text: Kelley v. Chicago Park District

title: Kelley v. Chicago Park District


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/107

" at that!" cried Joe.

"I should say so!" echoed his chum.

"Must have been a queer freak of the flood that could do that," commented Mr. Piper.

"Me for a picture!" exclaimed Joe, as he got out the camera.

"Is there light enough?" questioned Blake.

"I guess so—for a short run of film," answered his chum, and then, as the house, in its queer position, drifted down stream, and as the motor boat approached it, the occupants seeking a safe place to tie up for the night, Joe got a series of moving pictures.

"There it goes—stranded!" cried Blake, when his friend had finished grinding away at the crank of the camera. And, as he spoke, the house came to a sudden stop.

Probably the roof which was submerged in the water, had struck against a sandbar, or some

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/108

98 high place in the land that was under water.

At any rate, the upside-down dwelling turned slowly about, settled a little to one side, and then remained stationary in the water. It had stranded in a small cove, in which the moving picture boys, and their two friends, had also decided to take shelter for the night.

"We'll tie up to that big tree over there," said Mr. Ringold, pointing to a large oak that overhung the water. "I think that will stand, even though the waters rise higher."

"Tie with a long rope," advised Mr. Piper. "The river may rise suddenly in the night, and if we are held fast by a short cable, and can't rise with the 'tide,' we'll sink."

"I'll look out for that," promised the manager. "But I think the river is not rising so fast now. We can tell when we get near shore."

"It looks like more rain," remarked Joe, with a glance at the sky. "You wouldn't think there could be so much water; would you?"

"Hardly," agreed Blake.

The work of making the boat fast was soon finished. Certainly the oak tree to which they tied seemed, with its great trunk, and spread of roots, strong enough to withstand many a flood.

"And now for supper!" cried Joe, it being


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/109

Rh his turn to prepare the evening meal. The gasoline stove was started, and soon the appetizing odor of ham and eggs floated over the floodwaters, for our friends had purchased a supply at the last village where they had stopped to make inquiries.

"I only hope Birdie Lee, and the rest of 'em, are having as good a meal as this," murmured Blake, as he passed his plate for a second helping. "I'd give a good deal to know where they are now, and be able to help them."

"I think we all would," came from Mr. Ringold, and he spoke rather solemnly. "It's strange we can't get any word of them," he went on. "At the next town we make, if they have any telegraph service, I am going to wire my New York office, and ask if any word has been received there. Levinberg probably knows I'd be anxious about them, after hearing of the flood, and he might think to wire me."

"Pretty bad telegraph service, all along the river now, I guess," commented Mr. Piper.

"But they may be able to get a message through, somehow," said the manager, hopefully. "We'll wait half a day or so, after I send the dispatch, in case an answer should come back."

Supper over, the bunks were arranged for the


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/110

100 night. The weather was calmer now than at any time since the storms began that had caused the flood. The sun shone through the clouds a little, as it set. Blake and Joe, on the after deck of the motor boat, looked about them. On all sides stretched a vast extent of waters. They had driven a stake in near shore, and watched it to note the rise of the river. It was very slight now.

"Say!" exclaimed Blake, as he glanced over toward the upside-down house, "let's go over there and look inside. Maybe we can find something of value, that we might save for the owners."

"I'm with you," agreed Joe. Mr. Ringold offered no objection, and, after casting off the line, the motor boat was started up, proceeding slowly to the side of the overturned dwelling. The craft was then made fast to a hook in one corner.

"Let's go in," proposed Blake, when they had gazed through a window for a moment, not being able, however, to distinguish much.

"How do you act in an upside-down house?" asked Joe.

"You have to walk on the ceiling, of course," answered his chum. "The ceiling is the floor and the floor the ceiling. Come on."

They crawled in through a window. As Blake


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/111

Rh had said, they had to step on the ceiling, and with caution, too, for it was only lath and plaster. Over their heads was the floor, with the sagging carpet still tacked to it.

Of course all the furniture was on the ceiling, too, and it was in great confusion. Bureaus had fallen on their sides, smashing the plaster, and pictures had dropped from their hooks and lay on the ceiling. The house was a flat-roofed one, and all of what had been the third story was now under water. The third story was now the cellar, and the cellar, or what had corresponded to it, was the attic. Though, as the bottom of the cellar had been left on the ground when the house was washed from the foundations, there was no roof to the "attic."

"Quite a mix-up!" murmured Joe, as they went from room to room, stepping over the tops of the door openings.

Beds and furniture were piled in confusion in the different rooms, much of the stuff being broken. There were evidences, too, that water had come in some of the rooms, probably when the house turned over, but it had drained out, and now the rooms on the middle or second story were comparatively dry.

"Let's go upstairs, or, rather, downstairs, to the first story," suggested Blake.

Once on the top, or, rather, bottom floor, the


text:
Page:Two Treatises of Government.djvu/21

  larmine, p. 8. and, by a victory over him, etablihes his fatherly authority beyond any quetion. Bellarmine being routed by his own confeion, p. 11. the day is clear got, and there is no more need of any forces: for having done that, I oberve not that he tates the quetion, or rallies up any arguments to make good his opinion, but rather tells us the tory, as he thinks fit, of this trange kind of domineering phantom, called the fatherhood, which whoever could catch, preently got empire, and unlimited abolute power. He aures us how this fatherhood began in Adam, continued its coure, and kept the world in order all the time of the patriarchs till the flood, got out of the ark with Noah and his ons, made and upported all the kings of the earth till the captivity of the Iraelites in Egypt, and then the poor fatherhood was under hatches, till God, by giving the Iraelites kings, re-etablihed the ancient and prime right of the lineal ucceion in paternal government. This is his buines from p. 12. to 19. And then obviating an objection, and clearing a difficulty or two with one half reaon, p. 23. to confirm the natural right of regal power, he ends the firt chapter. I hope it is no injury to call an half quotation an half reaon; for God ays, Honour thy father and mother; but our author contents himelf with half, leaves out thy


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/112

102 boys found more confusion. The dining room table had fallen with its legs in the air, and piled about it was a buffet and chairs. The dishes lay about, broken and cracked.

In the kitchen the weight of the stove, falling from the floor to the ceiling, had caused it to crash through the lath and plaster, in which it was imbedded, partly covered by the cooking utensils.

"Nothing much of value here," commented Blake, as they walked about on the ceilings.

"Let's go back up; or, rather, downstairs," suggested Joe.

"Find anything?" asked the manager,

"Nothing worth saving for the owners," Blake answered.

"Well, then, we'd better be getting back," suggested Mr. Piper. "It will soon be dark, and there's no telling when this house may go adrift, or turn right-side up again. I don't want to be in it when it does."

They were about to crawl out of the window again, to get into their boat, when a curious cry stopped them.

"Hark!" exclaimed Blake. "What was that?"

"It sounded like someone crying," said Mr. Piper.


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/113

Rh "Mamma! Mamma!" came the plaintive call from one of the bedrooms.

"It is someone crying!" decided the manager.

"And in here, too," added Blake, as he made a turn in the direction of the sound.

Again it came—a pitiful cry:

"Mamma! I want you!"

"Where are you? Who are you?" asked Mr. Ringold, as he and the others followed Blake.

And there, sitting up amid a pile of bedclothes in a corner, hitherto unobserved, was a small boy, about eight years old. He had evidently just awakened, and was starting to cry. He rubbed his sleepy eyes.

"Well, my little man, who are you?" asked the manager, kindly.

"I'm Charlie," was the answer, "and I want my mamma."

"Charlie; eh?" went on the manager. "Well, tell us your other name, and maybe we can find your mamma for you. What's your last name?"

"Ain't got none. I'm just Charlie, and I want my mamma!" was the answer.

"Just Charlie," went on Mr. Ringold. "Well, I guess we'll have to take you along with us, and we'll try to find your mamma. Will you come with us, Charlie—er—well, 'just' Charlie?" and he smiled at the little chap.


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/114

104 "Call him Charlie House," suggested Joe, with a smile. "We found him in a house, so call him Charlie House."

"Good idea! We will!" decided the manager. "Will you come with us, Charlie House?"

"Yes, I'll come with you," answered the boy, as he threw off the bedclothes. "But my name is just Charlie."

"Well, Just Charlie, or Charlie House, come along then. I expect you're hungry, and we'll feed you, and do all we can for you," the manager said.

With the confidence of childhood, that knows no fear, the boy walked over the ceiling toward the rescuers. His clothing was in disorder, and his face was grimy from crying. Evidently, after the accident, he had cried himself to sleep. How he came to be alone in the overturned house could be but guessed.

"What's that?" suddenly cried Blake.

The whole house seemed to shake and tremble.

"She's adrift again, and going to turn over!" yelled Joe. "Come on! Let's get out!"

It was evident that the dwelling was going to be righted by the flood, for it tilted more and more.


text: The Moving Picture Boys and the Flood/Chapter 12


text:
Page:The Man in the Iron Mask.djvu/67

Rh in the merriest of moods. All the first story of the left wing was occupied by the most celebrated Epicureans in Paris, and those on the freest footing in the house—every one in his compartment, like the bees in their cells, employed in producing the honey intended for that royal cake which M. Fouquet proposed to offer His Majesty Louis XIV, during the féte at Vaux. Pellisson, his head leaning on his hand, was engaged in drawing out the plan of the prologue to the "Fâcheux," a comedy in three acts, which was to be put on the stage by Poquelin de Molière, as D'Artagnan called him, or Coquelin de Volière, as Perthes styled him. Loret, with all the charming innocence of a gazetteer—the gazetteers of all ages have always been so artless!—Loret was composing an account of the fétes of Vaux, before the fétes had taken place. La Fontaine, sauntering about from one to the other, a wandering, absent, boring, unbearable shade, who kept buzzing and humming at everybody's shoulder a thousand poetic abstractions. He so often disturbed Pellisson that the latter, raising his head crossly said:

"At least, La Fontaine, supply me with a rhyme, since you have the run of the gardens at Parnassus."

"What rhyme do you want?" asked the Fabler, as Mme, de Sévigne used to call him.

"I want a rhyme to lumière."

"Ornière," answered La Fontaine.

"Ah! but, my good friend, one cannot talk of wheel-ruts when celebrating the delights of Vaux," said Loret.

"Besides, it doesn't rhyme," answered Pellisson.

"How! doesn't rhyme?" cried La Fontaine, in surprise.

"Yes; you have an abominable habit, my friend—a habit which will ever prevent your becoming a poet of the first order. You rhyme in a slovenly manner."

"Oh, oh! you think so, do you, Pellisson?"

"Yes, I do, indeed. Remember that a rhyme is never good so long as one can find a better."

"Then I will never write anything again but in prose," said La Fontaine, who had taken up Pellisson's reproach in earnest. "Ah! I often suspected I was nothing but a rascally poet. Yes, 'tis the very truth."

"Do not say so; your remark is too sweeping, and there is much that is good in your 'Fables.'"

"And to begin," continued La Fontaine, following up his idea, "I will go and burn a hundred verses I have just made."

title: Page:The Man in the Iron Mask.djvu/67


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/115

" out!"

"Make for the boat!"

"Grab up the boy!"

"Lively, or it will be too late!"

Thus exclaiming, the rescuers made their hurried way toward the window, near which the boat was tied. Mr. Ringold had caught up Charlie House, as they had elected to call him, and, with the child in his arms, was given the right of way—that is, the others stood aside, and let the manager get to the window first.

Luckily the turning of the house was slow, and by a chance swirl of the current, the motor boat had been swung broadside to the window.

Also the tilting of the house was in the direction of that side where was the window by which they had entered, so that the upper part, corresponding to the sill, was nearer to the water, so they could more easily get over it, and into the Clytie.


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/116

106 In an instant Mr. Ringold had leaped into the boat and moved back out of the way, to make space for the others.

"Go ahead, boys!" cried Mr. Piper, as he stood to one side in the house, near the window, and waited for Blake and Joe.

"No, you go!" insisted Blake.

"Come on—don't argue! She's going to turn over again!" cried Mr. Ringold, and then the gloomy comedian fairly thrust, first Joe, and then Blake, through the window, from which the sash had been broken. The moving picture actor followed an instant later, and not a second too soon.

"Cut the rope!" yelled the manager, who was holding Charlie. The boy was crying again, probably from fright.

With one stroke of his keen-bladed knife, Blake severed the cable, and the boat drifted away from the house.

And, no sooner was the craft free than, amid a great swirl of the waters, the dwelling turned right-side up again, the furniture and kitchen utensils inside falling from ceiling to floor with a crash.

So big was the wave caused by this righting of the house that the Clytie was nearly swamped She bobbed about on the swell, and went nearly


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/117

Rh over. But she was a well balanced craft, and, after a bit, rode on an even keel once more.

"Narrow escape, that," said Mr. Ringold, solemnly, as he tried to comfort Charlie. The little lad was sobbing:

"I wants my mamma, I does! I wants my mamma! I want to go home!"

"We'll take you home, and to your mamma, as soon as we can," promised the manager, soothingly. "But don't you want to sleep in this nice boat, to-night? And see, I'll make the choo-choo engine go for you. Won't that be nice?"

"Yes," answered Charlie, now, smiling through his tears.

The motor was set going, and, as the house drifted on down stream, upright once more, and freed from the sandbar on which it had stranded, the motor boat was steered toward the big oak tree, where she was to be tied for the night.

Charlie House was so interested now, in the working of the machinery, and the various novel sights aboard the motor craft, that he forgot his loneliness. Blake spread him some bread and jam, and this completed the temporary happiness of the poor little waif.

Later he was given more supper, which he ate with a fine appetite, showing that he must


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/118

108 have been without food for some time. There was a spare bunk on the Clytie, and Charlie, the traces of his tears washed away, was soon sleeping comfortably in this.

"What are we going to do?" asked Blake, when the others sat in the small cabin that night, talking over the situation.

"Well, we've got to try to locate his mother; of course," said Mr. Ringold. "I'll have a talk with him in the morning, and see if I can't find out from what town or city it was his house was carried away. He ought to know where he lived, even if he doesn't recall his own name. And that may come to him by daylight. We'll just let him sleep now, and get some ourselves."

"For we've got a lot of work ahead of us," commented C. C. Piper.

"Going to stand watch and watch to-night?" asked Blake.

"I don't see any need of it," answered Mr. Ringold. "We are out of the way of the main flood here, and, even if the river does rise, we'll be all right. I think we'll all go to bed."

The night was a rather restless one for all save Charlie House. The little chap slept through it all, though about midnight the river began to rise again, as those aboard the boat could tell by her motions. But they were


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/119

Rh moored with a long cable, and it would need a great lift to put them in danger.

"Did my mamma come?" asked Charlie, as soon as he opened his eyes in the morning.

"No, but she'll be here soon, I hope," said Blake, who was near the bunk of the small chap. Charlie's eyes filled with tears.

"Come on, and see me get breakfast," urged Joe, who was willing to do his share in providing amusement for the little fellow. "I'll show you how to make flap-jacks," he went on.

"What's flap-jacks?" asked Charlie, interested at once.

"Well, maybe your mamma calls them griddle-cakes—or pancakes," said Blake.

"Oh, I love pancakes!" Charlie exclaimed, and the danger of a crying spell was over, for the time being, at least.

With prepared flour, Joe mixed up a batter, and soon the cakes were browning on a greased griddle, on the gasoline stove. There was maple syrup to eat on them, and with hot coffee for the older ones, there was served a meal anyone might have enjoyed.

"We're having it too easy," complained Blake, as he took a third helping of cakes. "It seems as though, in a flood like this, we ought to be eating hard tack."


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/120

110 "Well, we may come to that yet," said Joe, with a sigh. And it was not long after that when they recalled this talk, at a time when indeed they would have given much for even some hard tack.

But matters were propitious enough now, and, after the morning meal, the boat was started off again on her now double quest.

"I think the best plan for us to follow," said Mr. Ringold, when they were heading into the main river, "will be to stop at the first town we come to, and make inquiries, both about our friends, and Charlie's mother. I'll question him and see if he knows where he used to live."

But Charlie's memory was either very faulty, or the events of the flood had driven all recollection from his mind. All he could say was that he lived "home" with his papa and mamma, and he wanted them both, though, for the time, he was willing to stay with his new friends, and watch the "choo-choo" engine.

"But what did your father do?" asked Blake, thinking they might get some clew, if they knew his occupation.

"He works," said Charlie, contentedly. "He works for mamma and me."

"And you don't know where you lived?" inquired C. C.

"I lived home," was all Charlie would say.


text:
Page:Tales from the Gulistan (1928).pdf/31

Story I

a Pâdshâh giving orders to kill a prisoner. The helpless fellow began to insult the King on that occasion of despair, with the tongue he had, and to use foul expressions according to the saying: ‘Who washes his hands of life, says whatever he has in his heart.’ When a man is in despair his tongue becomes long, and he is like a vanquished cat assailing a dog. In time of need, when flight is no more possible, the hand grasps the point of the sharp sword.

When the King asked what he was saying, a good-natured vizier replied: “My lord, he says, ‘Those who bridle their anger and forgive men; for Allah loveth the beneficent.

The King, moved with pity, forbore taking his life; but another vizier, the antagonist of the former, said: “Men of our rank ought to speak nothing but the truth in the presence of Pâdshâhs. This fellow has insulted the King and spoken unbecomingly.”

The King, being displeased with these words, said: “That lie was more acceptable to me than this truth thou hast uttered, because the former proceeded from a conciliatory disposition, and the latter from malignity; and wise men have said, ‘a falsehood resulting in conciliation is better than a truth producing trouble.

He whom the Shâh follows in what he says, it is a pity if he speaks anything but what is good.


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/121

Rh "Then it rained, and mamma and papa took a lot of things out of our house, over to grandma's house. Grandma lives on a hill."

"They must have moved their valuables out when they saw the flood rising," commented Joe.

"What happened after that?" asked Blake.

"It rained," said Charlie, simply. "Mamma and papa took more things over to grandma's, and I went to sleep. When I woke up it was all dark, and my bed was crooked. I guess I fell out of my bed," he added.

"That was when the house went upside-down, I guess he means," suggested Mr. Ringold. "I can imagine what happened," he went on, in a low tone, as the boy went to the after rail to watch the debris floating by. "His folks began carrying out their valuables, and left him in the house. They made one trip too many, and the house was carried away, and upset. Charlie was in it, and he stayed in it until we rescued him. Now we've just got to trust to luck to find his folks."

They were fairly out on the flooded Mississippi again, and from the manner in which they were tossed about, and swirled this way and that, it could easily be guessed that the river had been augmented during the night, and that more rain had fallen along the upper water-shed.


text:
Page:Tales from the Gulistan (1928).pdf/32

The Manners of Kings The following inscription was upon the portico of the hall of Feridûn:

O brother! the world remains with no one; Bind the heart to the Creator, it is enough. Rely not upon possessions and this world, Because it has cherished many like thee and slain them. When the pure soul is about to depart, What boots it if one dies on a throne or on the ground?


text:
Page:Tales from the Gulistan (1928).pdf/33

Story II

of the Kings of Khorâsân had a vision in a dream of Sultân Mahmûd, one hundred years after his death. His whole person appeared to have been dissolved and turned to dust, except his eyes, which were revolving in their orbits and looking about. All the sages were unable to give an interpretation, except a Dervish, who made his salutation and said: “He is still looking amazed how his kingdom belongs to others.”


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/122

112 They stopped, about noon, at a small village, partly under water, and, while Joe and Blake made some pictures, Mr. Ringold and C. C. inquired for any word of the missing players, and for news of Charlie's folks. To send off any telegrams proved out of the question.

So many families had been separated, and so many mothers were looking for lost children, as well as children inquiring for missing parents, that no progress was made.

However, Charlie House seemed contented enough now, with his new friends. He was much better off than in the upside-down house, for he was comfortable and had enough to eat. He had been rescued only just in time, too, for he probably would have been killed, or at least severely injured, when the dwelling righted itself again.

The work of saving their belongings was being undertaken by many of the people of the village where our friends stopped, and scenes of this were filmed by the moving picture boys. Work was also in progress on a hastily-constructed levee, in an endeavor to prevent the whole of the town from being washed away.

Once more the rescue party was off. There was more danger now, as there was still more


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/123

Rh debris coming down the big, muddy water, and several times the boat was nearly struck by a floating house, or barn.

"We've got to keep a sharp lookout!" decided Mr. Ringold. "It won't do to be swamped—there'd be no getting ashore in this flood. Keep your eyes open, boys!"

With one in the stern and another at the bow, taking turns, the rescuers did all they could to prevent the boat from being damaged, by fending off logs and heavy driftwood.

The day wore on, and though they stopped at several other towns, in a search for Charlie's mother, their quest was unsuccessful. Nor was anything heard of the missing players.

"Well, I guess we'll have to look for another stopping place for the night," remarked Mr. Ringold, late that afternoon. He was about to turn the wheel over to Joe, for a rest, when Blake, who was in the extreme bow, cried out:

"Quick! Put her over! We're going to ram a barn!"


text: The Moving Picture Boys and the Flood/Chapter 13


text: Journal of the Optical Society of America/Volume 30/Issue 12/Spacing of the Munsell Colors


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/124

a moment Joe and Mr. Ringold did not know whether or not Blake was joking. But the lad in the bow cried again:

"Steer to the right, or you'll be into the barn, sure! It's directly in our course!"

And then Blake, springing back out of the front of the boat, gave his chum and the manager a clear view ahead, for he had been rather obstructing their vision. The two at the wheel saw a small barn, swirling around in the water. It was upright, and was directly in their path.

With a quick spin of the wheel Joe turned the rudder, and the Clytie glided past the barn, her rub-streak fairly grazing the structure. The barn had been hidden from view by a large tree which had drifted down with it, and the sudden separation of the foliage and the farm structure, revealed the latter to Blake just in time.

Then, as the motor boat swept on, there came from the interior of the barn a loud:


text:
Page:The Man in the Iron Mask.djvu/68

54 "Where are your verses?"

"In my head."

"Well, if they are in your head you cannot burn them."

'"True," said La Fontaine; "but if I do not burn them"

"Well, what will happen if you do not burn them?"

"They will remain in my mind, and I shall never forget them."

"The deuce!" cried Loret; "what a dangerous thing! One would go mad with it!"

"The deuce! the deuce!" repeated La Fontaine; "what can I do?"

"I have discovered the way," said Molière, who had entered just at this point of the conversation.

"What way?"

"Write them first, and burn them afterward."

"How simple it is! Well, I should never have discovered that. What a mind that devil Molière has!" said La Fontaine. Then, striking his forehead, "Oh, thou wilt never be aught but an ass, Jean La Fontaine!" he added.

"What are you saying there, my friend?" broke in Molière, approaching the poet, whose aside he had heard.

"I say I shall never be aught but an ass," answered La Fontaine, with a heavy sigh and swimming eyes. "Yes, my friend," he added, with increasing grief, "it seems that I rhyme in a slovenly manner."

"Oh, ’tis wrong to say so."

"Nay, I am a poor creature!"

"Who said so?"

"Parbleu! ’twas Pellisson; did you not, Pellisson?"

Pellisson, again lost in his work, took good care not to answer.

"But if Pellisson said you were so," cried Molière, "Pellisson has seriously offended you."

"Do you think so?"

"Ah! I advise you, as you are a gentleman, not to leave an insult like that unpunished."

"How?" exclaimed La Fontaine.

"Did you ever fight?"

"Once only, with a lieutenant in the light horse."

"What wrong had he done you?"

"It seems he had run away with my wife."

"Ah! ah!" said Molière, becoming slightly pale; but, as at La Fontaine's declaration, the others had turned round, Molière kept upon his lips the rallying smile which had so

title: Page:The Man in the Iron Mask.djvu/68


text:
Page:The Man in the Iron Mask.djvu/69

Rh nearly died away, and continuing to make La Fontaine speak, "and what was the result of the duel?"

"The result was, that on the ground my opponent disarmed me, and then made an apology, promising never again to set foot in my house."

"And you considered yourself satisfied?" said Molière.

"Not at all; on the contrary, I picked up my sword. 'I beg your pardon, monsieur,' I said. 'I have not fought you because you were my wife's friend, but because I was told I ought to fight. So, as I have never known any peace save since you made her acquaintance, do me the pleasure to continue your visits as heretofore, or, morbleu! let us set to again.' And so," continued La Fontaine, "he was compelled to resume his friendship with madame, and I continue to be the happiest of husbands."

All burst out laughing. Molière alone passed his hand across his eyes. Why? Perhaps to wipe away a tear, perhaps to smother a sigh. Alas! we know that Moliere was a moralist, but he was not a philosopher.

"’Tis all the same," he said, returning to the topic of the conversation, "Pellisson has insulted you."

"Ah, truly; I had already forgotten it."

"And I am going to challenge him on your behalf."

"Well, you can do so, if you think it indispensable."

"I do think it indispensable, and I am going to"

"Stay!" exclaimed La Fontaine. "I want your advice."

"Upon what? this insult?"

"No; tell me really, now, whether lumière does not rhyme with ornière."

"I should make them rhyme—ah! I knew you would—and I have made a hundred thousand such rhymes in my time."

"A hundred thousand!" cried La Fontaine, "four times as many as La Pucelle, which Monsieur Chaplain is meditating. Is it also on this subject too that you have composed a hundred thousand verses?"

"Listen to me, you eternally absent creature," said Molière.

"It is certain," continued La Fontaine, "that légume, for instance, rhymes with posthmne."

"In the plural, above all."

"Yes, above all, in the plural, seeing that then it rhymes not with three letters, but with four; as ornière does with lumière."

"But ornières and lumières in the plural, my dear Pellis-

title: Page:The Man in the Iron Mask.djvu/69


text:
Page:The Man in the Iron Mask.djvu/70

56 son," said La Fontaine, clapping his hand on the shoulder of his friend, whose insult he had quite forgotten, "and they will rhyme."

Hem!" cried Pellisson.

"Molière says so, and Molière is a judge of it; he declares he has himself made a hundred thousand verses."

"Come," said Molière, laughing, "he is off now."

"It is like rivage, which rhymes admirably with herbage, I would take my oath of it."

"But—" said Molière.

"I tell you all this," continued La Fontaine, "because you are preparing a divertissement for Vaux, are you not?"

"Yes, the 'Fâcheux.'"

"Ah, yes, the 'Facheux;' yes, I recollect. Well, I was thinking a prologue would admirably suit your divertissement."

"Doubtless it would suit capitally."

"Ah! you are of my opinion?"

"So much so that I have asked you to write this prologue."

"You asked me to write it?"

"Yes, you, and on your refusal begged you to ask Pellisson, who is engaged upon it at this moment."

"Ah! that is what Pellisson is doing, then?"

"I' faith, my dear Molière, you might indeed often be right."

"When?"

"When you call me absent. It is a wretched defect; I will cure myself of it, and do your prologue for you."

"But seeing that Pellisson is about it "

"Ah! true, double rascal that I am! Loret was indeed right in saying I was a poor creature."

"It was not Loret who said so, my friend."

"Well, then, whoever said so, ’tis the same to me. And so your divertissement is called the 'Fâcheux?' Well can you not make heureux rhyme with fâcheux?"

"If obliged, yes."

"And even with capricieux."

"Oh, no, no!"

"It would be hazardous, and yet why so?"

"There is too great a difference in the cadences."

"I was fancying," said La Fontaine, leaving Molière for Loret—"I was fancying"

"What were you fancying?" said Loret, in the middle of a sentence. "Make haste."

title: Page:The Man in the Iron Mask.djvu/70


text:
Page:The Man in the Iron Mask.djvu/71

Rh "You are writing the prologue to the 'Fâcheux,' are you not?"

"No! mordieu! it is Pellisson."

"Ah, Pellisson!" cried La Fontaine, going over to him. "I was fancying," he continued, "that the nymph of Vaux"

"Ah! beautiful!" cried Loret. "The nymph of Vaux! thank you, La Fontaine; you have just given me the two concluding verses of my paper."

"Well, if you can rhyme so well. La Fontaine," said Pellisson, "tell me now in what way you would begin my prologue?"

"I should say, for instance, 'Oh! nymph, who—' After 'who' I should place a verb in the second person singular of the present indicative; and should go on thus: 'this grot profound.'"

"But the verb, the verb," asked Pellisson.

"To admire the greatest king of all kings round," continued La Fontaine.

"But the verb, the verb," obstinately insisted Pellisson. "This second person singular of fhe present indicative?"

"Well, then; quittest:

"You would put 'who quittest,' would you?"

"Why not?"

"'Gentlest,' after 'you who?'"

"Ah! my dear fellow," exclaimed La Fontaine, "you are a shocking pedant!"

"Without counting," said Molière, "that the second verse, 'king of all kings round,' is very weak, my dear La Fontaine."

"Then you see clearly I am nothing but a poor creature—a shufller, as you said."

"I never said so."

'Then, as Loret said."

"And it was not Loret, neither; it was Pellisson."

"Well, Pellisson was right a hundred times over. But what annoys me more than anything, my dear Molière, is, that I fear we shall not have our Epicurean dresses."

"You expected yours, then, for the fête?"

"Yes, for the fête, and then for after the fête. My housekeeper told me that my own is rather faded."

title: Page:The Man in the Iron Mask.djvu/71


text:
Page:The Man in the Iron Mask.djvu/72

58 "Diable! your housekeeper is right; rather more than faded."

"Ah, you see," resumed La Fontaine, "the fact is, I left it on the floor in my room, and my cat"

"Well, your cat"

"She kittened upon it, which has rather altered its color."

Molière burst out laughing; Pellisson and Loret followed his example. At this juncture the bishop of Vannes appeared, with a roll of plans and parchments under his arm. As if the angel of death had chilled all gay and sprightly fancies—as if that wan form had scared away the Graces to whom Xenocrates sacrificed—silence immediately reigned through the study, and every one resumed his self-possession and his pen. Aramis distributed the notes of invitation, and thanked them in the name of M. Fouquet.

"The surintendant," he said, "being kept to his room by business, could not come and see them, but begged them to send him some of the fruits of their day's work, to enable him to forget the fatigue of his labor in the night.'"

At these words all settled to work. La Fontaine placed himself at a table, and set his rapid pen running over the vellum; Pellisson made a fair copy of his prologue; Molière gave fifty fresh verses, with which his visit to Percerin had inspired him; Loret, his article on the marvellous fêtes he predicted; and Aramis, laden with his booty like the king of the bees, that great black drone, decked with purple and gold, re-entered his apartment, silent and busy. But before departing: "Remember, gentlemen," said he, "we all leave to-morrow evening."

"In that case I must give notice at home," said Molière.

"Yes; poor Molière!" said Loret, smiling, "he loves his home."

"He loves,' yes," replied Molière, with his sad, sweet smile. "'He loves,' that does not mean they love him."

"As for me," said La Fontaine, "they love me at Château Thierry, I am very sure."

Aramis here re-entered, after a brief disappearance.

"Will any one go with me?" he asked. "I am going by Paris, after having passed a quarter of an hour with Monsieur Fouquet. I offer my carriage."

"Good," said Molière, "I accept it. I am in a hurry."

"I shall dine here," said Loret. "Monsieur de Gourville has promised me some crawfish."

title: Page:The Man in the Iron Mask.djvu/72


text:
Page:The Man in the Iron Mask.djvu/73

Rh "He has promised me some whitings. Find a rhyme for that. La Fontaine."

Aramis went out laughing, as only he could laugh, and Moliere followed him. They were at the bottom of the stairs when La Fontaine opened the door and shouted out:

The shouts of laughter reached the ears of Fouquet at the moment Aramis opened the door of the study. As to Moliere, he had undertaken to order the horses, while Aramis went to exchange a parting word with the surintendant.

"Oh, how they are laughing there!" said Fouquet, with a sigh.

"Do you not laugh, monseigneur?"

"I laugh no longer now. Monsieur d'Herblay."

"The fête is approaching; money is departing."

"Have I not told you that was my business?"

"Yes; you promised me millions."

"You shall have them the day after the king's entrée into Vaux."

Fouquet looked closely at Aramis, and passed his icy hand across his moistened brow. Aramis perceived that the surintendant either doubted him or felt he was powerless to obtain the money. How could Fouquet suppose that a poor bishop, ex-abbe, ex-musketeer, could find any?

"Why doubt me?" said Aramis.

Fouquet smiled, and shook his head.

"Man of little faith!" added the bishop.

"My dear Monsieur d'Herblay," answered Fouquet, "if I fall"

"Well, if you 'fall'?"

'I shall, at least, fall from such a height that I shall shatter myself in falling." Then, giving himself a shake, as though to escape from himself, "Whence come you," said he, "my friend?"

"From Paris—from Percerin."

"And what have you been doing at Percerin's, for I suppose you attach no such great importance to our poets’ dresses?"

"No; I went to prepare a surprise."

"Surprise?"

"Yes; which you are to give to the king."

"And will it cost much?"

"Oh! a hundred pistoles you will give Lebrun."

title: Page:The Man in the Iron Mask.djvu/73


text:
Page:Moving Picture Boys and the Flood.djvu/125

Rh "Moo!"

At the same moment a cow stuck her head out of a small window, and looked piteously at the rescuers.

"Too bad! We can't do anything for you, old cow!" cried Blake. "I guess you're done for, unless your barn floats to shore. I wish we had room for you," he went on, whimsically, "for we could use fresh milk very nicely." They had been obliged to put up with the condensed variety thus far.

The barn swept on down stream, turning around and around, as the boat went past it, the cow's head appearing at each turn, thrust through the window.

With a small moving picture camera, Blake got a few views of this odd scene, to add to the others already taken.

They decided to tie up for the night just above a small town, that was far enough from the banks of the Mississippi to have escaped the flood, thus far. But the inhabitants were in constant fear, and all available men were at work strengthening the levee.

Our friends managed to purchase a few supplies, and they got some fresh milk, which luxury Charlie had missed very much, for he was accustomed to drinking it.


text:
Page:Two Treatises of Government.djvu/22

  mother quite, as little erviceable to his purpoe. But of that more in another place.

§. 7. I do not think our author o little killed in the way of writing dicoures of this nature, nor o careles of the point in hand, that he by commits the fault, that he himelf, in his Anarchy of a mixed Monarchy, p. 239. objects to Mr. Hunton in thee words: Where firt I charge the author, that he hath not given us any definition, or decription of monarchy in general; for by the rules of method he hould have firt defined. And by the like rule of method Sir Robert hould have told us, what his fatherhood or fatherly authority is, before he had told us, in whom it was to be found, and talked o much of it. But perhaps Sir Robert found, that this fatherly authority, this power of fathers, and of kings, for he makes them both the fame, p. 24. would make a very odd and frightful figure, and very diagreeing with what either children imagine of their parents, or ubjects of their kings, if he hould have given us the whole draught together in that gigantic form, he had painted it in his own fancy; and therefore, like a wary phyician, when he would have his patient wallow ome harh or corroive liquor, he mingles it with a large quantity of that which may dilute it; that the cattered parts may go down with les feeling, and caue les averion. §. 8.