"Speak, Mowgy! For God's sake speak to it!"
The shadowy form had held together as long perhaps as it could. The ectoplasm may have given out or his condition of mind influenced it. In any event the form flickered. With his eyes still closed Mr. Saltus clutched me by the arm:—
"Has it gone?" he whispered.
As he spoke the form flickered again and went out. It was a long time before he wanted to go to a séance again.
During his stay in San Francisco he was guest of honour at the Bohemian Club, and he met there many interesting people. A brief visit to Carmel-by-the-Sea brought his Californian trip to a close. The State interested him. He liked the quiet,—the almost perpetual sunshine, and above all, the absence of convention and the freedom enjoyed by everyone. It was with regret that he left the sunshine and the silence to chafe under the vibrations and noise of New York.
Once again pathetic letters raced across the continent. He had no home and no anchor. Mrs. Saltus and his daughter were living permanently abroad. His hours with the latter had been his oases in a desert of loneliness. Now, barring Miss G——, Dr. Kelley and occasionally Bob Davis, he had almost no friends. Upon reaching New York he finished a series of articles on Russia, for Munsey's Magazine which later formed the basis of his "Imperial Orgy."
In the late autumn the failing health of my father recalled me to New York. Mr. Saltus was finishing the last chapter of "Lords of the Ghostland." No other book he ever wrote was strung out over so long a time, or took so many hours of research. He brought the manuscript to my home, returning the next day for the praise and patting on the back he felt that he deserved.
"What do you think of it?" he asked. The small boy always appeared at such moments.
"The King of France and twice ten thousand men,—rode up a hill and then went down again," was the reply.
"What do you mean? Is there no climax?"