Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 33, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 February 1911 — Page 2

The Chairs of Stuyvesent Baron

OEM ARK ABLE achievements of Ivan Brodsky, fiV physician, whose investigations Into psychic phenomena enabled him to cure spiritual diseases ard to exorcise evil spirits from the bodies of their victims.

CCapjrtsht. MW.by W, U.C>«!>■■■.) uovjrrtcbt ia Oraat Britain.)

jgHHSSgB MONO the numerous lnI vestigations which Dr. >sw Ivan Brodsky made in my com P an y I recall the case of Stuyvesant Baron’s furniture, bes cause of the poetic justice which it fcroosht about. Rarely, Indeed, did «*y visitor from the unseen world so • thoroughly justify his appearance as tor this instance, or work such permanent beneficial effects upon the character of his victim. We had seen no one for several dlays, being engaged upon a study of ••collar delicacy in conection with the pituitary body in the brain of a chimpanzee, when, one afternoon, a loud and Important voice in the parlor Hollowed the announcement of the doctor’s servant The visitor had instated upon entering, he said, and he haul been compelled to admit him rather than suffer a scene outside. Brodsky smiled rather grimly, put down the brain of the ape, and went out into the antechamber, motioning fib me to follow him. “Dr. Brodsky," began our visitor, •"when I tell you that I am Mr. Stuywesant Baron, you will at once know oil about me. You have been recomamended to me by a friend of mine, -whose name is immaterial, as likely fio serve my purpose, and you shall toe well paid for your work. I want you to come down at once to my country house in Pennsylvania.” He was a pompous individual, some fifty years of age, well oiled and •oaped and starched. A huge signet ring overlapped his little finger, a •old watch chain stretched across his waistcoat, and be had that atmos •here of Indescribable vulgarity and overbearingness that is associated with the newly enriched. I knew the worn by reputation as a prominent politician at the c&pltol, who had achieved a large fortune recently by rather dubious transactions. I looked to Dr. Brodsky to give him the coup die grace courteous; then, from the twinkle In Brodsky's eyes, I perceived that he was reserving this for our future delectation. "Your name Is well known to me, Mr. Baron,” he answered. “But won’t you take a chair ad tell me first what your difficulty Is? Pray be seated?” Mr. Baron reached toward a chair and sat down gingerly upon the extreme edge, apparently surprised that ft did not collapse under him. “Well, perhaps, I'd better begin at the beginning and explain the mattar," he said. “You have heard, no -doubt, of my influence in the capitol, and how I worked my way up, from ejulte humble beginnings, to my present position. Well, sir, it was always the dream of my life to own one of Chem country estates which it’s the correct thing for a man of my status to have. I’ve had my eye on one for a long time, a fine place but sadly run down. It was owned by an old southern family—plenty of ancestors, tout beggarly as church mice and not a dollar to their credit. Yes, they’d fallen into disrepute, and let the place run down. I’d been waiting for them to put it on the market, and as soon

ms It was advertised for sate 1 went to (M it and I said, ‘Stuyvesant, that’s roars.’ My wife’s sway in Europe—comes back next month, and I thought I’d buy It and fit it up for a surprise for her. Well, Doc, I bought it “There’s a hundred acres or more poes with it and naturally when I bought the place I thought I'd gotten fid of those beggarly southerners for mood and alt Well, first thing I knew they’d moved to s little cottage they own just across the boundary and In •tailed themselves there, spoiling the view of the crick for me. I’v been trying to put them out ever since, and I think I’ve got them palled now. Howmvsr, that’s by the way.

By H. M. EGBERT

“When I looked inside my new house 1 nearly died of laughing. Never saw such a ramshackle looking interior in my life. Doc. Purse-proud snobs that they were, they’d sold off everything to keep up their station, and except for a score of dirty old chairs, two beds, and some tables, there wasn’t hardly a bit of furniture in the house. First thing I did was to pitch that lumber out of the house. They saw it lying there and begged me to sell it to them. I told them to take it and decay with It, which they duly did. Then I sent for an upholsterer and ordered a fine suit in red plush for the dining room, blue plush for the bedrooms and green plush for the rest of the house. Yes, sir. I’ve fixed the place up fit for a gentleman. "I moved week to warm up the house for my wife. Got the servants in and all, was ready to surprise her when she came back. I wept to bed the first night and had a good sleep. In the morning, going round to make a final inspection, I saw one of them wretched old chairs that had been left In the hall by mistake. I’m a hot-tempered gentleman. Doc, and it made me so mad I kicked it over. Then I went into the dining room and sat down in an arm-chair to cool off. First thing I knew, something like a tack was sticking into me. I jumped up with a yell and my man came running In. ‘You clumsy loon,’ I cried, ‘what’d you mean by leaving a tack in here?’ The man looked at it ‘There’s no tack here, sir,’ he said. “I tried another chair: same thing. Tt was like sitting on a red-hot poker. The man thought I was mad, I guess. Well, Doc, to cut the story short, there's not a chair in the house I can sit down on, except that dirty old broken affair that I kicked out into the lot. And there it resth. I’ve been sitting on it ever since. I couldn’t go to a doctor and have him call me a lunatic and' lose my influence, so I came to you.” ~ “May I ask how you happened to conclude that this trouble was of supernatural origin?’’ asked Brodsky. “Why, to tell the truth,” said Mr. Baron, “the house was supposed to be haunted- That’s one of the reasons why I bought it; Jt gives it tone. And I didn’t care to tell you, but the fact is they pinch me. I’m black and blue,” he ended mournfully. Somehow his pompous demeanor seemed to be subsiding under the doctor’s influence. “When you sit down?” asked Brodsky. “At all times, sir,” cried the man angrily. “The only time they don’t pinch me in that house is when I’m sitting in that dirty, old chair. They pinch me when I’m sitting and when I’m standing, and when I’m in bed. Fancy me giving up the place because I’m pinched by ghosts! I’d lose my influence at once. There’s mighty little place for cranks and lunatics in this world, sir. So I want you to come down right away, and if you can stop this game it will mean SIO,OOO in your pocket. If you can’t. I’ll give you five." Brodsky looked at him rather sternly. “I do not accept money for this class of work," he said. “I will endeavor to allay the trouble If you will make me out a check for SIO,OOO, to be devoted by me to any cause I please." Baron stared at him for a moment; then his face softened into a grin. “Oh, all right. Doc, all right,” he said, writing a check and signing it. “There’s some swallows their medicine straight and some wants it chocolate coated. I’ve met both kinds. Here you are—and put it to any purpose you please," he continued, with a loud guffaw. It was arranged that Brodsky and I should go down at the end of the week. About noon on the following Saturday we found ourselves at the little country village near which the mansion was situated. The coachman who drove us up was loud in his lamentations over the change of ownership. “He’s a low-down, mean cuss.” he exclaimed emphatically. “The parrells had owned It for nigh on a hundred and fifty years and he bought it over their heads when they couldn’t pay the mortgage. I don’t blame him for that so much, but he’s trying to put them out of their cottage, too; that’s mortgaged and he won't gtv« them a month’s extension; hates to see ’em, I reckon." At the door of his new residence Mr. Baron received us somewhat moodily. “Come ia. gents.” he exclaimed, rubbing his leg. ’They've been at me like mosquitoes all morning.” he continued. “Pinch, pinch—lt ain’t the pain. It’s the Indignity, and James thinks me crazy, hitting out at the air so much. This is the dining room.” It was the most fearsomely Incongruous thing that I had ever seen. The old oak paneling had been covered with scarlet paper, furniture In bright red plush coverings was scattered throughout the room, and mi two sides were huge mirrors with great gilt frames that reflected the

vulgar aspect of tfc# owner as ha paced to and fro. Drawn up to table was a plain wooden chair, apparently of antique workmanship, and singularly pleasing to the eye whefi contrasted with the rest of the par* phernalla. Suddenly our host leaped a foot into the air and struck * out wildly. At the same instant, in the mirror that faced ns, I saw for a fleeting second the horrified features of the footman In the halL “You’ll excuse me if I sit down," said Mr. Baron, sinking Into the wooden chair. “I give in. I'm here until you drive them away. James!" he called, and the footman appeared Instantly at the' door, his face again composed. "James, serve dinner here. L don’t know whether they’ll pinch you, gentlemen,” he added, “but you can try if you like." **■ I sat down with gome apprehension, but neither Brodsky nor I experienced the least uneasiness. “With your permission,” said the doctor, “we will take a short walk over to the Darrell’s cottage and inspect those other chairs. Which way is it?" “Over there, down by the crick,” said Baron contemptuously. “I suppose you know your business. But say, Doc," he went on anxiously,“you’re' not going to let on about me, are you? Good Lord, what a scoop for them. They hate me like poison. It’d be my political finish.” “Not a word,” said the doctor, and we went out. A walk of a few minutes brought us to the cottage, a pretty little place, from which the mansion was Just visible. The wife received us with hospitality and without inquiring our business, after the southern custom. Brodsky soon drew her out, while the daughter and young son sat by in silence. “I don’t blame Mr, Baron for buying the place over our heads,” said Jthe woman. "We couldn’t have kept It up after my husband died, and we

knew !t had to go. But he's taken over the mortgage on this cottage and threatens to put, us out next week and raze it to the ground. Heaven knows what will happen to us, for we’re at the end of our resources. All our poor furniture wouldn’t net us a hundred dollars." “Ah! Pretty old chairs, eh?” said Brodaky, looking around him. "The V-were good in their day,” said Mrs. Darrell with some slight touch of pride. “Mr. Darrell’s great-grand-father brought them over from England before the revolution. They made good furniture in those days—better than they do now—and if they don't look pretty, they’re worn well. But they’ve about outlived their usefulness Peters, the traveling peddler, has offered me fifteen dollars for the nine of them, and he’ll be here tomorrow. I’m thinking of letting them go.” “They’re an heirloom, I see, like the family ghost,” said Brodsky pleasantly. The woman started and cast a dubious glance at him. “You’ve heard about that, then?" she asked, coloring faintly. “They do saj there is a ghost, although it never troubled any of us." “Whose is it? The man’s who made the chairs?” “No, indeed," Mrs. Darrell answered. “It is supposed to be the spirit of the old gentleman who willed the chairs to my husband's great-grand-father. Mr. Darrell used to visit him constantly at his English estate before he died. The old fellow had become greatly attached to his chairs, and in his last days, when his mind had given away a. little, he used to think he had made them. He told Mr. Darrell that he would always be near them, and that they should never leave his descendants as long as they lasted. He left them to Mr. Darrell because he was almost as proud of them as the old gentleman himself; they were both fond of good furniture, and the maker—l forget name—had quite a reputation. r He died the year before Mr. Darrell emigrated. We used to play at table-turning sometimes, and the chairs used to dance all round the table and rap out all - * -4-

sorts of nonsense la the form of acrostics. I thought It was the old gentleman la his crasy moods, but my husband said It waa nothing but magnetism.” “Well, bis prophecy has come true,” said the doctor, “for they have certainly followed you here, and I shouldn’t be very surmised If they should remain with yon after aIL But now I have a favor to ask iff you. Thej-e have been some curious manifestations in the mansion, and we are going to hold a seance there. Will you come and sit with us? It Is imperative for its success." At first Mrs. Darrell stoutly refused. But when the doctor had set his mind upon anything he usually got it What arguments he used to persuade her I cannot recall; it seems to me now that It was his hypnotic powers that finally overcame her natural reluctance. Anyhow, five minutes later we three were strolling amicably toward the mansion. We found Mr. Baron waiting for us In his chair, a gloomy expression upon his face. At the sight of Mrs. Darrell he sprang to his feet with an oath—and promptly collapsed with a yell and began rubbing himself. >' " , “Mr. Baron,” paid Brodsky, “Mrs. Darrell has consented to sit with us at our seance, and her presence is absolutely necessary for Its success. She knows nothing,” he added in a whisper. “Sit In your chair and she will discover nothing.” “She’ll learn that they’ve been pinching me, won’t she?” shouted Mr. Baron, forgetting all caution. “No, for I have already thrown her into a hypnotic condition,” returned the doctor. “I would not bring her here under false pretenses, but I have already sealed her ears so that she cannot hear you.” He turned to the woman. “Mrs. Darrell,” he said, “there is nobody* in that chair.” “Why, of course not,” she returned,

looking at the doctor in some surprise. Baron’s mouth opened and his eyes almost protruded from his plump face. A low, wordless growl came from his throat “You told me I should meet Mr. Baron,” said the woman. “He is In the house, but you will neither see nor hear him,” answered the doctor. “But come, let us take our places for the seance." We closed the doors, drew up a small table into the center of the room, and arranged three chairs around It, Baron, In his, remaining where he Bat, forming the fourth. At a signal from the doctor I lowered the gas jet, so that only a faint light remained, just strong' enough to enable us to see each other’s faces. Mrs. Darrell sat between myself and Brodsky, with Baron facing us. We sat there for about five minutes; then the table began to tremble, aa though' some convulsion were taking place internally. Then two faint raps were heard. “Is anybody there?” asked Brodsky. "Louder, please. Now my friend, we want to find out your grievances and draw up a peace treaty with you. What is your name?” He ran slowly through the alphabet. When he arrived at the twenty-fifth letter a loud rap resounded upon the table.

"The letter Y," said Brodsky. "Now the next letter please. A, B, C, O ... . M The rap sounded at O. The next letter was U, and the next R. Then came fixe or six light rape together, indicating the termination of the word. "'Your!’” said the doctor. "It sounds like the termination of an epistle. Let's hare the next word, then.** The rapping began again as Dr. Brodsky went through the alphabet. The letters spelled out In succession were L, I, T, T, L, and E. Then again earns the terminal sign. And the last word was "dahlia.” “Your little dahlia!" said Brodsky Impatiently. “That's the. worst of the seance,” he continued to me, rathes- In an aside. “It attracts a mischievous and prankish form of elemental spirit whose messages, even when comprn-

henslble, are mostly a tissue of Has. It la the least valuable of any means of psychic Investigation, but, unfortunately In this case our only resource. I suppose we have got to be duped by some half-human intelligence of the usual low order.” There came two thunderous raps upon the table —the accepted signal for “no." “You protest, do. you, my friend," said Brodsky grimly. “Very well, you shall have another chance. Now, perhaps, you will tell us your proper name.” Three loud raps indicated willingness and Brodsky began to spell out the alphabet again. This time the signature was different It con tinned three words, as before, and they were “Jim, the Penman.” “I fancy I see some method in this madness,”' said the doctor, ignoring the three raps that joyfully assented to this remark. “And I fancy that our prankish friend will have still another signature upon the third attempt Now, sir,- let' us have the end of the charade.” The alphabet was slowly spelled out once more. This time the signature ran, “Chips, the Carpenter.” “Aha!” said the doctor. "Just as I expected. Yes, my friend, I understand your carefully veiled allusions. And now, perhaps you will afford us some indication of your desires.” Hardly had .the words left the doctor’s mouth when a scream burst from Baron’s lips. In the dim light, to which our eyes were now becoming accustomed, I saw him slide suddenly from his chair to the floor —or, rather, the chair seemed to be pulled violently from beneath him, as a mischievous schoolboy might have done to some venerable elder. And then the chair stood up solemnly upon .its back legs and began tilting backward and forward, kicking the prostrate man, much as a thug might kick his wife when he returned home drunk. Drunk, indeed, seems to be the word most suitable, for the thing balanced itself gravely and deliberately, but withal with difficulty, in the intervals between the kicks. Then, as Baron slid forward, screaming, into the center of the room, I saw the thing begin tQ_ sidle at him, butting him like a goat, Finally, withdrawing a foot or more to gain momentum, it waddled solemnly forward, mounted his prostrate form, and executed a clumsy dance upon the most prominer*, portion of his waistcoat.

I am afraid that all the sympathy •which I should have felt was extinguished in that burst of Homeric laughter that came from the doctor’s lips, in which I joined. There we sat by the table, rocking to and fro, speechless and apoplectic, while the chair executed its solemn ritual, now executing a pas de seul upon his chest, and again balancing itself upon one leg, apparently irresolute what antic it should next perform. And all the while Baron screamed like an insane man, yet so paralyzed by his terror that he could not move. I knew that James would break into the room, for the screams outrang our laughter, and were those of a man in mortal agony. But I was not prepared for the denouement. I heard a scuffling in the hall, the door was Sung wildly open, and a towering figure appeared In the doorway, that of a woman. For one instant she hesitated; then, without a word, by instinct, as it seemed, she found the exact location of the low gas jet and turned it on. There were we at the table, red in the face, there was Mrs. Darrell beside us, watching us in surprise and not understanding, there lay Baron upon the floor, dusty and battered, gripping with all his might the leg of the now Innocuous chair that seemed to have become entangled with his head. And then I realized that Mrs. Baron had returned from Europe. She drew herself up to her full six feet of height and glared at us with a single comprehensive gaze, “Stuyvesant, get up,” £he hissed. And the fear-stricken wretch rose slowly and painfully to his feet and stood before her as a delinquent schoolboy in the presence of his master. “So this is the way you have been enjoying yourself while I have been away!” she cried. "These are „Uje orgips you have been indulging in with these low creatures at your country seat, as you were pleased to call it in your letters to me! You thought you could hoodwink me, your wife, after 20 years of unhappy married life. But I’ll keep my eyes on you from this night forward. You shall not get the divorce you have been counting on,” she went on, becoming for the first time hysterical. The doctor half rose from his chair. In an instant the woman had staggered to her husband’s side. “O Stuyvesant, protect me from these ruffians,” she cried. “My poor Stuyvesantt, they have lured you here to rob and murder you. Come, leave this bouse and never set foot in It again.” She fell upon his neck. “My poor husband!” she sobbed, “hold me up, hold me up; I am going to faint" She promptly did, and it required the united efforts of Brodsky and myself to brace them up. We got her to a lounge at last in another room. Baron was at her side; outside I heard the chug-chug of the automobile as James prepared It for the night journey. Nothing, for an instant, would have induced Mrs. Baron to spend a night in the new home. In oge interval between her almost constant hysterics her husband stole out to us. He looked very different from the pompons creature who M come into the doctor’s office a few days before: "I’m glad.” he cried. To glad. AH hell seems loofce to-nlghf. I wouldn’t

stay here for—l wouldn’t Irtay for—for a street rajlroad franchise,” be spluttered. “Add Tm rained. Tve been kicked by a chalK I’ve bee* kicked by a chair, an old, dirty chair that I threw out Into the lot. What’ll they say about me at the capltol?” "Nothing.” said the doctor. “Neither of us will breathe a word of this, and nobody else sees or hears you?” “Whom are you speaking to, Mr. Brodsky?" asked Mrs. Darrell, nervously. “I don’t see anybod/T 1 Baron stared at her In wild incredulity and have. Then his mind went working backward. ‘Tve got a.white elephant on my hands,” he cried. “Nobody will buy the place, it’s so out-of-the-way. I’d take ten thousand for ’ H,” he cried hopelessly, i - ‘Til give you ten thousand for it,” said the doctor. “A bargain. When?" “Now,” he replied. “A verbal agreement Are you content?” “Done,” answered Baron. The* Brodsky took out the check he.had received and handed it to hbm Baron looked at it and his face turned green. He spun round on his end left us, and the fragments of the paper descended in a cloud behind us. Brodsky turned to Mrs. Darrell. “This is your home,” he said. “But who was the spirit?” I asked the doctor a few hours later. “Have you never played charades?” he asked. “What were the, names?

’Your little dahlia’; ‘Jim, the Penman’i and ‘Chips, the Cafpenter!’ Reverse the order, and what syllables do we obtain?” “Chip-pen-dale!” I exclaimed with sudden inspiration. “Exactly,” said Brodsky. “Of course, it was not the famous maker of chairs himself, but the old gentleman who, as Mrs. Darrell told us, imagined himself to be Chippendale, and talked in in acrostics. No doubt the insult to his chair when it was flung into the •et. inspired him with the desire to be revenged.” “But surely he would not still be insane after a hundred years of spirit life!” I said.- “That offers up rather hopeless chances for those of us who die deranged 1 nmind.” “Only when he returned to this earth sphere,” replied the' doctor.' “Then he would naturally take on the characteristics which he possessed on leaving it. But a hundred years is an unusually long period for a spirit to manifest itself upon this earth, and I think it is highly probable that, now that the Darrells are restored to their own home, he will pass on to higher spheres add cease to revisit us.”

Untold Riches.

Wealth is merely comparative. One’s possessions constitute a pit. tance or a fortune, according to one’s point of view. Rev. Frederic Denison tells a story of one of the inhabitants of old Westerly, R. 1., which shows there is no general standard of riches. The young man, prompted by patriotism and desire for gold, had enlisted in the uncertain business of privateering. On returning home after many and various bruises, he was thankfully greeted by his kin and anxious friends. His mother, with maternal solicitude, lnaulred: “Well, Harry, how have you made out? Did you get much money?*' „■ “Oh, yes, mother,” answered the adventurer, “I had good luck. lam rich. I shall have enough, with prudence and. care, to carry me through life, I hope.” “I am glad, my son. How much have you?” “Well, I don't exactly know yet, but I think when we settle up It will amount to S3O.” — Youth’s Companion.

The Name Seemed to Fit.

One day an old war veteran limped into a shop and said to the druggist: “I want some medicine. Some sort of vermifuge, I suppose.” “Well, colonel, where the trouble?” asked the clerk sympathetically. “Where does the seat of your difficulty seem to be?" "In my wooden leg, mister. It'e gettlif all worm eaten!” —Ladles' Home Journal.

Sensitive.

”1 found a purse this morning." “Did you return it?" • "No. The owner might have offered me a reward and It would haw wounded my pride.”—Bon Vlvant