Can Such Things Be [39]
him the sobriquet of 'Old Ibidem,' and, in the first issue of the local newspaper after the death, to explain without offence that Silas had taken 'a day off.' It was more than a day, but from the record it appears that well within a month Mr. Deemer made it plain that he had not the leisure to be dead. One of Hillbrook's most respected citizens was Alvan Creede, a banker. He lived in the finest house in town, kept a carriage and was a most estimable man variously. He knew something of the advan- tages of travel, too, having been frequently in Boston, and once, it was thought, in New York, though he modestly disclaimed that glittering distinction. The matter is mentioned here merely as a contribution to an understanding of Mr. Creede's worth, for either way it is creditable to him--to his intelli- gence if he had put himself, even temporarily, into contact with metropolitan culture; to his candour if he had not. One pleasant summer evening at about the hour of ten Mr. Creede, entering at his garden gate, passed up the gravel walk, which looked very white in the moonlight, mounted the stone steps of his fine house and pausing a moment inserted his latchkey in the door. As he pushed this open he met his wife, who was crossing the passage from the parlour to the library. She greeted him pleasantly and pulling the door farther back held it for him to enter. Instead, he turned and, looking about his feet in front of the threshold, uttered an exclamation of surprise. 'Why!--what the devil,' he said, 'has become of that jug?' 'What jug, Alvan?' his wife inquired, not very sympathetically. 'A jug of maple syrup--I brought it along from the store and set it down here to open the door. What the--' 'There, there, Alvan, please don't swear again,' said the lady, interrupting. Hillbrook, by the way, is not the only place in Christendom where a vestigal polytheism forbids the taking in vain of the Evil One's name. The jug of maple syrup which the easy ways of village life had permitted Hillbrook's foremost citi- zen to carry home from the store was not there. 'Are you quite sure, Alvan?' 'My dear, do you suppose a man does not know when he is carrying a jug? I bought that syrup at Deemer's as I was passing. Deemer himself drew it and lent me the jug, and I--' The sentence remains to this day unfinished. Mr. Creede staggered into the house, entered the parlour and dropped into an arm-chair, trembling in every limb. He had suddenly remembered that Silas Deemer was three weeks dead. Mrs. Creede stood by her husband, regarding him with surprise and anxiety. 'For Heaven's sake,' she said, 'what ails you?' Mr. Creede's ailment having no obvious relation to the interests of the better land he did not appar- ently deem it necessary to expound it on that de- mand; he said nothing--merely stared. There were long moments of silence broken by nothing but the measured ticking of the clock, which seemed some- what slower than usual, as if it were civilly granting them an extension of time in which to recover their wits. 'Jane, I have gone mad--that is it.' He spoke thickly and hurriedly. 'You should have told me; you must have observed my symptoms before they became so pronounced that I have observed them myself. I thought I was passing Deemer's store; it was open and lit up--that is what I thought; of course it is never open now. Silas Deemer stood at his desk behind the counter. My God, Jane, I saw him as distinctly as I see you. Remembering that you had said you wanted some maple syrup, I went in and bought some--that is all--I bought two quarts of maple syrup from Silas Deemer, who is dead and underground, but nevertheless drew that syrup from a cask and handed it to me in a jug. He talked with me, too, rather gravely, I remember, even more so than was his way, but not a word of what he said can I now recall. But I saw him-- good Lord, I saw and talked with him--and he is dead So I thought, but I'm mad, Jane, I'm as crazy as a beetle; and you have kept it from me.' This monologue gave the woman time to collect what