=New York Fish Expert Proves the Bible Story True.=

=The Higher Criticism of the Market.=

=Nothing at all strange that a man should be very comfortable inside the roomy mammal with plenty of light and air and good wholesome food--Structure shows it was built for the purpose.=

Albert Tescheron, the celebrated Fulton Market expert on rare fish, who is thoroughly familiar with the anatomy of whales, consented to give his opinion concerning Jonah this morning to the reporter of the Sporting Extra.

"Mr. Tescheron, please tell me," said the reporter, "in just what part of the whale Jonah lived for three days. My paper wants the true story, with such Biblical data as may bear upon it, interpreted by the higher criticism of the Fish Market. I want to get an interior view of the apartments he lived in by flashlight or the X-ray, so as to print the Jonah story right up to date. There were none of our men present, you understand, when the thing happened."

"The belly of the whale is commodious, as you may see," replied Mr.

Tescheron, pointing to the spot with his cane. "Here we have the probable position of Jonah, seated with a knee against each ear and his hands clasped over his ankles. Now this episode as narrated plainly tells us that Jonah was 'swallowed up;' he wasn't chewed up, but swallowed whole, and from such investigations as I have made, studying whales before and after meals, and from what I know of the layout of the interior occupied by Jonah, he sat, as I say, a solid chunk of a man which no whale could digest. Now you know the whale is a regular submarine vessel equipped the same as those divers of our navy, with a perfect outfit of air valves. You must remember reading that this fish was prepared for the special business of swallowing Jonah, and for no other purpose. The whale comes up at regular intervals and blows the water out of his air-tight compartments and sucks in a fresh air supply--enough to last him and two or three more pa.s.sengers, so that Jonah, it may be seen, had no trouble at all to breathe, and agreed with the whale until the whale was beached, while asleep, at low water. The lack of all rolling motion in the land, and the fact that an uneven keel made Jonah claw around more than usual, made the whale land-sick. A whale can throw a stream from its snout for about five rods, but when it strikes land that way under heavy ballast it chucks all its load, water and solids, like a torpedo hitting a ship. I have experimented with small whales--say from ten to twenty feet over all, and never knew one to miss when he b.u.mped land. The whale was prepared especially to do that--to release Jonah, and does it with wonderful automatic economy--the same that we scientific men note throughout nature. If the people who laugh at this story of Jonah would watch whales a little closer, especially at low tide, when stranded and taking a nap, they would be surprised to find how the whale wakes up and heaves ballast.

"Just see the inside arrangements here," and Mr. Tescheron outlined on the surface of the dead monster the exterior elevation of Jonah's home. "Just behind this outer covering is a splendid living-room, 6 feet by 4, lighted by the phosph.o.r.escent glow of the interior walls.

A whale is full of phosphorus. The ceiling is a little low, but the ventilation is perfect, without draughts, and the temperature is about what you would find in Florida in January. The humidity is a little heavy, so that when the whale runs too far North he may chill inside and steam like a London fog or a Russian bath, but when Jonah entered and stayed for three days it was warm weather, and he was able to see plainly and be quite comfortable, although you may remember he referred to the place in strong terms when he was praying to get out. The two rooms adjoining the living-room are also cosy, you see--hot-water heating system and all--open plumbing. How far did the whale throw Jonah? About a hundred feet, I should say, and this lightened his ballast so that he floated again and was able to reverse his tail motion and back off into deep water."

Through the courtesy of Mr. Tescheron the reporter was able to arrange with the whale owners to have it opened and the artists of the Sporting Extra peeked in, and viewed the three-room-and-bath apartment arranged in a kind of ham-shaped building with accordeon sides. The artist's recollection of the plan is as follows:

We regret that s.p.a.ce will not permit us to present the picture taken by our imaginative artist showing Jonah in his disguise as a prophet, reading one of his own sermons at a phosph.o.r.escent chandelier. But the following picture,[A] indicating the camera-like arrangement of the whale's Jonah suite in the dry-land collapse, with Jonah seated on a wad of compressed air shooting upstairs and through the vestibule, presents the Tescheron theory with greater vividness.

Emil Stuffer's father was very proud of his accomplished son. "That boy of mine," he used to say to Mr. Tescheron, "thinks nothing of starting out any time, day or night, for a rare bird. He'll just leave a note here saying he's started, and like as not the next time I hear from him he's caught a new kind of sand-piper, a G.o.d-wit or killyloo bird in a Florida swamp, or one of them glossy ibises he hankers so for. That extra pale bubo up there (pointing to a case above the office desk), he picked up in Northeast Labrador."

Mr. Tescheron was greatly impressed with all this. He liked Emil, the student, and found much in common with him. He questioned Emil frequently, and was always glad to hear that enthusiast talk on his hobby.

When Mr. Tescheron's enthusiasm had attained the proper pitch, he was admitted by Emil to view his private collection of the Rare Birds of Eastern North America, attractively displayed in gla.s.s cases around three attic rooms. Collectors from far and near had seen this collection and had praised it in letters which Emil showed in an off-hand way to the eager fish expert. One of these letters contained an offer of $15,000 for the collection.

"I wouldn't take $25,000 for that lot of birds," said Emil to the amazed Tescheron at the first interview.

"Do you suppose you'll ever get that much?" asked the unbelieving guest, making full allowance for the high opinion a collector has of his own wares. "Who'd give it?"

"Any museum that wants the finest collection of Rare Birds of Eastern North America will give it readily. A friend of mine who has been collecting postage stamps, values his collection at that, and he hasn't begun to put the time and money into it I have put in this work. Here are over one hundred of the rarest birds to be found from Florida to Labrador--any bird expert can tell that."

Mr. Tescheron became deeply interested. He consulted his friend Smith, the great detective, who recommended a bird expert he knew to appraise the collection and get a price from its fond owner. For a consideration of fifty dollars, the bird expert spent an hour in Hoboken viewing the Emil Stuffer collection without letting it be known whom he represented.

At least that was the agreement he made with Mr. Tescheron. He reported that the collection would be a bargain at five thousand dollars, and he believed it might be bought for that, as he understood Mr. Stuffer was in need of money and was beginning to hint he might sacrifice it among people in the trade; but of course he gave no sign of anxiety to possible purchasers.

A man makes his pile in the fish business, but it is not monumental; it will not live after him in memorial grandeur, and the business itself is far from imposing--the phosphate of ammonia and its volatile allies pa.s.sing even from the recollection of reminiscent contemporaries. The people with rare collections to sell work among that cla.s.s of trade represented by Tescheron, a man with money seeking to benefit mankind in some way that will insure the perpetuation of his name carved in stone or cast in bronze, with the cost of maintenance shouldered by contract on the impersonal taxpayer, for whom glory pro rata is reserved to be enjoyed by reflection from the monumented name of the philanthropist.

Thus the good a taxpayer does is interred with his bones, if he has been careful to pay up and not be sold out beforehand for arrears. But the good the philanthropist does is resolved into fame founded on one of the surest things known--taxes.

It is not ethical for a man engaged in supplying rare collections to advertise, but like the most fashionable jewelers, whose correspondence with ladies is in copper-plate long-hand, penned on delicate note-paper, by a clerical force of slender-fingered young gentlemen--refined, polite, indirect and apparently disinterested appeals must be made. Emil Stuffer comprehended the art of the sales department.

Some day I hope to get enough out of the public to give a set of my writings on political economy to every town that will firmly bind itself, as the party of the second part, to keep them dusted.

The town authorities of Stukeville, N. Y., a village of three thousand inhabitants, were already the proud possessors of the Tescheron collection of rare fish, comprising some three hundred prepared specimens, displayed in rooms set apart in the library building. They were glad to furnish the additional rooms needed for the accommodation of the celebrated Stuffer Collection of the Rare Birds of Eastern North America, and also to provide, according to the deed of gift: "for the proper maintenance of the same, with the understanding that the gift is absolute to the citizens of Stukeville without further conditions or reservations, whatsoever," etc.

The dealer, acting as Mr. Tescheron's agent, secretly, made the purchase about a week before the Tescheron family departed, and the outfit was shipped to Stukeville, where it was set up by Miss Griggs, the librarian (who kept two canaries and understood birds), a.s.sisted by three men, who did the carting. There it stands to-day, a monument to the benefactor of Stukeville. The smile on the elongated face of the pelican, who is scratching his left ear with a broad web flipper, reflects in mummied perpetuity the grat.i.tude hidden behind the quiet exterior of the studious Emil Stuffer, ornithologist and mechanical engineer--but princ.i.p.ally the latter, when he received word from the expert that the sale had been made.

In Hoboken they now tell of the sale of this collection as a joke, but in Stukeville it is a serious matter. Up there it is in the domain of natural history.

Afterward, when I started out to visit the places involved in the wages of my unlucky interference, I ran up to Stukeville and looked over the birds. I could see that a stretched neck or lengthened legs and fancy tail feathers, with a few minor alterations in the bill and wings, were all that was necessary to make a rare wild bird out of a tame duck.

Hoboken-built birds seemed to answer every purpose, however, in Stukeville.

When it was all over except spending the money, A. Stuffer used to ask his scholarly son:

"Say, Emil, which was the hardest to make--Jerry, or one of them Stukeville pets?"

CHAPTER XV

A man who writes his friend's love-letters is twice a fool if he admires his work. Burns, Byron, Morris and the others who contributed toward these high crimes and misdemeanors were dead, and so escaped the wrath of the angry G.o.ds, who switch triflers in Love's domain. I got all the punishment due for the guilt of writing the compositions, and piled on top of that came another turn on the hard road of the transgressor for issuing them again. I did not intend to put them into general circulation, of course; but my carelessness in leaving one of the letters in the sun parlor really amounted to the same thing. The fellow who carelessly hits a can of dynamite with an axe gets the same perfect results as if he had planned to do it for several months. The worst, however, was the swelling pride which led to the discussion of the letters with Hygeia. It s.n.a.t.c.hed her forcibly from my life at a time when sustaining hope was most needed. The hypnotizing poets were to blame. As I read the letters, I got the notion that I was responsible for the inspired as well as the uninspired portions, and so became topheavy and foolhardy in handling a kind of fire I did not understand.

Many another has been burned the same way.

Before letters of this character are pa.s.sed out for general reading, it must be understood that the audience shall not include the man who sent them to a woman he afterwards killed, for the simple purpose of marrying an accomplished lady of means, who is also a listener with him at the recital. It is one of the rules in reading aloud second-hand love-letters, never to have these conditions present, for they are apt to induce distress in both parties. Had I been consulted with full details presented for my consideration, I know I should have advised against it.

Gabrielle and Jim listened to the reading of the letter left in the sun parlor. It seemed to be public property, as there was no name attached to it, and so it went the rounds of the hospital. Hygeia had intended to read it for my entertainment first, but before doing so she chanced to read it in the next room; perhaps because she thought the audience would know more than I did of such matters, and would be more appreciative. In this she was not mistaken. Jim's interest was there in cold shivers, which made the springs hum and the slat gables whistle. Gabrielle laughed and giggled like a schoolgirl.

"It's the funniest letter you ever heard," declared Hygeia, who seemed to lose sight of its serious character. "I am sure you will both think it so."

"If it's a love-letter, ought we to trifle with it?" asked Gabrielle.

"The man or woman to whom it belongs might not regard it as a joke."

"There are no names on it, and it will never be claimed now," said Hygeia, hesitatingly.

"Read it, by all means, then, to cheer us," said Gabrielle.

Hygeia proceeded to read this collaboration of R. Burns and B. Hopkins:

"'My Darling Margaret: During your visits to the country your letters cheer me as I fondly dwell upon the sweet suggestive thought that you are ever thinking of me, as I am thinking of you, every waking and dreaming moment. I fade away into dreamland, hand in hand with you, and joyously together like innocent children we walk across the broad meadows and through the woods to some hidden bower by the brook; there as I look up into your eyes, the pebbly streamlet flashing a glint of wayward sunshine, the wooing songbirds and the reposeful harmonies of Nature soothe me like your tender glances when they fall upon me alone. Aye, quite alone I would have them fall, to produce that magic sensation of a dream's delight. Then when I awake in the morning and realize that you are far, far away, and read your latest letter again with pangs of the bitterest remorse, I dwell only upon those pa.s.sages which hint of other joys quite apart from your interest in me. My desolation is that of a storm-tossed soul, seized by every breath of fear and tortured by every agony known to the forsaken. Have you no pity for me, Margaret? Drive no more shafts of anguish through my bruised and shattered heart, but gently administer in words of endearment the potency of your enthralling glances.

"'Forlorn, my love, no comfort near, Far, far from thee, I wander here; Far, far from thee, the fate severe, At which I most repine, love.

"O, wert thou, love, but near me; But near, near, near me; How kindly thou wouldst cheer me, And mingle sighs with mine, love!

"Around me scowls a wintry sky, That blasts each bud of hope and joy, And shelter, shade nor home have I, Save in those arms of thine, love.'"

"Oh, my! How gushy!" exclaimed Gabrielle, as she laughed, and looked at Jim to see if he were enjoying it as thoroughly.

"Yes, but how jolly it is to read," said Hygeia. "Listen to this:

"'There comes a faint ray of sunshine and hope when I read just a word of your possible home-coming in a fortnight. Would that I might keep that single thought in mind to illumine the dreary prospect!

There are times when it blazes brightly, and with the tripping footsteps of joy I think of you as here at my side. How sweet the fancy--