The Double Life Of Mr. Alfred Burton Part 35

"You must not think of such a thing!" he said, harshly.

Mr. Bunsome was disappointed.

"A picture of yourself as you were as an auctioneer's clerk," he remarked, thoughtfully,--"a little gay in the costume, perhaps, rakish-looking hat and tie, you know, and that sort of thing, leaning over the bar, say, of a public-house--and a picture of yourself as you are now, writing in a library one of those little articles of yours--the two together, now, one each side, would have a distinct and convincing effect."

Burton rose abruptly to his feet.

"These details," he said, "I must leave to Mr. Cowper. You have the beans. I have done my share."

The professor caught hold of his arm.

"Sit down, my dear fellow--sit down," he begged. "We have not finished our discussion. The whole subject is most engrossing. We cannot have you hurrying away. Mr. Bunsome's suggestion is, of course, hideously Philistine, but, after all, we want the world to know the truth."

"But the truth about me," Burton protested, "may not be the truth about this food. How do you know that you can reproduce the beans at all in an artificial manner?"

"Science, my young friend--science," the professor murmured. "I tell you that the problem is already nearly solved."

"Supposing you do solve it," Burton continued, "supposing you do produce a food which will have the same effect as the beans, do you realize what you are doing? You will create a revolution. You will break up life-long friends.h.i.+ps, you will revolutionize business, you will swamp the divorce courts, you will destroy the whole fabric of social life for at least a generation. Truth is the most glorious thing which the brain of man ever conceived, but I myself have had some experience of the strange position one occupies who has come under its absolutely compelling influence. The world as it is run to-day could never exist for a week without its leaven of lies."

Mr. Bunsome looked mystified. The professor, however, inclined his head sympathetically.

"It is my intention," he remarked, "in drafting my final prescription, that the action of the food shall not be so violent. If the quant.i.ties are less strenuously mixed, the food, as you can surmise, will be so much the milder. A gentle preference for truth, a dawning appreciation of beauty, a gradual withdrawal from the grosser things of life--these may, perhaps, be conceived after a week's trial of the food. Then a regular course of it--say for six months or so--would build up these tendencies till they became a part of character. The change, as you see, would not be too sudden. That is my idea, Bomford. We have not heard much from you this evening. What do you think?"

"I agree with you entirely, professor," Mr. Bomford p.r.o.nounced. "For many reasons it will be as well, I think, to render the food a little less violent in its effects."

Mr. Bunsome began to chuckle to himself. An imperfectly developed sense of humor was a.s.serting itself.

"It's a funny idea!" he exclaimed. "The more one thinks of it, the funnier it becomes. Supposing for a moment--you all take it so seriously--supposing for a moment that the food were to turn out to really have in it some of these qualities, what a mess a few days of it would make of the Stock Exchange! It would mean chaos, sir!"

"It is our hope," the professor declared, sternly, "our profound hope, that this enterprise of ours will not only bring great fortunes to ourselves but will result in the moral elevation of the whole world.

There are medicines--patent medicines, too--which have cured thousands of bodily diseases. Why should we consider ourselves too sanguine when we hope that ours, the first real attempt to minister to the physical side of morals, may be equally successful?"

Burton stole away. In the garden he found Edith. They sat together upon a seat and she allowed her hand to remain in his.

"I never knew father so wrapped up in anything as he is in this new scheme," she whispered. "He is even worse than Mr. Bomford."

Burton s.h.i.+vered a little as he leaned back and closed his eyes.

"It is a nightmare!" he groaned. "Have you seen all those advertis.e.m.e.nts of brain foods? The advertis.e.m.e.nt columns of our magazines and newspapers are full of them. Their announcements grin down upon us from every h.o.a.rding. Do you know that we are going to do the same thing? We are going to contribute our share to the defilement of journalism. We are going to make a similar appeal to the quack instincts of the credulous."

She laughed softly at him.

"You foolish person," she murmured. "Father has been talking to me about it for hours at a time. You are taking it for granted that they will not be able to transmit the qualities of the bean into this new food, but father is sure that they will. Supposing they succeed, why should you object? Why should not the whole world share in this thing which has come to you?"

"I do not know," he answered, a little wearily, "and yet nothing seems to be able to alter the way I feel about it. It seems as though we were committing sacrilege. Your father and Mr. Bomford, and now this man Bunsome, are entirely engrossed in the commercial side of it. If it were to be a gift to the world, a real philanthropic enterprise, it would be different."

"The world wasn't made for philanthropists, dear," she reminded him.

"We are only poor human beings, and in our days we have to eat and drink and love."

"If only Mr. Bomford--" he began--

She laid her fingers warningly upon his arm. Mr. Bomford was coming across the lawn towards them. "If you go off alone with him," Burton whispered, "I'll get back the beans and swamp the enterprise. I swear it."

"If you leave us alone together," she answered softly, "I'll never speak to you again."

She sprang lightly to her feet.

"Come," she declared, "it is chilly out here to-night. We are all going back into the drawing-room. I am going to make you listen while I sing."

Mr. Bomford looked dissatisfied. He was flushed with wine and he spoke a little thickly.

"If I could have five minutes--" he began.

Edith shook her head.

"I am much too cold," she objected. "Besides, I want to hear Mr.

Bunsome talk about the new discovery. Have you found a t.i.tle for the food yet?"

She walked rapidly on with Burton. Mr. Bomford followed them.

"We have decided," he said, "to call it Menatogen."

CHAPTER XXV

DISCONTENT

Burton gave a little start of surprise as he entered Mr. Waddington's office. Seated on the chair usually occupied by clients, was Ellen.

"My dear Burton," Mr. Waddington exclaimed, with an air of some relief, "your arrival is most opportune! Your wife has just paid me a visit.

We were discussing your probable whereabouts only a moment ago."

"Rooms all shut up," Ellen declared, "and not a word left behind nor nothing, and little Alfred come down with a messenger boy, in such a mess as never was!"

"I hope he arrived safely?" Burton inquired. "I found it necessary to send him home."

"He arrived all right," Ellen announced.

"You found a change in him?" Burton asked.

"If you mean about his finicking ways, I do find a change," Ellen replied, "and a good job, too. He's playing with the other boys again and using those silly books to shoot at with a catapult, which to my mind is a sight more reasonable than poring over them all the time. I never did see a man," she continued, with a slow smile, "so taken aback as Mr. Denschem, when he came to take him to the museum yesterday.

Little Alf wouldn't have nothing to do with him at any price."

Burton sighed.

"I am afraid," he said politely, "that you may have been inconvenienced by not hearing from me on Sat.u.r.day."