Roy J. Snell

“ Strangely enough, her thoughts for a moment whirled through a score of mysteries, the hearse and the two black horses in the dark night, the organ that played its own tunes, the three-bladed knife, the long-eared Chinaman, all these remained as mysteries.
“But these,” she told herself, “these are not for to-night. To-morrow or the day after, perhaps.”
Oh, were they not, though? One may not always elect the hour for the unfolding of life’s mysteries. Fate at times takes a hand.
But one may choose the subject of one’s own thoughts. ”

“ Why did Petite Jeanne sleep all day to haunt strange places in the night? Who can say? Why do certain birds deep in the forest sing only at night? Why do all manner of wild things choose the night for their joyous frolics? Jeanne was as wild by nature as any of these, for had she not lived the very early years of her life with the gypsies? And is it not at night that the gypsies dance, sing and tell fortunes round the camp fire?
She did not leave her room, this little French girl, until night shadows had fallen and automobile lights like twin stars were blinking their way down the boulevard. ”

“ Working at white heat, inspired by one grand idea that success was to be achieved where failure had been expected, they had poured their very lives into the business of creating a thing of beauty that in the hearts of men would be a joy forever.
Never, even in the good days of light opera, had Jeanne so thoroughly lost herself in the thing she was doing. Day and night she lived, moved and breathed as Zola, the mountain girl. ”

“ You must see certain people. You must not see others. You must not wander away alone. You must not—oh, no, my dear, you must not—speak to strangers! No life was this for a sweet and beautiful vagabond like Petite Jeanne.
So, when Florence had written her a glowing letter telling of the city of many marvels that was spreading itself fairy-like across the waterfront in Chicago, she gave her chateau over to a caretaker, bade him allow all the good children to play on her grounds and in her forest at will, then took a ship for America and her beloved big pal, Florence. ”

“ Jeanne sighed as she thought of it now. And yet her lips were able to form the words “Golden Days.” They had been just that, beautiful, glorious, golden days.
“It is perfect, this mountain,” she whispered. “Even in the dark one senses the beauty of it. Ah, the rushing cold water, the scent of mountain ivy, the glint of sunbeams through the trees!”
Yes, it was a perfect little corner of Big Black Mountain, but the little French girl’s thoughts were far away. ”

“ Long after Florence had retired for the night Jeanne paced slowly back and forth in that magnificently furnished living room. Her bare feet sank deep in the softest of Oriental rugs. Her filmy gown shimmered in the moonlight.
Oblivious of all these surroundings, Jeanne was deep in thought. “Faith!” she murmured. “Faith! Faith in one’s self, in one’s associates, one’s tasks. Faith in one’s future. ”

“ ENTERING A NEW WORLD
“Of course, when I sail away on that glorious yachting party, you’ll come here to live.” That Lorena LeMar, Jeanne’s double, spoke in a matter-of-fact tone made no difference. Jeanne’s heart fluttered.
“Here!” she managed to gasp as her eyes swept the spacious hotel apartment with its glimmer of silver and gold, silk and satin. “Here? I couldn’t!”
“Oh, but you must!” In Lorena LeMar’s tone there was a note of finality. “You couldn’t well live anywhere else. This is the apartment of Lorena LeMar. Every one knows that. ”

“ Jensie whispered.
“The hearse!” Jeanne shuddered.
And there most certainly it was, standing in the moonlight just as it had been on that first memorable night.
“Ah, well,” Jeanne whispered to herself, “much has happened since then.”
They were all here at the Tavern, her little company. They had come here for a late dinner; Soloman, Anthony Hope, Scott Ramsey, Pietro, Tom and Jensie were by the fireplace.
Now as Jeanne felt the urge to retreat she said to Jensie in a tone that came from down deep in her throat, “There were two black horses and a coffin. I saw them.” ”

“ You have seen. It is truly beautiful. But it is not I who have made it. It is you, my friends, Mr. Soloman, Pietro, Anthony, Scott Ramsey and all the rest. It is the spirit of those so beautiful mountains. It is the soul of that so great American, Mr. Lincoln. It is every one. It is everything. It is not I.
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“And now,” she murmured after the applause had died away, “I am very tired. Will you please take me home, not to that so grand hotel but to the little rooms where my good Florence and I have lived so happily. No longer am I Lorena LeMar. I am only Petite Jeanne, the gypsy.” ”

“ Jeanne, having come in search of her, had found the ship gone and had seen a frantic watchman, who had left the ship “but for one short breathing spell,” racing up and down the breakwater.
At that instant the boatload of black men hove into view. Fearing treachery, Jeanne had begged them to take her in search of the missing ship.
So now here they were, out on the dark waters of night. The watchman in the prow, twenty black men from the heart of Africa at the oars, and the golden-haired Petite Jeanne urging them on and shouting with them:
“A hey, yuh! A hey, yuh! A hey, yuh!” ”

“ This last Florence learned to her great disgust. Step on the gas as she might, and did, she could get no burst of speed from that indolent Dodge-Em.
So, in the end, she lost the race. Having crossed the lagoon, the fleeing one abandoned his boat, climbed the breakwater and disappeared in the Florida orange grove that by some touch of magic had been made to grow on the shores of Chicago.
“Oh, well,” she sighed, settling back in her seat. “It’s a grand night for dreaming, and who could fail to dream at night in a slow old Dodge-Em. ”

“ Then of a sudden she recalled her appointment at the Rutledge Tavern.
“Florence said I was to meet a movie queen. There was something in her tone that tells me an exciting time is to be had, and here—here I am!”
Instantly her mind sobered. She was alone on this broad dome. Should she scream for help the sound of her voice would be lost in the roar of the merry-mad throng. From the Midway came the grind of a merry-go-round. Somewhere much farther away a band was dispensing glorious music.
“I must get down. The ladder is the only way.” ”

“ She had been shown among the dogwood blossoms on the movie lot, on the Enchanted Island with a hundred beautiful children crowding about her, in a gondola riding down the lagoon like a queen. Ah, yes, there had been publicity.
“And always,” she breathed, “I am not Petite Jeanne at all, but Lorena LeMar. Ah, well, what can it matter? To-day one is a queen, to-morrow she is forgotten. ”

“ No longer was she Lorena LeMar. She was Jeanne, the gypsy. In her veins there coursed the wild, free, fighting spirit of a true vagabond. Had she possessed a knife.... Ah, well, she had no knife.
One weapon alone she possessed, truly a woman’s weapon—a scream. ”

“ The ebb and flow of that great human tide at last carried her to the Golden Temple. And here, more by instinct than desire, she sought once more the cool silence of a place where worship seemed the mood of the hour.
Sinking into a chair, she sat in a dreamy mood listening to the low, melodious voice of the mandarin. “This,” he was saying, “is the laughing Buddha, god of happiness. ”

“ Her eye was caught by twinkling lights atop a skyscraper.
Drawing forth her binoculars she focussed them upon that spot. Then she laughed. Atop that skyscraper was a home, a pent house, a gorgeous affair that shone like marble. About it, all gay with flowers, was a garden.
“A garden party,” she whispered, as if afraid they might hear. “That’s the reason for the strings of lights.”
She could see graceful women in gorgeous gowns with men all in white and black evening dress swaying to the rhythm of some entrancing music.
“They are rich,” she thought to herself. ”

“ Once again, like some strange tropical bird, she drifted across the room.
“But Jeanne!” Again the skeptic protested. “Is all this in the scenario?”
“Not yet. I am putting it in to-morrow.”
“Putting it in?” Florence was aghast.
“Yes, yes. And why not? Why must one be a star, a movie queen, if she is not to have her own way?”
“And Lorena LeMar is gone?”
“Yes. She ’phoned me this morning, only a few words. She was off on the yacht. I must move in this very day. To-morrow we must rehearse. And voila! Here we are!” ”

“ More often than not, in this life, it happens that the thing we most expect does not happen at all. With breath coming quick and short Petite Jeanne and Florence climbed the four flights of stairs leading to their room only to find everything as they had left it. ”

“ When the dogwood blossoms are like drifting snow on the hillsides, when little streams covered over with mountain ivy come dashing, cool, damp and fragrant, from far up the mountains, oh, then it is a joy to live! ”

“ It was the white man who had been born in China and had lived all his life there; the one who had so held Jeanne’s attention and had all but drawn from her the secret of the three-bladed dagger and the chest of Oriental embroideries. Surely here was some one it was hard to overlook. The tone in which he spoke was matter-of-fact. Yet a strange light shone from his eyes.
There are meetings that appear to have been ordered by some power outside ourselves. The instant the thing has happened we know it. With a simple flash of an eye one soul says to the other: “We are kindred spirits. ”

“ Choosing to re-cross the broad expanse, she once more boarded a rocket car and went speeding away.
This time, having all but given up hope of catching the fugitive, she gave herself over to enjoyment of the moment.
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Never, though she rode the Sky Ride a thousand times, would she lose that feeling of breath-taking thrill that came over her as, hanging high in air, she watched the ever changing lights and the milling throng upon the land, the flashing fountains, the darting boats on the lagoon.
“It’s marvelous!” she breathed. “Why must one be disturbed by the problems of others? ”

“ A Dodge-Em is a curious sort of boat. It is short and broad, is very heavy and has a motor that appears to run forever. That it does not run forever Florence was to learn later, to her sorrow.
You may stand on the edge of a Dodge-Em. It will not tip you out. You may run it nose first into another Dodge-Em or into a stone wall—yet you will not harm the Dodge-Em. It has a solid rubber prow and heavily padded sides. A truly remarkable craft is a Dodge-Em. Only one thing you cannot do; you can never make a Dodge-Em go faster than its accustomed speed, which is some four miles per hour. ”

“ One fact troubled her a little; she was alone. She would have felt better with a woman companion dressed as she was, or a gentleman in evening clothes and a high hat.
But then, Jeanne was at heart a gypsy. Gypsies are never afraid, nor do they mind being alone.
There are beautiful shops on the boulevard. The windows of Paris are not more gay than are those of our boulevards. Jeanne went window-shopping. ”

“ Florence settled back in her place in the stupid little Dodge-Em that, refusing to travel farther, had left them stalled far out on the black waters of night.
“China.” Erik Nord’s tone was full of the enchanting melody of the Far East. “How is one to tell you of China? There are sampans where whole families live their lives away, sampans on the river and great cities on their banks. Farther up there are villages and on the river great old junks. Ships from out of the past, they loom before you in the dark. ”

“ Indeed she would, and many other questions besides. “There is a destiny that shapes our ends, rough hew them though we may.” The men we meet and pass, never to meet again, the ones who because of a passing word become part of our very lives, all their names are written in a book, and the name of that book is FATE.
A long, low bus, looking for all the world like a mammoth greyhound, stopped at Jeanne’s very feet. Because on the long seat filled with smiling people there was room for one more, Jeanne paid her fare and took her place with the rest. ”

“ Jeanne said in a sharp whisper, “does not matter. In the mountains secrets are kept as nowhere else in the world. Jensie is from the mountains. It is not so?” She turned to Jensie.
“It most certainly is true,” Jensie agreed.
“Oh, well then—” Lorena LeMar moved toward the fire.
“You see,” she threw out a petulant hand as they gathered about the fire, “I am on the lot over there in what they call ‘Little Hollywood.’ Five days from now I am to begin a picture—you know, show the people how it’s done. There are seats for thousands out there, and all that. Bah! I don’t like seats. ”

“ Forgetting time and place, she began the weird, wild dance of the gypsies. That her audience was impressed she knew at once. So she prolonged the dance.
All things must have an end. The end of the dance found her heart all aflutter. What next?
“Bravo! Bravo!” they applauded. “That calls for refreshments.”
Taking a bottle from a concealed locker, the shortest of the trio filled four glasses.
“Now! A toast!” He passed one glass to her. “Here’s to Lorena LeMar! Here’s to the new picture!”
When the play-boys lifted their glasses Jeanne followed their example. ”

“ What strange Oriental mystery had caught her in its web? What intrigue had she but half unearthed?
“Bah!” She took a strong grip on herself. “It is nothing. This place, it gives me strange ideas.”
“These banners on the wall?” She spoke in the casual tone of an inquisitive visitor. “Are they also very old?”
“Many are very old.” The mandarin was smiling again. “These were made by rich Chinese ladies who wish to have the gods be very good to them. They are all made by hand, embroidered with gold and silver thread. Worth many dollars, very, very many dollars, each one of these.” ”

“ One could see plainly enough that Jeanne was not thinking of the money at all, but of the strange circumstances that had brought this unusual opportunity to her door.
“To be some one else for two whole weeks,” she was saying to herself. “To forget that Petite Jeanne lives at all. To act in the movies when one has never crossed a movie lot before. It seems quite impossible. ”

“ And yet, left alone in the midst of all this splendor while her double went on a shopping tour to secure sports clothes for her yachting trip, the little French girl was all but overcome with misgivings. It is one thing to appear on a movie lot each day and say certain words, go through certain gestures that have been learned and rehearsed; but quite another to live as your double has lived, among acquaintances, associates, friends off stage, from morning till night. ”