of tearful innocence given in such places is heard only in Heaven; which is just as well, perhaps, for it may get some attention up there. However. Drane knew that Bessie had been pleading for him; and when Mrs. Bowers approached thy judge, the prisoner realized that some amelioration of hiscondition might be expected. Mrs. Bowers talked earnestly with the magistrate, and with such good effect that Drane was consigned to Jenkins’ Retreat till his friends from Kansas City should arrive. As for the tramp, he went to be fed—to a certain extent. Mr. Jenkins called his asylum a "retreat.” advisedly, because it certainly was not an advance upon any thing liiilu rto existing in that line of busire.-;-. fis exterior had all the subdued horror of a fashionable boarding-house where nothing thrives but gaunt reppf,-- •I■i 1 i< V- Within it was oven worse. Ac c; mo -■) die re of “references given .-.p.1 re.uired." especially the latter, ft I ■ *’ Ho-hall; and. through a doorway pr the right, could he seen a tomb-like parlor. wherein upon the sarcophagus of :• ofa, sat the rigid images of two anriert females, i vidently patients. They j. hi!,, d out at Drane with a cold severity thei made bis hair curl. i i-• had come there in charge of a ooun officer, and had not been allowed to . .-.-change a word with Bessie, whom Vir . 1 hovers had dragged away as soon a ihe question of commitment had been !<d. Ho felt deserted and friendand despite the fact that it was a very warm evening, he shivered as he s!o’,il in (he hall waiting for Jenkins, of v.-hom the officer had gone in search. A large number of entertaining and cheerful reflections crowded upon Drane as lie stood in the dimly-lighted hall. ]|e wondered, for instance, whether a night-jacket would be regarded as an essential <»f absolutely correct evening ,lnin Mr. Jenkins’ retreat. He also liad a curiosity to know how often, on an average, the violent lunatics in the establishment overpowered their keepers and slaughtered the less demented inmates. But. deepestrand most important of all. was the question of supper, for tho meal which he had appropriated in the hath had ceased to give him satisfactory support, and it might, he a long time before he had a chance to steal another. Jenkins was slow in coming: and Drane got more and more nervous. He had an unusually strong natural horror of lunatics. Not that their presence U particularly agreeable to any body—except a Jenkins at so much a head—but pj-ane was actually supemittouß about

THK KO.MANCE I.\ HEK MKF-. , her eye and he sank back into his seat. Then she drew a chair near to his and between him and the door. "You resemble him strongly, said she, -The same noble features, the same soulful eyes, the same pallor, indicative of the same sail fate. Are you a genius? Do you write poems of the soul as he did*?" „*;• - Drane groaned. "I knew it." she went on. "Listen. We were destined for each other. There was a small matter of property depending upon our union—hut never mind. He seemed to avoid mo at first, but at length fate threw us together. Returning to his room one morning very early he endeavored to enter the old-laslt-ioned clock at the head of the first, (light of stairs - under the impression that it was the door of his apartment. It was the, absent-mindedness of genius. Ah, well! he and the 'dock fell down the stair.-, locked in each other's arms, and when they picked him up one of his limbs was broken. I came to nurse him. For seven long weeks 1 was his constant. hi> only companion. J read to him. 1 talked to him—and then—and then .. r . ‘ lie died?" '

"No: he became a hopeless lunatic. I have never loved since then: but now your face brings it all back to mo. Excuse the outburst of my feelings.” She laid her head on his shoulder, and cried into his collar. Drane could feel his hair begin to turn gray but he h}iut his teeth together with resolution. The other follow had stood it seven weeks before lie went out of his bead, and Drane believed that he could last till Jenkins came. In fact he did: but it was a close shave. Jenkins was a fall and greedy man. with hollow checks and a cheerless smile. At his appearance the woman with a romance in her life vanished in charge of her companion, who proved to be the matron of the house, Jenkins did not care, toquestion the new comer. He was satisfied that all charges would be ■promptly paid, and he at once escorted Drane to an apartment mi the third floor. Here the unfortunate young man secured some toast nnd tea. which, however, did not wholly sustain him against (lie horrors of the night. Jenkins made a casual inspection of Drane’s pockets before leaving the room. "You will excuse this formality." said he, "but the man who occupied this room before you brought in a piece of rope with which he hanged himself over the headboard of the bed before morning. We have had many cases of the kind. Good night.” This was a cheerful subject of reflection to take to bed with one. and it was •till more consoling to hear the key turned on the outside of the door. ••I believe that I shall actually go crazy before morning." said Drane as he stretched himself upon Die bed. It was insufferably hot. The windows were carefully barred and screened in a way which not only prevented the suicidal egress of Jenkins’ hoarders but denied ingress to an adequate supply of tinfree air of Heaven. After making tbidiscovery Drane returned to his bed. where he was soon dreaming that the dangling heels of his unhappy predecessor were still knocking against the headboard. From this nightmare he invoke with a shiver of horror. He sal up and listened. There was certainly a strange noise in the heavy air. .Sometimes U was like subdued voices: then it was sighing: and again it was a gurgling groan. For some minutes Drane could not summon up tip# resolution to in-

vcstigate, but at length ho arose, and quaking with horror he endeavored to trace the disquieting sound to its source. . It led him to * door which apparently separated him from the next apartment. What ghastly mystery lay behind it? He hardly dared to think** Ho listened, and the gurgling sighs made themselves plainly audible. Doubtless some unfortunate was leaving the Retreat by the method Jenkins had described, and had failed to arrange his noose in an entirely satisfactory manner. For what seemed a long time* Drane quaked and hesitated, not daring to penetrate further into the secret. Then with a sudden resolution ho • seized the knob and threw his force upon it. The door opened easily. It revealed an empty closet, with a sot bowl at the side, into which a thin stream of water was trickling, and running down the escape pipe with the noise which had so horrified him. Alarm gave place to wrath. He vowed all sorts of vengeance upon every body who had even remotely contributed to his present evil plight. Every body but Bessie. He forgave her, and in thinking of her ho fell quietly asleep and was not wakened till the light of morning streamed into the room. Breakfast was served to such of Jenkins’ boarders as could be trusted outside their cages, at eight o’clock. Afterpartaking of that frugal meal Drane was permitted to spend a little while in the parlor. It had no other occupant at first except a short, stsmt man with an abundance of stiff, curly hair who sat at a table writing. Every time be paused in that labor he stuck bis pen behind his ear: and when he was ready to resume his task he picked up a fresh one. forgetting what he had done with the other. The consequence was that in a few minutes the bushy hair over his ear was full of pen-holders, and there remained only the one which he was using. Presently that joined the rest, and then the little man, after hunting at,out the table a few minutes, gave it up and pushed his paper from him. ••The servants here are very careless." said he to Drane. ‘‘They always fail to provide me with pens, although they know the importance of my work. And for myself, I am so absent-minded, do you know, that ray forgetfulness lias been the ruin of my life. It is true.”

He loaned toward Drano impressively, and continued: “I am a genius. I once wrote llio greatest poem extant. Then I mislaid it. For months I searched for the manuscript, but without finding a trace of it. My cursed forgetfulness! Then I tried to remember what was in it —ray forgetfulness again, I couldn’t think of a single line. T could remember only that it surpassed Homer, f)ante or Shakespeare. The thought that I had thus cast away undying fame by mere carelessness undermined my health, tin til they brought me to this sanitarium. Confound it, one might as well ho honest about it. There’s no sanitarium about it. It’s a lunatic asylum, and for tho sake of veracity lot's admit it. Here 1 sit scribbling away every day. trying vainly to hit upon the single inspiration which for a moment raised me to an intellectual height no man had over before attained. Thus far in vain. Hut who knows —who knows! What’s your own special brand of lunacy?" “I am a sane man." said Uranc, half angrily. The short man shook his head. “Wait till you’ve been here a while," said he. "Then you’ll dream dreams, and see visions. 1 was sane enough, too. hut the atmosphere of this place—you don’t know what it is. In two days you’ll have delusions. You’ll see things that aren't there—serpents of various hues; zebras with their stripes running from head to tail, and revolving around their bodies like the rings of Saturn. That’s why they’ve put me here. They’re jealous of me. They don’t want me to remember tho great work which I wrote but can not find. It’s a plot—" ■The short man was getting violent, and presently an attendant came and removed him. to Drane's great relief. In the course of that day Drane encountered several interesting maniacs of a mild order, but no serious incident

•a i ESCAPED FROM THE KEEPER. occurred until the evening. Then, as he was standing in the hall just after supper, he heard Jenkins talking to tho matron, and pointing to him. “Paresis.” said Jenkins. “You want to watch him carefully.” And Drane took that delightful suggestion to liis apartment, and meditated upon it. Was it possible that he was really insane? Were the strange events of tho past few days which ho seemed to remember, in reality only hallucinations? Who could determine, if loft wholly to himself, without a single visible link between him and the past, whether that past, had any real existence? In short, Drane didn't know whether ho was crazy or not. Ho watched-himself for symptoms. Did his hand tremble? Or his heart beat too fast or too slow? He enjoyed a nice case of hypochondriacism till long past midnight, and when he fell asleep, the zebras described by tho forgetful genius were ordinary and reasonable animals compared to those which pranced through his dreams. But the morrow brought a great event, no less than a call from Bessie. She came unattended, but alas! tho matron was present during the entire interview. This not only prevented