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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/5009-0.txt b/5009-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..61ae16a --- /dev/null +++ b/5009-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7707 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Unspeakable Perk, by Samuel Hopkins Adams + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Unspeakable Perk + +Author: Samuel Hopkins Adams + +Release Date: April 9, 2002 [eBook #5009] +[Most recently updated: April 13, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNSPEAKABLE PERK *** + +[Illustration] + + + + +The Unspeakable Perk + +by Samuel Hopkins Adams + +Contents + + I. MR. BEETLE MAN + II. AT THE KAST + III. THE BETTER PART OF VALOR + IV. TWO ON A MOUNTAIN-SIDE + V. AN UPHOLDER OF TRADITIONS + VI. FORKED TONGUES + VII. “THAT WHICH THY SERVANT IS—” + VIII. LOS YANKIS + IX. THE BLACK WARNING + X. THE FOLLY OF PERK + XI. PRESTO CHANGE + XII. THE WOMAN AT THE QUINTA + XIII. LEFT BEHIND + XIV. THE YELLOW FLAG + + + + +I. +MR. BEETLE MAN + + +The man sat in a niche of the mountain, busily hating the Caribbean +Sea. It was quite a contract that he had undertaken, for there was a +large expanse of Caribbean Sea in sight to hate; very blue, and still, +and indifferent to human emotions. However, the young man was a good +steadfast hater, and he came there every day to sit in the shade of the +overhanging boulder, where there was a little trickle of cool air down +the slope and a little trickle of cool water from a crevice beneath the +rock, to despise that placid, unimpressionable ocean and all its works +and to wish that it would dry up forthwith, so that he might walk back +to the blessed United States of America. In good plain American, the +young man was pretty homesick. + +Two-man’s-lengths up the mountain, on the crest of the sturdy hater’s +rock, the girl sat, loving the Caribbean Sea. Hers, also, was a large +contract, and she was much newer to it than was the man to his, for she +had only just discovered this vantage-ground by turning accidentally +into a side trail—quite a private little side trail made by her +unsuspected neighbor below—whence one emerges from a sea of verdure +into full view of the sea of azure. For the time, she was content to +rest there in the flow of the breeze and feast her eyes on that broad, +unending blue which blessedly separated her from the United States of +America and certain perplexities and complications comprised therein. +Presently she would resume the trail and return to the city of +Caracuña, somewhere behind her. That is, she would if she could find +it, which was by no means certain. Not that she greatly cared. If she +were really lost, they’d come out and get her. Meantime, all she wished +was to rest mind and body in the contemplation of that restful plain of +cool sapphire, four thousand feet below. + +But there was a spirit of mischief abroad upon that mountain slope. It +embodied itself in a puff of wind that stirred gratefully the curls +above the girl’s brow. Also, it fanned the neck of the watcher below +and cunningly moved his hat from his side; not more than a few feet, +indeed, but still far enough to transfer it from the shade into the +glaring sun and into the view of the girl above. The owner made no +move. If the wind wanted to blow his new panama into some lower +treetop, compelling him to throw stones, perhaps to its permanent +damage, in order to dislodge it, why, that was just one more cause of +offense to pin to his indictment of irritation against the great island +republic of Caracuña. Such is the temper one gets into after a year in +the tropics. + +Like as peas are panama hats to the eyes of the inexpert; far more like +than men who live under them. For the girl, it was a direct inference +that this was a hat which she knew intimately; which, indeed, she had +rather maliciously eluded, not half an hour before. Therefore, she +addressed it familiarly: “Boo!” + +The result of this simple monosyllable exceeded her fondest +expectations. There was a sharp exclamation of surprise, followed by a +cry that might have meant dismay or wrath or both, as something +metallic tinkled and slid, presently coming to a stop beside the hat, +where it revealed itself as a pair of enormous, aluminum-mounted +brown-green spectacles. After it, on all fours, scrambled the owner. + +Shock number one: It wasn’t the man at all! Instead of the +black-haired, flanneled, slender Adonis whom the trouble-maker +confidently assumed to have been under that hat, she beheld a +brownish-clad, stocky figure with a very blond head. + +Shock number two: The figure was groping lamentably and blindly in the +undergrowth, and when, for an instant, the face was turned half toward +her, she saw that the eyes were squinted tight-closed, with a painful +extreme of muscular tension about them. + +Presently one of the ranging hands encountered the spectacles, and +settled upon them. With careful touches, it felt them all over. A mild +grunt, presumably of satisfaction, made itself heard, and the figure +got to its feet. But before the face turned again, the girl had stepped +back, out of range. + +Silence, above and below; a silence the long persistence of which came +near to constituting shock number three. What sort of hermit had she +intruded upon? Into what manner of remote Brahministic contemplation +had she injected that impertinent “Boo!”? Who, what, how, why— + +“Say it again.” The request came from under the rock. Evidently the +spectacled owner had resumed his original situation. + +“Say _what_ again?” she inquired. + +“Anything,” returned the voice, with child-like content. + +“Oh, I—I hope you didn’t break your glasses.” + +“No; you didn’t.” + +On consideration, she decided to ignore this prompt countering of the +pronoun. + +“I thought you were some one else,” she observed. + +“Well, so I am, am I not?” + +“So you are what?” + +“Some one else than you thought.” + +“Why, yes, I suppose—But I meant some one else besides yourself.” + +“I only wish I were.” + +“Why?” she asked, intrigued by the fervid inflection of the wish. + +“Because then I’d be somewhere else than in this infernal hell-hole of +a black-and-tan nursery of revolution, fever, and trouble!” + +“I think it one of the loveliest spots I’ve ever seen,” said she +loftily. + +“How long have you been here?” + +“On this rock? Perhaps five minutes.” + +“Not on the rock. In Caracuña?” + +“Quite a long time. Nearly a fortnight.” + +The commentary on this was so indefinite that she was moved to +inquire:— + +“Is that a local dialect you’re speaking?” + +“No; that was a grunt.” + +“I don’t think it was a very polite grunt, even as grunts go.” + +“Perhaps not. I’m afraid I’m out of the habit.” + +“Of grunting? You seem expert enough to satisfy—” + +“No; of being polite. I’ll apologize if—if you’ll only go on talking.” + +She laughed aloud. + +“Or laughing,” he amended promptly. “Do it again.” + +“One can’t laugh to order!” she protested; “or even talk to order. But +why do you stay ’way out here in the mountains if you’re so eager to +hear the human voice?” + +“The human voice be—choked! It’s _your_ human voice I want to hear—your +kind of human voice, I mean.” + +“I don’t know that my kind of human voice is particularly different +from plenty of other human voices,” she observed, with an effect of +fine impartial judgment. + +“It’s widely different from the kind that afflicts the suffering ear in +this part of the world. Fourteen months ago I heard the last American +girl speak the last American-girl language that’s come within reach of +me. Oh, no,—there _was_ one, since, but she rasped like a rheumatic +phonograph and had brick-colored freckles. Have you got brick-colored +freckles?” + +“Stand up and see.” + +“No, _sir!_—that is, ma’am. Too much risk.” + +“Risk! Of what?” + +“Freckles. I don’t like freckles. Not on _your_ voice, anyway.” + +“On my _voice?_ Are you—” + +“Of course I am—a little. Any one is who stays down here more than a +year. But that about the voice and the freckles was sane enough. What +I’m trying to say—and you might know it without a diagram—is that, from +your voice, you ought to be all that a man dreams of when—well, when he +hasn’t seen a real American girl for an eternity. Now I can sit here +and dream of you as the loveliest princess that ever came and went and +left a memory of gold and blue in the heart of—” + +“I’m not gold and blue!” + +“Of course you’re not. But your speech is. I’ll be wise, and content +myself with that. One look might pull down, In irrevocable ruin, all +the lovely fabric of my dream. By the way, are you a Cookie?” + +“A _what?_” + +“Cookie. Tourist. No, of course you’re not. No tour would be imbecile +enough to touch here. The question is: How did you get here?” + +“Ah, that’s my secret.” + +“Or, rather, are you here at all? Perhaps you’re just a figment of the +overstrained ear. And if I undertook to look, there wouldn’t be +anything there at all.” + +“Of course, if you don’t believe in me, I’ll fly away on a sunbeam.” + +“Oh, please! Don’t say that! I’m doing my best.” + +So panic-stricken was the appeal that she laughed again, in spite of +herself. + +“Ah, that’s better! Now, come, be honest with me. You’re not pretty, +are you?” + +“Me? I’m as lovely as the dawn.” + +“So far, so good. And have you got long golden—that is to say, silken +hair that floats almost to your knees?” + +“Certainly,” she replied, with spirit. + +“Is it plentiful enough so that you could spare a little?” + +“Are you asking me for a lock of my hair?” she queried, on a note of +mirth. “For a stranger, you go fast.” + +“No; oh, no!” he protested. “Nothing so familiar. I’m offering you a +bribe for conversation at the price of, say, five hairs, if you can +sacrifice so many.” + +“It sounds delightfully like voodoo,” she observed. “What must I do +with them?” + +“First, catch your hair. Well up toward the head, please. Now pull it +out. One, two, three—yank!” + +“Ouch!” said the voice above. + +“Do it again. Now have you got two?” + +“Yes.” + +“Knot them together.” + +There was a period of silence. + +“It’s very difficult,” complained the girl. + +“Because you’re doing it in silence. There must be sprightly +conversation or the charm won’t work. Talk!” + +“What about?” + +“Tell me who you thought I was when you said, ‘Boo!’ at me.” + +“A goose.” + +“A—a _goose!_ Why—what—” + +“Doesn’t one proverbially say ‘Boo!’ to a goose?” she remarked +demurely. + +“If one has the courage. Now, I haven’t. I’m shy.” + +“Shy! You?” Again the delicious trill of her mirth rang in his ears. “I +should imagine that to be the least of your troubles.” + +“No! Truly.” There was real and anxious earnestness in his assurance. +“It’s because I don’t see you. If I were face to face with you, I’d +stammer and get red and make a regular imbecile of myself. Another +reason why I stick down here and decline to yield to temptation.” + +“O wise young man! _Are_ you young? Ouch!” + +“Reasonably. Was that the last hair?” + +“Positively! I’m scalped. You’re a red Indian.” + +“Tie it on. Now, fasten a hairpin on the end and let it down. All +right. I’ve got it. Wait!” The fragile line of communication twitched +for a moment. “Haul, now. Gently!” + +Up came the thread, and, as its burden rose over the face of the rock, +the girl gave a little cry of delight:— + +“How exquisite! Orchids, aren’t they?” + +“Yes, the golden-brown bee orchid. Just your coloring.” + +“So it is. How do you know?” she asked, startled. + +“From the hair. And your eyes have gold flashes in the brown when the +sun touches them.” + +“Your wits are _your_ eyes. But where do you get such orchids?” + +“From my little private garden underneath the rock.” + +“Life will be a dull and dreary round unless I see that garden.” + +“No! I say! Wait! Really, now, Miss—er—” There was panic in the +protest. + +“Oh, don’t be afraid. I’m only playing with your fears. One look at you +as you chased your absurd spectacles was enough to satisfy my +curiosity. Go in peace, startled fawn that you are.” + +“Go nothing! I’m not going. Neither are you, I hope, until you’ve told +me lots more about yourself.” + +“All that for a spray of orchids?” + +“But they are quite rare ones.” + +“And very lovely.” + +The girl mused, and a sudden impulse seized her to take the unseen +acquaintance at his word and free her mind as she had not been able to +do to any living soul for long weeks. She pondered over it. + +“You aren’t getting ready to go?” he cried, alarmed at her long +silence. + +“No; I’m thinking.” + +“Please think aloud.” + +“I was thinking—suppose I did.” + +There was so much of weighty consideration in her accents that the +other fear again beset him. + +“Did what? Not come down from the rock?” + +“Be calm. I shouldn’t want to face you any more than you want to face +me, if I decided to do it.” + +“Go on,” he encouraged. “It sounds most promising.” + +“More than that. It’s fairly thrilling. It’s the awful secret of my +life that I’m considering laying bare to you, just like a dime novel. +Are you discreet?” + +“As the eternal rocks. Prescribe any form of oath and I’ll take it.” + +“I’m feeling just irresponsible enough to venture. Now, if I knew you, +of course I couldn’t. But as I shall never set eyes on you again—I +never shall, shall I?” + +“Not unless you creep up on me unawares.” + +“Then I’ll unburden my overweighted heart, and you can be my augur and +advise me with supernatural wisdom. Are you up to that?” + +“Try me.” + +“I will. But, remember: this means truly that we are never to meet. And +if you ever do meet me and recognize my voice, you must go away at +once.” + +“Agreed,” he said cheerfully, just a bit too cheerfully to be +flattering. + +“Very well, then. I’m a runaway.” + +“From where?” + +“Home.” + +“Naturally. Where’s home?” + +“Utica, New York,” she specified. + +“U.S.A.,” he concluded, with a sigh. “What did you run away from?” + +“Trouble.” + +“Does any one ever run away from anything else?” he inquired +philosophically. “What particular brand?” + +“Three men,” she said dolorously. “All after poor little me. They all +thought I ought to marry them, and everybody else seemed to think so, +too—” + +“Go slow! Did you say Utica or Utah?” + +“Everybody thought I ought to marry one or the other of ’em, I mean. If +I could have married them all, now, it might have been easier, for I +like them ever so much. But how could I make up my mind? So I just +seized papa around the neck and ran away with him down here.” + +“Why here, of all places on earth?” + +“Oh, he’s interested in some mines and concessions and things. It’s +very beautiful, but I almost wish I’d stayed at home and married +Bobby.” + +“Which is Bobby?” + +“He’s one of the home boys. We’ve grown up together, and I’m so fond of +him. Only it’s more the brother-and-sister sort of thing, if he’d let +it be.” + +“Check off No. 1. What’s No. 2?” + +“Lots older. Mr. Thomas Murray Smith is an unspoiled millionaire. If he +weren’t so serious and quite so dangerously near forty—well, I don’t +know.” + +“Have you kept No. 3 for the last because he’s the best?” + +“No-o-o-o. Because he’s the nearest. He followed me down. You can see +his name in all its luster on the Hotel Kast register, when you get +back to the city—Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll, at your service.” + +“Sounds Southern,” commented the man below. + +“Southern! He’s more Southern than the South Pole. His ancestors fought +all the wars and owned all the negroes—he calls them ‘niggers’—and +married into all the first families of Virginia, and all that sort of +thing. He must quite hate himself, poor Fitz, for falling in love with +a little Yankee like me. In fact, that’s why I made him do it.” + +“And now you wish he hadn’t?” + +“Oh—well—I don’t know. He’s awfully good-looking and gallant and +devoted and all that. Only he’s such a prickly sort of person. I’d have +to spend the rest of my life keeping him and his pride out of trouble. +And I’ve no taste for diplomacy. Why, only last week he declined to +dine with the President of the Republic because some one said that his +excellency had a touch of the tar brush.” + +“He’d better get out of this country before that gets back to +headquarters.” + +“If he thought there was danger, he’d stay forever. I don’t suppose +Fitz is afraid of anything on earth. Except perhaps of me,” she added +after-thoughtfully. + +“Young woman, you’re a shameless flirt!” accused the invisible one in +stern tones. + +“If I am, it isn’t going to hurt you. Besides, I’m not. And, anyway, +who are you to judge me? You’re not here as a judge; you’re an augur. +Now, go on and aug.” + +“Aug?” repeated the other hesitantly. + +“Certainly. Do an augury. Tell me which.” + +“Oh! As for that, it’s easy. None.” + +“Why not?” + +“Because I much prefer to think of you, when you are gone, as +unmarried. It’s more in character with your voice.” + +“Well, of all the selfish pigs! Condemned to be an old maid, in order +not to spoil an ideal! Perhaps you’d like to enter the lists yourself,” +she taunted. + +“Good Heavens, no!” he cried in the most unflattering alarm. “It isn’t +in my line—I mean I haven’t time for that sort of thing. I’m a very +busy man.” + +“You look it! Or you did look it, scrambling about like a doodle bug +after your absurd spectacles.” + +“There is no such insect as a doodle bug.” + +“Isn’t there? How do you know? Are you personally acquainted with all +the insect families?” + +“Certainly. That’s my business. I’m a scientist.” + +“Oh, gracious! And I’ve appealed to you in a matter of sentiment! I +might better have stuck to Fitz. Poor Fitz! I wonder if he’s lost.” + +“Why should he be lost?” + +“Because I lost him. Back there on the trail. Purposely. I sent him for +water and then—I skipped.” + +“Oh-h-h! Then _he’s_ the goose.” + +“Goose! Preston Fairfax Fitz—” + +“Yes, the goose you said ‘Boo!’ to, you know.” + +“Of course. You didn’t steal his hat, did you?” + +“No. It’s my own hat. Why did you run away from him?” + +“He bored me. When people bore me, I always run away. I’m beginning to +feel quite fugitive this very minute.” + +There was silence below, a silence that piqued the girl. + +“Well,” she challenged, “haven’t you anything to say before the court +passes sentence of abandonment to your fate?” + +“I’m thinking—frantically. But the thoughts aren’t girl thoughts. I +mean, they wouldn’t interest you. I might tell you about some of my +insects,” he added hopefully. + +“Heaven forbid!” + +“They’re very interesting.” + +“No. You’re worthless as an augur, and a flat failure as a +conversationalist, when thrown on your own resources. So I shall shake +the dust from my feet and depart.” + +“Good-bye!” he said desolately. “And thank you.” + +“For what?” + +“For making music in my desert.” + +“That’s much better,” she approved. “But you’ve paid your score with +the orchids. If you have one or two more pretty speeches like that in +stock, I might linger for a while.” + +“I’m afraid I’m all out of those,” he returned. “But,” he added +desperately, “there’s the hexagonal scarab beetle. He’s awfully queer +and of much older family even than Mr. Fitzwhizzle’s. It is the +hexagonal scarab’s habit when dis—” + +“We have an encyclopaedia of our own at home,” she interrupted coldly. +“I didn’t climb this mountain to talk about beetles.” + +“Well, I’ll talk some more about you, if you’ll give me a little time +to think.” + +“I think you are very impertinent. I don’t wish to talk about myself. +Just because I asked your advice in my difficulties, you assume that +I’m a little egoist—” + +“Oh, please don’t—” + +“Don’t interrupt. I’m very much offended, and I’m glad we are never +going to meet. Just as I was beginning to like you, too,” she added, +with malice. “Good-bye!” + +“Good-bye,” he answered mournfully. + +But his attentive ears failed to discern the sound of departing +footsteps. The breeze whispered in the tree-tops. A sulphur-yellow +bird, of French extraction, perched in a flowering bush, insistently +demanded: “Qu’est-ce qu’il dit? Qu’est-ce qu’il dit?”—What’s he say? +_What’s_ he say?—over and over again, becoming quite wrathful because +neither he nor any one else offered the slightest reply or explanation. +The girl sympathized with the bird. If the particular he whose blond +top she could barely see by peeping over the rock would only say +something, matters would be easier for her. But he didn’t. So +presently, in a voice of suspiciously saccharine meekness, she said:— + +“Please, Mr. Beetle Man, I’m lost.” + +“No, you’re not,” he said reassuringly. “You’re not a quarter of a mile +from the Puerto del Norte Road.” + +“But I don’t know which direction—” + +“Perfectly simple. Keep on over the top of the rock; turn left down the +slope, right up the dry stream bed to a dead tree; bear right past—” + +“That’s too many turns, I never could remember more than two.” + +“Now, listen,” he said persuasively. “I can make it quite plain to you +if—” + +“I don’t _wish_ to listen! I’ll never find it.” + +“I’ll toss you up my compass.” + +“I don’t want your compass,” she said firmly. + +A long patient sigh exhaled from below. + +“Do you want me to guide you?” + +“No,” she retorted, and was instantly panic-stricken, for the +monosyllable was of that accent which sets fire to bridges and burns +them beyond hope of return. + +Slowly she got to her feet. Perhaps she would have dared and gone; +perhaps she would have swallowed pride and her negative, and made one +more appeal. She turned hesitantly and saw the devil. + +It was a small devil on stilts, not more than three or four inches +tall, but there was no mistaking his identity. No other living thing +could possess such demoniac little red-hot pin points of eyes, or be so +bristly and grisly and vicious. The stilts suddenly folded flat, and +the devil rushed upon his prey. The girl stepped back; her foot turned +and caught, and— + +“Of course,” the patient voice below was saying, “if you really think +that you couldn’t find the road, I could draw you a map and send it up +by the hair route. But I really think—” + +“_Blump!_” + +The rock had turned over on his unprotected head and flattened him out +forever. Such was his first thought. When he finally collected himself, +his eyeglasses, and his senses, he sustained a second shock more +violent than the first. + +Two paces away, the Voice, duly and most appropriately embodied, sat +half-facing him. The Voice’s eyes confirmed his worst suspicions, and, +dazed though they were at the moment, there were deep lights in them +that wholly disordered his mental mechanism. Nor were her first words +such as to restore his deranged faculties. + +“Oh-h! Aren’t you _gogglesome!_” she cried dizzily. + +He raised his hands to the huge brown spectacles. + +“Wh—wh—what did you come down for?” he babbled. There was a distinct +note of accusation in the query. + +“_Come_ down! I fell!” + +“Yes, yes; that may be true—” + +“_May_ be!” + +“Of course, it is true. I—I—I see it’s true. I’m awfully sorry.” + +“Sorry? What for?” + +“That you came. That you fell, I mean to say. I—I—I don’t really know +what I mean to say.” + +“No wonder, poor boy! I landed right on you, didn’t I?” + +“Did you? Something did. I thought it was the mountain.” + +“You aren’t very complimentary,” she pouted. “But there! I dare say I +knocked your thoughts all to bits.” + +“No; not at all. Certainly, I mean. It doesn’t matter. See here,” he +said, with an injured sharpness of inquiry born of his own exasperation +at his verbal fumbling, “you said you wouldn’t, and here you are. I ask +you, is that fair and honorable?” + +“Well, if it comes to that,” she countered, “you promised that you’d +never speak to me if you saw me, and here you are telling me that you +don’t want me around the place at all. It’s very rude and inhospitable, +I consider.” + +“I can’t help it,” he said miserably. “I’m afraid.” + +“You don’t look it. You look disagreeable.” + +“As long as you stayed where you belonged—Excuse me—I don’t mean to be +impolite—but I—I—You see—as long as you were just a voice, I could +manage all right, but now that you are—er—er—you—” His speech trailed +off lamentably into meaningless stutterings. + +The girl turned amazed and amused eyes upon him. + +“What on earth ails the poor man?” she inquired of all creation. + +“I told you. I—I’m shy.” + +“Not really! I thought it was a joke.” + +“Qu’est-ce qu’il dit? Qu’est-ce qu’il dit?” demanded the +yellow-breasted inquisitor, from his flowery perch. + +“What does he say? He says he’s shy. Poor poo—er young, helpless +thing!” And her laughter put to shame a palm thrush who was giving what +he had up to that moment considered a highly creditable musical +performance. + +“All right!” he retorted warmly. “Laugh if you want to! But after +stipulating that we should be strangers, to—to act this way—well, I +think it’s—it’s—forward. That’s what I think it is.” + +“Do you, indeed? Perhaps you think it’s pleasant for me, after I’ve +opened my heart to a stranger, to have him forced on me as an +acquaintance!” + +From the depths of those limpid eyes welled up a little film of +vexation. + +“O Lord! Don’t do that!” he implored. “I didn’t mean—I’m a bear—a +pig—a—a—a scarab—I’m anything you choose. Only don’t do that!” + +“I’m not doing anything.” + +“Of course you’re not. That’s fine! As for your secrets, I dare say I +wouldn’t know you again if I saw you.” + +“Oh, wouldn’t you?” she cried in quite another tone. + +“Quite likely not. These glasses, you see. They make things look quite +queer.” + +“Or if you heard me?” she challenged. + +“Ah, well, that’s different. But I forget quite easily—even things like +voices.” + +She leaned forward, her hands in her lap, her eyes upon the goggled +face before her. + +“Then take them off.” + +“What? My glasses?” + +“Take them off!” + +“Wh—wh—why should I?” + +“So that you can see me better.” + +“I don’t want to see you better.” + +“Yes, you do. I’m much more interesting than a scarab.” + +“But I know about scarabs and I don’t know about—about—” + +“Girls. So one might suspect. Do you know what I’m doing, Mr. Beetle +Man?” + +“N-n-no.” + +“I’m flirting with you. I never flirted with a scientific person +before. It’s awfully one-sided, difficult, uphill work.” + +This last was all but drowned out in his flood of panicky instructions, +from which she disentangled such phrases as “first to left”—“dry +river-bed-hundred-yards”—“dead tree—can’t miss it.” + +“If you send me away now, I’ll cry. Really, truly cry, this time.” + +“No, you won’t! I mean I won’t! I—I’ll do anything! I’ll talk! I’ll +make conversation! How old are you? That’s what the Chinese ask. I used +to have a Chinese cook, but he lost all my shirt studs, playing +fan-tan. Can you play fan-tan? Two can’t play, though. They have funny +cards in this country, like the Spanish. Have you seen a bullfight yet? +Don’t do it. It’s dull and brutal. The bull has no more chance +than—than—” + +“Than an unprotected man with a conscienceless flirt, who falls on his +neck and then threatens to submerge him in tears.” + +“Now you’re beginning again!” he wailed. “What did you jump for, +anyway?” + +“I slipped. An awful, red-eyed, scrambly fiend scared me—a real, live, +hairy devilkin on stilts. He ran at me across the rock. Was that one of +your pet scarabs, Mr. Beetle Man?” + +“That was a tarantula, I suppose, from the description.” + +“They’re deadly, aren’t they?” + +“Of course not. Unscientific nonsense. I’ll go up and chase him off.” + +“Flying from perils that you know not of to more familiar dangers?” she +taunted. + +“Well, you see, with the tarantula out of the way, there’s no reason +why you shouldn’t—er—” + +“Go, and leave you in peace? What do you think of that for gallantry, +Birdie?” + +The gay-feathered inquisitor had come quite near. + +“Qu’est-ce qu’il dit?” he queried, cocking his curious head. + +“He says he doesn’t like me one little, wee, teeny bit, and he wishes +I’d go home and stay there. And so I’m going, with my poor little +feelings all hurted and ruffled up like anything.” + +“Nothing of the sort,” protested the badgered spectacle-wearer. + +“Then why such unseemly haste to make my path clear?” + +“I just thought that maybe you’d go back on the top of the rock, where +you came from, and—and be a voice again. If you won’t go, I will.” + +He made three jumps of it up the boulder, bearing a stick in his hand. +Presently his face, preternaturally solemn and gnomish behind the +goggles, protruded over the rim. The girl was sitting with her hands +folded in her lap, contemplating the scenery as if she’d never had +another interest in her life. Apparently she had forgotten his very +existence. + +“Ahem!” he began nervously. + +“Ahem!” she retorted so promptly that he almost fell off his precarious +perch. “Did you ring? Number, please.” + +“I wish I knew whether you were laughing at me or not,” he said +ruefully. + +“When?” + +“All the time.” + +“I am. Your darkest suspicions are correct. Did you abolish my +devilkin?” + +“I drove him back into his trapdoor home and put a rock over it.” + +“Why didn’t you destroy him?” + +“Because I’ve appointed him guardian of the rock, with strict +instructions to bite any one that ever comes there after this except +you.” + +“Bravo! You’re progressing. As soon as you’re free from the blight of +my regard, you become quite human. But I’ll never come again.” + +“No, I suppose not,” he said dismally. “I shan’t hear you again, +unless, perhaps, the echoes have kept your voice to play with.” + +“Oh, oh! Is this the language of science? You know I almost think I +should like to come—if I could. But I can’t.” + +“Why not?” + +“Because we leave to-morrow.” + +“Not across to the southern coast? It isn’t safe. Fever—” + +“No; by Puerto del Norte.” + +“There’s no boat.” + +“Yes, there is. You can just see her funnel over that white slope. It’s +our yacht.” + +“And you think you are going in her to-morrow?” + +“Think? I know it.” + +“No,” he contradicted. + +“Yes,” she asserted, quite as concisely. + +“No,” he repeated. “You’re mistaken.” + +“Don’t be absurd. Why?” + +“Look out there, over that tree to the horizon.” + +“I’m looking.” + +“Do you see anything?” + +“Yes; a sort of little smudge.” + +“That’s why.” + +“It’s a very shadowy sort of why.” + +“There’s substance enough under it.” + +“A riddle? I’ll give it up.” + +“No; a bet. I’ll bet you the treasures of my mountain-side. Orchids of +gold and white and purple and pink, butterflies that dart on wings of +fire opal—” + +“Beetles, to know which is to love them, and love but them forever,” +she laughed. “And my side of the wager—what is that to be?” + +“That you will come to the rock day after to-morrow at this hour and +stand on the top and be a voice again and talk to me.” + +“Done! Send your treasures to the pier, for you’ll surely lose. And now +take me to the road.” + +It was a single-file trail, and he walked in advance, silent as an +Indian. As they emerged from a thicket into the highway, above the +red-tiled city in its setting of emerald fields strung on the silver +thread of the Santa Clara River, she turned and gave him her hand. + +“Be at your rock to-morrow, and when you see the yacht steam out, +you’ll know I’ll be saying good-bye, and thank you for your mountain +treasures. Send them to Miss Brewster, care of the yacht Polly. She’s +named after me. Is there anything the matter with my shoes?” she broke +off to inquire solicitously. + +“Er—what? No.” He lifted his eyes, startled, and looked out across the +quaint old city. + +“Then is there anything the matter with my face?” + +“Yes.” + +“Yes? Well, what?” + +“It’s going to be hard to forget,” complained he of the goggles. + +“Then look away before it’s too late,” she cried merrily; but her color +deepened a little. “Good-bye, O friend of the lowly scarab!” + +At the dip of the road down into the bridged arroyo, she turned, and +was surprised—or at least she told herself so—to find him still looking +after her. + + + + +II. +AT THE KAST + + +One dines at the Gran Hotel Kast after the fashion of a _champignon +sous cloche_. The top of the _cloche_ is of fluted glass, with a wide +aperture between it and the sides, to admit the rain in the wet season +and the flies in the dry. Three balconies run up from the dining-room +well to this roof, and upon these, as near to the railings as they +choose, the rather conglomerate patronage of the place sleeps, takes +baths, dresses, gossips, makes love, quarrels, and exchanges prophecies +as to next Sunday’s bullfight, while the diners below strive to select +from the bill of fare special morsels upon which they will stake their +internal peace for the day. No cabaret can hold a candle to it for +variety of interest. When the sudden torrential storms sweep down the +mountains at meal times, the little human _champignons_, beneath their +insufficient _cloche_, rush about wildly seeking spots where the +drippage will not wash their food away. Commercial travelers of the +tropics have a saying: “There are worse hotels in the world than the +Kast—but why take the trouble?” And, year upon year, they return there +for reasons connected with the other hostelries of Caracuña, which I +forbear to specify. + +To Miss Polly Brewster, the Kast was a place of romance. Five miles +away, as the buzzard flies, she could have dined well, even elegantly, +on the Brewster yacht. Would she have done it? Not for worlds! Miss +Brewster was entranced by the courtly manners of her waiter, who had +lost one ear and no small part of the countenance adjacent thereto, +only too obviously through the agency of some edged instrument not +wielded in the arts of peace. She was further delightedly intrigued by +the abrupt appearance of a romantic-hued gentleman, who thrust out over +the void from the second balcony an anguished face, one side of which +was profusely lathered, and addressed to all the hierarchy of heaven +above, and the peoples of the earth beneath, a passionate protest upon +the subject of a cherished and vanished shaving brush; what time, +below, the head waiter was hastily removing from sight, though not from +memory, a soup tureen whose agitated surface bore a creamy froth not of +a lacteal origin. One may not with impunity balance personal implements +upon the too tremulous rails of the ancient Kast. + +With an appreciative and glowing eye, Miss Brewster read from her +mimeographed bill of fare such legends as “_ropa con carne_,” “_bacalao +secco_,” “_enchiladas_,” and meantime devoured _chechenaca_, which, had +it been translated into its just and simple English of “hash,” she +would not have given to her cat. + +Nor did her visual and prandial preoccupations inhibit her from a +lively interest in the surrounding Babel of speech in mingled Spanish, +Dutch, German, English, Italian, and French, all at the highest pitch, +for a few rods away the cathedral bells were saluting Heaven with all +the clangor and din of the other place, and only the strident of voice +gained any heed in that contest. Even after the bells paused, the habit +of effort kept the voices up. Miss Brewster, dining with her father a +few hours after her return from the mountain, absolved her conscience +from any intent of eavesdropping in overhearing the talk of the table +to the right of her. The remark that first fixed her attention was in +English, of the super-British _patois_. + +“Can’t tell wot the blighter might look like behind those bloomin’ +brown glasses.” + +“But he’s not bothersome to any one,” suggested a second speaker, in a +slightly foreign accent. “He regards his own affairs.” + +“Right you are, bo!” approved a tall, deeply browned man of thirty, all +sinewy angles, who, from the shoulders up, suggested nothing so much as +a club with a gnarled knob on the end of it, a tough, reliable, +hardwood club, capable of dealing a stiff blow in an honest cause. “If +he deals in conversation, he must _sell_ it. I don’t notice him giving +any of it away.” + +“He gave some to Kast the last time he dined here,” observed a languid +and rather elegant elderly man, who occupied the fourth side of the +table. “Mine host didn’t like it.” + +“I should suppose Señor Kast would be hardened,” remarked the young +Caracuñan who had defended the absent. + +“Our eyeglassed friend scored for once, though. They had just served +him the usual table-d’hôte salad—you know, two leaves of lettuce with a +caterpillar on one. Kast happened to be passing. Our friend beckoned +him over. ‘A little less of the fauna and more of the flora, Señor +Kast,’ said he in that gritty, scientific voice of his. I really +thought Kast was going to forget his Swiss blood, and chase a whole +peso of custom right out of the place.” + +“If you ask me, I think the blighter is barmy,” asserted the Briton. + +“Well, I’ll ask you,” proffered the elegant one kindly. “Why do you +consider him ‘barmy,’ as you put it?” + +“When I first saw him here and heard him speak to the waiter, I knew +him for an American Johnny at once, and I went, directly I’d finished +my soup, and sat down at his table. The friendly touch, y’ know. ‘I +say,’ I said to him, ‘I don’t know you, but I heard you speak, and I +knew at once you were one of these Americans—tell you at once by the +beastly queer accent, you know. You are an American, ay—wot?’ Wot d’ +you suppose the blighter said? He said, ‘No, I’m an ichthyo’—somethin’ +or other—” + +“Ichthyosaurus, perhaps,” supplied the Caracunuan, smiling. + +“That’s it, whatever it may be. ‘I’m an ichthyosaurus,’ he says. ‘It’s +a very old family, but most of the buttons are off. Were you ever +bitten by one in the fossil state? Very exhilaratin’, but poisonous,’ +he says. ‘So don’t let me keep you any longer from your dinner.’ Of +course, I saw then that he was a wrong un, so I cut him dead, and +walked away.” + +“Served him right,” declared the elderly American, with a solemn +twinkle directed at the tall brown man, who, having opened his mouth, +now thought better of it, and closed it again, with a grin. + +“But he is very kind,” said the native. “When my brother fell and broke +his arm on the mountain, this gentleman found him, took care of him, +and brought him in on muleback.” + +“Lives up there somewhere, doesn’t he, Mr. Raimonda?” asked the big +man. + +“In the _quinta_ of a deserted plantation,” replied the Caracuñan. + +“Wot’s he do?” asked the Englishman. + +“Ah, _that_ one does not know, unless Senor Sherwen can tell us.” + +“Not I,” said the elderly man. “Some sort of scientific investigation, +according to the guess of the men at the club.” + +“You never can tell down here,” observed the Englishman darkly. “Might +be a blind, you know. Calls himself Perkins. Dare say it isn’t his name +at all.” + +“Daughter,” said Mr. Thatcher Brewster at this juncture, in a patient +and plaintive voice, “for the fifth and last time, I implore you to +pass me the butter, or that which purports to be butter, in the dish at +your elbow.” + +“Oh, poor dad! Forgive me! But I was overhearing some news of an—an +acquaintance.” + +“Do you know any of the gentlemen upon whose conversation you are +eavesdropping?” + +In financial circles, Mr. Brewster was credited with the possession of +a cold blue eye and a denatured voice of interrogation, but he seldom +succeeded in keeping a twinkle out of the one and a chuckle out of the +other when conversing with his daughter. + +“Not yet,” observed that damsel calmly. + +“Meaning, I suppose I am to understand—” + +“Precisely. Haven’t you noticed them looking this way? Presently +they’ll be employing all their strategy to meet me. They’ll employ it +on you.” + +Mr. Brewster surveyed the group dubiously. + +“In a country such as this, one can’t be too—too cau—” + +“Too particular, as you were saying,” cut in his daughter cheerfully. +“Men are scarce—except Fitzhugh, who is rather less scarce than I wish +he were lately. You know,” she added, with a covert glance at the +adjoining table, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you found yourself an +extremely popular papa immediately after dinner. It might even go so +far as cigars. Do you suppose that lovely young Caracuñan is a +bullfighter?” + +“No; I believe he’s a coffee exporter. Less romantic, but more +respectable. Quite one of the gilded youth of Caracuña. His name is +Raimonda. Fitzhugh knows him. By the way, where on earth is Fitzhugh?” + +“Trying to fit a kind and gentlemanly expression over a swollen sense +of injury, for a guess,” replied the girl carelessly. “I left him in +sweet and lone communion with nature three hours ago.” + +“Polly, I wish—” + +“Oh, dad, dear, don’t! You’ll get your wish, I suppose, and Fitz, too. +Only I don’t want to be hurried. Here he is, now. Look at that smile! A +sculptor couldn’t have done any better. Now, as soon as he comes, I’m +going to be quite nice and kind.” + +But Mr. Fairfax Preston Fitzhugh Carroll did not come direct to the +Brewster table. Instead, he stopped to greet the elderly man in the +near-by group, and presently drew up a chair. At first, their +conversation was low-toned, but presently the young native added his +more vivacious accents. + +“Who can tell?” the Brewsters heard him say, and marked the fatalistic +gesture of the upturned hands. “They disappear. One does not ask +questions too much.” + +“Not here,” confirmed the big man. “Always room for a few more in the +undersea jails, eh?” + +“Always. But I think it was not that with Basurdo. I think it was +underground, not undersea.” He brushed his neck with his finger tips. + +“Is it dangerous for foreigners?” asked Carroll quickly. + +“For every one,” answered Sherwen; adding significantly: “But the +Caracuñan Government does not approve of loose fostering of rumors.” + +Carroll rose and came over to the Brewsters. + +“May I bring Mr. Graydon Sherwen over and present him?” he asked. “I +can vouch for him, having known his family at home, and—” + +“Oh, bring them all, Fitzhugh,” commanded the girl. + +The exponent of Southern aristocracy looked uncomfortable. + +“As to the others,” he said, “Mr. Raimonda is a native—” + +“With the manners of a prince. I’ve quite fallen in love with him +already,” she said wickedly. + +“Of course, if you wish it. But the other American is an +ex-professional baseball player, named Cluff.” + +“What? ‘Clipper’ Cluff? I knew I’d seen him before!” cried Miss Polly. +“He got his start in the New York State League. Why, we’re quite old +friends, by sight.” + +“As for Galpy, he’s an underbred little cockney bounder.” + +“With the most naive line of conversation I’ve ever listened to. I want +all of them.” + +“Let me bring Sherwen first,” pleaded the suitor, and was presently +introducing that gentleman. “Mr. Sherwen is in charge here of the +American Legation,” he explained. + +“How does one salute a real live minister?” queried Miss Brewster. + +“Don’t mistake me for anything so important,” said Sherwen. “We’re not +keeping a minister in stock at present. My job is being a superior kind +of janitor until diplomatic relations are resumed.” + +“Goodness! It sounds like war,” said Miss Brewster hopefully. “Is there +anything as exciting as that going on?” + +“Oh, no. Just a temporary cessation of civilities between the two +nations. If it weren’t indiscreet—” + +“Oh, do be indiscreet!” implored the girl, with clasped hands. “I +admire indiscretion in others, and cultivate it in myself.” + +Mr. Carroll looked pained, as the other laughed and said:— + +“Well, it would certainly be most undiplomatic for me to hint that the +great and friendly nation of Hochwald, which wields more influence and +has a larger market here than any other European power, has become a +little jealous of the growing American trade. But the fact remains that +the Hochwald minister and his secretary, Von Plaanden, who is a very +able citizen when sober,—and is, of course, almost always sober,—have +not exerted themselves painfully to compose the little misunderstanding +between President Fortuno and us. The Dutch diplomats, who are not as +diplomatic in speech as I am, would tell you, if there were any of them +left here to tell anything, that Von Plaanden’s intrigues brought on +the present break with them. So there you have a brief, but reliable +‘History of Our Times in the Island Republic of Caracuña.’” + +“Highly informative and improving to the untutored mind,” Miss Brewster +complimented him. “I like seeing the wires of empire pulled. More, +please.” + +“Perhaps you won’t like the next so well,” observed Carroll grimly. +“There is bubonic plague here.” + +“Oh—ah!” protested Sherwen gently. “The suspicion of plague. Quite a +different matter.” + +“Which usually turns out to be the same, doesn’t it?” inquired Mr. +Brewster. + +“Perhaps. People disappear, and one is not encouraged to ask about +them. But then people disappear for many causes in Caracuña. Politics +here are somewhat—well—Philadelphian in method. But—there is smoke +rising from behind Capo Blanco.” + +“What is there?” inquired the girl. + +“The lazaretto. Still, it might be yellow fever, or only smallpox. The +Government is not generous with information. To have plague discovered +now would be very disturbing to the worthy plans of the Hochwald +Legation. For trade purposes, they would very much dislike to have the +port closed for a considerable time by quarantine. The Dutch difficulty +they can arrange when they will. But quarantine would bring in the +United States, and that is quite another matter. Well, we’ll see, when +Dr. Pruyn gets here.” + +“Who is he?” asked Carroll. + +“Special-duty man of the United States Public Health Service. The best +man on tropical diseases and quarantine that the service has ever had.” + +“That isn’t Luther Pruyn, is it?” inquired Mr. Brewster. + +“The same. Do you know him?” + +“Yes.” + +“More than I do, except by reputation.” + +“He was in my class at college, but I haven’t seen him since. I’d be +glad to see him again. A queer, dry fellow, but character and grit to +his backbone.” + +“I’d supposed he was younger,” said Sherwen. “Anyway, he’s +comparatively new to the service. His rise is the more remarkable. At +present, he’s not only our quarantine representative, with full powers, +but unofficially he acts, while on his roving commission, for the +British, the Dutch, the French, and half the South American republics. +I suppose he’s really the most important figure in the Caracuña +crisis—and he hasn’t even got here yet. Perhaps our Hochwaldian friends +have captured him on the quiet. It would pay ’em, for if there is +plague here, he’ll certainly trail it down.” + +“Oh, I’m tired of plague,” announced Miss Polly. “Bring the others here +and let’s all go over to the plaza, where it’s cool.” + +To their open and obvious delight, exhibited jauntily by the +Englishman, with awkward and admiring respectfulness by the +ball-player, and with graceful ease by the handsome Caracuñan, the rest +were invited to join the party. + +“Don’t let them scare you about plague, Miss Brewster,” said Cluff, as +they found their chairs. “Foreigners don’t get it much.” + +“Oh, I’m not afraid! But, anyway, we shouldn’t have time to catch even +a cold. We leave to-morrow.” + +The men exchanged glances. + +“How?” inquired Sherwen and Raimonda in a breath. + +“In the yacht, from Puerto del Norte.” + +“Not if it were a British battleship,” said Galpy. “Port’s closed.” + +“What? Quarantine already?” said Carroll. + +“Quarantine be blowed! It’s the Dutch.” + +“I thought you knew,” said Sherwen. “All the town is ringing with the +news. It just came in to-night. Holland has declared a blockade until +Caracuña apologizes for the interference with its cable.” + +“And nothing can pass?” asked Mr. Brewster. + +“Nothing but an aeroplane or a submarine.” + +There was a silence. Miss Polly Brewster broke it with a curious +question:— + +“What day is day after to-morrow?” + +Several voices had answered her, but she paid little heed, for there +had slipped over her shoulder a brown thin hand holding a cunningly +woven closed basket of reedwork. A soft voice murmured something in +Spanish. + +“What does he say?” asked the girl “For me?” + +“He thinks it must be for you,” translated Raimonda, “from the +description.” + +“What description?” + +“He was told to go to the hotel and deliver it to the most beautiful +lady. There could hardly be any mistaking such specific instructions +even by an ignorant mountain peon,” he added, smiling. + +The girl opened the curious receptacle, and breathed a little gasp of +delight. Bedded in fern, lay a mass of long sprays aquiver with bells +of the purest, most lucent white, each with a great glow of gold at its +heart. + +“Ah,” observed the young Caracuñan, “I see that you are _persona grata_ +with our worthy President, Miss Brewster.” + +“President Fortuno?” asked the girl, surprised. “No; not that I’m aware +of. Why do you say that?” + +“That is his special orchid—almost the official flower. They call it +‘the President’s orchid.’” + +“Has he a monopoly of growing them?” asked Miss Brewster. + +“No one can grow them. They die when transplanted from their native +cliffs. But it’s only the President’s rangers who are daring enough to +get them.” + +“Are they so inaccessible?” + +“Yes. They grow nowhere but on the cliff faces, usually in the wildest +part of the mountains. Few people except the hunters and mountaineers +know where, and it’s only the most adventurous of them who go after the +flowers.” + +“Do you suppose this boy got these?” Miss Brewster indicated the shy +and dusky messenger. + +Raimonda spoke to the boy for a moment. + +“No; he didn’t collect them. Nor is he one of the President’s men. I +don’t quite understand it.” + +“Who did gather them?” + +“All that he will say is, ‘the master.’” + +“Oh!” said Miss Brewster, and retired into a thoughtful silence. + +“They’re very beautiful, aren’t they?” continued the Caracuñan. “And +they carry a pretty sentiment.” + +“Tell me,” commanded the girl, emerging from her reverie. + +“The mountaineers say that their fragrance casts a spell which carries +the thought back to the giver.” + +“Is that the language of science?” she queried absently, with a thought +far away. + +“But no, señorita, assuredly not,” said the young Caracufian. “It is +the language—permit that I say it better in French—c’est le langage +d’amour.” + + + + +III. +THE BETTER PART OF VALOR + + +Night fell with the iron clangor of bells, and day broke to the +accompaniment of further insensate jangling, for Caracuña City has the +noisiest cathedral in the world; and still the graceful gray yacht +Polly lay in the harbor at Puerto del Norte, hemmed in by a thin film +of smoke along the horizon where the Dutch warship promenaded. + +In one of the side caverns off the main dining-room of the Hotel Kast, +the yacht’s owner, breakfasting with the yacht’s tutelary goddess and +the goddess’s determined pursuer, discussed the blockade. Though Miss +Polly Brewster kept up her end of the conversation, her thoughts were +far upon a breeze-swept mountain-side. How, she wondered, had that dry +and strange hermit of the wilds known the news before the city learned +it? With her wonder came annoyance over her lost wager. The beetle man, +she judged, would be coolly superior about it. So she delivered herself +of sundry stinging criticisms regarding the conduct of the Caracuñan +Administration in having stupidly involved itself in a blockade. She +even spoke of going to see the President and apprising him of her +views. + +“I’d like to tell him how to run this foolish little island,” said she, +puckering a quaintly severe brow. + +“Now is the appointed time for you to plunge in and change the course +of empire,” her father suggested to her. “There’s an official morning +reception at ten o’clock. We’re invited.” + +“Then I shan’t go. I wouldn’t give the old goose the satisfaction of +going to his _fiesta_.” + +“Meaning the noble and patriotic President?” said Carroll. “Treason +most foul! The _cuartels_ are full of chained prisoners who have said +less.” + +“Father can go with Mr. Sherwen. I shall do some important shopping,” +announced Miss Brewster. “And I don’t want any one along.” + +Thus apprised of her intentions, Carroll wrapped himself in gloom, and +retired to write a letter. + +Miss Polly’s shopping, being conducted mainly through the medium of the +sign language, presently palled upon her sensibilities, and about +twelve o’clock she decided upon a drive. Accordingly she stepped into +one of the pretty little toy victorias with which the city swarms. + +“Para donde?” inquired the driver. + +His fare made an expansive gesture, signifying “Anywhere.” Being an +astute person in his own opinion, the Jehu studied the pretty +foreigner’s attire with an appraising eye, profoundly estimated that so +much style and elegance could be designed for only one function of the +day, whirled her swiftly along the two-mile drive of the Calvario Road, +and landed her at the President’s palace, half an hour after the +reception was over. Supposing from the coachman’s signs that she was +expected to go in and view some public garden, she paid him, walked far +enough to be stopped by the apologetic and appreciative guard, and +returned to the highway, to find no carriage in sight. Never mind, she +reflected; she needed the exercise. Accordingly, she set out to walk. + +But the noonday sun of Caracuia has a bite to it. For a time, Miss +Brewster followed the car tracks which were her sure guide from the +palace to the Kast; briskly enough, at first. But, after three cars had +passed her, she began to think longingly of the fourth. When it stopped +at her signal, it was well filled. The most promising ingress appeared +to be across the blockade of a robust and much-begilded young man, who +was occupying the familiar position of an “end-seat hog,” and +displaying the full glories of the Hochwaldian dress uniform. + +Herr von Plaanden was both sleepy and cross, for, having lingered after +the reception to have a word and several drinks with the Minister of +Foreign Affairs, he had come forth to find neither coach nor automobile +in attendance. There had been nothing for it but the plebeian trolley. +Accordingly, when he heard a foreign voice of feminine timbre and felt +a light pressure against his knee, he only snorted. What he next felt +against his knee was the impact of a half-shove, half-blow, brisk +enough to slue him around. The intruder passed by to the vacant seat, +while the now thoroughly awakened and annoyed Hochwaldian whirled, to +find himself looking into a pair of expressionless brown goggles. + +With a snort of fury, the diplomat struck backward. The glasses and the +solemn face behind them dodged smartly. The next moment, Herr von +Plaanden felt his neck encircled by a clasp none the less warm for +being not precisely affectionate. He was pinned. Twisting, he worked +one arm loose. + +“Be careful!” warned the cool voice of Polly Brewster, addressing her +defender. “He’s trying to draw his sword.” + +The gogglesome one’s grip slid a little lower. The car had now stopped, +and the conductor came forward, brandishing what was apparently the +wand of authority, designed to be symbolic rather than utile, since at +no point was it thicker than a man’s finger. From a safe distance on +the running-board, he flourished this, whooping the while in a shrill +and dissuasive manner. Somewhere down the street was heard a responsive +yell, and a small, jerky, olive-green _policia_ pranced into view. + +Thereupon a strange thing happened. The rescuing knight relaxed his +grip, leaped the back of his seat, dropped off the car, and darted like +a hunted hare across a compound, around a wall, and so into the +unknown, deserting his lady fair, if not precisely in the hour of +greatest need, at least in a situation fraught with untoward +possibilities. Indeed, it seemed as if these possibilities might +promptly become actualities, for the diplomat turned his stimulated +wrath upon the girl, and was addressing her in tones too emphatic to be +mistaken when a large angular form interposed itself, landing with a +flying leap on the seat between them. + +“Move!” the newly arrived one briefly bade Herr von Plaanden. + +Herr von Plaanden, feeling the pressure of a shoulder formed upon the +generous lines of a gorilla’s, and noting the approach of the _policia_ +on the other side, was fain to obey. + +“Don’t you be scared, miss,” said Cluff, turning to the girl. “It’s all +over.” + +“I’m not frightened,” she said, with a catch in her voice. + +“Of course you ain’t,” he agreed reassuringly. “You just sit quiet—” + +“But I—I—I’m _mad_, clean through.” + +“You gotta right. You gotta perfect right. Now, if this was New York, +I’d spread that gold-laced guy’s face—” + +“I’m not angry at him. Not particularly, I mean.” + +“No?” queried her friend in need. “What got your goat, then?” + +Miss Brewster shot a quick and scornful glance over her shoulder. + +“Oh, _him!_” interpreted the athlete. “Well, he made his get-away like +a man with some reason for being elsewhere.” + +“Reason enough. He was afraid.” + +“Maybe. Being afraid’s a queer thing,” remarked her escort +academically. “Now, me, I’m afraid of a fuzzy caterpillar. But I ain’t +exactly timid about other things.” + +“You certainly aren’t. And I don’t know how to thank you.” + +“Aw, that’s awright, miss. What else could I do? Our departed friend, +Professor Goggle-Eye, when he made his jump, landed right in my shirt +front. ‘Take my place,’ he says; ‘I’ve got an engagement.’ Well, I was +just moving forward, anyway, so it was no trouble at all, I assure +you,” asserted the doughty Cluff, achieving a truly elegant conclusion. + +“Most fortunate for me,” said the girl sweetly. “Mr. Perkins scuttled +away like one of his own little wretched beetles. When I see him +again—” + +“Again? Oh, well, if he’s a friend of yours, accourse he’d awtuv stood +by—” + +“He isn’t!” she declared, with unnecessary vehemence. + +“Don’t you be too hard on him, miss,” argued her escort. “Seems to me +he did a pretty good job for you, and stuck to it until he found some +one else to take it up.” + +“Then why didn’t he stand by you?” + +“Oh, I don’t carry any ‘Help-wanted’ signs on me. You know, miss, you +can’t size up a man in this country like he was at home. Now, me, I’d +have natcherly hammered that Von Plaanden gink all to heh—heh—hash. But +did I do it? I did not. You see, I got a little mining concession out +here in the mountains, and if I was to get into any diplomatic mix-up +and bring in the police, it’d be bad for my business, besides maybe +getting me a couple of tons of bracelets around my pretty little +ankles. Like as not your friend, Professor Lamps, has got an equally +good reason for keeping the peace.” + +“Do you mean that this man will make trouble for you over this?” + +“Not as things stand. So long as nothing was done—no arrests or +anything like that—he’ll be glad to forget it, when he sobers up. I’ll +forget it, too, and maybe, miss, it wouldn’t be any harm to anybody if +you did a turn at forgetting, yourself.” + +But neither by the venturesome Miss Polly nor by her athlete servitor +was the episode to be so readily dismissed. Late that afternoon, when +the Brewster party were sitting about iced fruit drinks amid the dingy +and soiled elegance of the Kast’s one private parlor, Mr. Sherwen’s +card arrived, followed shortly by Mr. Sherwen’s immaculate self, +creaseless except for one furrow of the brow. + +“How you are going to get out of here I really don’t know,” he said. + +“Why should we hurry?” inquired Miss Brewster. “I don’t find Caracuña +so uninteresting.” + +“Never since I came here has it been so charming,” said the legation +representative, with a smiling bow. “But, much as your party adds to +the landscape, I’m not at all sure that this city is the most healthful +spot for you at present.” + +“You mean the plague?” asked Mr. Brewster. + +“Not quite so loud, please. ‘Healthful,’ as I used it, was, in part, a +figure of speech. Something is brewing hereabout.” + +“Not a revolution?” cried Miss Polly, with eyes alight. “Oh, do brew a +revolution for me! I should so adore to see one!” + +“Possibly you may, though I hardly think it. Some readjustment of +foreign relations, at most. The Dutch blockade is, perhaps, only a +beginning. However, it’s sufficient to keep you bottled up, though if +we could get word to them, I dare say they would let a yacht go out.” + +“Senator Richland, of the Committee on Foreign Relations, is an old +friend of my family,” said Carroll, in his measured tones. “A cable—” + +“Would probably never get through. This Government wouldn’t allow it. +There are other possibilities. Perhaps, Mr. Brewster,” he continued, +with a side glance at the girl, “we might talk it over at length this +evening.” + +“Quite useless, Mr. Sherwen,” smiled the magnate. “Polly would have it +all out of me before I was an hour older. She may as well get it +direct.” + +“Very well, then. It’s this quarantine business. If Dr. Pruyn comes +here and declares bubonic plague—” + +“But how will he get in?” asked Carroll. + +“So far as the blockade goes, the Dutch will help him all they can. But +this Government will keep him out, if possible.” + +“He is not persona grata?” asked Brewster. + +“Not with any of the countries that play politics with pestilence. But +if he’s sent here, he’ll get in some way. In fact, Stark, the +public-health surgeon at Puerto del Norte, let fall a hint that makes +me think he’s on his way now. Probably in some cockleshell of a small +boat manned by Indian smugglers.” + +“It sounds almost too adventurous for the scholarly Pruyn whom I +recall,” observed Mr. Brewster. + +“The man who went through the cholera anarchy on the lazar island off +Camacho, with one case of medical supplies and two boxes of cartridges, +may have been scholarly; he certainly didn’t exhibit any distaste for +adventure. Well, I wish he’d arrive and get something settled. Only I’d +like to have you out of the way first.” + +“Oh, don’t send _me_ away, Mr. Sherwen,” pleaded Miss Polly, with +mischief in her eyes. “I’d make the cunningest little office assistant +to busy old Dr. Pruyn. And he’s a friend of dad’s, and we surely ought +to wait for him.” + +“If only I _could_ send you! The fact is, Americans won’t be very +popular if matters turn out as I expect.” + +“Shall we be confined to our rooms and kept _incomunicado_, while Dr. +Pruyn chases the terrified germ through the streets of Caracuña?” +queried the irrepressible Polly. + +“You’ll probably have to move to the legation, where you will be very +welcome, but none too comfortable. The place has been practically +closed and sealed for two months.” + +“I’m sure we should bother you dreadfully,” said the girl. + +“It would bother me more dreadfully if you got into any trouble. Just +this morning there was some kind of an affair on a street car in which +some Americans were involved.” + +Miss Polly’s countenance was a design—a very dainty and ornamental +design—in _insouciance_ as her father said:— + +“Americans? Any one we have met?” + +“No news has come to me. I understand one of the diplomatic corps, +returning from the President’s matinée, spoke to an American woman, and +an American man interfered.” + +“When did this happen?” asked Carroll. + +“About noon. Inquiries are going on quietly.” + +The young man directed a troubled and accusing look from his fine eyes +upon Miss Brewster. + +“You see, Miss Polly,” he said, “no lady should go about unprotected +down here.” + +“Ordinarily it’s as safe as any city,” said Sherwen. “Just now I can’t +be so certain.” + +“I hate being watched over like a child!” pouted Miss Brewster. “And I +love sight-seeing alone. The flowers along the Calvario Road were so +lovely.” + +“That’s the road to the palace,” remarked Carroll, looking at her +closely. + +“And the butterflies are so marvelous,” she continued cheerfully. “Who +lives in that salmon-pink pagoda just this side of the curve?” + +Trouble sat dark and heavy upon the handsome features of Mr. Preston +Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll, but he was too experienced to put a direct +query to his _inamorata_. What suspicion he had, he cherished until +after dinner, when he took it to the club and made it the foundation of +certain inquiries. + +Thus it happened that at eleven o’clock that evening, he paused before +a bench in the plaza, bowered in the bloom of creepers which flowed +down from a balcony of the Kast, and occupied by the comfortably +sprawled-out form of Mr. Thomas Cluff, who was making a burnt offering +to Morpheus. + +“Good-evening!” said Mr. Carroll pleasantly. + +“Evenin’! How’s things?” returned the other. + +“Right as can be, thanks to you. On behalf of the Brewster family, I +want to express our appreciation of your assistance to Miss Brewster +this morning.” + +“Oh, that was nothing,” returned the other. + +“But it might have been a great deal. Mr. Brewster will wish to thank +you in person—” + +“Aw, forget it!” besought Mr. Thomas Cluff. “That little lady is all +right. I’d just as soon eat an ambassador, let alone a gilt-framed +secretary, to help her out.” + +“Miss Brewster,” said the other, somewhat more stiffly, “is a wholly +admirable young lady, but she is not always well advised in going out +unescorted. By the way, you can doubtless confirm the rumor as to the +identity of her insulter.” + +“His name is Von Plaanden. But I don’t think he meant to insult any +one.” + +“You will permit me to be the best judge of that.” + +“Go as far as you like,” asserted the big fellow cheerfully. “That +fellow Perkins can tell you more about the start of the thing than I +can.” + +“From what I hear, he has no cause to be proud of his part in the +matter,” said the Southerner, frowning. + +“He’s sure a prompt little runner,” asserted Cluff. “But I’ve run away +in my time, and glad of the chance.” + +“You will excuse me from sympathizing with your standards.” + +“Sure, you’re excused,” returned the athlete, so placidly that Carroll, +somewhat at a loss, altered his speech to a more gracious tone. + +“At any rate, you stood your ground when you were needed, which is more +than Mr. Perkins did. I should like to have a talk with him.” + +“That’s easy. He was rambling around here not a quarter of an hour ago +with young Raimonda. That’s them sitting on the bench over by the +fountain.” + +“Will you take me over and present me? I think it is due Mr. Perkins +that some one should give him a frank opinion of his actions.” + +“I’d like to hear that,” observed Cluff, who was not without humanistic +curiosity. “Come along.” + +Heaving up his six-feet-one from the seat, he led the way to the two +conversing men. Raimonda looked around and greeted the newcomers +pleasantly. Cluff waved an explanatory hand between his charge and the +bench. + +“Make you acquainted with Mr. Perkins,” he said, neglecting to mention +the name of the first party of the introduction. + +Perkins, goggling upward to meet a coldly hostile glance, rose, nodded +in some wonder, and said: “How do you do?” Raimonda sent Cluff a glance +of interrogation, to which that experimentalist in human antagonisms +responded with a borrowed Spanish gesture of pleasurable uncertainty. + +“I will not say that I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Perkins,” began Carroll +weightily, and paused. + +If he expected a query, he was doomed to a disappointment. Such of the +Perkins features as were not concealed by his extraordinary glasses +expressed an immovable calm. + +“Doubtless you know to what I refer.” + +Still those blank brown glasses regarded him in silence. + +“Do you or do you not?” demanded Carroll, struggling to keep his temper +in the face of this exasperating irresponsiveness. + +“Haven’t the least idea,” replied Perkins equably. + +“You were on the tram this morning when Miss Brewster was insulted, +weren’t you?” + +“Yes.” + +“And ran away?” + +“I did.” + +“What did you run away for?” + +“I ran away,” the other sweetly informed him, “on important business of +my own.” + +Cluff snickered. The suspicion impinged upon Carroll’s mind that this +wasn’t going to be as simple as he had expected. + +“Let that go for the moment. Do you know Miss Brewster’s insulter?” + +“No.” + +“Are you telling me the truth?” asked the Southerner sternly. + +The begoggled one’s chin jerked up. To the trained eye of Cluff, swift +to interpret physical indications, it seemed that Perkins’s weight had +almost imperceptibly shifted its center of gravity. + +“Our Southern friend is going to run into something if he doesn’t look +out,” he reflected. + +But there was no hint of trouble in Perkins’s voice as he replied:— + +“I know who he is. I don’t know him.” + +“Was it Von Plaanden?” + +“Why do you want to know?” + +“Because,” returned the other, with convincing coolness, “if it was, I +intend to slap his face publicly as soon as I can find him.” + +“You must do nothing of the sort.” + +Now, indeed, there was a change in the other’s bearing. The words came +sharp and crisp. + +“I shall do exactly as I said. Perhaps you will explain why you think +otherwise.” + +“Because you must have some sense somewhere about you. Do you realize +where you are?” + +“I hardly think you can teach me geography, or anything else, Mr. +Perkins.” + +“Well, good God,” said the other sharply, “somebody’s got to teach you! +What do you suppose would be the result of your slapping Von Plaanden’s +face?” + +“Whatever it may be, I am ready. I will fight him with any weapons, and +gladly.” + +“Oh, yes; gladly! Fun for you, all right. But suppose you think of +others a little.” + +“Afraid of being involved yourself?” smiled Carroll. “I’m sure you +could run away successfully from any kind of trouble.” + +“Others might not be so able to escape.” + +“Of course I’m wholly wrong, and my training and traditions are +absurdly old-fashioned, but I’ve been brought up to believe that the +American who will run from a fight, or who will not stand up at home or +abroad for American rights, American womanhood, and the American flag, +isn’t a man.” + +“Oh, keep it for the Fourth of July,” returned Perkins wearily. “You +can’t get me into a fight.” + +“Fight?” Carroll laughed shortly. “If you had the traditions of a +gentleman, you would not require any more provocation.” + +“If I had the traditions of a deranged doodle bug, I’d go around +hunting trouble in a country that is full of it for foreigners—even +those who behave themselves like sane human beings.” + +“Meaning, perhaps, that I’m not a sane human being?” inquired the +Southerner. + +“Do you think you act like it? To satisfy your own petty vanity of +courage, you’d involve all of us in difficulties of which you know +nothing. We’re living over a powder magazine here, and you want to +light matches to show what a hero you are. Traditions! Don’t you talk +to me about traditions! If you can serve your country or a woman better +by running away than by fighting, the sensible thing to do is to run +away. The best thing you can do is to keep quiet and let Von Plaanden +drop. Otherwise, you’ll have Miss Brewster the center of—” + +“Keep your tongue from that lady’s name!” warned Carroll. + +“You’re giving a good many orders,” said the other slowly. “But I’ll do +almost anything just now to keep you peaceable, and to convince you +that you must let Von Plaanden strictly alone.” + +“Just as surely as I meet him,” said the Southerner ominously, “on my +word of honor—” + +“Wait a moment,” broke in the other sharply. “Don’t commit yourself +until you’ve heard me. Just around the corner from here is a _cuartel_. +It isn’t a nice clean jail like ours at home. Fleas are the pleasantest +companions in the place. When a man—particularly an obnoxious +foreigner—lands there, they are rather more than likely to forget +little incidentals like food and water. And if he should happen to be +of a nation without diplomatic representation here, as is the case with +the United States at present, he might well lie there _incomunicado_ +until his hearing, which might be in two days or might not be for a +month. Is that correct, Mr. Raimonda?” + +“Essentially,” confirmed the Caracuñan. + +“When you are through trying to frighten me—” began Carroll +contemptuously. + +“Frighten you? I’m not so foolish as to waste time that way. I’m trying +to warn you.” + +“Are you quite done?” + +“I am not. On _my_ honor—” He broke off as Carroll smiled. “Smile if +you like, but believe what I’m telling you. Unless you agree to keep +your hands and tongue off Von Plaanden I’ll lay an information which +will land you in the _cuartel_ within an hour.” + +The smile froze on the Southerner’s lips. + +“Could he do that?” he asked Raimonda. + +“I’m afraid he could. And, really, Mr. Carroll, he’s correct in +principle. In the present state of political feeling, an assault by an +American upon the representative of Hochwald might seriously endanger +all of your party.” + +“That’s right,” Cluff supported him. “I’m with you in wanting to break +that gold-frilled geezer’s face up into small sections, but it just +won’t do.” + +With an effort, Carroll recovered his self-control. + +“Mr. Raimonda,” he said courteously, “I give _you_ my word that there +will be no trouble between Herr Von Plaanden and myself, of my seeking, +until Mr. and Miss Brewster are safely out of the country.” + +“That’s enough,” said Cluff heartily. “The rest of us can take care of +ourselves.” + +“Meantime,” said Raimonda, “I think the whole matter can be arranged. +Von Plaanden shall apologize to Miss Brewster to-morrow. It is not his +first outbreak, and always he regrets. My uncle, who is of the Foreign +Office, will see to it.” + +“Then that’s settled,” remarked Perkins cheerfully. + +Carroll turned upon him savagely:— + +“To your entire satisfaction, no doubt, now that you’ve shown yourself +an informer as well as—” + +“Easy with the rough stuff, Mr. Carroll,” advised Cluff, his +good-natured face clouding. “We’re all a little het up. Let’s have a +drink, and cool down.” + +“With you, with pleasure. I shall hope to meet you later, Mr. Perkins,” +he added significantly. + +“Well, I hope not,” retorted the other. “My voice is still for peace. +Meantime, please assure Miss Brewster for me—” + +“I warned you to keep that lady’s name from your lips.” + +“You did. But I don’t know by what authority. You’re not her father, I +suppose. Are you her brother, by any chance?” + +As he spoke, Perkins experienced that curious feeling that some +invisible person was trying to catch his eye. Now, as he turned +directly upon Carroll, his glance, passing over his shoulder, followed +a broad ray of light spreading from a second-story leaf-framed balcony +of the hotel. There was a stir amid the greenery. The face of the Voice +appeared, framed in flowers. Its features lighted up with mirth, and +the lips formed the unmistakable monosyllable: “Boo!” + +The identification was complete—“Boo to a goose.” + +“Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll!” Unwittingly he spoke the name +aloud, and, unfortunately, laughed. + +To a less sensitive temperament, even, than Carroll’s, the provocation +would have been extreme. Perkins was recalled to a more serious view of +the situation by the choking accents of that gentleman. + +“Take off your glasses!” + +“What for?” + +“Because I’m going to thrash you within an inch of your life!” + +“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” cried the young Caracuñan. “This is no place +for such an affair.” + +Apparently Perkins held the same belief. Stepping aside, he abruptly +sat down on the end of the bench, facing the fountain and not four feet +from it. His head drooped a little forward; his hands dropped between +his knees; one foot—but Cluff, the athlete, was the only one to note +this—edged backward and turned to secure a firm hold on the pavement. +Carroll stepped over in front of him and stood nonplused. He half drew +his hand back, then let it fall. + +“I can’t hit a man sitting down,” he muttered distressfully. + +Perkins’s set face relaxed. + +“Running true to tradition,” he observed, pleasantly enough. “I didn’t +think you would. See here, Mr. Carroll, I’m sorry that I laughed at +your name. In fact, I didn’t really laugh at your name at all. It was +at something quite different which came into my mind at that moment.” + +“Your apology is accepted so far,” returned the other stiffly. “But +that doesn’t settle the other account between us, when we meet again. +Or do you choose to threaten me with jail for that, also?” + +“No. It’s easier to keep out of your way.” + +“Good Lord!” cried the Southerner in disgust. “Are you afraid of +everything?” + +“Why, no!” Perkins rose, smiling at him with perfect equanimity. “As a +matter of fact, if you’re interested to know, I wasn’t particularly +afraid of Von Plaanden, and, if I may say so without offense, I’m not +particularly afraid of you.” + +Carroll studied him intently. + +“By Jove, I believe you aren’t! I give it up!” he cried desperately. +“You’re crazy, I reckon—or else I am.” And he took himself off without +the formality of a farewell to the others. + +Raimonda, with a courteous bow to his companions, followed him. + +Wearily the goggled one sank back in his seat. Cluff moved across, +planting himself exactly where Carroll had stood. + +“Perkins!” + +“Eh?” responded the sitter absently. + +“What would you do if I should bat you one in the eye?” + +“Eh, what?” + +“What would you do to me?” + +“You, too?” cried the bewildered Perkins. “Why on earth—” + +“You’d dive into my knees, wouldn’t you, and tip me over backward?” + +“Oh, that!” A slow grin overspread the space beneath the glasses. “That +was the idea.” + +“I know the trick. It’s a good one—except for the guy that gets it.” + +“It wouldn’t have hurt him. He’d have landed in the fountain.” + +“So he would. What then?” + +“Oh, I’d have held him there till he got cooled off, and then made a +run for it. A wet man can’t catch a dry man.” + +“Say, son, _you’re_ a dry one, all right.” + +“Eh?” + +“Wake up! I’m saying you’re all right.” + +“Much obliged.” + +“You certainly took enough off him to rile a sheep. Why didn’t you do +it?” + +“Do what?” + +“Tip him in.” + +Perkins glanced upward at the balcony where the vines had closed upon a +face that smiled. + +“Oh,” he said mildly, “he’s a friend of a friend of mine.” + + + + +IV. +TWO ON A MOUNTAIN-SIDE + + +ORCHIDS do not, by preference, grow upon a cactus plant. Little though +she recked of botany, Miss Brewster was aware of this fundamental +truth. Neither do they, without extraneous impulsion, go hurtling +through the air along deserted mountain-sides, to find a resting-place +far below; another natural-history fact which the young lady +appreciated without being obliged to consult the literature of the +subject. Therefore, when, from the top of the appointed rock, she +observed a carefully composed bunch of mauve Cattleyas describe a +parabola and finally join two previous clusters upon the spines of a +prickly-pear patch, she divined some energizing force back of the +phenomenon. That energizing force she surmised was temper. + +“Fie!” said she severely. “Beetle gentlemen should control their little +feelings. Naughty, naughty!” + +From below rose a fervid and startled exclamation. + +“Naughtier, naughtier!” deprecated the visitor. “Are these the cold and +measured terms of science?” + +“You haven’t lived up to your bet,” complained the censured one. + +“Indeed I have! I always play fair, and pay fair. Here I am, as per +contract.” + +“Nearly half an hour late.” + +“Not at all. Four-thirty was the time.” + +“And now it is three minutes to five.” + +“Making twenty-seven minutes that I’ve been sitting here waiting for a +welcome.” + +“Waiting? Oh, Miss Brewster—” + +“I’m not Miss Brewster. I’m a voice in the wilderness.” + +“Then, Voice, you haven’t been there more than one minute. A voice +isn’t a voice until it makes a noise like a voice. Q.E.D.” + +“There is something in that argument,” she admitted. “But why didn’t +you come up and look for me?” + +“Does one look for a sound?” + +“Please don’t be so logical. It tires my poor little brain. You might +at least have called.” + +“That would have been like holding you up for payment of the bet, +wouldn’t it? I was waiting for you to speak.” + +“Not good form in Caracuña. The señor should always speak first.” + +“You began the other time,” he pointed out. + +“So I did, but that was under a misapprehension. I hadn’t learned the +customs of the country then. By the way, is it a local custom for +hermits of science to climb breakneck precipices for golden-hearted +orchids to send to casual acquaintances?” + +“Is that what you are?” he queried in a slightly depressed tone. + +“What on earth else could I be?” she returned, amused. + +“Of course. But we all like to pretend that our fairy tales are +permanent, don’t we?” + +“I can readily picture you chasing beetles, but I can’t see you chasing +fairies at all,” she asserted positively. + +“Nor can I. If you chase them, they vanish. Every one knows that.” + +“Anyway, your orchids were fit for a fairy queen. I haven’t thanked you +for them yet.” + +“Indeed you have. Much more than they deserve. By coming here to-day.” + +“Oh, that was a point of honor. Are you going to let those lovely +purple ones wither on that prickly plant down there? Think how much +better they’d look pinned on me—if there were any one here to see and +appreciate.” + +If this were a hint, it failed of its aim, for, as the hermit scuttled +out from his shelter, looking not unlike some bulky protrusive-eyed +insect, secured the orchids, and returned, he never once glanced up. +Safe again in his rock-bound retreat, he spoke:— + +“‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.’” + +“So you do know something of fairies and fairy lore!” she cried. + +“Oh, it wasn’t much more than a hundred years ago that I read my Grimm. +In the story, only one call was necessary.” + +“Well, I can’t spare any more of my silken tresses. I brought a string +this time. Where’s the other hair line?” + +“I’ve used it to tether a fairy thought so that it can’t fly away from +me. Draw up slowly.” + +“Thank you so much, and I’m so glad that you are feeling better.” + +“Better?” + +“Yes. Better than the day before yesterday.” + +“Day before yesterday?” + +“Bless the poor man! Much anxious waiting hath bemused his wits. He +thinks he’s an echo.” + +“But I was all right the day before yesterday.” + +“You weren’t. You were a prey to the most thrilling terrors. You were a +moving picture of tender masculinity in distress. You let bashfulness +like a worm i’ th’ bud prey upon your damask cheek. Have you a damask +cheek? Stand out! I wish to consider you impartially. _You_ needn’t +look at _me_, you know.” + +“I’m not going to,” he assured her, stepping forth obediently. + +“Basilisk that I am!” she laughed. “How brown you are! How long did you +say you’d been here? A year?” + +“Fourteen weary Voiceless months. Not on this island, you know, but +around the tropics.” + +“Yet you look vigorous and alert; not like the men I’ve seen come back +from the hot countries, all languid and worn out. And you do look +clean.” + +“Why shouldn’t I be clean?” + +“Of course you should. But people get slack, don’t they, when they live +off all alone by themselves? Still, I suppose you spruced up a little +for me?” + +“Nothing of the sort,” he denied, with heat. + +“No? Oh, my poor little vanity! He wouldn’t dress up for us, Vanity, +though we did dress up for him, and we’re looking awfully nice—for a +voice, that is. Do you always keep so soft and pink and smooth, Mr. +Beetle Man?” + +“I own a razor, if that’s what you mean. You’re making fun of me. Well, +_I_ don’t mind.” He lifted his voice and chanted:— + +“Although beyond the pale of law, +He always kept a polished jaw; +For he was one of those who saw + A saving hope + In shaving soap.” + + +“Oh, lovely! What a noble finish. What is it?” + +“Extract from ‘Biographical Blurbings.’” + +“Autobiographical?” + +“Yes. By Me.” + +“And are you beyond the pale of law?” + +“Poetical license,” he explained airily. “Hold on, though.” He fell +silent a moment, and out of that silence came a short laugh. “I suppose +I _am_ beyond the pale of law, now that I come to think of it. But you +needn’t be alarmed, I’m not a really dangerous criminal.” + +Later she was to recall that confession with sore misgivings. Now she +only inquired lightly: + +“Is that why you ran away from the tram car yesterday?” + +“Ran away? I didn’t run away,” he said, with dignity. “It just happened +that there came into my mind an important engagement that I’d +forgotten. My memory isn’t what it should be. So I just turned over the +matter in hand to an acquaintance of mine.” + +“The matter in hand being me.” + +“Why, yes; and the acquaintance being Mr. Cluff. I saw him throw four +men out of a hotel once for insulting a girl, so I knew that he was +much better at that sort of thing than I. May I go back now and sit +down?” “Of course. I don’t know whether I ought to thank you about +yesterday or be very angry. It was such an extraordinary performance on +your part—” + +“Nothing extraordinary about it.” His voice came up out of the shadow, +full of judicial confidence. “Merely sound common sense.” + +“To leave a woman who has been insulted—” + +“In more competent hands than one’s own.” + +“Oh, I give it up!” she cried. “I don’t understand you at all. Fitzhugh +is right; you haven’t a tradition to your name.” + +“Tradition,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Why, I don’t know. They’re +pretty rigid things, traditions. Rusty in the joints and all that sort +of thing. Life isn’t a process of machinery, exactly. One has to meet +it with something more supple and adjustable than traditions.” + +“Is that your philosophy? Suppose a man struck you. Wouldn’t you hit +him back?” + +“Perhaps. It would depend.” + +“Or insulted your country? Don’t you believe that men should be ready +to die, if necessary, in such a cause?” + +“Some men. Soldiers, for instance. They’re paid to.” + +“Good Heavens! Is it all a question of pay in your mind? Wouldn’t +_you_, unless you were paid for it?” + +“How can I tell until the occasion arises?” + +“Are you afraid?” + +“I suppose I might be.” + +“Hasn’t the man any blood in his veins?” cried his inquisitor, +exasperated. “Haven’t you ever been angry clear through?” + +“Oh, of course; and sorry for it afterward. One is likely to lose one’s +temper any time. It might easily happen to me and drive me to make a +fool of myself, like—like—” His voice trailed off into a silence of +embarrassment. + +“Like Fitzhugh Carroll. Why not say it? Well, I much prefer him and his +hot-headedness to you and your careful wisdom.” + +“Of course,” he acquiesced patiently. “Any girl would. It’s the +romantic temperament.” + +“And yours is the scientific, I suppose. That doesn’t take into account +little things like patriotism and heroism, does it? Tell me, have you +actually ever admired—really got a thrill out of—any deed of heroism?” + +“Oh, yes,” he replied tranquilly. “I’ve done my bit of hero worship in +my time. In fact, I’ve never quite recovered from it.” + +“No! Really? Do go on. You’re growing more human every minute.” + +“Do you happen to know anything about the Havana campaign?” + +“Not much. It never seemed to me anything to brag of. Dad says the +Spanish-American War grew a crop of newspaper-made heroes, manufactured +by reporters who really took more risks and showed more nerve than the +men they glorified.” + +“Spanish-American War? That isn’t what I’m talking about. I’m speaking +of Walter Reed and his fellow scientists, who went down there and +fought the mosquitoes.” + +The girl’s lip curled. + +“So that’s your idea of heroism! Scrubby peckers into the lives of +helpless bugs!” + +“Have you the faintest idea what you are talking about?” + +His voice had abruptly hardened. There was an edge to it; such an edge +as she had faintly heard on the previous night, when Carroll had +pressed him too hard. She was startled. + +“Perhaps I haven’t,” she admitted. + +“Then it’s time you learned. Three American doctors went down into that +pesthole of a Cuban city to offer their lives for a theory. Not for a +tangible fact like the flag, or for glory and fame as in battle, but +for a theory that might or might not be true. There wasn’t a day or a +night that their lives weren’t at stake. Carroll let himself be bitten +by infected mosquitoes on a final test, and grazed death by a hair’s +breadth. Lazear was bitten at his work, and died in the agony of +yellow-fever convulsions, a martyr and a hero if ever there was one. +Because of them, Havana is safe and livable now. We were able to build +the Panama Canal because of their work, their—what did you call +it?—scrubby peeking into the lives of—” + +“Don’t!” cried the girl. “I—I’m ashamed. I didn’t know.” + +“How should you?” he said, in a changed tone. “We Americans set up +monuments to our destroyers, not to our preservers, of life. Nobody +knows about Walter Reed and James Carroll and Jesse Lazear—not even the +American Government, which they officially served—except a few doctors +and dried-up entomologists like myself. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to +deliver a lecture.” + +There was a long pause, which she broke with an effort. + +“Mr. Beetle Man?” + +“Yes, Voice?” + +“I—I’m beginning to think you rather more man than beetle at times.” + +“Well, you see, you touched me on a point of fanaticism,” he +apologized. + +“Do you mind standing up again for examination? No,” she decided, as he +stepped out and stood with his eyes lowered obstinately. “You don’t +seem changed to outward view. You still remind me,” with a ripple of +irrepressible laughter, “of a near-sighted frog. It’s those ridiculous +glasses. Why do you wear them?” + +“To keep the sun out of my eyes.” + +“And the moon at night, I suppose. They’re not for purposes of +disguise?” + +“Disguise! What makes you say that?” he asked quickly. + +“Don’t bark. They’d be most effective. And they certainly give your +face a truly weird expression, in addition to its other detriments.” + +“If you don’t like my face, consider my figure,” he suggested +optimistically. “What’s the matter with that?” + +“Stumpy,” she pronounced. “You’re all in a chunk. It does look like a +practical sort of a chunk, though.” + +“Don’t you like it?” he asked anxiously. + +“Oh, well enough of its kind.” She lifted her voice and chanted:— + +“He was stubby and square, +But _she_ didn’t much care. + + +“There’s a verse in return for yours. Mine’s adapted, though. +Examination’s over. Wait. Don’t sit down. Now, tell me your opinion of +me.” + +“Very musical.” + +“I’m not musical at all.” + +“Oh, I’m considering you as a _voice_.” + +“I’m tired of being just a voice. Look up here. Do,” she pleaded. “Turn +upon me those lucent goggles.” + +When orbs like thine the soul disclose, +Tee-deedle-deedle-dee. + + +Don’t be afraid. One brief fleeting glance ere we part.” + +“No,” he returned positively. “Once is enough.” + +“On behalf of my poor traduced features, I thank you humbly. Did they +prove as bad as you feared?” + +“Worse. I’ve hardly forgotten yet what you look like. Your kind of face +is bad for business.” + +“What _is_ business?” + +“Haven’t I told you? I’m a scientist.” + +“Well, I’m a specimen. No beetle that crawls or creeps or hobbles, or +does whatever beetles are supposed to do, shows any greater variation +from type—I heard a man say that in a lecture once—than I do. Can’t I +interest you in my case, O learned one? The proper study of mankind +is—” + +“Woman. Yes, I know all about that. But I’m a groundling.” + +“Mr. Beetle Man,” she said, in a tremulous voice, “the rock is moving.” + +“I don’t feel it. Though it might be a touch of earthquake. We have ’em +often.” + +“Not your rock. The tarantula rock, I mean.” + +“Nonsense! A hundred tarantulas couldn’t stir it.” + +“Well, it seems to be moving, and that’s just as bad. I’m tired and I’m +lonely. Oh, please, Professor Scarab, have I got to fall on your neck +again to introduce a little human companionship into this +conversation?” + +“Caesar! No! My shoulder’s still lame. What do you want, anyway?” + +“I want to know about you and your work. _All_ about you.” + +“Humph! Well, at present I’m making some microscopical studies of +insects. That’s the reason for these glasses. The light is so harsh in +these latitudes that it affects the vision a trifle, and every trifle +counts in microscopy.” + +“Does the microscope add charm to the beetle?” + +“Some day I’ll show you, if you like. Just now it’s the flea, the +national bird of Caracuña.” + +“The wicked flea?” + +“Nobody knows how wicked until he has studied him on his native heath.” + +“Doesn’t the flea have something to do with plague? They say there’s +plague in the city now. You knew all about the Dutch. Do you know +anything about the plague?” + +“You’ve been listening to _bolas_.” + +“What’s a _bola?_” + +“A _bola_ is information that somebody who is totally ignorant of the +facts whispers confidentially in your ear with the assurance that he +knows it to be authentic—in other words, a lie.” + +“Then there isn’t any plague down under those quaint, old, red-tiled +roofs?” + +“Who ever knows what’s going on under those quaint, old, red-tiled +roofs? No foreigner, certainly.” + +“Even I can feel the mystery, little as I’ve seen of the place,” said +the girl. + +“Oh, that’s the Indian of it. The tiled roofs are Spanish; the speech +is Spanish; but just beneath roof and speech, the life and thought are +profoundly and unfathomably Indian.” + +“Not with all the Caracuñans, surely. Take Mr. Raimonda, for instance.” + +“Ah, that’s different. Twenty families of the city, perhaps, are +pure-bloods. There are no finer, cleaner fellows anywhere than the +well-bred Caracuñans. They are men of the world, European educated, +good sportsmen, straight, honorable gentlemen. Unfortunately not they, +but a gang of mongrel grafters control the politics of the country.” + +“For a hermit of science, you seem to know a good deal of what goes on. +By the way, Mr. Raimonda called on me—on us last evening.” + +“So he mentioned. Rather serious, that, you know.” + +“Far from it. He was very amusing.” + +“Doubtless,” commented the other dryly. “But it isn’t fair to play the +game with one who doesn’t know the rules. Besides, what will Mr. +Preston Fairfax—” + +“For a professedly shy person, you certainly take a rather intimate +tone.” + +“Oh, I’m shy only under the baleful influence of the feminine eye. +Besides, you set the note of intimacy when you analyzed my personal +appearance. And finally, I have a warm regard for young Raimonda.” + +“So have I,” she returned maliciously. “Aren’t you jealous?” + +He laughed. + +“Please be a little bit jealous. It would be so flattering.” + +“Jealousy is another tradition in which I don’t believe.” + +“Then I can’t flirt with you at all?” she sighed. “After taking all +this long hot walk to see you!” + +_Plop!_ The sound punctured the silence sharply, though not loudly. +Some large fruit pod bursting on a distant tree might have made such a +report. + +“What was that?” asked the girl curiously. + +“That? Oh, that was a revolver shot,” he remarked. + +“Aren’t you casual! Do revolver shots mean nothing to you?” + +“That one shakes my soul’s foundations.” His tone by no means indicated +an inner cataclysm. “It may mean that I must excuse myself and leave. +Just a moment, please.” + +Passing across the line of her vision, he disappeared to the left. When +she next heard his voice, it was almost directly above her. + +“No,” it said. “There’s no hurry. The flag’s not up.” + +“What flag?” + +“The flag in my compound.” + +“Can you see your home from here?” + +“Yes; there’s a ledge on the cliff that gives a direct view.” + +“I want to come up and see it.” + +“You can’t. It’s much too hard a climb. Besides, there are rock +devilkins on the way.” + +“And when you hear a shot, you go up there for messages?” + +“Yes; it’s my telephone system.” + +“Who’s at the other end?” + +“The peon who pretends to look after the _quinta_ for me.” + +“A man! No man can keep a house fit to live in,” she said scornfully. + +“I know it; but he’s all I’ve got in the servant line.” + +“How far is the house from here?” + +“A mile, by air. Seven by trail from town.” + +“Isn’t it lonely?” + +“Yes.” + +Suddenly she felt very sorry for him. There was such a quiet, +conclusive acceptance of cheerlessness in the monosyllable. + +“How soon must you go back?” + +“Oh, not for an hour, at least.” + +“If it’s a call, it must be an important one, so far from +civilization.” + +“Not necessarily. Don’t you ever have calls that are not important?” + +No answer came. + +“Miss Brewster!” he called. “Oh, Voice! You haven’t gone?” + +Still no response. + +“That isn’t fair,” he complained, making his way swiftly down, and +satisfying himself by a peep about the angle commanding her point of +the rock that she had, indeed, vanished. Sadly he descended to his own +nook—and jumped back with a half-suppressed yell. + +“You needn’t jump out of your skin on my account,” said Miss Polly +Brewster, with a gracious smile. “I’m not a devilkin.” + +“You are! That is—I mean—I—I—beg your pardon. I—I—” + +“The poor man’s having another bashful fit,” she observed, with +malicious glee. “Did the bold, bad, forward American minx scare it +almost out of its poor shy wits?” + +“You—you startled me.” + +“No!” she exclaimed, in wide-eyed mock surprise. “Who would have +supposed it? You didn’t expect me down here, did you?” + +Thereupon she got a return shock. + +“Yes, I did,” he said; “sooner or later.” + +“Don’t fib. Don’t pretend that you knew I was here.” + +“W-w-well, no. Not just now. B-b-but I knew you’d come if—if—if I +pretended I didn’t want you to long enough.” + +“Young and budding scientist,” said she severely, “you’re a gay +deceiver. Is it because you have known me in some former existence that +you are able thus accurately to read my character?” + +“Well, I knew you wouldn’t stay up there much longer.” + +“I’m angry at you; very angry at you. That is, I would be if it weren’t +that you really didn’t mean it when you said that you really didn’t +want to see my face again.” + +“Did any one ever see your face once without wanting to see it again?” + +“Ah, bravo!” She clapped her hands gayly. “Marvelous improvement under +my tutelage! Where, oh, where is your timidity now?” + +“I—I—I forgot,” he stammered, “As long as I don’t think, I’m all right. +Now, you—you—you’ve gone and spoiled me.” + +“Oh, the pity of it! Let’s find some mild, impersonal topic, then, that +won’t embarrass you. What do you do under the shadow of this rock, in a +parched land?” + +“Work. Besides, it isn’t a parched land. Look on this side.” + +Half a dozen steps brought her around the farther angle, where, hidden +in a growth of shrubbery, lay a little pool of fairy loveliness, + +“That’s my outdoor laboratory.” + +“A dreamery, I’d call it. May I sit down? Are there devilkins here? +There’s an elfkin, anyway,” she added, as a silvered dragon-fly hovered +above her head inquisitively before darting away on his own concerns. + +“One of my friends and specimens. I’m studying his methods of aviation +with a view to making some practical use of what I learn, eventually.” + +“Really? Are you an inventor, too? I’m crazy about aviation.” + +“Ah, then you’ll be interested in this,” he said, now quite at his +ease. “You know that the mosquito is the curse of the tropics.” + +“Of other places, as well.” + +“But in the tropics it means yellow fever, Chagres fever, and other +epidemic illness. Now, the mosquito, as you doubtless realize, is a +monoplane.” + +“A monoplane?” repeated the girl, in some puzzlement. “How a +monoplane?” + +“I thought you claimed some knowledge of aviation. Its wings are all on +one plane. The great natural enemy of the mosquito is the dragon-fly, +one of which just paid you a visit. Now, modern warfare has taught us +that the most effective assailant of the monoplane is a biplane. You +know that.” + +“Y-y-yes,” said the girl doubtfully. + +“Therefore, if we can breed a biplane dragonfly in sufficient numbers, +we might solve the mosquito problem at small expense.” + +“I don’t know much about science,” she began, “but I should hardly have +supposed—” + +“It’s curious how nature varies the type of aviation,” he continued +dreamily. “Now, the pigeon is, of course, a Zeppelin; whereas the sea +urchin is obviously a balloon; and the thistledown an undirigible—” + +“You’re making fun of me!” she accused, with sharp enlightenment. + +“What else have you done to me ever since we met?” he inquired mildly. + +“Now I _am_ angry! I shall go home at once.” + +A second far-away _plop!_ set a period to her decision. + +“So shall I,” said he briskly. + +“Does that signal mean hurry up?” she asked curiously. + +“Well, it means that I’m wanted. You go first. When will you come +again?” + +“Not at all.” + +“Do you mean that?” + +“Of course. I’m angry. Didn’t I tell you that? I don’t permit people to +make fun of me. Besides, you must come and see me next. You owe me two +calls. Will you?” + +“I—I—don’t know.” + +“Afraid?” + +“Rather.” + +“Then you must surely come and conquer this cowardice. Will you come +to-morrow?” + +“No; I don’t think so.” + +Miss Brewster opened wide her eyes upon him. She was little accustomed +to have her invitations, which she issued rather in the manner of royal +commands, thus casually received. Had the offender been any other of +her acquaintance, she would have dropped the matter and the man then +and there. But this was a different species. Graceful and tactful he +might not be, but he was honest. + +“Why?” she said. + +“I’ve got something more important to do.” + +“You’re reverting to type sadly. What is it that’s so important?” + +“Work.” + +“You can work any time.” + +“No. Unfortunately I have to eat and sleep sometimes.” + +The implication she accepted quite seriously. + +“Are you really as busy as all that? I’m quite conscience-stricken over +the time I’ve wasted for you.” + +“Not wasted at all. You’ve cheered me up.” + +“That’s something. But you won’t come to the city to be cheered up?” + +“Yes, I will. When I get time.” + +“Perhaps you won’t find me at home.” + +“Then I’ll wait.” + +“Good-bye, then,” she laughed, “until your leisure day arrives.” + +She climbed the rock, stepping as strongly and surely as a lithe +animal. At the top, the spirit of roguery, ever on her lips and eyes, +struck in and possessed her soul. + +“O disciple of science!” she called. + +“Well?” + +“Can you see me?” + +“Not from here.” + +“Good! I’m a Voice again. So don’t be timid. Will you answer a +question?” + +“I’ve answered a hundred already. One more won’t hurt.” + +“Have you ever been in love?” + +“What?” + +“Don’t I speak plainly enough? Have—you—ever—been—in—love?” + +“With a woman?” + +“Why, yes,” she railed. “With a woman, of course. I don’t mean with +your musty science.” + +“No.” + +“Well, you needn’t be violent. Have you ever been in love with +_anything?_” + +“Perhaps.” + +“Oh, perhaps!” she taunted. “There are no perhapses in that. With +what?” + +“With what every man in the world is in love with once in his life,” he +replied thoughtfully. + +She made a little still step forward and peeped down at him. He stood +leaning against the face of the rock, gazing out over the hot blue +Caribbean, his hat pushed back and his absurd goggles firm and high on +his nose. His words and voice were in preposterous contrast to his +appearance. + +“Riddle me your riddle,” she commanded. “What is every man in love with +once in his life?” + +“An ideal.” + +“Ah! And your ideal—where do you keep it safe from the common gaze?” + +“I tether it to my heart—with a single hair,” said the man below. + +“Oh,” commented Miss Brewster, in a changed tone. And, again, “Oh,” +just a little blankly. “I wish I hadn’t asked that,” she confessed +silently to herself, after a moment. + +Still, the spirit of reckless experimentalism pressed her onward. + +“That’s a peril to the scientific mind, you know,” she warned. “Suppose +your ideal should come true?” + +“It won’t,” said he comfortably. + +Miss Brewster’s regrets sensibly mitigated. + +“In that case, of course, your career is safe from accident,” she +remarked. + +He moved out into the open. + +“Mr. Beetle Man,” she called, + +He looked up and saw her with her chin cupped in her hand, regarding +him thoughtfully. + +“I’m _not_ just a casual acquaintance,” she said suddenly. “That is, if +you don’t want me to be.” + +“That’s good,” was his hearty comment. “I’m glad you like me better +than you did at first.” + +“Oh, I’m not so sure that I like you, exactly. But I’m coming to have a +sort of respectful curiosity about you. What lies under that beetle +shell of yours, I wonder?” she mused, in a half breath. + +Whether or not he heard the final question she could not tell. He +smiled, waved his hand, and disappeared. Below, she watched the motion +of the bush-tops where the shrubbery was parted by the progress of his +sturdy body down the long slope. + + + + +V. +AN UPHOLDER OF TRADITIONS + + +One day passes much like another in Caracuña City. The sun rises +blandly, grows hot and angry as it climbs the slippery polished vault +of the heavens, and coasts down to its rest in a pleased and mild glow. +From the squat cathedral tower the bells clang and jangle defiance to +the Adversary, temporarily drowning out the street tumult in which the +yells of the lottery venders, the braying of donkeys, the whoops of the +cabmen, and the blaring of the little motor cars with big horns, +combine to render Caracuña the noisiest capital in the world. Through +the saddle-colored hordes on the moot ground of the narrow sidewalks +moves an occasional Anglo-Saxon resident, browned and sallowed, on his +way to the government concession that he manages; a less occasional +Anglo-Saxoness, browned and marked with the seal that the tropics put +upon every woman who braves their rigors for more than a brief period; +and a sprinkling of tourists in groups, flying on cheek, brow, and nose +the stark red of their newness to the climate. + +Not of this sorority Miss Polly Brewster. Having blithe regard to her +duty as an ornament of this dull world, she had tempered the sun to the +foreign cuticle with successively diminishing layers of veils, to such +good purpose that the celestial scorcher had but kissed her graduated +brownness to a soft glow of color. Not alone in appreciation of her +external advantages was Miss Brewster. Such as it was,—and it had its +qualities, albeit somewhat unformulated,—Caracuña society gave her +prompt welcome. There were teas and rides and tennis at the little +club; there were agreeable, presentable men and hospitable women; and +always there was Fitzhugh Carroll, suave, handsome, gentle, a polished +man of the world among men, a courteous attendant to every woman, but +always with a first thought for her. Was it sheer perversity of +character, that elfin perversity so shrewdly divined by the hermit of +the mountain, that put in her mind, in this far corner of the world, +among these strange people, the thought: + +“All men are alike, and Fitz, for all that he’s so different and the +best of them, is the _most_ alike.” + +Which paradox, being too much for her in the heat of the day, she put +aside in favor of the insinuating thought of her beetle man. Whatever +else he might or might not be, he wasn’t alike. She was by no means +sure that she found this difference either admirable or amiable. But at +least it was interesting. + +Moreover, she was piqued. For four days had passed and the recluse had +not returned her call. True, there had come to her hotel a wicker full +of superb wild tree blooms, and, again, a tiny box, cunning in +workmanship of scented wood, containing what at first glance she had +taken to be a jewel, until she saw that it was a tiny butterfly with +opalescent wings, mounted on a silver wire. But with them had come no +word or token of identification. Perhaps they weren’t from the queer +and remote person at all. Very likely Mr. Raimonda had sent them; or +Fitzhugh Carroll was adding secret attention to his open homage; or +they might even be a further peace offering from the Hochwald +secretary. + +That occasionally too festive diplomat had, indeed, made amends both +profound and, evidently, sincere. Soliciting the kind offices of both +Sherwen and Raimonda, he had presented himself, under their escort, +stiff and perspiring in his full official regalia, before Mr. Brewster; +then before his daughter, whose solemnity, presently breaking down +before his painfully rehearsed English, dissolved in fluent French, +setting him at ease and making him her slave. Poor penitent Von +Plaanden even apologized to Carroll, fortunately not having heard of +the American’s threat, and made a most favorable impression upon that +precisian. + +“Intoxicated, he may be a rough, Miss Polly,” Carroll confided to the +girl. “But sober, the man is a gentleman. He feels very badly about the +whole affair. Offered to your father to report it all through official +channels and attach his resignation.” + +“Not for worlds!” cried Miss Polly. “The poor man was half asleep. And +Mr. Bee—Mr. Perkins _did_ jog him rather sharply.” + +“Yes. Von Plaanden asked my advice as an American about his attitude +toward Cluff and Perkins.” + +“I hope you told him to let the whole thing drop.” + +“Exactly what I did. I explained about Cluff; that he was a very good +fellow, but of a different class, and probably wouldn’t give the thing +another thought.” + +“And Mr. Perkins?” + +“Von Plaanden wanted to challenge him, if he could find him. I +suggested that he leave me to deal with Mr. Perkins. After some +discussion, he agreed.” + +“Oh! And what are you going to do with him?” + +“Find him first, if I can.” + +“I can tell you where.” Carroll stared at her, astonished. “But I don’t +think I will.” + +“He announced his intention of keeping out of my way. The man has no +sense of shame.” + +“You probably scared the poor lamb out of his wits, fire-eater that you +are.” + +Carroll would have liked to think so, but an innate sense of justice +beneath his crust of prejudice forbade him to accept this judgment. + +“The strange part of it is that he doesn’t impress me as being afraid. +But there is certainly something very wrong with the fellow. A man who +will deliberately desert a woman in distress”—Carroll’s manner expanded +into the roundly rhetorical—“whatever else he may be, cannot be a +gentleman.” + +“There might have been mitigating circumstances.” + +“No circumstances could excuse such an action. And, after that, the +fellow had the effrontery to send you a message.” + +“Me? What was it?” asked Miss Polly quickly. + +“I don’t know. I didn’t let him finish. I forbade his even mentioning +your name.” + +“Indeed!” cried the girl, in quick dudgeon. “Don’t you think you are +taking a great deal upon yourself, Fitz? What do you really know about +Mr. Perkins, anyway, that you judge him so offhandedly?” + +“Very little, but enough, I think. And I hardly think you know more.” + +“Then you’re wrong. I do.” + +“You _know_ this man?” + +“Yes; I do.” + +“Does your father approve of—” + +“Never mind my father! He has confidence enough in me to let me judge +of my own friends.” + +“Friends?” Carroll’s handsome face clouded and reddened. “If I had +known that he was a friend of yours, Miss Polly, I never would have +spoken as I did. I’m most sincerely sorry,” he added, with grave +courtesy. + +The girl’s color deepened under the brown. + +“He isn’t exactly a friend,” she admitted. “I’ve just met and talked +with him a few times. But your judgment seemed so unfair, on such a +slight basis.” + +“I’m sorry I can’t reverse my judgment,” said the Southerner stiffly, +“But I know of only one standard for those matters.” + +“That’s just your trouble.” Her eyes took on a cold gleam as she +scanned the perfection and finish of the man before her. “Fitzhugh, do +you wear ready-made clothing?” + +“Of course not,” he answered, in surprise at this turn. + +“Your suits are all made to order?” + +“Yes, Miss Polly.” + +“And your shirts?” + +“Yes, and shoes, and various other things.” He smiled. + +“Why do you have them specially made?” + +“Beeause they suit me better, and I can afford it.” + +“It’s really because you want them individualized for you, isn’t it?” + +“Yes; I suppose so.” + +“Then why do you always get your mental clothes ready-made?” + +“I don’t think I understand, Miss Polly,” he said gently. + +“It seems to me that all your ideas and estimates and standards are of +stock pattern,” she explained relentlessly. “Inside, you’re as just +exactly so as a pair of wooden shoes. Can’t you see that you can’t +judge all men on the same plane?” + +“I see that you’re angry with me, and I see that I’m being punished for +what I said about—about Mr. Perkins. If I’d known that you took any +interest in him, I’d have bitten my tongue in two before speaking as I +did. As for the message, if you wish it, I’ll go to him—” + +“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” she interrupted. + +“This much I can say, in honesty,” continued the Southerner, with an +effort: “I had a talk, almost an encounter, with him in the plaza, and +I don’t believe he is the coward I thought him.” + +His intent to be fair to the object of his scorn was so genuine that +his critic felt a swift access of compunction. + +“Oh, Fitz,” she said sweetly, “you’re not to blame. I should have told +you. And you’re honest and loyal and a gentleman. Only I wish sometimes +that you weren’t quite so awfully gentlemanly a gentleman.” + +The Southerner made a gesture of despair. + +“If I could only understand you, Miss Polly!” + +“Don’t hope it. I’ve never yet understood myself. But there’s a +sympathy in me for the under dog, and this Mr. Perkins seems a sort of +helpless creature. Yet in another way he doesn’t seem helpless at all. +Quite the reverse. Oh, dear! I’m tired of Perkins, Perkins, Perkins! +Let’s talk about something pleasanter—like the plague.” + +“What’s that about Perkins?” Galpy had entered the drawing-room where +the conversation had been carried on, and now crossed over to them. +“I’ll tell you a good one on the little blighteh. D’ you know what they +call him at the Club Amicitia since his adventure on the street car, +Miss Brewster?” + +“What?” + +“‘The Unspeakable Perk.’ Rippin’, ain’t it? Like ‘The Unspeakable +Turk,’ you know.” + +Despite herself, Polly’s lips twitched; in some ways he _was_ +unspeakable. + +“They’ve nicknamed him that because of his trying to help me, and +then—leaving?” she asked. + +“Oh, not entirely. There’s other things. He’s a nahsty, stand-offish +way with him, you know. Don’t-want-to-know-yeh trick. +Wouldn’t-speak-to-yeh-if-I-could-help-it twist to his face. ‘The +Unspeakable Perk.’ Stands him right, I should say. There’s other +reasons, too.” + +“What are they?” + +She saw a quick, warning frown on Carroll’s sharply turned face. Galpy +noted it, too, and was lost in confusion. + +“Oh—ah—just gossip—nothing at all. I say, Miss Brewster, the +railway—I’m in the Ferrocarril-del-Norte office, you know—has offered +your party a special on an hour’s notice, any time you want it.” + +“That’s most kind of your road, Mr. Galpy. But why should we want it?” + +“Things might be getting a bit ticklish any day now. I’ve just taken +the message from the manager to your father.” + +The young Englishman took his leave, and Polly Brewster went to her +room, to freshen up for luncheon, carrying with her the sobriquet she +had just heard. Certainly, applied to its subject, it had a +mucilaginous consistency. It stuck. + +“‘The Unspeakable Perk,’” she repeated, with a little chuckle. “If I +had a month to train him in, eh, what a speakable Perk I’d make him! +I’d make him into a Perk that would sit up and speak when I lifted my +little finger.” She considered this. “I’m not so sure,” she concluded, +more doubtfully. “How can one tell through those horrid glasses, +particularly when one doesn’t see him for days and days?” + +Without moving, she might, however, have seen him forthwith, for at +that precise and particular moment, the Unspeakable Perk was in plain +sight of her window, on a bench in the corner of the plaza, engaged in +light conversation with a legless and philosophical beggar whom he had +just astonished by the presentation of a whole bolivar, of the value of +twenty cents gold. + +After she had finished luncheon and returned to her room, he was still +there. Not until the mid-heat of the afternoon, however, did she +observe, first with puzzlement, then with a start of recognition, the +patiently rounded brown back of the forward-leaning figure in the +corner. Greatly wroth was Miss Polly Brewster. For some hours—two, at +least—the man to keep tryst and wager with whom she had tramped up +miles of mountain road had been in town and hadn’t called upon her! +Truly was he an Unspeakable Perk! + +Wasn’t there possibly a mistake somewhere, though? A second peep at the +far-away back interpreted into the curve a suggestion of resigned +waiting. Maybe he had called, after all. Thought being usually with +Miss Brewster the mother of the twins, Determination and Action, she +slipped downstairs and inquired of the three guardians of the door, in +such Spanish as she could muster, whether a Mr. Perkins, wearing large +glasses—this in the universal sign manual—had been to see her that day. + +“Si, Señorita”—he had. + +Why, then, hadn’t his name been brought to her? + +Extended hands and up-shrugged shoulders that might mean either apology +or incomprehension. + +Straightway Miss Brewster pinned a hat upon her brown head at an +altogether casual and heart-distracting angle and sallied down into the +tesselated bowl of the park. Quite unconscious of her approach, until +she was close upon him, her objective chatted fluently with the legless +one, until she spoke quietly, almost in his ear. Then it was only by a +clutch at the bench back that he saved himself from disaster on his +return to earth. + +“Wh—wh—what—wh—where—how did you come here?” he stuttered. + +“Now, now, don’t be alarmed,” she admonished. “Shut your eyes, draw a +deep breath, count three. And, as soon as you are ready I’ll give you a +talisman against social panic. Are you ready?” + +“Y-yes.” + +“Very well. Whenever I come upon you suddenly, you mustn’t try to jump +up into a tree as you did just now—” + +“I didn’t!” + +“Oh, yes. Or burrow under a rock, as you did the other day—” + +“Miss B-B-Brewster—” + +“Wait until I’ve finished. You must turn your thoughts firmly upon your +science, until you’ve recovered equilibrium and the power of human +speech.” + +“But when you jump at me that way, I c-c-can’t think of anything but +you.” + +“That’s where the charm comes in. As soon as you see me or hear me +approaching, you must repeat, quite slowly, this scientific +incantation.” She beat time with a pink and rhythmic finger as she +chanted:— + +“Scarab, tarantula, doodle-bug, flea.” + + +The beggar rapidly made the sign that protects one from the influence +of the malign and supernatural. The scientist scowled. + +“Repeat it!” she commanded. + +“There is no such insect as a doodle-bug,” he protested feebly. + +“Isn’t there? I thought I heard you mention it in your conversation +with Mr. Carroll the other night.” + +“You put that into my head,” he accused. + +“Truly? Then life is indeed real and earnest. To have introduced +something unscientific into that compendium of science—there’s triumph +enough for any ambition. Besides, see how beautifully it scans.” + +Again she beat time, and again the beggar crooked defensive fingers as +she declaimed:— + +“_Scar_-ab, tar-_ant_-u-la, _doo_-dle-bug, _flea!_” + + +Homeric, I call it. Perhaps you think you could improve on it.” + +“Would you mind substituting ‘neuropter’ in the third strophe?” he +ventured. “It would be just as good as ‘doodle-bug,’ and more—more +accurate.” + +“What’s a neuropter? You didn’t make him up for the occasion?” + +“Heaven forbid! The dragon-fly is a neuropter. The dragon-fly we’re +going to breed to a biplane, you know,” he reminded her slyly. + +“Indeed! Well, I shall stick to my doodle-bug. He’s more euphonious. +Now, repeat it.” + +“Let me off this time,” he pleaded. “I’m all right—quite recovered. +It’s only at the start that it’s so bad.” + +“Very well,” she agreed. “But you’re not to forget it. And next time we +meet you’re to be sure and say it over until you’re sane.” + +“Sane!” he said resentfully. “I’m as sane as any one you know. It’s the +job of _keeping_ sane in this madhouse of the tropics that’s almost +driven me crazy.” + +“Lovely!” she approved. “Well, now that you’ve recovered, I’ll tell you +what I came out to say. I’m sorry that I missed you.” + +“Missed me?” he repeated. “Oh, you have missed me, then? That’s nice. +You see, I’ve been so busy for the last three or four days—” + +“No; I haven’t missed you a bit,” she declared indignantly. “The +conceit of the man!” + +“But you said you w-w-were sorry you’d—” + +“Don’t be wholly a beetle! I meant I was sorry not to see you when you +came to call on me this morning.” + +“I didn’t come to call on you this morning.” + +“No? The boy at the door said he’d seen you, or something answering to +your description.” + +“So he did. I came to see your father. He was out.” + +“What time?” + +“From eleven on.” + +“Father? No, I don’t think so.” + +“His secretary came down and told me so, or sent word each time.” + +She smiled pityingly at him. + +“Of course. That’s what a secretary is for.” + +“To tell lies?” + +“White lies. You see, dad is a very busy man, and an important man, and +many people come to see him whom he hasn’t time to see. So, unless he +knew your business, he would naturally be ‘out’ to you.” + +The corners of the young man’s rather sensitive mouth flattened out +perceptibly. + +“Ah, I see. My mistake. Living in countries where, however queer the +people may be, they at least observe ordinary human courtesies, one +forgets—if one ever knew.” + +“What did you want of dad?” + +“Oh, to borrow four dollars of him, of course,” he replied dryly. + +“You needn’t be angry at me. You see, dad’s time is valuable.” + +“Indeed? To whom?” + +“Why, to himself, of course.” + +“Oh, well, my time—However, that doesn’t matter. I haven’t wholly +wasted it.” He glanced toward the beggar, who was profoundly regarding +the cathedral clock. + +“If you like, I’ll get you an interview with dad,” she offered +magnanimously. + +“Me? No, I thank you,” he said crisply. “I’m not patient of unnecessary +red tape.” + +Miss Brewster looked at him in surprise. It was borne in upon her, as +she looked, that this man was not accustomed to being lightly regarded +by other men, however busy or important; that his own concerns in life +were quite as weighty to him, and in his esteem, perhaps, to others, as +were the interests of any magnate; and that, man to man, there would be +no shyness or indecision or purposelessness anywhere in his make-up. + +“If it was important,” she began hesitantly, “my father would be—” + +“It was of no importance to me,” he cut in. “To others—Perhaps I could +see some one else of your party.” + +“Well, here I am.” She smiled. “Why won’t I do?” + +Behind the obscuring disks she could feel his glance read her. The +grimness at the mouth’s corners relaxed. + +“I really don’t know why you shouldn’t.” + +“Dad says I’d have made a man of affairs,” she remarked. + +“Why, it’s just this. You should be planning to leave this country.” + +Miss Brewster bewailed her harsh lot with drooping lip. + +“Every one wants to drive me away!” + +“Who else?” + +“That railroad man, Mr. Galpy, was offering us special inducements to +leave, in the form of special trains any time we liked. It isn’t +hospitable.” + +“A jail is hospitable. But one doesn’t stay in it when one can get +out.” + +“If Caracuña were the jail and I the ‘one,’ one might. I quite love it +here.” + +He made a sharp gesture of annoyance. + +“Don’t be childish,” he said. + +“Childish? You come down like Freedom from the mountain heights, and +unfurl your warnings to the air, and complain of lost time and all that +sort of thing, and what does it all amount to?” she demanded, with +spirit. “That we should sail away, when you know perfectly well that +the Dutch won’t let us sail away! Childish, indeed! Don’t you be +_beetlish!_” + +“There’s a way out, without much risk, but some discomfort. You could +strike south-east to the Bird Reefs, take a small boat, and get over to +the mainland. As soon as the blockade is off, the yacht can take your +luggage around. The trip would be rough for you, but not dangerous. Not +as dangerous as staying here may be.” + +“Do you really think it so serious?” + +“Most emphatically.” + +“Will you come with us and show us the way?” she inquired, gazing with +exaggerated appeal into his goggles. + +“I? No.” + +“What shall you do?” + +“Stick.” + +“Pins through scarabs,” she laughed, “while beneath you Caracuña riots +and revolutes and massacres foreigners. Nero with his fiddle was +nothing to you.” + +“Miss Brewster, I’m afraid you are suffering from a misplaced sense of +humor. Will you believe me when I tell you that I have certain sources +of information in local matters both serviceable and reliable?” + +“You seem to have bet on a certainty in the Dutch blockade matter.” + +“Well, it’s equally certain that there is bubonic plague here.” + +“A _bola_. You told me so yourself.” + +“Perhaps there was nothing to be gained then by letting you know, as +you were bottled up, with no way out. Now, through the good offices of +a foreign official, who, of course, couldn’t afford to appear, this +opportunity to reach the mainland is open to you.” + +“Had you anything to do with that?” she inquired suspiciously. + +“Oh, the official is a friend of mine,” he answered carelessly. + +“And you really believe that there is an epidemic of plague here? Don’t +you think that I’d make a good Red Cross nurse?” + +His voice was grave and rather stern. + +“You’ve never seen bubonic plague,” he said, “or you wouldn’t joke +about it.” + +“I’m sorry. But it wasn’t wholly a joke. If we were really cooped up +with an epidemic, I’d volunteer. What else would there be to do?” + +“Nothing of the sort,” he cried vehemently. “You don’t know what you’re +talking about.” + +“Anyway, isn’t the wonderful Luther Pruyn on his way to exorcise the +demon, or something of the sort?” + +“What about Luther Pruyn? Who says he’s coming here?” + +“It’s the gossip of the diplomatic set and the clubs. He’s the favorite +mystery of the day.” + +“Well, if he does come, it won’t improve matters any, for the first +case he verifies he’ll clap on a quarantine that a mouse couldn’t creep +through. I know something of the Pruyn method.” + +“And don’t wholly approve it, I judge.” + +“It may be efficacious, but it’s extremely inconvenient at times.” + +Again the cathedral clock boomed. + +“See how I’ve kept you from your own affairs!” cried Miss Polly +contritely. “What are you going to do now? Go back to your mountains?” + +“Yes. As soon as you tell me that your father will go out by the +reefs.” + +“Do you expect him to make up his mind, on five minutes’ notice, to +abandon his yacht?” + +“I thought great magnates were supposed to be men of instant and +unalterable decisions. I don’t know the type.” + +“Anyway, dad has gone out. I saw him drive away. Wouldn’t to-morrow +do?” + +“Why, yes; I suppose so.” + +“I’ll tell you. The Voice will report at the rock to-morrow, at four.” + +“No.” + +“What a very uncompromising ‘no’!” + +“I can’t be there at four. Make it five.” + +“What a very arbitrary beetle man! Well, as I’ve wasted so much of your +time to-day, I’ll accept your orders for to-morrow.” + +“And please impress your father with the extreme advisability of your +getting off this island.” + +“Yes, sir,” she said meekly. “You’ll be most awfully glad to get rid of +us, won’t you?” + +“Very greatly relieved.” + +“And a little bit sorry?” + +The begoggled face turned toward her. There was a perceptible tensity +in the line of the jaw. But the beetle man made no answer. + +“Now, if I could see behind those glasses,” said Miss Polly Brewster to +her wicked little self, “I’d probably _bite_ myself rather than say it +again. Just the same—And a little bit sorry?” she persisted aloud. + +“Does that matter?” said the man quietly. + +Miss Polly Brewster forthwith bit herself on her pink and wayward +tongue. + +“Don’t think I’m not grateful,” she employed that chastened member to +say. “I am, most deeply. So will father be, even if he decides not to +leave. I’m afraid that’s what he will decide.” + +“He mustn’t.” + +“Tell him that yourself.” + +“I will, if it becomes necessary.” + +“Let me be present at the interview. Most people are afraid of dad. +Perhaps you’d be, too.” + +“I could always run away,” he remarked, unsmiling. “You know how well I +do it.” + +“I must do it now myself, and get arrayed for the daily tea sacrifice. +Au revoir.” + +“Hasta mañana,” he said absently. + +She had turned to go, but at the word she came slowly back a pace or +two, smiling. + +“What a strange beetle man you are!” she said softly. “I have no other +friends like you. You _are_ a friend, aren’t you, in your queer way?” +She did not wait for an answer, but went on: “You don’t come to see me +when I ask you. You don’t send me any word. You make me feel that, +compared to your concerns with beetles and flies, I’m quite hopelessly +unimportant. And yet here I find you giving up your own pursuits and +wasting your time to plan and watch and think for us.” + +“For you,” he corrected. + +“For me,” she accepted sweetly. “What an ungrateful little pig you must +think me! But truly inside I appreciate it and thank you, and I think—I +feel that perhaps it amounts to a lot more than I know.” + +He made a gesture of negation. + +“No great thing,” he said. “But it’s the best I can do, anyway. Do you +remember what the mediæval mummer said, when he came bearing his poor +homage?” + +“No. Tell it to me.” + +“It runs like this: ‘Lady, who art nowise bitter to those who serve you +with a good intent, that which thy servant is, that he is for you.’” + +“Polly Brewster,” said the girl to herself, as she walked, slowly and +musingly, back to her room, “the busy haunts of men are more suited to +your style than the free-and-untrammeled spaces of nature, and well you +know it. But you’ll go to-morrow and you’ll keep on going until you +find out what is behind those brown-green goblin spectacles. If only he +didn’t look so like a gnome!” + +The clause conditional, introduced by the word “if,” does not always +imply a conclusion, even in the mind of the propounder. Miss Brewster +would have been hard put to it to round out her subjunctive. + + + + +VI. +FORKED TONGUES + + +“Pooh!” said Thatcher Brewster. + +Thatcher Brewster’s “Pooh!” is generally recognized in the realm of +high finance as carrying weight. It is not derisive or contemptuous; it +is dismissive. The subject of it simply ceases to exist. In the present +instance, it was so mild as scarcely to stir the smoke from his +after-dinner cigar, yet it had all the intent, if not the effect, of +finality. The reason why it hadn’t the effect was that it was directed +at Thatcher Brewster’s daughter. + +“Perhaps not quite so much ‘Pooh!’ as you think,” was that damsel’s +reception of the pregnant monosyllable. + +“A bug-hunter from nowhere! Don’t I know that type?” said the magnate, +who confounded all scientists with inventors, the capital-seeking +inventor being the bane and torment of his life. + +“He knew about the Dutch blockade.” + +“Or pretended he did. I’m afraid my Pollipet has let herself +romanticize a little.” + +“Romanticize!” The girl laughed. “If you could see him, dad! Romance +and my poor little beetle man don’t live in the same world.” + +Out of the realm of memory, where the echoes come and go by no known +law, sounded his voice in her ear: “‘That which thy servant is, that he +is for you.’” Dim doubt forthwith began to cloud the bright certainty +of Miss Brewster’s verdict. + +“If he’s gone to all the trouble that I told you of, it must be that he +has some good reason for wanting to get us safely out,” she argued to +her father. + +“Perhaps he feels that his peace of mind would be more assured if you +were in some other country,” he teased. “No, my dear, I’m not leaving a +full-manned yacht in a foreign harbor and smuggling myself out of a +friendly country on the say-so of an unknown adviser, whose chief +ability seems to lie in the hundred-yard dash.” + +“I think that’s unfair and ungrateful. If a man with a sword—” + +“When I begin a row, I stay with it,” said Mr. Brewster grimly. +“Quitters and I don’t pull well together.” + +“Then I’m to tell him ‘No’?” + +“Positively.” + +“Not so positively at all. I shall say, ‘No, thank you,’ in my very +nicest way, and say that you’re very grateful and appreciative and not +at all the growly old bear of a dad that you pretend to be when one +doesn’t know and love you. And perhaps I’ll invite him to dine here and +go away on the yacht with us—” + +“And graciously accept a couple of hundred thousand dollars bonus, and +come into the company as first vice-president,” chuckled her father. +“And then he’ll wake up and find he’s been sitting on a cactus. See +here,” he added, with a sharpening of tone, “do you suppose he could +get a cablegram for transmission to Washington over to the mainland for +us by this mysterious route of his?” + +“Very likely.” + +“You’re really sure you want to go, Pollipet? This is your cruise, you +know.” + +“Yes, I do.” + +Hitherto Miss Polly had been declaring to all and sundry, including the +beetle man himself, that it was her firm intent and pleasure to stay on +the island and observe the presumptively interesting events that +promised. That she had reversed this decision, on the unsolicited +counsel of an extremely queer stranger, was a phenomenon the +peculiarity of which did not strike her at the time. All that she felt +was a settled confidence in the beetle man’s sound reason for his +advice. + +“Very good,” said Mr. Brewster. “If I can get through a message to the +State Department, they’ll bring pressure to bear on the Dutch, and we +can take the yacht through the blockade. It’s only a question of +finding a way to lay the matter before the Dutch authorities, anyway. +I’ve been making inquiries here, and I find there’s no intention of +bottling up neutral pleasure craft. I dare say we could get out now. +Only it’s possible that the Hollanders might shoot first and ask +questions afterward.” + +“It would have to be done quickly, dad. They may quarantine at any +time.” + +“Dr. Pruyn ought to be here any day now. Let’s leave that matter for +him. There’s a man I have confidence in.” + +“Mr. Perkins says that Dr. Pruyn will bottle up the port tighter than +the Dutch.” + +“Let him, so long as we get out first. Now, Polly, you tell this man +Perkins that I’ll pay all expenses and give him a round hundred for +himself if he’ll bring me a receipt showing that my cablegram has been +dispatched to Washington.” + +“I don’t think I’d quite like to do that, dad. He isn’t the sort of man +one offers money to.” + +“Every one’s the sort of man one offers money to—if it’s enough,” +retorted her father. “And a hundred dollars will look pretty big to a +scientific man. I know something about their salaries. You try him.” + +“So far as expenses go, I will. But I won’t hurt his feelings by trying +to pay him for something that he would do for friendship or not at +all.” + +“Have it your own way. When is he coming in?” + +“He isn’t coming in.” + +“Then where are you going to see him?” + +“Up on the mountain trail, when I ride tomorrow afternoon.” + +“With Carroll?” + +“No; I’m going alone.” + +“I don’t quite like to have you knocking about mountain roads by +yourself, though Mr. Sherwen says you’re safe anywhere here. Where’s +that little automatic revolver I gave you?” + +“In my trunk. I’ll carry that if it will make you feel any easier.” + +“Yes, do. But I can’t see why you can’t send word to Perkins that I +want to see him here.” + +“I can. And I can guess just what his answer would be.” + +“Well, guess ahead.” + +“He’d tell you to go to the bad place, or its scientific equivalent.” +She laughed. + +“Would he?” Mr. Brewster did not laugh. “And perhaps you’ll be good +enough to tell me why.” + +“Because you sent word that you were out when he called.” + +“Humph! I see people when _I_ want to see _them_, not when they want to +see me.” + +“Then Mr. Perkins is likely to prove permanently invisible to you, if +I’m any judge of character.” + +“Well, well,” said Mr. Brewster impatiently, “manage it yourself. Only +impress on him the necessity of getting the message on the wire. I’ll +write it out to-night and give it to you with the money to-morrow.” + +After luncheon on the following day, Polly, with the cablegram and +money in her purse and her automatic safely disposed in her belt, +walked in the plaza with Carroll. The legless beggar whined at them for +alms. Handing him a _quartillo_, the Southerner would have passed on, +but his companion stood eyeing the mendicant. + +“Now, what can there be in that poor wreck to captivate the scientific +intellect?” she marveled. + +“If you mean Mr. Perkins—” began Carroll. + +“I do.” + +“Then I think perhaps the reason for some of that gentleman’s +associations will hardly stand inquiry.” + +The girl turned her eyes on him and searched the handsome, serious +face. + +“Fitz, you’re not the man to say that of another man without some good +reason.” + +“I am not, Miss Polly.” + +“You think that Mr. Perkins is not the kind of man for me to have +anything to do with?” + +“I—I’m afraid he isn’t.” + +“Don’t you think that, having gone so far, you ought to tell me why?” + +Carroll flushed. + +“I would rather tell your father.” + +“Are you implying a scandal in connection with my timid, little +dried-up scientist?” + +“I’m only saying,” said the other doggedly, “that there’s something +secret and underhanded about that place of his in the mountains. It’s a +matter of common gossip.” + +The girl laughed outright. + +“The poor beetle man! Why, he’s so afraid of a woman that he goes all +to pieces if one speaks to him suddenly. Just to see his expression, +I’d like to tell him that he’s being scandalized by all Caracuña.” + +“You’re going to see him again?” + +“Certainly. This afternoon.” + +“I don’t think you should, Miss Polly.” + +“Have you any actual facts against him? Anything but casual gossip?” + +“No; not yet.” + +“When you have, I’ll listen to you. But you couldn’t make me believe +it, anyway. Why, Fitz, look at him!” + +“Take me with you,” insisted the other, “and let me ask him a question +or two that any honorable man could answer. They don’t call him the +Unspeakable Perk for nothing, Miss Polly.” + +“It’s just because they don’t understand his type. Nor do you, Fitz, +and so you mistrust him.” + +“I understand that you’ve shown more interest in him than in any one +you know,” said the other miserably. + +Her laugh rang as free and frank as a child’s. + +“Interest? That’s true. But if you mean sentiment, Fitz, after once +having looked into the depths of those absurd goggles, can you, _could_ +you think of sentiment and the beetle man in the same breath?” + +“No, I couldn’t,” he confessed, relieved. “But, then, I never have been +able to understand you, Miss Polly.” + +“Therein lies my fatal charm,” she said saucily. “Now, to the beetle +man, I’m a specimen. _He_ understands as much as he wants to. Probably +I shall never see him after to-day, anyway. He’s going to get a message +through for us that will deliver us from this land of bondage.” + +“He can’t do it—too soon for me,” declared Carroll. “And, Miss Polly, +you don’t think the worse of me for having said behind his back what +I’m just waiting to say to his face?” + +“Not a bit,” said the girl warmly. “Only I know it’s nonsense.” + +“I hope so,” said Carroll, quite honestly. “I would hate to think +anything low-down of a man you’d call your friend.” + +Carroll had learned more than he had told, but less than enough to give +him what he considered proper evidence to lay before Polly’s father. +After some deliberation as to the point of honor involved, he decided +to go to Raimonda, who, alone in Caracuña City, seemed to be on +personal terms with the hermit. He found the young man in his office. +With entire frankness, Carroll stated his errand and the reason for it. +The Caracuñan heard him with grave courtesy. + +“And now, señor,” concluded the American, “here’s my question, and it’s +for you to determine whether, under the circumstances, you are +justified in giving me an answer. Is there a woman living in Mr. +Perkins’s _quinta_ on the mountains?” + +“I cannot answer that question,” said the other, after some +deliberation. + +“I’m sorry,” said Carroll simply. + +“I also. The more so in that my attitude may be misconstrued against +Mr. Perkins. I am bound by confidence.” + +“So I infer,” returned his visitor courteously. “Then I have only to +ask your pardon—” + +“One moment, if you please, señor. Perhaps this will serve to make easy +your mind. On my word, there is nothing in Mr. Perkins’s life on the +mountain in any manner dishonorable or—or irregular.” + +In a flash, the simple solution crossed Carroll’s mind. That a woman +was there, and a woman not of the servant class, could hardly be +doubted, in view of almost direct evidence from eyewitnesses. If there +was nothing irregular about her presence, it was because she was +Perkins’s wife. In view of Raimonda’s attitude, he did not feel free to +put the direct query. Another question would serve his purpose. + +“Is it advisable, and for the best interests of Miss Brewster, that she +should associate with him under the circumstances?” + +The Caracuñan started and shot a glance at his interlocutor that said, +as plainly as words, “How much do you know that you are not telling?” +had the latter not been too intent upon his own theory to interpret it. + +“Ah, that,” said Raimonda, after a pause,—“that is another question. If +it were my sister, or any one dear to me—but”—he shrugged—“views on +that matter differ.” + +“I hardly think that yours and mine differ, señor. I thank you for +bearing with me with so much patience.” + +He went out with his suspicions hardened into certainty. + + + + +VII. +“THAT WHICH THY SERVANT IS—” + + +A man that you’d call your friend. Such had been Fitzhugh Carroll’s +reference to the Unspeakable Perk. With that characterization in her +mind. Miss Brewster let herself drift, after her suitor had left her, +into a dreamy consideration of the hermit’s attitude toward her. She +was not prone lightly to employ the terms of friendship, yet this new +and casual acquaintance had shown a readiness to serve—not as cavalier, +but as friend—none too common in the experience of the much-courted and +a little spoiled beauty. Being, indeed, a “lady nowise bitter to those +who served her with good intent,” she reflected, with a kindly light in +her eyes, that it was all part and parcel of the beetle’s man’s amiable +queerness. + +Still musing upon this queerness, she strolled back to find her mount +waiting at the corner of the plaza. In consideration of the heat she +let her cream-colored mule choose his own pace, so they proceeded quite +slowly up the hill road, both absorbed in meditation, which ceased only +when the mule started an argument about a turn in the trail. He was a +well-bred trotting mule, worth six hundred dollars in gold of any man’s +money, and he was self-appreciative in knowledge of the fact. He +brought a singular firmness of purpose to the support of the negative +of her proposition, which was that he should swing north from the broad +into the narrow path. When the debate was over, St. John the +Baptist—this, I hesitate to state, yet must, it being the truth, was +the spirited animal’s name—was considerably chastened, and Miss +Brewster more than a trifle flushed. She left him tied to a ceiba +branch at the exit from the dried creek bed, with strict instructions +not to kick, lest a worse thing befall him. Miss Brewster’s fighting +blood was up, when, ten minutes late, because of the episode, she +reached the summit of the rock. + +“Oh, Mr. Beetle Man, are you there?” she called. + +“Yes, Voice. You sound strange. What is it?” + +“I’ve been hurrying, and if you tell me I’m late, I’ll—I’ll fall on +your neck again and break it.” + +“Has anything happened?” + +“Nothing in particular. I’ve been boxing the compass with a mule. It’s +tiresome.” + +He reflected. + +“You’re not, by any chance, speaking figuratively of your respected +parent?” + +“Certainly _not!_” she disclaimed indignantly. “This was a real mule. +You’re very impertinent.” + +“Well, you see, he was impertinent to me, saying he was out when he was +in. What is his decision—yes or no?” + +“No.” + +A sharp exclamation came from the nook below. + +“Is that the entomological synonym for ‘damn’?” she inquired. + +“It’s a lament for time wasted on a—Well, never mind that.” + +“But he wants you to carry a message by that secret route of yours. +Will you do it for him?” + +“_No!_” + +“That’s not being a very kind or courteous beetle man.” + +“I owe Mr. Brewster no courtesy.” + +“And you pay only where you owe? Just, but hardly amiable. Well, you +owe me nothing—but—will you do it for me?” + +“Yes.” + +“Without even knowing what it is?” + +“Yes.” + +“In return you shall have your heart’s desire.” + +“Doubted.” + +“Isn’t the dearest wish of your soul to drive me out of Caracuña?” + +“Hum! Well—er—yes. Yes; of course it is.” + +“Very well. If you can get dad’s message on the wire to Washington, he +thinks the Secretary of State, who is his friend, can reach the Dutch +and have them open up the blockade for us.” + +“Time apparently meaning nothing to him.” + +“Would it take much time?” + +“About four days to a wire.” + +She gazed at him in amazement. + +“And you were willing to give up four days to carry my message through, +‘unsight—unseen,’ as we children used to say?” + +“Willing enough, but not able to. I’d have got a messenger through with +it, if necessary. But in four days, there’ll be other obstacles besides +the Dutch.” + +“Quarantine?” + +“Yes.” + +“I thought that had to wait for Dr. Pruyn.” + +“Pruyn’s here. That’s a secret, Miss Brewster.” + +“Do you know _everything?_ Has he found plague?” + +“Ah, I don’t say that. But he will find it, for it’s certainly here. I +satisfied myself of that yesterday.” + +“From your beggar friend?” + +“What made you think that, O most acute observer?” + +“What else would you be talking to him of, with such interest?” + +“You’re correct. Bubonic always starts in the poor quarters. To know +how people die, you have to know how they live. So I cultivated my +beggar friend and listened to the gossip of quick funerals and +unexplained disappearances. I’d have had some real arguments to present +to Mr. Brewster if he had cared to listen.” + +“He’ll listen to Dr. Pruyn. They’re old friends.” + +“No! Are they?” + +“Yes. Since college days. So perhaps the quarantine will be easier to +get through than the blockade.” + +“Do you think so? I’m afraid you’ll find that pull doesn’t work with +the service that Dr. Pruyn is in.” + +“And you think that there will be quarantine within four days?” + +“Almost sure to be.” + +“Then, of course, I needn’t trouble you with the message.” + +“Don’t jump at conclusions. There might be another and quicker way.” + +“Wireless?” she asked quickly. + +“No wireless on the island. No. This way you’ll just have to trust me +for.” + +“I’ll trust you for anything you say you can do.” + +“But I don’t say I can. I say only that I’ll try.” + +“That’s enough for me. Ready! Now, brace yourself. I’m coming down.” + +“Wh—why—wait! Can’t you send it down?” + +“No. Besides, you _know_ you want to see me. No use pretending, after +last time. Remember your verse now, and I’ll come slowly.” + +Solemnly he began:— + +“Scarab, tarantula, neurop—” + + +“‘Doodle-bug,’” she prompted severely. + +“—doodle-bug, flea,”— + + +he concluded obediently. + +“Scarab, tarantula, doodle-bug, flea. Scarab, tarantula, doodle—” + + +“Oof! I—I—didn’t think you’d be here so soon!” + +He scrambled to his feet, hardly less palpitating than on the occasion +of their first encounter. + +“Hopeless!” she mourned. “Incurable! Wanted: a miracle of St. Vitus. Do +stop nibbling your hat, and sit down.” + +“I don’t think it’s as bad as it was,” he murmured, obeying. “One gets +accustomed to you.” + +“One gets accustomed to anything in time, even the eccentricities of +one’s friends.” + +“Do you think I’m eccentric?” + +“Do I think—Have you ever known any one who didn’t think you +eccentric?” + +Upon this he pondered solemnly. + +“It’s so long since I’ve stopped to consider what people think of me. +One hasn’t time, you know.” + +“Then one is unhuman. _I_ have time.” + +“Of course. But you haven’t anything else to do.” + +As this was quite true, she naturally felt annoyed. + +“Knowing as you do all the secrets of my inner life,” she observed +sarcastically, “of course you are in a position to judge.” + +Her own words recalled Carroll’s charge, and though, with the subject +of them before her, it seemed ridiculously impossible, yet the spirit +of mischief, ever hovering about her like an attendant sprite, +descended and took possession of her speech. She assumed a severely +judicial expression. + +“Mr. Beetle Man, will you lay your hand upon your microscope, or +whatever else scientists make oath upon, and answer fully and truly the +question about to be put to you?” + +“As I hope for a blessed release from this abode of lunacy, I will.” + +“Mr. Beetle Man, have you got an awful secret in your life?” + +So sharply did he start that the heavy goggles slipped a fraction of an +inch along his nose, the first time she had ever seen them in any +degree misplaced. She was herself sensibly discountenanced by his +perturbation. + +“Why do you ask that?” he demanded. + +“Natural interest in a friend,” she answered lightly, but with growing +wonder. “I think you’d be altogether irresistible if you were a pirate +or a smuggler or a revolutionary. The romantic spirit could lurk so +securely behind those gloomy soul-screens that you wear. What do you +keep back of them, O dark and shrouded beetle man?” + +“My eyes,” he grunted. + +“Basilisk eyes, I’m sure. And what behind the eyes?” + +“My thoughts.” + +“You certainly keep them securely. No intruders allowed. But you +haven’t answered my question. Have you ever murdered any one in cold +blood? Or are you a married man trifling with the affections of poor +little me?” + +“You shall know all,” he began, in the leisurely tone of one who +commences a long narrative. “My parents were honest, but poor. At the +age of three years and four months, a maternal uncle, who, having been +a proofreader of Abyssinian dialect stories for a ladies’ magazine, was +considered a literary prophet, foretold that I—” + +“Help! Wait! Stop!— + +“‘Oh, skip your dear uncle!’ the bellman exclaimed, +And impatiently tinkled his bell.” + + +Her companion promptly capped her verse:— + +“‘I skip forty years,’ said the baker in tears,”— + + +“You can’t,” she objected. “If you skipped half that, I don’t believe +it would leave you much.” + +“When one is giving one’s life history by request,” he began, with +dignity, “interruptions—” + +“It isn’t by request,” she protested. “I don’t want your life history. +I won’t have it! You shan’t treat an unprotected and helpless stranger +so. Besides, I’m much more interested to know how you came to be +familiar with Lewis Carroll.” + +“Just because I’ve wasted my career on frivolous trifles like science, +you needn’t think I’ve wholly neglected the true inwardness of life, as +exemplified in ‘The Hunting of the Snark,’” he said gravely. + +“Do you know”—she leaned forward, searching his face—“I believe you +came out of that book yourself. _Are_ you a Boojum? Will you, unless I +‘charm you with smiles and soap,’ + +“‘Softly and silently vanish away, +And never be heard of again’?” + + +“You’re mixed. _You’d_ be the one to do that if I were a real Boojum. +And you’ll be doing it soon enough, anyway,” he concluded ruefully. + +“So I shall, but don’t be too sure that I’ll ‘never be heard of +again.’” + +He glanced up at the sun, which was edging behind a dark cloud, over +the gap. + +“Is your raging thirst for personal information sufficiently slaked?” +he asked. “We’ve still fifteen or twenty minutes left.” + +“Is that all? And I haven’t yet given you the message!” She drew it +from the bag and handed it to him. + +“Sealed,” he observed. + +The girl colored painfully. + +“Dad didn’t intend—You mustn’t think—” With a flash of generous wrath +she tore the envelope open and held out the inclosure. “But I shouldn’t +have thought you so concerned with formalities,” she commented +curiously. + +“It isn’t that. But in some respects, possibly important, it would be +better if—” He stopped, looking at her doubtfully. + +“Read it,” she nodded. + +He ran through the brief document. + +“Yes; it’s just as well that I should know. I’ll leave a copy.” + +Something in his accent made her scrutinize him. + +“You’re going into danger!” she cried. + +“Danger? No; I think not. Difficulty, perhaps. But I think it can be +put through.” + +“If it were dangerous, you’d do it just the same,” she said, almost +accusingly. + +“It would be worth some danger now to get you away from greater danger +later. See here, Miss Brewster”—he rose and stood over her—“there must +be no mistake or misunderstanding about this.” + +“Don’t gloom at me with those awful glasses,” she said fretfully. “I +feel as if I were being stared at by a hidden person.” + +He disregarded the protest. + +“If I get this message through, can you guarantee that your father will +take out the yacht as soon as the Dutch send word to him?” + +“Oh, yes. He will do that. How are you going to deliver the message?” + +Again her words might as well not have been spoken. + +“You’d better have your luggage ready for a quick start.” + +“Will it be soon?” + +“It may be.” + +“How shall we know?” + +“I will get word to you.” + +“Bring it?” + +He shook his head. + +“No; I fear not. This is good-bye.” + +“You’re very casual about it,” she said, aggrieved. “At least, it would +be polite to pretend.” + +“What am I to pretend?” + +“To be sorry. Aren’t you sorry? Just a little bit?” + +“Yes; I’m sorry. Just a little bit—at least.” + +“I’m most awfully sorry myself,” she said frankly. “I shall miss you.” + +“As a curiosity?” he asked, smiling. + +“As a friend. You have been a friend to us—to me,” she amended sweetly. +“Each time I see you, I have more the feeling that you’ve been more of +a friend than I know.” + +“‘That which thy servant is,’” he quoted lightly. But beneath the +lightness she divined a pain that she could not wholly fathom. Quite +aware of her power, Miss Polly Brewster was now, for one of the few +times in her life, stricken with contrition for her use of it. + +“And I—I haven’t been very nice,” she faltered. “I’m afraid sometimes +I’ve been quite horrid.” + +“You? You’ve been ‘the glory and the dream.’ I shall be needing +memories for a while. And when the glory has gone, at least the dream +will remain—tethered.” + +“But I’m not going to be a dream alone,” she said, with wistful +lightness. “It’s far too much like being a ghost. I’m going to be a +friend, if you’ll let me. And I’m going to write to you, if you will +tell me where. You won’t find it so very easy to make a mere memory of +me. And when you come home—When _are_ you coming home?” + +He shook his head. + +“Then you must find out, and let me know. And you must come and visit +us at our summer place, where there’s a mountain-side that we can sit +on, and you can pretend that our lake is the Caribbean and hate it to +your heart’s content—” + +“I don’t believe I can ever quite hate the Caribbean again.” + +“From this view you mustn’t, anyway. I shouldn’t like that. As for our +lake, nobody could really help loving it. So you must be sure and come, +won’t you?” + +“Dreams!” he murmured. + +“Isn’t there room in the scientific life for dreams?” + +“Yes. But not for their fulfillment.” + +“But there will be beetles and dragon-flies on our mountain,” she went +on, conscious of talking against time, of striving to put off the +moment of departure. “You’ll find plenty of work there. Do you know, +Mr. Beetle Man, you haven’t told me a thing, really, about your work, +or a thing, really, about yourself. Is that the way to treat a friend?” + +“When I undertook to spread before you the true and veracious history +of my life,” he began, striving to make his tone light, “you would none +of it.” + +“Are you determined to put me off? Do you think that I wouldn’t find +the things that are real to you interesting?” + +“They’re quite technical,” he said shyly. + +“But they are the big things to you, aren’t they? They make life for +you?” + +“Oh, yes; that, of course.” It was as if he were surprised at the need +of such a question. “I suppose I find the same excitement and adventure +in research that other men find in politics, or war, or making money.” + +“Adventure?” she said, puzzled. “I shouldn’t have supposed research an +adventurous career, exactly.” + +“No; not from the outside.” His hidden gaze shifted to sweep the far +distances. His voice dropped and softened, and, when he spoke again, +she felt vaguely and strangely that he was hardly thinking of her or +her question, except as a part of the great wonder-world surrounding +and enfolding their companioned remoteness. + +“This is my _credo_,” he said, and quoted, half under his breath:— + +“‘We have come in search of truth, +Trying with uncertain key +Door by door of mystery. +We are reaching, through His laws, +To the garment hem of Cause. +As, with fingers of the blind, +We are groping here to find +What the hieroglyphics mean +Of the Unseen in the seen; +What the Thought which underlies +Nature’s masking and disguise; +What it is that hides beneath +Blight and bloom and birth and death.’” + + +Other men had poured poetry into Polly Brewster’s ears, and she had +thought them vapid or priggish or affected, according as they had +chosen this or that medium. This man was different. For all his outer +grotesquery, the noble simplicity of the verse matched some veiled and +hitherto but half-expressed quality within him, and dignified him. Miss +Brewster suffered the strange but not wholly unpleasant sensation of +feeling herself dwindle. + +“It’s very beautiful,” she said, with an effort. “Is it Matthew +Arnold?” + +“Nearer home. You an American, and don’t know your Whittier? That +passage from his ‘Agassiz’ comes pretty near to being what life means +to me. Have I answered your requirements?” + +“Fully and finely.” + +She rose from the rock upon which she had been seated, and stretched +out both hands to him. He took and held them without awkwardness or +embarrassment. By that alone she could have known that he was suffering +with a pain that submerged consciousness of self. + +“Whether I see you again or not, I’ll never forget you,” she said +softly. “You _have_ been good to me, Mr. Perkins.” + +“I like the other name better,” he said. + +“Of course. Mr. Beetle Man.” She laughed a little tremulously. Abruptly +she stamped a determined foot. “I’m _not_ going away without having +seen my friend for once. Take off your glasses, Mr. Beetle Man.” + +“Too much radiance is bad for the microscopical eye.” + +“The sun is under a cloud.” + +“But you’re here, and you’d glow in the dark.” + +“No; I’m not to be put off with pretty speeches. Take them off. +Please!” + +Releasing her hand, he lifted off the heavy and disfiguring apparatus, +and stood before her, quietly submissive to her wish. She took a quick +step backward, stumbled, and thrust out a hand against the face of the +giant rock for support. + +“Oh!” she cried, and again, “Oh, I didn’t think you’d look like that!” + +“What is it? Is there anything very wrong with me?” he asked seriously, +blinking a little in the soft light. + +“No, no. It isn’t that. I—I hardly know—I expected something different. +Forgive me for being so—so stupid.” + +In truth, Miss Polly Brewster had sustained a shock. She had become +accustomed to regard her beetle man rather more in the light of a +beetle than a man. In fact, the human side of him had impressed her +only as a certain dim appeal to sympathy; the masculine side had simply +not existed. Now it was as if he had unmasked. The visage, so grotesque +and gnomish behind its mechanical apparatus, had given place to a +wholly different and formidably strange face. The change all centered +in the eyes. They were wide-set eyes of the clearest, steadiest, and +darkest gray she had ever met; and they looked out at her from sharply +angled brows with a singular clarity and calmness of regard. In their +light the man’s face became instinct with character in every line. +Strength was there, self-control, dignity, a glint of humor in the +little wrinkles at the corner of the mouth, and, withal a sort of quiet +and sturdy beauty. + +She had half-turned her face from him. Now, as her gaze returned and +was fixed by his, she felt a wave of blood expand her heart, rush +upward into her cheeks, and press into her eyes tears of swift regret. +But now she was sorry, not for him, but for herself, because he had +become remote and difficult to her. + +“Have I startled you?” he asked curiously. “I’ll put them back on +again.” + +“No, no; don’t do that!” She rallied herself to the point of laughing a +little. “I’m a goose. You see, I’ve pictured you as quite different. +Have you ever seen yourself in the glass with those dreadful disguises +on?” + +“Why, no; I don’t suppose I have,” he replied, after reflection. “After +all, they’re meant for use, not for ornament.” + +By this time she had mastered her confusion and was able to examine his +face. Under his eyes were circles of dull gray, defined by deep lines, + +“Why, you’re worn out!” she cried pitifully. “Haven’t you been +sleeping?” + +“Not much.” + +“You must take something for it.” The mothering instinct sprang to the +rescue. “How much rest did you get last night?” + +“Let me see. Last night I did very well. Fully four hours.” + +“And that is more than you average?” + +“Well, yes; lately. You see, I’ve been pretty busy.” + +“Yet you’ve given up your time to my wretched, unimportant little +stupid affairs! And what return have I made?” + +“You’ve made the sun shine,” he said, “in a rather shaded existence.” + +“Promise me that you’ll sleep to-night; that you won’t work a stroke.” + +“No; I can’t promise that.” + +“You’ll break down. You’ll go to pieces. What have you got to do more +important than keeping in condition?” + +“As to that, I’ll last through. And there’s some business that won’t +wait.” + +Divination came upon her. + +“Dad’s message!” + +“If it weren’t that, it would be something else.” + +Her hand went out to him, and was withdrawn. + +“Please put on your glasses,” she said shyly. + +Smiling, he did her bidding. + +“There! Now you are my beetle man again. No, not quite, though. You’ll +never be quite the same beetle man again.” + +“I shall always be,” he contradicted gently. + +“Anyway, it’s better. You’re easier to say things to. Are you really +the man who ran away from the street car?” she asked doubtfully. + +“I really am.” + +“Then I’m most surely sure that you had good reason.” She began to +laugh softly. “As for the stories about you, I’d believe them less than +ever, now.” + +“Are there stories about me?” + +“Gossip of the club. They call you ‘The Unspeakable Perk’!” + +“Not a bad nickname,” he admitted. “I expect I have been rather +unspeakable, from their point of view.” + +A desire to have the faith that was in her supported by this man’s own +word overrode her shyness. + +“Mr. Beetle Man,” she said, “have you got a sister?” + +“I? No. Why?” + +“If you had a sister, is there anything—Oh, _darn_ your sister!” broke +forth the irrepressible Polly. “I’ll be your sister for this. Is there +anything about you and your life here that you’d be afraid to tell me?” + +“No.” + +“I knew there wasn’t,” she said contentedly. She hesitated a moment, +then put a hand on his arm. “Does this _have_ to be good-bye, Mr. +Beetle Man?” she said wistfully. + +“I’m afraid so.” + +“No!” She stamped imperiously. “I want to see you again, and I’m going +to see you again. Won’t you come down to the port and bring me another +bunch of your mountain orchids when we sail—just for good-bye?” + +Through the dull medium of the glasses she could feel his eyes +questioning hers. And she knew that once more before she sailed away, +she must look into those eyes, in all their clarity and all their +strength—and then try to forget them. The swift color ran up into her +cheeks. + +“I—I suppose so,” he said. “Yes.” + +“Au revoir, then!” she cried, with a thrill of gladness, and fled up +the rock. + +The Unspeakable Perk strode down his path, broke into a trot, and held +to it until he reached his house. But Miss Polly, departing in her own +direction, stopped dead after ten minutes’ going. It had struck her +forcefully that she had forgotten the matter of the expense of the +message. How could she reach him? She remembered the cliff above the +rock, and the signal. If a signal was valid in one direction, it ought +to work equally well in the other. She had her automatic with her. +Retracing her steps, she ascended the cliff, a rugged climb. Across the +deep-fringed chasm she could plainly see the porch of the _quinta_ with +the little clearing at the side, dim in the clouded light. Drawing the +revolver, she fired three shots. + +“He’ll come,” she thought contentedly. + +The sun broke from behind the obscuring cloud and sent a shaft of light +straight down upon the clearing. It illumined with pitiless +distinctness the shimmering silk of a woman’s dress, hanging on a line +and waving in the first draft of the evening breeze. For a moment Polly +stood transfixed. What did it mean? Was it perhaps a servant’s dress. +No; he had told her that there was no woman servant. + +As she sought the solution, a woman’s figure emerged from the porch of +the _quinta_, crossed the compound, and dropped upon a bench. Even at +that distance, the watcher could tell from the woman’s bearing and +apparel that she was not of the servant class. She seemed to be gazing +out over the mountains; there was something dreary and forlorn in her +attitude. What, then, did she do in the beetle man’s house? + +Below the rock the shrubbery weaved and thrashed, and the person who +could best answer that question burst into view at a full lope. + +“What is it?” he panted. “Was it you who fired?” + +She stared at him mutely. The revolver hung in her hand. In a moment he +was beside her. + +“Has anything happened?” he began again, then turned his head to follow +the direction of her regard. He saw the figure in the compound. + +“Good God in heaven!” he groaned. + +He caught the revolver from her hand and fired three slow shots. The +woman turned. Snatching off his hat, he signalled violently with it. +The woman rose and, as it seemed to Polly Brewster, moved in humble +submissiveness back to the shelter. + +White consternation was stamped on the Unspeakable Perk’s face as he +handed the revolver to its owner. + +“Do you need me?” he asked quickly. “If not, I must go back at once.” + +“I do not need you,” said the girl, in level tones. “You lied to me.” + +His expression changed. She read in it the desperation of guilt. + +“I can explain,” he said hurriedly, “but not now. There isn’t time. +Wait here. I’ll be back. I’ll be back the instant I can get away.” + +As he spoke, he was halfway down the rock, headed for the lower trail. +The bushes closed behind him. + +Painfully Polly Brewster made her way down the treacherous footing of +the cliff path to her place on the rock. From her bag she drew one of +her cards, wrote slowly and carefully a few words, found a dry stick, +set it between two rocks, and pinned her message to it. Then she ran, +as helpless humans run from the scourge of their own hearts. + +Half an hour later the hermit, sweat-covered and breathless, returned +to the rock. For a moment he gazed about, bewildered by the silence. +The white card caught his eye. He read its angular scrawl. + +“I wish never to see you again. Never! Never! Never!” + +A sulphur-yellow inquisitor, of a more insinuating manner than the +former participant in their conversation, who had been examining the +message on his own account, flew to the top of the cliff. + +“Qu’est-ce qu’elle dit? Qu’est-ce qu’elle dit?” he demanded. + +For the first time in his adult life the beetle man threw a stone at a +bird. + + + + +VIII. +LOS YANKIS + + +Luncheon on the day following the kiskadee bird’s narrow squeak for his +life was a dreary affair for Mr. Fitzhugh Carroll. Business had called +Mr. Brewster away. This deprivation the Southerner would have borne +with equanimity. But Miss Brewster had also absented herself, which was +rather too much for the devoted, but apprehensive, lover. Thus, ample +time was given him to consider how ill his suit was prospering. The +longer he stayed, the less he saw of Miss Polly. That she was kinder +and more gentle, less given to teasing him than of yore, was poor +compensation. He was shrewd enough to draw no good augury from that. +Something had altered her, and he was divided between suspicion of the +last week’s mail, the arrival of which had been about contemporaneous +with her change of spirit, and some local cause. Was a letter from +Smith, the millionaire, or Bobby, the friend of her childhood, +responsible? Or was the cause nearer at hand? + +For one preposterous moment he thought of the Unspeakable Perk. A quick +visualization of that gnomish, froggish face was enough to dispel the +suspicion. At least the petted and rather fastidious Miss Brewster’s +fancy would be captured only by a gentleman, not by any such homunculus +as the mountain dweller. Her interest, perhaps; the man possessed the +bizarre attraction of the freakish. But anything else was absurd. And +the knight was inclined to attaint his lady for a certain cruelty in +the matter; she was being something less than fair to the Unspeakable +Perk. + +The searchlight of his surmise ranged farther. Raimonda! The young +Caracuñan was handsome, distinguished, manly, with a romantic charm +that the American did not underestimate. He, at least, was a gentleman, +and the assiduity of his attentions to the Northern beauty had become +the joke of the clubs—except when Raimonda was present. By the same +token, half of the gilded youth of the capital, and most of the young +diplomats, were the sworn slaves of the girl. It was a confused field, +indeed. Well, thank Heaven, she would soon be out of it! Word had come +down from her that she was busy packing her things. Carroll wandered +about the hotel, waiting for the news that would explain this +preparation. + +It came, at mid-afternoon, in the person of Miss Polly herself. Why +packing trunks, with the aid of an experienced maid, should, even in a +hot climate, produce heavy circles under the eyes, a droop at the mouth +corners, and a complete submersion of vivacity, is a problem which +Carroil then and there gave up. He had too much tact to question or +comment. + +“Oh, I’m so tired!” she said, giving him her hand. “Have you much +packing to do, Fitzhugh?” + +“No one has given me any notice to get ready, Miss Polly.” + +“How very neglectful of me! We may leave at any time.” + +“Yes; you may. But my ship doesn’t seem to be coming in very fast.” + +The _double entente_ was unintentional, but the girl winced. + +“Aren’t you coming with us on the yacht?” + +“Am I?” His handsome face lighted hopefully. + +“Of course. Dad expects you to. What kind of people should we be to +leave any friend behind, with matters as they are?” + +“Ah, yes.” The hope passed out of his face. “Dictates of humanity, and +that sort of thing. I think, if you and Mr. Brewster—” + +“Please don’t be silly, Fitz,” she pleaded. “You know it would make me +most unhappy to leave you.” + +Rarely did the scion of Southern blood and breeding lose the +self-control and reserve on which he prided himself, but he had been +harassed by events to an unwonted strain of temper. + +“Is it making you unhappy to leave any one else here?” he blurted out. + +The challenge stirred the girl’s spirit. + +“No, indeed! I wouldn’t care if I never saw any of them again. I’m +tired of it all. I want to go home,” she said, like a pathetic child. + +“Oh, Miss Polly,” he began, taking a step toward her, “if you’d only +let me—” + +She put up one little sunburned hand. + +“Please, Fitz! I—I don’t feel up to it to-day.” + +Humbly he subsided. + +“I’d no right to ask you the question,” he apologized. “It was kind of +you to answer me at all.” + +“You’re really a dear, Fitz,” she said, smiling a little wanly. +“Sometimes I wish—” + +She did not finish her sentence, but wandered over to the window, and +gazed out across the square. On the far side something quite out of the +ordinary seemed to be going on. + +“The legless beggar seems to have collected quite an audience,” she +remarked idly. + +Her suitor joined her on the parlor balcony. + +“Possibly he’s starting a revolution. Any one can do it down here.” + +Vehement adjuration, in a high, strident voice, came floating across to +them. + +“Listen!” cried the girl. “He’s speaking. English, isn’t he?” + +“It seems to be a mixture of English, French, and Spanish. Quite a +polyglot the friend of your friend Perkins appears to be.” + +She turned steady eyes upon him. + +“Mr. Perkins is not my friend.” + +“No?” + +“I never want to see him, or to hear his name again.” + +“Ah, then you’ve found out about him?” + +“Yes.” She flushed. “Yes—at least—Yes,” she concluded. + +“He admitted it to you?” + +“No, he lied about it.” + +“I think I shall go up and make a call on Mr. Perkins,” said Carroll, +with formidable quiet. + +“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” she answered wearily. “He’d only run away and +hide.” As she said it, her inner self convicted her tongue of lying. + +“Very likely. Yet, see here, Miss Polly,—I want to be fair to that +fellow. It doesn’t follow that because he’s a coward he’s a cad.” + +“He isn’t a coward!” she flashed. + +“You just said yourself that he’d run and hide.” + +“Well, he wouldn’t, and he IS a cad.” + +“As you like. In any case, I shall make it a point to see him before I +leave. If he can explain, well and good. If not—” He did not conclude. + +“Our orator seems to have finished,” observed the girl. “I shall go +back upstairs and write some good-bye notes to the kind people here.” + +“Just for curiosity, I think I’ll drive across and look at the legless +Demosthenes,” said her companion. “I was going to do a little shopping, +anyway. So I’ll report later, if he’s revoluting or anything exciting.” + +From her own balcony, when she reached it, Polly had a less obstructed +view of the beggar’s appropriated corner, and she looked out a few +minutes after she reached the room to see whether he had resumed his +oratory. Apparently he had not, for the crowd had melted away. The +legless one was rocking himself monotonously upon his stumps. His head +was sunk forward, and from his extraordinary mouthings the spectator +judged that he must be talking to himself with resumed vehemence. From +what next passed before her astonished vision, Miss Brewster would have +suspected herself of a hallucination of delirium had she not been sure +of normal health. + +One of the well-horsed, elegant little public victorias with which the +city is so well supplied stopped at the curb, and the handsome head of +Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll was thrust forth. At almost the same +moment the Unspeakable Perk appeared upon the steps. He was wearing a +pair of enormous, misfit white gloves. He went down to the beggar, +reached forth a hand, and, to the far-away spectator’s wonder-struck +interpretation, seemed to thrust something, presumably a document, into +the breast of the mendicant’s shirt. Having performed this strange +rite, he leaped up the steps, hesitated, rushed over to Carroll’s +equipage, and laid violent hands upon the occupant, with obvious intent +to draw him forth. For a moment they seemed to struggle upon the +sidewalk; then both rushed upon the unfortunate beggar and proceeded to +kidnap him and thrust him bodily into the cab. + +The driver turned in his seat at this point, his cue in the mad farce +having been given, and opened speech with many gestures, whereupon +Carroll arose and embraced him warmly. And with this grouping, the +vehicle, bearing its lunatic load, sped around the corner and +disappeared, while the sole interested witness retired to obscurity, +with her reeling head between her hands. + +One final touch of phantasy was given to the whole affair when, two +hours later, she met Carroll, soiled and grimy, coming across the +plaza, smoking—he, the addict to thirty-cent Havanas!—an awful native +cheroot, whose incense spread desolation about him. Further and more +extraordinary, when she essayed to obtain a solution of the mystery +from him, he repelled her with emphatic gestures and a few +half-strangled words with whose unintelligibility the cheroot fumes may +have had some connection, and hurried into the hotel, where he remained +in seclusion the rest of the day. + +What in the name of all the wonders could it mean? On Mr. Brewster’s +return, she laid the matter before him at the dinner table. + +“Touch of the sun, perhaps,” he hazarded. “Nothing else I know of would +explain it.” + +“Do two Americans, a half-breed beggar, and a local coachman get +sunstruck at one and the same time?” she inquired disdainfully. + +“Doesn’t seem likely. By your account, though, the crippled beggar +seems to have been the little Charlie Ross of melodrama.” + +“Then why didn’t he shout for help? I listened, but didn’t hear a sound +from him.” + +“Movie-picture rehearsal,” grunted Mr. Brewster. “I can’t quite see the +heir of all the Virginias in the part. Isn’t he coming down to dinner +this evening?” + +“His dinner was sent up to his room. Isn’t it extraordinary?” + +“Ask Sherwen about it. He’s coming around this evening for coffee in +our rooms.” + +But the American representative had something else on his mind besides +casual kidnapings. + +“I’ve just come from a talk with the British Minister,” he remarked, +setting down his cup. “He’s officially in charge of American interests, +you know.” + +“Thought you were,” said Mr. Brewster. + +“Officially, I have no existence. The United States of America is wiped +off the map, so far as the sovereign Republic of Caracuña is concerned. +Some of its politicians wouldn’t be over-grieved if the local Americans +underwent the same process. The British Minister would, I’m sure, sleep +easier if you were all a thousand miles away from here.” + +“Tell Sir Willet that he’s very ungallant,” pouted Miss Polly. “When I +sat next to him at dinner last week he offered to establish woman +suffrage here and elect me next president if I’d stay.” + +Sherwen hardly paid this the tribute of a smile. + +“That was before he found out certain things. The Hochwald Legation”—he +lowered his voice—“is undoubtedly stirring up anti-American sentiment.” + +“But why?” inquired Mr. Brewster. “There’s enough trade for them and +for us?” + +“For one thing, they don’t like your concessions, Mr. Brewster. Then +they have heard that Dr. Pruyn is on his way, and they want to make all +the trouble they can for him, and make it impossible for him to get +actual information of the presence of plague. I happen to know that +their consul is officially declaring fake all the plague rumors.” + +“That suits me,” declared the magnate. “We don’t want to have to run +Dutch and quarantine blockade both.” + +“Meantime, there are two or three cheap but dangerous demagogues who +have been making anti-‘Yanki,’ as they call us, speeches in the slums. +Sir Willet doesn’t like the looks of it. If there were any way in which +you could get through, and to sea, it would be well to take it at once. +Am I correct in supposing that you’ve taken steps to clear the yacht, +Mr. Brewster?” + +“Yes. That is, I’ve sent a message. Or, at least, so my daughter, to +whose management I left it, believes.” + +“Don’t tell me how,” said Sherwen quickly. “There is reason to believe +that it has been dispatched.” + +“You’ve heard something?” + +“I have a message from our consul at Puerto del Norte, Mr. Wisner.” + +“For me?” asked the concessionaire. + +“Why, no,” was the hesitant reply. “It isn’t quite clear, but it seems +to be for Miss Brewster.” + +“Why not?” inquired that young lady coolly. “What is it?” + +“The best I could make of it over the phone—Wisner had to be +guarded—was that people planning to take Dutch leave would better pay +their parting calls by to-morrow at the latest.” + +“That would mean day after to-morrow, wouldn’t it?” mused the girl. + +“If it means anything at all,” substituted her father testily. + +“Meantime, how do you like the Gran Hotel Kast, Miss Brewster?” asked +Sherwen. + +“It’s awful beyond words! I’ve done nothing but wish for a brigade of +Biddies, with good stout mops, and a government permit to clean up. I’d +give it a bath!” + +“Yes, it’s pretty bad. I’m glad you don’t like it.” + +“Glad? Is every one ag’in’ poor me?” + +“Because—well, the American Legation is a very lonely place. Now, the +presence of an American lady—” + +“Are you offering a proposal of marriage, Mr. Sherwen?” twinkled the +girl. “If so—Dad, please leave the room.” + +“Knock twenty years off my battle-scarred life and you wouldn’t be safe +a minute,” he retorted. “But, no. This is a measure of safety. Sir +Willet thinks that your party ought to be ready to move into the +American Legation on instant notice, if you can’t get away to sea +to-morrow.” + +“What’s the use, if the legation has no official existence?” asked Mr. +Brewster. + +“In a sense it has. It would probably be respected by a mob. And, at +the worst, it adjoins the British Legation, which would be quite safe. +If it weren’t that Sir Willet’s boy has typhoid, you’d be formally +invited to go there.” + +“It’s very good of you,” said Miss Polly warmly. “But surely it would +be an awful nuisance to you.” + +“On the contrary, you’d brace up my far-too-casual old housekeeper and +get the machinery running. She constantly takes advantage of my +bachelor ignorance. If you say you’ll come, I’ll almost pray for the +outbreak.” + +“Certainly we’ll come, at any time you notify us,” said Mr. Brewster. +“And we’re very grateful. Shall you have room for Mr. Carroll, too?” + +“By all means. And I’ve notified Mr. Cluff. You won’t mind his being +there? He’s a rough diamond, but a thoroughly decent fellow.” + +“Useful, too, in case of trouble, I should judge,” said the magnate. +“Then I’ll wait for further word from you.” + +“Yes. I’ve got my men out on watch.” + +“Wouldn’t it be—er—advisable for us to arm ourselves?” + +“By no means! There’s just one course to follow; keep the peace at any +price, and give the Hochwaldians not the slightest peg on which to hang +a charge that Americans have been responsible for any trouble that +might arise. May I ask you,” he added significantly, “to make this +clear to Mr. Carroll?” + +“Leave that to me,” said Miss Brewster, with superb confidence. + +“Content, indeed! You’ll find our locality very pleasant, Miss +Brewster. Three of the other legations are on the same block, not +including the Hochwaldian, which is a quarter of a mile down the hill. +On our corner is a house where several of the English railroad men +live, and across is the Club Amicitia, made up largely of the _jeunesse +dorée_, who are mostly pro-American. So you’ll be quite surrounded by +friends, not to say adherents.” + +“Call on me to housekeep for you at any time,” cried Polly gayly. “I’ll +begin to roll up my sleeves as soon as I get dressed to-morrow.” + + + + +IX. +THE BLACK WARNING + + +That weird three-part drama in the plaza which had so puzzled Miss +Polly Brewster had developed in this wise:— + +Coincidently with the departure of Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll +from the hotel in his cab, the Unspeakable Perk emerged from a store +near the far corner of the square, which exploited itself in the purest +Castilian as offering the last word in the matter of gentlemen’s +apparel. “_Articulos para Caballeros_” was the representation held +forth upon its signboard. + +If it had articled Mr. Perkins, it must be confessed that it had done +its job unevenly, not to say fantastically. His linen was fresh and +new, quite conspicuously so, and, therefore, in sharp contrast to the +frayed and patched, but scrupulously clean and neatly pressed khaki +suit, which set forth rather bumpily his solid figure. A serviceable +pith helmet barely overhung the protrusive goggles. His hands were +encased in white cotton gloves, a size or two too large. Dismal buff +spots on the palms impaired their otherwise virgin purity. As the +wearer carried his hands stiffly splayed, the blemishes were obtrusive. +Altogether, one might have said that, if he were going in for farce, he +was appropriately made up for it. + +At the corner above the beggar’s niche he was turning toward a +pharmacist’s entrance, when the mirth of the departing crowd that had +been enjoying the free oratory attracted his attention. He glanced +across at the beggar, now rocking rhythmically on his stumps, hesitated +a moment, then ran down the steps. + +At the same moment Carroll’s cab stopped on the other angle of the +curb. The occupant put forth his head, saw the goggled freak descending +to the legless freak, and sat back again. + +“Hola, Pancho! Are you ill?” asked the newcomer. + +The beggar only swung back and forth, muttering with frenzied rapidity. +With one hand the Unspeakable Perk stopped him, as one might intercept +the runaway pendulum of a clock, setting the other on his forehead. +Then he bent and brought his goblin eyes to bear on the dark face. The +features were distorted, the eyelids tremulous over suffused eyes, and +the teeth set. Opening the man’s loose shirt, Perkins thrust his hand +within. It might have been supposed that he was feeling for the heart +action, were it not that his hand slid past the breast and around under +the arm. When he drew it out, he stood for a moment with chin dropped, +in consideration. + +Midday heat had all but cleared the plaza. As he looked about, the +helper saw no aid, until his eye fell upon the waiting cab. He fairly +bounded up the stairs, calling something to the coachman. + +“No,” grunted that toiler, with the characteristic discourtesy of the +Caracuñan lower class, and jerked his head backward toward his fare. + +“I beg your pardon,” said the Unspeakable Perk eagerly, in Spanish, +turning to the dim recess of the victoria. “Might I—Oh, it’s you!” He +seized Carroll by the arm. “I want your cab.” + +“Indeed!” said Carroll. “Well, you’re cool enough about it.” + +“And your help,” added the other. + +“What for?” + +“Do you have to ask questions? The man may be dying—is dying, I think.” + +“All right,” said Carroll promptly. “What’s to be done?” + +“Get him home. Help me carry him to the cab.” + +Between them, the two men lifted the heavy, mumbling cripple, carried +him up the steps with a rush, and deposited him in the cab, while the +driver was still angrily expostulating. The beggar was shivering now, +and the cold sweat rolled down his face. His bearers placed themselves +on each side of him. Perkins gave an order to the driver, who seemed to +object, and a rapid-fire argument ensued. + +“What’s wrong?” asked Carroll. + +“Says he won’t go there. Says he was hired by you for shopping.” + +Carroll took one look at the agony-wrung face of the beggar, who was +being held on the seat by his companion. + +“Won’t he?” said he grimly. “We’ll see.” + +Rising, he threw a pair of long arms around those of the driver, +pinning him, caught the reins, and turned the horses. + +“Now ask him if he’ll drive,” he directed Perkins. + +“Si, señor!” gasped the coachman, whose breath had been squeezed almost +through his crackling ribs. + +“See that you do,” the Southerner bade him, in accents that needed no +interpretation. + +Presently Perkins looked up from his charge. + +“Got a cigar?” he asked abruptly. + +“No,” replied the other, a little disgusted by this levity in the +presence of imminent death. + +Perkins bade the driver stop at the corner. + +“Don’t let him fall off the seat,” he admonished Carroll, and jumped +out. + +In the course of a minute he reappeared, smoking a cheroot that +appeared to be writhing and twisting in the effort to escape from its +own noxious fumes. + +“Have one,” he said, extending a handful to his companion. + +“I don’t care for it,” returned the other superciliously. While willing +to aid in a good work, he did not in the least approve either of the +Unspeakable Perk or of his offhand manners. + +Before they had gone much farther, his resentment was heated to the +point of offense. + +“Is it necessary for you to puff every puff of that infernal smoke in +my face?” he demanded ominously. + +“Well, you wouldn’t smoke, yourself.” + +“If it weren’t for this poor devil of a sick man—” began Carroll, when +a second thought about the smoke diverted his line of thought. “Is it +contagious?” he asked. + +“It’s so regarded,” observed the other dryly. + +“I’ll take one of those, thank you.” + +Perkins handed him one of the rejected spirals. In silence, except for +the outrageous rattling of the wheels on the cobbles, they drove +through mean streets that grew ever meaner, until they drew up at the +blind front of a building abutting on an arroyo of the foothills. Here +they stopped, and Carroll threw his jehu a five-bolivar piece, which +the driver caught, driving away at once, without the demand for more +which usually follows overpayment in Caracuña. Convenient to hand lay a +small rock. Perkins used it for a knocker, hammering on the guarded +wooden door with such vehemence as to still the clamor that arose from +within. + +Through the opening, as the barrier was removed by a leather-skinned +old crone, Carroll gazed into a passageway, beyond which stretched a +foul mule yard, bordered by what the visitor at first supposed to be +stalls, until he saw bedding and utensils in them. The two men lifted +the cripple in, amid the outcries and lamentations of the aged woman, +who had looked at his face and then covered her own. At once they were +surrounded by a swarm of women and children, who pressed upon them, +hampering their movements, until a shrill voice cried:— + +“_La muerte negra!_” + +The swarm fell into silence, scattered, vanished, leaving only the +moaning woman to help. At her direction they settled the patient on a +straw pallet in a side room. + +“That’s all you can do,” said the Unspeakable Perk to his companion. +“And thank you.” + +“I’ll stay.” + +The goggles gloomed upon him in the dim room. + +“I thought probably you would,” commented Perkins, and busied himself +over the cripple with a knife and some cloths. He had stuffed his +ludicrous white gloves into his pocket, and was tearing strips from his +handkerchief with skillful fingers. + +“Oughtn’t he to have a doctor?” asked Carroll. “Shall I go for one?” + +“His mother has sent. No use, though.” + +“He can’t be saved?” + +“Not a chance on earth. I should say he was in the last stages.” + +“What is it?” said Carroll hesitantly. + +“_La muerte negra_. The black death.” + +“Plague?” + +“Yes.” + +“Are you sure? Are you an expert?” + +“One doesn’t have to be to recognize a case like that. The lump in the +armpit is as big as a pigeon’s egg.” + +“Why have you interested yourself in the man to such an extent?” asked +Carroll curiously. + +“He’s a friend of mine. Why did you?” + +“Oh, that’s quite different. One can’t disregard a call for help such +as yours.” + +“A certain kind of ‘one’ can’t,” returned the Unspeakable Perk, with +his half-smile. “You don’t mind my saying, Mr. Carroll, you’re a brave +man.” + +“And I’d have said that you weren’t,” replied the other bluntly. “I +give it up. But I know this: I’m going to be pretty wretchedly +frightened until I know that I haven’t got it. I’m frightened now.” + +“Then you’re a braver man than I thought. But the danger may be less +than you think. Stick to that cigar—here are two more—and wait for me +outside. Here’s the doctor.” + +Profound and solemn under a silk hat, the local physician entered, +bowing to Carroll as they passed in the hallway. Almost immediately +Perkins emerged. On his face was a sardonic grin. + +“Malaria,” he observed. “The learned professor assures me that it’s a +typical malaria.” + +“Then it isn’t the plague,” said Carroll, relieved. + +His relief was of brief duration. + +“Of course it’s plague. But if Professor Silk Hat, in there, officially +declared it such, he’d have bracelets on his arms in twelve hours. The +present Government of Caracuia doesn’t believe in bubonic plague. I +fancy our unfortunate friend in there will presently disappear, either +just before or just after death. It doesn’t greatly matter.” + +“What is to be done now?” asked Carroll. + +“See that brush fire up there?” The hermit pointed to the hillside. “If +we steep ourselves in that smoke until we choke, I think it will +discourage any fleas that may have harbored on us. The flea is the only +agent of communication.” + +Soot-begrimed, strangling, and with streaming eyes, they emerged, five +minutes later, from the cloud of smoke. From his pocket the Unspeakable +Perk dragged forth his white gloves. The action attracted his +companion’s attention. + +“Good Lord!” he cried. “What has happened to your hands?” + +“They’re blistered.” + +“Stripped, rather. They look as if you’d fallen into a fire, or rowed a +fifty-mile race. That message of Mr. Brewster’s—See here, Perkins, you +didn’t row that over to the mainland? No, you couldn’t. That’s absurd. +It’s too far.” + +“No; I didn’t row it to the mainland.” + +“But you’ve been rowing. I’d swear to those hands. Where? The +blockading Dutch warship?” + +The other nodded. + +“Last night. Yah-h-h!” he yawned. “It makes me sleepy to think of it.” + +“Why didn’t they blow you out of the water?” + +“Oh, I was semiofficially expected. Message from our consul. They +transferred the message by wireless. I’m telling you all this, Mr. +Carroll, because I think you’ll get your release within forty-eight +hours, and I want you to see that some of your party keeps constantly +in touch with Mr. Sherwen. It’s mighty important that your party should +get out before plague is officially declared.” + +“Are you going to report this case?” + +“All that I know about it.” + +“But, of course, you can’t report officially, not being a physician,” +mused the other. “Still, when Dr. Pruyn comes, it will be evidence for +him, won’t it?” + +“Undoubtedly. I should consider any delay after twenty-four hours risky +for your party.” + +“What shall you do? Stay?” + +“Oh, I’ve my place in the mountains. That’s remote enough to be safe. +Thank Heaven, there’s a cloud over the sun! Let’s sit down by this tree +for a minute.” + +Unthinkingly, as he stretched himself out, the Unspeakable Perk pushed +his goggles back and presently slipped them off. Thus, when Carroll, +who had been gazing at the mist-capped peak of the mountain in front, +turned and met his companion’s eyes, he underwent something of the same +shock that Polly Brewster had experienced, though the nature of his +sensation was profoundly different. But his impression of the suddenly +revealed face was the same. Ribbed-in though his mind was with +tradition, and distorted with falsely focused ideals and prejudices, +Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll possessed a sound underlying judgment +of his fellow man, and was at bottom a frank and honorable gentleman. +In his belief, the suddenly revealed face of the man beside him came +near to being its own guaranty of honor and good faith. + +“By Heavens, I don’t believe it!” he blurted out, his gaze direct upon +the Unspeakable Perk. + +“What don’t you believe?” + +“That rotten club gossip.” + +“About me?” + +“Yes,” said Carroll, reddening. + +The hermit pushed his glasses down, settled into place the white +gloves, with their soothing contents of emollient greases, and got to +his feet. + +“We’d best be moving. I’ve got much to do,” he said. + +“Not yet,” retorted Carroll. “Perkins, is there a woman up there on the +mountains with you?” + +“That is purely my own business.” + +“You told Miss Brewster there wasn’t. If you tell me—” + +“I never told her any such thing. She misunderstood.” + +“Who is the woman?” + +“If you want it even more frankly, that is none of your concern.” + +“You have been letting Miss Brewster—” + +“Are you engaged to marry Miss Brewster?” + +“No.” + +“Then you have no authority to question me. But,” he added wearily, “if +it will ease your mind, and because of what you’ve done to-day, I’ll +tell you this—that I do not expect ever to see Miss Brewster again.” + +“That isn’t enough,” insisted Carroll, his face darkening. “Her name +has already been connected with yours, and I intend to follow this +through. I am going to find out who the woman is at your place.” + +“How do you propose to do it?” + +“By coming to see.” + +“You’ll be welcome,” said the other grimly. “By the way, here’s a map.” +He made a quick sketch on the back of an envelope. “I’ll be there at +work most of to-morrow. Au revoir.” He rose and started down the hill. +“Better keep to yourself this evening,” he warned. “Take a dilute +carbolic bath. You’ll be all right, I think.” + +Slowly and thoughtfully the Southerner made his way back to the hotel. +After dining in his own room, he found time heavy on his hands; so, +dispatching a note of excuse to Miss Brewster on the plea of personal +business, he slipped out into the city. Wandering idly toward the +hills, he presently found himself in a familiar street, and, impelled +by human curiosity, proceeded to turn up the hill and stop opposite the +blank door. + +Here he was puzzled. To go in and inquire, even if he cared to and +could make himself understood, would perhaps involve further risk of +infection. While he was considering, the door slowly opened, and the +leather-skinned crone appeared. Her eyes were swollen. In her hand she +carried a travesty of a wreath, done in whitish metal, which she had +interwoven with her own black mantilla, the best substitute for crape +at hand. This she undertook to hang on the door. As Carroll crossed to +address her, a powerful, sullen-faced man, with a scarred forehead and +the insignia of some official status, apparently civic, on his coat, +emerged from a doorway and addressed her harshly. She raised her +reddened eyes to him and seemed to be pleading for permission to set up +the little tribute to her dead. There was the exchange of a few more +words. Then, with an angry exclamation, the official snatched the +wreath from her. Carroll’s hand fell on his shoulder. The man swung and +saw a stranger of barely half his bulk, who addressed him in what +seemed to be politely remonstrant tones. He shook himself loose and +threw the wreath in the crone’s face. Then he went down like a log +under the impact of a swinging blow behind the ear. With a roar he +leaped up and rushed. The foreigner met him with right and left, and +this time he lay still. + +Hanging the tragically unsightly wreath on the door, through which the +terrified mourner had vanished, Carroll returned to the Gran Hotel +Kast, his perturbed and confused thoughts and emotions notably relieved +by that one comforting moment of action. + + + + +X. +THE FOLLY OF PERK + + +Of the comprehensive superiority of the American Legation over the Gran +Hotel Kast there could be no shadow of a doubt. From the moment of +their arrival at noon of the day after the British Minister’s warning, +the refugees found themselves comfortable and content, Miss Brewster +having quietly and tactfully taken over the management of internal +affairs and reigning, at Sherwen’s request, as generalissima. No +disturbance had marked the transfer to their new abode. In fact, so +wholly lacking was any evidence of hostility to the foreigners on the +part of the crowds on the streets that the Brewsters rather felt +themselves to be extorting hospitality on false pretenses. Sherwen, +however, exhibited signal relief upon seeing them safely housed. + +“Please stay that way, too,” he requested. + +“But it seems so unnecessary, and I want to market,” protested Miss +Polly. + +“By no means! The market is the last place where any of us should be +seen. It is in that section that Urgante has been doing his work.” + +“Who is he?” + +“A wandering demagogue and cheap politician. Abuse of the ‘Yankis’ is +his stock in trade. Somebody has been furnishing him money lately. +That’s the sole fuel to his fires of oratory.” + +“Bet the bills smelled of sauerkraut when they reached him,” grunted +Cluff, striding over to the window of the drawing-room, where the +informal conference was being held. + +“They may have had a Hochwaldian origin,” admitted Sherwen. “But it +would be difficult to prove.” + +“At least the Hochwald Legation wouldn’t shed any tears over a +demonstration against us,” said Carroll. + +“Well within the limits of diplomatic truth,” smiled the American +official. + +“Pooh!” Mr. Brewster puffed the whole matter out of consideration. “I +don’t believe a word of it. Some of my acquaintances at the club, men +in high governmental positions, assure me that there is no +anti-American feeling here.” + +“Very likely they do. Frankness and plain-speaking being, as you +doubtless know, the distinguishing mark of the Caracuñan statesman.” + +The sarcasm was not lost upon Mr. Brewster, but it failed to shake his +skepticism. + +“There are some business matters that require that I should go to the +office of the Ferro carril del Norte this afternoon,” he said. + +“I beg that you do nothing of the sort,” cried Sherwen sharply. + +The magnate hesitated. He glanced out of the window and along the +street, close bounded by blank-walled houses, each with its eyes closed +against the sun. A solitary figure strode rapidly across it. + +“There’s that bug-hunting fellow again,” said Mr. Brewster. “He’s an +American, I guess,—God save the mark! Nobody seems to be interfering +with _him_, and he’s freaky enough looking to start a riot on +Broadway.” + +Further comment was checked by the voice of the scientist at the door, +asking to see Mr. Sherwen at once. Miss Polly immediately slipped out +of the room to the _patio_, followed by Carroll and Cluff. + +“My business, probably,” remarked Mr. Brewster. “I’ll just stay and +see.” And he stayed. + +So far as the newcomer was concerned, however, he might as well not +have been there; so he felt, with unwonted injury. The scientist, +disregarding him wholly, shook hands with Sherwen. + +“Have you heard from Wisner yet?” + +“Yes. An hour ago.” + +“What was his message?” + +“All right, any time to-day.” + +“Good! Better get them down to-night, then, so they can start to-morrow +morning.” + +“Will Stark pass them?” + +“Under restrictions. That’s all been seen to.” + +At this point it appeared to Mr. Brewster that he had figured as a +cipher quite long enough. + +“Am I right in assuming that you are talking of my party’s departure?” +he inquired. + +“Yes,” said Sherwen. “The Dutch will let you through the blockade.” + +“Then my cablegram reached the proper parties at Washington,” said the +magnate, with an I-knew-it-would-be-that-way air. + +“Thanks to Mr. Perkins.” + +“Of course, of course. That will be—er—suitably attended to later.” + +The Unspeakable Perk turned and regarded him fixedly; but, owing to the +goggles, the expression was indeterminable. + +“The fact is it would be more convenient for me to go day after +to-morrow than to-morrow.” + +“Then you’d better rent a house,” was the begoggled one’s sharp and +brief advice. + +“Why so?” queried the great man, startled. + +“Because if you don’t get out to-morrow, you may not get out for +months.” + +“As I understand the Dutch permit, it specifies _after_ to-day.” + +“It isn’t a question of the Dutch. Caracuña City goes under quarantine +to-night, and Puerto del Norte to-morrow, as soon as proper official +notification can be given.” + +“Then plague has actually been found?” + +“Determined by bacteriological test this morning.” + +“How do you know?” + +“I was present at the finding.” + +“Who did it? Dr. Pruyn?” + +The other nodded. + +Sherwen whistled. + +“Better make ready to move, Mr. Brewster,” he advised. “You can’t get +out of port after quarantine is on. At least, you couldn’t get into any +other port, even if you sailed, because your sailing-master wouldn’t +have clearance papers.” + +The magnate smiled. + +“I hardly think that any United States Consul, with a due regard for +his future, would refuse papers to the yacht Polly,” he observed. + +“Don’t be a fool!” + +Thatcher Brewster all but jumped from his chair. That this adjuration +should have come from the freakish spectacle-wearer seemed impossible. +Yet Sherwen, the only other person in the room, was certainly not +guilty. + +“Did you address me, young man?” + +“I did.” + +“Do you know, sir, that since boyhood no person has dared or would dare +to call me a fool?” + +“Well, I don’t want to set a fashion,” said the other equably. “I’m +only advising you not to be.” + +“Keep your advice until it’s wanted.” + +“If it were a question of you alone, I would. But there are others to +be considered. Now, listen, Mr. Brewster: Wisner and Stark wouldn’t let +you through that quarantine, after it’s declared, if you were the +Secretary himself. A point is being stretched in giving you this +chance. If you’ll agree to ship a doctor,—Stark will find you one,—stay +out for six full days before touching anywhere, and, if plague +develops, make at once for any detention station specified by the +doctor, you can go. Those are Stark’s conditions.” + +“Damnable nonsense!” declared Mr. Brewster, jumping to his feet, quite +red in the face. + +“Let me warn you, Mr. Brewster,” put in Sherwen, with quiet force, +“that you are taking a most unwise course. I am advised that Mr. +Perkins is acting under instructions from our consulate.” + +“You say that Dr. Pruyn is here. I want to see him before—” + +“How can you see him? Nobody knows where he is keeping himself. I +haven’t seen him yet myself. Now, Mr. Brewster, just sit down and talk +this over reasonably with Mr. Perkins.” + +“Oh, no,” said the third conferee positively; “I’ve no time for +argument. At six o’clock I’ll be back here. Unless you decide by then, +I’ll telephone the consulate that the whole thing is off.” + +“Of all the impudent, conceited, self-important young whippersnappers!” +fumed Mr. Brewster. But he found that he had no audience, as Sherwen +had followed the scientist out of the room. + +Before the afternoon was over, the American concessionnaire had come to +realize that the situation was less assured than he had thought. Twice +the British Minister had come, and there had been calls from the +representatives of several other nationalities. Von Plaanden, in full +uniform and girt with the short saber that is the special and +privileged arm of the crack cavalry regiment to which he belonged at +home, had dismounted to deliver personally a huge bouquet for Miss +Brewster, from the garden of the Hochwald Legation, not even asking to +see the girl, but merely leaving the flowers as a further expression of +his almost daily apology, and riding on to an official review at the +military park. + +He had spoken vaguely to Sherwen of a restless condition of the local +mind. Reports, it appeared, had been set afloat among the populace to +the effect that an American sanitary officer had been bribed by the +enemies of Caracuña to declare plague prevalent, in order to close the +ports and strangle commerce. Urgante was going about the lower part of +the city haranguing on street corners without interference from the +police. In the arroyo of the slaughter-house, two American employees of +the street-car company had been stoned and beaten. Much _aguardiente_ +was in process of consumption, it being a half-holiday in honor of some +saint, and nobody knew what trouble might break out. + +“_Bolas_ are rolling around like balls on a billiard table,” said young +Raimonda, who had come after luncheon to call on Miss Brewster. “In +this part of the city there will be nothing. You needn’t be alarmed.” + +“I’m not afraid,” said Miss Polly. + +“I’m sure of it,” declared the Caracuñan, with admiration. “You are +very wonderful, you American women.” + +“Oh, no. It’s only that we love excitement,” she laughed. + +“Ah, that is all very well, for a bull-fight or ‘_la boxe_.’ But for +one of our street _émeutes_—no; too much!” + +They were seated on the roof of the half-story of the house, which had +been made into a trellised porch overlooking the _patio_ in the rear +and the street in front, an architectural wonder in that city of dead +walls flush with the sidewalk line all the way up. Leaning over the +rail, the visitor pointed through the leaves of a small _gallito_ tree +to a broad-fronted building almost opposite. + +“That is my club. You have other friends there who would do anything +for you, as I would, so gladly,” he added wistfully. “Will you honor me +by accepting this little whistle? It is my hunting-whistle. And if +there should be anything—but I think there will not—you will blow it, +and there will be plenty to answer. If not, you will keep it, please, +to remember one who will not forget you.” + +Handsome and elegant and courtly he was, a true chevalier of +adventurous pioneering stock, sprung from the old proud Spanish blood, +but there stole behind the girl’s vision, as she bade him farewell, the +undesired phantasm of a very different face, weary and lined and +lighted by steadfast gray eyes—eyes that looked truthful and belonged +to a liar! Miss Polly Brewster resumed her final packing in a fume of +rage at herself. + +All hands among the visitors passed the afternoon dully. Mr. Brewster, +who had finally yielded to persuasion and decided not to venture out, +though still deriding the restriction as the merest nonsense, was in a +mood of restless silence, which his irrepressible daughter described to +Fitzhugh Carroll as “the superior sulks.” + +Carroll himself kept pretty much aloof. He had the air of a man who +wrestles with a problem. Cluff fussed and fretted and privately cursed +the country and all its concessions. Between calls and the telephone, +Sherwen was kept constantly busy. But a few minutes before six, +central, in the blandest Spanish, regretted to inform him that Puerto +del Norte was cut off. When would service be resumed? _Quién sabe?_ It +was an order. _Hasta mañana_. To-morrow, perhaps. Smoothing a furrow +from his brow, the sight of which would have done nobody any good, he +suggested that they all gather on the roof porch for a swizzle. The +suggestion was hailed with enthusiasm. + +Thus, when the Unspeakable Perk came hustling down the street some +minutes earlier than the appointed time, he was hailed in Sherwen’s +voice, and bidden to come directly up. No time, on this occasion, for +Miss Polly to escape. She decided in one breath to ignore the man +entirely; in the next to bow coldly and walk out; in the next to—He was +there before the latest wavering decision could be formulated. + +“Better all get inside,” he said a little breathlessly. “There may be +trouble.” + +Cluff brightened perceptibly. + +“What kind of trouble?” + +“Urgante is leading a mob up this way. They’re turning the corner now.” + +“I’m going to wait and see them,” cried Miss Polly, with decision. + +“Bend over, then, all of you,” ordered Sherwen. “The vines will cover +you if you keep down.” + +Around the corner, up the hill from where they were, streamed a rabble +of boys, leaping and whooping, and after them a more compact crowd of +men, shoeless, centering on a tall, broad, heavy-mustached fellow who +bore on a short staff the Stars and Stripes. + +“Where on earth did he get that?” cried Sherwen. + +“Looted the Bazaar Americana,” replied Perkins. + +“That’s Urgante,” growled Cluff; “that devil with the flag.” + +“But he seems to be eulogizing it,” cried the girl. + +The orator had set down his bright burden, wedging it in the iron guard +railing of a tree, and was now apostrophizing it with extravagant bows +and honeyed accents in which there was an undertone of hiss. For +confirmation, Miss Polly turned to the others. The first face her eyes +fell on was that of the ball-player. Every muscle in it was drawn, and +from the tightened lips streamed such whispered curses as the girl +never before had heard. Next him stood the hermit, solid and still, but +with a queer spreading pallor under his tan. In front of them Sherwen +was crouched, scowlingly alert. The expression of Mr. Brewster and +Carroll, neither of whom understood Spanish, betokened watchful +puzzlement. + +Enlightenment burst upon them the next minute. From the motley crowd +below rose a snarl of laughter and savage jeering, the object of which +was unmistakable. + +“By G—d!” cried Mr. Brewster, straightening up and grasping the +railing. “They’re insulting the flag!” + +“I’ve left my pistol!” muttered Carroll, white-lipped. “I’ve left my +pistol!” + +Polly Brewster’s hand flew to her belt. + +She drew out the automatic and held it toward the Southerner. But it +was not Carroll’s hand that met hers; it was the Unspeakable Perk’s. + +“No,” said he, and he flung the weapon back of him into the _patio_. + +“Oh! Oh!” cried the girl. “You unspeakable coward!” + +Carroll jumped forward, but Sherwen was equally quick. He interposed +his slight frame. + +“Perkins is right,” he said decisively. “No shooting. It would be worth +the life of every one here. We’ve got to stand it. But somebody is +going to sweat blood for this day’s work!” + +The instinct of discipline, characteristic of the professional athlete, +brought Cluff to his support. + +“What Mr. Sherwen says, goes,” he said, almost choking on the words. +“We’ve got to stand it.” + +In the breast of Miss Polly Brewster was no response to this spirit. +She was lawless with the lawlessness of unconquered youth and beauty. + +“Oh!” she breathed “If I had my pistol back, I’d shoot that _beast_ +myself!” + +The scientist turned his goggles hesitantly upon her. + +“Miss Brewster,” he began, “please don’t think—” + +“Don’t speak to me!” she cried. + +Another clamor of derision sounded from the street as Urgante resumed +the standard of his mockery and led his rabble forward. Behind the +dull-colored mass appeared a spot of splendor. It was Von Plaanden, +gorgeous in his full regalia, who had turned the corner, returning from +the public reception. Well back of the mob, he pulled his horse up, and +sat watching. The coincidence was unfortunate. It seemed to justify +Sherwen’s bitter words:— + +“Come to _visa_ his work. There’s the Hochwaldian for you!” + +Forward danced and reeled the “Yanki” baiters below, until they were +under the balcony where the little group of Americans sheltered and +raged silently. There the orator again spewed forth his contempt upon +the alien banner, and again the ranks behind him shrieked their +approval of the affront. Miss Polly Brewster, American of Americans, +whose great-grandfathers had fought with Herkimer and +Steuben,—themselves the sons of women who had stood by the loopholes of +log houses and caught up the rifles of their fallen pioneer husbands, +wherewith to return the fire of the besieging Mohawks,—ran forward to +the railing, snatching her skirt from the detaining grasp of her +father. In the corner stood a huge bowl of roses. Gathering both hands +full, she leaned forward and flung them, so that they fell in a shower +of loveliness upon the insulted flag of her nation. + +For an instant silence fell upon the “great unwashed” below. Out of it +swelled a muttering as the leader made a low, mocking obeisance to the +girl, following it with a word that brought a jubilant yelp from his +adherents. Stooping, he ladled up in his cupped hand a quantity of +gutter filth. Where the flowers had but a moment before fluttered in +the folds, he splotched it, smearing star, bar, and blue with its +blackness. At the sight, the girl burst into helpless tears, and so +stood weeping, openly, bitterly, and unashamed. + +No brain is so well ordered, no emotion so thoroughly controlled, but +that under sudden pressure—click!—the mechanism slips a cog and runs +amuck. Just that thing happened inside the Unspeakable Perk’s +smooth-running, scientific brain upon incitement of his flag’s +desecration and his lady’s grief. To her it seemed that he shot past +her horizontally like a human dart. The next second he was over the +railing, had swung from a branch of the neighboring tree to the trunk, +and leaped to the ground, all in one movement of superhuman agility. To +the mob his exploit was apparently without immediate significance. +Perhaps they didn’t notice the descent; or perhaps those few who saw +were so astonished at the apparition of a chunky tree-man with +protuberant eyes scrambling down upon them in the manner of an ape, +that they failed to appreciate what it might portend of trouble. + +The hermit landed solidly on his feet a few yards from Urgante, the +flag bearer. With a berserker yell, he rushed. Taken by surprise, the +assailed one still had time to lift the heavy staff. As quickly, the +American lowered his head and dove. It may not have been magnificent; +it certainly was not war by the rules; but it was eminently effective. +To say that the leader went down would be absurdly inadequate. He +simply crumpled. Over and over he rolled on the cobbles, while the +smirched flag flew clear of his grasp, and fell on the farther +sidewalk. + +“Wow!” yelled Cluff, leaping into the air. “Football! That cost him a +couple of ribs. Hey, Rube!” + +And he rushed for the stairs, followed by Carroll, Sherwen, and, only +one jump behind, Mr. Thatcher Brewster, cursing in a manner that did +credit to his patriotism, but would have added no luster to his record +as an elder of the Pioneer Presbyterian Church, of Utica, New York. + +Meantime, the Unspeakable Perk, having rolled free of the fallen enemy, +staggered to his feet and caught up the flag. Stunned surprise on the +part of the crowd gave him an instant’s time. He edged along the curb, +hoping to gain the legation door by a rush. But the foe threw out a +wing, cutting him off. Several eager followers had lifted Urgante, +whose groans and curses suggested a sound basis for Cluff’s diagnosis. +Himself quite _hors de combat_, he spat at the Unspeakable Perk, and +cried upon his henchmen to kill the “Yanki.” It seemed not improbable +to the latter that they would do it. Perkins set his back to the wall, +twirled the flag folds tight around the pole, reversed and clubbed the +staff, and prepared to make any attempt at killing as uncomfortable and +unprofitable as possible. The rabble, by no means favorably impressed +by these businesslike proceedings, stood back, growling. + +A hand flew up above the crowd. The Unspeakable Perk ducked sharply and +just in time, as a knife struck the wall above him and clattered to the +pavement. Instantly he caught it up, but the blade had snapped off +short. As he stooped, one bold spirit rushed in. Perkins met him with a +straight lance-thrust of the staff, which sent him reeling and +shrieking with pain back to his fellows. But now another knife, and +another, struck and fell from the wall at his back; badly aimed both, +but presumably the forerunners of missiles, some of which would show +better marksmanship. The assailed man cast a swift, desperate look +about him; the crowd closed in a little. Obviously he must keep “eyes +front.” + +“To your left! To your left!” The voice came to him clear and sweet +above the swelling growl of the rabble. “The doorway! Get into the +doorway, Mr. Beetle Man.” + +A few paces away, how far Perkins could only guess, was the entrance to +the house. He surmised that, like many of the better-class houses, it +had a small set-in door, at right angles to the main entrance, that +would serve as a shallow shelter. Without raising his eyes, he nodded +comprehension, and began to edge along the wall, swinging his stout +weapon. As he went, he wondered what was keeping the others. At that +moment the others were frantically wrestling with the all-too-adequate +bars with which Sherwen had reinforced the wide door. + +Perkins, feeling with a cautious heel, found himself opposite the entry +indicated by the voice. Turning, he darted into the narrow embrasure. +Here he was comparatively safe from the missiles that were now coming +from all directions. On the other hand, he now lacked room to swing his +formidable club. The peons, with a shout, closed in to arm’s length. +Alone on her balcony, the girl turned her head away and cried aloud, +hopelessly, for help. She wanted to close her ears against the bestial +shouts of a mob trampling to death a defenseless man, but her arms were +of lead. She listened and shivered. + +Instead of the sound that she dreaded there came the ringing of hoofs +on stones, followed by yells of alarm. She opened her eyes to see Von +Plaanden, bent forward in his saddle at the exact angle proper to the +charge, urging his great horse down upon the mass of people as +ruthlessly as if they had been so many insects. Through the circle he +broke, swinging his mount around beside the shallow doorway before +which three Caracuñans already lay sprawled, attesting the vigor of the +defender’s final resistance. Back of the horseman lay half a dozen +other figures. The Hochwaldian jerked out his sword and stood, a +splendid spectacle. Very possibly he was not wholly unmindful of his +own pictorial quality or of the lovely American witness thereto. + +His intervention gave a few seconds’ respite, one of those checks that +save battles and make history. Now, in the further making of this +particular history, sounded a lusty whoop from the opposite direction; +such a battle slogan as only the Anglo-Saxon gives. It emanated from +Galpy the bounder, bounding now, indeed, at full speed up the slope, +followed by two of his fellow railroad men, flannel-clad and still +perspiring from their afternoon’s cricket. Against bare legs a cricket +bat is a highly dissuasive argument. The Britons swung low and hard for +the ancient right of the breed to break into a row wherever white men +are in the minority against other races. The downhill wing of the mob +being much the weakest, opened up for them with little resistance, +leaving them a free path to the cavalryman, to whose side Perkins, with +staff ready brandished, had advanced from his shelter. + +“Wot’s the merry game?” inquired the cockney cheerfully. + +Before them the crowd swayed and parted, and there appeared, lifted by +many arms, a figure with a dead-white face streaked with blood, running +from a great gash in the scalp. + +“He went down in front of my horse,” explained the Hochwald secretary +coolly. + +At the sight, there rose from the crowd a wailing cry, quite different +from its former voice. Galpy’s teeth set and his cricket bat went up in +the air. + +“There’ll be killing for this,” he said. “I know these blightehs. That +yell means blood. We must make a bolt for it. Is this all there is of +us?” + +At the moment of his asking, it was. One half a second later, it +wasn’t, as the last of the legation’s stubborn bars yielded, the door +burst open, and the four Americans tumbled out at the charge, Cluff +yelling insanely, Carroll in deadly quiet, Sherwen alertly scanning the +adversaries for identifiable faces, and Elder Brewster still imperiling +his soul by the fervor of his language. Each was armed with such casual +weapons as he had been able to catch up. Carroll, a leap in advance of +the rest, encountered an Indian drover, half-dodged a swinging blow +from his whip, and sent him down with a broken shoulder from a chop +with a baseball club that he had found in the hallway. A bull-like +charge had carried Cluff deep among the Caracuñans, where he +encountered a huge peon, whom he seized and flung bodily over the iron +guard of a _samon_ tree, where the man hung, yelling dismally. Two +other peons, who had seized the athlete around the knees, were all but +brained by a stoneware gin bottle in the hands of Sherwen. Meanwhile, +Mr. Brewster was performing prodigies with a niblick which he had +extracted, at full run, from a bag opportunely resting against the +hat-rack. Almost before they knew it, the rescue party had broken the +intercepting wing of the mob, and had joined the others. + +Cluff threw a gorilla-like arm across the Unspeakable Perk’s shoulder, + +“Hurt, boy?” he cried anxiously. + +“No, I’m all right. Who’s left with Miss Brewster?” + +“Nobody. We must get back.” + +Sherwen’s cool voice cut in:— + +“Close together, now. Keep well up. Herr von Plaanden, will you cover +us at the end?” + +“It is the post of honor,” said the Hochwaldian. + +“You’ve earned it. But for you, they’d have got our colors.” + +The foreigner bowed, and swung his horse toward a Caracuñan who had +pressed forward a little too near. But, for the moment the fight had +oozed out of the mob. + +Without mishap the group got across the street, Perkins still clinging +to the flag. + +Suddenly, from the rear rank, came a shower of stones, followed by the +final rush. Galpy and Perkins went down. Von Plaanden tottered in his +saddle, but quickly recovered. Instantly Perkins was up again, the +blood streaming from the side of his head. He was conscious of brown +hands clutching at the cricketer, to drag him away. He himself seized +the cockney’s legs and braced for that absurd and deadly tug of war. +Then Von Plaanden’s saber descended, and he was able to haul Galpy back +into safety. + +The situation was desperate now. Mr. Brewster was pinned against the +wall and disarmed, but still fighting with fist and foot. Half a dozen +peons were struggling with Cluff across the bodies of as many more whom +he had knocked down. Sherwen, almost under the cavalryman’s mount, was +protecting his rear with the fallen Galpy’s cricket bat, and the two +other cricketers were fighting back to back on the other side. Carroll +was clubbing his way toward Mr. Brewster, but his weapon was now in his +left hand. Matters looked dark indeed, when there shrilled fiercely +from above them the whirring peal of a silver whistle. + +Polly Brewster had remembered Raimonda. It seemed a futile signal, for +as she ran to the railing and gazed across at the Club Amicitia, she +saw all its windows and doors tight closed, as befits an aristocratic +club that has no concern with the affairs of the rabble. But there is +no way of closing a _patio_ from the top, and sounds can enter readily +that way, when all other apertures are shut. Long and loud Miss Polly +blew the signal on the silver hunting-whistle. + +In the club _patio_, Raimonda was chafing and wondering, and a score of +his friends were drinking and waiting. That signal released their +activities and terminated the battle of the American Legation most +ingloriously for the forces of Urgante. For the gilded youth of +Caracuña bears a heavy cane of fashion, and carries a ready revolver, +also, although not so admittedly as a matter of fashion. Furthermore, +he has a profound contempt for the peon class; a contempt extending to +life and limb. Therefore, when some two dozen young patricians sallied +abruptly forth with their canes, and the mob caught sight, here and +there, of a glint of nickel against the black, it gave back promptly. +Some desultory stones rattled against the walls. There were answering +reports a few, and sundry yells of pain. The army of Urgante broke and +fled down the side streets, leaving behind its broken and its wounded. +Most of the bullet casualties were below the knee. The Caracuñan +aristocrat always fires low—the first time. + +Shortly thereafter, Miss Polly Brewster appeared upon the balcony of +the American Legation, and performed an illegal act. Upon a day not +designated as a Caracuñan national holiday, she raised the flag of an +alien nation and fixed it, and the gilded youth of Caracuña in the +street below cheered, not the flag, which would have been unpatriotic, +but the flag-raiser, which was but gallant, until they were hoarse and +parched of throat. + + + + +XI. +PRESTO CHANGE + + +After the battle, Miss Brewster reviewed her troops, and took stock of +casualties, in the _patio_. None of the allied forces had come off +scatheless. Galpy, whose injuries had at first seemed the most severe, +responded to a stiff dose of brandy. A cut across the scientist’s head +had been hastily bandaged in a towel, giving him, as he observed, the +appearance of a dissipated Hindu. To Von Plaanden’s indignant disgust, +his military splendor was seriously impaired by a huge “hickey” over +his left eye, the memento of a well-aimed rock. Cluff had broken a +finger and sprained his wrist. Mr. Brewster was anxious to know if any +one had seen two teeth of his on the pavement or whether he was to look +for later digestive indications of their whereabouts. Both of the young +cricketers had been battered and bruised, though it was nothing, they +gleefully averred, to what they had meted out. And Carroll had a +nasty-looking knife-thrust in his shoulder. + +All of them were disheveled, dilapidated, and grimy to the last degree, +except the Hochwaldian, who still sat his horse, which he had ridden +into the _patio_. But Miss Polly said to herself, with a thrill of +pride, that no woman need wish a more gallant and devoted band of +defenders. Leaning over them from the inner railing of the balcony, she +surveyed them with sparkling eyes. + +“It was magnificent!” she cried. “Oh, I’m so proud of you all! I could +hug you, every one!” + +“Better come down from there, Polly,” said her father anxiously. “Some +of those ruffians might come back.” + +“Not to-day,” said Sherwen grimly. “They’ve had enough.” + +“That is correct,” confirmed Von Plaanden. “Nevertheless, there may be +disorder later. Would it not be better that you go to the British +Legation, Fräulein?” + +“Not I!” she returned. “I stay by my colors. And now I’m going to +disband my army.” + +Stretching out her hand to a vase near her, she drew out a rose of +deepest red and held it above Von Plaanden. + +“The color of my country,” said Von Plaanden gravely. “May I take it +for a sign that I am forgiven?” + +“Fully, freely, and gladly,” said the girl. “You have put a debt upon +us all that I—that we can never repay.” + +“It is I who pay. You will not think of me too hardly, for my one +breach?” + +“I shall think of you as a hero,” said the girl impetuously. “And I +shall never forget. Catch, O knight.” + +The rose fell, and was caught. Von Plaanden bowed low over it. Then he +straightened to the military salute, and so rode out of the door and +out of the girl’s life. + +“Men are strange creatures,” mused the philosopher of twenty. “You +think they are perfectly horrid, and suddenly they show their other +side to you, and you think they are perfectly splendid. I wish I knew a +little more about real people.” + +She confessed to no more specific thought, but as she descended the +stairs to bid farewell to the blushing and deprecatory Britons, she was +eager to have it over with, and to come to speech with her beetle man, +who had so strangely flamed into action. The Unspeakable Perk! As the +name formed on her lips, she smiled tenderly. With sad lack of logic, +she was ready to discard every suspicion of him that she had harbored, +merely on the strength of his reckless outbreak of patriotism. She +looked about the _patio_, but he was not there. Sherwen came out of a +side door, his face puckered with anxiety. + +“Where is Mr. Perkins?” she asked. + +“In there.” He nodded back over his shoulder. “Your father is with him. +Perhaps you’d better go in.” + +With a chill at her heart, Polly entered the room, where Mr. Brewster +bent a troubled face over a head swathed in reddened bandages. + +Very crumpled and limp looked the Unspeakable Perk, bunched humpily +upon the little sofa. His goggles had fallen off, and lay on the floor +beside him, contriving somehow to look momentously solemn and important +all by themselves. His face was turned half away, and, as Polly’s gaze +fell upon it, she felt again that queer catch at her heart. + +“Wouldn’t know it was the same chap, would you?” whispered Mr. +Brewster. + +The girl picked up the grotesque spectacles, cradling them for an +instant in her hands before she put them aside and leaned over the +quiet form. + +“Came staggering in, and just collapsed down there,” continued her +father huskily. “Lord, I wouldn’t lose that boy after this for a +million dollars!” + +“Why do you talk that way?” she demanded sharply. “What has happened? +Did he faint?” + +“Just collapsed. When I tried to rouse him, he kicked me in the chest,” +replied the magnate, with somber seriousness. + +“Oh, you goose of a dad!” There was a tremulous note in Polly’s low +laughter. “That’s all right, then. Can’t you see he’s dead for sleep, +poor beetle man?” + +“Do you think so?” said Mr. Brewster, vastly relieved. “Hadn’t I better +go out for a doctor, and make sure?” + +She shook her head. + +“Let him rest. Hand me that pillow, please, dad.” + +With soft little pushes and wedges she worked it under the scientist’s +head. “What a dreadful botch of bandaging! He looks so pale! I wonder +if I couldn’t get those cloths off. Lend me your knife, dad.” + +Gently as she worked, the head on the pillow began to sway, and the +lips to move. + +“Oh, let me alone!” they muttered querulously. + +The eyes opened. The Unspeakable Perk gazed up into the faces above +him, but saw only one, a face whose tender concern softened it to a +loveliness greater even than when he had last seen it. He tried to +rise, but the hands that pressed him back were firm and quick. + +“Lie still!” bade their owner. + +A thin film of color mounted to his cheeks. + +“I—I—beg your pardon,” he stammered. “I—I—d-didn’t know—” + +“Don’t be a goose!” she adjured him. “It’s only me.” + +“Yes, that’s the trouble.” He closed his eyes again, and began to +murmur. + +“What does he say?” asked Mr. Brewster, lowering his head and almost +falling over backward as his astonished ears were greeted by the slowly +intoned rhythm:— + +“Scarab, tarantula, doodle-bug, flea.” + + +“Delirious!” exclaimed the magnate. “Clean off his head! How does one +find a doctor in this town?” + +“No need, dad,” his daughter reassured him. “It’s just a—a sort of +game.” + +“Game! Did you hear what he said?” + +“Well, a kind of password. It’s all right, Dad. It is, really.” + +Still undecided, Mr. Brewster stared at the injured man. + +“I don’t know—” he began, when the eyes opened again. + +“Feeling better?” inquired Polly briskly. + +“Yes. The charm works perfectly.” + +“Anything I can do, or get, for you, my boy?” inquired Mr. Brewster, +stepping forward. + +“What’s in the ice-box?” asked the other anxiously. + +“Oh!” cried the girl in distress. “He’s starving! When did you eat +last?” + +“I can’t exactly remember. It was about five this morning, I think. A +banana, and, as I recall it, a small one.” + +“Dad!” cried the girl, but that prompt and efficient gentleman was +already halfway to the cook, dragging Sherwen along as interpreter. + +“He’ll get whatever there is in the shortest known time,” the girl +assured her patient. “Trust dad. Now, you lie back and let me fix up a +fresh bandage.” + +“You’d have made a great trained nurse,” he murmured, as she adjusted +the clean strips that Sherwen had sent in. “Don’t pin my ear down. It’s +got to help hold my goggles on.” + +“The dear funny goggles!” Picking them up, she patted them with dainty +fingers, before setting them aside. He watched her uneasily, much in +the manner of a dog whose bone has been taken away. + +“Do you mind giving them back?” he said. + +“But you’re not going to wear them here,” she protested. + +“I’ve got so used to them,” he explained apologetically, “that I don’t +feel really dressed without them.” + +She handed them back and he adjusted them to the bandages. “For the +present, rest is prescribed you know,” said she. + +“Oh, no!” he declared. “As soon as I’ve had something to eat, I’ll go. +There are a hundred things to be done. Where are my gloves?” + +“What gloves? Oh, those white abominations? Why on earth do you wear +them?” Her glance fell upon his right hand, which lay half-open beside +him. “Oh—oh—oh!” she cried in a rising scale of distress. “What have +you done to your hands?” + +He reddened perceptibly. + +“Nothing.” + +“Nothing, indeed! Tell me at once!” + +“I’ve been rowing.” + +“Where to?” + +“Oh, out to a ship.” + +“There aren’t any ships, except the Dutch warship. Was it to her?” + +“Yes.” + +“To carry our message—_my_ message?” + +He squirmed. + +“I’m awfully sleepy,” he protested. “It isn’t fair to cross-examine a +witness—” + +“When was it?” his ruthless interrogator broke in. + +“Night before last.” + +“How far?” + +“How can I tell? Not far. A few miles.” + +“And back. And it took you all night,” she accused. + +“What if it did?” he cried peevishly. “A man’s got to have some relief +from work, hasn’t he? It was livelier than sitting all night with one’s +eye glued to a microscope barrel!” + +“Oh, beetle man, beetle man! I don’t know about you at all. What kind +of a strange queer creature are you? Have you wings, Mr. Beetle Man?” + +Suddenly she bent over and laid her soft lips upon the scarified palm. +The Unspeakable Perk sat up, with a half-cry. + +“Now the other one,” said the girl. Her face was a mantle of +rose-color, but her eyes shone. + +“I won’t! You shan’t!” + +“The other one!” she commanded imperiously. + +“Please, Miss Brewster—” + +A noise at the door saved him. There stood Thatcher Brewster, magnate, +multi-millionaire, and master of men, a huge tray in his hands. + +“Beefsteak, fried potatoes, alligator pear, fresh bread, _real_ butter, +coffee, _and_ cake,” he proclaimed jovially. “Not to mention a +cocktail, which I compounded with my own skilled hands. Are you ready, +my boy? Go!” + +The Unspeakable Perk leaped from his couch. + +“Food!” he cried. “Real American food! The perfume of it is a square +meal.” + +“You’re much gladder to see it than you were me,” pouted Miss Polly. + +“I’m not half as afraid of it,” he admitted. “Mr. Brewster, your +health.” + +“Here’s to you, my boy. Now I’ll leave you with your nurse, and make my +final arrangements. We’re off by special in the morning.” + +“That’s fine!” said the scientist. + +But Miss Polly Brewster caught the turn of his head in her direction, +and saw that his fork had slackened in his hand. Something tightened +around her heart. + +As he went, her father considered her for a moment, and wondered. Never +before had he seen such a look in her eyes as that which she had turned +on the queer, vivid stranger so busily engaged at the tray. Polly, and +this obscure scientist! After the kind of men whom the girl had known, +enslaved, and eluded! Absurd! Yet if it were to be—Mr. Brewster +reviewed the events of the afternoon—well, it might be worse. + +“By the Lord Harry, he’s a _man_, anyway!” decided Thatcher Brewster. + +Meanwhile, the subject of his musings began to feel like a man once +more, instead of like a lath. Having wrought havoc among the edibles, +he rose with a sigh. + +“If I could have one hour’s sleep,” he said mournfully, “I’d be fit as +a cricket.” + +“You shall,” said the girl. “Mr. Sherwen says he won’t let you out of +the house until it’s dark. And that’s fully an hour.” + +“I ought to be on my way back now.” + +“Back where? To your mountains?” + +“Yes.” + +“You’d be recognized and attacked before you could get out of the city. +I won’t let you.” + +“That wouldn’t do, for a fact. Perhaps it would be safer to wait. I’ve +made enough trouble for one day by my blunder-headed thoughtlessness.” + +“Is that what you call rescuing the flag?” + +“Oh, rescuing!” he said slightingly. “What difference does it make what +vermin like that mob do? Just for a whim, to endanger all of you.” + +She stared at him in amaze and suspicion. But he was quite honest. + +“_My_ whim,” she reminded him. + +“Yes; I suppose it was,” he admitted thoughtfully. “When I saw you +crying, I lost my head, and acted like a child.” + +“Then it was all my fault?” + +“Oh, I don’t say that. Certainly not. I’m master of my own actions. If +I hadn’t wanted—” + +“But it was my fault this much, anyway, that you wouldn’t have done it +except for me.” + +“Yes; it was your fault to that extent,” he said honestly. “I hope you +don’t mind my saying so.” + +“Oh, beetle man, beetle man!” She leaned forward, her eyes deep-lit +pools of mirth and mockery and some more occult feeling that he could +not interpret. “Would it scare you quite out of your poor, queer wits +if I were to _hug_ you? Don’t call for help. I’m not really going to do +it.” + +“I know you’re not,” said he dolefully. “But about that row, I want to +set myself right. I’m no fool. I know it took a certain amount of nerve +to go down there. And I was even proud of it, in a way. And when Von +Plaanden turned and gave me the salute before he went away, I liked it +quite a good deal.” + +“Did he do that? I love him for it!” cried the girl. + +“But my point is this, that what I did wasn’t sound common sense. Now +if Carroll had done it, it would have been all right.” + +“Why for him and not for you?” + +“Because those are his principles. They’re not mine.” + +“I wish you weren’t quite so contemptuous of poor Fitz. It seems hardly +fair.” + +“Contemptuous of him? I’d give half my life to be in his place after +to-morrow.” + +“Why?” There was a flutter in her throat as she put the question. + +“Because he’s going with you, isn’t he?” + +“So are you, if you will.” + +“I can’t.” + +“Father won’t go without you, I believe. Won’t you come, if I ask you?” + +“No.” + +“Work, I suppose,” said the girl; “the work that you love better than +anything in the world.” + +“You’re wrong there.” His voice was not quite steady now. “But it’s +work that has to have my first consideration now. And there is one +special responsibility that I can’t evade, for the present, anyway.” + +“And afterward?” She dared not look at him as she spoke. + +“Ah, afterward. There’s too much ‘perhaps’ in the afterward down here. +We science grubbers on the outposts enlist for the term of the war,” he +said, smiling wanly. + +“How can I—can we go and leave you here?” she demanded obstinately. + +“Oh, give me a square meal once in a while, and a night’s rest here and +there, and I’ll do well enough.” + +“Oh, dear! I forgot your sleep. Here I’ve been chattering like a +magpie. Take off your coat and lie down on that sofa at once.” + +“Where shall I find you when I wake up?” + +“Right where you leave me when you fall asleep.” + +“Oh, no! You mustn’t wear yourself out watching over me.” + +“Hush! You’re under orders. Give me the coat.” She hung it on the back +of a chair. “Not another word now. And I’ll call you when time is up.” + +He closed his eyes, and the girl sat studying his face in the dim +light, graving it deep on her inner vision, seeking to formulate some +conception of the strange being so still and placid before her. How had +she ever thought him ridiculous and uncouth? How had she ever dared to +insult him by distrust? What did it matter what other men, estimating +him by their own sordid standards, said of him? As if her thought had +established a connection with his, he opened his eyes and sat up. + +“I knew there was something I wanted to ask you,” he said. “What did +your ‘Never, never, never’ mean?” + +“A foolish misunderstanding that I’m ashamed of.” + +“Was it that—that woman-gossip business?” + +“Yes. I was stupid. Will you forgive me?” + +“What is there to forgive? Some time, perhaps, you’ll understand the +whole thing.” + +“Please don’t let’s say anything more about it. I _do_ understand.” + +This was not quite true. All that Polly Brewster knew was that, with +those clear gray eyes meeting hers, she would have believed his honor +clean and high against the world. The presence of the woman, even that +dress fluttering in the wind, was susceptible of a hundred simple +explanations. + +“Ah, that’s all right, then.” There was relief in his tone. “Of course, +in a place like this there is a lot of gossip and criticism. And when +one runs counter to the general law—” + +“Counter to the law?” + +“Yes. As a rule, I’m not ‘beyond the pale of law,’” he said, smiling. +“But down here one isn’t bound by the same conventions as at home.” + +The girl’s hand went to her throat in a piteous gesture. + +“I—I—don’t understand. I don’t want to understand.” + +“There’s got to be a certain broad-mindedness in these matters,” he +blundered on, with what seemed to her outraged senses an abominable +jauntiness. “But the risk was small for me, and, of course, for her, +anything was better than the other life. At that, I don’t see how the +truth reached you. What is it, Miss Polly?” + +Rage, grief, and shame choked the girl’s utterance. + +Without a word, she ran from the room, leaving her companion a prey to +troubled wonder. + +In the _patio_, she turned sharply to avoid a group gathered around +Galpy, who, with a patch over one eye, was trying to impart some news +between gasps. + +“Got it from the bulletin board of _La Liberdad_,” he cried. “Killed; +body gone; devil to pay all over the place.” + +“What’s that?” demanded the Unspeakable Perk, running out, coatless and +goggleless. + +“There’s been another riot, and Dr. Luther Pruyn is killed,” explained +Sherwen. + +“Who says so?” + +“Bulletin board—_La Liberdad_—just saw it,” panted Galpy. + +“Nonsense! It’s a _bola_.” + +“The whole city is ringing with it. They say it was a plot to get him +out of the way to stop quarantine. The Foreign Office is buzzing with +inquiries, and Puerto del Norte is burning up the wires.” + +“Puerto del Norte! How did they hear?” + +“Telephone, of course. I hear Wisner is coming up,” said Sherwen. + +“I’ve got to get a wire to the port at once,” cried the scientist. “At +once!” + +“You! What for?” + +“To stop off Wisner. To tell him it isn’t so.” + +“You’re excited, my boy,” said Mr. Brewster kindly. “Better lie down +again.” + +“It’s true, right enough,” said the Englishman. “Sir Willet’s _cochero_ +saw the mob get him.” + +“When? Where?” asked Fitzhugh Carroll. + +“Haven’t got any details, but the Government admits it.” + +“I don’t care if the President and his whole cabinet swear to it,” +vociferated the Unspeakable Perk. “It’s a fake. How can I get Puerto +del Norte, Mr. Sherwen?” + +“You can’t get it at all for any such purpose. How do you know it’s a +fake?” + +“How do I know? Oh, dammit! _I’m_ Luther Pruyn!” + +He snatched off his glasses and faced them. + +The little group stood petrified. Mr. Brewster was first to recover. + +“Crazy, poor chap!” he said. “Luther Pruyn was my classmate.” + +“That’s my father, Luther L.” + +“Proofs,” said Sherwen sharply. + +“In my coat pocket. In the room. Can I have your wire, Mr. Sherwen?” + +“It’s cut.” + +“Come to the railway wire,” offered Galpy. “My eye! Wot a game!” + +The two men ran out, the scientist leaving behind coat and goggles. + +“It was our little mix-up that started the rumor,” said Carroll +thoughtfully. “Somebody recognized Perk—Dr. Pruyn.” + +“When his glasses fell off,” said CLuff. “They’re some disguise.” + +“He’s Luther Pruyn, sure enough!” said Mr. Sherwen, emerging from the +room. “Here’s the proof.” He held out an official-looking document. “An +order from the Dutch Naval Office, made out in his name.” + +“What does it say?” asked Carroll. + +“I’m not much of a hand at Dutch, but it seems to direct the blockading +warship to receive Dr. Luther Pruyn and wife and convey them to +Curaçao.” + +“And wife!” exclaimed Cluff loudly. He whistled as a vent to his +amazement. “That explains all the talk about a woman—a lady in his +_quinta_ on the mountains?” + +“Apparently,” said Carroll. “May I see that document, Mr. Sherwen?” + +The American representative handed him the paper. As he was studying +it, Galpy reentered, still scant of breath from excitement and haste. +“He’s gone back to the mountains,” he announced. “Sent word for you to +get to the port before dawn, if you have to walk. See Mr. Wisner there. +He’ll arrange everything.” + +“Will Mr. Perk—Dr. Pruyn be there?” asked Mr. Brewster. + +“He didn’t say.” + +“But he’s gone without his coat!” + +“And goggles,” said Cluff. + +“And his pass,” added Sherwen. + +“Trust him to come back for them when he gets ready. He’s a rum josser +for doing things his own way. Now, about the train.” And Galpy outlined +the plan of departure to the men, who, except Carroll, had gathered +about him. The Southerner, unnoticed, had slipped into the room where +the scientist’s coat lay. Coming out by the lower door, he was +intercepted by Miss Polly Brewster. He interpreted the misery in her +face, and turned sick at heart with the pain of what it told him. + +“You heard?” he asked. + +She nodded. “Is it true? Did you see the permit yourself?” + +“Yes. Here it is.” + +“I don’t want to see it. It doesn’t matter,” she said, with utter +weariness in her voice. “When do we leave? I want to go home. Send +father to me, please, Fitz.” + +Mr. Brewster came to her, bearing the news that the sailing was set for +the morrow. + +“I’m glad to know that Dr. and Mrs. Pruyn are provided for,” she +remarked, so casually that the troubled father drew a breath of relief, +concluding that he must have misinterpreted the girl’s interest in the +man behind the goggles. + +On his way to the _patio_, he passed through the room where the +scientist had lain. He came out looking perturbed. + +“Has any one been in that room just now?” he asked Sherwen. + +“Not that I’ve seen.” + +“The coat and the other things are not there.” + +Inquiry and search alike proved unavailing. Not until an hour later did +they discover that Carroll had also disappeared. Sherwen found a note +from him on the office desk:— + +Please look after my luggage. Will join the others at the yacht +to-morrow. + + +P. F. F. C. + + + + +XII. +THE WOMAN AT THE QUINTA + + +Thanks to his rival’s map, Carroll had little difficulty in finding the +trail to the mountain _quinta_. A brilliant new moon helped to make +easy the ascent. What course he would pursue upon his arrival he had +not clearly defined to himself. That would depend largely upon the +attitude of the man he was seeking. The flame of battle, still hot from +the afternoon’s melee, burned high in the Southerner’s soul, for he was +not of those whose spirit rapidly cools. Bitter resentment on behalf of +Miss Polly Brewster fanned that flame. On one point he was determined: +neither he nor the so-called Perkins should leave the mountain until he +had had from the latter’s own lips a full explanation. + +Coming out into the open space, he got his first glimpse of the +_quinta_. It was dark, except for one low light. From the farther side +there came faintly to his ear a rhythmical sound, with brief intervals +of quiet, as if some one hard at labor were stopping from time to time +for breath. At that distance, Carroll could not interpret the sound, +but some unidentified quality of it struck chill upon his fancy. Long +experience in the woods had made him a good trailsman. He proceeded +cautiously until he reached the edge of the clearing. + +The sound had stopped now, but he thought he could hear heavy breathing +from beyond the house. As he moved toward that side, a small but +malevolent-looking snake slithered out from beneath a bush near by. +Involuntarily he leaped aside. As he landed, a round pebble slipped +under his foot. He flung up his arm. It met the low branch of a tree, +and saved him a fall. But the thrashing of the leaves made a startling +noise in the moonlit stillness. The snake went on about its business. + +“Hola!” challenged a voice around the angle of the house. + +Carroll recognized the voice. He stepped out of the shadows and strode +across the open space. At the corner of the house he met the muzzle of +a revolver pointing straight at the pit of his stomach. Back of it were +the steady and now goggleless eyes of Luther Pruyn. + +“I am unarmed,” said Carroll. + +“Ah, it’s you!” said the other. He lowered his weapon, carefully +whirled the cylinder to bring the hammer opposite an empty chamber, and +dropped it in his pocket. “What do you want?” + +“An explanation.” + +“Quite so,” said the other coolly. “I’d forgotten that I invited you +here. How long had you been watching me?” + +“I saw you only when you came out from behind the house.” + +“And you wish to know about—about my companion in this place?” +continued the other in an odd tone. + +“Yes.” + +“Understand that I don’t admit that you have the smallest right. But to +clear up a situation which no longer exists, I’m ready to satisfy you. +Come in.” + +He held open the door of the room where the lone light was burning. In +the middle of the floor was spread a sheet, beneath which a form was +outlined in grisly significance. Carroll’s host lifted the cover. + +The woman was white-haired, frail, and wrinkled. One side of her face +shone in the lamplight with a strange hue, like tarnished silver. In +her throat was a small bluish wound; opposite it a gaping hole. + +“Shot!” exclaimed Carroll. “Who did it?” + +“Some high-minded Caracuñan patriot, I suppose.” + +“Why?” + +“Well, I suspect that it was a mistake. From a distance and inside a +window, she might easily have been taken for some one else.” + +Carroll’s mind reverted to his companion’s ready revolver. + +“Yourself, for instance?” he suggested. + +“Why, yes.” + +“Who was she?” + +There was left in the Southerner’s manner no trace of the +cross-examiner. Suspicion had departed from him at the first sight of +that old and still face, leaving only sympathy and pity. + +“My patient.” + +“Have you been running a private hospital up here?” + +“Oh, no. I took her because there was no other place fit for her to go +to. And I had to keep her presence secret, because there’s a law +against harboring lepers here. A pretty cruel brute of a law it is, +too.” + +“Leprosy!” exclaimed Carroll, looking at that strange silvery face with +a shudder. “Isn’t it fearfully contagious?” + +“Not in any ordinary sense. I was trying a new serum on her, and had +planned to smuggle her across to Curaçao, when this ended it.” + +“Curaçao? Then that pass for yourself and wife—By the way, that and +your coat are over in the thicket, where I dropped them.” + +“Thank you. But it doesn’t say ‘wife.’ It says simply ‘a woman.’” + +“And you were encumbering yourself with an unknown leper, at a time +like this, just as an act of human kindness?” There was something +almost reverential in Carroll’s voice. + +“Scientific interest, in part. Besides, she wasn’t wholly unknown. +She’s a sort of cousin of Raimonda’s.” + +Carroll’s mind flew back to his fatally misinterpreted conversation +with the young Caracuñan. + +“What did he mean by letting me think that you shouldn’t associate with +Miss Polly?” + +“Oh, he had the usual erroneous dread of leprosy contagion, I suppose.” + +“May I ask you another question, Mr. Per—I beg your pardon, Dr. Pruyn?” +said the visitor, almost timidly. + +“Perkins will do.” The other smiled wanly. “Ask me anything you want +to.” + +“Why did you run away that day on the tram-car?” + +“To avoid trouble, of course.” + +“You? Why, you go about searching for dangerous and difficult jobs. +That won’t do!” + +“Not at all. It’s only when I can’t get away from them. But I couldn’t +risk arrest then. Some one would surely have recognized me as Luther +Pruyn. You see, I’ve been here before.” + +“Then I don’t see why they didn’t identify you, anyway.” + +“Three years ago I was much heavier, and wore a full beard. Then these +glasses, besides being invaluable for protection, are a pretty thorough +disguise.” + +“So they are. But the game is up now.” + +“Yes.” The scientist drew the sheet back over the dead woman. “I +suppose the sharp-shooters who did the job will report me safely out of +the way. It’s only a question of when the burial party will come for +me.” + +“Then, why are we waiting?” cried Carroll. + +“I couldn’t leave her lying here,” replied the other simply. + +The sound of rhythmical labor came back to Carroll’s memory. + +“You were digging her grave?” + +The other nodded. Carroll, stiffly, for his knifed arm was painful, got +out of his coat. + +“Where’s an extra spade?” he asked. + +When their labor was over, and the leper laid beneath the leveled soil, +Carroll cut two branches from a near-by tree, trimmed them, bound them +in the form of a cross, and fixed the symbol firmly in the earth at the +dead woman’s head. + +“That was well thought of,” said the scientist. “I’m afraid that +wouldn’t have occurred to me.” + +“You can get word to Senor Raimonda?” asked Carroll. + +His host nodded. A long silence followed. Carroll broke it:— + +“Then there is no further secrecy about this?” + +“About what?” + +“Her identity.” He pointed to the grave. + +“No; I suppose not. Why?” + +“Because Miss Brewster has a right to know.” + +“Do you propose to tell her?” + +“Yes.” + +“Very well,” agreed the scientist, after a pause for consideration. +“But not until after the yacht is at sea.” + +Carroll did not reply directly to this. + +“What shall you do?” + +“Get out, if I can. I’m ordered to Curaçao. Wisner left word for me.” + +“Come down the mountain with me.” + +“Impossible. There are matters here to be attended to.” + +“Then when will you come down?” + +“Before you sail. I must be sure that you get off.” + +“You’ll come to the yacht, then?” + +“No.” + +“I think you should. There are reasons why—why—Miss Brewster—” + +“It isn’t a question that I can argue,” the other cut him off. “I can’t +do it.” There was so much pain in his voice that Carroll forbore to +press him. “But I’ll ask you to take a note.” + +Carroll nodded, and his host, disappearing within the quinta, returned +almost at once with an envelope on which the address was written in +pencil. The Southerner took it and rose from the porch, where he had +flung himself to rest. + +“Perkins,” he said, with some effort, “I’ve thought and said some hard +things about you.” + +“Naturally enough,” murmured the other. + +“Do you want me to apologize?” + +The scientist stared. “Do you want me to thank you for to-night’s +work?” he countered. + +“No.” + +“Well—” + +“All right.” + +The two men, different in every quality except that of essential +manhood, smiled at each other with a profound mutual understanding. +There was a silent handshake, and Carroll set off down the mountain +toward the sunrise glow. + + + + +XIII. +LEFT BEHIND + + +Dawn crested, poised, and broke in a surf of splendor upon the great +mountain-line that overhangs Puerto del Norte. Where, at the +corporation dock, there had lurked the shadow of a yacht, gray-black +against blue-black, there now swung a fairy ship of purest silver, +cradled upon a swaying mirror. Tiny insects, touched to life by the +radiance, scuttled busily about her decks and swarmed out upon the +dock. The seagoing yacht Polly had awakened early. + +Down the mule path that forms the shortest cut from the railway station +straggled a group of minute creatures. To one watching from the +mountain-side with powerful field-glasses—such as, for example, a +convinced and ardent hater of the Caribbean Sea, curled up with his +back against a cold and Voiceless rock—it might have appeared that the +group was carrying an unusual quantity of hand luggage. Yet they were +not porters; so much, even at a great distance, their apparel +proclaimed. The pirates of porterdom do not get up to meet +five-o’clock-in-the-morning specials in Caracuña. + +The little group gathered close at the pier, then separated, two going +aboard, and the others disappearing into sundry streets and reappearing +presently at the water-front with other figures. The human form cannot +be distinctly seen, at a distance of three miles, to rub its eyes; +neither can it be heard to curse; but there was that in the newer +figures which suggested a sudden and reluctant surrender of sleeping +privileges. Had our supposititious watcher possessed an intimate and +contemptuous knowledge of Caracuña officialdom, he would have surmised +that lavish sums of money had been employed to stir the port and +customs officials to such untimely activity. + +But not money or any other agency is potent to stir Caracuñan +officialdom to undue speed. Hence the observer from the heights, +supposing that he had a personal interest in the proceedings, might +have assured himself of ample time to reach the coast before the +formalities could be completed and the ship put forth to sea. Had he +presently humped himself to his feet with a sluggish effort, abandoned +his field-glasses in favor of a pair of large greenish-brown goggles, +and set out on a trail straight down the mountains, staggering a bit at +the start, a second supposititious observer of the first supposititious +observer—if such cumulative hypothesis be permissible—might have +divined that the first supposititious observer was the Unspeakable +Perk, going about other people’s business when he ought to have been in +bed. And so, not to keep any reader in unendurable suspense, it was. + +While the Unspeakable Perk was making his way down the dim and narrow +trail, another equally weary figure shambled out from the main road +upon the flats and made for the landing. The apparel of Mr. Preston +Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll was in a condition that he would have deemed +quite unfit for one of his station, had he been in a frame of mind to +consider such matters at all. He was not. Affairs vastly more weighty +and human occupied his mind. What he most wished was to find Miss Polly +Brewster and unburden himself of them. + +At the entrance to the pier, he was detained by the American Consul. +Cluff came running down the long structure in great strides. + +“Moses, Carroll! I’m glad to see you! Where’ve you been?” + +A week earlier, the scion of all the Virginias would have resented this +familiarity from a professional athlete. But neither Mr. Carroll’s mind +nor his heart was a sealed inclosure. He had learned much in the last +few days. + +“Up on the mountain,” he said. “For Heaven’s sake, give me a drink, +Cluff!” + +The other produced a flask. + +“You do look shot to pieces,” he commented. “Find Perk—Pruyn?” + +“Yes. I’ll tell you later. Where’s Miss Brewster?” + +“In her stateroom. Asleep, I guess. Said she wanted rest, and nobody +was to disturb her till we sail.” + +“When do we start?” + +“Eight o’clock, they say. That means ten. Will Dr. Pruyn get here?” + +“He isn’t going with us.” + +“Oh, no. I forgot his Dutch permit. Well, he’d better use it quick, or +he’ll go in a box when he does go. I wouldn’t insure his life for a +two-cent stamp in this country.” + +“You wouldn’t if you’d seen what I saw last night,” said the +Southerner, very low. + +Wisner, the busy, efficient little consul, who had been arranging with +the officials for Carroll’s embarkation, now returned, bringing with +him a viking of a man whom he introduced as Dr. Stark, of the United +States Public Health Service. + +“Either of you know anything about Dr. Pruyn?” he inquired anxiously. + +“He’s on his way down the mountain now,” said Carroll. + +“Good! He’s ordered away, I’m glad to say. Just got the message.” + +“Then perhaps he will go out with us,” said Cluff, with obvious relief. +“I sure did hate to think of leaving that boy here, with the game laws +for goggle-eyed Americans entirely suspended.” + +“No. He’s ordered to Curaçao to stay and watch. We’ve got to get him +out to the Dutch ship somehow.” + +“Couldn’t the yacht take him and transfer him outside?” asked Carroll. + +“Mr. Carroll,” said Dr. Stark earnestly, “before this yacht is many +minutes out from the dock, you’ll see a yellow flag go up from the end +of the corporation pier. After that, if the yacht turns aside or comes +back for a package that some one has left, or does anything but hold +the straightest course on the compass for the blue and open sea—well, +she’ll be about the foolishest craft that ever ploughed salt water.” + +“I suppose so,” admitted Carroll. “Well, I have matters to look after +on board.” + +Into Mr. Carroll’s cabin it is nobody’s business to follow him. A man +has a right to some privacy of room and of mind, and if the +Southerner’s struggle with himself was severe, at least it was of brief +duration. Within half an hour, he was knocking at Polly Brewster’s +door. + +“_Please_ go ’way, whoever it is,” answered a pathetically weary voice. + +“Miss Polly, it’s Fitzhugh. I have a note for you.” + +“Leave it in the saloon.” + +“It’s important that you see it right away.” + +“From whom is it?” queried the spent voice. + +“From Dr. Pruyn.” + +“I—I don’t want to see it.” + +“You must!” insisted her suitor. + +“Did he say I must?” + +“No. I say you must. Forgive me, Miss Polly, but I’m going to wait here +till you say you’ll read it.” + +“Push it under the door,” said the girl resignedly. + +He obeyed. Polly took the envelope, summoned up all her spirit, and +opened it. It contained one penciled line and the signature:— + +Good-bye. All my heart goes with you forever. + + +L. P. + + +Something fluttered from the envelope to her feet. She stooped and +picked it up. It was the tiniest and most delicate of orchids, purple, +with a glow of gold at its heart. To her inflamed pride, it seemed the +final insult that he should send such a message and such a reminder, +without a word of explanation or plea for pardon. Pardon she never +would have granted, but at least he might have had the grace of shame. + +“Have you read it?” asked the patient voice from without. + +“Yes. There is no answer.” + +“Dr. Pruyn said there wouldn’t be.” + +“Then why are you waiting?” + +“To see you.” + +“Oh, Fitz, I’m too worn out, and I’ve a splitting headache. Won’t it +wait?” + +“No.” The voice was gently inflexible. + +“More messages?” + +“No; something I must tell you. Will you come out?” + +“I suppose so.” + +Her tone was utterly listless and limp. Utterly listless and limp, she +looked, too, as she opened the door and stood waiting. + +“Miss Polly, it’s about the woman at Perkins’s—at Dr. Pruyn’s house.” + +Her eyes dilated with anger. + +“I won’t hear! How dare you come to me—” + +“You must! Don’t make it harder for me than it is.” + +She looked up, startled, and noted the haggard lines in his face. + +“I’ll hear it if you think I should, Fitz.” + +“She is dead.” + +“Dead? His—his wife?” + +“She wasn’t his wife. She was a helpless leper, whom he was trying to +cure with some new serum. He had to do it secretly because there is a +law forbidding any one to harbor a leper.” + +“Oh, Fitz!” she cried. “And she died of it?” + +“No. They killed her. Last night.” + +“They? Who?” + +“Government agents, probably. They were after Pruyn.” + +“How horrible! And—and Mrs. Pruyn. Where was she?” + +“There isn’t any Mrs. Pruyn. There never was.” + +“But the Dutch permit! It was for Dr. Pruyn and his wife.” + +“Sherwen misread the form. So did I. It read for Dr. Pruyn and a woman. +He hoped to take her to Curaçao and complete his experiment.” + +“That’s what he meant when he spoke of being lawless, and I’ve been +thinking the basest things of him for it!” The girl, dazed by a flash +of complete enlightenment, caught at Carroll’s arm with beseeching +hands. “Where is he, Fitz?” + +“On his way down the mountain. Perhaps down here by now.” + +“He’s coming to the ship?” she asked. + +“No; he doesn’t expect to see you again. He was coming down to make +sure that we got off safely.” + +“Fitz, dear Fitz, I must see him!” + +“Miss Polly,” he said miserably, “I’ll do anything I can.” + +“Oh, poor Fitz!” she cried pityingly, her eyes filling with tears. “I +wish for your sake it wasn’t so. And you have been so splendid about +it!” + +“I’ve tried to make amends, and play fair. It hasn’t been easy. Shall I +go back and look for him? It’s a small town, and I can find him.” + +“Yes. I’ll write a note. No; I won’t. Never mind. I’ll manage it. Fitz, +go and rest. You’re worn out,” she said gently. + +Back into her stateroom went Miss Polly. From that time forth no man +saw her nor woman, either, except perhaps her maid, and maids are dark +and discreet persons on occasion. If this particular one kept her own +counsel when she saw a trim but tremulous figure drop lightly over the +starboard rail of the Polly far forward, pick up a small traveling-bag +from the pier, step behind the opportune screen of a load of coffee on +a flat car, and reappear to view only as a momentary swish of skirt far +away at the shore end; if this same maid told Mr. Thatcher Brewster, +half an hour later, that Miss Polly was asleep in her stateroom, and +begged that she be disturbed on no account, as she was utterly worn +out, who shall blame her for her silence on the one occasion or her +speech on the other? She was but obeying, albeit with tearful +misgivings, duly constituted authority. + +Eight o’clock struck on the bell of the little Protestant mission +church on the tiny plaza; struck and was welcomed by the echoes, and +passed along to eventual silence. Within two minutes after, there was a +special stir and movement on the pier, a corresponding stir and +movement on board the trim craft, a swishing of great ropes, and a +tooting of whistles. White foam churned astern of her. A +comic-supplement-looking pelican on a buoy off to port flapped her a +fantastic farewell. The blockade-defying yacht Polly was off for blue +waters and the freedom of the seas. + +On the shore, feeling woefully helpless and alone, she who had been the +jewel and joy of the Polly bit her lips and closed her eyes, in a +tremulous struggle against the dismal fear:— + +“Suppose he doesn’t love me, after all!” + + + + +XIV. +THE YELLOW FLAG + + +The departing whistle of the yacht Polly struck sharply to the heart of +a desolate figure seated on a bench in the blazing, dusty, public +square of Puerto del Norte, waiting out his first day of pain. A +kiskadee bird, the only other creature foolish enough to risk the hot +bleakness of the plaza at that hour, flitted into a dust-coated palm, +inspected him, put a tentative query or two, decided that he was of no +possible interest, and left the Unspeakable Perk to his own +cogitations. + +So deep in wretchedness were the cogitations that he did not hear the +light, hesitant footstep. But he felt in every vein and fiber the +appealing touch on his shoulder. + +“Good God! What are YOU doing here?” he cried, leaping to his feet. +There was no awkwardness or shyness in his speech now; only +wonder-stricken joy. + +“I came back to see you.” + +“But the yacht! Your ship!” + +“She has left.” + +“No! She mustn’t! Not without you! You can’t stay here. It’s too +dangerous.” + +“I must. They think I’m aboard. I left a note for papa. He won’t get it +until they’re at sea. And they can’t come back for me, can they?” + +“No—yes—they must! I must see Stark and Wisner at once.” + +“To send me away?” + +“Yes.” + +“Without forgiving me?” + +“Forgiving? There’s no question of that between you and me.” + +“There is. Fitzhugh told me everything—all about the poor dead woman.” + +“Ah, he shouldn’t have done that.” + +“He should!” She stamped a little willful foot. “What else could he +do?” + +“Why, yes,” he agreed thoughtfully. “I suppose that’s so. After all, a +man can’t bear the names that Carroll does and go wrong on the big +inner things. He has met his test, and stood it. For he cares very +deeply for you.” + +“Poor Fitz!” she sighed. + +“But here we’re wasting time!” he cried in a panic. “Where can I leave +you?” + +“Do you want to leave me?” + +“Want to!” he groaned. “Can’t you understand that I’ve got to get you +to the yacht!” + +“Oh, beetle man, beetle man, don’t you WANT me?” she cried dolorously. +“Didn’t you mean your note?” + +“Mean it? I meant it as I’ve never meant anything in the world. But +you—what do you mean? Do you mean that you’ll—you’ll let the yacht go +without you—and—and—and stay here, and m-m-marry me?” + +“If you should ask me,” she said, half-laughing, half-crying, “what +else could I do? I’m alone and deserted. And there’s only you in the +world.” + +“Miss P-P-Polly,” he began, “I—I can’t believe—” + +“It’s true!” she cried, and held out two yearning hands to him. “And if +you stammer and stutter and—and—and act like the Unspeakable Perk +_now_, I’ll—I’ll howl!” + +If she had any such project, the chance was lost on the instant of the +warning, as he caught her to him and held her close. + +“Oh!” she cried, trying to push him away. “Do you know, sir, that this +is a public square?” + +“Well, I didn’t choose it,” he reminded her, laughing in pure joy, with +a boyish note new to her ear. “Anyway, there are only us two under the +sun.” And he drew her close again, whispering in her ear. + +“Oh—oh, is that the language of medical science?” she reproved. + +At this point, generic curiosity overcame the feathered eavesdropper in +the tree above. + +“Qu’est-ce qu’il dit?”—“What’s he say?” + +The girl turned a flushed and adorable face upward. + +“I won’t tell you. It’s for me alone,” she declared joyously. “But +you’ll never stop saying it, will you, dear?” + +“Never, as long as we both shall live. And that reminds me,” he said +soberly. “We must arrange about being married.” + +“Oh, that reminds you, does it?” she mocked. “Just incidentally, like +that.” + +Boom! Boom! Boom! The mission clock kept patiently at it until its +suggestion struck in. + +“Of course!” he cried. “Mr. Lake, the missionary, will marry us. And +we’ll have Stark and Wisner for witnesses. How long does it take a +bride to get ready? Would half an hour be enough?” + +“It’s rather a short engagement,” she remarked demurely. “But if it’s +all the time we’ve got—” + +“It is. But, darling, we’ll have to ride for it afterward, and get +across to the mainland. I’ve no right to let you in for such a risk,” +he cried remorsefully. + +“You couldn’t help yourself,” she teased saucily. “I ran you down like +one of your own beetles. Besides, what does that permit for the Dutch +ship say?” + +“That’s for myself and a woman—the leper woman. Not for myself and my +wife.” + +“Well, I’m a woman, aren’t I? And it doesn’t say that the woman +_mustn’t_ be your wife.” She blushed distractingly. + +“Caesar! Of course it doesn’t! What luck! We’ll be in Curaçao +to-morrow. I must see Wisner about getting us off. But, Polly, dearest +one, you’re sure? You haven’t let yourself be carried away by that +foolishness of mine yesterday?” + +“Sure? Oh, beetle man!” She put her hands on his shoulders and bent to +his ear. + +The sulphur-colored winged Paul Pry stuck an impertinent head out from +behind a palm leaf. + +“Qu’est-ce qu’elle dit? Qu’est-ce qu’elle dit?” + +For the second and last time in his adult life the beetle man threw a +stone at a bird. + +Four hours later six powerful black oarsmen rowed a boat containing two +passengers and practically no luggage out across the huge lazy swells +of the Caribbean toward a smudge of black smoke. + +“Look!” cried that one of the passengers who wore huge goggles. “There +goes the flag!” + +A square of yellow bunting slid slowly up the pierhead staff of the +dock corporation, and spread in the light shore breeze. + +“That’s the modern flaming sword,” he continued. “The color stirs +something inside me. Ugly, isn’t it?” + +“It is ugly,” she confessed thoughtfully. “Yet it’s the flag we fight +under, too, isn’t it? And we’d fight for it if we had to, just as we +fought for the other—our own.” + +“I love your ‘we,’” he laughed happily. + +She nestled closer to him. + +“Are you still hating the Caribbean?” + +“I? I’m loving it the second-best thing in the world.” + +“But I loved it first,” she reminded him jealously. “Dearest,” she +added, with one of her swift swoops of thought, “what was that funny +title the British Secretary of Legation had?” + +“What? Oh, Captain the Honorable Carey Knowles?” + +“Yes. Well, I shall have a much nicer, more picturesque title than that +when we come back to Caracuña—dear, dirty, dangerous, queer, riotous, +plague-stricken old Caracuña!” + +“Then my liege ladylove intends to come back?” he asked. + +“Of course. Some time. And in Caracuña I shall insist on being Mrs. the +Unspeakable Perk.” + +THE END + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNSPEAKABLE PERK *** + +***** This file should be named 5009-0.txt or 5009-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/0/5009/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Unspeakable Perk</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Samuel Hopkins Adams</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: April 9, 2002 [eBook #5009]<br /> +[Most recently updated: April 13, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNSPEAKABLE PERK ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:55%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<h1>The Unspeakable Perk</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Samuel Hopkins Adams</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">I. MR. BEETLE MAN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">II. AT THE KAST</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">III. THE BETTER PART OF VALOR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">IV. TWO ON A MOUNTAIN-SIDE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">V. AN UPHOLDER OF TRADITIONS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">VI. FORKED TONGUES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">VII. “THAT WHICH THY SERVANT IS—”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">VIII. LOS YANKIS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">IX. THE BLACK WARNING</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">X. THE FOLLY OF PERK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">XI. PRESTO CHANGE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">XII. THE WOMAN AT THE QUINTA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">XIII. LEFT BEHIND</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">XIV. THE YELLOW FLAG</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>I.<br /> +MR. BEETLE MAN</h2> + +<p> +The man sat in a niche of the mountain, busily hating the Caribbean Sea. It was +quite a contract that he had undertaken, for there was a large expanse of +Caribbean Sea in sight to hate; very blue, and still, and indifferent to human +emotions. However, the young man was a good steadfast hater, and he came there +every day to sit in the shade of the overhanging boulder, where there was a +little trickle of cool air down the slope and a little trickle of cool water +from a crevice beneath the rock, to despise that placid, unimpressionable ocean +and all its works and to wish that it would dry up forthwith, so that he might +walk back to the blessed United States of America. In good plain American, the +young man was pretty homesick. +</p> + +<p> +Two-man’s-lengths up the mountain, on the crest of the sturdy +hater’s rock, the girl sat, loving the Caribbean Sea. Hers, also, was a +large contract, and she was much newer to it than was the man to his, for she +had only just discovered this vantage-ground by turning accidentally into a +side trail—quite a private little side trail made by her unsuspected +neighbor below—whence one emerges from a sea of verdure into full view of +the sea of azure. For the time, she was content to rest there in the flow of +the breeze and feast her eyes on that broad, unending blue which blessedly +separated her from the United States of America and certain perplexities and +complications comprised therein. Presently she would resume the trail and +return to the city of Caracuña, somewhere behind her. That is, she would if she +could find it, which was by no means certain. Not that she greatly cared. If +she were really lost, they’d come out and get her. Meantime, all she +wished was to rest mind and body in the contemplation of that restful plain of +cool sapphire, four thousand feet below. +</p> + +<p> +But there was a spirit of mischief abroad upon that mountain slope. It embodied +itself in a puff of wind that stirred gratefully the curls above the +girl’s brow. Also, it fanned the neck of the watcher below and cunningly +moved his hat from his side; not more than a few feet, indeed, but still far +enough to transfer it from the shade into the glaring sun and into the view of +the girl above. The owner made no move. If the wind wanted to blow his new +panama into some lower treetop, compelling him to throw stones, perhaps to its +permanent damage, in order to dislodge it, why, that was just one more cause of +offense to pin to his indictment of irritation against the great island +republic of Caracuña. Such is the temper one gets into after a year in the +tropics. +</p> + +<p> +Like as peas are panama hats to the eyes of the inexpert; far more like than +men who live under them. For the girl, it was a direct inference that this was +a hat which she knew intimately; which, indeed, she had rather maliciously +eluded, not half an hour before. Therefore, she addressed it familiarly: +“Boo!” +</p> + +<p> +The result of this simple monosyllable exceeded her fondest expectations. There +was a sharp exclamation of surprise, followed by a cry that might have meant +dismay or wrath or both, as something metallic tinkled and slid, presently +coming to a stop beside the hat, where it revealed itself as a pair of +enormous, aluminum-mounted brown-green spectacles. After it, on all fours, +scrambled the owner. +</p> + +<p> +Shock number one: It wasn’t the man at all! Instead of the black-haired, +flanneled, slender Adonis whom the trouble-maker confidently assumed to have +been under that hat, she beheld a brownish-clad, stocky figure with a very +blond head. +</p> + +<p> +Shock number two: The figure was groping lamentably and blindly in the +undergrowth, and when, for an instant, the face was turned half toward her, she +saw that the eyes were squinted tight-closed, with a painful extreme of +muscular tension about them. +</p> + +<p> +Presently one of the ranging hands encountered the spectacles, and settled upon +them. With careful touches, it felt them all over. A mild grunt, presumably of +satisfaction, made itself heard, and the figure got to its feet. But before the +face turned again, the girl had stepped back, out of range. +</p> + +<p> +Silence, above and below; a silence the long persistence of which came near to +constituting shock number three. What sort of hermit had she intruded upon? +Into what manner of remote Brahministic contemplation had she injected that +impertinent “Boo!”? Who, what, how, why— +</p> + +<p> +“Say it again.” The request came from under the rock. Evidently the +spectacled owner had resumed his original situation. +</p> + +<p> +“Say <i>what</i> again?” she inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Anything,” returned the voice, with child-like content. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I—I hope you didn’t break your glasses.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; you didn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +On consideration, she decided to ignore this prompt countering of the pronoun. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you were some one else,” she observed. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, so I am, am I not?” +</p> + +<p> +“So you are what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some one else than you thought.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes, I suppose—But I meant some one else besides +yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I only wish I were.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” she asked, intrigued by the fervid inflection of the wish. +</p> + +<p> +“Because then I’d be somewhere else than in this infernal hell-hole +of a black-and-tan nursery of revolution, fever, and trouble!” +</p> + +<p> +“I think it one of the loveliest spots I’ve ever seen,” said +she loftily. +</p> + +<p> +“How long have you been here?” +</p> + +<p> +“On this rock? Perhaps five minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not on the rock. In Caracuña?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite a long time. Nearly a fortnight.” +</p> + +<p> +The commentary on this was so indefinite that she was moved to inquire:— +</p> + +<p> +“Is that a local dialect you’re speaking?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; that was a grunt.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think it was a very polite grunt, even as grunts +go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps not. I’m afraid I’m out of the habit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of grunting? You seem expert enough to satisfy—” +</p> + +<p> +“No; of being polite. I’ll apologize if—if you’ll only +go on talking.” +</p> + +<p> +She laughed aloud. +</p> + +<p> +“Or laughing,” he amended promptly. “Do it again.” +</p> + +<p> +“One can’t laugh to order!” she protested; “or even +talk to order. But why do you stay ’way out here in the mountains if +you’re so eager to hear the human voice?” +</p> + +<p> +“The human voice be—choked! It’s <i>your</i> human voice I +want to hear—your kind of human voice, I mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know that my kind of human voice is particularly different +from plenty of other human voices,” she observed, with an effect of fine +impartial judgment. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s widely different from the kind that afflicts the suffering +ear in this part of the world. Fourteen months ago I heard the last American +girl speak the last American-girl language that’s come within reach of +me. Oh, no,—there <i>was</i> one, since, but she rasped like a rheumatic +phonograph and had brick-colored freckles. Have you got brick-colored +freckles?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stand up and see.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, <i>sir!</i>—that is, ma’am. Too much risk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Risk! Of what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Freckles. I don’t like freckles. Not on <i>your</i> voice, +anyway.” +</p> + +<p> +“On my <i>voice?</i> Are you—” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I am—a little. Any one is who stays down here more than +a year. But that about the voice and the freckles was sane enough. What +I’m trying to say—and you might know it without a diagram—is +that, from your voice, you ought to be all that a man dreams of +when—well, when he hasn’t seen a real American girl for an +eternity. Now I can sit here and dream of you as the loveliest princess that +ever came and went and left a memory of gold and blue in the heart +of—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not gold and blue!” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you’re not. But your speech is. I’ll be wise, and +content myself with that. One look might pull down, In irrevocable ruin, all +the lovely fabric of my dream. By the way, are you a Cookie?” +</p> + +<p> +“A <i>what?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Cookie. Tourist. No, of course you’re not. No tour would be +imbecile enough to touch here. The question is: How did you get here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that’s my secret.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or, rather, are you here at all? Perhaps you’re just a figment of +the overstrained ear. And if I undertook to look, there wouldn’t be +anything there at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, if you don’t believe in me, I’ll fly away on a +sunbeam.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, please! Don’t say that! I’m doing my best.” +</p> + +<p> +So panic-stricken was the appeal that she laughed again, in spite of herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that’s better! Now, come, be honest with me. You’re not +pretty, are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Me? I’m as lovely as the dawn.” +</p> + +<p> +“So far, so good. And have you got long golden—that is to say, +silken hair that floats almost to your knees?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” she replied, with spirit. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it plentiful enough so that you could spare a little?” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you asking me for a lock of my hair?” she queried, on a note +of mirth. “For a stranger, you go fast.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; oh, no!” he protested. “Nothing so familiar. I’m +offering you a bribe for conversation at the price of, say, five hairs, if you +can sacrifice so many.” +</p> + +<p> +“It sounds delightfully like voodoo,” she observed. “What +must I do with them?” +</p> + +<p> +“First, catch your hair. Well up toward the head, please. Now pull it +out. One, two, three—yank!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ouch!” said the voice above. +</p> + +<p> +“Do it again. Now have you got two?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Knot them together.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a period of silence. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very difficult,” complained the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Because you’re doing it in silence. There must be sprightly +conversation or the charm won’t work. Talk!” +</p> + +<p> +“What about?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me who you thought I was when you said, ‘Boo!’ at +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“A goose.” +</p> + +<p> +“A—a <i>goose!</i> Why—what—” +</p> + +<p> +“Doesn’t one proverbially say ‘Boo!’ to a goose?” +she remarked demurely. +</p> + +<p> +“If one has the courage. Now, I haven’t. I’m shy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shy! You?” Again the delicious trill of her mirth rang in his +ears. “I should imagine that to be the least of your troubles.” +</p> + +<p> +“No! Truly.” There was real and anxious earnestness in his +assurance. “It’s because I don’t see you. If I were face to +face with you, I’d stammer and get red and make a regular imbecile of +myself. Another reason why I stick down here and decline to yield to +temptation.” +</p> + +<p> +“O wise young man! <i>Are</i> you young? Ouch!” +</p> + +<p> +“Reasonably. Was that the last hair?” +</p> + +<p> +“Positively! I’m scalped. You’re a red Indian.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tie it on. Now, fasten a hairpin on the end and let it down. All right. +I’ve got it. Wait!” The fragile line of communication twitched for +a moment. “Haul, now. Gently!” +</p> + +<p> +Up came the thread, and, as its burden rose over the face of the rock, the girl +gave a little cry of delight:— +</p> + +<p> +“How exquisite! Orchids, aren’t they?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the golden-brown bee orchid. Just your coloring.” +</p> + +<p> +“So it is. How do you know?” she asked, startled. +</p> + +<p> +“From the hair. And your eyes have gold flashes in the brown when the sun +touches them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your wits are <i>your</i> eyes. But where do you get such +orchids?” +</p> + +<p> +“From my little private garden underneath the rock.” +</p> + +<p> +“Life will be a dull and dreary round unless I see that garden.” +</p> + +<p> +“No! I say! Wait! Really, now, Miss—er—” There was +panic in the protest. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t be afraid. I’m only playing with your fears. One +look at you as you chased your absurd spectacles was enough to satisfy my +curiosity. Go in peace, startled fawn that you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go nothing! I’m not going. Neither are you, I hope, until +you’ve told me lots more about yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“All that for a spray of orchids?” +</p> + +<p> +“But they are quite rare ones.” +</p> + +<p> +“And very lovely.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl mused, and a sudden impulse seized her to take the unseen acquaintance +at his word and free her mind as she had not been able to do to any living soul +for long weeks. She pondered over it. +</p> + +<p> +“You aren’t getting ready to go?” he cried, alarmed at her +long silence. +</p> + +<p> +“No; I’m thinking.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please think aloud.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was thinking—suppose I did.” +</p> + +<p> +There was so much of weighty consideration in her accents that the other fear +again beset him. +</p> + +<p> +“Did what? Not come down from the rock?” +</p> + +<p> +“Be calm. I shouldn’t want to face you any more than you want to +face me, if I decided to do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” he encouraged. “It sounds most promising.” +</p> + +<p> +“More than that. It’s fairly thrilling. It’s the awful secret +of my life that I’m considering laying bare to you, just like a dime +novel. Are you discreet?” +</p> + +<p> +“As the eternal rocks. Prescribe any form of oath and I’ll take +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m feeling just irresponsible enough to venture. Now, if I knew +you, of course I couldn’t. But as I shall never set eyes on you +again—I never shall, shall I?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not unless you creep up on me unawares.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll unburden my overweighted heart, and you can be my augur +and advise me with supernatural wisdom. Are you up to that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Try me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will. But, remember: this means truly that we are never to meet. And +if you ever do meet me and recognize my voice, you must go away at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Agreed,” he said cheerfully, just a bit too cheerfully to be +flattering. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, then. I’m a runaway.” +</p> + +<p> +“From where?” +</p> + +<p> +“Home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Naturally. Where’s home?” +</p> + +<p> +“Utica, New York,” she specified. +</p> + +<p> +“U.S.A.,” he concluded, with a sigh. “What did you run away +from?” +</p> + +<p> +“Trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does any one ever run away from anything else?” he inquired +philosophically. “What particular brand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Three men,” she said dolorously. “All after poor little me. +They all thought I ought to marry them, and everybody else seemed to think so, +too—” +</p> + +<p> +“Go slow! Did you say Utica or Utah?” +</p> + +<p> +“Everybody thought I ought to marry one or the other of ’em, I +mean. If I could have married them all, now, it might have been easier, for I +like them ever so much. But how could I make up my mind? So I just seized papa +around the neck and ran away with him down here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why here, of all places on earth?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he’s interested in some mines and concessions and things. +It’s very beautiful, but I almost wish I’d stayed at home and +married Bobby.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which is Bobby?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s one of the home boys. We’ve grown up together, and +I’m so fond of him. Only it’s more the brother-and-sister sort of +thing, if he’d let it be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Check off No. 1. What’s No. 2?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lots older. Mr. Thomas Murray Smith is an unspoiled millionaire. If he +weren’t so serious and quite so dangerously near forty—well, I +don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you kept No. 3 for the last because he’s the best?” +</p> + +<p> +“No-o-o-o. Because he’s the nearest. He followed me down. You can +see his name in all its luster on the Hotel Kast register, when you get back to +the city—Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll, at your service.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sounds Southern,” commented the man below. +</p> + +<p> +“Southern! He’s more Southern than the South Pole. His ancestors +fought all the wars and owned all the negroes—he calls them +‘niggers’—and married into all the first families of +Virginia, and all that sort of thing. He must quite hate himself, poor Fitz, +for falling in love with a little Yankee like me. In fact, that’s why I +made him do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And now you wish he hadn’t?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—well—I don’t know. He’s awfully good-looking +and gallant and devoted and all that. Only he’s such a prickly sort of +person. I’d have to spend the rest of my life keeping him and his pride +out of trouble. And I’ve no taste for diplomacy. Why, only last week he +declined to dine with the President of the Republic because some one said that +his excellency had a touch of the tar brush.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’d better get out of this country before that gets back to +headquarters.” +</p> + +<p> +“If he thought there was danger, he’d stay forever. I don’t +suppose Fitz is afraid of anything on earth. Except perhaps of me,” she +added after-thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Young woman, you’re a shameless flirt!” accused the +invisible one in stern tones. +</p> + +<p> +“If I am, it isn’t going to hurt you. Besides, I’m not. And, +anyway, who are you to judge me? You’re not here as a judge; you’re +an augur. Now, go on and aug.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aug?” repeated the other hesitantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly. Do an augury. Tell me which.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! As for that, it’s easy. None.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I much prefer to think of you, when you are gone, as unmarried. +It’s more in character with your voice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, of all the selfish pigs! Condemned to be an old maid, in order not +to spoil an ideal! Perhaps you’d like to enter the lists yourself,” +she taunted. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Heavens, no!” he cried in the most unflattering alarm. +“It isn’t in my line—I mean I haven’t time for that +sort of thing. I’m a very busy man.” +</p> + +<p> +“You look it! Or you did look it, scrambling about like a doodle bug +after your absurd spectacles.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no such insect as a doodle bug.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t there? How do you know? Are you personally acquainted with +all the insect families?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly. That’s my business. I’m a scientist.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, gracious! And I’ve appealed to you in a matter of sentiment! I +might better have stuck to Fitz. Poor Fitz! I wonder if he’s lost.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should he be lost?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I lost him. Back there on the trail. Purposely. I sent him for +water and then—I skipped.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh-h-h! Then <i>he’s</i> the goose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Goose! Preston Fairfax Fitz—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the goose you said ‘Boo!’ to, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. You didn’t steal his hat, did you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. It’s my own hat. Why did you run away from him?” +</p> + +<p> +“He bored me. When people bore me, I always run away. I’m beginning +to feel quite fugitive this very minute.” +</p> + +<p> +There was silence below, a silence that piqued the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” she challenged, “haven’t you anything to say +before the court passes sentence of abandonment to your fate?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m thinking—frantically. But the thoughts aren’t girl +thoughts. I mean, they wouldn’t interest you. I might tell you about some +of my insects,” he added hopefully. +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven forbid!” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re very interesting.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. You’re worthless as an augur, and a flat failure as a +conversationalist, when thrown on your own resources. So I shall shake the dust +from my feet and depart.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye!” he said desolately. “And thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +“For what?” +</p> + +<p> +“For making music in my desert.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s much better,” she approved. “But you’ve +paid your score with the orchids. If you have one or two more pretty speeches +like that in stock, I might linger for a while.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid I’m all out of those,” he returned. +“But,” he added desperately, “there’s the hexagonal +scarab beetle. He’s awfully queer and of much older family even than Mr. +Fitzwhizzle’s. It is the hexagonal scarab’s habit when +dis—” +</p> + +<p> +“We have an encyclopaedia of our own at home,” she interrupted +coldly. “I didn’t climb this mountain to talk about beetles.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll talk some more about you, if you’ll give me a +little time to think.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you are very impertinent. I don’t wish to talk about +myself. Just because I asked your advice in my difficulties, you assume that +I’m a little egoist—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, please don’t—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t interrupt. I’m very much offended, and I’m glad +we are never going to meet. Just as I was beginning to like you, too,” +she added, with malice. “Good-bye!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye,” he answered mournfully. +</p> + +<p> +But his attentive ears failed to discern the sound of departing footsteps. The +breeze whispered in the tree-tops. A sulphur-yellow bird, of French extraction, +perched in a flowering bush, insistently demanded: “Qu’est-ce +qu’il dit? Qu’est-ce qu’il dit?”—What’s he +say? <i>What’s</i> he say?—over and over again, becoming quite +wrathful because neither he nor any one else offered the slightest reply or +explanation. The girl sympathized with the bird. If the particular he whose +blond top she could barely see by peeping over the rock would only say +something, matters would be easier for her. But he didn’t. So presently, +in a voice of suspiciously saccharine meekness, she said:— +</p> + +<p> +“Please, Mr. Beetle Man, I’m lost.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, you’re not,” he said reassuringly. “You’re +not a quarter of a mile from the Puerto del Norte Road.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I don’t know which direction—” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly simple. Keep on over the top of the rock; turn left down the +slope, right up the dry stream bed to a dead tree; bear right +past—” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s too many turns, I never could remember more than +two.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, listen,” he said persuasively. “I can make it quite +plain to you if—” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t <i>wish</i> to listen! I’ll never find it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll toss you up my compass.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want your compass,” she said firmly. +</p> + +<p> +A long patient sigh exhaled from below. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want me to guide you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she retorted, and was instantly panic-stricken, for the +monosyllable was of that accent which sets fire to bridges and burns them +beyond hope of return. +</p> + +<p> +Slowly she got to her feet. Perhaps she would have dared and gone; perhaps she +would have swallowed pride and her negative, and made one more appeal. She +turned hesitantly and saw the devil. +</p> + +<p> +It was a small devil on stilts, not more than three or four inches tall, but +there was no mistaking his identity. No other living thing could possess such +demoniac little red-hot pin points of eyes, or be so bristly and grisly and +vicious. The stilts suddenly folded flat, and the devil rushed upon his prey. +The girl stepped back; her foot turned and caught, and— +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” the patient voice below was saying, “if you +really think that you couldn’t find the road, I could draw you a map and +send it up by the hair route. But I really think—” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Blump!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +The rock had turned over on his unprotected head and flattened him out forever. +Such was his first thought. When he finally collected himself, his eyeglasses, +and his senses, he sustained a second shock more violent than the first. +</p> + +<p> +Two paces away, the Voice, duly and most appropriately embodied, sat +half-facing him. The Voice’s eyes confirmed his worst suspicions, and, +dazed though they were at the moment, there were deep lights in them that +wholly disordered his mental mechanism. Nor were her first words such as to +restore his deranged faculties. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh-h! Aren’t you <i>gogglesome!</i>” she cried dizzily. +</p> + +<p> +He raised his hands to the huge brown spectacles. +</p> + +<p> +“Wh—wh—what did you come down for?” he babbled. There +was a distinct note of accusation in the query. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Come</i> down! I fell!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes; that may be true—” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>May</i> be!” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, it is true. I—I—I see it’s true. I’m +awfully sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry? What for?” +</p> + +<p> +“That you came. That you fell, I mean to say. I—I—I +don’t really know what I mean to say.” +</p> + +<p> +“No wonder, poor boy! I landed right on you, didn’t I?” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you? Something did. I thought it was the mountain.” +</p> + +<p> +“You aren’t very complimentary,” she pouted. “But +there! I dare say I knocked your thoughts all to bits.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; not at all. Certainly, I mean. It doesn’t matter. See +here,” he said, with an injured sharpness of inquiry born of his own +exasperation at his verbal fumbling, “you said you wouldn’t, and +here you are. I ask you, is that fair and honorable?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if it comes to that,” she countered, “you promised +that you’d never speak to me if you saw me, and here you are telling me +that you don’t want me around the place at all. It’s very rude and +inhospitable, I consider.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t help it,” he said miserably. “I’m +afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t look it. You look disagreeable.” +</p> + +<p> +“As long as you stayed where you belonged—Excuse me—I +don’t mean to be impolite—but I—I—You see—as long +as you were just a voice, I could manage all right, but now that you +are—er—er—you—” His speech trailed off lamentably +into meaningless stutterings. +</p> + +<p> +The girl turned amazed and amused eyes upon him. +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth ails the poor man?” she inquired of all creation. +</p> + +<p> +“I told you. I—I’m shy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not really! I thought it was a joke.” +</p> + +<p> +“Qu’est-ce qu’il dit? Qu’est-ce qu’il dit?” +demanded the yellow-breasted inquisitor, from his flowery perch. +</p> + +<p> +“What does he say? He says he’s shy. Poor poo—er young, +helpless thing!” And her laughter put to shame a palm thrush who was +giving what he had up to that moment considered a highly creditable musical +performance. +</p> + +<p> +“All right!” he retorted warmly. “Laugh if you want to! But +after stipulating that we should be strangers, to—to act this +way—well, I think it’s—it’s—forward. That’s +what I think it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you, indeed? Perhaps you think it’s pleasant for me, after +I’ve opened my heart to a stranger, to have him forced on me as an +acquaintance!” +</p> + +<p> +From the depths of those limpid eyes welled up a little film of vexation. +</p> + +<p> +“O Lord! Don’t do that!” he implored. “I didn’t +mean—I’m a bear—a pig—a—a—a +scarab—I’m anything you choose. Only don’t do that!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not doing anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you’re not. That’s fine! As for your secrets, I +dare say I wouldn’t know you again if I saw you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, wouldn’t you?” she cried in quite another tone. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite likely not. These glasses, you see. They make things look quite +queer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or if you heard me?” she challenged. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, well, that’s different. But I forget quite easily—even +things like voices.” +</p> + +<p> +She leaned forward, her hands in her lap, her eyes upon the goggled face before +her. +</p> + +<p> +“Then take them off.” +</p> + +<p> +“What? My glasses?” +</p> + +<p> +“Take them off!” +</p> + +<p> +“Wh—wh—why should I?” +</p> + +<p> +“So that you can see me better.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to see you better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you do. I’m much more interesting than a scarab.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I know about scarabs and I don’t know +about—about—” +</p> + +<p> +“Girls. So one might suspect. Do you know what I’m doing, Mr. +Beetle Man?” +</p> + +<p> +“N-n-no.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m flirting with you. I never flirted with a scientific person +before. It’s awfully one-sided, difficult, uphill work.” +</p> + +<p> +This last was all but drowned out in his flood of panicky instructions, from +which she disentangled such phrases as “first to +left”—“dry river-bed-hundred-yards”—“dead +tree—can’t miss it.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you send me away now, I’ll cry. Really, truly cry, this +time.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, you won’t! I mean I won’t! I—I’ll do +anything! I’ll talk! I’ll make conversation! How old are you? +That’s what the Chinese ask. I used to have a Chinese cook, but he lost +all my shirt studs, playing fan-tan. Can you play fan-tan? Two can’t +play, though. They have funny cards in this country, like the Spanish. Have you +seen a bullfight yet? Don’t do it. It’s dull and brutal. The bull +has no more chance than—than—” +</p> + +<p> +“Than an unprotected man with a conscienceless flirt, who falls on his +neck and then threatens to submerge him in tears.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now you’re beginning again!” he wailed. “What did you +jump for, anyway?” +</p> + +<p> +“I slipped. An awful, red-eyed, scrambly fiend scared me—a real, +live, hairy devilkin on stilts. He ran at me across the rock. Was that one of +your pet scarabs, Mr. Beetle Man?” +</p> + +<p> +“That was a tarantula, I suppose, from the description.” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re deadly, aren’t they?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not. Unscientific nonsense. I’ll go up and chase him +off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Flying from perils that you know not of to more familiar dangers?” +she taunted. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you see, with the tarantula out of the way, there’s no +reason why you shouldn’t—er—” +</p> + +<p> +“Go, and leave you in peace? What do you think of that for gallantry, +Birdie?” +</p> + +<p> +The gay-feathered inquisitor had come quite near. +</p> + +<p> +“Qu’est-ce qu’il dit?” he queried, cocking his curious +head. +</p> + +<p> +“He says he doesn’t like me one little, wee, teeny bit, and he +wishes I’d go home and stay there. And so I’m going, with my poor +little feelings all hurted and ruffled up like anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing of the sort,” protested the badgered spectacle-wearer. +</p> + +<p> +“Then why such unseemly haste to make my path clear?” +</p> + +<p> +“I just thought that maybe you’d go back on the top of the rock, +where you came from, and—and be a voice again. If you won’t go, I +will.” +</p> + +<p> +He made three jumps of it up the boulder, bearing a stick in his hand. +Presently his face, preternaturally solemn and gnomish behind the goggles, +protruded over the rim. The girl was sitting with her hands folded in her lap, +contemplating the scenery as if she’d never had another interest in her +life. Apparently she had forgotten his very existence. +</p> + +<p> +“Ahem!” he began nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“Ahem!” she retorted so promptly that he almost fell off his +precarious perch. “Did you ring? Number, please.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I knew whether you were laughing at me or not,” he said +ruefully. +</p> + +<p> +“When?” +</p> + +<p> +“All the time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am. Your darkest suspicions are correct. Did you abolish my +devilkin?” +</p> + +<p> +“I drove him back into his trapdoor home and put a rock over it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t you destroy him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I’ve appointed him guardian of the rock, with strict +instructions to bite any one that ever comes there after this except +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bravo! You’re progressing. As soon as you’re free from the +blight of my regard, you become quite human. But I’ll never come +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I suppose not,” he said dismally. “I shan’t hear +you again, unless, perhaps, the echoes have kept your voice to play +with.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, oh! Is this the language of science? You know I almost think I +should like to come—if I could. But I can’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because we leave to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not across to the southern coast? It isn’t safe. +Fever—” +</p> + +<p> +“No; by Puerto del Norte.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no boat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, there is. You can just see her funnel over that white slope. +It’s our yacht.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you think you are going in her to-morrow?” +</p> + +<p> +“Think? I know it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he contradicted. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she asserted, quite as concisely. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he repeated. “You’re mistaken.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be absurd. Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Look out there, over that tree to the horizon.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m looking.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you see anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; a sort of little smudge.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s why.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a very shadowy sort of why.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s substance enough under it.” +</p> + +<p> +“A riddle? I’ll give it up.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; a bet. I’ll bet you the treasures of my mountain-side. Orchids +of gold and white and purple and pink, butterflies that dart on wings of fire +opal—” +</p> + +<p> +“Beetles, to know which is to love them, and love but them +forever,” she laughed. “And my side of the wager—what is that +to be?” +</p> + +<p> +“That you will come to the rock day after to-morrow at this hour and +stand on the top and be a voice again and talk to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Done! Send your treasures to the pier, for you’ll surely lose. And +now take me to the road.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a single-file trail, and he walked in advance, silent as an Indian. As +they emerged from a thicket into the highway, above the red-tiled city in its +setting of emerald fields strung on the silver thread of the Santa Clara River, +she turned and gave him her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Be at your rock to-morrow, and when you see the yacht steam out, +you’ll know I’ll be saying good-bye, and thank you for your +mountain treasures. Send them to Miss Brewster, care of the yacht Polly. +She’s named after me. Is there anything the matter with my shoes?” +she broke off to inquire solicitously. +</p> + +<p> +“Er—what? No.” He lifted his eyes, startled, and looked out +across the quaint old city. +</p> + +<p> +“Then is there anything the matter with my face?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes? Well, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s going to be hard to forget,” complained he of the +goggles. +</p> + +<p> +“Then look away before it’s too late,” she cried merrily; but +her color deepened a little. “Good-bye, O friend of the lowly +scarab!” +</p> + +<p> +At the dip of the road down into the bridged arroyo, she turned, and was +surprised—or at least she told herself so—to find him still looking +after her. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>II.<br /> +AT THE KAST</h2> + +<p> +One dines at the Gran Hotel Kast after the fashion of a <i>champignon sous +cloche</i>. The top of the <i>cloche</i> is of fluted glass, with a wide +aperture between it and the sides, to admit the rain in the wet season and the +flies in the dry. Three balconies run up from the dining-room well to this +roof, and upon these, as near to the railings as they choose, the rather +conglomerate patronage of the place sleeps, takes baths, dresses, gossips, +makes love, quarrels, and exchanges prophecies as to next Sunday’s +bullfight, while the diners below strive to select from the bill of fare +special morsels upon which they will stake their internal peace for the day. No +cabaret can hold a candle to it for variety of interest. When the sudden +torrential storms sweep down the mountains at meal times, the little human +<i>champignons</i>, beneath their insufficient <i>cloche</i>, rush about wildly +seeking spots where the drippage will not wash their food away. Commercial +travelers of the tropics have a saying: “There are worse hotels in the +world than the Kast—but why take the trouble?” And, year upon year, +they return there for reasons connected with the other hostelries of Caracuña, +which I forbear to specify. +</p> + +<p> +To Miss Polly Brewster, the Kast was a place of romance. Five miles away, as +the buzzard flies, she could have dined well, even elegantly, on the Brewster +yacht. Would she have done it? Not for worlds! Miss Brewster was entranced by +the courtly manners of her waiter, who had lost one ear and no small part of +the countenance adjacent thereto, only too obviously through the agency of some +edged instrument not wielded in the arts of peace. She was further delightedly +intrigued by the abrupt appearance of a romantic-hued gentleman, who thrust out +over the void from the second balcony an anguished face, one side of which was +profusely lathered, and addressed to all the hierarchy of heaven above, and the +peoples of the earth beneath, a passionate protest upon the subject of a +cherished and vanished shaving brush; what time, below, the head waiter was +hastily removing from sight, though not from memory, a soup tureen whose +agitated surface bore a creamy froth not of a lacteal origin. One may not with +impunity balance personal implements upon the too tremulous rails of the +ancient Kast. +</p> + +<p> +With an appreciative and glowing eye, Miss Brewster read from her mimeographed +bill of fare such legends as “<i>ropa con carne</i>,” +“<i>bacalao secco</i>,” “<i>enchiladas</i>,” and +meantime devoured <i>chechenaca</i>, which, had it been translated into its +just and simple English of “hash,” she would not have given to her +cat. +</p> + +<p> +Nor did her visual and prandial preoccupations inhibit her from a lively +interest in the surrounding Babel of speech in mingled Spanish, Dutch, German, +English, Italian, and French, all at the highest pitch, for a few rods away the +cathedral bells were saluting Heaven with all the clangor and din of the other +place, and only the strident of voice gained any heed in that contest. Even +after the bells paused, the habit of effort kept the voices up. Miss Brewster, +dining with her father a few hours after her return from the mountain, absolved +her conscience from any intent of eavesdropping in overhearing the talk of the +table to the right of her. The remark that first fixed her attention was in +English, of the super-British <i>patois</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t tell wot the blighter might look like behind those +bloomin’ brown glasses.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he’s not bothersome to any one,” suggested a second +speaker, in a slightly foreign accent. “He regards his own +affairs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right you are, bo!” approved a tall, deeply browned man of thirty, +all sinewy angles, who, from the shoulders up, suggested nothing so much as a +club with a gnarled knob on the end of it, a tough, reliable, hardwood club, +capable of dealing a stiff blow in an honest cause. “If he deals in +conversation, he must <i>sell</i> it. I don’t notice him giving any of it +away.” +</p> + +<p> +“He gave some to Kast the last time he dined here,” observed a +languid and rather elegant elderly man, who occupied the fourth side of the +table. “Mine host didn’t like it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should suppose Señor Kast would be hardened,” remarked the young +Caracuñan who had defended the absent. +</p> + +<p> +“Our eyeglassed friend scored for once, though. They had just served him +the usual table-d’hôte salad—you know, two leaves of lettuce with a +caterpillar on one. Kast happened to be passing. Our friend beckoned him over. +‘A little less of the fauna and more of the flora, Señor Kast,’ +said he in that gritty, scientific voice of his. I really thought Kast was +going to forget his Swiss blood, and chase a whole peso of custom right out of +the place.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you ask me, I think the blighter is barmy,” asserted the +Briton. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll ask you,” proffered the elegant one kindly. +“Why do you consider him ‘barmy,’ as you put it?” +</p> + +<p> +“When I first saw him here and heard him speak to the waiter, I knew him +for an American Johnny at once, and I went, directly I’d finished my +soup, and sat down at his table. The friendly touch, y’ know. ‘I +say,’ I said to him, ‘I don’t know you, but I heard you +speak, and I knew at once you were one of these Americans—tell you at +once by the beastly queer accent, you know. You are an American, +ay—wot?’ Wot d’ you suppose the blighter said? He said, +‘No, I’m an ichthyo’—somethin’ or +other—” +</p> + +<p> +“Ichthyosaurus, perhaps,” supplied the Caracunuan, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it, whatever it may be. ‘I’m an +ichthyosaurus,’ he says. ‘It’s a very old family, but most of +the buttons are off. Were you ever bitten by one in the fossil state? Very +exhilaratin’, but poisonous,’ he says. ‘So don’t let me +keep you any longer from your dinner.’ Of course, I saw then that he was +a wrong un, so I cut him dead, and walked away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Served him right,” declared the elderly American, with a solemn +twinkle directed at the tall brown man, who, having opened his mouth, now +thought better of it, and closed it again, with a grin. +</p> + +<p> +“But he is very kind,” said the native. “When my brother fell +and broke his arm on the mountain, this gentleman found him, took care of him, +and brought him in on muleback.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lives up there somewhere, doesn’t he, Mr. Raimonda?” asked +the big man. +</p> + +<p> +“In the <i>quinta</i> of a deserted plantation,” replied the +Caracuñan. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot’s he do?” asked the Englishman. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, <i>that</i> one does not know, unless Senor Sherwen can tell +us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not I,” said the elderly man. “Some sort of scientific +investigation, according to the guess of the men at the club.” +</p> + +<p> +“You never can tell down here,” observed the Englishman darkly. +“Might be a blind, you know. Calls himself Perkins. Dare say it +isn’t his name at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Daughter,” said Mr. Thatcher Brewster at this juncture, in a +patient and plaintive voice, “for the fifth and last time, I implore you +to pass me the butter, or that which purports to be butter, in the dish at your +elbow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, poor dad! Forgive me! But I was overhearing some news of an—an +acquaintance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know any of the gentlemen upon whose conversation you are +eavesdropping?” +</p> + +<p> +In financial circles, Mr. Brewster was credited with the possession of a cold +blue eye and a denatured voice of interrogation, but he seldom succeeded in +keeping a twinkle out of the one and a chuckle out of the other when conversing +with his daughter. +</p> + +<p> +“Not yet,” observed that damsel calmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Meaning, I suppose I am to understand—” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely. Haven’t you noticed them looking this way? Presently +they’ll be employing all their strategy to meet me. They’ll employ +it on you.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster surveyed the group dubiously. +</p> + +<p> +“In a country such as this, one can’t be too—too +cau—” +</p> + +<p> +“Too particular, as you were saying,” cut in his daughter +cheerfully. “Men are scarce—except Fitzhugh, who is rather less +scarce than I wish he were lately. You know,” she added, with a covert +glance at the adjoining table, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you +found yourself an extremely popular papa immediately after dinner. It might +even go so far as cigars. Do you suppose that lovely young Caracuñan is a +bullfighter?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I believe he’s a coffee exporter. Less romantic, but more +respectable. Quite one of the gilded youth of Caracuña. His name is Raimonda. +Fitzhugh knows him. By the way, where on earth is Fitzhugh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Trying to fit a kind and gentlemanly expression over a swollen sense of +injury, for a guess,” replied the girl carelessly. “I left him in +sweet and lone communion with nature three hours ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Polly, I wish—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dad, dear, don’t! You’ll get your wish, I suppose, and +Fitz, too. Only I don’t want to be hurried. Here he is, now. Look at that +smile! A sculptor couldn’t have done any better. Now, as soon as he +comes, I’m going to be quite nice and kind.” +</p> + +<p> +But Mr. Fairfax Preston Fitzhugh Carroll did not come direct to the Brewster +table. Instead, he stopped to greet the elderly man in the near-by group, and +presently drew up a chair. At first, their conversation was low-toned, but +presently the young native added his more vivacious accents. +</p> + +<p> +“Who can tell?” the Brewsters heard him say, and marked the +fatalistic gesture of the upturned hands. “They disappear. One does not +ask questions too much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not here,” confirmed the big man. “Always room for a few +more in the undersea jails, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Always. But I think it was not that with Basurdo. I think it was +underground, not undersea.” He brushed his neck with his finger tips. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it dangerous for foreigners?” asked Carroll quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“For every one,” answered Sherwen; adding significantly: “But +the Caracuñan Government does not approve of loose fostering of rumors.” +</p> + +<p> +Carroll rose and came over to the Brewsters. +</p> + +<p> +“May I bring Mr. Graydon Sherwen over and present him?” he asked. +“I can vouch for him, having known his family at home, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, bring them all, Fitzhugh,” commanded the girl. +</p> + +<p> +The exponent of Southern aristocracy looked uncomfortable. +</p> + +<p> +“As to the others,” he said, “Mr. Raimonda is a +native—” +</p> + +<p> +“With the manners of a prince. I’ve quite fallen in love with him +already,” she said wickedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, if you wish it. But the other American is an ex-professional +baseball player, named Cluff.” +</p> + +<p> +“What? ‘Clipper’ Cluff? I knew I’d seen him +before!” cried Miss Polly. “He got his start in the New York State +League. Why, we’re quite old friends, by sight.” +</p> + +<p> +“As for Galpy, he’s an underbred little cockney bounder.” +</p> + +<p> +“With the most naive line of conversation I’ve ever listened to. I +want all of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me bring Sherwen first,” pleaded the suitor, and was presently +introducing that gentleman. “Mr. Sherwen is in charge here of the +American Legation,” he explained. +</p> + +<p> +“How does one salute a real live minister?” queried Miss Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t mistake me for anything so important,” said Sherwen. +“We’re not keeping a minister in stock at present. My job is being +a superior kind of janitor until diplomatic relations are resumed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Goodness! It sounds like war,” said Miss Brewster hopefully. +“Is there anything as exciting as that going on?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no. Just a temporary cessation of civilities between the two +nations. If it weren’t indiscreet—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, do be indiscreet!” implored the girl, with clasped hands. +“I admire indiscretion in others, and cultivate it in myself.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Carroll looked pained, as the other laughed and said:— +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it would certainly be most undiplomatic for me to hint that the +great and friendly nation of Hochwald, which wields more influence and has a +larger market here than any other European power, has become a little jealous +of the growing American trade. But the fact remains that the Hochwald minister +and his secretary, Von Plaanden, who is a very able citizen when +sober,—and is, of course, almost always sober,—have not exerted +themselves painfully to compose the little misunderstanding between President +Fortuno and us. The Dutch diplomats, who are not as diplomatic in speech as I +am, would tell you, if there were any of them left here to tell anything, that +Von Plaanden’s intrigues brought on the present break with them. So there +you have a brief, but reliable ‘History of Our Times in the Island +Republic of Caracuña.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Highly informative and improving to the untutored mind,” Miss +Brewster complimented him. “I like seeing the wires of empire pulled. +More, please.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you won’t like the next so well,” observed Carroll +grimly. “There is bubonic plague here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—ah!” protested Sherwen gently. “The suspicion of +plague. Quite a different matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which usually turns out to be the same, doesn’t it?” +inquired Mr. Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps. People disappear, and one is not encouraged to ask about them. +But then people disappear for many causes in Caracuña. Politics here are +somewhat—well—Philadelphian in method. But—there is smoke +rising from behind Capo Blanco.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is there?” inquired the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“The lazaretto. Still, it might be yellow fever, or only smallpox. The +Government is not generous with information. To have plague discovered now +would be very disturbing to the worthy plans of the Hochwald Legation. For +trade purposes, they would very much dislike to have the port closed for a +considerable time by quarantine. The Dutch difficulty they can arrange when +they will. But quarantine would bring in the United States, and that is quite +another matter. Well, we’ll see, when Dr. Pruyn gets here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is he?” asked Carroll. +</p> + +<p> +“Special-duty man of the United States Public Health Service. The best +man on tropical diseases and quarantine that the service has ever had.” +</p> + +<p> +“That isn’t Luther Pruyn, is it?” inquired Mr. Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +“The same. Do you know him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“More than I do, except by reputation.” +</p> + +<p> +“He was in my class at college, but I haven’t seen him since. +I’d be glad to see him again. A queer, dry fellow, but character and grit +to his backbone.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d supposed he was younger,” said Sherwen. “Anyway, +he’s comparatively new to the service. His rise is the more remarkable. +At present, he’s not only our quarantine representative, with full +powers, but unofficially he acts, while on his roving commission, for the +British, the Dutch, the French, and half the South American republics. I +suppose he’s really the most important figure in the Caracuña +crisis—and he hasn’t even got here yet. Perhaps our Hochwaldian +friends have captured him on the quiet. It would pay ’em, for if there is +plague here, he’ll certainly trail it down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m tired of plague,” announced Miss Polly. “Bring +the others here and let’s all go over to the plaza, where it’s +cool.” +</p> + +<p> +To their open and obvious delight, exhibited jauntily by the Englishman, with +awkward and admiring respectfulness by the ball-player, and with graceful ease +by the handsome Caracuñan, the rest were invited to join the party. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t let them scare you about plague, Miss Brewster,” said +Cluff, as they found their chairs. “Foreigners don’t get it +much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m not afraid! But, anyway, we shouldn’t have time to +catch even a cold. We leave to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +The men exchanged glances. +</p> + +<p> +“How?” inquired Sherwen and Raimonda in a breath. +</p> + +<p> +“In the yacht, from Puerto del Norte.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if it were a British battleship,” said Galpy. +“Port’s closed.” +</p> + +<p> +“What? Quarantine already?” said Carroll. +</p> + +<p> +“Quarantine be blowed! It’s the Dutch.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you knew,” said Sherwen. “All the town is ringing +with the news. It just came in to-night. Holland has declared a blockade until +Caracuña apologizes for the interference with its cable.” +</p> + +<p> +“And nothing can pass?” asked Mr. Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing but an aeroplane or a submarine.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a silence. Miss Polly Brewster broke it with a curious +question:— +</p> + +<p> +“What day is day after to-morrow?” +</p> + +<p> +Several voices had answered her, but she paid little heed, for there had +slipped over her shoulder a brown thin hand holding a cunningly woven closed +basket of reedwork. A soft voice murmured something in Spanish. +</p> + +<p> +“What does he say?” asked the girl “For me?” +</p> + +<p> +“He thinks it must be for you,” translated Raimonda, “from +the description.” +</p> + +<p> +“What description?” +</p> + +<p> +“He was told to go to the hotel and deliver it to the most beautiful +lady. There could hardly be any mistaking such specific instructions even by an +ignorant mountain peon,” he added, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +The girl opened the curious receptacle, and breathed a little gasp of delight. +Bedded in fern, lay a mass of long sprays aquiver with bells of the purest, +most lucent white, each with a great glow of gold at its heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” observed the young Caracuñan, “I see that you are +<i>persona grata</i> with our worthy President, Miss Brewster.” +</p> + +<p> +“President Fortuno?” asked the girl, surprised. “No; not that +I’m aware of. Why do you say that?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is his special orchid—almost the official flower. They call +it ‘the President’s orchid.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Has he a monopoly of growing them?” asked Miss Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +“No one can grow them. They die when transplanted from their native +cliffs. But it’s only the President’s rangers who are daring enough +to get them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are they so inaccessible?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. They grow nowhere but on the cliff faces, usually in the wildest +part of the mountains. Few people except the hunters and mountaineers know +where, and it’s only the most adventurous of them who go after the +flowers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you suppose this boy got these?” Miss Brewster indicated the +shy and dusky messenger. +</p> + +<p> +Raimonda spoke to the boy for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“No; he didn’t collect them. Nor is he one of the President’s +men. I don’t quite understand it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who did gather them?” +</p> + +<p> +“All that he will say is, ‘the master.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Miss Brewster, and retired into a thoughtful silence. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re very beautiful, aren’t they?” continued the +Caracuñan. “And they carry a pretty sentiment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me,” commanded the girl, emerging from her reverie. +</p> + +<p> +“The mountaineers say that their fragrance casts a spell which carries +the thought back to the giver.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the language of science?” she queried absently, with a +thought far away. +</p> + +<p> +“But no, señorita, assuredly not,” said the young Caracufian. +“It is the language—permit that I say it better in +French—c’est le langage d’amour.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>III.<br /> +THE BETTER PART OF VALOR</h2> + +<p> +Night fell with the iron clangor of bells, and day broke to the accompaniment +of further insensate jangling, for Caracuña City has the noisiest cathedral in +the world; and still the graceful gray yacht Polly lay in the harbor at Puerto +del Norte, hemmed in by a thin film of smoke along the horizon where the Dutch +warship promenaded. +</p> + +<p> +In one of the side caverns off the main dining-room of the Hotel Kast, the +yacht’s owner, breakfasting with the yacht’s tutelary goddess and +the goddess’s determined pursuer, discussed the blockade. Though Miss +Polly Brewster kept up her end of the conversation, her thoughts were far upon +a breeze-swept mountain-side. How, she wondered, had that dry and strange +hermit of the wilds known the news before the city learned it? With her wonder +came annoyance over her lost wager. The beetle man, she judged, would be coolly +superior about it. So she delivered herself of sundry stinging criticisms +regarding the conduct of the Caracuñan Administration in having stupidly +involved itself in a blockade. She even spoke of going to see the President and +apprising him of her views. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to tell him how to run this foolish little island,” +said she, puckering a quaintly severe brow. +</p> + +<p> +“Now is the appointed time for you to plunge in and change the course of +empire,” her father suggested to her. “There’s an official +morning reception at ten o’clock. We’re invited.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I shan’t go. I wouldn’t give the old goose the +satisfaction of going to his <i>fiesta</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Meaning the noble and patriotic President?” said Carroll. +“Treason most foul! The <i>cuartels</i> are full of chained prisoners who +have said less.” +</p> + +<p> +“Father can go with Mr. Sherwen. I shall do some important +shopping,” announced Miss Brewster. “And I don’t want any one +along.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus apprised of her intentions, Carroll wrapped himself in gloom, and retired +to write a letter. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Polly’s shopping, being conducted mainly through the medium of the +sign language, presently palled upon her sensibilities, and about twelve +o’clock she decided upon a drive. Accordingly she stepped into one of the +pretty little toy victorias with which the city swarms. +</p> + +<p> +“Para donde?” inquired the driver. +</p> + +<p> +His fare made an expansive gesture, signifying “Anywhere.” Being an +astute person in his own opinion, the Jehu studied the pretty foreigner’s +attire with an appraising eye, profoundly estimated that so much style and +elegance could be designed for only one function of the day, whirled her +swiftly along the two-mile drive of the Calvario Road, and landed her at the +President’s palace, half an hour after the reception was over. Supposing +from the coachman’s signs that she was expected to go in and view some +public garden, she paid him, walked far enough to be stopped by the apologetic +and appreciative guard, and returned to the highway, to find no carriage in +sight. Never mind, she reflected; she needed the exercise. Accordingly, she set +out to walk. +</p> + +<p> +But the noonday sun of Caracuia has a bite to it. For a time, Miss Brewster +followed the car tracks which were her sure guide from the palace to the Kast; +briskly enough, at first. But, after three cars had passed her, she began to +think longingly of the fourth. When it stopped at her signal, it was well +filled. The most promising ingress appeared to be across the blockade of a +robust and much-begilded young man, who was occupying the familiar position of +an “end-seat hog,” and displaying the full glories of the +Hochwaldian dress uniform. +</p> + +<p> +Herr von Plaanden was both sleepy and cross, for, having lingered after the +reception to have a word and several drinks with the Minister of Foreign +Affairs, he had come forth to find neither coach nor automobile in attendance. +There had been nothing for it but the plebeian trolley. Accordingly, when he +heard a foreign voice of feminine timbre and felt a light pressure against his +knee, he only snorted. What he next felt against his knee was the impact of a +half-shove, half-blow, brisk enough to slue him around. The intruder passed by +to the vacant seat, while the now thoroughly awakened and annoyed Hochwaldian +whirled, to find himself looking into a pair of expressionless brown goggles. +</p> + +<p> +With a snort of fury, the diplomat struck backward. The glasses and the solemn +face behind them dodged smartly. The next moment, Herr von Plaanden felt his +neck encircled by a clasp none the less warm for being not precisely +affectionate. He was pinned. Twisting, he worked one arm loose. +</p> + +<p> +“Be careful!” warned the cool voice of Polly Brewster, addressing +her defender. “He’s trying to draw his sword.” +</p> + +<p> +The gogglesome one’s grip slid a little lower. The car had now stopped, +and the conductor came forward, brandishing what was apparently the wand of +authority, designed to be symbolic rather than utile, since at no point was it +thicker than a man’s finger. From a safe distance on the running-board, +he flourished this, whooping the while in a shrill and dissuasive manner. +Somewhere down the street was heard a responsive yell, and a small, jerky, +olive-green <i>policia</i> pranced into view. +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon a strange thing happened. The rescuing knight relaxed his grip, +leaped the back of his seat, dropped off the car, and darted like a hunted hare +across a compound, around a wall, and so into the unknown, deserting his lady +fair, if not precisely in the hour of greatest need, at least in a situation +fraught with untoward possibilities. Indeed, it seemed as if these +possibilities might promptly become actualities, for the diplomat turned his +stimulated wrath upon the girl, and was addressing her in tones too emphatic to +be mistaken when a large angular form interposed itself, landing with a flying +leap on the seat between them. +</p> + +<p> +“Move!” the newly arrived one briefly bade Herr von Plaanden. +</p> + +<p> +Herr von Plaanden, feeling the pressure of a shoulder formed upon the generous +lines of a gorilla’s, and noting the approach of the <i>policia</i> on +the other side, was fain to obey. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you be scared, miss,” said Cluff, turning to the girl. +“It’s all over.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not frightened,” she said, with a catch in her voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you ain’t,” he agreed reassuringly. “You +just sit quiet—” +</p> + +<p> +“But I—I—I’m <i>mad</i>, clean through.” +</p> + +<p> +“You gotta right. You gotta perfect right. Now, if this was New York, +I’d spread that gold-laced guy’s face—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not angry at him. Not particularly, I mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“No?” queried her friend in need. “What got your goat, +then?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Brewster shot a quick and scornful glance over her shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, <i>him!</i>” interpreted the athlete. “Well, he made his +get-away like a man with some reason for being elsewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“Reason enough. He was afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe. Being afraid’s a queer thing,” remarked her escort +academically. “Now, me, I’m afraid of a fuzzy caterpillar. But I +ain’t exactly timid about other things.” +</p> + +<p> +“You certainly aren’t. And I don’t know how to thank +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aw, that’s awright, miss. What else could I do? Our departed +friend, Professor Goggle-Eye, when he made his jump, landed right in my shirt +front. ‘Take my place,’ he says; ‘I’ve got an +engagement.’ Well, I was just moving forward, anyway, so it was no +trouble at all, I assure you,” asserted the doughty Cluff, achieving a +truly elegant conclusion. +</p> + +<p> +“Most fortunate for me,” said the girl sweetly. “Mr. Perkins +scuttled away like one of his own little wretched beetles. When I see him +again—” +</p> + +<p> +“Again? Oh, well, if he’s a friend of yours, accourse he’d +awtuv stood by—” +</p> + +<p> +“He isn’t!” she declared, with unnecessary vehemence. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you be too hard on him, miss,” argued her escort. +“Seems to me he did a pretty good job for you, and stuck to it until he +found some one else to take it up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why didn’t he stand by you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t carry any ‘Help-wanted’ signs on me. You +know, miss, you can’t size up a man in this country like he was at home. +Now, me, I’d have natcherly hammered that Von Plaanden gink all to +heh—heh—hash. But did I do it? I did not. You see, I got a little +mining concession out here in the mountains, and if I was to get into any +diplomatic mix-up and bring in the police, it’d be bad for my business, +besides maybe getting me a couple of tons of bracelets around my pretty little +ankles. Like as not your friend, Professor Lamps, has got an equally good +reason for keeping the peace.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean that this man will make trouble for you over this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not as things stand. So long as nothing was done—no arrests or +anything like that—he’ll be glad to forget it, when he sobers up. +I’ll forget it, too, and maybe, miss, it wouldn’t be any harm to +anybody if you did a turn at forgetting, yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +But neither by the venturesome Miss Polly nor by her athlete servitor was the +episode to be so readily dismissed. Late that afternoon, when the Brewster +party were sitting about iced fruit drinks amid the dingy and soiled elegance +of the Kast’s one private parlor, Mr. Sherwen’s card arrived, +followed shortly by Mr. Sherwen’s immaculate self, creaseless except for +one furrow of the brow. +</p> + +<p> +“How you are going to get out of here I really don’t know,” +he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Why should we hurry?” inquired Miss Brewster. “I don’t +find Caracuña so uninteresting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never since I came here has it been so charming,” said the +legation representative, with a smiling bow. “But, much as your party +adds to the landscape, I’m not at all sure that this city is the most +healthful spot for you at present.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean the plague?” asked Mr. Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +“Not quite so loud, please. ‘Healthful,’ as I used it, was, +in part, a figure of speech. Something is brewing hereabout.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a revolution?” cried Miss Polly, with eyes alight. “Oh, +do brew a revolution for me! I should so adore to see one!” +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly you may, though I hardly think it. Some readjustment of foreign +relations, at most. The Dutch blockade is, perhaps, only a beginning. However, +it’s sufficient to keep you bottled up, though if we could get word to +them, I dare say they would let a yacht go out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Senator Richland, of the Committee on Foreign Relations, is an old +friend of my family,” said Carroll, in his measured tones. “A +cable—” +</p> + +<p> +“Would probably never get through. This Government wouldn’t allow +it. There are other possibilities. Perhaps, Mr. Brewster,” he continued, +with a side glance at the girl, “we might talk it over at length this +evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite useless, Mr. Sherwen,” smiled the magnate. “Polly +would have it all out of me before I was an hour older. She may as well get it +direct.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, then. It’s this quarantine business. If Dr. Pruyn comes +here and declares bubonic plague—” +</p> + +<p> +“But how will he get in?” asked Carroll. +</p> + +<p> +“So far as the blockade goes, the Dutch will help him all they can. But +this Government will keep him out, if possible.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is not persona grata?” asked Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +“Not with any of the countries that play politics with pestilence. But if +he’s sent here, he’ll get in some way. In fact, Stark, the +public-health surgeon at Puerto del Norte, let fall a hint that makes me think +he’s on his way now. Probably in some cockleshell of a small boat manned +by Indian smugglers.” +</p> + +<p> +“It sounds almost too adventurous for the scholarly Pruyn whom I +recall,” observed Mr. Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +“The man who went through the cholera anarchy on the lazar island off +Camacho, with one case of medical supplies and two boxes of cartridges, may +have been scholarly; he certainly didn’t exhibit any distaste for +adventure. Well, I wish he’d arrive and get something settled. Only +I’d like to have you out of the way first.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t send <i>me</i> away, Mr. Sherwen,” pleaded Miss +Polly, with mischief in her eyes. “I’d make the cunningest little +office assistant to busy old Dr. Pruyn. And he’s a friend of dad’s, +and we surely ought to wait for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“If only I <i>could</i> send you! The fact is, Americans won’t be +very popular if matters turn out as I expect.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we be confined to our rooms and kept <i>incomunicado</i>, while +Dr. Pruyn chases the terrified germ through the streets of Caracuña?” +queried the irrepressible Polly. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll probably have to move to the legation, where you will be +very welcome, but none too comfortable. The place has been practically closed +and sealed for two months.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure we should bother you dreadfully,” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“It would bother me more dreadfully if you got into any trouble. Just +this morning there was some kind of an affair on a street car in which some +Americans were involved.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Polly’s countenance was a design—a very dainty and ornamental +design—in <i>insouciance</i> as her father said:— +</p> + +<p> +“Americans? Any one we have met?” +</p> + +<p> +“No news has come to me. I understand one of the diplomatic corps, +returning from the President’s matinée, spoke to an American woman, and +an American man interfered.” +</p> + +<p> +“When did this happen?” asked Carroll. +</p> + +<p> +“About noon. Inquiries are going on quietly.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man directed a troubled and accusing look from his fine eyes upon +Miss Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, Miss Polly,” he said, “no lady should go about +unprotected down here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ordinarily it’s as safe as any city,” said Sherwen. +“Just now I can’t be so certain.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hate being watched over like a child!” pouted Miss Brewster. +“And I love sight-seeing alone. The flowers along the Calvario Road were +so lovely.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the road to the palace,” remarked Carroll, looking at +her closely. +</p> + +<p> +“And the butterflies are so marvelous,” she continued cheerfully. +“Who lives in that salmon-pink pagoda just this side of the curve?” +</p> + +<p> +Trouble sat dark and heavy upon the handsome features of Mr. Preston Fairfax +Fitzhugh Carroll, but he was too experienced to put a direct query to his +<i>inamorata</i>. What suspicion he had, he cherished until after dinner, when +he took it to the club and made it the foundation of certain inquiries. +</p> + +<p> +Thus it happened that at eleven o’clock that evening, he paused before a +bench in the plaza, bowered in the bloom of creepers which flowed down from a +balcony of the Kast, and occupied by the comfortably sprawled-out form of Mr. +Thomas Cluff, who was making a burnt offering to Morpheus. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-evening!” said Mr. Carroll pleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Evenin’! How’s things?” returned the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Right as can be, thanks to you. On behalf of the Brewster family, I want +to express our appreciation of your assistance to Miss Brewster this +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that was nothing,” returned the other. +</p> + +<p> +“But it might have been a great deal. Mr. Brewster will wish to thank you +in person—” +</p> + +<p> +“Aw, forget it!” besought Mr. Thomas Cluff. “That little lady +is all right. I’d just as soon eat an ambassador, let alone a gilt-framed +secretary, to help her out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Brewster,” said the other, somewhat more stiffly, “is a +wholly admirable young lady, but she is not always well advised in going out +unescorted. By the way, you can doubtless confirm the rumor as to the identity +of her insulter.” +</p> + +<p> +“His name is Von Plaanden. But I don’t think he meant to insult any +one.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will permit me to be the best judge of that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go as far as you like,” asserted the big fellow cheerfully. +“That fellow Perkins can tell you more about the start of the thing than +I can.” +</p> + +<p> +“From what I hear, he has no cause to be proud of his part in the +matter,” said the Southerner, frowning. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s sure a prompt little runner,” asserted Cluff. +“But I’ve run away in my time, and glad of the chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will excuse me from sympathizing with your standards.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure, you’re excused,” returned the athlete, so placidly +that Carroll, somewhat at a loss, altered his speech to a more gracious tone. +</p> + +<p> +“At any rate, you stood your ground when you were needed, which is more +than Mr. Perkins did. I should like to have a talk with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s easy. He was rambling around here not a quarter of an hour +ago with young Raimonda. That’s them sitting on the bench over by the +fountain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you take me over and present me? I think it is due Mr. Perkins that +some one should give him a frank opinion of his actions.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to hear that,” observed Cluff, who was not without +humanistic curiosity. “Come along.” +</p> + +<p> +Heaving up his six-feet-one from the seat, he led the way to the two conversing +men. Raimonda looked around and greeted the newcomers pleasantly. Cluff waved +an explanatory hand between his charge and the bench. +</p> + +<p> +“Make you acquainted with Mr. Perkins,” he said, neglecting to +mention the name of the first party of the introduction. +</p> + +<p> +Perkins, goggling upward to meet a coldly hostile glance, rose, nodded in some +wonder, and said: “How do you do?” Raimonda sent Cluff a glance of +interrogation, to which that experimentalist in human antagonisms responded +with a borrowed Spanish gesture of pleasurable uncertainty. +</p> + +<p> +“I will not say that I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Perkins,” +began Carroll weightily, and paused. +</p> + +<p> +If he expected a query, he was doomed to a disappointment. Such of the Perkins +features as were not concealed by his extraordinary glasses expressed an +immovable calm. +</p> + +<p> +“Doubtless you know to what I refer.” +</p> + +<p> +Still those blank brown glasses regarded him in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you or do you not?” demanded Carroll, struggling to keep his +temper in the face of this exasperating irresponsiveness. +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t the least idea,” replied Perkins equably. +</p> + +<p> +“You were on the tram this morning when Miss Brewster was insulted, +weren’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And ran away?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you run away for?” +</p> + +<p> +“I ran away,” the other sweetly informed him, “on important +business of my own.” +</p> + +<p> +Cluff snickered. The suspicion impinged upon Carroll’s mind that this +wasn’t going to be as simple as he had expected. +</p> + +<p> +“Let that go for the moment. Do you know Miss Brewster’s +insulter?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you telling me the truth?” asked the Southerner sternly. +</p> + +<p> +The begoggled one’s chin jerked up. To the trained eye of Cluff, swift to +interpret physical indications, it seemed that Perkins’s weight had +almost imperceptibly shifted its center of gravity. +</p> + +<p> +“Our Southern friend is going to run into something if he doesn’t +look out,” he reflected. +</p> + +<p> +But there was no hint of trouble in Perkins’s voice as he replied:— +</p> + +<p> +“I know who he is. I don’t know him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was it Von Plaanden?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you want to know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” returned the other, with convincing coolness, “if +it was, I intend to slap his face publicly as soon as I can find him.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must do nothing of the sort.” +</p> + +<p> +Now, indeed, there was a change in the other’s bearing. The words came +sharp and crisp. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall do exactly as I said. Perhaps you will explain why you think +otherwise.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because you must have some sense somewhere about you. Do you realize +where you are?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hardly think you can teach me geography, or anything else, Mr. +Perkins.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, good God,” said the other sharply, “somebody’s +got to teach you! What do you suppose would be the result of your slapping Von +Plaanden’s face?” +</p> + +<p> +“Whatever it may be, I am ready. I will fight him with any weapons, and +gladly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes; gladly! Fun for you, all right. But suppose you think of others +a little.” +</p> + +<p> +“Afraid of being involved yourself?” smiled Carroll. +“I’m sure you could run away successfully from any kind of +trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“Others might not be so able to escape.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I’m wholly wrong, and my training and traditions are +absurdly old-fashioned, but I’ve been brought up to believe that the +American who will run from a fight, or who will not stand up at home or abroad +for American rights, American womanhood, and the American flag, isn’t a +man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, keep it for the Fourth of July,” returned Perkins wearily. +“You can’t get me into a fight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fight?” Carroll laughed shortly. “If you had the traditions +of a gentleman, you would not require any more provocation.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I had the traditions of a deranged doodle bug, I’d go around +hunting trouble in a country that is full of it for foreigners—even those +who behave themselves like sane human beings.” +</p> + +<p> +“Meaning, perhaps, that I’m not a sane human being?” inquired +the Southerner. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think you act like it? To satisfy your own petty vanity of +courage, you’d involve all of us in difficulties of which you know +nothing. We’re living over a powder magazine here, and you want to light +matches to show what a hero you are. Traditions! Don’t you talk to me +about traditions! If you can serve your country or a woman better by running +away than by fighting, the sensible thing to do is to run away. The best thing +you can do is to keep quiet and let Von Plaanden drop. Otherwise, you’ll +have Miss Brewster the center of—” +</p> + +<p> +“Keep your tongue from that lady’s name!” warned Carroll. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re giving a good many orders,” said the other slowly. +“But I’ll do almost anything just now to keep you peaceable, and to +convince you that you must let Von Plaanden strictly alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just as surely as I meet him,” said the Southerner ominously, +“on my word of honor—” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a moment,” broke in the other sharply. “Don’t +commit yourself until you’ve heard me. Just around the corner from here +is a <i>cuartel</i>. It isn’t a nice clean jail like ours at home. Fleas +are the pleasantest companions in the place. When a man—particularly an +obnoxious foreigner—lands there, they are rather more than likely to +forget little incidentals like food and water. And if he should happen to be of +a nation without diplomatic representation here, as is the case with the United +States at present, he might well lie there <i>incomunicado</i> until his +hearing, which might be in two days or might not be for a month. Is that +correct, Mr. Raimonda?” +</p> + +<p> +“Essentially,” confirmed the Caracuñan. +</p> + +<p> +“When you are through trying to frighten me—” began Carroll +contemptuously. +</p> + +<p> +“Frighten you? I’m not so foolish as to waste time that way. +I’m trying to warn you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you quite done?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not. On <i>my</i> honor—” He broke off as Carroll +smiled. “Smile if you like, but believe what I’m telling you. +Unless you agree to keep your hands and tongue off Von Plaanden I’ll lay +an information which will land you in the <i>cuartel</i> within an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +The smile froze on the Southerner’s lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Could he do that?” he asked Raimonda. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid he could. And, really, Mr. Carroll, he’s correct +in principle. In the present state of political feeling, an assault by an +American upon the representative of Hochwald might seriously endanger all of +your party.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” Cluff supported him. “I’m with +you in wanting to break that gold-frilled geezer’s face up into small +sections, but it just won’t do.” +</p> + +<p> +With an effort, Carroll recovered his self-control. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Raimonda,” he said courteously, “I give <i>you</i> my +word that there will be no trouble between Herr Von Plaanden and myself, of my +seeking, until Mr. and Miss Brewster are safely out of the country.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s enough,” said Cluff heartily. “The rest of us +can take care of ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Meantime,” said Raimonda, “I think the whole matter can be +arranged. Von Plaanden shall apologize to Miss Brewster to-morrow. It is not +his first outbreak, and always he regrets. My uncle, who is of the Foreign +Office, will see to it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then that’s settled,” remarked Perkins cheerfully. +</p> + +<p> +Carroll turned upon him savagely:— +</p> + +<p> +“To your entire satisfaction, no doubt, now that you’ve shown +yourself an informer as well as—” +</p> + +<p> +“Easy with the rough stuff, Mr. Carroll,” advised Cluff, his +good-natured face clouding. “We’re all a little het up. Let’s +have a drink, and cool down.” +</p> + +<p> +“With you, with pleasure. I shall hope to meet you later, Mr. +Perkins,” he added significantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I hope not,” retorted the other. “My voice is still +for peace. Meantime, please assure Miss Brewster for me—” +</p> + +<p> +“I warned you to keep that lady’s name from your lips.” +</p> + +<p> +“You did. But I don’t know by what authority. You’re not her +father, I suppose. Are you her brother, by any chance?” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, Perkins experienced that curious feeling that some invisible +person was trying to catch his eye. Now, as he turned directly upon Carroll, +his glance, passing over his shoulder, followed a broad ray of light spreading +from a second-story leaf-framed balcony of the hotel. There was a stir amid the +greenery. The face of the Voice appeared, framed in flowers. Its features +lighted up with mirth, and the lips formed the unmistakable monosyllable: +“Boo!” +</p> + +<p> +The identification was complete—“Boo to a goose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll!” Unwittingly he spoke the name +aloud, and, unfortunately, laughed. +</p> + +<p> +To a less sensitive temperament, even, than Carroll’s, the provocation +would have been extreme. Perkins was recalled to a more serious view of the +situation by the choking accents of that gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“Take off your glasses!” +</p> + +<p> +“What for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I’m going to thrash you within an inch of your +life!” +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” cried the young Caracuñan. “This is +no place for such an affair.” +</p> + +<p> +Apparently Perkins held the same belief. Stepping aside, he abruptly sat down +on the end of the bench, facing the fountain and not four feet from it. His +head drooped a little forward; his hands dropped between his knees; one +foot—but Cluff, the athlete, was the only one to note this—edged +backward and turned to secure a firm hold on the pavement. Carroll stepped over +in front of him and stood nonplused. He half drew his hand back, then let it +fall. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t hit a man sitting down,” he muttered distressfully. +</p> + +<p> +Perkins’s set face relaxed. +</p> + +<p> +“Running true to tradition,” he observed, pleasantly enough. +“I didn’t think you would. See here, Mr. Carroll, I’m sorry +that I laughed at your name. In fact, I didn’t really laugh at your name +at all. It was at something quite different which came into my mind at that +moment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your apology is accepted so far,” returned the other stiffly. +“But that doesn’t settle the other account between us, when we meet +again. Or do you choose to threaten me with jail for that, also?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. It’s easier to keep out of your way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord!” cried the Southerner in disgust. “Are you afraid +of everything?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, no!” Perkins rose, smiling at him with perfect equanimity. +“As a matter of fact, if you’re interested to know, I wasn’t +particularly afraid of Von Plaanden, and, if I may say so without offense, +I’m not particularly afraid of you.” +</p> + +<p> +Carroll studied him intently. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove, I believe you aren’t! I give it up!” he cried +desperately. “You’re crazy, I reckon—or else I am.” And +he took himself off without the formality of a farewell to the others. +</p> + +<p> +Raimonda, with a courteous bow to his companions, followed him. +</p> + +<p> +Wearily the goggled one sank back in his seat. Cluff moved across, planting +himself exactly where Carroll had stood. +</p> + +<p> +“Perkins!” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” responded the sitter absently. +</p> + +<p> +“What would you do if I should bat you one in the eye?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“What would you do to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“You, too?” cried the bewildered Perkins. “Why on +earth—” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d dive into my knees, wouldn’t you, and tip me over +backward?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that!” A slow grin overspread the space beneath the glasses. +“That was the idea.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know the trick. It’s a good one—except for the guy that +gets it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It wouldn’t have hurt him. He’d have landed in the +fountain.” +</p> + +<p> +“So he would. What then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’d have held him there till he got cooled off, and then made +a run for it. A wet man can’t catch a dry man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say, son, <i>you’re</i> a dry one, all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wake up! I’m saying you’re all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Much obliged.” +</p> + +<p> +“You certainly took enough off him to rile a sheep. Why didn’t you +do it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tip him in.” +</p> + +<p> +Perkins glanced upward at the balcony where the vines had closed upon a face +that smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” he said mildly, “he’s a friend of a friend of +mine.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>IV.<br /> +TWO ON A MOUNTAIN-SIDE</h2> + +<p> +ORCHIDS do not, by preference, grow upon a cactus plant. Little though she +recked of botany, Miss Brewster was aware of this fundamental truth. Neither do +they, without extraneous impulsion, go hurtling through the air along deserted +mountain-sides, to find a resting-place far below; another natural-history fact +which the young lady appreciated without being obliged to consult the +literature of the subject. Therefore, when, from the top of the appointed rock, +she observed a carefully composed bunch of mauve Cattleyas describe a parabola +and finally join two previous clusters upon the spines of a prickly-pear patch, +she divined some energizing force back of the phenomenon. That energizing force +she surmised was temper. +</p> + +<p> +“Fie!” said she severely. “Beetle gentlemen should control +their little feelings. Naughty, naughty!” +</p> + +<p> +From below rose a fervid and startled exclamation. +</p> + +<p> +“Naughtier, naughtier!” deprecated the visitor. “Are these +the cold and measured terms of science?” +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t lived up to your bet,” complained the censured +one. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed I have! I always play fair, and pay fair. Here I am, as per +contract.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nearly half an hour late.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all. Four-thirty was the time.” +</p> + +<p> +“And now it is three minutes to five.” +</p> + +<p> +“Making twenty-seven minutes that I’ve been sitting here waiting +for a welcome.” +</p> + +<p> +“Waiting? Oh, Miss Brewster—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not Miss Brewster. I’m a voice in the wilderness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, Voice, you haven’t been there more than one minute. A voice +isn’t a voice until it makes a noise like a voice. Q.E.D.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is something in that argument,” she admitted. “But why +didn’t you come up and look for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Does one look for a sound?” +</p> + +<p> +“Please don’t be so logical. It tires my poor little brain. You +might at least have called.” +</p> + +<p> +“That would have been like holding you up for payment of the bet, +wouldn’t it? I was waiting for you to speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not good form in Caracuña. The señor should always speak first.” +</p> + +<p> +“You began the other time,” he pointed out. +</p> + +<p> +“So I did, but that was under a misapprehension. I hadn’t learned +the customs of the country then. By the way, is it a local custom for hermits +of science to climb breakneck precipices for golden-hearted orchids to send to +casual acquaintances?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that what you are?” he queried in a slightly depressed tone. +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth else could I be?” she returned, amused. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. But we all like to pretend that our fairy tales are +permanent, don’t we?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can readily picture you chasing beetles, but I can’t see you +chasing fairies at all,” she asserted positively. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor can I. If you chase them, they vanish. Every one knows that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anyway, your orchids were fit for a fairy queen. I haven’t thanked +you for them yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed you have. Much more than they deserve. By coming here +to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that was a point of honor. Are you going to let those lovely purple +ones wither on that prickly plant down there? Think how much better +they’d look pinned on me—if there were any one here to see and +appreciate.” +</p> + +<p> +If this were a hint, it failed of its aim, for, as the hermit scuttled out from +his shelter, looking not unlike some bulky protrusive-eyed insect, secured the +orchids, and returned, he never once glanced up. Safe again in his rock-bound +retreat, he spoke:— +</p> + +<p> +“‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.’” +</p> + +<p> +“So you do know something of fairies and fairy lore!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it wasn’t much more than a hundred years ago that I read my +Grimm. In the story, only one call was necessary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I can’t spare any more of my silken tresses. I brought a +string this time. Where’s the other hair line?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve used it to tether a fairy thought so that it can’t fly +away from me. Draw up slowly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you so much, and I’m so glad that you are feeling +better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Better?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Better than the day before yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +“Day before yesterday?” +</p> + +<p> +“Bless the poor man! Much anxious waiting hath bemused his wits. He +thinks he’s an echo.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I was all right the day before yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +“You weren’t. You were a prey to the most thrilling terrors. You +were a moving picture of tender masculinity in distress. You let bashfulness +like a worm i’ th’ bud prey upon your damask cheek. Have you a +damask cheek? Stand out! I wish to consider you impartially. <i>You</i> +needn’t look at <i>me</i>, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not going to,” he assured her, stepping forth +obediently. +</p> + +<p> +“Basilisk that I am!” she laughed. “How brown you are! How +long did you say you’d been here? A year?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fourteen weary Voiceless months. Not on this island, you know, but +around the tropics.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet you look vigorous and alert; not like the men I’ve seen come +back from the hot countries, all languid and worn out. And you do look +clean.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why shouldn’t I be clean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you should. But people get slack, don’t they, when they +live off all alone by themselves? Still, I suppose you spruced up a little for +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing of the sort,” he denied, with heat. +</p> + +<p> +“No? Oh, my poor little vanity! He wouldn’t dress up for us, +Vanity, though we did dress up for him, and we’re looking awfully +nice—for a voice, that is. Do you always keep so soft and pink and +smooth, Mr. Beetle Man?” +</p> + +<p> +“I own a razor, if that’s what you mean. You’re making fun of +me. Well, <i>I</i> don’t mind.” He lifted his voice and +chanted:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Although beyond the pale of law,<br /> +He always kept a polished jaw;<br /> +For he was one of those who saw<br /> + A saving hope<br /> + In shaving soap.”<br /> +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, lovely! What a noble finish. What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Extract from ‘Biographical Blurbings.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Autobiographical?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. By Me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And are you beyond the pale of law?” +</p> + +<p> +“Poetical license,” he explained airily. “Hold on, +though.” He fell silent a moment, and out of that silence came a short +laugh. “I suppose I <i>am</i> beyond the pale of law, now that I come to +think of it. But you needn’t be alarmed, I’m not a really dangerous +criminal.” +</p> + +<p> +Later she was to recall that confession with sore misgivings. Now she only +inquired lightly: +</p> + +<p> +“Is that why you ran away from the tram car yesterday?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ran away? I didn’t run away,” he said, with dignity. +“It just happened that there came into my mind an important engagement +that I’d forgotten. My memory isn’t what it should be. So I just +turned over the matter in hand to an acquaintance of mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“The matter in hand being me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes; and the acquaintance being Mr. Cluff. I saw him throw four men +out of a hotel once for insulting a girl, so I knew that he was much better at +that sort of thing than I. May I go back now and sit down?” “Of +course. I don’t know whether I ought to thank you about yesterday or be +very angry. It was such an extraordinary performance on your part—” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing extraordinary about it.” His voice came up out of the +shadow, full of judicial confidence. “Merely sound common sense.” +</p> + +<p> +“To leave a woman who has been insulted—” +</p> + +<p> +“In more competent hands than one’s own.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I give it up!” she cried. “I don’t understand you +at all. Fitzhugh is right; you haven’t a tradition to your name.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tradition,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Why, I don’t +know. They’re pretty rigid things, traditions. Rusty in the joints and +all that sort of thing. Life isn’t a process of machinery, exactly. One +has to meet it with something more supple and adjustable than +traditions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that your philosophy? Suppose a man struck you. Wouldn’t you +hit him back?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps. It would depend.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or insulted your country? Don’t you believe that men should be +ready to die, if necessary, in such a cause?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some men. Soldiers, for instance. They’re paid to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good Heavens! Is it all a question of pay in your mind? Wouldn’t +<i>you</i>, unless you were paid for it?” +</p> + +<p> +“How can I tell until the occasion arises?” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you afraid?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose I might be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hasn’t the man any blood in his veins?” cried his +inquisitor, exasperated. “Haven’t you ever been angry clear +through?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, of course; and sorry for it afterward. One is likely to lose +one’s temper any time. It might easily happen to me and drive me to make +a fool of myself, like—like—” His voice trailed off into a +silence of embarrassment. +</p> + +<p> +“Like Fitzhugh Carroll. Why not say it? Well, I much prefer him and his +hot-headedness to you and your careful wisdom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” he acquiesced patiently. “Any girl would. +It’s the romantic temperament.” +</p> + +<p> +“And yours is the scientific, I suppose. That doesn’t take into +account little things like patriotism and heroism, does it? Tell me, have you +actually ever admired—really got a thrill out of—any deed of +heroism?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” he replied tranquilly. “I’ve done my bit of +hero worship in my time. In fact, I’ve never quite recovered from +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No! Really? Do go on. You’re growing more human every +minute.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you happen to know anything about the Havana campaign?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not much. It never seemed to me anything to brag of. Dad says the +Spanish-American War grew a crop of newspaper-made heroes, manufactured by +reporters who really took more risks and showed more nerve than the men they +glorified.” +</p> + +<p> +“Spanish-American War? That isn’t what I’m talking about. +I’m speaking of Walter Reed and his fellow scientists, who went down +there and fought the mosquitoes.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl’s lip curled. +</p> + +<p> +“So that’s your idea of heroism! Scrubby peckers into the lives of +helpless bugs!” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you the faintest idea what you are talking about?” +</p> + +<p> +His voice had abruptly hardened. There was an edge to it; such an edge as she +had faintly heard on the previous night, when Carroll had pressed him too hard. +She was startled. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I haven’t,” she admitted. +</p> + +<p> +“Then it’s time you learned. Three American doctors went down into +that pesthole of a Cuban city to offer their lives for a theory. Not for a +tangible fact like the flag, or for glory and fame as in battle, but for a +theory that might or might not be true. There wasn’t a day or a night +that their lives weren’t at stake. Carroll let himself be bitten by +infected mosquitoes on a final test, and grazed death by a hair’s +breadth. Lazear was bitten at his work, and died in the agony of yellow-fever +convulsions, a martyr and a hero if ever there was one. Because of them, Havana +is safe and livable now. We were able to build the Panama Canal because of +their work, their—what did you call it?—scrubby peeking into the +lives of—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t!” cried the girl. “I—I’m ashamed. I +didn’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“How should you?” he said, in a changed tone. “We Americans +set up monuments to our destroyers, not to our preservers, of life. Nobody +knows about Walter Reed and James Carroll and Jesse Lazear—not even the +American Government, which they officially served—except a few doctors +and dried-up entomologists like myself. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to +deliver a lecture.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a long pause, which she broke with an effort. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Beetle Man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Voice?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I’m beginning to think you rather more man than beetle at +times.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you see, you touched me on a point of fanaticism,” he +apologized. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mind standing up again for examination? No,” she decided, +as he stepped out and stood with his eyes lowered obstinately. “You +don’t seem changed to outward view. You still remind me,” with a +ripple of irrepressible laughter, “of a near-sighted frog. It’s +those ridiculous glasses. Why do you wear them?” +</p> + +<p> +“To keep the sun out of my eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the moon at night, I suppose. They’re not for purposes of +disguise?” +</p> + +<p> +“Disguise! What makes you say that?” he asked quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t bark. They’d be most effective. And they certainly +give your face a truly weird expression, in addition to its other +detriments.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t like my face, consider my figure,” he suggested +optimistically. “What’s the matter with that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stumpy,” she pronounced. “You’re all in a chunk. It +does look like a practical sort of a chunk, though.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you like it?” he asked anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well enough of its kind.” She lifted her voice and +chanted:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“He was stubby and square,<br /> +But <i>she</i> didn’t much care. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a verse in return for yours. Mine’s adapted, though. +Examination’s over. Wait. Don’t sit down. Now, tell me your opinion +of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very musical.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not musical at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m considering you as a <i>voice</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m tired of being just a voice. Look up here. Do,” she +pleaded. “Turn upon me those lucent goggles.” +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +When orbs like thine the soul disclose,<br /> +Tee-deedle-deedle-dee. +</p> + +<p> +Don’t be afraid. One brief fleeting glance ere we part.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he returned positively. “Once is enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“On behalf of my poor traduced features, I thank you humbly. Did they +prove as bad as you feared?” +</p> + +<p> +“Worse. I’ve hardly forgotten yet what you look like. Your kind of +face is bad for business.” +</p> + +<p> +“What <i>is</i> business?” +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t I told you? I’m a scientist.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m a specimen. No beetle that crawls or creeps or hobbles, +or does whatever beetles are supposed to do, shows any greater variation from +type—I heard a man say that in a lecture once—than I do. +Can’t I interest you in my case, O learned one? The proper study of +mankind is—” +</p> + +<p> +“Woman. Yes, I know all about that. But I’m a groundling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Beetle Man,” she said, in a tremulous voice, “the rock +is moving.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t feel it. Though it might be a touch of earthquake. We have +’em often.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not your rock. The tarantula rock, I mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense! A hundred tarantulas couldn’t stir it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it seems to be moving, and that’s just as bad. I’m +tired and I’m lonely. Oh, please, Professor Scarab, have I got to fall on +your neck again to introduce a little human companionship into this +conversation?” +</p> + +<p> +“Caesar! No! My shoulder’s still lame. What do you want, +anyway?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to know about you and your work. <i>All</i> about you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Humph! Well, at present I’m making some microscopical studies of +insects. That’s the reason for these glasses. The light is so harsh in +these latitudes that it affects the vision a trifle, and every trifle counts in +microscopy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does the microscope add charm to the beetle?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some day I’ll show you, if you like. Just now it’s the flea, +the national bird of Caracuña.” +</p> + +<p> +“The wicked flea?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody knows how wicked until he has studied him on his native +heath.” +</p> + +<p> +“Doesn’t the flea have something to do with plague? They say +there’s plague in the city now. You knew all about the Dutch. Do you know +anything about the plague?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve been listening to <i>bolas</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s a <i>bola?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“A <i>bola</i> is information that somebody who is totally ignorant of +the facts whispers confidentially in your ear with the assurance that he knows +it to be authentic—in other words, a lie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then there isn’t any plague down under those quaint, old, +red-tiled roofs?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who ever knows what’s going on under those quaint, old, red-tiled +roofs? No foreigner, certainly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Even I can feel the mystery, little as I’ve seen of the +place,” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that’s the Indian of it. The tiled roofs are Spanish; the +speech is Spanish; but just beneath roof and speech, the life and thought are +profoundly and unfathomably Indian.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not with all the Caracuñans, surely. Take Mr. Raimonda, for +instance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that’s different. Twenty families of the city, perhaps, are +pure-bloods. There are no finer, cleaner fellows anywhere than the well-bred +Caracuñans. They are men of the world, European educated, good sportsmen, +straight, honorable gentlemen. Unfortunately not they, but a gang of mongrel +grafters control the politics of the country.” +</p> + +<p> +“For a hermit of science, you seem to know a good deal of what goes on. +By the way, Mr. Raimonda called on me—on us last evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“So he mentioned. Rather serious, that, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Far from it. He was very amusing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Doubtless,” commented the other dryly. “But it isn’t +fair to play the game with one who doesn’t know the rules. Besides, what +will Mr. Preston Fairfax—” +</p> + +<p> +“For a professedly shy person, you certainly take a rather intimate +tone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m shy only under the baleful influence of the feminine eye. +Besides, you set the note of intimacy when you analyzed my personal appearance. +And finally, I have a warm regard for young Raimonda.” +</p> + +<p> +“So have I,” she returned maliciously. “Aren’t you +jealous?” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Please be a little bit jealous. It would be so flattering.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jealousy is another tradition in which I don’t believe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I can’t flirt with you at all?” she sighed. +“After taking all this long hot walk to see you!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Plop!</i> The sound punctured the silence sharply, though not loudly. Some +large fruit pod bursting on a distant tree might have made such a report. +</p> + +<p> +“What was that?” asked the girl curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“That? Oh, that was a revolver shot,” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you casual! Do revolver shots mean nothing to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“That one shakes my soul’s foundations.” His tone by no means +indicated an inner cataclysm. “It may mean that I must excuse myself and +leave. Just a moment, please.” +</p> + +<p> +Passing across the line of her vision, he disappeared to the left. When she +next heard his voice, it was almost directly above her. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” it said. “There’s no hurry. The flag’s not +up.” +</p> + +<p> +“What flag?” +</p> + +<p> +“The flag in my compound.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you see your home from here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; there’s a ledge on the cliff that gives a direct view.” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to come up and see it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t. It’s much too hard a climb. Besides, there are +rock devilkins on the way.” +</p> + +<p> +“And when you hear a shot, you go up there for messages?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; it’s my telephone system.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s at the other end?” +</p> + +<p> +“The peon who pretends to look after the <i>quinta</i> for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“A man! No man can keep a house fit to live in,” she said +scornfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I know it; but he’s all I’ve got in the servant line.” +</p> + +<p> +“How far is the house from here?” +</p> + +<p> +“A mile, by air. Seven by trail from town.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it lonely?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly she felt very sorry for him. There was such a quiet, conclusive +acceptance of cheerlessness in the monosyllable. +</p> + +<p> +“How soon must you go back?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, not for an hour, at least.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it’s a call, it must be an important one, so far from +civilization.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not necessarily. Don’t you ever have calls that are not +important?” +</p> + +<p> +No answer came. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Brewster!” he called. “Oh, Voice! You haven’t +gone?” +</p> + +<p> +Still no response. +</p> + +<p> +“That isn’t fair,” he complained, making his way swiftly +down, and satisfying himself by a peep about the angle commanding her point of +the rock that she had, indeed, vanished. Sadly he descended to his own +nook—and jumped back with a half-suppressed yell. +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t jump out of your skin on my account,” said Miss +Polly Brewster, with a gracious smile. “I’m not a devilkin.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are! That is—I mean—I—I—beg your pardon. +I—I—” +</p> + +<p> +“The poor man’s having another bashful fit,” she observed, +with malicious glee. “Did the bold, bad, forward American minx scare it +almost out of its poor shy wits?” +</p> + +<p> +“You—you startled me.” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” she exclaimed, in wide-eyed mock surprise. “Who would +have supposed it? You didn’t expect me down here, did you?” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon she got a return shock. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I did,” he said; “sooner or later.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t fib. Don’t pretend that you knew I was here.” +</p> + +<p> +“W-w-well, no. Not just now. B-b-but I knew you’d come +if—if—if I pretended I didn’t want you to long enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Young and budding scientist,” said she severely, +“you’re a gay deceiver. Is it because you have known me in some +former existence that you are able thus accurately to read my character?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I knew you wouldn’t stay up there much longer.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m angry at you; very angry at you. That is, I would be if it +weren’t that you really didn’t mean it when you said that you +really didn’t want to see my face again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did any one ever see your face once without wanting to see it +again?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, bravo!” She clapped her hands gayly. “Marvelous +improvement under my tutelage! Where, oh, where is your timidity now?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I—I forgot,” he stammered, “As long as I +don’t think, I’m all right. Now, you—you—you’ve +gone and spoiled me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the pity of it! Let’s find some mild, impersonal topic, then, +that won’t embarrass you. What do you do under the shadow of this rock, +in a parched land?” +</p> + +<p> +“Work. Besides, it isn’t a parched land. Look on this side.” +</p> + +<p> +Half a dozen steps brought her around the farther angle, where, hidden in a +growth of shrubbery, lay a little pool of fairy loveliness, +</p> + +<p> +“That’s my outdoor laboratory.” +</p> + +<p> +“A dreamery, I’d call it. May I sit down? Are there devilkins here? +There’s an elfkin, anyway,” she added, as a silvered dragon-fly +hovered above her head inquisitively before darting away on his own concerns. +</p> + +<p> +“One of my friends and specimens. I’m studying his methods of +aviation with a view to making some practical use of what I learn, +eventually.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really? Are you an inventor, too? I’m crazy about aviation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, then you’ll be interested in this,” he said, now quite +at his ease. “You know that the mosquito is the curse of the +tropics.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of other places, as well.” +</p> + +<p> +“But in the tropics it means yellow fever, Chagres fever, and other +epidemic illness. Now, the mosquito, as you doubtless realize, is a +monoplane.” +</p> + +<p> +“A monoplane?” repeated the girl, in some puzzlement. “How a +monoplane?” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you claimed some knowledge of aviation. Its wings are all on +one plane. The great natural enemy of the mosquito is the dragon-fly, one of +which just paid you a visit. Now, modern warfare has taught us that the most +effective assailant of the monoplane is a biplane. You know that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Y-y-yes,” said the girl doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Therefore, if we can breed a biplane dragonfly in sufficient numbers, we +might solve the mosquito problem at small expense.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know much about science,” she began, “but I +should hardly have supposed—” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s curious how nature varies the type of aviation,” he +continued dreamily. “Now, the pigeon is, of course, a Zeppelin; whereas +the sea urchin is obviously a balloon; and the thistledown an +undirigible—” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re making fun of me!” she accused, with sharp +enlightenment. +</p> + +<p> +“What else have you done to me ever since we met?” he inquired +mildly. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I <i>am</i> angry! I shall go home at once.” +</p> + +<p> +A second far-away <i>plop!</i> set a period to her decision. +</p> + +<p> +“So shall I,” said he briskly. +</p> + +<p> +“Does that signal mean hurry up?” she asked curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it means that I’m wanted. You go first. When will you come +again?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. I’m angry. Didn’t I tell you that? I don’t +permit people to make fun of me. Besides, you must come and see me next. You +owe me two calls. Will you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I—don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Afraid?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you must surely come and conquer this cowardice. Will you come +to-morrow?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I don’t think so.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Brewster opened wide her eyes upon him. She was little accustomed to have +her invitations, which she issued rather in the manner of royal commands, thus +casually received. Had the offender been any other of her acquaintance, she +would have dropped the matter and the man then and there. But this was a +different species. Graceful and tactful he might not be, but he was honest. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got something more important to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re reverting to type sadly. What is it that’s so +important?” +</p> + +<p> +“Work.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can work any time.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Unfortunately I have to eat and sleep sometimes.” +</p> + +<p> +The implication she accepted quite seriously. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you really as busy as all that? I’m quite conscience-stricken +over the time I’ve wasted for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not wasted at all. You’ve cheered me up.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s something. But you won’t come to the city to be +cheered up?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I will. When I get time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you won’t find me at home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll wait.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, then,” she laughed, “until your leisure day +arrives.” +</p> + +<p> +She climbed the rock, stepping as strongly and surely as a lithe animal. At the +top, the spirit of roguery, ever on her lips and eyes, struck in and possessed +her soul. +</p> + +<p> +“O disciple of science!” she called. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you see me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not from here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good! I’m a Voice again. So don’t be timid. Will you answer +a question?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve answered a hundred already. One more won’t hurt.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever been in love?” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t I speak plainly enough? +Have—you—ever—been—in—love?” +</p> + +<p> +“With a woman?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes,” she railed. “With a woman, of course. I +don’t mean with your musty science.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you needn’t be violent. Have you ever been in love with +<i>anything?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, perhaps!” she taunted. “There are no perhapses in that. +With what?” +</p> + +<p> +“With what every man in the world is in love with once in his +life,” he replied thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +She made a little still step forward and peeped down at him. He stood leaning +against the face of the rock, gazing out over the hot blue Caribbean, his hat +pushed back and his absurd goggles firm and high on his nose. His words and +voice were in preposterous contrast to his appearance. +</p> + +<p> +“Riddle me your riddle,” she commanded. “What is every man in +love with once in his life?” +</p> + +<p> +“An ideal.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! And your ideal—where do you keep it safe from the common +gaze?” +</p> + +<p> +“I tether it to my heart—with a single hair,” said the man +below. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” commented Miss Brewster, in a changed tone. And, again, +“Oh,” just a little blankly. “I wish I hadn’t asked +that,” she confessed silently to herself, after a moment. +</p> + +<p> +Still, the spirit of reckless experimentalism pressed her onward. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a peril to the scientific mind, you know,” she +warned. “Suppose your ideal should come true?” +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t,” said he comfortably. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Brewster’s regrets sensibly mitigated. +</p> + +<p> +“In that case, of course, your career is safe from accident,” she +remarked. +</p> + +<p> +He moved out into the open. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Beetle Man,” she called, +</p> + +<p> +He looked up and saw her with her chin cupped in her hand, regarding him +thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m <i>not</i> just a casual acquaintance,” she said +suddenly. “That is, if you don’t want me to be.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s good,” was his hearty comment. “I’m glad +you like me better than you did at first.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m not so sure that I like you, exactly. But I’m coming +to have a sort of respectful curiosity about you. What lies under that beetle +shell of yours, I wonder?” she mused, in a half breath. +</p> + +<p> +Whether or not he heard the final question she could not tell. He smiled, waved +his hand, and disappeared. Below, she watched the motion of the bush-tops where +the shrubbery was parted by the progress of his sturdy body down the long +slope. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>V.<br /> +AN UPHOLDER OF TRADITIONS</h2> + +<p> +One day passes much like another in Caracuña City. The sun rises blandly, grows +hot and angry as it climbs the slippery polished vault of the heavens, and +coasts down to its rest in a pleased and mild glow. From the squat cathedral +tower the bells clang and jangle defiance to the Adversary, temporarily +drowning out the street tumult in which the yells of the lottery venders, the +braying of donkeys, the whoops of the cabmen, and the blaring of the little +motor cars with big horns, combine to render Caracuña the noisiest capital in +the world. Through the saddle-colored hordes on the moot ground of the narrow +sidewalks moves an occasional Anglo-Saxon resident, browned and sallowed, on +his way to the government concession that he manages; a less occasional +Anglo-Saxoness, browned and marked with the seal that the tropics put upon +every woman who braves their rigors for more than a brief period; and a +sprinkling of tourists in groups, flying on cheek, brow, and nose the stark red +of their newness to the climate. +</p> + +<p> +Not of this sorority Miss Polly Brewster. Having blithe regard to her duty as +an ornament of this dull world, she had tempered the sun to the foreign cuticle +with successively diminishing layers of veils, to such good purpose that the +celestial scorcher had but kissed her graduated brownness to a soft glow of +color. Not alone in appreciation of her external advantages was Miss Brewster. +Such as it was,—and it had its qualities, albeit somewhat +unformulated,—Caracuña society gave her prompt welcome. There were teas +and rides and tennis at the little club; there were agreeable, presentable men +and hospitable women; and always there was Fitzhugh Carroll, suave, handsome, +gentle, a polished man of the world among men, a courteous attendant to every +woman, but always with a first thought for her. Was it sheer perversity of +character, that elfin perversity so shrewdly divined by the hermit of the +mountain, that put in her mind, in this far corner of the world, among these +strange people, the thought: +</p> + +<p> +“All men are alike, and Fitz, for all that he’s so different and +the best of them, is the <i>most</i> alike.” +</p> + +<p> +Which paradox, being too much for her in the heat of the day, she put aside in +favor of the insinuating thought of her beetle man. Whatever else he might or +might not be, he wasn’t alike. She was by no means sure that she found +this difference either admirable or amiable. But at least it was interesting. +</p> + +<p> +Moreover, she was piqued. For four days had passed and the recluse had not +returned her call. True, there had come to her hotel a wicker full of superb +wild tree blooms, and, again, a tiny box, cunning in workmanship of scented +wood, containing what at first glance she had taken to be a jewel, until she +saw that it was a tiny butterfly with opalescent wings, mounted on a silver +wire. But with them had come no word or token of identification. Perhaps they +weren’t from the queer and remote person at all. Very likely Mr. Raimonda +had sent them; or Fitzhugh Carroll was adding secret attention to his open +homage; or they might even be a further peace offering from the Hochwald +secretary. +</p> + +<p> +That occasionally too festive diplomat had, indeed, made amends both profound +and, evidently, sincere. Soliciting the kind offices of both Sherwen and +Raimonda, he had presented himself, under their escort, stiff and perspiring in +his full official regalia, before Mr. Brewster; then before his daughter, whose +solemnity, presently breaking down before his painfully rehearsed English, +dissolved in fluent French, setting him at ease and making him her slave. Poor +penitent Von Plaanden even apologized to Carroll, fortunately not having heard +of the American’s threat, and made a most favorable impression upon that +precisian. +</p> + +<p> +“Intoxicated, he may be a rough, Miss Polly,” Carroll confided to +the girl. “But sober, the man is a gentleman. He feels very badly about +the whole affair. Offered to your father to report it all through official +channels and attach his resignation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not for worlds!” cried Miss Polly. “The poor man was half +asleep. And Mr. Bee—Mr. Perkins <i>did</i> jog him rather sharply.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Von Plaanden asked my advice as an American about his attitude +toward Cluff and Perkins.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you told him to let the whole thing drop.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly what I did. I explained about Cluff; that he was a very good +fellow, but of a different class, and probably wouldn’t give the thing +another thought.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Mr. Perkins?” +</p> + +<p> +“Von Plaanden wanted to challenge him, if he could find him. I suggested +that he leave me to deal with Mr. Perkins. After some discussion, he +agreed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! And what are you going to do with him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Find him first, if I can.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can tell you where.” Carroll stared at her, astonished. +“But I don’t think I will.” +</p> + +<p> +“He announced his intention of keeping out of my way. The man has no +sense of shame.” +</p> + +<p> +“You probably scared the poor lamb out of his wits, fire-eater that you +are.” +</p> + +<p> +Carroll would have liked to think so, but an innate sense of justice beneath +his crust of prejudice forbade him to accept this judgment. +</p> + +<p> +“The strange part of it is that he doesn’t impress me as being +afraid. But there is certainly something very wrong with the fellow. A man who +will deliberately desert a woman in distress”—Carroll’s +manner expanded into the roundly rhetorical—“whatever else he may +be, cannot be a gentleman.” +</p> + +<p> +“There might have been mitigating circumstances.” +</p> + +<p> +“No circumstances could excuse such an action. And, after that, the +fellow had the effrontery to send you a message.” +</p> + +<p> +“Me? What was it?” asked Miss Polly quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. I didn’t let him finish. I forbade his even +mentioning your name.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” cried the girl, in quick dudgeon. “Don’t you +think you are taking a great deal upon yourself, Fitz? What do you really know +about Mr. Perkins, anyway, that you judge him so offhandedly?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very little, but enough, I think. And I hardly think you know +more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’re wrong. I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>know</i> this man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does your father approve of—” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind my father! He has confidence enough in me to let me judge of +my own friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“Friends?” Carroll’s handsome face clouded and reddened. +“If I had known that he was a friend of yours, Miss Polly, I never would +have spoken as I did. I’m most sincerely sorry,” he added, with +grave courtesy. +</p> + +<p> +The girl’s color deepened under the brown. +</p> + +<p> +“He isn’t exactly a friend,” she admitted. “I’ve +just met and talked with him a few times. But your judgment seemed so unfair, +on such a slight basis.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry I can’t reverse my judgment,” said the +Southerner stiffly, “But I know of only one standard for those +matters.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just your trouble.” Her eyes took on a cold gleam as +she scanned the perfection and finish of the man before her. “Fitzhugh, +do you wear ready-made clothing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not,” he answered, in surprise at this turn. +</p> + +<p> +“Your suits are all made to order?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Miss Polly.” +</p> + +<p> +“And your shirts?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and shoes, and various other things.” He smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you have them specially made?” +</p> + +<p> +“Beeause they suit me better, and I can afford it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s really because you want them individualized for you, +isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I suppose so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why do you always get your mental clothes ready-made?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think I understand, Miss Polly,” he said gently. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me that all your ideas and estimates and standards are of +stock pattern,” she explained relentlessly. “Inside, you’re +as just exactly so as a pair of wooden shoes. Can’t you see that you +can’t judge all men on the same plane?” +</p> + +<p> +“I see that you’re angry with me, and I see that I’m being +punished for what I said about—about Mr. Perkins. If I’d known that +you took any interest in him, I’d have bitten my tongue in two before +speaking as I did. As for the message, if you wish it, I’ll go to +him—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” she interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +“This much I can say, in honesty,” continued the Southerner, with +an effort: “I had a talk, almost an encounter, with him in the plaza, and +I don’t believe he is the coward I thought him.” +</p> + +<p> +His intent to be fair to the object of his scorn was so genuine that his critic +felt a swift access of compunction. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Fitz,” she said sweetly, “you’re not to blame. I +should have told you. And you’re honest and loyal and a gentleman. Only I +wish sometimes that you weren’t quite so awfully gentlemanly a +gentleman.” +</p> + +<p> +The Southerner made a gesture of despair. +</p> + +<p> +“If I could only understand you, Miss Polly!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t hope it. I’ve never yet understood myself. But +there’s a sympathy in me for the under dog, and this Mr. Perkins seems a +sort of helpless creature. Yet in another way he doesn’t seem helpless at +all. Quite the reverse. Oh, dear! I’m tired of Perkins, Perkins, Perkins! +Let’s talk about something pleasanter—like the plague.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that about Perkins?” Galpy had entered the +drawing-room where the conversation had been carried on, and now crossed over +to them. “I’ll tell you a good one on the little blighteh. D’ +you know what they call him at the Club Amicitia since his adventure on the +street car, Miss Brewster?” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“‘The Unspeakable Perk.’ Rippin’, ain’t it? Like +‘The Unspeakable Turk,’ you know.” +</p> + +<p> +Despite herself, Polly’s lips twitched; in some ways he <i>was</i> +unspeakable. +</p> + +<p> +“They’ve nicknamed him that because of his trying to help me, and +then—leaving?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, not entirely. There’s other things. He’s a nahsty, +stand-offish way with him, you know. Don’t-want-to-know-yeh trick. +Wouldn’t-speak-to-yeh-if-I-could-help-it twist to his face. ‘The +Unspeakable Perk.’ Stands him right, I should say. There’s other +reasons, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are they?” +</p> + +<p> +She saw a quick, warning frown on Carroll’s sharply turned face. Galpy +noted it, too, and was lost in confusion. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—ah—just gossip—nothing at all. I say, Miss +Brewster, the railway—I’m in the Ferrocarril-del-Norte office, you +know—has offered your party a special on an hour’s notice, any time +you want it.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s most kind of your road, Mr. Galpy. But why should we want +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Things might be getting a bit ticklish any day now. I’ve just +taken the message from the manager to your father.” +</p> + +<p> +The young Englishman took his leave, and Polly Brewster went to her room, to +freshen up for luncheon, carrying with her the sobriquet she had just heard. +Certainly, applied to its subject, it had a mucilaginous consistency. It stuck. +</p> + +<p> +“‘The Unspeakable Perk,’” she repeated, with a little +chuckle. “If I had a month to train him in, eh, what a speakable Perk +I’d make him! I’d make him into a Perk that would sit up and speak +when I lifted my little finger.” She considered this. “I’m +not so sure,” she concluded, more doubtfully. “How can one tell +through those horrid glasses, particularly when one doesn’t see him for +days and days?” +</p> + +<p> +Without moving, she might, however, have seen him forthwith, for at that +precise and particular moment, the Unspeakable Perk was in plain sight of her +window, on a bench in the corner of the plaza, engaged in light conversation +with a legless and philosophical beggar whom he had just astonished by the +presentation of a whole bolivar, of the value of twenty cents gold. +</p> + +<p> +After she had finished luncheon and returned to her room, he was still there. +Not until the mid-heat of the afternoon, however, did she observe, first with +puzzlement, then with a start of recognition, the patiently rounded brown back +of the forward-leaning figure in the corner. Greatly wroth was Miss Polly +Brewster. For some hours—two, at least—the man to keep tryst and +wager with whom she had tramped up miles of mountain road had been in town and +hadn’t called upon her! Truly was he an Unspeakable Perk! +</p> + +<p> +Wasn’t there possibly a mistake somewhere, though? A second peep at the +far-away back interpreted into the curve a suggestion of resigned waiting. +Maybe he had called, after all. Thought being usually with Miss Brewster the +mother of the twins, Determination and Action, she slipped downstairs and +inquired of the three guardians of the door, in such Spanish as she could +muster, whether a Mr. Perkins, wearing large glasses—this in the +universal sign manual—had been to see her that day. +</p> + +<p> +“Si, Señorita”—he had. +</p> + +<p> +Why, then, hadn’t his name been brought to her? +</p> + +<p> +Extended hands and up-shrugged shoulders that might mean either apology or +incomprehension. +</p> + +<p> +Straightway Miss Brewster pinned a hat upon her brown head at an altogether +casual and heart-distracting angle and sallied down into the tesselated bowl of +the park. Quite unconscious of her approach, until she was close upon him, her +objective chatted fluently with the legless one, until she spoke quietly, +almost in his ear. Then it was only by a clutch at the bench back that he saved +himself from disaster on his return to earth. +</p> + +<p> +“Wh—wh—what—wh—where—how did you come +here?” he stuttered. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, now, don’t be alarmed,” she admonished. “Shut +your eyes, draw a deep breath, count three. And, as soon as you are ready +I’ll give you a talisman against social panic. Are you ready?” +</p> + +<p> +“Y-yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. Whenever I come upon you suddenly, you mustn’t try to +jump up into a tree as you did just now—” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes. Or burrow under a rock, as you did the other day—” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss B-B-Brewster—” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait until I’ve finished. You must turn your thoughts firmly upon +your science, until you’ve recovered equilibrium and the power of human +speech.” +</p> + +<p> +“But when you jump at me that way, I c-c-can’t think of anything +but you.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s where the charm comes in. As soon as you see me or hear me +approaching, you must repeat, quite slowly, this scientific incantation.” +She beat time with a pink and rhythmic finger as she chanted:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Scarab, tarantula, doodle-bug, flea.” +</p> + +<p> +The beggar rapidly made the sign that protects one from the influence of the +malign and supernatural. The scientist scowled. +</p> + +<p> +“Repeat it!” she commanded. +</p> + +<p> +“There is no such insect as a doodle-bug,” he protested feebly. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t there? I thought I heard you mention it in your conversation +with Mr. Carroll the other night.” +</p> + +<p> +“You put that into my head,” he accused. +</p> + +<p> +“Truly? Then life is indeed real and earnest. To have introduced +something unscientific into that compendium of science—there’s +triumph enough for any ambition. Besides, see how beautifully it scans.” +</p> + +<p> +Again she beat time, and again the beggar crooked defensive fingers as she +declaimed:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“<i>Scar</i>-ab, tar-<i>ant</i>-u-la, <i>doo</i>-dle-bug, +<i>flea!</i>” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Homeric, I call it. Perhaps you think you could improve on it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you mind substituting ‘neuropter’ in the third +strophe?” he ventured. “It would be just as good as +‘doodle-bug,’ and more—more accurate.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s a neuropter? You didn’t make him up for the +occasion?” +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven forbid! The dragon-fly is a neuropter. The dragon-fly we’re +going to breed to a biplane, you know,” he reminded her slyly. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed! Well, I shall stick to my doodle-bug. He’s more +euphonious. Now, repeat it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me off this time,” he pleaded. “I’m all +right—quite recovered. It’s only at the start that it’s so +bad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” she agreed. “But you’re not to forget it. +And next time we meet you’re to be sure and say it over until +you’re sane.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sane!” he said resentfully. “I’m as sane as any one +you know. It’s the job of <i>keeping</i> sane in this madhouse of the +tropics that’s almost driven me crazy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lovely!” she approved. “Well, now that you’ve +recovered, I’ll tell you what I came out to say. I’m sorry that I +missed you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Missed me?” he repeated. “Oh, you have missed me, then? +That’s nice. You see, I’ve been so busy for the last three or four +days—” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I haven’t missed you a bit,” she declared indignantly. +“The conceit of the man!” +</p> + +<p> +“But you said you w-w-were sorry you’d—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be wholly a beetle! I meant I was sorry not to see you when +you came to call on me this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t come to call on you this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“No? The boy at the door said he’d seen you, or something answering +to your description.” +</p> + +<p> +“So he did. I came to see your father. He was out.” +</p> + +<p> +“What time?” +</p> + +<p> +“From eleven on.” +</p> + +<p> +“Father? No, I don’t think so.” +</p> + +<p> +“His secretary came down and told me so, or sent word each time.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled pityingly at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. That’s what a secretary is for.” +</p> + +<p> +“To tell lies?” +</p> + +<p> +“White lies. You see, dad is a very busy man, and an important man, and +many people come to see him whom he hasn’t time to see. So, unless he +knew your business, he would naturally be ‘out’ to you.” +</p> + +<p> +The corners of the young man’s rather sensitive mouth flattened out +perceptibly. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, I see. My mistake. Living in countries where, however queer the +people may be, they at least observe ordinary human courtesies, one +forgets—if one ever knew.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you want of dad?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, to borrow four dollars of him, of course,” he replied dryly. +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t be angry at me. You see, dad’s time is +valuable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed? To whom?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, to himself, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well, my time—However, that doesn’t matter. I +haven’t wholly wasted it.” He glanced toward the beggar, who was +profoundly regarding the cathedral clock. +</p> + +<p> +“If you like, I’ll get you an interview with dad,” she +offered magnanimously. +</p> + +<p> +“Me? No, I thank you,” he said crisply. “I’m not +patient of unnecessary red tape.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Brewster looked at him in surprise. It was borne in upon her, as she +looked, that this man was not accustomed to being lightly regarded by other +men, however busy or important; that his own concerns in life were quite as +weighty to him, and in his esteem, perhaps, to others, as were the interests of +any magnate; and that, man to man, there would be no shyness or indecision or +purposelessness anywhere in his make-up. +</p> + +<p> +“If it was important,” she began hesitantly, “my father would +be—” +</p> + +<p> +“It was of no importance to me,” he cut in. “To +others—Perhaps I could see some one else of your party.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, here I am.” She smiled. “Why won’t I do?” +</p> + +<p> +Behind the obscuring disks she could feel his glance read her. The grimness at +the mouth’s corners relaxed. +</p> + +<p> +“I really don’t know why you shouldn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dad says I’d have made a man of affairs,” she remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it’s just this. You should be planning to leave this +country.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Brewster bewailed her harsh lot with drooping lip. +</p> + +<p> +“Every one wants to drive me away!” +</p> + +<p> +“Who else?” +</p> + +<p> +“That railroad man, Mr. Galpy, was offering us special inducements to +leave, in the form of special trains any time we liked. It isn’t +hospitable.” +</p> + +<p> +“A jail is hospitable. But one doesn’t stay in it when one can get +out.” +</p> + +<p> +“If Caracuña were the jail and I the ‘one,’ one might. I +quite love it here.” +</p> + +<p> +He made a sharp gesture of annoyance. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be childish,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Childish? You come down like Freedom from the mountain heights, and +unfurl your warnings to the air, and complain of lost time and all that sort of +thing, and what does it all amount to?” she demanded, with spirit. +“That we should sail away, when you know perfectly well that the Dutch +won’t let us sail away! Childish, indeed! Don’t you be +<i>beetlish!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a way out, without much risk, but some discomfort. You +could strike south-east to the Bird Reefs, take a small boat, and get over to +the mainland. As soon as the blockade is off, the yacht can take your luggage +around. The trip would be rough for you, but not dangerous. Not as dangerous as +staying here may be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you really think it so serious?” +</p> + +<p> +“Most emphatically.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you come with us and show us the way?” she inquired, gazing +with exaggerated appeal into his goggles. +</p> + +<p> +“I? No.” +</p> + +<p> +“What shall you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stick.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pins through scarabs,” she laughed, “while beneath you +Caracuña riots and revolutes and massacres foreigners. Nero with his fiddle was +nothing to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Brewster, I’m afraid you are suffering from a misplaced sense +of humor. Will you believe me when I tell you that I have certain sources of +information in local matters both serviceable and reliable?” +</p> + +<p> +“You seem to have bet on a certainty in the Dutch blockade matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s equally certain that there is bubonic plague +here.” +</p> + +<p> +“A <i>bola</i>. You told me so yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps there was nothing to be gained then by letting you know, as you +were bottled up, with no way out. Now, through the good offices of a foreign +official, who, of course, couldn’t afford to appear, this opportunity to +reach the mainland is open to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Had you anything to do with that?” she inquired suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the official is a friend of mine,” he answered carelessly. +</p> + +<p> +“And you really believe that there is an epidemic of plague here? +Don’t you think that I’d make a good Red Cross nurse?” +</p> + +<p> +His voice was grave and rather stern. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve never seen bubonic plague,” he said, “or you +wouldn’t joke about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry. But it wasn’t wholly a joke. If we were really +cooped up with an epidemic, I’d volunteer. What else would there be to +do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing of the sort,” he cried vehemently. “You don’t +know what you’re talking about.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anyway, isn’t the wonderful Luther Pruyn on his way to exorcise +the demon, or something of the sort?” +</p> + +<p> +“What about Luther Pruyn? Who says he’s coming here?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the gossip of the diplomatic set and the clubs. He’s +the favorite mystery of the day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if he does come, it won’t improve matters any, for the first +case he verifies he’ll clap on a quarantine that a mouse couldn’t +creep through. I know something of the Pruyn method.” +</p> + +<p> +“And don’t wholly approve it, I judge.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be efficacious, but it’s extremely inconvenient at +times.” +</p> + +<p> +Again the cathedral clock boomed. +</p> + +<p> +“See how I’ve kept you from your own affairs!” cried Miss +Polly contritely. “What are you going to do now? Go back to your +mountains?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. As soon as you tell me that your father will go out by the +reefs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you expect him to make up his mind, on five minutes’ notice, to +abandon his yacht?” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought great magnates were supposed to be men of instant and +unalterable decisions. I don’t know the type.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anyway, dad has gone out. I saw him drive away. Wouldn’t to-morrow +do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes; I suppose so.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you. The Voice will report at the rock to-morrow, at +four.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“What a very uncompromising ‘no’!” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t be there at four. Make it five.” +</p> + +<p> +“What a very arbitrary beetle man! Well, as I’ve wasted so much of +your time to-day, I’ll accept your orders for to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“And please impress your father with the extreme advisability of your +getting off this island.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” she said meekly. “You’ll be most awfully +glad to get rid of us, won’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very greatly relieved.” +</p> + +<p> +“And a little bit sorry?” +</p> + +<p> +The begoggled face turned toward her. There was a perceptible tensity in the +line of the jaw. But the beetle man made no answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, if I could see behind those glasses,” said Miss Polly +Brewster to her wicked little self, “I’d probably <i>bite</i> +myself rather than say it again. Just the same—And a little bit +sorry?” she persisted aloud. +</p> + +<p> +“Does that matter?” said the man quietly. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Polly Brewster forthwith bit herself on her pink and wayward tongue. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t think I’m not grateful,” she employed that +chastened member to say. “I am, most deeply. So will father be, even if +he decides not to leave. I’m afraid that’s what he will +decide.” +</p> + +<p> +“He mustn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell him that yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will, if it becomes necessary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me be present at the interview. Most people are afraid of dad. +Perhaps you’d be, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“I could always run away,” he remarked, unsmiling. “You know +how well I do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must do it now myself, and get arrayed for the daily tea sacrifice. Au +revoir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hasta mañana,” he said absently. +</p> + +<p> +She had turned to go, but at the word she came slowly back a pace or two, +smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“What a strange beetle man you are!” she said softly. “I have +no other friends like you. You <i>are</i> a friend, aren’t you, in your +queer way?” She did not wait for an answer, but went on: “You +don’t come to see me when I ask you. You don’t send me any word. +You make me feel that, compared to your concerns with beetles and flies, +I’m quite hopelessly unimportant. And yet here I find you giving up your +own pursuits and wasting your time to plan and watch and think for us.” +</p> + +<p> +“For you,” he corrected. +</p> + +<p> +“For me,” she accepted sweetly. “What an ungrateful little +pig you must think me! But truly inside I appreciate it and thank you, and I +think—I feel that perhaps it amounts to a lot more than I know.” +</p> + +<p> +He made a gesture of negation. +</p> + +<p> +“No great thing,” he said. “But it’s the best I can do, +anyway. Do you remember what the mediæval mummer said, when he came bearing his +poor homage?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Tell it to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“It runs like this: ‘Lady, who art nowise bitter to those who serve +you with a good intent, that which thy servant is, that he is for +you.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Polly Brewster,” said the girl to herself, as she walked, slowly +and musingly, back to her room, “the busy haunts of men are more suited +to your style than the free-and-untrammeled spaces of nature, and well you know +it. But you’ll go to-morrow and you’ll keep on going until you find +out what is behind those brown-green goblin spectacles. If only he didn’t +look so like a gnome!” +</p> + +<p> +The clause conditional, introduced by the word “if,” does not +always imply a conclusion, even in the mind of the propounder. Miss Brewster +would have been hard put to it to round out her subjunctive. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>VI.<br /> +FORKED TONGUES</h2> + +<p> +“Pooh!” said Thatcher Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +Thatcher Brewster’s “Pooh!” is generally recognized in the +realm of high finance as carrying weight. It is not derisive or contemptuous; +it is dismissive. The subject of it simply ceases to exist. In the present +instance, it was so mild as scarcely to stir the smoke from his after-dinner +cigar, yet it had all the intent, if not the effect, of finality. The reason +why it hadn’t the effect was that it was directed at Thatcher +Brewster’s daughter. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps not quite so much ‘Pooh!’ as you think,” was +that damsel’s reception of the pregnant monosyllable. +</p> + +<p> +“A bug-hunter from nowhere! Don’t I know that type?” said the +magnate, who confounded all scientists with inventors, the capital-seeking +inventor being the bane and torment of his life. +</p> + +<p> +“He knew about the Dutch blockade.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or pretended he did. I’m afraid my Pollipet has let herself +romanticize a little.” +</p> + +<p> +“Romanticize!” The girl laughed. “If you could see him, dad! +Romance and my poor little beetle man don’t live in the same +world.” +</p> + +<p> +Out of the realm of memory, where the echoes come and go by no known law, +sounded his voice in her ear: “‘That which thy servant is, that he +is for you.’” Dim doubt forthwith began to cloud the bright +certainty of Miss Brewster’s verdict. +</p> + +<p> +“If he’s gone to all the trouble that I told you of, it must be +that he has some good reason for wanting to get us safely out,” she +argued to her father. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps he feels that his peace of mind would be more assured if you +were in some other country,” he teased. “No, my dear, I’m not +leaving a full-manned yacht in a foreign harbor and smuggling myself out of a +friendly country on the say-so of an unknown adviser, whose chief ability seems +to lie in the hundred-yard dash.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think that’s unfair and ungrateful. If a man with a +sword—” +</p> + +<p> +“When I begin a row, I stay with it,” said Mr. Brewster grimly. +“Quitters and I don’t pull well together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’m to tell him ‘No’?” +</p> + +<p> +“Positively.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so positively at all. I shall say, ‘No, thank you,’ in +my very nicest way, and say that you’re very grateful and appreciative +and not at all the growly old bear of a dad that you pretend to be when one +doesn’t know and love you. And perhaps I’ll invite him to dine here +and go away on the yacht with us—” +</p> + +<p> +“And graciously accept a couple of hundred thousand dollars bonus, and +come into the company as first vice-president,” chuckled her father. +“And then he’ll wake up and find he’s been sitting on a +cactus. See here,” he added, with a sharpening of tone, “do you +suppose he could get a cablegram for transmission to Washington over to the +mainland for us by this mysterious route of his?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very likely.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re really sure you want to go, Pollipet? This is your cruise, +you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do.” +</p> + +<p> +Hitherto Miss Polly had been declaring to all and sundry, including the beetle +man himself, that it was her firm intent and pleasure to stay on the island and +observe the presumptively interesting events that promised. That she had +reversed this decision, on the unsolicited counsel of an extremely queer +stranger, was a phenomenon the peculiarity of which did not strike her at the +time. All that she felt was a settled confidence in the beetle man’s +sound reason for his advice. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” said Mr. Brewster. “If I can get through a +message to the State Department, they’ll bring pressure to bear on the +Dutch, and we can take the yacht through the blockade. It’s only a +question of finding a way to lay the matter before the Dutch authorities, +anyway. I’ve been making inquiries here, and I find there’s no +intention of bottling up neutral pleasure craft. I dare say we could get out +now. Only it’s possible that the Hollanders might shoot first and ask +questions afterward.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would have to be done quickly, dad. They may quarantine at any +time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dr. Pruyn ought to be here any day now. Let’s leave that matter +for him. There’s a man I have confidence in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Perkins says that Dr. Pruyn will bottle up the port tighter than the +Dutch.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let him, so long as we get out first. Now, Polly, you tell this man +Perkins that I’ll pay all expenses and give him a round hundred for +himself if he’ll bring me a receipt showing that my cablegram has been +dispatched to Washington.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think I’d quite like to do that, dad. He isn’t +the sort of man one offers money to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Every one’s the sort of man one offers money to—if +it’s enough,” retorted her father. “And a hundred dollars +will look pretty big to a scientific man. I know something about their +salaries. You try him.” +</p> + +<p> +“So far as expenses go, I will. But I won’t hurt his feelings by +trying to pay him for something that he would do for friendship or not at +all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have it your own way. When is he coming in?” +</p> + +<p> +“He isn’t coming in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then where are you going to see him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Up on the mountain trail, when I ride tomorrow afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“With Carroll?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I’m going alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t quite like to have you knocking about mountain roads by +yourself, though Mr. Sherwen says you’re safe anywhere here. +Where’s that little automatic revolver I gave you?” +</p> + +<p> +“In my trunk. I’ll carry that if it will make you feel any +easier.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, do. But I can’t see why you can’t send word to Perkins +that I want to see him here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can. And I can guess just what his answer would be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, guess ahead.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’d tell you to go to the bad place, or its scientific +equivalent.” She laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Would he?” Mr. Brewster did not laugh. “And perhaps +you’ll be good enough to tell me why.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because you sent word that you were out when he called.” +</p> + +<p> +“Humph! I see people when <i>I</i> want to see <i>them</i>, not when they +want to see me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then Mr. Perkins is likely to prove permanently invisible to you, if +I’m any judge of character.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” said Mr. Brewster impatiently, “manage it +yourself. Only impress on him the necessity of getting the message on the wire. +I’ll write it out to-night and give it to you with the money +to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +After luncheon on the following day, Polly, with the cablegram and money in her +purse and her automatic safely disposed in her belt, walked in the plaza with +Carroll. The legless beggar whined at them for alms. Handing him a +<i>quartillo</i>, the Southerner would have passed on, but his companion stood +eyeing the mendicant. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, what can there be in that poor wreck to captivate the scientific +intellect?” she marveled. +</p> + +<p> +“If you mean Mr. Perkins—” began Carroll. +</p> + +<p> +“I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I think perhaps the reason for some of that gentleman’s +associations will hardly stand inquiry.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl turned her eyes on him and searched the handsome, serious face. +</p> + +<p> +“Fitz, you’re not the man to say that of another man without some +good reason.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not, Miss Polly.” +</p> + +<p> +“You think that Mr. Perkins is not the kind of man for me to have +anything to do with?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I’m afraid he isn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think that, having gone so far, you ought to tell me +why?” +</p> + +<p> +Carroll flushed. +</p> + +<p> +“I would rather tell your father.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you implying a scandal in connection with my timid, little dried-up +scientist?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m only saying,” said the other doggedly, “that +there’s something secret and underhanded about that place of his in the +mountains. It’s a matter of common gossip.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl laughed outright. +</p> + +<p> +“The poor beetle man! Why, he’s so afraid of a woman that he goes +all to pieces if one speaks to him suddenly. Just to see his expression, +I’d like to tell him that he’s being scandalized by all +Caracuña.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re going to see him again?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly. This afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think you should, Miss Polly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you any actual facts against him? Anything but casual +gossip?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; not yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“When you have, I’ll listen to you. But you couldn’t make me +believe it, anyway. Why, Fitz, look at him!” +</p> + +<p> +“Take me with you,” insisted the other, “and let me ask him a +question or two that any honorable man could answer. They don’t call him +the Unspeakable Perk for nothing, Miss Polly.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s just because they don’t understand his type. Nor do +you, Fitz, and so you mistrust him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand that you’ve shown more interest in him than in any +one you know,” said the other miserably. +</p> + +<p> +Her laugh rang as free and frank as a child’s. +</p> + +<p> +“Interest? That’s true. But if you mean sentiment, Fitz, after once +having looked into the depths of those absurd goggles, can you, <i>could</i> +you think of sentiment and the beetle man in the same breath?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I couldn’t,” he confessed, relieved. “But, then, I +never have been able to understand you, Miss Polly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Therein lies my fatal charm,” she said saucily. “Now, to the +beetle man, I’m a specimen. <i>He</i> understands as much as he wants to. +Probably I shall never see him after to-day, anyway. He’s going to get a +message through for us that will deliver us from this land of bondage.” +</p> + +<p> +“He can’t do it—too soon for me,” declared Carroll. +“And, Miss Polly, you don’t think the worse of me for having said +behind his back what I’m just waiting to say to his face?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit,” said the girl warmly. “Only I know it’s +nonsense.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so,” said Carroll, quite honestly. “I would hate to +think anything low-down of a man you’d call your friend.” +</p> + +<p> +Carroll had learned more than he had told, but less than enough to give him +what he considered proper evidence to lay before Polly’s father. After +some deliberation as to the point of honor involved, he decided to go to +Raimonda, who, alone in Caracuña City, seemed to be on personal terms with the +hermit. He found the young man in his office. With entire frankness, Carroll +stated his errand and the reason for it. The Caracuñan heard him with grave +courtesy. +</p> + +<p> +“And now, señor,” concluded the American, “here’s my +question, and it’s for you to determine whether, under the circumstances, +you are justified in giving me an answer. Is there a woman living in Mr. +Perkins’s <i>quinta</i> on the mountains?” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot answer that question,” said the other, after some +deliberation. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry,” said Carroll simply. +</p> + +<p> +“I also. The more so in that my attitude may be misconstrued against Mr. +Perkins. I am bound by confidence.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I infer,” returned his visitor courteously. “Then I have +only to ask your pardon—” +</p> + +<p> +“One moment, if you please, señor. Perhaps this will serve to make easy +your mind. On my word, there is nothing in Mr. Perkins’s life on the +mountain in any manner dishonorable or—or irregular.” +</p> + +<p> +In a flash, the simple solution crossed Carroll’s mind. That a woman was +there, and a woman not of the servant class, could hardly be doubted, in view +of almost direct evidence from eyewitnesses. If there was nothing irregular +about her presence, it was because she was Perkins’s wife. In view of +Raimonda’s attitude, he did not feel free to put the direct query. +Another question would serve his purpose. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it advisable, and for the best interests of Miss Brewster, that she +should associate with him under the circumstances?” +</p> + +<p> +The Caracuñan started and shot a glance at his interlocutor that said, as +plainly as words, “How much do you know that you are not telling?” +had the latter not been too intent upon his own theory to interpret it. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that,” said Raimonda, after a pause,—“that is +another question. If it were my sister, or any one dear to +me—but”—he shrugged—“views on that matter +differ.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hardly think that yours and mine differ, señor. I thank you for +bearing with me with so much patience.” +</p> + +<p> +He went out with his suspicions hardened into certainty. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>VII.<br /> +“THAT WHICH THY SERVANT IS—”</h2> + +<p> +A man that you’d call your friend. Such had been Fitzhugh Carroll’s +reference to the Unspeakable Perk. With that characterization in her mind. Miss +Brewster let herself drift, after her suitor had left her, into a dreamy +consideration of the hermit’s attitude toward her. She was not prone +lightly to employ the terms of friendship, yet this new and casual acquaintance +had shown a readiness to serve—not as cavalier, but as friend—none +too common in the experience of the much-courted and a little spoiled beauty. +Being, indeed, a “lady nowise bitter to those who served her with good +intent,” she reflected, with a kindly light in her eyes, that it was all +part and parcel of the beetle’s man’s amiable queerness. +</p> + +<p> +Still musing upon this queerness, she strolled back to find her mount waiting +at the corner of the plaza. In consideration of the heat she let her +cream-colored mule choose his own pace, so they proceeded quite slowly up the +hill road, both absorbed in meditation, which ceased only when the mule started +an argument about a turn in the trail. He was a well-bred trotting mule, worth +six hundred dollars in gold of any man’s money, and he was +self-appreciative in knowledge of the fact. He brought a singular firmness of +purpose to the support of the negative of her proposition, which was that he +should swing north from the broad into the narrow path. When the debate was +over, St. John the Baptist—this, I hesitate to state, yet must, it being +the truth, was the spirited animal’s name—was considerably +chastened, and Miss Brewster more than a trifle flushed. She left him tied to a +ceiba branch at the exit from the dried creek bed, with strict instructions not +to kick, lest a worse thing befall him. Miss Brewster’s fighting blood +was up, when, ten minutes late, because of the episode, she reached the summit +of the rock. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Beetle Man, are you there?” she called. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Voice. You sound strange. What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been hurrying, and if you tell me I’m late, +I’ll—I’ll fall on your neck again and break it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has anything happened?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing in particular. I’ve been boxing the compass with a mule. +It’s tiresome.” +</p> + +<p> +He reflected. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not, by any chance, speaking figuratively of your respected +parent?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly <i>not!</i>” she disclaimed indignantly. “This was +a real mule. You’re very impertinent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you see, he was impertinent to me, saying he was out when he was +in. What is his decision—yes or no?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +A sharp exclamation came from the nook below. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the entomological synonym for ‘damn’?” she +inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a lament for time wasted on a—Well, never mind +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he wants you to carry a message by that secret route of yours. Will +you do it for him?” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>No!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s not being a very kind or courteous beetle man.” +</p> + +<p> +“I owe Mr. Brewster no courtesy.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you pay only where you owe? Just, but hardly amiable. Well, you owe +me nothing—but—will you do it for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Without even knowing what it is?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“In return you shall have your heart’s desire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Doubted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t the dearest wish of your soul to drive me out of +Caracuña?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hum! Well—er—yes. Yes; of course it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. If you can get dad’s message on the wire to Washington, +he thinks the Secretary of State, who is his friend, can reach the Dutch and +have them open up the blockade for us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Time apparently meaning nothing to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would it take much time?” +</p> + +<p> +“About four days to a wire.” +</p> + +<p> +She gazed at him in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“And you were willing to give up four days to carry my message through, +‘unsight—unseen,’ as we children used to say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Willing enough, but not able to. I’d have got a messenger through +with it, if necessary. But in four days, there’ll be other obstacles +besides the Dutch.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quarantine?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought that had to wait for Dr. Pruyn.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pruyn’s here. That’s a secret, Miss Brewster.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know <i>everything?</i> Has he found plague?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, I don’t say that. But he will find it, for it’s +certainly here. I satisfied myself of that yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +“From your beggar friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“What made you think that, O most acute observer?” +</p> + +<p> +“What else would you be talking to him of, with such interest?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re correct. Bubonic always starts in the poor quarters. To +know how people die, you have to know how they live. So I cultivated my beggar +friend and listened to the gossip of quick funerals and unexplained +disappearances. I’d have had some real arguments to present to Mr. +Brewster if he had cared to listen.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll listen to Dr. Pruyn. They’re old friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“No! Are they?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Since college days. So perhaps the quarantine will be easier to get +through than the blockade.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think so? I’m afraid you’ll find that pull +doesn’t work with the service that Dr. Pruyn is in.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you think that there will be quarantine within four days?” +</p> + +<p> +“Almost sure to be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, of course, I needn’t trouble you with the message.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t jump at conclusions. There might be another and quicker +way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wireless?” she asked quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“No wireless on the island. No. This way you’ll just have to trust +me for.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll trust you for anything you say you can do.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I don’t say I can. I say only that I’ll try.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s enough for me. Ready! Now, brace yourself. I’m coming +down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wh—why—wait! Can’t you send it down?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Besides, you <i>know</i> you want to see me. No use pretending, +after last time. Remember your verse now, and I’ll come slowly.” +</p> + +<p> +Solemnly he began:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Scarab, tarantula, neurop—” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Doodle-bug,’” she prompted severely. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“—doodle-bug, flea,”— +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +he concluded obediently. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Scarab, tarantula, doodle-bug, flea. Scarab, tarantula, +doodle—” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +“Oof! I—I—didn’t think you’d be here so +soon!” +</p> + +<p> +He scrambled to his feet, hardly less palpitating than on the occasion of their +first encounter. +</p> + +<p> +“Hopeless!” she mourned. “Incurable! Wanted: a miracle of St. +Vitus. Do stop nibbling your hat, and sit down.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think it’s as bad as it was,” he murmured, +obeying. “One gets accustomed to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“One gets accustomed to anything in time, even the eccentricities of +one’s friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think I’m eccentric?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do I think—Have you ever known any one who didn’t think you +eccentric?” +</p> + +<p> +Upon this he pondered solemnly. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s so long since I’ve stopped to consider what people +think of me. One hasn’t time, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then one is unhuman. <i>I</i> have time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. But you haven’t anything else to do.” +</p> + +<p> +As this was quite true, she naturally felt annoyed. +</p> + +<p> +“Knowing as you do all the secrets of my inner life,” she observed +sarcastically, “of course you are in a position to judge.” +</p> + +<p> +Her own words recalled Carroll’s charge, and though, with the subject of +them before her, it seemed ridiculously impossible, yet the spirit of mischief, +ever hovering about her like an attendant sprite, descended and took possession +of her speech. She assumed a severely judicial expression. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Beetle Man, will you lay your hand upon your microscope, or whatever +else scientists make oath upon, and answer fully and truly the question about +to be put to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“As I hope for a blessed release from this abode of lunacy, I +will.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Beetle Man, have you got an awful secret in your life?” +</p> + +<p> +So sharply did he start that the heavy goggles slipped a fraction of an inch +along his nose, the first time she had ever seen them in any degree misplaced. +She was herself sensibly discountenanced by his perturbation. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you ask that?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Natural interest in a friend,” she answered lightly, but with +growing wonder. “I think you’d be altogether irresistible if you +were a pirate or a smuggler or a revolutionary. The romantic spirit could lurk +so securely behind those gloomy soul-screens that you wear. What do you keep +back of them, O dark and shrouded beetle man?” +</p> + +<p> +“My eyes,” he grunted. +</p> + +<p> +“Basilisk eyes, I’m sure. And what behind the eyes?” +</p> + +<p> +“My thoughts.” +</p> + +<p> +“You certainly keep them securely. No intruders allowed. But you +haven’t answered my question. Have you ever murdered any one in cold +blood? Or are you a married man trifling with the affections of poor little +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“You shall know all,” he began, in the leisurely tone of one who +commences a long narrative. “My parents were honest, but poor. At the age +of three years and four months, a maternal uncle, who, having been a +proofreader of Abyssinian dialect stories for a ladies’ magazine, was +considered a literary prophet, foretold that I—” +</p> + +<p> +“Help! Wait! Stop!— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘Oh, skip your dear uncle!’ the bellman exclaimed,<br /> +And impatiently tinkled his bell.” +</p> + +<p> +Her companion promptly capped her verse:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘I skip forty years,’ said the baker in tears,”— +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t,” she objected. “If you skipped half that, I +don’t believe it would leave you much.” +</p> + +<p> +“When one is giving one’s life history by request,” he began, +with dignity, “interruptions—” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t by request,” she protested. “I don’t +want your life history. I won’t have it! You shan’t treat an +unprotected and helpless stranger so. Besides, I’m much more interested +to know how you came to be familiar with Lewis Carroll.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just because I’ve wasted my career on frivolous trifles like +science, you needn’t think I’ve wholly neglected the true +inwardness of life, as exemplified in ‘The Hunting of the +Snark,’” he said gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know”—she leaned forward, searching his +face—“I believe you came out of that book yourself. <i>Are</i> you +a Boojum? Will you, unless I ‘charm you with smiles and soap,’ +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘Softly and silently vanish away,<br /> +And never be heard of again’?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re mixed. <i>You’d</i> be the one to do that if I were a +real Boojum. And you’ll be doing it soon enough, anyway,” he +concluded ruefully. +</p> + +<p> +“So I shall, but don’t be too sure that I’ll ‘never be +heard of again.’” +</p> + +<p> +He glanced up at the sun, which was edging behind a dark cloud, over the gap. +</p> + +<p> +“Is your raging thirst for personal information sufficiently +slaked?” he asked. “We’ve still fifteen or twenty minutes +left.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that all? And I haven’t yet given you the message!” She +drew it from the bag and handed it to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Sealed,” he observed. +</p> + +<p> +The girl colored painfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Dad didn’t intend—You mustn’t think—” With +a flash of generous wrath she tore the envelope open and held out the +inclosure. “But I shouldn’t have thought you so concerned with +formalities,” she commented curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t that. But in some respects, possibly important, it would +be better if—” He stopped, looking at her doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Read it,” she nodded. +</p> + +<p> +He ran through the brief document. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; it’s just as well that I should know. I’ll leave a +copy.” +</p> + +<p> +Something in his accent made her scrutinize him. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re going into danger!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Danger? No; I think not. Difficulty, perhaps. But I think it can be put +through.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it were dangerous, you’d do it just the same,” she said, +almost accusingly. +</p> + +<p> +“It would be worth some danger now to get you away from greater danger +later. See here, Miss Brewster”—he rose and stood over +her—“there must be no mistake or misunderstanding about +this.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t gloom at me with those awful glasses,” she said +fretfully. “I feel as if I were being stared at by a hidden +person.” +</p> + +<p> +He disregarded the protest. +</p> + +<p> +“If I get this message through, can you guarantee that your father will +take out the yacht as soon as the Dutch send word to him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes. He will do that. How are you going to deliver the +message?” +</p> + +<p> +Again her words might as well not have been spoken. +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better have your luggage ready for a quick start.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will it be soon?” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be.” +</p> + +<p> +“How shall we know?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will get word to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bring it?” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No; I fear not. This is good-bye.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re very casual about it,” she said, aggrieved. “At +least, it would be polite to pretend.” +</p> + +<p> +“What am I to pretend?” +</p> + +<p> +“To be sorry. Aren’t you sorry? Just a little bit?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I’m sorry. Just a little bit—at least.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m most awfully sorry myself,” she said frankly. “I +shall miss you.” +</p> + +<p> +“As a curiosity?” he asked, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“As a friend. You have been a friend to us—to me,” she +amended sweetly. “Each time I see you, I have more the feeling that +you’ve been more of a friend than I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘That which thy servant is,’” he quoted lightly. But +beneath the lightness she divined a pain that she could not wholly fathom. +Quite aware of her power, Miss Polly Brewster was now, for one of the few times +in her life, stricken with contrition for her use of it. +</p> + +<p> +“And I—I haven’t been very nice,” she faltered. +“I’m afraid sometimes I’ve been quite horrid.” +</p> + +<p> +“You? You’ve been ‘the glory and the dream.’ I shall be +needing memories for a while. And when the glory has gone, at least the dream +will remain—tethered.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I’m not going to be a dream alone,” she said, with +wistful lightness. “It’s far too much like being a ghost. I’m +going to be a friend, if you’ll let me. And I’m going to write to +you, if you will tell me where. You won’t find it so very easy to make a +mere memory of me. And when you come home—When <i>are</i> you coming +home?” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you must find out, and let me know. And you must come and visit us +at our summer place, where there’s a mountain-side that we can sit on, +and you can pretend that our lake is the Caribbean and hate it to your +heart’s content—” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe I can ever quite hate the Caribbean again.” +</p> + +<p> +“From this view you mustn’t, anyway. I shouldn’t like that. +As for our lake, nobody could really help loving it. So you must be sure and +come, won’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dreams!” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t there room in the scientific life for dreams?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But not for their fulfillment.” +</p> + +<p> +“But there will be beetles and dragon-flies on our mountain,” she +went on, conscious of talking against time, of striving to put off the moment +of departure. “You’ll find plenty of work there. Do you know, Mr. +Beetle Man, you haven’t told me a thing, really, about your work, or a +thing, really, about yourself. Is that the way to treat a friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“When I undertook to spread before you the true and veracious history of +my life,” he began, striving to make his tone light, “you would +none of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you determined to put me off? Do you think that I wouldn’t +find the things that are real to you interesting?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re quite technical,” he said shyly. +</p> + +<p> +“But they are the big things to you, aren’t they? They make life +for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes; that, of course.” It was as if he were surprised at the +need of such a question. “I suppose I find the same excitement and +adventure in research that other men find in politics, or war, or making +money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Adventure?” she said, puzzled. “I shouldn’t have +supposed research an adventurous career, exactly.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; not from the outside.” His hidden gaze shifted to sweep the +far distances. His voice dropped and softened, and, when he spoke again, she +felt vaguely and strangely that he was hardly thinking of her or her question, +except as a part of the great wonder-world surrounding and enfolding their +companioned remoteness. +</p> + +<p> +“This is my <i>credo</i>,” he said, and quoted, half under his +breath:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘We have come in search of truth,<br /> +Trying with uncertain key<br /> +Door by door of mystery.<br /> +We are reaching, through His laws,<br /> +To the garment hem of Cause.<br /> +As, with fingers of the blind,<br /> +We are groping here to find<br /> +What the hieroglyphics mean<br /> +Of the Unseen in the seen;<br /> +What the Thought which underlies<br /> +Nature’s masking and disguise;<br /> +What it is that hides beneath<br /> +Blight and bloom and birth and death.’” +</p> + +<p> +Other men had poured poetry into Polly Brewster’s ears, and she had +thought them vapid or priggish or affected, according as they had chosen this +or that medium. This man was different. For all his outer grotesquery, the +noble simplicity of the verse matched some veiled and hitherto but +half-expressed quality within him, and dignified him. Miss Brewster suffered +the strange but not wholly unpleasant sensation of feeling herself dwindle. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very beautiful,” she said, with an effort. “Is it +Matthew Arnold?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nearer home. You an American, and don’t know your Whittier? That +passage from his ‘Agassiz’ comes pretty near to being what life +means to me. Have I answered your requirements?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fully and finely.” +</p> + +<p> +She rose from the rock upon which she had been seated, and stretched out both +hands to him. He took and held them without awkwardness or embarrassment. By +that alone she could have known that he was suffering with a pain that +submerged consciousness of self. +</p> + +<p> +“Whether I see you again or not, I’ll never forget you,” she +said softly. “You <i>have</i> been good to me, Mr. Perkins.” +</p> + +<p> +“I like the other name better,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. Mr. Beetle Man.” She laughed a little tremulously. +Abruptly she stamped a determined foot. “I’m <i>not</i> going away +without having seen my friend for once. Take off your glasses, Mr. Beetle +Man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Too much radiance is bad for the microscopical eye.” +</p> + +<p> +“The sun is under a cloud.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you’re here, and you’d glow in the dark.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I’m not to be put off with pretty speeches. Take them off. +Please!” +</p> + +<p> +Releasing her hand, he lifted off the heavy and disfiguring apparatus, and +stood before her, quietly submissive to her wish. She took a quick step +backward, stumbled, and thrust out a hand against the face of the giant rock +for support. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she cried, and again, “Oh, I didn’t think +you’d look like that!” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it? Is there anything very wrong with me?” he asked +seriously, blinking a little in the soft light. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no. It isn’t that. I—I hardly know—I expected +something different. Forgive me for being so—so stupid.” +</p> + +<p> +In truth, Miss Polly Brewster had sustained a shock. She had become accustomed +to regard her beetle man rather more in the light of a beetle than a man. In +fact, the human side of him had impressed her only as a certain dim appeal to +sympathy; the masculine side had simply not existed. Now it was as if he had +unmasked. The visage, so grotesque and gnomish behind its mechanical apparatus, +had given place to a wholly different and formidably strange face. The change +all centered in the eyes. They were wide-set eyes of the clearest, steadiest, +and darkest gray she had ever met; and they looked out at her from sharply +angled brows with a singular clarity and calmness of regard. In their light the +man’s face became instinct with character in every line. Strength was +there, self-control, dignity, a glint of humor in the little wrinkles at the +corner of the mouth, and, withal a sort of quiet and sturdy beauty. +</p> + +<p> +She had half-turned her face from him. Now, as her gaze returned and was fixed +by his, she felt a wave of blood expand her heart, rush upward into her cheeks, +and press into her eyes tears of swift regret. But now she was sorry, not for +him, but for herself, because he had become remote and difficult to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Have I startled you?” he asked curiously. “I’ll put +them back on again.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no; don’t do that!” She rallied herself to the point of +laughing a little. “I’m a goose. You see, I’ve pictured you +as quite different. Have you ever seen yourself in the glass with those +dreadful disguises on?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, no; I don’t suppose I have,” he replied, after +reflection. “After all, they’re meant for use, not for +ornament.” +</p> + +<p> +By this time she had mastered her confusion and was able to examine his face. +Under his eyes were circles of dull gray, defined by deep lines, +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you’re worn out!” she cried pitifully. +“Haven’t you been sleeping?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not much.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must take something for it.” The mothering instinct sprang to +the rescue. “How much rest did you get last night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see. Last night I did very well. Fully four hours.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that is more than you average?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, yes; lately. You see, I’ve been pretty busy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet you’ve given up your time to my wretched, unimportant little +stupid affairs! And what return have I made?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve made the sun shine,” he said, “in a rather +shaded existence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Promise me that you’ll sleep to-night; that you won’t work a +stroke.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I can’t promise that.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll break down. You’ll go to pieces. What have you got to +do more important than keeping in condition?” +</p> + +<p> +“As to that, I’ll last through. And there’s some business +that won’t wait.” +</p> + +<p> +Divination came upon her. +</p> + +<p> +“Dad’s message!” +</p> + +<p> +“If it weren’t that, it would be something else.” +</p> + +<p> +Her hand went out to him, and was withdrawn. +</p> + +<p> +“Please put on your glasses,” she said shyly. +</p> + +<p> +Smiling, he did her bidding. +</p> + +<p> +“There! Now you are my beetle man again. No, not quite, though. +You’ll never be quite the same beetle man again.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall always be,” he contradicted gently. +</p> + +<p> +“Anyway, it’s better. You’re easier to say things to. Are you +really the man who ran away from the street car?” she asked doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I really am.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’m most surely sure that you had good reason.” She +began to laugh softly. “As for the stories about you, I’d believe +them less than ever, now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are there stories about me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Gossip of the club. They call you ‘The Unspeakable +Perk’!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bad nickname,” he admitted. “I expect I have been +rather unspeakable, from their point of view.” +</p> + +<p> +A desire to have the faith that was in her supported by this man’s own +word overrode her shyness. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Beetle Man,” she said, “have you got a sister?” +</p> + +<p> +“I? No. Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you had a sister, is there anything—Oh, <i>darn</i> your +sister!” broke forth the irrepressible Polly. “I’ll be your +sister for this. Is there anything about you and your life here that +you’d be afraid to tell me?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“I knew there wasn’t,” she said contentedly. She hesitated a +moment, then put a hand on his arm. “Does this <i>have</i> to be +good-bye, Mr. Beetle Man?” she said wistfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid so.” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” She stamped imperiously. “I want to see you again, and +I’m going to see you again. Won’t you come down to the port and +bring me another bunch of your mountain orchids when we sail—just for +good-bye?” +</p> + +<p> +Through the dull medium of the glasses she could feel his eyes questioning +hers. And she knew that once more before she sailed away, she must look into +those eyes, in all their clarity and all their strength—and then try to +forget them. The swift color ran up into her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I suppose so,” he said. “Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Au revoir, then!” she cried, with a thrill of gladness, and fled +up the rock. +</p> + +<p> +The Unspeakable Perk strode down his path, broke into a trot, and held to it +until he reached his house. But Miss Polly, departing in her own direction, +stopped dead after ten minutes’ going. It had struck her forcefully that +she had forgotten the matter of the expense of the message. How could she reach +him? She remembered the cliff above the rock, and the signal. If a signal was +valid in one direction, it ought to work equally well in the other. She had her +automatic with her. Retracing her steps, she ascended the cliff, a rugged +climb. Across the deep-fringed chasm she could plainly see the porch of the +<i>quinta</i> with the little clearing at the side, dim in the clouded light. +Drawing the revolver, she fired three shots. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll come,” she thought contentedly. +</p> + +<p> +The sun broke from behind the obscuring cloud and sent a shaft of light +straight down upon the clearing. It illumined with pitiless distinctness the +shimmering silk of a woman’s dress, hanging on a line and waving in the +first draft of the evening breeze. For a moment Polly stood transfixed. What +did it mean? Was it perhaps a servant’s dress. No; he had told her that +there was no woman servant. +</p> + +<p> +As she sought the solution, a woman’s figure emerged from the porch of +the <i>quinta</i>, crossed the compound, and dropped upon a bench. Even at that +distance, the watcher could tell from the woman’s bearing and apparel +that she was not of the servant class. She seemed to be gazing out over the +mountains; there was something dreary and forlorn in her attitude. What, then, +did she do in the beetle man’s house? +</p> + +<p> +Below the rock the shrubbery weaved and thrashed, and the person who could best +answer that question burst into view at a full lope. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” he panted. “Was it you who fired?” +</p> + +<p> +She stared at him mutely. The revolver hung in her hand. In a moment he was +beside her. +</p> + +<p> +“Has anything happened?” he began again, then turned his head to +follow the direction of her regard. He saw the figure in the compound. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God in heaven!” he groaned. +</p> + +<p> +He caught the revolver from her hand and fired three slow shots. The woman +turned. Snatching off his hat, he signalled violently with it. The woman rose +and, as it seemed to Polly Brewster, moved in humble submissiveness back to the +shelter. +</p> + +<p> +White consternation was stamped on the Unspeakable Perk’s face as he +handed the revolver to its owner. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you need me?” he asked quickly. “If not, I must go back +at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not need you,” said the girl, in level tones. “You lied +to me.” +</p> + +<p> +His expression changed. She read in it the desperation of guilt. +</p> + +<p> +“I can explain,” he said hurriedly, “but not now. There +isn’t time. Wait here. I’ll be back. I’ll be back the instant +I can get away.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, he was halfway down the rock, headed for the lower trail. The +bushes closed behind him. +</p> + +<p> +Painfully Polly Brewster made her way down the treacherous footing of the cliff +path to her place on the rock. From her bag she drew one of her cards, wrote +slowly and carefully a few words, found a dry stick, set it between two rocks, +and pinned her message to it. Then she ran, as helpless humans run from the +scourge of their own hearts. +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour later the hermit, sweat-covered and breathless, returned to the +rock. For a moment he gazed about, bewildered by the silence. The white card +caught his eye. He read its angular scrawl. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish never to see you again. Never! Never! Never!” +</p> + +<p> +A sulphur-yellow inquisitor, of a more insinuating manner than the former +participant in their conversation, who had been examining the message on his +own account, flew to the top of the cliff. +</p> + +<p> +“Qu’est-ce qu’elle dit? Qu’est-ce qu’elle +dit?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +For the first time in his adult life the beetle man threw a stone at a bird. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>VIII.<br /> +LOS YANKIS</h2> + +<p> +Luncheon on the day following the kiskadee bird’s narrow squeak for his +life was a dreary affair for Mr. Fitzhugh Carroll. Business had called Mr. +Brewster away. This deprivation the Southerner would have borne with +equanimity. But Miss Brewster had also absented herself, which was rather too +much for the devoted, but apprehensive, lover. Thus, ample time was given him +to consider how ill his suit was prospering. The longer he stayed, the less he +saw of Miss Polly. That she was kinder and more gentle, less given to teasing +him than of yore, was poor compensation. He was shrewd enough to draw no good +augury from that. Something had altered her, and he was divided between +suspicion of the last week’s mail, the arrival of which had been about +contemporaneous with her change of spirit, and some local cause. Was a letter +from Smith, the millionaire, or Bobby, the friend of her childhood, +responsible? Or was the cause nearer at hand? +</p> + +<p> +For one preposterous moment he thought of the Unspeakable Perk. A quick +visualization of that gnomish, froggish face was enough to dispel the +suspicion. At least the petted and rather fastidious Miss Brewster’s +fancy would be captured only by a gentleman, not by any such homunculus as the +mountain dweller. Her interest, perhaps; the man possessed the bizarre +attraction of the freakish. But anything else was absurd. And the knight was +inclined to attaint his lady for a certain cruelty in the matter; she was being +something less than fair to the Unspeakable Perk. +</p> + +<p> +The searchlight of his surmise ranged farther. Raimonda! The young Caracuñan +was handsome, distinguished, manly, with a romantic charm that the American did +not underestimate. He, at least, was a gentleman, and the assiduity of his +attentions to the Northern beauty had become the joke of the clubs—except +when Raimonda was present. By the same token, half of the gilded youth of the +capital, and most of the young diplomats, were the sworn slaves of the girl. It +was a confused field, indeed. Well, thank Heaven, she would soon be out of it! +Word had come down from her that she was busy packing her things. Carroll +wandered about the hotel, waiting for the news that would explain this +preparation. +</p> + +<p> +It came, at mid-afternoon, in the person of Miss Polly herself. Why packing +trunks, with the aid of an experienced maid, should, even in a hot climate, +produce heavy circles under the eyes, a droop at the mouth corners, and a +complete submersion of vivacity, is a problem which Carroil then and there gave +up. He had too much tact to question or comment. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m so tired!” she said, giving him her hand. +“Have you much packing to do, Fitzhugh?” +</p> + +<p> +“No one has given me any notice to get ready, Miss Polly.” +</p> + +<p> +“How very neglectful of me! We may leave at any time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; you may. But my ship doesn’t seem to be coming in very +fast.” +</p> + +<p> +The <i>double entente</i> was unintentional, but the girl winced. +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you coming with us on the yacht?” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I?” His handsome face lighted hopefully. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. Dad expects you to. What kind of people should we be to leave +any friend behind, with matters as they are?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, yes.” The hope passed out of his face. “Dictates of +humanity, and that sort of thing. I think, if you and Mr. +Brewster—” +</p> + +<p> +“Please don’t be silly, Fitz,” she pleaded. “You know +it would make me most unhappy to leave you.” +</p> + +<p> +Rarely did the scion of Southern blood and breeding lose the self-control and +reserve on which he prided himself, but he had been harassed by events to an +unwonted strain of temper. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it making you unhappy to leave any one else here?” he blurted +out. +</p> + +<p> +The challenge stirred the girl’s spirit. +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed! I wouldn’t care if I never saw any of them again. +I’m tired of it all. I want to go home,” she said, like a pathetic +child. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Miss Polly,” he began, taking a step toward her, “if +you’d only let me—” +</p> + +<p> +She put up one little sunburned hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Please, Fitz! I—I don’t feel up to it to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +Humbly he subsided. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d no right to ask you the question,” he apologized. +“It was kind of you to answer me at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re really a dear, Fitz,” she said, smiling a little +wanly. “Sometimes I wish—” +</p> + +<p> +She did not finish her sentence, but wandered over to the window, and gazed out +across the square. On the far side something quite out of the ordinary seemed +to be going on. +</p> + +<p> +“The legless beggar seems to have collected quite an audience,” she +remarked idly. +</p> + +<p> +Her suitor joined her on the parlor balcony. +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly he’s starting a revolution. Any one can do it down +here.” +</p> + +<p> +Vehement adjuration, in a high, strident voice, came floating across to them. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen!” cried the girl. “He’s speaking. English, +isn’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to be a mixture of English, French, and Spanish. Quite a +polyglot the friend of your friend Perkins appears to be.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned steady eyes upon him. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Perkins is not my friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“No?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never want to see him, or to hear his name again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, then you’ve found out about him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” She flushed. “Yes—at least—Yes,” she +concluded. +</p> + +<p> +“He admitted it to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, he lied about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I shall go up and make a call on Mr. Perkins,” said +Carroll, with formidable quiet. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” she answered wearily. +“He’d only run away and hide.” As she said it, her inner self +convicted her tongue of lying. +</p> + +<p> +“Very likely. Yet, see here, Miss Polly,—I want to be fair to that +fellow. It doesn’t follow that because he’s a coward he’s a +cad.” +</p> + +<p> +“He isn’t a coward!” she flashed. +</p> + +<p> +“You just said yourself that he’d run and hide.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he wouldn’t, and he IS a cad.” +</p> + +<p> +“As you like. In any case, I shall make it a point to see him before I +leave. If he can explain, well and good. If not—” He did not +conclude. +</p> + +<p> +“Our orator seems to have finished,” observed the girl. “I +shall go back upstairs and write some good-bye notes to the kind people +here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just for curiosity, I think I’ll drive across and look at the +legless Demosthenes,” said her companion. “I was going to do a +little shopping, anyway. So I’ll report later, if he’s revoluting +or anything exciting.” +</p> + +<p> +From her own balcony, when she reached it, Polly had a less obstructed view of +the beggar’s appropriated corner, and she looked out a few minutes after +she reached the room to see whether he had resumed his oratory. Apparently he +had not, for the crowd had melted away. The legless one was rocking himself +monotonously upon his stumps. His head was sunk forward, and from his +extraordinary mouthings the spectator judged that he must be talking to himself +with resumed vehemence. From what next passed before her astonished vision, +Miss Brewster would have suspected herself of a hallucination of delirium had +she not been sure of normal health. +</p> + +<p> +One of the well-horsed, elegant little public victorias with which the city is +so well supplied stopped at the curb, and the handsome head of Preston Fairfax +Fitzhugh Carroll was thrust forth. At almost the same moment the Unspeakable +Perk appeared upon the steps. He was wearing a pair of enormous, misfit white +gloves. He went down to the beggar, reached forth a hand, and, to the far-away +spectator’s wonder-struck interpretation, seemed to thrust something, +presumably a document, into the breast of the mendicant’s shirt. Having +performed this strange rite, he leaped up the steps, hesitated, rushed over to +Carroll’s equipage, and laid violent hands upon the occupant, with +obvious intent to draw him forth. For a moment they seemed to struggle upon the +sidewalk; then both rushed upon the unfortunate beggar and proceeded to kidnap +him and thrust him bodily into the cab. +</p> + +<p> +The driver turned in his seat at this point, his cue in the mad farce having +been given, and opened speech with many gestures, whereupon Carroll arose and +embraced him warmly. And with this grouping, the vehicle, bearing its lunatic +load, sped around the corner and disappeared, while the sole interested witness +retired to obscurity, with her reeling head between her hands. +</p> + +<p> +One final touch of phantasy was given to the whole affair when, two hours +later, she met Carroll, soiled and grimy, coming across the plaza, +smoking—he, the addict to thirty-cent Havanas!—an awful native +cheroot, whose incense spread desolation about him. Further and more +extraordinary, when she essayed to obtain a solution of the mystery from him, +he repelled her with emphatic gestures and a few half-strangled words with +whose unintelligibility the cheroot fumes may have had some connection, and +hurried into the hotel, where he remained in seclusion the rest of the day. +</p> + +<p> +What in the name of all the wonders could it mean? On Mr. Brewster’s +return, she laid the matter before him at the dinner table. +</p> + +<p> +“Touch of the sun, perhaps,” he hazarded. “Nothing else I +know of would explain it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do two Americans, a half-breed beggar, and a local coachman get +sunstruck at one and the same time?” she inquired disdainfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Doesn’t seem likely. By your account, though, the crippled beggar +seems to have been the little Charlie Ross of melodrama.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why didn’t he shout for help? I listened, but didn’t +hear a sound from him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Movie-picture rehearsal,” grunted Mr. Brewster. “I +can’t quite see the heir of all the Virginias in the part. Isn’t he +coming down to dinner this evening?” +</p> + +<p> +“His dinner was sent up to his room. Isn’t it extraordinary?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ask Sherwen about it. He’s coming around this evening for coffee +in our rooms.” +</p> + +<p> +But the American representative had something else on his mind besides casual +kidnapings. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve just come from a talk with the British Minister,” he +remarked, setting down his cup. “He’s officially in charge of +American interests, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thought you were,” said Mr. Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +“Officially, I have no existence. The United States of America is wiped +off the map, so far as the sovereign Republic of Caracuña is concerned. Some of +its politicians wouldn’t be over-grieved if the local Americans underwent +the same process. The British Minister would, I’m sure, sleep easier if +you were all a thousand miles away from here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell Sir Willet that he’s very ungallant,” pouted Miss +Polly. “When I sat next to him at dinner last week he offered to +establish woman suffrage here and elect me next president if I’d +stay.” +</p> + +<p> +Sherwen hardly paid this the tribute of a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“That was before he found out certain things. The Hochwald +Legation”—he lowered his voice—“is undoubtedly stirring +up anti-American sentiment.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why?” inquired Mr. Brewster. “There’s enough trade +for them and for us?” +</p> + +<p> +“For one thing, they don’t like your concessions, Mr. Brewster. +Then they have heard that Dr. Pruyn is on his way, and they want to make all +the trouble they can for him, and make it impossible for him to get actual +information of the presence of plague. I happen to know that their consul is +officially declaring fake all the plague rumors.” +</p> + +<p> +“That suits me,” declared the magnate. “We don’t want +to have to run Dutch and quarantine blockade both.” +</p> + +<p> +“Meantime, there are two or three cheap but dangerous demagogues who have +been making anti-‘Yanki,’ as they call us, speeches in the slums. +Sir Willet doesn’t like the looks of it. If there were any way in which +you could get through, and to sea, it would be well to take it at once. Am I +correct in supposing that you’ve taken steps to clear the yacht, Mr. +Brewster?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. That is, I’ve sent a message. Or, at least, so my daughter, +to whose management I left it, believes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t tell me how,” said Sherwen quickly. “There is +reason to believe that it has been dispatched.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve heard something?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have a message from our consul at Puerto del Norte, Mr. Wisner.” +</p> + +<p> +“For me?” asked the concessionaire. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, no,” was the hesitant reply. “It isn’t quite +clear, but it seems to be for Miss Brewster.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” inquired that young lady coolly. “What is +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“The best I could make of it over the phone—Wisner had to be +guarded—was that people planning to take Dutch leave would better pay +their parting calls by to-morrow at the latest.” +</p> + +<p> +“That would mean day after to-morrow, wouldn’t it?” mused the +girl. +</p> + +<p> +“If it means anything at all,” substituted her father testily. +</p> + +<p> +“Meantime, how do you like the Gran Hotel Kast, Miss Brewster?” +asked Sherwen. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s awful beyond words! I’ve done nothing but wish for a +brigade of Biddies, with good stout mops, and a government permit to clean up. +I’d give it a bath!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it’s pretty bad. I’m glad you don’t like +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Glad? Is every one ag’in’ poor me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because—well, the American Legation is a very lonely place. Now, +the presence of an American lady—” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you offering a proposal of marriage, Mr. Sherwen?” twinkled +the girl. “If so—Dad, please leave the room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Knock twenty years off my battle-scarred life and you wouldn’t be +safe a minute,” he retorted. “But, no. This is a measure of safety. +Sir Willet thinks that your party ought to be ready to move into the American +Legation on instant notice, if you can’t get away to sea +to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the use, if the legation has no official existence?” +asked Mr. Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +“In a sense it has. It would probably be respected by a mob. And, at the +worst, it adjoins the British Legation, which would be quite safe. If it +weren’t that Sir Willet’s boy has typhoid, you’d be formally +invited to go there.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very good of you,” said Miss Polly warmly. “But +surely it would be an awful nuisance to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“On the contrary, you’d brace up my far-too-casual old housekeeper +and get the machinery running. She constantly takes advantage of my bachelor +ignorance. If you say you’ll come, I’ll almost pray for the +outbreak.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly we’ll come, at any time you notify us,” said Mr. +Brewster. “And we’re very grateful. Shall you have room for Mr. +Carroll, too?” +</p> + +<p> +“By all means. And I’ve notified Mr. Cluff. You won’t mind +his being there? He’s a rough diamond, but a thoroughly decent +fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Useful, too, in case of trouble, I should judge,” said the +magnate. “Then I’ll wait for further word from you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I’ve got my men out on watch.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wouldn’t it be—er—advisable for us to arm +ourselves?” +</p> + +<p> +“By no means! There’s just one course to follow; keep the peace at +any price, and give the Hochwaldians not the slightest peg on which to hang a +charge that Americans have been responsible for any trouble that might arise. +May I ask you,” he added significantly, “to make this clear to Mr. +Carroll?” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave that to me,” said Miss Brewster, with superb confidence. +</p> + +<p> +“Content, indeed! You’ll find our locality very pleasant, Miss +Brewster. Three of the other legations are on the same block, not including the +Hochwaldian, which is a quarter of a mile down the hill. On our corner is a +house where several of the English railroad men live, and across is the Club +Amicitia, made up largely of the <i>jeunesse dorée</i>, who are mostly +pro-American. So you’ll be quite surrounded by friends, not to say +adherents.” +</p> + +<p> +“Call on me to housekeep for you at any time,” cried Polly gayly. +“I’ll begin to roll up my sleeves as soon as I get dressed +to-morrow.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>IX.<br /> +THE BLACK WARNING</h2> + +<p> +That weird three-part drama in the plaza which had so puzzled Miss Polly +Brewster had developed in this wise:— +</p> + +<p> +Coincidently with the departure of Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll from the +hotel in his cab, the Unspeakable Perk emerged from a store near the far corner +of the square, which exploited itself in the purest Castilian as offering the +last word in the matter of gentlemen’s apparel. “<i>Articulos para +Caballeros</i>” was the representation held forth upon its signboard. +</p> + +<p> +If it had articled Mr. Perkins, it must be confessed that it had done its job +unevenly, not to say fantastically. His linen was fresh and new, quite +conspicuously so, and, therefore, in sharp contrast to the frayed and patched, +but scrupulously clean and neatly pressed khaki suit, which set forth rather +bumpily his solid figure. A serviceable pith helmet barely overhung the +protrusive goggles. His hands were encased in white cotton gloves, a size or +two too large. Dismal buff spots on the palms impaired their otherwise virgin +purity. As the wearer carried his hands stiffly splayed, the blemishes were +obtrusive. Altogether, one might have said that, if he were going in for farce, +he was appropriately made up for it. +</p> + +<p> +At the corner above the beggar’s niche he was turning toward a +pharmacist’s entrance, when the mirth of the departing crowd that had +been enjoying the free oratory attracted his attention. He glanced across at +the beggar, now rocking rhythmically on his stumps, hesitated a moment, then +ran down the steps. +</p> + +<p> +At the same moment Carroll’s cab stopped on the other angle of the curb. +The occupant put forth his head, saw the goggled freak descending to the +legless freak, and sat back again. +</p> + +<p> +“Hola, Pancho! Are you ill?” asked the newcomer. +</p> + +<p> +The beggar only swung back and forth, muttering with frenzied rapidity. With +one hand the Unspeakable Perk stopped him, as one might intercept the runaway +pendulum of a clock, setting the other on his forehead. Then he bent and +brought his goblin eyes to bear on the dark face. The features were distorted, +the eyelids tremulous over suffused eyes, and the teeth set. Opening the +man’s loose shirt, Perkins thrust his hand within. It might have been +supposed that he was feeling for the heart action, were it not that his hand +slid past the breast and around under the arm. When he drew it out, he stood +for a moment with chin dropped, in consideration. +</p> + +<p> +Midday heat had all but cleared the plaza. As he looked about, the helper saw +no aid, until his eye fell upon the waiting cab. He fairly bounded up the +stairs, calling something to the coachman. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” grunted that toiler, with the characteristic discourtesy of +the Caracuñan lower class, and jerked his head backward toward his fare. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon,” said the Unspeakable Perk eagerly, in Spanish, +turning to the dim recess of the victoria. “Might I—Oh, it’s +you!” He seized Carroll by the arm. “I want your cab.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” said Carroll. “Well, you’re cool enough about +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And your help,” added the other. +</p> + +<p> +“What for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you have to ask questions? The man may be dying—is dying, I +think.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Carroll promptly. “What’s to be +done?” +</p> + +<p> +“Get him home. Help me carry him to the cab.” +</p> + +<p> +Between them, the two men lifted the heavy, mumbling cripple, carried him up +the steps with a rush, and deposited him in the cab, while the driver was still +angrily expostulating. The beggar was shivering now, and the cold sweat rolled +down his face. His bearers placed themselves on each side of him. Perkins gave +an order to the driver, who seemed to object, and a rapid-fire argument ensued. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s wrong?” asked Carroll. +</p> + +<p> +“Says he won’t go there. Says he was hired by you for +shopping.” +</p> + +<p> +Carroll took one look at the agony-wrung face of the beggar, who was being held +on the seat by his companion. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t he?” said he grimly. “We’ll see.” +</p> + +<p> +Rising, he threw a pair of long arms around those of the driver, pinning him, +caught the reins, and turned the horses. +</p> + +<p> +“Now ask him if he’ll drive,” he directed Perkins. +</p> + +<p> +“Si, señor!” gasped the coachman, whose breath had been squeezed +almost through his crackling ribs. +</p> + +<p> +“See that you do,” the Southerner bade him, in accents that needed +no interpretation. +</p> + +<p> +Presently Perkins looked up from his charge. +</p> + +<p> +“Got a cigar?” he asked abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied the other, a little disgusted by this levity in the +presence of imminent death. +</p> + +<p> +Perkins bade the driver stop at the corner. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t let him fall off the seat,” he admonished Carroll, and +jumped out. +</p> + +<p> +In the course of a minute he reappeared, smoking a cheroot that appeared to be +writhing and twisting in the effort to escape from its own noxious fumes. +</p> + +<p> +“Have one,” he said, extending a handful to his companion. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care for it,” returned the other superciliously. +While willing to aid in a good work, he did not in the least approve either of +the Unspeakable Perk or of his offhand manners. +</p> + +<p> +Before they had gone much farther, his resentment was heated to the point of +offense. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it necessary for you to puff every puff of that infernal smoke in my +face?” he demanded ominously. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you wouldn’t smoke, yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it weren’t for this poor devil of a sick man—” +began Carroll, when a second thought about the smoke diverted his line of +thought. “Is it contagious?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s so regarded,” observed the other dryly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll take one of those, thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +Perkins handed him one of the rejected spirals. In silence, except for the +outrageous rattling of the wheels on the cobbles, they drove through mean +streets that grew ever meaner, until they drew up at the blind front of a +building abutting on an arroyo of the foothills. Here they stopped, and Carroll +threw his jehu a five-bolivar piece, which the driver caught, driving away at +once, without the demand for more which usually follows overpayment in +Caracuña. Convenient to hand lay a small rock. Perkins used it for a knocker, +hammering on the guarded wooden door with such vehemence as to still the clamor +that arose from within. +</p> + +<p> +Through the opening, as the barrier was removed by a leather-skinned old crone, +Carroll gazed into a passageway, beyond which stretched a foul mule yard, +bordered by what the visitor at first supposed to be stalls, until he saw +bedding and utensils in them. The two men lifted the cripple in, amid the +outcries and lamentations of the aged woman, who had looked at his face and +then covered her own. At once they were surrounded by a swarm of women and +children, who pressed upon them, hampering their movements, until a shrill +voice cried:— +</p> + +<p> +“<i>La muerte negra!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +The swarm fell into silence, scattered, vanished, leaving only the moaning +woman to help. At her direction they settled the patient on a straw pallet in a +side room. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all you can do,” said the Unspeakable Perk to his +companion. “And thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll stay.” +</p> + +<p> +The goggles gloomed upon him in the dim room. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought probably you would,” commented Perkins, and busied +himself over the cripple with a knife and some cloths. He had stuffed his +ludicrous white gloves into his pocket, and was tearing strips from his +handkerchief with skillful fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“Oughtn’t he to have a doctor?” asked Carroll. “Shall I +go for one?” +</p> + +<p> +“His mother has sent. No use, though.” +</p> + +<p> +“He can’t be saved?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a chance on earth. I should say he was in the last stages.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” said Carroll hesitantly. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>La muerte negra</i>. The black death.” +</p> + +<p> +“Plague?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure? Are you an expert?” +</p> + +<p> +“One doesn’t have to be to recognize a case like that. The lump in +the armpit is as big as a pigeon’s egg.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why have you interested yourself in the man to such an extent?” +asked Carroll curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a friend of mine. Why did you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that’s quite different. One can’t disregard a call for +help such as yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“A certain kind of ‘one’ can’t,” returned the +Unspeakable Perk, with his half-smile. “You don’t mind my saying, +Mr. Carroll, you’re a brave man.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I’d have said that you weren’t,” replied the other +bluntly. “I give it up. But I know this: I’m going to be pretty +wretchedly frightened until I know that I haven’t got it. I’m +frightened now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’re a braver man than I thought. But the danger may be +less than you think. Stick to that cigar—here are two more—and wait +for me outside. Here’s the doctor.” +</p> + +<p> +Profound and solemn under a silk hat, the local physician entered, bowing to +Carroll as they passed in the hallway. Almost immediately Perkins emerged. On +his face was a sardonic grin. +</p> + +<p> +“Malaria,” he observed. “The learned professor assures me +that it’s a typical malaria.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it isn’t the plague,” said Carroll, relieved. +</p> + +<p> +His relief was of brief duration. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it’s plague. But if Professor Silk Hat, in there, +officially declared it such, he’d have bracelets on his arms in twelve +hours. The present Government of Caracuia doesn’t believe in bubonic +plague. I fancy our unfortunate friend in there will presently disappear, +either just before or just after death. It doesn’t greatly matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is to be done now?” asked Carroll. +</p> + +<p> +“See that brush fire up there?” The hermit pointed to the hillside. +“If we steep ourselves in that smoke until we choke, I think it will +discourage any fleas that may have harbored on us. The flea is the only agent +of communication.” +</p> + +<p> +Soot-begrimed, strangling, and with streaming eyes, they emerged, five minutes +later, from the cloud of smoke. From his pocket the Unspeakable Perk dragged +forth his white gloves. The action attracted his companion’s attention. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord!” he cried. “What has happened to your +hands?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re blistered.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stripped, rather. They look as if you’d fallen into a fire, or +rowed a fifty-mile race. That message of Mr. Brewster’s—See here, +Perkins, you didn’t row that over to the mainland? No, you +couldn’t. That’s absurd. It’s too far.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I didn’t row it to the mainland.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you’ve been rowing. I’d swear to those hands. Where? The +blockading Dutch warship?” +</p> + +<p> +The other nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Last night. Yah-h-h!” he yawned. “It makes me sleepy to +think of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t they blow you out of the water?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I was semiofficially expected. Message from our consul. They +transferred the message by wireless. I’m telling you all this, Mr. +Carroll, because I think you’ll get your release within forty-eight +hours, and I want you to see that some of your party keeps constantly in touch +with Mr. Sherwen. It’s mighty important that your party should get out +before plague is officially declared.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to report this case?” +</p> + +<p> +“All that I know about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, of course, you can’t report officially, not being a +physician,” mused the other. “Still, when Dr. Pruyn comes, it will +be evidence for him, won’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Undoubtedly. I should consider any delay after twenty-four hours risky +for your party.” +</p> + +<p> +“What shall you do? Stay?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’ve my place in the mountains. That’s remote enough to +be safe. Thank Heaven, there’s a cloud over the sun! Let’s sit down +by this tree for a minute.” +</p> + +<p> +Unthinkingly, as he stretched himself out, the Unspeakable Perk pushed his +goggles back and presently slipped them off. Thus, when Carroll, who had been +gazing at the mist-capped peak of the mountain in front, turned and met his +companion’s eyes, he underwent something of the same shock that Polly +Brewster had experienced, though the nature of his sensation was profoundly +different. But his impression of the suddenly revealed face was the same. +Ribbed-in though his mind was with tradition, and distorted with falsely +focused ideals and prejudices, Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll possessed a +sound underlying judgment of his fellow man, and was at bottom a frank and +honorable gentleman. In his belief, the suddenly revealed face of the man +beside him came near to being its own guaranty of honor and good faith. +</p> + +<p> +“By Heavens, I don’t believe it!” he blurted out, his gaze +direct upon the Unspeakable Perk. +</p> + +<p> +“What don’t you believe?” +</p> + +<p> +“That rotten club gossip.” +</p> + +<p> +“About me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Carroll, reddening. +</p> + +<p> +The hermit pushed his glasses down, settled into place the white gloves, with +their soothing contents of emollient greases, and got to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“We’d best be moving. I’ve got much to do,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Not yet,” retorted Carroll. “Perkins, is there a woman up +there on the mountains with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is purely my own business.” +</p> + +<p> +“You told Miss Brewster there wasn’t. If you tell me—” +</p> + +<p> +“I never told her any such thing. She misunderstood.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is the woman?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you want it even more frankly, that is none of your concern.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have been letting Miss Brewster—” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you engaged to marry Miss Brewster?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you have no authority to question me. But,” he added wearily, +“if it will ease your mind, and because of what you’ve done to-day, +I’ll tell you this—that I do not expect ever to see Miss Brewster +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“That isn’t enough,” insisted Carroll, his face darkening. +“Her name has already been connected with yours, and I intend to follow +this through. I am going to find out who the woman is at your place.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you propose to do it?” +</p> + +<p> +“By coming to see.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll be welcome,” said the other grimly. “By the +way, here’s a map.” He made a quick sketch on the back of an +envelope. “I’ll be there at work most of to-morrow. Au +revoir.” He rose and started down the hill. “Better keep to +yourself this evening,” he warned. “Take a dilute carbolic bath. +You’ll be all right, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +Slowly and thoughtfully the Southerner made his way back to the hotel. After +dining in his own room, he found time heavy on his hands; so, dispatching a +note of excuse to Miss Brewster on the plea of personal business, he slipped +out into the city. Wandering idly toward the hills, he presently found himself +in a familiar street, and, impelled by human curiosity, proceeded to turn up +the hill and stop opposite the blank door. +</p> + +<p> +Here he was puzzled. To go in and inquire, even if he cared to and could make +himself understood, would perhaps involve further risk of infection. While he +was considering, the door slowly opened, and the leather-skinned crone +appeared. Her eyes were swollen. In her hand she carried a travesty of a +wreath, done in whitish metal, which she had interwoven with her own black +mantilla, the best substitute for crape at hand. This she undertook to hang on +the door. As Carroll crossed to address her, a powerful, sullen-faced man, with +a scarred forehead and the insignia of some official status, apparently civic, +on his coat, emerged from a doorway and addressed her harshly. She raised her +reddened eyes to him and seemed to be pleading for permission to set up the +little tribute to her dead. There was the exchange of a few more words. Then, +with an angry exclamation, the official snatched the wreath from her. +Carroll’s hand fell on his shoulder. The man swung and saw a stranger of +barely half his bulk, who addressed him in what seemed to be politely +remonstrant tones. He shook himself loose and threw the wreath in the +crone’s face. Then he went down like a log under the impact of a swinging +blow behind the ear. With a roar he leaped up and rushed. The foreigner met him +with right and left, and this time he lay still. +</p> + +<p> +Hanging the tragically unsightly wreath on the door, through which the +terrified mourner had vanished, Carroll returned to the Gran Hotel Kast, his +perturbed and confused thoughts and emotions notably relieved by that one +comforting moment of action. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>X.<br /> +THE FOLLY OF PERK</h2> + +<p> +Of the comprehensive superiority of the American Legation over the Gran Hotel +Kast there could be no shadow of a doubt. From the moment of their arrival at +noon of the day after the British Minister’s warning, the refugees found +themselves comfortable and content, Miss Brewster having quietly and tactfully +taken over the management of internal affairs and reigning, at Sherwen’s +request, as generalissima. No disturbance had marked the transfer to their new +abode. In fact, so wholly lacking was any evidence of hostility to the +foreigners on the part of the crowds on the streets that the Brewsters rather +felt themselves to be extorting hospitality on false pretenses. Sherwen, +however, exhibited signal relief upon seeing them safely housed. +</p> + +<p> +“Please stay that way, too,” he requested. +</p> + +<p> +“But it seems so unnecessary, and I want to market,” protested Miss +Polly. +</p> + +<p> +“By no means! The market is the last place where any of us should be +seen. It is in that section that Urgante has been doing his work.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“A wandering demagogue and cheap politician. Abuse of the +‘Yankis’ is his stock in trade. Somebody has been furnishing him +money lately. That’s the sole fuel to his fires of oratory.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bet the bills smelled of sauerkraut when they reached him,” +grunted Cluff, striding over to the window of the drawing-room, where the +informal conference was being held. +</p> + +<p> +“They may have had a Hochwaldian origin,” admitted Sherwen. +“But it would be difficult to prove.” +</p> + +<p> +“At least the Hochwald Legation wouldn’t shed any tears over a +demonstration against us,” said Carroll. +</p> + +<p> +“Well within the limits of diplomatic truth,” smiled the American +official. +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh!” Mr. Brewster puffed the whole matter out of consideration. +“I don’t believe a word of it. Some of my acquaintances at the +club, men in high governmental positions, assure me that there is no +anti-American feeling here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very likely they do. Frankness and plain-speaking being, as you +doubtless know, the distinguishing mark of the Caracuñan statesman.” +</p> + +<p> +The sarcasm was not lost upon Mr. Brewster, but it failed to shake his +skepticism. +</p> + +<p> +“There are some business matters that require that I should go to the +office of the Ferro carril del Norte this afternoon,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg that you do nothing of the sort,” cried Sherwen sharply. +</p> + +<p> +The magnate hesitated. He glanced out of the window and along the street, close +bounded by blank-walled houses, each with its eyes closed against the sun. A +solitary figure strode rapidly across it. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s that bug-hunting fellow again,” said Mr. Brewster. +“He’s an American, I guess,—God save the mark! Nobody seems +to be interfering with <i>him</i>, and he’s freaky enough looking to +start a riot on Broadway.” +</p> + +<p> +Further comment was checked by the voice of the scientist at the door, asking +to see Mr. Sherwen at once. Miss Polly immediately slipped out of the room to +the <i>patio</i>, followed by Carroll and Cluff. +</p> + +<p> +“My business, probably,” remarked Mr. Brewster. “I’ll +just stay and see.” And he stayed. +</p> + +<p> +So far as the newcomer was concerned, however, he might as well not have been +there; so he felt, with unwonted injury. The scientist, disregarding him +wholly, shook hands with Sherwen. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you heard from Wisner yet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. An hour ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was his message?” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, any time to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good! Better get them down to-night, then, so they can start to-morrow +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will Stark pass them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Under restrictions. That’s all been seen to.” +</p> + +<p> +At this point it appeared to Mr. Brewster that he had figured as a cipher quite +long enough. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I right in assuming that you are talking of my party’s +departure?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Sherwen. “The Dutch will let you through the +blockade.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then my cablegram reached the proper parties at Washington,” said +the magnate, with an I-knew-it-would-be-that-way air. +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks to Mr. Perkins.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, of course. That will be—er—suitably attended to +later.” +</p> + +<p> +The Unspeakable Perk turned and regarded him fixedly; but, owing to the +goggles, the expression was indeterminable. +</p> + +<p> +“The fact is it would be more convenient for me to go day after to-morrow +than to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’d better rent a house,” was the begoggled +one’s sharp and brief advice. +</p> + +<p> +“Why so?” queried the great man, startled. +</p> + +<p> +“Because if you don’t get out to-morrow, you may not get out for +months.” +</p> + +<p> +“As I understand the Dutch permit, it specifies <i>after</i> +to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t a question of the Dutch. Caracuña City goes under +quarantine to-night, and Puerto del Norte to-morrow, as soon as proper official +notification can be given.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then plague has actually been found?” +</p> + +<p> +“Determined by bacteriological test this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was present at the finding.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who did it? Dr. Pruyn?” +</p> + +<p> +The other nodded. +</p> + +<p> +Sherwen whistled. +</p> + +<p> +“Better make ready to move, Mr. Brewster,” he advised. “You +can’t get out of port after quarantine is on. At least, you +couldn’t get into any other port, even if you sailed, because your +sailing-master wouldn’t have clearance papers.” +</p> + +<p> +The magnate smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“I hardly think that any United States Consul, with a due regard for his +future, would refuse papers to the yacht Polly,” he observed. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be a fool!” +</p> + +<p> +Thatcher Brewster all but jumped from his chair. That this adjuration should +have come from the freakish spectacle-wearer seemed impossible. Yet Sherwen, +the only other person in the room, was certainly not guilty. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you address me, young man?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know, sir, that since boyhood no person has dared or would dare +to call me a fool?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t want to set a fashion,” said the other +equably. “I’m only advising you not to be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Keep your advice until it’s wanted.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it were a question of you alone, I would. But there are others to be +considered. Now, listen, Mr. Brewster: Wisner and Stark wouldn’t let you +through that quarantine, after it’s declared, if you were the Secretary +himself. A point is being stretched in giving you this chance. If you’ll +agree to ship a doctor,—Stark will find you one,—stay out for six +full days before touching anywhere, and, if plague develops, make at once for +any detention station specified by the doctor, you can go. Those are +Stark’s conditions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Damnable nonsense!” declared Mr. Brewster, jumping to his feet, +quite red in the face. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me warn you, Mr. Brewster,” put in Sherwen, with quiet force, +“that you are taking a most unwise course. I am advised that Mr. Perkins +is acting under instructions from our consulate.” +</p> + +<p> +“You say that Dr. Pruyn is here. I want to see him before—” +</p> + +<p> +“How can you see him? Nobody knows where he is keeping himself. I +haven’t seen him yet myself. Now, Mr. Brewster, just sit down and talk +this over reasonably with Mr. Perkins.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” said the third conferee positively; “I’ve no +time for argument. At six o’clock I’ll be back here. Unless you +decide by then, I’ll telephone the consulate that the whole thing is +off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of all the impudent, conceited, self-important young +whippersnappers!” fumed Mr. Brewster. But he found that he had no +audience, as Sherwen had followed the scientist out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +Before the afternoon was over, the American concessionnaire had come to realize +that the situation was less assured than he had thought. Twice the British +Minister had come, and there had been calls from the representatives of several +other nationalities. Von Plaanden, in full uniform and girt with the short +saber that is the special and privileged arm of the crack cavalry regiment to +which he belonged at home, had dismounted to deliver personally a huge bouquet +for Miss Brewster, from the garden of the Hochwald Legation, not even asking to +see the girl, but merely leaving the flowers as a further expression of his +almost daily apology, and riding on to an official review at the military park. +</p> + +<p> +He had spoken vaguely to Sherwen of a restless condition of the local mind. +Reports, it appeared, had been set afloat among the populace to the effect that +an American sanitary officer had been bribed by the enemies of Caracuña to +declare plague prevalent, in order to close the ports and strangle commerce. +Urgante was going about the lower part of the city haranguing on street corners +without interference from the police. In the arroyo of the slaughter-house, two +American employees of the street-car company had been stoned and beaten. Much +<i>aguardiente</i> was in process of consumption, it being a half-holiday in +honor of some saint, and nobody knew what trouble might break out. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Bolas</i> are rolling around like balls on a billiard table,” +said young Raimonda, who had come after luncheon to call on Miss Brewster. +“In this part of the city there will be nothing. You needn’t be +alarmed.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not afraid,” said Miss Polly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure of it,” declared the Caracuñan, with admiration. +“You are very wonderful, you American women.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no. It’s only that we love excitement,” she laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that is all very well, for a bull-fight or ‘<i>la +boxe</i>.’ But for one of our street <i>émeutes</i>—no; too +much!” +</p> + +<p> +They were seated on the roof of the half-story of the house, which had been +made into a trellised porch overlooking the <i>patio</i> in the rear and the +street in front, an architectural wonder in that city of dead walls flush with +the sidewalk line all the way up. Leaning over the rail, the visitor pointed +through the leaves of a small <i>gallito</i> tree to a broad-fronted building +almost opposite. +</p> + +<p> +“That is my club. You have other friends there who would do anything for +you, as I would, so gladly,” he added wistfully. “Will you honor me +by accepting this little whistle? It is my hunting-whistle. And if there should +be anything—but I think there will not—you will blow it, and there +will be plenty to answer. If not, you will keep it, please, to remember one who +will not forget you.” +</p> + +<p> +Handsome and elegant and courtly he was, a true chevalier of adventurous +pioneering stock, sprung from the old proud Spanish blood, but there stole +behind the girl’s vision, as she bade him farewell, the undesired +phantasm of a very different face, weary and lined and lighted by steadfast +gray eyes—eyes that looked truthful and belonged to a liar! Miss Polly +Brewster resumed her final packing in a fume of rage at herself. +</p> + +<p> +All hands among the visitors passed the afternoon dully. Mr. Brewster, who had +finally yielded to persuasion and decided not to venture out, though still +deriding the restriction as the merest nonsense, was in a mood of restless +silence, which his irrepressible daughter described to Fitzhugh Carroll as +“the superior sulks.” +</p> + +<p> +Carroll himself kept pretty much aloof. He had the air of a man who wrestles +with a problem. Cluff fussed and fretted and privately cursed the country and +all its concessions. Between calls and the telephone, Sherwen was kept +constantly busy. But a few minutes before six, central, in the blandest +Spanish, regretted to inform him that Puerto del Norte was cut off. When would +service be resumed? <i>Quién sabe?</i> It was an order. <i>Hasta mañana</i>. +To-morrow, perhaps. Smoothing a furrow from his brow, the sight of which would +have done nobody any good, he suggested that they all gather on the roof porch +for a swizzle. The suggestion was hailed with enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +Thus, when the Unspeakable Perk came hustling down the street some minutes +earlier than the appointed time, he was hailed in Sherwen’s voice, and +bidden to come directly up. No time, on this occasion, for Miss Polly to +escape. She decided in one breath to ignore the man entirely; in the next to +bow coldly and walk out; in the next to—He was there before the latest +wavering decision could be formulated. +</p> + +<p> +“Better all get inside,” he said a little breathlessly. +“There may be trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +Cluff brightened perceptibly. +</p> + +<p> +“What kind of trouble?” +</p> + +<p> +“Urgante is leading a mob up this way. They’re turning the corner +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to wait and see them,” cried Miss Polly, with +decision. +</p> + +<p> +“Bend over, then, all of you,” ordered Sherwen. “The vines +will cover you if you keep down.” +</p> + +<p> +Around the corner, up the hill from where they were, streamed a rabble of boys, +leaping and whooping, and after them a more compact crowd of men, shoeless, +centering on a tall, broad, heavy-mustached fellow who bore on a short staff +the Stars and Stripes. +</p> + +<p> +“Where on earth did he get that?” cried Sherwen. +</p> + +<p> +“Looted the Bazaar Americana,” replied Perkins. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s Urgante,” growled Cluff; “that devil with the +flag.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he seems to be eulogizing it,” cried the girl. +</p> + +<p> +The orator had set down his bright burden, wedging it in the iron guard railing +of a tree, and was now apostrophizing it with extravagant bows and honeyed +accents in which there was an undertone of hiss. For confirmation, Miss Polly +turned to the others. The first face her eyes fell on was that of the +ball-player. Every muscle in it was drawn, and from the tightened lips streamed +such whispered curses as the girl never before had heard. Next him stood the +hermit, solid and still, but with a queer spreading pallor under his tan. In +front of them Sherwen was crouched, scowlingly alert. The expression of Mr. +Brewster and Carroll, neither of whom understood Spanish, betokened watchful +puzzlement. +</p> + +<p> +Enlightenment burst upon them the next minute. From the motley crowd below rose +a snarl of laughter and savage jeering, the object of which was unmistakable. +</p> + +<p> +“By G—d!” cried Mr. Brewster, straightening up and grasping +the railing. “They’re insulting the flag!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve left my pistol!” muttered Carroll, white-lipped. +“I’ve left my pistol!” +</p> + +<p> +Polly Brewster’s hand flew to her belt. +</p> + +<p> +She drew out the automatic and held it toward the Southerner. But it was not +Carroll’s hand that met hers; it was the Unspeakable Perk’s. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said he, and he flung the weapon back of him into the +<i>patio</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Oh!” cried the girl. “You unspeakable coward!” +</p> + +<p> +Carroll jumped forward, but Sherwen was equally quick. He interposed his slight +frame. +</p> + +<p> +“Perkins is right,” he said decisively. “No shooting. It +would be worth the life of every one here. We’ve got to stand it. But +somebody is going to sweat blood for this day’s work!” +</p> + +<p> +The instinct of discipline, characteristic of the professional athlete, brought +Cluff to his support. +</p> + +<p> +“What Mr. Sherwen says, goes,” he said, almost choking on the +words. “We’ve got to stand it.” +</p> + +<p> +In the breast of Miss Polly Brewster was no response to this spirit. She was +lawless with the lawlessness of unconquered youth and beauty. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she breathed “If I had my pistol back, I’d shoot +that <i>beast</i> myself!” +</p> + +<p> +The scientist turned his goggles hesitantly upon her. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Brewster,” he began, “please don’t +think—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t speak to me!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +Another clamor of derision sounded from the street as Urgante resumed the +standard of his mockery and led his rabble forward. Behind the dull-colored +mass appeared a spot of splendor. It was Von Plaanden, gorgeous in his full +regalia, who had turned the corner, returning from the public reception. Well +back of the mob, he pulled his horse up, and sat watching. The coincidence was +unfortunate. It seemed to justify Sherwen’s bitter words:— +</p> + +<p> +“Come to <i>visa</i> his work. There’s the Hochwaldian for +you!” +</p> + +<p> +Forward danced and reeled the “Yanki” baiters below, until they +were under the balcony where the little group of Americans sheltered and raged +silently. There the orator again spewed forth his contempt upon the alien +banner, and again the ranks behind him shrieked their approval of the affront. +Miss Polly Brewster, American of Americans, whose great-grandfathers had fought +with Herkimer and Steuben,—themselves the sons of women who had stood by +the loopholes of log houses and caught up the rifles of their fallen pioneer +husbands, wherewith to return the fire of the besieging Mohawks,—ran +forward to the railing, snatching her skirt from the detaining grasp of her +father. In the corner stood a huge bowl of roses. Gathering both hands full, +she leaned forward and flung them, so that they fell in a shower of loveliness +upon the insulted flag of her nation. +</p> + +<p> +For an instant silence fell upon the “great unwashed” below. Out of +it swelled a muttering as the leader made a low, mocking obeisance to the girl, +following it with a word that brought a jubilant yelp from his adherents. +Stooping, he ladled up in his cupped hand a quantity of gutter filth. Where the +flowers had but a moment before fluttered in the folds, he splotched it, +smearing star, bar, and blue with its blackness. At the sight, the girl burst +into helpless tears, and so stood weeping, openly, bitterly, and unashamed. +</p> + +<p> +No brain is so well ordered, no emotion so thoroughly controlled, but that +under sudden pressure—click!—the mechanism slips a cog and runs +amuck. Just that thing happened inside the Unspeakable Perk’s +smooth-running, scientific brain upon incitement of his flag’s +desecration and his lady’s grief. To her it seemed that he shot past her +horizontally like a human dart. The next second he was over the railing, had +swung from a branch of the neighboring tree to the trunk, and leaped to the +ground, all in one movement of superhuman agility. To the mob his exploit was +apparently without immediate significance. Perhaps they didn’t notice the +descent; or perhaps those few who saw were so astonished at the apparition of a +chunky tree-man with protuberant eyes scrambling down upon them in the manner +of an ape, that they failed to appreciate what it might portend of trouble. +</p> + +<p> +The hermit landed solidly on his feet a few yards from Urgante, the flag +bearer. With a berserker yell, he rushed. Taken by surprise, the assailed one +still had time to lift the heavy staff. As quickly, the American lowered his +head and dove. It may not have been magnificent; it certainly was not war by +the rules; but it was eminently effective. To say that the leader went down +would be absurdly inadequate. He simply crumpled. Over and over he rolled on +the cobbles, while the smirched flag flew clear of his grasp, and fell on the +farther sidewalk. +</p> + +<p> +“Wow!” yelled Cluff, leaping into the air. “Football! That +cost him a couple of ribs. Hey, Rube!” +</p> + +<p> +And he rushed for the stairs, followed by Carroll, Sherwen, and, only one jump +behind, Mr. Thatcher Brewster, cursing in a manner that did credit to his +patriotism, but would have added no luster to his record as an elder of the +Pioneer Presbyterian Church, of Utica, New York. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, the Unspeakable Perk, having rolled free of the fallen enemy, +staggered to his feet and caught up the flag. Stunned surprise on the part of +the crowd gave him an instant’s time. He edged along the curb, hoping to +gain the legation door by a rush. But the foe threw out a wing, cutting him +off. Several eager followers had lifted Urgante, whose groans and curses +suggested a sound basis for Cluff’s diagnosis. Himself quite <i>hors de +combat</i>, he spat at the Unspeakable Perk, and cried upon his henchmen to +kill the “Yanki.” It seemed not improbable to the latter that they +would do it. Perkins set his back to the wall, twirled the flag folds tight +around the pole, reversed and clubbed the staff, and prepared to make any +attempt at killing as uncomfortable and unprofitable as possible. The rabble, +by no means favorably impressed by these businesslike proceedings, stood back, +growling. +</p> + +<p> +A hand flew up above the crowd. The Unspeakable Perk ducked sharply and just in +time, as a knife struck the wall above him and clattered to the pavement. +Instantly he caught it up, but the blade had snapped off short. As he stooped, +one bold spirit rushed in. Perkins met him with a straight lance-thrust of the +staff, which sent him reeling and shrieking with pain back to his fellows. But +now another knife, and another, struck and fell from the wall at his back; +badly aimed both, but presumably the forerunners of missiles, some of which +would show better marksmanship. The assailed man cast a swift, desperate look +about him; the crowd closed in a little. Obviously he must keep “eyes +front.” +</p> + +<p> +“To your left! To your left!” The voice came to him clear and sweet +above the swelling growl of the rabble. “The doorway! Get into the +doorway, Mr. Beetle Man.” +</p> + +<p> +A few paces away, how far Perkins could only guess, was the entrance to the +house. He surmised that, like many of the better-class houses, it had a small +set-in door, at right angles to the main entrance, that would serve as a +shallow shelter. Without raising his eyes, he nodded comprehension, and began +to edge along the wall, swinging his stout weapon. As he went, he wondered what +was keeping the others. At that moment the others were frantically wrestling +with the all-too-adequate bars with which Sherwen had reinforced the wide door. +</p> + +<p> +Perkins, feeling with a cautious heel, found himself opposite the entry +indicated by the voice. Turning, he darted into the narrow embrasure. Here he +was comparatively safe from the missiles that were now coming from all +directions. On the other hand, he now lacked room to swing his formidable club. +The peons, with a shout, closed in to arm’s length. Alone on her balcony, +the girl turned her head away and cried aloud, hopelessly, for help. She wanted +to close her ears against the bestial shouts of a mob trampling to death a +defenseless man, but her arms were of lead. She listened and shivered. +</p> + +<p> +Instead of the sound that she dreaded there came the ringing of hoofs on +stones, followed by yells of alarm. She opened her eyes to see Von Plaanden, +bent forward in his saddle at the exact angle proper to the charge, urging his +great horse down upon the mass of people as ruthlessly as if they had been so +many insects. Through the circle he broke, swinging his mount around beside the +shallow doorway before which three Caracuñans already lay sprawled, attesting +the vigor of the defender’s final resistance. Back of the horseman lay +half a dozen other figures. The Hochwaldian jerked out his sword and stood, a +splendid spectacle. Very possibly he was not wholly unmindful of his own +pictorial quality or of the lovely American witness thereto. +</p> + +<p> +His intervention gave a few seconds’ respite, one of those checks that +save battles and make history. Now, in the further making of this particular +history, sounded a lusty whoop from the opposite direction; such a battle +slogan as only the Anglo-Saxon gives. It emanated from Galpy the bounder, +bounding now, indeed, at full speed up the slope, followed by two of his fellow +railroad men, flannel-clad and still perspiring from their afternoon’s +cricket. Against bare legs a cricket bat is a highly dissuasive argument. The +Britons swung low and hard for the ancient right of the breed to break into a +row wherever white men are in the minority against other races. The downhill +wing of the mob being much the weakest, opened up for them with little +resistance, leaving them a free path to the cavalryman, to whose side Perkins, +with staff ready brandished, had advanced from his shelter. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot’s the merry game?” inquired the cockney cheerfully. +</p> + +<p> +Before them the crowd swayed and parted, and there appeared, lifted by many +arms, a figure with a dead-white face streaked with blood, running from a great +gash in the scalp. +</p> + +<p> +“He went down in front of my horse,” explained the Hochwald +secretary coolly. +</p> + +<p> +At the sight, there rose from the crowd a wailing cry, quite different from its +former voice. Galpy’s teeth set and his cricket bat went up in the air. +</p> + +<p> +“There’ll be killing for this,” he said. “I know these +blightehs. That yell means blood. We must make a bolt for it. Is this all there +is of us?” +</p> + +<p> +At the moment of his asking, it was. One half a second later, it wasn’t, +as the last of the legation’s stubborn bars yielded, the door burst open, +and the four Americans tumbled out at the charge, Cluff yelling insanely, +Carroll in deadly quiet, Sherwen alertly scanning the adversaries for +identifiable faces, and Elder Brewster still imperiling his soul by the fervor +of his language. Each was armed with such casual weapons as he had been able to +catch up. Carroll, a leap in advance of the rest, encountered an Indian drover, +half-dodged a swinging blow from his whip, and sent him down with a broken +shoulder from a chop with a baseball club that he had found in the hallway. A +bull-like charge had carried Cluff deep among the Caracuñans, where he +encountered a huge peon, whom he seized and flung bodily over the iron guard of +a <i>samon</i> tree, where the man hung, yelling dismally. Two other peons, who +had seized the athlete around the knees, were all but brained by a stoneware +gin bottle in the hands of Sherwen. Meanwhile, Mr. Brewster was performing +prodigies with a niblick which he had extracted, at full run, from a bag +opportunely resting against the hat-rack. Almost before they knew it, the +rescue party had broken the intercepting wing of the mob, and had joined the +others. +</p> + +<p> +Cluff threw a gorilla-like arm across the Unspeakable Perk’s shoulder, +</p> + +<p> +“Hurt, boy?” he cried anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I’m all right. Who’s left with Miss Brewster?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody. We must get back.” +</p> + +<p> +Sherwen’s cool voice cut in:— +</p> + +<p> +“Close together, now. Keep well up. Herr von Plaanden, will you cover us +at the end?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the post of honor,” said the Hochwaldian. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve earned it. But for you, they’d have got our +colors.” +</p> + +<p> +The foreigner bowed, and swung his horse toward a Caracuñan who had pressed +forward a little too near. But, for the moment the fight had oozed out of the +mob. +</p> + +<p> +Without mishap the group got across the street, Perkins still clinging to the +flag. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, from the rear rank, came a shower of stones, followed by the final +rush. Galpy and Perkins went down. Von Plaanden tottered in his saddle, but +quickly recovered. Instantly Perkins was up again, the blood streaming from the +side of his head. He was conscious of brown hands clutching at the cricketer, +to drag him away. He himself seized the cockney’s legs and braced for +that absurd and deadly tug of war. Then Von Plaanden’s saber descended, +and he was able to haul Galpy back into safety. +</p> + +<p> +The situation was desperate now. Mr. Brewster was pinned against the wall and +disarmed, but still fighting with fist and foot. Half a dozen peons were +struggling with Cluff across the bodies of as many more whom he had knocked +down. Sherwen, almost under the cavalryman’s mount, was protecting his +rear with the fallen Galpy’s cricket bat, and the two other cricketers +were fighting back to back on the other side. Carroll was clubbing his way +toward Mr. Brewster, but his weapon was now in his left hand. Matters looked +dark indeed, when there shrilled fiercely from above them the whirring peal of +a silver whistle. +</p> + +<p> +Polly Brewster had remembered Raimonda. It seemed a futile signal, for as she +ran to the railing and gazed across at the Club Amicitia, she saw all its +windows and doors tight closed, as befits an aristocratic club that has no +concern with the affairs of the rabble. But there is no way of closing a +<i>patio</i> from the top, and sounds can enter readily that way, when all +other apertures are shut. Long and loud Miss Polly blew the signal on the +silver hunting-whistle. +</p> + +<p> +In the club <i>patio</i>, Raimonda was chafing and wondering, and a score of +his friends were drinking and waiting. That signal released their activities +and terminated the battle of the American Legation most ingloriously for the +forces of Urgante. For the gilded youth of Caracuña bears a heavy cane of +fashion, and carries a ready revolver, also, although not so admittedly as a +matter of fashion. Furthermore, he has a profound contempt for the peon class; +a contempt extending to life and limb. Therefore, when some two dozen young +patricians sallied abruptly forth with their canes, and the mob caught sight, +here and there, of a glint of nickel against the black, it gave back promptly. +Some desultory stones rattled against the walls. There were answering reports a +few, and sundry yells of pain. The army of Urgante broke and fled down the side +streets, leaving behind its broken and its wounded. Most of the bullet +casualties were below the knee. The Caracuñan aristocrat always fires +low—the first time. +</p> + +<p> +Shortly thereafter, Miss Polly Brewster appeared upon the balcony of the +American Legation, and performed an illegal act. Upon a day not designated as a +Caracuñan national holiday, she raised the flag of an alien nation and fixed +it, and the gilded youth of Caracuña in the street below cheered, not the flag, +which would have been unpatriotic, but the flag-raiser, which was but gallant, +until they were hoarse and parched of throat. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>XI.<br /> +PRESTO CHANGE</h2> + +<p> +After the battle, Miss Brewster reviewed her troops, and took stock of +casualties, in the <i>patio</i>. None of the allied forces had come off +scatheless. Galpy, whose injuries had at first seemed the most severe, +responded to a stiff dose of brandy. A cut across the scientist’s head +had been hastily bandaged in a towel, giving him, as he observed, the +appearance of a dissipated Hindu. To Von Plaanden’s indignant disgust, +his military splendor was seriously impaired by a huge “hickey” +over his left eye, the memento of a well-aimed rock. Cluff had broken a finger +and sprained his wrist. Mr. Brewster was anxious to know if any one had seen +two teeth of his on the pavement or whether he was to look for later digestive +indications of their whereabouts. Both of the young cricketers had been +battered and bruised, though it was nothing, they gleefully averred, to what +they had meted out. And Carroll had a nasty-looking knife-thrust in his +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +All of them were disheveled, dilapidated, and grimy to the last degree, except +the Hochwaldian, who still sat his horse, which he had ridden into the +<i>patio</i>. But Miss Polly said to herself, with a thrill of pride, that no +woman need wish a more gallant and devoted band of defenders. Leaning over them +from the inner railing of the balcony, she surveyed them with sparkling eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“It was magnificent!” she cried. “Oh, I’m so proud of +you all! I could hug you, every one!” +</p> + +<p> +“Better come down from there, Polly,” said her father anxiously. +“Some of those ruffians might come back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not to-day,” said Sherwen grimly. “They’ve had +enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is correct,” confirmed Von Plaanden. “Nevertheless, +there may be disorder later. Would it not be better that you go to the British +Legation, Fräulein?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not I!” she returned. “I stay by my colors. And now +I’m going to disband my army.” +</p> + +<p> +Stretching out her hand to a vase near her, she drew out a rose of deepest red +and held it above Von Plaanden. +</p> + +<p> +“The color of my country,” said Von Plaanden gravely. “May I +take it for a sign that I am forgiven?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fully, freely, and gladly,” said the girl. “You have put a +debt upon us all that I—that we can never repay.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is I who pay. You will not think of me too hardly, for my one +breach?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall think of you as a hero,” said the girl impetuously. +“And I shall never forget. Catch, O knight.” +</p> + +<p> +The rose fell, and was caught. Von Plaanden bowed low over it. Then he +straightened to the military salute, and so rode out of the door and out of the +girl’s life. +</p> + +<p> +“Men are strange creatures,” mused the philosopher of twenty. +“You think they are perfectly horrid, and suddenly they show their other +side to you, and you think they are perfectly splendid. I wish I knew a little +more about real people.” +</p> + +<p> +She confessed to no more specific thought, but as she descended the stairs to +bid farewell to the blushing and deprecatory Britons, she was eager to have it +over with, and to come to speech with her beetle man, who had so strangely +flamed into action. The Unspeakable Perk! As the name formed on her lips, she +smiled tenderly. With sad lack of logic, she was ready to discard every +suspicion of him that she had harbored, merely on the strength of his reckless +outbreak of patriotism. She looked about the <i>patio</i>, but he was not +there. Sherwen came out of a side door, his face puckered with anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Mr. Perkins?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“In there.” He nodded back over his shoulder. “Your father is +with him. Perhaps you’d better go in.” +</p> + +<p> +With a chill at her heart, Polly entered the room, where Mr. Brewster bent a +troubled face over a head swathed in reddened bandages. +</p> + +<p> +Very crumpled and limp looked the Unspeakable Perk, bunched humpily upon the +little sofa. His goggles had fallen off, and lay on the floor beside him, +contriving somehow to look momentously solemn and important all by themselves. +His face was turned half away, and, as Polly’s gaze fell upon it, she +felt again that queer catch at her heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Wouldn’t know it was the same chap, would you?” whispered +Mr. Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +The girl picked up the grotesque spectacles, cradling them for an instant in +her hands before she put them aside and leaned over the quiet form. +</p> + +<p> +“Came staggering in, and just collapsed down there,” continued her +father huskily. “Lord, I wouldn’t lose that boy after this for a +million dollars!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you talk that way?” she demanded sharply. “What has +happened? Did he faint?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just collapsed. When I tried to rouse him, he kicked me in the +chest,” replied the magnate, with somber seriousness. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you goose of a dad!” There was a tremulous note in +Polly’s low laughter. “That’s all right, then. Can’t +you see he’s dead for sleep, poor beetle man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think so?” said Mr. Brewster, vastly relieved. +“Hadn’t I better go out for a doctor, and make sure?” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Let him rest. Hand me that pillow, please, dad.” +</p> + +<p> +With soft little pushes and wedges she worked it under the scientist’s +head. “What a dreadful botch of bandaging! He looks so pale! I wonder if +I couldn’t get those cloths off. Lend me your knife, dad.” +</p> + +<p> +Gently as she worked, the head on the pillow began to sway, and the lips to +move. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, let me alone!” they muttered querulously. +</p> + +<p> +The eyes opened. The Unspeakable Perk gazed up into the faces above him, but +saw only one, a face whose tender concern softened it to a loveliness greater +even than when he had last seen it. He tried to rise, but the hands that +pressed him back were firm and quick. +</p> + +<p> +“Lie still!” bade their owner. +</p> + +<p> +A thin film of color mounted to his cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I—beg your pardon,” he stammered. +“I—I—d-didn’t know—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be a goose!” she adjured him. “It’s only +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that’s the trouble.” He closed his eyes again, and +began to murmur. +</p> + +<p> +“What does he say?” asked Mr. Brewster, lowering his head and +almost falling over backward as his astonished ears were greeted by the slowly +intoned rhythm:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Scarab, tarantula, doodle-bug, flea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Delirious!” exclaimed the magnate. “Clean off his head! How +does one find a doctor in this town?” +</p> + +<p> +“No need, dad,” his daughter reassured him. “It’s just +a—a sort of game.” +</p> + +<p> +“Game! Did you hear what he said?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, a kind of password. It’s all right, Dad. It is, +really.” +</p> + +<p> +Still undecided, Mr. Brewster stared at the injured man. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know—” he began, when the eyes opened again. +</p> + +<p> +“Feeling better?” inquired Polly briskly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. The charm works perfectly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anything I can do, or get, for you, my boy?” inquired Mr. +Brewster, stepping forward. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s in the ice-box?” asked the other anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried the girl in distress. “He’s starving! When +did you eat last?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t exactly remember. It was about five this morning, I think. +A banana, and, as I recall it, a small one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dad!” cried the girl, but that prompt and efficient gentleman was +already halfway to the cook, dragging Sherwen along as interpreter. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll get whatever there is in the shortest known time,” the +girl assured her patient. “Trust dad. Now, you lie back and let me fix up +a fresh bandage.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d have made a great trained nurse,” he murmured, as she +adjusted the clean strips that Sherwen had sent in. “Don’t pin my +ear down. It’s got to help hold my goggles on.” +</p> + +<p> +“The dear funny goggles!” Picking them up, she patted them with +dainty fingers, before setting them aside. He watched her uneasily, much in the +manner of a dog whose bone has been taken away. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mind giving them back?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“But you’re not going to wear them here,” she protested. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got so used to them,” he explained apologetically, +“that I don’t feel really dressed without them.” +</p> + +<p> +She handed them back and he adjusted them to the bandages. “For the +present, rest is prescribed you know,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no!” he declared. “As soon as I’ve had something +to eat, I’ll go. There are a hundred things to be done. Where are my +gloves?” +</p> + +<p> +“What gloves? Oh, those white abominations? Why on earth do you wear +them?” Her glance fell upon his right hand, which lay half-open beside +him. “Oh—oh—oh!” she cried in a rising scale of +distress. “What have you done to your hands?” +</p> + +<p> +He reddened perceptibly. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, indeed! Tell me at once!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been rowing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where to?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, out to a ship.” +</p> + +<p> +“There aren’t any ships, except the Dutch warship. Was it to +her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“To carry our message—<i>my</i> message?” +</p> + +<p> +He squirmed. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m awfully sleepy,” he protested. “It isn’t +fair to cross-examine a witness—” +</p> + +<p> +“When was it?” his ruthless interrogator broke in. +</p> + +<p> +“Night before last.” +</p> + +<p> +“How far?” +</p> + +<p> +“How can I tell? Not far. A few miles.” +</p> + +<p> +“And back. And it took you all night,” she accused. +</p> + +<p> +“What if it did?” he cried peevishly. “A man’s got to +have some relief from work, hasn’t he? It was livelier than sitting all +night with one’s eye glued to a microscope barrel!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, beetle man, beetle man! I don’t know about you at all. What +kind of a strange queer creature are you? Have you wings, Mr. Beetle +Man?” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly she bent over and laid her soft lips upon the scarified palm. The +Unspeakable Perk sat up, with a half-cry. +</p> + +<p> +“Now the other one,” said the girl. Her face was a mantle of +rose-color, but her eyes shone. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t! You shan’t!” +</p> + +<p> +“The other one!” she commanded imperiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Please, Miss Brewster—” +</p> + +<p> +A noise at the door saved him. There stood Thatcher Brewster, magnate, +multi-millionaire, and master of men, a huge tray in his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Beefsteak, fried potatoes, alligator pear, fresh bread, <i>real</i> +butter, coffee, <i>and</i> cake,” he proclaimed jovially. “Not to +mention a cocktail, which I compounded with my own skilled hands. Are you +ready, my boy? Go!” +</p> + +<p> +The Unspeakable Perk leaped from his couch. +</p> + +<p> +“Food!” he cried. “Real American food! The perfume of it is a +square meal.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re much gladder to see it than you were me,” pouted Miss +Polly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not half as afraid of it,” he admitted. “Mr. +Brewster, your health.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s to you, my boy. Now I’ll leave you with your nurse, +and make my final arrangements. We’re off by special in the +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s fine!” said the scientist. +</p> + +<p> +But Miss Polly Brewster caught the turn of his head in her direction, and saw +that his fork had slackened in his hand. Something tightened around her heart. +</p> + +<p> +As he went, her father considered her for a moment, and wondered. Never before +had he seen such a look in her eyes as that which she had turned on the queer, +vivid stranger so busily engaged at the tray. Polly, and this obscure +scientist! After the kind of men whom the girl had known, enslaved, and eluded! +Absurd! Yet if it were to be—Mr. Brewster reviewed the events of the +afternoon—well, it might be worse. +</p> + +<p> +“By the Lord Harry, he’s a <i>man</i>, anyway!” decided +Thatcher Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, the subject of his musings began to feel like a man once more, +instead of like a lath. Having wrought havoc among the edibles, he rose with a +sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“If I could have one hour’s sleep,” he said mournfully, +“I’d be fit as a cricket.” +</p> + +<p> +“You shall,” said the girl. “Mr. Sherwen says he won’t +let you out of the house until it’s dark. And that’s fully an +hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“I ought to be on my way back now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Back where? To your mountains?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d be recognized and attacked before you could get out of the +city. I won’t let you.” +</p> + +<p> +“That wouldn’t do, for a fact. Perhaps it would be safer to wait. +I’ve made enough trouble for one day by my blunder-headed +thoughtlessness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that what you call rescuing the flag?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, rescuing!” he said slightingly. “What difference does it +make what vermin like that mob do? Just for a whim, to endanger all of +you.” +</p> + +<p> +She stared at him in amaze and suspicion. But he was quite honest. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>My</i> whim,” she reminded him. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I suppose it was,” he admitted thoughtfully. “When I +saw you crying, I lost my head, and acted like a child.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it was all my fault?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t say that. Certainly not. I’m master of my own +actions. If I hadn’t wanted—” +</p> + +<p> +“But it was my fault this much, anyway, that you wouldn’t have done +it except for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; it was your fault to that extent,” he said honestly. “I +hope you don’t mind my saying so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, beetle man, beetle man!” She leaned forward, her eyes deep-lit +pools of mirth and mockery and some more occult feeling that he could not +interpret. “Would it scare you quite out of your poor, queer wits if I +were to <i>hug</i> you? Don’t call for help. I’m not really going +to do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know you’re not,” said he dolefully. “But about that +row, I want to set myself right. I’m no fool. I know it took a certain +amount of nerve to go down there. And I was even proud of it, in a way. And +when Von Plaanden turned and gave me the salute before he went away, I liked it +quite a good deal.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he do that? I love him for it!” cried the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“But my point is this, that what I did wasn’t sound common sense. +Now if Carroll had done it, it would have been all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why for him and not for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because those are his principles. They’re not mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you weren’t quite so contemptuous of poor Fitz. It seems +hardly fair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Contemptuous of him? I’d give half my life to be in his place +after to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” There was a flutter in her throat as she put the question. +</p> + +<p> +“Because he’s going with you, isn’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +“So are you, if you will.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Father won’t go without you, I believe. Won’t you come, if I +ask you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Work, I suppose,” said the girl; “the work that you love +better than anything in the world.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re wrong there.” His voice was not quite steady now. +“But it’s work that has to have my first consideration now. And +there is one special responsibility that I can’t evade, for the present, +anyway.” +</p> + +<p> +“And afterward?” She dared not look at him as she spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, afterward. There’s too much ‘perhaps’ in the +afterward down here. We science grubbers on the outposts enlist for the term of +the war,” he said, smiling wanly. +</p> + +<p> +“How can I—can we go and leave you here?” she demanded +obstinately. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, give me a square meal once in a while, and a night’s rest here +and there, and I’ll do well enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear! I forgot your sleep. Here I’ve been chattering like a +magpie. Take off your coat and lie down on that sofa at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where shall I find you when I wake up?” +</p> + +<p> +“Right where you leave me when you fall asleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no! You mustn’t wear yourself out watching over me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush! You’re under orders. Give me the coat.” She hung it on +the back of a chair. “Not another word now. And I’ll call you when +time is up.” +</p> + +<p> +He closed his eyes, and the girl sat studying his face in the dim light, +graving it deep on her inner vision, seeking to formulate some conception of +the strange being so still and placid before her. How had she ever thought him +ridiculous and uncouth? How had she ever dared to insult him by distrust? What +did it matter what other men, estimating him by their own sordid standards, +said of him? As if her thought had established a connection with his, he opened +his eyes and sat up. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew there was something I wanted to ask you,” he said. +“What did your ‘Never, never, never’ mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“A foolish misunderstanding that I’m ashamed of.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was it that—that woman-gossip business?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I was stupid. Will you forgive me?” +</p> + +<p> +“What is there to forgive? Some time, perhaps, you’ll understand +the whole thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please don’t let’s say anything more about it. I <i>do</i> +understand.” +</p> + +<p> +This was not quite true. All that Polly Brewster knew was that, with those +clear gray eyes meeting hers, she would have believed his honor clean and high +against the world. The presence of the woman, even that dress fluttering in the +wind, was susceptible of a hundred simple explanations. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that’s all right, then.” There was relief in his tone. +“Of course, in a place like this there is a lot of gossip and criticism. +And when one runs counter to the general law—” +</p> + +<p> +“Counter to the law?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. As a rule, I’m not ‘beyond the pale of +law,’” he said, smiling. “But down here one isn’t bound +by the same conventions as at home.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl’s hand went to her throat in a piteous gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I—don’t understand. I don’t want to +understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s got to be a certain broad-mindedness in these +matters,” he blundered on, with what seemed to her outraged senses an +abominable jauntiness. “But the risk was small for me, and, of course, +for her, anything was better than the other life. At that, I don’t see +how the truth reached you. What is it, Miss Polly?” +</p> + +<p> +Rage, grief, and shame choked the girl’s utterance. +</p> + +<p> +Without a word, she ran from the room, leaving her companion a prey to troubled +wonder. +</p> + +<p> +In the <i>patio</i>, she turned sharply to avoid a group gathered around Galpy, +who, with a patch over one eye, was trying to impart some news between gasps. +</p> + +<p> +“Got it from the bulletin board of <i>La Liberdad</i>,” he cried. +“Killed; body gone; devil to pay all over the place.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” demanded the Unspeakable Perk, running out, +coatless and goggleless. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s been another riot, and Dr. Luther Pruyn is killed,” +explained Sherwen. +</p> + +<p> +“Who says so?” +</p> + +<p> +“Bulletin board—<i>La Liberdad</i>—just saw it,” panted +Galpy. +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense! It’s a <i>bola</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“The whole city is ringing with it. They say it was a plot to get him out +of the way to stop quarantine. The Foreign Office is buzzing with inquiries, +and Puerto del Norte is burning up the wires.” +</p> + +<p> +“Puerto del Norte! How did they hear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Telephone, of course. I hear Wisner is coming up,” said Sherwen. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got to get a wire to the port at once,” cried the +scientist. “At once!” +</p> + +<p> +“You! What for?” +</p> + +<p> +“To stop off Wisner. To tell him it isn’t so.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re excited, my boy,” said Mr. Brewster kindly. +“Better lie down again.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s true, right enough,” said the Englishman. “Sir +Willet’s <i>cochero</i> saw the mob get him.” +</p> + +<p> +“When? Where?” asked Fitzhugh Carroll. +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t got any details, but the Government admits it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care if the President and his whole cabinet swear to +it,” vociferated the Unspeakable Perk. “It’s a fake. How can +I get Puerto del Norte, Mr. Sherwen?” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t get it at all for any such purpose. How do you know +it’s a fake?” +</p> + +<p> +“How do I know? Oh, dammit! <i>I’m</i> Luther Pruyn!” +</p> + +<p> +He snatched off his glasses and faced them. +</p> + +<p> +The little group stood petrified. Mr. Brewster was first to recover. +</p> + +<p> +“Crazy, poor chap!” he said. “Luther Pruyn was my +classmate.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s my father, Luther L.” +</p> + +<p> +“Proofs,” said Sherwen sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“In my coat pocket. In the room. Can I have your wire, Mr. +Sherwen?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s cut.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come to the railway wire,” offered Galpy. “My eye! Wot a +game!” +</p> + +<p> +The two men ran out, the scientist leaving behind coat and goggles. +</p> + +<p> +“It was our little mix-up that started the rumor,” said Carroll +thoughtfully. “Somebody recognized Perk—Dr. Pruyn.” +</p> + +<p> +“When his glasses fell off,” said CLuff. “They’re some +disguise.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s Luther Pruyn, sure enough!” said Mr. Sherwen, emerging +from the room. “Here’s the proof.” He held out an +official-looking document. “An order from the Dutch Naval Office, made +out in his name.” +</p> + +<p> +“What does it say?” asked Carroll. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not much of a hand at Dutch, but it seems to direct the +blockading warship to receive Dr. Luther Pruyn and wife and convey them to +Curaçao.” +</p> + +<p> +“And wife!” exclaimed Cluff loudly. He whistled as a vent to his +amazement. “That explains all the talk about a woman—a lady in his +<i>quinta</i> on the mountains?” +</p> + +<p> +“Apparently,” said Carroll. “May I see that document, Mr. +Sherwen?” +</p> + +<p> +The American representative handed him the paper. As he was studying it, Galpy +reentered, still scant of breath from excitement and haste. “He’s +gone back to the mountains,” he announced. “Sent word for you to +get to the port before dawn, if you have to walk. See Mr. Wisner there. +He’ll arrange everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will Mr. Perk—Dr. Pruyn be there?” asked Mr. Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +“He didn’t say.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he’s gone without his coat!” +</p> + +<p> +“And goggles,” said Cluff. +</p> + +<p> +“And his pass,” added Sherwen. +</p> + +<p> +“Trust him to come back for them when he gets ready. He’s a rum +josser for doing things his own way. Now, about the train.” And Galpy +outlined the plan of departure to the men, who, except Carroll, had gathered +about him. The Southerner, unnoticed, had slipped into the room where the +scientist’s coat lay. Coming out by the lower door, he was intercepted by +Miss Polly Brewster. He interpreted the misery in her face, and turned sick at +heart with the pain of what it told him. +</p> + +<p> +“You heard?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +She nodded. “Is it true? Did you see the permit yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Here it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to see it. It doesn’t matter,” she said, +with utter weariness in her voice. “When do we leave? I want to go home. +Send father to me, please, Fitz.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster came to her, bearing the news that the sailing was set for the +morrow. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad to know that Dr. and Mrs. Pruyn are provided for,” +she remarked, so casually that the troubled father drew a breath of relief, +concluding that he must have misinterpreted the girl’s interest in the +man behind the goggles. +</p> + +<p> +On his way to the <i>patio</i>, he passed through the room where the scientist +had lain. He came out looking perturbed. +</p> + +<p> +“Has any one been in that room just now?” he asked Sherwen. +</p> + +<p> +“Not that I’ve seen.” +</p> + +<p> +“The coat and the other things are not there.” +</p> + +<p> +Inquiry and search alike proved unavailing. Not until an hour later did they +discover that Carroll had also disappeared. Sherwen found a note from him on +the office desk:— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +Please look after my luggage. Will join the others at the yacht to-morrow. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +P. F. F. C. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>XII.<br /> +THE WOMAN AT THE QUINTA</h2> + +<p> +Thanks to his rival’s map, Carroll had little difficulty in finding the +trail to the mountain <i>quinta</i>. A brilliant new moon helped to make easy +the ascent. What course he would pursue upon his arrival he had not clearly +defined to himself. That would depend largely upon the attitude of the man he +was seeking. The flame of battle, still hot from the afternoon’s melee, +burned high in the Southerner’s soul, for he was not of those whose +spirit rapidly cools. Bitter resentment on behalf of Miss Polly Brewster fanned +that flame. On one point he was determined: neither he nor the so-called +Perkins should leave the mountain until he had had from the latter’s own +lips a full explanation. +</p> + +<p> +Coming out into the open space, he got his first glimpse of the <i>quinta</i>. +It was dark, except for one low light. From the farther side there came faintly +to his ear a rhythmical sound, with brief intervals of quiet, as if some one +hard at labor were stopping from time to time for breath. At that distance, +Carroll could not interpret the sound, but some unidentified quality of it +struck chill upon his fancy. Long experience in the woods had made him a good +trailsman. He proceeded cautiously until he reached the edge of the clearing. +</p> + +<p> +The sound had stopped now, but he thought he could hear heavy breathing from +beyond the house. As he moved toward that side, a small but malevolent-looking +snake slithered out from beneath a bush near by. Involuntarily he leaped aside. +As he landed, a round pebble slipped under his foot. He flung up his arm. It +met the low branch of a tree, and saved him a fall. But the thrashing of the +leaves made a startling noise in the moonlit stillness. The snake went on about +its business. +</p> + +<p> +“Hola!” challenged a voice around the angle of the house. +</p> + +<p> +Carroll recognized the voice. He stepped out of the shadows and strode across +the open space. At the corner of the house he met the muzzle of a revolver +pointing straight at the pit of his stomach. Back of it were the steady and now +goggleless eyes of Luther Pruyn. +</p> + +<p> +“I am unarmed,” said Carroll. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, it’s you!” said the other. He lowered his weapon, +carefully whirled the cylinder to bring the hammer opposite an empty chamber, +and dropped it in his pocket. “What do you want?” +</p> + +<p> +“An explanation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so,” said the other coolly. “I’d forgotten that +I invited you here. How long had you been watching me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I saw you only when you came out from behind the house.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you wish to know about—about my companion in this +place?” continued the other in an odd tone. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Understand that I don’t admit that you have the smallest right. +But to clear up a situation which no longer exists, I’m ready to satisfy +you. Come in.” +</p> + +<p> +He held open the door of the room where the lone light was burning. In the +middle of the floor was spread a sheet, beneath which a form was outlined in +grisly significance. Carroll’s host lifted the cover. +</p> + +<p> +The woman was white-haired, frail, and wrinkled. One side of her face shone in +the lamplight with a strange hue, like tarnished silver. In her throat was a +small bluish wound; opposite it a gaping hole. +</p> + +<p> +“Shot!” exclaimed Carroll. “Who did it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some high-minded Caracuñan patriot, I suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I suspect that it was a mistake. From a distance and inside a +window, she might easily have been taken for some one else.” +</p> + +<p> +Carroll’s mind reverted to his companion’s ready revolver. +</p> + +<p> +“Yourself, for instance?” he suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who was she?” +</p> + +<p> +There was left in the Southerner’s manner no trace of the cross-examiner. +Suspicion had departed from him at the first sight of that old and still face, +leaving only sympathy and pity. +</p> + +<p> +“My patient.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you been running a private hospital up here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no. I took her because there was no other place fit for her to go +to. And I had to keep her presence secret, because there’s a law against +harboring lepers here. A pretty cruel brute of a law it is, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Leprosy!” exclaimed Carroll, looking at that strange silvery face +with a shudder. “Isn’t it fearfully contagious?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not in any ordinary sense. I was trying a new serum on her, and had +planned to smuggle her across to Curaçao, when this ended it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Curaçao? Then that pass for yourself and wife—By the way, that and +your coat are over in the thicket, where I dropped them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you. But it doesn’t say ‘wife.’ It says simply +‘a woman.’” +</p> + +<p> +“And you were encumbering yourself with an unknown leper, at a time like +this, just as an act of human kindness?” There was something almost +reverential in Carroll’s voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Scientific interest, in part. Besides, she wasn’t wholly unknown. +She’s a sort of cousin of Raimonda’s.” +</p> + +<p> +Carroll’s mind flew back to his fatally misinterpreted conversation with +the young Caracuñan. +</p> + +<p> +“What did he mean by letting me think that you shouldn’t associate +with Miss Polly?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he had the usual erroneous dread of leprosy contagion, I +suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +“May I ask you another question, Mr. Per—I beg your pardon, Dr. +Pruyn?” said the visitor, almost timidly. +</p> + +<p> +“Perkins will do.” The other smiled wanly. “Ask me anything +you want to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you run away that day on the tram-car?” +</p> + +<p> +“To avoid trouble, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“You? Why, you go about searching for dangerous and difficult jobs. That +won’t do!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all. It’s only when I can’t get away from them. But I +couldn’t risk arrest then. Some one would surely have recognized me as +Luther Pruyn. You see, I’ve been here before.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I don’t see why they didn’t identify you, +anyway.” +</p> + +<p> +“Three years ago I was much heavier, and wore a full beard. Then these +glasses, besides being invaluable for protection, are a pretty thorough +disguise.” +</p> + +<p> +“So they are. But the game is up now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” The scientist drew the sheet back over the dead woman. +“I suppose the sharp-shooters who did the job will report me safely out +of the way. It’s only a question of when the burial party will come for +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, why are we waiting?” cried Carroll. +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t leave her lying here,” replied the other simply. +</p> + +<p> +The sound of rhythmical labor came back to Carroll’s memory. +</p> + +<p> +“You were digging her grave?” +</p> + +<p> +The other nodded. Carroll, stiffly, for his knifed arm was painful, got out of +his coat. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s an extra spade?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +When their labor was over, and the leper laid beneath the leveled soil, Carroll +cut two branches from a near-by tree, trimmed them, bound them in the form of a +cross, and fixed the symbol firmly in the earth at the dead woman’s head. +</p> + +<p> +“That was well thought of,” said the scientist. “I’m +afraid that wouldn’t have occurred to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can get word to Senor Raimonda?” asked Carroll. +</p> + +<p> +His host nodded. A long silence followed. Carroll broke it:— +</p> + +<p> +“Then there is no further secrecy about this?” +</p> + +<p> +“About what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Her identity.” He pointed to the grave. +</p> + +<p> +“No; I suppose not. Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because Miss Brewster has a right to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you propose to tell her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” agreed the scientist, after a pause for consideration. +“But not until after the yacht is at sea.” +</p> + +<p> +Carroll did not reply directly to this. +</p> + +<p> +“What shall you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Get out, if I can. I’m ordered to Curaçao. Wisner left word for +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come down the mountain with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible. There are matters here to be attended to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then when will you come down?” +</p> + +<p> +“Before you sail. I must be sure that you get off.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll come to the yacht, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you should. There are reasons why—why—Miss +Brewster—” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t a question that I can argue,” the other cut him +off. “I can’t do it.” There was so much pain in his voice +that Carroll forbore to press him. “But I’ll ask you to take a +note.” +</p> + +<p> +Carroll nodded, and his host, disappearing within the quinta, returned almost +at once with an envelope on which the address was written in pencil. The +Southerner took it and rose from the porch, where he had flung himself to rest. +</p> + +<p> +“Perkins,” he said, with some effort, “I’ve thought and +said some hard things about you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Naturally enough,” murmured the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want me to apologize?” +</p> + +<p> +The scientist stared. “Do you want me to thank you for to-night’s +work?” he countered. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well—” +</p> + +<p> +“All right.” +</p> + +<p> +The two men, different in every quality except that of essential manhood, +smiled at each other with a profound mutual understanding. There was a silent +handshake, and Carroll set off down the mountain toward the sunrise glow. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>XIII.<br /> +LEFT BEHIND</h2> + +<p> +Dawn crested, poised, and broke in a surf of splendor upon the great +mountain-line that overhangs Puerto del Norte. Where, at the corporation dock, +there had lurked the shadow of a yacht, gray-black against blue-black, there +now swung a fairy ship of purest silver, cradled upon a swaying mirror. Tiny +insects, touched to life by the radiance, scuttled busily about her decks and +swarmed out upon the dock. The seagoing yacht Polly had awakened early. +</p> + +<p> +Down the mule path that forms the shortest cut from the railway station +straggled a group of minute creatures. To one watching from the mountain-side +with powerful field-glasses—such as, for example, a convinced and ardent +hater of the Caribbean Sea, curled up with his back against a cold and +Voiceless rock—it might have appeared that the group was carrying an +unusual quantity of hand luggage. Yet they were not porters; so much, even at a +great distance, their apparel proclaimed. The pirates of porterdom do not get +up to meet five-o’clock-in-the-morning specials in Caracuña. +</p> + +<p> +The little group gathered close at the pier, then separated, two going aboard, +and the others disappearing into sundry streets and reappearing presently at +the water-front with other figures. The human form cannot be distinctly seen, +at a distance of three miles, to rub its eyes; neither can it be heard to +curse; but there was that in the newer figures which suggested a sudden and +reluctant surrender of sleeping privileges. Had our supposititious watcher +possessed an intimate and contemptuous knowledge of Caracuña officialdom, he +would have surmised that lavish sums of money had been employed to stir the +port and customs officials to such untimely activity. +</p> + +<p> +But not money or any other agency is potent to stir Caracuñan officialdom to +undue speed. Hence the observer from the heights, supposing that he had a +personal interest in the proceedings, might have assured himself of ample time +to reach the coast before the formalities could be completed and the ship put +forth to sea. Had he presently humped himself to his feet with a sluggish +effort, abandoned his field-glasses in favor of a pair of large greenish-brown +goggles, and set out on a trail straight down the mountains, staggering a bit +at the start, a second supposititious observer of the first supposititious +observer—if such cumulative hypothesis be permissible—might have +divined that the first supposititious observer was the Unspeakable Perk, going +about other people’s business when he ought to have been in bed. And so, +not to keep any reader in unendurable suspense, it was. +</p> + +<p> +While the Unspeakable Perk was making his way down the dim and narrow trail, +another equally weary figure shambled out from the main road upon the flats and +made for the landing. The apparel of Mr. Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll was +in a condition that he would have deemed quite unfit for one of his station, +had he been in a frame of mind to consider such matters at all. He was not. +Affairs vastly more weighty and human occupied his mind. What he most wished +was to find Miss Polly Brewster and unburden himself of them. +</p> + +<p> +At the entrance to the pier, he was detained by the American Consul. Cluff came +running down the long structure in great strides. +</p> + +<p> +“Moses, Carroll! I’m glad to see you! Where’ve you +been?” +</p> + +<p> +A week earlier, the scion of all the Virginias would have resented this +familiarity from a professional athlete. But neither Mr. Carroll’s mind +nor his heart was a sealed inclosure. He had learned much in the last few days. +</p> + +<p> +“Up on the mountain,” he said. “For Heaven’s sake, give +me a drink, Cluff!” +</p> + +<p> +The other produced a flask. +</p> + +<p> +“You do look shot to pieces,” he commented. “Find +Perk—Pruyn?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I’ll tell you later. Where’s Miss Brewster?” +</p> + +<p> +“In her stateroom. Asleep, I guess. Said she wanted rest, and nobody was +to disturb her till we sail.” +</p> + +<p> +“When do we start?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eight o’clock, they say. That means ten. Will Dr. Pruyn get +here?” +</p> + +<p> +“He isn’t going with us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no. I forgot his Dutch permit. Well, he’d better use it quick, +or he’ll go in a box when he does go. I wouldn’t insure his life +for a two-cent stamp in this country.” +</p> + +<p> +“You wouldn’t if you’d seen what I saw last night,” +said the Southerner, very low. +</p> + +<p> +Wisner, the busy, efficient little consul, who had been arranging with the +officials for Carroll’s embarkation, now returned, bringing with him a +viking of a man whom he introduced as Dr. Stark, of the United States Public +Health Service. +</p> + +<p> +“Either of you know anything about Dr. Pruyn?” he inquired +anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s on his way down the mountain now,” said Carroll. +</p> + +<p> +“Good! He’s ordered away, I’m glad to say. Just got the +message.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then perhaps he will go out with us,” said Cluff, with obvious +relief. “I sure did hate to think of leaving that boy here, with the game +laws for goggle-eyed Americans entirely suspended.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. He’s ordered to Curaçao to stay and watch. We’ve got to +get him out to the Dutch ship somehow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t the yacht take him and transfer him outside?” asked +Carroll. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Carroll,” said Dr. Stark earnestly, “before this yacht +is many minutes out from the dock, you’ll see a yellow flag go up from +the end of the corporation pier. After that, if the yacht turns aside or comes +back for a package that some one has left, or does anything but hold the +straightest course on the compass for the blue and open sea—well, +she’ll be about the foolishest craft that ever ploughed salt +water.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so,” admitted Carroll. “Well, I have matters to +look after on board.” +</p> + +<p> +Into Mr. Carroll’s cabin it is nobody’s business to follow him. A +man has a right to some privacy of room and of mind, and if the +Southerner’s struggle with himself was severe, at least it was of brief +duration. Within half an hour, he was knocking at Polly Brewster’s door. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Please</i> go ’way, whoever it is,” answered a +pathetically weary voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Polly, it’s Fitzhugh. I have a note for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave it in the saloon.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s important that you see it right away.” +</p> + +<p> +“From whom is it?” queried the spent voice. +</p> + +<p> +“From Dr. Pruyn.” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I don’t want to see it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must!” insisted her suitor. +</p> + +<p> +“Did he say I must?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I say you must. Forgive me, Miss Polly, but I’m going to wait +here till you say you’ll read it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Push it under the door,” said the girl resignedly. +</p> + +<p> +He obeyed. Polly took the envelope, summoned up all her spirit, and opened it. +It contained one penciled line and the signature:— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +Good-bye. All my heart goes with you forever. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +L. P. +</p> + +<p> +Something fluttered from the envelope to her feet. She stooped and picked it +up. It was the tiniest and most delicate of orchids, purple, with a glow of +gold at its heart. To her inflamed pride, it seemed the final insult that he +should send such a message and such a reminder, without a word of explanation +or plea for pardon. Pardon she never would have granted, but at least he might +have had the grace of shame. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you read it?” asked the patient voice from without. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. There is no answer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dr. Pruyn said there wouldn’t be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why are you waiting?” +</p> + +<p> +“To see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Fitz, I’m too worn out, and I’ve a splitting headache. +Won’t it wait?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” The voice was gently inflexible. +</p> + +<p> +“More messages?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; something I must tell you. Will you come out?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so.” +</p> + +<p> +Her tone was utterly listless and limp. Utterly listless and limp, she looked, +too, as she opened the door and stood waiting. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Polly, it’s about the woman at Perkins’s—at Dr. +Pruyn’s house.” +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes dilated with anger. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t hear! How dare you come to me—” +</p> + +<p> +“You must! Don’t make it harder for me than it is.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked up, startled, and noted the haggard lines in his face. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll hear it if you think I should, Fitz.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dead? His—his wife?” +</p> + +<p> +“She wasn’t his wife. She was a helpless leper, whom he was trying +to cure with some new serum. He had to do it secretly because there is a law +forbidding any one to harbor a leper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Fitz!” she cried. “And she died of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. They killed her. Last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“They? Who?” +</p> + +<p> +“Government agents, probably. They were after Pruyn.” +</p> + +<p> +“How horrible! And—and Mrs. Pruyn. Where was she?” +</p> + +<p> +“There isn’t any Mrs. Pruyn. There never was.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the Dutch permit! It was for Dr. Pruyn and his wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sherwen misread the form. So did I. It read for Dr. Pruyn and a woman. +He hoped to take her to Curaçao and complete his experiment.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what he meant when he spoke of being lawless, and +I’ve been thinking the basest things of him for it!” The girl, +dazed by a flash of complete enlightenment, caught at Carroll’s arm with +beseeching hands. “Where is he, Fitz?” +</p> + +<p> +“On his way down the mountain. Perhaps down here by now.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s coming to the ship?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No; he doesn’t expect to see you again. He was coming down to make +sure that we got off safely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fitz, dear Fitz, I must see him!” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Polly,” he said miserably, “I’ll do anything I +can.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, poor Fitz!” she cried pityingly, her eyes filling with tears. +“I wish for your sake it wasn’t so. And you have been so splendid +about it!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve tried to make amends, and play fair. It hasn’t been +easy. Shall I go back and look for him? It’s a small town, and I can find +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I’ll write a note. No; I won’t. Never mind. I’ll +manage it. Fitz, go and rest. You’re worn out,” she said gently. +</p> + +<p> +Back into her stateroom went Miss Polly. From that time forth no man saw her +nor woman, either, except perhaps her maid, and maids are dark and discreet +persons on occasion. If this particular one kept her own counsel when she saw a +trim but tremulous figure drop lightly over the starboard rail of the Polly far +forward, pick up a small traveling-bag from the pier, step behind the opportune +screen of a load of coffee on a flat car, and reappear to view only as a +momentary swish of skirt far away at the shore end; if this same maid told Mr. +Thatcher Brewster, half an hour later, that Miss Polly was asleep in her +stateroom, and begged that she be disturbed on no account, as she was utterly +worn out, who shall blame her for her silence on the one occasion or her speech +on the other? She was but obeying, albeit with tearful misgivings, duly +constituted authority. +</p> + +<p> +Eight o’clock struck on the bell of the little Protestant mission church +on the tiny plaza; struck and was welcomed by the echoes, and passed along to +eventual silence. Within two minutes after, there was a special stir and +movement on the pier, a corresponding stir and movement on board the trim +craft, a swishing of great ropes, and a tooting of whistles. White foam churned +astern of her. A comic-supplement-looking pelican on a buoy off to port flapped +her a fantastic farewell. The blockade-defying yacht Polly was off for blue +waters and the freedom of the seas. +</p> + +<p> +On the shore, feeling woefully helpless and alone, she who had been the jewel +and joy of the Polly bit her lips and closed her eyes, in a tremulous struggle +against the dismal fear:— +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose he doesn’t love me, after all!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>XIV.<br /> +THE YELLOW FLAG</h2> + +<p> +The departing whistle of the yacht Polly struck sharply to the heart of a +desolate figure seated on a bench in the blazing, dusty, public square of +Puerto del Norte, waiting out his first day of pain. A kiskadee bird, the only +other creature foolish enough to risk the hot bleakness of the plaza at that +hour, flitted into a dust-coated palm, inspected him, put a tentative query or +two, decided that he was of no possible interest, and left the Unspeakable Perk +to his own cogitations. +</p> + +<p> +So deep in wretchedness were the cogitations that he did not hear the light, +hesitant footstep. But he felt in every vein and fiber the appealing touch on +his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God! What are YOU doing here?” he cried, leaping to his feet. +There was no awkwardness or shyness in his speech now; only wonder-stricken +joy. +</p> + +<p> +“I came back to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the yacht! Your ship!” +</p> + +<p> +“She has left.” +</p> + +<p> +“No! She mustn’t! Not without you! You can’t stay here. +It’s too dangerous.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must. They think I’m aboard. I left a note for papa. He +won’t get it until they’re at sea. And they can’t come back +for me, can they?” +</p> + +<p> +“No—yes—they must! I must see Stark and Wisner at +once.” +</p> + +<p> +“To send me away?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Without forgiving me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Forgiving? There’s no question of that between you and me.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is. Fitzhugh told me everything—all about the poor dead +woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, he shouldn’t have done that.” +</p> + +<p> +“He should!” She stamped a little willful foot. “What else +could he do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes,” he agreed thoughtfully. “I suppose that’s +so. After all, a man can’t bear the names that Carroll does and go wrong +on the big inner things. He has met his test, and stood it. For he cares very +deeply for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Fitz!” she sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“But here we’re wasting time!” he cried in a panic. +“Where can I leave you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to leave me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Want to!” he groaned. “Can’t you understand that +I’ve got to get you to the yacht!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, beetle man, beetle man, don’t you WANT me?” she cried +dolorously. “Didn’t you mean your note?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mean it? I meant it as I’ve never meant anything in the world. But +you—what do you mean? Do you mean that you’ll—you’ll +let the yacht go without you—and—and—and stay here, and +m-m-marry me?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you should ask me,” she said, half-laughing, half-crying, +“what else could I do? I’m alone and deserted. And there’s +only you in the world.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss P-P-Polly,” he began, “I—I can’t +believe—” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s true!” she cried, and held out two yearning hands to +him. “And if you stammer and stutter and—and—and act like the +Unspeakable Perk <i>now</i>, I’ll—I’ll howl!” +</p> + +<p> +If she had any such project, the chance was lost on the instant of the warning, +as he caught her to him and held her close. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she cried, trying to push him away. “Do you know, sir, +that this is a public square?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I didn’t choose it,” he reminded her, laughing in pure +joy, with a boyish note new to her ear. “Anyway, there are only us two +under the sun.” And he drew her close again, whispering in her ear. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—oh, is that the language of medical science?” she +reproved. +</p> + +<p> +At this point, generic curiosity overcame the feathered eavesdropper in the +tree above. +</p> + +<p> +“Qu’est-ce qu’il dit?”—“What’s he +say?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl turned a flushed and adorable face upward. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t tell you. It’s for me alone,” she declared +joyously. “But you’ll never stop saying it, will you, dear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never, as long as we both shall live. And that reminds me,” he +said soberly. “We must arrange about being married.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that reminds you, does it?” she mocked. “Just +incidentally, like that.” +</p> + +<p> +Boom! Boom! Boom! The mission clock kept patiently at it until its suggestion +struck in. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course!” he cried. “Mr. Lake, the missionary, will marry +us. And we’ll have Stark and Wisner for witnesses. How long does it take +a bride to get ready? Would half an hour be enough?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s rather a short engagement,” she remarked demurely. +“But if it’s all the time we’ve got—” +</p> + +<p> +“It is. But, darling, we’ll have to ride for it afterward, and get +across to the mainland. I’ve no right to let you in for such a +risk,” he cried remorsefully. +</p> + +<p> +“You couldn’t help yourself,” she teased saucily. “I +ran you down like one of your own beetles. Besides, what does that permit for +the Dutch ship say?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s for myself and a woman—the leper woman. Not for +myself and my wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m a woman, aren’t I? And it doesn’t say that +the woman <i>mustn’t</i> be your wife.” She blushed distractingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Caesar! Of course it doesn’t! What luck! We’ll be in Curaçao +to-morrow. I must see Wisner about getting us off. But, Polly, dearest one, +you’re sure? You haven’t let yourself be carried away by that +foolishness of mine yesterday?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure? Oh, beetle man!” She put her hands on his shoulders and bent +to his ear. +</p> + +<p> +The sulphur-colored winged Paul Pry stuck an impertinent head out from behind a +palm leaf. +</p> + +<p> +“Qu’est-ce qu’elle dit? Qu’est-ce qu’elle +dit?” +</p> + +<p> +For the second and last time in his adult life the beetle man threw a stone at +a bird. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Four hours later six powerful black oarsmen rowed a boat containing two +passengers and practically no luggage out across the huge lazy swells of the +Caribbean toward a smudge of black smoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Look!” cried that one of the passengers who wore huge goggles. +“There goes the flag!” +</p> + +<p> +A square of yellow bunting slid slowly up the pierhead staff of the dock +corporation, and spread in the light shore breeze. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the modern flaming sword,” he continued. “The +color stirs something inside me. Ugly, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is ugly,” she confessed thoughtfully. “Yet it’s the +flag we fight under, too, isn’t it? And we’d fight for it if we had +to, just as we fought for the other—our own.” +</p> + +<p> +“I love your ‘we,’” he laughed happily. +</p> + +<p> +She nestled closer to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you still hating the Caribbean?” +</p> + +<p> +“I? I’m loving it the second-best thing in the world.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I loved it first,” she reminded him jealously. +“Dearest,” she added, with one of her swift swoops of thought, +“what was that funny title the British Secretary of Legation had?” +</p> + +<p> +“What? Oh, Captain the Honorable Carey Knowles?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Well, I shall have a much nicer, more picturesque title than that +when we come back to Caracuña—dear, dirty, dangerous, queer, riotous, +plague-stricken old Caracuña!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then my liege ladylove intends to come back?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. Some time. And in Caracuña I shall insist on being Mrs. the +Unspeakable Perk.” +</p> + +<p> +THE END +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNSPEAKABLE PERK ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 5009-h.htm or 5009-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/0/5009/</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..17b60b1 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #5009 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5009) diff --git a/old/5009.txt b/old/5009.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..df82233 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/5009.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7684 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Unspeakable Perk, by Samuel Hopkins Adams + +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 Unspeakable Perk + +Author: Samuel Hopkins Adams + + +Release Date: February, 2004 [EBook #5009] +[This file was first posted on April 9, 2002] +Last Updated: June 18, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNSPEAKABLE PERK *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + +THE UNSPEAKABLE PERK + +By Samuel Hopkins Adams + + + + + +CONTENTS + + + I. MR. BEETLE MAN + II. AT THE KAST + III. THE BETTER PART OF VALOR + IV. TWO ON A MOUNTAIN-SIDE + V. AN UPHOLDER OF TRADITIONS + VI. FORKED TONGUES + VII. "THAT WHICH THY SERVANT IS--" + VIII. LOS YANKIS + IX. THE BLACK WARNING + X. THE FOLLY OF PERK + XI. PRESTO CHANGE! + XII. THE WOMAN AT THE QUINTA + XIII. LEFT BEHIND + XIV. THE YELLOW FLAG + + + + + +THE UNSPEAKABLE PERK + + + + + +I + +MR. BEETLE MAN + + +The man sat in a niche of the mountain, busily hating the Caribbean Sea. +It was quite a contract that he had undertaken, for there was a large +expanse of Caribbean Sea in sight to hate; very blue, and still, +and indifferent to human emotions. However, the young man was a good +steadfast hater, and he came there every day to sit in the shade of the +overhanging boulder, where there was a little trickle of cool air down +the slope and a little trickle of cool water from a crevice beneath the +rock, to despise that placid, unimpressionable ocean and all its works +and to wish that it would dry up forthwith, so that he might walk back +to the blessed United States of America. In good plain American, the +young man was pretty homesick. + +Two-man's-lengths up the mountain, on the crest of the sturdy hater's +rock, the girl sat, loving the Caribbean Sea. Hers, also, was a large +contract, and she was much newer to it than was the man to his, for she +had only just discovered this vantage-ground by turning accidentally +into a side trail--quite a private little side trail made by her +unsuspected neighbor below--whence one emerges from a sea of verdure +into full view of the sea of azure. For the time, she was content to +rest there in the flow of the breeze and feast her eyes on that broad, +unending blue which blessedly separated her from the United States of +America and certain perplexities and complications comprised therein. +Presently she would resume the trail and return to the city of Caracuna, +somewhere behind her. That is, she would if she could find it, which +was by no means certain. Not that she greatly cared. If she were really +lost, they'd come out and get her. Meantime, all she wished was to +rest mind and body in the contemplation of that restful plain of cool +sapphire, four thousand feet below. + +But there was a spirit of mischief abroad upon that mountain slope. +It embodied itself in a puff of wind that stirred gratefully the curls +above the girl's brow. Also, it fanned the neck of the watcher below and +cunningly moved his hat from his side; not more than a few feet, indeed, +but still far enough to transfer it from the shade into the glaring sun +and into the view of the girl above. The owner made no move. If the wind +wanted to blow his new panama into some lower treetop, compelling him to +throw stones, perhaps to its permanent damage, in order to dislodge it, +why, that was just one more cause of offense to pin to his indictment +of irritation against the great island republic of Caracuna. Such is the +temper one gets into after a year in the tropics. + +Like as peas are panama hats to the eyes of the inexpert; far more like +than men who live under them. For the girl, it was a direct inference +that this was a hat which she knew intimately; which, indeed, she had +rather maliciously eluded, riot half an hour before. Therefore, she +addressed it familiarly: "Boo!" + +The result of this simple monosyllable exceeded her fondest +expectations. There was a sharp exclamation of surprise, followed by a +cry that might have meant dismay or wrath or both, as something metallic +tinkled and slid, presently coming to a stop beside the hat, where it +revealed itself as a pair of enormous, aluminum-mounted brown-green +spectacles. After it, on all fours, scrambled the owner. + +Shock number one: It wasn't the man at all! Instead of the black-haired, +flanneled, slender Adonis whom the trouble-maker confidently assumed to +have been under that hat, she beheld a brownish-clad, stocky figure with +a very blond head. + +Shock number two: The figure was groping lamentably and blindly in the +undergrowth, and when, for an instant, the face was turned half toward +her, she saw that the eyes were squinted tight-closed, with a painful +extreme of muscular tension about them. + +Presently one of the ranging hands encountered the spectacles, and +settled upon them. With careful touches, it felt them all over. A mild +grunt, presumably of satisfaction, made itself heard, and the figure +got to its feet. But before the face turned again, the girl had stepped +back, out of range. + +Silence, above and below; a silence the long persistence of which came +near to constituting shock number three. What sort of hermit had she +intruded upon? Into what manner of remote Brahministic contemplation had +she injected that impertinent "Boo!"? Who, what, how, why-- + +"Say it again." The request came from under the rock. Evidently the +spectacled owner had resumed his original situation. + +"Say WHAT again?" she inquired. + +"Anything," returned the voice, with child-like content. + +"Oh, I--I hope you didn't break your glasses." + +"No; you didn't." + +On consideration, she decided to ignore this prompt countering of the +pronoun. + +"I thought you were some one else," she observed. + +"Well, so I am, am I not?" + +"So you are what?" + +"Some one else than you thought." + +"Why, yes, I suppose--But I meant some one else besides yourself." + +"I only wish I were." + +"Why?" she asked, intrigued by the fervid inflection of the wish. + +"Because then I'd be somewhere else than in this infernal hell-hole of a +black-and-tan nursery of revolution, fever, and trouble!" + +"I think it one of the loveliest spots I've ever seen," said she +loftily. + +"How long have you been here?" + +"On this rock? Perhaps five minutes." + +"Not on the rock. In Caracuna?" + +"Quite a long time. Nearly a fortnight." + +The commentary on this was so indefinite that she was moved to +inquire:-- + +"Is that a local dialect you're speaking?" + +"No; that was a grunt." + +"I don't think it was a very polite grunt, even as grunts go." + +"Perhaps not. I'm afraid I'm out of the habit." + +"Of grunting? You seem expert enough to satisfy--" + +"No; of being polite. I'll apologize if--if you'll only go on talking." + +She laughed aloud. + +"Or laughing," he amended promptly. "Do it again." + +"One can't laugh to order!" she protested; "or even talk to order. But +why do you stay 'way out here in the mountains if you're so eager to +hear the human voice?" + +"The human voice be--choked! It's YOUR human voice I want to hear--your +kind of human voice, I mean." + +"I don't know that my kind of human voice is particularly different from +plenty of other human voices," she observed, with an effect of fine +impartial judgment. + +"It's widely different from the kind that afflicts the suffering ear in +this part of the world. Fourteen months ago I heard the last American +girl speak the last American-girl language that's come within reach +of me. Oh, no,--there WAS one, since, but she rasped like a rheumatic +phonograph and had brick-colored freckles. Have you got brick-colored +freckles?" + +"Stand up and see." + +"No, SIR!--that is, ma'am. Too much risk." + +"Risk! Of what?" + +"Freckles. I don't like freckles. Not on YOUR voice, anyway." + +"On my VOICE? Are you--" + +"Of course I am--a little. Any one is who stays down here more than a +year. But that about the voice and the freckles was sane enough. What +I'm trying to say--and you might know it without a diagram--is that, +from your voice, you ought to be all that a man dreams of when--well, +when he hasn't seen a real American girl for an eternity. Now I can sit +here and dream of you as the loveliest princess that ever came and went +and left a memory of gold and blue in the heart of--" + +"I'm not gold and blue!" + +"Of course you're not. But your speech is. I'll be wise, and content +myself with that. One look might pull down, In irrevocable ruin, all the +lovely fabric of my dream. By the way, are you a Cookie?" + +"A WHAT?" + +"Cookie. Tourist. No, of course you're not. No tour would be imbecile +enough to touch here. The question is: How did you get here?" + +"Ah, that's my secret." + +"Or, rather, are you here at all? Perhaps you're just a figment of the +overstrained ear. And if I undertook to look, there wouldn't be anything +there at all." + +"Of course, if you don't believe in me, I'll fly away on a sunbeam." + +"Oh, please! Don't say that! I'm doing my best." + +So panic-stricken was the appeal that she laughed again, in spite of +herself. + +"Ah, that's better! Now, come, be honest with me. You're not pretty, are +you?" + +"Me? I'm as lovely as the dawn." + +"So far, so good. And have you got long golden--that is to say, silken +hair that floats almost to your knees?" + +"Certainly," she replied, with spirit. + +"Is it plentiful enough so that you could spare a little?" + +"Are you asking me for a lock of my hair?" she queried, on a note of +mirth. "For a stranger, you go fast." + +"No; oh, no!" he protested. "Nothing so familiar. I'm offering you a +bribe for conversation at the price of, say, five hairs, if you can +sacrifice so many." + +"It sounds delightfully like voodoo," she observed. "What must I do with +them?" + +"First, catch your hair. Well up toward the head, please. Now pull it +out. One, two, three--yank!" + +"Ouch!" said the voice above. + +"Do it again. Now have you got two?" + +"Yes." + +"Knot them together." + +There was a period of silence. + +"It's very difficult," complained the girl. + +"Because you're doing it in silence. There must be sprightly +conversation or the charm won't work. Talk!" + +"What about?" + +"Tell me who you thought I was when you said, 'Boo!' at me." + +"A goose." + +"A--a GOOSE! Why--what--" + +"Doesn't one proverbially say 'Boo!' to a goose?" she remarked demurely. + +"If one has the courage. Now, I haven't. I'm shy." + +"Shy! You?" Again the delicious trill of her mirth rang in his ears. "I +should imagine that to be the least of your troubles." + +"No! Truly." There was real and anxious earnestness in his assurance. +"It's because I don't see you. If I were face to face with you, I'd +stammer and get red and make a regular imbecile of myself. Another +reason why I stick down here and decline to yield to temptation." + +"O wise young man! ARE you young? Ouch!" + +"Reasonably. Was that the last hair?" + +"Positively! I'm scalped. You're a red Indian." + +"Tie it on. Now, fasten a hairpin on the end and let it down. All right. +I've got it. Wait!" The fragile line of communication twitched for a +moment. "Haul, now. Gently!" + +Up came the thread, and, as its burden rose over the face of the rock, +the girl gave a little cry of delight:-- + +"How exquisite! Orchids, aren't they?" + +"Yes, the golden-brown bee orchid. Just your coloring." + +"So it is. How do you know?" she asked, startled. + +"From the hair. And your eyes have gold flashes in the brown when the +sun touches them." + +"Your wits are YOUR eyes. But where do you get such orchids?" + +"From my little private garden underneath the rock." + +"Life will be a dull and dreary round unless I see that garden." + +"No! I say! Wait! Really, now, Miss--er--" There was panic in the +protest. + +"Oh, don't be afraid. I'm only playing with your fears. One look at you +as you chased your absurd spectacles was enough to satisfy my curiosity. +Go in peace, startled fawn that you are." + +"Go nothing! I'm not going. Neither are you, I hope, until you've told +me lots more about yourself." + +"All that for a spray of orchids?" + +"But they are quite rare ones." + +"And very lovely." + +The girl mused, and a sudden impulse seized her to take the unseen +acquaintance at his word and free her mind as she had not been able to +do to any living soul for long weeks. She pondered over it. + +"You aren't getting ready to go?" he cried, alarmed at her long silence. + +"No; I'm thinking." + +"Please think aloud." + +"I was thinking--suppose I did." + +There was so much of weighty consideration in her accents that the other +fear again beset him. + +"Did what? Not come down from the rock?" + +"Be calm. I shouldn't want to face you any more than you want to face +me, if I decided to do it." + +"Go on," he encouraged. "It sounds most promising." + +"More than that. It's fairly thrilling. It's the awful secret of my life +that I'm considering laying bare to you, just like a dime novel. Are you +discreet?" + +"As the eternal rocks. Prescribe any form of oath and I'll take it." + +"I'm feeling just irresponsible enough to venture. Now, if I knew you, +of course I couldn't. But as I shall never set eyes on you again--I +never shall, shall I?" + +"Not unless you creep up on me unawares." + +"Then I'll unburden my overweighted heart, and you can be my augur and +advise me with supernatural wisdom. Are you up to that?" + +"Try me." + +"I will. But, remember: this means truly that we are never to meet. +And if you ever do meet me and recognize my voice, you must go away at +once." + +"Agreed," he said cheerfully, just a bit too cheerfully to be +flattering. + +"Very well, then. I'm a runaway." + +"From where?" + +"Home." + +"Naturally. Where's home?" + +"Utica, New York," she specified. + +"U.S.A.," he concluded, with a sigh. "What did you run away from?" + +"Trouble." + +"Does any one ever run away from anything else?" he inquired +philosophically. "What particular brand?" + +"Three men," she said dolorously. "All after poor little me. They all +thought I ought to marry them, and everybody else seemed to think so, +too--" + +"Go slow! Did you say Utica or Utah?" + +"Everybody thought I ought to marry one or the other of 'em, I mean. +If I could have married them all, now, it might have been easier, for +I like them ever so much. But how could I make up my mind? So I just +seized papa around the neck and ran away with him down here." + +"Why here, of all places on earth?" + +"Oh, he's interested in some mines and concessions and things. It's very +beautiful, but I almost wish I'd stayed at home and married Bobby." + +"Which is Bobby?" + +"He's one of the home boys. We've grown up together, and I'm so fond of +him. Only it's more the brother-and-sister sort of thing, if he'd let it +be." + +"Check off No. 1. What's No. 2?" + +"Lots older. Mr. Thomas Murray Smith is an unspoiled millionaire. If he +weren't so serious and quite so dangerously near forty--well, I don't +know." + +"Have you kept No. 3 for the last because he's the best?" + +"No-o-o-o. Because he's the nearest. He followed me down. You can see +his name in all its luster on the Hotel Kast register, when you get back +to the city--Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll, at your service." + +"Sounds Southern," commented the man below. + +"Southern! He's more Southern than the South Pole. His ancestors fought +all the wars and owned all the negroes--he calls them 'niggers'--and +married into all the first families of Virginia, and all that sort of +thing. He must quite hate himself, poor Fitz, for falling in love with a +little Yankee like me. In fact, that's why I made him do it." + +"And now you wish he hadn't?" + +"Oh--well--I don't know. He's awfully good-looking and gallant and +devoted and all that. Only he's such a prickly sort of person. I'd have +to spend the rest of my life keeping him and his pride out of trouble. +And I've no taste for diplomacy. Why, only last week he declined to +dine with the President of the Republic because some one said that his +excellency had a touch of the tar brush." + +"He'd better get out of this country before that gets back to +headquarters." + +"If he thought there was danger, he'd stay forever. I don't suppose +Fitz is afraid of anything on earth. Except perhaps of me," she added +after-thoughtfully. + +"Young woman, you're a shameless flirt!" accused the invisible one in +stern tones. + +"If I am, it isn't going to hurt you. Besides, I'm not. And, anyway, who +are you to judge me? You're not here as a judge; you're an augur. Now, +go on and aug." + +"Aug?" repeated the other hesitantly. + +"Certainly. Do an augury. Tell me which." + +"Oh! As for that, it's easy. None." + +"Why not?" + +"Because I much prefer to think of you, when you are gone, as unmarried. +It's more in character with your voice." + +"Well, of all the selfish pigs! Condemned to be an old maid, in order +not to spoil an ideal! Perhaps you'd like to enter the lists yourself," +she taunted. + +"Good Heavens, no!" he cried in the most unflattering alarm. "It isn't +in my line--I mean I haven't time for that sort of thing. I'm a very +busy man." + +"You look it! Or you did look it, scrambling about like a doodle bug +after your absurd spectacles." + +"There is no such insect as a doodle bug." + +"Isn't there? How do you know? Are you personally acquainted with all +the insect families?" + +"Certainly. That's my business. I'm a scientist." + +"Oh, gracious! And I've appealed to you in a matter of sentiment! I +might better have stuck to Fitz. Poor Fitz! I wonder if he's lost." + +"Why should he be lost?" + +"Because I lost him. Back there on the trail. Purposely. I sent him for +water and then--I skipped." + +"Oh-h-h! Then HE'S the goose." + +"Goose! Preston Fairfax Fitz--" + +"Yes, the goose you said 'Boo!' to, you know." + +"Of course. You didn't steal his hat, did you?" + +"No. It's my own hat. Why did you run away from him?" + +"He bored me. When people bore me, I always run away. I'm beginning to +feel quite fugitive this very minute." + +There was silence below, a silence that piqued the girl. + +"Well," she challenged, "haven't you anything to say before the court +passes sentence of abandonment to your fate?" + +"I'm thinking--frantically. But the thoughts aren't girl thoughts. I +mean, they wouldn't interest you. I might tell you about some of my +insects," he added hopefully. + +"Heaven forbid!" + +"They're very interesting." + +"No. You're worthless as an augur, and a flat failure as a +conversationalist, when thrown on your own resources. So I shall shake +the dust from my feet and depart." + +"Good-bye!" he said desolately. "And thank you." + +"For what?" + +"For making music in my desert." + +"That's much better," she approved. "But you've paid your score with the +orchids. If you have one or two more pretty speeches like that in stock, +I might linger for a while." + +"I'm afraid I'm all out of those," he returned. "But," he added +desperately, "there's the hexagonal scarab beetle. He's awfully +queer and of much older family even than Mr. Fitzwhizzle's. It is the +hexagonal scarab's habit when dis--" + +"We have an encyclopaedia of our own at home," she interrupted coldly. +"I didn't climb this mountain to talk about beetles." + +"Well, I'll talk some more about you, if you'll give me a little time to +think." + +"I think you are very impertinent. I don't wish to talk about myself. +Just because I asked your advice in my difficulties, you assume that I'm +a little egoist--" + +"Oh, please don't--" + +"Don't interrupt. I'm very much offended, and I'm glad we are never +going to meet. Just as I was beginning to like you, too," she added, +with malice. "Good-bye!" + +"Good-bye," he answered mournfully. + +But his attentive ears failed to discern the sound of departing +footsteps. The breeze whispered in the tree-tops. A sulphur-yellow bird, +of French extraction, perched in a flowering bush, insistently demanded: +"Qu'est-ce qu'il dit? Qu'est-ce qu'il dit?"--What's he say? WHAT'S he +say?--over and over again, becoming quite wrathful because neither he +nor any one else offered the slightest reply or explanation. The girl +sympathized with the bird. If the particular he whose blond top she +could barely see by peeping over the rock would only say something, +matters would be easier for her. But he didn't. So presently, in a voice +of suspiciously saccharine meekness, she said:-- + +"Please, Mr. Beetle Man, I'm lost." + +"No, you're not," he said reassuringly. "You're not a quarter of a mile +from the Puerto del Norte Road." + +"But I don't know which direction--" + +"Perfectly simple. Keep on over the top of the rock; turn left down the +slope, right up the dry stream bed to a dead tree; bear right past--" + +"That's too many turns, I never could remember more than two." + +"Now, listen," he said persuasively. "I can make it quite plain to you +if--" + +"I don't WISH to listen! I'll never find it." + +"I'll toss you up my compass." + +"I don't want your compass," she said firmly. + +A long patient sigh exhaled from below. + +"Do you want me to guide you?" + +"No," she retorted, and was instantly panic-stricken, for the +monosyllable was of that accent which sets fire to bridges and burns +them beyond hope of return. + +Slowly she got to her feet. Perhaps she would have dared and gone; +perhaps she would have swallowed pride and her negative, and made one +more appeal. She turned hesitantly and saw the devil. + +It was a small devil on stilts, not more than three or four inches tall, +but there was no mistaking his identity. No other living thing could +possess such demoniac little red-hot pin points of eyes, or be so +bristly and grisly and vicious. The stilts suddenly folded flat, and the +devil rushed upon his prey. The girl stepped back; her foot turned and +caught, and-- + +"Of course," the patient voice below was saying, "if you really think +that you couldn't find the road, I could draw you a map and send it up +by the hair route. But I really think--" + +"BLUMP!" + +The rock had turned over on his unprotected head and flattened him out +forever. Such was his first thought. When he finally collected himself, +his eyeglasses, and his senses, he sustained a second shock more violent +than the first. + +Two paces away, the Voice, duly and most appropriately embodied, sat +half-facing him. The Voice's eyes confirmed his worst suspicions, and, +dazed though they were at the moment, there were deep lights in them +that wholly disordered his mental mechanism. Nor were her first words +such as to restore his deranged faculties. + +"Oh-h! Aren't you GOGGLESOME!" she cried dizzily. + +He raised his hands to the huge brown spectacles. + +"Wh--wh--what did you come down for?" he babbled. There was a distinct +note of accusation in the query. + +"COME down! I fell!" + +"Yes, yes; that may be true--" + +"MAY be!" + +"Of course, it is true. I--I--I see it's true. I'm awfully sorry." + +"Sorry? What for?" + +"That you came. That you fell, I mean to say. I--I--I don't really know +what I mean to say." + +"No wonder, poor boy! I landed right on you, didn't I?" + +"Did you? Something did. I thought it was the mountain." + +"You aren't very complimentary," she pouted. "But there! I dare say I +knocked your thoughts all to bits." + +"No; not at all. Certainly, I mean. It doesn't matter. See here," he +said, with an injured sharpness of inquiry born of his own exasperation +at his verbal fumbling, "you said you wouldn't, and here you are. I ask +you, is that fair and honorable?" + +"Well, if it comes to that," she countered, "you promised that you'd +never speak to me if you saw me, and here you are telling me that you +don't want me around the place at all. It's very rude and inhospitable, +I consider." + +"I can't help it," he said miserably. "I'm afraid." + +"You don't look it. You look disagreeable." + +"As long as you stayed where you belonged--Excuse me--I don't mean to be +impolite--but I--I--You see--as long as you were just a voice, I could +manage all right, but now that you are--er--er--you--" His speech +trailed off lamentably into meaningless stutterings. + +The girl turned amazed and amused eyes upon him. + +"What on earth ails the poor man?" she inquired of all creation. + +"I told you. I--I'm shy." + +"Not really! I thought it was a joke." + +"Qu'est-ce qu'il dit? Qu'est-ce qu'il dit?" demanded the yellow-breasted +inquisitor, from his flowery perch. + +"What does he say? He says he's shy. Poor poo--er young, helpless +thing!" And her laughter put to shame a palm thrush who was giving +what he had up to that moment considered a highly creditable musical +performance. + +"All right!" he retorted warmly. "Laugh if you want to! But after +stipulating that we should be strangers, to--to act this way--well, I +think it's--it's--forward. That's what I think it is." + +"Do you, indeed? Perhaps you think it's pleasant for me, after +I've opened my heart to a stranger, to have him forced on me as an +acquaintance!" + +From the depths of those limpid eyes welled up a little film of +vexation. + +"O Lord! Don't do that!" he implored. "I didn't mean--I'm a bear--a +pig--a--a--a scarab--I'm anything you choose. Only don't do that!" + +"I'm not doing anything." + +"Of course you're not. That's fine! As for your secrets, I dare say I +wouldn't know you again if I saw you." + +"Oh, wouldn't you?" she cried in quite another tone. + +"Quite likely not. These glasses, you see. They make things look quite +queer." + +"Or if you heard me?" she challenged. + +"Ah, well, that's different. But I forget quite easily--even things like +voices." + +She leaned forward, her hands in her lap, her eyes upon the goggled face +before her. + +"Then take them off." + +"What? My glasses?" + +"Take them off!" + +"Wh--wh--why should I?" + +"So that you can see me better." + +"I don't want to see you better." + +"Yes, you do. I'm much more interesting than a scarab." + +"But I know about scarabs and I don't know about--about--" + +"Girls. So one might suspect. Do you know what I'm doing, Mr. Beetle +Man?" + +"N-n-no." + +"I'm flirting with you. I never flirted with a scientific person before. +It's awfully one-sided, difficult, uphill work." + +This last was all but drowned out in his flood of panicky instructions, +from which she disentangled such phrases as "first to left"--"dry +river-bed-hundred-yards"--"dead tree--can't miss it." + +"If you send me away now, I'll cry. Really, truly cry, this time." + +"No, you won't! I mean I won't! I--I'll do anything! I'll talk! I'll +make conversation! How old are you? That's what the Chinese ask. I used +to have a Chinese cook, but he lost all my shirt studs, playing fan-tan. +Can you play fan-tan? Two can't play, though. They have funny cards in +this country, like the Spanish. Have you seen a bullfight yet? Don't do +it. It's dull and brutal. The bull has no more chance than--than--" + +"Than an unprotected man with a conscienceless flirt, who falls on his +neck and then threatens to submerge him in tears." + +"Now you're beginning again!" he wailed. "What did you jump for, +anyway?" + +"I slipped. An awful, red-eyed, scrambly fiend scared me--a real, live, +hairy devilkin on stilts. He ran at me across the rock. Was that one of +your pet scarabs, Mr. Beetle Man?" + +"That was a tarantula, I suppose, from the description." + +"They're deadly, aren't they?" + +"Of course not. Unscientific nonsense. I'll go up and chase him off." + +"Flying from perils that you know not of to more familiar dangers?" she +taunted. + +"Well, you see, with the tarantula out of the way, there's no reason why +you shouldn't--er--" + +"Go, and leave you in peace? What do you think of that for gallantry, +Birdie?" + +The gay-feathered inquisitor had come quite near. + +"Qu'est-ce qu'il dit?" he queried, cocking his curious head. + +"He says he doesn't like me one little, wee, teeny bit, and he wishes +I'd go home and stay there. And so I'm going, with my poor little +feelings all hurted and ruffled up like anything." + +"Nothing of the sort," protested the badgered spectacle-wearer. + +"Then why such unseemly haste to make my path clear?" + +"I just thought that maybe you'd go back on the top of the rock, where +you came from, and--and be a voice again. If you won't go, I will." + +He made three jumps of it up the boulder, bearing a stick in his hand. +Presently his face, preternaturally solemn and gnomish behind the +goggles, protruded over the rim. The girl was sitting with her hands +folded in her lap, contemplating the scenery as if she'd never had +another interest in her life. Apparently she had forgotten his very +existence. + +"Ahem!" he began nervously. + +"Ahem!" she retorted so promptly that he almost fell off his precarious +perch. "Did you ring? Number, please." + +"I wish I knew whether you were laughing at me or not," he said +ruefully. + +"When?" + +"All the time." + +"I am. Your darkest suspicions are correct. Did you abolish my +devilkin?" + +"I drove him back into his trapdoor home and put a rock over it." + +"Why didn't you destroy him?" + +"Because I've appointed him guardian of the rock, with strict +instructions to bite any one that ever comes there after this except +you." + +"Bravo! You're progressing. As soon as you're free from the blight of my +regard, you become quite human. But I'll never come again." + +"No, I suppose not," he said dismally. "I shan't hear you again, unless, +perhaps, the echoes have kept your voice to play with." + +"Oh, oh! Is this the language of science? You know I almost think I +should like to come--if I could. But I can't." + +"Why not?" + +"Because we leave to-morrow." + +"Not across to the southern coast? It isn't safe. Fever--" + +"No; by Puerto del Norte." + +"There's no boat." + +"Yes, there is. You can just see her funnel over that white slope. It's +our yacht." + +"And you think you are going in her to-morrow?" + +"Think? I know it." + +"No," he contradicted. + +"Yes," she asserted, quite as concisely. + +"No," he repeated. "You're mistaken." + +"Don't be absurd. Why?" + +"Look out there, over that tree to the horizon." + +"I'm looking." + +"Do you see anything?" + +"Yes; a sort of little smudge." + +"That's why." + +"It's a very shadowy sort of why." + +"There's substance enough under it." + +"A riddle? I'll give it up." + +"No; a bet. I'll bet you the treasures of my mountain-side. Orchids of +gold and white and purple and pink, butterflies that dart on wings of +fire opal--" + +"Beetles, to know which is to love them, and love but them forever," she +laughed. "And my side of the wager--what is that to be?" + +"That you will come to the rock day after to-morrow at this hour and +stand on the top and be a voice again and talk to me." + +"Done! Send your treasures to the pier, for you'll surely lose. And now +take me to the road." + +It was a single-file trail, and he walked in advance, silent as an +Indian. As they emerged from a thicket into the highway, above the +red-tiled city in its setting of emerald fields strung on the silver +thread of the Santa Clara River, she turned and gave him her hand. + +"Be at your rock to-morrow, and when you see the yacht steam out, you'll +know I'll be saying good-bye, and thank you for your mountain treasures. +Send them to Miss Brewster, care of the yacht Polly. She's named after +me. Is there anything the matter with my shoes?" she broke off to +inquire solicitously. + +"Er--what? No." He lifted his eyes, startled, and looked out across the +quaint old city. + +"Then is there anything the matter with my face?" + +"Yes." + +"Yes? Well, what?" + +"It's going to be hard to forget," complained he of the goggles. + +"Then look away before it's too late," she cried merrily; but her color +deepened a little. "Good-bye, O friend of the lowly scarab!" + +At the dip of the road down into the bridged arroyo, she turned, and was +surprised--or at least she told herself so--to find him still looking +after her. + + + + + +II + +AT THE KAST + + +One dines at the Gran Hotel Kast after the fashion of a champignon sous +cloche. The top of the cloche is of fluted glass, with a wide aperture +between it and the sides, to admit the rain in the wet season and the +flies in the dry. Three balconies run up from the dining-room well to +this roof, and upon these, as near to the railings as they choose, the +rather conglomerate patronage of the place sleeps, takes baths, dresses, +gossips, makes love, quarrels, and exchanges prophecies as to next +Sunday's bullfight, while the diners below strive to select from the +bill of fare special morsels upon which they will stake their internal +peace for the day. No cabaret can hold a candle to it for variety of +interest. When the sudden torrential storms sweep down the mountains +at meal times, the little human champignons, beneath their insufficient +cloche, rush about wildly seeking spots where the drippage will not +wash their food away. Commercial travelers of the tropics have a saying: +"There are worse hotels in the world than the Kast--but why take the +trouble?" And, year upon year, they return there for reasons connected +with the other hostelries of Caracuna, which I forbear to specify. + +To Miss Polly Brewster, the Kast was a place of romance. Five miles +away, as the buzzard flies, she could have dined well, even elegantly, +on the Brewster yacht. Would she have done it? Not for worlds! Miss +Brewster was entranced by the courtly manners of her waiter, who had +lost one ear and no small part of the countenance adjacent thereto, only +too obviously through the agency of some edged instrument not wielded in +the arts of peace. She was further delightedly intrigued by the abrupt +appearance of a romantic-hued gentleman, who thrust out over the +void from the second balcony an anguished face, one side of which was +profusely lathered, and addressed to all the hierarchy of heaven above, +and the peoples of the earth beneath, a passionate protest upon the +subject of a cherished and vanished shaving brush; what time, below, the +head waiter was hastily removing from sight, though not from memory, a +soup tureen whose agitated surface bore a creamy froth not of a lacteal +origin. One may not with impunity balance personal implements upon the +too tremulous rails of the ancient Kast. + +With an appreciative and glowing eye, Miss Brewster read from her +mimeographed bill of fare such legends as "ropa con carne," "bacalao +seco," "enchiladas," and meantime devoured chechenaca, which, had it +been translated into its just and simple English of "hash," she would +not have given to her cat. + +Nor did her visual and prandial preoccupations inhibit her from a lively +interest in the surrounding Babel of speech in mingled Spanish, Dutch, +German, English, Italian, and French, all at the highest pitch, for +a few rods away the cathedral bells were saluting Heaven with all the +clangor and din of the other place, and only the strident of voice +gained any heed in that contest. Even after the bells paused, the habit +of effort kept the voices up. Miss Brewster, dining with her father a +few hours after her return from the mountain, absolved her conscience +from any intent of eavesdropping in overhearing the talk of the table +to the right of her. The remark that first fixed her attention was in +English, of the super-British patois. + +"Can't tell wot the blighter might look like behind those bloomin' brown +glasses." + +"But he's not bothersome to any one," suggested a second speaker, in a +slightly foreign accent. "He regards his own affairs." + +"Right you are, bo!" approved a tall, deeply browned man of thirty, all +sinewy angles, who, from the shoulders up, suggested nothing so much as +a club with a gnarled knob on the end of it, a tough, reliable, hardwood +club, capable of dealing a stiff blow in an honest cause. "If he deals +in conversation, he must SELL it. I don't notice him giving any of it +away." + +"He gave some to Kast the last time he dined here," observed a languid +and rather elegant elderly man, who occupied the fourth side of the +table. "Mine host didn't like it." + +"I should suppose Senior Kast would be hardened," remarked the young +Caracunan who had defended the absent. + +"Our eyeglassed friend scored for once, though. They had just served +him the usual table-d'hote salad--you know, two leaves of lettuce with a +caterpillar on one. Kast happened to be passing. Our friend beckoned him +over. 'A little less of the fauna and more of the flora, Senior Kast,' +said he in that gritty, scientific voice of his. I really thought Kast +was going to forget his Swiss blood, and chase a whole peso of custom +right out of the place." + +"If you ask me, I think the blighter is barmy," asserted the Briton. + +"Well, I'll ask you," proffered the elegant one kindly. "Why do you +consider him 'barmy,' as you put it?" + +"When I first saw him here and heard him speak to the waiter, I knew +him for an American Johnny at once, and I went, directly I'd finished my +soup, and sat down at his table. The friendly touch, y' know. 'I say,' +I said to him, 'I don't know you, but I heard you speak, and I knew at +once you were one of these Americans--tell you at once by the beastly +queer accent, you know. You are an American, ay--wot?' Wot d' you +suppose the blighter said? He said, 'No, I'm an ichthyo'--somethin' or +other--" + +"Ichthyosaurus, perhaps," supplied the Caracunuan, smiling. + +"That's it, whatever it may be. 'I'm an ichthyosaurus,' he says. 'It's +a very old family, but most of the buttons are off. Were you ever bitten +by one in the fossil state? Very exhilaratin', but poisonous,' he says. +'So don't let me keep you any longer from your dinner.' Of course, I saw +then that he was a wrong un, so I cut him dead, and walked away." + +"Served him right," declared the elderly American, with a solemn twinkle +directed at the tall brown man, who, having opened his mouth, now +thought better of it, and closed it again, with a grin. + +"But he is very kind," said the native. "When my brother fell and broke +his arm on the mountain, this gentleman found him, took care of him, and +brought him in on muleback." + +"Lives up there somewhere, doesn't he, Mr. Raimonda?" asked the big man. + +"In the quinta of a deserted plantation," replied the Caracunan. + +"Wot's he do?" asked the Englishman. + +"Ah, THAT one does not know, unless Senor Sherwen can tell us." + +"Not I," said the elderly man. "Some sort of scientific investigation, +according to the guess of the men at the club." + +"You never can tell down here," observed the Englishman darkly. "Might +be a blind, you know. Calls himself Perkins. Dare say it isn't his name +at all." + +"Daughter," said Mr. Thatcher Brewster at this juncture, in a patient +and plaintive voice, "for the fifth and last time, I implore you to pass +me the butter, or that which purports to be butter, in the dish at your +elbow." + +"Oh, poor dad! Forgive me! But I was overhearing some news of an--an +acquaintance." + +"Do you know any of the gentlemen upon whose conversation you are +eavesdropping?" + +In financial circles, Mr. Brewster was credited with the possession of +a cold blue eye and a denatured voice of interrogation, but he seldom +succeeded in keeping a twinkle out of the one and a chuckle out of the +other when conversing with his daughter. + +"Not yet," observed that damsel calmly. + +"Meaning, I suppose I am to understand--" + +"Precisely. Haven't you noticed them looking this way? Presently they'll +be employing all their strategy to meet me. They'll employ it on you." + +Mr. Brewster surveyed the group dubiously. + +"In a country such as this, one can't be too--too cau--" + +"Too particular, as you were saying," cut in his daughter cheerfully. +"Men are scarce--except Fitzhugh, who is rather less scarce than I +wish he were lately. You know," she added, with a covert glance at +the adjoining table, "I wouldn't be surprised if you found yourself an +extremely popular papa immediately after dinner. It might even go so far +as cigars. Do you suppose that lovely young Caracunan is a bullfighter?" + +"No; I believe he's a coffee exporter. Less romantic, but more +respectable. Quite one of the gilded youth of Caracuna. His name is +Raimonda. Fitzhugh knows him. By the way, where on earth is Fitzhugh?" + +"Trying to fit a kind and gentlemanly expression over a swollen sense of +injury, for a guess," replied the girl carelessly. "I left him in sweet +and lone communion with nature three hours ago." + +"Polly, I wish--" + +"Oh, dad, dear, don't! You'll get your wish, I suppose, and Fitz, too. +Only I don't want to be hurried. Here he is, now. Look at that smile! +A sculptor couldn't have done any better. Now, as soon as he comes, I'm +going to be quite nice and kind." + +But Mr. Fairfax Preston Fitzhugh Carroll did not come direct to the +Brewster table. Instead, he stopped to greet the elderly man in +the near-by group, and presently drew up a chair. At first, their +conversation was low-toned, but presently the young native added his +more vivacious accents. + +"Who can tell?" the Brewsters heard him say, and marked the fatalistic +gesture of the upturned hands. "They disappear. One does not ask +questions too much." + +"Not here," confirmed the big man. "Always room for a few more in the +undersea jails, eh?" + +"Always. But I think it was not that with Basurdo. I think it was +underground, not undersea." He brushed his neck with his finger tips. + +"Is it dangerous for foreigners?" asked Carroll quickly. + +"For every one," answered Sherwen; adding significantly: "But the +Caracunan Government does not approve of loose fostering of rumors." + +Carroll rose and came over to the Brewsters. + +"May I bring Mr. Graydon Sherwen over and present him?" he asked. "I can +vouch for him, having known his family at home, and--" + +"Oh, bring them all, Fitzhugh," commanded the girl. + +The exponent of Southern aristocracy looked uncomfortable. + +"As to the others," he said, "Mr. Raimonda is a native--" + +"With the manners of a prince. I've quite fallen in love with him +already," she said wickedly. + +"Of course, if you wish it. But the other American is an ex-professional +baseball player, named Cluff." + +"What? 'Clipper' Cluff? I knew I'd seen him before!" cried Miss Polly. +"He got his start in the New York State League. Why, we're quite old +friends, by sight." + +"As for Galpy, he's an underbred little cockney bounder." + +"With the most naive line of conversation I've ever listened to. I want +all of them." + +"Let me bring Sherwen first," pleaded the suitor, and was presently +introducing that gentleman. "Mr. Sherwen is in charge here of the +American Legation," he explained. + +"How does one salute a real live minister?" queried Miss Brewster. + +"Don't mistake me for anything so important," said Sherwen. "We're not +keeping a minister in stock at present. My job is being a superior kind +of janitor until diplomatic relations are resumed." + +"Goodness! It sounds like war," said Miss Brewster hopefully. "Is there +anything as exciting as that going on?" + +"Oh, no. Just a temporary cessation of civilities between the two +nations. If it weren't indiscreet--" + +"Oh, do be indiscreet!" implored the girl, with clasped hands. "I admire +indiscretion in others, and cultivate it in myself." + +Mr. Carroll looked pained, as the other laughed and said:-- + +"Well, it would certainly be most undiplomatic for me to hint that the +great and friendly nation of Hochwald, which wields more influence and +has a larger market here than any other European power, has become a +little jealous of the growing American trade. But the fact remains that +the Hochwald minister and his secretary, Von Plaanden, who is a very +able citizen when sober,--and is, of course, almost always sober,--have +not exerted themselves painfully to compose the little misunderstanding +between President Fortuno and us. The Dutch diplomats, who are not as +diplomatic in speech as I am, would tell you, if there were any of them +left here to tell anything, that Von Plaanden's intrigues brought on +the present break with them. So there you have a brief, but reliable +'History of Our Times in the Island Republic of Caracuna.'" + +"Highly informative and improving to the untutored mind," Miss Brewster +complimented him. "I like seeing the wires of empire pulled. More, +please." + +"Perhaps you won't like the next so well," observed Carroll grimly. +"There is bubonic plague here." + +"Oh--ah!" protested Sherwen gently. "The suspicion of plague. Quite a +different matter." + +"Which usually turns out to be the same, doesn't it?" inquired Mr. +Brewster. + +"Perhaps. People disappear, and one is not encouraged to ask about them. +But then people disappear for many causes in Caracuna. Politics here are +somewhat--well--Philadelphian in method. But--there is smoke rising from +behind Capo Blanco." + +"What is there?" inquired the girl. + +"The lazaretto. Still, it might be yellow fever, or only smallpox. The +Government is not generous with information. To have plague discovered +now would be very disturbing to the worthy plans of the Hochwald +Legation. For trade purposes, they would very much dislike to have the +port closed for a considerable time by quarantine. The Dutch difficulty +they can arrange when they will. But quarantine would bring in the +United States, and that is quite another matter. Well, we'll see, when +Dr. Pruyn gets here." + +"Who is he?" asked Carroll. + +"Special-duty man of the United States Public Health Service. The best +man on tropical diseases and quarantine that the service has ever had." + +"That isn't Luther Pruyn, is it?" inquired Mr. Brewster. + +"The same. Do you know him?" + +"Yes." + +"More than I do, except by reputation." + +"He was in my class at college, but I haven't seen him since. I'd be +glad to see him again. A queer, dry fellow, but character and grit to +his backbone." + +"I'd supposed he was younger," said Sherwen. "Anyway, he's comparatively +new to the service. His rise is the more remarkable. At present, he's +not only our quarantine representative, with full powers, but +unofficially he acts, while on his roving commission, for the British, +the Dutch, the French, and half the South American republics. I suppose +he's really the most important figure in the Caracuna crisis--and he +hasn't even got here yet. Perhaps our Hochwaldian friends have captured +him on the quiet. It would pay 'em, for if there is plague here, he'll +certainly trail it down." + +"Oh, I'm tired of plague," announced Miss Polly. "Bring the others here +and let's all go over to the plaza, where it's cool." + +To their open and obvious delight, exhibited jauntily by the Englishman, +with awkward and admiring respectfulness by the ball-player, and with +graceful ease by the handsome Caracunan, the rest were invited to join +the party. + +"Don't let them scare you about plague, Miss Brewster," said Cluff, as +they found their chairs. "Foreigners don't get it much." + +"Oh, I'm not afraid! But, anyway, we shouldn't have time to catch even a +cold. We leave to-morrow." + +The men exchanged glances. + +"How?" inquired Sherwen and Raimonda in a breath. + +"In the yacht, from Puerto del Norte." + +"Not if it were a British battleship," said Galpy. "Port's closed." + +"What? Quarantine already?" said Carroll. + +"Quarantine be blowed! It's the Dutch." + +"I thought you knew," said Sherwen. "All the town is ringing with the +news. It just came in to-night. Holland has declared a blockade until +Caracuna apologizes for the interference with its cable." + +"And nothing can pass?" asked Mr. Brewster. + +"Nothing but an aeroplane or a submarine." + +There was a silence. Miss Polly Brewster broke it with a curious +question:-- + +"What day is day after to-morrow?" + +Several voices had answered her, but she paid little heed, for there had +slipped over her shoulder a brown thin hand holding a cunningly woven +closed basket of reedwork. A soft voice murmured something in Spanish. + +"What does he say?" asked the girl "For me?" + +"He thinks it must be for you," translated Raimonda, "from the +description." + +"What description?" + +"He was told to go to the hotel and deliver it to the most beautiful +lady. There could hardly be any mistaking such specific instructions +even by an ignorant mountain peon," he added, smiling. + +The girl opened the curious receptacle, and breathed a little gasp of +delight. Bedded in fern, lay a mass of long sprays aquiver with bells +of the purest, most lucent white, each with a great glow of gold at its +heart. + +"Ah," observed the young Caracunan, "I see that you are persona grata +with our worthy President, Miss Brewster." + +"President Fortuno?" asked the girl, surprised. "No; not that I'm aware +of. Why do you say that?" + +"That is his special orchid--almost the official flower. They call it +'the President's orchid.'" + +"Has he a monopoly of growing them?" asked Miss Brewster. + +"No one can grow them. They die when transplanted from their native +cliffs. But it's only the President's rangers who are daring enough to +get them." + +"Are they so inaccessible?" + +"Yes. They grow nowhere but on the cliff faces, usually in the wildest +part of the mountains. Few people except the hunters and mountaineers +know where, and it's only the most adventurous of them who go after the +flowers." + +"Do you suppose this boy got these?" Miss Brewster indicated the shy and +dusky messenger. + +Raimonda spoke to the boy for a moment. + +"No; he didn't collect them. Nor is he one of the President's men. I +don't quite understand it." + +"Who did gather them?" + +"All that he will say is, 'the master.'" + +"Oh!" said Miss Brewster, and retired into a thoughtful silence. + +"They're very beautiful, aren't they?" continued the Caracunan. "And +they carry a pretty sentiment." + +"Tell me," commanded the girl, emerging from her reverie. + +"The mountaineers say that their fragrance casts a spell which carries +the thought back to the giver." + +"Is that the language of science?" she queried absently, with a thought +far away. + +"But no, senorita, assuredly not," said the young Caracufian. "It is +the language--permit that I say it better in French--c'est le langage +d'amour." + + + + + +III + +THE BETTER PART OF VALOR + + +Night fell with the iron clangor of bells, and day broke to the +accompaniment of further insensate jangling, for Caracuna City has the +noisiest cathedral in the world; and still the graceful gray yacht Polly +lay in the harbor at Puerto del Norte, hemmed in by a thin film of smoke +along the horizon where the Dutch warship promenaded. + +In one of the side caverns off the main dining-room of the Hotel Kast, +the yacht's owner, breakfasting with the yacht's tutelary goddess and +the goddess's determined pursuer, discussed the blockade. Though Miss +Polly Brewster kept up her end of the conversation, her thoughts were +far upon a breeze-swept mountain-side. How, she wondered, had that dry +and strange hermit of the wilds known the news before the city learned +it? With her wonder came annoyance over her lost wager. The beetle man, +she judged, would be coolly superior about it. So she delivered herself +of sundry stinging criticisms regarding the conduct of the Caracunan +Administration in having stupidly involved itself in a blockade. She +even spoke of going to see the President and apprising him of her views. + +"I'd like to tell him how to run this foolish little island," said she, +puckering a quaintly severe brow. + +"Now is the appointed time for you to plunge in and change the course +of empire," her father suggested to her. "There's an official morning +reception at ten o'clock. We're invited." + +"Then I shan't go. I wouldn't give the old goose the satisfaction of +going to his fiesta." + +"Meaning the noble and patriotic President?" said Carroll. "Treason most +foul! The cuartels are full of chained prisoners who have said less." + +"Father can go with Mr. Sherwen. I shall do some important shopping," +announced Miss Brewster. "And I don't want any one along." + +Thus apprised of her intentions, Carroll wrapped himself in gloom, and +retired to write a letter. + +Miss Polly's shopping, being conducted mainly through the medium of the +sign language, presently palled upon her sensibilities, and about twelve +o'clock she decided upon a drive. Accordingly she stepped into one of +the pretty little toy victorias with which the city swarms. + +"Para donde?" inquired the driver. + +His fare made an expansive gesture, signifying "Anywhere." Being +an astute person in his own opinion, the Jehu studied the pretty +foreigner's attire with an appraising eye, profoundly estimated that so +much style and elegance could be designed for only one function of the +day, whirled her swiftly along the two-mile drive of the Calvario +Road, and landed her at the President's palace, half an hour after the +reception was over. Supposing from the coachman's signs that she was +expected to go in and view some public garden, she paid him, walked +far enough to be stopped by the apologetic and appreciative guard, and +returned to the highway, to find no carriage in sight. Never mind, she +reflected; she needed the exercise. Accordingly, she set out to walk. + +But the noonday sun of Caracuia has a bite to it. For a time, Miss +Brewster followed the car tracks which were her sure guide from the +palace to the Kast; briskly enough, at first. But, after three cars had +passed her, she began to think longingly of the fourth. When it stopped +at her signal, it was well filled. The most promising ingress appeared +to be across the blockade of a robust and much-begilded young man, who +was occupying the familiar position of an "end-seat hog," and displaying +the full glories of the Hochwaldian dress uniform. + +Herr von Plaanden was both sleepy and cross, for, having lingered after +the reception to have a word and several drinks with the Minister of +Foreign Affairs, he had come forth to find neither coach nor automobile +in attendance. There had been nothing for it but the plebeian trolley. +Accordingly, when he heard a foreign voice of feminine timbre and felt +a light pressure against his knee, he only snorted. What he next felt +against his knee was the impact of a half-shove, half-blow, brisk enough +to slue him around. The intruder passed by to the vacant seat, while the +now thoroughly awakened and annoyed Hochwaldian whirled, to find himself +looking into a pair of expressionless brown goggles. + +With a snort of fury, the diplomat struck backward. The glasses and +the solemn face behind them dodged smartly. The next moment, Herr von +Plaanden felt his neck encircled by a clasp none the less warm for being +not precisely affectionate. He was pinned. Twisting, he worked one arm +loose. + +"Be careful!" warned the cool voice of Polly Brewster, addressing her +defender. "He's trying to draw his sword." + +The gogglesome one's grip slid a little lower. The car had now stopped, +and the conductor came forward, brandishing what was apparently the wand +of authority, designed to be symbolic rather than utile, since at no +point was it thicker than a man's finger. From a safe distance on the +running-board, he flourished this, whooping the while in a shrill and +dissuasive manner. Somewhere down the street was heard a responsive +yell, and a small, jerky, olive-green policia pranced into view. + +Thereupon a strange thing happened. The rescuing knight relaxed his +grip, leaped the back of his seat, dropped off the car, and darted like +a hunted hare across a compound, around a wall, and so into the unknown, +deserting his lady fair, if not precisely in the hour of greatest need, +at least in a situation fraught with untoward possibilities. Indeed, it +seemed as if these possibilities might promptly become actualities, +for the diplomat turned his stimulated wrath upon the girl, and was +addressing her in tones too emphatic to be mistaken when a large angular +form interposed itself, landing with a flying leap on the seat between +them. + +"Move!" the newly arrived one briefly bade Herr von Plaanden. + +Herr von Plaanden, feeling the pressure of a shoulder formed upon the +generous lines of a gorilla's, and noting the approach of the policia on +the other side, was fain to obey. + +"Don't you be scared, miss," said Cluff, turning to the girl. "It's all +over." + +"I'm not frightened," she said, with a catch in her voice. + +"Of course you ain't," he agreed reassuringly. "You just sit quiet--" + +"But I--I--I'm MAD, clean through." + +"You gotta right. You gotta perfect right. Now, if this was New York, +I'd spread that gold-laced guy's face--" + +"I'm not angry at him. Not particularly, I mean." + +"No?" queried her friend in need. "What got your goat, then?" + +Miss Brewster shot a quick and scornful glance over her shoulder. + +"Oh, HIM!" interpreted the athlete. "Well, he made his get-away like a +man with some reason for being elsewhere." + +"Reason enough. He was afraid." + +"Maybe. Being afraid's a queer thing," remarked her escort academically. +"Now, me, I'm afraid of a fuzzy caterpillar. But I ain't exactly timid +about other things." + +"You certainly aren't. And I don't know how to thank you." + +"Aw, that's awright, miss. What else could I do? Our departed friend, +Professor Goggle-Eye, when he made his jump, landed right in my shirt +front. 'Take my place,' he says; 'I've got an engagement.' Well, I was +just moving forward, anyway, so it was no trouble at all, I assure you," +asserted the doughty Cluff, achieving a truly elegant conclusion. + +"Most fortunate for me," said the girl sweetly. "Mr. Perkins scuttled +away like one of his own little wretched beetles. When I see him +again--" + +"Again? Oh, well, if he's a friend of yours, accourse he'd awtuv stood +by--" + +"He isn't!" she declared, with unnecessary vehemence. + +"Don't you be too hard on him, miss," argued her escort. "Seems to me he +did a pretty good job for you, and stuck to it until he found some one +else to take it up." + +"Then why didn't he stand by you?" + +"Oh, I don't carry any 'Help-wanted' signs on me. You know, miss, you +can't size up a man in this country like he was at home. Now, me, I'd +have natcherly hammered that Von Plaanden gink all to heh--heh--hash. +But did I do it? I did not. You see, I got a little mining concession +out here in the mountains, and if I was to get into any diplomatic +mix-up and bring in the police, it'd be bad for my business, besides +maybe getting me a couple of tons of bracelets around my pretty little +ankles. Like as not your friend, Professor Lamps, has got an equally +good reason for keeping the peace." + +"Do you mean that this man will make trouble for you over this?" + +"Not as things stand. So long as nothing was done--no arrests or +anything like that--he'll be glad to forget it, when he sobers up. I'll +forget it, too, and maybe, miss, it wouldn't be any harm to anybody if +you did a turn at forgetting, yourself." + +But neither by the venturesome Miss Polly nor by her athlete servitor +was the episode to be so readily dismissed. Late that afternoon, when +the Brewster party were sitting about iced fruit drinks amid the dingy +and soiled elegance of the Kast's one private parlor, Mr. Sherwen's card +arrived, followed shortly by Mr. Sherwen's immaculate self, creaseless +except for one furrow of the brow. + +"How you are going to get out of here I really don't know," he said. + +"Why should we hurry?" inquired Miss Brewster. "I don't find Caracuna so +uninteresting." + +"Never since I came here has it been so charming," said the legation +representative, with a smiling bow. "But, much as your party adds to the +landscape, I'm not at all sure that this city is the most healthful spot +for you at present." + +"You mean the plague?" asked Mr. Brewster. + +"Not quite so loud, please. 'Healthful,' as I used it, was, in part, a +figure of speech. Something is brewing hereabout." + +"Not a revolution?" cried Miss Polly, with eyes alight. "Oh, do brew a +revolution for me! I should so adore to see one!" + +"Possibly you may, though I hardly think it. Some readjustment of +foreign relations, at most. The Dutch blockade is, perhaps, only a +beginning. However, it's sufficient to keep you bottled up, though if we +could get word to them, I dare say they would let a yacht go out." + +"Senator Richland, of the Committee on Foreign Relations, is an old +friend of my family," said Carroll, in his measured tones. "A cable--" + +"Would probably never get through. This Government wouldn't allow it. +There are other possibilities. Perhaps, Mr. Brewster," he continued, +with a side glance at the girl, "we might talk it over at length this +evening." + +"Quite useless, Mr. Sherwen," smiled the magnate. "Polly would have +it all out of me before I was an hour older. She may as well get it +direct." + +"Very well, then. It's this quarantine business. If Dr. Pruyn comes here +and declares bubonic plague--" + +"But how will he get in?" asked Carroll. + +"So far as the blockade goes, the Dutch will help him all they can. But +this Government will keep him out, if possible." + +"He is not persona grata?" asked Brewster. + +"Not with any of the countries that play politics with pestilence. +But if he's sent here, he'll get in some way. In fact, Stark, the +public-health surgeon at Puerto del Norte, let fall a hint that makes me +think he's on his way now. Probably in some cockleshell of a small boat +manned by Indian smugglers." + +"It sounds almost too adventurous for the scholarly Pruyn whom I +recall," observed Mr. Brewster. + +"The man who went through the cholera anarchy on the lazar island off +Camacho, with one case of medical supplies and two boxes of cartridges, +may have been scholarly; he certainly didn't exhibit any distaste for +adventure. Well, I wish he'd arrive and get something settled. Only I'd +like to have you out of the way first." + +"Oh, don't send ME away, Mr. Sherwen," pleaded Miss Polly, with mischief +in her eyes. "I'd make the cunningest little office assistant to busy +old Dr. Pruyn. And he's a friend of dad's, and we surely ought to wait +for him." + +"If only I COULD send you! The fact is, Americans won't be very popular +if matters turn out as I expect." + +"Shall we be confined to our rooms and kept incomunicado, while Dr. +Pruyn chases the terrified germ through the streets of Caracuna?" +queried the irrepressible Polly. + +"You'll probably have to move to the legation, where you will be very +welcome, but none too comfortable. The place has been practically closed +and sealed for two months." + +"I'm sure we should bother you dreadfully," said the girl. + +"It would bother me more dreadfully if you got into any trouble. Just +this morning there was some kind of an affair on a street car in which +some Americans were involved." + +Miss Polly's countenance was a design--a very dainty and ornamental +design--in insouciance as her father said:-- + +"Americans? Any one we have met?" + +"No news has come to me. I understand one of the diplomatic corps, +returning from the President's matinee, spoke to an American woman, and +an American man interfered." + +"When did this happen?" asked Carroll. + +"About noon. Inquiries are going on quietly." + +The young man directed a troubled and accusing look from his fine eyes +upon Miss Brewster. + +"You see, Miss Polly," he said, "no lady should go about unprotected +down here." + +"Ordinarily it's as safe as any city," said Sherwen. "Just now I can't +be so certain." + +"I hate being watched over like a child!" pouted Miss Brewster. "And +I love sight-seeing alone. The flowers along the Calvario Road were so +lovely." + +"That's the road to the palace," remarked Carroll, looking at her +closely. + +"And the butterflies are so marvelous," she continued cheerfully. "Who +lives in that salmon-pink pagoda just this side of the curve?" + +Trouble sat dark and heavy upon the handsome features of Mr. Preston +Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll, but he was too experienced to put a direct +query to his inamorata. What suspicion he had, he cherished until +after dinner, when he took it to the club and made it the foundation of +certain inquiries. + +Thus it happened that at eleven o'clock that evening, he paused before +a bench in the plaza, bowered in the bloom of creepers which flowed down +from a balcony of the Kast, and occupied by the comfortably sprawled-out +form of Mr. Thomas Cluff, who was making a burnt offering to Morpheus. + +"Good-evening!" said Mr. Carroll pleasantly. + +"Evenin'! How's things?" returned the other. + +"Right as can be, thanks to you. On behalf of the Brewster family, I +want to express our appreciation of your assistance to Miss Brewster +this morning." + +"Oh, that was nothing," returned the other. + +"But it might have been a great deal. Mr. Brewster will wish to thank +you in person--" + +"Aw, forget it!" besought Mr. Thomas Cluff. "That little lady is all +right. I'd just as soon eat an ambassador, let alone a gilt-framed +secretary, to help her out." + +"Miss Brewster," said the other, somewhat more stiffly, "is a wholly +admirable young lady, but she is not always well advised in going out +unescorted. By the way, you can doubtless confirm the rumor as to the +identity of her insulter." + +"His name is Von Plaanden. But I don't think he meant to insult any +one." + +"You will permit me to be the best judge of that." + +"Go as far as you like," asserted the big fellow cheerfully. "That +fellow Perkins can tell you more about the start of the thing than I +can." + +"From what I hear, he has no cause to be proud of his part in the +matter," said the Southerner, frowning. + +"He's sure a prompt little runner," asserted Cluff. "But I've run away +in my time, and glad of the chance." + +"You will excuse me from sympathizing with your standards." + +"Sure, you're excused," returned the athlete, so placidly that Carroll, +somewhat at a loss, altered his speech to a more gracious tone. + +"At any rate, you stood your ground when you were needed, which is more +than Mr. Perkins did. I should like to have a talk with him." + +"That's easy. He was rambling around here not a quarter of an hour +ago with young Raimonda. That's them sitting on the bench over by the +fountain." + +"Will you take me over and present me? I think it is due Mr. Perkins +that some one should give him a frank opinion of his actions." + +"I'd like to hear that," observed Cluff, who was not without humanistic +curiosity. "Come along." + +Heaving up his six-feet-one from the seat, he led the way to the +two conversing men. Raimonda looked around and greeted the newcomers +pleasantly. Cluff waved an explanatory hand between his charge and the +bench. + +"Make you acquainted with Mr. Perkins," he said, neglecting to mention +the name of the first party of the introduction. + +Perkins, goggling upward to meet a coldly hostile glance, rose, nodded +in some wonder, and said: "How do you do?" Raimonda sent Cluff a glance +of interrogation, to which that experimentalist in human antagonisms +responded with a borrowed Spanish gesture of pleasurable uncertainty. + +"I will not say that I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Perkins," began Carroll +weightily, and paused. + +If he expected a query, he was doomed to a disappointment. Such of the +Perkins features as were not concealed by his extraordinary glasses +expressed an immovable calm. + +"Doubtless you know to what I refer." + +Still those blank brown glasses regarded him in silence. + +"Do you or do you not?" demanded Carroll, struggling to keep his temper +in the face of this exasperating irresponsiveness. + +"Haven't the least idea," replied Perkins equably. + +"You were on the tram this morning when Miss Brewster was insulted, +weren't you?" + +"Yes." + +"And ran away?" + +"I did." + +"What did you run away for?" + +"I ran away," the other sweetly informed him, "on important business of +my own." + +Cluff snickered. The suspicion impinged upon Carroll's mind that this +wasn't going to be as simple as he had expected. + +"Let that go for the moment. Do you know Miss Brewster's insulter?" + +"No." + +"Are you telling me the truth?" asked the Southerner sternly. + +The begoggled one's chin jerked up. To the trained eye of Cluff, swift +to interpret physical indications, it seemed that Perkins's weight had +almost imperceptibly shifted its center of gravity. + +"Our Southern friend is going to run into something if he doesn't look +out," he reflected. + +But there was no hint of trouble in Perkins's voice as he replied:-- + +"I know who he is. I don't know him." + +"Was it Von Plaanden?" + +"Why do you want to know?" + +"Because," returned the other, with convincing coolness, "if it was, I +intend to slap his face publicly as soon as I can find him." + +"You must do nothing of the sort." + +Now, indeed, there was a change in the other's bearing. The words came +sharp and crisp. + +"I shall do exactly as I said. Perhaps you will explain why you think +otherwise." + +"Because you must have some sense somewhere about you. Do you realize +where you are?" + +"I hardly think you can teach me geography, or anything else, Mr. +Perkins." + +"Well, good God," said the other sharply, "somebody's got to teach you! +What do you suppose would be the result of your slapping Von Plaanden's +face?" + +"Whatever it may be, I am ready. I will fight him with any weapons, and +gladly." + +"Oh, yes; gladly! Fun for you, all right. But suppose you think of +others a little." + +"Afraid of being involved yourself?" smiled Carroll. "I'm sure you could +run away successfully from any kind of trouble." + +"Others might not be so able to escape." + +"Of course I'm wholly wrong, and my training and traditions are absurdly +old-fashioned, but I've been brought up to believe that the American who +will run from a fight, or who will not stand up at home or abroad for +American rights, American womanhood, and the American flag, isn't a +man." + +"Oh, keep it for the Fourth of July," returned Perkins wearily. "You +can't get me into a fight." + +"Fight?" Carroll laughed shortly. "If you had the traditions of a +gentleman, you would not require any more provocation." + +"If I had the traditions of a deranged doodle bug, I'd go around hunting +trouble in a country that is full of it for foreigners--even those who +behave themselves like sane human beings." + +"Meaning, perhaps, that I'm not a sane human being?" inquired the +Southerner. + +"Do you think you act like it? To satisfy your own petty vanity of +courage, you'd involve all of us in difficulties of which you know +nothing. We're living over a powder magazine here, and you want to light +matches to show what a hero you are. Traditions! Don't you talk to me +about traditions! If you can serve your country or a woman better by +running away than by fighting, the sensible thing to do is to run away. +The best thing you can do is to keep quiet and let Von Plaanden drop. +Otherwise, you'll have Miss Brewster the center of--" + +"Keep your tongue from that lady's name!" warned Carroll. + +"You're giving a good many orders," said the other slowly. "But I'll do +almost anything just now to keep you peaceable, and to convince you that +you must let Von Plaanden strictly alone." + +"Just as surely as I meet him," said the Southerner ominously, "on my +word of honor--" + +"Wait a moment," broke in the other sharply. "Don't commit yourself +until you've heard me. Just around the corner from here is a cuartel. It +isn't a nice clean jail like ours at home. Fleas are the pleasantest +companions in the place. When a man--particularly an obnoxious +foreigner--lands there, they are rather more than likely to forget +little incidentals like food and water. And if he should happen to be of +a nation without diplomatic representation here, as is the case with the +United States at present, he might well lie there incomunicado until his +hearing, which might be in two days or might not be for a month. Is that +correct, Mr. Raimonda?" + +"Essentially," confirmed the Caracunan. + +"When you are through trying to frighten me--" began Carroll +contemptuously. + +"Frighten you? I'm not so foolish as to waste time that way. I'm trying +to warn you." + +"Are you quite done?" + +"I am not. On MY honor--" He broke off as Carroll smiled. "Smile if you +like, but believe what I'm telling you. Unless you agree to keep your +hands and tongue off Von Plaanden I'll lay an information which will +land you in the cuartel within an hour." + +The smile froze on the Southerner's lips. + +"Could he do that?" he asked Raimonda. + +"I'm afraid he could. And, really, Mr. Carroll, he's correct in +principle. In the present state of political feeling, an assault by an +American upon the representative of Hochwald might seriously endanger +all of your party." + +"That's right," Cluff supported him. "I'm with you in wanting to break +that gold-frilled geezer's face up into small sections, but it just +won't do." + +With an effort, Carroll recovered his self-control. + +"Mr. Raimonda," he said courteously, "I give YOU my word that there will +be no trouble between Herr Von Plaanden and myself, of my seeking, until +Mr. and Miss Brewster are safely out of the country." + +"That's enough," said Cluff heartily. "The rest of us can take care of +ourselves." + +"Meantime," said Raimonda, "I think the whole matter can be arranged. +Von Plaanden shall apologize to Miss Brewster to-morrow. It is not his +first outbreak, and always he regrets. My uncle, who is of the Foreign +Office, will see to it." + +"Then that's settled," remarked Perkins cheerfully. + +Carroll turned upon him savagely:-- + +"To your entire satisfaction, no doubt, now that you've shown yourself +an informer as well as--" + +"Easy with the rough stuff, Mr. Carroll," advised Cluff, his +good-natured face clouding. "We're all a little het up. Let's have a +drink, and cool down." + +"With you, with pleasure. I shall hope to meet you later, Mr. Perkins," +he added significantly. + +"Well, I hope not," retorted the other. "My voice is still for peace. +Meantime, please assure Miss Brewster for me--" + +"I warned you to keep that lady's name from your lips." + +"You did. But I don't know by what authority. You're not her father, I +suppose. Are you her brother, by any chance?" + +As he spoke, Perkins experienced that curious feeling that some +invisible person was trying to catch his eye. Now, as he turned directly +upon Carroll, his glance, passing over his shoulder, followed a broad +ray of light spreading from a second-story leaf-framed balcony of +the hotel. There was a stir amid the greenery. The face of the Voice +appeared, framed in flowers. Its features lighted up with mirth, and the +lips formed the unmistakable monosyllable: "Boo!" + +The identification was complete--"Boo to a goose." + +"Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll!" Unwittingly he spoke the name aloud, +and, unfortunately, laughed. + +To a less sensitive temperament, even, than Carroll's, the provocation +would have been extreme. Perkins was recalled to a more serious view of +the situation by the choking accents of that gentleman. + +"Take off your glasses!" + +"What for?" + +"Because I'm going to thrash you within an inch of your life!" + +"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" cried the young Caracunan. "This is no place for +such an affair." + +Apparently Perkins held the same belief. Stepping aside, he abruptly sat +down on the end of the bench, facing the fountain and not four feet from +it. His head drooped a little forward; his hands dropped between his +knees; one foot--but Cluff, the athlete, was the only one to note +this--edged backward and turned to secure a firm hold on the pavement. +Carroll stepped over in front of him and stood nonplused. He half drew +his hand back, then let it fall. + +"I can't hit a man sitting down," he muttered distressfully. + +Perkins's set face relaxed. + +"Running true to tradition," he observed, pleasantly enough. "I didn't +think you would. See here, Mr. Carroll, I'm sorry that I laughed at +your name. In fact, I didn't really laugh at your name at all. It was at +something quite different which came into my mind at that moment." + +"Your apology is accepted so far," returned the other stiffly. "But that +doesn't settle the other account between us, when we meet again. Or do +you choose to threaten me with jail for that, also?" + +"No. It's easier to keep out of your way." + +"Good Lord!" cried the Southerner in disgust. "Are you afraid of +everything?" + +"Why, no!" Perkins rose, smiling at him with perfect equanimity. "As +a matter of fact, if you're interested to know, I wasn't particularly +afraid of Von Plaanden, and, if I may say so without offense, I'm not +particularly afraid of you." + +Carroll studied him intently. + +"By Jove, I believe you aren't! I give it up!" he cried desperately. +"You're crazy, I reckon--or else I am." And he took himself off without +the formality of a farewell to the others. + +Raimonda, with a courteous bow to his companions, followed him. + +Wearily the goggled one sank back in his seat. Cluff moved across, +planting himself exactly where Carroll had stood. + +"Perkins!" + +"Eh?" responded the sitter absently. + +"What would you do if I should bat you one in the eye?" + +"Eh, what?" + +"What would you do to me?" + +"You, too?" cried the bewildered Perkins. "Why on earth--" + +"You'd dive into my knees, wouldn't you, and tip me over backward?" + +"Oh, that!" A slow grin overspread the space beneath the glasses. "That +was the idea." + +"I know the trick. It's a good one--except for the guy that gets it." + +"It wouldn't have hurt him. He'd have landed in the fountain." + +"So he would. What then?" + +"Oh, I'd have held him there till he got cooled off, and then made a run +for it. A wet man can't catch a dry man." + +"Say, son, YOU'RE a dry one, all right." + +"Eh?" + +"Wake up! I'm saying you're all right." + +"Much obliged." + +"You certainly took enough off him to rile a sheep. Why didn't you do +it?" + +"Do what?" + +"Tip him in." + +Perkins glanced upward at the balcony where the vines had closed upon a +face that smiled. + +"Oh," he said mildly, "he's a friend of a friend of mine." + +IV + +TWO ON A MOUNTAIN-SIDE + +ORCHIDS do not, by preference, grow upon a cactus plant. Little though +she recked of botany, Miss Brewster was aware of this fundamental truth. +Neither do they, without extraneous impulsion, go hurtling through the +air along deserted mountain-sides, to find a resting-place far below; +another natural-history fact which the young lady appreciated without +being obliged to consult the literature of the subject. Therefore, when, +from the top of the appointed rock, she observed a carefully composed +bunch of mauve Cattleyas describe a parabola and finally join two +previous clusters upon the spines of a prickly-pear patch, she divined +some energizing force back of the phenomenon. That energizing force she +surmised was temper. + +"Fie!" said she severely. "Beetle gentlemen should control their little +feelings. Naughty, naughty!" + +From below rose a fervid and startled exclamation. + +"Naughtier, naughtier!" deprecated the visitor. "Are these the cold and +measured terms of science?" + +"You haven't lived up to your bet," complained the censured one. + +"Indeed I have! I always play fair, and pay fair. Here I am, as per +contract." + +"Nearly half an hour late." + +"Not at all. Four-thirty was the time." + +"And now it is three minutes to five." + +"Making twenty-seven minutes that I've been sitting here waiting for a +welcome." + +"Waiting? Oh, Miss Brewster--" + +"I'm not Miss Brewster. I'm a voice in the wilderness." + +"Then, Voice, you haven't been there more than one minute. A voice isn't +a voice until it makes a noise like a voice. Q.E.D." + +"There is something in that argument," she admitted. "But why didn't you +come up and look for me?" + +"Does one look for a sound?" + +"Please don't be so logical. It tires my poor little brain. You might at +least have called." + +"That would have been like holding you up for payment of the bet, +wouldn't it? I was waiting for you to speak." + +"Not good form in Caracuna. The senor should always speak first." + +"You began the other time," he pointed out. + +"So I did, but that was under a misapprehension. I hadn't learned +the customs of the country then. By the way, is it a local custom for +hermits of science to climb breakneck precipices for golden-hearted +orchids to send to casual acquaintances?" + +"Is that what you are?" he queried in a slightly depressed tone. + +"What on earth else could I be?" she returned, amused. + +"Of course. But we all like to pretend that our fairy tales are +permanent, don't we?" + +"I can readily picture you chasing beetles, but I can't see you chasing +fairies at all," she asserted positively. + +"Nor can I. If you chase them, they vanish. Every one knows that." + +"Anyway, your orchids were fit for a fairy queen. I haven't thanked you +for them yet." + +"Indeed you have. Much more than they deserve. By coming here to-day." + +"Oh, that was a point of honor. Are you going to let those lovely purple +ones wither on that prickly plant down there? Think how much better +they'd look pinned on me--if there were any one here to see and +appreciate." + +If this were a hint, it failed of its aim, for, as the hermit scuttled +out from his shelter, looking not unlike some bulky protrusive-eyed +insect, secured the orchids, and returned, he never once glanced up. +Safe again in his rock-bound retreat, he spoke:-- + +"'Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.'" + +"So you do know something of fairies and fairy lore!" she cried. + +"Oh, it wasn't much more than a hundred years ago that I read my Grimm. +In the story, only one call was necessary." + +"Well, I can't spare any more of my silken tresses. I brought a string +this time. Where's the other hair line?" + +"I've used it to tether a fairy thought so that it can't fly away from +me. Draw up slowly." + +"Thank you so much, and I'm so glad that you are feeling better." + +"Better?" + +"Yes. Better than the day before yesterday." + +"Day before yesterday?" + +"Bless the poor man! Much anxious waiting hath bemused his wits. He +thinks he's an echo." + +"But I was all right the day before yesterday." + +"You weren't. You were a prey to the most thrilling terrors. You were +a moving picture of tender masculinity in distress. You let bashfulness +like a worm i' th' bud prey upon your damask cheek. Have you a damask +cheek? Stand out! I wish to consider you impartially. YOU needn't look +at ME, you know." + +"I'm not going to," he assured her, stepping forth obediently. + +"Basilisk that I am!" she laughed. "How brown you are! How long did you +say you'd been here? A year?" + +"Fourteen weary Voiceless months. Not on this island, you know, but +around the tropics." + +"Yet you look vigorous and alert; not like the men I've seen come +back from the hot countries, all languid and worn out. And you do look +clean." + +"Why shouldn't I be clean?" + +"Of course you should. But people get slack, don't they, when they live +off all alone by themselves? Still, I suppose you spruced up a little +for me?" + +"Nothing of the sort," he denied, with heat. + +"No? Oh, my poor little vanity! He wouldn't dress up for us, Vanity, +though we did dress up for him, and we're looking awfully nice--for +a voice, that is. Do you always keep so soft and pink and smooth, Mr. +Beetle Man?" + +"I own a razor, if that's what you mean. You're making fun of me. Well, +_I_ don't mind." He lifted his voice and chanted:-- + + "Although beyond the pale of law, + He always kept a polished jaw; + For he was one of those who saw + A saving hope + In shaving soap." + +"Oh, lovely! What a noble finish. What is it?" + +"Extract from 'Biographical Blurbings.'" + +"Autobiographical?" + +"Yes. By Me." + +"And are you beyond the pale of law?" + +"Poetical license," he explained airily. "Hold on, though." He fell +silent a moment, and out of that silence came a short laugh. "I suppose +I AM beyond the pale of law, now that I come to think of it. But you +needn't be alarmed, I'm not a really dangerous criminal." + +Later she was to recall that confession with sore misgivings. Now she +only inquired lightly: + +"Is that why you ran away from the tram car yesterday?" + +"Ran away? I didn't run away," he said, with dignity. "It just happened +that there came into my mind an important engagement that I'd forgotten. +My memory isn't what it should be. So I just turned over the matter in +hand to an acquaintance of mine." + +"The matter in hand being me." + +"Why, yes; and the acquaintance being Mr. Cluff. I saw him throw four +men out of a hotel once for insulting a girl, so I knew that he was much +better at that sort of thing than I. May I go back now and sit down?" +"Of course. I don't know whether I ought to thank you about yesterday or +be very angry. It was such an extraordinary performance on your part--" + +"Nothing extraordinary about it." His voice came up out of the shadow, +full of judicial confidence. "Merely sound common sense." + +"To leave a woman who has been insulted--" + +"In more competent hands than one's own." + +"Oh, I give it up!" she cried. "I don't understand you at all. Fitzhugh +is right; you haven't a tradition to your name." + +"Tradition," he repeated thoughtfully. "Why, I don't know. They're +pretty rigid things, traditions. Rusty in the joints and all that sort +of thing. Life isn't a process of machinery, exactly. One has to meet it +with something more supple and adjustable than traditions." + +"Is that your philosophy? Suppose a man struck you. Wouldn't you hit him +back?" + +"Perhaps. It would depend." + +"Or insulted your country? Don't you believe that men should be ready to +die, if necessary, in such a cause?" + +"Some men. Soldiers, for instance. They're paid to." + +"Good Heavens! Is it all a question of pay in your mind? Wouldn't YOU, +unless you were paid for it?" + +"How can I tell until the occasion arises?" + +"Are you afraid?" + +"I suppose I might be." + +"Hasn't the man any blood in his veins?" cried his inquisitor, +exasperated. "Haven't you ever been angry clear through?" + +"Oh, of course; and sorry for it afterward. One is likely to lose one's +temper any time. It might easily happen to me and drive me to make a +fool of myself, like--like--" His voice trailed off into a silence of +embarrassment. + +"Like Fitzhugh Carroll. Why not say it? Well, I much prefer him and his +hot-headedness to you and your careful wisdom." + +"Of course," he acquiesced patiently. "Any girl would. It's the romantic +temperament." + +"And yours is the scientific, I suppose. That doesn't take into account +little things like patriotism and heroism, does it? Tell me, have you +actually ever admired--really got a thrill out of--any deed of heroism?" + +"Oh, yes," he replied tranquilly. "I've done my bit of hero worship in +my time. In fact, I've never quite recovered from it." + +"No! Really? Do go on. You're growing more human every minute." + +"Do you happen to know anything about the Havana campaign?" + +"Not much. It never seemed to me anything to brag of. Dad says the +Spanish-American War grew a crop of newspaper-made heroes, manufactured +by reporters who really took more risks and showed more nerve than the +men they glorified." + +"Spanish-American War? That isn't what I'm talking about. I'm speaking +of Walter Reed and his fellow scientists, who went down there and fought +the mosquitoes." + +The girl's lip curled. + +"So that's your idea of heroism! Scrubby peckers into the lives of +helpless bugs!" + +"Have you the faintest idea what you are talking about?" + +His voice had abruptly hardened. There was an edge to it; such an edge +as she had faintly heard on the previous night, when Carroll had pressed +him too hard. She was startled. + +"Perhaps I haven't," she admitted. + +"Then it's time you learned. Three American doctors went down into that +pesthole of a Cuban city to offer their lives for a theory. Not for a +tangible fact like the flag, or for glory and fame as in battle, but for +a theory that might or might not be true. There wasn't a day or a night +that their lives weren't at stake. Carroll let himself be bitten by +infected mosquitoes on a final test, and grazed death by a hair's +breadth. Lazear was bitten at his work, and died in the agony of +yellow-fever convulsions, a martyr and a hero if ever there was one. +Because of them, Havana is safe and livable now. We were able to +build the Panama Canal because of their work, their--what did you call +it?--scrubby peeking into the lives of--" + +"Don't!" cried the girl. "I--I'm ashamed. I didn't know." + +"How should you?" he said, in a changed tone. "We Americans set up +monuments to our destroyers, not to our preservers, of life. Nobody +knows about Walter Reed and James Carroll and Jesse Lazear--not even the +American Government, which they officially served--except a few doctors +and dried-up entomologists like myself. Forgive me. I didn't mean to +deliver a lecture." + +There was a long pause, which she broke with an effort. + +"Mr. Beetle Man?" + +"Yes, Voice?" + +"I--I'm beginning to think you rather more man than beetle at times." + +"Well, you see, you touched me on a point of fanaticism," he apologized. + +"Do you mind standing up again for examination? No," she decided, as he +stepped out and stood with his eyes lowered obstinately. "You don't +seem changed to outward view. You still remind me," with a ripple of +irrepressible laughter, "of a near-sighted frog. It's those ridiculous +glasses. Why do you wear them?" + +"To keep the sun out of my eyes." + +"And the moon at night, I suppose. They're not for purposes of +disguise?" + +"Disguise! What makes you say that?" he asked quickly. + +"Don't bark. They'd be most effective. And they certainly give your face +a truly weird expression, in addition to its other detriments." + +"If you don't like my face, consider my figure," he suggested +optimistically. "What's the matter with that?" + +"Stumpy," she pronounced. "You're all in a chunk. It does look like a +practical sort of a chunk, though." + +"Don't you like it?" he asked anxiously. + +"Oh, well enough of its kind." She lifted her voice and chanted:-- + + "He was stubby and square, + But SHE didn't much care. + +"There's a verse in return for yours. Mine's adapted, though. +Examination's over. Wait. Don't sit down. Now, tell me your opinion of +me." + +"Very musical." + +"I'm not musical at all." + +"Oh, I'm considering you as a VOICE." + +"I'm tired of being just a voice. Look up here. Do," she pleaded. "Turn +upon me those lucent goggles." + + When orbs like thine the soul disclose, + Tee-deedle-deedle-dee. + +Don't be afraid. One brief fleeting glance ere we part." + +"No," he returned positively. "Once is enough." + +"On behalf of my poor traduced features, I thank you humbly. Did they +prove as bad as you feared?" + +"Worse. I've hardly forgotten yet what you look like. Your kind of face +is bad for business." + +"What is business?" + +"Haven't I told you? I'm a scientist." + +"Well, I'm a specimen. No beetle that crawls or creeps or hobbles, or +does whatever beetles are supposed to do, shows any greater variation +from type--I heard a man say that in a lecture once--than I do. Can't +I interest you in my case, O learned one? The proper study of mankind +is--" + +"Woman. Yes, I know all about that. But I'm a groundling." + +"Mr. Beetle Man," she said, in a tremulous voice, "the rock is moving." + +"I don't feel it. Though it might be a touch of earthquake. We have 'em +often." + +"Not your rock. The tarantula rock, I mean." + +"Nonsense! A hundred tarantulas couldn't stir it." + +"Well, it seems to be moving, and that's just as bad. I'm tired and I'm +lonely. Oh, please, Professor Scarab, have I got to fall on your neck +again to introduce a little human companionship into this conversation?" + +"Caesar! No! My shoulder's still lame. What do you want, anyway?" + +"I want to know about you and your work. ALL about you." + +"Humph! Well, at present I'm making some microscopical studies of +insects. That's the reason for these glasses. The light is so harsh in +these latitudes that it affects the vision a trifle, and every trifle +counts in microscopy." + +"Does the microscope add charm to the beetle?" + +"Some day I'll show you, if you like. Just now it's the flea, the +national bird of Caracuna." + +"The wicked flea?" + +"Nobody knows how wicked until he has studied him on his native heath." + +"Doesn't the flea have something to do with plague? They say there's +plague in the city now. You knew all about the Dutch. Do you know +anything about the plague?" + +"You've been listening to bolas." + +"What's a bola?" + +"A bola is information that somebody who is totally ignorant of the +facts whispers confidentially in your ear with the assurance that he +knows it to be authentic--in other words, a lie." + +"Then there isn't any plague down under those quaint, old, red-tiled +roofs?" + +"Who ever knows what's going on under those quaint, old, red-tiled +roofs? No foreigner, certainly." + +"Even I can feel the mystery, little as I've seen of the place," said +the girl. + +"Oh, that's the Indian of it. The tiled roofs are Spanish; the speech +is Spanish; but just beneath roof and speech, the life and thought are +profoundly and unfathomably Indian." + +"Not with all the Caracunans, surely. Take Mr. Raimonda, for instance." + +"Ah, that's different. Twenty families of the city, perhaps, are +pure-bloods. There are no finer, cleaner fellows anywhere than the +well-bred Caracunans. They are men of the world, European educated, good +sportsmen, straight, honorable gentlemen. Unfortunately not they, but a +gang of mongrel grafters control the politics of the country." + +"For a hermit of science, you seem to know a good deal of what goes on. +By the way, Mr. Raimonda called on me--on us last evening." + +"So he mentioned. Rather serious, that, you know." + +"Far from it. He was very amusing." + +"Doubtless," commented the other dryly. "But it isn't fair to play the +game with one who doesn't know the rules. Besides, what will Mr. Preston +Fairfax--" + +"For a professedly shy person, you certainly take a rather intimate +tone." + +"Oh, I'm shy only under the baleful influence of the feminine eye. +Besides, you set the note of intimacy when you analyzed my personal +appearance. And finally, I have a warm regard for young Raimonda." + +"So have I," she returned maliciously. "Aren't you jealous?" + +He laughed. + +"Please be a little bit jealous. It would be so flattering." + +"Jealousy is another tradition in which I don't believe." + +"Then I can't flirt with you at all?" she sighed. "After taking all this +long hot walk to see you!" + +PLOP! The sound punctured the silence sharply, though not loudly. +Some large fruit pod bursting on a distant tree might have made such a +report. + +"What was that?" asked the girl curiously. + +"That? Oh, that was a revolver shot," he remarked. + +"Aren't you casual! Do revolver shots mean nothing to you?" + +"That one shakes my soul's foundations." His tone by no means indicated +an inner cataclysm. "It may mean that I must excuse myself and leave. +Just a moment, please." + +Passing across the line of her vision, he disappeared to the left. When +she next heard his voice, it was almost directly above her. + +"No," it said. "There's no hurry. The flag's not up." + +"What flag?" + +"The flag in my compound." + +"Can you see your home from here?" + +"Yes; there's a ledge on the cliff that gives a direct view." + +"I want to come up and see it." + +"You can't. It's much too hard a climb. Besides, there are rock +devilkins on the way." + +"And when you hear a shot, you go up there for messages?" + +"Yes; it's my telephone system." + +"Who's at the other end?" + +"The peon who pretends to look after the quinta for me." + +"A man! No man can keep a house fit to live in," she said scornfully. + +"I know it; but he's all I've got in the servant line." + +"How far is the house from here?" + +"A mile, by air. Seven by trail from town." + +"Isn't it lonely?" + +"Yes." + +Suddenly she felt very sorry for him. There was such a quiet, conclusive +acceptance of cheerlessness in the monosyllable. + +"How soon must you go back?" + +"Oh, not for an hour, at least." + +"If it's a call, it must be an important one, so far from civilization." + +"Not necessarily. Don't you ever have calls that are not important?" + +No answer came. + +"Miss Brewster!" he called. "Oh, Voice! You haven't gone?" + +Still no response. + +"That isn't fair," he complained, making his way swiftly down, and +satisfying himself by a peep about the angle commanding her point of +the rock that she had, indeed, vanished. Sadly he descended to his own +nook--and jumped back with a half-suppressed yell. + +"You needn't jump out of your skin on my account," said Miss Polly +Brewster, with a gracious smile. "I'm not a devilkin." + +"You are! That is--I mean--I--I--beg your pardon. I--I--" + +"The poor man's having another bashful fit," she observed, with +malicious glee. "Did the bold, bad, forward American minx scare it +almost out of its poor shy wits?" + +"You--you startled me." + +"No!" she exclaimed, in wide-eyed mock surprise. "Who would have +supposed it? You didn't expect me down here, did you?" + +Thereupon she got a return shock. + +"Yes, I did," he said; "sooner or later." + +"Don't fib. Don't pretend that you knew I was here." + +"W-w-well, no. Not just now. B-b-but I knew you'd come if--if--if I +pretended I didn't want you to long enough." + +"Young and budding scientist," said she severely, "you're a gay +deceiver. Is it because you have known me in some former existence that +you are able thus accurately to read my character?" + +"Well, I knew you wouldn't stay up there much longer." + +"I'm angry at you; very angry at you. That is, I would be if it weren't +that you really didn't mean it when you said that you really didn't want +to see my face again." + +"Did any one ever see your face once without wanting to see it again?" + +"Ah, bravo!" She clapped her hands gayly. "Marvelous improvement under +my tutelage! Where, oh, where is your timidity now?" + +"I--I--I forgot," he stammered, "As long as I don't think, I'm all +right. Now, you--you--you've gone and spoiled me." + +"Oh, the pity of it! Let's find some mild, impersonal topic, then, that +won't embarrass you. What do you do under the shadow of this rock, in a +parched land?" + +"Work. Besides, it isn't a parched land. Look on this side." + +Half a dozen steps brought her around the farther angle, where, hidden +in a growth of shrubbery, lay a little pool of fairy loveliness, + +"That's my outdoor laboratory." + +"A dreamery, I'd call it. May I sit down? Are there devilkins here? +There's an elfkin, anyway," she added, as a silvered dragon-fly hovered +above her head inquisitively before darting away on his own concerns. + +"One of my friends and specimens. I'm studying his methods of aviation +with a view to making some practical use of what I learn, eventually." + +"Really? Are you an inventor, too? I'm crazy about aviation." + +"Ah, then you'll be interested in this," he said, now quite at his ease. +"You know that the mosquito is the curse of the tropics." + +"Of other places, as well." + +"But in the tropics it means yellow fever, Chagres fever, and other +epidemic illness. Now, the mosquito, as you doubtless realize, is a +monoplane." + +"A monoplane?" repeated the girl, in some puzzlement. "How a monoplane?" + +"I thought you claimed some knowledge of aviation. Its wings are all on +one plane. The great natural enemy of the mosquito is the dragon-fly, +one of which just paid you a visit. Now, modern warfare has taught us +that the most effective assailant of the monoplane is a biplane. You +know that." + +"Y-y-yes," said the girl doubtfully. + +"Therefore, if we can breed a biplane dragonfly in sufficient numbers, +we might solve the mosquito problem at small expense." + +"I don't know much about science," she began, "but I should hardly have +supposed--" + +"It's curious how nature varies the type of aviation," he continued +dreamily. "Now, the pigeon is, of course, a Zeppelin; whereas the sea +urchin is obviously a balloon; and the thistledown an undirigible--" + +"You're making fun of me!" she accused, with sharp enlightenment. + +"What else have you done to me ever since we met?" he inquired mildly. + +"Now I AM angry! I shall go home at once." + +A second far-away PLOP! set a period to her decision. + +"So shall I," said he briskly. + +"Does that signal mean hurry up?" she asked curiously. + +"Well, it means that I'm wanted. You go first. When will you come +again?" + +"Not at all." + +"Do you mean that?" + +"Of course. I'm angry. Didn't I tell you that? I don't permit people to +make fun of me. Besides, you must come and see me next. You owe me two +calls. Will you?" + +"I--I--don't know." + +"Afraid?" + +"Rather." + +"Then you must surely come and conquer this cowardice. Will you come +to-morrow?" + +"No; I don't think so." + +Miss Brewster opened wide her eyes upon him. She was little accustomed +to have her invitations, which she issued rather in the manner of royal +commands, thus casually received. Had the offender been any other of +her acquaintance, she would have dropped the matter and the man then and +there. But this was a different species. Graceful and tactful he might +not be, but he was honest. + +"Why?" she said. + +"I've got something more important to do." + +"You're reverting to type sadly. What is it that's so important?" + +"Work." + +"You can work any time." + +"No. Unfortunately I have to eat and sleep sometimes." + +The implication she accepted quite seriously. + +"Are you really as busy as all that? I'm quite conscience-stricken over +the time I've wasted for you." + +"Not wasted at all. You've cheered me up." + +"That's something. But you won't come to the city to be cheered up?" + +"Yes, I will. When I get time." + +"Perhaps you won't find me at home." + +"Then I'll wait." + +"Good-bye, then," she laughed, "until your leisure day arrives." + +She climbed the rock, stepping as strongly and surely as a lithe animal. +At the top, the spirit of roguery, ever on her lips and eyes, struck in +and possessed her soul. + +"O disciple of science!" she called. + +"Well?" + +"Can you see me?" + +"Not from here." + +"Good! I'm a Voice again. So don't be timid. Will you answer a +question?" + +"I've answered a hundred already. One more won't hurt." + +"Have you ever been in love?" + +"What?" + +"Don't I speak plainly enough? Have--you--ever--been--in--love?" + +"With a woman?" + +"Why, yes," she railed. "With a woman, of course. I don't mean with your +musty science." + +"No." + +"Well, you needn't be violent. Have you ever been in love with +ANYTHING?" + +"Perhaps." + +"Oh, perhaps!" she taunted. "There are no perhapses in that. With what?" + +"With what every man in the world is in love with once in his life," he +replied thoughtfully. + +She made a little still step forward and peeped down at him. He stood +leaning against the face of the rock, gazing out over the hot blue +Caribbean, his hat pushed back and his absurd goggles firm and high +on his nose. His words and voice were in preposterous contrast to his +appearance. + +"Riddle me your riddle," she commanded. "What is every man in love with +once in his life?" + +"An ideal." + +"Ah! And your ideal--where do you keep it safe from the common gaze?" + +"I tether it to my heart--with a single hair," said the man below. + +"Oh," commented Miss Brewster, in a changed tone. And, again, "Oh," just +a little blankly. "I wish I hadn't asked that," she confessed silently +to herself, after a moment. + +Still, the spirit of reckless experimentalism pressed her onward. + +"That's a peril to the scientific mind, you know," she warned. "Suppose +your ideal should come true?" + +"It won't," said he comfortably. + +Miss Brewster's regrets sensibly mitigated. + +"In that case, of course, your career is safe from accident," she +remarked. + +He moved out into the open. + +"Mr. Beetle Man," she called, + +He looked up and saw her with her chin cupped in her hand, regarding him +thoughtfully. + +"I'm NOT just a casual acquaintance," she said suddenly. "That is, if +you don't want me to be." + +"That's good," was his hearty comment. "I'm glad you like me better than +you did at first." + +"Oh, I'm not so sure that I like you, exactly. But I'm coming to have +a sort of respectful curiosity about you. What lies under that beetle +shell of yours, I wonder?" she mused, in a half breath. + +Whether or not he heard the final question she could not tell. He +smiled, waved his hand, and disappeared. Below, she watched the motion +of the bush-tops where the shrubbery was parted by the progress of his +sturdy body down the long slope. + + + + + +V + +AN UPHOLDER OF TRADITIONS + + +One day passes much like another in Caracuna City. The sun rises +blandly, grows hot and angry as it climbs the slippery polished vault +of the heavens, and coasts down to its rest in a pleased and mild glow. +From the squat cathedral tower the bells clang and jangle defiance to +the Adversary, temporarily drowning out the street tumult in which the +yells of the lottery venders, the braying of donkeys, the whoops of the +cabmen, and the blaring of the little motor cars with big horns, combine +to render Caracuna the noisiest capital in the world. Through the +saddle-colored hordes on the moot ground of the narrow sidewalks moves +an occasional Anglo-Saxon resident, browned and sallowed, on his way +to the government concession that he manages; a less occasional +Anglo-Saxoness, browned and marked with the seal that the tropics put +upon every woman who braves their rigors for more than a brief period; +and a sprinkling of tourists in groups, flying on cheek, brow, and nose +the stark red of their newness to the climate. + +Not of this sorority Miss Polly Brewster. Having blithe regard to her +duty as an ornament of this dull world, she had tempered the sun to the +foreign cuticle with successively diminishing layers of veils, to such +good purpose that the celestial scorcher had but kissed her graduated +brownness to a soft glow of color. Not alone in appreciation of her +external advantages was Miss Brewster. Such as it was,--and it had its +qualities, albeit somewhat unformulated,--Caracuna society gave her +prompt welcome. There were teas and rides and tennis at the little club; +there were agreeable, presentable men and hospitable women; and always +there was Fitzhugh Carroll, suave, handsome, gentle, a polished man of +the world among men, a courteous attendant to every woman, but always +with a first thought for her. Was it sheer perversity of character, that +elfin perversity so shrewdly divined by the hermit of the mountain, that +put in her mind, in this far corner of the world, among these strange +people, the thought: + +"All men are alike, and Fitz, for all that he's so different and the +best of them, is the MOST alike." + +Which paradox, being too much for her in the heat of the day, she put +aside in favor of the insinuating thought of her beetle man. Whatever +else he might or might not be, he wasn't alike. She was by no means sure +that she found this difference either admirable or amiable. But at least +it was interesting. + +Moreover, she was piqued. For four days had passed and the recluse had +not returned her call. True, there had come to her hotel a wicker +full of superb wild tree blooms, and, again, a tiny box, cunning in +workmanship of scented wood, containing what at first glance she had +taken to be a jewel, until she saw that it was a tiny butterfly with +opalescent wings, mounted on a silver wire. But with them had come no +word or token of identification. Perhaps they weren't from the queer +and remote person at all. Very likely Mr. Raimonda had sent them; or +Fitzhugh Carroll was adding secret attention to his open homage; or they +might even be a further peace offering from the Hochwald secretary. + +That occasionally too festive diplomat had, indeed, made amends both +profound and, evidently, sincere. Soliciting the kind offices of both +Sherwen and Raimonda, he had presented himself, under their escort, +stiff and perspiring in his full official regalia, before Mr. Brewster; +then before his daughter, whose solemnity, presently breaking down +before his painfully rehearsed English, dissolved in fluent French, +setting him at ease and making him her slave. Poor penitent Von +Plaanden even apologized to Carroll, fortunately not having heard of +the American's threat, and made a most favorable impression upon that +precisian. + +"Intoxicated, he may be a rough, Miss Polly," Carroll confided to the +girl. "But sober, the man is a gentleman. He feels very badly about the +whole affair. Offered to your father to report it all through official +channels and attach his resignation." + +"Not for worlds!" cried Miss Polly. "The poor man was half asleep. And +Mr. Bee--Mr. Perkins DID jog him rather sharply." + +"Yes. Von Plaanden asked my advice as an American about his attitude +toward Cluff and Perkins." + +"I hope you told him to let the whole thing drop." + +"Exactly what I did. I explained about Cluff; that he was a very good +fellow, but of a different class, and probably wouldn't give the thing +another thought." + +"And Mr. Perkins?" + +"Von Plaanden wanted to challenge him, if he could find him. I suggested +that he leave me to deal with Mr. Perkins. After some discussion, he +agreed." + +"Oh! And what are you going to do with him?" + +"Find him first, if I can." + +"I can tell you where." Carroll stared at her, astonished. "But I don't +think I will." + +"He announced his intention of keeping out of my way. The man has no +sense of shame." + +"You probably scared the poor lamb out of his wits, fire-eater that you +are." + +Carroll would have liked to think so, but an innate sense of justice +beneath his crust of prejudice forbade him to accept this judgment. + +"The strange part of it is that he doesn't impress me as being afraid. +But there is certainly something very wrong with the fellow. A man who +will deliberately desert a woman in distress"--Carroll's manner expanded +into the roundly rhetorical--"whatever else he may be, cannot be a +gentleman." + +"There might have been mitigating circumstances." + +"No circumstances could excuse such an action. And, after that, the +fellow had the effrontery to send you a message." + +"Me? What was it?" asked Miss Polly quickly. + +"I don't know. I didn't let him finish. I forbade his even mentioning +your name." + +"Indeed!" cried the girl, in quick dudgeon. "Don't you think you are +taking a great deal upon yourself, Fitz? What do you really know about +Mr. Perkins, anyway, that you judge him so offhandedly?" + +"Very little, but enough, I think. And I hardly think you know more." + +"Then you're wrong. I do." + +"You KNOW this man?" + +"Yes; I do." + +"Does your father approve of--" + +"Never mind my father! He has confidence enough in me to let me judge of +my own friends." + +"Friends?" Carroll's handsome face clouded and reddened. "If I had known +that he was a friend of yours, Miss Polly, I never would have spoken as +I did. I'm most sincerely sorry," he added, with grave courtesy. + +The girl's color deepened under the brown. + +"He isn't exactly a friend," she admitted. "I've just met and talked +with him a few times. But your judgment seemed so unfair, on such a +slight basis." + +"I'm sorry I can't reverse my judgment," said the Southerner stiffly, +"But I know of only one standard for those matters." + +"That's just your trouble." Her eyes took on a cold gleam as she scanned +the perfection and finish of the man before her. "Fitzhugh, do you wear +ready-made clothing?" + +"Of course not," he answered, in surprise at this turn. + +"Your suits are all made to order?" + +"Yes, Miss Polly." + +"And your shirts?" + +"Yes, and shoes, and various other things." He smiled. + +"Why do you have them specially made?" + +"Beeause they suit me better, and I can afford it." + +"It's really because you want them individualized for you, isn't it?" + +"Yes; I suppose so." + +"Then why do you always get your mental clothes ready-made?" + +"I don't think I understand, Miss Polly," he said gently. + +"It seems to me that all your ideas and estimates and standards are +of stock pattern," she explained relentlessly. "Inside, you're as just +exactly so as a pair of wooden shoes. Can't you see that you can't judge +all men on the same plane?" + +"I see that you're angry with me, and I see that I'm being punished for +what I said about--about Mr. Perkins. If I'd known that you took any +interest in him, I'd have bitten my tongue in two before speaking as I +did. As for the message, if you wish it, I'll go to him--" + +"Oh, that doesn't matter," she interrupted. + +"This much I can say, in honesty," continued the Southerner, with an +effort: "I had a talk, almost an encounter, with him in the plaza, and I +don't believe he is the coward I thought him." + +His intent to be fair to the object of his scorn was so genuine that his +critic felt a swift access of compunction. + +"Oh, Fitz," she said sweetly, "you're not to blame. I should have told +you. And you're honest and loyal and a gentleman. Only I wish sometimes +that you weren't quite so awfully gentlemanly a gentleman." + +The Southerner made a gesture of despair. + +"If I could only understand you, Miss Polly!" + +"Don't hope it. I've never yet understood myself. But there's a sympathy +in me for the under dog, and this Mr. Perkins seems a sort of helpless +creature. Yet in another way he doesn't seem helpless at all. Quite the +reverse. Oh, dear! I'm tired of Perkins, Perkins, Perkins! Let's talk +about something pleasanter--like the plague." + +"What's that about Perkins?" Galpy had entered the drawing-room where +the conversation had been carried on, and now crossed over to them. +"I'll tell you a good one on the little blighteh. D' you know what they +call him at the Club Amicitia since his adventure on the street car, +Miss Brewster?" + +"What?" + +"'The Unspeakable Perk.' Rippin', ain't it? Like 'The Unspeakable Turk,' +you know." + +Despite herself, Polly's lips twitched; in some ways he WAS unspeakable. + +"They've nicknamed him that because of his trying to help me, and +then--leaving?" she asked. + +"Oh, not entirely. There's other things. He's a nahsty, +stand-offish way with him, you know. Don't-want-to-know-yeh trick. +Wouldn't-speak-to-yeh-if-I-could-help-it twist to his face. 'The +Unspeakable Perk.' Stands him right, I should say. There's other +reasons, too." + +"What are they?" + +She saw a quick, warning frown on Carroll's sharply turned face. Galpy +noted it, too, and was lost in confusion. + +"Oh--ah--just gossip--nothing at all. I say, Miss Brewster, the +railway--I'm in the Ferrocarril-del-Norte office, you know--has offered +your party a special on an hour's notice, any time you want it." + +"That's most kind of your road, Mr. Galpy. But why should we want it?" + +"Things might be getting a bit ticklish any day now. I've just taken the +message from the manager to your father." + +The young Englishman took his leave, and Polly Brewster went to her +room, to freshen up for luncheon, carrying with her the sobriquet she +had just heard. Certainly, applied to its subject, it had a mucilaginous +consistency. It stuck. + +"'The Unspeakable Perk,'" she repeated, with a little chuckle. "If I +had a month to train him in, eh, what a speakable Perk I'd make him! I'd +make him into a Perk that would sit up and speak when I lifted my little +finger." She considered this. "I'm not so sure," she concluded, more +doubtfully. "How can one tell through those horrid glasses, particularly +when one doesn't see him for days and days?" + +Without moving, she might, however, have seen him forthwith, for at that +precise and particular moment, the Unspeakable Perk was in plain sight +of her window, on a bench in the corner of the plaza, engaged in light +conversation with a legless and philosophical beggar whom he had just +astonished by the presentation of a whole bolivar, of the value of +twenty cents gold. + +After she had finished luncheon and returned to her room, he was +still there. Not until the mid-heat of the afternoon, however, did she +observe, first with puzzlement, then with a start of recognition, +the patiently rounded brown back of the forward-leaning figure in the +corner. Greatly wroth was Miss Polly Brewster. For some hours--two, +at least--the man to keep tryst and wager with whom she had tramped +up miles of mountain road had been in town and hadn't called upon her! +Truly was he an Unspeakable Perk! + +Wasn't there possibly a mistake somewhere, though? A second peep at +the far-away back interpreted into the curve a suggestion of resigned +waiting. Maybe he had called, after all. Thought being usually with Miss +Brewster the mother of the twins, Determination and Action, she slipped +downstairs and inquired of the three guardians of the door, in such +Spanish as she could muster, whether a Mr. Perkins, wearing large +glasses--this in the universal sign manual--had been to see her that +day. + +"Si, Senorita"--he had. + +Why, then, hadn't his name been brought to her? + +Extended hands and up-shrugged shoulders that might mean either apology +or incomprehension. + +Straightway Miss Brewster pinned a hat upon her brown head at an +altogether casual and heart-distracting angle and sallied down into the +tesselated bowl of the park. Quite unconscious of her approach, until +she was close upon him, her objective chatted fluently with the legless +one, until she spoke quietly, almost in his ear. Then it was only by +a clutch at the bench back that he saved himself from disaster on his +return to earth. + +"Wh--wh--what--wh--where--how did you come here?" he stuttered. + +"Now, now, don't be alarmed," she admonished. "Shut your eyes, draw a +deep breath, count three. And, as soon as you are ready I'll give you a +talisman against social panic. Are you ready?" + +"Y-yes." + +"Very well. Whenever I come upon you suddenly, you mustn't try to jump +up into a tree as you did just now--" + +"I didn't!" + +"Oh, yes. Or burrow under a rock, as you did the other day--" + +"Miss B-B-Brewster--" + +"Wait until I've finished. You must turn your thoughts firmly upon +your science, until you've recovered equilibrium and the power of human +speech." + +"But when you jump at me that way, I c-c-can't think of anything but +you." + +"That's where the charm comes in. As soon as you see me or hear +me approaching, you must repeat, quite slowly, this scientific +incantation." She beat time with a pink and rhythmic finger as she +chanted:-- + + "Scarab, tarantula, doodle-bug, flea." + +The beggar rapidly made the sign that protects one from the influence of +the malign and supernatural. The scientist scowled. + +"Repeat it!" she commanded. + +"There is no such insect as a doodle-bug," he protested feebly. + +"Isn't there? I thought I heard you mention it in your conversation with +Mr. Carroll the other night." + +"You put that into my head," he accused. + +"Truly? Then life is indeed real and earnest. To have introduced +something unscientific into that compendium of science--there's triumph +enough for any ambition. Besides, see how beautifully it scans." + +Again she beat time, and again the beggar crooked defensive fingers as +she declaimed:-- + + "SCAR-ab, tar-ANT-u-la, DOO-dle-bug, FLEA!" + +Homeric, I call it. Perhaps you think you could improve on it." + +"Would you mind substituting 'neuropter' in the third strophe?" he +ventured. "It would be just as good as 'doodle-bug,' and more--more +accurate." + +"What's a neuropter? You didn't make him up for the occasion?" + +"Heaven forbid! The dragon-fly is a neuropter. The dragon-fly we're +going to breed to a biplane, you know," he reminded her slyly. + +"Indeed! Well, I shall stick to my doodle-bug. He's more euphonious. +Now, repeat it." + +"Let me off this time," he pleaded. "I'm all right--quite recovered. +It's only at the start that it's so bad." + +"Very well," she agreed. "But you're not to forget it. And next time we +meet you're to be sure and say it over until you're sane." + +"Sane!" he said resentfully. "I'm as sane as any one you know. It's the +job of KEEPING sane in this madhouse of the tropics that's almost driven +me crazy." + +"Lovely!" she approved. "Well, now that you've recovered, I'll tell you +what I came out to say. I'm sorry that I missed you." + +"Missed me?" he repeated. "Oh, you have missed me, then? That's nice. +You see, I've been so busy for the last three or four days--" + +"No; I haven't missed you a bit," she declared indignantly. "The conceit +of the man!" + +"But you said you w-w-were sorry you'd--" + +"Don't be wholly a beetle! I meant I was sorry not to see you when you +came to call on me this morning." + +"I didn't come to call on you this morning." + +"No? The boy at the door said he'd seen you, or something answering to +your description." + +"So he did. I came to see your father. He was out." + +"What time?" + +"From eleven on." + +"Father? No, I don't think so." + +"His secretary came down and told me so, or sent word each time." + +She smiled pityingly at him. + +"Of course. That's what a secretary is for." + +"To tell lies?" + +"White lies. You see, dad is a very busy man, and an important man, and +many people come to see him whom he hasn't time to see. So, unless he +knew your business, he would naturally be 'out' to you." + +The corners of the young man's rather sensitive mouth flattened out +perceptibly. + +"Ah, I see. My mistake. Living in countries where, however queer the +people may be, they at least observe ordinary human courtesies, one +forgets--if one ever knew." + +"What did you want of dad?" + +"Oh, to borrow four dollars of him, of course," he replied dryly. + +"You needn't be angry at me. You see, dad's time is valuable." + +"Indeed? To whom?" + +"Why, to himself, of course." + +"Oh, well, my time--However, that doesn't matter. I haven't wholly +wasted it." He glanced toward the beggar, who was profoundly regarding +the cathedral clock. + +"If you like, I'll get you an interview with dad," she offered +magnanimously. + +"Me? No, I thank you," he said crisply. "I'm not patient of unnecessary +red tape." + +Miss Brewster looked at him in surprise. It was borne in upon her, as +she looked, that this man was not accustomed to being lightly regarded +by other men, however busy or important; that his own concerns in life +were quite as weighty to him, and in his esteem, perhaps, to others, as +were the interests of any magnate; and that, man to man, there would be +no shyness or indecision or purposelessness anywhere in his make-up. + +"If it was important," she began hesitantly, "my father would be--" + +"It was of no importance to me," he cut in. "To others--Perhaps I could +see some one else of your party." + +"Well, here I am." She smiled. "Why won't I do?" + +Behind the obscuring disks she could feel his glance read her. The +grimness at the mouth's corners relaxed. + +"I really don't know why you shouldn't." + +"Dad says I'd have made a man of affairs," she remarked. + +"Why, it's just this. You should be planning to leave this country." + +Miss Brewster bewailed her harsh lot with drooping lip. + +"Every one wants to drive me away!" + +"Who else?" + +"That railroad man, Mr. Galpy, was offering us special inducements +to leave, in the form of special trains any time we liked. It isn't +hospitable." + +"A jail is hospitable. But one doesn't stay in it when one can get out." + +"If Caracuna were the jail and I the 'one,' one might. I quite love it +here." + +He made a sharp gesture of annoyance. + +"Don't be childish," he said. + +"Childish? You come down like Freedom from the mountain heights, and +unfurl your warnings to the air, and complain of lost time and all +that sort of thing, and what does it all amount to?" she demanded, with +spirit. "That we should sail away, when you know perfectly well that the +Dutch won't let us sail away! Childish, indeed! Don't you be BEETLISH!" + +"There's a way out, without much risk, but some discomfort. You could +strike south-east to the Bird Reefs, take a small boat, and get over to +the mainland. As soon as the blockade is off, the yacht can take your +luggage around. The trip would be rough for you, but not dangerous. Not +as dangerous as staying here may be." + +"Do you really think it so serious?" + +"Most emphatically." + +"Will you come with us and show us the way?" she inquired, gazing with +exaggerated appeal into his goggles. + +"I? No." + +"What shall you do?" + +"Stick." + +"Pins through scarabs," she laughed, "while beneath you Caracuna riots +and revolutes and massacres foreigners. Nero with his fiddle was nothing +to you." + +"Miss Brewster, I'm afraid you are suffering from a misplaced sense of +humor. Will you believe me when I tell you that I have certain sources +of information in local matters both serviceable and reliable?" + +"You seem to have bet on a certainty in the Dutch blockade matter." + +"Well, it's equally certain that there is bubonic plague here." + +"A bola. You told me so yourself." + +"Perhaps there was nothing to be gained then by letting you know, as +you were bottled up, with no way out. Now, through the good offices of +a foreign official, who, of course, couldn't afford to appear, this +opportunity to reach the mainland is open to you." + +"Had you anything to do with that?" she inquired suspiciously. + +"Oh, the official is a friend of mine," he answered carelessly. + +"And you really believe that there is an epidemic of plague here? Don't +you think that I'd make a good Red Cross nurse?" + +His voice was grave and rather stern. + +"You've never seen bubonic plague," he said, "or you wouldn't joke about +it." + +"I'm sorry. But it wasn't wholly a joke. If we were really cooped up +with an epidemic, I'd volunteer. What else would there be to do?" + +"Nothing of the sort," he cried vehemently. "You don't know what you're +talking about." + +"Anyway, isn't the wonderful Luther Pruyn on his way to exorcise the +demon, or something of the sort?" + +"What about Luther Pruyn? Who says he's coming here?" + +"It's the gossip of the diplomatic set and the clubs. He's the favorite +mystery of the day." + +"Well, if he does come, it won't improve matters any, for the first +case he verifies he'll clap on a quarantine that a mouse couldn't creep +through. I know something of the Pruyn method." + +"And don't wholly approve it, I judge." + +"It may be efficacious, but it's extremely inconvenient at times." + +Again the cathedral clock boomed. + +"See how I've kept you from your own affairs!" cried Miss Polly +contritely. "What are you going to do now? Go back to your mountains?" + +"Yes. As soon as you tell me that your father will go out by the reefs." + +"Do you expect him to make up his mind, on five minutes' notice, to +abandon his yacht?" + +"I thought great magnates were supposed to be men of instant and +unalterable decisions. I don't know the type." + +"Anyway, dad has gone out. I saw him drive away. Wouldn't to-morrow do?" + +"Why, yes; I suppose so." + +"I'll tell you. The Voice will report at the rock to-morrow, at four." + +"No." + +"What a very uncompromising 'no'!" + +"I can't be there at four. Make it five." + +"What a very arbitrary beetle man! Well, as I've wasted so much of your +time to-day, I'll accept your orders for to-morrow." + +"And please impress your father with the extreme advisability of your +getting off this island." + +"Yes, sir," she said meekly. "You'll be most awfully glad to get rid of +us, won't you?" + +"Very greatly relieved." + +"And a little bit sorry?" + +The begoggled face turned toward her. There was a perceptible tensity in +the line of the jaw. But the beetle man made no answer. + +"Now, if I could see behind those glasses," said Miss Polly Brewster +to her wicked little self, "I'd probably BITE myself rather than say it +again. Just the same--And a little bit sorry?" she persisted aloud. + +"Does that matter?" said the man quietly. + +Miss Polly Brewster forthwith bit herself on her pink and wayward +tongue. + +"Don't think I'm not grateful," she employed that chastened member to +say. "I am, most deeply. So will father be, even if he decides not to +leave. I'm afraid that's what he will decide." + +"He mustn't." + +"Tell him that yourself." + +"I will, if it becomes necessary." + +"Let me be present at the interview. Most people are afraid of dad. +Perhaps you'd be, too." + +"I could always run away," he remarked, unsmiling. "You know how well I +do it." + +"I must do it now myself, and get arrayed for the daily tea sacrifice. +Au revoir." + +"Hasta manana," he said absently. + +She had turned to go, but at the word she came slowly back a pace or +two, smiling. + +"What a strange beetle man you are!" she said softly. "I have no other +friends like you. You ARE a friend, aren't you, in your queer way?" She +did not wait for an answer, but went on: "You don't come to see me when +I ask you. You don't send me any word. You make me feel that, +compared to your concerns with beetles and flies, I'm quite hopelessly +unimportant. And yet here I find you giving up your own pursuits and +wasting your time to plan and watch and think for us." + +"For you," he corrected. + +"For me," she accepted sweetly. "What an ungrateful little pig you must +think me! But truly inside I appreciate it and thank you, and I think--I +feel that perhaps it amounts to a lot more than I know." + +He made a gesture of negation. + +"No great thing," he said. "But it's the best I can do, anyway. Do you +remember what the mediaeval mummer said, when he came bearing his poor +homage?" + +"No. Tell it to me." + +"It runs like this: 'Lady, who art nowise bitter to those who serve you +with a good intent, that which thy servant is, that he is for you.'" + +"Polly Brewster," said the girl to herself, as she walked, slowly and +musingly, back to her room, "the busy haunts of men are more suited to +your style than the free-and-untrammeled spaces of nature, and well you +know it. But you'll go to-morrow and you'll keep on going until you +find out what is behind those brown-green goblin spectacles. If only he +didn't look so like a gnome!" + +The clause conditional, introduced by the word "if," does not always +imply a conclusion, even in the mind of the propounder. Miss Brewster +would have been hard put to it to round out her subjunctive. + + + + + +VI + +FORKED TONGUES + + +"Pooh!" said Thatcher Brewster. + +Thatcher Brewster's "Pooh!" is generally recognized in the realm of high +finance as carrying weight. It is not derisive or contemptuous; it is +dismissive. The subject of it simply ceases to exist. In the present +instance, it was so mild as scarcely to stir the smoke from his +after-dinner cigar, yet it had all the intent, if not the effect, of +finality. The reason why it hadn't the effect was that it was directed +at Thatcher Brewster's daughter. + +"Perhaps not quite so much 'Pooh!' as you think," was that damsel's +reception of the pregnant monosyllable. + +"A bug-hunter from nowhere! Don't I know that type?" said the magnate, +who confounded all scientists with inventors, the capital-seeking +inventor being the bane and torment of his life. + +"He knew about the Dutch blockade." + +"Or pretended he did. I'm afraid my Pollipet has let herself romanticize +a little." + +"Romanticize!" The girl laughed. "If you could see him, dad! Romance and +my poor little beetle man don't live in the same world." + +Out of the realm of memory, where the echoes come and go by no known +law, sounded his voice in her ear: "'That which thy servant is, that he +is for you.'" Dim doubt forthwith began to cloud the bright certainty of +Miss Brewster's verdict. + +"If he's gone to all the trouble that I told you of, it must be that he +has some good reason for wanting to get us safely out," she argued to +her father. + +"Perhaps he feels that his peace of mind would be more assured if you +were in some other country," he teased. "No, my dear, I'm not leaving +a full-manned yacht in a foreign harbor and smuggling myself out of +a friendly country on the say-so of an unknown adviser, whose chief +ability seems to lie in the hundred-yard dash." + +"I think that's unfair and ungrateful. If a man with a sword--" + +"When I begin a row, I stay with it," said Mr. Brewster grimly. +"Quitters and I don't pull well together." + +"Then I'm to tell him 'No'?" + +"Positively." + +"Not so positively at all. I shall say, 'No, thank you,' in my very +nicest way, and say that you're very grateful and appreciative and not +at all the growly old bear of a dad that you pretend to be when one +doesn't know and love you. And perhaps I'll invite him to dine here and +go away on the yacht with us--" + +"And graciously accept a couple of hundred thousand dollars bonus, and +come into the company as first vice-president," chuckled her father. +"And then he'll wake up and find he's been sitting on a cactus. See +here," he added, with a sharpening of tone, "do you suppose he could get +a cablegram for transmission to Washington over to the mainland for us +by this mysterious route of his?" + +"Very likely." + +"You're really sure you want to go, Pollipet? This is your cruise, you +know." + +"Yes, I do." + +Hitherto Miss Polly had been declaring to all and sundry, including the +beetle man himself, that it was her firm intent and pleasure to stay +on the island and observe the presumptively interesting events that +promised. That she had reversed this decision, on the unsolicited +counsel of an extremely queer stranger, was a phenomenon the peculiarity +of which did not strike her at the time. All that she felt was a settled +confidence in the beetle man's sound reason for his advice. + +"Very good," said Mr. Brewster. "If I can get through a message to the +State Department, they'll bring pressure to bear on the Dutch, and we +can take the yacht through the blockade. It's only a question of finding +a way to lay the matter before the Dutch authorities, anyway. I've been +making inquiries here, and I find there's no intention of bottling +up neutral pleasure craft. I dare say we could get out now. Only +it's possible that the Hollanders might shoot first and ask questions +afterward." + +"It would have to be done quickly, dad. They may quarantine at any +time." + +"Dr. Pruyn ought to be here any day now. Let's leave that matter for +him. There's a man I have confidence in." + +"Mr. Perkins says that Dr. Pruyn will bottle up the port tighter than +the Dutch." + +"Let him, so long as we get out first. Now, Polly, you tell this man +Perkins that I'll pay all expenses and give him a round hundred for +himself if he'll bring me a receipt showing that my cablegram has been +dispatched to Washington." + +"I don't think I'd quite like to do that, dad. He isn't the sort of man +one offers money to." + +"Every one's the sort of man one offers money to--if it's enough," +retorted her father. "And a hundred dollars will look pretty big to a +scientific man. I know something about their salaries. You try him." + +"So far as expenses go, I will. But I won't hurt his feelings by trying +to pay him for something that he would do for friendship or not at all." + +"Have it your own way. When is he coming in?" + +"He isn't coming in." + +"Then where are you going to see him?" + +"Up on the mountain trail, when I ride tomorrow afternoon." + +"With Carroll?" + +"No; I'm going alone." + +"I don't quite like to have you knocking about mountain roads by +yourself, though Mr. Sherwen says you're safe anywhere here. Where's +that little automatic revolver I gave you?" + +"In my trunk. I'll carry that if it will make you feel any easier." + +"Yes, do. But I can't see why you can't send word to Perkins that I want +to see him here." + +"I can. And I can guess just what his answer would be." + +"Well, guess ahead." + +"He'd tell you to go to the bad place, or its scientific equivalent." +She laughed. + +"Would he?" Mr. Brewster did not laugh. "And perhaps you'll be good +enough to tell me why." + +"Because you sent word that you were out when he called." + +"Humph! I see people when _I_ want to see THEM, not when they want to +see me." + +"Then Mr. Perkins is likely to prove permanently invisible to you, if +I'm any judge of character." + +"Well, well," said Mr. Brewster impatiently, "manage it yourself. Only +impress on him the necessity of getting the message on the wire. I'll +write it out to-night and give it to you with the money to-morrow." + +After luncheon on the following day, Polly, with the cablegram and money +in her purse and her automatic safely disposed in her belt, walked in +the plaza with Carroll. The legless beggar whined at them for alms. +Handing him a quartillo, the Southerner would have passed on, but his +companion stood eyeing the mendicant. + +"Now, what can there be in that poor wreck to captivate the scientific +intellect?" she marveled. + +"If you mean Mr. Perkins--" began Carroll. + +"I do." + +"Then I think perhaps the reason for some of that gentleman's +associations will hardly stand inquiry." + +The girl turned her eyes on him and searched the handsome, serious face. + +"Fitz, you're not the man to say that of another man without some good +reason." + +"I am not, Miss Polly." + +"You think that Mr. Perkins is not the kind of man for me to have +anything to do with?" + +"I--I'm afraid he isn't." + +"Don't you think that, having gone so far, you ought to tell me why?" + +Carroll flushed. + +"I would rather tell your father." + +"Are you implying a scandal in connection with my timid, little dried-up +scientist?" + +"I'm only saying," said the other doggedly, "that there's something +secret and underhanded about that place of his in the mountains. It's a +matter of common gossip." + +The girl laughed outright. + +"The poor beetle man! Why, he's so afraid of a woman that he goes all +to pieces if one speaks to him suddenly. Just to see his expression, I'd +like to tell him that he's being scandalized by all Caracuna." + +"You're going to see him again?" + +"Certainly. This afternoon." + +"I don't think you should, Miss Polly." + +"Have you any actual facts against him? Anything but casual gossip?" + +"No; not yet." + +"When you have, I'll listen to you. But you couldn't make me believe it, +anyway. Why, Fitz, look at him!" + +"Take me with you," insisted the other, "and let me ask him a question +or two that any honorable man could answer. They don't call him the +Unspeakable Perk for nothing, Miss Polly." + +"It's just because they don't understand his type. Nor do you, Fitz, and +so you mistrust him." + +"I understand that you've shown more interest in him than in any one you +know," said the other miserably. + +Her laugh rang as free and frank as a child's. + +"Interest? That's true. But if you mean sentiment, Fitz, after once +having looked into the depths of those absurd goggles, can you, COULD +you think of sentiment and the beetle man in the same breath?" + +"No, I couldn't," he confessed, relieved. "But, then, I never have been +able to understand you, Miss Polly." + +"Therein lies my fatal charm," she said saucily. "Now, to the beetle +man, I'm a specimen. HE understands as much as he wants to. Probably I +shall never see him after to-day, anyway. He's going to get a message +through for us that will deliver us from this land of bondage." + +"He can't do it--too soon for me," declared Carroll. "And, Miss Polly, +you don't think the worse of me for having said behind his back what I'm +just waiting to say to his face?" + +"Not a bit," said the girl warmly. "Only I know it's nonsense." + +"I hope so," said Carroll, quite honestly. "I would hate to think +anything low-down of a man you'd call your friend." + +Carroll had learned more than he had told, but less than enough to give +him what he considered proper evidence to lay before Polly's father. +After some deliberation as to the point of honor involved, he decided +to go to Raimonda, who, alone in Caracuna City, seemed to be on personal +terms with the hermit. He found the young man in his office. With +entire frankness, Carroll stated his errand and the reason for it. The +Caracunan heard him with grave courtesy. + +"And now, senior," concluded the American, "here's my question, and it's +for you to determine whether, under the circumstances, you are justified +in giving me an answer. Is there a woman living in Mr. Perkins's quinta +on the mountains?" + +"I cannot answer that question," said the other, after some +deliberation. + +"I'm sorry," said Carroll simply. + +"I also. The more so in that my attitude may be misconstrued against Mr. +Perkins. I am bound by confidence." + +"So I infer," returned his visitor courteously. "Then I have only to ask +your pardon--" + +"One moment, if you please, senor. Perhaps this will serve to make easy +your mind. On my word, there is nothing in Mr. Perkins's life on the +mountain in any manner dishonorable or--or irregular." + +In a flash, the simple solution crossed Carroll's mind. That a woman was +there, and a woman not of the servant class, could hardly be doubted, in +view of almost direct evidence from eyewitnesses. If there was nothing +irregular about her presence, it was because she was Perkins's wife. +In view of Raimonda's attitude, he did not feel free to put the direct +query. Another question would serve his purpose. + +"Is it advisable, and for the best interests of Miss Brewster, that she +should associate with him under the circumstances?" + +The Caracunan started and shot a glance at his interlocutor that said, +as plainly as words, "How much do you know that you are not telling?" +had the latter not been too intent upon his own theory to interpret it. + +"Ah, that," said Raimonda, after a pause,--"that is another question. If +it were my sister, or any one dear to me--but"--he shrugged--"views on +that matter differ." + +"I hardly think that yours and mine differ, senior. I thank you for +bearing with me with so much patience." + +He went out with his suspicions hardened into certainty. + + + + + +VII + +"THAT WHICH THY SERVANT IS--" + + +A man that you'd call your friend. Such had been Fitzhugh Carroll's +reference to the Unspeakable Perk. With that characterization in her +mind. Miss Brewster let herself drift, after her suitor had left her, +into a dreamy consideration of the hermit's attitude toward her. She was +not prone lightly to employ the terms of friendship, yet this new and +casual acquaintance had shown a readiness to serve--not as cavalier, but +as friend--none too common in the experience of the much-courted and a +little spoiled beauty. Being, indeed, a "lady nowise bitter to those who +served her with good intent," she reflected, with a kindly light in +her eyes, that it was all part and parcel of the beetle's man's amiable +queerness. + +Still musing upon this queerness, she strolled back to find her mount +waiting at the corner of the plaza. In consideration of the heat she +let her cream-colored mule choose his own pace, so they proceeded quite +slowly up the hill road, both absorbed in meditation, which ceased only +when the mule started an argument about a turn in the trail. He was a +well-bred trotting mule, worth six hundred dollars in gold of any man's +money, and he was self-appreciative in knowledge of the fact. He brought +a singular firmness of purpose to the support of the negative of her +proposition, which was that he should swing north from the broad into +the narrow path. When the debate was over, St. John the Baptist--this, +I hesitate to state, yet must, it being the truth, was the spirited +animal's name--was considerably chastened, and Miss Brewster more than a +trifle flushed. She left him tied to a ceiba branch at the exit from +the dried creek bed, with strict instructions not to kick, lest a worse +thing befall him. Miss Brewster's fighting blood was up, when, ten +minutes late, because of the episode, she reached the summit of the +rock. + +"Oh, Mr. Beetle Man, are you there?" she called. + +"Yes, Voice. You sound strange. What is it?" + +"I've been hurrying, and if you tell me I'm late, I'll--I'll fall on +your neck again and break it." + +"Has anything happened?" + +"Nothing in particular. I've been boxing the compass with a mule. It's +tiresome." + +He reflected. + +"You're not, by any chance, speaking figuratively of your respected +parent?" + +"Certainly NOT!" she disclaimed indignantly. "This was a real mule. +You're very impertinent." + +"Well, you see, he was impertinent to me, saying he was out when he was +in. What is his decision--yes or no?" + +"No." + +A sharp exclamation came from the nook below. + +"Is that the entomological synonym for 'damn'?" she inquired. + +"It's a lament for time wasted on a--Well, never mind that." + +"But he wants you to carry a message by that secret route of yours. Will +you do it for him?" + +"NO!" + +"That's not being a very kind or courteous beetle man." + +"I owe Mr. Brewster no courtesy." + +"And you pay only where you owe? Just, but hardly amiable. Well, you owe +me nothing--but--will you do it for me?" + +"Yes." + +"Without even knowing what it is?" + +"Yes." + +"In return you shall have your heart's desire." + +"Doubted." + +"Isn't the dearest wish of your soul to drive me out of Caracuna?" + +"Hum! Well--er--yes. Yes; of course it is." + +"Very well. If you can get dad's message on the wire to Washington, he +thinks the Secretary of State, who is his friend, can reach the Dutch +and have them open up the blockade for us." + +"Time apparently meaning nothing to him." + +"Would it take much time?" + +"About four days to a wire." + +She gazed at him in amazement. + +"And you were willing to give up four days to carry my message through, +'unsight--unseen,' as we children used to say?" + +"Willing enough, but not able to. I'd have got a messenger through with +it, if necessary. But in four days, there'll be other obstacles besides +the Dutch." + +"Quarantine?" + +"Yes." + +"I thought that had to wait for Dr. Pruyn." + +"Pruyn's here. That's a secret, Miss Brewster." + +"Do you know EVERYTHING? Has he found plague?" + +"Ah, I don't say that. But he will find it, for it's certainly here. I +satisfied myself of that yesterday." + +"From your beggar friend?" + +"What made you think that, O most acute observer?" + +"What else would you be talking to him of, with such interest?" + +"You're correct. Bubonic always starts in the poor quarters. To know how +people die, you have to know how they live. So I cultivated my beggar +friend and listened to the gossip of quick funerals and unexplained +disappearances. I'd have had some real arguments to present to Mr. +Brewster if he had cared to listen." + +"He'll listen to Dr. Pruyn. They're old friends." + +"No! Are they?" + +"Yes. Since college days. So perhaps the quarantine will be easier to +get through than the blockade." + +"Do you think so? I'm afraid you'll find that pull doesn't work with the +service that Dr. Pruyn is in." + +"And you think that there will be quarantine within four days?" + +"Almost sure to be." + +"Then, of course, I needn't trouble you with the message." + +"Don't jump at conclusions. There might be another and quicker way." + +"Wireless?" she asked quickly. + +"No wireless on the island. No. This way you'll just have to trust me +for." + +"I'll trust you for anything you say you can do." + +"But I don't say I can. I say only that I'll try." + +"That's enough for me. Ready! Now, brace yourself. I'm coming down." + +"Wh--why--wait! Can't you send it down?" + +"No. Besides, you KNOW you want to see me. No use pretending, after last +time. Remember your verse now, and I'll come slowly." + +Solemnly he began:-- + + "Scarab, tarantula, neurop--" + "'Doodle-bug,'" she prompted severely. + "--doodle-bug, flea,"-- + +he concluded obediently. + + "Scarab, tarantula, doodle-bug, flea. + Scarab, tarantula, doodle--" + +"Oof! I--I--didn't think you'd be here so soon!" + +He scrambled to his feet, hardly less palpitating than on the occasion +of their first encounter. + +"Hopeless!" she mourned. "Incurable! Wanted: a miracle of St. Vitus. Do +stop nibbling your hat, and sit down." + +"I don't think it's as bad as it was," he murmured, obeying. "One gets +accustomed to you." + +"One gets accustomed to anything in time, even the eccentricities of +one's friends." + +"Do you think I'm eccentric?" + +"Do I think--Have you ever known any one who didn't think you +eccentric?" + +Upon this he pondered solemnly. + +"It's so long since I've stopped to consider what people think of me. +One hasn't time, you know." + +"Then one is unhuman. _I_ have time." + +"Of course. But you haven't anything else to do." + +As this was quite true, she naturally felt annoyed. + +"Knowing as you do all the secrets of my inner life," she observed +sarcastically, "of course you are in a position to judge." + +Her own words recalled Carroll's charge, and though, with the subject +of them before her, it seemed ridiculously impossible, yet the spirit +of mischief, ever hovering about her like an attendant sprite, descended +and took possession of her speech. She assumed a severely judicial +expression. + +"Mr. Beetle Man, will you lay your hand upon your microscope, or +whatever else scientists make oath upon, and answer fully and truly the +question about to be put to you?" + +"As I hope for a blessed release from this abode of lunacy, I will." + +"Mr. Beetle Man, have you got an awful secret in your life?" + +So sharply did he start that the heavy goggles slipped a fraction of an +inch along his nose, the first time she had ever seen them in any degree +misplaced. She was herself sensibly discountenanced by his perturbation. + +"Why do you ask that?" he demanded. + +"Natural interest in a friend," she answered lightly, but with growing +wonder. "I think you'd be altogether irresistible if you were a pirate +or a smuggler or a revolutionary. The romantic spirit could lurk so +securely behind those gloomy soul-screens that you wear. What do you +keep back of them, O dark and shrouded beetle man?" + +"My eyes," he grunted. + +"Basilisk eyes, I'm sure. And what behind the eyes?" + +"My thoughts." + +"You certainly keep them securely. No intruders allowed. But you haven't +answered my question. Have you ever murdered any one in cold blood? Or +are you a married man trifling with the affections of poor little me?" + +"You shall know all," he began, in the leisurely tone of one who +commences a long narrative. "My parents were honest, but poor. At the +age of three years and four months, a maternal uncle, who, having been +a proofreader of Abyssinian dialect stories for a ladies' magazine, was +considered a literary prophet, foretold that I--" + +"Help! Wait! Stop!-- + + "'Oh, skip your dear uncle!' the bellman exclaimed, + And impatiently tinkled his bell." + +Her companion promptly capped her verse:-- + + "'I skip forty years,' said the baker in tears,"-- + +"You can't," she objected. "If you skipped half that, I don't believe it +would leave you much." + +"When one is giving one's life history by request," he began, with +dignity, "interruptions--" + +"It isn't by request," she protested. "I don't want your life history. I +won't have it! You shan't treat an unprotected and helpless stranger so. +Besides, I'm much more interested to know how you came to be familiar +with Lewis Carroll." + +"Just because I've wasted my career on frivolous trifles like science, +you needn't think I've wholly neglected the true inwardness of life, as +exemplified in 'The Hunting of the Snark,'" he said gravely. + +"Do you know"--she leaned forward, searching his face--"I believe you +came out of that book yourself. ARE you a Boojum? Will you, unless I +'charm you with smiles and soap,' + + "'Softly and silently vanish away, + And never be heard of again'?" + +"You're mixed. YOU'D be the one to do that if I were a real Boojum. And +you'll be doing it soon enough, anyway," he concluded ruefully. + +"So I shall, but don't be too sure that I'll 'never be heard of again.'" + +He glanced up at the sun, which was edging behind a dark cloud, over the +gap. + +"Is your raging thirst for personal information sufficiently slaked?" he +asked. "We've still fifteen or twenty minutes left." + +"Is that all? And I haven't yet given you the message!" She drew it from +the bag and handed it to him. + +"Sealed," he observed. + +The girl colored painfully. + +"Dad didn't intend--You mustn't think--" With a flash of generous wrath +she tore the envelope open and held out the inclosure. "But I shouldn't +have thought you so concerned with formalities," she commented +curiously. + +"It isn't that. But in some respects, possibly important, it would be +better if--" He stopped, looking at her doubtfully. + +"Read it," she nodded. + +He ran through the brief document. + +"Yes; it's just as well that I should know. I'll leave a copy." + +Something in his accent made her scrutinize him. + +"You're going into danger!" she cried. + +"Danger? No; I think not. Difficulty, perhaps. But I think it can be put +through." + +"If it were dangerous, you'd do it just the same," she said, almost +accusingly. + +"It would be worth some danger now to get you away from greater danger +later. See here, Miss Brewster"--he rose and stood over her--"there must +be no mistake or misunderstanding about this." + +"Don't gloom at me with those awful glasses," she said fretfully. "I +feel as if I were being stared at by a hidden person." + +He disregarded the protest. + +"If I get this message through, can you guarantee that your father will +take out the yacht as soon as the Dutch send word to him?" + +"Oh, yes. He will do that. How are you going to deliver the message?" + +Again her words might as well not have been spoken. + +"You'd better have your luggage ready for a quick start." + +"Will it be soon?" + +"It may be." + +"How shall we know?" + +"I will get word to you." + +"Bring it?" + +He shook his head. + +"No; I fear not. This is good-bye." + +"You're very casual about it," she said, aggrieved. "At least, it would +be polite to pretend." + +"What am I to pretend?" + +"To be sorry. Aren't you sorry? Just a little bit?" + +"Yes; I'm sorry. Just a little bit--at least." + +"I'm most awfully sorry myself," she said frankly. "I shall miss you." + +"As a curiosity?" he asked, smiling. + +"As a friend. You have been a friend to us--to me," she amended sweetly. +"Each time I see you, I have more the feeling that you've been more of a +friend than I know." + +"'That which thy servant is,'" he quoted lightly. But beneath the +lightness she divined a pain that she could not wholly fathom. Quite +aware of her power, Miss Polly Brewster was now, for one of the few +times in her life, stricken with contrition for her use of it. + +"And I--I haven't been very nice," she faltered. "I'm afraid sometimes +I've been quite horrid." + +"You? You've been 'the glory and the dream.' I shall be needing memories +for a while. And when the glory has gone, at least the dream will +remain--tethered." + +"But I'm not going to be a dream alone," she said, with wistful +lightness. "It's far too much like being a ghost. I'm going to be a +friend, if you'll let me. And I'm going to write to you, if you will +tell me where. You won't find it so very easy to make a mere memory of +me. And when you come home--When ARE you coming home?" + +He shook his head. + +"Then you must find out, and let me know. And you must come and visit us +at our summer place, where there's a mountain-side that we can sit on, +and you can pretend that our lake is the Caribbean and hate it to your +heart's content--" + +"I don't believe I can ever quite hate the Caribbean again." + +"From this view you mustn't, anyway. I shouldn't like that. As for our +lake, nobody could really help loving it. So you must be sure and come, +won't you?" + +"Dreams!" he murmured. + +"Isn't there room in the scientific life for dreams?" + +"Yes. But not for their fulfillment." + +"But there will be beetles and dragon-flies on our mountain," she went +on, conscious of talking against time, of striving to put off the moment +of departure. "You'll find plenty of work there. Do you know, Mr. Beetle +Man, you haven't told me a thing, really, about your work, or a thing, +really, about yourself. Is that the way to treat a friend?" + +"When I undertook to spread before you the true and veracious history of +my life," he began, striving to make his tone light, "you would none of +it." + +"Are you determined to put me off? Do you think that I wouldn't find the +things that are real to you interesting?" + +"They're quite technical," he said shyly. + +"But they are the big things to you, aren't they? They make life for +you?" + +"Oh, yes; that, of course." It was as if he were surprised at the need +of such a question. "I suppose I find the same excitement and adventure +in research that other men find in politics, or war, or making money." + +"Adventure?" she said, puzzled. "I shouldn't have supposed research an +adventurous career, exactly." + +"No; not from the outside." His hidden gaze shifted to sweep the far +distances. His voice dropped and softened, and, when he spoke again, +she felt vaguely and strangely that he was hardly thinking of her or +her question, except as a part of the great wonder-world surrounding and +enfolding their companioned remoteness. + +"This is my credo," he said, and quoted, half under his breath:-- + + "'We have come in search of truth, + Trying with uncertain key + Door by door of mystery. + We are reaching, through His laws, + To the garment hem of Cause. + As, with fingers of the blind, + We are groping here to find + What the hieroglyphics mean + Of the Unseen in the seen; + What the Thought which underlies + Nature's masking and disguise; + What it is that hides beneath + Blight and bloom and birth and death.'" + +Other men had poured poetry into Polly Brewster's ears, and she had +thought them vapid or priggish or affected, according as they had +chosen this or that medium. This man was different. For all his outer +grotesquery, the noble simplicity of the verse matched some veiled and +hitherto but half-expressed quality within him, and dignified him. Miss +Brewster suffered the strange but not wholly unpleasant sensation of +feeling herself dwindle. + +"It's very beautiful," she said, with an effort. "Is it Matthew Arnold?" + +"Nearer home. You an American, and don't know your Whittier? That +passage from his 'Agassiz' comes pretty near to being what life means to +me. Have I answered your requirements?" + +"Fully and finely." + +She rose from the rock upon which she had been seated, and stretched +out both hands to him. He took and held them without awkwardness or +embarrassment. By that alone she could have known that he was suffering +with a pain that submerged consciousness of self. + +"Whether I see you again or not, I'll never forget you," she said +softly. "You HAVE been good to me, Mr. Perkins." + +"I like the other name better," he said. + +"Of course. Mr. Beetle Man." She laughed a little tremulously. Abruptly +she stamped a determined foot. "I'm NOT going away without having seen +my friend for once. Take off your glasses, Mr. Beetle Man." + +"Too much radiance is bad for the microscopical eye." + +"The sun is under a cloud." + +"But you're here, and you'd glow in the dark." + +"No; I'm not to be put off with pretty speeches. Take them off. Please!" + +Releasing her hand, he lifted off the heavy and disfiguring apparatus, +and stood before her, quietly submissive to her wish. She took a quick +step backward, stumbled, and thrust out a hand against the face of the +giant rock for support. + +"Oh!" she cried, and again, "Oh, I didn't think you'd look like that!" + +"What is it? Is there anything very wrong with me?" he asked seriously, +blinking a little in the soft light. + +"No, no. It isn't that. I--I hardly know--I expected something +different. Forgive me for being so--so stupid." + +In truth, Miss Polly Brewster had sustained a shock. She had become +accustomed to regard her beetle man rather more in the light of a beetle +than a man. In fact, the human side of him had impressed her only as +a certain dim appeal to sympathy; the masculine side had simply not +existed. Now it was as if he had unmasked. The visage, so grotesque and +gnomish behind its mechanical apparatus, had given place to a wholly +different and formidably strange face. The change all centered in the +eyes. They were wide-set eyes of the clearest, steadiest, and darkest +gray she had ever met; and they looked out at her from sharply angled +brows with a singular clarity and calmness of regard. In their light the +man's face became instinct with character in every line. Strength was +there, self-control, dignity, a glint of humor in the little wrinkles at +the corner of the mouth, and, withal a sort of quiet and sturdy beauty. + +She had half-turned her face from him. Now, as her gaze returned and +was fixed by his, she felt a wave of blood expand her heart, rush upward +into her cheeks, and press into her eyes tears of swift regret. But +now she was sorry, not for him, but for herself, because he had become +remote and difficult to her. + +"Have I startled you?" he asked curiously. "I'll put them back on +again." + +"No, no; don't do that!" She rallied herself to the point of laughing +a little. "I'm a goose. You see, I've pictured you as quite different. +Have you ever seen yourself in the glass with those dreadful disguises +on?" + +"Why, no; I don't suppose I have," he replied, after reflection. "After +all, they're meant for use, not for ornament." + +By this time she had mastered her confusion and was able to examine his +face. Under his eyes were circles of dull gray, defined by deep lines, + +"Why, you're worn out!" she cried pitifully. "Haven't you been +sleeping?" + +"Not much." + +"You must take something for it." The mothering instinct sprang to the +rescue. "How much rest did you get last night?" + +"Let me see. Last night I did very well. Fully four hours." + +"And that is more than you average?" + +"Well, yes; lately. You see, I've been pretty busy." + +"Yet you've given up your time to my wretched, unimportant little stupid +affairs! And what return have I made?" + +"You've made the sun shine," he said, "in a rather shaded existence." + +"Promise me that you'll sleep to-night; that you won't work a stroke." + +"No; I can't promise that." + +"You'll break down. You'll go to pieces. What have you got to do more +important than keeping in condition?" + +"As to that, I'll last through. And there's some business that won't +wait." + +Divination came upon her. + +"Dad's message!" + +"If it weren't that, it would be something else." + +Her hand went out to him, and was withdrawn. + +"Please put on your glasses," she said shyly. + +Smiling, he did her bidding. + +"There! Now you are my beetle man again. No, not quite, though. You'll +never be quite the same beetle man again." + +"I shall always be," he contradicted gently. + +"Anyway, it's better. You're easier to say things to. Are you really the +man who ran away from the street car?" she asked doubtfully. + +"I really am." + +"Then I'm most surely sure that you had good reason." She began to laugh +softly. "As for the stories about you, I'd believe them less than ever, +now." + +"Are there stories about me?" + +"Gossip of the club. They call you 'The Unspeakable Perk'!" + +"Not a bad nickname," he admitted. "I expect I have been rather +unspeakable, from their point of view." + +A desire to have the faith that was in her supported by this man's own +word overrode her shyness. + +"Mr. Beetle Man," she said, "have you got a sister?" + +"I? No. Why?" + +"If you had a sister, is there anything--Oh, DARN your sister!" broke +forth the irrepressible Polly. "I'll be your sister for this. Is there +anything about you and your life here that you'd be afraid to tell me?" + +"No." + +"I knew there wasn't," she said contentedly. She hesitated a moment, +then put a hand on his arm. "Does this HAVE to be good-bye, Mr. Beetle +Man?" she said wistfully. + +"I'm afraid so." + +"No!" She stamped imperiously. "I want to see you again, and I'm going +to see you again. Won't you come down to the port and bring me another +bunch of your mountain orchids when we sail--just for good-bye?" + +Through the dull medium of the glasses she could feel his eyes +questioning hers. And she knew that once more before she sailed away, +she must look into those eyes, in all their clarity and all their +strength--and then try to forget them. The swift color ran up into her +cheeks. + +"I--I suppose so," he said. "Yes." + +"Au revoir, then!" she cried, with a thrill of gladness, and fled up the +rock. + +The Unspeakable Perk strode down his path, broke into a trot, and held +to it until he reached his house. But Miss Polly, departing in her own +direction, stopped dead after ten minutes' going. It had struck her +forcefully that she had forgotten the matter of the expense of the +message. How could she reach him? She remembered the cliff above the +rock, and the signal. If a signal was valid in one direction, it ought +to work equally well in the other. She had her automatic with her. +Retracing her steps, she ascended the cliff, a rugged climb. Across the +deep-fringed chasm she could plainly see the porch of the quinta with +the little clearing at the side, dim in the clouded light. Drawing the +revolver, she fired three shots. + +"He'll come," she thought contentedly. + +The sun broke from behind the obscuring cloud and sent a shaft of light +straight down upon the clearing. It illumined with pitiless distinctness +the shimmering silk of a woman's dress, hanging on a line and waving +in the first draft of the evening breeze. For a moment Polly stood +transfixed. What did it mean? Was it perhaps a servant's dress. No; he +had told her that there was no woman servant. + +As she sought the solution, a woman's figure emerged from the porch of +the quinta, crossed the compound, and dropped upon a bench. Even at that +distance, the watcher could tell from the woman's bearing and apparel +that she was not of the servant class. She seemed to be gazing out over +the mountains; there was something dreary and forlorn in her attitude. +What, then, did she do in the beetle man's house? + +Below the rock the shrubbery weaved and thrashed, and the person who +could best answer that question burst into view at a full lope. + +"What is it?" he panted. "Was it you who fired?" + +She stared at him mutely. The revolver hung in her hand. In a moment he +was beside her. + +"Has anything happened?" he began again, then turned his head to follow +the direction of her regard. He saw the figure in the compound. + +"Good God in heaven!" he groaned. + +He caught the revolver from her hand and fired three slow shots. The +woman turned. Snatching off his hat, he signalled violently with it. +The woman rose and, as it seemed to Polly Brewster, moved in humble +submissiveness back to the shelter. + +White consternation was stamped on the Unspeakable Perk's face as he +handed the revolver to its owner. + +"Do you need me?" he asked quickly. "If not, I must go back at once." + +"I do not need you," said the girl, in level tones. "You lied to me." + +His expression changed. She read in it the desperation of guilt. + +"I can explain," he said hurriedly, "but not now. There isn't time. Wait +here. I'll be back. I'll be back the instant I can get away." + +As he spoke, he was halfway down the rock, headed for the lower trail. +The bushes closed behind him. + +Painfully Polly Brewster made her way down the treacherous footing of +the cliff path to her place on the rock. From her bag she drew one of +her cards, wrote slowly and carefully a few words, found a dry stick, +set it between two rocks, and pinned her message to it. Then she ran, as +helpless humans run from the scourge of their own hearts. + +Half an hour later the hermit, sweat-covered and breathless, returned +to the rock. For a moment he gazed about, bewildered by the silence. The +white card caught his eye. He read its angular scrawl. + +"I wish never to see you again. Never! Never! Never!" + +A sulphur-yellow inquisitor, of a more insinuating manner than the +former participant in their conversation, who had been examining the +message on his own account, flew to the top of the cliff. + +"Qu'est-ce qu'elle dit? Qu'est-ce qu'elle dit?" he demanded. + +For the first time in his adult life the beetle man threw a stone at a +bird. + + + + + +VIII + +LOS YANKIS + + +Luncheon on the day following the kiskadee bird's narrow squeak for his +life was a dreary affair for Mr. Fitzhugh Carroll. Business had called +Mr. Brewster away. This deprivation the Southerner would have borne +with equanimity. But Miss Brewster had also absented herself, which was +rather too much for the devoted, but apprehensive, lover. Thus, ample +time was given him to consider how ill his suit was prospering. The +longer he stayed, the less he saw of Miss Polly. That she was kinder +and more gentle, less given to teasing him than of yore, was poor +compensation. He was shrewd enough to draw no good augury from that. +Something had altered her, and he was divided between suspicion of the +last week's mail, the arrival of which had been about contemporaneous +with her change of spirit, and some local cause. Was a letter from +Smith, the millionaire, or Bobby, the friend of her childhood, +responsible? Or was the cause nearer at hand? + +For one preposterous moment he thought of the Unspeakable Perk. A quick +visualization of that gnomish, froggish face was enough to dispel the +suspicion. At least the petted and rather fastidious Miss Brewster's +fancy would be captured only by a gentleman, not by any such homunculus +as the mountain dweller. Her interest, perhaps; the man possessed the +bizarre attraction of the freakish. But anything else was absurd. And +the knight was inclined to attaint his lady for a certain cruelty in the +matter; she was being something less than fair to the Unspeakable Perk. + +The searchlight of his surmise ranged farther. Raimonda! The young +Caracunan was handsome, distinguished, manly, with a romantic charm that +the American did not underestimate. He, at least, was a gentleman, and +the assiduity of his attentions to the Northern beauty had become the +joke of the clubs--except when Raimonda was present. By the same +token, half of the gilded youth of the capital, and most of the young +diplomats, were the sworn slaves of the girl. It was a confused field, +indeed. Well, thank Heaven, she would soon be out of it! Word had come +down from her that she was busy packing her things. Carroll wandered +about the hotel, waiting for the news that would explain this +preparation. + +It came, at mid-afternoon, in the person of Miss Polly herself. Why +packing trunks, with the aid of an experienced maid, should, even in a +hot climate, produce heavy circles under the eyes, a droop at the mouth +corners, and a complete submersion of vivacity, is a problem which +Carroil then and there gave up. He had too much tact to question or +comment. + +"Oh, I'm so tired!" she said, giving him her hand. "Have you much +packing to do, Fitzhugh?" + +"No one has given me any notice to get ready, Miss Polly." + +"How very neglectful of me! We may leave at any time." + +"Yes; you may. But my ship doesn't seem to be coming in very fast." + +The double entente was unintentional, but the girl winced. + +"Aren't you coming with us on the yacht?" + +"Am I?" His handsome face lighted hopefully. + +"Of course. Dad expects you to. What kind of people should we be to +leave any friend behind, with matters as they are?" + +"Ah, yes." The hope passed out of his face. "Dictates of humanity, and +that sort of thing. I think, if you and Mr. Brewster--" + +"Please don't be silly, Fitz," she pleaded. "You know it would make me +most unhappy to leave you." + +Rarely did the scion of Southern blood and breeding lose the +self-control and reserve on which he prided himself, but he had been +harassed by events to an unwonted strain of temper. + +"Is it making you unhappy to leave any one else here?" he blurted out. + +The challenge stirred the girl's spirit. + +"No, indeed! I wouldn't care if I never saw any of them again. I'm tired +of it all. I want to go home," she said, like a pathetic child. + +"Oh, Miss Polly," he began, taking a step toward her, "if you'd only let +me--" + +She put up one little sunburned hand. + +"Please, Fitz! I--I don't feel up to it to-day." + +Humbly he subsided. + +"I'd no right to ask you the question," he apologized. "It was kind of +you to answer me at all." + +"You're really a dear, Fitz," she said, smiling a little wanly. +"Sometimes I wish--" + +She did not finish her sentence, but wandered over to the window, and +gazed out across the square. On the far side something quite out of the +ordinary seemed to be going on. + +"The legless beggar seems to have collected quite an audience," she +remarked idly. + +Her suitor joined her on the parlor balcony. + +"Possibly he's starting a revolution. Any one can do it down here." + +Vehement adjuration, in a high, strident voice, came floating across to +them. + +"Listen!" cried the girl. "He's speaking. English, isn't he?" + +"It seems to be a mixture of English, French, and Spanish. Quite a +polyglot the friend of your friend Perkins appears to be." + +She turned steady eyes upon him. + +"Mr. Perkins is not my friend." + +"No?" + +"I never want to see him, or to hear his name again." + +"Ah, then you've found out about him?" + +"Yes." She flushed. "Yes--at least--Yes," she concluded. + +"He admitted it to you?" + +"No, he lied about it." + +"I think I shall go up and make a call on Mr. Perkins," said Carroll, +with formidable quiet. + +"Oh, it doesn't matter," she answered wearily. "He'd only run away and +hide." As she said it, her inner self convicted her tongue of lying. + +"Very likely. Yet, see here, Miss Polly,--I want to be fair to that +fellow. It doesn't follow that because he's a coward he's a cad." + +"He isn't a coward!" she flashed. + +"You just said yourself that he'd run and hide." + +"Well, he wouldn't, and he IS a cad." + +"As you like. In any case, I shall make it a point to see him before I +leave. If he can explain, well and good. If not--" He did not conclude. + +"Our orator seems to have finished," observed the girl. "I shall go back +upstairs and write some good-bye notes to the kind people here." + +"Just for curiosity, I think I'll drive across and look at the legless +Demosthenes," said her companion. "I was going to do a little shopping, +anyway. So I'll report later, if he's revoluting or anything exciting." + +From her own balcony, when she reached it, Polly had a less obstructed +view of the beggar's appropriated corner, and she looked out a few +minutes after she reached the room to see whether he had resumed his +oratory. Apparently he had not, for the crowd had melted away. The +legless one was rocking himself monotonously upon his stumps. His head +was sunk forward, and from his extraordinary mouthings the spectator +judged that he must be talking to himself with resumed vehemence. From +what next passed before her astonished vision, Miss Brewster would have +suspected herself of a hallucination of delirium had she not been sure +of normal health. + +One of the well-horsed, elegant little public victorias with which the +city is so well supplied stopped at the curb, and the handsome head of +Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll was thrust forth. At almost the same +moment the Unspeakable Perk appeared upon the steps. He was wearing +a pair of enormous, misfit white gloves. He went down to the beggar, +reached forth a hand, and, to the far-away spectator's wonder-struck +interpretation, seemed to thrust something, presumably a document, into +the breast of the mendicant's shirt. Having performed this strange rite, +he leaped up the steps, hesitated, rushed over to Carroll's equipage, +and laid violent hands upon the occupant, with obvious intent to draw +him forth. For a moment they seemed to struggle upon the sidewalk; then +both rushed upon the unfortunate beggar and proceeded to kidnap him and +thrust him bodily into the cab. + +The driver turned in his seat at this point, his cue in the mad farce +having been given, and opened speech with many gestures, whereupon +Carroll arose and embraced him warmly. And with this grouping, +the vehicle, bearing its lunatic load, sped around the corner and +disappeared, while the sole interested witness retired to obscurity, +with her reeling head between her hands. + +One final touch of phantasy was given to the whole affair when, two +hours later, she met Carroll, soiled and grimy, coming across the +plaza, smoking--he, the addict to thirty-cent Havanas!--an awful native +cheroot, whose incense spread desolation about him. Further and more +extraordinary, when she essayed to obtain a solution of the mystery from +him, he repelled her with emphatic gestures and a few half-strangled +words with whose unintelligibility the cheroot fumes may have had some +connection, and hurried into the hotel, where he remained in seclusion +the rest of the day. + +What in the name of all the wonders could it mean? On Mr. Brewster's +return, she laid the matter before him at the dinner table. + +"Touch of the sun, perhaps," he hazarded. "Nothing else I know of would +explain it." + +"Do two Americans, a half-breed beggar, and a local coachman get +sunstruck at one and the same time?" she inquired disdainfully. + +"Doesn't seem likely. By your account, though, the crippled beggar seems +to have been the little Charlie Ross of melodrama." + +"Then why didn't he shout for help? I listened, but didn't hear a sound +from him." + +"Movie-picture rehearsal," grunted Mr. Brewster. "I can't quite see the +heir of all the Virginias in the part. Isn't he coming down to dinner +this evening?" + +"His dinner was sent up to his room. Isn't it extraordinary?" + +"Ask Sherwen about it. He's coming around this evening for coffee in our +rooms." + +But the American representative had something else on his mind besides +casual kidnapings. + +"I've just come from a talk with the British Minister," he remarked, +setting down his cup. "He's officially in charge of American interests, +you know." + +"Thought you were," said Mr. Brewster. + +"Officially, I have no existence. The United States of America is wiped +off the map, so far as the sovereign Republic of Caracuna is concerned. +Some of its politicians wouldn't be over-grieved if the local Americans +underwent the same process. The British Minister would, I'm sure, sleep +easier if you were all a thousand miles away from here." + +"Tell Sir Willet that he's very ungallant," pouted Miss Polly. "When +I sat next to him at dinner last week he offered to establish woman +suffrage here and elect me next president if I'd stay." + +Sherwen hardly paid this the tribute of a smile. + +"That was before he found out certain things. The Hochwald Legation"--he +lowered his voice--"is undoubtedly stirring up anti-American sentiment." + +"But why?" inquired Mr. Brewster. "There's enough trade for them and for +us?" + +"For one thing, they don't like your concessions, Mr. Brewster. Then +they have heard that Dr. Pruyn is on his way, and they want to make +all the trouble they can for him, and make it impossible for him to +get actual information of the presence of plague. I happen to know that +their consul is officially declaring fake all the plague rumors." + +"That suits me," declared the magnate. "We don't want to have to run +Dutch and quarantine blockade both." + +"Meantime, there are two or three cheap but dangerous demagogues who +have been making anti-'Yanki,' as they call us, speeches in the slums. +Sir Willet doesn't like the looks of it. If there were any way in which +you could get through, and to sea, it would be well to take it at once. +Am I correct in supposing that you've taken steps to clear the yacht, +Mr. Brewster?" + +"Yes. That is, I've sent a message. Or, at least, so my daughter, to +whose management I left it, believes." + +"Don't tell me how," said Sherwen quickly. "There is reason to believe +that it has been dispatched." + +"You've heard something?" + +"I have a message from our consul at Puerto del Norte, Mr. Wisner." + +"For me?" asked the concessionaire. + +"Why, no," was the hesitant reply. "It isn't quite clear, but it seems +to be for Miss Brewster." + +"Why not?" inquired that young lady coolly. "What is it?" + +"The best I could make of it over the phone--Wisner had to be +guarded--was that people planning to take Dutch leave would better pay +their parting calls by to-morrow at the latest." + +"That would mean day after to-morrow, wouldn't it?" mused the girl. + +"If it means anything at all," substituted her father testily. + +"Meantime, how do you like the Gran Hotel Kast, Miss Brewster?" asked +Sherwen. + +"It's awful beyond words! I've done nothing but wish for a brigade of +Biddies, with good stout mops, and a government permit to clean up. I'd +give it a bath!" + +"Yes, it's pretty bad. I'm glad you don't like it." + +"Glad? Is every one ag'in' poor me?" + +"Because--well, the American Legation is a very lonely place. Now, the +presence of an American lady--" + +"Are you offering a proposal of marriage, Mr. Sherwen?" twinkled the +girl. "If so--Dad, please leave the room." + +"Knock twenty years off my battle-scarred life and you wouldn't be +safe a minute," he retorted. "But, no. This is a measure of safety. +Sir Willet thinks that your party ought to be ready to move into the +American Legation on instant notice, if you can't get away to sea +to-morrow." + +"What's the use, if the legation has no official existence?" asked Mr. +Brewster. + +"In a sense it has. It would probably be respected by a mob. And, at the +worst, it adjoins the British Legation, which would be quite safe. If it +weren't that Sir Willet's boy has typhoid, you'd be formally invited to +go there." + +"It's very good of you," said Miss Polly warmly. "But surely it would be +an awful nuisance to you." + +"On the contrary, you'd brace up my far-too-casual old housekeeper and +get the machinery running. She constantly takes advantage of my bachelor +ignorance. If you say you'll come, I'll almost pray for the outbreak." + +"Certainly we'll come, at any time you notify us," said Mr. Brewster. +"And we're very grateful. Shall you have room for Mr. Carroll, too?" + +"By all means. And I've notified Mr. Cluff. You won't mind his being +there? He's a rough diamond, but a thoroughly decent fellow." + +"Useful, too, in case of trouble, I should judge," said the magnate. +"Then I'll wait for further word from you." + +"Yes. I've got my men out on watch." + +"Wouldn't it be--er--advisable for us to arm ourselves?" + +"By no means! There's just one course to follow; keep the peace at any +price, and give the Hochwaldians not the slightest peg on which to hang +a charge that Americans have been responsible for any trouble that might +arise. May I ask you," he added significantly, "to make this clear to +Mr. Carroll?" + +"Leave that to me," said Miss Brewster, with superb confidence. + +"Content, indeed! You'll find our locality very pleasant, Miss Brewster. +Three of the other legations are on the same block, not including the +Hochwaldian, which is a quarter of a mile down the hill. On our corner +is a house where several of the English railroad men live, and across is +the Club Amicitia, made up largely of the jeunesse doree, who are mostly +pro-American. So you'll be quite surrounded by friends, not to say +adherents." + +"Call on me to housekeep for you at any time," cried Polly gayly. "I'll +begin to roll up my sleeves as soon as I get dressed to-morrow." + + + + + +IX + +THE BLACK WARNING + + +That weird three-part drama in the plaza which had so puzzled Miss Polly +Brewster had developed in this wise:-- + +Coincidently with the departure of Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll from +the hotel in his cab, the Unspeakable Perk emerged from a store near the +far corner of the square, which exploited itself in the purest Castilian +as offering the last word in the matter of gentlemen's apparel. +"Articulos para Caballeros" was the representation held forth upon its +signboard. + +If it had articled Mr. Perkins, it must be confessed that it had done +its job unevenly, not to say fantastically. His linen was fresh and new, +quite conspicuously so, and, therefore, in sharp contrast to the frayed +and patched, but scrupulously clean and neatly pressed khaki suit, which +set forth rather bumpily his solid figure. A serviceable pith helmet +barely overhung the protrusive goggles. His hands were encased in white +cotton gloves, a size or two too large. Dismal buff spots on the palms +impaired their otherwise virgin purity. As the wearer carried his hands +stiffly splayed, the blemishes were obtrusive. Altogether, one might +have said that, if he were going in for farce, he was appropriately made +up for it. + +At the corner above the beggar's niche he was turning toward a +pharmacist's entrance, when the mirth of the departing crowd that had +been enjoying the free oratory attracted his attention. He glanced +across at the beggar, now rocking rhythmically on his stumps, hesitated +a moment, then ran down the steps. + +At the same moment Carroll's cab stopped on the other angle of the curb. +The occupant put forth his head, saw the goggled freak descending to the +legless freak, and sat back again. + +"Hola, Pancho! Are you ill?" asked the newcomer. + +The beggar only swung back and forth, muttering with frenzied rapidity. +With one hand the Unspeakable Perk stopped him, as one might intercept +the runaway pendulum of a clock, setting the other on his forehead. +Then he bent and brought his goblin eyes to bear on the dark face. The +features were distorted, the eyelids tremulous over suffused eyes, and +the teeth set. Opening the man's loose shirt, Perkins thrust his hand +within. It might have been supposed that he was feeling for the heart +action, were it not that his hand slid past the breast and around under +the arm. When he drew it out, he stood for a moment with chin dropped, +in consideration. + +Midday heat had all but cleared the plaza. As he looked about, the +helper saw no aid, until his eye fell upon the waiting cab. He fairly +bounded up the stairs, calling something to the coachman. + +"No," grunted that toiler, with the characteristic discourtesy of the +Caracunan lower class, and jerked his head backward toward his fare. + +"I beg your pardon," said the Unspeakable Perk eagerly, in Spanish, +turning to the dim recess of the victoria. "Might I--Oh, it's you!" He +seized Carroll by the arm. "I want your cab." + +"Indeed!" said Carroll. "Well, you're cool enough about it." + +"And your help," added the other. + +"What for?" + +"Do you have to ask questions? The man may be dying--is dying, I think." + +"All right," said Carroll promptly. "What's to be done?" + +"Get him home. Help me carry him to the cab." + +Between them, the two men lifted the heavy, mumbling cripple, carried +him up the steps with a rush, and deposited him in the cab, while the +driver was still angrily expostulating. The beggar was shivering now, +and the cold sweat rolled down his face. His bearers placed themselves +on each side of him. Perkins gave an order to the driver, who seemed to +object, and a rapid-fire argument ensued. + +"What's wrong?" asked Carroll. + +"Says he won't go there. Says he was hired by you for shopping." + +Carroll took one look at the agony-wrung face of the beggar, who was +being held on the seat by his companion. + +"Won't he?" said he grimly. "We'll see." + +Rising, he threw a pair of long arms around those of the driver, pinning +him, caught the reins, and turned the horses. + +"Now ask him if he'll drive," he directed Perkins. + +"Si, senor!" gasped the coachman, whose breath had been squeezed almost +through his crackling ribs. + +"See that you do," the Southerner bade him, in accents that needed no +interpretation. + +Presently Perkins looked up from his charge. + +"Got a cigar?" he asked abruptly. + +"No," replied the other, a little disgusted by this levity in the +presence of imminent death. + +Perkins bade the driver stop at the corner. + +"Don't let him fall off the seat," he admonished Carroll, and jumped +out. + +In the course of a minute he reappeared, smoking a cheroot that appeared +to be writhing and twisting in the effort to escape from its own noxious +fumes. + +"Have one," he said, extending a handful to his companion. + +"I don't care for it," returned the other superciliously. While willing +to aid in a good work, he did not in the least approve either of the +Unspeakable Perk or of his offhand manners. + +Before they had gone much farther, his resentment was heated to the +point of offense. + +"Is it necessary for you to puff every puff of that infernal smoke in my +face?" he demanded ominously. + +"Well, you wouldn't smoke, yourself." + +"If it weren't for this poor devil of a sick man--" began Carroll, when +a second thought about the smoke diverted his line of thought. "Is it +contagious?" he asked. + +"It's so regarded," observed the other dryly. + +"I'll take one of those, thank you." + +Perkins handed him one of the rejected spirals. In silence, except for +the outrageous rattling of the wheels on the cobbles, they drove through +mean streets that grew ever meaner, until they drew up at the blind +front of a building abutting on an arroyo of the foothills. Here they +stopped, and Carroll threw his jehu a five-bolivar piece, which the +driver caught, driving away at once, without the demand for more which +usually follows overpayment in Caracuna. Convenient to hand lay a small +rock. Perkins used it for a knocker, hammering on the guarded wooden +door with such vehemence as to still the clamor that arose from within. + +Through the opening, as the barrier was removed by a leather-skinned old +crone, Carroll gazed into a passageway, beyond which stretched a foul +mule yard, bordered by what the visitor at first supposed to be stalls, +until he saw bedding and utensils in them. The two men lifted the +cripple in, amid the outcries and lamentations of the aged woman, who +had looked at his face and then covered her own. At once they were +surrounded by a swarm of women and children, who pressed upon them, +hampering their movements, until a shrill voice cried:-- + +"La muerte negra!" + +The swarm fell into silence, scattered, vanished, leaving only the +moaning woman to help. At her direction they settled the patient on a +straw pallet in a side room. + +"That's all you can do," said the Unspeakable Perk to his companion. +"And thank you." + +"I'll stay." + +The goggles gloomed upon him in the dim room. + +"I thought probably you would," commented Perkins, and busied himself +over the cripple with a knife and some cloths. He had stuffed his +ludicrous white gloves into his pocket, and was tearing strips from his +handkerchief with skillful fingers. + +"Oughtn't he to have a doctor?" asked Carroll. "Shall I go for one?" + +"His mother has sent. No use, though." + +"He can't be saved?" + +"Not a chance on earth. I should say he was in the last stages." + +"What is it?" said Carroll hesitantly. + +"La muerte negra. The black death." + +"Plague?" + +"Yes." + +"Are you sure? Are you an expert?" + +"One doesn't have to be to recognize a case like that. The lump in the +armpit is as big as a pigeon's egg." + +"Why have you interested yourself in the man to such an extent?" asked +Carroll curiously. + +"He's a friend of mine. Why did you?" + +"Oh, that's quite different. One can't disregard a call for help such as +yours." + +"A certain kind of 'one' can't," returned the Unspeakable Perk, with his +half-smile. "You don't mind my saying, Mr. Carroll, you're a brave man." + +"And I'd have said that you weren't," replied the other bluntly. "I give +it up. But I know this: I'm going to be pretty wretchedly frightened +until I know that I haven't got it. I'm frightened now." + +"Then you're a braver man than I thought. But the danger may be less +than you think. Stick to that cigar--here are two more--and wait for me +outside. Here's the doctor." + +Profound and solemn under a silk hat, the local physician entered, +bowing to Carroll as they passed in the hallway. Almost immediately +Perkins emerged. On his face was a sardonic grin. + +"Malaria," he observed. "The learned professor assures me that it's a +typical malaria." + +"Then it isn't the plague," said Carroll, relieved. + +His relief was of brief duration. + +"Of course it's plague. But if Professor Silk Hat, in there, officially +declared it such, he'd have bracelets on his arms in twelve hours. The +present Government of Caracuia doesn't believe in bubonic plague. I +fancy our unfortunate friend in there will presently disappear, either +just before or just after death. It doesn't greatly matter." + +"What is to be done now?" asked Carroll. + +"See that brush fire up there?" The hermit pointed to the hillside. +"If we steep ourselves in that smoke until we choke, I think it will +discourage any fleas that may have harbored on us. The flea is the only +agent of communication." + +Soot-begrimed, strangling, and with streaming eyes, they emerged, five +minutes later, from the cloud of smoke. From his pocket the Unspeakable +Perk dragged forth his white gloves. The action attracted his +companion's attention. + +"Good Lord!" he cried. "What has happened to your hands?" + +"They're blistered." + +"Stripped, rather. They look as if you'd fallen into a fire, or rowed a +fifty-mile race. That message of Mr. Brewster's--See here, Perkins, you +didn't row that over to the mainland? No, you couldn't. That's absurd. +It's too far." + +"No; I didn't row it to the mainland." + +"But you've been rowing. I'd swear to those hands. Where? The blockading +Dutch warship?" + +The other nodded. + +"Last night. Yah-h-h!" he yawned. "It makes me sleepy to think of it." + +"Why didn't they blow you out of the water?" + +"Oh, I was semiofficially expected. Message from our consul. They +transferred the message by wireless. I'm telling you all this, Mr. +Carroll, because I think you'll get your release within forty-eight +hours, and I want you to see that some of your party keeps constantly in +touch with Mr. Sherwen. It's mighty important that your party should get +out before plague is officially declared." + +"Are you going to report this case?" + +"All that I know about it." + +"But, of course, you can't report officially, not being a physician," +mused the other. "Still, when Dr. Pruyn comes, it will be evidence for +him, won't it?" + +"Undoubtedly. I should consider any delay after twenty-four hours risky +for your party." + +"What shall you do? Stay?" + +"Oh, I've my place in the mountains. That's remote enough to be safe. +Thank Heaven, there's a cloud over the sun! Let's sit down by this tree +for a minute." + +Unthinkingly, as he stretched himself out, the Unspeakable Perk pushed +his goggles back and presently slipped them off. Thus, when Carroll, who +had been gazing at the mist-capped peak of the mountain in front, turned +and met his companion's eyes, he underwent something of the same shock +that Polly Brewster had experienced, though the nature of his sensation +was profoundly different. But his impression of the suddenly revealed +face was the same. Ribbed-in though his mind was with tradition, and +distorted with falsely focused ideals and prejudices, Preston Fairfax +Fitzhugh Carroll possessed a sound underlying judgment of his fellow +man, and was at bottom a frank and honorable gentleman. In his belief, +the suddenly revealed face of the man beside him came near to being its +own guaranty of honor and good faith. + +"By Heavens, I don't believe it!" he blurted out, his gaze direct upon +the Unspeakable Perk. + +"What don't you believe?" + +"That rotten club gossip." + +"About me?" + +"Yes," said Carroll, reddening. + +The hermit pushed his glasses down, settled into place the white gloves, +with their soothing contents of emollient greases, and got to his feet. + +"We'd best be moving. I've got much to do," he said. + +"Not yet," retorted Carroll. "Perkins, is there a woman up there on the +mountains with you?" + +"That is purely my own business." + +"You told Miss Brewster there wasn't. If you tell me--" + +"I never told her any such thing. She misunderstood." + +"Who is the woman?" + +"If you want it even more frankly, that is none of your concern." + +"You have been letting Miss Brewster--" + +"Are you engaged to marry Miss Brewster?" + +"No." + +"Then you have no authority to question me. But," he added wearily, "if +it will ease your mind, and because of what you've done to-day, I 'll +tell you this--that I do not expect ever to see Miss Brewster again." + +"That isn't enough," insisted Carroll, his face darkening. "Her name has +already been connected with yours, and I intend to follow this through. +I am going to find out who the woman is at your place." + +"How do you propose to do it?" + +"By coming to see." + +"You'll be welcome," said the other grimly. "By the way, here's a map." +He made a quick sketch on the back of an envelope. "I'll be there at +work most of to-morrow. Au revoir." He rose and started down the hill. +"Better keep to yourself this evening," he warned. "Take a dilute +carbolic bath. You'll be all right, I think." + +Slowly and thoughtfully the Southerner made his way back to the hotel. +After dining in his own room, he found time heavy on his hands; so, +dispatching a note of excuse to Miss Brewster on the plea of personal +business, he slipped out into the city. Wandering idly toward the hills, +he presently found himself in a familiar street, and, impelled by human +curiosity, proceeded to turn up the hill and stop opposite the blank +door. + +Here he was puzzled. To go in and inquire, even if he cared to and +could make himself understood, would perhaps involve further risk of +infection. While he was considering, the door slowly opened, and the +leather-skinned crone appeared. Her eyes were swollen. In her hand she +carried a travesty of a wreath, done in whitish metal, which she had +interwoven with her own black mantilla, the best substitute for crape +at hand. This she undertook to hang on the door. As Carroll crossed to +address her, a powerful, sullen-faced man, with a scarred forehead and +the insignia of some official status, apparently civic, on his coat, +emerged from a doorway and addressed her harshly. She raised her +reddened eyes to him and seemed to be pleading for permission to set +up the little tribute to her dead. There was the exchange of a few more +words. Then, with an angry exclamation, the official snatched the wreath +from her. Carroll's hand fell on his shoulder. The man swung and saw a +stranger of barely half his bulk, who addressed him in what seemed to be +politely remonstrant tones. He shook himself loose and threw the wreath +in the crone's face. Then he went down like a log under the impact of a +swinging blow behind the ear. With a roar he leaped up and rushed. The +foreigner met him with right and left, and this time he lay still. + +Hanging the tragically unsightly wreath on the door, through which the +terrified mourner had vanished, Carroll returned to the Gran Hotel Kast, +his perturbed and confused thoughts and emotions notably relieved by +that one comforting moment of action. + + + + + +X + +THE FOLLY OF PERK + + +Of the comprehensive superiority of the American Legation over the Gran +Hotel Kast there could be no shadow of a doubt. From the moment of their +arrival at noon of the day after the British Minister's warning, the +refugees found themselves comfortable and content, Miss Brewster having +quietly and tactfully taken over the management of internal affairs and +reigning, at Sherwen's request, as generalissima. No disturbance had +marked the transfer to their new abode. In fact, so wholly lacking was +any evidence of hostility to the foreigners on the part of the crowds +on the streets that the Brewsters rather felt themselves to be extorting +hospitality on false pretenses. Sherwen, however, exhibited signal +relief upon seeing them safely housed. + +"Please stay that way, too," he requested. + +"But it seems so unnecessary, and I want to market," protested Miss +Polly. + +"By no means! The market is the last place where any of us should be +seen. It is in that section that Urgante has been doing his work." + +"Who is he?" + +"A wandering demagogue and cheap politician. Abuse of the 'Yankis' +is his stock in trade. Somebody has been furnishing him money lately. +That's the sole fuel to his fires of oratory." + +"Bet the bills smelled of sauerkraut when they reached him," grunted +Cluff, striding over to the window of the drawing-room, where the +informal conference was being held. + +"They may have had a Hochwaldian origin," admitted Sherwen. "But it +would be difficult to prove." + +"At least the Hochwald Legation wouldn't shed any tears over a +demonstration against us," said Carroll. + +"Well within the limits of diplomatic truth," smiled the American +official. + +"Pooh!" Mr. Brewster puffed the whole matter out of consideration. "I +don't believe a word of it. Some of my acquaintances at the club, men +in high governmental positions, assure me that there is no anti-American +feeling here." + +"Very likely they do. Frankness and plain-speaking being, as you +doubtless know, the distinguishing mark of the Caracunan statesman." + +The sarcasm was not lost upon Mr. Brewster, but it failed to shake his +skepticism. + +"There are some business matters that require that I should go to the +office of the Ferro carril del Norte this afternoon," he said. + +"I beg that you do nothing of the sort," cried Sherwen sharply. + +The magnate hesitated. He glanced out of the window and along the +street, close bounded by blank-walled houses, each with its eyes closed +against the sun. A solitary figure strode rapidly across it. + +"There's that bug-hunting fellow again," said Mr. Brewster. "He's an +American, I guess,--God save the mark! Nobody seems to be interfering +with HIM, and he's freaky enough looking to start a riot on Broadway." + +Further comment was checked by the voice of the scientist at the door, +asking to see Mr. Sherwen at once. Miss Polly immediately slipped out of +the room to the patio, followed by Carroll and Cluff. + +"My business, probably," remarked Mr. Brewster. "I'll just stay and +see." And he stayed. + +So far as the newcomer was concerned, however, he might as well not +have been there; so he felt, with unwonted injury. The scientist, +disregarding him wholly, shook hands with Sherwen. + +"Have you heard from Wisner yet?" + +"Yes. An hour ago." + +"What was his message?" + +"All right, any time to-day." + +"Good! Better get them down to-night, then, so they can start to-morrow +morning." + +"Will Stark pass them?" + +"Under restrictions. That's all been seen to." + +At this point it appeared to Mr. Brewster that he had figured as a +cipher quite long enough. + +"Am I right in assuming that you are talking of my party's departure?" +he inquired. + +"Yes," said Sherwen. "The Dutch will let you through the blockade." + +"Then my cablegram reached the proper parties at Washington," said the +magnate, with an I-knew-it-would-be-that-way air. + +"Thanks to Mr. Perkins." + +"Of course, of course. That will be--er--suitably attended to later." + +The Unspeakable Perk turned and regarded him fixedly; but, owing to the +goggles, the expression was indeterminable. + +"The fact is it would be more convenient for me to go day after +to-morrow than to-morrow." + +"Then you'd better rent a house," was the begoggled one's sharp and +brief advice. + +"Why so?" queried the great man, startled. + +"Because if you don't get out to-morrow, you may not get out for +months." + +"As I understand the Dutch permit, it specifies AFTER to-day." + +"It isn't a question of the Dutch. Caracuna City goes under quarantine +to-night, and Puerto del Norte to-morrow, as soon as proper official +notification can be given." + +"Then plague has actually been found?" + +"Determined by bacteriological test this morning." + +"How do you know?" + +"I was present at the finding." + +"Who did it? Dr. Pruyn?" + +The other nodded. + +Sherwen whistled. + +"Better make ready to move, Mr. Brewster," he advised. "You can't get +out of port after quarantine is on. At least, you couldn't get into any +other port, even if you sailed, because your sailing-master wouldn't +have clearance papers." + +The magnate smiled. + +"I hardly think that any United States Consul, with a due regard for his +future, would refuse papers to the yacht Polly," he observed. + +"Don't be a fool!" + +Thatcher Brewster all but jumped from his chair. That this adjuration +should have come from the freakish spectacle-wearer seemed impossible. +Yet Sherwen, the only other person in the room, was certainly not +guilty. + +"Did you address me, young man?" + +"I did." + +"Do you know, sir, that since boyhood no person has dared or would dare +to call me a fool?" + +"Well, I don't want to set a fashion," said the other equably. "I'm only +advising you not to be." + +"Keep your advice until it's wanted." + +"If it were a question of you alone, I would. But there are others to be +considered. Now, listen, Mr. Brewster: Wisner and Stark wouldn't let you +through that quarantine, after it's declared, if you were the Secretary +himself. A point is being stretched in giving you this chance. If you'll +agree to ship a doctor,--Stark will find you one,--stay out for six full +days before touching anywhere, and, if plague develops, make at once +for any detention station specified by the doctor, you can go. Those are +Stark's conditions." + +"Damnable nonsense!" declared Mr. Brewster, jumping to his feet, quite +red in the face. + +"Let me warn you, Mr. Brewster," put in Sherwen, with quiet force, "that +you are taking a most unwise course. I am advised that Mr. Perkins is +acting under instructions from our consulate." + +"You say that Dr. Pruyn is here. I want to see him before--" + +"How can you see him? Nobody knows where he is keeping himself. I +haven't seen him yet myself. Now, Mr. Brewster, just sit down and talk +this over reasonably with Mr. Perkins." + +"Oh, no," said the third conferee positively; "I've no time for +argument. At six o'clock I 'll be back here. Unless you decide by then, +I'll telephone the consulate that the whole thing is off." + +"Of all the impudent, conceited, self-important young whippersnappers!" +fumed Mr. Brewster. But he found that he had no audience, as Sherwen had +followed the scientist out of the room. + +Before the afternoon was over, the American concessionnaire had come to +realize that the situation was less assured than he had thought. +Twice the British Minister had come, and there had been calls from the +representatives of several other nationalities. Von Plaanden, in full +uniform and girt with the short saber that is the special and privileged +arm of the crack cavalry regiment to which he belonged at home, had +dismounted to deliver personally a huge bouquet for Miss Brewster, from +the garden of the Hochwald Legation, not even asking to see the girl, +but merely leaving the flowers as a further expression of his almost +daily apology, and riding on to an official review at the military park. + +He had spoken vaguely to Sherwen of a restless condition of the local +mind. Reports, it appeared, had been set afloat among the populace to +the effect that an American sanitary officer had been bribed by the +enemies of Caracuna to declare plague prevalent, in order to close the +ports and strangle commerce. Urgante was going about the lower part +of the city haranguing on street corners without interference from the +police. In the arroyo of the slaughter-house, two American employees of +the street-car company had been stoned and beaten. Much aguardiente +was in process of consumption, it being a half-holiday in honor of some +saint, and nobody knew what trouble might break out. + +"Bolas are rolling around like balls on a billiard table," said young +Raimonda, who had come after luncheon to call on Miss Brewster. "In this +part of the city there will be nothing. You needn't be alarmed." + +"I'm not afraid," said Miss Polly. + +"I'm sure of it," declared the Caracunan, with admiration. "You are very +wonderful, you American women." + +"Oh, no. It's only that we love excitement," she laughed. + +"Ah, that is all very well, for a bull-fight or 'la boxe.' But for one +of our street emeutes--no; too much!" + +They were seated on the roof of the half-story of the house, which had +been made into a trellised porch overlooking the patio in the rear and +the street in front, an architectural wonder in that city of dead walls +flush with the sidewalk line all the way up. Leaning over the rail, +the visitor pointed through the leaves of a small gallito tree to a +broad-fronted building almost opposite. + +"That is my club. You have other friends there who would do anything for +you, as I would, so gladly," he added wistfully. "Will you honor me by +accepting this little whistle? It is my hunting-whistle. And if there +should be anything--but I think there will not--you will blow it, and +there will be plenty to answer. If not, you will keep it, please, to +remember one who will not forget you." + +Handsome and elegant and courtly he was, a true chevalier of adventurous +pioneering stock, sprung from the old proud Spanish blood, but there +stole behind the girl's vision, as she bade him farewell, the undesired +phantasm of a very different face, weary and lined and lighted by +steadfast gray eyes--eyes that looked truthful and belonged to a liar! +Miss Polly Brewster resumed her final packing in a fume of rage at +herself. + +All hands among the visitors passed the afternoon dully. Mr. Brewster, +who had finally yielded to persuasion and decided not to venture out, +though still deriding the restriction as the merest nonsense, was in a +mood of restless silence, which his irrepressible daughter described to +Fitzhugh Carroll as "the superior sulks." + +Carroll himself kept pretty much aloof. He had the air of a man who +wrestles with a problem. Cluff fussed and fretted and privately cursed +the country and all its concessions. Between calls and the telephone, +Sherwen was kept constantly busy. But a few minutes before six, central, +in the blandest Spanish, regretted to inform him that Puerto del Norte +was cut off. When would service be resumed? Quien sabe? It was an order. +Hasta manana. To-morrow, perhaps. Smoothing a furrow from his brow, the +sight of which would have done nobody any good, he suggested that they +all gather on the roof porch for a swizzle. The suggestion was hailed +with enthusiasm. + +Thus, when the Unspeakable Perk came hustling down the street some +minutes earlier than the appointed time, he was hailed in Sherwen's +voice, and bidden to come directly up. No time, on this occasion, +for Miss Polly to escape. She decided in one breath to ignore the man +entirely; in the next to bow coldly and walk out; in the next to--He was +there before the latest wavering decision could be formulated. + +"Better all get inside," he said a little breathlessly. "There may be +trouble." + +Cluff brightened perceptibly. + +"What kind of trouble?" + +"Urgante is leading a mob up this way. They're turning the corner now." + +"I'm going to wait and see them," cried Miss Polly, with decision. + +"Bend over, then, all of you," ordered Sherwen. "The vines will cover +you if you keep down." + +Around the corner, up the hill from where they were, streamed a rabble +of boys, leaping and whooping, and after them a more compact crowd of +men, shoeless, centering on a tall, broad, heavy-mustached fellow who +bore on a short staff the Stars and Stripes. + +"Where on earth did he get that?" cried Sherwen. + +"Looted the Bazaar Americana," replied Perkins. + +"That's Urgante," growled Cluff; "that devil with the flag." + +"But he seems to be eulogizing it," cried the girl. + +The orator had set down his bright burden, wedging it in the iron guard +railing of a tree, and was now apostrophizing it with extravagant +bows and honeyed accents in which there was an undertone of hiss. For +confirmation, Miss Polly turned to the others. The first face her eyes +fell on was that of the ball-player. Every muscle in it was drawn, and +from the tightened lips streamed such whispered curses as the girl never +before had heard. Next him stood the hermit, solid and still, but with +a queer spreading pallor under his tan. In front of them Sherwen was +crouched, scowlingly alert. The expression of Mr. Brewster and Carroll, +neither of whom understood Spanish, betokened watchful puzzlement. + +Enlightenment burst upon them the next minute. From the motley crowd +below rose a snarl of laughter and savage jeering, the object of which +was unmistakable. + +"By G--d!" cried Mr. Brewster, straightening up and grasping the +railing. "They're insulting the flag!" + +"I've left my pistol!" muttered Carroll, white-lipped. "I've left my +pistol!" + +Polly Brewster's hand flew to her belt. + +She drew out the automatic and held it toward the Southerner. But it was +not Carroll's hand that met hers; it was the Unspeakable Perk's. + +"No," said he, and he flung the weapon back of him into the patio. + +"Oh! Oh!" cried the girl. "You unspeakable coward!" + +Carroll jumped forward, but Sherwen was equally quick. He interposed his +slight frame. + +"Perkins is right," he said decisively. "No shooting. It would be worth +the life of every one here. We've got to stand it. But somebody is going +to sweat blood for this day's work!" + +The instinct of discipline, characteristic of the professional athlete, +brought Cluff to his support. + +"What Mr. Sherwen says, goes," he said, almost choking on the words. +"We've got to stand it." + +In the breast of Miss Polly Brewster was no response to this spirit. She +was lawless with the lawlessness of unconquered youth and beauty. + +"Oh!" she breathed "If I had my pistol back, I'd shoot that BEAST +myself!" + +The scientist turned his goggles hesitantly upon her. + +"Miss Brewster," he began, "please don't think--" + +"Don't speak to me!" she cried. + +Another clamor of derision sounded from the street as Urgante resumed +the standard of his mockery and led his rabble forward. Behind the +dull-colored mass appeared a spot of splendor. It was Von Plaanden, +gorgeous in his full regalia, who had turned the corner, returning from +the public reception. Well back of the mob, he pulled his horse up, +and sat watching. The coincidence was unfortunate. It seemed to justify +Sherwen's bitter words:-- + +"Come to visa his work. There's the Hochwaldian for you!" + +Forward danced and reeled the "Yanki" baiters below, until they were +under the balcony where the little group of Americans sheltered and +raged silently. There the orator again spewed forth his contempt upon +the alien banner, and again the ranks behind him shrieked their approval +of the affront. Miss Polly Brewster, American of Americans, whose +great-grandfathers had fought with Herkimer and Steuben,--themselves the +sons of women who had stood by the loopholes of log houses and caught +up the rifles of their fallen pioneer husbands, wherewith to return the +fire of the besieging Mohawks,--ran forward to the railing, snatching +her skirt from the detaining grasp of her father. In the corner stood +a huge bowl of roses. Gathering both hands full, she leaned forward +and flung them, so that they fell in a shower of loveliness upon the +insulted flag of her nation. + +For an instant silence fell upon the "great unwashed" below. Out of it +swelled a muttering as the leader made a low, mocking obeisance to the +girl, following it with a word that brought a jubilant yelp from his +adherents. Stooping, he ladled up in his cupped hand a quantity of +gutter filth. Where the flowers had but a moment before fluttered in the +folds, he splotched it, smearing star, bar, and blue with its blackness. +At the sight, the girl burst into helpless tears, and so stood weeping, +openly, bitterly, and unashamed. + +No brain is so well ordered, no emotion so thoroughly controlled, but +that under sudden pressure--click!--the mechanism slips a cog and +runs amuck. Just that thing happened inside the Unspeakable Perk's +smooth-running, scientific brain upon incitement of his flag's +desecration and his lady's grief. To her it seemed that he shot past her +horizontally like a human dart. The next second he was over the railing, +had swung from a branch of the neighboring tree to the trunk, and leaped +to the ground, all in one movement of superhuman agility. To the mob +his exploit was apparently without immediate significance. Perhaps +they didn't notice the descent; or perhaps those few who saw were so +astonished at the apparition of a chunky tree-man with protuberant eyes +scrambling down upon them in the manner of an ape, that they failed to +appreciate what it might portend of trouble. + +The hermit landed solidly on his feet a few yards from Urgante, the +flag bearer. With a berserker yell, he rushed. Taken by surprise, the +assailed one still had time to lift the heavy staff. As quickly, the +American lowered his head and dove. It may not have been magnificent; it +certainly was not war by the rules; but it was eminently effective. To +say that the leader went down would be absurdly inadequate. He simply +crumpled. Over and over he rolled on the cobbles, while the smirched +flag flew clear of his grasp, and fell on the farther sidewalk. + +"Wow!" yelled Cluff, leaping into the air. "Football! That cost him a +couple of ribs. Hey, Rube!" + +And he rushed for the stairs, followed by Carroll, Sherwen, and, only +one jump behind, Mr. Thatcher Brewster, cursing in a manner that did +credit to his patriotism, but would have added no luster to his record +as an elder of the Pioneer Presbyterian Church, of Utica, New York. + +Meantime, the Unspeakable Perk, having rolled free of the fallen enemy, +staggered to his feet and caught up the flag. Stunned surprise on the +part of the crowd gave him an instant's time. He edged along the curb, +hoping to gain the legation door by a rush. But the foe threw out a +wing, cutting him off. Several eager followers had lifted Urgante, whose +groans and curses suggested a sound basis for Cluff's diagnosis. Himself +quite hors de combat, he spat at the Unspeakable Perk, and cried upon +his henchmen to kill the "Yanki." It seemed not improbable to the latter +that they would do it. Perkins set his back to the wall, twirled the +flag folds tight around the pole, reversed and clubbed the staff, +and prepared to make any attempt at killing as uncomfortable and +unprofitable as possible. The rabble, by no means favorably impressed by +these businesslike proceedings, stood back, growling. + +A hand flew up above the crowd. The Unspeakable Perk ducked sharply and +just in time, as a knife struck the wall above him and clattered to +the pavement. Instantly he caught it up, but the blade had snapped off +short. As he stooped, one bold spirit rushed in. Perkins met him with a +straight lance-thrust of the staff, which sent him reeling and shrieking +with pain back to his fellows. But now another knife, and another, +struck and fell from the wall at his back; badly aimed both, but +presumably the forerunners of missiles, some of which would show better +marksmanship. The assailed man cast a swift, desperate look about him; +the crowd closed in a little. Obviously he must keep "eyes front." + +"To your left! To your left!" The voice came to him clear and sweet +above the swelling growl of the rabble. "The doorway! Get into the +doorway, Mr. Beetle Man." + +A few paces away, how far Perkins could only guess, was the entrance to +the house. He surmised that, like many of the better-class houses, it +had a small set-in door, at right angles to the main entrance, that +would serve as a shallow shelter. Without raising his eyes, he nodded +comprehension, and began to edge along the wall, swinging his stout +weapon. As he went, he wondered what was keeping the others. At that +moment the others were frantically wrestling with the all-too-adequate +bars with which Sherwen had reinforced the wide door. + +Perkins, feeling with a cautious heel, found himself opposite the entry +indicated by the voice. Turning, he darted into the narrow embrasure. +Here he was comparatively safe from the missiles that were now coming +from all directions. On the other hand, he now lacked room to swing his +formidable club. The peons, with a shout, closed in to arm's length. +Alone on her balcony, the girl turned her head away and cried aloud, +hopelessly, for help. She wanted to close her ears against the bestial +shouts of a mob trampling to death a defenseless man, but her arms were +of lead. She listened and shivered. + +Instead of the sound that she dreaded there came the ringing of hoofs +on stones, followed by yells of alarm. She opened her eyes to see Von +Plaanden, bent forward in his saddle at the exact angle proper to +the charge, urging his great horse down upon the mass of people as +ruthlessly as if they had been so many insects. Through the circle he +broke, swinging his mount around beside the shallow doorway before +which three Caracunans already lay sprawled, attesting the vigor of the +defender's final resistance. Back of the horseman lay half a dozen other +figures. The Hochwaldian jerked out his sword and stood, a splendid +spectacle. Very possibly he was not wholly unmindful of his own +pictorial quality or of the lovely American witness thereto. + +His intervention gave a few seconds' respite, one of those checks +that save battles and make history. Now, in the further making of this +particular history, sounded a lusty whoop from the opposite direction; +such a battle slogan as only the Anglo-Saxon gives. It emanated from +Galpy the bounder, bounding now, indeed, at full speed up the slope, +followed by two of his fellow railroad men, flannel-clad and still +perspiring from their afternoon's cricket. Against bare legs a cricket +bat is a highly dissuasive argument. The Britons swung low and hard for +the ancient right of the breed to break into a row wherever white men +are in the minority against other races. The downhill wing of the mob +being much the weakest, opened up for them with little resistance, +leaving them a free path to the cavalryman, to whose side Perkins, with +staff ready brandished, had advanced from his shelter. + +"Wot's the merry game?" inquired the cockney cheerfully. + +Before them the crowd swayed and parted, and there appeared, lifted by +many arms, a figure with a dead-white face streaked with blood, running +from a great gash in the scalp. + +"He went down in front of my horse," explained the Hochwald secretary +coolly. + +At the sight, there rose from the crowd a wailing cry, quite different +from its former voice. Galpy's teeth set and his cricket bat went up in +the air. + +"There'll be killing for this," he said. "I know these blightehs. That +yell means blood. We must make a bolt for it. Is this all there is of +us?" + +At the moment of his asking, it was. One half a second later, it wasn't, +as the last of the legation's stubborn bars yielded, the door burst +open, and the four Americans tumbled out at the charge, Cluff yelling +insanely, Carroll in deadly quiet, Sherwen alertly scanning the +adversaries for identifiable faces, and Elder Brewster still imperiling +his soul by the fervor of his language. Each was armed with such casual +weapons as he had been able to catch up. Carroll, a leap in advance of +the rest, encountered an Indian drover, half-dodged a swinging blow from +his whip, and sent him down with a broken shoulder from a chop with a +baseball club that he had found in the hallway. A bull-like charge had +carried Cluff deep among the Caracunans, where he encountered a huge +peon, whom he seized and flung bodily over the iron guard of a samon +tree, where the man hung, yelling dismally. Two other peons, who had +seized the athlete around the knees, were all but brained by a stoneware +gin bottle in the hands of Sherwen. Meanwhile, Mr. Brewster was +performing prodigies with a niblick which he had extracted, at full run, +from a bag opportunely resting against the hat-rack. Almost before they +knew it, the rescue party had broken the intercepting wing of the mob, +and had joined the others. + +Cluff threw a gorilla-like arm across the Unspeakable Perk's shoulder, + +"Hurt, boy?" he cried anxiously. + +"No, I'm all right. Who's left with Miss Brewster?" + +"Nobody. We must get back." + +Sherwen's cool voice cut in:-- + +"Close together, now. Keep well up. Herr von Plaanden, will you cover us +at the end?" + +"It is the post of honor," said the Hochwaldian. + +"You've earned it. But for you, they'd have got our colors." + +The foreigner bowed, and swung his horse toward a Caracunan who had +pressed forward a little too near. But, for the moment the fight had +oozed out of the mob. + +Without mishap the group got across the street, Perkins still clinging +to the flag. + +Suddenly, from the rear rank, came a shower of stones, followed by the +final rush. Galpy and Perkins went down. Von Plaanden tottered in his +saddle, but quickly recovered. Instantly Perkins was up again, the blood +streaming from the side of his head. He was conscious of brown hands +clutching at the cricketer, to drag him away. He himself seized the +cockney's legs and braced for that absurd and deadly tug of war. Then +Von Plaanden's saber descended, and he was able to haul Galpy back into +safety. + +The situation was desperate now. Mr. Brewster was pinned against the +wall and disarmed, but still fighting with fist and foot. Half a dozen +peons were struggling with Cluff across the bodies of as many more whom +he had knocked down. Sherwen, almost under the cavalryman's mount, was +protecting his rear with the fallen Galpy's cricket bat, and the two +other cricketers were fighting back to back on the other side. Carroll +was clubbing his way toward Mr. Brewster, but his weapon was now in his +left hand. Matters looked dark indeed, when there shrilled fiercely from +above them the whirring peal of a silver whistle. + +Polly Brewster had remembered Raimonda. It seemed a futile signal, for +as she ran to the railing and gazed across at the Club Amicitia, she saw +all its windows and doors tight closed, as befits an aristocratic club +that has no concern with the affairs of the rabble. But there is no way +of closing a patio from the top, and sounds can enter readily that way, +when all other apertures are shut. Long and loud Miss Polly blew the +signal on the silver hunting-whistle. + +In the club patio, Raimonda was chafing and wondering, and a score +of his friends were drinking and waiting. That signal released their +activities and terminated the battle of the American Legation most +ingloriously for the forces of Urgante. For the gilded youth of Caracuna +bears a heavy cane of fashion, and carries a ready revolver, also, +although not so admittedly as a matter of fashion. Furthermore, he has +a profound contempt for the peon class; a contempt extending to life and +limb. Therefore, when some two dozen young patricians sallied abruptly +forth with their canes, and the mob caught sight, here and there, of a +glint of nickel against the black, it gave back promptly. Some desultory +stones rattled against the walls. There were answering reports a few, +and sundry yells of pain. The army of Urgante broke and fled down the +side streets, leaving behind its broken and its wounded. Most of the +bullet casualties were below the knee. The Caracunan aristocrat always +fires low--the first time. + +Shortly thereafter, Miss Polly Brewster appeared upon the balcony of +the American Legation, and performed an illegal act. Upon a day not +designated as a Caracunan national holiday, she raised the flag of +an alien nation and fixed it, and the gilded youth of Caracuna in the +street below cheered, not the flag, which would have been unpatriotic, +but the flag-raiser, which was but gallant, until they were hoarse and +parched of throat. + + + + + +XI + +PRESTO CHANGE + + +After the battle, Miss Brewster reviewed her troops, and took stock +of casualties, in the patio. None of the allied forces had come off +scatheless. Galpy, whose injuries had at first seemed the most severe, +responded to a stiff dose of brandy. A cut across the scientist's head +had been hastily bandaged in a towel, giving him, as he observed, the +appearance of a dissipated Hindu. To Von Plaanden's indignant disgust, +his military splendor was seriously impaired by a huge "hickey" over his +left eye, the memento of a well-aimed rock. Cluff had broken a finger +and sprained his wrist. Mr. Brewster was anxious to know if any one +had seen two teeth of his on the pavement or whether he was to look +for later digestive indications of their whereabouts. Both of the young +cricketers had been battered and bruised, though it was nothing, +they gleefully averred, to what they had meted out. And Carroll had a +nasty-looking knife-thrust in his shoulder. + +All of them were disheveled, dilapidated, and grimy to the last degree, +except the Hochwaldian, who still sat his horse, which he had ridden +into the patio. But Miss Polly said to herself, with a thrill of pride, +that no woman need wish a more gallant and devoted band of defenders. +Leaning over them from the inner railing of the balcony, she surveyed +them with sparkling eyes. + +"It was magnificent!" she cried. "Oh, I'm so proud of you all! I could +hug you, every one!" + +"Better come down from there, Polly," said her father anxiously. "Some +of those ruffians might come back." + +"Not to-day," said Sherwen grimly. "They've had enough." + +"That is correct," confirmed Von Plaanden. "Nevertheless, there may +be disorder later. Would it not be better that you go to the British +Legation, Fraulein?" + +"Not I!" she returned. "I stay by my colors. And now I'm going to +disband my army." + +Stretching out her hand to a vase near her, she drew out a rose of +deepest red and held it above Von Plaanden. + +"The color of my country," said Von Plaanden gravely. "May I take it for +a sign that I am forgiven?" + +"Fully, freely, and gladly," said the girl. "You have put a debt upon us +all that I--that we can never repay." + +"It is I who pay. You will not think of me too hardly, for my one +breach?" + +"I shall think of you as a hero," said the girl impetuously. "And I +shall never forget. Catch, O knight." + +The rose fell, and was caught. Von Plaanden bowed low over it. Then he +straightened to the military salute, and so rode out of the door and out +of the girl's life. + +"Men are strange creatures," mused the philosopher of twenty. "You think +they are perfectly horrid, and suddenly they show their other side to +you, and you think they are perfectly splendid. I wish I knew a little +more about real people." + +She confessed to no more specific thought, but as she descended the +stairs to bid farewell to the blushing and deprecatory Britons, she was +eager to have it over with, and to come to speech with her beetle man, +who had so strangely flamed into action. The Unspeakable Perk! As the +name formed on her lips, she smiled tenderly. With sad lack of logic, +she was ready to discard every suspicion of him that she had harbored, +merely on the strength of his reckless outbreak of patriotism. She +looked about the patio, but he was not there. Sherwen came out of a side +door, his face puckered with anxiety. + +"Where is Mr. Perkins?" she asked. + +"In there." He nodded back over his shoulder. "Your father is with him. +Perhaps you'd better go in." + +With a chill at her heart, Polly entered the room, where Mr. Brewster +bent a troubled face over a head swathed in reddened bandages. + +Very crumpled and limp looked the Unspeakable Perk, bunched humpily upon +the little sofa. His goggles had fallen off, and lay on the floor beside +him, contriving somehow to look momentously solemn and important all +by themselves. His face was turned half away, and, as Polly's gaze fell +upon it, she felt again that queer catch at her heart. + +"Wouldn't know it was the same chap, would you?" whispered Mr. Brewster. + +The girl picked up the grotesque spectacles, cradling them for an +instant in her hands before she put them aside and leaned over the quiet +form. + +"Came staggering in, and just collapsed down there," continued her +father huskily. "Lord, I wouldn't lose that boy after this for a million +dollars!" + +"Why do you talk that way?" she demanded sharply. "What has happened? +Did he faint?" + +"Just collapsed. When I tried to rouse him, he kicked me in the chest," +replied the magnate, with somber seriousness. + +"Oh, you goose of a dad!" There was a tremulous note in Polly's low +laughter. "That's all right, then. Can't you see he's dead for sleep, +poor beetle man?" + +"Do you think so?" said Mr. Brewster, vastly relieved. "Hadn't I better +go out for a doctor, and make sure?" + +She shook her head. + +"Let him rest. Hand me that pillow, please, dad." + +With soft little pushes and wedges she worked it under the scientist's +head. "What a dreadful botch of bandaging! He looks so pale! I wonder if +I couldn't get those cloths off. Lend me your knife, dad." + +Gently as she worked, the head on the pillow began to sway, and the lips +to move. + +"Oh, let me alone!" they muttered querulously. + +The eyes opened. The Unspeakable Perk gazed up into the faces above +him, but saw only one, a face whose tender concern softened it to a +loveliness greater even than when he had last seen it. He tried to rise, +but the hands that pressed him back were firm and quick. + +"Lie still!" bade their owner. + +A thin film of color mounted to his cheeks. + +"I--I--beg your pardon," he stammered. "I--I--d-didn't know--" + +"Don't be a goose!" she adjured him. "It's only me." + +"Yes, that's the trouble." He closed his eyes again, and began to +murmur. + +"What does he say?" asked Mr. Brewster, lowering his head and almost +falling over backward as his astonished ears were greeted by the slowly +intoned rhythm:-- + + "Scarab, tarantula, doodle-bug, flea." + +"Delirious!" exclaimed the magnate. "Clean off his head! How does one +find a doctor in this town?" + +"No need, dad," his daughter reassured him. "It's just a--a sort of +game." + +"Game! Did you hear what he said?" + +"Well, a kind of password. It's all right, Dad. It is, really." + +Still undecided, Mr. Brewster stared at the injured man. + +"I don't know--" he began, when the eyes opened again. + +"Feeling better?" inquired Polly briskly. + +"Yes. The charm works perfectly." + +"Anything I can do, or get, for you, my boy?" inquired Mr. Brewster, +stepping forward. + +"What's in the ice-box?" asked the other anxiously. + +"Oh!" cried the girl in distress. "He's starving! When did you eat +last?" + +"I can't exactly remember. It was about five this morning, I think. A +banana, and, as I recall it, a small one." + +"Dad!" cried the girl, but that prompt and efficient gentleman was +already halfway to the cook, dragging Sherwen along as interpreter. + +"He'll get whatever there is in the shortest known time," the girl +assured her patient. "Trust dad. Now, you lie back and let me fix up a +fresh bandage." + +"You'd have made a great trained nurse," he murmured, as she adjusted +the clean strips that Sherwen had sent in. "Don't pin my ear down. It's +got to help hold my goggles on." + +"The dear funny goggles!" Picking them up, she patted them with dainty +fingers, before setting them aside. He watched her uneasily, much in the +manner of a dog whose bone has been taken away. + +"Do you mind giving them back?" he said. + +"But you're not going to wear them here," she protested. + +"I've got so used to them," he explained apologetically, "that I don't +feel really dressed without them." + +She handed them back and he adjusted them to the bandages. "For the +present, rest is prescribed you know," said she. + +"Oh, no!" he declared. "As soon as I've had something to eat, I'll go. +There are a hundred things to be done. Where are my gloves?" + +"What gloves? Oh, those white abominations? Why on earth do you wear +them?" Her glance fell upon his right hand, which lay half-open beside +him. "Oh--oh--oh!" she cried in a rising scale of distress. "What have +you done to your hands?" + +He reddened perceptibly. + +"Nothing." + +"Nothing, indeed! Tell me at once!" + +"I've been rowing." + +"Where to?" + +"Oh, out to a ship." + +"There aren't any ships, except the Dutch warship. Was it to her?" + +"Yes." + +"To carry our message--MY message?" + +He squirmed. + +"I'm awfully sleepy," he protested. "It isn't fair to cross-examine a +witness--" + +"When was it?" his ruthless interrogator broke in. + +"Night before last." + +"How far?" + +"How can I tell? Not far. A few miles." + +"And back. And it took you all night," she accused. + +"What if it did?" he cried peevishly. "A man's got to have some relief +from work, hasn't he? It was livelier than sitting all night with one's +eye glued to a microscope barrel!" + +"Oh, beetle man, beetle man! I don't know about you at all. What kind of +a strange queer creature are you? Have you wings, Mr. Beetle Man?" + +Suddenly she bent over and laid her soft lips upon the scarified palm. +The Unspeakable Perk sat up, with a half-cry. + +"Now the other one," said the girl. Her face was a mantle of rose-color, +but her eyes shone. + +"I won't! You shan't!" + +"The other one!" she commanded imperiously. + +"Please, Miss Brewster--" + +A noise at the door saved him. There stood Thatcher Brewster, magnate, +multi-millionaire, and master of men, a huge tray in his hands. + +"Beefsteak, fried potatoes, alligator pear, fresh bread, REAL butter, +coffee, AND cake," he proclaimed jovially. "Not to mention a cocktail, +which I compounded with my own skilled hands. Are you ready, my boy? +Go!" + +The Unspeakable Perk leaped from his couch. + +"Food!" he cried. "Real American food! The perfume of it is a square +meal." + +"You're much gladder to see it than you were me," pouted Miss Polly. + +"I'm not half as afraid of it," he admitted. "Mr. Brewster, your +health." + +"Here's to you, my boy. Now I'll leave you with your nurse, and make my +final arrangements. We're off by special in the morning." + +"That's fine!" said the scientist. + +But Miss Polly Brewster caught the turn of his head in her direction, +and saw that his fork had slackened in his hand. Something tightened +around her heart. + +As he went, her father considered her for a moment, and wondered. Never +before had he seen such a look in her eyes as that which she had turned +on the queer, vivid stranger so busily engaged at the tray. Polly, and +this obscure scientist! After the kind of men whom the girl had known, +enslaved, and eluded! Absurd! Yet if it were to be--Mr. Brewster +reviewed the events of the afternoon--well, it might be worse. + +"By the Lord Harry, he's a MAN, anyway!" decided Thatcher Brewster. + +Meanwhile, the subject of his musings began to feel like a man once +more, instead of like a lath. Having wrought havoc among the edibles, he +rose with a sigh. + +"If I could have one hour's sleep," he said mournfully, "I'd be fit as a +cricket." + +"You shall," said the girl. "Mr. Sherwen says he won't let you out of +the house until it's dark. And that's fully an hour." + +"I ought to be on my way back now." + +"Back where? To your mountains?" + +"Yes." + +"You'd be recognized and attacked before you could get out of the city. +I won't let you." + +"That wouldn't do, for a fact. Perhaps it would be safer to wait. I've +made enough trouble for one day by my blunder-headed thoughtlessness." + +"Is that what you call rescuing the flag?" + +"Oh, rescuing!" he said slightingly. "What difference does it make what +vermin like that mob do? Just for a whim, to endanger all of you." + +She stared at him in amaze and suspicion. But he was quite honest. + +"MY whim," she reminded him. + +"Yes; I suppose it was," he admitted thoughtfully. "When I saw you +crying, I lost my head, and acted like a child." + +"Then it was all my fault?" + +"Oh, I don't say that. Certainly not. I'm master of my own actions. If I +hadn't wanted--" + +"But it was my fault this much, anyway, that you wouldn't have done it +except for me." + +"Yes; it was your fault to that extent," he said honestly. "I hope you +don't mind my saying so." + +"Oh, beetle man, beetle man!" She leaned forward, her eyes deep-lit +pools of mirth and mockery and some more occult feeling that he could +not interpret. "Would it scare you quite out of your poor, queer wits if +I were to HUG you? Don't call for help. I'm not really going to do it." + +"I know you're not," said he dolefully. "But about that row, I want to +set myself right. I'm no fool. I know it took a certain amount of nerve +to go down there. And I was even proud of it, in a way. And when Von +Plaanden turned and gave me the salute before he went away, I liked it +quite a good deal." + +"Did he do that? I love him for it!" cried the girl. + +"But my point is this, that what I did wasn't sound common sense. Now if +Carroll had done it, it would have been all right." + +"Why for him and not for you?" + +"Because those are his principles. They're not mine." + +"I wish you weren't quite so contemptuous of poor Fitz. It seems hardly +fair." + +"Contemptuous of him? I'd give half my life to be in his place after +to-morrow." + +"Why?" There was a flutter in her throat as she put the question. + +"Because he's going with you, isn't he?" + +"So are you, if you will." + +"I can't." + +"Father won't go without you, I believe. Won't you come, if I ask you?" + +"No." + +"Work, I suppose," said the girl; "the work that you love better than +anything in the world." + +"You're wrong there." His voice was not quite steady now. "But it's work +that has to have my first consideration now. And there is one special +responsibility that I can't evade, for the present, anyway." + +"And afterward?" She dared not look at him as she spoke. + +"Ah, afterward. There's too much 'perhaps' in the afterward down here. +We science grubbers on the outposts enlist for the term of the war," he +said, smiling wanly. + +"How can I--can we go and leave you here?" she demanded obstinately. + +"Oh, give me a square meal once in a while, and a night's rest here and +there, and I'll do well enough." + +"Oh, dear! I forgot your sleep. Here I've been chattering like a magpie. +Take off your coat and lie down on that sofa at once." + +"Where shall I find you when I wake up?" + +"Right where you leave me when you fall asleep." + +"Oh, no! You mustn't wear yourself out watching over me." + +"Hush! You're under orders. Give me the coat." She hung it on the back +of a chair. "Not another word now. And I'll call you when time is up." + +He closed his eyes, and the girl sat studying his face in the dim +light, graving it deep on her inner vision, seeking to formulate some +conception of the strange being so still and placid before her. How had +she ever thought him ridiculous and uncouth? How had she ever dared to +insult him by distrust? What did it matter what other men, estimating +him by their own sordid standards, said of him? As if her thought had +established a connection with his, he opened his eyes and sat up. + +"I knew there was something I wanted to ask you," he said. "What did +your 'Never, never, never' mean?" + +"A foolish misunderstanding that I'm ashamed of." + +"Was it that--that woman-gossip business?" + +"Yes. I was stupid. Will you forgive me?" + +"What is there to forgive? Some time, perhaps, you'll understand the +whole thing." + +"Please don't let's say anything more about it. I do understand." + +This was not quite true. All that Polly Brewster knew was that, with +those clear gray eyes meeting hers, she would have believed his honor +clean and high against the world. The presence of the woman, even +that dress fluttering in the wind, was susceptible of a hundred simple +explanations. + +"Ah, that's all right, then." There was relief in his tone. "Of course, +in a place like this there is a lot of gossip and criticism. And when +one runs counter to the general law--" + +"Counter to the law?" + +"Yes. As a rule, I'm not 'beyond the pale of law,'" he said, smiling. +"But down here one isn't bound by the same conventions as at home." + +The girl's hand went to her throat in a piteous gesture. + +"I--I--don't understand. I don't want to understand." + +"There's got to be a certain broad-mindedness in these matters," he +blundered on, with what seemed to her outraged senses an abominable +jauntiness. "But the risk was small for me, and, of course, for her, +anything was better than the other life. At that, I don't see how the +truth reached you. What is it, Miss Polly?" + +Rage, grief, and shame choked the girl's utterance. + +Without a word, she ran from the room, leaving her companion a prey to +troubled wonder. + +In the patio, she turned sharply to avoid a group gathered around Galpy, +who, with a patch over one eye, was trying to impart some news between +gasps. + +"Got it from the bulletin board of La Liberdad," he cried. "Killed; body +gone; devil to pay all over the place." + +"What's that?" demanded the Unspeakable Perk, running out, coatless and +goggleless. + +"There's been another riot, and Dr. Luther Pruyn is killed," explained +Sherwen. + +"Who says so?" + +"Bulletin board--La Liberdad--just saw it," panted Galpy. + +"Nonsense! It's a bola." + +"The whole city is ringing with it. They say it was a plot to get him +out of the way to stop quarantine. The Foreign Office is buzzing with +inquiries, and Puerto del Norte is burning up the wires." + +"Puerto del Norte! How did they hear?" + +"Telephone, of course. I hear Wisner is coming up," said Sherwen. + +"I've got to get a wire to the port at once," cried the scientist. "At +once!" + +"You! What for?" + +"To stop off Wisner. To tell him it isn't so." + +"You're excited, my boy," said Mr. Brewster kindly. "Better lie down +again." + +"It's true, right enough," said the Englishman. "Sir Willet's cochero +saw the mob get him." + +"When? Where?" asked Fitzhugh Carroll. + +"Haven't got any details, but the Government admits it." + +"I don't care if the President and his whole cabinet swear to it," +vociferated the Unspeakable Perk. "It's a fake. How can I get Puerto del +Norte, Mr. Sherwen?" + +"You can't get it at all for any such purpose. How do you know it's a +fake?" + +"How do I know? Oh, dammit! I'M Luther Pruyn!" + +He snatched off his glasses and faced them. + +The little group stood petrified. Mr. Brewster was first to recover. + +"Crazy, poor chap!" he said. "Luther Pruyn was my classmate." + +"That's my father, Luther L." + +"Proofs," said Sherwen sharply. + +"In my coat pocket. In the room. Can I have your wire, Mr. Sherwen?" + +"It's cut." + +"Come to the railway wire," offered Galpy. "My eye! Wot a game!" + +The two men ran out, the scientist leaving behind coat and goggles. + +"It was our little mix-up that started the rumor," said Carroll +thoughtfully. "Somebody recognized Perk--Dr. Pruyn." + +"When his glasses fell off," said CLuff. "They're some disguise." + +"He's Luther Pruyn, sure enough!" said Mr. Sherwen, emerging from the +room. "Here's the proof." He held out an official-looking document. "An +order from the Dutch Naval Office, made out in his name." + +"What does it say?" asked Carroll. + +"I'm not much of a hand at Dutch, but it seems to direct the blockading +warship to receive Dr. Luther Pruyn and wife and convey them to +Curacao." + +"And wife!" exclaimed Cluff loudly. He whistled as a vent to his +amazement. "That explains all the talk about a woman--a lady in his +quinta on the mountains?" + +"Apparently," said Carroll. "May I see that document, Mr. Sherwen?" + +The American representative handed him the paper. As he was studying it, +Galpy reentered, still scant of breath from excitement and haste. "He's +gone back to the mountains," he announced. "Sent word for you to get to +the port before dawn, if you have to walk. See Mr. Wisner there. He'll +arrange everything." + +"Will Mr. Perk--Dr. Pruyn be there?" asked Mr. Brewster. + +"He didn't say." + +"But he's gone without his coat!" + +"And goggles," said Cluff. + +"And his pass," added Sherwen. + +"Trust him to come back for them when he gets ready. He's a rum josser +for doing things his own way. Now, about the train." And Galpy outlined +the plan of departure to the men, who, except Carroll, had gathered +about him. The Southerner, unnoticed, had slipped into the room +where the scientist's coat lay. Coming out by the lower door, he was +intercepted by Miss Polly Brewster. He interpreted the misery in her +face, and turned sick at heart with the pain of what it told him. + +"You heard?" he asked. + +She nodded. "Is it true? Did you see the permit yourself?" + +"Yes. Here it is." + +"I don't want to see it. It doesn't matter," she said, with utter +weariness in her voice. "When do we leave? I want to go home. Send +father to me, please, Fitz." + +Mr. Brewster came to her, bearing the news that the sailing was set for +the morrow. + +"I'm glad to know that Dr. and Mrs. Pruyn are provided for," she +remarked, so casually that the troubled father drew a breath of relief, +concluding that he must have misinterpreted the girl's interest in the +man behind the goggles. + +On his way to the patio, he passed through the room where the scientist +had lain. He came out looking perturbed. + +"Has any one been in that room just now?" he asked Sherwen. + +"Not that I've seen." + +"The coat and the other things are not there." + +Inquiry and search alike proved unavailing. Not until an hour later did +they discover that Carroll had also disappeared. Sherwen found a note +from him on the office desk:-- + +Please look after my luggage. Will join the others at the yacht +to-morrow. + +P. F. F. C. + + + + + +XII + +THE WOMAN AT THE QUINTA + + +Thanks to his rival's map, Carroll had little difficulty in finding the +trail to the mountain quinta. A brilliant new moon helped to make easy +the ascent. What course he would pursue upon his arrival he had not +clearly defined to himself. That would depend largely upon the attitude +of the man he was seeking. The flame of battle, still hot from the +afternoon's melee, burned high in the Southerner's soul, for he was not +of those whose spirit rapidly cools. Bitter resentment on behalf of +Miss Polly Brewster fanned that flame. On one point he was determined: +neither he nor the so-called Perkins should leave the mountain until he +had had from the latter's own lips a full explanation. + +Coming out into the open space, he got his first glimpse of the quinta. +It was dark, except for one low light. From the farther side there came +faintly to his ear a rhythmical sound, with brief intervals of quiet, as +if some one hard at labor were stopping from time to time for breath. +At that distance, Carroll could not interpret the sound, but some +unidentified quality of it struck chill upon his fancy. Long experience +in the woods had made him a good trailsman. He proceeded cautiously +until he reached the edge of the clearing. + +The sound had stopped now, but he thought he could hear heavy breathing +from beyond the house. As he moved toward that side, a small but +malevolent-looking snake slithered out from beneath a bush near by. +Involuntarily he leaped aside. As he landed, a round pebble slipped +under his foot. He flung up his arm. It met the low branch of a tree, +and saved him a fall. But the thrashing of the leaves made a startling +noise in the moonlit stillness. The snake went on about its business. + +"Hola!" challenged a voice around the angle of the house. + +Carroll recognized the voice. He stepped out of the shadows and strode +across the open space. At the corner of the house he met the muzzle of +a revolver pointing straight at the pit of his stomach. Back of it were +the steady and now goggleless eyes of Luther Pruyn. + +"I am unarmed," said Carroll. + +"Ah, it's you!" said the other. He lowered his weapon, carefully whirled +the cylinder to bring the hammer opposite an empty chamber, and dropped +it in his pocket. "What do you want?" + +"An explanation." + +"Quite so," said the other coolly. "I'd forgotten that I invited you +here. How long had you been watching me?" + +"I saw you only when you came out from behind the house." + +"And you wish to know about--about my companion in this place?" +continued the other in an odd tone. + +"Yes." + +"Understand that I don't admit that you have the smallest right. But to +clear up a situation which no longer exists, I'm ready to satisfy you. +Come in." + +He held open the door of the room where the lone light was burning. In +the middle of the floor was spread a sheet, beneath which a form was +outlined in grisly significance. Carroll's host lifted the cover. + +The woman was white-haired, frail, and wrinkled. One side of her face +shone in the lamplight with a strange hue, like tarnished silver. In her +throat was a small bluish wound; opposite it a gaping hole. + +"Shot!" exclaimed Carroll. "Who did it?" + +"Some high-minded Caracunan patriot, I suppose." + +"Why?" + +"Well, I suspect that it was a mistake. From a distance and inside a +window, she might easily have been taken for some one else." + +Carroll's mind reverted to his companion's ready revolver. + +"Yourself, for instance?" he suggested. + +"Why, yes." + +"Who was she?" + +There was left in the Southerner's manner no trace of the +cross-examiner. Suspicion had departed from him at the first sight of +that old and still face, leaving only sympathy and pity. + +"My patient." + +"Have you been running a private hospital up here?" + +"Oh, no. I took her because there was no other place fit for her to go +to. And I had to keep her presence secret, because there's a law against +harboring lepers here. A pretty cruel brute of a law it is, too." + +"Leprosy!" exclaimed Carroll, looking at that strange silvery face with +a shudder. "Isn't it fearfully contagious?" + +"Not in any ordinary sense. I was trying a new serum on her, and had +planned to smuggle her across to Curacao, when this ended it." + +"Curacao? Then that pass for yourself and wife--By the way, that and +your coat are over in the thicket, where I dropped them." + +"Thank you. But it doesn't say 'wife.' It says simply 'a woman.'" + +"And you were encumbering yourself with an unknown leper, at a time +like this, just as an act of human kindness?" There was something almost +reverential in Carroll's voice. + +"Scientific interest, in part. Besides, she wasn't wholly unknown. She's +a sort of cousin of Raimonda's." + +Carroll's mind flew back to his fatally misinterpreted conversation with +the young Caracunan. + +"What did he mean by letting me think that you shouldn't associate with +Miss Polly?" + +"Oh, he had the usual erroneous dread of leprosy contagion, I suppose." + +"May I ask you another question, Mr. Per--I beg your pardon, Dr. Pruyn?" +said the visitor, almost timidly. + +"Perkins will do." The other smiled wanly. "Ask me anything you want +to." + +"Why did you run away that day on the tram-car?" + +"To avoid trouble, of course." + +"You? Why, you go about searching for dangerous and difficult jobs. That +won't do!" + +"Not at all. It's only when I can't get away from them. But I couldn't +risk arrest then. Some one would surely have recognized me as Luther +Pruyn. You see, I've been here before." + +"Then I don't see why they didn't identify you, anyway." + +"Three years ago I was much heavier, and wore a full beard. Then these +glasses, besides being invaluable for protection, are a pretty thorough +disguise." + +"So they are. But the game is up now." + +"Yes." The scientist drew the sheet back over the dead woman. "I suppose +the sharp-shooters who did the job will report me safely out of the way. +It's only a question of when the burial party will come for me." + +"Then, why are we waiting?" cried Carroll. + +"I couldn't leave her lying here," replied the other simply. + +The sound of rhythmical labor came back to Carroll's memory. + +"You were digging her grave?" + +The other nodded. Carroll, stiffly, for his knifed arm was painful, got +out of his coat. + +"Where's an extra spade?" he asked. + +When their labor was over, and the leper laid beneath the leveled soil, +Carroll cut two branches from a near-by tree, trimmed them, bound them +in the form of a cross, and fixed the symbol firmly in the earth at the +dead woman's head. + +"That was well thought of," said the scientist. "I'm afraid that +wouldn't have occurred to me." + +"You can get word to Senor Raimonda?" asked Carroll. + +His host nodded. A long silence followed. Carroll broke it:-- + +"Then there is no further secrecy about this?" + +"About what?" + +"Her identity." He pointed to the grave. + +"No; I suppose not. Why?" + +"Because Miss Brewster has a right to know." + +"Do you propose to tell her?" + +"Yes." + +"Very well," agreed the scientist, after a pause for consideration. "But +not until after the yacht is at sea." + +Carroll did not reply directly to this. + +"What shall you do?" + +"Get out, if I can. I'm ordered to Curacao. Wisner left word for me." + +"Come down the mountain with me." + +"Impossible. There are matters here to be attended to." + +"Then when will you come down?" + +"Before you sail. I must be sure that you get off." + +"You'll come to the yacht, then?" + +"No." + +"I think you should. There are reasons why--why--Miss Brewster--" + +"It isn't a question that I can argue," the other cut him off. "I can't +do it." There was so much pain in his voice that Carroll forbore to +press him. "But I'll ask you to take a note." + +Carroll nodded, and his host, disappearing within the quinta, returned +almost at once with an envelope on which the address was written in +pencil. The Southerner took it and rose from the porch, where he had +flung himself to rest. + +"Perkins," he said, with some effort, "I've thought and said some hard +things about you." + +"Naturally enough," murmured the other. + +"Do you want me to apologize?" + +The scientist stared. "Do you want me to thank you for to-night's work?" +he countered. + +"No." + +"Well--" + +"All right." + +The two men, different in every quality except that of essential +manhood, smiled at each other with a profound mutual understanding. +There was a silent handshake, and Carroll set off down the mountain +toward the sunrise glow. + + + + + +XIII + +LEFT BEHIND + + +Dawn crested, poised, and broke in a surf of splendor upon the great +mountain-line that overhangs Puerto del Norte. Where, at the corporation +dock, there had lurked the shadow of a yacht, gray-black against +blue-black, there now swung a fairy ship of purest silver, cradled +upon a swaying mirror. Tiny insects, touched to life by the radiance, +scuttled busily about her decks and swarmed out upon the dock. The +seagoing yacht Polly had awakened early. + +Down the mule path that forms the shortest cut from the railway +station straggled a group of minute creatures. To one watching from +the mountain-side with powerful field-glasses--such as, for example, a +convinced and ardent hater of the Caribbean Sea, curled up with his back +against a cold and Voiceless rock--it might have appeared that the group +was carrying an unusual quantity of hand luggage. Yet they were not +porters; so much, even at a great distance, their apparel +proclaimed. The pirates of porterdom do not get up to meet +five-o'clock-in-the-morning specials in Caracuna. + +The little group gathered close at the pier, then separated, two going +aboard, and the others disappearing into sundry streets and reappearing +presently at the water-front with other figures. The human form cannot +be distinctly seen, at a distance of three miles, to rub its eyes; +neither can it be heard to curse; but there was that in the newer +figures which suggested a sudden and reluctant surrender of sleeping +privileges. Had our supposititious watcher possessed an intimate and +contemptuous knowledge of Caracuna officialdom, he would have surmised +that lavish sums of money had been employed to stir the port and customs +officials to such untimely activity. + +But not money or any other agency is potent to stir Caracunan +officialdom to undue speed. Hence the observer from the heights, +supposing that he had a personal interest in the proceedings, might have +assured himself of ample time to reach the coast before the formalities +could be completed and the ship put forth to sea. Had he presently +humped himself to his feet with a sluggish effort, abandoned his +field-glasses in favor of a pair of large greenish-brown goggles, and +set out on a trail straight down the mountains, staggering a bit at +the start, a second supposititious observer of the first supposititious +observer--if such cumulative hypothesis be permissible--might have +divined that the first supposititious observer was the Unspeakable Perk, +going about other people's business when he ought to have been in bed. +And so, not to keep any reader in unendurable suspense, it was. + +While the Unspeakable Perk was making his way down the dim and narrow +trail, another equally weary figure shambled out from the main road upon +the flats and made for the landing. The apparel of Mr. Preston Fairfax +Fitzhugh Carroll was in a condition that he would have deemed quite +unfit for one of his station, had he been in a frame of mind to consider +such matters at all. He was not. Affairs vastly more weighty and human +occupied his mind. What he most wished was to find Miss Polly Brewster +and unburden himself of them. + +At the entrance to the pier, he was detained by the American Consul. +Cluff came running down the long structure in great strides. + +"Moses, Carroll! I'm glad to see you! Where've you been?" + +A week earlier, the scion of all the Virginias would have resented this +familiarity from a professional athlete. But neither Mr. Carroll's mind +nor his heart was a sealed inclosure. He had learned much in the last +few days. + +"Up on the mountain," he said. "For Heaven's sake, give me a drink, +Cluff!" + +The other produced a flask. + +"You do look shot to pieces," he commented. "Find Perk--Pruyn?" + +"Yes. I'll tell you later. Where's Miss Brewster?" + +"In her stateroom. Asleep, I guess. Said she wanted rest, and nobody was +to disturb her till we sail." + +"When do we start?" + +"Eight o'clock, they say. That means ten. Will Dr. Pruyn get here?" + +"He isn't going with us." + +"Oh, no. I forgot his Dutch permit. Well, he'd better use it quick, +or he'll go in a box when he does go. I wouldn't insure his life for a +two-cent stamp in this country." + +"You wouldn't if you'd seen what I saw last night," said the Southerner, +very low. + +Wisner, the busy, efficient little consul, who had been arranging with +the officials for Carroll's embarkation, now returned, bringing with him +a viking of a man whom he introduced as Dr. Stark, of the United States +Public Health Service. + +"Either of you know anything about Dr. Pruyn?" he inquired anxiously. + +"He's on his way down the mountain now," said Carroll. + +"Good! He's ordered away, I'm glad to say. Just got the message." + +"Then perhaps he will go out with us," said Cluff, with obvious relief. +"I sure did hate to think of leaving that boy here, with the game laws +for goggle-eyed Americans entirely suspended." + +"No. He's ordered to Curacao to stay and watch. We've got to get him out +to the Dutch ship somehow." + +"Couldn't the yacht take him and transfer him outside?" asked Carroll. + +"Mr. Carroll," said Dr. Stark earnestly, "before this yacht is many +minutes out from the dock, you'll see a yellow flag go up from the end +of the corporation pier. After that, if the yacht turns aside or comes +back for a package that some one has left, or does anything but hold +the straightest course on the compass for the blue and open sea--well, +she'll be about the foolishest craft that ever ploughed salt water." + +"I suppose so," admitted Carroll. "Well, I have matters to look after on +board." + +Into Mr. Carroll's cabin it is nobody's business to follow him. A man +has a right to some privacy of room and of mind, and if the Southerner's +struggle with himself was severe, at least it was of brief duration. +Within half an hour, he was knocking at Polly Brewster's door. + +"PLEASE go 'way, whoever it is," answered a pathetically weary voice. + +"Miss Polly, it's Fitzhugh. I have a note for you." + +"Leave it in the saloon." + +"It's important that you see it right away." + +"From whom is it?" queried the spent voice. + +"From Dr. Pruyn." + +"I--I don't want to see it." + +"You must!" insisted her suitor. + +"Did he say I must?" + +"No. I say you must. Forgive me, Miss Polly, but I'm going to wait here +till you say you'll read it." + +"Push it under the door," said the girl resignedly. + +He obeyed. Polly took the envelope, summoned up all her spirit, and +opened it. It contained one penciled line and the signature:-- + +Good-bye. All my heart goes with you forever. L. P. + +Something fluttered from the envelope to her feet. She stooped and +picked it up. It was the tiniest and most delicate of orchids, purple, +with a glow of gold at its heart. To her inflamed pride, it seemed the +final insult that he should send such a message and such a reminder, +without a word of explanation or plea for pardon. Pardon she never would +have granted, but at least he might have had the grace of shame. + +"Have you read it?" asked the patient voice from without. + +"Yes. There is no answer." + +"Dr. Pruyn said there wouldn't be." + +"Then why are you waiting?" + +"To see you." + +"Oh, Fitz, I'm too worn out, and I've a splitting headache. Won't it +wait?" + +"No." The voice was gently inflexible. + +"More messages?" + +"No; something I must tell you. Will you come out?" + +"I suppose so." + +Her tone was utterly listless and limp. Utterly listless and limp, she +looked, too, as she opened the door and stood waiting. + +"Miss Polly, it's about the woman at Perkins's--at Dr. Pruyn's house." + +Her eyes dilated with anger. + +"I won't hear! How dare you come to me--" + +"You must! Don't make it harder for me than it is." + +She looked up, startled, and noted the haggard lines in his face. + +"I'll hear it if you think I should, Fitz." + +"She is dead." + +"Dead? His--his wife?" + +"She wasn't his wife. She was a helpless leper, whom he was trying to +cure with some new serum. He had to do it secretly because there is a +law forbidding any one to harbor a leper." + +"Oh, Fitz!" she cried. "And she died of it?" + +"No. They killed her. Last night." + +"They? Who?" + +"Government agents, probably. They were after Pruyn." + +"How horrible! And--and Mrs. Pruyn. Where was she?" + +"There isn't any Mrs. Pruyn. There never was." + +"But the Dutch permit! It was for Dr. Pruyn and his wife." + +"Sherwen misread the form. So did I. It read for Dr. Pruyn and a woman. +He hoped to take her to Curacao and complete his experiment." + +"That's what he meant when he spoke of being lawless, and I've been +thinking the basest things of him for it!" The girl, dazed by a flash of +complete enlightenment, caught at Carroll's arm with beseeching hands. +"Where is he, Fitz?" + +"On his way down the mountain. Perhaps down here by now." + +"He's coming to the ship?" she asked. + +"No; he doesn't expect to see you again. He was coming down to make sure +that we got off safely." + +"Fitz, dear Fitz, I must see him!" + +"Miss Polly," he said miserably, "I'll do anything I can." + +"Oh, poor Fitz!" she cried pityingly, her eyes filling with tears. "I +wish for your sake it wasn't so. And you have been so splendid about +it!" + +"I've tried to make amends, and play fair. It hasn't been easy. Shall I +go back and look for him? It's a small town, and I can find him." + +"Yes. I'll write a note. No; I won't. Never mind. I'll manage it. Fitz, +go and rest. You're worn out," she said gently. + +Back into her stateroom went Miss Polly. From that time forth no man saw +her nor woman, either, except perhaps her maid, and maids are dark +and discreet persons on occasion. If this particular one kept her own +counsel when she saw a trim but tremulous figure drop lightly over the +starboard rail of the Polly far forward, pick up a small traveling-bag +from the pier, step behind the opportune screen of a load of coffee on +a flat car, and reappear to view only as a momentary swish of skirt far +away at the shore end; if this same maid told Mr. Thatcher Brewster, +half an hour later, that Miss Polly was asleep in her stateroom, and +begged that she be disturbed on no account, as she was utterly worn out, +who shall blame her for her silence on the one occasion or her speech +on the other? She was but obeying, albeit with tearful misgivings, duly +constituted authority. + +Eight o'clock struck on the bell of the little Protestant mission church +on the tiny plaza; struck and was welcomed by the echoes, and passed +along to eventual silence. Within two minutes after, there was a special +stir and movement on the pier, a corresponding stir and movement on +board the trim craft, a swishing of great ropes, and a tooting of +whistles. White foam churned astern of her. A comic-supplement-looking +pelican on a buoy off to port flapped her a fantastic farewell. The +blockade-defying yacht Polly was off for blue waters and the freedom of +the seas. + +On the shore, feeling woefully helpless and alone, she who had been +the jewel and joy of the Polly bit her lips and closed her eyes, in a +tremulous struggle against the dismal fear:-- + +"Suppose he doesn't love me, after all!" + + + + + +XIV + +THE YELLOW FLAG + + +The departing whistle of the yacht Polly struck sharply to the heart of +a desolate figure seated on a bench in the blazing, dusty, public square +of Puerto del Norte, waiting out his first day of pain. A kiskadee bird, +the only other creature foolish enough to risk the hot bleakness of the +plaza at that hour, flitted into a dust-coated palm, inspected him, put +a tentative query or two, decided that he was of no possible interest, +and left the Unspeakable Perk to his own cogitations. + +So deep in wretchedness were the cogitations that he did not hear +the light, hesitant footstep. But he felt in every vein and fiber the +appealing touch on his shoulder. + +"Good God! What are YOU doing here?" he cried, leaping to his +feet. There was no awkwardness or shyness in his speech now; only +wonder-stricken joy. + +"I came back to see you." + +"But the yacht! Your ship!" + +"She has left." + +"No! She mustn't! Not without you! You can't stay here. It's too +dangerous." + +"I must. They think I'm aboard. I left a note for papa. He won't get it +until they're at sea. And they can't come back for me, can they?" + +"No--yes--they must! I must see Stark and Wisner at once." + +"To send me away?" + +"Yes." + +"Without forgiving me?" + +"Forgiving? There's no question of that between you and me." + +"There is. Fitzhugh told me everything--all about the poor dead woman." + +"Ah, he shouldn't have done that." + +"He should!" She stamped a little willful foot. "What else could he do?" + +"Why, yes," he agreed thoughtfully. "I suppose that's so. After all, a +man can't bear the names that Carroll does and go wrong on the big inner +things. He has met his test, and stood it. For he cares very deeply for +you." + +"Poor Fitz!" she sighed. + +"But here we're wasting time!" he cried in a panic. "Where can I leave +you?" + +"Do you want to leave me?" + +"Want to!" he groaned. "Can't you understand that I've got to get you to +the yacht!" + +"Oh, beetle man, beetle man, don't you WANT me?" she cried dolorously. +"Didn't you mean your note?" + +"Mean it? I meant it as I've never meant anything in the world. But +you--what do you mean? Do you mean that you'll--you'll let the yacht go +without you--and--and--and stay here, and m-m-marry me?" + +"If you should ask me," she said, half-laughing, half-crying, "what else +could I do? I'm alone and deserted. And there's only you in the world." + +"Miss P-P-Polly," he began, "I--I can't believe--" + +"It's true!" she cried, and held out two yearning hands to him. "And if +you stammer and stutter and--and--and act like the Unspeakable Perk NOW, +I'll--I'll howl!" + +If she had any such project, the chance was lost on the instant of the +warning, as he caught her to him and held her close. + +"Oh!" she cried, trying to push him away. "Do you know, sir, that this +is a public square?" + +"Well, I didn't choose it," he reminded her, laughing in pure joy, with +a boyish note new to her ear. "Anyway, there are only us two under the +sun." And he drew her close again, whispering in her ear. + +"Oh--oh, is that the language of medical science?" she reproved. + +At this point, generic curiosity overcame the feathered eavesdropper in +the tree above. + +"Qu'est-ce qu'il dit?"--"What's he say?" + +The girl turned a flushed and adorable face upward. + +"I won't tell you. It's for me alone," she declared joyously. "But +you'll never stop saying it, will you, dear?" + +"Never, as long as we both shall live. And that reminds me," he said +soberly. "We must arrange about being married." + +"Oh, that reminds you, does it?" she mocked. "Just incidentally, like +that." + +Boom! Boom! Boom! The mission clock kept patiently at it until its +suggestion struck in. + +"Of course!" he cried. "Mr. Lake, the missionary, will marry us. And +we'll have Stark and Wisner for witnesses. How long does it take a bride +to get ready? Would half an hour be enough?" + +"It's rather a short engagement," she remarked demurely. "But if it's +all the time we've got--" + +"It is. But, darling, we'll have to ride for it afterward, and get +across to the mainland. I've no right to let you in for such a risk," he +cried remorsefully. + +"You couldn't help yourself," she teased saucily. "I ran you down like +one of your own beetles. Besides, what does that permit for the Dutch +ship say?" + +"That's for myself and a woman--the leper woman. Not for myself and my +wife." + +"Well, I'm a woman, aren't I? And it doesn't say that the woman MUSTN'T +be your wife." She blushed distractingly. + +"Caesar! Of course it doesn't! What luck! We'll be in Curacao to-morrow. +I must see Wisner about getting us off. But, Polly, dearest one, you're +sure? You haven't let yourself be carried away by that foolishness of +mine yesterday?" + +"Sure? Oh, beetle man!" She put her hands on his shoulders and bent to +his ear. + +The sulphur-colored winged Paul Pry stuck an impertinent head out from +behind a palm leaf. + +"Qu'est-ce qu'elle dit? Qu'est-ce qu'elle dit?" + +For the second and last time in his adult life the beetle man threw a +stone at a bird. + +Four hours later six powerful black oarsmen rowed a boat containing two +passengers and practically no luggage out across the huge lazy swells of +the Caribbean toward a smudge of black smoke. + +"Look!" cried that one of the passengers who wore huge goggles. "There +goes the flag!" + +A square of yellow bunting slid slowly up the pierhead staff of the dock +corporation, and spread in the light shore breeze. + +"That's the modern flaming sword," he continued. "The color stirs +something inside me. Ugly, isn't it?" + +"It is ugly," she confessed thoughtfully. "Yet it's the flag we fight +under, too, isn't it? And we'd fight for it if we had to, just as we +fought for the other--our own." + +"I love your 'we,'" he laughed happily. + +She nestled closer to him. + +"Are you still hating the Caribbean?" + +"I? I'm loving it the second-best thing in the world." + +"But I loved it first," she reminded him jealously. "Dearest," she +added, with one of her swift swoops of thought, "what was that funny +title the British Secretary of Legation had?" + +"What? Oh, Captain the Honorable Carey Knowles?" + +"Yes. Well, I shall have a much nicer, more picturesque title than that +when we come back to Caracuna--dear, dirty, dangerous, queer, riotous, +plague-stricken old Caracuna!" + +"Then my liege ladylove intends to come back?" he asked. + +"Of course. Some time. And in Caracuna I shall insist on being Mrs. the +Unspeakable Perk." + +THE END + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Unspeakable Perk, by Samuel Hopkins Adams + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNSPEAKABLE PERK *** + +***** This file should be named 5009.txt or 5009.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/0/5009/ + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +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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Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Unspeakable Perk + +Author: Samuel Hopkins Adams + +Release Date: February, 2004 [EBook #5009] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on April 9, 2002] +[Most recently updated: December 7, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE UNSPEAKABLE PERK *** + + + + +Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + +THE UNSPEAKABLE PERK + +BY SAMUEL HOPKINS ADAMS + + + + + +CONTENTS + + + I. MR. BEETLE MAN + II. AT THE KAST + III. THE BETTER PART OF VALOR + IV. TWO ON A MOUNTAIN-SIDE + V. AN UPHOLDER OF TRADITIONS + VI. FORKED TONGUES + VII. "THAT WHICH THY SERVANT IS--" +VIII. LOS YANKIS + IX. THE BLACK WARNING + X. THE FOLLY OF PERK + XI. PRESTO CHANGE! + XII. THE WOMAN AT THE QUINTA +XIII. LEFT BEHIND + XIV. THE YELLOW FLAG + + + + + +THE UNSPEAKABLE PERK + + + + + +I + +MR. BEETLE MAN + + +The man sat in a niche of the mountain, busily hating the +Caribbean Sea. It was quite a contract that he had undertaken, for +there was a large expanse of Caribbean Sea in sight to hate; very +blue, and still, and indifferent to human emotions. However, the +young man was a good steadfast hater, and he came there every day +to sit in the shade of the overhanging boulder, where there was a +little trickle of cool air down the slope and a little trickle of +cool water from a crevice beneath the rock, to despise that +placid, unimpressionable ocean and all its works and to wish that +it would dry up forthwith, so that he might walk back to the +blessed United States of America. In good plain American, the +young man was pretty homesick. + +Two-man's-lengths up the mountain, on the crest of the sturdy +hater's rock, the girl sat, loving the Caribbean Sea. Hers, also, +was a large contract, and she was much newer to it than was the +man to his, for she had only just discovered this vantage-ground +by turning accidentally into a side trail--quite a private little +side trail made by her unsuspected neighbor below--whence one +emerges from a sea of verdure into full view of the sea of azure. +For the time, she was content to rest there in the flow of the +breeze and feast her eyes on that broad, unending blue which +blessedly separated her from the United States of America and +certain perplexities and complications comprised therein. +Presently she would resume the trail and return to the city of +Caracuna, somewhere behind her. That is, she would if she could +find it, which was by no means certain. Not that she greatly +cared. If she were really lost, they'd come out and get her. +Meantime, all she wished was to rest mind and body in the +contemplation of that restful plain of cool sapphire, four +thousand feet below. + +But there was a spirit of mischief abroad upon that mountain +slope. It embodied itself in a puff of wind that stirred +gratefully the curls above the girl's brow. Also, it fanned the +neck of the watcher below and cunningly moved his hat from his +side; not more than a few feet, indeed, but still far enough to +transfer it from the shade into the glaring sun and into the view +of the girl above. The owner made no move. If the wind wanted to +blow his new panama into some lower treetop, compelling him to +throw stones, perhaps to its permanent damage, in order to +dislodge it, why, that was just one more cause of offense to pin +to his indictment of irritation against the great island republic +of Caracuna. Such is the temper one gets into after a year in the +tropics. + +Like as peas are panama hats to the eyes of the inexpert; far more +like than men who live under them. For the girl, it was a direct +inference that this was a hat which she knew intimately; which, +indeed, she had rather maliciously eluded, riot half an hour +before. Therefore, she addressed it familiarly: "Boo!" + +The result of this simple monosyllable exceeded her fondest +expectations. There was a sharp exclamation of surprise, followed +by a cry that might have meant dismay or wrath or both, as +something metallic tinkled and slid, presently coming to a stop +beside the hat, where it revealed itself as a pair of enormous, +aluminum-mounted brown-green spectacles. After it, on all fours, +scrambled the owner. + +Shock number one: It wasn't the man at all! Instead of the black- +haired, flanneled, slender Adonis whom the trouble-maker +confidently assumed to have been under that hat, she beheld a +brownish-clad, stocky figure with a very blond head. + +Shock number two: The figure was groping lamentably and blindly in +the undergrowth, and when, for an instant, the face was turned +half toward her, she saw that the eyes were squinted tight-closed, +with a painful extreme of muscular tension about them. + +Presently one of the ranging hands encountered the spectacles, and +settled upon them. With careful touches, it felt them all over. A +mild grunt, presumably of satisfaction, made itself heard, and the +figure got to its feet. But before the face turned again, the girl +had stepped back, out of range. + +Silence, above and below; a silence the long persistence of which +came near to constituting shock number three. What sort of hermit +had she intruded upon? Into what manner of remote Brahministic +contemplation had she injected that impertinent "Boo!"? Who, what, +how, why-- + +"Say it again." The request came from under the rock. Evidently +the spectacled owner had resumed his original situation. + +"Say WHAT again?" she inquired. + +"Anything," returned the voice, with child-like content. + +"Oh, I--I hope you didn't break your glasses." + +"No; you didn't." + +On consideration, she decided to ignore this prompt countering of +the pronoun. + +"I thought you were some one else," she observed. + +"Well, so I am, am I not?" + +"So you are what?" + +"Some one else than you thought." + +"Why, yes, I suppose--But I meant some one else besides yourself." + +"I only wish I were." + +"Why?" she asked, intrigued by the fervid inflection of the wish. + +"Because then I'd be somewhere else than in this infernal hell- +hole of a black-and-tan nursery of revolution, fever, and +trouble!" + +"I think it one of the loveliest spots I've ever seen," said she +loftily. + +"How long have you been here?" + +"On this rock? Perhaps five minutes." + +"Not on the rock. In Caracuna?" + +"Quite a long time. Nearly a fortnight." + +The commentary on this was so indefinite that she was moved to +inquire:-- + +"Is that a local dialect you're speaking?" + +"No; that was a grunt." + +"I don't think it was a very polite grunt, even as grunts go." + +"Perhaps not. I'm afraid I'm out of the habit." + +"Of grunting? You seem expert enough to satisfy--" + +"No; of being polite. I'll apologize if--if you'll only go on +talking." + +She laughed aloud. + +"Or laughing," he amended promptly. "Do it again." + +"One can't laugh to order!" she protested; "or even talk to order. +But why do you stay 'way out here in the mountains if you're so +eager to hear the human voice?" + +"The human voice be--choked! It's YOUR human voice I want to hear +--your kind of human voice, I mean." "I don't know that my kind of +human voice is particularly different from plenty of other human +voices," she observed, with an effect of fine impartial judgment. + +"It's widely different from the kind that afflicts the suffering +ear in this part of the world. Fourteen months ago I heard the +last American girl speak the last American-girl language that's +come within reach of me. Oh, no,--there WAS one, since, but she +rasped like a rheumatic phonograph and had brick-colored +freckles. Have you got brick-colored freckles?" + +"Stand up and see." + +"No, SIR!--that is, ma'am. Too much risk." + +"Risk! Of what?" + +"Freckles. I don't like freckles. Not on YOUR voice, anyway." + +"On my VOICE? Are you--" + +"Of course I am--a little. Any one is who stays down here more +than a year. But that about the voice and the freckles was sane +enough. What I'm trying to say--and you might know it without a +diagram--is that, from your voice, you ought to be all that a man +dreams of when--well, when he hasn't seen a real American girl for +an eternity. Now I can sit here and dream of you as the loveliest +princess that ever came and went and left a memory of gold and +blue in the heart of--" + +"I'm not gold and blue!" + +"Of course you're not. But your speech is. I'll be wise, and +content myself with that. One look might pull down, In irrevocable +ruin, all the lovely fabric of my dream. By the way, are you a +Cookie?" + +"A WHAT?" + +"Cookie. Tourist. No, of course you're not. No tour would be +imbecile enough to touch here. The question is: How did you get +here?" + +"Ah, that's my secret." + +"Or, rather, are you here at all? Perhaps you're just a figment of +the overstrained ear. And if I undertook to look, there wouldn't +be anything there at all." + +"Of course, if you don't believe in me, I'll fly away on a +sunbeam." + +"Oh, please! Don't say that! I'm doing my best." + +So panic-stricken was the appeal that she laughed again, in spite +of herself. + +"Ah, that's better! Now, come, be honest with me. You're not +pretty, are you?" + +"Me? I'm as lovely as the dawn." + +"So far, so good. And have you got long golden--that is to say, +silken hair that floats almost to your knees?" + +"Certainly," she replied, with spirit. + +"Is it plentiful enough so that you could spare a little?" + +"Are you asking me for a lock of my hair?" she queried, on a note +of mirth. "For a stranger, you go fast." + +"No; oh, no!" he protested. "Nothing so familiar. I'm offering you +a bribe for conversation at the price of, say, five hairs, if you +can sacrifice so many." + +"It sounds delightfully like voodoo," she observed. "What must I +do with them?" + +"First, catch your hair. Well up toward the head, please. Now pull +it out. One, two, three--yank!" + +"Ouch!" said the voice above. + +"Do it again. Now have you got two?" + +"Yes." + +"Knot them together." + +There was a period of silence. + +"It's very difficult," complained the girl. + +"Because you're doing it in silence. There must be sprightly +conversation or the charm won't work. Talk!" + +"What about?" + +"Tell me who you thought I was when you said, 'Boo!' at me." + +"A goose." + +"A--a GOOSE! Why--what--" + +"Doesn't one proverbially say 'Boo!' to a goose?" she remarked +demurely. + +"If one has the courage. Now, I haven't. I'm shy." + +"Shy! You?" Again the delicious trill of her mirth rang in his +ears. "I should imagine that to be the least of your troubles." + +"No! Truly." There was real and anxious earnestness in his +assurance. "It's because I don't see you. If I were face to face +with you, I'd stammer and get red and make a regular imbecile of +myself. Another reason why I stick down here and decline to yield +to temptation." + +"O wise young man! ARE you young? Ouch!" + +"Reasonably. Was that the last hair?" + +"Positively! I'm scalped. You're a red Indian." + +"Tie it on. Now, fasten a hairpin on the end and let it down. All +right. I've got it. Wait!" The fragile line of communication +twitched for a moment. "Haul, now. Gently!" + +Up came the thread, and, as its burden rose over the face of the +rock, the girl gave a little cry of delight:-- + +"How exquisite! Orchids, aren't they?" + +"Yes, the golden-brown bee orchid. Just your coloring." + +"So it is. How do you know?" she asked, startled. + +"From the hair. And your eyes have gold flashes in the brown when +the sun touches them." + +"Your wits are YOUR eyes. But where do you get such orchids?" + +"From my little private garden underneath the rock." + +"Life will be a dull and dreary round unless I see that garden." + +"No! I say! Wait! Really, now, Miss--er--" There was panic in the +protest. + +"Oh, don't be afraid. I'm only playing with your fears. One look +at you as you chased your absurd spectacles was enough to satisfy +my curiosity. Go in peace, startled fawn that you are." + +"Go nothing! I'm not going. Neither are you, I hope, until you've +told me lots more about yourself." + +"All that for a spray of orchids?" + +"But they are quite rare ones." + +"And very lovely." + +The girl mused, and a sudden impulse seized her to take the unseen +acquaintance at his word and free her mind as she had not been +able to do to any living soul for long weeks. She pondered over +it. + +"You aren't getting ready to go?" he cried, alarmed at her long +silence. + +"No; I'm thinking." + +"Please think aloud." + +"I was thinking--suppose I did." + +There was so much of weighty consideration in her accents that the +other fear again beset him. + +"Did what? Not come down from the rock?" "Be calm. I shouldn't +want to face you any more than you want to face me, if I decided +to do it." + +"Go on," he encouraged. "It sounds most promising." + +"More than that. It's fairly thrilling. It's the awful secret of +my life that I'm considering laying bare to you, just like a dime +novel. Are you discreet?" + +"As the eternal rocks. Prescribe any form of oath and I'll take +it." + +"I'm feeling just irresponsible enough to venture. Now, if I knew +you, of course I couldn't. But as I shall never set eyes on you +again--I never shall, shall I?" + +"Not unless you creep up on me unawares." + +"Then I'll unburden my overweighted heart, and you can be my augur +and advise me with supernatural wisdom. Are you up to that?" + +"Try me." + +"I will. But, remember: this means truly that we are never to +meet. And if you ever do meet me and recognize my voice, you must +go away at once." + +"Agreed," he said cheerfully, just a bit too cheerfully to be +flattering. + +"Very well, then. I'm a runaway." + +"From where?" + +"Home." + +"Naturally. Where's home?" + +"Utica, New York," she specified. + +"U.S.A.," he concluded, with a sigh. "What did you run away from?" + +"Trouble." + +"Does any one ever run away from anything else?" he inquired +philosophically. "What particular brand?" + +"Three men," she said dolorously. "All after poor little me. They +all thought I ought to marry them, and everybody else seemed to +think so, too--" + +"Go slow! Did you say Utica or Utah?" + +"Everybody thought I ought to marry one or the other of 'em, I +mean. If I could have married them all, now, it might have been +easier, for I like them ever so much. But how could I make up my +mind? So I just seized papa around the neck and ran away with him +down here." + +"Why here, of all places on earth?" + +"Oh, he's interested in some mines and concessions and things. +It's very beautiful, but I almost wish I'd stayed at home and +married Bobby." + +"Which is Bobby?" + +"He's one of the home boys. We've grown up together, and I'm so +fond of him. Only it's more the brother-and-sister sort of thing, +if he'd let it be." + +"Check off No. 1. What's No. 2?" + +"Lots older. Mr. Thomas Murray Smith is an unspoiled millionaire. +If he weren't so serious and quite so dangerously near forty-- +well, I don't know." + +"Have you kept No. 3 for the last because he's the best?" + +"No-o-o-o. Because he's the nearest. He followed me down. You can +see his name in all its luster on the Hotel Kast register, when +you get back to the city--Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll, at +your service." + +"Sounds Southern," commented the man below. + +"Southern! He's more Southern than the South Pole. His ancestors +fought all the wars and owned all the negroes--he calls them +'niggers'--and married into all the first families of Virginia, +and all that sort of thing. He must quite hate himself, poor Fitz, +for falling in love with a little Yankee like me. In fact, that's +why I made him do it." + +"And now you wish he hadn't?" + +"Oh--well--I don't know. He's awfully good-looking and gallant and +devoted and all that. Only he's such a prickly sort of person. I'd +have to spend the rest of my life keeping him and his pride out of +trouble. And I've no taste for diplomacy. Why, only last week he +declined to dine with the President of the Republic because some +one said that his excellency had a touch of the tar brush." + +"He'd better get out of this country before that gets back to +headquarters." + +"If he thought there was danger, he'd stay forever. I don't +suppose Fitz is afraid of anything on earth. Except perhaps of +me," she added after-thoughtfully. + +"Young woman, you're a shameless flirt!" accused the invisible one +in stern tones. + +"If I am, it isn't going to hurt you. Besides, I'm not. And, +anyway, who are you to judge me? You're not here as a judge; +you're an augur. Now, go on and aug." + +"Aug?" repeated the other hesitantly. + +"Certainly. Do an augury. Tell me which." + +"Oh! As for that, it's easy. None." + +"Why not?" + +"Because I much prefer to think of you, when you are gone, as +unmarried. It's more in character with your voice." + +"Well, of all the selfish pigs! Condemned to be an old maid, in +order not to spoil an ideal! Perhaps you'd like to enter the lists +yourself," she taunted. + +"Good Heavens, no!" he cried in the most unflattering alarm. "It +isn't in my line--I mean I haven't time for that sort of thing. +I'm a very busy man." + +"You look it! Or you did look it, scrambling about like a doodle +bug after your absurd spectacles." + +"There is no such insect as a doodle bug." + +"Isn't there? How do you know? Are you personally acquainted with +all the insect families?" + +"Certainly. That's my business. I'm a scientist." + +"Oh, gracious! And I've appealed to you in a matter of sentiment! +I might better have stuck to Fitz. Poor Fitz! I wonder if he's +lost." + +"Why should he be lost?" + +"Because I lost him. Back there on the trail. Purposely. I sent +him for water and then--I skipped." + +"Oh-h-h! Then HE'S the goose." + +"Goose! Preston Fairfax Fitz--" + +"Yes, the goose you said 'Boo!' to, you know." + +"Of course. You didn't steal his hat, did you?" + +"No. It's my own hat. Why did you run away from him?" + +"He bored me. When people bore me, I always run away. I'm +beginning to feel quite fugitive this very minute." + +There was silence below, a silence that piqued the girl. + +"Well," she challenged, "haven't you anything to say before the +court passes sentence of abandonment to your fate?" + +"I'm thinking--frantically. But the thoughts aren't girl thoughts. +I mean, they wouldn't interest you. I might tell you about some of +my insects," he added hopefully. + +"Heaven forbid!" + +"They're very interesting." + +"No. You're worthless as an augur, and a flat failure as a +conversationalist, when thrown on your own resources. So I shall +shake the dust from my feet and depart." + +"Good-bye!" he said desolately. "And thank you." + +"For what?" + +"For making music in my desert." + +"That's much better," she approved. "But you've paid your score +with the orchids. If you have one or two more pretty speeches like +that in stock, I might linger for a while." + +"I'm afraid I'm all out of those," he returned. "But," he added +desperately, "there's the hexagonal scarab beetle. He's awfully +queer and of much older family even than Mr. Fitzwhizzle's. It is +the hexagonal scarab's habit when dis--" + +"We have an encyclopaedia of our own at home," she interrupted +coldly. "I didn't climb this mountain to talk about beetles." + +"Well, I'll talk some more about you, if you'll give me a little +time to think." + +"I think you are very impertinent. I don't wish to talk about +myself. Just because I asked your advice in my difficulties, you +assume that I'm a little egoist--" + +"Oh, please don't--" + +"Don't interrupt. I'm very much offended, and I'm glad we are +never going to meet. Just as I was beginning to like you, too," +she added, with malice. "Good-bye!" + +"Good-bye," he answered mournfully. + +But his attentive ears failed to discern the sound of departing +footsteps. The breeze whispered in the tree-tops. A sulphur-yellow +bird, of French extraction, perched in a flowering bush, +insistently demanded: "Qu'est-ce qu'il dit? Qu'est-ce qu'il dit?" +--What's he say? WHAT'S he say?--over and over again, becoming +quite wrathful because neither he nor any one else offered the +slightest reply or explanation. The girl sympathized with the +bird. If the particular he whose blond top she could barely see by +peeping over the rock would only say something, matters would be +easier for her. But he didn't. So presently, in a voice of +suspiciously saccharine meekness, she said:-- + +"Please, Mr. Beetle Man, I'm lost." + +"No, you're not," he said reassuringly. "You're not a quarter of a +mile from the Puerto del Norte Road." + +"But I don't know which direction--" + +"Perfectly simple. Keep on over the top of the rock; turn left +down the slope, right up the dry stream bed to a dead tree; bear +right past--" + +"That's too many turns, I never could remember more than two." + +"Now, listen," he said persuasively. "I can make it quite plain to +you if--" + +"I don't WISH to listen! I'll never find it." + +"I'll toss you up my compass." + +"I don't want your compass," she said firmly. + +A long patient sigh exhaled from below. + +"Do you want me to guide you?" + +"No," she retorted, and was instantly panic-stricken, for the +monosyllable was of that accent which sets fire to bridges and +burns them beyond hope of return. + +Slowly she got to her feet. Perhaps she would have dared and gone; +perhaps she would have swallowed pride and her negative, and made +one more appeal. She turned hesitantly and saw the devil. + +It was a small devil on stilts, not more than three or four inches +tall, but there was no mistaking his identity. No other living +thing could possess such demoniac little red-hot pin points of +eyes, or be so bristly and grisly and vicious. The stilts suddenly +folded flat, and the devil rushed upon his prey. The girl stepped +back; her foot turned and caught, and-- + +"Of course," the patient voice below was saying, "if you really +think that you couldn't find the road, I could draw you a map and +send it up by the hair route. But I really think--" + +"BLUMP!" + +The rock had turned over on his unprotected head and flattened him +out forever. Such was his first thought. When he finally collected +himself, his eyeglasses, and his senses, he sustained a second +shock more violent than the first. + +Two paces away, the Voice, duly and most appropriately embodied, +sat half-facing him. The Voice's eyes confirmed his worst +suspicions, and, dazed though they were at the moment, there were +deep lights in them that wholly disordered his mental mechanism. +Nor were her first words such as to restore his deranged +faculties. + +"Oh-h! Aren't you GOGGLESOME!" she cried dizzily. + +He raised his hands to the huge brown spectacles. + +"Wh--wh--what did you come down for?" he babbled. There was a +distinct note of accusation in the query. + +"COME down! I fell!" + +"Yes, yes; that may be true--" + +"MAY be!" + +"Of course, it is true. I--I--I see it's true. I'm awfully sorry." + +"Sorry? What for?" + +"That you came. That you fell, I mean to say. I--I--I don't really +know what I mean to say." + +"No wonder, poor boy! I landed right on you, didn't I?" + +"Did you? Something did. I thought it was the mountain." + +"You aren't very complimentary," she pouted. "But there! I dare +say I knocked your thoughts all to bits." + +"No; not at all. Certainly, I mean. It doesn't matter. See here," +he said, with an injured sharpness of inquiry born of his own +exasperation at his verbal fumbling, "you said you wouldn't, and +here you are. I ask you, is that fair and honorable?" + +"Well, if it comes to that," she countered, "you promised that +you'd never speak to me if you saw me, and here you are telling me +that you don't want me around the place at all. It's very rude and +inhospitable, I consider." + +"I can't help it," he said miserably. "I'm afraid." + +"You don't look it. You look disagreeable." + +"As long as you stayed where you belonged--Excuse me--I don't +mean to be impolite--but I--I--You see--as long as you were just +a voice, I could manage all right, but now that you are--er--er-- +you--" His speech trailed off lamentably into meaningless +stutterings. + +The girl turned amazed and amused eyes upon him. + +"What on earth ails the poor man?" she inquired of all creation. + +"I told you. I--I'm shy." + +"Not really! I thought it was a joke." + +"Qu'est-ce qu'il dit? Qu'est-ce qu'il dit?" demanded the yellow- +breasted inquisitor, from his flowery perch. + +"What does he say? He says he's shy. Poor poo--er young, helpless +thing!" And her laughter put to shame a palm thrush who was giving +what he had up to that moment considered a highly creditable +musical performance. + +"All right!" he retorted warmly. "Laugh if you want to! But after +stipulating that we should be strangers, to--to act this way-- +well, I think it's--it's--forward. That's what I think it is." + +"Do you, indeed? Perhaps you think it's pleasant for me, after +I've opened my heart to a stranger, to have him forced on me as an +acquaintance!" + +From the depths of those limpid eyes welled up a little film of +vexation. + +"O Lord! Don't do that!" he implored. "I didn't mean--I'm a bear-- +a pig--a--a--a scarab--I'm anything you choose. Only don't do +that!" + +"I'm not doing anything." + +"Of course you're not. That's fine! As for your secrets, I dare +say I wouldn't know you again if I saw you." + +"Oh, wouldn't you?" she cried in quite another tone. + +"Quite likely not. These glasses, you see. They make things look +quite queer." + +"Or if you heard me?" she challenged. + +"Ah, well, that's different. But I forget quite easily--even +things like voices." + +She leaned forward, her hands in her lap, her eyes upon the +goggled face before her. + +"Then take them off." + +"What? My glasses?" + +"Take them off!" + +"Wh--wh--why should I?" + +"So that you can see me better." + +"I don't want to see you better." + +"Yes, you do. I'm much more interesting than a scarab." + +"But I know about scarabs and I don't know about--about--" + +"Girls. So one might suspect. Do you know what I'm doing, Mr. +Beetle Man?" + +"N-n-no." + +"I'm flirting with you. I never flirted with a scientific person +before. It's awfully one-sided, difficult, uphill work." + +This last was all but drowned out in his flood of panicky +instructions, from which she disentangled such phrases as "first +to left"--"dry river-bed-hundred-yards"--"dead tree--can't miss +it." + +"If you send me away now, I'll cry. Really, truly cry, this time." + +"No, you won't! I mean I won't! I--I'll do anything! I'll talk! +I'll make conversation! How old are you? That's what the Chinese +ask. I used to have a Chinese cook, but he lost all my shirt +studs, playing fan-tan. Can you play fan-tan? Two can't play, +though. They have funny cards in this country, like the Spanish. +Have you seen a bullfight yet? Don't do it. It's dull and brutal. +The bull has no more chance than--than--" + +"Than an unprotected man with a conscienceless flirt, who falls on +his neck and then threatens to submerge him in tears." + +"Now you're beginning again!" he wailed. "What did you jump for, +anyway?" + +"I slipped. An awful, red-eyed, scrambly fiend scared me--a real, +live, hairy devilkin on stilts. He ran at me across the rock. Was +that one of your pet scarabs, Mr. Beetle Man?" + +"That was a tarantula, I suppose, from the description." + +"They're deadly, aren't they?" + +"Of course not. Unscientific nonsense. I'll go up and chase him +off." + +"Flying from perils that you know not of to more familiar +dangers?" she taunted. + +"Well, you see, with the tarantula out of the way, there's no +reason why you shouldn't--er--" + +"Go, and leave you in peace? What do you think of that for +gallantry, Birdie?" + +The gay-feathered inquisitor had come quite near. + +"Qu'est-ce qu'il dit?" he queried, cocking his curious head. + +"He says he doesn't like me one little, wee, teeny bit, and he +wishes I'd go home and stay there. And so I'm going, with my poor +little feelings all hurted and ruffled up like anything." + +"Nothing of the sort," protested the badgered spectacle-wearer. + +"Then why such unseemly haste to make my path clear?" + +"I just thought that maybe you'd go back on the top of the rock, +where you came from, and--and be a voice again. If you won't go, I +will." + +He made three jumps of it up the boulder, bearing a stick in his +hand. Presently his face, preternaturally solemn and gnomish +behind the goggles, protruded over the rim. The girl was sitting +with her hands folded in her lap, contemplating the scenery as if +she'd never had another interest in her life. Apparently she had +forgotten his very existence. + +"Ahem!" he began nervously. + +"Ahem!" she retorted so promptly that he almost fell off his +precarious perch. "Did you ring? Number, please." + +"I wish I knew whether you were laughing at me or not," he said +ruefully. + +"When?" + +"All the time." + +"I am. Your darkest suspicions are correct. Did you abolish my +devilkin?" + +"I drove him back into his trapdoor home and put a rock over it." + +"Why didn't you destroy him?" + +"Because I've appointed him guardian of the rock, with strict +instructions to bite any one that ever comes there after this +except you." + +"Bravo! You're progressing. As soon as you're free from the blight +of my regard, you become quite human. But I'll never come again." + +"No, I suppose not," he said dismally. "I shan't hear you again, +unless, perhaps, the echoes have kept your voice to play with." + +"Oh, oh! Is this the language of science? You know I almost think +I should like to come--if I could. But I can't." + +"Why not?" + +"Because we leave to-morrow." + +"Not across to the southern coast? It isn't safe. Fever--" + +"No; by Puerto del Norte." + +"There's no boat." + +"Yes, there is. You can just see her funnel over that white slope. +It's our yacht." + +"And you think you are going in her to-morrow?" + +"Think? I know it." + +"No," he contradicted. + +"Yes," she asserted, quite as concisely. + +"No," he repeated. "You're mistaken." + +"Don't be absurd. Why?" "Look out there, over that tree to the +horizon." + +"I'm looking." + +"Do you see anything?" + +"Yes; a sort of little smudge." + +"That's why." + +"It's a very shadowy sort of why." + +"There's substance enough under it." + +"A riddle? I'll give it up." + +"No; a bet. I'll bet you the treasures of my mountain-side. +Orchids of gold and white and purple and pink, butterflies that +dart on wings of fire opal--" + +"Beetles, to know which is to love them, and love but them +forever," she laughed. "And my side of the wager--what is that to +be?" + +"That you will come to the rock day after to-morrow at this hour +and stand on the top and be a voice again and talk to me." + +"Done! Send your treasures to the pier, for you'll surely lose. +And now take me to the road." + +It was a single-file trail, and he walked in advance, silent as an +Indian. As they emerged from a thicket into the highway, above the +red-tiled city in its setting of emerald fields strung on the +silver thread of the Santa Clara River, she turned and gave him +her hand. + +"Be at your rock to-morrow, and when you see the yacht steam out, +you'll know I'll be saying good-bye, and thank you for your +mountain treasures. Send them to Miss Brewster, care of the yacht +Polly. She's named after me. Is there anything the matter with my +shoes?" she broke off to inquire solicitously. + +"Er--what? No." He lifted his eyes, startled, and looked out +across the quaint old city. + +"Then is there anything the matter with my face?" + +"Yes." + +"Yes? Well, what?" + +"It's going to be hard to forget," complained he of the goggles. + +"Then look away before it's too late," she cried merrily; but her +color deepened a little. "Good-bye, O friend of the lowly scarab!" + +At the dip of the road down into the bridged arroyo, she turned, +and was surprised--or at least she told herself so--to find him +still looking after her. + + + + + +II + +AT THE KAST + + +One dines at the Gran Hotel Kast after the fashion of a champignon +sous cloche. The top of the cloche is of fluted glass, with a wide +aperture between it and the sides, to admit the rain in the wet +season and the flies in the dry. Three balconies run up from the +dining-room well to this roof, and upon these, as near to the +railings as they choose, the rather conglomerate patronage of the +place sleeps, takes baths, dresses, gossips, makes love, quarrels, +and exchanges prophecies as to next Sunday's bullfight, while the +diners below strive to select from the bill of fare special +morsels upon which they will stake their internal peace for the +day. No cabaret can hold a candle to it for variety of interest. +When the sudden torrential storms sweep down the mountains at meal +times, the little human champignons, beneath their insufficient +cloche, rush about wildly seeking spots where the drippage will +not wash their food away. Commercial travelers of the tropics have +a saying: "There are worse hotels in the world than the Kast--but +why take the trouble?" And, year upon year, they return there for +reasons connected with the other hostelries of Caracuna, which I +forbear to specify. + +To Miss Polly Brewster, the Kast was a place of romance. Five +miles away, as the buzzard flies, she could have dined well, even +elegantly, on the Brewster yacht. Would she have done it? Not for +worlds! Miss Brewster was entranced by the courtly manners of her +waiter, who had lost one ear and no small part of the countenance +adjacent thereto, only too obviously through the agency of some +edged instrument not wielded in the arts of peace. She was further +delightedly intrigued by the abrupt appearance of a romantic-hued +gentleman, who thrust out over the void from the second balcony an +anguished face, one side of which was profusely lathered, and +addressed to all the hierarchy of heaven above, and the peoples of +the earth beneath, a passionate protest upon the subject of a +cherished and vanished shaving brush; what time, below, the head +waiter was hastily removing from sight, though not from memory, a +soup tureen whose agitated surface bore a creamy froth not of a +lacteal origin. One may not with impunity balance personal +implements upon the too tremulous rails of the ancient Kast. + +With an appreciative and glowing eye, Miss Brewster read from her +mimeographed bill of fare such legends as "ropa con carne," +"bacalao seco," "enchiladas," and meantime devoured chechenaca, +which, had it been translated into its just and simple English of +"hash," she would not have given to her cat. + +Nor did her visual and prandial preoccupations inhibit her from a +lively interest in the surrounding Babel of speech in mingled +Spanish, Dutch, German, English, Italian, and French, all at the +highest pitch, for a few rods away the cathedral bells were +saluting Heaven with all the clangor and din of the other place, +and only the strident of voice gained any heed in that contest. +Even after the bells paused, the habit of effort kept the voices +up. Miss Brewster, dining with her father a few hours after her +return from the mountain, absolved her conscience from any intent +of eavesdropping in overhearing the talk of the table to the right +of her. The remark that first fixed her attention was in English, +of the super-British patois. + +"Can't tell wot the blighter might look like behind those bloomin' +brown glasses." + +"But he's not bothersome to any one," suggested a second speaker, +in a slightly foreign accent. "He regards his own affairs." + +"Right you are, bo!" approved a tall, deeply browned man of +thirty, all sinewy angles, who, from the shoulders up, suggested +nothing so much as a club with a gnarled knob on the end of it, a +tough, reliable, hardwood club, capable of dealing a stiff blow in +an honest cause. "If he deals in conversation, he must SELL it. I +don't notice him giving any of it away." + +"He gave some to Kast the last time he dined here," observed a +languid and rather elegant elderly man, who occupied the fourth +side of the table. "Mine host didn't like it." + +"I should suppose Senior Kast would be hardened," remarked the +young Caracunan who had defended the absent. + +"Our eyeglassed friend scored for once, though. They had just +served him the usual table-d'hote salad--you know, two leaves of +lettuce with a caterpillar on one. Kast happened to be passing. +Our friend beckoned him over. 'A little less of the fauna and more +of the flora, Senior Kast,' said he in that gritty, scientific +voice of his. I really thought Kast was going to forget his Swiss +blood, and chase a whole peso of custom right out of the place." + +"If you ask me, I think the blighter is barmy," asserted the +Briton. + +"Well, I'll ask you," proffered the elegant one kindly. "Why do +you consider him 'barmy,' as you put it?" + +"When I first saw him here and heard him speak to the waiter, I +knew him for an American Johnny at once, and I went, directly I'd +finished my soup, and sat down at his table. The friendly touch, +y' know. 'I say,' I said to him, 'I don't know you, but I heard +you speak, and I knew at once you were one of these Americans-- +tell you at once by the beastly queer accent, you know. You are an +American, ay--wot?' Wot d' you suppose the blighter said? He +said, 'No, I'm an ichthyo'--somethin' or other--" + +"Ichthyosaurus, perhaps," supplied the Caracunuan, smiling. + +"That's it, whatever it may be. 'I'm an ichthyosaurus,' he says. +'It's a very old family, but most of the buttons are off. Were you +ever bitten by one in the fossil state? Very exhilaratin', but +poisonous,' he says. 'So don't let me keep you any longer from +your dinner.' Of course, I saw then that he was a wrong un, so I +cut him dead, and walked away." + +"Served him right," declared the elderly American, with a solemn +twinkle directed at the tall brown man, who, having opened his +mouth, now thought better of it, and closed it again, with a grin. + +"But he is very kind," said the native. "When my brother fell and +broke his arm on the mountain, this gentleman found him, took care +of him, and brought him in on muleback." + +"Lives up there somewhere, doesn't he, Mr. Raimonda?" asked the +big man. + +"In the quinta of a deserted plantation," replied the Caracunan. + +"Wot's he do?" asked the Englishman. + +"Ah, THAT one does not know, unless Senor Sherwen can tell us." + +"Not I," said the elderly man. "Some sort of scientific +investigation, according to the guess of the men at the club." + +"You never can tell down here," observed the Englishman darkly. +"Might be a blind, you know. Calls himself Perkins. Dare say it +isn't his name at all." + +"Daughter," said Mr. Thatcher Brewster at this juncture, in a +patient and plaintive voice, "for the fifth and last time, I +implore you to pass me the butter, or that which purports to be +butter, in the dish at your elbow." + +"Oh, poor dad! Forgive me! But I was overhearing some news of an-- +an acquaintance." + +"Do you know any of the gentlemen upon whose conversation you are +eavesdropping?" + +In financial circles, Mr. Brewster was credited with the +possession of a cold blue eye and a denatured voice of +interrogation, but he seldom succeeded in keeping a twinkle out of +the one and a chuckle out of the other when conversing with his +daughter. + +"Not yet," observed that damsel calmly. + +"Meaning, I suppose I am to understand--" + +"Precisely. Haven't you noticed them looking this way? Presently +they'll be employing all their strategy to meet me. They'll employ +it on you." + +Mr. Brewster surveyed the group dubiously. + +"In a country such as this, one can't be too--too cau--" + +"Too particular, as you were saying," cut in his daughter +cheerfully. "Men are scarce--except Fitzhugh, who is rather less +scarce than I wish he were lately. You know," she added, with a +covert glance at the adjoining table, "I wouldn't be surprised if +you found yourself an extremely popular papa immediately after +dinner. It might even go so far as cigars. Do you suppose that +lovely young Caracunan is a bullfighter?" + +"No; I believe he's a coffee exporter. Less romantic, but more +respectable. Quite one of the gilded youth of Caracuna. His name +is Raimonda. Fitzhugh knows him. By the way, where on earth is +Fitzhugh?" + +"Trying to fit a kind and gentlemanly expression over a swollen +sense of injury, for a guess," replied the girl carelessly. "I +left him in sweet and lone communion with nature three hours ago." + +"Polly, I wish--" + +"Oh, dad, dear, don't! You'll get your wish, I suppose, and Fitz, +too. Only I don't want to be hurried. Here he is, now. Look at +that smile! A sculptor couldn't have done any better. Now, as soon +as he comes, I'm going to be quite nice and kind." + +But Mr. Fairfax Preston Fitzhugh Carroll did not come direct to +the Brewster table. Instead, he stopped to greet the elderly man +in the near-by group, and presently drew up a chair. At first, +their conversation was low-toned, but presently the young native +added his more vivacious accents. + +"Who can tell?" the Brewsters heard him say, and marked the +fatalistic gesture of the upturned hands. "They disappear. One +does not ask questions too much." + +"Not here," confirmed the big man. "Always room for a few more in +the undersea jails, eh?" + +"Always. But I think it was not that with Basurdo. I think it was +underground, not undersea." He brushed his neck with his finger +tips. + +"Is it dangerous for foreigners?" asked Carroll quickly. + +"For every one," answered Sherwen; adding significantly: "But the +Caracunan Government does not approve of loose fostering of +rumors." + +Carroll rose and came over to the Brewsters. + +"May I bring Mr. Graydon Sherwen over and present him?" he asked. +"I can vouch for him, having known his family at home, and--" + +"Oh, bring them all, Fitzhugh," commanded the girl. + +The exponent of Southern aristocracy looked uncomfortable. + +"As to the others," he said, "Mr. Raimonda is a native--" + +"With the manners of a prince. I've quite fallen in love with him +already," she said wickedly. + +"Of course, if you wish it. But the other American is an ex- +professional baseball player, named Cluff." + +"What? 'Clipper' Cluff? I knew I'd seen him before!" cried Miss +Polly. "He got his start in the New York State League. Why, we're +quite old friends, by sight." + +"As for Galpy, he's an underbred little cockney bounder." + +"With the most naive line of conversation I've ever listened to. I +want all of them." + +"Let me bring Sherwen first," pleaded the suitor, and was +presently introducing that gentleman. "Mr. Sherwen is in charge +here of the American Legation," he explained. + +"How does one salute a real live minister?" queried Miss Brewster. + +"Don't mistake me for anything so important," said Sherwen. "We're +not keeping a minister in stock at present. My job is being a +superior kind of janitor until diplomatic relations are resumed." + +"Goodness! It sounds like war," said Miss Brewster hopefully. "Is +there anything as exciting as that going on?" + +"Oh, no. Just a temporary cessation of civilities between the two +nations. If it weren't indiscreet--" + +"Oh, do be indiscreet!" implored the girl, with clasped hands. "I +admire indiscretion in others, and cultivate it in myself." + +Mr. Carroll looked pained, as the other laughed and said:-- + +"Well, it would certainly be most undiplomatic for me to hint that +the great and friendly nation of Hochwald, which wields more +influence and has a larger market here than any other European +power, has become a little jealous of the growing American trade. +But the fact remains that the Hochwald minister and his secretary, +Von Plaanden, who is a very able citizen when sober,--and is, of +course, almost always sober,--have not exerted themselves +painfully to compose the little misunderstanding between President +Fortuno and us. The Dutch diplomats, who are not as diplomatic in +speech as I am, would tell you, if there were any of them left +here to tell anything, that Von Plaanden's intrigues brought on +the present break with them. So there you have a brief, but +reliable 'History of Our Times in the Island Republic of +Caracuna.'" + +"Highly informative and improving to the untutored mind," Miss +Brewster complimented him. "I like seeing the wires of empire +pulled. More, please." + +"Perhaps you won't like the next so well," observed Carroll +grimly. "There is bubonic plague here." + +"Oh--ah!" protested Sherwen gently. "The suspicion of plague. +Quite a different matter." + +"Which usually turns out to be the same, doesn't it?" inquired Mr. +Brewster. + +"Perhaps. People disappear, and one is not encouraged to ask about +them. But then people disappear for many causes in Caracuna. +Politics here are somewhat--well--Philadelphian in method. But-- +there is smoke rising from behind Capo Blanco." + +"What is there?" inquired the girl. + +"The lazaretto. Still, it might be yellow fever, or only smallpox. +The Government is not generous with information. To have plague +discovered now would be very disturbing to the worthy plans of the +Hochwald Legation. For trade purposes, they would very much +dislike to have the port closed for a considerable time by +quarantine. The Dutch difficulty they can arrange when they will. +But quarantine would bring in the United States, and that is quite +another matter. Well, we'll see, when Dr. Pruyn gets here." + +"Who is he?" asked Carroll. + +"Special-duty man of the United States Public Health Service. The +best man on tropical diseases and quarantine that the service has +ever had." + +"That isn't Luther Pruyn, is it?" inquired Mr. Brewster. + +"The same. Do you know him?" + +"Yes." + +"More than I do, except by reputation." + +"He was in my class at college, but I haven't seen him since. I'd +be glad to see him again. A queer, dry fellow, but character and +grit to his backbone." "I'd supposed he was younger," said +Sherwen. "Anyway, he's comparatively new to the service. His rise +is the more remarkable. At present, he's not only our quarantine +representative, with full powers, but unofficially he acts, while +on his roving commission, for the British, the Dutch, the French, +and half the South American republics. I suppose he's really the +most important figure in the Caracuna crisis--and he hasn't even +got here yet. Perhaps our Hochwaldian friends have captured him on +the quiet. It would pay 'em, for if there is plague here, he'll +certainly trail it down." + +"Oh, I'm tired of plague," announced Miss Polly. "Bring the others +here and let's all go over to the plaza, where it's cool." + +To their open and obvious delight, exhibited jauntily by the +Englishman, with awkward and admiring respectfulness by the ball- +player, and with graceful ease by the handsome Caracunan, the rest +were invited to join the party. + +"Don't let them scare you about plague, Miss Brewster," said +Cluff, as they found their chairs. "Foreigners don't get it much." + +"Oh, I'm not afraid! But, anyway, we shouldn't have time to catch +even a cold. We leave to-morrow." + +The men exchanged glances. + +"How?" inquired Sherwen and Raimonda in a breath. + +"In the yacht, from Puerto del Norte." + +"Not if it were a British battleship," said Galpy. "Port's +closed." + +"What? Quarantine already?" said Carroll. + +"Quarantine be blowed! It's the Dutch." + +"I thought you knew," said Sherwen. "All the town is ringing with +the news. It just came in to-night. Holland has declared a +blockade until Caracuna apologizes for the interference with its +cable." + +"And nothing can pass?" asked Mr. Brewster. + +"Nothing but an aeroplane or a submarine." + +There was a silence. Miss Polly Brewster broke it with a curious +question:-- + +"What day is day after to-morrow?" + +Several voices had answered her, but she paid little heed, for +there had slipped over her shoulder a brown thin hand holding a +cunningly woven closed basket of reedwork. A soft voice murmured +something in Spanish. + +"What does he say?" asked the girl "For me?" + +"He thinks it must be for you," translated Raimonda, "from the +description." + +"What description?" + +"He was told to go to the hotel and deliver it to the most +beautiful lady. There could hardly be any mistaking such specific +instructions even by an ignorant mountain peon," he added, +smiling. + +The girl opened the curious receptacle, and breathed a little gasp +of delight. Bedded in fern, lay a mass of long sprays aquiver with +bells of the purest, most lucent white, each with a great glow of +gold at its heart. + +"Ah," observed the young Caracunan, "I see that you are persona +grata with our worthy President, Miss Brewster." + +"President Fortuno?" asked the girl, surprised. "No; not that I'm +aware of. Why do you say that?" + +"That is his special orchid--almost the official flower. They call +it 'the President's orchid.'" + +"Has he a monopoly of growing them?" asked Miss Brewster. + +"No one can grow them. They die when transplanted from their +native cliffs. But it's only the President's rangers who are +daring enough to get them." + +"Are they so inaccessible?" + +"Yes. They grow nowhere but on the cliff faces, usually in the +wildest part of the mountains. Few people except the hunters and +mountaineers know where, and it's only the most adventurous of +them who go after the flowers." + +"Do you suppose this boy got these?" Miss Brewster indicated the +shy and dusky messenger. + +Raimonda spoke to the boy for a moment. + +"No; he didn't collect them. Nor is he one of the President's men. +I don't quite understand it." + +"Who did gather them?" + +"All that he will say is, 'the master.'" + +"Oh!" said Miss Brewster, and retired into a thoughtful silence. + +"They're very beautiful, aren't they?" continued the Caracunan. +"And they carry a pretty sentiment." + +"Tell me," commanded the girl, emerging from her reverie. + +"The mountaineers say that their fragrance casts a spell which +carries the thought back to the giver." + +"Is that the language of science?" she queried absently, with a +thought far away. + +"But no, senorita, assuredly not," said the young Caracufian. "It +is the language--permit that I say it better in French--c'est le +langage d'amour." + + + + + +III + +THE BETTER PART OF VALOR + + +Night fell with the iron clangor of bells, and day broke to the +accompaniment of further insensate jangling, for Caracuna City has +the noisiest cathedral in the world; and still the graceful gray +yacht Polly lay in the harbor at Puerto del Norte, hemmed in by a +thin film of smoke along the horizon where the Dutch warship +promenaded. + +In one of the side caverns off the main dining-room of the Hotel +Kast, the yacht's owner, breakfasting with the yacht's tutelary +goddess and the goddess's determined pursuer, discussed the +blockade. Though Miss Polly Brewster kept up her end of the +conversation, her thoughts were far upon a breeze-swept mountain- +side. How, she wondered, had that dry and strange hermit of the +wilds known the news before the city learned it? With her wonder +came annoyance over her lost wager. The beetle man, she judged, +would be coolly superior about it. So she delivered herself of +sundry stinging criticisms regarding the conduct of the Caracunan +Administration in having stupidly involved itself in a blockade. +She even spoke of going to see the President and apprising him of +her views. + +"I'd like to tell him how to run this foolish little island," said +she, puckering a quaintly severe brow. + +"Now is the appointed time for you to plunge in and change the +course of empire," her father suggested to her. "There's an +official morning reception at ten o'clock. We're invited." + +"Then I shan't go. I wouldn't give the old goose the satisfaction +of going to his fiesta." + +"Meaning the noble and patriotic President?" said Carroll. +"Treason most foul! The cuartels are full of chained prisoners who +have said less." + +"Father can go with Mr. Sherwen. I shall do some important +shopping," announced Miss Brewster. "And I don't want any one +along." + +Thus apprised of her intentions, Carroll wrapped himself in gloom, +and retired to write a letter. + +Miss Polly's shopping, being conducted mainly through the medium +of the sign language, presently palled upon her sensibilities, and +about twelve o'clock she decided upon a drive. Accordingly she +stepped into one of the pretty little toy victorias with which the +city swarms. + +"Para donde?" inquired the driver. + +His fare made an expansive gesture, signifying "Anywhere." Being +an astute person in his own opinion, the Jehu studied the pretty +foreigner's attire with an appraising eye, profoundly estimated +that so much style and elegance could be designed for only one +function of the day, whirled her swiftly along the two-mile drive +of the Calvario Road, and landed her at the President's palace, +half an hour after the reception was over. Supposing from the +coachman's signs that she was expected to go in and view some +public garden, she paid him, walked far enough to be stopped by +the apologetic and appreciative guard, and returned to the +highway, to find no carriage in sight. Never mind, she reflected; +she needed the exercise. Accordingly, she set out to walk. + +But the noonday sun of Caracuia has a bite to it. For a time, Miss +Brewster followed the car tracks which were her sure guide from +the palace to the Kast; briskly enough, at first. But, after three +cars had passed her, she began to think longingly of the fourth. +When it stopped at her signal, it was well filled. The most +promising ingress appeared to be across the blockade of a robust +and much-begilded young man, who was occupying the familiar +position of an "end-seat hog," and displaying the full glories of +the Hochwaldian dress uniform. + +Herr von Plaanden was both sleepy and cross, for, having lingered +after the reception to have a word and several drinks with the +Minister of Foreign Affairs, he had come forth to find neither +coach nor automobile in attendance. There had been nothing for it +but the plebeian trolley. Accordingly, when he heard a foreign +voice of feminine timbre and felt a light pressure against his +knee, he only snorted. What he next felt against his knee was the +impact of a half-shove, half-blow, brisk enough to slue him +around. The intruder passed by to the vacant seat, while the now +thoroughly awakened and annoyed Hochwaldian whirled, to find +himself looking into a pair of expressionless brown goggles. + +With a snort of fury, the diplomat struck backward. The glasses +and the solemn face behind them dodged smartly. The next moment, +Herr von Plaanden felt his neck encircled by a clasp none the less +warm for being not precisely affectionate. He was pinned. +Twisting, he worked one arm loose. + +"Be careful!" warned the cool voice of Polly Brewster, addressing +her defender. "He's trying to draw his sword." + +The gogglesome one's grip slid a little lower. The car had now +stopped, and the conductor came forward, brandishing what was +apparently the wand of authority, designed to be symbolic rather +than utile, since at no point was it thicker than a man's finger. +From a safe distance on the running-board, he flourished this, +whooping the while in a shrill and dissuasive manner. Somewhere +down the street was heard a responsive yell, and a small, jerky, +olive-green policia pranced into view. + +Thereupon a strange thing happened. The rescuing knight relaxed +his grip, leaped the back of his seat, dropped off the car, and +darted like a hunted hare across a compound, around a wall, and so +into the unknown, deserting his lady fair, if not precisely in the +hour of greatest need, at least in a situation fraught with +untoward possibilities. Indeed, it seemed as if these +possibilities might promptly become actualities, for the diplomat +turned his stimulated wrath upon the girl, and was addressing her +in tones too emphatic to be mistaken when a large angular form +interposed itself, landing with a flying leap on the seat between +them. + +"Move!" the newly arrived one briefly bade Herr von Plaanden. + +Herr von Plaanden, feeling the pressure of a shoulder formed upon +the generous lines of a gorilla's, and noting the approach of the +policia on the other side, was fain to obey. + +"Don't you be scared, miss," said Cluff, turning to the girl. +"It's all over." + +"I'm not frightened," she said, with a catch in her voice. + +"Of course you ain't," he agreed reassuringly. "You just sit +quiet--" + +"But I--I--I'm MAD, clean through." + +"You gotta right. You gotta perfect right. Now, if this was New +York, I'd spread that gold-laced guy's face--" + +"I'm not angry at him. Not particularly, I mean." + +"No?" queried her friend in need. "What got your goat, then?" + +Miss Brewster shot a quick and scornful glance over her shoulder. + +"Oh, HIM" interpreted the athlete. "Well, he made his get-away +like a man with some reason for being elsewhere." + +"Reason enough. He was afraid." + +"Maybe. Being afraid's a queer thing," remarked her escort +academically. "Now, me, I'm afraid of a fuzzy caterpillar. But I +ain't exactly timid about other things." + +"You certainly aren't. And I don't know how to thank you." + +"Aw, that's awright, miss. What else could I do? Our departed +friend, Professor Goggle-Eye, when he made his jump, landed right +in my shirt front. 'Take my place,' he says; 'I've got an +engagement.' Well, I was just moving forward, anyway, so it was no +trouble at all, I assure you," asserted the doughty Cluff, +achieving a truly elegant conclusion. + +"Most fortunate for me," said the girl sweetly. "Mr. Perkins +scuttled away like one of his own little wretched beetles. When I +see him again--" + +"Again? Oh, well, if he's a friend of yours, accourse he'd awtuv +stood by--" + +"He isn't!" she declared, with unnecessary vehemence. + +"Don't you be too hard on him, miss," argued her escort. "Seems to +me he did a pretty good job for you, and stuck to it until he +found some one else to take it up." + +"Then why didn't he stand by you?" + +"Oh, I don't carry any 'Help-wanted' signs on me. You know, miss, +you can't size up a man in this country like he was at home. Now, +me, I'd have natcherly hammered that Von Plaanden gink all to heh +--heh--hash. But did I do it? I did not. You see, I got a little +mining concession out here in the mountains, and if I was to get +into any diplomatic mix-up and bring in the police, it'd be bad +for my business, besides maybe getting me a couple of tons of +bracelets around my pretty little ankles. Like as not your friend, +Professor Lamps, has got an equally good reason for keeping the +peace." + +"Do you mean that this man will make trouble for you over this?" + +"Not as things stand. So long as nothing was done--no arrests or +anything like that--he'll be glad to forget it, when he sobers +up. I'll forget it, too, and maybe, miss, it wouldn't be any harm +to anybody if you did a turn at forgetting, yourself." + +But neither by the venturesome Miss Polly nor by her athlete +servitor was the episode to be so readily dismissed. Late that +afternoon, when the Brewster party were sitting about iced fruit +drinks amid the dingy and soiled elegance of the Kast's one +private parlor, Mr. Sherwen's card arrived, followed shortly by +Mr. Sherwen's immaculate self, creaseless except for one furrow of +the brow. + +"How you are going to get out of here I really don't know," he +said. + +"Why should we hurry?" inquired Miss Brewster. "I don't find +Caracuna so uninteresting." + +"Never since I came here has it been so charming," said the +legation representative, with a smiling bow. "But, much as your +party adds to the landscape, I'm not at all sure that this city is +the most healthful spot for you at present." + +"You mean the plague?" asked Mr. Brewster. + +"Not quite so loud, please. 'Healthful,' as I used it, was, in +part, a figure of speech. Something is brewing hereabout." + +"Not a revolution?" cried Miss Polly, with eyes alight. "Oh, do +brew a revolution for me! I should so adore to see one!" + +"Possibly you may, though I hardly think it. Some readjustment of +foreign relations, at most. The Dutch blockade is, perhaps, only a +beginning. However, it's sufficient to keep you bottled up, though +if we could get word to them, I dare say they would let a yacht go +out." + +"Senator Richland, of the Committee on Foreign Relations, is an +old friend of my family," said Carroll, in his measured tones. "A +cable--" + +"Would probably never get through. This Government wouldn't allow +it. There are other possibilities. Perhaps, Mr. Brewster," he +continued, with a side glance at the girl, "we might talk it over +at length this evening." + +"Quite useless, Mr. Sherwen," smiled the magnate. "Polly would +have it all out of me before I was an hour older. She may as well +get it direct." + +"Very well, then. It's this quarantine business. If Dr. Pruyn +comes here and declares bubonic plague--" + +"But how will he get in?" asked Carroll. + +"So far as the blockade goes, the Dutch will help him all they +can. But this Government will keep him out, if possible." + +"He is not persona grata?" asked Brewster. + +"Not with any of the countries that play politics with pestilence. +But if he's sent here, he'll get in some way. In fact, Stark, the +public-health surgeon at Puerto del Norte, let fall a hint that +makes me think he's on his way now. Probably in some cockleshell +of a small boat manned by Indian smugglers." + +"It sounds almost too adventurous for the scholarly Pruyn whom I +recall," observed Mr. Brewster. + +"The man who went through the cholera anarchy on the lazar island +off Camacho, with one case of medical supplies and two boxes of +cartridges, may have been scholarly; he certainly didn't exhibit +any distaste for adventure. Well, I wish he'd arrive and get +something settled. Only I'd like to have you out of the way +first." + +"Oh, don't send ME away, Mr. Sherwen," pleaded Miss Polly, with +mischief in her eyes. "I'd make the cunningest little office +assistant to busy old Dr. Pruyn. And he's a friend of dad's, and +we surely ought to wait for him." + +"If only I COULD send you! The fact is, Americans won't be very +popular if matters turn out as I expect." + +"Shall we be confined to our rooms and kept incomunicado, while +Dr. Pruyn chases the terrified germ through the streets of +Caracuna?" queried the irrepressible Polly. + +"You'll probably have to move to the legation, where you will be +very welcome, but none too comfortable. The place has been +practically closed and sealed for two months." + +"I'm sure we should bother you dreadfully," said the girl. + +"It would bother me more dreadfully if you got into any trouble. +Just this morning there was some kind of an affair on a street car +in which some Americans were involved." + +Miss Polly's countenance was a design--a very dainty and +ornamental design--in insouciance as her father said:-- + +"Americans? Any one we have met?" + +"No news has come to me. I understand one of the diplomatic corps, +returning from the President's matinee, spoke to an American +woman, and an American man interfered." + +"When did this happen?" asked Carroll. + +"About noon. Inquiries are going on quietly." + +The young man directed a troubled and accusing look from his fine +eyes upon Miss Brewster. + +"You see, Miss Polly," he said, "no lady should go about +unprotected down here." + +"Ordinarily it's as safe as any city," said Sherwen. "Just now I +can't be so certain." + +"I hate being watched over like a child!" pouted Miss Brewster. +"And I love sight-seeing alone. The flowers along the Calvario +Road were so lovely." + +"That's the road to the palace," remarked Carroll, looking at her +closely. + +"And the butterflies are so marvelous," she continued cheerfully. +"Who lives in that salmon-pink pagoda just this side of the +curve?" + +Trouble sat dark and heavy upon the handsome features of Mr. +Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll, but he was too experienced to +put a direct query to his inamorata. What suspicion he had, he +cherished until after dinner, when he took it to the club and made +it the foundation of certain inquiries. + +Thus it happened that at eleven o'clock that evening, he paused +before a bench in the plaza, bowered in the bloom of creepers +which flowed down from a balcony of the Kast, and occupied by the +comfortably sprawled-out form of Mr. Thomas Cluff, who was making +a burnt offering to Morpheus. + +"Good-evening!" said Mr. Carroll pleasantly. + +"Evenin'! How's things?" returned the other. + +"Right as can be, thanks to you. On behalf of the Brewster family, +I want to express our appreciation of your assistance to Miss +Brewster this morning." + +"Oh, that was nothing," returned the other. + +"But it might have been a great deal. Mr. Brewster will wish to +thank you in person--" + +"Aw, forget it!" besought Mr. Thomas Cluff. "That little lady is +all right. I'd just as soon eat an ambassador, let alone a gilt- +framed secretary, to help her out." + +"Miss Brewster," said the other, somewhat more stiffly, "is a +wholly admirable young lady, but she is not always well advised in +going out unescorted. By the way, you can doubtless confirm the +rumor as to the identity of her insulter." + +"His name is Von Plaanden. But I don't think he meant to insult +any one." + +"You will permit me to be the best judge of that." + +"Go as far as you like," asserted the big fellow cheerfully. "That +fellow Perkins can tell you more about the start of the thing than +I can." + +"From what I hear, he has no cause to be proud of his part in the +matter," said the Southerner, frowning. + +"He's sure a prompt little runner," asserted Cluff. "But I've run +away in my time, and glad of the chance." + +"You will excuse me from sympathizing with your standards." + +"Sure, you're excused," returned the athlete, so placidly that +Carroll, somewhat at a loss, altered his speech to a more gracious +tone. + +"At any rate, you stood your ground when you were needed, which is +more than Mr. Perkins did. I should like to have a talk with him." + +"That's easy. He was rambling around here not a quarter of an hour +ago with young Raimonda. That's them sitting on the bench over by +the fountain." + +"Will you take me over and present me? I think it is due Mr. +Perkins that some one should give him a frank opinion of his +actions." + +"I'd like to hear that," observed Cluff, who was not without +humanistic curiosity. "Come along." + +Heaving up his six-feet-one from the seat, he led the way to the +two conversing men. Raimonda looked around and greeted the +newcomers pleasantly. Cluff waved an explanatory hand between his +charge and the bench. + +"Make you acquainted with Mr. Perkins," he said, neglecting to +mention the name of the first party of the introduction. + +Perkins, goggling upward to meet a coldly hostile glance, rose, +nodded in some wonder, and said: "How do you do?" Raimonda sent +Cluff a glance of interrogation, to which that experimentalist in +human antagonisms responded with a borrowed Spanish gesture of +pleasurable uncertainty. + +"I will not say that I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Perkins," began +Carroll weightily, and paused. + +If he expected a query, he was doomed to a disappointment. Such of +the Perkins features as were not concealed by his extraordinary +glasses expressed an immovable calm. + +"Doubtless you know to what I refer." + +Still those blank brown glasses regarded him in silence. + +"Do you or do you not?" demanded Carroll, struggling to keep his +temper in the face of this exasperating irresponsiveness. + +"Haven't the least idea," replied Perkins equably. + +"You were on the tram this morning when Miss Brewster was +insulted, weren't you?" + +"Yes." + +"And ran away?" + +"I did." + +"What did you run away for?" + +"I ran away," the other sweetly informed him, "on important +business of my own." + +Cluff snickered. The suspicion impinged upon Carroll's mind that +this wasn't going to be as simple as he had expected. + +"Let that go for the moment. Do you know Miss Brewster's +insulter?" + +"No." + +"Are you telling me the truth?" asked the Southerner sternly. + +The begoggled one's chin jerked up. To the trained eye of Cluff, +swift to interpret physical indications, it seemed that Perkins's +weight had almost imperceptibly shifted its center of gravity. + +"Our Southern friend is going to run into something if he doesn't +look out," he reflected. + +But there was no hint of trouble in Perkins's voice as he +replied:-- + +"I know who he is. I don't know him." + +"Was it Von Plaanden?" + +"Why do you want to know?" + +"Because," returned the other, with convincing coolness, "if it +was, I intend to slap his face publicly as soon as I can find +him." + +"You must do nothing of the sort." + +Now, indeed, there was a change in the other's bearing. The words +came sharp and crisp. + +"I shall do exactly as I said. Perhaps you will explain why you +think otherwise." + +"Because you must have some sense somewhere about you. Do you +realize where you are?" + +"I hardly think you can teach me geography, or anything else, Mr. +Perkins." + +"Well, good God," said the other sharply, "somebody's got to teach +you! What do you suppose would be the result of your slapping Von +Plaanden's face?" + +"Whatever it may be, I am ready. I will fight him with any +weapons, and gladly." + +"Oh, yes; gladly! Fun for you, all right. But suppose you think of +others a little." + +"Afraid of being involved yourself?" smiled Carroll. "I'm sure you +could run away successfully from any kind of trouble." + +"Others might not be so able to escape." + +"Of course I'm wholly wrong, and my training and traditions are +absurdly old-fashioned, but I've been brought up to believe that +the American who will run from a fight, or who will not stand up +at home or abroad for American rights, American womanhood, and the +American flag, isn't a man." + +"Oh, keep it for the Fourth of July," returned Perkins wearily. +"You can't get me into a fight." + +"Fight?" Carroll laughed shortly. "If you had the traditions of a +gentleman, you would not require any more provocation." + +"If I had the traditions of a deranged doodle bug, I'd go around +hunting trouble in a country that is full of it for foreigners-- +even those who behave themselves like sane human beings." + +"Meaning, perhaps, that I'm not a sane human being?" inquired the +Southerner. + +"Do you think you act like it? To satisfy your own petty vanity of +courage, you'd involve all of us in difficulties of which you know +nothing. We're living over a powder magazine here, and you want to +light matches to show what a hero you are. Traditions! Don't you +talk to me about traditions! If you can serve your country or a +woman better by running away than by fighting, the sensible thing +to do is to run away. The best thing you can do is to keep quiet +and let Von Plaanden drop. Otherwise, you'll have Miss Brewster +the center of--" + +"Keep your tongue from that lady's name!" warned Carroll. + +"You're giving a good many orders," said the other slowly. "But +I'll do almost anything just now to keep you peaceable, and to +convince you that you must let Von Plaanden strictly alone." + +"Just as surely as I meet him," said the Southerner ominously, "on +my word of honor--" "Wait a moment," broke in the other sharply. +"Don't commit yourself until you've heard me. Just around the +corner from here is a cuartel. It isn't a nice clean jail like +ours at home. Fleas are the pleasantest companions in the place. +When a man--particularly an obnoxious foreigner--lands there, they +are rather more than likely to forget little incidentals like food +and water. And if he should happen to be of a nation without +diplomatic representation here, as is the case with the United +States at present, he might well lie there incomunicado until his +hearing, which might be in two days or might not be for a month. +Is that correct, Mr. Raimonda?" + +"Essentially," confirmed the Caracunan. + +"When you are through trying to frighten me--" began Carroll +contemptuously. + +"Frighten you? I'm not so foolish as to waste time that way. I'm +trying to warn you." + +"Are you quite done?" + +"I am not. On MY honor--" He broke off as Carroll smiled. "Smile +if you like, but believe what I'm telling you. Unless you agree to +keep your hands and tongue off Von Plaanden I'll lay an +information which will land you in the cuartel within an hour." + +The smile froze on the Southerner's lips. + +"Could he do that?" he asked Raimonda. + +"I'm afraid he could. And, really, Mr. Carroll, he's correct in +principle. In the present state of political feeling, an assault +by an American upon the representative of Hochwald might seriously +endanger all of your party." + +"That's right," Cluff supported him. "I'm with you in wanting to +break that gold-frilled geezer's face up into small sections, but +it just won't do." + +With an effort, Carroll recovered his self-control. + +"Mr. Raimonda," he said courteously, "I give YOU my word that +there will be no trouble between Herr Von Plaanden and myself, of +my seeking, until Mr. and Miss Brewster are safely out of the +country." + +"That's enough," said Cluff heartily. "The rest of us can take +care of ourselves." + +"Meantime," said Raimonda, "I think the whole matter can be +arranged. Von Plaanden shall apologize to Miss Brewster to-morrow. +It is not his first outbreak, and always he regrets. My uncle, who +is of the Foreign Office, will see to it." + +"Then that's settled," remarked Perkins cheerfully. + +Carroll turned upon him savagely:-- + +"To your entire satisfaction, no doubt, now that you've shown +yourself an informer as well as--" + +"Easy with the rough stuff, Mr. Carroll," advised Cluff, his good- +natured face clouding. "We're all a little het up. Let's have a +drink, and cool down." + +"With you, with pleasure. I shall hope to meet you later, Mr. +Perkins," he added significantly. + +"Well, I hope not," retorted the other. "My voice is still for +peace. Meantime, please assure Miss Brewster for me--" + +"I warned you to keep that lady's name from your lips." + +"You did. But I don't know by what authority. You're not her +father, I suppose. Are you her brother, by any chance?" + +As he spoke, Perkins experienced that curious feeling that some +invisible person was trying to catch his eye. Now, as he turned +directly upon Carroll, his glance, passing over his shoulder, +followed a broad ray of light spreading from a second-story leaf- +framed balcony of the hotel. There was a stir amid the greenery. +The face of the Voice appeared, framed in flowers. Its features +lighted up with mirth, and the lips formed the unmistakable +monosyllable: "Boo!" + +The identification was complete--"Boo to a goose." + +"Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll!" Unwittingly he spoke the name +aloud, and, unfortunately, laughed. + +To a less sensitive temperament, even, than Carroll's, the +provocation would have been extreme. Perkins was recalled to a +more serious view of the situation by the choking accents of that +gentleman. + +"Take off your glasses!" + +"What for?" + +"Because I'm going to thrash you within an inch of your life!" + +"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" cried the young Caracunan. "This is no +place for such an affair." + +Apparently Perkins held the same belief. Stepping aside, he +abruptly sat down on the end of the bench, facing the fountain and +not four feet from it. His head drooped a little forward; his +hands dropped between his knees; one foot--but Cluff, the athlete, +was the only one to note this--edged backward and turned to secure +a firm hold on the pavement. Carroll stepped over in front of him +and stood nonplused. He half drew his hand back, then let it fall. + +"I can't hit a man sitting down," he muttered distressfully. + +Perkins's set face relaxed. + +"Running true to tradition," he observed, pleasantly enough. "I +didn't think you would. See here, Mr. Carroll, I'm sorry that I +laughed at your name. In fact, I didn't really laugh at your name +at all. It was at something quite different which came into my +mind at that moment." + +"Your apology is accepted so far," returned the other stiffly. +"But that doesn't settle the other account between us, when we +meet again. Or do you choose to threaten me with jail for that, +also?" + +"No. It's easier to keep out of your way." + +"Good Lord!" cried the Southerner in disgust. "Are you afraid of +everything?" + +"Why, no!" Perkins rose, smiling at him with perfect equanimity. +"As a matter of fact, if you're interested to know, I wasn't +particularly afraid of Von Plaanden, and, if I may say so without +offense, I'm not particularly afraid of you." + +Carroll studied him intently. + +"By Jove, I believe you aren't! I give it up!" he cried +desperately. "You're crazy, I reckon--or else I am." And he took +himself off without the formality of a farewell to the others. + +Raimonda, with a courteous bow to his companions, followed him. + +Wearily the goggled one sank back in his seat. Cluff moved across, +planting himself exactly where Carroll had stood. + +"Perkins!" + +"Eh?" responded the sitter absently. + +"What would you do if I should bat you one in the eye?" + +"Eh, what?" + +"What would you do to me?" + +"You, too?" cried the bewildered Perkins. "Why on earth--" + +"You'd dive into my knees, wouldn't you, and tip me over +backward?" + +"Oh, that!" A slow grin overspread the space beneath the glasses. +"That was the idea." + +"I know the trick. It's a good one--except for the guy that gets +it." + +"It wouldn't have hurt him. He'd have landed in the fountain." + +"So he would. What then?" + +"Oh, I'd have held him there till he got cooled off, and then made +a run for it. A wet man can't catch a dry man." + +"Say, son, YOU'RE a dry one, all right." + +"Eh?" + +"Wake up! I'm saying you're all right." + +"Much obliged." + +"You certainly took enough off him to rile a sheep. Why didn't you +do it?" + +"Do what?" + +"Tip him in." + +Perkins glanced upward at the balcony where the vines had closed +upon a face that smiled. + +"Oh," he said mildly, "he's a friend of a friend of mine." + +IV + +TWO ON A MOUNTAIN-SIDE + +ORCHIDS do not, by preference, grow upon a cactus plant. Little +though she recked of botany, Miss Brewster was aware of this +fundamental truth. Neither do they, without extraneous impulsion, +go hurtling through the air along deserted mountain-sides, to find +a resting-place far below; another natural-history fact which the +young lady appreciated without being obliged to consult the +literature of the subject. Therefore, when, from the top of the +appointed rock, she observed a carefully composed bunch of mauve +Cattleyas describe a parabola and finally join two previous +clusters upon the spines of a prickly-pear patch, she divined some +energizing force back of the phenomenon. That energizing force she +surmised was temper. + +"Fie!" said she severely. "Beetle gentlemen should control their +little feelings. Naughty, naughty!" + +From below rose a fervid and startled exclamation. + +"Naughtier, naughtier!" deprecated the visitor. "Are these the +cold and measured terms of science?" + +"You haven't lived up to your bet," complained the censured one. + +"Indeed I have! I always play fair, and pay fair. Here I am, as +per contract." + +"Nearly half an hour late." + +"Not at all. Four-thirty was the time." + +"And now it is three minutes to five." + +"Making twenty-seven minutes that I've been sitting here waiting +for a welcome." + +"Waiting? Oh, Miss Brewster--" + +"I'm not Miss Brewster. I'm a voice in the wilderness." + +"Then, Voice, you haven't been there more than one minute. A voice +isn't a voice until it makes a noise like a voice. Q.E.D." + +"There is something in that argument," she admitted. "But why +didn't you come up and look for me?" + +"Does one look for a sound?" + +"Please don't be so logical. It tires my poor little brain. You +might at least have called." + +"That would have been like holding you up for payment of the bet, +wouldn't it? I was waiting for you to speak." + +"Not good form in Caracuna. The senor should always speak first." + +"You began the other time," he pointed out. + +"So I did, but that was under a misapprehension. I hadn't learned +the customs of the country then. By the way, is it a local custom +for hermits of science to climb breakneck precipices for golden- +hearted orchids to send to casual acquaintances?" + +"Is that what you are?" he queried in a slightly depressed tone. + +"What on earth else could I be?" she returned, amused. + +"Of course. But we all like to pretend that our fairy tales are +permanent, don't we?" + +"I can readily picture you chasing beetles, but I can't see you +chasing fairies at all," she asserted positively. + +"Nor can I. If you chase them, they vanish. Every one knows that." + +"Anyway, your orchids were fit for a fairy queen. I haven't +thanked you for them yet." + +"Indeed you have. Much more than they deserve. By coming here to- +day." + +"Oh, that was a point of honor. Are you going to let those lovely +purple ones wither on that prickly plant down there? Think how +much better they'd look pinned on me--if there were any one here +to see and appreciate." + +If this were a hint, it failed of its aim, for, as the hermit +scuttled out from his shelter, looking not unlike some bulky +protrusive-eyed insect, secured the orchids, and returned, he +never once glanced up. Safe again in his rock-bound retreat, he +spoke:-- + +"'Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.'" + +"So you do know something of fairies and fairy lore!" she cried. + +"Oh, it wasn't much more than a hundred years ago that I read my +Grimm. In the story, only one call was necessary." + +"Well, I can't spare any more of my silken tresses. I brought a +string this time. Where's the other hair line?" + +"I've used it to tether a fairy thought so that it can't fly away +from me. Draw up slowly." + +"Thank you so much, and I'm so glad that you are feeling better." + +"Better?" + +"Yes. Better than the day before yesterday." + +"Day before yesterday?" + +"Bless the poor man! Much anxious waiting hath bemused his wits. +He thinks he's an echo." + +"But I was all right the day before yesterday." + +"You weren't. You were a prey to the most thrilling terrors. You +were a moving picture of tender masculinity in distress. You let +bashfulness like a worm i' th' bud prey upon your damask cheek. +Have you a damask cheek? Stand out! I wish to consider you +impartially. YOU needn't look at ME, you know." + +"I'm not going to," he assured her, stepping forth obediently. + +"Basilisk that I am!" she laughed. "How brown you are! How long +did you say you'd been here? A year?" + +"Fourteen weary Voiceless months. Not on this island, you know, +but around the tropics." + +"Yet you look vigorous and alert; not like the men I've seen come +back from the hot countries, all languid and worn out. And you do +look clean." + +"Why shouldn't I be clean?" + +"Of course you should. But people get slack, don't they, when they +live off all alone by themselves? Still, I suppose you spruced up +a little for me?" + +"Nothing of the sort," he denied, with heat. + +"No? Oh, my poor little vanity! He wouldn't dress up for us, +Vanity, though we did dress up for him, and we're looking awfully +nice--for a voice, that is. Do you always keep so soft and pink +and smooth, Mr. Beetle Man?" + +"I own a razor, if that's what you mean. You're making fun of me. +Well, _I_ don't mind." He lifted his voice and chanted:-- + + "Although beyond the pale of law, + He always kept a polished jaw; + For he was one of those who saw + A saving hope + In shaving soap." + +"Oh, lovely! What a noble finish. What is it?" + +"Extract from 'Biographical Blurbings.'" + +"Autobiographical?" + +"Yes. By Me." + +"And are you beyond the pale of law?" + +"Poetical license," he explained airily. "Hold on, though." He +fell silent a moment, and out of that silence came a short laugh. +"I suppose I AM beyond the pale of law, now that I come to think +of it. But you needn't be alarmed, I'm not a really dangerous +criminal." + +Later she was to recall that confession with sore misgivings. Now +she only inquired lightly: + +"Is that why you ran away from the tram car yesterday?" "Ran away? +I didn't run away," he said, with dignity. "It just happened that +there came into my mind an important engagement that I'd +forgotten. My memory isn't what it should be. So I just turned +over the matter in hand to an acquaintance of mine." + +"The matter in hand being me." + +"Why, yes; and the acquaintance being Mr. Cluff. I saw him throw +four men out of a hotel once for insulting a girl, so I knew that +he was much better at that sort of thing than I. May I go back now +and sit down?" "Of course. I don't know whether I ought to thank +you about yesterday or be very angry. It was such an extraordinary +performance on your part--" + +"Nothing extraordinary about it." His voice came up out of the +shadow, full of judicial confidence. "Merely sound common sense." + +"To leave a woman who has been insulted--" + +"In more competent hands than one's own." + +"Oh, I give it up!" she cried. "I don't understand you at all. +Fitzhugh is right; you haven't a tradition to your name." + +"Tradition," he repeated thoughtfully. "Why, I don't know. They're +pretty rigid things, traditions. Rusty in the joints and all that +sort of thing. Life isn't a process of machinery, exactly. One has +to meet it with something more supple and adjustable than +traditions." + +"Is that your philosophy? Suppose a man struck you. Wouldn't you +hit him back?" + +"Perhaps. It would depend." + +"Or insulted your country? Don't you believe that men should be +ready to die, if necessary, in such a cause?" + +"Some men. Soldiers, for instance. They're paid to." + +"Good Heavens! Is it all a question of pay in your mind? Wouldn't +YOU, unless you were paid for it?" + +"How can I tell until the occasion arises?" + +"Are you afraid?" + +"I suppose I might be." + +"Hasn't the man any blood in his veins?" cried his inquisitor, +exasperated. "Haven't you ever been angry clear through?" + +"Oh, of course; and sorry for it afterward. One is likely to lose +one's temper any time. It might easily happen to me and drive me +to make a fool of myself, like--like--" His voice trailed off into +a silence of embarrassment. + +"Like Fitzhugh Carroll. Why not say it? Well, I much prefer him +and his hot-headedness to you and your careful wisdom." + +"Of course," he acquiesced patiently. "Any girl would. It's the +romantic temperament." + +"And yours is the scientific, I suppose. That doesn't take into +account little things like patriotism and heroism, does it? Tell +me, have you actually ever admired--really got a thrill out of-- +any deed of heroism?" + +"Oh, yes," he replied tranquilly. "I've done my bit of hero +worship in my time. In fact, I've never quite recovered from it." + +"No! Really? Do go on. You're growing more human every minute." + +"Do you happen to know anything about the Havana campaign?" + +"Not much. It never seemed to me anything to brag of. Dad says the +Spanish-American War grew a crop of newspaper-made heroes, +manufactured by reporters who really took more risks and showed +more nerve than the men they glorified." + +"Spanish-American War? That isn't what I'm talking about. I'm +speaking of Walter Reed and his fellow scientists, who went down +there and fought the mosquitoes." + +The girl's lip curled. + +"So that's your idea of heroism! Scrubby peckers into the lives of +helpless bugs!" + +"Have you the faintest idea what you are talking about?" + +His voice had abruptly hardened. There was an edge to it; such an +edge as she had faintly heard on the previous night, when Carroll +had pressed him too hard. She was startled. + +"Perhaps I haven't," she admitted. + +"Then it's time you learned. Three American doctors went down into +that pesthole of a Cuban city to offer their lives for a theory. +Not for a tangible fact like the flag, or for glory and fame as in +battle, but for a theory that might or might not be true. There +wasn't a day or a night that their lives weren't at stake. Carroll +let himself be bitten by infected mosquitoes on a final test, and +grazed death by a hair's breadth. Lazear was bitten at his work, +and died in the agony of yellow-fever convulsions, a martyr and a +hero if ever there was one. Because of them, Havana is safe and +livable now. We were able to build the Panama Canal because of +their work, their--what did you call it?--scrubby peeking into the +lives of--" + +"Don't!" cried the girl. "I--I'm ashamed. I didn't know." + +"How should you?" he said, in a changed tone. "We Americans set up +monuments to our destroyers, not to our preservers, of life. +Nobody knows about Walter Reed and James Carroll and Jesse Lazear +--not even the American Government, which they officially served-- +except a few doctors and dried-up entomologists like myself. +Forgive me. I didn't mean to deliver a lecture." + +There was a long pause, which she broke with an effort. + +"Mr. Beetle Man?" + +"Yes, Voice?" + +"I--I'm beginning to think you rather more man than beetle at +times." + +"Well, you see, you touched me on a point of fanaticism," he +apologized. + +"Do you mind standing up again for examination? No," she decided, +as he stepped out and stood with his eyes lowered obstinately. +"You don't seem changed to outward view. You still remind me," +with a ripple of irrepressible laughter, "of a near-sighted frog. +It's those ridiculous glasses. Why do you wear them?" + +"To keep the sun out of my eyes." + +"And the moon at night, I suppose. They're not for purposes of +disguise?" + +"Disguise! What makes you say that?" he asked quickly. + +"Don't bark. They'd be most effective. And they certainly give +your face a truly weird expression, in addition to its other +detriments." + +"If you don't like my face, consider my figure," he suggested +optimistically. "What's the matter with that?" + +"Stumpy," she pronounced. "You're all in a chunk. It does look +like a practical sort of a chunk, though." + +"Don't you like it?" he asked anxiously. + +"Oh, well enough of its kind." She lifted her voice and chanted:-- + + "He was stubby and square, + But SHE didn't much care. + +"There's a verse in return for yours. Mine's adapted, though. +Examination's over. Wait. Don't sit down. Now, tell me your +opinion of me." + +"Very musical." + +"I'm not musical at all." + +"Oh, I'm considering you as a VOICE." + +"I'm tired of being just a voice. Look up here. Do," she pleaded. +"Turn upon me those lucent goggles." + + When orbs like thine the soul disclose, + Tee-deedle-deedle-dee. + +Don't be afraid. One brief fleeting glance ere we part." + +"No," he returned positively. "Once is enough." + +"On behalf of my poor traduced features, I thank you humbly. Did +they prove as bad as you feared?" + +"Worse. I've hardly forgotten yet what you look like. Your kind of +face is bad for business." + +"What is business?" + +"Haven't I told you? I'm a scientist." + +"Well, I'm a specimen. No beetle that crawls or creeps or hobbles, +or does whatever beetles are supposed to do, shows any greater +variation from type--I heard a man say that in a lecture once-- +than I do. Can't I interest you in my case, O learned one? The +proper study of mankind is--" + +"Woman. Yes, I know all about that. But I'm a groundling." + +"Mr. Beetle Man," she said, in a tremulous voice, "the rock is +moving." + +"I don't feel it. Though it might be a touch of earthquake. We +have 'em often." + +"Not your rock. The tarantula rock, I mean." + +"Nonsense! A hundred tarantulas couldn't stir it." + +"Well, it seems to be moving, and that's just as bad. I'm tired +and I'm lonely. Oh, please, Professor Scarab, have I got to fall +on your neck again to introduce a little human companionship into +this conversation?" + +"Caesar! No! My shoulder's still lame. What do you want, anyway?" + +"I want to know about you and your work. ALL about you." + +"Humph! Well, at present I'm making some microscopical studies of +insects. That's the reason for these glasses. The light is so +harsh in these latitudes that it affects the vision a trifle, and +every trifle counts in microscopy." + +"Does the microscope add charm to the beetle?" + +"Some day I'll show you, if you like. Just now it's the flea, the +national bird of Caracuna." + +"The wicked flea?" + +"Nobody knows how wicked until he has studied him on his native +heath." + +"Doesn't the flea have something to do with plague? They say +there's plague in the city now. You knew all about the Dutch. Do +you know anything about the plague?" + +"You've been listening to bolas." + +"What's a bola?" + +"A bola is information that somebody who is totally ignorant of +the facts whispers confidentially in your ear with the assurance +that he knows it to be authentic--in other words, a lie." + +"Then there isn't any plague down under those quaint, old, red- +tiled roofs?" + +"Who ever knows what's going on under those quaint, old, red-tiled +roofs? No foreigner, certainly." + +"Even I can feel the mystery, little as I've seen of the place," +said the girl. + +"Oh, that's the Indian of it. The tiled roofs are Spanish; the +speech is Spanish; but just beneath roof and speech, the life and +thought are profoundly and unfathomably Indian." + +"Not with all the Caracunans, surely. Take Mr. Raimonda, for +instance." + +"Ah, that's different. Twenty families of the city, perhaps, are +pure-bloods. There are no finer, cleaner fellows anywhere than the +well-bred Caracunans. They are men of the world, European +educated, good sportsmen, straight, honorable gentlemen. +Unfortunately not they, but a gang of mongrel grafters control the +politics of the country." + +"For a hermit of science, you seem to know a good deal of what +goes on. By the way, Mr. Raimonda called on me--on us last +evening." + +"So he mentioned. Rather serious, that, you know." + +"Far from it. He was very amusing." + +"Doubtless," commented the other dryly. "But it isn't fair to play +the game with one who doesn't know the rules. Besides, what will +Mr. Preston Fairfax--" + +"For a professedly shy person, you certainly take a rather +intimate tone." + +"Oh, I'm shy only under the baleful influence of the feminine eye. +Besides, you set the note of intimacy when you analyzed my +personal appearance. And finally, I have a warm regard for young +Raimonda." + +"So have I," she returned maliciously. "Aren't you jealous?" + +He laughed. + +"Please be a little bit jealous. It would be so flattering." + +"Jealousy is another tradition in which I don't believe." + +"Then I can't flirt with you at all?" she sighed. "After taking +all this long hot walk to see you!" + +PLOP! The sound punctured the silence sharply, though not loudly. +Some large fruit pod bursting on a distant tree might have made +such a report. + +"What was that?" asked the girl curiously. + +"That? Oh, that was a revolver shot," he remarked. + +"Aren't you casual! Do revolver shots mean nothing to you?" + +"That one shakes my soul's foundations." His tone by no means +indicated an inner cataclysm. "It may mean that I must excuse +myself and leave. Just a moment, please." + +Passing across the line of her vision, he disappeared to the left. +When she next heard his voice, it was almost directly above her. + +"No," it said. "There's no hurry. The flag's not up." + +"What flag?" + +"The flag in my compound." + +"Can you see your home from here?" + +"Yes; there's a ledge on the cliff that gives a direct view." + +"I want to come up and see it." + +"You can't. It's much too hard a climb. Besides, there are rock +devilkins on the way." + +"And when you hear a shot, you go up there for messages?" + +"Yes; it's my telephone system." + +"Who's at the other end?" + +"The peon who pretends to look after the quinta for me." + +"A man! No man can keep a house fit to live in," she said +scornfully. + +"I know it; but he's all I've got in the servant line." + +"How far is the house from here?" + +"A mile, by air. Seven by trail from town." + +"Isn't it lonely?" + +"Yes." + +Suddenly she felt very sorry for him. There was such a quiet, +conclusive acceptance of cheerlessness in the monosyllable. + +"How soon must you go back?" + +"Oh, not for an hour, at least." + +"If it's a call, it must be an important one, so far from +civilization." + +"Not necessarily. Don't you ever have calls that are not +important?" + +No answer came. + +"Miss Brewster!" he called. "Oh, Voice! You haven't gone?" + +Still no response. + +"That isn't fair," he complained, making his way swiftly down, and +satisfying himself by a peep about the angle commanding her point +of the rock that she had, indeed, vanished. Sadly he descended to +his own nook--and jumped back with a half-suppressed yell. + +"You needn't jump out of your skin on my account," said Miss Polly +Brewster, with a gracious smile. "I'm not a devilkin." + +"You are! That is--I mean--I--I--beg your pardon. I--I--" + +"The poor man's having another bashful fit," she observed, with +malicious glee. "Did the bold, bad, forward American minx scare it +almost out of its poor shy wits?" + +"You--you startled me." + +"No!" she exclaimed, in wide-eyed mock surprise. "Who would have +supposed it? You didn't expect me down here, did you?" + +Thereupon she got a return shock. + +"Yes, I did," he said; "sooner or later." + +"Don't fib. Don't pretend that you knew I was here." + +"W-w-well, no. Not just now. B-b-but I knew you'd come if--if--if +I pretended I didn't want you to long enough." + +"Young and budding scientist," said she severely, "you're a gay +deceiver. Is it because you have known me in some former existence +that you are able thus accurately to read my character?" + +"Well, I knew you wouldn't stay up there much longer." + +"I'm angry at you; very angry at you. That is, I would be if it +weren't that you really didn't mean it when you said that you +really didn't want to see my face again." + +"Did any one ever see your face once without wanting to see it +again?" + +"Ah, bravo!" She clapped her hands gayly. "Marvelous improvement +under my tutelage! Where, oh, where is your timidity now?" + +"I--I--I forgot," he stammered, "As long as I don't think, I'm all +right. Now, you--you--you've gone and spoiled me." + +"Oh, the pity of it! Let's find some mild, impersonal topic, then, +that won't embarrass you. What do you do under the shadow of this +rock, in a parched land?" + +"Work. Besides, it isn't a parched land. Look on this side." + +Half a dozen steps brought her around the farther angle, where, +hidden in a growth of shrubbery, lay a little pool of fairy +loveliness, + +"That's my outdoor laboratory." + +"A dreamery, I'd call it. May I sit down? Are there devilkins +here? There's an elfkin, anyway," she added, as a silvered dragon- +fly hovered above her head inquisitively before darting away on +his own concerns. + +"One of my friends and specimens. I'm studying his methods of +aviation with a view to making some practical use of what I learn, +eventually." + +"Really? Are you an inventor, too? I'm crazy about aviation." + +"Ah, then you'll be interested in this," he said, now quite at his +ease. "You know that the mosquito is the curse of the tropics." + +"Of other places, as well." + +"But in the tropics it means yellow fever, Chagres fever, and +other epidemic illness. Now, the mosquito, as you doubtless +realize, is a monoplane." + +"A monoplane?" repeated the girl, in some puzzlement. "How a +monoplane?" + +"I thought you claimed some knowledge of aviation. Its wings are +all on one plane. The great natural enemy of the mosquito is the +dragon-fly, one of which just paid you a visit. Now, modern +warfare has taught us that the most effective assailant of the +monoplane is a biplane. You know that." + +"Y-y-yes," said the girl doubtfully. + +"Therefore, if we can breed a biplane dragonfly in sufficient +numbers, we might solve the mosquito problem at small expense." + +"I don't know much about science," she began, "but I should hardly +have supposed--" + +"It's curious how nature varies the type of aviation," he +continued dreamily. "Now, the pigeon is, of course, a Zeppelin; +whereas the sea urchin is obviously a balloon; and the thistledown +an undirigible--" + +"You're making fun of me!" she accused, with sharp enlightenment. + +"What else have you done to me ever since we met?" he inquired +mildly. + +"Now I AM angry! I shall go home at once." + +A second far-away PLOP! set a period to her decision. + +"So shall I," said he briskly. + +"Does that signal mean hurry up?" she asked curiously. + +"Well, it means that I'm wanted. You go first. When will you come +again?" + +"Not at all." + +"Do you mean that?" + +"Of course. I'm angry. Didn't I tell you that? I don't permit +people to make fun of me. Besides, you must come and see me next. +You owe me two calls. Will you?" + +"I--I--don't know." + +"Afraid?" + +"Rather." + +"Then you must surely come and conquer this cowardice. Will you +come to-morrow?" + +"No; I don't think so." + +Miss Brewster opened wide her eyes upon him. She was little +accustomed to have her invitations, which she issued rather in the +manner of royal commands, thus casually received. Had the offender +been any other of her acquaintance, she would have dropped the +matter and the man then and there. But this was a different +species. Graceful and tactful he might not be, but he was honest. + +"Why?" she said. + +"I've got something more important to do." + +"You're reverting to type sadly. What is it that's so important?" + +"Work." + +"You can work any time." + +"No. Unfortunately I have to eat and sleep sometimes." + +The implication she accepted quite seriously. + +"Are you really as busy as all that? I'm quite conscience-stricken +over the time I've wasted for you." + +"Not wasted at all. You've cheered me up." + +"That's something. But you won't come to the city to be cheered +up?" + +"Yes, I will. When I get time." + +"Perhaps you won't find me at home." + +"Then I'll wait." + +"Good-bye, then," she laughed, "until your leisure day arrives." + +She climbed the rock, stepping as strongly and surely as a lithe +animal. At the top, the spirit of roguery, ever on her lips and +eyes, struck in and possessed her soul. + +"O disciple of science!" she called. + +"Well?" + +"Can you see me?" + +"Not from here." + +"Good! I'm a Voice again. So don't be timid. Will you answer a +question?" + +"I've answered a hundred already. One more won't hurt." + +"Have you ever been in love?" + +"What?" + +"Don't I speak plainly enough? Have--you--ever--been--in--love?" + +"With a woman?" + +"Why, yes," she railed. "With a woman, of course. I don't mean +with your musty science." + +"No." + +"Well, you needn't be violent. Have you ever been in love with +ANYTHING?" + +"Perhaps." + +"Oh, perhaps!" she taunted. "There are no perhapses in that. With +what?" + +"With what every man in the world is in love with once in his +life," he replied thoughtfully. + +She made a little still step forward and peeped down at him. He +stood leaning against the face of the rock, gazing out over the +hot blue Caribbean, his hat pushed back and his absurd goggles +firm and high on his nose. His words and voice were in +preposterous contrast to his appearance. + +"Riddle me your riddle," she commanded. "What is every man in love +with once in his life?" + +"An ideal." + +"Ah! And your ideal--where do you keep it safe from the common +gaze?" + +"I tether it to my heart--with a single hair," said the man below. + +"Oh," commented Miss Brewster, in a changed tone. And, again, +"Oh," just a little blankly. "I wish I hadn't asked that," she +confessed silently to herself, after a moment. + +Still, the spirit of reckless experimentalism pressed her onward. + +"That's a peril to the scientific mind, you know," she warned. +"Suppose your ideal should come true?" + +"It won't," said he comfortably. + +Miss Brewster's regrets sensibly mitigated. + +"In that case, of course, your career is safe from accident," she +remarked. + +He moved out into the open. + +"Mr. Beetle Man," she called, + +He looked up and saw her with her chin cupped in her hand, +regarding him thoughtfully. + +"I'm NOT just a casual acquaintance," she said suddenly. "That is, +if you don't want me to be." + +"That's good," was his hearty comment. "I'm glad you like me +better than you did at first." + +"Oh, I'm not so sure that I like you, exactly. But I'm coming to +have a sort of respectful curiosity about you. What lies under +that beetle shell of yours, I wonder?" she mused, in a half +breath. + +Whether or not he heard the final question she could not tell. He +smiled, waved his hand, and disappeared. Below, she watched the +motion of the bush-tops where the shrubbery was parted by the +progress of his sturdy body down the long slope. + + + + + +V + +AN UPHOLDER OF TRADITIONS + + +One day passes much like another in Caracuna City. The sun rises +blandly, grows hot and angry as it climbs the slippery polished +vault of the heavens, and coasts down to its rest in a pleased and +mild glow. From the squat cathedral tower the bells clang and +jangle defiance to the Adversary, temporarily drowning out the +street tumult in which the yells of the lottery venders, the +braying of donkeys, the whoops of the cabmen, and the blaring of +the little motor cars with big horns, combine to render Caracuna +the noisiest capital in the world. Through the saddle-colored +hordes on the moot ground of the narrow sidewalks moves an +occasional Anglo-Saxon resident, browned and sallowed, on his way +to the government concession that he manages; a less occasional +Anglo-Saxoness, browned and marked with the seal that the tropics +put upon every woman who braves their rigors for more than a brief +period; and a sprinkling of tourists in groups, flying on cheek, +brow, and nose the stark red of their newness to the climate. + +Not of this sorority Miss Polly Brewster. Having blithe regard to +her duty as an ornament of this dull world, she had tempered the +sun to the foreign cuticle with successively diminishing layers of +veils, to such good purpose that the celestial scorcher had but +kissed her graduated brownness to a soft glow of color. Not alone +in appreciation of her external advantages was Miss Brewster. Such +as it was,--and it had its qualities, albeit somewhat +unformulated,--Caracuna society gave her prompt welcome. There +were teas and rides and tennis at the little club; there were +agreeable, presentable men and hospitable women; and always there +was Fitzhugh Carroll, suave, handsome, gentle, a polished man of +the world among men, a courteous attendant to every woman, but +always with a first thought for her. Was it sheer perversity of +character, that elfin perversity so shrewdly divined by the hermit +of the mountain, that put in her mind, in this far corner of the +world, among these strange people, the thought: + +"All men are alike, and Fitz, for all that he's so different and +the best of them, is the MOST alike." + +Which paradox, being too much for her in the heat of the day, she +put aside in favor of the insinuating thought of her beetle man. +Whatever else he might or might not be, he wasn't alike. She was +by no means sure that she found this difference either admirable +or amiable. But at least it was interesting. + +Moreover, she was piqued. For four days had passed and the recluse +had not returned her call. True, there had come to her hotel a +wicker full of superb wild tree blooms, and, again, a tiny box, +cunning in workmanship of scented wood, containing what at first +glance she had taken to be a jewel, until she saw that it was a +tiny butterfly with opalescent wings, mounted on a silver wire. +But with them had come no word or token of identification. Perhaps +they weren't from the queer and remote person at all. Very likely +Mr. Raimonda had sent them; or Fitzhugh Carroll was adding secret +attention to his open homage; or they might even be a further +peace offering from the Hochwald secretary. + +That occasionally too festive diplomat had, indeed, made amends +both profound and, evidently, sincere. Soliciting the kind offices +of both Sherwen and Raimonda, he had presented himself, under +their escort, stiff and perspiring in his full official regalia, +before Mr. Brewster; then before his daughter, whose solemnity, +presently breaking down before his painfully rehearsed English, +dissolved in fluent French, setting him at ease and making him her +slave. Poor penitent Von Plaanden even apologized to Carroll, +fortunately not having heard of the American's threat, and made a +most favorable impression upon that precisian. + +"Intoxicated, he may be a rough, Miss Polly," Carroll confided to +the girl. "But sober, the man is a gentleman. He feels very badly +about the whole affair. Offered to your father to report it all +through official channels and attach his resignation." + +"Not for worlds!" cried Miss Polly. "The poor man was half asleep. +And Mr. Bee--Mr. Perkins DID jog him rather sharply." + +"Yes. Von Plaanden asked my advice as an American about his +attitude toward Cluff and Perkins." + +"I hope you told him to let the whole thing drop." + +"Exactly what I did. I explained about Cluff; that he was a very +good fellow, but of a different class, and probably wouldn't give +the thing another thought." + +"And Mr. Perkins?" + +"Von Plaanden wanted to challenge him, if he could find him. I +suggested that he leave me to deal with Mr. Perkins. After some +discussion, he agreed." + +"Oh! And what are you going to do with him?" + +"Find him first, if I can." + +"I can tell you where." Carroll stared at her, astonished. "But I +don't think I will." + +"He announced his intention of keeping out of my way. The man has +no sense of shame." + +"You probably scared the poor lamb out of his wits, fire-eater +that you are." + +Carroll would have liked to think so, but an innate sense of +justice beneath his crust of prejudice forbade him to accept this +judgment. + +"The strange part of it is that he doesn't impress me as being +afraid. But there is certainly something very wrong with the +fellow. A man who will deliberately desert a woman in distress"-- +Carroll's manner expanded into the roundly rhetorical--"whatever +else he may be, cannot be a gentleman." + +"There might have been mitigating circumstances." + +"No circumstances could excuse such an action. And, after that, +the fellow had the effrontery to send you a message." + +"Me? What was it?" asked Miss Polly quickly. + +"I don't know. I didn't let him finish. I forbade his even +mentioning your name." + +"Indeed!" cried the girl, in quick dudgeon. "Don't you think you +are taking a great deal upon yourself, Fitz? What do you really +know about Mr. Perkins, anyway, that you judge him so +offhandedly?" + +"Very little, but enough, I think. And I hardly think you know +more." + +"Then you're wrong. I do." + +"You KNOW this man?" + +"Yes; I do." + +"Does your father approve of--" + +"Never mind my father! He has confidence enough in me to let me +judge of my own friends." + +"Friends?" Carroll's handsome face clouded and reddened. "If I had +known that he was a friend of yours, Miss Polly, I never would +have spoken as I did. I'm most sincerely sorry," he added, with +grave courtesy. + +The girl's color deepened under the brown. + +"He isn't exactly a friend," she admitted. "I've just met and +talked with him a few times. But your judgment seemed so unfair, +on such a slight basis." + +"I'm sorry I can't reverse my judgment," said the Southerner +stiffly, "But I know of only one standard for those matters." + +"That's just your trouble." Her eyes took on a cold gleam as she +scanned the perfection and finish of the man before her. +"Fitzhugh, do you wear ready-made clothing?" + +"Of course not," he answered, in surprise at this turn. + +"Your suits are all made to order?" + +"Yes, Miss Polly." + +"And your shirts?" + +"Yes, and shoes, and various other things." He smiled. + +"Why do you have them specially made?" + +"Beeause they suit me better, and I can afford it." + +"It's really because you want them individualized for you, isn't +it?" + +"Yes; I suppose so." + +"Then why do you always get your mental clothes ready-made?" + +"I don't think I understand, Miss Polly," he said gently. + +"It seems to me that all your ideas and estimates and standards +are of stock pattern," she explained relentlessly. "Inside, you're +as just exactly so as a pair of wooden shoes. Can't you see that +you can't judge all men on the same plane?" + +"I see that you're angry with me, and I see that I'm being +punished for what I said about--about Mr. Perkins. If I'd known +that you took any interest in him, I'd have bitten my tongue in +two before speaking as I did. As for the message, if you wish it, +I'll go to him--" + +"Oh, that doesn't matter," she interrupted. + +"This much I can say, in honesty," continued the Southerner, with +an effort: "I had a talk, almost an encounter, with him in the +plaza, and I don't believe he is the coward I thought him." + +His intent to be fair to the object of his scorn was so genuine +that his critic felt a swift access of compunction. + +"Oh, Fitz," she said sweetly, "you're not to blame. I should have +told you. And you're honest and loyal and a gentleman. Only I wish +sometimes that you weren't quite so awfully gentlemanly a +gentleman." + +The Southerner made a gesture of despair. + +"If I could only understand you, Miss Polly!" + +"Don't hope it. I've never yet understood myself. But there's a +sympathy in me for the under dog, and this Mr. Perkins seems a +sort of helpless creature. Yet in another way he doesn't seem +helpless at all. Quite the reverse. Oh, dear! I'm tired of +Perkins, Perkins, Perkins! Let's talk about something pleasanter-- +like the plague." + +"What's that about Perkins?" Galpy had entered the drawing-room +where the conversation had been carried on, and now crossed over +to them. "I'll tell you a good one on the little blighteh. D' you +know what they call him at the Club Amicitia since his adventure +on the street car, Miss Brewster?" + +"What?" + +"'The Unspeakable Perk.' Rippin', ain't it? Like 'The Unspeakable +Turk,' you know." + +Despite herself, Polly's lips twitched; in some ways he WAS +unspeakable. + +"They've nicknamed him that because of his trying to help me, and +then--leaving?" she asked. + +"Oh, not entirely. There's other things. He's a nahsty, stand- +offish way with him, you know. Don't-want-to-know-yeh trick. +Wouldn't-speak-to-yeh-if-I-could-help-it twist to his face. 'The +Unspeakable Perk.' Stands him right, I should say. There's other +reasons, too." + +"What are they?" + +She saw a quick, warning frown on Carroll's sharply turned face. +Galpy noted it, too, and was lost in confusion. + +"Oh--ah--just gossip--nothing at all. I say, Miss Brewster, the +railway--I'm in the Ferrocarril-del-Norte office, you know--has +offered your party a special on an hour's notice, any time you +want it." + +"That's most kind of your road, Mr. Galpy. But why should we want +it?" + +"Things might be getting a bit ticklish any day now. I've just +taken the message from the manager to your father." + +The young Englishman took his leave, and Polly Brewster went to +her room, to freshen up for luncheon, carrying with her the +sobriquet she had just heard. Certainly, applied to its subject, +it had a mucilaginous consistency. It stuck. + +"'The Unspeakable Perk,'" she repeated, with a little chuckle. "If +I had a month to train him in, eh, what a speakable Perk I'd make +him! I'd make him into a Perk that would sit up and speak when I +lifted my little finger." She considered this. "I'm not so sure," +she concluded, more doubtfully. "How can one tell through those +horrid glasses, particularly when one doesn't see him for days and +days?" + +Without moving, she might, however, have seen him forthwith, for +at that precise and particular moment, the Unspeakable Perk was in +plain sight of her window, on a bench in the corner of the plaza, +engaged in light conversation with a legless and philosophical +beggar whom he had just astonished by the presentation of a whole +bolivar, of the value of twenty cents gold. + +After she had finished luncheon and returned to her room, he was +still there. Not until the mid-heat of the afternoon, however, did +she observe, first with puzzlement, then with a start of +recognition, the patiently rounded brown back of the forward- +leaning figure in the corner. Greatly wroth was Miss Polly +Brewster. For some hours--two, at least--the man to keep tryst and +wager with whom she had tramped up miles of mountain road had been +in town and hadn't called upon her! Truly was he an Unspeakable +Perk! + +Wasn't there possibly a mistake somewhere, though? A second peep +at the far-away back interpreted into the curve a suggestion of +resigned waiting. Maybe he had called, after all. Thought being +usually with Miss Brewster the mother of the twins, Determination +and Action, she slipped downstairs and inquired of the three +guardians of the door, in such Spanish as she could muster, +whether a Mr. Perkins, wearing large glasses--this in the +universal sign manual--had been to see her that day. + +"Si, Senorita"--he had. + +Why, then, hadn't his name been brought to her? + +Extended hands and up-shrugged shoulders that might mean either +apology or incomprehension. + +Straightway Miss Brewster pinned a hat upon her brown head at an +altogether casual and heart-distracting angle and sallied down +into the tesselated bowl of the park. Quite unconscious of her +approach, until she was close upon him, her objective chatted +fluently with the legless one, until she spoke quietly, almost in +his ear. Then it was only by a clutch at the bench back that he +saved himself from disaster on his return to earth. + +"Wh--wh--what--wh--where--how did you come here?" he stuttered. + +"Now, now, don't be alarmed," she admonished. "Shut your eyes, +draw a deep breath, count three. And, as soon as you are ready +I'll give you a talisman against social panic. Are you ready?" + +"Y-yes." + +"Very well. Whenever I come upon you suddenly, you mustn't try to +jump up into a tree as you did just now--" + +"I didn't!" + +"Oh, yes. Or burrow under a rock, as you did the other day--" + +"Miss B-B-Brewster--" + +"Wait until I've finished. You must turn your thoughts firmly upon +your science, until you've recovered equilibrium and the power of +human speech." + +"But when you jump at me that way, I c-c-can't think of anything +but you." + +"That's where the charm comes in. As soon as you see me or hear me +approaching, you must repeat, quite slowly, this scientific +incantation." She beat time with a pink and rhythmic finger as she +chanted:-- + + "Scarab, tarantula, doodle-bug, flea." + +The beggar rapidly made the sign that protects one from the +influence of the malign and supernatural. The scientist scowled. + +"Repeat it!" she commanded. + +"There is no such insect as a doodle-bug," he protested feebly. + +"Isn't there? I thought I heard you mention it in your +conversation with Mr. Carroll the other night." + +"You put that into my head," he accused. + +"Truly? Then life is indeed real and earnest. To have introduced +something unscientific into that compendium of science--there's +triumph enough for any ambition. Besides, see how beautifully it +scans." + +Again she beat time, and again the beggar crooked defensive +fingers as she declaimed:-- + + "SCAR-ab, tar-ANT-u-la, DOO-dle-bug, FLEA!" + +Homeric, I call it. Perhaps you think you could improve on it." + +"Would you mind substituting 'neuropter' in the third strophe?" he +ventured. "It would be just as good as 'doodle-bug,' and more-- +more accurate." + +"What's a neuropter? You didn't make him up for the occasion?" + +"Heaven forbid! The dragon-fly is a neuropter. The dragon-fly +we're going to breed to a biplane, you know," he reminded her +slyly. + +"Indeed! Well, I shall stick to my doodle-bug. He's more +euphonious. Now, repeat it." + +"Let me off this time," he pleaded. "I'm all right--quite +recovered. It's only at the start that it's so bad." + +"Very well," she agreed. "But you're not to forget it. And next +time we meet you're to be sure and say it over until you're sane." + +"Sane!" he said resentfully. "I'm as sane as any one you know. +It's the job of KEEPING sane in this madhouse of the tropics +that's almost driven me crazy." + +"Lovely!" she approved. "Well, now that you've recovered, I'll +tell you what I came out to say. I'm sorry that I missed you." + +"Missed me?" he repeated. "Oh, you have missed me, then? That's +nice. You see, I've been so busy for the last three or four days--" + +"No; I haven't missed you a bit," she declared indignantly. "The +conceit of the man!" + +"But you said you w-w-were sorry you'd--" + +"Don't be wholly a beetle! I meant I was sorry not to see you when +you came to call on me this morning." + +"I didn't come to call on you this morning." + +"No? The boy at the door said he'd seen you, or something +answering to your description." + +"So he did. I came to see your father. He was out." + +"What time?" + +"From eleven on." + +"Father? No, I don't think so." + +"His secretary came down and told me so, or sent word each time." + +She smiled pityingly at him. + +"Of course. That's what a secretary is for." + +"To tell lies?" + +"White lies. You see, dad is a very busy man, and an important +man, and many people come to see him whom he hasn't time to see. +So, unless he knew your business, he would naturally be 'out' to +you." + +The corners of the young man's rather sensitive mouth flattened out +perceptibly. + +"Ah, I see. My mistake. Living in countries where, however queer +the people may be, they at least observe ordinary human +courtesies, one forgets--if one ever knew." + +"What did you want of dad?" + +"Oh, to borrow four dollars of him, of course," he replied dryly. + +"You needn't be angry at me. You see, dad's time is valuable." + +"Indeed? To whom?" + +"Why, to himself, of course." + +"Oh, well, my time--However, that doesn't matter. I haven't wholly +wasted it." He glanced toward the beggar, who was profoundly +regarding the cathedral clock. + +"If you like, I'll get you an interview with dad," she offered +magnanimously. + +"Me? No, I thank you," he said crisply. "I'm not patient of +unnecessary red tape." + +Miss Brewster looked at him in surprise. It was borne in upon her, +as she looked, that this man was not accustomed to being lightly +regarded by other men, however busy or important; that his own +concerns in life were quite as weighty to him, and in his esteem, +perhaps, to others, as were the interests of any magnate; and +that, man to man, there would be no shyness or indecision or +purposelessness anywhere in his make-up. + +"If it was important," she began hesitantly, "my father would be--" + +"It was of no importance to me," he cut in. "To others--Perhaps I +could see some one else of your party." + +"Well, here I am." She smiled. "Why won't I do?" + +Behind the obscuring disks she could feel his glance read her. The +grimness at the mouth's corners relaxed. + +"I really don't know why you shouldn't." + +"Dad says I'd have made a man of affairs," she remarked. + +"Why, it's just this. You should be planning to leave this +country." + +Miss Brewster bewailed her harsh lot with drooping lip. + +"Every one wants to drive me away!" + +"Who else?" + +"That railroad man, Mr. Galpy, was offering us special inducements +to leave, in the form of special trains any time we liked. It +isn't hospitable." + +"A jail is hospitable. But one doesn't stay in it when one can get +out." + +"If Caracuna were the jail and I the 'one,' one might. I quite +love it here." + +He made a sharp gesture of annoyance. + +"Don't be childish," he said. + +"Childish? You come down like Freedom from the mountain heights, +and unfurl your warnings to the air, and complain of lost time and +all that sort of thing, and what does it all amount to?" she +demanded, with spirit. "That we should sail away, when you know +perfectly well that the Dutch won't let us sail away! Childish, +indeed! Don't you be BEETLISH!" + +"There's a way out, without much risk, but some discomfort. You +could strike south-east to the Bird Reefs, take a small boat, and +get over to the mainland. As soon as the blockade is off, the +yacht can take your luggage around. The trip would be rough for +you, but not dangerous. Not as dangerous as staying here may be." + +"Do you really think it so serious?" + +"Most emphatically." + +"Will you come with us and show us the way?" she inquired, gazing +with exaggerated appeal into his goggles. + +"I? No." + +"What shall you do?" + +"Stick." + +"Pins through scarabs," she laughed, "while beneath you Caracuna +riots and revolutes and massacres foreigners. Nero with his fiddle +was nothing to you." + +"Miss Brewster, I'm afraid you are suffering from a misplaced +sense of humor. Will you believe me when I tell you that I have +certain sources of information in local matters both serviceable +and reliable?" + +"You seem to have bet on a certainty in the Dutch blockade +matter." + +"Well, it's equally certain that there is bubonic plague here." + +"A bola. You told me so yourself." + +"Perhaps there was nothing to be gained then by letting you know, +as you were bottled up, with no way out. Now, through the good +offices of a foreign official, who, of course, couldn't afford to +appear, this opportunity to reach the mainland is open to you." + +"Had you anything to do with that?" she inquired suspiciously. + +"Oh, the official is a friend of mine," he answered carelessly. + +"And you really believe that there is an epidemic of plague here? +Don't you think that I'd make a good Red Cross nurse?" + +His voice was grave and rather stern. + +"You've never seen bubonic plague," he said, "or you wouldn't joke +about it." + +"I'm sorry. But it wasn't wholly a joke. If we were really cooped +up with an epidemic, I'd volunteer. What else would there be to +do?" + +"Nothing of the sort," he cried vehemently. "You don't know what +you're talking about." + +"Anyway, isn't the wonderful Luther Pruyn on his way to exorcise +the demon, or something of the sort?" + +"What about Luther Pruyn? Who says he's coming here?" + +"It's the gossip of the diplomatic set and the clubs. He's the +favorite mystery of the day." + +"Well, if he does come, it won't improve matters any, for the +first case he verifies he'll clap on a quarantine that a mouse +couldn't creep through. I know something of the Pruyn method." + +"And don't wholly approve it, I judge." + +"It may be efficacious, but it's extremely inconvenient at times." + +Again the cathedral clock boomed. + +"See how I've kept you from your own affairs!" cried Miss Polly +contritely. "What are you going to do now? Go back to your +mountains?" + +"Yes. As soon as you tell me that your father will go out by the +reefs." + +"Do you expect him to make up his mind, on five minutes' notice, +to abandon his yacht?" + +"I thought great magnates were supposed to be men of instant and +unalterable decisions. I don't know the type." + +"Anyway, dad has gone out. I saw him drive away. Wouldn't to- +morrow do?" + +"Why, yes; I suppose so." + +"I'll tell you. The Voice will report at the rock to-morrow, at +four." + +"No." + +"What a very uncompromising 'no'!" + +"I can't be there at four. Make it five." + +"What a very arbitrary beetle man! Well, as I've wasted so much of +your time to-day, I'll accept your orders for to-morrow." + +"And please impress your father with the extreme advisability of +your getting off this island." + +"Yes, sir," she said meekly. "You'll be most awfully glad to get +rid of us, won't you?" + +"Very greatly relieved." + +"And a little bit sorry?" + +The begoggled face turned toward her. There was a perceptible +tensity in the line of the jaw. But the beetle man made no answer. + +"Now, if I could see behind those glasses," said Miss Polly +Brewster to her wicked little self, "I'd probably BITE myself +rather than say it again. Just the same--And a little bit sorry?" +she persisted aloud. + +"Does that matter?" said the man quietly. + +Miss Polly Brewster forthwith bit herself on her pink and wayward +tongue. + +"Don't think I'm not grateful," she employed that chastened member +to say. "I am, most deeply. So will father be, even if he decides +not to leave. I'm afraid that's what he will decide." + +"He mustn't." + +"Tell him that yourself." + +"I will, if it becomes necessary." + +"Let me be present at the interview. Most people are afraid of +dad. Perhaps you'd be, too." + +"I could always run away," he remarked, unsmiling. "You know how +well I do it." + +"I must do it now myself, and get arrayed for the daily tea +sacrifice. Au revoir." + +"Hasta manana," he said absently. + +She had turned to go, but at the word she came slowly back a pace +or two, smiling. + +"What a strange beetle man you are!" she said softly. "I have no +other friends like you. You ARE a friend, aren't you, in your +queer way?" She did not wait for an answer, but went on: "You +don't come to see me when I ask you. You don't send me any word. +You make me feel that, compared to your concerns with beetles and +flies, I'm quite hopelessly unimportant. And yet here I find you +giving up your own pursuits and wasting your time to plan and +watch and think for us." + +"For you," he corrected. + +"For me," she accepted sweetly. "What an ungrateful little pig you +must think me! But truly inside I appreciate it and thank you, and +I think--I feel that perhaps it amounts to a lot more than I +know." + +He made a gesture of negation. + +"No great thing," he said. "But it's the best I can do, anyway. Do +you remember what the mediaeval mummer said, when he came bearing +his poor homage?" + +"No. Tell it to me." + +"It runs like this: 'Lady, who art nowise bitter to those who +serve you with a good intent, that which thy servant is, that he +is for you.'" + +"Polly Brewster," said the girl to herself, as she walked, slowly +and musingly, back to her room, "the busy haunts of men are more +suited to your style than the free-and-untrammeled spaces of +nature, and well you know it. But you'll go to-morrow and you'll +keep on going until you find out what is behind those brown-green +goblin spectacles. If only he didn't look so like a gnome!" + +The clause conditional, introduced by the word "if," does not +always imply a conclusion, even in the mind of the propounder. +Miss Brewster would have been hard put to it to round out her +subjunctive. + + + + + +VI + +FORKED TONGUES + + +"Pooh!" said Thatcher Brewster. + +Thatcher Brewster's "Pooh!" is generally recognized in the realm +of high finance as carrying weight. It is not derisive or +contemptuous; it is dismissive. The subject of it simply ceases to +exist. In the present instance, it was so mild as scarcely to stir +the smoke from his after-dinner cigar, yet it had all the intent, +if not the effect, of finality. The reason why it hadn't the +effect was that it was directed at Thatcher Brewster's daughter. + +"Perhaps not quite so much 'Pooh!' as you think," was that +damsel's reception of the pregnant monosyllable. + +"A bug-hunter from nowhere! Don't I know that type?" said the +magnate, who confounded all scientists with inventors, the +capital-seeking inventor being the bane and torment of his life. + +"He knew about the Dutch blockade." + +"Or pretended he did. I'm afraid my Pollipet has let herself +romanticize a little." + +"Romanticize!" The girl laughed. "If you could see him, dad! +Romance and my poor little beetle man don't live in the same +world." + +Out of the realm of memory, where the echoes come and go by no +known law, sounded his voice in her ear: "'That which thy servant +is, that he is for you.'" Dim doubt forthwith began to cloud the +bright certainty of Miss Brewster's verdict. + +"If he's gone to all the trouble that I told you of, it must be +that he has some good reason for wanting to get us safely out," +she argued to her father. + +"Perhaps he feels that his peace of mind would be more assured if +you were in some other country," he teased. "No, my dear, I'm not +leaving a full-manned yacht in a foreign harbor and smuggling +myself out of a friendly country on the say-so of an unknown +adviser, whose chief ability seems to lie in the hundred-yard +dash." + +"I think that's unfair and ungrateful. If a man with a sword--" + +"When I begin a row, I stay with it," said Mr. Brewster grimly. +"Quitters and I don't pull well together." + +"Then I'm to tell him 'No'?" + +"Positively." + +"Not so positively at all. I shall say, 'No, thank you,' in my +very nicest way, and say that you're very grateful and +appreciative and not at all the growly old bear of a dad that you +pretend to be when one doesn't know and love you. And perhaps I'll +invite him to dine here and go away on the yacht with us--" + +"And graciously accept a couple of hundred thousand dollars bonus, +and come into the company as first vice-president," chuckled her +father. "And then he'll wake up and find he's been sitting on a +cactus. See here," he added, with a sharpening of tone, "do you +suppose he could get a cablegram for transmission to Washington +over to the mainland for us by this mysterious route of his?" + +"Very likely." + +"You're really sure you want to go, Pollipet? This is your cruise, +you know." + +"Yes, I do." + +Hitherto Miss Polly had been declaring to all and sundry, +including the beetle man himself, that it was her firm intent and +pleasure to stay on the island and observe the presumptively +interesting events that promised. That she had reversed this +decision, on the unsolicited counsel of an extremely queer +stranger, was a phenomenon the peculiarity of which did not strike +her at the time. All that she felt was a settled confidence in the +beetle man's sound reason for his advice. + +"Very good," said Mr. Brewster. "If I can get through a message to +the State Department, they'll bring pressure to bear on the Dutch, +and we can take the yacht through the blockade. It's only a +question of finding a way to lay the matter before the Dutch +authorities, anyway. I've been making inquiries here, and I find +there's no intention of bottling up neutral pleasure craft. I dare +say we could get out now. Only it's possible that the Hollanders +might shoot first and ask questions afterward." + +"It would have to be done quickly, dad. They may quarantine at any +time." + +"Dr. Pruyn ought to be here any day now. Let's leave that matter +for him. There's a man I have confidence in." + +"Mr. Perkins says that Dr. Pruyn will bottle up the port tighter +than the Dutch." + +"Let him, so long as we get out first. Now, Polly, you tell this +man Perkins that I'll pay all expenses and give him a round +hundred for himself if he'll bring me a receipt showing that my +cablegram has been dispatched to Washington." + +"I don't think I'd quite like to do that, dad. He isn't the sort +of man one offers money to." + +"Every one's the sort of man one offers money to--if it's enough," +retorted her father. "And a hundred dollars will look pretty big +to a scientific man. I know something about their salaries. You +try him." + +"So far as expenses go, I will. But I won't hurt his feelings by +trying to pay him for something that he would do for friendship or +not at all." + +"Have it your own way. When is he coming in?" + +"He isn't coming in." + +"Then where are you going to see him?" + +"Up on the mountain trail, when I ride tomorrow afternoon." + +"With Carroll?" + +"No; I'm going alone." + +"I don't quite like to have you knocking about mountain roads by +yourself, though Mr. Sherwen says you're safe anywhere here. +Where's that little automatic revolver I gave you?" + +"In my trunk. I'll carry that if it will make you feel any +easier." + +"Yes, do. But I can't see why you can't send word to Perkins that +I want to see him here." + +"I can. And I can guess just what his answer would be." + +"Well, guess ahead." + +"He'd tell you to go to the bad place, or its scientific +equivalent." She laughed. + +"Would he?" Mr. Brewster did not laugh. "And perhaps you'll be +good enough to tell me why." + +"Because you sent word that you were out when he called." + +"Humph! I see people when _I_ want to see THEM, not when they want +to see me." + +"Then Mr. Perkins is likely to prove permanently invisible to you, +if I'm any judge of character." + +"Well, well," said Mr. Brewster impatiently, "manage it yourself. +Only impress on him the necessity of getting the message on the +wire. I'll write it out to-night and give it to you with the money +to-morrow." + +After luncheon on the following day, Polly, with the cablegram and +money in her purse and her automatic safely disposed in her belt, +walked in the plaza with Carroll. The legless beggar whined at +them for alms. Handing him a quartillo, the Southerner would have +passed on, but his companion stood eyeing the mendicant. + +"Now, what can there be in that poor wreck to captivate the +scientific intellect?" she marveled. + +"If you mean Mr. Perkins--" began Carroll. + +"I do." + +"Then I think perhaps the reason for some of that gentleman's +associations will hardly stand inquiry." + +The girl turned her eyes on him and searched the handsome, serious +face. + +"Fitz, you're not the man to say that of another man without some +good reason." + +"I am not, Miss Polly." + +"You think that Mr. Perkins is not the kind of man for me to have +anything to do with?" + +"I--I'm afraid he isn't." + +"Don't you think that, having gone so far, you ought to tell me +why?" + +Carroll flushed. + +"I would rather tell your father." + +"Are you implying a scandal in connection with my timid, little +dried-up scientist?" + +"I'm only saying," said the other doggedly, "that there's +something secret and underhanded about that place of his in the +mountains. It's a matter of common gossip." + +The girl laughed outright. + +"The poor beetle man! Why, he's so afraid of a woman that he goes +all to pieces if one speaks to him suddenly. Just to see his +expression, I'd like to tell him that he's being scandalized by +all Caracuna." + +"You're going to see him again?" + +"Certainly. This afternoon." + +"I don't think you should, Miss Polly." + +"Have you any actual facts against him? Anything but casual +gossip?" + +"No; not yet." + +"When you have, I'll listen to you. But you couldn't make me +believe it, anyway. Why, Fitz, look at him!" + +"Take me with you," insisted the other, "and let me ask him a +question or two that any honorable man could answer. They don't +call him the Unspeakable Perk for nothing, Miss Polly." + +"It's just because they don't understand his type. Nor do you, +Fitz, and so you mistrust him." + +"I understand that you've shown more interest in him than in any +one you know," said the other miserably. + +Her laugh rang as free and frank as a child's. + +"Interest? That's true. But if you mean sentiment, Fitz, after +once having looked into the depths of those absurd goggles, can +you, COULD you think of sentiment and the beetle man in the same +breath?" + +"No, I couldn't," he confessed, relieved. "But, then, I never have +been able to understand you, Miss Polly." + +"Therein lies my fatal charm," she said saucily. "Now, to the +beetle man, I'm a specimen. HE understands as much as he wants to. +Probably I shall never see him after to-day, anyway. He's going to +get a message through for us that will deliver us from this land +of bondage." + +"He can't do it--too soon for me," declared Carroll. "And, Miss +Polly, you don't think the worse of me for having said behind his +back what I'm just waiting to say to his face?" + +"Not a bit," said the girl warmly. "Only I know it's nonsense." + +"I hope so," said Carroll, quite honestly. "I would hate to think +anything low-down of a man you'd call your friend." + +Carroll had learned more than he had told, but less than enough to +give him what he considered proper evidence to lay before Polly's +father. After some deliberation as to the point of honor involved, +he decided to go to Raimonda, who, alone in Caracuna City, seemed +to be on personal terms with the hermit. He found the young man in +his office. With entire frankness, Carroll stated his errand and +the reason for it. The Caracunan heard him with grave courtesy. + +"And now, senior," concluded the American, "here's my question, +and it's for you to determine whether, under the circumstances, +you are justified in giving me an answer. Is there a woman living +in Mr. Perkins's quinta on the mountains?" + +"I cannot answer that question," said the other, after some +deliberation. + +"I'm sorry," said Carroll simply. + +"I also. The more so in that my attitude may be misconstrued +against Mr. Perkins. I am bound by confidence." + +"So I infer," returned his visitor courteously. "Then I have only +to ask your pardon--" + +"One moment, if you please, senor. Perhaps this will serve to make +easy your mind. On my word, there is nothing in Mr. Perkins's life +on the mountain in any manner dishonorable or--or irregular." + +In a flash, the simple solution crossed Carroll's mind. That a +woman was there, and a woman not of the servant class, could +hardly be doubted, in view of almost direct evidence from +eyewitnesses. If there was nothing irregular about her presence, +it was because she was Perkins's wife. In view of Raimonda's +attitude, he did not feel free to put the direct query. Another +question would serve his purpose. + +"Is it advisable, and for the best interests of Miss Brewster, +that she should associate with him under the circumstances?" + +The Caracunan started and shot a glance at his interlocutor that +said, as plainly as words, "How much do you know that you are not +telling?" had the latter not been too intent upon his own theory +to interpret it. + +"Ah, that," said Raimonda, after a pause,--"that is another +question. If it were my sister, or any one dear to me--but"--he +shrugged--"views on that matter differ." + +"I hardly think that yours and mine differ, senior. I thank you +for bearing with me with so much patience." + +He went out with his suspicions hardened into certainty. + + + + + +VII + +"THAT WHICH THY SERVANT IS--" + + +A man that you'd call your friend. Such had been Fitzhugh +Carroll's reference to the Unspeakable Perk. With that +characterization in her mind. Miss Brewster let herself drift, +after her suitor had left her, into a dreamy consideration of the +hermit's attitude toward her. She was not prone lightly to employ +the terms of friendship, yet this new and casual acquaintance had +shown a readiness to serve--not as cavalier, but as friend--none +too common in the experience of the much-courted and a little +spoiled beauty. Being, indeed, a "lady nowise bitter to those who +served her with good intent," she reflected, with a kindly light +in her eyes, that it was all part and parcel of the beetle's man's +amiable queerness. + +Still musing upon this queerness, she strolled back to find her +mount waiting at the corner of the plaza. In consideration of the +heat she let her cream-colored mule choose his own pace, so they +proceeded quite slowly up the hill road, both absorbed in +meditation, which ceased only when the mule started an argument +about a turn in the trail. He was a well-bred trotting mule, +worth six hundred dollars in gold of any man's money, and he was +self-appreciative in knowledge of the fact. He brought a singular +firmness of purpose to the support of the negative of her +proposition, which was that he should swing north from the broad +into the narrow path. When the debate was over, St. John the +Baptist--this, I hesitate to state, yet must, it being the truth, +was the spirited animal's name--was considerably chastened, and +Miss Brewster more than a trifle flushed. She left him tied to a +ceiba branch at the exit from the dried creek bed, with strict +instructions not to kick, lest a worse thing befall him. Miss +Brewster's fighting blood was up, when, ten minutes late, because +of the episode, she reached the summit of the rock. + +"Oh, Mr. Beetle Man, are you there?" she called. + +"Yes, Voice. You sound strange. What is it?" + +"I've been hurrying, and if you tell me I'm late, I'll--I'll fall +on your neck again and break it." + +"Has anything happened?" + +"Nothing in particular. I've been boxing the compass with a mule. +It's tiresome." + +He reflected. + +"You're not, by any chance, speaking figuratively of your +respected parent?" + +"Certainly NOT!" she disclaimed indignantly. "This was a real +mule. You're very impertinent." + +"Well, you see, he was impertinent to me, saying he was out when +he was in. What is his decision--yes or no?" + +"No." + +A sharp exclamation came from the nook below. + +"Is that the entomological synonym for 'damn'?" she inquired. + +"It's a lament for time wasted on a--Well, never mind that." + +"But he wants you to carry a message by that secret route of +yours. Will you do it for him?" + +"NO!" + +"That's not being a very kind or courteous beetle man." + +"I owe Mr. Brewster no courtesy." + +"And you pay only where you owe? Just, but hardly amiable. Well, +you owe me nothing--but--will you do it for me?" + +"Yes." + +"Without even knowing what it is?" + +"Yes." + +"In return you shall have your heart's desire." + +"Doubted." + +"Isn't the dearest wish of your soul to drive me out of Caracuna?" + +"Hum! Well--er--yes. Yes; of course it is." + +"Very well. If you can get dad's message on the wire to +Washington, he thinks the Secretary of State, who is his friend, +can reach the Dutch and have them open up the blockade for us." + +"Time apparently meaning nothing to him." + +"Would it take much time?" + +"About four days to a wire." + +She gazed at him in amazement. + +"And you were willing to give up four days to carry my message +through, 'unsight--unseen,' as we children used to say?" + +"Willing enough, but not able to. I'd have got a messenger through +with it, if necessary. But in four days, there'll be other +obstacles besides the Dutch." + +"Quarantine?" + +"Yes." + +"I thought that had to wait for Dr. Pruyn." + +"Pruyn's here. That's a secret, Miss Brewster." + +"Do you know EVERYTHING? Has he found plague?" + +"Ah, I don't say that. But he will find it, for it's certainly +here. I satisfied myself of that yesterday." + +"From your beggar friend?" + +"What made you think that, O most acute observer?" + +"What else would you be talking to him of, with such interest?" + +"You're correct. Bubonic always starts in the poor quarters. To +know how people die, you have to know how they live. So I +cultivated my beggar friend and listened to the gossip of quick +funerals and unexplained disappearances. I'd have had some real +arguments to present to Mr. Brewster if he had cared to listen." + +"He'll listen to Dr. Pruyn. They're old friends." + +"No! Are they?" + +"Yes. Since college days. So perhaps the quarantine will be easier +to get through than the blockade." + +"Do you think so? I'm afraid you'll find that pull doesn't work +with the service that Dr. Pruyn is in." + +"And you think that there will be quarantine within four days?" + +"Almost sure to be." + +"Then, of course, I needn't trouble you with the message." + +"Don't jump at conclusions. There might be another and quicker +way." + +"Wireless?" she asked quickly. + +"No wireless on the island. No. This way you'll just have to trust +me for." + +"I'll trust you for anything you say you can do." + +"But I don't say I can. I say only that I'll try." + +"That's enough for me. Ready! Now, brace yourself. I'm coming +down." + +"Wh--why--wait! Can't you send it down?" + +"No. Besides, you KNOW you want to see me. No use pretending, +after last time. Remember your verse now, and I'll come slowly." + +Solemnly he began:-- + + "Scarab, tarantula, neurop--" + "'Doodle-bug,'" she prompted severely. + "--doodle-bug, flea,"-- + +he concluded obediently. + + "Scarab, tarantula, doodle-bug, flea. + Scarab, tarantula, doodle--" + +"Oof! I--I--didn't think you'd be here so soon!" + +He scrambled to his feet, hardly less palpitating than on the +occasion of their first encounter. + +"Hopeless!" she mourned. "Incurable! Wanted: a miracle of St. +Vitus. Do stop nibbling your hat, and sit down." + +"I don't think it's as bad as it was," he murmured, obeying. "One +gets accustomed to you." + +"One gets accustomed to anything in time, even the eccentricities +of one's friends." + +"Do you think I'm eccentric?" + +"Do I think--Have you ever known any one who didn't think you +eccentric?" + +Upon this he pondered solemnly. + +"It's so long since I've stopped to consider what people think of +me. One hasn't time, you know." + +"Then one is unhuman. _I_ have time." + +"Of course. But you haven't anything else to do." + +As this was quite true, she naturally felt annoyed. + +"Knowing as you do all the secrets of my inner life," she observed +sarcastically, "of course you are in a position to judge." + +Her own words recalled Carroll's charge, and though, with the +subject of them before her, it seemed ridiculously impossible, yet +the spirit of mischief, ever hovering about her like an attendant +sprite, descended and took possession of her speech. She assumed a +severely judicial expression. + +"Mr. Beetle Man, will you lay your hand upon your microscope, or +whatever else scientists make oath upon, and answer fully and +truly the question about to be put to you?" + +"As I hope for a blessed release from this abode of lunacy, I +will." + +"Mr. Beetle Man, have you got an awful secret in your life?" + +So sharply did he start that the heavy goggles slipped a fraction +of an inch along his nose, the first time she had ever seen them +in any degree misplaced. She was herself sensibly discountenanced +by his perturbation. + +"Why do you ask that?" he demanded. + +"Natural interest in a friend," she answered lightly, but with +growing wonder. "I think you'd be altogether irresistible if you +were a pirate or a smuggler or a revolutionary. The romantic +spirit could lurk so securely behind those gloomy soul-screens +that you wear. What do you keep back of them, O dark and shrouded +beetle man?" + +"My eyes," he grunted. + +"Basilisk eyes, I'm sure. And what behind the eyes?" + +"My thoughts." + +"You certainly keep them securely. No intruders allowed. But you +haven't answered my question. Have you ever murdered any one in +cold blood? Or are you a married man trifling with the affections +of poor little me?" + +"You shall know all," he began, in the leisurely tone of one who +commences a long narrative. "My parents were honest, but poor. At +the age of three years and four months, a maternal uncle, who, +having been a proofreader of Abyssinian dialect stories for a +ladies' magazine, was considered a literary prophet, foretold that +I--" + +"Help! Wait! Stop!-- + + "'Oh, skip your dear uncle!' the bellman exclaimed, + And impatiently tinkled his bell." + +Her companion promptly capped her verse:-- + + "'I skip forty years,' said the baker in tears,"-- + +"You can't," she objected. "If you skipped half that, I don't +believe it would leave you much." + +"When one is giving one's life history by request," he began, with +dignity, "interruptions--" + +"It isn't by request," she protested. "I don't want your life +history. I won't have it! You shan't treat an unprotected and +helpless stranger so. Besides, I'm much more interested to know +how you came to be familiar with Lewis Carroll." + +"Just because I've wasted my career on frivolous trifles like +science, you needn't think I've wholly neglected the true +inwardness of life, as exemplified in 'The Hunting of the Snark,'" +he said gravely. + +"Do you know"--she leaned forward, searching his face--"I believe +you came out of that book yourself. ARE you a Boojum? Will you, +unless I 'charm you with smiles and soap,' + + "'Softly and silently vanish away, + And never be heard of again'?" + +"You're mixed. YOU'D be the one to do that if I were a real +Boojum. And you'll be doing it soon enough, anyway," he concluded +ruefully. + +"So I shall, but don't be too sure that I'll 'never be heard of +again.'" + +He glanced up at the sun, which was edging behind a dark cloud, +over the gap. + +"Is your raging thirst for personal information sufficiently +slaked?" he asked. "We've still fifteen or twenty minutes left." + +"Is that all? And I haven't yet given you the message!" She drew +it from the bag and handed it to him. + +"Sealed," he observed. + +The girl colored painfully. + +"Dad didn't intend--You mustn't think--" With a flash of generous +wrath she tore the envelope open and held out the inclosure. "But +I shouldn't have thought you so concerned with formalities," she +commented curiously. + +"It isn't that. But in some respects, possibly important, it would +be better if--" He stopped, looking at her doubtfully. + +"Read it," she nodded. + +He ran through the brief document. + +"Yes; it's just as well that I should know. I'll leave a copy." + +Something in his accent made her scrutinize him. + +"You're going into danger!" she cried. + +"Danger? No; I think not. Difficulty, perhaps. But I think it can +be put through." + +"If it were dangerous, you'd do it just the same," she said, +almost accusingly. + +"It would be worth some danger now to get you away from greater +danger later. See here, Miss Brewster"--he rose and stood over +her--"there must be no mistake or misunderstanding about this." + +"Don't gloom at me with those awful glasses," she said fretfully. +"I feel as if I were being stared at by a hidden person." + +He disregarded the protest. + +"If I get this message through, can you guarantee that your father +will take out the yacht as soon as the Dutch send word to him?" + +"Oh, yes. He will do that. How are you going to deliver the +message?" + +Again her words might as well not have been spoken. + +"You'd better have your luggage ready for a quick start." + +"Will it be soon?" + +"It may be." + +"How shall we know?" + +"I will get word to you." + +"Bring it?" + +He shook his head. + +"No; I fear not. This is good-bye." + +"You're very casual about it," she said, aggrieved. "At least, it +would be polite to pretend." + +"What am I to pretend?" + +"To be sorry. Aren't you sorry? Just a little bit?" + +"Yes; I'm sorry. Just a little bit--at least." + +"I'm most awfully sorry myself," she said frankly. "I shall miss +you." + +"As a curiosity?" he asked, smiling. + +"As a friend. You have been a friend to us--to me," she amended +sweetly. "Each time I see you, I have more the feeling that you've +been more of a friend than I know." + +"'That which thy servant is,'" he quoted lightly. But beneath the +lightness she divined a pain that she could not wholly fathom. +Quite aware of her power, Miss Polly Brewster was now, for one of +the few times in her life, stricken with contrition for her use of +it. + +"And I--I haven't been very nice," she faltered. "I'm afraid" +sometimes I've been quite horrid." + +"You? You've been 'the glory and the dream.' I shall be needing +memories for a while. And when the glory has gone, at least the +dream will remain--tethered." + +"But I'm not going to be a dream alone," she said, with wistful +lightness. "It's far too much like being a ghost. I'm going to be +a friend, if you'll let me. And I'm going to write to you, if you +will tell me where. You won't find it so very easy to make a mere +memory of me. And when you come home--When ARE you coming home?" + +He shook his head. + +"Then you must find out, and let me know. And you must come and +visit us at our summer place, where there's a mountain-side that +we can sit on, and you can pretend that our lake is the Caribbean +and hate it to your heart's content--" + +"I don't believe I can ever quite hate the Caribbean again." + +"From this view you mustn't, anyway. I shouldn't like that. As for +our lake, nobody could really help loving it. So you must be sure +and come, won't you?" + +"Dreams!" he murmured. + +"Isn't there room in the scientific life for dreams?" + +"Yes. But not for their fulfillment." + +"But there will be beetles and dragon-flies on our mountain," she +went on, conscious of talking against time, of striving to put off +the moment of departure. "You'll find plenty of work there. Do you +know, Mr. Beetle Man, you haven't told me a thing, really, about +your work, or a thing, really, about yourself. Is that the way to +treat a friend?" + +"When I undertook to spread before you the true and veracious +history of my life," he began, striving to make his tone light, +"you would none of it." + +"Are you determined to put me off? Do you think that I wouldn't +find the things that are real to you interesting?" + +"They're quite technical," he said shyly. + +"But they are the big things to you, aren't they? They make life +for you?" + +"Oh, yes; that, of course." It was as if he were surprised at the +need of such a question. "I suppose I find the same excitement and +adventure in research that other men find in politics, or war, or +making money." + +"Adventure?" she said, puzzled. "I shouldn't have supposed +research an adventurous career, exactly." + +"No; not from the outside." His hidden gaze shifted to sweep the +far distances. His voice dropped and softened, and, when he spoke +again, she felt vaguely and strangely that he was hardly thinking +of her or her question, except as a part of the great wonder-world +surrounding and enfolding their companioned remoteness. + +"This is my credo," he said, and quoted, half under his breath:-- + + "'We have come in search of truth, + Trying with uncertain key + Door by door of mystery. + We are reaching, through His laws, + To the garment hem of Cause. + As, with fingers of the blind, + We are groping here to find + What the hieroglyphics mean + Of the Unseen in the seen; + What the Thought which underlies + Nature's masking and disguise; + What it is that hides beneath + Blight and bloom and birth and death.'" + +Other men had poured poetry into Polly Brewster's ears, and she +had thought them vapid or priggish or affected, according as they +had chosen this or that medium. This man was different. For all +his outer grotesquery, the noble simplicity of the verse matched +some veiled and hitherto but half-expressed quality within him, +and dignified him. Miss Brewster suffered the strange but not +wholly unpleasant sensation of feeling herself dwindle. + +"It's very beautiful," she said, with an effort. "Is it Matthew +Arnold?" + +"Nearer home. You an American, and don't know your Whittier? That +passage from his 'Agassiz' comes pretty near to being what life +means to me. Have I answered your requirements?" + +"Fully and finely." + +She rose from the rock upon which she had been seated, and +stretched out both hands to him. He took and held them without +awkwardness or embarrassment. By that alone she could have known +that he was suffering with a pain that submerged consciousness of +self. + +"Whether I see you again or not, I'll never forget you," she said +softly. "You HAVE been good to me, Mr. Perkins." + +"I like the other name better," he said. + +"Of course. Mr. Beetle Man." She laughed a little tremulously. +Abruptly she stamped a determined foot. "I'm NOT going away +without having seen my friend for once. Take off your glasses, Mr. +Beetle Man." + +"Too much radiance is bad for the microscopical eye." + +"The sun is under a cloud." + +"But you're here, and you'd glow in the dark." + +"No; I'm not to be put off with pretty speeches. Take them off. +Please!" + +Releasing her hand, he lifted off the heavy and disfiguring +apparatus, and stood before her, quietly submissive to her wish. +She took a quick step backward, stumbled, and thrust out a hand +against the face of the giant rock for support. + +"Oh!" she cried, and again, "Oh, I didn't think you'd look like +that!" + +"What is it? Is there anything very wrong with me?" he asked +seriously, blinking a little in the soft light. + +"No, no. It isn't that. I--I hardly know--I expected something +different. Forgive me for being so--so stupid." + +In truth, Miss Polly Brewster had sustained a shock. She had +become accustomed to regard her beetle man rather more in the +light of a beetle than a man. In fact, the human side of him had +impressed her only as a certain dim appeal to sympathy; the +masculine side had simply not existed. Now it was as if he had +unmasked. The visage, so grotesque and gnomish behind its +mechanical apparatus, had given place to a wholly different and +formidably strange face. The change all centered in the eyes. They +were wide-set eyes of the clearest, steadiest, and darkest gray +she had ever met; and they looked out at her from sharply angled +brows with a singular clarity and calmness of regard. In their +light the man's face became instinct with character in every line. +Strength was there, self-control, dignity, a glint of humor in the +little wrinkles at the corner of the mouth, and, withal a sort of +quiet and sturdy beauty. + +She had half-turned her face from him. Now, as her gaze returned +and was fixed by his, she felt a wave of blood expand her heart, +rush upward into her cheeks, and press into her eyes tears of +swift regret. But now she was sorry, not for him, but for herself, +because he had become remote and difficult to her. + +"Have I startled you?" he asked curiously. "I'll put them back on +again." + +"No, no; don't do that!" She rallied herself to the point of +laughing a little. "I'm a goose. You see, I've pictured you as +quite different. Have you ever seen yourself in the glass with +those dreadful disguises on?" + +"Why, no; I don't suppose I have," he replied, after reflection. +"After all, they're meant for use, not for ornament." + +By this time she had mastered her confusion and was able to +examine his face. Under his eyes were circles of dull gray, +defined by deep lines, + +"Why, you're worn out!" she cried pitifully. "Haven't you been +sleeping?" + +"Not much." + +"You must take something for it." The mothering instinct sprang to +the rescue. "How much rest did you get last night?" + +"Let me see. Last night I did very well. Fully four hours." + +"And that is more than you average?" + +"Well, yes; lately. You see, I've been pretty busy." + +"Yet you've given up your time to my wretched, unimportant little +stupid affairs! And what return have I made?" + +"You've made the sun shine," he said, "in a rather shaded +existence." + +"Promise me that you'll sleep to-night; that you won't work a +stroke." + +"No; I can't promise that." + +"You'll break down. You'll go to pieces. What have you got to do +more important than keeping in condition?" + +"As to that, I'll last through. And there's some business that +won't wait." + +Divination came upon her. + +"Dad's message!" + +"If it weren't that, it would be something else." + +Her hand went out to him, and was withdrawn. + +"Please put on your glasses," she said shyly. + +Smiling, he did her bidding. + +"There! Now you are my beetle man again. No, not quite, though. +You'll never be quite the same beetle man again." + +"I shall always be," he contradicted gently. + +"Anyway, it's better. You're easier to say things to. Are you +really the man who ran away from the street car?" she asked +doubtfully. + +"I really am." + +"Then I'm most surely sure that you had good reason." She began to +laugh softly. "As for the stories about you, I'd believe them less +than ever, now." + +"Are there stories about me?" + +"Gossip of the club. They call you 'The Unspeakable Perk'!" + +"Not a bad nickname," he admitted. "I expect I have been rather +unspeakable, from their point of view." + +A desire to have the faith that was in her supported by this man's +own word overrode her shyness. + +"Mr. Beetle Man," she said, "have you got a sister?" + +"I? No. Why?" + +"If you had a sister, is there anything--Oh, DARN your sister!" +broke forth the irrepressible Polly. "I'll be your sister for +this. Is there anything about you and your life here that you'd be +afraid to tell me?" + +"No." + +"I knew there wasn't," she said contentedly. She hesitated a +moment, then put a hand on his arm. "Does this HAVE to be good- +bye, Mr. Beetle Man?" she said wistfully. + +"I'm afraid so." + +"No!" She stamped imperiously. "I want to see you again, and I'm +going to see you again. Won't you come down to the port and bring +me another bunch of your mountain orchids when we sail--just for +good-bye?" + +Through the dull medium of the glasses she could feel his eyes +questioning hers. And she knew that once more before she sailed +away, she must look into those eyes, in all their clarity and all +their strength--and then try to forget them. The swift color ran +up into her cheeks. + +"I--I suppose so," he said. "Yes." + +"Au revoir, then!" she cried, with a thrill of gladness, and fled +up the rock. + +The Unspeakable Perk strode down his path, broke into a trot, and +held to it until he reached his house. But Miss Polly, departing +in her own direction, stopped dead after ten minutes' going. It +had struck her forcefully that she had forgotten the matter of the +expense of the message. How could she reach him? She remembered +the cliff above the rock, and the signal. If a signal was valid in +one direction, it ought to work equally well in the other. She had +her automatic with her. Retracing her steps, she ascended the +cliff, a rugged climb. Across the deep-fringed chasm she could +plainly see the porch of the quinta with the little clearing at +the side, dim in the clouded light. Drawing the revolver, she +fired three shots. + +"He'll come," she thought contentedly. + +The sun broke from behind the obscuring cloud and sent a shaft of +light straight down upon the clearing. It illumined with pitiless +distinctness the shimmering silk of a woman's dress, hanging on a +line and waving in the first draft of the evening breeze. For a +moment Polly stood transfixed. What did it mean? Was it perhaps a +servant's dress. No; he had told her that there was no woman +servant. + +As she sought the solution, a woman's figure emerged from the +porch of the quinta, crossed the compound, and dropped upon a +bench. Even at that distance, the watcher could tell from the +woman's bearing and apparel that she was not of the servant class. +She seemed to be gazing out over the mountains; there was +something dreary and forlorn in her attitude. What, then, did she +do in the beetle man's house? + +Below the rock the shrubbery weaved and thrashed, and the person +who could best answer that question burst into view at a full +lope. + +"What is it?" he panted. "Was it you who fired?" + +She stared at him mutely. The revolver hung in her hand. In a +moment he was beside her. + +"Has anything happened?" he began again, then turned his head to +follow the direction of her regard. He saw the figure in the +compound. + +"Good God in heaven!" he groaned. + +He caught the revolver from her hand and fired three slow shots. +The woman turned. Snatching off his hat, he signalled violently +with it. The woman rose and, as it seemed to Polly Brewster, moved +in humble submissiveness back to the shelter. + +White consternation was stamped on the Unspeakable Perk's face as +he handed the revolver to its owner. + +"Do you need me?" he asked quickly. "If not, I must go back at +once." + +"I do not need you," said the girl, in level tones. "You lied to +me." + +His expression changed. She read in it the desperation of guilt. + +"I can explain," he said hurriedly, "but not now. There isn't +time. Wait here. I'll be back. I'll be back the instant I can get +away." + +As he spoke, he was halfway down the rock, headed for the lower +trail. The bushes closed behind him. + +Painfully Polly Brewster made her way down the treacherous footing +of the cliff path to her place on the rock. From her bag she drew +one of her cards, wrote slowly and carefully a few words, found a +dry stick, set it between two rocks, and pinned her message to it. +Then she ran, as helpless humans run from the scourge of their own +hearts. + +Half an hour later the hermit, sweat-covered and breathless, +returned to the rock. For a moment he gazed about, bewildered by +the silence. The white card caught his eye. He read its angular +scrawl. + +"I wish never to see you again. Never! Never! Never!" + +A sulphur-yellow inquisitor, of a more insinuating manner than the +former participant in their conversation, who had been examining +the message on his own account, flew to the top of the cliff. + +"Qu'est-ce qu'elle dit? Qu'est-ce qu'elle dit?" he demanded. + +For the first time in his adult life the beetle man threw a stone +at a bird. + + + + + +VIII + +LOS YANKIS + + +Luncheon on the day following the kiskadee bird's narrow squeak +for his life was a dreary affair for Mr. Fitzhugh Carroll. +Business had called Mr. Brewster away. This deprivation the +Southerner would have borne with equanimity. But Miss Brewster had +also absented herself, which was rather too much for the devoted, +but apprehensive, lover. Thus, ample time was given him to +consider how ill his suit was prospering. The longer he stayed, +the less he saw of Miss Polly. That she was kinder and more +gentle, less given to teasing him than of yore, was poor +compensation. He was shrewd enough to draw no good augury from +that. Something had altered her, and he was divided between +suspicion of the last week's mail, the arrival of which had been +about contemporaneous with her change of spirit, and some local +cause. Was a letter from Smith, the millionaire, or Bobby, the +friend of her childhood, responsible? Or was the cause nearer at +hand? + +For one preposterous moment he thought of the Unspeakable Perk. A +quick visualization of that gnomish, froggish face was enough to +dispel the suspicion. At least the petted and rather fastidious +Miss Brewster's fancy would be captured only by a gentleman, not +by any such homunculus as the mountain dweller. Her interest, +perhaps; the man possessed the bizarre attraction of the freakish. +But anything else was absurd. And the knight was inclined to +attaint his lady for a certain cruelty in the matter; she was +being something less than fair to the Unspeakable Perk. + +The searchlight of his surmise ranged farther. Raimonda! The young +Caracunan was handsome, distinguished, manly, with a romantic +charm that the American did not underestimate. He, at least, was a +gentleman, and the assiduity of his attentions to the Northern +beauty had become the joke of the clubs--except when Raimonda was +present. By the same token, half of the gilded youth of the +capital, and most of the young diplomats, were the sworn slaves of +the girl. It was a confused field, indeed. Well, thank Heaven, she +would soon be out of it! Word had come down from her that she was +busy packing her things. Carroll wandered about the hotel, waiting +for the news that would explain this preparation. + +It came, at mid-afternoon, in the person of Miss Polly herself. +Why packing trunks, with the aid of an experienced maid, should, +even in a hot climate, produce heavy circles under the eyes, a +droop at the mouth corners, and a complete submersion of vivacity, +is a problem which Carroil then and there gave up. He had too much +tact to question or comment. + +"Oh, I'm so tired!" she said, giving him her hand. "Have you much +packing to do, Fitzhugh?" + +"No one has given me any notice to get ready, Miss Polly." + +"How very neglectful of me! We may leave at any time." + +"Yes; you may. But my ship doesn't seem to be coming in very +fast." + +The double entente was unintentional, but the girl winced. + +"Aren't you coming with us on the yacht?" + +"Am I?" His handsome face lighted hopefully. + +"Of course. Dad expects you to. What kind of people should we be +to leave any friend behind, with matters as they are?" + +"Ah, yes." The hope passed out of his face. "Dictates of humanity, +and that sort of thing. I think, if you and Mr. Brewster--" + +"Please don't be silly, Fitz," she pleaded. "You know it would +make me most unhappy to leave you." + +Rarely did the scion of Southern blood and breeding lose the self- +control and reserve on which he prided himself, but he had been +harassed by events to an unwonted strain of temper. + +"Is it making you unhappy to leave any one else here?" he blurted +out. + +The challenge stirred the girl's spirit. + +"No, indeed! I wouldn't care if I never saw any of them again. I'm +tired of it all. I want to go home," she said, like a pathetic +child. + +"Oh, Miss Polly," he began, taking a step toward her, "if you'd +only let me--" + +She put up one little sunburned hand. + +"Please, Fitz! I--I don't feel up to it to-day." + +Humbly he subsided. + +"I'd no right to ask you the question," he apologized. "It was +kind of you to answer me at all." + +"You're really a dear, Fitz," she said, smiling a little wanly. +"Sometimes I wish--" + +She did not finish her sentence, but wandered over to the window, +and gazed out across the square. On the far side something quite +out of the ordinary seemed to be going on. + +"The legless beggar seems to have collected quite an audience," +she remarked idly. + +Her suitor joined her on the parlor balcony. + +"Possibly he's starting a revolution. Any one can do it down +here." + +Vehement adjuration, in a high, strident voice, came floating +across to them. + +"Listen!" cried the girl. "He's speaking. English, isn't he?" + +"It seems to be a mixture of English, French, and Spanish. Quite a +polyglot the friend of your friend Perkins appears to be." + +She turned steady eyes upon him. + +"Mr. Perkins is not my friend." + +"No?" + +"I never want to see him, or to hear his name again." + +"Ah, then you've found out about him?" + +"Yes." She flushed. "Yes--at least--Yes," she concluded. + +"He admitted it to you?" + +"No, he lied about it." + +"I think I shall go up and make a call on Mr. Perkins," said +Carroll, with formidable quiet. + +"Oh, it doesn't matter," she answered wearily. "He'd only run away +and hide." As she said it, her inner self convicted her tongue of +lying. + +"Very likely. Yet, see here, Miss Polly,--I want to be fair to +that fellow. It doesn't follow that because he's a coward he's a +cad." + +"He isn't a coward!" she flashed. + +"You just said yourself that he'd run and hide." + +"Well, he wouldn't, and he IS a cad." + +"As you like. In any case, I shall make it a point to see him +before I leave. If he can explain, well and good. If not--" He did +not conclude. + +"Our orator seems to have finished," observed the girl. "I shall +go back upstairs and write some good-bye notes to the kind people +here." + +"Just for curiosity, I think I'll drive across and look at the +legless Demosthenes," said her companion. "I was going to do a +little shopping, anyway. So I'll report later, if he's revoluting +or anything exciting." + +From her own balcony, when she reached it, Polly had a less +obstructed view of the beggar's appropriated corner, and she +looked out a few minutes after she reached the room to see whether +he had resumed his oratory. Apparently he had not, for the crowd +had melted away. The legless one was rocking himself monotonously +upon his stumps. His head was sunk forward, and from his +extraordinary mouthings the spectator judged that he must be +talking to himself with resumed vehemence. From what next passed +before her astonished vision, Miss Brewster would have suspected +herself of a hallucination of delirium had she not been sure of +normal health. + +One of the well-horsed, elegant little public victorias with which +the city is so well supplied stopped at the curb, and the handsome +head of Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll was thrust forth. At +almost the same moment the Unspeakable Perk appeared upon the +steps. He was wearing a pair of enormous, misfit white gloves. He +went down to the beggar, reached forth a hand, and, to the far- +away spectator's wonder-struck interpretation, seemed to thrust +something, presumably a document, into the breast of the +mendicant's shirt. Having performed this strange rite, he leaped +up the steps, hesitated, rushed over to Carroll's equipage, and +laid violent hands upon the occupant, with obvious intent to draw +him forth. For a moment they seemed to struggle upon the sidewalk; +then both rushed upon the unfortunate beggar and proceeded to +kidnap him and thrust him bodily into the cab. + +The driver turned in his seat at this point, his cue in the mad +farce having been given, and opened speech with many gestures, +whereupon Carroll arose and embraced him warmly. And with this +grouping, the vehicle, bearing its lunatic load, sped around the +corner and disappeared, while the sole interested witness retired +to obscurity, with her reeling head between her hands. + +One final touch of phantasy was given to the whole affair when, +two hours later, she met Carroll, soiled and grimy, coming across +the plaza, smoking--he, the addict to thirty-cent Havanas!--an +awful native cheroot, whose incense spread desolation about him. +Further and more extraordinary, when she essayed to obtain a +solution of the mystery from him, he repelled her with emphatic +gestures and a few half-strangled words with whose +unintelligibility the cheroot fumes may have had some connection, +and hurried into the hotel, where he remained in seclusion the +rest of the day. + +What in the name of all the wonders could it mean? On Mr. +Brewster's return, she laid the matter before him at the dinner +table. + +"Touch of the sun, perhaps," he hazarded. "Nothing else I know of +would explain it." + +"Do two Americans, a half-breed beggar, and a local coachman get +sunstruck at one and the same time?" she inquired disdainfully. + +"Doesn't seem likely. By your account, though, the crippled beggar +seems to have been the little Charlie Ross of melodrama." + +"Then why didn't he shout for help? I listened, but didn't hear a +sound from him." + +"Movie-picture rehearsal," grunted Mr. Brewster. "I can't quite +see the heir of all the Virginias in the part. Isn't he coming +down to dinner this evening?" + +"His dinner was sent up to his room. Isn't it extraordinary?" + +"Ask Sherwen about it. He's coming around this evening for coffee +in our rooms." + +But the American representative had something else on his mind +besides casual kidnapings. + +"I've just come from a talk with the British Minister," he +remarked, setting down his cup. "He's officially in charge of +American interests, you know." + +"Thought you were," said Mr. Brewster. + +"Officially, I have no existence. The United States of America is +wiped off the map, so far as the sovereign Republic of Caracuna is +concerned. Some of its politicians wouldn't be over-grieved if the +local Americans underwent the same process. The British Minister +would, I'm sure, sleep easier if you were all a thousand miles +away from here." + +"Tell Sir Willet that he's very ungallant," pouted Miss Polly. +"When I sat next to him at dinner last week he offered to +establish woman suffrage here and elect me next president if I'd +stay." + +Sherwen hardly paid this the tribute of a smile. + +"That was before he found out certain things. The Hochwald +Legation"--he lowered his voice--"is undoubtedly stirring up anti- +American sentiment." + +"But why?" inquired Mr. Brewster. "There's enough trade for them +and for us?" + +"For one thing, they don't like your concessions, Mr. Brewster. +Then they have heard that Dr. Pruyn is on his way, and they want +to make all the trouble they can for him, and make it impossible +for him to get actual information of the presence of plague. I +happen to know that their consul is officially declaring fake all +the plague rumors." + +"That suits me," declared the magnate. "We don't want to have to +run Dutch and quarantine blockade both." + +"Meantime, there are two or three cheap but dangerous demagogues +who have been making anti-'Yanki,' as they call us, speeches in +the slums. Sir Willet doesn't like the looks of it. If there were +any way in which you could get through, and to sea, it would be +well to take it at once. Am I correct in supposing that you've +taken steps to clear the yacht, Mr. Brewster?" + +"Yes. That is, I've sent a message. Or, at least, so my daughter, +to whose management I left it, believes." + +"Don't tell me how," said Sherwen quickly. "There is reason to +believe that it has been dispatched." + +"You've heard something?" + +"I have a message from our consul at Puerto del Norte, Mr. +Wisner." + +"For me?" asked the concessionaire. + +"Why, no," was the hesitant reply. "It isn't quite clear, but it +seems to be for Miss Brewster." + +"Why not?" inquired that young lady coolly. "What is it?" + +"The best I could make of it over the phone--Wisner had to be +guarded--was that people planning to take Dutch leave would better +pay their parting calls by to-morrow at the latest." + +"That would mean day after to-morrow, wouldn't it?" mused the +girl. + +"If it means anything at all," substituted her father testily. + +"Meantime, how do you like the Gran Hotel Kast, Miss Brewster?" +asked Sherwen. + +"It's awful beyond words! I've done nothing but wish for a brigade +of Biddies, with good stout mops, and a government permit to clean +up. I'd give it a bath!" + +"Yes, it's pretty bad. I'm glad you don't like it." + +"Glad? Is every one ag'in' poor me?" + +"Because--well, the American Legation is a very lonely place. Now, +the presence of an American lady--" + +"Are you offering a proposal of marriage, Mr. Sherwen?" twinkled +the girl. "If so--Dad, please leave the room." + +"Knock twenty years off my battle-scarred life and you wouldn't be +safe a minute," he retorted. "But, no. This is a measure of +safety. Sir Willet thinks that your party ought to be ready to +move into the American Legation on instant notice, if you can't +get away to sea to-morrow." + +"What's the use, if the legation has no official existence?" asked +Mr. Brewster. + +"In a sense it has. It would probably be respected by a mob. And, +at the worst, it adjoins the British Legation, which would be +quite safe. If it weren't that Sir Willet's boy has typhoid, you'd +be formally invited to go there." + +"It's very good of you," said Miss Polly warmly. "But surely it +would be an awful nuisance to you." + +"On the contrary, you'd brace up my far-too-casual old housekeeper +and get the machinery running. She constantly takes advantage of +my bachelor ignorance. If you say you'll come, I'll almost pray +for the outbreak." + +"Certainly we'll come, at any time you notify us," said Mr. +Brewster. "And we're very grateful. Shall you have room for Mr. +Carroll, too?" + +"By all means. And I've notified Mr. Cluff. You won't mind his +being there? He's a rough diamond, but a thoroughly decent +fellow." + +"Useful, too, in case of trouble, I should judge," said the +magnate. "Then I'll wait for further word from you." + +"Yes. I've got my men out on watch." + +"Wouldn't it be--er--advisable for us to arm ourselves?" + +"By no means! There's just one course to follow; keep the peace at +any price, and give the Hochwaldians not the slightest peg on +which to hang a charge that Americans have been responsible for +any trouble that might arise. May I ask you," he added +significantly, "to make this clear to Mr. Carroll?" + +"Leave that to me," said Miss Brewster, with superb confidence. + +"Content, indeed! You'll find our locality very pleasant, Miss +Brewster. Three of the other legations are on the same block, not +including the Hochwaldian, which is a quarter of a mile down the +hill. On our corner is a house where several of the English +railroad men live, and across is the Club Amicitia, made up +largely of the jeunesse doree, who are mostly pro-American. So +you'll be quite surrounded by friends, not to say adherents." + +"Call on me to housekeep for you at any time," cried Polly gayly. +"I'll begin to roll up my sleeves as soon as I get dressed to- +morrow." + + + + + +IX + +THE BLACK WARNING + + +That weird three-part drama in the plaza which had so puzzled Miss +Polly Brewster had developed in this wise:-- + +Coincidently with the departure of Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh +Carroll from the hotel in his cab, the Unspeakable Perk emerged +from a store near the far corner of the square, which exploited +itself in the purest Castilian as offering the last word in the +matter of gentlemen's apparel. "Articulos para Caballeros" was the +representation held forth upon its signboard. + +If it had articled Mr. Perkins, it must be confessed that it had +done its job unevenly, not to say fantastically. His linen was +fresh and new, quite conspicuously so, and, therefore, in sharp +contrast to the frayed and patched, but scrupulously clean and +neatly pressed khaki suit, which set forth rather bumpily his +solid figure. A serviceable pith helmet barely overhung the +protrusive goggles. His hands were encased in white cotton gloves, +a size or two too large. Dismal buff spots on the palms impaired +their otherwise virgin purity. As the wearer carried his hands +stiffly splayed, the blemishes were obtrusive. Altogether, one +might have said that, if he were going in for farce, he was +appropriately made up for it. + +At the corner above the beggar's niche he was turning toward a +pharmacist's entrance, when the mirth of the departing crowd that +had been enjoying the free oratory attracted his attention. He +glanced across at the beggar, now rocking rhythmically on his +stumps, hesitated a moment, then ran down the steps. + +At the same moment Carroll's cab stopped on the other angle of the +curb. The occupant put forth his head, saw the goggled freak +descending to the legless freak, and sat back again. + +"Hola, Pancho! Are you ill?" asked the newcomer. + +The beggar only swung back and forth, muttering with frenzied +rapidity. With one hand the Unspeakable Perk stopped him, as one +might intercept the runaway pendulum of a clock, setting the other +on his forehead. Then he bent and brought his goblin eyes to bear +on the dark face. The features were distorted, the eyelids +tremulous over suffused eyes, and the teeth set. Opening the man's +loose shirt, Perkins thrust his hand within. It might have been +supposed that he was feeling for the heart action, were it not +that his hand slid past the breast and around under the arm. When +he drew it out, he stood for a moment with chin dropped, in +consideration. + +Midday heat had all but cleared the plaza. As he looked about, the +helper saw no aid, until his eye fell upon the waiting cab. He +fairly bounded up the stairs, calling something to the coachman. + +"No," grunted that toiler, with the characteristic discourtesy of +the Caracunan lower class, and jerked his head backward toward his +fare. + +"I beg your pardon," said the Unspeakable Perk eagerly, in +Spanish, turning to the dim recess of the victoria. "Might I--Oh, +it's you!" He seized Carroll by the arm. "I want your cab." + +"Indeed!" said Carroll. "Well, you're cool enough about it." + +"And your help," added the other. + +"What for?" + +"Do you have to ask questions? The man may be dying--is dying, I +think." + +"All right," said Carroll promptly. "What's to be done?" + +"Get him home. Help me carry him to the cab." + +Between them, the two men lifted the heavy, mumbling cripple, +carried him up the steps with a rush, and deposited him in the +cab, while the driver was still angrily expostulating. The beggar +was shivering now, and the cold sweat rolled down his face. His +bearers placed themselves on each side of him. Perkins gave an +order to the driver, who seemed to object, and a rapid-fire +argument ensued. + +"What's wrong?" asked Carroll. + +"Says he won't go there. Says he was hired by you for shopping." + +Carroll took one look at the agony-wrung face of the beggar, who +was being held on the seat by his companion. + +"Won't he?" said he grimly. "We'll see." + +Rising, he threw a pair of long arms around those of the driver, +pinning him, caught the reins, and turned the horses. + +"Now ask him if he'll drive," he directed Perkins. + +"Si, senor!" gasped the coachman, whose breath had been squeezed +almost through his crackling ribs. + +"See that you do," the Southerner bade him, in accents that needed +no interpretation. + +Presently Perkins looked up from his charge. + +"Got a cigar?" he asked abruptly. + +"No," replied the other, a little disgusted by this levity in the +presence of imminent death. + +Perkins bade the driver stop at the corner. + +"Don't let him fall off the seat," he admonished Carroll, and +jumped out. + +In the course of a minute he reappeared, smoking a cheroot that +appeared to be writhing and twisting in the effort to escape from +its own noxious fumes. + +"Have one," he said, extending a handful to his companion. + +"I don't care for it," returned the other superciliously. While +willing to aid in a good work, he did not in the least approve +either of the Unspeakable Perk or of his offhand manners. + +Before they had gone much farther, his resentment was heated to +the point of offense. + +"Is it necessary for you to puff every puff of that infernal smoke +in my face?" he demanded ominously. + +"Well, you wouldn't smoke, yourself." + +"If it weren't for this poor devil of a sick man--" began Carroll, +when a second thought about the smoke diverted his line of +thought. "Is it contagious?" he asked. + +"It's so regarded," observed the other dryly. + +"I'll take one of those, thank you." + +Perkins handed him one of the rejected spirals. In silence, except +for the outrageous rattling of the wheels on the cobbles, they +drove through mean streets that grew ever meaner, until they drew +up at the blind front of a building abutting on an arroyo of the +foothills. Here they stopped, and Carroll threw his jehu a five- +bolivar piece, which the driver caught, driving away at once, +without the demand for more which usually follows overpayment in +Caracuna. Convenient to hand lay a small rock. Perkins used it for +a knocker, hammering on the guarded wooden door with such +vehemence as to still the clamor that arose from within. + +Through the opening, as the barrier was removed by a leather- +skinned old crone, Carroll gazed into a passageway, beyond which +stretched a foul mule yard, bordered by what the visitor at first +supposed to be stalls, until he saw bedding and utensils in them. +The two men lifted the cripple in, amid the outcries and +lamentations of the aged woman, who had looked at his face and +then covered her own. At once they were surrounded by a swarm of +women and children, who pressed upon them, hampering their +movements, until a shrill voice cried:-- + +"La muerte negra!" + +The swarm fell into silence, scattered, vanished, leaving only the +moaning woman to help. At her direction they settled the patient +on a straw pallet in a side room. + +"That's all you can do," said the Unspeakable Perk to his +companion. "And thank you." + +"I'll stay." + +The goggles gloomed upon him in the dim room. + +"I thought probably you would," commented Perkins, and busied +himself over the cripple with a knife and some cloths. He had +stuffed his ludicrous white gloves into his pocket, and was +tearing strips from his handkerchief with skillful fingers. + +"Oughtn't he to have a doctor?" asked Carroll. "Shall I go for +one?" + +"His mother has sent. No use, though." + +"He can't be saved?" + +"Not a chance on earth. I should say he was in the last stages." + +"What is it?" said Carroll hesitantly. + +"La muerte negra. The black death." + +"Plague?" + +"Yes." + +"Are you sure? Are you an expert?" + +"One doesn't have to be to recognize a case like that. The lump in +the armpit is as big as a pigeon's egg." + +"Why have you interested yourself in the man to such an extent?" +asked Carroll curiously. + +"He's a friend of mine. Why did you?" + +"Oh, that's quite different. One can't disregard a call for help +such as yours." + +"A certain kind of 'one' can't," returned the Unspeakable Perk, +with his half-smile. "You don't mind my saying, Mr. Carroll, +you're a brave man." + +"And I'd have said that you weren't," replied the other bluntly. +"I give it up. But I know this: I'm going to be pretty wretchedly +frightened until I know that I haven't got it. I'm frightened +now." + +"Then you're a braver man than I thought. But the danger may be +less than you think. Stick to that cigar--here are two more--and +wait for me outside. Here's the doctor." + +Profound and solemn under a silk hat, the local physician entered, +bowing to Carroll as they passed in the hallway. Almost +immediately Perkins emerged. On his face was a sardonic grin. + +"Malaria," he observed. "The learned professor assures me that +it's a typical malaria." + +"Then it isn't the plague," said Carroll, relieved. + +His relief was of brief duration. + +"Of course it's plague. But if Professor Silk Hat, in there, +officially declared it such, he'd have bracelets on his arms in +twelve hours. The present Government of Caracuia doesn't believe +in bubonic plague. I fancy our unfortunate friend in there will +presently disappear, either just before or just after death. It +doesn't greatly matter." + +"What is to be done now?" asked Carroll. + +"See that brush fire up there?" The hermit pointed to the +hillside. "If we steep ourselves in that smoke until we choke, I +think it will discourage any fleas that may have harbored on us. +The flea is the only agent of communication." + +Soot-begrimed, strangling, and with streaming eyes, they emerged, +five minutes later, from the cloud of smoke. From his pocket the +Unspeakable Perk dragged forth his white gloves. The action +attracted his companion's attention. + +"Good Lord!" he cried. "What has happened to your hands?" + +"They're blistered." + +"Stripped, rather. They look as if you'd fallen into a fire, or +rowed a fifty-mile race. That message of Mr. Brewster's--See here, +Perkins, you didn't row that over to the mainland? No, you +couldn't. That's absurd. It's too far." + +"No; I didn't row it to the mainland." + +"But you've been rowing. I'd swear to those hands. Where? The +blockading Dutch warship?" + +The other nodded. + +"Last night. Yah-h-h!" he yawned. "It makes me sleepy to think of +it." + +"Why didn't they blow you out of the water?" "Oh, I was +semiofficially expected. Message from our consul. They transferred +the message by wireless. I'm telling you all this, Mr. Carroll, +because I think you'll get your release within forty-eight hours, +and I want you to see that some of your party keeps constantly in +touch with Mr. Sherwen. It's mighty important that your party +should get out before plague is officially declared." + +"Are you going to report this case?" + +"All that I know about it." + +"But, of course, you can't report officially, not being a +physician," mused the other. "Still, when Dr. Pruyn comes, it will +be evidence for him, won't it?" + +"Undoubtedly. I should consider any delay after twenty-four hours +risky for your party." + +"What shall you do? Stay?" + +"Oh, I've my place in the mountains. That's remote enough to be +safe. Thank Heaven, there's a cloud over the sun! Let's sit down +by this tree for a minute." + +Unthinkingly, as he stretched himself out, the Unspeakable Perk +pushed his goggles back and presently slipped them off. Thus, when +Carroll, who had been gazing at the mist-capped peak of the +mountain in front, turned and met his companion's eyes, he +underwent something of the same shock that Polly Brewster had +experienced, though the nature of his sensation was profoundly +different. But his impression of the suddenly revealed face was +the same. Ribbed-in though his mind was with tradition, and +distorted with falsely focused ideals and prejudices, Preston +Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll possessed a sound underlying judgment of +his fellow man, and was at bottom a frank and honorable gentleman. +In his belief, the suddenly revealed face of the man beside him +came near to being its own guaranty of honor and good faith. + +"By Heavens, I don't believe it!" he blurted out, his gaze direct +upon the Unspeakable Perk. + +"What don't you believe?" + +"That rotten club gossip." + +"About me?" + +"Yes," said Carroll, reddening. + +The hermit pushed his glasses down, settled into place the white +gloves, with their soothing contents of emollient greases, and got +to his feet. + +"We'd best be moving. I've got much to do," he said. + +"Not yet," retorted Carroll. "Perkins, is there a woman up there +on the mountains with you?" + +"That is purely my own business." + +"You told Miss Brewster there wasn't. If you tell me--" + +"I never told her any such thing. She misunderstood." + +"Who is the woman?" + +"If you want it even more frankly, that is none of your concern." + +"You have been letting Miss Brewster--" + +"Are you engaged to marry Miss Brewster?" + +"No." + +"Then you have no authority to question me. But," he added +wearily, "if it will ease your mind, and because of what you've +done to-day, I 'll tell you this--that I do not expect ever to see +Miss Brewster again." + +"That isn't enough," insisted Carroll, his face darkening. "Her +name has already been connected with yours, and I intend to follow +this through. I am going to find out who the woman is at your +place." + +"How do you propose to do it?" + +"By coming to see." + +"You'll be welcome," said the other grimly. "By the way, here's a +map." He made a quick sketch on the back of an envelope. "I'll be +there at work most of to-morrow. Au revoir." He rose and started +down the hill. "Better keep to yourself this evening," he warned. +"Take a dilute carbolic bath. You'll be all right, I think." + +Slowly and thoughtfully the Southerner made his way back to the +hotel. After dining in his own room, he found time heavy on his +hands; so, dispatching a note of excuse to Miss Brewster on the +plea of personal business, he slipped out into the city. Wandering +idly toward the hills, he presently found himself in a familiar +street, and, impelled by human curiosity, proceeded to turn up the +hill and stop opposite the blank door. + +Here he was puzzled. To go in and inquire, even if he cared to and +could make himself understood, would perhaps involve further risk +of infection. While he was considering, the door slowly opened, +and the leather-skinned crone appeared. Her eyes were swollen. In +her hand she carried a travesty of a wreath, done in whitish +metal, which she had interwoven with her own black mantilla, the +best substitute for crape at hand. This she undertook to hang on +the door. As Carroll crossed to address her, a powerful, sullen- +faced man, with a scarred forehead and the insignia of some +official status, apparently civic, on his coat, emerged from a +doorway and addressed her harshly. She raised her reddened eyes to +him and seemed to be pleading for permission to set up the little +tribute to her dead. There was the exchange of a few more words. +Then, with an angry exclamation, the official snatched the wreath +from her. Carroll's hand fell on his shoulder. The man swung and +saw a stranger of barely half his bulk, who addressed him in what +seemed to be politely remonstrant tones. He shook himself loose +and threw the wreath in the crone's face. Then he went down like a +log under the impact of a swinging blow behind the ear. With a +roar he leaped up and rushed. The foreigner met him with right and +left, and this time he lay still. + +Hanging the tragically unsightly wreath on the door, through which +the terrified mourner had vanished, Carroll returned to the Gran +Hotel Kast, his perturbed and confused thoughts and emotions +notably relieved by that one comforting moment of action. + + + + + +X + +THE FOLLY OF PERK + + +Of the comprehensive superiority of the American Legation over the +Gran Hotel Kast there could be no shadow of a doubt. From the +moment of their arrival at noon of the day after the British +Minister's warning, the refugees found themselves comfortable and +content, Miss Brewster having quietly and tactfully taken over the +management of internal affairs and reigning, at Sherwen's request, +as generalissima. No disturbance had marked the transfer to their +new abode. In fact, so wholly lacking was any evidence of +hostility to the foreigners on the part of the crowds on the +streets that the Brewsters rather felt themselves to be extorting +hospitality on false pretenses. Sherwen, however, exhibited signal +relief upon seeing them safely housed. + +"Please stay that way, too," he requested. + +"But it seems so unnecessary, and I want to market," protested +Miss Polly. + +"By no means! The market is the last place where any of us should +be seen. It is in that section that Urgante has been doing his +work." + +"Who is he?" + +"A wandering demagogue and cheap politician. Abuse of the 'Yankis' +is his stock in trade. Somebody has been furnishing him money +lately. That's the sole fuel to his fires of oratory." + +"Bet the bills smelled of sauerkraut when they reached him," +grunted Cluff, striding over to the window of the drawing-room, +where the informal conference was being held. + +"They may have had a Hochwaldian origin," admitted Sherwen. "But +it would be difficult to prove." + +"At least the Hochwald Legation wouldn't shed any tears over a +demonstration against us," said Carroll. + +"Well within the limits of diplomatic truth," smiled the American +official. + +"Pooh!" Mr. Brewster puffed the whole matter out of consideration. +"I don't believe a word of it. Some of my acquaintances at the +club, men in high governmental positions, assure me that there is +no anti-American feeling here." + +"Very likely they do. Frankness and plain-speaking being, as you +doubtless know, the distinguishing mark of the Caracunan +statesman." + +The sarcasm was not lost upon Mr. Brewster, but it failed to shake +his skepticism. + +"There are some business matters that require that I should go to +the office of the Ferro carril del Norte this afternoon," he said. + +"I beg that you do nothing of the sort," cried Sherwen sharply. + +The magnate hesitated. He glanced out of the window and along the +street, close bounded by blank-walled houses, each with its eyes +closed against the sun. A solitary figure strode rapidly across +it. + +"There's that bug-hunting fellow again," said Mr. Brewster. "He's +an American, I guess,--God save the mark! Nobody seems to be +interfering with HIM, and he's freaky enough looking to start a +riot on Broadway." + +Further comment was checked by the voice of the scientist at the +door, asking to see Mr. Sherwen at once. Miss Polly immediately +slipped out of the room to the patio, followed by Carroll and +Cluff. + +"My business, probably," remarked Mr. Brewster. "I'll just stay +and see." And he stayed. + +So far as the newcomer was concerned, however, he might as well +not have been there; so he felt, with unwonted injury. The +scientist, disregarding him wholly, shook hands with Sherwen. + +"Have you heard from Wisner yet?" + +"Yes. An hour ago." + +"What was his message?" + +"All right, any time to-day." + +"Good! Better get them down to-night, then, so they can start to- +morrow morning." + +"Will Stark pass them?" + +"Under restrictions. That's all been seen to." + +At this point it appeared to Mr. Brewster that he had figured as a +cipher quite long enough. + +"Am I right in assuming that you are talking of my party's +departure?" he inquired. + +"Yes," said Sherwen. "The Dutch will let you through the +blockade." + +"Then my cablegram reached the proper parties at Washington," said +the magnate, with an I-knew-it-would-be-that-way air. + +"Thanks to Mr. Perkins." + +"Of course, of course. That will be--er--suitably attended to +later." + +The Unspeakable Perk turned and regarded him fixedly; but, owing +to the goggles, the expression was indeterminable. + +"The fact is it would be more convenient for me to go day after +to-morrow than to-morrow." + +"Then you'd better rent a house," was the begoggled one's sharp +and brief advice. + +"Why so?" queried the great man, startled. + +"Because if you don't get out to-morrow, you may not get out for +months." + +"As I understand the Dutch permit, it specifies AFTER to-day." + +"It isn't a question of the Dutch. Caracuna City goes under +quarantine to-night, and Puerto del Norte to-morrow, as soon as +proper official notification can be given." + +"Then plague has actually been found?" + +"Determined by bacteriological test this morning." + +"How do you know?" + +"I was present at the finding." + +"Who did it? Dr. Pruyn?" + +The other nodded. + +Sherwen whistled. + +"Better make ready to move, Mr. Brewster," he advised. "You can't +get out of port after quarantine is on. At least, you couldn't get +into any other port, even if you sailed, because your sailing- +master wouldn't have clearance papers." + +The magnate smiled. + +"I hardly think that any United States Consul, with a due regard +for his future, would refuse papers to the yacht Polly," he +observed. + +"Don't be a fool!" + +Thatcher Brewster all but jumped from his chair. That this +adjuration should have come from the freakish spectacle-wearer +seemed impossible. Yet Sherwen, the only other person in the room, +was certainly not guilty. + +"Did you address me, young man?" + +"I did." + +"Do you know, sir, that since boyhood no person has dared or would +dare to call me a fool?" + +"Well, I don't want to set a fashion," said the other equably. +"I'm only advising you not to be." + +"Keep your advice until it's wanted." + +"If it were a question of you alone, I would. But there are others +to be considered. Now, listen, Mr. Brewster: Wisner and Stark +wouldn't let you through that quarantine, after it's declared, if +you were the Secretary himself. A point is being stretched in +giving you this chance. If you'll agree to ship a doctor,--Stark +will find you one,--stay out for six full days before touching +anywhere, and, if plague develops, make at once for any detention +station specified by the doctor, you can go. Those are Stark's +conditions." + +"Damnable nonsense!" declared Mr. Brewster, jumping to his feet, +quite red in the face. + +"Let me warn you, Mr. Brewster," put in Sherwen, with quiet force, +"that you are taking a most unwise course. I am advised that Mr. +Perkins is acting under instructions from our consulate." + +"You say that Dr. Pruyn is here. I want to see him before--" + +"How can you see him? Nobody knows where he is keeping himself. I +haven't seen him yet myself. Now, Mr. Brewster, just sit down and +talk this over reasonably with Mr. Perkins." + +"Oh, no," said the third conferee positively; "I've no time for +argument. At six o'clock I 'll be back here. Unless you decide by +then, I'll telephone the consulate that the whole thing is off." + +"Of all the impudent, conceited, self-important young +whippersnappers!" fumed Mr. Brewster. But he found that he had no +audience, as Sherwen had followed the scientist out of the room. + +Before the afternoon was over, the American concessionnaire had +come to realize that the situation was less assured than he had +thought. Twice the British Minister had come, and there had been +calls from the representatives of several other nationalities. Von +Plaanden, in full uniform and girt with the short saber that is +the special and privileged arm of the crack cavalry regiment to +which he belonged at home, had dismounted to deliver personally a +huge bouquet for Miss Brewster, from the garden of the Hochwald +Legation, not even asking to see the girl, but merely leaving the +flowers as a further expression of his almost daily apology, and +riding on to an official review at the military park. + +He had spoken vaguely to Sherwen of a restless condition of the +local mind. Reports, it appeared, had been set afloat among the +populace to the effect that an American sanitary officer had been +bribed by the enemies of Caracuna to declare plague prevalent, in +order to close the ports and strangle commerce. Urgante was going +about the lower part of the city haranguing on street corners +without interference from the police. In the arroyo of the +slaughter-house, two American employees of the street-car company +had been stoned and beaten. Much aguardiente was in process of +consumption, it being a half-holiday in honor of some saint, and +nobody knew what trouble might break out. + +"Bolas are rolling around like balls on a billiard table," said +young Raimonda, who had come after luncheon to call on Miss +Brewster. "In this part of the city there will be nothing. You +needn't be alarmed." + +"I'm not afraid," said Miss Polly. + +"I'm sure of it," declared the Caracunan, with admiration. "You +are very wonderful, you American women." + +"Oh, no. It's only that we love excitement," she laughed. + +"Ah, that is all very well, for a bull-fight or 'la boxe.' But for +one of our street emeutes--no; too much!" + +They were seated on the roof of the half-story of the house, which +had been made into a trellised porch overlooking the patio in the +rear and the street in front, an architectural wonder in that city +of dead walls flush with the sidewalk line all the way up. Leaning +over the rail, the visitor pointed through the leaves of a small +gallito tree to a broad-fronted building almost opposite. + +"That is my club. You have other friends there who would do +anything for you, as I would, so gladly," he added wistfully. +"Will you honor me by accepting this little whistle? It is my +hunting-whistle. And if there should be anything--but I think +there will not--you will blow it, and there will be plenty to +answer. If not, you will keep it, please, to remember one who will +not forget you." + +Handsome and elegant and courtly he was, a true chevalier of +adventurous pioneering stock, sprung from the old proud Spanish +blood, but there stole behind the girl's vision, as she bade him +farewell, the undesired phantasm of a very different face, weary +and lined and lighted by steadfast gray eyes--eyes that looked +truthful and belonged to a liar! Miss Polly Brewster resumed her +final packing in a fume of rage at herself. + +All hands among the visitors passed the afternoon dully. Mr. +Brewster, who had finally yielded to persuasion and decided not to +venture out, though still deriding the restriction as the merest +nonsense, was in a mood of restless silence, which his +irrepressible daughter described to Fitzhugh Carroll as "the +superior sulks." + +Carroll himself kept pretty much aloof. He had the air of a man +who wrestles with a problem. Cluff fussed and fretted and +privately cursed the country and all its concessions. Between +calls and the telephone, Sherwen was kept constantly busy. But a +few minutes before six, central, in the blandest Spanish, +regretted to inform him that Puerto del Norte was cut off. When +would service be resumed? Quien sabe? It was an order. Hasta +manana. To-morrow, perhaps. Smoothing a furrow from his brow, the +sight of which would have done nobody any good, he suggested that +they all gather on the roof porch for a swizzle. The suggestion +was hailed with enthusiasm. + +Thus, when the Unspeakable Perk came hustling down the street some +minutes earlier than the appointed time, he was hailed in +Sherwen's voice, and bidden to come directly up. No time, on this +occasion, for Miss Polly to escape. She decided in one breath to +ignore the man entirely; in the next to bow coldly and walk out; +in the next to--He was there before the latest wavering decision +could be formulated. + +"Better all get inside," he said a little breathlessly. "There may +be trouble." + +Cluff brightened perceptibly. + +"What kind of trouble?" + +"Urgante is leading a mob up this way. They're turning the corner +now." + +"I'm going to wait and see them," cried Miss Polly, with decision. + +"Bend over, then, all of you," ordered Sherwen. "The vines will +cover you if you keep down." + +Around the corner, up the hill from where they were, streamed a +rabble of boys, leaping and whooping, and after them a more +compact crowd of men, shoeless, centering on a tall, broad, heavy- +mustached fellow who bore on a short staff the Stars and Stripes. + +"Where on earth did he get that?" cried Sherwen. + +"Looted the Bazaar Americana," replied Perkins. + +"That's Urgante," growled Cluff; "that devil with the flag." + +"But he seems to be eulogizing it," cried the girl. + +The orator had set down his bright burden, wedging it in the iron +guard railing of a tree, and was now apostrophizing it with +extravagant bows and honeyed accents in which there was an +undertone of hiss. For confirmation, Miss Polly turned to the +others. The first face her eyes fell on was that of the ball- +player. Every muscle in it was drawn, and from the tightened lips +streamed such whispered curses as the girl never before had heard. +Next him stood the hermit, solid and still, but with a queer +spreading pallor under his tan. In front of them Sherwen was +crouched, scowlingly alert. The expression of Mr. Brewster and +Carroll, neither of whom understood Spanish, betokened watchful +puzzlement. + +Enlightenment burst upon them the next minute. From the motley +crowd below rose a snarl of laughter and savage jeering, the +object of which was unmistakable. + +"By G--d!" cried Mr. Brewster, straightening up and grasping the +railing. "They're insulting the flag!" + +"I've left my pistol!" muttered Carroll, white-lipped. "I've left +my pistol!" + +Polly Brewster's hand flew to her belt. + +She drew out the automatic and held it toward the Southerner. But +it was not Carroll's hand that met hers; it was the Unspeakable +Perk's. + +"No," said he, and he flung the weapon back of him into the patio. + +"Oh! Oh!" cried the girl. "You unspeakable coward!" + +Carroll jumped forward, but Sherwen was equally quick. He +interposed his slight frame. + +"Perkins is right," he said decisively. "No shooting. It would be +worth the life of every one here. We've got to stand it. But +somebody is going to sweat blood for this day's work!" + +The instinct of discipline, characteristic of the professional +athlete, brought Cluff to his support. + +"What Mr. Sherwen says, goes," he said, almost choking on the +words. "We've got to stand it." + +In the breast of Miss Polly Brewster was no response to this +spirit. She was lawless with the lawlessness of unconquered youth +and beauty. + +"Oh!" she breathed "If I had my pistol back, I'd shoot that BEAST +myself!" + +The scientist turned his goggles hesitantly upon her. + +"Miss Brewster," he began, "please don't think--" + +"Don't speak to me!" she cried. + +Another clamor of derision sounded from the street as Urgante +resumed the standard of his mockery and led his rabble forward. +Behind the dull-colored mass appeared a spot of splendor. It was +Von Plaanden, gorgeous in his full regalia, who had turned the +corner, returning from the public reception. Well back of the mob, +he pulled his horse up, and sat watching. The coincidence was +unfortunate. It seemed to justify Sherwen's bitter words:-- + +"Come to visa his work. There's the Hochwaldian for you!" + +Forward danced and reeled the "Yanki" baiters below, until they +were under the balcony where the little group of Americans +sheltered and raged silently. There the orator again spewed forth +his contempt upon the alien banner, and again the ranks behind him +shrieked their approval of the affront. Miss Polly Brewster, +American of Americans, whose great-grandfathers had fought with +Herkimer and Steuben,--themselves the sons of women who had stood +by the loopholes of log houses and caught up the rifles of their +fallen pioneer husbands, wherewith to return the fire of the +besieging Mohawks,--ran forward to the railing, snatching her +skirt from the detaining grasp of her father. In the corner stood +a huge bowl of roses. Gathering both hands full, she leaned +forward and flung them, so that they fell in a shower of +loveliness upon the insulted flag of her nation. + +For an instant silence fell upon the "great unwashed" below. Out +of it swelled a muttering as the leader made a low, mocking +obeisance to the girl, following it with a word that brought a +jubilant yelp from his adherents. Stooping, he ladled up in his +cupped hand a quantity of gutter filth. Where the flowers had but +a moment before fluttered in the folds, he splotched it, smearing +star, bar, and blue with its blackness. At the sight, the girl +burst into helpless tears, and so stood weeping, openly, bitterly, +and unashamed. + +No brain is so well ordered, no emotion so thoroughly controlled, +but that under sudden pressure--click!--the mechanism slips a cog +and runs amuck. Just that thing happened inside the Unspeakable +Perk's smooth-running, scientific brain upon incitement of his +flag's desecration and his lady's grief. To her it seemed that he +shot past her horizontally like a human dart. The next second he +was over the railing, had swung from a branch of the neighboring +tree to the trunk, and leaped to the ground, all in one movement +of superhuman agility. To the mob his exploit was apparently +without immediate significance. Perhaps they didn't notice the +descent; or perhaps those few who saw were so astonished at the +apparition of a chunky tree-man with protuberant eyes scrambling +down upon them in the manner of an ape, that they failed to +appreciate what it might portend of trouble. + +The hermit landed solidly on his feet a few yards from Urgante, +the flag bearer. With a berserker yell, he rushed. Taken by +surprise, the assailed one still had time to lift the heavy staff. +As quickly, the American lowered his head and dove. It may not +have been magnificent; it certainly was not war by the rules; but +it was eminently effective. To say that the leader went down would +be absurdly inadequate. He simply crumpled. Over and over he +rolled on the cobbles, while the smirched flag flew clear of his +grasp, and fell on the farther sidewalk. + +"Wow!" yelled Cluff, leaping into the air. "Football! That cost +him a couple of ribs. Hey, Rube!" + +And he rushed for the stairs, followed by Carroll, Sherwen, and, +only one jump behind, Mr. Thatcher Brewster, cursing in a manner +that did credit to his patriotism, but would have added no luster +to his record as an elder of the Pioneer Presbyterian Church, of +Utica, New York. + +Meantime, the Unspeakable Perk, having rolled free of the fallen +enemy, staggered to his feet and caught up the flag. Stunned +surprise on the part of the crowd gave him an instant's time. He +edged along the curb, hoping to gain the legation door by a rush. +But the foe threw out a wing, cutting him off. Several eager +followers had lifted Urgante, whose groans and curses suggested a +sound basis for Cluff's diagnosis. Himself quite hors de combat, +he spat at the Unspeakable Perk, and cried upon his henchmen to +kill the "Yanki." It seemed not improbable to the latter that they +would do it. Perkins set his back to the wall, twirled the flag +folds tight around the pole, reversed and clubbed the staff, and +prepared to make any attempt at killing as uncomfortable and +unprofitable as possible. The rabble, by no means favorably +impressed by these businesslike proceedings, stood back, growling. + +A hand flew up above the crowd. The Unspeakable Perk ducked +sharply and just in time, as a knife struck the wall above him and +clattered to the pavement. Instantly he caught it up, but the +blade had snapped off short. As he stooped, one bold spirit rushed +in. Perkins met him with a straight lance-thrust of the staff, +which sent him reeling and shrieking with pain back to his +fellows. But now another knife, and another, struck and fell from +the wall at his back; badly aimed both, but presumably the +forerunners of missiles, some of which would show better +marksmanship. The assailed man cast a swift, desperate look about +him; the crowd closed in a little. Obviously he must keep "eyes +front." + +"To your left! To your left!" The voice came to him clear and +sweet above the swelling growl of the rabble. "The doorway! Get +into the doorway, Mr. Beetle Man." + +A few paces away, how far Perkins could only guess, was the +entrance to the house. He surmised that, like many of the better- +class houses, it had a small set-in door, at right angles to the +main entrance, that would serve as a shallow shelter. Without +raising his eyes, he nodded comprehension, and began to edge along +the wall, swinging his stout weapon. As he went, he wondered what +was keeping the others. At that moment the others were frantically +wrestling with the all-too-adequate bars with which Sherwen had +reinforced the wide door. + +Perkins, feeling with a cautious heel, found himself opposite the +entry indicated by the voice. Turning, he darted into the narrow +embrasure. Here he was comparatively safe from the missiles that +were now coming from all directions. On the other hand, he now +lacked room to swing his formidable club. The peons, with a shout, +closed in to arm's length. Alone on her balcony, the girl turned +her head away and cried aloud, hopelessly, for help. She wanted to +close her ears against the bestial shouts of a mob trampling to +death a defenseless man, but her arms were of lead. She listened +and shivered. + +Instead of the sound that she dreaded there came the ringing of +hoofs on stones, followed by yells of alarm. She opened her eyes +to see Von Plaanden, bent forward in his saddle at the exact angle +proper to the charge, urging his great horse down upon the mass of +people as ruthlessly as if they had been so many insects. Through +the circle he broke, swinging his mount around beside the shallow +doorway before which three Caracunans already lay sprawled, +attesting the vigor of the defender's final resistance. Back of +the horseman lay half a dozen other figures. The Hochwaldian jerked +out his sword and stood, a splendid spectacle. Very possibly he was +not wholly unmindful of his own pictorial quality or of the lovely +American witness thereto. + +His intervention gave a few seconds' respite, one of those checks +that save battles and make history. Now, in the further making of +this particular history, sounded a lusty whoop from the opposite +direction; such a battle slogan as only the Anglo-Saxon gives. It +emanated from Galpy the bounder, bounding now, indeed, at full +speed up the slope, followed by two of his fellow railroad men, +flannel-clad and still perspiring from their afternoon's cricket. +Against bare legs a cricket bat is a highly dissuasive argument. +The Britons swung low and hard for the ancient right of the breed +to break into a row wherever white men are in the minority against +other races. The downhill wing of the mob being much the weakest, +opened up for them with little resistance, leaving them a free path +to the cavalryman, to whose side Perkins, with staff ready brandished, +had advanced from his shelter. + +"Wot's the merry game?" inquired the cockney cheerfully. + +Before them the crowd swayed and parted, and there appeared, +lifted by many arms, a figure with a dead-white face streaked with +blood, running from a great gash in the scalp. + +"He went down in front of my horse," explained the Hochwald +secretary coolly. + +At the sight, there rose from the crowd a wailing cry, quite +different from its former voice. Galpy's teeth set and his cricket +bat went up in the air. + +"There'll be killing for this," he said. "I know these blightehs. +That yell means blood. We must make a bolt for it. Is this all +there is of us?" + +At the moment of his asking, it was. One half a second later, it +wasn't, as the last of the legation's stubborn bars yielded, the +door burst open, and the four Americans tumbled out at the charge, +Cluff yelling insanely, Carroll in deadly quiet, Sherwen alertly +scanning the adversaries for identifiable faces, and Elder +Brewster still imperiling his soul by the fervor of his language. +Each was armed with such casual weapons as he had been able to +catch up. Carroll, a leap in advance of the rest, encountered an +Indian drover, half-dodged a swinging blow from his whip, and sent +him down with a broken shoulder from a chop with a baseball club +that he had found in the hallway. A bull-like charge had carried +Cluff deep among the Caracunans, where he encountered a huge peon. +whom he seized and flung bodily over the iron guard of a samon +tree, where the man hung, yelling dismally. Two other peons, who +had seized the athlete around the knees, were all but brained by a +stoneware gin bottle in the hands of Sherwen. Meanwhile, Mr. +Brewster was performing prodigies with a niblick which he had +extracted, at full run, from a bag opportunely resting against the +hat-rack. Almost before they knew it, the rescue party had broken +the intercepting wing of the mob, and had joined the others. + +Cluff threw a gorilla-like arm across the Unspeakable Perk's +shoulder, + +"Hurt, boy?" he cried anxiously. + +"No, I'm all right. Who's left with Miss Brewster?" + +"Nobody. We must get back." + +Sherwen's cool voice cut in:-- + +"Close together, now. Keep well up. Herr von Plaanden, will you +cover us at the end?" + +"It is the post of honor," said the Hochwaldian. + +"You've earned it. But for you, they'd have got our colors." + +The foreigner bowed, and swung his horse toward a Caracunan who +had pressed forward a little too near. But, for the moment the +fight had oozed out of the mob. + +Without mishap the group got across the street, Perkins still +clinging to the flag. + +Suddenly, from the rear rank, came a shower of stones, followed by +the final rush. Galpy and Perkins went down. Von Plaanden tottered +in his saddle, but quickly recovered. Instantly Perkins was up +again, the blood streaming from the side of his head. He was +conscious of brown hands clutching at the cricketer, to drag him +away. He himself seized the cockney's legs and braced for that +absurd and deadly tug of war. Then Von Plaanden's saber descended, +and he was able to haul Galpy back into safety. + +The situation was desperate now. Mr. Brewster was pinned against +the wall and disarmed, but still fighting with fist and foot. Half +a dozen peons were struggling with Cluff across the bodies of as +many more whom he had knocked down. Sherwen, almost under the +cavalryman's mount, was protecting his rear with the fallen +Galpy's cricket bat, and the two other cricketers were fighting +back to back on the other side. Carroll was clubbing his way +toward Mr. Brewster, but his weapon was now in his left hand. +Matters looked dark indeed, when there shrilled fiercely from +above them the whirring peal of a silver whistle. + +Polly Brewster had remembered Raimonda. It seemed a futile signal, +for as she ran to the railing and gazed across at the Club +Amicitia, she saw all its windows and doors tight closed, as +befits an aristocratic club that has no concern with the affairs +of the rabble. But there is no way of closing a patio from the +top, and sounds can enter readily that way, when all other +apertures are shut. Long and loud Miss Polly blew the signal on +the silver hunting-whistle. + +In the club patio, Raimonda was chafing and wondering, and a score +of his friends were drinking and waiting. That signal released +their activities and terminated the battle of the American +Legation most ingloriously for the forces of Urgante. For the +gilded youth of Caracuna bears a heavy cane of fashion, and +carries a ready revolver, also, although not so admittedly as a +matter of fashion. Furthermore, he has a profound contempt for the +peon class; a contempt extending to life and limb. Therefore, when +some two dozen young patricians sallied abruptly forth with their +canes, and the mob caught sight, here and there, of a glint of +nickel against the black, it gave back promptly. Some desultory +stones rattled against the walls. There were answering reports a +few, and sundry yells of pain. The army of Urgante broke and fled +down the side streets, leaving behind its broken and its wounded. +Most of the bullet casualties were below the knee. The Caracunan +aristocrat always fires low--the first time. + +Shortly thereafter, Miss Polly Brewster appeared upon the balcony +of the American Legation, and performed an illegal act. Upon a day +not designated as a Caracunan national holiday, she raised the +flag of an alien nation and fixed it, and the gilded youth of +Caracuna in the street below cheered, not the flag, which would +have been unpatriotic, but the flag-raiser, which was but gallant, +until they were hoarse and parched of throat. + + + + + +XI + +PRESTO CHANGE + + +After the battle, Miss Brewster reviewed her troops, and took +stock of casualties, in the patio. None of the allied forces had +come off scatheless. Galpy, whose injuries had at first seemed the +most severe, responded to a stiff dose of brandy. A cut across the +scientist's head had been hastily bandaged in a towel, giving him, +as he observed, the appearance of a dissipated Hindu. To Von +Plaanden's indignant disgust, his military splendor was seriously +impaired by a huge "hickey" over his left eye, the memento of a +well-aimed rock. Cluff had broken a finger and sprained his wrist. +Mr. Brewster was anxious to know if any one had seen two teeth of +his on the pavement or whether he was to look for later digestive +indications of their whereabouts. Both of the young cricketers had +been battered and bruised, though it was nothing, they gleefully +averred, to what they had meted out. And Carroll had a nasty- +looking knife-thrust in his shoulder. + +All of them were disheveled, dilapidated, and grimy to the last +degree, except the Hochwaldian, who still sat his horse, which he +had ridden into the patio. But Miss Polly said to herself, with a +thrill of pride, that no woman need wish a more gallant and +devoted band of defenders. Leaning over them from the inner +railing of the balcony, she surveyed them with sparkling eyes. + +"It was magnificent!" she cried. "Oh, I'm so proud of you all! I +could hug you, every one!" + +"Better come down from there, Polly," said her father anxiously. +"Some of those ruffians might come back." + +"Not to-day," said Sherwen grimly. "They've had enough." + +"That is correct," confirmed Von Plaanden. "Nevertheless, there +may be disorder later. Would it not be better that you go to the +British Legation, Fraulein?" + +"Not I!" she returned. "I stay by my colors. And now I'm going to +disband my army." + +Stretching out her hand to a vase near her, she drew out a rose of +deepest red and held it above Von Plaanden. + +"The color of my country," said Von Plaanden gravely. "May I take +it for a sign that I am forgiven?" + +"Fully, freely, and gladly," said the girl. "You have put a debt +upon us all that I--that we can never repay." + +"It is I who pay. You will not think of me too hardly, for my one +breach?" + +"I shall think of you as a hero," said the girl impetuously. "And +I shall never forget. Catch, O knight." + +The rose fell, and was caught. Von Plaanden bowed low over it. +Then he straightened to the military salute, and so rode out of +the door and out of the girl's life. + +"Men are strange creatures," mused the philosopher of twenty. "You +think they are perfectly horrid, and suddenly they show their +other side to you, and you think they are perfectly splendid. I +wish I knew a little more about real people." + +She confessed to no more specific thought, but as she descended +the stairs to bid farewell to the blushing and deprecatory +Britons, she was eager to have it over with, and to come to speech +with her beetle man, who had so strangely flamed into action. The +Unspeakable Perk! As the name formed on her lips, she smiled +tenderly. With sad lack of logic, she was ready to discard every +suspicion of him that she had harbored, merely on the strength of +his reckless outbreak of patriotism. She looked about the patio, +but he was not there. Sherwen came out of a side door, his face +puckered with anxiety. + +"Where is Mr. Perkins?" she asked. + +"In there." He nodded back over his shoulder. "Your father is with +him. Perhaps you'd better go in." + +With a chill at her heart, Polly entered the room, where Mr. +Brewster bent a troubled face over a head swathed in reddened +bandages. + +Very crumpled and limp looked the Unspeakable Perk, bunched +humpily upon the little sofa. His goggles had fallen off, and lay +on the floor beside him, contriving somehow to look momentously +solemn and important all by themselves. His face was turned half +away, and, as Polly's gaze fell upon it, she felt again that queer +catch at her heart. + +"Wouldn't know it was the same chap, would you?" whispered Mr. +Brewster. + +The girl picked up the grotesque spectacles, cradling them for an +instant in her hands before she put them aside and leaned over the +quiet form. + +"Came staggering in, and just collapsed down there," continued her +father huskily. "Lord, I wouldn't lose that boy after this for a +million dollars!" + +"Why do you talk that way?" she demanded sharply. "What has +happened? Did he faint?" + +"Just collapsed. When I tried to rouse him, he kicked me in the +chest," replied the magnate, with somber seriousness. + +"Oh, you goose of a dad!" There was a tremulous note in Polly's +low laughter. "That's all right, then. Can't you see he's dead for +sleep, poor beetle man?" + +"Do you think so?" said Mr. Brewster, vastly relieved. "Hadn't I +better go out for a doctor, and make sure?" + +She shook her head. + +"Let him rest. Hand me that pillow, please, dad." + +With soft little pushes and wedges she worked it under the +scientist's head. "What a dreadful botch of bandaging! He looks so +pale! I wonder if I couldn't get those cloths off. Lend me your +knife, dad." + +Gently as she worked, the head on the pillow began to sway, and +the lips to move. + +"Oh, let me alone!" they muttered querulously. + +The eyes opened. The Unspeakable Perk gazed up into the faces +above him, but saw only one, a face whose tender concern softened +it to a loveliness greater even than when he had last seen it. He +tried to rise, but the hands that pressed him back were firm and +quick. + +"Lie still!" bade their owner. + +A thin film of color mounted to his cheeks. + +"I--I--beg your pardon," he stammered. "I--I--d-didn't know--" + +"Don't be a goose!" she adjured him. "It's only me." + +"Yes, that's the trouble." He closed his eyes again, and began to +murmur. + +"What does he say?" asked Mr. Brewster, lowering his head and +almost falling over backward as his astonished ears were greeted +by the slowly intoned rhythm:-- + + "Scarab, tarantula, doodle-bug, flea." + +"Delirious!" exclaimed the magnate. "Clean off his head! How does +one find a doctor in this town?" + +"No need, dad," his daughter reassured him. "It's just a--a sort +of game." + +"Game! Did you hear what he said?" + +"Well, a kind of password. It's all right, Dad. It is, really." + +Still undecided, Mr. Brewster stared at the injured man. + +"I don't know--" he began, when the eyes opened again. + +"Feeling better?" inquired Polly briskly. + +"Yes. The charm works perfectly." + +"Anything I can do, or get, for you, my boy?" inquired Mr. +Brewster, stepping forward. + +"What's in the ice-box?" asked the other anxiously. + +"Oh!" cried the girl in distress. "He's starving! When did you eat +last?" + +"I can't exactly remember. It was about five this morning, I +think. A banana, and, as I recall it, a small one." + +"Dad!" cried the girl, but that prompt and efficient gentleman was +already halfway to the cook, dragging Sherwen along as +interpreter. + +"He'll get whatever there is in the shortest known time," the girl +assured her patient. "Trust dad. Now, you lie back and let me fix +up a fresh bandage." + +"You'd have made a great trained nurse," he murmured, as she +adjusted the clean strips that Sherwen had sent in. "Don't pin my +ear down. It's got to help hold my goggles on." + +"The dear funny goggles!" Picking them up, she patted them with +dainty fingers, before setting them aside. He watched her +uneasily, much in the manner of a dog whose bone has been taken +away. + +"Do you mind giving them back?" he said. + +"But you're not going to wear them here," she protested. + +"I've got so used to them," he explained apologetically, "that I +don't feel really dressed without them." + +She handed them back and he adjusted them to the bandages. "For +the present, rest is prescribed you know," said she. + +"Oh, no!" he declared. "As soon as I've had something to eat, I'll +go. There are a hundred things to be done. Where are my gloves?" + +"What gloves? Oh, those white abominations? Why on earth do you +wear them?" Her glance fell upon his right hand, which lay half- +open beside him. "Oh--oh--oh!" she cried in a rising scale of +distress. "What have you done to your hands?" + +He reddened perceptibly. + +"Nothing." + +"Nothing, indeed! Tell me at once!" + +"I've been rowing." + +"Where to?" + +"Oh, out to a ship." + +"There aren't any ships, except the Dutch warship. Was it to her?" + +"Yes." + +"To carry our message--MY message?" + +He squirmed. + +"I'm awfully sleepy," he protested. "It isn't fair to cross- +examine a witness--" + +"When was it?" his ruthless interrogator broke in. + +"Night before last." + +"How far?" + +"How can I tell? Not far. A few miles." + +"And back. And it took you all night," she accused. + +"What if it did?" he cried peevishly. "A man's got to have some +relief from work, hasn't he? It was livelier than sitting all +night with one's eye glued to a microscope barrel!" + +"Oh, beetle man, beetle man! I don't know about you at all. What +kind of a strange queer creature are you? Have you wings, Mr. +Beetle Man?" + +Suddenly she bent over and laid her soft lips upon the scarified +palm. The Unspeakable Perk sat up, with a half-cry. + +"Now the other one," said the girl. Her face was a mantle of rose- +color, but her eyes shone. + +"I won't! You shan't!" + +"The other one!" she commanded imperiously. + +"Please, Miss Brewster--" + +A noise at the door saved him. There stood Thatcher Brewster, +magnate, multi-millionaire, and master of men, a huge tray in his +hands. + +"Beefsteak, fried potatoes, alligator pear, fresh bread, REAL +butter, coffee, AND cake," he proclaimed jovially. "Not to mention +a cocktail, which I compounded with my own skilled hands. Are you +ready, my boy? Go!" + +The Unspeakable Perk leaped from his couch. + +"Food!" he cried. "Real American food! The perfume of it is a +square meal." + +"You're much gladder to see it than you were me," pouted Miss +Polly. + +"I'm not half as afraid of it," he admitted. "Mr. Brewster, your +health." + +"Here's to you, my boy. Now I'll leave you with your nurse, and +make my final arrangements. We're off by special in the morning." + +"That's fine!" said the scientist. + +But Miss Polly Brewster caught the turn of his head in her +direction, and saw that his fork had slackened in his hand. +Something tightened around her heart. + +As he went, her father considered her for a moment, and wondered. +Never before had he seen such a look in her eyes as that which she +had turned on the queer, vivid stranger so busily engaged at the +tray. Polly, and this obscure scientist! After the kind of men +whom the girl had known, enslaved, and eluded! Absurd! Yet if it +were to be--Mr. Brewster reviewed the events of the afternoon-- +well, it might be worse. + +"By the Lord Harry, he's a MAN, anyway!" decided Thatcher +Brewster. + +Meanwhile, the subject of his musings began to feel like a man +once more, instead of like a lath. Having wrought havoc among the +edibles, he rose with a sigh. + +"If I could have one hour's sleep," he said mournfully, "I'd be +fit as a cricket." + +"You shall," said the girl. "Mr. Sherwen says he won't let you out +of the house until it's dark. And that's fully an hour." + +"I ought to be on my way back now." + +"Back where? To your mountains?" + +"Yes." + +"You'd be recognized and attacked before you could get out of the +city. I won't let you." + +"That wouldn't do, for a fact. Perhaps it would be safer to wait. +I've made enough trouble for one day by my blunder-headed +thoughtlessness." + +"Is that what you call rescuing the flag?" + +"Oh, rescuing!" he said slightingly. "What difference does it make +what vermin like that mob do? Just for a whim, to endanger all of +you." + +She stared at him in amaze and suspicion. But he was quite honest. + +"MY whim," she reminded him. + +"Yes; I suppose it was," he admitted thoughtfully. "When I saw you +crying, I lost my head, and acted like a child." + +"Then it was all my fault?" + +"Oh, I don't say that. Certainly not. I'm master of my own +actions. If I hadn't wanted--" + +"But it was my fault this much, anyway, that you wouldn't have +done it except for me." + +"Yes; it was your fault to that extent," he said honestly. "I hope +you don't mind my saying so." + +"Oh, beetle man, beetle man!" She leaned forward, her eyes deep- +lit pools of mirth and mockery and some more occult feeling that +he could not interpret. "Would it scare you quite out of your +poor, queer wits if I were to HUG you? Don't call for help. I'm +not really going to do it." + +"I know you're not," said he dolefully. "But about that row, I +want to set myself right. I'm no fool. I know it took a certain +amount of nerve to go down there. And I was even proud of it, in a +way. And when Von Plaanden turned and gave me the salute before he +went away, I liked it quite a good deal." + +"Did he do that? I love him for it!" cried the girl. + +"But my point is this, that what I did wasn't sound common sense. +Now if Carroll had done it, it would have been all right." + +"Why for him and not for you?" + +"Because those are his principles. They're not mine." + +"I wish you weren't quite so contemptuous of poor Fitz. It seems +hardly fair." + +"Contemptuous of him? I'd give half my life to be in his place +after to-morrow." + +"Why?" There was a flutter in her throat as she put the question. + +"Because he's going with you, isn't he?" + +"So are you, if you will." + +"I can't." + +"Father won't go without you, I believe. Won't you come, if I ask +you?" + +"No." + +"Work, I suppose," said the girl; "the work that you love better +than anything in the world." + +"You're wrong there." His voice was not quite steady now. "But +it's work that has to have my first consideration now. And there +is one special responsibility that I can't evade, for the present, +anyway." + +"And afterward?" She dared not look at him as she spoke. + +"Ah, afterward. There's too much 'perhaps' in the afterward down +here. We science grubbers on the outposts enlist for the term of +the war," he said, smiling wanly. + +"How can I--can we go and leave you here?" she demanded +obstinately. + +"Oh, give me a square meal once in a while, and a night's rest +here and there, and I'll do well enough." + +"Oh, dear! I forgot your sleep. Here I've been chattering like a +magpie. Take off your coat and lie down on that sofa at once." + +"Where shall I find you when I wake up?" + +"Right where you leave me when you fall asleep." + +"Oh, no! You mustn't wear yourself out watching over me." + +"Hush! You're under orders. Give me the coat." She hung it on the +back of a chair. "Not another word now. And I'll call you when +time is up." + +He closed his eyes, and the girl sat studying his face in the dim +light, graving it deep on her inner vision, seeking to formulate +some conception of the strange being so still and placid before +her. How had she ever thought him ridiculous and uncouth? How had +she ever dared to insult him by distrust? What did it matter what +other men, estimating him by their own sordid standards, said of +him? As if her thought had established a connection with his, he +opened his eyes and sat up. + +"I knew there was something I wanted to ask you," he said. "What +did your 'Never, never, never' mean?" + +"A foolish misunderstanding that I'm ashamed of." + +"Was it that--that woman-gossip business?" + +"Yes. I was stupid. Will you forgive me?" + +"What is there to forgive? Some time, perhaps, you'll understand +the whole thing." + +"Please don't let's say anything more about it. I do understand." + +This was not quite true. All that Polly Brewster knew was that, +with those clear gray eyes meeting hers, she would have believed +his honor clean and high against the world. The presence of the +woman, even that dress fluttering in the wind, was susceptible of +a hundred simple explanations. + +"Ah, that's all right, then." There was relief in his tone. "Of +course, in a place like this there is a lot of gossip and +criticism. And when one runs counter to the general law--" +"Counter to the law?" + +"Yes. As a rule, I'm not 'beyond the pale of law,'" he said, +smiling. "But down here one isn't bound by the same conventions as +at home." + +The girl's hand went to her throat in a piteous gesture. + +"I--I--don't understand. I don't want to understand." + +"There's got to be a certain broad-mindedness in these matters," +he blundered on, with what seemed to her outraged senses an +abominable jauntiness. "But the risk was small for me, and, of +course, for her, anything was better than the other life. At that, +I don't see how the truth reached you. What is it, Miss Polly?" + +Rage, grief, and shame choked the girl's utterance. + +Without a word, she ran from the room, leaving her companion a +prey to troubled wonder. + +In the patio, she turned sharply to avoid a group gathered around +Galpy, who, with a patch over one eye, was trying to impart some +news between gasps. + +"Got it from the bulletin board of La Liberdad," he cried. +"Killed; body gone; devil to pay all over the place." + +"What's that?" demanded the Unspeakable Perk, running out, +coatless and goggleless. + +"There's been another riot, and Dr. Luther Pruyn is killed," +explained Sherwen. + +"Who says so?" + +"Bulletin board--La Liberdad--just saw it," panted Galpy. + +"Nonsense! It's a bola" + +"The whole city is ringing with it. They say it was a plot to get +him out of the way to stop quarantine. The Foreign Office is +buzzing with inquiries, and Puerto del Norte is burning up the +wires." + +"Puerto del Norte! How did they hear?" + +"Telephone, of course. I hear Wisner is coming up," said Sherwen. + +"I've got to get a wire to the port at once," cried the scientist. +"At once!" + +"You! What for?" + +"To stop off Wisner. To tell him it isn't so." + +"You're excited, my boy," said Mr. Brewster kindly. "Better lie +down again." + +"It's true, right enough," said the Englishman. "Sir Willet's +cochero saw the mob get him." + +"When? Where?" asked Fitzhugh Carroll. + +"Haven't got any details, but the Government admits it." + +"I don't care if the President and his whole cabinet swear to it," +vociferated the Unspeakable Perk. "It's a fake. How can I get +Puerto del Norte, Mr. Sherwen?" + +"You can't get it at all for any such purpose. How do you know +it's a fake?" + +"How do I know? Oh, dammit! I'M Luther Pruyn!" + +He snatched off his glasses and faced them. + +The little group stood petrified. Mr. Brewster was first to +recover. + +"Crazy, poor chap!" he said. "Luther Pruyn was my classmate." + +"That's my father, Luther L." + +"Proofs," said Sherwen sharply. + +"In my coat pocket. In the room. Can I have your wire, Mr. +Sherwen?" + +"It's cut." + +"Come to the railway wire," offered Galpy. "My eye! Wot a game!" + +The two men ran out, the scientist leaving behind coat and +goggles. + +"It was our little mix-up that started the rumor," said Carroll +thoughtfully. "Somebody recognized Perk--Dr. Pruyn." + +"When his glasses fell off," said CLuff. "They're some disguise." + +"He's Luther Pruyn, sure enough!" said Mr. Sherwen, emerging from +the room. "Here's the proof." He held out an official-looking +document. "An order from the Dutch Naval Office, made out in his +name." + +"What does it say?" asked Carroll. + +"I'm not much of a hand at Dutch, but it seems to direct the +blockading warship to receive Dr. Luther Pruyn and wife and convey +them to Curacao." + +"And wife!" exclaimed Cluff loudly. He whistled as a vent to his +amazement. "That explains all the talk about a woman--a lady in +his quinta on the mountains?" + +"Apparently," said Carroll. "May I see that document, Mr. +Sherwen?" + +The American representative handed him the paper. As he was +studying it, Galpy reentered, still scant of breath from +excitement and haste. "He's gone back to the mountains," he +announced. "Sent word for you to get to the port before dawn, if +you have to walk. See Mr. Wisner there. He'll arrange everything." + +"Will Mr. Perk--Dr. Pruyn be there?" asked Mr. Brewster. + +"He didn't say." + +"But he's gone without his coat!" + +"And goggles," said Cluff. + +"And his pass," added Sherwen. + +"Trust him to come back for them when he gets ready. He's a rum +josser for doing things his own way. Now, about the train." And +Galpy outlined the plan of departure to the men, who, except +Carroll, had gathered about him. The Southerner, unnoticed, had +slipped into the room where the scientist's coat lay. Coming out +by the lower door, he was intercepted by Miss Polly Brewster. He +interpreted the misery in her face, and turned sick at heart with +the pain of what it told him. + +"You heard?" he asked. + +She nodded. "Is it true? Did you see the permit yourself?" + +"Yes. Here it is." + +"I don't want to see it. It doesn't matter," she said, with utter +weariness in her voice. "When do we leave? I want to go home. Send +father to me, please, Fitz." + +Mr. Brewster came to her, bearing the news that the sailing was +set for the morrow. + +"I'm glad to know that Dr. and Mrs. Pruyn are provided for," she +remarked, so casually that the troubled father drew a breath of +relief, concluding that he must have misinterpreted the girl's +interest in the man behind the goggles. + +On his way to the patio, he passed through the room where the +scientist had lain. He came out looking perturbed. + +"Has any one been in that room just now?" he asked Sherwen. + +"Not that I've seen." + +"The coat and the other things are not there." + +Inquiry and search alike proved unavailing. Not until an hour +later did they discover that Carroll had also disappeared. Sherwen +found a note from him on the office desk:-- + +Please look after my luggage. Will join the others at the yacht +to-morrow. + +P. F. F. C. + + + + + +XII + +THE WOMAN AT THE QUINTA + + +Thanks to his rival's map, Carroll had little difficulty in +finding the trail to the mountain quinta. A brilliant new moon +helped to make easy the ascent. What course he would pursue upon +his arrival he had not clearly defined to himself. That would +depend largely upon the attitude of the man he was seeking. The +flame of battle, still hot from the afternoon's melee, burned high +in the Southerner's soul, for he was not of those whose spirit +rapidly cools. Bitter resentment on behalf of Miss Polly Brewster +fanned that flame. On one point he was determined: neither he nor +the so-called Perkins should leave the mountain until he had had +from the latter's own lips a full explanation. + +Coming out into the open space, he got his first glimpse of the +quinta. It was dark, except for one low light. From the farther +side there came faintly to his ear a rhythmical sound, with brief +intervals of quiet, as if some one hard at labor were stopping +from time to time for breath. At that distance, Carroll could not +interpret the sound, but some unidentified quality of it struck +chill upon his fancy. Long experience in the woods had made him a +good trailsman. He proceeded cautiously until he reached the edge +of the clearing. + +The sound had stopped now, but he thought he could hear heavy +breathing from beyond the house. As he moved toward that side, a +small but malevolent-looking snake slithered out from beneath a +bush near by. Involuntarily he leaped aside. As he landed, a round +pebble slipped under his foot. He flung up his arm. It met the low +branch of a tree, and saved him a fall. But the thrashing of the +leaves made a startling noise in the moonlit stillness. The snake +went on about its business. + +"Hola!" challenged a voice around the angle of the house. + +Carroll recognized the voice. He stepped out of the shadows and +strode across the open space. At the corner of the house he met +the muzzle of a revolver pointing straight at the pit of his +stomach. Back of it were the steady and now goggleless eyes of +Luther Pruyn. + +"I am unarmed," said Carroll. + +"Ah, it's you!" said the other. He lowered his weapon, carefully +whirled the cylinder to bring the hammer opposite an empty +chamber, and dropped it in his pocket. "What do you want?" + +"An explanation." + +"Quite so," said the other coolly. "I'd forgotten that I invited +you here. How long had you been watching me?" + +"I saw you only when you came out from behind the house." + +"And you wish to know about--about my companion in this place?" +continued the other in an odd tone. + +"Yes." + +"Understand that I don't admit that you have the smallest right. +But to clear up a situation which no longer exists, I'm ready to +satisfy you. Come in." + +He held open the door of the room where the lone light was +burning. In the middle of the floor was spread a sheet, beneath +which a form was outlined in grisly significance. Carroll's host +lifted the cover. + +The woman was white-haired, frail, and wrinkled. One side of her +face shone in the lamplight with a strange hue, like tarnished +silver. In her throat was a small bluish wound; opposite it a +gaping hole. + +"Shot!" exclaimed Carroll. "Who did it?" + +"Some high-minded Caracunan patriot, I suppose." + +"Why?" + +"Well, I suspect that it was a mistake. From a distance and inside +a window, she might easily have been taken for some one else." + +Carroll's mind reverted to his companion's ready revolver. + +"Yourself, for instance?" he suggested. + +"Why, yes." + +"Who was she?" + +There was left in the Southerner's manner no trace of the cross- +examiner. Suspicion had departed from him at the first sight of +that old and still face, leaving only sympathy and pity. + +"My patient." + +"Have you been running a private hospital up here?" + +"Oh, no. I took her because there was no other place fit for her +to go to. And I had to keep her presence secret, because there's a +law against harboring lepers here. A pretty cruel brute of a law +it is, too." + +"Leprosy!" exclaimed Carroll, looking at that strange silvery face +with a shudder. "Isn't it fearfully contagious?" + +"Not in any ordinary sense. I was trying a new serum on her, and +had planned to smuggle her across to Curacao, when this ended it." + +"Curacao? Then that pass for yourself and wife--By the way, that +and your coat are over in the thicket, where I dropped them." + +"Thank you. But it doesn't say 'wife.' It says simply 'a woman.'" + +"And you were encumbering yourself with an unknown leper, at a +time like this, just as an act of human kindness?" There was +something almost reverential in Carroll's voice. + +"Scientific interest, in part. Besides, she wasn't wholly unknown. +She's a sort of cousin of Raimonda's." + +Carroll's mind flew back to his fatally misinterpreted +conversation with the young Caracunan. + +"What did he mean by letting me think that you shouldn't associate +with Miss Polly?" + +"Oh, he had the usual erroneous dread of leprosy contagion, I +suppose." + +"May I ask you another question, Mr. Per--I beg your pardon, Dr. +Pruyn?" said the visitor, almost timidly. + +"Perkins will do." The other smiled wanly. "Ask me anything you +want to." + +"Why did you run away that day on the tram-car?" + +"To avoid trouble, of course." + +"You? Why, you go about searching for dangerous and difficult +jobs. That won't do!" + +"Not at all. It's only when I can't get away from them. But I +couldn't risk arrest then. Some one would surely have recognized +me as Luther Pruyn. You see, I've been here before." + +"Then I don't see why they didn't identify you, anyway." + +"Three years ago I was much heavier, and wore a full beard. Then +these glasses, besides being invaluable for protection, are a +pretty thorough disguise." + +"So they are. But the game is up now." + +"Yes." The scientist drew the sheet back over the dead woman. "I +suppose the sharp-shooters who did the job will report me safely +out of the way. It's only a question of when the burial party will +come for me." + +"Then, why are we waiting?" cried Carroll. + +"I couldn't leave her lying here," replied the other simply. + +The sound of rhythmical labor came back to Carroll's memory. + +"You were digging her grave?" + +The other nodded. Carroll, stiffly, for his knifed arm was +painful, got out of his coat. + +"Where's an extra spade?" he asked. + +When their labor was over, and the leper laid beneath the leveled +soil, Carroll cut two branches from a near-by tree, trimmed them, +bound them in the form of a cross, and fixed the symbol firmly in +the earth at the dead woman's head. + +"That was well thought of," said the scientist. "I'm afraid that +wouldn't have occurred to me." + +"You can get word to Senor Raimonda?" asked Carroll. + +His host nodded. A long silence followed. Carroll broke it:-- + +"Then there is no further secrecy about this?" + +"About what?" + +"Her identity." He pointed to the grave. + +"No; I suppose not. Why?" + +"Because Miss Brewster has a right to know." + +"Do you propose to tell her?" + +"Yes." + +"Very well," agreed the scientist, after a pause for +consideration. "But not until after the yacht is at sea." + +Carroll did not reply directly to this. + +"What shall you do?" + +"Get out, if I can. I'm ordered to Curacao. Wisner left word for +me." + +"Come down the mountain with me." + +"Impossible. There are matters here to be attended to." + +"Then when will you come down?" + +"Before you sail. I must be sure that you get off." + +"You'll come to the yacht, then?" + +"No." + +"I think you should. There are reasons why--why--Miss Brewster--" + +"It isn't a question that I can argue," the other cut him off. "I +can't do it." There was so much pain in his voice that Carroll +forbore to press him. "But I'll ask you to take a note." + +Carroll nodded, and his host, disappearing within the quinta, +returned almost at once with an envelope on which the address was +written in pencil. The Southerner took it and rose from the porch, +where he had flung himself to rest. + +"Perkins," he said, with some effort, "I've thought and said some +hard things about you." + +"Naturally enough," murmured the other. + +"Do you want me to apologize?" + +The scientist stared. "Do you want me to thank you for to-night's +work?" he countered. + +"No." + +"Well--" + +"All right." + +The two men, different in every quality except that of essential +manhood, smiled at each other with a profound mutual +understanding. There was a silent handshake, and Carroll set off +down the mountain toward the sunrise glow. + + + + + +XIII + +LEFT BEHIND + + +Dawn crested, poised, and broke in a surf of splendor upon the +great mountain-line that overhangs Puerto del Norte. Where, at +the corporation dock, there had lurked the shadow of a yacht, +gray-black against blue-black, there now swung a fairy ship of +purest silver, cradled upon a swaying mirror. Tiny insects, +touched to life by the radiance, scuttled busily about her decks +and swarmed out upon the dock. The seagoing yacht Polly had +awakened early. + +Down the mule path that forms the shortest cut from the railway +station straggled a group of minute creatures. To one watching +from the mountain-side with powerful field-glasses--such as, for +example, a convinced and ardent hater of the Caribbean Sea, curled +up with his back against a cold and Voiceless rock--it might have +appeared that the group was carrying an unusual quantity of hand +luggage. Yet they were not porters; so much, even at a great +distance, their apparel proclaimed. The pirates of porterdom do +not get up to meet five-o'clock-in-the-morning specials in +Caracuna. + +The little group gathered close at the pier, then separated, two +going aboard, and the others disappearing into sundry streets and +reappearing presently at the water-front with other figures. The +human form cannot be distinctly seen, at a distance of three +miles, to rub its eyes; neither can it be heard to curse; but +there was that in the newer figures which suggested a sudden and +reluctant surrender of sleeping privileges. Had our supposititious +watcher possessed an intimate and contemptuous knowledge of +Caracuna officialdom, he would have surmised that lavish sums of +money had been employed to stir the port and customs officials to +such untimely activity. + +But not money or any other agency is potent to stir Caracunan +officialdom to undue speed. Hence the observer from the heights, +supposing that he had a personal interest in the proceedings, +might have assured himself of ample time to reach the coast before +the formalities could be completed and the ship put forth to sea. +Had he presently humped himself to his feet with a sluggish +effort, abandoned his field-glasses in favor of a pair of large +greenish-brown goggles, and set out on a trail straight down the +mountains, staggering a bit at the start, a second supposititious +observer of the first supposititious observer--if such cumulative +hypothesis be permissible--might have divined that the first +supposititious observer was the Unspeakable Perk, going about +other people's business when he ought to have been in bed. And so, +not to keep any reader in unendurable suspense, it was. + +While the Unspeakable Perk was making his way down the dim and +narrow trail, another equally weary figure shambled out from the +main road upon the flats and made for the landing. The apparel of +Mr. Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll was in a condition that he +would have deemed quite unfit for one of his station, had he been +in a frame of mind to consider such matters at all. He was not. +Affairs vastly more weighty and human occupied his mind. What he +most wished was to find Miss Polly Brewster and unburden himself +of them. + +At the entrance to the pier, he was detained by the American +Consul. Cluff came running down the long structure in great +strides. + +"Moses, Carroll! I'm glad to see you! Where've you been?" + +A week earlier, the scion of all the Virginias would have resented +this familiarity from a professional athlete. But neither Mr. +Carroll's mind nor his heart was a sealed inclosure. He had +learned much in the last few days. + +"Up on the mountain," he said. "For Heaven's sake, give me a +drink, Cluff!" + +The other produced a flask. + +"You do look shot to pieces," he commented. "Find Perk--Pruyn?" + +"Yes. I'll tell you later. Where's Miss Brewster?" + +"In her stateroom. Asleep, I guess. Said she wanted rest, and +nobody was to disturb her till we sail." + +"When do we start?" + +"Eight o'clock, they say. That means ten. Will Dr. Pruyn get +here?" + +"He isn't going with us." + +"Oh, no. I forgot his Dutch permit. Well, he'd better use it +quick, or he'll go in a box when he does go. I wouldn't insure his +life for a two-cent stamp in this country." + +"You wouldn't if you'd seen what I saw last night," said the +Southerner, very low. + +Wisner, the busy, efficient little consul, who had been arranging +with the officials for Carroll's embarkation, now returned, +bringing with him a viking of a man whom he introduced as Dr. +Stark, of the United States Public Health Service. + +"Either of you know anything about Dr. Pruyn?" he inquired +anxiously. + +"He's on his way down the mountain now," said Carroll. + +"Good! He's ordered away, I'm glad to say. Just got the message." + +"Then perhaps he will go out with us," said Cluff, with obvious +relief. "I sure did hate to think of leaving that boy here, with +the game laws for goggle-eyed Americans entirely suspended." + +"No. He's ordered to Curacao to stay and watch. We've got to get +him out to the Dutch ship somehow." + +"Couldn't the yacht take him and transfer him outside?" asked +Carroll. + +"Mr. Carroll," said Dr. Stark earnestly, "before this yacht is +many minutes out from the dock, you'll see a yellow flag go up +from the end of the corporation pier. After that, if the yacht +turns aside or comes back for a package that some one has left, or +does anything but hold the straightest course on the compass for +the blue and open sea--well, she'll be about the foolishest craft +that ever ploughed salt water." + +"I suppose so," admitted Carroll. "Well, I have matters to look +after on board." + +Into Mr. Carroll's cabin it is nobody's business to follow him. A +man has a right to some privacy of room and of mind, and if the +Southerner's struggle with himself was severe, at least it was of +brief duration. Within half an hour, he was knocking at Polly +Brewster's door. + +"PLEASE go 'way, whoever it is," answered a pathetically weary +voice. + +"Miss Polly, it's Fitzhugh. I have a note for you." + +"Leave it in the saloon." + +"It's important that you see it right away." + +"From whom is it?" queried the spent voice. + +"From Dr. Pruyn." + +"I--I don't want to see it." + +"You must!" insisted her suitor. + +"Did he say I must?" + +"No. I say you must. Forgive me, Miss Polly, but I'm going to wait +here till you say you'll read it." + +"Push it under the door," said the girl resignedly. + +He obeyed. Polly took the envelope, summoned up all her spirit, +and opened it. It contained one penciled line and the signature:-- + +Good-bye. All my heart goes with you forever. L. P. + +Something fluttered from the envelope to her feet. She stooped and +picked it up. It was the tiniest and most delicate of orchids, +purple, with a glow of gold at its heart. To her inflamed pride, +it seemed the final insult that he should send such a message and +such a reminder, without a word of explanation or plea for pardon. +Pardon she never would have granted, but at least he might have +had the grace of shame. + +"Have you read it?" asked the patient voice from without. + +"Yes. There is no answer." + +"Dr. Pruyn said there wouldn't be." + +"Then why are you waiting?" + +"To see you." + +"Oh, Fitz, I'm too worn out, and I've a splitting headache. Won't +it wait?" + +"No." The voice was gently inflexible. + +"More messages?" + +"No; something I must tell you. Will you come out?" + +"I suppose so." + +Her tone was utterly listless and limp. Utterly listless and limp, +she looked, too, as she opened the door and stood waiting. + +"Miss Polly, it's about the woman at Perkins's--at Dr. Pruyn's +house." + +Her eyes dilated with anger. + +"I won't hear! How dare you come to me--" + +"You must! Don't make it harder for me than it is." + +She looked up, startled, and noted the haggard lines in his face. + +"I'll hear it if you think I should, Fitz." + +"She is dead." + +"Dead? His--his wife?" + +"She wasn't his wife. She was a helpless leper, whom he was trying +to cure with some new serum. He had to do it secretly because +there is a law forbidding any one to harbor a leper." + +"Oh, Fitz!" she cried. "And she died of it?" + +"No. They killed her. Last night." + +"They? Who?" + +"Government agents, probably. They were after Pruyn." + +"How horrible! And--and Mrs. Pruyn. Where was she?" + +"There isn't any Mrs. Pruyn. There never was." + +"But the Dutch permit! It was for Dr. Pruyn and his wife." + +"Sherwen misread the form. So did I. It read for Dr. Pruyn and a +woman. He hoped to take her to Curacao and complete his +experiment." + +"That's what he meant when he spoke of being lawless, and I've +been thinking the basest things of him for it!" The girl, dazed by +a flash of complete enlightenment, caught at Carroll's arm with +beseeching hands. "Where is he, Fitz?" + +"On his way down the mountain. Perhaps down here by now." + +"He's coming to the ship?" she asked. + +"No; he doesn't expect to see you again. He was coming down to +make sure that we got off safely." + +"Fitz, dear Fitz, I must see him!" + +"Miss Polly," he said miserably, "I'll do anything I can." + +"Oh, poor Fitz!" she cried pityingly, her eyes filling with tears. +"I wish for your sake it wasn't so. And you have been so splendid +about it!" + +"I've tried to make amends, and play fair. It hasn't been easy. +Shall I go back and look for him? It's a small town, and I can +find him." + +"Yes. I'll write a note. No; I won't. Never mind. I'll manage it. +Fitz, go and rest. You're worn out," she said gently. + +Back into her stateroom went Miss Polly. From that time forth no +man saw her nor woman, either, except perhaps her maid, and maids +are dark and discreet persons on occasion. If this particular one +kept her own counsel when she saw a trim but tremulous figure drop +lightly over the starboard rail of the Polly far forward, pick up +a small traveling-bag from the pier, step behind the opportune +screen of a load of coffee on a flat car, and reappear to view +only as a momentary swish of skirt far away at the shore end; if +this same maid told Mr. Thatcher Brewster, half an hour later, +that Miss Polly was asleep in her stateroom, and begged that she +be disturbed on no account, as she was utterly worn out, who shall +blame her for her silence on the one occasion or her speech on the +other? She was but obeying, albeit with tearful misgivings, duly +constituted authority. + +Eight o'clock struck on the bell of the little Protestant mission +church on the tiny plaza; struck and was welcomed by the echoes, +and passed along to eventual silence. Within two minutes after, +there was a special stir and movement on the pier, a corresponding +stir and movement on board the trim craft, a swishing of great +ropes, and a tooting of whistles. White foam churned astern of +her. A comic-supplement-looking pelican on a buoy off to port +flapped her a fantastic farewell. The blockade-defying yacht +Polly was off for blue waters and the freedom of the seas. + +On the shore, feeling woefully helpless and alone, she who had +been the jewel and joy of the Polly bit her lips and closed her +eyes, in a tremulous struggle against the dismal fear:-- + +"Suppose he doesn't love me, after all!" + + + + + +XIV + +THE YELLOW FLAG + + +The departing whistle of the yacht Polly struck sharply to the +heart of a desolate figure seated on a bench in the blazing, +dusty, public square of Puerto del Norte, waiting out his first +day of pain. A kiskadee bird, the only other creature foolish +enough to risk the hot bleakness of the plaza at that hour, +flitted into a dust-coated palm, inspected him, put a tentative +query or two, decided that he was of no possible interest, and +left the Unspeakable Perk to his own cogitations. + +So deep in wretchedness were the cogitations that he did not hear +the light, hesitant footstep. But he felt in every vein and fiber +the appealing touch on his shoulder. + +"Good God! What are YOU doing here?" he cried, leaping to his +feet. There was no awkwardness or shyness in his speech now; only +wonder-stricken joy. + +"I came back to see you." + +"But the yacht! Your ship!" + +"She has left." + +"No! She mustn't! Not without you! You can't stay here. It's too +dangerous." + +"I must. They think I'm aboard. I left a note for papa. He won't +get it until they're at sea. And they can't come back for me, can +they?" + +"No--yes--they must! I must see Stark and Wisner at once." + +"To send me away?" + +"Yes." + +"Without forgiving me?" + +"Forgiving? There's no question of that between you and me." + +"There is. Fitzhugh told me everything--all about the poor dead +woman." + +"Ah, he shouldn't have done that." + +"He should!" She stamped a little willful foot. "What else could +he do?" + +"Why, yes," he agreed thoughtfully. "I suppose that's so. After +all, a man can't bear the names that Carroll does and go wrong on +the big inner things. He has met his test, and stood it. For he +cares very deeply for you." + +"Poor Fitz!" she sighed. + +"But here we're wasting time!" he cried in a panic. "Where can I +leave you?" + +"Do you want to leave me?" + +"Want to!" he groaned. "Can't you understand that I've got to get +you to the yacht!" + +"Oh, beetle man, beetle man, don't you WANT me?" she cried +dolorously. "Didn't you mean your note?" + +"Mean it? I meant it as I've never meant anything in the world. +But you--what do you mean? Do you mean that you'll--you'll let the +yacht go without you--and--and--and stay here, and m-m-marry me?" + +"If you should ask me," she said, half-laughing, half-crying, +"what else could I do? I'm alone and deserted. And there's only +you in the world." + +"Miss P-P-Polly," he began, "I--I can't believe--" + +"It's true!" she cried, and held out two yearning hands to him. +"And if you stammer and stutter and--and--and act like the +Unspeakable Perk NOW, I'll--I'll howl!" + +If she had any such project, the chance was lost on the instant of +the warning, as he caught her to him and held her close. + +"Oh!" she cried, trying to push him away. "Do you know, sir, that +this is a public square?" + +"Well, I didn't choose it," he reminded her, laughing in pure joy, +with a boyish note new to her ear. "Anyway, there are only us two +under the sun." And he drew her close again, whispering in her +ear. + +"Oh--oh, is that the language of medical science?" she reproved. + +At this point, generic curiosity overcame the feathered +eavesdropper in the tree above. + +"Qu'est-ce qu'il dit?"--"What's he say?" + +The girl turned a flushed and adorable face upward. + +"I won't tell you. It's for me alone," she declared joyously. "But +you'll never stop saying it, will you, dear?" + +"Never, as long as we both shall live. And that reminds me," he +said soberly. "We must arrange about being married." + +"Oh, that reminds you, does it?" she mocked. "Just incidentally, +like that." + +Boom! Boom! Boom! The mission clock kept patiently at it until its +suggestion struck in. + +"Of course!" he cried. "Mr. Lake, the missionary, will marry us. +And we'll have Stark and Wisner for witnesses. How long does it +take a bride to get ready? Would half an hour be enough?" + +"It's rather a short engagement," she remarked demurely. "But if +it's all the time we've got--" + +"It is. But, darling, we'll have to ride for it afterward, and get +across to the mainland. I've no right to let you in for such a +risk," he cried remorsefully. + +"You couldn't help yourself," she teased saucily. "I ran you down +like one of your own beetles. Besides, what does that permit for +the Dutch ship say?" + +"That's for myself and a woman--the leper woman. Not for myself +and my wife." + +"Well, I'm a woman, aren't I? And it doesn't say that the woman +MUSTN'T be your wife." She blushed distractingly. + +"Caesar! Of course it doesn't! What luck! We'll be in Curacao to- +morrow. I must see Wisner about getting us off. But, Polly, +dearest one, you're sure? You haven't let yourself be carried away +by that foolishness of mine yesterday?" + +"Sure? Oh, beetle man!" She put her hands on his shoulders and +bent to his ear. + +The sulphur-colored winged Paul Pry stuck an impertinent head out +from behind a palm leaf. + +"Qu'est-ce qu'elle dit? Qu'est-ce qu'elle dit?" + +For the second and last time in his adult life the beetle man +threw a stone at a bird. + +Four hours later six powerful black oarsmen rowed a boat +containing two passengers and practically no luggage out across +the huge lazy swells of the Caribbean toward a smudge of black +smoke. + +"Look!" cried that one of the passengers who wore huge goggles. +"There goes the flag!" + +A square of yellow bunting slid slowly up the pierhead staff of +the dock corporation, and spread in the light shore breeze. + +"That's the modern flaming sword," he continued. "The color stirs +something inside me. Ugly, isn't it?" + +"It is ugly," she confessed thoughtfully. "Yet it's the flag we +fight under, too, isn't it? And we'd fight for it if we had to, +just as we fought for the other--our own." + +"I love your 'we,'" he laughed happily. + +She nestled closer to him. + +"Are you still hating the Caribbean?" + +"I? I'm loving it the second-best thing in the world." + +"But I loved it first," she reminded him jealously. "Dearest," she +added, with one of her swift swoops of thought, "what was that +funny title the British Secretary of Legation had?" + +"What? Oh, Captain the Honorable Carey Knowles?" + +"Yes. Well, I shall have a much nicer, more picturesque title than +that when we come back to Caracuna--dear, dirty, dangerous, queer, +riotous, plague-stricken old Caracuna!" + +"Then my liege ladylove intends to come back?" he asked. + +"Of course. Some time. And in Caracuna I shall insist on being +Mrs. the Unspeakable Perk." + +THE END + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE UNSPEAKABLE PERK *** + +This file should be named blprk10.txt or blprk10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, blprk11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, blprk10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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