From Whose Bourne, Page 3

  CHAPTER III.

  William Brenton pondered long on the situation. He would have knownbetter how to act if he could have been perfectly certain that he wasnot still the victim of a dream. However, of one thing there was nodoubt--namely, that it was particularly harrowing to see what he hadseen in his own house. If it were true that he was dead, he said tohimself, was not the plan outlined for him by Ferris very much the wisercourse to adopt? He stood now in one of the streets of the city sofamiliar to him. People passed and repassed him--men and women whomhe had known in life--but nobody appeared to see him. He resolved, ifpossible, to solve the problem uppermost in his mind, and learn whetheror not he could communicate with an inhabitant of the world he had left.He paused for a moment to consider the best method of doing this. Thenhe remembered one of his most confidential friends and advisers, and atonce wished himself at his office. He found the office closed, but wentin to wait for his friend. Occupying the time in thinking over hisstrange situation, he waited long, and only when the bells began to ringdid he remember it was Christmas forenoon, and that his friend wouldnot be at the office that day. The next moment he wished himself at hisfriend's house, but he was as unsuccessful as at the office; the friendwas not at home. The household, however, was in great commotion, and,listening to what was said, he found that the subject of conversationwas his own death, and he learned that his friend had gone to theBrenton residence as soon as he heard the startling news of Christmasmorning.

  Once more Brenton paused, and did not know what to do. He went againinto the street. Everything seemed to lead him toward his own home.Although he had told Ferris that he did not intend to take his advice,yet as a sensible man he saw that the admonition was well worthconsidering, and if he could once become convinced that there was nocommunication possible between himself and those he had left; if hecould give them no comfort and no cheer; if he could see the thingswhich they did not see, and yet be unable to give them warning, herealized that he would merely be adding to his own misery, withoutalleviating the troubles of others.

  He wished he knew where to find Ferris, so that he might have anothertalk with him. The man impressed him as being exceedingly sensible. Nosooner, however, had he wished for the company of Mr. Ferris than hefound himself beside that gentleman.

  "By George!" he said in astonishment, "you are just the man I wanted tosee."

  "Exactly," said Ferris; "that is the reason you do see me."

  "I have been thinking over what you said," continued the other, "and itstrikes me that after all your advice is sensible."

  "Thank you," replied Ferris, with something like a smile on his face.

  "But there is one thing I want to be perfectly certain about. I want toknow whether it is not possible for me to communicate with my friends.Nothing will settle that doubt in my mind except actual experience."

  "And have you not had experience enough?" asked Ferris.

  "Well," replied the other, hesitating, "I have had some experience, butit seems to me that, if I encounter an old friend, I could somehow makemyself felt by him."

  "In that case," answered Ferris, "if nothing will convince you but anactual experiment, why don't you go to some of your old friends and trywhat you can do with them?"

  "I have just been to the office and to the residence of one of my oldfriends. I found at his residence that he had gone to my"--Brentonpaused for a moment--"former home. Everything seems to lead me there,and yet, if I take your advice, I must avoid that place of all others."

  "I would at present, if I were you," said Ferris. "Still, why not try itwith any of the passers-by?"

  Brenton looked around him. People were passing and repassing where thetwo stood talking with each other. "Merry Christmas" was the word on alllips. Finally Brenton said, with a look of uncertainty on his face--

  "My dear fellow, I can't talk to any of these people. I don't knowthem."

  Ferris laughed at this, and replied--

  "I don't think you will shock them very much; just try it."

  "Ah, here's a friend of mine. You wait a moment, and I will accost him."Approaching him, Brenton held out his hand and spoke, but the travellerpaid no attention. He passed by as one who had seen or heard nothing.

  "I assure you," said Ferris, as he noticed the look of disappointment onthe other's face, "you will meet with a similar experience, however muchyou try. You know the old saying about one not being able to have hiscake and eat it too. You can't have the privileges of this world andthose of the world you left as well. I think, taking it all in all, youshould rest content, although it always hurts those who have left theother world not to be able to communicate with their friends, and atleast assure them of their present welfare."

  "It does seem to me," replied Brenton, "that would be a greatconsolation, both for those who are here and those who are left."

  "Well, I don't know about that," answered the other. "After all, whatdoes life in the other world amount to? It is merely a preparation forthis. It is of so short a space, as compared with the life we live here,that it is hardly worth while to interfere with it one way or another.By the time you are as long here as I have been, you will realize thetruth of this."

  "Perhaps I shall," said Brenton, with a sigh; "but, meanwhile, what amI to do with myself? I feel like the man who has been all his lifein active business, and who suddenly resolves to enjoy himself doingnothing. That sort of thing seems to kill a great number of men,especially if they put off taking a rest until too late, as most of usdo."

  "Well," said Ferris, "there is no necessity of your being idle here, Iassure you. But before you lay out any work for yourself, let me ask youif there is not some interesting part of the world that you would liketo visit?"

  "Certainly; I have seen very little of the world. That is one of myregrets at leaving it."

  "Bless me," said the other, "you haven't left it."

  "Why, I thought you said I was a dead man?"

  "On the contrary," replied his companion, "I have several times insistedthat you have just begun to live. Now where shall we spend the day?"

  "How would London do?"

  "I don't think it would do; London is apt to be a little gloomy at thistime of the year. But what do you say to Naples, or Japan, or, if youdon't wish to go out of the United States, Yellowstone Park?"

  "Can we reach any of those places before the day is over?" askedBrenton, dubiously.

  "Well, I will soon show you how we manage all that. Just wish toaccompany me, and I will take you the rest of the way."

  "How would Venice do?" said Brenton. "I didn't see half as much of thatcity as I wanted to."

  "Very well," replied his companion, "Venice it is;" and the Americancity in which they stood faded away from them, and before Brenton couldmake up his mind exactly what was happening, he found himself walkingwith his comrade in St. Mark's Square.

  "Well, for rapid transit," said Brenton, "this beats anything I've everhad any idea of; but it increases the feeling that I am in a dream."

  "You'll soon get used to it," answered Ferris; "and, when you do, thecumbersome methods of travel in the world itself will show themselves intheir right light. Hello!" he cried, "here's a man whom I shouldlike you to meet. By the way, I either don't know your name or I haveforgotten it."

  "William Brenton," answered the other.

  "Mr. Speed, I want to introduce you to Mr. Brenton."

  "Ah," said Speed, cordially, "a new-comer. One of your victims, Ferris?"

  "Say one of his pupils, rather," answered Brenton.

  In Venice.]

  "Well, it is pretty much the same thing," said Speed. "How long have youbeen with us, and how do you like the country?"

  "You see, Mr. Brenton," interrupted Ferris, "John Speed was a newspaperman, and he must ask strangers how they like the country. He hasinquired so often while interviewing foreigners for his paper that nowhe cannot abandon his old phrase. Mr. Brenton has been with us but ashort time," continued Ferris, "and so you know, Spe
ed, you can hardlyexpect him to answer your inevitable question."

  "What part of the country are you from?" asked Speed.

  "Cincinnati," answered Brenton, feeling almost as if he were an Americantourist doing the continent of Europe.

  "Cincinnati, eh? Well, I congratulate you. I do not know any place inAmerica that I would sooner die in, as they call it, than Cincinnati.You see, I am a Chicago man myself."

  Brenton did not like the jocular familiarity of the newspaper man, andfound himself rather astonished to learn that in the spirit-world therewere likes and dislikes, just as on earth.

  "Chicago is a very enterprising city," he said, in a non-committal way.

  "Chicago, my dear sir," said Speed, earnestly, "is _the_ city. You willsee that Chicago is going to be the great city of the world before youare a hundred years older. By the way, Ferris," said the Chicago man,suddenly recollecting something, "I have got Sommers over here with me."

  "Ah!" said Ferris; "doing him any good?"

  "Well, precious little, as far as I can see."

  "Perhaps it would interest Mr. Brenton to meet him," said Ferris. "Ithink, Brenton, you asked me a while ago if there was any hell here, orany punishment. Mr. Speed can show you a man in hell."

  "Really?" asked Brenton.

  "Yes," said Speed; "I think if ever a man was in misery, he is. Thetrouble with Sommers was this. He--well, he died of delirium tremens,and so, of course, you know what the matter was. Sommers had drunkChicago whisky for thirty-five years straight along, and never added toit the additional horror of Chicago water. You see what his conditionbecame, both physical and mental. Many people tried to reform Sommers,because he was really a brilliant man; but it was no use. Thirst hadbecome a disease with him, and from the mental part of that disease,although his physical yearning is now gone of course, he suffers.Sommers would give his whole future for one glass of good old Kentuckywhisky. He sees it on the counters, he sees men drink it, and he standsbeside them in agony. That's why I brought him over here. I thought thathe wouldn't see the colour of whisky as it sparkles in the glass; butnow he is in the Cafe Quadra watching men drink. You may see him sittingthere with all the agony of unsatisfied desire gleaming from his face."

  "And what do you do with a man like that?" asked Brenton.

  "Do? Well, to tell the truth, there is nothing _to_ do. I took him awayfrom Chicago, hoping to ease his trouble a little; but it has had noeffect."

  "It will come out all right by-and-by," said Ferris, who noticed thepained look on Brenton's face. "It is the period of probation thathe has to pass through. It will wear off. He merely goes through theagonies he would have suffered on earth if he had suddenly been deprivedof his favourite intoxicant."

  "Well," said Speed, "you won't come with me, then? All right, good-bye.I hope to see you again, Mr. Brenton," and with that they separated.

  Brenton spent two or three days in Venice, but all the time the old homehunger was upon him. He yearned for news of Cincinnati. He wanted to beback, and several times the wish brought him there, but he instantlyreturned. At last he said to Ferris--

  "I am tired. I must go home. I have _got_ to see how things are going."

  "I wouldn't if I were you," replied Ferris.

  "No, I know you wouldn't. Your temperament is indifferent. I wouldrather be miserable with knowledge than happy in ignorance. Good-bye."

  It was evening when he found himself in Cincinnati. The weather wasbright and clear, and apparently cold. Men's feet crisped on the frozenpavement, and the streets had that welcome, familiar look which theyalways have to the returned traveller when he reaches the city he callshis home. The newsboys were rushing through the streets yelling theirpapers at the top of their voices. He heard them, but paid littleattention.

  "All about the murder! Latest edition! All about the poison case!"

  He felt that he must have a glimpse at a paper, and, entering the officeof an hotel where a man was reading one, he glanced over his shoulderat the page before him, and was horror-stricken to see the words instartling headlines--

  THE BRENTON MURDER. _The Autopsy shows that Morphine was the Poison used. Enough found to have killed a Dozen Men. Mrs. Brenton arrested for Committing the Horrible Deed_.

  The Brenton Murder.]