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Alex Cabal 2021-05-24 15:42:22 -05:00
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src/epub/text/a-bird-of-bagdad.xhtml
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<p>“Gee, how you talk!” exclaimed the young man, a gleam of admiration supplanting for a moment the dull sadness of his eyes. “You’ve got the Astor Library skinned to a synopsis of preceding chapters. I mind that old Turk you speak of. I read ‘The Arabian Nights’ when I was a kid. He was a kind of Bill Devery and Charlie Schwab rolled into one. But, say, you might wave enchanted dishrags and make copper bottles smoke up coon giants all night without ever touching me. My case won’t yield to that kind of treatment.”</p>
<p>“If I could hear your story,” said the Margrave, with his lofty, serious smile.</p>
<p>“I’ll spiel it in about nine words,” said the young man, with a deep sigh, “but I don’t think you can help me any. Unless you’re a peach at guessing it’s back to the Bosphorus for you on your magic linoleum.”</p>
<section id="the-story-of-the-young-man" epub:type="subchapter">
<section id="the-story-of-the-young-man" epub:type="z3998:subchapter">
<header>
<p>The Story of the Young Man and the Harness Maker’s Riddle</p>
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src/epub/text/the-vitagraphoscope.xhtml
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<p>The Vitagraphoscope</p>
<p>(Moving Pictures)</p>
</header>
<section id="the-vitagraphoscope-1-1" epub:type="subchapter">
<section id="the-vitagraphoscope-1-1" epub:type="z3998:subchapter">
<header>
<p>The Last Sausage</p>
</header>
<p><b>Scene</b>⁠—<i>An Artist’s Studio.</i> The artist, a young man of prepossessing appearance, sits in a dejected attitude, amid a litter of sketches, with his head resting upon his hand. An oil stove stands on a pine box in the centre of the studio. The artist rises, tightens his waist belt to another hole, and lights the stove. He goes to a tin bread box, half-hidden by a screen, takes out a solitary link of sausage, turns the box upside-down to show that there is no more, and chucks the sausage into a frying-pan, which he sets upon the stove. The flame of the stove goes out, showing that there is no more oil. The artist, in evident despair, seizes the sausage, in a sudden access of rage, and hurls it violently from him. At the same time a door opens, and a man who enters receives the sausage forcibly against his nose. He seems to cry out; and is observed to make a dance step or two, vigorously. The newcomer is a ruddy-faced, active, keen-looking man, apparently of Irish ancestry. Next he is observed to laugh immoderately; he kicks over the stove; he claps the artist (who is vainly striving to grasp his hand) vehemently upon the back. Then he goes through a pantomime which to the sufficiently intelligent spectator reveals that he has acquired large sums of money by trading pot-metal hatchets and razors to the Indians of the Cordillera Mountains for gold dust. He draws a roll of money as large as a small loaf of bread from his pocket, and waves it above his head, while at the same time he makes pantomime of drinking from a glass. The artist hurriedly secures his hat, and the two leave the studio together.</p>
</section>
<section id="the-vitagraphoscope-1-2" epub:type="subchapter">
<section id="the-vitagraphoscope-1-2" epub:type="z3998:subchapter">
<header>
<p>The Writing on the Sands</p>
</header>
<p><b>Scene</b>⁠—<i>The Beach at Nice.</i> A woman, beautiful, still young, exquisitely clothed, complacent, poised, reclines near the water, idly scrawling letters in the sand with the staff of her silken parasol. The beauty of her face is audacious; her languid pose is one that you feel to be impermanent⁠—you wait, expectant, for her to spring or glide or crawl, like a panther that has unaccountably become stock-still. She idly scrawls in the sand; and the word that she always writes is “Isabel.” A man sits a few yards away. You can see that they are companions, even if no longer comrades. His face is dark and smooth, and almost inscrutable⁠—but not quite. The two speak little together. The man also scratches on the sand with his cane. And the word that he writes is “Anchuria.” And then he looks out where the Mediterranean and the sky intermingle, with death in his gaze.</p>
</section>
<section id="the-vitagraphoscope-1-3" epub:type="subchapter">
<section id="the-vitagraphoscope-1-3" epub:type="z3998:subchapter">
<header>
<p>The Wilderness and Thou</p>
</header>