The Adventures of a Modest Man

But there was a deeper mystery to solve before returning to the vast caravansary across the river; and while they hesitated to attack it, I, mademoiselle, having met and defeated Ajax in fair and open trial of cunning and of wit, think fit to throw a ray of modern light upon this archaic tale.

It is true that Ajax, of the family of Papilio, rivals the wind in flight, and seldom, in spring and summer, deigns to alight. Yet I have seen Ajax Telamonides alight in the middle of the roadway, and, netting him, have found him fresh from the chrysalis, and therefore weak and inexperienced. Ajax Floridensis I have taken with a net as he feasted on the bunches of white sparkleberry on the edge of the jungle.

Rarely have I seen Ajax seduced by the wild phlox blossoms, but I have sometimes caught him sipping there.

As for the decoy, I have used it and taken with it scores and scores of Ajax butterflies which otherwise I could not have hoped to capture. This is not all; the great Tiger Swallowtail of the orange groves can be decoyed by a dead comrade of either sex; so, too, can the royal, velvet-robed Palamedes butterfly; and when the imperial Turnus sails high among the magnolias' topmost branches, a pebble cast into the air near him will sometimes bring him fluttering down, following the stone as it falls to the ground. These three butterflies, however, are generally easily decoyed, and all love flowers. Yet, in experimenting with decoys, I have never seen an Ajax decoy to any dead butterfly except an Ajax; and the dead butterfly may be of either sex, and as battered as you please.

It is supposed by some that butterflies can distinguish colour and form at no greater distance than five feet; and experiments in decoying appear to bear out this theory. Butterflies decoy to their own species, even to faded and imperfect ones.

Of half a dozen specimens set out on leaves and twigs, among which were Papilio Palamedes, Cresphontes, and Turnus, Ajax decoyed only to an imperfect and faded Ajax, and finally, when among that brilliant array of specimens a single upper wing of a dead Ajax was placed on a broad leaf, Ajax came to it, ignoring the other perfect specimens.

Yet Ajax will fight in single combat with any live butterfly, and so will Palamedes, Turnus, and Cresphontes.

If a female Luna moth is placed in a cage of mosquito netting and hung out of the window at night she is almost certain to attract all the male Luna moths in the neighbourhood before morning. In this case, as it is in the case of the other moths of the same group, it is the odor that attracts.

But in the case of a dead Ajax butterfly it appears to be colour even more than form; and it can scarcely be odor, because the Ajax butterflies of both sexes decoy to a dead and dried butterfly of either sex. With this abstruse observation, mademoiselle, I, personally, retire into the jungle to peep out at a passing vehicle driven by an Ethiopian known as Denis, and containing two young people of sexes diametrically opposed. And I am pleasantly conscious that I can no longer conceal their identity from you, mademoiselle.

"No," she said, "I know who they are. Please continue about them."

So I smiled and continued:

"And after all these weeks, during which I have so faithfully accompanied you, are you actually going to insist that I lost my bet?" asked the Dryad in a low voice.

"But you didn't, did you?" said the pitiless Jones.

"I let you catch the first Ajax. I might have prevented you; I might have even caught it myself!"

"But you didn't, did you?" said the pitiless Jones.

"Because," continued the Dryad, flushing, "I was generous enough to think only of capturing the butterflies, while all the time it appears you were thinking of something else. How sordid!" she added, scornfully.

"You admit I won the bet?" persisted that meanest of men.

"I admit nothing, Mr. Jones."

"Didn't I win the bet?"

Silence.

"Didn't I – "

"Goodness, yes!" cried the Dryad. "Now what are you going to do about it?"

"You said," observed Jones, "that you would forfeit anything I desired. Didn't you?"

The Dryad looked at him, then looked away.

"Didn't you?"

Silence.

"Di – "

"Yes, I did."

"Then I am to ask what I desire?"

No answer.

"So," continued Jones in a low voice, "I do ask it."

Still no answer.

"Will you – "

"Mr. Jones," she said, turning a face toward him on which was written utter consternation.

"Will you," continued Jones, "permit me to name the first new butterfly that I capture, after you?"

Her eyes widened.

"Is – is that all you desire?" she faltered. Suddenly her eyes filled.

"Absolutely all," said Jones simply – "to name a new species of butterfly after my wife – "

However, that was the simplest part of the whole matter; the trouble was all ahead, waiting for them on the veranda – two hundred pounds of wealthy trouble sitting in a rocking-chair, tatting, and keeping tabs upon the great clock and upon the trolley cars as they arrived in decorous procession from the golf links.

There was a long, long silence.

"Is – is that all?" inquired my little neighbour.

"Can't you guess the rest?"

But she only sighed, looking down at the lace handkerchief which she had been absently twisting in her lap.

"You know," said I, "what keys unlock the meaning of all stories?"

She nodded.

"The keys of The Past," I said.

She sighed, looking down into her smooth little empty hands:

"I threw them away, long ago," she said. "For me there remains only one more door. And that unlocks of itself."

And we sat there, thinking, through the still summer afternoon.

CHAPTER XXI