A Lucky Day for the Boar

Well, What the Devil then, where's your title?" said Mr. Bozman, the proprietor of The Baltimore General Press. "I see a quotation: 'Ignoscito saepe alteri nunquam tibi'—which, construed, reads 'Forgive others often, but never forgive yourself.' Well?"

His Editor, a timid man, murmured, "I advanced the gentleman five dollars."

"Gentleman? What the devil kind of alpaca-and-steel-mixture hack do you call gentleman? And what do you mean by five dollars? How dared you do it, sir? Silver is dug out of the ground; it does not grow on bushes. Eh? Eh?"

"We might entitle it A Lucky Day for the Boar, sir."

"You make free with my dollars, sir. Read it over to me, mister, if you will."

"By your leave," said the Editor, and read:

Self-sufficient, Colonel Hyrax came and went like a cat in the Duke's palace. Nobody could deny that there was, in fact, much of the feline in his fastidiousness and in his almost inhuman composure. As Chief of the Secret Police, Colonel Hyrax was not bound by the rules of protocol. Dread followed him, and awe—awe of the Unknown—and it was whispered that the Duke himself feared Colonel Hyrax.

Certainly, no one but he would have dared to detain the Duke when that potentate was booted and spurred for the hunt. Yet, although he was smiling with pleasurable anticipation as he listened to the baying of his boarhounds in the courtyard below, the Duke put aside his boar spear when Colonel Hyrax appeared, and, bidding him close the door, asked, "What now, Hyrax?"

"Your Grace, I have good news."

"My foresters have beaten out a black boar of 30 stone, a monster. So be brief. Good news of what?"

"Of the conspiracy, your Grace," said Colonel Hyrax.

"I suppose," said the Duke, with a harsh laugh, "I suppose you are going to tell me that my traitorous scoundrel of a nephew has named his partners in this plot against me?"

"Precisely that, your Grace," said Colonel Hyrax, with a thin smile.

"No!"

"By your Grace's leave — yes," cried Colonel Hyrax. But he looked in vain for some demonstration of relief or joy. The Duke frowned.

"It is hard," he said, "it is very hard for me to believe. Are you sure, now? My nephew Stanislaus has named his friends?"

"Your Grace, I have a list of their names. They are under close arrest."

"Damn it! Stanislaus is of my blood. He had—I thought he had—something of my character. Red-hot pincers could not drag a betrayal of my friends out of me. Milksop!"

"Yet he conspired against the life of your Grace," said Colonel Hyrax.

"I know, I know; but that was all in the family. I trapped him, and he didn't lie about it. Naturally, he refused to name his collaborators. I'd have done the same in his place. Oh yes, Hyrax—touching the matter of red-hot pincers—you never dared ... ?"

"I know my duty, your Grace," said Colonel Hyrax. "I am well aware that your blood is inviolable, and that it is death to spill one drop of it; or to offer violence, however slight, to any member of your family; or even to threaten it. Neither may any of your Grace's blood be manacled. Oh, believe me, not only was his Excellency your nephew treated with the utmost gentleness—I saw to it, when he was placed in solitary confinement by your Grace's written order, that he could not even do violence to his own person."

"And still he betrayed his comrades? He's no blood of mine!" The Duke then uttered foul accusations against his dead brother's wife. Growing calmer, he said, "More, Hyrax; tell me more." The horns sounded clear in the courtyard, but the Duke threw open a casement and roared, "Let the boar wait!"

"Your Grace sentenced your nephew to perpetual solitary confinement. His Excellency was to be 'left to cool his head,' to quote your own words."

"Did you starve him; Hyrax? You had no right to starve the boy."

"No, your Grace. He had everything of the best. The passage of Time did our work for us," said Colonel Hyrax.

"Time? What time? The young fool hasn't been locked up two months. What are you talking about?"

"If I may explain?" begged Colonel Hyrax; and, his master nodding, he continued: "I had prepared for his Excellency a commodious chamber, padded at walls, floor and ceiling with heavy quiltings of lamb's wool covered with gray velvet. There was a double window, out of which his Excellency might look at the wild countryside surrounding the Fortress."

"Better than he deserved."

"His viands were, as I have said, of the best. But his meat was cut for him, and all his cutlery consisted of a horn spoon. For he was so violent, at first, that I feared the young gentleman might do himself a mischief."

"Aye, aye, he always was an overbred, nervous young fool. Well?"

"Then we asked his Excellency for permission to shave his head," said Colonel Hyrax. "He gave it."

"What the devil for?"

"Your Grace will see, presently. So, by his leave, we shaved off all his hair. We provided him with some quills, ink and paper, but nothing edged or pointed. To calm him, a mild and harmless opiate was mixed with his Excellency's breakfast. He ate, and then, leaning on the casement, grazed moodily at the landscape under the morning sun. He dozed, leaning thus, for perhaps five minutes. When he opened his eyes he was looking upon a night scene with a rising moon, and the attendants were bringing his supper. His Excellency was bewildered. 'Am I bewitched?' he asked. But since, by your Grace's order, he was incommunicado, the attendants were silent."

"Bewildered?" cried the Duke, "So am I. From breakfast to supper—morning to moonrise—is a matter of hours. What was the purpose in bringing Stanislaus his supper five minutes after breakfast-time?"

"Pray let me explain, your Grace. The prospect beyond his window was not open country. It was a black wall, upon which I had caused to be projected through a lens, by means of a powerful reflector, highly realistic scenes painted upon glass by one of the finest landscape artists in Europe. Thus, I could create a perfect illusion of the various stages of the day, and of the four seasons."

"But what for?"

"In order, your Grace, without violating your law, to let his Excellency confuse himself in his conception of Time. Soon, he fell into a deep sleep, and an adroit barber shaved him and trimmed his nails. Men incarcerated can gauge TÈme, to a certain extent, by the rate of growth of their beards, you see. It was necessary to bewilder; it was necessary to let his Excellency force himself to have recourse to Reason, and to make his reasoning invalid. Do I make myself clear?"

"Go on."

"Hence, he would awaken—let us say—at midnight, look out of the window, see high noon; doze again, rise again in 10 minutes, and—lo! and behold!—dawn. Or, awakening at dawn, he would see nothing but the rim of the setting sun, while the attendants came in with supper. Sleeping soon after, by the judicious administration of opiates, he would start up to observe another sunset. So, after a week, he asked how many months he had been there. There was no reply, of course."

"Clever, clever," said the Duke.

Colonel Hyrax bowed, and continued, "Although the month was July, his Excellency awoke one morning to a scene of naked trees under a blanket of snow. Sometimes, breakfast, dinner and supper would arrive at intervals of only a few minutes after the clearing of the table. Or sometimes hours might elapse, after which his Excellency, starting out of a fitful sleep, might notice that it was early autumn now, where it had been midwinter when he last looked out.

"I took good care—since men in prison sometimes grow preternaturally observant—to age the guards and waiters, and to see to it that their uniforms showed increasing signs of wear. The chief warder was always accompanied by a pair of great dogs. At first, it was a couple of wolfhounds. I replaced these with older and older wolfhounds. Then there was a new young warder, and he had a pair of mastiffs — which, in their turn, I made appear to grow old, by a system of substitution.

"Naturally, I never entered the young gentleman's chamber myself. But I had my reports to rely upon. Your Grace—within a few weeks, your nephew believed that he had been incarcerated for an incomputable number of years! Your Grace has had the nightmare, no doubt?"

The Duke said, "I have, and it's horrible. A second is an eternity, or worse. I think I understand you now, Hyrax. Go on."

"By means of concealed lamps, there was always a diffused light in the chamber which, by the judicious use of hot-air pipes was maintained at a constant temperature of precisely 74 degrees (concluded on page 197) Lucky Day (continued from page 108) Fahrenheit. As his Excellency slept, his clothes were taken away and replaced by others, precisely the same in pattern, but just a little more worn. I also arranged that his clothes should be made progressively a hairsbreadth larger, so that the young gentleman grew gradually convinced that he was becoming shriveled and wasted with long imprisonment."

"Oh, clever, clever!" cried the Duke, with a slight shudder. "I think that, on the whole, given the choice, I'd choose the Iron Boot, the thumbscrew or the rack. Proceed."

"Ah, but there is no question of choice, your Grace; for this method of mine depends for its effectiveness upon complete ignorance of the surrounding circumstances. Do I make myself clear?"

"Your object being, to plant a firm illusion that there has been a prolonged passage of time, when, as a matter of fact, only hours have elapsed," said the Duke.

"Just so," said Hyrax. "I have written a carefully annotated 'Procedure' for your Grace's perusal. I can make four minutes last 48 hours, in the consciousness of the prisoner. I hasten to reassure your Grace that no common hand was laid on his Excellency, your nephew Stanislaus. His table was almost as well furnished as your Grace's own; only he had the delicacies of the season out of season. And, allowing for certain inevitable margins of error, the young gentleman seemed to live a long month in half an hour. Between your Grace's breakfast and dinner, he passed approximately a whole year."

"Well," said the Duke, "that may Èeach the pup a lesson, not to plot against his poor old uncle, who used to think the world of him. Well, come to the point. What made Stanislaus betray his friends? They are my enemies, it is true, but ... well, I think the worse of him notwithstanding."

Colonel Hyrax said, "But his Excellency did not betray his friends, your Grace."

"Will you tell me what the devil you are talking about?" roared the Duke.

"I mean, he did not betray them wittingly."

"Oh? If you have deranged the rascal with your dirty drugs ——" began the Duke.

"No, no, your Grace. The drugs were used discreetly, and sparingly, and then only for the first three weeks. Time, Time, Time was the illusion with which I took the liberty of bedazzling the young gentleman—Time as Man knows it, through the contemplation of mere external change. Men and fashions seemed to come and go. Once, on my order, a guard let fall a newspaper. It was postdated 15 years: I had had one copy only printed before the type was broken up, and it was full of news of people and affairs his Excellency had never heard of."

"Most damnably clever!" exclaimed the Duke. "And my poor — I mean that wretched fellow who is supposed to be my brother's son, and couldn't even keep faith with his fellow-criminals: did he write nothing?"

"Only some verses, your Grace."

"About me?"

"About worms. But I see that your Grace is anxious to be after the boar, so I will conclude for now. After the young gentleman had been in that chamber about 40 days, the door was opened by a young officer in a strange uniform—gray, faced with yellow—and an older officer, in the same colors, but having a dolman trimmed with sable, came in, fell on his knees, and hailed your nephew as martyr, savior and leader. The Duke, he said, was dead, the New Party was in power, and Stanislaus was to sit on your throne."

The Duke laughed. "Ha! And I suppose my nephew jumped for joy?"

"Not so, your Grace. He said—and I quote, so you will forgive me—he said, 'The old ruffian was kind to me once upon a time.' Then he said, 'And all my friends, I suppose, are dead, or old—which is worse.' "

"Aha!" cried the Duke, "We are coming to it, now!"

"Yes, your Grace. The Commanding Officer said, 'If you will tell me whom you mean, your Excellency, I shall immediately ascertain.' Whereupon, your nephew recited a list of 40 names, which are on the paper which I have the honor to place in your Grace's hand."

"Hyrax," said the Duke, "you are hellishly clever! And my nephew—how is he?"

"I was listening to the proceedings at a concealed aperture, and did not see his Excellency at first. Then, when he came into my range of vision, I was astounded. For where, a few weeks before, I had seen a sanguine young man of 24, I now beheld a decrepit and enfeebled man of 60!"

The Duke was silent. Colonel Hyrax pointed to the paper upon which the names of the conspirators were written. "Your Grace will hang them?" he asked.

"No. I shall shock the wits out of them by pardoning them, and make 40 friends into the bargain. Where's Stanislaus?"

"Asleep, your Grace," said Colonel Hyrax.

"You are an astonishingly clever man, Hyrax," said the Duke. "Did I not say that if you cleared this matter up I'd make a nobleman of you?"

"The work is its own reward, your Grace," said Hyrax.

"No, you have earned my gratitude. I hereby confer upon you the Barony of Opa, with all lands, rents and revenues pertaining thereunto."

"Oh, your Grace! Words cannot express ——"

"—Save them, then. Leave me, now."

Hyrax having bowed himself out of his presence, the Duke called for his secretary. A soberly attired gentleman came in and made his obeisance. "Your Grace?"

"Colonel Hyrax is now Colonel the Baron Opa. Make a note of it."

"Yes, your GrÈce."

The Duke paced the floor, tugging at his beard. "And write me an order to the Lord Provost," he said. "Write as follows: 'Bearing in mind the new dignity of Colonel Hyrax, whom we have recently created Baron of Opa, you will procure a silk cord and hang him forthwith.'" Scrawling his signature at the foot of this document, and impressing the warm wax with his great carnelian ring, the Duke muttered, "One could no longer sleep with such a man awake. He is too clever by half."

A nameless cold had crept into his heart. He looked long and anxiously at the morning sun, and listened with more than usual attention to the portentous ticking of the great bronze clock. Presently, he said to his secretary, "Dismiss the men. I hunt no boar today."

"Yes, your Grace."

"I desire to see Stanislaus."

"Shall he be sent for?"

"No. I go to him."

The secretary, a good-hearted man, ventured to ask, "Oh please, your Grace—is it your gracious intention magnanimously to pardon the unhappy young gentleman?"

The Duke growled, "No. My Grace's intention is humbly to beg the unlucky young gentleman, out of his magnanimity to pardon me."

• • •

The proprietor said, "You gave this person five dollars, you say?"

"He asked 20," said the Editor. "I advanced him five."

"And what does the confounded author call himself?"

"Ethan Arthur Poland. Confidentially, I think he's the man who wrote The Raven, Edgar Poe, no less."

"You throw my dollars about like rice at a wedding, my friend. Yes, you have my leave to print. Let the fellow have five dollars more, if he presses. A Latin title is a drug, sir, a drug. Take a title out of context," said Mr. Bozman, "out of context, out of context. And since I am paying for the job and writing it too, sign it Bozman—John Helliwell Bozman. Incidentally, you owe me five dollars."

So saying, the proprietor of The Balti more General Press walked sedately out of doors.