Fancies and Goodnights

SPRING FEVER

There was a young sculptor named Eustace whose work was altogether too life-like for the modern taste. Consequently he was often under the necessity of dropping in upon his friends at about seven in the evening, in the hungry hope of being pressed to stay for dinner. «I carve the stone,» said he to himself, «and chisel my meals. When I am rich it will be much the same thing, only the other way round.»

He would eagerly snuff up the odours of sputtering roasts and nourishing stews that crept in from the kitchen, and, excited by the savour, he would exult in his incorruptible ideals and furiously inveigh against the abstractionists. But nature and art were combined against the unfortunate Eustace, for the stimulating vapours worked powerfully upon his salivary glands, and the moderns he most hissingly denounced were Brancusi, Lipchitz, and Brzeska.

It was usually the wives who, thus clumsily reminded of Niagara, demanded that Eustace be got rid of without delay. Numerous devices were employed to this end; one of the most humane was to give him a ticket for some show or other and bid him hurry off and get there before it started.

Thus it came about one evening that Eustace, defeated of a seven-rib roast, found himself unexpectedly watching Charlie McCarthy, whom he regarded with the humourless and critical eye of a hungry sculptor. «I don't know what all the applause is for,» said he to the man beside him. «Those jokes are not his own; it's obviously all done by ventriloquism. And considered as a work of art — well, I happen to be a sculptor myself, and I can assure you he's an all-time low.»

«All the same,» returned the stranger, «he earns I don't know how many hundred thousand bucks a year for his owner.»

«By God!» cried Eustace, standing up and brandishing his fists. «What sort of civilization is this, anyway? Here's a coarse, crude, comic-looking dummy, not fit even to be called a piece of sculpture, and earns this fellow doesn't know how many hundred thousand a year, while the most life-like work of the century is …» At this point, the ushers took him by the seat of the pants and slung him out of the auditorium.

Eustace picked himself up, and shuffled off in the direction of Brooklyn, where the old garage was situated that was at once his abode and his studio. In the near neighbourhood of this place there was a dingy little book shop, with a tray of second-hand books in the entrance. One of these bore the conspicuous title, «Practical Ventriloquism.» Eustace's eye fell upon this title, and he stopped and picked up the book and looked at it with a sneer. «Art and the Ideal,» said he, «have brought me to this pass. If that fellow's figures were correct, Ventriloquism and the Practical may get me out of it.» He glanced into the interior of the shop and saw that no one was looking at him. He at once slipped the book under his jacket, and made his way off. «I am now a thief,» said he to himself. «How does it feel to be a thief, Eustace?» And he answered, «It feels fine.»

Arrived home, he studied the book with great concentration, «This is perfectly simple,» said he. «You just take your voice and bounce it, as if it were a ball, immobilizing the jaws as you do so. I used to bounce a ball as a youngster, and my jaws have had good practice at resting immobile. Here, too, is a little picture of the larynx, with A, B, C, D—everything. I can learn to ventriloquize as well as anyone, and with a dummy that is a real work of art I shall soon be making a fortune.»

He at once dragged out all his long accumulated works, to find one suitable to set up as a rival to Charlie McCarthy. But though he had renounced his ideals something of the old artist still survived within him. «They are all marvellous,» he said, «but I can do better. I will make something so life-like that the audience will swear it's a stooge, and I shall have to invite them to step up on the platform and stick pins in it.»

He looked about for material from which to carve this masterpiece, but he had been so long on the rocks that he had no longer a piece of stone to work upon. «Never mind,» said he, «I will model him in clay, which has the advantage of being lighter and less chilly, and will yield a little to the points of the pins. This will provide an agreeable sensation for those who step up to make the test, for such people are bound to be sadistically inclined.»

Next morning he went out into the yard behind his studio, and toiled with pick and shovel until he had uncovered a bed of red clay, of a quality very noticeably superior to that which is sold in the art stores. From this he fashioned a male figure of singularly attractive appearance, with crimpy hair and a Graeco-Roman profile. He thought the face wore a slightly supercilious expression, and this he strove to modify, but in spite of his skill his efforts were unavailing. «After all,» he said, «it is a work of genius, and as such it is entitled to a slightly supercilious expression.»

In order to impart a sufficient flexibility to his creation, he jointed the limbs and neck with pieces of old bedsprings, such as are indigenous to the soil of the back yards of Brooklyn. This experiment was so successful that he broke up two or three battered alarm clocks he found, which his neighbours had thrown at the cats, and fixed up the fingers, the toes, and the eyelids. He scrabbled about in the debris, and found other springs of all shapes and sizes, which he employed to the utmost advantage, not even neglecting those details that were least likely to be seen by the audience. In the end, the figure had good reason to look supercilious.

Next, he heated his old rusty furnace to the point of incandescence, and baked the clay to a light, porous, and permanent texture. He had given it a low glaze, and tinted it in the most agreeable colours. Finally he borrowed a little money and got his best suit out of hock, and found to his delight that it fitted the figure to perfection, which had not been the case when he himself had worn it. Our friend admired the effect for an hour or two; then he took up the telephone and called Sadie. «Sadie,» said he, «I want you to come around at once. I've a grand surprise for you.»

«I don't think I ought to come around unless we're able to get married,» said she. «It doesn't do a girl any good to be seen going to a sculptor's studio.»

«Don't worry,» said he. «The years of waiting are over. We can afford to flout the conventions, for I shall soon be earning I don't know how many hundred thousand a year.»

«In that case,» she said, «I'll be around immediately.»

Pretty soon she was tapping at the door, and Eustace hastened to let her in. «I can hardly believe it,» said she. «Oh, Eustace, it has seemed so long!»

«Never mind,» said he. «It's all over now. Let me introduce you to the author of our good fortune. This is Mr. Bertie McGregor.»

«Oh, how do you do?» said she with a blush and a smile. «If what Eustace says is true, you are my favourite author from now on. Yes, I think you're wonderful.»

«Wonderful is the word,» said Eustace. «However, you need not go on buttering him up, for he is only a dummy, and the praise is due to me.»

«A dummy?» she cried. «And I have been talking to him all the time! How handsome he is for a dummy! But, Eustace, when I spoke to him first, it seemed to me he smiled and nodded.»

«He is handsome,» said Eustace, «because I took pains to make him so. As for smiling and nodding, that is not unlikely, for I have fixed him up with springs. He is perfect in every particular.»

«Is that really so?» said she.

«Yes,» said he. «I will explain it all to you when we are married. But tell me frankly — you don't think his expression is a little too supercilious?»

«Oh, no,» said she. «I think he just looks sort of cute and masculine; sort of … I'll explain it to you when we are married. But, Eustace, if he is really a dummy, how can he be the author of our good fortune? That sounds a bit like fiction to me.»

«I assure you,» he replied, smiling, «it is straightforward biography.» With that he told her of his great plan. «And here,» said he in conclusion, «is a bill I'm designing, announcing us to the public. I thought we might use your savings, and start in by hiring a hall. I think the lettering is pretty effective. See where I invite the audience to stick pins in him at the end of the performance, to assure themselves that he is not really alive, in spite of his life-like appearance and rapier wit.»

«Shall we really have you don't know how many hundred thousand a year?» said she. «You know how long it has taken me to save up that little nest-egg.»

Eustace pointed proudly to his creation. «Which is the more life-like?» he demanded.

«In some ways he is, and in some ways you are,» responded Sadie.

«Come, come!» said Eustace, «I meant he or Charlie McCarthy.»

«Oh, he is,» replied Sadie. «There's no doubt at all about that.»

«Then there's no doubt about the money,» said Eustace. «And as for your own pitiful little hoard, I've no doubt we'll get it all back the very first evening.» With that he took her in his arms, as masterfully as his somewhat debilitated condition allowed. Suddenly Sadie squealed and thrust him from her. «Eustace,» said she, «I wish you would not pinch me like that, even if we are going to be rich. After all, we are not yet married.»

«Pinch you?» said he. «I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing.»

«I didn't say don't dream of it,» said she captiously. «You're in love. You're young. You're an artist. There's nothing wrong in dreaming.»

«I am glad you think so,» said he, «for you must have dreamed you were pinched.»

«No. I wouldn't dream it,» said she, «because I'm a healthy, normal girl, and therefore dream differently. But if you are healthy and normal, as I thought you were, you might very well dream of it, because you are a man. But are you? Or are you a mouse?»

«I am a man, Sadie,» said he. «But hitherto I've been an artist also, and that sort of thing has been absorbed in the creative impulse. Now I am altogether practical, and I expect I shall dream like a demon. Don't let us quarrel, my dear. After all, what's a pinch, be it real or imaginary? Perhaps I did it unconsciously — who can tell? Let us go to the bank and draw out your money, and then we will hire the hall.»

This was done, and Bertie and Eustace were billed all over the neighbourhood in large lettering. The fateful night arrived, and Sadie had a seat in the front row, and nearly twisted her head off looking back to count the audience, for the truth is, she was extremely anxious about her nest-egg.

Her fears were quickly laid to rest, for the hall filled up very pleasantly, and soon the curtain was raised, and there was Eustace bowing and smiling like a Svengali. Bertie also graciously responded to the applause. «What wonderful springs Eustace must have fixed in him!» thought Sadie. «I should think there is hardly anything he couldn't do. Certainly he is very much handsomer than Charlie McCarthy.»

Now the show began, and to Sadie's dismay a slight hitch soon became apparent Eustace took the figure on his knee, and addressed some old and corny gags to it, which he had found in the back pages of the book on ventriloquism. It at once became apparent that he had not studied the front pages sufficiently, for his voice had no more bounce in it than a lump of lead. Moreover, the springs in the figure's jaws obstinately refused to work, and all became aware that Eustace was a lousy ventriloquist

The audience began to hoot and jeer. Eustace, who had no idea of what was wrong, took this to be a sign that they found the performance altogether too good to be true, so he advanced smiling to the foot-lights and invited them to come up straight-away and stick pins in the dummy.

There are always some who find an invitation of this sort irresistible. These filed upon the platform, and were handed out-size pins with souvenir heads on them, but as soon as the first of these was applied to Master Bertie, an agonized «ouch!» re-echoed through the hall and convinced everyone that he was not even a genuine dummy.

This completed the disgust of the audience, who felt they had been taken for two rides, in opposite directions. A riot immediately started; the police burst in, and all the money had to be refunded. Eustace, who had come in a cab, had to stagger home on foot, overwhelmed by Bertie's considerable weight and by Sadie's upbraidings, which were no less hard to bear.

Arrived home, he deposited the figure on the divan, and stood like a man utterly beaten, hanging his head. Sadie continued to reproach him, for she felt the loss of her money very keenly, and no longer believed in the I don't know how many hundred thousand a year. «You did it on purpose,» said she. «You ruined everything on purpose.»

«No, my dear,» said he. «I did not do that. My ventriloquism was not very effective, I admit.»

«Don't be so brazen,» said she. «Don't be so barefaced. That final 'ouch' was the work of a master. You paraded your powers just where they were most destructive.»

«No. No,» said he. «I didn't let out that 'ouch.' I was as much surprised as anyone.»

«If you didn't do it, who did?» said she.

«How can I tell?» said he. «Unless, possibly, it was Bergen, who may have attended the show in a false beard, eager to ruin such a promising rival.»

«Stuff and nonsense,» said she. «You did it yourself, and you know it»

«It may be possible,» said he. «After all, the pin was stuck into the child of my genius, and I have a sensitive nature, though I am now a practical ventriloquist. But if so, Sadie, I assure you it was unconscious».

«About as unconscious as that pinch you gave me,» said Sadie with a sneer.

«I swear to you that was an unconscious pinch,» said Eustace.

«Oh, no, it wasn't,» said Bertie, who had been regarding this regrettable scene with his supercilious smile. «Sadie is right, as usual It was I who gave her the pinch. What's more, I was perfectly conscious of doing so, and the memory lingers yet.»

«But we are not married,» squealed Sadie. «We are not even engaged. What can we do?» She tittered, placed her hand on her mouth, and regarded the dummy with big, reproachful eyes.

«What are you?» cried Eustace, utterly flabbergasted. «Speak! Speak!»

«I speak when I want to, and I keep quiet when I want to,» replied the image.

«Are you some damned soul,» cried Eustace, «let out on parole from Hell, who nipped into my furnace to get a brief warm-up, and found my masterpiece there?»

The figure smiled superciliously.

«Is it possible,» cried Eustace, «that the clay in my back yard is the original clay from which Adam was made? But that would imply that Brooklyn is on the site of the Garden of Eden.»

The figure laughed outright

«Or have I succeeded,» said Eustace, «where all the scientists have failed, and changed dead clay into organic colloidal matter, charged with pep and energy? That must be it. In that case I'm the hell of a sculptor!»

«Have it your own way,» said the figure. «In any case you're a lousy ventriloquist, and it's ventriloquism that rakes in the I don't know how many hundred thousand a year.»

«There is something in that,» said Eustace. «But since you can speak so well, surely we can give terrific performances.»

«Not with me as the stooge,» said Bertie. «I have the looks and I have the personality. I'm not sitting on your knee any more. You can sit on mine if you like, and I'll run the show and draw the money.»

«Me sit on your knee?» cried Eustace. «No!»

«Oh, it's not so bad,» said the other. «Come on, why don't you try it? You don't want to? Well, perhaps the little lady will try.»

«Yes, I will,» said Sadie. «I don't think I don't know how many hundred thousand a year is to be sneezed at.» With that she seated herself on the image's knee.

«How d'you like it, honey?» asked the image.

«I think we ought to be engaged,» said she. «In fact, I think we ought to be married.»

«Don't worry about that,» said the image, chucking her under the chin. «On the stage, it's different. We troupers are practical.»

«Then take your practicality out of my studio,» said Eustace. «I'm going back to ideals. No more ventriloquism, no more clay, no more springs! I'm going to make tombstones, and by gosh, I'll make 'em heavy!»

«Just as you please,» said the image. «Sadie and I will get on very well as a couple.»

«She will not like the pins,» said Eustace.

«I shall allow no pins,» said the image with a reassuring glance at Sadie. «Just a little matter of this sort.» As he spoke, he gave her another pinch, similar to the first he had given her, only this time her squeal was in a deeper, fuller tone.

«Your squeal is very deep and full,» said Eustace to her, as he icily opened the door for their exit. «You had better remember that some of the springs I used were abominably old and rusty.»

With that he shut the door after them, and, contrary to his expressed intention, he approached a chunk of clay that stood handy, and began to model it into a very fetching Eve-like figure. Halfway through, however, he changed his mind yet again, and turned out a cute little Sealyham.