The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, October 12, 1902, Page 2

THE SUNDAY CALL passed a copy of the resolution to w ot be surprised if our stock drops twe morrow for a little med, “it is'a most un- tter attack on the com- 1I; “so be pre- ’ t the I shall be Sprogel may and chair’ and rtily, like a I ear ack in mirth. not?™" “Oh t 1f the public kne s Henry, stop,” safd the banker, hoarse, dry whisper. “For God’s sak gh n s no laugh- = € ou, for t exclaimed wak- grav- a doorway from the The an alarm is lone old oke running to the nother in- self scrambled. T with smoke, not <o uld see that there ng him off from flash, he exerting all his The sight that unexpected one ck as a d, apart of most blinded him, or speak he real- ng into a pair of t peered out from under anging white eyebrows. A d covered the lower part s face and extended down over gat, Jeaning back.in a pe Bannerton had seen no n starting up in surprise. It - the strange old man nad € d ha been waiting f Rerurn whence came, misguided This Famous Book Will Cost You Only Fifteen Cents. - ger.” sald the man. in a calm and tone, “and thank God that I have since ceased to kill my fellow be- fore Bannerton made reply to t greeting, so at variance with the gen- eral appesrance of the speaker, a cloud of smoke trailed into the room Instantiy the pld man sprang to his feet with an agflity that was surprising in one so old Fire?” He exclaimed. “The only thing ave feared. Quick,” he cried, in a » and' commanding volce, “‘close the ively, Bannerton obeyed, moving though controlled by some unseen The old man had touched a but- ton, and there was light in the front room. Both saw that the smoke came from the recesses of a large desk that stood in one cormer. The old man hastlly drew wn the curtains, and then turned his ttention to the desk. It took him but a’few moments to pull out several draw- s and pluck forth a plle of smoldering n bandages and old papers. These he stamped upon, and the fire was out. “The: work of mice,” he muttered. are the.plans of men frustrated turned aside by the most insignifi- t creatures. I knew the danger, but I not had the heart to kill them.” - continued to mutter to himself as he sure that the embers were smother- and when he was satisfied he turned attention to Bannerton, who in the antime had aliowed his eyes to wan- ¢k into the inner room. have a keen eye for that which hus m does not concern you,” the old man sud- de remarked, speaking in the tone with which he had first greeted the in- truder; B nerton had now regained his self- composure, from which he. had been shaken by the strange adventure. I have no desire to know more of you,” he retorted, with some heat. ‘I came to render you a favor, and have met with a menace and discourteous words. Show me the door, unless you insist that 1 retire as I came." At the same time he stepped toward thé window do not care to stand in this smudge with a man who fears the light of day and God's fresh air.” Intuitively he had adopted the manner of speech efitting a character in som. old romance, of which the present adven- ture reminded him “Pardon me,” exclaimed the venerable man, using a milder tone than before, . “but you must admit that your entrance was rather abrupt so far as you were concerned, although. I was ready and ex- pecting vou.” “Expecting me!" exclaimed Bannertoa. “And pray how could you have expected a man who less than two minutes befcre started to elimb into your house to wern you that it was burning over your head?’ ““That is something that you would fail to comprehend, should I attempt to an- swer your question,” returned the her- mit, with a smile. “But allow me to ask you a question. Why did you not turn in an alarm of fire? You have al- ways done so before now with eager zest.” The truth of this last assertion had the effect of glving Bannerton a start. What manner of man was this, that sat walting for him and who epoke aloud the very thought that flashed into his mind? But he retained his composure, and replied: “I have known as much of you as the most curious of the people in this city, and that is, that it has been your desire to live in privacy. The rush of the fire- men would have made common property, perhaps, of much that you have desired to keep from the eyes of men. I respect- ed your secret, if you have one, and I say again, I have no desire to know more.” The old man seemed lost in thought for some moments, during which he stroked his beard, and surveyed the yvoung man with a searching glance.’ At last he spoke: ! “If 1 am to belleve what you tell me as to your motive, it is fitting that I should ask of you another favor. It'is that you will never speak to any .ome later of what you may see concerning myself and my surrroundings.” “T give you my word of honor,” re- sponded - Bannerton, promptly. ‘*And now, if.vou will kindly show me the @oor, T will bid you goed-by."” “No,” said the doctor, ‘‘you have come thus far into my life, and you must come a little farther, now- that you have given me the only assurances I asked. I beg of you to remain with me and, partake of some refreshment. A bite to eat and sup to wine cannot fail to be welcome s hour. You are the first man who has done me a disinterested favor in fifty ears; and I have not always lived apart from men With that he motioned Bannerton to be seated, bowed gravely, and retired through an alcove at the farther:end of the room. Left alone, Bannerton for the first time had leisure to look about him. What he saw fllled him with amazement. On every side he was surrounded by treasures of other centuries. A thick coat- ing of dust overlald all, and made dim specimens of art which he knew must retain their original hues, the ancient tapestries, the oriental rugs, the vases on the old mantel-plece. Beneath his feet was a rug. He stoppedand felt of the tex- ture, feeling a thrill as he did so, for it was of silk. Its great size and its qual- ity told him that it had one day graced the palace of a King—none other could have possessed it; this, the life-work of at least three generations. No wonder, thought Bannerton, this man had ex- acted of him a promise of secrecy; there was that surrounding him which would have brought a horde of men clamoring about his doors with money in their hands. On the walls were paintings by old mas- ‘ters—what treasures were hidden away from the grasp of the parvenu and the eyes of true lovers as well. He groaned as he thought of Laurle in his studio, and of the promise that bound himself. There were shélves rich in books—gn- clent tomes, ponderous old volumes, rare parchments, side by side with more mod- ern works in every variety of binding. It was as though he saw centuries of the race gtanding before him in company front—the personified knowledge of-all mankind. ‘He was selzed with a rap- ture béfore this great tréasure—the great- est of all in eyes, the eyes of a young bibHophile, unlearned as yet, but with a. keen desfre. i “Ah!” he exclaimead, I-shall return,” s He now notlced that amidst this mass of treasure, in all its picturesque disorder, there was one place In which there seemed to be some semblance of order, and where dust was absent. It was.on’ “I shall be back. a large oak table that stood In the center of the room, beside which Dr. Dusseidorf had been seated when he was interrupted. On this table were what he recognized as the instruments of the astrologers and alchemists of old. An inkstand of horn, a quill pen near by, and a sheet of freshly written manuscript, showed the doctor to have been at work that night. Scat- tered about on the table were books and parchments, in heaps and plles, apparent- ly in the greatest confusion, but really in what Bannerton knew to be order for the owner. Such a plla may be the ac- complishment of years, a work of art, and, llke many another work of art, it can be destroyed in a moment by some tidy housewife. Awed by all that he saw, confused by the multiplicity of ideas and theories that came to his mind, Bannarton dropped into & chair--a huge, cavernous affair of the sixteenth -century it was—and, with his éibows resting on its carved arms, he stdred about him—at the rugs, “at the paintings, the vases, the statuary, the books, and, laet of all, at the table, with its tell-tale absence of dust, on the outer edge of which staod the inkstand. . He must not tell—he could not, for he had passed his word. But would any ope belfeve him if he should? And yet, what Was there about it that should be doubted —it would merely be new and strange lo those whom he might tell. -Much stranger things he had Himself found in various circles into which he had penetrated. This man led but one life, his own, behind closed doors, while some whom Banner- ton knew led two llves—each a lle by reason of the other. There was no strong motive for any one to.pry into the secrets of Dr. Dusseldorf; neither hate, envy, nor revenge; yet Bannerton and others knew of lives that were forfeit under the primal law that first guarded the sanctity of the home. Bo why was it strange that Dr. Dusseldorf should thus live unknown’ and secure In his retreat? Banfierton's musings . were interrupted by the reap- pearance of his host. “‘Thig 1s indeed a wonderful collection of rare antlquities and modern treasures.” sald Bannerton, rising. “I am over- whelmed with astonishment, I.do not wonder that you wish men not to know." You like the books?" said Dusseldort. !“They thrill you, you wish to. fondl them. Yes, I uséd to have the feeling. No,”” answered Bannerton, boldly. It is the rugs and the paintings. This mag- nificent rug on which—" “Tut, tut,” interrupted the dgctor, hold- — A — Ing up his hands and giving them a dep- recatory wave. ‘The hooks alone, the books entrance you. Do not tell me aught that is not true, for I shall know.” “And pray, sir, with all deference to your age, by what right do you thus ac- cuse me of fajsehood?' answered the younger man, simulating indignation. By communication from you that is 28 plain to me as words, and in a form in-which man has not yet learned to lle. The eyes, the face, and—and—something else. I leave It to yvour honor. Are not the books what you would take, were you free to make a chaice, uninfluenced by hope of money gain A blush surged to the young man’s face. Before he could stammer out a reply the doctor sald: “I am too quick and expect too much. T forgot that the white lie pdsses current for the truth among men. I am wrong. and beg you to pardon my bluntness. But come, a light repast awalts us, and after that you will be free to go to your work, refreshed and prepared for the day's labor. He offered his hand to his guest and led him into an alcove that opened into an- other room. In the middle of this room, which was small and devold of any orna- mentation whatever, there was a small table, at which the doctor and Bannerton seated themgelves. It was covered by a tablecloth of snowy whiteness. Before him Bannerton found a erust of bread and a small open dish filled with salt, one like it being also before the host. “You have no dpubt ajready put me down as a man of many whims and va- garies, but this to me is the most solemn of compacts, because it is the oldest. You may or may not take the obligation as you see fit.”” He then broke the crust of bread, and, taking a pinch of salt between his thumb and forefinger, carried it to his lips. - Bannerton, without the slightest hesitation, and with the utmost gravity. followed his example. 4 “God's will be done!” exclaimed the old man, fervently, and clapped his hands to- gether. Instantly there entered a servant bearing a silver tray. He was a small dark man, and the upper portion of his body was clothed in a white tunic. The black hair, the sharp eyes and the general contour of his countenance proclaimed him of the Malay race. With graceful dexterity he removed the broken bread and the salt and replaced them with the contents of the tray. “¥ou are undoubtedly accustomed to coffee at your morning meal,” said the | “Nlicg of 010 Vincemnes” Mustrated Witk Seones From Virgnia Harueds Great Play, Bogis Oetober 19 | doctor, “but it is something ¥ never use. Howevér, I am sure that you will be compensated for the first dis@ppointment but by the effect of the tea, whici none I Said Abdul there can steep 3 he does. 1t is of a growth which cannot be bmmhf » either here orin China Bannerton expressed his Dk"lfi.‘" at having an opportunity of varyhe 'n.‘ mo- notony of his breakfast, and cfntinued in a vein of conventionality befiting the oc- casion, to which Dr. Dusseldof made no reply beyond a faint smile that had the effect of causing the young man to com to a stop almost abruptly. It was such an odd, queer smile, d Ban was for money alone, thinking of something else while he was talking. el But he s young and r‘\ re. fore hungry. and ry odor that arose from what the Malay had plack L fore him caused hi to fall with further deiay. Just what he was -!dll(:i he did not kmow, for the dishe were wledge tea ex foreign to his kn appetizing, and rance beyond and se Ik . ton devote ) to breakf all the vigor of a hungry young a e i par when you the doctor, his second cup and pushed his chair e movement w “but before you depart you will have time to smoke a cigar. We will return to the room whence we came.” Bannerton was unprepared for the change that greeted him when he re-en tered the great room. The.electric glare from the ceiling had been turned off, and from the oak table a brace of lighted candles cast a mellow radiance over everything, making great, soft shadows. He uttered an exclamation. “This is beautiful,” he added. grand.” “Yes,” assented Dr. Dusseldorf, “it is as it should be. The other light is my daylight; this is my evening. “As you have chosen to take me into your confidence to some extent, you will pardon me If I ask you some questions, said Bannerton, when they had seated themselves. “You ask them in your mind,” returned the doctor, smiling, “and there is no rea- son why you should not voice them. Your first is unimportant. It is idle curlosity to know how I came to have a Kalmuck for' a servant. Know, then, that I own him—bedy and soul.” “And by what right do you hold a slave in this country?” demanded Bannerton. “By the right of the great scar that is across his belly tells him that he was dead, and that I, taking pity, restored him to life that he might be my trusted “It is servant. He speaks and understands English, Gérman and French, and he knows his rights under our laws. But he slightest wil ow me by t subject to my fo is ‘my boy and when I die he wil simple artifice of reopening the great wound which is to him the sign of the miracle by which he now lives. Woe to him who would harm so much as a hair of this white beard and be within knife range of this brown man. Had I so much as wished it, you would have been pinned to the wall by the dagger of Said Abdu —who has yet another name, which none but I must know.” “So you saved is life by a wonderful operation?’ exclaimed Bannerton in ad- miration. “Pah!” exclaimed the old man; “that is what disgusted me with surgery, and the whole maodern cult. My young friend, it was the wonderful operation of a few drops of corrosive sublimate in water. I stitched him up as an indifferent cobbler might have sewed together two s tull-hide, for I was in a hurry. magic water—the antiseptic water—I left with a Chinese coolle to be appiled night and morning. And thus to Said Abdul I became a god, and by the same token I mount high {n your eyes.” “But, surely,” cried Bannerton, “you do -not. hold lightly the accomplishments of modern surgery?” “The results I fully realize. achlevements, by reason of anesthetics and antiseptics, mark a new epoch, and one in which such strides have been made that surgery has becofnie an exact scfence —a triffe beyond the carpenter, not quite 80 far along In manual skill as the wood carver. It should become a trade, with arbitrarily defined limits, like all trades. There {s no great unknown into which one The may advance and éxplore in “quest of knowledge. It was this that caused me to recoll in disgust from further efforts in a profession in which honors are heap- ed on those who cut with daring and a supple wrist, whi ers are the reward of those who rea to study and treat that great component of the body—the mind."” The old man paused, and Bannerton > 5 made no reply, him to his own reflections for e moments. 3 “Yes he continued, “I decided to re- tire from further surgical practice and be- gn the study of diseases which I felt certain were to be reached only through the mind the sufferers. 1 had, partly by inherita a partly by my own ef- forts, become possessed of more money than I could hope to expend in a life- time; so I resolved to retire to some place where I could have perfect seclusion and study the workings of the human mind. The country is the home gossip and curiesity, a place where every one has "time to indulge in one and satisty the ot So I chose. this Western city in the . center of North America, where every one is so busy advancing his own interests that no one has time t ncern himself about a neignbor who can apparen be of little profit as an acquaintance. I have - found solitude here, and I have been happy, ex- cepting for the thought that the great work I have begun is o just begun, while my life is drawing to an end—a score of years more at the most.” “And what this great work?” asked Bannerton boldly, for he had already learned to be frank with this = strange man. “The mind—the anatomy of the mind,™ answered Dr. Dusseldorf. “Its subordi- nation to the body amo the possibilities in g men now, and direction— of the other the almost complete effacement of the 1 me the body by the development lec- tual. You would think told you that I had sat in this room for sixty daj and water. But Sald Abd marvels not, for he knows. And,” added the oid man, tapping a musty volume that lay on the table before him, “locked iq® here is evidence of things even stranger to our Western civilt ins knows, a *“There are certain strange things, even In the West, served Bannerton, earnestly. “You refer to this paltry mystery,” said Dr. Dusseldorf, with a sweep of his arms. “An old man, living alone in a house like this, surrounded by what you abe you. These are the relics of a material period of my life e see They gave me one the great pleasures of man—the pleasure of possession, of owning. I would give it all to find the ke any one of a dozen mysteriés that confront me. But there is no end to this study. The body I8 finite, the mind i and therefore without limit or bour y “And what d0 you expeéct to plish?" asked the younger man. great attainments, you have made a he: mit of yourself and robbed the world of much good that you might have done.,” “The good that I have failed to do has been done by others. I hope to compen- sate for this by the great good that [ shall do for mankind with what I shall leave behind me. The greatest of . all pleasures is In doing. in accomplishing. There Is also a great and glorious. p ure in knowledge. It'is a keen and selfish pleasure; It thrills. me, for I do know Sneer as we may at the cloistered men of old, at the wise men, of ghe East, there was something in an art that heid men Other Popular Works of Standard Fiction to Follow.