Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 40, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 February 1911 — Page 2

The Chairs of Stuyvesent Baron

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

iCoiOrrtebt. IN*. ttj W. Q.Chspts.) liStM Britain.)

SMONG the numerous Investigations which Dr. Ivan Brodsky made in - my company I recall the case of Stuyvesant Baron's furniture, because of the poetic Justice which it flwought about Barely, indeed, did •ay visitor from the unseen world so thoroughly justify his appearance as fia this instance, or work such perma•eat beneficial effects upon the character of his victim. We had seen no one for several <Aays, being engaged upon a study of peculiar delicacy in confection with the pituitary body in the brain of a * chimpanzee, when, one afternoon, a loud and important voice in the parlor followed the announcement of the doctor's servant The visitor had in•fsted upon entering, he said, and he had been compelled to admit him rather than suffer a scene outside. Brodsky smiled rather grimly, put down the brain of the ape, and went cot into the ante-chamber, motioning to me to follow him. "Dr. Brodsky," began our visitor, "■when I ten you that I am Mr. Stiiywesant Baron, you will at once know *ll about me. You have been recomasended to me by a friend of mine, •whose name is immaterial, as likely to serve my purpose, and you shall he well paid for your work. I want sou 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 gold watch chain stretched across his waistcoat, and he had that atmos phere of indescribable vulgarity and cverbearingness that is associated with the newly enriched. I knew the man by reputation as a prominent politician at the capltol, who had achieved a Targe 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 St did not collapse under him. “Well, perhaps. I'd better begin at the beginning and 'explain the matter," he mid. “You have heard, no 4oubt, of my influence in the capitol, and how I worked my way up, from (quite humble beginnings, to my present position. Well, sir, it was always the dream of my life to own one of them 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 •outhern family—plenty of ancestors, hut 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 pot it on the market, and as soon

" A pompous individual"

mm it was advertised for I went to see It and I said, ‘Stuyvesant, that’s yours.’ My wife’s away in Europe—comes back next month, and I thought rd buy it and fit it up for a surprise for her. Well, Doc, I bought it. “There's a hundred acres or more goes with it, and naturally when I boagtat the place I thought I’d gotten rid of those beggarly southerners for good and all. Well, first thing I knew they’d moved to a little cottage they cam just across the boundary and installed themselves there, spoiling the slew of the crick for me. I’v been trying to put them out ever since, snd think I’ve got them nailed now. However, that’s by the way.

By H. M. EGBERT

"When I looked inside my new house I nearly died of laughing. Never mw such s 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 t|iey 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 in last 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 went to bed the first night and had a good Bldfep. 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,’ Me said. “I tried smother chair: same thing. It 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 rests. 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 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; it gives if tone. And I didn’t care to tell you, but the /act is they pinch me. I’m black and blue;’’ be ended mournfully. Somehow his pompous demeanor seemed to be subsiding under the doctor’s influence. “When you sit down?” asked Brodsky. r “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. "Therfe’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 chghge of ownership. / “He’s a low-dowp; mean cuss.” he exclaimed emphatically. “The Darrells 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 give 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 in, gents,” he exclaimed, rubbing his leg. “They’ve been at me like mosquitoes all morning” he continued. “Pinch, nincb—it 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 on two sides were huge mirrors with great gilt tcames that reflected the a•• ... , ‘ ' ■ ... *

vulgar aspect dt the owner u to paled to and fro. Drawn up to the table was a plain wooden* chair, apparently of antique workmanship, and singularly pleasing to the eye when contrasted with the rest of the paraphernalia. Suddenly our host leaped a foot into the air and struck out wildly. At the same instant, in the mirror that faced os, 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. I don’t know whether they'll pinch you, gentlemen," he added, “but you can try if you like." I Mt down with some apprehension, but neither Brodsky nor I experienced the least uneasiness. “With your permission," 1 said the doctor, “we will take a short walk over to the Darrell’s cottage and inspect those other chsirs. Which way is nr “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 the woman. "We couldn’t have kept it up after my husband died," and we

knew it had to go. But he’s taken over the mortgage oh this cottage and threatens to put us out next week and rase 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 Brodsky, looking around him. "They were good iq their day,” said Mrs. Darrell with some slight touch of pride. “Mr. Darrell’s great-grand-father brought them qver 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’ve 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 cut a dubious glance at him. "You’ve heard about that, then?” she asked, coloring faintly. “They do say 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 chaire 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. lie 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 hig name—had quite a reputation. 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

Sorts of nonsense In the form of acrostics. I thought it was the old gentleman in his crazy moods, hut my husband said it was nothing but animal magnetism." "Weil, his prophecy has come true," Mid the doctor, “for they have certainly followed you here, and I shouldn’t be very surprised If they should remain with you after all But now I have a favor to ask of you. There 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 refusedBut when the doctor had set his inind upon anything he usually got it What arguments he used to persuade her f 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 himBelf. “Mr. Baron,” said Brodsky, “Mrs. Darrell has consented to sit with us at our seance, and her presence is absolutely necesMry 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 fedse-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 sat, 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 a*d Brodsky, with Baron facing us. We sat there for about five minutes; then the table began to tremble, as though some convulsion were taking place internally. Then two faint Taps 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, D ... .” The rap sounded at O. The next letter was U, and the next R. Then came five or six light raps together, indicating the termination of the word. “'Your!*” said the doctor. “It sounds like the termination of an epistle. Let’s have 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 came 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, rather In an aside. “It attracts a mischievous and prankish form of elemental spirit whom messages, even when compre-

hensible, are mostly a tissue of lies. 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 dune two thunderous raps upon the table —the accepted signal tor “no.” _ ~ *!You protest, do yon, my friend," Mid Brodsky grimly. “Very well, you shall have another chance. Now, perhaps, you will tell us your proper name." ■ , Three loud raps Indicated willing ness and Brodsky began to spell out the alphabet again. This time the ture was different It contained words, as before, and they were the Penman.” incy I see some method in this j&dness,” said the doctor, ignoring Jlne 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 under- ‘ stand 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 tijting 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 to 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 prominent portion of his waistcoat.

I dm afraid that all 4.he 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 exeeuted 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 flung wildly open, and a towering figure appeared in the doorway, that of a For one instant Bhe 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 t 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,” she 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 the orgies 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 ril 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-Hrst 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 house and never set foot in it again.” She fell upon his neck. “My poor husband I” 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 fcs James prepared it for the night journey. Nothing, for on instant would have Induced Mrs. Baron to spend a night in the new home. In eye interval between her almost constant hysterics her husband stole oat to os. He looked very different from the pompous creature who bad come into tbs doctor’s office a few day® before. *.m ... “I’m. glad,” be cried. *Tm glad. All bell seems loose tonighf.. I wouldn’t

stay her® for—l wouldn’t stay f&MX for a street railroad franchise,” h* spluttered. “And I’m reined. Ft# been kicked by a chaiK I've bee* kicked by a chair, an old, dirty chair that I threw out into the lot. Whatfll they say about me at the capitol?” “Nothing,” said the doctor. “Neither of us will breathe a word of this, ailii nobody else sees or hears ypu?* “Whom are you speaking to, Mr. Brodsky?” asked Mrs. Darrell, nervously. “I don’t see anybody.” Baron stared at her in wild incredulity and hope. Then his mind went working backward. “I’ve got a white elephant on my bands,” he cried. “Nobody will buy the place, it’s so out-of-the-way. I’d take ten thousand ior it,” he cried hopelessly. ‘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. Then Brodsky took out the check he had received and handed it to him. Baron looked at it and his face turned green. He spun round on his heel and 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 thg doctor a few hours later. “Have you never played charades?” he asked. “What, were the names?

‘Your little dahlia’; ‘Jim, the Penman’; and ‘Chips, the Cafpenter!’ Reverse the order, and what syllables do we obtain?” “Chlp-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 >at, 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 and cease to revisit us.”

Untold Riches.

Wealth is merely comparative. One’s possessions constitute a pittance 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, bad enlisted in the uncertain business of privateering. On returning home after many and various cruises,' be was thankfully greeted by his kin and anxious friends. His mother, with maternal solicitude, inquired: "Well, Harry, how have you made out? Did you get mqch money?" “Oh, sea, mother,” answered the adventurer, “I had good luck. lam rich. I shall have enough, with prudence and cpre, to carry me through life, I hopq.” “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 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 r* asked the clerk sympathetically. "Where does the seat of your difficulty seem to be?" “In my wooden leg, mister, tt’a gettla* all worm eaten!”—Ladles* Home Journal.

Sensitive.

"I found a purse this morning. l * ' "Did you return it?” “Nat The owner might have ogferafi me a reward and It would haw wounded my pride.”—Bon Vlvant