This was agreed upon. I spent the rest of the evening delightfully, and in the morning bought a new sports coat, brushed my hair differently, and returned as Fred.
I entered the bar peering through my fingers. «Which are you?» I cried. «I don't want to look at you properly till I know. I might fall in love with the wrong one.»
«I'm Nellie.»
«Good! To make it absolutely perfect, I'm Fred.» With that I dropped my hand. «Good old Bert!» I cried. «Wonderful taste he's got! Wonderful fellow!»
«He's nice. But you're nice, too.»
«Do you really think so?»
In short, we were happy. Soon afterwards Bella came in. There was nothing but giggles, comparisons, talk of future joys.
«It really ought to be a double wedding,» they said.
«Can't be done,» I replied. «Truly. Ask Bert if you don't believe me. He'll tell you it's out of the question.»
The next few days passed like lightning. All went twice as merrily as the ordinary marriage bell. I rented two bungalows, semi-detached, furnished them from the same store, took a week off for my honeymoon as Bert, and the next week for my honeymoon as Fred.
I then settled down to lives of singular contentment and regularity. One evening Nellie and I would have Bella to dinner, and spend the time saying what a grand fellow Bert was, and the next evening Bella and I would entertain Nellie and do the same for Fred.
It was a full month before I asked myself, which is the happier of the two, Fred or Bert? I was unable to answer. The doubt persisted until it tortured me.
I became a little moody, and sometimes would retire to the next room, under the pretense of a headache, in order to ponder the question over again. On one of these occasions, I went into the hallway to get cigarettes from my overcoat and I heard the girls' voices through the flimsy door of the drawing-room. «The darlings!» I thought. «They are discussing their husbands again. This may shed some light on my problem. Bella thinks Bert has the nicer voice. Nellie claims that Fred knows more songs. What is this? Really, Bella! Come, come, Nellie, you flatter me! Bella, what an exaggeration! Nellie, that is a downright lie!»
Soon afterwards I heard Nellie go home. I rejoined Bella, who was obviously much exercised in her mind. «Bert,» she said, «who is the best swimmer, you or Fred?»
«We never compete, darling, we are so sure we are equal.»
«I wonder if you would be if you tried,» said Bella, still looking extremely thoughtful.
When I returned to the other bungalow next evening, I found Nellie equally ill at ease. «Tell me something,» said she. «Of course I know Bella's my sister, my twin. Nobody could love her more than I do. But tell me, Fred, would you say she was absolutely truthful?»
«Absolutely,» said I. «I'd stake my life on it. Bert's life, too. She is incapable of a lie.»
«Oh!» said Nellie, lapsing into a deeper reverie than before.
It was with a sardonic pleasure that I watched the increasing wistfulness of both my wives. «I have an idea,» said I to myself, «that I shall soon learn whether Bert or Fred is the happier.»
Sure enough, it was not long before Nellie sent round one evening to ask if Bert would help her move some heavy furniture. I went to her aid, and afterwards we sat talking for a while on twins, likeness, differences, marriage, conventions, love, and what would have happened if Fred had met Bella before I had, and whether what hurts nobody can really be said to be wrong.
It took a long time to resolve all these problems to our complete satisfaction, and I was deprived of a good deal of Bella's company that evening. But this was made up to me on the following day, for she came round to ask if Fred would help her with a leaky tap, and we had an almost identical discussion which took just as long for its complete resolution.
I was now in a state of extreme and complicated bliss. It was clear that Bert had no reason to envy Fred, and that Fred's happiness was in all respects equal to Bert's. Not only had I two charming wives, but my double domestic happiness was multiplied by a dual and delicious infidelity.
But I was one day in the character of Bert, sitting before the fire enjoying the more legal of my happiness with Bella, charmed by her prattle and pleased by the complete restoration of her good spirits, when suddenly I was struck, as if by a thunderbolt, by the thought: «This woman is deceiving me!»
I leapt up with a muttered excuse, and rushed out of the now hateful house. I walked on the shore till late that night, a prey to the most bitter reflections. I had to admit that I was largely responsible, but I at least knew that it made no difference. She had no such excuse; it was she who had blighted our Eden.
I went home long after midnight, slept uneasily, and hurried off in the morning, eager to exchange the pitiful personality of the deceived husband for the roguish character of his betrayer.
As Fred, I returned with a jaunty sneer. Nellie greeted me. «How was Bert,» said she, «when you left him?»
«Bert?» said I. «Bert?»
Without another word I went heavily upstairs, and looked at myself in the mirror. The sight maddened me. I itched to get my fingers round my throat. I longed to rush next door and pour out my troubles to my adorable mistress, but I knew in my heart that she was as false as her sister below.
I thought of divorce, working out the actions and counteractions on my fingers, and badly spraining two of them in the process. Besides, there was the unsavory publicity.
At last I made up my mind. I hurried off to catch the last train to the town. Arrived there, I wrote two notes, as follows:
«Dear Nellie, I have found you out. I am asking Bert to come for a swim. He will never return. Fred.»
«Dear Bella. I know all. Am persuading Fred to take a midnight bathe. He will not come back, Bert.»
Having posted my letters, I took my two sports coats to the beach, where I left them side by side.
There was just time to get the train for B————, and it was there that I met Mrs. Wilkinson.
GREAT POSSIBILITIES
There are certain people who do not come to full flower until they are well over fifty. Among these are all males named Murchison. A Mr. Murchison is nothing without pink cheeks, white whiskers, and vintage port. There are no females of this name, except by accident. In fact, one wonders how the breed is continued, since bachelorhood is a fourth essential attribute of a true Murchison. Fortunately, they tend to be lawyers of the old-fashioned school, and old-fashioned family lawyers know all sorts of peculiar secrets.
By keeping at it twenty-four hours a day, and for considerably more than fifty years, Mr. Benjamin Murchison had succeeded in becoming a nearly perfect specimen of his race. He was fit to be stuffed and put in a museum, although there, of course, he could not have beamed and twinkled so benevolently.
He was very comfortably off, and could have been really wealthy, but certain of the more remunerative fields of law were not entirely to his taste. Indeed, he had become so fastidious that he would have retired completely, but many of his old friends had died and had left estates to be divided among their children, and to all these numerous broods Mr. Murchison was guardian, trustee, adviser, friend, and uncle.
Nothing delighted him more than to pay visits to his young friends, and nothing delighted them more than to have him.
Although nearly perfect, Mr. Murchison had one little eccentricity, which he kept extremely private. It was a mere nothing, a thought, a whim; it seems almost unfair to mention it. The fact is, he felt that nothing in the world would be nicer than to set fire to a house and watch it blaze.