Chapter XIII. The Great Love Experiment
For a full half minute after the other's words Philip stared inastonishment. Then, with a joyful shout, he suddenly reached out hishand across the stove.
"By thunder," he cried, "you're from home!"
"Home!" exclaimed the other. There was a startled note in his voice."You're--you're a Chicago man?" he asked, staring strangely at Philipand gripping his hand at the same time.
"Ever hear of Steele--Philip Egbert Steele? I'm his son."
"Good Heavens!" drawled the doctor, gazing still harder at him andpinching the ice from his beard, "what are you doing up here?"
"Prodigal son," grinned Philip. "Waiting for the calf to get good andfat. What are you doing?"
"Making a fool of myself," replied the doctor, looking at the top of thestove and rubbing his hands until his fingers snapped.
At the North Pole, if they had met there, Philip would have known himfor a professional man. His heavy woolen suit was tailor made. He wore acollar and a fashionable tie. A lodge signet dangled at his watchchain. He was clean-shaven and his blond Van Dyke beard was immaculatelytrimmed. Everything about him, from the top of his head to the bottom ofhis laced boots, shouted profession, even in the Arctic snow. He mighthave gone farther and guessed that he was a physician--a surgeon,perhaps--from his hands, and from the supple manner in which he twistedhis long white fingers about one another over the stove. He was a manof about forty, with a thin sensitive face, strong rather than handsome,and remarkable eyes. They were not large, nor far apart, but were liketwin dynamos, reflecting the life of the man within. They were the sortof eyes which Philip had always associated with great mental power.
The doctor had now finished rubbing his hands, and, unbuttoning hisunder coat, he drew a small silver cigarette case from his waistcoatpocket.
"They're not poison," he smiled, opening it and offering the cigarettesto Philip. "I have them made especially for myself." A sound outside thedoor made him pause with a lighted match between his fingers. "How aboutdogs and Indian?" he asked. "May they come in?"
Philip began hobbling toward the door.
"So exciting to meet a man from home that I forgot all about 'em," heexclaimed.
With three or four quick steps the doctor overtook him and caught him bythe arm.
"Just a moment," he said quickly. "How far is Fort Smith from here?"
"About sixty miles."
"Do you suppose I could get there without--his assistance?"
"If you're willing to bunk here for a few days--yes," said Philip. "I'mgoing on to Fort Smith myself as soon as I am able to walk."
An expression of deep relief came into the doctor's eyes.
"That's just what I want, Steele," he exclaimed, unfeignedly delightedat Philip's suggestion. "I'm not well, and I require a little rest. Callhim in."
No sooner had the Indian entered than to Philip's astonishment thelittle doctor began talking rapidly to him in Cree. The guide's eyeslighted up intelligently, and at the end he replied with a single word,nodded, and grinned. Philip noticed that as he talked a slight flushgathered in the doctor's smooth cheeks, and that not only by his voicebut by the use of his hands as well he seemed anxious to impress uponhis listener the importance of what he was saying.
"He'll start back for Chippewayan this afternoon," he explained toPhilip a moment later. "The dogs and sledge are mine, and he says thathe can make it easily on snow-shoes." Then he lighted his cigarette andadded suggestively, "He can't understand English."
The Indian had caught a glimpse of Philip's belt and holster, and nowmuttered a few low words, as though he were grumbling at the stove. Thedoctor poised his cigarette midway to his lips and looked quickly acrossat Philip.
"Possibly you belong to the Northwest Mounted Police," he suggested.
"Yes."
"Heavens," drawled the doctor again, "and you the son of a millionairebanker! What you doing it for?"
"Fun," answered Philip, half laughing. "And I'm not getting it insugar-coated pellet form either. Doctor. I came up here to get aman, found him, and was gloriously walloped for my trouble. I'm notparticularly sorry, either. Rather glad he got away."
"Why?" asked the doctor.
In spite of their short acquaintance Philip began to feel a sort ofcomradeship for the man opposite him.
"Well," he said hesitatingly, "you see, he was one of those criminalswho are made criminals. Some one else was responsible--a case of one mansuffering because of another man's sins."
If the doctor had received the thrust of a pin he could not have jumpedfrom his chair with more startling suddenness than he did at Philip'swords.
"That's it!" he cried excitedly, beginning to pace back and forth acrossthe cabin floor. "It's more than a theory--it's a truth--that peoplesuffer more because of other people than on account of themselves.We're born to it and we keep it up, inflicting a thousand pricks and athousand sorrows to gain one selfish end and it isn't once in a hundredtimes that the boomerang comes home and strikes the right one down. Butwhen it does--when it does, sir--"
As suddenly as he had begun, the doctor stopped, and he laughed alittle unnaturally. "Bosh!" he exclaimed. "Let's see that head of yours,Steele. Speaking of pains and pricks reminds me that, being a surgeon, Imay be of some assistance to you."
Philip knew that he had checked himself with an effort, and as his newacquaintance began to loosen the bandage he found himself wondering whatmysterious mission could have sent a Chicago surgeon up to Fort Smith.The doctor interrupted his thoughts.
"Queer place for a blow," he said briskly. "Nothing serious--slightabrasion--trifle feverish. We'll set you to rights immediately." Hebustled to his greatcoat and from one of the deep pockets drew fortha leather medicine case. "Queer place, queer place," he chuckled,returning with a vial in his hand. "Were you running when it happened?"
Philip laughed with him, and by the time the doctor had finished he hadgiven him an account of his affair with DeBar. Not until hours later,when the Cree had left on his return trip and they sat smoking before aroaring fire after supper, did it occur to him how confidential he hadbecome. Seldom had Philip met a man who impressed him as did the littlesurgeon. He liked him immensely. He felt that he had known him foryears instead of hours, and chatted freely of his adventures and asked athousand questions about home. He found that the doctor was even betteracquainted with his home city than himself, and that he knew many peoplewhom he knew, and lived in a fashionable quarter. He was puzzled evenas they talked and laughed and smoked their cigarettes and pipes. Thedoctor said nothing about himself or his personal affairs, and cleverlychanged the conversation whenever it threatened to drift in thatdirection.
It was late when Philip rose from his chair, suggesting that they go tobed. He laughed frankly across into the other's face.
"Boffin--Boffin--Boffin," he mused.
"Strange I've never heard of you down south, Doctor. Now what the deucecan you be doing up here?"
There was a point-blank challenge in his eyes. The doctor leaned alittle toward him, as if about to speak, but caught himself. For severalmoments his keen eyes gazed squarely into Philip's, and when he brokethe silence the same nervous flush that Philip had noticed before roseinto his cheeks. "To go roughing it down in South America. I believeyou're honest--on the square."
Philip stared at him in amazement.
"If I didn't," he went on, rubbing his hands again over the stove, "I'dfollow your suggestion, and go to bed. As it is, I'm going to tell youwhy I'm up here, on your word of honor to maintain secrecy. I've got aselfish end in view, for you may be able to assist me. But nothing mustgo beyond yourself. What do you say to the condition?"
"I will not break your confidence--unless you have murdered some one,"laughed Philip, stooping to light a fresh pipe. "In that event you'dbetter keep quiet, as I'd have to haul you back to headquarters."
He did not see the deepening of the flush in the other's face.
"Good,"
said the doctor. "Sit down, Steele. I take it for granted thatyou will help me--if you can. First I suppose I ought to confess thatmy name is not Boffin, but McGill--Dudley McGill, professor of neurologyand diseases of the brain--"
Philip almost dropped his pipe. "Great Scott, and it was you whowrote--" He stopped, staring in amazement.
"Yes, it was I who wrote Freda, if that's what you refer to," finishedthe doctor. "It caused a little sensation, as you may know, and nearlygot me ousted from the college. But it sold up to two hundred thousandcopies, so it wasn't a bad turn," he added.
"It was published while I was away," said Philip. "I got a copy in RioJaneiro, and it haunted me for weeks after I read it. Great Heaven, youcan't believe--"
"I did," interrupted the doctor sharply. "I believed everything that Iwrote--and more. It was my theory of life." He sprang from his chair andbegan walking back and forth in his quick, excited way. The flush hadgone from his face now and was replaced by a strange paleness. His lipswere tense, the fingers of his hands tightly clenched, his voice wasquick, sharp, incisive when he spoke.
"It was my theory of life," he repeated almost fiercely, "and that isthe beginning of why I am up here. My theory was that there existedno such thing as 'the divine spark of love' between men and women notrelated by blood, no reaching out of one soul for another--no faith, nopurity, no union between man and woman but that could be broken by lowpassions. My theory was that man and woman were but machines, and thatpassion, and not the love which we dream and read of, united thesemachines; and that every machine, whether it was a man or a woman, couldbe broken and destroyed in a moral sense by some other machine of theopposite sex--if conditions were right. Do you understand me? My theorywas destructive of homes, of happiness, of moral purity. It was bad. Iargued my point in medical journals, and I wrote a book based on it.But I lacked proof, the actual proof of experience. So I set out toexperiment."
He seemed to have forgotten now that Philip was in the room, and wenton bitterly, as if arraigning himself for something which he had not yetdisclosed.
"It made me a--a--almost a criminal," he continued. "I had no goodthoughts for humanity, beyond my small endeavors in my little field ofscience. I was a machine myself, cold, passionless, caring littlefor women--thus proving, if I had stopped to consider myself, theunreasonableness of my own theory. Coolly and without a thought of theconsequences, I set out to prove myself right. When I think of it nowmy action appalls me. It was heinous, for the mere proving of my theorymeant misery and unhappiness for those who were to prove it to me. Iwas not cramped for money. So I determined to experiment with sixmachines--three young men and three young women. I planned that eachperson should be unconscious of the part he or she was playing, and thateach pair should be thrown constantly together--not in society, mindyou, for my theory was that conditions must be right. Through a trustedand highly paid agent I hired my people--the men. Through another, whowas a woman, I hired those of the opposite sex. One of the young womenwas sent to an obscure little place a hundred miles back from theBrazilian coast, ostensibly to act as governess for the children of anAmerican family which did not exist. To this same place, through theother agent, was sent a man, whose duty was to get information about thecountry for a party of capitalists. Do you begin to understand?"
"Yes, I begin to understand," said Philip.
"This place to which they went was made up of a dozen or so hovels,"continued the doctor, resuming his nervous walk. "There was no onethere who could talk or understand their language but these two. Theconsequence--conditions were right. They would be constantly together.They would either prove or disprove my theory that men and women werebut machines of passion. I knew that they would stay at this placeduring the three months I had allotted for my experiment, for I paidthem a high price. The girl, when she found no American family, was toldto wait until they arrived. The man, of course, had plenty of supposedwork to keep him there."
"I understand," repeated Philip.
"The second couple," continued the doctor, forcing himself into a chairopposite Philip, "were in a similar way sent up here--to an obscurenorthern post which I have reason for not naming. And the third couplewent to a feverish district down in Central America."
He rose from his chair again, and Philip was silent while the doctorwent to his great-coat and from somewhere within its depths brought outfresh cigarettes. His hand trembled slightly as he lighted one and theflare of the match, playing for an instant on his face, emphasized thenervous tension which he was under.
"I suppose you think it all very strange--and idiotic," he said, aftera few moments. "But we frequently do strange things, and apparentlysenseless ones, in scientific work. Madmen have made the world'sgreatness. Our most wonderful inventors, our greatest men of all ages,have in a way been insane--for they have been abnormal, and what is thatbut a certain form of insanity?"
He looked at Philip through his cigarette smoke as if expecting a reply,but Philip only wet his lips, and remained silent.
"I got six months' leave of absence," he resumed, "and set out to seethe results of my experiments. First I went to Rio, and from there tothe place where the first couple had gone. As a consequence, five weekspassed between the date of the last letters of my experimenters andthe day I joined them. Heavens, man! When I made it known that I wantedthem, where do you think they took me?"
He dropped his half-burned cigarette and his voice was husky as heturned on Philip. "Where--where do you think they took me?" he demanded.
"God knows!" exclaimed Philip, tremulously. "Where?"
"To two freshly made graves just outside the village," groaned thedoctor. "I learned their story after a little. The girl, finding herselfuseless there, had begun to teach the little children. I'm--I'm--goingto skip quickly over this." His voice broke to a whisper. "She was anangel. The poor half-naked women told me that through my interpreter.The children cried for her when she died. The men had brought floweringtrees from miles away to shade her grave--and the other. They had met,as I had planned--the man and the girl, but it didn't turn out--my way.It was a beautiful love, I believe, as pure and sweet as any in thewhole world. They say that they made the whole village happy, and thateach Sunday the girl and the man would sing to them beautiful songswhich they could not understand, but which made even the sick smile withhappiness. It was a low, villainous place for a village, half encircledby a swampy river, and the terrible heat of the summer sun brought withit a strange sickness. It was a deadly, fatal sickness, and many died,and always there were the man and the girl, working and singing andstriving to do good through all the hours of day and night. What needis there of saying more?" the doctor cried, his voice choking him. "Whatneed to say more--except that the man went first, and that the girl dieda week later, and that they were buried side by side under the mangumtrees? What need--unless it is to say that I am their murderer?"
"There have been many mistakes made in the name of science," saidPhilip, clearing his throat. "This was one. Your theory was wrong."
"Yes, it was wrong," said the doctor, more gently. "I saved myself bykilling them. My theory died with them, and as fast as I could travel Ihurried to that other place in Central America."
A soft glow entered into his eyes now, and he came around the stove andtook one of Philip's hands between his own, and looked steadily downinto his face, while there came a curious twitching about the muscles ofhis throat.
"Nothing had happened," he said, barely above a whisper. "I foundher, and I thank God for that I loved her, and my theory was doublyshattered, a thousand times cursed. She is my wife, and I am thehappiest of men--except for these haunting memories. Before I marriedher I told her all, and together we have tried to make restitution formy crime, for I shall always deem it such. I found that the man who diedwas supporting a mother, and that the girl's parents lived on a littlemortgaged farm in Michigan. We sent the mother ten thousand dollars, andthe parents the same. We have built a little church in the village wherethey died. T
he third couple," finished the doctor, dropping Philip'shand, "came up here. When I got back from the south I found that severalof my checks had been returned. I wrote letter after letter, but couldfind no trace of these last of my experimenters. I sent an agent intothe North and he returned without news of them. They had never appearedat Fort Smith. And now--I have come up to hunt for them myself. Perhaps,in your future wanderings, you may be of some assistance to me. That iswhy I have told you this--with the hope that you will help me, if youcan."
With a flash of his old, quick coolness the doctor turned to one ofPierre Thoreau's bunks.
"Now," he said, with a strained laugh, "I'll follow your suggestion andgo to bed. Goodnight."