CHAPTER 16

I struck off down the highway toward the city. Nothing around me now aroused my interest. The sea was just water, the distant mountains, piled-up land, the city a jumble of buildings and struggling humanity; to these I gave no further thought. I was amazed and chagrined, that, in an hour of great loss and sorrow I had been gaily carried off, as in an opium dream. Now the cold, calm face of my dear Dick rose before me, as I had last beheld it; my throat clogged with grief, and tears suffused my blinking eyes. I was far away from anything that had a touch of home about it, far away among absolute strangers, precious little ready money in my purse and no prospects for anything to my advantage.

It seemed strange that Mr. Carrel had let me go without a word of advice, or some instruction as to finding a suitable lodging place; he might have shown some desire to see me get acquainted with other deaf people in the city, for surely he must have known some through Marion’s acquaintance with them. I could pardon his attitude on the subject of my again seeing his daughter—that was his private affair; but I could not understand his silence, his seeming utter disinterestedness in my immediate welfare. I was on the point of retracing my steps to have another talk with him, but he had as good as said that I must not again enter his house; so pride bade me stay away.

I must have walked a mile when I came to a car line, and it was not long before I was aboard a car which bore the sign, “ Cliff House. ” I had heard of the old Cliff House—this one was the new, rebuilt one. It occurred to me that to spend the afternoon and evening out there by the sea would clear my brain and put me in brighter spirits. So Cliff House was my goal, and a half hour later I stepped off the car and checked my luggage and overcoat.

It was not long before nature was winning me back to my natural self. The broad, blue ocean before me, the impetuous surf bursting gloriously over the rocks below, the Golden Gate right at hand, the friendly sea lions sunning on the sea-level rocks, the beautiful and intelligent gulls gracefully cleaving the clear air or walking, unafraid, among the people; or, again turning my eyes seaward, the natant seaweed beforesting the water. With what wonder and admiration I viewed all this! I was a child again. In what a glory nature here bared herself and revelled! My gloom and loneliness passed away as pass the early haze and clouds before the advent of the sun; I was a new spirit born and carried upward and about in the glad air by the ever-present nurse, Nature. How lovely it was!

Time passed swiftly and unheeded until the great, red sun, like a mighty molten ingot, stood seemingly poised just above the clear-cut sea line. Then the fact that I was about to witness a western sunset, more, a sunset over the western sea, stirred my imagination. I resolved to wait and feast my eyes, I had seen the sun rise over the North Sea, I had beheld it bursting up from the vast Atlantic as I walked the deck of the Seamew, and sink again into that same sea; I had watched it rise over the New York skyline, and again, ever onward, ever wonderful, its fiery shafts had held me spellbound as they shot over the vast prairies; and circling onward I had seen the great ball drop with a startling suddenness behind the dark walls of the Rockies. Now I was to see that same orb sink into another ocean, again to rise over another hemisphere, another race. How red it grew! How strong, and bold, and beautiful! And now how gently sinking. Ah, it has touched the water, I was in an ecstasy, I expected to behold a mighty cloud of steam rise from the sea, for is not that mighty and red hot ball plunging into it?

There was a strange softness and stillness in the air, and a seeming quiet upon the sea: the sun has set; the day is done.

Sitting there before the rail that skirted the edge of the cliff, I began to dream. A dreariness was drawing over me; my eyelids would droop and close, then open. Drowsily, I leaned forward against the iron bar of the fence, my head resting upon my arm. Twice I caught myself nodding, then, overcome with weariness I fell asleep.

When I awoke the place was all aglow with myriad lights. The black, awesome void of the deep lay before me, broken only by the phosphorous on the waves and the breaking surf. Thousands of people were around, many wearing overcoats and furs, but none were close to me. I rubbed my hands and my face, my body shaking with the chill. I rubbed my eyes to clear them, and then I glanced about over the changed scene to find the place alive with pleasure-seeking people. Drawing forth my watch I found the hands pointing to half past nine. I gasped. I had slept four hours!

Who would not feel hungry after such an eventful day and chilly night? I had taken but a mouthful on the train; Quong had served only a light lunch, and now for hours I had been breathing the exhilarating sea air. Yes, I was keenly hungry.

The night chill drove me to the checking room where I got my overcoat and drew it over my insufficiently clad body. I then walked about, looking for a place to eat, coming at last into the broad dining room of the Cliff House. The place was filled with merry diners. The whiffs of broiling steaks and chops and fish that greeted me set my appetite still more on edge. I looked over the scene a moment, trying to locate a table to one side. A waiter, noticing my hesitation, led me to one at the far end. I sat down and soon gave my order.

Beautiful women were about me, handsomely to magnificently gowned. Handsome men and sailors with their sweethearts, army and navy officers in their resplendent uniforms; and unmistakable foreigners added color to the brilliant scene. I felt the vibrations of music. Waiters hurried hither and thither, wine flowed, laughter rippled and eyes flashed their fire or their beauty. Care was somewhere that night, but not near me.

I was shortly served, and soon began to feel warm, and to glow with the gay spirit of the place. Time flew merrily. Eleven o’clock. Empty tables dotted the erstwhile crowded room, fewer waiters were about; the music had died away. I resolved to watch it out as past midnight drew on. And thus, as I was watching and amusing myself, I was attracted by two waiters standing a little way out of the general view. They were gesticulating and laughing, imitating, as I quickly surmised, two deaf-mutes in conversation. I suspected them of having picked it up from me, as my waiter knew that I was deaf. While at first I was inclined to smile, so vehement and disgusting the mockery grew, so hugely did the two creatures enjoy it, that I was at first for taking them down good and hard, when I turned my head, and to my utter surprise beheld two men talking earnestly in the sign language! They sat at a small table facing each other. There was a bottle of wine on the table, and I saw the two men drain and then refill their glasses.

“ Burgundy—I like it above anything ever put inside a bottle—a wine bottle, save, maybe, champagne. ” I read the enlightening line as it came from the smaller man.

“ It is good; I too, like it, but a touch of red or green liqueur is to me something of the gods. ” The big man smacked his lips. I turned from them to those impudent waiters, still at their play. My blood boiled. I was about to rise and take some action, then held myself, taking a moment for thought. This gave me a chance to study the pair.

The features of one of these silent talkers struck me very forcefully. His head was large and crowned with a wealth of bushy, Mark Twain hair, slightly tinged with gray. His forehead was broad, surmounting a round and decidedly handsome face. Large of frame, stout, graceful in his use of the signs, and clear, he struck me as one possessing a very unusual and pleasing personality. His companion was of medium build and his features slightly sharp, and clear cut. He, too, was handsome, and revealed a strong intellect. However, judging by his very forceful use of signs, rapid, yet clear, and his changing expressions as he conversed, I put him down as one of a somewhat fiery temperament; the big one seemed more quiet and self-possessed. Still, as I tried to characterize the two, I allowed some margin for the wine bottle, at least with respect to the smaller man.

Now I understood those insolent waiters, and as their conduct was as much an insult to me as to those other two deaf men, I decided to face them, then take up the matter with the manager. On second thought, however, I hit on the idea of attracting the mutes ’ attention, let them see for themselves what was going on, and have some fun, maybe, out of it. Taking a bit of bread, I rolled up a pellet, intending to flip it over to the mute’s table. Just then, to my delight, the big one looked across the room and caught what was going on. His lips compressed, his eyebrows knit. He glared.

Then attracting his companion, he leaped to his feet, the smaller man rising as he caught the situation. Just then the manager, too, beheld the scene, and anticipating the two men, hurried over to the waiters, the deaf man following and pointing, making threatening signs at the offenders, who had shrunk back. The manager rushed up and bawled out the scared waiters, holding back the irate deaf man as he savagely sought to lay a hand on one of them. Then followed a pencil conversation between the mutes and the manager after he had ordered the waiters out of the room. I had expected the insulted diners to pitch in and rough-house those waiters, as women were leaving the room in alarm, and men were gathering about the manager. But nothing further happened, and the manager made his apologies, assuring the mutes, as I learned later on, that the offending waiters would be discharged.

When, finally, the two friends had resumed their composure and usual decorum, when they were again engrossed in their conversation, I spied on them from my angle of observation. As I watched, I caught such names as “ Rodin, ” “ Julian Academy, ” “ Paris, ” and such references as “ The Latin Quarter, ” “ Montmartre, ” “ The Seine, ” and the sentence, “ Don’t you remember when we were in Paris? ” Then it began to dawn on me that these two men really were the famous deaf artists I had heard of, the painter and the sculptor, who, since they lived near each other, must often be found together. I resolved to approach them and find out.

Then, too, I reasoned that if they were Edsum and Dermit, the painter and the sculptor, they must undoubtedly know Marion Carrel, or at least have heard of her. So here, I figured, was my opportunity, and I would not let it slip by. But I did not want to reveal my own identity, nor let them know that I, too, was deaf. So I hit on the trick of addressing them as a hearing person, an observer of the recent clash; so rising and going over to them I wrote on my pad as I walked. I told them I had witnessed the waiters ’ insults and their proper resentment, and they laughed. I told them I was a tourist and that this was my first visit to the Cliff House. The big one asked me to be seated, and offered me wine, which I politely declined, and they saw that I was not yet given to the cup, even in that mild form. I asked them if they lived in San Francisco, and they replied that their homes were in nearby cities. I then made inquiries about other deaf people, if many lived out there, and I learned that there were several hundred in that locality. But, strange as it seemed to me, they had never heard of Marion. I told them I knew some deaf people back East, and one of them had told me about a deaf-mute sculptor and a deaf-mute painter out this way, and did they know these men? I then named the two, and as I did so, I caught the smaller man giving the big one a wink. Then the latter said, “ Maybe you mean Dermit and Edsum? ” I nodded affirmatively, and he showed the smaller man what he had written, whereupon the two laughed, and I guessed that they were the men whom I desired to meet.

“ What did you have in mind about those men? ” wrote the smaller man.

“ I am interested, ” I replied, giving my correct name and adding that I was by rearing an English chap, but by birth, an American. I said “ chap ” further to strengthen my assertion and I noticed that the term was recognized by the smaller man.

Having thus revealed myself, I pointed out that as most of my father’s race—the English—are endowed with something of the artistic temperament and literary bent, I was no exception, and the fact that art had been successfully carried out by persons so handicapped as were Edsum and Dermit, I was curious to know more about them, to see some of their work, and if possible, meet them. At this there was a quick interchange of signs, some of which I understood, and of course it was not necessary then for them to make known their identity—I had read it, they were Edsum and Dermit! The big one Edsum.

Then came a good handshaking. After a while, when we had become a little better acquainted, I again mentioned Marion, but she and Mr. Carrel were total strangers to these men; and I was cautious enough not to press the subject further, since I had interests in the two, Marion and her father, which I wished to keep to myself.

It was now past twelve. Two or three people besides ourselves remained over their wine glasses, too stupid, perhaps, to go.

Edsum inquired of my stopping place, and I had to tell him that I had not yet located, and could they direct me to a suitable place? To this question came the invitation to accompany them back to the city, and they would see that I did not get lost. I got my suitcase, and off we went, ere long getting off on Market Street. I found the way quite as bepeopled as in broad daylight. Indeed, it was another Great White Way. It was some years after the great earthquake and fire. The great, new structures, the wonder and pride of the indomitable people, rose before me and far around me. Some traces of the terrible devastation were still to be seen. Sidewalks were shattered. Great holes, once basements, gaped between the buildings, and solitary walls, raised long ago, stood waiting dismantlement. At last we got to a hotel and I engaged a room for the night, sending up my suitcase while I still conversed with Edsum and Dermit. Giving me their cards and inviting me to call, they turned to leave, I thanking them for their kindness.

Then the unexpected happened, that is, unexpected on the part of my artist friends. A clerk addressed me, and noticing my hesitancy to reply, wrote on a slip of paper. He had seen my friends talk in signs, and so concluded that I, too, was deaf. Careful as I tried to be to evade exposure, Edsum, with the keen eye of an artist, detected it and turned an amazed face full upon me. I winced.

“ Are you deaf? ” he spelled. The question came swift and strong, bearing all the emphasis of spoken words in the spirit of surprise.

It was out. I had been a cunning rascal, but my friends, after the first shock, saw the humor of it. Laughing, they again clasped my willing hand, asking who in the deuce I was and whence I came.

We drew a little to one side and I told them that I had fooled them simply out of sport, and that I was the “ Mickey ” whom Bunny had sometimes mentioned in the deaf press. It was up to me to pay for the fun I had had, and while I had no taste for wine, I set them up at the hotel bar, taking a beer and soda myself. Over the cheering glasses we three laughed the incident away, and that invitation to call was pressed home.

So I had met those famous deaf men, had worked a good-natured trick which we all enjoyed, and to my good fortune, won myself into their esteem and good will.