|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 28
He must go further into that past of his. Doubtless there were lessons
to be drawn from the Napoleonic episode, but just now, when he was all
confused, the thing--he put it bluntly--was "pretty raw."
"With Napoleon, to think was to act." So he had read in one chronicle.
Very well, he would act. Again he would stand, with fearless eyes, at
the portal of the vaulted past.
At eight o'clock that night he once more rang the third bell. He had
feared that the Countess Casanova might have returned to European
triumphs, but the solicitations of the scientific world were still
prevailing.
He stood in the little parlour and again the Countess appeared from
behind the heavy curtains, a plump white hand at the throat of her
scarlet gown.
He was obliged to recall himself to her, for the Countess began to tell
him that his aura was clouded with evil curnts.
"You told me what I was--last time, don't you remember? You know, you
said, it was written on the slate what I was--" He could not bring
himself to utter the name. But the Countess remembered.
"Sure; perfectly! And what was you wishing to know now?"
She surveyed him with heavy-lidded eyes, a figure of mystery, of secret
knowledge.
"I want you to tell me who I was before that--before _him_."
The Countess blinked her eyes rapidly, as if it hurried calculation.
"And I don't mean _just_ before. I want to go 'way back, thousands of
years--what I was _first_." He looked helplessly around the room, then
glanced appealingly at the Countess. The flushed and friendly face was
troubled.
"Well, I dunno." She pondered, eying her sitter closely. "Of course all
things is possible to us, but sometimes the conditions ain't jest right
and y'r c'ntrol can't git into rapport with them that has been gone
more'n a few years. Now this thing you're after--I don't say it can't be
done--f'r money."
"If I learned something good, I wouldn't care anything about the money,"
he ventured.
The Countess glanced up interestedly.
"That's the way to look at it, friend, but how much you got on you?"
"Twenty-two dollars," confessed Bean succinctly.
"Would you part from twenty, if you was told what you want to know?"
"Yes; I can't stand that other thing any longer."
The Countess narrowed her eyes briefly, then became animated.
"Say, listen here, friend! That's a little more delikit work than I been
doin', but they's a party near here--lemme see--" She passed one of the
plump white hands over her brow in the throes of recollection. "I think
his name is Professor Balthasar. I ain't ever met him, understand what I
mean? but they say he's a genuine wonder an' no mistake; tell you
anything right off the reel. You set right there and lemme go see if I
can't call him up by telephone."
She withdrew between the curtains, behind which she carefully pulled
sliding doors. Bean heard the murmur of her voice.
He waited anxiously. His Napoleon self was already fading. If only they
would tell him something "good." Little he cared for the twenty dollars.
He could get along by borrowing seventeen-seventy-nine from Metzeger.
The voice still murmured. Only the well-fitting doors prevented Bean
from hearing something that would have been of interest to him.
"That you, Ed?" the Countess was saying. "Listen here. 'Member th' one I
told you about, thinks he's the original N.B.--you know who--well he's
a repeater; here now wantin' t' know who he was before then, who he was
_first_ y'understand. An' say, I ain't got the right dope for that an' I
want you to get over here quick's you can an' give him about a
ten-minute spiel. Wha's that? Well, they's twenty, an' I split with you.
But listen here, Ed, I get the idee this party's worth nursin' along. I
dunno, something _about_ him. That's why I'm tellin' you. I want it done
right. Course, I could do enough stallin' muself t' cop the twenty; tell
him Julius Caesar or the King of China or somebody, but I ain't got the
follow-up, an' you can't tell _how_ much he might be good for later.
Take my tip: he's a natural born believer. Sure, twenty! All right!"
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|