No? Ah, try, it will come in a flash any time.... I must come and see your garden.... I feel that we have much in common, you and I.... We have much to talk about.... I have all my past life to tell you of ...
what train do you come home by?... We must be friends--real friends.... I'm sure I can help you much in your life as an Ancient Soul.... Our names are almost the same.... Fate in some way unites us...."
And Mr. Lambkin sat, miserable and dejected and yet with a certain pathetic resignation. For what can one do against Fate? Then the President caught sight of William and approached the window.
[Illustration: MR. LAMBKIN SAT, MISERABLE AND DEJECTED, AND YET WITH A CERTAIN PATHETIC RESIGNATION.]
"Go away, boy!" she called. "You wicked, rude, prying boy, go away!"
Mr. Lambkin shot a wretched and apologetic glance at William, but William pressed his mouth to the open slit of the window.
"All right, Mrs. Jarley's!" he called, then turned and fled.
William met Mr. Lambkin on his way to the station the next morning.
Mr. Lambkin looked thinner and there were lines of worry on his face.
"I'm sorry she sent you away, William," he said. "It must have been interesting to watch--most interesting to watch. I'd much rather have watched than--but there, it's very kind of her to take such an interest in me. _Most_ kind. But I--however, she's very kind, _very_ kind. She very kindly presented me with the costume. Hardly suitable, perhaps, but _very_ kind of her. And, of course, there _may_ be something in it. One never knows. I _may_ have been Julius Caesar, but I hardly think--however, one must keep an open mind. Do you know any Latin, William?"
"Jus' a bit," said William, guardedly. "I've _learnt_ a lot, but I don't _know_ much."
"Say some to me. It might convey something to me. One never knows. She seems so sure. Talk Latin to me, William."
"Hic, haec, hoc," said William obligingly.
Julius Caesar's reincarnation shook his head.
"No," he said, "I'm afraid it doesn't seem to mean anything to me."
"Hunc, hanc, hoc," went on William monotonously.
"I'm afraid it's no good," said Mr. Lambkin. "I'm afraid it proves that I'm not--still one may not retain a knowledge of one's former tongue. One must keep an open mind. Of course, I'd prefer not to--but one must be fair. And she's kind, very kind."
Shaking his head sadly, the little man entered the station.
That evening William heard his father say to his mother:
"She came down to meet him at the station to-night. I'm afraid his doom is sealed. He's no power of resistance, and she's got her eye on him."
"Who's got her eye on him?" said William with interest.
"Be quiet!" said his father with the brusqueness of the male parent.
But William began to see how things stood. And William liked Mr.
Lambkin.
One evening he saw from his window Mr. Gregorius Lambkin walking with Miss Gregoria Mush in Miss Gregoria Mush's garden. Mr. Gregorius Lambkin did not look happy.
William crept down to the hole in the fence and applied his ear to it.
They were sitting on a seat quite close to his hole.
"Gregorius," the President of the Society of Ancient Souls was saying, "when I found that our names were the same I knew that our destinies were interwoven."
"Yes," murmured Mr. Lambkin. "It's so kind of you, so kind. But--I'm afraid I'm overstaying my welcome. I must----"
"No. I must say what is in my heart, Gregorius. You live on the Past, I live in the Past. We have a common mission--the mission of bringing to the thoughtless and uninitiated the memory of their former lives.
Gregorius, our work would be more valuable if we could do it together, if the common destiny that has united our nomenclatures could unite also our lives."
"It's so _kind_ of you," murmured the writhing victim, "so kind. I am so unfit, I----"
"No, friend," she said kindly. "I have power enough for both. The human speech is so poor an agent, is it not?"
A door bell clanged in the house.
"Ah, the Committee of the Ancient Souls. They were coming from town to-night. Come here to-morrow night at the same time, Gregorius, and I will tell you what is in my heart. Meet me here--at this time--to-morrow evening."
William here caught sight of a stray cat at the other end of the garden. In the character of a cannibal chief he hunted the white man (otherwise the cat) with blood-curdling war-whoops, but felt no real interest in the chase. He bound up his scratches mechanically with an ink-stained handkerchief. Then he went indoors. Robert was conversing with his friend in the library.
"Well," said the friend, "it's nearly next month. Has she landed him yet?"
"By Jove!" said Robert. "First of April to-morrow!" He looked at William suspiciously. "And if you try any fool's tricks on me you'll jolly well hear about it."
"I'm not thinkin' of you," said William crushingly. "I'm not goin' to trouble with _you_!"
"Has she landed him?" said the friend.
"Not yet, and I heard him saying in the train that he was leaving town on the 2nd and going abroad for a holiday."
"Well, she'll probably do it yet. She's got all the 1st."
"It's bedtime, William," called his Mother.
"Thank heaven!" said Robert.
William sat gazing into the distance, not seeing or hearing.
"_William_!" called his mother.
"All right," said William irritably. "I'm jus' thinkin' something out."
William's family went about their ways cautiously the next morning.
They watched William carefully. Robert even refused an egg at breakfast because you never knew with that little wretch. But nothing happened.
"Fancy your going on April Fool's day without making a fool of anyone," said Robert at lunch.
"It's not over, is it?--not yet," said William with the air of a sphinx.
"But it doesn't count after twelve," said Robert.