The Green Mouse
Brown only gazed at him and then at the sky.
"Stop it!" repeated Smith, astonished. "Why do you pinch me and then look
at the sky? Is--is a monoplane attempting to alight on me? _What_ is the
matter with you, anyway?"
"That peculiar consciousness," said Brown, dreamily, "is creeping over
me. Don't move--don't speak--don't interrupt me, Smith."
"Let go of me!" retorted Smith.
"Hush! Wait! It's certainly creeping over me."
"What's creeping over you?"
"You know what I mean. I am experiencing that strange feeling that all--
er--all _this_--has happened before."
"All what?--confound it!"
"All _this!_ My standing, on a hot summer day, in the infernal din of
some great city; and--and I seem to recall it vividly--after a fashion--
the blazing sun, the stifling odor of the pavements; I seem to remember
that very hackman over there sponging the nose of his horse--even that
pushcart piled up with peaches! Smith! What is this maddeningly elusive
memory that haunts me--haunts me with the peculiar idea that it has all
occurred before?... Do you know what I mean?"
"I've just admitted to you that everybody has that sort of fidget
occasionally, and there's no reason to stand on your hindlegs about it.
Come on or we'll miss our train."
But Beekman Brown remained stock still, his youthful and attractive
features puckered in a futile effort to seize the evanescent memories
that came swarming--gnatlike memories that teased and distracted.
"It's as if the entire circumstances were strangely familiar," he said;
"as though everything that you and I do and say had once before been done
and said by us under precisely similar conditions--somewhere--sometime."
"We'll miss that boat at the foot of Forty-second Street," cut in Smith
impatiently. "And if we miss the boat we lose our train."
Brown gazed skyward.
"I never felt this feeling so strongly in all my life," he muttered;
"it's--it's astonishing. Why, Smith, I _knew_ you were going to say
that."
"Say what?" demanded Smith.
"That we would miss the boat and the train. Isn't it funny?"
"Oh, very. I'll say it again sometime if it amuses you; but, meanwhile,
as we're going to that week-end at the Carringtons we'd better get into a
taxi and hustle for the foot of West Forty-second Street. Is there
anything very funny in that?"
"I knew _that_, too. I knew you'd say we must take a taxi!" insisted
Brown, astonished at his own "clairvoyance."
"Now, look here," retorted Smith, thoroughly vexed; "up to five minutes
ago you were reasonable. What the devil's the matter with you, Beekman
Brown?"
"James Vanderdynk Smith, I don't know. Good Heavens! I knew you were
going to say that to me, and that I was going to answer that way!"
"Are you coming or are you going to talk foolish on this broiling
curbstone the rest of the afternoon?" inquired Smith, fiercely.
"Jim, I tell you that everything we've done and said in the last five
minutes we have done and said before--somewhere--perhaps on some other
planet; perhaps centuries ago when you and I were Romans and wore
togas----"
"Confound it! What do I care," shouted Smith, "whether we were Romans and
wore togas? We are due this century at a house party on this planet. They
expect us on this train. Are you coming? If not--kindly relax that
crablike clutch on my elbow before partial paralysis ensues."
"Smith, wait! I tell you this is somehow becoming strangely portentous.
I've got the funniest sensation that something is going to happen to me."
"It will," said Smith, dangerously, "if you don't let go my elbow."
But Beekman Brown, a prey to increasing excitement, clung to his friend.
"Wait just one moment, Jim; something remarkable is likely to occur! I--I
never before felt this way--so strongly--in all my life. Something
extraordinary is certainly about to happen to me."
"It has happened," said his friend, coldly; "you've gone dippy. Also,
we've lost that train. Do you understand?"
"I knew we would. Isn't that curious? I--I believe I can almost tell you
what else is going to happen to us."
"_I'll_ tell _you_," hissed Smith; "it's an ambulance for yours and ding-
dong to the funny-house! _What_ are you trying to do now?" With real
misgiving, for Brown, balanced on the edge of the gutter, began waving
his arms in a birdlike way as though about to launch himself into aerial
flight across Forty-second Street.
"The car!" he exclaimed excitedly, "the cherry-colored cross-town car!
Where is it? Do you see it anywhere, Smith?"
"What? What do you mean? There's no cross-town car in sight. Brown, don't
act like that! Don't be foolish! What on earth----"
"It's coming! There's a car coming!" cried Brown.
"Do you think you're a racing runabout and I'm a curve?"
Brown waved him away impatiently.
"I tell you that something most astonishing is going to occur--in a
cherry-colored tram car.... And somehow there'll be some reason for me to
get into it."
"Into what?"
"Into that cherry-colored car, because--because--there'll be a wicker
basket in it--somebody holding a wicker basket--and there'll be--there'll
be--a--a--white summer gown--and a big white hat----"
Smith stared at his friend in grief and amazement. Brown stood balancing
himself on the gutter's edge, pale, rapt, uttering incoherent prophecy
concerning the advent of a car not yet visible anywhere in the immediate
metropolitan vista.
"Old man," began Smith with emotion, "I think you had better come very
quietly somewhere with me. I--I want to show you something pretty and
nice."
"Hark!" exclaimed Brown.
"Sure, I'll hark for you," said Smith, soothingly, "or I'll bark for you
if you like, or anything if you'll just come quietly."
"The cherry-colored car!" cried Brown, laboring under tremendous emotion.
"Look, Smithy! That is the car!"
"Sure, it is! I see it, old man. They run 'em every five minutes. What
the devil is there to astonish anybody about a cross-town cruiser with a
red water line?"
"Look!" insisted Brown, now almost beside himself. "The wicker basket!
The summer gown! Exactly as I foretold it! The big straw hat!--the--the
_girl!_"
And shoving Smith violently away he galloped after the cherry-colored
car, caught it, swung himself aboard, and sank triumphant and breathless
into the transverse seat behind that occupied by a wicker basket, a filmy
summer frock, a big, white straw hat, and--a girl--the most amazingly
pretty girl he had ever laid eyes on. After him, headlong, like a
distracted chicken, rushed Smith and alighted beside him, panting,
menacing.
"Wha'--dyeh--board--this--car--for!" he gasped, sliding fiercely up
beside Brown. "Get off or I'll drag you off!"
But Brown only shook his head with an infatuated smile.
"Is it that girl?" said Smith, incensed. "Are you a--a Broadway Don Juan,
or are you a respectable lawyer with a glimmering sense of common decency
and an intention to keep a social engagement at the Carringtons' to-day?"
And Smith drew out his timepiece and flourished it furiously under
Brown's handsome and sun-tanned nose.
But Brown only slid along the seat away from him, saying:
"Don't bother me, Jim; this is too momentous a crisis in my life to have
a well-intentioned but intellectually dwarfed friend butting into me and
running about under foot."
"Intellectually d-d--do you mean _me?_" asked Smith, unable to believe
his ears. "_Do_ you?"
"Yes, I do! Because a miracle suddenly happens to me on Forty-second
Street, and you, with your mind of a stockbroker, unable to appreciate
it, come clattering and clamoring after me about a house party--a common-
place, every-day, social appointment, when I have a full-blown miracle on
my hands!"
"What miracle?" faltered Smith, stupefied.
"What miracle? Haven't I been telling you that I've been having that
queer sense that all this has happened before? Didn't I suddenly begin--
as though compelled by some unseen power--to foretell things? Didn't I
prophesy the coming of this cross-town car? Didn't I even name its color
before it came into sight? Didn't I warn you that I'd probably get into
it? Didn't I reveal to you that a big straw hat and a pretty summer
gown----"
"Confound it!" almost shouted Smith, "There are about five thousand
cherry-colored cross-town cars in this town. There are about five million
white hats and dresses in this borough. There are five billion girls
wearing 'em----!" "Yes; but the _wicker basket_" breathed Brown. "How do
you account for _that?_... And, anyway, you annoy me, Smith. Why don't
you get out of the car and go somewhere?"
"I want to know where you are going before I knock your head off."
"I don't know," replied Brown, serenely.
"Are you actually attempting to follow that girl?" whispered Smith,
horrified.
"Yes.... It sounds low, doesn't it? But it really isn't. It is something
I can't explain--you couldn't understand even if I tried to enlighten
you. The sentiment I harbor is too lofty for some to comprehend, too
vague, too pure, too ethereal for----"
"I'm as lofty and ethereal as you are!" retorted Smith, hotly. "And I
know a--an ethereal Lothario when I see him, too!"
"I'm not--though it looks like it--and I forgive you, Smithy, for losing
your temper and using such language."
"Oh, you do?" said Smith, grinning with rage.
"Yes," nodded Brown, kindly. "I forgive you, but don't call me that
again. You mean well, but I'm going to find out at last what all this
maddening, tantalizing, unexplained and mysterious feeling that it all
has occurred before really is. I'm going to trace it to its source; I'm
going to compare notes with this highly intelligent girl."
"You're going to _speak_ to her?"
"I am. I must. How else can I compare data."
"I hope she'll call the police. If she doesn't _I_ will."
"Don't worry. She's part of this strange situation. She'll comprehend as
soon as I begin to explain. She is intelligent; you only have to look at
her to understand that."
Smith choking with impotent fury, nevertheless ventured a swift glance.
Her undeniable beauty only exasperated him. "To think--to _think_," he
burst out, "that a modest, decent, law-loving business man like me should
suddenly awake to find his boyhood friend had turned into a godless
votary of Venus!"
"I'm not a votary of Venus!" retorted Brown, turning pink. "I'll punch
you if you say it again. I'm as decent and respectable a business man as
you are! And my grammar is better. And, thank Heaven! I've intellect
enough to recognize a miracle when it happens to me.... Do you think I am
capable of harboring any sentiments that might bring the blush of
coquetry to the cheek of modesty? Do you?"
"Well--well, _I_ don't know what you're up to!" Smith raised his voice in
bewilderment and despair. "I don't know what possesses you to act this
way. People don't experience miracles in New York cross-town cars. The
wildest stretch of imagination could only make a coincidence out of this.
There are trillions of girls in cross-town cars dressed just like this
one."
"But the basket!"
"Another coincidence. There are quadrillions of wicker baskets."
"Not," said Brown, "with the contents of this one."
"Why not?"
Smith instinctively turned to look at the basket balanced daintily on the
girl's knees.
He strove to penetrate its wicker exterior with concentrated gaze. He
could see nothing but wicker.
"Well," he began angrily, "what _is_ in that basket? And how do _you_
know it--you lunatic?"
"Will you believe me if I tell you?"
"If you can offer any corroborative evidence----"
"Well, then--there's a cat in that basket."
"A--what?"
"A cat."
"How do you know?"
"I don't know how I know, but there's a big, gray cat in that basket."
"Why a _gray_ one?"