"The husband hesitated, as if he found the explanation somewhat difficult. 'Oh,' he answered carelessly, 'the wife and I were chaffing, and she said she'd often seen you jump it, and'--he laughed a rather forced laugh--'she promised me a--a kiss if Icleared it. It was a foolish thing to do.'
"'Yes, it was rather,' said the other man.
"A few days afterwards the man and woman met at a reception. He found her in a leafy corner of the garden talking to some friends.
She advanced to meet him, holding out her hand. 'What can I say more than thank you?' she murmured in a low voice.
"The others moved away, leaving them alone. 'They tell me you risked your life to save his?' she said.
"'Yes,' he answered.
"She raised her eyes to his, then struck him across the face with her ungloved hand.
"'You damned fool!' she whispered.
"He seized her by her white arms, and forced her back behind the orange trees. 'Do you know why?' he said, speaking slowly and distinctly; 'because I feared that, with him dead, you would want me to marry you, and that, talked about as we have been, I might find it awkward to avoid doing so; because I feared that, without him to stand between us, you might prove an annoyance to me--perhaps come between me and the woman I love, the woman I am going back to. Now do you understand?'
"'Yes,' whispered the woman, and he left her.
"But there are only two people," concluded Jephson, "who do not regard his saving of the husband's life as a highly noble and unselfish action, and they are the man himself and the woman."We thanked Jephson for his story, and promised to profit by the moral, when discovered. Meanwhile, MacShaughnassy said that he knew a story dealing with the same theme, namely, the too close attachment of a woman to a strange man, which really had a moral, which moral was: don't have anything to do with inventions.
Brown, who had patented a safety gun, which he had never yet found a man plucky enough to let off, said it was a bad moral. We agreed to hear the particulars, and judge for ourselves.
"This story," commenced MacShaughnassy, "comes from Furtwangen, a small town in the Black Forest. There lived there a very wonderful old fellow named Nicholaus Geibel. His business was the making of mechanical toys, at which work he had acquired an almost European reputation. He made rabbits that would emerge from the heart of a cabbage, flap their ears, smooth their whiskers, and disappear again; cats that would wash their faces, and mew so naturally that dogs would mistake them for real cats, and fly at them; dolls, with phonographs concealed within them, that would raise their hats and say, 'Good morning; how do you do?' and some that would even sing a song.
"But he was something more than a mere mechanic; he was an artist.
His work was with him a hobby, almost a passion. His shop was filled with all manner of strange things that never would, or could, be sold--things he had made for the pure love of making them. He had contrived a mechanical donkey that would trot for two hours by means of stored electricity, and trot, too, much faster than the live article, and with less need for exertion on the part of the driver; a bird that would shoot up into the air, fly round and round in a circle, and drop to earth at the exact spot from where it started; a skeleton that, supported by an upright iron bar, would dance a hornpipe; a life-size lady doll that could play the fiddle;and a gentleman with a hollow inside who could smoke a pipe and drink more lager beer than any three average German students put together, which is saying much.
"Indeed, it was the belief of the town that old Geibel could make a man capable of doing everything that a respectable man need want to do. One day he made a man who did too much, and it came about in this way.
"Young Doctor Follen had a baby, and the baby had a birthday. Its first birthday put Doctor Follen's household into somewhat of a flurry, but on the occasion of its second birthday, Mrs. Doctor Follen gave a ball in honour of the event. Old Geibel and his daughter Olga were among the guests.
"During the afternoon of the next day, some three or four of Olga's bosom friends, who had also been present at the ball, dropped in to have a chat about it. They naturally fell to discussing the men, and to criticising their dancing. Old Geibel was in the room, but he appeared to be absorbed in his newspaper, and the girls took no notice of him.
"'There seem to be fewer men who can dance, at every ball you go to,' said one of the girls.
"'Yes, and don't the ones who can, give themselves airs,' said another; 'they make quite a favour of asking you.'
"'And how stupidly they talk,' added a third. 'They always say exactly the same things: "How charming you are looking to-night.""Do you often go to Vienna? Oh, you should, it's delightful.""What a charming dress you have on." "What a warm day it has been.""Do you like Wagner?" I do wish they'd think of something new.'
"'Oh, I never mind how they talk,' said a fourth. 'If a man dances well he may be a fool for all I care.'
"'He generally is,' slipped in a thin girl, rather spitefully.
"'I go to a ball to dance,' continued the previous speaker, not noticing the interruption. 'All I ask of a partner is that he shall hold me firmly, take me round steadily, and not get tired before Ido.'
"'A clockwork figure would be the thing for you,' said the girl who had interrupted.
"'Bravo!' cried one of the others, clapping her hands, 'what a capital idea!'
"'What's a capital idea?' they asked.
"'Why, a clockwork dancer, or, better still, one that would go by electricity and never run down.'
"The girls took up the idea with enthusiasm.
"'Oh, what a lovely partner he would make,' said one; 'he would never kick you, or tread on your toes.'
"'Or tear your dress,' said another.
"'Or get out of step.'
"'Or get giddy and lean on you.'
"'And he would never want to mop his face with his handkerchief. Ido hate to see a man do that after every dance.'
"'And wouldn't want to spend the whole evening in the supper-room.'
