The Green Mouse
"Well," she said, at length, "I might as well face it at once. If there's
anything in this instrument we'll all know it pretty soon. Turn on your
receiver, Billy."
"Oh," cried Linda, tearfully, "don't you do it, William!"
"Turn it on," repeated Sacharissa. "I'm not going to be a coward and
break faith with myself, and you both know it! If I've got to go through
the silliness of love and marriage I might as well know who the bandarlog
is to be.... Anyway, I don't really believe in this thing.... I can't
believe in it.... Besides, I've a mind and a will of my own, and I fancy
it will require more than amateur psychical experiments to change either.
Go on, Billy."
"You mean it?" he asked, secretly gratified.
"Certainly," with superb affectation of indifference. And she rose and
faced the instrument.
Destyn looked at his wife. He was dying to try it.
"Will!" she exclaimed, "suppose we are not going to like Rissa's possible
f--fiance! Suppose father doesn't like him!"
"You'll all probably like him as well as I shall," said her sister
defiantly. "Willy, stop making frightened eyes at your wife and start
your infernal machine!"
There was a vicious click, a glitter of shifting clockwork, a snap, and
it was done.
"Have you now, _theoretically_, got my psychical current bottled up?" she
asked disdainfully. But her lip trembled a little.
He nodded, looking very seriously at her.
"And now you are going to switch me on to this unknown gentleman's
psychical current?"
"Don't let him!" begged Linda. "Billy, dear, how _can_ you when nobody
has the faintest idea who the creature may turn out to be!"
"Go ahead!" interrupted her sister, masking misgiving under a careless
smile.
Click! Up shot the glittering, quivering tentacle of Rosium, vibrating
for a few moments like a thread of silver. Suddenly it was tipped with a
blue flash of incandescence.
"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! There he is!" cried Linda, excitedly. "Rissy! Rissy,
little sister, _what_ have you done?"
"Nothing," she said, catching her breath. "I don't believe that flash
means anything. I don't feel a bit different--not the least bit. I feel
perfectly well and perfectly calm. I don't love anybody and I'm not going
to love anybody--until I want to, and that will probably never happen."
However, she permitted her sister to take her in her arms and pet her. It
was rather curious how exceedingly young and inexperienced she felt. She
found it agreeable to be fussed over and comforted and cradled, and for a
few moments she suffered Linda's solicitude and misgivings in silence.
After a while, however, she became ashamed.
"Nothing is going to happen, Linda," she said, looking dreamily up at the
ceiling; "don't worry, dear; I shall escape the bandarlog."
"If something doesn't happen," observed Destyn, pocketing his instrument,
"the Green Mouse, Limited, will go into liquidation with no liabilities
and no assets, and there'll be no billions for you or for me or for
anybody."
"William," said his wife, "do you place a low desire for money before
your own sister-in-law's spiritual happiness?"
"No, darling, of course not."
"Then you and I had better pray for the immediate bankruptcy of the Green
Mouse."
Her husband said, "By all means," without enthusiasm, and looked out of
the window. "Still," he added, "I made a happy marriage. I'm for wedding
bells every time. Sacharissa will like it, too. I don't know why you and
I shouldn't be enthusiastic optimists concerning wedded life; I can't see
why we shouldn't pray for Sacharissa's early marriage."
"William!"
"Yes, darling."
"You _are_ considering money before my sister's happiness!"
"But in her case I don't see why we can't conscientiously consider both."
Linda cast one tragic glance at her material husband, pushed her sister
aside, arose and fled. After her sped the contrite Destyn; a distant door
shut noisily; all the elements had gathered for the happy, first quarrel
of the newly wedded.
"Fudge," said Sacharissa, walking to the window, slim hands clasped
loosely behind her back.
VI
IN WRONG
_Wherein Sacharissa Remains In and a Young Man Can't Get Out_
The snowstorm had ceased; across Fifth Avenue the Park resembled the
mica-incrusted view on an expensive Christmas card. Every limb, branch,
and twig was outlined in clinging snow; crystals of it glittered under
the morning sun; brilliantly dressed children, with sleds, romped and
played over the dazzling expanse. Overhead the characteristic deep blue
arch of a New York sky spread untroubled by a cloud. Her family--that is,
her father, brother-in-law, married sister, three unmarried sisters and
herself--were expecting to leave for Tuxedo about noon. Why? Nobody knows
why the wealthy are always going somewhere. However, they do, fortunately
for story writers.
"It's quite as beautiful here," thought Sacharissa to herself, "as it is
in the country. I'm sorry I'm going."
Idling there by the sunny window and gazing out into the white expanse,
she had already dismissed all uneasiness in her mind concerning the
psychical experiment upon herself. That is to say, she had not exactly
dismissed it, she used no conscious effort, it had gone of itself--or,
rather, it had been crowded out, dominated by a sudden and strong
disinclination to go to Tuxedo.
As she stood there the feeling grew and persisted, and, presently, she
found herself repeating aloud: "I don't want to go, I _don't_ want to go.
It's stupid to go. Why should I go when it's stupid to go and I'd rather
stay here?"
Meanwhile, Ethelinda and Destyn were having a classical reconciliation in
a distant section of the house, and the young wife had got as far as:
"Darling, I am _so_ worried about Rissa. I _do_ wish she were not going
to Tuxedo. There are so many attractive men expected at the Courlands'."
"She can't escape men anywhere, can she?"
"N-no; but there will be a concentration of particularly good-looking and
undesirable ones at Tuxedo this week. That idle, horrid, cynical crowd is
coming from Long Island, and I _don't_ want her to marry any of them."
"Well, then, make her stay at home."
"She wants to go."
"What's the good of an older sister if you can't make her mind you?" he
asked.
"She won't. She's set her heart on going. All those boisterous winter
sports appeal to her. Besides, how can one member of the family be absent
on New Year's Day?"
Arm in arm they strolled out into the great living room, where a large,
pompous, vividly colored gentleman was laying down the law to the
triplets--three very attractive young girls, dressed precisely alike, who
said, "Yes, pa-_pah!_" and "No pa-_pah!_" in a grave and silvery-voiced
chorus whenever filial obligation required it.
"And another thing," continued the pudgy and vivid old gentleman, whose
voice usually ended in a softly mellifluous shout when speaking
emphatically: "that worthless Westbury--Cedarhurst--Jericho--
Meadowbrook set are going to be in evidence at this housewarming, and I
caution you now against paying anything but the slightest, most
superficial and most frivolous attention to anything that any of those
young whip-snapping, fox-hunting cubs may say to you. Do you hear?" with
a mellow shout like a French horn on a touring car.
"Yes, pa-_pah!_"
The old gentleman waved his single eyeglass in token of dismissal, and
looked at his watch.
"The bus is here," he said fussily. "Come on, Will; come, Linda, and you,
Flavilla, Drusilla, and Sybilla, get your furs on. Don't take the
elevator. Go down by the stairs, and hurry! If there's one thing in this
world I won't do it is to wait for anybody on earth!"
Flunkies and maids flew distractedly about with fur coats, muffs, and
stoles. In solemn assemblage the family expedition filed past the
elevator, descended the stairs to the lower hall, and there drew up for
final inspection.
A mink-infested footman waited outside; valets, butlers, second-men and
maids came to attention.
"Where's Sacharissa?" demanded Mr. Carr, sonorously.
"Here, dad," said his oldest daughter, strolling calmly into the hall,
hands still linked loosely behind her.
"Why haven't you got your hat and furs on?" demanded her father.
"Because I'm not going, dad," she said sweetly.
The family eyed her in amazement.
"Not going?" shouted her father, in a mellow bellow. "Yes, you are! Not
_going!_ And why the dickens not?"
"I really don't know, dad," she said listlessly. "I don't want to go."
Her father waved both pudgy arms furiously. "Don't you feel well? You
look well. You _are_ well. Don't you _feel_ well?"
"Perfectly."
"No, you don't! You're pale! You're pallid! You're peaked! Take a tonic
and lie down. Send your maid for some doctors--all kinds of doctors--and
have them fix you up. Then come to Tuxedo with your maid to-morrow
morning. Do you hear?"
"Very well, dad."
"And keep out of that elevator until it's fixed. It's likely to do
anything. Ferdinand," to the man at the door, "have it fixed at once.
Sacharissa, send that maid of yours for a doctor!"
"Very well, dad!"
She presented her cheek to her emphatic parent; he saluted it
explosively, wheeled, marshaled the family at a glance, started them
forward, and closed the rear with his own impressive person. The iron
gates clanged, the door of the opera bus snapped, and Sacharissa strolled
back into the rococo reception room not quite certain why she had not
gone, not quite convinced that she was feeling perfectly well.
For the first few minutes her face had been going hot and cold,
alternately flushed and pallid. Her heart, too, was acting in an unusual
manner--making sufficient stir for her to become uneasily aware of it.
"Probably," she thought to herself, "I've eaten too many chocolates." She
looked into the large gilded box, took another and ate it reflectively.
A curious languor possessed her. To combat it she rang for her maid,
intending to go for a brisk walk, but the weight of the furs seemed to
distress her. It was absurd. She threw them off and sat down in the
library.
A little while later her maid found her lying there, feet crossed, arms
stretched backward to form a cradle for her head.
"Are you ill, Miss Carr?"
"No," said Sacharissa.
The maid cast an alarmed glance at her mistress' pallid face.
"Would you see Dr. Blimmer, miss?"
"No."
The maid hesitated:
"Beg pardon, but Mr. Carr said you was to see some doctors."
"Very well," she said indifferently. "And please hand me those
chocolates. I don't care for any luncheon."
"No luncheon, miss?" in consternation.
Sacharissa had never been known to shun sustenance.
The symptom thoroughly frightened her maid, and in a few minutes she had
Dr. Blimmer's office on the telephone; but that eminent practitioner was
out. Then she found in succession the offices of Doctors White, Black,
and Gray. Two had gone away over New Year's, the other was out.
The maid, who was clever and resourceful, went out to hunt up a doctor.
There are, in the cross streets, plenty of doctors between the Seventies
and Eighties. She found one without difficulty--that is, she found the
sign in the window, but the doctor was out on his visits.
She made two more attempts with similar results, then, discovering a
doctor's sign in a window across the street, started for it regardless of
snowdrifts, and at the same moment the doctor's front door opened and a
young man, with a black leather case in his hand, hastily descended the
icy steps and hurried away up the street.
The maid ran after him and arrived at his side breathless, excited:
"Oh, _could_ you come--just for a moment, if you please, sir! Miss Carr
won't eat her luncheon!"
"What!" said the young man, surprised.