South Wind | Page 8

as myself," added Don Francesco. "There goes the
Commissioner! He is fussing about with the judge, that red-haired
man--do you see, Mr. Heard?--who limps like Mephistopheles and spits
continually. They say he wants to imprison all the Russians. Poor folks!
They ought to be sent home; they don't belong here. He is looking at us
now. Ha, the animal! He has the Evil Eye. He is also scrofulous,
rachitic. And his name is Malipizzo."
"What a funny name," remarked the Bishop.
"Yes, and he is a funny animal. They are great friends, those two."
"A horrible man, that judge," said the Duchess. "Only think, Mr. Heard,
an atheist."
"A freemason," corrected Mr. Keith.
"It's the same thing. And ugly! Nobody has a right to be quite so ugly. I
declare he's worse than the cinematographic villain--you remember,
Denis?"
"It is a miracle he has lived so long, with that face," added Don
Francesco. "I think God created him in order that mankind should have
some idea of the meaning of the word 'grotesque.'"
The proud title "Commissioner" caused the bishop to pay particular
attention to the other of the two individuals in question. He beheld a
stumpy and pompous-looking personage, flushed in the face, with a
moth-eaten grey beard and shifty grey eyes, clothed in a flannel shirt,

tweed knickerbockers, brown stockings, white spats and shoes. Such
was the Commissioner's invariable get-up, save that in winter he wore a
cap instead of a panama. He was smoking a briar pipe and looking
blatantly British, as if he had just spent an unwashed night in a
third-class carriage between King's Cross and Aberdeen. The
magistrate, on the other hand--the red-haired man--was jauntily dressed,
with a straw hat on one side of his repulsive head, and plenty of starch
about him.
"I never knew we had a Commissioner here," said Mr. Heard.
Keith replied:
"We haven't. He is Financial Commissioner for Nicaragua. An
incomparable ass is Mr. Freddy Parker."
"Oh, he has a sensible idea now and then, when he forgets to be a fool,"
observed Don Francesco. "He is President of the Club, Mr. Heard.
They will elect you honorary member. Take my advice. Avoid the
whisky."
Denis remarked, after a critical glance in the same direction:
"I notice that the Commissioner looks redder in the face than when I
last saw him."
"That," said Keith, "is one of Mr. Parker's characteristics."
CHAPTER III

Concerning the life and martyrdom of Saint Dodekamus, patron of
Nepenthe, we possess hardly any information of a trustworthy nature. It
is with his career as with that of other saints: they become
overlaid--encrusted, as it were--with extraneous legendary material in
the course of ages, even as a downward-rolling avalanche gathers snow.
The nucleus is hard to find. What is incontestably true may be summed
up almost in one paragraph.

He was born in A.D. 450, or thereabouts, in the city of Kallisto, in
Crete. He was an only child, a beautiful but unruly boy, the despair of
his widowed mother. At the age of thirteen he encountered, one
evening, an elderly man of thoughtful mien, who addressed him in
familiar language. On several later occasions he discoursed with the
same personage, in a grove of laurels and pines known as Alephane;
but what passed between them, and whether it was some divine
apparition, or merely a man of flesh and blood, was never discovered,
for he seems to have kept his mother in ignorance of the whole affair.
From that time onward his conduct changed. He grew pensive, mild,
and charitable. He entered, as youthful acolyte, a neighbouring Convent
of Salacian monks, and quickly distinguished himself for piety and the
gift of miracles. In the short space of three years, or thereabouts, he had
healed eight lepers, caused the clouds to rain, walked dryshod over
several rivers, and raised twenty-three persons from the dead.
At the age of eighteen he had a second vision. This time it was a young
woman, of pleasing exterior. He discoursed with her, on several
occasions, in the grove of laurels and pines known as Alephane; but
what passed between them, and whether it was a woman of flesh and
blood, or merely an angel, was never discovered, for he seems to have
kept his brother monks in ignorance of the whole affair. From that time
onward his conduct changed. He grew restless and desirous of
converting the heathen. He set sail for Lybia, suffered shipwreck in the
Greater Syrtis, and narrowly escaped with his life. Thence he passed
onward, preaching to black nations as he moved along, and converting
tribes innumerable. For three-and-thirty years he wandered till, one
evening, he saw the moon rise on the right side of his face.
He had entered the land of the Crotalophoboi, cannibals and