Dark Mondays (14 page)

“Watch this, now,” said Madame Rigby, extending her hand in front of the automaton. She waved it from side to side; the figure turned its head as though following her movement with its eyes. Loudly and distinctly she said: “Your name, sir?”

The automaton blinked once, and when it opened its mouth Dick clearly heard the hiss of air being drawn in; the next moment a voice sounded, proceeding presumably from some bellows and reed mechanism in the chest.

“Jack Rigby, at your service,” said the thing, moving its lips in flawless imitation of the motions of speech. For all his delight, Dick felt a chill run down his spine. The more so when Madame Rigby laughed, triumphant, and the automaton drew its lips back from its teeth in a smile, as though politely sharing in the jest.

“Ha, ha, ha!” it said. “Very good.”

“Now, my boy,” said Madame Rigby, “step down!”

Jack Rigby, to use his own name, bent his head as though to judge the distance from the cabinet to the floor. Then with only the slightest unsteadiness, he stepped down from the cabinet.

Dick staggered backward, and collapsed in a dead faint.

When he came to himself again, Madame Rigby was forcing a stinging liquid down his throat. For a moment he had the dreadful fancy she had transformed him into an automaton, and was filling him with fuel; but it was only brandy. Madame Rigby was laughing again, and Jack was smiling and nodding along.

“Well, aren’t you the delicate lily!” she said. “Does my boy frighten you?

“Nothing of the kind!” insisted Dick, sitting up hastily. “I-it’s a shock, that’s all; I never expected him to do anything like that. Why, it’s like witchcraft!”

“Witchcraft?” Madame Rigby looked scornful. “Well, I should think not! This is the year 1900, after all, young man. There’s no hocus-pocus nonsense to my Jack; just hard work and practical engineering. Haven’t I labored at my trade these twenty years, and learned from all the clockmakers and dollmakers and mechanics in Bavaria and Paris? Jacky proceeds out of all they’ve done, only I’ve gone them all one better.
Me!
Eudora Rigby.”

“But… this isn’t like a clock,” said Dick, shivering. “You’ve made a thing that thinks like a man.”

“Not a bit of it,” said Madame Rigby. “Any more than a music box really sings, or a loom makes up its pattern as it goes along. He’s got leaves of metal in him, you see, thousands of ’em, tiny, and each one has a pattern of holes in it that tells him something to do. And inside those ears there’s mechanism that takes sounds and reads ’em as patterns. When it picks up a pattern it knows, why, it matches it up to one of its own, and gives him something to do in reply.”

“I think I see,” said Dick. “Didn’t it take a long while for you to punch all those little patterns, though?”

“Ages,” Madame Rigby admitted. “That was why I hired on that boy from the Polytechnic; I had too much to do. He sat there for two solid years, working out all the commands.”

“Well, this beats anything I’ve ever seen,” said Dick. “Yes,
sir
! That is to say, yes, ma’am.”

“Mind him a moment,” said Madame Rigby, going into her private chambers. “I’ll go fetch him some britches.”

Dick, much to his consternation, was left alone with Jack. He put on as bold a face as he could muster, and said loudly:

“Say! Think we’ll get any rain?”

Jack turned his head slightly when Dick spoke, as though to better hear him. He drew breath, smiled and said:

“Perhaps.”

“But there isn’t a cloud in the sky!”

“That’s true.”

“I might as well have said, do you reckon we’ll get ice and snow in July!”

“Tell me what you think.”

“He’s got an empty phrase to suit any occasion,” said Madame Rigby, returning with a suit of men’s clothing under her arm. “Help me get him dressed, now.”

This proved much easier than dressing the other automata in the exhibit, for Jack, while unable to respond to an order as complex as
Dress yourself
, was nonetheless able to lift or extend his limbs when told to, and could follow a specific order such as
Button your shirt
. Presently he stood, fully clothed, in a suit of smart modern cut; the waistcoat he wore with the suit, however, was out of fashion. Twenty years ago it had been the latest thing, to be sure, and its fancy embroidery was still bright.

“Ma’am, if you don’t mind my saying so, this fellow’s going to make you millions,” said Dick in awe.

“Think so? Maybe,” said Madame Rigby. “Say, did you mail those invitations to the exhibition, like I told you?”

“I sure did, ma’am,” said Dick. “Did that first thing Monday morning.”

“Including the one to Congressman Gookin?”

“Yes indeed, ma’am. I think he’s already replied; it came in the morning post, but I haven’t had time to look through your correspondence today—”

Madame Rigby hurried to the table by the door, where her unopened mail sat in a basket. She picked up the letters and shuffled through them. One in particular she pulled out, and held up to the gaslight.

“That’s not his hand,” she said, frowning.

“I guess he has a secretary, ma’am,” said Dick.

“Oh! Sure he would, nowadays,” said Madame Rigby. She tore open the envelope and held up the letter, peering at it. Then she whooped with laughter. Jack smiled again and said, “Ha, ha ha!”

“What’s he say, ma’am?” said Dick, edging away from Jack.

“He says he’ll come!” cried Madame Rigby. “I knew he would. I asked him whether he might oblige us by saying a few words when the exhibition’s opened. He wouldn’t pass up a chance to stump for votes, not Fremont T. Gookin. The old son of a bitch is running for re-election, see?”

Dick winced at her language. “Yes, ma’am. I saw plenty of his banners up in Portsmouth Square, when I was posting handbills.”

Jack said, “You don’t say!”

“Listen to my pretty boy!” Madame Rigby said. “Well, this calls for a celebration. Come on, Dick; I’ll treat you to dinner at the Poodle Dog.” She grabbed up her hat and cape once more.

“What about
him
?” inquired Dick, turning out the lights.

“Why, he’ll stand guard; he never complains, my Jacky,” said Madame Rigby.

On Saturday morning, the long, sandy drive below Cliff House was crowded with buckboards and carriages. Above, a steady stream of people was dismounting from the streetcars that came and went. They milled about before the main entrance, where a sign had been strung up before the door:

Shortly before noon an impressive object came rattling up the Great Ocean Highway. It resembled a stagecoach, but was notable in that no horses galloped before it. The coachman, wearing goggles and a cap, drove from a small compartment in the front of the carriage; two men perched on the upper seats at the back, clutching their hats as the automobile accelerated to take the hill at a run. Within could be seen an imposing-looking gentleman of middle age, with a young lady seated beside him.

Many in the assembled crowd assumed this to be Mr. Rigby, and applauded at his grand arrival. No sooner had the automobile pulled up before the entrance, however, than they were disabused of this notion; for the two men behind the coach leaped down, bawling:

“Re-elect Congressman Fremont T. Gookin!”

One of them reached down and withdrew a bundle of painted canvas, and they hurried in through the arches; a moment later they could be glimpsed above on the outer deck, where they spread out a banner reading:

Congressman Gookin himself had meanwhile dismounted from the automobile, and extended his hand to the young lady, who stepped down, looking around her rather sullenly.

“Honestly, Papa!” she murmured. “That really is the height of bad manners.”

“Hush, Evangeline,” said her father. “There’s a reporter for the
Morning Call
! Smile; and pray don’t say anything objectionable.” He drew off his hat and waved it at the throng. “Well met, citizens!”

There were scattered cheers. With his daughter on his arm he strode within, smiling and nodding to one and all. Just to the left of the entrance was a reception room with a bar, where more members of the press were assembled. Congressman Gookin flashed them a broad smile.

“Gentlemen! What a grand day, is it not? I wonder if you could tell me whether Mr. Rigby has arrived?”

The reporter for the
Examiner
coughed meaningfully.

“
Madame
Rigby,” said she, stepping forward. Congressman Gookin turned to regard her.

“Oh! Like Madame Tussaud? Oh, I see! I hope you’ll pardon me, madame; entirely unintentional oversight,” he said. “Fremont T. Gookin, your servant. May I introduce my daughter, Evangeline?”

“What a pretty child,” said Madame Rigby. “You know, my dear, your papa’s quite forgotten me! Haven’t you, Congressman? Or is it possible the name Eudora Rigby has not quite faded from memory?”

Congressman Gookin opened his mouth to make some gracious rejoinder, and halted. He looked at Madame Rigby with recognition; horror came into his face. Before he could recover himself, Madame Rigby grinned, and urged forward the young man whose arm she held.

“And do let me present my son, Jack Rigby.”

“How do you do, young man,” stammered Congressman Gookin. Jack cocked his head slightly, smiled and said:

“Very pleased to meet you, I’m sure.”

Congressman Gookin’s distracted gaze traveled over the youth’s features, which bore a certain resemblance to his own; then he noticed the embroidered waistcoat, and the color quite fled from his cheeks. He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped away cold sweat.

“Madame—please—”

“I think you had a few words to say to the gentlemen of the press?” said Madame Rigby.

“Why—yes, I have—” Congressman Gookin fumbled in his coat pocket and brought out a paper containing the notes for the speech he had prepared. In doing so he disengaged his arm from that of his daughter, and Madame Rigby was quick to lean forward and take her hand.

“Miss Evangeline, wouldn’t you like a private tour of the exhibition, before we let in the public? Jack! Take her arm, there’s a good boy. Dick, you go with ’em, show Jack the way.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dick said, stepping away from the bar.

“But—” said Congressman Gookin, looking around wildly. Madame Rigby took his arm.

“Now, now, Congressman dear, I’m sure we’re all anxious to hear what you have to say,” she said, looking around at the reporters. “Aren’t you, boys?”

And in fact Congressman Gookin had prepared a fine speech, full of references to the New Century, and Progress, and American Capability. He had hired his automobile especially for the occasion, and had meant to laud American inventors in several clever references to it; he had even done a little research on the history of clockwork automata, and worked up an elaborate metaphor involving the American industrial worker as a proud engine propelling forward the American economy. This was designed to lead to an impassioned appeal for re-election, on the grounds that Progress would cease unless he, Congressman Gookin, were permitted to continue his efforts on its behalf.

It was a rather long speech, and this was unfortunate, for several journalists present noticed that Congressman Gookin stuttered on not a few occasions throughout. He seemed to have difficulty concentrating; several times his eyes tracked nervously to the door through which his daughter had vanished with the two young gentlemen. Madame Rigby stood by the door with her arms crossed, smiling at him the entire time.

Meanwhile, a floor above, Jack Rigby strolled along with Miss Evangeline on his arm, and Dick followed behind them, scarcely able to contain his mirth.

“These are the tableaux, miss,” said Dick, pointing to a row of cases. “They’re mostly her older pieces. This, here, is the Visit to the Circus; allow me to demonstrate.”

He dropped a slug nickel into the coin slot, whereupon Miss Evangeline was treated to the sight of a three-ring circus in miniature coming to life. Little trapeze artists swung to and fro, a lion tamer raised his whip before a snarling beast that lifted and dropped its head, and a magician made a crystal ball appear and disappear.

“Oh, everything
moves
,” exclaimed Evangeline, and gazed up at Jack. “Isn’t that clever!”

“Charming,” agreed Jack.

“And this one’s the Message from the Sea,” said Dick, trying to catch Evangeline’s eye, for he thought she was quite a pretty girl. She glanced at the tableau instead, as it whirred into motion. It depicted a ballroom. On a dais on one corner, musicians sat, and rocked to and fro as though playing their various instruments. Real beveled mirrors were set in the wall, the better to reflect the naval officers and their ladies who waltzed round and round, on a circular track, to a music-box waltz. Beyond, in a painted harbor lit by a white moon, great warships rode the sea surge, going slowly up and down; in the foreground a ship’s boat rocked too, full of sailors who rested on their oars. A tiny midshipman bearing a sword no longer than a toothpick was halfway up the terrace steps, waving; in his raised hand was a sealed dispatch.

“That is too, too romantic,” said Evangeline to Jack, with a sigh. “Whatever do you suppose is in the message?”

“Tell me what you think,” said Jack.

“Oh, I suppose—perhaps war’s been declared, and all those gallant seamen must leave their sweethearts broken hearted,” said Evangeline. “And yet, their love shall burn the more fiercely for being cruelly separated.”

“Indeed,” said Jack.

“Do you want to see the automatons?” said Dick, a trifle sulkily. “There’s a peach over here—Professor Honorius. He’ll write you out a personal message.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Evangeline. “I declare, Mr. Rigby, your mama is a woman of most remarkable talents!”

“Ah, well,” said Jack.

“You don’t think so? But then I find that parents and children seldom appreciate one another as they ought,” said Evangeline. “My papa, for example, seems incapable of regarding me as anything other than an ornament to his arm during election time.
My
thoughts and feelings are quite inconsequential to him.”