The Adventures of Shylock Homes: VIII. “Mr. Homes Acts as Attorney for Solomon”

After a long delay, we return to “The Adventures of Shylock Homes,” written in 10 parts by John Kendrick Bangs during 1903. Episodes one through five were published a few years ago. Number 6 — “Mr. Homes Solves a Question of Authorship” — was published in the first volume of Edwardian-era pastiches. Number 7 was published last week.

These episodes recount Homes’ adventures in Hades, a region in the underworld. Each story was accompanied by an illustration or two. They’ve been somewhat cleaned up for publication. They were by Jesse “Vet” Anderson (1875-1966), an illustrator who became an animator for Fleischer Studios.

Mr. Homes Acts as Attorney for Solomon

There was considerable excitement in Cimmeria over the threatened disruption of the Stygian Historical Society. Like most other historical societies, this organization derived its membership from the most select social circles and when, as happened in this particular case, one of the meetings of the irreproachables of the community broke up in a fierce fight, such as one might expect to witness in the saloon of a sailor’s lodging house, a veritable brawl, the whole public was scandalized. It would have been no more startling had the courtly Chesterfield, and the polished Duke of Buckingham, because of some slight disagreement, taken to pelting each other with petit fours and sandwiches at one of Madame Recamier’s delightful afternoons, and, indeed, it stirred the society of Hades more deeply than it had been since the elopement of Romeo with Ophelia some three years before. The papers were full of It, and for a good deal more than the proverbial nine days’ wonder it was the chief topic of conversation at the clubs, cafés and private gatherings. The trouble grew out of the Columbus-Vespucci controversy as to who discovered America.

The society was about equally divided between the partisans of the two with a small handful, constituting the practical balance of power between them, of believers in the pretensions of Leif Ericson, and at the annual meeting the issue constituted the line between the platforms, upon which candidates for offices stood. No one supposed that feeling would run so high as to provoke aggressive acts of hostility, until the partisans of Columbus withdrew their candidate against the leader of the Vespuccites, and substituted Captain Kidd in his place, giving as a reason for so doing that even Kidd’s claims for the honor were greater than those of Vespucci. The insult was too deadly to be overlooked, and Vespucci himself, in his wrath, heaved an atlas at the head of Columbus, who retorted with an ink-stand, which, with wonderful accuracy of aim, struck the Italian squarely in the middle. The scene that followed was as disgraceful as it was painful.

It was two weeks after the affair, when my office boy brought a card into my private office, upon which was engraved the single word “Solomon.”

“Solomon, eh?” said I, glancing at the card. “That’s singularly inconclusive. Solomon who? Isaacs, Jones, John or what?”

“I dunno,” said the boy. “He’s a tall old guy with a long white beard, and gilt clothes, and a solid gold hat on.”

“Oho!” I cried. “Show him in, my boy,” for I recognized at once by the description, that my visitor was the simon-pure Solomon who was noted for his proverbs and for his wisdom.

The regal personage was soon after ushered into my presence, and I received him with all the ceremony due to one of his exalted position, all of which he waved aside, however, and insisted upon being treated as a plain, ordinary citizen.

“We have no rank here, Mr. Homes,” he said, as he sat down alongside of my desk. “Hades, like love, levels all things, and at this particular juncture, it is I who must bow to you, rather than you to me.”

“I have been one of your stanch admirers, always, Your Majesty,” said I.

“Not ‘Your Majesty,’ “ he gently protested. “Just Solomon —”

“Ah. but I could call you by first name,” said I. “It would be too great a familiarity.”

“It is my whole name,” said he. “Therefore, why not call me by it? I am not a modern, but an ancient, Mr. Homes, and we were content, in my time, with a single designation. I suppose if I had lived in your time. I should have preferred to have been known as Ralph Waldo Solomon, or John Russell Solomon, or Finlay Peter Solomon, or Richard Harding Solomon, or A. Conan Solomon, but you see I wasn’t brought up that way. Plain Solomon, without any three-ply distinction, has always been good enough for me. Indeed. I found it hard enough to make one name without venturing upon three.”

“I shall call you as you wish — er — Solomon,” said I, finding it difficult, even with his permission, to so address him fluently. “To what do I owe the very distinguished honor of this call?”

“I want you to help me out of a very difficult position,” he answered. “You have perhaps discovered, Mr. Homes, that there has recently been a slight difference of opinion among the members of the Stygian Historical Society —”

“Over the discovery of America?” I queried.

“Precisely,” Solomon replied. “Over the discovery of America. The trouble that discovery has brought upon us people of the Old World is such that I sometimes wish it hadn’t been discovered at all. I assure you that I am personally glad that it was utterly unknown in my day, for I am sure I don’t know what I should have done about the Monroe Doctrine if I’d had to buck up against it as my present successor, William of Germany, has had to do. and, wise as I am reputed to be, I should be perplexed to know how to deal with the trusts “

“You handled the trust question all right,” said I.

“I?” he demanded.

“Well, yes, in a way,” said I. “As far as getting married was concerned. I’ve always thought you were a sort of matrimonial monopolist, and you carried it off rather well.”

“Oh, that!” laughed Solomon. “Perhaps you are right, Mr. Homes. I was a sort of captain of industry in the matrimonial line, but I wasn’t thinking of that precise point when I spoke — and, indeed, I haven’t come here to discuss trusts or other outward and visible signs of aggressive Americanism. It’s the present plight of the Historical Society that I have in mind. We are all very much ashamed of ourselves over the unfortunate affair of two weeks ago, and we want to do the right thing. Both factions have got together, and have agreed to arbitrate the question of the discovery of America. Columbus says he doesn’t care a continental who did it, and Vespucci says that, after himself, Columbus is his favorite, and they are all willing to play Leif Ericson for a place, so long as the Historical Society can be rehabilitated. There’s a nice spirit in all the camps, and in order to get together they have consented to abide by the decision of the arbitrator.”

“I see,” said I. “And who is he to be?”

“Myself,” said Solomon, with a sigh. “They’ve left the whole — er — the whole —”

I could see that he wanted to be profane, and say “darn business,” but I was tactful enough to relieve him.

“The whole question,” I suggested

“Yes — the whole — er — question to me, and I don’t know the first thing about it. Do you know who discovered America?”

“Well — no, not positively.” said I. “I’ve never taken the subject up seriously.”

“But you have opinions?”

“Theories only.”

“Which are?”

I smiled. “My dear Solomon,” said I, “I sell my conclusions, but my theories I keep wholly to myself. They may not be correct, you know.”

“I’ll buy your conclusions,” he cried. “I need ‘em!”

“I’m flattered, Solomon,” I answered. “But I’m just out of conclusions to-day. Maybe next week I shall have a few. Why don’t you settle the matter the way you settled the baby question? Just split the continent in two, and let Columbus be the discoverer of one-half and Vespucci that of the other, leaving New Jersey or the District of Columbia for Leif Ericson?”

“It wouldn’t do,” said Solomon, thereby showing his real wisdom. “There isn’t one of ‘em cares enough about the country itself to protest against the decision, and it wouldn’t be a conclusion at all.”

“I see your point,” said I. “But I’ll help you, Solomon,” I added. “I should like to feel, and to be able to say that I had helped you, the wisest man that ever lived. It will look well on my card — Detective by Special Appointment to Solomon the Great.”

“Oh, never!” cried Solomon, with a most charming gesture, which quite captivated me, “and, as the Queen of Sheba has often said to me, ‘Because.’ There is no other reason.”

“I understand,” said I. “You wish to stand alone in this matter.”

“I’ve got to — or perish!” said he.

“I will save you, Solomon,” said I. “I like you, and always have liked you, because you are — or at least have been — a human being, and I like human beings. It’s the superhuman being that doesn’t appeal to me. I’ll help you out of this trouble or burst, and I know just how to do it. Come back here next Thursday, and bring Columbus and Vespucci with you. We’ll leave Ericson out, because, between you and me, he strikes me as the most troublesome character of the lot.”

And so Solomon left me. Now it happened that I myself discovered America, in a way, some years before coming here. Yielding to the temptation of fame I had visited the home of the free and the land of the brave as a lecturer in the mid-years of my successful career and I know something about that country, and based upon that knowledge I felt sure I could cross-examine both Columbus and Vespucci in such a way as would elicit the real facts of their individual relation to the strenuous New World.

The following Thursday came, in due course, and with it, along about eleven o’clock in the morning, came also Solomon and the two witnesses. The first to go on the witness stand was Columbus.

“You are the Columbus who is alleged to have discovered America?” I asked.

“I am,” said he, flushing a trifle with indignation at my use of the word “alleged.”

“You have really been to America?” I asked.

“Tush!” he cried in Spanish. “How futile such questioning! Of course I have.”

“Did you land at Castle Garden or Ellis Island?” I asked.

“Never heard of either,” he replied, sullenly.

“At what port of entry did you enter this new land?” I demanded. “New Orleans, Boston, New York, Galveston, or San Francisco?”

“They are all new names to me,” said Columbus.

“Give me your impressions of Chicago,” I put in.

“Is this man crazy, or am I?” cried Columbus. “What the devil is Chicago that I should have impressions concerning it?”

“Do you consider the Capitol building in Washington good architecture or not?” I asked, ignoring his question.

“I am sure I don’t know what you mean,” cried Columbus, petulantly.

“Good,” said I. “And now for one more question. At what point does the Chesapeake river flow into the Bay of Fundy?”

“What is this gibberish you are talking, any way?” demanded Columbus. “Chesapeake River? Bay of Fundy? Never heard of ‘em before.”

“That will do, Mr. Columbus,” said I. “We shall need no further testimony from you. Now, Solomon, please call Amerigo Vespucci to the stand.”

The famous explorer was summoned and in a moment I had him also on the rack.

“Your name is Vespucci?”

“Amerigo Vespucci.”

“Named after America?”

“Before it.”

“Ah! Have you ever been to America?”

Vespucci flushed angrily.

“Certainly,” he said. “How else could I claim the discovery?”

“That’s what I wish to find out,” I retorted drily. “Now, Mr. Vespucci, I should like to have you state to me the essential differences between Philadelphia and a city like Madrid, for instance.”

“Between what?”

“Philadelphia and Madrid.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Vespucci. “Philadelphia is a new one on me.”

“Do you consider that New York resembles Paris or London the more?”

“I have never seen New York. Where is it?”

“It is on the east, north, south and west of the Bowery, Mr. Vespucci.”

“The Bowery, eh?” he queried, scratching his head with a perplexed grin on his face. “Well, you’ve got me there, Mr. Homes. To be quite frank with you, I never heard of the Bowery.”

“What are your impressions of the architecture of the Capitol building at Washington?”

“Didn’t know there was such a building.”

“And your opinion of Pittsburgh as a factor in civilization?”

“Excuse me, King Solomon,” said Vespucci, “but I must ask what this line of inquiry is intended to develop. Mr. Homes might as well converse in Greek as ask me to answer such questions as he has been putting.”

“The examination is in Mr. Homes’ hands,” said the arbitrator. “I cannot interfere. Proceed, Mr. Homes.”

“I have no further questions to put,” said I. “The examination is finished as far as I am concerned, and I think should prove conclusively, your honor, that neither of these gentlemen discovered America. When a man pretends to have discovered America, and yet knows nothing of Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, New York and Washington, you may rest assured that he has merely sighted it, not discovered it. I therefore recommend that you report to the Historical society that neither Columbus nor Vespucci is guilty.”

“H’m!” said Solomon. “And that the country has not been discovered at all?”

“I should not go so far as that.” said I, gathering up my papers and preparing to leave. “The inquiry was confined to the services of these two parties to the controversy. Out of their own mouths they are shown to know nothing of the country they claim to have discovered. There, it seems to me, the scope of this controversy ends.”

“Still,” said Solomon, gazing at his feet, reflectively, “it leaves the controversy open. Somebody did it.”

“Ah — very true,” said I, “but as to that, we are unable to inquire. It is my opinion that America has been discovered, and I think suspicion attaches either to Mr. Andrew Carnegie or to a gentleman named Dooley — Mr. Dooley — but —”

“Why not summon them?” demanded Solomon.

“They are not yet within the jurisdiction of the court, your Honor,” said I, and with that the inquiry came to an end, and I am informed that the verdict of “Not proven,” rendered later by Solomon, was received with approval, though based upon a novel point.

“I wonder, Homes,” said Columbus to me later, “that you didn’t attribute the discovery of America to Emperor William.”

“My reason is perfectly simple,” said I. “The Kaiser hasn’t done it yet, but I judge from the news that occasionally penetrates down here from the upper regions that he is getting there. Give him time, and a few more Venezuelan troubles and he will discover America all right. America is willing, and the Kaiser’s muscle is up.”

With which sage observation on my part the episode came to a close.