The Confidence-Man: His Masquerade
sort of slur upon the candle-maker, to that degree that he refused to
believe that the candle-maker himself had composed it, charging Old
Plain Talk with the authorship, alleging that the internal evidence
showed that none but that veteran old croaker could have penned such a
jeremiade--yet, for all this, the stone stood. In everything, of course,
Old Plain Talk was seconded by Old Prudence; who, one day going to the
grave-yard, in great-coat and over-shoes--for, though it was a sunshiny
morning, he thought that, owing to heavy dews, dampness might lurk in
the ground--long stood before the stone, sharply leaning over on his
staff, spectacles on nose, spelling out the epitaph word by word; and,
afterwards meeting Old Plain Talk in the street, gave a great rap with
his stick, and said: 'Friend, Plain Talk, that epitaph will do very
well. Nevertheless, one short sentence is wanting.' Upon which, Plain
Talk said it was too late, the chiseled words being so arranged, after
the usual manner of such inscriptions, that nothing could be interlined.
Then,' said Old Prudence, 'I will put it in the shape of a postscript.'
Accordingly, with the approbation of Old Plain Talk, he had the
following words chiseled at the left-hand corner of the stone, and
pretty low down:
'The root of all was a friendly loan.'"
CHAPTER XLI.
ENDING WITH A RUPTURE OF THE HYPOTHESIS.
"With what heart," cried Frank, still in character, "have you told me
this story? A story I can no way approve; for its moral, if accepted,
would drain me of all reliance upon my last stay, and, therefore, of my
last courage in life. For, what was that bright view of China Aster but
a cheerful trust that, if he but kept up a brave heart, worked hard, and
ever hoped for the best, all at last would go well? If your purpose,
Charlie, in telling me this story, was to pain me, and keenly, you have
succeeded; but, if it was to destroy my last confidence, I praise God
you have not."
"Confidence?" cried Charlie, who, on his side, seemed with his whole
heart to enter into the spirit of the thing, "what has confidence to do
with the matter? That moral of the story, which I am for commending to
you, is this: the folly, on both sides, of a friend's helping a friend.
For was not that loan of Orchis to China Aster the first step towards
their estrangement? And did it not bring about what in effect was the
enmity of Orchis? I tell you, Frank, true friendship, like other
precious things, is not rashly to be meddled with. And what more
meddlesome between friends than a loan? A regular marplot. For how can
you help that the helper must turn out a creditor? And creditor and
friend, can they ever be one? no, not in the most lenient case; since,
out of lenity to forego one's claim, is less to be a friendly creditor
than to cease to be a creditor at all. But it will not do to rely upon
this lenity, no, not in the best man; for the best man, as the worst, is
subject to all mortal contingencies. He may travel, he may marry, he may
join the Come-Outers, or some equally untoward school or sect, not to
speak of other things that more or less tend to new-cast the character.
And were there nothing else, who shall answer for his digestion, upon
which so much depends?"
"But Charlie, dear Charlie----"
"Nay, wait.--You have hearkened to my story in vain, if you do not see
that, however indulgent and right-minded I may seem to you now, that is
no guarantee for the future. And into the power of that uncertain
personality which, through the mutability of my humanity, I may
hereafter become, should not common sense dissuade you, my dear Frank,
from putting yourself? Consider. Would you, in your present need, be
willing to accept a loan from a friend, securing him by a mortgage on
your homestead, and do so, knowing that you had no reason to feel
satisfied that the mortgage might not eventually be transferred into the
hands of a foe? Yet the difference between this man and that man is not
so great as the difference between what the same man be to-day and what
he may be in days to come. For there is no bent of heart or turn of
thought which any man holds by virtue of an unalterable nature or will.
Even those feelings and opinions deemed most identical with eternal
right and truth, it is not impossible but that, as personal persuasions,
they may in reality be but the result of some chance tip of Fate's elbow
in throwing her dice. For, not to go into the first seeds of things, and
passing by the accident of parentage predisposing to this or that habit
of mind, descend below these, and tell me, if you change this man's
experiences or that man's books, will wisdom go surety for his unchanged
convictions? As particular food begets particular dreams, so particular
experiences or books particular feelings or beliefs. I will hear nothing
of that fine babble about development and its laws; there is no
development in opinion and feeling but the developments of time and
tide. You may deem all this talk idle, Frank; but conscience bids me
show you how fundamental the reasons for treating you as I do."
"But Charlie, dear Charlie, what new notions are these? I thought that
man was no poor drifting weed of the universe, as you phrased it; that,
if so minded, he could have a will, a way, a thought, and a heart of his
own? But now you have turned everything upside down again, with an
inconsistency that amazes and shocks me."
"Inconsistency? Bah!"
"There speaks the ventriloquist again," sighed Frank, in bitterness.
Illy pleased, it may be, by this repetition of an allusion little
flattering to his originality, however much so to his docility, the
disciple sought to carry it off by exclaiming: "Yes, I turn over day and
night, with indefatigable pains, the sublime pages of my master, and
unfortunately for you, my dear friend, I find nothing _there_ that leads
me to think otherwise than I do. But enough: in this matter the
experience of China Aster teaches a moral more to the point than
anything Mark Winsome can offer, or I either."
"I cannot think so, Charlie; for neither am I China Aster, nor do I
stand in his position. The loan to China Aster was to extend his
business with; the loan I seek is to relieve my necessities."
"Your dress, my dear Frank, is respectable; your cheek is not gaunt. Why
talk of necessities when nakedness and starvation beget the only real
necessities?"
"But I need relief, Charlie; and so sorely, that I now conjure you to
forget that I was ever your friend, while I apply to you only as a
fellow-being, whom, surely, you will not turn away."
"That I will not. Take off your hat, bow over to the ground, and
supplicate an alms of me in the way of London streets, and you shall not
be a sturdy beggar in vain. But no man drops pennies into the hat of a
friend, let me tell you. If you turn beggar, then, for the honor of
noble friendship, I turn stranger."
"Enough," cried the other, rising, and with a toss of his shoulders
seeming disdainfully to throw off the character he had assumed.
"Enough. I have had my fill of the philosophy of Mark Winsome as put
into action. And moonshiny as it in theory may be, yet a very practical
philosophy it turns out in effect, as he himself engaged I should find.
But, miserable for my race should I be, if I thought he spoke truth when
he claimed, for proof of the soundness of his system, that the study of
it tended to much the same formation of character with the experiences
of the world.--Apt disciple! Why wrinkle the brow, and waste the oil
both of life and the lamp, only to turn out a head kept cool by the
under ice of the heart? What your illustrious magian has taught you, any
poor, old, broken-down, heart-shrunken dandy might have lisped. Pray,
leave me, and with you take the last dregs of your inhuman philosophy.
And here, take this shilling, and at the first wood-landing buy yourself
a few chips to warm the frozen natures of you and your philosopher by."
With these words and a grand scorn the cosmopolitan turned on his heel,
leaving his companion at a loss to determine where exactly the
fictitious character had been dropped, and the real one, if any,
resumed. If any, because, with pointed meaning, there occurred to him,
as he gazed after the cosmopolitan, these familiar lines:
"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players,
Who have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts."
CHAPTER XLII.
UPON THE HEEL OF THE LAST SCENE THE COSMOPOLITAN ENTERS THE BARBER'S
SHOP, A BENEDICTION ON HIS LIPS.
"Bless you, barber!"
Now, owing to the lateness of the hour, the barber had been all alone
until within the ten minutes last passed; when, finding himself rather
dullish company to himself, he thought he would have a good time with
Souter John and Tam O'Shanter, otherwise called Somnus and Morpheus, two
very good fellows, though one was not very bright, and the other an
arrant rattlebrain, who, though much listened to by some, no wise man
would believe under oath.
In short, with back presented to the glare of his lamps, and so to the
door, the honest barber was taking what are called cat-naps, and
dreaming in his chair; so that, upon suddenly hearing the benediction
above, pronounced in tones not unangelic, starting up, half awake, he
stared before him, but saw nothing, for the stranger stood behind. What
with cat-naps, dreams, and bewilderments, therefore, the voice seemed a
sort of spiritual manifestation to him; so that, for the moment, he
stood all agape, eyes fixed, and one arm in the air.
"Why, barber, are you reaching up to catch birds there with salt?"
"Ah!" turning round disenchanted, "it is only a man, then."
"_Only_ a man? As if to be but a man were nothing. But don't be too sure
what I am. You call me _man_, just as the townsfolk called the angels
who, in man's form, came to Lot's house; just as the Jew rustics called
the devils who, in man's form, haunted the tombs. You can conclude
nothing absolute from the human form, barber."
"But I can conclude something from that sort of talk, with that sort of
dress," shrewdly thought the barber, eying him with regained
self-possession, and not without some latent touch of apprehension at
being alone with him. What was passing in his mind seemed divined by the
other, who now, more rationally and gravely, and as if he expected it
should be attended to, said: "Whatever else you may conclude upon, it is
my desire that you conclude to give me a good shave," at the same time
loosening his neck-cloth. "Are you competent to a good shave, barber?"
"No broker more so, sir," answered the barber, whom the business-like
proposition instinctively made confine to business-ends his views of the
visitor.
"Broker? What has a broker to do with lather? A broker I have always
understood to be a worthy dealer in certain papers and metals."
"He, he!" taking him now for some dry sort of joker, whose jokes, he
being a customer, it might be as well to appreciate, "he, he! You
understand well enough, sir. Take this seat, sir," laying his hand on a
great stuffed chair, high-backed and high-armed, crimson-covered, and
raised on a sort of dais, and which seemed but to lack a canopy and
quarterings, to make it in aspect quite a throne, "take this seat, sir."
"Thank you," sitting down; "and now, pray, explain that about the
broker. But look, look--what's this?" suddenly rising, and pointing,
with his long pipe, towards a gilt notification swinging among colored
fly-papers from the ceiling, like a tavern sign, "_No Trust?_" "No trust
means distrust; distrust means no confidence. Barber," turning upon him
excitedly, "what fell suspiciousness prompts this scandalous confession?