Needless to say that the brother and wife were looked after not alone by him, but by my family as well. Scourged by the episode Mr. Saltus suffered keenly. I suggested to him after a time, more or less with a view to lift his mind from depression, that I would assist him in selecting and condensing notes on the vital points of the sacred books of the East. Mr. Saltus decided that he could compress them into a single volume. "The Lords of the Ghostland" was created in the world of thought. The actual writing of it took a comparatively short time. The preparation and condensing of the material spread over years.
Among Mr. Saltus' peculiarities was an almost prenatal fear of dogs. His mother had been terrified at them, and his childhood had been spent not only without pets of any kind, but filled with fear of them. As he grew older he became rather fond of cats, but the dog complex remained. Cats could be patted, petted and put down. Dogs on the contrary growled, and had been known to bite,—it being somewhat uncertain whether they would do one or the other—or both.
When taking his walks Mr. Saltus would go to the extreme edge of the sidewalk to avoid a dog, if happening to be alone he had no one to interpose between him and it. Argument on the subject was useless. There was but one way of reaching him effectively. This was to ignore his fears and act as though they did not exist.
Our house was never without pets, nor were they confined to any particular spot. Drawing-room chairs were theirs or not as they fancied, and wagging tails greeted the incoming guests. No exception was made of Mr. Saltus, and no pet put aside to make place for a pampered human. When he came, he had to take things as he found them, pets included.
When I was taking a dip into Eliphas Levi, the phrase "Libertines love cats" jumped from the page. The ammunition was too good to be lost. Every time his fear of dogs cropped out, this quotation was hurled at him like a bomb. It did its work most effectively. Timidly and reluctantly at first, Mr. Saltus began to make overtures. The dogs, with unerring instinct scenting his concealed antagonism, refused to be friends. That hurt more than a little, but it helped. The substratum of his early training began to crumble as his interest in animals and occultism increased.
Taking a phrase from the Book of the Dead, Mr. Saltus decided on the euphonious title "Lords of the Ghostland." The writing of that volume marked his transition from materialism to the realization that there were higher realms of thought as yet unexplored by him. The new book was building up on the ruins.
At the time he began writing the book I went abroad.
Believing that upon his taking the initiative and seeking a divorce, Mrs. Saltus would strike back and secure it herself, Mr. Saltus brought a suit against her, asking at the same time for the custody of his little daughter. This act being looked upon with disapproval by my family, and his friendship as more dangerous than dynamite, the ocean was hailed as a splendid moat between a skilled sheik and a young girl. It meant another summer abroad for me.
Mr. Saltus was in a state of collapse and despair. He could neither work nor sit still.
"The anchor of my life is being torn up," he exclaimed. "I cannot go on and live."