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Authors: Jesse Ball
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held up the letter from the dead-letter office. Immediately, Patrick and Caroline grew quiet.
—Where did you get that? they asked.
—It doesn’t matter, said the guess artist. We have it, and we’re here. Where is the girl?
Caroline and Patrick left the room.
—I’m afraid we may be stuck here a very long time, said S. My map indicated something unfortunate was going to happen.
—You may be right, said the guess artist.
Patrick and Caroline came back in. Both of them had changed their clothing. To what purpose, S. could not say.
—I suppose we got off on the wrong foot, said Caroline. Now, do either of you want anything to drink? Something cold, perhaps?
—Nothing for me, said S.
—Nothing for me either, said the guess artist.
—Good, good, she said. Well, let’s get down to business. I want you to have a nice stay here.
She smiled and crossed her legs. It occurred to S. that her legs were on backwards. Or for a moment they had been, but now they were on right again. He looked up at the man, who was carving something out of a piece of wood. He was completely intent on this, and did not seem to notice that S. was looking at him. What was he carving? thought S. It looked like a wolf, but it had a fish body.
The man looked up.
—It’s a seawolf, he said. They are very hungry all the time.
—I would expect that, said S.
—Well, we’ll leave you for a while, said Caroline. The other guests come and go—well, not from the house, I mean, but from the various rooms, so you should be meeting them shortly, or eventually, if you get my meaning. Anyway, good-bye. Ring that bell if you want one of the servants to bring anything.
On the wall beside a bust of Verlaine, there was a bell cord.
—I shall, said S.
Caroline and Patrick left the room. As they left, Patrick asked Caroline what color the seawolf should be, and Caroline told Patrick that seawolves are black with yellow blood, and that they are cowards at heart. At this Patrick became very quiet, even while he was walking. Now, it is not an easy task to become that quiet while walking, but he managed it.
Almost as soon as the couple had left, the guess artist and the municipal inspector became conscious of someone else in the room. A man was sitting in the corner by a lamp, reading a book. He wore a long beard in white, and was dressed as one imagined an old gentleman might have dressed in the year 1927 in the city of Warsaw. The old man noticed their attention, and looked up.
—Good afternoon, he said.
—Is it afternoon? asked the guess artist.
—Only just, he said. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Piers Golp.
—I’m Selah Morse, said S. And this fellow here is a guess artist.
—A real guess artist? asked Piers Golp. I didn’t know there were any left.
—I’m not like the others, said the guess artist.
—I didn’t mean to intimate that you were, said Piers Golp. I only wanted to get across to you my pleasure at your choice of profession, and at the means we now have at our disposal for a fine and elegant conversation.
—You speak well, said S. I like a man who knows how to converse.
—Thank you, said Piers Golp. I once had the pleasure of speaking to the great Oscar Wilde. You know, he was the greatest conversationalist we have yet had among us. We as human beings, I mean.
—I have heard that said, said S. It seemed true then, and it seems true now.
The guess artist stood up and went to the window. He tried to pull up the shutter, but it was stuck fast and wouldn’t move.
—Don’t even bother, said Piers Golp.
—I think I will have that drink of water, said S.
He went over to the bust of Verlaine and pulled on the bell cord.
—Don’t do that! exclaimed Piers Golp. He hopped out of the chair he was sitting in and went behind the table, ducking down behind it so that he could not be seen.
Far away across the house, a bell could be heard ringing. A great sound of shouting could be heard coming closer. S.
—Where did you get that? they asked.
—It doesn’t matter, said the guess artist. We have it, and we’re here. Where is the girl?
Caroline and Patrick left the room.
—I’m afraid we may be stuck here a very long time, said S. My map indicated something unfortunate was going to happen.
—You may be right, said the guess artist.
Patrick and Caroline came back in. Both of them had changed their clothing. To what purpose, S. could not say.
—I suppose we got off on the wrong foot, said Caroline. Now, do either of you want anything to drink? Something cold, perhaps?
—Nothing for me, said S.
—Nothing for me either, said the guess artist.
—Good, good, she said. Well, let’s get down to business. I want you to have a nice stay here.
She smiled and crossed her legs. It occurred to S. that her legs were on backwards. Or for a moment they had been, but now they were on right again. He looked up at the man, who was carving something out of a piece of wood. He was completely intent on this, and did not seem to notice that S. was looking at him. What was he carving? thought S. It looked like a wolf, but it had a fish body.
The man looked up.
—It’s a seawolf, he said. They are very hungry all the time.
—I would expect that, said S.
—Well, we’ll leave you for a while, said Caroline. The other guests come and go—well, not from the house, I mean, but from the various rooms, so you should be meeting them shortly, or eventually, if you get my meaning. Anyway, good-bye. Ring that bell if you want one of the servants to bring anything.
On the wall beside a bust of Verlaine, there was a bell cord.
—I shall, said S.
Caroline and Patrick left the room. As they left, Patrick asked Caroline what color the seawolf should be, and Caroline told Patrick that seawolves are black with yellow blood, and that they are cowards at heart. At this Patrick became very quiet, even while he was walking. Now, it is not an easy task to become that quiet while walking, but he managed it.
Almost as soon as the couple had left, the guess artist and the municipal inspector became conscious of someone else in the room. A man was sitting in the corner by a lamp, reading a book. He wore a long beard in white, and was dressed as one imagined an old gentleman might have dressed in the year 1927 in the city of Warsaw. The old man noticed their attention, and looked up.
—Good afternoon, he said.
—Is it afternoon? asked the guess artist.
—Only just, he said. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Piers Golp.
—I’m Selah Morse, said S. And this fellow here is a guess artist.
—A real guess artist? asked Piers Golp. I didn’t know there were any left.
—I’m not like the others, said the guess artist.
—I didn’t mean to intimate that you were, said Piers Golp. I only wanted to get across to you my pleasure at your choice of profession, and at the means we now have at our disposal for a fine and elegant conversation.
—You speak well, said S. I like a man who knows how to converse.
—Thank you, said Piers Golp. I once had the pleasure of speaking to the great Oscar Wilde. You know, he was the greatest conversationalist we have yet had among us. We as human beings, I mean.
—I have heard that said, said S. It seemed true then, and it seems true now.
The guess artist stood up and went to the window. He tried to pull up the shutter, but it was stuck fast and wouldn’t move.
—Don’t even bother, said Piers Golp.
—I think I will have that drink of water, said S.
He went over to the bust of Verlaine and pulled on the bell cord.
—Don’t do that! exclaimed Piers Golp. He hopped out of the chair he was sitting in and went behind the table, ducking down behind it so that he could not be seen.
Far away across the house, a bell could be heard ringing. A great sound of shouting could be heard coming closer. S.
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