The Whirligig of Fortune

I CANNOT remember when the unconquerable longing for Paris first took possession of me. I am sometimes inclined to think that, in spite of my Yankee lineage, I must have been born with it; for when I was a very small boy my brain bore a highly colored impression, largely fanciful, of that city’s principal features, and I could have passed a creditable examination upon the darkest scenes of its history, which had for me a mysterious, absorbing interest. Later, this interest deepened into a passion, so that France became my nation by right of choice, if not of birth, and its capital the one place of all others that I desired not merely to see, but to know. Of course, by that time I had accustomed myself to think solely of the delusive pinchbeck Second Empire Paris, through which Napoleon the little bowled luxuriously behind his outriders, the light-hearted ringleader in a perpetual masquerade. Now and then a fortunate friend went off for a peep at the show, and came back bringing me the latest news of it, with the freshest knick-knack from the Rue de Rivoli in golden lacquer that soon grew tarnished in our uncongenial climate. Long before the settled purpose to take my own part in the revel seemed to approach its accomplishment, I had acquired a small collection of such articles de Paris, and might have drawn a warning moral from their dingy surfaces but that my eyes still held the glamour of youth in them. When I took down my Æsop, it was only to read the fable ; to me the application was tiresome and profitless.

Everything comes to him who waits, even though he be the poorest of earth’s creatures ; and the Garners, in point of worldly goods, stood almost at the foot of the respectable class in our community. Indeed, I have heard that “as poor as Tim Garner ” was a favorite form of comparison when I went to school. The boys had no need to go out of their way for the proverbial Job’s turkey or church mouse, with my poverty’s picturesqueness always before them ; but they were considerate enough not to taunt me with what I could not help ; and very soon, with two or three exceptions, they passed out of my life, getting on in the world by divers pleasant paths, while I, with the necessity of earning my pittance constantly goading me, entered a counting-room by the lowest round of the mercantile ladder. There for a time, without perceptible advancement, I ground out a wretched existence, developing only a capacity for patient waiting that was truly pathetic in view of the impossible day-dream that sustained me ; this being none other than the grand tour itself, with Paris for its goal. So I watched the ships of my employers discharge upon the musty wharves, and faithfully kept tally of precious cargoes that were not mine, confident that some bright morning my own ship would come in. At last, as I have already hinted, it came and went, clearing for the Fortunate Islands with my effects on board. I was not clad, to be sure, in all the independent luxury of purple and fine linen which the dream had foreshadowed. But when dreams come true in this world, they do it by halves, generally speaking.

In fact, I was not an independent passenger at all, but a mere shipment, duly entered and labeled like a bale of merchandise. A certain American banking firm in Paris had sent out for a junior clerk, who was to be young, active, quick at figures, and, above all, home-made. Hearing of this. I applied for the place, and, thanks to my youth, to my fairly good address, and especially, perhaps, to my family name, which, I am proud to say, has long been a synonym for honesty, I obtained it. The pay was small, — smaller by a good deal than that I earned at home, — but it. was clearly intimated that the house of Markham & Wade, while binding itself by no extravagant promises, would do better for me later on, if I gave satisfaction. In this hint I found a golden hope ; for these men had begun as I was beginning, and were still young enough to remember the struggle of that earlier time. Their enviable reputation for liberality in small matters influenced me even more than the report of their financial standing, which was undoubtedly good. The feeble opposition of my timorous female relatives, who would have preferred to keep me by them a little longer, I speedily overruled, and, bidden to decide the question for myself, decided for Paris, — that cabalistic word which, cast into the scale against far greater odds, alone would have carried the day.

I had but just turned twenty when, old in aims and expectations, but very young in worldly experience, I was thus packed off for France, with a sudden, desperate uncertainty about the date of my arrival there. For this first Atlantic passage of mine occurred in the autumn of 1870, and the cloud of war hung thick over Paris, which was already in a state of siege. My plans, consequently, underwent a change at the last moment, and, in obedience to a cable message from the house which I already called mine, I proceeded to Paris by way of London, where Markham & Wade had established their headquarters for the time being. It was a queer, shabby makeshift of a place in the Strand, into which they moved for a month or two at most, as was then supposed. But the situation across the Channel grew painfully complicated ; and our London business increased proportionately, until by the end of the winter the temporary shelter, enlarged and renovated, had become a tower of strength, our chief source of supply and profit. Thereafter we heard no talk of its abandonment. The new house had justified itself, much as a boy does, when, coining to man’s estate, he leaves the parental roof and takes his life into his own hands.

All London winters are gloomy, and that one was peculiarly so. I suppose we had no more black fog than usual, though for weeks together the sun never shone ; but the war news was not exhilarating, and the town swarmed with French refugees, whose mournful faces attended us everywhere. Mainly on their account the newspapers were given over to the wildest rumors, according to which Paris, thrown into a light blaze every few days by the Prussian shells, must be little better than a vast ruin. “ At that moment the Arc do Triomphe crumbled and fell ” was the favorite report of the nameless eye-witness charged with the agreeable duty of keeping our excitement at the proper pitch. Since all regular communication was cut off, we had often no means of disproving him, but could only pace the sombre London streets and wonder if our luxurious rezde-chaussée in the Rue Saint - Arnaud was really an ash-heap ; until letters by balloon-post from our beleaguered staff there would relieve our minds, at the same time filling our cramped office with anxious Frenchmen eager to pick up any crumb of comfort.

Though the prospect of my transference seemed now more than ever remote, I remained still booked for Paris, hoping to enter the French house upon resumption of its business, which, naturally, during the siege was altogether suspended. Meanwhile I had my new trade to learn, and soon mastered its rudiments in days of laborious detail that commonly extended far into the night. My best friends in all the London force were Flack, the head bookkeeper, who held me ever in his eye, and Sam Ryeder, whose desk adjoined mine. The former, a simple, fatherly Warwickshire man of fifty-odd troubled years, waddled like a duck under a burden of flesh that would have made the fortune of a Falstaff. I could not imagine why he should have failed utterly in his youthful attempt to be an actor, until I learned that he had ventured out upon the provincial boards in the rôle of Hamlet. Then I understood it all, and him with it. This unhappy little incident furnished the key to his character, which was remarkable for nothing except a total lack of the reasoning power. Throughout his checkered career — I heard the whole sad story little by little — he had persistently taken things wrong end foremost, simply because he could not determine which the wrong end was. Even in bookkeeping, that happy huntingground of the unsuccessful, Mr. Flack went entirely by precedents, and at the turning of a new leaf frankly confessed his helplessness, like a mere beginner. His boyish simplicity made friends for him in spite of himself. The dogged cheerfulness underlying it was probably not the result of a definite intention to make the best of adversity. It arose, I am convinced, from the fact that he could see his way to getting three reasonably good meals for the day and the morrow ; beyond that Mr. Flack assuredly never looked.

Sam Ryeder was of so different a complexion that at first sight it seemed as if no stronger contrast to Mr. Flack’s ineffectiveness could possibly be conceived, though in reality the two natures possessed striking points of resemblance. A compact little American whose years were but twenty-seven, unaggressive in his nationality, of pleasant manners and well-modulated speech, he had made a brilliant start in life that proved but a flash in the pan ; then, buffeted about the world, he had suffered many reverses, without losing a particle of the enthusiasm which, though it was a perpetual delight to others, stood between him and his own success. He knew many men, many lands, and with ready wit and keen intelligence could talk upon almost any subject convincingly. But when it came to action, his heart got the better of his head and made him a dangerous guide. His landscapes were all sunlight; and without shadows there could be no pitfalls, —he would not hear of them. Of course, a sanguine disposition like this is no defect so long as things go well, and of late they had combined themselves to Sam’s advantage amazingly. Just before my arrival, some suggestion of his, attracting the partners’ notice, was carried out at once, and promotion with increase of pay followed it. Advancement, when it once set in, being rapid in the house of Markham & Wade, every one now felt that Sam Ryeder’s star was in the ascendant, while nobody grudged him his small stroke of luck. We all liked him ; and as I had been placed in his immediate charge to acquire the ways of the office, there soon sprang up between us an intimacy, long unbroken, that is still among my cheeriest remembrances of those faroff foreign days. He found lodging for me next his own, — a two-pair back ” in Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, — where we stretched our legs and minds together over the cindery hard-coal fire, after a late dinner, substantial but cheap, in some minor restaurant of the Strand. On Sundays we dined better, sometimes at Hampton Court or Kew ; and I can even recall one monumental meal of ours on the terrace at the Star and Garter, which cost us rigid economy at luncheon - bars for a whole fortnight. The palate seems to have a special chamber in the memory, where flavors of choice dishes, eaten long ago, are preserved, unmingled and intact, with startling distinctness.

Sam and I had other tastes in common beside these material ones. We admired English books, but scoffed at English pictures, and we deplored the smoke-stained ugliness of London. Inclining to gayety as a flower does to the light, we gave all our sympathies to the French in their hopeless struggle across the Channel ; and it was chiefly for the Marseillaise that we sometimes parted with our hardly earned half-crowns at the door of the Alhambra, where the war-songs were sung nightly to stormy factions, hissing and applauding the airs and emblems of the contending armies with tremendous vigor, then amiably merging their differences in a burst of approval at the sight of the stars and stripes or the British lion. "Ah, Tim, my boy, how I envy you your first day in Paris ! ” Sam would whisper when the tricolor took possession of the field. He had known the city at what he conceived to be its best, — in the bright days of 1867, — and he was never tired of dwelling upon those bygone glories for my benefit.

One night, coming in late, we found the huge theatre very crowded, but, forcing our way to the front, finally secured two chairs at a table where a little elderly man— a Frenchman, evidently — sat alone. He made room for us with a courteous gesture, and in his restless black eyes there seemed to be a light of recognition; yet, though his features were strongly marked. I could not at first remember where I had seen him before. “ It must have been in our place, of course,” I thought, thereupon assuring myself that this was the fact, and by degrees recalling the circumstances. He had brought in a small sum of French money for exchange, and, as it happened, had applied to me. I had noticed at the time the trim cut of his iron-gray mustache and imperial, as well as the scrupulous neatness of his shabby coat, the same which he now wore. I perceived that to keep his chair throughout the evening, unchallenged, he had ordered the glass of beer which he did not want. He was drinking sugar-and-water, and as I watched him stir this gravely with the ivory blade of his pocket paper-knife, I recollected that he had described himself to me as a maker of toys ; in support of the statement giving me his business card, which must still be in one of my pockets. At the next pause in the music he accepted a cigarette from Sam, and the two fell into conversation. Then I found the card, and read, under the table, furtively :

ANTOINE BRIZARD,
FABRICANT DE JOUETS,
30 RUE DES FRANCS-BOURGEOIS,
AU MARAIS.

So, joining in the talk, which had turned straight to the all-absorbing topic of the war, I took occasion presently to address him by name ; whereupon he smiled, and complimented me in very good English upon the excellence of my memory.

A rap of the leader’s baton sent a responsive thrill through the great audience, and the band struck the first notes of the Marseillaise amid a general uproar. Groans and hisses from the German sympathizers only made the applause grow fiercer, and the enthusiasts asserted themselves triumphantly at the appearance of the singer, a tall, handsome woman, wearing the Phrygian cap and flowing garments of Liberty. Coming forward upon the narrow platform built out into the theatre, she sang her song with dramatic effect and much waving of her tricolored banner at the refrain, which the house, including Sam and myself in the front rank of it, took up. With a gracious smile she yielded to our demand for a repetition, rewarding us by a look when we pounded our table clamorously at her final recall.

Monsieur Brizard had applauded, too, but with less emotional fury than our own, which amused anil interested him.

“ You have heroic sentiments,” he said, when all the noise was over.

“ And you ? ” returned Sam, raising his eyebrows.

“ I also, though I think but lightly of the lady there. Pauvre pays ! Who shall say what or where the end will be ? Look ! ” and producing a wad of tissue paper, which he unrolled carefully, Monsieur Brizard took from it a small, dark object; then, with a twirl of his finger and thumb, he sent this spinning out upon the table.

It was a teetotum of about an inch in diameter, bearing upon each of its four sides a design intended to symbolize one of the powerful French parties, — the golden lily, the cock of the Orleans house, the imperial eagle, the liberty cap. “ Voilà la France, messieurs ! ” said Monsieur Brizard, as the eagle fell uppermost; “ a plaything in the hand of fortune ! ” We examined the toy, which was highly finished, with the facet lines picked out in gold. I gave it a twirl, and our companion smiled, but shook his head doubtfully, when the eagle came again. “ Perhaps,” he muttered.

“ Where did you get the thing ? ” Sam asked.

Monsieur Brizard tapped his forehead. Here, ” he said ; “that I might divert myself a little. C’est une idée, ça, — le toton politique.” So, with an air of pride in his invention, he tried it once more, watching its fall eagerly, and shrugging his shoulders in comic distress when the lily turned up. “ Zut! ” he cried, as the house was stirred into fresh excitement by the Wacht am Rhein. “ Je m’en vais. Au plaisir, messieurs.” Sweeping the fickle instrument of prophecy into his pocket, he made off hastily, and I saw no more of him for many a day.

Time went on, bringing the capitulation of Paris, the long armistice, the melancholy treaty of peace, the entry of the Germans to the Place de la Concorde. Then followed the fierce ascendency of the Commune, whereof no man could foresee the issue. During these troubled months, communication with Paris, although nominally resumed, proved uncertain and hazardous. But Markham & Wade, whose watchword was enterprise, desired to make the most of this advantage, and, having little confidence in the mails, sent messengers back and forth across the Channel repeatedly. I begged hard for permission to serve in this capacity of courier, and one day in early spring, soon after the insurgents had gained control of central Paris, the privilege was granted — only to be revoked ; for at the last moment my youth and inexperience, as I saw, were cast into the scale against me, the outlook being stormy, the mission being a delicate one, and Sam Ryeder filled my place. The balm of mild flattery softened this blow, — the messenger, once in, would probably be unable to get out again, and I could not be spared from my post in London ; but it remained a blow, nevertheless, though, in view of Sam’s evident glee, I counterfeited a good grace and uttered no remonstrance. Sam made his way into Paris not without difficulty, and there he was forced for a time to stay, precisely as had been predicted; then, owing to circumstances which he regarded as favorable, his stay was prolonged through all the wantonness and ferocity of the second Reign of Terror, until, with a few hours of desperate street-fighting, the Commune, yielding inch by inch before the resolute Versaillais, had become a mere historic memory. Sam lost none of these rare opportunities, which led him into many scrapes. More than once, through his insatiable curiosity, he was arrested as a spy and dragged to headquarters, where a look at his passport sufficed for his release. Armed only with this document, he watched the Vendôme Column fall, and, rushing into the crowd, pocketed that fragment of bronze which now serves as a paper-weight upon my table. On the terrible 23d of May, while the Tuileries burned, he prowled the streets all night, hovering near the path of death and destruction like a carrion bird; and if he was not actually in at the Commune’s downfall, during the final struggle of the Place de l’Opéra, five days later, he must have been close upon it. I need not say that I still envy him these dreadful experiences.

It was on the following morning, May 29, 1871, that I was summoned, by the partners into their private room and asked how I should like to serve as special messenger to Paris by the night express. I replied that I should like nothing better.

“ You have never been in Paris, Garner, I think?” continued Mr. Markham, smiling at my eagerness, as I plainly perceived.

“ No,” said I gloomily, fearing that the admission might once more turn against me, “ but ” —

“ Then it will be a good plan to improve your opportunity, broke in Mr. Wade. “ Send your passport up to the legation for a visé at once, and go prepared to stay on for a day or two. See all you can and learn the ropes. When things are settled, we shall need you there.”

“ Thank you,” said I, overjoyed. “ And my instructions ? ”

“ May be summed up in one word, — ‘ caution,’ ” Mr. Markham answered. “You will wear a belt containing French money,—twenty thousand francs, more or less,—which Mr. Flack will hand you at the close of to-day’s business, You will deliver this at the Rue Saint-Arnaud the moment you arrive. That s all.

“ Except to bring back whatever may be handed you in one, two, or three days, according to the turn of affairs,” added Mr. Wade. “ Be guided by that, but make the most of your visit. And so they dismissed me.

The day was unusually busy, even for a mail-day, and we were all up to our eyes in work, of which I would have undertaken a double share cheerfully, in view of my approaching journey. At luncheon-time I stole an extra quarter of an hour to pack my light luggage, and, carrying this down to the office, I stowed it away under my desk there, since I was to take the train at Charing Cross, close by. Toward seven o’clock I bolted what passed for my dinner at the nearest of the crowded counters I frequented. Coming back, I found that the tide had turned : the partners were already gone, the staff hilariously bent upon following their example ; the whole place was in a whirl, through which I put the finishing touches upon my own task, while one by one my fellow-clerks noisily took leave. During the next half-hour Mr. Flack kept up a dispute with Wilmot, the cashier, whose accounts had obstinately refused to balance. They counted and recounted their rolls of money, until at last the error was brought to light. Then, after their exchange of congratulations, Mr. Flack turned to me.

“ Come, Garner, man, look alive ! It’s time you were ready. Off with your coat, and let me buckle on the harness for you.”

He held in both hands a wide belt of chamois leather lined with pockets, the flaps of which were buttoned down over the money he had packed away in them. As he strapped this around my waist, he explained that the contents included nearly equal proportions of notes and gold, and that he had distributed the latter along the belt, to “even up” the weight, as he expressed it. Nevertheless, the weight so adjusted was considerable, and at first I felt as if every step must betray my unwieldiness. But I soon grew accustomed to this new sensation, and when I had put on my coat again no one would have observed the slight halt in my gait, or suspected any unusual feature in my attire.

“ Here’s your demnition total ! ” said Mr. Flack, handing me a memorandum of the sum I was to carry. “Francs, twenty-one thousand, five hundred ; or pounds sterling, eight hundred and sixty, roughly speaking. You’re worth more than ever before in your life, my precious. Come on ! Give me those traps of yours. You must get aboard, youngster, get aboard ! ”

As we stepped out into the rush of the Strand, a fierce gust of wind lifted my companion’s hat, but he threw up his left hand just in time to save it.

“ Tim, my boy, are you a good sailor ? ” he inquired, jamming the hat down over his eyes,

“ Oh yes. Why do you ask ? “ I answered .

“Why? Bless your little heart, do you forget you ’re on an island ? ” Mr. Flack rejoined. “ And it’s going to be a naughty night to swim in. Lear’s fool, act third. I played him twice : once in Derby, once in Manchester.”

“ How did it go ? ” I asked absently, with a glance toward the stars, few of which were visible.

“ Go ? I was great in it, — great, I tell you ; and it’s the best part in the piece, too, bar the king. Heigh-ho ! ” Then, sighing at the remembrance of his former greatness, he led the way into the station, tossed my luggage to a porter, and demanded a “ first-class return ” for Paris, with an accent of pride upon the ordinal number. “ The house always travels ‘ first, he explained, lest I should fail to be duly impressed.

We hurried on to the barrier, through which he seemed to have the right of way. “ Going across ? ” asked its guardian, with a nod.

“ Not I; it’s only the lad. Old England ’s quite large enough for me, this season, thank you.”

In this patronizing manner I was deposited in the corner of a first-class carriage, otherwise vacant; Mr. Flack waved a last farewell from the platform ; and the train rumbled out over the murky Thames to the Surrey shore and back again into the Cannon Street station, on the Middlesex side, close under St. Paul’s. Here we found other passengers, one of whom, entering my compartment, seated himself opposite to me, somewhat to my annoyance, though he seemed inoffensive enough. He was a fussy, self-important little man of middle age, disposed to talk freely, with an accent that would have betrayed his foreign origin, even if, in a few moments, he had not proclaimed his nationality. When the guard examined our tickets, the foreigner observed that mine was for Paris, and commented upon the fact. “ I go only to Calais,” said he, "to conclude certain trifling affairs, and then to Belgium. Moi, je suis Belge. And you are English, are you not ? ” Inclined to caution, I yet saw no reason for being ungracious, and so answered that I was American. The information appeared to interest my fellow-traveler, and it led him into a flow of compliment upon the nobility of our race, which, despite its extravagance, caused my blood to tingle pleasantly. But though he asked no other questions, the familiar, personal tone of the conversation made me uneasy. This he probably perceived, and as we went gliding on through Kent his talk trailed off to the weather, which certainly gave him a good excuse for the change of subject. The night was dark as a pocket; rain had set in. and the big drops were driven sharply against the window-pane by the rising wind. I remembered Turner’s picture of the train in a storm, and shivering, though it was not cold, drew the overcoat which I had thrown off around my knees. My new acquaintance stopped talking, and settled himself snugly into his corner. I grew drowsy, nodded, slept for one half-minute, again for another, until, aroused by a draught of air, I started up, to find that the coat had slipped from my knees, that the train stood still, and that the Belgian was peering out of the open window into the night. My mind reverted to my belt, whither one hand instantly followed it. Convincing myself by the sense of touch that all was safe, I asked why we had stopped and where we were.

“We are at Dover,— that is all,” said he; “the guard comes for our tickets. Now we move on,—to the pier. Good God ! what a night! Oh, this cursed sea, — I have no love for it at best.”

I laughed lightly. Here was I, at last, on the point of embarking for France. What would be a wave more or less to me ? The cockle-shell mail-boat chafed and tugged at its mooring restlessly, In spite of the storm there were many passengers ; and I had no sooner set foot among them than I encountered my old friend Monsieur Brizard.

He stopped his nervous pacing of the quarter-deck to hail me with a degree of warmth which I cordially returned.

“ You are going home ?” said I.

“ Yes,” he sighed, “ to what is left of it, if that should be permitted. The thing is not so easy yet, they say, tor us who are Parisians. We are scrutinized at Calais, it appears.”

“ Surely you have your passport ?”

“ Oh yes,” said Monsieur Brizard, touching his breast-pocket, from which a corner of the document protruded ; “ with my visé for Paris, all in order. Yet even so, I doubt. The moment is a troubled one; the best of us, I am told, lie under grave suspicion.

The Belgian had come up, and his readiness to talk asserted itself at once,

“ Bah ! ” said he ; “ they magnify these difficulties in London. I can assure monsieur that we honest men need have no anxiety. A Parisian friend of mine passed through yesterday without question ; and he was a patriot of the newest sort, a so-called friend of liberty.

“ Ah, so much the better, then,” Monsieur Brizard replied. “ Since monsieur does not disturb himself, and, like me, returns to his native land”

“ Oh, moi, je suis Belge !” rejoined the other, setting him right.

Then for the next few minutes we chatted pleasantly together upon our short voyage and its prospects, after the manner of fellow-passengers.

But the moment the steamer cast off, conversation became impossible; indeed, there was no remaining on deck with any comfort. The wind, rain, and spray soon swept it clear, and we were forced below into an obscure cabin furnished with a continuous line of berths which had neither curtains nor partitions, These couches were already well filled, the only vacant places being at the stern, where, rolling up my overcoat for a pillow, I wedged myself between my two companions, — in good time, for five minutes later the cabin floor was crowded with recumbent figures in various stages of seasickness. Our own retreat was veiy dimly lighted, and we congratulated ourselves upon its comparative seclusion. But the motion soon proved excessive : poor Monsieur Brizard, frankly yielding to it, turned pale and moaned, while the Belgian hid his face, suffering in silence. Before long, the atmosphere, the sights and sounds of these close quarters, began to tell upon me, good sailor that I was. I lay flat on my back, dreading even to move ; then, indifferent to all but my own pain, I shut my eyes and tried to sleep off the dull headache of which I gradually grew unconscious. At last, the pitching and tossing diminished perceptibly, and our limbo stirred into life with a general sense of relief. We were nearing Calais. Vaguely aware of this at first, I found presently that the Belgian, who had occupied the inner place, was already up and engaged in the friendly task of infusing courage into the limp, spiritless soul of Monsieur Biizard. I lent him a hand, and together we raised the sick man to a sitting posture. He looked like a white shadow of himself. His clothes, all awry, hung round him in wrinkles. As we shook them into shape, a paper fell from his breastpocket. The Belgian stuffed it back, remarking severely that he should have an eye to his passport. This speech acted like a spur. Monsieur Brizard sprang to his feet, and proceeded to feel in all his pockets. I immediately thought of my belt, which had slipped out of place a little, but as I quietly adjusted it the weight reassured me; and just then, Monsieur Brizard. declaring that he had lost something, turned back to the berth, where in a moment he found a small roll of tissue paper, which he held up triumphantly.

“ C’est le toton politique, ça ! ” said I, laughing ; while my remembrance of his odd little toy brought a flush of pleasure to his cheek, as he smiled and nodded. He was already better, and the fresh air on deck soon revived him. We were coming into port beside a long pier, from which uncouth figures hailed us with tossing lanterns. Monsieur Brizard pointed out to me a group of uniformed custom-house officials near a picturesque old gate ; and beyond this I saw the gables of Calais in a confused mass against the sky. A voice warned us to make ready our passports, as we plunged into the throng surging up to the landingstage. In this scramble the Belgian was swept away, and we saw no more of him. But I still clung to Monsieur Brizard, who, declaring that there was not the slightest hurry, moved away from the crowd, when we reached the top of the gangplank, to light a cigarette under the nearest lamp-post.

“We have a full hour to wait,” he explained. “ Now for the passports, which will be taken up for examination as we enter the douane.”Speaking, he drew his out and opened it. “ Sacré nom de mille tonnerres ! ” he cried.

“ What is the matter ? ” I asked.

“ It is not mine, this paper. Look ! The name is ‘Alexandre Duval, négociant de Paris.’ Who is he, and what have I to do with him ? Expliquez-moi ça, mon ami! ”

But I had no explanation to offer. I could only stare at the paper, and ask if the visé was in order.

“ Yes, yes ; it is of this morning, when I obtained my own. Sapristi ! that explains all clearly. They have returned me the wrong one, and T was too stupid to notice it. But what is to be done ? ”

We stepped nearer to the lamp, for careful inspection of the passport, which was undoubtedly genuine. It was drawn for a man of forty-eight, whose description followed in detail, but with the usual vagueness: “Face, oval; forehead and mouth, medium ; hair, gray.” I compared these features with the bearer’s, finding that they conformed sufficiently well ; and Monsieur Brizard arrived swiftly at the same conclusion. “ Parbleu ! he cried, “ it might pass for me, — all except the age, and I am but fiftyone. Grâce à Dieu ! quelle chance! ”

“ Precisely ! ” I agreed. “ You have only to pass on with this. They will never detect you, — never in the world! ”

“ Right ! There is, indeed, no other thing to do,” said he. “ It is better than to wait over night in this hole of a provincial town. Allons, et bon courage ! Eh. but the folly of it ! Were I imprisoned fora month, I could not complain.”

We went on to the gate, there delivering the passports to an officer in charge, who ushered us into a dreary waitingroom of the station. Here the passengers for Paris were penned up like so many sheep, while rigid scrutiny of their credentials went on behind a closed door in one corner, toward which all eyes turned impatiently. When, after a long delay, this door was opened, we swarmed on to the inner sanctuary, where our names were called in turn and the passports redelivered as we presented ourselves to claim them. It chanced that my name fell among the first, but, there being no hurry, I lingered on, anxious to learn my companion’s fate. Little by little, the crowd thinned out; and its number had dwindled to two or three, when Alexandre Duval was summoned. Monsieur Brizard responded instantly, moving forward to the desk in perfect self-possession. The officer gave him one searching look ; then, without a word, handed back the passport. I joined him at once, and together we went out under the wide arch of the station. We were admitted to French soil at last; there, before us, stood the long line of carriages placarded for Paris. But we still had twenty minutes to spare ; so, at the suggestion of Monsieur Brizard, who declared that he was famished, we turned into the buffet, where our light supper of bouillon and cold chicken, well served, seemed to me my most refreshing meal for many a day. Then, in a very happy mood, we strolled back to the train ; perceiving, first, that the best places were taken ; next, that there was grave doubt of our finding any places at all. “ En voitures, messieurs! ” shouted the guards, with a great slamming of doors. We rushed wildly up and down the line, Monsieur Brizard plunging finally into one carriage, and I into another far removed from him. I sank into its only empty seat just as the train started, and for the next few minutes thought of nothing but to get my breath again, and make sure that no personal effects had slipped from my pockets in all this frantic haste.

When we were fairly out of Calais, and the blue shade had been drawn over the carriage - lamp, making its light of the faintest. I had a good opportunity to examine my belt once more. I accordingly did so, — this time with great care. The coin was all in its place ; there could be no doubt of that. But, to my horror, I discovered that the front pocket, containing the package of notes, had been cut in two by some sharp instrument. and that every note was gone ! My hair stood on end. In vain I told myself that the cut had always existed, that I was dreaming, that the sealed envelope lay safely hidden in another pocket. I had seen Mr. Flack deposit it there, and knew that the hope was false. I remembered perfectly the figures marked upon it, and I verified them now by my memorandum in the dim light, — 12,150 francs ; more than half, that is to say, of the entire sum entrusted to me. I was robbed, — robbed through my own imprudence, when I had been expressly warned to practice circumspection. The dreadful second thought, which seemed to involve my ruin, left me faint and cold.

My life has been one of many trials, but I am sure that the hours which followed this discovery were among the worst I have ever known. As the train rushed on, my seven fellow-passengers, whose consciences were at rest, composed themselves to sleep, while I, bolt upright and broad awake, stared out at the wild country, summoning back into my tortured brain every circumstance from Charing Cross to Calais, trying to fix the moment of the theft, with which, alternately, I saddled the Belgian and Monsieur Brizard. Then slowly I became convinced of the latter’s innocence. The Belgian was the thief, of course. He had observed the belt on the way down, perhaps, and he had rifled it as I dozed at his side in the steamer s cabin. I groaned aloud over the fact that we were flying farther and farther from him every moment. I did not even know under what name he traveled. He had watched while I slept miserably, suffering him to crawl from the inner place without disturbing me. He was first upon his feet as we came into Calais. I had found him, when I woke, bending over Monsieur Brizard, whom he had taken to task about the passport. The passport ! Thereby hung a strange incident of which we had made too little. What if he, with some motive best known to himself, had exchanged Monsieur Brizard’s passport for his own ? What if he were no Belgian, but Monsieur Alexandre Duval, négociant de Paris ? The fancy, once conceived, impressed me as a revelation of the truth. One misdeed seemed to illuminate the other, and I was firmly persuaded now that, like myself, the toy-maker had been robbed in the dark, though only of his good name.

Abbeville ! come and gone in a breath. Amiens ! where we waited a little longer, while our bearings were tested with the clink of hammers. Then tired nature asserted itself, and, in spite of all my trouble, I nodded into painful sleep, the prey of nightmares. When I woke, the dawn was slowly breaking over the fair land of Oise. The storm had passed away, the sky was clear, the sun came up gloriously. Green fields, thickly sown with buttercups, stretched off on either hand, while now and then a rideau of pale poplars stood out against the distant horizon. But I watched the growth of the calm summer morning with an aching heart. The busy town of Creil flashed by us. Two of my companions woke, and chattered about the beauty of the landscape, the brilliant sunshine, then lapsed abruptly into moody silence at sight of the Prussian uniforms and helmets on the platform of Saint-Denis, which still remained in the enemy’s hands. And now, hemmed in by walls, we rattled on toward the heart of Paris, where the journey ended at last in the dismal Gare du Nord.

The station was crowded, and its noisy confusion jarred upon my nerves. Very weak and dispirited, I pushed on to the barrier in the hope of overtaking Monsieur Brizard ; but he was nowhere to be seen. I carried only hand-luggage, which the officials passed unopened ; and a moment later, jumping into an open victoria, I gave the cocher our address in the Rue Saint-Arnaud.

It was a quarter after six by the clock of Saint-Vincent-de-Paul when we drove under it through the long Rue de Lafayette, where the shops had already opened. Tricolored flags fluttered at all the windows, as if the city were decked for some feast-day ; but a veil of smoke swept low over the quarter, and I soon saw that the day was rather one of mourning. Half the women were in black ; every face looked saddened. We passed on into denser smoke and deeper sadness. The house-fronts, torn by shot and shell, gave me glimpses of deserted rooms with their household gods still in them. Martial law had been proclaimed, and as I crossed the Place de l’Opéra, which was completely gutted, I could see the soldiers grouped about a line of camp-fires on the Boulevard des Italiens. The war-cloud overshadowed everything in all the splendid distance; and my own cloud, not to be shaken off, enveloped me more closely. Thus, chilled to the very soul, I entered the Paris of my dreams.

Our concierge gave me a cheery welcome and the freedom of the office, where the day’s work had not begun ; then he brought coffee, which I gratefully accepted. My spirits rose a little, enabling me to consider my trouble calmly and to decide upon my course. I resolved to confide in Sam Ryeder, or in the cashier, should he appear first upon the scene, before breaking my unpleasant news to the higher authorities. Of the cashier I knew little more than his name, which was Hawkins ; but we were fellow-clerks, and I trusted to him in advance for counsel and sympathy. Two hours dragged on ; until at half past eight the vanguard of the force arrived, stirring the silent precincts into sudden activity. The tall steel safe, like a coffin set on end, was opened ; the books were distributed ; the juniors, one by one, took up the daily task. Then came a facteur from the post-office to leave his budget of letters, and a telegraph-boy with a message for Monsieur Hawkins. I saw the pale blue envelope placed conspicuously upon the cashier’s desk, now the only unoccupied one except Sam’s, I would make my confession to no one else, and, irritated by delay, I began to accuse them both of laziness, forgetting how young their day still was.

At last, a tall man, with careworn features and grizzled beard, strode briskly to his place, where, pouncing upon the telegram, he tore it open, read it, and tossed it down. This, then, was Mr. Hawkins. As I came forward timidly, he looked up.

“Ah ! you are Garner ? ” said he. “ Just in from London ? ”

“ Yes.”said I, fumbling at my belt with clumsy, nervous fingers ; “ and here ” —

“ Good ! the French money. Glad you came through all safe. But look there ! See what Flack telegraphs me ; the man needs a keeper. Eh ! Are you sick, my dear fellow ? What the devil is the matter with you ? ”

The matter was that I had reeled like a drunken man, clutching the desk with both hands ; for the London message ran as follows : —

“ Send back by mail our cash memoranda, put into Garner’s belt by mistake for French notes. We forward notes tomorrow. My fault, not Garner’s.

FLACK.”

“ It’s nothing — I mean it’s everything ! ” I stammered. “ Let me sit down a moment, and I ’ll tell you. I think the journey has upset me a little.”

He brought a chair, and sent out for brandy. Then I showed him the slashed belt, and told my story in broken sentences, incoherently, while my mind wandered back to that last half-hour in London with its wrangle over the accounts, amid preparations for my hurried departure. I understood exactly how, in his excitement, Mr. Flack had substituted for the envelope of French notes another envelope containing merely slips of paper with figures scrawled upon them, — Wilmot’s cash items in suspense, to be redeemed by the sums they represented without passing through the books. It was this valueless thing which had been sealed and marked so carefully ; this, only, which the thief had secured. The money, thanks to an accident, was safe, and I was no longer a lost soul awaiting punishment. I saw these details and my fortunate escape in a flash. But how Wilmot was ever to balance his cash again, without the stolen memoranda, I could not see.

When I communicated the doubt to Hawkins, he advised me not to worry about trifles. “ Let this be a lesson to you. my boy,” he added, “ Never take another man’s word for anything, especially a bookkeeper’s. But cheer up ! You are well out of it, and we ’ll keep the matter to ourselves.”

I thanked him for the friendly suggestion ; none the less, to Sam Ryeder, who presently joined us. I reviewed my story, — dramatically, this time, reserving the happy surprise of the telegram for the very end. Meanwhile, his face was a study in sympathetic emotion. It lighted up, however, as I finished ; and drawing a long breath, he said : “ Well, if you ain’t just the luckiest kid that ever lived, I in blessed! But what a state you ’re in ! Come round to my place and wash up. Then I ’ll give you a look at the town. It’s worth a morning’s work. There are sights here to stir a blind man ! ”

I turned to Hawkins, who not only agreed, but formally detailed Sam to a few hours of special service as my companion and guide. Sam’s lodging was in a comparatively new quarter beyond the Place de Clichy, but instead of driving there directly we made a small detour through the Place Vendôme to the Tuileries Garden, and back by the Rue Royale. Every moment of that first Parisian morning is indelibly stamped upon my memory, and I still see, as I saw then, the broken column lying in the square, the smouldering palace, the scarred portico of the Madeleine, the upturned pavements that had formed the barricades, the distant Panthéon dome with its two gaping shell-holes, — one due to the Prussians, the other to the Versaillais. as Sam informed me. The red flag had been thrust into them both, he said; but now they bore the tricolor which decked every building and monument in sight. He pointed out a theatre pillar on which a man was pasting the bill of the play at the Gymnase for that night, — the curtain to rise at six, since all lights must be out at eleven, when taps were sounded. So, while we drove on, Sam suffered nothing to escape my notice, playing perfectly his part of showman.

“And the trouble isn’t over yet,” he declared excitedly. “ There are fifty thousand insurgents still at large, and new arrests hourly. They make short work of those fellows. Martial law, you know ; two hundred executions directly under iny window, yesterday. By the way, I hope you have your passport handy ? It is n’t safe for any of us to be without one.”

In relieving him of this anxiety I was reminded of Monsieur Brizard, and his passport, lost, strayed, or stolen. That episode of the night’s adventure had been omitted from my hurried narrative at the office, as having little bearing upon my case. Sam, it appeared, had seen more of Brizard than I supposed, in the London days, and liked him. Accordingly, he pricked up his ears at once, agreeing with me that the exchange of passports was not an accident.

“ I hope the old boy got in all right,” said he. “If you don’t mind, Tim, we ’ll stop at his place in the Marais and call upon him. We can breakfast at the Rocher de Cancale. This is my door on the left, three flights above the entresol. I ’m au quatrième.”

I found his lodging very comfortable, and said so. “ Yes,” he agreed, “it’s a bit better than our old shake-down in Covent Garden. See here! ” Then opening a back window, he called attention to its fairly wide view toward Montmartre. There were some new buildings, half completed, with the staging still up ; and beyond these I could see one end of a high board fence, apparently inclosing vacant ground.

“ It was just there,” Sam explained, “ that the men were shot yesterday, like so many dogs,—there, back of those boards.” As he spoke, a puff of white smoke rose behind them, immediately followed by a sharp report.

“ Good God ! ” he cried. “ They ’re at it again, now! ”

We leaned from the window, looking down. Below us a narrow street led into a small square, scarcely fifty feet away. On the corner was a café, with the usual row of iron tables outside. There, under the awning, a group of officers sat in earnest discussion ; otherwise, the square seemed entirely deserted. But a line of Soldiers, drawn up at the entrance, kept back the curious crowd slowly collecting under our windows. As we looked, a prisoner was brought by two of the guard before the improvised tribunal; and we instantly recognized Monsieur Brizard.

Sam gave a cry of alarm, and dashed down the stairs into the street, while I followed close behind him. We made our way up to the line without difficulty, to be stopped there, as a matter of course. But our entreaties were so urgent that at last they prevailed, and word came to pass us. We arrived none too soon. Monsieur Brizard, put under surveillance at Calais as Alexandre Duval, had been arrested that morning in the Gave flu Nord upon a triple charge. The man Duval was a thief and a receiver of stolen goods, as well as a Communist. Certain silver ornaments, stolen from the churches, had been traced to his house, and it was believed that he would venture back into Paris for the purpose of removing them to a place of greater safety. Orders were given to shadow him simply, until he could he caught red-handed, with the property in his possession. But this, on the previous night, had been unearthed in his cellar: hence the sudden change of plan and our friend’s predicament. Monsieur Brizard had protested in vain that he was a victim of mistaken identity. His story found no credit, until my testimony, with Sam’s vigorous support, confirmed it in every particular. After severe cross-questioning we procured his formal release, for which he became hysterically grateful.

We breakfasted, that morning, not at the Rocher de Cancale, but in Monsieur Brizard’s apartment over his quaint, oldfashioned shop of the Marais, with his wife and children dancing attendance upon us in a state of ecstasy. I saw the honest bourgeois often during the next few years. He made a small fortune with his toton politique, which was offered for sale in every window on the boulevard throughout the official term of “ Papa Thiers,” as we irreverently called the first President of the new republic. The clever toy and its inventor went their way with him, at last, — the mortal one. They are dead as yesterday, all three. Requiescant in pace!

T. R. Sullivan.