You know I
am an Orientalist. When I was at Johns Hopkins University I attended the
classes of the erudite Blumenfeld, and what you can't learn from
him--need I say any more? One evening I held the fan in front of a vivid
electric light and at once noticed serried lines. These I deciphered
after a long time. Another surprise. They were Chinese characters of a
remotely early date--Heaven knows how many dynasties back! Now what, you
will ask, is Chinese doing on a _Samurai_ fighting fan! I don't know. I
never shall know. But I do know that this fan contains on one side of it
the most extraordinary revelation ever vouchsafed mankind, particularly
Christian mankind." Excited by his own words, Arn arose.
"Effinghame, my dear fellow, I know you have read Renan. If Renan had
seen the communication on this iron fan, he would have never written his
life of the Messiah." His eyes blazed.
"Why, what do you mean?"
"I mean that it might have been a life of Judas Iscariot."
"Good God, man, are you joking?" ejaculated Effinghame.
"I mean," sternly pursued Arn, "that if De Quincey had studied this
identical fan, the opium-eater would have composed another gorgeous
rhetorical plea for the man preelected to betray his Saviour, the
apostle who spilt the salt.
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