People's Pilot, Volume 5, Number 3, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 July 1895 — FOURTEENTH GUEST. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

FOURTEENTH GUEST.

, T has been said that it is always the unexpected that happens, and that to be prepared for emergencies one must be both a philosopher and a fatalist. As Prof. Smythe, musician, piano tuner and general utility man —in a musical way—

was going to the Globe theater, where he was to play a flute obligato with the regular orchestra, he would have been much surprised if any hint of a new calamity in his ru,n-down fortunes could have been then and there foretold. He certainly thought he had taxed the ingenuity of adverse fate to its utmost, and he had enough misery on hand to last a lifetime. But the misfortune awaiting him was of a grotesque turn, and quite unlike the others, which were the commonplace ones of illness, poverty and bad luck in everything he undertook.

Now, there is no refinement of cruelty equal in its pangs to the grip of poverty upon a sensitive nature that cannot borrow and will not beg; the poverty that is “genteel” in well-brushed garments, polished by the friction of time; of lean and hungry look, because never sufficiently fed; with pride perched like a sentinel on the threshold, keeping out the hag Charity, who comes to extol her»elf in a labored account of details in the lives of want. To this class of the genteel poor belonged Prof. Smythe, who, as he stepped along carefully In his frayed entourage, would have been ridiculous if he had not been pathetto. And, poor man, he did not know that he was either. He had hidden his poverty ostrich-wise, and never dreamed that he was attracting attention to it. Besides that, being a gentleiqan by birth, instinct and education, he attached no dishonor to his low estate. He was not the only man who had not made a financial success of life. As he walked along in the shrinking, depressed fashion that had become natural to him through habitude with misfortune, he was aware of the sudden opening of a door in a handsome residence he was passing, and a flood of orange light beaming across his path. At the same time a man in evening; dress ran lightly down the steps, seized him by the arm and said briskly; “My dear sir, excuse me, but would you do me a great favor?” Prof. Smythe forgot to draw Into his shell, so sudden was this attack. He stood still, like the wedding guest in the “Ancient Mariner," but finally stammered his need of haste and the occasion of it. “I will pay you twice as much and you will have nothing to do but make yourself agreeable. It will be a great ac-

commodatlon and I shall never forget it. I can see by your appearance that you are a gentleman—consider me a friend and accept my offer.” “But what Service is required of me?” asked the professor, who had had a vague idea that a grand piano had suddenly gone wrong. ."Why, you see, I am giving a dinner to some friends. It is all on the table, and we have just discovered that there are 13 of us; that would never do at all. Now if you will dine with us you shall be well paid for your services, and I dare say you will be in time for your flute solo at the theater, as you can be excused when you desire. You will, come? Thanks. The professor followed his host in a state of absolute subjection, as if he might have been hypnotized; but the fact was that the poor man had not broken his fast since morning, and the delicious aroma of the dinner coming through the open door proved irresistible. He gave his name in a whisper, was handed over to a servant, who took him upstairs into a guest chamber, helped him to remove his shabby overcoat, and whisked oft his best suit with a silver handled brush, taking Its threadbare glint for dust. It was well he was engaged to play, otherwise he would not have been in evening dress. He was beginning to enjoy the little comedy in which he was himself an actor. There was no introduction. His host motioned him to a seat between the maiden lady and a severe matron who turned her silken back on him to talk to her neighbor on the other side. The professor’s pride did not once assert itself. He was masquerading—that was all. But fate had not done with Professor Smythe. The consomme had a dash of champagne in it, and new life was Infused into the veins of this professional dinerout. The fish and game and pate that followed were all triumphs of the culinary art. and the hungry man cloyed the edge of his appetite, not by the bare imagination of a feast, but by the feast itself. It was no feast of the Barmecide either, for the viands were actual, and the wine was not a pretense, but a. de-. Ilghtful vintage, served in cut-glass lets. The poor professor felt like saying to his neighbor, "pinch me’” for it was like a dream Or an illusion rather than a reality.- - But the striking of the clock reminded him that he had been there an hour, and as he had broken the spell of the unlucky 13, be ventured to excuse himself and. rose stiffly from his place and bowed bimself out of the room. He. vtfas followed by a servant, who handed him an envelope with the com-,

ipttments of the gentleman with whom be had just dined. Not for worlds would he have opened it, though it was unsealed, before the man, but he accepted it graciously and went upstairs to get his hat and overcoat unattended. A number of handsomely appointed chambers were on the upper hall, and the professor glanced into each as he passed on his way to the particular guest-chamber where he had left his belongings. Perhaps he was a trifle overcome by sherry and other beverages, but he thought the room had been darkened and that he was right. He stood a moment in the doorway and looked cautiously in, peering about at the luxury, but at the same time noting that it was not the dressing-room for which he was looking. Before he could step back and turn down the corridor again, the unexpected happened. He received a sudden and violent push from behind, whicfy flung him forward out of the doorway into the room, the door was ‘instantly locked upon him, and he was a prisoner. “Smythe luck!” said the poor man as he tried in vain to open the door, and knew by the rumpus he could hear outside that the house was in a statfe of excitement; “I suppose they will think I was trying to steal something.” Then a frightened thought took possession of him, which caused cold drops of anguish to stand out on his gaunt cheeks. Did they suspect him ? Had he been observed? He opened the envelope tn his hand; it containd a flve-dollar note. That was generous, and he was sure his host had suspected nothing, but the mere thought of the situation in which he was placed drove him to the verge of distraction. And to add to his terror, he heard the alarmed household coming upstairs, and the next moment the door of his room was opened, and his host, backed by all the male guests, stood in the open doorway. “What are you doing here?” was the first question his host propounded; “tell the truth now as you would hope for mercy.” “I came here to get my hat and coat,” said the professor, the dignity of ail the Smythes since Mount Ararat in his thin, rasping tones. “A likely story. Turn your pockets Inside out,” commanded the host. “I refuse to do it.” ’ “Then I will send for the police. I was willing to give you a chance, but if you refuse to be searched, you are guilty.” “I am not a thief.” I do not know. Your aotions are very suspicious. You can explain matters to the chief of police. There must be reasons why you refuse to be searched; if you are honest, you can have nothing to conceal." “Walt!” cried the unfortunate professor, “I came here to-night <t your earnest solicitations to do you a service, kind you trap me as if I were a burglar.” “You are caught prowling in a distant part of my house—you refuse to be searched—an Innocent man would be glad to clear his name from suspicion —how do I know what valuables you have secreted about you?” A hollow laugh rang through the room. Was it possible the bold intruder dared to laugh at them. It was the laugh of despair, and as such it smote upon the heart of the host, Who looked troubled and perplexed. His enforced guest saw the look, and it suggested a line of action to him. “Send those men away,” he said, pointing to the group of alarmed guests crowding in at the door. He was glad the women had remained below stairs, and not come to gaze upon his discomfiture. He did not know that they were locked up in fear and trembling in a distant parlor. "We won’t go,” chorused the group; "he may want to murder you." “I don’t think he will,” said the host, who was really soft-hearted. “I’ll trust him, and you fellows can go to the ladies. I’ll call if I need help.” They went, rather glad to be out of it, and the two men, left together, eyed each other, one waiting for the other to speak. They were exactly opposite In appearance, one rosy and rubicund, the other thin and anxious—a meager travesty on a successful man. “I refused to let you search me,” said the professor slowly, “because—oh, my God, how can I acknowledge it—l am a thief!”

The other man started and moved toward the door. Then he waited. “I have stolen from you—here, let me show you, and you will know why I could have died easier than to have those people gloating over me. See here —and—here and here.” He took the valuables out of his pocket one by one. They made a strange exhibit as he piled them up on the table in front of him. They were a roll of dinner bread, a plate, a sweetbread rolled in a leaf of lettuce, a chicken breast, a bit of toasted bread, and, * caviare sandwich. He brought them out; to the last crumb, with a manner of one who lays his life on the altar of sacrifice.. “Great heavens, man, what does this mean?” asked the astonished host. “It means,” replied the other solemnly;, "that my sick wife and my little children are starving, and that I pilfered from my food at your table to give them, for my rent is overdue’, and the money I earned is already f ?rrt." “But what did you eat yourself?” “More than I have eaten for many a day. But now do with me what you will." “Would you mind putting these things back, into your pocket?” inquired his host vaguely. “Now come with me.” He took him by the arm and led him down stairs t and into the . presence of the shaking guests. “I—l made a bad mistake, my friends,” he said, “this gentleman has proved himself perfectly Innocent of any attempt at crime, and I must beg you to remain silent as to the events of this evening. He is under my protection from this time, and you will all agree with me that we are extremely sorry that such a mistake should have occurred.” Gt course they all agreed with the sentiments of their host, whatever they were, and Prof. Smythe was allowed to take his leave amid profuse apologies.

“MY DEAR SIR. EXCUSE ME.”