The Green Mouse Page 2

  II

  THE IDLER

  _Concerning the Young Man in the Ditch and His Attempts to Get Out of It_

  Although he was not vindictive, he did not care to owe anything toanybody who might be inclined to give him a hearing on account of formerobligations or his social position. Everybody knew he had gone to smash;everybody, he very soon discovered, was naturally afraid of beingbothered by him. The dread of the overfed that an underfed member of thecommunity may request a seat at the table he now understood perfectly. Hewas learning.

  So he solicited aid from nobody whom he had known in former days; neitherfrom those who had aided him when he needed no aid, nor those who owedtheir comfortable position to the generosity of his father--a gentlemannotorious for making fortunes for his friends.

  Therefore he wrote to strangers on a purely business basis--to amazingtypes lately emerged from the submerged, bulging with coal money, steelmoney, copper money, wheat money, stockyard money--types that gallopedfor Fifth Avenue to build town houses; that shook their long cars andfrisked into the country and built "cottages." And this was how he putit:

  "_Madam:_ In case you desire to entertain guests with the professionalservices of a magician it would give me pleasure to place my very unusualaccomplishments at your disposal."

  And signed his name.

  It was a dreadful drain on his bank account to send several thousandengraved cards about town and fashionable resorts. No replies came. Dayafter day, exhausted with the practice drill of his profession, he walkedto the Park and took his seat on the bench by the bridle path. Sometimeshe saw her cantering past; she always acknowledged his salute, but neverdrew bridle. At times, too, he passed her in the hall; her colorless"Good morning" never varied except when she said "Good evening." And allthis time he never inquired her name from the hall servant; he was thatsort of man--decent through instinct; for even breeding sometimes permitssentiment to snoop.

  For a week he had been airily dispensing with more than one meal a day;to keep clothing and boots immaculate required a sacrifice of breakfastand luncheon--besides, he had various small pensioners to feed, whiterabbits with foolish pink eyes, canary birds, cats, albino mice,goldfish, and other collaborateurs in his profession. He was obliged tobribe the janitor, too, because the laws of the house permitted neitheranimals nor babies within its precincts. This extra honorarium deprivedhim of tobacco, and he became a pessimist.

  Besides, doubts as to his own ability arose within him; it was all verywell to practice his magic there alone, but he had not yet tried it onanybody except the janitor; and when he had begun by discovering severalred-eyed rabbits in the janitor's pockets that intemperate functionaryfled with a despondent yell that brought a policeman to the area gatewith a threat to pull the place.

  At length, however, a letter came engaging him for one evening. He wasquite incredulous at first, then modestly scared, perplexed, exultant anddepressed by turns. Here was an opening--the first. And because it wasthe first its success or failure meant future engagements or consignmentsto the street, perhaps as a white-wing. There must be no faltering now,no bungling, no mistakes, no amateurish hesitation. It is the empty-headed who most strenuously demand intelligence in others. One yawn fromsuch an audience meant his professional damnation--he knew that; everysecond must break like froth in a wine glass; an instant's perplexity, aslackening of the tension, and those flaccid intellects would relax intonative inertia. Incapable of self-amusement, depending utterly uponsuperior minds for a respite from ennui, their caprice controlled hisfate; and he knew it.

  Sitting there by the sunny window with a pair of magnificent whitePersian cats purring on either knee, he read and reread the lettersummoning him on the morrow to Seabright. He knew who his hostess was--alarge lady lately emerged from a corner in lard, dragging with her someassorted relatives of atrophied intellects and a husband whose onlymental pleasure depended upon the speed attained by his racing car--themost exacting audience he could dare to confront.

  Like the White Knight he had had plenty of practice, but he feared thatwarrior's fate; and as he sat there he picked up a bunch of silver hoops,tossed them up separately so that they descended linked in a glitteringchain, looped them and unlooped them, and, tiring, thoughtfully tossedthem toward the ceiling again, where they vanished one by one in mid-air.

  The cats purred; he picked up one, molded her carefully in his handsomehands; and presently, under the agreeable massage, her purring increasedwhile she dwindled and dwindled to the size of a small, fluffy kitten,then vanished entirely, leaving in his hand a tiny white mouse. Thismouse he tossed into the air, where it became no mouse at all but a whitebutterfly that fluttered 'round and 'round, alighting at last on thewindow curtain and hung there, opening and closing its snowy wings.

  "That's all very well," he reflected, gloomily, as, at a pass of hishand, the air was filled with canary birds; "that's all very well, butsuppose I should slip up? What I need is to rehearse to somebody before Iface two or three hundred people."

  He thought he heard a knocking on his door, and listened a moment. But asthere was an electric bell there he concluded he had been mistaken; andpicking up the other white cat, he began a gentle massage that stimulatedher purring, apparently at the expense of her color and size, for in afew moments she also dwindled until she became a very small, coal-blackkitten, changing in a twinkling to a blackbird, when he cast hercarelessly toward the ceiling. It was well done; in all India no magiciancould have done it more cleverly, more casually.

  Leaning forward in his chair he reproduced the two white cats from behindhim, put the kittens back in their box, caught the blackbird and cagedit, and was carefully winding up the hairspring in the white butterfly,when again he fancied that somebody was knocking.