CHAPTER VII.

THE BOOK AND THE BAGDAD. The fears of the druggist were well founded. That night marked a new era in the Vanderhook home. After five years of profound silence, the discarded lover took advantage of his mysterious powers and became an unsought, uninvited, but permanent guest in his successful rival’s house. From this date forward no day, nor occasion, was free from his presence or the expectation of it. From this day forward an estrangement developed between the hitherto apparently devoted husband and wife. At first, the still charming Imogene was somewhat awed by the unusual methods of entrance and exit practiced by this foreign-mannered Mystic. It did seem so very novel and so very creepy to see a gentleman sliding in through the dado and melting out through the frieze. Since witnessing the swift and scientific pig killing at the Yards, she had seen nothing at once so rapid in execution and so shocking to the nerves. The first time she observed the back of a chair through her admirer’s waistcoat it gave her a genuine chill. Habit, however, dissipated the sense of awe and the lady became amused, then entertained, and finally deeply interested--as a student of Advanced Thought. And further, Mrs. V. soon discovered many agreeable qualities in this diaphanous and cultivated Gnani, qualities which by contrast intensified the native inelegance of her husband. Indeed, so swift was the progress of this marvelous romance that it was but a matter of weeks until the lawful master of the Vanderhook mansion saw himself relegated to a position inferior to that of the hired man. He inwardly chafed and outwardly expressed himself in large, round and unusual words. In vain, however, for notwithstanding both inward rage and outward expletives, the Honorable William K. Vanderhook, of Kankakee, was as nothing in the presence of this witty and agreeable shade who pervaded the atmosphere at all times and in all directions. And what of the wife--she who had deliberately chosen the Mansard Roof--she who for five years had earned her board and clothes with at least every appearance of genuine satisfaction? She was now as one bewitched. She was deaf to both Bill’s appeals and to his imprecations. She was no longer moved by presents. She was a wholly changed woman. When Bill would protest more savagely than usual, she would say,--“Now, don’t be a grouch. I don’t see that he can do any harm to anybody. And besides, he is no expense to you, and he’s no trouble to me.” And thus it was that the once happy home became a battlefield of words--words sharp, pointed, prickly and jagged. Bill’s temper, usually so sunny, became like a sheet of sand paper. His appetite fell off and his belt hooked in the fourth eyelet. But Imogene, feeding upon a fresh flirtation, bloomed again to girlish gaiety. In the presence of this suave and insinuating astral interloper she resumed all the fascinations and fripperies of the old days at the Yards. Imogene Silesia Vanderhook had progressed. Five years ago she had not even heard of “Occultism.” Now, however, since she herself had become an Advanced Thinker, she recognized the advantages of Mysticism. The Club of which she was President had given a good deal of time to the Ultimate Destiny of Everything. Only recently she had prepared a “Paper” on Reincarnation which had been very highly spoken of. She could now discuss the nature and uses of the Ego with the same intelligence as did other ladies of the Club. She had spent hours together figuring out how she must have been a Princess--long ago. She was now quite up in karma and entirely absorbed in the “Uplift.” It also came to be that while other ladies of Kankakee Tiddeldy-Winked and Ping-Ponged or wasted time on Diabolo, or clung to Bridge Tables, the members of the New Thought Club lost themselves in PRANAYAMA and KUMBHOKA. Even when their serious work was over they carried their enthusiasm to Five O’Clock Tea, chattering enthusiastically of PERUSA and KAIVALYA, and uttering longings for the state of NIRVIKALPA. Mrs. Vanderhook yearned to be the first to waken KUNDELINI. Bill, however, greatly to his wife’s chagrin, had steadily declined every effort toward his own illumination. He even on one occasion used some near swear-words when Imogene begged him to contemplate his Higher Self. It was indeed Bill’s own obtuseness that finally helped to turn the tide against him. Had he been less dense and more amenable to the mystical peregrinations of the “Thoughters,” perhaps this tragedy had never been. For here we must pause and explain how our one-time Typewriter was now become an Advanced Thinker. The tragic love of Alonzo Leffingwell and his disappearance from Kankakee had made an indelible impression on the woman who rejected him. From this time forward she became curious about “Occultism.” Her marriage afforded the time and means necessary for the development of her Higher Self--about which so many ladies were now talking. Presently she was as familiar with “Mysticism” as other members of the New Thought Club. As time went on she enjoyed an ever extending acquaintance with the numerous and high-priced “Professors” and Specialists in Higher Lines of business. While Bill was busy in the drug store, or looking after his political fences, the charming Imogene was brushing up on her “Subliminal Self” and learning how to “Wake the Plexus.” Gradually Mrs. Vanderhook saturated her daily life with studies of the occult, adorned herself with mystic symbols, and prepared “papers” for the Club, on unintelligible subjects. The Occidental woman who “aspires” does nothing by halves. Whatever her goal of attainment, she conforms her activities to that end, dedicates her energies to that ambition, and colors every duty with that Aspiration. In this wise Imogene converted all of her entertainments and indulgences into expressions of the Universal, and made every day in the week a separate exercise for Self-Development. To the Western Woman has been left the co-ordination of “Everything--I--WANT--TO--DO” with “Everything--I--ASPIRE--TO--BE.” Mondays Mrs. Vanderhook devoted to Rhythmic Vibrations under the name of Physical Culture. Mornings she spent with an Advanced Athlete, rounding up with a contest at the Ladies’ Club Gym, and closing her day with a session at the Chicago Bargain Counters. This day of the week she devoted to swinging and swaying and climbing and bending and twisting and kicking and pushing and pulling, that she might develop the “Body Beautiful” in harmony with her “Higher Self.” She never missed a Monday--in the field--for like most practical occultists of the Occident, she tended to overweight, and for this reason took kindly to the suggestion that reduction of the Surplus meant increase of illumination. Tuesdays were given over to Beauty Culture; or, as her Specialist said, “To the making of a countenance that shall vibrate with the Beautiful Inner.” Throughout this day, therefore, she submitted herself to be steamed and buttered and rubbed and vibrated. She endured to be sponged and benzoined and rouged and stenciled and powdered, that she might “affirm with her face” the “Radiance at the Center.” This was but one of the steps, for she also was shampooed and hot-aired and “treated” and hennatead and brilliantined and ratted and marcelled and puffed as to hair; and her hands, now freed from the cramp of the “keys,” were also soaked and creamed and massaged, while the nails were pumiced and oiled and tinted and polished--and still some more, for the ordeal ended in a bout with depilatories and electric needles. All these things did Imogene, the charming; not that she liked it, nor that she was vain, but only that her Professors insisted that “the Outer must Express the Inner.” “All-Is-Youth” and “There-Are-No Wrinkles” are the watchwords of a lady who has “found Herself.” Wednesdays were set aside for another phase of co-ordination. This day was given over to the Nature-Cure Treatment, in which process she was played upon by vigorous streams of alternating hot and cold water. She was Osteopathed and Exercised. She was warmed in the Sun-Parlor, concentrated under blue glass and aired on the roof garden. After this she ate a Nature-Cure Luncheon of Almost-Ox-Tail Soup, Near-Meat Salad, and other pretty nearly foods, drinking Roastum Cereal--thus eliminating the poisons of other medical systems, and developing the Cosmic Consciousness. It was therefore Wednesday evening that the lady drank lemon juice copiously and slept under the Mansard Roof swathed in wet sheets--slept calmly, with an abiding faith in the illuminative power of her Water-Soaked System. Thursdays, however, were reserved for the higher phases of her intellectual uplift. This day was set apart, as one of the mystics expressed it, for “Interior Decoration.” This day she immured herself in her boudoir, where, with a roll before rising and a kimona all day long, she gave herself entirely to the “Contemplation of Herself.” For this day were reserved the most mystical books and profounder studies and solemner exercises. Several hours of this day she gave to “The Secrets of Mental Supremacy,” and in the effort to attain “Consciousness without Thought” she spent many a half hour. Much time she consumed before her mirror in “Meditative Self-Analysis.” Again and again would her lunch grow cold while she was occupied in one of these many expensive Occult or Therapeutical Courses, purchased from leading Wise Men in Illinois. One of these covered Practical Occultism, another was Transcendental Mysticism. In still another she worked upon Rhythmic Inspiration, and yet another she was studying the How to Breathe--but none among them was more profoundly veiled in mystic meaning than the Course on “How to Ascertain the Heart Beat Unit.” At times she was so engaged in “Concentration” that she would fall asleep. At other times she became enthused in the effort to discover the Inner Meaning of the Meaningless. She became very skillful in the Expansion of Self and Manifested the Joy Philosophy every time she enlarged her Aura. Fridays were set apart for what the lady termed “Expression”--that is to say, Fridays were selected for Social visits and “At homes,” on which day she gave a Manifestation of her several acquirements, making the rounds--that her friends might observe the Outer Beauty from the Radiant Center. This she felt to be the solemn duty of the Elect--that they set up the Joy and Beauty Vibrations in other women. As a result of her strenuous lessons in Attainment she became the admired and envied of other New Thought Ladies. This could not fail to be, for aside from possessing an Original Design for this ever increasing beauty, Mrs. Vanderhook had both the time and money to search for her Highest Self in the best shops and under the most expensive Seers. Still further and at odd moments Mrs. Vanderhook increased her wisdom by visiting such Mystics as did business near the Beauty Parlors and the Department Stores. To one she would go for a Horoscope--a reading of the Stars. Another would trace her glowing future in the lines of the palm, and another would instruct her in Psychological Polarity, and another dealt in “Character Sketches by Inspiration.” There were still others who gave short lessons in Vibrations--some who taught “The Inner Meanings of Everything” in small blocks for large checks, and another, the Telo-Psycho-Theraput, who taught his patients to meet him at fixed times--and for fixed rates--out in stellar Space, where “soul to soul” and “freed from the Material,” he best could diagnose and “impart the healing word.” Still other half hours--for she doted on symbolism--Mrs. Vanderhook would spend with one who advertised as “The World’s Most Famous Seer,” from whom she purchased expensive Charms and Sacred Bugs and things. Again she would slip into the “Temple” of one whose Circulars “guaranteed” information concerning the Origin of Everything and its “Absorption into Nothing.” Inspiring moments she would steal for the study of Vivilore and in these brief snatches she would “Contemplate the Path of Perfection,” or, breaking away from the downtown luncheon, she would rush for the Masonic Temple, where an American-East Indian was imparting Fourteen lessons in Philosophy in a few minutes. With Saturday for Shopping and the Matinee, and Sunday for home and Bill, the mistress of the Mansard Roof led the life of the up-to-date New Woman. Thus, as time went on, the erstwhile Typewriter became thoroughly “Advanced,” and the “Yards” became a far off memory. And of all this Bill knew nothing. Like other students of the “Ultimates,” Mrs. Vanderhook found that her “Attainments” did not mix well with every-day commonplaces. Her husband’s absorption in the drug store, and his fondness for a “Game,” seemed quite to unfit him for Higher Thought. Indeed, at times Imogene seriously doubted Bill’s understanding of the Unknowable. Bill was not watching for the subtle changes taking place in his Imogene. But one phase of it seemed to reach his obtunded consciousness, for this made a direct inroad upon his bank account. The Special Course in “OPTIMISM AND OPULENCE”--for which “Ten Lessons at reduced prices” had captured Mrs. Vanderhook as a special bargain--produced direct results for which even the generous druggist was not prepared. From the first “All-is-good” to the middle “Opulence-is-MINE” and to the final lesson, “I-AM-IT,” Imogene Vanderhook absorbed and radiated this beautiful Attitude of “I-am-entitled-to-everything-I-can-get.” Matters of expense were airily dismissed. Bill’s “We-can’t-afford-it” was met by that splendidly wide Optimistic Smile and ignored with that expensively broad sense of Universal Opulence which is so perfectly fascinating in those who do not pay the bills. The beautiful feeling that “I can tap the Universal for all I need” and that “I have only to affirm OPULENCE and have it,” encouraged the Mayor’s wife to extend her Charge Accounts with a childlike faith in the “Higher Currents of Wealth.” Then again, Bill had experienced a sense of loneliness at times, when he would come in with a toothache or a touch of gastritis, to be assured that it was all in his Mortal Mind, and that what he supposed was Pain was but an “error” and instead of the earlier coddling to receive but a calm, vague, unsympathetic glance and a frosty little smile of one who “Functioned in the Realities.” But these were all mere incidents, and the still devoted husband went on earning dollars for his Imogene Silesia to “radiate.” Thus it was that the Mayor’s wife had been drawn into the rage for “Occultism” and the current “Uplift,” without his knowledge or consent, and by “Holding a Thought” or two and by means of fifty-seven Varieties of Unfoldment, had gradually unfitted herself fully to share her husband’s ambitions and tastes, which still centered in the Drug Store, the Lighting Plant and Politics. Thus, unknown to him and scarcely apprehended by herself, the fair Imogene was preparing for a Change. This was why the Appearance of Alonzo, the Wise Man, had not disturbed her more, and why she so quickly accepted him as a matter of course and adjusted herself to Orientalisms. But now that her perceptions were sharpened, the lady could not but perceive the primordial relation between herself and the once despised Mystic. She also was forced to cognize the enormous advantage of astral attainments over physical conditions and physical powers. She began to draw odious comparisons and invidious distinctions between her lawful master and her extra-lawful mate. “Fool, and blind,”--she now murmured, from time to time, in just the same tone and with the same wild, back-handed gesture she had seen at the Chicago Opera House. And the Gnani, day by day, murmured to _his_ Higher Self,--“She is advancing beautifully.” He noted the sweet trustfulness with which she now leaned upon him--that is, philosophically speaking. “She now Aspires from choice”--he would whisper to himself again and again. “She will lop off several reincarnations, while I--aha! ha ha!”--and his gaseous form would undulate with ethereal ecstasy. In that astral realm where thoughts are things and business is transacted by mental checks, the inhabitants have distinct advantages over mere human beings who are circumscribed by purveyors of goods and settlements on a cash basis. The learned Mystic quite obscured the Mayor of Kankakee. He covered him with humiliation at his own fireside. He trifled with the husband’s prerogatives. For, did the good-natured Bill, thinking to propitiate her on the old lines, send home to Imogene a Paris model from the swell modiste, then did his skillful rival at once materialize for her another headgear out of nothing, a “dream” so unique, so gorgeous, so becoming and so altogether stunning, that Imogene would shriek with delight, while Bill could only grind his teeth in rage. Did the husband bring to his wife a bunch of early violets, the vigilant Gnani would immediately materialize great loads of American beauties towering upon extraordinary stems. He would shower her with Marechal Niels, worth a dollar apiece. With but one sweep of his hand a hundred rare blossoms would descend from the ceiling, covering and enveloping the lady in beauty and bloom. Could any mere, mortal woman withstand such attentions as these? To please her eye this ardent admirer rendered his appearance as alluring as his manners. Independent of tailors, and with everything at hand, this astral man got himself up regardless of expense, and thought on his costumes at will, to meet the requirements of the fashion plates. He frequently would surprise her with rapid transformations of raiments, posing successively in the distinctive garbs of many nations, races and times. Perhaps at breakfast it was some Oriental potentate in royal robes who hovered by her side. At lunch a velvet coated artist, at dinner a gorgeous Indian chief, whose picturesque scalp-lock, beads and feathers and whose thrilling war-whoop delighted her refined taste. And Alonzo would discourse to her oft and long of the beauties and practices of “_Meditation_.” “But I’ll be switched”--she would say at times, “if I can understand your kind of mysticism.” Whereupon the seer, smiling indulgently, would with all perspicuity reply,-- “Of course you don’t. I don’t expect you to. That isn’t what we’re here for. Nobody understands mysticism; for don’t you see, if they did, or could, or were likely to, there wouldn’t be any mysticism left, and then--why, _my_ occupation is _gone_.” “Why, sure; I hadn’t thought of it that way”--his Mate would murmur, and then she would add, “How sweet to be taught by one so wise.” Moreover, this proficient prestidigitator constituted himself her private secretary and astral errand boy. He not only precipitated her social correspondence upon kid-finished, but he thus prepared all of her “advanced thought” papers, thereby saving her long hours over the Encyclopedia Britannica. Still more, he would read to her all letters and notes received, thus saving her the trouble of breaking the seals; and to amuse and gratify her, would peep--astrally, of course--and report upon the private correspondence and the private affairs of her friends in Kankakee. And this was but one of the many offices and arts he exploited to charm his Affinity. And so it came to be an every-day occurrence that following any social invitation into the exclusive circles of Kankakee, Imogene would call to her “Llama Lonnie,” or her “Lonnie Bird,” and say, “Please won’t you just run over to Mrs. Dr. this, or Mrs. Judge that, and rubber a while? Then,” she would say,--“I’ll know what to wear and who is invited and how much it’ll cost, etc.” Mrs. Vanderhook’s sudden acquisition of unlimited finery and jewels created unfavorable comment. The sudden costly equipment of her house astonished everybody. Her lavish display in entertaining was severely criticised by the best people. For in Kankakee, as elsewhere, the best people keep tab on each other’s faults, follies and failures. The ghost of this gossip drifted back to the drug store; and Bill, who was too proud of himself to betray his wife, chafed in secret. For, of course, the world knew nothing of the great astro-human drama that was being enacted in the Mayor’s home. But there came a day when the outraged owner of the Mansard Roof cast aside all semblance of hospitality toward his rival and broke out into a fierce and jealous anger at his ethereal tormentor. “Begone! you bloodless villain,”--he roared one morning when he had entered his dining room unexpectedly and found his guest strewing lilies of the valley around the plate laid for Imogene’s breakfast. “Begone! I say. Get out of my sight! Leave my house! Get out! I say, now, at once. Fly! melt! disappear!--vamoose!” But the platter he hurled at his rival’s head went straight through it, crashing against the back of the chair on which sat the seer, smiling and unruffled. Imogene snickered, and the astral man showered lilacs over her chair, while a handful of thistles were viciously flung from nowhere--into the blazing countenance of the enraged husband. “Faithless woman! black magician!” shrieked Bill Vanderhook; and gathering up a large, bright carving knife, he sent it spinning into the heart of his rival. That is to say, the point of the knife clove the back of Alonzo Leffingwell’s chair, while the handle protruded from that gentleman’s left vest pocket. But the gay Gnani of Gingalee still sat in his chair, erect, tranquil, smiling. Imogene was so tickled she stuffed a napkin into her mouth. She did not intend to betray herself before the dining room girl. Whereupon, the Mayor of Kankakee flung himself out of his mansion in a frenzy. He did not come home to lunch. At dinner he did not exchange a word with his wife. He scowled through five courses. Imogene was radiant. And their guest who seated himself at the table, [merely to keep Imogene company,] amused himself by inciting the knives, forks and spoons to cut unseemly capers on the cloth. A few days later Bill Vanderhook returned from his office an hour earlier than usual. He came with the deep, deadly purpose of seeing what was to be seen, and he saw it. Gently turning his latch-key, softly treading the deserted hall, stealthily crossing the costly Wilton of the drawing-room, and still on, still creeping through and around and up and back, on through my lady’s boudoir, still on, to the draped portals of his own private den--the one corner of his castle which thus far had been left to its master. Up to this time he had not dreamed that even an astral man could become wholly lost to the amenities of polite society. But here and now he came upon the guilty pair, trespassers, invaders of man’s most sacred corner, his elysium in hours of peace, his refuge in times of woe,--his “Den.” Outside, and screened by the heavy portieres, Bill Vanderhook sized up the situation. He saw what made his blood first warm and then to simmer and boil. It was not simply that they sat side by side. This he expected. But this--that they had the nerve to sit in his den; and more, to sit upon his couch; and worse still, to sit upon that gay and picturesque Bagdad which, of all his possessions, should have been left to him and him alone. For this artistic creation had been Imogene’s gift to him upon that fatal anniversary wedding. That she had bought this Bagdad on bargain day and that Bill thought she had made it herself did not alter the sentiment. True, she bought the Bagdad to please herself; and true, that he cared no more for the dizzy thing than he would for a door-mat; yet, all the same, she had given it to him, and the giving was what he cared for. Was it to be expected that this would ever have been made the background of his rival’s wiles and fascinations? “This is too much, too much. Where am I at?”--and Bill Vanderhook clenched his fists and glared ferociously. But, hist!--what is it these two are doing? What new conspiracy is hatching against the master of the house? Why do they sit so close, with heads bent in such juxtaposition? Why are they so silent, so absorbed? “Aha! aha! a book!” It is a book they are poring over; a great leather book. A hand of each is under it. The other two are slowly turning leaves. Aha! they search for something. This is no ordinary book. They search,--and for what? So intent are these two, this gay Gnani and his giddy Mate, that they have neither heard nor sensed the intrusion. Bill Vanderhook listens. What he hears chills his blood,--congeals it. He hears the frozen pellets rattle through his veins. “Oh, my Llama Lonnie, it is not here.” “Yes, my Goo-goo Eyes, it is, it is.” “I don’t believe it, my Llama,” whispered Imogene. “But it _must_ be, it _must_ be there my lady bird; for I happen to know something of the jurisprudence of Illinois.” Bill was struck by the expression of their faces. He had never before seen the astral man evince any sort of anxiety over anything. He never remembered seeing that look in Mrs. Vanderhook’s face, except when she wanted something he couldn’t buy. But he could no longer restrain himself. The jealous husband sacrificed his curiosity to gratify his anger. With one bound he cleared the threshold and landed in the middle of the den, full under the light of the Turkish lantern. “You measly monstrosity!”--he cried in a loud voice. “Get ye back!--get ye back to your musty old lair in Gingalee!”--and lifting his walking stick he brought it down upon the despoiler of his peace. “And this is how you occupy yourself in my absence!”--he bawled. “These are the uses to which you put my house and my furniture, and my books! Is it for this that I run a drug store and--for Mayor the rest of the time? What new infernal scheme are you hatching now?”--and Mr. Vanderhook pounded the air,--instead of Alonzo Leffingwell. Alonzo sat on the couch. He leaned against Mr. Vanderhook’s cushions. At the first stroke Imogene had leaped from the couch; but the mystic never turned a hair, much less his head. A shower of blows fell harmlessly upon the gilded frame of the costly couch. There were some gilt chips on the carpet, some abrasions on the walking stick, but--the gentleman who had been beaten sat wholly unmoved, upright and smiling. When it was all over, however, he rose, bowed mockingly and silently floated out of the room alongside of Imogene, who had regained her composure. The deserted man now seized upon the book which had fallen from the hands of the surprised couple and lay upon the floor. He glanced at the title and then--his eyes were opened a little wider. Now he saw it all. Now he understood the weepiness in their tones as they had turned the pages. The gay Gnani of Gingalee and Mrs. William K. Vanderhook had been reading the “_Statutes of Illinois_.” The section on Divorce was blurred by tears. But alas, as they had discovered, even this liberal and up-to-date commonwealth does not recognize the astral. Their case was therefore without parallel or precedent. These two had found in their particular case _that there was no cause for divorce_. When he finally took in the whole force of the incident Bill vibrated with wrath. He dashed the book upon the floor of his den. He tore the brilliant Bagdad from its moorings of silken pillows; and then, as if by a wicked inspiration, he stooped, seized both book and drapery and dashed them into the open, glowing grate. “So, there!--perish my love of woman!--and--and--anathema upon everything from anywhere that takes advantage of friendship and hospitality, that plays upon a woman’s vanity and with the honor of an honest man!” And the plotters, but momentarily disturbed, had glided down stairs and sought another retreat. Their sorrow was soon modified, for they remembered presently that they could, in reality, defy all the statutes of all the states. They remembered that they could not be _separated_ by law, even though the party of the third part could not be _eliminated_ by law. _It was now Bill Vanderhook’s time to meditate._