CHAPTER VI.

THE GAY GNANI OF GINGALEE. These same five years had rolled over the Mansard Roof. The State Asylum still extended its hospitalities to the irresponsible and extra-illumined. The Vanderhook Drug Store remained as the LEADER, with additions and enlargements of stock. Mr. and Mrs. Wm. K. Vanderhook, Jr., continued as ornaments to society, whose goings and comings were recorded, not only in the local Clarion, but in the big Chicago pink and green Sporting Extras whenever they attended the Horse Show or came in to root for the Cubs--or entered a fancy cat or dog for the annual “Show.” To Mr. and Mrs. Vanderhook these had been years of social advancement and material success. Since his father’s death, the drug business had prospered in his son’s hands. The young man had also developed interest in politics and acquired a few ambitions in Kankakee. Our old friend “Bill” was now “William.” He was more than this. He was known and referred to as the Honorable Wm. K. Vanderhook; for he had enjoyed successive honors as Councilman, Mayor, and was now talked of for the Legislature. It was in view of this that his friends gave him the complimentary prefix. He was also Captain of the Home Guard, Chairman of the County Committee, Secretary of the Y. M. C. A., and President of the Electric Light Plant. All this he was, and did, and still umpired at many a ball game, and judged at all the Baby Shows. And what of his wife, the adorable Typewriter, who had chosen the “Mansard Roof” and given notice to Slaughter & Steers on that sunny June morning five years ago? She was the same charming and insouciant Imogene, the same dainty and debonnair creature who had so swiftly captured the town and won for herself all modern conveniences and many of the luxuries. She was a light in the first circle of Kankakee. She gave “functions.” Her “At homes” were highly spoken of. Her Pink Teas and Lavender Dinners, and red Touring Car and yellow Toy Dogs were the talk of the town. With a gentle but firm hand she ruled her husband’s house, and purse--and himself--when he was not looking. Near-silks and close-to-Seals and Rhinestones knew her no more. It was now the Real Thing, and nickle-saving days were past, and the trolley car and the matinee gallery were forgotten. But she still remembered Alonzo Leffingwell. She occasionally wondered if he had forgotten her. Tonight is the fifth anniversary of their marriage, and Mr. and Mrs. Vanderhook have entertained a large company. The best people of Kankakee and some choice friends of Chicago had gathered under the Mansard Roof. It was a long-remembered festivity. Society called it a Swell Affair. Imogene had invited them to a “little informal,” but the Honorable William privately declared it to be a Blow-Out. From whichever point of view it was considered it was the climax of the Vanderhook social successes. It is long past midnight. Mr. and Mrs. V---- are at last alone. The fifth anniversary has passed into history. The guests are gone. The great house is empty. The doors are closed. The burglar alarm is set. On departing, each guest had rapturously pronounced the whole thing a success. So did the host and hostess later on--when they had counted and compared the value of the gifts with the cost of the entertainment. When they discovered that the presents would figure up twice over the cost of the reception, they retired to their sleeping rooms elate with the consciousness of having discharged many social obligations, and their duty to themselves. “You’re a dandy, Genesy, and no mistake,” ejaculated the Mayor, with admiration. “You were dead right, but I had no idea it would pan out like this,” and her husband playfully tweaked the golden curl that fell so prettily over the lady’s brow. “Gump!” and the lovely Imogene laughed in the same high soprano that belonged to the “Yards.” She tossed her head, and made a little snatch at the Mayor. Then Mr. Vanderhook himself laughed loudly as he dodged the blow, for he was still holding the golden curl in his hand. “You’re an It,” and, playfully recapturing her curl and pinning it to the cushion, Imogene went on with the inventory of the gifts and criticisms of their guests. It was not so much what they said, but it was the fond and familiar tone of their delicate joshing that indicated a still unbroken confidence between husband and wife. But strange is the play of fate. Strange indeed, that in the supreme moments of human pride and vanity and self-satisfaction the “mills of the gods” begin to get in their work. Wise the provision of nature which denies us foreknowledge of tomorrow’s disasters, penalties and retributions. Tonight had been the proudest of Bill Vanderhook’s life. He had heard himself and his possessions lauded to the skies. He had heard his wife called the handsomest and best dressed woman in Kankakee. He had heard himself praised for his popularity as Mayor, for his ability as Captain of the Guard, for his cleverness as Chairman of the Committee, his efficiency in the Y. M. C. A., his judgment in the Electric Light Company; and besides all this had heard himself referred to as “our next candidate for Congress.” He had heard his house, his wine, his wife, commended. He had heard himself toasted as a self-made gentleman. His cup was full. And now he is sleeping the sleep of the just. Man-like, he had with one jerk divested himself of his habiliments and plunging into bed was fast asleep in the twinkling of an eye. Not so the fair Imogene. Woman-fashion, she needs must putter about, making many unnecessary preparations for retirement. She had unbuckled, unhooked, unbuttoned, unpinned, untied and unlaced. She had taken off, shaken out, folded, hung up, taken down, picked up, pulled off and straightened out all the things that a woman gets out of and gets into between an evening function and breakfast next morning. And finally, standing before her mirror white-robed and picturesque, her yellow locks rolled into little wads, her beauty mask in readiness, her night gloves at hand, she leans toward her own reflection smiling softly and begins rubbing some creamy stuff into her complexion. She was smiling at and enjoying the reflection of the new diamond ear-rings, Bill’s anniversary gift. She was enjoying them as only a woman can, in her mirror, when suddenly--she started. She became aware of a Something Unusual. It was a Presence that--was not Bill. She felt very cold all at once. She forgot whether she was massaging in the circular or horizontal. Then she turned hastily and just in time to witness a very remarkable phenomenon. Directly before her, clothed like a fashion plate, trim and debonnaire, hat in hand, and bowing and smiling, stood the man she had rejected and forgotten years ago. Imogene Silesia Sheets-Vanderhook stood face to face with the youthful yoga of Kankakee, the now powerful Gnani of Gingalee. The lady’s sense of the proprieties was shocked. Her blood ran hot with anger. Then she remembered for a certainty the fast bolted doors and the burglar alarm, and then her blood ran cold with fear. The silver box fell from her hand. She screamed in terror. She sprang forward, wildly calling for Bill, when--the gentlemanly intruder, still smiling, still bowing, withdrew as he came--directly through the panels of the bolted door. “Oh, Bill! Oh, Bill! Oh, Bill!” But Bill had heard nothing. He had schooled himself to noises. Sunday morning sermons made him drowsy, and he often slept profoundly when Mrs. V. ragtimed on the piano. He had not heard that scream of terror. He had not sensed the thing which had fallen upon his hitherto happy home. It required a vigorous shaking to arouse him. But when once awake and listening to his wife’s rehearsal of the incident, Bill Vanderhook was stirred. He was no longer drowsy. He was never so wide awake. The Mayor of Kankakee paled and trembled. Memory was rife. He recalled Alonzo Leffingwell’s departure and the cause. He remembered his own part in that fatal introduction. He remembered the mystic’s claim upon Mrs. V. And worse than all, he could not forget the conditional curse pronounced upon himself. Bill Vanderhook realized his responsibility. A cold thrill ran spineward and radiated therefrom. It is said that drowning men pass in review a whole lifetime. So Bill Vanderhook in that one moment saw as in a vision his own domestic past. Though the years had but augmented his own devotion to Imogene Silesia, he had sometimes fancied that she, since coming into the Presidency of the Advanced-Thought-Extension Club, had at times appeared indifferent and distrait. He now recalled with an inward chill the foreboding that she now rarely came into the Drug Store except for a check, and that she no longer entered joyously into the yearly replenishing of the “Stock.” He remembered further, that on one or two occasions she had spoken as if she missed something in him. She had once or twice yawned when he was repeating some very flattering things said about himself in his several capacities and offices. A spasm of fear shook the gray matter in the druggist’s head, swept through the spine and circled round into the Solar Plexus--where masculine emotions seem to center. He felt very weak all in a minute. “Imogene, Imogene, where is that Flask? Gimme that--I’ve got a chill; I might as well try it now.” The flask, an elegant silver and cut glass affair, had been among the evening’s gifts. It was presented by the old Base Ball Nine. It was full when it took its place in line with other cards, but it was lighter when congratulations were over. It was empty when the Mayor of Kankakee dropped it on the floor by his bedside. Still he was cold, very cold, and still the fatal words “REMEMBER, YOU ASSUME MY RESPONSIBILITY” rang through the chambers of his memory. “Shut that window, Genesy dear, the night air gives me a chill. Shut it tight, no--leave the switch on--I sleep better in the light, and see here, now, my girl, I don’t want to hear any more about that mutton-head Leffingwell. You did not see him or any other Spook, and I don’t want you to let your imagination run away with you.” Saying which, that gentleman turned his face bravely to the wall and--pretended to sleep.