Volume 2 — The Vampire’s Fool
Reading edition
Hello, Tom! Glad to see you. What was that crowd I saw as I came aboard ship? Looked to me like an accident. Suicide! Young Parmerly killed himself, and for a woman!
“A Fool there was, and he made his prayer, Even as you and I, To a rag, and a bone, and a hank of hair; We called her the Woman who did not care, But the Fool, he called her his Lady Fair— Even as you and I.”
Good God. Here I am back in New York, alone, alone; wife and child and friends, all gone; disgraced, dishonored, and for that woman!
“A Fool there was, and his goods he spent, Even as you and I, Honor, Faith, and a sure Intent; But it wasn’t the least what the Lady meant, And a Fool must follow his natural bent— Even as you and I.”
Age comes, the body withers, the brain grows dull, the blood becomes thin, the soul grows weary; and the power to live, as once we lived, is taken from us. We sit, white-haired, blue veined, drinking in the sun, through shriveled pores, to drive the chill from our shrunken frame. It will come to you, to me, to all of us, and neither man nor God may stop it.
You, Tom, you here? Before you begin, let me tell you that it is useless; nothing that you can say to me will change me in the slightest; I’ve made up my mind and my decision is unalterable. Gone, gone! Tell me what you think, Tom; tell me what every one thinks; put into words the scorn and contempt I see in every eye that looks into mine and every mirror that I look into. Gone, gone! Tell me something of your own; tell me the things that lie here and burn in my brain, and burn and burn, tell me something! Alas, not that; I know that by heart! Don’t, Tom, don’t try to save me! What is there left to save—nothing but memories, nightmares!
I drink to you, gentlemen; I drink to you, Parmerly; I drink to you, Rogers, and to you, Van Dalm; I drink to you, even as you drink to me! Bumpers, gentlemen, bumpers! Bumpers? Good God, what has come over me? I thought from the beginning it was too late—the loss of honor, and dignity, and manhood, and self-respect were all new to me, Tom, and I couldn’t understand. I cursed myself and swore to God that I would not become the thing I am. Look at me, The Honorable John Schuyler!
I prayed to God, Tom, but he didn’t help me. He didn’t, he didn’t; and I couldn’t help myself. I tried, oh, I tried and tried, but it was no use; there was something, I don’t know what it was! It was her eyes, Tom, it was her eyes, and I couldn’t help myself. I tried to kill myself as Parmerly did, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t, and the only forgetfulness lay in drink.
Drink that sapped my strength and raised my veins, and shriveled up my brain. Don’t hate me, Tom!
Pity me, for the love of God, pity me, pity me!
“The Fool was stripped to his foolish hide, Even as you and I, Which she might have seen, as she threw him aside; But it wasn’t on record the Lady tried, So some of him lived—but the most of him died— Even as you and I.”
* * *
The Wrong Button
In a crowded omnibus a stout woman vainly endeavored to get her fare out of the pocket of her cloak, which was tightly buttoned as a precaution against pickpockets.
After she had been working in vain for some minutes, a gentleman seated on her right said: “Please allow me to pay your fare.”
The lady declined and recommenced her attacks on the pocket.
After these had continued for some little time her fellow-passenger said: “You really must let me pay your fare. You have already undone my suspenders three times and I cannot stand it any longer.”
* * *
A woman is never so disappointed as when she asks a man to behave, and he behaves.
* * *
“Oh, Dear, You Hurt”
Imagine the scene: A big, comfortable chair, a beautiful girl snuggled down in it, her head leaned back so that she is looking up into the face of the man who is bending so attentively over her.
Now he reaches his arm around her. Her head is pressed against his heart. Speech at this time would be impossible.
Listen. We hear her struggled whisper: “Oh, dear, you hurt.” In a low, earnest voice he says: “Well, I simply cannot help hurting you a little bit. You don’t mind that, do you?”
Again we hear only silence. They seem perfectly contented.
It is not long, however, that they remain in this position. He does not seem content with what he sees in her face.
Her eyes are a violet gray. He bends farther over so that he can see into—well—see into her mouth.
Because, of course, it is the dentist repairing her teeth.
* * *
Perhaps He Was Lucky
The worried countenance of the bridegroom disturbed the best man. Tiptoeing up the aisle, he whispered:
“What’s the matter, Jock? Hae ye lost the ring?”
“No,” blurted out the unhappy Jock, “the ring’s safe eno’. But, mon, I’ve lost ma enthusiasm.”
* * *
It’s a sure sign of being in love if you shave twice.