A Midnight Visitor - John Kendrick Bangs

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
A Midnight Visitor by John Kendrick Bayings. I do not
assert that what I am about to relate is in
all its particulars absolutely true. Not understand me that it
is not true. But I do not feel that I
care to make an assertion that is more than likely
to be received by a skeptical age with sneers of incredulity.

(00:23):
I will content myself with a simple narration of the
events of that evening, the memory of which is so
indelibly impressed upon my mind, and which were I able
to do so, I should forget without any sentiments of
regret whatsoever. The affair happened on the night before I
fell ill of typhoid fever, and is about the sole

(00:47):
remaining remembrance of that immediate period left to me. Briefly,
the story is as follows. Notwithstanding the fact that I
was overworked in the practice of my profession, it was
early in March, and I was preparing my contributions for
the coming Christmas issues of the periodicals for which I write.

(01:08):
I had accepted the highly honorable position of entertainment committeemen
at one of the small clubs to which I belong.
I accepted the office supposing that the duties connected with
it were easy of performance, and with absolutely no notion
that the faith of my fellow committeemen, in my judgment,
was so strong that they would ultimately manifest a desire

(01:31):
to leave the whole program for the club's diversion in
my hands. This, however, they did, and when the month
of March assumed command of the calendar, I found myself
utterly fagged out and at my wits end to know
what style of entertainment to provide for the club meeting
to be held on the evening of the fifteenth of

(01:51):
that month. I had provided already and unusually taking variety
of evenings, of which one in particular called the Martyr's Night,
in which living authors rithed through selections from their own works,
while an inhuman audience, every man of whom had suffered
even as the victims then suffered, sat on ten score

(02:15):
of campstools, puffing the smoke of twenty five score of
free cigars into their faces and gloating over their misery.
Was extremely successful, and had gained for me among my
professional brethren the enviable title of Machavelli Junior. This performance,
in fact, was the one now uppermost in the minds

(02:37):
of the club members, having been the most recent of
the series, and it had been prophesied by many men,
whose judgment was unassailable that no man, not even I,
could ever conceive of anything that could surpass it. Disposed
at first to question the accuracy of a prophecy to
the effect that I was like most others of my

(02:59):
kind zest of limitations, I came finally to believe that perhaps,
after all, these male cassandras with whom I was thrown
were right. Indeed, the more I racked my brains to
think of something better than Martyr's Night, the more I
became convinced that in that achievement I had reached the
zenith of my powers. The thing for me to do

(03:22):
now was to hook myself securely onto the zenith and
stay there. But how to do it? That was the
question which drove sleep from my eyes and deprived me
for a period of six weeks of my reason, my
hair departing immediately upon the restoration thereof a not uncommon
after symptom of typhoid. It was a typical March night,

(03:48):
this one upon which the extraordinary incident about to be
related took place. It was the kind of night that
novelists use when they are handling a mystery that in
the abstract would amount to nothing, but which in the
concrete of a bit of wild, weird and windy nocturnalism,
sends the reader into hysterics. It may be I shall

(04:10):
not attempt to deny it that, had it happened upon
another kind of an evening, a soft, mild, balmy June evening,
for instance, my own experience would have seemed less worthy
of preservation in the amber of publicity. But of that
the reader must judge for himself. The fact alone remains

(04:30):
that upon the night when my uncanny visitor appeared, the
weather department was apparently engaged in getting rid of its remnants.
There was a large percentage of withering blast. In the
general make up of the evening. There were rain and snow,
which alternated in pattering upon my window pane and whitening
the apology for a wold that stands three blocks from

(04:52):
my flat on Madison Square. The wind whistled, as it
always does upon occasions of this sort, and from all
corners of my apartment, after the usual fashion, there seemed
to come sounds of a supernatural order, the effect of
which was to send cold chills off on their regular
trips up and down the spine of their victim. In

(05:13):
this instance myself. I wish at the time the hackneyed
quality of these sensations had appealed to me. That it
did not do so was shown by the highly nervous
state in which I found myself as my clock struck eleven.
If I could only have realized at that hour that
these symptoms were the same old, threadbare premonitions of the

(05:34):
appearance of a supernatural being, I should have left the
house and gone to the club, and so have avoided
the visitation then imminent. Had I done this, I should
doubtless also have escaped the typhoid, since the doctors attributed
that misfortune to the shock of my experience, which, in
my then wearied state I was unable to sustain. And

(05:58):
what the escape of typhoid would have meant to me.
Only those who have seen the bills of my physician
and druggist for services rendered and prescriptions compounded are aware
that my mind unconsciously took thought of spirits. Was shown
by the fact that when the first chill came upon me,
I arose and poured out for myself a stiff bumper

(06:19):
of old reserve rye, which I immediately swallowed. But beyond
this I did not go. I simply sat there before
my fire and cudgeled my brains for an idea whereby
my fellow members at the Gutenberg Club might be amused.
How long I sat there, I do not know. It
may have been ten minutes, it may have been an hour.

(06:40):
I was barely conscious of the passing of time. But
I do know that the clock in the Dutch Reformed
Church steeple at twenty ninth Street and Fifth Avenue was
clanging out the first stroke of the hour of midnight
when my door bell rang. Heretofore, if I may be
allowed the word, the tin tinabulation of my doorbell had

(07:02):
been invariably pleasing. Unto me, I am fond of company,
and company alone was betokened by its ringing, since my
creditors gratify their passion for interviews at my office if
perchance they happened to find me there. But on this
occasion I could not, at the moment tell why its
clanging seemed the very essence of discord. It jangled with

(07:27):
my nervous system, and as it ceased, I was conscious
of a feeling of irritability, which is utterly at variance
with my nature. Outside of business hours, in the office,
for the sake of discipline, I frequently adopt a querulous manner,
finding it necessary in dealing with office boys. But the
moment I leave the shop behind me, I become a

(07:48):
different individual entirely, and have been called a moteless sunbeam
by those who have seen only that side of my character. This,
by the way, must be regarded as a confidential communication,
since I am at present engaged in preparing a vest
pocket edition of the philosophical works of Schopenhauer in words
of one syllable, and were it known that the publisher

(08:11):
had entrusted the magnificent pessimism of that illustrious juggler of
words and theories to a moteless sunbeam, it might seriously
interfere with the sale of the work. And I may say, too,
that this request that my confidence be respected is entirely disinterested.
Insomuch as I declined to do the work on the

(08:32):
royalty plan, insisting upon the payment of a lump sum
considerably in advance, but to return I heard the bell,
ring with a sense of profound disgust. I did not
wish to see anybody. My whiskey was low, my quinine
pills few in number, My chills alone were present in

(08:52):
a profusion bordering upon ostentation. I'll pretend not to hear it,
I said to myself, resuming my work of gin the
flickering light of my fire, which by the way, was
the only light in the room, tingling a ling, went
the bell, as if in answer to my resolve. Confound

(09:13):
the luck, I cried, jumping from my chair and going
to the door with the intention of opening it, an intention, however,
which was speedily abandoned, for as I approached it, as
sickly fear came over me, A sensation I had never
before known seemed to take hold of my being, And
instead of opening the door, I pushed the bolt to

(09:34):
make it more secure. There's a hint for you, whoever
you are, I cried, Do you hear that bolt? Slide you?
I added tremulously, for from the other side there came
no reply, only a more violent ringing of the bell.
See here, I called out, as loudly as I could.
Who are you anyhow? What do you want? There was

(09:57):
no answer except from the bell, which began again. Bell.
Wire's too cheap to steal, I called again. If you
want wire, go buy it. Don't try and pull mine out.
It isn't mine anyhow, it belongs to the house. Still
there was no reply, only the clinging of the bell.

(10:17):
And then my curiosity overcame my fear, and with a
quick movement, I threw open the door. Are you satisfied now,
I said angrily. But I had dressed an empty vestibule.
There was absolutely no one there. And then I sat
down on the mat and laughed. I never was so
glad to see no one in my life. But my

(10:39):
laugh was short lived. What made the bell ring, I
suddenly asked myself, And then the feeling of fear came
upon me again. I gathered my somewhat shattered self together,
sprang to my feet, slammed the door with such force
that the corridors echoed to the sound, slid the bolt
once more, turned the key, moved a heavy chair in

(11:02):
front of it, and then fled like a frightened hair
to the sideboard in my dining room. There, I grasped
the decanter holding my whisky, seized a glass from the
shelf and started to pour out the usual dram when
the glass fell from my hand and was shivered into
a thousand pieces on the hardwood floor. For as I poured,

(11:23):
I glanced through the open door, and there in my sanctum,
the flicker of a random flame divulged the form of
a bean, the eyes of whom seemed fixed on mine,
piercing me through and through. To say that I was petrified,
but dimly expresses the situation. I was granitized, and so

(11:44):
I remained until by a more luminous flicker from the
burning wood, I perceived that the being wore a flaring
red necktie. He is a human, I thought, And with
the thought, the tension of my nervous system relaxed, and
I was able to fear a sufficiently well developed sense
of indignation to demand and explanation. This is a mighty

(12:07):
cool proceeding on your part, I said, leaving the sideboard
and walking into the sanctum. Yes, he replied, in a
tone that made me jump. It was so extremely supultural,
a tone that seemed as if it might have been
acquired in a damp corner of some cave off the earth.
But it's a cool evening. I wonder that a man

(12:30):
of your coolness doesn't hire himself out to some refrigerating company,
I remarked, with a sneer, which would have delighted the
soul of Cassius himself. I have thought about it, returned
the being calmly, but never went any further. Summer hotel
proprietors have always outbid the refrigerating people, and they, in
turn have been laid low by millionaires who have hired

(12:52):
me on occasion to freeze out people they didn't like,
but who have persisted in calling. I must confess, though,
my dear, that you are not much warmer yourself. This
greeting is hardly what I expected. Well, if you want
to make me warmer, I retorted hotly, just keep on
calling me Hiram. How the deuce did you know of

(13:14):
that blot on my escutcheon? Anyhow, I added, for Hiram
was one of the crimes of my family that I
had tried to conceal, my parents having fastened the name
of Hiram Spencer Carrington upon me at baptism for no
reason other than that my rich bachelor uncle, who subsequently
failed and became a charge upon me was so named.

(13:37):
I was standing at the door of the church when
you were baptized, return the visitor, And as you were
an interesting baby, I have kept an eye on you
ever since. Of course, I knew that you discarded Hiram
as soon as you got old enough to put away
childish things, And since the failure of your uncle, I
have been aware that you desire to be known as
Spencer Carrington. But to me, you are, always have been,

(14:01):
and always will be Hiram. Well, don't give it away,
I pleaded. I hope to be famous some day. And
if the American newspaper paragrapher ever got a hold of
the fact that once in my life I was Hiram,
i'd have to Hiram to let me alone. That's a
bad joke, Hiram, said the visitor, And for that reason

(14:22):
I like it, though I don't laugh. There is no
danger of your becoming famous if you stick to humor
of that sort. Well, i'd like to know, I put
in my anger, returned, I'd like to know who and
Brindisi you are, What in Caro you want? And what
in the name of the seventeen hinges of the Gates
of Singapore you are doing here at this time of night.

(14:46):
When you were a baby, Hiram, you had blue eyes,
said my visitor, Bonnie blue eyes, as the poet says,
What of it? I asked this, replied my visitor. If
you have them now, you can very easily see what
I am doing here. I am sitting down and talking
to you. Oh are you, I said, with fine scorn.

(15:09):
I had not observed that. The fact is, my eyes
were so weakened by the brilliance of that neck tie
of yours that I doubt I could see anything, not
even one of my own jokes. It's a scorcher, that
tie of yours. In fact, I never saw anything so
red in my life. I do not see why you
complain of my tie, said the visitor. Your own is

(15:31):
just as bad. Blue is never so withering as red,
I retorted, at the same time, caressing the scarf I wore.
Perhaps not, But ah, if you will look in the glass, Hiram,
you will observe that your point is not well taken,
said my visa VI calmly. I acted upon the suggestion

(15:56):
and looked upon my reflection in the glass, lighting a
match to facilitate the operation. I was horrified. To observe
that my beautiful blue tie of which I was so proud,
had in some manner changed and was now of the
same aggressive hue as was that of my visitor red,
even as a brick is red. To grasp it firmly

(16:17):
in my hands and tear it from my neck was
the work of the moment. And then, in a spirit
of rage, I turned upon my companion. See here, I cried,
I've had quite enough of you. I can't make you out,
and I can't say that I want to. You know
where the door is. You will oblige me by putting
it to its proper use. Sit down, Hiram said he,

(16:39):
And don't be foolish and ungrateful. You are behaving in
a most extraordinary fashion, destroying your clothing and acting like
a madman. Generally, what was the use of ripping up
a handsome tie like that, I despised, loud hughes red
as a jockey's color, I answered. But you didn't not

(17:00):
destroy the red tie, he said, with a smile. You
tore up your blue one. Look there it is on
the floor. The red one you still have. On investigation
showed the truth of my visitor's assertion. That flaunting streamer
of anarchy still made my neck infamous. And before me,
on the floor, an almost unrecognizable mass of shreds lay

(17:24):
my cherished Cyrillian tie. The revelation stunned me. Tears came
into my eyes, and, trickling down over my cheeks fairly
hissed with the feverish heat of my flesh. My muscles relaxed,
and I fell limp into my chair. You need stimulant,
said my visitor. Kindly, go take a drop of your

(17:47):
old reserve and then come back here to me. I've
something to say to you. Will you join me, I
asked faintly. No, returned the visitor. I am so fond
of whiskey that I never molest it. That act, which
is your stimulant, is death to the RYE never realized that,
did you? No? I never did, I said meekly. And

(18:11):
yet you claim to love it, bah, he said, And
then I obeyed his command, drained my glass to the dregs,
and returned. What is your mission, I asked, when I
had made myself as comfortable as was possible under the circumstances,
to relieve you of your woes, He said, You are

(18:34):
a homeopath, I observe, said I with a sneer. You
are a homeopath in theory and an allopath in practice.
I am not usually unintelligent, said he. I fail to
comprehend your meaning. Perhaps you express yourself badly. I wish
you'd express yourself for zulu land, I retorted hotly. What

(18:57):
I mean is you believe in the similious millibus business,
but you prescribe large doses. I don't believe troubles like
mine can be cured on your plan. A man can't
get rid of his stock by adding to it. Ah,
I see you think I have added to your troubles.

(19:18):
I don't think so, I answered, with a fond glance
at my ruin tie. I know so. Well, wait until
I have laid my plan before you and see if
you won't change your mind, said my visitor significantly. All right,
I said, proceed, only hurry. I go to bed early
as a rule, and it's getting quite early now. It's

(19:40):
only one o'clock, said the visitor, ignoring the sarcasm. But
I will hasten as I've several other calls to make
before breakfast. Are you a milkman, I asked? You are flippant,
he replied. But Hiram, he added, I have come here
to aid you in spite of your unworthiness. Want to

(20:00):
know what to provide for your club night on the fifteenth.
You want something that will knock the martyr's night silly?
Not exactly that, I replied. I don't want anything so
abominably good as to make all the other things I've
done seem failures. That is not good business. Would you

(20:21):
like to be hailed as the discoverer of genius? Would
you like to be the responsible agent for the greatest
exhibition of skill in a certain direction ever seen? Would
you like to become the most famous impresario the world
has ever known? Now, I said, forgetting my dignity under

(20:42):
the enthusiasm with which I was inspired by my visitor's
words and infected more or less with his undoubtedly magnetic spirit.
Now you're shouting, I thought so, Hiram, I thought so,
And that's why I am here. I saw you on
Wall Street to day and read your difficulty at once
in your eyes, and I resolved to help you. I

(21:04):
am a magician, and one or two little things have
happened of late to make me wish to press to
digitate in public. I knew you were after a show
of some kind, and I've come to offer you my services.
Off Shah, I said. The members of the Gutenberg Club
are men of brains, not children. Card tricks are hackneyed

(21:27):
and sleight of hand shows. Paul, do they, indeed, said
the visitor. Well, mine won't if you don't believe it.
I'll prove to you what I can do. I have
no paraphernalia, I said, Well I have, said he, and
as he spoke, a pack of cards seemed to grow
out of my hands. I must have turned pale at

(21:50):
this unexpected happening from my visitor smiled and said, don't
be frightened. That's only one of my tricks. Now, choose
a card, he added, And when when you have done so,
toss the pack in the air. Don't tell me what
the card is. It alone will fall to the floor. Nonsense,
said I. It's impossible. Do as I tell you. I

(22:14):
did as he told me to a degree. Only I
tossed the cards in the air without choosing one. Although
I made a feint of doing so, not a card
fell back on the floor. They every one disappeared from
view in the ceiling if it had not been for
the heavy chair I had rolled in front of the door,

(22:36):
I think I should have fled. How's that for a trick,
asked my visitor. I said nothing, for the very good
reason that my words stuck in my throat. Give me
a little cream dementh, will you please? Said he, after
a moment's pause. I haven't a drop in the house,
I said, relieve to think that this wonderful being could

(22:59):
come down to anything so earthly. Shah hiram, He ejaculated,
apparently in disgust. Don't be mean, and above all, don't lie.
Why man, you've got a bottle full of it in
your hand. Do you want it all? He was right
where it came from. I do not know, but beyond question,

(23:19):
the graceful, slim necked bottle was in my right hand,
and my left held a liqueur glass of exquisite form. Say,
I gasped, as soon as I was able to collect
my thoughts, What are your terms? Wait a moment, he answered,
let me do a little mind reading before we arrange preliminaries.

(23:42):
I haven't much of a mind to read tonight, I
answered wildly. You're right there, said he. It's like a
dime novel that mind of yours tonight, but I'll do
the best I can with it. Suppose you think of
your favorite poem, and, after turning it over in your
mind carefully for a few minutes, select two lines from it,

(24:03):
concealing them, of course, from me, and I will tell
you what they are. Now. My favorite poem, I regret
to say, is Lewis Carroll's jabberwock a fact. I was
ashamed to confess to an utter stranger, so I tried
to deceive him by thinking of some other lines. The
effort was hardly successful, for the only other lines I

(24:26):
could call to mind at the moment were from Rudyard
Kipling's rhyme The Post That Fitted, and which ran year
by year in Peous Patients, Vengeful Missus boffin sits waiting
for the Sleary babies to develop Sleary's fits. Humph, ejaculated
my visitor, you're a great hireum, you are, And then

(24:51):
rising from his chair and walking to my poet's corner,
the magician selected two volumes. There, said he handy me
the departmental ditties. You'll find the lines you tried to
fool me with at the foot of page thirteen. Look,
I looked, and there lay that vile, sleary sentiment, in

(25:14):
all the majesty of type, staring me in the eyes.
And here, added my visitor, opening through the licking glass,
here is the poem that, to your mind holds all
the philosophy of life. Come to my arms, my beamish boy,
he chortled in his joy. I blushed and trembled, blushed

(25:39):
that he should discover the weakness of my taste, trembled
at his power. I don't blame you for coloring, said
the magician, But I thought you said the Gutenberg was
made up of men of brains. Do you think you
could stay on the rolls a month if they were
aware that your poetic ideals are summed up in the

(25:59):
jabber and sleary fits. My taste might be far worse,
I answered, yes, it might. You have stooped to liking
some of your own verses. I ought really to congratulate you,
I suppose, retorted the visitor with a sneering laugh. This
roused my eye again. Who are you anyhow that you

(26:22):
come here and take me to task, I demanded angrily.
I'll like anything I please, and without asking your permission,
if I cared more for the Peterkin papers than I
do for Shakespeare. I wouldn't be accountable to you, and
that's all there is about it. Never mind who I am,
said the visitor, suffice to say that I am myself.

(26:45):
You'll know my name soon enough. In fact, you will
pronounce it involuntarily the first thing when you waken the morning.
And then here he shook his head ominously, and I
felt myself grow rigid with fright in my chair. Now
the final trick, he said, after a moment's pause, think
of where you would most like to be at this moment,

(27:07):
and I'll exert my power to put you there. Only
close your eyes first. I closed my eyes and wished.
When I opened them, I was in the billiard room
of the Gutenberg Club with Perkins and Thompson. For heaven's sake, Spencer,
they said, in surprise, where did you drop in from? Why? Man,

(27:28):
you're as white as a sheet, and what a necktie?
Take it off. Grab hold of me, boys, and hold
me fast, I pleaded, falling on my knees in terror.
If you don't, I believe I'll die. The idea of
returning to my sanctum was intolerably dreadful to me. Ha ha,

(27:49):
laughed the magician. For even as I spoke to Perkins
and Thompson, I found myself seated opposite my infernal visitor
in my room. Once more. They couldn't keep you in
instant with me summoning you back. His laughter was terrible,
his frown was pleasanter and I felt myself gradually losing
control of my senses. Go, I cried, leave me, or

(28:12):
you will have the crime of murder on your conscience.
I have no con he began, but I heard no more.
That is the last I remember of that fearful night.
I must have fainted and then have fallen into a
deep slumber. When I waked, it was morning, and I
was alone, but undressed and in bed, unconscionably weak, and

(28:36):
surrounded by medicine bottles of many kinds. The clock on
the mantle on the other side of the room indicated
that it was after ten o'clock. Great beezel bub, I cried,
taking note of the hour. I've an engagement with Barlow
at nine. And then a sweet faced woman, who I
afterwards learned was a professional nurse, entered the room, and

(29:00):
within an hour I realized two facts. One was that
I had lain ill for many days, and that my
engagement with Barlow was now for six weeks unfulfilled. The
other that my midnight visitor was none other than and
Yet I don't know his tricks certainly were worthy of

(29:22):
that individual. But Perkins and Thompson asserted that I never
entered the club that night, and surely if my visitor
was Beezelbub himself, he would not have omitted so important
a factor of success as my actual presence in the
billiard room on that occasion would have been. And besides,
he was altogether too cool to have come from his

(29:42):
reputed residence. Altogether, I think the episode most unaccountable, particularly
when I reflect that while no trace of my visitor
was discoverable in my room the next morning, as my
nurse tells me, my blue necktie was a reality found
upon the floor, crushed and torn into a shapeless bundle

(30:05):
of frayed rags. As for the club entertainment, I am
told that despite my absence, it was a wonderful success,
redeemed from failure. The treasurer of the club said, by
the voluntary services of a guest who secured admittance on
one of my cards, and who executed some sleight of

(30:25):
hand tricks that made the members tremble, and whose mind
reading feats performed on the club's butler not only made
it necessary for him to resign his office, but disclosed
to the House Committee the whereabouts of several cases of
rare wines that had mysteriously disappeared. The end of a

(30:48):
midnight visitor by John Kendrick Bangs