"Stay," said the cosmopolitan, "that may be better let pass for a loose saying, than for hopeful doctrine."
"Well, assuming the saying's truth, it would apply to the future supremacy of the genial spirit, since then it will fare with the hangman as it did with the weaver when the spinning-jenny whizzed into the ascendant. Thrown out of employment, what could Jack KetchNote: [30.23] turn his hand to? Butchering?"
"That he could turn his hand to it seems probable; but that, under the circumstances, it would be appropriate, might in some minds admit of a question. For one, I am inclined to think — and I trust it will not be held fastidiousness — that it would hardly be suitable to the dignity of our nature, that an individual, once employed in attending the last hours of human unfortunates, should, that office being extinct, transfer himself to the business of attending the last hours of unfortunate cattle. I would suggest that the individual turn valet — a vocation to which he would, perhaps, appear not wholly inadapted by his familiar dexterity about the person. In particular, for giving a finishing tie to a gentleman's cravat, I know few who would, in all likelihood, be, from previous occupation, better fitted than the professional person in question."
"Are you in earnest?" regarding the serene speaker with unaffected curiosity; "are you really in earnest?"
"I trust I am never otherwise," was the mildly earnest reply; "but talking of the advance of geniality, I am not without hopes that it will eventually exert its influence even upon so difficult a subject as the misanthrope."
"A genial misanthrope! I thought I had stretched the rope pretty hard in talking of genial hangmen. A genial misanthrope is no more conceivable than a surly philanthropist."
"True," lightly depositing in an unbroken little cylinder the ashes of his cigar, "true, the two you name are well opposed."
"Why, you talk as if there was such a being as a surly philanthropist."
"I do. My eccentric friend, whom you call Coonskins, is an example. Does he not, as I explained to you, hide under a surly air a philanthropic heart? Now, the genial misanthrope, when in the process of eras, he shall turn up, will be the converse of this; under an affable air, he will hide a misanthropical heart. In short, the genial misanthrope will be a new kind of monster, but still no small improvement upon the original one, since, instead of making faces and throwing stones at people, like that poor old crazy man, Timon, Note: [30.24] he will take steps, fiddle in hand, and set the tickled world a' dancing. In a word, as the progress of Christianization mellows those in manner whom it cannot mend in mind, much the same will it prove with the progress of genialization. And so, thanks to geniality, the misanthrope, reclaimed from his boorish address, will take on refinement and softness — to so genial a degree, indeed, that it may possibly fall out that the misanthrope of the coming century will be almost as popular as, I am sincerely sorry to say, some philanthropists of the present time would seem not to be, as witness my eccentric friend named before."
"Well," cried the other, a little weary, perhaps, of a speculation so abstract, "well, however it maybe with the century to come, certainly in the century which is, whatever else one may be, he must be genial or he is nothing. So fill up, fill up, and be genial!"
"I am trying my best," said the cosmopolitan, still calmly companionable. "A moment since, we talked of Pizarro, gold, and Peru; no doubt, now, you remember that when the Spaniard first entered Atahalpa's treasure-chamber, and saw such profusion of plate stacked up, right and left, with the wantonness of old barrels in a brewer's yard, the needy fellow felt a twinge of misgiving, of want of confidence, as to the genuineness of an opulence so profuse. He went about rapping the shining vases with his knuckles. But it was all gold, pure gold, good gold, sterling gold, which how cheerfully would have been stamped such at Goldsmiths' Hall. And just so those needy minds, which, through their own insincerity, having no confidence in man-kind, doubt lest the liberal geniality of this age be spurious. They are small Pizarros in their way — by the very princeliness of men's geniality stunned into distrust of it."
"Far be such distrust from you and me, my genial friend," cried the other fervently; "fill up, fill up!"
"Well, this all along seems a division of labor," smiled the cosmopolitan. "I do about all the drinking, and you do about all — the genial. But yours is a nature competent to do that to a large population. And now, my friend," with a peculiarly grave air, evidently fore-shadowing something not unimportant, and very likely of close personal interest; "wine, you know, opens the heart, and —»
"Opens it!" with exultation, "it thaws it right out. Every heart is ice-bound till wine melt it, and reveal the tender grass and sweet herbage budding below, with every dear secret, hidden before like a dropped jewel in a snow-bank, lying there unsuspected through winter till spring."
"And just in that way, my dear Charlie, is one of my little secrets now to be shown forth."
"Ah!" eagerly moving round his chair, "what is it?"
"Be not so impetuous, my dear Charlie. Let me explain. You see, naturally, I am a man not overgifted with assurance; in general, I am, if anything, diffidently reserved; so, if I shall presently seem otherwise, the reason is, that you, by the geniality you have evinced in all your talk, and especially the noble way in which, while affirming your good opinion of men, you intimated that you never could prove false to any man, but most by your indignation at a particularly illiberal passage in Polonius' advice — in short, in short," with extreme embarrassment, "how shall I express what I mean, unless I add that by your whole character you impel me to throw myself upon your nobleness; in one word, put confidence in you, a generous confidence?"
"I see, I see," with heightened interest, "something of moment you wish to confide. Now, what is it, Frank? Love affair?"
"No, not that."
"What, then, my dear Frank? Speak — depend upon me to the last. Out with it."
"Out it shall come, then," said the cosmopolitan "I am in want, urgent want, of money."
Chapter 31
CHAPTER XXXI. A METAMORPHOSIS MORE SURPRISING THAN ANY IN OVID. Note: [31.1]
"IN want of money!" pushing back his chair as from a suddenly-disclosed man-trap or crater.
"Yes," naively assented the cosmopolitan, "and you are going to loan me fifty dollars. I could almost wish I was in need of more, only for your sake. Yes, my dear Charlie, for your sake; that you might the better prove your noble kindliness, my dear Charlie."
"None of your dear Charlies," cried the other, springing to his feet, and buttoning up his coat, as if hastily to depart upon a long journey.
"Why, why, why?" painfully looking up.
"None of your why, why, whys!" tossing out a foot, "go to the devil, sir! Beggar, impostor! — never so deceived in a man in my life."
Chapter 32
CHAPTER XXXII. SHOWING THAT THE AGE OF MAGIC AND MAGICIANS IS NOT YET OVER
WHILE speaking or rather hissing those words, the boon companion underwent much such a change as one reads of in fairy-books. Out of old materials sprang a new creature. Cadmus glided into the snake. Note: [32.1]
The cosmopolitan rose, the traces of previous feeling vanished; looked steadfastly at his transformed friend a moment, then, taking ten half-eagles from his pocket, Note: [32.2] stooped down, and laid them, one by one, in a circle round him; and, retiring a pace, waved his long tasseled pipe with the air of a necromancer, an air heightened by his costume, accompanying each wave with a solemn murmur of cabalistical words.
Meantime, he within the magic-ring stood suddenly rapt, exhibiting every symptom of a successful charm — a turned cheek, a fixed attitude, a frozen eye; spell-bound, not more by the waving wand than by the ten invincible talismans on the floor.