Algernon de Witt Caramel was a highly accomplished young gentleman. He conversed fluently in all the modern languages, and had mastered Greek, Latin, and Hebrew with the utmost ease. His voice was an exquisite, pure tenor, and his paintings far excelled those of any living artist. In appearance, he was a veritable Adonis. He was, moreover, a graceful dancer, a fearless swimmer, a daring equestrian, a brilliant conversationalist, and was acknowledged to be, by all odds, the best-dressed man in town.
These various and attractive attributes had placed him in a very prominent and enviable position, but he was yet to win another title, one that was to make him world-famous; in fact, the greatest celebrity of his age.
Who lives who has not heard of Algernon De Witt Caramel, the Champion Short-Stop of America?
With these few brief remarks, we commence our very authentic history.
It was a glorious day in early June. The Polo grounds were thronged with an eager and clamorous crowd awaiting the great sporting event of the year, namely, the famous match between the wondrous “Brobdignagians” of the great metropolis, and the renowned “Bridegrooms” of the City of Churches. The grandstand was filled to suffocation with representatives of beauty and fashion, prominent among them being Miss Violet Veronica Van Sittart, our hero’s peerlessly beautiful fiancée. Each member of the rival teams received a lusty welcome as he stepped forth upon the turf, but when Caramel appeared, the enthusiasm knew no bounds.
Handkerchiefs waved, hats were thrown up madly, strong men wept, and weak women fainted. Violet Veronica grew alternately lily-white and rosy-red while her gallant young lover cast an ardent glance of affection towards her, bowing again and again to the excited multitude.
In all the vast crowd assembled, there was but one heart that beat unresponsive to the rest. This particular heart was lodged somewhere in the neighborhood of the fifth rib appertaining to the anatomy of Mr. Rudolf Von Hostetter and was, in fact, full and overflowing with rage, hatred, and malice. Rudolf detested Algernon cordially. He had, himself, been an aspirant for the hand of Violet Veronica and had not been without some faint signs of encouragement until the advent of the Short-Stop; then he was dropped—gently and kindly, but most decidedly dropped. This was gall and wormwood to Mr. Rudolf Von Hostetter of Brooklyn. He was a tall, handsome man, of a Mephistophelian cast of countenance. Being both bold and bad, you can easily recognize him as the heavy villain of my story. As he listened to the wild shouts of welcome accorded his rival, a grim smile distended his saturnine features as he hugged to his breast—what? Something that in appearance was simplicity itself, being nothing more nor less than an ordinary baseball. And yet—let there be no deception; this same baseball was enchanted! He had paid five dollars for it to a magician who lived in Green Street, and its marvelous properties evoked the Satanic delight which beamed in his handsome wicked face.
“Aye,” muttered he, between his clenched teeth, “applaud your spoiled darling, ye fools! And you, false Violet Veronica, smile on your ‘pretty boy.’ Little reek ye how soon Caramel and Brobdignag will be forgotten, and the glad cry will be ‘Hostetter and the Bridegrooms!'”
It is not my intention to inflict on you a full and particular account of this most celebrated game, for, as you know, every newspaper in the country has done so already far more clearly and scientifically than I could ever hope to; and yet, in the interest of my story, I must remind you of certain events that occurred towards the close of the match. When the last half of the ninth inning was called, the score stood as follows:
Brobdignagians – 2
Bridegrooms – 1
It was now the turn of the Bridegrooms to take the bat in a bold endeavor to win or, at least, to tie the game. Before commencing work, the players, as is their boyish fashion, tossed the ball idly from one to the other, and suddenly it rolled, as if impelled by some power unseen, to Hostetter’s feet, who deftly exchanged it, unobserved, for the one he had purchased from the weird sorcerer. “And now the game indeed is ours!” muttered he, and threw the ball lightly to the Pitcher, the famous Timotheus of the “Brobs.”
The first to take the bat was that prime favorite among the “Grooms,” the handsome O’Duffer. He went to his place with a firm step and a proud heart, determined to do or die; however, nimble Timotheus soon settled his fond hopes with a mighty fling that sent the “little joker” flying true over the home plate. Alas for O’Duffer! It was “one, two, three, and out.” Next from the Bridegroom ranks came sturdy little Macarty, with a cast-iron smile that boded no good to his opponent. He, however, was speedily “retired” by the Umpire on account of interfering with the catcher. Poor Mac “retired in soft confusion,” like the heroine of a dime novel. Duck Owing, the catcher, could not suppress a grin; for with two men out, and no runs added to the score, he could almost see that shy bird, Victory, perching upon the banner of the “Brobs.”Now, at last, came Hostetter’s opportunity, who had witnessed, with fine unconcern, the discomfiture of his associates. Bat in hand, the champion of the Lilliputians stepped to the home plate and received a warm recognition from both friends and foes, for he certainly was a very handsome fellow, as well as a famous batsman, and all the hopes of his party lay in the strength of his stalwart arms and in the forlorn chance of a home-run. Plucky young Timotheus never exerted himself more than at this moment; he threw the ball viciously at Hostetter, who received it carelessly and missed.
“One strike!” cried the Umpire.
(Tim had delivered one of his famous “in-curves.”) Again Timotheus sent the little globe flying on its way, but this time surely his hand had lost its cunning, for “One ball!” cried the Umpire. Another attempt, and still another, both in vain, among groans from the “Brobs,” and cheers from the “Grooms.” “Two balls!” “Three balls!” in quick succession shouted the Umpire, but there was no response, for the crowd had actually become hushed in a fearful tension of interest and excitement.
Timotheus, goaded to desperation, made a magnificent effort, and the happy result was that “Two strikes!” was called, but unfortunately was followed by four balls! The eventful moment had arrived: expectation was on tiptoe; the people were benumbed—breathless: Violet Veronica gasped out a little prayer for her Algernon and his party. And then Timotheus, for the last time, lifted the Enchanted Ball, and with one mighty effort sent it flying, to be received broadly on Hostetter’s bat, and thence whirled, on the rebound, in the direction of Left Field.
Here our gallant, ever-watchful Short-Stop, rushed forward to intercept it, but the magic toy simply grazed his fingers in its flight. At the moment of contact, an electric current seemed to pass through his frame. He turned swiftly and darted after the flying ball. In his ears rang a myriad voices crying, “Run, Hostetter, run!” “A three-bagger!” “Bridegrooms forever!” but still, impelled by supernatural force, on rolled the magic baseball, hotly pursued by Caramel, who fairly gnashed his teeth with rage and chagrin when he saw it reach the high whitewashed fence which encloses the Polo Grounds and clear it with a leap. And now occurred something wonderful. Caramel, seeing the course the ball had taken, gave himself and the game up for lost, but to his intense astonishment, he found himself entirely independent of his own volition, bounding after, and actually on the other side of the fence! On sped the ball, and on sped Algernon; John Gilpin was nowhere in the record. Fancy the dismay of the good folks on the Boulevard as they witnessed the astonishing spectacle! Horses ran away, women screamed, bicycles dashed into baby carriages, and their riders into the arms of pretty nursemaids. The only other person who profited by the excitement was an itinerant photographer, who made an instantaneous sketch of Caramel clearing a horse-car and realized quite a handsome profit by the sale thereof. Nothing could check the velocity of the ball, nor the flight of the Short-Stop. When such trifling impediments as carriages, wagons, or equestrians blocked the way, both pursuer and pursued vaulted lightly into the air, and in a moment the obstruction was left a mile behind. Now they were tearing through Central Park at the rate of eighty miles an hour. Faster and faster! Another moment found them whirling down Fifth Avenue in the direction of the Battery. On and on, and now, oh horror! The blue waters of the bay were dancing before his distended eyes. “Does the infernal thing propose to drown me?” he screamed in anguish, but marvelous to relate! In another moment the enchanted ball was skimming the white crest of the waves in an easterly direction. As soon as our bewildered hero found that the Atlantic was but as a soft, cool, silken carpet beneath his feet, he began to gain heart—in fact, he presently experienced a delightful feeling of exhilaration, and no longer felt the slightest anxiety in regard to the position in which he found himself.
They were now proceeding at almost lightning speed, when a tiny black speck on the horizon, with a trail of smoke behind it, betokened a mighty ocean steamer, and in less than five seconds, Caramel had overtaken her. It proved to be one of the flyers of the White Star line. The kindly and popular doctor was indulging in a matutinal cocktail with his friend, Mr. S. of New York; both were gazing dreamily over the broad bosom of the ocean when, swift in his flight as a falling star, our hero darted by. The doctor turned pale and gazed with a hollow eye upon his friend who was trembling visibly. The same idea had occurred simultaneously to both these boon companions.
“Sidonious!” cried Dr. K., in sepulchral tones; “this settles it! I’ll swear off!” “And I am with you, my boy,” echoed his friend, although tears were in his manly voice.
And ever faster and faster flew the ball, and ever faster and faster flew the Short Stop. And now the sun was dipping his rosy head beneath the vast Atlantic.
Caramel’s heart swelled proudly as he realized that he had beaten the record. He had crossed the ocean in less than two hours!
Before him stretched a long line of gray cliffs, with a narrow belt of yellow sand beneath, and presently he found himself bounding over the sand-hills across long stretches of barren wasteland. Soon the twinkling lights of a lonely village were seen, for evening was drawing in. The magic baseball spun through the one long, straggling street, with Algernon behind it, and the terrified peasants dropped on their knees and crossed themselves as the strange apparition passed them by. Out again into the open country, and across a pretty river flowing peacefully between its softly wooded banks. More villages, rivers, meadows, hills, and now they approached a noble forest. Over the vast pine-tree tops whirled the ball, while the moon broke forth in solemn splendor, and our hero gazed in rapt wonder on the glorious scene beneath. A sea! A shimmering sea of waving branches bathed in the silver beams of the argent Queen of Night! They have reached the limits of the mighty forest at last, and a broad, white road lies before them. It is on an upward incline and appears to have been hewn out of the solid rock. Nothing daunted, on and up they go, until a massive, magnificent building rises before them—a medieval castle perched upon the crest of a gigantic cliff, frowning down upon a mighty river. Evidently, some festival is being held within its ancient walls, for from every casement pours forth light and music—the sounds of revelry and rippling laughter.
One final, energetic spin, and the magic baseball dashes itself against the brazen portals of the castle, which respond with a mighty clang. Then, spent, exhausted, it rebounds, and like a submissive hound, halts at our hero’s feet!
PART II
You may suppose that Mr. Caramel was utterly exhausted after his marvelous trip across the Atlantic. Not a bit of it! He never felt better or brighter in his life, nor did his manly beauty ever shine forth with greater luster than when, after placing the enchanted baseball very carefully in his hip pocket, he awaited a response to its summons.
Slowly and silently the massive portals swung open, discovering within a most wondrous picture. Imagine a vast hall thronged with gallant knights and lovely ladies, some exchanging courtly badinage, others treading a sprightly measure, to the soft lilting of lute, mandolin, and viol. Graceful young pages were in attendance, proffering refreshments in the shape of the rarest fruits, the most exquisite wines, while the gentle moon gazed mildly in between the golden arches of the hall, and richest perfumes filled the intoxicating air, mingled with the dewy breath of a thousand roses, and the soft warble of crystal fountains from the garden without.
“This must surely be some court masquerade,” thought our hero. “These costumes apparently are those of the fifteenth century.” The dance was now at an end, and he perceived on his right a raised dais, where beneath a gorgeous canopy was seated a venerable gentleman of fatherly and benign aspect. His figure was portly rather than majestic; his eyes were blue and twinkling with good humor; his gray locks fell in old-fashioned ringlets on his shoulders. By his side, gracefully seated on a low couch, reclined the loveliest creature in the world.
She was apparently about eighteen years of age. Her figure was tall and elegant, and her glorious golden tresses fell in two heavy braids almost to her feet. Her flowing robe was of nile-green brocade, richly embroidered with silver. She wore long angel sleeves, and her swanlike throat was encircled with many rows of priceless pearls and diamonds.
To his infinite surprise, however, Caramel discovered that this divine creature wore spectacles, or rather goggles, over her wonderful blue eyes. Certainly, these goggles were framed in golden filigree so fine and delicate that they were almost imperceptible, but they were there nevertheless, to mar, to some extent, her otherwise unrivaled loveliness. On looking around, Caramel was surprised to see that the old lord (evidently her father) also wore golden goggles, and so, indeed, did every person present, lords, ladies, and all, down to the little foot pages themselves. Our hero now advanced with simple, manly grace, and bowed before his venerable host, who gazed at him with surprise, but no displeasure.
“Who art thou, and what seekest thou?” demanded the old gentleman.
“I am an American,” returned Algernon. “My name is Caramel, and I am the champion Short-Stop of the world.” A scene of excitement ensued. All present pushed forward to obtain a nearer view of the distinguished player, while the old nobleman tottered down the steps of the throne and warmly grasped Algernon’s hands in his.
“Welcome, thrice welcome!” cried he. “We had deemed thee but some poor monarch, some petty, puny princeling; age must be our excuse, and the infirmities of age. Rise, Aldegonda, and make thy obeisance to the greatest man of the day!” The beautiful young lady rose dutifully and then dropped a most graceful courtesy, at the same time turning her lustrous orbs -(goggles and all) upon our hero, who, thereupon, straightway fell head over heels in love with the fair princess; home, country, Violet Veronica, all! all, alas, were forgotten.
Nothing could exceed the cordiality of the old Prince Otto Von Blitzenburg. I shall not weary you with a description of the doings of the next three months. Fête followed fête in dazzling succession; hunting parties, sailing on the river by moonlight; concerts, banquets, balls; until Caramel began to think the coffers of Prince Otto must be inexhaustible. Very shortly after their first introduction, Algernon and Aldegonda had become engaged, with the entire approval of the lady’s father, who appeared to think his “one fair daughter” extremely fortunate in securing so eligible a parti as our handsome Short-Stop, although he often remarked to Caramel, “Kings and Emperors had sighed for her in vain.”
Caramel would now have been perfectly happy but that no amount of entreaty could induce Aldegonda to remove her golden goggles, while she was equally determined to obtain possession of the magic baseball. The lovely princess pouted; scolded; coaxed; wept. The last maneuver settled it, for Algernon promised her that he would present her with his treasure as soon as they were pronounced man and wife. Aldegonda immediately dried her tears and led him in triumph to the old prince, her father, who embraced them both with effusion, informing them that the nuptials should take place at midnight on the following evening. That night, after bidding a fond farewell to his beautiful betrothed, Caramel sought his own apartments. As he approached them, he beheld streams of dazzling light pouring through the half-opened door of his sitting room, and upon entering, beheld a sight that made him reel with astonishment.
The casement was, as he had left it, flung wide open; and perched upon the sill, bathed in the full glory of the harvest moon, was the slight form of a beautiful girl, in the very dawn of womanhood. Her golden tresses, light as thistledown, floated around her; a bright star glistened on her forehead, while her wings, tinted with rainbow hues, waved lightly to and fro, as you may have seen the idle sails of a fair bark at anchor, or the pinions of a weary butterfly resting awhile in the warm, red bosom of a rose. “Do not fear me, Algernon!” cried the elf, in sweet, bell-like tones. “I am here to save you from the evil spells of a vile band of enchanters, who plan your eternal destruction. Know that I am the fairy Iolanthe. I loved your mother well; indeed, you are my godson, boy!”
Caramel sank upon one knee and kissed the dainty little hand extended to him.
“Did it ever occur to you,” pursued the winsome fairy, “that your unrivaled beauty and manifold accomplishments prove you to be something more than mortal?”
The handsome Algernon acknowledged that he had frequently been impressed with such an idea.
“Your impressions were well-founded,” nodded the fairy. “But don’t forget that you owe everything to me, your godmother. It was I who, in the guise of a magician, sold the enchanted baseball to Hostetter. That traitor imagined it would compass your ruin; well, we will hoist him with his own petard!” and Iolanthe laughed merrily.
“Only tell me,” pleaded Algernon, “that Aldegonda is not one of this vile crew?”
“Aldegonda! The very worst of all. Stay, let me prove it. While in her present form, she is, to a certain extent, subservient to mortal conditions. Among others, she is a victim to somnambulism, and while taking her nocturnal rambles is apt to appear without her golden goggles. Intercept her and gaze into her eyes. Through the left, you can look into her heart; through the right, into her soul.”
“Both pure as Heaven itself, I swear!” said Algernon.
“Judge for yourself. One more word and I’m off,” returned Iolanthe. “Before repeating the form tomorrow night that will bind you forever to Aldegonda, fling the magic baseball into Prince Otto’s face, and you will see what you will see! Algernon, my dear boy, will you obey me?”
There was no resisting the sweet, pleading voice that yet had in it the unmistakable accent of command.
Then Aldegonda appeared, clad in a simple white robe; her blue eyes distended, and without her goggles! Following his godmother’s advice, Caramel gazed into those staring orbs. In the left, he beheld distinctly the form of a crouching tiger, rending a lamb asunder with its cruel fangs; in the right, the image of a foul fiend with talons outstretched to grasp him. Sick at heart, Algernon stole softly away, and strange to say from the moment he had gazed into Aldegonda’s unveiled eyes, all the past came back to him, and once more the sweet maidenly image of Violet Veronica resumed its rightful place in the affections of her lover.
According to the imperial will and directions of Prince Otto Von Blitzenburg, the wedding was to take place at midnight in the great hall of the castle. Long before that hour, it was flooded with the same brilliant assemblage that had graced it on his arrival.
At length, “’Tis time!” cried Prince Otto. “Let the ceremony proceed!” At this moment from the great bell of the castle was heard the first stroke of midnight; as if impatient to fulfill its mission, the magic baseball turned in Caramel’s pocket, giving him a forcible nudge. Before the third stroke had sounded, Algernon drew it forth, and taking deliberate aim at the goggles, dashed it full in Prince Otto’s face!
The glass was shattered immediately, and at the same instant a terrific peal of thunder was heard; fierce flashes of lightning surrounded them; sulphureous flames lapped the castle walls, which fell with a crash, and sank through the earth!
Algernon De Witt Caramel found himself standing on the bare bleak summit of a lofty mountain. He immediately recognized that he was on the haunted Brocken, with the Black Forest extending around him in every direction. All the fine lords and ladies had been transformed into wizards and witches; the musicians were wailing ghosts; the beautiful bridesmaids were fleshless skeletons, and the pretty little pages were uncanny imps and gibbering monkeys. As Aldegonda stretched out her withered arms towards him, he felt a sharp rap.
He recognized the signal, and when the ball set off in a westerly direction, off, too, flew Caramel, like a second Tam o’ Shanter, with the whole hideous crew at his heels, shrieking and howling as they whirled through the murky air. However, although they made excellent time (especially those who were mounted on fiery, untamed broomsticks), they were distanced from the start by our hero.
Soon uprose Sol, rosy and smiling, and up rose Caramel’s brave young heart, for he knew he was leaving doubt, mysticism, and diablerie behind him. As if it guessed that it was homeward bound, the enchanted ball flew on a hundred times faster than before, and soon a long blue line is seen that tells them America lies before them! A moment after they are spinning up the beautiful bay. On and on, along the avenue, the park, the boulevard, and now the magic ball cleared the high fence of the Polo Grounds with Caramel close behind it, then, with a sudden turn, leaps and nestles in his ready hand. He seizes it, and the situation—at a glance. All his marvelous adventures have taken place during the lapse of one minute.
Hostetter is rushing at lightning speed from base to base! First and second have been passed. “A tie! Home, home!” they cry. “Never!” mutters Caramel, as he beholds the hateful Hostetter passing the third base on the home stretch. And then from far left field, he sends the magic ball swifter than thought into the ready hands of gallant Duck Owing. Amid the clamor of the multitude rings the clarion voice of the Umpire, “OUT!” The great game is won. Hostetter and the Bridegrooms are vanquished, and Caramel and the Brobdignagians are champions of the world!
There is little more to add. Three weeks after the events recorded above, our hero was united to his charming Violet Veronica. As Caramel’s professional earnings represent a yearly income of several millions, the young couple are doing very nicely indeed.
