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diff --git a/2283-h/2283-h.htm b/2283-h/2283-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7c9d756 --- /dev/null +++ b/2283-h/2283-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12123 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of The Lost Road, by Richard Harding Davis +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.finis { text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lost Road, by Richard Harding Davis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Lost Road + +Author: Richard Harding Davis + +Posting Date: March 21, 2009 [EBook #2283] +Release Date: August, 2000 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST ROAD *** + + + + +Produced by Marleen Hugo. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE LOST ROAD +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE NOVELS AND STORIES OF +<BR> +RICHARD HARDING DAVIS +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +TO +<BR> +MY WIFE +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4> +Contains: +<BR><BR> + <A HREF="#road">THE LOST ROAD</A><BR> + <A HREF="#laspalmas">THE MIRACLE OF LAS PALMAS</A><BR> + <A HREF="#evil">EVIL TO HIM WHO EVIL THINKS</A><BR> + <A HREF="#zanzibar">THE MEN OF ZANZIBAR</A><BR> + <A HREF="#longarm">THE LONG ARM</A><BR> + <A HREF="#coincidence">THE GOD OF COINCIDENCE</A><BR> + <A HREF="#treasure">THE BURIED TREASURE OF COBRE</A><BR> + <A HREF="#boyscout">THE BOY SCOUT</A><BR> + <A HREF="#france">SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE</A><BR> + <A HREF="#deserter">THE DESERTER</A><BR> +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AN INTRODUCTION BY +<BR> +JOHN T. McCUTCHEON +</H3> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +WITH DAVIS IN VERA CRUZ, BRUSSELS, AND SALONIKA +</H3> + +<P> +In common with many others who have been with Richard Harding Davis as +correspondents, I find it difficult to realize that he has covered his +last story and that he will not be seen again with the men who follow +the war game, rushing to distant places upon which the spotlight of +news interest suddenly centres. +</P> + +<P> +It seems a sort of bitter irony that he who had covered so many big +events of world importance in the past twenty years should be abruptly +torn away in the midst of the greatest event of them all, while the +story is still unfinished and its outcome undetermined. If there is a +compensating thought, it lies in the reflection that he had a life of +almost unparalleled fulness, crowded to the brim, up to the last +moment, with those experiences and achievements which he particularly +aspired to have. He left while the tide was at its flood, and while he +still held supreme his place as the best reporter in his country. He +escaped the bitterness of seeing the ebb set in, when the youth to +which he clung had slipped away, and when he would have to sit +impatient in the audience, while younger men were in the thick of +great, world-stirring dramas on the stage. +</P> + +<P> +This would have been a real tragedy in "Dick" Davis's case, for, while +his body would have aged, it is doubtful if his spirit ever would have +lost its youthful freshness or boyish enthusiasm. +</P> + +<P> +It was my privilege to see a good deal of Davis in the last two years. +</P> + +<P> +He arrived in Vera Cruz among the first of the sixty or seventy +correspondents who flocked to that news centre when the situation was +so full of sensational possibilities. It was a time when the American +newspaper-reading public was eager for thrills, and the ingenuity and +resourcefulness of the correspondents in Vera Cruz were tried to the +uttermost to supply the demand. +</P> + +<P> +In the face of the fiercest competition it fell to Davis's lot to land +the biggest story of those days of marking time. +</P> + +<P> +The story "broke" when it became known that Davis, Medill McCormick, +and Frederick Palmer had gone through the Mexican lines in an effort to +reach Mexico City. Davis and McCormick, with letters to the Brazilian +and British ministers, got through and reached the capital on the +strength of those letters, but Palmer, having only an American +passport, was turned back. +</P> + +<P> +After an ominous silence which furnished American newspapers with a +lively period of suspense, the two men returned safely with wonderful +stories of their experiences while under arrest in the hands of the +Mexican authorities. McCormick, in recently speaking of Davis at that +time, said that, "as a correspondent in difficult and dangerous +situations, he was incomparable—cheerful, ingenious, and +undiscouraged. When the time came to choose between safety and leaving +his companion he stuck by his fellow captive even though, as they both +said, a firing-squad and a blank wall were by no means a remote +possibility." +</P> + +<P> +This Mexico City adventure was a spectacular achievement which gave +Davis and McCormick a distinction which no other correspondents of all +the ambitious and able corps had managed to attain. +</P> + +<P> +Davis usually "hunted" alone. He depended entirely upon his own +ingenuity and wonderful instinct for news situations. He had the +energy and enthusiasm of a beginner, with the experience and training +of a veteran. His interest in things remained as keen as though he had +not been years at a game which often leaves a man jaded and blase. His +acquaintanceship in the American army and navy was wide, and for this +reason, as well as for the prestige which his fame and position as a +national character gave him, he found it easy to establish valuable +connections in the channels from which news emanates. And yet, in +spite of the fact that he was "on his own" instead of having a working +partnership with other men, he was generous in helping at times when he +was able to do so. +</P> + +<P> +Davis was a conspicuous figure in Vera Cruz, as he inevitably had been +in all such situations. Wherever he went, he was pointed out. His +distinction of appearance, together with a distinction in dress, which, +whether from habit or policy, was a valuable asset in his work, made +him a marked man. He dressed and looked the "war correspondent," such +a one as he would describe in one of his stories. He fulfilled the +popular ideal of what a member of that fascinating profession should +look like. His code of life and habits was as fixed as that of the +Briton who takes his habits and customs and games and tea wherever he +goes, no matter how benighted or remote the spot may be. +</P> + +<P> +He was just as loyal to his code as is the Briton. He carried his +bath-tub, his immaculate linen, his evening clothes, his war +equipment—in which he had the pride of a connoisseur—wherever he +went, and, what is more, he had the courage to use the evening clothes +at times when their use was conspicuous. He was the only man who wore +a dinner coat in Vera Cruz, and each night, at his particular table in +the crowded "Portales," at the Hotel Diligencia, he was to be seen, as +fresh and clean as though he were in a New York or London restaurant. +</P> + +<P> +Each day he was up early to take the train out to the "gap," across +which came arrivals from Mexico City. Sometimes a good "story" would +come down, as when the long-heralded and long-expected arrival of +Consul Silliman gave a first-page "feature" to all the American papers. +</P> + +<P> +In the afternoon he would play water polo over at the navy aviation +camp, and always at a certain time of the day his "striker" would bring +him his horse and for an hour or more he would ride out along the beach +roads within the American lines. After the first few days it was +difficult to extract real thrills from the Vera Cruz situation, but we +used to ride out to El Tejar with the cavalry patrol and imagine that +we might be fired on at some point in the long ride through unoccupied +territory; or else go out to the "front," at Legarto, where a little +American force occupied a sun-baked row of freight-cars, surrounded by +malarial swamps. From the top of the railroad water-tank, we could +look across to the Mexican outposts a mile or so away. It was not very +exciting, and what thrills we got lay chiefly in our imagination. +</P> + +<P> +Before my acquaintanceship with Davis at Vera Cruz I had not known him +well. Our trails didn't cross while I was in Japan in the +Japanese-Russian War, and in the Transvaal I missed him by a few days, +but in Vera Cruz I had many enjoyable opportunities of becoming well +acquainted with him. +</P> + +<P> +The privilege was a pleasant one, for it served to dispel a +preconceived and not an entirely favorable impression of his character. +For years I had heard stories about Richard Harding Davis—stories +which emphasized an egotism and self-assertiveness which, if they ever +existed, had happily ceased to be obtrusive by the time I got to know +him. +</P> + +<P> +He was a different Davis from the Davis whom I had expected to find; +and I can imagine no more charming and delightful companion than he was +in Vera Cruz. There was no evidence of those qualities which I feared +to find, and his attitude was one of unfailing kindness, +considerateness, and generosity. +</P> + +<P> +In the many talks I had with him, I was always struck by his evident +devotion to a fixed code of personal conduct. In his writings he was +the interpreter of chivalrous, well-bred youth, and his heroes were +young, clean-thinking college men, heroic big-game hunters, war +correspondents, and idealized men about town, who always did the noble +thing, disdaining the unworthy in act or motive. It seemed to me that +he was modelling his own life, perhaps unconsciously, after the favored +types which his imagination had created for his stories. In a certain +sense he was living a life of make-believe, wherein he was the hero of +the story, and in which he was bound by his ideals always to act as he +would have the hero of his story act. It was a quality which only one +could have who had preserved a fresh youthfulness of outlook in spite +of the hardening processes of maturity. +</P> + +<P> +His power of observation was extraordinarily keen, and he not only had +the rare gift of sensing the vital elements of a situation, but also +had, to an unrivalled degree, the ability to describe them vividly. I +don't know how many of those men at Verz Cruz tried to describe the +kaleidoscopic life of the city during the American occupation, but I +know that Davis's story was far and away the most faithful and +satisfying picture. The story was photographic, even to the sounds and +smells. +</P> + +<P> +The last I saw of him in Vera Cruz was when, on the Utah, he steamed +past the flagship Wyoming, upon which I was quartered, and started for +New York. The Battenberg cup race had just been rowed, and the Utah +and Florida crews had tied. As the Utah was sailing immediately after +the race, there was no time in which to row off the tie. So it was +decided that the names of both ships should be engraved on the cup, and +that the Florida crew should defend the title against a challenging +crew from the British Admiral Craddock's flagship. +</P> + +<P> +By the end of June, the public interest in Vera Cruz had waned, and the +corps of correspondents dwindled until there were only a few left. +</P> + +<P> +Frederick Palmer and I went up to join Carranza and Villa, and on the +26th of July we were in Monterey waiting to start with the triumphal +march of Carranza's army toward Mexico City. There was no sign of +serious trouble abroad. That night ominous telegrams came, and at ten +o'clock on the following morning we were on a train headed for the +States. +</P> + +<P> +Palmer and Davis caught the Lusitania, sailing August 4 from New York, +and I followed on the Saint Paul, leaving three days later. On the 17th +of August I reached Brussels, and it seemed the most natural thing in +the world to find Davis already there. He was at the Palace Hotel, +where a number of American and English correspondents were quartered. +</P> + +<P> +Things moved quickly. On the 19th Irvin Cobb, Will Irwin, Arno Dosch, +and I were caught between the Belgian and German lines in Louvain; our +retreat to Brussels was cut, and for three days, while the vast German +army moved through the city, we were detained. Then, the army having +passed, we were allowed to go back to the capital. +</P> + +<P> +In the meantime Davis was in Brussels. The Germans reached the +outskirts of the city on the morning of the 20th, and the +correspondents who had remained in Brussels were feverishly writing +despatches describing the imminent fall of the city. One of them, +Harry Hansen, of the Chicago Daily News, tells the following story, +which I give in his words: +</P> + +<P> +"While we were writing," says Hansen, "Richard Harding Davis walked +into the writing-room of the Palace Hotel with a bunch of manuscript in +his hand. With an amused expression he surveyed the three +correspondents filling white paper. +</P> + +<P> +"'I say, men,' said Davis, 'do you know when the next train leaves?' +</P> + +<P> +"'There is one at three o'clock,' said a correspondent, looking up. +</P> + +<P> +"'That looks like our only chance to get a story out,' said Davis. +'Well, we'll trust to that.' +</P> + +<P> +"The story was the German invasion of Brussels, and the train mentioned +was considered the forlorn hope of the correspondents to connect with +the outside world—that is, every correspondent thought it to be the +other man's hope. Secretly each had prepared to outwit the other, and +secretly Davis had already sent his story to Ostend. He meant to +emulate Archibald Forbes, who despatched a courier with his real +manuscript, and next day publicly dropped a bulky package in the +mail-bag. +</P> + +<P> +"Davis had sensed the news in the occupation of Brussels long before it +happened. With dawn he went out to the Louvain road, where the German +army stood, prepared to smash the capital if negotiations failed. His +observant eye took in all the details. Before noon he had written a +comprehensive sketch of the occupation, and when word was received that +it was under way, he trusted his copy to an old Flemish woman, who +spoke not a word of English, and saw her safely on board the train that +pulled out under Belgian auspices for Ostend." +</P> + +<P> +With passes which the German commandant in Brussels gave us the +correspondents immediately started out to see how far those passes +would carry us. A number of us left on the afternoon of August 23 for +Waterloo, where it was expected that the great clash between the German +and the Anglo-French forces would occur. We had planned to be back the +same evening, and went prepared only for an afternoon's drive in a +couple of hired street carriages. It was seven weeks before we again +saw Brussels. +</P> + +<P> +On the following day (August 24) Davis started for Mons. He wore the +khaki uniform which he had worn in many campaigns. Across his breast +was a narrow bar of silk ribbon indicating the campaigns in which he +had served as a correspondent. He so much resembled a British officer +that he was arrested as a British derelict and was informed that he +would be shot at once. +</P> + +<P> +He escaped only by offering to walk to Brand Whitlock, in Brussels, +reporting to each officer he met on the way. His plan was approved, +and as a hostage on parole he appeared before the American minister, +who quickly established his identity as an American of good standing, +to the satisfaction of the Germans. +</P> + +<P> +In the following few months our trails were widely separated. I read +of his arrest by German officers on the road to Mons; later I read the +story of his departure from Brussels by train to Holland—a trip which +carried him through Louvain while the town still was burning; and still +later I read that he was with the few lucky men who were in Rheims +during one of the early bombardments that damaged the cathedral. By +amazing luck, combined with a natural news sense which drew him +instinctively to critical places at the psychological moment, he had +been a witness of the two most widely featured stories of the early +weeks of the war. +</P> + +<P> +Arrested by the Germans in Belgium, and later by the French in France, +he was convinced that the restrictions on correspondents were too great +to permit of good work. +</P> + +<P> +So he left the European war zone with the widely quoted remark: "The +day of the war correspondent is over." +</P> + +<P> +And yet I was not surprised when, one evening, late in November of last +year, he suddenly walked into the room in Salonika where William G. +Shepherd, of the United Press, "Jimmy Hare," the veteran war +photographer, and I had established ourselves several weeks before. +</P> + +<P> +The hotel was jammed, and the city, with a normal capacity of about one +hundred and seventy-five thousand, was struggling to accommodate at +least a hundred thousand more. There was not a room to be had in any +of the better hotels, and for several days we lodged Davis in our room, +a vast chamber which formerly had been the main dining-room of the +establishment, and which now was converted into a bedroom. There was +room for a dozen men, if necessary, and whenever stranded Americans +arrived and could find no hotel accommodations we simply rigged up +emergency cots for their temporary use. +</P> + +<P> +The weather in Salonika at this time, late November, was penetratingly +cold. In the mornings the steam coils struggled feebly to dispel the +chill in the room. +</P> + +<P> +Early in the morning after Davis had arrived, we were aroused by the +sound of violent splashing, accompanied by shuddering gasps, and we +looked out from the snug warmth of our beds to see Davis standing in +his portable bath-tub and drenching himself with ice-cold water. As an +exhibition of courageous devotion to an established custom of life it +was admirable, but I'm not sure that it was prudent. +</P> + +<P> +For some reason, perhaps a defective circulation or a weakened heart, +his system failed to react from these cold-water baths. All through the +days he complained of feeling chilled. He never seemed to get +thoroughly warmed, and of us all he was the one who suffered most +keenly from the cold. It was all the more surprising, for his +appearance was always that of a man in the pink of athletic +fitness—ruddy-faced, clear-eyed, and full of tireless energy. +</P> + +<P> +On one occasion we returned from the French front in Serbia to Salonika +in a box car lighted only by candles, bitterly cold, and frightfully +exhausting. We were seven hours in travelling fifty-five miles, and we +arrived at our destination at three o'clock in the morning. Several of +the men contracted desperate colds, which clung to them for weeks. +Davis was chilled through, and said that of all the cold he had ever +experienced that which swept across the Macedonian plain from the +Balkan highlands was the most penetrating. Even his heavy clothing +could not afford him adequate protection. +</P> + +<P> +When he was settled in his own room in our hotel he installed an +oil-stove which burned beside him as he sat at his desk and wrote his +stories. The room was like an oven, but even then he still complained +of the cold. +</P> + +<P> +When he left he gave us the stove, and when we left, some time later, +it was presented to one of our doctor friends out in a British +hospital, where I'm sure it is doing its best to thaw the Balkan chill +out of sick and wounded soldiers. +</P> + +<P> +Davis was always up early, and his energy and interest were as keen as +a boy's. We had our meals together, sometimes in the crowded and +rather smart Bastasini's, but more often in the maelstrom of humanity +that nightly packed the Olympos Palace restaurant. Davis, Shepherd, +Hare, and I, with sometimes Mr. and Mrs. John Bass, made up these +parties, which, for a period of about two weeks or so, were the most +enjoyable daily events of our lives. +</P> + +<P> +Under the glaring lights of the restaurant, and surrounded by British, +French, Greek, and Serbian officers, German, Austrian, and Bulgarian +civilians, with a sprinkling of American, English, and Scotch nurses +and doctors, packed so solidly in the huge, high-ceilinged room that +the waiters could barely pick their way among the tables, we hung for +hours over our dinners, and left only when the landlord and his +Austrian wife counted the day's receipts and paid the waiters at the +end of the evening. +</P> + +<P> +One could not imagine a more charming and delightful companion than +Davis during these days. While he always asserted that he could not +make a speech, and was terrified at the thought of standing up at a +banquet-table, yet, sitting at a dinner-table with a few friends who +were only too eager to listen rather than to talk, his stories, +covering personal experiences in all parts of the world, were intensely +vivid, with that remarkable "holding" quality of description which +characterizes his writings. +</P> + +<P> +He brought his own bread—a coarse, brown sort, which he preferred to +the better white bread—and with it he ate great quantities of butter. +As we sat down at the table his first demand was for "Mastika," a +peculiar Greek drink distilled from mastic gum, and his second demand +invariably was "Du beurre!" with the "r's" as silent as the stars; and +if it failed to come at once the waiter was made to feel the enormity +of his tardiness. +</P> + +<P> +The reminiscences ranged from his early newspaper days in Philadelphia, +and skipping from Manchuria to Cuba and Central America, to his early +Sun days under Arthur Brisbane; they ranged through an endless variety +of personal experiences which very nearly covered the whole course of +American history in the past twenty years. +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps to him it was pleasant to go over his remarkable adventures, +but it could not have been half as pleasant as it was to hear them, +told as they were with a keenness of description and brilliancy of +humorous comment that made them gems of narrative. +</P> + +<P> +At times, in our work, we all tried our hands at describing the +Salonika of those early days of the Allied occupation, for it was +really what one widely travelled British officer called it—"the most +amazingly interesting situation I've ever seen"—-but Davis's +description was far and away the best, just as his description of Vera +Cruz was the best, and his wonderful story of the entry of the German +army into Brussels was matchless as one of the great pieces of +reporting in the present war. +</P> + +<P> +In thinking of Davis, I shall always remember him for the delightful +qualities which he showed in Salonika. He was unfailingly considerate +and thoughtful. Through his narratives one could see the pride which +he took in the width and breadth of his personal relation to the great +events of the past twenty years. His vast scope of experiences and +equally wide acquaintanceship with the big figures of our time, were +amazing, and it was equally amazing that one of such a rich and +interesting history could tell his stories in such a simple way that +the personal element was never obtrusive. +</P> + +<P> +When he left Salonika he endeavored to obtain permission from the +British staff to visit Moudros, but, failing in this, he booked his +passage on a crowded little Greek steamer, where the only obtainable +accommodation was a lounge in the dining saloon. We gave him a farewell +dinner, at which the American consul and his family, with all the other +Americans then in Salonika, were present, and after the dinner we rowed +out to his ship and saw him very uncomfortably installed for his voyage. +</P> + +<P> +He came down the sea ladder and waved his hand as we rowed away. That +was the last I saw of Richard Harding Davis. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +JOHN T. MCCUTCHEON. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="road"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE LOST ROAD +</H2> + +<BR> + +<P> +During the war with Spain, Colton Lee came into the service as a +volunteer. For a young man, he always had taken life almost too +seriously, and when, after the campaign in Cuba, he elected to make +soldiering his profession, the seriousness with which he attacked his +new work surprised no one. Finding they had lost him forever, his +former intimates were bored, but his colonel was enthusiastic, and the +men of his troop not only loved, but respected him. +</P> + +<P> +From the start he determined in his new life women should have no +part—a determination that puzzled no one so much as the women, for to +Lee no woman, old or young, had found cause to be unfriendly. But he +had read that the army is a jealous mistress who brooks no rival, that +"red lips tarnish the scabbard steel," that "he travels the fastest who +travels alone." +</P> + +<P> +So, when white hands beckoned and pretty eyes signalled, he did not +look. For five years, until just before he sailed for his three years +of duty in the Philippines, he succeeded not only in not looking, but +in building up for himself such a fine reputation as a woman-hater that +all women were crazy about him. Had he not been ordered to Agawamsett +that fact would not have affected him. But at the Officers' School he +had indulged in hard study rather than in hard riding, had overworked, +had brought back his Cuban fever, and was in poor shape to face the +tropics. So, for two months before the transport was to sail, they +ordered him to Cape Cod to fill his lungs with the bracing air of a New +England autumn. +</P> + +<P> +He selected Agawamsett, because, when at Harvard, it was there he had +spent his summer vacations, and he knew he would find sailboats and +tennis and, through the pine woods back of the little whaling village, +many miles of untravelled roads. He promised himself that over these +he would gallop an imaginary troop in route marches, would manoeuvre it +against possible ambush, and, in combat patrols, ground scouts, and +cossack outposts, charge with it "as foragers." But he did none of +these things. For at Agawamsett he met Frances Gardner, and his +experience with her was so disastrous that, in his determination to +avoid all women, he was convinced he was right. +</P> + +<P> +When later he reached Manila he vowed no other woman would ever again +find a place in his thoughts. No other woman did. Not because he had +the strength to keep his vow, but because he so continually thought of +Frances Gardner that no other woman had a chance. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Gardner was a remarkable girl. Her charm appealed to all kinds of +men, and, unfortunately for Lee, several kinds of men appealed to her. +Her fortune and her relations were bound up in the person of a rich +aunt with whom she lived, and who, it was understood, some day would +leave her all the money in the world. But, in spite of her charm, +certainly in spite of the rich aunt, Lee, true to his determination, +might not have noticed the girl had not she ridden so extremely well. +</P> + +<P> +It was to the captain of cavalry she first appealed. But even a +cavalry captain, whose duty in life is to instruct sixty men in the art +of taking the life of as many other men as possible, may turn his head +in the direction of a good-looking girl. And when for weeks a man +rides at the side of one through pine forests as dim and mysterious as +the aisles of a great cathedral, when he guides her across the wet +marshes when the sun is setting crimson in the pools and the wind blows +salt from the sea, when he loses them both by moonlight in wood-roads +where the hoofs of the horses sink silently into dusty pine needles, he +thinks more frequently of the girl at his side than of the faithful +troopers waiting for him in San Francisco. The girl at his side +thought frequently of him. +</P> + +<P> +With the "surface indications" of a young man about to ask her to marry +him she was painfully familiar; but this time the possibility was the +reverse of painful. What she meant to do about it she did not know, +but she did know that she was strangely happy. Between living on as +the dependent of a somewhat exacting relative and becoming the full +partner of this young stranger, who with men had proved himself so +masterful, and who with her was so gentle, there seemed but little +choice. But she did not as yet wish to make the choice. She preferred +to believe she was not certain. She assured him that before his leave +of absence was over she would tell him whether she would remain on duty +with the querulous aunt, who had befriended her, or as his wife +accompany him to the Philippines. +</P> + +<P> +It was not the answer he wanted; but in her happiness, which was +evident to every one, he could not help but take hope. And in the +questions she put to him of life in the tropics, of the life of the +"officers' ladies," he saw that what was in her mind was a possible +life with him, and he was content. +</P> + +<P> +She became to him a wonderful, glorious person, and each day she grew +in loveliness. It had been five years of soldiering in Cuba, China, +and on the Mexican border since he had talked to a woman with interest, +and now in all she said, in all her thoughts and words and delights, he +found fresher and stronger reasons for discarding his determination to +remain wedded only to the United States Army. He did not need reasons. +He was far too much in love to see in any word or act of hers anything +that was not fine and beautiful. +</P> + +<P> +In their rides they had one day stumbled upon a long-lost and +long-forgotten road through the woods, which she had claimed as their +own by right of discovery, and, no matter to what point they set forth +each day, they always returned by it. Their way through the woods +stretched for miles. It was concealed in a forest of stunted oaks and +black pines, with no sign of human habitation, save here and there a +clearing now long neglected and alive only with goldenrod. Trunks of +trees, moss-grown and crumbling beneath the touch of the ponies' hoofs, +lay in their path, and above it the branches of a younger generation +had clasped hands. At their approach squirrels raced for shelter, +woodcock and partridge shot deeper into the network of vines and +saplings, and the click of the steel as the ponies tossed their bits, +and their own whispers, alone disturbed the silence. +</P> + +<P> +"It is an enchanted road," said the girl; "or maybe we are enchanted." +</P> + +<P> +"Not I," cried the young man loyally. "I was never so sane, never so +sure, never so happy in knowing just what I wanted! If only you could +be as sure!" +</P> + +<P> +One day she came to him in high excitement with a book of verse. "He +has written a poem," she cried, "about our own woods, about our lost +road! Listen" she commanded, and she read to him: +</P> + +<P> +"'They shut the road through the woods Seventy years ago. Weather and +rain have undone it again, And now you would never know There was once +a road through the woods Before they planted the trees. It is +underneath the coppice and heath, And the thin anemones. Only the +keeper sees That, where the ringdove broods, And the badgers roll at +ease, There was once a road through the woods. +</P> + +<P> +"'Yet, if you enter the woods Of a summer evening late, When the night +air cools on the trout-ringed pools Where the otter whistles his mate +(They fear not men in the woods Because they see so few), You will hear +the beat of a horse's feet, And the swish of a skirt in the dew, +Steadily cantering through The misty solitudes, As though they +perfectly knew The old lost road through the woods.... But there is +no road through the woods.'" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"I don't like that at all," cried the soldierman. "It's too—too +sad—it doesn't give you any encouragement. The way it ends, I mean: +'But there is no road through the woods.' Of course there's a road! +For us there always will be. I'm going to make sure. I'm going to buy +those woods, and keep the lost road where we can always find it." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think," said the girl, "that he means a real road." +</P> + +<P> +"I know what he means," cried the lover, "and he's wrong! There is a +road, and you and I have found it, and we are going to follow it for +always." +</P> + +<P> +The girl shook her head, but her eyes were smiling happily. +</P> + +<P> +The "season" at Agawamsett closed with the tennis tournament, and it +was generally conceded fit and proper, from every point of view, that +in mixed doubles Lee and Miss Gardner should be partners. Young +Stedman, the Boston artist, was the only one who made objection. Up in +the sail-loft that he had turned into a studio he was painting a +portrait of the lovely Miss Gardner, and he protested that the three +days' tournament would sadly interrupt his work. And Frances, who was +very much interested in the portrait, was inclined to agree. +</P> + +<P> +But Lee beat down her objections. He was not at all interested in the +portrait. He disapproved of it entirely. For the sittings robbed him +of Frances during the better part of each morning, and he urged that +when he must so soon leave her, between the man who wanted her portrait +and the man who wanted her, it would be kind to give her time to the +latter. +</P> + +<P> +"But I had no idea," protested Frances, "he would take so long. He told +me he'd finish it in three sittings. But he's so critical of his own +work that he goes over it again and again. He says that I am a most +difficult subject, but that I inspire him. And he says, if I will only +give him time, he believes this will be the best thing he has done." +</P> + +<P> +"That's an awful thought," said the cavalry officer. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't like him," reproved Miss Gardner. "He is always very polite +to you." +</P> + +<P> +"He's polite to everybody," said Lee; "that's why I don't like him. +He's not a real artist. He's a courtier. God gave him a talent, and +he makes a mean use of it. Uses it to flatter people. He's like these +long-haired violinists who play anything you ask them to in the lobster +palaces." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Gardner looked away from him. Her color was high and her eyes +very bright. +</P> + +<P> +"I think," she said steadily, "that Mr. Stedman is a great artist, and +some day all the world will think so, too!" +</P> + +<P> +Lee made no answer. Not because he disagreed with her estimate of Mr. +Stedman's genius-he made no pretense of being an art critic—but +because her vehement admiration had filled him with sudden panic. He +was not jealous. For that he was far too humble. Indeed, he thought +himself so utterly unworthy of Frances Gardner that the fact that to +him she might prefer some one else was in no way a surprise. He only +knew that if she should prefer some one else not all his troop horses +nor all his men could put Humpty Dumpty back again. +</P> + +<P> +But if, in regard to Mr. Stedman, Miss Gardner had for a moment been at +odds with the man who loved her, she made up for it the day following +on the tennis court. There she was in accord with him in heart, soul, +and body, and her sharp "Well played, partner!" thrilled him like one +of his own bugle calls. For two days against visiting and local teams +they fought their way through the tournament, and the struggle with her +at his side filled Lee with a great happiness. Not that the +championship of Agawamsett counted greatly to one exiled for three +years to live among the Moros. He wanted to win because she wanted to +win. But his happiness came in doing something in common with her, in +helping her and in having her help him, in being, if only in play, if +only for three days, her "partner." +</P> + +<P> +After they won they walked home together, each swinging a fat, heavy +loving-cup. On each was engraved: +</P> + +<P> +"Mixed doubles, Agawamsett, 1910." +</P> + +<P> +Lee held his up so that the setting sun flashed on the silver. +</P> + +<P> +"I am going to keep that," he said, "as long as I live. It means you +were once my 'partner.' It's a sign that once we two worked together +for something and won." In the words the man showed such feeling that +the girl said soberly: +</P> + +<P> +"Mine means that to me, too. I will never part with mine, either." +</P> + +<P> +Lee turned to her and smiled, appealing wistfully. +</P> + +<P> +"It seems a pity to separate them," he said. "They'd look well +together over an open fireplace." +</P> + +<P> +The girl frowned unhappily. "I don't know," she protested. "I don't +know." +</P> + +<P> +The next day Lee received from the War Department a telegram directing +him to "proceed without delay" to San Francisco, and there to embark +for the Philippines. +</P> + +<P> +That night he put the question to her directly, but again she shook her +head unhappily; again she said: "I don't know!" +</P> + +<P> +So he sailed without her, and each evening at sunset, as the great +transport heaved her way across the swell of the Pacific, he stood at +the rail and looked back. With the aid of the first officer he +calculated the difference in time between a whaling village situated at +forty-four degrees north and an army transport dropping rapidly toward +the equator, and so, each day, kept in step with the girl he loved. +</P> + +<P> +"Now," he would tell himself, "she is in her cart in front of the +post-office, and while they sort the morning mail she gossips with the +fisher folks, the summer folks, the grooms, and chauffeurs. Now she is +sitting for her portrait to Stedman" (he did not dwell long on that +part of her day), "and now she is at tennis, or, as she promised, +riding alone at sunset down our lost road through the woods." +</P> + +<P> +But that part of her day from which Lee hurried was that part over +which the girl herself lingered. As he turned his eyes from his canvas +to meet hers, Stedman, the charming, the deferential, the adroit, who +never allowed his painting to interrupt his talk, told her of what he +was pleased to call his dreams and ambitions, of the great and +beautiful ladies who had sat before his easel, and of the only one of +them who had given him inspiration. Especially of the only one who had +given him inspiration. With her always to uplift him, he could become +one of the world's most famous artists, and she would go down into +history as the beautiful woman who had helped him, as the wife of +Rembrandt had inspired Rembrandt, as "Mona Lisa" had made Leonardo. +</P> + +<P> +Gilbert wrote: "It is not the lover who comes to woo, but the lover's +way of wooing!" His successful lover was the one who threw the girl +across his saddle and rode away with her. But one kind of woman does +not like to have her lover approach shouting: "At the gallop! Charge!" +</P> + +<P> +She prefers a man not because he is masterful, but because he is not. +She likes to believe the man needs her more than she needs him, that +she, and only she, can steady him, cheer him, keep him true to the work +he is in the world to perform. It is called the "mothering" instinct. +</P> + +<P> +Frances felt this mothering instinct toward the sensitive, imaginative, +charming Stedman. She believed he had but two thoughts, his art and +herself. She was content to place his art first. She could not guess +that to one so unworldly, to one so wrapped up in his art, the fortune +of a rich aunt might prove alluring. +</P> + +<P> +When the transport finally picked up the landfalls of Cavite Harbor, +Lee, with the instinct of a soldier, did not exclaim: "This is where +Dewey ran the forts and sank the Spanish fleet!" On the contrary, he +was saying: "When she comes to join me, it will be here I will first +see her steamer. I will be waiting with a field-glass on the end of +that wharf. No, I will be out here in a shore-boat waving my hat. And +of all those along the rail, my heart will tell me which is she!" +</P> + +<P> +Then a barefooted Filipino boy handed him an unsigned cablegram. It +read: "If I wrote a thousand words I could not make it easier for +either of us. I am to marry Arthur Stedman in December." +</P> + +<P> +Lee was grateful for the fact that he was not permitted to linger in +Manila. Instead, he was at once ordered up-country, where at a +one-troop post he administered the affairs of a somewhat hectic +province, and under the guidance of the local constabulary chased +will-o'-the-wisp brigands. On a shelf in his quarters he placed the +silver loving-cup, and at night, when the village slept, he would sit +facing it, filling one pipe after another, and through the smoke +staring at the evidence to the fact that once Frances Gardner and he +had been partners. +</P> + +<P> +In these post-mortems he saw nothing morbid. With his present +activities they in no way interfered, and in thinking of the days when +they had been together, in thinking of what he had lost, he found deep +content. Another man, having lost the woman he loved, would have tried +to forget her and all she meant to him. But Lee was far too honest +with himself to substitute other thoughts for those that were glorious, +that still thrilled him. The girl could take herself from him, but she +could not take his love for her from him. And for that he was +grateful. He never had considered himself worthy, and so could not +believe he had been ill used. In his thoughts of her there was no +bitterness: for that also he was grateful. And, as he knew he would +not care for any other woman in the way he cared for her, he preferred +to care in that way, even for one who was lost, than in a lesser way +for a possible she who some day might greatly care for him. So she +still remained in his thoughts, and was so constantly with him that he +led a dual existence, in which by day he directed the affairs of an +alien and hostile people and by night again lived through the wonderful +moments when she had thought she loved him, when he first had learned +to love her. At times she seemed actually at his side, and he could +not tell whether he was pretending that this were so or whether the +force of his love had projected her image half around the world. +</P> + +<P> +Often, when in single file he led the men through the forest, he seemed +again to be back on Cape Cod picking his way over their own lost road +through the wood, and he heard "the beat of a horse's feet and the +swish of a skirt in the dew." And then a carbine would rattle, or a +horse would stumble and a trooper swear, and he was again in the +sweating jungle, where men, intent upon his life, crouched in ambush. +</P> + +<P> +She spared him the mockery of wedding-cards; but the announcement of +the wedding came to him in a three-months-old newspaper. Hoping they +would speak of her in their letters, he kept up a somewhat one-sided +correspondence with friends of Mrs. Stedman's in Boston, where she now +lived. But for a year in none of their letters did her name appear. +When a mutual friend did write of her Lee understood the silence. +</P> + +<P> +From the first, the mutual friend wrote, the life of Mrs. Stedman and +her husband was thoroughly miserable. Stedman blamed her because she +came to him penniless. The rich aunt, who had heartily disapproved of +the artist, had spoken of him so frankly that Frances had quarrelled +with her, and from her no longer would accept money. In his anger at +this Stedman showed himself to Frances as he was. And only two months +after their marriage she was further enlightened. +</P> + +<P> +An irate husband made him the central figure in a scandal that filled +the friends of Frances with disgust, and that for her was an awakening +cruel and humiliating. Men no longer permitted their womenfolk to sit +to Stedman for a portrait, and the need of money grew imperative. He +the more blamed Frances for having quarrelled with her aunt, told her +it was for her money he had married her, that she had ruined his +career, and that she was to blame for his ostracism—a condition that +his own misconduct had brought upon him. Finally, after twelve months +of this, one morning he left a note saying he no longer would allow her +to be a drag upon him, and sailed for Europe. +</P> + +<P> +They learned that, in Paris, he had returned to that life which before +his marriage, even in that easy-going city, had made him notorious. +"And Frances," continued Lee's correspondent, "has left Boston, and now +lives in New York. She wouldn't let any of us help her, nor even know +where she is. The last we heard of her she was in charge of the +complaint department of a millinery shop, for which work she was +receiving about the same wages I give my cook." +</P> + +<P> +Lee did not stop to wonder why the same woman, who to one man was a +"drag," was to another, even though separated from her by half the +world, a joy and a blessing. Instead, he promptly wrote his lawyers to +find Mrs. Stedman, and, in such a way as to keep her ignorant of their +good offices, see that she obtained a position more congenial than her +present one, and one that would pay her as much as, without arousing +her suspicions, they found it possible to give. +</P> + +<P> +Three months had passed, and this letter had not been answered, when in +Manila, where he had been ordered to make a report, he heard of her +again. One evening, when the band played on the Luneta, he met a newly +married couple who had known him in Agawamsett. They now were on a +ninety-day cruise around the world. Close friends of Frances Gardner, +they remembered him as one of her many devotees and at once spoke of +her. +</P> + +<P> +"That blackguard she married," the bridegroom told him, "was killed +three months ago racing with another car from Versailles back to Paris +after a dinner at which, it seems, all present drank 'burgundy out of +the fingerbowls.' Coming down that steep hill into Saint Cloud, the +cars collided, and Stedman and a woman, whose husband thought she was +somewhere else, were killed. He couldn't even die without making a +scandal of it." +</P> + +<P> +"But the worst," added the bride, "is that, in spite of the way the +little beast treated her, I believe Frances still cares for him, and +always will. That's the worst of it, isn't it?" she demanded. +</P> + +<P> +In words, Lee did not answer, but in his heart he agreed that was much +the worst of it. The fact that Frances was free filled him with hope; +but that she still cared for the man she had married, and would +continue to think only of him, made him ill with despair. +</P> + +<P> +He cabled his lawyers for her address. He determined that, at once, on +learning it, he would tell her that with him nothing was changed. He +had forgotten nothing, and had learned much. He had learned that his +love for her was a splendid and inspiring passion, that even without +her it had lifted him up, helped and cheered him, made the whole world +kind and beautiful. With her he could not picture a world so complete +with happiness. +</P> + +<P> +Since entering the army he had never taken a leave of absence, and he +was sure, if now he asked for one, it would not be refused. He +determined, if the answer to his cable gave him the address, he would +return at once, and again offer her his love, which he now knew was +deeper, finer, and infinitely more tender than the love he first had +felt for her. But the cable balked him. "Address unknown," it read; +"believed to have gone abroad in capacity of governess. Have employed +foreign agents. Will cable their report." +</P> + +<P> +Whether to wait for and be guided by the report of the detectives, or +to proceed to Europe and search for her himself, Lee did not know. He +finally determined that to seek for her with no clew to her whereabouts +would be but a waste of precious moments, while, if in their search the +agents were successful, he would be able to go directly to her. +Meanwhile, by cable, he asked for protracted leave of absence and, +while waiting for his answer, returned to his post. There, within a +week, he received his leave of absence, but in a fashion that +threatened to remove him forever from the army. +</P> + +<P> +The constabulary had located the will-o'-the-wisp brigands behind a +stockade built about an extinct volcano, and Lee and his troop and a +mountain battery attempted to dislodge them. In the fight that +followed Lee covered his brows with laurel wreaths and received two +bullet wounds in his body. +</P> + +<P> +For a month death stood at the side of his cot; and then, still weak +and at times delirious with fever, by slow stages he was removed to the +hospital in Manila. In one of his sane moments a cable was shown him. +It read: "Whereabouts still unknown." Lee at once rebelled against his +doctors. He must rise, he declared, and proceed to Europe. It was +upon a matter of life and death. The surgeons assured him his +remaining exactly where he was also was a matter of as great +consequence. Lee's knowledge of his own lack of strength told him they +were right. +</P> + +<P> +Then, from headquarters, he was informed that, as a reward for his +services and in recognition of his approaching convalescence, he was +ordered to return to his own climate and that an easy billet had been +found for him as a recruiting officer in New York City. Believing the +woman he loved to be in Europe, this plan for his comfort only +succeeded in bringing on a relapse. But the day following there came +another cablegram. It put an abrupt end to his mutiny, and brought him +and the War Department into complete accord. +</P> + +<P> +"She is in New York," it read, "acting as agent for a charitable +institution, which one not known, but hope in a few days to cable +correct address." +</P> + +<P> +In all the world there was no man so happy. The next morning a +transport was sailing, and, probably because they had read the +cablegram, the surgeons agreed with Lee that a sea voyage would do him +no harm. He was carried on board, and when the propellers first +churned the water and he knew he was moving toward her, the hero of the +fight around the crater shed unmanly tears. He would see her again, +hear her voice; the same great city would shelter them. It was worth a +dozen bullets. +</P> + +<P> +He reached New York in a snow-storm, a week before Christmas, and went +straight to the office of his lawyers. They received him with +embarrassment. Six weeks before, on the very day they had cabled him +that Mrs. Stedman was in New York, she had left the charitable +institution where she had been employed, and had again disappeared. +</P> + +<P> +Lee sent his trunks to the Army and Navy Club, which was immediately +around the corner from the recruiting office in Sixth Avenue, and began +discharging telegrams at every one who had ever known Frances Gardner. +The net result was discouraging. In the year and a half in which he +had been absent every friend of the girl he sought had temporarily +changed his place of residence or was permanently dead. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile his arrival by the transport was announced in the afternoon +papers. At the wharf an admiring trooper had told a fine tale of his +conduct at the battle of the crater, and reporters called at the club +to see him. He did not discourage them, as he hoped through them the +fact of his return might be made known to Frances. She might send him +a line of welcome, and he would discover her whereabouts. But, though +many others sent him hearty greetings, from her there was no word. +</P> + +<P> +On the second day after his arrival one of the telegrams was answered +in person by a friend of Mrs. Stedman. He knew only that she had been +in New York, that she was very poor and in ill health, that she shunned +all of her friends, and was earning her living as the matron of some +sort of a club for working girls. He did not know the name of it. +</P> + +<P> +On the third day there still was no news. On the fourth Lee decided +that the next morning he would advertise. He would say only: "Will +Mrs. Arthur Stedman communicate with Messrs. Fuller & Fuller?" Fuller & +Fuller were his lawyers. That afternoon he remained until six o'clock +at the recruiting office, and when he left it the electric street +lights were burning brightly. A heavy damp snow was falling, and the +lights and the falling flakes and the shouts of drivers and the toots +of taxicabs made for the man from the tropics a welcome homecoming. +</P> + +<P> +Instead of returning at once to his club, he slackened his steps. The +shop windows of Sixth Avenue hung with Christmas garlands, and colored +lamps glowed like open fireplaces. Lee passed slowly before them, glad +that he had been able to get back at such a season. For the moment he +had forgotten the woman he sought, and was conscious only of his +surroundings. He had paused in front of the window of a pawn-shop. +Over the array of cheap jewelry, of banjos, shot-guns, and razors, his +eyes moved idly. And then they became transfixed and staring. In the +very front of the window, directly under his nose, was a tarnished +silver loving-cup. On it was engraved, "Mixed Doubles. Agawamsett, +1910." In all the world there were only two such cups, and as though +he were dodging the slash of a bolo, Lee leaped into the shop. Many +precious seconds were wasted in persuading Mrs. Cohen that he did not +believe the cup had been stolen; that he was not from the Central +Office; that he believed the lady who had pawned the cup had come by it +honestly; that he meant no harm to the lady; that he meant no harm to +Mrs. Cohen; that, much as the young lady may have needed the money Mrs. +Cohen had loaned her on the cup, he needed the address of the young +lady still more. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Cohen retired behind a screen, and Lee was conscious that from the +other side of it the whole family of Cohens were taking his +measurements. He approved of their efforts to protect the owner of the +cup, but not from him. +</P> + +<P> +He offered, if one of the younger Cohens would take him to the young +lady, to let him first ask her if she would receive Captain Lee, and +for his service he would give the young Cohen untold gold. He exhibited +the untold gold. The young Cohen choked at the sight and sprang into +the seat beside the driver of a taxicab. +</P> + +<P> +"To the Working Girls' Home, on Tenth Street!" he commanded. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Through the falling snow and the flashing lights they slid, skidded, +and leaped. Inside the cab Lee shivered with excitement, with cold, +with fear that it might not be true. He could not realize she was +near. It was easier to imagine himself still in the jungle, with +months of time and sixteen thousand miles of land and water separating +them; or in the hospital, on a white-enamel cot, watching the shadow +creep across the whitewashed wall; or lying beneath an awning that did +not move, staring at a burning, brazen sea that did not move, on a +transport that, timed by the beating of his heart, stood still. +</P> + +<P> +Those days were within the radius of his experience. Separation, +absence, the immutable giants of time and space, he knew. With them he +had fought and could withstand them. But to be near her, to hear her +voice, to bring his love into her actual presence, that was an attack +upon his feelings which found him without weapons. That for a very few +dollars she had traded the cup from which she had sworn never to part +did not concern him. Having parted from him, what she did with a +silver mug was of little consequence. It was of significance only in +that it meant she was poor. And that she was either an inmate or a +matron of a lodging-house for working girls also showed she was poor. +</P> + +<P> +He had been told that was her condition, and that she was in ill +health, and that from all who loved her she had refused to accept help. +At the thought his jaws locked pugnaciously. There was one who loved +her, who, should she refuse his aid, was prepared to make her life +intolerable. He planned in succession at lightning speed all he might +do for her. Among other things he would make this Christmas the +happiest she or he would ever know. Not for an instant did he question +that she who had refused help from all who loved her could refuse +anything he offered. For he knew it was offered with a love that +demanded nothing in return, with a love that asked only to be allowed +to love, and to serve. To refuse help inspired by such a feeling as +his would be morbid, wicked, ridiculous, as though a flower refused to +turn its face to the sun, and shut its lips to the dew. +</P> + +<P> +The cab stopped in front of a brick building adorned with many +fire-escapes. Afterward he remembered a bare, brilliantly lit hall +hung with photographs of the Acropolis, and a stout, capable woman in a +cap, who looked him over and said: +</P> + +<P> +"You will find Mrs. Stedman in the writing-room." +</P> + +<P> +And he remembered entering a room filled with Mission furniture and +reading-lamps under green shades. It was empty, except for a young +girl in deep black, who was seated facing him, her head bent above a +writing-desk. As he came into the circle of the lamps the girl raised +her eyes and as though lifted to her feet by what she saw, and through +no effort of her own, stood erect. +</P> + +<P> +And the young man who had persuaded himself his love demanded nothing, +who asked only to worship at her gate, found his arms reaching out, and +heard his voice as though it came from a great distance, cry, "Frances!" +</P> + +<P> +And the girl who had refused the help of all who loved her, like a +homing pigeon walked straight into the outstretched arms. +</P> + +<P> +After five minutes, when he was almost able to believe it was true, he +said in his commanding, masterful way: "And now I'm going to take you +out of here. I'm going to buy you a ring, and a sable coat, and a +house to live in, and a dinner. Which shall we buy first?" +</P> + +<P> +"First," said Frances, frowning happily, "I am afraid we must go to the +Ritz, to tell Aunt Emily. She always loved you, and it will make her +so happy." +</P> + +<P> +"To the Ritz!" stammered the young man. "To Aunt Emily! I thought they +told me your aunt and-you-" +</P> + +<P> +"We quarrelled, yes," said Frances, "and she has forgiven me; but she +has not forgiven herself, so she spoils me, and already I have a house +to live in, and several sable coats, and, oh! everything, everything +but the ring." +</P> + +<P> +"I am so sorry!" cried Lee. "I thought you were poor. I hoped you +were poor. But you are joking!" he exclaimed delightedly. "You are +here in a working girls' home-" +</P> + +<P> +"It is one of Aunt Emily's charities. She built it," said Frances. "I +come here to talk to the girls." +</P> + +<P> +"But," persisted Lee triumphantly, "if you are not poor, why did you +pawn our silver loving-cup?" +</P> + +<P> +The face of the girl became a lovely crimson, and tears rose to her +eyes. As though at a confessional, she lifted her hands penitently. +</P> + +<P> +"Try to understand," she begged; "I wanted you to love me, not for my +money-" +</P> + +<P> +"But you knew!" cried Lee. +</P> + +<P> +"I had to be sure," begged the girl; "and I wanted to believe you loved +me even if I did not love you. When it was too late I knew you loved +me as no woman ever deserved to be loved; and I wanted that love. I +could not live without it. So when I read in the papers you had +returned I wouldn't let myself write you; I wouldn't let myself beg you +to come to see me. I set a test for you. I knew from the papers you +were at the Army and Navy Club, and that around the corner was the +recruiting office. I'd often seen the sergeant there, in uniform, at +the door. I knew you must pass from your club to the office many times +each day, so I thought of the loving-cup and the pawn-shop. I planted +it there. It was a trick, a test. I thought if you saw it in a +pawn-shop you would believe I no longer cared for you, and that I was +very poor. If you passed it by, then I would know you yourself had +stopped caring, but if you asked about it, if you inquired for me, then +I would know you came to me of your own wish, because you-" +</P> + +<P> +Lee shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't have to tell me," he said gently, "why I came. I've a cab +outside. You will get in it," he commanded, "and we will rescue our +cup. I always told you they would look well together over an open +fireplace." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="laspalmas"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE MIRACLE OF LAS PALMAS +</H2> + +<BR> + +<P> +This is the story of a gallant officer who loved his profession, his +regiment, his country, but above all, whiskey; of his miraculous +conversion to total abstinence, and of the humble instrument that +worked the miracle. At the time it was worked, a battalion of the +Thirty-third Infantry had been left behind to guard the Zone, and was +occupying impromptu barracks on the hill above Las Palmas. That was +when Las Palmas was one of the four thousand stations along the forty +miles of the Panama Railroad. When the railroad was "reconstructed" the +name of Las Palmas did not appear on the new time-table, and when this +story appears Las Palmas will be eighty feet under water. So if any +one wishes to dispute the miracle he will have to conduct his +investigation in a diving-bell. +</P> + +<P> +On this particular evening young Major Aintree, in command of the +battalion, had gone up the line to Panama to dine at the Hotel Tivoli, +and had dined well. To prevent his doing this a paternal government +had ordered that at the Tivoli no alcoholic liquors may be sold; but +only two hundred yards from the hotel, outside the zone of temperance, +lies Panama and Angelina's, and during the dinner, between the Tivoli +and Angelina's, the Jamaican waiter-boys ran relay races. +</P> + +<P> +After the dinner, the Jamaican waiter-boys proving too slow, the +dinner-party in a body adjourned to Angelina's, and when later, Major +Aintree moved across the street to the night train to Las Palmas, he +moved unsteadily. +</P> + +<P> +Young Standish of the Canal Zone police, who, though but twenty-six, +was a full corporal, was for that night on duty as "train guard," and +was waiting at the rear steps of the last car. As Aintree approached +the steps he saw indistinctly a boyish figure in khaki, and, mistaking +it for one of his own men, he clasped the handrail for support, and +halted frowning. +</P> + +<P> +Observing the condition of the officer the policeman also frowned, but +in deference to the uniform, slowly and with reluctance raised his hand +to his sombrero. The reluctance was more apparent than the salute. It +was less of a salute than an impertinence. +</P> + +<P> +Partly out of regard for his rank, partly from temper, chiefly from +whiskey, Aintree saw scarlet. +</P> + +<P> +"When you s'lute your s'perior officer," he shouted, "you s'lute him +quick. You unnerstan', you s'lute him quick! S'lute me again," he +commanded, "and s'lute me damn quick." +</P> + +<P> +Standish remained motionless. As is the habit of policemen over all +the world, his thumbs were stuck in his belt. He answered without +offense, in tones matter-of-fact and calm. +</P> + +<P> +"You are not my superior officer," he said. +</P> + +<P> +It was the calmness that irritated Aintree. His eyes sought for the +infantryman's cap and found a sombrero. +</P> + +<P> +"You damned leatherneck," he began, "I'll report—" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not a marine, either," interrupted Standish. "I'm a policeman. +Move on," he ordered, "you're keeping these people waiting." +</P> + +<P> +Others of the dinner-party formed a flying wedge around Aintree and +crowded him up the steps and into a seat and sat upon him. Ten minutes +later, when Standish made his rounds of the cars, Aintree saw him +approaching. He had a vague recollection that he had been insulted, +and by a policeman. +</P> + +<P> +"You!" he called, and so loudly that all in the car turned, "I'm going +to report you, going to report you for insolence. What's your name?" +</P> + +<P> +Looking neither at Aintree nor at the faces turned toward him, Standish +replied as though Aintree had asked him what time it was. +</P> + +<P> +"Standish," he said, "corporal, shield number 226, on train guard." He +continued down the aisle. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll remember you," Aintree shouted. +</P> + +<P> +But in the hot, glaring dawn of the morning after, Aintree forgot. It +was Standish who remembered. +</P> + +<P> +The men of the Zone police are hand-picked. They have been soldiers, +marines, cowboys, sheriffs, "Black Hussars" of the Pennsylvania State +constabulary, rough riders with Roosevelt, mounted police in Canada, +irregular horse in South Africa; they form one of the best-organized, +best-disciplined, most efficient, most picturesque semi-military bodies +in the world. Standish joined them from the Philippine constabulary in +which he had been a second lieutenant. There are several like him in +the Zone police, and in England they would be called gentlemen rankers. +On the Isthmus, because of his youth, his fellow policemen called +Standish "Kid." And smart as each of them was, each of them admitted +the Kid wore his uniform with a difference. With him it always looked +as though it had come freshly ironed from the Colon laundry; his +leather leggings shone like meerschaum pipes; the brim of his sombrero +rested impudently on the bridge of his nose. +</P> + +<P> +"He's been an officer," they used to say in extenuation. "You can tell +when he salutes. He shows the back of his hand." Secretly, they were +proud of him. Standish came of a long chain of soldiers, and that the +weakest link in the chain had proved to be himself was a sorrow no one +else but himself could fathom. Since he was three years old he had +been trained to be a soldier, as carefully, with the same singleness of +purpose, as the crown prince is trained to be a king. And when, after +three happy, glorious years at West Point, he was found not clever +enough to pass the examinations and was dropped, he did not curse the +gods and die, but began again to work his way up. He was determined he +still would wear shoulder-straps. He owed it to his ancestors. It was +the tradition of his family, the one thing he wanted; it was his +religion. He would get into the army even if by the side door, if only +after many years of rough and patient service. He knew that some day, +through his record, through the opportunity of a war, he would come +into his inheritance. Meanwhile he officered his soul, disciplined his +body, and daily tried to learn the lesson that he who hopes to control +others must first control himself. +</P> + +<P> +He allowed himself but one dissipation, one excess. That was to hate +Major Aintree, commanding the Thirty-third Infantry. Of all the world +could give, Aintree possessed everything that Standish considered the +most to be desired. He was a graduate of West Point, he had seen +service in Cuba, in the Boxer business, and in the Philippines. For an +act of conspicuous courage at Batangas, he had received the medal of +honor. He had had the luck of the devil. Wherever he held command +turned out to be the place where things broke loose. And Aintree +always attacked and routed them, always was the man on the job. It was +his name that appeared in the newspapers, it was his name that headed +the list of the junior officers mentioned for distinguished conduct. +Standish had followed his career with an admiration and a joy that was +without taint of envy or detraction. He gloried in Aintree, he +delighted to know the army held such a man. He was grateful to Aintree +for upholding the traditions of a profession to which he himself gave +all the devotion of a fanatic. He made a god of him. This was the +attitude of mind toward Aintree before he came to the Isthmus. Up to +that time he had never seen his idol. Aintree had been only a name +signed to brilliant articles in the service magazines, a man of whom +those who had served with him or under him, when asked concerning him, +spoke with loyalty and awe, the man the newspapers called "the hero of +Batangas." And when at last he saw his hero, he believed his worship +was justified. For Aintree looked the part. He was built like a +greyhound with the shoulders of a stevedore. His chin was as +projecting, and as hard, as the pointed end of a flat-iron. His every +movement showed physical fitness, and his every glance and tone a +confidence in himself that approached insolence. He was thirty-eight, +twelve years older than the youth who had failed to make his +commission, and who, as Aintree strode past, looked after him with +wistful, hero-worshipping eyes. The revulsion, when it came, was +extreme. The hero-worship gave way to contempt, to indignant +condemnation, in which there was no pity, no excuse. That one upon +whom so much had been lavished, who for himself had accomplished such +good things, should bring disgrace upon his profession, should by his +example demoralize his men, should risk losing all he had attained, all +that had been given, was intolerable. When Standish learned his hero +was a drunkard, when day after day Aintree furnished visible evidences +of that fact, Standish felt Aintree had betrayed him and the army and +the government that had educated, trained, clothed, and fed him. He +regarded Aintree as worse than Benedict Arnold, because Arnold had +turned traitor for power and money; Aintree was a traitor through mere +weakness, because he could not say "no" to a bottle. +</P> + +<P> +Only in secret Standish railed against Aintree. When his brother +policemen gossiped and jested about him, out of loyalty to the army he +remained silent. But in his heart he could not forgive. The man he had +so generously envied, the man after whose career he had wished to model +his own, had voluntarily stepped from his pedestal and made a swine of +himself. And not only could he not forgive, but as day after day +Aintree furnished fresh food for his indignation he felt a fierce +desire to punish. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile, of the conduct of Aintree, men older and wiser, if less +intolerant than Standish, were beginning to take notice. It was after +a dinner on Ancon Hill, and the women had left the men to themselves. +They were the men who were placing the Panama Canal on the map. They +were officers of the army who for five years had not worn a uniform. +But for five years they had been at war with an enemy that never slept. +Daily they had engaged in battle with mountains, rivers, swamps, two +oceans, and disease. Where Aintree commanded five hundred soldiers, +they commanded a body of men better drilled, better disciplined, and in +number half as many as those who formed the entire army of the United +States. The mind of each was occupied with a world problem. They +thought and talked in millions—of millions of cubic yards of dirt, of +millions of barrels of cement, of millions of tons of steel, of +hundreds of millions of dollars, of which latter each received enough +to keep himself and his family just beyond the reach of necessity. To +these men with the world waiting upon the outcome of their endeavor, +with responsibilities that never relaxed, Aintree's behavior was an +incident, an annoyance of less importance than an overturned dirt train +that for five minutes dared to block the completion of their work. But +they were human and loyal to the army, and in such an infrequent moment +as this, over the coffee and cigars, they could afford to remember the +junior officer, to feel sorry for him, for the sake of the army, to +save him from himself. +</P> + +<P> +"He takes his orders direct from the War Department," said the chief. +"I've no authority over him. If he'd been one of my workmen I'd have +shipped him north three months ago." +</P> + +<P> +"That's it," said the surgeon, "he's not a workman. He has nothing to +do, and idleness is the curse of the army. And in this climate—" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing to do!" snorted the civil administrator. "Keeping his men in +hand is what he has to do! They're running amuck all over Panama, +getting into fights with the Spiggoty police, bringing the uniform into +contempt. As for the climate, it's the same climate for all of us. +Look at Butler's marines and Barber's Zone police. The climate hasn't +hurt them. They're as smart men as ever wore khaki. It's not the +climate or lack of work that ails the Thirty-third, it's their +commanding officer. 'So the colonel, so the regiment.' That's as old +as the hills. Until Aintree takes a brace, his men won't. Some one +ought to talk to him. It's a shame to see a fine fellow like that +going to the dogs because no one has the courage to tell him the truth." +</P> + +<P> +The chief smiled mockingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Then why don't you?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm a civilian," protested the administrator. "If I told him he was +going to the dogs he'd tell me to go to the devil. No, one of you army +men must do it. He'll listen to you." +</P> + +<P> +Young Captain Haldane of the cavalry was at the table; he was visiting +Panama on leave as a tourist. The chief turned to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Haldane's the man," he said. "You're his friend and you're his junior +in rank, so what you say won't sound official. Tell him people are +talking; tell him it won't be long before they'll be talking in +Washington. Scare him!" +</P> + +<P> +The captain of cavalry smiled dubiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Aintree's a hard man to scare," he said. "But if it's as bad as you +all seem to think, I'll risk it. But, why is it," he complained, "that +whenever a man has to be told anything particularly unpleasant they +always pick on his best friend to tell him? It makes them both +miserable. Why not let his bitterest enemy try it? The enemy at least +would have a fine time." +</P> + +<P> +"Because," said the chief, "Aintree hasn't an enemy in the +world—except Aintree." +</P> + +<P> +The next morning, as he had promised, Haldane called upon his friend. +When he arrived at Las Palmas, although the morning was well advanced +toward noon, he found Aintree still under his mosquito bars and awake +only to command a drink. The situation furnished Haldane with his +text. He expressed his opinion of any individual, friend or no friend, +officer or civilian, who on the Zone, where all men begin work at +sunrise, could be found at noon still in his pajamas and preparing to +face the duties of the day on an absinth cocktail. He said further +that since he had arrived on the isthmus he had heard only of Aintree's +misconduct, that soon the War Department would hear of it, that Aintree +would lose his commission, would break the backbone of a splendid +career. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a friend talking," continued Haldane, "and you know it! It's +because I am your friend that I've risked losing your friendship! And, +whether you like it or not, it's the truth. You're going down-hill, +going fast, going like a motor-bus running away, and unless you put on +the brakes you'll smash!" +</P> + +<P> +Aintree was not even annoyed. +</P> + +<P> +"That's good advice for the right man," he granted, "but why waste it +on me? I can do things other men can't. I can stop drinking this +minute, and it will mean so little to me that I won't know I've +stopped." +</P> + +<P> +"Then stop," said Haldane. +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" demanded Aintree. "I like it. Why should I stop anything I +like? Because a lot of old women are gossiping? Because old men who +can't drink green mint without dancing turkey-trots think I'm going to +the devil because I can drink whiskey? I'm not afraid of whiskey," he +laughed tolerantly. "It amuses me, that's all it does to me; it amuses +me." He pulled back the coat of his pajamas and showed his giant chest +and shoulder. With his fist he struck his bare flesh and it glowed +instantly a healthy, splendid pink. +</P> + +<P> +"See that!" commanded Aintree. "If there's a man on the isthmus in any +better physical shape than I am, I'll—" He interrupted himself to +begin again eagerly. "I'll make you a sporting proposition," he +announced "I'll fight any man on the isthmus ten rounds—no matter who +he is, a wop laborer, shovel man, Barbadian nigger, marine, +anybody—and if he can knock me out I'll stop drinking. You see," he +explained patiently, "I'm no mollycoddle or jelly-fish. I can afford a +headache. And besides, it's my own head. If I don't give anybody else +a headache, I don't see that it's anybody else's damned business." +</P> + +<P> +"But you do," retorted Haldane steadily. "You're giving your own men +worse than a headache, you're setting them a rotten example, you're +giving the Thirty-third a bad name-" +</P> + +<P> +Aintree vaulted off his cot and shook his fist at his friend. "You +can't say that to me," he cried. +</P> + +<P> +"I do say it," protested Haldane. "When you were in Manila your men +were models; here they're unshaven, sloppy, undisciplined. They look +like bell-hops. And it's your fault. And everybody thinks so." +</P> + +<P> +Slowly and carefully Aintree snapped his fingers. +</P> + +<P> +"And you can tell everybody, from me," he cried, "that's all I care +what they think! And now," he continued, smiling hospitably, "let me +congratulate you on your success as a missionary, and, to show you +there's not a trace of hard feeling, we will have a drink." +</P> + +<P> +Informally Haldane reported back to the commission, and the wife of one +of them must have talked, for it was soon known that a brother officer +had appealed to Aintree to reform, and Aintree had refused to listen. +</P> + +<P> +When she heard this, Grace Carter, the wife of Major Carter, one of the +surgeons at the Ancon Hospital, was greatly perturbed. Aintree was +engaged to be married to Helen Scott, who was her best friend and who +was arriving by the next steamer to spend the winter. When she had +Helen safely under her roof, Mrs. Carter had planned to marry off the +young couple out of hand on the isthmus. But she had begun to wonder if +it would not be better they should delay, or best that they should +never marry. +</P> + +<P> +"The awakening is going to be a terrible blow to Helen," she said to +her husband. "She is so proud of him." +</P> + +<P> +"On the contrary," he protested, "it will be the awakening of +Aintree—if Helen will stand for the way he's acting, she is not the +girl I know. And when he finds she won't, and that he may lose her, +he'll pull up short. He's talked Helen to me night after night until +he's bored me so I could strangle him. He cares more for her than he +does for anything, for the army, or for himself, and that's saying a +great deal. One word from her will be enough." +</P> + +<P> +Helen spoke the word three weeks after she arrived. It had not been +necessary to tell her of the manner in which her lover was +misconducting himself. At various dinners given in their honor he had +made a nuisance of himself; on another occasion, while in uniform, he +had created a scene in the dining-room of the Tivoli under the prying +eyes of three hundred seeing-the-Canal tourists; and one night he had +so badly beaten up a cabman who had laughed at his condition that the +man went to the hospital. Major Carter, largely with money, had healed +the injuries of the cabman, but Helen, who had witnessed the assault, +had suffered an injury that money could not heal. +</P> + +<P> +She sent for Aintree, and at the home of her friend delivered her +ultimatum. +</P> + +<P> +"I hit him because he was offensive to you," said Aintree. "That's why +I hit him. If I'd not had a drink in a year, I'd have hit him just as +quick and just as hard." +</P> + +<P> +"Can't you see," said the girl, "that in being not yourself when I was +in your care you were much more insulting to me than any cabman could +possibly be? When you are like that you have no respect for me, or for +yourself. Part of my pride in you is that you are so strong, that you +control yourself, that common pleasures never get a hold on you. If +you couldn't control your temper I wouldn't blame you, because you've a +villainous temper and you were born with it. But you weren't born with +a taste for liquor. None of your people drank. You never drank until +you went into the army. If I were a man," declared the girl, "I'd be +ashamed to admit anything was stronger than I was. You never let pain +beat you. I've seen you play polo with a broken arm, but in this you +give pain to others, you shame and humiliate the one you pretend to +love, just because you are weak, just because you can't say 'no.'" +</P> + +<P> +Aintree laughed angrily. +</P> + +<P> +"Drink has no hold on me," he protested. "It affects me as much as the +lights and the music affect a girl at her first dance, and no more. +But, if you ask me to stop—" +</P> + +<P> +"I do not!" said the girl. "If you stop, you'll stop not because I +have any influence over you, but because you don't need my influence. +If it's wrong, if it's hurting you, if it's taking away your usefulness +and your power for good, that's why you'll stop. Not because a girl +begs you. Or you're not the man I think you." +</P> + +<P> +Aintree retorted warmly. "I'm enough of a man for this," he protested: +"I'm enough of a man not to confess I can't drink without making a +beast of myself. It's easy not to drink at all. But to stop altogether +is a confession of weakness. I'd look on my doing that as cowardly. I +give you my word—not that I'll swear off, that I'll never do—but I +promise you you'll have no further reason to be what you call +humiliated, or ashamed. You have my word for it." +</P> + +<P> +A week later Aintree rode his pony into a railway cutting and rolled +with it to the tracks below, and, if at the time he had not been +extremely drunk, would have been killed. The pony, being quite sober, +broke a leg and was destroyed. +</P> + +<P> +When word of this came to Helen she was too sick at heart to see +Aintree, and by others it was made known to him that on the first +steamer Miss Scott would return North. Aintree knew why she was going, +knew she had lost faith and patience, knew the woman he loved had +broken with him and put him out of her life. Appalled at this +calamity, he proceeded to get drunk in earnest. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The night was very hot and the humidity very heavy, and at Las Palmas +inside the bungalow that served as a police-station the lamps on either +side of the lieutenant's desk burned like tiny furnaces. Between them, +panting in the moist heat and with the sweat from his forehead and hand +dripping upon an otherwise immaculate report, sat Standish. Two weeks +before, the chief had made him one of his six lieutenants. With the +force the promotion had been most popular. +</P> + +<P> +Since his promotion Standish had been in charge of the police-station +at Las Palmas and daily had seen Aintree as, on his way down the hill +from the barracks to the railroad, the hero of Batangas passed the door +of the station-house. Also, on the morning Aintree had jumped his +horse over the embankment, Standish had seen him carried up the hill on +a stretcher. At the sight the lieutenant of police had taken from his +pocket a notebook, and on a flyleaf made a cross. On the flyleaf were +many other dates and opposite each a cross. It was Aintree's record +and as the number of black crosses grew, the greater had grown the +resentment of Standish, the more greatly it had increased his anger +against the man who had put this affront upon the army, the greater +became his desire to punish. +</P> + +<P> +In police circles the night had been quiet, the cells in the yard were +empty, the telephone at his elbow had remained silent, and Standish, +alone in the station-house, had employed himself in cramming "Moss's +Manual for Subalterns." He found it a fascinating exercise. The hope +that soon he might himself be a subaltern always burned brightly, and +to be prepared seemed to make the coming of that day more certain. It +was ten o'clock and Las Palmas lay sunk in slumber, and after the down +train which was now due had passed, there was nothing likely to disturb +her slumber until at sunrise the great army of dirt-diggers with +shrieks of whistles, with roars of dynamite, with the rumbling of +dirt-trains and steam-shovels, again sprang to the attack. Down the +hill, a hundred yards below Standish, the night train halted at the +station, with creakings and groanings continued toward Colon, and again +Las Palmas returned to sleep. +</P> + +<P> +And, then, quickly and viciously, like the crack of a mule-whip, came +the reports of a pistol; and once more the hot and dripping silence. +</P> + +<P> +On post at the railroad-station, whence the shots came, was Meehan, one +of the Zone police, an ex-sergeant of marines. On top of the hill, +outside the infantry barracks, was another policeman, Bullard, once a +cowboy. +</P> + +<P> +Standish ran to the veranda and heard the pebbles scattering as Bullard +leaped down the hill, and when, in the light from the open door, he +passed, the lieutenant shouted at him to find Meehan and report back. +Then the desk telephone rang, and Standish returned to his chair. +</P> + +<P> +"This is Meehan," said a voice. "Those shots just now were fired by +Major Aintree. He came down on the night train and jumped off after +the train was pulling out and stumbled into a negro, and fell. He's +been drinking and he swore the nigger pushed him; and the man called +Aintree a liar. Aintree pulled his gun and the nigger ran. Aintree +fired twice; then I got to him and knocked the gun out of his hand with +my nightstick." +</P> + +<P> +There was a pause. Until he was sure his voice would be steady and +official, the boy lieutenant did not speak. +</P> + +<P> +"Did he hit the negro?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," Meehan answered. "The man jumped for the darkest spot +he could find." The voice of Meehan lost its professional calm and +became personal and aggrieved. +</P> + +<P> +"Aintree's on his way to see you now, lieutenant. He's going to report +me." +</P> + +<P> +"For what?" +</P> + +<P> +The voice over the telephone rose indignantly. +</P> + +<P> +"For knocking the gun out of his hand. He says it's an assault. He's +going to break me!" +</P> + +<P> +Standish made no comment. +</P> + +<P> +"Report here," he ordered. +</P> + +<P> +He heard Bullard hurrying up the hill and met him at the foot of the +steps. +</P> + +<P> +"There's a nigger," began Bullard, "lying under some bushes—" +</P> + +<P> +"Hush!" commanded Standish. +</P> + +<P> +From the path below came the sound of footsteps approaching unsteadily, +and the voice of a man swearing and muttering to himself. Standish +pulled the ex-cowboy into the shadow of the darkness and spoke in eager +whispers. +</P> + +<P> +"You understand," he concluded, "you will not report until you see me +pick up a cigar from the desk and light it. You will wait out here in +the darkness. When you see me light the cigar, you will come in and +report." +</P> + +<P> +The cowboy policeman nodded, but without enthusiasm. "I understand, +lieutenant," he said, "but," he shook his head doubtfully, "it sizes up +to me like what those police up in New York call a 'frame-up.'" +</P> + +<P> +Standish exclaimed impatiently. +</P> + +<P> +"It's not my frame-up!" he said. "The man's framed himself up. All I'm +going to do is to nail him to the wall!" +</P> + +<P> +Standish had only time to return to his desk when Aintree stumbled up +the path and into the station-house. He was "fighting drunk," ugly, +offensive, all but incoherent with anger. +</P> + +<P> +"You in charge?" he demanded. He did not wait for an answer. "I've +been 'saulted!" he shouted. "'Saulted by one of your damned policemen. +He struck me—struck me when I was protecting myself. He had a nigger +with him. First the nigger tripped me; then, when I tried to protect +myself, this thug of yours hits me, clubs me, you unnerstan', clubs me! +I want him—" +</P> + +<P> +He was interrupted by the entrance of Meehan, who moved into the light +from the lamps and saluted his lieutenant. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the man!" roared Aintree. The sight of Meehan whipped him into +greater fury. +</P> + +<P> +"I want that man broke. I want to see you strip his shield off +him—now, you unnerstan', now—for 'saulting me, for 'saulting an +officer in the United States army. And, if you don't," he threw +himself into a position of the prize-ring, "I'll beat him up and you, +too." Through want of breath, he stopped, and panted. Again his voice +broke forth hysterically. "I'm not afraid of your damned +night-sticks," he taunted. "I got five hundred men on top this hill, +all I've got to do is to say the word, and they'll rough-house this +place and throw it into the cut—and you with it." +</P> + +<P> +Standish rose to his feet, and across the desk looked steadily at +Aintree. To Aintree the steadiness of his eyes and the quietness of +his voice were an added aggravation. +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose you did," said Standish, "that would not save you." +</P> + +<P> +"From what?" roared Aintree. "Think I'm afraid of your night-sticks?" +</P> + +<P> +"From arrest!" +</P> + +<P> +"Arrest me!" yelled Aintree. "Do you know who's talking to you? Do you +know who I am? I'm Major Aintree, damn you, commanding the infantry. +An' I'm here to charge that thug—" +</P> + +<P> +"You are here because you are under arrest," said Standish. "You are +arrested for threatening the police, drunkenness, and assaulting a +citizen with intent to kill—" The voice of the young man turned +shrill and rasping. "And if the man should die—" +</P> + +<P> +Aintree burst into a bellow of mocking laughter. +</P> + +<P> +Standish struck the desk with his open palm. +</P> + +<P> +"Silence!" he commanded. +</P> + +<P> +"Silence to me!" roared Aintree, "you impertinent pup!" He flung +himself forward, shaking his fist. "I'm Major Aintree. I'm your +superior officer. I'm an officer an' a gentleman—" +</P> + +<P> +"You are not!" replied Standish. "You are a drunken loafer!" +</P> + +<P> +Aintree could not break the silence. Amazement, rage, stupefaction +held him in incredulous wonder. Even Meehan moved uneasily. Between +the officer commanding the infantry and an officer of police, he feared +the lieutenant would not survive. +</P> + +<P> +But he heard the voice of his lieutenant continuing, evenly, coldly, +like the voice of a judge delivering sentence. +</P> + +<P> +"You are a drunken loafer," repeated the boy. "And you know it. And I +mean that to-morrow morning every one on the Zone shall know it. And I +mean to-morrow night every one in the States shall know it. You've +killed a man, or tried to, and I'm going to break you." With his arm he +pointed to Meehan. "Break that man?" he demanded. "For doing his duty, +for trying to stop a murder? Strip him of his shield?" The boy laughed +savagely. "It's you I am going to strip, Aintree," he cried, "you +'hero of Batangas'; I'm going to strip you naked. I'm going to 'cut +the buttons off your coat, and tear the stripes away.' I'm going to +degrade you and disgrace you, and drive you out of the army!" He threw +his note-book on the table. "There's your dossier, Aintree," he said. +"For three months you've been drunk, and there's your record. The +police got it for me; it's written there with dates and the names of +witnesses. I'll swear to it. I've been after you to get you, and I've +got you. With that book, with what you did to-night, you'll leave the +army. You may resign, you may be court-martialled, you may be hung. I +don't give a damn what they do to you, but you will leave the army!" +</P> + +<P> +He turned to Meehan, and with a jerk of the hand signified Aintree. +</P> + +<P> +"Put him in a cell," he said. "If he resists—" +</P> + +<P> +Aintree gave no sign of resisting. He stood motionless, his arms +hanging limp, his eyes protruding. The liquor had died in him, and his +anger had turned chill. He tried to moisten his lips to speak, but his +throat was baked, and no sound issued. He tried to focus his eyes upon +the menacing little figure behind the desk, but between the two lamps +it swayed, and shrank and swelled. Of one thing only was he sure, that +some grave disaster had overtaken him, something that when he came +fully to his senses still would overwhelm him, something he could not +conquer with his fists. His brain, even befuddled as it was, told him +he had been caught by the heels, that he was in a trap, that smashing +this boy who threatened him could not set him free. He recognized, and +it was this knowledge that stirred him with alarm, that this was no +ordinary officer of justice, but a personal enemy, an avenging spirit +who, for some unknown reason, had spread a trap; who, for some private +purpose of revenge, would drag him down. +</P> + +<P> +Frowning painfully, he waved Meehan from him. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait," he commanded. "I don' unnerstan'. What good's it goin' to do +you to lock me up an' disgrace me? What harm have I done you? Who +asked you to run the army, anyway? Who are you?" +</P> + +<P> +"My name is Standish," said the lieutenant. "My father was colonel of +the Thirty-third when you first joined it from the Academy." +</P> + +<P> +Aintree exclaimed with surprise and enlightenment. He broke into +hurried speech, but Standish cut him short. +</P> + +<P> +"And General Standish of the Mexican War," he continued, "was my +grandfather. Since Washington all my people have been officers of the +regular army, and I'd been one, too, if I'd been bright enough. That's +why I respect the army. That's why I'm going to throw you out of it. +You've done harm fifty men as good as you can't undo. You've made +drunkards of a whole battalion. You've taught boys who looked up to +you, as I looked up to you once, to laugh at discipline, to make swine +of themselves. You've set them an example. I'm going to make an +example of you. That's all there is to this. I've got no grudge +against you. I'm not vindictive; I'm sorry for you. But," he paused +and pointed his hand at Aintree as though it held a gun, "you are going +to leave the army!" +</P> + +<P> +Like a man coming out of an ugly dream, Aintree opened and shut his +eyes, shivered, and stretched his great muscles. They watched him with +an effort of the will force himself back to consciousness. When again +he spoke, his tone was sane. +</P> + +<P> +"See here, Standish," he began, "I'll not beg of you or any man. I only +ask you to think what you're doing. This means my finish. If you force +this through to-night it means court-martial, it means I lose my +commission, I lose—lose things you know nothing about. And, if I've +got a record for drinking, I've got a record for other things, too. +Don't forget that!" +</P> + +<P> +Standish shook his head. "I didn't forget it," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, suppose I did," demanded Aintree. "Suppose I did go on the +loose, just to pass the time, just because I'm sick of this damned +ditch? Is it fair to wipe out all that went before, for that? I'm the +youngest major in the army, I served in three campaigns, I'm a +medal-of-honor man, I've got a career ahead of me, and—and I'm going +to be married. If you give me a chance-" +</P> + +<P> +Standish struck the table with his fist. +</P> + +<P> +"I will give you a chance," he cried. "If you'll give your word to +this man and to me, that, so help you God, you'll never drink +again—I'll let you go." +</P> + +<P> +If what Standish proposed had been something base, Aintree could not +have accepted it with more contempt. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll see you in hell first," he said. +</P> + +<P> +As though the interview was at an end, Standish dropped into his chair +and leaning forward, from the table picked up a cigar. As he lit it, +he motioned Meehan toward his prisoner, but before the policeman could +advance the sound of footsteps halted him. +</P> + +<P> +Bullard, his eyes filled with concern, leaped up the steps, and ran to +the desk. +</P> + +<P> +"Lieutenant!" he stammered, "that man—the nigger that officer +shot—he's dead!" +</P> + +<P> +Aintree gave a gasp that was partly a groan, partly a cry of protest, +and Bullard, as though for the first time aware of his presence, sprang +back to the open door and placed himself between it and Aintree. +</P> + +<P> +"It's murder!" he said. +</P> + +<P> +None of the three men spoke; and when Meehan crossed to where Aintree +stood, staring fearfully at nothing, he had only to touch his sleeve, +and Aintree, still staring, fell into step beside him. +</P> + +<P> +From the yard outside Standish heard the iron door of the cell swing +shut, heard the key grate in the lock, and the footsteps of Meehan +returning. +</P> + +<P> +Meehan laid the key upon the desk, and with Bullard stood at attention, +waiting. +</P> + +<P> +"Give him time," whispered Standish. "Let it sink in!" +</P> + +<P> +At the end of half an hour Standish heard Aintree calling, and, with +Meehan carrying a lantern, stepped into the yard and stopped at the +cell door. +</P> + +<P> +Aintree was quite sober. His face was set and white, his voice was +dull with suffering. He stood erect, clasping the bars in his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Standish," he said, "you gave me a chance a while ago, and I refused +it. I was rough about it. I'm sorry. It made me hot because I +thought you were forcing my hand, blackmailing me into doing something +I ought to do as a free agent. Now, I am a free agent. You couldn't +give me a chance now, you couldn't let me go now, not if I swore on a +thousand Bibles. I don't know what they'll give me—Leavenworth for +life, or hanging, or just dismissal. But, you've got what you +wanted—I'm leaving the army!" Between the bars he stretched out his +arms and held a hand toward Meehan and Standish. In the same dull, +numbed voice he continued. +</P> + +<P> +"So, now," he went on, "that I've nothing to gain by it, I want to +swear to you and to this man here, that whether I hang, or go to jail, +or am turned loose, I will never, so help me God, take another drink." +</P> + +<P> +Standish was holding the hand of the man who once had been his hero. +He clutched it tight. +</P> + +<P> +"Aintree," he cried, "suppose I could work a miracle; suppose I've +played a trick on you, to show you your danger, to show you what might +come to you any day—does that oath still stand?" +</P> + +<P> +The hand that held his ground the bones together. +</P> + +<P> +"I've given my word!" cried Aintree. "For the love of God, don't +torture me. Is the man alive?" +</P> + +<P> +As Standish swung open the cell door, the hero of Batangas, he who +could thrash any man on the isthmus, crumpled up like a child upon his +shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +And Meehan, as he ran for water, shouted joyfully. +</P> + +<P> +"That nigger," he called to Bullard, "can go home now. The lieutenant +don't want him no more." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="evil"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +EVIL TO HIM WHO EVIL THINKS +</H2> + +<BR> + +<P> +As a rule, the instant the season closed Aline Proctor sailed on the +first steamer for London, where awaited her many friends, both English +and American—and to Paris, where she selected those gowns that on and +off the stage helped to make her famous. But this particular summer +she had spent with the Endicotts at Bar Harbor, and it was at their +house Herbert Nelson met her. After Herbert met her very few other men +enjoyed that privilege. This was her wish as well as his. +</P> + +<P> +They behaved disgracefully. Every morning after breakfast they +disappeared and spent the day at opposite ends of a canoe. She, +knowing nothing of a canoe, was happy in stabbing the waters with her +paddle while he told her how he loved her and at the same time, with +anxious eyes on his own paddle, skilfully frustrated her efforts to +drown them both. While the affair lasted it was ideal and beautiful, +but unfortunately it lasted only two months. +</P> + +<P> +Then Lord Albany, temporarily in America as honorary attache to the +British embassy, his adoring glances, his accent, and the way he +brushed his hair, proved too much for the susceptible heart of Aline, +and she chucked Herbert and asked herself how a woman of her age could +have seriously considered marrying a youth just out of Harvard! At that +time she was a woman of nineteen; but, as she had been before the +public ever since she was eleven, the women declared she was not a day +under twenty-six; and the men knew she could not possibly be over +sixteen! +</P> + +<P> +Aline's own idea of herself was that without some one in love with her +she could not exist—that, unless she knew some man cared for her and +for her alone, she would wither and die. As a matter of fact, whether +any one loved her or not did not in the least interest her. There were +several dozen men who could testify to that. They knew! What she +really wanted was to be head over ears in love—to adore some one, to +worship him, to imagine herself starving for him and making sacrifice +hits for him; but when the moment came to make the sacrifice hit and +marry the man, she invariably found that a greater, truer love had +arisen—for some one else. +</P> + +<P> +This greater and truer love always made her behave abominably to the +youth she had just jilted. She wasted no time on post-mortems. She was +so eager to show her absolute loyalty to the new monarch that she +grudged every thought she ever had given the one she had cast into +exile. She resented him bitterly. She could not forgive him for +having allowed her to be desperately in love with him. He should have +known he was not worthy of such a love as hers. He should have known +that the real prince was waiting only just round the corner. +</P> + +<P> +As a rule the rejected ones behaved well. Each decided Aline was much +too wonderful a creature for him, and continued to love her cautiously +and from a distance. None of them ever spoke or thought ill of her and +would gladly have punched any one who did. It was only the women whose +young men Aline had temporarily confiscated, and then returned saddened +and chastened, who were spiteful. And they dared say no more than that +Aline would probably have known her mind better if she had had a mother +to look after her. This, coming to the ears of Aline, caused her to +reply that a girl who could not keep straight herself, but needed a +mother to help her, would not keep straight had she a dozen mothers. +As she put it cheerfully, a girl who goes wrong and then pleads "no +mother to guide her" is like a jockey who pulls a race and then blames +the horse. +</P> + +<P> +Each of the young men Aline rejected married some one else and, except +when the name of Aline Proctor in the theatrical advertisements or in +electric lights on Broadway gave him a start, forgot that for a month +her name and his own had been linked together from Portland to San +Francisco. But the girl he married did not forget. She never +understood what the public saw in Aline Proctor. That Aline was the +queen of musical comedy she attributed to the fact that Aline knew the +right people and got herself written about in the right way. But that +she could sing, dance, act; that she possessed compelling charm; that +she "got across" not only to the tired business man, the wine agent, +the college boy, but also to the children and the old ladies, was to +her never apparent. +</P> + +<P> +Just as Aline could not forgive the rejected suitor for allowing her to +love him, so the girl he married never forgave Aline for having loved +her husband. Least of all could Sally Winthrop, who two years after +the summer at Bar Harbor married Herbert Nelson, forgive her. And she +let Herbert know it. Herbert was properly in love with Sally Winthrop, +but he liked to think that his engagement to Aline, though brief and +abruptly terminated, had proved him to be a man fatally attractive to +all women. And though he was hypnotizing himself into believing that +his feeling for Aline had been the grand passion, the truth was that +all that kept her in his thoughts was his own vanity. He was not +discontented with his lot—his lot being Sally Winthrop, her millions, +and her estate of three hundred acres near Westbury. Nor was he still +longing for Aline. It was only that his vanity was flattered by the +recollection that one of the young women most beloved by the public had +once loved him. +</P> + +<P> +"I once was a king in Babylon," he used to misquote to himself, "and +she was a Christian slave." +</P> + +<P> +He was as young as that. +</P> + +<P> +Had he been content in secret to assure himself that he once had been a +reigning monarch, his vanity would have harmed no one; but, +unfortunately, he possessed certain documentary evidence to that fact. +And he was sufficiently foolish not to wish to destroy it. The +evidence consisted of a dozen photographs he had snapped of Aline +during the happy days at Bar Harbor, and on which she had written +phrases somewhat exuberant and sentimental. +</P> + +<P> +From these photographs Nelson was loath to part—especially with one +that showed Aline seated on a rock that ran into the waters of the +harbor, and on which she had written: "As long as this rock lasts!" +Each time she was in love Aline believed it would last. That in the +past it never had lasted did not discourage her. +</P> + +<P> +What to do with these photographs that so vividly recalled the most +tumultuous period of his life Nelson could not decide. If he hid them +away and Sally found them, he knew she would make his life miserable. +If he died and Sally then found them, when he no longer was able to +explain that they meant nothing to him, she would believe he always had +loved the other woman, and it would make her miserable. He felt he +could not safely keep them in his own house; his vanity did not permit +him to burn them, and, accordingly, he decided to unload them on some +one else. +</P> + +<P> +The young man to whom he confided his collection was Charles Cochran. +Cochran was a charming person from the West. He had studied in the +Beaux Arts and on foot had travelled over England and Europe, preparing +himself to try his fortune in New York as an architect. He was now in +the office of the architects Post & Constant, and lived alone in a tiny +farmhouse he had made over for himself near Herbert Nelson, at +Westbury, Long Island. +</P> + +<P> +Post & Constant were a fashionable firm and were responsible for many +of the French chateaux and English country houses that were rising near +Westbury, Hempstead, and Roslyn; and it was Cochran's duty to drive +over that territory in his runabout, keep an eye on the contractors, +and dissuade clients from grafting mansard roofs on Italian villas. He +had built the summer home of the Herbert Nelsons, and Herbert and +Charles were very warm friends. Charles was of the same lack of years +as was Herbert, of an enthusiastic and sentimental nature; and, like +many other young men, the story of his life also was the lovely and +much-desired Aline Proctor. It was this coincidence that had made them +friends and that had led Herbert to select Charles as the custodian of +his treasure. As a custodian and confidant Charles especially appealed +to his new friend, because, except upon the stage and in restaurants, +Charles had never seen Aline Proctor, did not know her—and considered +her so far above him, so unattainable, that he had no wish to seek her +out. Unknown, he preferred to worship at a distance. In this +determination Herbert strongly encouraged him. +</P> + +<P> +When he turned over the pictures to Charles, Herbert could not resist +showing them to him. They were in many ways charming. They presented +the queen of musical comedy in several new roles. In one she was in a +sailor suit, giving an imitation of a girl paddling a canoe. In +another she was in a riding-habit mounted upon a pony of which she +seemed very much afraid. +</P> + +<P> +In some she sat like a siren among the rocks with the waves and seaweed +snatching at her feet, and in another she crouched beneath the wheel of +Herbert's touring car. All of the photographs were unprofessional and +intimate, and the legends scrawled across them were even more intimate. +</P> + +<P> +"'As long as this rock lasts!'" read Herbert. At arm's length he held +the picture for Cochran to see, and laughed bitterly and unmirthfully +as he had heard leading men laugh in problem plays. +</P> + +<P> +"That is what she wrote," he mocked—"but how long did it last? Until +she saw that little red-headed Albany playing polo. That lasted until +his mother heard of it. She thought her precious lamb was in the +clutches of a designing actress, and made the Foreign Office cable him +home. Then Aline took up one of those army aviators, and chucked him +for that fellow who painted her portrait, and threw him over for the +lawn-tennis champion. Now she's engaged to Chester Griswold, and +Heaven pity her! Of course he's the greatest catch in America; but he's +a prig and a snob, and he's so generous with his money that he'll give +you five pennies for a nickel any time you ask him. He's got a heart +like the metre of a taxicab, and he's jealous as a cat. Aline will +have a fine time with Chester! I knew him at St. Paul's and at Harvard, +and he's got as much red blood in him as an eel!" +</P> + +<P> +Cochran sprang to the defense of the lady of his dreams. +</P> + +<P> +"There must be some good in the man," he protested, "or Miss Proctor-" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, those solemn snobs," declared Herbert, "impress women by just +keeping still. Griswold pretends the reason he doesn't speak to you is +because he's too superior, but the real reason is that he knows +whenever he opens his mouth he shows he is an ass." +</P> + +<P> +Reluctantly Herbert turned over to Charles the precious pictures. "It +would be a sin to destroy them, wouldn't it?" he prompted. +</P> + +<P> +Cochran agreed heartily. +</P> + +<P> +"You might even," suggested Herbert, "leave one or two of them about. +You have so many of Aline already that one more wouldn't be noticed. +Then when I drop in I could see it." He smiled ingratiatingly. +</P> + +<P> +"But those I have I bought," Cochran pointed out. "Anybody can buy +them, but yours are personal. And they're signed." +</P> + +<P> +"No one will notice that but me," protested Herbert. "Just one or +two," he coaxed-"stuck round among the others. They'd give me a heap +of melancholy pleasure." +</P> + +<P> +Charles shook his head doubtfully. +</P> + +<P> +"Your wife often comes here with you," he said. "I don't believe +they'd give her melancholy pleasure. The question is, are you married +to Sally or to Aline Proctor?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, of course," exclaimed Herbert—"if you refuse!" +</P> + +<P> +With suspicious haste Charles surrendered. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't refuse," he explained; "I only ask if it's wise. Sally knows +you were once very fond of Miss Proctor—knows you were engaged to her." +</P> + +<P> +"But," protested Herbert, "Sally sees your photographs of Aline. What +difference can a few more make? After she's seen a dozen she gets used +to them." +</P> + +<P> +No sooner had Herbert left him than the custodian of the treasure +himself selected the photographs he would display. In them the young +woman he had—from the front row of the orchestra—so ardently admired +appeared in a new light. To Cochran they seemed at once to render her +more kindly, more approachable; to show her as she really was, the sort +of girl any youth would find it extremely difficult not to love. +Cochran found it extremely easy. The photographs gave his imagination +all the room it wanted. He believed they also gave him an insight into +her real character that was denied to anybody else. He had always +credited her with all the virtues; he now endowed her with every charm +of mind and body. In a week to the two photographs he had selected +from the loan collection for purposes of display and to give Herbert +melancholy pleasure he had added three more. In two weeks there were +half a dozen. In a month, nobly framed in silver, in leather of red, +green, and blue, the entire collection smiled upon him from every part +of his bedroom. For he now kept them where no one but himself could +see them. No longer was he of a mind to share his borrowed treasure +with others—not even with the rightful owner. +</P> + +<P> +Chester Griswold, spurred on by Aline Proctor, who wanted to build a +summer home on Long Island, was motoring with Post, of Post & Constant, +in the neighborhood of Westbury. Post had pointed out several houses +designed by his firm, which he hoped might assist Griswold in making up +his mind as to the kind of house he wanted; but none they had seen had +satisfied his client. +</P> + +<P> +"What I want is a cheap house," explained the young millionaire. "I +don't really want a house at all," he complained. "It's Miss Proctor's +idea. When we are married I intend to move into my mother's town +house, but Miss Proctor wants one for herself in the country. I've +agreed to that; but it must be small and it must be cheap." +</P> + +<P> +"Cheap" was a word that the clients of Post & Constant never used; but +Post knew the weaknesses of some of the truly rich, and he knew also +that no house ever built cost only what the architect said it would +cost. +</P> + +<P> +"I know the very house you want!" he exclaimed. "One of our young men +owns it. He made it over from an old farmhouse. It's very well +arranged; we've used his ground-plan several times and it works out +splendidly. If he's not at home, I'll show you over the place myself. +And if you like the house he's the man to build you one." +</P> + +<P> +When they reached Cochran's home he was at Garden City playing golf, +but the servant knew Mr. Post, and to him and his client threw open +every room in the house. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, this," exclaimed the architect enthusiastically, "is the master's +bedroom. In your case it would probably be your wife's room and you +would occupy the one adjoining, which Cochran now uses as a guest-room. +As you see, they are entirely cut off from-" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Griswold did not see. Up to that moment he had given every +appearance of being both bored and sulky. Now his attention was +entirely engaged—but not upon the admirable simplicity of Mr. +Cochran's ground-plan, as Mr. Post had hoped. Instead, the eyes of the +greatest catch in America were intently regarding a display of +photographs that smiled back at him from every corner of the room. Not +only did he regard these photographs with a savage glare, but he +approached them and carefully studied the inscriptions scrawled across +the face of each. +</P> + +<P> +Post himself cast a glance at the nearest photographs, and then hastily +manoeuvred his client into the hall and closed the door. +</P> + +<P> +"We will now," he exclaimed, "visit the butler's pantry, which opens +upon the dining-room and kitchen, thus saving—" +</P> + +<P> +But Griswold did not hear him. Without giving another glance at the +house he stamped out of it and, plumping himself down in the motor-car, +banged the door. Not until Post had driven him well into New York did +he make any comment. +</P> + +<P> +"What did you say," he then demanded, "is the name of the man who owns +that last house we saw?" +</P> + +<P> +Post told him. +</P> + +<P> +"I never heard of him!" said Griswold as though he were delivering +young Cochran's death sentence. "Who is he?" +</P> + +<P> +"He's an architect in our office," said Post. "We think a lot of him. +He'll leave us soon, of course. The best ones always do. His work is +very popular. So is he." +</P> + +<P> +"I never heard of him," repeated Griswold. Then, with sudden heat, he +added savagely: "But I mean to to-night." +</P> + +<P> +When Griswold had first persuaded Aline Proctor to engage herself to +him he had suggested that, to avoid embarrassment, she should tell him +the names of the other men to whom she had been engaged. +</P> + +<P> +"What kind of embarrassment would that avoid?" +</P> + +<P> +"If I am talking to a man," said Griswold, "and he knows the woman I'm +going to marry was engaged to him and I don't know that, he has me at a +disadvantage." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't see that he has," said Aline. "If we suppose, for the sake of +argument, that to marry me is desirable, I would say that the man who +was going to marry me had the advantage over the one I had declined to +marry." +</P> + +<P> +"I want to know who those men are," explained Griswold, "because I want +to avoid them. I don't want to talk to them. I don't want even to +know them." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't see how I can help you," said Aline. "I haven't the slightest +objection to telling you the names of the men I have cared for, if I +can remember them, but I certainly do not intend to tell you the name +of any man who cared for me enough to ask me to marry him. That's his +secret, not mine—certainly not yours." +</P> + +<P> +Griswold thought he was very proud. He really was very vain; and as +jealousy is only vanity in its nastiest development he was extremely +jealous. So he persisted. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you do this?" he demanded. "If I ever ask you, 'Is that one of +the men you cared for?' will you tell me?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you wish it," said Aline; "but I can't see any health in it. It +will only make you uncomfortable. So long as you know I have given you +the greatest and truest love I am capable of, why should you concern +yourself with my mistakes?" +</P> + +<P> +"So that I can avoid meeting what you call your mistakes," said +Griswold—"and being friendly with them." +</P> + +<P> +"I assure you," laughed Aline, "it wouldn't hurt you a bit to be as +friendly with them as they'd let you. Maybe they weren't as proud of +their families as you are, but they made up for that by being a darned +sight prouder of me!" +</P> + +<P> +Later, undismayed by this and unashamed, on two occasions Griswold +actually did demand of Aline if a genial youth she had just greeted +joyfully was one of those for whom she once had cared. +</P> + +<P> +And Aline had replied promptly and truthfully that he was. But in the +case of Charles Cochran, Griswold did not ask Aline if he was one of +those for whom she once had cared. He considered the affair with +Cochran so serious that, in regard to that man, he adopted a different +course. +</P> + +<P> +In digging rivals out of the past his jealousy had made him +indefatigable, but in all his researches he never had heard the name of +Charles Cochran. That fact and the added circumstance that Aline +herself never had mentioned the man was in his eyes so suspicious as to +be almost a damning evidence of deception. And he argued that if in +the past Aline had deceived him as to Charles Cochran she would +continue to do so. Accordingly, instead of asking her frankly for the +truth he proceeded to lay traps for it. And if there is one thing +Truth cannot abide, it is being hunted by traps. +</P> + +<P> +That evening Aline and he were invited to a supper in her honor, and as +he drove her from the theatre to the home of their hostess he told her +of his search earlier in the day. +</P> + +<P> +The electric light in the limousine showed Aline's face as clearly as +though it were held in a spotlight, and as he prepared his trap +Griswold regarded her jealously. +</P> + +<P> +"Post tells me," he said, "he has the very man you want for your +architect. He's sure you'll find him most understanding +and—and—sympathetic. He's a young man who is just coming to the +front, and he's very popular, especially with women." +</P> + +<P> +"What's his being popular with women," asked Aline, "got to do with his +carrying out my ideas of a house?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's just it," said Griswold—"it's the woman who generally has the +most to say as to how her house shall be built, and this man +understands woman. I have reasons for believing he will certainly +understand you!" +</P> + +<P> +"If he understands me well enough to give me all the linen-closets I +want," said Aline, "he will be perfectly satisfactory." +</P> + +<P> +Before delivering his blow Griswold sank back into his corner of the +car, drew his hat brim over his forehead, and fixed spying eyes upon +the very lovely face of the girl he had asked to marry him. +</P> + +<P> +"His name," he said in fateful tones, "is Charles Cochran!" +</P> + +<P> +It was supposed to be a body blow; but, to his distress, Aline neither +started nor turned pale. Neither, for trying to trick her, did she +turn upon him in reproof and anger. Instead, with alert eyes, she +continued to peer out of the window at the electric-light +advertisements and her beloved Broadway. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" demanded Griswold; his tone was hoarse and heavy with meaning. +</P> + +<P> +"Well what?" asked Aline pleasantly. +</P> + +<P> +"How," demanded Griswold, "do you like Charles Cochran for an +architect?" +</P> + +<P> +"How should I know?" asked Aline. "I've not met him yet!" +</P> + +<P> +She had said it! And she had said it without the waver of one of her +lovely eyelashes. No wonder the public already hailed her as a +finished actress! Griswold felt that his worst fears were justified. +She had lied to him. And, as he knew she had never before lied to him, +that now she did so proved beyond hope of doubt that the reason for it +was vital, imperative, and compelling. But of his suspicions Griswold +gave no sign. He would not at once expose her. He had trapped her, +but as yet she must not know that. He would wait until he had still +further entangled her—until she could not escape; and then, with +complete proof of her deceit, he would confront and overwhelm her. +</P> + +<P> +With this amiable purpose in mind he called early the next morning upon +Post & Constant and asked to see Mr. Cochran. He wished, he said, to +consult him about the new house. Post had not yet reached the office, +and of Griswold's visit with Post to his house Cochran was still +ignorant. He received Griswold most courteously. He felt that the man +who was loved by the girl he also had long and hopelessly worshipped +was deserving of the highest consideration. Griswold was less +magnanimous. When he found his rival—for as such he beheld him—was +of charming manners and gallant appearance he considered that fact an +additional injury; but he concealed his resentment, for he was going to +trap Cochran, too. +</P> + +<P> +He found the architect at work leaning over a drawing-board, and as +they talked Cochran continued to stand. He was in his shirt-sleeves, +which were rolled to his shoulders; and the breadth of those shoulders +and the muscles of his sunburned arms were much in evidence. Griswold +considered it a vulgar exhibition. +</P> + +<P> +For over ten minutes they talked solely of the proposed house, but not +once did Griswold expose the fact that he had seen any more of it than +any one might see from the public road. When he rose to take his leave +he said: +</P> + +<P> +"How would it do if I motored out Sunday and showed your house to Miss +Proctor? Sunday is the only day she has off, and if it would not +inconvenience you—" +</P> + +<P> +The tender heart of Cochran leaped in wild tumult; he could not conceal +his delight, nor did he attempt to do so; and his expression made it +entirely unnecessary for him to assure Griswold that such a visit would +be entirely welcome and that they might count on finding him at home. +As though it were an afterthought, Griswold halted at the door and said: +</P> + +<P> +"I believe you are already acquainted with Miss Proctor." +</P> + +<P> +Cochran, conscious of five years of devotion, found that he was +blushing, and longed to strangle himself. Nor was the blush lost upon +Griswold. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry," said Cochran, "but I've not had that honor. On the stage, +of course—" +</P> + +<P> +He shrugged the broad shoulders deprecatingly, as though to suggest +that not to know Miss Proctor as an artist argues oneself unknown. +</P> + +<P> +Griswold pretended to be puzzled. As though endeavoring to recall a +past conversation he frowned. +</P> + +<P> +"But Aline," he said, "told me she had met you-met you at Bar Harbor." +In the fatal photographs the familiar landfalls of Bar Harbor had been +easily recognized. +</P> + +<P> +The young architect shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"It must be another Cochran," he suggested. "I have never been in Bar +Harbor." +</P> + +<P> +With the evidence of the photographs before him this last statement was +a verdict of guilty, and Griswold, not with the idea of giving Cochran +a last chance to be honest, but to cause him to dig the pit still +deeper, continued to lead him on. "Maybe she meant York Harbor?" +</P> + +<P> +Again Cochran shook his head and laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Believe me," he said, "if I'd ever met Miss Proctor anywhere I +wouldn't forget it!" +</P> + +<P> +Ten minutes later Griswold was talking to Aline over the telephone. He +intended to force matters. He would show Aline she could neither +trifle with nor deceive Chester Griswold; but the thought that he had +been deceived was not what most hurt him. What hurt him was to think +that Aline had preferred a man who looked like an advertisement for +ready-made clothes and who worked in his shirt-sleeves. +</P> + +<P> +Griswold took it for granted that any woman would be glad to marry him. +So many had been willing to do so that he was convinced, when one of +them was not, it was not because there was anything wrong with him, but +because the girl herself lacked taste and perception. +</P> + +<P> +That the others had been in any degree moved by his many millions had +never suggested itself. He was convinced each had loved him for +himself alone; and if Aline, after meeting him, would still consider +any one else, it was evident something was very wrong with Aline. He +was determined that she must be chastened—must be brought to a proper +appreciation of her good fortune and of his condescension. +</P> + +<P> +On being called to the telephone at ten in the morning, Aline demanded +to know what could excuse Griswold for rousing her in the middle of the +night! +</P> + +<P> +Griswold replied that, though the day was young, it also was charming; +that on Sunday there might be rain; and that if she desired to see the +house he and Post thought would most suit her, he and his car would be +delighted to convey her to it. They could make the run in an hour, +lunch with friends at Westbury, and return in plenty of time for the +theatre. Aline was delighted at the sudden interest Griswold was +showing in the new house. Without a moment's hesitation she walked into +the trap. She would go, she declared, with pleasure. In an hour he +should call for her. +</P> + +<P> +Exactly an hour later Post arrived at his office. He went directly to +Cochran. +</P> + +<P> +"Charles," he said, "I'm afraid I got you into trouble yesterday. I +took a client to see your house. You have often let us do it before; +but since I was there last you've made some changes. In your +bedroom—" Post stopped. +</P> + +<P> +Cochran's naive habit of blushing told him it was not necessary to +proceed. In tones of rage and mortification Cochran swore explosively; +Post was relieved to find he was swearing at himself. +</P> + +<P> +"I ought to be horsewhipped!" roared Cochran. "I'll never forgive +myself! Who," he demanded, "saw the pictures? Was it a man or a woman?" +</P> + +<P> +Post laughed unhappily. +</P> + +<P> +"It was Chester Griswold." +</P> + +<P> +A remarkable change came over Cochran. Instead of sobering him, as +Post supposed it would, the information made him even more angry—only +now his anger was transferred from himself to Griswold. +</P> + +<P> +"The blankety-blank bounder!" yelled Cochran. "That was what he +wanted! That's why he came here!" +</P> + +<P> +"Here!" demanded Post. +</P> + +<P> +"Not an hour ago," cried Cochran. "He asked me about Bar Harbor. He +saw those pictures were taken at Bar Harbor!" +</P> + +<P> +"I think," said Post soothingly, "he'd a right to ask questions. There +were so many pictures, and they were very—well—very!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'd have answered his questions," roared Cochran, "if he'd asked them +like a man, but he came snooping down here to spy on me. He tried to +trick me. He insulted me! He insulted her!" He emitted a howl of +dismay. "And I told him I'd never been to Bar Harbor—that I'd never +met Aline Proctor!" +</P> + +<P> +Cochran seized his coat and hat. He shouted to one of the office boys +to telephone the garage for his car. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you—where are you going?" demanded Post. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going home first," cried Cochran, "to put those pictures in a +safe, as I should have done three months ago. And then I'm going to +find Chester Griswold and tell him he's an ass and a puppy!" +</P> + +<P> +"If you do that," protested Post, "you're likely to lose us a very +valuable client." +</P> + +<P> +"And your client," roared Charles, "is likely to lose some very +valuable teeth!" +</P> + +<P> +As Charles whirled into the country road in which stood his house he +saw drawn up in front of it the long gray car in which, that morning, +Chester Griswold had called at the office. Cochran emitted a howl of +anger. Was his home again to be invaded? And again while he was +absent? To what extreme would Griswold's jealousy next lead him? He +fell out of his own car while it still moved, and leaped up the garden +walk. The front rooms of the house were empty, but from his bedroom he +heard, raised in excited tones, the voice of Griswold. The audacity of +the man was so surprising, and his own delight at catching him +red-handed so satisfying, that no longer was Cochran angry. The Lord +had delivered his enemy into his hands! And, as he advanced toward his +bedroom, not only was he calm, but, at the thought of his revenge, +distinctly jubilant. In the passageway a frightened maid servant, who, +at his unexpected arrival, was now even more frightened, endeavored to +give him an explanation; but he waved her into silence, and, striding +before her, entered his bedroom. +</P> + +<P> +He found confronting him a tall and beautiful young woman. It was not +the Aline Proctor he knew. It was not the well-poised, gracious, and +distinguished beauty he had seen gliding among the tables at Sherry's +or throwing smiles over the footlights. This Aline Proctor was a very +indignant young person, with flashing eyes, tossing head, and a +stamping foot. Extended from her at arm's length, she held a +photograph of herself in a heavy silver frame; and, as though it were a +weapon, she was brandishing it in the face of Chester Griswold. As +Cochran, in amazement, halted in the doorway she was exclaiming: +</P> + +<P> +"I told you I didn't know Charles Cochran! I tell you so now! If you +can't believe me-" +</P> + +<P> +Out of the corner of her flashing eyes the angry lady caught sight of +Cochran in the doorway. She turned upon the intruder as though she +meant forcibly to eject him. +</P> + +<P> +"Who are you?" she demanded. Her manner and tone seemed to add: "And +what the deuce are you doing here?" +</P> + +<P> +Charles answered her tone. +</P> + +<P> +"I am Charles Cochran," he said. "I live here. This is my house!" +</P> + +<P> +These words had no other effect upon Miss Proctor than to switch her +indignation down another track. She now turned upon Charles. +</P> + +<P> +"Then, if this is your house," cried that angry young person, "why have +you filled it with photographs of me that belong to some one else?" +</P> + +<P> +Charles saw that his hour had come. His sin had found him out. He +felt that to prevaricate would be only stupid. +</P> + +<P> +Griswold had tried devious methods—and look where his devious methods +had dumped him! Griswold certainly was in wrong. Charles quickly +determined to adopt a course directly opposite. Griswold had shown an +utter lack of confidence in Aline. Charles decided that he would give +her his entire confidence, would throw himself upon the mercy of the +court. +</P> + +<P> +"I have those photographs in my house, Miss Proctor," he said, "because +I have admired you a long time. They were more like you than those I +could buy. Having them here has helped me a lot, and it hasn't done +you any harm. You know very well you have anonymous admirers all over +this country. I'm only one of them. If I have offended, I have +offended with many, many thousands." +</P> + +<P> +Already it has been related that Cochran was very good to look upon. +At the present moment, as he spoke in respectful, even soulful accents, +meekly and penitently proclaiming his long-concealed admiration, Miss +Proctor found her indignation melting like an icicle in the sun. +</P> + +<P> +Still, she did not hold herself cheaply. She was accustomed to such +open flattery. She would not at once capitulate. +</P> + +<P> +"But these pictures," she protested, "I gave to a man I knew. You have +no right to them. They are not at all the sort of picture I would give +to an utter stranger!" With anxiety the lovely lady paused for a +reply. She hoped that the reply the tall young man with appealing eyes +would make would be such as to make it possible for her to forgive him. +</P> + +<P> +He was not given time to reply. With a mocking snort Griswold +interrupted. Aline and Charles had entirely forgotten him. +</P> + +<P> +"An utter stranger!" mimicked Griswold. "Oh, yes; he's an utter +stranger! You're pretty good actors, both of you; but you can't keep +that up long, and you'd better stop it now." +</P> + +<P> +"Stop what?" asked Miss Proctor. Her tone was cold and calm, but in +her eyes was a strange light. It should have warned Griswold that he +would have been safer under the bed. +</P> + +<P> +"Stop pretending!" cried Griswold. "I won't have it!" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't understand," said Miss Proctor. She spoke in the same cold +voice, only now it had dropped several degrees nearer freezing. "I +don't think you understand yourself. You won't have what?" +</P> + +<P> +Griswold now was frightened, and that made him reckless. Instead of +withdrawing he plunged deeper. +</P> + +<P> +"I won't have you two pretending you don't know each other," he +blustered. "I won't stand being fooled! If you're going to deceive me +before we're married, what will you do after we're married?" +</P> + +<P> +Charles emitted a howl. It was made up of disgust, amazement, and +rage. Fiercely he turned upon Miss Proctor. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me have him!" he begged. +</P> + +<P> +"No!" almost shouted Miss Proctor. Her tone was no longer cold—it was +volcanic. Her eyes, flashing beautifully, were fixed upon Griswold. +She made a gesture as though to sweep Charles out of the room. "Please +go!" she demanded. "This does not concern you." +</P> + +<P> +Her tone was one not lightly to be disregarded. Charles disregarded it. +</P> + +<P> +"It does concern me," he said briskly. "Nobody can insult a woman in +my house—you, least of all!" He turned upon the greatest catch in +America. "Griswold," he said, "I never met this lady until I came into +this room; but I know her, understand her, value her better than you'd +understand her if you knew her a thousand years!" +</P> + +<P> +Griswold allowed him to go no farther. +</P> + +<P> +"I know this much," he roared: "she was in love with the man who took +those photographs, and that man was in love with her! And you're that +man!" +</P> + +<P> +"What if I am!" roared back Charles. "Men always have loved her; men +always will—because she's a fine, big, wonderful woman! You can't see +that, and you never will. You insulted her! Now I'll give you time to +apologize for that, and then I'll order you out of this house! And if +Miss Proctor is the sort of girl I think she is, she'll order you out +of it, too!" +</P> + +<P> +Both men swung toward Miss Proctor. Her eyes were now smiling +excitedly. She first turned them upon Charles, blushing most +becomingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Proctor," she said, "hopes she is the sort of girl Mr. Cochran +thinks she is." She then turned upon the greatest catch in America. +"You needn't wait, Chester," she said, "not even to apologize." +</P> + +<P> +Chester Griswold, alone in his car, was driven back to New York. On the +way he invented a story to explain why, at the eleventh hour, he had +jilted Aline Proctor; but when his thoughts reverted to the young man +he had seen working with his sleeves rolled up he decided it would be +safer to let Miss Proctor tell of the broken engagement in her own way. +</P> + +<P> +Charles would not consent to drive his fair guest back to New York +until she had first honored him with her presence at luncheon. It was +served for two, on his veranda, under the climbing honeysuckles. +During the luncheon he told her all. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Proctor, in the light of his five years of devotion, magnanimously +forgave him. +</P> + +<P> +"Such a pretty house!" she exclaimed as they drove away from it. "When +Griswold selected it for our honeymoon he showed his first appreciation +of what I really like." +</P> + +<P> +"It is still at your service!" said Charles. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Proctor's eyes smiled with a strange light, but she did not speak. +It was a happy ride; but when Charles left her at the door of her +apartment-house he regarded sadly and with regret the bundle of +retrieved photographs that she carried away. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" she asked kindly. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm thinking of going back to those empty frames," said Charles, and +blushed deeply. Miss Proctor blushed also. With delighted and guilty +eyes she hastily scanned the photographs. Snatching one from the +collection, she gave it to him and then ran up the steps. +</P> + +<P> +In the light of the spring sunset the eyes of Charles devoured the +photograph of which, at last, he was the rightful owner. On it was +written: "As long as this rock lasts!" +</P> + +<P> +As Charles walked to his car his expression was distinctly thoughtful. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="zanzibar"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE MEN OF ZANZIBAR +</H2> + +<BR> + +<P> +When his hunting trip in Uganda was over, Hemingway shipped his +specimens and weapons direct from Mombasa to New York, but he himself +journeyed south over the few miles that stretched to Zanzibar. +</P> + +<P> +On the outward trip the steamer had touched there, and the little he +saw of the place had so charmed him that all the time he was on safari +he promised himself he would not return home without revisiting it. On +the morning he arrived he had called upon Harris, his consul, to +inquire about the hotel; and that evening Harris had returned his call +and introduced him at the club. +</P> + +<P> +One of the men there asked Hemingway what brought him to Africa, and +when he answered simply and truthfully that he had come to shoot big +game, it was as though he had said something clever, and every one +smiled. On the way back to the hotel, as they felt their way through +the narrow slits in the wall that served as streets, he asked the +consul why every one had smiled. +</P> + +<P> +The consul laughed evasively. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a local joke," he explained. "A lot of men come here for reasons +best kept to themselves, and they all say what you said, that they've +come to shoot big game. It's grown to be a polite way of telling a man +it is none of his business." +</P> + +<P> +"But I didn't mean it that way," protested Hemingway. "I really have +been after big game for the last eight months." +</P> + +<P> +In the tone one uses to quiet a drunken man or a child, the consul +answered soothingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," he assented—"of course you have." But to show he was not +hopelessly credulous, and to keep Hemingway from involving himself +deeper, he hinted tactfully: "Maybe they noticed you came ashore with +only one steamer trunk and no gun-cases." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, that's easily explained," laughed Hemingway. "My heavy luggage—" +</P> + +<P> +The consul had reached his house and his "boy" was pounding upon it +with his heavy staff. +</P> + +<P> +"Please don't explain to me," he begged. "It's quite unnecessary. Down +here we're so darned glad to see any white man that we don't ask +anything of him except that he won't hurry away. We judge them as they +behave themselves here; we don't care what they are at home or why they +left it." +</P> + +<P> +Hemingway was highly amused. To find that he, a respectable, +sport-loving Hemingway of Massachusetts, should be mistaken for a +gun-runner, slave-dealer, or escaping cashier greatly delighted him. +</P> + +<P> +"All right!" he exclaimed. "I'll promise not to bore you with my past, +and I agree to be judged by Zanzibar standards. I only hope I can live +up to them, for I see I am going to like the place very much." +</P> + +<P> +Hemingway kept his promise. He bored no one with confidences as to his +ancestors. Of his past he made a point never to speak. He preferred +that the little community into which he had dropped should remain +unenlightened, should take him as they found him. Of the fact that a +college was named after his grandfather and that on his father's +railroad he could travel through many States, he was discreetly silent. +</P> + +<P> +The men of Zanzibar asked no questions. That Hemingway could play a +stiff game of tennis, a stiffer game of poker, and, on the piano, songs +from home was to them sufficient recommendation. In a week he had +become one of the most popular members of Zanzibar society. It was as +though he had lived there always. Hemingway found himself reaching out +to grasp the warmth of the place as a flower turns to the sun. He +discovered that for thirty years something in him had been cheated. For +thirty years he had believed that completely to satisfy his soul all he +needed was the gray stone walls and the gray-shingled cabins under the +gray skies of New England, that what in nature he most loved was the +pine forests and the fields of goldenrod on the rock-bound coast of the +North Shore. But now, like a man escaped from prison, he leaped and +danced in the glaring sunlight of the equator, he revelled in the +reckless generosity of nature, in the glorious confusion of colors, in +the "blooming blue" of the Indian Ocean, in the Arabian nights spent +upon the housetops under the purple sky, and beneath silver stars so +near that he could touch them with his hand. +</P> + +<P> +He found it like being perpetually in a comic opera and playing a part +in one. For only the scenic artist would dare to paint houses in such +yellow, pink, and cobalt-blue; only a "producer" who had never ventured +farther from Broadway than the Atlantic City boardwalk would have +conceived costumes so mad and so magnificent. Instinctively he cast +the people of Zanzibar in the conventional roles of musical comedy. +</P> + +<P> +His choruses were already in waiting. There was the Sultan's +body-guard in gold-laced turbans, the merchants of the bazaars in red +fezzes and gowns of flowing silk, the Malay sailors in blue, the black +native police in scarlet, the ladies of the harems closely veiled and +cloaked, the market women in a single garment of orange, or scarlet, or +purple, or of all three, and the happy, hilarious Zanzibari boys in the +color God gave them. +</P> + +<P> +For hours he would sit under the yellow-and-green awning of the Greek +hotel and watch the procession pass, or he would lie under an umbrella +on the beach and laugh as the boatmen lifted their passengers to their +shoulders and with them splash through the breakers, or in the bazaars +for hours he would bargain with the Indian merchants, or in the great +mahogany hall of the Ivory House, to the whisper of a punka and the +tinkle of ice in a tall glass, listen to tales of Arab raids, of +elephant poachers, of the trade in white and black ivory, of the great +explorers who had sat in that same room—of Emin Pasha, of Livingstone, +of Stanley. His comic opera lacked only a heroine and the love +interest. +</P> + +<P> +When he met Mrs. Adair he found both. Polly Adair, as every one who +dared to do so preferred to call her, was, like himself, an American +and, though absurdly young, a widow. In the States she would have been +called an extremely pretty girl. In a community where the few dozen +white women had wilted and faded in the fierce sun of the equator, and +where the rest of the women were jet black except their teeth, which +were dyed an alluring purple, Polly Adair was as beautiful as a June +morning. At least, so Hemingway thought the first time he saw her, and +each succeeding time he thought her more beautiful, more lovely, more +to be loved. +</P> + +<P> +He met her, three days after his arrival, at the residence of the +British agent and consul-general, where Lady Firth was giving tea to +the six nurses from the English hospital and to all the other +respectable members of Zanzibar society. +</P> + +<P> +"My husband's typist," said her ladyship as she helped Hemingway to +tea, "is a copatriot of yours. She's such a nice gell; not a bit like +an American. I don't know what I'd do in this awful place without her. +Promise me," she begged tragically, "you will not ask her to marry you." +</P> + +<P> +Unconscious of his fate, Hemingway promised. +</P> + +<P> +"Because all the men do," sighed Lady Firth, "and I never know what +morning one of the wretches won't carry her off to a home of her own. +And then what would become of me? Men are so selfish! If you must fall +in love," suggested her ladyship, "promise me you will fall in love +with"—she paused innocently and raised baby-blue eyes, in a baby-like +stare—"with some one else." +</P> + +<P> +Again Hemingway promised. He bowed gallantly. "That will be quite +easy," he said. +</P> + +<P> +Her ladyship smiled, but Hemingway did not see the smile. He was +looking past her at a girl from home, who came across the terrace +carrying in her hand a stenographer's note-book. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Firth followed the direction of his eyes and saw the look in them. +She exclaimed with dismay: +</P> + +<P> +"Already! Already he deserts me, even before the ink is dry on the +paper." +</P> + +<P> +She drew the note-book from Mrs. Adair's fingers and dropped it under +the tea-table. +</P> + +<P> +"Letters must wait, my child," she declared. +</P> + +<P> +"But Sir George—" protested the girl. +</P> + +<P> +"Sir George must wait, too," continued his wife; "the Foreign Office +must wait, the British Empire must wait until you have had your tea." +</P> + +<P> +The girl laughed helplessly. As though assured her fellow countryman +would comprehend, she turned to him. +</P> + +<P> +"They're so exactly like what you want them to be," she said—"I mean +about their tea!" +</P> + +<P> +Hemingway smiled back with such intimate understanding that Lady Firth +glanced up inquiringly. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you met Mrs. Adair already?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Hemingway, "but I have been trying to meet her for thirty +years." +</P> + +<P> +Perplexed, the Englishwoman frowned, and then, with delight at her own +perspicuity, laughed aloud. +</P> + +<P> +"I know," she cried, "in your country you are what they call a +'hustler'! Is that right?" She waved them away. "Take Mrs. Adair over +there," she commanded, "and tell her all the news from home. Tell her +about the railroad accidents and 'washouts' and the latest thing in +lynching." +</P> + +<P> +The young people stretched out in long wicker chairs in the shade of a +tree covered with purple flowers. On a perch at one side of them an +orang-outang in a steel belt was combing the whiskers of her infant +daughter; at their feet what looked like two chow puppies, but which +happened to be Lady Firth's pet lions, were chewing each other's +toothless gums; and in the immediate foreground the hospital nurses +were defying the sun at tennis while the Sultan's band played +selections from a Gaiety success of many years in the past. With these +surroundings it was difficult to talk of home. Nor on any later +occasions, except through inadvertence, did they talk of home. +</P> + +<P> +For the reasons already stated, it amused Hemingway to volunteer no +confidences. On account of what that same evening Harris told him of +Mrs. Adair, he asked none. +</P> + +<P> +Harris himself was a young man in no way inclined to withhold +confidences. He enjoyed giving out information. He enjoyed talking +about himself, his duties, the other consuls, the Zanzibaris, and his +native State of Iowa. So long as he was permitted to talk, the +listener could select the subject. But, combined with his loquacity, +Hemingway had found him kind-hearted, intelligent, observing, and the +call of a common country had got them quickly together. +</P> + +<P> +Hemingway was quite conscious that the girl he had seen but once had +impressed him out of all proportion to what he knew of her. She seemed +too good to be true. And he tried to persuade himself that after eight +months in the hinterland among hippos and zebras any reasonably +attractive girl would have proved equally disturbing. +</P> + +<P> +But he was not convinced. He did not wish to be convinced. He assured +himself that had he met Mrs. Adair at home among hundreds of others he +would have recognized her as a woman of exceptional character, as one +especially charming. He wanted to justify this idea of her; he wanted +to talk of Mrs. Adair to Harris, not to learn more concerning her, but +just for the pleasure of speaking her name. +</P> + +<P> +He was much upset at that, and the discovery that on meeting a woman +for the first time he still could be so boyishly and ingenuously moved +greatly pleased him. It was a most delightful secret. So he acted on +the principle that when a man immensely admires a woman and wishes to +conceal that fact from every one else he can best do so by declaring +his admiration in the frankest and most open manner. After the +tea-party, as Harris and himself sat in the consulate, he so expressed +himself. +</P> + +<P> +"What an extraordinary nice girl," he exclaimed, "is that Mrs. Adair! I +had a long talk with her. She is most charming. However did a woman +like that come to be in a place like this?" +</P> + +<P> +Judging from his manner, it seemed to Hemingway that at the mention of +Mrs. Adair's name he had found Harris mentally on guard, as though the +consul had guessed the question would come and had prepared for it. +</P> + +<P> +"She just dropped in here one day," said Harris, "from no place in +particular. Personally, I always have thought from heaven." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a good address," said Hemingway. +</P> + +<P> +"It seems to suit her," the consul agreed. "Anyway, if she doesn't +come from there, that's where she's going—just on account of the good +she's done us while she's been here. She arrived four months ago with +a typewriting-machine and letters to me from our consuls in Cape Town +and Durban. She had done some typewriting for them. It seems that +after her husband died, which was a few months after they were married, +she learned to make her living by typewriting. She worked too hard and +broke down, and the doctor said she must go to hot countries, the +'hotter the better.' So she's worked her way half around the world +typewriting. She worked chiefly for her own consuls or for the +American commission houses. Sometimes she stayed a month, sometimes +only over one steamer day. But when she got here Lady Firth took such +a fancy to her that she made Sir George engage her as his private +secretary, and she's been here ever since." +</P> + +<P> +In a community so small as was that of Zanzibar the white residents saw +one another every day, and within a week Hemingway had met Mrs. Adair +many times. He met her at dinner, at the British agency; he met her in +the country club, where the white exiles gathered for tea and tennis. +He hired a launch and in her honor gave a picnic on the north coast of +the island, and on three glorious and memorable nights, after different +dinner-parties had ascended to the roof, he sat at her side and across +the white level of the housetops looked down into the moonlit harbor. +</P> + +<P> +What interest the two young people felt in each other was in no way +discouraged by their surroundings. In the tropics the tender emotions +are not winter killed. Had they met at home, the conventions, his own +work, her social duties would have kept the progress of their interest +within a certain speed limit. But they were in a place free of +conventions, and the preceding eight months which Hemingway had spent +in the jungle and on the plain had made the society of his fellow man, +and of Mrs. Adair in particular, especially attractive. +</P> + +<P> +Hemingway had no work to occupy his time, and he placed it unreservedly +at the disposition of his countrywoman. In doing so it could not be +said that Mrs. Adair encouraged him. Hemingway himself would have been +the first to acknowledge this. From the day he met her he was +conscious that always there was an intangible barrier between them. +Even before she possibly could have guessed that his interest in her +was more than even she, attractive as she was, had the right to expect, +she had wrapped around herself an invisible mantle of defense. +</P> + +<P> +There were certain speeches of his which she never heard, certain tones +to which she never responded. At moments when he was complimenting +himself that at last she was content to be in his company, she would +suddenly rise and join the others, and he would be left wondering in +what way he could possibly have offended. +</P> + +<P> +He assured himself that a woman, young and attractive, in a strange +land in her dependent position must of necessity be discreet, but in +his conduct there certainly had been nothing that was not considerate, +courteous, and straightforward. +</P> + +<P> +When he appreciated that he cared for her seriously, that he was +gloriously happy in caring, and proud of the way in which he cared, the +fact that she persistently held him at arm's length puzzled and hurt. +At first when he had deliberately set to work to make her like him he +was glad to think that, owing to his reticence about himself, if she +did like him it would be for himself alone and not for his worldly +goods. But when he knew her better he understood that if once Mrs. +Adair made up her mind to take a second husband, the fact that he was a +social and financial somebody, and not, as many in Zanzibar supposed +Hemingway to be, a social outcast, would make but little difference. +</P> + +<P> +Nor was her manner to be explained by the fact that the majority of +women found him unattractive. As to that, the pleasant burden of his +experience was to the contrary. He at last wondered if there was some +one else, if he had come into her life too late. He set about looking +for the man and so, he believed, he soon found him. +</P> + +<P> +Of the little colony, Arthur Fearing was the man of whom Hemingway had +seen the least. That was so because Fearing wished it. Like himself, +Fearing was an American, young, and a bachelor, but, very much unlike +Hemingway, a hermit and a recluse. +</P> + +<P> +Two years before he had come to Zanzibar looking for an investment for +his money. In Zanzibar there were gentlemen adventurers of every +country, who were welcome to live in any country save their own. +</P> + +<P> +To them Mr. Fearing seemed a heaven-sent victim. But to him their +alluring tales of the fortunes that were to rise from buried treasures, +lost mines, and pearl beds did not appeal. Instead he conferred with +the consuls, the responsible merchants, the partners in the prosperous +trading houses. After a month of "looking around" he had purchased +outright the goodwill and stock of one of the oldest of the commission +houses, and soon showed himself to be a most capable man of business. +But, except as a man of business, no one knew him. From the dim +recesses of his warehouse he passed each day to the seclusion of his +bungalow in the country. And, although every one was friendly to him, +he made no friends. +</P> + +<P> +It was only after the arrival of Mrs. Adair that he consented to show +himself, and it was soon noted that it was only when she was invited +that he would appear, and that on these occasions he devoted himself +entirely to her. In the presence of others, he still was shy, gravely +polite, and speaking but little, and never of himself; but with Mrs. +Adair his shyness seemed to leave him, and when with her he was seen to +talk easily and eagerly. And, on her part, to what he said, Polly +Adair listened with serious interest. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Firth, who, at home, was a trained and successful match-maker, and +who, in Zanzibar, had found but a limited field for her activities, +decided that if her companion and protegee must marry, she should marry +Fearing. +</P> + +<P> +Fearing was no gentleman adventurer, remittance-man, or humble clerk +serving his apprenticeship to a steamship line or an ivory house. He +was one of the pillars of Zanzibar society. The trading house he had +purchased had had its beginnings in the slave-trade, and now under his +alert direction was making a turnover equal to that of any of its +ancient rivals. Personally, Fearing was a most desirable catch. He +was well-mannered, well-read, of good appearance, steady, and, in a +latitude only six degrees removed from the equator, of impeccable +morals. +</P> + +<P> +It is said that it is the person who is in love who always is the first +to discover his successful rival. It is either an instinct or because +his concern is deeper than that of others. +</P> + +<P> +And so, when Hemingway sought for the influence that separated him from +Polly Adair, the trail led to Fearing. To find that the obstacle in +the path of his true love was a man greatly relieved him. He had +feared that what was in the thoughts of Mrs. Adair was the memory of +her dead husband. He had no desire to cross swords with a ghost. But +to a living rival he could afford to be generous. +</P> + +<P> +For he was sure no one could care for Polly Adair as he cared, and, +like every other man in love, he believed that he alone had discovered +in her beauties of soul and character that to the rest of mankind were +hidden. This knowledge, he assured himself, had aroused in him a depth +of devotion no one else could hope to imitate, and this depth of +devotion would in time so impress her, would become so necessary to her +existence, that it would force her at last into the arms of the only +man who could offer it. +</P> + +<P> +Having satisfied himself in this fashion, he continued cheerfully on +his way, and the presence of a rival in no way discouraged him. It +only was Polly Adair who discouraged him. And this, in spite of the +fact that every hour of the day he tried to bring himself pleasantly to +her notice. All that an idle young man in love, aided and abetted by +imagination and an unlimited letter of credit, could do, Hemingway did. +But to no end. +</P> + +<P> +The treasures he dug out of the bazaars and presented to her, under +false pretenses as trinkets he happened at that moment to find in his +pockets, were admired by her at their own great value, and returned +also under false pretenses, as having been offered her only to examine. +</P> + +<P> +"It is for your sister at home, I suppose," she prompted. "It's quite +lovely. Thank you for letting me see it." +</P> + +<P> +After having been several times severely snubbed in this fashion, +Hemingway remarked grimly as he put a black pearl back into his pocket: +</P> + +<P> +"At this rate sister will be mighty glad to see me when I get home. It +seems almost a pity I haven't got a sister." +</P> + +<P> +The girl answered this only with a grave smile. +</P> + +<P> +On another occasion she admired a polo pony that had been imported for +the stable of the boy Sultan. But next morning Hemingway, after much +diplomacy, became the owner of it and proudly rode it to the agency. +Lady Firth and Polly Adair walked out to meet him arm in arm, but at +sight of the pony there came into the eyes of the secretary a look that +caused Hemingway to wish himself and his mount many miles in the +jungle. He saw that before it had been proffered, his gift-horse had +been rejected. He acted promptly. +</P> + +<P> +"Lady Firth," he said, "you've been so awfully kind to me, made this +place so like a home to me, that I want you to put this mare in your +stable. The Sultan wanted her, but when he learned I meant to turn her +over to you, he let her go. We both hope you'll accept." +</P> + +<P> +Lady Firth had no scruples. In five minutes she had accepted, had +clapped a side-saddle on her rich gift, and was cantering joyously down +the Pearl Road. +</P> + +<P> +Polly Adair looked after her with an expression that was distinctly +wistful. Thus encouraged, Hemingway said: +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad you are sorry. I hope every time you see that pony you'll be +sorry." +</P> + +<P> +"Why should I be sorry?" asked the girl. +</P> + +<P> +"Because you have been unkind," said Hemingway, "and it is not your +character to be unkind. And that you have shown lack of character +ought to make you sorry." +</P> + +<P> +"But you know perfectly well," said Mrs. Adair, "that if I were to take +any one of these wonderful things you bring me, I wouldn't have any +character left." +</P> + +<P> +She smiled at him reassuringly. "And you know," she added, "that that +is not why I do not take them. It isn't because I can't afford to, or +because I don't want them, because I do; but it's because I don't +deserve them, because I can give you nothing in return." +</P> + +<P> +"As the copy-book says," returned Hemingway, "'the pleasure is in the +giving.' If the copy-book don't say that, I do. And to pretend that +you give me nothing, that is ridiculous!" +</P> + +<P> +It was so ridiculous that he rushed on vehemently. "Why, every minute +you give me something," he exclaimed. "Just to see you, just to know +you are alive, just to be certain when I turn in at night that when the +world wakes up again you will still be a part of it; that is what you +give me. And its name is—Happiness!" +</P> + +<P> +He had begun quite innocently; he had had no idea that it would come. +But he had said it. As clearly as though he had dropped upon one knee, +laid his hand over his heart and exclaimed: "Most beautiful of your +sex, I love you! Will you marry me?" His eyes and the tone of his +voice had said it. And he knew that he had said it, and that she knew. +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes were filled with sudden tears, and so wonderful was the light +in them that for one mad moment Hemingway thought they were tears of +happiness. But the light died, and what had been tears became only wet +drops of water, and he saw to his dismay that she was most miserable. +</P> + +<P> +The girl moved ahead of him to the cliff on which the agency stood, and +which overhung the harbor and the Indian Ocean. Her eyes were filled +with trouble. As she raised them to his they begged of him to be kind. +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad you told me," she said. "I have been afraid it was coming. +But until you told me I could not say anything. I tried to stop you. +I was rude and unkind—" +</P> + +<P> +"You certainly were," Hemingway agreed cheerfully. "And the more you +would have nothing to do with me, the more I admired you. And then I +learned to admire you more, and then to love you. It seems now as +though I had always known and always loved you. And now this is what +we are going to do." +</P> + +<P> +He wouldn't let her speak; he rushed on precipitately. +</P> + +<P> +"We are first going up to the house to get your typewriting-machine, +and we will bring it back here and hurl it as far as we can off this +cliff. I want to see the splash! I want to hear it smash when it hits +that rock. It has been my worst enemy, because it helped you to be +independent of me, because it kept you from me. Time after time, on +the veranda, when I was pretending to listen to Lady Firth, I was +listening to that damned machine banging and complaining and tiring +your pretty fingers and your dear eyes. So first it has got to go. +You have been its slave, now I am going to be your slave. You have +only to rub the lamp and things will happen. And because I've told you +nothing about myself, you mustn't think that the money that helps to +make them happen is 'tainted.' It isn't. Nor am I, nor my father, nor +my father's father. I am asking you to marry a perfectly respectable +young man. And, when you do—" +</P> + +<P> +Again he gave her no opportunity to interrupt, but rushed on +impetuously: "We will sail away across that ocean to wherever you will +take me. To Ceylon and Tokio and San Francisco, to Naples and New +York, to Greece and Athens. They are all near. They are all yours. +Will you accept them and me?" He smiled appealingly, but most +miserably. For though he had spoken lightly and with confidence, it +was to conceal the fact that he was not at all confident. As he had +read in her eyes her refusal of his pony, he had read, even as he +spoke, her refusal of himself. When he ceased speaking the girl +answered: +</P> + +<P> +"If I say that what you tell me makes me proud, I am saying too +little." She shook her head firmly, with an air of finality that +frightened Hemingway. "But what you ask—what you suggest is +impossible." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't like me?" said Hemingway. +</P> + +<P> +"I like you very much," returned the girl, "and, if I don't seem +unhappy that it can't be, it is because I always have known it can't +be—" +</P> + +<P> +"Why can't it be?" rebelled Hemingway. "I don't mean that I can't +understand your not wanting to marry me, but if I knew your objection, +maybe, I could beat it down." +</P> + +<P> +Again, with the same air of finality, the girl moved her head slowly, +as though considering each word; she began cautiously. +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot tell you the reason," she said, "because it does not concern +only myself." +</P> + +<P> +"If you mean you care for some one else," pleaded Hemingway, "that does +not frighten me at all." It did frighten him extremely, but, believing +that a faint heart never won anything, he pretended to be brave. +</P> + +<P> +"For you," he boasted, "I would go down into the grave as deep as any +man. He that hath more let him give. I know what I offer. I know I +love you as no other man—" +</P> + +<P> +The girl backed away from him as though he had struck her. "You must +not say that," she commanded. +</P> + +<P> +For the first time he saw that she was moved, that the fingers she +laced and unlaced were trembling. "It is final!" exclaimed the girl. +"I cannot marry—you, or any one. I—I have promised. I am not free." +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing in the world is final," returned Hemingway sharply, "except +death." He raised his hat and, as though to leave her, moved away. +Not because he admitted defeat, but because he felt that for the +present to continue might lose him the chance to fight again. But, to +deliver an ultimatum, he turned back. +</P> + +<P> +"As long as you are alive, and I am alive," he told her, "all things +are possible. I don't give up hope. I don't give up you." +</P> + +<P> +The girl exclaimed with a gesture of despair. "He won't understand!" +she cried. +</P> + +<P> +Hemingway advanced eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"Help me to understand," he begged. +</P> + +<P> +"You won't understand," explained the girl, "that I am speaking the +truth. You are right that things can change in the future, but nothing +can change the past. Can't you understand that?" +</P> + +<P> +"What do I care for the past?" cried the young man scornfully. "I know +you as well as though I had known you for a thousand years and I love +you." +</P> + +<P> +The girl flushed crimson. +</P> + +<P> +"Not my past," she gasped. "I meant—" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care what you meant," said Hemingway. "I'm not prying into +your little secrets. I know only one thing—two things, that I love +you and that, until you love me, I am going to make your life hell!" +</P> + +<P> +He caught at her hands, and for an instant she let him clasp them in +both of his, while she looked at him. +</P> + +<P> +Something in her face, other than distress and pity, caused his heart +to leap. But he was too wise to speak, and, that she might not read +the hope in his eyes, turned quickly and left her. He had not crossed +the grounds of the agency before he had made up his mind as to the +reason for her repelling him. +</P> + +<P> +"She is engaged to Fearing!" he told himself. "She has promised to +marry Fearing! She thinks that it is too late to consider another man!" +The prospect of a fight for the woman he loved thrilled him greatly. +His lower jaw set pugnaciously. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll show her it's not too late," he promised himself. "I'll show her +which of us is the man to make her happy. And, if I am not the man, +I'll take the first outbound steamer and trouble them no more. But +before that happens," he also promised himself, "Fearing must show he +is the better man." +</P> + +<P> +In spite of his brave words, in spite of his determination, within the +day Hemingway had withdrawn in favor of his rival, and, on the Crown +Prince Eitel, bound for Genoa and New York, had booked his passage home. +</P> + +<P> +On the afternoon of the same day he had spoken to Polly Adair, +Hemingway at the sunset hour betook himself to the consulate. At that +hour it had become his custom to visit his fellow countryman and with +him share the gossip of the day and such a cocktail as only a fellow +countryman could compose. Later he was to dine at the house of the +Ivory Company and, as his heart never ceased telling him, Mrs. Adair +also was to be present. +</P> + +<P> +"It will be a very pleasant party," said Harris. "They gave me a bid, +too, but it's steamer day to-morrow, and I've got to get my mail ready +for the Crown Prince Eitel. Mrs. Adair is to be there." +</P> + +<P> +Hemingway nodded, and with pleasant anticipation waited. Of Mrs. +Adair, Harris always spoke with reverent enthusiasm, and the man who +loved her delighted to listen. But this time Harris disappointed him. +</P> + +<P> +"And Fearing, too," he added. +</P> + +<P> +Again Hemingway nodded. The conjunction of the two names surprised +him, but he made no sign. Loquacious as he knew Harris to be, he never +before had heard his friend even suggest the subject that to Zanzibar +had become of acute interest. +</P> + +<P> +Harris filled the two glasses, and began to pace the room. When he +spoke it was in the aggrieved tone of one who feels himself placed in a +false position. +</P> + +<P> +"There's no one," he complained suddenly, "so popularly unpopular as +the man who butts in. I know that, but still I've always taken his +side. I've always been for him." He halted, straddling with legs +apart and hands deep in his trousers pockets, and frowned down upon his +guest. +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose," he began aggressively, "I see a man driving his car over a +cliff. If I tell him that road will take him over a cliff, the worst +that can happen to me is to be told to mind my own business, and I can +always answer back: 'I was only trying to help you.' If I don't speak, +the man breaks his neck. Between the two, it seems to me, sooner than +have any one's life on my hands, I'd rather be told to mind my own +business." +</P> + +<P> +Hemingway stared into his glass. His expression was distinctly +disapproving, but, undismayed, the consul continued. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, we all know that this morning you gave that polo pony to Lady +Firth, and one of us guesses that you first offered it to some one +else, who refused it. One of us thinks that very soon, to-morrow, or +even to-night, at this party you may offer that same person something +else, something worth more than a polo pony, and that if she refuses +that, it is going to break you all up, is going to hurt you for the +rest of your life." +</P> + +<P> +Lifting his eyes from his glass, Hemingway shot at his friend a glance +of warning. In haste, Harris continued: +</P> + +<P> +"I know," he protested, answering the look, "I know that this is where +Mr. Buttinsky is told to mind his business. But I'm going right on. +I'm going to state a hypothetical case with no names mentioned and no +questions asked, or answered. I'm going to state a theory, and let you +draw your own deductions." +</P> + +<P> +He slid into a chair, and across the table fastened his eyes on those +of his friend. Confidently and undisturbed, but with a wry smile of +dislike, Hemingway stared fixedly back at him. +</P> + +<P> +"What," demanded Harris, "is the first rule in detective work?" +</P> + +<P> +Hemingway started. He was prepared for something unpleasant, but not +for that particular form of unpleasantness. But his faith was +unshaken, and he smiled confidently. He let the consul answer his own +question. +</P> + +<P> +"It is to follow the woman," declared Harris. "And, accordingly, what +should be the first precaution of a man making his get-away? To see +that the woman does not follow. But suppose we are dealing with a +fugitive of especial intelligence, with a criminal who has imagination +and brains? He might fix it so that the woman could follow him without +giving him away, he might plan it so that no one would suspect. She +might arrive at his hiding-place only after many months, only after +each had made separately a long circuit of the globe, only after a +journey with a plausible and legitimate object. She would arrive +disguised in every way, and they would meet as total strangers. And, +as strangers under the eyes of others, they would become acquainted, +would gradually grow more friendly, would be seen more frequently +together, until at last people would say: 'Those two mean to make a +match of it.' And then, one day, openly, in the sight of all men, with +the aid of the law and the church, they would resume those relations +that existed before the man ran away and the woman followed." +</P> + +<P> +There was a short silence. +</P> + +<P> +Hemingway broke it in a tone that would accept no denial. +</P> + +<P> +"You can't talk like that to me," he cried. "What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +Without resentment, the consul regarded him with grave solicitude. His +look was one of real affection, and, although his tone held the +absolute finality of the family physician who delivers a sentence of +death, he spoke with gentleness and regret. +</P> + +<P> +"I mean," he said, "that Mrs. Adair is not a widow, that the man she +speaks of as her late husband is not dead; that that man is Fearing!" +</P> + +<P> +Hemingway felt afraid. A month before a rhinoceros had charged him and +had dropped at his feet. At another time a wounded lioness had leaped +into his path and crouched to spring. Then he had not been afraid. +Then he had aimed as confidently as though he were firing at a straw +target. But now he felt real fear: fear of something he did not +comprehend, of a situation he could not master, of an adversary as +strong as Fate. By a word something had been snatched from him that he +now knew was as dear to him as life, that was life, that was what made +it worth continuing. And he could do nothing to prevent it; he could +not help himself. He was as impotent as the prisoner who hears the +judge banish him into exile. He tried to adjust his mind to the +calamity. But his mind refused. As easily as with his finger a man +can block the swing of a pendulum and halt the progress of the clock, +Harris with a word had brought the entire world to a full stop. +</P> + +<P> +And then, above his head, Hemingway heard the lazy whisper of the +punka, and from the harbor the raucous whistle of the Crown Prince +Eitel, signalling her entrance. The world had not stopped; for the +punka-boy, for the captain of the German steamer, for Harris seated +with face averted, the world was still going gayly and busily forward. +Only for him had it stopped. +</P> + +<P> +In spite of the confident tone in which Harris had spoken, in spite of +the fact that unless he knew it was the truth, he would not have +spoken, Hemingway tried to urge himself to believe there had been some +hideous, absurd error. But in answer came back to him snatches of talk +or phrases the girl had last addressed to him: "You can command the +future, but you cannot change the past. I cannot marry you, or any +one! I am not free!" +</P> + +<P> +And then to comfort himself, he called up the look he had surprised in +her eyes when he stood holding her hands in his. He clung to it, as a +drowning man will clutch even at a piece of floating seaweed. +</P> + +<P> +When he tried to speak he found his voice choked and stifled, and that +his distress was evident, he knew from the pity he read in the eyes of +Harris. +</P> + +<P> +In a voice strange to him, he heard himself saying: "Why do you think +that? You've got to tell me. I have a right to know. This morning I +asked Mrs. Adair to marry me." +</P> + +<P> +The consul exclaimed with dismay and squirmed unhappily. "I didn't +know," he protested. "I thought I was in time. I ought to have told +you days ago, but—" +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me now," commanded Hemingway. +</P> + +<P> +"I know it in a thousand ways," began Harris. +</P> + +<P> +Hemingway raised his eyes hopefully. +</P> + +<P> +But the consul shook his head. "But to convince you," he went on, "I +need tell you only one. The thousand other proofs are looks they have +exchanged, sentences I have chanced to overhear, and that each of them +unknown to the other has told me of little happenings and incidents +which I found were common to both. Each has described the house in +which he or she lived, and it was the same house. They claim to come +from different cities in New England, they came from the same city. +They claim—" +</P> + +<P> +"That is no proof," cried Hemingway, "either that they are married, or +that the man is a criminal." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment Harris regarded the other in silence. Then he said: +"You're making it very hard for me. I see I've got to show you. It's +kindest, after all, to cut quick." He leaned farther forward, and his +voice dropped. Speaking quickly, he said: +</P> + +<P> +"Last summer I lived outside the town in a bungalow on the Pearl Road. +Fearing's house was next to mine. This was before Mrs. Adair went to +live at the agency, and while she was alone in another bungalow farther +down the road. I was ill that summer; my nerves went back on me. I +couldn't sleep. I used to sit all night on my veranda and pray for the +sun to rise. From where I sat it was dark and no one could see me, but +I could see the veranda of Fearing's house and into his garden. And +night after night I saw Mrs. Adair creep out of Fearing's house, saw +him walk with her to the gate, saw him in the shadow of the bushes take +her in his arms, and saw them kiss." The voice of the consul rose +sharply. "No one knows that but you and I, and," he cried defiantly, +"it is impossible for us to believe ill of Polly Adair. The easy +explanation we refuse. It is intolerable. And so you must believe as I +believe; that when she visited Fearing by night she went to him because +she had the right to go to him, because already she was his wife. And +now when every one here believes they met for the first time in +Zanzibar, when no one will be surprised if they should marry, they will +go through the ceremony again, and live as man and wife, as they are, +as they were before he fled from America!" +</P> + +<P> +Hemingway was seated with his elbows on the table and his face in his +hands. He was so long silent that Harris struck the table roughly with +his palm. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," he demanded, "why don't you speak? Do you doubt her? Don't you +believe she is his wife?" +</P> + +<P> +"I refuse to believe anything else!" said Hemingway. He rose, and +slowly and heavily moved toward the door. "And I will not trouble them +any more," he added. "I'll leave at sunrise on the Eitel." +</P> + +<P> +Harris exclaimed in dismay, but Hemingway did not hear him. In the +doorway he halted and turned back. From his voice all trace of emotion +had departed. "Why," he asked dully, "do you think Fearing is a +fugitive? Not that it matters to her, since she loves him, or that it +matters to me. Only I would like to think you were wrong. I want her +to have only the best." +</P> + +<P> +Again the consul moved unhappily. +</P> + +<P> +"I oughtn't to tell you," he protested, "and if I do I ought to tell +the State Department, and a detective agency first. They have the +call. They want him, or a man damned like him." His voice dropped to a +whisper. "The man wanted is Henry Brownell, a cashier of a bank in +Waltham, Mass., thirty-five years of age, smooth-shaven, college-bred, +speaking with a marked New England accent, and—and with other marks +that fit Fearing like the cover on a book. The department and the +Pinkertons have been devilling the life out of me about it for nine +months. They are positive he is on the coast of Africa. I put them +off. I wasn't sure." +</P> + +<P> +"You've been protecting them," said Hemingway. +</P> + +<P> +"I wasn't sure," reiterated Harris. "And if I were, the Pinkertons can +do their own sleuthing. The man's living honestly now, anyway, isn't +he?" he demanded; "and she loves him. At least she's stuck by him. +Why should I punish her?" +</P> + +<P> +His tone seemed to challenge and upbraid. +</P> + +<P> +"Good God!" cried the other, "I'm not blaming you! I'd be proud of the +chance to do as much. I asked because I'd like to go away thinking +she's content, thinking she's happy with him." +</P> + +<P> +"Doesn't it look as though she were?" Harris protested. "She's +followed him—followed him half around the globe. If she'd been +happier away from him, she'd have stayed away from him." +</P> + +<P> +So intent had been the men upon their talk that neither had noted the +passing of the minutes or, what at other times was an event of moment, +that the mail steamer had distributed her mail and passengers; and when +a servant entered bearing lamps, and from the office the consul's clerk +appeared with a bundle of letters from the Eitel, both were taken by +surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"So late?" exclaimed Hemingway. "I must go. If I'm to sail with the +Eitel at daybreak, I've little time!" +</P> + +<P> +But he did not go. +</P> + +<P> +As he advanced toward Harris with his hand outstretched in adieu, the +face of the consul halted him. With the letters, the clerk had placed +upon the table a visiting-card, and as it lay in the circle of light +from the lamp the consul, as though it were alive and menacing, stared +at it in fascination. Moving stiffly, he turned it so that Hemingway +could see. On it Hemingway read, "George S. Sheyer," and, on a lower +line, "Representing William L. Pinkerton." +</P> + +<P> +To the woman he loved the calamity they dreaded had come, and +Hemingway, with a groan of dismay, exclaimed aloud: +</P> + +<P> +"It is the end!" +</P> + +<P> +From the darkness of the outer office a man stepped softly into the +circle of the lamp. They could see his figure only from the waist +down; the rest of him was blurred in shadows. +</P> + +<P> +"'It is the end'?" he repeated inquiringly. He spoke the phrase with +peculiar emphasis, as though to impress it upon the memory of the two +others. His voice was cool, alert, authoritative. "The end of what?" +he demanded sharply. +</P> + +<P> +The question was most difficult. In the silence the detective moved +into the light. He was tall and strongly built, his face was shrewd +and intelligent. He might have been a prosperous man of business. +</P> + +<P> +"Which of you is the consul?" he asked. But he did not take his eyes +from Hemingway. +</P> + +<P> +"I am the consul," said Harris. But still the detective did not turn +from Hemingway. +</P> + +<P> +"Why," he asked, "did this gentleman, when he read my card, say, 'It is +the end'? The end of what? Has anything been going on here that came to +an end when he saw my card?" +</P> + +<P> +Disconcerted, in deep embarrassment, Harris struggled for a word. But +his distress was not observed by the detective. His eyes, suspicious +and accusing, still were fixed upon Hemingway, and under their scrutiny +Harris saw his friend slowly retreat, slowly crumple up into a chair, +slowly raise his hands to cover his face. As though in a nightmare, he +heard him saying savagely: +</P> + +<P> +"It is the end of two years of hell, it is the end of two years of fear +and agony! Now I shall have peace. Now I shall sleep! I thank God +you've come! I thank God I can go back!" +</P> + +<P> +Harris broke the spell by leaping to his feet. He sprang between the +two men. +</P> + +<P> +"What does this mean?" he commanded. +</P> + +<P> +Hemingway raised his eyes and surveyed him steadily. +</P> + +<P> +"It means," he said, "that I have deceived you, Harris—that I am the +man you told me of, I am the man they want." He turned to the officer. +</P> + +<P> +"I fooled him for four months," he said. "I couldn't fool you for five +minutes." +</P> + +<P> +The eyes of the detective danced with sudden excitement, joy, and +triumph. He shot an eager glance from Hemingway to the consul. +</P> + +<P> +"This man," he demanded; "who is he?" +</P> + +<P> +With an impatient gesture Hemingway signified Harris. +</P> + +<P> +"He doesn't know who I am," he said. "He knows me as Hemingway. I am +Henry Brownell, of Waltham, Mass." Again his face sank into the palms +of his hands. "And I'm tired—tired," he moaned. "I am sick of not +knowing, sick of running away. I give myself up." +</P> + +<P> +The detective breathed a sigh of relief that seemed to issue from his +soul. +</P> + +<P> +"My God," he sighed, "you've given me a long chase! I've had eleven +months of you, and I'm as sick of this as you are." He recovered +himself sharply. As though reciting an incantation, he addressed +Hemingway in crisp, emotionless notes. +</P> + +<P> +"Henry Brownell," he chanted, "I arrest you in the name of the +commonwealth of Massachusetts for the robbery, on October the eleventh, +nineteen hundred and nine, of the Waltham Title and Trust Company. I +understand," he added, "you waive extradition and return with me of +your own free will?" +</P> + +<P> +With his face still in his hands, Hemingway murmured assent. The +detective stepped briskly and uninvited to the table and seated +himself. He was beaming with triumph, with pleasurable excitement. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to send a message home, Mr. Consul," he said. "May I use your +cable blanks?" +</P> + +<P> +Harris was still standing in the centre of the room looking down upon +the bowed head and shoulders of Hemingway. Since, in amazement, he had +sprung toward him, he had not spoken. And he was still silent. +</P> + +<P> +Inside the skull of Wilbur Harris, of Iowa, U. S. A., American consul +to Zanzibar, East Africa, there was going forward a mighty struggle +that was not fit to put into words. For Harris and his conscience had +met and were at odds. One way or the other the fight must be settled +at once, and whatever he decided must be for all time. This he +understood, and as his sympathies and conscience struggled for the +mastery the pen of the detective, scratching at racing speed across the +paper, warned him that only a few seconds were left him in which to +protest or else to forever after hold his peace. +</P> + +<P> +So realistic had been the acting of Hemingway that for an instant +Harris himself had been deceived. But only for an instant. With his +knowledge of the circumstances he saw that Hemingway was not confessing +to a crime of his own, but drawing across the trail of the real +criminal the convenient and useful red herring. He knew that already +Hemingway had determined to sail the next morning. In leaving Zanzibar +he was making no sacrifice. He merely was carrying out his original +plan, and by taking away with him the detective was giving Brownell and +his wife at least a month in which to again lose themselves. +</P> + +<P> +What was his own duty he could not determine. That of Hemingway he +knew nothing, he could truthfully testify. And if now Hemingway +claimed to be Henry Brownell, he had no certain knowledge to the +contrary. That through his adventure Hemingway would come to harm did +not greatly disturb him. He foresaw that his friend need only send a +wireless from Nantucket and at the wharf witnesses would swarm to +establish his identity and make it evident the detective had blundered. +And in the meanwhile Brownell and his wife, in some settlement still +further removed from observation, would for the second time have +fortified themselves against pursuit and capture. He saw the eyes of +Hemingway fixed upon him in appeal and warning. +</P> + +<P> +The brisk voice of the detective broke the silence. +</P> + +<P> +"You will testify, if need be, Mr. Consul," he said, "that you heard +the prisoner admit he was Henry Brownell and that he surrendered +himself of his own free will?" +</P> + +<P> +For an instant the consul hesitated, then he nodded stiffly. +</P> + +<P> +"I heard him," he said. +</P> + +<P> +Three hours later, at ten o' clock of the same evening, the detective +and Hemingway leaned together on the rail of the Crown Prince Eitel. +Forward, in the glare of her cargo lights, to the puffing and creaking +of derricks and donkey engines, bundles of beeswax, of rawhides, and +precious tusks of ivory were being hurled into the hold; from the +shore-boats clinging to the ship's sides came the shrieks of the +Zanzibar boys, from the smoking-room the blare of the steward's band +and the clink of glasses. Those of the youth of Zanzibar who were on +board, the German and English clerks and agents, saw in the presence of +Hemingway only a purpose similar to their own; the desire of a homesick +exile to gaze upon the mirrored glories of the Eitel's saloon, at the +faces of white men and women, to listen to home-made music, to drink +home-brewed beer. As he passed the smoking-room they called to him, +and to the stranger at his elbow, but he only nodded smiling and, +avoiding them, ascended to the shadow of the deserted boat-deck. +</P> + +<P> +"You are sure," he said, "you told no one?" +</P> + +<P> +"No one," the detective answered. "Of course your hotel proprietor +knows you're sailing, but he doesn't know why. And, by sunrise, we'll +be well out at sea." +</P> + +<P> +The words caught Hemingway by the throat. He turned his eyes to the +town lying like a field of snow in the moonlight. Somewhere on one of +its flat roofs a merry dinner-party was laughing, drinking, perhaps +regretting his absence, wondering at his excuse of sudden illness. She +was there, and he with the detective like a shadow at his elbow, was +sailing out of her life forever. He had seen her for the last time: +that morning for the last time had looked into her eyes, had held her +hands in his. He saw the white beach, the white fortress-like walls, +the hanging gardens, the courtesying palms, dimly. It was among those +that he who had thought himself content, had found happiness, and had +then seen it desert him and take out of his life pleasure in all other +things. With a pain that seemed impossible to support, he turned his +back upon Zanzibar and all it meant to him. And, as he turned, he +faced, coming toward him, across the moonlit deck, Fearing. +</P> + +<P> +His instinct was to cry out to the man in warning, but his second +thought showed him that through his very effort to protect the other, +he might bring about his undoing. So, helpless to prevent, in +agitation and alarm, he waited in silence. Of the two men, Fearing +appeared the least disturbed. With a polite but authoritative gesture +he turned to the detective. "I have something to say to this gentleman +before he sails," he said; "would you kindly stand over there?" +</P> + +<P> +He pointed across the empty deck at the other rail. +</P> + +<P> +In the alert, confident young man in the English mess-jacket, +clean-shaven and bronzed by the suns of the equator, the detective saw +no likeness to the pale, bearded bank clerk of the New England city. +This, he guessed, must be some English official, some friend of +Brownell's who generously had come to bid the unfortunate fugitive +Godspeed. +</P> + +<P> +Assured of this, the detective also bowed politely, and, out of +hearing, but with his prisoner in full view, took up a position against +the rail opposite. +</P> + +<P> +Turning his back upon the detective, and facing Hemingway with his eyes +close to his, Fearing began abruptly. His voice was sunk to a whisper, +but he spoke without the slightest sign of trepidation, without the +hesitation of an instant. +</P> + +<P> +"Two years ago, when I was indicted," he whispered, "and ran away, +Polly paid back half of the sum I stole. That left her without a +penny; that's why she took to this typewriting. Since then, I have +paid back nearly all the rest. But Polly was not satisfied. She +wanted me to take my punishment and start fresh. She knew they were +watching her so she couldn't write this to me, but she came to me by a +roundabout way, taking a year to get here. And all the time she's been +here, she's been begging me to go back and give myself up. I couldn't +see it. I knew in a few months I'd have paid back all I took, and I +thought that was enough. I wanted to keep out of jail. But she said I +must take my medicine in our own country, and start square with a clean +slate. She's done a lot for me, and whether I'd have done that for her +or not, I don't know. But now, I must! What you did to-night to save +me, leaves me no choice. So, I'll sail—" +</P> + +<P> +With an exclamation of anger, Hemingway caught the other by the +shoulder and dragged him closer. +</P> + +<P> +"To save you!" he whispered. "No one's thinking of you. I didn't do +it for you. I did it, that you both could escape together, to give you +time—" +</P> + +<P> +"But I tell you," protested Fearing, "she doesn't want me to escape. +And maybe she's right. Anyway, we're sailing with you at—" +</P> + +<P> +"We?" echoed Hemingway. +</P> + +<P> +That again he was to see the woman he loved, that for six weeks through +summer seas he would travel in her company, filled him with alarm, with +distress, with a wonderful happiness. +</P> + +<P> +"We?" he whispered, steadying his voice. "Then—then your wife is +going with you?" +</P> + +<P> +Fearing gazed at him as though the other had suddenly gone mad. +</P> + +<P> +"My wife!" he exclaimed. "I haven't got a wife! If you mean +Polly—Mrs. Adair, she is my sister! And she wants to thank you. She's +below—" +</P> + +<P> +He was not allowed to finish. Hemingway had flung him to one side, and +was racing down the deck. +</P> + +<P> +The detective sprang in pursuit. +</P> + +<P> +"One moment, there!" he shouted. +</P> + +<P> +But the man in the white mess-jacket barred his way. +</P> + +<P> +In the moonlight the detective saw that the alert, bronzed young man +was smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right," said Fearing. "He'll be back in a minute. +Besides, you don't want him. I'm the man you want." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="longarm"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE LONG ARM +</H2> + +<BR> + +<P> +The safe was an old one that opened with a key. As adjutant, Captain +Swanson had charge of certain funds of the regiment and kept in the +safe about five thousand dollars. No one but himself and Rueff, his +first sergeant, had access to it. And as Rueff proved an alibi, the +money might have been removed by an outsider. The court-martial gave +Swanson the benefit of the doubt, and a reprimand for not taking +greater care of the keys, and Swanson made good the five thousand. +</P> + +<P> +Swanson did not think it was a burglar who had robbed the safe. He +thought Rueff had robbed it, but he could not possibly prove that. At +the time of the robbery Rueff was outside the Presidio, in uniform, at +a moving-picture show in San Francisco. A dozen people saw him there. +Besides, Rueff held an excellent record. He was a silent, clerk-like +young man, better at "paper work" than campaigning, but even as a +soldier he had never come upon the books. And he had seen service in +two campaigns, and was supposed to cherish ambitions toward a +commission. But, as he kept much to himself, his fellow non-coms could +only guess that. +</P> + +<P> +On his captain's account he was loyally distressed over the +court-martial, and in his testimony tried to shield Swanson, by +agreeing heartily that through his own carelessness the keys might have +fallen into the hands of some one outside the post. But his loyalty +could not save his superior officer from what was a verdict virtually +of "not proven." +</P> + +<P> +It was a most distressing affair, and, on account of the social +prominence of Swanson's people, his own popularity, and the name he had +made at Batangas and in the Boxer business, was much commented upon, +not only in the services, but by the newspapers all over the United +States. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Every one who knew Swanson knew the court-martial was only a matter of +form. Even his enemies ventured only to suggest that overnight he +might have borrowed the money, meaning to replace it the next morning. +And the only reason for considering this explanation was that Swanson +was known to be in debt. For he was a persistent gambler. Just as at +Pekin he had gambled with death for his number, in times of peace he +gambled for money. It was always his own money. +</P> + +<P> +From the start Swanson's own attitude toward the affair was one of +blind, unreasoning rage. In it he saw no necessary routine of +discipline, only crass, ignorant stupidity. That any one should +suspect him was so preposterous, so unintelligent, as to be nearly +comic. And when, instantly, he demanded a court of inquiry, he could +not believe it when he was summoned before a court-martial. It +sickened, wounded, deeply affronted him; turned him quite savage. +</P> + +<P> +On his stand his attitude and answers were so insolent that his old +friend and classmate, Captain Copley, who was acting as his counsel, +would gladly have kicked him. The findings of the court-martial, that +neither cleared nor condemned, and the reprimand, were an intolerable +insult to his feelings, and, in a fit of bitter disgust with the +service and every one in it, Swanson resigned. Of course, the moment +he had done so he was sorry. Swanson's thought was that he could no +longer associate with any one who could believe him capable of theft. +It was his idea of showing his own opinion of himself and the army. +</P> + +<P> +But no one saw it in that light. On the contrary, people said: +"Swanson has been allowed to resign." In the army, voluntarily +resigning and being "allowed to resign" lest greater evils befall, are +two vastly different things. And when it was too late no one than +Swanson saw that more clearly. His anger gave way to extreme +morbidness. He believed that in resigning he had assured every one of +his guilt. In every friend and stranger he saw a man who doubted him. +He imagined snubs, rebuffs, and coldnesses. His morbidness fastened +upon his mind like a parasite upon a tree, and the brain sickened. +When men and women glanced at his alert, well-set-up figure and +shoulders, that even when he wore "cits" seemed to support epaulets, +and smiled approvingly, Swanson thought they sneered. In a week he +longed to be back in the army with a homesickness that made every one +who belonged to it his enemy. +</P> + +<P> +He left San Francisco, where he was known to all, and travelled south +through Texas, and then to New Orleans and Florida. He never could +recall this period with clearness. He remembered changing from one +train to another, from one hotel to the next. Nothing impressed itself +upon him. For what he had lost nothing could give consolation. +Without honor life held no charm. And he believed that in the eyes of +all men he was a thief, a pariah, and an outcast. +</P> + +<P> +He had been in Cuba with the Army of Occupation, and of that beautiful +island had grown foolishly fond. He was familiar with every part of +it, and he believed in one or another of its pretty ports he could so +completely hide himself that no one could intrude upon his misery. In +the States, in the newspapers he seemed to read only of those places +where he had seen service, of those places and friends and associates +he most loved. In the little Cuban village in which he would bury +himself he would cut himself off from all newspapers, from all who knew +him; from those who had been his friends, and those who knew his name +only to connect it with a scandal. +</P> + +<P> +On his way from Port Tampa to Cuba the boat stopped at Key West, and +for the hour in which she discharged cargo Swanson went ashore and +wandered aimlessly. The little town, reared on a flat island of coral +and limestone, did not long detain him. The main street of shops, +eating-houses, and saloons, the pretty residences with overhanging +balconies, set among gardens and magnolia-trees, were soon explored, +and he was returning to the boat when the martial music of a band +caused him to halt. A side street led to a great gateway surmounted by +an anchor. Beyond it Swanson saw lawns of well-kept grass, regular +paths, pretty cottages, the two-starred flag of an admiral, and, rising +high above these, like four Eiffel towers, the gigantic masts of a +wireless. He recognized that he was at the entrance to the Key West +naval station, and turned quickly away. +</P> + +<P> +He walked a few feet, the music of the band still in his ears. In an +hour he would be steaming toward Cuba, and, should he hold to his +present purpose, in many years this would be the last time he would +stand on American soil, would see the uniform of his country, would +hear a military band lull the sun to sleep. It would hurt, but he +wondered if it were not worth the hurt. A smart sergeant of marines, +in passing, cast one glance at the man who seemed always to wear +epaulets, and brought his hand sharply to salute. The act determined +Swanson. He had obtained the salute under false pretenses, but it had +pleased, not hurt him. He turned back and passed into the gate of the +naval station. +</P> + +<P> +From the gate a grass-lined carriage drive led to the waters of the +harbor and the wharfs. At its extreme end was the band-stand, flanked +on one side by the cottage of the admiral, on the other by a sail-loft +with iron-barred windows and whitewashed walls. Upon the turf were +pyramids of cannon-balls and, laid out in rows as though awaiting +burial, old-time muzzle-loading guns. Across the harbor the sun was +sinking into the coral reefs, and the spring air, still warm from its +caresses, was stirred by the music of the band into gentle, rhythmic +waves. The scene was one of peace, order, and content. +</P> + +<P> +But as Swanson advanced, the measure of the music was instantly +shattered by a fierce volley of explosions. They came so suddenly and +sharply as to make him start. It was as though from his flank a +quick-firing gun in ambush had opened upon him. Swanson smiled at +having been taken unawares. For in San Francisco he often had heard +the roar and rattle of the wireless. But never before had he listened +to an attack like this. +</P> + +<P> +From a tiny white-and-green cottage, squatting among the four giant +masts, came the roar of a forest fire. One could hear the crackle of +the flames, the crash of the falling tree-trunks. The air about the +cottage was torn into threads; beneath the shocks of the electricity +the lawn seemed to heave and tremble. It was like some giant monster, +bound and fettered, struggling to be free. Now it growled sullenly, +now in impotent rage it spat and spluttered, now it lashed about with +crashing, stunning blows. It seemed as though the wooden walls of the +station could not contain it. +</P> + +<P> +From the road Swanson watched, through the open windows of the cottage, +the electric bolts flash and flare and disappear. The thing appealed +to his imagination. Its power, its capabilities fascinated him. In it +he saw a hungry monster reaching out to every corner of the continent +and devouring the news of the world; feeding upon tales of shipwreck +and disaster, lingering over some dainty morsel of scandal, snatching +from ships and cities two thousand miles away the thrice-told tale of a +conflagration, the score of a baseball match, the fall of a cabinet, +the assassination of a king. +</P> + +<P> +In a sudden access of fierceness, as though in an ecstasy over some +fresh horror just received, it shrieked and chortled. And then, as +suddenly as it had broken forth, it sank to silence, and from the end +of the carriage drive again rose, undisturbed, the music of the band. +</P> + +<P> +The musicians were playing to a select audience. On benches around the +band-stand sat a half dozen nurse-maids with knitting in their hands, +the baby-carriages within arm's length. On the turf older children of +the officers were at play, and up and down the paths bareheaded girls, +and matrons, and officers in uniform strolled leisurely. From the +vine-covered cottage of Admiral Preble, set in a garden of flowering +plants and bending palmettos, came the tinkle of tea-cups and the +ripple of laughter, and at a respectful distance, seated on the +dismantled cannon, were marines in khaki and bluejackets in glistening +white. +</P> + +<P> +It was a family group, and had not Swanson recognized among the little +audience others of the passengers from the steamer and natives of the +town who, like himself, had been attracted by the music, he would have +felt that he intruded. He now wished to remain. He wanted to carry +with him into his exile a memory of the men in uniform, of the music, +and pretty women, of the gorgeous crimson sunset. But, though he +wished to remain, he did not wish to be recognized. +</P> + +<P> +From the glances already turned toward him, he saw that in this little +family gathering the presence of a stranger was an event, and he was +aware that during the trial the newspapers had made his face +conspicuous. Also it might be that stationed at the post was some +officer or enlisted man who had served with him in Cuba, China, or the +Philippines, and who might point him out to others. Fearing this, +Swanson made a detour and approached the band-stand from the wharf, and +with his back to a hawser-post seated himself upon the string-piece. +</P> + +<P> +He was overcome with an intolerable melancholy. From where he sat he +could see, softened into shadows by the wire screens of the veranda, +Admiral Preble and his wife and their guests at tea. A month before, +he would have reported to the admiral as the commandant of the station, +and paid his respects. Now he could not do that; at least not without +inviting a rebuff. A month before, he need only have shown his card to +the admiral's orderly, and the orderly and the guard and the officers' +mess and the admiral himself would have turned the post upside down to +do him honor. But of what avail now was his record in three campaigns? +Of what avail now was his medal of honor? They now knew him as Swanson, +who had been court-martialled, who had been allowed to resign, who had +left the army for the army's good; they knew him as a civilian without +rank or authority, as an ex-officer who had robbed his brother +officers, as an outcast. +</P> + +<P> +His position, as his morbid mind thus distorted it, tempted Swanson no +longer. For being in this plight he did not feel that in any way he +was to blame. But with a flaming anger he still blamed his brother +officers of the court-martial who had not cleared his name and with a +clean bill of health restored him to duty. Those were the men he +blamed; not Rueff, the sergeant, who he believed had robbed him, nor +himself, who, in a passion of wounded pride, had resigned and so had +given reason for gossip; but the men who had not in tones like a +bugle-call proclaimed his innocence, who, when they had handed him back +his sword, had given it grudgingly, not with congratulation. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +As he saw it, he stood in a perpetual pillory. When they had robbed +him of his honor they had left him naked, and life without honor had +lost its flavor. He could eat, he could drink, he could exist. He +knew that in many corners of the world white arms would reach out to +him and men would beckon him to a place at table. +</P> + +<P> +But he could not cross that little strip of turf between him and the +chattering group on the veranda and hand his card to the admiral's +orderly. Swanson loved life. He loved it so that without help, money, +or affection he could each morning have greeted it with a smile. But +life without honor! He felt a sudden hot nausea of disgust. Why was he +still clinging to what had lost its purpose, to what lacked the one +thing needful? +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"If life be an ill thing," he thought, "I can lay it down!" +</P> + +<P> +The thought was not new to him, and during the two past weeks of +aimless wandering he had carried with him his service automatic. To +reassure himself he laid his fingers on its cold smooth surface. He +would wait, he determined, until the musicians had finished their +concert and the women and children had departed, and then— +</P> + +<P> +Then the orderly would find him where he was now seated, sunken against +the hawser-post with a hole through his heart. To his disordered brain +his decision appeared quite sane. He was sure he never had been more +calm. And as he prepared himself for death he assured himself that for +one of his standard no other choice was possible. Thoughts of the +active past, or of what distress in the future his act would bring to +others, did not disturb him. The thing had to be, no one lost more +heavily than himself, and regrets were cowardly. +</P> + +<P> +He counted the money he had on his person and was pleased to find there +was enough to pay for what services others soon must render him. In +his pockets were letters, cards, a cigarette-case, each of which would +tell his identity. He had no wish to conceal it, for of what he was +about to do he was not ashamed. It was not his act. He would not have +died "by his own hand." To his unbalanced brain the officers of the +court-martial were responsible. It was they who had killed him. As he +saw it, they had made his death as inevitable as though they had +sentenced him to be shot at sunrise. +</P> + +<P> +A line from "The Drums of the Fore and Aft" came back to him. Often he +had quoted it, when some one in the service had suffered through the +fault of others. It was the death-cry of the boy officer, Devlin. The +knives of the Ghazi had cut him down, but it was his own people's +abandoning him in terror that had killed him. And so, with a sob, he +flung the line at the retreating backs of his comrades: "You've killed +me, you cowards!" +</P> + +<P> +Swanson, nursing his anger, repeated this savagely. He wished he could +bring it home to those men of the court-martial. He wished he could +make them know that his death lay at their door. He determined that +they should know. On one of his visiting-cards he pencilled: +</P> + +<P> +"To the Officers of my Court-Martial: 'You've killed me, you cowards!'" +</P> + +<P> +He placed the card in the pocket of his waistcoat. They would find it +just above the place where the bullet would burn the cloth. +</P> + +<P> +The band was playing "Auf Wiedersehen," and the waltz carried with it +the sadness that had made people call the man who wrote it the waltz +king. Swanson listened gratefully. He was glad that before he went +out, his last mood had been of regret and gentleness. The sting of his +anger had departed, the music soothed and sobered him. It had been a +very good world. Until he had broken the spine of things it had +treated him well, far better, he admitted, than he deserved. There +were many in it who had been kind, to whom he was grateful. He wished +there was some way by which he could let them know that. As though in +answer to his wish, from across the parade-ground the wireless again +began to crash and crackle; but now Swanson was at a greater distance +from it, and the sighing rhythm of the waltz was not interrupted. +</P> + +<P> +Swanson considered to whom he might send a farewell message, but as in +his mind he passed from one friend to another, he saw that to each such +a greeting could bring only distress. He decided it was the music that +had led him astray. This was no moment for false sentiment. He let +his hand close upon the pistol. +</P> + +<P> +The audience now was dispersing. The nurse-maids had collected their +charges, the musicians were taking apart their music-racks, and from +the steps of the vine-covered veranda Admiral Preble was bidding the +friends of his wife adieu. At his side his aide, young, alert, +confident, with ill-concealed impatience awaited their departure. +Swanson found that he resented the aide. He resented the manner in +which he speeded the parting guests. Even if there were matters of +importance he was anxious to communicate to his chief, he need not make +it plain to the women folk that they were in the way. +</P> + +<P> +When, a month before, he had been adjutant, in a like situation he +would have shown more self-command. He disapproved of the aide +entirely. He resented the fact that he was as young as himself, that +he was in uniform, that he was an aide. Swanson certainly hoped that +when he was in uniform he had not looked so much the conquering hero, +so self-satisfied, so supercilious. With a smile he wondered why, at +such a moment, a man he had never seen before, and never would see +again, should so disturb him. +</P> + +<P> +In his heart he knew. The aide was going forward just where he was +leaving off. The ribbons on the tunic of the aide, the straps on his +shoulders, told Swanson that they had served in the same campaigns, +that they were of the same relative rank, and that when he himself, had +he remained in the service, would have been a brigadier-general the +aide would command a battle-ship. The possible future of the young +sailor filled Swanson with honorable envy and bitter regret. With all +his soul he envied him the right to look his fellow man in the eye, his +right to die for his country, to give his life, should it be required +of him, for ninety million people, for a flag. Swanson saw the two +officers dimly, with eyes of bitter self-pity. He was dying, but he +was not dying gloriously for a flag. He had lost the right to die for +it, and he was dying because he had lost that right. +</P> + +<P> +The sun had sunk and the evening had grown chill. At the wharf where +the steamer lay on which he had arrived, but on which he was not to +depart, the electric cargo lights were already burning. But for what +Swanson had to do there still was light enough. From his breast-pocket +he took the card on which he had written his message to his brother +officers, read and reread it, and replaced it. +</P> + +<P> +Save for the admiral and his aide at the steps of the cottage, and a +bareheaded bluejacket who was reporting to them, and the admiral's +orderly, who was walking toward Swanson, no one was in sight. Still +seated upon the stringpiece of the wharf, Swanson so moved that his +back was toward the four men. The moment seemed propitious, almost as +though it had been prearranged. For with such an audience, for his +taking off no other person could be blamed. There would be no question +but that death had been self-inflicted. +</P> + +<P> +Approaching from behind him Swanson heard the brisk steps of the +orderly drawing rapidly nearer. He wondered if the wharf were +government property, if he were trespassing, and if for that reason the +man had been sent to order him away. He considered bitterly that the +government grudged him a place even in which to die. Well, he would not +for long be a trespasser. His hand slipped into his pocket, with his +thumb he lowered the safety-catch of the pistol. +</P> + +<P> +But the hand with the pistol in it did not leave his pocket. The steps +of the orderly had come to a sudden silence. Raising his head heavily, +Swanson saw the man, with his eyes fixed upon him, standing at salute. +They had first made his life unsupportable, Swanson thought, now they +would not let him leave it. +</P> + +<P> +"Captain Swanson, sir?" asked the orderly. +</P> + +<P> +Swanson did not speak or move. +</P> + +<P> +"The admiral's compliments, sir," snapped the orderly, "and will the +captain please speak with him?" +</P> + +<P> +Still Swanson did not move. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +He felt that the breaking-point of his self-control had come. This +impertinent interruption, this thrusting into the last few seconds of +his life of a reminder of all that he had lost, this futile +postponement of his end, was cruel, unhuman, unthinkable. The pistol +was still in his hand. He had but to draw it and press it close, and +before the marine could leap upon him he would have escaped. +</P> + +<P> +From behind, approaching hurriedly, came the sound of impatient +footsteps. +</P> + +<P> +The orderly stiffened to attention. "The admiral!" he warned. +</P> + +<P> +Twelve years of discipline, twelve years of recognition of authority, +twelve years of deference to superior officers, dragged Swanson's hand +from his pistol and lifted him to his feet. As he turned, Admiral +Preble, the aide, and the bareheaded bluejacket were close upon him. +The admiral's face beamed, his eyes were young with pleasurable +excitement; with the eagerness of a boy he waved aside formal greetings. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Swanson," he cried, "I assure you it's a most astonishing, +most curious coincidence! See this man?" He flung out his arm at the +bluejacket. "He's my wireless chief. He was wireless operator on the +transport that took you to Manila. When you came in here this +afternoon he recognized you. Half an hour later he picks up a +message—picks it up two thousand miles from here—from San +Francisco—Associated Press news—it concerns you; that is, not really +concerns you, but I thought, we thought"—as though signalling for +help, the admiral glanced unhappily at his aide—"we thought you'd like +to know. Of course, to us," he added hastily, "it's quite +superfluous—quite superfluous, but—" +</P> + +<P> +The aide coughed apologetically. "You might read, sir," he suggested. +</P> + +<P> +"What? Exactly! Quite so!" cried the admiral. +</P> + +<P> +In the fading light he held close to his eyes a piece of paper. +</P> + +<P> +"San Francisco, April 20," he read. "Rueff, first sergeant, shot +himself here to-day, leaving written confession theft of regimental +funds for which Swanson, captain, lately court-martialled. Money found +intact in Rueff's mattress. Innocence of Swanson never questioned, but +dissatisfied with findings of court-martial has left army. Brother +officers making every effort to find him and persuade return." +</P> + +<P> +The admiral sighed happily. "And my wife," he added, with an +impressiveness that was intended to show he had at last arrived at the +important part of his message, "says you are to stay to dinner." +</P> + +<P> +Abruptly, rudely, Swanson swung upon his heel and turned his face from +the admiral. His head was thrown back, his arms held rigid at his +sides. In slow, deep breaths, like one who had been dragged from +drowning, he drank in the salt, chill air. After one glance the four +men also turned, and in the falling darkness stood staring at nothing, +and no one spoke. +</P> + +<P> +The aide was the first to break the silence. In a polite tone, as +though he were continuing a conversation which had not been +interrupted, he addressed the admiral. "Of course, Rueff's written +confession was not needed," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"His shooting himself proved that he was guilty." +</P> + +<P> +Swanson started as though across his naked shoulders the aide had drawn +a whip. +</P> + +<P> +In penitence and gratitude he raised his eyes to the stars. High above +his head the strands of the wireless, swinging from the towering masts +like the strings of a giant Aeolian harp, were swept by the wind from +the ocean. To Swanson the sighing and whispering wires sang in praise +and thanksgiving. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="coincidence"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE GOD OF COINCIDENCE +</H2> + +<BR> + +<P> +The God of Coincidence is fortunate in possessing innumerable press +agents. They have made the length of his arm a proverb. How at +exactly the right moment he extends it across continents and drags two +and two together, thus causing four to result where but for him sixes +and sevens would have obtained, they have made known to the readers of +all of our best magazines. For instance, Holworthy is leaving for the +Congo to find a cure for the sleeping sickness, and for himself any +sickness from which one is warranted never to wake up. This is his +condition because the beautiful million-heiress who is wintering at the +Alexander Young Hotel in Honolulu has refused to answer his letters, +cables, and appeals. +</P> + +<P> +He is leaning upon the rail taking his last neck-breaking look at the +Woolworth Building. The going-ashore bugle has sounded, +pocket-handkerchiefs are waving; and Joe Hutton, the last visitor to +leave the ship, is at the gangway. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by, Holworthy!" he calls. "Where do you keep yourself? Haven't +seen you at the club in a year!" +</P> + +<P> +"Haven't been there in a year—nor mean to!" is the ungracious reply of +our hero. +</P> + +<P> +"Then, for Heaven's sake," exclaims Hutton, "send some one to take your +mail out of the H box! Every time I look for letters I wade through +yours." +</P> + +<P> +"Tear them up!" calls Holworthy. "They're bills." +</P> + +<P> +Hutton now is half-way down the gangplank. +</P> + +<P> +"Then your creditors," he shouts back, "must all live at the Alexander +Young Hotel in Honolulu!" +</P> + +<P> +That night an express train shrieking through the darkness carried with +it toward San Francisco— +</P> + +<P> +In this how evident is the fine Italian hand of the God of Coincidence! +</P> + +<P> +Had Hutton's name begun with an M; had the H in Hutton been silent; had +he not carried to the Mauretania a steamer basket for his rich aunt; +had he not resented the fact that since Holworthy's election to the Van +Sturtevant Club he had ceased to visit the Grill Club—a cure for +sleeping sickness might have been discovered; but two loving hearts +never would have been reunited and that story would not have been +written. +</P> + +<P> +Or, Mrs. Montclair, with a suit-case, is leaving her home forever to +join handsome Harry Bellairs, who is at the corner with a racing-car +and all the money of the bank of which he has been cashier. As the +guilty woman places the farewell letter against the pin-cushion where +her husband will be sure to find it, her infant son turns in his sleep +and jabs himself with a pin. His howl of anguish resembles that of a +puppy on a moonlight night. The mother recognizes her master's voice. +She believes her child dying, flies to the bedside, tears up the +letter, unpacks the suit-case. The next morning at breakfast her +husband, reading the newspaper, exclaims aloud: +</P> + +<P> +"Harry Bellairs," he cries, "has skipped with the bank's money! I +always told you he was not a man you ought to know." +</P> + +<P> +"His manner to me," she says severely, "always was that of a perfect +gentleman." +</P> + +<P> +Again coincidence gets the credit. Had not the child tossed—had not +at the critical moment the safety pin proved untrue to the man who +invented it—that happy family reunion would have been impossible. +</P> + +<P> +Or, it might be told this way: +</P> + +<P> +Old Man McCurdy, the Pig-Iron King, forbids his daughter Gwendolyn even +to think of marrying poor but honest Beef Walters, the baseball +pitcher, and denies him his house. The lovers plan an elopement. At +midnight Beef is to stand at the tradesman's entrance and whistle +"Waiting at the Church"; and down the silent stairs Gwendolyn is to +steal into his arms. At the very same hour the butler has planned with +the policeman on fixed post to steal Mother McCurdy's diamonds and pass +them to a brother of the policeman, who is to wait at the tradesman's +entrance and whistle "Waiting for the Robert E. Lee." +</P> + +<P> +This sounds improbable—especially that the policeman would allow even +his brother to get the diamonds before he did; but, with the God of +Coincidence on the job, you shall see that it will all come out right. +Beef is first at the door. He whistles. The butler—an English +butler—with no ear for music, shoves into his hands tiaras and +sunbursts. Honest Beef hands over the butler to the policeman and the +tiaras to Mother McCurdy. +</P> + +<P> +"How can I reward you?" exclaims the grateful woman. +</P> + +<P> +"Your daughter's hand!" +</P> + +<P> +Again the God of Coincidence scores and Beef Walters is credited with +an assist. And for preventing the robbery McCurdy has the peg-post cop +made a captain; thus enabling him to wear diamonds of his own and +raising him above the need of taking them from others. +</P> + +<P> +These examples of what the god can do are mere fiction; the story that +comes now really happened. It also is a story of coincidence. It shows +how this time the long arm was stretched out to make two young people +happy; it again illustrates that, in the instruments he chooses, the +God of Coincidence works in a mysterious way his wonders to perform. +This time the tool he used was a hat of green felt. +</P> + +<P> +The story really should be called "The Man in the Green Hat." +</P> + +<P> +At St. James's Palace the plenipotentiaries of the Allies and of Turkey +were trying to bring peace to Europe; in Russell Square, Bloomsbury, +Sam Lowell was trying to arrange a peace with Mrs. Wroxton, his +landlady. The ultimatum of the Allies was: "Adrianople or fight!" The +last words of Mrs. Wroxton were: "Five pounds or move out!" +</P> + +<P> +Sam did not have five pounds. He was a stranger in London; he had lost +his position in New York and that very morning had refused to marry the +girl he loved—Polly Seward, the young woman the Sunday papers called +"The Richest Girl in America." +</P> + +<P> +For any man—for one day—that would seem to be trouble enough; but to +the Sultan of Turkey that day brought troubles far more serious. And, +as his losses were Sam's gain, we must follow the troubles of the +Sultan. Until, with the aid of a green felt hat, the God of +Coincidence turns the misfortunes of the Sultan into a fortune for Sam, +Sam must wait. +</P> + +<P> +From the first days of the peace conference it was evident there was a +leak. The negotiations had been opened under a most solemn oath of +secrecy. As to the progress of the conference, only such information +or misinformation—if the diplomats considered it better—as was +mutually agreed upon by the plenipotentiaries was given to a waiting +world. But each morning, in addition to the official report of the +proceedings of the day previous, one newspaper, the Times, published an +account which differed from that in every other paper, and which +undoubtedly came from the inside. In details it was far more generous +than the official report; it gave names, speeches, arguments; it +described the wordy battles of the diplomats, the concessions, bluffs, +bargains. +</P> + +<P> +After three days the matter became public scandal. At first, the +plenipotentiaries declared the events described in the Times were +invented each evening in the office of the Times; but the proceedings +of the day following showed the public this was not so. +</P> + +<P> +Some one actually present at the conference was telling tales out of +school. These tales were cabled to Belgrade, Sofia, Athens, +Constantinople; and hourly from those capitals the plenipotentiaries +were assailed by advice, abuse, and threats. The whole world began to +take part in their negotiations; from every side they were attacked; +from home by the Young Turks, or the On to Constantinople Party; and +from abroad by peace societies, religious bodies, and chambers of +commerce. Even the armies in the field, instead of waiting for the +result of their deliberations, told them what to do, and that unless +they did it they would better remain in exile. To make matters worse, +in every stock exchange gambling on the news furnished by the Times +threatened the financial peace of Europe. To work under such +conditions of publicity was impossible. The delegates appealed to +their hosts of the British Foreign Office. +</P> + +<P> +Unless the chiel amang them takin' notes was discovered and the leak +stopped, they declared the conference must end. Spurred on by +questions in Parliament, by appeals from the great banking world, by +criticisms not altogether unselfish from the other newspapers, the +Foreign Office surrounded St. James's Palace and the office of the +Times with an army of spies. Every secretary, stenographer, and +attendant at the conference was under surveillance, his past record +looked into, his present comings and goings noted. Even the +plenipotentiaries themselves were watched; and employees of the Times +were secretly urged to sell the government the man who was selling +secrets to them. But those who were willing to be "urged" did not know +the man; those who did know him refused to be bought. +</P> + +<P> +By a process of elimination suspicion finally rested upon one Adolf +Hertz, a young Hungarian scholar who spoke and wrote all the mongrel +languages of the Balkans; who for years, as a copying clerk and +translator, had been employed by the Foreign Office, and who now by it +had been lent to the conference. For the reason that when he lived in +Budapest he was a correspondent of the Times, the police, in seeking +for the leak, centred their attention upon Hertz. But, though every +moment he was watched, and though Hertz knew he was watched, no present +link between him and the Times had been established—and this in spite +of the fact that the hours during which it was necessary to keep him +under closest observation were few. Those were the hours between the +closing of the conference, and midnight, when the provincial edition of +the Times went to press. For the remainder of the day, so far as the +police cared, Hertz could go to the devil! But for those hours, except +when on his return from the conference he locked himself in his +lodgings in Jermyn Street, detectives were always at his elbow. +</P> + +<P> +It was supposed that it was during this brief period when he was locked +in his room that he wrote his report; but how, later, he conveyed it to +the Times no one could discover. In his rooms there was no telephone; +his doors and windows were openly watched; and after leaving his rooms +his movements were—as they always had been—methodical, following a +routine open to observation. His programme was invariably the same. +Each night at seven from his front door he walked west. At Regent +Street he stopped to buy an evening paper from the aged news-vender at +the corner; he then crossed Piccadilly Circus into Coventry Street, +skirted Leicester Square, and at the end of Green Street entered +Pavoni's Italian restaurant. There he took his seat always at the same +table, hung his hat always on the same brass peg, ordered the same +Hungarian wine, and read the same evening paper. He spoke to no one; +no one spoke to him. +</P> + +<P> +When he had finished his coffee and his cigarette he returned to his +lodgings, and there he remained until he rang for breakfast. From the +time at which he left his home until his return to it he spoke to only +two persons—the news-vender to whom he handed a halfpenny; the waiter +who served him the regular table d'hote dinner—between whom and Hertz +nothing passed but three and six for the dinner and sixpence for the +waiter himself. +</P> + +<P> +Each evening, the moment he moved into the street a plain-clothes man +fell into step beside him; another followed at his heels; and from +across the street more plain-clothes men kept their eyes on every one +approaching him in front or from the rear. When he bought his evening +paper six pairs of eyes watched him place a halfpenny in the hand of +the news-vender, and during the entire time of his stay in Pavoni's +every mouthful he ate was noted—every direction he gave the waiter was +overheard. +</P> + +<P> +Of this surveillance Hertz was well aware. To have been ignorant of it +would have argued him blind and imbecile. But he showed no resentment. +With eyes grave and untroubled, he steadily regarded his escort; but +not by the hastening of a footstep or the acceleration of a gesture did +he admit that by his audience he was either distressed or embarrassed. +That was the situation on the morning when the Treaty of London was to +be signed and sealed. +</P> + +<P> +In spite of the publicity given to the conference by the Times, +however, what the terms of the treaty might be no one knew. If +Adrianople were surrendered; if Salonika were given to Greece; if +Servia obtained a right-of-way to the Adriatic—peace was assured; but, +should the Young Turks refuse—should Austria prove obstinate—not only +would the war continue, but the Powers would be involved, and that +greater, more awful war—the war dreaded by all the Christian +world—might turn Europe into a slaughter-house. +</P> + +<P> +Would Turkey and Austria consent and peace ensue? Would they refuse and +war follow? That morning those were the questions on the lips of every +man in London save one. He was Sam Lowell; and he was asking himself +another and more personal question: "How can I find five pounds and +pacify Mrs. Wroxton?" +</P> + +<P> +He had friends in New York who would cable him money to pay his passage +home; but he did not want to go home. He preferred to starve in London +than be vulgarly rich anywhere else. That was not because he loved +London, but because above everything in life he loved Polly Seward—and +Polly Seward was in London. He had begun to love her on class day of +his senior year; and, after his father died and left him with no one +else to care for, every day he had loved her more. +</P> + +<P> +Until a month before he had been in the office of Wetmore & Hastings, a +smart brokers' firm in Wall Street. He had obtained the position not +because he was of any use to Wetmore & Hastings, but because the firm +was the one through which his father had gambled the money that would +otherwise have gone to Sam. In giving Sam a job the firm thought it +was making restitution. Sam thought it was making the punishment fit +the crime; for he knew nothing of the ways of Wall Street, and having +to learn them bored him extremely. He wanted to write stories for the +magazines. He wanted to bind them in a book and dedicate them to +Polly. And in this wish editors humored him—but not so many editors +or with such enthusiasm as to warrant his turning his back on Wall +Street. +</P> + +<P> +That he did later when, after a tour of the world that had begun from +the San Francisco side, Polly Seward and her mother and Senator Seward +reached Naples. There Senator Seward bought old Italian furniture for +his office on the twenty-fifth floor of the perfectly new Seward +building. Mrs. Seward tried to buy for Polly a prince nearly as old as +the furniture, and Polly bought picture post-cards which she sent to +Sam. +</P> + +<P> +Polly had been absent six months, and Sam's endurance had been so timed +as just to last out the half-year. It was not guaranteed to withstand +any change of schedule, and the two months' delay in Italy broke his +heart. It could not run overtime on a starvation diet of post-cards; +so when he received a cable reading, "Address London, Claridge's," his +heart told him it could no longer wait—and he resigned his position +and sailed. +</P> + +<P> +On her trip round the world Polly had learned many things. She was +observant, alert, intent on asking questions, hungering for facts. And +a charming young woman who seeks facts rather than attention will never +lack either. But of all the facts Polly collected, the one of +surpassing interest, and which gave her the greatest happiness, was +that she could not live without Sam Lowell. She had suspected this, +and it was partly to make sure that she had consented to the trip round +the world. Now that she had made sure, she could not too soon make up +for the days lost. Sam had spent his money, and he either must return +to New York and earn more or remain near Polly and starve. It was an +embarrassing choice. Polly herself made the choice even more difficult. +</P> + +<P> +One morning when they walked in St. James's Park to feed the ducks she +said to him: +</P> + +<P> +"Sam, when are we to be married?" +</P> + +<P> +When for three years a man has been begging a girl to marry him, and +she consents at the exact moment when, without capitulation to all that +he holds honorable, he cannot marry anybody, his position deserves +sympathy. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear one," exclaimed the unhappy youth, "you make me the most +miserable of men! I can't marry! I'm in an awful place! If I married +you now I'd be a crook! It isn't a question of love in a cottage, with +bread and cheese. If cottages were renting for a dollar a year I +couldn't rent one for ten minutes. I haven't cheese enough to bait a +mouse-trap. It's terrible! But we have got to wait." +</P> + +<P> +"Wait!" cried Polly. "I thought you had been waiting! Have I been away +too long? Do you love some one else?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be ridiculous!" said Sam crossly. "Look at me," he commanded, +"and tell me whom I love!" +</P> + +<P> +Polly did not take time to look. +</P> + +<P> +"But I," she protested, "have so much money!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's not your money," explained Sam. "It's your mother's money or +your father's, and both of them dislike me. They even have told me so. +Your mother wants you to marry that Italian; and your father, having +half the money in America, naturally wants to marry you to the other +half. If I were selfish and married you I'd be all the things they +think I am." +</P> + +<P> +"You are selfish!" cried Polly. "You're thinking of yourself and of +what people will say, instead of how to make me happy. What's the use +of money if you can't buy what you want?" +</P> + +<P> +"Are you suggesting you can buy me?" demanded Sam. +</P> + +<P> +"Surely," said Polly—"if I can't get you any other way. And you may +name your own price, too." +</P> + +<P> +"When I am making enough to support myself without sponging on you," +explained Sam, "you can have as many millions as you like; but I must +first make enough to keep me alive. A man who can't do that isn't fit +to marry." +</P> + +<P> +"How much," demanded Polly, "do you need to keep you alive? Maybe I +could lend it to you." +</P> + +<P> +Sam was entirely serious. +</P> + +<P> +"Three thousand a year," he said. +</P> + +<P> +Polly exclaimed indignantly. +</P> + +<P> +"I call that extremely extravagant!" she cried. "If we wait until you +earn three thousand a year we may be dead. Do you expect to earn that +writing stories?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can try," said Sam—"or I will rob a bank." +</P> + +<P> +Polly smiled upon him appealingly. +</P> + +<P> +"You know how I love your stories," she said, "and I wouldn't hurt your +feelings for the world; but, Sam dear, I think you had better rob a +bank!" +</P> + +<P> +Addressing an imaginary audience, supposedly of men, Sam exclaimed: +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't that just like a woman? She wouldn't care," he protested, "how I +got the money!" +</P> + +<P> +Polly smiled cheerfully. +</P> + +<P> +"Not if I got you!" she said. In extenuation, also, she addressed an +imaginary audience, presumably of women. "That's how I love him!" she +exclaimed. "And he asks me to wait! Isn't that just like a man? +Seriously," she went on, "if we just go ahead and get married father +would have to help us. He'd make you a vice-president or something." +</P> + +<P> +At this suggestion Sam expressed his extreme displeasure. +</P> + +<P> +"The last time I talked to your father," he said, "I was in a position +to marry, and I told him I wanted to marry you. What he said to that +was: 'Don't be an ass!' Then I told him he was unintelligent—and I +told him why. First, because he could not see that a man might want to +marry his daughter in spite of her money; and second, because he +couldn't see that her money wouldn't make up to a man for having him +for a father-in-law." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you have to tell him that?" asked Polly. +</P> + +<P> +"Some one had to tell him," said Sam gloomily. "Anyway, as a source of +revenue father is eliminated. I have still one chance in London. If +that fails I must go home. I've been promised a job in New York +reporting for a Wall Street paper—and I'll write stories on the side. +I've cabled for money, and if the London job falls through I shall sail +Wednesday." +</P> + +<P> +"Wednesday!" cried Polly. "When you say things like 'Wednesday' you +make the world so dark! You must stay here! It has been such a long six +months; and before you earn three thousand dollars I shall be an old, +old maid. But if you get work here we could see each other every day." +</P> + +<P> +They were in the Sewards' sitting-room at Claridge's. Sam took up the +desk telephone. +</P> + +<P> +"In London," he said, "my one best and only bet is a man named +Forsythe, who helps edit the Pall Mall. I'll telephone him now. If he +can promise me even a shilling a day I'll stay on and starve—but I'll +be near you. If Forsythe fails me I shall sail Wednesday." +</P> + +<P> +The telephone call found Forsythe at the Pall Mall office. He would be +charmed to advise Mr. Lowell on a matter of business. Would he that +night dine with Mr. Lowell? He would. And might he suggest that they +dine at Pavoni's? He had a special reason for going there, and the +dinner would cost only three and six. +</P> + +<P> +"That's reason enough!" Sam told him. +</P> + +<P> +"And don't forget," said Polly when, for the fifth time, Sam rose to +go, "that after your dinner you are to look for me at the Duchess of +Deptford's dance. I asked her for a card and you will find it at your +lodgings. Everybody will be there; but it is a big place-full of dark +corners where we can hide." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't hide until I arrive," said Sam. "I shall be very late, as I +shall have to walk. After I pay for Forsythe's dinner and for white +gloves for your dance I shall not be in a position to hire a taxi. But +maybe I shall bring good news. Maybe Forsythe will give me the job. +If he does we will celebrate in champagne." +</P> + +<P> +"You will let me at least pay for the champagne?" begged Polly. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Sam firmly—"the duchess will furnish that." +</P> + +<P> +When Sam reached his lodgings in Russell Square, which he approached +with considerable trepidation, he found Mrs. Wroxton awaiting him. But +her attitude no longer was hostile. On the contrary, as she handed him +a large, square envelope, decorated with the strawberry leaves of a +duke, her manner was humble. +</P> + +<P> +Sam opened the envelope and, with apparent carelessness, stuck it over +the fireplace. +</P> + +<P> +"About that back rent," he said; "I have cabled for money, and as +soon—" +</P> + +<P> +"I know," said Mrs. Wroxton. "I read the cable." She was reading the +card of invitation also. "There's no hurry, sir," protested Mrs. +Wroxton. "Any of my young gentlemen who is made welcome at Deptford +House is made welcome here!" +</P> + +<P> +"Credit, Mrs. Wroxton," observed Sam, "is better than cash. If you +have only cash you spend it and nothing remains. But with credit you +can continue indefinitely to-to-" +</P> + +<P> +"So you can!" exclaimed Mrs. Wroxton enthusiastically. "Stay as long +as you like, Mr. Lowell." +</P> + +<P> +At Pavoni's Sam found Forsythe already seated and, with evident +interest, observing the scene of gayety before him. The place was new +to Sam, and after the darkness and snow of the streets it appeared both +cheerful and resplendent. It was brilliantly lighted; a ceiling of gay +panels picked out with gold, and red plush sofas, backed against walls +hung with mirrors and faced by rows of marble-topped tables, gave it an +air of the Continent. +</P> + +<P> +Sam surrendered his hat and coat to the waiter. The hat was a soft +Alpine one of green felt. The waiter hung it where Sam could see it, +on one of many hooks that encircled a gilded pillar. +</P> + +<P> +After two courses had been served Forsythe said: +</P> + +<P> +"I hope you don't object to this place. I had a special reason for +wishing to be here on this particular night. I wanted to be in at the +death!" +</P> + +<P> +"Whose death?" asked Sam. "Is the dinner as bad as that?" +</P> + +<P> +Forsythe leaned back against the mirror behind them and, bringing his +shoulder close to Sam's, spoke in a whisper. +</P> + +<P> +"As you know," he said, "to-day the delegates sign the Treaty of +London. It still must receive the signatures of the Sultan and the +three kings; and they will sign it. But until they do, what the terms +of the treaty are no one can find out." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll bet the Times finds out!" said Sam. +</P> + +<P> +"That's it!" returned Forsythe. "Hertz, the man who is supposed to be +selling the secrets of the conference to the Times, dines here. +To-night is his last chance. If to-night he can slip the Times a copy +of the Treaty of London without being caught, and the Times has the +courage to publish it, it will be the biggest newspaper sensation of +modern times; and it will either cause a financial panic all over +Europe—or prevent one. The man they suspect is facing us. Don't look +now, but in a minute you will see him sitting alone at a table on the +right of the middle pillar. The people at the tables nearest him—even +the women—are detectives. His waiter is in the employ of Scotland +Yard. The maitre d'hotel, whom you will see always hovering round his +table, is a police agent lent by Bulgaria. For the Allies are even +more anxious to stop the leak than we are. We are interested only as +their hosts; with them it is a matter of national life or death. A +week ago one of our own inspectors tipped me off to what is going on, +and every night since then I've dined here, hoping to see something +suspicious." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you?" asked Sam. +</P> + +<P> +"Only this," whispered Forsythe—"on four different nights I've +recognized men I know are on the staff of the Times, and on the other +nights men I don't know may have been here. But after all that proves +nothing, for this place is a resort of newspaper writers and +editors—and the Times men's being here may have been only a +coincidence." +</P> + +<P> +"And Hertz?" asked Sam—"what does he do?" +</P> + +<P> +The Englishman exclaimed with irritation. +</P> + +<P> +"Just what you see him doing now!" he protested. "He eats his dinner! +Look at him!" he commanded. "Of all in the room he's the least +concerned." +</P> + +<P> +Sam looked and saw the suspected Adolf Hertz dangling a mass of +macaroni on the end of his fork. Sam watched him until it disappeared. +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe that's a signal!" suggested Sam. "Maybe everything he does is +part of a cipher code! He gives the signals and the Times men read them +and write them down." +</P> + +<P> +"A man would have a fine chance to write anything down in this room!" +said Forsythe. +</P> + +<P> +"But maybe," persisted Sam, "when he makes those strange movements with +his lips he is talking to a confederate who can read the lip language. +The confederate writes it down at the office and—" +</P> + +<P> +"Fantastic and extremely improbable!" commented Forsythe. "But, +nevertheless, the fact remains, the fellow does communicate with some +one from the Times; and the police are positive he does it here and +that he is doing it now!" +</P> + +<P> +The problem that so greatly disturbed his friend would have more deeply +interested Sam had the solving of his own trouble been less imperative. +That alone filled his mind. And when the coffee was served and the +cigars lit, without beating about the bush Sam asked Forsythe bluntly +if on his paper a rising and impecunious genius could find a place. +With even less beating about the bush Forsythe assured him he could +not. The answer was final, and the disappointment was so keen that Sam +soon begged his friend to excuse him, paid his bill, and rose to depart. +</P> + +<P> +"Better wait!" urged Forsythe. "You'll find nothing so good out at a +music-hall. This is Houdini getting out of his handcuffs before an +audience entirely composed of policemen." +</P> + +<P> +Sam shook his head gloomily. +</P> + +<P> +"I have a few handcuffs of my own to get rid of," he said, "and it +makes me poor company." +</P> + +<P> +He bade his friend good night and, picking his way among the tables, +moved toward the pillar on which the waiter had hung his hat. The +pillar was the one beside which Hertz was sitting, and as Sam +approached the man he satisfied his curiosity by a long look. Under +the glance Hertz lowered his eyes and fixed them upon his newspaper. +Sam retrieved his hat and left the restaurant. +</P> + +<P> +His mind immediately was overcast. He remembered his disappointment +and that the parting between himself and Polly was now inevitable. +Without considering his direction he turned toward Charing Cross Road. +But he was not long allowed to meditate undisturbed. +</P> + +<P> +He had only crossed the little street that runs beside the restaurant +and passed into the shadow of the National Gallery when, at the base of +the Irving Memorial, from each side he was fiercely attacked. A young +man of eminently respectable appearance kicked his legs from under him, +and another of equally impeccable exterior made an honest effort to +knock off his head. +</P> + +<P> +Sam plunged heavily to the sidewalk. As he sprawled forward his hat +fell under him and in his struggle to rise was hidden by the skirts of +his greatcoat. That, also, he had fallen heavily upon his hat with +both knees Sam did not know. The strange actions of his assailants +enlightened him. To his surprise, instead of continuing their assault +or attempting a raid upon his pockets, he found them engaged solely in +tugging at the hat. And so preoccupied were they in this that, though +still on his knees, Sam was able to land some lusty blows before a rush +of feet caused the young men to leap to their own and, pursued by +several burly forms, disappear in the heart of the traffic. +</P> + +<P> +Sam rose and stood unsteadily. He found himself surrounded by all of +those who but a moment before he had left contentedly dining at +Pavoni's. In an excited circle waiters and patrons of the restaurant, +both men and women, stood in the falling snow, bareheaded, coatless, +and cloakless, staring at him. Forsythe pushed them aside and took Sam +by the arm. +</P> + +<P> +"What happened?" demanded Sam. +</P> + +<P> +"You ought to know," protested Forsythe. "You started it! The moment +you left the restaurant two men grabbed their hats and jumped after +you; a dozen other men, without waiting for hats, jumped after them. +The rest of us got out just as the two men and the detectives dived +into the traffic." +</P> + +<P> +A big man, with an air of authority, drew Sam to one side. +</P> + +<P> +"Did they take anything from you, sir?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I've nothing they could take," said Sam. "And they didn't try to find +out. They just knocked me down." +</P> + +<P> +Forsythe turned to the big man. +</P> + +<P> +"This gentleman is a friend of mine, inspector," he said. "He is a +stranger in town and was at Pavoni's only by accident." +</P> + +<P> +"We might need his testimony," suggested the official. +</P> + +<P> +Sam gave his card to the inspector and then sought refuge in a taxicab. +For the second time he bade his friend good night. +</P> + +<P> +"And when next we dine," he called to him in parting, "choose a +restaurant where the detective service is quicker!" +</P> + +<P> +Three hours later, brushed and repaired by Mrs. Wroxton, and again +resplendent, Sam sat in a secluded corner of Deptford House and bade +Polly a long farewell. It was especially long, owing to the unusual +number of interruptions; for it was evident that Polly had many friends +in London, and that not to know the Richest One in America and her +absurd mother, and the pompous, self-satisfied father, argued oneself +nobody. But finally the duchess carried Polly off to sup with her; and +as the duchess did not include Sam in her invitation—at least not in +such a way that any one could notice it— Sam said good-night—but not +before he had arranged a meeting with Polly for eleven that same +morning. If it was clear, the meeting was to be at the duck pond in +St. James's Park; if it snowed, at the National Gallery in front of the +"Age of Innocence." +</P> + +<P> +After robbing the duchess of three suppers, Sam descended to the hall +and from an attendant received his coat and hat, which latter the +attendant offered him with the inside of the hat showing. Sam saw in +it the trademark of a foreign maker. +</P> + +<P> +"That's not my hat," said Sam. +</P> + +<P> +The man expressed polite disbelief. +</P> + +<P> +"I found it rolled up in the pocket of your greatcoat, sir," he +protested. +</P> + +<P> +The words reminded Sam that on arriving at Deptford House he had +twisted the hat into a roll and stuffed it into his overcoat pocket. +</P> + +<P> +"Quite right," said Sam. But it was not his hat; and with some hope of +still recovering his property he made way for other departing guests +and at one side waited. +</P> + +<P> +For some clew to the person he believed was now wearing his hat, Sam +examined the one in his hand. Just showing above the inside band was +something white. Thinking it might be the card of the owner, Sam +removed it. It was not a card, but a long sheet of thin paper, covered +with typewriting, and many times folded. Sam read the opening +paragraph. Then he backed suddenly toward a great chair of gold and +velvet, and fell into it. +</P> + +<P> +He was conscious the attendants in pink stockings were regarding him +askance; that, as they waited in the drafty hall for cars and taxis, +the noble lords in stars and ribbons, the noble ladies in tiaras and +showing much-fur-lined galoshes, were discussing his strange +appearance. They might well believe the youth was ill; they might +easily have considered him intoxicated. Outside rose the voices of +servants and police calling the carriages. Inside other servants +echoed them. +</P> + +<P> +"The Duchess of Sutherland's car!" they chanted. "Mrs. Trevor Hill's +carriage! The French ambassador's carriage! Baron Haussmann's car!" +</P> + +<P> +Like one emerging from a trance, Sam sprang upright. A little fat man, +with mild blue eyes and curly red hair, was shyly and with murmured +apologies pushing toward the exit. Before he gained it Sam had +wriggled a way to his elbow. +</P> + +<P> +"Baron Haussmann!" he stammered. "I must speak to you. It's a matter +of gravest importance. Send away your car," he begged, "and give me +five minutes." +</P> + +<P> +The eyes of the little fat man opened wide in surprise, almost in +alarm. He stared at Sam reprovingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Impossible!" he murmured. "I—I do not know you." +</P> + +<P> +"This is a letter of introduction," said Sam. Into the unwilling +fingers of the banker he thrust the folded paper. Bending over him, he +whispered in his ear. "That," said Sam, "is the Treaty of London!" +</P> + +<P> +The alarm of Baron Haussmann increased to a panic. +</P> + +<P> +"Impossible!" he gasped. And, with reproach, he repeated: "I do not +know you, sir! I do not know you!" +</P> + +<P> +At that moment, towering above the crush, appeared the tall figure of +Senator Seward. The rich man of the New World and the rich man of +Europe knew each other only by sight. But, upon seeing Sam in earnest +converse with the great banker, the senator believed that without +appearing to seek it he might through Sam effect a meeting. With a +hearty slap on the shoulder he greeted his fellow countryman. +</P> + +<P> +"Halloo, Sam!" he cried genially. "You walking home with me?" +</P> + +<P> +Sam did not even turn his head. +</P> + +<P> +"No!" he snapped. "I'm busy. Go 'way!" +</P> + +<P> +Crimson, the senator disappeared. Baron Haussmann regarded the young +stranger with amazed interest. +</P> + +<P> +"You know him!" he protested. "He called you Sam!" +</P> + +<P> +"Know him?" cried Sam impatiently. "I've got to know him! He's going +to be my father-in-law." +</P> + +<P> +The fingers of the rich man clutched the folded paper as the claws of a +parrot cling to the bars of his cage. He let his sable coat slip into +the hands of a servant; he turned back toward the marble staircase. +</P> + +<P> +"Come!" he commanded. +</P> + +<P> +Sam led him to the secluded corner Polly and he had left vacant and +told his story. +</P> + +<P> +"So, it is evident," concluded Sam, "that each night some one in the +service of the Times dined at Pavoni's, and that his hat was the same +sort of hat as the one worn by Hertz; and each night, inside the lining +of his hat, Hertz hid the report of that day's proceedings. And when +the Times man left the restaurant he exchanged hats with Hertz. But +to-night—I got Hertz's hat and with it the treaty!" +</P> + +<P> +In perplexity the blue eyes of the little great man frowned. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a remarkable story," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean you don't believe me!" retorted Sam. "If I had financial +standing—if I had credit—if I were not a stranger—you would not +hesitate." +</P> + +<P> +Baron Haussmann neither agreed nor contradicted. He made a polite and +deprecatory gesture. Still in doubt, he stared at the piece of white +paper. Still deep in thought, he twisted and creased between his +fingers the Treaty of London! +</P> + +<P> +Returning with the duchess from supper, Polly caught sight of Sam and, +with a happy laugh, ran toward him. Seeing he was not alone, she +halted and waved her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't forget!" she called. "At eleven!" +</P> + +<P> +She made a sweet and lovely picture. Sam rose and bowed. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll be there at ten," he answered. +</P> + +<P> +With his mild blue eyes the baron followed Polly until she had +disappeared. Then he turned and smiled at Sam. +</P> + +<P> +"Permit me," he said, "to offer you my felicitations. Your young lady +is very beautiful and very good." Sam bowed his head. "If she trusts +you," murmured the baron, "I think I can trust you too." +</P> + +<P> +"How wonderful is credit!" exclaimed Sam. "I was just saying so to my +landlady. If you have only cash you spend it and nothing remains. But +with credit you can—" +</P> + +<P> +"How much," interrupted the banker, "do you want for this?" +</P> + +<P> +Sam returned briskly to the business of the moment. +</P> + +<P> +"To be your partner," he said—"to get half of what you make out of it." +</P> + +<P> +The astonished eyes of the baron were large with wonder. Again he +reproved Sam. +</P> + +<P> +"What I shall make out of it?" he demanded incredulously. "Do you know +how much I shall make out of it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot even guess," said Sam; "but I want half." +</P> + +<P> +The baron smiled tolerantly. +</P> + +<P> +"And how," he asked, "could you possibly know what I give you is really +half?" +</P> + +<P> +In his turn, Sam made a deprecatory gesture. +</P> + +<P> +"Your credit," said Sam, "is good!" +</P> + +<P> +That morning, after the walk in St. James's Park, when Sam returned +with Polly to Claridge's, they encountered her father in the hall. +Mindful of the affront of the night before, he greeted Sam only with a +scowl. +</P> + +<P> +"Senator," cried Sam happily, "you must be the first to hear the news! +Polly and I are going into partnership. We are to be married." +</P> + +<P> +This time Senator Seward did not trouble himself even to tell Sam he +was an ass. He merely grinned cynically. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that all your news?" he demanded with sarcasm. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Sam—"I am going into partnership with Baron Haussmann too!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="treasure"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE BURIED TREASURE OF COBRE +</H2> + +<BR> + +<P> +Young Everett at last was a minister plenipotentiary. In London as +third secretary he had splashed around in the rain to find the +ambassador's carriage. In Rome as a second secretary he had served as +a clearing-house for the Embassy's visiting-cards; and in Madrid as +first secretary he had acted as interpreter for a minister who, though +valuable as a national chairman, had much to learn of even his own +language. But although surrounded by all the wonders and delights of +Europe, although he walked, talked, wined, and dined with statesmen and +court beauties, Everett was not happy. He was never his own master. +Always he answered the button pressed by the man higher up. Always +over him loomed his chief; always, for his diligence and zeal, his +chief received credit. +</P> + +<P> +As His Majesty's naval attache put it sympathetically, "Better be a +top-side man on a sampan than First Luff on the Dreadnought. Don't be +another man's right hand. Be your own right hand." Accordingly when +the State Department offered to make him minister to the Republic of +Amapala, Everett gladly deserted the flesh-pots of Europe, and, on +mule-back over trails in the living rock, through mountain torrents +that had never known the shadow of a bridge, through swamp and jungle, +rode sunburnt and saddle-sore into his inheritance. +</P> + +<P> +When giving him his farewell instructions, the Secretary of State had +not attempted to deceive him. +</P> + +<P> +"Of all the smaller republics of Central America," he frankly told him, +"Amapala is the least desirable, least civilized, least acceptable. It +offers an ambitious young diplomat no chance. But once a minister, +always a minister. Having lifted you out of the secretary class we +can't demote you. Your days of deciphering cablegrams are over, and if +you don't die of fever, of boredom, or brandy, call us up in a year or +two and we will see what we can do." +</P> + +<P> +Everett regarded the Secretary blankly. +</P> + +<P> +"Has the department no interest in Amapala?" he begged. "Is there +nothing you want there?" +</P> + +<P> +"There is one thing we very much want," returned the Secretary, "but we +can't get it. We want a treaty to extradite criminals." +</P> + +<P> +The young minister laughed confidently. +</P> + +<P> +"Why!" he exclaimed, "that should be easy." +</P> + +<P> +The Secretary smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"You have our full permission to get it," he said. "This department," +he explained, "under three administrations has instructed four +ministers to arrange such a treaty. The Bankers' Association wants it; +the Merchants' Protective Alliance wants it. Amapala is the only place +within striking distance of our country where a fugitive is safe. It is +the only place where a dishonest cashier, swindler, or felon can find +refuge. Sometimes it seems almost as though when a man planned a crime +he timed it exactly so as to catch the boat for Amapala. And, once +there, we can't lay our hands on him; and, what's more, we can't lay +our hands on the money he takes with him. I have no right to make a +promise," said the great man, "but the day that treaty is signed you +can sail for a legation in Europe. Do I make myself clear?" +</P> + +<P> +"So clear, sir," cried Everett, laughing, "that if I don't arrange that +treaty I will remain in Amapala until I do." +</P> + +<P> +"Four of your predecessors," remarked the Secretary, "made exactly the +same promise, but none of them got us the treaty." +</P> + +<P> +"Probably none of them remained in Amapala, either," retorted Everett. +</P> + +<P> +"Two did," corrected the Secretary; "as you ride into Camaguay you see +their tombstones." +</P> + +<P> +Everett found the nine-day mule-ride from the coast to the capital +arduous, but full of interest. After a week at his post he appreciated +that until he left it and made the return journey nothing of equal +interest was again likely to occur. For life in Camaguay, the capital +of Amapala, proved to be one long, dreamless slumber. In the morning +each of the inhabitants engaged in a struggle to get awake; after the +second breakfast he ceased struggling, and for a siesta sank into his +hammock. After dinner, at nine o'clock, he was prepared to sleep in +earnest, and went to bed. The official life as explained to Everett by +Garland, the American consul, was equally monotonous. When President +Mendoza was not in the mountains deer-hunting, or suppressing a +revolution, each Sunday he invited the American minister to dine at the +palace. In return His Excellency expected once a week to be invited to +breakfast with the minister. He preferred that the activities of that +gentleman should go no further. Life in the diplomatic circle was even +less strenuous. Everett was the doyen of the diplomatic corps because +he was the only diplomat. All other countries were represented by +consuls who were commission merchants and shopkeepers. They were +delighted at having among them a minister plenipotentiary. When he +took pity on them and invited them to tea, which invitations he +delivered in person to each consul at the door of each shop, the entire +diplomatic corps, as the consuls were pleased to describe themselves, +put up the shutters, put on their official full-dress uniforms and +arrived in a body. +</P> + +<P> +The first week at his post Everett spent in reading the archives of the +legation. They were most discouraging. He found that for the sixteen +years prior to his arrival the only events reported to the department +by his predecessors were revolutions and the refusals of successive +presidents to consent to a treaty of extradition. On that point all +Amapalans were in accord. Though overnight the government changed +hands, though presidents gave way to dictators, and dictators to +military governors, the national policy of Amapala continued to be "No +extradition!" The ill success of those who had preceded him appalled +Everett. He had promised himself by a brilliant assault to secure the +treaty and claim the legation in Europe. But the record of sixteen +years of failure caused him to alter his strategy. Instead of an +attack he prepared for a siege. He unpacked his books, placed the +portrait of his own President over the office desk, and proceeded to +make friends with his fellow exiles. +</P> + +<P> +Of the foreign colony in Camaguay some fifty were Americans, and from +the rest of the world they were as hopelessly separated as the crew of +a light-ship. From the Pacific they were cut off by the Cordilleras, +from the Caribbean by a nine-day mule-ride. To the north and south, +jungle, forests, swamp-lands, and mountains hemmed them in. +</P> + +<P> +Of the fifty Americans, one-half were constantly on the trail; riding +to the coast to visit their plantations, or into the mountains to +inspect their mines. When Everett arrived, of those absent the two +most important were Chester Ward and Colonel Goddard. Indeed, so +important were these gentlemen that Everett was made to understand +that, until they approved, his recognition as the American minister was +in a manner temporary. +</P> + +<P> +Chester Ward, or "Chet," as the exiles referred to him, was one of the +richest men in Amapala, and was engaged in exploring the ruins of the +lost city of Cobre, which was a one-hour ride from the capital. Ward +possessed the exclusive right to excavate that buried city and had held +it against all comers. The offers of American universities, of +archaeological and geographical societies that also wished to dig up +the ancient city and decipher the hieroglyphs on her walls, were met +with a curt rebuff. That work, the government of Amapala would reply, +was in the trained hands of Senor Chester Ward. In his chosen effort +the government would not disturb him, nor would it permit others coming +in at the eleventh hour to rob him of his glory. This Everett learned +from the consul, Garland. +</P> + +<P> +"Ward and Colonel Goddard," the consul explained, "are two of five +countrymen of ours who run the American colony, and, some say, run the +government. The others are Mellen, who has the asphalt monopoly; +Jackson, who is building the railroads, and Major Feiberger, of the San +Jose silver-mines. They hold monopolies and pay President Mendoza ten +per cent of the earnings, and, on the side, help him run the country. +Of the five, the Amapalans love Goddard best, because he's not trying +to rob them. Instead, he wants to boost Amapala. His ideas are +perfectly impracticable, but he doesn't know that, and neither do they. +He's a kind of Colonel Mulberry Sellers and a Southerner. Not the +professional sort, that fight elevator-boys because they're colored, +and let off rebel yells in rathskellers when a Hungarian band plays +'Dixie,' but the sort you read about and so seldom see. He was once +State Treasurer of Alabama." +</P> + +<P> +"What's he doing down here?" asked the minister. +</P> + +<P> +"Never the same thing two months together," the consul told him; +"railroads, mines, rubber. He says all Amapala needs is developing." +</P> + +<P> +As men who can see a joke even when it is against themselves, the two +exiles smiled ruefully. +</P> + +<P> +"That's all it needs," said Everett. +</P> + +<P> +For a moment the consul regarded him thoughtfully. +</P> + +<P> +"I might as well tell you," he said, "you'll learn it soon enough +anyway, that the men who will keep you from getting your treaty are +these five, especially old man Goddard and Ward." +</P> + +<P> +Everett exclaimed indignantly: +</P> + +<P> +"Why should they interfere?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because," explained the consul, "they are fugitives from justice, and +they don't want to go home. Ward is wanted for forgery or some polite +crime, I don't know which. And Colonel Goddard for appropriating the +State funds of Alabama. Ward knew what he was doing and made a lot out +of it. He's still rich. No one's weeping over him. Goddard's case is +different. He was imposed on and made a catspaw. When he was State +treasurer the men who appointed him came to him one night and said they +must have some of the State's funds to show a bank examiner in the +morning. They appealed to him on the ground of friendship, as the men +who'd given him his job. They would return the money the next evening. +Goddard believed they would. They didn't, and when some one called for +a show-down the colonel was shy about fifty thousand dollars of the +State's money. He lost his head, took the boat out of Mobile to Porto +Cortez, and hid here. He's been here twenty years and all the +Amapalans love him. He's the adopted father of their country. They're +so afraid he'll be taken back and punished that they'll never consent +to an extradition treaty even if the other Americans, Mellen, Jackson, +and Feiberger, weren't paying them big money not to consent. President +Mendoza himself told me that as long as Colonel Goddard honored his +country by remaining in it, he was his guest, and he would never agree +to extradition. 'I could as soon,' he said, 'sign his death-warrant.'" +</P> + +<P> +Everett grinned dismally. +</P> + +<P> +"That's rather nice of them," he said, "but it's hard on me. But," he +demanded, "why Ward? What has he done for Amapala? Is it because of +Cobre, because of his services as an archaeologist?" +</P> + +<P> +The consul glanced around the patio and dragged his chair nearer to +Everett. +</P> + +<P> +"This is my own dope," he whispered; "it may be wrong. Anyway, it's +only for your private information." +</P> + +<P> +He waited until, with a smile, Everett agreed to secrecy. +</P> + +<P> +"Chet Ward," protested the consul, "is no more an archaeologist than I +am! He talks well about Cobre, and he ought to, because every word he +speaks is cribbed straight from Hauptmann's monograph, published in +1855. And he has dug up something at Cobre; something worth a darned +sight more than stone monkeys and carved altars. But his explorations +are a bluff. They're a blind to cover up what he's really after; what +I think he's found!" +</P> + +<P> +As though wishing to be urged, the young man paused, and Everett nodded +for him to continue. He was wondering whether life in Amapala might +not turn out to be more interesting than at first it had appeared, or +whether Garland was not a most charming liar. +</P> + +<P> +"Ward visits the ruins every month," continued Garland. "But he takes +with him only two mule-drivers to cook and look after the pack-train, +and he doesn't let even the drivers inside the ruins. He remains at +Cobre three or four days and, to make a show, fills his saddle-bags +with broken tiles and copper ornaments. He turns them over to the +government, and it dumps them in the back yard of the palace. You +can't persuade me that he holds his concession with that junk. He's +found something else at Cobre and he shares it with Mendoza, and I +believe it's gold." +</P> + +<P> +The minister smiled delightedly. +</P> + +<P> +"What kind of gold? +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe in the rough," said the consul. "But I prefer to think it's +treasure. The place is full of secret chambers, tombs, and +passage-ways cut through the rock, deep under the surface. I believe +Ward has stumbled on some vault where the priests used to hide their +loot. I believe he's getting it out bit by bit and going shares with +Mendoza." +</P> + +<P> +"If that were so," ventured Everett, "why wouldn't Mendoza take it all?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because Ward," explained the consul, "is the only one who knows where +it is. The ruins cover two square miles. You might search for years. +They tried to follow and spy on him, but Ward was too clever for them. +He turned back at once. If they don't take what he gives, they get +nothing. So they protect him from real explorers and from extradition. +The whole thing is unfair. A real archaeologist turned up here a month +ago. He had letters from the Smithsonian Institute and several big +officials at Washington, but do you suppose they would let him so much +as smell of Cobre? Not they! Not even when I spoke for him as consul. +Then he appealed to Ward, and Ward turned him down hard. You were +arriving, so he's hung on here hoping you may have more influence. His +name is Peabody; he's a professor, but he's young and full of 'get +there,' and he knows more about the ruins of Cobre now than Ward does +after having them all to himself for two years. He's good people and I +hope you'll help him." +</P> + +<P> +Everett shook his head doubtfully. +</P> + +<P> +"If the government has given the concession to him," he pointed out, +"no matter who Ward may be, or what its motives were for giving it to +him, I can't ask it to break its promise. As an American citizen Ward +is as much entitled to my help—officially—as Professor Peabody, +whatever his standing." +</P> + +<P> +"Ward's a forger," protested Garland, "a fugitive from justice; and +Peabody is a scholar and a gentleman. I'm not keen about dead cities +myself—this one we're in now is dead enough for me—but if +civilization is demanding to know what Cobre was like eight hundred +years ago, civilization is entitled to find out, and Peabody seems the +man for the job. It's a shame to turn him down for a gang of grafters." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him to come and talk to me," said the minister. +</P> + +<P> +"He rode over to the ruins of Copan last week," explained Garland, +"where the Harvard expedition is. But he's coming back to-morrow on +purpose to see you." +</P> + +<P> +The consul had started toward the door when he suddenly returned. +</P> + +<P> +"And there's some one else coming to see you," he said. "Some one," he +added anxiously, "you want to treat right. That's Monica Ward. She's +Chester Ward's sister, and you mustn't get her mixed up with anything I +told you about her brother. She's coming to ask you to help start a +Red Cross Society. She was a volunteer nurse in the hospital in the +last two revolutions, and what she saw makes her want to be sure she +won't see it again. She's taught the native ladies the 'first aid' +drill, and they expect you to be honorary president of the society. +You'd better accept." +</P> + +<P> +Shaking his head, Garland smiled pityingly upon the new minister. +</P> + +<P> +"You've got a swell chance to get your treaty," he declared. "Monica is +another one who will prevent it." +</P> + +<P> +Everett sighed patiently. +</P> + +<P> +"What," he demanded, "might her particular crime be; murder, +shoplifting, treason—" +</P> + +<P> +"If her brother had to leave this country," interrupted Garland, "she'd +leave with him. And the people don't want that. Her pull is the same +as old man Goddard's. Everybody loves him and everybody loves her. I +love her," exclaimed the consul cheerfully; "the President loves her, +the sisters in the hospital, the chain-gang in the street, the +washerwomen in the river, the palace guard, everybody in this +flea-bitten, God-forsaken country loves Monica Ward—and when you meet +her you will, too." +</P> + +<P> +Garland had again reached the door to the outer hall before Everett +called him back. +</P> + +<P> +"If it is not a leading question," asked the minister, "what little +indiscretion in your life brought you to Amapala?" +</P> + +<P> +Garland grinned appreciatively. +</P> + +<P> +"I know they sound a queer lot," he assented, "but when you get to know +'em, you like 'em. My own trouble," he added, "was a horse. I never +could see why they made such a fuss about him. He was lame when I took +him." +</P> + +<P> +Disregarding Garland's pleasantry, for some time His Excellency sat +with his hands clasped behind his head, frowning up from the open patio +into the hot, cloudless sky. On the ridge of his tiled roof a foul +buzzard blinked at him from red-rimmed eyes, across the yellow wall a +lizard ran for shelter, at his elbow a macaw compassing the circle of +its tin prison muttered dreadful oaths. Outside, as the washerwomen +beat their linen clubs upon the flat rocks of the river, the hot, stale +air was spanked with sharp reports. In Camaguay theirs was the only +industry, the only sign of cleanliness; and recognizing that another +shirt had been thrashed into subjection and rags, Everett winced. No +less visibly did his own thoughts cause him to wince. Garland he had +forgotten, and he was sunk deep in self-pity. His thoughts were of +London, with its world politics, its splendid traditions, its great and +gracious ladies; of Paris in the spring sunshine, when he cantered +through the Bois; of Madrid, with its pomp and royalty, and the gray +walls of its galleries proclaiming Murillo and Velasquez. These things +he had forsaken because he believed he was ambitious; and behold into +what a cul-de-sac his ambition had led him! A comic-opera country that +was not comic, but dead and buried from the world; a savage people, +unread, unenlightened, unclean; and for society of his countrymen, +pitiful derelicts in hiding from the law. In his soul he rebelled. In +words he exploded bitterly. +</P> + +<P> +"This is one hell of a hole, Garland," cried the diplomat. His jaws +and his eyes hardened. "I'm going back to Europe. And the only way I +can go is to get that treaty. I was sent here to get it. Those were +my orders. And I'll get it if I have to bribe them out of my own +pocket; if I have to outbid Mr. Ward, and send him and your good +Colonel Goddard and all the rest of the crew to the jails where they +belong!" +</P> + +<P> +Garland heard him without emotion. From long residence near the +equator he diagnosed the outbreak as a case of tropic choler, +aggravated by nostalgia and fleas. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll bet you don't," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll bet you your passage-money home," shouted Everett, "against my +passage-money to Europe." +</P> + +<P> +"Done!" said Garland. "How much time do you want—two years?" +</P> + +<P> +The diplomat exclaimed mockingly: +</P> + +<P> +"Two months!" +</P> + +<P> +"I win now," said the consul. "I'll go home and pack." +</P> + +<P> +The next morning his clerk told Everett that in the outer office Monica +Ward awaited him. +</P> + +<P> +Overnight Everett had developed a prejudice against Miss Ward. What +Garland had said in her favor had only driven him the wrong way. Her +universal popularity he disliked. He argued that to gain popularity +one must concede and capitulate. He felt that the sister of an +acknowledged crook, no matter how innocent she might be, were she a +sensitive woman, would wish to efface herself. And he had found that, +as a rule, women who worked in hospitals and organized societies bored +him. He did not admire the militant, executive sister. He pictured +Miss Ward as probably pretty, but with the coquettish effrontery of the +village belle and with the pushing, "good-fellow" manners of the new +school. He was prepared either to have her slap him on the back or, +from behind tilted eye-glasses, make eyes at him. He was sure she wore +eye-glasses, and was large, plump, and Junoesque. With reluctance he +entered the outer office. He saw, all in white, a girl so young that +she was hardly more than a child, but with the tall, slim figure of a +boy. Her face was lovely as the face of a violet, and her eyes were as +shy. But shy not through lack of confidence in Everett, nor in any +human being, but in herself. They seemed to say, "I am a very +unworthy, somewhat frightened young person; but you, who are so big and +generous, will overlook that, and you are going to be my friend. +Indeed, I see you are my friend." +</P> + +<P> +Everett stood quite still. He nodded gloomily. +</P> + +<P> +"Garland was right," he exclaimed; "I do!" +</P> + +<P> +The young lady was plainly distressed. +</P> + +<P> +"Do what?" she stammered. +</P> + +<P> +"Some day I will tell you," said the young man. "Yes," he added, +without shame, "I am afraid I will." He bowed her into the inner +office. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry," apologized Monica, "but I am come to ask a favor—two +favors; one of you and one of the American minister." +</P> + +<P> +Everett drew his armchair from his desk and waved Monica into it. +</P> + +<P> +"I was sent here," he said, "to do exactly what you want. The last +words the President addressed to me were, 'On arriving at your post +report to Miss Monica Ward."' +</P> + +<P> +Fearfully, Monica perched herself on the edge of the armchair; as +though for protection she clasped the broad table before her. +</P> + +<P> +"The favor I want," she hastily assured him, "is not for myself." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry," said Everett, "for it is already granted." +</P> + +<P> +"You are very good," protested Monica. +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied Everett, "I am only powerful. I represent ninety-five +million Americans, and they are all entirely at your service. So is +the army and navy." +</P> + +<P> +Monica smiled and shook her head. The awe she felt was due an American +minister was rapidly disappearing, and in Mr. Everett himself her +confidence was increasing. The other ministers plenipotentiary she had +seen at Camaguay had been old, with beards like mountain-goats, and had +worn linen dusters. They always were very red in the face and very +damp. Monica decided Mr. Everett also was old; she was sure he must be +at least thirty-five; but in his silk pongee and pipe-clayed +tennis-shoes he was a refreshing spectacle. Just to look at him turned +one quite cool. +</P> + +<P> +"We have a very fine line of battle-ships this morning at Guantanamo," +urged Everett; "if you want one I'll cable for it." +</P> + +<P> +Monica laughed softly. It was good to hear nonsense spoken. The +Amapalans had never learned it, and her brother said just what he meant +and no more. +</P> + +<P> +"Our sailors were here once," Monica volunteered. She wanted Mr. +Everett to know he was not entirely cut off from the world. "During the +revolution," she explained. "We were so glad to see them; they made us +all feel nearer home. They set up our flag in the plaza, and the +color-guard let me photograph it, with them guarding it. And when they +marched away the archbishop stood on the cathedral steps and blessed +them, and we rode out along the trail to where it comes to the jungle. +And then we waved good-by, and they cheered us. We all cried." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment, quite unconsciously, Monica gave an imitation of how they +all cried. It made the appeal of the violet eyes even more disturbing. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you love our sailors?" begged Monica. +</P> + +<P> +Fearful of hurting the feelings of others, she added hastily, "And, of +course, our marines, too." +</P> + +<P> +Everett assured her if there was one thing that meant more to him than +all else, it was an American bluejacket, and next to him an American +leatherneck. +</P> + +<P> +It took a long time to arrange the details of the Red Cross Society. +In spite of his reputation for brilliancy, it seemed to Monica Mr. +Everett had a mind that plodded. For his benefit it was necessary +several times to repeat the most simple proposition. She was sure his +inability to fasten his attention on her League of Mercy was because +his brain was occupied with problems of state. It made her feel +selfish and guilty. When his visitor decided that to explain further +was but to waste his valuable time and had made her third effort to go, +Everett went with her. He suggested that she take him to the hospital +and introduce him to the sisters. He wanted to talk to them about the +Red Cross League. It was a charming walk. Every one lifted his hat to +Monica; the beggars, the cab-drivers, the barefooted policemen, and the +social lights of Camaguay on the sidewalks in front of the cafes rose +and bowed. +</P> + +<P> +"It is like walking with royalty!" exclaimed Everett. +</P> + +<P> +While at the hospital he talked to the Mother Superior—his eyes +followed Monica. As she moved from cot to cot he noted how the younger +sisters fluttered happily around her, like bridesmaids around a bride, +and how as she passed, the eyes of those in the cots followed her +jealously, and after she had spoken with them smiled in content. +</P> + +<P> +"She is good," the Mother Superior was saying, "and her brother, too, +is very good." +</P> + +<P> +Everett had forgotten the brother. With a start he lifted his eyes and +found the Mother Superior regarding him. +</P> + +<P> +"He is very good," she repeated. "For us, he built this wing of the +hospital. It was his money. We should be very sorry if any harm came +to Mr. Ward. Without his help we would starve." She smiled, and with +a gesture signified the sick. "I mean they would starve; they would +die of disease and fever." The woman fixed upon him grave, inscrutable +eyes. "Will Your Excellency remember?" she said. It was less of a +question than a command. "Where the church can forgive—" she paused. +</P> + +<P> +Like a real diplomat Everett sought refuge in mere words. +</P> + +<P> +"The church is all-powerful, Mother," he said. "Her power to forgive +is her strongest weapon. I have no such power. It lies beyond my +authority. I am just a messenger-boy carrying the wishes of the +government of one country to the government of another." +</P> + +<P> +The face of the Mother Superior remained grave, but undisturbed. +</P> + +<P> +"Then, as regards our Mr. Ward," she said, "the wishes of your +government are—" +</P> + +<P> +Again she paused; again it was less of a question than a command. With +interest Everett gazed at the whitewashed ceiling. +</P> + +<P> +"I have not yet," he said, "communicated them to any one." +</P> + +<P> +That night, after dinner in the patio, he reported to Garland the words +of the Mother Superior. +</P> + +<P> +"That was my dream, O Prophet," concluded Everett; "you who can read +this land of lotus-eaters, interpret! What does it mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"It only means what I've been telling you," said the consul. "It means +that if you're going after that treaty, you've only got to fight the +Catholic Church. That's all it means!" +</P> + +<P> +Later in the evening Garland said: "I saw you this morning crossing the +plaza with Monica. When I told you everybody in this town loved her, +was I right?" +</P> + +<P> +"Absolutely!" assented Everett. "But why didn't you tell me she was a +flapper?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what a flapper is," promptly retorted Garland. "And if I +did, I wouldn't call Monica one." +</P> + +<P> +"A flapper is a very charming person," protested Everett. "I used the +term in its most complimentary sense. It means a girl between fourteen +and eighteen. It's English slang, and in England at the present the +flapper is very popular. She is driving her sophisticated elder +sister, who has been out two or three seasons, and the predatory +married woman to the wall. To men of my years the flapper is really at +the dangerous age." +</P> + +<P> +In his bamboo chair Garland tossed violently and snorted. +</P> + +<P> +"I sized you up," he cried, "as a man of the finest perceptions. I was +wrong. You don't appreciate Monica! Dangerous! You might as well say +God's sunshine is dangerous, or a beautiful flower is dangerous." +</P> + +<P> +Everett shook his head at the other man reproachfully: +</P> + +<P> +"Did you ever hear of a sunstroke?" he demanded. "Don't you know if +you smell certain beautiful flowers you die? Can't you grasp any other +kind of danger than being run down by a trolley-car? Is the danger of +losing one's peace of mind nothing, of being unfaithful to duty, +nothing! Is—" +</P> + +<P> +Garland raised his arms. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't shoot!" he begged. "I apologize. You do appreciate Monica. You +have your consul's permission to walk with her again." +</P> + +<P> +The next day young Professor Peabody called and presented his letters. +He was a forceful young man to whom the delays of diplomacy did not +appeal, and one apparently accustomed to riding off whatever came in +his way. He seemed to consider any one who opposed him, or who even +disagreed with his conclusions, as offering a personal affront. With +indignation he launched into his grievance. +</P> + +<P> +"These people," he declared, "are dogs in the manger, and Ward is the +worst of the lot. He knows no more of archaeology than a congressman. +The man's a faker! He showed me a spear-head of obsidian and called it +flint; and he said the Aztecs borrowed from the Mayas, and that the +Toltecs were a myth. And he got the Aztec solar calendar mixed with +the Ahau. He's as ignorant as that." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't believe it!" exclaimed Everett. +</P> + +<P> +"You may laugh," protested the professor, "but the ruins of Cobre hold +secrets the students of two continents are trying to solve. They hide +the history of a lost race, and I submit it's not proper one man should +keep that knowledge from the world, certainly not for a few gold +armlets!" +</P> + +<P> +Everett raised his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"What makes you say that?"' he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"I've been kicking my heels in this town for a month," Peabody told +him, "and I've talked to the people here, and to the Harvard expedition +at Copan, and everybody tells me this fellow has found treasure." The +archaeologist exclaimed with indignation: "What's gold," he snorted, +"compared to the discovery of a lost race?" +</P> + +<P> +"I applaud your point of view," Everett assured him. "I am to see the +President tomorrow, and I will lay the matter before him. I'll ask him +to give you a look in." +</P> + +<P> +To urge his treaty of extradition was the reason for the audience with +the President, and with all the courtesy that a bad case demanded +Mendoza protested against it. He pointed out that governments entered +into treaties only when the ensuing benefits were mutual. For Amapala +in a treaty of extradition he saw no benefit. Amapala was not so far +"advanced" as to produce defaulting bank presidents, get-rich-quick +promoters, counterfeiters, and thieving cashiers. Her fugitives were +revolutionists who had fought and lost, and every one was glad to have +them go, and no one wanted them back. +</P> + +<P> +"Or," suggested the President, "suppose I am turned out by a +revolution, and I seek asylum in your country? My enemies desire my +life. They would ask for my extradition—" +</P> + +<P> +"If the offense were political," Everett corrected, "my government +would surrender no one." +</P> + +<P> +"But my enemies would charge me with murder," explained the President. +"Remember Castro. And by the terms of the treaty your government would +be forced to surrender me. And I am shot against the wall." The +President shrugged his shoulders. "That treaty would not be nice for +me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Consider the matter as a patriot," said the diplomat. "Is it good +that the criminals of my country should make their home in yours? When +you are so fortunate as to have no dishonest men of your own, why +import ours? We don't seek the individual. We want to punish him only +as a warning to others. And we want the money he takes with him. +Often it is the savings of the very poor." +</P> + +<P> +The President frowned. It was apparent that both the subject and +Everett bored him. +</P> + +<P> +"I name no names," exclaimed Mendoza, "but to those who come here we +owe the little railroads we possess. They develop our mines and our +coffee plantations. In time they will make this country very modern, +very rich. And some you call criminals we have learned to love. Their +past does not concern us. We shut our ears. We do not spy. They have +come to us as to a sanctuary, and so long as they claim the right of +sanctuary, I will not violate it." +</P> + +<P> +As Everett emerged from the cool, dark halls of the palace into the +glare of the plaza he was scowling; and he acknowledged the salute of +the palace guard as though those gentlemen had offered him an insult. +</P> + +<P> +Garland was waiting in front of a cafe and greeted him with a mocking +grin. +</P> + +<P> +"Congratulations," he shouted. +</P> + +<P> +"I have still twenty-two days," said Everett. +</P> + +<P> +The aristocracy of Camaguay invited the new minister to formal dinners +of eighteen courses, and to picnics less formal. These latter Everett +greatly enjoyed, because while Monica Ward was too young to attend the +state dinners, she was exactly the proper age for the all-day +excursions to the waterfalls, the coffee plantations, and the asphalt +lakes. The native belles of Camaguay took no pleasure in riding +farther afield than the military parade-ground. Climbing a trail so +steep that you viewed the sky between the ears of your pony, or where +with both hands you forced a way through hanging vines and creepers, +did not appeal. But to Monica, with the seat and balance of a cowboy, +riding astride, with her leg straight and the ball of her foot just +feeling the stirrup, these expeditions were the happiest moments in her +exile. So were they to Everett; and that on the trail one could ride +only in single file was a most poignant regret. In the column the +place of honor was next to whoever rode at the head, but Everett +relinquished this position in favor of Monica. By this manoeuvre she +always was in his sight, and he could call upon her to act as his guide +and to explain what lay on either hand. His delight and wonder in her +grew daily. He found that her mind leaped instantly and with gratitude +to whatever was most fair. Just out of reach of her pony's hoofs he +pressed his own pony forward, and she pointed out to him what in the +tropic abundance about them she found most beautiful. Sometimes it was +the tumbling waters of a cataract; sometimes, high in the topmost +branches of a ceiba-tree, a gorgeous orchid; sometimes a shaft of +sunshine as rigid as a search-light, piercing the shadow of the jungle. +At first she would turn in the saddle and call to him, but as each day +they grew to know each other better she need only point with her +whip-hand and he would answer, "Yes," and each knew the other +understood. +</P> + +<P> +As a body, the exiles resented Everett. They knew his purpose in +regard to the treaty, and for them he always must be the enemy. Even +though as a man they might like him, they could not forget that his +presence threatened their peace and safety. Chester Ward treated him +with impeccable politeness; but, although his house was the show-place +of Camaguay, he never invited the American minister to cross the +threshold. On account of Monica, Everett regretted this and tried to +keep the relations of her brother and himself outwardly pleasant. But +Ward made it difficult. To no one was his manner effusive, and for +Monica only he seemed to hold any real feeling. The two were alone in +the world; he was her only relative, and to the orphan he had been +father and mother. When she was a child he had bought her toys and +dolls; now, had the sisters permitted, he would have dressed her in +imported frocks, and with jewels killed her loveliness. He seemed to +understand how to spend his money as little as did the gossips of +Camaguay understand from whence it came. +</P> + +<P> +That Monica knew why her brother lived in Camaguay Everett was +uncertain. She did not complain of living there, but she was not at +rest, and constantly she was asking Everett of foreign lands. As +Everett was homesick for them, he was most eloquent. +</P> + +<P> +"I should like to see them for myself," said Monica, "but until my +brother's work here is finished we must wait. And I am young, and +after a few years Europe will be just as old. When my brother leaves +Amapala, he promises to take me wherever I ask to go: to London, to +Paris, to Rome. So I read and read of them; books of history, books +about painting, books about the cathedrals. But the more I read the +more I want to go at once, and that is disloyal." +</P> + +<P> +"Disloyal?" asked Everett. +</P> + +<P> +"To my brother," explained Monica. "He does so much for me. I should +think only of his work. That is all that really counts. For the world +is waiting to learn what he has discovered. It is like having a +brother go in search of the North Pole. You are proud of what he is +doing, but you want him back to keep him to yourself. Is that selfish?" +</P> + +<P> +Everett was a trained diplomat, but with his opinion of Chester Ward he +could not think of the answer. Instead, he was thinking of Monica in +Europe; of taking her through the churches and galleries which she had +seen only in black and white. He imagined himself at her side facing +the altar of some great cathedral, or some painting in the Louvre, and +watching her face lighten and the tears come to her eyes, as they did +now, when things that were beautiful hurt her. Or he imagined her rid +of her half-mourning and accompanying him through a cyclonic diplomatic +career that carried them to Japan, China, Persia; to Berlin, Paris, and +London. In these imaginings Monica appeared in pongee and a sun-hat +riding an elephant, in pearls and satin receiving royalty, in tweed +knickerbockers and a woollen jersey coasting around the hairpin curve +at Saint Moritz. +</P> + +<P> +Of course he recognized that except as his wife Monica could not +accompany him to all these strange lands and high diplomatic posts. And +of course that was ridiculous. He had made up his mind for the success +of what he called his career, that he was too young to marry; but he +was sure, should he propose to marry Monica, every one would say he was +too old. And there was another consideration. What of the brother? +Would his government send him to a foreign post when his wife was the +sister of a man they had just sent to the penitentiary? +</P> + +<P> +He could hear them say in London, "We know your first secretary, but +who is Mrs. Everett?" And the American visitor would explain: "She is +the sister of 'Inky Dink,' the forger. He is bookkeeping in Sing Sing." +</P> + +<P> +Certainly it would be a handicap. He tried to persuade himself that +Monica so entirely filled his thoughts because in Camaguay there was no +one else; it was a case of propinquity; her loneliness and the fact +that she lay under a shadow for which she was not to blame appealed to +his chivalry. So, he told himself, in thinking of Monica except as a +charming companion, he was an ass. And then, arguing that in calling +himself an ass he had shown his saneness and impartiality, he felt +justified in seeing her daily. +</P> + +<P> +One morning Garland came to the legation to tell Everett that Peabody +was in danger of bringing about international complications by having +himself thrust into the cartel. +</P> + +<P> +"If he qualifies for this local jail," said Garland, "you will have a +lot of trouble setting him free. You'd better warn him it's easier to +keep out than to get out." +</P> + +<P> +"What has he been doing?" asked the minister. +</P> + +<P> +"Poaching on Ward's ruins," said the consul. "He certainly is a +hustler. He pretends to go to Copan, but really goes to Cobre. Ward +had him followed and threatened to have him arrested. Peabody claims +any tourist has a right to visit the ruins so long as he does no +excavating. Ward accused him of exploring the place by night and +taking photographs by flash-light of the hieroglyphs. He's put an armed +guard at the ruins, and he told Peabody they are to shoot on sight. So +Peabody went to Mendoza and said if anybody took a shot at him he'd +bring warships down here and blow Amapala off the map." +</P> + +<P> +"A militant archaeologist," said Everett, "is something new. Peabody +is too enthusiastic. He and his hieroglyphs are becoming a bore." +</P> + +<P> +He sent for Peabody and told him unless he curbed his spirit his +minister could not promise to keep him out of a very damp and dirty +dungeon. +</P> + +<P> +"I am too enthusiastic," Peabody admitted, "but to me this fellow Ward +is like a red flag to the bull. His private graft is holding up the +whole scientific world. He won't let us learn the truth, and he's too +ignorant to learn it himself. Why, he told me Cobre dated from 1578, +when Palacio wrote of it to Philip the Second, not knowing that in that +very letter Palacio states that he found Cobre in ruins. Is it right a +man as ignorant—" +</P> + +<P> +Everett interrupted by levelling his finger. +</P> + +<P> +"You," he commanded, "keep out of those ruins! My dear professor," he +continued reproachfully, "you are a student, a man of peace. Don't try +to wage war on these Amapalans. They're lawless, they're unscrupulous. +So is Ward. Besides, you are in the wrong, and if they turn ugly, your +minister cannot help you." He shook his head and smiled doubtfully. +"I can't understand," he exclaimed, "why you're so keen. It's only a +heap of broken pottery. Sometimes I wonder if your interest in Cobre +is that only of the archaeologist." +</P> + +<P> +"What other interest—" demanded Peabody. +</P> + +<P> +"Doesn't Ward's buried treasure appeal at all?" asked the minister. "I +mean, of course, to your imagination. It does to mine." +</P> + +<P> +The young professor laughed tolerantly. +</P> + +<P> +"Buried treasure!" he exclaimed. "If Ward has found treasure, and I +think he has, he's welcome to it. What we want is what you call the +broken pottery. It means nothing to you, but to men like myself, who +live eight hundred years behind the times, it is much more precious +than gold." +</P> + +<P> +A few moments later Professor Peabody took his leave, and it was not +until he had turned the corner of the Calle Morazan that he halted and, +like a man emerging from water, drew a deep breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Gee!" muttered the distinguished archeologist, "that was a close call!" +</P> + +<P> +One or two women had loved Everett, and after five weeks, in which +almost daily he had seen Monica, he knew she cared for him. This +discovery made him entirely happy and filled him with dismay. It was a +complication he had not foreseen. It left him at the parting of two +ways, one of which he must choose. For his career he was willing to +renounce marriage, but now that Monica loved him, even though he had +consciously not tried to make her love him, had he the right to +renounce it for her also? He knew that the difference between Monica +and his career lay in the fact that he loved Monica and was in love +with his career. Which should he surrender? Of this he thought long +and deeply, until one night, without thinking at all, he chose. +</P> + +<P> +Colonel Goddard had given a dance, and, as all invited were Americans, +the etiquette was less formal than at the gatherings of the Amapalans. +For one thing, the minister and Monica were able to sit on the veranda +overlooking the garden without his having to fight a duel in the +morning. +</P> + +<P> +It was not the moonlight, or the music, or the palms that made Everett +speak. It was simply the knowledge that it was written, that it had to +be. And he heard himself, without prelude or introduction, talking +easily and assuredly of the life they would lead as man and wife. From +this dream Monica woke him. The violet eyes were smiling at him +through tears. +</P> + +<P> +"When you came," said the girl, "and I loved you, I thought that was +the greatest happiness. Now that I know you love me I ask nothing +more. And I can bear it." +</P> + +<P> +Everett felt as though an icy finger had moved swiftly down his spine. +He pretended not to understand. +</P> + +<P> +"Bear what?" he demanded roughly. +</P> + +<P> +"That I cannot marry you," said the girl. "Even had you not asked me, +in loving you I would have been happy. Now that I know you thought of +me as your wife, I am proud. I am grateful. And the obstacle—" +</P> + +<P> +Everett laughed scornfully. +</P> + +<P> +"There is no obstacle." +</P> + +<P> +Monica shook her head. Unafraid, she looked into his eyes, her own +filled with her love for him. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't make it harder," she said. "My brother is hiding from the law. +What he did I don't know. When it happened I was at the convent, and +he did not send for me until he had reached Amapala. I never asked why +we came, but were I to marry you, with your name and your position, +every one else would ask. And the scandal would follow you; wherever +you went it would follow; it would put an end to your career." +</P> + +<P> +His career, now that Monica urged it as her rival, seemed to Everett +particularly trivial. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what your brother did either," he said. "His sins are on +his own head. They're not on yours, nor on mine. I don't judge him; +neither do I intend to let him spoil my happiness. Now that I have +found you I will never let you go." +</P> + +<P> +Sadly Monica shook her head and smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"When you leave here," she said, "for some new post, you won't forget +me, but you'll be grateful that I let you go alone; that I was not a +drag on you. When you go back to your great people and your proud and +beautiful princesses, all this will seem a strange dream, and you will +be glad you are awake—and free." +</P> + +<P> +"The idea of marrying you, Monica," said Everett, "is not new. It did +not occur to me only since we moved out here into the moonlight. Since +I first saw you I've thought of you, and only of you. I've thought of +you with me in every corner of the globe, as my wife, my sweetheart, my +partner, riding through jungles as we ride here, sitting opposite me at +our own table, putting the proud and beautiful princesses at their +ease. And in all places, at all moments, you make all other women +tawdry and absurd. And I don't think you are the most wonderful person +I ever met because I love you, but I love you because you are the most +wonderful person I ever met." +</P> + +<P> +"I am young," said Monica, "but since I began to love you I am very +old. And I see clearly that it cannot be." +</P> + +<P> +"Dear heart," cried Everett, "that is quite morbid. What the devil do +I care what your brother has done! I am not marrying your brother." +</P> + +<P> +For a long time, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and her +face buried in her hands, the girl sat silent. It was as though she +were praying. Everett knew it was not of him, but of her brother, she +was thinking, and his heart ached for her. For him to cut the brother +out of his life was not difficult; what it meant to her he could guess. +</P> + +<P> +When the girl raised her eyes they were eloquent with distress. +</P> + +<P> +"He has been so good to me," she said; "always so gentle. He has been +mother and father to me. He is the first person I can remember. When I +was a child he put me to bed, he dressed me, and comforted me. When we +became rich there was nothing he did not wish to give me. I cannot +leave him. He needs me more than ever I needed him. I am all he has. +And there is this besides. Were I to marry, of all the men in the +world it would be harder for him if I married you. For if you succeed +in what you came here to do, the law will punish him, and he will know +it was through you he was punished. And even between you and me there +always would be that knowledge, that feeling." +</P> + +<P> +"That is not fair," cried Everett. "I am not an individual fighting +less fortunate individuals. I am an insignificant wheel in a great +machine. You must not blame me because I-" +</P> + +<P> +With an exclamation the girl reproached him. +</P> + +<P> +"Because you do your duty!" she protested. "Is that fair to me? If for +my sake or my brother you failed in your duty, if you were less +vigilant, less eager, even though we suffer, I could not love you." +</P> + +<P> +Everett sighed happily. +</P> + +<P> +"As long as you love me," he said, "neither your brother nor any one +else can keep us apart." +</P> + +<P> +"My brother," said the girl, as though she were pronouncing a sentence, +"always will keep us apart, and I will always love you." +</P> + +<P> +It was a week before he again saw her, and then the feeling he had read +in her eyes was gone—or rigorously concealed. Now her manner was that +of a friend, of a young girl addressing a man older than herself, one +to whom she looked up with respect and liking, but with no sign of any +feeling deeper or more intimate. +</P> + +<P> +It upset Everett completely. When he pleaded with her, she asked: +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think it is easy for me? But—" she protested, "I know I am +doing right. I am doing it to make you happy." +</P> + +<P> +"You are succeeding," Everett assured her, "in making us both damned +miserable." +</P> + +<P> +For Everett, in the second month of his stay in Amapala, events began +to move quickly. Following the example of two of his predecessors, the +Secretary of State of the United States was about to make a grand tour +of Central America. He came on a mission of peace and brotherly love, +to foster confidence and good-will, and it was secretly hoped that, in +the wake of his escort of battle-ships, trade would follow fast. There +would be salutes and visits of ceremony, speeches, banquets, reviews. +But in these rejoicings Amapala would have no part. +</P> + +<P> +For, so Everett was informed by cable, unless, previous to the visit of +the Secretary, Amapala fell into line with her sister republics and +signed a treaty of extradition, from the itinerary of the great man +Amapala would find herself pointedly excluded. It would be a +humiliation. In the eyes of her sister republics it would place her +outside the pale. Everett saw that in his hands his friend the +Secretary had placed a powerful weapon; and lost no time in using it. +He caught the President alone, sitting late at his dinner, surrounded +by bottles, and read to him the Secretary's ultimatum. General Mendoza +did not at once surrender. Before he threw over the men who fed him +the golden eggs that made him rich, and for whom he had sworn never to +violate the right of sanctuary, he first, for fully half an hour, raged +and swore. During that time, while Everett sat anxiously expectant, +the President paced and repaced the length of the dining-hall. When to +relight his cigar, or to gulp brandy from a tumbler, he halted at the +table, his great bulk loomed large in the flickering candle-flames, and +when he continued his march, he would disappear into the shadows, and +only his scabbard clanking on the stone floor told of his presence. At +last he halted and shrugged his shoulders so that the tassels of his +epaulets tossed like wheat. +</P> + +<P> +"You drive a hard bargain, sir," he said. "And I have no choice. +To-morrow bring the treaty and I will sign." +</P> + +<P> +Everett at once produced it and a fountain pen. +</P> + +<P> +"I should like to cable to-night," he urged, "that you have signed. +They are holding back the public announcement of the Secretary's route +until hearing from Your Excellency. This is only tentative," he +pointed out; "the Senate must ratify. But our Senate will ratify it, +and when you sign now, it is a thing accomplished." +</P> + +<P> +Over the place at which Everett pointed, the pen scratched harshly; and +then, throwing it from him, the President sat in silence. With eyes +inflamed by anger and brandy he regarded the treaty venomously. As +though loath to let it go, his hands played with it, as a cat plays +with the mouse between her paws. Watching him breathlessly, Everett +feared the end was not yet. He felt a depressing premonition that if +ever the treaty were to reach Washington he best had snatch it and run. +Even as he waited, the end came. An orderly, appearing suddenly in the +light of the candles, announced the arrival, in the room adjoining, of +"the Colonel Goddard and Senor Mellen." They desired an immediate +audience. Their business with the President was most urgent. Whether +from Washington their agents had warned them, whether in Camaguay they +had deciphered the cablegram from the State Department, Everett could +only guess, but he was certain the cause of their visit was the treaty. +That Mendoza also believed this was most evident. +</P> + +<P> +Into the darkness, from which the two exiles might emerge, he peered +guiltily. With an oath he tore the treaty in half. Crushing the +pieces of paper into a ball, he threw it at Everett's feet. His voice +rose to a shriek. It was apparent he intended his words to carry to +the men outside. Like an actor on a stage he waved his arms. +</P> + +<P> +"That is my answer!" he shouted. "Tell your Secretary the choice he +offers is an insult! It is blackmail. We will not sign his treaty. We +do not desire his visit to our country." Thrilled by his own bravado, +his voice rose higher. "Nor," he shouted, "do we desire the presence +of his representative. Your usefulness is at an end. You will receive +your passports in the morning." +</P> + +<P> +As he might discharge a cook, he waved Everett away. His hand, +trembling with excitement, closed around the neck of the brandy-bottle. +Everett stooped and secured the treaty. On his return to Washington, +torn and rumpled as it was, it would be his justification. It was his +"Exhibit A." +</P> + +<P> +As he approached the legation he saw drawn up in front of it three +ponies ready saddled. For an instant he wondered if Mendoza intended +further to insult him, if he planned that night to send him under guard +to the coast. He determined hotly sooner than submit to such an +indignity he would fortify the legation, and defend himself. But no +such heroics were required of him. As he reached the door, Garland, +with an exclamation of relief, hailed him, and Monica, stepping from +the shadow, laid an appealing hand upon his sleeve. +</P> + +<P> +"My brother!" she exclaimed. "The guard at Cobre has just sent word +that they found Peabody prowling in the ruins and fired on him. He +fired back, and he is still there hiding. My brother and others have +gone to take him. I don't know what may happen if he resists. Chester +is armed, and he is furious; he is beside himself; he would not listen +to me. But he must listen to you. Will you go," the girl begged, "and +speak to him; speak to him, I mean," she added, "as the American +minister?" +</P> + +<P> +Everett already had his foot in the stirrup. "I'm the American +minister only until to-morrow," he said. "I've got my walking-papers. +But I'll do all I can to stop this to-night. Garland," he asked, "will +you take Miss Ward home, and then follow me?" +</P> + +<P> +"If I do not go with you," said Monica, "I will go alone." +</P> + +<P> +Her tone was final. With a clatter of hoofs that woke alarmed echoes +in the sleeping streets the three horses galloped abreast toward Cobre. +In an hour they left the main trail and at a walk picked their way to +where the blocks of stone, broken columns, and crumbling temples of the +half-buried city checked the jungle. +</P> + +<P> +The moon made it possible to move in safety, and at different distances +the lights of torches told them the man-hunt still was in progress. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank God," breathed Monica, "we are in time." +</P> + +<P> +Everett gave the ponies in care of one of the guards. He turned to +Garland. +</P> + +<P> +"Catch up with those lights ahead of us," he said, "and we will join +this party to the right. If you find Ward, tell him I forbid him +taking the law into his own hands; tell him I will protect his +interests. If you meet Peabody, make him give up his gun, and see that +the others don't harm him!" +</P> + +<P> +Everett and the girl did not overtake the lights they had seen flashing +below them. Before they were within hailing distance, that searching +party had disappeared, and still farther away other torches beckoned. +</P> + +<P> +Stumbling and falling, now in pursuit of one will-o'-the-wisp, now of +another, they scrambled forward. But always the lights eluded them. +From their exertions and the moist heat they were breathless, and their +bodies dripped with water. Panting, they halted at the entrance of +what once had been a tomb. From its black interior came a damp mist; +above them, alarmed by their intrusion, the vampire bats whirled +blindly in circles. Monica, who by day possessed some slight knowledge +of the ruins, had, in the moonlight, lost all sense of direction. +</P> + +<P> +"We're lost," said Monica, in a low tone. Unconsciously both were +speaking in whispers. "I thought we were following what used to be the +main thoroughfare of the city; but I have never seen this place before. +From what I have read I think we must be among the tombs of the kings." +</P> + +<P> +She was silenced by Everett placing one hand quickly on her arm, and +with the other pointing. In the uncertain moonlight she saw moving +cautiously away from them, and unconscious of their presence, a white, +ghostlike figure. +</P> + +<P> +"Peabody," whispered Everett. +</P> + +<P> +"Call him," commanded Monica. +</P> + +<P> +"The others might hear," objected Everett. "We must overtake him. If +we're with him when they meet, they wouldn't dare—" +</P> + +<P> +With a gasp of astonishment, his words ceased. +</P> + +<P> +Like a ghost, the ghostlike figure had vanished. +</P> + +<P> +"He walked through that rock!" cried Monica. +</P> + +<P> +Everett caught her by the wrist. "Come!" he commanded. +</P> + +<P> +Over the face of the rock, into which Peabody had dived as into water, +hung a curtain of vines. Everett tore it apart. Concealed by the +vines was the narrow mouth to a tunnel; and from it they heard, rapidly +lessening in the distance, the patter of footsteps. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you wait," demanded Everett, "or come with me?" +</P> + +<P> +With a shudder of distaste, Monica answered by seizing his hand. +</P> + +<P> +With his free arm Everett swept aside the vines, and, Monica following, +they entered the tunnel. It was a passageway cleanly cut through the +solid rock and sufficiently wide to permit of their moving freely. At +the farther end, at a distance of a hundred yards, it opened into a +great vault, also hollowed from the rock and, as they saw to their +surprise, brilliantly lighted. +</P> + +<P> +For an instant, in black silhouette, the figure of Peabody blocked the +entrance to this vault, and then, turning to the right, again vanished. +Monica felt an untimely desire to laugh. Now that they were on the +track of Peabody she no longer feared the outcome of the adventure. In +the presence of the American minister and of herself there would be no +violence; and as they trailed the archaeologist through the tunnel she +was reminded of Alice and her pursuit of the white rabbit. This +thought, and her sense of relief that the danger was over, caused her +to laugh aloud. +</P> + +<P> +They had gained the farther end of the tunnel and the entrance to the +vault, when at once her amusement turned to wonder. For the vault +showed every evidence of use and of recent occupation. In brackets, +and burning brightly, were lamps of modern make; on the stone floor +stood a canvas cot, saddle-bags, camp-chairs, and in the centre of the +vault a collapsible table. On this were bottles filled with chemicals, +trays, and presses such as are used in developing photographs, and +apparently hung there to dry, swinging from strings, the proofs of many +negatives. +</P> + +<P> +Loyal to her brother, Monica exclaimed indignantly. At the proofs she +pointed an accusing finger. +</P> + +<P> +"Look!" she whispered. "This is Peabody's darkroom, where he develops +the flash-lights he takes of the hieroglyphs! Chester has a right to be +furious!" +</P> + +<P> +Impulsively she would have pushed past Everett; but with an exclamation +he sprang in front of her. +</P> + +<P> +"No!" he commanded, "come away!" +</P> + +<P> +He had fallen into a sudden panic. His tone spoke of some catastrophe, +imminent and overwhelming. Monica followed the direction of his eyes. +They were staring in fear at the proofs. +</P> + +<P> +The girl leaned forward; and now saw them clearly. +</P> + +<P> +Each was a United States Treasury note for five hundred dollars. +</P> + +<P> +Around the turn of the tunnel, approaching the vault apparently from +another passage, they heard hurrying footsteps; and then, close to them +from the vault itself, the voice of Professor Peabody. +</P> + +<P> +It was harsh, sharp, peremptory. +</P> + +<P> +"Hands up!" it commanded. "Drop that gun!" +</P> + +<P> +As though halted by a precipice, the footsteps fell into instant +silence. There was a pause, and then the ring of steel upon the stone +floor. There was another pause, and Monica heard the voice of her +brother. Broken, as though with running, it still retained its level +accent, its note of insolence. +</P> + +<P> +"So," it said, "I have caught you?" +</P> + +<P> +Monica struggled toward the lighted vault, but around her Everett threw +his arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Come away!" he begged. +</P> + +<P> +Monica fought against the terror of something unknown. She could not +understand. They had come only to prevent a meeting between her +brother and Peabody; and now that they had met, Everett was endeavoring +to escape. +</P> + +<P> +It was incomprehensible. +</P> + +<P> +And the money in the vault, the yellow bills hanging from a cobweb of +strings; why should they terrify her; what did they threaten? Dully, +and from a distance, Monica heard the voice of Peabody. +</P> + +<P> +"No," he answered; "I have caught you! And I've had a hell of a time +doing it!" +</P> + +<P> +Monica tried to call out, to assure her brother of her presence. But, +as though in a nightmare, she could make no sound. Fingers of fear +gripped at her throat. To struggle was no longer possible. +</P> + +<P> +The voice of Peabody continued: +</P> + +<P> +"Six months ago we traced these bills to New Orleans. So we guessed +the plant was in Central America. We knew only one man who could make +them. When I found you were in Amapala and they said you had struck +'buried treasure'—the rest was easy." +</P> + +<P> +Monica heard the voice of her brother answer with a laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"Easy?" he mocked. "There's no extradition. You can't touch me. +You're lucky if you get out of here alive. I've only to raise my +voice—" +</P> + +<P> +"And, I'll kill you!" +</P> + +<P> +This was danger Monica could understand. +</P> + +<P> +Freed from the nightmare of doubt, with a cry she ran forward. She saw +Peabody, his back against a wall, a levelled automatic in his hand; her +brother at the entrance to a tunnel like the one from which she had +just appeared. His arms were raised above his head. At his feet lay a +revolver. For an instant, with disbelief, he stared at Monica, and +then, as though assured that it was she, his eyes dilated. In them +were fear and horror. So genuine was the agony in the face of the +counterfeiter that Everett, who had followed, turned his own away. But +the eyes of the brother and sister remained fixed upon each other, +hers, appealingly; his, with despair. He tried to speak, but the words +did not come. When he did break the silence his tone was singularly +wistful, most tenderly kind. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you hear?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +Monica slowly bowed her head. With the same note of gentleness her +brother persisted: +</P> + +<P> +"Did you understand?" +</P> + +<P> +Between them stretched the cobweb of strings hung with yellow +certificates; each calling for five hundred dollars, payable in gold. +Stirred by the night air from the open tunnels, they fluttered and +flaunted. +</P> + +<P> +Against the sight of them, Monica closed her eyes. Heavily, as though +with a great physical effort, again she bowed her head. +</P> + +<P> +The eyes of her brother searched about him wildly. They rested on the +mouth of the tunnel. +</P> + +<P> +With his lowered arm he pointed. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is that?" he cried. +</P> + +<P> +Instinctively the others turned. +</P> + +<P> +It was for an instant. The instant sufficed. +</P> + +<P> +Monica saw her brother throw himself upon the floor, felt herself flung +aside as Everett and the detective leaped upon him; saw her brother +press his hands against his heart, the two men dragging at his arms. +</P> + +<P> +The cavelike room was shaken with a report, an acrid smoke assailed her +nostrils. The men ceased struggling. Her brother lay still. +</P> + +<P> +Monica sprang toward the body, but a black wave rose and submerged her. +As she fainted, to save herself she threw out her arms, and as she fell +she dragged down with her the buried treasure of Cobre. +</P> + +<P> +Stretched upon the stone floor beside her brother, she lay motionless. +Beneath her, and wrapped about and covering her, as the leaves covered +the babes in the wood, was a vast cobweb of yellow bills, each for five +hundred dollars, payable in gold. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +A month later the harbor of Porto Cortez in Honduras was shaken with +the roar of cannon. In comparison, the roaring of all the cannon of +all the revolutions that that distressful country ever had known, were +like fire-crackers under a barrel. +</P> + +<P> +Faithful to his itinerary, the Secretary of State of the United States +was paying his formal visit to Honduras, and the President of that +republic, waiting upon the Fruit Company's wharf to greet him, was +receiving the salute of the American battle-ships. Back of him, on the +wharf, his own barefooted artillerymen in their turn were saluting, +excitedly and spasmodically, the distinguished visitor. As an honor he +had at last learned to accept without putting a finger in each ear, the +Secretary of State smiled with gracious calm. Less calm was the +President of Honduras. He knew something the Secretary did not know. +He knew that at any moment a gun of his saluting battery might turn +turtle, or blow into the harbor himself, his cabinet, and the larger +part of his standing army. +</P> + +<P> +Made fast to the wharf on the side opposite to the one at which the +Secretary had landed was one of the Fruit Company's steamers. She was +on her way north, and Porto Cortez was a port of call. That her +passengers might not intrude upon the ceremonies, her side of the wharf +was roped off and guarded by the standing army. But from her decks and +from behind the ropes the passengers, with a battery of cameras, were +perpetuating the historic scene. +</P> + +<P> +Among them, close to the ropes, viewing the ceremony with the cynical +eye of one who in Europe had seen kings and emperors meet upon the +Field of the Cloth of Gold, was Everett. He made no effort to bring +himself to the attention of his former chief. But when the +introductions were over, the Secretary of State turned his eyes to his +fellow countrymen crowding the rails of the American steamer. They +greeted him with cheers. The great man raised his hat, and his eyes +fell upon Everett. The Secretary advanced quickly, his hand extended, +brushing to one side the standing army. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you doing here?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"On my way home, sir," said Everett. "I couldn't leave sooner; there +were—personal reasons. But I cabled the department my resignation the +day Mendoza gave me my walking-papers. You may remember," Everett +added dryly, "the department accepted by cable." +</P> + +<P> +The great man showed embarrassment. +</P> + +<P> +"It was most unfortunate," he sympathized. "We wanted that treaty, and +while, no doubt, you made every effort—" +</P> + +<P> +He became aware of the fact that Everett's attention was not +exclusively his own. Following the direction of the young man's eyes +the Secretary saw on the deck just above them, leaning upon the rail, a +girl in deep mourning. +</P> + +<P> +She was very beautiful. Her face was as lovely as a violet and as shy. +To the Secretary a beautiful woman was always a beautiful woman. But he +had read the papers. Who had not? He was sure there must be some +mistake. This could not be the sister of a criminal; the woman for +whom Everett had smashed his career. +</P> + +<P> +The Secretary masked his astonishment, but not his admiration. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Everett?" he asked. His very tone conveyed congratulations. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said the ex-diplomat. "Some day I shall be glad to present you." +</P> + +<P> +The Secretary did not wait for an introduction. Raising his eyes to +the ship's rail, he made a deep and courtly bow. With a gesture worthy +of d'Artagnan, his high hat swept the wharf. The members of his staff, +the officers from the war-ships, the President of Honduras and the +members of his staff endeavored to imitate his act of homage, and in +confusion Mrs. Everett blushed becomingly. +</P> + +<P> +"When I return to Washington," said the Secretary hastily, "come and +see me. You are too valuable to lose. Your career—" +</P> + +<P> +Again Everett was looking at his wife. Her distress at having been so +suddenly drawn into the lime-light amused him, and he was smiling. +Then, as though aware of the Secretary's meaning, he laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear sir!" he protested. His tone suggested he was about to add +"mind your own business," or "go to the devil." +</P> + +<P> +Instead he said: "I'm not worrying about my career. My career has just +begun." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="boyscout"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE BOY SCOUT +</H2> + +<BR> + +<P> +A rule of the Boy Scouts is every day to do some one a good turn. Not +because the copybooks tell you it deserves another, but in spite of +that pleasing possibility. If you are a true scout, until you have +performed your act of kindness your day is dark. You are as unhappy as +is the grown-up who has begun his day without shaving or reading the +New York Sun. But as soon as you have proved yourself you may, with a +clear conscience, look the world in the face and untie the knot in your +kerchief. +</P> + +<P> +Jimmie Reeder untied the accusing knot in his scarf at just ten minutes +past eight on a hot August morning after he had given one dime to his +sister Sadie. With that she could either witness the first-run films +at the Palace, or by dividing her fortune patronize two of the nickel +shows on Lenox Avenue. The choice Jimmie left to her. He was setting +out for the annual encampment of the Boy Scouts at Hunter's Island, and +in the excitement of that adventure even the movies ceased to thrill. +But Sadie also could be unselfish. With a heroism of a camp-fire +maiden she made a gesture which might have been interpreted to mean she +was returning the money. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't, Jimmie!" she gasped. "I can't take it off you. You saved +it, and you ought to get the fun of it." +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't saved it yet," said Jimmie. "I'm going to cut it out of the +railroad fare. I'm going to get off at City Island instead of at +Pelham Manor and walk the difference. That's ten cents cheaper." +</P> + +<P> +Sadie exclaimed with admiration: +</P> + +<P> +"An' you carryin' that heavy grip!" +</P> + +<P> +"Aw, that's nothin'," said the man of the family. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by, mother. So long, Sadie." +</P> + +<P> +To ward off further expressions of gratitude he hurriedly advised Sadie +to take in "The Curse of Cain" rather than "The Mohawk's Last Stand," +and fled down the front steps. +</P> + +<P> +He wore his khaki uniform. On his shoulders was his knapsack, from his +hands swung his suit-case, and between his heavy stockings and his +"shorts" his kneecaps, unkissed by the sun, as yet unscathed by +blackberry vines, showed as white and fragile as the wrists of a girl. +As he moved toward the "L" station at the corner, Sadie and his mother +waved to him; in the street, boys too small to be scouts hailed him +enviously; even the policeman glancing over the newspapers on the +news-stand nodded approval. +</P> + +<P> +"You a scout, Jimmie?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No," retorted Jimmie, for was not he also in uniform? "I'm Santa Claus +out filling Christmas stockings." +</P> + +<P> +The patrolman also possessed a ready wit. +</P> + +<P> +"Then get yourself a pair," he advised. "If a dog was to see your +legs—" +</P> + +<P> +Jimmie escaped the insult by fleeing up the steps of the Elevated. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +An hour later, with his valise in one hand and staff in the other, he +was tramping up the Boston Post Road and breathing heavily. The day was +cruelly hot. Before his eyes, over an interminable stretch of asphalt, +the heat waves danced and flickered. Already the knapsack on his +shoulders pressed upon him like an Old Man of the Sea; the linen in the +valise had turned to pig iron, his pipe-stem legs were wabbling, his +eyes smarted with salt sweat, and the fingers supporting the valise +belonged to some other boy, and were giving that boy much pain. But as +the motor-cars flashed past with raucous warnings, or, that those who +rode might better see the boy with bare knees, passed at "half speed," +Jimmie stiffened his shoulders and stepped jauntily forward. Even when +the joy-riders mocked with "Oh, you scout!" he smiled at them. He was +willing to admit to those who rode that the laugh was on the one who +walked. And he regretted—oh, so bitterly—having left the train. He +was indignant that for his "one good turn a day" he had not selected +one less strenuous—that, for instance, he had not assisted a +frightened old lady through the traffic. To refuse the dime she might +have offered, as all true scouts refuse all tips, would have been +easier than to earn it by walking five miles, with the sun at +ninety-nine degrees, and carrying excess baggage. Twenty times James +shifted the valise to the other hand, twenty times he let it drop and +sat upon it. +</P> + +<P> +And then, as again he took up his burden, the good Samaritan drew near. +He drew near in a low gray racing-car at the rate of forty miles an +hour, and within a hundred feet of Jimmie suddenly stopped and backed +toward him. The good Samaritan was a young man with white hair. He +wore a suit of blue, a golf cap; the hands that held the wheel were +disguised in large yellow gloves. He brought the car to a halt and +surveyed the dripping figure in the road with tired and uncurious eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"You a Boy Scout?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +With alacrity for the twenty-first time Jimmie dropped the valise, +forced his cramped fingers into straight lines, and saluted. +</P> + +<P> +The young man in the car nodded toward the seat beside him. +</P> + +<P> +"Get in," he commanded. +</P> + +<P> +When James sat panting happily at his elbow the old young man, to +Jimmie's disappointment, did not continue to shatter the speed limit. +Instead, he seemed inclined for conversation, and the car, growling +indignantly, crawled. +</P> + +<P> +"I never saw a Boy Scout before," announced the old young man. "Tell me +about it. First, tell me what you do when you're not scouting." +</P> + +<P> +Jimmie explained volubly. When not in uniform he was an office boy, +and from peddlers and beggars guarded the gates of Carroll and +Hastings, stock-brokers. He spoke the names of his employers with awe. +It was a firm distinguished, conservative, and long established. The +white-haired young man seemed to nod in assent. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know them?" demanded Jimmie suspiciously. "Are you a customer +of ours?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know them," said the young man. "They are customers of mine." +</P> + +<P> +Jimmie wondered in what way Carroll and Hastings were customers of the +white-haired young man. Judging him by his outer garments, Jimmie +guessed he was a Fifth Avenue tailor; he might be even a haberdasher. +Jimmie continued. He lived, he explained, with his mother at One +Hundred and Forty-sixth Street; Sadie, his sister, attended the public +school; he helped support them both, and he now was about to enjoy a +well-earned vacation camping out on Hunter's Island, where he would +cook his own meals, and, if the mosquitoes permitted, sleep in a tent. +</P> + +<P> +"And you like that?" demanded the young man. "You call that fun?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure!" protested Jimmie. "Don't you go camping out?" +</P> + +<P> +"I go camping out," said the good Samaritan, "whenever I leave New +York." +</P> + +<P> +Jimmie had not for three years lived in Wall Street not to understand +that the young man spoke in metaphor. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't look," objected the young man critically, "as though you +were built for the strenuous life." +</P> + +<P> +Jimmie glanced guiltily at his white knees. +</P> + +<P> +"You ought ter see me two weeks from now," he protested. "I get all +sunburnt and hard—hard as anything!" +</P> + +<P> +The young man was incredulous. +</P> + +<P> +"You were near getting sunstruck when I picked you up," he laughed. +"If you're going to Hunter's Island, why didn't you go to Pelham Manor?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's right!" assented Jimmie eagerly. "But I wanted to save the ten +cents so's to send Sadie to the movies. So I walked." +</P> + +<P> +The young man looked his embarrassment. +</P> + +<P> +"I beg your pardon," he murmured. +</P> + +<P> +But Jimmie did not hear him. From the back of the car he was dragging +excitedly at the hated suit-case. +</P> + +<P> +"Stop!" he commanded. "I got ter get out. I got ter walk." +</P> + +<P> +The young man showed his surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Walk!" he exclaimed. "What is it—a bet?" +</P> + +<P> +Jimmie dropped the valise and followed it into the roadway. It took +some time to explain to the young man. First, he had to be told about +the scout law and the one good turn a day, and that it must involve +some personal sacrifice. And, as Jimmie pointed out, changing from a +slow suburban train to a racing-car could not be listed as a sacrifice. +He had not earned the money, Jimmie argued; he had only avoided paying +it to the railroad. If he did not walk he would be obtaining the +gratitude of Sadie by a falsehood. Therefore, he must walk. +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all," protested the young man. "You've got it wrong. What +good will it do your sister to have you sunstruck? I think you are +sunstruck. You're crazy with the heat. You get in here, and we'll +talk it over as we go along." +</P> + +<P> +Hastily Jimmie backed away. "I'd rather walk," he said. +</P> + +<P> +The young man shifted his legs irritably. +</P> + +<P> +"Then how'll this suit you?" he called. "We'll declare that first 'one +good turn' a failure and start afresh. Do me a good turn." +</P> + +<P> +Jimmie halted in his tracks and looked back suspiciously. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to Hunter's Island Inn," called the young man, "and I've +lost my way. You get in here and guide me. That'll be doing me a good +turn." +</P> + +<P> +On either side of the road, blotting out the landscape, giant hands +picked out in electric-light bulbs pointed the way to Hunter's Island +Inn. Jimmie grinned and nodded toward them. +</P> + +<P> +"Much obliged," he called. "I got ter walk." Turning his back upon +temptation, he waddled forward into the flickering heat waves. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The young man did not attempt to pursue. At the side of the road, +under the shade of a giant elm, he had brought the car to a halt and +with his arms crossed upon the wheel sat motionless, following with +frowning eyes the retreating figure of Jimmie. But the narrow-chested +and knock-kneed boy staggering over the sun-baked asphalt no longer +concerned him. It was not Jimmie, but the code preached by Jimmie, and +not only preached but before his eyes put into practice, that +interested him. The young man with white hair had been running away +from temptation. At forty miles an hour he had been running away from +the temptation to do a fellow mortal "a good turn." That morning, to +the appeal of a drowning Caesar to "Help me, Cassius, or I sink," he +had answered: "Sink!" That answer he had no wish to reconsider. That +he might not reconsider he had sought to escape. It was his experience +that a sixty-horse-power racing-machine is a jealous mistress. For +retrospective, sentimental, or philanthropic thoughts she grants no +leave of absence. But he had not escaped. Jimmie had halted him, +tripped him by the heels, and set him again to thinking. Within the +half-hour that followed those who rolled past saw at the side of the +road a car with her engine running, and leaning upon the wheel, as +unconscious of his surroundings as though he sat at his own fireplace, +a young man who frowned and stared at nothing. The half-hour passed +and the young man swung his car back toward the city. But at the first +road-house that showed a blue-and-white telephone sign he left it, and +into the iron box at the end of the bar dropped a nickel. He wished to +communicate with Mr. Carroll, of Carroll and Hastings; and when he +learned Mr. Carroll had just issued orders that he must not be +disturbed, the young man gave his name. +</P> + +<P> +The effect upon the barkeeper was instantaneous. With the aggrieved +air of one who feels he is the victim of a jest he laughed scornfully. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you putting over?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +The young man smiled reassuringly. He had begun to speak and, though +apparently engaged with the beer-glass he was polishing, the barkeeper +listened. +</P> + +<P> +Down in Wall Street the senior member of Carroll and Hastings also +listened. He was alone in the most private of all his private offices, +and when interrupted had been engaged in what, of all undertakings, is +the most momentous. On the desk before him lay letters to his lawyer, +to the coroner, to his wife; and hidden by a mass of papers, but within +reach of his hand, was an automatic pistol. The promise it offered of +swift release had made the writing of the letters simple, had given him +a feeling of complete detachment, had released him, at least in +thought, from all responsibilities. And when at his elbow the +telephone coughed discreetly, it was as though some one had called him +from a world from which already he had made his exit. +</P> + +<P> +Mechanically, through mere habit, he lifted the receiver. +</P> + +<P> +The voice over the telephone came in brisk, staccato sentences. +</P> + +<P> +"That letter I sent this morning? Forget it. Tear it up. I've been +thinking and I'm going to take a chance. I've decided to back you +boys, and I know you'll make good. I'm speaking from a road-house in +the Bronx; going straight from here to the bank. So you can begin to +draw against us within an hour. And—hello!—will three millions see +you through?" +</P> + +<P> +From Wall Street there came no answer, but from the hands of the +barkeeper a glass crashed to the floor. +</P> + +<P> +The young man regarded the barkeeper with puzzled eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"He doesn't answer," he exclaimed. "He must have hung up." +</P> + +<P> +"He must have fainted!" said the barkeeper. +</P> + +<P> +The white-haired one pushed a bill across the counter. "To pay for +breakage," he said, and disappeared down Pelham Parkway. +</P> + +<P> +Throughout the day, with the bill, for evidence, pasted against the +mirror, the barkeeper told and retold the wondrous tale. +</P> + +<P> +"He stood just where you're standing now," he related, "blowing in +million-dollar bills like you'd blow suds off a beer. If I'd knowed it +was him, I'd have hit him once and hid him in the cellar for the +reward. Who'd I think he was? I thought he was a wire-tapper, working +a con game!" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Carroll had not "hung up," but when in the Bronx the beer-glass +crashed, in Wall Street the receiver had slipped from the hand of the +man who held it, and the man himself had fallen forward. His desk hit +him in the face and woke him—woke him to the wonderful fact that he +still lived; that at forty he had been born again; that before him +stretched many more years in which, as the young man with the white +hair had pointed out, he still could make good. +</P> + +<P> +The afternoon was far advanced when the staff of Carroll and Hastings +were allowed to depart, and, even late as was the hour, two of them +were asked to remain. Into the most private of the private offices +Carroll invited Gaskell, the head clerk; in the main office Hastings +had asked young Thorne, the bond clerk, to be seated. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Until the senior partner has finished with Gaskell young Thorne must +remain seated. +</P> + +<P> +"Gaskell," said Mr. Carroll, "if we had listened to you, if we'd run +this place as it was when father was alive, this never would have +happened. It hasn't happened, but we've had our lesson. And after +this we're going slow and going straight. And we don't need you to +tell us how to do that. We want you to go away—on a month's vacation. +When I thought we were going under I planned to send the children on a +sea voyage with the governess—so they wouldn't see the newspapers. +But now that I can look them in the eye again, I need them, I can't let +them go. So, if you'd like to take your wife on an ocean trip to Nova +Scotia and Quebec, here are the cabins I reserved for the kids. They +call it the royal suite—whatever that is—and the trip lasts a month. +The boat sails to-morrow morning. Don't sleep too late or you may miss +her." +</P> + +<P> +The head clerk was secreting the tickets in the inside pocket of his +waistcoat. His fingers trembled, and when he laughed his voice +trembled. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss the boat!" the head clerk exclaimed. "If she gets away from +Millie and me she's got to start now. We'll go on board to-night!" +</P> + +<P> +A half-hour later Millie was on her knees packing a trunk, and her +husband was telephoning to the drug-store for a sponge-bag and a cure +for seasickness. +</P> + +<P> +Owing to the joy in her heart and to the fact that she was on her +knees, Millie was alternately weeping into the trunk-tray and offering +up incoherent prayers of thanksgiving. Suddenly she sank back upon the +floor. +</P> + +<P> +"John!" she cried, "doesn't it seem sinful to sail away in a 'royal +suite' and leave this beautiful flat empty?" +</P> + +<P> +Over the telephone John was having trouble with the drug clerk. +</P> + +<P> +"No!" he explained, "I'm not seasick now. The medicine I want is to be +taken later. I know I'm speaking from the Pavonia; but the Pavonia +isn't a ship; it's an apartment-house." +</P> + +<P> +He turned to Millie. "We can't be in two places at the same time," he +suggested. +</P> + +<P> +"But, think," insisted Millie, "of all the poor people stifling +to-night in this heat, trying to sleep on the roofs and fire-escapes; +and our flat so cool and big and pretty—and no one in it." +</P> + +<P> +John nodded his head proudly. +</P> + +<P> +"I know it's big," he said, "but it isn't big enough to hold all the +people who are sleeping to-night on the roofs and in the parks." +</P> + +<P> +"I was thinking of your brother—and Grace," said Millie. "They've +been married only two weeks now, and they're in a stuffy hall bedroom +and eating with all the other boarders. Think what our flat would mean +to them; to be by themselves, with eight rooms and their own kitchen +and bath, and our new refrigerator and the gramophone! It would be +heaven! It would be a real honeymoon!" +</P> + +<P> +Abandoning the drug clerk, John lifted Millie in his arms and kissed +her, for, next to his wife, nearest his heart was the younger brother. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The younger brother and Grace were sitting on the stoop of the +boarding-house. On the upper steps, in their shirt-sleeves, were the +other boarders; so the bride and bridegroom spoke in whispers. The air +of the cross street was stale and stagnant; from it rose exhalations of +rotting fruit, the gases of an open subway, the smoke of passing +taxicabs. But between the street and the hall bedroom, with its odors +of a gas-stove and a kitchen, the choice was difficult. +</P> + +<P> +"We've got to cool off somehow," the young husband was saying, "or you +won't sleep. Shall we treat ourselves to ice-cream sodas or a trip on +the Weehawken ferry-boat?" +</P> + +<P> +"The ferry-boat!" begged the girl, "where we can get away from all +these people." +</P> + +<P> +A taxicab with a trunk in front whirled into the street, kicked itself +to a stop, and the head clerk and Millie spilled out upon the pavement. +They talked so fast, and the younger brother and Grace talked so fast, +that the boarders, although they listened intently, could make nothing +of it. +</P> + +<P> +They distinguished only the concluding sentences: +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you drive down to the wharf with us," they heard the elder +brother ask, "and see our royal suite?" +</P> + +<P> +But the younger brother laughed him to scorn. +</P> + +<P> +"What's your royal suite," he mocked, "to our royal palace?" +</P> + +<P> +An hour later, had the boarders listened outside the flat of the head +clerk, they would have heard issuing from his bathroom the cooling +murmur of running water and from his gramophone the jubilant notes of +"Alexander's Rag-time Band." +</P> + +<P> +When in his private office Carroll was making a present of the royal +suite to the head clerk, in the main office Hastings, the junior +partner, was addressing "Champ" Thorne, the bond clerk. He addressed +him familiarly and affectionately as "Champ." This was due partly to +the fact that twenty-six years before Thorne had been christened +Champneys and to the coincidence that he had captained the football +eleven of one of the Big Three to the championship. +</P> + +<P> +"Champ," said Mr. Hastings, "last month, when you asked me to raise +your salary, the reason I didn't do it was not because you didn't +deserve it, but because I believed if we gave you a raise you'd +immediately get married." +</P> + +<P> +The shoulders of the ex-football captain rose aggressively; he snorted +with indignation. +</P> + +<P> +"And why should I not get married?" he demanded. "You're a fine one to +talk! You're the most offensively happy married man I ever met." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I know I am happy better than you do," reproved the junior +partner; "but I know also that it takes money to support a wife." +</P> + +<P> +"You raise me to a hundred a week," urged Champ, "and I'll make it +support a wife whether it supports me or not." +</P> + +<P> +"A month ago," continued Hastings, "we could have promised you a +hundred, but we didn't know how long we could pay it. We didn't want +you to rush off and marry some fine girl—" +</P> + +<P> +"Some fine girl!" muttered Mr. Thorne. "The finest girl!" +</P> + +<P> +"The finer the girl," Hastings pointed out, "the harder it would have +been for you if we had failed and you had lost your job." +</P> + +<P> +The eyes of the young man opened with sympathy and concern. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it as bad as that?" he murmured. +</P> + +<P> +Hastings sighed happily. +</P> + +<P> +"It was," he said, "but this morning the Young Man of Wall Street did +us a good turn—saved us—saved our creditors, saved our homes, saved +our honor. We're going to start fresh and pay our debts, and we agreed +the first debt we paid would be the small one we owe you. You've +brought us more than we've given, and if you'll stay with us we're +going to 'see' your fifty and raise it a hundred. What do you say?" +</P> + +<P> +Young Mr. Thorne leaped to his feet. What he said was: "Where'n hell's +my hat?" +</P> + +<P> +But by the time he had found the hat and the door he mended his manners. +</P> + +<P> +"I say, 'Thank you a thousand times,"' he shouted over his shoulder. +"Excuse me, but I've got to go. I've got to break the news to—" +</P> + +<P> +He did not explain to whom he was going to break the news; but Hastings +must have guessed, for again he sighed happily and then, a little +hysterically laughed aloud. Several months had passed since he had +laughed aloud. +</P> + +<P> +In his anxiety to break the news Champ Thorne almost broke his neck. +In his excitement he could not remember whether the red flash meant the +elevator was going down or coming up, and sooner than wait to find out +he started to race down eighteen flights of stairs when fortunately the +elevator-door swung open. +</P> + +<P> +"You get five dollars," he announced to the elevator man, "if you drop +to the street without a stop. Beat the speed limit! Act like the +building is on fire and you're trying to save me before the roof falls." +</P> + +<P> +Senator Barnes and his entire family, which was his daughter Barbara, +were at the Ritz-Carlton. They were in town in August because there +was a meeting of the directors of the Brazil and Cuyaba Rubber Company, +of which company Senator Barnes was president. It was a secret +meeting. Those directors who were keeping cool at the edge of the +ocean had been summoned by telegraph; those who were steaming across +the ocean, by wireless. +</P> + +<P> +Up from the equator had drifted the threat of a scandal, sickening, +grim, terrible. As yet it burned beneath the surface, giving out only +an odor, but an odor as rank as burning rubber itself. At any moment +it might break into flame. For the directors, was it the better wisdom +to let the scandal smoulder, and take a chance, or to be the first to +give the alarm, the first to lead the way to the horror and stamp it +out? +</P> + +<P> +It was to decide this that, in the heat of August, the directors and +the president had foregathered. +</P> + +<P> +Champ Thorne knew nothing of this; he knew only that by a miracle +Barbara Barnes was in town; that at last he was in a position to ask +her to marry him; that she would certainly say she would. That was all +he cared to know. +</P> + +<P> +A year before he had issued his declaration of independence. Before he +could marry, he told her, he must be able to support a wife on what he +earned, without her having to accept money from her father, and until +he received "a minimum wage" of five thousand dollars they must wait. +</P> + +<P> +"What is the matter with my father's money?" Barbara had demanded. +</P> + +<P> +Thorne had evaded the direct question. +</P> + +<P> +"There is too much of it," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you object to the way he makes it?" insisted Barbara. "Because +rubber is most useful. You put it in golf balls and auto tires and +galoshes. There is nothing so perfectly respectable as galoshes. And +what is there 'tainted' about a raincoat?" +</P> + +<P> +Thorne shook his head unhappily. +</P> + +<P> +"It's not the finished product to which I refer," he stammered; "it's +the way they get the raw material." +</P> + +<P> +"They get it out of trees," said Barbara. Then she exclaimed with +enlightenment—"Oh!" she cried, "you are thinking of the Congo. There +it is terrible! That is slavery. But there are no slaves on the +Amazon. The natives are free and the work is easy. They just tap the +trees the way the farmers gather sugar in Vermont. Father has told me +about it often." +</P> + +<P> +Thorne had made no comment. He could abuse a friend, if the friend +were among those present, but denouncing any one he disliked as +heartily as he disliked Senator Barnes was a public service he +preferred to leave to others. And he knew besides that if the father +she loved and the man she loved distrusted each other, Barbara would +not rest until she learned the reason why. +</P> + +<P> +One day, in a newspaper, Barbara read of the Puju Mayo atrocities, of +the Indian slaves in the jungles and backwaters of the Amazon, who are +offered up as sacrifices to "red rubber." She carried the paper to her +father. What it said, her father told her, was untrue, and if it were +true it was the first he had heard of it. +</P> + +<P> +Senator Barnes loved the good things of life, but the thing he loved +most was his daughter; the thing he valued the highest was her good +opinion. So when for the first time she looked at him in doubt, he +assured her he at once would order an investigation. +</P> + +<P> +"But, of course," he added, "it will be many months before our agents +can report. On the Amazon news travels very slowly." +</P> + +<P> +In the eyes of his daughter the doubt still lingered. +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid," she said, "that that is true." +</P> + +<P> +That was six months before the directors of the Brazil and Cuyaba +Rubber Company were summoned to meet their president at his rooms in +the Ritz-Carlton. They were due to arrive in half an hour, and while +Senator Barnes awaited their coming Barbara came to him. In her eyes +was a light that helped to tell the great news. It gave him a sharp, +jealous pang. He wanted at once to play a part in her happiness, to +make her grateful to him, not alone to this stranger who was taking her +away. So fearful was he that she would shut him out of her life that +had she asked for half his kingdom he would have parted with it. +</P> + +<P> +"And besides giving my consent," said the rubber king, "for which no +one seems to have asked, what can I give my little girl to make her +remember her old father? Some diamonds to put on her head, or pearls to +hang around her neck, or does she want a vacant lot on Fifth Avenue?" +</P> + +<P> +The lovely hands of Barbara rested upon his shoulders; her lovely face +was raised to his; her lovely eyes were appealing, and a little +frightened. +</P> + +<P> +"What would one of those things cost?" asked Barbara. +</P> + +<P> +The question was eminently practical. It came within the scope of the +senator's understanding. After all, he was not to be cast into outer +darkness. His smile was complacent. He answered airily: +</P> + +<P> +"Anything you like," he said; "a million dollars?" +</P> + +<P> +The fingers closed upon his shoulders. The eyes, still frightened, +still searched his in appeal. +</P> + +<P> +"Then, for my wedding-present," said the girl, "I want you to take that +million dollars and send an expedition to the Amazon. And I will +choose the men. Men unafraid; men not afraid of fever or sudden death; +not afraid to tell the truth—even to you. And all the world will +know. And they—I mean you—will set those people free!" +</P> + +<P> +Senator Barnes received the directors with an embarrassment which he +concealed under a manner of just indignation. +</P> + +<P> +"My mind is made up," he told them. "Existing conditions cannot +continue. And to that end, at my own expense, I am sending an +expedition across South America. It will investigate, punish, and +establish reforms. I suggest, on account of this damned heat, we do +now adjourn." +</P> + +<P> +That night, over on Long Island, Carroll told his wife all, or nearly +all. He did not tell her about the automatic pistol. And together on +tiptoe they crept to the nursery and looked down at their sleeping +children. When she rose from her knees the mother said: "But how can I +thank him?" +</P> + +<P> +By "him" she meant the Young Man of Wall Street. +</P> + +<P> +"You never can thank him," said Carroll; "that's the worst of it." +</P> + +<P> +But after a long silence the mother said: "I will send him a photograph +of the children. Do you think he will understand?" +</P> + +<P> +Down at Seabright, Hastings and his wife walked in the sunken garden. +The moon was so bright that the roses still held their color. +</P> + +<P> +"I would like to thank him," said the young wife. She meant the Young +Man of Wall Street. "But for him we would have lost this." +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes caressed the garden, the fruit-trees, the house with wide, +hospitable verandas. "To-morrow I will send him some of these roses," +said the young wife. "Will he understand that they mean our home?" +</P> + +<P> +At a scandalously late hour, in a scandalous spirit of independence, +Champ Thorne and Barbara were driving around Central Park in a taxicab. +</P> + +<P> +"How strangely the Lord moves, his wonders to perform," misquoted +Barbara. "Had not the Young Man of Wall Street saved Mr. Hastings, Mr. +Hastings could not have raised your salary; you would not have asked me +to marry you, and had you not asked me to marry you, father would not +have given me a wedding-present, and—" +</P> + +<P> +"And," said Champ, taking up the tale, "thousands of slaves would still +be buried in the jungles, hidden away from their wives and children and +the light of the sun and their fellow men. They still would be dying +of fever, starvation, tortures." +</P> + +<P> +He took her hand in both of his and held her finger-tips against his +lips. +</P> + +<P> +"And they will never know," he whispered, "when their freedom comes, +that they owe it all to you." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +On Hunter's Island, Jimmie Reeder and his bunkie, Sam Sturges, each on +his canvas cot, tossed and twisted. The heat, the moonlight, and the +mosquitoes would not let them even think of sleep. +</P> + +<P> +"That was bully," said Jimmie, "what you did to-day about saving that +dog. If it hadn't been for you he'd ha' drownded." +</P> + +<P> +"He would not!" said Sammy with punctilious regard for the truth; "it +wasn't deep enough." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, the scout-master ought to know," argued Jimmie; "he said it was +the best 'one good turn' of the day!" +</P> + +<P> +Modestly Sam shifted the lime-light so that it fell upon his bunkie. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll bet," he declared loyally, "your 'one good turn' was a better +one!" +</P> + +<P> +Jimmie yawned, and then laughed scornfully. +</P> + +<P> +"Me!" he scoffed. "I didn't do nothing. I sent my sister to the +movies." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="france"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +"SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE" +</H2> + +<BR> + +<P> +Marie Gessler, known as Marie Chaumontel, Jeanne d'Avrechy, the +Countess d'Aurillac, was German. Her father, who served through the +Franco-Prussian War, was a German spy. It was from her mother she +learned to speak French sufficiently well to satisfy even an +Academician and, among Parisians, to pass as one. Both her parents +were dead. Before they departed, knowing they could leave their +daughter nothing save their debts, they had had her trained as a nurse. +But when they were gone, Marie in the Berlin hospitals played politics, +intrigued, indiscriminately misused the appealing, violet eyes. There +was a scandal; several scandals. At the age of twenty-five she was +dismissed from the Municipal Hospital, and as now-save for the violet +eyes—she was without resources, as a compagnon de voyage with a German +doctor she travelled to Monte Carlo. There she abandoned the doctor +for Henri Ravignac, a captain in the French Aviation Corps, who, when +his leave ended, escorted her to Paris. +</P> + +<P> +The duties of Captain Ravignac kept him in barracks near the aviation +field, but Marie he established in his apartments on the Boulevard +Haussmann. One day he brought from the barracks a roll of blue-prints, +and as he was locking them in a drawer, said: "The Germans would pay +through the nose for those!" The remark was indiscreet, but then Marie +had told him she was French, and any one would have believed her. +</P> + +<P> +The next morning the same spirit of adventure that had exiled her from +the Berlin hospitals carried her with the blue-prints to the German +embassy. There, greatly shocked, they first wrote down her name and +address, and then, indignant at her proposition, ordered her out. But +the day following a strange young German who was not at all indignant, +but, on the contrary, quite charming, called upon Marie. For the +blue-prints he offered her a very large sum, and that same hour with +them and Marie departed for Berlin. Marie did not need the money. Nor +did the argument that she was serving her country greatly impress her. +It was rather that she loved intrigue. And so she became a spy. +</P> + +<P> +Henri Ravignac, the man she had robbed of the blue-prints, was tried by +court-martial. The charge was treason, but Charles Ravignac, his +younger brother, promised to prove that the guilty one was the girl, +and to that end obtained leave of absence and spent much time and +money. At the trial he was able to show the record of Marie in Berlin +and Monte Carlo; that she was the daughter of a German secret agent; +that on the afternoon the prints disappeared Marie, with an agent of +the German embassy, had left Paris for Berlin. In consequence of this +the charge of selling military secrets was altered to one of "gross +neglect," and Henri Ravignac was sentenced to two years in the military +prison at Tours. But he was of an ancient and noble family, and when +they came to take him from his cell in the Cherche-Midi, he was dead. +Charles, his brother, disappeared. It was said he also had killed +himself; that he had been appointed a military attache in South +America; that to revenge his brother he had entered the secret service; +but whatever became of him no one knew. All that was certain was that, +thanks to the act of Marie Gessler, on the rolls of the French army the +ancient and noble name of Ravignac no longer appeared. +</P> + +<P> +In her chosen profession Marie Gessler found nothing discreditable. Of +herself her opinion was not high, and her opinion of men was lower. +For her smiles she had watched several sacrifice honor, duty, loyalty; +and she held them and their kind in contempt. To lie, to cajole, to +rob men of secrets they thought important, and of secrets the +importance of which they did not even guess, was to her merely an +intricate and exciting game. +</P> + +<P> +She played it very well. So well that in the service her advance was +rapid. On important missions she was sent to Russia, through the +Balkans; even to the United States. There, with credentials as an army +nurse, she inspected our military hospitals and unobtrusively asked +many innocent questions. +</P> + +<P> +When she begged to be allowed to work in her beloved Paris, "they" told +her when war came "they" intended to plant her inside that city, and +that, until then, the less Paris knew of her the better. +</P> + +<P> +But just before the great war broke, to report on which way Italy might +jump, she was sent to Rome, and it was not until September she was +recalled. The telegram informed her that her Aunt Elizabeth was ill, +and that at once she must return to Berlin. This, she learned from the +code book wrapped under the cover of her thermos bottle, meant that she +was to report to the general commanding the German forces at Soissons. +</P> + +<P> +From Italy she passed through Switzerland, and, after leaving Basle, on +military trains was rushed north to Luxemburg, and then west to Laon. +She was accompanied by her companion, Bertha, an elderly and +respectable, even distinguished-looking female. In the secret service +her number was 528. Their passes from the war office described them as +nurses of the German Red Cross. Only the Intelligence Department knew +their real mission. With her, also, as her chauffeur, was a young +Italian soldier of fortune, Paul Anfossi. He had served in the Belgian +Congo, in the French Foreign Legion in Algiers, and spoke all the +European languages. In Rome, where as a wireless operator he was +serving a commercial company, in selling Marie copies of messages he +had memorized, Marie had found him useful, and when war came she +obtained for him, from the Wilhelmstrasse, the number 292. From Laon, +in one of the automobiles of the General Staff, the three spies were +driven first to Soissons, and then along the road to Meaux and Paris, +to the village of Neufchelles. They arrived at midnight, and in a +chateau of one of the Champagne princes, found the colonel commanding +the Intelligence Bureau. He accepted their credentials, destroyed +them, and replaced them with a laissez-passer signed by the mayor of +Laon. That dignitary, the colonel explained, to citizens of Laon +fleeing to Paris and the coast had issued many passes. But as now +between Laon and Paris there were three German armies, the refugees had +been turned back and their passes confiscated. +</P> + +<P> +"From among them," said the officer, "we have selected one for you. It +is issued to the wife of Count d'Aurillac, a captain of reserves, and +her aunt, Madame Benet. It asks for those ladies and their chauffeur, +Briand, a safe-conduct through the French military lines. If it gets +you into Paris you will destroy it and assume another name. The Count +d'Aurillac is now with his regiment in that city. If he learned of the +presence there of his wife, he would seek her, and that would not be +good for you. So, if you reach Paris, you will become a Belgian +refugee. You are high-born and rich. Your chateau has been destroyed. +But you have money. You will give liberally to the Red Cross. You +will volunteer to nurse in the hospitals. With your sad story of ill +treatment by us, with your high birth, and your knowledge of nursing, +which you acquired, of course, only as an amateur, you should not find +it difficult to join the Ladies of France, or the American Ambulance. +What you learn from the wounded English and French officers and the +French doctors you will send us through the usual channels." +</P> + +<P> +"When do I start?" asked the woman. +</P> + +<P> +"For a few days," explained the officer, "you remain in this chateau. +You will keep us informed of what is going forward after we withdraw." +</P> + +<P> +"Withdraw?" It was more of an exclamation than a question. Marie was +too well trained to ask questions. +</P> + +<P> +"We are taking up a new position," said the officer, "on the Aisne." +</P> + +<P> +The woman, incredulous, stared. +</P> + +<P> +"And we do not enter Paris?" +</P> + +<P> +"You do," returned the officer. "That is all that concerns you. We +will join you later—in the spring. Meanwhile, for the winter we +intrench ourselves along the Aisne. In a chimney of this chateau we +have set up a wireless outfit. We are leaving it intact. The chauffeur +Briand—who, you must explain to the French, you brought with you from +Laon, and who has been long in your service—will transmit whatever you +discover. We wish especially to know of any movement toward our left. +If they attack in front from Soissons, we are prepared; but of any +attempt to cross the Oise and take us in flank you must warn us." +</P> + +<P> +The officer rose and hung upon himself his field-glasses, map-cases, +and side-arms. +</P> + +<P> +"We leave you now," he said. "When the French arrive you will tell +them your reason for halting at this chateau was that the owner, +Monsieur Iverney, and his family are friends of your husband. You +found us here, and we detained you. And so long as you can use the +wireless, make excuses to remain. If they offer to send you on to +Paris, tell them your aunt is too ill to travel." +</P> + +<P> +"But they will find the wireless," said the woman. "They are sure to +use the towers for observation, and they will find it." +</P> + +<P> +"In that case," said the officer, "you will suggest to them that we +fled in such haste we had no time to dismantle it. Of course, you had +no knowledge that it existed, or, as a loyal French woman, you would +have at once told them." To emphasize his next words the officer +pointed at her: "Under no circumstances," he continued, "must you be +suspected. If they should take Briand in the act, should they have +even the least doubt concerning him, you must repudiate him entirely. +If necessary, to keep your own skirts clear, it would be your duty +yourself to denounce him as a spy." +</P> + +<P> +"Your first orders," said the woman, "were to tell them Briand had been +long in my service; that I brought him from my home in Laon." +</P> + +<P> +"He might be in your service for years," returned the colonel, "and you +not know he was a German agent." +</P> + +<P> +"If to save myself I inform upon him," said Marie, "of course you know +you will lose him." +</P> + +<P> +The officer shrugged his shoulders. "A wireless operator," he +retorted, "we can replace. But for you, and for the service you are to +render in Paris, we have no substitute. You must not be found out. +You are invaluable." +</P> + +<P> +The spy inclined her head. "I thank you," she said. +</P> + +<P> +The officer sputtered indignantly. +</P> + +<P> +"It is not a compliment," he exclaimed; "it is an order. You must not +be found out!" +</P> + +<P> +Withdrawn some two hundred yards from the Paris road, the chateau stood +upon a wooded hill. Except directly in front, trees of great height +surrounded it. The tips of their branches brushed the windows; +interlacing, they continued until they overhung the wall of the estate. +Where it ran with the road the wall gave way to a lofty gate and iron +fence, through which those passing could see a stretch of noble turf, +as wide as a polo-field, borders of flowers disappearing under the +shadows of the trees; and the chateau itself, with its terrace, its +many windows, its high-pitched, sloping roof, broken by towers and +turrets. +</P> + +<P> +Through the remainder of the night there came from the road to those in +the chateau the roar and rumbling of the army in retreat. It moved +without panic, disorder, or haste, but unceasingly. Not for an instant +was there a breathing-spell. And when the sun rose, the three +spies—the two women and the chauffeur—who in the great chateau were +now alone, could see as well as hear the gray column of steel rolling +past below them. +</P> + +<P> +The spies knew that the gray column had reached Claye, had stood within +fifteen miles of Paris, and then upon Paris had turned its back. They +knew also that the reverberations from the direction of Meaux, that +each moment grew more loud and savage, were the French "seventy-fives" +whipping the gray column forward. Of what they felt the Germans did +not speak. In silence they looked at each other, and in the eyes of +Marie was bitterness and resolve. +</P> + +<P> +Toward noon Marie met Anfossi in the great drawing-room that stretched +the length of the terrace and from the windows of which, through the +park gates, they could see the Paris road. +</P> + +<P> +"This, that is passing now," said Marie, "is the last of our +rear-guard. Go to your tower," she ordered, "and send word that except +for stragglers and the wounded our column has just passed through +Neufchelles, and that any moment we expect the French." She raised her +hand impressively. "From now," she warned, "we speak French, we think +French, we are French!" +</P> + +<P> +Anfossi, or Briand, as now he called himself, addressed her in that +language. His tone was bitter. "Pardon my lese-majesty," he said, +"but this chief of your Intelligence Department is a dummer Mensch. He +is throwing away a valuable life." +</P> + +<P> +Marie exclaimed in dismay. She placed her hand upon his arm, and the +violet eyes filled with concern. +</P> + +<P> +"Not yours!" she protested. +</P> + +<P> +"Absolutely!" returned the Italian. "I can send nothing by this +knapsack wireless that they will not learn from others; from airmen, +Uhlans, the peasants in the fields. And certainly I will be caught. +Dead I am dead, but alive and in Paris the opportunities are unending. +From the French Legion Etranger I have my honorable discharge. I am an +expert wireless operator and in their Signal Corps I can easily find a +place. Imagine me, then, on the Eiffel Tower. From the air I snatch +news from all of France, from the Channel, the North Sea. You and I +could work together, as in Rome. But here, between the lines, with a +pass from a village sous-prefet, it is ridiculous. I am not afraid to +die. But to die because some one else is stupid, that is hard." +</P> + +<P> +Marie clasped his hand in both of hers. +</P> + +<P> +"You must not speak of death," she cried; "you know I must carry out my +orders, that I must force you to take this risk. And you know that +thought of harm to you tortures me!" +</P> + +<P> +Quickly the young man disengaged his hand. The woman exclaimed with +anger. +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you doubt me?" she cried. +</P> + +<P> +Briand protested vehemently. +</P> + +<P> +"I do not doubt you." +</P> + +<P> +"My affection, then?" In a whisper that carried with it the feeling of +a caress Marie added softly: "My love?" +</P> + +<P> +The young man protested miserably. "You make it very hard, +mademoiselle," he cried. "You are my superior officer, I am your +servant. Who am I that I should share with others—" +</P> + +<P> +The woman interrupted eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, you are jealous!" she cried. "Is that why you are so cruel? But +when I tell you I love you, and only you, can you not feel it is the +truth?" +</P> + +<P> +The young man frowned unhappily. +</P> + +<P> +"My duty, mademoiselle!" he stammered. +</P> + +<P> +With an exclamation of anger Marie left him. As the door slammed +behind her, the young man drew a deep breath. On his face was the +expression of ineffable relief. +</P> + +<P> +In the hall Marie met her elderly companion, Bertha, now her aunt, +Madame Benet. +</P> + +<P> +"I heard you quarrelling," Bertha protested. "It is most indiscreet. +It is not in the part of the Countess d'Aurillac that she makes love to +her chauffeur." +</P> + +<P> +Marie laughed noiselessly and drew her farther down the hall. "He is +imbecile!" she exclaimed. "He will kill me with his solemn face and +his conceit. I make love to him—yes—that he may work the more +willingly. But he will have none of it. He is jealous of the others." +</P> + +<P> +Madame Benet frowned. +</P> + +<P> +"He resents the others," she corrected. "I do not blame him. He is a +gentleman!" +</P> + +<P> +"And the others," demanded Marie; "were they not of the most noble +families of Rome?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am old and I am ugly," said Bertha, "but to me Anfossi is always as +considerate as he is to you who are so beautiful." +</P> + +<P> +"An Italian gentleman," returned Marie, "does not serve in Belgian +Congo unless it is—the choice of that or the marble quarries." +</P> + +<P> +"I do not know what his past may be," sighed Madame Benet, "nor do I +ask. He is only a number, as you and I are only numbers. And I beg you +to let us work in harmony. At such a time your love-affairs threaten +our safety. You must wait." +</P> + +<P> +Marie laughed insolently. "With the Du Barry," she protested, "I can +boast that I wait for no man." +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied the older woman; "you pursue him!" +</P> + +<P> +Marie would have answered sharply, but on the instant her interest was +diverted. For one week, by day and night, she had lived in a world +peopled only by German soldiers. Beside her in the railroad carriage, +on the station platforms, at the windows of the trains that passed the +one in which she rode, at the grade crossings, on the bridges, in the +roads that paralleled the tracks, choking the streets of the villages +and spread over the fields of grain, she had seen only the gray-green +uniforms. Even her professional eye no longer distinguished regiment +from regiment, dragoon from grenadier, Uhlan from Hussar or Landsturm. +Stripes, insignia, numerals, badges of rank, had lost their meaning. +Those who wore them no longer were individuals. They were not even +human. During the three last days the automobile, like a motor-boat +fighting the tide, had crept through a gray-green river of men, +stained, as though from the banks, by mud and yellow clay. And for +hours, while the car was blocked, and in fury the engine raced and +purred, the gray-green river had rolled past her, slowly but as +inevitably as lava down the slope of a volcano, bearing on its surface +faces with staring eyes, thousands and thousands of eyes, some fierce +and bloodshot, others filled with weariness, homesickness, pain. At +night she still saw them: the white faces under the sweat and dust, the +eyes dumb, inarticulate, asking the answer. She had been suffocated by +German soldiers, by the mass of them, engulfed and smothered; she had +stifled in a land inhabited only by gray-green ghosts. +</P> + +<P> +And suddenly, as though a miracle had been wrought, she saw upon the +lawn, riding toward her, a man in scarlet, blue, and silver. One man +riding alone. +</P> + +<P> +Approaching with confidence, but alert; his reins fallen, his hands +nursing his carbine, his eyes searched the shadows of the trees, the +empty windows, even the sun-swept sky. His was the new face at the +door, the new step on the floor. And the spy knew had she beheld an +army corps it would have been no more significant, no more menacing, +than the solitary chasseur a cheval scouting in advance of the enemy. +</P> + +<P> +"We are saved!" exclaimed Marie, with irony. "Go quickly," she +commanded, "to the bedroom on the second floor that opens upon the +staircase, so that you can see all who pass. You are too ill to +travel. They must find you in bed." +</P> + +<P> +"And you?" said Bertha. +</P> + +<P> +"I," cried Marie rapturously, "hasten to welcome our preserver!" +</P> + +<P> +The preserver was a peasant lad. Under the white dust his cheeks were +burned a brown-red, his eyes, honest and blue, through much staring at +the skies and at horizon lines, were puckered and encircled with tiny +wrinkles. Responsibility had made him older than his years, and in +speech brief. With the beautiful lady who with tears of joy ran to +greet him, and who in an ecstasy of happiness pressed her cheek against +the nose of his horse, he was unimpressed. He returned to her her +papers and gravely echoed her answers to his questions. "This +chateau," he repeated, "was occupied by their General Staff; they have +left no wounded here; you saw the last of them pass a half-hour since." +He gathered up his reins. +</P> + +<P> +Marie shrieked in alarm. "You will not leave us?" she cried. +</P> + +<P> +For the first time the young man permitted himself to smile. "Others +arrive soon," he said. +</P> + +<P> +He touched his shako, wheeled his horse in the direction from which he +had come, and a minute later Marie heard the hoofs echoing through the +empty village. +</P> + +<P> +When they came, the others were more sympathetic. Even in times of war +a beautiful woman is still a beautiful woman. And the staff officers +who moved into the quarters so lately occupied by the enemy found in +the presence of the Countess d'Aurillac nothing to distress them. In +the absence of her dear friend, Madame Iverney, the chatelaine of the +chateau, she acted as their hostess. Her chauffeur showed the company +cooks the way to the kitchen, the larder, and the charcoal-box. She, +herself, in the hands of General Andre placed the keys of the famous +wine-cellar, and to the surgeon, that the wounded might be freshly +bandaged, intrusted those of the linen-closet. After the indignities +she had suffered while "detained" by les Boches, her delight and relief +at again finding herself under the protection of her own people would +have touched a heart of stone. And the hearts of the staff were not of +stone. It was with regret they gave the countess permission to +continue on her way. At this she exclaimed with gratitude. She +assured them, were her aunt able to travel, she would immediately +depart. +</P> + +<P> +"In Paris she will be more comfortable than here," said the kind +surgeon. He was a reservist, and in times of peace a fashionable +physician and as much at his ease in a boudoir as in a field hospital. +"Perhaps if I saw Madam Benet?" +</P> + +<P> +At the suggestion the countess was overjoyed. But they found Madame +Benet in a state of complete collapse. The conduct of the Germans had +brought about a nervous breakdown. +</P> + +<P> +"Though the bridges are destroyed at Meaux," urged the surgeon, "even +with a detour, you can be in Paris in four hours. I think it is worth +the effort." +</P> + +<P> +But the mere thought of the journey threw Madame Benet into hysterics. +She asked only to rest, she begged for an opiate to make her sleep. +She begged also that they would leave the door open, so that when she +dreamed she was still in the hands of the Germans, and woke in terror, +the sound of the dear French voices and the sight of the beloved French +uniforms might reassure her. She played her part well. Concerning her +Marie felt not the least anxiety. But toward Briand, the chauffeur, +the new arrivals were less easily satisfied. +</P> + +<P> +The general sent his adjutant for the countess. When the adjutant had +closed the door General Andre began abruptly: +</P> + +<P> +"The chauffeur Briand," he asked, "you know him; you can vouch for him?" +</P> + +<P> +"But, certainly!" protested Marie. "He is an Italian." +</P> + +<P> +As though with sudden enlightenment, Marie laughed. It was as if now +in the suspicion of the officer she saw a certain reasonableness. +"Briand was so long in the Foreign Legion in Algiers," she explained, +"where my husband found him, that we have come to think of him as +French. As much French as ourselves, I assure you." +</P> + +<P> +The general and his adjutant were regarding each other questioningly. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I should tell the countess," began the general, "that we have +learned—" +</P> + +<P> +The signal from the adjutant was so slight, so swift, that Marie barely +intercepted it. +</P> + +<P> +The lips of the general shut together like the leaves of a book. To +show the interview was at an end, he reached for a pen. +</P> + +<P> +"I thank you," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," prompted the adjutant, "Madame d'Aurillac understands the +man must not know we inquired concerning him." +</P> + +<P> +General Andre frowned at Marie. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly not!" he commanded. "The honest fellow must not know that +even for a moment he was doubted." +</P> + +<P> +Marie raised the violet eyes reprovingly. +</P> + +<P> +"I trust," she said with reproach, "I too well understand the feelings +of a French soldier to let him know his loyalty is questioned." +</P> + +<P> +With a murmur of appreciation the officers bowed and with a gesture of +gracious pardon Marie left them. +</P> + +<P> +Outside in the hall, with none but orderlies to observe, like a cloak +the graciousness fell from her. She was drawn two ways. In her work +Anfossi was valuable. But Anfossi suspected was less than of no value; +he became a menace, a death-warrant. +</P> + +<P> +General Andre had said, "We have learned—" and the adjutant had halted +him. What had he learned? To know that, Marie would have given much. +Still, one important fact comforted her. Anfossi alone was suspected. +Had there been concerning herself the slightest doubt, they certainly +would not have allowed her to guess her companion was under +surveillance; they would not have asked one who was herself suspected +to vouch for the innocence of a fellow conspirator. Marie found the +course to follow difficult. With Anfossi under suspicion his usefulness +was for the moment at an end; and to accept the chance offered her to +continue on to Paris seemed most wise. On the other hand, if, +concerning Anfossi, she had succeeded in allaying their doubts, the +results most to be desired could be attained only by remaining where +they were. +</P> + +<P> +Their position inside the lines was of the greatest strategic value. +The rooms of the servants were under the roof, and that Briand should +sleep in one of them was natural. That to reach or leave his room he +should constantly be ascending or descending the stairs also was +natural. The field-wireless outfit, or, as he had disdainfully +described it, the "knapsack" wireless, was situated not in the bedroom +he had selected for himself, but in one adjoining. At other times this +was occupied by the maid of Madame Iverney. To summon her maid Madame +Iverney, from her apartment on the second floor, had but to press a +button. And it was in the apartment of Madame Iverney, and on the bed +of that lady, that Madame Benet now reclined. When through the open +door she saw an officer or soldier mount the stairs, she pressed the +button that rang a bell in the room of the maid. In this way, long +before whoever was ascending the stairs could reach the top floor, +warning of his approach came to Anfossi. It gave him time to replace +the dustboard over the fireplace in which the wireless was concealed +and to escape into his own bedroom. The arrangement was ideal. And +already information picked up in the halls below by Marie had been +conveyed to Anfossi to relay in a French cipher to the German General +Staff at Rheims. +</P> + +<P> +Marie made an alert and charming hostess. To all who saw her it was +evident that her mind was intent only upon the comfort of her guests. +Throughout the day many came and went, but each she made welcome; to +each as he departed she called "bonne chance." +</P> + +<P> +Efficient, tireless, tactful, she was everywhere: in the dining-room, +in the kitchen, in the bedrooms, for the wounded finding mattresses to +spread in the gorgeous salons of the Champagne prince; for the +soldier-chauffeurs carrying wine into the courtyard, where the +automobiles panted and growled, and the arriving and departing shrieked +for right of way. At all times an alluring person, now the one woman in +a tumult of men, her smart frock covered by an apron, her head and arms +bare, undismayed by the sight of the wounded or by the distant rumble +of the guns, the Countess d'Aurillac was an inspiring and beautiful +picture. The eyes of the officers, young and old, informed her of that +fact, one of which already she was well aware. By the morning of the +next day she was accepted as the owner of the chateau. +</P> + +<P> +And though continually she reminded the staff she was present only as +the friend of her schoolmate, Madame Iverney, they deferred to her as +to a hostess. Many of them she already saluted by name, and to those +who with messages were constantly motoring to and from the front at +Soissons she was particularly kind. Overnight the legend of her charm, +of her devotion to the soldiers of all ranks, had spread from Soissons +to Meaux, and from Meaux to Paris. It was noon of that day when from +the window of the second story Marie saw an armored automobile sweep +into the courtyard. It was driven by an officer, young and appallingly +good-looking, and, as was obvious by the way he spun his car, one who +held in contempt both the law of gravity and death. That he was some +one of importance seemed evident. Before he could alight the adjutant +had raced to meet him. With her eye for detail Marie observed that the +young officer, instead of imparting information, received it. He must, +she guessed, have just arrived from Paris, and his brother officer +either was telling him the news or giving him his orders. Whichever it +might be, in what was told him the new arrival was greatly interested. +One instant in indignation his gauntleted fist beat upon the +steering-wheel, the next he smiled with pleasure. To interpret this +pantomime was difficult; and, the better to inform herself, Marie +descended the stairs. +</P> + +<P> +As she reached the lower hall the two officers entered. To the spy the +man last to arrive was always the one of greatest importance; and Marie +assured herself that through her friend, the adjutant, to meet with +this one would prove easy. +</P> + +<P> +But the chauffeur-commander of the armored car made it most difficult. +At sight of Marie, much to her alarm, as though greeting a dear friend, +he snatched his kepi from his head and sprang toward her. +</P> + +<P> +"The major," he cried, "told me you were here, that you are Madame +d'Aurillac." His eyes spoke his admiration. In delight he beamed upon +her. "I might have known it!" he murmured. With the confidence of one +who is sure he brings good news, he laughed happily. "And I," he +cried, "am 'Pierrot'!" +</P> + +<P> +Who the devil "Pierrot" might be the spy could not guess. She knew +only that she wished by a German shell "Pierrot" and his car had been +blown to tiny fragments. Was it a trap, she asked herself, or was the +handsome youth really some one the Countess d'Aurillac should know. +But, as from his introducing himself it was evident he could not know +that lady very well, Marie took courage and smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"Which 'Pierrot'?" she parried. +</P> + +<P> +"Pierre Thierry!" cried the youth. +</P> + +<P> +To the relief of Marie he turned upon the adjutant and to him explained +who Pierre Thierry might be. +</P> + +<P> +"Paul d'Aurillac," he said, "is my dearest friend. When he married +this charming lady I was stationed in Algiers, and but for the war I +might never have met her." +</P> + +<P> +To Marie, with his hand on his heart in a most charming manner, he +bowed. His admiration he made no effort to conceal. +</P> + +<P> +"And so," he said, "I know why there is war!" +</P> + +<P> +The adjutant smiled indulgently, and departed on his duties, leaving +them alone. The handsome eyes of Captain Thierry were raised to the +violet eyes of Marie. They appraised her boldly and as boldly +expressed their approval. +</P> + +<P> +In burlesque the young man exclaimed indignantly: "Paul deceived me!" +he cried. "He told me he had married the most beautiful woman in Laon. +He has married the most beautiful woman in France!" +</P> + +<P> +To Marie this was not impertinence, but gallantry. +</P> + +<P> +This was a language she understood, and this was the type of man, +because he was the least difficult to manage, she held most in contempt. +</P> + +<P> +"But about you Paul did not deceive me," she retorted. In apparent +confusion her eyes refused to meet his. "He told me 'Pierrot' was a +most dangerous man!" +</P> + +<P> +She continued hurriedly. With wifely solicitude she asked concerning +Paul. She explained that for a week she had been a prisoner in the +chateau, and, since the mobilization, of her husband save that he was +with his regiment in Paris she had heard nothing. Captain Thierry was +able to give her later news. Only the day previous, on the boulevards, +he had met Count d'Aurillac. He was at the Grand Hotel, and as Thierry +was at once motoring back to Paris he would give Paul news of their +meeting. He hoped he might tell him that soon his wife also would be +in Paris. Marie explained that only the illness of her aunt prevented +her from that same day joining her husband. Her manner became serious. +</P> + +<P> +"And what other news have you?" she asked. "Here on the firing-line we +know less of what is going forward than you in Paris." +</P> + +<P> +So Pierre Thierry told her all he knew. They were preparing despatches +he was at once to carry back to the General Staff, and, for the moment, +his time was his own. How could he better employ it than in talking of +the war with a patriotic and charming French woman? +</P> + +<P> +In consequence Marie acquired a mass of facts, gossip, and guesses. +From these she mentally selected such information as, to her employers +across the Aisne, would be of vital interest. +</P> + +<P> +And to rid herself of Thierry and on the fourth floor seek Anfossi was +now her only wish. But, in attempting this, by the return of the +adjutant she was delayed. To Thierry the adjutant gave a sealed +envelope. +</P> + +<P> +"Thirty-one, Boulevard des Invalides," he said. With a smile he turned +to Marie. "And you will accompany him!" +</P> + +<P> +"I!" exclaimed Marie. She was sick with sudden terror. +</P> + +<P> +But the tolerant smile of the adjutant reassured her. +</P> + +<P> +"The count, your husband," he explained, "has learned of your detention +here by the enemy, and he has besieged the General Staff to have you +convoyed safely to Paris." The adjutant glanced at a field telegram he +held open in his hand. "He asks," he continued, "that you be permitted +to return in the car of his friend, Captain Thierry, and that on +arriving you join him at the Grand Hotel." +</P> + +<P> +Thierry exclaimed with delight. +</P> + +<P> +"But how charming!" he cried. "To-night you must both dine with me at +La Rue's." He saluted his superior officer. "Some petrol, sir," he +said. "And I am ready." To Marie he added: "The car will be at the +steps in five minutes." He turned and left them. +</P> + +<P> +The thoughts of Marie, snatching at an excuse for delay, raced madly. +The danger of meeting the Count d'Aurillac, her supposed husband, did +not alarm her. The Grand Hotel has many exits, and, even before they +reached it, for leaving the car she could invent an excuse that the +gallant Thierry would not suspect. But what now concerned her was how, +before she was whisked away to Paris, she could convey to Anfossi the +information she had gathered from Thierry. First, of a woman overcome +with delight at being reunited with her husband she gave an excellent +imitation; then she exclaimed in distress: "But my aunt, Madame Benet!" +she cried. "I cannot leave her!" +</P> + +<P> +"The Sisters of St. Francis," said the adjutant, "arrive within an hour +to nurse the wounded. They will care also for your aunt." +</P> + +<P> +Marie concealed her chagrin. "Then I will at once prepare to go," she +said. +</P> + +<P> +The adjutant handed her a slip of paper. "Your laissez-passer to +Paris," he said. "You leave in five minutes, madame!" +</P> + +<P> +As temporary hostess of the chateau Marie was free to visit any part of +it, and as she passed her door a signal from Madame Benet told her that +Anfossi was on the fourth floor, that he was at work, and that the +coast was clear. Softly, in the felt slippers she always wore, as she +explained, in order not to disturb the wounded, she mounted the +staircase. In her hand she carried the housekeeper's keys, and as an +excuse it was her plan to return with an armful of linen for the +arriving Sisters. But Marie never reached the top of the stairs. When +her eyes rose to the level of the fourth floor she came to a sudden +halt. At what she saw terror gripped her, bound her hand and foot, and +turned her blood to ice. +</P> + +<P> +At her post for an instant Madame Benet had slept, and an officer of +the staff, led by curiosity, chance, or suspicion, had, unobserved and +unannounced, mounted to the fourth floor. When Marie saw him he was in +front of the room that held the wireless. His back was toward her, but +she saw that he was holding the door to the room ajar, that his eye was +pressed to the opening, and that through it he had pushed the muzzle of +his automatic. What would be the fate of Anfossi Marie knew. Nor did +she for an instant consider it. Her thoughts were of her own safety; +that she might live. +</P> + +<P> +Not that she might still serve the Wilhelmstrasse, the Kaiser, or the +Fatherland; but that she might live. In a moment Anfossi would be +denounced, the chateau would ring with the alarm, and, though she knew +Anfossi would not betray her, by others she might be accused. To avert +suspicion from herself she saw only one way open. She must be the +first to denounce Anfossi. +</P> + +<P> +Like a deer, she leaped down the marble stairs and, in a panic she had +no need to assume, burst into the presence of the staff. +</P> + +<P> +"Gentlemen!" she gasped, "my servant—the chauffeur—Briand is a spy! +There is a German wireless in the chateau. He is using it! I have seen +him." With exclamations, the officers rose to their feet. General +Andre alone remained seated. General Andre was a veteran of many +Colonial wars: Cochin-China, Algiers, Morocco. The great war, when it +came, found him on duty in the Intelligence Department. His aquiline +nose, bristling white eyebrows, and flashing, restless eyes gave him +his nickname of l'Aigle. +</P> + +<P> +In amazement, the flashing eyes were now turned upon Marie. He glared +at her as though he thought she suddenly had flown mad. +</P> + +<P> +"A German wireless!" he protested. "It is impossible!" +</P> + +<P> +"I was on the fourth floor," panted Marie, "collecting linen for the +Sisters. In the room next to the linen-closet I heard a strange +buzzing sound. I opened the door softly. I saw Briand with his back +to me seated by an instrument. There were receivers clamped to his +ears! My God! The disgrace! The disgrace to my husband and to me, who +vouched for him to you!" Apparently in an agony of remorse, the +fingers of the woman laced and interlaced. "I cannot forgive myself!" +</P> + +<P> +The officers moved toward the door, but General Andre halted them. +Still in a tone of incredulity, he demanded: "When did you see this?" +</P> + +<P> +Marie knew the question was coming, knew she must explain how she saw +Briand, and yet did not see the staff officer who, with his prisoner, +might now at any instant appear. She must make it plain she had +discovered the spy and left the upper part of the house before the +officer had visited it. When that was she could not know, but the +chance was that he had preceded her by only a few minutes. +</P> + +<P> +"When did you see this?" repeated the general. +</P> + +<P> +"But just now," cried Marie; "not ten minutes since." +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you not come to me at once?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was afraid," replied Marie. "If I moved I was afraid he might hear +me, and he, knowing I would expose him, would kill me-and so escape +you!" There was an eager whisper of approval. For silence, General +Andre slapped his hand upon the table. +</P> + +<P> +"Then," continued Marie, "I understood with the receivers on his ears +he could not have heard me open the door, nor could he hear me leave, +and I ran to my aunt. The thought that we had harbored such an animal +sickened me, and I was weak enough to feel faint. But only for an +instant. Then I came here." She moved swiftly to the door. "Let me +show you the room," she begged; "you can take him in the act." Her +eyes, wild with the excitement of the chase, swept the circle. "Will +you come?" she begged. +</P> + +<P> +Unconscious of the crisis he interrupted, the orderly on duty opened +the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Captain Thierry's compliments," he recited mechanically, "and is he to +delay longer for Madame d'Aurillac?" +</P> + +<P> +With a sharp gesture General Andre waved Marie toward the door. Without +rising, he inclined his head. "Adieu, madame," he said. "We act at +once upon your information. I thank you!" +</P> + +<P> +As she crossed from the hall to the terrace, the ears of the spy were +assaulted by a sudden tumult of voices. They were raised in threats +and curses. Looking back, she saw Anfossi descending the stairs. His +hands were held above his head; behind him, with his automatic, the +staff officer she had surprised on the fourth floor was driving him +forward. Above the clinched fists of the soldiers that ran to meet +him, the eyes of Anfossi were turned toward her. His face was +expressionless. His eyes neither accused nor reproached. And with the +joy of one who has looked upon and then escaped the guillotine, Marie +ran down the steps to the waiting automobile. With a pretty cry of +pleasure she leaped into the seat beside Thierry. Gayly she threw out +her arms. "To Paris!" she commanded. The handsome eyes of Thierry, +eloquent with admiration, looked back into hers. He stooped, threw in +the clutch, and the great gray car, with the machine gun and its crew +of privates guarding the rear, plunged through the park. +</P> + +<P> +"To Paris!" echoed Thierry. +</P> + +<P> +In the order in which Marie had last seen them, Anfossi and the staff +officer entered the room of General Andre, and upon the soldiers in the +hall the door was shut. The face of the staff officer was grave, but +his voice could not conceal his elation. +</P> + +<P> +"My general," he reported, "I found this man in the act of giving +information to the enemy. There is a wireless-" +</P> + +<P> +General Andre rose slowly. He looked neither at the officer nor at his +prisoner. With frowning eyes he stared down at the maps upon his table. +</P> + +<P> +"I know," he interrupted. "Some one has already told me." He paused, +and then, as though recalling his manners, but still without raising +his eyes, he added: "You have done well, sir." +</P> + +<P> +In silence the officers of the staff stood motionless. With surprise +they noted that, as yet, neither in anger nor curiosity had General +Andre glanced at the prisoner. But of the presence of the general the +spy was most acutely conscious. He stood erect, his arms still raised, +but his body strained forward, and on the averted eyes of the general +his own were fixed. +</P> + +<P> +In an agony of supplication they asked a question. +</P> + +<P> +At last, as though against his wish, toward the spy the general turned +his head, and their eyes met. And still General Andre was silent. +Then the arms of the spy, like those of a runner who has finished his +race and breasts the tape exhausted, fell to his sides. In a voice low +and vibrant he spoke his question. +</P> + +<P> +"It has been so long, sir," he pleaded. "May I not come home?" +</P> + +<P> +General Andre turned to the astonished group surrounding him. His +voice was hushed like that of one who speaks across an open grave. +</P> + +<P> +"Gentlemen," he began, "my children," he added. "A German spy, a +woman, involved in a scandal your brother in arms, Henri Ravignac. His +honor, he thought, was concerned, and without honor he refused to live. +To prove him guiltless his younger brother Charles asked leave to seek +out the woman who had betrayed Henri, and by us was detailed on secret +service. He gave up home, family, friends. He lived in exile, in +poverty, at all times in danger of a swift and ignoble death. In the +War Office we know him as one who has given to his country services she +cannot hope to reward. For she cannot return to him the years he has +lost. She cannot return to him his brother. But she can and will +clear the name of Henri Ravignac, and upon his brother Charles bestow +promotion and honors." +</P> + +<P> +The general turned and embraced the spy. "My children," he said, +"welcome your brother. He has come home." +</P> + +<P> +Before the car had reached the fortifications, Marie Gessler had +arranged her plan of escape. She had departed from the chateau without +even a hand-bag, and she would say that before the shops closed she +must make purchases. +</P> + +<P> +Le Printemps lay in their way, and she asked that, when they reached +it, for a moment she might alight. Captain Thierry readily gave +permission. +</P> + +<P> +From the department store it would be most easy to disappear, and in +anticipation Marie smiled covertly. Nor was the picture of Captain +Thierry impatiently waiting outside unamusing. +</P> + +<P> +But before Le Printemps was approached, the car turned sharply down a +narrow street. On one side, along its entire length, ran a high gray +wall, grim and forbidding. In it was a green gate studded with iron +bolts. Before this the automobile drew suddenly to a halt. The crew of +the armored car tumbled off the rear seat, and one of them beat upon +the green gate. Marie felt a hand of ice clutch at her throat. But +she controlled herself. +</P> + +<P> +"And what is this?" she cried gayly. +</P> + +<P> +At her side Captain Thierry was smiling down at her, but his smile was +hateful. +</P> + +<P> +"It is the prison of St. Lazare," he said. "It is not becoming," he +added sternly, "that the name of the Countess d'Aurillac should be made +common as the Paris road!" +</P> + +<P> +Fighting for her life, Marie thrust herself against him; her arm that +throughout the journey had rested on the back of the driving-seat +caressed his shoulders; her lips and the violet eyes were close to his. +</P> + +<P> +"Why should you care?" she whispered fiercely. "You have me! Let the +Count d'Aurillac look after the honor of his wife himself." +</P> + +<P> +The charming Thierry laughed at her mockingly. +</P> + +<P> +"He means to," he said. "I am the Count d'Aurillac!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="deserter"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE DESERTER +</H2> + +<BR> + +<P> +In Salonika, the American consul, the Standard Oil man, and the war +correspondents formed the American colony. The correspondents were +waiting to go to the front. Incidentally, as we waited, the front was +coming rapidly toward us. There was "Uncle" Jim, the veteran of many +wars, and of all the correspondents, in experience the oldest and in +spirit the youngest, and there was the Kid, and the Artist. The Kid +jeered at us, and proudly described himself as the only Boy Reporter +who jumped from a City Hall assignment to cover a European War. "I +don't know strategy," he would boast; "neither does the Man at Home. +He wants 'human interest' stuff, and I give him what he wants. I write +exclusively for the subway guard and the farmers in the wheat belt. +When you fellows write about the 'Situation,' they don't understand it. +Neither do you. Neither does Venizelos or the King. I don't +understand it myself. So, I write my people heart-to-heart talks about +refugees and wounded, and what kind of ploughs the Servian peasants +use, and that St. Paul wrote his letters to the Thessalonians from the +same hotel where I write mine; and I tell 'em to pronounce Salonika +'eeka,' and not put the accent on the 'on.' This morning at the +refugee camp I found all the little Servians of the Frothingham unit in +American Boy Scout uniforms. That's my meat. That's 'home week' +stuff. You fellows write for the editorial page; and nobody reads it. +I write for the man that turns first to Mutt and Jeff, and then looks +to see where they are running the new Charlie Chaplin release. When +that man has to choose between 'our military correspondent' and the +City Hall Reporter, he chooses me!" +</P> + +<P> +The third man was John, "Our Special Artist." John could write a news +story, too, but it was the cartoons that had made him famous. They +were not comic page, but front page cartoons, and before making up +their minds what they thought, people waited to see what their Artist +thought. So, it was fortunate his thoughts were as brave and clean as +they were clever. He was the original Little Brother to the Poor. He +was always giving away money. When we caught him, he would prevaricate. +He would say the man was a college chum, that he had borrowed the money +from him, and that this was the first chance he had had to pay it back. +The Kid suggested it was strange that so many of his college chums +should at the same moment turn up, dead broke, in Salonika, and that +half of them should be women. +</P> + +<P> +John smiled disarmingly. "It was a large college," he explained, "and +coeducational." There were other Americans; Red Cross doctors and +nurses just escaped through the snow from the Bulgars, and hyphenated +Americans who said they had taken out their first papers. They thought +hyphenated citizens were so popular with us, that we would pay their +passage to New York. In Salonika they were transients. They had no +local standing. They had no local lying-down place, either, or place +to eat, or to wash, although they did not look as though that worried +them, or place to change their clothes. Or clothes to change. It was +because we had clothes to change, and a hotel bedroom, instead of a +bench in a cafe, that we were ranked as residents and from the Greek +police held a "permission to sojourn." Our American colony was a very +close corporation. We were only six Americans against 300,000 British, +French, Greek, and Servian soldiers, and 120,000 civilian Turks, +Spanish Jews, Armenians, Persians, Egyptians, Albanians, and Arabs, and +some twenty more other races that are not listed. We had arrived in +Salonika before the rush, and at the Hotel Hermes on the water-front +had secured a vast room. The edge of the stone quay was not forty feet +from us, the only landing steps directly opposite our balcony. +Everybody who arrived on the Greek passenger boats from Naples or the +Piraeus, or who had shore leave from a man-of-war, transport, or +hospital ship, was raked by our cameras. There were four windows—one +for each of us and his work table. It was not easy to work. What was +the use? The pictures and stories outside the windows fascinated us, +but when we sketched them or wrote about them, they only proved us +inadequate. All day long the pinnaces, cutters, gigs, steam launches +shoved and bumped against the stone steps, marines came ashore for the +mail, stewards for fruit and fish, Red Cross nurses to shop, tiny +midshipmen to visit the movies, and the sailors and officers of the +Russian, French, British, Italian, and Greek war-ships to stretch their +legs in the park of the Tour Blanche, or to cramp them under a cafe +table. Sometimes the ambulances blocked the quay and the wounded and +frost-bitten were lifted into the motor-boats, and sometimes a squad of +marines lined the landing stage, and as a coffin under a French or +English flag was borne up the stone steps stood at salute. So crowded +was the harbor that the oars of the boatmen interlocked. +</P> + +<P> +Close to the stone quay, stretched along the three-mile circle, were +the fishing smacks, beyond them, so near that the anchor chains fouled, +were the passenger ships with gigantic Greek flags painted on their +sides, and beyond them transports from Marseilles, Malta, and Suvla +Bay, black colliers, white hospital ships, burning green electric +lights, red-bellied tramps and freighters, and, hemming them in, the +grim, mouse-colored destroyers, submarines, cruisers, dreadnaughts. At +times, like a wall, the cold fog rose between us and the harbor, and +again the curtain would suddenly be ripped asunder, and the sun would +flash on the brass work of the fleet, on the white wings of the +aeroplanes, on the snow-draped shoulders of Mount Olympus. We often +speculated as to how in the early days the gods and goddesses, dressed +as they were, or as they were not, survived the snows of Mount Olympus. +Or was it only their resort for the summer? +</P> + +<P> +It got about that we had a vast room to ourselves, where one might +obtain a drink, or a sofa for the night, or even money to cable for +money. So, we had many strange visitors, some half starved, half +frozen, with terrible tales of the Albanian trail, of the Austrian +prisoners fallen by the wayside, of the mountain passes heaped with +dead, of the doctors and nurses wading waist-high in snow-drifts and +for food killing the ponies. Some of our visitors wanted to get their +names in the American papers so that the folks at home would know they +were still alive, others wanted us to keep their names out of the +papers, hoping the police would think them dead; another, convinced it +was of pressing news value, desired us to advertise the fact that he +had invented a poisonous gas for use in the trenches. With difficulty +we prevented him from casting it adrift in our room. Or, he had for +sale a second-hand motor-cycle, or he would accept a position as +barkeeper, or for five francs would sell a state secret that, once made +public, in a month would end the war. It seemed cheap at the price. +</P> + +<P> +Each of us had his "scouts" to bring him the bazaar rumor, the Turkish +bath rumor, the cafe rumor. Some of our scouts journeyed as far afield +as Monastir and Doiran, returning to drip snow on the floor, and to +tell us tales, one-half of which we refused to believe, and the other +half the censor refused to pass. With each other's visitors it was +etiquette not to interfere. It would have been like tapping a private +wire. When we found John sketching a giant stranger in a cap and coat +of wolf skin we did not seek to know if he were an Albanian brigand, or +a Servian prince incognito, and when a dark Levantine sat close to the +Kid, whispering, and the Kid banged on his typewriter, we did not +listen. +</P> + +<P> +So, when I came in one afternoon and found a strange American youth +writing at John's table, and no one introduced us, I took it for +granted he had sold the Artist an "exclusive" story, and asked no +questions. But I could not help hearing what they said. Even though I +tried to drown their voices by beating on the Kid's typewriter. I was +taking my third lesson, and I had printed, "I Amm 5w writjng This, +5wjth my own lilly w?ite handS," when I heard the Kid saying: +</P> + +<P> +"You can beat the game this way. Let John buy you a ticket to the +Piraeus. If you go from one Greek port to another you don't need a +vise. But, if you book from here to Italy, you must get a permit from +the Italian consul, and our consul, and the police. The plot is to get +out of the war zone, isn't it? Well, then, my dope is to get out quick, +and map the rest of your trip when you're safe in Athens." +</P> + +<P> +It was no business of mine, but I had to look up. The stranger was now +pacing the floor. I noticed that while his face was almost black with +tan, his upper lip was quite white. I noticed also that he had his +hands in the pockets of one of John's blue serge suits, and that the +pink silk shirt he wore was one that once had belonged to the Kid. +Except for the pink shirt, in the appearance of the young man there was +nothing unusual. He was of a familiar type. He looked like a young +business man from our Middle West, matter-of-fact and unimaginative, +but capable and self-reliant. If he had had a fountain pen in his +upper waistcoat pocket, I would have guessed he was an insurance agent, +or the publicity man for a new automobile. John picked up his hat, and +said, "That's good advice. Give me your steamer ticket, Fred, and I'll +have them change it." He went out; but he did not ask Fred to go with +him. +</P> + +<P> +Uncle Jim rose, and murmured something about the Cafe Roma, and tea. +But neither did he invite Fred to go with him. Instead, he told him to +make himself at home, and if he wanted anything the waiter would bring +it from the cafe downstairs. Then the Kid, as though he also was +uncomfortable at being left alone with us, hurried to the door. "Going +to get you a suit-case," he explained. "Back in five minutes." +</P> + +<P> +The stranger made no answer. Probably he did not hear him. Not a +hundred feet from our windows three Greek steamers were huddled +together, and the eyes of the American were fixed on them. The one for +which John had gone to buy him a new ticket lay nearest. She was to +sail in two hours. Impatiently, in short quick steps, the stranger +paced the length of the room, but when he turned and so could see the +harbor, he walked slowly, devouring it with his eyes. For some time, +in silence, he repeated this manoeuvre; and then the complaints of the +typewriter disturbed him. He halted and observed my struggles. Under +his scornful eye, in my embarrassment I frequently hit the right +letter. "You a newspaper man, too?" he asked. I boasted I was, but +begged not to be judged by my typewriting. +</P> + +<P> +"I got some great stories to write when I get back to God's country," +he announced. "I was a reporter for two years in Kansas City before +the war, and now I'm going back to lecture and write. I got enough +material to keep me at work for five years. All kinds of +stuff—specials, fiction, stories, personal experiences, maybe a novel." +</P> + +<P> +I regarded him with envy. For the correspondents in the greatest of +all wars the pickings had been meagre. "You are to be congratulated," +I said. He brushed aside my congratulations. "For what?" he demanded. +"I didn't go after the stories; they came to me. The things I saw I +had to see. Couldn't get away from them. I've been with the British, +serving in the R. A. M. C. Been hospital steward, stretcher bearer, +ambulance driver. I've been sixteen months at the front, and all the +time on the firing-line. I was in the retreat from Mons, with French +on the Marne, at Ypres, all through the winter fighting along the +Canal, on the Gallipoli Peninsula, and, just lately, in Servia. I've +seen more of this war than any soldier. Because, sometimes, they give +the soldier a rest; they never give the medical corps a rest. The only +rest I got was when I was wounded." +</P> + +<P> +He seemed no worse for his wounds, so again I tendered congratulations. +This time he accepted them. The recollection of the things he had +seen, things incredible, terrible, unique in human experience, had +stirred him. He talked on, not boastfully, but in a tone, rather, of +awe and disbelief, as though assuring himself that it was really he to +whom such things had happened. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe there's any kind of fighting I haven't seen," he +declared; "hand-to-hand fighting with bayonets, grenades, gun butts. +I've seen 'em on their knees in the mud choking each other, beating +each other with their bare fists. I've seen every kind of airship, +bomb, shell, poison gas, every kind of wound. Seen whole villages +turned into a brickyard in twenty minutes; in Servia seen bodies of +women frozen to death, bodies of babies starved to death, seen men in +Belgium swinging from trees; along the Yzer for three months I saw the +bodies of men I'd known sticking out of the mud, or hung up on the barb +wire, with the crows picking them. +</P> + +<P> +"I've seen some of the nerviest stunts that ever were pulled off in +history. I've seen real heroes. Time and time again I've seen a man +throw away his life for his officer, or for a chap he didn't know, just +as though it was a cigarette butt. I've seen the women nurses of our +corps steer a car into a village and yank out a wounded man while +shells were breaking under the wheels and the houses were pitching into +the streets." He stopped and laughed consciously. +</P> + +<P> +"Understand," he warned me, "I'm not talking about myself, only of +things I've seen. The things I'm going to put in my book. It ought to +be a pretty good book-what?" +</P> + +<P> +My envy had been washed clean in admiration. +</P> + +<P> +"It will make a wonderful book," I agreed. "Are you going to syndicate +it first?" +</P> + +<P> +Young Mr. Hamlin frowned importantly. +</P> + +<P> +"I was thinking," he said, "of asking John for letters to the magazine +editors. So, they'll know I'm not faking, that I've really been +through it all. Letters from John would help a lot." Then he asked +anxiously: "They would, wouldn't they?" +</P> + +<P> +I reassured him. Remembering the Kid's gibes at John and his numerous +dependents, I said: "You another college chum of John's?" The young man +answered my question quite seriously. "No," he said; "John graduated +before I entered; but we belong to the same fraternity. It was the +luckiest chance in the world my finding him here. There was a +month-old copy of the Balkan News blowing around camp, and his name was +in the list of arrivals. The moment I found he was in Salonika, I +asked for twelve hours leave, and came down in an ambulance. I made +straight for John; gave him the grip, and put it up to him to help me." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't understand," I said. "I thought you were sailing on the +Adriaticus?" +</P> + +<P> +The young man was again pacing the floor. He halted and faced the +harbor. +</P> + +<P> +"You bet I'm sailing on the Adriaticus," he said. He looked out at +that vessel, at the Blue Peter flying from her foremast, and grinned. +"In just two hours!" +</P> + +<P> +It was stupid of me, but I still was unenlightened. "But your twelve +hours' leave?" I asked. +</P> + +<P> +The young man laughed. "They can take my twelve hours' leave," he said +deliberately, "and feed it to the chickens. I'm beating it." +</P> + +<P> +"What d'you mean, you're beating it?" +</P> + +<P> +"What do you suppose I mean?" he demanded. "What do you suppose I'm +doing out of uniform, what do you suppose I'm lying low in the room +for? So's I won't catch cold?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you're leaving the army without a discharge, and without +permission," I said, "I suppose you know it's desertion." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Hamlin laughed easily. "It's not my army," he said. "I'm an +American." +</P> + +<P> +"It's your desertion," I suggested. +</P> + +<P> +The door opened and closed noiselessly, and Billy, entering, placed a +new travelling bag on the floor. He must have heard my last words, for +he looked inquiringly at each of us. But he did not speak and, walking +to the window, stood with his hands in his pockets, staring out at the +harbor. His presence seemed to encourage the young man. "Who knows +I'm deserting?" he demanded. "No one's ever seen me in Salonika +before, and in these 'cits' I can get on board all right. And then +they can't touch me. What do the folks at home care how I left the +British army? They'll be so darned glad to get me back alive that they +won't ask if I walked out or was kicked out. I should worry!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's none of my business," I began, but I was interrupted. In his +restless pacings the young man turned quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"As you say," he remarked icily, "it is none of your business. It's +none of your business whether I get shot as a deserter, or go home, +or—" +</P> + +<P> +"You can go to the devil for all I care," I assured him. "I wasn't +considering you at all. I was only sorry that I'll never be able to +read your book." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment Mr. Hamlin remained silent, then he burst forth with a +jeer. +</P> + +<P> +"No British firing squad," he boasted, "will ever stand me up." +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe not," I agreed, "but you will never write that book." +</P> + +<P> +Again there was silence, and this time it was broken by the Kid. He +turned from the window and looked toward Hamlin. "That's right!" he +said. +</P> + +<P> +He sat down on the edge of the table, and at the deserter pointed his +forefinger. +</P> + +<P> +"Son," he said, "this war is some war. It's the biggest war in +history, and folks will be talking about nothing else for the next +ninety years; folks that never were nearer it than Bay City, Mich. But +you won't talk about it. And you've been all through it. You've been +to hell and back again. Compared with what you know about hell, Dante +is in the same class with Dr. Cook. But you won't be able to talk +about this war, or lecture, or write a book about it." +</P> + +<P> +"I won't?" demanded Hamlin. "And why won't I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because of what you're doing now," said Billy. "Because you're +queering yourself. Now, you've got everything." The Kid was very much +in earnest. His tone was intimate, kind, and friendly. "You've seen +everything, done everything. We'd give our eye-teeth to see what +you've seen, and to write the things you can write. You've got a +record now that'll last you until you're dead, and your grandchildren +are dead-and then some. When you talk the table will have to sit up +and listen. You can say 'I was there.' 'I was in it.' 'I saw.' 'I +know.' When this war is over you'll have everything out of it that's +worth getting-all the experiences, all the inside knowledge, all the +'nosebag' news; you'll have wounds, honors, medals, money, reputation. +And you're throwing all that away!" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Hamlin interrupted savagely. +</P> + +<P> +"To hell with their medals," he said. "They can take their medals and +hang 'em on Christmas trees. I don't owe the British army anything. +It owes me. I've done my bit. I've earned what I've got, and there's +no one can take it away from me." +</P> + +<P> +"You can," said the Kid. Before Hamlin could reply the door opened and +John came in, followed by Uncle Jim. The older man was looking very +grave, and John very unhappy. Hamlin turned quickly to John. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought these men were friends of yours," he began, "and Americans. +They're fine Americans. They're as full of human kindness and red +blood as a kippered herring!" +</P> + +<P> +John looked inquiringly at the Kid. +</P> + +<P> +"He wants to hang himself," explained Billy, "and because we tried to +cut him down, he's sore." +</P> + +<P> +"They talked to me," protested Hamlin, "as though I was a yellow dog. +As though I was a quitter. I'm no quitter! But, if I'm ready to quit, +who's got a better right? I'm not an Englishman, but there are several +million Englishmen haven't done as much for England in this was as I +have. What do you fellows know about it? You write about it, about the +'brave lads in the trenches'; but what do you know about the trenches? +What you've seen from automobiles. That's all. That's where you get +off! I've lived in the trenches for fifteen months, froze in 'em, +starved in 'em, risked my life in 'em, and I've saved other lives, too, +by hauling men out of the trenches. And that's no airy persiflage, +either!" +</P> + +<P> +He ran to the wardrobe where John's clothes hung, and from the bottom +of it dragged a khaki uniform. It was still so caked with mud and snow +that when he flung it on the floor it splashed like a wet bathing suit. +"How would you like to wear one of those?" he Demanded. "Stinking with +lice and sweat and blood; the blood of other men, the men you've helped +off the field, and your own blood." +</P> + +<P> +As though committing hara-kiri, he slashed his hand across his stomach, +and then drew it up from his waist to his chin. "I'm scraped with +shrapnel from there to there," said Mr. Hamlin. "And another time I got +a ball in the shoulder. That would have been a 'blighty' for a +fighting man—they're always giving them leave—but all I got was six +weeks at Havre in hospital. Then it was the Dardanelles, and sunstroke +and sand; sleeping in sand, eating sand, sand in your boots, sand in +your teeth; hiding in holes in the sand like a dirty prairie dog. And +then, 'Off to Servia!' And the next act opens in the snow and the mud! +Cold? God, how cold it was! And most of us in sun helmets." +</P> + +<P> +As though the cold still gnawed at his bones, he shivered. +</P> + +<P> +"It isn't the danger," he protested. "It isn't that I'm getting away +from. To hell with the danger! It's just the plain discomfort of it! +It's the never being your own master, never being clean, never being +warm." Again he shivered and rubbed one hand against the other. +"There were no bridges over the streams," he went on, "and we had to +break the ice and wade in, and then sleep in the open with the khaki +frozen to us. There was no firewood; not enough to warm a pot of tea. +There were no wounded; all our casualties were frost bite and +Pneumonia. When we take them out of the blankets their toes fall off. +We've been in camp for a month now near Doiran, and it's worse there +than on the march. It's a frozen swamp. You can't sleep for the cold; +can't eat; the only ration we get is bully beef, and our insides are +frozen so damn tight we can't digest it. The cold gets into your +blood, gets into your brains. It won't let you think; or else, you +think crazy things. It makes you afraid." He shook himself like a man +coming out of a bad dream. +</P> + +<P> +"So, I'm through," he said. In turn he scowled at each of us, as +though defying us to contradict him. "That's why I'm quitting," he +added. "Because I've done my bit. Because I'm damn well fed up on +it." He kicked viciously at the water-logged uniform on the floor. +"Any one who wants my job can have it!" He walked to the window, +turned his back on us, and fixed his eyes hungrily on the Adriaticus. +There was a long pause. For guidance we looked at John, but he was +staring down at the desk blotter, scratching on it marks that he did +not see. +</P> + +<P> +Finally, where angels feared to tread, the Kid rushed in. "That's +certainly a hard luck story," he said; "but," he added cheerfully, +"it's nothing to the hard luck you'll strike when you can't tell why +you left the army." Hamlin turned with an exclamation, but Billy held +up his hand. "Now wait," he begged, "we haven't time to get mussy. At +six o'clock your leave is up, and the troop train starts back to camp, +and—" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Hamlin interrupted sharply. "And the Adriaticus starts at five." +</P> + +<P> +Billy did not heed him. "You've got two hours to change your mind," he +said. "That's better than being sorry you didn't the rest of your +life." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Hamlin threw back his head and laughed. It was a most unpleasant +laugh. "You're a fine body of men," he jeered. "America must be proud +of you!" +</P> + +<P> +"If we weren't Americans," explained Billy patiently, "we wouldn't give +a damn whether you deserted or not. You're drowning and you don't know +it, and we're throwing you a rope. Try to see it that way. We'll cut +out the fact that you took an oath, and that you're breaking it. +That's up to you. We'll get down to results. When you reach home, if +you can't tell why you left the army, the folks will darned soon guess. +And that will queer everything you've done. When you come to sell your +stuff, it will queer you with the editors, queer you with the +publishers. If they know you broke your word to the British army, how +can they know you're keeping faith with them? How can they believe +anything you tell them? Every 'story' you write, every statement of +yours will make a noise like a fake. You won't come into court with +clean hands. You'll be licked before you start. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, you're for the Allies. Well, all the Germans at home will +fear that; and when you want to lecture on your 'Fifteen Months at the +British Front,' they'll look up your record; and what will they do to +you? This is what they'll do to you. When you've shown 'em your moving +pictures and say, 'Does any gentleman in the audience want to ask a +question?' a German agent will get up and say, 'Yes, I want to ask a +question. Is it true that you deserted from the British army, and that +if you return to it, they will shoot you?'" +</P> + +<P> +I was scared. I expected the lean and muscular Mr. Hamlin to fall on +Billy, and fling him where he had flung the soggy uniform. But instead +he remained motionless, his arms pressed across his chest. His eyes, +filled with anger and distress, returned to the Adriaticus. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry," muttered the Kid. +</P> + +<P> +John rose and motioned to the door, and guiltily and only too gladly we +escaped. John followed us into the hall. "Let me talk to him," he +whispered. "The boat sails in an hour. Please don't come back until +she's gone." +</P> + +<P> +We went to the moving picture palace next door, but I doubt if the +thoughts of any of us were on the pictures. For after an hour, when +from across the quay there came the long-drawn warning of a steamer's +whistle, we nudged each other and rose and went out. +</P> + +<P> +Not a hundred yards from us the propeller blades of the Adriaticus were +slowly churning, and the rowboats were falling away from her sides. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-bye, Mr. Hamlin," called Billy. "You had everything and you +chucked it away. I can spell your finish. It's 'check' for yours." +</P> + +<P> +But when we entered our room, in the centre of it, under the bunch of +electric lights, stood the deserter. He wore the water-logged uniform. +The sun helmet was on his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Good man!" shouted Billy. +</P> + +<P> +He advanced, eagerly holding out his hand. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Hamlin brushed past him. At the door he turned and glared at us, +even at John. He was not a good loser. "I hope you're satisfied," he +snarled. He pointed at the four beds in a row. I felt guiltily +conscious of them. At the moment they appeared so unnecessarily clean +and warm and soft. The silk coverlets at the foot of each struck me as +being disgracefully effeminate. They made me ashamed. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope," said Mr. Hamlin, speaking slowly and picking his words, "when +you turn into those beds to-night you'll think of me in the mud. I +hope when you're having your five-course dinner and your champagne +you'll remember my bully beef. I hope when a shell or Mr. Pneumonia +gets me, you'll write a nice little sob story about the 'brave lads in +the trenches.'" +</P> + +<P> +He looked at us, standing like schoolboys, sheepish, embarrassed, and +silent, and then threw open the door. "I hope," he added, "you all +choke!" +</P> + +<P> +With an unconvincing imitation of the college chum manner, John cleared +his throat and said: "Don't forget, Fred, if there's anything I can +do—" +</P> + +<P> +Hamlin stood in the doorway smiling at us. +</P> + +<P> +"There's something you can all do," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes?" asked John heartily. +</P> + +<P> +"You can all go to hell!" said Mr. Hamlin. +</P> + +<P> +We heard the door slam, and his hobnailed boots pounding down the +stairs. No one spoke. Instead, in unhappy silence, we stood staring +at the floor. Where the uniform had lain was a pool of mud and melted +snow and the darker stains of stale blood. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lost Road, by Richard Harding Davis + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOST ROAD *** + +***** This file should be named 2283-h.htm or 2283-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/8/2283/ + +Produced by Marleen Hugo. HTML version by Al Haines. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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