CHAPTER IX.

DRAWING A CORK. “My ownest, I must to Hindustan.” This announcement came unexpectedly, hurriedly, one evening just before tea. The Mystic was evidently excited. Mrs. Vanderhook was startled. She said,--“Great Scott”--in tones of alarmed surprise. “Be not alarmed, sweetest of mortals. It is nothing very dangerous. Nothing, only a very disagreeable trip. My body has been left unguarded. There are some very large and unpleasant tigers in the vicinity, and should they strike the scent, you know,--I must return and get into my body and have some one kill the beasts. Then I will take some material refreshment, relocate my body more securely and back again to my Goo-Goo Eyes.” “But why should you bother about that old body?” pouted the lady. “Ain’t you all right as you are?” The mystic laughed. It was a soundless convulsion of mirth. “Why, my kitten, don’t you see that even though we love, we are not upon the same--same--plane? That is to say, you’re in the physical body, and I’m out of mine.” “Well, but what difference?”--she began. “All the difference possible, in this particular world, my queen. Now don’t you see my little scheme? When you succeed in this divorce business I mean to resume my physical body, feed it up, cut its hair, and get it some good clothes, and then--why, then,--I intend to bring it back here in the regular way,--and then--we’ll be regularly married.” It was now the lady who laughed. “Well, if you ain’t too cute for anything.” They had previously consulted a Chicago lawyer who assured them, statutes to the contrary, he not only would work the decree, but would secure alimony in addition. He said he would base the suit upon cruelty and desertion and abandonment without “visible or tangible cause.” This delighted the Gnani, for though himself self-supporting, the lady would require physical sustenance for some time. “And you’ll hurry back, Lonnie Llama?” pleaded Imogene. “But twenty-four hours at most, Sweet Thing, only tonight and tomorrow, and tomorrow I’ll telep every sixteen minutes from sunrise to sunset.” “Well, if you must--you must,”--sighed Imogene. “I wish you didn’t have to stay but a couple of minutes.” “Well, it’s good-bye sweetest,--until--until--” and the mystic sighed dismally; “until sunset tomorrow.” “No, no, I can’t have it so. Linger--longer--Lonnie Llama. I’m all broke up,” and Imogene wept. “I say, what’s the rush?” The lovers, startled, sprang to the extreme ends of the divan. It was the unhappy Bill Vanderhook who stood before them. Unhappy? No. Surely this was not the face of an unhappy man, nor of a vengeful one. He did not even appear to be out of humor. His face was illumined with a benevolent smile. His hat was shoved well back on his head and his hands were in his pockets, after the manner of extreme joviality. He had entered unobserved and now stood surveying them with the most genial and conciliatory smile. “What’s this about leaving us?” he demanded of his old chum in the old friendly tone. Unprepared for such treatment, the seer sheepishly explained the unpleasant predicament of his physical envelope in the caves of Gingalee. “Well, do you mean to stay there then?”--anxiously, almost hopefully, from Bill. “I should say not. I’ll be back by tea time tomorrow sure. You know, Mrs. Vanderhook expects me to look after the decorations of her April-Fool tea party. That’s tomorrow, you know, so--” Bill’s brows contracted wickedly for an instant. Then he laughed. “Then why in Sam Hill are you going at all?” demanded Bill; which entailed another recital of the danger. “But what if the beasts do eat up your old hide! It won’t hurt ’em even if it is a tough proposition. And you don’t need your cuticle and cartilage any more, as I can see--and besides, I want you home today specially. I want you home tonight anyway, for, Leff and Genesy, too”--and Bill’s voice dropped,--“suppose we let bygones be bygones. I’ve been a Tom-Fool to monkey with the irrevocable. I concede the superiority of the astral. I acknowledge your primordial claim upon each other. But I’m tired of these strained relations in the house. Let’s have peace and a good time. And now that I’m finding consolation in Science, why not let’s call off the fight? Let’s have a cessation of hostilities and a renewal of confidences.” “With all my heart,” said Alonzo Leffingwell, which appeared more cordial than the fact really warranted. For in his state of being, “heart” was a very empty space. “I’m reconciled,” he continued languidly. “Me, too,” sighed Imogene, suspiciously and reluctantly. “Shake,” said Bill in a loud, glad voice, laying one hand over his wife’s and shaking the other cordially through the wrist of the astral gentleman. “I say, let’s celebrate. I’m dead tired of this lonesomeness down in the coal bins--and--now, the fact is, Genesy”--and Bill went on gaily,--“I’ve anticipated our reconciliation and I want you both to come down to my workshop. I’ve got a nice little layout for you in the laboratory. Of course, I know Leff isn’t much on vittles--but I do know Genesy likes the pop of a cork. Don’t you, old girl?” “You better believe,” assented Imogene. “And did you really get some Extra Dry?--I--” “Well, you just come and see what I’ve got for you. As the French say, this is an ock-kazh-un. We’ll just pop a few corks. Let’s agree to swallow the past in a couple of pints of Mumm’s best, and--come along or the ice will melt.” And he half pulled and half pushed Mrs. Vanderhook toward the inside cellar-way. The Mystic followed slowly, haltingly, and then hurried on to Imogene’s side. “I have a presentiment”--he murmured. “Of what, Lonnie Llama?” tenderly. “Alas, I know not what; but I am seldom left on these impressions. Let’s not go into the cellar.” “Why, what can _he_ do to an _astral_ man? He couldn’t hurt you if he tried.” In her eagerness Imogene spoke loud enough for her husband to hear. Bill Vanderhook appeared to be smoking a cigar. In reality he was gnashing his teeth. Alonzo said no more, but laid his hand apprehensively over the region formerly occupied by a heart. They were now in the cellar, and in another moment the trio had passed through the laundry--past the fruit closets and the coal bins, and were now ushered into the partitioned corner which had been converted into a library and laboratory. They entered the library, which was comfortably furnished, brilliantly lighted, well ventilated and altogether a Cosy Corner for--a studious man. Book-shelves encircled the walls, and many and musty were the ancient volumes which jostled the modern authorities thereon. The further room, connecting the laboratory, was now in total darkness. But through the black open doorway came a soft musical burr-r-r-r-ing, whirr-r-r-r-r-ing. Now and then little sparkles of light crossed the black aperture. Bill beamed upon his guests. He tilted his hat back a bit further, then he took off his coat, his cuffs. He began to look like Business. Out of the big, wooden pail he lifted a long, slim, dark bottle. From his pocket he drew forth a corkscrew. The bottle he set on the table. The corkscrew he laid beside the bottle. Then he ranged three-wide-mouthed, slim-necked glasses side by side. “And here’s to us--later,”--he lightly remarked. But to such as Alonzo Leffingwell “Extra Dry” does not appeal. The Seer viewed the spread with something like scorn. Then he turned his attention to the connecting door. He riveted his gaze upon the open doorway of the darkened inner chamber. “I feel strangely drawn to that room,” he murmured to Imogene. “Well, I don’t,” she answered with emphasis. "Let’s go straight back--after the Mumm.” “Well, I should say--_NIT_”--and Bill playfully pushed her toward the room where the little sparkles flew across the blackness. “Come along Leff, we’re now ready to draw the first cork.” And reaching up, Bill Vanderhook pressed a button in the door-jamb. On the instant, in a flash, quicker than thought, without one word of apology or glance of farewell, the Illuminat of Illinois shot from the side of his Soul Mate, straight into that yawning doorway and was swallowed up in a sudden, blinding glare of light.