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In the time of Ram-tah he had doubtless worn the Egyptian equivalent for detached cuffs, and he would be doing the like for a thousand incarnations to come. All too plainly Breede's Karmic future promised little of interest. His degree of ascent in the human scale was hardly perceptible. Bean was pleased at this thought.
He was to be left in the locked closet until a more suitable housing could be provided, and Cassidy had been especially warned not to let the steam-heated apartment take fire. He found the coat and returned to the half-packed trunk in the bedroom where he resumed his wonderful task, stopping at intervals for always futile efforts at realization of this mad impossibility. It was all Ram-tah.
Lawyers were always getting Wall Street speculators out of jail by some one of those devices; and if every other means failed a legal technicality did the work. And the papers always called the released man a Napoleon of Finance. It wasn't going to be so bad. He hauled Ram-tah out of the closet and stood him at the foot of the bed for the night, so that courage might come to him as he slept.
Done with that kind! He heard a waiter in the drawing-room serving his breakfast. He drew on a dark-lined waistcoat of white piqué like the one worn by the oldest director the day Ram-tah had winked then the perfectly fitting coat of unmistakable checks, and went out to sit at the table. He was resolving at the moment that he would do everything he had ever been afraid to do.
He conceived that Breede in the time of Ram-tah would have been a steward, a keeper of the royal granaries, a dependable accountant; a good enough man in his lowly station, but one who could never rise. His laxness in the manner of dress was seen to be ingrained, an incurable defect of soul.
He felt his knees grow weak, and clutched at the doorway for support. The body of Ram-tah was out of its case and half across the room, yards of the swathed linen unfurled; but, more terrible than all, the head of Ram-tah was not where it should have been. In the far corner the crouching Nap gnawed at that head, tearing, mutilating, desecrating. "Napoleon!"
Well, he would have to make them feel it. He must know it himself, first; then impress it upon them. But a sense of unreality was creeping back. It was almost better to remember the Napoleon past. There were books about that. He pictured again the dead Ram-tah in trappings of royalty. If he could only see himself, and be sure. But that was out of the question. It was no good wishing.
He was confronted by problems of administration, as Ram-tah must often have been. He must think. If the flapper quite madly brought about an immediate marriage they would, for their honeymoon, follow the home club on its Western trip, and the groom would not be idle. He would be "looking over the ground." Then he would buy one of the clubs.
Was it strange that a woman had fallen before him? He reduced the event to its rudiments. He was the affianced husband of Breede's youngest daughter, who didn't believe in long engagements. The thing was incredible, even as he faced Ram-tah. How had he ever done it? "Gee!" he muttered, "how'd I ever have the nerve to do it!" Ram-tah's sleeping face remained still.
"There it has lain sealed for centuries, while all about it the tombs of other kings have been despoiled by curiosity hunters looking for objects of interest to place in their cabinets. But Ram-tah, last king of the pre-dynastic period, though others will tell you differently, but that's because he never got into history much, by reason of his uniformly gentlemanly conduct.
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