CHAPTER XXXIX
Flecker had quailed when first the witch began to talk, but now he was more sure of himself. He saw why he had not seriously considered the miracle of the Eiffel Tower. It was no sort of a joke for an artist to play upon the world. He looked up into the witch's face. She touched his hair gently.
"You are a fool, an ordinary sort of fool!"
"He is not," declared Marie.
Flecker tried to smile.
"You wished for every kind of thing!" scoffed the witch. "A machine in which to parade your vanity! A beautiful woman! Wine for yourself! A journey to a far place for yourself.... Supreme talent—for yourself. Fame for yourself. Happiness for yourself, a long life—for yourself. Wealth for yourself.
"Ah, I see you know what I am going to say!" she exclaimed. "Did you wish for anybody but yourself? Why didn't you work a miracle for others?"
"I did not think of them!" Spike was amazed that he had not.
"It is a great sin! When others suffer now aren't you responsible?"
"If he could not decide to meddle with his own life how dared he meddle with the lives of others?" asked Marie, but the witch ignored her.
"You did not even think of your uncle. He would have wished: 'Make my Spike successful!——'"
"I should not have thanked him! He is kind and good but he does not know what I mean by success!"
"My words are severe," the witch pretended to smile, "but my feeling is not! Ah, you do not know how warm my feeling is!"
"Go away!" said Spike.
The pretended smile did not change. "The world is filled with injustice! Some men get a fair chance, some do not, yet all are held equally responsible for failure. Sin goes unpunished—virtue unrewarded. Fools lead, and wise men are forced to follow.
"You wanted to change the world, but when the power was yours you thought only of how to change yourself!"
"I know it," cried Spike. "Don't stand there repeating it over and over. I have to think it out."
"Perhaps you could decide next week," said the witch.
Spike leaped to his feet. "No! No! No! I'll not take another week. Go away from here!"
The bald-headed waiter, prepared to stop a fight, leisurely circled their table, looking suspiciously at the witch.
"I will give you a little time to think it over. But you cannot have more than a week—" the witch smiled kindly, as if Flecker had been pleading with her. "There is so much that can be done for society if one has Power to give away. Or, you could keep the power in your own hands in the form of money!"
"I said No!" Spike sat down. All three waited. The witch hid her face in her hands.
"There, there!" said Marie. "There, there! Don't cry!"
"Farewell!" The witch looked a moment at Spike's profile. "Farewell!" She turned and hurried away. In the echo of her farewell was a sneer.