The Argosy — page 302: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Michael’s Mistake. 277 streets again. Stand at the door; follow them with your eyes until you can follow them no longer; then turn your head on this side; and what do you see? A hansom stopping at this door. Who comes out of it? This time you have a vision of a slight, dainty little gentleman, his thin sunburnt face adorned by a trimly-kept, carefully-waxed, long brown imperial. Follow him also into the shop, and listen. “T want to see a portmanteau, if you please,” and you notice the foreign ring in his voice. ‘‘Something that can stand wear and tear, and plenty of knocking about. Have you such?” The shopman makes a dive once again into the window, and brings out the second of those that you were looking at. He lays it, with a satisfied thump, down upon the counter. “T could guarantee this wearing all over the world, sir. What with the brass bands on the ends, and that lock—a new patent—I believe it would wear for ever. You might travel a lifetime with it, and never once come across its equal.” Well, this also ends in the buying of the portmanteau, and the dis- appearance of the little, middle-aged, jaunty foreigner. Watch while he springs into the attendant hansom, watch the hansom itself whirl- ing off with the tide of its fellows; then turn your head once again, for the last time, and what do you see? Once more you have a vision of deep, grave eyes; of a broad brow and scholarly face; of a thin, lithe, tall form. Enter when he opens the door, and listen. His quick glance goes straight to the window. ‘Show me that portmanteau, will you?” The shopman dives for it, the last of those that you were looking at. “I can recommend this, sir. You might travel till doomsday with it, and never once see another like it. The brass at the ends, and the lock—a patent—and 5 “Tt will do; I will take it.” Come away — out of the shop into the open air again; watch him out of sight, walking, walking along there in the winter sunset. Then put it all from your mind, shop, and street, and visions, and listen to me. I see the first portmanteau. I see it with piles of others in the long whispering loft of an old French chateau; I see it journeying, journeying ; and now again I see it, lying as if asleep, the warm bright sun dancing upon it, the great smiling Rhine eddying along within earshot. Once again journeying, I see its arrival in an old shadowy, Continental city; I travel—travel with it; I see it at Calais ; I see it at Dover. I look at the calendar of my thoughts, and there I find the date of its arrival—August 15, in the year of our Lord 188i. I see the second portmanteau, I see it under the hot burning sun EONNIELOOKS (EC) m