Chapter IV Nursery Confessions
The priceless sight
Springs to its curious organ, and the ear
Learns strangely to detect the articulate air
In its unseen divisions, and the tongue
Gets its miraculous lesson with the rest.
—N. P. Willis.
I longed, yet dreaded, to have an hour alone with the baby. I could no longer doubt that, through some psychical mischance, Jack’s soul had found a lodgment in a family hospitable by habit and inclination, but not accustomed to disquieting intrusions. It was thus that I put the matter to myself, as I sat alone in my boudoir after luncheon, having dismissed Marie, my maid, with a message to Horatio’s nurse; and the conventional make-up of my thought revealed to me, in a flash of insight, the materialistic tendencies of my mental methods. Metempsychosis had never assumed to my mind the dignity of even a philosophical working hypothesis. Much less had the idea ever come to me that reincarnation actually furnished a process through which the physical laws of evolution and the conservation of energy might find a psychical demonstration.
My natural inclination to take the world as I found it, and to leave the inner mysteries of life to profounder minds than mine, had been intensified by my association with Tom, a disciple of Haeckel, Büchner and other extremists of the materialistic school. I had come to admire Tom’s intellectuality and to find satisfaction in the fact that his fondness for scientific studies would strengthen him to resist the temptations that surrounded him to become a mere man of leisure and luxury. Possessed of great wealth and without a profession, it was fortunate for Tom that he had found in scientific research an outlet for his superabundant energies. He had begun to make a reputation for himself as a clear-headed, well-balanced evolutionist, both conservative in method and progressive in spirit, and at our table could be found at times the leading scientific minds of New York. And now, into our little stronghold of enlightened materialism had been dropped a miraculous mystery, or mysterious miracle, that had overthrown all my preconceived ideas of the universe and opened before me a limitless field of groping conjecture. I realized, with due gratitude to fate, that if I had been born with an imaginative, poetical temperament my present predicament would have driven me insane at the outset. Fortunately for everybody concerned, I am a woman who rebounds quickly from the severest nervous shock, and I have taken a great deal of pride in retaining my mental poise in crises of my life that would have made hysteria excusable.
Nevertheless, it was a severe test of my nervous strength to hold Horatio in my arms at four o’clock that afternoon and watch his nurse donning her coat and hat preparatory to a short ride with Marie. I had carefully planned this opportunity for an uninterrupted hour with the baby, but now that it lay just before me I longed to run away from it. The nursery had become to me a temple of mysteries within which I felt chilled and awe-stricken, a victim of supernatural forces against which I was both rebellious and powerless.
After the nurse had left the room I seated myself in a rocking-chair, cuddling Horatio in my arms and softly humming a lullaby, attempting to deceive myself by the thought that I really wished him to sleep for an hour. In my innermost consciousness lay the conviction that I had actually come to the nursery for a heart-to-heart talk with Jack. My deepest desire was to be quickly gratified. A gruff whisper came to me presently from his pretty lips.
“Stop that ‘bye-bye, baby,’ will you, Clarissa?” he said, petulantly. “Haven’t I had enough annoyance for one day?”
“Hush! hush!” I murmured, rocking frantically in the effort to put the child to sleep, despite my realization of the utter inconsistency of my action.
“Don’t! don’t!” growled the baby. “Do you want me to have mal-de-mer, Clarissa? I can’t be responsible for what may happen. Where did everybody get the notion that a baby must be shaken after taking? It’s getting to be an unbearable nuisance, Clarissa.”
“Is that better, Jack?” I whispered, holding him upright on my knees and peering down into his disturbed face, puckered into a little knot, as if he were about to cry aloud.
“Thank you,” he muttered, gratefully. “Under the circumstances, my dear, perhaps it’s well that I didn’t get that Welsh rabbit. But, frankly, I was bitterly disappointed at the moment.”
“What can you expect, Jack?” I asked, argumentatively, again astonished at the matter-of-fact way in which I was handling this astounding crisis. “You seem to have a man’s appetite but only a baby’s digestive apparatus.”
“That’s my punishment, Clarissa,” he explained, in awe-struck tones. “In the former cycle I ate too many rabbits. That was scored against me, under the general head of ‘Gluttony,’ and the sub-title ‘Midnight Unnecessaries.’ I’m up against it, Clarissa. I wouldn’t complain if it were merely a question of not getting what I want. But it’s getting what I don’t want that jars me. You understand, of course, my dear, that, generally speaking, I refer to milk. Isn’t there something in its place that you could persuade the nurse to give me? Don’t babies get—er—malt extract, for instance?”
“I’ll do what I can for you, Jack.” I said, suddenly struck by a brilliant idea. “But I must make a condition, and you must make me a promise.”
“I’d promise you anything for a change of diet,” muttered Jack, kicking vigorously with his tiny legs and waving his fat fists in the air.
“If you’ll swear to me, Jack, never to speak aloud again unless you and I are alone together, I’ll agree to make every effort in my power to add to your physical comforts.”
“Comforts be—blowed!” exclaimed the baby, crossly. “What I want are a few luxuries. And, furthermore, my dear, I’m getting very weary of that machine-made nurse. She’s narrow, Clarissa. I don’t wish to speak harshly about a woman whose heart seems to be in the right place, but you must get rid of her, if you care a continental rap about your little baby. You’ll have to fill her place, Clarissa, with somebody more broad-minded and up-to-date. She bores me to death.”
“You don’t mean that you’ve been talking to her, Jack?” I cried, horrified.
“That’s not necessary,” growled the child. “What with her ‘’ittle baby go to seepy,’ and ‘now, Horatio, ’oo dear ’ittle pet lambie,’ she freezes the words upon my tongue. Another thing, Clarissa, that you can’t fully understand—I’m not permitted, through psychological conditions that you cannot grasp, to talk to anybody but you. It will relieve your mind to know that I’m as dumb as a—as a real baby when you’re not within hearing.”
“I’m so glad of that, Jack,” I exclaimed, impulsively. “From things you’ve said before, I had obtained a different impression.”
“I was only trying to scare you, Clarissa,” remarked Jack, mischievously. “But I’ve told you the truth at last. By the way, what a stupendous idiot Tom Minturn is! How in the world did you happen to marry him?”
“Jack,” I cried, angrily, “I am amazed at your lack of good taste. You are hardly in a position to do Tom justice. Unless you refrain from making such brutal remarks in the future, I shall leave you entirely to the care of the nurse.”
“And be accused of neglecting your only child,” suggested the baby, slyly.
I had not grasped the full scope of this clever remark, before I was startled by a quick step in the hallway, the throwing open of the door, and the sound of Tom’s voice, crying:
“Oh, here you are! I’ve found you at last, have I? What a pretty picture you make, Clare, there in the half-lights with the baby on your knees. How is the dear little chap? Poor fellow, he must have thought that his dismissal from the luncheon-table was rather abrupt.”
“What an ass he is!” whispered Jack, under his breath. Then he began to cry lustily, as had been his custom whenever Tom had deigned to enter the nursery.