ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cid, by Pierre CorneilleThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under theterms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: The CidAuthor: Pierre CorneilleRelease Date: February 7, 2005 [EBook #14954]Language: English*** START OFTHIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CID ***Produced by David Garcia, Branko Collin and the Online DistributedProofreading Team.[Transcriber's note: This text is no longer copyrighted; originalcopyright notepreserved for accuracy.]Handy Literal TranslationsCORNEILLE'STHE CIDA Literal Translation, byROSCOE MONGAN1896, BY HINDS & NOBLEHINDS, NOBLE & ELDREDGE, Publishers,31-33-35 West Fifteenth Street, NewYork CityPREFACE.Cid Campeador is the name given in histories, traditions and songs tothe most celebrated of Spain's national heroes.His real name was Rodrigo or Ruy Diaz (i.e. "son of Diego"), aCastilian noble bybirth. He was born at Burgos about the year 1040.There is so much of the mythical in the history of this personage thathypercritical writers, such as Masdeu, have doubted his existence; butrecent researches havesucceeded in separating the historical from theromantic.Under Sancho II, son of Ferdinand, he served as commander of the royaltroops. In a war between the two brothers, Sancho II. and Alfonso VI. ofLeon, due tosome dishonorable stratagem on the part of Rodrigo, Sanchowas victorious and his brother was forced to seek refuge with theMoorish King of Toledo.In 1072 Sancho was assassinated at the siege of Zamora, and as heleftno heir the Castilians had to acknowledge Alfonso as King. AlthoughAlfonso never forgave the Cid for having, as leader of the Castilians,compelled him to swear that he (the Cid) had no hand in the murder ofhisbrother Sancho, as a conciliatory measure, he gave his cousinXimena, daughter of the Count of Oviedo, to the Cid in marriage, butafterwards, in 1081, when he found himself firmly seated on the throne,yielding to hisown feelings of resentment and incited by the Leonesenobles, he banished him from the kingdom.At the head of a large body of followers, the Cid joined the MoorishKing of Saragossa, in whose service he fought againstboth Moslems andChristians. It was probably during this exile that he was first calledthe Cid, an Arabic title, which means the _lord_. He was verysuccessful in all his battles.In conjunction with Mostain, grandson ofMoctadir, he invaded Valenciain 1088, but afterwards carried on operations alone, and finally, aftera long siege, made himself master of the city in June, 1094. He retainedpossession of Valencia for five years andreigned like an independentsovereign over one of the richest territories in the Peninsula, but diedsuddenly in 1099 of anger and grief on hearing that his relative, AlvarFaÃ±ez, had been vanquished and the army whichhe had sent to hisassistance had been defeated.After the Cid's death his wife held Valencia till 1102, when she wasobliged to yield to the Almoravides and fly to Castile, where she diedin 1104. Her remains were placedby those of her lord in the monasteryof San Pedro de CardeÃ±a.THE CID.ACT THE FIRST.Scene I.--CHIMÃNE and ELVIRA._ChimÃ¨ne._ Elvira, have you given me a really true report? Do youconceal nothing that myfather has said?_Elvira._ All my feelings within me are still delighted with it. Heesteems Rodrigo as much as you love him; and if I do not misread hismind, he will command you to respond to his passion._ChimÃ¨ne._Tell me then, I beseech you, a second time, what makes youbelieve that he approves of my choice; tell me anew what hope I ought toentertain from it. A discourse so charming cannot be too often heard;you cannot tooforcibly promise to the fervor of our love the sweetliberty of manifesting itself to the light of day. What answer has hegiven regarding the secret suit which Don Sancho and Don Rodrigo arepaying to you? Have you nottoo clearly shown the disparity between thetwo lovers which inclines me to the one side?_Elvira._ No; I have depicted your heart as filled with anindifference which elates not either of them nor destroys hope,and,without regarding them with too stern or too gentle an aspect, awaits thecommands of a father to choose a spouse. This respect has delightedhim--his lips and his countenance gave me at once a worthy testimonyofit; and, since I must again tell you the tale, this is what he hastenedto say to me of them and of you: 'She is in the right. Both are worthyof her; both are sprung from a noble, valiant, and faithful lineage;young butyet who show by their mien [_lit._ cause to easily be readin their eyes] the brilliant valor of their brave ancestors. Don Rodrigo,above all, has no feature in his face which is not the noble [_lit._high] representative of aman of courage [_lit._ heart], and descendsfrom a house so prolific in warriors, that they enter into life [_lit._take birth there] in the midst of laurels. The valor of his father, inhis time without an equal, as long as hisstrength endured, wasconsidered a marvel; the furrows on his brow bear witness to [_lit._have engraved his] exploits, and tell us still what he formerly was. Ipredict of the son what I have seen of the father, and mydaughter, inone word, may love him and please me.' He was going to the council, thehour for which approaching, cut short this discourse, which he hadscarcely commenced; but from these few words, I believe that hismind[_lit._ thoughts] is not quite decided between your two lovers. The kingis going to appoint an instructor for his son, and it is he for whom anhonor so great is designed. This choice is not doubtful, andhisunexampled valor cannot tolerate that we should fear any competition. Ashis high exploits render him without an equal, in a hope so justifiablehe will be without a rival; and since Don Rodrigo has persuadedhisfather, when going out from the council, to propose the affair. I leaveyou to judge whether he will seize this opportunity [_lit._ whether hewill take his time well], and whether all your desires will soonbegratified._ChimÃ¨ne._ It seems, however, that my agitated soul refuses this joy,and finds itself overwhelmed by it. One moment gives to fate differentaspects, and in this great happiness I fear a greatreverse._Elvira._ You see this fear happily deceived._ChimÃ¨ne._ Let us go, whatever it may be, to await the issue.Scene II.--The INFANTA, LEONORA, and a PAGE._Infanta (to Page_). Page, go, tell ChimÃ¨ne fromme, that to-day she israther long in coming to see me, and that my friendship complains of hertardiness. [_Exit Page._]_Leonora._ Dear lady, each day the same desire urges you, and at yourinterview with her, I seeyou every day ask her how her love proceeds._Infanta._ It is not without reason. I have almost compelled her toreceive the arrows with which her soul is wounded. She loves Rodrigo,and she holds him from my hand;and by means of me Don Rodrigo hasconquered her disdain. Thus, having forged the chains of these lovers, Iought to take an interest in seeing their troubles at an end._Leonora._ Dear lady, however, amidst their goodfortune you exhibit agrief which proceeds to excess. Does this love, which fills them bothwith gladness, produce in this noble heart [of yours] profound sadness?And does this great interest which you take in themrender you unhappy,whilst they are happy? But I proceed too far, and become indiscreet._Infanta._ My sadness redoubles in keeping the secret. Listen, listenat length, how I have struggled; listen what assaults myconstancy[_lit._ virtue or valor] yet braves. Love is a tyrant which spares noone. This young cavalier, this lover which I give [her]--I love him._Leonora._ You love him!_Infanta._ Place your hand upon my heart, andfeel [_lit._ see] how itthrobs at the name of its conqueror! how it recognizes him!_Leonora._ Pardon me, dear lady, if I am wanting in respect in blamingthis passion; a noble princess to so far forget herself as to admitinher heart a simple [_or_, humble] cavalier! And what would the Kingsay?--what would Castile say? Do you still remember of whom you are thedaughter?_Infanta._ I remember it so well, that I would shed my bloodrather thandegrade my rank. I might assuredly answer to thee, that, in noble souls,worth alone ought to arouse passions; and, if my love sought to excuseitself, a thousand famous examples might sanction it. But I willnotfollow these--where my honor is concerned, the captivation of myfeelings does not abate my courage, and I say to myself always, that,being the daughter of a king, all other than a monarch is unworthy ofme. WhenI saw that my heart could not protect itself, I myself gaveaway that which I did not dare to take; and I put, in place of my self,ChimÃ¨ne in its fetters, and I kindled their passions [_lit._ fires] inorder to extinguish myown. Be then no longer surprised if my troubledsoul with impatience awaits their bridal; thou seest that my happiness[_lit._ repose] this day depends upon it. If love lives by hope, itperishes with it; it is a fire whichbecomes extinguished for want offuel; and, in spite of the severity of my sad lot, if ChimÃ¨ne ever hasRodrigo for a husband, my hope is dead and my spirit, is healed.Meanwhile, I endure an incredible torture; even upto this bridal.Rodrigo is dear to me; I strive to lose him, and I lose him with regret,and hence my secret anxiety derives its origin. I see with sorrow thatlove compels me to utter sighs for that [object] which [as aprincess] Imust disdain. I feel my spirit divided into two portions; if my courageis high, my heart is inflamed [with love]. This bridal is fatal to me, Ifear it, and [yet] I desire it; I dare to hope from it only anincompletejoy; my honor and my love have for me such attractions, thatI [shall] die whether it be accomplished, or whether it be notaccomplished._Leonora._ Dear lady, after that I have nothing more to say, exceptthat, withyou, I sigh for your misfortunes; I blamed you a short timesince, now I pity you. But since in a misfortune [i.e. an ill-timedlove] so sweet and so painful, your noble spirit [_lit._ virtue]contends against both its charmand its strength, and repulses itsassault and regrets its allurements, it will restore calmness to youragitated feelings. Hope then every [good result] from it, and from theassistance of time; hope everything fromheaven; it is too just [_lit._it has too much justice] to leave virtue in such a long continuedtorture._Infanta._ My sweetest hope is to lose hope.(_The Page re-enters._)_Page._ By your commands, ChimÃ¨ne comes tosee you._Infanta_ (to _Leonora_). Go and converse with her in that gallery[yonder]._Leonora._ Do you wish to continue in dreamland?_Infanta._ No, I wish, only, in spite of my grief, to compose myself[_lit._ to put myfeatures a little more at leisure]. I follow you.[_Leonora goes out along with the Page._]Scene III.--The INFANTA (alone).Just heaven, from which I await my relief, put, at last, some limit tothe misfortune which isovercoming [_lit._ possesses] me; secure myrepose, secure my honor. In the happiness of others I seek my own. Thisbridal is equally important to three [parties]; render its completionmore prompt, or my soul moreenduring. To unite these two lovers with amarriage-tie is to break all my chains and to end all my sorrows. But Itarry a little too long; let us go to meet ChimÃ¨ne, and, byconversation, to relieve our grief.SceneIV.--COUNT DE GORMAS and DON DIEGO (meeting)._Count._ At last you have gained it [_or_, prevailed], and the favor ofa King raises you to a rank which was due only to myself; he makes youGovernor of the Princeof Castile._Don Diego._ This mark of distinction with which he distinguishes[_lit._ which he puts into] my family shows to all that he is just, andcauses it to be sufficiently understood, that he knows how torecompensebygone services._Count._ However great kings may be, they are only men [_lit._ they arethat which we are]; they can make mistakes like other men, and thischoice serves as a proof to all courtiers thatthey know how to [_or_,can] badly recompense present services._Don Diego._ Let us speak no more of a choice at which your mindbecomes exasperated. Favor may have been able to do as much as merit;but we owethis respect to absolute power, to question nothing when aking has wished it. To the honor which he has done me add another--letus join by a sacred tie my house to yours. You have an only daughter,and I have anonly son; their marriage may render us for ever more thanfriends. Grant us this favor, and accept, him as a son-in-law._Count._ To higher alliances this precious son ought [_or_, is likely]to aspire; and the newsplendor of your dignity ought to inflate hisheart with another [higher] vanity. Exercise that [dignity], sir, andinstruct the prince. Show him how it is necessary to rule a province: tomake the people tremble everywhereunder his law; to fill the good withlove, and the wicked with terror. Add to these virtues those of acommander: show him how it is necessary to inure himself to fatigue; inthe profession of a warrior [_lit._ of Mars] torender himself withoutan equal; to pass entire days and nights on horseback; to sleepall-armed: to storm a rampart, and to owe to himself alone the winningof a battle. Instruct him by example, and render him perfect,bringingyour lessons to his notice by carrying them into effect._Don Diego._ To instruct himself by example, in spite of your jealousfeelings, he shall read only the history of my life. There, in a longsuccession of gloriousdeeds, he shall see how nations ought to besubdued; to attack a fortress, to marshal an army, and on great exploitsto build his renown._Count._ Living examples have a greater [_lit._ another] power. Aprince, in abook, learns his duty but badly [_or_, imperfectly]; andwhat, after all, has this great number of years done which one of mydays cannot equal? If you have been valiant, I am so to-day, and thisarm is the strongestsupport of the kingdom. Granada and Arragon tremblewhen this sword flashes; my name serves as a rampart to all Castile;without me you would soon pass under other laws, and you would soon haveyour enemies as[_lit._ for] kings. Each day, each moment, to increasemy glory, adds laurels to laurels, victory to victory. The prince, by myside, would make the trial of his courage in the wars under the shadowof my arm; he wouldlearn to conquer by seeing me do so; and, to provespeedily worthy of his high character, he would see----_Don Diego._ I know it; you serve the king well. I have seen you fightand command under me, when [old] agehas caused its freezing currents toflow within my nerves [i.e. "when the frosts of old age had numbed mynerves"--_Jules Bue_], your unexampled [_lit._ rare] valor has worthily[_lit._ well] supplied my place; in fine, tospare unnecessary words,you are to-day what I used to be. You see, nevertheless, that in thisrivalry a monarch places some distinction between us._Count._ That prize which I deserved you have carried off._DonDiego._ He who has gained that [advantage] over you has deserved itbest._Count._ He who can use it to the best advantage is the most worthy ofit._Don Diego._ To be refused that prize [_lit._ it] is not a goodsign._Count._ You have gained it by intrigue, being an old courtier._Don Diego._ The brilliancy of my noble deeds was my only recommendation[_lit._ support]._Count._ Let us speak better of it [i.e. more plainly]: theking doeshonor to your age._Don Diego._ The king, when he does it [i.e. that honor], gives it[_lit._ measures it] to courage._Count._ And for that reason this honor was due only to me [_lit._ myarm]._Don Diego._ Hewho has not been able to obtain it did not deserve it._Count._ Did not deserve it? I!_Don Diego._ You._Count._ Thy impudence, rash old man, shall have its recompense. [_Hegives him a slap on the face._] _Don Diego(drawing his sword [_lit._putting the sword in his hand_]). Finish [this outrage], and take mylife after such an insult, the first for which my race has ever hadcause to blush [_lit._ has seen its brow grow red]._Count._And what do you think you can do, weak us you are [_lit._ withsuch feebleness]?_Don Diego._ Oh, heaven! my exhausted strength fails me in thisnecessity!_Count._ Thy sword is mine; but thou wouldst be too vain ifthisdiscreditable trophy had laden my hand [i.e. if I had carried away atrophy so discreditable]. Farewell--adieu! Cause the prince to read, inspite of jealous feelings, for his instruction, the history of thy life.This justpunishment of impertinent language will serve as no smallembellishment for it.Scene V.--DON DIEGO.O rage! O despair! O inimical old age! Have I then lived so long onlyfor this disgrace? And have I grown grey inwarlike toils, only to seein one day so many of my laurels wither? Does my arm [i.e. my valor],which all Spain admires and looks up to [_lit._ with respect]--[does] myarm, which has so often saved this empire, and sooften strengthenedanew the throne of its king, now [_lit._ then] betray my cause, and donothing for me? O cruel remembrance of my bygone glory! O work of alifetime [_lit._ so many days] effaced in a day! newdignity fatal to myhappiness! lofty precipice from which mine honor falls! must I see thecount triumph over your splendor, and die without vengeance, or live inshame? Count, be now the instructor of my prince! Thishigh rank becomes[_lit._ admits] no man without honor, and thy jealous pride, by thisfoul [_lit._ remarkable] insult, in spite of the choice of the king, hascontrived [_lit._ has known how] to render me unworthy of it.And thou,glorious instrument of my exploits, but yet a useless ornament of anenfeebled body numbed by age [_lit._ all of ice], thou sword, hithertoto be feared, and which in this insult has served me for show, andnotfor defence, go, abandon henceforth the most dishonored [_lit._ thelast] of his race; pass, to avenge me, into better hands!Scene VI.--DON DIEGO and DON RODRIGO._Don Diego._ Rodrigo, hast thou courage[_lit._ a heart]?_Don Rodrigo._ Any other than my father would have found that outinstantly._Don Diego._ Welcome wrath! worthy resentment, most pleasing to mygrief! I recognize my blood in this noble rage; myyouth revives in thisardor so prompt. Come, my son, come, my blood, come to retrieve myshame--come to avenge me!_Don Rodrigo._ Of what?_Don Diego._ Of an insult so cruel that it deals a deadly strokeagainst thehonor of us both--of a blow! The insolent [man] would havelost his life for it, but my age deceived my noble ambition; and thissword, which my arm can no longer wield, I give up to thine, to avengeand punish. Goagainst this presumptuous man, and prove thy valor: it isonly in blood that one can wash away such an insult; die or slay.Moreover, not to deceive thee, I give thee to fight a formidableantagonist [_lit._ a man to befeared], I have seen him entirely coveredwith blood and dust, carrying everywhere dismay through an entire army.I have seen by his valor a hundred squadrons broken; and, to tell theestill something more--more thanbrave soldier, more than great leader,he is----_Don Rodrigo._ Pray, finish._Don Diego._ The father of ChimÃ¨ne._Don Rodrigo._ The----_Don Diego._ Do not reply; I know thy love. But he who lives dishonoredisunworthy of life; the dearer the offender the greater the offence. Inshort, thou knowest the insult, and thou holdest [in thy grasp the meansof] vengeance. I say no more to thee. Avenge me, avenge thyself!Showthyself a son worthy of a father such as I [am]. Overwhelmed bymisfortunes to which destiny reduces me, I go to deplore them. Go, run,fly, and avenge us!Scene VII.--DON RODRIGO.Pierced even to the depth[_or,_ bottom of the heart] by a blowunexpected as well as deadly, pitiable avenger of a just quarrel andunfortunate object of an unjust severity, I remain motionless, and mydejected soul yields to the blow which isslaying me. So near seeing mylove requited! O heaven, the strange pang [_or,_ difficulty]! In thisinsult my father is the person aggrieved, and the aggressor is thefather of ChimÃ¨ne!What fierce conflicts [of feelings] Iexperience! My love is engaged[_lit._ interests itself] against my own honor. I must avenge a fatherand lose a mistress. The one stimulates my courage, the other restrainsmy arm. Reduced to the sad choice of eitherbetraying my love or ofliving as a degraded [man], on both sides my situation is wretched[_lit._ evil is infinite]. O heaven, the strange pang [_or,_difficulty]! Must I leave an insult unavenged? Must I punish the fatherofChimÃ¨ne?Father, mistress, honor, love--noble and severe restraint--a bondagestill to be beloved [_lit._ beloved tyranny], all my pleasures are dead,or my glory is sullied. The one renders me unhappy; the otherunworthyof life. Dear and cruel hope of a soul noble but still enamored, worthyenemy of my greatest happiness, thou sword which causest my painfulanxiety, hast thou been given to me to avenge my honor? Hast thou


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's Little Lord Fauntleroy, by Frances Hodgson BurnettThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: Little Lord FauntleroyAuthor: Frances Hodgson BurnettRelease Date: January 16, 2006 [EBook #479][Lastupdated: December 9, 2011]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY ***Produced by Charles Keller and David WidgerLITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROYBy FrancesHodgson BurnettICedric himself knew nothing whatever about it. It had never been evenmentioned to him. He knew that his papa had been an Englishman, becausehis mamma had told him so; but then his papa haddied when he was solittle a boy that he could not remember very much about him, except thathe was big, and had blue eyes and a long mustache, and that it was asplendid thing to be carried around the room on hisshoulder. Since hispapa's death, Cedric had found out that it was best not to talk to hismamma about him. When his father was ill, Cedric had been sent away, andwhen he had returned, everything was over; and hismother, who hadbeen very ill, too, was only just beginning to sit in her chair by thewindow. She was pale and thin, and all the dimples had gone from herpretty face, and her eyes looked large and mournful, and shewas dressedin black."Dearest," said Cedric (his papa had called her that always, and so thelittle boy had learned to say it),--"dearest, is my papa better?"He felt her arms tremble, and so he turned his curly head andlooked inher face. There was something in it that made him feel that he was goingto cry."Dearest," he said, "is he well?"Then suddenly his loving little heart told him that he'd better put bothhis arms around her neckand kiss her again and again, and keep hissoft cheek close to hers; and he did so, and she laid her face on hisshoulder and cried bitterly, holding him as if she could never let himgo again."Yes, he is well," she sobbed;"he is quite, quite well, but we--we haveno one left but each other. No one at all."Then, little as he was, he understood that his big, handsome young papawould not come back any more; that he was dead, as he hadheard of otherpeople being, although he could not comprehend exactly what strangething had brought all this sadness about. It was because his mammaalways cried when he spoke of his papa that he secretly made uphis mindit was better not to speak of him very often to her, and he found out,too, that it was better not to let her sit still and look into the fireor out of the window without moving or talking. He and his mammaknewvery few people, and lived what might have been thought very lonelylives, although Cedric did not know it was lonely until he grew olderand heard why it was they had no visitors. Then he was told that hismammawas an orphan, and quite alone in the world when his papa hadmarried her. She was very pretty, and had been living as companion to arich old lady who was not kind to her, and one day Captain Cedric Errol,who wascalling at the house, saw her run up the stairs with tears onher eyelashes; and she looked so sweet and innocent and sorrowful thatthe Captain could not forget her. And after many strange things hadhappened, theyknew each other well and loved each other dearly, andwere married, although their marriage brought them the ill-will ofseveral persons. The one who was most angry of all, however, wasthe Captain's father, who livedin England, and was a very rich andimportant old nobleman, with a very bad temper and a very violentdislike to America and Americans. He had two sons older than CaptainCedric; and it was the law that the elder ofthese sons should inheritthe family title and estates, which were very rich and splendid; if theeldest son died, the next one would be heir; so, though he was a memberof such a great family, there was little chance thatCaptain Cedricwould be very rich himself.But it so happened that Nature had given to the youngest son gifts whichshe had not bestowed upon his elder brothers. He had a beautiful faceand a fine, strong, gracefulfigure; he had a bright smile and a sweet,gay voice; he was brave and generous, and had the kindest heart in theworld, and seemed to have the power to make every one love him. And itwas not so with his elderbrothers; neither of them was handsome,or very kind, or clever. When they were boys at Eton, they were notpopular; when they were at college, they cared nothing for study, andwasted both time and money, andmade few real friends. The old Earl,their father, was constantly disappointed and humiliated by them; hisheir was no honor to his noble name, and did not promise to end in beinganything but a selfish, wasteful,insignificant man, with no manly ornoble qualities. It was very bitter, the old Earl thought, that the sonwho was only third, and would have only a very small fortune, should bethe one who had all the gifts, and all thecharms, and all the strengthand beauty. Sometimes he almost hated the handsome young man because heseemed to have the good things which should have gone with the statelytitle and the magnificent estates; andyet, in the depths of his proud,stubborn old heart, he could not help caring very much for his youngestson. It was in one of his fits of petulance that he sent him off totravel in America; he thought he would send himaway for a while, sothat he should not be made angry by constantly contrasting him with hisbrothers, who were at that time giving him a great deal of trouble bytheir wild ways.But, after about six months, he began tofeel lonely, and longed insecret to see his son again, so he wrote to Captain Cedric and orderedhim home. The letter he wrote crossed on its way a letter the Captainhad just written to his father, telling of his love for theprettyAmerican girl, and of his intended marriage; and when the Earl receivedthat letter he was furiously angry. Bad as his temper was, he hadnever given way to it in his life as he gave way to it when he readtheCaptain's letter. His valet, who was in the room when it came, thoughthis lordship would have a fit of apoplexy, he was so wild with anger.For an hour he raged like a tiger, and then he sat down and wrote to hisson,and ordered him never to come near his old home, nor to write tohis father or brothers again. He told him he might live as he pleased,and die where he pleased, that he should be cut off from his familyforever, and thathe need never expect help from his father as long ashe lived.The Captain was very sad when he read the letter; he was very fond ofEngland, and he dearly loved the beautiful home where he had been born;he had evenloved his ill-tempered old father, and had sympathized withhim in his disappointments; but he knew he need expect no kindness fromhim in the future. At first he scarcely knew what to do; he had not beenbrought upto work, and had no business experience, but he had courageand plenty of determination. So he sold his commission in the Englisharmy, and after some trouble found a situation in New York, and married.The changefrom his old life in England was very great, but he was youngand happy, and he hoped that hard work would do great things for him inthe future. He had a small house on a quiet street, and his little boywas born there,and everything was so gay and cheerful, in a simple way,that he was never sorry for a moment that he had married the rich oldlady's pretty companion just because she was so sweet and he loved herand she lovedhim. She was very sweet, indeed, and her little boy waslike both her and his father. Though he was born in so quiet and cheap alittle home, it seemed as if there never had been a more fortunate baby.In the first place,he was always well, and so he never gave any onetrouble; in the second place, he had so sweet a temper and ways socharming that he was a pleasure to every one; and in the third place,he was so beautiful to look atthat he was quite a picture. Instead ofbeing a bald-headed baby, he started in life with a quantity of soft,fine, gold-colored hair, which curled up at the ends, and went intoloose rings by the time he was six months old;he had big brown eyes andlong eyelashes and a darling little face; he had so strong a back andsuch splendid sturdy legs, that at nine months he learned suddenly towalk; his manners were so good, for a baby, that itwas delightful tomake his acquaintance. He seemed to feel that every one was his friend,and when any one spoke to him, when he was in his carriage in thestreet, he would give the stranger one sweet, serious lookwith thebrown eyes, and then follow it with a lovely, friendly smile; and theconsequence was, that there was not a person in the neighborhood of thequiet street where he lived--even to the groceryman at the corner,whowas considered the crossest creature alive--who was not pleased to seehim and speak to him. And every month of his life he grew handsomer andmore interesting.When he was old enough to walk out with hisnurse, dragging a smallwagon and wearing a short white kilt skirt, and a big white hat set backon his curly yellow hair, he was so handsome and strong and rosy that heattracted every one's attention, and his nursewould come home and tellhis mamma stories of the ladies who had stopped their carriages to lookat and speak to him, and of how pleased they were when he talked to themin his cheerful little way, as if he had knownthem always. His greatestcharm was this cheerful, fearless, quaint little way of making friendswith people. I think it arose from his having a very confiding nature,and a kind little heart that sympathized with every one,and wished tomake every one as comfortable as he liked to be himself. It made himvery quick to understand the feelings of those about him. Perhaps thishad grown on him, too, because he had lived so much with hisfather andmother, who were always loving and considerate and tender and well-bred.He had never heard an unkind or uncourteous word spoken at home; he hadalways been loved and caressed and treated tenderly,and so his childishsoul was full of kindness and innocent warm feeling. He had always heardhis mamma called by pretty, loving names, and so he used them himselfwhen he spoke to her; he had always seen that hispapa watched over herand took great care of her, and so he learned, too, to be careful ofher.So when he knew his papa would come back no more, and saw how verysad his mamma was, there gradually came into hiskind little heart thethought that he must do what he could to make her happy. He was not muchmore than a baby, but that thought was in his mind whenever he climbedupon her knee and kissed her and put his curlyhead on her neck, andwhen he brought his toys and picture-books to show her, and when hecurled up quietly by her side as she used to lie on the sofa. He was notold enough to know of anything else to do, so he didwhat he could, andwas more of a comfort to her than he could have understood."Oh, Mary!" he heard her say once to her old servant; "I am sure heis trying to help me in his innocent way--I know he is. He looks atmesometimes with a loving, wondering little look, as if he were sorry forme, and then he will come and pet me or show me something. He is such alittle man, I really think he knows."As he grew older, he had a greatmany quaint little ways which amusedand interested people greatly. He was so much of a companion for hismother that she scarcely cared for any other. They used to walk togetherand talk together and play together.When he was quite a little fellow,he learned to read; and after that he used to lie on the hearth-rug, inthe evening, and read aloud--sometimes stories, and sometimes big bookssuch as older people read, andsometimes even the newspaper; and oftenat such times Mary, in the kitchen, would hear Mrs. Errol laughing withdelight at the quaint things he said."And, indade," said Mary to the groceryman, "nobody cud helplaughin' atthe quare little ways of him--and his ould-fashioned sayin's! Didn'the come into my kitchen the noight the new Prisident was nominated andshtand afore the fire, lookin' loike a pictur', wid his hands inhisshmall pockets, an' his innocent bit of a face as sayrious as a jedge?An' sez he to me: 'Mary,' sez he, 'I'm very much int'rusted in the'lection,' sez he. 'I'm a 'publican, an' so is Dearest. Are you a'publican, Mary?''Sorra a bit,' sez I; 'I'm the bist o' dimmycrats!'An' he looks up at me wid a look that ud go to yer heart, an' sez he:'Mary,' sez he, 'the country will go to ruin.' An' nivver a day sincethin has he let go by widout argyin'wid me to change me polytics."Mary was very fond of him, and very proud of him, too. She had been withhis mother ever since he was born; and, after his father's death, hadbeen cook and housemaid and nurse andeverything else. She was proud ofhis graceful, strong little body and his pretty manners, and especiallyproud of the bright curly hair which waved over his forehead and fell incharming love-locks on his shoulders. Shewas willing to work early andlate to help his mamma make his small suits and keep them in order."'Ristycratic, is it?" she would say. "Faith, an' I'd loike to see thechoild on Fifth Avey-NOO as looks loike him an' shtepsout as handsomeas himself. An' ivvery man, woman, and choild lookin' afther him in hisbit of a black velvet skirt made out of the misthress's ould gownd; an'his little head up, an' his curly hair flyin' an' shinin'. It's loikeayoung lord he looks."Cedric did not know that he looked like a young lord; he did notknow what a lord was. His greatest friend was the groceryman at thecorner--the cross groceryman, who was never cross to him. Hisname wasMr. Hobbs, and Cedric admired and respected him very much. He thoughthim a very rich and powerful person, he had so many things in hisstore,--prunes and figs and oranges and biscuits,--and he hadahorse and wagon. Cedric was fond of the milkman and the baker and theapple-woman, but he liked Mr. Hobbs best of all, and was on terms ofsuch intimacy with him that he went to see him every day, and oftensatwith him quite a long time, discussing the topics of the hour. It wasquite surprising how many things they found to talk about--the Fourthof July, for instance. When they began to talk about the Fourth of Julytherereally seemed no end to it. Mr. Hobbs had a very bad opinion of"the British," and he told the whole story of the Revolution, relatingvery wonderful and patriotic stories about the villainy of the enemy andthe bravery ofthe Revolutionary heroes, and he even generously repeatedpart of the Declaration of Independence.Cedric was so excited that his eyes shone and his cheeks were red andhis curls were all rubbed and tumbled into ayellow mop. He could hardlywait to eat his dinner after he went home, he was so anxious to tellhis mamma. It was, perhaps, Mr. Hobbs who gave him his first interestin politics. Mr. Hobbs was fond of reading thenewspapers, and so Cedricheard a great deal about what was going on in Washington; and Mr. Hobbswould tell him whether the President was doing his duty or not. Andonce, when there was an election, he found it allquite grand, andprobably but for Mr. Hobbs and Cedric the country might have beenwrecked.Mr. Hobbs took him to see a great torchlight procession, and many of themen who carried torches remembered afterward astout man who stood neara lamp-post and held on his shoulder a handsome little shouting boy, whowaved his cap in the air.It was not long after this election, when Cedric was between seven andeight years old, thatthe very strange thing happened which made sowonderful a change in his life. It was quite curious, too, that theday it happened he had been talking to Mr. Hobbs about England andthe Queen, and Mr. Hobbs had saidsome very severe things about thearistocracy, being specially indignant against earls and marquises. Ithad been a hot morning; and after playing soldiers with some friendsof his, Cedric had gone into the store to rest,and had found Mr. Hobbslooking very fierce over a piece of the Illustrated London News, whichcontained a picture of some court ceremony."Ah," he said, "that's the way they go on now; but they'll get enoughof it someday, when those they've trod on rise and blow 'em upsky-high,--earls and marquises and all! It's coming, and they may lookout for it!"Cedric had perched himself as usual on the high stool and pushed hishat back, andput his hands in his pockets in delicate compliment to Mr.Hobbs."Did you ever know many marquises, Mr. Hobbs?" Cedric inquired,--"orearls?""No," answered Mr. Hobbs, with indignation; "I guess not. I'd like tocatchone of 'em inside here; that's all! I'll have no grasping tyrantssittin' 'round on my cracker-barrels!"And he was so proud of the sentiment that he looked around proudly andmopped his forehead."Perhaps they wouldn'tbe earls if they knew any better," said Cedric,feeling some vague sympathy for their unhappy condition."Wouldn't they!" said Mr. Hobbs. "They just glory in it! It's in 'em.They're a bad lot."They were in the midst of theirconversation, when Mary appeared.Cedric thought she had come to buy some sugar, perhaps, but she had not.She looked almost pale and as if she were excited about something."Come home, darlint," she said; "themisthress is wantin' yez."Cedric slipped down from his stool."Does she want me to go out with her, Mary?" he asked. "Good-morning,Mr. Hobbs. I'll see you again."He was surprised to see Mary staring at him in adumfounded fashion, andhe wondered why she kept shaking her head."What's the matter, Mary?" he said. "Is it the hot weather?""No," said Mary; "but there's strange things happenin' to us.""Has the sun givenDearest a headache?" he inquired anxiously.But it was not that. When he reached his own house there was a coupestanding before the door and some one was in the little parlor talkingto his mamma. Mary hurried himupstairs and put on his best summersuit of cream-colored flannel, with the red scarf around his waist, andcombed out his curly locks."Lords, is it?" he heard her say. "An' the nobility an' gintry. Och! badcess to them!Lords, indade--worse luck."It was really very puzzling, but he felt sure his mamma would tell himwhat all the excitement meant, so he allowed Mary to bemoan herselfwithout asking many questions. When he wasdressed, he ran downstairsand went into the parlor. A tall, thin old gentleman with a sharp facewas sitting in an arm-chair. His mother was standing near by with a paleface, and he saw that there were tears in hereyes."Oh! Ceddie!" she cried out, and ran to her little boy and caught himin her arms and kissed him in a frightened, troubled way. "Oh! Ceddie,darling!"The tall old gentleman rose from his chair and looked at Cedricwith hissharp eyes. He rubbed his thin chin with his bony hand as he looked.He seemed not at all displeased."And so," he said at last, slowly,--"and so this is little LordFauntleroy."IIThere was never a more amazed littleboy than Cedric during the weekthat followed; there was never so strange or so unreal a week. In thefirst place, the story his mamma told him was a very curious one. He wasobliged to hear it two or three times beforehe could understand it. Hecould not imagine what Mr. Hobbs would think of it. It began with earls:his grandpapa, whom he had never seen, was an earl; and his eldestuncle, if he had not been killed by a fall from hishorse, would havebeen an earl, too, in time; and after his death, his other uncle wouldhave been an earl, if he had not died suddenly, in Rome, of a fever.After that, his own papa, if he had lived, would have been anearl, but,since they all had died and only Cedric was left, it appeared that HEwas to be an earl after his grandpapa's death--and for the present hewas Lord Fauntleroy.He turned quite pale when he was first told ofit."Oh! Dearest!" he said, "I should rather not be an earl. None of theboys are earls. Can't I NOT be one?"But it seemed to be unavoidable. And when, that evening, they sattogether by the open window looking out intothe shabby street, heand his mother had a long talk about it. Cedric sat on his footstool,clasping one knee in his favorite attitude and wearing a bewilderedlittle face rather red from the exertion of thinking. Hisgrandfatherhad sent for him to come to England, and his mamma thought he must go."Because," she said, looking out of the window with sorrowful eyes, "Iknow your papa would wish it to be so, Ceddie. He loved hishome verymuch; and there are many things to be thought of that a little boy can'tquite understand. I should be a selfish little mother if I did not sendyou. When you are a man, you will see why."Ceddie shook his headmournfully."I shall be very sorry to leave Mr. Hobbs," he said. "I'm afraid he'llmiss me, and I shall miss him. And I shall miss them all."When Mr. Havisham--who was the family lawyer of the Earl of Dorincourt,and who


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mardi Gras Mystery, by H. Bedford-JonesThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Mardi Gras MysteryAuthor: H. Bedford-JonesIllustrator: John Newton HowittRelease Date:March 22, 2012 [EBook #39229]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MARDI GRAS MYSTERY ***Produced by Darleen Dove, Ernest Schaal, and the OnlineDistributed ProofreadingTeam at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)                             THE MARDIGRAS                                MYSTERY                                BOOKS BY                            H. BEDFORD-JONES                        CONQUEST                        CROSS AND THE HAMMER: A                          TALE OF THEDAYS OF THE                          VIKINGS                        FLAMEHAIR THE SKALD: A                          TALE OF THE DAYS OF                          HARDREDE                        GOLDEN GHOST                        THE MESATRAIL                        THE MARDI GRAS MYSTERY                        UNDER FIRE[Illustration: "_'You frightened me, holy man!' she cried gaily.'Confess to you, indeed! Not I.'_"]                             THE MARDIGRAS                                 MYSTERY                                   BY                            H.BEDFORD-JONES                             [Illustration]                              FRONTISPIECE                                   BY                           JOHN NEWTON HOWITT                    GARDEN CITY, N. Y., ANDTORONTO                       DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY                                  1921                        COPYRIGHT, 1920, 1921, BY                        DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY           ALL RIGHTS RESERVED,INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION           INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN                                CONTENTS    CHAPTER                                                     PAGE       I.CARNIVAL                                                 3      II. MASQUERS                                                21     III. THE BANDIT                                              38      IV. CALLERS                                                 58       V.THE MASQUER UNMASKS                                     82      VI. CHACHERRE                                              107     VII. IN THE OPEN                                            125    VIII.COMUS                                                  143      IX. ON THE BAYOU                                           169       X. MURDER                                                 190      XI. THEGANGSTERS                                          209     XII. THE ULTIMATUM                                          228    XIII. THE COIN FALLS HEADS                                   249     XIV. CHACHERRE'SBUNDLE                                     262      XV. WHEN THE HEAVENS FALL                                  280     XVI. THE IMPREGNABILITY OF MR. FELL                         299    XVII.MI-CARÃME                                              310                             THE MARDI GRAS                                MYSTERY                         THE MARDI GRAS MYSTERY                               CHAPTERI                               _Carnival_Jachin Fell pushed aside the glass curtains between the voluminousover-draperies in the windows of the Chess and Checkers Club, and gazedout upon the riotous streets of New Orleans.Half an hour he had beenwaiting here in the lounge room for Dr. Cyril Ansley, a middle-agedbachelor who had practised in Opelousas for twenty years, and who hadcome to the city for the Mardi Gras festivities. Anotherman might haveseemed irritated by the wait, but Jachin Fell was quite unruffled.He had much the air of a clerk. His features were thin and unremarkable;his pale eyes constantly wore an expression of wonderingaloofness, asthough he saw around him much that he vainly tried to understand. In hisentire manner was a shy reticence. He was no clerk, however, this wasevident from his attire. He was garbed from head to foot insoberlyblending shades of gray whose richness was notable only at close view.One fancied him a very precise sort of man, an old maid of the wrongsex.Doctor Ansley, an Inverness flung over his evening clothes,entered thelounge room, and Fell turned to him with a dry, toneless chuckle."You're the limit! Did you forget we were going to the Maillards'to-night?"Ansley appeared vexed and irritated. "Confound it, Fell!" heexclaimed."I've been all over town looking for El Reys. Caught in a crowd--no ElReys yet!"Again Fell uttered his toneless chuckle. His voice was absolutely level,unmarked by any change of inflection."My dear fellow,there are only three places in the city that can affordto carry El Reys in these parlous times! This club, however, happens tobe one of the three. Here, sit down and forget your troubles over a realsmoke! We need notleave for fifteen minutes yet, at least."Doctor Ansley laid aside his cape, stick, and hat, and dropped into oneof the comfortable big chairs. He accepted the proffered cigar with asigh. Across his knees he laid an eveningpaper, whose flaring headlinesproclaimed an extra."I suppose you've been gadding all around the town ever since theRevellers opened the season?" he inquired."Hardly," said Fell with his shy air. "I'm growing a bit stiffwith age,as Eliza said when she crossed the ice. I don't gad much.""You intend to mask for the Maillards'?" Ansley cast his eye over thegray business attire of the little man."I never mask." Jachin Fell shook his head."I'll get a domino and go asI am. Excuse me--I'll order a domino now, and also provide a few more ElReys for the evening. Back in a moment."Doctor Ansley, who was himself a non-resident member of the clubandsocially prominent when he could grant himself leisure for society,followed the slight figure of the other man with speculative eyes. Wellas he knew Jachin Fell, he invariably found the man a source ofpuzzledspeculation.During many years Jachin Fell had been a member of the most exclusiveNew Orleans clubs. He was even received in the inner circles of Creolesociety, which in itself was evidence supreme as to hisposition. Atthis particular club he was famed as a wizard master of chess. He neverentered a tournament, yet he consistently defeated the champions inprivate matches--defeated them with a bewildering ease, a shyandapologetic ease, an ease which left the beholders incredulous andaghast.With all this, Jachin Fell was very much of a mystery, even among hisclosest friends. Very little was known of him; he was inconspicuous toadegree, and it was usually assumed that he was something of a recluse,the result of a thwarted love affair in his youth. He was a lawyer, andcertainly maintained offices in the Maison Blanche building, but heneverappeared in the courts and no case of his pleading was known.It was said that he lived in the rebuilt casa of some old Spanishgrandee in the Vieux Carre, and that this residence of his was averitable treasure-trove ofhistoric and beautiful things. This was mererumour, adding a spice of romance to the general mystery. Ansley knewhim as well as did most men, and Ansley knew of a few who could boast ofhaving been a guest inJachin Fell's home. There was a mother, aninvalid of whom Fell sometimes spoke and to whom he appeared to devotehimself. The family, an old one in the city, promised to die out withJachin Fell.Ansley puffed at hiscigar and considered these things. Outside, in theNew Orleans streets, was rocketing the mad mirth of carnival. The weekpreceding Mardi Gras was at its close. Since the beginning of the newyear the festival had beencelebrated in a steadily climaxing series ofballs and entertainments, largely by the older families who kept to theold customs, and to a smaller extent by society at large. Now the finalweek was at hand, or rather thefinal three days--the period of thegreat balls, the period when tourists were flooding into town; fortourists, the whole time of Mardi Gras was comprised within these threedays. Despite agonized predictions, prohibitionhad not adverselyaffected Mardi Gras or the gaiety of its celebration.Now, as ever, was Mardi Gras symbolized by masques. In New Orleans themasquerade was not the pale and pitiful frolic of colder climes, wheretheoccasion is but one for display of jewels and costumes, and whereactual concealment of identity is a farce. Here in New Orleans werejewels and costumes in a profusion of splendour; but here was preservedtheunderlying idea of the masque itself--that in concealment ofidentity lay the life of the thing! Masquers swept the streets gaily; ifharlequin husband flirted with domino wife--why, so much the merrier!There was littleharm in the Latin masque, and great mirth.When Jachin Fell returned and lighted his cigar he sank into one of theluxurious chairs beside Ansley and indicated the newspaper lying acrossthe latter's knee, its flaringheadlines standing out blackly."What's that about the Midnight Masquer? He's not appeared again?""What?" Ansley glanced at him in surprise. "You've not heard?"Fell shook his head. "I seldom read the papers.""Goodheavens, man! He showed up last night at the Lapeyrouse dance, twominutes before midnight, as usual! A detective had been engaged, but wasafterward found locked in a closet, bound with his own handcuffs.TheMasquer wore his usual costume--and went through the party famously,stripping everyone in sight. Then he backed through the doors andvanished. How he got in they can't imagine; where he went theycan'timagine, unless it was by airplane. He simply appeared, then vanished!"Fell settled deeper into his chair, pointed his cigar at the ceiling,and sighed."Ah, most interesting! The loot was valued at about a hundredthousand?""I thought you said you'd not heard of it?" demanded Ansley.Fell laughed softly and shyly. "I didn't. I merely hazarded a guess.""Wizard!" The doctor laughed in unison. "Yes, about that amount.Exaggerated,of course; still, there were jewels of great value----""The Masquer is a piker," observed Fell, in his toneless voice."Eh? A piker--when he can make a hundred-thousand-dollar haul?""Don't dream that those figuresrepresent value, Doctor. They don't! Allthe loot the Masquer has taken since he began work is worth little tohim. Jewels are hard to sell. This game of banditry is romantic, butit's out of date these days. Of course, thecrook has obtained a bit ofmoney, but not enough to be worth the risk.""Yet he has got quite a bit," returned Ansley, thoughtfully. "All themen have money, naturally; we don't want to find ourselves bare at somegaycarnival moment! I'll warrant you've a hundred or so in your pocketright now!""Not I," rejoined Fell, calmly. "One ten-dollar bill. Also I left mywatch at home. And I'm not dressed; I don't care to lose mypearlstuds.""Eh?" Ansley frowned. "What do you mean?"Jachin Fell took a folded paper from his pocket and handed it to thephysician."I met Maillard at the bank this morning. He called me into his officeand handed methis--he had just received it in the mail."Doctor Ansley opened the folded paper; an exclamation broke from him ashe read the note, which was addressed to their host of the evening.    JOSEPH MAILLARD,President,        Exeter National Bank, City.    I thank you for the masque you are giving to-night. I shall be    present. Please see that Mrs. M. wears her diamonds--I need    them.                                           THEMIDNIGHT MASQUER.Ansley glanced up. "What's this--some hoax? Some carnival jest?""Maillard pretended to think so." Fell shrugged his shoulders as herepocketed the note. "But he was nervous. He was afraid ofbeing laughedat, and wouldn't go to the police. But he'll have a brace of detectivesinside the house to-night, and others outside."Ever since the first ball of the year by the Twelfth Night Club thisMidnight Masquer, as hewas termed, had held New Orleans gripped interror, fascination, and vivid interest. Until a month previous to thisweek of Mardi Gras he had operated rarely; he had robbed with a starkand inelegant forcefulness, abrutality. Suddenly his methodschanged--he appeared and transacted his business with a romanticcourtesy, a daredevil gaiety; his robberies became bizarre andextraordinary.During the past month he appeared atleast once a week, now at someprivate ball, now at some restaurant banquet, but always in the samegarb: the helmet, huge goggles and mask, and leathern clothes of aservice aviator. On these occasions the throbbingroar of an airplanemotor had been reported so that it was popular gossip that he landed onthe roof of his designated victims and made his getaway in the samemanner--by airplane. No machine had ever been seen, andthe theory wasbelieved by some, hooted at by others.The police were helpless. The Midnight Masquer laughed openly at themand conducted his depredations with brazen unconcern, appearing where hewas leastexpected. The anti-administration papers were clamouring abouta "crime wave" and "organization of crooks," but without any visiblebasis for such clamours. The Midnight Masquer worked alone.Doctor Ansley glancedat his watch, and deposited his cigar in an ashtray."We'd best be moving, Fell. You'll want a domino?""I ordered one when I got my cigars. It'll be here in a minute.""Do you seriously think that note is genuine?"Fellshrugged lightly. "Who knows? I'm not worried. Maillard can affordto be robbed. It will be interesting to see how he takes it if thefellow does show up.""You're a calm one!" Ansley chuckled. "Oh, I believe the prince is tobethere to-night. You've met him, I suppose?""No. I've had a rush of business lately, as Eliza said when she crossedthe ice: haven't gone out much. Heard something about him, though. AnAmerican, isn't he? They sayhe's become quite popular in town."Ansley nodded. "Quite a fine chap. His mother was an American--shemarried the Prince de Gramont; an international affair of the pastgeneration. De Gramont led her a dog's life, Ihear, until he was killedin a duel. She lived in Paris with the boy, sent him to school here athome, and he was at Yale when the war broke. He was technically a Frenchsubject, so he went back to serve his time."Still,he's an American now. Calls himself Henry Gramont, and woulddrop the prince stuff altogether if these French people around herewould let him. He's supposed to be going into some kind of business, butjust now he'shaving the time of his life. Every old dowager is tryingto catch him."Jachin Fell nodded. "I've no use for nobility; a rotten crowd! But thischap appears interesting. I'll be glad to size him up. Ah, here's mydomino now!"Apage brought the domino. Fell, discarding the mask, threw the dominoabout his shoulders, and the two men left the club in company.They sought their destination afoot--the home of the banker JosephMaillard. Thestreets were riotous, filled with an eddying, laughingcrowd of masquers and merrymakers of all ages and sexes; confettitwirled through the air, horns were deafening, and laughing voices roseinto sharp screams ofunrestrained delight.Here and there appeared the rather constrained figures of tourists fromthe North. These, staid and unable to throw themselves into the utterabandon of this carnival spirit, could but stare inperplexed wonder atthe scene, so alien to them, while they marvelled at the gaiety of theseSouthern folk who could go so far with liberty and yet not overstep thebounds of license.At last gaining St. Charles Avenue,with the Maillard residence ahalf-dozen blocks distant, the two companions found themselves well awayfrom the main carnival throngs. Even here, however, was no lack ofrevellers afoot for the evening--stray flotsam ofthe downtown crowds,or members of neighbourhood gatherings on their way to entertainment.As the two walked along they were suddenly aware of a lithe figureapproaching from the rear; with a running leap and anexclamation ofdelight the figure forced itself in between them, grasping an arm ofeither man, and a bantering voice broke in upon their train of talk."Forfeit!" it cried. "Forfeit--where are your masks, sobergentlemen?This grave physician may be pardoned, but not a domino who refuses tomask! And for forfeit you shall be my escort and take me whither you aregoing."Laughing, the two fell into step, glancing at the gayfigure betweenthem. A Columbine, she was both cloaked and masked. Encircling her hairwas a magnificent scarf shot with metal designs of solid gold--a mostunusual thing. Also, from her words it was evident that shehadrecognized them."Willingly, fair Columbine," responded Fell in his dry and unimpassionedtone of voice. "We shall be most happy, indeed, to protect and take youwith us----""So far as the door, at least," interruptedAnsley, with evidentcaution. But Fell drily laughed aside this wary limitation."Nay, good physician, farther!" went on Fell. "Our Columbine has anexcellent passport, I assure you. This gauzy scarf about her raventresseswas woven for the good Queen Hortense, and I would venture arandom guess that, clasped about her slender throat, lies the queen'scollar of star sapphires----""Oh!" From the Columbine broke a cry of warning andswift dismay. "Don'tyou dare speak my name, sir--don't you dare!"Fell assented with a chuckle, and subsided.Ansley regarded his two companions with sidelong curiosity. He could notrecognize Columbine, and he couldnot tell whether Fell were speaking ofthe scarf and jewels in jest or earnest. Such historic things were notuncommon in New Orleans, yet Ansley never heard of these particulartreasures. However, it seemed that Fellknew their companion, andaccepted her as a fellow guest at the Maillard house."What are you doing out on the streets alone?" demanded Fell, suddenly."Haven't you any friends or relatives to take care ofyou?"Columbine's laughter pealed out, and she pressed Fell's arm confidingly."Have I not some little rights in the world, monsieur?" she said inFrench. "I have been mingling with the dear crowds and enjoyingthem,before I go to be buried in the dull splendours of the rich man's house.Tell me, do you think that the Midnight Masquer will make an appearanceto-night?""I have every reason to believe that he will," said JachinFell,gravely.Columbine put one hand to her throat, and shivered a trifle."You--you really think so? You are not trying to frighten me?" Her voicewas no longer gay. "But--the jewels----""Wear them, wear them!" Therewas command in the tone of Fell. "Werethey not given you to wear to-night? Then wear them, by all means. Don'tworry, my dear."Columbine said nothing for a moment; her gaiety seemed to be suddenlyextinguishedand quenched. Ansley was wondering uneasily at theconstraint, when at length she broke the silence."Since you have ordered, let the command be obeyed!" She essayed alaugh, which appeared rather forced. "Yet, ifthey are lost and aretaken by the Masquer----""In that case," said Fell, "let the blame be mine entirely. If they arelost, little Columbine, others will be lost with them, fear not! I thinkthat this party would be a rich haulfor the Masquer, eh? Take the richman and his friends--they could bear plucking, that crowd! Rogues all.""Confound you, Fell!" exclaimed Ansley, uneasily. "If the bandit doesshow up there would be the very devil topay!""And Maillard would do the paying." Fell's dry chuckle held a note ofbitterness. "Let him. Who cares? Look at his house, there, blazing withlights. Who pays for those lights? The people his financial tentacleshaveclosed their sucker-like grip upon. His wife's jewels have beenpurchased with the coin of oppression and injustice. His son's life isone of roguery and drunken wildness----""Man, are you mad?" Ansley indicated theColumbine between them. "We'renot alone here--you must not talk that way----"Jachin Fell only chuckled again. Columbine's laugh broke in with renewedgaiety:"Nonsense, my dear Galen! We surely may be allowed tobe ourselvesduring carnival! Away with the heresies of hypocritical society. Ourfriend speaks the sober truth. We masquers may admit among ourselvesthat Bob Maillard is----""Is not the man we would have ourdaughters marry, provided we haddaughters," said Fell. Then he gestured toward the house ahead of them,and his tone changed: "Still, now that we are about to enter that house,we must remind ourselves of courtesyand the limitations of guests. Sayno more. Produce your invitation, Columbine, for I think we shall findthat the doors to-night are guarded by Cerberus."They had come to a file of limousines and cars, and approached


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                                    "WHAT ABOUT BOB?"                                      Screenplay by                                       TomSchulman                                         Story by                              Alvin Sargent and Laura Ziskin                                      SHOOTING DRAFT                               OPENING CRAWL ON ABLACK SCREEN               "Medical journals report only 31 cases in history of people                swallowing their toothbrushes. The champion toothbrush                swallower was a Soviet psychiatric patient whodowned 16 in                1984. The all-time champion swallower of any object swallowed                2533 objects in 1927."               ECU: A TOOTHBRUSH - CREDITS ROLLING               We HEAR a manclearing his throat. He enters and a shiny                glob of toothpaste is squeezed onto the bristles.               INT. BOB WILEY'S BATHROOM, MORNING               BOB WILEY, thirties, anxious, beginsbrushing his teeth.                Suddenly, in trying to brush a back molar, Bob looses control                of the toothbrush and swallows half of it whole. Choking,                gasping, he tries to pull the toothbrushout.               EXT. BOB WILEY'S APARTMENT BUILDING, SAME               PAN and TILT up from a woman walking her dog on the streets                of Manhattan to a third floor apartment window. There isBob                struggling frantically with the toothbrush.               INT. BOB WILEY'S BATHROOM, MORNING               Bob is losing the battle, and in three excruciating swallows,                like a mouse goingdown the throat of a snake, the toothbrush                disappears down his throat. Bob pounds his chest, swallowing                as he does. Then, delicately, he belches. He takes a deep                breath, relaxessomewhat, and opens the medicine cabinet.                There sit ten packaged toothbrushes. Bob opens one.               AS WE... END CREDITS...                                                               DISSOLVETO:               EXT. A PARKING LOT, LAKE WINNIPESAUKEE, NEW HAMPSHIRE, DAY.                AUTUMN               Pricey BMW's, MERCEDES, etc. sport license plates whichread:                FREUD JUNGNRICH HEADDOC PERCA' DAN' etc. Three pre-teens                ride by on bikes and shove the trunks of the cars. Car alarms                sound off like birds. We PAN WITH THE KIDS thenPAST THEM                out to sea to see:               EXT. THE MIDDLE OF THE LAKE, ABOARD A CRIS CRAFT, SAME               Four psychiatrists and three spouses are pleasure boating.                Here all isquiet except the wind and the sound of the birds                (or is it the car alarms?). Shrinks and their wives sit around                an intense doctor in his forties.                                     DOCTOR 1(FEINBERG)                         I've had the same nightmare three                          nights running.                                     DOCTOR 2                         Come on, David, we're on avacation.                                     FEINBERG                         I'm leaving my office for summer                          vacation, when suddenly my patients                          rush up lookinginsane.               EXT. A PARK AVENUE OFFICE BUILDING, DAY. DREAM-LIKE SLOW                MOTION               Dr. Feinberg exits the building with his suitcase. To his                horror an angryhorde of men and women, looking like a                sadistic lynch mob, swarm him and attack.                                     FEINBERG (V.O.)                         "Don't leave us!" they scream.Then                          they beat me and bite me and kill                          me...!               As Feinberg runs to get away he is dragged down then overrun                by his angry patients.               BACK TO THEBOATS                                     FEINBERG                         It's the worst nightmare I've had                          since residency. Night after night...                          it'sterrifying!                                     PHIL                         At least your nightmare is only a                          dream. What about what happened to                          Leo Marvin?                                     AYOUNG DOCTOR                         Who's Leo Marvin?                                     PHIL                         You never heard of the famous Dr.                          Marvin?               ANGLE ON A VACANT LOTON SHORE               There is a dock, an overgrown slab, and a chimney.                                     PHIL (O.S.)                         That used to be his vacation house.                                     FEINBERG(O.S.)                         There's nothing there.               BACK TO THE BOAT                                     PHIL                         Grab a strong drink and some                          Dramamine. I'll tellyou a story                          that will send you into Rorschach.                                     ANOTHER WIFE                         Who's Leo Marvin?                                     PHIL                         Well, Ireally can't tell you about                          Leo Marvin unless I first tell you                          about Bob.                                     ANOTHER WIFE                         Who's Bob?               EXT. THE STREETSOF MANHATTAN, UPPER WEST SIDE, DAY               The SOUND of BIRDS segues to car alarms. We're on the streets                of New York, CRANING and ZOOMING like a bird up and into a                swelteringapartment.               INT. BOB WILEY'S APARTMENT, SAME               Bob Wiley sits on his bed in boxer shorts. On his night stand                are cardboard plaques: one lists the warning signsof                diabetes, another lists cancer's seven warning signals.                Stacked by the bed are psychology books and a few bottles of                prescription pills. In front of Bob is a vaporizer. Bobholds                his cheeks and twists them in small circles in front of the                steam.                                     BOB                              (a mantra-like chant)                         I feel good. I feel great. Ifeel                          wonderful! I feel good. I feel great.                          I feel wonderful! I --                                     A WIFE (V.O.)                         But who's Leo Marvin? I knowI've                          heard the name.                                     DOCTOR 4 (V.O.)                         Was he the guy who specialized in                          necrophiliacs?                                     PHIL(V.O.)                         No!                              (sighs)                         If you must.               INT. A PSYCHIATRIST'S OFFICE, DAY               The striking thing about DR. LEO MARVIN's office isorder                and neatness. As Marvin talks on the phone, he unconsciously                adjusts the already meticulously placed gewgaws on his desk.                Marvin is mid-forties, authoritative, stiff,perfectly                manicured. Adorning the office are diplomas, personal                mementos, primitive masks, Mondrian-like paintings, his framed                medical school grades, a bust of Freud, and diplomas. Onhis                desk is a book titled Baby Steps TM with Marvin's picture on                it.                                     MARVIN                              (INTO PHONE)                         Of course I want topublicize the                          book, Hugo and it's a wonderful                          opportunity, but its my vacation.                          The Today Show went to Dr. Ruth's                          vacation house, why can't CBSMorning                          come to Lake Winnipesaukee?... Would                          you work on it?... Thank you Hugo. I                          appreciate it.                                     SECRETARY'SVOICE                              (OVER INTERCOM)                         Dr. Marvin, there's a Dr. Carswell                          Fensterwald calling. He says you                          went to schooltogether.                                     MARVIN                              (wracking his memory)                         Fensterwald. Carswell Fensterwald.                          It sounds familiar but... Theysure                          come out of the woodwork when you                          get famous, Clair. Put him through.                                     FENSTERWALD                              (ON SPEAKERPHONE)                         Leo?                                     MARVIN                              (INTO SPEAKER PHONE)                         Carswell?               INT. ANOTHER PSYCHIATRIST'S OFFICE,SAME               Carswell Fensterwald looks unstable. As he talks on his phone,                he is boxing up his office. Prominent on his desk is a copy                of Marvin's book. The conversationINTERCUTS.                                     FENSTERWALD                         Long time no see, huh? You have a                          big book out. Things areclicking,                          huh?                                     MARVIN                         That's the way I planned it.                                     FENSTERWALD                         Listen, Leo, I'm closing mypractice.                          Most of my patients are on the West                          Side but I have one case I'd like to                          refer you.                                     MARVIN                         Carswell,thanks but --                                     FENSTERWALD                         I know, you're incredibly busy.                                     MARVIN                         Swamped. I've raised my rate. Imight                          even cut my sessions to forty                          minutes...                                     FENSTERWALD                         Leo, I know you don't like flattery                          but if anybody Iknow is going to                          win a Nobel Prize, it's you. You                          gotta be thinking about your next                          book so I know you'll find this case                          particularlyinteresting.                                     MARVIN                         What sort of case is it, Carswell?               Marvin paces. He adjusts a diploma down, then up, thendown.                                     FENSTERWALD                         Actually, Leo, I don't know.                                     MARVIN                         Carswell, if this is a dysfunctional--                                     FENSTERWALD                         No no, nothing like that. He keeps                          his appointments. Pays on time. See                          him once. If he's not the mostcomplex                          and -- persistent -- case you've                          ever seen, drop him. His name's Bob                          Wiley. He needs someonebrilliant.                                     MARVIN                         Okay. I'll work him in for an                          interview. Say, Carswell, how come                          you're quitting thebusiness?                                     FENSTERWALD                         We're a dying breed, Leo. Good luck.               Fensterwald hangs up. He lets out a silent jubilant howl of                gleeful


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Vortex Blaster, by Edward Elmer SmithThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-useit under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Vortex BlasterAuthor: Edward Elmer SmithRelease Date: September 16, 2007 [EBook#22629]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VORTEX BLASTER ***Produced by Greg Weeks, V. L. Simpson and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net    [Illustration: _The Lensman and the observer helped    Storm into his heavily padded armor. Their movements    were automatic--the ointment, the devices--_]  _INTRODUCING "Storm" Cloud,who, through tragedy, is    destined to become the most noted figure in the                      galaxy--THE_                     VORTEX BLASTER              (_Complete in this issue!_)                           by                   E. E.SMITH, Ph.D._Author of "The Skylark," "Skylark Three," "The Skylark        of Valeron," the Lensman stories, etc._Safety devices that do not protect.The "unsinkable" ships that, before the days of Bergenholm and ofatomicand cosmic energy, sank into the waters of the earth.More particularly, safety devices which, while protecting against oneagent of destruction, attract magnet-like another and worse. Such as thearmored cablewithin the walls of a wooden house. It protects theelectrical conductors within against accidental external shorts; but,inadequately grounded as it must of necessity be, it may attract andupon occasion has attracted thestupendous force of lightning. Then,fused, volatilized, flaming incandescent throughout the length, breadth,and height of a dwelling, that dwelling's existence thereafter is to bemeasured in minutes.Specifically, fourlightning rods. The lightning rods protecting thechromium, glass, and plastic home of Neal Cloud. Those rods wereadequately grounded, grounded with copper-silver cables the bigness of astrong man's arm; for NealCloud, atomic physicist, knew his lightningand he was taking no chances whatever with the safety of his lovely wifeand their three wonderful kids.He did not know, he did not even suspect, that under certainconditionsof atmospheric potential and of ground-magnetic stress his perfectlydesigned lightning-rod system would become a super-powerful magnet forflying vortices of atomic disintegration.And now Neal Cloud,atomic physicist, sat at his desk in a strained,dull apathy. His face was a yellowish-gray white, his tendoned handsgripped rigidly the arms of his chair. His eyes, hard and lifeless,stared unseeingly past the small,three-dimensional block portrait ofall that had made life worth living.For his guardian against lightning had been a vortex-magnet at themoment when a luckless wight had attempted to abate the nuisance of a"loose"atomic vortex. That wight died, of course--they almost alwaysdo--and the vortex, instead of being destroyed, was simply broken upinto an indefinite number of widely-scattered new vortices. And one ofthese bits offurious, uncontrolled energy, resembling more nearly ahandful of material rived from a sun than anything else with whichordinary man is familiar, darted toward and crashed downward to earththrough Neal Cloud's newhouse.That home did not burn; it simply exploded. Nothing of it, in it, oraround it stood a chance, for in a fractional second of time the placewhere it had been was a crater of seething, boiling lava--a crater whichfilledthe atmosphere to a height of miles with poisonous vapors; whichflooded all circumambient space with lethal radiations.Cosmically, the whole thing was infinitesimal. Ever since man learnedhow to liberate intra-atomicenergy, the vortices of disintegration hadbeen breaking out of control. Such accidents had been happening, werehappening, and would continue indefinitely to happen. More than oneworld, perhaps, had been or wouldbe consumed to the last gram by suchloose atomic vortices. What of that? Of what real importance are a fewgrains of sand to an ocean beach five thousand miles long, a hundredmiles wide, and ten miles deep?Andeven to that individual grain of sand called "Earth"--or, in modernparlance, "Sol Three," or "Tellus of Sol", or simply "Tellus"--theaffair was of negligible importance. One man had died; but, in dying, hehad added onemore page to the thick bulk of negative results already onfile. That Mrs. Cloud and her children had perished was merelyunfortunate. The vortex itself was not yet a real threat to Tellus. Itwas a "new" one, and thus itwould be a long time before it would becomeother than a local menace. And well before that could happen--beforeeven the oldest of Tellus' loose vortices had eaten away much of hermass or poisoned much of heratmosphere, her scientists would havesolved the problem. It was unthinkable that Tellus, the point of originand the very center of Galactic Civilization, should cease to exist.       *       *       *       *       *But to NealCloud the accident was the ultimate catastrophe. Hispersonal universe had crashed in ruins; what was left was not worthpicking up. He and Jo had been married for almost twenty years and thebonds between them hadgrown stronger, deeper, truer with every passingday. And the kids.... It _couldn't_ have happened ... fate COULDN'T dothis to him ... but it had ... it could. Gone ... gone ... GONE....And to Neal Cloud, atomic physicist,sitting there at his desk in torn,despairing abstraction, with black maggots of thought gnawing holes inhis brain, the catastrophe was doubly galling because of its cruelirony. For he was second from the top in theAtomic Research Laboratory;his life's work had been a search for a means of extinguishment ofexactly such loose vortices as had destroyed his all.His eyes focussed vaguely upon the portrait. Clear, honest gray eyes...lines of character and of humor ... sweetly curved lips, ready to smileor to kiss....He wrenched his eyes away and scribbled briefly upon a sheet of paper.Then, getting up stiffly, he took the portrait and movedwoodenly acrossthe room to a furnace. As though enshrining it he placed the plasticblock upon a refractory between the electrodes and threw a switch. Afterthe flaming arc had done its work he turned and handed thepaper to atall man, dressed in plain gray leather, who had been watching him withquiet, understanding eyes. Significant enough to the initiated of theimportance of this laboratory is the fact that it was headed byanUnattached Lensman."As of now, Phil, if it's QX with you."The Gray Lensman took the document, glanced at it, and slowly,meticulously, tore it into sixteen equal pieces."Uh, uh, Storm," he denied, gently. "Not aresignation. Leave ofabsence, yes--indefinite--but not a resignation.""Why?" It was scarcely a question; Cloud's voice was level,uninflected. "I won't be worth the paper I'd waste.""Now, no," the Lensman conceded,"but the future's another matter. Ihaven't said anything so far, because to anyone who knew you and Jo as Iknew you it was abundantly clear that nothing could be said." Two handsgripped and held. "For the future,though, four words were uttered longago, that have never been improved upon. 'This, too, shall pass.'""You think so?""I don't think so, Storm--I know so. I've been around a long time. Youare too good a man, and theworld has too much use for you, for you togo down permanently out of control. You've got a place in the world, andyou'll be back--" A thought struck the Lensman, and he went on in analtered tone. "You wouldn't--butof course you wouldn't--you couldn't.""I don't think so. No, I won't--that never was any kind of a solution toany problem."Nor was it. Until that moment, suicide had not entered Cloud's mind, andhe rejected it instantly.His kind of man did not take the easy way out.After a brief farewell Cloud made his way to an elevator and was whiskeddown to the garage. Into his big blue DeKhotinsky Sixteen Special andaway.Through traffic soheavy that front-, rear-, and side-bumpers almosttouched he drove with his wonted cool skill; even though, consciously,he did not know that the other cars were there. He slowed, turned,stopped, "gave her the oof," allin correct response to flashing signalsin all shapes and colors--purely automatically. Consciously, he did notknow where he was going, nor care. If he thought at all, his numbedbrain was simply trying to run away fromits own bitter imaging--which,if he had thought at all, he would have known to be a hopeless task. Buthe did not think; he simply acted, dumbly, miserably. His eyes saw,optically; his body reacted, mechanically; histhinking brain wascompletely in abeyance.Into a one-way skyway he rocketed, along it over the suburbs and intothe transcontinental super-highway. Edging inward, lane after lane, hereached the "unlimited"way--unlimited, that is, except for beinglimited to cars of not less than seven hundred horsepower, in perfectmechanical condition, driven by registered, tested drivers at speeds notless than one hundred andtwenty-five miles an hour--flashed hisregistry number at the control station, and shoved his right foot downto the floor.       *       *       *       *       *Now everyone knows that an ordinary DeKhotinsky Sporter will doahundred and forty honestly-measured miles in one honestly measured hour;but very few ordinary drivers have ever found out how fast one of thosebrutal big souped-up Sixteens can wheel. They simply haven't gotwhat ittakes to open one up."Storm" Cloud found out that day. He held that two-and-a-half-tonJuggernaut on the road, wide open, for two solid hours. But it didn'thelp. Drive as he would, he could not outrun that whichrode with him.Beside him and within him and behind him. For Jo was there. Jo and thekids, but mostly Jo. It was Jo's car as much as it was his. "Babe, thebig blue ox," was Jo's pet name for it; because, like PaulBunyan'sfabulous beast, it was pretty nearly six feet between the eyes.Everything they had ever had was that way. She was in the seat besidehim. Every dear, every sweet, every luscious, lovely memory of herwasthere ... and behind him, just out of eye-corner visibility, were thethree kids. And a whole lifetime of this loomed ahead--a vista ofemptiness more vacuous far than the emptiest reaches of intergalacticspace.Damnation! He couldn't stand much more of--High over the roadway, far ahead, a brilliant octagon flared red. Thatmeant "STOP!" in any language. Cloud eased up his accelerator, easeddown his mighty brakes. Hepulled up at the control station and atrimly-uniformed officer made a gesture."Sorry, sir," the policeman said, "but you'll have to detour here.There's a loose atomic vortex beside the road up ahead--"Oh! It's Dr. Cloud!"Recognition flashed into the guard's eyes. "Ididn't recognize you at first. You can go ahead, of course. It'll be twoor three miles before you'll have to put on your armor; you'll know whenbetter than anyone can tell you.They didn't tell us they were going tosend for _you_. It's just a little new one, and the dope we got was thatthey were going to shove it off into the canyon with pressure.""They didn't send for me." Cloud tried to smile."I'm just drivingaround--haven't my armor along, even. So I guess I might as well goback."He turned the Special around. A loose vortex--new. There might be ahundred of them, scattered over a radius of two hundredmiles. Sistersof the one that had murdered his family--the hellish spawn of thataccursed Number Eleven vortex that that damnably incompetent bunglingass had tried to blow up.... Into his mind there leaped apicture,wire-sharp, of Number Eleven as he had last seen it, and simultaneouslyan idea hit him like a blow from a fist.He thought. _Really_ thought, now; cogently, intensely, clearly. If hecould do it ... could actuallyblow out the atomic flame of an atomicvortex ... not exactly revenge, but.... By Klono's brazen bowels, itwould work--it'd _have_ to work--he'd _make_ it work! And grimly,quietly, but alive in every fiber now, he droveback toward the citypractically as fast as he had come away.       *       *       *       *       *If the Lensman was surprised at Cloud's sudden reappearance in thelaboratory he did not show it. Nor did he offer anycomment as hiserstwhile first assistant went to various lockers and cupboards,assembling meters, coils, tubes, armor, and other paraphernalia andapparatus."Guess that's all I'll need, Chief," Cloud remarked, finally."Here's ablank check. If some of this stuff shouldn't happen to be in usablecondition when I get done with it, fill it out to suit, will you?""No," and the Lensman tore up the check just as he had torn up theresignation. "Ifyou want the stuff for legitimate purposes, you're onPatrol business and it is the Patrol's risk. If, on the other hand, youthink that you're going to try to snuff a vortex, the stuff stays here.That's final, Storm.""You'reright--and wrong, Phil," Cloud stated, not at all sheepishly."I'm going to blow out Number One vortex with duodec, yes--but I'm_really_ going to blow it out, not merely make a stab at it as an excusefor suicide, as youthink.""How?" The big Lensman's query was skepticism incarnate. "It can't bedone, except by an almost impossibly fortuitous accident. You yourselfhave been the most bitterly opposed of us all to thesesuicidalattempts.""I know it--I didn't have the solution myself until a few hours ago--ithit me all at once. Funny I never thought of it before; it's been rightin sight all the time.""That's the way with most problems," theChief admitted. "Plain enoughafter you see the key equation. Well, I'm perfectly willing to beconvinced, but I warn you that I'll take a lot of convincing--andsomeone else will do the work, not you.""When I get doneyou'll see why I'll pretty nearly have to do it myself.But to convince you, exactly what is the knot?""Variability," snapped the older man. "To be effective, the charge ofexplosive at the moment of impact must match,within very close limits,the activity of the vortex itself. Too small a charge scatters itaround, in vortices which, while much smaller than the original, arestill large enough to be self-sustaining. Too large a chargesimplyrekindles the original vortex--still larger--in its original crater. Andthe activity that must be matched varies so tremendously, in magnitude,maxima, and minima, and the cycle is so erratic--ranging from secondstohours without discoverable rhyme or reason--that all attempts to do soat any predetermined instant have failed completely. Why, even Kinnisonand Cardynge and the Conference of Scientists couldn't solve it,anymore than they could work out a tractor beam that could be used as atow-line on one.""Not exactly," Cloud demurred. "They found that it could be forecast,for a few seconds at least--length of time directlyproportional to thelength of the cycle in question--by an extension of the calculus ofwarped surfaces.""Humph!" the Lensman snorted. "So what? What good is a ten-secondforecast when it takes a calculating machinean hour to solve theequations.... Oh!" He broke off, staring."Oh," he repeated, slowly, "I forgot that you're a lightningcalculator--a mathematical prodigy from the day you were born--who neverhas to use a calculatingmachine even to compute an orbit.... But thereare other things.""I'll say there are; plenty of them. I'd thought of the calculator anglebefore, of course, but there was a worse thing than variability tocontendwith....""What?" the Lensman demanded."Fear," Cloud replied, crisply. "At the thought of a hand-to-hand battlewith a vortex my brain froze solid. Fear--the sheer, stark, naturalhuman fear of death, that robs a man ofthe fine edge of control andbrings on the very death that he is trying so hard to avoid. That's whathad me stopped.""Right ... you may be right," the Lensman pondered, his fingers drummingquietly upon his desk. "Andyou are not afraid of death--now--evensubconsciously. But tell me, Storm, please, that you won't invite it.""I will not invite it, sir, now that I've got a job to do. But that's asfar as I'll go in promising. I won't make anysuperhuman effort to avoidit. I'll take all due precautions, for the sake of the job, but if itgets me, what the hell? The quicker it does, the better--the sooner I'llbe with Jo.""You believe that?""Implicitly.""The vortices areas good as gone, then. They haven't got any morechance than Boskone has of licking the Patrol.""I'm afraid so," almost glumly. "The only way for it to get me is for meto make a mistake, and I don't feel any comingon.""But what's your angle?" the Lensman asked, interest lighting his eyes."You can't use the customary attack; your time will be too short.""Like this," and, taking down a sheet of drafting paper, Cloud sketchedrapidly."This is the crater, here, with the vortex at the bottom,there. From the observers' instruments or from a shielded set-up of myown I get my data on mass, emission, maxima, minima, and so on. Then Ihave them makeme three duodec bombs--one on the mark of the activityI'm figuring on shooting at, and one each five percent over and underthat figure--cased in neocarballoy of exactly the computed thickness tolast until it gets tothe center of the vortex. Then I take off in aflying suit, armored and shielded, say about here....""If you take off at all, you'll take off in a suit, inside a one-manflitter," the Lensman interrupted. "Too many instrumentsfor a suit, tosay nothing of bombs, and you'll need more screen than a suit candeliver. We can adapt a flitter for bomb-throwing easily enough.""QX; that would be better, of course. In that case, I set my flitterinto aprojectile trajectory like this, whose objective is the center ofthe vortex, there. See? Ten seconds or so away, at about this point, Itake my instantaneous readings, solve the equations at that particularwarped surfacefor some certain zero time....""But suppose that the cycle won't give you a ten-second solution?""Then I'll swing around and try again until a long cycle _does_ showup.""QX. It will, sometime.""Sure. Then, havingeverything set for zero time, and assuming that theactivity is somewhere near my postulated value....""Assume that it isn't--it probably won't be," the Chief grunted."I accelerate or decelerate--""Solving new equationsall the while?""Sure--don't interrupt so--until at zero time the activity, extrapolatedto zero time, matches one of my bombs. I cut that bomb loose, shootmyself off in a sharp curve, and Z-W-E-E-E-T--POWIE! She's out!"With anexpressive, sweeping gesture."You hope," the Lensman was frankly dubious. "And there you are, rightin the middle of that explosion, with two duodec bombs outside yourarmor--or just inside your flitter.""Oh,no. I've shot them away several seconds ago, so that they explodesomewhere else, nowhere near me.""_I_ hope. But do you realize just how busy a man you are going to beduring those ten or twelve seconds?""Fully."Cloud's face grew somber. "But I will be in full control. Iwon't be afraid of anything that can happen--_anything_. And," he wenton, under his breath, "that's the hell of it.""QX," the Lensman admitted finally, "you cango. There are a lot ofthings you haven't mentioned, but you'll probably be able to work themout as you go along. I think I'll go out and work with the boys in thelookout station while you're doing your stuff. When areyou figuring onstarting?""How long will it take to get the flitter ready?""A couple of days. Say we meet you there Saturday morning?""Saturday the tenth, at eight o'clock. I'll be there."       *       *       *       *       *Andagain Neal Cloud and Babe, the big blue ox, hit the road. And as herolled the physicist mulled over in his mind the assignment to which hehad set himself.Like fire, only worse, intra-atomic energy was a good servant,but aterrible master. Man had liberated it before he could really control it.In fact, control was not yet, and perhaps never would be, perfect. Up toa certain size and activity, yes. They, the millions upon millionsofself-limiting ones, were the servants. They could be handled, fenced in,controlled; indeed, if they were not kept under an exciting bombardmentand very carefully fed, they would go out. But at long intervals, forsomeone of a dozen reasons--science knew _so_ little, fundamentally, ofthe true inwardness of the intra-atomic reactions--one of these small,tame, self-limiting vortices flared, nova-like, into a large, wild,self-sustainingone. It ceased being a servant then, and became amaster. Such flare-ups occurred, perhaps, only once or twice in acentury on Earth; the trouble was that they were so utterly, damnably_permanent_. They never wentout. And no data were ever secured: forevery living thing in the vicinity of a flare-up died; every instrumentand every other solid thing within a radius of a hundred feet melteddown into the reeking, boiling slag of itscrater.Fortunately, the rate of growth was slow--as slow, almost, as it waspersistent--otherwise Civilization would scarcely have had a planetleft. And unless something could be done about loose vortices beforetoo