Tracy made slow progress with his work, for his mind wandered a good deal.Many things were puzzling him.Finally a light burst upon him all of a sudden--seemed to, at any rate--and he said to himself, "I've got the clew at last--this man's mind is off its balance; I don't know how much, but it's off a point or two, sure; off enough to explain this mess of perplexities, anyway.These dreadful chromos which he takes for old masters; these villainous portraits--which to his frantic mind represent Rossmores; the hatchments; the pompous name of this ramshackle old crib--Rossmore Towers; and that odd assertion of his, that I was expected.How could I be expected? that is, Lord Berkeley.He knows by the papers that that person was burned up in the New Gadsby.Why, hang it, he really doesn't know who he was expecting; for his talk showed that he was not expecting an Englishman, or yet an artist, yet I answer his requirements notwithstanding.He seems sufficiently satisfied with me.Yes, he is a little off; in fact I am afraid he is a good deal off, poor old gentleman.But he's interesting--all people in about his condition are, I suppose.I hope he'll like my work; I would like to come every day and study him.And when I write my father--ah, that hurts! I mustn't get on that subject; it isn't good for my spirits.Somebody coming--I must get to work.It's the old gentleman again.He looks bothered.Maybe my clothes are suspicious; and they are--for an artist.If my conscience would allow me to make a change, but that is out of the question.
I wonder what he's making those passes in the air for, with his hands.
I seem to be the object of them.Can he be trying to mesmerize me?
I don't quite like it.There's something uncanny about it."The colonel muttered to himself, "It has an effect on him, I can see it myself.That's enough for one time, I reckon.He's not very solid, yet, I suppose, and I might disintegrate him.I'll just put a sly question or two at him, now, and see if I can find out what his condition is, and where he's from."He approached and said affably:
"Don't let me disturb you, Mr.Tracy; I only want to take a little glimpse of your work.Ah, that's fine--that's very fine indeed.You are doing it elegantly.My daughter will be charmed with this.May I sit down by you?""Oh, do; I shall be glad."
"It won't disturb you? I mean, won't dissipate your inspirations?"Tracy laughed and said they were not ethereal enough to be very easily discommoded.
The colonel asked a number of cautious and well-considered questions--questions which seemed pretty odd and flighty to Tracy--but the answers conveyed the information desired, apparently, for the colonel said to himself, with mixed pride and gratification:
"It's a good job as far as I've got, with it.He's solid.Solid and going to last, solid as the real thing.
It's wonderful--wonderful.I believe I could--petrify him." After a little he asked, warily "Do you prefer being here, or--or there?""There? Where?"
"Why--er--where you've been?"
Tracy's thought flew to his boarding-house, and he answered with decision "Oh, here, much!"The colonel was startled, and said to himself, "There's no uncertain ring about that.It indicates where he's been to, poor fellow.Well, I am satisfied, now.I'm glad I got him out."He sat thinking, and thinking, and watching the brush go.At length he said to himself, "Yes, it certainly seems to account for the failure of my endeavors in poor Berkeley's case.He went in the other direction.
Well, it's all right.He's better off."
Sally Sellers entered from the street, now, looking her divinest, and the artist was introduced to her.It was a violent case of mutual love at first sight, though neither party was entirely aware of the fact, perhaps.The Englishman made this irrelevant remark to himself, "Perhaps he is not insane, after all." Sally sat down, and showed an interest in Tracy's work which greatly pleased him, and a benevolent forgiveness of it which convinced him that the girl's nature was cast in a large mould.
Sellers was anxious to report his discoveries to Hawkins; so he took his leave, saying that if the two "young devotees of the colored Muse"thought they could manage without him, he would go and look after his affairs.The artist said to himself, "I think he is a little eccentric, perhaps, but that is all." He reproached himself for having injuriously judged a man without giving him any fair chance to show what he really was.
