Test Bank Starting Out with Java: Early Objects,

5/E Tony Gaddis download

http://testbankbell.com/product/test-bank-starting-out-with-java-
early-objects-5-e-tony-gaddis/

Explore and download more test bank or solution manual

at testbankbell.com
 We believe these products will be a great fit for you. Click
the link to download now, or visit testbankbell.com
to discover even more!

Starting Out with C++ Early Objects 9th Edition Gaddis

Test Bank

http://testbankbell.com/product/starting-out-with-c-early-objects-9th-
edition-gaddis-test-bank/

Solution Manual for Starting Out with C++: Early Objects,

6th Edition, Tony Gaddis, Judy Walters, Godfrey Muganda

http://testbankbell.com/product/solution-manual-for-starting-out-with-
c-early-objects-6th-edition-tony-gaddis-judy-walters-godfrey-muganda/

Starting Out with Java From Control Structures through

Objects 6th Edition Gaddis Test Bank

http://testbankbell.com/product/starting-out-with-java-from-control-
structures-through-objects-6th-edition-gaddis-test-bank/

Solutions Manual to accompany Data and Computer

Communications 10th edition by Stallings 0133506487

http://testbankbell.com/product/solutions-manual-to-accompany-data-
and-computer-communications-10th-edition-by-stallings-0133506487/
Solution Manual for Managerial Economics: Foundations of
Business Analysis and Strategy, 13th Edition, Christopher
Thomas, S. Charles Maurice
http://testbankbell.com/product/solution-manual-for-managerial-
economics-foundations-of-business-analysis-and-strategy-13th-edition-
christopher-thomas-s-charles-maurice/

Test Bank for Essentials of Economics The Mcgraw Hill

Series Economics 9th Edition Bradley Schiller

http://testbankbell.com/product/test-bank-for-essentials-of-economics-
the-mcgraw-hill-series-economics-9th-edition-bradley-schiller/

Solution Manual for Macroeconomics 6th Canadian Edition

Stephen D. Williamson

http://testbankbell.com/product/solution-manual-for-
macroeconomics-6th-canadian-edition-stephen-d-williamson-2/

Test Bank for Employment and Labor Law, 10th Edition,

Patrick J. Cihon, James Ottavio Castagnera

http://testbankbell.com/product/test-bank-for-employment-and-labor-
law-10th-edition-patrick-j-cihon-james-ottavio-castagnera/

Fundamentals of Nursing Potter 8th Edition Test Bank

http://testbankbell.com/product/fundamentals-of-nursing-potter-8th-
edition-test-bank/
Solution Manual for Introduction to Statistics and Data
Analysis 6th by Peck

http://testbankbell.com/product/solution-manual-for-introduction-to-
statistics-and-data-analysis-6th-by-peck/
Starting Out with Java Early Objects, 5e (Gaddis)

Full chapter download at: https://testbankbell.com/product/test-bank-starting-out-

with-java-early-objects-5-e-tony-gaddis/

Chapter 2 Java Fundamentals

2.1 Multiple Choice Questions

1) Which of the following is not a valid Java comment?

A) /** Comment 1 */
B) */ Comment 2 /*
C) // Comment 3
D) /* Comment 4 */
Answer: B

2) When saving a Java source file, save it with an extension of

A) .java.
B) .javac.
C) .src.
D) .class.
Answer: A

3) This is a value that is written into the code of a program.

A) Literal
B) Assignment statement
C) Operator
D) Variable
Answer: A

4) Which of the following is not a rule that must be followed when naming identifiers?
A) After the first character, you may use the letters a-z, A-Z, an underscore, a dollar sign, or digits 0-9.
B) Identifiers can contain spaces.
C) Uppercase and lowercase characters are distinct.
D) The first character must be one of the letters a-z, A-Z, an underscore or a dollar sign.
Answer: B

5) Character literals are enclosed in ________, and string literals are enclosed in ________.
A) single quotes, double quotes
B) double quotes, single quotes
C) single quotes, single quotes
D) double quotes, double quotes
Answer: A

1
Copyright © 2015 Pearson Education, Inc.
6) What is the result of the following expression?

17 % 3 * 2 - 12 + 15

A) 105
B) 12
C) 7
D) 8
Answer: C

7) What will be the value of z after the following statements have been executed?

int x = 4, y = 33;
double z;
z = (double) (y / x);

A) 8.25
B) 4
C) 0
D) 8.0
Answer: D

8) What is the result of the following expression?

10 + 5 * 3 — 20

A) -5
B) -50
C) 5
D) 25
Answer: C

9) Variables are classified according to their

A) names.
B) values.
C) location in memory.
D) data type.
Answer: D

10) Which of the following statements will correctly convert the data type, if x is a float and y is a
double?
A) x = float y;
B) x = <float>y;
C) x = (float)y;
D) x = y;
Answer: C

2
Copyright © 2015 Pearson Education, Inc.
11) The boolean data type may contain the following range of values:
A) -128 to +127.
B) true or false.
C) -2,147,483,648 to +2,147,483,647.
D) -32,768 to +32,767.
Answer: B

12) What output will be displayed as a result of executing the following code?

int x = 5, y = 20;
x += 32;
y /= 4;
System.out.println("x = " + x + ", y = " + y);

A) x = 160, y = 80
B) x = 32, y = 4
C) x = 37, y = 5
D) x = 9, y = 52
Answer: C

13) This is a named storage location in the computer's memory.

A) Operator
B) Constant
C) Literal
D) Variable
Answer: D

14) Which of the following statements is invalid?

A) double r = 9.4632E15;
B) double r = 9.4632e15;
C) double r = 2.9X106;
D) double r = 326.75;
Answer: C

15) To print "Hello, world" on the monitor, use the following Java statement:
A) System.out.println("Hello, world");
B) System Print = "Hello, world";
C) SystemOutPrintln('Hello, world');
D) system.out.println{Hello, world};
Answer: A

16) Variables of the boolean data type are useful for

A) evaluating conditions that are either true or false.
B) working with small integers.
C) working with very large integers.
D) evaluating scientific notation.
Answer: A

3
Copyright © 2015 Pearson Education, Inc.
17) What would be displayed as a result of the following code?

int x = 578; System.out.print("There are " +

x + 5 + "\n" +
"hens in the hen house.");

A) There are 583

hens in the hen house.
B) There are 5785
hens in the hen house.
C) There are x5\nhens in the hen house.
D) There are 5785 hens in the hen house.
Answer: B

18) In the following Java statement what value is stored in the variable name?

String name = "John Doe";

A) "name"
B) the memory address where "John Doe" is located
C) the memory address where name is located
D) "John Doe"
Answer: B

19) What will be the displayed when the following code is executed?

final int x = 22, y = 4;

y += x;
System.out.println("x = " + x + ", y = " + y);

A) x = 22, y = 26
B) x = 22, y = 4
C) x = 22, y = 88
D) Nothing. There is an error in the code.
Answer: D

20) A Java program must have at least one

A) comment.
B) System.out.println(); statement.
C) class definition.
D) variable declaration.
Answer: C

4
Copyright © 2015 Pearson Education, Inc.
21) What will be displayed after the following statements have been executed?

int x = 15, y = 20, z = 32;

x += 12;
y /= 6;
z -= 14;
System.out.println("x = " + x +
", y = " + y +
", z = " + z);

A) x = 27, y = 3.333, z = 18
B) x = 27, y = 2, z = 18
C) x = 37, y = -14, z = 4
D) x = 27, y = 3, z = 18
Answer: D

22) Which of the following statements correctly creates a Scanner object for keyboard input?
A) Scanner kbd = new Scanner(System.keyboard);
B) Scanner keyboard = new Scanner(System.in);
C) Scanner keyboard(System.in);
D) Keyboard scanner = new Keyboard(System.in);
Answer: B

23) What will be the value of z as a result of executing the following code?

int x = 5, y = 28;
float z;
z = (float) (y / x);

A) 5.6
B) 3.0
C) 5.0
D) 5.60
Answer: C

24) The primitive data types only allow a(n) ________ to hold a single value.
A) class
B) literal
C) object
D) variable
Answer: D

25) Which Scanner class method reads a String?

A) nextLine
B) charAt
C) nextString
D) getLine
Answer: A

5
Copyright © 2015 Pearson Education, Inc.
26) This statement tells the compiler where to find the JOptionPane class and makes it available to your
program.
A) import javax.swing.JOptionPane;
B) import Java.Swing.JOptionPane;
C) import JOptionPane;
D) import javax.JOptionPane;
Answer: A

27) The ________ method is used to display a message dialog.

A) showMessageDialog
B) messageDialog
C) messageDialogShow
D) showDialog
Answer: A

28) A(n) ________ is a dialog box that prompts the user for input.
A) input box
B) user prompt
C) adaptive dialog
D) input dialog
Answer: D

29) The simplest way you can use the System.out.printf method is
A) with a format string, and one format specifier.
B) with only a format string, and no additional arguments.
C) with a format string, and one or more format specifiers.
D) with only one format specifier, and no format string.
Answer: B

30) If you wish to use the System.out.printf method to print a string argument, use the ________
format specifier.
A) %d
B) %b
C) %f
D) %s
Answer: D

6
Copyright © 2015 Pearson Education, Inc.
2.2 True/False Questions

1) Programming style includes techniques for consistently putting spaces and indentation in a program
so visual cues are created.
Answer: TRUE

2) Both character literals and string literals can be assigned to a char variable.
Answer: FALSE

3) A variable's scope is the part of the program that has access to the variable.
Answer: TRUE

4) Named constants are initialized with a value, and that value cannot change during the execution of the
program.
Answer: TRUE

5) When you call one of the Scanner class's methods to read a primitive value, such as nextInt or
nextDouble, and then call the nextLine method to read a string, an annoying and hard-to-find
problem can occur.
Answer: TRUE

6) A message dialog is a quick and simple way to ask the user to enter data.
Answer: FALSE

7) The Java API provides a class named Math, which contains numerous methods that are useful for
performing complex mathematical operations.
Answer: TRUE

8) Unlike a console program, a program that uses JOptionPane does not automatically stop executing
when the end of the main method is reached.
Answer: TRUE

9) The System.out.printf method allows you to format output in a variety of ways.

Answer: TRUE

10) If you use a flag in a format specifier, you must write the flag before the field width and the precision.
Answer: TRUE

7
Copyright © 2015 Pearson Education, Inc.
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
more important still, Gaston must be carried home, put to bed, and a
doctor sent for. This done, Herbert and the rest of us could go back to
the inn in Le Blanc’s motor.
The first load brought Herbert, Brierley, and myself, Le Blanc driving:
Lemois had remained with Gaston. Mignon, with staring, inquiring eyes,
her apron over her head to protect her from the wet, met us at the
outer gate, but not a word was said by any of us about Gaston, a crack
on a fisherman’s head not being a serious affair—and then again, this
one was as tough as a rudder-post and as full of spring as an oar—and
then, more important still, the poor child with her hungry, tear-stained
eyes had had trouble enough for one day, as we all knew. Later when
Leà and I were alone, I told her the story, describing Gaston’s pluck
and bravery and his risking his life to save Lemois—the dear old
woman clasping her fingers together as if in church when I added that
“he’d be all right in the morning after a good night’s rest.”
“Pray God nothing happens to him!” she said at last, crossing herself.
“Mignon is only a child and it would break her heart. Monsieur Lemois
does not wish it, and there is trouble—much trouble—ahead for her,
but while there is life there is hope. He is a good Gaston—his mother
and I were girls together; she had only this one left—the boat upset
and the father was drowned off Les Dents Terribles two years ago.”
Louis, whose heart is as big as his body, was less cautious. He must
have a word with the girl herself. And so, when we had all gathered
before the fire to dry out—for most of us were still wet and all
ravenous—he called out to her in his cheery, hearty way:
“That is a plucky garçon of yours, mademoiselle. Monsieur Lemois
would have been flattened into a pancake but for him. When the house
fell it was Monsieur Gaston who jerked him away from the window and
rolled a sofa on top of him. Ah!—a brave garçon, and one who does
you credit.”
The girl—she was busying herself with her dishes at the time—
blushed and said: “Merci, monsieur,” her eyes dancing over the praise
of her lover, but she was too modest and too well trained to say more.
 Again Le Blanc’s siren came shrieking down the road. This time it
would bring Lemois. I threw on another log to warm them both, and
Louis began collecting a small assortment of glasses, Mignon following
with a decanter.
Several minutes passed, during which we waited for the heavy tread
of fat Le Blanc. Then the door opened and Leà appeared; she was
trembling from head to foot and white as a ghost.
“Monsieur wants you—all of you—something has happened! Not you,
Mignon—you stay here.”
Inside the court-yard, close to the door of the Marmouset, stood Le
Blanc’s motor. Lemois was on the foot-board leaning over the body of a
man stretched out on the two seats.
“Easy now,” Lemois whispered to Louis, who had pushed his way
alongside of the others crowding about the car. “He collapsed again as
soon as you all left. There is something serious I am afraid—that is why
I brought him here. His mother wanted to take him home, but that’s no
place for him now. He must stay here to-night. We stopped and left
word for the doctor and he will be here in a minute. Be careful,
Monsieur Louis—not in there—upstairs.”
Louis was careful—careful as if he were lifting a baby; but he did not
delay, nor did he take him upstairs. Picking up the unconscious
fisherman bodily in his arms, he bore him clear of the machine, carried
him through the open door of the Marmouset, and stretched him full
length on the lounge, tucking a cushion under his head as the lad sank
down into the soft mattress.
As the flare of the table candles stirred by the night wind lighted up
his face, Mignon, who had been pushing aside the chairs from out the
wounded man’s way, believing it to be Le Blanc, sprang forward, and
with a half-stifled cry sank on her knees beside the boy. Lemois lunged
forward, stooped quickly, and grasping her firmly by the arm, dragged
her to her feet.
“Leave the room!—you are in the way,” he said in low, angry tones.
“There are plenty here to take care of him.”
 Louis, who had moved closer to the girl, and who had already begun
to quiet her fears, wheeled suddenly and would have broken out in
instantaneous protest had not Leà, her lean, tall body stretched to its
utmost, her flat, sunken chest heaving with indignation, stepped in
front of Lemois.
“You are not kind, monsieur,” she said coldly, with calm, unflinching
eyes.
“Hold your tongue! I do not want your advice. Take her out!—this is
no place for her!”
Louis’ eyes blazed. Unkindness to a woman was the one thing that
always enraged him. Then his better judgment worked.
“Give her to me, Leà,” he said. “Come, Mignon! Don’t cry, child; he’s
not hurt so bad; he’ll be all right in the morning. Move away there, all
of you!” and he led the sobbing girl from the room.
A dull, paralyzing silence fell upon us all. Those of us who knew only
the gentle, kind-hearted, always courteous Lemois were dumb with
astonishment. Had he, too, received a crack on his head which had
unsettled his judgment, or was this, after all, the real Lemois?
The opening of the door and the hurried re-entrance of Louis,
followed by the doctor, a short, thick-set man with a bald head, for a
time relieved the tension.
“I was on my way near here when your messenger met me,” called
out the doctor with a nod of salutation to the room at large as he
dropped into a chair beside the sufferer, thus supplanting Brierley, who
during Lemois’ outburst had been wiping the blood-stained face and
lips with a napkin and finger-bowl he had caught up from the table.
There was an anxious hush; the men standing in a half-circle
awaiting the decision; the doctor feeling for broken limbs, listening to
his breathing, his hand on the boy’s heart. Then there came a
convulsive movement and the wounded man lifted his head and gazed
about him.
The doctor bent closer, studied Gaston’s eyes for a moment, rose to
his feet, tucked his spectacles into a black leather case which he took
from his pocket, and said calmly:
“I think there’s no fracture of the skull. I’ll know definitely later on.
He is, as I at first supposed, suffering from shock and has swallowed a
lot of dust. He must have complete rest; get him to bed somewhere
and send for a woman in the village to take care of him. I’ll come to-
morrow. Who carried him in here?”
Louis nodded his head.
“Then pick him up again and, if Monsieur Lemois is willing, put him
in the room on the ground floor at the end of the court. I can get at
him then from the outside without disturbing anybody. You, gentlemen,
so I hear, are down here for your pleasure and not to run a hospital,
and so I will see you are not disturbed.”
Louis leaned down, picked the young fisherman up in his arms with
no more effort than if he had been handling a bag of flour, and carried
him out of the room, across the court, Leà following, and into the
basement chamber, where he laid him on the bed, leaving him with the
remark:
“Now stay here and take care of him, Leà, no matter what Monsieur
Lemois says.”
Meanwhile Lemois had poured out a glass of wine for the doctor,
waited until he had drank it, thanked him in his most courteous tones
for his promptness, bidden him good-night on the threshold, closed the
door behind him, and without a word to any of us had resumed his
place by the fire.
Another embarrassing silence ensued. Every one felt that the
incident, if aggravated by any untimely remarks, might lead up to an
outbreak which would bring our visit to a premature close. And yet
both Leà and Mignon were so beloved by all of us, and the brutality of
the attack upon the little maid was so uncalled for, that we felt
something was due to our own self-respect.
Herbert, catching our suggestive glances, essayed the task. He was
the man held in most esteem by Lemois, and might perhaps be allowed
to say things which the old gentleman would not take from the rest;
and then again, whatever the outcome, Herbert could be depended
upon to keep his temper no matter what Lemois might answer in
return.
“Mignon did nothing, monsieur, except show her love for her
sweetheart—why break out on her?” Herbert’s voice was low, but there
was meaning behind it.
“I won’t have this thing!” came the indignant retort, all his poise
gone. “That’s why I broke out on her. Mignon is not for fishermen, nor
ditch-diggers, nor road-makers. She is like my child—I have other
things in store for her. I tell you I will not have it go on—she knows
why and Leà knows why! I have said so, and it is finished!”
“He about saved your life a little while ago. Does that count for
anything?” The words edged their way through tightly closed lips.
“Yes—for me; that is why I brought him home—but he has not saved
Mignon’s life. He would wreck it. She will marry somebody else and he
will marry somebody else. There are too many thick-heads along the
coast now. I decide to steer clear of them.”
Louis, who now that his human-ambulance trip was over, had
returned to the Marmouset, stood wondering. What had taken place in
his absence was a mystery. He had, after depositing his burden, taken
Mignon to Pierre and sat her down by the kitchen fire, where he had
left her crying softly to herself.
Lemois waited until Louis had found a seat and went on:
“You, gentlemen, are my friends, and so I will explain to you what I
would not explain to others. You wonder at what I have just said and
done. I try to do my duty—that is my religion, and my only religion. I
have tried to do it to-night. With your help I have done what I could to
save my friend’s property, because she was away and helpless. She has
now left to her some of the things she loved. So it is with this girl. Ten
years ago I found her, a child of eight, crying in the street. For months
she had gotten up at daylight, had washed and dressed her two baby
brothers, cooked their breakfast, cleaned house, and tucked in her
bedridden mother; but, try as she would, she was late for school—not
once, but several times. This was against the rules, and when the
prizes and diplomas were given out, all she got was a scolding. Later
on she was dismissed. Because she had no other place to go, and
because I had no child of my own, I took her home with me. As I
assumed all responsibility for her, and she has no one but me, I shall
carry it out to the end, exactly as if she were my daughter. My own
daughter should not and would not marry a fisherman, neither shall
Mignon. Madame la Marquise de la Caux is in Paris, and I do what I
can to look after her belongings. Madame, Mignon’s mother, is in
heaven, and the remnant of her people God knows where, and so I do
what I can to look after their child.”
“But has the girl no say in the matter?” broke out Louis angrily. “You
are not to live with him—she is.”
“That may make some difference in your country, Monsieur Louis,
but it makes no difference in mine. In France we parents and guardians
are the best judges of what is and what is not good for our children.
Now, gentlemen, let us brush it all away. It is very creditable to your
hearts to be so interested in the child; I do not blame you. She is very
lovely and very amusing, and when she leaves us—even with the man I
shall choose for her—it will be a great grief for me, for you see I am
quite alone in the world. So, Monsieur Herbert, there is my hand. Not
to have you understand me would be harder than all the rest, for I
esteem you as I do no other man. And you too, Monsieur Louis, with
your big arms and your big heart. Let us be friends once more. And
now I am tired out with the day’s work, and if you do not mind I will
say ‘Good-night!’”
 VII

IN WHICH OUR
LANDLORD BECOMES
BOTH ENTERTAINING
AND INSTRUCTIVE
The experiences of the previous day had left their mark in stiffened
joints and blistered hands. Herbert was nursing a wrenched finger,
Lemois had discovered a bruised back, and Louis a strained wrist—
slight accidents all of them, unheeded in the excitement of the rescue,
and only definitely located when the several victims got out of bed the
next morning.
The real sufferer was Gaston. Two stitches had been taken in his
shapely head and, although he was quite himself and restless as a
goat, the doctor had given positive orders to Leà to keep him where he
was until his wound should heal. To this Lemois had added another and
far more cruel mandate, forbidding Mignon either outside or inside his
bedroom door under pain of death, or words to that effect.
It was not to be wondered at, therefore, that the day was passed
quietly, the men keeping indoors, although the storm had whirled down
the coast, leaving behind it only laughing blue skies and a light wind.
The one exciting incident was a telegram from madame la marquise,
thanking Lemois and his “brave body of men” for their heroic services
and adding that she would come as soon as possible to inspect what
she called her “ruin,” and would then give herself the pleasure of
thanking each and every one in person. This was followed some hours
later by a second despatch inquiring after the wounded fisherman and
charging Lemois to spare no expense in bringing him back to health;
and a third one from Marc saying he had gone to Paris and would not
be back for several days.
The absorbing topic, of course, had been Lemois’ outbreak on
Mignon and subsequent justification of his conduct. Louis was the most
outspoken of all, and, despite Lemois’ defence, valiantly espoused the
girl’s cause, the rest of us with one accord pledging ourselves to fight
her battles and Gaston’s, no matter at what cost. Brierley even went so
far as to offer to relieve Leà, during which blissful interim he would
smuggle Mignon in for a brief word of sympathy, but this was frowned
upon and abandoned when Herbert reminded us that we were in a
sense Lemois’ guests and could not, therefore, breed treachery among
his servants. To this was added his positive conviction that the girl’s
sufferings would so tell upon the old man that before many days he
would not only regret his attitude, but would abandon his ambitious
plans and give her to the man she loved.
If Lemois had any such misgivings there was no evidence of it in his
manner. But for an occasional wry face when he moved, due to the
blow of the overturned sofa, he was in an exceptionally happy frame of
mind. Nor did he show the slightest resentment toward any one of us
for not agreeing with him. Even when the twilight hour arrived—a
restful hour when the fellowship of the group came out strongest, and
men voiced the thoughts that lay closest to their hearts—no word
escaped him. Music, church architecture, the influence of Rodin and
Rostand on the art and literature of our time, French politics—all were
touched upon in turn, but not a word of the condition of Gaston’s
broken head nor the state of Mignon’s bleeding heart—nothing so
harrowing. Indeed, so gay was he, so full of quaint sayings and odd
views of life and things, that when Brierley sat down at the spinet and
ran his fingers over the keys, giving us snatches of melodies from the
current music of the day, he begged for some mediæval anthems “as a
slight apology to my suffering ears,” and when Brierley complied with
what he claimed was an old Italian chant, having found the original in
Padua, Lemois branched off into a homily on church music which
evinced such a mastery of the subject that even Brierley, who is
something of a musician himself, was filled with amazement. Indeed,
the discussion was in danger of becoming so heated that the old man,
with a twinkle in his eye, relieved the tension with:
“No, you are quite wrong, Monsieur Brierley, if you will forgive me for
saying so. Your chant is not Italian; it is Spanish. I have a better way of
knowing than by searching among musty libraries and sacristies. When
your fingers were touching the keys I looked around my Marmouset to
see who was listening beside you gentlemen. I soon discovered that
the two heads on Monsieur Herbert’s chair were glum and solemn; they
might have been asleep so dull were they. My old Virgin in the corner,
which I found in Rouen, and which is unquestionably French, never
raised her eyes; but the two carved saints over your head, the ones I
got in Salamanca when I was last there, were overjoyed. One smiled so
sweetly that I could not take my eyes from her, and the other kept
such perfect time with his head that I was sorry when you stopped. So
you see, your chant is unquestionably Spanish, and I am glad.”
Nor did his spirits flag when dinner was over and he took his place
by the coffee-table, handing Mignon the tiny cups without even a look
of reproach at the demure, sad-eyed girl who was keeping up so brave
a heart.
The change was a delightful one to the coterie. As long as the
embarrassing situation continued there was no telling what might
happen. A question of cuisine could be settled by more or less
cayenne, but the question of a marriage settlement was another affair.
Press him too far and the old gentleman might have bundled us all into
the street and thrown our trunks after us.
The wisest thing, therefore, was to meet his cordiality more than half
way, an easy solution, really, since his amende honorable of the night
before had put us all on our mettle. He should be made to realize and
at once that all traces of ill feeling of every kind had been wiped out of
our hearts.
Herbert, who, as usual when any patching up was to be done, was
chief pacificator, opened the programme by becoming suddenly
interested in the several rare specimens of furniture that enriched the
room in which we sat, complimenting Lemois on his good taste in
banishing from his collection the severe, uncomfortable chairs and
sofas of Louis XIV and XV, and calling special attention to the noble
Spanish and Italian specimens about us, with wide seats, backs, and
arms, where, even in the old days, tired mortals could have lounged
without splitting their stockings or disarranging their wigs, had the
dons and contessas worn any such absurdities.
“Quite true, Monsieur Herbert, but you must remember that the
aristocrats of that day never sat down—their mirrors were hung too
high for them to see themselves should they recline. It was an era of
high heels and polished floors, much low bowing, and overmuch
ceremony. And yet it was a delightful period, and a most instructive
one, for the antiquary, even if it did end with the guillotine. I have
always thought that nothing so clearly defines the taste and
intelligence of a nation as their furniture and house decoration. The
frivolities of the Monarchs of the period is to be found in every twist
and curve of their several styles, just as the virility and out-door life of
the Greeks and Romans are expressed in their solid-marble benches
and carved-stone sofas. Since I have no place in my gardens for ruins
of this kind, I do not collect them—nor would I if I had. There should
be, I think, a certain sane appropriateness in every collection, even in
so slight a one as my own, and a Greek garden with a line of motor
cars on one side and a Normandy church on the other would, I am
afraid, be a little out of keeping,” and he laughed softly.
“But you haven’t kept close to that rule in this room,” said Herbert,
gazing about him. “We have everything here from Philip the Second to
Napoleon the Third.”
“I have kept much closer than you think, Monsieur Herbert. The
panels, ceiling, furniture, and stained glass, as well as the fireplace, are
more or less of one period. The fixtures, such as the andirons,
candelabra, and curtains, might have been obtained in one of the
antiquary shops of the day—if any such existed; and so could the
china, silver, and glass. What I had in mind was, not a museum, but a
room that would take you into its arms—a restful, warm, enticing room
—one full of surprises, too”—and he pointed to his rarest possession,
the Black Virgin, half hidden in the recess of the chimney breast. “You
see, a very rare thing is always more effective when you come upon it
suddenly than when you confront it in the blaze of a window or under
a fixed light. Your curiosity is then aroused, and you must stoop to
study it. I arrange these surprises for all my most precious things.
“Here, for instance”—and he crossed the room, opened a cabinet,
and brought from its hiding-place a crystal chalice with a legend in
Latin engraved in gold letters around the rim, placing it on the table so
that the light from the candelabra could fall upon it—“here is
something now you would not look at twice, perhaps, if it were put in
the window and filled with flowers. It must be hidden away before you
appreciate it. I found it in a convent outside of Salamanca some years
ago. It is evidently the work of some old monk who spent his life in
doing this sort of thing, and is a very rare example of that kind of
craftsmanship. Be very careful, Monsieur Louis, you will break the
monk’s heart, as well as my own, if you smash it.”
“Brierley is the man you want to look out for,” answered the painter,
bending closer over the precious object. “He’ll be borrowing it to mix
high-balls in unless you keep the cabinet locked.”
“Monsieur Brierley is too good for any such sacrilege. And now
please stand aside, and you, Monsieur High-Muck, will you kindly move
your arm?” and he lifted the vase from the cloth and replaced it in the
cabinet, adding with a shrewd glance, “You see, it is always wise to
keep the most precious things hidden away, with, perhaps, only an
edge peeping out to arouse your curiosity—and I have many such.”
“Like a grisette’s slipper below a petticoat,” remarked Louis sotto
voce.
“Quite like a grisette’s slipper, my dear Monsieur Louis. What a
nimble wit is yours! Only, take an old man’s advice and don’t be too
curious.”
Every one roared, Louis louder than any one, and when quiet
reigned once more Herbert, who was determined to keep the talk along
the lines which would most interest our landlord, and who had
examined the chalice with the greatest interest, said, pointing to the
cabinet:
“And now show us something else. Here I have lived with these
things for weeks at a time and yet am only beginning to find them out.
What else have you that is especially rare?”
Lemois, who had just closed the door of the cabinet, turned and
began searching the room before replying.
“Well, there is my bas-relief, my Madonna. It is just behind you—very
beautiful and very rare. I do not lock it up; I keep it in a dark corner
where the cross-lights from the window can bring out the face in
strong relief. Please do me the favor, gentlemen, to leave your seats. I
never take it from its place,” and he crossed the room and stood
beneath it. “This is the only one in existence, so far as I know—that is,
the only replica. The original is in the Sistine Chapel, near Ravenna.
Bring a candle, please, Monsieur Brierley, so we can all enjoy it. See
how beautiful is the Madonna’s face—it is very seldom that so lovely a
smile has lived in marble—and the tenderness of the mother suggested
in the poise of the head as it bends over the Child. I never look at it
without a twinge of my conscience, for it is the only thing in this room
which I made off with without letting any one know I had it, but I was
young then and a freebooter like Monsieur Herbert’s man Goringe. I did
penance for years afterward by putting a few lira in the poor-box
whenever I was in Italy, and I often come in here and say my prayers,
standing reverently before her, begging her forgiveness; and she
always gives it—that is, she must—for the smile has never, during all
these years, faded from her face.”
“But this is plaster,” remarked Herbert, reaching up and passing his
skilled fingers over the caste. “Very well done, too.”
“Yes—of course. I helped make the mould myself from the original
marble built into the altar—and in the night too, when I had to feel my
way about. I am glad you think it is so good.”
“Couldn’t do it better myself. But why in the night?”
“Ah—that is a long story.”
Herbert clapped his hands to command attention.
“Everybody take their seats. Monsieur Lemois is going to tell us of
how he burglarized a church and made off with a Madonna.”
Louis walked solemnly toward the door, his hand over his heart.
 “You must excuse me, Herbert, if I leave the room before Lemois
begins,” he said, turning and facing the group, “for I should certainly
interrupt his recital. This whole discussion is so repulsive to me, and so
far below my own high standard of what is right and wrong, that my
morals are in danger of being undermined. And I——”
“Dry up, Louis!” growled Brierley. “Go on, Lemois.”
“No, I mean what I say,” protested Louis. “Only a few nights ago,
and at this very table, a most worthy woman, descendant of one of the
oldest families in France, and our guest, confessed to wilful perjury,
and now a former mayor of this village admits that he robbed a church.
I have not been brought up this way, and if——”
“Tie him to a chair, High-Muck!” cried Herbert. “No, his hands are up!
All right, go on, Lemois.”
“Our landlord drew nearer to the table, sat down, and, with a
humorous nod toward Louis, began:
“You must all remember I was an impressionable young fellow at the
time, full of daredevil, romantic ideas, and, like most young fellows,
saw only the end in view without caring a sou about the means by
which I reached it.
“I found the bas-relief, as I have told you, in a small chapel outside
of Ravenna—one of those deep-toned interiors lighted by dust-
begrimed windows, the roof supported by rows of marble columns. The
altar, which was low and of simple design, was placed at the top of a
wide flight of three rose-marble steps over which swung a huge brass
lamp burning a ruby light. With the exception of an old woman asleep
on her knees before a figure of the Virgin, I was the only person in the
building. I had already seen dozens of such interiors, all more or less
alike, and after walking around it once or twice was about to leave by a
side door protected by a heavy clay-soiled red curtain when my eye fell
on the original of the caste above you, the figures and surrounding
panel being built into the masonry of the altar, a position it had
occupied, no doubt, since the days of Michael Angelo.
“For half an hour I stood before it—worshipping it, really. The longer
I looked the more I wanted something to take away with me that
would keep it alive in my memory. I drew a little, of course, and had
my sketch-book filled, student-like, with bits of architecture, peasants,
horses, and things I came across every day; but I knew I could never
reproduce the angelic smile on the Madonna’s face, and that was the
one thing that made it greater than all the bas-reliefs I had seen in all
my wanderings. Then it suddenly occurred to me—there being no
photographs in those days: none you could buy of a thing like this—
that perhaps I could get some one in the village to make a caste, the
Italians being experts at this work. While I was leaning over the rose-
marble rail drinking it in, a door opened somewhere behind the altar
and an old priest came slowly toward me.
“‘It is very lovely, holy father,’ I said, in an effort to open up a
conversation which might lead somewhere.
“‘Yes!’ he replied curtly; ‘but love it on your knees.’
“So down I got, and there I stayed until he had finished his prayer at
one of the side chapels and had left the church by the main door.
“All this time I was measuring it with my eye—its width, thickness,
the depth of the cutting, how much plaster it would take, how large a
bag it would require in which to carry it away. This done I went back to
Ravenna and started to look up some one of the image vendors who
haunt the door of the great church.
“But none of them would listen. It would take at least an hour before
the plaster would be dry enough to come away from the marble. The
priests—poor as some of them were—would never consent to such a
sacrilege. Without their permission detection was almost certain; so
please go to the devil, illustrious signore, and do not tempt a poor man
who does not wish to go to prison for twenty lira.
“This talk, let me tell you, took place in a shop up a back street, kept
by a young Italian image-vendor who made casts and moulds with the
assistance of his father, who was a hunch-back, and an old man all
rags whom I could see was listening to every word of the talk.
“That same night, about the time the lamps began to be lighted, and
I had started out in search of another mouldmaker, the old man in rags
stepped out of the shadow of a wall and touched my arm.
 “‘I know the place, signore, and I know the Madonna. I have
everything here in this bucket—at night the church is closed, but there
is a side door. I will take your twenty lira. Come with me.’
“When you are twenty, you are like a hawk after its quarry—your
blood boiling, your nerves keyed up, and you swoop down and get your
talons in your prey without caring what happens afterward. Being also
a romantic hawk, I liked immensely the idea of doing my prowling at
night; there was a touch of danger in that kind of villany which daylight
dispels. So off we started, the ragged man carrying the bucket holding
a small bottle of olive-oil, dry plaster, and a thick sheet of modelling
wax besides some tools: I with two good-sized candles and a box of
matches.
“When you rob a bank at night you must, so I am told, be sure you
have a duplicate key or something with which to pick the lock. When
you rob an Italian church, there is no such bother—you simply push
wide the door and begin feeling your way about. And it was not, to my
surprise, very dark once we got in. The ruby light in the big altar lamp
helped, and so did what was left of a single candle placed on a side
altar by some poor soul as part penance for unforgiven sins.
“And it did not take long once we got to work. First a coat of oil to
keep the wax from sticking to the marble; then a patting and forcing of
the soft stuff with thumbs, fingers, and a wooden tool into the crevices
and grooves of the stone, and then a gentle pull.
“Just here my courage failed and my conscience gave a little jump
like the toothache. It might have been the quick flare of the lone
candle on the side altar—I had not used my own, there being light
enough to see to work—or it might have been my heated imagination,
but I distinctly saw on the oil-smeared face of the blessed mother an
expression of such intense humiliation that I pulled out my
handkerchief, and although the ragged man was calling me to hurry,
and I myself heard the noise of approaching footsteps, I kept on
wiping off the oil until I saw her smile once more.
“The time lost caused our undoing—or rather mine. The ragged man
with the precious mould ran out the side door which was never locked
—the one he knew—I landed in the arms of a priest.
 “He was bald-headed, wore sandals, and carried a lantern.
“‘What are you doing here?’ he asked gruffly.
“I pulled out the two candles and held them up so he could see
them.
“‘I came to burn these before the Madonna—the door was open and
I walked in.’
“He lifted the lantern and scanned my face.
“‘You are the man who was here this morning. Did you get down on
your knees as I told you?’
“‘Yes, holy father.’
“‘Get down again while I close the church. You can light your candles
by the lantern,’ and he laid it on the stone pavement beside me and
moved off into the gloom.
“I did everything he bade me—never was there a more devout
worshipper—handed him back his lantern, and made my way out.
“At the end of the town the ragged man thrust his head over a low
wall. He seemed greatly relieved, and picking up the bucket, we two
started on a run for my lodgings. Before I went to bed that night he
had mixed up the dry plaster in his bucket and taken the cast. He
wanted to keep the matrix, but I wouldn’t have it. I did not want his
dirty fingers feeling around her lovely face, and so I paid him his blood
money and pounded the mould out of shape. The next morning I left
Ravenna for Paris.
“You see now, messieurs, what a disreputable person I am.” Here he
rose from his seat and walked back to the bas-relief. “And yet, most
blessed of women”—and he raised his eyes as if in prayer—“I think I
would do it all over again to have you where you could always listen to
my sins.”
 VIII

CONTAINING SEVERAL
EXPERIENCES AND
ADVENTURES SHOWING
THE WIDE CONTRASTS IN
LIFE
How it began I do not remember, for nothing had led up to it except,
perhaps, Le Blanc’s arrival for dinner half an hour late, due, so he
explained, to a break in the running gear of his machine, most of which
time he had spent flat on his back in the cold mud, monkey-wrench in
hand, instead of in one of our warm, comfortable chairs.
No sooner was he seated at my side and his story told than we fell
naturally to discussing similar moments in life when such sudden
contrasts often caused us to look upon ourselves as two distinct
persons having nothing in common each with the other. Lemois, whose
story of the stolen Madonna the previous night had made us eager for
more, described, in defence of the newly launched theory, a visit to a
Swiss chalet, and the sense of comfort he felt in the warmth and
coseyness of it all, as he settled himself in bed, when just as he was
dozing off a fire broke out and in less than five minutes he, with the
whole family, was shivering in a snow-bank while the house burned to
the ground.
“And a most uncomfortable and demoralizing change it was,
messieurs—one minute in warm white sheets and the next in a blanket
of cold snow. What has always remained in my mind was the rapidity
with which I passed from one personality to another.”
 Brierley, taking up the thread, described his own sensations when,
during a visit to a friend’s luxurious camp in the Adirondacks, he lost
his way in the forest and for three days and nights kept himself alive
on moose-buds and huckleberries.
“Poor grub when you have been living on porter-house steak and
lobsters from Fulton Market and peaches from South Africa. Time,
however, didn’t appeal to me as it did to Lemois, but hunger did, and I
have never looked a huckleberry in the face since without the same
queer feeling around my waistband.”
Appealed to by Herbert for some experiences of my own, I told how
this same realization of intense and sudden contrasts always took
possession of me, when, after having lived for a week on hardtack,
boiled pork, and plum duff, begrimed with dust and cement, I would
leave the inside of a coffer-dam and in a few hours find myself in the
customary swallow-tail and white tie at a dinner of twelve, sitting
among ladies in costly gowns and jewels.
“What, however, stuck out clearest in my mind,” I continued, “was
neither time nor what I had had to eat, but the enormous contrasts in
the color scheme of my two experiences: at noon a gray sky and
leaden sea, relieved by men in overalls, rusty derricks, and clouds of
white steam rising from the concrete mixers; at night filmy gowns and
bare shoulders rose pink in the softened light against a strong relief of
the reds and greens of deep-toned tapestries and portraits in rich
frames. I remember only the color.”
At this Herbert lighted a fresh cigar and, with the flaming match still
in hand, said quietly:
“While you men have been talking I have been going over some of
my own experiences”—here he blew out the match—“and I have a
great mind to tell you of one that I had years ago which made an
indelible impression on me.”
“Leave out your ‘great mind,’ Herbert,” cried Louis—“we’ll believe
anything but that—and give us the story—that is, Le Blanc, if you will
be so very good as to move your very handsome but slightly opaque
head, so that I can watch the distinguished mud-dauber’s face while he
talks. Fire away, Herbert!”
“I was a lad of twenty at the time,” resumed Herbert, pausing for a
moment until the unembarrassed Le Blanc had pushed back his chair,
“and for reasons which then seemed good to me ran away from home,
and for two years served as common sailor aboard an English
merchantman, bunking in the forecastle, eating hardtack, and doing
work aloft like any of the others. I had the world before me, was
strong and sturdily built, and, being a happy-hearted young fellow, was
on good terms with every one of the crew except a dark, murderous-
looking young Portuguese of about my own age, active as a cat, and
continually quarrelling with every one. When you get a low-down
Portuguese with negro blood in his veins you have reached the bottom
of cunning and cruelty. I’ve come across several of them since—some
in dress suits—and know.
“For some reason this fellow hated me as only sailors who are forced
to live together on long voyages know how to hate. My bunk was
immediately over his, and when I slid out in the morning my feet had
to dangle in front of his venomous face. When I crawled up at night
the same thing happened. We worked side by side, got the same pay,
and ate the same grub, yet I never was with him without feeling his
animosity toward me.
“It was only by the merest accident that I found out why he hated
me. He blurted it out in the forecastle one night after I had gone on
deck, and the men told me when I dropped down the companion-way
again. He hated me because I brushed my teeth! Oh!—you needn’t
laugh! Men have murdered each other for less. I once knew a man who
picked a quarrel at the club with a diplomat because he dared to twist
his mustache at the same angle as his own; and another—an Austrian
colonel—who challenged a brother officer to a mortal duel for serving a
certain Johannesburg when it was a well-known fact that he claimed to
own every bottle of that year’s vintage.
“I continued brushing my teeth, of course, and at the same time
kept an eye on the Portuguese whose slurs and general ugliness at
every turn became so marked that I was convinced he was only waiting
for a chance to put a knife into me. The captain, who studied his crew,
was of the same opinion and instructed the first mate to look after us
both and prevent any quarrel reaching a crisis.
“One night, off Cape Horn, a gale came up, and half a dozen of us
were ordered aloft to furl a topsail. That’s no easy job for a greenhorn;
sometimes it’s a pretty tough job for an old hand. The yard is generally
wet and slippery, the reefers stiff as marlin-spikes, and the sail hard as
a board, particularly when the wind drives it against your face. But
orders were orders and up I went. Then again, I had been a fairly good
gymnast when I was at school, and could throw wheels on the
horizontal bars with the best of them.
“The orders had come just as we were finishing supper. As usual the
Portuguese had opened on me again; this time it was my table
manners, my way of treating my plate after finishing meals being to
leave some of the fragments still sticking to the bottom and edge,
while he wiped his clean with a crust of bread as a compliment to the
cook.
“The mate had heard the last of his outbreak, and in detailing the
men sent me up the port ratlines and the Portuguese up the starboard.
The sail was thrashing and flopping in the wind, the vessel rolling her
rails under as the squall struck her. I was so occupied with tying the
reefers over the canvas and holding on at the same time to the slippery
yard, that I had not noticed the Portuguese, who, with every flop of the
sail, was crawling nearer to where I clung.
“He was almost on top of me when I caught sight of him sliding
along the foot-stay, his eyes boring into mine with a look that made me
stop short and pull myself together. One hand was around the yard, the
other clutched his sheath knife. Another lunge of the ship and he would
let drive and over I’d go.
“For an instant I quavered before the fellow’s hungry glare, his tiger
eyes fixed on mine, the knife in his hand, the sail smothering me as it
flapped in my face, while below were the black sea and half-lighted
deck. Were he to strike, no trace would be left of me. I was a
greenhorn, and it would be supposed I had missed my hold and fallen
clear of the ship.
 “Bracing myself, I twisted a reefer around my wrist for better hold,
determined, if he moved an inch nearer, to kick him square in the face.
But at that instant a sea broke over the starboard bow, wrenching the
ship fore and aft and jerking the yards as if they had been so many
tent-poles. Then came a horrible shriek, and looking down I saw the
Portuguese clutching wildly at the ratlines, clear the ship’s side, and
strike the water head-foremost. ‘Man overboard!’ I yelled at the top of
my lungs, slid to the deck, and ran into the arms of the first mate, who
had been watching us and who had seen the whole thing.
“Some of the crew made a spring for the davits, I among them. But
the mate shook his head.
“‘Ain’t no use lowerin’,’ he said. ‘Besides, he ain’t worth savin’.’
“That night I had to crawl over the dead man’s empty berth; his
pillow and quilt were just as he had left them, all tumbled and mussed,
and his tin tobacco-box where he had laid it. Try as I would as I lay
awake in my warm bunk and thought of him out in the sea, and my
own close shave for life, I could not get rid of a certain uncanny feeling
—something akin to the sensation as that of which Lemois was
speaking. Only an instant’s time had saved me from the same awful
plunge—his last in life. I never got over the feeling until we reached
port, for his berth was left untouched and his tin tobacco-box still lay
beside his pillow. Even now when a sailor or fisherman pulls out an old
tin box—they are all pretty much alike—or cuts a plug with a sheath
knife, it gives me a shudder.”
“Served the brute right!” cried Louis. “Very good story, Herbert—a
little exaggerated in parts, particularly where you were so absent-
minded as to select the face of the gentleman for your murderous kick,
but it’s all right: very good story. I could freeze you all solid by an
experience I had with an Apache who followed me on my way to
Montmartre last week, but I won’t.”
“Give it to us, Louis!” cried everybody in unison.
“No!”
“Well, why not?” I demanded.
 “Because he turned down the next street. I said I could, and I would
if he’d kept on after me. Your turn, Brierley. We haven’t heard from you
since you kept school for crows and wild ducks and taught them how
to dodge bird shot. Unhook your ear-flaps, gentlemen; the
distinguished naturalist is about to relate another one of his soul-
stirring adventures—pure fiction, of course, but none the less
entertaining.”
Before I could reply, Lemois, who had followed the course of the
discussion with the keenest interest, interrupted with a deprecating
shrug of his shoulders, his fingers widened out.
“But not another bird story, if you please, Monsieur Brierley. We want
something deeper and stronger. We have touched upon a great subject
to-night, and have only scraped the surface.”
Herbert leaned forward until he caught Lemois’ eye.
“Say the rest, Lemois. You have something to tell us.”
“I! No—I have nothing to tell you. My life has been too stupid. I am
always either bowing to my guests or making sauces for them over
Pierre’s fire. I could only tell you about things of which I have heard.
You, Monsieur Herbert, can tell us of things with which you have lived.
I want to listen now to something we will remember, like your story of
the cannibal’s wife. Almost every night since you have been here I go
to bed with a great song ringing in my ears. You, Monsieur Herbert,
must yourself have seen such tragedies in men’s lives, when in the
space of a lightning’s flash their souls were stripped clean and they left
naked.”
Herbert played with his fork for a moment, threw it back upon the
cloth, and then said in a decided tone:
“No—it is not my turn; I’ve talked enough to-night. Open up, Le
Blanc, and give us something out of the old Latin Quartier—there were
tragedies enough there.”
“Only what absinthe and starvation brought—and a ring now and
then on the wrong girl’s finger—or none at all, as the case might have
been. But you’ve got a story, Herbert, if you will tell it, which will send
Lemois to bed with a whole orchestra sounding in his ears.”
 Herbert looked up.
“Which one?”
“The fever camp at Bangala.”
Herbert’s face became instantly grave and an expression of intense
thought settled upon it. We waited, our eyes fixed upon him.
“No—I’d rather not, Le Blanc,” he said slowly. “That belongs to the
dead past, and it is best to leave it so.”
“Tell it, Herbert,” I coaxed.
“Both you and Le Blanc have heard it.”
“But Lemois and the others haven’t.”
“Got any cannibals or barbecues in it, Herbert?” inquired Louis.
“No, just plain white man all the way through, Louis. Two of them
are still alive—I and another fellow. And you really want it again, Le
Blanc? Well, all right. But before I begin I must ask you to pardon my
referring so often to my African experiences”—and he glanced in
apology around the table—“but I was there at a most impressionable
age, and they still stand out in my mind—this one in particular. You
may have read of the horrors that took place at Bangala in what at the
time was known as the fever camp, where some of the bravest fellows
who ever entered the jungles met their deaths. Both natives and white
men had succumbed, one after another, in a way that wiped out all
hope.
“The remedies we had, had been used without effect, and quinine
had lost its power to pull down the temperature, and each fellow knew
that if he were not among those carried out feet foremost to-day, and
buried so deep that the hyenas could not dig him up, it was only a
question if on the morrow his own turn did not come. A strange kind of
fear had taken possession of us, sick or well, and a cold, deadening
despair had crept into our hearts, so great was the mortality, and so
quickly when once a man was stricken did the end come. We were
hundreds of miles from civilization of any kind, unable to move our
quarters unless we deserted our sick, and even then there was no
healthier place within reach. And so, not knowing who would go next,
we awaited the end.
“The only other white man in the country besides ourselves was a
young English missionary who had taken up his quarters in a native
village some two miles away, in the low, marshy lands, and who from
the very day of his arrival had set to work to teach and care for the
swarms of native children who literally infested the settlement. Many of
these had been abandoned by their parents and would have perished
but for his untiring watchfulness. When the fever broke out he, with
the assistance of those of the natives whom he could bribe to help, had
constructed a rude hospital into which the little people were placed.
These he nursed with his own hands, and as children under ten years
of age were less liable to the disease than those who were older, and,
when stricken, easier to coax back to life, his mortality list was very
much less than our own.
“With our first deaths we would send for him to come up the hill and
perform the last rites over the poor fellows, but, as our lists grew, we
abandoned even this. Why I escaped at the time I do not know, unless
it was by sheer force of will. I have always believed that the mind has
such positive influence over the body that if you can keep it working
you can arrest the progress of any disease—certainly long enough for
the other forces of the body to come to its aid. So when I was at last
bowled over and so ill that I could not stand on my feet, or even turn
on my bed, I would have some one raise me to a sitting posture and
then I would deliberately shave myself. The mental effort to get the
beard off without cutting the skin; the determination to leave no spot
untouched; the making of the lather, balancing of the razor, and
propping up of the small bit of looking-glass so as to reflect my face
properly, was what I have always thought really saved my life.
“What I started to tell you, however, happened before I was finally
stricken and will make you think of the tales often heard of
shipwrecked men who, having given up all hope at the pumps, turn in
despair and break open the captain’s lockers, drinking themselves into
a state of bestiality. It is the coward’s way of meeting death, or
perhaps it means the great final protest of the physical against the
spiritual—a mad defiance of the inevitable—and confirms what some of
our physiologists have always maintained—that only a thin stratum of
self-control divides us from something lower than the beast.
“We had buried one of our bravest and best comrades, one whose
name is still held in reverence by all who knew him, and after we had
laid him in the ground an orgy began, which I am ashamed to say—for
I was no better than the rest—was as cowardly as it was bestial. My
portable india-rubber bath-tub, being the largest vessel in the camp,
was the punch-bowl, and into it was dumped every liquor we had in
the place: Portuguese wine, Scotch whiskey, Bass’s ale, brown stout,
cognac—nothing escaped. You can imagine what followed. Those of
our natives who helped themselves, after a wild outburst of savagery,
soon relapsed into a state of unconsciousness. The exhilaration of the
white man lasted longer, and was followed by a fighting frenzy which
filled the night with horror. Men tore their clothes from their backs and,
half-naked, danced in a circle, the flickering light of the camp-fire
distorting their bodies into demons. It was hell let loose!
“I have got rather a strong head, but one cup of that mixture sent
my brain reeling. My fear was that my will would give way and I be
tempted to drink a second dipperful and so knocked completely out.
With this idea firmly in my mind, I watched my chance and escaped
outside the raging circle, where I found a pool into which I plunged my
head. This sobered me a little and I kept on in the darkness until I
reached the edge of the hill overlooking the missionary’s settlement,
the shouts of the frenzied men growing fainter and fainter.
“As I sat there my brain began to clear. I noticed the dull light of the
moon shrouded in a deadly fog that rose from the valley below. In its
mysterious dimness the wraiths of mist and fog became processions of
ghosts stealing slowly up the hill—spirits of the dead on their way to
judgment. The swollen moon swimming in the drowsy vapor was an
evil eye from which there was no escape—searching the souls of men—
mine among them—I, who had been spared death and in return had
defied all the laws of decency. The cries of the forest rang in my ears,
loud and insistent. The howl of a pariah dog, the hoot of an owl,
became so many questions—all directed toward me—all demanding an
answer for my sins. Even the hum of myriads of insects seemed
concerned with me, disputing in low tones and deciding on my
punishment.
“Gradually these sounds grew less insistent, and soft as a breath of
air—hardly perceptible at first—there rose from the valley below, like a
curl of smoke mounting into the stillness, a strain of low, sweet music,
and as suddenly ceased. I bent my head, wondering whether I was
dreaming. I had heard that same music, when I was a boy at home,
wafted toward me from the open window of the village church. How
came it here? Why sing it? Why torture me with it—who would never
see home again?
“I struggled to my feet, steadied myself against a cotton-tree, and
fixed my eyes on the valley below; my ears strained to catch the first
recurrent note. Again it rose on the night air, this time strong and clear,
as if a company of angels were singing.
“I knew now!
“It was the hymn my friend the missionary had taught the children.
“I plunged down the hill, stumbling, falling, only to drag myself to
my feet again, groping my way through the dense night fog and the
tangle of undergrowth, until I reached the small stockade at the foot of
the incline which circled the missionary station. Crossing this ground, I
followed the path and entered a small gate. Beyond it lay a flat piece of
land cleared of all underbrush, and at its extreme end the rude
bamboo hut of a hospital filled with sick and dying children.
“Once more on the deadly night air rose the hymn, a note of
exaltation now, calling me on—to what I knew not, nor did I care, so it
would ease the grinding fear under which I had lived for weeks.
“Suddenly I came to a halt. In the faint moonlight, within a dozen
yards of me, knelt the figure of a man. He was praying—his hands
upraised, his face lifted—the words falling from his lips distinctly
audible. I moved nearer. Before him was a new-made grave—one he
had dug himself—to cover the body of a child who had died at sunset.
“It was a moment I have never forgotten, and never want to forget.
 “On the hill above me were the men I had left—a frenzied body of
bestial cowards who had dishonored themselves, their race, and their
God; here beside me, huddled together, a group of forest children—
spawn of cannibal and savage—racked with fever, half-starved, many of
them delirious, their souls rising to heaven on the wings of a song.
“And then the kneeling man himself!—his courage facing death every
hour of the day—alone—no one to help—only his Maker as witness. I
tell you, gentlemen, that when I stood beside him and looked into his
eyes, caught the tones of his voice, and watched the movement of his
fingers patting the last handfuls of earth over the poor little nameless
body, and realized that his only recompense lay in that old line I used
to hear so often when I was a boy—‘If ye have done it unto the least of
these, ye have done it unto me’—I could have gone down on my knees
beside him and thanked my Creator that He had sent me to him.”
 IX

IN WHICH MADAME LA
MARQUISE BINDS UP
BROKEN HEADS AND
BLEEDING HEARTS
The morning brought us two most welcome pieces of news, one
being that Gaston, his head swathed in bandages, had, with the
doctor’s approval, gone home an hour before breakfast, and the other
that our now adorable Madame la Marquise de la Caux, with Marc as
gentleman-in-waiting, would arrive at the Inn some time during the
day or evening, the exact hour being dependent upon her duties at the
site of her “ruin.” These pieces of news, being positive and without
question, were received with the greatest satisfaction, Gaston’s
recovery meaning fresh roses in Mignon’s cheeks and madame’s visit
giving us another glimpse of her charming personality.
That which was less positive, because immediately smothered and
sent around in whispers, were rumors of certain happenings that had
taken place shortly after daybreak. Mignon, so the word ran, before
seeking her little cot the night before, had caught a nod, or the lift of
Leà’s brow, arched over a meaning eye, or a significant smile—some
sort of wireless, anyway, with Leà as chief operator, and a private wire
to Louis’ room, immediately over Gaston’s. What she had learned had
kept the girl awake half the night and sent her skipping on her toes at
the break of dawn to the little passageway at the far end of the court-
yard, where she had cried over Gaston and kissed him good-by,
Leà being deaf and dumb and blind. All this occurred before the
horrible old bogie (Lemois was the bogie), who had given strict orders
that everything should be done for the comfort of the boy before he
left the Inn, was fairly awake; certainly before he was out of bed.
“By thunder!—I could hardly keep the tears out of my eyes I was so
sorry for her,” Louis had said when he burst into my room an hour
before getting-up time. “I heard the noise and thought he was
suffering again and needed help, and so I hustled out and came bump
up against them as they stood at the foot of the stairs. I wasn’t
dressed for company and dared not go back lest they should see me,
and so I flattened myself against the wall and was obliged to hear it all.
I’m not going to give them away; but if any girl will love me as she
does that young fellow she can have my bank account. And he was so
manly and square about it all—no snivelling, no making a poor face. ‘It
is nothing, Mignon—I am all right. Don’t cry,’ he kept saying.
‘Everything will come out our way in the end.’ By Jove!—I wish some
girl loved me like that!”
 Herbert caught up his sketch-book and ...
transferred her dear old head ... to paper
Such an expression of happiness had settled, too, on Leà’s face as
she brought our coffee, that Herbert caught up his sketch-book and
made her stand still until he had transferred her dear old head in its
white cap to paper. Then, the portrait finished—and it was exactly like
her—what a flash of joy suffused Mignon’s face when he called to her
and whispered in her ear the wonderful tale of why he had drawn it
and who was to be its proud possessor; and when it was all to take
place, a bit of information that sent her out of the room and skipping
across the court, her tiny black kitten at her heels.

It was, indeed, a joyous day, with every one in high good humor,
culminating in the wildest enthusiasm when the sound of a siren,
followed by the quick “chug-chug” of the stop brake of madame’s
motor, announced the arrival of that distinguished woman an hour
ahead of time.
“Ah!—gentlemen!” she shouted out, rising from her seat, both hands
extended before any of us could reach her car, “I have come over to
crown you with laurel! Oh, what a magnificent lot of heroes!—and to
think you saved my poor, miserable little mouse-trap of a villa that has
been trying all its life to slide down hill into the sea and get washed
and scrubbed. No, I don’t want your help—I’m going to jump!” and out
she came, man’s ulster, black-velvet jockey cap, short skirt, high boots,
and all, Marc following.
“And now, Monsieur Marc, give me a little help—no, not here—down
below the seat. Careful, now! And the teakwood stand is there too—I
steadied them both with my feet. There, you dear men!”—here she
lifted the priceless treasure above her head, her eyes dancing—“what
do you think of your punch-bowl? This is for your choicest mixtures
whenever you meet, and not one of you shall have a drop out of it
unless you promise to make me honorary member of your coterie, with
full permission to stay away or come just as I please. Isn’t it a beauty?
—and not a crack or scar on it—Old Ming, they tell me, of the first
dynasty. There, dear Lemois, put it among your things, but never out
of reach.”
She had shaken every one’s hand now and was stamping her little
feet in their big men’s boots to keep up her circulation, talking to us all
the while.
“Ah, Monsieur Louis, it was you who carried out my beloved piano—
Liszt played on it, and so did Paderewski and Livadi, and a whole lot of
others, until it gave out and I sent it down here, more for its
associations than anything else. And you too, Monsieur Herbert”—and
she gave him a low curtsy, as befitted his rank—“you-were-a-real-
major-general, and saved the life of that poor young fisherman; and
you, Lemois, rescued my darling miniatures and my books. Yes—I have
heard all about it. Oh!—it was so kind of you all—and you were so
good—nothing I really loved is missing. I have been all the morning
feasting my eyes on them. And now let us all go in and stir up the fire
—and, please, one of you bring me a thimbleful of brandy. I have
rummaged over my precious things until I have worked myself into a
perspiration, and then I must drive like Jehu until I get chilled to the
bone. Catch cold!—my dear Monsieur Brierley—I never catch cold! I
should be quite ashamed of myself if I did.”
We were inside the Marmouset now, Marc unbuttoning her outer
garments, revealing her plump, penguin-shaped body clothed in a
blouse of mouse-colored corduroy with a short skirt to match, her
customary red silk scarf about her throat; the silver watch with its
leather strap, which hung from the pocket of her blouse, her only
ornament.
“Take my cap, please,” and she handed it to the ever-obsequious
Marc, who always seemed to have lost his wits and identity in her
presence. This done, she ran her fingers through her fluff of gray hair,
caught it in a twist with her hand, skewered it with a tortoise-shell pin,
and, with a “So! that’s all over,” drew up a chair to the blaze and
settled herself in it, talking all the time, the men crowding about her to
catch her every word.
“And now how about that young fisherman? Thank you, Monsieur
Herbert. No, that is quite enough; a thimbleful of cognac is just what I
need—more than that I have given up these many years. Come!—the
young fisherman, Lemois. Is he badly hurt? Has he a doctor? How long
before he gets well? Can I go to see him as soon as I get warm? Such
a brave lad—and all to save my miserable jim-cracks.”
Both of Lemois’ hands were outstretched in a low bow. “We could do
no less than rescue your curios, madame. Our only fear is that we may
have left behind something more precious than anything we saved.”
“No, I have not missed a single thing; and it wouldn’t make any
difference if I had; we love too many things, anyway, for our good. As
Welcome to our website – the perfect destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. We believe that every book holds a new world,
offering opportunities for learning, discovery, and personal growth.
That’s why we are dedicated to bringing you a diverse collection of
books, ranging from classic literature and specialized publications to
self-development guides and children's books.

More than just a book-buying platform, we strive to be a bridge

connecting you with timeless cultural and intellectual values. With an
elegant, user-friendly interface and a smart search system, you can
quickly find the books that best suit your interests. Additionally,
our special promotions and home delivery services help you save time
and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Join us on a journey of knowledge exploration, passion nurturing, and

personal growth every day!

testbankbell.com