“I think it is marvelous. But, please tell me—am I not speaking to the great—”
“Hush, young man. No one is great or small here. Only some have more power than others for certain reasons. I undertook the getting up of this affair just to keep my hand in. I hope that when I get my passport I may be able to run things in the next sphere as I did in my own circle while I was alive.”
The young man did not know exactly how to talk to the great man and so waited in silence for him to take up the conversation again. He did this by asking if the young man had noted many expressions of regret in the newspapers at the time of his demise.
The young man took note of the word demise and decided that somehow it sounded better than the less subdued one of Death, in a general way, and he thought it would sound so much better down here that he should make use of it. So he looked sympathetically at the ghost, who stood expectantly waiting, and said that he had been in school at the time, but he remembered perfectly well, and he had also heard the principal of the school tell the scholars about the demise of so famous a man, and one so useful. That his example was a noble one for the rising generation. While he was trying to think of something else to say, the ghost suddenly and very irrelevantly said:
“My dear sir, what do you consider the most satisfactory word in the English language?”
The young man blushed and stammered lamely that he did not exactly know, but would be glad if the shade of such an authority would enlighten him.
The great man pushed out his chest, and said pompously:
“I should say it is, satisfaction. I think there is no other word so strong in point of expressing a meaning to my mind. Now, I can say that I am in a state of complete satisfaction so far as the success of the origination of this fete is concerned. I have arranged so many other affairs out of doors that I was glad to try my hand in a new field. It has resulted in perfect satisfaction.”
Here he paused to allow the young listener to signify that he fully concurred in the statement. The ghost passed his skeleton hand across his chin and in a philosophical manner continued:
“Life is full of unsatisfied ambitions and general unrest of mind, and hunger for food or power that nothing can satisfy but the actual realization and final satisfaction of all longings. There is another satisfaction, and that is realized revenge. When I came down here and left all the vanities and pomp of the world behind me, I heard that a certain society woman who had often tried to rebel and set aside my authority, and sometimes did really annoy me very much and interfered with my plans to a most unreasonable extent, said that now that I was gone Society could draw a long breath and call its soul its own. This woman prided herself on her fine presence. She even boasted that Death itself could not make her ugly or less imposing. I saw her a few minutes ago, and I honestly think she makes the worst-looking ghost I ever saw. I assure you that was a great satisfaction. But, to return to the decorations here. I would ask, have you seen the card room?”
“Card room! I was always led to think cards the invention of the Evil one, and I certainly never expected to find them here.”
“My dear sir; you are behind the age. Cards are not by any means wicked in themselves, nor is it wicked to play them. The whole 600 play cards. Some of their card parties are among the most interesting functions down here. If Tom, Dick or Harry sit around in common places and play stud poker for the drinks, that is one thing. If Mrs. Schuyler Van Astorbilt has a card party, why it is all right to play poker, euchre or bridge whist, and if some lose why the others must win. They all are able to lose without depriving their families of bread. Therefore it is no sin for Society to play cards. I have decided that bridge whist is not worse than casino. There has been a lot of rot talked about the smart set, but not half of it is true—ah, yes; in a minute!”
This last was said by the man who had been talking with the reporter to a man who appeared to be quite excited about something. They talked for a few minutes in whispers, and then the newcomer, satisfied, went away, and the social leader and planner of the fete returned to the newspaper man with an apology, and said:
“You saw me just now? Well, that man came to tell me that there is a professional gambler in the card room. I must go and put him out. It would never do to let a professional gambler associate with our set. Many of them are here. Will you come with me?”
Chapter III.
THE GAMBLER'S PENANCE
As they went toward the card room, the organizer of the banquet said: “You must not be surprised if I have to employ force to get him out, for he must go whether he wants to or not. It would never do in the world to allow the morals of our place to become contaminated by the presence of such creatures, so come on.”
As they neared the card room they heard female voices raised in entreaty, saying: “Oh, Mr. Edwards, please do show us. We are at the mercy of all the society people and they put on such airs. We do not know how to play poker, and they cannot see what kind of training we have had. If you do refuse we shall never be happy, for we shall be forever shut out of good society.”
Much more and in many different voices was said, until it seemed that the person to whom the appeals were made consented. Then there was a chorus of thanks. By this time the leader of the smart set and the newspaper man were in the room.
They stood and gazed at the scene before them. There were tables all around the room. Players were seated at nearly all of them. The young man noted that some played whist, others preferred euchre, while still others played seven-up and beggar-my-neighbor and other old and innocuous games, but many were playing poker. The cards were all right but there was a total absence of chips or money. All the betting was done with pebbles. The players were totally oblivious to everything going on around them.
The professional gambler was pointed out to the director of the ceremonies and he stood a little while looking at the man he was to put out. He was by all odds the biggest ghost there. His shoulders were broad and his arms long and massive. The leader stood thinking whether it would be quite safe to argue with him. He had always been a man of peace, and the only battles he had ever fought were those pertaining to matters of dispute in the social ranks above ground. He had been peacemaker there so often that he sometimes wondered that they had not killed each other off like Kilkenny cats. So he watched the gambler, and waited until he should do something which he might claim to be against the rules governing the conduct of affairs in this card room.
One or two of the oldest whist players came to him and endeavored to convince him that it was his duty to interfere before the professional gambler had contaminated the minds of the lady ghosts by his presence. These ladies were preparing to learn to play poker. But each time that he looked at the giant proportions of this ghost the leader felt that it was not his business to interfere. If they wanted to learn what did it matter to him? Finally, at the urgent requests of the others, he plucked up courage and strode over to Edwards with all the superhuman dignity of a hopelessly small man, and with an air that admitted of no discussion, said:
“Sir; I hear that you are a professional gambler. If that is so I must request you to retire from the presence of these ladies. This is a very exclusive part of the underground world—”
“Are you St. Peter?” asked Edwards, quietly.
“No: but I have been requested to see that nobody of questionable antecedents is admitted, as it is intended for the best class—I hope you will go quietly. There are ladies present and I do not wish to proceed to extreme measures. Otherwise I shall be obliged to put you out.”
“Did you say that to me?” asked Edwards with ominous politeness. “For, if you did, I have this to reply. I am not in the habit of taking orders from anyone. But, if you still desire to try, I advise your friends to bring a basket. For, if you lay a hand on me there won't be a bone of you left big enough to make a toothpick of. Now, run along, little man and don't bother me. I am at the service of these ladies, and don’t you forget it.”
Saying this the big ghost of Edwards turned his back on the pompous little man, giving his undivided attention to the ladies who had asked him to teach them the noble and elevating game of poker. After one more comprehensive glance at the massive proportions of the man before him, the leader concluded that discretion was the better part of valor. He scarcely saw how he could back down from the position he had taken without a loss of dignity. His distress was so evident that the newspaper man felt really sorry for him. He knew that this man held a high position in the esteem of the ghosts and wished to help him. So he came to his rescue in this way:
“I do not think he will do much harm, and if a sort of private watch is kept on him, why, then, if he does anything offensive to good taste it will be time to act. If you are willing I will stay here and if anything is wrong I can report to you. What do you think?”
“So well of it that I will at once retire to the smoking room at the right of the entrance, and there you will find me if anything objectionable occurs.”
Saying this the little great man went out and the reporter prepared himself to be amused beyond anything he had ever felt. He even expected to get more fun out of the affair than Edwards himself.
There were six lady ghosts, and they crowded around the big gambler endeavoring to console him for the unpleasantness that had just occurred. All, with one accord agreed that the society leader would do well to mind his own business. He was well enough to plan the banquet and get up the decorations but when he undertook to spy on them and dictate what they should do, they wanted him to understand that they were not of the wonderful 400 and didn’t want to be. They thought themselves too good, so there!
The six ladies then took seats at one of the tables.
One might think that these six ghosts might look exactly alike, but not so, for every one had as distinct a personality as though she had not been dead so long that nothing remained but bones. But there was a sort of emanation of some indefinable kind; an atmosphere of some occult property that took the place of flesh and body. In some curious and inexplicable way this gave to each skeleton a separate individuality. Even the lay mind could understand this, and the newspaper man could tell the ghosts apart perfectly well.
One of these women was very small, and was clearly as pugnacious as a sparrow and as tenacious as one. The next one was a woman of the stately kind. The third was quite an old one, judging by her teeth, and sitting beside her was one with such beautiful teeth as he had never seen but once, and the sight quite unnerved him, too, for they belonged to the young girl whose wedding had brought him to this strange carnival of ghosts. The sight gave him an agonizing wrench of pain. He wondered how long it would be before she would be like these women, with nothing left of her sweet young beauty but her white and even teeth.
This ghost had a way of holding her head to one side and raising her hollow eyeless sockets in what was once a most effective attitude, but it was now but the travesty of itself. The sight filled the young man with deep pity. This ghost was a widow.
The fourth was as tall and angular as any of the two men ghosts without one redeeming trait. She was an old maid. It was easy for the young man to know all these things for some new and occult quality in his nature hitherto unknown gave him a new insight into the personality of the ghost and he saw them as they must have been in life, yet saw them only as ghosts. He sensed these things without knowing how he did so.
The old maid ghost told the widow that she had heard that Edwards had been a sad dog in his day, and that gave him added interest, for it must be admitted that women do admire sad dogs.
When they were all seated they waited for their teacher to make a beginning. He squared his shoulders, and tried to put his hands in his pockets when he was suddenly brought to a realizing sense that there are no pockets in shrouds. He also began to realize that he had undertaken a greater task than he had thought. He had no money nor chips, and so could not play poker. He looked the picture of misery.
He was thinking how he could get out of the place decently.
It was the practical old maid who suggested that they should play with beans. She had heard that that was sometimes done. Edwards stifled a groan.
When all the other women said that it was impossible to find beans, and that it would be better to use pebbles as the others were doing, the old maid told them to wait a moment, and almost before they missed her she was back with at least a peck of beans of different colors tied up in her shroud.
She tripped along in such a funny, affected manner that the newspaper man could not help smiling, though of course he hid that fact. For Edwards was a much larger man than he was, and he thought that a blow from one of those bony fists would make a ghost of him too. And he was not hankering after immortality just then.
The old maid emptied out all the beans, and they sorted the different colors into different piles. Edwards counted them and divided them all around into equal parts. Then he produced the cards and said: “We must have something to represent money and these beans—”
“Oh!” cried the sparrow ghost, “we must not bet. It is wicked to bet.”
“Then you cannot learn to play poker,” replied he.
“I don’t see why,” responded she pugnaciously.
“All right. Have it your own way. You will have to give up your poker lesson right now, for the betting is all there is to it.”
There was a whole chorus of exclamation from the rest. The old maid ghost said that after so much trouble had been taken, and as none of the rest had any scruples against betting beans, she did not see why the rest could not go on, and Mrs. Fogg stay out. The big gambler waited with what patience he could muster, for the game had little zest to him without money.
He put the pack of cards back somewhere in his shroud and waited. On seeing this the other five took an anxious cry that he must not desert them. Quiet was restored on the promise that the betting with the beans should be regarded solely in a Pickwickian sense. So the beans were distributed. The black beans stood for fifty cents each, and the white ones for a dollar each, and the big red ones for five dollars.
“That is high enough for beginners, isn’t it?” asked the old lady benignly.
The big professional gambler took a severe fit of coughing and shook so hard that the newspaper man thought surely he would fall in pieces, but he rallied and said:
“Now, ladies, I deal you each five cards. Your object will be to see how many of a kind you can get together.”
“What kind?” asked the sparrow woman.
“Why, two aces, or three deuces, trays, fours or face cards all the way up. Aces are the highest.”
“Which one?” asked the little woman.
“Higher than a ten?” asked the widow.
“I said the ace is the highest card in the pack,” replied he.
“That is not answering the question, sir. I wish to know which one.”
“Oh, any one,” answered the man wearily.
“But I can't see how four aces can all be the highest,” said the sparrow.
“I mean that they all count higher than any other card. After ace comes king, then queen, then jack, then ten and so on. Four aces make the best hand except a royal flush or straight. Two of a kind are good, three better, four best. I will explain the rest as we go along. Now I deal you each five cards—”
“You said that before,” remarked one of the ghosts.
“So I did. Now you must decide upon your limit.”
“I have five cards. I thought you said that was the limit,” said she of the pretty teeth.
“I mean, how much do you want to bet? As you are beginners, suppose you make it a half a dollar.”
“You said there was to be no betting,” cried Mrs. Fogg, at the same time trying to match a pair of a jack of diamonds and a four of spades that she had spread out on the table before her.
“Oh, you each are to put a black bean on the middle of the table, and, madam, please never show your cards until you are called.”
“Sir!”
“Oh,” groaned the gambler, “what I mean is this. I will explain as we go along when someone calls for you to show down, but it is or should be your object to hide your hands—cards—as completely as possible from all the others.”
“I don’t see how I am going to find out if I don’t look,” grumbled the little woman.
The newspaper man was enjoying this mightily, and from time to time he cast pitying eyes at the unfortunate big ghost, for once he had had the pleasure of teaching three women to play the noble game, and he fully sympathized with the suffering man.
The ghostly gambler gathered himself together and said:
“Now, ladies; there are a number of complications in this game, and as they arise I will explain them.”
“I would prefer to know them all at once,” said she of the pretty teeth. “I am sure that I could remember.”
The poor man began to look as if he thought that this was a job put up against his peace of mind, but he courageously continued:
“As I said, your object is to get as many pairs or cards of the same number of spots into your hand as possible, and if you have two pairs, or only one pair, you can draw three cards from the pack putting as many of those as you hold in your hand back—discard, they call that—and try and make up a full hand that way. Now each of you has five cards. Please look at them, and, well, as this is the first, perhaps it would be better for you to show them, and I will advise you what to do.”
“You just told me not to show mine.”
“Now, wouldn't that come and fetch you?” muttered the wretch under his breath.
“What’s trump?” asked she whose teeth were so pretty.
The old maid scored a hit by putting her cards, hand and all, into the big paw of the gambler, and letting it lie there innocently.
“I'll scrape the pot,” cried the old lady ghost, at the same time triumphantly showing two deuces and three trays.
“I—I—beg your pardon?” said the bewildered man.
“Isn’t that what you say when you get better than anyone?” she asked defiantly.
“Oh, yes,” murmured he faintly; “but we must wait and see what the others have got.”
One lady had two queens, two jacks and a tray, and another had four fives and an ace. Mrs. Fogg had a four, a seven, a jack and two nines. She was highly indignant when she discovered that her hand did not count beside the others.
“If there is going to be such favoritism shown, I don’t care to play,” she said, pouting.
The woman with the pretty teeth had a pair of aces and three kings, and the old maid had a royal flush. It was a task beside which that of Hercules sunk into ignoble insignificance to explain just why a royal flush was higher than the pairs on which he had just laid such stress, while he had not even mentioned the royal flush at all. He made up his mind that he would not mention a straight even if one turned up every hand. The miserable man was nearly exhausted before they all understood, and he never thought of looking at his own hand at all. The chair where he sat was one of those old-fashioned kind, made of horsehair, and he kept slipping down, and by his gyrations alone anyone could have seen his uneasiness.
Finally, after much explanation they got down to a real game. Each got her cards, examined them defiantly and every one bet with a recklessness that had no limit but the amount of beans on hand. The last bean was on the table. After about forty-five different attempts, each prefaced and followed by explanations from the miserable ghost they had drawn and discarded.
“I did not need anything more,” said the old lady, “but I thought I might get something better than four aces, so now I will stand squat.”
“I—I beg your pardon?” gasped he.
“That is what you said, isn’t it, Lavinia? I mean when you have all you want.”
“Oh, pat, madam. I said pat.”
“If you had meant pat, why did you say squat? Was it meant to confuse me?”
“What is trump, please,” said the widow plaintively.
“There is no trump in poker, madam,” said Edwards for the twentieth time.
The old maid leaned over and whispered confidentially:
“Please, dear Mr. Edwards; is mine a good hand?”
“I only wish that I might always be sure of holding one as good. Why, madam, it is simply gorgeous—a regular beauty.”
“Oh, Mr. Edwards! You naughty man!”
“I see everyone and I make it five hundred better and I call,” cried Mrs. Fogg, piling all her beans in a heap and then preparing one end of her shroud to hold her winnings. The big gambler had somehow found a pocketknife and this he jabbed surreptitiously into the chair as a relief to his feelings, while the six women were quarreling over the beans. They appealed to him, and the old lady said:
“Mr. Edwards, Mrs. Robinson hasn't anted at all for three hands, and Miss Shookes puts a handful of beans of all colors in the pot every time without counting them.”
“Oh, well; she knows that this is only to learn. She wouldn’t do that if it were real money.”
“No, indeed; for I was always noted for my prudence about money. That is how I died richer than some folks I know of, who had scarcely enough to pay for their funerals.”
“I think, ladies, that you could all show your hands now.”
Mrs. Fogg triumphantly put six cards on the table. She had kept one of her discards to make up three pairs. This caused much animated discussion, particularly as Mrs. Washner had four fives.
“You said you had four aces,” whimpered Mrs. Fogg when the case was decided against her.
“I did not, did I, Mr. Edwards?”
“I don’t remember,” replied he, wishing that he had had sense enough to go into the billiard room and stay there instead of making such an idiot of himself.
“I simply said that I drew that card to see if I could get anything better than four aces. Now, isn’t that what you would call a bluff?”
“Yes; and it was a good one, too,” said he admiringly.
“Besides Mrs. Fogg had six cards, and—”
“Well she didn’t have the four aces, and that isn't half as honest as my having six cards. You told me, and you know it very well, that I was to get as many pairs as I could. She didn’t have the aces, and I did have three pairs, and I am entitled to the beans, so now!”
The woman with the fine teeth looked dreamily at the gambler and silently laid down her hand. There were four aces and a king. None of the others had anything to beat this, and she smiled bewitchingly at him as he awarded her the beans, whereat Mrs. Fogg flew into a violent passion and sobbed tearlessly, until the poor man did not know what to do. She continued until he was ready to throw up the whole affair and leave as she said:
“I just don’t care! I am sure Mr. Edwards just picked those cards out on purpose for her. I don’t want the old beans. I detest beans, only I believe in standing up for principle, and I know that gamblers—professional gamblers—do cheat at cards.”
“I think that a gambler—even a professional gambler—would have to be very unprincipled to try to win with six cards when he knew that that was the worst kind of cheating,” said the old maid, taking up the man’s defense with such an air of having the right to champion his cause that his jaw dropped and he made a movement as if for flight. At this point quite a number of other ghosts who had gathered around them began to clap their hands, and one said:
“Go in, little woman, and win. You will make a famous player in time.”
The little belligerent hurriedly arose and said angrily:
“If Mr. Fogg were only here, you would see what would happen. I won't stay here to be abused. I was lowering myself anyway.”
“I think so, too,” said the old maid, “but it was by the way you have acted and not from your association with anyone here. We can spare you without sorrow.”
By this time several more had gathered, and the ladies, seeing that they were attracting more attention than they desired, left the card room so suddenly that the newspaper man could not tell which way they went. Then he looked for the big ghost. He, too, had disappeared. So the reporter, left to himself, decided to go and find the leader and tell him the outcome of the affair.
The young man thought that it might be that this affair was a form of punishment for former sins of omission or commission. But he must indeed have been a very bad man to deserve such a punishment as this, and he thought, too, that no other form of punishment could have been devised so well calculated to break a real gambler’s heart. He felt sorry for him.
The reporter then went to the billiard room in search of the leader of the evening’s ceremonies. He was nowhere to be seen, and the young man stood watching the billiard players. He thought they all seemed to be playing in a perfunctory way, and there was no spirit in their play. Spectators stood about watching the progress of the games, and occasionally making remarks of approbation or derision.
There were several men there whom the young man felt sure he had seen in life, but as none spoke to him he did not exactly like to press the acquaintance. One of the men that he felt so positive that he had known in life had been a rabid billiard player, and he neglected his family to such an extent that the young reporter’s mother once said that she hoped that when he died he would have to play billiards continually for a few millions of years as a just punishment. He was one of those who did not seem to be having a good time at all.
Thinking that there might be things of more interest going on in other parts of the place, the young newspaper man went out to the main hall. There were things to see there.
Chapter IV.
THE MENDED GHOST
Just as the reporter was going out of the room he noticed a man hobbling along in the most painful manner. The upper portion of his body was of enormous proportions. Even the big gambler would have appeared dwarfed beside this man. But, large as he was, he seemed somehow to be unaccountably dwarfed, and the commendable curiosity belonging to newspaper men caused him to try and discover the meaning of this state of affairs.
As the man came hobbling along he tripped and would have fallen had not the young man caught him in his arms and held him up. The young man sustained him to a seat, and as he sank down in it he asked the ghost if there was anything else he could do, or be of any further assistance. The man, with the remarkable frankness that seemed to be a part and parcel of everything down here, replied:
“No, nobody can't do nothing for me. It was all done when I was moved. And it was done up good and brown too. Nobody can't now make my legs whole again; no, not if they tried forever and forever. It is a shame, that is just what it is!”
“Would you mind telling me what it is that has happened to you? I am sure it must be something unusual, and if I can help you I need not say how gladly I would try.”
“No; you can’t help me, nor nobody else can't. But if you like I will tell you about it and maybe someone else may be spared if you put a piece in the paper about it.”
This caused the reporter to break out in a cold sweat, for he now felt almost afraid to think. The ghost resumed:
“I don't believe that nobody cares about us when we are once dead. I died and was buried in a vault under the old church that stands somewhere in Amity Street or close by. It may be gone now for all I know, for I haven't been there for a long time, and I don’t care if the old shebang is torn down, for it is to that that I owe my misery. Just look at me! I was a giant in my life, and stood seven feet in my stockings and was big according. But, when my time came I was sick and died like the weakest critter of them all. My folks paid the seven dollars to have me put into the receiving vault like the rest. I was pretty comfortable for the first year. The rule was that when new corpuses came in they must be put into the receiving vault the first year. Afterwards they were put into the back vault to make room for the new comers. There was shelves in the first one, and nobody couldn't crowd his neighbors, but in the back vault he was laid just one coffin on top of another, and nothing between them. At one time there was over five thousand corpuses under the church, but hardly anybody knew it.
“The most of the coffins was old what was in the back vault, specially the lower line, and often when a new fellow was put in on top of the other lot the old coffins would mash down to nothing, and nothing of the body would be left, but the bones, and you can just guess how that squeezed. They kept on piling more and more until even with the crumbling old coffins there was no more room. Then the trustees or whoever it was that had the say, decided that we must all be moved to York Bay, and they set about moving us.”
The reporter was deeply interested in this, and followed every word with the greatest care, for if it turned out to be true after he should be in a position to verify it, he intended to write it up for the benefit of humanity. The ghost accepted the chair which the young man brought him and continued his story.
“Them trustees thought that the sooner the job was done and the quieter they was about it the better it would be, and there was a whole bunch of fellows come to do it. They busted all the coffins what wasn't already busted, and they threw them into one heap, tore out all the linings, and took off the shrouds, that was left, and they threw them into one heap to sell for old rags. And all the plates and handles was took along with the rest. Then they brought a lot of common pine boxes. All the corpuses what wasn't claimed by the folks related to the corpus was just chucked into them, sometimes three and more in one. When they got three or four into one box and the lid wouldn't shut, they jumped on the top or jammed the bones down till it did. One woman had all her ribs broken and several others had their breastbones stove in to get enough of them into one box. There was one box fixed for three, and they chucked me in that head foremost. There was not half room enough, so my legs stuck out over two feet, and to make me fit in what did them dumb fools do but take a spade and just naturally chop off my feet right in the middle of the legs, and threw them in, and that is how I am in this fix. I tied them up the best I could, but to get a purchase I had to lap them as you see. They don’t feel solid. I expect to fall down every step I take. See how I had to fix them.”
As he said this, the poor giant, shorn not of his strength but of his length, stuck out his offending feet. Surely enough they were chopped off as he said, for the marks of the sharp spade were still visible. The two ends of the bones to each leg had been, as he said, spliced by sliding them past each other and then tying them in place. They lapped at least twelve inches and that cut the man's stature down two whole feet. The worst feature about it was that the parts were not, and could not be made solid enough to make locomotion safe or comfortable.
“If ever I get out of here alive,” thought the reporter, “I shall make it impossible for folks to kick me around like that. I shall have it fixed so that my body will be cremated and the ashes hidden so that nobody can ever find them. Then he spoke:
“Your case is certainly a hard one, and I am surprised that the board of health ever allowed such things. Surely they must have known of it.”
“Do you know, that affair was just the cause of the law that was passed making it necessary to have a Coroner’s inquest on every body, and all the things that them fellows had piled up to sell was took away and burnt. The Police Gazette took and printed pictures about it, and that is the first time that I remember of seeing big headlines, and they was all about ‘the awful desecration of the dead,’ and the trusteeses had to do a lot of things to keep the people from making a fuss. After that they was a little more careful what they done to the bodies, but it was too late to do anything for me. This here affair was in about 1830, but I am not sure to a day about the date, for naturally we don’t care so much about time when we are facing something else.”
“Suppose I get you a pair of crutches?” said the young man with deep sympathy. The ghost said they could do no good, but that he was grateful that there was someone who showed a little feeling for one so long dead. He added that he hoped to get his release soon, as he had always been as good a man as he knew how to be, and when he did get his passport he would not need legs.
Almost as soon as he had said this the poor ghost sat back in his chair and went to sleep. After several vain attempts to rouse him the young man wandered around a little. He found that while he had been in the card and billiard rooms the tables for the banquet had been prepared, and he looked around in surprised admiration.
Each table was more than a hundred feet long, and there were so many of them that he soon gave up the attempt to count them all. The covers set on each table were seventy-five on each side with a seat of honor at the head.
The table service was something wonderful. It recalled a day when he went to see the preparations for a grand banquet at the home of the late W. H. Vanderbilt. All along three sides of the large dining room there were glass cabinets reaching to the ceiling, and in these there were great silver plates, and platters, side dishes, tureens, punch bowls, tankards, pitchers and goblets of every description, each a perfect work of art after its kind.
There were golden dishes of many shapes, all richly wrought and not one among them that was not worthy a close study for the beauty of form and fine goldsmith’s work. But not all of that mass of gold and silver put together could balance the value and workmanship upon even one of the articles which stood so thickly on these tables.
Great pitchers of gold in the most exquisite rehausse and repousse work, filled to the brim with wine, stood all along the center of the tables, and around each were clustered golden goblets, according to the number of guests expected to be seated there. There were buffets in every direction, and quite a number of men had apparently found them already.
Upon the tables were all the delicacies that one could have found at the most perfectly appointed hotels. One table reminded the reporter of a grand ball and house warming at the home of the late Ogden Goelet, where there was not a piece of plate that was not duplicated here. Even the napery looked the same and set the newspaper man to wondering whether the ghosts did not borrow their plate and other things from the owners for the occasion.
Above, the festoons of the incandescent lights in the form of flowers shed their soft radiance, and also such perfume as would naturally exhale from such blossoms. All was a pleasure to the eye and taste.
While the young man was standing at the head of the central table there came the sound of a silvery note of music, such as might come from some sort of a horn, but wonderfully sweet and clear. It appeared that this was the signal for all the ghosts to take their places at the table. In an amazingly short time they were seated.
The reporter found that he had not been included in the list of the guests at the banquet. He felt a little vexed, though he really did not feel hungry, and he had an idea that he did not want to eat with the ghosts. He remembered a poem that he had read somewhere about ghosts drinking out of skulls newly torn from the grave, and he smiled at the contrast of these magnificent tables and viands.
The company was seated much as they would be at any other banquet, only there were no waiters. Everyone was seated and they all waited on themselves and each other, for, as he learned later the grave, like love, levels all things. And this in spite of the class distinctions mentioned before.
The ghosts were placed so that there was a lady and gentleman ghost side by side. The gentlemen were as punctiliously polite as could be desired and served the ladies with the greatest attention and assiduity.
At this juncture the Sociable Ghost came puffing up, much exercised, and said: “My dear sir, I beg you to pardon my apparent neglect, but the fact is there was a scrap between two famous old prize fighters, and you must excuse me if I forgot everything else for the moment. Why, for a time I really forgot that I was dead.”
The young man murmured that he was quite excusable, and was about to disclaim any appetite, when the Sociable Ghost continued: “I say! It was fine! The old fellow put the kid to sleep in about ten minutes. We had a chance to learn more about good sparring than we ever knew before. I am sure that I could give an uppercut now such as was never known in my day.
“But, you really must join us. I had a seat reserved for you at this table where you can see everything that is going on, and where you will have a chance to learn many things of which you never heard. Ladies and gentlemen, permit me to introduce a friend of mine, who is not yet of us, but whom I have invited to pass the evening with us. I hope you will make him welcome for my sake until you learn to like him for his own.”
There was a confused murmur intended as a welcome accompanied with bows from all the guests at this table. The newspaper man saw that all these ghosts were really hungry, and ate with genuine appetite. The wine was poured out in generous quantities, and they drank as if exceedingly thirsty, and soon the great hall rang with laughter, and lively sallies of wit and anecdote. He tried so hard to listen to them all that to his intense chagrin he found afterward that he could not remember half of it and what he did recollect was so disjointed that it was worse than none.
The ghost seemed to think it a great joke that one not dead should be among them, and many witticisms were launched at him on account of his too evident curiosity. The good-natured ghost told him that he probably would not get much nourishment out of what they gave him, and that he was very sorry that he could not offer him something to take home to the children, as was the custom when he was young. He told how he cried when his parents went anywhere and failed to bring him home some of the good things they had had at the party. The young man answered in the same strain and said that he was not hungry, and even if he were the feast of reason and flow of soul would more than satisfy him.
While the guests were eating, the young stranger within their gates was observing with great interest everything about him. There was quite as wide a difference in the way the ghosts acted as among the living, and he saw some shoveling the food into their fleshless jaws with knives. He remarked that some who ate with their knives tried to give something of grace to the movement by turning the blade outward, and these ghosts held their spoons with the points to the mouths and to render this more elegant they stuck one little finger out stiffly, while grasping the handle in their bony fingers.
One man poured his coffee into his saucer, when the great leader ventured to remind him that in polite society people drank their coffee from the cups, whereupon the offender asked him with some warmth if he set himself up to be better than George Washington, and assured him that the Father of his country poured his coffee and tea out into his saucer, and he suggested that the leader go back to his beautiful society, and see if they did not do things that no self-respecting ghost would do, or even dream of condescending to do. Then the other ghosts took it up and the feeling ran so high that it almost resulted in throwing the leader from the place. Then one peace-loving ghost stood up and said:
“My friends, it ill becomes us to quarrel over a matter of such little importance. Not all of us were born in the time of ultra-civilization. Most of us never saw a four-tined fork while alive, and so we were obliged to convey our food to our mouths with our knives. I do not believe it a capital sin. I well remember that I was once at a dinner where there were several clergymen and great men from various walks of life. This very gentleman's grandfather, who now objects to the use of a saucer, used a knife. I know, for in listening to something that was said he forgot and put it into his mouth. The sharp edge was toward his mouth and he cut his lip quite badly and made it bleed. Everybody used their knives then. Tea plates were considered part of every table service from the highest down, and they were set on the table to stand the cups in while the tea or coffee was in the saucer to cool before being drunk. It is good manners for half the world to eat with the fingers, and I cannot see how any person has a right to dictate what anyone shall or shall not do.” The leader stood up and angrily said:
“Of what use is our boasted civilization if we are to live like the beasts of the field?”
“Some of us here doubtless wish that we had lived like the beasts of the field while they had the chance and failed to do so,” replied the former speaker. “Honestly, sir; is there anything you can bring forward to prove that the 'beasts of the field' ever did anything wicked that you can bring against them now? If you do you are wiser than I, and I assure you that I would rather be the most wretched little yellow dog that I know of than be some of the men who hold such exaggerated opinions of their own importance. Such men should have several billions of years allotted to them in which to learn that they knew nothing worth knowing.”
The leader was so angry that he simply could not find words to reply. He glared at the speaker with such haughty and malevolent disdain, that one might have thought that this was some great social function above ground and that he was squelching some upstart with nothing but his millions to recommend him. He stared until the old ghost who had been trying to act as moderator began to show symptoms of a disposition to arise in his might and wipe up the floor with the great little man, so he haughtily turned away.
As soon as this little diversion had passed off, the eating which had been suspended was now renewed with fervor. New beakers of wine were poured out, and drank with gusto. The noise of the fleshless jaws clapping together as they ate was like the patter of hailstones on the roof. It became so loud and insistent that the newspaper man grew so nervous that he could have screamed like a hysterical woman, but he set his teeth and kept quiet.
He desired to enter into conversation with some of the ghosts, as there were many questions—important ones still unanswered. To that end he addressed himself to the old lady who had been trying to learn poker. He asked her if she would have some more wine, but she said:
“No, I thank you, sir; but I should like some of that boned turkey. I always liked turkey, and folks that ever eat of my turkey—roast turkey—for that is how I think a turkey should always be cooked—not that some other ways aren't good for a change that is. I was called a good cook and housekeeper in my day, and it has been my worst trial to see the awful messes my family has had to put up with since I am gone. And, the awful waste, and the dirt in my house. I used to keep them all on pins and needles all the time for fear of dirt, or that a fly would be let in. I never gave one of them a minute's peace. I thought I was doing a notable thing, then, but since I have had time to think it over it has come to me that I might have been a little less exacting. If I had been perhaps my boys would have stayed with me, but they couldn't stand so much nagging. Well, my poor old husband has got the dyspepsia trying to eat such cooking as he has to put up with now. And down here I naturally don't have a chance to cook. I think I could feel reconciled to being dead if I could only cook a meal of victuals once in a while.”
“I don’t ever want to cook, and I'd go plumb crazy distracted if I had to,” said another woman ghost. “I had to cook for my father, five brothers, and all the farm hands, and every one of them with different tastes, and none of them ever satisfied. I nearly died trying to please them all. I used to get so tired that I wanted to die long before I did. Then a man asked me to marry him, and I thought it would be easier to please one man alone than all the sixteen, and I took him. You ought to have seen the way my folks went on! You just ought to have seen it! You would think I had committed an unpardonable sin, but it was done and I must confess that I am glad at the way they have to live now. Father hired many housekeepers, one after another, and when he found one that could really cook he married her. As soon as she was mistress she wouldn't lift her hand to cook a meal, and my brothers all died. Some of them have told me when they saw me here that they were awful sorry, and wished they could undo it all. But, my husband was worse than all the others combined. I just couldn't tell all he made me suffer. At last I gave up and died in self-preservation. I died to get out of the eternal kitchen.”
“Why, Martha,” said another ghost, “I never knew it was so bad as that. I always thought you cooked because you liked it and was too proud of your faculty to ever let anyone take your place.”
“Well, I didn’t; but I hated worse than all that anyone should know how bad I did hate it. I reckon if we knew all that goes on in our neighbor’s hearts we would have a little more charity. You used to say that I neglected my church duties, and didn't sew for the heathen, and many a tract you left me on the sin of idleness, me what had been up every morning for ten years at four o’clock, and never got to bed till ten and eleven, working every minute all the time. Sometimes I felt like telling you to mind your own business. It is all over now, but I should like to know how much good has all your sewing for the heathen done you towards getting your passport? As you know the truth now, Melissy, which would you rather be: the enlightened Christian with the responsibility of knowledge of good and evil, or the ignorant heathen?”
“Yes: I know now, Martha, but I did not then, and now, if it is not too late, I want to ask your forgiveness.”
This last was said with an evident disposition on the part of “Melissy” to fall upon the bony neck of “Martha” that an unregenerate man said with a harsh, rasping laugh:
“Forget it, forget it! This is no time to bring up old scores. If it were so, there are several fellows here tonight that I could lick with a clear conscience. I don’t hold enmity, but I will say that they will do well not to rouse the sleeping lion.”
As this ghost spoke, he turned his face toward two men at a table a short distance away, and waited to see the effect of his words. As no one took up the challenge the man sat down again at the table.
The newspaper man looked at this ghost with considerable interest, and thought that of all the ghosts he was the cleanest. He had noticed this ghost sitting at a rude table near the door. There was a candle burning there and an inkstand, and two immense books. The ghost sat balancing a pen, but was doing no writing. He had noticed him then as his skull and bones fairly shone, so white and polished they were.
It was not the intention of the young man to ask any impertinent questions about anything he saw there, but he thought to himself that when he was alone with the good-natured ghost he would ask him how this phenomenon had occurred. While he was thinking this, a polished ghost turned to him and said:
“Young stranger, I notice that you are somewhat interested in me, and far from feeling hurt at your natural curiosity, I am flattered by it and if you wish it I will tell you in a few words how it happens that I am so white after having been so long dead.”
The young man felt his blood all mount to his face as he saw that even his secret thought could not be hidden, and he reflected that if even these ghosts knew what he thought, how impossible it would be to hide action or thought from the Master, as the ghosts called the One.
“Ahem! young sir, that is the right feeling. But to resume. I was married to a very sensible and worthy woman, with no nonsense about her. She kept her house well, and everything that she could do for my comfort and happiness she did. I felt very badly to leave her, but once you are called you must go, and I went. At that time Long Island City was scarcely more than a hole in the ground, and the church to which I belonged found that it would soon become necessary to remove from New York City, so they purchased a plot of ground quite in the outskirts of the former named place. I was laid in the old churchyard until they should be ready to remove us all. We were finally taken over there and put into the meanest kind of ground, all soaked with tidewater and the refuse of ages, which had been swept there by the tides until it grew to what no one with any regard for the truth would call solid ground. It is unhealthy even for a dead man.