The Globe-republican., 1890-07-09

he fell quietly asleep and was not
wakencd till the light of morning
streamed into tho room.
Breakfast was served to such OF Jcnk-
ms boardcrs as could be trusted outside
their cages, at eight o'clock. After par
taking of that frugal meal Drane was
permitted to spend a little while in the
parlor. 1t had no other occupant at
first except short, stout man with an
abundance of stiff, curly hair who sat at
table writing. Every time no paused
in that labor he stuck his pen behind
his ear: and when he was ready to re-
sumo his task he picked up fresh one,
forgetting what he had done with the
other. The consequence was that in q
few minutes the bushy hair over his
ear was full Of pen-holders, and there
remained only the one which he was
using. Presently that joined the rest,
and then the little man, after hunting
about the table few minutes, gave it
up and pushed his paper from him.
''The servants here are very careless"
said he to Drane. ''They always fail to
provide me with pens, although they
know the importance of my work. And
for myself, am so absent-minded, do
you know. that my forgetfllness has
been tho ruin of my life. 1t is true"
He leaned toward Drane impressively.
and continued: 81 am a genius. l once
wrote tho greatest poem extanr. Then
I mislaid it. For months l searched for
the manuscript, but without finding a
trace of it. My cursed forgetful-
ness! Then I tried to remember
what was in tiny forgetfulness
again. 1 couldn't think of a sim
gle line. 1 could remember only
that it surpassed Homer, Dante or
Shakespeare. The thought that had
thus cast away undying famo by mere
| carelessness undermined my health, I'M
til they brought mo to this sanitarium.
Confound it, one might as we'll be hon
est about it. There's no sanitarium
about it. It's lunatic asylum, and
for the sake of veracity let's admit it.
Here l sit scribbling away every day.
trying vainly to hit upon the single
| inspiration which for moment raised
mo to an intellectual height no man had
ever before attained. Thus far in vain.
But who knows-who knows! What's
your own special brand Of lunacy?"
II am sane man," said Drane, half
angrily.
The short man shook his head.
swat till you've been here while, "
said he. Then you'll dream dreams,
and see visions. l was sane enough, too,
but the atmosphere of this place-you
don't know what it is. In two days
| you'll have decisions. You'll see things
| that aren't there-serpents of various
| hues; zebras with their stripes running
from head to tail, and revolving around
their bodies like the rings of Saturn.
That's why they've put me here.
They're jealous of me. They don't want
wrote but can not find. It's a plot"
The short man was getting violent,
and presently an attendant came and re-
moved him, to Drane's great relief.
In the course of that day Drane en-
countered several interesting maniacs
of mild order, but no serious incident
occurred until the evening. Then, as
he was standing in the hall just after
supper, he heard jenkins talking to the
matron, and pointing to him.
'Paresis," said Jenkins. "You want
to watch him carefully"
And Drane took that delightful sug-
gestion to his apartment, and medi-
tated upon it. Was it possible that he
was really insane? Were the strange
events of the past few days which he
seemed to remember, in reality only
hallucinations?
Who could determine, ifleft wholly to
himself, without single visible link
between him and the past. whether that
past had any real existence? In short,
Drane didn't know whether he was
crazy or not. He watched himself for
symptoms. Did his hand tremble?
Or his heart beat too fast or too slow? He
enjoyed nice case of hypochondriacism
till long past midnight, and when he
fell asleep, the zebras described by the
forgetful genius were ordinary and rea-
sonable animals compared to those
which pranced through his dreams.
But the morrow brought great
event, no less than call from Bessie.
She came unattended, but alas! the
matron was present during the entire
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