Part 21 (1/2)

With thirty-five years' difference in their ages, and meeting him only when he was past middle life, she saw in him a great teacher--and he saw in her a rarely sensitive soul full of possibilities.

These potentialities were developed after Miss S---- went to New York, and soon placed her in a position of importance and responsibility.

She could not see in Mr. Saltus, as I did, a being who step by step had mounted a ladder of light on the rungs of his dead selves. She saw only the finished product, for the process of refinement, by which his greater qualities had been separated from the lesser, covered a long period of years.

Some of those who read this biography will say that Mr. Saltus may have been glad to escape at times from a home where animals were given so much attention. This remark has in fact been made to me by those who can judge only from the surface of things. The fabric of this criticism is, however, less substantial than moonlight. During the latter years of Mr. Saltus'

life much of Miss S----'s time was spent abroad. When Mr. Saltus saw her, as he did frequently during her intermissions in New York, he but left his home environment to go into a similar one. High-strung, nervous and temperamental, Miss S---- had the animal complex as strongly as I. Her apartment was never without one or two pets whose comfort, well being and happiness were her constant pre-occupation. Had he found these conditions under his own roof unpleasant, he would not have gone out of his way to duplicate them elsewhere.

Not long after Mr. Saltus' death, Miss S----and myself visited the Bide-a-Wee Home for Animals, of which I was a director. On our return home we noticed a poor lost cat trying to cross the street through densely congested traffic. With one accord we stood still, holding our breath, our hands clenched in agony, till the cat reached the further side in safety.

Our reactions were not only immediate, but identical.

I make no attempt to go into the whys and wherefores of it all, nor do I offer an explanation. The facts are as I have stated. An elucidation of them is work for a psychiatrist.

CHAPTER XVI

Toward the end of 1918, and after a short and unexpected illness, our Toto, who had walked beside us for over ten years, pa.s.sed over. To write of it even now is acute pain. The loss was like that of an only and uniquely beloved child. We were stunned, and in spite of my philosophy I went to pieces as I had never done in my life. It was over this heart-breaking event that Mr. Saltus displayed his extraordinary qualities.

”I wish you would have little Totesy's body cremated and her ashes kept and mingled with mine,” he said.

Astonishment brought the reply,

”I never realized that you loved her so deeply.”

”Nor did I until now, but it is not only that. Husbands may come and go, but there can never be but one Toto,” he said. ”With whom do you wish to be buried?”

I was silent.

”There, you have answered me,” he said after a pause. ”I am sure you are planning to be buried in the Dogs' Cemetery in Hartsdale. Do as I ask. Let Toto's ashes and mine be mingled,--then, no matter where you go or what you do in the future, yours too will rest with mine at the last.”

His wishes were carried out, and the ashes of the little being we loved so deeply are mixed with his own. Under a modest head-stone on which is engraved his name and the word ”Eternamente,” but a few feet from the monument covering the remains of his brother Frank, their ashes rest waiting to include my own.

This death cast a profound sadness over us. From comparative health, I went into a state of collapse and prolapsis such as I had never suffered before.

Too ill and too indifferent even to speak, unless absolutely necessary, our apartment became a place of silence. It was the most awful winter of our lives, but to his credit it must be said that Mr. Saltus not only never uttered a complaint but pretended all the time that his legs were rapidly getting better.

An unfortunate lease chained us to the depressing surroundings. It scourged Mr. Saltus' very soul to see me in such a condition and be powerless to help, for all he ever asked of me was to smile. When I could not do that, his world became night. He would sit beside my bed, the foot of which was elevated to an uncomfortable degree, and chat at length and delightfully on the interesting mysteries of antiquity in his effort to divert my mind.

It was then he started on ”The Imperial Orgy.” Taking some articles he had written for Munsey's Magazine years before as a base, he undertook, with the aid of some up-to-date books and notes he had gathered together during the years, to make a volume. Writing was not as easy as it had once been.

It required an effort he had never before experienced. Added to this, he took on a new job. For a man of letters it was an extraordinary thing.

Unacquainted with any detail of housekeeping, hating the petty, uninteresting trifles necessary to it, it was a far step for him to undertake ordering the meals and going to market. Upon occasions when for one cause or another the maid failed to appear of a morning, he even made my tea and toast and brought them to my bedside.

All the time he pretended to have a fancy for this. The shops on Amsterdam Avenue in the immediate vicinity of our apartment got to know him well. Now and again he would come in and say:--

”I went into a shop around the corner and a young lady jumped into my arms, licked my nose and tickled my ear with her tail. Don't tell me I am not a winner with the women.”

I had to smile at that. The ”young lady” was an Angora cat who embellished a shop in the neighborhood. To the amus.e.m.e.nt of her owner and the customers, she would jump on Mr. Saltus' shoulders as soon as he appeared, and, wrapping herself about his neck like a scarf, would purr loudly. That cat pleased him enormously, and he was never tired of telling me about her.

It was her purr which made him a constant patron of the shop.