Speaker 1: A Quicksilver Cassandra by John Kendrick Bangs. It was altogether queer,
and Jingleberry to this day does not entirely understand it.
He had examined his heart as carefully as he knew how,
and had arrived at the entirely reasonable conclusion that he
was in love. He had every symptom of that malady
when Miss Marian Chapman was within range of his vision.
There was no room for anyone else there. He suffered
from that peculiar optical condition which enabled him to see
but one thing at a time when she was present,
and she was that one thing, which is probably the
reason why in his mind's eye she was the only
woman in the world, For Marian was ever present before
Jingleberry's mental optic He had also examined as thoroughly as
he could in hypothesis the heart of this only woman,
and he had, or thought he had, which amounts to
the same thing reason to believe that she reciprocated his affection.
She certainly seemed glad always when he was about. She
called him by his first name, and sometimes quarreled with
him as she quarreled with no one else. And if
that wasn't a sign of love in woman, then Jingleberry
had studied the sex all his years, and they were
thirty two for nothing. In short, Marian behaved so like
a sister to him that Jingleberry, knowing how dreams and
women go by contraries, was absolutely sure that a sister
was just the reverse from that relationship which in her
heart of hearts she was willing to assume toward him,
And he was happy in consequence. Believing this, it was
not at all strange that he should make up his
mind to propose marriage to her, though like many other men,
he was somewhat chicken hearted in coming to the point.
Four times had he called upon Marian for the sole
purpose of asking her to become his wife, and four
times had he led up to the point and then
talked about something else. What quality is it in a
man that makes a coward of him in the presence
of one he considers his dearest friend is not within
the province of this narrative to determine, But Jingleberry had
it in its most virulent form. He had often got
so far along in his proposal as Marian, uh will
you will you? And there he had often stopped contenting
himself with such commonplace conclusions as go to the matinee
with me tomorrow, or ask your father for me if
he thinks the stock market is likely to straighten soon,
and other amazing substitutes for the words he so ardently
desired yet feared to utter. But this afternoon, the one
upon which the extraordinary events about to be narrated took place,
Jingleberry had called resolved not to be balked in his
determination to learn his fate. He had come to purpose
and the purpose he would grew at Coliam. His confidence
in a successful termination to his suit had been re
enforced that very morning by the receipt of a note
from miss Chapman asking him to dine with her parents
and herself that evening, and to accompany them after dinner
to the opera. Surely that meant a great deal, and
Jingleberry conceived that the time was ripe for a blushing
yes to his long deferred question. So he was there
in the Chapman parlor waiting for the young lady to
come down and become the recipient of the interesting interrogatory,
as it is called in some sections of Massachusetts. I'll
ask her the first thing, said Jingleberry, buttoning his Prince
Albert as though to impart a possible needed stiffening to
his backbone. She will say yes, and then I shall
enjoy the dinner and the opera so much more. Ahem.
I wonder if I am pale? I feel sort of. Uh,
there's a mirror that will tell. Jingleberry walked to the mirror,
an oval, gilt framed mirror such as was very much
in vogue fifty years ago, for which reason alone no doubt,
it was now admitted to the gold and white parlor
of the House of Chapman. Blessed things these mirrors, said Jingleberry,
gazing at the the reflection of his face so reassuring.
I'm not at all pale. Quite the contrary, I'm red
as sunset. Good Omen that the sun is setting on
my bachelor days, and my scarf is crooked. Ah. The
ejaculation was one of pleasure for Pictured in the mirror,
Jingleberry saw the form of Marian entering the room through
the portieres. How do you do, Marion? Been admiring myself
in the glass, he said, turning to greet her. I ah.
Then he stopped as well, he might, for he addressed
no one. Miss Chapman was nowhere to be seen. Dear me,
said Jingleberry, rubbing his eyes in astonishment. How extraordinary I
surely thought I saw her. Why I did see her?
That is, I saw her reflection in the glass. Ha
ha ha. She caught me gazing at myself there and
has hidden. He walked to the door and drew the
porteriera aside and looked into the hall. There was no
one there. He searched every corner of the hall and
the dining room at its end, and then returned to
the parlor, but it was still empty. And then occurred
the most strangely unaccountable event in his life. As he
looked about the parlor, he for the second time found
himself before the mirror. But the reflection therein, though it
was of himself, was of himself with his back turned
to his real self, as he stood gazing amazedly into
the glass. And besides this, although Jingleberry was alone in
the real parlor, the reflection of the dainty room showed
that there he was not so for seated in her
accustomed graceful attitude in the reflected armchair was nothing less
than the counterfeit presentation of Marian Chatman herself. It was
a wonder Jingleberry's eyes did not fall out of his head,
he stared. So what a situation it was to be
sure to stand there and see in the glass a
scene which, as far as he could observe, had no
basis in reality. And how interesting it was for Jingleberry
to watch himself going through the form of chatting pleasantly
there in the mirror's depths with the woman he loved.
It almost made him jealous, though the reflected Jingleberry was
so entirely independent of the real Jingleberry, the jealousy soon
gave way to consternation, For to the wandering suitor, the
independent reflection was beginning to do that for which he
himself had come. In other words, there was a proposal
going on there in the glass, and Jingleberry enjoyed the
novel sensation of seeing how he himself would look when
passing through a similar ordeal. Altogether, however, it was not
as pleasing as most novelties are, for there were distinct
signs in the face of the mirrored Marian that the
mirrored Jingleberry's words were distasteful to her. And that the
proposition he was making was not one she would entertain
under any circumstances. She kept shaking her head, and the
more she shook it, the more the glazed Jingleberry seemed
to implore her to be his. Finally, Jingleberry saw his
quicksilver counterpart fall upon his knees before Marian of the
glass and hold out his arms and hands toward her
in an attitude of prayerful despair. Whereupon the girl sprang
to her feet, stamped her left foot furiously upon the floor,
and pointed the unwelcome lover to the door. Jingleberry was
fairly staggered. What could be the meaning of so extraordinary
a freak of nature? Surely it must be prophetic. Fate
was kind enough to warn him in advance, no doubt
otherwise it was a trick. And why should she stoop
to play so paltry a trick as that upon him.
Surely Fate would not be so petty. Now it was
a warning. The mirror had been so affected by some
supernatural agency that it divined and reflected that which was
to be, Instead of confining itself to what Jingleberry called
simul tineity, it led instead of following or acting coincidentally
with the reality. And it was the part of wisdom,
he thought, for him to yield to its suggestion and retreat.
And as he thought this, he heard the sweet, soft
voice behind him. I hope you haven't got tired of waiting, Tom,
it said, and turning Jingleberry saw the unquestionable real Marians
standing in the doorway. No, he answered shortly. I have
had a pleasant of very entertaining ten minutes, but I
must hurry along. Marian, he added, I only came to
tell you that I have a frightful headache and I
can't very well manage to come to dinner or go
to the opera with you tonight. Why, Tom, pouted Marian.
I am awfully disappointed. I had counted on you, and
now my whole evening will be spoiled. Don't you think
you could rest a little while and then come. Well,
I want to, Marian, said Jingleberry. But to tell the truth,
I really am afraid I am going to be ill.
I've had such a strange experience this afternoon. I tell
me what it was, suggest tested Marian sympathetically, and Jingleberry
did tell her what it was. He told her the
whole story, from beginning to end, what he had come for,
how he happened to look in the mirror, and what
he saw there. And Marian listened attentively to every word
he said. She laughed once or twice, and when he
had done, she reminded him that mirrors have the habit
of reversing everything. And somehow or other, Jingleberry's headache went away,
and and well everything went the end of a quicksilver
Cassandra by John Kendrick Bangs