Part 48 (2/2)
”But I love to see them, so droll they are.”
Stealthily the fantastic creatures began to climb the stairs, one, two, three flights, traversing a long hall at the end of each flight and turning to climb again. The expense of keeping a light on each floor for the corridors was not allowed in this building, and they moved along in the darkness, but for the flickering light of the few candles carried among them. As they neared the top they grew more stealthy and kept close together on the landing outside the studio door. One stooped and listened at the keyhole, then tried to look through it. ”Not there?” whispered another.
”No light,” was the whispered reply. They spoke now in French, now in English.
”He has heard us and hid himself. He is a strange man, this Scotchman.
He did not attend the 'Vernissage,' nor the presentation of prizes, yet he wins the highest.” The owl stretched out an arm, bare and muscular, from under his wing and tried the door very gently. It was not locked, and he thrust his head within, then reached back and took a candle from the ghost. ”This will give light enough. Put out the rest of yours and make no noise.”
Thus in the darkness they crept into the studio and gathered around the table. There they saw the unopened envelopes.
”He is not here. He does not know,” said one and another.
”Where then can he be?”
”He has taken a panic and fled. I told you so,” said the ghost.
”Ah, here he is! Behold! The Hamlet of our ghost! Wake, Hamlet; your father's spirit has arrived,” cried one in English with a very French accent.
They now gathered before the dais, shouting and cheering in both English and French. One brought the envelopes on a palette and presented them. The young man gazed at them, stupidly at first, then with a feverish gleam in his eyes, but did not take them.
”Yes, I found them when I came in--but they are--not for me.”
”They are addressed to you, Robert Kater, and the news is published and you leave them here unopened.”
”He does not know--I told you so.”
”You have the packet in your hand. Open it. Take it from him and decorate him. He is in a dream. It is the great medal. We will wake him.”
They began to cheer and cheer again, each after the manner of the character he had a.s.sumed. The a.s.s brayed, the owl hooted, the ghost groaned. The ape leaped on the back of the throne whereon the young man still sat, and seized him by the hair, chattering idiotically after the manner of apes, and began to wag his head back and forth. In the midst of the uproar Demosthenes stepped forward and took the envelopes from the palette, and, tearing them open, began reading them aloud by the light of a candle held for him by Lady Macbeth, who now and then interrupted with the remark that ”her little hand was stained with blood,” stretching forth an enormous, hairy hand for their inspection. But as Demosthenes read on the uproar ceased, and all listened with courteous attention. The ape leaped down from the back of the throne, the owl ceased hooting, and all were silent until the second envelope had been opened and the contents made known--that his exhibit had been purchased by the Salon.
”Robert Kater, you are at the top. We congratulate you. To be recognized by the 'Salon des Artistes Francaises' is to be recognized and honored by all the world.”
They all came forward with kindly and sincere words, and the young man stood to receive them, but reeling and swaying, weary with emotion, and faint with hunger.
”Were you not going to the mask?”
”I was weary; I had not thought.”
”Then wake up and go. We come for you.”
”I have no costume.”
”Ah, that is nothing. Make one; it is easy.”
”He sits there like his own Saul, enveloped in gloom. Come, I will be your David,” cried one, and s.n.a.t.c.hed a guitar and began strumming it wildly.
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