Perkins, the Fakeer. Edward Sims van Zile

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      "Go to the 'phone, Suzanne," I said at once, "and call up 502, Rector. When you've got 'em, let me know."

      Suzanne was too nervous to accomplish this task, and I was forced to go to her assistance.

      "Hello!" I heard Caroline's voice crying presently, and it warned me to be careful.

      Standing at a 'phone it was hard for me to remember that I was far from being quite myself.

      "Who's this?" came to my ears from 502, Rector.

      "Has–ah–Mr. Stevens reached the office yet?" I asked.

      "We expect him every moment. He's late this morning," came the answer in a man's voice, (I had grown very sensitive to sex in voices.) "Who is this?"

      "I am–ah–Mrs. Stevens." Suddenly, I realized that I was talking to Morse, my head-clerk. How he happened to be in my inner office puzzled me. "Anything new this morning, Morse?" I inquired, impulsively. There was a sound that can be described as an electric gurgle at his end of the line.

      "Hello," he cried, above a buzzing of the wires that might have been caused by his astonishment. "Are you still there, Mrs. Stevens?"

      "Well, rather," I said to myself. Then aloud: "Will you kindly call me up–ah–Mr. Morse, the moment Mr. Stevens arrives?"

      "On the instant, Mrs. Stevens," said Morse, deferentially.

      Curiosity overcame my discretion.

      "How did the market open, Mr. Morse?" I asked, recklessly.

      Again that electric gurgle escaped from my startled clerk.

      "It seems to be very feverish, madame," answered Morse, evidently recovering his equanimity.

      "Naturally!" I exclaimed, feelingly, but I doubt that Morse caught the word.

      "Is that all, Mrs. Stevens?" he asked, presently.

      "That'll do for the present–ah–Mr. Morse," I said, reluctantly. "Good-bye!"

      I returned to my seat beside the reading-table and found Suzanne gazing at me with soft, sympathetic eyes.

      "If I had but dared to tell him to unload," I mused aloud, but went no further, for the French girl's glance had become an interrogation-mark.

      "Tell monsieur to unload?" murmured Suzanne, who sometimes spoke English when she especially craved my confidence. "But–mon Dieu!--monsieur is not–what you say, madame, loaded?"

      I broke into a silvery, high-pitched laugh that annoyed me, exceedingly. But it was not unpleasant to realize that the girl knew that Mr. Stevens was a gentleman. I felt grateful to Suzanne for her good opinion. A moment later, the telephone rang, sharply.

      "There's Caroline," I said to myself; but I was quickly undeceived when I had placed the receiver to my ear.

      "Is that you, Caroline?" I heard a voice saying. "This is Louise. What have you decided to do about those lectures on Buddhism? Will you join the class, my dear?"

      "Not in a thousand years!" I fairly shrieked through the 'phone. "Good-bye!"

      "More trouble, madame?" asked Suzanne, as I tottered back to my chair. "I am so sorry. Really, I think madame should come up-stairs with me and lie down. I will bathe madame's head, and she may drop off for a time."

      "Suzanne," I said, solemnly, making a strong effort of will and controlling my temper nicely–"Suzanne, if you suggest a sleep to me again to-day I shall be forced to send you to Hoboken to find Jenkins. What's that? The telephone again? Ah–Mr. Stevens must have reached his office."

      I was right this time. If my memory is not at fault, our conversation across the wire ran as follows.

      "Hello!"

      "Hello!"

      Silence for a time and a buzzing in my ear.

      "Is that you, Caroline?" from my office.

      "You know best–ah–Reginald," in the sweetest tones that I could beget in my wife's voice.

      "Hello!"

      "Hello!" I returned. "Pleasant ride down–ah–Reginald?"

      "Do be serious, will you?" gruffly, from the office.

      "Tell Morse to sell L stock and industrials at once. Do you get that?"

      "I'll have to use my own judgment in that matter, Caroline." My voice came to me through the 'phone with its own stubborn note.

      "Great Scott!" I cried, realizing that I was absolutely helpless. "Be careful what you do–ah–Reginald. It's a very treacherous market. For heaven's sake, sell out at once, will you?"

      "I must get to work now, my dear," said my wife, gruffly. "There's a heavy mail this morning, and several men are waiting to see me. Mr. Rogers comes in to me at once."

      A cold chill ran through me, and Caroline's voice trembled as I cried:

      "Don't see Rogers–ah–Reginald! I haven't decided yet what answer to give the man. Bluff him off, if you've got a spark of sense left in you. Tell him to call at the office next week."

      "Good-bye, Caroline," came my voice to me, remorselessly. "I'll call you up again later. How's your ball dress? Does it fit you nicely? Don't over-exert yourself, my dear. You weren't looking well at breakfast. Ta-ta! See you later."

      I heard the uncompromising click of the receiver, and knew that my wife had returned to my affairs. As I turned my back to the telephone, I felt that ruin was staring me in the face. If Caroline played ducks and drakes with my various stocks I stood to lose half my fortune. What a fool I had been, engaged in a profitable business, to go into speculation! Had it not been for what may be considered a feeling of false pride I should have sent Suzanne for a cocktail at once. It seemed to me that my masculine individuality exhausted Caroline's nervous energy at a most deplorable rate.

      CHAPTER V.

      SUZANNE'S BUSY DAY

      Births have brought us richness and variety, and other births have brought us richness and variety.

--Walt Whitman.

      Buttons, the hall-boy was accustomed to sit where he could keep one ear on the 'phone in the library, the other on the bell in the main entrance, and both of them on the voice of Jones, the butler. The library stifled me, and the very sight of the telephone threatened me with nervous prostration.

      "Tell Buttons," I said to Suzanne, "to listen to the 'phone, and if–ah–Mr. Stevens calls me up again, to let me know of it at once. Then come to me up-stairs. And, Suzanne, say to Buttons that if–what was her name?–ah, yes, Louise–rings me up again to tell her I've got an attack of neuralgia in my–ah–astral body, and that I'm writing to Buddha to ask for his advice in the matter. That'll shut her off for all day, I imagine."

      "Oui, madame," murmured Suzanne, wearily. She was beginning to feel the effects of a great nervous strain. As I reached the door of the library, the effort to carry myself like a lady overcame my momentary infusion of energy.

      "Suzanne," I said, "it might СКАЧАТЬ