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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/5643-0.txt b/5643-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c982b2f --- /dev/null +++ b/5643-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8156 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ranson's Folly, by Richard Harding Davis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Ranson's Folly + +Author: Richard Harding Davis + + +Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5643] +This file was first posted on August 3, 2002 +Last Updated: March 4, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RANSON'S FOLLY *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + +RANSON'S FOLLY + +And Others + +By Richard Harding Davis + + +Illustrations By Frederic Remington, Walter Appleton Clark, Howard +Chandler Christy, E.M. Ashe & F. Dorr Steele (illustrations not +available in this file) + + + + + +CONTENTS + +RANSOM'S FOLLY Illustrated by Frederic Remington. + +THE BAR SINISTER Illustrated by E.M. Ashe. + +A DERELICT Illustrated by Walter Appleton Clark. + +LA LETTRE D'AMOUR Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy. + +IN THE FOG Illustrated by Frederic Dorr Steele. + + + + +Illustrations: + +“Throw up your hands,” he commanded. + +Ranson faced the door, spinning the revolver around his fourth finger. + +“I suppose I'm the ugliest bull-dog in America”. + +“Miss Dorothy snatches me up and kisses me between the ears.” + +“We've got a great story! We want a clear wire.” + +He played to the empty chair. + +The men around the table turned and glanced toward the gentleman in +front of the fireplace. + +“What was the object of your plot?” + + + + +RANSON'S FOLLY + +I + + +The junior officers of Fort Crockett had organized a mess at the +post-trader's. “And a mess it certainly is,” said Lieutenant Ranson. The +dining-table stood between hogsheads of molasses and a blazing log-fire, +the counter of the store was their buffet, a pool-table with a cloth, +blotted like a map of the Great Lakes, their sideboard, and Indian Pete +acted as butler. But none of these things counted against the great fact +that each evening Mary Cahill, the daughter of the post-trader, presided +over the evening meal, and turned it into a banquet. From her high +chair behind the counter, with the cash-register on her one side and +the weighing-scales on the other, she gave her little Senate laws, and +smiled upon each and all with the kind impartiality of a comrade. + +At least, at one time she had been impartial. But of late she smiled +upon all save Lieutenant Ranson. When he talked, she now looked at the +blazing log-fire, and her cheeks glowed and her eyes seemed to reflect +the lifting flame. + +For five years, ever since her father brought her from the convent at +St. Louis, Mary Cahill had watched officers come and officers go. Her +knowledge concerning them, and their public and private affairs, was +vast and miscellaneous. She was acquainted with the traditions of +every regiment, with its war record, with its peace-time politics, its +nicknames, its scandals, even with the earnings of each company-canteen. +At Fort Crockett, which lay under her immediate observation, she knew +more of what was going forward than did the regimental adjutant, more +even than did the colonel's wife. If Trumpeter Tyler flatted on church +call, if Mrs. Stickney applied to the quartermaster for three feet +of stovepipe, if Lieutenant Curtis were granted two days' leave for +quail-shooting, Mary Cahill knew it; and if Mrs. “Captain” Stairs +obtained the post-ambulance for a drive to Kiowa City, when Mrs. +“Captain” Ross wanted it for a picnic, she knew what words passed +between those ladies, and which of the two wept. She knew all of these +things, for each evening they were retailed to her by her “boarders.” + Her boarders were very loyal to Mary Cahill. Her position was a +difficult one, and had it not been that the boy-officers were so +understanding, it would have been much more difficult. For the life of a +regimental post is as circumscribed as the life on a ship-of-war, and +it would no more be possible for the ship's barber to rub shoulders with +the admiral's epaulets than that a post-trader's child should visit the +ladies on the “line,” or that the wives of the enlisted men should dine +with the young girl from whom they “took in” washing. + +So, between the upper and the nether grindstones, Mary Cahill was left +without the society of her own sex, and was of necessity forced to +content herself with the society of the officers. And the officers +played fair. Loyalty to Mary Cahill was a tradition at Fort Crockett, +which it was the duty of each succeeding regiment to sustain. Moreover, +her father, a dark, sinister man, alive only to money-making, was known +to handle a revolver with the alertness of a town-marshal. + +Since the day she left the convent Mary Cahill had held but two +affections: one for this grim, taciturn parent, who brooded over her as +jealously as a lover, and the other for the entire United States Army. +The Army returned her affection without the jealousy of the father, and +with much more than his effusiveness. But when Lieutenant Ranson +arrived from the Philippines, the affections of Mary Cahill became less +generously distributed, and her heart fluttered hourly between trouble +and joy. + +There were two rooms on the first floor of the post-trader's--this +big one, which only officers and their women-folk might enter, and the +other, the exchange of the enlisted men. The two were separated by +a partition of logs and hung with shelves on which were displayed +calicoes, tinned meats, and patent medicines. A door, cut in one end +of the partition, with buffalo-robes for portieres, permitted Cahill to +pass from behind the counter of one store to behind the counter of the +other. On one side Mary Cahill served the Colonel's wife with many yards +of silk ribbons to be converted into german favors, on the other her +father weighed out bears' claws (manufactured in Hartford, Conn., from +turkey-bones) to make a necklace for Red Wing, the squaw of the Arrephao +chieftain. He waited upon everyone with gravity, and in obstinate +silence. No one had ever seen Cahill smile. He himself occasionally +joked with others in a grim and embarrassed manner. But no one had ever +joked with him. It was reported that he came from New York, where, it +was whispered, he had once kept bar on the Bowery for McTurk. + +Sergeant Clancey, of G Troop, was the authority for this. But when, +presuming on that supposition, he claimed acquaintanceship with Cahill, +the post-trader spread out his hands on the counter and stared at the +sergeant with cold and disconcerting eyes. “I never kept bar nowhere,” + he said. “I never been on the Bowery, never been in New York, never been +east of Denver in my life. What was it you ordered?” + +“Well, mebbe I'm wrong,” growled the sergeant. + +But a month later, when a coyote howled down near the Indian village, +the sergeant said insinuatingly, “Sounds just like the cry of the Whyos, +don't it?” And Cahill, who was listening to the wolf, unthinkingly +nodded his head. + +The sergeant snorted in triumph. “Yah, I told you so!” he cried, “a man +that's never been on the Bowery, and knows the call of the Whyo gang! +The drinks are on you, Cahill.” + +The post-trader did not raise his eyes, but drew a damp cloth up and +down the counter, slowly and heavily, as a man sharpens a knife on a +whetstone. + +That night, as the sergeant went up the path to the post, a bullet +passed through his hat. Clancey was a forceful man, and forceful men, +unknown to themselves, make enemies, so he was uncertain as to whether +this came from a trooper he had borne upon too harshly, or whether, In +the darkness, he had been picked off for someone else. The next night, +as he passed in the full light of the post-trader's windows, a shot +came from among the dark shadows of the corral, and when he immediately +sought safety in numbers among the Indians, cowboys, and troopers in the +exchange, he was in time to see Cahill enter it from the other store, +wrapping up a bottle of pain-killer for Mrs. Stickney's cook. But +Clancey was not deceived. He observed with satisfaction that the soles +and the heels of Cahill's boots were wet with the black mud of the +corral. + +The next morning, when the exchange was empty, the post-trader turned +from arranging cans of condensed milk upon an upper shelf to face the +sergeant's revolver. He threw up his hands to the level of his ears as +though expressing sharp unbelief, and waited in silence. The sergeant +advanced until the gun rested on the counter, Its muzzle pointing at the +pit of Cahill's stomach. “You or me has got to leave this post,” said +the sergeant, “and I can't desert, so I guess it's up to you.” + +“What did you talk for?” asked Cahill. His attitude was still that +of shocked disbelief, but his tone expressed a full acceptance of the +situation and a desire to temporize. + +“At first I thought it might be that new 'cruity' in F Troop,” explained +the sergeant “You came near making me kill the wrong man. What harm did +I do you by saying you kept bar for McTurk? What's there in that to get +hot about?” + +“You said I run with the Whyos.” + +“What the h--l do I care what you've done!” roared the sergeant. “I +don't kmow nothing about you, but I don't mean you should shoot me in +the back. I'm going to tell this to my bunky, an' if I get shot up, the +Troop'll know who done it, and you'll hang for it. Now, what are you +going to do?” + +Cahill did not tell what he would do; for, from the other store, the low +voice of Mary Cahill called, “Father! Oh, father!” + +The two men dodged, and eyed each other guiltily. The sergeant gazed at +the buffalo-robe portieres with wide-opened eyes. Cahill's hands dropped +from the region of his ears, and fell flat upon the counter. + +When Miss Mary Cahill pushed aside the portieres Sergeant Clancey, of +G Troop, was showing her father the mechanism of the new +regulation-revolver. He apparently was having some difficulty with the +cylinder, for his face was red. Her father was eying the gun with the +critical approval of an expert. + +“Father,” said Miss Cahill petulantly, “why didn't you answer? Where is +the blue stationery--the sort Major Ogden always buys? He's waiting.” + +The eyes of the post-trader did not wander from the gun before him. +“Next to the blank books, Mame,” he said. “On the second shelf.” + +Miss Cahill flashed a dazzling smile at the big sergeant, and whispered, +so that the officer in the room behind her might not overhear, “Is +he trying to sell you Government property, dad? Don't you touch it. +Sergeant, I'm surprised at you tempting my poor father.” She pulled the +two buffalo-robes close around her neck so that her face only showed +between them. It was a sweet, lovely face, with frank, boyish eyes. + +“When the major's gone, sergeant,” she whispered, “bring your gun around +my side of the store and I'll buy it from you.” + +The sergeant nodded in violent assent, laughing noiselessly and slapping +his knee in a perfect ecstasy of delight. + +The curtains dropped and the face disappeared. + +The sergeant fingered the gun and Cahill folded his arms defiantly. + +“Well?” he said. + +“Well?” asked the sergeant. + +“I should think you could see how it is,” said Cahill, “without my +having to tell you.” + +“You mean you don't want she should know?” + +“My God, no! Not even that I kept a bar.” + +“Well, I don't know nothing. I don't mean to tell nothing, anyway, so if +you'll promise to be good I'll call this off.” + +For the first time in the history of Fort Crockett, Cahill was seen to +smile. “May I reach under the counter NOW?” he asked. + +The sergeant grinned appreciatively, and shifted his gun. “Yes, but +I'll keep this out until I'm sure it's a bottle,” he said, and laughed +boisterously. + +For an instant, under the cover of the counter, Cahill's hand touched +longingly upon the gun that lay there, and then passed on to the bottle +beside it. He drew it forth, and there was the clink of glasses. + +In the other room Mary Cahill winked at the major, but that officer +pretended to be both deaf to the clink of the glasses and blind to the +wink. And so the incident was closed. Had it not been for the folly of +Lieutenant Ranson it would have remained closed. + +A week before this happened a fire had started in the Willow Bottoms +among the tepees of some Kiowas, and the prairie, as far as one could +see, was bruised and black. From the post it looked as though the sky +had been raining ink. At the time all of the regiment but G and H +Troops was out on a practice-march, experimenting with a new-fangled +tabloid-ration. As soon as it turned the buttes it saw from where the +light in the heavens came and the practice-march became a race. + +At the post the men had doubled out under Lieutenant Ranson with wet +horse-blankets, and while he led G Troop to fight the flames, H Troop, +under old Major Stickney, burned a space around the post, across which +the men of G Troop retreated, stumbling, with their ears and shoulders +wrapped in the smoking blankets. The sparks beat upon them and the +flames followed so fast that, as they ran, the blazing grass burned +their lacings, and they kicked their gaiters ahead of them. + +When the regiment arrived it found everybody at Fort Crockett talking +enthusiastically of Ranson's conduct and resentfully of the fact that +he had regarded the fire as one which had been started for his especial +amusement. + +“I assure you,” said Mrs. Bolland to the colonel, “if it hadn't been +for young Ranson we would have been burned in our beds; but he was most +aggravating. He treated it as though it were Fourth of July fireworks. +It is the only entertainment we have been able to offer him since he +joined in which he has shown the slightest interest.” Nevertheless, +it was generally admitted that Ranson had saved the post. He had been +ubiquitous. He had been seen galloping into the advancing flames like +a stampeded colt, he had reappeared like a wraith in columns of black, +whirling smoke, at the same moment his voice issued orders from twenty +places. One instant he was visible beating back the fire with a wet +blanket, waving it above him jubilantly, like a substitute at the +Army-Navy game when his side scores, and the next staggering from out +of the furnace dragging an asphyxiated trooper by the collar, and +shrieking, “Hospital-steward, hospital-steward! here's a man on fire. +Put him out, and send him back to me, quick!” + +Those who met him in the whirlwind of smoke and billowing flame related +that he chuckled continuously. “Isn't this fun?” he yelled at them. +“Say, isn't this the best ever? I wouldn't have missed this for a trip +to New York!” + +When the colonel, having visited the hospital and spoken cheering words +to those who were sans hair, sans eyebrows and with bandaged hands, +complimented Lieutenant Ranson on the parade-ground before the assembled +regiment, Ranson ran to his hut muttering strange and fearful oaths. + +That night at mess he appealed to Mary Cahill for sympathy. “Goodness, +mighty me!” he cried, “did you hear him? Wasn't it awful? If I'd thought +he was going to hand me that I'd have deserted. What's the use of +spoiling the only fun we've had that way? Why, if I'd known you could +get that much excitement out of this rank prairie I'd have put a match +to it myself three months ago. It's the only fun I've had, and he goes +and preaches a funeral oration at me.” + +Ranson came into the army at the time of the Spanish war because it +promised a new form of excitement, and because everybody else he +knew had gone into it too. As the son of his father he was made an +adjutant-general of volunteers with the rank of captain, and unloaded +on the staff of a Southern brigadier, who was slated never to leave +Charleston. But Ranson suspected this, and, after telegraphing his +father for three days, was attached to the Philippines contingent and +sailed from San Francisco in time to carry messages through the surf +when the volunteers moved upon Manila. More cabling at the cost of many +Mexican dollars caused him to be removed from the staff, and given a +second lieutenancy in a volunteer regiment, and for two years he pursued +the little brown men over the paddy sluices, burned villages, +looted churches, and collected bolos and altar-cloths with that +irresponsibility and contempt for regulations which is found chiefly +in the appointment from civil life. Incidentally, he enjoyed himself +so much that he believed in the army he had found the one place where +excitement is always in the air, and as excitement was the breath of his +nostrils he applied for a commission in the regular army. On his record +he was appointed a second lieutenant in the Twentieth Cavalry, and on +the return of that regiment to the States--was buried alive at Fort +Crockett. + +After six months of this exile, one night at the mess-table Ranson broke +forth in open rebellion. “I tell you I can't stand it a day longer,” he +cried. “I'm going to resign!” + +From behind the counter Mary Cahill heard him in horror. Second +Lieutenants Crosby and Curtis shuddered. They were sons of officers +of the regular army. Only six months before they themselves had been +forwarded from West Point, done up in neat new uniforms. The traditions +of the Academy of loyalty and discipline had been kneaded into their +vertebrae. In Ranson they saw only the horrible result of giving +commissions to civilians. + +“Maybe the post will be gayer now that spring has come,” said Curtis +hopefully, but with a doubtful look at the open fire. + +“I wouldn't do anything rash,” urged Crosby. + +Miss Cahill shook her head. “Why, I like it at the post,” she said, “and +I've been here five years--ever since I left the convent--and I--” + +Ranson interrupted, bowing gallantly. “Yes, I know, Miss Cahill,” he +said, “but I didn't come here from a convent. I came here from the +blood-stained fields of war. Now, out in the Philippines there's always +something doing. They give you half a troop, and so long as you bring +back enough Mausers and don't get your men cut up, you can fight all +over the shop and no questions asked. But all I do here is take care of +sick horses. Any vet. in the States has seen as much fighting as I have +in the last half-year. I might as well have had charge of horse-car +stables.” + +“There is some truth in that,” said Curtis cautiously. “If you do +resign, certainly no one can accuse you of resigning in the face of the +enemy.” + +“Enemy, ye gods!” roared Ranson. “Why, if I were to see a Moro entering +that door with a bolo in each fist I'd fall on his neck and kiss him. +I'm not trained to this garrison business. You fellows are. They took +all the sporting blood out of you at West Point; one bad mark for +smoking a cigarette, two bad marks for failing to salute the instructor +in botany, and all the excitement you ever knew were charades and +a cadet-hop a t Cullum Hall. But, you see, before I went to the +Philippines with Merritt, I'd been there twice on a fellow's yacht, and +we'd tucked the Spanish governor in his bed with his spurs on. Now, +I have to sit around and hear old Bolland tell how he put down a +car-strike in St. Louis, and Stickney's long-winded yarns of Table +Mountain and the Bloody Angle. He doesn't know the Civil War's over. I +tell you, if I can't get excitement on tap I've got to make it, and if I +make it out here they'll court-martial me. So there's nothing for it but +to resign.” + +“You'd better wait till the end of the week,” said Crosby, grinning. +“It's going to be full of gayety. Thursday, paymaster's coming out with +our cash, and to-night that Miss Post from New York arrives in the up +stage. She's to visit the colonel, so everybody will have to give her a +good time.” + +“Yes, I certainly must wait for that,” growled Ranson; “there probably +will be progressive euchre parties all along the line, and we'll sit up +as late as ten o'clock and stick little gilt stars on ourselves.” + +Crosby laughed tolerantly. + +“I see your point of view,” he said. “I remember when my father took me +to Monte Carlo I saw you at the tables with enough money in front of +you to start a bank. I remember my father asked the croupiers why they +allowed a child of your age to gamble. I was just a kid then, and so +were you, too. I remember I thought you were the devil of a fellow.” + +Ranson looked sheepishly at Miss Cahill and laughed. “Well, so I +was--then,” he said. “Anybody would be a devil of a fellow who'd been +brought up as I was, with a doting parent who owns a trust and doesn't +know the proper value of money. And yet you expect me to be happy with +a fifty-cent limit game, and twenty miles of burned prairie. I tell you +I've never been broken to it. I don't know what not having your own way +means. And discipline! Why, every time I have to report one of my men to +the colonel I send for him afterward and give him a drink and apologize +to him. I tell you the army doesn't mean anything to me unless there's +something doing, and as there is no fighting out here I'm for the back +room of the Holland House and a rubber-tired automobile. Little old New +York is good enough for me!” + +As he spoke these fateful words of mutiny Lieutenant Ranson raised his +black eyes and snatched a swift side-glance at the face of Mary Cahill. +It was almost as though it were from her he sought his answer. He could +not himself have told what it was he would have her say. But ever since +the idea of leaving the army had come to him, Mary Cahill and the army +had become interchangeable and had grown to mean one and the same thing. +He fought against this condition of mind fiercely. He had determined +that without active service the army was intolerable; but that without +Mary Cahill civil life would also prove intolerable, he assured himself +did not at all follow. He had laughed at the idea. He had even argued it +out sensibly. Was it reasonable to suppose, he asked himself, that after +circling the great globe three times he should find the one girl on it +who alone could make him happy, sitting behind a post-trader's counter +on the open prairie? His interest in Miss Cahill was the result of +propinquity, that was all. It was due to the fact that there was no +one else at hand, because he was sorry for her loneliness, because her +absurd social ostracism had touched his sympathy. How long after he +reached New York would he remember the little comrade with the brave, +boyish eyes set in the delicate, feminine head, with its great waves of +gorgeous hair? It would not be long, he guessed. He might remember the +way she rode her pony, how she swung from her Mexican saddle and caught +up a gauntlet from the ground. Yes, he certainly would remember that, +and he would remember the day he had galloped after her and ridden with +her through the Indian village, and again that day when they rode to the +water-fall and the Lover's Leap. And he would remember her face at night +as it bent over the books he borrowed for her, which she read while they +were at mess, sitting in her high chair with her chin resting in her +palms, staring down at the book before her. And the trick she had, +whenever he spoke, of raising her head and looking into the fire, her +eyes lighting and her lips smiling. They would be pleasant memories, he +was sure. But once back again in the whirl and rush of the great world +outside of Fort Crockett, even as memories they would pass away. + +Mary Cahill made no outward answer to the rebellious utterance of +Lieutenant Ranson. She only bent her eyes on her book and tried to think +what the post would hold for her when he had carried out his threat and +betaken himself into the world and out of her life forever. Night after +night she had sat enthroned behind her barrier and listened to his talk, +wondering deeply. He had talked of a world she knew only in novels, in +history, and in books of travel. His view of it was not an educational +one: he was no philosopher, nor trained observer. He remembered +London--to her the capital of the world--chiefly by its restaurants, +Cairo on account of its execrable golf-links. He lived only to enjoy +himself. His view was that of a boy, hearty and healthy and seeking only +excitement and mischief. She had heard his tales of his brief career at +Harvard, of the reunions at Henry's American bar, of the Futurity, the +Suburban, the Grand Prix, of a yachting cruise which apparently had +encountered every form of adventure, from the rescuing of a stranded +opera-company to the ramming of a slaver's dhow. The regret with which +he spoke of these free days, which was the regret of an exile marooned +upon a desert island, excited all her sympathy for an ill she had never +known. His discourteous scorn of the social pleasures of the post, from +which she herself was excluded, rilled her with speculation. If he could +forego these functions, how full and gay she argued his former life must +have been. His attitude helped her to bear the deprivations more easily. +And she, as a loyal child of the army, liked him also because he was +no “cracker-box” captain, but a fighter, who had fought with no morbid +ideas as to the rights or wrongs of the cause, but for the fun of +fighting. + +And one night, after he had been telling the mess of a Filipino officer +who alone had held back his men and himself, and who at last died in his +arms cursing him, she went to sleep declaring to herself that Lieutenant +Ranson was becoming too like the man she had pictured for her husband +than was good for her peace of mind. He had told the story as his +tribute to a brave man fighting for his independence and with such +regret that such a one should have died so miserably, that, to the +embarrassment of the mess, the tears rolled down his cheeks. But he +wiped them away with his napkin as unconcernedly as though they were +caused by the pepper-box, and said simply, “He had sporting blood, he +had. I've never felt so bad about anything as I did about that chap. +Whenever I think of him standing up there with his back to the cathedral +all shot to pieces, but giving us what for until he died, it makes me +cry. So,” he added, blowing his nose vigorously, “I won't think of it +any more.” + +Tears are properly a woman's weapon, and when a man makes use of them, +even in spite of himself, he is taking an advantage over the other +sex which is unfair and outrageous. Lieutenant Ranson never knew the +mischief the sympathy he had shown for his enemy caused in the heart of +Mary Cahill, nor that from that moment she loved him deeply. + +The West Point graduates before they answered Ranson's ultimatum smoked +their cigarettes for some time in silence. + +“Oh, there's been fighting even at Fort Crockett,” said Crosby. “In the +last two years the men have been ordered out seven times, haven't they, +Miss Cahill? When the Indians got out of hand, and twice after cowboys, +and twice after the Red Rider.” + +“The Red Rider!” protested Ranson; “I don't see anything exciting in +rounding up one miserable horse thief.” + +“Only they don't round him up,” returned Curtis crossly. “That's why +it's exciting. He's the best in his business. He's held up the stage six +times now in a year. Whoever the fellow is, if he's one man or a gang of +men, he's the nerviest road-agent since the days of Abe Case.” + +Ranson in his then present mood was inclined toward pessimism. “It +doesn't take any nerve to hold up a coach,” he contradicted. + +Curtis and Crosby snorted in chorus. “That's what you say,” mocked +Curtis. + +“Well, it doesn't,” repeated Ranson. “It's all a game of bluff. The +etiquette is that the driver mustn't shoot the road-agent, and that the +road-agent mustn't hurt the driver, and the passengers are too scared +to move. The moment they see a man rise out of the night they throw up +their hands. Why, even when a passenger does try to pull his gun the +others won't let him. Each thinks sure that if there's any firing he +will be the one to get hurt. And, besides, they don't know how many more +men the road agent may have behind him. I don't---” + +A movement on the part of Miss Cahill caused him to pause abruptly. +Miss Cahill had descended from her throne and was advancing to meet the +post-trader, who came toward her from the exchange. + +“Lightfoot's squaw,” he said. “Her baby's worse. She's sent for you.” + +Miss Cahill gave a gasp of sympathy, snatched up her hat from the +counter, and the buffalo robes closed behind her. + +Ranson stooped and reached for his sombrero. With the flight of Miss +Cahill his interest in the courage of the Red Rider had departed also. + +But Crosby appealed to the new-comer, “Cahill, YOU know,” he said. +“We've been talking of the man they call the Red Rider, the chap that +wears a red bandanna over his face. Ranson says he hasn't any nerve. +That's not so, is it?” + +“I said it didn't take any nerve to hold up a stage,” said Ranson; “and +it doesn't.” + +The post-trader halted on his way back to the exchange and rubbed one +hand meditatively over the other arm. With him speech was golden and +difficult. After a pause he said: “Oh, he takes his chances.” + +“Of course he does,” cried Crosby, encouragingly. “He takes the chance +of being shot by the passengers, and of being caught by the posse and +lynched, but this man's got away with it now six times in the last year. +And I say that takes nerve.” + +“Why, for fifty dollars---” laughed Ranson. + +He checked himself, and glanced over his shoulder at the retreating +figure of Cahill. The buffalo robes fell again, and the spurs of +the post-trader could be heard jangling over the earth-floor of the +exchange. + +“For fifty dollars,” repeated Ranson, in brisk, businesslike tones, +“I'll rob the up stage to-night myself!” + +Previous knowledge of his moods, the sudden look of mischief in his eyes +and a certain vibration in his voice caused the two lieutenants to jump +simultaneously to their feet. “Ranson!” they shouted. + +Ranson laughed mockingly. “Oh, I'm bored to death,” he cried. “What will +you bet I don't?” + +He had risen with them, but, without waiting for their answer, ran to +where his horse stood at the open door. He sank on his knees and began +tugging violently at the stirrup-straps. The two officers, their eyes +filled with concern, pursued him across the room. With Cahill twenty +feet away, they dared not raise their voices, but in pantomime they +beckoned him vigorously to return. Ranson came at once, flushed and +smiling, holding a hooded army-stirrup in each hand. “Never do to have +them see these!” he said. He threw the stirrups from him, behind the row +of hogsheads. “I'll ride in the stirrup-straps!” He still spoke in the +same low, brisk tone. + +Crosby seized him savagely by the arm. “No, you won't!” he hissed. “Look +here, Ranson. Listen to me; for Heaven's sake don't be an ass! They'll +shoot you, you'll be killed---” + +--“And court-martialed,” panted Curtis. + +“You'll go to Leavenworth for the rest of your life!” + +Ranson threw off the detaining hand, and ran behind the counter. From a +lower shelf he snatched a red bandanna kerchief. From another he dragged +a rubber poncho, and buttoned it high about his throat. He picked up the +steel shears which lay upon the counter, and snipping two holes in the +red kerchief, stuck it under the brim of his sombrero. It fell before +his face like a curtain. From his neck to his knees the poncho concealed +his figure. All that was visible of him was his eyes, laughing through +the holes in the red mask. + +“Behold the Red Rider!” he groaned. “Hold up your hands!” + +He pulled the kerchief from his face and threw the poncho over his arm. +“Do you see these shears?” he whispered. “I'm going to hold up the stage +with 'em. No one ever fires at a road agent. They just shout, 'Don't +shoot, colonel, and I'll come down.' I'm going to bring 'em down with +these shears.” + +Crosby caught Curtis by the arm, laughing eagerly. “Come to the stables, +quick,” he cried. “We'll get twenty troopers after him before he can go +a half mile.” He turned on Ranson with a triumphant chuckle. “You'll not +be dismissed this regiment, if I can help it,” he cried. + +Ranson gave an ugly laugh, like the snarl of a puppy over his bone. “If +you try to follow me, or interfere with me, Lieutenant Crosby,” he said, +“I'll shoot you and your troopers!” + +“With a pair of shears?” jeered Crosby. + +“No, with the gun I've got in my pocket. Now you listen to me. I'm not +going to use that gun on any stage filled with women, driven by a man +seventy years old, but--and I mean it--if you try to stop me, I'll use +it on you. I'm going to show you how anyone can bluff a stage full with +a pair of tin shears and a red mask for a kicker. And I'll shoot the man +that tries to stop me.” + +Ranson sprang to his horse's side, and stuck his toe into the empty +stirrup-strap; there was a scattering of pebbles, a scurry of hoofs, and +the horse and rider became a gray blot in the moonlight. + +The two lieutenants stood irresolute. Under his breath Crosby was +swearing fiercely. Curtis stood staring out of the open door. + +“Will he do it?” he asked. + +“Of course he'll do it.” + +Curtis crossed the room and dropped into a chair. “And what--what had we +better do?” he asked. For some time the other made no answer. His brows +were knit, and he tramped the room, scowling at the floor. Then with an +exclamation of alarm he stepped lightly to the door of the exchange and +threw back the curtain. In the other room, Cahill stood at its furthest +corner, scooping sugar from a hogshead. + +Crosby's scowl relaxed, and, reseating himself at the table, he rolled +a cigarette. “Now, if he pulls it off,” he whispered, “and gets back to +quarters, then--it's a case of all's well. But, if he's shot, or caught, +and it all comes out, then it's up to us to prove he meant it as a +practical joke.” + +“It isn't our duty to report it now, is it?” asked Curtis, nervously. + +“Certainly not! If he chooses to make an ass of himself, that's none +of our business. Unless he's found out, we have heard nothing and seen +nothing. If he's caught, then we've got to stick by him, and testify +that he did it on a bet. He'll probably win out all right. There is +nobody expected on the stage but that Miss Post and her aunt. And the +driver's an old hand. He knows better than to fight.” + +“There may be some cowboys coming up.” + +“That's Ranson's lookout. As Cahill says, the Red Rider takes his +chances.” + +“I wish there was something we could do now,” Curtis protested, +petulantly. “I suppose we've just got to sit still and wait for him?” + +“That's all,” answered Crosby, and then leaped to his feet. “What's +that?” he asked. Out on the parade ground, a bugle-call broke suddenly +on the soft spring air. It rang like an alarm. The noise of a man +running swiftly sounded on the path, and before the officers reached the +doorway Sergeant Clancey entered it, and halted at attention. + +“The colonel's orders,” panted the sergeant, “and the lieutenant's are +to take twenty men from G and H Troops, and ride to Kiowa to escort the +paymaster.” + +“The paymaster!” Crosby cried. “He's not coming till Thursday.” + +“He's just telegraphed from Kiowa City, lieutenant. He's ahead of his +schedule. He wants an escort for the money. He left Kiowa a few minutes +ago in the up stage.” + +The two lieutenants sprang forward, and shouted in chorus: “The stage? +He is in the stage!” + +Sergeant Clancey stared dubiously from one officer to the other. He +misunderstood their alarm, and with the privilege of long service +attempted to allay it. “The lieutenant knows nothing can happen to the +stage till it reaches the buttes,” he said. “There has never been a +hold-up in the open, and the escort can reach the buttes long before +the stage gets here.” He coughed consciously. “Colonel's orders are to +gallop, lieutenant.” + +As the two officers rode knee to knee through the night, the pay escort +pounding the trail behind them, Crosby leaned from his saddle. “He +has only ten minutes' start of us,” he whispered. “We are certain to +overtake him. We can't help but do it. We must do it. We MUST! If we +don't, and he tries to stop Colonel Patten and the pay-roll, he'll die. +Two women and a deaf driver, that--that's a joke. But an Indian fighter +like old Patten, and Uncle Sam's money, that means a finish fight-and +his death and disgrace.” He turned savagely in his saddle. “Close up +there!” he commanded. “Stop that talking. You keep your breath till I +want it--and ride hard.” + +After the officers had galloped away from the messroom, and Sergeant +Clancey had hurried after them to the stables, the post-trader entered +it from the exchange and barred the door, which they in their haste had +left open. As he did this, the close observer, had one been present, +might have noted that though his movements were now alert and eager, +they no longer were betrayed by any sound, and that his spurs had ceased +to jangle. Yet that he purposed to ride abroad was evident from the fact +that from a far corner he dragged out a heavy saddle. He flung this upon +the counter, and swiftly stripped it of its stirrups. These, with more +than necessary care, he hid away upon the highest shelf of the shop, +while from the lower shelves he snatched a rubber poncho and a red +kerchief. For a moment, as he unbarred the door, the post-trader paused +and cast a quick glance before and behind him, and then the door closed +and there was silence. A minute later it was broken by the hoofs of a +horse galloping swiftly along the trail to Kiowa City. + + + + +II + + +That winter Miss Post had been going out a great deal more than was +good for her, and when the spring came she broke down. The family doctor +recommended Aiken, but an aunt of Miss Post's, Mrs. Truesdall, had +been at Farmington with Mrs. “Colonel” Bolland, and urged visiting her +instead. The doctor agreed that the climatic conditions existing at Fort +Crockett were quite as health-giving as those at Aiken, and of the two +the invalid decided that the regimental post would be more of a novelty. + +So she and her aunt and the maid changed cars twice after leaving St. +Louis and then staged it to Kiowa City, where, while waiting for “Pop” + Henderson's coach to Fort Crockett, they dined with him on bacon, fried +bread, and alkali water tinged with coffee. + +It was at Kiowa City, a city of four hundred houses on blue-print paper +and six on earth, that Miss Post first felt certain that she was going +to enjoy her visit. It was there she first saw, at large and on his +native heath, a blanket Indian. He was a tall, beautiful youth, with +yellow ochre on his thin, brown arms and blue ochre on his cheekbones, +who sat on “Pop's” steps, gazing impassively at the stars. Miss Post +came out with her maid and fell over him. The maid screamed. Miss Post +said: “I beg your pardon”; and the brave expressed his contempt by +gutteral mutterings and by moving haughtily away. Miss Post was then +glad that she had not gone to Aiken. For the twelve-mile drive through +the moonlit buttes to Fort Crockett there was, besides the women, one +other passenger. He was a travelling salesman of the Hancock Uniform +Company, and was visiting Fort Crockett to measure the officers for +their summer tunics. At dinner he passed Miss Post the condensed +milk-can, and in other ways made himself agreeable. He informed her aunt +that he was in the Military Equipment Department of the Army, but, much +to that young woman's distress, addressed most of his remarks to the +maid, who, to his taste, was the most attractive of the three. + +“I take it,” he said genially to Miss Post, “that you and the young lady +are sisters.” + +“No,” said Miss Post, “we are not related.” + +It was eight o'clock, and the moon was full in the heavens when “Pop” + Henderson hoisted them into the stage and burdened his driver, Hunk +Smith, with words of advice which were intended solely for the ears of +the passengers. + +“You want to be careful of that near wheeler, Hunk,” he said, “or he'll +upset you into a gully. An' in crossing the second ford, bear to the +right; the water's running high, and it may carry youse all down stream. +I don't want that these ladies should be drowned in any stage of mine. +An' if the Red Rider jumps you don't put up no bluff, but sit still. The +paymaster's due in a night or two, an' I've no doubt at all but that the +Rider's laying for him. But if you tell him that there's no one inside +but womenfolk and a tailor, mebbe he won't hurt youse. Now, ladies,” he +added, putting his head under the leather flap, as though unconscious +that all he had said had already reached them, “without wishing to make +you uneasy, I would advise your having your cash and jewelry ready in +your hands. With road-agents it's mostly wisest to do what they say, an' +to do it quick. Ef you give 'em all you've got, they sometimes go away +without spilling blood, though, such being their habits, naturally +disappointed.” He turned his face toward the shrinking figure of the +military tailor. “You, being an army man,” he said, “will of course want +to protect the ladies, but you mustn't do it. You must keep cool. Ef you +pull your gun, like as not you'll all get killed. But I'm hoping for the +best. Good-night all, an' a pleasant journey.” + +The stage moved off with many creaks and many cracks of the whip, which +in part smothered Hunk Smith's laughter. But after the first mile, he, +being a man with feelings and a family, pulled the mules to a halt. + +The voice of the drummer could instantly be heard calling loudly from +the darkness of the stage: “Don't open those flaps. If they see us, +they'll fire!” + +“I wanted you folks to know,” said Hunk Smith, leaning from the +box-seat, “that that talk of Pop's was all foolishness. You're as safe +on this trail as in a Pullman palace-car. That was just his way. Pop +will have his joke. You just go to sleep now, if you can, and trust to +me. I'll get you there by eleven o'clock or break a trace. Breakin' a +trace is all the danger there is, anyway,” he added, cheerfully, “so +don't fret.” + +Miss Post could not resist saying to Mrs. Truesdall: “I told you he was +joking.” + +The stage had proceeded for two hours. Sometimes it dropped with +locked wheels down sheer walls of clay, again it was dragged, careening +drunkenly, out of fathomless pits. It pitched and tossed, slid and +galloped, danced grotesquely from one wheel to another, from one stone +to another, recoiled out of ruts, butted against rocks, and swept down +and out of swollen streams that gurgled between the spokes. + +“If ever I leave Fort Crockett,” gasped Mrs. Truesdall between jolts, “I +shall either wait until they build a railroad or walk.” + +They had all but left the hills, and were approaching the level prairie. +That they might see the better the flaps had been rolled up, and +the soft dry air came freely through the open sides. The mules were +straining over the last hill. On either side only a few of the buttes +were still visible. They stood out in the moonlight as cleanly cut +as the bows of great battleships. The trail at last was level. Mrs. +Truesdall's eyes closed. Her head fell forward. But Miss Post, weary +as she was in body, could not sleep. To her the night-ride was full of +strange and wonderful mysteries. Gratefully she drank in the dry scent +of the prairie-grass, and, holding by the frame of the window, leaned +far out over the wheel. As she did so, a man sprang into the trail from +behind a wall of rock, and shouted hoarsely. He was covered to his knees +with a black mantle. His face was hidden by a blood-red mask. + +“Throw up your hands!” he commanded. There was a sharp creaking as the +brakes locked, and from the driver's seat an amazed oath. The stage +stopped with a violent jerk, and Mrs. Truesdall pitched gently forward +toward her niece. + +“I really believe I was asleep, Helen,” she murmured. “What are we +waiting for?” + +“I think we are held up,” said Miss Post. + +The stage had halted beyond the wall of rock, and Miss Post looked +behind it, but no other men were visible, only a horse with his bridle +drawn around a stone. The man in the mask advanced upon the stage, +holding a weapon at arm's-length. In the moonlight it flashed and +glittered evilly. The man was but a few feet from Miss Post, and the +light fell full upon her. Of him she could see only two black eyes that +flashed as evilly as his weapon. For a period of suspense, which seemed +cruelly prolonged, the man stood motionless, then he lowered his weapon. +When he opened his lips the mask stuck to them, and his words came from +behind it, broken and smothered. “Sorry to trouble you, miss,” the mask +said, “but I want that man beside you to get out.” + +Miss Post turned to the travelling salesman. “He wants you to get out,” + she said. + +“Wants me!” exclaimed the drummer. “I'm not armed, you know.” In a +louder voice he protested, faintly: “I say, I'm not armed.” + +“Come out!” demanded the mask. + +The drummer precipitated himself violently over the knees of the ladies +into the road below, and held his hands high above him. “I'm not armed,” + he said; “indeed I'm not.” + +“Stand over there, with your back to that rock,” the mask ordered. For +a moment the road agent regarded him darkly, pointing his weapon +meditatively at different parts of the salesman's person. He suggested +a butcher designating certain choice cuts. The drummer's muscles jerked +under the torture as though his anatomy were being prodded with an awl. + +“I want your watch,” said the mask. The drummer reached eagerly for his +waistcoat. + +“Hold up your hands!” roared the road agent. “By the eternal, if you +play any rough-house tricks on me I'll--” He flourished his weapon until +it flashed luminously. + +An exclamation from Hunk Smith, opportunely uttered, saved the drummer +from what was apparently instant annihilation. “Say, Rider,” cried the +driver, “I can't hold my arms up no longer. I'm going to put 'em down. +But you leave me alone, an' I'll leave you alone. Is that a bargain?” + The shrouded figure whirled his weapon upon the speaker. “Have I ever +stopped you before, Hunk?” he demanded. + +Hunk, at this recognition of himself as a public character, softened +instantly. “I dunno whether 'twas you or one of your gang, but--” + +“Well, you've still got your health, haven't you?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then keep quiet,” snarled the mask. + +In retort Hunk Smith muttered audible threatenings, but sank obediently +into an inert heap. Only his eyes, under cover of his sombrero, roamed +restlessly. They noted the McClellan saddle on the Red Rider's horse, +the white patch on its near fore-foot, the empty stirrup-straps, and at +a great distance, so great that the eyes only of a plainsman could have +detected it, a cloud of dust, or smoke, or mist, that rode above the +trail and seemed to be moving swiftly down upon them. + +At the sight, Hunk shifted the tobacco in his cheek and nervously +crossed his knees, while a grin of ineffable cunning passed across his +face. + +With his sombrero in his hand, the Red Rider stepped to the wheel of +the stage. As he did so, Miss Post observed that above the line of his +kerchief his hair was evenly and carefully parted in the middle. + +“I'm afraid, ladies,” said the road agent, “that I have delayed you +unnecessarily. It seems that I have called up the wrong number.” He +emitted a reassuring chuckle, and, fanning himself with his sombrero, +continued speaking in a tone of polite irony: “The Wells, Fargo +messenger is the party I am laying for. He's coming over this trail +with a package of diamonds. That's what I'm after. At first I thought +'Fighting Bob' over there by the rock might have it on him; but he +doesn't act like any Wells, Fargo Express agent I have ever tackled +before, and I guess the laugh's on me. I seem to have been weeping +over the wrong grave.” He replaced his sombrero on his head at a rakish +angle, and waved his hand. “Ladies, you are at liberty to proceed.” + +But instantly he stepped forward again, and brought his face so close to +the window that they could see the whites of his eyes. “Before we part,” + he murmured, persuasively, “you wouldn't mind leaving me something as a +souvenir, would you?” He turned the skull-like openings of the mask full +upon Miss Post. + +Mrs. Truesdall exclaimed, hysterically: “Why, certainly not!” she cried. +“Here's everything I have, except what's sewn inside my waist, where I +can't possibly get at it. I assure you I cannot. The proprietor of that +hotel told us we'd probably--meet you, and so I have everything ready.” + She thrust her two hands through the window. They held a roll of bills, +a watch, and her rings + +Miss Post laughed in an ecstasy of merriment “Oh, no, aunt,” she +protested, “don't. No, not at all. The gentleman only wants a keepsake. +Something to remember us by. Isn't that it?” she asked. She regarded the +blood-red mask steadily with a brilliant smile. + +The road agent did not at once answer. At her words he had started +back with such sharp suspicion that one might have thought he meditated +instant flight. Through the holes in his mask he now glared searchingly +at Miss Post, but still in silence. + +“I think this will satisfy him,” said Miss Post. + +Out of the collection in her aunt's hands she picked a silver coin +and held it forward. “Something to keep as a pocket-piece,” she said, +mockingly, “to remind you of your kindness to three lone females in +distress.” + +Still silent, the road agent reached for the money, and then growled +at her in a tone which had suddenly become gruff and overbearing. It +suggested to Miss Post the voice of the head of the family playing Santa +Claus for the children. “And now you, miss,” he demanded. + +Miss Post took another coin from the heap, studied its inscription, and +passed it through the window. “This one is from me,” she said. “Mine is +dated 1901. The moonlight,” she added, leaning far forward and smiling +out at him, “makes it quite easy to see the date; as easy,” she went +on, picking her words, “as it is to see your peculiar revolver and the +coat-of-arms on your ring.” She drew her head back. “Good-night,” she +cooed, sweetly. + +The Red Rider jumped from the door. An exclamation which might have been +a laugh or an oath was smothered by his mask. He turned swiftly upon the +salesman. “Get back into the coach,” he commanded. “And you, Hunk,” he +called, “if you send a posse after me, next night I ketch you out here +alone you'll lose the top of your head.” + +The salesman scrambled into the stage through the door opposite the one +at which the Red Rider was standing, and the road agent again raised +his sombrero with a sweeping gesture worthy of D'Artagnan. “Good-night, +ladies,” he said. + +“Good-night, sir,” Mrs. Truesdall answered, grimly, but exuding a +relieved sigh. Then, her indignation giving her courage, she leaned from +the window and hurled a Parthian arrow. “I must say,” she protested, “I +think you might be in a better business.” + +The road agent waved his hand to the young lady. “Good-by,” he said. + +“Au revoir,” said Miss Post, pleasantly. + +“Good-by, miss,” stammered the road agent, + +“I said 'Au revoir,'” repeated Miss Post. + +The road agent, apparently routed by these simple words, fled muttering +toward his horse. + +Hunk Smith was having trouble with his brake. He kicked at it and, +stooping, pulled at it, but the wheels did not move. + +Mrs. Truesdall fell into a fresh panic. “What is it now?” she called, +miserably. + +Before he answered, Hunk Smith threw a quick glance toward the column of +moving dust. He was apparently reassured. + +“The brake,” he grunted. “The darned thing's stuck!” + +The road agent was tugging at the stone beneath which he had slipped +his bridle. “Can I help?” he asked, politely. But before he reached +the stage, he suddenly stopped with an imperative sweep of his arm +for silence. He stood motionless, his body bent to the ground, leaning +forward and staring down the trail. Then he sprang upright. “You old +fox!” he roared, “you're gaining time, are you?” + +With a laugh he tore free his bridle and threw himself across his horse. +His legs locked under it, his hands clasped its mane, and with a cowboy +yell he dashed past the stage in the direction of Kiowa City, his voice +floating back in shouts of jeering laughter. From behind him he heard +Hunk Smith's voice answering his own in a cry for “Help!” and from a +rapidly decreasing distance the throb of many hoofs. For an instant he +drew upon his rein, and then, with a defiant chuckle, drove his spurs +deep into his horse's side. + +Mrs. Truesdall also heard the pounding of many hoofs, as well as Hunk +Smith's howls for help, and feared a fresh attack. “Oh, what is it?” she +begged. + +“Soldiers from the fort,” Hunk called, excitedly, and again raised his +voice in a long, dismal howl. + +“Sounds cheery, doesn't it?” said the salesman; “referring to the +soldiers,” he explained. It was his first coherent remark since the Red +Rider had appeared and disappeared. + +“Oh, I hope they won't--” began Miss Post, anxiously. + +The hoof-beats changed to thunder, and with the pounding on the dry +trail came the jangle of stirrups and sling-belts. Then a voice, and +the coach was surrounded by dust-covered troopers and horses breathing +heavily. Lieutenant Crosby pulled up beside the window of the stage. +“Are you there, Colonel Patten?” he panted. He peered forward into the +stage, but no one answered him. “Is the paymaster in here?” he demanded. + +The voice of Lieutenant Curtis shouted in turn at Hunk Smith. “Is the +paymaster in there, driver?” + +“Paymaster? No!” Hunk roared. “A drummer and three ladies. We've been +held up. The Red Rider--” He rose and waved his whip over the top of the +coach. “He went that way. You can ketch him easy.” + +Sergeant Clancey and half a dozen troopers jerked at their bridles. But +Crosby, at the window, shouted “Halt!” + +“What's your name?” he demanded of the salesman. + +“Myers,” stammered the drummer. “I'm from the Hancock Uniform--” + +Curtis had spurred his horse beside that of his brother officer. “Is +Colonel Patten at Kiowa?” he interrupted. + +“I can't give you any information as to that,” replied Mr. Myers, +importantly; “but these ladies and I have just been held up by the Red +Rider. If you'll hurry you'll--” + +The two officers pulled back their horses from the stage and, leaning +from their saddles, consulted in eager whispers. Their men fidgeted with +their reins, and stared with amazed eyes at their officers. Lieutenant +Crosby was openly smiling, “He's got away with it,” he whispered. +“Patten missed the stage, thank God, and he's met nothing worse than +these women.” + +“We MUST make a bluff at following him,” whispered Curtis. + +“Certainly not! Our orders are to report to Colonel Patten, and act as +his escort.” + +“But he's not at Kiowa; that fellow says so.” + +“He telegraphed the Colonel from Kiowa,” returned Crosby. “How could he +do that if he wasn't there?” He turned upon Hunk Smith. “When did you +leave Henderson's?” he demanded. + +“Seven o'clock,” answered Hunk Smith, sulkily. “Say, if you young +fellows want to catch--” + +“And Patten telegraphed at eight,” cried Crosby. “That's it. He reached +Kiowa after the stage had gone. Sergeant Clancey!” he called. + +The Sergeant pushed out from the mass of wondering troopers. + +“When did the paymaster say he was leaving Kiowa?” + +“Leaving at once, the telegram said,” answered Clancey. + +“'Meet me with escort before I reach the buttes.' That's the message I +was told to give the lieutenant.” + +Hunk Smith leaned from the box-seat. “Mebbe Pop's driving him over +himself in the buckboard,” he volunteered. “Pop often takes 'em over +that way if they miss the stage.” + +“That's how it is, of course,” cried Crosby. “He's on his way now in the +buckboard.” + +Hunk Smith surveyed the troopers dismally and shook his head. “If he +runs up against the Red Rider, it's 'good-by' your pay, boys,” he cried. + +“Fall in there!” shouted Crosby. “Corporal Tynan, fall out with two men +and escort these ladies to the fort.” He touched his hat to Miss Post, +and, with Curtis at his side, sprang into the trail. “Gallop! March!” he +commanded. + +“Do you think he'll tackle the buckboard, too?” whispered Curtis. + +Crosby laughed joyously and drew a long breath of relief. + +“No, he's all right now,” he answered. “Don't you see, he doesn't know +about Patten or the buckboard. He's probably well on his way to the post +now. I delayed the game at the stage there on purpose to give him a good +start. He's safe by now.” + +“It was a close call,” laughed the other. “He's got to give us a dinner +for helping him out of this.” + +“We'd have caught him red-handed,” said Crosby, “if we'd been five +minutes sooner. Lord!” he gasped. “It makes me cold to think of it. The +men would have shot him off his horse. But what a story for those women! +I hope I'll be there when they tell it. If Ranson can keep his face +straight, he's a wonder.” For some moments they raced silently neck +by neck, and then Curtis again leaned from his saddle. “I hope he HAS +turned back to the post,” he said. “Look at the men how they're keeping +watch for him. They're scouts, all of them.” + +“What if they are?” returned Crosby, easily. “Ranson's in uniform--out +for a moonlight canter. You can bet a million dollars he didn't wear his +red mask long after he heard us coming.” + +“I suppose he'll think we've followed to spoil his fun. You know you +said we would.” + +“Yes, he was going to shoot us,” laughed Crosby. “I wonder why he packs +a gun. It's a silly thing to do.” + +The officers fell apart again, and there was silence over the prairie, +save for the creaking of leather and the beat of the hoofs. And then, +faint and far away, there came the quick crack of a revolver, another, +and then a fusillade. “My God!” gasped Crosby. He threw himself forwards +digging his spurs into his horse, and rode as though he were trying to +escape from his own men. + +No one issued an order, no one looked a question; each, officer and +enlisted man, bowed his head and raced to be the first. + +The trail was barricaded by two struggling horses and an overturned +buckboard. The rigid figure of a man lay flat upon his back staring at +the moon, another white-haired figure staggered forward from a rock. +“Who goes there?” it demanded. + +“United States troops. Is that you, Colonel Patten?” + +“Yes.” + +Colonel Patten's right arm was swinging limply at his side. With +his left hand he clasped his right shoulder. The blood, black in the +moonlight, was oozing between his fingers. + +“We were held up,” he said. “He shot the driver and the horses. I fired +at him, but he broke my arm. He shot the gun out of my hand. When he +reached for the satchel I tried to beat him off with my left arm, but he +threw me into the road. He went that way--toward Kiowa.” + +Sergeant Clancey, who was kneeling by the figure in the trail, raised +his hand in salute. “Pop Henderson, lieutenant,” he said. “He's shot +through the heart. He's dead.” + +“He took the money, ten thousand dollars,” cried Colonel Patten. “He +wore a red mask and a rubber poncho. And I saw that he had no stirrups +in his stirrup-straps.” + +Crosby dodged, as though someone had thrown a knife, and then raised his +hand stiffly and heavily. + +“Lieutenant Curtis, you will remain here with Colonel Patten,” he +ordered. His voice was without emotion. It fell flat and dead. “Deploy +as skirmishers,” he commanded. “G Troop to the fight of the trail, H +Troop to the left. Stop anyone you see--anyone. If he tries to escape, +cry 'Halt!' twice and then fire--to kill. Forward! Gallop! March! Toward +the post.” + +“No!” shouted Colonel Patten. “He went toward Kiowa.” + +Crosby replied in the same dead voice: “He doubled after he left you, +colonel. He has gone to the post.” + +Colonel Patten struggled from the supporting arms that held him and +leaned eagerly forward. “You know him, then?” he demanded. + +“Yes,” cried Crosby, “God help him! Spread out there, you, in open +order--and ride like hell!” + +Just before the officers' club closed for the night Lieutenant Ranson +came in and, seating himself at the piano, picked out “The Queen of the +Philippine Islands” with one finger. Major Stickney and others who were +playing bridge were considerably annoyed. Ranson then demanded that +everyone present should drink his health in champagne for the reason +that it was his birthday and that he was glad he was alive, and wished +everyone else to feel the same way about it. “Or, for any other reason +why,” he added generously. This frontal attack upon the whist-players +upset the game entirely, and Ranson, enthroned upon the piano-stool, +addressed the room. He held up a buckskin tobacco-bag decorated with +beads. + +“I got this down at the Indian village to-night,” he said. “That old +squaw, Red Wing, makes 'em for two dollars. Crosby paid five dollars for +his in New Mexico, and it isn't half as good. What do you think? I got +lost coming back, and went all the way round by the buttes before I +found the trail, and I've only been here six months. They certainly +ought to make me chief of scouts.” + +There was the polite laugh which is granted to any remark made by the +one who is paying for the champagne. + +“Oh, that's where you were, was it?” said the post-adjutant, genially. +“The colonel sent Clancey after you and Crosby. Clancey reported that +he couldn't find you. So we sent Curtis. They went to act as escort +for Colonel Patten and the pay. He's coming up to-night in the stage.” + Ranson was gazing down into his glass. Before he raised his head he +picked several pieces of ice out of it and then drained it. + +“The paymaster, hey?” he said. “He's in the stage to-night, is he?” + +“Yes,” said the adjutant; and then as the bugle and stamp of hoofs +sounded from the parade outside, “and that's him now, I guess,” he +added. + +Ranson refilled his glass with infinite care, and then, in spite of a +smile that twitched at the corners of his mouth, emptied it slowly. + +There was the jingle of spurs and a measured tramp on the veranda of +the club-house, and for the first time in its history four enlisted men, +carrying their Krags, invaded its portals. They were led by Lieutenant +Crosby; his face was white under the tan, and full of suffering. The +officers in the room received the intrusion in amazed silence. Crosby +strode among them, looking neither to the left nor right, and touched +Lieutenant Ranson upon the shoulder. + +“The colonel's orders, Lieutenant Ranson,” he said. “You are under +arrest.” + +Ranson leaned back against the music-rack and placed his glass upon the +keyboard. One leg was crossed over the other, and he did not remove it. + +“Then you can't take a joke,” he said in a low tone. “You had to run +and tell.” He laughed and raised his voice so that all in the club might +hear, “What am I arrested for, Crosby?” he asked. + +The lines in Crosby's face deepened, and only those who sat near could +hear him. “You are under arrest for attempting to kill a superior +officer, for the robbery of the government pay-train--and for murder.” + +Ranson jumped to his feet. “My God, Crosby!” he cried. + +“Silence! Don't talk!” ordered Crosby. “Come along with me.” + +The four troopers fell in in rear of Lieutenant Crosby and their +prisoner. He drew a quick, frightened breath, and then, throwing back +his shoulders, fell into step, and the six men tramped from the club and +out into the night. + + + + +III + + +That night at the post there was little sleep for any one. The feet +of hurrying orderlies beat upon the parade-ground, the windows of the +Officers' Club blazed defiantly, and from the darkened quarters of the +enlisted men came the sound of voices snarling in violent vituperation. +At midnight, half of Ranson's troop, having attacked the rest of +the regiment with cavalry-boots, were marched under arrest to the +guard-house. As they passed Ranson's hut, where he still paced the +veranda, a burning cigarette attesting his wakefulness, they cheered him +riotously. At two o'clock it was announced from the hospital that both +patients were out of danger; for it had developed that, in his hurried +diagnosis, Sergeant Clancey had located Henderson's heart six inches +from where it should have been. + +When one of the men who guarded Ranson reported this good news the +prisoner said, “Still, I hope they'll hang whoever did it. They +shouldn't hang a man for being a good shot and let him off because he's +a bad one.” + +At the time of the hold-up Mary Cahill had been a half-mile distant from +the post at the camp of the Kiowas, where she had gone in answer to the +cry of Lightfoot's squaw. When she returned she found Indian Pete in +charge of the exchange. Her father, he told her, had ridden to the +Indian village in search of her. As he spoke the post-trader appeared. +“I'm sorry I missed you,” his daughter called to him. + +At the sound Cahill pulled his horse sharply toward the corral. “I had +a horse-deal on--with the chief,” he answered over his shoulder. “When I +got to Lightfoot's tent you had gone.” + +After he had dismounted, and was coming toward her, she noted that his +right hand was bound in a handkerchief, and exclaimed with apprehension. + +“It is nothing,” Cahill protested. “I was foolin' with one of the new +regulation revolvers, with my hand over the muzzle. Ball went through +the palm.” + +Miss Cahill gave a tremulous cry and caught the injured hand to her +lips. + +Her father snatched it from her roughly. + +“Let go!” he growled. “It serves me right.” + +A few minutes later Mary Cahill, bearing liniment for her father's hand, +knocked at his bedroom and found it empty. When she peered from the top +of the stairs into the shop-window below she saw him busily engaged with +his one hand buckling the stirrup-straps of his saddle. + +When she called, he sprang upright with an oath. He had faced her so +suddenly that it sounded as though he had sworn, not in surprise, but at +her. + +“You startled me,” he murmured. His eyes glanced suspiciously from her +to the saddle. “These stirrup-straps--they're too short,” he announced. +“Pete or somebody's been using my saddle.” + +“I came to bring you this 'first-aid' bandage for your hand,” said his +daughter. + +Cahill gave a shrug of impatience. + +“My hand's all right,” he said; “you go to bed. I've got to begin taking +account of stock.” + +“To-night?” + +“There's no time by day. Go to bed.” + +For nearly an hour Miss Cahill lay awake listening to her father moving +about in the shop below. Never before had he spoken roughly to her, and +she, knowing how much the thought that he had done so would distress +him, was herself distressed. + +In his lonely vigil on the veranda, Ranson looked from the post down +the hill to where the light still shone from Mary Cahill's window. He +wondered if she had heard the news, and if it were any thought of him +that kept sleep from her. + +“You ass! you idiot!” he muttered. “You've worried and troubled her. She +believes one of her precious army is a thief and a murderer.” He cursed +himself picturesquely, but the thought that she might possibly be +concerned on his account, did not, he found, distress him as greatly +as it should. On the contrary, as he watched the light his heart glowed +warmly. And long after the light went out he still looked toward the +home of the post-trader, his brain filled with thoughts of his return +to his former life outside the army, the old life to which he vowed he +would not return alone. + +The next morning Miss Cahill learned the news when the junior officer +came to mess and explained why Ranson was not with them. Her only +comment was to at once start for his quarters with his breakfast in a +basket. She could have sent it by Pete, but, she argued, when one of her +officers was in trouble that was not the time to turn him over to the +mercies of a servant. No, she assured herself, it was not because +the officer happened to be Ranson. She would have done as much, or as +little, for any one of them. When Curtis and Haines were ill of the +grippe, had she not carried them many good things of her own making? + +But it was not an easy sacrifice. As she crossed the parade-ground she +recognized that over-night Ranson's hut, where he was a prisoner in his +own quarters, had become to the post the storm-centre of interest, +and to approach it was to invite the attention of the garrison. At +head-quarters a group of officers turned and looked her way, there was a +flutter among the frocks on Mrs. Bolland's porch, and the enlisted men, +smoking their pipes on the rail of the barracks, whispered together. +When she reached Ranson's hut over four hundred pairs of eyes were upon +her, and her cheeks were flushing. Ranson came leaping to the gate, +and lifted the basket from her arm as though he were removing an +opera-cloak. He set it upon the gate-post, and nervously clasped the +palings of the gate with both hands. He had not been to bed, but that +fact alone could not explain the strangeness of his manner. Never before +had she seen him disconcerted or abashed. + +“You shouldn't have done it,” he stammered. “Indeed, indeed, you are +much too good. But you shouldn't have come.” + +His voice shook slightly. + +“Why not?” asked Mary Cahill. “I couldn't let you go hungry.” + +“You know it isn't that,” he said; “it's your coming here at all. Why, +only three of the fellows have been near me this morning. And they +only came from a sense of duty. I know they did--I could feel it. You +shouldn't have come here. I'm not a proper person; I'm an outlaw. You +might think this was a pest-house, you might think I was a leper. +Why, those Stickney girls have been watching me all morning through a +field-glass.” He clasped and unclasped his fingers around the palings. +“They believe I did it,” he protested, with the bewildered accents of a +child. “They all believe it.” + +Miss Cahill laughed. The laugh was quieting and comforting. It brought +him nearer to earth, and her next remark brought him still further. + +“Have you had any breakfast?” she asked. + +“Breakfast!” stammered Ranson. “No. The guard brought some, but I +couldn't eat it. This thing has taken the life out of me--to think sane, +sensible people--my own people--could believe that I'd steal, that I'd +kill a man for money.” + +“Yes, I know,” said Miss Cahill soothingly; “but you've not had any +sleep, and you need your coffee.” She lifted the lid of the basket. +“It's getting cold,” she said. “Don't you worry about what people think. +You must remember you're a prisoner now under arrest. You can't expect +the officers to run over here as freely as they used to. What do you +want?” she laughed. “Do you think the colonel should parade the band and +give you a serenade?” For a moment Ranson stared at her dully, and then +his sense of proportion returned to him. He threw back his head and +laughed with her joyfully. + +From verandas, barracks, and headquarters, the four hundred pairs of +eyes noted this evidence of heartlessness with varied emotions. But, +unmindful of them, Ranson now leaned forward, the eager, searching look +coming back into his black eyes. They were so close to Mary Cahill's +that she drew away. He dropped his voice to a whisper and spoke swiftly. + +“Miss Cahill, whatever happens to me I won't forget this. I won't forget +your coming here and throwing heart into me. You were the only one who +did. I haven't asked you if you believe that I--” + +She raised her eyes reproachfully and smiled. “You know you don't have +to do that,” she said. + +The prisoner seized the palings as though he meant to pull apart the +barrier between them. He drew a long breath like one inhaling a draught +of clean morning air. + +“No,” he said, his voice ringing, “I don't have to do that.” + +He cast a swift glance to the left and right. The sentry's bayonet was +just disappearing behind the corner of the hut. To the four hundred +other eyes around the parade-ground Lieutenant Ranson's attitude +suggested that he was explaining to Cahill's daughter what he wanted +for his luncheon. His eyes held her as firmly as though the palings he +clasped were her two hands. + +“Mary,” he said, and the speaking of her name seemed to stop the +beating of his heart. “Mary,” he whispered, as softly as though he were +beginning a prayer, “you're the bravest, the sweetest, the dearest girl +in all the world. And I've known it for months, and now you must know. +And there'll never be any other girl in my life but you.” + +Mary Cahill drew away from him in doubt and wonder. + +“I didn't mean to tell you just yet,” he whispered, “but now that I've +seen you I can't help it. I knew it last night when I stood back there +and watched your windows, and couldn't think of this trouble, nor of +anything else, but just you. And you've got to promise me, if I get out +of this all right--you must--must promise me--” + +Mary Cahill's eyes, as she raised them to his, were moist and glowing. +They promised him with a great love and tenderness. But at the sight +Ranson protested wildly. + +“No,” he whispered, “you mustn't promise--anything. I shouldn't have +asked it. After I'm out of this, after the court-martial, then you've +got to promise that you'll never, never leave me.” + +Miss Cahill knit her hands together and turned away her head. The +happiness in her heart rose to her throat like a great melody and choked +her. Before her, exposed in the thin spring sunshine, was the square +of ugly brown cottages, the bare parade-ground, in its centre Trumpeter +Tyler fingering his bugle, and beyond on every side an ocean of +blackened prairie. But she saw nothing of this. She saw instead a +beautiful world opening its arms to her, a world smiling with sunshine, +glowing with color, singing with love and content. + +She turned to him with all that was in her heart showing in her face. + +“Don't!” he begged, tremblingly, “don't answer. I couldn't bear it--if +you said 'no' to me.” He jerked his head toward the men who guarded him. +“Wait until I'm tried, and not in disgrace.” He shook the gate between +them savagely as though it actually held him a prisoner. + +Mary Cahill raised her head proudly. + +“You have no right. You've hurt me,” she whispered. “You hurt me.” + +“Hurt you?” he cried. + +She pressed her hands together. It was impossible to tell him, it was +impossible to speak of what she felt; of the pride, of the trust and +love, to disclose this new and wonderful thing while the gate was +between them, while the sentries paced on either side, while the curious +eyes of the garrison were fastened upon her. + +“Oh, can't you see?” she whispered. “As though I cared for a +court-martial! I KNOW you. You are just the same. You are just what you +have always been to me--what you always will be to me.” + +She thrust her hand toward him and he seized it in both of his, and then +released it instantly, and, as though afraid of his own self-control, +backed hurriedly from her, and she turned and walked rapidly away. + +Captain Carr, who had been Ranson's captain in the Philippines, and +who was much his friend, had been appointed to act as his counsel. When +later that morning he visited his client to lay out a line of defence he +found Ranson inclined to treat the danger which threatened him with the +most arrogant flippancy. He had never seen him in a more objectionable +mood. + +“You can call the charge 'tommy-rot' if you like,” Carr protested, +sharply. “But, let me tell you that's not the view any one else takes +of it, and if you expect the officers of the court-martial and the civil +authorities to take that view of it you've got to get down to work and +help me prove that it IS 'tommy rot.' That Miss Post, as soon as she got +here, when she thought it was only a practical joke, told them that the +road agent threatened her with a pair of shears. Now, Crosby and Curtis +will testify that you took a pair of shears from Cahill's, and from what +Miss Post saw of your ring she can probably identify that, too; so--” + +“Oh, we concede the shears,” declared Ranson, waving his hand grandly. +“We admit the first hold-up.” + +“The devil we do!” returned Carr. “Now, as your counsel, I advise +nothing of the sort.” + +“You advise me to lie?” + +“Sir!” exclaimed Carr. “A plea of not guilty is only a legal form. When +you consider that the first hold-up in itself is enough to lose you your +commission--” + +“Well, it's MY commission,” said Ranson. “It was only a silly joke, +anyway. And the War Department must have some sense of humor or it +wouldn't have given me a commission in the first place. Of course, we'll +admit the first hold-up, but we won't stand for the second one. I had no +more to do with that than with the Whitechapel murders.” + +“How are we to prove that?” demanded Carr. “Where's your alibi? Where +were you after the first hold-up?” + +“I was making for home as fast as I could cut,” said Ranson. He suddenly +stopped in his walk up and down the room and confronted his counsel +sternly. “Captain,” he demanded, “I wish you to instruct me on a point +of law.” + +Carr's brow relaxed. He was relieved to find that Ranson had awakened to +the seriousness of the charges against him. + +“That's what I'm here for,” he said, encouragingly. + +“Well, captain,” said Ranson, “if an officer is under arrest as I am and +confined to his quarters, is he or is he not allowed to send to the club +for a bottle of champagne?” + +“Really, Ranson!” cried the captain, angrily, “you are impossible.” + +“I only want to celebrate,” said Ranson, meekly. “I'm a very happy +man; I'm the happiest man on earth. I want to ride across the prairie +shooting off both guns and yelling like a cowboy. Instead of which I am +locked up indoors and have to talk to you about a highway robbery +which does not amuse me, which does not concern me--and of which I +know nothing and care less. Now, YOU are detailed to prove me innocent. +That's your duty, and you ought to do your duty, But don't drag me in. +I've got much more important things to think about.” + +Bewilderment, rage, and despair were written upon the face of the +captain. + +“Ranson!” he roared. “Is this a pose, or are you mad? Can't you +understand that you came very near to being hanged for murder and that +you are in great danger of going to jail for theft? Let me put before +you the extremely unpleasant position in which you have been ass enough +to place yourself. You don't quite seem to grasp it. You tell two +brother-officers that you are going to rob the stage. To do so you +disguise yourself in a poncho and a red handkerchief, and you remove the +army-stirrups from your stirrup-leathers. You then do rob this coach, or +at least hold it up, and you are recognized. A few minutes later, in the +same trail and in the same direction you have taken, there is a second +hold-up, this time of the paymaster. The man who robs the paymaster +wears a poncho and a red kerchief, and he has no stirrups in his +stirrup-leathers. The two hold-ups take place within a half-mile of +each other, within five minutes of each other. Now, is it reasonable to +believe that last night two men were hiding in the buttes intent +upon robbery, each in an army poncho, each wearing a red bandanna +handkerchief, and each riding without stirrups? Between believing in +such a strange coincidence and that you did it, I'll be hanged if I +don't believe you did it.” + +“I don't blame you,” said Ranson. “What can I do to set your mind at +rest?” + +“Well, tell me exactly what persons knew that you meant to hold up the +stage.” + +“Curtis and Crosby; no one else.” + +“Not even Cahill?” + +“No, Cahill came in just before I said I would stop the stage, but I +remember particularly that before I spoke I waited for him to get back +to the exchange.” + +“And Crosby tells me,” continued Carr, “that the instant you had gone he +looked into the exchange and saw Cahill at the farthest corner from the +door. He could have heard nothing.” + +“If you ask me, I think you've begun at the wrong end,” said Ranson. “If +I were looking for the Red Rider I'd search for him in Kiowa City.” + +“Why?” + +“Because, at this end no one but a few officers knew that the paymaster +was coming, while in Kiowa everybody in the town knew it, for they saw +him start. It would be very easy for one of those cowboys to ride ahead +and lie in wait for him in the buttes. There are several tough specimens +in Kiowa. Any one of them would rob a man for twenty dollars--let alone +ten thousand. There's 'Abe' Fisher and Foster King, and the Chase boys, +and I believe old 'Pop' Henderson himself isn't above holding up one of +his own stages.” + +“He's above shooting himself in the lungs,” said Carr. “Nonsense. No, +I am convinced that someone followed you from this post, and perhaps +Cahill can tell us who that was. I sent for him this morning, and he's +waiting at my quarters now. Suppose I ask him to step over here, so that +we can discuss it together.” + +Before he answered, Ranson hesitated, with his eyes on the ground. He +had no way of knowing whether Mary Cahill had told her father anything +of what he had said to her that morning. But if she had done so, he did +not want to meet Cahill in the presence of a third party for the first +time since he had learned the news. + +“I'll tell you what I wish you would do,” he said. “I wish you'd let me +see Cahill first, by myself. What I want to see him about has nothing to +do with the hold-up,” he added. “It concerns only us two, but I'd like +to have it out of the way before we consult him as a witness.” + +Carr rose doubtfully. “Why, certainly,” he said; “I'll send him over, +and when you're ready for me step out on the porch and call. I'll be +sitting on my veranda. I hope you've had no quarrel with Cahill--I mean +I hope this personal matter is nothing that will prejudice him against +you.” + +Ranson smiled. “I hope not, too,” he said. “No, we've not +quarrelled--yet,” he added. + +Carr still lingered. “Cahill is like to be a very important witness for +the other side--” + +“I doubt it,” said Ranson, easily. “Cahill's a close-mouthed chap, but +when he does talk he talks to the point and he'll tell the truth. That +can't hurt us.” + +As Cahill crossed the parade-ground from Captain Carr's quarters on his +way to Ranson's hut his brain was crowded swiftly with doubts, memories, +and resolves. For him the interview held no alarms. He had no misgivings +as to its outcome. For his daughter's sake he was determined that he +himself must not be disgraced in her eyes and that to that end Ranson +must be sacrificed. It was to make a lady of her, as he understood what +a lady should be, that on six moonlit raids he had ventured forth in his +red mask and robbed the Kiowa stage. That there were others who roamed +abroad in the disguise of the Red Rider he was well aware. There were +nights the stage was held up when he was innocently busy behind his +counter in touch with the whole garrison. Of these nights he made much. +They were alibis furnished by his rivals. They served to keep suspicion +from himself, and he, working for the same object, was indefatigable +in proclaiming that all the depredations of the Red Rider showed the +handiwork of one and the same individual. + +“He comes from Kiowa of course,” he would point out. “Some feller who +lives where the stage starts, and knows when the passengers carry +money. You don't hear of him holding up a stage full of recruits or +cow-punchers. It's always the drummers and the mine directors that the +Red Rider lays for. How does he know they're in the stage if he don't +see 'em start from Kiowa? Ask 'Pop' Henderson. Ask 'Abe' Fisher. Mebbe +they know more than they'd care to tell.” + +The money which at different times Cahill had taken from the Kiowa stage +lay in a New York bank, and the law of limitation made it now possible +for him to return to that city and claim it. Already his savings were +sufficient in amount to support both his daughter and himself in one of +those foreign cities, of which she had so often told him and for which +he knew she hungered. And for the last five years he had had no other +object in living than to feed her wants. Through some strange trick of +the mind he remembered suddenly and vividly a long-forgotten scene +in the back room of McTurk's, when he was McTurk's bouncer. The night +before a girl had killed herself in this same back room; she made +the third who had done so in the month. He recalled the faces of the +reporters eyeing McTurk in cold distaste as that terror of the Bowery +whimpered before them on his knees. “But my daughters will read it,” + he had begged. “Suppose they believe I'm what you call me. Don't go and +give me a bad name to them, gentlemen. It ain't my fault the girl's +died here. You wouldn't have my daughters think I'm to blame for that? +They're ladies, my daughters, they're just out of the convent, and they +don't know that there is such women in the world as come to this place. +And I can't have 'em turned against their old pop. For God's sake, +gentlemen, don't let my girls know!” + +Cahill remembered the contempt he had felt for his employer as he pulled +him to his feet, but now McTurk's appeal seemed just and natural. His +point of view was that of the loving and considerate parent. In Cahill's +mind there was no moral question involved. If to make his girl rich and +a lady, and to lift her out of the life of the Exchange, was a sin the +sin was his own and he was willing to “stand for it.” And, like McTurk, +he would see that the sin of the father was not visited upon the child. +Ranson was rich, foolishly, selfishly rich; his father was a United +States Senator with influence enough, and money enough, to fight the +law--to buy his son out of jail. Sooner than his daughter should know +that her father was one of those who sometimes wore the mask of the Red +Rider, Ranson, for all he cared, could go to jail, or to hell. With this +ultimatum in his mind, Cahill confronted his would-be son-in-law with a +calm and assured countenance. + +Ranson greeted him with respectful deference, and while Cahill seated +himself, Ranson, chatting hospitably, placed cigars and glasses before +him. He began upon the subject that touched him the most nearly. + +“Miss Cahill was good enough to bring up my breakfast this morning,” he +said. “Has she told you of what I said to her?” + +Cahill shook his head. “No, I haven't seen her. We've been taking +account of stock all morning.” + +“Then--then you've heard nothing from her about me?” said Ranson. + +The post trader raised his head in surprise. “No. Captain Carr spoke +to me about your arrest, and then said you wanted to see me first +about something private.” The post trader fixed Ranson with his keen, +unwavering eyes. “What might that be?” he asked. + +“Well, it doesn't matter now,” stammered Ranson; “I'll wait until Miss +Cahill tells you.” + +“Any complaint about the food?” inquired the post trader. + +Ranson laughed nervously. “No, it's not that,” he said. He rose, and, +to protect what Miss Cahill evidently wished to remain a secret, changed +the subject. “You see you've lived in these parts so long, Mr. Cahill,” + he explained, “and you know so many people, I thought maybe you could +put me on the track or give me some hint as to which of that Kiowa gang +really did rob the paymaster.” Ranson was pulling the cork from the +whiskey bottle, and when he asked the question Cahill pushed his glass +from him and shook his head. Ranson looked up interrogatively and +smiled. “You mean you think I did it myself?” he asked. + +“I didn't understand from Captain Carr,” the post trader began in heavy +tones, “that it's my opinion you're after. He said I might be wanted to +testify who was present last night in my store.” + +“Certainly, that's all we want,” Ranson answered, genially. “I only +thought you might give me a friendly pointer or two on the outside. And, +of course, if it's your opinion I did the deed we certainly don't want +your opinion. But that needn't prevent your taking a drink with me, need +it? Don't be afraid. I'm not trying to corrupt you. And I'm not trying +to poison a witness for the other fellows, either. Help yourself.” + +Cahill stretched out his left hand. His right remained hidden in the +side pocket of his coat. “What's the matter with your right hand?” + Ranson asked. “Are you holding a gun on me? Really, Mr. Cahill, you're +not taking any chances, are you?” Ranson gazed about the room as though +seeking an appreciative audience. “He's such an important witness,” he +cried, delightedly, “that first he's afraid I'll poison him and he won't +drink with me, and now he covers me with a gun.” + +Reluctantly, Cahill drew out his hand. “I was putting the bridle on my +pony last night,” he said. “He bit me.” + +Ranson exclaimed sympathetically, “Oh, that's too bad,” he said. “Well, +you know you want to be careful. A horse's teeth really are poisonous.” + He examined his own hands complacently. “Now, if I had a bandage like +that on my right hand they would hang me sure, no matter whether it was +a bite, or a burn, or a bullet.” + +Cahill raised the glass to his lips and sipped the whiskey critically. +“Why?” he asked. + +“Why? Why, didn't you know that the paymaster boasted last night to the +surgeons that he hit this fellow in the hand? He says--” + +Cahill snorted scornfully. “How'd he know that? What makes him think +so?” + +“Well, never mind, let him think so,” Ranson answered, fervently. “Don't +discourage him. That's the only evidence I've got on my side. He says he +fired to disarm the man, and that he saw him shift his gun to his left +hand. It was the shot that the man fired when he held his gun in his +left that broke the colonel's arm. Now, everybody knows I can't hit +a barn with my left. And as for having any wounds concealed about my +person”--Ranson turned his hands like a conjurer to show the front and +back--“they can search me. So, if the paymaster will only stick to +that story--that he hit the man--it will help me a lot.” Ranson seated +himself on the table and swung his leg. “And of course it would be a +big help, too, if you could remember who was in your Exchange when I was +planning to rob the coach. For someone certainly must have overheard +me, someone must have copied my disguise, and that someone is the man we +must find. Unless he came from Kiowa.” + +Cahill shoved his glass from him across the table and, placing his hands +on his knees, stared at his host coldly and defiantly. His would-be +son-in-law observed the aggressiveness of his attitude, but, in his +fuller knowledge of their prospective relations, smiled blandly. + +“Mr. Ranson,” began Cahill, “I've no feelings against you personally. +I've a friendly feeling for all of you young gentlemen at my mess. But +you're not playing fair with me. I can see what you want, and I can tell +you that you and Captain Carr are not helping your case by asking me +up here to drink and smoke with you, when you know that I'm the most +important witness they've got against you.” + +Ranson stared at his father-in-law-elect in genuine amazement, and then +laughed lightly. + +“Why, dear Mr. Cahill,” he cried, “I wouldn't think of bribing you with +such a bad brand of whiskey as this. And I didn't know you were such an +important witness as all that. But, of course, I know whatever you say +in this community goes, and if your testimony is against me, I'm sorry +for it, very sorry. I suppose you will testify that there was no one in +the Exchange who could have heard my plan?” + +Cahill nodded. + +“And, as it's not likely two men at exactly the same time should have +thought of robbing the stage in exactly the same way, I must have robbed +it myself.” + +Cahill nursed his bandaged hand with the other. “That's the court's +business,” he growled; “I mean to tell the truth.” + +“And the truth is?” asked Ransom + +“The truth is that last night there was no one in the Exchange but you +officers and me. If anybody'd come in on the store side you'd have seen +him, wouldn't you? and if he'd come into the Exchange I'd have seen him. +But no one come in. I was there alone--and certainly I didn't hear your +plan, and I didn't rob the stage. When you fellows left I went down to +the Indian village. Half the reservation can prove I was there all the +evening--so of the four of us, that lets me out. Crosby and Curtis were +in command of the pay escort--that's their alibi--and as far as I can +see, lieutenant, that puts it up to you.” + +Ranson laughed and shook his head. “Yes, it certainly looks that way,” + he said. “Only I can't see why you need be so damned pleased about it.” + He grinned wickedly. “If you weren't such a respectable member of Fort +Crockett society I might say you listened at the door, and rode after me +in one of your own ponchos. As for the Indian village, that's no alibi. +A Kiowa swear his skin's as white as yours if you give him a drink.” + +“And is that why I get this one?” Cahill demanded. “Am I a Kiowa?” + +Ranson laughed and shoved the bottle toward his father-in-law-elect. + +“Oh, can't you take a joke?” he said. “Take another drink, then.” + +The voice outside the hut was too low to reach the irate Cahill, but +Ranson heard it and leaped to his feet. + +“Wait,” he commanded. He ran to the door, and met Sergeant Clancey at +the threshold. + +“Miss Cahill, lieutenant,” said the sergeant, “wants to see her father.” + +Cahill had followed Ranson to the door, “You want to see me, Mame?” he +asked. + +“Yes,” Miss Cahill cried; “and Mr. Ransom, too, if I may.” She caught +her father eagerly by the arm, but her eyes were turned joyfully upon +Ranson. They were laughing with excitement. Her voice was trembling and +eager. + +“It is something I have discovered,” she cried; “I found it out just +now, and I think--oh, I hope!--it is most important. I believe it will +clear Mr. Ranson!” she cried, happily. “At least it will show that last +night someone went out to rob the coach and went dressed as he was.” + +Cahill gave a short laugh. “What's his name?” he asked, mockingly. “Have +you seen him?” + +“I didn't see him and I don't know his name, but--” + +Cahill snorted, and picked up his sombrero from the table. “Then it's +not so very important after all,” he said. “Is that all that brought you +here?” + +“The main thing is that she is here,” said Ranson; “for which the poor +prisoner is grateful--grateful to her and to the man she hasn't seen, in +the mask and poncho, whose name she doesn't know. Mr. Cahill, bad as +it is, I insist on your finishing your whiskey. Miss Cahill, please sit +down.” + +He moved a chair toward her and, as he did so, looked full into her face +with such love and happiness that she turned her eyes away. + +“Well?” asked Cahill. + +“I must first explain to Lieutenant Ranson, father,” said his daughter, +“that to-day is the day we take account of stock.” + +“Speaking of stock,” said Ranson, “don't forget that I owe you for a +red kerchief and a rubber poncho. You can have them back, if you like. I +won't need a rain coat where I am going.” + +“Don't,” said Miss Cahill. “Please let me go on. After I brought you +your breakfast here, I couldn't begin to work just at once. I was +thinking about--something else. Everyone was talking of you--your +arrest, and I couldn't settle down to take account of stock.” She threw +a look at Ranson which asked for his sympathy. “But when I did start +I began with the ponchos and the red kerchiefs, and then I found out +something.” Cahill was regarding his daughter in strange distress, but +Ranson appeared indifferent to her words, and intent only on the light +and beauty in her face. But he asked, smiling, “And that was?” + +“You see,” continued Miss Cahill, eagerly, “I always keep a dozen of +each article, and as each one is sold I check it off in my day-book. +Yesterday Mrs. Bolland bought a poncho for the colonel. That left eleven +ponchos. Then a few minutes later I gave Lightfoot a red kerchief for +his squaw. That left eleven kerchiefs.” + +“Stop!” cried Ranson. “Miss Cahill,” he began, severely, “I hope you do +not mean to throw suspicion on the wife of my respected colonel, or +on Mrs. Lightfoot, 'the Prairie Flower.' Those ladies are my personal +friends; I refuse to believe them guilty. And have you ever seen Mrs. +Bolland on horseback? You wrong her. It is impossible.” + +“Please,” begged Miss Cahill, “please let me explain. When you went to +hold up the stage you took a poncho and a kerchief. That should have +left ten of each. But when I counted them this morning there were nine +red kerchiefs and nine ponchos.” + +Ranson slapped his knee sharply. “Good!” he said. “That is interesting.” + +“What does it prove?” demanded Cahill. + +“It proves nothing, or it proves everything,” said Miss Cahill. “To my +mind it proves without any doubt that someone overheard Mr. Ranson's +plan, that he dressed like him to throw suspicion on him, and that this +second person was the one who robbed the paymaster. Now, father, this +is where you can help us. You were there then. Try to remember. It is so +important. Who came into the store after the others had gone away?” + +Cahill tossed his head like an angry bull. + +“There are fifty places in this post,” he protested, roughly, “where a +man can get a poncho. Every trooper owns his slicker.” + +“But, father, we don't know that theirs are missing,” cried Miss Cahill, +“and we do know that those in our store are. Don't think I am foolish. +It seemed such an important fact to me, and I had hoped it would help.” + +“It does help--immensely!” cried Ranson. + +“I think it's a splendid clue. But, unfortunately, I don't think we can +prove anything by your father, for he's just been telling me that there +was no one in the place but himself. No one came in, and he was quite +alone--” Ranson had begun speaking eagerly, but either his own words or +the intentness with which Cahill received them caused him to halt and +hesitate--“absolutely--alone.” + +“You see,” said Cahill, thickly, “as soon as they had gone I rode to the +Indian village.” + +“Why, no, father,” corrected Miss Cahill. “Don't you remember, you told +me last night that when you reached Lightfoot's tent I had just gone. +That was quite two hours after the others left the store.” In her +earnestness Miss Cahill had placed her hand upon her father's arm and +clutched it eagerly. “And you remember no one coming in before you +left?” she asked. “No one?” + +Cahill had not replaced the bandaged hand in his pocket, but had shoved +it inside the opening of his coat. As Mary Cahill caught his arm her +fingers sank into the palm of the hand and he gave a slight grimace of +pain. + +“Oh, father,” Miss Cahill cried, “your hand! I am so sorry. Did I hurt +it? Please--let me see.” + +Cahill drew back with sudden violence. + +“No!” he cried. “Leave it alone! Come, we must be going.” But Miss +Cahill held the wounded hand in both her own. When she turned her eyes +to Ranson they were filled with tender concern. + +“I hurt him,” she said, reproachfully. “He shot himself last night with +one of those new cylinder revolvers.” + +Her father snatched the hand from her. He tried to drown her voice by a +sudden movement toward the door. “Come!” he called. “Do you hear me?” + +But his daughter in her sympathy continued. “He was holding it so,” she +said, “and it went off, and the bullet passed through here.” She laid +the tip of a slim white finger on the palm of her right hand. + +“The bullet!” cried Ranson. He repeated, dully, “The bullet!” + +There was a sudden, tense silence. Outside they could hear the crunch of +the sentry's heel in the gravel, and from the baseball field back of the +barracks the soft spring air was rent with the jubilant crack of the bat +as it drove the ball. Afterward Ranson remembered that while one half +of his brain was terribly acute to the moment, the other was wondering +whether the runner had made his base. It seemed an interminable time +before Ranson raised his eyes from Miss Cahill's palm to her father's +face. What he read in them caused Cahill to drop his hand swiftly to his +hip. + +Ranson saw the gesture and threw out both his hands. He gave a +hysterical laugh, strangely boyish and immature, and ran to place +himself between Cahill and the door. “Drop it!” he whispered. “My God, +man!” he entreated, “don't make a fool of yourself. Mr. Cahill,” he +cried aloud, “you can't go till you know. Can he, Mary? Yes, Mary.” The +tone in which he repeated the name was proprietary and commanding. He +took her hand. “Mr. Cahill,” he said, joyously, “we've got something to +tell you. I want you to understand that in spite of all I'VE done--I +say in spite of all I'VE done--I mean getting into this trouble and +disgrace, and all that--I've dared to ask your daughter to marry me.” + He turned and led Miss Cahill swiftly toward the veranda. “Oh, I knew he +wouldn't like it,” he cried. “You see. I told you so. You've got to let +me talk to him alone. You go outside and wait. I can talk better when +you are not here. I'll soon bring him around.” + +“Father,” pleaded Miss Cahill, timidly. From behind her back Ranson +shook his head at the post-trader in violent pantomime. “She'd better go +outside and wait, hadn't she, Mr. Cahill?” he directed. + +As he was bidden, the post-trader raised his head and nodded toward +the door. The onslaught of sudden and new conditions overwhelmed and +paralyzed him. + +“Father!” said Miss Cahill, “it isn't just as you think. Mr. Ranson did +ask me to marry him--in a way--At least, I knew what he meant. But I did +not say--in a way--that I would marry him. I mean it was not settled, +or I would have told you. You mustn't think I would have left you out of +this--of my happiness, you who have done everything to make me happy.” + +She reproached her father with her eyes fastened on his face. His +own were stern, fixed, and miserable. “You will let it be, won't you, +father?” she begged. “It--it means so much. I--can't tell you--” She +threw out her hand toward Ranson as though designating a superior being. +“Why, I can't tell HIM. But if you are harsh with him or with me it will +break my heart. For as I love you, father, I love him--and it has got to +be. It must be. For I love him so. I have always loved him. Father,” she +whispered, “I love him so.” + +Ranson, humbly, gratefully, took the girl's hand and led her gently to +the veranda and closed the door upon her. Then he came down the room +and regarded his prospective father-in-law with an expression of +amused exasperation. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his +riding-breeches and nodded his head. “Well,” he exclaimed, “you've made +a damned pretty mess of it, haven't you?” + +Cahill had sunk heavily into a chair and was staring at Ranson with the +stupid, wondering gaze of a dumb animal in pain. During the moments in +which the two men eyed each other Ranson's smile disappeared. Cahill +raised himself slowly as though with a great effort. + +“I done it,” said Cahill, “for her. I done it to make her happy.” + +“That's all right,” said Ranson, briskly. “She's going to be happy. +We're all going to be happy.” + +“An' all I did,” Cahill continued, as though unconscious of the +interruption, “was to disgrace her.” He rose suddenly to his feet. +His mental sufferings were so keen that his huge body trembled. He +recognized how truly he had made “a mess of it.” He saw that all he had +hoped to do for his daughter by crime would have been done for her by +this marriage with Ranson, which would have made her a “lady,” made her +rich, made her happy. Had it not been for his midnight raids she would +have been honored, loved, and envied, even by the wife of the colonel +herself. But through him disgrace had come upon her, sorrow and trouble. +She would not be known as the daughter of Senator Ranson, but of Cahill, +an ex-member of the Whyo gang, a highway robber, as the daughter of a +thief who was serving his time in State prison. At the thought Cahill +stepped backward unsteadily as though he had been struck. He cried +suddenly aloud. Then his hand whipped back to his revolver, but before +he could use it Ranson had seized his wrist with both hands. The two +struggled silently and fiercely. The fact of opposition brought back to +Cahill all of his great strength. + +“No, you don't!” Ranson muttered. “Think of your daughter, man. Drop +it!” + +“I shall do it,” Cahill panted. “I am thinking of my daughter. It's the +only way out. Take your hands off me--I shall!” + +With his knuckles Ranson bored cruelly into the wounded hand, and it +opened and the gun dropped from it; but as it did so it went off with a +report that rang through the building. There was an instant rush of +feet upon the steps of the veranda, and at the sound the two men sprang +apart, eyeing each other sheepishly like two discovered truants. When +Sergeant Clancey and the guard pushed through the door Ranson stood +facing it, spinning the revolver in cowboy fashion around his fourth +finger. He addressed the sergeant in a tone of bitter irony. + +“Oh, you've come at last,” he demanded. “Are you deaf? Why didn't you +come when I called?” His tone showed he considered he had just cause for +annoyance. + +“The gun brought me, I--” began Clancey. + +“Yes, I hoped it might. That's why I fired it,” snapped Ranson. “I want +two whiskey-and-sodas. Quick now!” + +“Two--” gasped Clancey. + +“Whiskey-and-sodas. See how fast one of you can chase over to the club +and get 'em. And next time I want a drink don't make me wake the entire +garrison.” + +As the soldiers retreated Ranson discovered Miss Cahill's white face +beyond them. He ran and held the door open by a few inches. + +“It's all right,” he whispered, reassuringly. “He's nearly persuaded. +Wait just a minute longer and he'll be giving us his blessing.” + +“But the pistol-shot?” she asked. + +“I was just calling the guard. The electric bell's broken, and your +father wanted a drink. That's a good sign, isn't it? Shows he's +friendly, What kind did you say you wanted, Mr. Cahill--Scotch was it, +or rye?” Ranson glanced back at the sombre, silent figure of Cahill, and +then again opened the door sufficiently for him to stick out his head. +“Sergeant,” he called, “make them both Scotch--long ones.” + +He shut the door and turned upon the post-trader. “Now, then, +father-in-law,” he said, briskly, “you've got to cut and run, and you've +got to run quick. We'll tell 'em you're going to Fort Worth to buy the +engagement ring, because I can't, being under arrest. But you go to +Duncan City instead, and from there take the cars, to--” + +“Run away!” Cahill repeated, dazedly. “But you'll be court-martialled.” + +“There won't be any court-martial!” + +Cahill glanced around the room quickly. “I see,” he cried. In his +eagerness he was almost smiling. “I'm to leave a confession and give it +to you.” + +“Confession! What rot!” cried Ranson. + +“They can't prove anything against me. Everyone knows by now that there +were two men on the trail, but they don't know who the other man was, +and no one ever must know--especially Mary.” + +Cahill struck the table with his fist. “I won't stand for it!” he cried. +“I got you into this and I'm goin'--” + +“Yes, going to jail,” retorted Ranson. “You'll look nice behind the +bars, won't you? Your daughter will be proud of you in a striped suit. +Don't talk nonsense. You're going to run and hide some place, somewhere, +where Mary and I can come and pay you a visit. Say--Canada. No, not +Canada. I'd rather visit you in jail than in a Montreal hotel. Say +Tangier, or Buenos Ayres, or Paris. Yes, Paris is safe enough--and so +amusing.” + +Cahill seated himself heavily. “I trapped you into this fix, Mr. +Ranson,” he said, “you know I did, and now I mean to get you out of it. +I ain't going to leave the man my Mame wants to marry with a cloud on +him. I ain't going to let her husband be jailed.” + +Ranson had run to his desk and from a drawer drew forth a roll of bills. +He advanced with them in his hand. + +“Yes, Paris is certainly the place,” he said. “Here's three hundred +dollars. I'll cable you the rest. You've never been to Paris, have you? +It's full of beautiful sights--Henry's American Bar, for instance, and +the courtyard of the Grand Hotel, and Maxim's. All good Americans go to +Paris when they die and all the bad ones while they are alive. You'll +find lots of both kinds, and you'll sit all day on the sidewalk and +drink Bock and listen to Hungarian bands. And Mary and I will join you +there and take you driving in the Bois. Now, you start at once. I'll +tell her you've gone to New York to talk it over with father, and buy +the ring. Then I'll say you've gone on to Paris to rent us apartments +for the honeymoon. I'll explain it somehow. That's better than going to +jail, isn't it, and making us bow our heads in grief?” + +Cahill, in his turn, approached the desk and, seating himself before it, +began writing rapidly. + +“What is it?” asked Ranson. + +“A confession,” said Cahill, his pen scratching. + +“I won't take it,” Ranson said, “and I won't use it.” + +“I ain't going to give it to you,” said Cahill, over his shoulder. +“I know better than that. But I don't go to Paris unless I leave a +confession behind me. Call in the guard,” he commanded; “I want two +witnesses.” + +“I'll see you hanged first,” said Ranson. + +Cahill crossed the room to the door and, throwing it open, called, +“Corporal of the guard!” + +As he spoke, Captain Carr and Mrs. Bolland, accompanied by Miss Post and +her aunt, were crossing the parade-ground. For a moment the post-trader +surveyed them doubtfully, and then, stepping out upon the veranda, +beckoned to them. + +“Here's a paper I've signed, captain,” he said; “I wish you'd witness my +signature. It's my testimony for the court-martial.” + +“Then someone else had better sign it,” said Carr. “Might look +prejudiced if I did.” He turned to the ladies. “These ladies are coming +in to see Ranson now. They'll witness it.” + +Miss Cahill, from the other end of the veranda, and the visitors entered +the room together. + +“Mrs. Truesdale!” cried Ranson. “You are pouring coals of fire upon my +head. And Miss Post! Indeed, this is too much honor. After the way I +threatened and tried to frighten you last night I expected you to hang +me, at least, instead of which you have, I trust, come to tea.” + +“Nothing of the sort,” said Mrs. Bolland, sternly. “These ladies +insisted on my bringing them here to say how sorry they are that they +talked so much and got you into this trouble. Understand, Mr. Ranson,” + the colonel's wife added, with dignity, “that I am not here officially +as Mrs. Bolland, but as a friend of these ladies.” + +“You are welcome in whatever form you take, Mrs. Bolland,” cried Ranson, +“and, believe me, I am in no trouble--no trouble, I assure you. In fact, +I am quite the most contented man in the world. Mrs. Bolland, in spite +of the cloud, the temporary cloud which rests upon my fair name, I take +great pride in announcing to you that this young lady has done me the +honor to consent to become my wife. Her father, a very old and dear +friend, has given his consent. And I take this occasion to tell you of +my good fortune, both in your official capacity and as my friend.” + +There was a chorus of exclamations and congratulations in which Mrs. +Bolland showed herself to be a true wife and a social diplomatist. In +the post-trader's daughter she instantly recognized the heiress to the +Ranson millions, and the daughter of a Senator who also was the chairman +of the Senate Committee on Brevets and Promotions. She fell upon Miss +Cahill's shoulder and kissed her on both cheeks. Turning eagerly upon +Mrs. Truesdale, she said, “Alice, you can understand how I feel when I +tell you that this child has always been to me like one of my own.” + +Carr took Ranson's hand and wrung it. Sergeant Clancey grew purple with +pleasure and stole back to the veranda, where he whispered joyfully to a +sentry. In another moment a passing private was seen racing delightedly +toward the baseball field. + +At the same moment Lieutenants Crosby and Curtis and the regimental +adjutant crossed the parade ground from the colonel's quarters and ran +up the steps of Ranson's hut. The expressions of good-will, of smiling +embarrassment and general satisfaction which Lieutenant Crosby observed +on the countenances of those present seemed to give him a momentary +check. + +“Oh,” he exclaimed, disappointedly, “someone has told you!” + +Ranson laughed and took the hand which Crosby held doubtfully toward +him. “No one has told me,” he said. “I've been telling them.” + +“Then you haven't heard?” Crosby cried, delightedly. “That's good. +I begged to be the first to let you know, because I felt so badly at +having doubted you. You must let me congratulate you. You are free.” + +“Free?” smiled Ranson. + +“Yes, relieved from arrest,” Crosby cried, joyfully. He turned and took +Ranson's sword from the hands of the adjutant. “And the colonel's let +your troop have the band to give you a serenade.” + +But Ranson's face showed no sign of satisfaction. + +“Wait!” he cried. “Why am I relieved from arrest?” + +“Why? Because the other fellow has confessed.” + +Ranson placed himself suddenly in front of Mary Cahill as though to +shield her. His eyes stole stealthily towards Cahill's confession. Still +unread and still unsigned, it lay unopened upon the table. Cahill was +gazing upon Ranson in blank bewilderment. + +Captain Carr gasped a sigh of relief that was far from complimentary to +his client. + +“Who confessed?” he cried. + +“'Pop' Henderson,” said Crosby. + +“'Pop' Henderson!” shouted Cahill. Unmindful of his wound, he struck the +table savagely with his fist. For the first time in the knowledge of the +post he exhibited emotion. “'Pop' Henderson, by the eternal!” he cried. +“And I never guessed it!” + +“Yes,” said Crosby, eagerly. “Abe Fisher was in it. Henderson persuaded +the paymaster to make the trip alone with him. Then he dressed up Fisher +to represent the Red Rider and sent him on ahead to hold him up. They +were to share the money afterward. But Fisher fired on 'Pop' to kill, so +as to have it all, and 'Pop's' trying to get even. And what with wanting +to hurt Fisher, and thinking he is going to die, and not wishing to see +you hanged, he's told the truth. We wired Kiowa early this morning and +arrested Fisher. They've found the money, and he has confessed, too.” + +“But the poncho and the red kerchief?” protested Carr. “And he had no +stirrups!” + +“Oh, Fisher had the make-up all right,” laughed Crosby; “Henderson says +Fisher's the 'only, original' Red Rider. And as for the stirrups, I'm +afraid that's my fault. I asked the colonel if the man wasn't riding +without stirrups, and I guess the wish was father to the fact. He only +imagined he hadn't seen any stirrups. The colonel was rattled. So, old +man,” he added, turning to Ranson, “here's your sword again, and God +bless you.” + +Already the post had learned the news from the band and the verandas of +the enlisted men overflowed with delighted troopers. From the stables +and the ball field came the sound of hurrying feet, and a tumult of +cheers and cowboy yells. Across the parade-ground the regimental band +bore down upon Ranson's hut, proclaiming to the garrison that there +would be a hot time in the old town that night. But Sergeant Clancey +ran to meet the bandmaster, and shouted in his ear. “He's going to marry +Mary Cahill,” he cried. “I heard him tell the colonel's wife. Play 'Just +Because She Made Them Goo-goo Eyes.'” + +“Like hell!” cried the bandmaster, indignantly, breaking in on the tune +with his baton. “I know my business! Now, then, men,” he commanded, +“'I'll Leave My Happy Home for You.'” + +As Mrs. Bolland dragged Miss Cahill into view of the assembled troopers +Ranson pulled his father-in-law into a far corner of the room. He shook +the written confession in his face. + +“Now, will you kindly tell me what that means?” he demanded. “What sort +of a gallery play were you trying to make?” + +Cahill shifted his sombrero guiltily. “I was trying to get you out of +the hole,” he stammered. “I--I thought you done it.” + +“You thought I done it!” + +“Sure. I never thought nothing else.” + +“Then why do you say here that YOU did it?” + +“Oh, because,” stammered Cahill, miserably, “'cause of Mary, 'cause she +wanted to marry you--'cause you were going to marry her.” + +“Well--but--what good were you going to do by shooting yourself?” + +“Oh, then?” Cahill jerked back his head as though casting out an +unpleasant memory. “I thought you'd caught me, you, too--between you!” + +“Caught you! Then you did--?” + +“No, but I tried to. I heard your plan, and I did follow you in the +poncho and kerchief, meaning to hold up the stage first, and leave it to +Crosby and Curtis to prove you did it. But when I reached the coach you +were there ahead of me, and I rode away and put in my time at the Indian +village. I never saw the paymaster's cart, never heard of it till this +morning. But what with Mame missing the poncho out of our shop and the +wound in my hand I guessed they'd all soon suspect me. I saw you did. +So I thought I'd just confess to what I meant to do, even if I didn't do +it.” + +Ranson surveyed his father-in-law with a delighted grin. “How did you +get that bullet-hole in your hand?” he asked. + +Cahill laughed shamefacedly. “I hate to tell you that,” he said. “I got +it just as I said I did. My new gun went off while I was fooling with +it, with my hand over the muzzle. And me the best shot in the Territory! +But when I heard the paymaster claimed he shot the Red Rider through the +palm I knew no one would believe me if I told the truth. So I lied.” + +Ranson glanced down at the written confession, and then tore it slowly +into pieces. “And you were sure I robbed the stage, and yet you believed +that I'd use this? What sort of a son-in-law do you think you've got?” + +“You thought _I_ robbed the stage, didn't you?” + +“Yes.” + +“And you were going to stand for robbing it yourself, weren't you? Well, +that's the sort of son-in-law I've got!” + +The two men held out their hands at the same instant. + +Mary Cahill, her face glowing with pride and besieged with blushes, +came toward them from the veranda. She was laughing and radiant, but she +turned her eyes on Ranson with a look of tender reproach. + +“Why did you desert me?” she said. “It was awful. They are calling you +now. They are playing 'The Conquering Hero.'” + +“Mr. Cahill,” commanded Ranson, “go out there and make a speech.” He +turned to Mary Cahill and lifted one of her hands in both of his. “Well, +I AM the conquering hero,” he said. “I've won the only thing worth +winning, dearest,” he whispered; “we'll run away from them in a minute, +and we'll ride to the waterfall and the Lover's Leap.” He looked down at +her wistfully. “Do you remember?” + +Mary Cahill raised her head and smiled. He leaned toward her +breathlessly. + +“Why, did it mean that to you, too?” he asked. + +She smiled up at him in assent. + +“But I didn't say anything, did I?” whispered Ranson. “I hardly knew you +then. But I knew that day that I--that I would marry you or nobody else. +And did you think--that you--” + +“Yes,” Mary Cahill whispered. + +He bent his head and touched her hand with his lips. + +“Then we'll go back this morning to the waterfall,” he said, “and tell +it that it's all come right. And now, we'll bow to those crazy people +out there, those make-believe dream-people, who don't know that there +is nothing real in this world but just you and me, and that we love each +other.” + +A dishevelled orderly bearing a tray with two glasses confronted Ranson +at the door. “Here's the Scotch and sodas, lieutenant,” he panted. “I +couldn't get 'em any sooner. The men wanted to take 'em off me--to drink +Miss Cahill's health.” + +“So they shall,” said Ranson. “Tell them to drink the canteen dry and +charge it to me. What's a little thing like the regulations between +friends? They have taught me my manners. Mr. Cahill,” he called. + +The post-trader returned from the veranda. + +Ranson solemnly handed him a glass and raised the other in the air. +“Here's hoping that the Red Rider rides on his raids no more,” he said; +“and to the future Mrs. Ranson--to Mary Cahill, God bless her!” + +He shattered the empty glass in the grate and took Cahill's hand. + +“Father-in-law,” said Ranson, “let's promise each other to lead a new +and a better life.” + + + + + + +THE BAR SINISTER + +I + + +The Master was walking most unsteady, his legs tripping each other. +After the fifth or sixth round, my legs often go the same way. + +But even when the Master's legs bend and twist a bit, you mustn't think +he can't reach you. Indeed, that is the time he kicks most frequent. So +I kept behind him in the shadow, or ran in the middle of the street. He +stopped at many public-houses with swinging doors, those doors that are +cut so high from the sidewalk that you can look in under them, and see +if the Master is inside. At night when I peep beneath them the man at +the counter will see me first and say, “Here's the Kid, Jerry, come to +take you home. Get a move on you,” and the Master will stumble out and +follow me. It's lucky for us I'm so white, for no matter how dark the +night, he can always see me ahead, just out of reach of his boot. At +night the Master certainly does see most amazing. Sometimes he sees two +or four of me, and walks in a circle, so that I have to take him by the +leg of his trousers and lead him into the right road. One night, when he +was very nasty-tempered and I was coaxing him along, two men passed us +and one of them says, “Look at that brute!” and the other asks “Which?” + and they both laugh. The Master, he cursed them good and proper. + +This night, whenever we stopped at a public-house, the Master's pals +left it and went on with us to the next. They spoke quite civil to me, +and when the Master tried a flying kick, they gives him a shove. “Do you +want we should lose our money?” says the pals. + +I had had nothing to eat for a day and a night, and just before we set +out the Master gives me a wash under the hydrant. Whenever I am locked +up until all the slop-pans in our alley are empty, and made to take +a bath, and the Master's pals speak civil, and feel my ribs, I know +something is going to happen. And that night, when every time they see a +policeman under a lamp-post, they dodged across the street, and when at +the last one of them picked me up and hid me under his jacket, I began +to tremble; for I knew what it meant. It meant that I was to fight again +for the Master. + +I don't fight because I like it. I fight because if I didn't the other +dog would find my throat, and the Master would lose his stakes, and I +would be very sorry for him and ashamed. Dogs can pass me and I can pass +dogs, and I'd never pick a fight with none of them. When I see two dogs +standing on their hind-legs in the streets, clawing each other's ears, +and snapping for each other's windpipes, or howling and swearing and +rolling in the mud, I feel sorry they should act so, and pretend not to +notice. If he'd let me, I'd like to pass the time of day with every dog +I meet. But there's something about me that no nice dog can abide. When +I trot up to nice dogs, nodding and grinning, to make friends, they +always tell me to be off. “Go to the devil!” they bark at me; “Get +out!” and when I walk away they shout “mongrel,” and “gutter-dog,” and +sometimes, after my back is turned, they rush me. I could kill most of +them with three shakes, breaking the back-bone of the little ones, and +squeezing the throat of the big ones. But what's the good? They are nice +dogs; that's why I try to make up to them, and though it's not for them +to say it, I am a street-dog, and if I try to push into the company of +my betters, I suppose it's their right to teach me my place. + +Of course, they don't know I'm the best fighting bull-terrier of my +weight in Montreal. That's why it wouldn't be right for me to take no +notice of what they shout. They don't know that if I once locked my jaws +on them I'd carry away whatever I touched. The night I fought Kelley's +White Rat, I wouldn't loosen up until the Master made a noose in my +leash and strangled me, and if the handlers hadn't thrown red pepper +down my nose, I never would have let go of that Ottawa dog. I don't +think the handlers treated me quite right that time, but maybe they +didn't know the Ottawa dog was dead. I did. + +I learned my fighting from my mother when I was very young. We slept in +a lumber-yard on the river-front, and by day hunted for food along the +wharves. When we got it, the other tramp-dogs would try to take it off +us, and then it was wonderful to see mother fly at them, and drive them +away. All I know of fighting I learned from mother, watching her picking +the ash-heaps for me when I was too little to fight for myself. No one +ever was so good to me as mother. When it snowed and the ice was in the +St. Lawrence she used to hunt alone, and bring me back new bones, and +she'd sit and laugh to see me trying to swallow 'em whole. I was just a +puppy then, my teeth was falling out. When I was able to fight we kept +the whole river-range to ourselves, I had the genuine long, “punishing” + jaw, so mother said, and there wasn't a man or a dog that dared worry +us. Those were happy days, those were; and we lived well, share and +share alike, and when we wanted a bit of fun, we chased the fat old +wharf-rats. My! how they would squeal! + +Then the trouble came. It was no trouble to me. I was too young to care +then. But mother took it so to heart that she grew ailing, and wouldn't +go abroad with me by day. It was the same old scandal that they're +always bringing up against me. I was so young then that I didn't know. I +couldn't see any difference between mother--and other mothers. + +But one day a pack of curs we drove off snarled back some new names +at her, and mother dropped her head and ran, just as though they had +whipped us. After that she wouldn't go out with me except in the dark, +and one day she went away and never came back, and though I hunted for +her in every court and alley and back street of Montreal, I never found +her. + +One night, a month after mother ran away, I asked Guardian, the old +blind mastiff, whose Master is the night-watchman on our slip, what it +all meant. And he told me. + +“Every dog in Montreal knows,” he says, “except you, and every Master +knows. So I think it's time you knew.” + +Then he tells me that my father, who had treated mother so bad, was +a great and noble gentleman from London. “Your father had twenty-two +registered ancestors, had your father,” old Guardian says, “and in him +was the best bull-terrier blood of England, the most ancientest, the +most royal; the winning 'blue-ribbon' blood, that breeds champions. He +had sleepy pink eyes, and thin pink lips, and he was as white all over +as his own white teeth, and under his white skin you could see his +muscles, hard and smooth, like the links of a steel chain. When your +father stood still, and tipped his nose in the air, it was just as +though he was saying, 'Oh, yes, you common dogs and men, you may well +stare. It must be a rare treat for you Colonials to see a real English +royalty.' He certainly was pleased with hisself, was your father. He +looked just as proud and haughty as one of them stone dogs in Victoria +Park--them as is cut out of white marble. And you're like him,” says +the old mastiff--“by that, of course, meaning you're white, same as him. +That's the only likeness. But, you see, the trouble is, Kid--well, you +see, Kid, the trouble is--your mother--” + +“That will do,” I said, for I understood then without his telling me, +and I got up and walked away, holding my head and tail high in the air. + +But I was, oh, so miserable, and I wanted to see mother that very +minute, and tell her that I didn't care. + +Mother is what I am, a street-dog; there's no royal blood in mother's +veins, nor is she like that father of mine, nor--and that's the +worst--she's not even like me. For while I, when I'm washed for a fight, +am as white as clean snow, she--and this is our trouble, she--my mother, +is a black-and-tan. + +When mother hid herself from me, I was twelve months old and able to +take care of myself, and, as after mother left me, the wharves were +never the same, I moved uptown and met the Master. Before he came, lots +of other men-folks had tried to make up to me, and to whistle me home. +But they either tried patting me or coaxing me with a piece of meat; +so I didn't take to 'em. But one day the Master pulled me out of a +street-fight by the hind-legs, and kicked me good. + +“You want to fight, do you?” says he. “I'll give you all the FIGHTING +you want!” he says, and he kicks me again. So I knew he was my Master, +and I followed him home. Since that day I've pulled off many fights for +him, and they've brought dogs from all over the province to have a go at +me, but up to that night none, under thirty pounds, had ever downed me. + +But that night, so soon as they carried me into the ring, I saw the dog +was over-weight, and that I was no match for him. It was asking too much +of a puppy. The Master should have known I couldn't do it. Not that I +mean to blame the Master, for when sober, which he sometimes was, though +not, as you might say, his habit, he was most kind to me, and let me out +to find food, if I could get it, and only kicked me when I didn't pick +him up at night and lead him home. + +But kicks will stiffen the muscles, and starving a dog so as to get him +ugly-tempered for a fight may make him nasty, but it's weakening to his +insides, and it causes the legs to wabble. + +The ring was in a hall, back of a public-house. There was a red-hot +whitewashed stove in one corner, and the ring in the other. I lay in the +Master's lap, wrapped in my blanket, and, spite of the stove, shivering +awful; but I always shiver before a fight; I can't help gettin' excited. +While the men-folks were a-flashing their money and taking their last +drink at the bar, a little Irish groom in gaiters came up to me and give +me the back of his hand to smell, and scratched me behind the ears. + +“You poor little pup,” says he. “You haven't no show,” he says. “That +brute in the tap-room, he'll eat your heart out.” + +“That's what you think,” says the Master, snarling. “I'll lay you a quid +the Kid chews him up.” + +The groom, he shook his head, but kept looking at me so sorry-like, +that I begun to get a bit sad myself. He seemed like he couldn't bear to +leave off a-patting of me, and he says, speaking low just like he would +to a man-folk, “Well, good-luck to you, little pup,” which I thought so +civil of him, that I reached up and licked his hand. I don't do that to +many men. And the Master, he knew I didn't, and took on dreadful. + +“What 'ave you got on the back of your hand?” says he, jumping up. + +“Soap!” says the groom, quick as a rat. “That's more than you've got +on yours. Do you want to smell of it?” and he sticks his fist under the +Master's nose. But the pals pushed in between 'em. + +“He tried to poison the Kid!” shouts the Master. + +“Oh, one fight at a time,” says the referee. “Get into the ring, Jerry. +We're waiting.” So we went into the ring. + +I never could just remember what did happen in that ring. He give me +no time to spring. He fell on me like a horse. I couldn't keep my feet +against him, and though, as I saw, he could get his hold when he liked, +he wanted to chew me over a bit first. I was wondering if they'd be able +to pry him off me, when, in the third round, he took his hold; and I +began to drown, just as I did when I fell into the river off the Red +C slip. He closed deeper and deeper, on my throat, and everything went +black and red and bursting; and then, when I were sure I were dead, the +handlers pulled him off, and the Master give me a kick that brought me +to. But I couldn't move none, or even wink, both eyes being shut with +lumps. + +“He's a cur!” yells the Master, “a sneaking, cowardly cur. He lost the +fight for me,” says he, “because he's a---------cowardly cur.” And +he kicks me again in the lower ribs, so that I go sliding across the +sawdust. “There's gratitude fer yer,” yells the Master. “I've fed that +dog, and nussed that dog, and housed him like a prince; and now he puts +his tail between his legs, and sells me out, he does. He's a coward; +I've done with him, I am. I'd sell him for a pipeful of tobacco.” He +picked me up by the tail, and swung me for the men-folks to see. +“Does any gentleman here want to buy a dog,” he says, “to make into +sausage-meat?” he says. “That's all he's good for.” + +Then I heard the little Irish groom say, “I'll give you ten bob for the +dog.” + +And another voice says, “Ah, don't you do it; the dog's same as +dead--mebby he is dead.” + +“Ten shillings!” says the Master, and his voice sobers a bit; “make it +two pounds, and he's yours.” + +But the pals rushed in again. + +“Don't you be a fool, Jerry,” they say. “You'll be sorry for this when +you're sober. The Kid's worth a fiver.” + +One of my eyes was not so swelled up as the other, and as I hung by +my tail, I opened it, and saw one of the pals take the groom by the +shoulder. + +“You ought to give 'im five pounds for that dog, mate,” he says; “that's +no ordinary dog. That dog's got good blood in him, that dog has. Why, +his father--that very dog's father--” + +I thought he never would go on. He waited like he wanted to be sure the +groom was listening. + +“That very dog's father,” says the pal, “is Regent Royal, son of +Champion Regent Monarch, champion bull-terrier of England for four +years.” + +I was sore, and torn, and chewed most awful, but what the pal said +sounded so fine that I wanted to wag my tail, only couldn't, owing to my +hanging from it. + +But the Master calls out, “Yes, his father was Regent Royal; who's +saying he wasn't? but the pup's a cowardly cur, that's what his pup +is, and why--I'll tell you why--because his mother was a black-and-tan +street-dog, that's why!” + +I don't see how I get the strength, but some way I threw myself out of +the Master's grip and fell at his feet, and turned over and fastened all +my teeth in his ankle, just across the bone. + +When I woke, after the pals had kicked me off him, I was in the +smoking-car of a railroad-train, lying in the lap of the little groom, +and he was rubbing my open wounds with a greasy, yellow stuff, exquisite +to the smell, and most agreeable to lick off. + + + + +II + + +“Well--what's your name--Nolan? Well, Nolan, these references are +satisfactory,” said the young gentleman. My new Master called “Mr. +Wyndham, sir.” + +“I'll take you on as second man. You can begin to-day.” + +My new Master shuffled his feet, and put his finger to his forehead. +“Thank you, sir,” says he. Then he choked like he had swallowed a +fish-bone. “I have a little dawg, sir,” says he. + +“You can't keep him,” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” very short. + +“'Es only a puppy, sir,” says my new Master; “'e wouldn't go outside the +stables, sir.” + +“It's not that,” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir;” “I have a large kennel of very +fine dogs; they're the best of their breed in America. I don't allow +strange dogs on the premises.” + +The Master shakes his head, and motions me with his cap, and I crept out +from behind the door. “I'm sorry, sir,” says the Master. “Then I can't +take the place. I can't get along without the dog, sir.” + +“Mr. Wyndham, sir,” looked at me that fierce that I guessed he was going +to whip me, so I turned over on my back and begged with my legs and +tail. + +“Why, you beat him!” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” very stern. + +“No fear!” the Master says, getting very red. “The party I bought him +off taught him that. He never learnt that from me!” He picked me up in +his arms, and to show “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” how well I loved the Master, I +bit his chin and hands. + +“Mr. Wyndham, sir,” turned over the letters the Master had given him. +“Well, these references certainly are very strong,” he says. “I guess +I'll let the dog stay this time. Only see you keep him away from the +kennels--or you'll both go.” + +“Thank you, sir,” says the Master, grinning like a cat when she's safe +behind the area-railing. + +“He's not a bad bull-terrier,” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” feeling my head. +“Not that I know much about the smooth-coated breeds. My dogs are St. +Bernards.” He stopped patting me and held up my nose. “What's the matter +with his ears?” he says. “They're chewed to pieces. Is this a fighting +dog?” he asks, quick and rough-like. + +I could have laughed. If he hadn't been holding my nose, I certainly +would have had a good grin at him. Me, the best under thirty pounds in +the Province of Quebec, and him asking if I was a fighting dog! I ran to +the Master and hung down my head modest-like, waiting for him to tell +my list of battles, but the Master he coughs in his cap most painful. +“Fightin' dog, sir,” he cries. “Lor' bless you, sir, the Kid don't +know the word. 'Es just a puppy, sir, same as you see; a pet dog, so to +speak. 'Es a regular old lady's lap-dog, the Kid is.” + +“Well, you keep him away from my St. Bernards,” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” + “or they might make a mouthful of him.” + +“Yes, sir, that they might,” says the Master. But when we gets outside +he slaps his knee and laughs inside hisself, and winks at me most +sociable. + +The Master's new home was in the country, in a province they called Long +Island. There was a high stone wall about his home with big iron gates +to it, same as Godfrey's brewery; and there was a house with five red +roofs, and the stables, where I lived, was cleaner than the aerated +bakery-shop, and then there was the kennels, but they was like nothing +else in this world that ever I see. For the first days I couldn't sleep +of nights for fear someone would catch me lying in such a cleaned-up +place, and would chase me out of it, and when I did fall to sleep I'd +dream I was back in the old Master's attic, shivering under the rusty +stove, which never had no coals in it, with the Master flat on his +back on the cold floor with his clothes on. And I'd wake up, scared and +whimpering, and find myself on the new Master's cot with his hand on +the quilt beside me; and I'd see the glow of the big stove, and hear the +high-quality horses below-stairs stamping in their straw-lined boxes, +and I'd snoop the sweet smell of hay and harness-soap, and go to sleep +again. + +The stables was my jail, so the Master said, but I don't ask no better +home than that jail. + +“Now, Kid,” says he, sitting on the top of a bucket upside down, “you've +got to understand this. When I whistle it means you're not to go out of +this 'ere yard. These stables is your jail. And if you leave 'em I'll +have to leave 'em, too, and over the seas, in the County Mayo, an old +mother will 'ave to leave her bit of a cottage. For two pounds I must +be sending her every month, or she'll have naught to eat, nor no thatch +over 'er head; so, I can't lose my place, Kid, an' see you don't lose it +for me. You must keep away from the kennels,” says he; “they're not for +the likes of you. The kennels are for the quality. I wouldn't take a +litter of them woolly dogs for one wag of your tail, Kid, but for all +that they are your betters, same as the gentry up in the big house are +my betters. I know my place and keep away from the gentry, and you keep +away from the Champions.” + +So I never goes out of the stables. All day I just lay in the sun on +the stone flags, licking my jaws, and watching the grooms wash down the +carriages, and the only care I had was to see they didn't get gay and +turn the hose on me. There wasn't even a single rat to plague me. Such +stables I never did see. + +“Nolan,” says the head-groom, “some day that dog of yours will give you +the slip. You can't keep a street-dog tied up all his life. It's against +his natur'.” The head-groom is a nice old gentleman, but he doesn't know +everything. Just as though I'd been a street-dog because I liked it. As +if I'd rather poke for my vittles in ash-heaps than have 'em handed +me in a wash-basin, and would sooner bite and fight than be polite and +sociable. If I'd had mother there I couldn't have asked for nothing +more. But I'd think of her snooping in the gutters, or freezing of +nights under the bridges, or, what's worse of all, running through the +hot streets with her tongue down, so wild and crazy for a drink, that +the people would shout “mad dog” at her, and stone her. Water's so good, +that I don't blame the men-folks for locking it up inside their houses, +but when the hot days come, I think they might remember that those are +the dog-days and leave a little water outside in a trough, like they +do for the horses. Then we wouldn't go mad, and the policemen wouldn't +shoot us. I had so much of everything I wanted that it made me think a +lot of the days when I hadn't nothing, and if I could have given what I +had to mother, as she used to share with me, I'd have been the happiest +dog in the land. Not that I wasn't happy then, and most grateful to the +Master, too, and if I'd only minded him, the trouble wouldn't have come +again. + +But one day the coachman says that the little lady they called Miss +Dorothy had come back from school, and that same morning she runs over +to the stables to pat her ponies, and she sees me. + +“Oh, what a nice little, white little dog,” said she; “whose little dog +are you?” says she. + +“That's my dog, miss,” says the Master. “'Is name is Kid,” and I ran up +to her most polite, and licks her fingers, for I never see so pretty and +kind a lady. + +“You must come with me and call on my new puppies,” says she, picking me +up in her arms and starting off with me. + +“Oh, but please, Miss,” cries Nolan, “Mr. Wyndham give orders that the +Kid's not to go to the kennels.” + +“That'll be all right,” says the little lady; “they're my kennels too. +And the puppies will like to play with him.” + +You wouldn't believe me if I was to tell you of the style of them +quality-dogs. If I hadn't seen it myself I wouldn't have believed it +neither. The Viceroy of Canada don't live no better. There was forty of +them, but each one had his own house and a yard--most exclusive--and +a cot and a drinking-basin all to hisself. They had servants standing +'round waiting to feed 'em when they was hungry, and valets to wash 'em; +and they had their hair combed and brushed like the grooms must when +they go out on the box. Even the puppies had overcoats with their +names on 'em in blue letters, and the name of each of those they called +champions was painted up fine over his front door just like it was a +public-house or a veterinary's. They were the biggest St. Bernards I +ever did see. I could have walked under them if they'd have let me. But +they were very proud and haughty dogs, and looked only once at me, and +then sniffed in the air. The little lady's own dog was an old gentleman +bull-dog. He'd come along with us, and when he notices how taken aback +I was with all I see, 'e turned quite kind and affable and showed me +about. + +“Jimmy Jocks,” Miss Dorothy called him, but, owing to his weight, he +walked most dignified and slow, waddling like a duck as you might say, +and looked much too proud and handsome for such a silly name. + +“That's the runway, and that's the Trophy House,” says he to me, +“and that over there is the hospital, where you have to go if you get +distemper, and the vet. gives you beastly medicine.” + +“And which of these is your 'ouse, sir?” asks I, wishing to be +respectful. But he looked that hurt and haughty. “I don't live in the +kennels,” says he, most contemptuous. “I am a house-dog. I sleep in Miss +Dorothy's room. And at lunch I'm let in with the family, if the visitors +don't mind. They most always do, but they're too polite to say so. +Besides,” says he, smiling most condescending, “visitors are always +afraid of me. It's because I'm so ugly,” says he. “I suppose,” says +he, screwing up his wrinkles and speaking very slow and impressive, “I +suppose I'm the ugliest bull-dog in America,” and as he seemed to be so +pleased to think hisself so, I said, “Yes, sir, you certainly are the +ugliest ever I see,” at which he nodded his head most approving. + +“But I couldn't hurt 'em, as you say,” he goes on, though I hadn't said +nothing like that, being too polite. “I'm too old,” he says; “I haven't +any teeth. The last time one of those grizzly bears,” said he, glaring +at the big St. Bernards, “took a hold of me, he nearly was my death,” + says he. I thought his eyes would pop out of his head, he seemed so +wrought up about it. “He rolled me around in the dirt, he did,” says +Jimmy Jocks, “an' I couldn't get up. It was low,” says Jimmy Jocks, +making a face like he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Low, that's what +I call it, bad form, you understand, young man, not done in our +circles--and--and low.” He growled, way down in his stomach, and puffed +hisself out, panting and blowing like he had been on a run. + +“I'm not a street-fighter,” he says, scowling at a St. Bernard marked +“Champion.” “And when my rheumatism is not troubling me,” he says, “I +endeavor to be civil to all dogs, so long as they are gentlemen.” + +“Yes, sir,” said I, for even to me he had been most affable. + +At this we had come to a little house off by itself and Jimmy Jocks +invites me in. “This is their trophy-room,” he says, “where they keep +their prizes. Mine,” he says, rather grand-like, “are on the sideboard.” + Not knowing what a sideboard might be, I said, “Indeed, sir, that must +be very gratifying.” But he only wrinkled up his chops as much as to +say, “It is my right.” + +The trophy-room was as wonderful as any public-house I ever see. On the +walls was pictures of nothing but beautiful St. Bernard dogs, and rows +and rows of blue and red and yellow ribbons; and when I asked Jimmy +Jocks why they was so many more of blue than of the others, he laughs +and says, “Because these kennels always win.” And there was many shining +cups on the shelves which Jimmy Jocks told me were prizes won by the +champions. + +“Now, sir, might I ask you, sir,” says I, “wot is a champion?” + +At that he panted and breathed so hard I thought he would bust hisself. +“My dear young friend!” says he. “Wherever have you been educated? A +champion is a--a champion,” he says. “He must win nine blue ribbons in +the 'open' class. You follow me--that is--against all comers. Then +he has the title before his name, and they put his photograph in the +sporting papers. You know, of course, that _I_ am a champion,” says +he. “I am Champion Woodstock Wizard III., and the two other Woodstock +Wizards, my father and uncle, were both champions.” + +“But I thought your name was Jimmy Jocks,” I said. + +He laughs right out at that. + +“That's my kennel name, not my registered name,” he says. “Why, you +certainly know that every dog has two names. Now, what's your registered +name and number, for instance?” says he. + +“I've only got one name,” I says. “Just Kid.” + +Woodstock Wizard puffs at that and wrinkles up his forehead and pops out +his eyes. + +“Who are your people?” says he. “Where is your home?” + +“At the stable, sir,” I said. “My Master is the second groom.” + +At that Woodstock Wizard III. looks at me for quite a bit without +winking, and stares all around the room over my head. + +“Oh, well,” says he at last, “you're a very civil young dog,” says he, +“and I blame no one for what he can't help,” which I thought most fair +and liberal. “And I have known many bullterriers that were champions,” + says he, “though as a rule they mostly run with fire-engines, and to +fighting. For me, I wouldn't care to run through the streets after a +hose-cart, nor to fight,” says he; “but each to his taste.” + +I could not help thinking that if Woodstock Wizard III. tried to follow +a fire-engine he would die of apoplexy, and that, seeing he'd lost his +teeth, it was lucky he had no taste for fighting, but, after his being +so condescending, I didn't say nothing. + +“Anyway,” says he, “every smooth-coated dog is better than any hairy +old camel like those St. Bernards, and if ever you're hungry down at +the stables, young man, come up to the house and I'll give you a bone. +I can't eat them myself, but I bury them around the garden from force +of habit, and in case a friend should drop in. Ah, I see my Mistress +coming,” he says, “and I bid you good-day. I regret,” he says, “that our +different social position prevents our meeting frequent, for you're a +worthy young dog with a proper respect for your betters, and in this +country there's precious few of them have that.” Then he waddles off, +leaving me alone and very sad, for he was the first dog in many +days that had spoken to me. But since he showed, seeing that I was a +stable-dog, he didn't want my company, I waited for him to get well +away. It was not a cheerful place to wait, the Trophy House. The +pictures of the champions seemed to scowl at me, and ask what right had +such as I even to admire them, and the blue and gold ribbons and the +silver cups made me very miserable. I had never won no blue ribbons or +silver cups; only stakes for the old Master to spend in the publics, and +I hadn't won them for being a beautiful, high-quality dog, but just for +fighting--which, of course, as Woodstock Wizard III. says, is low. So I +started for the stables, with my head down and my tail between my legs, +feeling sorry I had ever left the Master. But I had more reason to be +sorry before I got back to him. + +The Trophy House was quite a bit from the kennels, and as I left it I +see Miss Dorothy and Woodstock Wizard III. walking back toward them, +and that a fine, big St. Bernard, his name was Champion Red Elfberg, had +broke his chain, and was running their way. When he reaches old Jimmy +Jocks he lets out a roar like a grain-steamer in a fog, and he makes +three leaps for him. Old Jimmy Jocks was about a fourth his size; but +he plants his feet and curves his back, and his hair goes up around his +neck like a collar. But he never had no show at no time, for the grizzly +bear, as Jimmy Jocks had called him, lights on old Jimmy's back and +tries to break it, and old Jimmy Jocks snaps his gums and claws the +grass, panting and groaning awful. But he can't do nothing, and the +grizzly bear just rolls him under him, biting and tearing cruel. The +odds was all that Woodstock Wizard III. was going to be killed. I had +fought enough to see that, but not knowing the rules of the game among +champions, I didn't like to interfere between two gentlemen who might be +settling a private affair, and, as it were, take it as presuming of me. +So I stood by, though I was shaking terrible, and holding myself in like +I was on a leash. But at that Woodstock Wizard III., who was underneath, +sees me through the dust, and calls very faint, “Help, you!” he says. +“Take him in the hind-leg,” he says. “He's murdering me,” he says. +And then the little Miss Dorothy, who was crying, and calling to the +kennel-men, catches at the Red Elfberg's hind-legs to pull him off, and +the brute, keeping his front pats well in Jimmy's stomach, turns his big +head and snaps at her. So that was all I asked for, thank you. I went +up under him. It was really nothing. He stood so high that I had only +to take off about three feet from him and come in from the side, and my +long, “punishing jaw” as mother was always talking about, locked on his +woolly throat, and my back teeth met. I couldn't shake him, but I shook +myself, and every time I shook myself there was thirty pounds of weight +tore at his windpipes. I couldn't see nothing for his long hair, but +I heard Jimmy Jocks puffing and blowing on one side, and munching the +brute's leg with his old gums. Jimmy was an old sport that day, was +Jimmy, or, Woodstock Wizard III., as I should say. When the Red Elfberg +was out and down I had to run, or those kennel-men would have had my +life. They chased me right into the stables; and from under the hay I +watched the head-groom take down a carriage-whip and order them to the +right about. Luckily Master and the young grooms were out, or that day +there'd have been fighting for everybody. + +Well, it nearly did for me and the Master. “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” comes +raging to the stables and said I'd half-killed his best prize-winner, +and had oughter be shot, and he gives the Master his notice. But Miss +Dorothy she follows him, and says it was his Red Elfberg what began the +fight, and that I'd saved Jimmy's life, and that old Jimmy Jocks +was worth more to her than all the St. Bernards in the Swiss +mountains--where-ever they be. And that I was her champion, anyway. Then +she cried over me most beautiful, and over Jimmy Jocks, too, who was +that tied up in bandages he couldn't even waddle. So when he heard that +side of it, “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” told us that if Nolan put me on a chain, +we could stay. So it came out all right for everybody but me. I was glad +the Master kept his place, but I'd never worn a chain before, and it +disheartened me--but that was the least of it. For the quality-dogs +couldn't forgive my whipping their champion, and they came to the fence +between the kennels and the stables, and laughed through the bars, +barking most cruel words at me. I couldn't understand how they found it +out, but they knew. After the fight Jimmy Jocks was most condescending +to me, and he said the grooms had boasted to the kennel-men that I was +a son of Regent Royal, and that when the kennel-men asked who was my +mother they had had to tell them that too. Perhaps that was the way of +it, but, however, the scandal was out, and every one of the quality-dogs +knew that I was a street-dog and the son of a black-and-tan. + +“These misalliances will occur,” said Jimmy Jocks, in his old-fashioned +way, “but no well-bred dog,” says he, looking most scornful at the St. +Bernards, who were howling behind the palings, “would refer to your +misfortune before you, certainly not cast it in your face. I, myself, +remember your father's father, when he made his debut at the Crystal +Palace. He took four blue ribbons and three specials.” + +But no sooner than Jimmy would leave me, the St. Bernards would take to +howling again, insulting mother and insulting me. And when I tore at my +chain, they, seeing they were safe, would howl the more. It was never +the same after that; the laughs and the jeers cut into my heart, and the +chain bore heavy on my spirit. I was so sad that sometimes I wished I +was back in the gutter again, where no one was better than me, and some +nights I wished I was dead. If it hadn't been for the Master being so +kind, and that it would have looked like I was blaming mother, I would +have twisted my leash and hanged myself. + +About a month after my fight, the word was passed through the kennels +that the New York Show was coming, and such goings on as followed I +never did see. If each of them had been matched to fight for a thousand +pounds and the gate, they couldn't have trained more conscientious. But, +perhaps, that's just my envy. The kennel-men rubbed 'em and scrubbed 'em +and trims their hair and curls and combs it, and some dogs they fatted, +and some they starved. No one talked of nothing but the Show, and the +chances “our kennels” had against the other kennels, and if this one of +our champions would win over that one, and whether them as hoped to +be champions had better show in the “open” or the “limit” class, and +whether this dog would beat his own dad, or whether his little puppy +sister couldn't beat the two of them. Even the grooms had their money +up, and day or night you heard nothing but praises of “our” dogs, until +I, being so far out of it, couldn't have felt meaner if I had been +running the streets with a can to my tail. I knew shows were not for +such as me, and so I lay all day stretched at the end of my chain, +pretending I was asleep, and only too glad that they had something so +important to think of, that they could leave me alone. + +But one day before the Show opened, Miss Dorothy came to the stables +with “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” and seeing me chained up and so miserable, she +takes me in her arms. + +“You poor little tyke,” says she. “It's cruel to tie him up so; he's +eating his heart out, Nolan,” she says. “I don't know nothing about +bull-terriers,” says she, “but I think Kid's got good points,” says she, +“and you ought to show him. Jimmy Jocks has three legs on the Rensselaer +Cup now, and I'm going to show him this time so that he can get the +fourth, and if you wish, I'll enter your dog too. How would you like +that, Kid?” says she. “How would you like to see the most beautiful dogs +in the world? Maybe, you'd meet a pal or two,” says she. “It would cheer +you up, wouldn't it, Kid?” says she. But I was so upset, I could only +wag my tail most violent. “He says it would!” says she, though, being +that excited, I hadn't said nothing. + +So, “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” laughs and takes out a piece of blue paper, and +sits down at the head-groom's table. + +“What's the name of the father of your dog, Nolan?” says he. And Nolan +says, “The man I got him off told me he was a son of Champion Regent +Royal, sir. But it don't seem likely, does it?” says Nolan. + +“It does not!” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” short-like. + +“Aren't you sure, Nolan?” says Miss Dorothy. + +“No, Miss,” says the Master. + +“Sire unknown,” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” and writes it down. + +“Date of birth?” asks “Mr. Wyndham, sir.” + +“I--I--unknown, sir,” says Nolan. And “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” writes it +down. + +“Breeder?” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir.” + +“Unknown,” says Nolan, getting very red around the jaws, and I drops my +head and tail. And “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” writes that down. + +“Mother's name?” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir.” + +“She was a--unknown,” says the Master. And I licks his hand. + +“Dam unknown,” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” and writes it down. Then he +takes the paper and reads out loud: “Sire unknown, dam unknown, breeder +unknown, date of birth unknown. You'd better call him the 'Great +Unknown,'” says he. “Who's paying his entrance-fee?” + +“I am,” says Miss Dorothy. + +Two weeks after we all got on a train for New York; Jimmy Jocks and me +following Nolan in the smoking-car, and twenty-two of the St. Bernards, +in boxes and crates, and on chains and leashes. Such a barking and +howling I never did hear, and when they sees me going, too, they laughs +fit to kill. + +“Wot is this; a circus?” says the railroad-man. + +But I had no heart in it. I hated to go. I knew I was no “show” dog, +even though Miss Dorothy and the Master did their best to keep me from +shaming them. For before we set out Miss Dorothy brings a man from town +who scrubbed and rubbed me, and sand-papered my tail, which hurt most +awful, and shaved my ears with the Master's razor, so you could most see +clear through 'em, and sprinkles me over with pipe-clay, till I shines +like a Tommy's cross-belts. + +“Upon my word!” says Jimmy Jocks when he first sees me. “What a swell +you are! You're the image of your grand-dad when he made his debut at +the Crystal Palace. He took four firsts and three specials.” But I knew +he was only trying to throw heart into me. They might scrub, and they +might rub, and they might pipe-clay, but they couldn't pipe-clay the +insides of me, and they was black-and-tan. + +Then we came to a Garden, which it was not, but the biggest hall in the +world. Inside there was lines of benches, a few miles long, and on them +sat every dog in the world. If all the dog-snatchers in Montreal had +worked night and day for a year, they couldn't have caught so many dogs. +And they was all shouting and barking and howling so vicious, that my +heart stopped beating. For at first I thought they was all enraged at my +presuming to intrude, but after I got in my place, they kept at it just +the same, barking at every dog as he come in; daring him to fight, and +ordering him out, and asking him what breed of dog he thought he was, +anyway. Jimmy Jocks was chained just behind me, and he said he never see +so fine a show. “That's a hot class you're in, my lad,” he says, looking +over into my street, where there were thirty bull-terriers. They was all +as white as cream, and each so beautiful that if I could have broke +my chain, I would have run all the way home and hid myself under the +horse-trough. + +All night long they talked and sang, and passed greetings with old +pals, and the home-sick puppies howled dismal. Them that couldn't sleep +wouldn't let no others sleep, and all the electric lights burned in the +roof, and in my eyes. I could hear Jimmy Jocks snoring peaceful, but I +could only doze by jerks, and when I dozed I dreamed horrible. All the +dogs in the hall seemed coming at me for daring to intrude, with their +jaws red and open, and their eyes blazing like the lights in the roof. +“You're a street-dog! Get out, you street-dog!” they yells. And as they +drives me out, the pipe-clay drops off me, and they laugh and shriek; +and when I looks down I see that I have turned into a black-and-tan. + +They was most awful dreams, and next morning, when Miss Dorothy comes +and gives me water in a pan, I begs and begs her to take me home, but +she can't understand. “How well Kid is!” she says. And when I jumps into +the Master's arms, and pulls to break my chain, he says, “If he knew +all as he had against him, Miss, he wouldn't be so gay.” And from a book +they reads out the names of the beautiful high-bred terriers which I +have got to meet. And I can't make 'em understand that I only want to +run away, and hide myself where no one will see me. + +Then suddenly men comes hurrying down our street and begins to brush the +beautiful bull-terriers, and Nolan rubs me with a towel so excited that +his hands trembles awful, and Miss Dorothy tweaks my ears between her +gloves, so that the blood runs to 'em, and they turn pink and stand up +straight and sharp. + +“Now, then, Nolan,” says she, her voice shaking just like his fingers, +“keep his head up--and never let the Judge lose sight of him.” When I +hears that my legs breaks under me, for I knows all about judges. Twice, +the old Master goes up before the Judge for fighting me with other dogs, +and the Judge promises him if he ever does it again, he'll chain him +up in jail. I knew he'd find me out. A Judge can't be fooled by no +pipe-clay. He can see right through you, and he reads your insides. + +The judging-ring, which is where the Judge holds out, was so like a +fighting-pit, that when I came in it, and find six other dogs there, I +springs into position, so that when they lets us go I can defend myself, +But the Master smoothes down my hair and whispers, “Hold 'ard, Kid, hold +'ard. This ain't a fight,” says he. “Look your prettiest,” he whispers. +“Please, Kid, look your prettiest,” and he pulls my leash so tight that +I can't touch my pats to the sawdust, and my nose goes up in the air. +There was millions of people a-watching us from the railings, and three +of our kennel-men, too, making fun of Nolan and me, and Miss Dorothy +with her chin just reaching to the rail, and her eyes so big that I +thought she was a-going to cry. It was awful to think that when the +Judge stood up and exposed me, all those people, and Miss Dorothy, would +be there to see me driven from the show. + +The Judge, he was a fierce-looking man with specs on his nose, and a red +beard. When I first come in he didn't see me owing to my being too quick +for him and dodging behind the Master. But when the Master drags me +round and I pulls at the sawdust to keep back, the Judge looks at us +careless-like, and then stops and glares through his specs, and I knew +it was all up with me. + +“Are there any more?” asks the Judge, to the gentleman at the gate, but +never taking his specs from me. + +The man at the gate looks in his book. “Seven in the novice-class,” says +he. “They're all here. You can go ahead,” and he shuts the gate. + +The Judge, he doesn't hesitate a moment. He just waves his hand toward +the corner of the ring. “Take him away,” he says to the Master. “Over +there and keep him away,” and he turns and looks most solemn at the six +beautiful bull-terriers. I don't know how I crawled to that corner. +I wanted to scratch under the sawdust and dig myself a grave. The +kennel-men they slapped the rail with their hands and laughed at the +Master like they would fall over. They pointed at me in the corner, and +their sides just shaked. But little Miss Dorothy she presses her lips +tight against the rail, and I see tears rolling from her eyes. The +Master, he hangs his head like he had been whipped. I felt most sorry +for him, than all. He was so red, and he was letting on not to see the +kennel-men, and blinking his eyes. If the Judge had ordered me right +out, it wouldn't have disgraced us so, but it was keeping me there while +he was judging the high-bred dogs that hurt so hard. With all those +people staring too. And his doing it so quick, without no doubt nor +questions. You can't fool the judges. They see insides you. + +But he couldn't make up his mind about them high-bred dogs. He scowls at +'em, and he glares at 'em, first with his head on the one side and then +on the other. And he feels of 'em, and orders 'em to run about. And +Nolan leans against the rails, with his head hung down, and pats me. And +Miss Dorothy comes over beside him, but don't say nothing, only wipes +her eye with her finger. A man on the other side of the rail he says to +the Master, “The Judge don't like your dog?” + +“No,” says the Master. + +“Have you ever shown him before?” says the man. + +“No,” says the Master, “and I'll never show him again. He's my dog,” + says the Master, “an' he suits me! And I don't care what no judges +think.” And when he says them kind words, I licks his hand most +grateful. + +The Judge had two of the six dogs on a little platform in the middle of +the ring, and he had chased the four other dogs into the corners, where +they was licking their chops, and letting on they didn't care, same as +Nolan was. + +The two dogs on the platform was so beautiful that the Judge hisself +couldn't tell which was the best of 'em, even when he stoops down and +holds their heads together. But at last he gives a sigh, and brushes the +sawdust off his knees and goes to the table in the ring, where there was +a man keeping score, and heaps and heaps of blue and gold and red and +yellow ribbons. And the Judge picks up a bunch of 'em and walks to the +two gentlemen who was holding the beautiful dogs, and he says to each +“What's his number?” and he hands each gentleman a ribbon. And then he +turned sharp, and comes straight at the Master. + +“What's his number?” says the Judge. And Master was so scared that he +couldn't make no answer. + +But Miss Dorothy claps her hands and cries out like she was laughing, +“Three twenty-six,” and the Judge writes it down, and shoves Master the +blue ribbon. + +I bit the Master, and I jumps and bit Miss Dorothy, and I waggled so +hard that the Master couldn't hold me. When I get to the gate Miss +Dorothy snatches me up and kisses me between the ears, right before +millions of people, and they both hold me so tight that I didn't know +which of them was carrying of me. But one thing I knew, for I listened +hard, as it was the Judge hisself as said it. + +“Did you see that puppy I gave 'first' to?” says the Judge to the +gentleman at the gate. + +“I did. He was a bit out of his class,” says the gate-gentleman. + +“He certainly was!” says the Judge, and they both laughed. + +But I didn't care. They couldn't hurt me then, not with Nolan holding +the blue ribbon and Miss Dorothy hugging my ears, and the kennel-men +sneaking away, each looking like he'd been caught with his nose under +the lid of the slop-can. + +We sat down together, and we all three just talked as fast as we could. +They was so pleased that I couldn't help feeling proud myself, and I +barked and jumped and leaped about so gay, that all the bull-terriers in +our street stretched on their chains, and howled at me. + +“Just look at him!” says one of those I had beat. “What's he giving +hisself airs about?” + +“Because he's got one blue ribbon!” says another of 'em. “Why, when I +was a puppy I used to eat 'em, and if that Judge could ever learn to +know a toy from a mastiff, I'd have had this one.” + +But Jimmy Jocks he leaned over from his bench, and says, “Well done, +Kid. Didn't I tell you so!” What he 'ad told me was that I might get a +“commended,” but I didn't remind him. + +“Didn't I tell you,” says Jimmy Jocks, “that I saw your grandfather make +his debut at the Crystal--” + +“Yes, sir, you did, sir,” says I, for I have no love for the men of my +family. + +A gentleman with a showing leash around his neck comes up just then and +looks at me very critical. “Nice dog you've got, Miss Wyndham,” says he; +“would you care to sell him?” + +“He's not my dog,” says Miss Dorothy, holding me tight. “I wish he +were.” + +“He's not for sale, sir,” says the Master, and I was that glad. + +“Oh, he's yours, is he?” says the gentleman, looking hard at Nolan. +“Well, I'll give you a hundred dollars for him,” says he, careless-like. + +“Thank you, sir, he's not for sale,” says Nolan, but his eyes get very +big. The gentleman, he walked away, but I watches him, and he talks to a +man in a golf-cap, and by and by the man comes along our street, looking +at all the dogs, and stops in front of me. + +“This your dog?” says he to Nolan. “Pity he's so leggy,” says he. “If he +had a good tail, and a longer stop, and his ears were set higher, he'd +be a good dog. As he is, I'll give you fifty dollars for him.” + +But before the Master could speak, Miss Dorothy laughs, and says, +“You're Mr. Polk's kennel-man, I believe. Well, you tell Mr. Polk from +me that the dog's not for sale now any more than he was five minutes +ago, and that when he is, he'll have to bid against me for him.” The man +looks foolish at that, but he turns to Nolan quick-like. “I'll give you +three hundred for him,” he says. + +“Oh, indeed!” whispers Miss Dorothy, like she was talking to herself. +“That's it, is it,” and she turns and looks at me just as though she had +never seen me before. Nolan, he was a gaping, too, with his mouth open. +But he holds me tight. + +“He's not for sale,” he growls, like he was frightened, and the man +looks black and walks away. + +“Why, Nolan!” cries Miss Dorothy, “Mr. Polk knows more about +bull-terriers than any amateur in America. What can he mean? Why, Kid is +no more than a puppy! Three hundred dollars for a puppy!” + +“And he ain't no thoroughbred neither!” cries the Master. “He's +'Unknown,' ain't he? Kid can't help it, of course, but his mother, +Miss--” + +I dropped my head. I couldn't bear he should tell Miss Dorothy. I +couldn't bear she should know I had stolen my blue ribbon. + +But the Master never told, for at that, a gentleman runs up, calling, +“Three Twenty-Six, Three Twenty-Six,” and Miss Dorothy says, “Here he +is, what is it?” + +“The Winner's Class,” says the gentleman “Hurry, please. The Judge is +waiting for him.” + +Nolan tries to get me off the chain onto a showing leash, but he shakes +so, he only chokes me. “What is it, Miss?” he says. “What is it?” + +“The Winner's Class,” says Miss Dorothy. “The Judge wants him with the +winners of the other classes--to decide which is the best. It's only a +form,” says she. “He has the champions against him now.” + +“Yes,” says the gentleman, as he hurries us to the ring. “I'm afraid +it's only a form for your dog, but the Judge wants all the winners, +puppy class even.” + +We had got to the gate, and the gentleman there was writing down my +number. + +“Who won the open?” asks Miss Dorothy. + +“Oh, who would?” laughs the gentleman. “The old champion, of course. +He's won for three years now. There he is. Isn't he wonderful?” says he, +and he points to a dog that's standing proud and haughty on the platform +in the middle of the ring. + +I never see so beautiful a dog, so fine and clean and noble, so white +like he had rolled hisself in flour, holding his nose up and his eyes +shut, same as though no one was worth looking at. Aside of him, we other +dogs, even though we had a blue ribbon apiece, seemed like lumps of mud. +He was a royal gentleman, a king, he was. His Master didn't have to hold +his head with no leash. He held it hisself, standing as still as an iron +dog on a lawn, like he knew all the people was looking at him. And so +they was, and no one around the ring pointed at no other dog but him. + +“Oh, what a picture,” cried Miss Dorothy; “he's like a marble figure by +a great artist--one who loved dogs. Who is he?” says she, looking in her +book. “I don't keep up with terriers.” + +“Oh, you know him,” says the gentleman. “He is the Champion of +champions, Regent Royal.” + +The Master's face went red. + +“And this is Regent Royal's son,” cries he, and he pulls me quick into +the ring, and plants me on the platform next my father. + +I trembled so that I near fall. My legs twisted like a leash. But my +father he never looked at me. He only smiled, the same sleepy smile, and +he still keep his eyes half-shut, like as no one, no, not even his son, +was worth his lookin' at. + +The Judge, he didn't let me stay beside my father, but, one by one, he +placed the other dogs next to him and measured and felt and pulled at +them. And each one he put down, but he never put my father down. And +then he comes over and picks up me and sets me back on the platform, +shoulder to shoulder with the Champion Regent Royal, and goes down on +his knees, and looks into our eyes. + +The gentleman with my father, he laughs, and says to the Judge, +“Thinking of keeping us here all day. John?” but the Judge, he doesn't +hear him, and goes behind us and runs his hand down my side, and holds +back my ears, and takes my jaws between his fingers. The crowd around +the ring is very deep now, and nobody says nothing. The gentleman at the +score-table, he is leaning forward, with his elbows on his knees, and +his eyes very wide, and the gentleman at the gate is whispering quick to +Miss Dorothy, who has turned white. I stood as stiff as stone. I didn't +even breathe. But out of the corner of my eye I could see my father +licking his pink chops, and yawning just a little, like he was bored. + +The Judge, he had stopped looking fierce, and was looking solemn. +Something inside him seemed a troubling him awful. The more he stares +at us now, the more solemn he gets, and when he touches us he does +it gentle, like he was patting us. For a long time he kneels in the +sawdust, looking at my father and at me, and no one around the ring says +nothing to nobody. + +Then the Judge takes a breath and touches me sudden. “It's his,” he +says, but he lays his hand just as quick on my father. “I'm sorry,” says +he. + +The gentleman holding my father cries: + +“Do you mean to tell me--” + +And the Judge, he answers, “I mean the other is the better dog.” He +takes my father's head between his hands and looks down at him, most +sorrowful. “The King is dead,” says he, “long live the King. Good-by, +Regent,” he says. + +The crowd around the railings clapped their hands, and some laughed +scornful, and everyone talks fast, and I start for the gate so dizzy +that I can't see my way. But my father pushes in front of me, walking +very daintily, and smiling sleepy, same as he had just been waked, with +his head high, and his eyes shut, looking at nobody. + +So that is how I “came by my inheritance,” as Miss Dorothy calls it, +and just for that, though I couldn't feel where I was any different, the +crowd follows me to my bench, and pats me, and coos at me, like I was a +baby in a baby-carriage. And the handlers have to hold 'em back so that +the gentlemen from the papers can make pictures of me, and Nolan walks +me up and down so proud, and the men shakes their heads and says, “He +certainly is the true type, he is!” And the pretty ladies asks Miss +Dorothy, who sits beside me letting me lick her gloves to show the crowd +what friends we is, “Aren't you afraid he'll bite you?” and Jimmy Jocks +calls to me, “Didn't I tell you so! I always knew you were one of us. +Blood will out, Kid, blood will out. I saw your grandfather,” says he, +“make his debut at the Crystal Palace. But he was never the dog you +are!” + +After that, if I could have asked for it, there was nothing I couldn't +get. You might have thought I was a snow-dog, and they was afeerd I'd +melt. If I wet my pats, Nolan gave me a hot bath and chained me to the +stove; if I couldn't eat my food, being stuffed full by the cook, for +I am a house-dog now, and let in to lunch whether there is visitors or +not, Nolan would run to bring the vet. It was all tommy-rot, as Jimmy +says, but meant most kind. I couldn't scratch myself comfortable, +without Nolan giving me nasty drinks, and rubbing me outside till it +burnt awful, and I wasn't let to eat bones for fear of spoiling my +“beautiful” mouth, what mother used to call my “punishing jaw,” and my +food was cooked special on a gas-stove, and Miss Dorothy gives me an +overcoat, cut very stylish like the champions', to wear when we goes out +carriage-driving. + +After the next show, where I takes three blue ribbons, four silver cups, +two medals, and brings home forty-five dollars for Nolan, they gives +me a “Registered” name, same as Jimmy's. Miss Dorothy wanted to call me +“Regent Heir Apparent,” but I was THAT glad when Nolan says, “No, Kid +don't owe nothing to his father, only to you and hisself. So, if you +please, Miss, we'll call him Wyndham Kid.” And so they did, and you can +see it on my overcoat in blue letters, and painted top of my kennel. It +was all too hard to understand. For days I just sat and wondered if I +was really me, and how it all come about, and why everybody was so kind. +But, oh, it was so good they was, for if they hadn't been, I'd never +have got the thing I most wished after. But, because they was kind, and +not liking to deny me nothing, they gave it me, and it was more to me +than anything in the world. + +It came about one day when we was out driving. We was in the cart they +calls the dog-cart, because it's the one Miss Dorothy keeps to take +Jimmy and me for an airing. Nolan was up behind, and me in my new +overcoat was sitting beside Miss Dorothy. I was admiring the view, and +thinking how good it was to have a horse pull you about so that you +needn't get yourself splashed and have to be washed, when I hears a +dog calling loud for help, and I pricks up my ears and looks over the +horse's head. And I sees something that makes me tremble down to my +toes. In the road before us three big dogs was chasing a little, old +lady-dog. She had a string to her tail, where some boys had tied a can, +and she was dirty with mud and ashes, and torn most awful. She was too +far done up to get away, and too old to help herself, but she was making +a fight for her life, snapping her old gums savage, and dying game. All +this I see in a wink, and then the three dogs pinned her down, and I +can't stand it no longer and clears the wheel and lands in the road on +my head. It was my stylish overcoat done that, and I curse it proper, +but I gets my pats again quick, and makes a rush for the fighting. +Behind me I hear Miss Dorothy cry, “They'll kill that old dog. Wait, +take my whip. Beat them off her! The Kid can take care of himself,” and +I hear Nolan fall into the road, and the horse come to a stop. The old +lady-dog was down, and the three was eating her vicious, but as I come +up, scattering the pebbles, she hears, and thinking it's one more of +them, she lifts her head and my heart breaks open like someone had sunk +his teeth in it. For, under the ashes and the dirt and the blood, I can +see who it is, and I know that my mother has come back to me. + +I gives a yell that throws them three dogs off their legs. + +“Mother!” I cries. “I'm the Kid,” I cries. “I'm coming to you, mother, +I'm coming.” + +And I shoots over her, at the throat of the big dog, and the other two, +they sinks their teeth into that stylish overcoat, and tears it off me, +and that sets me free, and I lets them have it. I never had so fine a +fight as that! What with mother being there to see, and not having +been let to mix up in no fights since I become a prize-winner, it just +naturally did me good, and it wasn't three shakes before I had 'em +yelping. Quick as a wink, mother, she jumps in to help me, and I just +laughed to see her. It was so like old times. And Nolan, he made me +laugh too. He was like a hen on a bank, shaking the butt of his whip, +but not daring to cut in for fear of hitting me. + +“Stop it, Kid,” he says, “stop it. Do you want to be all torn up?” says +he. “Think of the Boston show next week,” says he, “Think of Chicago. +Think of Danbury. Don't you never want to be a champion?” How was I to +think of all them places when I had three dogs to cut up at the same +time. But in a minute two of 'em begs for mercy, and mother and me lets +'em run away. The big one, he ain't able to run away. Then mother and +me, we dances and jumps, and barks and laughs, and bites each other and +rolls each other in the road. There never was two dogs so happy as we, +and Nolan, he whistles and calls and begs me to come to him, but I just +laugh and play larks with mother. + +“Now, you come with me,” says I, “to my new home, and never try to run +away again.” And I shows her our house with the five red roofs, set on +the top of the hill. But mother trembles awful, and says: “They'd never +let the likes of me in such a place. Does the Viceroy live there, Kid?” + says she. And I laugh at her. “No, I do,” I says; “and if they won't let +you live there, too, you and me will go back to the streets together, +for we must never be parted no more.” So we trots up the hill, side by +side, with Nolan trying to catch me, and Miss Dorothy laughing at him +from the cart. + +“The Kid's made friends with the poor old dog,” says she. “Maybe he knew +her long ago when he ran the streets himself. Put her in here beside me, +and see if he doesn't follow.” + +So, when I hears that, I tells mother to go with Nolan and sit in the +cart, but she says no, that she'd soil the pretty lady's frock; but I +tells her to do as I say, and so Nolan lifts her, trembling still, into +the cart, and I runs alongside, barking joyful. + +When we drives into the stables I takes mother to my kennel, and tells +her to go inside it and make herself at home. “Oh, but he won't let me!” + says she. + +“Who won't let you?” says I, keeping my eye on Nolan, and growling a bit +nasty, just to show I was meaning to have my way. “Why, Wyndham Kid,” + says she, looking up at the name on my kennel. + +“But I'm Wyndham Kid!” says I. + +“You!” cries mother. “You! Is my little Kid the great Wyndham Kid the +dogs all talk about?” And at that, she, being very old, and sick, and +hungry, and nervous, as mothers are, just drops down in the straw and +weeps bitter. + +Well, there ain't much more than that to tell. Miss Dorothy, she settled +it. + +“If the Kid wants the poor old thing in the stables,” says she, “let her +stay.” + +“You see,” says she, “she's a black-and-tan, and his mother was a +black-and-tan, and maybe that's what makes Kid feel so friendly toward +her,” says she. + +“Indeed, for me,” says Nolan, “she can have the best there is. I'd never +drive out no dog that asks for a crust nor a shelter,” he says. “But +what will Mr. Wyndham do?” + +“He'll do what I say,” says Miss Dorothy, “and if I say she's to stay, +she will stay, and I say--she's to stay!” + +And so mother and Nolan, and me, found a home. Mother was scared at +first--not being used to kind people--but she was so gentle and loving, +that the grooms got fonder of her than of me, and tried to make me +jealous by patting of her, and giving her the pick of the vittles. But +that was the wrong way to hurt my feelings. That's all, I think. Mother +is so happy here that I tell her we ought to call it the Happy Hunting +Grounds, because no one hunts you, and there is nothing to hunt; it just +all comes to you. And so we live in peace, mother sleeping all day in +the sun, or behind the stove in the head-groom's office, being fed +twice a day regular by Nolan, and all the day by the other grooms most +irregular, And, as for me, I go hurrying around the country to the +bench-shows; winning money and cups for Nolan, and taking the blue +ribbons away from father. + + + + + + +A DERELICT + + +When the war-ships of a navy lie cleared for action outside a harbor, +and the war-ships of the country with which they are at war lie cleared +for action inside the harbor, there is likely to be trouble. Trouble +between war-ships is news, and wherever there is news there is always a +representative of the Consolidated Press. + +As long as Sampson blockaded Havana and the army beat time back of the +Tampa Bay Hotel, the central office for news was at Key West, but +when Cervera slipped into Santiago Harbor and Sampson stationed his +battle-ships at its mouth, Key West lost her only excuse for existence, +and the press-boats burled their bows in the waters of the Florida +Straits and raced for the cable-station at Port Antonio. It was then +that Keating, the “star” man of the Consolidated Press Syndicate, was +forced to abandon his young bride and the rooms he had engaged for her +at the Key West Hotel, and accompany his tug to the distant island of +Jamaica. + +Keating was a good and faithful servant to the Consolidated Press. He +was a correspondent after its own making, an industrious collector of +facts. The Consolidated Press did not ask him to comment on what it +sent him to see; it did not require nor desire his editorial opinions or +impressions. It was no part of his work to go into the motives which led +to the event of news interest which he was sent to report, nor to point +out what there was of it which was dramatic, pathetic, or outrageous. + +The Consolidated Press, being a mighty corporation, which daily fed +seven hundred different newspapers, could not hope to please the policy +of each, so it compromised by giving the facts of the day fairly set +down, without heat, prejudice, or enthusiasm. This was an excellent +arrangement for the papers that subscribed for the service of the +Consolidated Press, but it was death to the literary strivings of the +Consolidated Press correspondents. + +“We do not want descriptive writing,” was the warning which the manager +of the great syndicate was always flashing to its correspondents. “We do +not pay you to send us pen-pictures or prose poems. We want the facts, +all the facts, and nothing but the facts.” + +And so, when at a presidential convention a theatrical speaker sat down +after calling James G. Blaine “a plumed knight,” each of the “special” + correspondents present wrote two columns in an effort to describe +how the people who heard the speech behaved in consequence, but the +Consolidated Press man telegraphed, “At the conclusion of these remarks +the cheering lasted sixteen minutes.” + +No event of news value was too insignificant to escape the watchfulness +of the Consolidated Press, none so great that it could not handle it +from its inception up to the moment when it ceased to be quoted in the +news-market of the world. Each night, from thousands of spots all over +the surface of the globe, it received thousands of facts, of cold, +accomplished facts. It knew that a tidal wave had swept through China, a +cabinet had changed in Chili, in Texas an express train had been held up +and robbed, “Spike” Kennedy had defeated the “Dutchman” in New Orleans, +the Oregon had coaled outside of Rio Janeiro Harbor, the Cape Verde +fleet had been seen at anchor off Cadiz; it had been located in the +harbor of San Juan, Porto Rico; it had been sighted steaming slowly past +Fortress Monroe; and the Navy Department reported that the St. Paul had +discovered the lost squadron of Spain in the harbor of Santiago. This +last fact was the one which sent Keating to Jamaica. Where he was sent +was a matter of indifference to Keating. He had worn the collar of +the Consolidated Press for so long a time that he was callous. A board +meeting--a mine disaster--an Indian uprising--it was all one to Keating. +He collected facts and his salary. He had no enthusiasms, he held no +illusions. The prestige of the mammoth syndicate he represented gained +him an audience where men who wrote for one paper only were repulsed on +the threshold. Senators, governors, the presidents of great trusts and +railroad systems, who fled from the reporter of a local paper as from +a leper, would send for Keating and dictate to him whatever it was they +wanted the people of the United States to believe, for when they talked +to Keating they talked to many millions of readers. Keating, in turn, +wrote out what they had said to him and transmitted it, without color or +bias, to the clearinghouse of the Consolidated Press. His “stories,” + as all newspaper writings are called by men who write them, were as +picturesque reading as the quotations of a stock-ticker. The personal +equation appeared no more offensively than it does in a page of +typewriting in his work. + +Consequently, he was dear to the heart of the Consolidated Press, and, +as a “safe” man, was sent to the beautiful harbor of Santiago--to a spot +where there were war-ships cleared for action, Cubans in ambush, +naked marines fighting for a foothold at Guantanamo, palm-trees and +coral-reefs--in order that he might look for “facts.” + +There was not a newspaper man left at Key West who did not writhe with +envy and anger when he heard of it. When the wire was closed for +the night, and they had gathered at Josh Kerry's, Keating was the +storm-centre of their indignation. + +“What a chance!” they protested. “What a story! It's the chance of a +lifetime.” They shook their heads mournfully and lashed themselves with +pictures of its possibilities. + +“And just fancy its being wasted on old Keating,” said the Journal man. +“Why, everything's likely to happen out there, and whatever does happen, +he'll make it read like a Congressional Record. Why, when I heard of it +I cabled the office that if the paper would send me I'd not ask for any +salary for six months.” + +“And Keating's kicking because he has to go,” growled the Sun man. “Yes, +he is, I saw him last night, and he was sore because he'd just moved his +wife down here. He said if he'd known this was coming he'd have let her +stay in New York. He says he'll lose money on this assignment, having to +support himself and his wife in two different places.” + +Norris, “the star man” of the World, howled with indignation. + +“Good Lord!” he said, “is that all he sees in it? Why, there never was +such a chance. I tell you, some day soon all of those war-ships will let +loose at each other and there will be the best story that ever came over +the wire, and if there isn't, it's a regular loaf anyway. It's a picnic, +that's what it is, at the expense of the Consolidated Press. Why, +he ought to pay them to let him go. Can't you see him, confound him, +sitting under a palm-tree in white flannels, with a glass of Jamaica rum +in his fist, while we're dodging yellow fever on this coral-reef, and +losing our salaries on a crooked roulette-wheel.” + +“I wonder what Jamaica rum is like as a steady drink,” mused the +ex-baseball reporter, who had been converted into a war-correspondent by +the purchase of a white yachting-cap. + +“It won't be long before Keating finds out,” said the Journal man. + +“Oh, I didn't know that,” ventured the new reporter, who had just come +South from Boston. “I thought he didn't drink. I never see Keating in +here with the rest of the boys.” + +“You wouldn't,” said Norris. “He only comes in here by himself, and he +drinks by himself. He's one of those confidential drunkards, You give +some men whiskey, and it's like throwing kerosene on a fire, isn't it? +It makes them wave their arms about and talk loud and break things, but +you give it to another man and it's like throwing kerosene on a cork +mat. It just soaks in. That's what Keating is. He's a sort of a cork +mat.” + +“I shouldn't think the C. P. would stand for that,” said the Boston man. + +“It wouldn't, if it ever interfered with his work, but he's never fallen +down on a story yet. And the sort of stuff he writes is machine-made; a +man can write C. P. stuff in his sleep.” + +One of the World men looked up and laughed. + +“I wonder if he'll run across Channing out there,” he said. The men at +the table smiled, a kindly, indulgent smile. The name seemed to act +upon their indignation as a shower upon the close air of a summer-day. +“That's so,” said Norris. “He wrote me last month from Port-au-Prince +that he was moving on to Jamaica. He wrote me from that club there at +the end of the wharf. He said he was at that moment introducing the +President to a new cocktail, and as he had no money to pay his passage +to Kingston he was trying to persuade him to send him on there as his +Haitian Consul. He said in case he couldn't get appointed Consul, he had +an offer to go as cook on a fruit-tramp.” + +The men around the table laughed. It was the pleased, proud laugh that +flutters the family dinner-table when the infant son and heir says +something precocious and impudent. + +“Who is Channing?” asked the Boston man. + +There was a pause, and the correspondents looked at Norris. + +“Channing is a sort of a derelict,” he said. “He drifted into New York +last Christmas from the Omaha Bee. He's been on pretty nearly every +paper in the country.” + +“What's he doing in Haiti?” + +“He went there on the Admiral Decatur to write a filibustering story +about carrying arms across to Cuba. Then the war broke out and he's +been trying to get back to Key West, and now, of course, he'll make for +Kingston. He cabled me yesterday, at my expense, to try and get him a +job on our paper. If the war hadn't come on he had a plan to beat his +way around the world. And he'd have done it, too. I never saw a man who +wouldn't help Charlie along, or lend him a dollar.” He glanced at the +faces about him and winked at the Boston man. “They all of them look +guilty, don't they?” he said. + +“Charlie Channing,” murmured the baseball reporter, gently, as though +he were pronouncing the name of a girl. He raised his glass. “Here's +to Charlie Channing,” he repeated. Norris set down his empty glass and +showed it to the Boston man. + +“That's his only enemy,” he said. “Write! Heavens, how that man can +write, and he'd almost rather do anything else. There isn't a paper in +New York that wasn't glad to get him, but they couldn't keep him a +week. It was no use talking to him. Talk! I've talked to him until three +o'clock in the morning. Why, it was I made him send his first Chinatown +story to the International Magazine, and they took it like a flash and +wrote him for more, but he blew in the check they sent him and didn't +even answer their letter. He said after he'd had the fun of writing a +story, he didn't care whether it was published in a Sunday paper or in +white vellum, or never published at all. And so long as he knew he wrote +it, he didn't care whether anyone else knew it or not. Why, when that +English reviewer--what's his name--that friend of Kipling's--passed +through New York, he said to a lot of us at the Press Club, 'You've got +a young man here on Park Row--an opium-eater, I should say, by the look +of him, who if he would work and leave whiskey alone, would make us all +sweat.' That's just what he said, and he's the best in England!” + +“Charlie's a genius,” growled the baseball reporter, defiantly. “I say, +he's a genius.” + +The Boston man shook his head. “My boy,” he began, sententiously, +“genius is nothing more than hard work, and a man--” + +Norris slapped the table with his hand. + +“Oh, no, it's not,” he jeered, fiercely, “and don't you go off believing +it is, neither. I've worked. I've worked twelve hours a day. Keating +even has worked eighteen hours a day--all his life--but we never wrote +'The Passing of the Highbinders,' nor the 'Ships that Never Came +Home,' nor 'Tales of the Tenderloin,' and we never will. I'm a better +news-gatherer than Charlie, I can collect facts and I can put them +together well enough, too, so that if a man starts to read my story +he'll probably follow it to the bottom of the column, and he may turn +over the page, too. But I can't say the things, because I can't see +the things that Charlie sees. Why, one night we sent him out on a big +railroad-story. It was a beat, we'd got it by accident, and we had it +all to ourselves, but Charlie came across a blind beggar on Broadway +with a dead dog. The dog had been run over, and the blind beggar +couldn't find his way home without him, and was sitting on the +curb-stone, weeping over the mongrel. Well, when Charlie came back to +the office he said he couldn't find out anything about that railroad +deal, but that he'd write them a dog-story. Of course, they were raging +crazy, but he sat down just as though it was no concern of his, and, +sure enough, he wrote the dog-story. And the next day over five hundred +people stopped in at the office on their way downtown and left dimes and +dollars to buy that man a new dog. Now, hard work won't do that.” + +Keating had been taking breakfast in the ward-room of H. M. S. +Indefatigable. As an acquaintance the officers had not found him an +undoubted acquisition, but he was the representative of seven hundred +papers, and when the Indefatigable's ice-machine broke, he had loaned +the officers' mess a hundred pounds of it from his own boat. + +The cruiser's gig carried Keating to the wharf, the crew tossed their +oars and the boatswain touched his cap and asked, mechanically, “Shall I +return to the ship, sir?” + +Channing, stretched on the beach, with his back to a palm-tree, observed +the approach of Keating with cheerful approbation. + +“It is gratifying to me,” he said, “to see the press treated with such +consideration. You came in just like Cleopatra in her barge. If the flag +had been flying, and you hadn't steered so badly, I should have thought +you were at least an admiral. How many guns does the British Navy give a +Consolidated Press reporter when he comes over the side?” + +Keating dropped to the sand and, crossing his legs under him, began +tossing shells at the water. + +“They gave this one a damned good breakfast,” he said, “and some very +excellent white wine. Of course, the ice-machine was broken, it always +is, but then Chablis never should be iced, if it's the real thing.” + +“Chablis! Ice! Hah!” snorted Channing. “Listen to him! Do you know what +I had for breakfast?” + +Keating turned away uncomfortably and looked toward the ships in the +harbor. + +“Well, never mind,” said Channing, yawning luxuriously. “The sun is +bright, the sea is blue, and the confidences of this old palm are +soothing. He's a great old gossip, this palm.” He looked up into the +rustling fronds and smiled. “He whispers me to sleep,” he went on, +“or he talks me awake--talks about all sorts of things--things he has +seen--cyclones, wrecks, and strange ships and Cuban refugees and +Spanish spies and lovers that meet here on moonlight nights. It's always +moonlight in Port Antonio, isn't it?” + +“You ought to know, you've been here longer than I,” said Keating. + +“And how do you like it, now that you have got to know it better? Pretty +heavenly? eh?” + +“Pretty heavenly!” snorted Keating. “Pretty much the other place! What +good am I doing? What's the sense of keeping me here? Cervera isn't +going to come out, and the people at Washington won't let Sampson go in. +Why, those ships have been there a month now, and they'll be there just +where they are now when you and I are bald. I'm no use here. All I do +is to thrash across there every day and eat up more coal than the whole +squadron burns in a month. Why, that tug of mine's costing the C. P. six +hundred dollars a day, and I'm not sending them news enough to pay for +setting it up. Have you seen 'em yet?” + +“Seen what? Your stories?” + +“No, the ships!” + +“Yes, Scudder took me across once in the Iduna. I haven't got a paper +yet, so I couldn't write anything, but--” + +“Well, you've seen all there is to it, then; you wouldn't see any more +if you went over every day. It's just the same old harbor-mouth, and +the same old Morro Castle, and same old ships, drifting up and down; the +Brooklyn, full of smoke-stacks, and the New York, with her two bridges, +and all the rest of them looking just as they've looked for the last +four weeks. There's nothing in that. Why don't they send me to Tampa +with the army and Shafter--that's where the story is.” + +“Oh, I don't know,” said Channing, shaking his head. “I thought it was +bully!” + +“Bully, what was bully?” + +“Oh, the picture,” said Channing, doubtfully, “and--and what it meant. +What struck me about it was that it was so hot, and lazy, and peaceful, +that they seemed to be just drifting about, just what you complain of. +I don't know what I expected to see; I think I expected they'd be racing +around in circles, tearing up the water and throwing broadsides at Morro +Castle as fast as fire-crackers. + +“But they lay broiling there in the heat just as though they were +becalmed. They seemed to be asleep on their anchor-chains. It reminded +me of a big bull-dog lying in the sun with his head on his paws and his +eyes shut. You think he's asleep, and you try to tiptoe past him, but +when you're in reach of his chain--he's at your throat, what? It seemed +so funny to think of our being really at war. I mean the United States, +and with such an old-established firm as Spain. It seems so presumptuous +in a young republic, as though we were strutting around, singing, 'I'm +getting a big boy now.' I felt like saying, 'Oh, come off, and stop +playing you're a world power, and get back into your red sash and +knickerbockers, or you'll get spanked!' It seems as though we must be +such a lot of amateurs. But when I went over the side of the New York I +felt like kneeling down on her deck and begging every jackey to kick me. +I felt about as useless as a fly on a locomotive-engine. Amateurs! Why, +they might have been in the business since the days of the ark; all of +them might have been descended from bloody pirates; they twisted those +eight-inch guns around for us just as though they were bicycles, and the +whole ship moved and breathed and thought, too, like a human being, and +all the captains of the other war-ships about her were watching for her +to give the word. All of them stripped and eager and ready--like a lot +of jockeys holding in the big race-horses, and each of them with his +eyes on the starter. And I liked the way they all talk about Sampson, +and the way the ships move over the stations like parts of one machine, +just as he had told them to do. + +“Scudder introduced me to him, and he listened while we did the talking, +but it was easy to see who was the man in the Conning Tower. Keating--my +boy!” Channing cried, sitting upright in his enthusiasm, “he's put a +combination-lock on that harbor that can't be picked--and it'll work +whether Sampson's asleep in his berth, or fifteen miles away, or killed +on the bridge. He doesn't have to worry, he knows his trap will work--he +ought to, he set it.” + +Keating shrugged his shoulders, tolerantly. + +“Oh, I see that side of it,” he assented. “I see all there is in it for +YOU, the sort of stuff you write, Sunday-special stuff, but there's no +NEWS in it. I'm not paid to write mail-letters, and I'm not down here to +interview palm-trees either.” + +“Why, you old fraud!” laughed Channing. “You know you're having the time +of your life here. You're the pet of Kingston society--you know you +are. I only wish I were half as popular. I don't seem to belong, do I? I +guess it's my clothes. That English Colonel at Kingston always scowls +at me as though he'd like to put me in irons, and whenever I meet our +Consul he sees something very peculiar on the horizon-line.” + +Keating frowned for a moment in silence, and then coughed, consciously. + +“Channing,” he began, uncomfortably, “you ought to brace up.” + +“Brace up?” asked Channing. + +“Well, it isn't fair to the rest of us,” protested Keating, launching +into his grievance. “There's only a few of us here, and we--we think +you ought to see that and not give the crowd a bad name. All the other +correspondents have some regard for--for their position and for the +paper, but you loaf around here looking like an old tramp--like any +old beach-comber, and it queers the rest of us. Why, those English +artillerymen at the Club asked me about you, and when I told them +you were a New York correspondent they made all sorts of jokes about +American newspapers, and what could I say?” + +Channing eyed the other man with keen delight. + +“I see, by Jove! I'm sorry,” he said. But the next moment he laughed, +and then apologized, remorsefully. + +“Indeed, I beg your pardon,” he begged, “but it struck me as a sort +of--I had no idea you fellows were such swells--I knew I was a social +outcast, but I didn't know my being a social outcast was hurting anyone +else. Tell me some more.” + +“Well, that's all,” said Keating, suspiciously. “The fellows asked me +to speak to you about it and to tell you to take a brace. Now, for +instance, we have a sort of mess-table at the hotels and we'd like to +ask you to belong, but--well--you see how it is--we have the officers +to lunch whenever they're on shore, and you're so disreputable”--Keating +scowled at Channing, and concluded, impotently, “Why don't you get +yourself some decent clothes and--and a new hat?” + +Channing removed his hat to his knee and stroked it with affectionate +pity. + +“It is a shocking bad hat,” he said. “Well, go on.” + +“Oh, it's none of my business,” exclaimed Keating, impatiently. “I'm +just telling you what they're saying. Now, there's the Cuban refugees, +for instance. No one knows what they're doing here, or whether they're +real Cubans or Spaniards.” + +“Well, what of it?” + +“Why, the way you go round with them and visit them, it's no wonder they +say you're a spy.” + +Channing stared incredulously, and then threw back his head and laughed +with a shout of delight. + +“They don't, do they?” he asked. + +“Yes, they do, since you think it's so funny. If it hadn't been for +us the day you went over to Guantanamo the marines would have had you +arrested and court-martialed.” + +Channing's face clouded with a quick frown, “Oh,” he exclaimed, in a +hurt voice, “they couldn't have thought that.” + +“Well, no,” Keating admitted grudgingly, “not after the fight, perhaps, +but before that, when you were snooping around the camp like a Cuban +after rations.” Channing recognized the picture with a laugh. + +“I do,” he said, “I do. But you should have had me court-martialed and +shot; it would have made a good story. 'Our reporter shot as a spy, his +last words were--' what were my last words, Keating?” + +Keating turned upon him with impatience, “But why do you do it?” he +demanded. “Why don't you act like the rest of us? Why do you hang out +with all those filibusters and runaway Cubans?” + +“They have been very kind to me,” said Channing, soberly. “They are a +very courteous race, and they have ideas of hospitality which make the +average New Yorker look like a dog hiding a bone.” + +“Oh, I suppose you mean that for us,” demanded Keating. “That's a slap +at me, eh?” + +Channing gave a sigh and threw himself back against the trunk of the +palm, with his hands clasped behind his head. + +“Oh, I wasn't thinking of you at all, Keating,” he said. “I don't +consider you in the least.” He stretched himself and yawned wearily. +“I've got troubles of my own.” He sat up suddenly and adjusted the +objectionable hat to his head. + +“Why don't you wire the C. P.,” he asked, briskly, “and see if they +don't want an extra man? It won't cost you anything to wire, and I need +the job, and I haven't the money to cable.” + +“The Consolidated Press,” began Keating, jealously. “Why--well, you know +what the Consolidated Press is? They don't want descriptive writers--and +I've got all the men I need.” + +Keating rose and stood hesitating in some embarrassment. “I'll tell you +what I could do, Channing,” he said, “I could take you on as a stoker, +or steward, say. They're always deserting and mutinying; I have to carry +a gun on me to make them mind. How would you like that? Forty dollars a +month, and eat with the crew?” + +For a moment Channing stood in silence, smoothing the sand with the sole +of his shoe. When he raised his head his face was flushing. + +“Oh, thank you,” he said. “I think I'll keep on trying for a paper--I'll +try a little longer. I want to see something of this war, of course, and +if I'm not too lazy I'd like to write something about it, but--well--I'm +much obliged to you, anyway.” + +“Of course, if it were my money, I'd take you on at once,” said Keating, +hurriedly. + +Channing smiled and nodded. “You're very kind,” he answered. “Well, +good-by.” + +A half-hour later, in the smoking-room of the hotel, Keating addressed +himself to a group of correspondents. + +“There is no doing anything with that man Channing,” he said, in a tone +of offended pride. “I offered him a good job and he wouldn't take it. +Because he got a story in the International Magazine, he's stuck on +himself, and he won't hustle for news--he wants to write pipe-dreams. +What the public wants just now is news.” + +“That's it,” said one of the group, “and we must give it to them--even +if we have to fake it.” + +Great events followed each other with great rapidity. The army ceased +beating time, shook itself together, adjusted its armor and moved, and, +to the delight of the flotilla of press-boats at Port Antonio, moved, +not as it had at first intended, to the north coast of Cuba, but to +Santiago, where its transports were within reach of their megaphones. + +“Why, everything's coming our way now!” exclaimed the World manager +in ecstasy. “We've got the transports to starboard at Siboney, and the +war-ships to port at Santiago, and all we'll need to do is to sit on the +deck with a field-glass, and take down the news with both hands.” + +Channing followed these events with envy. Once or twice, as a special +favor, the press-boats carried him across to Siboney and Daiquiri, and +he was able to write stories of what he saw there; of the landing of the +army, of the wounded after the Guasimas fight, and of the fever-camp at +Siboney. His friends on the press-boats sent this work home by mail on +the chance that the Sunday editor might take it at space rates. But mail +matter moved slowly and the army moved quickly, and events crowded so +closely upon each other that Channing's stories, when they reached New +York, were ancient history and were unpublished, and, what was of more +importance to him, unpaid for. He had no money now, and he had become +a beach-comber in the real sense of the word. He slept the warm nights +away among the bananas and cocoanuts on the Fruit Company's wharf, +and by calling alternately on his Cuban exiles and the different +press-boats, he was able to obtain a meal a day without arousing any +suspicions in the minds of his hosts that it was his only one. + +He was sitting on the stringer of the pier-head one morning, waiting for +a press-boat from the “front,” when the Three Friends ran in and lowered +her dingy, and the “World” manager came ashore, clasping a precious +bundle of closely written cable-forms. Channing scrambled to his feet +and hailed him. + +“Have you heard from the chief about me yet?” he asked. The “World” man +frowned and stammered, and then, taking Channing by the arm, hurried +with him toward the cable-office. + +“Charlie, I think they're crazy up there,” he began, “they think they +know it all. Here I am on the spot, but they think--” + +“You mean they won't have me,” said Channing. “But why?” he asked, +patiently. “They used to give me all the space I wanted.” + +“Yes, I know, confound them, and so they should now,” said the “World” + man, with sympathetic indignation. “But here's their cable; you can see +it's not my fault.” He read the message aloud. “Channing, no. Not safe, +take reliable man from Siboney.” He folded the cablegram around a dozen +others and stuck it back in his hip-pocket. + +“What queered you, Charlie,” he explained, importantly, “was that last +break of yours, New Year's, when you didn't turn up for a week. It +was once too often, and the chief's had it in for you ever since. You +remember?” + +Channing screwed up his lips in an effort of recollection. + +“Yes, I remember,” he answered, slowly. “It began on New Year's eve in +Perry's drug-store, and I woke up a week later in a hack in Boston. So +I didn't have such a run for my money, did I? Not good enough to have to +pay for it like this. I tell you,” he burst out suddenly, “I feel like +hell being left out of this war, with all the rest of the boys working +so hard. If it weren't playing it low down on the fellows that have been +in it from the start, I'd like to enlist. But they enlisted for glory, +and I'd only do it because I can't see the war any other way, and it +doesn't seem fair to them. What do you think?” + +“Oh, don't do that,” protested the World manager. “You stick to your own +trade. We'll get you something to do. Have you tried the Consolidated +Press yet?” + +Channing smiled grimly at the recollection. + +“Yes, I tried it first.” + +“It would be throwing pearls to swine to have you write for them, I +know, but they're using so many men now. I should think you could get on +their boat.” + +“No, I saw Keating,” Channing explained. “He said I could come along as +a stoker, and I guess I'll take him up, it seems--” + +“Keating said--what?” exclaimed the “World” man. “Keating? Why, he +stands to lose his own job, if he isn't careful. If it wasn't that he's +just married, the C. P. boys would have reported him a dozen times.” + +“Reported him, what for?” + +“Why--you know. His old complaint.” + +“Oh, that,” said Channing. “My old complaint?” he added. + +“Well, yes, but Keating hasn't been sober for two weeks, and he'd +have fallen down on the Guasimas story if those men hadn't pulled him +through. They had to, because they're in the syndicate. He ought to go +shoot himself; he's only been married three months and he's handling the +biggest piece of news the country's had in thirty years, and he can't +talk straight. There's a time for everything, I say,” growled the +“World” man. + +“It takes it out of a man, this boat-work,” Channing ventured, in +extenuation. “It's very hard on him.” + +“You bet it is,” agreed the “World” manager, with enthusiasm. “Sloshing +about in those waves, sea-sick mostly, and wet all the time, and with a +mutinous crew, and so afraid you'll miss something that you can't +write what you have got.” Then he added, as an after-thought, “And our +cruisers thinking you're a Spanish torpedo-boat and chucking shells at +you.” + +“No wonder Keating drinks,” Channing said, gravely. “You make it seem +almost necessary.” + +Many thousand American soldiers had lost themselves in a jungle, and +had broken out of it at the foot of San Juan Hill. Not wishing to return +into the jungle, they took the hill. On the day they did this Channing +had the good fortune to be in Siboney. The “World” man had carried him +there and asked him to wait around the waterfront while he went up to +the real front, thirteen miles inland. Channing's duty was to signal +the press-boat when the first despatch-rider rode in with word that the +battle was on. The World man would have liked to ask Channing to act as +his despatch-rider, but he did not do so, because the despatch-riders +were either Jamaica negroes or newsboys from Park Row--and he remembered +that Keating had asked Channing to be his stoker. + +Channing tramped through the damp, ill-smelling sand of the beach, +sick with self-pity. On the other side of those glaring, inscrutable +mountains, a battle, glorious, dramatic, and terrible, was going +forward, and he was thirteen miles away. He was at the base, with the +supplies, the sick, and the skulkers. + +It was cruelly hot. The heat-waves flashed over the sea until the +transports in the harbor quivered like pictures on a biograph. From the +refuse of company kitchens, from reeking huts, from thousands of empty +cans, rose foul, enervating odors, which deadened the senses like a +drug. The atmosphere steamed with a heavy, moist humidity. Channing +staggered and sank down suddenly on a pile of railroad-ties in front of +the commissary's depot. There were some Cubans seated near him, dividing +their Government rations, and the sight reminded him that he had had +nothing to eat. He walked over to the wide door of the freight-depot, +where a white-haired, kindly faced, and perspiring officer was, with his +own hands, serving out canned beef to a line of Cubans. The officer's +flannel shirt was open at the throat. The shoulder-straps of a colonel +were fastened to it by safety-pins. Channing smiled at him uneasily. + +“Could I draw on you for some rations?” he asked. “I'm from the Three +Friends. I'm not one of their regular accredited correspondents,” he +added, conscientiously, “I'm just helping them for to-day.” + +“Haven't you got a correspondent's pass?” asked the officer. He was +busily pouring square hardtack down the throat of a saddle-bag a Cuban +soldier held open before him. + +“No,” said Channing, turning away, “I'm just helping.” + +The officer looked after him, and what he saw caused him to reach under +the counter for a tin cup and a bottle of lime-juice. + +“Here,” he said, “drink this. What's the matter with you--fever? Come in +here out of that sun. You can lie down on my cot, if you like.” + +Channing took the tin cup and swallowed a warm mixture of boiled water +and acrid lime-juice. + +“Thank you,” he said, “but I must keep watch for the first news from the +front.” + +A man riding a Government mule appeared on the bridge of the lower +trail, and came toward them at a gallop. He was followed and surrounded +by a hurrying mob of volunteers, hospital stewards, and Cubans. + +The Colonel vaulted the counter and ran to meet him. + +“This looks like news from the front now,” he cried. + +The man on the mule was from civil life. His eyes bulged from their +sockets and his face was purple. The sweat ran over it and glistened on +the cords of his thick neck. + +“They're driving us back!” he shrieked. + +“Chaffee's killed, an' Roosevelt's killed, an' the whole army's beaten!” + He waved his arms wildly toward the glaring, inscrutable mountains. The +volunteers and stevedores and Cubans heard him, open-mouthed and with +panic-stricken eyes. In the pitiless sunlight he was a hideous and awful +spectacle. + +“They're driving us into the sea!” he foamed. + +“We've got to get out of here, they're just behind me. The army's +running for its life. They're running away!” + +Channing saw the man dimly, through a cloud that came between him and +the yellow sunlight. The man in the saddle swayed, the group about him +swayed, like persons on the floor of a vast ball-room. Inside he burned +with a mad, fierce hatred for this shrieking figure in the saddle. He +raised the tin cup and hurled it so that it hit the man's purple face. + +“You lie!” Channing shouted, staggering. “You lie! You're a damned +coward. You lie!” He heard his voice repeating this in different places +at greater distances. Then the cloud closed about him, shutting out +the man in the saddle, and the glaring, inscrutable mountains, and the +ground at his feet rose and struck him in the face. + +Channing knew he was on a boat because it lifted and sank with him, and +he could hear the rush of her engines. When he opened his eyes he was in +the wheel-house of the Three Friends, and her captain was at the wheel, +smiling down at him. Channing raised himself on his elbow. + +“The despatch-rider?” he asked. + +“That's all right,” said the captain, soothingly. “Don't you worry. He +come along same time you fell, and brought you out to us. What ailed +you--sunstroke?” + +Channing sat up. “I guess so,” he said. + +When the Three Friends reached Port Antonio, Channing sought out the +pile of coffee-bags on which he slept at night and dropped upon them. +Before this he had been careful to avoid the place in the daytime, so +that no one might guess that it was there that he slept at night, but +this day he felt that if he should drop in the gutter he would not care +whether anyone saw him there or not. His limbs were hot and heavy and +refused to support him, his bones burned like quicklime. + +The next morning, with the fever still upon him, he hurried restlessly +between the wharves and the cable-office, seeking for news. There was +much of it; it was great and trying news, the situation outside of +Santiago was grim and critical. The men who had climbed San Juan Hill +were clinging to it like sailors shipwrecked on a reef unwilling to +remain, but unable to depart. If they attacked the city Cervera promised +to send it crashing about their ears. They would enter Santiago only to +find it in ruins. If they abandoned the hill, 2,000 killed and wounded +would have been sacrificed in vain. + +The war-critics of the press-boats and of the Twitchell House saw but +two courses left open. Either Sampson must force the harbor and destroy +the squadron, and so make it possible for the army to enter the city, +or the army must be reinforced with artillery and troops in sufficient +numbers to make it independent of Sampson and indifferent to Cervera. + +On the night of July 2d, a thousand lies, a thousand rumors, a thousand +prophecies rolled through the streets of Port Antonio, were filed at the +cable-office, and flashed to the bulletin-boards of New York City. + +That morning, so they told, the batteries on Morro Castle had sunk three +of Sampson's ships; the batteries on Morro Castle had surrendered +to Sampson; General Miles with 8,000 reinforcements had sailed from +Charleston; eighty guns had started from Tampa Bay, they would occupy +the mountains opposite Santiago and shell the Spanish fleet; the +authorities at Washington had at last consented to allow Sampson to run +the forts and mines, and attack the Spanish fleet; the army had not been +fed for two days, the Spaniards had cut it off from its base at Siboney; +the army would eat its Fourth of July dinner in the Governor's Palace; +the army was in full retreat; the army was to attack at daybreak. + +When Channing turned in under the fruit-shed on the night of July 2d, +there was but one press-boat remaining in the harbor. That was +the Consolidated Press boat, and Keating himself was on the wharf, +signalling for his dingy. Channing sprang to his feet and ran toward +him, calling him by name. The thought that he must for another day +remain so near the march of great events and yet not see and feel them +for himself, was intolerable. He felt if it would pay his passage to +the coast of Cuba, there was no sacrifice to which he would not stoop. +Keating watched him approach, but without sign of recognition. His eyes +were heavy and bloodshot. + +“Keating,” Channing begged, as he halted, panting, “won't you take me +with you? I'll not be in the way, and I'll stoke or wait on table, or +anything you want, if you'll only take me.” + +Keating's eyes opened and closed, sleepily. He removed an unlit cigar +from his mouth and shook the wet end of it at Channing, as though it +were an accusing finger. + +“I know your game,” he murmured, thickly. “You haven't got a boat and +you want to steal a ride on mine--for your paper. You can't do it, you +see, you can't do it.” + +One of the crew of the dingy climbed up the gangway of the wharf and +took Keating by the elbow. He looked at him and then at Channing and +winked. He was apparently accustomed to this complication. “I haven't +got a paper, Keating,” Channing argued, soothingly. “Who have you got to +help you?” he asked. It came to him that there might be on the boat some +Philip sober, to whom he could appeal from Philip drunk. + +“I haven't got anyone to help me,” Keating answered, with dignity. “I +don't need anyone to help me.” He placed his hand heavily and familiarly +on the shoulder of the deck-hand. “You see that man?” he asked. “You +see tha' man, do you? Well, tha' man he's too good for me an' you. Tha' +man--used to be the best reporter in New York City, an' he was too good +to hustle for news, an' now he's--now he can't get a job--see? Nobody'll +have him, see? He's got to come and be a stoker.” + +He stamped his foot with indignation. + +“You come an' be a stoker,” he commanded. “How long you think I'm going +to wait for a stoker? You stoker, come on board and be a stoker.” + +Channing smiled, guiltily, at his good fortune, He jumped into the bow +of the dingy, and Keating fell heavily in the stern. + +The captain of the press-boat helped Keating safely to a bunk in the +cabin and received his instructions to proceed to Santiago Harbor. +Then he joined Channing. “Mr. Keating is feeling bad to-night. That +bombardment off Morro,” he explained, tactfully, “was too exciting. We +always let him sleep going across, and when we get there he's fresh as a +daisy. What's this he tells me of your doing stoking?” + +“I thought there might be another fight tomorrow, so I said I'd come as +a stoker.” + +The captain grinned. + +“Our Sam, that deck-hand, was telling me. He said Mr. Keating put it on +you, sort of to spite you--is that so?” + +“Oh, I wanted to come,” said Channing. + +The captain laughed, comprehendingly. “I guess we'll be in a bad way,” + he said, “when we need you in the engine-room.” He settled himself +for conversation, with his feet against the rail and his thumbs in his +suspenders. The lamps of Port Antonio were sinking into the water, the +moonlight was flooding the deck. + +“That was quite something of a bombardment Sampson put up against Morro +Castle this morning,” he began, critically. He spoke of bombardments +from the full experience of a man who had seen shells strike off Coney +Island from the proving-grounds at Sandy Hook. But Channing heard him, +eagerly. He begged the tugboat-captain to tell him what it looked like, +and as the captain told him he filled it in and saw it as it really was. + +“Perhaps they'll bombard again to-morrow,” he hazarded, hopefully. + +“We can't tell till we see how they're placed on the station,” the +captain answered. “If there's any firing we ought to hear it about eight +o'clock to-morrow morning. We'll hear 'em before we see 'em.” + +Channing's conscience began to tweak him. It was time, he thought, that +Keating should be aroused and brought up to the reviving air of the +sea, but when he reached the foot of the companion-ladder, he found +that Keating was already awake and in the act of drawing the cork from +a bottle. His irritation against Channing had evaporated and he greeted +him with sleepy good-humor. + +“Why, it's ol' Charlie Channing,” he exclaimed, drowsily. Channing +advanced upon him swiftly. + +“Here, you've had enough of that!” he commanded. “We'll be off Morro by +breakfast-time. You don't want that.” + +Keating, giggling foolishly, pushed him from him and retreated with the +bottle toward his berth. He lurched into it, rolled over with his face +to the ship's side, and began breathing heavily. + +“You leave me 'lone,” he murmured, from the darkness of the bunk. “You +mind your own business, you leave me 'lone.” + +Channing returned to the bow and placed the situation before the +captain. That gentleman did not hesitate. He disappeared down the +companion-way, and, when an instant later he returned, hurled a bottle +over the ship's side. + +The next morning when Channing came on deck the land was just in sight, +a rampart of dark green mountains rising in heavy masses against the +bright, glaring blue of the sky. He strained his eyes for the first +sight of the ships, and his ears for the faintest echoes of distant +firing, but there was no sound save the swift rush of the waters at the +bow. The sea lay smooth and flat before him, the sun flashed upon it; +the calm and hush of early morning hung over the whole coast of Cuba. + +An hour later the captain came forward and stood at his elbow. + +“How's Keating?” Channing asked. “I tried to wake him, but I couldn't.” + +The captain kept his binoculars to his eyes, and shut his lips grimly. +“Mr. Keating's very bad,” he said. “He had another bottle hidden +somewhere, and all last night--” he broke off with a relieved sigh. +“It's lucky for him,” he added, lowering the glasses, “that there'll be +no fight to-day.” + +Channing gave a gasp of disappointment. “What do you mean?” he +protested. + +“You can look for yourself,” said the captain, handing him the glasses. +“They're at their same old stations. There'll be no bombardment to-day. +That's the Iowa, nearest us, the Oregon's to starboard of her, and the +next is the Indiana. That little fellow close under the land is the +Gloucester.” + +He glanced up at the mast to see that the press-boat's signal was +conspicuous, they were drawing within range. + +With the naked eye, Channing could see the monster, mouse-colored +war-ships, basking in the sun, solemn and motionless in a great +crescent, with its one horn resting off the harbor-mouth. They made +great blots on the sparkling, glancing surface of the water. Above +each superstructure, their fighting-tops, giant davits, funnels, and +gibbet-like yards twisted into the air, fantastic and incomprehensible, +but the bulk below seemed to rest solidly on the bottom of the ocean, +like an island of lead. The muzzles of their guns peered from the +turrets as from ramparts of rock. + +Channing gave a sigh of admiration. + +“Don't tell me they move,” he said. “They're not ships, they're +fortresses!” + +On the shore there was no sign of human life nor of human habitation. +Except for the Spanish flag floating over the streaked walls of Morro, +and the tiny blockhouse on every mountain-top, the squadron might have +been anchored off a deserted coast. The hills rose from the water's edge +like a wall, their peaks green and glaring in the sun, their valleys +dark with shadows. Nothing moved upon the white beach at their feet, no +smoke rose from their ridges, not even a palm stirred. The great range +slept in a blue haze of heat. But only a few miles distant, masked by +its frowning front, lay a gayly colored, red-roofed city, besieged by +encircling regiments, a broad bay holding a squadron of great war-ships, +and gliding cat-like through its choked undergrowth and crouched among +the fronds of its motionless palms were the ragged patriots of the Cuban +army, silent, watchful, waiting. But the great range gave no sign. It +frowned in the sunlight, grim and impenetrable. + +“It's Sunday,” exclaimed the captain. He pointed with his finger at the +decks of the battleships, where hundreds of snow-white figures had +gone to quarters. “It's church service,” he said, “or it's general +inspection.” + +Channing looked at his watch. It was thirty minutes past nine. “It's +church service,” he said. “I can see them carrying out the chaplain's +reading-desk on the Indiana.” The press-boat pushed her way nearer into +the circle of battleships until their leaden-hued hulls towered high +above her. On the deck of each, the ship's company stood, ranged in +motionless ranks. The calm of a Sabbath morning hung about them, the sun +fell upon them like a benediction, and so still was the air that those +on the press-boat could hear, from the stripped and naked decks, the +voices of the men answering the roll-call in rising monotone, “one, two, +three, FOUR; one, two, three, FOUR.” The white-clad sailors might have +been a chorus of surpliced choir-boys. + +But, up above them, the battle-flags, slumbering at the mast-heads, +stirred restlessly and whimpered in their sleep. + +Out through the crack in the wall of mountains, where the sea runs in to +meet the waters of Santiago Harbor, and from behind the shield of Morro +Castle, a great, gray ship, like a great, gray rat, stuck out her nose +and peered about her, and then struck boldly for the open sea. High +before her she bore the gold and blood-red flag of Spain, and, like a +fugitive leaping from behind his prison-walls, she raced forward for her +freedom, to give battle, to meet her death. + +A shell from the Iowa shrieked its warning in a shrill crescendo, a +flutter of flags painted their message against the sky. “The enemy's +ships are coming out,” they signalled, and the ranks of white-clad +figures which the moment before stood motionless on the decks, broke +into thousands of separate beings who flung themselves, panting, down +the hatchways, or sprang, cheering, to the fighting-tops. + +Heavily, but swiftly, as islands slip into the water when a volcano +shakes the ocean-bed, the great battle-ships buried their bows in the +sea, their sides ripped apart with flame and smoke, the thunder of their +guns roared and beat against the mountains, and, from the shore, the +Spanish forts roared back at them, until the air between was split and +riven. The Spanish war-ships were already scudding clouds of smoke, +pierced with flashes of red flame, and as they fled, fighting, their +batteries rattled with unceasing, feverish fury. But the guns of the +American ships, straining in pursuit, answered steadily, carefully, with +relentless accuracy, with cruel persistence. At regular intervals they +boomed above the hurricane of sound, like great bells tolling for the +dead. + +It seemed to Channing that he had lived through many years; that the +strain of the spectacle would leave its mark upon his nerves forever. He +had been buffeted and beaten by a storm of all the great emotions; pride +of race and country, pity for the dead, agony for the dying, who clung +to blistering armor-plates, or sank to suffocation in the sea; the lust +of the hunter, when the hunted thing is a fellow-man; the joys of danger +and of excitement, when the shells lashed the waves about him, and the +triumph of victory, final, overwhelming and complete. + +Four of the enemy's squadron had struck their colors, two were on the +beach, broken and burning, two had sunk to the bottom of the sea, two +were in abject flight. Three battle-ships were hammering them with +thirteen-inch guns. The battle was won. + +“It's all over,” Channing said. His tone questioned his own words. + +The captain of the tugboat was staring at the face of his silver watch, +as though it were a thing bewitched. He was pale and panting. He looked +at Channing, piteously, as though he doubted his own senses, and turned +the face of the watch toward him. + +“Twenty minutes!” Channing said. “Good God! Twenty minutes!” + +He had been to hell and back again in twenty minutes. He had seen an +empire, which had begun with Christopher Columbus and which had spread +over two continents, wiped off the map in twenty minutes. The captain +gave a sudden cry of concern. “Mr. Keating,” he gasped. “Oh, Lord, but I +forgot Mr. Keating. Where is Mr. Keating?” + +“I went below twice,” Channing answered. “He's insensible. See what you +can do with him, but first--take me to the Iowa. The Consolidated Press +will want the 'facts.'” + +In the dark cabin the captain found Keating on the floor, where Channing +had dragged him, and dripping with the water which Channing had thrown +in his face. He was breathing heavily, comfortably. He was not concerned +with battles. + +With a megaphone, Channing gathered his facts from an officer of the +Iowa, who looked like a chimney-sweep, and who was surrounded by a crew +of half-naked pirates, with bodies streaked with sweat and powder. + +Then he ordered all steam for Port Antonio, and, going forward to the +chart-room, seated himself at the captain's desk, and, pushing the +captain's charts to the floor, spread out his elbows, and began to write +the story of his life. + +In the joy of creating it, he was lost to all about him. He did not know +that the engines, driven to the breaking-point, were filling the ship +with their groans and protests, that the deck beneath his feet was +quivering like the floor of a planing-mill, nor that his fever was +rising again, and feeding on his veins. The turmoil of leaping engines +and of throbbing pulses was confused with the story he was writing, and +while his mind was inflamed with pictures of warring battle-ships, his +body was swept by the fever, which overran him like an army of tiny +mice, touching his hot skin with cold, tingling taps of their scampering +feet. + +From time to time the captain stopped at the door of the chart-room +and observed him in silent admiration. To the man who with difficulty +composed a letter to his family, the fact that Channing was writing +something to be read by millions of people, and more rapidly than he +could have spoken the same words, seemed a superhuman effort. He even +hesitated to interrupt it by an offer of food. + +But the fever would not let Channing taste of the food when they placed +it at his elbow, and even as he pushed it away, his mind was still fixed +upon the paragraph before him. He wrote, sprawling across the desk, +covering page upon page with giant hieroglyphics, lighting cigarette +after cigarette at the end of the last one, but with his thoughts far +away, and, as he performed the act, staring uncomprehendingly at the +captain's colored calendar pinned on the wall before him. For many +months later the Battle of Santiago was associated in his mind with a +calendar for the month of July, illuminated by a colored picture of six +white kittens in a basket. + +At three o'clock Channing ceased writing and stood up, shivering and +shaking with a violent chill. He cursed himself for this weakness, and +called aloud for the captain. + +“I can't stop now,” he cried. He seized the rough fist of the captain as +a child clings to the hand of his nurse. + +“Give me something,” he begged. “Medicine, quinine, give me something to +keep my head straight until it's finished. Go, quick,” he commanded. His +teeth were chattering, and his body jerked with sharp, uncontrollable +shudders. The captain ran, muttering, to his medicine-chest. + +“We've got one drunken man on board,” he said to the mate, “and now +we've got a crazy one. You mark my words, he'll go off his head at +sunset.” + +But at sunset Channing called to him and addressed him sanely. He held +in his hand a mass of papers carefully numbered and arranged, and he +gave them up to the captain as though it hurt him to part with them. + +“There's the story,” he said. “You've got to do the rest. I +can't--I--I'm going to be very ill.” He was swaying as he spoke. His +eyes burned with the fever, and his eyelids closed of themselves. He +looked as though he had been heavily drugged. + +“You put that on the wire at Port Antonio,” he commanded, faintly; “pay +the tolls to Kingston. From there they are to send it by way of Panama, +you understand, by the Panama wire.” + +“Panama!” gasped the captain. “Good Lord, that's two dollars a word.” + He shook out the pages in his hand until he found the last one. “And +there's sixty-eight pages here,” he expostulated. “Why the tolls will +be five thousand dollars!” Channing dropped feebly to the bench of the +chart-room and fell in a heap, shivering and trembling. + +“I guess it's worth it,” he murmured, drowsily. + +The captain was still staring at the last page. + +“But--but, look here,” he cried, “you've--you've signed Mr. Keating's +name to it! 'James R. Keating.' You've signed his name to it!” + +Channing raised his head from his folded arms and stared at him dully. + +“You don't want to get Keating in trouble, do you?” he asked with +patience. “You don't want the C. P. to know why he couldn't write the +best story of the war? Do you want him to lose his job? Of course you +don't. Well, then, let it go as his story. I won't tell, and see you +don't tell, and Keating won't remember.” + +His head sank back again upon his crossed arms. “It's not a bad story,” + he murmured. + +But the captain shook his head; his loyalty to his employer was still +uppermost. “It doesn't seem right!” he protested. “It's a sort of a +liberty, isn't it, signing another man's name to it, it's a sort of +forgery.” + +Channing made no answer. His eyes were shut and he was shivering +violently, hugging himself in his arms. + +A quarter of an hour later, when the captain returned with fresh +quinine, Channing sat upright and saluted him. + +“Your information, sir,” he said, addressing the open door politely, “is +of the greatest value. Tell the executive officer to proceed under full +steam to Panama. He will first fire a shot across her bows, and then +sink her!” He sprang upright and stood for a moment, sustained by the +false strength of the fever. “To Panama, you hear me!” he shouted. He +beat the floor with his foot. “Faster, faster, faster,” he cried. “We've +got a great story! We want a clear wire, we want the wire clear from +Panama to City Hall. It's the greatest story ever written--full of +facts, facts, facts, facts for the Consolidated Press--and Keating wrote +it. I tell you, Keating wrote it. I saw him write it. I was a stoker on +the same ship.” + +The mate and crew came running forward and stood gaping stupidly +through the doors and windows of the chart-room. Channing welcomed them +joyously, and then crumpled up in a heap and pitched forward into the +arms of the captain. His head swung weakly from shoulder to shoulder. + +“I beg your pardon,” he muttered, “I beg your pardon, captain, but your +engine-room is too hot. I'm only a stoker and I know my place, sir, but +I tell you, your engine-room is too hot. It's a burning hell, sir, it's +a hell!” + +The captain nodded to the crew and they closed in on him, and bore him, +struggling feebly, to a bunk in the cabin below. In the berth opposite, +Keating was snoring peacefully. + +After the six weeks' siege the Fruit Company's doctor told Channing he +was cured, and that he might walk abroad. In this first walk he found +that, during his illness, Port Antonio had reverted to her original +condition of complete isolation from the world, the press-boats had left +her wharves, the correspondents had departed from the veranda of her +only hotel, the war was over, and the Peace Commissioners had sailed for +Paris. Channing expressed his great gratitude to the people of the hotel +and to the Fruit Company's doctor. He made it clear to them that if they +ever hoped to be paid those lesser debts than that of gratitude which he +still owed them, they must return him to New York and Newspaper Row. +It was either that, he said, or, if they preferred, he would remain and +work out his indebtedness, checking bunches of bananas at twenty dollars +a month. The Fruit Company decided it would be paid more quickly if +Channing worked at his own trade, and accordingly sent him North in one +of its steamers. She landed him in Boston, and he borrowed five dollars +from the chief engineer to pay his way to New York. + +It was late in the evening of the same day when he stepped out of the +smoking-car into the roar and riot of the Grand Central Station. He had +no baggage to detain him, and, as he had no money either, he made his +way to an Italian restaurant where he knew they would trust him to +pay later for what he ate. It was a place where the newspaper men were +accustomed to meet, men who knew him, and who, until he found work, +would lend him money to buy a bath, clean clothes, and a hall bedroom. + +Norris, the World man, greeted him as he entered the door of the +restaurant, and hailed him with a cry of mingled fright and pleasure. + +“Why, we didn't know but you were dead,” he exclaimed. “The boys said +when they left Kingston you weren't expected to live. Did you ever get +the money and things we sent you by the Red Cross boat?” + +Channing glanced at himself and laughed. + +“Do I look it?” he asked. He was wearing the same clothes in which he +had slept under the fruit-sheds at Port Antonio. They had been soaked +and stained by the night-dews and by the sweat of the fever. + +“Well, it's great luck, your turning up here just now,” Norris assured +him, heartily. “That is, if you're as hungry as the rest of the boys +are who have had the fever. You struck it just right; we're giving a big +dinner here to-night,” he explained, “one of Maria's best. You come in +with me. It's a celebration for old Keating, a farewell blow-out.” + +Channing started and laughed. + +“Keating?” he asked. “That's funny,” he said. “I haven't seen him +since--since before I was ill.” + +“Yes, old Jimmie Keating. You've got nothing against him, have you?” + +Channing shook his head vehemently, and Norris glanced back complacently +toward the door of the dining-room, from whence came the sound of +intimate revelry. + +“You might have had, once,” Norris said, laughing; “we were all +up against him once. But since he's turned out such a wonder and +a war-hero, we're going to recognize it. They're always saying we +newspaper men have it in for each other, and so we're just giving him +this subscription-dinner to show it's not so. He's going abroad, you +know. He sails to-morrow morning.” + +“No, I didn't know,” said Channing. + +“Of course not, how could you? Well, the Consolidated Press's sending +him and his wife to Paris. He's to cover the Peace negotiations there. +It's really a honeymoon-trip at the expense of the C. P. It's their +reward for his work, for his Santiago story, and the beat and all +that--” + +Channing's face expressed his bewilderment. + +Norris drew back dramatically. + +“Don't tell me,” he exclaimed, “that you haven't heard about that!” + +Channing laughed a short, frightened laugh, and moved nearer to the +street. + +“No,” he said. “No, I hadn't.” + +“Yes, but, good Lord! it was the story of the war. You never read such +a story! And he got it through by Panama a day ahead of all the other +stories! And nobody read them, anyway. Why, Captain Mahan said it was +'naval history,' and the Evening Post had an editorial on it, and said +it was 'the only piece of literature the war has produced.' We never +thought Keating had it in him, did you? The Consolidated Press people +felt so good over it that they've promised, when he comes back from +Paris, they'll make him their Washington correspondent. He's their +'star' reporter now. It just shows you that the occasion produces the +man. Come on in, and have a drink with him.” + +Channing pulled his arm away, and threw a frightened look toward the +open door of the dining-room. Through the layers of tobacco-smoke he +saw Keating seated at the head of a long, crowded table, smiling, +clear-eyed, and alert. + +“Oh, no, I couldn't,” he said, with sudden panic. “I can't drink; doctor +won't let me. I wasn't coming in, I was just passing when I saw you. +Good-night, I'm much obliged. Good-night.” + +But the hospitable Norris would not be denied. + +“Oh, come in and say 'good-by' to him, anyhow,” he insisted. “You +needn't stay.” + +“No, I can't,” Channing protested. “I--they'd make me drink or eat and +the doctor says I can't. You mustn't tempt me. You say 'good-by' to him +for me,” he urged. “And Norris--tell him--tell him--that I asked you to +say to him, 'It's all right,' that's all, just that, 'It's all right.' +He'll understand.” + +There was the sound of men's feet scraping on the floor, and of chairs +being moved from their places. + +Norris started away eagerly. “I guess they're drinking his health,” he +said. “I must go. I'll tell him what you said, 'It's all right.' That's +enough, is it? There's nothing more?” + +Channing shook his head, and moved away from the only place where he was +sure to find food and a welcome that night. + +“There's nothing more,” he said. + +As he stepped from the door and stood irresolutely in the twilight of +the street, he heard the voices of the men who had gathered in Keating's +honor upraised in a joyous chorus. + +“For he's a jolly good fellow,” they sang, “for he's a jolly good +fellow, which nobody can deny!” + + + + + + +LA LETTRE D'AMOUR + + +When Bardini, who led the Hungarian Band at the Savoy Restaurant, was +promoted to play at the Casino at Trouville, his place was taken by +the second violin. The second violin was a boy, and when he greeted his +brother Tziganes and the habitues of the restaurant with an apologetic +and deprecatory bow, he showed that he was fully conscious of the +inadequacy of his years. The maitre d'hotel glided from table to table, +busying himself in explanations. + +“The boy's name is Edouard; he comes from Budapest,” he said. “The +season is too late to make it worth the while of the management to +engage a new chef d'orchestre. So this boy will play. He plays very +good, but he is not like Bardini.” + +He was not in the least like Bardini. In appearance, Bardini suggested a +Roumanian gypsy or a Portuguese sailor; his skin was deeply tanned, his +hair was plastered on his low forehead in thick, oily curls, and his +body, through much rich living on the scraps that fell from the tables +of Girot's and the Casino des Fleurs, was stout and gross. He was +the typical leader of an orchestra condemned to entertain a noisy +restaurant. His school of music was the school of Maxim's. To his skill +with the violin he had added the arts of the head waiter, and he and the +cook ran a race for popularity, he pampering to one taste, and the cook, +with his sauces, pampering to another. When so commanded, his pride +as an artist did not prevent him from breaking off in the middle of +Schubert's Serenade to play Daisy Bell, nor was he above breaking it off +on his own accord to salute the American patron, as he entered with the +Belle of New York, or any one of the Gaiety Girls, hurrying in late for +supper, with the Soldiers in the Park. When he walked slowly through the +restaurant, pausing at each table, his eyes, even while they ogled the +women to whom he played, followed the brother Tzigane--who was passing +the plate--and noted which of the patrons gave silver and which gave +gold. + +Edouard, the second violin, was all that Bardini was not, consequently +he was entirely unsuited to lead an orchestra in a restaurant. Indeed, +so little did he understand of what was required of him that on the +only occasion when Bardini sent him to pass the plate he was so +unsophisticated as not to hide the sixpences and shillings under the +napkin, and so leave only the half-crowns and gold pieces exposed. +And, instead of smiling mockingly at those who gave the sixpences, and +waiting for them to give more, he even looked grateful, and at the same +time deeply ashamed. He differed from Bardini also in that he was very +thin and tall, with the serious, smooth-shaven face of a priest. Except +for his fantastic costume, there was nothing about him to recall the +poses of the musician: his hair was neither long nor curly; it lay +straight across his forehead and flat on either side, and when he +played, his eyes neither sought out the admiring auditor nor invited +his applause. On the contrary, they looked steadfastly ahead. It was as +though they belonged to someone apart, who was listening intently to the +music. But in the waits between the numbers the boy's eyes turned from +table to table, observing the people in his audience. He knew nearly all +of them by sight: the head waiters who brought him their “commands,” + and his brother-musicians, had often discussed them in his hearing. They +represented every city of the world, every part of the social edifice: +there were those who came to look at the spectacle, and those who came +to be looked at; those who gave a dinner for the sake of the diners, +those who dined for the dinner alone. To some the restaurant was a +club; others ventured in counting the cost, taking it seriously, even +considering that it conferred upon them some social distinction. There +were pretty women in paint and spangles, with conscious, half-grown +boys just up from Oxford; company-promoters dining and wining possible +subscribers or “guinea-pigs” into an acquiescent state; Guardsmen giving +a dinner of farewell to brother-officers departing for the Soudan or the +Cape; wide-eyed Americans just off the steamer in high dresses, great +ladies in low dresses and lofty tiaras, and ladies of the stage, utterly +unconscious of the boon they were conferring on the people about them, +who, an hour before, had paid ten shillings to look at them from the +stalls. + +Edouard, as he sat with his violin on his knee, his fingers fretting the +silent strings, observed them all without envy and without interest. Had +he been able to choose, it would not have been to such a well-dressed +mob as this that he would have given his music. For at times a burst +of laughter killed a phrase that was sacred to him, and sometimes the +murmur of the voices and the clatter of the waiters would drown him out +altogether. But the artist in him forced him to play all things well, +and for his own comfort he would assure himself that no doubt somewhere +in the room someone was listening, someone who thought more of the +strange, elusive melodies of the Hungarian folksongs than of the chefs +entrees, and that for this unknown one he must be true to himself and +true to his work. Covertly, he would seek out some face to which he +could make the violin speak--not openly and impertinently, as did +Bardini, but secretly and for sympathy, so that only one could +understand. It pleased young Edouard to see such a one raise her head as +though she had heard her name spoken, and hold it poised to listen, and +turn slowly in her chair, so completely engaged that she forgot the +man at her elbow, and the food before her was taken away untouched. It +delighted him to think that she knew that the music was speaking to +her alone. But he would not have had her think that the musician spoke, +too--it was the soul of the music, not his soul, that was reaching out +to the pretty stranger. When his soul spoke through the music it would +not be, so he assured himself, to such chatterers as gathered on the +terrace of the Savoy Restaurant. + +Mrs. Warriner and her daughter were on their way home, or to one of +their homes; this one was up the Hills of Lenox. They had been in Egypt +and up the Nile, and for the last two months had been slowly working +their way north through Greece and Italy. They were in London, at the +Savoy, waiting for their sailing-day, and on the night of their arrival +young Corbin was giving them a dinner. For three months Mrs. Warriner +and himself had alternated in giving each other dinners in every part of +Southern Europe, and the gloom which hung over this one was not due to +the fact that the diners had become wearied of one another's society, +but that the opportunities still left to them for this exchange of +hospitality were almost at an end. That night, for the hundredth time, +young Corbin had decided it would have been much better for him if they +had come to an end many weeks previous, for the part he played in the +trio was a difficult one. It was that of the lover who will not take +“no” for an answer. The lover who will take no, and goes on his way +disconsolate, may live to love another day, and everyone is content; but +the one who will not have no, who will not hear of it, nor consider it, +has much to answer for in making life a burden to himself and all around +him. + +When Corbin joined the Warriners on their trip up the Nile it was +considered by all of them, in their ignorance, a happy accident. +Other mothers, more worldly than Mrs. Warriner, with daughters less +attractive, gave her undeserved credit for having lured into her +party one of the young men of Boston who was most to be desired as a +son-in-law. But the mind of Mrs. Warriner, so far as Mr. Corbin was +concerned, was quite free from any such consideration; so was the mind +of the young bachelor; certainly Miss Warriner held no tender thoughts +concerning him. The families of the Warriners and the Corbins had been +friends ever since the cowpath crossed the Common. Before Corbin entered +Harvard Miss Warriner and he had belonged to the same dancing-class. +Later she had danced with him at four class-days, and many times +between. When he graduated, she had gone abroad with her mother, and he +had joined the Somerset Club, and played polo at Pride's Crossing, and +talked vaguely of becoming a lawyer, and of re-entering Harvard by the +door of the Law School, chiefly, it was supposed, that he might have +another year of the football team. He was very young in spirit, very +big and athletic, very rich, and without a care or serious thought. Miss +Warriner was to him, then, no more than a friend; to her he was a boy, +one of many nice, cultivated Harvard boys, who occasionally called upon +her and talked football. On the face of things, she was not the sort of +girl he should have loved. But for some saving clause in him, he should +have loved and married one of the many other girls who had belonged to +the same dancing-class, who would have been known as “Mrs. Tom” Corbin, +who would have been sought after as a chaperone, and who would have +stood up in her cart when he played polo and shouted at him across the +field to “ride him off.” + +Miss Warriner, on the contrary, was much older than he in everything but +years, and was conscious of the fact. She was a serious, self-centred +young person, and satisfied with her own thoughts, unless her companion +gave her better ones. She concerned herself with the character and ideas +of her friends. If a young man lacked ideas, the fact that he possessed +wealth and good manners could not save him. If these attributes had been +pointed out to her as part of his assets she would have been surprised. +She was not impressed with her own good looks and fortune--she took them +for granted; so why should they count with her in other people? + +Miss Warriner made an error of analysis in regard to Mr. Corbin in +judging his brain by his topics of conversation. His conversation +was limited to the A B C's of life, with which, up to the time of his +meeting her, his brain had been fed. When, however, she began to cram it +full with all the other letters of the alphabet, it showed itself just +as capable of digesting the economic conditions of Egypt as it had +previously succeeded in mastering the chess-like problems of the game of +football. + +Young Corbin had not considered the Home Beautiful, nor Municipal +Government, nor How the Other Half Lives as topics that were worth his +while; but when Miss Warriner showed her interest in them, her doing so +made them worth his while, and he fell upon them greedily. He even went +much further than she had gone, and was not content merely to theorize +and to discuss social questions from the safe distance of the deck of +a dahabiyeh on the Nile, but proposed to at once put her theories into +practice. To this end he offered her a house in the slums of Boston, +rent free, where she could start her College Settlement. He made +out lists of the men he thought would like to teach there, and he +volunteered to pay the expenses of the experiment until it failed or +succeeded. When her interest changed to the Tombs of the Rameses, and +the succession of the ancient dynasties, he spent hours studying his +Baedeker that he might keep in step with her; and when she abandoned +ancient for modern Egypt and became deeply charmed with the intricacies +of the dual control and of the Mixed Courts, he interviewed subalterns, +Pashas, and missionaries in a gallant effort to comprehend the social +and political difficulties of the white men who had occupied the land of +the Sphinx, who had funded her debt, irrigated her deserts, and “made a +mummy fight.” + +One night, as the dahabiyeh lay moored beneath a group of palms in the +moonlight, Miss Warriner gave him praise for offering her the house +in the slums for her experiment. He assured her that he was entirely +selfish--that he did so because he believed her settlement would be a +benefit to the neighborhood, in which he owned some property. When +she then accused him of giving sordid reasons for what was his genuine +philanthropy he told her flatly that he neither cared for the higher +education of the slums nor the increased value of his rents, but for +her, and to please her, and that he loved her and would love her always. +In answer to this, Miss Warriner told him gently but firmly that she +could not love him, but that she liked him and admired him, even though +she was disappointed to find that his sudden interest in matters more +serious than polo had been assumed to please her. She added that she +would always be his friend. This, she thought, ended the matter; it was +unfortunate that they should be shipbound on the Nile; but she trusted +to his tact and good sense to save them both from embarrassment. She +was not prepared, however, to see him come on deck very late the next +morning, after, apparently, a long sleep, as keen, as cheerful, and +as smiling as he had been before the blow had fallen. It piqued her a +little, and partly because of that, and partly because she really was +relieved to find him in such a humor, she congratulated him on his most +evident happiness. + +“Why not?” he asked, suddenly growing sober. “I love you. That is enough +to make any man happy, isn't it? You needn't love me, but you can't +prevent my going on loving you.” + +“Well, I am very sorry,” she sighed in much perplexity. + +“You needn't be,” he answered, reassuringly. “I'm more sorry for you +than I am for myself. You are going to have a terrible time until you +marry me.” + +They were at Thebes, and he went off that afternoon to the Temple of +Luxor with her mother, and made violent use of the sacred altars, +the beauty of Cleopatra, the eternity of the scarabea, and the +indestructibility of the Pyramids to suggest faintly to Mrs. Warriner +how much he loved her daughter. He shook his hand at the crouching +sphinxes and said: + +“Mrs. Warriner, in forty centuries they have never looked down upon a +man as proud as I am, and I am told they have seen Napoleon; but I need +help; she won't help me, so you must. It's no use arguing against me. +When this Nile dries up I shall have ceased loving your daughter!” + +“Did you tell Helen what you have told me? Did you talk to her so?” + asked Mrs. Warriner. + +“No, not last night,” said Corbin; “but I will, in time, after she gets +more used to the Idea.” + +Unfortunately for the peace of Mr. Corbin and all concerned. Miss +Warriner did not become reconciled to the idea. On the contrary, she +resented it greatly. She had looked at the possibility of something to +be carried out later--much later, perhaps not at all. It did not seem +possible that before she had really begun to enjoy life it should be +subjected to such a change. She saw that it was obviously the thing +that should happen. If the match had been arranged by the entire city of +Boston it could not have been more obvious. But she argued with him that +marriage was a mutual self-sacrifice, and that until she felt ready to +make her share of the sacrifice it was impossible for her to consent. + +He combated her arguments, which he refused to consider as arguments, +and demolished them one by one. But the objection which he destroyed +before he went to sleep at night was replaced the next day by another, +and his cause never advanced. Each day he found the citadel he was +besieging girt in by new and intricate defences. The reason was +simple enough: the girl was not in love with him. Her objections, her +arguments, her reasons were as absurd as he proved them to be. But they +were insurmountable because they were really various disguises of the +fact that she did not care for him. They were disguises to herself as +well as to him. He was so altogether a good fellow, so earnest, honest, +and desperate a lover that the primary fact that she did not want his +love did not present itself, and she kept casting about in her mind +for excuses and reasons to explain her lack of feeling. He wooed her in +every obvious way that would present itself to a boy of deep feeling, of +quick mind, and an unlimited letter of credit. He created wants in order +to gratify them later. He suggested her need of things which he had +already ordered, which, before she had been enticed into expressing a +wish for them, were then speeding across the Continent toward her. Every +hour brought her some fresh and ingenuous sign of his thought and of his +devotion. He treated these tributes as a matter of course; if she failed +to observe them and to see his handiwork in them he let them fall to the +ground unnoticed. + +His love itself was his argument-in-chief; it was its own excuse; it +needed no allies; “I love you” was his first and last word. It puzzled +her to find that she could not care. When she was alone she asked +herself what there was in him of which she disapproved, and she could +only answer that there was nothing. She asked herself what other men +there were who pleased her more, and she could think of none. On the +contrary, she found him entirely charming as a friend--but his love +distressed her greatly. It was a foreign language; she could not +comprehend it. When he allowed it to appear it completely disguised him +in her eyes; it annoyed her so much that at times she considered herself +a much ill-used young person. + +It was in this way that the matter stood between them when their long +journey was ended and they reached London. He was miserable, desperate, +and hopeless; the girl was firm in that she would not marry him, and +her mother, who respected both the depth of Corbin's feelings and her +daughter's reticence, and who had watched the struggle with a troubled +heart, was only thankful that they were to part, and that it was at +an end. Corbin had no idea where he would go nor what he would do. He +recognized that to cross the ocean with them would only subject his love +to fresh distress and humiliation, and he had determined to put as +much space between him and Miss Warriner as the surface of the globe +permitted. The Philippines seemed to offer a picturesque retreat for a +broken life. He decided he would go there and enlist and have himself +shot. He was uncertain whether he would follow in the steps of his +Revolutionary ancestors and join the men who were struggling for their +liberty and independence, or his fellow-Americans; but that he would +get shot by one side or the other he was determined. And then in days to +come she would think, perhaps, of the young man on the other side of the +globe, buried in the wet rice-fields, with the palms fanning him through +his eternal sleep, and she might be sorry then that she had not listened +to his troubled heart. The picture gave him some small comfort, and that +night when he ordered dinner for them at the Savoy his manner showed the +inspired resolve of one who is soon to mount the scaffold unafraid, and +with a rose between his lips. + +Edouard, the first violin, saw Miss Warriner when she entered and took +her place facing him at one of the tables in the centre of the room. He +was sitting with his violin on his knees, touching the strings with his +finger-tips. When he saw her he choked the neck of the violin with his +hand, as though it had been the hand of a friend which he had grasped in +a sudden ecstasy of delight. The effect her appearance had made upon him +was so remarkable that he glanced quickly over his shoulder to see if +he had betrayed himself by some sign or gesture. But the other musicians +were concerned with their own gossip, and he felt free to turn again and +from under his half-closed eyelids to observe her covertly. + +There was nothing to explain why Miss Warriner, in particular, should +have so disturbed him; the English women seated about her were as fair; +she showed no great sorrow in her face; her beauty was not of the +type which carried observers by assault. And yet not one of the many +beautiful women who on one night or another passed before Edouard in the +soft light of the red shades had ever stirred him so strangely, had ever +depressed him with such a tender melancholy, and filled his soul--the +soul of a Hungarian and a musician--with such loneliness and unrest. He +knew that, so far as he was concerned, she was as distant as the Venus +in the Louvre; she was, for him, a beautiful, unapproachable statue, +placed, by some social convention, upon a pedestal. + +As he looked at her he felt hotly the degradation of his silly uniform, +of the striped sash around his waist, the tawdry braids, and the +tasselled boots. He felt as he had often felt before, but now more +keenly than ever, the prostitution of his art in this temple of the +senses, this home of epicures, where people met to feast their eyes and +charm their palates. He could not put his feelings into words, and he +knew that if by some upheaval of the social world he should be thrown +into her presence he would still be bound, he would not be able to speak +or write what she inspired in him. But--and at the thought he breathed +quickly, and raised his shoulders with a touch of pride--he could tell +her in his own way; after his own fashion he could express what he felt +better even than those other men could tell what they feel--these men +for whose amusement he performed nightly, to whom it was granted to sit +at her side, who spoke the language of her class and of her own people. +Edouard was not given to analyzing his emotions; like the music of his +Tzigane ancestors, they came to him sweeping every chord in his nature, +beating rapidly to the time of the Schardash, or with the fitfulness of +the gypsy folksongs sinking his spirits into melancholy. So he did not +stop to question why this one face so suddenly inspired him; he only +knew that he felt grateful, that he was impatient to pay his tribute +of admiration, that he was glad he was an artist who could give his +feelings voice. + +In the long programme of selected airs he remembered that there was one +which would give him this chance to speak, in the playing of which he +could put all his skill and all his soul, an air which carried with it +infinite sadness and the touch of a caress. The other numbers on the +programme had been chosen to please the patrons of a restaurant, +this one, La Lettre d'Amour, was included in the list for his own +satisfaction. He had put it there to please himself; to-night he would +play it to please her--to this unknown girl who had so suddenly awakened +and inspired him. + +As he waited for this chance to come he watched her, noting her every +movement, her troubled smile, her air of being apart and above her +surroundings. He noticed, too, the set face of the young man at her side +and, with the discernment of one whose own interest is captive, saw the +half-concealed longing in his eyes. He felt a quick antipathy to this +young man. His assured position at the girl's side accentuated how far +he himself was removed from her; he resented also the manner of the +young man to the waiters, and he wondered hotly if, in the mind of +this favored youth, the musician who played for his entertainment was +regarded any more highly than the servant who received his orders. To +this feeling of resentment was added one of contempt. For, as he read +the tableau at the table below him, the young man was the devotee of the +young girl at his side, and if one could judge from her averted eyes, +from her silent assent to his questions, from the fact that she withdrew +from the talk between him and the older woman, his devotion was not +welcome. + +This reading of the pantomime pleased Edouard greatly. Nothing could +have so crowned the feeling which the beauty of the stranger stirred in +him as the thought that another loved her as well as himself, and that +the other, who started with all things in his favor, met with none from +her. + +Edouard assured himself that this was so because he had often heard his +people boast that men not of their country could not feel as they could +feel. If he had ever considered them at all it was as cold and conscious +creatures who taught themselves to cover up what they felt, so that when +their emotions strove to assert themselves they were found, through long +disuse, to be dumb and inarticulate. Edouard rejoiced that to the men of +his race it was given to feel and suffer much. He was sure that beneath +the calmness of her beauty this woman before him could feel deeply; he +read in her eyes the sympathy of a great soul; she made him think of a +Madonna in the church of St. Sophia at Budapest. He saw in her a woman +who could love greatly. When he considered how impossible it was for the +young man at her side ever to experience the great emotions which alone +could reach her, his contempt for him rose almost to pity. His violin, +with his power to feel, and with his knowledge of technic added, could +send his message as far as sound could carry. He could afford to be +generous, and when he rose to play La Lettre d'Amour it was with the +elation of a knight entering the lists, with the ardor of a lover +singing beneath his lady's window. La Lettre d'Amour is a composition +written to a slow measure, and filled with chords of exquisite pathos. +It comes hesitatingly, like the confession of a lover who loves so +deeply that he halts to find words with which to express his feelings. +It moves in broken phrases, each note rising in intensity and growing +in beauty. It is not a burst of passionate appeal, but a plea, tender, +beseeching, and throbbing with melancholy. As he played, Edouard stepped +down from the dais on which the musicians sat, and advanced slowly +between the tables. It was late, and the majority of those who had been +dining had departed to the theatres. Those who remained were lingering +over their coffee, and were smoking; their voices were lowered to a +polite monotone; the rush of the waiters had ceased, and the previous +chatter had sunk to a subdued murmur. Into this, the quivering sigh +of Edouard's violin penetrated like a sunbeam feeling its way into +a darkened room, and, at the sound, the voices, one by one, detached +themselves from the general chorus, until, lacking support, it ceased +altogether. Some were silent, that they might hear the better, others, +who preferred their own talk, were silent out of regard for those who +desired to listen, and a waiter who was so indiscreet as to clatter a +tray of glasses was hushed on the instant. The tribute of attention lent +to Edouard an added power; his head lifted on his shoulders with pride; +his bow cut deeper and firmer, and with more delicate shading; the +notes rose in thrilling, plaintive sadness, and flooded the hot air with +melody. + +Edouard made his way to within a short distance of the table at which +Miss Warriner was seated, and halted there as though he had found his +audience. He did not look at her, although she sat directly facing him, +but it was evident to all that she was the one to whom his effort +was directed, and Corbin, who was seated with his back to Edouard, +recognized this and turned in his chair. + +The body of the young musician was trembling with the feeling which +found its outlet through the violin. He was in ecstasy over his power +and its accomplishment. The strings of the violin pulsated to the +beating of his heart, and he felt that surely by now the emotion which +shook him must have reached the girl who had given it life--and, for one +swift second, his eyes sought hers. What he saw was the same beautiful +face which had inspired him, but unmoved, cold, and unresponsive. As his +eyes followed hers she raised her head and looked, listlessly, around +the room, and then turned and glanced up at him with a careless and +critical scrutiny. If his music had been the music of an organ in the +street, and he the man who raised his hat for coppers, she could not +have been less moved. The discovery struck Edouard like a cold blast +from an open door. His fingers faltered on the neck of his violin, his +bow wavered, drunkenly, across the strings, and he turned away his eyes +to shut out the vision of his failure, seeking relief and sympathy. And, +in their swift passage, they encountered those of Corbin looking up at +him, his eyes aglow with wonder, feeling, and sorrow. They seemed to +hold him to account; they begged, they demanded of him not to break +the spell, and, in response, the hot blood in the veins of the musician +surged back, his pride flared up again, his eyes turned on Corbin's +like those of a dog to his master's. Under their spell the music soared, +trembling, paused and soared again, thrilling those who heard it with +its grief and tenderness. + +Edouard's heart leaped with triumph. “The man knows,” he whispered to +the violin; “he understands us. He knows.” + +The people, leaning with their elbows on the tables before them, the +waiters listening with tolerant smiles, the musicians following Edouard +with anxious pride, saw only a young man with his arm thrown heavily +across the back of his chair, who was looking up at Edouard with a +steady, searching gaze. But Edouard saw in him both a disciple and a +master. He saw that this man was lifted up and carried with him, that he +understood the message of the music. The notes of the violin sank lower +and lower, until they melted into the silence of the room, and the +people, freed of the spell the music had put upon them, applauded +generously. Edouard placed his violin under his arm, and with his eyes, +which had never left Corbin's face, still fastened upon his, bowed low +to him, and Corbin raised his head and nodded gravely. It was as though +they were the only people in the room. As Edouard retreated his face was +shining with triumph, for he knew that the other had understood him, and +that the other knew that he knew. + +That night until he fell asleep, and all of the day following, the +beautiful face of Miss Warriner troubled Edouard, and the thought of her +alternately thrilled and depressed him. One moment he mocked at himself +for presuming to think that his simple art could reach the depths of +such a nature, and the next he stirred himself to hope that he should +see her once again, and that he should succeed where he had failed. + +The music had moved Corbin so deeply that when he awoke the day +following the effect of it still hung upon him. It seemed to him as +though all he had been trying to tell Miss Warriner of his love for her, +and which he had failed to make her understand in the last three months, +had been expressed in the one moment of this song. It was that in it +which had so enchanted him. It was as though he had listened to his +own deepest and most sacred thoughts, uttered for the first time +convincingly, and by a stranger. Why was it, he asked himself, that this +unknown youth could translate another's feelings into music, when he +himself could not put them into words? He was walking in Piccadilly, +deep in this thought, when a question came to him which caused him to +turn rapidly into Green Park, where he could consider it undisturbed. + +The doubt which had so suddenly presented itself was in some degree the +same one which had stirred Edouard. Was it that he was really unable to +express his feelings, or was it that Miss Warriner could not understand +them? Was it really something lacking in him, or was it not something +lacking in her? He flushed at the disloyalty of the thought and put it +from him; but, as his memory reached back over the past three months, +the question returned again and again with fresh force, and would not +be denied. He called himself a fatuous, conceited fool. Because he could +not make a woman love him other men could do so. That was really the +answer; he was not the man. But the answer did not seem final. What, +after all, was the thing his love sought--a woman only, or a woman +capable of deep and great feeling? Even if he could not inspire such +emotions, even if another could, he would still be content and proud +to love a woman capable of such deep feelings. But if she were without +them? At the thought, Corbin stared blankly before him as though he had +stumbled against a stone wall. What sign had she ever given him that she +could care greatly? Was not any form of emotion always distasteful to +her? Was not her mind always occupied with abstract questions? Was she +not always engaged in her own self-improvement--with schemes, it is +true, for bettering the world; but did her heart ever ache once for the +individual? What was it, then, he loved? Something he imagined this girl +to be, or was he in love with the fact that his own nature had been so +mightily stirred? Was it not the joy of caring greatly which had carried +him along? And if this was so, was he now to continue to proffer this +devotion to one who could not feel, to a statue, to an idol? Were not +the very things which rendered her beautiful the offerings which he +himself had hung upon her altar? Did the qualities he really loved in +her exist? Was he not on the brink of casting his love before one +who could neither feel it for him nor for any other man? He stood up, +trembling and frightened. Even though the girl had rejected him again +and again, he felt a hateful sense of disloyalty. He was ashamed to +confess it to himself, and he vowed, hotly, that he must be wrong, that +he would not believe. He would still worship her, fight for her, and +force her to care for him. + +Mrs. Warriner and her daughter were to sail on the morrow, and +that night they met Corbin at dinner for the last time. After many +days--although self-accused--he felt deeply conscious of his recent lack +of faith, and, in the few hours still left him, he determined to atone +for the temporary halt in his allegiance. They had never found him more +eager, tactful, and considerate than he was that evening. The eyes of +Mrs. Warriner softened as she watched him. As one day had succeeded +another, her admiration and liking for him had increased, until now she +felt as though his cause was hers--as though she was not parting from +a friend, but from a son. But the calmness of her daughter was +impenetrable; from her manner it was impossible to learn whether the +approaching separation was a relief or a regret. + +To Edouard the return of the beautiful girl to the restaurant appeared +not as an accident, but as a marked favor vouchsafed to him by Fate. He +had been given a second chance. He read it as a sign that he should take +heart and hope. He felt that fortune was indeed kind. He determined that +he would play to her again, and that this time he would not fail. + +As the first notes of La Lettre d'Amour brought a pause of silence +in the restaurant, Corbin, who was talking at the moment, interrupted +himself abruptly, and turned in his chair. + +All through the evening he had been conscious of the near presence of +the young musician. He had not forgotten how, on the night before, his +own feelings had been interpreted in La Lettre d'Amour, and for some +time he had been debating in his mind as to whether he would request +Edouard to play the air again, or let the evening pass without again +submitting himself to so supreme an assault upon his feelings. Now the +question had been settled for him, and he found that it had been decided +as he secretly desired. It was impossible to believe that Edouard was +the same young man who had played the same air on the night previous, +for Edouard no longer considered that he was present on sufferance--he +invited and challenged the attention of the room; his music commanded it +to silence. It dominated all who heard it. + +As he again slowly approached the table where Miss Warriner was seated, +the eyes of everyone were turned upon him; the pathos, the tenderness +of his message seemed to speak to each; the fact that he dared to offer +such a wealth of deep feeling to such an audience was in itself enough +to engage the attention of all. A group of Guardsmen, their faces +flushed with Burgundy and pulling heavily on black cigars, stared at him +sleepily, and then sat up, erect and alert, watching him with intent, +wide-open eyes; and at tables which had been marked by the laughter of +those seated about them there fell a sudden silence. Those who fully +understood the value of the music withdrew into themselves, submitting, +thankfully, to its spell; others, less susceptible, gathered from the +bearing of those about them that something of moment was going forward; +but it was recognized by each, from the most severe English matron +present down to the youngest “omnibus-boy” among the waiters, that it +was a love-story which was being told to them, and that in this public +place the deepest, most sacred, and most beautiful of emotions were +finding noble utterance. + +The music filled Corbin with desperate longing and regret. It was +so truly the translation of his own feelings that he was alternately +touched with self-pity and inspired to fresh resolve. It seemed to +assure him that love such as his could not endure without some return. +It emboldened him to make still another and a final appeal. Mrs. +Warriner, with all the other people in the room, was watching Edouard, +and so, unobserved, and hidden by the flowers upon the table, Corbin +leaned toward Miss Warriner and bent his head close to hers. His eyes +were burning with feeling; his voice thrilled in unison to the plaint of +the violin. + +He gave a toss of his head in the direction from whence the music came. + +“That is what I have been trying to tell you,” he whispered. His voice +was hoarse and shaken. “That is how I care, but that man's genius is +telling you for me. At last, you must understand.” In his eagerness, his +words followed each other brokenly and impetuously. “That is love,” he +whispered. “That is the real voice of love in all its tenderness +and might, and--it is love itself. Don't you understand it now?” he +demanded. + +Miss Warriner raised her head and frowned. She stared at Edouard with a +pained expression of perplexity and doubt. + +“He shows no lack of feeling,” she said, critically, “but his technic is +not equal to Ysaye's.” + +“Good God!” Corbin gasped. He sank away from Miss Warriner and stared at +her with incredulous eyes. + +“His technic,” he repeated, “is not equal to Ysaye's?” He gave a laugh +which might have been a sob, and sat up, suddenly, with his head +erect and his shoulders squared. He had the shaken look of one who has +recovered from a dangerous illness. But when he spoke again it was in +the accents of every-day politeness. + +At an early hour the following morning, Mrs. Warriner and her daughter +left Waterloo Station on the steamer-train for Southampton, and Corbin +attended them up to the moment of the train's departure. He concerned +himself for their comfort as conscientiously as he had always +done throughout the last three months, when he had been their +travelling-companion; nothing could have been more friendly, more +sympathetic, than his manner. This effort, which Mrs. Warriner was sure +cost him much, touched her deeply. But when he shook Miss Warriner's +hand and she said, “Good-by, and write to us before you go to the +Philippines,” Corbin for the first time stammered in some embarrassment. + +“Good-by,” he said; “I--I am not sure that I shall go.” + +He dined at the Savoy again that night, in company with some Englishmen. +They sat at a table in the corner where they could observe the whole +extent of the room, and their talk was eager and their laughter constant +and hearty. It was only when the boy who led the orchestra began to +walk among the tables, playing an air of peculiar sadness, that Corbin's +manner lost its vivacity, and he sank into a sudden silence, with his +eyes fixed on the table before him. + +“That's odd,” said one of his companions. “I say, Corbin, look at that +chap! What's he doing?” + +Corbin raised his eyes. He saw Edouard standing at the same table at +which for the last two nights Miss Warriner had been seated. “What is +it?” he asked. + +“Why, that violin chap,” said the Englishman. “Don't you see? He's been +playing to the only vacant table in the room, and to an empty chair.” + + + + + + +IN THE FOG + +I + + +The Grill is the club most difficult of access in the world. To be +placed on its rolls distinguishes the new member as greatly as though he +had received a vacant Garter or had been caricatured in “Vanity Fair.” + +Men who belong to the Grill Club never mention that fact. If you were +to ask one of them which clubs he frequents, he will name all save that +particular one. He is afraid if he told you he belonged to the Grill, +that it would sound like boasting. + +The Grill Club dates back to the days when Shakespeare's Theatre stood +on the present site of the “Times” office. It has a golden Grill which +Charles the Second presented to the Club, and the original manuscript +of “Tom and Jerry in London,” which was bequeathed to it by Pierce Egan +himself. The members, when they write letters at the Club, still use +sand to blot the ink. + +The Grill enjoys the distinction of having blackballed, without +political prejudice, a Prime Minister of each party. At the same sitting +at which one of these fell, it elected, on account of his brogue and his +bulls, Quiller, Q. C., who was then a penniless barrister. + +When Paul Preval, the French artist who came to London by royal command +to paint a portrait of the Prince of Wales, was made an honorary +member--only foreigners may be honorary members--he said, as he signed +his first wine-card, “I would rather see my name on that than on a +picture in the Louvre.” + +At which Quiller remarked, “That is a devil of a compliment, because the +only men who can read their names in the Louvre to-day have been dead +fifty years.” + +On the night after the great fog of 1897 there were five members in +the Club, four of them busy with supper and one reading in front of the +fireplace. There is only one room to the Club, and one long table. At +the far end of the room the fire of the grill glows red, and, when +the fat falls, blazes into flame, and at the other there is a broad +bow-window of diamond panes, which looks down upon the street. The four +men at the table were strangers to each other, but as they picked at +the grilled bones, and sipped their Scotch and soda, they conversed +with such charming animation that a visitor to the Club, which does +not tolerate visitors, would have counted them as friends of long +acquaintance, certainly not as Englishmen who had met for the first +time, and without the form of an introduction. But it is the etiquette +and tradition of the Grill that whoever enters it must speak with +whomever he finds there. It is to enforce this rule that there is but +one long table, and whether there are twenty men at it or two, the +waiters, supporting the rule, will place them side by side. + +For this reason the four strangers at supper were seated together, with +the candles grouped about them, and the long length of the table cutting +a white path through the outer gloom. + +“I repeat,” said the gentleman with the black pearl stud, “that the days +for romantic adventure and deeds of foolish daring have passed, and that +the fault lies with ourselves. Voyages to the pole I do not catalogue +as adventures. That African explorer, young Chetney, who turned up +yesterday after he was supposed to have died in Uganda, did nothing +adventurous. He made maps and explored the sources of rivers. He was +in constant danger, but the presence of danger does not constitute +adventure. Were that so, the chemist who studies high explosives, or +who investigates deadly poisons, passes through adventures daily. No, +'adventures are for the adventurous.' But one no longer ventures. The +spirit of it has died of inertia. We are grown too practical, too just, +above all, too sensible. In this room, for instance, members of this +Club have, at the sword's point, disputed the proper scanning of one +of Pope's couplets. Over so weighty a matter as spilled Burgundy on a +gentleman's cuff, ten men fought across this table, each with his +rapier in one hand and a candle in the other. All ten were wounded. The +question of the spilled Burgundy concerned but two of them. The eight +others engaged because they were men of 'spirit.' They were, indeed, the +first gentlemen of the day. To-night, were you to spill Burgundy on +my cuff, were you even to insult me grossly, these gentlemen would not +consider it incumbent upon them to kill each other. They would separate +us, and to-morrow morning appear as witnesses against us at Bow Street. +We have here to-night, in the persons of Sir Andrew and myself, an +illustration of how the ways have changed.” + +The men around the table turned and glanced toward the gentleman in +front of the fireplace. He was an elderly and somewhat portly person, +with a kindly, wrinkled countenance, which wore continually a smile +of almost childish confidence and good-nature. It was a face which the +illustrated prints had made intimately familiar. He held a book from him +at arm's-length, as if to adjust his eyesight, and his brows were knit +with interest. + +“Now, were this the eighteenth century,” continued the gentleman with +the black pearl, “when Sir Andrew left the Club to-night I would have +him bound and gagged and thrown into a sedan chair. The watch would not +interfere, the passers-by would take to their heels, my hired bullies +and ruffians would convey him to some lonely spot where we would guard +him until morning. Nothing would come of it, except added reputation to +myself as a gentleman of adventurous spirit, and possibly an essay in +the 'Tatler' with stars for names, entitled, let us say, 'The Budget and +the Baronet.'” + +“But to what end, sir?” inquired the youngest of the members. “And +why Sir Andrew, of all persons--why should you select him for this +adventure?” + +The gentleman with the black pearl shrugged his shoulders. + +“It would prevent him speaking in the House to-night. The Navy Increase +Bill,” he added, gloomily. “It is a Government measure, and Sir Andrew +speaks for it. And so great is his influence and so large his following +that if he does”--the gentleman laughed ruefully--“if he does, it will +go through. Now, had I the spirit of our ancestors,” he exclaimed, “I +would bring chloroform from the nearest chemist's and drug him in that +chair. I would tumble his unconscious form into a hansom-cab, and hold +him prisoner until daylight. If I did, I would save the British taxpayer +the cost of five more battleships, many millions of pounds.” + +The gentleman again turned, and surveyed the baronet with freshened +interest. The honorary member of the Grill, whose accent already had +betrayed him as an American, laughed softly. + +“To look at him now,” he said, “one would not guess he was deeply +concerned with the affairs of state.” + +The others nodded silently. + +“He has not lifted his eyes from that book since we first entered,” + added the youngest member. “He surely cannot mean to speak to-night.” + +“Oh, yes, he will speak,” muttered the one with the black pearl, +moodily. “During these last hours of the session the House sits late, +but when the Navy bill comes up on its third reading he will be in his +place--and he will pass it.” + +The fourth member, a stout and florid gentleman of a somewhat sporting +appearance, in a short smoking-jacket and black tie, sighed enviously. + +“Fancy one of us being as cool as that, if he knew he had to stand up +within an hour and rattle off a speech in Parliament. I'd be in a devil +of a funk myself. And yet he is as keen over that book he's reading as +though he had nothing before him until bedtime.” + +“Yes, see how eager he is,” whispered the youngest member. “He does +not lift his eyes even now when he cuts the pages. It is probably an +Admiralty Report, or some other weighty work of statistics which bears +upon his speech.” + +The gentleman with the black pearl laughed morosely. + +“The weighty work in which the eminent statesman is so deeply +engrossed,” he said, “is called 'The Great Rand Robbery.' It is a +detective novel for sale at all bookstalls.” + +The American raised his eyebrows in disbelief. + +“'The Great Rand Robbery'?” he repeated, incredulously. “What an odd +taste!” + +“It is not a taste, it is his vice,” returned the gentleman with the +pearl stud. “It is his one dissipation. He is noted for it. You, as a +stranger, could hardly be expected to know of this idiosyncrasy. Mr. +Gladstone sought relaxation in the Greek poets, Sir Andrew finds his in +Gaboriau. Since I have been a member of Parliament, I have never seen +him in the library without a shilling shocker in his hands. He +brings them even into the sacred precincts of the House, and from the +Government benches reads them concealed inside his hat. Once started on +a tale of murder, robbery, and sudden death, nothing can tear him from +it, not even the call of the division-bell, nor of hunger, nor the +prayers of the party Whip. He gave up his country house because when +he journeyed to it in the train he would become so absorbed in his +detective-stories that he was invariably carried past his station.” The +member of Parliament twisted his pearl stud nervously, and bit at the +edge of his mustache. “If it only were the first pages of 'The Rand +Robbery' that he were reading,” he murmured bitterly, “instead of the +last! With such another book as that, I swear I could hold him here +until morning. There would be no need of chloroform to keep him from the +House.” + +The eyes of all were fastened upon Sir Andrew, and each saw, with +fascination, that, with his forefinger, he was now separating the +last two pages of the book. The member of Parliament struck the table, +softly, with his open palm. + +“I would give a hundred pounds,” he whispered, “if I could place in his +hands at this moment a new story of Sherlock Holmes--a thousand pounds,” + he added, wildly--“five thousand pounds!” + +The American observed the speaker sharply, as though the words bore to +him some special application, and then, at an idea which apparently had +but just come to him, smiled, in great embarrassment. + +Sir Andrew ceased reading, but, as though still under the influence of +the book, sat looking, blankly, into the open fire. For a brief space, +no one moved until the baronet withdrew his eyes and, with a sudden +start of recollection, felt, anxiously, for his watch. He scanned its +face eagerly, and scrambled to his feet. + +The voice of the American instantly broke the silence in a high, nervous +accent. + +“And yet Sherlock Holmes himself,” he cried, “could not decipher the +mystery which to-night baffles the police of London.” + +At these unexpected words, which carried in them something of the tone +of a challenge, the gentlemen about the table started as suddenly +as though the American had fired a pistol in the air, and Sir Andrew +halted, abruptly, and stood observing him with grave surprise. + +The gentleman with the black pearl was the first to recover. + +“Yes, yes,” he said, eagerly, throwing himself across the table. “A +mystery that baffles the police of London. I have heard nothing of it. +Tell us at once, pray do--tell us at once.” + +The American flushed uncomfortably, and picked, uneasily, at the +table-cloth. + +“No one but the police has heard of it,” he murmured, “and they only +through me. It is a remarkable crime, to which, unfortunately, I am the +only person who can bear witness. Because I am the only witness, I +am, in spite of my immunity as a diplomat, detained in London by the +authorities of Scotland Yard. My name,” he said, inclining his head, +politely, “is Sears, Lieutenant Ripley Sears, of the United States Navy, +at present Naval Attache to the Court of Russia. Had I not been detained +to-day by the police, I would have started this morning for Petersburg.” + +The gentleman with the black pearl interrupted with so pronounced an +exclamation of excitement and delight that the American stammered and +ceased speaking. + +“Do you hear, Sir Andrew?” cried the member of Parliament, jubilantly. +“An American diplomat halted by our police because he is the only +witness of a most remarkable crime--THE most remarkable crime, I believe +you said, sir,” he added, bending eagerly toward the naval officer, +“which has occurred in London in many years.” + +The American moved his head in assent, and glanced at the two other +members. They were looking, doubtfully, at him, and the face of each +showed that he was greatly perplexed. + +Sir Andrew advanced to within the light of the candles and drew a chair +toward him. + +“The crime must be exceptional, indeed,” he said, “to justify the police +in interfering with a representative of a friendly power. If I were not +forced to leave at once, I should take the liberty of asking you to tell +us the details.” + +The gentleman with the pearl pushed the chair toward Sir Andrew, and +motioned him to be seated. + +“You cannot leave us now,” he exclaimed. “Mr. Sears is just about to +tell us of this remarkable crime.” + +He nodded, vigorously, at the naval officer and the American, after +first glancing, doubtfully, toward the servants at the far end of the +room, and leaned forward across the table. The others drew their chairs +nearer and bent toward him. The baronet glanced, irresolutely, at his +watch, and, with an exclamation of annoyance, snapped down the lid. +“They can wait,” he muttered. He seated himself quickly, and nodded at +Lieutenant Sears. + +“If you will be so kind as to begin, sir,” he said, impatiently. + +“Of course,” said the American, “you understand that I understand that +I am speaking to gentlemen. The confidences of this Club are inviolate. +Until the police give the facts to the public press, I must consider you +my confederates. You have heard nothing, you know no one connected with +this mystery. Even I must remain anonymous.” + +The gentlemen seated around him nodded gravely. + +“Of course,” the baronet assented, with eagerness, “of course.” + +“We will refer to it,” said the gentleman with the black pearl, “as 'The +Story of the Naval Attache.'” + +“I arrived in London two days ago,” said the American, “and I engaged a +room at the Bath Hotel. I know very few people in London, and even the +members of our embassy were strangers to me. But in Hong Kong I had +become great pals with an officer in your navy, who has since retired, +and who is now living in a small house in Rutland Gardens, opposite +the Knightsbridge Barracks. I telegraphed him that I was in London, and +yesterday morning I received a most hearty invitation to dine with him +the same evening at his house. He is a bachelor, so we dined alone and +talked over all our old days on the Asiatic Station and of the changes +which had come to us since we had last met there. As I was leaving the +next morning for my post at Petersburg, and had many letters to write, +I told him, about ten o'clock, that I must get back to the hotel, and he +sent out his servant to call a hansom. + +“For the next quarter of an hour, as we sat talking, we could hear the +cab-whistle sounding, violently, from the doorstep, but apparently with +no result. + +“'It cannot be that the cabmen are on strike,' my friend said, as he +rose and walked to the window. + +“He pulled back the curtains and at once called to me. + +“'You have never seen a London fog, have you?' he asked. 'Well, come +here. This is one of the best, or, rather, one of the worst, of them.' I +joined him at the window, but I could see nothing. Had I not known that +the house looked out upon the street I would have believed that I was +facing a dead wall. I raised the sash and stretched out my head, but +still I could see nothing. Even the light of the street-lamps, opposite, +and in the upper windows of the barracks, had been smothered in the +yellow mist. The lights of the room in which I stood penetrated the fog +only to the distance of a few inches from my eyes. + +“Below me the servant was still sounding his whistle, but I could afford +to wait no longer, and told my friend that I would try and find the way +to my hotel on foot. He objected, but the letters I had to write were +for the Navy Department, and, besides, I had always heard that to be out +in a London fog was the most wonderful experience, and I was curious to +investigate one for myself. + +“My friend went with me to his front door, and laid down a course for me +to follow. I was first to walk straight across the street to the brick +wall of the Knightsbridge Barracks. I was then to feel my way along the +wall until I came to a row of houses set back from the sidewalk. They +would bring me to a cross street. On the other side of this street was +a row of shops which I was to follow until they joined the iron railings +of Hyde Park. I was to keep to the railings until I reached the gates +at Hyde Park Corner, where I was to lay a diagonal course across +Piccadilly, and tack in toward the railings of Green Park. At the end +of these railings, going east, I would find the Walsingham, and my own +hotel. + +“To a sailor the course did not seem difficult, so I bade my friend +good-night and walked forward until my feet touched the paving. I +continued upon it until I reached the curbing of the sidewalk. A few +steps further, and my hands struck the wall of the barracks. I turned +in the direction from which I had just come, and saw a square of faint +light cut in the yellow fog. I shouted, 'All right,' and the voice of +my friend answered, 'Good luck to you.' The light from his open door +disappeared with a bang, and I was left alone in a dripping, yellow +darkness. I have been in the Navy for ten years, but I have never known +such a fog as that of last night, not even among the icebergs of Behring +Sea. There one at least could see the light of the binnacle, but last +night I could not even distinguish the hand by which I guided myself +along the barrack-wall. At sea a fog is a natural phenomenon. It is as +familiar as the rainbow which follows a storm, it is as proper that +a fog should spread upon the waters as that steam shall rise from a +kettle. But a fog which springs from the paved streets, that rolls +between solid house-fronts, that forces cabs to move at half speed, that +drowns policemen and extinguishes the electric lights of the music-hall, +that to me is incomprehensible. It is as out of place as a tidal wave on +Broadway. + +“As I felt my way along the wall, I encountered other men who were +coming from the opposite direction, and each time when we hailed each +other I stepped away from the wall to make room for them to pass. But +the third time I did this, when I reached out my hand, the wall had +disappeared, and the further I moved to find it the further I seemed +to be sinking into space. I had the unpleasant conviction that at any +moment I might step over a precipice. Since I had set out, I had heard +no traffic in the street, and now, although I listened some minutes, I +could only distinguish the occasional footfalls of pedestrians. Several +times I called aloud, and once a jocular gentleman answered me, but only +to ask me where I thought he was, and then even he was swallowed up in +the silence. Just above me I could make out a jet of gas which I guessed +came from a street-lamp, and I moved over to that, and, while I tried +to recover my bearings, kept my hand on the iron post. Except for this +nicker of gas, no larger than the tip of my finger, I could distinguish +nothing about me. For the rest, the mist hung between me and the world +like a damp and heavy blanket. + +“I could hear voices, but I could not tell from whence they came, and +the scrape of a foot, moving cautiously, or a muffled cry as someone +stumbled, were the only sounds that reached me. + +“I decided that until someone took me in I had best remain where I +was, and it must have been for ten minutes that I waited by the lamp, +straining my ears and hailing distant footfalls. In a house near me some +people were dancing to the music of a Hungarian band. I even fancied I +could hear the windows shake to the rhythm of their feet, but I could +not make out from which part of the compass the sounds came. And +sometimes, as the music rose, it seemed close at my hand, and, again, to +be floating high in the air above my head. Although I was surrounded by +thousands of householders, I was as completely lost as though I had been +set down by night in the Sahara Desert. There seemed to be no reason +in waiting longer for an escort, so I again set out, and at once bumped +against a low, iron fence. At first I believed this to be an area +railing, but, on following it, I found that it stretched for a long +distance, and that it was pierced at regular intervals with gates. I was +standing, uncertainly, with my hand on one of these, when a square +of light suddenly opened in the night, and in it I saw, as you see a +picture thrown by a biograph in a darkened theatre, a young gentleman in +evening dress, and, back of him, the lights of a hall. I guessed, from +its elevation and distance from the sidewalk, that this light must come +from the door of a house set back from the street, and I determined +to approach it and ask the young man to tell me where I was. But, in +fumbling with the lock of the gate, I instinctively bent my head, and +when I raised it again the door had partly closed, leaving only a narrow +shaft of light. Whether the young man had re-entered the house, or had +left it I could not tell, but I hastened to open the gate, and as I +stepped forward I found myself upon an asphalt walk. At the same instant +there was the sound of quick steps upon the path, and someone rushed +past me. I called to him, but he made no reply, and I heard the gate +click and the footsteps hurrying away upon the sidewalk. + +“Under other circumstances the young man's rudeness, and his +recklessness in dashing so hurriedly through the mist, would have struck +me as peculiar, but everything was so distorted by the fog that at the +moment I did not consider it. The door was still as he had left it, +partly open. I went up the path, and, after much fumbling, found the +knob of the door-bell and gave it a sharp pull. The bell answered me +from a great depth and distance, but no movement followed from inside +the house, and, although I pulled the bell again and again, I could hear +nothing save the dripping of the mist about me. I was anxious to be on +my way, but unless I knew where I was going there was little chance +of my making any speed, and I was determined that until I learned my +bearings I would not venture back into the fog. So I pushed the door +open and stepped into the house. + +“I found myself in a long and narrow hall, upon which doors opened from +either side. At the end of the hall was a staircase with a balustrade +which ended in a sweeping curve. The balustrade was covered with heavy, +Persian rugs, and the walls of the hall were also hung with them. The +door on my left was closed, but the one nearer me on the right was open, +and, as I stepped opposite to it, I saw that it was a sort of reception +or waiting-room, and that it was empty. The door below it was also open, +and, with the idea that I would surely find someone there, I walked on +up the hall. I was in evening dress, and I felt I did not look like +a burglar, so I had no great fear that, should I encounter one of the +inmates of the house, he would shoot me on sight. The second door in the +hall opened into a dining-room. This was also empty. One person had +been dining at the table, but the cloth had not been cleared away, and +a flickering candle showed half-filled wineglasses and the ashes of +cigarettes. The greater part of the room was in complete darkness. + +“By this time I had grown conscious of the fact that I was wandering +about in a strange house, and that, apparently, I was alone in it. +The silence of the place began to try my nerves, and in a sudden, +unexplainable panic I started for the open street. But as I turned, +I saw a man sitting on a bench, which the curve of the balustrade had +hidden from me. His eyes were shut, and he was sleeping soundly. + +“The moment before I had been bewildered because I could see no one, but +at sight of this man I was much more bewildered. + +“He was a very large man, a giant in height, with long, yellow hair, +which hung below his shoulders. He was dressed in a red silk shirt, that +was belted at the waist and hung outside black velvet trousers, which, +in turn, were stuffed into high, black boots. I recognized the costume +at once as that of a Russian servant, but what a Russian servant in his +native livery could be doing in a private house in Knightsbridge was +incomprehensible. + +“I advanced and touched the man on the shoulder, and, after an effort, +he awoke, and, on seeing me, sprang to his feet and began bowing +rapidly, and making deprecatory gestures. I had picked up enough Russian +in Petersburg to make out that the man was apologizing for having fallen +asleep, and I also was able to explain to him that I desired to see his +master. + +“He nodded vigorously, and said, 'Will the Excellency come this way? The +Princess is here.' + +“I distinctly made out the word 'princess,' and I was a good deal +embarrassed. I had thought it would be easy enough to explain my +intrusion to a man, but how a woman would look at it was another matter, +and as I followed him down the hall I was somewhat puzzled. + +“As we advanced, he noticed that the front door was standing open, and +with an exclamation of surprise, hastened toward it and closed it. Then +he rapped twice on the door of what was apparently the drawing-room. +There was no reply to his knock, and he tapped again, and then, timidly, +and cringing subserviently, opened the door and stepped inside. He +withdrew himself at once and stared stupidly at me, shaking his head. + +“'She is not there,' he said. He stood for a moment, gazing blankly +through the open door, and then hastened toward the dining-room. The +solitary candle which still burned there seemed to assure him that the +room also was empty. He came back and bowed me toward the drawing-room. +'She is above,' he said; 'I will inform the Princess of the Excellency's +presence.' + +“Before I could stop him, he had turned and was running up the +staircase, leaving me alone at the open door of the drawing-room. I +decided that the adventure had gone quite far enough, and if I had been +able to explain to the Russian that I had lost my way in the fog, and +only wanted to get back into the street again, I would have left the +house on the instant. + +“Of course, when I first rang the bell of the house I had no other +expectation than that it would be answered by a parlor-maid who would +direct me on my way. I certainly could not then foresee that I would +disturb a Russian princess in her boudoir, or that I might be thrown out +by her athletic bodyguard. Still, I thought I ought not now to leave +the house without making some apology, and, if the worst should come, +I could show my card. They could hardly believe that a member of an +Embassy had any designs upon the hat-rack. + +“The room in which I stood was dimly lighted, but I could see that, like +the hall, it was hung with heavy, Persian rugs. The corners were filled +with palms, and there was the unmistakable odor in the air of Russian +cigarettes, and strange, dry scents that carried me back to the bazaars +of Vladivostock. Near the front windows was a grand piano, and at the +other end of the room a heavily carved screen of some black wood, +picked out with ivory. The screen was overhung with a canopy of silken +draperies, and formed a sort of alcove. In front of the alcove was +spread the white skin of a polar bear, and set on that was one of those +low, Turkish coffee-tables. It held a lighted spirit-lamp and two gold +coffee-cups. I had heard no movement from above stairs, and it must have +been fully three minutes that I stood waiting, noting these details of +the room and wondering at the delay, and at the strange silence. + +“And then, suddenly, as my eye grew more used to the half-light, I saw, +projecting from behind the screen, as though it were stretched along the +back of a divan, the hand of a man and the lower part of his arm. I +was as startled as though I had come across a footprint on a deserted +island. Evidently, the man had been sitting there since I had come +into the room, even since I had entered the house, and he had heard the +servant knocking upon the door. Why he had not declared himself I could +not understand, but I supposed that, possibly, he was a guest, with +no reason to interest himself in the Princess's other visitors, or, +perhaps, for some reason, he did not wish to be observed. I could see +nothing of him except his hand, but I had an unpleasant feeling that he +had been peering at me through the carving in the screen, and that +he still was doing so. I moved my feet noisily on the floor and said, +tentatively, 'I beg your pardon.' + +“There was no reply, and the hand did not stir. Apparently, the man +was bent upon ignoring me, but, as all I wished was to apologize for my +intrusion and to leave the house, I walked up to the alcove and peered +around it. Inside the screen was a divan piled with cushions, and on the +end of it nearer me the man was sitting. He was a young Englishman with +light-yellow hair and a deeply bronzed face. He was seated with his arms +stretched out along the back of the divan, and with his head resting +against a cushion. His attitude was one of complete ease. But his mouth +had fallen open, and his eyes were set with an expression of utter +horror. At the first glance, I saw that he was quite dead. + +“For a flash of time I was too startled to act, but in the same flash I +was convinced that the man had met his death from no accident, that he +had not died through any ordinary failure of the laws of nature. The +expression on his face was much too terrible to be misinterpreted. It +spoke as eloquently as words. It told me that before the end had come he +had watched his death approach and threaten him. + +“I was so sure he had been murdered that I instinctively looked on the +floor for the weapon, and, at the same moment, out of concern for my +own safety, quickly behind me; but the silence of the house continued +unbroken. + +“I have seen a great number of dead men; I was on the Asiatic Station +during the Japanese-Chinese war. I was in Port Arthur after the +massacre. So a dead man, for the single reason that he is dead, does not +repel me, and, though I knew that there was no hope that this man was +alive, still, for decency's sake, I felt his pulse, and, while I kept +my ears alert for any sound from the floors above me, I pulled open his +shirt and placed my hand upon his heart. My fingers instantly touched +upon the opening of a wound, and as I withdrew them I found them wet +with blood. He was in evening dress, and in the wide bosom of his shirt +I found a narrow slit, so narrow that in the dim light it was scarcely +discernible. The wound was no wider than the smallest blade of a +pocket-knife, but when I stripped the shirt away from the chest and left +it bare, I found that the weapon, narrow as it was, had been long enough +to reach his heart. There is no need to tell you how I felt as I stood +by the body of this boy, for he was hardly older than a boy, or of the +thoughts that came into my head. I was bitterly sorry for this stranger, +bitterly indignant at his murderer, and, at the same time, selfishly +concerned for my own safety and for the notoriety which I saw was sure +to follow. My instinct was to leave the body where it lay, and to hide +myself in the fog, but I also felt that since a succession of accidents +had made me the only witness to a crime, my duty was to make myself a +good witness and to assist to establish the facts of this murder. + +“That it might, possibly, be a suicide, and not a murder, did not +disturb me for a moment. The fact that the weapon had disappeared, and +the expression on the boy's face were enough to convince, at least me, +that he had had no hand in his own death. I judged it, therefore, of +the first importance to discover who was in the house, or, if they had +escaped from it, who had been in the house before I entered it. I had +seen one man leave it; but all I could tell of him was that he was a +young man, that he was in evening dress, and that he had fled in such +haste that he had not stopped to close the door behind him. + +“The Russian servant I had found apparently asleep, and, unless he acted +a part with supreme skill, he was a stupid and ignorant boor, and as +innocent of the murder as myself. There was still the Russian princess +whom he had expected to find, or had pretended to expect to find, in the +same room with the murdered man. I judged that she must now be either +upstairs with the servant, or that she had, without his knowledge, +already fled from the house. When I recalled his apparently genuine +surprise at not finding her in the drawing-room, this latter supposition +seemed the more probable. Nevertheless, I decided that it was my duty to +make a search, and after a second hurried look for the weapon among the +cushions of the divan, and upon the floor, I cautiously crossed the hall +and entered the dining-room. + +“The single candle was still flickering in the draught, and showed only +the white cloth. The rest of the room was draped in shadows. I picked up +the candle, and, lifting it high above my head, moved around the corner +of the table. Either my nerves were on such a stretch that no shock +could strain them further, or my mind was inoculated to horrors, for +I did not cry out at what I saw nor retreat from it. Immediately at my +feet was the body of a beautiful woman, lying at full length upon the +floor, her arms flung out on either side of her, and her white face and +shoulders gleaming, dully, in the unsteady light of the candle. Around +her throat was a great chain of diamonds, and the light played upon +these and made them flash and blaze in tiny flames. But the woman who +wore them was dead, and I was so certain as to how she had died that, +without an instant's hesitation, I dropped on my knees beside her and +placed my hands above her heart. My fingers again touched the thin slit +of a wound. I had no doubt in my mind but that this was the Russian +princess, and when I lowered the candle to her face I was assured that +this was so. Her features showed the finest lines of both the Slav and +the Jewess; the eyes were black, the hair blue-black and wonderfully +heavy, and her skin, even in death, was rich in color. She was a +surpassingly beautiful woman. + +“I rose and tried to light another candle with the one I held, but +I found that my hand was so unsteady that I could not keep the wicks +together. It was my intention to again search for this strange dagger +which had been used to kill both the English boy and the beautiful +princess, but before I could light the second candle I heard footsteps +descending the stairs, and the Russian servant appeared in the doorway. + +“My face was in darkness, or I am sure that, at the sight of it, he +would have taken alarm, for at that moment I was not sure but that this +man himself was the murderer. His own face was plainly visible to me in +the light from the hall, and I could see that it wore an expression of +dull bewilderment. I stepped quickly toward him and took a firm hold +upon his wrist. + +“'She is not there,' he said. 'The Princess has gone. They have all +gone.' + +“'Who have gone?' I demanded. 'Who else has been here?' + +“'The two Englishmen,' he said. + +“'What two Englishmen?' I demanded. 'What are their names?' + +“The man now saw by my manner that some question of great moment hung +upon his answer, and he began to protest that he did not know the names +of the visitors and that until that evening he had never seen them. + +“I guessed that it was my tone which frightened him, so I took my hand +off his wrist and spoke less eagerly. + +“'How long have they been here?' I asked, 'and when did they go?' + +“He pointed behind him toward the drawing-room. + +“'One sat there with the Princess,' he said; 'the other came after I +had placed the coffee in the drawing-room. The two Englishmen talked +together, and the Princess returned here to the table. She sat there in +that chair, and I brought her cognac and cigarettes. Then I sat outside +upon the bench. It was a feast-day, and I had been drinking. Pardon, +Excellency, but I fell asleep. When I woke, your Excellency was standing +by me, but the Princess and the two Englishmen had gone. That is all I +know.' + +“I believed that the man was telling me the truth. His fright had +passed, and he was now apparently puzzled, but not alarmed. + +“'You must remember the names of the Englishmen,' I urged. 'Try to +think. When you announced them to the Princess what name did you give?' + +“At this question he exclaimed, with pleasure, and, beckoning to me, +ran hurriedly down the hall and into the drawing-room. In the corner +furthest from the screen was the piano, and on it was a silver tray. He +picked this up and, smiling with pride at his own intelligence, pointed +at two cards that lay upon it. I took them up and read the names +engraved upon them.” + +The American paused abruptly, and glanced at the faces about him. “I +read the names,” he repeated. He spoke with great reluctance. + +“Continue!” cried the baronet, sharply. + +“I read the names,” said the American with evident distaste, “and the +family name of each was the same. They were the names of two brothers. +One is well known to you. It is that of the African explorer of whom +this gentleman was just speaking. I mean the Earl of Chetney. The other +was the name of his brother. Lord Arthur Chetney.” + +The men at the table fell back as though a trapdoor had fallen open at +their feet. + +“Lord Chetney?” they exclaimed, in chorus. They glanced at each +other and back to the American, with every expression of concern and +disbelief. + +“It is impossible!” cried the Baronet. “Why, my dear sir, young Chetney +only arrived from Africa yesterday. It was so stated in the evening +papers.” + +The jaw of the American set in a resolute square, and he pressed his +lips together. + +“You are perfectly right, sir,” he said, “Lord Chetney did arrive in +London yesterday morning, and yesterday night I found his dead body.” + +The youngest member present was the first to recover. He seemed much +less concerned over the identity of the murdered man than at the +interruption of the narrative. + +“Oh, please let him go on!” he cried. “What happened then? You say you +found two visiting-cards. How do you know which card was that of the +murdered man?” + +The American, before he answered, waited until the chorus of +exclamations had ceased. Then he continued as though he had not been +interrupted. + +“The instant I read the names upon the cards,” he said, “I ran to the +screen and, kneeling beside the dead man, began a search through his +pockets. My hand at once fell upon a card-case, and I found on all +the cards it contained the title of the Earl of Chetney. His watch and +cigarette-case also bore his name. These evidences, and the fact of his +bronzed skin, and that his cheek-bones were worn with fever, convinced +me that the dead man was the African explorer, and the boy who had fled +past me in the night was Arthur, his younger brother. + +“I was so intent upon my search that I had forgotten the servant, and +I was still on my knees when I heard a cry behind me. I turned, and saw +the man gazing down at the body in abject horror. + +“Before I could rise, he gave another cry of terror, and, flinging +himself into the hall, raced toward the door to the street. I leaped +after him, shouting to him to halt, but before I could reach the hall he +had torn open the door, and I saw him spring out into the yellow fog. I +cleared the steps in a jump and ran down the garden-walk but just as +the gate clicked in front of me. I had it open on the instant, and, +following the sound of the man's footsteps, I raced after him across the +open street. He, also, could hear me, and he instantly stopped running, +and there was absolute silence. He was so near that I almost fancied I +could hear him panting, and I held my own breath to listen. But I could +distinguish nothing but the dripping of the mist about us, and from far +off the music of the Hungarian band, which I had heard when I first lost +myself. + +“All I could see was the square of light from the door I had left open +behind me, and a lamp in the hall beyond it flickering in the draught. +But even as I watched it, the flame of the lamp was blown violently to +and fro, and the door, caught in the same current of air, closed slowly. +I knew if it shut I could not again enter the house, and I rushed madly +toward it. I believe I even shouted out, as though it were something +human which I could compel to obey me, and then I caught my foot against +the curb and smashed into the sidewalk. When I rose to my feet I was +dizzy and half stunned, and though I thought then that I was moving +toward the door, I know now that I probably turned directly from it; +for, as I groped about in the night, calling frantically for the police, +my fingers touched nothing but the dripping fog, and the iron railings +for which I sought seemed to have melted away. For many minutes I beat +the mist with my arms like one at blind man's buff, turning sharply in +circles, cursing aloud at my stupidity and crying continually for help. +At last a voice answered me from the fog, and I found myself held in the +circle of a policeman's lantern. + +“That is the end of my adventure. What I have to tell you now is what I +learned from the police. + +“At the station-house to which the man guided me I related what you have +just heard. I told them that the house they must at once find was one +set back from the street within a radius of two hundred yards from the +Knightsbridge Barracks, that within fifty yards of it someone was giving +a dance to the music of a Hungarian band, and that the railings before +it were as high as a man's waist and filed to a point. With that to work +upon, twenty men were at once ordered out into the fog to search for +the house, and Inspector Lyle himself was despatched to the home of Lord +Edam, Chetney's father, with a warrant for Lord Arthur's arrest. I was +thanked and dismissed on my own recognizance. + +“This morning, Inspector Lyle called on me, and from him I learned the +police theory of the scene I have just described. + +“Apparently, I had wandered very far in the fog, for up to noon to-day +the house had not been found, nor had they been able to arrest Lord +Arthur. He did not return to his father's house last night, and there is +no trace of him; but from what the police knew of the past lives of the +people I found in that lost house, they have evolved a theory, and their +theory is that the murders were committed by Lord Arthur. + +“The infatuation of his elder brother, Lord Chetney, for a Russian +princess, so Inspector Lyle tells me, is well known to everyone. About +two years ago the Princess Zichy, as she calls herself, and he were +constantly together, and Chetney informed his friends that they were +about to be married. The woman was notorious in two continents, and when +Lord Edam heard of his son's infatuation he appealed to the police for +her record. + +“It is through his having applied to them that they know so much +concerning her and her relations with the Chetneys. From the police Lord +Edam learned that Madame Zichy had once been a spy in the employ of the +Russian Third Section, but that lately she had been repudiated by her +own government and was living by her wits, by blackmail, and by her +beauty. Lord Edam laid this record before his son, but Chetney either +knew it already or the woman persuaded him not to believe in it, and the +father and son parted in great anger. Two days later the marquis altered +his will, leaving all of his money to the younger brother, Arthur. + +“The title and some of the landed property he could not keep from +Chetney, but he swore if his son saw the woman again that the will +should stand as it was, and he would be left without a penny. + +“This was about eighteen months ago, when, apparently, Chetney tired +of the Princess, and suddenly went off to shoot and explore in Central +Africa. No word came from him, except that twice he was reported as +having died of fever in the jungle, and finally two traders reached +the coast who said they had seen his body. This was accepted by all +as conclusive, and young Arthur was recognized as the heir to the Edam +millions. On the strength of this supposition he at once began to borrow +enormous sums from the money-lenders. This is of great importance, as +the police believe it was these debts which drove him to the murder of +his brother. Yesterday, as you know, Lord Chetney suddenly returned from +the grave, and it was the fact that for two years he had been considered +as dead which lent such importance to his return and which gave rise +to those columns of detail concerning him which appeared in all the +afternoon papers. But, obviously, during his absence he had not tired of +the Princess Zichy, for we know that a few hours after he reached London +he sought her out. His brother, who had also learned of his reappearance +through the papers, probably suspected which would be the house he would +first visit, and followed him there, arriving, so the Russian servant +tells us, while the two were at coffee in the drawing-room. The +Princess, then, we also learn from the servant, withdrew to the +dining-room, leaving the brothers together. What happened one can only +guess. + +“Lord Arthur knew now that when it was discovered he was no longer the +heir, the moneylenders would come down upon him. The police believe +that he at once sought out his brother to beg for money to cover the +post-obits, but that, considering the sum he needed was several hundreds +of thousands of pounds, Chetney refused to give it him. No one knew +that Arthur had gone to seek out his brother. They were alone. It is +possible, then, that in a passion of disappointment, and crazed with +the disgrace which he saw before him, young Arthur made himself the heir +beyond further question. The death of his brother would have availed +nothing if the woman remained alive. It is then possible that he crossed +the hall, and, with the same weapon which made him Lord Edam's heir, +destroyed the solitary witness to the murder. The only other person +who could have seen it was sleeping in a drunken stupor, to which fact +undoubtedly he owed his life. And yet,” concluded the Naval Attache, +leaning forward and marking each word with his finger, “Lord Arthur +blundered fatally. In his haste he left the door of the house open, so +giving access to the first passer-by, and he forgot that when he entered +it he had handed his card to the servant. That piece of paper may yet +send him to the gallows. In the meantime, he has disappeared completely, +and somewhere, in one of the millions of streets of this great capital, +in a locked and empty house, lies the body of his brother, and of the +woman his brother loved, undiscovered, unburied; and with their murder +unavenged.” + +In the discussion which followed the conclusion of the story of the +Naval Attache, the gentleman with the pearl took no part. Instead, he +arose, and, beckoning a servant to a far corner of the room, whispered +earnestly to him until a sudden movement on the part of Sir Andrew +caused him to return hurriedly to the table. + +“There are several points in Mr. Sears's story I want explained,” he +cried. “Be seated, Sir Andrew,” he begged. “Let us have the opinion of +an expert. I do not care what the police think, I want to know what you +think.” + +But Sir Andrew rose reluctantly from his chair. + +“I should like nothing better than to discuss this,” he said. “But it +is most important that I proceed to the House. I should have been there +some time ago.” He turned toward the servant and directed him to call a +hansom. + +The gentleman with the pearl stud looked appealingly at the Naval +Attache. “There are surely many details that you have not told us,” he +urged. “Some you have forgotten.” + +The Baronet interrupted quickly. + +“I trust not,” he said, “for I could not possibly stop to hear them.” + +“The story is finished,” declared the Naval Attache; “until Lord Arthur +is arrested or the bodies are found there is nothing more to tell of +either Chetney or the Princess Zichy.” + +“Of Lord Chetney, perhaps not,” interrupted the sporting-looking +gentleman with the black tie, “but there'll always be something to tell +of the Princess Zichy. I know enough stories about her to fill a book. +She was a most remarkable woman.” The speaker dropped the end of his +cigar into his coffee-cup and, taking his case from his pocket, selected +a fresh one. As he did so he laughed and held up the case that the +others might see it. It was an ordinary cigar-case of well-worn +pig-skin, with a silver clasp. + +“The only time I ever met her,” he said, “she tried to rob me of this.” + +The Baronet regarded him closely. + +“She tried to rob you?” he repeated. + +“Tried to rob me of this,” continued the gentleman in the black tie, +“and of the Czarina's diamonds.” His tone was one of mingled admiration +and injury. + +“The Czarina's diamonds!” exclaimed the Baronet. He glanced quickly and +suspiciously at the speaker, and then at the others about the table. +But their faces gave evidence of no other emotion than that of ordinary +interest. + +“Yes, the Czarina's diamonds,” repeated the man with the black tie. +“It was a necklace of diamonds. I was told to take them to the Russian +Ambassador in Paris, who was to deliver them at Moscow. I am a Queen's +Messenger,” he added. + +“Oh, I see,” exclaimed Sir Andrew, in a tone of relief. “And you say +that this same Princess Zichy, one of the victims of this double murder, +endeavored to rob you of--of--that cigar-case.” + +“And the Czarina's diamonds,” answered the Queen's Messenger, +imperturbably. “It's not much of a story, but it gives you an idea +of the woman's character. The robbery took place between Paris and +Marseilles.” + +The Baronet interrupted him with an abrupt movement. “No, no,” he cried, +shaking his head in protest. “Do not tempt me. I really cannot listen. I +must be at the House in ten minutes.” + +“I am sorry,” said the Queen's Messenger. He turned to those seated +about him. “I wonder if the other gentlemen--” he inquired, tentatively. +There was a chorus of polite murmurs, and the Queen's Messenger, bowing +his head in acknowledgment, took a preparatory sip from his glass. At +the same moment the servant to whom the man with the black pearl had +spoken, slipped a piece of paper into his hand. He glanced at it, +frowned, and threw it under the table. + +The servant bowed to the Baronet. + +“Your hansom is waiting, Sir Andrew,” he said. + +“The necklace was worth twenty thousand pounds,” began the Queen's +Messenger, “It was a present from the Queen of England to celebrate--” + The Baronet gave an exclamation of angry annoyance. + +“Upon my word, this is most provoking,” he interrupted. “I really ought +not to stay. But I certainly mean to hear this.” He turned irritably to +the servant. “Tell the hansom to wait,” he commanded, and, with an air +of a boy who is playing truant, slipped guiltily into his chair. + +The gentleman with the black pearl smiled blandly, and rapped upon the +table. + +“Order, gentlemen,” he said. “Order for the story of the Queen's +Messenger and the Czarina's diamonds.” + + + + +II + + +“The necklace was a present from the Queen of England to the Czarina of +Russia,” began the Queen's Messenger. “It was to celebrate the occasion +of the Czar's coronation. Our Foreign Office knew that the Russian +Ambassador in Paris was to proceed to Moscow for that ceremony, and I +was directed to go to Paris and turn over the necklace to him. But when +I reached Paris I found he had not expected me for a week later and was +taking a few days' vacation at Nice. His people asked me to leave the +necklace with them at the Embassy, but I had been charged to get a +receipt for it from the Ambassador himself, so I started at once for +Nice. The fact that Monte Carlo is not two thousand miles from Nice may +have had something to do with making me carry out my instructions so +carefully. + +“Now, how the Princess Zichy came to find out about the necklace I don't +know, but I can guess. As you have just heard, she was at one time a spy +in the service of the Russian Government. And after they dismissed her +she kept up her acquaintance with many of the Russian agents in London. +It is probable that through one of them she learned that the necklace +was to be sent to Moscow, and which one of the Queen's Messengers had +been detailed to take it there. Still, I doubt if even that knowledge +would have helped her if she had not also known something which I +supposed no one else in the world knew but myself and one other man. +And, curiously enough, the other man was a Queen's Messenger, too, and a +friend of mine. You must know that up to the time of this robbery I had +always concealed my despatches in a manner peculiarly my own. I got the +idea from that play called 'A Scrap of Paper.' In it a man wants to hide +a certain compromising document. He knows that all his rooms will be +secretly searched for it, so he puts it in a torn envelope and sticks it +up where anyone can see it on his mantle-shelf. The result is that the +woman who is ransacking the house to find it looks in all the unlikely +places, but passes over the scrap of paper that is just under her nose. +Sometimes the papers and packages they give us to carry about Europe are +of very great value, and sometimes they are special makes of cigarettes, +and orders to court-dressmakers. Sometimes we know what we are carrying +and sometimes we do not. If it is a large sum of money or a treaty, +they generally tell us. But, as a rule, we have no knowledge of what the +package contains; so to be on the safe side, we naturally take just as +great care of it as though we knew it held the terms of an ultimatum or +the crown-jewels. As a rule, my confreres carry the official packages +in a despatch-box, which is just as obvious as a lady's jewel-bag in the +hands of her maid. Everyone knows they are carrying something of value. +They put a premium on dishonesty. Well, after I saw the 'Scrap-of-Paper' +play, I determined to put the government valuables in the most unlikely +place that anyone would look for them. So I used to hide the documents +they gave me inside my riding-boots, and small articles, such as money +or jewels, I carried in an old cigar-case. After I took to using my case +for that purpose I bought a new one, exactly like it, for my cigars. +But, to avoid mistakes, I had my initials placed on both sides of the +new one, and the moment I touched the case, even in the dark, I could +tell which it was by the raised initials. + +“No one knew of this except the Queen's Messenger of whom I spoke. +We once left Paris together on the Orient Express. I was going to +Constantinople and he was to stop off at Vienna. On the journey I told +him of my peculiar way of hiding things and showed him my cigar-case. If +I recollect rightly, on that trip it held the grand cross of St. Michael +and St. George, which the Queen was sending to our Ambassador. The +Messenger was very much entertained at my scheme, and some months later +when he met the Princess he told her about it as an amusing story. Of +course, he had no idea she was a Russian spy. He didn't know anything +at all about her, except that she was a very attractive woman. It was +indiscreet, but he could not possibly have guessed that she could ever +make any use of what he told her. + +“Later, after the robbery, I remembered that I had informed this young +chap of my secret hiding-place, and when I saw him again I questioned +him about it. He was greatly distressed, and said he had never seen the +importance of the secret. He remembered he had told several people of +it, and among others the Princess Zichy. In that way I found out that it +was she who had robbed me, and I know that from the moment I left London +she was following me, and that she knew then that the diamonds were +concealed in my cigar-case. + +“My train for Nice left Paris at ten in the morning. When I travel at +night I generally tell the chef de gare that I am a Queen's Messenger, +and he gives me a compartment to myself, but in the daytime I take +whatever offers. On this morning I had found an empty compartment, and +I had tipped the guard to keep everyone else out, not from any fear of +losing the diamonds, but because I wanted to smoke. He had locked the +door, and as the last bell had rung I supposed I was to travel alone, so +I began to arrange my traps and make myself comfortable. The diamonds +in the cigar-case were in the inside pocket of my waistcoat, and as +they made a bulky package, I took them out, intending to put them in my +hand-bag. It is a small satchel like a bookmaker's, or those hand-bags +that couriers carry. I wear it slung from a strap across my shoulders, +and, no matter whether I am sitting or walking, it never leaves me. + +“I took the cigar-case which held the necklace from my inside pocket +and the case which held the cigars out of the satchel, and while I was +searching through it for a box of matches I laid the two cases beside me +on the seat. + +“At that moment the train started, but at the same instant there was a +rattle at the lock of the compartment, and a couple of porters lifted +and shoved a woman through the door, and hurled her rugs and umbrellas +in after her. + +“Instinctively I reached for the diamonds. I shoved them quickly into +the satchel and, pushing them far down to the bottom of the bag, snapped +the spring-lock. Then I put the cigars in the pocket of my coat, but +with the thought that now that I had a woman as a travelling companion I +would probably not be allowed to enjoy them. + +“One of her pieces of luggage had fallen at my feet, and a roll of rugs +had landed at my side. I thought if I hid the fact that the lady was +not welcome, and at once endeavored to be civil, she might permit me +to smoke. So I picked her hand-bag off the floor and asked her where I +might place it. + +“As I spoke I looked at her for the first time, and saw that she was a +most remarkably handsome woman. + +“She smiled charmingly and begged me not to disturb myself. Then she +arranged her own things about her, and, opening her dressing-bag, took +out a gold cigarette-case. + +“'Do you object to smoke?' she asked. + +“I laughed and assured her I had been in great terror lest she might +object to it herself. + +“'If you like cigarettes,' she said, 'will you try some of these? They +are rolled especially for my husband in Russia, and they are supposed to +be very good.' + +“I thanked her, and took one from her case, and I found it so much +better than my own that I continued to smoke her cigarettes throughout +the rest of the journey. I must say that we got on very well. I judged +from the coronet on her cigarette-case, and from her manner, which was +quite as well bred as that of any woman I ever met, that she was someone +of importance, and though she seemed almost too good-looking to be +respectable, I determined that she was some grande dame who was so +assured of her position that she could afford to be unconventional. At +first she read her novel, and then she made some comment on the scenery, +and finally we began to discuss the current politics of the Continent. +She talked of all the cities in Europe, and seemed to know everyone +worth knowing. But she volunteered nothing about herself except that she +frequently made use of the expression, 'When my husband was stationed at +Vienna,' or 'When my husband was promoted to Rome.' Once she said to +me, 'I have often seen you at Monte Carlo. I saw you when you won the +pigeon-championship.' I told her that I was not a pigeon-shot, and she +gave a little start of surprise. 'Oh, I beg your pardon,' she said; 'I +thought you were Morton Hamilton, the English champion.' As a matter +of fact, I do look like Hamilton, but I know now that her object was to +make me think that she had no idea as to who I really was. She needn't +have acted at all, for I certainly had no suspicions of her, and was +only too pleased to have so charming a companion. + +“The one thing that should have made me suspicious was the fact that +at every station she made some trivial excuse to get me out of the +compartment. She pretended that her maid was travelling back of us in +one of the second-class carriages, and kept saying she could not imagine +why the woman did not come to look after her, and if the maid did not +turn up at the next stop, would I be so very kind as to get out and +bring her whatever it was she pretended she wanted. + +“I had taken my dressing-case from the rack to get out a novel, and had +left it on the seat opposite to mine, and at the end of the compartment +farthest from her. And once when I came back from buying her a cup of +chocolate, or from some other fool-errand, I found her standing at my +end of the compartment with both hands on the dressing-bag. She looked +at me without so much as winking an eye, and shoved the case carefully +into a corner. 'Your bag slipped off on the floor,' she said. 'If you've +got any bottles in it, you had better look and see that they're not +broken.' + +“And I give you my word, I was such an ass that I did open the case and +looked all through it. She must have thought I WAS a Juggins. I get hot +all over whenever I remember it. But, in spite of my dulness, and her +cleverness, she couldn't gain anything by sending me away, because what +she wanted was in the hand-bag, and every time she sent me away the +hand-bag went with me. + +“After the incident of the dressing-case her manner changed. Either in +my absence she had had time to look through it, or, when I was examining +it for broken bottles, she had seen everything it held. + +“From that moment she must have been certain that the cigar-case, in +which she knew I carried the diamonds, was in the bag that was fastened +to my body, and from that time on she probably was plotting how to get +it from me. + +“Her anxiety became most apparent. She dropped the great-lady manner, +and her charming condescension went with it. She ceased talking, and, +when I spoke, answered me irritably, or at random. No doubt her mind +was entirely occupied with her plan. The end of our journey was drawing +rapidly nearer, and her time for action was being cut down with the +speed of the express-train. Even I, unsuspicious as I was, noticed +that something was very wrong with her. I really believe that before we +reached Marseilles if I had not, through my own stupidity, given her the +chance she wanted, she might have stuck a knife in me and rolled me out +on the rails. But as it was, I only thought that the long journey had +tired her. I suggested that it was a very trying trip, and asked her if +she would allow me to offer her some of my cognac. + +“She thanked me and said, 'No,' and then suddenly her eyes lighted, and +she exclaimed, 'Yes, thank you, if you will be so kind.' + +“My flask was in the hand-bag, and I placed it on my lap and, with my +thumb, slipped back the catch. As I keep my tickets and railroad-guide +in the bag, I am so constantly opening it that I never bother to lock +it, and the fact that it is strapped to me has always been sufficient +protection. But I can appreciate now what a satisfaction, and what a +torment, too, it must have been to that woman when she saw that the bag +opened without a key. + +“While we were crossing the mountains I had felt rather chilly and had +been wearing a light racing-coat. But after the lamps were lighted +the compartment became very hot and stuffy, and I found the coat +uncomfortable. So I stood up, and after first slipping the strap of the +bag over my head, I placed the bag in the seat next me and pulled off +the racing-coat. I don't blame myself for being careless; the bag was +still within reach of my hand, and nothing would have happened if +at that exact moment the train had not stopped at Arles. It was the +combination of my removing the bag and our entering the station at the +same instant which gave the Princess Zichy the chance she wanted to rob +me. + +“I needn't say that she was clever enough to take it. The train ran into +the station at full speed and came to a sudden stop. I had just thrown +my coat into the rack, and had reached out my hand for the bag. In +another instant I would have had the strap around my shoulder. But at +that moment the Princess threw open the door of the compartment and +beckoned wildly at the people on the platform. 'Natalie!' she called, +'Natalie! here I am. Come here! This way!' She turned upon me in the +greatest excitement. 'My maid!' she cried. 'She is looking for me. She +passed the window without seeing me. Go, please, and bring her back.' +She continued pointing out of the door and beckoning me with her other +hand. There certainly was something about that woman's tone which made +one jump. When she was giving orders you had no chance to think of +anything else. So I rushed out on my errand of mercy, and then rushed +back again to ask what the maid looked like. + +“'In black,' she answered, rising and blocking the door of the +compartment. 'All in black, with a bonnet!' + +“The train waited three minutes at Arles, and in that time I suppose I +must have rushed up to over twenty women and asked, 'Are you Natalie?' +The only reason I wasn't punched with an umbrella or handed over to the +police was that they probably thought I was crazy. + +“When I jumped back into the compartment the Princess was seated where +I had left her, but her eyes were burning with happiness. She placed +her hand on my arm almost affectionately, and said, in a hysterical way, +'You are very kind to me. I am so sorry to have troubled you.' + +“I protested that every woman on the platform was dressed in black. + +“'Indeed, I am so sorry,' she said, laughing; and she continued to laugh +until she began to breathe so quickly that I thought she was going to +faint. + +“I can see now that the last part of that journey must have been a +terrible half-hour for her. She had the cigar-case safe enough, but she +knew that she herself was not safe. She understood if I were to open my +bag, even at the last minute, and miss the case, I would know positively +that she had taken it. I had placed the diamonds in the bag at the very +moment she entered the compartment, and no one but our two selves had +occupied it since. She knew that when we reached Marseilles she would +either be twenty thousand pounds richer than when she left Paris, or +that she would go to jail. That was the situation as she must have read +it, and I don't envy her her state of mind during that last half-hour. +It must have been hell. + +“I saw that something was wrong, and, in my innocence, I even wondered +if possibly my cognac had not been a little too strong. For she suddenly +developed into a most brilliant conversationalist, and applauded and +laughed at everything I said, and fired off questions at me like a +machine-gun, so that I had no time to think of anything but of what she +was saying. Whenever I stirred, she stopped her chattering and leaned +toward me, and watched me like a cat over a mouse-hole. I wondered how I +could have considered her an agreeable travelling-companion. I thought +I would have preferred to be locked in with a lunatic. I don't like to +think how she would have acted if I had made a move to examine the bag, +but as I had it safely strapped around me again, I did not open it, and +I reached Marseilles alive. As we drew into the station she shook hands +with me and grinned at me like a Cheshire cat. + +“'I cannot tell you,' she said, 'how much I have to thank you for.' What +do you think of that for impudence? + +“I offered to put her in a carriage, but she said she must find Natalie, +and that she hoped we would meet again at the hotel. So I drove off by +myself, wondering who she was, and whether Natalie was not her keeper. + +“I had to wait several hours for the train to Nice; and as I wanted to +stroll around the city I thought I had better put the diamonds in the +safe of the hotel. As soon as I reached my room I locked the door, +placed the hand-bag on the table, and opened it. I felt among the things +at the top of it, but failed to touch the cigar-case. I shoved my hand +in deeper, and stirred the things about, but still I did not reach it. +A cold wave swept down my spine, and a sort of emptiness came to the pit +of my stomach. Then I turned red-hot, and the sweat sprung out all over +me. I wet my lips with my tongue, and said to myself, 'Don't be an ass. +Pull yourself together, pull yourself together. Take the things out, one +at a time. It's there, of course, it's there. Don't be an ass.' + +“So I put a brake on my nerves and began very carefully to pick out the +things, one by one, but, after another second, I could not stand it, and +I rushed across the room and threw out everything on the bed. But the +diamonds were not among them. I pulled the things about and tore them +open and shuffled and rearranged and sorted them, but it was no use. The +cigar-case was gone. I threw everything in the dressing-case out on the +floor, although I knew it was useless to look for it there. I knew that +I had put it in the bag. I sat down and tried to think. I remembered I +had put it in the satchel at Paris just as that woman had entered the +compartment, and I had been alone with her ever since, so it was she +who had robbed me. But how? It had never left my shoulder. And then I +remembered that it had--that I had taken it off when I had changed +my coat and for the few moments that I was searching for Natalie. I +remembered that the woman had sent me on that goose-chase, and that at +every other station she had tried to get rid of me on some fool-errand. + +“I gave a roar like a mad bull, and I jumped down the stairs, six steps +at a time. + +“I demanded at the office if a distinguished lady of title, possibly a +Russian, had just entered the hotel. + +“As I expected, she had not. I sprang into a cab and inquired at two +other hotels, and then I saw the folly of trying to catch her without +outside help, and I ordered the fellow to gallop to the office of the +Chief of Police. I told my story, and the ass in charge asked me to calm +myself, and wanted to take notes. I told him this was no time for taking +notes, but for doing something. He got wrathy at that, and I demanded +to be taken at once to his Chief. The Chief, he said, was very busy, and +could not see me. So I showed him my silver greyhound. In eleven years +I had never used it but once before. I stated, in pretty vigorous +language, that I was a Queen's Messenger, and that if the Chief of +Police did not see me instantly he would lose his official head. At that +the fellow jumped off his high horse and ran with me to his Chief--a +smart young chap, a colonel in the army, and a very intelligent man. + +“I explained that I had been robbed, in a French railway-carriage, of +a diamond-necklace belonging to the Queen of England, which her Majesty +was sending as a present to the Czarina of Russia. I pointed out to him +that if he succeeded in capturing the thief he would be made for life, +and would receive the gratitude of three great powers. + +“He wasn't the sort that thinks second thoughts are best. He saw Russian +and French decorations sprouting all over his chest, and he hit a +bell, and pressed buttons, and yelled out orders like the captain of a +penny-steamer in a fog. He sent her description to all the city-gates, +and ordered all cabmen and railway-porters to search all trains +leaving Marseilles. He ordered all passengers on outgoing vessels to be +examined, and telegraphed the proprietors of every hotel and pension to +send him a complete list of their guests within the hour. While I was +standing there he must have given at least a hundred orders, and sent +out enough commissaires, sergeants de ville, gendarmes, bicycle-police, +and plain-clothes Johnnies to have captured the entire German army. +When they had gone he assured me that the woman was as good as arrested +already. Indeed, officially, she was arrested; for she had no more +chance of escape from Marseilles than from the Chateau D'If. + +“He told me to return to my hotel and possess my soul in peace. Within +an hour he assured me he would acquaint me with her arrest. + +“I thanked him, and complimented him on his energy, and left him. But I +didn't share in his confidence. I felt that she was a very clever woman, +and a match for any and all of us. It was all very well for him to be +jubilant. He had not lost the diamonds, and had everything to gain if he +found them; while I, even if he did recover the necklace, would only +be where I was before I lost them, and if he did not recover it I was a +ruined man. It was an awful facer for me. I had always prided myself on +my record. In eleven years I had never mislaid an envelope, nor missed +taking the first train. And now I had failed in the most important +mission that had ever been intrusted to me. And it wasn't a thing that +could be hushed up, either. It was too conspicuous, too spectacular. It +was sure to invite the widest notoriety. I saw myself ridiculed all over +the Continent, and perhaps dismissed, even suspected of having taken the +thing myself. + +“I was walking in front of a lighted cafe, and I felt so sick and +miserable that I stopped for a pick-me-up. Then I considered that if I +took one drink I would probably, in my present state of mind, not want +to stop under twenty, and I decided I had better leave it alone. But +my nerves were jumping like a frightened rabbit, and I felt I must +have something to quiet them, or I would go crazy. I reached for my +cigarette-case, but a cigarette seemed hardly adequate, so I put it back +again and took out this cigar-case, in which I keep only the strongest +and blackest cigars. I opened it and stuck in my fingers, but, instead +of a cigar, they touched on a thin leather envelope. My heart stood +perfectly still. I did not dare to look, but I dug my finger-nails into +the leather, and I felt layers of thin paper, then a layer of cotton, +and then they scratched on the facets of the Czarina's diamonds! + +“I stumbled as though I had been hit in the face, and fell back into one +of the chairs on the sidewalk. I tore off the wrappings and spread out +the diamonds on the cafe-table; I could not believe they were real. I +twisted the necklace between my fingers and crushed it between my palms +and tossed it up in the air. I believe I almost kissed it. The women in +the cafe stood up on the chairs to see better, and laughed and screamed, +and the people crowded so close around me that the waiters had to form a +body-guard. The proprietor thought there was a fight, and called for +the police. I was so happy I didn't care. I laughed, too, and gave the +proprietor a five-pound note, and told him to stand everyone a drink. +Then I tumbled into a fiacre and galloped off to my friend the Chief of +Police. I felt very sorry for him. He had been so happy at the chance I +gave him, and he was sure to be disappointed when he learned I had sent +him off on a false alarm. + +“But now that I had found the necklace, I did not want him to find the +woman. Indeed, I was most anxious that she should get clear away, for, +if she were caught, the truth would come out, and I was likely to get a +sharp reprimand, and sure to be laughed at. + +“I could see now how it had happened. In my haste to hide the diamonds +when the woman was hustled into the carriage, I had shoved the cigars +into the satchel, and the diamonds into the pocket of my coat. Now that +I had the diamonds safe again, it seemed a very natural mistake. But I +doubted if the Foreign Office would think so. I was afraid it might not +appreciate the beautiful simplicity of my secret hiding-place. So, when +I reached the police-station, and found that the woman was still at +large, I was more than relieved. + +“As I expected, the Chief was extremely chagrined when he learned of my +mistake, and that there was nothing for him to do. But I was feeling so +happy myself that I hated to have anyone else miserable, so I suggested +that this attempt to steal the Czarina's necklace might be only the +first of a series of such attempts by an unscrupulous gang, and that I +might still be in danger. + +“I winked at the Chief, and the Chief smiled at me, and we went to Nice +together in a saloon-car with a guard of twelve carabineers and twelve +plain-clothes men, and the Chief and I drank champagne all the way. +We marched together up to the hotel where the Russian Ambassador was +stopping, closely surrounded by our escort of carabineers, and delivered +the necklace with the most profound ceremony. The old Ambassador was +immensely impressed, and when we hinted that already I had been made the +object of an attack by robbers, he assured us that his Imperial Majesty +would not prove ungrateful. + +“I wrote a swinging personal letter about the invaluable services of +the Chief to the French Minister of Foreign Affairs, and they gave him +enough Russian and French medals to satisfy even a French soldier. So, +though he never caught the woman, he received his just reward.” + +The Queen's Messenger paused and surveyed the faces of those about him +in some embarrassment. + +“But the worst of it is,” he added, “that the story must have got about; +for, while the Princess obtained nothing from me but a cigar-case and +five excellent cigars, a few weeks after the coronation the Czar sent +me a gold cigar-case with his monogram in diamonds. And I don't know yet +whether that was a coincidence, or whether the Czar wanted me to know +that he knew that I had been carrying the Czarina's diamonds in my +pig-skin cigar-case. What do you fellows think?” + + + + +III + + +Sir Andrew rose, with disapproval written in every lineament. + +“I thought your story would bear upon the murder,” he said. “Had I +imagined it would have nothing whatsoever to do with it, I would not +have remained.” He pushed back his chair and bowed, stiffly. “I wish you +good night,” he said. + +There was a chorus of remonstrance, and, under cover of this and the +Baronet's answering protests, a servant, for the second time, slipped +a piece of paper into the hand of the gentleman with the pearl stud. He +read the lines written upon it and tore it into tiny fragments. + +The youngest member, who had remained an interested but silent listener +to the tale of the Queen's Messenger, raised his hand, commandingly. + +“Sir Andrew,” he cried, “in justice to Lord Arthur Chetney, I must ask +you to be seated. He has been accused in our hearing of a most serious +crime, and I insist that you remain until you have heard me clear his +character.” + +“You!” cried the Baronet. + +“Yes,” answered the young man, briskly. “I would have spoken sooner,” + he explained, “but that I thought this gentleman”--he inclined his head +toward the Queen's Messenger--“was about to contribute some facts of +which I was ignorant. He, however, has told us nothing, and so I will +take up the tale at the point where Lieutenant Sears laid it down and +give you those details of which Lieutenant Sears is ignorant. It seems +strange to you that I should be able to add the sequel to this story. +But the coincidence is easily explained. I am the junior member of +the law firm of Chudleigh & Chudleigh. We have been solicitors for +the Chetneys for the last two hundred years. Nothing, no matter how +unimportant, which concerns Lord Edam and his two sons is unknown to +us, and naturally we are acquainted with every detail of the terrible +catastrophe of last night.” + +The Baronet, bewildered but eager, sank back into his chair. + +“Will you be long, sir?” he demanded. + +“I shall endeavor to be brief,” said the young solicitor; “and,” he +added, in a tone which gave his words almost the weight of a threat, “I +promise to be interesting.” + +“There is no need to promise that,” said Sir Andrew, “I find it much too +interesting as it is.” He glanced ruefully at the clock and turned his +eyes quickly from it. + +“Tell the driver of that hansom,” he called to the servant, “that I take +him by the hour.” + +“For the last three days,” began young Mr. Chudleigh, “as you have +probably read in the daily papers, the Marquis of Edam has been at the +point of death, and his physicians have never left his house. Every hour +he seemed to grow weaker; but although his bodily strength is apparently +leaving him forever, his mind has remained clear and active. Late +yesterday evening, word was received at our office that he wished my +father to come at once to Chetney House and to bring with him certain +papers. What these papers were is not essential; I mention them only +to explain how it was that last night I happened to be at Lord Edam's +bedside. I accompanied my father to Chetney House, but at the time we +reached there Lord Edam was sleeping, and his physicians refused to have +him awakened. My father urged that he should be allowed to receive Lord +Edam's instructions concerning the documents, but the physicians would +not disturb him, and we all gathered in the library to wait until he +should awake of his own accord. It was about one o'clock in the morning, +while we were still there, that Inspector Lyle and the officers from +Scotland Yard came to arrest Lord Arthur on the charge of murdering his +brother. You can imagine our dismay and distress. Like everyone else, +I had learned from the afternoon papers that Lord Chetney was not dead, +but that he had returned to England, and, on arriving at Chetney House, +I had been told that Lord Arthur had gone to the Bath Hotel to look +for his brother and to inform him that if he wished to see their father +alive he must come to him at once. Although it was now past one o'clock, +Arthur had not returned. None of us knew where Madame Zichy lived, so we +could not go to recover Lord Chetney's body. We spent a most miserable +night, hastening to the window whenever a cab came into the square, in +the hope that it was Arthur returning, and endeavoring to explain +away the facts that pointed to him as the murderer. I am a friend of +Arthur's, I was with him at Harrow and at Oxford, and I refused to +believe for an instant that he was capable of such a crime; but as a +lawyer I could not help but see that the circumstantial evidence was +strongly against him. + +“Toward early morning, Lord Edam awoke, and in so much better a state +of health that he refused to make the changes in the papers which he had +intended, declaring that he was no nearer death than ourselves. Under +other circumstances, this happy change in him would have relieved us +greatly, but none of us could think of anything save the death of his +elder son and of the charge which hung over Arthur. + +“As long as Inspector Lyle remained in the house, my father decided that +I, as one of the legal advisers of the family, should also remain there. +But there was little for either of us to do. Arthur did not return, and +nothing occurred until late this morning, when Lyle received word that +the Russian servant had been arrested. He at once drove to Scotland Yard +to question him. He came back to us in an hour, and informed me that +the servant had refused to tell anything of what had happened the night +before, or of himself, or of the Princess Zichy. He would not even give +them the address of her house. + +“'He is in abject terror,' Lyle said. 'I assured him that he was not +suspected of the crime, but he would tell me nothing.' + +“There were no other developments until two o'clock this afternoon, when +word was brought to us that Arthur had been found, and that he was lying +in the accident-ward of St. George's Hospital. Lyle and I drove there +together, and found him propped up in bed with his head bound in a +bandage. He had been brought to the hospital the night before by the +driver of a hansom that had run over him in the fog. The cab-horse had +kicked him on the head, and he had been carried in unconscious. There +was nothing on him to tell who he was, and it was not until he came to +his senses this afternoon that the hospital authorities had been able +to send word to his people. Lyle at once informed him that he was under +arrest, and with what he was charged, and though the Inspector warned +him to say nothing which might be used against him, I, as his solicitor, +instructed him to speak freely and to tell us all he knew of the +occurrences of last night. It was evident to anyone that the fact of +his brother's death was of much greater concern to him than that he was +accused of his murder. + +“'That,' Arthur said, contemptuously, 'that is damned nonsense. It +is monstrous and cruel. We parted better friends than we have been in +years. I will tell you all that happened--not to clear myself, but to +help you to find out the truth.' His story is as follows: Yesterday +afternoon, owing to his constant attendance on his father, he did not +look at the evening papers, and it was not until after dinner, when the +butler brought him one and told him of its contents, that he learned +that his brother was alive and at the Bath Hotel. He drove there at +once, but was told that about eight o'clock his brother had gone out, +but without giving any clew to his destination. As Chetney had not at +once come to see his father, Arthur decided that he was still angry +with him, and his mind, turning naturally to the cause of their quarrel, +determined him to look for Chetney at the home of the Princess Zichy. + +“Her house had been pointed out to him, and though he had never +visited it, he had passed it many times and knew its exact location. He +accordingly drove in that direction, as far as the fog would permit the +hansom to go, and walked the rest of the way, reaching the house about +nine o'clock. He rang, and was admitted by the Russian servant. The man +took his card into the drawing-room, and at once his brother ran out and +welcomed him. He was followed by the Princess Zichy, who also received +Arthur most cordially. + +“'You brothers will have much to talk about,' she said. 'I am going to +the dining-room. When you have finished, let me know.' + +“As soon as she had left them, Arthur told his brother that their father +was not expected to outlive the night, and that he must come to him at +once. + +“'This is not the moment to remember your quarrel,' Arthur said to him; +'you have come back from the dead only in time to make your peace with +him before he dies.' + +“Arthur says that at this Chetney was greatly moved. + +“'You entirely misunderstand me, Arthur,' he returned. 'I did not know +the governor was ill, or I would have gone to him the instant I arrived. +My only reason for not doing so was because I thought he was still angry +with me. I shall return with you immediately, as soon as I have said +good-by to the Princess. It is a final good-by. After to-night I shall +never see her again.' + +“'Do you mean that?' Arthur cried. + +“'Yes,' Chetney answered. 'When I returned to London I had no intention +of seeking her again, and I am here only through a mistake.' He then +told Arthur that he had separated from the Princess even before he went +to Central Africa, and that, moreover, while at Cairo on his way south, +he had learned certain facts concerning her life there during the +previous season, which made it impossible for him to ever wish to see +her again. Their separation was final and complete. + +“'She deceived me cruelly,' he said; 'I cannot tell you how cruelly. +During the two years when I was trying to obtain my father's consent to +our marriage she was in love with a Russian diplomat. During all that +time he was secretly visiting her here in London, and her trip to Cairo +was only an excuse to meet him there.' + +“'Yet you are here with her to-night,' Arthur protested, 'only a few +hours after your return.' + +“'That is easily explained,' Chetney answered. 'As I finished dinner +to-night at the hotel, I received a note from her from this address. In +it she said she had just learned of my arrival, and begged me to come to +her at once. She wrote that she was in great and present trouble, dying +of an incurable illness, and without friends or money. She begged me, +for the sake of old times, to come to her assistance. During the last +two years in the jungle all my former feeling for Zichy has utterly +passed away, but no one could have dismissed the appeal she made in that +letter. So I came here, and found her, as you have seen her, quite as +beautiful as she ever was, in very good health, and, from the look of +the house, in no need of money. + +“'I asked her what she meant by writing me that she was dying in a +garret, and she laughed, and said she had done so because she was +afraid, unless I thought she needed help, I would not try to see her. +That was where we were when you arrived. And now,' Chetney added, 'I +will say good-by to her, and you had better return home. No, you can +trust me, I shall follow you at once. She has no influence over me now, +but I believe, in spite of the way she has used me, that she is, after +her queer fashion, still fond of me, and when she learns that this +good-by is final there may be a scene, and it is not fair to her that +you should be here. So, go home at once, and tell the governor that I am +following you in ten minutes.' + +“'That,' said Arthur, 'is the way we parted. I never left him on more +friendly terms. I was happy to see him alive again, I was happy to think +he had returned in time to make up his quarrel with my father, and I was +happy that at last he was shut of that woman. I was never better pleased +with him in my life.' He turned to Inspector Lyle, who was sitting at +the foot of the bed, taking notes of all he told us. + +“'Why, in the name of common-sense,' he cried, 'should I have chosen +that moment, of all others, to send my brother back to the grave?' For +a moment the Inspector did not answer him. I do not know if any of you +gentlemen are acquainted with Inspector Lyle, but if you are not, I can +assure you that he is a very remarkable man. Our firm often applies +to him for aid, and he has never failed us; my father has the greatest +possible respect for him. Where he has the advantage over the ordinary +police-official is in the fact that he possesses imagination. He +imagines himself to be the criminal, imagines how he would act under the +same circumstances, and he imagines to such purpose that he generally +finds the man he wants. I have often told Lyle that if he had not been a +detective he would have made a great success as a poet or a playwright. + +“When Arthur turned on him, Lyle hesitated for a moment, and then told +him exactly what was the case against him. + +“'Ever since your brother was reported as having died in Africa,' he +said, 'your lordship has been collecting money on post-obits. Lord +Chetney's arrival, last night, turned them into waste-paper. You were +suddenly in debt for thousands of pounds--for much more than you could +ever possibly pay. No one knew that you and your brother had met at +Madame Zichy's. But you knew that your father was not expected to +outlive the night, and that if your brother were dead also, you would +be saved from complete ruin, and that you would become the Marquis of +Edam.' + +“'Oh, that is how you have worked it out, is it?' Arthur cried. 'And for +me to become Lord Edam was it necessary that the woman should die, too?' + +“'They will say,' Lyle answered, 'that she was a witness to the +murder--that she would have told.' + +“'Then why did I not kill the servant as well?' Arthur said. + +“'He was asleep, and saw nothing.' + +“'And you believe that?' Arthur demanded. + +“'It is not a question of what I believe,' Lyle said, gravely. 'It is a +question for your peers.' + +“'The man is insolent!' Arthur cried. 'The thing is monstrous! +Horrible!' + +“Before we could stop him, he sprang out of his cot and began pulling +on his clothes. When the nurses tried to hold him down, he fought with +them. + +“'Do you think you can keep me here,' he shouted, 'when they are +plotting to hang me? I am going with you to that house!' he cried at +Lyle. 'When you find those bodies I shall be beside you. It is my right. +He is my brother. He has been murdered, and I can tell you who murdered +him. That woman murdered him.' + +“'She first ruined his life, and now she has killed him. For the last +five years she has been plotting to make herself his wife, and last +night, when he told her he had discovered the truth about the Russian, +and that she would never see him again, she flew into a passion and +stabbed him, and then in terror of the gallows, killed herself. She +murdered him, I tell you, and I promise you that we will find the knife +she used near her--perhaps still in her hand. What will you say to +that?' + +“Lyle turned his head away and stared down at the floor. 'I might say,' +he answered, 'that you placed it there.' + +“Arthur gave a cry of anger and sprang at him, and then pitched forward +into his arms. The blood was running from the cut under the bandage, and +he had fainted. Lyle carried him back to the bed again, and we left him +with the police and the doctors, and drove at once to the address he had +given us. We found the house not three minutes' walk from St. George's +Hospital. It stands in Trevor Terrace, that little row of houses set +back from Knightsbridge, with one end in Hill Street. + +“As we left the hospital, Lyle had said to me, 'You must not blame me +for treating him as I did. All is fair in this work, and if by angering +that boy I could have made him commit himself, I was right in trying to +do so; though, I assure you, no one would be better pleased than +myself if I could prove his theory to be correct. But we cannot tell. +Everything depends upon what we see for ourselves within the next few +minutes.' + +“When we reached the house, Lyle broke open the fastenings of one of the +windows on the ground-floor, and, hidden by the trees in the garden, we +scrambled in. We found ourselves in the reception-room, which was the +first room on the right of the hall. The gas was still burning behind +the colored glass and red, silk shades, and when the daylight streamed +in after us it gave the hall a hideously dissipated look, like the foyer +of a theatre at a matinee, or the entrance to an all-day gambling-hall. +The house was oppressively silent, and, because we knew why it was +so silent, we spoke in whispers. When Lyle turned the handle of the +drawing-room door, I felt as though someone had put his hand upon my +throat. But I followed, close at his shoulder, and saw, in the subdued +light of many-tinted lamps, the body of Chetney at the foot of the +divan, just as Lieutenant Sears had described it. In the drawing-room we +found the body of the Princess Zichy, her arms thrown out, and the +blood from her heart frozen in a tiny line across her bare shoulder. But +neither of us, although we searched the floor on our hands and knees, +could find the weapon which had killed her. + +“'For Arthur's sake,' I said, 'I would have given a thousand pounds if +we had found the knife in her hand, as he said we would.' + +“'That we have not found it there,' Lyle answered, 'is to my mind the +strongest proof that he is telling the truth, that he left the house +before the murder took place. He is not a fool, and had he stabbed his +brother and this woman, he would have seen that by placing the knife +near her he could help to make it appear as if she had killed Chetney +and then committed suicide. Besides, Lord Arthur insisted that the +evidence in his behalf would be our finding the knife here. He would not +have urged that if he knew we would NOT find it, if he knew he himself +had carried it away. This is no suicide. A suicide does not rise and +hide the weapon with which he kills himself, and then lie down again. +No, this has been a double murder, and we must look outside of the house +for the murderer.' + +“While he was speaking, Lyle and I had been searching every corner, +studying the details of each room. I was so afraid that, without telling +me, he would make some deductions prejudicial to Arthur, that I never +left his side. I was determined to see everything that he saw, and, if +possible, to prevent his interpreting it in the wrong way. He finally +finished his examination, and we sat down together in the drawing-room, +and he took out his note-book and read aloud all that Mr. Sears had told +him of the murder and what we had just learned from Arthur. We compared +the two accounts, word for word, and weighed statement with statement, +but I could not determine, from anything Lyle said, which of the two +versions he had decided to believe. + +“'We are trying to build a house of blocks,' he exclaimed, 'with half of +the blocks missing. We have been considering two theories,' he went on: +'one that Lord Arthur is responsible for both murders, and the other +that the dead woman in there is responsible for one of them, and has +committed suicide; but, until the Russian servant is ready to talk, I +shall refuse to believe in the guilt of either.' + +“'What can you prove by him?' I asked. 'He was drunk and asleep. He saw +nothing.' + +“Lyle hesitated, and then, as though he had made up his mind to be quite +frank with me, spoke freely. + +“'I do not know that he was either drunk or asleep,' he answered. +'Lieutenant Sears describes him as a stupid boor. I am not satisfied +that he is not a clever actor. What was his position in this house? What +was his real duty here? Suppose it was not to guard this woman, but to +watch her. Let us imagine that it was not the woman he served, but a +master, and see where that leads us. For this house has a master, a +mysterious, absentee landlord, who lives in St. Petersburg, the unknown +Russian who came between Chetney and Zichy, and because of whom Chetney +left her. He is the man who bought this house for Madame Zichy, who sent +these rugs and curtains from St. Petersburg to furnish it for her after +his own tastes, and, I believe, it was he also who placed the Russian +servant here, ostensibly to serve the Princess, but in reality to spy +upon her. At Scotland Yard we do not know who this gentleman is; the +Russian police confess to equal ignorance concerning him. When Lord +Chetney went to Africa, Madame Zichy lived in St. Petersburg; but there +her receptions and dinners were so crowded with members of the nobility +and of the army and diplomats, that, among so many visitors, the police +could not learn which was the one for whom she most greatly cared.' + +“Lyle pointed at the modern French paintings and the heavy, silk rugs +which hung upon the walls. + +“'The unknown is a man of taste and of some fortune,' he said, 'not the +sort of man to send a stupid peasant to guard the woman he loves. So I +am not content to believe, with Mr. Sears, that the servant is a boor. +I believe him, instead, to be a very clever ruffian. I believe him to +be the protector of his master's honor, or, let us say, of his master's +property, whether that property be silver plate or the woman his master +loves. Last night, after Lord Arthur had gone away, the servant was left +alone in this house with Lord Chetney and Madame Zichy. From where he +sat in the hall, he could hear Lord Chetney bidding her farewell; for, +if my idea of him is correct, he understands English quite as well as +you or I. Let us imagine that he heard her entreating Chetney not to +leave her, reminding him of his former wish to marry her, and let us +suppose that he hears Chetney denounce her, and tell her that at Cairo +he has learned of this Russian admirer--the servant's master. He hears +the woman declare that she has had no admirer but himself, that this +unknown Russian was, and is, nothing to her, that there is no man she +loves but him, and that she cannot live, knowing that he is alive, +without his love. Suppose Chetney believed her, suppose his former +infatuation for her returned, and that, in a moment of weakness, he +forgave her and took her in his arms. That is the moment the Russian +master has feared. It is to guard against it that he has placed his +watch-dog over the Princess, and how do we know but that, when the +moment came, the watch-dog served his master, as he saw his duty, and +killed them both? What do you think?' Lyle demanded. 'Would not that +explain both murders?' + +“I was only too willing to hear any theory which pointed to anyone else +as the criminal than Arthur, but Lyle's explanation was too utterly +fantastic. I told him that he certainly showed imagination, but that he +could not hang a man for what he imagined he had done. + +“'No,' Lyle answered, 'but I can frighten him by telling him what I +think he has done, and now when I again question the Russian servant +I will make it quite clear to him that I believe he is the murderer. +I think that will open his mouth. A man will at least talk to defend +himself. Come,' he said, 'we must return at once to Scotland Yard and +see him. There is nothing more to do here.' + +“He arose, and I followed him into the hall, and in another minute we +would have been on our way to Scotland Yard. But just as he opened +the street-door a postman halted at the gate of the garden, and began +fumbling with the latch. + +“Lyle stopped, with an exclamation of chagrin. + +“'How stupid of me!' he exclaimed. He turned quickly and pointed to a +narrow slit cut in the brass plate of the front door. 'The house has a +private letter-box,' he said, 'and I had not thought to look in it! If +we had gone out as we came in, by the window, I would never have seen +it. The moment I entered the house I should have thought of securing +the letters which came this morning. I have been grossly careless.' +He stepped back into the hall and pulled at the lid of the letter-box, +which hung on the inside of the door, but it was tightly locked. At the +same moment the postman came up the steps holding a letter. Without +a word, Lyle took it from his hand and began to examine it. It was +addressed to the Princess Zichy, and on the back of the envelope was the +name of a West End dressmaker. + +“'That is of no use to me,' Lyle said. He took out his card and showed +it to the postman. 'I am Inspector Lyle from Scotland Yard,' he said. +'The people in this house are under arrest. Everything it contains is +now in my keeping. Did you deliver any other letters here this morning?' + +“The man looked frightened, but answered, promptly, that he was now upon +his third round. He had made one postal delivery at seven that morning +and another at eleven. + +“'How many letters did you leave here?' Lyle asked. + +“'About six altogether,' the man answered. + +“'Did you put them through the door into the letter-box?' + +“The postman said, 'Yes, I always slip them into the box, and ring and +go away. The servants collect them from the inside.' + +“'Have you noticed if any of the letters you leave here bear a Russian +postage-stamp?' Lyle asked. + +“'The man answered, 'Oh, yes, sir, a great many.' + +“'From the same person, would you say?' + +“'The writing seems to be the same,' the man answered. 'They come +regularly about once a week--one of those I delivered this morning had a +Russian postmark.' + +“'That will do,' said Lyle, eagerly. 'Thank you, thank you very much.' + +“He ran back into the hall, and, pulling out his penknife, began to pick +at the lock of the letter-box. + +“'I have been supremely careless,' he said, in great excitement. 'Twice +before when people I wanted had flown from a house I have been able to +follow them by putting a guard over their mailbox. These letters, which +arrive regularly every week from Russia in the same handwriting, they +can come but from one person. At least, we shall now know the name of +the master of this house. Undoubtedly, it is one of his letters that the +man placed here this morning. We may make a most important discovery.' + +“As he was talking he was picking at the lock with his knife, but he +was so impatient to reach the letters that he pressed too heavily on the +blade and it broke in his hand. I took a step backward and drove my +heel into the lock, and burst it open. The lid flew back, and we pressed +forward, and each ran his hand down into the letter-box. For a moment we +were both too startled to move. The box was empty. + +“I do not know how long we stood, staring stupidly at each other, but +it was Lyle who was the first to recover. He seized me by the arm and +pointed excitedly into the empty box. + +“'Do you appreciate what that means?' he cried. 'It means that someone +has been here ahead of us. Someone has entered this house not three +hours before we came, since eleven o'clock this morning.' + +“'It was the Russian servant!' I exclaimed. + +“'The Russian servant has been under arrest at Scotland Yard,' Lyle +cried. 'He could not have taken the letters. Lord Arthur has been in his +cot at the hospital. That is his alibi. There is someone else, someone +we do not suspect, and that someone is the murderer. He came back here +either to obtain those letters because he knew they would convict him, +or to remove something he had left here at the time of the murder, +something incriminating--the weapon, perhaps, or some personal article; +a cigarette-case, a handkerchief with his name upon it, or a pair of +gloves. Whatever it was, it must have been damning evidence against him +to have made him take so desperate a chance.' + +“'How do we know,' I whispered, 'that he is not hidden here now?' + +“'No, I'll swear he is not,' Lyle answered. 'I may have bungled in some +things, but I have searched this house thoroughly. Nevertheless,' he +added, 'we must go over it again, from the cellar to the roof. We have +the real clew now, and we must forget the others and work only it.' As +he spoke he began again to search the drawing-room, turning over even +the books on the tables and the music on the piano. + +“'Whoever the man is,' he said, over his shoulder, 'we know that he has +a key to the front door and a key to the letter-box. That shows us he is +either an inmate of the house or that he comes here when he wishes. The +Russian says that he was the only servant in the house. Certainly, we +have found no evidence to show that any other servant slept here. There +could be but one other person who would possess a key to the house +and the letter-box--and he lives in St. Petersburg. At the time of +the murder he was two thousand miles away.' Lyle interrupted himself, +suddenly, with a sharp cry, and turned upon me, with his eyes flashing. +'But was he?' he cried. 'Was he? How do we know that last night he was +not in London, in this very house when Zichy and Chetney met?' + +“He stood, staring at me without seeing me, muttering, and arguing with +himself. + +“'Don't speak to me,' he cried, as I ventured to interrupt him. 'I can +see it now. It is all plain. It was not the servant, but his master, the +Russian himself, and it was he who came back for the letters! He came +back for them because he knew they would convict him. We must find +them. We must have those letters. If we find the one with the Russian +postmark, we shall have found the murderer.' He spoke like a madman, and +as he spoke he ran around the room, with one hand held out in front of +him as you have seen a mind-reader at a theatre seeking for something +hidden in the stalls. He pulled the old letters from the writing-desk, +and ran them over as swiftly as a gambler deals out cards; he dropped on +his knees before the fireplace and dragged out the dead coals with +his bare fingers, and then, with a low, worried cry, like a hound on +a scent, he ran back to the waste-paper basket and, lifting the papers +from it, shook them out upon the floor. Instantly, he gave a shout of +triumph, and, separating a number of torn pieces from the others, held +them up before me. + +“'Look!' he cried. 'Do you see? Here are five letters, torn across in +two places. The Russian did not stop to read them, for, as you see, he +has left them still sealed. I have been wrong. He did not return for the +letters. He could not have known their value. He must have returned +for some other reason, and, as he was leaving, saw the letter-box, and, +taking out the letters, held them together--so--and tore them twice +across, and then, as the fire had gone out, tossed them into this +basket. Look!' he cried, 'here in the upper corner of this piece is a +Russian stamp. This is his own letter--unopened!' + +“We examined the Russian stamp and found it had been cancelled in St. +Petersburg four days ago. The back of the envelope bore the postmark of +the branch-station in upper Sloane Street, and was dated this morning. +The envelope was of official, blue paper, and we had no difficulty in +finding the other two parts of it. We drew the torn pieces of the letter +from them and joined them together, side by side. There were but two +lines of writing, and this was the message: 'I leave Petersburg on the +night-train, and I shall see you at Trevor Terrace, after dinner, Monday +evening.' + +“'That was last night!' Lyle cried. 'He arrived twelve hours ahead of +his letter--but it came in time--it came in time to hang him!'” + +The Baronet struck the table with his hand. + +“The name!” he demanded. “How was it signed? What was the man's name?” + +The young Solicitor rose to his feet and, leaning forward, stretched out +his arm. “There was no name,” he cried. “The letter was signed with +only two initials. But engraved at the top of the sheet was the man's +address. That address was 'THE AMERICAN EMBASSY, ST. PETERSBURG, BUREAU +OF THE NAVAL ATTACHE,' and the initials,” he shouted, his voice rising +into an exultant and bitter cry, “were those of the gentleman who sits +opposite who told us that he was the first to find the murdered bodies, +the Naval Attache to Russia, Lieutenant Sears!” + +A strained and awful hush followed the Solicitor's words, which seemed +to vibrate like a twanging bowstring that had just hurled its bolt. Sir +Andrew, pale and staring, drew away, with an exclamation of repulsion. +His eyes were fastened upon the Naval Attache with fascinated horror. +But the American emitted a sigh of great content, and sank, comfortably, +into the arms of his chair. He clapped his hands, softly, together. + +“Capital!” he murmured. “I give you my word I never guessed what you +were driving at. You fooled ME, I'll be hanged if you didn't--you +certainly fooled me.” + +The man with the pearl stud leaned forward, with a nervous gesture. +“Hush! be careful!” he whispered. But at that instant, for the third +time, a servant, hastening through the room, handed him a piece of paper +which he scanned eagerly. The message on the paper read, “The light over +the Commons is out. The House has risen.” + +The man with the black pearl gave a mighty shout, and tossed the paper +from him upon the table. + +“Hurrah!” he cried. “The House is up! We've won!” He caught up his +glass, and slapped the Naval Attache, violently, upon the shoulder. He +nodded joyously at him, at the Solicitor, and at the Queen's Messenger. +“Gentlemen, to you!” he cried; “my thanks and my congratulations!” + He drank deep from the glass, and breathed forth a long sigh of +satisfaction and relief. + +“But I say,” protested the Queen's Messenger, shaking his finger, +violently, at the Solicitor, “that story won't do. You didn't play +fair--and--and you talked so fast I couldn't make out what it was all +about. I'll bet you that evidence wouldn't hold in a court of law--you +couldn't hang a cat on such evidence. Your story is condemned tommy-rot. +Now, my story might have happened, my story bore the mark--” + +In the joy of creation, the story-tellers had forgotten their audience, +until a sudden exclamation from Sir Andrew caused them to turn, +guiltily, toward him. His face was knit with lines of anger, doubt, and +amazement. + +“What does this mean?” he cried. “Is this a jest, or are you mad? If you +know this man is a murderer, why is he at large? Is this a game you have +been playing? Explain yourselves at once. What does it mean?” + +The American, with first a glance at the others, rose and bowed, +courteously. + +“I am not a murderer, Sir Andrew, believe me,” he said; “you need not +be alarmed. As a matter of fact, at this moment I am much more afraid of +you than you could possibly be of me. I beg you, please to be indulgent. +I assure you, we meant no disrespect. We have been matching stories, +that is all, pretending that we are people we are not, endeavoring to +entertain you with better detective-tales than, for instance, the last +one you read, 'The Great Rand Robbery.'” + +The Baronet brushed his hand, nervously, across his forehead. + +“Do you mean to tell me,” he exclaimed, “that none of this has happened? +That Lord Chetney is not dead, that his Solicitor did not find a letter +of yours, written from your post in Petersburg, and that just now, when +he charged you with murder, he was in jest?” + +“I am really very sorry,” said the American, “but you see, sir, he could +not have found a letter written by me in St. Petersburg because I have +never been in Petersburg. Until this week, I have never been outside +of my own country. I am not a naval officer. I am a writer of short +stories. And to-night, when this gentleman told me that you were fond of +detective-stories, I thought it would be amusing to tell you one of my +own--one I had just mapped out this afternoon.” + +“But Lord Chetney IS a real person,” interrupted the Baronet, “and he +did go to Africa two years ago, and he was supposed to have died there, +and his brother, Lord Arthur, has been the heir. And yesterday Chetney +did return. I read it in the papers.” + +“So did I,” assented the American, soothingly; “and it struck me as +being a very good plot for a story. I mean his unexpected return from +the dead, and the probable disappointment of the younger brother. So I +decided that the younger brother had better murder the older one. The +Princess Zichy I invented out of a clear sky. The fog I did not have to +invent. Since last night I know all that there is to know about a London +fog. I was lost in one for three hours.” + +The Baronet turned, grimly, upon the Queen's Messenger. + +“But this gentleman,” he protested, “he is not a writer of short +stories; he is a member of the Foreign Office. I have often seen him +in Whitehall, and, according to him, the Princess Zichy is not an +invention. He says she is very well known, that she tried to rob him.” + +The servant of the Foreign Office looked, unhappily, at the Cabinet +Minister, and puffed, nervously, on his cigar. + +“It's true, Sir Andrew, that I am a Queen's Messenger,” he said, +appealingly, “and a Russian woman once did try to rob a Queen's +Messenger in a railway carriage--only it did not happen to me, but to +a pal of mine. The only Russian princess I ever knew called herself +Zabrisky. You may have seen her. She used to do a dive from the roof of +the Aquarium.” + +Sir Andrew, with a snort of indignation, fronted the young Solicitor. + +“And I suppose yours was a cock-and-bull story, too,” he said. “Of +course, it must have been, since Lord Chetney is not dead. But don't +tell me,” he protested, “that you are not Chudleigh's son either.” + +“I'm sorry,” said the youngest member, smiling, in some embarrassment, +“but my name is not Chudleigh. I assure you, though, that I know the +family very well, and that I am on very good terms with them.” + +“You should be!” exclaimed the Baronet; “and, judging from the liberties +you take with the Chetneys, you had better be on very good terms with +them, too.” + +The young man leaned back and glanced toward the servants at the far end +of the room. + +“It has been so long since I have been in the Club,” he said, “that I +doubt if even the waiters remember me. Perhaps Joseph may,” he added. +“Joseph!” he called, and at the word a servant stepped briskly forward. + +The young man pointed to the stuffed head of a great lion which was +suspended above the fireplace. + +“Joseph,” he said, “I want you to tell these gentlemen who shot that +lion. Who presented it to the Grill?” + +Joseph, unused to acting as master of ceremonies to members of the Club, +shifted, nervously, from one foot to the other. + +“Why, you--you did,” he stammered. + +“Of course I did!” exclaimed the young man. “I mean, what is the name of +the man who shot it? Tell the gentlemen who I am. They wouldn't believe +me.” + +“Who you are, my lord?” said Joseph. “You are Lord Edam's son, the Earl +of Chetney.” + +“You must admit,” said Lord Chetney, when the noise had died away, “that +I couldn't remain dead while my little brother was accused of murder. +I had to do something. Family pride demanded it. Now, Arthur, as the +younger brother, can't afford to be squeamish, but, personally, I should +hate to have a brother of mine hanged for murder.” + +“You certainly showed no scruples against hanging me,” said the +American, “but, in the face of your evidence, I admit my guilt, and I +sentence myself to pay the full penalty of the law as we are made to pay +it in my own country. The order of this court is,” he announced, “that +Joseph shall bring me a wine-card, and that I sign it for five bottles +of the Club's best champagne.” + +“Oh, no!” protested the man with the pearl stud, “it is not for YOU to +sign it. In my opinion, it is Sir Andrew who should pay the costs. It +is time you knew,” he said, turning to that gentleman, “that, +unconsciously, you have been the victim of what I may call a patriotic +conspiracy. These stories have had a more serious purpose than merely to +amuse. They have been told with the worthy object of detaining you +from the House of Commons. I must explain to you that, all through +this evening, I have had a servant waiting in Trafalgar Square with +instructions to bring me word as soon as the light over the House of +Commons had ceased to burn. The light is now out, and the object for +which we plotted is attained.” + +The Baronet glanced, keenly, at the man with the black pearl, and then, +quickly, at his watch. The smile disappeared from his lips, and his face +was set in stern and forbidding lines. + +“And may I know,” he asked, icily, “what was the object of your plot?” + +“A most worthy one,” the other retorted. “Our object was to keep you +from advocating the expenditure of many millions of the people's money +upon more battle-ships. In a word, we have been working together to +prevent you from passing the Navy Increase Bill.” + +Sir Andrew's face bloomed with brilliant color. His body shook with +suppressed emotion. + +“My dear sir!” he cried, “you should spend more time at the House and +less at your Club. The Navy Bill was brought up on its third reading +at eight o'clock this evening. I spoke for three hours in its favor. My +only reason for wishing to return again to the House to-night was to sup +on the terrace with my old friend, Admiral Simons; for my work at the +House was completed five hours ago, when the Navy Increase Bill was +passed by an overwhelming majority.” + +The Baronet rose and bowed. “I have to thank you, sir,” he said, “for a +most interesting evening.” + +The American shoved the wine-card which Joseph had given him toward the +gentleman with the black pearl. + +“You sign it,” he said. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ranson's Folly, by Richard Harding Davis + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RANSON'S FOLLY *** + +***** This file should be named 5643-0.txt or 5643-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/6/4/5643/ + +Produced by 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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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: Ranson's Folly + +Author: Richard Harding Davis + + +Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5643] +This file was first posted on August 3, 2002 +Last Updated: March 4, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RANSON'S FOLLY *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + RANSON'S FOLLY + </h1> + <h2> + And Others + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Richard Harding Davis + </h2> + <h4> + Illustrations By Frederic Remington, Walter Appleton Clark, Howard + Chandler Christy, E.M. Ashe & F. Dorr Steele (illustrations not + available in this file) + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> RANSON'S FOLLY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE BAR SINISTER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> A DERELICT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> LA LETTRE D'AMOUR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> IN THE FOG </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> III </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + RANSON'S FOLLY + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + The junior officers of Fort Crockett had organized a mess at the + post-trader's. “And a mess it certainly is,” said Lieutenant Ranson. The + dining-table stood between hogsheads of molasses and a blazing log-fire, + the counter of the store was their buffet, a pool-table with a cloth, + blotted like a map of the Great Lakes, their sideboard, and Indian Pete + acted as butler. But none of these things counted against the great fact + that each evening Mary Cahill, the daughter of the post-trader, presided + over the evening meal, and turned it into a banquet. From her high chair + behind the counter, with the cash-register on her one side and the + weighing-scales on the other, she gave her little Senate laws, and smiled + upon each and all with the kind impartiality of a comrade. + </p> + <p> + At least, at one time she had been impartial. But of late she smiled upon + all save Lieutenant Ranson. When he talked, she now looked at the blazing + log-fire, and her cheeks glowed and her eyes seemed to reflect the lifting + flame. + </p> + <p> + For five years, ever since her father brought her from the convent at St. + Louis, Mary Cahill had watched officers come and officers go. Her + knowledge concerning them, and their public and private affairs, was vast + and miscellaneous. She was acquainted with the traditions of every + regiment, with its war record, with its peace-time politics, its + nicknames, its scandals, even with the earnings of each company-canteen. + At Fort Crockett, which lay under her immediate observation, she knew more + of what was going forward than did the regimental adjutant, more even than + did the colonel's wife. If Trumpeter Tyler flatted on church call, if Mrs. + Stickney applied to the quartermaster for three feet of stovepipe, if + Lieutenant Curtis were granted two days' leave for quail-shooting, Mary + Cahill knew it; and if Mrs. “Captain” Stairs obtained the post-ambulance + for a drive to Kiowa City, when Mrs. “Captain” Ross wanted it for a + picnic, she knew what words passed between those ladies, and which of the + two wept. She knew all of these things, for each evening they were + retailed to her by her “boarders.” Her boarders were very loyal to Mary + Cahill. Her position was a difficult one, and had it not been that the + boy-officers were so understanding, it would have been much more + difficult. For the life of a regimental post is as circumscribed as the + life on a ship-of-war, and it would no more be possible for the ship's + barber to rub shoulders with the admiral's epaulets than that a + post-trader's child should visit the ladies on the “line,” or that the + wives of the enlisted men should dine with the young girl from whom they + “took in” washing. + </p> + <p> + So, between the upper and the nether grindstones, Mary Cahill was left + without the society of her own sex, and was of necessity forced to content + herself with the society of the officers. And the officers played fair. + Loyalty to Mary Cahill was a tradition at Fort Crockett, which it was the + duty of each succeeding regiment to sustain. Moreover, her father, a dark, + sinister man, alive only to money-making, was known to handle a revolver + with the alertness of a town-marshal. + </p> + <p> + Since the day she left the convent Mary Cahill had held but two + affections: one for this grim, taciturn parent, who brooded over her as + jealously as a lover, and the other for the entire United States Army. The + Army returned her affection without the jealousy of the father, and with + much more than his effusiveness. But when Lieutenant Ranson arrived from + the Philippines, the affections of Mary Cahill became less generously + distributed, and her heart fluttered hourly between trouble and joy. + </p> + <p> + There were two rooms on the first floor of the post-trader's—this + big one, which only officers and their women-folk might enter, and the + other, the exchange of the enlisted men. The two were separated by a + partition of logs and hung with shelves on which were displayed calicoes, + tinned meats, and patent medicines. A door, cut in one end of the + partition, with buffalo-robes for portieres, permitted Cahill to pass from + behind the counter of one store to behind the counter of the other. On one + side Mary Cahill served the Colonel's wife with many yards of silk ribbons + to be converted into german favors, on the other her father weighed out + bears' claws (manufactured in Hartford, Conn., from turkey-bones) to make + a necklace for Red Wing, the squaw of the Arrephao chieftain. He waited + upon everyone with gravity, and in obstinate silence. No one had ever seen + Cahill smile. He himself occasionally joked with others in a grim and + embarrassed manner. But no one had ever joked with him. It was reported + that he came from New York, where, it was whispered, he had once kept bar + on the Bowery for McTurk. + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Clancey, of G Troop, was the authority for this. But when, + presuming on that supposition, he claimed acquaintanceship with Cahill, + the post-trader spread out his hands on the counter and stared at the + sergeant with cold and disconcerting eyes. “I never kept bar nowhere,” he + said. “I never been on the Bowery, never been in New York, never been east + of Denver in my life. What was it you ordered?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, mebbe I'm wrong,” growled the sergeant. + </p> + <p> + But a month later, when a coyote howled down near the Indian village, the + sergeant said insinuatingly, “Sounds just like the cry of the Whyos, don't + it?” And Cahill, who was listening to the wolf, unthinkingly nodded his + head. + </p> + <p> + The sergeant snorted in triumph. “Yah, I told you so!” he cried, “a man + that's never been on the Bowery, and knows the call of the Whyo gang! The + drinks are on you, Cahill.” + </p> + <p> + The post-trader did not raise his eyes, but drew a damp cloth up and down + the counter, slowly and heavily, as a man sharpens a knife on a whetstone. + </p> + <p> + That night, as the sergeant went up the path to the post, a bullet passed + through his hat. Clancey was a forceful man, and forceful men, unknown to + themselves, make enemies, so he was uncertain as to whether this came from + a trooper he had borne upon too harshly, or whether, In the darkness, he + had been picked off for someone else. The next night, as he passed in the + full light of the post-trader's windows, a shot came from among the dark + shadows of the corral, and when he immediately sought safety in numbers + among the Indians, cowboys, and troopers in the exchange, he was in time + to see Cahill enter it from the other store, wrapping up a bottle of + pain-killer for Mrs. Stickney's cook. But Clancey was not deceived. He + observed with satisfaction that the soles and the heels of Cahill's boots + were wet with the black mud of the corral. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, when the exchange was empty, the post-trader turned from + arranging cans of condensed milk upon an upper shelf to face the + sergeant's revolver. He threw up his hands to the level of his ears as + though expressing sharp unbelief, and waited in silence. The sergeant + advanced until the gun rested on the counter, Its muzzle pointing at the + pit of Cahill's stomach. “You or me has got to leave this post,” said the + sergeant, “and I can't desert, so I guess it's up to you.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you talk for?” asked Cahill. His attitude was still that of + shocked disbelief, but his tone expressed a full acceptance of the + situation and a desire to temporize. + </p> + <p> + “At first I thought it might be that new 'cruity' in F Troop,” explained + the sergeant “You came near making me kill the wrong man. What harm did I + do you by saying you kept bar for McTurk? What's there in that to get hot + about?” + </p> + <p> + “You said I run with the Whyos.” + </p> + <p> + “What the h—l do I care what you've done!” roared the sergeant. “I + don't kmow nothing about you, but I don't mean you should shoot me in the + back. I'm going to tell this to my bunky, an' if I get shot up, the + Troop'll know who done it, and you'll hang for it. Now, what are you going + to do?” + </p> + <p> + Cahill did not tell what he would do; for, from the other store, the low + voice of Mary Cahill called, “Father! Oh, father!” + </p> + <p> + The two men dodged, and eyed each other guiltily. The sergeant gazed at + the buffalo-robe portieres with wide-opened eyes. Cahill's hands dropped + from the region of his ears, and fell flat upon the counter. + </p> + <p> + When Miss Mary Cahill pushed aside the portieres Sergeant Clancey, of G + Troop, was showing her father the mechanism of the new + regulation-revolver. He apparently was having some difficulty with the + cylinder, for his face was red. Her father was eying the gun with the + critical approval of an expert. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Miss Cahill petulantly, “why didn't you answer? Where is + the blue stationery—the sort Major Ogden always buys? He's waiting.” + </p> + <p> + The eyes of the post-trader did not wander from the gun before him. “Next + to the blank books, Mame,” he said. “On the second shelf.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Cahill flashed a dazzling smile at the big sergeant, and whispered, + so that the officer in the room behind her might not overhear, “Is he + trying to sell you Government property, dad? Don't you touch it. Sergeant, + I'm surprised at you tempting my poor father.” She pulled the two + buffalo-robes close around her neck so that her face only showed between + them. It was a sweet, lovely face, with frank, boyish eyes. + </p> + <p> + “When the major's gone, sergeant,” she whispered, “bring your gun around + my side of the store and I'll buy it from you.” + </p> + <p> + The sergeant nodded in violent assent, laughing noiselessly and slapping + his knee in a perfect ecstasy of delight. + </p> + <p> + The curtains dropped and the face disappeared. + </p> + <p> + The sergeant fingered the gun and Cahill folded his arms defiantly. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked the sergeant. + </p> + <p> + “I should think you could see how it is,” said Cahill, “without my having + to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you don't want she should know?” + </p> + <p> + “My God, no! Not even that I kept a bar.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know nothing. I don't mean to tell nothing, anyway, so if + you'll promise to be good I'll call this off.” + </p> + <p> + For the first time in the history of Fort Crockett, Cahill was seen to + smile. “May I reach under the counter NOW?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The sergeant grinned appreciatively, and shifted his gun. “Yes, but I'll + keep this out until I'm sure it's a bottle,” he said, and laughed + boisterously. + </p> + <p> + For an instant, under the cover of the counter, Cahill's hand touched + longingly upon the gun that lay there, and then passed on to the bottle + beside it. He drew it forth, and there was the clink of glasses. + </p> + <p> + In the other room Mary Cahill winked at the major, but that officer + pretended to be both deaf to the clink of the glasses and blind to the + wink. And so the incident was closed. Had it not been for the folly of + Lieutenant Ranson it would have remained closed. + </p> + <p> + A week before this happened a fire had started in the Willow Bottoms among + the tepees of some Kiowas, and the prairie, as far as one could see, was + bruised and black. From the post it looked as though the sky had been + raining ink. At the time all of the regiment but G and H Troops was out on + a practice-march, experimenting with a new-fangled tabloid-ration. As soon + as it turned the buttes it saw from where the light in the heavens came + and the practice-march became a race. + </p> + <p> + At the post the men had doubled out under Lieutenant Ranson with wet + horse-blankets, and while he led G Troop to fight the flames, H Troop, + under old Major Stickney, burned a space around the post, across which the + men of G Troop retreated, stumbling, with their ears and shoulders wrapped + in the smoking blankets. The sparks beat upon them and the flames followed + so fast that, as they ran, the blazing grass burned their lacings, and + they kicked their gaiters ahead of them. + </p> + <p> + When the regiment arrived it found everybody at Fort Crockett talking + enthusiastically of Ranson's conduct and resentfully of the fact that he + had regarded the fire as one which had been started for his especial + amusement. + </p> + <p> + “I assure you,” said Mrs. Bolland to the colonel, “if it hadn't been for + young Ranson we would have been burned in our beds; but he was most + aggravating. He treated it as though it were Fourth of July fireworks. It + is the only entertainment we have been able to offer him since he joined + in which he has shown the slightest interest.” Nevertheless, it was + generally admitted that Ranson had saved the post. He had been ubiquitous. + He had been seen galloping into the advancing flames like a stampeded + colt, he had reappeared like a wraith in columns of black, whirling smoke, + at the same moment his voice issued orders from twenty places. One instant + he was visible beating back the fire with a wet blanket, waving it above + him jubilantly, like a substitute at the Army-Navy game when his side + scores, and the next staggering from out of the furnace dragging an + asphyxiated trooper by the collar, and shrieking, “Hospital-steward, + hospital-steward! here's a man on fire. Put him out, and send him back to + me, quick!” + </p> + <p> + Those who met him in the whirlwind of smoke and billowing flame related + that he chuckled continuously. “Isn't this fun?” he yelled at them. “Say, + isn't this the best ever? I wouldn't have missed this for a trip to New + York!” + </p> + <p> + When the colonel, having visited the hospital and spoken cheering words to + those who were sans hair, sans eyebrows and with bandaged hands, + complimented Lieutenant Ranson on the parade-ground before the assembled + regiment, Ranson ran to his hut muttering strange and fearful oaths. + </p> + <p> + That night at mess he appealed to Mary Cahill for sympathy. “Goodness, + mighty me!” he cried, “did you hear him? Wasn't it awful? If I'd thought + he was going to hand me that I'd have deserted. What's the use of spoiling + the only fun we've had that way? Why, if I'd known you could get that much + excitement out of this rank prairie I'd have put a match to it myself + three months ago. It's the only fun I've had, and he goes and preaches a + funeral oration at me.” + </p> + <p> + Ranson came into the army at the time of the Spanish war because it + promised a new form of excitement, and because everybody else he knew had + gone into it too. As the son of his father he was made an adjutant-general + of volunteers with the rank of captain, and unloaded on the staff of a + Southern brigadier, who was slated never to leave Charleston. But Ranson + suspected this, and, after telegraphing his father for three days, was + attached to the Philippines contingent and sailed from San Francisco in + time to carry messages through the surf when the volunteers moved upon + Manila. More cabling at the cost of many Mexican dollars caused him to be + removed from the staff, and given a second lieutenancy in a volunteer + regiment, and for two years he pursued the little brown men over the paddy + sluices, burned villages, looted churches, and collected bolos and + altar-cloths with that irresponsibility and contempt for regulations which + is found chiefly in the appointment from civil life. Incidentally, he + enjoyed himself so much that he believed in the army he had found the one + place where excitement is always in the air, and as excitement was the + breath of his nostrils he applied for a commission in the regular army. On + his record he was appointed a second lieutenant in the Twentieth Cavalry, + and on the return of that regiment to the States—was buried alive at + Fort Crockett. + </p> + <p> + After six months of this exile, one night at the mess-table Ranson broke + forth in open rebellion. “I tell you I can't stand it a day longer,” he + cried. “I'm going to resign!” + </p> + <p> + From behind the counter Mary Cahill heard him in horror. Second + Lieutenants Crosby and Curtis shuddered. They were sons of officers of the + regular army. Only six months before they themselves had been forwarded + from West Point, done up in neat new uniforms. The traditions of the + Academy of loyalty and discipline had been kneaded into their vertebrae. + In Ranson they saw only the horrible result of giving commissions to + civilians. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe the post will be gayer now that spring has come,” said Curtis + hopefully, but with a doubtful look at the open fire. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't do anything rash,” urged Crosby. + </p> + <p> + Miss Cahill shook her head. “Why, I like it at the post,” she said, “and + I've been here five years—ever since I left the convent—and I—” + </p> + <p> + Ranson interrupted, bowing gallantly. “Yes, I know, Miss Cahill,” he said, + “but I didn't come here from a convent. I came here from the blood-stained + fields of war. Now, out in the Philippines there's always something doing. + They give you half a troop, and so long as you bring back enough Mausers + and don't get your men cut up, you can fight all over the shop and no + questions asked. But all I do here is take care of sick horses. Any vet. + in the States has seen as much fighting as I have in the last half-year. I + might as well have had charge of horse-car stables.” + </p> + <p> + “There is some truth in that,” said Curtis cautiously. “If you do resign, + certainly no one can accuse you of resigning in the face of the enemy.” + </p> + <p> + “Enemy, ye gods!” roared Ranson. “Why, if I were to see a Moro entering + that door with a bolo in each fist I'd fall on his neck and kiss him. I'm + not trained to this garrison business. You fellows are. They took all the + sporting blood out of you at West Point; one bad mark for smoking a + cigarette, two bad marks for failing to salute the instructor in botany, + and all the excitement you ever knew were charades and a cadet-hop a t + Cullum Hall. But, you see, before I went to the Philippines with Merritt, + I'd been there twice on a fellow's yacht, and we'd tucked the Spanish + governor in his bed with his spurs on. Now, I have to sit around and hear + old Bolland tell how he put down a car-strike in St. Louis, and Stickney's + long-winded yarns of Table Mountain and the Bloody Angle. He doesn't know + the Civil War's over. I tell you, if I can't get excitement on tap I've + got to make it, and if I make it out here they'll court-martial me. So + there's nothing for it but to resign.” + </p> + <p> + “You'd better wait till the end of the week,” said Crosby, grinning. “It's + going to be full of gayety. Thursday, paymaster's coming out with our + cash, and to-night that Miss Post from New York arrives in the up stage. + She's to visit the colonel, so everybody will have to give her a good + time.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I certainly must wait for that,” growled Ranson; “there probably + will be progressive euchre parties all along the line, and we'll sit up as + late as ten o'clock and stick little gilt stars on ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + Crosby laughed tolerantly. + </p> + <p> + “I see your point of view,” he said. “I remember when my father took me to + Monte Carlo I saw you at the tables with enough money in front of you to + start a bank. I remember my father asked the croupiers why they allowed a + child of your age to gamble. I was just a kid then, and so were you, too. + I remember I thought you were the devil of a fellow.” + </p> + <p> + Ranson looked sheepishly at Miss Cahill and laughed. “Well, so I was—then,” + he said. “Anybody would be a devil of a fellow who'd been brought up as I + was, with a doting parent who owns a trust and doesn't know the proper + value of money. And yet you expect me to be happy with a fifty-cent limit + game, and twenty miles of burned prairie. I tell you I've never been + broken to it. I don't know what not having your own way means. And + discipline! Why, every time I have to report one of my men to the colonel + I send for him afterward and give him a drink and apologize to him. I tell + you the army doesn't mean anything to me unless there's something doing, + and as there is no fighting out here I'm for the back room of the Holland + House and a rubber-tired automobile. Little old New York is good enough + for me!” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke these fateful words of mutiny Lieutenant Ranson raised his + black eyes and snatched a swift side-glance at the face of Mary Cahill. It + was almost as though it were from her he sought his answer. He could not + himself have told what it was he would have her say. But ever since the + idea of leaving the army had come to him, Mary Cahill and the army had + become interchangeable and had grown to mean one and the same thing. He + fought against this condition of mind fiercely. He had determined that + without active service the army was intolerable; but that without Mary + Cahill civil life would also prove intolerable, he assured himself did not + at all follow. He had laughed at the idea. He had even argued it out + sensibly. Was it reasonable to suppose, he asked himself, that after + circling the great globe three times he should find the one girl on it who + alone could make him happy, sitting behind a post-trader's counter on the + open prairie? His interest in Miss Cahill was the result of propinquity, + that was all. It was due to the fact that there was no one else at hand, + because he was sorry for her loneliness, because her absurd social + ostracism had touched his sympathy. How long after he reached New York + would he remember the little comrade with the brave, boyish eyes set in + the delicate, feminine head, with its great waves of gorgeous hair? It + would not be long, he guessed. He might remember the way she rode her + pony, how she swung from her Mexican saddle and caught up a gauntlet from + the ground. Yes, he certainly would remember that, and he would remember + the day he had galloped after her and ridden with her through the Indian + village, and again that day when they rode to the water-fall and the + Lover's Leap. And he would remember her face at night as it bent over the + books he borrowed for her, which she read while they were at mess, sitting + in her high chair with her chin resting in her palms, staring down at the + book before her. And the trick she had, whenever he spoke, of raising her + head and looking into the fire, her eyes lighting and her lips smiling. + They would be pleasant memories, he was sure. But once back again in the + whirl and rush of the great world outside of Fort Crockett, even as + memories they would pass away. + </p> + <p> + Mary Cahill made no outward answer to the rebellious utterance of + Lieutenant Ranson. She only bent her eyes on her book and tried to think + what the post would hold for her when he had carried out his threat and + betaken himself into the world and out of her life forever. Night after + night she had sat enthroned behind her barrier and listened to his talk, + wondering deeply. He had talked of a world she knew only in novels, in + history, and in books of travel. His view of it was not an educational + one: he was no philosopher, nor trained observer. He remembered London—to + her the capital of the world—chiefly by its restaurants, Cairo on + account of its execrable golf-links. He lived only to enjoy himself. His + view was that of a boy, hearty and healthy and seeking only excitement and + mischief. She had heard his tales of his brief career at Harvard, of the + reunions at Henry's American bar, of the Futurity, the Suburban, the Grand + Prix, of a yachting cruise which apparently had encountered every form of + adventure, from the rescuing of a stranded opera-company to the ramming of + a slaver's dhow. The regret with which he spoke of these free days, which + was the regret of an exile marooned upon a desert island, excited all her + sympathy for an ill she had never known. His discourteous scorn of the + social pleasures of the post, from which she herself was excluded, rilled + her with speculation. If he could forego these functions, how full and gay + she argued his former life must have been. His attitude helped her to bear + the deprivations more easily. And she, as a loyal child of the army, liked + him also because he was no “cracker-box” captain, but a fighter, who had + fought with no morbid ideas as to the rights or wrongs of the cause, but + for the fun of fighting. + </p> + <p> + And one night, after he had been telling the mess of a Filipino officer + who alone had held back his men and himself, and who at last died in his + arms cursing him, she went to sleep declaring to herself that Lieutenant + Ranson was becoming too like the man she had pictured for her husband than + was good for her peace of mind. He had told the story as his tribute to a + brave man fighting for his independence and with such regret that such a + one should have died so miserably, that, to the embarrassment of the mess, + the tears rolled down his cheeks. But he wiped them away with his napkin + as unconcernedly as though they were caused by the pepper-box, and said + simply, “He had sporting blood, he had. I've never felt so bad about + anything as I did about that chap. Whenever I think of him standing up + there with his back to the cathedral all shot to pieces, but giving us + what for until he died, it makes me cry. So,” he added, blowing his nose + vigorously, “I won't think of it any more.” + </p> + <p> + Tears are properly a woman's weapon, and when a man makes use of them, + even in spite of himself, he is taking an advantage over the other sex + which is unfair and outrageous. Lieutenant Ranson never knew the mischief + the sympathy he had shown for his enemy caused in the heart of Mary + Cahill, nor that from that moment she loved him deeply. + </p> + <p> + The West Point graduates before they answered Ranson's ultimatum smoked + their cigarettes for some time in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there's been fighting even at Fort Crockett,” said Crosby. “In the + last two years the men have been ordered out seven times, haven't they, + Miss Cahill? When the Indians got out of hand, and twice after cowboys, + and twice after the Red Rider.” + </p> + <p> + “The Red Rider!” protested Ranson; “I don't see anything exciting in + rounding up one miserable horse thief.” + </p> + <p> + “Only they don't round him up,” returned Curtis crossly. “That's why it's + exciting. He's the best in his business. He's held up the stage six times + now in a year. Whoever the fellow is, if he's one man or a gang of men, + he's the nerviest road-agent since the days of Abe Case.” + </p> + <p> + Ranson in his then present mood was inclined toward pessimism. “It doesn't + take any nerve to hold up a coach,” he contradicted. + </p> + <p> + Curtis and Crosby snorted in chorus. “That's what you say,” mocked Curtis. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it doesn't,” repeated Ranson. “It's all a game of bluff. The + etiquette is that the driver mustn't shoot the road-agent, and that the + road-agent mustn't hurt the driver, and the passengers are too scared to + move. The moment they see a man rise out of the night they throw up their + hands. Why, even when a passenger does try to pull his gun the others + won't let him. Each thinks sure that if there's any firing he will be the + one to get hurt. And, besides, they don't know how many more men the road + agent may have behind him. I don't—-” + </p> + <p> + A movement on the part of Miss Cahill caused him to pause abruptly. Miss + Cahill had descended from her throne and was advancing to meet the + post-trader, who came toward her from the exchange. + </p> + <p> + “Lightfoot's squaw,” he said. “Her baby's worse. She's sent for you.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Cahill gave a gasp of sympathy, snatched up her hat from the counter, + and the buffalo robes closed behind her. + </p> + <p> + Ranson stooped and reached for his sombrero. With the flight of Miss + Cahill his interest in the courage of the Red Rider had departed also. + </p> + <p> + But Crosby appealed to the new-comer, “Cahill, YOU know,” he said. “We've + been talking of the man they call the Red Rider, the chap that wears a red + bandanna over his face. Ranson says he hasn't any nerve. That's not so, is + it?” + </p> + <p> + “I said it didn't take any nerve to hold up a stage,” said Ranson; “and it + doesn't.” + </p> + <p> + The post-trader halted on his way back to the exchange and rubbed one hand + meditatively over the other arm. With him speech was golden and difficult. + After a pause he said: “Oh, he takes his chances.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course he does,” cried Crosby, encouragingly. “He takes the chance of + being shot by the passengers, and of being caught by the posse and + lynched, but this man's got away with it now six times in the last year. + And I say that takes nerve.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, for fifty dollars—-” laughed Ranson. + </p> + <p> + He checked himself, and glanced over his shoulder at the retreating figure + of Cahill. The buffalo robes fell again, and the spurs of the post-trader + could be heard jangling over the earth-floor of the exchange. + </p> + <p> + “For fifty dollars,” repeated Ranson, in brisk, businesslike tones, “I'll + rob the up stage to-night myself!” + </p> + <p> + Previous knowledge of his moods, the sudden look of mischief in his eyes + and a certain vibration in his voice caused the two lieutenants to jump + simultaneously to their feet. “Ranson!” they shouted. + </p> + <p> + Ranson laughed mockingly. “Oh, I'm bored to death,” he cried. “What will + you bet I don't?” + </p> + <p> + He had risen with them, but, without waiting for their answer, ran to + where his horse stood at the open door. He sank on his knees and began + tugging violently at the stirrup-straps. The two officers, their eyes + filled with concern, pursued him across the room. With Cahill twenty feet + away, they dared not raise their voices, but in pantomime they beckoned + him vigorously to return. Ranson came at once, flushed and smiling, + holding a hooded army-stirrup in each hand. “Never do to have them see + these!” he said. He threw the stirrups from him, behind the row of + hogsheads. “I'll ride in the stirrup-straps!” He still spoke in the same + low, brisk tone. + </p> + <p> + Crosby seized him savagely by the arm. “No, you won't!” he hissed. “Look + here, Ranson. Listen to me; for Heaven's sake don't be an ass! They'll + shoot you, you'll be killed—-” + </p> + <p> + —“And court-martialed,” panted Curtis. + </p> + <p> + “You'll go to Leavenworth for the rest of your life!” + </p> + <p> + Ranson threw off the detaining hand, and ran behind the counter. From a + lower shelf he snatched a red bandanna kerchief. From another he dragged a + rubber poncho, and buttoned it high about his throat. He picked up the + steel shears which lay upon the counter, and snipping two holes in the red + kerchief, stuck it under the brim of his sombrero. It fell before his face + like a curtain. From his neck to his knees the poncho concealed his + figure. All that was visible of him was his eyes, laughing through the + holes in the red mask. + </p> + <p> + “Behold the Red Rider!” he groaned. “Hold up your hands!” + </p> + <p> + He pulled the kerchief from his face and threw the poncho over his arm. + “Do you see these shears?” he whispered. “I'm going to hold up the stage + with 'em. No one ever fires at a road agent. They just shout, 'Don't + shoot, colonel, and I'll come down.' I'm going to bring 'em down with + these shears.” + </p> + <p> + Crosby caught Curtis by the arm, laughing eagerly. “Come to the stables, + quick,” he cried. “We'll get twenty troopers after him before he can go a + half mile.” He turned on Ranson with a triumphant chuckle. “You'll not be + dismissed this regiment, if I can help it,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + Ranson gave an ugly laugh, like the snarl of a puppy over his bone. “If + you try to follow me, or interfere with me, Lieutenant Crosby,” he said, + “I'll shoot you and your troopers!” + </p> + <p> + “With a pair of shears?” jeered Crosby. + </p> + <p> + “No, with the gun I've got in my pocket. Now you listen to me. I'm not + going to use that gun on any stage filled with women, driven by a man + seventy years old, but—and I mean it—if you try to stop me, + I'll use it on you. I'm going to show you how anyone can bluff a stage + full with a pair of tin shears and a red mask for a kicker. And I'll shoot + the man that tries to stop me.” + </p> + <p> + Ranson sprang to his horse's side, and stuck his toe into the empty + stirrup-strap; there was a scattering of pebbles, a scurry of hoofs, and + the horse and rider became a gray blot in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + The two lieutenants stood irresolute. Under his breath Crosby was swearing + fiercely. Curtis stood staring out of the open door. + </p> + <p> + “Will he do it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Of course he'll do it.” + </p> + <p> + Curtis crossed the room and dropped into a chair. “And what—what had + we better do?” he asked. For some time the other made no answer. His brows + were knit, and he tramped the room, scowling at the floor. Then with an + exclamation of alarm he stepped lightly to the door of the exchange and + threw back the curtain. In the other room, Cahill stood at its furthest + corner, scooping sugar from a hogshead. + </p> + <p> + Crosby's scowl relaxed, and, reseating himself at the table, he rolled a + cigarette. “Now, if he pulls it off,” he whispered, “and gets back to + quarters, then—it's a case of all's well. But, if he's shot, or + caught, and it all comes out, then it's up to us to prove he meant it as a + practical joke.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't our duty to report it now, is it?” asked Curtis, nervously. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not! If he chooses to make an ass of himself, that's none of + our business. Unless he's found out, we have heard nothing and seen + nothing. If he's caught, then we've got to stick by him, and testify that + he did it on a bet. He'll probably win out all right. There is nobody + expected on the stage but that Miss Post and her aunt. And the driver's an + old hand. He knows better than to fight.” + </p> + <p> + “There may be some cowboys coming up.” + </p> + <p> + “That's Ranson's lookout. As Cahill says, the Red Rider takes his + chances.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish there was something we could do now,” Curtis protested, + petulantly. “I suppose we've just got to sit still and wait for him?” + </p> + <p> + “That's all,” answered Crosby, and then leaped to his feet. “What's that?” + he asked. Out on the parade ground, a bugle-call broke suddenly on the + soft spring air. It rang like an alarm. The noise of a man running swiftly + sounded on the path, and before the officers reached the doorway Sergeant + Clancey entered it, and halted at attention. + </p> + <p> + “The colonel's orders,” panted the sergeant, “and the lieutenant's are to + take twenty men from G and H Troops, and ride to Kiowa to escort the + paymaster.” + </p> + <p> + “The paymaster!” Crosby cried. “He's not coming till Thursday.” + </p> + <p> + “He's just telegraphed from Kiowa City, lieutenant. He's ahead of his + schedule. He wants an escort for the money. He left Kiowa a few minutes + ago in the up stage.” + </p> + <p> + The two lieutenants sprang forward, and shouted in chorus: “The stage? He + is in the stage!” + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Clancey stared dubiously from one officer to the other. He + misunderstood their alarm, and with the privilege of long service + attempted to allay it. “The lieutenant knows nothing can happen to the + stage till it reaches the buttes,” he said. “There has never been a + hold-up in the open, and the escort can reach the buttes long before the + stage gets here.” He coughed consciously. “Colonel's orders are to gallop, + lieutenant.” + </p> + <p> + As the two officers rode knee to knee through the night, the pay escort + pounding the trail behind them, Crosby leaned from his saddle. “He has + only ten minutes' start of us,” he whispered. “We are certain to overtake + him. We can't help but do it. We must do it. We MUST! If we don't, and he + tries to stop Colonel Patten and the pay-roll, he'll die. Two women and a + deaf driver, that—that's a joke. But an Indian fighter like old + Patten, and Uncle Sam's money, that means a finish fight-and his death and + disgrace.” He turned savagely in his saddle. “Close up there!” he + commanded. “Stop that talking. You keep your breath till I want it—and + ride hard.” + </p> + <p> + After the officers had galloped away from the messroom, and Sergeant + Clancey had hurried after them to the stables, the post-trader entered it + from the exchange and barred the door, which they in their haste had left + open. As he did this, the close observer, had one been present, might have + noted that though his movements were now alert and eager, they no longer + were betrayed by any sound, and that his spurs had ceased to jangle. Yet + that he purposed to ride abroad was evident from the fact that from a far + corner he dragged out a heavy saddle. He flung this upon the counter, and + swiftly stripped it of its stirrups. These, with more than necessary care, + he hid away upon the highest shelf of the shop, while from the lower + shelves he snatched a rubber poncho and a red kerchief. For a moment, as + he unbarred the door, the post-trader paused and cast a quick glance + before and behind him, and then the door closed and there was silence. A + minute later it was broken by the hoofs of a horse galloping swiftly along + the trail to Kiowa City. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + That winter Miss Post had been going out a great deal more than was good + for her, and when the spring came she broke down. The family doctor + recommended Aiken, but an aunt of Miss Post's, Mrs. Truesdall, had been at + Farmington with Mrs. “Colonel” Bolland, and urged visiting her instead. + The doctor agreed that the climatic conditions existing at Fort Crockett + were quite as health-giving as those at Aiken, and of the two the invalid + decided that the regimental post would be more of a novelty. + </p> + <p> + So she and her aunt and the maid changed cars twice after leaving St. + Louis and then staged it to Kiowa City, where, while waiting for “Pop” + Henderson's coach to Fort Crockett, they dined with him on bacon, fried + bread, and alkali water tinged with coffee. + </p> + <p> + It was at Kiowa City, a city of four hundred houses on blue-print paper + and six on earth, that Miss Post first felt certain that she was going to + enjoy her visit. It was there she first saw, at large and on his native + heath, a blanket Indian. He was a tall, beautiful youth, with yellow ochre + on his thin, brown arms and blue ochre on his cheekbones, who sat on + “Pop's” steps, gazing impassively at the stars. Miss Post came out with + her maid and fell over him. The maid screamed. Miss Post said: “I beg your + pardon”; and the brave expressed his contempt by gutteral mutterings and + by moving haughtily away. Miss Post was then glad that she had not gone to + Aiken. For the twelve-mile drive through the moonlit buttes to Fort + Crockett there was, besides the women, one other passenger. He was a + travelling salesman of the Hancock Uniform Company, and was visiting Fort + Crockett to measure the officers for their summer tunics. At dinner he + passed Miss Post the condensed milk-can, and in other ways made himself + agreeable. He informed her aunt that he was in the Military Equipment + Department of the Army, but, much to that young woman's distress, + addressed most of his remarks to the maid, who, to his taste, was the most + attractive of the three. + </p> + <p> + “I take it,” he said genially to Miss Post, “that you and the young lady + are sisters.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Miss Post, “we are not related.” + </p> + <p> + It was eight o'clock, and the moon was full in the heavens when “Pop” + Henderson hoisted them into the stage and burdened his driver, Hunk Smith, + with words of advice which were intended solely for the ears of the + passengers. + </p> + <p> + “You want to be careful of that near wheeler, Hunk,” he said, “or he'll + upset you into a gully. An' in crossing the second ford, bear to the + right; the water's running high, and it may carry youse all down stream. I + don't want that these ladies should be drowned in any stage of mine. An' + if the Red Rider jumps you don't put up no bluff, but sit still. The + paymaster's due in a night or two, an' I've no doubt at all but that the + Rider's laying for him. But if you tell him that there's no one inside but + womenfolk and a tailor, mebbe he won't hurt youse. Now, ladies,” he added, + putting his head under the leather flap, as though unconscious that all he + had said had already reached them, “without wishing to make you uneasy, I + would advise your having your cash and jewelry ready in your hands. With + road-agents it's mostly wisest to do what they say, an' to do it quick. Ef + you give 'em all you've got, they sometimes go away without spilling + blood, though, such being their habits, naturally disappointed.” He turned + his face toward the shrinking figure of the military tailor. “You, being + an army man,” he said, “will of course want to protect the ladies, but you + mustn't do it. You must keep cool. Ef you pull your gun, like as not + you'll all get killed. But I'm hoping for the best. Good-night all, an' a + pleasant journey.” + </p> + <p> + The stage moved off with many creaks and many cracks of the whip, which in + part smothered Hunk Smith's laughter. But after the first mile, he, being + a man with feelings and a family, pulled the mules to a halt. + </p> + <p> + The voice of the drummer could instantly be heard calling loudly from the + darkness of the stage: “Don't open those flaps. If they see us, they'll + fire!” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted you folks to know,” said Hunk Smith, leaning from the box-seat, + “that that talk of Pop's was all foolishness. You're as safe on this trail + as in a Pullman palace-car. That was just his way. Pop will have his joke. + You just go to sleep now, if you can, and trust to me. I'll get you there + by eleven o'clock or break a trace. Breakin' a trace is all the danger + there is, anyway,” he added, cheerfully, “so don't fret.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Post could not resist saying to Mrs. Truesdall: “I told you he was + joking.” + </p> + <p> + The stage had proceeded for two hours. Sometimes it dropped with locked + wheels down sheer walls of clay, again it was dragged, careening + drunkenly, out of fathomless pits. It pitched and tossed, slid and + galloped, danced grotesquely from one wheel to another, from one stone to + another, recoiled out of ruts, butted against rocks, and swept down and + out of swollen streams that gurgled between the spokes. + </p> + <p> + “If ever I leave Fort Crockett,” gasped Mrs. Truesdall between jolts, “I + shall either wait until they build a railroad or walk.” + </p> + <p> + They had all but left the hills, and were approaching the level prairie. + That they might see the better the flaps had been rolled up, and the soft + dry air came freely through the open sides. The mules were straining over + the last hill. On either side only a few of the buttes were still visible. + They stood out in the moonlight as cleanly cut as the bows of great + battleships. The trail at last was level. Mrs. Truesdall's eyes closed. + Her head fell forward. But Miss Post, weary as she was in body, could not + sleep. To her the night-ride was full of strange and wonderful mysteries. + Gratefully she drank in the dry scent of the prairie-grass, and, holding + by the frame of the window, leaned far out over the wheel. As she did so, + a man sprang into the trail from behind a wall of rock, and shouted + hoarsely. He was covered to his knees with a black mantle. His face was + hidden by a blood-red mask. + </p> + <p> + “Throw up your hands!” he commanded. There was a sharp creaking as the + brakes locked, and from the driver's seat an amazed oath. The stage + stopped with a violent jerk, and Mrs. Truesdall pitched gently forward + toward her niece. + </p> + <p> + “I really believe I was asleep, Helen,” she murmured. “What are we waiting + for?” + </p> + <p> + “I think we are held up,” said Miss Post. + </p> + <p> + The stage had halted beyond the wall of rock, and Miss Post looked behind + it, but no other men were visible, only a horse with his bridle drawn + around a stone. The man in the mask advanced upon the stage, holding a + weapon at arm's-length. In the moonlight it flashed and glittered evilly. + The man was but a few feet from Miss Post, and the light fell full upon + her. Of him she could see only two black eyes that flashed as evilly as + his weapon. For a period of suspense, which seemed cruelly prolonged, the + man stood motionless, then he lowered his weapon. When he opened his lips + the mask stuck to them, and his words came from behind it, broken and + smothered. “Sorry to trouble you, miss,” the mask said, “but I want that + man beside you to get out.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Post turned to the travelling salesman. “He wants you to get out,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + “Wants me!” exclaimed the drummer. “I'm not armed, you know.” In a louder + voice he protested, faintly: “I say, I'm not armed.” + </p> + <p> + “Come out!” demanded the mask. + </p> + <p> + The drummer precipitated himself violently over the knees of the ladies + into the road below, and held his hands high above him. “I'm not armed,” + he said; “indeed I'm not.” + </p> + <p> + “Stand over there, with your back to that rock,” the mask ordered. For a + moment the road agent regarded him darkly, pointing his weapon + meditatively at different parts of the salesman's person. He suggested a + butcher designating certain choice cuts. The drummer's muscles jerked + under the torture as though his anatomy were being prodded with an awl. + </p> + <p> + “I want your watch,” said the mask. The drummer reached eagerly for his + waistcoat. + </p> + <p> + “Hold up your hands!” roared the road agent. “By the eternal, if you play + any rough-house tricks on me I'll—” He flourished his weapon until + it flashed luminously. + </p> + <p> + An exclamation from Hunk Smith, opportunely uttered, saved the drummer + from what was apparently instant annihilation. “Say, Rider,” cried the + driver, “I can't hold my arms up no longer. I'm going to put 'em down. But + you leave me alone, an' I'll leave you alone. Is that a bargain?” The + shrouded figure whirled his weapon upon the speaker. “Have I ever stopped + you before, Hunk?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + Hunk, at this recognition of himself as a public character, softened + instantly. “I dunno whether 'twas you or one of your gang, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you've still got your health, haven't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then keep quiet,” snarled the mask. + </p> + <p> + In retort Hunk Smith muttered audible threatenings, but sank obediently + into an inert heap. Only his eyes, under cover of his sombrero, roamed + restlessly. They noted the McClellan saddle on the Red Rider's horse, the + white patch on its near fore-foot, the empty stirrup-straps, and at a + great distance, so great that the eyes only of a plainsman could have + detected it, a cloud of dust, or smoke, or mist, that rode above the trail + and seemed to be moving swiftly down upon them. + </p> + <p> + At the sight, Hunk shifted the tobacco in his cheek and nervously crossed + his knees, while a grin of ineffable cunning passed across his face. + </p> + <p> + With his sombrero in his hand, the Red Rider stepped to the wheel of the + stage. As he did so, Miss Post observed that above the line of his + kerchief his hair was evenly and carefully parted in the middle. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid, ladies,” said the road agent, “that I have delayed you + unnecessarily. It seems that I have called up the wrong number.” He + emitted a reassuring chuckle, and, fanning himself with his sombrero, + continued speaking in a tone of polite irony: “The Wells, Fargo messenger + is the party I am laying for. He's coming over this trail with a package + of diamonds. That's what I'm after. At first I thought 'Fighting Bob' over + there by the rock might have it on him; but he doesn't act like any Wells, + Fargo Express agent I have ever tackled before, and I guess the laugh's on + me. I seem to have been weeping over the wrong grave.” He replaced his + sombrero on his head at a rakish angle, and waved his hand. “Ladies, you + are at liberty to proceed.” + </p> + <p> + But instantly he stepped forward again, and brought his face so close to + the window that they could see the whites of his eyes. “Before we part,” + he murmured, persuasively, “you wouldn't mind leaving me something as a + souvenir, would you?” He turned the skull-like openings of the mask full + upon Miss Post. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Truesdall exclaimed, hysterically: “Why, certainly not!” she cried. + “Here's everything I have, except what's sewn inside my waist, where I + can't possibly get at it. I assure you I cannot. The proprietor of that + hotel told us we'd probably—meet you, and so I have everything + ready.” She thrust her two hands through the window. They held a roll of + bills, a watch, and her rings + </p> + <p> + Miss Post laughed in an ecstasy of merriment “Oh, no, aunt,” she + protested, “don't. No, not at all. The gentleman only wants a keepsake. + Something to remember us by. Isn't that it?” she asked. She regarded the + blood-red mask steadily with a brilliant smile. + </p> + <p> + The road agent did not at once answer. At her words he had started back + with such sharp suspicion that one might have thought he meditated instant + flight. Through the holes in his mask he now glared searchingly at Miss + Post, but still in silence. + </p> + <p> + “I think this will satisfy him,” said Miss Post. + </p> + <p> + Out of the collection in her aunt's hands she picked a silver coin and + held it forward. “Something to keep as a pocket-piece,” she said, + mockingly, “to remind you of your kindness to three lone females in + distress.” + </p> + <p> + Still silent, the road agent reached for the money, and then growled at + her in a tone which had suddenly become gruff and overbearing. It + suggested to Miss Post the voice of the head of the family playing Santa + Claus for the children. “And now you, miss,” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + Miss Post took another coin from the heap, studied its inscription, and + passed it through the window. “This one is from me,” she said. “Mine is + dated 1901. The moonlight,” she added, leaning far forward and smiling out + at him, “makes it quite easy to see the date; as easy,” she went on, + picking her words, “as it is to see your peculiar revolver and the + coat-of-arms on your ring.” She drew her head back. “Good-night,” she + cooed, sweetly. + </p> + <p> + The Red Rider jumped from the door. An exclamation which might have been a + laugh or an oath was smothered by his mask. He turned swiftly upon the + salesman. “Get back into the coach,” he commanded. “And you, Hunk,” he + called, “if you send a posse after me, next night I ketch you out here + alone you'll lose the top of your head.” + </p> + <p> + The salesman scrambled into the stage through the door opposite the one at + which the Red Rider was standing, and the road agent again raised his + sombrero with a sweeping gesture worthy of D'Artagnan. “Good-night, + ladies,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, sir,” Mrs. Truesdall answered, grimly, but exuding a relieved + sigh. Then, her indignation giving her courage, she leaned from the window + and hurled a Parthian arrow. “I must say,” she protested, “I think you + might be in a better business.” + </p> + <p> + The road agent waved his hand to the young lady. “Good-by,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Au revoir,” said Miss Post, pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, miss,” stammered the road agent, + </p> + <p> + “I said 'Au revoir,'” repeated Miss Post. + </p> + <p> + The road agent, apparently routed by these simple words, fled muttering + toward his horse. + </p> + <p> + Hunk Smith was having trouble with his brake. He kicked at it and, + stooping, pulled at it, but the wheels did not move. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Truesdall fell into a fresh panic. “What is it now?” she called, + miserably. + </p> + <p> + Before he answered, Hunk Smith threw a quick glance toward the column of + moving dust. He was apparently reassured. + </p> + <p> + “The brake,” he grunted. “The darned thing's stuck!” + </p> + <p> + The road agent was tugging at the stone beneath which he had slipped his + bridle. “Can I help?” he asked, politely. But before he reached the stage, + he suddenly stopped with an imperative sweep of his arm for silence. He + stood motionless, his body bent to the ground, leaning forward and staring + down the trail. Then he sprang upright. “You old fox!” he roared, “you're + gaining time, are you?” + </p> + <p> + With a laugh he tore free his bridle and threw himself across his horse. + His legs locked under it, his hands clasped its mane, and with a cowboy + yell he dashed past the stage in the direction of Kiowa City, his voice + floating back in shouts of jeering laughter. From behind him he heard Hunk + Smith's voice answering his own in a cry for “Help!” and from a rapidly + decreasing distance the throb of many hoofs. For an instant he drew upon + his rein, and then, with a defiant chuckle, drove his spurs deep into his + horse's side. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Truesdall also heard the pounding of many hoofs, as well as Hunk + Smith's howls for help, and feared a fresh attack. “Oh, what is it?” she + begged. + </p> + <p> + “Soldiers from the fort,” Hunk called, excitedly, and again raised his + voice in a long, dismal howl. + </p> + <p> + “Sounds cheery, doesn't it?” said the salesman; “referring to the + soldiers,” he explained. It was his first coherent remark since the Red + Rider had appeared and disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I hope they won't—” began Miss Post, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + The hoof-beats changed to thunder, and with the pounding on the dry trail + came the jangle of stirrups and sling-belts. Then a voice, and the coach + was surrounded by dust-covered troopers and horses breathing heavily. + Lieutenant Crosby pulled up beside the window of the stage. “Are you + there, Colonel Patten?” he panted. He peered forward into the stage, but + no one answered him. “Is the paymaster in here?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + The voice of Lieutenant Curtis shouted in turn at Hunk Smith. “Is the + paymaster in there, driver?” + </p> + <p> + “Paymaster? No!” Hunk roared. “A drummer and three ladies. We've been held + up. The Red Rider—” He rose and waved his whip over the top of the + coach. “He went that way. You can ketch him easy.” + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Clancey and half a dozen troopers jerked at their bridles. But + Crosby, at the window, shouted “Halt!” + </p> + <p> + “What's your name?” he demanded of the salesman. + </p> + <p> + “Myers,” stammered the drummer. “I'm from the Hancock Uniform—” + </p> + <p> + Curtis had spurred his horse beside that of his brother officer. “Is + Colonel Patten at Kiowa?” he interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “I can't give you any information as to that,” replied Mr. Myers, + importantly; “but these ladies and I have just been held up by the Red + Rider. If you'll hurry you'll—” + </p> + <p> + The two officers pulled back their horses from the stage and, leaning from + their saddles, consulted in eager whispers. Their men fidgeted with their + reins, and stared with amazed eyes at their officers. Lieutenant Crosby + was openly smiling, “He's got away with it,” he whispered. “Patten missed + the stage, thank God, and he's met nothing worse than these women.” + </p> + <p> + “We MUST make a bluff at following him,” whispered Curtis. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not! Our orders are to report to Colonel Patten, and act as his + escort.” + </p> + <p> + “But he's not at Kiowa; that fellow says so.” + </p> + <p> + “He telegraphed the Colonel from Kiowa,” returned Crosby. “How could he do + that if he wasn't there?” He turned upon Hunk Smith. “When did you leave + Henderson's?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Seven o'clock,” answered Hunk Smith, sulkily. “Say, if you young fellows + want to catch—” + </p> + <p> + “And Patten telegraphed at eight,” cried Crosby. “That's it. He reached + Kiowa after the stage had gone. Sergeant Clancey!” he called. + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant pushed out from the mass of wondering troopers. + </p> + <p> + “When did the paymaster say he was leaving Kiowa?” + </p> + <p> + “Leaving at once, the telegram said,” answered Clancey. + </p> + <p> + “'Meet me with escort before I reach the buttes.' That's the message I was + told to give the lieutenant.” + </p> + <p> + Hunk Smith leaned from the box-seat. “Mebbe Pop's driving him over himself + in the buckboard,” he volunteered. “Pop often takes 'em over that way if + they miss the stage.” + </p> + <p> + “That's how it is, of course,” cried Crosby. “He's on his way now in the + buckboard.” + </p> + <p> + Hunk Smith surveyed the troopers dismally and shook his head. “If he runs + up against the Red Rider, it's 'good-by' your pay, boys,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Fall in there!” shouted Crosby. “Corporal Tynan, fall out with two men + and escort these ladies to the fort.” He touched his hat to Miss Post, + and, with Curtis at his side, sprang into the trail. “Gallop! March!” he + commanded. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he'll tackle the buckboard, too?” whispered Curtis. + </p> + <p> + Crosby laughed joyously and drew a long breath of relief. + </p> + <p> + “No, he's all right now,” he answered. “Don't you see, he doesn't know + about Patten or the buckboard. He's probably well on his way to the post + now. I delayed the game at the stage there on purpose to give him a good + start. He's safe by now.” + </p> + <p> + “It was a close call,” laughed the other. “He's got to give us a dinner + for helping him out of this.” + </p> + <p> + “We'd have caught him red-handed,” said Crosby, “if we'd been five minutes + sooner. Lord!” he gasped. “It makes me cold to think of it. The men would + have shot him off his horse. But what a story for those women! I hope I'll + be there when they tell it. If Ranson can keep his face straight, he's a + wonder.” For some moments they raced silently neck by neck, and then + Curtis again leaned from his saddle. “I hope he HAS turned back to the + post,” he said. “Look at the men how they're keeping watch for him. + They're scouts, all of them.” + </p> + <p> + “What if they are?” returned Crosby, easily. “Ranson's in uniform—out + for a moonlight canter. You can bet a million dollars he didn't wear his + red mask long after he heard us coming.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he'll think we've followed to spoil his fun. You know you said + we would.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he was going to shoot us,” laughed Crosby. “I wonder why he packs a + gun. It's a silly thing to do.” + </p> + <p> + The officers fell apart again, and there was silence over the prairie, + save for the creaking of leather and the beat of the hoofs. And then, + faint and far away, there came the quick crack of a revolver, another, and + then a fusillade. “My God!” gasped Crosby. He threw himself forwards + digging his spurs into his horse, and rode as though he were trying to + escape from his own men. + </p> + <p> + No one issued an order, no one looked a question; each, officer and + enlisted man, bowed his head and raced to be the first. + </p> + <p> + The trail was barricaded by two struggling horses and an overturned + buckboard. The rigid figure of a man lay flat upon his back staring at the + moon, another white-haired figure staggered forward from a rock. “Who goes + there?” it demanded. + </p> + <p> + “United States troops. Is that you, Colonel Patten?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Patten's right arm was swinging limply at his side. With his left + hand he clasped his right shoulder. The blood, black in the moonlight, was + oozing between his fingers. + </p> + <p> + “We were held up,” he said. “He shot the driver and the horses. I fired at + him, but he broke my arm. He shot the gun out of my hand. When he reached + for the satchel I tried to beat him off with my left arm, but he threw me + into the road. He went that way—toward Kiowa.” + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Clancey, who was kneeling by the figure in the trail, raised his + hand in salute. “Pop Henderson, lieutenant,” he said. “He's shot through + the heart. He's dead.” + </p> + <p> + “He took the money, ten thousand dollars,” cried Colonel Patten. “He wore + a red mask and a rubber poncho. And I saw that he had no stirrups in his + stirrup-straps.” + </p> + <p> + Crosby dodged, as though someone had thrown a knife, and then raised his + hand stiffly and heavily. + </p> + <p> + “Lieutenant Curtis, you will remain here with Colonel Patten,” he ordered. + His voice was without emotion. It fell flat and dead. “Deploy as + skirmishers,” he commanded. “G Troop to the fight of the trail, H Troop to + the left. Stop anyone you see—anyone. If he tries to escape, cry + 'Halt!' twice and then fire—to kill. Forward! Gallop! March! Toward + the post.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” shouted Colonel Patten. “He went toward Kiowa.” + </p> + <p> + Crosby replied in the same dead voice: “He doubled after he left you, + colonel. He has gone to the post.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Patten struggled from the supporting arms that held him and leaned + eagerly forward. “You know him, then?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” cried Crosby, “God help him! Spread out there, you, in open order—and + ride like hell!” + </p> + <p> + Just before the officers' club closed for the night Lieutenant Ranson came + in and, seating himself at the piano, picked out “The Queen of the + Philippine Islands” with one finger. Major Stickney and others who were + playing bridge were considerably annoyed. Ranson then demanded that + everyone present should drink his health in champagne for the reason that + it was his birthday and that he was glad he was alive, and wished everyone + else to feel the same way about it. “Or, for any other reason why,” he + added generously. This frontal attack upon the whist-players upset the + game entirely, and Ranson, enthroned upon the piano-stool, addressed the + room. He held up a buckskin tobacco-bag decorated with beads. + </p> + <p> + “I got this down at the Indian village to-night,” he said. “That old + squaw, Red Wing, makes 'em for two dollars. Crosby paid five dollars for + his in New Mexico, and it isn't half as good. What do you think? I got + lost coming back, and went all the way round by the buttes before I found + the trail, and I've only been here six months. They certainly ought to + make me chief of scouts.” + </p> + <p> + There was the polite laugh which is granted to any remark made by the one + who is paying for the champagne. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's where you were, was it?” said the post-adjutant, genially. + “The colonel sent Clancey after you and Crosby. Clancey reported that he + couldn't find you. So we sent Curtis. They went to act as escort for + Colonel Patten and the pay. He's coming up to-night in the stage.” Ranson + was gazing down into his glass. Before he raised his head he picked + several pieces of ice out of it and then drained it. + </p> + <p> + “The paymaster, hey?” he said. “He's in the stage to-night, is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the adjutant; and then as the bugle and stamp of hoofs sounded + from the parade outside, “and that's him now, I guess,” he added. + </p> + <p> + Ranson refilled his glass with infinite care, and then, in spite of a + smile that twitched at the corners of his mouth, emptied it slowly. + </p> + <p> + There was the jingle of spurs and a measured tramp on the veranda of the + club-house, and for the first time in its history four enlisted men, + carrying their Krags, invaded its portals. They were led by Lieutenant + Crosby; his face was white under the tan, and full of suffering. The + officers in the room received the intrusion in amazed silence. Crosby + strode among them, looking neither to the left nor right, and touched + Lieutenant Ranson upon the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “The colonel's orders, Lieutenant Ranson,” he said. “You are under + arrest.” + </p> + <p> + Ranson leaned back against the music-rack and placed his glass upon the + keyboard. One leg was crossed over the other, and he did not remove it. + </p> + <p> + “Then you can't take a joke,” he said in a low tone. “You had to run and + tell.” He laughed and raised his voice so that all in the club might hear, + “What am I arrested for, Crosby?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The lines in Crosby's face deepened, and only those who sat near could + hear him. “You are under arrest for attempting to kill a superior officer, + for the robbery of the government pay-train—and for murder.” + </p> + <p> + Ranson jumped to his feet. “My God, Crosby!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Silence! Don't talk!” ordered Crosby. “Come along with me.” + </p> + <p> + The four troopers fell in in rear of Lieutenant Crosby and their prisoner. + He drew a quick, frightened breath, and then, throwing back his shoulders, + fell into step, and the six men tramped from the club and out into the + night. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + That night at the post there was little sleep for any one. The feet of + hurrying orderlies beat upon the parade-ground, the windows of the + Officers' Club blazed defiantly, and from the darkened quarters of the + enlisted men came the sound of voices snarling in violent vituperation. At + midnight, half of Ranson's troop, having attacked the rest of the regiment + with cavalry-boots, were marched under arrest to the guard-house. As they + passed Ranson's hut, where he still paced the veranda, a burning cigarette + attesting his wakefulness, they cheered him riotously. At two o'clock it + was announced from the hospital that both patients were out of danger; for + it had developed that, in his hurried diagnosis, Sergeant Clancey had + located Henderson's heart six inches from where it should have been. + </p> + <p> + When one of the men who guarded Ranson reported this good news the + prisoner said, “Still, I hope they'll hang whoever did it. They shouldn't + hang a man for being a good shot and let him off because he's a bad one.” + </p> + <p> + At the time of the hold-up Mary Cahill had been a half-mile distant from + the post at the camp of the Kiowas, where she had gone in answer to the + cry of Lightfoot's squaw. When she returned she found Indian Pete in + charge of the exchange. Her father, he told her, had ridden to the Indian + village in search of her. As he spoke the post-trader appeared. “I'm sorry + I missed you,” his daughter called to him. + </p> + <p> + At the sound Cahill pulled his horse sharply toward the corral. “I had a + horse-deal on—with the chief,” he answered over his shoulder. “When + I got to Lightfoot's tent you had gone.” + </p> + <p> + After he had dismounted, and was coming toward her, she noted that his + right hand was bound in a handkerchief, and exclaimed with apprehension. + </p> + <p> + “It is nothing,” Cahill protested. “I was foolin' with one of the new + regulation revolvers, with my hand over the muzzle. Ball went through the + palm.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Cahill gave a tremulous cry and caught the injured hand to her lips. + </p> + <p> + Her father snatched it from her roughly. + </p> + <p> + “Let go!” he growled. “It serves me right.” + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later Mary Cahill, bearing liniment for her father's hand, + knocked at his bedroom and found it empty. When she peered from the top of + the stairs into the shop-window below she saw him busily engaged with his + one hand buckling the stirrup-straps of his saddle. + </p> + <p> + When she called, he sprang upright with an oath. He had faced her so + suddenly that it sounded as though he had sworn, not in surprise, but at + her. + </p> + <p> + “You startled me,” he murmured. His eyes glanced suspiciously from her to + the saddle. “These stirrup-straps—they're too short,” he announced. + “Pete or somebody's been using my saddle.” + </p> + <p> + “I came to bring you this 'first-aid' bandage for your hand,” said his + daughter. + </p> + <p> + Cahill gave a shrug of impatience. + </p> + <p> + “My hand's all right,” he said; “you go to bed. I've got to begin taking + account of stock.” + </p> + <p> + “To-night?” + </p> + <p> + “There's no time by day. Go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + For nearly an hour Miss Cahill lay awake listening to her father moving + about in the shop below. Never before had he spoken roughly to her, and + she, knowing how much the thought that he had done so would distress him, + was herself distressed. + </p> + <p> + In his lonely vigil on the veranda, Ranson looked from the post down the + hill to where the light still shone from Mary Cahill's window. He wondered + if she had heard the news, and if it were any thought of him that kept + sleep from her. + </p> + <p> + “You ass! you idiot!” he muttered. “You've worried and troubled her. She + believes one of her precious army is a thief and a murderer.” He cursed + himself picturesquely, but the thought that she might possibly be + concerned on his account, did not, he found, distress him as greatly as it + should. On the contrary, as he watched the light his heart glowed warmly. + And long after the light went out he still looked toward the home of the + post-trader, his brain filled with thoughts of his return to his former + life outside the army, the old life to which he vowed he would not return + alone. + </p> + <p> + The next morning Miss Cahill learned the news when the junior officer came + to mess and explained why Ranson was not with them. Her only comment was + to at once start for his quarters with his breakfast in a basket. She + could have sent it by Pete, but, she argued, when one of her officers was + in trouble that was not the time to turn him over to the mercies of a + servant. No, she assured herself, it was not because the officer happened + to be Ranson. She would have done as much, or as little, for any one of + them. When Curtis and Haines were ill of the grippe, had she not carried + them many good things of her own making? + </p> + <p> + But it was not an easy sacrifice. As she crossed the parade-ground she + recognized that over-night Ranson's hut, where he was a prisoner in his + own quarters, had become to the post the storm-centre of interest, and to + approach it was to invite the attention of the garrison. At head-quarters + a group of officers turned and looked her way, there was a flutter among + the frocks on Mrs. Bolland's porch, and the enlisted men, smoking their + pipes on the rail of the barracks, whispered together. When she reached + Ranson's hut over four hundred pairs of eyes were upon her, and her cheeks + were flushing. Ranson came leaping to the gate, and lifted the basket from + her arm as though he were removing an opera-cloak. He set it upon the + gate-post, and nervously clasped the palings of the gate with both hands. + He had not been to bed, but that fact alone could not explain the + strangeness of his manner. Never before had she seen him disconcerted or + abashed. + </p> + <p> + “You shouldn't have done it,” he stammered. “Indeed, indeed, you are much + too good. But you shouldn't have come.” + </p> + <p> + His voice shook slightly. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked Mary Cahill. “I couldn't let you go hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “You know it isn't that,” he said; “it's your coming here at all. Why, + only three of the fellows have been near me this morning. And they only + came from a sense of duty. I know they did—I could feel it. You + shouldn't have come here. I'm not a proper person; I'm an outlaw. You + might think this was a pest-house, you might think I was a leper. Why, + those Stickney girls have been watching me all morning through a + field-glass.” He clasped and unclasped his fingers around the palings. + “They believe I did it,” he protested, with the bewildered accents of a + child. “They all believe it.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Cahill laughed. The laugh was quieting and comforting. It brought him + nearer to earth, and her next remark brought him still further. + </p> + <p> + “Have you had any breakfast?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Breakfast!” stammered Ranson. “No. The guard brought some, but I couldn't + eat it. This thing has taken the life out of me—to think sane, + sensible people—my own people—could believe that I'd steal, + that I'd kill a man for money.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” said Miss Cahill soothingly; “but you've not had any sleep, + and you need your coffee.” She lifted the lid of the basket. “It's getting + cold,” she said. “Don't you worry about what people think. You must + remember you're a prisoner now under arrest. You can't expect the officers + to run over here as freely as they used to. What do you want?” she + laughed. “Do you think the colonel should parade the band and give you a + serenade?” For a moment Ranson stared at her dully, and then his sense of + proportion returned to him. He threw back his head and laughed with her + joyfully. + </p> + <p> + From verandas, barracks, and headquarters, the four hundred pairs of eyes + noted this evidence of heartlessness with varied emotions. But, unmindful + of them, Ranson now leaned forward, the eager, searching look coming back + into his black eyes. They were so close to Mary Cahill's that she drew + away. He dropped his voice to a whisper and spoke swiftly. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Cahill, whatever happens to me I won't forget this. I won't forget + your coming here and throwing heart into me. You were the only one who + did. I haven't asked you if you believe that I—” + </p> + <p> + She raised her eyes reproachfully and smiled. “You know you don't have to + do that,” she said. + </p> + <p> + The prisoner seized the palings as though he meant to pull apart the + barrier between them. He drew a long breath like one inhaling a draught of + clean morning air. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, his voice ringing, “I don't have to do that.” + </p> + <p> + He cast a swift glance to the left and right. The sentry's bayonet was + just disappearing behind the corner of the hut. To the four hundred other + eyes around the parade-ground Lieutenant Ranson's attitude suggested that + he was explaining to Cahill's daughter what he wanted for his luncheon. + His eyes held her as firmly as though the palings he clasped were her two + hands. + </p> + <p> + “Mary,” he said, and the speaking of her name seemed to stop the beating + of his heart. “Mary,” he whispered, as softly as though he were beginning + a prayer, “you're the bravest, the sweetest, the dearest girl in all the + world. And I've known it for months, and now you must know. And there'll + never be any other girl in my life but you.” + </p> + <p> + Mary Cahill drew away from him in doubt and wonder. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean to tell you just yet,” he whispered, “but now that I've + seen you I can't help it. I knew it last night when I stood back there and + watched your windows, and couldn't think of this trouble, nor of anything + else, but just you. And you've got to promise me, if I get out of this all + right—you must—must promise me—” + </p> + <p> + Mary Cahill's eyes, as she raised them to his, were moist and glowing. + They promised him with a great love and tenderness. But at the sight + Ranson protested wildly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he whispered, “you mustn't promise—anything. I shouldn't have + asked it. After I'm out of this, after the court-martial, then you've got + to promise that you'll never, never leave me.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Cahill knit her hands together and turned away her head. The + happiness in her heart rose to her throat like a great melody and choked + her. Before her, exposed in the thin spring sunshine, was the square of + ugly brown cottages, the bare parade-ground, in its centre Trumpeter Tyler + fingering his bugle, and beyond on every side an ocean of blackened + prairie. But she saw nothing of this. She saw instead a beautiful world + opening its arms to her, a world smiling with sunshine, glowing with + color, singing with love and content. + </p> + <p> + She turned to him with all that was in her heart showing in her face. + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” he begged, tremblingly, “don't answer. I couldn't bear it—if + you said 'no' to me.” He jerked his head toward the men who guarded him. + “Wait until I'm tried, and not in disgrace.” He shook the gate between + them savagely as though it actually held him a prisoner. + </p> + <p> + Mary Cahill raised her head proudly. + </p> + <p> + “You have no right. You've hurt me,” she whispered. “You hurt me.” + </p> + <p> + “Hurt you?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + She pressed her hands together. It was impossible to tell him, it was + impossible to speak of what she felt; of the pride, of the trust and love, + to disclose this new and wonderful thing while the gate was between them, + while the sentries paced on either side, while the curious eyes of the + garrison were fastened upon her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, can't you see?” she whispered. “As though I cared for a + court-martial! I KNOW you. You are just the same. You are just what you + have always been to me—what you always will be to me.” + </p> + <p> + She thrust her hand toward him and he seized it in both of his, and then + released it instantly, and, as though afraid of his own self-control, + backed hurriedly from her, and she turned and walked rapidly away. + </p> + <p> + Captain Carr, who had been Ranson's captain in the Philippines, and who + was much his friend, had been appointed to act as his counsel. When later + that morning he visited his client to lay out a line of defence he found + Ranson inclined to treat the danger which threatened him with the most + arrogant flippancy. He had never seen him in a more objectionable mood. + </p> + <p> + “You can call the charge 'tommy-rot' if you like,” Carr protested, + sharply. “But, let me tell you that's not the view any one else takes of + it, and if you expect the officers of the court-martial and the civil + authorities to take that view of it you've got to get down to work and + help me prove that it IS 'tommy rot.' That Miss Post, as soon as she got + here, when she thought it was only a practical joke, told them that the + road agent threatened her with a pair of shears. Now, Crosby and Curtis + will testify that you took a pair of shears from Cahill's, and from what + Miss Post saw of your ring she can probably identify that, too; so—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we concede the shears,” declared Ranson, waving his hand grandly. “We + admit the first hold-up.” + </p> + <p> + “The devil we do!” returned Carr. “Now, as your counsel, I advise nothing + of the sort.” + </p> + <p> + “You advise me to lie?” + </p> + <p> + “Sir!” exclaimed Carr. “A plea of not guilty is only a legal form. When + you consider that the first hold-up in itself is enough to lose you your + commission—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's MY commission,” said Ranson. “It was only a silly joke, + anyway. And the War Department must have some sense of humor or it + wouldn't have given me a commission in the first place. Of course, we'll + admit the first hold-up, but we won't stand for the second one. I had no + more to do with that than with the Whitechapel murders.” + </p> + <p> + “How are we to prove that?” demanded Carr. “Where's your alibi? Where were + you after the first hold-up?” + </p> + <p> + “I was making for home as fast as I could cut,” said Ranson. He suddenly + stopped in his walk up and down the room and confronted his counsel + sternly. “Captain,” he demanded, “I wish you to instruct me on a point of + law.” + </p> + <p> + Carr's brow relaxed. He was relieved to find that Ranson had awakened to + the seriousness of the charges against him. + </p> + <p> + “That's what I'm here for,” he said, encouragingly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, captain,” said Ranson, “if an officer is under arrest as I am and + confined to his quarters, is he or is he not allowed to send to the club + for a bottle of champagne?” + </p> + <p> + “Really, Ranson!” cried the captain, angrily, “you are impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “I only want to celebrate,” said Ranson, meekly. “I'm a very happy man; + I'm the happiest man on earth. I want to ride across the prairie shooting + off both guns and yelling like a cowboy. Instead of which I am locked up + indoors and have to talk to you about a highway robbery which does not + amuse me, which does not concern me—and of which I know nothing and + care less. Now, YOU are detailed to prove me innocent. That's your duty, + and you ought to do your duty, But don't drag me in. I've got much more + important things to think about.” + </p> + <p> + Bewilderment, rage, and despair were written upon the face of the captain. + </p> + <p> + “Ranson!” he roared. “Is this a pose, or are you mad? Can't you understand + that you came very near to being hanged for murder and that you are in + great danger of going to jail for theft? Let me put before you the + extremely unpleasant position in which you have been ass enough to place + yourself. You don't quite seem to grasp it. You tell two brother-officers + that you are going to rob the stage. To do so you disguise yourself in a + poncho and a red handkerchief, and you remove the army-stirrups from your + stirrup-leathers. You then do rob this coach, or at least hold it up, and + you are recognized. A few minutes later, in the same trail and in the same + direction you have taken, there is a second hold-up, this time of the + paymaster. The man who robs the paymaster wears a poncho and a red + kerchief, and he has no stirrups in his stirrup-leathers. The two hold-ups + take place within a half-mile of each other, within five minutes of each + other. Now, is it reasonable to believe that last night two men were + hiding in the buttes intent upon robbery, each in an army poncho, each + wearing a red bandanna handkerchief, and each riding without stirrups? + Between believing in such a strange coincidence and that you did it, I'll + be hanged if I don't believe you did it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't blame you,” said Ranson. “What can I do to set your mind at + rest?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, tell me exactly what persons knew that you meant to hold up the + stage.” + </p> + <p> + “Curtis and Crosby; no one else.” + </p> + <p> + “Not even Cahill?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Cahill came in just before I said I would stop the stage, but I + remember particularly that before I spoke I waited for him to get back to + the exchange.” + </p> + <p> + “And Crosby tells me,” continued Carr, “that the instant you had gone he + looked into the exchange and saw Cahill at the farthest corner from the + door. He could have heard nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “If you ask me, I think you've begun at the wrong end,” said Ranson. “If I + were looking for the Red Rider I'd search for him in Kiowa City.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, at this end no one but a few officers knew that the paymaster + was coming, while in Kiowa everybody in the town knew it, for they saw him + start. It would be very easy for one of those cowboys to ride ahead and + lie in wait for him in the buttes. There are several tough specimens in + Kiowa. Any one of them would rob a man for twenty dollars—let alone + ten thousand. There's 'Abe' Fisher and Foster King, and the Chase boys, + and I believe old 'Pop' Henderson himself isn't above holding up one of + his own stages.” + </p> + <p> + “He's above shooting himself in the lungs,” said Carr. “Nonsense. No, I am + convinced that someone followed you from this post, and perhaps Cahill can + tell us who that was. I sent for him this morning, and he's waiting at my + quarters now. Suppose I ask him to step over here, so that we can discuss + it together.” + </p> + <p> + Before he answered, Ranson hesitated, with his eyes on the ground. He had + no way of knowing whether Mary Cahill had told her father anything of what + he had said to her that morning. But if she had done so, he did not want + to meet Cahill in the presence of a third party for the first time since + he had learned the news. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what I wish you would do,” he said. “I wish you'd let me + see Cahill first, by myself. What I want to see him about has nothing to + do with the hold-up,” he added. “It concerns only us two, but I'd like to + have it out of the way before we consult him as a witness.” + </p> + <p> + Carr rose doubtfully. “Why, certainly,” he said; “I'll send him over, and + when you're ready for me step out on the porch and call. I'll be sitting + on my veranda. I hope you've had no quarrel with Cahill—I mean I + hope this personal matter is nothing that will prejudice him against you.” + </p> + <p> + Ranson smiled. “I hope not, too,” he said. “No, we've not quarrelled—yet,” + he added. + </p> + <p> + Carr still lingered. “Cahill is like to be a very important witness for + the other side—” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt it,” said Ranson, easily. “Cahill's a close-mouthed chap, but + when he does talk he talks to the point and he'll tell the truth. That + can't hurt us.” + </p> + <p> + As Cahill crossed the parade-ground from Captain Carr's quarters on his + way to Ranson's hut his brain was crowded swiftly with doubts, memories, + and resolves. For him the interview held no alarms. He had no misgivings + as to its outcome. For his daughter's sake he was determined that he + himself must not be disgraced in her eyes and that to that end Ranson must + be sacrificed. It was to make a lady of her, as he understood what a lady + should be, that on six moonlit raids he had ventured forth in his red mask + and robbed the Kiowa stage. That there were others who roamed abroad in + the disguise of the Red Rider he was well aware. There were nights the + stage was held up when he was innocently busy behind his counter in touch + with the whole garrison. Of these nights he made much. They were alibis + furnished by his rivals. They served to keep suspicion from himself, and + he, working for the same object, was indefatigable in proclaiming that all + the depredations of the Red Rider showed the handiwork of one and the same + individual. + </p> + <p> + “He comes from Kiowa of course,” he would point out. “Some feller who + lives where the stage starts, and knows when the passengers carry money. + You don't hear of him holding up a stage full of recruits or cow-punchers. + It's always the drummers and the mine directors that the Red Rider lays + for. How does he know they're in the stage if he don't see 'em start from + Kiowa? Ask 'Pop' Henderson. Ask 'Abe' Fisher. Mebbe they know more than + they'd care to tell.” + </p> + <p> + The money which at different times Cahill had taken from the Kiowa stage + lay in a New York bank, and the law of limitation made it now possible for + him to return to that city and claim it. Already his savings were + sufficient in amount to support both his daughter and himself in one of + those foreign cities, of which she had so often told him and for which he + knew she hungered. And for the last five years he had had no other object + in living than to feed her wants. Through some strange trick of the mind + he remembered suddenly and vividly a long-forgotten scene in the back room + of McTurk's, when he was McTurk's bouncer. The night before a girl had + killed herself in this same back room; she made the third who had done so + in the month. He recalled the faces of the reporters eyeing McTurk in cold + distaste as that terror of the Bowery whimpered before them on his knees. + “But my daughters will read it,” he had begged. “Suppose they believe I'm + what you call me. Don't go and give me a bad name to them, gentlemen. It + ain't my fault the girl's died here. You wouldn't have my daughters think + I'm to blame for that? They're ladies, my daughters, they're just out of + the convent, and they don't know that there is such women in the world as + come to this place. And I can't have 'em turned against their old pop. For + God's sake, gentlemen, don't let my girls know!” + </p> + <p> + Cahill remembered the contempt he had felt for his employer as he pulled + him to his feet, but now McTurk's appeal seemed just and natural. His + point of view was that of the loving and considerate parent. In Cahill's + mind there was no moral question involved. If to make his girl rich and a + lady, and to lift her out of the life of the Exchange, was a sin the sin + was his own and he was willing to “stand for it.” And, like McTurk, he + would see that the sin of the father was not visited upon the child. + Ranson was rich, foolishly, selfishly rich; his father was a United States + Senator with influence enough, and money enough, to fight the law—to + buy his son out of jail. Sooner than his daughter should know that her + father was one of those who sometimes wore the mask of the Red Rider, + Ranson, for all he cared, could go to jail, or to hell. With this + ultimatum in his mind, Cahill confronted his would-be son-in-law with a + calm and assured countenance. + </p> + <p> + Ranson greeted him with respectful deference, and while Cahill seated + himself, Ranson, chatting hospitably, placed cigars and glasses before + him. He began upon the subject that touched him the most nearly. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Cahill was good enough to bring up my breakfast this morning,” he + said. “Has she told you of what I said to her?” + </p> + <p> + Cahill shook his head. “No, I haven't seen her. We've been taking account + of stock all morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Then—then you've heard nothing from her about me?” said Ranson. + </p> + <p> + The post trader raised his head in surprise. “No. Captain Carr spoke to me + about your arrest, and then said you wanted to see me first about + something private.” The post trader fixed Ranson with his keen, unwavering + eyes. “What might that be?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it doesn't matter now,” stammered Ranson; “I'll wait until Miss + Cahill tells you.” + </p> + <p> + “Any complaint about the food?” inquired the post trader. + </p> + <p> + Ranson laughed nervously. “No, it's not that,” he said. He rose, and, to + protect what Miss Cahill evidently wished to remain a secret, changed the + subject. “You see you've lived in these parts so long, Mr. Cahill,” he + explained, “and you know so many people, I thought maybe you could put me + on the track or give me some hint as to which of that Kiowa gang really + did rob the paymaster.” Ranson was pulling the cork from the whiskey + bottle, and when he asked the question Cahill pushed his glass from him + and shook his head. Ranson looked up interrogatively and smiled. “You mean + you think I did it myself?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't understand from Captain Carr,” the post trader began in heavy + tones, “that it's my opinion you're after. He said I might be wanted to + testify who was present last night in my store.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, that's all we want,” Ranson answered, genially. “I only + thought you might give me a friendly pointer or two on the outside. And, + of course, if it's your opinion I did the deed we certainly don't want + your opinion. But that needn't prevent your taking a drink with me, need + it? Don't be afraid. I'm not trying to corrupt you. And I'm not trying to + poison a witness for the other fellows, either. Help yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Cahill stretched out his left hand. His right remained hidden in the side + pocket of his coat. “What's the matter with your right hand?” Ranson + asked. “Are you holding a gun on me? Really, Mr. Cahill, you're not taking + any chances, are you?” Ranson gazed about the room as though seeking an + appreciative audience. “He's such an important witness,” he cried, + delightedly, “that first he's afraid I'll poison him and he won't drink + with me, and now he covers me with a gun.” + </p> + <p> + Reluctantly, Cahill drew out his hand. “I was putting the bridle on my + pony last night,” he said. “He bit me.” + </p> + <p> + Ranson exclaimed sympathetically, “Oh, that's too bad,” he said. “Well, + you know you want to be careful. A horse's teeth really are poisonous.” He + examined his own hands complacently. “Now, if I had a bandage like that on + my right hand they would hang me sure, no matter whether it was a bite, or + a burn, or a bullet.” + </p> + <p> + Cahill raised the glass to his lips and sipped the whiskey critically. + “Why?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why? Why, didn't you know that the paymaster boasted last night to the + surgeons that he hit this fellow in the hand? He says—” + </p> + <p> + Cahill snorted scornfully. “How'd he know that? What makes him think so?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, never mind, let him think so,” Ranson answered, fervently. “Don't + discourage him. That's the only evidence I've got on my side. He says he + fired to disarm the man, and that he saw him shift his gun to his left + hand. It was the shot that the man fired when he held his gun in his left + that broke the colonel's arm. Now, everybody knows I can't hit a barn with + my left. And as for having any wounds concealed about my person”—Ranson + turned his hands like a conjurer to show the front and back—“they + can search me. So, if the paymaster will only stick to that story—that + he hit the man—it will help me a lot.” Ranson seated himself on the + table and swung his leg. “And of course it would be a big help, too, if + you could remember who was in your Exchange when I was planning to rob the + coach. For someone certainly must have overheard me, someone must have + copied my disguise, and that someone is the man we must find. Unless he + came from Kiowa.” + </p> + <p> + Cahill shoved his glass from him across the table and, placing his hands + on his knees, stared at his host coldly and defiantly. His would-be + son-in-law observed the aggressiveness of his attitude, but, in his fuller + knowledge of their prospective relations, smiled blandly. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ranson,” began Cahill, “I've no feelings against you personally. I've + a friendly feeling for all of you young gentlemen at my mess. But you're + not playing fair with me. I can see what you want, and I can tell you that + you and Captain Carr are not helping your case by asking me up here to + drink and smoke with you, when you know that I'm the most important + witness they've got against you.” + </p> + <p> + Ranson stared at his father-in-law-elect in genuine amazement, and then + laughed lightly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, dear Mr. Cahill,” he cried, “I wouldn't think of bribing you with + such a bad brand of whiskey as this. And I didn't know you were such an + important witness as all that. But, of course, I know whatever you say in + this community goes, and if your testimony is against me, I'm sorry for + it, very sorry. I suppose you will testify that there was no one in the + Exchange who could have heard my plan?” + </p> + <p> + Cahill nodded. + </p> + <p> + “And, as it's not likely two men at exactly the same time should have + thought of robbing the stage in exactly the same way, I must have robbed + it myself.” + </p> + <p> + Cahill nursed his bandaged hand with the other. “That's the court's + business,” he growled; “I mean to tell the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “And the truth is?” asked Ransom + </p> + <p> + “The truth is that last night there was no one in the Exchange but you + officers and me. If anybody'd come in on the store side you'd have seen + him, wouldn't you? and if he'd come into the Exchange I'd have seen him. + But no one come in. I was there alone—and certainly I didn't hear + your plan, and I didn't rob the stage. When you fellows left I went down + to the Indian village. Half the reservation can prove I was there all the + evening—so of the four of us, that lets me out. Crosby and Curtis + were in command of the pay escort—that's their alibi—and as + far as I can see, lieutenant, that puts it up to you.” + </p> + <p> + Ranson laughed and shook his head. “Yes, it certainly looks that way,” he + said. “Only I can't see why you need be so damned pleased about it.” He + grinned wickedly. “If you weren't such a respectable member of Fort + Crockett society I might say you listened at the door, and rode after me + in one of your own ponchos. As for the Indian village, that's no alibi. A + Kiowa swear his skin's as white as yours if you give him a drink.” + </p> + <p> + “And is that why I get this one?” Cahill demanded. “Am I a Kiowa?” + </p> + <p> + Ranson laughed and shoved the bottle toward his father-in-law-elect. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, can't you take a joke?” he said. “Take another drink, then.” + </p> + <p> + The voice outside the hut was too low to reach the irate Cahill, but + Ranson heard it and leaped to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” he commanded. He ran to the door, and met Sergeant Clancey at the + threshold. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Cahill, lieutenant,” said the sergeant, “wants to see her father.” + </p> + <p> + Cahill had followed Ranson to the door, “You want to see me, Mame?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Miss Cahill cried; “and Mr. Ransom, too, if I may.” She caught her + father eagerly by the arm, but her eyes were turned joyfully upon Ranson. + They were laughing with excitement. Her voice was trembling and eager. + </p> + <p> + “It is something I have discovered,” she cried; “I found it out just now, + and I think—oh, I hope!—it is most important. I believe it + will clear Mr. Ranson!” she cried, happily. “At least it will show that + last night someone went out to rob the coach and went dressed as he was.” + </p> + <p> + Cahill gave a short laugh. “What's his name?” he asked, mockingly. “Have + you seen him?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't see him and I don't know his name, but—” + </p> + <p> + Cahill snorted, and picked up his sombrero from the table. “Then it's not + so very important after all,” he said. “Is that all that brought you + here?” + </p> + <p> + “The main thing is that she is here,” said Ranson; “for which the poor + prisoner is grateful—grateful to her and to the man she hasn't seen, + in the mask and poncho, whose name she doesn't know. Mr. Cahill, bad as it + is, I insist on your finishing your whiskey. Miss Cahill, please sit + down.” + </p> + <p> + He moved a chair toward her and, as he did so, looked full into her face + with such love and happiness that she turned her eyes away. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked Cahill. + </p> + <p> + “I must first explain to Lieutenant Ranson, father,” said his daughter, + “that to-day is the day we take account of stock.” + </p> + <p> + “Speaking of stock,” said Ranson, “don't forget that I owe you for a red + kerchief and a rubber poncho. You can have them back, if you like. I won't + need a rain coat where I am going.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't,” said Miss Cahill. “Please let me go on. After I brought you your + breakfast here, I couldn't begin to work just at once. I was thinking + about—something else. Everyone was talking of you—your arrest, + and I couldn't settle down to take account of stock.” She threw a look at + Ranson which asked for his sympathy. “But when I did start I began with + the ponchos and the red kerchiefs, and then I found out something.” Cahill + was regarding his daughter in strange distress, but Ranson appeared + indifferent to her words, and intent only on the light and beauty in her + face. But he asked, smiling, “And that was?” + </p> + <p> + “You see,” continued Miss Cahill, eagerly, “I always keep a dozen of each + article, and as each one is sold I check it off in my day-book. Yesterday + Mrs. Bolland bought a poncho for the colonel. That left eleven ponchos. + Then a few minutes later I gave Lightfoot a red kerchief for his squaw. + That left eleven kerchiefs.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” cried Ranson. “Miss Cahill,” he began, severely, “I hope you do + not mean to throw suspicion on the wife of my respected colonel, or on + Mrs. Lightfoot, 'the Prairie Flower.' Those ladies are my personal + friends; I refuse to believe them guilty. And have you ever seen Mrs. + Bolland on horseback? You wrong her. It is impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Please,” begged Miss Cahill, “please let me explain. When you went to + hold up the stage you took a poncho and a kerchief. That should have left + ten of each. But when I counted them this morning there were nine red + kerchiefs and nine ponchos.” + </p> + <p> + Ranson slapped his knee sharply. “Good!” he said. “That is interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “What does it prove?” demanded Cahill. + </p> + <p> + “It proves nothing, or it proves everything,” said Miss Cahill. “To my + mind it proves without any doubt that someone overheard Mr. Ranson's plan, + that he dressed like him to throw suspicion on him, and that this second + person was the one who robbed the paymaster. Now, father, this is where + you can help us. You were there then. Try to remember. It is so important. + Who came into the store after the others had gone away?” + </p> + <p> + Cahill tossed his head like an angry bull. + </p> + <p> + “There are fifty places in this post,” he protested, roughly, “where a man + can get a poncho. Every trooper owns his slicker.” + </p> + <p> + “But, father, we don't know that theirs are missing,” cried Miss Cahill, + “and we do know that those in our store are. Don't think I am foolish. It + seemed such an important fact to me, and I had hoped it would help.” + </p> + <p> + “It does help—immensely!” cried Ranson. + </p> + <p> + “I think it's a splendid clue. But, unfortunately, I don't think we can + prove anything by your father, for he's just been telling me that there + was no one in the place but himself. No one came in, and he was quite + alone—” Ranson had begun speaking eagerly, but either his own words + or the intentness with which Cahill received them caused him to halt and + hesitate—“absolutely—alone.” + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said Cahill, thickly, “as soon as they had gone I rode to the + Indian village.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no, father,” corrected Miss Cahill. “Don't you remember, you told me + last night that when you reached Lightfoot's tent I had just gone. That + was quite two hours after the others left the store.” In her earnestness + Miss Cahill had placed her hand upon her father's arm and clutched it + eagerly. “And you remember no one coming in before you left?” she asked. + “No one?” + </p> + <p> + Cahill had not replaced the bandaged hand in his pocket, but had shoved it + inside the opening of his coat. As Mary Cahill caught his arm her fingers + sank into the palm of the hand and he gave a slight grimace of pain. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, father,” Miss Cahill cried, “your hand! I am so sorry. Did I hurt it? + Please—let me see.” + </p> + <p> + Cahill drew back with sudden violence. + </p> + <p> + “No!” he cried. “Leave it alone! Come, we must be going.” But Miss Cahill + held the wounded hand in both her own. When she turned her eyes to Ranson + they were filled with tender concern. + </p> + <p> + “I hurt him,” she said, reproachfully. “He shot himself last night with + one of those new cylinder revolvers.” + </p> + <p> + Her father snatched the hand from her. He tried to drown her voice by a + sudden movement toward the door. “Come!” he called. “Do you hear me?” + </p> + <p> + But his daughter in her sympathy continued. “He was holding it so,” she + said, “and it went off, and the bullet passed through here.” She laid the + tip of a slim white finger on the palm of her right hand. + </p> + <p> + “The bullet!” cried Ranson. He repeated, dully, “The bullet!” + </p> + <p> + There was a sudden, tense silence. Outside they could hear the crunch of + the sentry's heel in the gravel, and from the baseball field back of the + barracks the soft spring air was rent with the jubilant crack of the bat + as it drove the ball. Afterward Ranson remembered that while one half of + his brain was terribly acute to the moment, the other was wondering + whether the runner had made his base. It seemed an interminable time + before Ranson raised his eyes from Miss Cahill's palm to her father's + face. What he read in them caused Cahill to drop his hand swiftly to his + hip. + </p> + <p> + Ranson saw the gesture and threw out both his hands. He gave a hysterical + laugh, strangely boyish and immature, and ran to place himself between + Cahill and the door. “Drop it!” he whispered. “My God, man!” he entreated, + “don't make a fool of yourself. Mr. Cahill,” he cried aloud, “you can't go + till you know. Can he, Mary? Yes, Mary.” The tone in which he repeated the + name was proprietary and commanding. He took her hand. “Mr. Cahill,” he + said, joyously, “we've got something to tell you. I want you to understand + that in spite of all I'VE done—I say in spite of all I'VE done—I + mean getting into this trouble and disgrace, and all that—I've dared + to ask your daughter to marry me.” He turned and led Miss Cahill swiftly + toward the veranda. “Oh, I knew he wouldn't like it,” he cried. “You see. + I told you so. You've got to let me talk to him alone. You go outside and + wait. I can talk better when you are not here. I'll soon bring him + around.” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” pleaded Miss Cahill, timidly. From behind her back Ranson shook + his head at the post-trader in violent pantomime. “She'd better go outside + and wait, hadn't she, Mr. Cahill?” he directed. + </p> + <p> + As he was bidden, the post-trader raised his head and nodded toward the + door. The onslaught of sudden and new conditions overwhelmed and paralyzed + him. + </p> + <p> + “Father!” said Miss Cahill, “it isn't just as you think. Mr. Ranson did + ask me to marry him—in a way—At least, I knew what he meant. + But I did not say—in a way—that I would marry him. I mean it + was not settled, or I would have told you. You mustn't think I would have + left you out of this—of my happiness, you who have done everything + to make me happy.” + </p> + <p> + She reproached her father with her eyes fastened on his face. His own were + stern, fixed, and miserable. “You will let it be, won't you, father?” she + begged. “It—it means so much. I—can't tell you—” She + threw out her hand toward Ranson as though designating a superior being. + “Why, I can't tell HIM. But if you are harsh with him or with me it will + break my heart. For as I love you, father, I love him—and it has got + to be. It must be. For I love him so. I have always loved him. Father,” + she whispered, “I love him so.” + </p> + <p> + Ranson, humbly, gratefully, took the girl's hand and led her gently to the + veranda and closed the door upon her. Then he came down the room and + regarded his prospective father-in-law with an expression of amused + exasperation. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his + riding-breeches and nodded his head. “Well,” he exclaimed, “you've made a + damned pretty mess of it, haven't you?” + </p> + <p> + Cahill had sunk heavily into a chair and was staring at Ranson with the + stupid, wondering gaze of a dumb animal in pain. During the moments in + which the two men eyed each other Ranson's smile disappeared. Cahill + raised himself slowly as though with a great effort. + </p> + <p> + “I done it,” said Cahill, “for her. I done it to make her happy.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right,” said Ranson, briskly. “She's going to be happy. We're + all going to be happy.” + </p> + <p> + “An' all I did,” Cahill continued, as though unconscious of the + interruption, “was to disgrace her.” He rose suddenly to his feet. His + mental sufferings were so keen that his huge body trembled. He recognized + how truly he had made “a mess of it.” He saw that all he had hoped to do + for his daughter by crime would have been done for her by this marriage + with Ranson, which would have made her a “lady,” made her rich, made her + happy. Had it not been for his midnight raids she would have been honored, + loved, and envied, even by the wife of the colonel herself. But through + him disgrace had come upon her, sorrow and trouble. She would not be known + as the daughter of Senator Ranson, but of Cahill, an ex-member of the Whyo + gang, a highway robber, as the daughter of a thief who was serving his + time in State prison. At the thought Cahill stepped backward unsteadily as + though he had been struck. He cried suddenly aloud. Then his hand whipped + back to his revolver, but before he could use it Ranson had seized his + wrist with both hands. The two struggled silently and fiercely. The fact + of opposition brought back to Cahill all of his great strength. + </p> + <p> + “No, you don't!” Ranson muttered. “Think of your daughter, man. Drop it!” + </p> + <p> + “I shall do it,” Cahill panted. “I am thinking of my daughter. It's the + only way out. Take your hands off me—I shall!” + </p> + <p> + With his knuckles Ranson bored cruelly into the wounded hand, and it + opened and the gun dropped from it; but as it did so it went off with a + report that rang through the building. There was an instant rush of feet + upon the steps of the veranda, and at the sound the two men sprang apart, + eyeing each other sheepishly like two discovered truants. When Sergeant + Clancey and the guard pushed through the door Ranson stood facing it, + spinning the revolver in cowboy fashion around his fourth finger. He + addressed the sergeant in a tone of bitter irony. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you've come at last,” he demanded. “Are you deaf? Why didn't you come + when I called?” His tone showed he considered he had just cause for + annoyance. + </p> + <p> + “The gun brought me, I—” began Clancey. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I hoped it might. That's why I fired it,” snapped Ranson. “I want + two whiskey-and-sodas. Quick now!” + </p> + <p> + “Two—” gasped Clancey. + </p> + <p> + “Whiskey-and-sodas. See how fast one of you can chase over to the club and + get 'em. And next time I want a drink don't make me wake the entire + garrison.” + </p> + <p> + As the soldiers retreated Ranson discovered Miss Cahill's white face + beyond them. He ran and held the door open by a few inches. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right,” he whispered, reassuringly. “He's nearly persuaded. Wait + just a minute longer and he'll be giving us his blessing.” + </p> + <p> + “But the pistol-shot?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I was just calling the guard. The electric bell's broken, and your father + wanted a drink. That's a good sign, isn't it? Shows he's friendly, What + kind did you say you wanted, Mr. Cahill—Scotch was it, or rye?” + Ranson glanced back at the sombre, silent figure of Cahill, and then again + opened the door sufficiently for him to stick out his head. “Sergeant,” he + called, “make them both Scotch—long ones.” + </p> + <p> + He shut the door and turned upon the post-trader. “Now, then, + father-in-law,” he said, briskly, “you've got to cut and run, and you've + got to run quick. We'll tell 'em you're going to Fort Worth to buy the + engagement ring, because I can't, being under arrest. But you go to Duncan + City instead, and from there take the cars, to—” + </p> + <p> + “Run away!” Cahill repeated, dazedly. “But you'll be court-martialled.” + </p> + <p> + “There won't be any court-martial!” + </p> + <p> + Cahill glanced around the room quickly. “I see,” he cried. In his + eagerness he was almost smiling. “I'm to leave a confession and give it to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Confession! What rot!” cried Ranson. + </p> + <p> + “They can't prove anything against me. Everyone knows by now that there + were two men on the trail, but they don't know who the other man was, and + no one ever must know—especially Mary.” + </p> + <p> + Cahill struck the table with his fist. “I won't stand for it!” he cried. + “I got you into this and I'm goin'—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, going to jail,” retorted Ranson. “You'll look nice behind the bars, + won't you? Your daughter will be proud of you in a striped suit. Don't + talk nonsense. You're going to run and hide some place, somewhere, where + Mary and I can come and pay you a visit. Say—Canada. No, not Canada. + I'd rather visit you in jail than in a Montreal hotel. Say Tangier, or + Buenos Ayres, or Paris. Yes, Paris is safe enough—and so amusing.” + </p> + <p> + Cahill seated himself heavily. “I trapped you into this fix, Mr. Ranson,” + he said, “you know I did, and now I mean to get you out of it. I ain't + going to leave the man my Mame wants to marry with a cloud on him. I ain't + going to let her husband be jailed.” + </p> + <p> + Ranson had run to his desk and from a drawer drew forth a roll of bills. + He advanced with them in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Paris is certainly the place,” he said. “Here's three hundred + dollars. I'll cable you the rest. You've never been to Paris, have you? + It's full of beautiful sights—Henry's American Bar, for instance, + and the courtyard of the Grand Hotel, and Maxim's. All good Americans go + to Paris when they die and all the bad ones while they are alive. You'll + find lots of both kinds, and you'll sit all day on the sidewalk and drink + Bock and listen to Hungarian bands. And Mary and I will join you there and + take you driving in the Bois. Now, you start at once. I'll tell her you've + gone to New York to talk it over with father, and buy the ring. Then I'll + say you've gone on to Paris to rent us apartments for the honeymoon. I'll + explain it somehow. That's better than going to jail, isn't it, and making + us bow our heads in grief?” + </p> + <p> + Cahill, in his turn, approached the desk and, seating himself before it, + began writing rapidly. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Ranson. + </p> + <p> + “A confession,” said Cahill, his pen scratching. + </p> + <p> + “I won't take it,” Ranson said, “and I won't use it.” + </p> + <p> + “I ain't going to give it to you,” said Cahill, over his shoulder. “I know + better than that. But I don't go to Paris unless I leave a confession + behind me. Call in the guard,” he commanded; “I want two witnesses.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll see you hanged first,” said Ranson. + </p> + <p> + Cahill crossed the room to the door and, throwing it open, called, + “Corporal of the guard!” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, Captain Carr and Mrs. Bolland, accompanied by Miss Post and + her aunt, were crossing the parade-ground. For a moment the post-trader + surveyed them doubtfully, and then, stepping out upon the veranda, + beckoned to them. + </p> + <p> + “Here's a paper I've signed, captain,” he said; “I wish you'd witness my + signature. It's my testimony for the court-martial.” + </p> + <p> + “Then someone else had better sign it,” said Carr. “Might look prejudiced + if I did.” He turned to the ladies. “These ladies are coming in to see + Ranson now. They'll witness it.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Cahill, from the other end of the veranda, and the visitors entered + the room together. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Truesdale!” cried Ranson. “You are pouring coals of fire upon my + head. And Miss Post! Indeed, this is too much honor. After the way I + threatened and tried to frighten you last night I expected you to hang me, + at least, instead of which you have, I trust, come to tea.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing of the sort,” said Mrs. Bolland, sternly. “These ladies insisted + on my bringing them here to say how sorry they are that they talked so + much and got you into this trouble. Understand, Mr. Ranson,” the colonel's + wife added, with dignity, “that I am not here officially as Mrs. Bolland, + but as a friend of these ladies.” + </p> + <p> + “You are welcome in whatever form you take, Mrs. Bolland,” cried Ranson, + “and, believe me, I am in no trouble—no trouble, I assure you. In + fact, I am quite the most contented man in the world. Mrs. Bolland, in + spite of the cloud, the temporary cloud which rests upon my fair name, I + take great pride in announcing to you that this young lady has done me the + honor to consent to become my wife. Her father, a very old and dear + friend, has given his consent. And I take this occasion to tell you of my + good fortune, both in your official capacity and as my friend.” + </p> + <p> + There was a chorus of exclamations and congratulations in which Mrs. + Bolland showed herself to be a true wife and a social diplomatist. In the + post-trader's daughter she instantly recognized the heiress to the Ranson + millions, and the daughter of a Senator who also was the chairman of the + Senate Committee on Brevets and Promotions. She fell upon Miss Cahill's + shoulder and kissed her on both cheeks. Turning eagerly upon Mrs. + Truesdale, she said, “Alice, you can understand how I feel when I tell you + that this child has always been to me like one of my own.” + </p> + <p> + Carr took Ranson's hand and wrung it. Sergeant Clancey grew purple with + pleasure and stole back to the veranda, where he whispered joyfully to a + sentry. In another moment a passing private was seen racing delightedly + toward the baseball field. + </p> + <p> + At the same moment Lieutenants Crosby and Curtis and the regimental + adjutant crossed the parade ground from the colonel's quarters and ran up + the steps of Ranson's hut. The expressions of good-will, of smiling + embarrassment and general satisfaction which Lieutenant Crosby observed on + the countenances of those present seemed to give him a momentary check. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he exclaimed, disappointedly, “someone has told you!” + </p> + <p> + Ranson laughed and took the hand which Crosby held doubtfully toward him. + “No one has told me,” he said. “I've been telling them.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you haven't heard?” Crosby cried, delightedly. “That's good. I + begged to be the first to let you know, because I felt so badly at having + doubted you. You must let me congratulate you. You are free.” + </p> + <p> + “Free?” smiled Ranson. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, relieved from arrest,” Crosby cried, joyfully. He turned and took + Ranson's sword from the hands of the adjutant. “And the colonel's let your + troop have the band to give you a serenade.” + </p> + <p> + But Ranson's face showed no sign of satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “Wait!” he cried. “Why am I relieved from arrest?” + </p> + <p> + “Why? Because the other fellow has confessed.” + </p> + <p> + Ranson placed himself suddenly in front of Mary Cahill as though to shield + her. His eyes stole stealthily towards Cahill's confession. Still unread + and still unsigned, it lay unopened upon the table. Cahill was gazing upon + Ranson in blank bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + Captain Carr gasped a sigh of relief that was far from complimentary to + his client. + </p> + <p> + “Who confessed?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “'Pop' Henderson,” said Crosby. + </p> + <p> + “'Pop' Henderson!” shouted Cahill. Unmindful of his wound, he struck the + table savagely with his fist. For the first time in the knowledge of the + post he exhibited emotion. “'Pop' Henderson, by the eternal!” he cried. + “And I never guessed it!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Crosby, eagerly. “Abe Fisher was in it. Henderson persuaded + the paymaster to make the trip alone with him. Then he dressed up Fisher + to represent the Red Rider and sent him on ahead to hold him up. They were + to share the money afterward. But Fisher fired on 'Pop' to kill, so as to + have it all, and 'Pop's' trying to get even. And what with wanting to hurt + Fisher, and thinking he is going to die, and not wishing to see you + hanged, he's told the truth. We wired Kiowa early this morning and + arrested Fisher. They've found the money, and he has confessed, too.” + </p> + <p> + “But the poncho and the red kerchief?” protested Carr. “And he had no + stirrups!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Fisher had the make-up all right,” laughed Crosby; “Henderson says + Fisher's the 'only, original' Red Rider. And as for the stirrups, I'm + afraid that's my fault. I asked the colonel if the man wasn't riding + without stirrups, and I guess the wish was father to the fact. He only + imagined he hadn't seen any stirrups. The colonel was rattled. So, old + man,” he added, turning to Ranson, “here's your sword again, and God bless + you.” + </p> + <p> + Already the post had learned the news from the band and the verandas of + the enlisted men overflowed with delighted troopers. From the stables and + the ball field came the sound of hurrying feet, and a tumult of cheers and + cowboy yells. Across the parade-ground the regimental band bore down upon + Ranson's hut, proclaiming to the garrison that there would be a hot time + in the old town that night. But Sergeant Clancey ran to meet the + bandmaster, and shouted in his ear. “He's going to marry Mary Cahill,” he + cried. “I heard him tell the colonel's wife. Play 'Just Because She Made + Them Goo-goo Eyes.'” + </p> + <p> + “Like hell!” cried the bandmaster, indignantly, breaking in on the tune + with his baton. “I know my business! Now, then, men,” he commanded, “'I'll + Leave My Happy Home for You.'” + </p> + <p> + As Mrs. Bolland dragged Miss Cahill into view of the assembled troopers + Ranson pulled his father-in-law into a far corner of the room. He shook + the written confession in his face. + </p> + <p> + “Now, will you kindly tell me what that means?” he demanded. “What sort of + a gallery play were you trying to make?” + </p> + <p> + Cahill shifted his sombrero guiltily. “I was trying to get you out of the + hole,” he stammered. “I—I thought you done it.” + </p> + <p> + “You thought I done it!” + </p> + <p> + “Sure. I never thought nothing else.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you say here that YOU did it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, because,” stammered Cahill, miserably, “'cause of Mary, 'cause she + wanted to marry you—'cause you were going to marry her.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—but—what good were you going to do by shooting + yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then?” Cahill jerked back his head as though casting out an + unpleasant memory. “I thought you'd caught me, you, too—between + you!” + </p> + <p> + “Caught you! Then you did—?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but I tried to. I heard your plan, and I did follow you in the poncho + and kerchief, meaning to hold up the stage first, and leave it to Crosby + and Curtis to prove you did it. But when I reached the coach you were + there ahead of me, and I rode away and put in my time at the Indian + village. I never saw the paymaster's cart, never heard of it till this + morning. But what with Mame missing the poncho out of our shop and the + wound in my hand I guessed they'd all soon suspect me. I saw you did. So I + thought I'd just confess to what I meant to do, even if I didn't do it.” + </p> + <p> + Ranson surveyed his father-in-law with a delighted grin. “How did you get + that bullet-hole in your hand?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Cahill laughed shamefacedly. “I hate to tell you that,” he said. “I got it + just as I said I did. My new gun went off while I was fooling with it, + with my hand over the muzzle. And me the best shot in the Territory! But + when I heard the paymaster claimed he shot the Red Rider through the palm + I knew no one would believe me if I told the truth. So I lied.” + </p> + <p> + Ranson glanced down at the written confession, and then tore it slowly + into pieces. “And you were sure I robbed the stage, and yet you believed + that I'd use this? What sort of a son-in-law do you think you've got?” + </p> + <p> + “You thought <i>I</i> robbed the stage, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you were going to stand for robbing it yourself, weren't you? Well, + that's the sort of son-in-law I've got!” + </p> + <p> + The two men held out their hands at the same instant. + </p> + <p> + Mary Cahill, her face glowing with pride and besieged with blushes, came + toward them from the veranda. She was laughing and radiant, but she turned + her eyes on Ranson with a look of tender reproach. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you desert me?” she said. “It was awful. They are calling you + now. They are playing 'The Conquering Hero.'” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Cahill,” commanded Ranson, “go out there and make a speech.” He + turned to Mary Cahill and lifted one of her hands in both of his. “Well, I + AM the conquering hero,” he said. “I've won the only thing worth winning, + dearest,” he whispered; “we'll run away from them in a minute, and we'll + ride to the waterfall and the Lover's Leap.” He looked down at her + wistfully. “Do you remember?” + </p> + <p> + Mary Cahill raised her head and smiled. He leaned toward her breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, did it mean that to you, too?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She smiled up at him in assent. + </p> + <p> + “But I didn't say anything, did I?” whispered Ranson. “I hardly knew you + then. But I knew that day that I—that I would marry you or nobody + else. And did you think—that you—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Mary Cahill whispered. + </p> + <p> + He bent his head and touched her hand with his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Then we'll go back this morning to the waterfall,” he said, “and tell it + that it's all come right. And now, we'll bow to those crazy people out + there, those make-believe dream-people, who don't know that there is + nothing real in this world but just you and me, and that we love each + other.” + </p> + <p> + A dishevelled orderly bearing a tray with two glasses confronted Ranson at + the door. “Here's the Scotch and sodas, lieutenant,” he panted. “I + couldn't get 'em any sooner. The men wanted to take 'em off me—to + drink Miss Cahill's health.” + </p> + <p> + “So they shall,” said Ranson. “Tell them to drink the canteen dry and + charge it to me. What's a little thing like the regulations between + friends? They have taught me my manners. Mr. Cahill,” he called. + </p> + <p> + The post-trader returned from the veranda. + </p> + <p> + Ranson solemnly handed him a glass and raised the other in the air. + “Here's hoping that the Red Rider rides on his raids no more,” he said; + “and to the future Mrs. Ranson—to Mary Cahill, God bless her!” + </p> + <p> + He shattered the empty glass in the grate and took Cahill's hand. + </p> + <p> + “Father-in-law,” said Ranson, “let's promise each other to lead a new and + a better life.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BAR SINISTER + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + The Master was walking most unsteady, his legs tripping each other. After + the fifth or sixth round, my legs often go the same way. + </p> + <p> + But even when the Master's legs bend and twist a bit, you mustn't think he + can't reach you. Indeed, that is the time he kicks most frequent. So I + kept behind him in the shadow, or ran in the middle of the street. He + stopped at many public-houses with swinging doors, those doors that are + cut so high from the sidewalk that you can look in under them, and see if + the Master is inside. At night when I peep beneath them the man at the + counter will see me first and say, “Here's the Kid, Jerry, come to take + you home. Get a move on you,” and the Master will stumble out and follow + me. It's lucky for us I'm so white, for no matter how dark the night, he + can always see me ahead, just out of reach of his boot. At night the + Master certainly does see most amazing. Sometimes he sees two or four of + me, and walks in a circle, so that I have to take him by the leg of his + trousers and lead him into the right road. One night, when he was very + nasty-tempered and I was coaxing him along, two men passed us and one of + them says, “Look at that brute!” and the other asks “Which?” and they both + laugh. The Master, he cursed them good and proper. + </p> + <p> + This night, whenever we stopped at a public-house, the Master's pals left + it and went on with us to the next. They spoke quite civil to me, and when + the Master tried a flying kick, they gives him a shove. “Do you want we + should lose our money?” says the pals. + </p> + <p> + I had had nothing to eat for a day and a night, and just before we set out + the Master gives me a wash under the hydrant. Whenever I am locked up + until all the slop-pans in our alley are empty, and made to take a bath, + and the Master's pals speak civil, and feel my ribs, I know something is + going to happen. And that night, when every time they see a policeman + under a lamp-post, they dodged across the street, and when at the last one + of them picked me up and hid me under his jacket, I began to tremble; for + I knew what it meant. It meant that I was to fight again for the Master. + </p> + <p> + I don't fight because I like it. I fight because if I didn't the other dog + would find my throat, and the Master would lose his stakes, and I would be + very sorry for him and ashamed. Dogs can pass me and I can pass dogs, and + I'd never pick a fight with none of them. When I see two dogs standing on + their hind-legs in the streets, clawing each other's ears, and snapping + for each other's windpipes, or howling and swearing and rolling in the + mud, I feel sorry they should act so, and pretend not to notice. If he'd + let me, I'd like to pass the time of day with every dog I meet. But + there's something about me that no nice dog can abide. When I trot up to + nice dogs, nodding and grinning, to make friends, they always tell me to + be off. “Go to the devil!” they bark at me; “Get out!” and when I walk + away they shout “mongrel,” and “gutter-dog,” and sometimes, after my back + is turned, they rush me. I could kill most of them with three shakes, + breaking the back-bone of the little ones, and squeezing the throat of the + big ones. But what's the good? They are nice dogs; that's why I try to + make up to them, and though it's not for them to say it, I am a + street-dog, and if I try to push into the company of my betters, I suppose + it's their right to teach me my place. + </p> + <p> + Of course, they don't know I'm the best fighting bull-terrier of my weight + in Montreal. That's why it wouldn't be right for me to take no notice of + what they shout. They don't know that if I once locked my jaws on them I'd + carry away whatever I touched. The night I fought Kelley's White Rat, I + wouldn't loosen up until the Master made a noose in my leash and strangled + me, and if the handlers hadn't thrown red pepper down my nose, I never + would have let go of that Ottawa dog. I don't think the handlers treated + me quite right that time, but maybe they didn't know the Ottawa dog was + dead. I did. + </p> + <p> + I learned my fighting from my mother when I was very young. We slept in a + lumber-yard on the river-front, and by day hunted for food along the + wharves. When we got it, the other tramp-dogs would try to take it off us, + and then it was wonderful to see mother fly at them, and drive them away. + All I know of fighting I learned from mother, watching her picking the + ash-heaps for me when I was too little to fight for myself. No one ever + was so good to me as mother. When it snowed and the ice was in the St. + Lawrence she used to hunt alone, and bring me back new bones, and she'd + sit and laugh to see me trying to swallow 'em whole. I was just a puppy + then, my teeth was falling out. When I was able to fight we kept the whole + river-range to ourselves, I had the genuine long, “punishing” jaw, so + mother said, and there wasn't a man or a dog that dared worry us. Those + were happy days, those were; and we lived well, share and share alike, and + when we wanted a bit of fun, we chased the fat old wharf-rats. My! how + they would squeal! + </p> + <p> + Then the trouble came. It was no trouble to me. I was too young to care + then. But mother took it so to heart that she grew ailing, and wouldn't go + abroad with me by day. It was the same old scandal that they're always + bringing up against me. I was so young then that I didn't know. I couldn't + see any difference between mother—and other mothers. + </p> + <p> + But one day a pack of curs we drove off snarled back some new names at + her, and mother dropped her head and ran, just as though they had whipped + us. After that she wouldn't go out with me except in the dark, and one day + she went away and never came back, and though I hunted for her in every + court and alley and back street of Montreal, I never found her. + </p> + <p> + One night, a month after mother ran away, I asked Guardian, the old blind + mastiff, whose Master is the night-watchman on our slip, what it all + meant. And he told me. + </p> + <p> + “Every dog in Montreal knows,” he says, “except you, and every Master + knows. So I think it's time you knew.” + </p> + <p> + Then he tells me that my father, who had treated mother so bad, was a + great and noble gentleman from London. “Your father had twenty-two + registered ancestors, had your father,” old Guardian says, “and in him was + the best bull-terrier blood of England, the most ancientest, the most + royal; the winning 'blue-ribbon' blood, that breeds champions. He had + sleepy pink eyes, and thin pink lips, and he was as white all over as his + own white teeth, and under his white skin you could see his muscles, hard + and smooth, like the links of a steel chain. When your father stood still, + and tipped his nose in the air, it was just as though he was saying, 'Oh, + yes, you common dogs and men, you may well stare. It must be a rare treat + for you Colonials to see a real English royalty.' He certainly was pleased + with hisself, was your father. He looked just as proud and haughty as one + of them stone dogs in Victoria Park—them as is cut out of white + marble. And you're like him,” says the old mastiff—“by that, of + course, meaning you're white, same as him. That's the only likeness. But, + you see, the trouble is, Kid—well, you see, Kid, the trouble is—your + mother—” + </p> + <p> + “That will do,” I said, for I understood then without his telling me, and + I got up and walked away, holding my head and tail high in the air. + </p> + <p> + But I was, oh, so miserable, and I wanted to see mother that very minute, + and tell her that I didn't care. + </p> + <p> + Mother is what I am, a street-dog; there's no royal blood in mother's + veins, nor is she like that father of mine, nor—and that's the worst—she's + not even like me. For while I, when I'm washed for a fight, am as white as + clean snow, she—and this is our trouble, she—my mother, is a + black-and-tan. + </p> + <p> + When mother hid herself from me, I was twelve months old and able to take + care of myself, and, as after mother left me, the wharves were never the + same, I moved uptown and met the Master. Before he came, lots of other + men-folks had tried to make up to me, and to whistle me home. But they + either tried patting me or coaxing me with a piece of meat; so I didn't + take to 'em. But one day the Master pulled me out of a street-fight by the + hind-legs, and kicked me good. + </p> + <p> + “You want to fight, do you?” says he. “I'll give you all the FIGHTING you + want!” he says, and he kicks me again. So I knew he was my Master, and I + followed him home. Since that day I've pulled off many fights for him, and + they've brought dogs from all over the province to have a go at me, but up + to that night none, under thirty pounds, had ever downed me. + </p> + <p> + But that night, so soon as they carried me into the ring, I saw the dog + was over-weight, and that I was no match for him. It was asking too much + of a puppy. The Master should have known I couldn't do it. Not that I mean + to blame the Master, for when sober, which he sometimes was, though not, + as you might say, his habit, he was most kind to me, and let me out to + find food, if I could get it, and only kicked me when I didn't pick him up + at night and lead him home. + </p> + <p> + But kicks will stiffen the muscles, and starving a dog so as to get him + ugly-tempered for a fight may make him nasty, but it's weakening to his + insides, and it causes the legs to wabble. + </p> + <p> + The ring was in a hall, back of a public-house. There was a red-hot + whitewashed stove in one corner, and the ring in the other. I lay in the + Master's lap, wrapped in my blanket, and, spite of the stove, shivering + awful; but I always shiver before a fight; I can't help gettin' excited. + While the men-folks were a-flashing their money and taking their last + drink at the bar, a little Irish groom in gaiters came up to me and give + me the back of his hand to smell, and scratched me behind the ears. + </p> + <p> + “You poor little pup,” says he. “You haven't no show,” he says. “That + brute in the tap-room, he'll eat your heart out.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what you think,” says the Master, snarling. “I'll lay you a quid + the Kid chews him up.” + </p> + <p> + The groom, he shook his head, but kept looking at me so sorry-like, that I + begun to get a bit sad myself. He seemed like he couldn't bear to leave + off a-patting of me, and he says, speaking low just like he would to a + man-folk, “Well, good-luck to you, little pup,” which I thought so civil + of him, that I reached up and licked his hand. I don't do that to many + men. And the Master, he knew I didn't, and took on dreadful. + </p> + <p> + “What 'ave you got on the back of your hand?” says he, jumping up. + </p> + <p> + “Soap!” says the groom, quick as a rat. “That's more than you've got on + yours. Do you want to smell of it?” and he sticks his fist under the + Master's nose. But the pals pushed in between 'em. + </p> + <p> + “He tried to poison the Kid!” shouts the Master. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, one fight at a time,” says the referee. “Get into the ring, Jerry. + We're waiting.” So we went into the ring. + </p> + <p> + I never could just remember what did happen in that ring. He give me no + time to spring. He fell on me like a horse. I couldn't keep my feet + against him, and though, as I saw, he could get his hold when he liked, he + wanted to chew me over a bit first. I was wondering if they'd be able to + pry him off me, when, in the third round, he took his hold; and I began to + drown, just as I did when I fell into the river off the Red C slip. He + closed deeper and deeper, on my throat, and everything went black and red + and bursting; and then, when I were sure I were dead, the handlers pulled + him off, and the Master give me a kick that brought me to. But I couldn't + move none, or even wink, both eyes being shut with lumps. + </p> + <p> + “He's a cur!” yells the Master, “a sneaking, cowardly cur. He lost the + fight for me,” says he, “because he's a————-cowardly + cur.” And he kicks me again in the lower ribs, so that I go sliding across + the sawdust. “There's gratitude fer yer,” yells the Master. “I've fed that + dog, and nussed that dog, and housed him like a prince; and now he puts + his tail between his legs, and sells me out, he does. He's a coward; I've + done with him, I am. I'd sell him for a pipeful of tobacco.” He picked me + up by the tail, and swung me for the men-folks to see. “Does any gentleman + here want to buy a dog,” he says, “to make into sausage-meat?” he says. + “That's all he's good for.” + </p> + <p> + Then I heard the little Irish groom say, “I'll give you ten bob for the + dog.” + </p> + <p> + And another voice says, “Ah, don't you do it; the dog's same as dead—mebby + he is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Ten shillings!” says the Master, and his voice sobers a bit; “make it two + pounds, and he's yours.” + </p> + <p> + But the pals rushed in again. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you be a fool, Jerry,” they say. “You'll be sorry for this when + you're sober. The Kid's worth a fiver.” + </p> + <p> + One of my eyes was not so swelled up as the other, and as I hung by my + tail, I opened it, and saw one of the pals take the groom by the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to give 'im five pounds for that dog, mate,” he says; “that's + no ordinary dog. That dog's got good blood in him, that dog has. Why, his + father—that very dog's father—” + </p> + <p> + I thought he never would go on. He waited like he wanted to be sure the + groom was listening. + </p> + <p> + “That very dog's father,” says the pal, “is Regent Royal, son of Champion + Regent Monarch, champion bull-terrier of England for four years.” + </p> + <p> + I was sore, and torn, and chewed most awful, but what the pal said sounded + so fine that I wanted to wag my tail, only couldn't, owing to my hanging + from it. + </p> + <p> + But the Master calls out, “Yes, his father was Regent Royal; who's saying + he wasn't? but the pup's a cowardly cur, that's what his pup is, and why—I'll + tell you why—because his mother was a black-and-tan street-dog, + that's why!” + </p> + <p> + I don't see how I get the strength, but some way I threw myself out of the + Master's grip and fell at his feet, and turned over and fastened all my + teeth in his ankle, just across the bone. + </p> + <p> + When I woke, after the pals had kicked me off him, I was in the + smoking-car of a railroad-train, lying in the lap of the little groom, and + he was rubbing my open wounds with a greasy, yellow stuff, exquisite to + the smell, and most agreeable to lick off. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + “Well—what's your name—Nolan? Well, Nolan, these references + are satisfactory,” said the young gentleman. My new Master called “Mr. + Wyndham, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll take you on as second man. You can begin to-day.” + </p> + <p> + My new Master shuffled his feet, and put his finger to his forehead. + “Thank you, sir,” says he. Then he choked like he had swallowed a + fish-bone. “I have a little dawg, sir,” says he. + </p> + <p> + “You can't keep him,” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” very short. + </p> + <p> + “'Es only a puppy, sir,” says my new Master; “'e wouldn't go outside the + stables, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “It's not that,” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir;” “I have a large kennel of very + fine dogs; they're the best of their breed in America. I don't allow + strange dogs on the premises.” + </p> + <p> + The Master shakes his head, and motions me with his cap, and I crept out + from behind the door. “I'm sorry, sir,” says the Master. “Then I can't + take the place. I can't get along without the dog, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” looked at me that fierce that I guessed he was going + to whip me, so I turned over on my back and begged with my legs and tail. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you beat him!” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” very stern. + </p> + <p> + “No fear!” the Master says, getting very red. “The party I bought him off + taught him that. He never learnt that from me!” He picked me up in his + arms, and to show “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” how well I loved the Master, I bit + his chin and hands. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” turned over the letters the Master had given him. + “Well, these references certainly are very strong,” he says. “I guess I'll + let the dog stay this time. Only see you keep him away from the kennels—or + you'll both go.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir,” says the Master, grinning like a cat when she's safe + behind the area-railing. + </p> + <p> + “He's not a bad bull-terrier,” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” feeling my head. + “Not that I know much about the smooth-coated breeds. My dogs are St. + Bernards.” He stopped patting me and held up my nose. “What's the matter + with his ears?” he says. “They're chewed to pieces. Is this a fighting + dog?” he asks, quick and rough-like. + </p> + <p> + I could have laughed. If he hadn't been holding my nose, I certainly would + have had a good grin at him. Me, the best under thirty pounds in the + Province of Quebec, and him asking if I was a fighting dog! I ran to the + Master and hung down my head modest-like, waiting for him to tell my list + of battles, but the Master he coughs in his cap most painful. “Fightin' + dog, sir,” he cries. “Lor' bless you, sir, the Kid don't know the word. + 'Es just a puppy, sir, same as you see; a pet dog, so to speak. 'Es a + regular old lady's lap-dog, the Kid is.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you keep him away from my St. Bernards,” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” + “or they might make a mouthful of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, that they might,” says the Master. But when we gets outside he + slaps his knee and laughs inside hisself, and winks at me most sociable. + </p> + <p> + The Master's new home was in the country, in a province they called Long + Island. There was a high stone wall about his home with big iron gates to + it, same as Godfrey's brewery; and there was a house with five red roofs, + and the stables, where I lived, was cleaner than the aerated bakery-shop, + and then there was the kennels, but they was like nothing else in this + world that ever I see. For the first days I couldn't sleep of nights for + fear someone would catch me lying in such a cleaned-up place, and would + chase me out of it, and when I did fall to sleep I'd dream I was back in + the old Master's attic, shivering under the rusty stove, which never had + no coals in it, with the Master flat on his back on the cold floor with + his clothes on. And I'd wake up, scared and whimpering, and find myself on + the new Master's cot with his hand on the quilt beside me; and I'd see the + glow of the big stove, and hear the high-quality horses below-stairs + stamping in their straw-lined boxes, and I'd snoop the sweet smell of hay + and harness-soap, and go to sleep again. + </p> + <p> + The stables was my jail, so the Master said, but I don't ask no better + home than that jail. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Kid,” says he, sitting on the top of a bucket upside down, “you've + got to understand this. When I whistle it means you're not to go out of + this 'ere yard. These stables is your jail. And if you leave 'em I'll have + to leave 'em, too, and over the seas, in the County Mayo, an old mother + will 'ave to leave her bit of a cottage. For two pounds I must be sending + her every month, or she'll have naught to eat, nor no thatch over 'er + head; so, I can't lose my place, Kid, an' see you don't lose it for me. + You must keep away from the kennels,” says he; “they're not for the likes + of you. The kennels are for the quality. I wouldn't take a litter of them + woolly dogs for one wag of your tail, Kid, but for all that they are your + betters, same as the gentry up in the big house are my betters. I know my + place and keep away from the gentry, and you keep away from the + Champions.” + </p> + <p> + So I never goes out of the stables. All day I just lay in the sun on the + stone flags, licking my jaws, and watching the grooms wash down the + carriages, and the only care I had was to see they didn't get gay and turn + the hose on me. There wasn't even a single rat to plague me. Such stables + I never did see. + </p> + <p> + “Nolan,” says the head-groom, “some day that dog of yours will give you + the slip. You can't keep a street-dog tied up all his life. It's against + his natur'.” The head-groom is a nice old gentleman, but he doesn't know + everything. Just as though I'd been a street-dog because I liked it. As if + I'd rather poke for my vittles in ash-heaps than have 'em handed me in a + wash-basin, and would sooner bite and fight than be polite and sociable. + If I'd had mother there I couldn't have asked for nothing more. But I'd + think of her snooping in the gutters, or freezing of nights under the + bridges, or, what's worse of all, running through the hot streets with her + tongue down, so wild and crazy for a drink, that the people would shout + “mad dog” at her, and stone her. Water's so good, that I don't blame the + men-folks for locking it up inside their houses, but when the hot days + come, I think they might remember that those are the dog-days and leave a + little water outside in a trough, like they do for the horses. Then we + wouldn't go mad, and the policemen wouldn't shoot us. I had so much of + everything I wanted that it made me think a lot of the days when I hadn't + nothing, and if I could have given what I had to mother, as she used to + share with me, I'd have been the happiest dog in the land. Not that I + wasn't happy then, and most grateful to the Master, too, and if I'd only + minded him, the trouble wouldn't have come again. + </p> + <p> + But one day the coachman says that the little lady they called Miss + Dorothy had come back from school, and that same morning she runs over to + the stables to pat her ponies, and she sees me. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what a nice little, white little dog,” said she; “whose little dog + are you?” says she. + </p> + <p> + “That's my dog, miss,” says the Master. “'Is name is Kid,” and I ran up to + her most polite, and licks her fingers, for I never see so pretty and kind + a lady. + </p> + <p> + “You must come with me and call on my new puppies,” says she, picking me + up in her arms and starting off with me. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but please, Miss,” cries Nolan, “Mr. Wyndham give orders that the + Kid's not to go to the kennels.” + </p> + <p> + “That'll be all right,” says the little lady; “they're my kennels too. And + the puppies will like to play with him.” + </p> + <p> + You wouldn't believe me if I was to tell you of the style of them + quality-dogs. If I hadn't seen it myself I wouldn't have believed it + neither. The Viceroy of Canada don't live no better. There was forty of + them, but each one had his own house and a yard—most exclusive—and + a cot and a drinking-basin all to hisself. They had servants standing + 'round waiting to feed 'em when they was hungry, and valets to wash 'em; + and they had their hair combed and brushed like the grooms must when they + go out on the box. Even the puppies had overcoats with their names on 'em + in blue letters, and the name of each of those they called champions was + painted up fine over his front door just like it was a public-house or a + veterinary's. They were the biggest St. Bernards I ever did see. I could + have walked under them if they'd have let me. But they were very proud and + haughty dogs, and looked only once at me, and then sniffed in the air. The + little lady's own dog was an old gentleman bull-dog. He'd come along with + us, and when he notices how taken aback I was with all I see, 'e turned + quite kind and affable and showed me about. + </p> + <p> + “Jimmy Jocks,” Miss Dorothy called him, but, owing to his weight, he + walked most dignified and slow, waddling like a duck as you might say, and + looked much too proud and handsome for such a silly name. + </p> + <p> + “That's the runway, and that's the Trophy House,” says he to me, “and that + over there is the hospital, where you have to go if you get distemper, and + the vet. gives you beastly medicine.” + </p> + <p> + “And which of these is your 'ouse, sir?” asks I, wishing to be respectful. + But he looked that hurt and haughty. “I don't live in the kennels,” says + he, most contemptuous. “I am a house-dog. I sleep in Miss Dorothy's room. + And at lunch I'm let in with the family, if the visitors don't mind. They + most always do, but they're too polite to say so. Besides,” says he, + smiling most condescending, “visitors are always afraid of me. It's + because I'm so ugly,” says he. “I suppose,” says he, screwing up his + wrinkles and speaking very slow and impressive, “I suppose I'm the ugliest + bull-dog in America,” and as he seemed to be so pleased to think hisself + so, I said, “Yes, sir, you certainly are the ugliest ever I see,” at which + he nodded his head most approving. + </p> + <p> + “But I couldn't hurt 'em, as you say,” he goes on, though I hadn't said + nothing like that, being too polite. “I'm too old,” he says; “I haven't + any teeth. The last time one of those grizzly bears,” said he, glaring at + the big St. Bernards, “took a hold of me, he nearly was my death,” says + he. I thought his eyes would pop out of his head, he seemed so wrought up + about it. “He rolled me around in the dirt, he did,” says Jimmy Jocks, + “an' I couldn't get up. It was low,” says Jimmy Jocks, making a face like + he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Low, that's what I call it, bad form, + you understand, young man, not done in our circles—and—and + low.” He growled, way down in his stomach, and puffed hisself out, panting + and blowing like he had been on a run. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not a street-fighter,” he says, scowling at a St. Bernard marked + “Champion.” “And when my rheumatism is not troubling me,” he says, “I + endeavor to be civil to all dogs, so long as they are gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said I, for even to me he had been most affable. + </p> + <p> + At this we had come to a little house off by itself and Jimmy Jocks + invites me in. “This is their trophy-room,” he says, “where they keep + their prizes. Mine,” he says, rather grand-like, “are on the sideboard.” + Not knowing what a sideboard might be, I said, “Indeed, sir, that must be + very gratifying.” But he only wrinkled up his chops as much as to say, “It + is my right.” + </p> + <p> + The trophy-room was as wonderful as any public-house I ever see. On the + walls was pictures of nothing but beautiful St. Bernard dogs, and rows and + rows of blue and red and yellow ribbons; and when I asked Jimmy Jocks why + they was so many more of blue than of the others, he laughs and says, + “Because these kennels always win.” And there was many shining cups on the + shelves which Jimmy Jocks told me were prizes won by the champions. + </p> + <p> + “Now, sir, might I ask you, sir,” says I, “wot is a champion?” + </p> + <p> + At that he panted and breathed so hard I thought he would bust hisself. + “My dear young friend!” says he. “Wherever have you been educated? A + champion is a—a champion,” he says. “He must win nine blue ribbons + in the 'open' class. You follow me—that is—against all comers. + Then he has the title before his name, and they put his photograph in the + sporting papers. You know, of course, that <i>I</i> am a champion,” says + he. “I am Champion Woodstock Wizard III., and the two other Woodstock + Wizards, my father and uncle, were both champions.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought your name was Jimmy Jocks,” I said. + </p> + <p> + He laughs right out at that. + </p> + <p> + “That's my kennel name, not my registered name,” he says. “Why, you + certainly know that every dog has two names. Now, what's your registered + name and number, for instance?” says he. + </p> + <p> + “I've only got one name,” I says. “Just Kid.” + </p> + <p> + Woodstock Wizard puffs at that and wrinkles up his forehead and pops out + his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Who are your people?” says he. “Where is your home?” + </p> + <p> + “At the stable, sir,” I said. “My Master is the second groom.” + </p> + <p> + At that Woodstock Wizard III. looks at me for quite a bit without winking, + and stares all around the room over my head. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well,” says he at last, “you're a very civil young dog,” says he, + “and I blame no one for what he can't help,” which I thought most fair and + liberal. “And I have known many bullterriers that were champions,” says + he, “though as a rule they mostly run with fire-engines, and to fighting. + For me, I wouldn't care to run through the streets after a hose-cart, nor + to fight,” says he; “but each to his taste.” + </p> + <p> + I could not help thinking that if Woodstock Wizard III. tried to follow a + fire-engine he would die of apoplexy, and that, seeing he'd lost his + teeth, it was lucky he had no taste for fighting, but, after his being so + condescending, I didn't say nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Anyway,” says he, “every smooth-coated dog is better than any hairy old + camel like those St. Bernards, and if ever you're hungry down at the + stables, young man, come up to the house and I'll give you a bone. I can't + eat them myself, but I bury them around the garden from force of habit, + and in case a friend should drop in. Ah, I see my Mistress coming,” he + says, “and I bid you good-day. I regret,” he says, “that our different + social position prevents our meeting frequent, for you're a worthy young + dog with a proper respect for your betters, and in this country there's + precious few of them have that.” Then he waddles off, leaving me alone and + very sad, for he was the first dog in many days that had spoken to me. But + since he showed, seeing that I was a stable-dog, he didn't want my + company, I waited for him to get well away. It was not a cheerful place to + wait, the Trophy House. The pictures of the champions seemed to scowl at + me, and ask what right had such as I even to admire them, and the blue and + gold ribbons and the silver cups made me very miserable. I had never won + no blue ribbons or silver cups; only stakes for the old Master to spend in + the publics, and I hadn't won them for being a beautiful, high-quality + dog, but just for fighting—which, of course, as Woodstock Wizard + III. says, is low. So I started for the stables, with my head down and my + tail between my legs, feeling sorry I had ever left the Master. But I had + more reason to be sorry before I got back to him. + </p> + <p> + The Trophy House was quite a bit from the kennels, and as I left it I see + Miss Dorothy and Woodstock Wizard III. walking back toward them, and that + a fine, big St. Bernard, his name was Champion Red Elfberg, had broke his + chain, and was running their way. When he reaches old Jimmy Jocks he lets + out a roar like a grain-steamer in a fog, and he makes three leaps for + him. Old Jimmy Jocks was about a fourth his size; but he plants his feet + and curves his back, and his hair goes up around his neck like a collar. + But he never had no show at no time, for the grizzly bear, as Jimmy Jocks + had called him, lights on old Jimmy's back and tries to break it, and old + Jimmy Jocks snaps his gums and claws the grass, panting and groaning + awful. But he can't do nothing, and the grizzly bear just rolls him under + him, biting and tearing cruel. The odds was all that Woodstock Wizard III. + was going to be killed. I had fought enough to see that, but not knowing + the rules of the game among champions, I didn't like to interfere between + two gentlemen who might be settling a private affair, and, as it were, + take it as presuming of me. So I stood by, though I was shaking terrible, + and holding myself in like I was on a leash. But at that Woodstock Wizard + III., who was underneath, sees me through the dust, and calls very faint, + “Help, you!” he says. “Take him in the hind-leg,” he says. “He's murdering + me,” he says. And then the little Miss Dorothy, who was crying, and + calling to the kennel-men, catches at the Red Elfberg's hind-legs to pull + him off, and the brute, keeping his front pats well in Jimmy's stomach, + turns his big head and snaps at her. So that was all I asked for, thank + you. I went up under him. It was really nothing. He stood so high that I + had only to take off about three feet from him and come in from the side, + and my long, “punishing jaw” as mother was always talking about, locked on + his woolly throat, and my back teeth met. I couldn't shake him, but I + shook myself, and every time I shook myself there was thirty pounds of + weight tore at his windpipes. I couldn't see nothing for his long hair, + but I heard Jimmy Jocks puffing and blowing on one side, and munching the + brute's leg with his old gums. Jimmy was an old sport that day, was Jimmy, + or, Woodstock Wizard III., as I should say. When the Red Elfberg was out + and down I had to run, or those kennel-men would have had my life. They + chased me right into the stables; and from under the hay I watched the + head-groom take down a carriage-whip and order them to the right about. + Luckily Master and the young grooms were out, or that day there'd have + been fighting for everybody. + </p> + <p> + Well, it nearly did for me and the Master. “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” comes + raging to the stables and said I'd half-killed his best prize-winner, and + had oughter be shot, and he gives the Master his notice. But Miss Dorothy + she follows him, and says it was his Red Elfberg what began the fight, and + that I'd saved Jimmy's life, and that old Jimmy Jocks was worth more to + her than all the St. Bernards in the Swiss mountains—where-ever they + be. And that I was her champion, anyway. Then she cried over me most + beautiful, and over Jimmy Jocks, too, who was that tied up in bandages he + couldn't even waddle. So when he heard that side of it, “Mr. Wyndham, + sir,” told us that if Nolan put me on a chain, we could stay. So it came + out all right for everybody but me. I was glad the Master kept his place, + but I'd never worn a chain before, and it disheartened me—but that + was the least of it. For the quality-dogs couldn't forgive my whipping + their champion, and they came to the fence between the kennels and the + stables, and laughed through the bars, barking most cruel words at me. I + couldn't understand how they found it out, but they knew. After the fight + Jimmy Jocks was most condescending to me, and he said the grooms had + boasted to the kennel-men that I was a son of Regent Royal, and that when + the kennel-men asked who was my mother they had had to tell them that too. + Perhaps that was the way of it, but, however, the scandal was out, and + every one of the quality-dogs knew that I was a street-dog and the son of + a black-and-tan. + </p> + <p> + “These misalliances will occur,” said Jimmy Jocks, in his old-fashioned + way, “but no well-bred dog,” says he, looking most scornful at the St. + Bernards, who were howling behind the palings, “would refer to your + misfortune before you, certainly not cast it in your face. I, myself, + remember your father's father, when he made his debut at the Crystal + Palace. He took four blue ribbons and three specials.” + </p> + <p> + But no sooner than Jimmy would leave me, the St. Bernards would take to + howling again, insulting mother and insulting me. And when I tore at my + chain, they, seeing they were safe, would howl the more. It was never the + same after that; the laughs and the jeers cut into my heart, and the chain + bore heavy on my spirit. I was so sad that sometimes I wished I was back + in the gutter again, where no one was better than me, and some nights I + wished I was dead. If it hadn't been for the Master being so kind, and + that it would have looked like I was blaming mother, I would have twisted + my leash and hanged myself. + </p> + <p> + About a month after my fight, the word was passed through the kennels that + the New York Show was coming, and such goings on as followed I never did + see. If each of them had been matched to fight for a thousand pounds and + the gate, they couldn't have trained more conscientious. But, perhaps, + that's just my envy. The kennel-men rubbed 'em and scrubbed 'em and trims + their hair and curls and combs it, and some dogs they fatted, and some + they starved. No one talked of nothing but the Show, and the chances “our + kennels” had against the other kennels, and if this one of our champions + would win over that one, and whether them as hoped to be champions had + better show in the “open” or the “limit” class, and whether this dog would + beat his own dad, or whether his little puppy sister couldn't beat the two + of them. Even the grooms had their money up, and day or night you heard + nothing but praises of “our” dogs, until I, being so far out of it, + couldn't have felt meaner if I had been running the streets with a can to + my tail. I knew shows were not for such as me, and so I lay all day + stretched at the end of my chain, pretending I was asleep, and only too + glad that they had something so important to think of, that they could + leave me alone. + </p> + <p> + But one day before the Show opened, Miss Dorothy came to the stables with + “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” and seeing me chained up and so miserable, she takes + me in her arms. + </p> + <p> + “You poor little tyke,” says she. “It's cruel to tie him up so; he's + eating his heart out, Nolan,” she says. “I don't know nothing about + bull-terriers,” says she, “but I think Kid's got good points,” says she, + “and you ought to show him. Jimmy Jocks has three legs on the Rensselaer + Cup now, and I'm going to show him this time so that he can get the + fourth, and if you wish, I'll enter your dog too. How would you like that, + Kid?” says she. “How would you like to see the most beautiful dogs in the + world? Maybe, you'd meet a pal or two,” says she. “It would cheer you up, + wouldn't it, Kid?” says she. But I was so upset, I could only wag my tail + most violent. “He says it would!” says she, though, being that excited, I + hadn't said nothing. + </p> + <p> + So, “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” laughs and takes out a piece of blue paper, and + sits down at the head-groom's table. + </p> + <p> + “What's the name of the father of your dog, Nolan?” says he. And Nolan + says, “The man I got him off told me he was a son of Champion Regent + Royal, sir. But it don't seem likely, does it?” says Nolan. + </p> + <p> + “It does not!” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” short-like. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you sure, Nolan?” says Miss Dorothy. + </p> + <p> + “No, Miss,” says the Master. + </p> + <p> + “Sire unknown,” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” and writes it down. + </p> + <p> + “Date of birth?” asks “Mr. Wyndham, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I—unknown, sir,” says Nolan. And “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” writes + it down. + </p> + <p> + “Breeder?” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Unknown,” says Nolan, getting very red around the jaws, and I drops my + head and tail. And “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” writes that down. + </p> + <p> + “Mother's name?” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “She was a—unknown,” says the Master. And I licks his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Dam unknown,” says “Mr. Wyndham, sir,” and writes it down. Then he takes + the paper and reads out loud: “Sire unknown, dam unknown, breeder unknown, + date of birth unknown. You'd better call him the 'Great Unknown,'” says + he. “Who's paying his entrance-fee?” + </p> + <p> + “I am,” says Miss Dorothy. + </p> + <p> + Two weeks after we all got on a train for New York; Jimmy Jocks and me + following Nolan in the smoking-car, and twenty-two of the St. Bernards, in + boxes and crates, and on chains and leashes. Such a barking and howling I + never did hear, and when they sees me going, too, they laughs fit to kill. + </p> + <p> + “Wot is this; a circus?” says the railroad-man. + </p> + <p> + But I had no heart in it. I hated to go. I knew I was no “show” dog, even + though Miss Dorothy and the Master did their best to keep me from shaming + them. For before we set out Miss Dorothy brings a man from town who + scrubbed and rubbed me, and sand-papered my tail, which hurt most awful, + and shaved my ears with the Master's razor, so you could most see clear + through 'em, and sprinkles me over with pipe-clay, till I shines like a + Tommy's cross-belts. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word!” says Jimmy Jocks when he first sees me. “What a swell you + are! You're the image of your grand-dad when he made his debut at the + Crystal Palace. He took four firsts and three specials.” But I knew he was + only trying to throw heart into me. They might scrub, and they might rub, + and they might pipe-clay, but they couldn't pipe-clay the insides of me, + and they was black-and-tan. + </p> + <p> + Then we came to a Garden, which it was not, but the biggest hall in the + world. Inside there was lines of benches, a few miles long, and on them + sat every dog in the world. If all the dog-snatchers in Montreal had + worked night and day for a year, they couldn't have caught so many dogs. + And they was all shouting and barking and howling so vicious, that my + heart stopped beating. For at first I thought they was all enraged at my + presuming to intrude, but after I got in my place, they kept at it just + the same, barking at every dog as he come in; daring him to fight, and + ordering him out, and asking him what breed of dog he thought he was, + anyway. Jimmy Jocks was chained just behind me, and he said he never see + so fine a show. “That's a hot class you're in, my lad,” he says, looking + over into my street, where there were thirty bull-terriers. They was all + as white as cream, and each so beautiful that if I could have broke my + chain, I would have run all the way home and hid myself under the + horse-trough. + </p> + <p> + All night long they talked and sang, and passed greetings with old pals, + and the home-sick puppies howled dismal. Them that couldn't sleep wouldn't + let no others sleep, and all the electric lights burned in the roof, and + in my eyes. I could hear Jimmy Jocks snoring peaceful, but I could only + doze by jerks, and when I dozed I dreamed horrible. All the dogs in the + hall seemed coming at me for daring to intrude, with their jaws red and + open, and their eyes blazing like the lights in the roof. “You're a + street-dog! Get out, you street-dog!” they yells. And as they drives me + out, the pipe-clay drops off me, and they laugh and shriek; and when I + looks down I see that I have turned into a black-and-tan. + </p> + <p> + They was most awful dreams, and next morning, when Miss Dorothy comes and + gives me water in a pan, I begs and begs her to take me home, but she + can't understand. “How well Kid is!” she says. And when I jumps into the + Master's arms, and pulls to break my chain, he says, “If he knew all as he + had against him, Miss, he wouldn't be so gay.” And from a book they reads + out the names of the beautiful high-bred terriers which I have got to + meet. And I can't make 'em understand that I only want to run away, and + hide myself where no one will see me. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly men comes hurrying down our street and begins to brush the + beautiful bull-terriers, and Nolan rubs me with a towel so excited that + his hands trembles awful, and Miss Dorothy tweaks my ears between her + gloves, so that the blood runs to 'em, and they turn pink and stand up + straight and sharp. + </p> + <p> + “Now, then, Nolan,” says she, her voice shaking just like his fingers, + “keep his head up—and never let the Judge lose sight of him.” When I + hears that my legs breaks under me, for I knows all about judges. Twice, + the old Master goes up before the Judge for fighting me with other dogs, + and the Judge promises him if he ever does it again, he'll chain him up in + jail. I knew he'd find me out. A Judge can't be fooled by no pipe-clay. He + can see right through you, and he reads your insides. + </p> + <p> + The judging-ring, which is where the Judge holds out, was so like a + fighting-pit, that when I came in it, and find six other dogs there, I + springs into position, so that when they lets us go I can defend myself, + But the Master smoothes down my hair and whispers, “Hold 'ard, Kid, hold + 'ard. This ain't a fight,” says he. “Look your prettiest,” he whispers. + “Please, Kid, look your prettiest,” and he pulls my leash so tight that I + can't touch my pats to the sawdust, and my nose goes up in the air. There + was millions of people a-watching us from the railings, and three of our + kennel-men, too, making fun of Nolan and me, and Miss Dorothy with her + chin just reaching to the rail, and her eyes so big that I thought she was + a-going to cry. It was awful to think that when the Judge stood up and + exposed me, all those people, and Miss Dorothy, would be there to see me + driven from the show. + </p> + <p> + The Judge, he was a fierce-looking man with specs on his nose, and a red + beard. When I first come in he didn't see me owing to my being too quick + for him and dodging behind the Master. But when the Master drags me round + and I pulls at the sawdust to keep back, the Judge looks at us + careless-like, and then stops and glares through his specs, and I knew it + was all up with me. + </p> + <p> + “Are there any more?” asks the Judge, to the gentleman at the gate, but + never taking his specs from me. + </p> + <p> + The man at the gate looks in his book. “Seven in the novice-class,” says + he. “They're all here. You can go ahead,” and he shuts the gate. + </p> + <p> + The Judge, he doesn't hesitate a moment. He just waves his hand toward the + corner of the ring. “Take him away,” he says to the Master. “Over there + and keep him away,” and he turns and looks most solemn at the six + beautiful bull-terriers. I don't know how I crawled to that corner. I + wanted to scratch under the sawdust and dig myself a grave. The kennel-men + they slapped the rail with their hands and laughed at the Master like they + would fall over. They pointed at me in the corner, and their sides just + shaked. But little Miss Dorothy she presses her lips tight against the + rail, and I see tears rolling from her eyes. The Master, he hangs his head + like he had been whipped. I felt most sorry for him, than all. He was so + red, and he was letting on not to see the kennel-men, and blinking his + eyes. If the Judge had ordered me right out, it wouldn't have disgraced us + so, but it was keeping me there while he was judging the high-bred dogs + that hurt so hard. With all those people staring too. And his doing it so + quick, without no doubt nor questions. You can't fool the judges. They see + insides you. + </p> + <p> + But he couldn't make up his mind about them high-bred dogs. He scowls at + 'em, and he glares at 'em, first with his head on the one side and then on + the other. And he feels of 'em, and orders 'em to run about. And Nolan + leans against the rails, with his head hung down, and pats me. And Miss + Dorothy comes over beside him, but don't say nothing, only wipes her eye + with her finger. A man on the other side of the rail he says to the + Master, “The Judge don't like your dog?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” says the Master. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever shown him before?” says the man. + </p> + <p> + “No,” says the Master, “and I'll never show him again. He's my dog,” says + the Master, “an' he suits me! And I don't care what no judges think.” And + when he says them kind words, I licks his hand most grateful. + </p> + <p> + The Judge had two of the six dogs on a little platform in the middle of + the ring, and he had chased the four other dogs into the corners, where + they was licking their chops, and letting on they didn't care, same as + Nolan was. + </p> + <p> + The two dogs on the platform was so beautiful that the Judge hisself + couldn't tell which was the best of 'em, even when he stoops down and + holds their heads together. But at last he gives a sigh, and brushes the + sawdust off his knees and goes to the table in the ring, where there was a + man keeping score, and heaps and heaps of blue and gold and red and yellow + ribbons. And the Judge picks up a bunch of 'em and walks to the two + gentlemen who was holding the beautiful dogs, and he says to each “What's + his number?” and he hands each gentleman a ribbon. And then he turned + sharp, and comes straight at the Master. + </p> + <p> + “What's his number?” says the Judge. And Master was so scared that he + couldn't make no answer. + </p> + <p> + But Miss Dorothy claps her hands and cries out like she was laughing, + “Three twenty-six,” and the Judge writes it down, and shoves Master the + blue ribbon. + </p> + <p> + I bit the Master, and I jumps and bit Miss Dorothy, and I waggled so hard + that the Master couldn't hold me. When I get to the gate Miss Dorothy + snatches me up and kisses me between the ears, right before millions of + people, and they both hold me so tight that I didn't know which of them + was carrying of me. But one thing I knew, for I listened hard, as it was + the Judge hisself as said it. + </p> + <p> + “Did you see that puppy I gave 'first' to?” says the Judge to the + gentleman at the gate. + </p> + <p> + “I did. He was a bit out of his class,” says the gate-gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “He certainly was!” says the Judge, and they both laughed. + </p> + <p> + But I didn't care. They couldn't hurt me then, not with Nolan holding the + blue ribbon and Miss Dorothy hugging my ears, and the kennel-men sneaking + away, each looking like he'd been caught with his nose under the lid of + the slop-can. + </p> + <p> + We sat down together, and we all three just talked as fast as we could. + They was so pleased that I couldn't help feeling proud myself, and I + barked and jumped and leaped about so gay, that all the bull-terriers in + our street stretched on their chains, and howled at me. + </p> + <p> + “Just look at him!” says one of those I had beat. “What's he giving + hisself airs about?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he's got one blue ribbon!” says another of 'em. “Why, when I was + a puppy I used to eat 'em, and if that Judge could ever learn to know a + toy from a mastiff, I'd have had this one.” + </p> + <p> + But Jimmy Jocks he leaned over from his bench, and says, “Well done, Kid. + Didn't I tell you so!” What he 'ad told me was that I might get a + “commended,” but I didn't remind him. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't I tell you,” says Jimmy Jocks, “that I saw your grandfather make + his debut at the Crystal—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, you did, sir,” says I, for I have no love for the men of my + family. + </p> + <p> + A gentleman with a showing leash around his neck comes up just then and + looks at me very critical. “Nice dog you've got, Miss Wyndham,” says he; + “would you care to sell him?” + </p> + <p> + “He's not my dog,” says Miss Dorothy, holding me tight. “I wish he were.” + </p> + <p> + “He's not for sale, sir,” says the Master, and I was that glad. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he's yours, is he?” says the gentleman, looking hard at Nolan. “Well, + I'll give you a hundred dollars for him,” says he, careless-like. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir, he's not for sale,” says Nolan, but his eyes get very + big. The gentleman, he walked away, but I watches him, and he talks to a + man in a golf-cap, and by and by the man comes along our street, looking + at all the dogs, and stops in front of me. + </p> + <p> + “This your dog?” says he to Nolan. “Pity he's so leggy,” says he. “If he + had a good tail, and a longer stop, and his ears were set higher, he'd be + a good dog. As he is, I'll give you fifty dollars for him.” + </p> + <p> + But before the Master could speak, Miss Dorothy laughs, and says, “You're + Mr. Polk's kennel-man, I believe. Well, you tell Mr. Polk from me that the + dog's not for sale now any more than he was five minutes ago, and that + when he is, he'll have to bid against me for him.” The man looks foolish + at that, but he turns to Nolan quick-like. “I'll give you three hundred + for him,” he says. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed!” whispers Miss Dorothy, like she was talking to herself. + “That's it, is it,” and she turns and looks at me just as though she had + never seen me before. Nolan, he was a gaping, too, with his mouth open. + But he holds me tight. + </p> + <p> + “He's not for sale,” he growls, like he was frightened, and the man looks + black and walks away. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Nolan!” cries Miss Dorothy, “Mr. Polk knows more about bull-terriers + than any amateur in America. What can he mean? Why, Kid is no more than a + puppy! Three hundred dollars for a puppy!” + </p> + <p> + “And he ain't no thoroughbred neither!” cries the Master. “He's 'Unknown,' + ain't he? Kid can't help it, of course, but his mother, Miss—” + </p> + <p> + I dropped my head. I couldn't bear he should tell Miss Dorothy. I couldn't + bear she should know I had stolen my blue ribbon. + </p> + <p> + But the Master never told, for at that, a gentleman runs up, calling, + “Three Twenty-Six, Three Twenty-Six,” and Miss Dorothy says, “Here he is, + what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “The Winner's Class,” says the gentleman “Hurry, please. The Judge is + waiting for him.” + </p> + <p> + Nolan tries to get me off the chain onto a showing leash, but he shakes + so, he only chokes me. “What is it, Miss?” he says. “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “The Winner's Class,” says Miss Dorothy. “The Judge wants him with the + winners of the other classes—to decide which is the best. It's only + a form,” says she. “He has the champions against him now.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” says the gentleman, as he hurries us to the ring. “I'm afraid it's + only a form for your dog, but the Judge wants all the winners, puppy class + even.” + </p> + <p> + We had got to the gate, and the gentleman there was writing down my + number. + </p> + <p> + “Who won the open?” asks Miss Dorothy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, who would?” laughs the gentleman. “The old champion, of course. He's + won for three years now. There he is. Isn't he wonderful?” says he, and he + points to a dog that's standing proud and haughty on the platform in the + middle of the ring. + </p> + <p> + I never see so beautiful a dog, so fine and clean and noble, so white like + he had rolled hisself in flour, holding his nose up and his eyes shut, + same as though no one was worth looking at. Aside of him, we other dogs, + even though we had a blue ribbon apiece, seemed like lumps of mud. He was + a royal gentleman, a king, he was. His Master didn't have to hold his head + with no leash. He held it hisself, standing as still as an iron dog on a + lawn, like he knew all the people was looking at him. And so they was, and + no one around the ring pointed at no other dog but him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what a picture,” cried Miss Dorothy; “he's like a marble figure by a + great artist—one who loved dogs. Who is he?” says she, looking in + her book. “I don't keep up with terriers.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you know him,” says the gentleman. “He is the Champion of champions, + Regent Royal.” + </p> + <p> + The Master's face went red. + </p> + <p> + “And this is Regent Royal's son,” cries he, and he pulls me quick into the + ring, and plants me on the platform next my father. + </p> + <p> + I trembled so that I near fall. My legs twisted like a leash. But my + father he never looked at me. He only smiled, the same sleepy smile, and + he still keep his eyes half-shut, like as no one, no, not even his son, + was worth his lookin' at. + </p> + <p> + The Judge, he didn't let me stay beside my father, but, one by one, he + placed the other dogs next to him and measured and felt and pulled at + them. And each one he put down, but he never put my father down. And then + he comes over and picks up me and sets me back on the platform, shoulder + to shoulder with the Champion Regent Royal, and goes down on his knees, + and looks into our eyes. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman with my father, he laughs, and says to the Judge, “Thinking + of keeping us here all day. John?” but the Judge, he doesn't hear him, and + goes behind us and runs his hand down my side, and holds back my ears, and + takes my jaws between his fingers. The crowd around the ring is very deep + now, and nobody says nothing. The gentleman at the score-table, he is + leaning forward, with his elbows on his knees, and his eyes very wide, and + the gentleman at the gate is whispering quick to Miss Dorothy, who has + turned white. I stood as stiff as stone. I didn't even breathe. But out of + the corner of my eye I could see my father licking his pink chops, and + yawning just a little, like he was bored. + </p> + <p> + The Judge, he had stopped looking fierce, and was looking solemn. + Something inside him seemed a troubling him awful. The more he stares at + us now, the more solemn he gets, and when he touches us he does it gentle, + like he was patting us. For a long time he kneels in the sawdust, looking + at my father and at me, and no one around the ring says nothing to nobody. + </p> + <p> + Then the Judge takes a breath and touches me sudden. “It's his,” he says, + but he lays his hand just as quick on my father. “I'm sorry,” says he. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman holding my father cries: + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to tell me—” + </p> + <p> + And the Judge, he answers, “I mean the other is the better dog.” He takes + my father's head between his hands and looks down at him, most sorrowful. + “The King is dead,” says he, “long live the King. Good-by, Regent,” he + says. + </p> + <p> + The crowd around the railings clapped their hands, and some laughed + scornful, and everyone talks fast, and I start for the gate so dizzy that + I can't see my way. But my father pushes in front of me, walking very + daintily, and smiling sleepy, same as he had just been waked, with his + head high, and his eyes shut, looking at nobody. + </p> + <p> + So that is how I “came by my inheritance,” as Miss Dorothy calls it, and + just for that, though I couldn't feel where I was any different, the crowd + follows me to my bench, and pats me, and coos at me, like I was a baby in + a baby-carriage. And the handlers have to hold 'em back so that the + gentlemen from the papers can make pictures of me, and Nolan walks me up + and down so proud, and the men shakes their heads and says, “He certainly + is the true type, he is!” And the pretty ladies asks Miss Dorothy, who + sits beside me letting me lick her gloves to show the crowd what friends + we is, “Aren't you afraid he'll bite you?” and Jimmy Jocks calls to me, + “Didn't I tell you so! I always knew you were one of us. Blood will out, + Kid, blood will out. I saw your grandfather,” says he, “make his debut at + the Crystal Palace. But he was never the dog you are!” + </p> + <p> + After that, if I could have asked for it, there was nothing I couldn't + get. You might have thought I was a snow-dog, and they was afeerd I'd + melt. If I wet my pats, Nolan gave me a hot bath and chained me to the + stove; if I couldn't eat my food, being stuffed full by the cook, for I am + a house-dog now, and let in to lunch whether there is visitors or not, + Nolan would run to bring the vet. It was all tommy-rot, as Jimmy says, but + meant most kind. I couldn't scratch myself comfortable, without Nolan + giving me nasty drinks, and rubbing me outside till it burnt awful, and I + wasn't let to eat bones for fear of spoiling my “beautiful” mouth, what + mother used to call my “punishing jaw,” and my food was cooked special on + a gas-stove, and Miss Dorothy gives me an overcoat, cut very stylish like + the champions', to wear when we goes out carriage-driving. + </p> + <p> + After the next show, where I takes three blue ribbons, four silver cups, + two medals, and brings home forty-five dollars for Nolan, they gives me a + “Registered” name, same as Jimmy's. Miss Dorothy wanted to call me “Regent + Heir Apparent,” but I was THAT glad when Nolan says, “No, Kid don't owe + nothing to his father, only to you and hisself. So, if you please, Miss, + we'll call him Wyndham Kid.” And so they did, and you can see it on my + overcoat in blue letters, and painted top of my kennel. It was all too + hard to understand. For days I just sat and wondered if I was really me, + and how it all come about, and why everybody was so kind. But, oh, it was + so good they was, for if they hadn't been, I'd never have got the thing I + most wished after. But, because they was kind, and not liking to deny me + nothing, they gave it me, and it was more to me than anything in the + world. + </p> + <p> + It came about one day when we was out driving. We was in the cart they + calls the dog-cart, because it's the one Miss Dorothy keeps to take Jimmy + and me for an airing. Nolan was up behind, and me in my new overcoat was + sitting beside Miss Dorothy. I was admiring the view, and thinking how + good it was to have a horse pull you about so that you needn't get + yourself splashed and have to be washed, when I hears a dog calling loud + for help, and I pricks up my ears and looks over the horse's head. And I + sees something that makes me tremble down to my toes. In the road before + us three big dogs was chasing a little, old lady-dog. She had a string to + her tail, where some boys had tied a can, and she was dirty with mud and + ashes, and torn most awful. She was too far done up to get away, and too + old to help herself, but she was making a fight for her life, snapping her + old gums savage, and dying game. All this I see in a wink, and then the + three dogs pinned her down, and I can't stand it no longer and clears the + wheel and lands in the road on my head. It was my stylish overcoat done + that, and I curse it proper, but I gets my pats again quick, and makes a + rush for the fighting. Behind me I hear Miss Dorothy cry, “They'll kill + that old dog. Wait, take my whip. Beat them off her! The Kid can take care + of himself,” and I hear Nolan fall into the road, and the horse come to a + stop. The old lady-dog was down, and the three was eating her vicious, but + as I come up, scattering the pebbles, she hears, and thinking it's one + more of them, she lifts her head and my heart breaks open like someone had + sunk his teeth in it. For, under the ashes and the dirt and the blood, I + can see who it is, and I know that my mother has come back to me. + </p> + <p> + I gives a yell that throws them three dogs off their legs. + </p> + <p> + “Mother!” I cries. “I'm the Kid,” I cries. “I'm coming to you, mother, I'm + coming.” + </p> + <p> + And I shoots over her, at the throat of the big dog, and the other two, + they sinks their teeth into that stylish overcoat, and tears it off me, + and that sets me free, and I lets them have it. I never had so fine a + fight as that! What with mother being there to see, and not having been + let to mix up in no fights since I become a prize-winner, it just + naturally did me good, and it wasn't three shakes before I had 'em + yelping. Quick as a wink, mother, she jumps in to help me, and I just + laughed to see her. It was so like old times. And Nolan, he made me laugh + too. He was like a hen on a bank, shaking the butt of his whip, but not + daring to cut in for fear of hitting me. + </p> + <p> + “Stop it, Kid,” he says, “stop it. Do you want to be all torn up?” says + he. “Think of the Boston show next week,” says he, “Think of Chicago. + Think of Danbury. Don't you never want to be a champion?” How was I to + think of all them places when I had three dogs to cut up at the same time. + But in a minute two of 'em begs for mercy, and mother and me lets 'em run + away. The big one, he ain't able to run away. Then mother and me, we + dances and jumps, and barks and laughs, and bites each other and rolls + each other in the road. There never was two dogs so happy as we, and + Nolan, he whistles and calls and begs me to come to him, but I just laugh + and play larks with mother. + </p> + <p> + “Now, you come with me,” says I, “to my new home, and never try to run + away again.” And I shows her our house with the five red roofs, set on the + top of the hill. But mother trembles awful, and says: “They'd never let + the likes of me in such a place. Does the Viceroy live there, Kid?” says + she. And I laugh at her. “No, I do,” I says; “and if they won't let you + live there, too, you and me will go back to the streets together, for we + must never be parted no more.” So we trots up the hill, side by side, with + Nolan trying to catch me, and Miss Dorothy laughing at him from the cart. + </p> + <p> + “The Kid's made friends with the poor old dog,” says she. “Maybe he knew + her long ago when he ran the streets himself. Put her in here beside me, + and see if he doesn't follow.” + </p> + <p> + So, when I hears that, I tells mother to go with Nolan and sit in the + cart, but she says no, that she'd soil the pretty lady's frock; but I + tells her to do as I say, and so Nolan lifts her, trembling still, into + the cart, and I runs alongside, barking joyful. + </p> + <p> + When we drives into the stables I takes mother to my kennel, and tells her + to go inside it and make herself at home. “Oh, but he won't let me!” says + she. + </p> + <p> + “Who won't let you?” says I, keeping my eye on Nolan, and growling a bit + nasty, just to show I was meaning to have my way. “Why, Wyndham Kid,” says + she, looking up at the name on my kennel. + </p> + <p> + “But I'm Wyndham Kid!” says I. + </p> + <p> + “You!” cries mother. “You! Is my little Kid the great Wyndham Kid the dogs + all talk about?” And at that, she, being very old, and sick, and hungry, + and nervous, as mothers are, just drops down in the straw and weeps + bitter. + </p> + <p> + Well, there ain't much more than that to tell. Miss Dorothy, she settled + it. + </p> + <p> + “If the Kid wants the poor old thing in the stables,” says she, “let her + stay.” + </p> + <p> + “You see,” says she, “she's a black-and-tan, and his mother was a + black-and-tan, and maybe that's what makes Kid feel so friendly toward + her,” says she. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, for me,” says Nolan, “she can have the best there is. I'd never + drive out no dog that asks for a crust nor a shelter,” he says. “But what + will Mr. Wyndham do?” + </p> + <p> + “He'll do what I say,” says Miss Dorothy, “and if I say she's to stay, she + will stay, and I say—she's to stay!” + </p> + <p> + And so mother and Nolan, and me, found a home. Mother was scared at first—not + being used to kind people—but she was so gentle and loving, that the + grooms got fonder of her than of me, and tried to make me jealous by + patting of her, and giving her the pick of the vittles. But that was the + wrong way to hurt my feelings. That's all, I think. Mother is so happy + here that I tell her we ought to call it the Happy Hunting Grounds, + because no one hunts you, and there is nothing to hunt; it just all comes + to you. And so we live in peace, mother sleeping all day in the sun, or + behind the stove in the head-groom's office, being fed twice a day regular + by Nolan, and all the day by the other grooms most irregular, And, as for + me, I go hurrying around the country to the bench-shows; winning money and + cups for Nolan, and taking the blue ribbons away from father. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A DERELICT + </h2> + <p> + When the war-ships of a navy lie cleared for action outside a harbor, and + the war-ships of the country with which they are at war lie cleared for + action inside the harbor, there is likely to be trouble. Trouble between + war-ships is news, and wherever there is news there is always a + representative of the Consolidated Press. + </p> + <p> + As long as Sampson blockaded Havana and the army beat time back of the + Tampa Bay Hotel, the central office for news was at Key West, but when + Cervera slipped into Santiago Harbor and Sampson stationed his + battle-ships at its mouth, Key West lost her only excuse for existence, + and the press-boats burled their bows in the waters of the Florida Straits + and raced for the cable-station at Port Antonio. It was then that Keating, + the “star” man of the Consolidated Press Syndicate, was forced to abandon + his young bride and the rooms he had engaged for her at the Key West + Hotel, and accompany his tug to the distant island of Jamaica. + </p> + <p> + Keating was a good and faithful servant to the Consolidated Press. He was + a correspondent after its own making, an industrious collector of facts. + The Consolidated Press did not ask him to comment on what it sent him to + see; it did not require nor desire his editorial opinions or impressions. + It was no part of his work to go into the motives which led to the event + of news interest which he was sent to report, nor to point out what there + was of it which was dramatic, pathetic, or outrageous. + </p> + <p> + The Consolidated Press, being a mighty corporation, which daily fed seven + hundred different newspapers, could not hope to please the policy of each, + so it compromised by giving the facts of the day fairly set down, without + heat, prejudice, or enthusiasm. This was an excellent arrangement for the + papers that subscribed for the service of the Consolidated Press, but it + was death to the literary strivings of the Consolidated Press + correspondents. + </p> + <p> + “We do not want descriptive writing,” was the warning which the manager of + the great syndicate was always flashing to its correspondents. “We do not + pay you to send us pen-pictures or prose poems. We want the facts, all the + facts, and nothing but the facts.” + </p> + <p> + And so, when at a presidential convention a theatrical speaker sat down + after calling James G. Blaine “a plumed knight,” each of the “special” + correspondents present wrote two columns in an effort to describe how the + people who heard the speech behaved in consequence, but the Consolidated + Press man telegraphed, “At the conclusion of these remarks the cheering + lasted sixteen minutes.” + </p> + <p> + No event of news value was too insignificant to escape the watchfulness of + the Consolidated Press, none so great that it could not handle it from its + inception up to the moment when it ceased to be quoted in the news-market + of the world. Each night, from thousands of spots all over the surface of + the globe, it received thousands of facts, of cold, accomplished facts. It + knew that a tidal wave had swept through China, a cabinet had changed in + Chili, in Texas an express train had been held up and robbed, “Spike” + Kennedy had defeated the “Dutchman” in New Orleans, the Oregon had coaled + outside of Rio Janeiro Harbor, the Cape Verde fleet had been seen at + anchor off Cadiz; it had been located in the harbor of San Juan, Porto + Rico; it had been sighted steaming slowly past Fortress Monroe; and the + Navy Department reported that the St. Paul had discovered the lost + squadron of Spain in the harbor of Santiago. This last fact was the one + which sent Keating to Jamaica. Where he was sent was a matter of + indifference to Keating. He had worn the collar of the Consolidated Press + for so long a time that he was callous. A board meeting—a mine + disaster—an Indian uprising—it was all one to Keating. He + collected facts and his salary. He had no enthusiasms, he held no + illusions. The prestige of the mammoth syndicate he represented gained him + an audience where men who wrote for one paper only were repulsed on the + threshold. Senators, governors, the presidents of great trusts and + railroad systems, who fled from the reporter of a local paper as from a + leper, would send for Keating and dictate to him whatever it was they + wanted the people of the United States to believe, for when they talked to + Keating they talked to many millions of readers. Keating, in turn, wrote + out what they had said to him and transmitted it, without color or bias, + to the clearinghouse of the Consolidated Press. His “stories,” as all + newspaper writings are called by men who write them, were as picturesque + reading as the quotations of a stock-ticker. The personal equation + appeared no more offensively than it does in a page of typewriting in his + work. + </p> + <p> + Consequently, he was dear to the heart of the Consolidated Press, and, as + a “safe” man, was sent to the beautiful harbor of Santiago—to a spot + where there were war-ships cleared for action, Cubans in ambush, naked + marines fighting for a foothold at Guantanamo, palm-trees and coral-reefs—in + order that he might look for “facts.” + </p> + <p> + There was not a newspaper man left at Key West who did not writhe with + envy and anger when he heard of it. When the wire was closed for the + night, and they had gathered at Josh Kerry's, Keating was the storm-centre + of their indignation. + </p> + <p> + “What a chance!” they protested. “What a story! It's the chance of a + lifetime.” They shook their heads mournfully and lashed themselves with + pictures of its possibilities. + </p> + <p> + “And just fancy its being wasted on old Keating,” said the Journal man. + “Why, everything's likely to happen out there, and whatever does happen, + he'll make it read like a Congressional Record. Why, when I heard of it I + cabled the office that if the paper would send me I'd not ask for any + salary for six months.” + </p> + <p> + “And Keating's kicking because he has to go,” growled the Sun man. “Yes, + he is, I saw him last night, and he was sore because he'd just moved his + wife down here. He said if he'd known this was coming he'd have let her + stay in New York. He says he'll lose money on this assignment, having to + support himself and his wife in two different places.” + </p> + <p> + Norris, “the star man” of the World, howled with indignation. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” he said, “is that all he sees in it? Why, there never was + such a chance. I tell you, some day soon all of those war-ships will let + loose at each other and there will be the best story that ever came over + the wire, and if there isn't, it's a regular loaf anyway. It's a picnic, + that's what it is, at the expense of the Consolidated Press. Why, he ought + to pay them to let him go. Can't you see him, confound him, sitting under + a palm-tree in white flannels, with a glass of Jamaica rum in his fist, + while we're dodging yellow fever on this coral-reef, and losing our + salaries on a crooked roulette-wheel.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what Jamaica rum is like as a steady drink,” mused the + ex-baseball reporter, who had been converted into a war-correspondent by + the purchase of a white yachting-cap. + </p> + <p> + “It won't be long before Keating finds out,” said the Journal man. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I didn't know that,” ventured the new reporter, who had just come + South from Boston. “I thought he didn't drink. I never see Keating in here + with the rest of the boys.” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't,” said Norris. “He only comes in here by himself, and he + drinks by himself. He's one of those confidential drunkards, You give some + men whiskey, and it's like throwing kerosene on a fire, isn't it? It makes + them wave their arms about and talk loud and break things, but you give it + to another man and it's like throwing kerosene on a cork mat. It just + soaks in. That's what Keating is. He's a sort of a cork mat.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't think the C. P. would stand for that,” said the Boston man. + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't, if it ever interfered with his work, but he's never fallen + down on a story yet. And the sort of stuff he writes is machine-made; a + man can write C. P. stuff in his sleep.” + </p> + <p> + One of the World men looked up and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if he'll run across Channing out there,” he said. The men at the + table smiled, a kindly, indulgent smile. The name seemed to act upon their + indignation as a shower upon the close air of a summer-day. “That's so,” + said Norris. “He wrote me last month from Port-au-Prince that he was + moving on to Jamaica. He wrote me from that club there at the end of the + wharf. He said he was at that moment introducing the President to a new + cocktail, and as he had no money to pay his passage to Kingston he was + trying to persuade him to send him on there as his Haitian Consul. He said + in case he couldn't get appointed Consul, he had an offer to go as cook on + a fruit-tramp.” + </p> + <p> + The men around the table laughed. It was the pleased, proud laugh that + flutters the family dinner-table when the infant son and heir says + something precocious and impudent. + </p> + <p> + “Who is Channing?” asked the Boston man. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, and the correspondents looked at Norris. + </p> + <p> + “Channing is a sort of a derelict,” he said. “He drifted into New York + last Christmas from the Omaha Bee. He's been on pretty nearly every paper + in the country.” + </p> + <p> + “What's he doing in Haiti?” + </p> + <p> + “He went there on the Admiral Decatur to write a filibustering story about + carrying arms across to Cuba. Then the war broke out and he's been trying + to get back to Key West, and now, of course, he'll make for Kingston. He + cabled me yesterday, at my expense, to try and get him a job on our paper. + If the war hadn't come on he had a plan to beat his way around the world. + And he'd have done it, too. I never saw a man who wouldn't help Charlie + along, or lend him a dollar.” He glanced at the faces about him and winked + at the Boston man. “They all of them look guilty, don't they?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Charlie Channing,” murmured the baseball reporter, gently, as though he + were pronouncing the name of a girl. He raised his glass. “Here's to + Charlie Channing,” he repeated. Norris set down his empty glass and showed + it to the Boston man. + </p> + <p> + “That's his only enemy,” he said. “Write! Heavens, how that man can write, + and he'd almost rather do anything else. There isn't a paper in New York + that wasn't glad to get him, but they couldn't keep him a week. It was no + use talking to him. Talk! I've talked to him until three o'clock in the + morning. Why, it was I made him send his first Chinatown story to the + International Magazine, and they took it like a flash and wrote him for + more, but he blew in the check they sent him and didn't even answer their + letter. He said after he'd had the fun of writing a story, he didn't care + whether it was published in a Sunday paper or in white vellum, or never + published at all. And so long as he knew he wrote it, he didn't care + whether anyone else knew it or not. Why, when that English reviewer—what's + his name—that friend of Kipling's—passed through New York, he + said to a lot of us at the Press Club, 'You've got a young man here on + Park Row—an opium-eater, I should say, by the look of him, who if he + would work and leave whiskey alone, would make us all sweat.' That's just + what he said, and he's the best in England!” + </p> + <p> + “Charlie's a genius,” growled the baseball reporter, defiantly. “I say, + he's a genius.” + </p> + <p> + The Boston man shook his head. “My boy,” he began, sententiously, “genius + is nothing more than hard work, and a man—” + </p> + <p> + Norris slapped the table with his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, it's not,” he jeered, fiercely, “and don't you go off believing + it is, neither. I've worked. I've worked twelve hours a day. Keating even + has worked eighteen hours a day—all his life—but we never + wrote 'The Passing of the Highbinders,' nor the 'Ships that Never Came + Home,' nor 'Tales of the Tenderloin,' and we never will. I'm a better + news-gatherer than Charlie, I can collect facts and I can put them + together well enough, too, so that if a man starts to read my story he'll + probably follow it to the bottom of the column, and he may turn over the + page, too. But I can't say the things, because I can't see the things that + Charlie sees. Why, one night we sent him out on a big railroad-story. It + was a beat, we'd got it by accident, and we had it all to ourselves, but + Charlie came across a blind beggar on Broadway with a dead dog. The dog + had been run over, and the blind beggar couldn't find his way home without + him, and was sitting on the curb-stone, weeping over the mongrel. Well, + when Charlie came back to the office he said he couldn't find out anything + about that railroad deal, but that he'd write them a dog-story. Of course, + they were raging crazy, but he sat down just as though it was no concern + of his, and, sure enough, he wrote the dog-story. And the next day over + five hundred people stopped in at the office on their way downtown and + left dimes and dollars to buy that man a new dog. Now, hard work won't do + that.” + </p> + <p> + Keating had been taking breakfast in the ward-room of H. M. S. + Indefatigable. As an acquaintance the officers had not found him an + undoubted acquisition, but he was the representative of seven hundred + papers, and when the Indefatigable's ice-machine broke, he had loaned the + officers' mess a hundred pounds of it from his own boat. + </p> + <p> + The cruiser's gig carried Keating to the wharf, the crew tossed their oars + and the boatswain touched his cap and asked, mechanically, “Shall I return + to the ship, sir?” + </p> + <p> + Channing, stretched on the beach, with his back to a palm-tree, observed + the approach of Keating with cheerful approbation. + </p> + <p> + “It is gratifying to me,” he said, “to see the press treated with such + consideration. You came in just like Cleopatra in her barge. If the flag + had been flying, and you hadn't steered so badly, I should have thought + you were at least an admiral. How many guns does the British Navy give a + Consolidated Press reporter when he comes over the side?” + </p> + <p> + Keating dropped to the sand and, crossing his legs under him, began + tossing shells at the water. + </p> + <p> + “They gave this one a damned good breakfast,” he said, “and some very + excellent white wine. Of course, the ice-machine was broken, it always is, + but then Chablis never should be iced, if it's the real thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Chablis! Ice! Hah!” snorted Channing. “Listen to him! Do you know what I + had for breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + Keating turned away uncomfortably and looked toward the ships in the + harbor. + </p> + <p> + “Well, never mind,” said Channing, yawning luxuriously. “The sun is + bright, the sea is blue, and the confidences of this old palm are + soothing. He's a great old gossip, this palm.” He looked up into the + rustling fronds and smiled. “He whispers me to sleep,” he went on, “or he + talks me awake—talks about all sorts of things—things he has + seen—cyclones, wrecks, and strange ships and Cuban refugees and + Spanish spies and lovers that meet here on moonlight nights. It's always + moonlight in Port Antonio, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to know, you've been here longer than I,” said Keating. + </p> + <p> + “And how do you like it, now that you have got to know it better? Pretty + heavenly? eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty heavenly!” snorted Keating. “Pretty much the other place! What + good am I doing? What's the sense of keeping me here? Cervera isn't going + to come out, and the people at Washington won't let Sampson go in. Why, + those ships have been there a month now, and they'll be there just where + they are now when you and I are bald. I'm no use here. All I do is to + thrash across there every day and eat up more coal than the whole squadron + burns in a month. Why, that tug of mine's costing the C. P. six hundred + dollars a day, and I'm not sending them news enough to pay for setting it + up. Have you seen 'em yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Seen what? Your stories?” + </p> + <p> + “No, the ships!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Scudder took me across once in the Iduna. I haven't got a paper yet, + so I couldn't write anything, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you've seen all there is to it, then; you wouldn't see any more if + you went over every day. It's just the same old harbor-mouth, and the same + old Morro Castle, and same old ships, drifting up and down; the Brooklyn, + full of smoke-stacks, and the New York, with her two bridges, and all the + rest of them looking just as they've looked for the last four weeks. + There's nothing in that. Why don't they send me to Tampa with the army and + Shafter—that's where the story is.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” said Channing, shaking his head. “I thought it was + bully!” + </p> + <p> + “Bully, what was bully?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the picture,” said Channing, doubtfully, “and—and what it + meant. What struck me about it was that it was so hot, and lazy, and + peaceful, that they seemed to be just drifting about, just what you + complain of. I don't know what I expected to see; I think I expected + they'd be racing around in circles, tearing up the water and throwing + broadsides at Morro Castle as fast as fire-crackers. + </p> + <p> + “But they lay broiling there in the heat just as though they were + becalmed. They seemed to be asleep on their anchor-chains. It reminded me + of a big bull-dog lying in the sun with his head on his paws and his eyes + shut. You think he's asleep, and you try to tiptoe past him, but when + you're in reach of his chain—he's at your throat, what? It seemed so + funny to think of our being really at war. I mean the United States, and + with such an old-established firm as Spain. It seems so presumptuous in a + young republic, as though we were strutting around, singing, 'I'm getting + a big boy now.' I felt like saying, 'Oh, come off, and stop playing you're + a world power, and get back into your red sash and knickerbockers, or + you'll get spanked!' It seems as though we must be such a lot of amateurs. + But when I went over the side of the New York I felt like kneeling down on + her deck and begging every jackey to kick me. I felt about as useless as a + fly on a locomotive-engine. Amateurs! Why, they might have been in the + business since the days of the ark; all of them might have been descended + from bloody pirates; they twisted those eight-inch guns around for us just + as though they were bicycles, and the whole ship moved and breathed and + thought, too, like a human being, and all the captains of the other + war-ships about her were watching for her to give the word. All of them + stripped and eager and ready—like a lot of jockeys holding in the + big race-horses, and each of them with his eyes on the starter. And I + liked the way they all talk about Sampson, and the way the ships move over + the stations like parts of one machine, just as he had told them to do. + </p> + <p> + “Scudder introduced me to him, and he listened while we did the talking, + but it was easy to see who was the man in the Conning Tower. Keating—my + boy!” Channing cried, sitting upright in his enthusiasm, “he's put a + combination-lock on that harbor that can't be picked—and it'll work + whether Sampson's asleep in his berth, or fifteen miles away, or killed on + the bridge. He doesn't have to worry, he knows his trap will work—he + ought to, he set it.” + </p> + <p> + Keating shrugged his shoulders, tolerantly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I see that side of it,” he assented. “I see all there is in it for + YOU, the sort of stuff you write, Sunday-special stuff, but there's no + NEWS in it. I'm not paid to write mail-letters, and I'm not down here to + interview palm-trees either.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you old fraud!” laughed Channing. “You know you're having the time + of your life here. You're the pet of Kingston society—you know you + are. I only wish I were half as popular. I don't seem to belong, do I? I + guess it's my clothes. That English Colonel at Kingston always scowls at + me as though he'd like to put me in irons, and whenever I meet our Consul + he sees something very peculiar on the horizon-line.” + </p> + <p> + Keating frowned for a moment in silence, and then coughed, consciously. + </p> + <p> + “Channing,” he began, uncomfortably, “you ought to brace up.” + </p> + <p> + “Brace up?” asked Channing. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it isn't fair to the rest of us,” protested Keating, launching into + his grievance. “There's only a few of us here, and we—we think you + ought to see that and not give the crowd a bad name. All the other + correspondents have some regard for—for their position and for the + paper, but you loaf around here looking like an old tramp—like any + old beach-comber, and it queers the rest of us. Why, those English + artillerymen at the Club asked me about you, and when I told them you were + a New York correspondent they made all sorts of jokes about American + newspapers, and what could I say?” + </p> + <p> + Channing eyed the other man with keen delight. + </p> + <p> + “I see, by Jove! I'm sorry,” he said. But the next moment he laughed, and + then apologized, remorsefully. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I beg your pardon,” he begged, “but it struck me as a sort of—I + had no idea you fellows were such swells—I knew I was a social + outcast, but I didn't know my being a social outcast was hurting anyone + else. Tell me some more.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's all,” said Keating, suspiciously. “The fellows asked me to + speak to you about it and to tell you to take a brace. Now, for instance, + we have a sort of mess-table at the hotels and we'd like to ask you to + belong, but—well—you see how it is—we have the officers + to lunch whenever they're on shore, and you're so disreputable”—Keating + scowled at Channing, and concluded, impotently, “Why don't you get + yourself some decent clothes and—and a new hat?” + </p> + <p> + Channing removed his hat to his knee and stroked it with affectionate + pity. + </p> + <p> + “It is a shocking bad hat,” he said. “Well, go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's none of my business,” exclaimed Keating, impatiently. “I'm just + telling you what they're saying. Now, there's the Cuban refugees, for + instance. No one knows what they're doing here, or whether they're real + Cubans or Spaniards.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, the way you go round with them and visit them, it's no wonder they + say you're a spy.” + </p> + <p> + Channing stared incredulously, and then threw back his head and laughed + with a shout of delight. + </p> + <p> + “They don't, do they?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they do, since you think it's so funny. If it hadn't been for us the + day you went over to Guantanamo the marines would have had you arrested + and court-martialed.” + </p> + <p> + Channing's face clouded with a quick frown, “Oh,” he exclaimed, in a hurt + voice, “they couldn't have thought that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no,” Keating admitted grudgingly, “not after the fight, perhaps, + but before that, when you were snooping around the camp like a Cuban after + rations.” Channing recognized the picture with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I do,” he said, “I do. But you should have had me court-martialed and + shot; it would have made a good story. 'Our reporter shot as a spy, his + last words were—' what were my last words, Keating?” + </p> + <p> + Keating turned upon him with impatience, “But why do you do it?” he + demanded. “Why don't you act like the rest of us? Why do you hang out with + all those filibusters and runaway Cubans?” + </p> + <p> + “They have been very kind to me,” said Channing, soberly. “They are a very + courteous race, and they have ideas of hospitality which make the average + New Yorker look like a dog hiding a bone.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I suppose you mean that for us,” demanded Keating. “That's a slap at + me, eh?” + </p> + <p> + Channing gave a sigh and threw himself back against the trunk of the palm, + with his hands clasped behind his head. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I wasn't thinking of you at all, Keating,” he said. “I don't consider + you in the least.” He stretched himself and yawned wearily. “I've got + troubles of my own.” He sat up suddenly and adjusted the objectionable hat + to his head. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you wire the C. P.,” he asked, briskly, “and see if they don't + want an extra man? It won't cost you anything to wire, and I need the job, + and I haven't the money to cable.” + </p> + <p> + “The Consolidated Press,” began Keating, jealously. “Why—well, you + know what the Consolidated Press is? They don't want descriptive writers—and + I've got all the men I need.” + </p> + <p> + Keating rose and stood hesitating in some embarrassment. “I'll tell you + what I could do, Channing,” he said, “I could take you on as a stoker, or + steward, say. They're always deserting and mutinying; I have to carry a + gun on me to make them mind. How would you like that? Forty dollars a + month, and eat with the crew?” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Channing stood in silence, smoothing the sand with the sole + of his shoe. When he raised his head his face was flushing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank you,” he said. “I think I'll keep on trying for a paper—I'll + try a little longer. I want to see something of this war, of course, and + if I'm not too lazy I'd like to write something about it, but—well—I'm + much obliged to you, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, if it were my money, I'd take you on at once,” said Keating, + hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + Channing smiled and nodded. “You're very kind,” he answered. “Well, + good-by.” + </p> + <p> + A half-hour later, in the smoking-room of the hotel, Keating addressed + himself to a group of correspondents. + </p> + <p> + “There is no doing anything with that man Channing,” he said, in a tone of + offended pride. “I offered him a good job and he wouldn't take it. Because + he got a story in the International Magazine, he's stuck on himself, and + he won't hustle for news—he wants to write pipe-dreams. What the + public wants just now is news.” + </p> + <p> + “That's it,” said one of the group, “and we must give it to them—even + if we have to fake it.” + </p> + <p> + Great events followed each other with great rapidity. The army ceased + beating time, shook itself together, adjusted its armor and moved, and, to + the delight of the flotilla of press-boats at Port Antonio, moved, not as + it had at first intended, to the north coast of Cuba, but to Santiago, + where its transports were within reach of their megaphones. + </p> + <p> + “Why, everything's coming our way now!” exclaimed the World manager in + ecstasy. “We've got the transports to starboard at Siboney, and the + war-ships to port at Santiago, and all we'll need to do is to sit on the + deck with a field-glass, and take down the news with both hands.” + </p> + <p> + Channing followed these events with envy. Once or twice, as a special + favor, the press-boats carried him across to Siboney and Daiquiri, and he + was able to write stories of what he saw there; of the landing of the + army, of the wounded after the Guasimas fight, and of the fever-camp at + Siboney. His friends on the press-boats sent this work home by mail on the + chance that the Sunday editor might take it at space rates. But mail + matter moved slowly and the army moved quickly, and events crowded so + closely upon each other that Channing's stories, when they reached New + York, were ancient history and were unpublished, and, what was of more + importance to him, unpaid for. He had no money now, and he had become a + beach-comber in the real sense of the word. He slept the warm nights away + among the bananas and cocoanuts on the Fruit Company's wharf, and by + calling alternately on his Cuban exiles and the different press-boats, he + was able to obtain a meal a day without arousing any suspicions in the + minds of his hosts that it was his only one. + </p> + <p> + He was sitting on the stringer of the pier-head one morning, waiting for a + press-boat from the “front,” when the Three Friends ran in and lowered her + dingy, and the “World” manager came ashore, clasping a precious bundle of + closely written cable-forms. Channing scrambled to his feet and hailed + him. + </p> + <p> + “Have you heard from the chief about me yet?” he asked. The “World” man + frowned and stammered, and then, taking Channing by the arm, hurried with + him toward the cable-office. + </p> + <p> + “Charlie, I think they're crazy up there,” he began, “they think they know + it all. Here I am on the spot, but they think—” + </p> + <p> + “You mean they won't have me,” said Channing. “But why?” he asked, + patiently. “They used to give me all the space I wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know, confound them, and so they should now,” said the “World” + man, with sympathetic indignation. “But here's their cable; you can see + it's not my fault.” He read the message aloud. “Channing, no. Not safe, + take reliable man from Siboney.” He folded the cablegram around a dozen + others and stuck it back in his hip-pocket. + </p> + <p> + “What queered you, Charlie,” he explained, importantly, “was that last + break of yours, New Year's, when you didn't turn up for a week. It was + once too often, and the chief's had it in for you ever since. You + remember?” + </p> + <p> + Channing screwed up his lips in an effort of recollection. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I remember,” he answered, slowly. “It began on New Year's eve in + Perry's drug-store, and I woke up a week later in a hack in Boston. So I + didn't have such a run for my money, did I? Not good enough to have to pay + for it like this. I tell you,” he burst out suddenly, “I feel like hell + being left out of this war, with all the rest of the boys working so hard. + If it weren't playing it low down on the fellows that have been in it from + the start, I'd like to enlist. But they enlisted for glory, and I'd only + do it because I can't see the war any other way, and it doesn't seem fair + to them. What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't do that,” protested the World manager. “You stick to your own + trade. We'll get you something to do. Have you tried the Consolidated + Press yet?” + </p> + <p> + Channing smiled grimly at the recollection. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I tried it first.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be throwing pearls to swine to have you write for them, I know, + but they're using so many men now. I should think you could get on their + boat.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I saw Keating,” Channing explained. “He said I could come along as a + stoker, and I guess I'll take him up, it seems—” + </p> + <p> + “Keating said—what?” exclaimed the “World” man. “Keating? Why, he + stands to lose his own job, if he isn't careful. If it wasn't that he's + just married, the C. P. boys would have reported him a dozen times.” + </p> + <p> + “Reported him, what for?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—you know. His old complaint.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that,” said Channing. “My old complaint?” he added. + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes, but Keating hasn't been sober for two weeks, and he'd have + fallen down on the Guasimas story if those men hadn't pulled him through. + They had to, because they're in the syndicate. He ought to go shoot + himself; he's only been married three months and he's handling the biggest + piece of news the country's had in thirty years, and he can't talk + straight. There's a time for everything, I say,” growled the “World” man. + </p> + <p> + “It takes it out of a man, this boat-work,” Channing ventured, in + extenuation. “It's very hard on him.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet it is,” agreed the “World” manager, with enthusiasm. “Sloshing + about in those waves, sea-sick mostly, and wet all the time, and with a + mutinous crew, and so afraid you'll miss something that you can't write + what you have got.” Then he added, as an after-thought, “And our cruisers + thinking you're a Spanish torpedo-boat and chucking shells at you.” + </p> + <p> + “No wonder Keating drinks,” Channing said, gravely. “You make it seem + almost necessary.” + </p> + <p> + Many thousand American soldiers had lost themselves in a jungle, and had + broken out of it at the foot of San Juan Hill. Not wishing to return into + the jungle, they took the hill. On the day they did this Channing had the + good fortune to be in Siboney. The “World” man had carried him there and + asked him to wait around the waterfront while he went up to the real + front, thirteen miles inland. Channing's duty was to signal the press-boat + when the first despatch-rider rode in with word that the battle was on. + The World man would have liked to ask Channing to act as his + despatch-rider, but he did not do so, because the despatch-riders were + either Jamaica negroes or newsboys from Park Row—and he remembered + that Keating had asked Channing to be his stoker. + </p> + <p> + Channing tramped through the damp, ill-smelling sand of the beach, sick + with self-pity. On the other side of those glaring, inscrutable mountains, + a battle, glorious, dramatic, and terrible, was going forward, and he was + thirteen miles away. He was at the base, with the supplies, the sick, and + the skulkers. + </p> + <p> + It was cruelly hot. The heat-waves flashed over the sea until the + transports in the harbor quivered like pictures on a biograph. From the + refuse of company kitchens, from reeking huts, from thousands of empty + cans, rose foul, enervating odors, which deadened the senses like a drug. + The atmosphere steamed with a heavy, moist humidity. Channing staggered + and sank down suddenly on a pile of railroad-ties in front of the + commissary's depot. There were some Cubans seated near him, dividing their + Government rations, and the sight reminded him that he had had nothing to + eat. He walked over to the wide door of the freight-depot, where a + white-haired, kindly faced, and perspiring officer was, with his own + hands, serving out canned beef to a line of Cubans. The officer's flannel + shirt was open at the throat. The shoulder-straps of a colonel were + fastened to it by safety-pins. Channing smiled at him uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “Could I draw on you for some rations?” he asked. “I'm from the Three + Friends. I'm not one of their regular accredited correspondents,” he + added, conscientiously, “I'm just helping them for to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't you got a correspondent's pass?” asked the officer. He was busily + pouring square hardtack down the throat of a saddle-bag a Cuban soldier + held open before him. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Channing, turning away, “I'm just helping.” + </p> + <p> + The officer looked after him, and what he saw caused him to reach under + the counter for a tin cup and a bottle of lime-juice. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” he said, “drink this. What's the matter with you—fever? Come + in here out of that sun. You can lie down on my cot, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + Channing took the tin cup and swallowed a warm mixture of boiled water and + acrid lime-juice. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he said, “but I must keep watch for the first news from the + front.” + </p> + <p> + A man riding a Government mule appeared on the bridge of the lower trail, + and came toward them at a gallop. He was followed and surrounded by a + hurrying mob of volunteers, hospital stewards, and Cubans. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel vaulted the counter and ran to meet him. + </p> + <p> + “This looks like news from the front now,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + The man on the mule was from civil life. His eyes bulged from their + sockets and his face was purple. The sweat ran over it and glistened on + the cords of his thick neck. + </p> + <p> + “They're driving us back!” he shrieked. + </p> + <p> + “Chaffee's killed, an' Roosevelt's killed, an' the whole army's beaten!” + He waved his arms wildly toward the glaring, inscrutable mountains. The + volunteers and stevedores and Cubans heard him, open-mouthed and with + panic-stricken eyes. In the pitiless sunlight he was a hideous and awful + spectacle. + </p> + <p> + “They're driving us into the sea!” he foamed. + </p> + <p> + “We've got to get out of here, they're just behind me. The army's running + for its life. They're running away!” + </p> + <p> + Channing saw the man dimly, through a cloud that came between him and the + yellow sunlight. The man in the saddle swayed, the group about him swayed, + like persons on the floor of a vast ball-room. Inside he burned with a + mad, fierce hatred for this shrieking figure in the saddle. He raised the + tin cup and hurled it so that it hit the man's purple face. + </p> + <p> + “You lie!” Channing shouted, staggering. “You lie! You're a damned coward. + You lie!” He heard his voice repeating this in different places at greater + distances. Then the cloud closed about him, shutting out the man in the + saddle, and the glaring, inscrutable mountains, and the ground at his feet + rose and struck him in the face. + </p> + <p> + Channing knew he was on a boat because it lifted and sank with him, and he + could hear the rush of her engines. When he opened his eyes he was in the + wheel-house of the Three Friends, and her captain was at the wheel, + smiling down at him. Channing raised himself on his elbow. + </p> + <p> + “The despatch-rider?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “That's all right,” said the captain, soothingly. “Don't you worry. He + come along same time you fell, and brought you out to us. What ailed you—sunstroke?” + </p> + <p> + Channing sat up. “I guess so,” he said. + </p> + <p> + When the Three Friends reached Port Antonio, Channing sought out the pile + of coffee-bags on which he slept at night and dropped upon them. Before + this he had been careful to avoid the place in the daytime, so that no one + might guess that it was there that he slept at night, but this day he felt + that if he should drop in the gutter he would not care whether anyone saw + him there or not. His limbs were hot and heavy and refused to support him, + his bones burned like quicklime. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, with the fever still upon him, he hurried restlessly + between the wharves and the cable-office, seeking for news. There was much + of it; it was great and trying news, the situation outside of Santiago was + grim and critical. The men who had climbed San Juan Hill were clinging to + it like sailors shipwrecked on a reef unwilling to remain, but unable to + depart. If they attacked the city Cervera promised to send it crashing + about their ears. They would enter Santiago only to find it in ruins. If + they abandoned the hill, 2,000 killed and wounded would have been + sacrificed in vain. + </p> + <p> + The war-critics of the press-boats and of the Twitchell House saw but two + courses left open. Either Sampson must force the harbor and destroy the + squadron, and so make it possible for the army to enter the city, or the + army must be reinforced with artillery and troops in sufficient numbers to + make it independent of Sampson and indifferent to Cervera. + </p> + <p> + On the night of July 2d, a thousand lies, a thousand rumors, a thousand + prophecies rolled through the streets of Port Antonio, were filed at the + cable-office, and flashed to the bulletin-boards of New York City. + </p> + <p> + That morning, so they told, the batteries on Morro Castle had sunk three + of Sampson's ships; the batteries on Morro Castle had surrendered to + Sampson; General Miles with 8,000 reinforcements had sailed from + Charleston; eighty guns had started from Tampa Bay, they would occupy the + mountains opposite Santiago and shell the Spanish fleet; the authorities + at Washington had at last consented to allow Sampson to run the forts and + mines, and attack the Spanish fleet; the army had not been fed for two + days, the Spaniards had cut it off from its base at Siboney; the army + would eat its Fourth of July dinner in the Governor's Palace; the army was + in full retreat; the army was to attack at daybreak. + </p> + <p> + When Channing turned in under the fruit-shed on the night of July 2d, + there was but one press-boat remaining in the harbor. That was the + Consolidated Press boat, and Keating himself was on the wharf, signalling + for his dingy. Channing sprang to his feet and ran toward him, calling him + by name. The thought that he must for another day remain so near the march + of great events and yet not see and feel them for himself, was + intolerable. He felt if it would pay his passage to the coast of Cuba, + there was no sacrifice to which he would not stoop. Keating watched him + approach, but without sign of recognition. His eyes were heavy and + bloodshot. + </p> + <p> + “Keating,” Channing begged, as he halted, panting, “won't you take me with + you? I'll not be in the way, and I'll stoke or wait on table, or anything + you want, if you'll only take me.” + </p> + <p> + Keating's eyes opened and closed, sleepily. He removed an unlit cigar from + his mouth and shook the wet end of it at Channing, as though it were an + accusing finger. + </p> + <p> + “I know your game,” he murmured, thickly. “You haven't got a boat and you + want to steal a ride on mine—for your paper. You can't do it, you + see, you can't do it.” + </p> + <p> + One of the crew of the dingy climbed up the gangway of the wharf and took + Keating by the elbow. He looked at him and then at Channing and winked. He + was apparently accustomed to this complication. “I haven't got a paper, + Keating,” Channing argued, soothingly. “Who have you got to help you?” he + asked. It came to him that there might be on the boat some Philip sober, + to whom he could appeal from Philip drunk. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't got anyone to help me,” Keating answered, with dignity. “I + don't need anyone to help me.” He placed his hand heavily and familiarly + on the shoulder of the deck-hand. “You see that man?” he asked. “You see + tha' man, do you? Well, tha' man he's too good for me an' you. Tha' man—used + to be the best reporter in New York City, an' he was too good to hustle + for news, an' now he's—now he can't get a job—see? Nobody'll + have him, see? He's got to come and be a stoker.” + </p> + <p> + He stamped his foot with indignation. + </p> + <p> + “You come an' be a stoker,” he commanded. “How long you think I'm going to + wait for a stoker? You stoker, come on board and be a stoker.” + </p> + <p> + Channing smiled, guiltily, at his good fortune, He jumped into the bow of + the dingy, and Keating fell heavily in the stern. + </p> + <p> + The captain of the press-boat helped Keating safely to a bunk in the cabin + and received his instructions to proceed to Santiago Harbor. Then he + joined Channing. “Mr. Keating is feeling bad to-night. That bombardment + off Morro,” he explained, tactfully, “was too exciting. We always let him + sleep going across, and when we get there he's fresh as a daisy. What's + this he tells me of your doing stoking?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought there might be another fight tomorrow, so I said I'd come as a + stoker.” + </p> + <p> + The captain grinned. + </p> + <p> + “Our Sam, that deck-hand, was telling me. He said Mr. Keating put it on + you, sort of to spite you—is that so?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I wanted to come,” said Channing. + </p> + <p> + The captain laughed, comprehendingly. “I guess we'll be in a bad way,” he + said, “when we need you in the engine-room.” He settled himself for + conversation, with his feet against the rail and his thumbs in his + suspenders. The lamps of Port Antonio were sinking into the water, the + moonlight was flooding the deck. + </p> + <p> + “That was quite something of a bombardment Sampson put up against Morro + Castle this morning,” he began, critically. He spoke of bombardments from + the full experience of a man who had seen shells strike off Coney Island + from the proving-grounds at Sandy Hook. But Channing heard him, eagerly. + He begged the tugboat-captain to tell him what it looked like, and as the + captain told him he filled it in and saw it as it really was. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps they'll bombard again to-morrow,” he hazarded, hopefully. + </p> + <p> + “We can't tell till we see how they're placed on the station,” the captain + answered. “If there's any firing we ought to hear it about eight o'clock + to-morrow morning. We'll hear 'em before we see 'em.” + </p> + <p> + Channing's conscience began to tweak him. It was time, he thought, that + Keating should be aroused and brought up to the reviving air of the sea, + but when he reached the foot of the companion-ladder, he found that + Keating was already awake and in the act of drawing the cork from a + bottle. His irritation against Channing had evaporated and he greeted him + with sleepy good-humor. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's ol' Charlie Channing,” he exclaimed, drowsily. Channing + advanced upon him swiftly. + </p> + <p> + “Here, you've had enough of that!” he commanded. “We'll be off Morro by + breakfast-time. You don't want that.” + </p> + <p> + Keating, giggling foolishly, pushed him from him and retreated with the + bottle toward his berth. He lurched into it, rolled over with his face to + the ship's side, and began breathing heavily. + </p> + <p> + “You leave me 'lone,” he murmured, from the darkness of the bunk. “You + mind your own business, you leave me 'lone.” + </p> + <p> + Channing returned to the bow and placed the situation before the captain. + That gentleman did not hesitate. He disappeared down the companion-way, + and, when an instant later he returned, hurled a bottle over the ship's + side. + </p> + <p> + The next morning when Channing came on deck the land was just in sight, a + rampart of dark green mountains rising in heavy masses against the bright, + glaring blue of the sky. He strained his eyes for the first sight of the + ships, and his ears for the faintest echoes of distant firing, but there + was no sound save the swift rush of the waters at the bow. The sea lay + smooth and flat before him, the sun flashed upon it; the calm and hush of + early morning hung over the whole coast of Cuba. + </p> + <p> + An hour later the captain came forward and stood at his elbow. + </p> + <p> + “How's Keating?” Channing asked. “I tried to wake him, but I couldn't.” + </p> + <p> + The captain kept his binoculars to his eyes, and shut his lips grimly. + “Mr. Keating's very bad,” he said. “He had another bottle hidden + somewhere, and all last night—” he broke off with a relieved sigh. + “It's lucky for him,” he added, lowering the glasses, “that there'll be no + fight to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Channing gave a gasp of disappointment. “What do you mean?” he protested. + </p> + <p> + “You can look for yourself,” said the captain, handing him the glasses. + “They're at their same old stations. There'll be no bombardment to-day. + That's the Iowa, nearest us, the Oregon's to starboard of her, and the + next is the Indiana. That little fellow close under the land is the + Gloucester.” + </p> + <p> + He glanced up at the mast to see that the press-boat's signal was + conspicuous, they were drawing within range. + </p> + <p> + With the naked eye, Channing could see the monster, mouse-colored + war-ships, basking in the sun, solemn and motionless in a great crescent, + with its one horn resting off the harbor-mouth. They made great blots on + the sparkling, glancing surface of the water. Above each superstructure, + their fighting-tops, giant davits, funnels, and gibbet-like yards twisted + into the air, fantastic and incomprehensible, but the bulk below seemed to + rest solidly on the bottom of the ocean, like an island of lead. The + muzzles of their guns peered from the turrets as from ramparts of rock. + </p> + <p> + Channing gave a sigh of admiration. + </p> + <p> + “Don't tell me they move,” he said. “They're not ships, they're + fortresses!” + </p> + <p> + On the shore there was no sign of human life nor of human habitation. + Except for the Spanish flag floating over the streaked walls of Morro, and + the tiny blockhouse on every mountain-top, the squadron might have been + anchored off a deserted coast. The hills rose from the water's edge like a + wall, their peaks green and glaring in the sun, their valleys dark with + shadows. Nothing moved upon the white beach at their feet, no smoke rose + from their ridges, not even a palm stirred. The great range slept in a + blue haze of heat. But only a few miles distant, masked by its frowning + front, lay a gayly colored, red-roofed city, besieged by encircling + regiments, a broad bay holding a squadron of great war-ships, and gliding + cat-like through its choked undergrowth and crouched among the fronds of + its motionless palms were the ragged patriots of the Cuban army, silent, + watchful, waiting. But the great range gave no sign. It frowned in the + sunlight, grim and impenetrable. + </p> + <p> + “It's Sunday,” exclaimed the captain. He pointed with his finger at the + decks of the battleships, where hundreds of snow-white figures had gone to + quarters. “It's church service,” he said, “or it's general inspection.” + </p> + <p> + Channing looked at his watch. It was thirty minutes past nine. “It's + church service,” he said. “I can see them carrying out the chaplain's + reading-desk on the Indiana.” The press-boat pushed her way nearer into + the circle of battleships until their leaden-hued hulls towered high above + her. On the deck of each, the ship's company stood, ranged in motionless + ranks. The calm of a Sabbath morning hung about them, the sun fell upon + them like a benediction, and so still was the air that those on the + press-boat could hear, from the stripped and naked decks, the voices of + the men answering the roll-call in rising monotone, “one, two, three, + FOUR; one, two, three, FOUR.” The white-clad sailors might have been a + chorus of surpliced choir-boys. + </p> + <p> + But, up above them, the battle-flags, slumbering at the mast-heads, + stirred restlessly and whimpered in their sleep. + </p> + <p> + Out through the crack in the wall of mountains, where the sea runs in to + meet the waters of Santiago Harbor, and from behind the shield of Morro + Castle, a great, gray ship, like a great, gray rat, stuck out her nose and + peered about her, and then struck boldly for the open sea. High before her + she bore the gold and blood-red flag of Spain, and, like a fugitive + leaping from behind his prison-walls, she raced forward for her freedom, + to give battle, to meet her death. + </p> + <p> + A shell from the Iowa shrieked its warning in a shrill crescendo, a + flutter of flags painted their message against the sky. “The enemy's ships + are coming out,” they signalled, and the ranks of white-clad figures which + the moment before stood motionless on the decks, broke into thousands of + separate beings who flung themselves, panting, down the hatchways, or + sprang, cheering, to the fighting-tops. + </p> + <p> + Heavily, but swiftly, as islands slip into the water when a volcano shakes + the ocean-bed, the great battle-ships buried their bows in the sea, their + sides ripped apart with flame and smoke, the thunder of their guns roared + and beat against the mountains, and, from the shore, the Spanish forts + roared back at them, until the air between was split and riven. The + Spanish war-ships were already scudding clouds of smoke, pierced with + flashes of red flame, and as they fled, fighting, their batteries rattled + with unceasing, feverish fury. But the guns of the American ships, + straining in pursuit, answered steadily, carefully, with relentless + accuracy, with cruel persistence. At regular intervals they boomed above + the hurricane of sound, like great bells tolling for the dead. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Channing that he had lived through many years; that the + strain of the spectacle would leave its mark upon his nerves forever. He + had been buffeted and beaten by a storm of all the great emotions; pride + of race and country, pity for the dead, agony for the dying, who clung to + blistering armor-plates, or sank to suffocation in the sea; the lust of + the hunter, when the hunted thing is a fellow-man; the joys of danger and + of excitement, when the shells lashed the waves about him, and the triumph + of victory, final, overwhelming and complete. + </p> + <p> + Four of the enemy's squadron had struck their colors, two were on the + beach, broken and burning, two had sunk to the bottom of the sea, two were + in abject flight. Three battle-ships were hammering them with + thirteen-inch guns. The battle was won. + </p> + <p> + “It's all over,” Channing said. His tone questioned his own words. + </p> + <p> + The captain of the tugboat was staring at the face of his silver watch, as + though it were a thing bewitched. He was pale and panting. He looked at + Channing, piteously, as though he doubted his own senses, and turned the + face of the watch toward him. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty minutes!” Channing said. “Good God! Twenty minutes!” + </p> + <p> + He had been to hell and back again in twenty minutes. He had seen an + empire, which had begun with Christopher Columbus and which had spread + over two continents, wiped off the map in twenty minutes. The captain gave + a sudden cry of concern. “Mr. Keating,” he gasped. “Oh, Lord, but I forgot + Mr. Keating. Where is Mr. Keating?” + </p> + <p> + “I went below twice,” Channing answered. “He's insensible. See what you + can do with him, but first—take me to the Iowa. The Consolidated + Press will want the 'facts.'” + </p> + <p> + In the dark cabin the captain found Keating on the floor, where Channing + had dragged him, and dripping with the water which Channing had thrown in + his face. He was breathing heavily, comfortably. He was not concerned with + battles. + </p> + <p> + With a megaphone, Channing gathered his facts from an officer of the Iowa, + who looked like a chimney-sweep, and who was surrounded by a crew of + half-naked pirates, with bodies streaked with sweat and powder. + </p> + <p> + Then he ordered all steam for Port Antonio, and, going forward to the + chart-room, seated himself at the captain's desk, and, pushing the + captain's charts to the floor, spread out his elbows, and began to write + the story of his life. + </p> + <p> + In the joy of creating it, he was lost to all about him. He did not know + that the engines, driven to the breaking-point, were filling the ship with + their groans and protests, that the deck beneath his feet was quivering + like the floor of a planing-mill, nor that his fever was rising again, and + feeding on his veins. The turmoil of leaping engines and of throbbing + pulses was confused with the story he was writing, and while his mind was + inflamed with pictures of warring battle-ships, his body was swept by the + fever, which overran him like an army of tiny mice, touching his hot skin + with cold, tingling taps of their scampering feet. + </p> + <p> + From time to time the captain stopped at the door of the chart-room and + observed him in silent admiration. To the man who with difficulty composed + a letter to his family, the fact that Channing was writing something to be + read by millions of people, and more rapidly than he could have spoken the + same words, seemed a superhuman effort. He even hesitated to interrupt it + by an offer of food. + </p> + <p> + But the fever would not let Channing taste of the food when they placed it + at his elbow, and even as he pushed it away, his mind was still fixed upon + the paragraph before him. He wrote, sprawling across the desk, covering + page upon page with giant hieroglyphics, lighting cigarette after + cigarette at the end of the last one, but with his thoughts far away, and, + as he performed the act, staring uncomprehendingly at the captain's + colored calendar pinned on the wall before him. For many months later the + Battle of Santiago was associated in his mind with a calendar for the + month of July, illuminated by a colored picture of six white kittens in a + basket. + </p> + <p> + At three o'clock Channing ceased writing and stood up, shivering and + shaking with a violent chill. He cursed himself for this weakness, and + called aloud for the captain. + </p> + <p> + “I can't stop now,” he cried. He seized the rough fist of the captain as a + child clings to the hand of his nurse. + </p> + <p> + “Give me something,” he begged. “Medicine, quinine, give me something to + keep my head straight until it's finished. Go, quick,” he commanded. His + teeth were chattering, and his body jerked with sharp, uncontrollable + shudders. The captain ran, muttering, to his medicine-chest. + </p> + <p> + “We've got one drunken man on board,” he said to the mate, “and now we've + got a crazy one. You mark my words, he'll go off his head at sunset.” + </p> + <p> + But at sunset Channing called to him and addressed him sanely. He held in + his hand a mass of papers carefully numbered and arranged, and he gave + them up to the captain as though it hurt him to part with them. + </p> + <p> + “There's the story,” he said. “You've got to do the rest. I can't—I—I'm + going to be very ill.” He was swaying as he spoke. His eyes burned with + the fever, and his eyelids closed of themselves. He looked as though he + had been heavily drugged. + </p> + <p> + “You put that on the wire at Port Antonio,” he commanded, faintly; “pay + the tolls to Kingston. From there they are to send it by way of Panama, + you understand, by the Panama wire.” + </p> + <p> + “Panama!” gasped the captain. “Good Lord, that's two dollars a word.” He + shook out the pages in his hand until he found the last one. “And there's + sixty-eight pages here,” he expostulated. “Why the tolls will be five + thousand dollars!” Channing dropped feebly to the bench of the chart-room + and fell in a heap, shivering and trembling. + </p> + <p> + “I guess it's worth it,” he murmured, drowsily. + </p> + <p> + The captain was still staring at the last page. + </p> + <p> + “But—but, look here,” he cried, “you've—you've signed Mr. + Keating's name to it! 'James R. Keating.' You've signed his name to it!” + </p> + <p> + Channing raised his head from his folded arms and stared at him dully. + </p> + <p> + “You don't want to get Keating in trouble, do you?” he asked with + patience. “You don't want the C. P. to know why he couldn't write the best + story of the war? Do you want him to lose his job? Of course you don't. + Well, then, let it go as his story. I won't tell, and see you don't tell, + and Keating won't remember.” + </p> + <p> + His head sank back again upon his crossed arms. “It's not a bad story,” he + murmured. + </p> + <p> + But the captain shook his head; his loyalty to his employer was still + uppermost. “It doesn't seem right!” he protested. “It's a sort of a + liberty, isn't it, signing another man's name to it, it's a sort of + forgery.” + </p> + <p> + Channing made no answer. His eyes were shut and he was shivering + violently, hugging himself in his arms. + </p> + <p> + A quarter of an hour later, when the captain returned with fresh quinine, + Channing sat upright and saluted him. + </p> + <p> + “Your information, sir,” he said, addressing the open door politely, “is + of the greatest value. Tell the executive officer to proceed under full + steam to Panama. He will first fire a shot across her bows, and then sink + her!” He sprang upright and stood for a moment, sustained by the false + strength of the fever. “To Panama, you hear me!” he shouted. He beat the + floor with his foot. “Faster, faster, faster,” he cried. “We've got a + great story! We want a clear wire, we want the wire clear from Panama to + City Hall. It's the greatest story ever written—full of facts, + facts, facts, facts for the Consolidated Press—and Keating wrote it. + I tell you, Keating wrote it. I saw him write it. I was a stoker on the + same ship.” + </p> + <p> + The mate and crew came running forward and stood gaping stupidly through + the doors and windows of the chart-room. Channing welcomed them joyously, + and then crumpled up in a heap and pitched forward into the arms of the + captain. His head swung weakly from shoulder to shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” he muttered, “I beg your pardon, captain, but your + engine-room is too hot. I'm only a stoker and I know my place, sir, but I + tell you, your engine-room is too hot. It's a burning hell, sir, it's a + hell!” + </p> + <p> + The captain nodded to the crew and they closed in on him, and bore him, + struggling feebly, to a bunk in the cabin below. In the berth opposite, + Keating was snoring peacefully. + </p> + <p> + After the six weeks' siege the Fruit Company's doctor told Channing he was + cured, and that he might walk abroad. In this first walk he found that, + during his illness, Port Antonio had reverted to her original condition of + complete isolation from the world, the press-boats had left her wharves, + the correspondents had departed from the veranda of her only hotel, the + war was over, and the Peace Commissioners had sailed for Paris. Channing + expressed his great gratitude to the people of the hotel and to the Fruit + Company's doctor. He made it clear to them that if they ever hoped to be + paid those lesser debts than that of gratitude which he still owed them, + they must return him to New York and Newspaper Row. It was either that, he + said, or, if they preferred, he would remain and work out his + indebtedness, checking bunches of bananas at twenty dollars a month. The + Fruit Company decided it would be paid more quickly if Channing worked at + his own trade, and accordingly sent him North in one of its steamers. She + landed him in Boston, and he borrowed five dollars from the chief engineer + to pay his way to New York. + </p> + <p> + It was late in the evening of the same day when he stepped out of the + smoking-car into the roar and riot of the Grand Central Station. He had no + baggage to detain him, and, as he had no money either, he made his way to + an Italian restaurant where he knew they would trust him to pay later for + what he ate. It was a place where the newspaper men were accustomed to + meet, men who knew him, and who, until he found work, would lend him money + to buy a bath, clean clothes, and a hall bedroom. + </p> + <p> + Norris, the World man, greeted him as he entered the door of the + restaurant, and hailed him with a cry of mingled fright and pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “Why, we didn't know but you were dead,” he exclaimed. “The boys said when + they left Kingston you weren't expected to live. Did you ever get the + money and things we sent you by the Red Cross boat?” + </p> + <p> + Channing glanced at himself and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Do I look it?” he asked. He was wearing the same clothes in which he had + slept under the fruit-sheds at Port Antonio. They had been soaked and + stained by the night-dews and by the sweat of the fever. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's great luck, your turning up here just now,” Norris assured + him, heartily. “That is, if you're as hungry as the rest of the boys are + who have had the fever. You struck it just right; we're giving a big + dinner here to-night,” he explained, “one of Maria's best. You come in + with me. It's a celebration for old Keating, a farewell blow-out.” + </p> + <p> + Channing started and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Keating?” he asked. “That's funny,” he said. “I haven't seen him since—since + before I was ill.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, old Jimmie Keating. You've got nothing against him, have you?” + </p> + <p> + Channing shook his head vehemently, and Norris glanced back complacently + toward the door of the dining-room, from whence came the sound of intimate + revelry. + </p> + <p> + “You might have had, once,” Norris said, laughing; “we were all up against + him once. But since he's turned out such a wonder and a war-hero, we're + going to recognize it. They're always saying we newspaper men have it in + for each other, and so we're just giving him this subscription-dinner to + show it's not so. He's going abroad, you know. He sails to-morrow + morning.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn't know,” said Channing. + </p> + <p> + “Of course not, how could you? Well, the Consolidated Press's sending him + and his wife to Paris. He's to cover the Peace negotiations there. It's + really a honeymoon-trip at the expense of the C. P. It's their reward for + his work, for his Santiago story, and the beat and all that—” + </p> + <p> + Channing's face expressed his bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + Norris drew back dramatically. + </p> + <p> + “Don't tell me,” he exclaimed, “that you haven't heard about that!” + </p> + <p> + Channing laughed a short, frightened laugh, and moved nearer to the + street. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said. “No, I hadn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but, good Lord! it was the story of the war. You never read such a + story! And he got it through by Panama a day ahead of all the other + stories! And nobody read them, anyway. Why, Captain Mahan said it was + 'naval history,' and the Evening Post had an editorial on it, and said it + was 'the only piece of literature the war has produced.' We never thought + Keating had it in him, did you? The Consolidated Press people felt so good + over it that they've promised, when he comes back from Paris, they'll make + him their Washington correspondent. He's their 'star' reporter now. It + just shows you that the occasion produces the man. Come on in, and have a + drink with him.” + </p> + <p> + Channing pulled his arm away, and threw a frightened look toward the open + door of the dining-room. Through the layers of tobacco-smoke he saw + Keating seated at the head of a long, crowded table, smiling, clear-eyed, + and alert. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, I couldn't,” he said, with sudden panic. “I can't drink; doctor + won't let me. I wasn't coming in, I was just passing when I saw you. + Good-night, I'm much obliged. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + But the hospitable Norris would not be denied. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come in and say 'good-by' to him, anyhow,” he insisted. “You needn't + stay.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I can't,” Channing protested. “I—they'd make me drink or eat + and the doctor says I can't. You mustn't tempt me. You say 'good-by' to + him for me,” he urged. “And Norris—tell him—tell him—that + I asked you to say to him, 'It's all right,' that's all, just that, 'It's + all right.' He'll understand.” + </p> + <p> + There was the sound of men's feet scraping on the floor, and of chairs + being moved from their places. + </p> + <p> + Norris started away eagerly. “I guess they're drinking his health,” he + said. “I must go. I'll tell him what you said, 'It's all right.' That's + enough, is it? There's nothing more?” + </p> + <p> + Channing shook his head, and moved away from the only place where he was + sure to find food and a welcome that night. + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing more,” he said. + </p> + <p> + As he stepped from the door and stood irresolutely in the twilight of the + street, he heard the voices of the men who had gathered in Keating's honor + upraised in a joyous chorus. + </p> + <p> + “For he's a jolly good fellow,” they sang, “for he's a jolly good fellow, + which nobody can deny!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LA LETTRE D'AMOUR + </h2> + <p> + When Bardini, who led the Hungarian Band at the Savoy Restaurant, was + promoted to play at the Casino at Trouville, his place was taken by the + second violin. The second violin was a boy, and when he greeted his + brother Tziganes and the habitues of the restaurant with an apologetic and + deprecatory bow, he showed that he was fully conscious of the inadequacy + of his years. The maitre d'hotel glided from table to table, busying + himself in explanations. + </p> + <p> + “The boy's name is Edouard; he comes from Budapest,” he said. “The season + is too late to make it worth the while of the management to engage a new + chef d'orchestre. So this boy will play. He plays very good, but he is not + like Bardini.” + </p> + <p> + He was not in the least like Bardini. In appearance, Bardini suggested a + Roumanian gypsy or a Portuguese sailor; his skin was deeply tanned, his + hair was plastered on his low forehead in thick, oily curls, and his body, + through much rich living on the scraps that fell from the tables of + Girot's and the Casino des Fleurs, was stout and gross. He was the typical + leader of an orchestra condemned to entertain a noisy restaurant. His + school of music was the school of Maxim's. To his skill with the violin he + had added the arts of the head waiter, and he and the cook ran a race for + popularity, he pampering to one taste, and the cook, with his sauces, + pampering to another. When so commanded, his pride as an artist did not + prevent him from breaking off in the middle of Schubert's Serenade to play + Daisy Bell, nor was he above breaking it off on his own accord to salute + the American patron, as he entered with the Belle of New York, or any one + of the Gaiety Girls, hurrying in late for supper, with the Soldiers in the + Park. When he walked slowly through the restaurant, pausing at each table, + his eyes, even while they ogled the women to whom he played, followed the + brother Tzigane—who was passing the plate—and noted which of + the patrons gave silver and which gave gold. + </p> + <p> + Edouard, the second violin, was all that Bardini was not, consequently he + was entirely unsuited to lead an orchestra in a restaurant. Indeed, so + little did he understand of what was required of him that on the only + occasion when Bardini sent him to pass the plate he was so unsophisticated + as not to hide the sixpences and shillings under the napkin, and so leave + only the half-crowns and gold pieces exposed. And, instead of smiling + mockingly at those who gave the sixpences, and waiting for them to give + more, he even looked grateful, and at the same time deeply ashamed. He + differed from Bardini also in that he was very thin and tall, with the + serious, smooth-shaven face of a priest. Except for his fantastic costume, + there was nothing about him to recall the poses of the musician: his hair + was neither long nor curly; it lay straight across his forehead and flat + on either side, and when he played, his eyes neither sought out the + admiring auditor nor invited his applause. On the contrary, they looked + steadfastly ahead. It was as though they belonged to someone apart, who + was listening intently to the music. But in the waits between the numbers + the boy's eyes turned from table to table, observing the people in his + audience. He knew nearly all of them by sight: the head waiters who + brought him their “commands,” and his brother-musicians, had often + discussed them in his hearing. They represented every city of the world, + every part of the social edifice: there were those who came to look at the + spectacle, and those who came to be looked at; those who gave a dinner for + the sake of the diners, those who dined for the dinner alone. To some the + restaurant was a club; others ventured in counting the cost, taking it + seriously, even considering that it conferred upon them some social + distinction. There were pretty women in paint and spangles, with + conscious, half-grown boys just up from Oxford; company-promoters dining + and wining possible subscribers or “guinea-pigs” into an acquiescent + state; Guardsmen giving a dinner of farewell to brother-officers departing + for the Soudan or the Cape; wide-eyed Americans just off the steamer in + high dresses, great ladies in low dresses and lofty tiaras, and ladies of + the stage, utterly unconscious of the boon they were conferring on the + people about them, who, an hour before, had paid ten shillings to look at + them from the stalls. + </p> + <p> + Edouard, as he sat with his violin on his knee, his fingers fretting the + silent strings, observed them all without envy and without interest. Had + he been able to choose, it would not have been to such a well-dressed mob + as this that he would have given his music. For at times a burst of + laughter killed a phrase that was sacred to him, and sometimes the murmur + of the voices and the clatter of the waiters would drown him out + altogether. But the artist in him forced him to play all things well, and + for his own comfort he would assure himself that no doubt somewhere in the + room someone was listening, someone who thought more of the strange, + elusive melodies of the Hungarian folksongs than of the chefs entrees, and + that for this unknown one he must be true to himself and true to his work. + Covertly, he would seek out some face to which he could make the violin + speak—not openly and impertinently, as did Bardini, but secretly and + for sympathy, so that only one could understand. It pleased young Edouard + to see such a one raise her head as though she had heard her name spoken, + and hold it poised to listen, and turn slowly in her chair, so completely + engaged that she forgot the man at her elbow, and the food before her was + taken away untouched. It delighted him to think that she knew that the + music was speaking to her alone. But he would not have had her think that + the musician spoke, too—it was the soul of the music, not his soul, + that was reaching out to the pretty stranger. When his soul spoke through + the music it would not be, so he assured himself, to such chatterers as + gathered on the terrace of the Savoy Restaurant. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Warriner and her daughter were on their way home, or to one of their + homes; this one was up the Hills of Lenox. They had been in Egypt and up + the Nile, and for the last two months had been slowly working their way + north through Greece and Italy. They were in London, at the Savoy, waiting + for their sailing-day, and on the night of their arrival young Corbin was + giving them a dinner. For three months Mrs. Warriner and himself had + alternated in giving each other dinners in every part of Southern Europe, + and the gloom which hung over this one was not due to the fact that the + diners had become wearied of one another's society, but that the + opportunities still left to them for this exchange of hospitality were + almost at an end. That night, for the hundredth time, young Corbin had + decided it would have been much better for him if they had come to an end + many weeks previous, for the part he played in the trio was a difficult + one. It was that of the lover who will not take “no” for an answer. The + lover who will take no, and goes on his way disconsolate, may live to love + another day, and everyone is content; but the one who will not have no, + who will not hear of it, nor consider it, has much to answer for in making + life a burden to himself and all around him. + </p> + <p> + When Corbin joined the Warriners on their trip up the Nile it was + considered by all of them, in their ignorance, a happy accident. Other + mothers, more worldly than Mrs. Warriner, with daughters less attractive, + gave her undeserved credit for having lured into her party one of the + young men of Boston who was most to be desired as a son-in-law. But the + mind of Mrs. Warriner, so far as Mr. Corbin was concerned, was quite free + from any such consideration; so was the mind of the young bachelor; + certainly Miss Warriner held no tender thoughts concerning him. The + families of the Warriners and the Corbins had been friends ever since the + cowpath crossed the Common. Before Corbin entered Harvard Miss Warriner + and he had belonged to the same dancing-class. Later she had danced with + him at four class-days, and many times between. When he graduated, she had + gone abroad with her mother, and he had joined the Somerset Club, and + played polo at Pride's Crossing, and talked vaguely of becoming a lawyer, + and of re-entering Harvard by the door of the Law School, chiefly, it was + supposed, that he might have another year of the football team. He was + very young in spirit, very big and athletic, very rich, and without a care + or serious thought. Miss Warriner was to him, then, no more than a friend; + to her he was a boy, one of many nice, cultivated Harvard boys, who + occasionally called upon her and talked football. On the face of things, + she was not the sort of girl he should have loved. But for some saving + clause in him, he should have loved and married one of the many other + girls who had belonged to the same dancing-class, who would have been + known as “Mrs. Tom” Corbin, who would have been sought after as a + chaperone, and who would have stood up in her cart when he played polo and + shouted at him across the field to “ride him off.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Warriner, on the contrary, was much older than he in everything but + years, and was conscious of the fact. She was a serious, self-centred + young person, and satisfied with her own thoughts, unless her companion + gave her better ones. She concerned herself with the character and ideas + of her friends. If a young man lacked ideas, the fact that he possessed + wealth and good manners could not save him. If these attributes had been + pointed out to her as part of his assets she would have been surprised. + She was not impressed with her own good looks and fortune—she took + them for granted; so why should they count with her in other people? + </p> + <p> + Miss Warriner made an error of analysis in regard to Mr. Corbin in judging + his brain by his topics of conversation. His conversation was limited to + the A B C's of life, with which, up to the time of his meeting her, his + brain had been fed. When, however, she began to cram it full with all the + other letters of the alphabet, it showed itself just as capable of + digesting the economic conditions of Egypt as it had previously succeeded + in mastering the chess-like problems of the game of football. + </p> + <p> + Young Corbin had not considered the Home Beautiful, nor Municipal + Government, nor How the Other Half Lives as topics that were worth his + while; but when Miss Warriner showed her interest in them, her doing so + made them worth his while, and he fell upon them greedily. He even went + much further than she had gone, and was not content merely to theorize and + to discuss social questions from the safe distance of the deck of a + dahabiyeh on the Nile, but proposed to at once put her theories into + practice. To this end he offered her a house in the slums of Boston, rent + free, where she could start her College Settlement. He made out lists of + the men he thought would like to teach there, and he volunteered to pay + the expenses of the experiment until it failed or succeeded. When her + interest changed to the Tombs of the Rameses, and the succession of the + ancient dynasties, he spent hours studying his Baedeker that he might keep + in step with her; and when she abandoned ancient for modern Egypt and + became deeply charmed with the intricacies of the dual control and of the + Mixed Courts, he interviewed subalterns, Pashas, and missionaries in a + gallant effort to comprehend the social and political difficulties of the + white men who had occupied the land of the Sphinx, who had funded her + debt, irrigated her deserts, and “made a mummy fight.” + </p> + <p> + One night, as the dahabiyeh lay moored beneath a group of palms in the + moonlight, Miss Warriner gave him praise for offering her the house in the + slums for her experiment. He assured her that he was entirely selfish—that + he did so because he believed her settlement would be a benefit to the + neighborhood, in which he owned some property. When she then accused him + of giving sordid reasons for what was his genuine philanthropy he told her + flatly that he neither cared for the higher education of the slums nor the + increased value of his rents, but for her, and to please her, and that he + loved her and would love her always. In answer to this, Miss Warriner told + him gently but firmly that she could not love him, but that she liked him + and admired him, even though she was disappointed to find that his sudden + interest in matters more serious than polo had been assumed to please her. + She added that she would always be his friend. This, she thought, ended + the matter; it was unfortunate that they should be shipbound on the Nile; + but she trusted to his tact and good sense to save them both from + embarrassment. She was not prepared, however, to see him come on deck very + late the next morning, after, apparently, a long sleep, as keen, as + cheerful, and as smiling as he had been before the blow had fallen. It + piqued her a little, and partly because of that, and partly because she + really was relieved to find him in such a humor, she congratulated him on + his most evident happiness. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he asked, suddenly growing sober. “I love you. That is enough + to make any man happy, isn't it? You needn't love me, but you can't + prevent my going on loving you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am very sorry,” she sighed in much perplexity. + </p> + <p> + “You needn't be,” he answered, reassuringly. “I'm more sorry for you than + I am for myself. You are going to have a terrible time until you marry + me.” + </p> + <p> + They were at Thebes, and he went off that afternoon to the Temple of Luxor + with her mother, and made violent use of the sacred altars, the beauty of + Cleopatra, the eternity of the scarabea, and the indestructibility of the + Pyramids to suggest faintly to Mrs. Warriner how much he loved her + daughter. He shook his hand at the crouching sphinxes and said: + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Warriner, in forty centuries they have never looked down upon a man + as proud as I am, and I am told they have seen Napoleon; but I need help; + she won't help me, so you must. It's no use arguing against me. When this + Nile dries up I shall have ceased loving your daughter!” + </p> + <p> + “Did you tell Helen what you have told me? Did you talk to her so?” asked + Mrs. Warriner. + </p> + <p> + “No, not last night,” said Corbin; “but I will, in time, after she gets + more used to the Idea.” + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately for the peace of Mr. Corbin and all concerned. Miss Warriner + did not become reconciled to the idea. On the contrary, she resented it + greatly. She had looked at the possibility of something to be carried out + later—much later, perhaps not at all. It did not seem possible that + before she had really begun to enjoy life it should be subjected to such a + change. She saw that it was obviously the thing that should happen. If the + match had been arranged by the entire city of Boston it could not have + been more obvious. But she argued with him that marriage was a mutual + self-sacrifice, and that until she felt ready to make her share of the + sacrifice it was impossible for her to consent. + </p> + <p> + He combated her arguments, which he refused to consider as arguments, and + demolished them one by one. But the objection which he destroyed before he + went to sleep at night was replaced the next day by another, and his cause + never advanced. Each day he found the citadel he was besieging girt in by + new and intricate defences. The reason was simple enough: the girl was not + in love with him. Her objections, her arguments, her reasons were as + absurd as he proved them to be. But they were insurmountable because they + were really various disguises of the fact that she did not care for him. + They were disguises to herself as well as to him. He was so altogether a + good fellow, so earnest, honest, and desperate a lover that the primary + fact that she did not want his love did not present itself, and she kept + casting about in her mind for excuses and reasons to explain her lack of + feeling. He wooed her in every obvious way that would present itself to a + boy of deep feeling, of quick mind, and an unlimited letter of credit. He + created wants in order to gratify them later. He suggested her need of + things which he had already ordered, which, before she had been enticed + into expressing a wish for them, were then speeding across the Continent + toward her. Every hour brought her some fresh and ingenuous sign of his + thought and of his devotion. He treated these tributes as a matter of + course; if she failed to observe them and to see his handiwork in them he + let them fall to the ground unnoticed. + </p> + <p> + His love itself was his argument-in-chief; it was its own excuse; it + needed no allies; “I love you” was his first and last word. It puzzled her + to find that she could not care. When she was alone she asked herself what + there was in him of which she disapproved, and she could only answer that + there was nothing. She asked herself what other men there were who pleased + her more, and she could think of none. On the contrary, she found him + entirely charming as a friend—but his love distressed her greatly. + It was a foreign language; she could not comprehend it. When he allowed it + to appear it completely disguised him in her eyes; it annoyed her so much + that at times she considered herself a much ill-used young person. + </p> + <p> + It was in this way that the matter stood between them when their long + journey was ended and they reached London. He was miserable, desperate, + and hopeless; the girl was firm in that she would not marry him, and her + mother, who respected both the depth of Corbin's feelings and her + daughter's reticence, and who had watched the struggle with a troubled + heart, was only thankful that they were to part, and that it was at an + end. Corbin had no idea where he would go nor what he would do. He + recognized that to cross the ocean with them would only subject his love + to fresh distress and humiliation, and he had determined to put as much + space between him and Miss Warriner as the surface of the globe permitted. + The Philippines seemed to offer a picturesque retreat for a broken life. + He decided he would go there and enlist and have himself shot. He was + uncertain whether he would follow in the steps of his Revolutionary + ancestors and join the men who were struggling for their liberty and + independence, or his fellow-Americans; but that he would get shot by one + side or the other he was determined. And then in days to come she would + think, perhaps, of the young man on the other side of the globe, buried in + the wet rice-fields, with the palms fanning him through his eternal sleep, + and she might be sorry then that she had not listened to his troubled + heart. The picture gave him some small comfort, and that night when he + ordered dinner for them at the Savoy his manner showed the inspired + resolve of one who is soon to mount the scaffold unafraid, and with a rose + between his lips. + </p> + <p> + Edouard, the first violin, saw Miss Warriner when she entered and took her + place facing him at one of the tables in the centre of the room. He was + sitting with his violin on his knees, touching the strings with his + finger-tips. When he saw her he choked the neck of the violin with his + hand, as though it had been the hand of a friend which he had grasped in a + sudden ecstasy of delight. The effect her appearance had made upon him was + so remarkable that he glanced quickly over his shoulder to see if he had + betrayed himself by some sign or gesture. But the other musicians were + concerned with their own gossip, and he felt free to turn again and from + under his half-closed eyelids to observe her covertly. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing to explain why Miss Warriner, in particular, should have + so disturbed him; the English women seated about her were as fair; she + showed no great sorrow in her face; her beauty was not of the type which + carried observers by assault. And yet not one of the many beautiful women + who on one night or another passed before Edouard in the soft light of the + red shades had ever stirred him so strangely, had ever depressed him with + such a tender melancholy, and filled his soul—the soul of a + Hungarian and a musician—with such loneliness and unrest. He knew + that, so far as he was concerned, she was as distant as the Venus in the + Louvre; she was, for him, a beautiful, unapproachable statue, placed, by + some social convention, upon a pedestal. + </p> + <p> + As he looked at her he felt hotly the degradation of his silly uniform, of + the striped sash around his waist, the tawdry braids, and the tasselled + boots. He felt as he had often felt before, but now more keenly than ever, + the prostitution of his art in this temple of the senses, this home of + epicures, where people met to feast their eyes and charm their palates. He + could not put his feelings into words, and he knew that if by some + upheaval of the social world he should be thrown into her presence he + would still be bound, he would not be able to speak or write what she + inspired in him. But—and at the thought he breathed quickly, and + raised his shoulders with a touch of pride—he could tell her in his + own way; after his own fashion he could express what he felt better even + than those other men could tell what they feel—these men for whose + amusement he performed nightly, to whom it was granted to sit at her side, + who spoke the language of her class and of her own people. Edouard was not + given to analyzing his emotions; like the music of his Tzigane ancestors, + they came to him sweeping every chord in his nature, beating rapidly to + the time of the Schardash, or with the fitfulness of the gypsy folksongs + sinking his spirits into melancholy. So he did not stop to question why + this one face so suddenly inspired him; he only knew that he felt + grateful, that he was impatient to pay his tribute of admiration, that he + was glad he was an artist who could give his feelings voice. + </p> + <p> + In the long programme of selected airs he remembered that there was one + which would give him this chance to speak, in the playing of which he + could put all his skill and all his soul, an air which carried with it + infinite sadness and the touch of a caress. The other numbers on the + programme had been chosen to please the patrons of a restaurant, this one, + La Lettre d'Amour, was included in the list for his own satisfaction. He + had put it there to please himself; to-night he would play it to please + her—to this unknown girl who had so suddenly awakened and inspired + him. + </p> + <p> + As he waited for this chance to come he watched her, noting her every + movement, her troubled smile, her air of being apart and above her + surroundings. He noticed, too, the set face of the young man at her side + and, with the discernment of one whose own interest is captive, saw the + half-concealed longing in his eyes. He felt a quick antipathy to this + young man. His assured position at the girl's side accentuated how far he + himself was removed from her; he resented also the manner of the young man + to the waiters, and he wondered hotly if, in the mind of this favored + youth, the musician who played for his entertainment was regarded any more + highly than the servant who received his orders. To this feeling of + resentment was added one of contempt. For, as he read the tableau at the + table below him, the young man was the devotee of the young girl at his + side, and if one could judge from her averted eyes, from her silent assent + to his questions, from the fact that she withdrew from the talk between + him and the older woman, his devotion was not welcome. + </p> + <p> + This reading of the pantomime pleased Edouard greatly. Nothing could have + so crowned the feeling which the beauty of the stranger stirred in him as + the thought that another loved her as well as himself, and that the other, + who started with all things in his favor, met with none from her. + </p> + <p> + Edouard assured himself that this was so because he had often heard his + people boast that men not of their country could not feel as they could + feel. If he had ever considered them at all it was as cold and conscious + creatures who taught themselves to cover up what they felt, so that when + their emotions strove to assert themselves they were found, through long + disuse, to be dumb and inarticulate. Edouard rejoiced that to the men of + his race it was given to feel and suffer much. He was sure that beneath + the calmness of her beauty this woman before him could feel deeply; he + read in her eyes the sympathy of a great soul; she made him think of a + Madonna in the church of St. Sophia at Budapest. He saw in her a woman who + could love greatly. When he considered how impossible it was for the young + man at her side ever to experience the great emotions which alone could + reach her, his contempt for him rose almost to pity. His violin, with his + power to feel, and with his knowledge of technic added, could send his + message as far as sound could carry. He could afford to be generous, and + when he rose to play La Lettre d'Amour it was with the elation of a knight + entering the lists, with the ardor of a lover singing beneath his lady's + window. La Lettre d'Amour is a composition written to a slow measure, and + filled with chords of exquisite pathos. It comes hesitatingly, like the + confession of a lover who loves so deeply that he halts to find words with + which to express his feelings. It moves in broken phrases, each note + rising in intensity and growing in beauty. It is not a burst of passionate + appeal, but a plea, tender, beseeching, and throbbing with melancholy. As + he played, Edouard stepped down from the dais on which the musicians sat, + and advanced slowly between the tables. It was late, and the majority of + those who had been dining had departed to the theatres. Those who remained + were lingering over their coffee, and were smoking; their voices were + lowered to a polite monotone; the rush of the waiters had ceased, and the + previous chatter had sunk to a subdued murmur. Into this, the quivering + sigh of Edouard's violin penetrated like a sunbeam feeling its way into a + darkened room, and, at the sound, the voices, one by one, detached + themselves from the general chorus, until, lacking support, it ceased + altogether. Some were silent, that they might hear the better, others, who + preferred their own talk, were silent out of regard for those who desired + to listen, and a waiter who was so indiscreet as to clatter a tray of + glasses was hushed on the instant. The tribute of attention lent to + Edouard an added power; his head lifted on his shoulders with pride; his + bow cut deeper and firmer, and with more delicate shading; the notes rose + in thrilling, plaintive sadness, and flooded the hot air with melody. + </p> + <p> + Edouard made his way to within a short distance of the table at which Miss + Warriner was seated, and halted there as though he had found his audience. + He did not look at her, although she sat directly facing him, but it was + evident to all that she was the one to whom his effort was directed, and + Corbin, who was seated with his back to Edouard, recognized this and + turned in his chair. + </p> + <p> + The body of the young musician was trembling with the feeling which found + its outlet through the violin. He was in ecstasy over his power and its + accomplishment. The strings of the violin pulsated to the beating of his + heart, and he felt that surely by now the emotion which shook him must + have reached the girl who had given it life—and, for one swift + second, his eyes sought hers. What he saw was the same beautiful face + which had inspired him, but unmoved, cold, and unresponsive. As his eyes + followed hers she raised her head and looked, listlessly, around the room, + and then turned and glanced up at him with a careless and critical + scrutiny. If his music had been the music of an organ in the street, and + he the man who raised his hat for coppers, she could not have been less + moved. The discovery struck Edouard like a cold blast from an open door. + His fingers faltered on the neck of his violin, his bow wavered, + drunkenly, across the strings, and he turned away his eyes to shut out the + vision of his failure, seeking relief and sympathy. And, in their swift + passage, they encountered those of Corbin looking up at him, his eyes + aglow with wonder, feeling, and sorrow. They seemed to hold him to + account; they begged, they demanded of him not to break the spell, and, in + response, the hot blood in the veins of the musician surged back, his + pride flared up again, his eyes turned on Corbin's like those of a dog to + his master's. Under their spell the music soared, trembling, paused and + soared again, thrilling those who heard it with its grief and tenderness. + </p> + <p> + Edouard's heart leaped with triumph. “The man knows,” he whispered to the + violin; “he understands us. He knows.” + </p> + <p> + The people, leaning with their elbows on the tables before them, the + waiters listening with tolerant smiles, the musicians following Edouard + with anxious pride, saw only a young man with his arm thrown heavily + across the back of his chair, who was looking up at Edouard with a steady, + searching gaze. But Edouard saw in him both a disciple and a master. He + saw that this man was lifted up and carried with him, that he understood + the message of the music. The notes of the violin sank lower and lower, + until they melted into the silence of the room, and the people, freed of + the spell the music had put upon them, applauded generously. Edouard + placed his violin under his arm, and with his eyes, which had never left + Corbin's face, still fastened upon his, bowed low to him, and Corbin + raised his head and nodded gravely. It was as though they were the only + people in the room. As Edouard retreated his face was shining with + triumph, for he knew that the other had understood him, and that the other + knew that he knew. + </p> + <p> + That night until he fell asleep, and all of the day following, the + beautiful face of Miss Warriner troubled Edouard, and the thought of her + alternately thrilled and depressed him. One moment he mocked at himself + for presuming to think that his simple art could reach the depths of such + a nature, and the next he stirred himself to hope that he should see her + once again, and that he should succeed where he had failed. + </p> + <p> + The music had moved Corbin so deeply that when he awoke the day following + the effect of it still hung upon him. It seemed to him as though all he + had been trying to tell Miss Warriner of his love for her, and which he + had failed to make her understand in the last three months, had been + expressed in the one moment of this song. It was that in it which had so + enchanted him. It was as though he had listened to his own deepest and + most sacred thoughts, uttered for the first time convincingly, and by a + stranger. Why was it, he asked himself, that this unknown youth could + translate another's feelings into music, when he himself could not put + them into words? He was walking in Piccadilly, deep in this thought, when + a question came to him which caused him to turn rapidly into Green Park, + where he could consider it undisturbed. + </p> + <p> + The doubt which had so suddenly presented itself was in some degree the + same one which had stirred Edouard. Was it that he was really unable to + express his feelings, or was it that Miss Warriner could not understand + them? Was it really something lacking in him, or was it not something + lacking in her? He flushed at the disloyalty of the thought and put it + from him; but, as his memory reached back over the past three months, the + question returned again and again with fresh force, and would not be + denied. He called himself a fatuous, conceited fool. Because he could not + make a woman love him other men could do so. That was really the answer; + he was not the man. But the answer did not seem final. What, after all, + was the thing his love sought—a woman only, or a woman capable of + deep and great feeling? Even if he could not inspire such emotions, even + if another could, he would still be content and proud to love a woman + capable of such deep feelings. But if she were without them? At the + thought, Corbin stared blankly before him as though he had stumbled + against a stone wall. What sign had she ever given him that she could care + greatly? Was not any form of emotion always distasteful to her? Was not + her mind always occupied with abstract questions? Was she not always + engaged in her own self-improvement—with schemes, it is true, for + bettering the world; but did her heart ever ache once for the individual? + What was it, then, he loved? Something he imagined this girl to be, or was + he in love with the fact that his own nature had been so mightily stirred? + Was it not the joy of caring greatly which had carried him along? And if + this was so, was he now to continue to proffer this devotion to one who + could not feel, to a statue, to an idol? Were not the very things which + rendered her beautiful the offerings which he himself had hung upon her + altar? Did the qualities he really loved in her exist? Was he not on the + brink of casting his love before one who could neither feel it for him nor + for any other man? He stood up, trembling and frightened. Even though the + girl had rejected him again and again, he felt a hateful sense of + disloyalty. He was ashamed to confess it to himself, and he vowed, hotly, + that he must be wrong, that he would not believe. He would still worship + her, fight for her, and force her to care for him. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Warriner and her daughter were to sail on the morrow, and that night + they met Corbin at dinner for the last time. After many days—although + self-accused—he felt deeply conscious of his recent lack of faith, + and, in the few hours still left him, he determined to atone for the + temporary halt in his allegiance. They had never found him more eager, + tactful, and considerate than he was that evening. The eyes of Mrs. + Warriner softened as she watched him. As one day had succeeded another, + her admiration and liking for him had increased, until now she felt as + though his cause was hers—as though she was not parting from a + friend, but from a son. But the calmness of her daughter was impenetrable; + from her manner it was impossible to learn whether the approaching + separation was a relief or a regret. + </p> + <p> + To Edouard the return of the beautiful girl to the restaurant appeared not + as an accident, but as a marked favor vouchsafed to him by Fate. He had + been given a second chance. He read it as a sign that he should take heart + and hope. He felt that fortune was indeed kind. He determined that he + would play to her again, and that this time he would not fail. + </p> + <p> + As the first notes of La Lettre d'Amour brought a pause of silence in the + restaurant, Corbin, who was talking at the moment, interrupted himself + abruptly, and turned in his chair. + </p> + <p> + All through the evening he had been conscious of the near presence of the + young musician. He had not forgotten how, on the night before, his own + feelings had been interpreted in La Lettre d'Amour, and for some time he + had been debating in his mind as to whether he would request Edouard to + play the air again, or let the evening pass without again submitting + himself to so supreme an assault upon his feelings. Now the question had + been settled for him, and he found that it had been decided as he secretly + desired. It was impossible to believe that Edouard was the same young man + who had played the same air on the night previous, for Edouard no longer + considered that he was present on sufferance—he invited and + challenged the attention of the room; his music commanded it to silence. + It dominated all who heard it. + </p> + <p> + As he again slowly approached the table where Miss Warriner was seated, + the eyes of everyone were turned upon him; the pathos, the tenderness of + his message seemed to speak to each; the fact that he dared to offer such + a wealth of deep feeling to such an audience was in itself enough to + engage the attention of all. A group of Guardsmen, their faces flushed + with Burgundy and pulling heavily on black cigars, stared at him sleepily, + and then sat up, erect and alert, watching him with intent, wide-open + eyes; and at tables which had been marked by the laughter of those seated + about them there fell a sudden silence. Those who fully understood the + value of the music withdrew into themselves, submitting, thankfully, to + its spell; others, less susceptible, gathered from the bearing of those + about them that something of moment was going forward; but it was + recognized by each, from the most severe English matron present down to + the youngest “omnibus-boy” among the waiters, that it was a love-story + which was being told to them, and that in this public place the deepest, + most sacred, and most beautiful of emotions were finding noble utterance. + </p> + <p> + The music filled Corbin with desperate longing and regret. It was so truly + the translation of his own feelings that he was alternately touched with + self-pity and inspired to fresh resolve. It seemed to assure him that love + such as his could not endure without some return. It emboldened him to + make still another and a final appeal. Mrs. Warriner, with all the other + people in the room, was watching Edouard, and so, unobserved, and hidden + by the flowers upon the table, Corbin leaned toward Miss Warriner and bent + his head close to hers. His eyes were burning with feeling; his voice + thrilled in unison to the plaint of the violin. + </p> + <p> + He gave a toss of his head in the direction from whence the music came. + </p> + <p> + “That is what I have been trying to tell you,” he whispered. His voice was + hoarse and shaken. “That is how I care, but that man's genius is telling + you for me. At last, you must understand.” In his eagerness, his words + followed each other brokenly and impetuously. “That is love,” he + whispered. “That is the real voice of love in all its tenderness and + might, and—it is love itself. Don't you understand it now?” he + demanded. + </p> + <p> + Miss Warriner raised her head and frowned. She stared at Edouard with a + pained expression of perplexity and doubt. + </p> + <p> + “He shows no lack of feeling,” she said, critically, “but his technic is + not equal to Ysaye's.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” Corbin gasped. He sank away from Miss Warriner and stared at + her with incredulous eyes. + </p> + <p> + “His technic,” he repeated, “is not equal to Ysaye's?” He gave a laugh + which might have been a sob, and sat up, suddenly, with his head erect and + his shoulders squared. He had the shaken look of one who has recovered + from a dangerous illness. But when he spoke again it was in the accents of + every-day politeness. + </p> + <p> + At an early hour the following morning, Mrs. Warriner and her daughter + left Waterloo Station on the steamer-train for Southampton, and Corbin + attended them up to the moment of the train's departure. He concerned + himself for their comfort as conscientiously as he had always done + throughout the last three months, when he had been their + travelling-companion; nothing could have been more friendly, more + sympathetic, than his manner. This effort, which Mrs. Warriner was sure + cost him much, touched her deeply. But when he shook Miss Warriner's hand + and she said, “Good-by, and write to us before you go to the Philippines,” + Corbin for the first time stammered in some embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by,” he said; “I—I am not sure that I shall go.” + </p> + <p> + He dined at the Savoy again that night, in company with some Englishmen. + They sat at a table in the corner where they could observe the whole + extent of the room, and their talk was eager and their laughter constant + and hearty. It was only when the boy who led the orchestra began to walk + among the tables, playing an air of peculiar sadness, that Corbin's manner + lost its vivacity, and he sank into a sudden silence, with his eyes fixed + on the table before him. + </p> + <p> + “That's odd,” said one of his companions. “I say, Corbin, look at that + chap! What's he doing?” + </p> + <p> + Corbin raised his eyes. He saw Edouard standing at the same table at which + for the last two nights Miss Warriner had been seated. “What is it?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, that violin chap,” said the Englishman. “Don't you see? He's been + playing to the only vacant table in the room, and to an empty chair.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN THE FOG + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + The Grill is the club most difficult of access in the world. To be placed + on its rolls distinguishes the new member as greatly as though he had + received a vacant Garter or had been caricatured in “Vanity Fair.” + </p> + <p> + Men who belong to the Grill Club never mention that fact. If you were to + ask one of them which clubs he frequents, he will name all save that + particular one. He is afraid if he told you he belonged to the Grill, that + it would sound like boasting. + </p> + <p> + The Grill Club dates back to the days when Shakespeare's Theatre stood on + the present site of the “Times” office. It has a golden Grill which + Charles the Second presented to the Club, and the original manuscript of + “Tom and Jerry in London,” which was bequeathed to it by Pierce Egan + himself. The members, when they write letters at the Club, still use sand + to blot the ink. + </p> + <p> + The Grill enjoys the distinction of having blackballed, without political + prejudice, a Prime Minister of each party. At the same sitting at which + one of these fell, it elected, on account of his brogue and his bulls, + Quiller, Q. C., who was then a penniless barrister. + </p> + <p> + When Paul Preval, the French artist who came to London by royal command to + paint a portrait of the Prince of Wales, was made an honorary member—only + foreigners may be honorary members—he said, as he signed his first + wine-card, “I would rather see my name on that than on a picture in the + Louvre.” + </p> + <p> + At which Quiller remarked, “That is a devil of a compliment, because the + only men who can read their names in the Louvre to-day have been dead + fifty years.” + </p> + <p> + On the night after the great fog of 1897 there were five members in the + Club, four of them busy with supper and one reading in front of the + fireplace. There is only one room to the Club, and one long table. At the + far end of the room the fire of the grill glows red, and, when the fat + falls, blazes into flame, and at the other there is a broad bow-window of + diamond panes, which looks down upon the street. The four men at the table + were strangers to each other, but as they picked at the grilled bones, and + sipped their Scotch and soda, they conversed with such charming animation + that a visitor to the Club, which does not tolerate visitors, would have + counted them as friends of long acquaintance, certainly not as Englishmen + who had met for the first time, and without the form of an introduction. + But it is the etiquette and tradition of the Grill that whoever enters it + must speak with whomever he finds there. It is to enforce this rule that + there is but one long table, and whether there are twenty men at it or + two, the waiters, supporting the rule, will place them side by side. + </p> + <p> + For this reason the four strangers at supper were seated together, with + the candles grouped about them, and the long length of the table cutting a + white path through the outer gloom. + </p> + <p> + “I repeat,” said the gentleman with the black pearl stud, “that the days + for romantic adventure and deeds of foolish daring have passed, and that + the fault lies with ourselves. Voyages to the pole I do not catalogue as + adventures. That African explorer, young Chetney, who turned up yesterday + after he was supposed to have died in Uganda, did nothing adventurous. He + made maps and explored the sources of rivers. He was in constant danger, + but the presence of danger does not constitute adventure. Were that so, + the chemist who studies high explosives, or who investigates deadly + poisons, passes through adventures daily. No, 'adventures are for the + adventurous.' But one no longer ventures. The spirit of it has died of + inertia. We are grown too practical, too just, above all, too sensible. In + this room, for instance, members of this Club have, at the sword's point, + disputed the proper scanning of one of Pope's couplets. Over so weighty a + matter as spilled Burgundy on a gentleman's cuff, ten men fought across + this table, each with his rapier in one hand and a candle in the other. + All ten were wounded. The question of the spilled Burgundy concerned but + two of them. The eight others engaged because they were men of 'spirit.' + They were, indeed, the first gentlemen of the day. To-night, were you to + spill Burgundy on my cuff, were you even to insult me grossly, these + gentlemen would not consider it incumbent upon them to kill each other. + They would separate us, and to-morrow morning appear as witnesses against + us at Bow Street. We have here to-night, in the persons of Sir Andrew and + myself, an illustration of how the ways have changed.” + </p> + <p> + The men around the table turned and glanced toward the gentleman in front + of the fireplace. He was an elderly and somewhat portly person, with a + kindly, wrinkled countenance, which wore continually a smile of almost + childish confidence and good-nature. It was a face which the illustrated + prints had made intimately familiar. He held a book from him at + arm's-length, as if to adjust his eyesight, and his brows were knit with + interest. + </p> + <p> + “Now, were this the eighteenth century,” continued the gentleman with the + black pearl, “when Sir Andrew left the Club to-night I would have him + bound and gagged and thrown into a sedan chair. The watch would not + interfere, the passers-by would take to their heels, my hired bullies and + ruffians would convey him to some lonely spot where we would guard him + until morning. Nothing would come of it, except added reputation to myself + as a gentleman of adventurous spirit, and possibly an essay in the + 'Tatler' with stars for names, entitled, let us say, 'The Budget and the + Baronet.'” + </p> + <p> + “But to what end, sir?” inquired the youngest of the members. “And why Sir + Andrew, of all persons—why should you select him for this + adventure?” + </p> + <p> + The gentleman with the black pearl shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “It would prevent him speaking in the House to-night. The Navy Increase + Bill,” he added, gloomily. “It is a Government measure, and Sir Andrew + speaks for it. And so great is his influence and so large his following + that if he does”—the gentleman laughed ruefully—“if he does, + it will go through. Now, had I the spirit of our ancestors,” he exclaimed, + “I would bring chloroform from the nearest chemist's and drug him in that + chair. I would tumble his unconscious form into a hansom-cab, and hold him + prisoner until daylight. If I did, I would save the British taxpayer the + cost of five more battleships, many millions of pounds.” + </p> + <p> + The gentleman again turned, and surveyed the baronet with freshened + interest. The honorary member of the Grill, whose accent already had + betrayed him as an American, laughed softly. + </p> + <p> + “To look at him now,” he said, “one would not guess he was deeply + concerned with the affairs of state.” + </p> + <p> + The others nodded silently. + </p> + <p> + “He has not lifted his eyes from that book since we first entered,” added + the youngest member. “He surely cannot mean to speak to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, he will speak,” muttered the one with the black pearl, moodily. + “During these last hours of the session the House sits late, but when the + Navy bill comes up on its third reading he will be in his place—and + he will pass it.” + </p> + <p> + The fourth member, a stout and florid gentleman of a somewhat sporting + appearance, in a short smoking-jacket and black tie, sighed enviously. + </p> + <p> + “Fancy one of us being as cool as that, if he knew he had to stand up + within an hour and rattle off a speech in Parliament. I'd be in a devil of + a funk myself. And yet he is as keen over that book he's reading as though + he had nothing before him until bedtime.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, see how eager he is,” whispered the youngest member. “He does not + lift his eyes even now when he cuts the pages. It is probably an Admiralty + Report, or some other weighty work of statistics which bears upon his + speech.” + </p> + <p> + The gentleman with the black pearl laughed morosely. + </p> + <p> + “The weighty work in which the eminent statesman is so deeply engrossed,” + he said, “is called 'The Great Rand Robbery.' It is a detective novel for + sale at all bookstalls.” + </p> + <p> + The American raised his eyebrows in disbelief. + </p> + <p> + “'The Great Rand Robbery'?” he repeated, incredulously. “What an odd + taste!” + </p> + <p> + “It is not a taste, it is his vice,” returned the gentleman with the pearl + stud. “It is his one dissipation. He is noted for it. You, as a stranger, + could hardly be expected to know of this idiosyncrasy. Mr. Gladstone + sought relaxation in the Greek poets, Sir Andrew finds his in Gaboriau. + Since I have been a member of Parliament, I have never seen him in the + library without a shilling shocker in his hands. He brings them even into + the sacred precincts of the House, and from the Government benches reads + them concealed inside his hat. Once started on a tale of murder, robbery, + and sudden death, nothing can tear him from it, not even the call of the + division-bell, nor of hunger, nor the prayers of the party Whip. He gave + up his country house because when he journeyed to it in the train he would + become so absorbed in his detective-stories that he was invariably carried + past his station.” The member of Parliament twisted his pearl stud + nervously, and bit at the edge of his mustache. “If it only were the first + pages of 'The Rand Robbery' that he were reading,” he murmured bitterly, + “instead of the last! With such another book as that, I swear I could hold + him here until morning. There would be no need of chloroform to keep him + from the House.” + </p> + <p> + The eyes of all were fastened upon Sir Andrew, and each saw, with + fascination, that, with his forefinger, he was now separating the last two + pages of the book. The member of Parliament struck the table, softly, with + his open palm. + </p> + <p> + “I would give a hundred pounds,” he whispered, “if I could place in his + hands at this moment a new story of Sherlock Holmes—a thousand + pounds,” he added, wildly—“five thousand pounds!” + </p> + <p> + The American observed the speaker sharply, as though the words bore to him + some special application, and then, at an idea which apparently had but + just come to him, smiled, in great embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + Sir Andrew ceased reading, but, as though still under the influence of the + book, sat looking, blankly, into the open fire. For a brief space, no one + moved until the baronet withdrew his eyes and, with a sudden start of + recollection, felt, anxiously, for his watch. He scanned its face eagerly, + and scrambled to his feet. + </p> + <p> + The voice of the American instantly broke the silence in a high, nervous + accent. + </p> + <p> + “And yet Sherlock Holmes himself,” he cried, “could not decipher the + mystery which to-night baffles the police of London.” + </p> + <p> + At these unexpected words, which carried in them something of the tone of + a challenge, the gentlemen about the table started as suddenly as though + the American had fired a pistol in the air, and Sir Andrew halted, + abruptly, and stood observing him with grave surprise. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman with the black pearl was the first to recover. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” he said, eagerly, throwing himself across the table. “A + mystery that baffles the police of London. I have heard nothing of it. + Tell us at once, pray do—tell us at once.” + </p> + <p> + The American flushed uncomfortably, and picked, uneasily, at the + table-cloth. + </p> + <p> + “No one but the police has heard of it,” he murmured, “and they only + through me. It is a remarkable crime, to which, unfortunately, I am the + only person who can bear witness. Because I am the only witness, I am, in + spite of my immunity as a diplomat, detained in London by the authorities + of Scotland Yard. My name,” he said, inclining his head, politely, “is + Sears, Lieutenant Ripley Sears, of the United States Navy, at present + Naval Attache to the Court of Russia. Had I not been detained to-day by + the police, I would have started this morning for Petersburg.” + </p> + <p> + The gentleman with the black pearl interrupted with so pronounced an + exclamation of excitement and delight that the American stammered and + ceased speaking. + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear, Sir Andrew?” cried the member of Parliament, jubilantly. “An + American diplomat halted by our police because he is the only witness of a + most remarkable crime—THE most remarkable crime, I believe you said, + sir,” he added, bending eagerly toward the naval officer, “which has + occurred in London in many years.” + </p> + <p> + The American moved his head in assent, and glanced at the two other + members. They were looking, doubtfully, at him, and the face of each + showed that he was greatly perplexed. + </p> + <p> + Sir Andrew advanced to within the light of the candles and drew a chair + toward him. + </p> + <p> + “The crime must be exceptional, indeed,” he said, “to justify the police + in interfering with a representative of a friendly power. If I were not + forced to leave at once, I should take the liberty of asking you to tell + us the details.” + </p> + <p> + The gentleman with the pearl pushed the chair toward Sir Andrew, and + motioned him to be seated. + </p> + <p> + “You cannot leave us now,” he exclaimed. “Mr. Sears is just about to tell + us of this remarkable crime.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded, vigorously, at the naval officer and the American, after first + glancing, doubtfully, toward the servants at the far end of the room, and + leaned forward across the table. The others drew their chairs nearer and + bent toward him. The baronet glanced, irresolutely, at his watch, and, + with an exclamation of annoyance, snapped down the lid. “They can wait,” + he muttered. He seated himself quickly, and nodded at Lieutenant Sears. + </p> + <p> + “If you will be so kind as to begin, sir,” he said, impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said the American, “you understand that I understand that I + am speaking to gentlemen. The confidences of this Club are inviolate. + Until the police give the facts to the public press, I must consider you + my confederates. You have heard nothing, you know no one connected with + this mystery. Even I must remain anonymous.” + </p> + <p> + The gentlemen seated around him nodded gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” the baronet assented, with eagerness, “of course.” + </p> + <p> + “We will refer to it,” said the gentleman with the black pearl, “as 'The + Story of the Naval Attache.'” + </p> + <p> + “I arrived in London two days ago,” said the American, “and I engaged a + room at the Bath Hotel. I know very few people in London, and even the + members of our embassy were strangers to me. But in Hong Kong I had become + great pals with an officer in your navy, who has since retired, and who is + now living in a small house in Rutland Gardens, opposite the Knightsbridge + Barracks. I telegraphed him that I was in London, and yesterday morning I + received a most hearty invitation to dine with him the same evening at his + house. He is a bachelor, so we dined alone and talked over all our old + days on the Asiatic Station and of the changes which had come to us since + we had last met there. As I was leaving the next morning for my post at + Petersburg, and had many letters to write, I told him, about ten o'clock, + that I must get back to the hotel, and he sent out his servant to call a + hansom. + </p> + <p> + “For the next quarter of an hour, as we sat talking, we could hear the + cab-whistle sounding, violently, from the doorstep, but apparently with no + result. + </p> + <p> + “'It cannot be that the cabmen are on strike,' my friend said, as he rose + and walked to the window. + </p> + <p> + “He pulled back the curtains and at once called to me. + </p> + <p> + “'You have never seen a London fog, have you?' he asked. 'Well, come here. + This is one of the best, or, rather, one of the worst, of them.' I joined + him at the window, but I could see nothing. Had I not known that the house + looked out upon the street I would have believed that I was facing a dead + wall. I raised the sash and stretched out my head, but still I could see + nothing. Even the light of the street-lamps, opposite, and in the upper + windows of the barracks, had been smothered in the yellow mist. The lights + of the room in which I stood penetrated the fog only to the distance of a + few inches from my eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Below me the servant was still sounding his whistle, but I could afford + to wait no longer, and told my friend that I would try and find the way to + my hotel on foot. He objected, but the letters I had to write were for the + Navy Department, and, besides, I had always heard that to be out in a + London fog was the most wonderful experience, and I was curious to + investigate one for myself. + </p> + <p> + “My friend went with me to his front door, and laid down a course for me + to follow. I was first to walk straight across the street to the brick + wall of the Knightsbridge Barracks. I was then to feel my way along the + wall until I came to a row of houses set back from the sidewalk. They + would bring me to a cross street. On the other side of this street was a + row of shops which I was to follow until they joined the iron railings of + Hyde Park. I was to keep to the railings until I reached the gates at Hyde + Park Corner, where I was to lay a diagonal course across Piccadilly, and + tack in toward the railings of Green Park. At the end of these railings, + going east, I would find the Walsingham, and my own hotel. + </p> + <p> + “To a sailor the course did not seem difficult, so I bade my friend + good-night and walked forward until my feet touched the paving. I + continued upon it until I reached the curbing of the sidewalk. A few steps + further, and my hands struck the wall of the barracks. I turned in the + direction from which I had just come, and saw a square of faint light cut + in the yellow fog. I shouted, 'All right,' and the voice of my friend + answered, 'Good luck to you.' The light from his open door disappeared + with a bang, and I was left alone in a dripping, yellow darkness. I have + been in the Navy for ten years, but I have never known such a fog as that + of last night, not even among the icebergs of Behring Sea. There one at + least could see the light of the binnacle, but last night I could not even + distinguish the hand by which I guided myself along the barrack-wall. At + sea a fog is a natural phenomenon. It is as familiar as the rainbow which + follows a storm, it is as proper that a fog should spread upon the waters + as that steam shall rise from a kettle. But a fog which springs from the + paved streets, that rolls between solid house-fronts, that forces cabs to + move at half speed, that drowns policemen and extinguishes the electric + lights of the music-hall, that to me is incomprehensible. It is as out of + place as a tidal wave on Broadway. + </p> + <p> + “As I felt my way along the wall, I encountered other men who were coming + from the opposite direction, and each time when we hailed each other I + stepped away from the wall to make room for them to pass. But the third + time I did this, when I reached out my hand, the wall had disappeared, and + the further I moved to find it the further I seemed to be sinking into + space. I had the unpleasant conviction that at any moment I might step + over a precipice. Since I had set out, I had heard no traffic in the + street, and now, although I listened some minutes, I could only + distinguish the occasional footfalls of pedestrians. Several times I + called aloud, and once a jocular gentleman answered me, but only to ask me + where I thought he was, and then even he was swallowed up in the silence. + Just above me I could make out a jet of gas which I guessed came from a + street-lamp, and I moved over to that, and, while I tried to recover my + bearings, kept my hand on the iron post. Except for this nicker of gas, no + larger than the tip of my finger, I could distinguish nothing about me. + For the rest, the mist hung between me and the world like a damp and heavy + blanket. + </p> + <p> + “I could hear voices, but I could not tell from whence they came, and the + scrape of a foot, moving cautiously, or a muffled cry as someone stumbled, + were the only sounds that reached me. + </p> + <p> + “I decided that until someone took me in I had best remain where I was, + and it must have been for ten minutes that I waited by the lamp, straining + my ears and hailing distant footfalls. In a house near me some people were + dancing to the music of a Hungarian band. I even fancied I could hear the + windows shake to the rhythm of their feet, but I could not make out from + which part of the compass the sounds came. And sometimes, as the music + rose, it seemed close at my hand, and, again, to be floating high in the + air above my head. Although I was surrounded by thousands of householders, + I was as completely lost as though I had been set down by night in the + Sahara Desert. There seemed to be no reason in waiting longer for an + escort, so I again set out, and at once bumped against a low, iron fence. + At first I believed this to be an area railing, but, on following it, I + found that it stretched for a long distance, and that it was pierced at + regular intervals with gates. I was standing, uncertainly, with my hand on + one of these, when a square of light suddenly opened in the night, and in + it I saw, as you see a picture thrown by a biograph in a darkened theatre, + a young gentleman in evening dress, and, back of him, the lights of a + hall. I guessed, from its elevation and distance from the sidewalk, that + this light must come from the door of a house set back from the street, + and I determined to approach it and ask the young man to tell me where I + was. But, in fumbling with the lock of the gate, I instinctively bent my + head, and when I raised it again the door had partly closed, leaving only + a narrow shaft of light. Whether the young man had re-entered the house, + or had left it I could not tell, but I hastened to open the gate, and as I + stepped forward I found myself upon an asphalt walk. At the same instant + there was the sound of quick steps upon the path, and someone rushed past + me. I called to him, but he made no reply, and I heard the gate click and + the footsteps hurrying away upon the sidewalk. + </p> + <p> + “Under other circumstances the young man's rudeness, and his recklessness + in dashing so hurriedly through the mist, would have struck me as + peculiar, but everything was so distorted by the fog that at the moment I + did not consider it. The door was still as he had left it, partly open. I + went up the path, and, after much fumbling, found the knob of the + door-bell and gave it a sharp pull. The bell answered me from a great + depth and distance, but no movement followed from inside the house, and, + although I pulled the bell again and again, I could hear nothing save the + dripping of the mist about me. I was anxious to be on my way, but unless I + knew where I was going there was little chance of my making any speed, and + I was determined that until I learned my bearings I would not venture back + into the fog. So I pushed the door open and stepped into the house. + </p> + <p> + “I found myself in a long and narrow hall, upon which doors opened from + either side. At the end of the hall was a staircase with a balustrade + which ended in a sweeping curve. The balustrade was covered with heavy, + Persian rugs, and the walls of the hall were also hung with them. The door + on my left was closed, but the one nearer me on the right was open, and, + as I stepped opposite to it, I saw that it was a sort of reception or + waiting-room, and that it was empty. The door below it was also open, and, + with the idea that I would surely find someone there, I walked on up the + hall. I was in evening dress, and I felt I did not look like a burglar, so + I had no great fear that, should I encounter one of the inmates of the + house, he would shoot me on sight. The second door in the hall opened into + a dining-room. This was also empty. One person had been dining at the + table, but the cloth had not been cleared away, and a flickering candle + showed half-filled wineglasses and the ashes of cigarettes. The greater + part of the room was in complete darkness. + </p> + <p> + “By this time I had grown conscious of the fact that I was wandering about + in a strange house, and that, apparently, I was alone in it. The silence + of the place began to try my nerves, and in a sudden, unexplainable panic + I started for the open street. But as I turned, I saw a man sitting on a + bench, which the curve of the balustrade had hidden from me. His eyes were + shut, and he was sleeping soundly. + </p> + <p> + “The moment before I had been bewildered because I could see no one, but + at sight of this man I was much more bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “He was a very large man, a giant in height, with long, yellow hair, which + hung below his shoulders. He was dressed in a red silk shirt, that was + belted at the waist and hung outside black velvet trousers, which, in + turn, were stuffed into high, black boots. I recognized the costume at + once as that of a Russian servant, but what a Russian servant in his + native livery could be doing in a private house in Knightsbridge was + incomprehensible. + </p> + <p> + “I advanced and touched the man on the shoulder, and, after an effort, he + awoke, and, on seeing me, sprang to his feet and began bowing rapidly, and + making deprecatory gestures. I had picked up enough Russian in Petersburg + to make out that the man was apologizing for having fallen asleep, and I + also was able to explain to him that I desired to see his master. + </p> + <p> + “He nodded vigorously, and said, 'Will the Excellency come this way? The + Princess is here.' + </p> + <p> + “I distinctly made out the word 'princess,' and I was a good deal + embarrassed. I had thought it would be easy enough to explain my intrusion + to a man, but how a woman would look at it was another matter, and as I + followed him down the hall I was somewhat puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “As we advanced, he noticed that the front door was standing open, and + with an exclamation of surprise, hastened toward it and closed it. Then he + rapped twice on the door of what was apparently the drawing-room. There + was no reply to his knock, and he tapped again, and then, timidly, and + cringing subserviently, opened the door and stepped inside. He withdrew + himself at once and stared stupidly at me, shaking his head. + </p> + <p> + “'She is not there,' he said. He stood for a moment, gazing blankly + through the open door, and then hastened toward the dining-room. The + solitary candle which still burned there seemed to assure him that the + room also was empty. He came back and bowed me toward the drawing-room. + 'She is above,' he said; 'I will inform the Princess of the Excellency's + presence.' + </p> + <p> + “Before I could stop him, he had turned and was running up the staircase, + leaving me alone at the open door of the drawing-room. I decided that the + adventure had gone quite far enough, and if I had been able to explain to + the Russian that I had lost my way in the fog, and only wanted to get back + into the street again, I would have left the house on the instant. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, when I first rang the bell of the house I had no other + expectation than that it would be answered by a parlor-maid who would + direct me on my way. I certainly could not then foresee that I would + disturb a Russian princess in her boudoir, or that I might be thrown out + by her athletic bodyguard. Still, I thought I ought not now to leave the + house without making some apology, and, if the worst should come, I could + show my card. They could hardly believe that a member of an Embassy had + any designs upon the hat-rack. + </p> + <p> + “The room in which I stood was dimly lighted, but I could see that, like + the hall, it was hung with heavy, Persian rugs. The corners were filled + with palms, and there was the unmistakable odor in the air of Russian + cigarettes, and strange, dry scents that carried me back to the bazaars of + Vladivostock. Near the front windows was a grand piano, and at the other + end of the room a heavily carved screen of some black wood, picked out + with ivory. The screen was overhung with a canopy of silken draperies, and + formed a sort of alcove. In front of the alcove was spread the white skin + of a polar bear, and set on that was one of those low, Turkish + coffee-tables. It held a lighted spirit-lamp and two gold coffee-cups. I + had heard no movement from above stairs, and it must have been fully three + minutes that I stood waiting, noting these details of the room and + wondering at the delay, and at the strange silence. + </p> + <p> + “And then, suddenly, as my eye grew more used to the half-light, I saw, + projecting from behind the screen, as though it were stretched along the + back of a divan, the hand of a man and the lower part of his arm. I was as + startled as though I had come across a footprint on a deserted island. + Evidently, the man had been sitting there since I had come into the room, + even since I had entered the house, and he had heard the servant knocking + upon the door. Why he had not declared himself I could not understand, but + I supposed that, possibly, he was a guest, with no reason to interest + himself in the Princess's other visitors, or, perhaps, for some reason, he + did not wish to be observed. I could see nothing of him except his hand, + but I had an unpleasant feeling that he had been peering at me through the + carving in the screen, and that he still was doing so. I moved my feet + noisily on the floor and said, tentatively, 'I beg your pardon.' + </p> + <p> + “There was no reply, and the hand did not stir. Apparently, the man was + bent upon ignoring me, but, as all I wished was to apologize for my + intrusion and to leave the house, I walked up to the alcove and peered + around it. Inside the screen was a divan piled with cushions, and on the + end of it nearer me the man was sitting. He was a young Englishman with + light-yellow hair and a deeply bronzed face. He was seated with his arms + stretched out along the back of the divan, and with his head resting + against a cushion. His attitude was one of complete ease. But his mouth + had fallen open, and his eyes were set with an expression of utter horror. + At the first glance, I saw that he was quite dead. + </p> + <p> + “For a flash of time I was too startled to act, but in the same flash I + was convinced that the man had met his death from no accident, that he had + not died through any ordinary failure of the laws of nature. The + expression on his face was much too terrible to be misinterpreted. It + spoke as eloquently as words. It told me that before the end had come he + had watched his death approach and threaten him. + </p> + <p> + “I was so sure he had been murdered that I instinctively looked on the + floor for the weapon, and, at the same moment, out of concern for my own + safety, quickly behind me; but the silence of the house continued + unbroken. + </p> + <p> + “I have seen a great number of dead men; I was on the Asiatic Station + during the Japanese-Chinese war. I was in Port Arthur after the massacre. + So a dead man, for the single reason that he is dead, does not repel me, + and, though I knew that there was no hope that this man was alive, still, + for decency's sake, I felt his pulse, and, while I kept my ears alert for + any sound from the floors above me, I pulled open his shirt and placed my + hand upon his heart. My fingers instantly touched upon the opening of a + wound, and as I withdrew them I found them wet with blood. He was in + evening dress, and in the wide bosom of his shirt I found a narrow slit, + so narrow that in the dim light it was scarcely discernible. The wound was + no wider than the smallest blade of a pocket-knife, but when I stripped + the shirt away from the chest and left it bare, I found that the weapon, + narrow as it was, had been long enough to reach his heart. There is no + need to tell you how I felt as I stood by the body of this boy, for he was + hardly older than a boy, or of the thoughts that came into my head. I was + bitterly sorry for this stranger, bitterly indignant at his murderer, and, + at the same time, selfishly concerned for my own safety and for the + notoriety which I saw was sure to follow. My instinct was to leave the + body where it lay, and to hide myself in the fog, but I also felt that + since a succession of accidents had made me the only witness to a crime, + my duty was to make myself a good witness and to assist to establish the + facts of this murder. + </p> + <p> + “That it might, possibly, be a suicide, and not a murder, did not disturb + me for a moment. The fact that the weapon had disappeared, and the + expression on the boy's face were enough to convince, at least me, that he + had had no hand in his own death. I judged it, therefore, of the first + importance to discover who was in the house, or, if they had escaped from + it, who had been in the house before I entered it. I had seen one man + leave it; but all I could tell of him was that he was a young man, that he + was in evening dress, and that he had fled in such haste that he had not + stopped to close the door behind him. + </p> + <p> + “The Russian servant I had found apparently asleep, and, unless he acted a + part with supreme skill, he was a stupid and ignorant boor, and as + innocent of the murder as myself. There was still the Russian princess + whom he had expected to find, or had pretended to expect to find, in the + same room with the murdered man. I judged that she must now be either + upstairs with the servant, or that she had, without his knowledge, already + fled from the house. When I recalled his apparently genuine surprise at + not finding her in the drawing-room, this latter supposition seemed the + more probable. Nevertheless, I decided that it was my duty to make a + search, and after a second hurried look for the weapon among the cushions + of the divan, and upon the floor, I cautiously crossed the hall and + entered the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + “The single candle was still flickering in the draught, and showed only + the white cloth. The rest of the room was draped in shadows. I picked up + the candle, and, lifting it high above my head, moved around the corner of + the table. Either my nerves were on such a stretch that no shock could + strain them further, or my mind was inoculated to horrors, for I did not + cry out at what I saw nor retreat from it. Immediately at my feet was the + body of a beautiful woman, lying at full length upon the floor, her arms + flung out on either side of her, and her white face and shoulders + gleaming, dully, in the unsteady light of the candle. Around her throat + was a great chain of diamonds, and the light played upon these and made + them flash and blaze in tiny flames. But the woman who wore them was dead, + and I was so certain as to how she had died that, without an instant's + hesitation, I dropped on my knees beside her and placed my hands above her + heart. My fingers again touched the thin slit of a wound. I had no doubt + in my mind but that this was the Russian princess, and when I lowered the + candle to her face I was assured that this was so. Her features showed the + finest lines of both the Slav and the Jewess; the eyes were black, the + hair blue-black and wonderfully heavy, and her skin, even in death, was + rich in color. She was a surpassingly beautiful woman. + </p> + <p> + “I rose and tried to light another candle with the one I held, but I found + that my hand was so unsteady that I could not keep the wicks together. It + was my intention to again search for this strange dagger which had been + used to kill both the English boy and the beautiful princess, but before I + could light the second candle I heard footsteps descending the stairs, and + the Russian servant appeared in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “My face was in darkness, or I am sure that, at the sight of it, he would + have taken alarm, for at that moment I was not sure but that this man + himself was the murderer. His own face was plainly visible to me in the + light from the hall, and I could see that it wore an expression of dull + bewilderment. I stepped quickly toward him and took a firm hold upon his + wrist. + </p> + <p> + “'She is not there,' he said. 'The Princess has gone. They have all gone.' + </p> + <p> + “'Who have gone?' I demanded. 'Who else has been here?' + </p> + <p> + “'The two Englishmen,' he said. + </p> + <p> + “'What two Englishmen?' I demanded. 'What are their names?' + </p> + <p> + “The man now saw by my manner that some question of great moment hung upon + his answer, and he began to protest that he did not know the names of the + visitors and that until that evening he had never seen them. + </p> + <p> + “I guessed that it was my tone which frightened him, so I took my hand off + his wrist and spoke less eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “'How long have they been here?' I asked, 'and when did they go?' + </p> + <p> + “He pointed behind him toward the drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + “'One sat there with the Princess,' he said; 'the other came after I had + placed the coffee in the drawing-room. The two Englishmen talked together, + and the Princess returned here to the table. She sat there in that chair, + and I brought her cognac and cigarettes. Then I sat outside upon the + bench. It was a feast-day, and I had been drinking. Pardon, Excellency, + but I fell asleep. When I woke, your Excellency was standing by me, but + the Princess and the two Englishmen had gone. That is all I know.' + </p> + <p> + “I believed that the man was telling me the truth. His fright had passed, + and he was now apparently puzzled, but not alarmed. + </p> + <p> + “'You must remember the names of the Englishmen,' I urged. 'Try to think. + When you announced them to the Princess what name did you give?' + </p> + <p> + “At this question he exclaimed, with pleasure, and, beckoning to me, ran + hurriedly down the hall and into the drawing-room. In the corner furthest + from the screen was the piano, and on it was a silver tray. He picked this + up and, smiling with pride at his own intelligence, pointed at two cards + that lay upon it. I took them up and read the names engraved upon them.” + </p> + <p> + The American paused abruptly, and glanced at the faces about him. “I read + the names,” he repeated. He spoke with great reluctance. + </p> + <p> + “Continue!” cried the baronet, sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I read the names,” said the American with evident distaste, “and the + family name of each was the same. They were the names of two brothers. One + is well known to you. It is that of the African explorer of whom this + gentleman was just speaking. I mean the Earl of Chetney. The other was the + name of his brother. Lord Arthur Chetney.” + </p> + <p> + The men at the table fell back as though a trapdoor had fallen open at + their feet. + </p> + <p> + “Lord Chetney?” they exclaimed, in chorus. They glanced at each other and + back to the American, with every expression of concern and disbelief. + </p> + <p> + “It is impossible!” cried the Baronet. “Why, my dear sir, young Chetney + only arrived from Africa yesterday. It was so stated in the evening + papers.” + </p> + <p> + The jaw of the American set in a resolute square, and he pressed his lips + together. + </p> + <p> + “You are perfectly right, sir,” he said, “Lord Chetney did arrive in + London yesterday morning, and yesterday night I found his dead body.” + </p> + <p> + The youngest member present was the first to recover. He seemed much less + concerned over the identity of the murdered man than at the interruption + of the narrative. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, please let him go on!” he cried. “What happened then? You say you + found two visiting-cards. How do you know which card was that of the + murdered man?” + </p> + <p> + The American, before he answered, waited until the chorus of exclamations + had ceased. Then he continued as though he had not been interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “The instant I read the names upon the cards,” he said, “I ran to the + screen and, kneeling beside the dead man, began a search through his + pockets. My hand at once fell upon a card-case, and I found on all the + cards it contained the title of the Earl of Chetney. His watch and + cigarette-case also bore his name. These evidences, and the fact of his + bronzed skin, and that his cheek-bones were worn with fever, convinced me + that the dead man was the African explorer, and the boy who had fled past + me in the night was Arthur, his younger brother. + </p> + <p> + “I was so intent upon my search that I had forgotten the servant, and I + was still on my knees when I heard a cry behind me. I turned, and saw the + man gazing down at the body in abject horror. + </p> + <p> + “Before I could rise, he gave another cry of terror, and, flinging himself + into the hall, raced toward the door to the street. I leaped after him, + shouting to him to halt, but before I could reach the hall he had torn + open the door, and I saw him spring out into the yellow fog. I cleared the + steps in a jump and ran down the garden-walk but just as the gate clicked + in front of me. I had it open on the instant, and, following the sound of + the man's footsteps, I raced after him across the open street. He, also, + could hear me, and he instantly stopped running, and there was absolute + silence. He was so near that I almost fancied I could hear him panting, + and I held my own breath to listen. But I could distinguish nothing but + the dripping of the mist about us, and from far off the music of the + Hungarian band, which I had heard when I first lost myself. + </p> + <p> + “All I could see was the square of light from the door I had left open + behind me, and a lamp in the hall beyond it flickering in the draught. But + even as I watched it, the flame of the lamp was blown violently to and + fro, and the door, caught in the same current of air, closed slowly. I + knew if it shut I could not again enter the house, and I rushed madly + toward it. I believe I even shouted out, as though it were something human + which I could compel to obey me, and then I caught my foot against the + curb and smashed into the sidewalk. When I rose to my feet I was dizzy and + half stunned, and though I thought then that I was moving toward the door, + I know now that I probably turned directly from it; for, as I groped about + in the night, calling frantically for the police, my fingers touched + nothing but the dripping fog, and the iron railings for which I sought + seemed to have melted away. For many minutes I beat the mist with my arms + like one at blind man's buff, turning sharply in circles, cursing aloud at + my stupidity and crying continually for help. At last a voice answered me + from the fog, and I found myself held in the circle of a policeman's + lantern. + </p> + <p> + “That is the end of my adventure. What I have to tell you now is what I + learned from the police. + </p> + <p> + “At the station-house to which the man guided me I related what you have + just heard. I told them that the house they must at once find was one set + back from the street within a radius of two hundred yards from the + Knightsbridge Barracks, that within fifty yards of it someone was giving a + dance to the music of a Hungarian band, and that the railings before it + were as high as a man's waist and filed to a point. With that to work + upon, twenty men were at once ordered out into the fog to search for the + house, and Inspector Lyle himself was despatched to the home of Lord Edam, + Chetney's father, with a warrant for Lord Arthur's arrest. I was thanked + and dismissed on my own recognizance. + </p> + <p> + “This morning, Inspector Lyle called on me, and from him I learned the + police theory of the scene I have just described. + </p> + <p> + “Apparently, I had wandered very far in the fog, for up to noon to-day the + house had not been found, nor had they been able to arrest Lord Arthur. He + did not return to his father's house last night, and there is no trace of + him; but from what the police knew of the past lives of the people I found + in that lost house, they have evolved a theory, and their theory is that + the murders were committed by Lord Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “The infatuation of his elder brother, Lord Chetney, for a Russian + princess, so Inspector Lyle tells me, is well known to everyone. About two + years ago the Princess Zichy, as she calls herself, and he were constantly + together, and Chetney informed his friends that they were about to be + married. The woman was notorious in two continents, and when Lord Edam + heard of his son's infatuation he appealed to the police for her record. + </p> + <p> + “It is through his having applied to them that they know so much + concerning her and her relations with the Chetneys. From the police Lord + Edam learned that Madame Zichy had once been a spy in the employ of the + Russian Third Section, but that lately she had been repudiated by her own + government and was living by her wits, by blackmail, and by her beauty. + Lord Edam laid this record before his son, but Chetney either knew it + already or the woman persuaded him not to believe in it, and the father + and son parted in great anger. Two days later the marquis altered his + will, leaving all of his money to the younger brother, Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “The title and some of the landed property he could not keep from Chetney, + but he swore if his son saw the woman again that the will should stand as + it was, and he would be left without a penny. + </p> + <p> + “This was about eighteen months ago, when, apparently, Chetney tired of + the Princess, and suddenly went off to shoot and explore in Central + Africa. No word came from him, except that twice he was reported as having + died of fever in the jungle, and finally two traders reached the coast who + said they had seen his body. This was accepted by all as conclusive, and + young Arthur was recognized as the heir to the Edam millions. On the + strength of this supposition he at once began to borrow enormous sums from + the money-lenders. This is of great importance, as the police believe it + was these debts which drove him to the murder of his brother. Yesterday, + as you know, Lord Chetney suddenly returned from the grave, and it was the + fact that for two years he had been considered as dead which lent such + importance to his return and which gave rise to those columns of detail + concerning him which appeared in all the afternoon papers. But, obviously, + during his absence he had not tired of the Princess Zichy, for we know + that a few hours after he reached London he sought her out. His brother, + who had also learned of his reappearance through the papers, probably + suspected which would be the house he would first visit, and followed him + there, arriving, so the Russian servant tells us, while the two were at + coffee in the drawing-room. The Princess, then, we also learn from the + servant, withdrew to the dining-room, leaving the brothers together. What + happened one can only guess. + </p> + <p> + “Lord Arthur knew now that when it was discovered he was no longer the + heir, the moneylenders would come down upon him. The police believe that + he at once sought out his brother to beg for money to cover the + post-obits, but that, considering the sum he needed was several hundreds + of thousands of pounds, Chetney refused to give it him. No one knew that + Arthur had gone to seek out his brother. They were alone. It is possible, + then, that in a passion of disappointment, and crazed with the disgrace + which he saw before him, young Arthur made himself the heir beyond further + question. The death of his brother would have availed nothing if the woman + remained alive. It is then possible that he crossed the hall, and, with + the same weapon which made him Lord Edam's heir, destroyed the solitary + witness to the murder. The only other person who could have seen it was + sleeping in a drunken stupor, to which fact undoubtedly he owed his life. + And yet,” concluded the Naval Attache, leaning forward and marking each + word with his finger, “Lord Arthur blundered fatally. In his haste he left + the door of the house open, so giving access to the first passer-by, and + he forgot that when he entered it he had handed his card to the servant. + That piece of paper may yet send him to the gallows. In the meantime, he + has disappeared completely, and somewhere, in one of the millions of + streets of this great capital, in a locked and empty house, lies the body + of his brother, and of the woman his brother loved, undiscovered, + unburied; and with their murder unavenged.” + </p> + <p> + In the discussion which followed the conclusion of the story of the Naval + Attache, the gentleman with the pearl took no part. Instead, he arose, + and, beckoning a servant to a far corner of the room, whispered earnestly + to him until a sudden movement on the part of Sir Andrew caused him to + return hurriedly to the table. + </p> + <p> + “There are several points in Mr. Sears's story I want explained,” he + cried. “Be seated, Sir Andrew,” he begged. “Let us have the opinion of an + expert. I do not care what the police think, I want to know what you + think.” + </p> + <p> + But Sir Andrew rose reluctantly from his chair. + </p> + <p> + “I should like nothing better than to discuss this,” he said. “But it is + most important that I proceed to the House. I should have been there some + time ago.” He turned toward the servant and directed him to call a hansom. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman with the pearl stud looked appealingly at the Naval Attache. + “There are surely many details that you have not told us,” he urged. “Some + you have forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + The Baronet interrupted quickly. + </p> + <p> + “I trust not,” he said, “for I could not possibly stop to hear them.” + </p> + <p> + “The story is finished,” declared the Naval Attache; “until Lord Arthur is + arrested or the bodies are found there is nothing more to tell of either + Chetney or the Princess Zichy.” + </p> + <p> + “Of Lord Chetney, perhaps not,” interrupted the sporting-looking gentleman + with the black tie, “but there'll always be something to tell of the + Princess Zichy. I know enough stories about her to fill a book. She was a + most remarkable woman.” The speaker dropped the end of his cigar into his + coffee-cup and, taking his case from his pocket, selected a fresh one. As + he did so he laughed and held up the case that the others might see it. It + was an ordinary cigar-case of well-worn pig-skin, with a silver clasp. + </p> + <p> + “The only time I ever met her,” he said, “she tried to rob me of this.” + </p> + <p> + The Baronet regarded him closely. + </p> + <p> + “She tried to rob you?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Tried to rob me of this,” continued the gentleman in the black tie, “and + of the Czarina's diamonds.” His tone was one of mingled admiration and + injury. + </p> + <p> + “The Czarina's diamonds!” exclaimed the Baronet. He glanced quickly and + suspiciously at the speaker, and then at the others about the table. But + their faces gave evidence of no other emotion than that of ordinary + interest. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the Czarina's diamonds,” repeated the man with the black tie. “It + was a necklace of diamonds. I was told to take them to the Russian + Ambassador in Paris, who was to deliver them at Moscow. I am a Queen's + Messenger,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I see,” exclaimed Sir Andrew, in a tone of relief. “And you say that + this same Princess Zichy, one of the victims of this double murder, + endeavored to rob you of—of—that cigar-case.” + </p> + <p> + “And the Czarina's diamonds,” answered the Queen's Messenger, + imperturbably. “It's not much of a story, but it gives you an idea of the + woman's character. The robbery took place between Paris and Marseilles.” + </p> + <p> + The Baronet interrupted him with an abrupt movement. “No, no,” he cried, + shaking his head in protest. “Do not tempt me. I really cannot listen. I + must be at the House in ten minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry,” said the Queen's Messenger. He turned to those seated about + him. “I wonder if the other gentlemen—” he inquired, tentatively. + There was a chorus of polite murmurs, and the Queen's Messenger, bowing + his head in acknowledgment, took a preparatory sip from his glass. At the + same moment the servant to whom the man with the black pearl had spoken, + slipped a piece of paper into his hand. He glanced at it, frowned, and + threw it under the table. + </p> + <p> + The servant bowed to the Baronet. + </p> + <p> + “Your hansom is waiting, Sir Andrew,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “The necklace was worth twenty thousand pounds,” began the Queen's + Messenger, “It was a present from the Queen of England to celebrate—” + The Baronet gave an exclamation of angry annoyance. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word, this is most provoking,” he interrupted. “I really ought + not to stay. But I certainly mean to hear this.” He turned irritably to + the servant. “Tell the hansom to wait,” he commanded, and, with an air of + a boy who is playing truant, slipped guiltily into his chair. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman with the black pearl smiled blandly, and rapped upon the + table. + </p> + <p> + “Order, gentlemen,” he said. “Order for the story of the Queen's Messenger + and the Czarina's diamonds.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + “The necklace was a present from the Queen of England to the Czarina of + Russia,” began the Queen's Messenger. “It was to celebrate the occasion of + the Czar's coronation. Our Foreign Office knew that the Russian Ambassador + in Paris was to proceed to Moscow for that ceremony, and I was directed to + go to Paris and turn over the necklace to him. But when I reached Paris I + found he had not expected me for a week later and was taking a few days' + vacation at Nice. His people asked me to leave the necklace with them at + the Embassy, but I had been charged to get a receipt for it from the + Ambassador himself, so I started at once for Nice. The fact that Monte + Carlo is not two thousand miles from Nice may have had something to do + with making me carry out my instructions so carefully. + </p> + <p> + “Now, how the Princess Zichy came to find out about the necklace I don't + know, but I can guess. As you have just heard, she was at one time a spy + in the service of the Russian Government. And after they dismissed her she + kept up her acquaintance with many of the Russian agents in London. It is + probable that through one of them she learned that the necklace was to be + sent to Moscow, and which one of the Queen's Messengers had been detailed + to take it there. Still, I doubt if even that knowledge would have helped + her if she had not also known something which I supposed no one else in + the world knew but myself and one other man. And, curiously enough, the + other man was a Queen's Messenger, too, and a friend of mine. You must + know that up to the time of this robbery I had always concealed my + despatches in a manner peculiarly my own. I got the idea from that play + called 'A Scrap of Paper.' In it a man wants to hide a certain + compromising document. He knows that all his rooms will be secretly + searched for it, so he puts it in a torn envelope and sticks it up where + anyone can see it on his mantle-shelf. The result is that the woman who is + ransacking the house to find it looks in all the unlikely places, but + passes over the scrap of paper that is just under her nose. Sometimes the + papers and packages they give us to carry about Europe are of very great + value, and sometimes they are special makes of cigarettes, and orders to + court-dressmakers. Sometimes we know what we are carrying and sometimes we + do not. If it is a large sum of money or a treaty, they generally tell us. + But, as a rule, we have no knowledge of what the package contains; so to + be on the safe side, we naturally take just as great care of it as though + we knew it held the terms of an ultimatum or the crown-jewels. As a rule, + my confreres carry the official packages in a despatch-box, which is just + as obvious as a lady's jewel-bag in the hands of her maid. Everyone knows + they are carrying something of value. They put a premium on dishonesty. + Well, after I saw the 'Scrap-of-Paper' play, I determined to put the + government valuables in the most unlikely place that anyone would look for + them. So I used to hide the documents they gave me inside my riding-boots, + and small articles, such as money or jewels, I carried in an old + cigar-case. After I took to using my case for that purpose I bought a new + one, exactly like it, for my cigars. But, to avoid mistakes, I had my + initials placed on both sides of the new one, and the moment I touched the + case, even in the dark, I could tell which it was by the raised initials. + </p> + <p> + “No one knew of this except the Queen's Messenger of whom I spoke. We once + left Paris together on the Orient Express. I was going to Constantinople + and he was to stop off at Vienna. On the journey I told him of my peculiar + way of hiding things and showed him my cigar-case. If I recollect rightly, + on that trip it held the grand cross of St. Michael and St. George, which + the Queen was sending to our Ambassador. The Messenger was very much + entertained at my scheme, and some months later when he met the Princess + he told her about it as an amusing story. Of course, he had no idea she + was a Russian spy. He didn't know anything at all about her, except that + she was a very attractive woman. It was indiscreet, but he could not + possibly have guessed that she could ever make any use of what he told + her. + </p> + <p> + “Later, after the robbery, I remembered that I had informed this young + chap of my secret hiding-place, and when I saw him again I questioned him + about it. He was greatly distressed, and said he had never seen the + importance of the secret. He remembered he had told several people of it, + and among others the Princess Zichy. In that way I found out that it was + she who had robbed me, and I know that from the moment I left London she + was following me, and that she knew then that the diamonds were concealed + in my cigar-case. + </p> + <p> + “My train for Nice left Paris at ten in the morning. When I travel at + night I generally tell the chef de gare that I am a Queen's Messenger, and + he gives me a compartment to myself, but in the daytime I take whatever + offers. On this morning I had found an empty compartment, and I had tipped + the guard to keep everyone else out, not from any fear of losing the + diamonds, but because I wanted to smoke. He had locked the door, and as + the last bell had rung I supposed I was to travel alone, so I began to + arrange my traps and make myself comfortable. The diamonds in the + cigar-case were in the inside pocket of my waistcoat, and as they made a + bulky package, I took them out, intending to put them in my hand-bag. It + is a small satchel like a bookmaker's, or those hand-bags that couriers + carry. I wear it slung from a strap across my shoulders, and, no matter + whether I am sitting or walking, it never leaves me. + </p> + <p> + “I took the cigar-case which held the necklace from my inside pocket and + the case which held the cigars out of the satchel, and while I was + searching through it for a box of matches I laid the two cases beside me + on the seat. + </p> + <p> + “At that moment the train started, but at the same instant there was a + rattle at the lock of the compartment, and a couple of porters lifted and + shoved a woman through the door, and hurled her rugs and umbrellas in + after her. + </p> + <p> + “Instinctively I reached for the diamonds. I shoved them quickly into the + satchel and, pushing them far down to the bottom of the bag, snapped the + spring-lock. Then I put the cigars in the pocket of my coat, but with the + thought that now that I had a woman as a travelling companion I would + probably not be allowed to enjoy them. + </p> + <p> + “One of her pieces of luggage had fallen at my feet, and a roll of rugs + had landed at my side. I thought if I hid the fact that the lady was not + welcome, and at once endeavored to be civil, she might permit me to smoke. + So I picked her hand-bag off the floor and asked her where I might place + it. + </p> + <p> + “As I spoke I looked at her for the first time, and saw that she was a + most remarkably handsome woman. + </p> + <p> + “She smiled charmingly and begged me not to disturb myself. Then she + arranged her own things about her, and, opening her dressing-bag, took out + a gold cigarette-case. + </p> + <p> + “'Do you object to smoke?' she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I laughed and assured her I had been in great terror lest she might + object to it herself. + </p> + <p> + “'If you like cigarettes,' she said, 'will you try some of these? They are + rolled especially for my husband in Russia, and they are supposed to be + very good.' + </p> + <p> + “I thanked her, and took one from her case, and I found it so much better + than my own that I continued to smoke her cigarettes throughout the rest + of the journey. I must say that we got on very well. I judged from the + coronet on her cigarette-case, and from her manner, which was quite as + well bred as that of any woman I ever met, that she was someone of + importance, and though she seemed almost too good-looking to be + respectable, I determined that she was some grande dame who was so assured + of her position that she could afford to be unconventional. At first she + read her novel, and then she made some comment on the scenery, and finally + we began to discuss the current politics of the Continent. She talked of + all the cities in Europe, and seemed to know everyone worth knowing. But + she volunteered nothing about herself except that she frequently made use + of the expression, 'When my husband was stationed at Vienna,' or 'When my + husband was promoted to Rome.' Once she said to me, 'I have often seen you + at Monte Carlo. I saw you when you won the pigeon-championship.' I told + her that I was not a pigeon-shot, and she gave a little start of surprise. + 'Oh, I beg your pardon,' she said; 'I thought you were Morton Hamilton, + the English champion.' As a matter of fact, I do look like Hamilton, but I + know now that her object was to make me think that she had no idea as to + who I really was. She needn't have acted at all, for I certainly had no + suspicions of her, and was only too pleased to have so charming a + companion. + </p> + <p> + “The one thing that should have made me suspicious was the fact that at + every station she made some trivial excuse to get me out of the + compartment. She pretended that her maid was travelling back of us in one + of the second-class carriages, and kept saying she could not imagine why + the woman did not come to look after her, and if the maid did not turn up + at the next stop, would I be so very kind as to get out and bring her + whatever it was she pretended she wanted. + </p> + <p> + “I had taken my dressing-case from the rack to get out a novel, and had + left it on the seat opposite to mine, and at the end of the compartment + farthest from her. And once when I came back from buying her a cup of + chocolate, or from some other fool-errand, I found her standing at my end + of the compartment with both hands on the dressing-bag. She looked at me + without so much as winking an eye, and shoved the case carefully into a + corner. 'Your bag slipped off on the floor,' she said. 'If you've got any + bottles in it, you had better look and see that they're not broken.' + </p> + <p> + “And I give you my word, I was such an ass that I did open the case and + looked all through it. She must have thought I WAS a Juggins. I get hot + all over whenever I remember it. But, in spite of my dulness, and her + cleverness, she couldn't gain anything by sending me away, because what + she wanted was in the hand-bag, and every time she sent me away the + hand-bag went with me. + </p> + <p> + “After the incident of the dressing-case her manner changed. Either in my + absence she had had time to look through it, or, when I was examining it + for broken bottles, she had seen everything it held. + </p> + <p> + “From that moment she must have been certain that the cigar-case, in which + she knew I carried the diamonds, was in the bag that was fastened to my + body, and from that time on she probably was plotting how to get it from + me. + </p> + <p> + “Her anxiety became most apparent. She dropped the great-lady manner, and + her charming condescension went with it. She ceased talking, and, when I + spoke, answered me irritably, or at random. No doubt her mind was entirely + occupied with her plan. The end of our journey was drawing rapidly nearer, + and her time for action was being cut down with the speed of the + express-train. Even I, unsuspicious as I was, noticed that something was + very wrong with her. I really believe that before we reached Marseilles if + I had not, through my own stupidity, given her the chance she wanted, she + might have stuck a knife in me and rolled me out on the rails. But as it + was, I only thought that the long journey had tired her. I suggested that + it was a very trying trip, and asked her if she would allow me to offer + her some of my cognac. + </p> + <p> + “She thanked me and said, 'No,' and then suddenly her eyes lighted, and + she exclaimed, 'Yes, thank you, if you will be so kind.' + </p> + <p> + “My flask was in the hand-bag, and I placed it on my lap and, with my + thumb, slipped back the catch. As I keep my tickets and railroad-guide in + the bag, I am so constantly opening it that I never bother to lock it, and + the fact that it is strapped to me has always been sufficient protection. + But I can appreciate now what a satisfaction, and what a torment, too, it + must have been to that woman when she saw that the bag opened without a + key. + </p> + <p> + “While we were crossing the mountains I had felt rather chilly and had + been wearing a light racing-coat. But after the lamps were lighted the + compartment became very hot and stuffy, and I found the coat + uncomfortable. So I stood up, and after first slipping the strap of the + bag over my head, I placed the bag in the seat next me and pulled off the + racing-coat. I don't blame myself for being careless; the bag was still + within reach of my hand, and nothing would have happened if at that exact + moment the train had not stopped at Arles. It was the combination of my + removing the bag and our entering the station at the same instant which + gave the Princess Zichy the chance she wanted to rob me. + </p> + <p> + “I needn't say that she was clever enough to take it. The train ran into + the station at full speed and came to a sudden stop. I had just thrown my + coat into the rack, and had reached out my hand for the bag. In another + instant I would have had the strap around my shoulder. But at that moment + the Princess threw open the door of the compartment and beckoned wildly at + the people on the platform. 'Natalie!' she called, 'Natalie! here I am. + Come here! This way!' She turned upon me in the greatest excitement. 'My + maid!' she cried. 'She is looking for me. She passed the window without + seeing me. Go, please, and bring her back.' She continued pointing out of + the door and beckoning me with her other hand. There certainly was + something about that woman's tone which made one jump. When she was giving + orders you had no chance to think of anything else. So I rushed out on my + errand of mercy, and then rushed back again to ask what the maid looked + like. + </p> + <p> + “'In black,' she answered, rising and blocking the door of the + compartment. 'All in black, with a bonnet!' + </p> + <p> + “The train waited three minutes at Arles, and in that time I suppose I + must have rushed up to over twenty women and asked, 'Are you Natalie?' The + only reason I wasn't punched with an umbrella or handed over to the police + was that they probably thought I was crazy. + </p> + <p> + “When I jumped back into the compartment the Princess was seated where I + had left her, but her eyes were burning with happiness. She placed her + hand on my arm almost affectionately, and said, in a hysterical way, 'You + are very kind to me. I am so sorry to have troubled you.' + </p> + <p> + “I protested that every woman on the platform was dressed in black. + </p> + <p> + “'Indeed, I am so sorry,' she said, laughing; and she continued to laugh + until she began to breathe so quickly that I thought she was going to + faint. + </p> + <p> + “I can see now that the last part of that journey must have been a + terrible half-hour for her. She had the cigar-case safe enough, but she + knew that she herself was not safe. She understood if I were to open my + bag, even at the last minute, and miss the case, I would know positively + that she had taken it. I had placed the diamonds in the bag at the very + moment she entered the compartment, and no one but our two selves had + occupied it since. She knew that when we reached Marseilles she would + either be twenty thousand pounds richer than when she left Paris, or that + she would go to jail. That was the situation as she must have read it, and + I don't envy her her state of mind during that last half-hour. It must + have been hell. + </p> + <p> + “I saw that something was wrong, and, in my innocence, I even wondered if + possibly my cognac had not been a little too strong. For she suddenly + developed into a most brilliant conversationalist, and applauded and + laughed at everything I said, and fired off questions at me like a + machine-gun, so that I had no time to think of anything but of what she + was saying. Whenever I stirred, she stopped her chattering and leaned + toward me, and watched me like a cat over a mouse-hole. I wondered how I + could have considered her an agreeable travelling-companion. I thought I + would have preferred to be locked in with a lunatic. I don't like to think + how she would have acted if I had made a move to examine the bag, but as I + had it safely strapped around me again, I did not open it, and I reached + Marseilles alive. As we drew into the station she shook hands with me and + grinned at me like a Cheshire cat. + </p> + <p> + “'I cannot tell you,' she said, 'how much I have to thank you for.' What + do you think of that for impudence? + </p> + <p> + “I offered to put her in a carriage, but she said she must find Natalie, + and that she hoped we would meet again at the hotel. So I drove off by + myself, wondering who she was, and whether Natalie was not her keeper. + </p> + <p> + “I had to wait several hours for the train to Nice; and as I wanted to + stroll around the city I thought I had better put the diamonds in the safe + of the hotel. As soon as I reached my room I locked the door, placed the + hand-bag on the table, and opened it. I felt among the things at the top + of it, but failed to touch the cigar-case. I shoved my hand in deeper, and + stirred the things about, but still I did not reach it. A cold wave swept + down my spine, and a sort of emptiness came to the pit of my stomach. Then + I turned red-hot, and the sweat sprung out all over me. I wet my lips with + my tongue, and said to myself, 'Don't be an ass. Pull yourself together, + pull yourself together. Take the things out, one at a time. It's there, of + course, it's there. Don't be an ass.' + </p> + <p> + “So I put a brake on my nerves and began very carefully to pick out the + things, one by one, but, after another second, I could not stand it, and I + rushed across the room and threw out everything on the bed. But the + diamonds were not among them. I pulled the things about and tore them open + and shuffled and rearranged and sorted them, but it was no use. The + cigar-case was gone. I threw everything in the dressing-case out on the + floor, although I knew it was useless to look for it there. I knew that I + had put it in the bag. I sat down and tried to think. I remembered I had + put it in the satchel at Paris just as that woman had entered the + compartment, and I had been alone with her ever since, so it was she who + had robbed me. But how? It had never left my shoulder. And then I + remembered that it had—that I had taken it off when I had changed my + coat and for the few moments that I was searching for Natalie. I + remembered that the woman had sent me on that goose-chase, and that at + every other station she had tried to get rid of me on some fool-errand. + </p> + <p> + “I gave a roar like a mad bull, and I jumped down the stairs, six steps at + a time. + </p> + <p> + “I demanded at the office if a distinguished lady of title, possibly a + Russian, had just entered the hotel. + </p> + <p> + “As I expected, she had not. I sprang into a cab and inquired at two other + hotels, and then I saw the folly of trying to catch her without outside + help, and I ordered the fellow to gallop to the office of the Chief of + Police. I told my story, and the ass in charge asked me to calm myself, + and wanted to take notes. I told him this was no time for taking notes, + but for doing something. He got wrathy at that, and I demanded to be taken + at once to his Chief. The Chief, he said, was very busy, and could not see + me. So I showed him my silver greyhound. In eleven years I had never used + it but once before. I stated, in pretty vigorous language, that I was a + Queen's Messenger, and that if the Chief of Police did not see me + instantly he would lose his official head. At that the fellow jumped off + his high horse and ran with me to his Chief—a smart young chap, a + colonel in the army, and a very intelligent man. + </p> + <p> + “I explained that I had been robbed, in a French railway-carriage, of a + diamond-necklace belonging to the Queen of England, which her Majesty was + sending as a present to the Czarina of Russia. I pointed out to him that + if he succeeded in capturing the thief he would be made for life, and + would receive the gratitude of three great powers. + </p> + <p> + “He wasn't the sort that thinks second thoughts are best. He saw Russian + and French decorations sprouting all over his chest, and he hit a bell, + and pressed buttons, and yelled out orders like the captain of a + penny-steamer in a fog. He sent her description to all the city-gates, and + ordered all cabmen and railway-porters to search all trains leaving + Marseilles. He ordered all passengers on outgoing vessels to be examined, + and telegraphed the proprietors of every hotel and pension to send him a + complete list of their guests within the hour. While I was standing there + he must have given at least a hundred orders, and sent out enough + commissaires, sergeants de ville, gendarmes, bicycle-police, and + plain-clothes Johnnies to have captured the entire German army. When they + had gone he assured me that the woman was as good as arrested already. + Indeed, officially, she was arrested; for she had no more chance of escape + from Marseilles than from the Chateau D'If. + </p> + <p> + “He told me to return to my hotel and possess my soul in peace. Within an + hour he assured me he would acquaint me with her arrest. + </p> + <p> + “I thanked him, and complimented him on his energy, and left him. But I + didn't share in his confidence. I felt that she was a very clever woman, + and a match for any and all of us. It was all very well for him to be + jubilant. He had not lost the diamonds, and had everything to gain if he + found them; while I, even if he did recover the necklace, would only be + where I was before I lost them, and if he did not recover it I was a + ruined man. It was an awful facer for me. I had always prided myself on my + record. In eleven years I had never mislaid an envelope, nor missed taking + the first train. And now I had failed in the most important mission that + had ever been intrusted to me. And it wasn't a thing that could be hushed + up, either. It was too conspicuous, too spectacular. It was sure to invite + the widest notoriety. I saw myself ridiculed all over the Continent, and + perhaps dismissed, even suspected of having taken the thing myself. + </p> + <p> + “I was walking in front of a lighted cafe, and I felt so sick and + miserable that I stopped for a pick-me-up. Then I considered that if I + took one drink I would probably, in my present state of mind, not want to + stop under twenty, and I decided I had better leave it alone. But my + nerves were jumping like a frightened rabbit, and I felt I must have + something to quiet them, or I would go crazy. I reached for my + cigarette-case, but a cigarette seemed hardly adequate, so I put it back + again and took out this cigar-case, in which I keep only the strongest and + blackest cigars. I opened it and stuck in my fingers, but, instead of a + cigar, they touched on a thin leather envelope. My heart stood perfectly + still. I did not dare to look, but I dug my finger-nails into the leather, + and I felt layers of thin paper, then a layer of cotton, and then they + scratched on the facets of the Czarina's diamonds! + </p> + <p> + “I stumbled as though I had been hit in the face, and fell back into one + of the chairs on the sidewalk. I tore off the wrappings and spread out the + diamonds on the cafe-table; I could not believe they were real. I twisted + the necklace between my fingers and crushed it between my palms and tossed + it up in the air. I believe I almost kissed it. The women in the cafe + stood up on the chairs to see better, and laughed and screamed, and the + people crowded so close around me that the waiters had to form a + body-guard. The proprietor thought there was a fight, and called for the + police. I was so happy I didn't care. I laughed, too, and gave the + proprietor a five-pound note, and told him to stand everyone a drink. Then + I tumbled into a fiacre and galloped off to my friend the Chief of Police. + I felt very sorry for him. He had been so happy at the chance I gave him, + and he was sure to be disappointed when he learned I had sent him off on a + false alarm. + </p> + <p> + “But now that I had found the necklace, I did not want him to find the + woman. Indeed, I was most anxious that she should get clear away, for, if + she were caught, the truth would come out, and I was likely to get a sharp + reprimand, and sure to be laughed at. + </p> + <p> + “I could see now how it had happened. In my haste to hide the diamonds + when the woman was hustled into the carriage, I had shoved the cigars into + the satchel, and the diamonds into the pocket of my coat. Now that I had + the diamonds safe again, it seemed a very natural mistake. But I doubted + if the Foreign Office would think so. I was afraid it might not appreciate + the beautiful simplicity of my secret hiding-place. So, when I reached the + police-station, and found that the woman was still at large, I was more + than relieved. + </p> + <p> + “As I expected, the Chief was extremely chagrined when he learned of my + mistake, and that there was nothing for him to do. But I was feeling so + happy myself that I hated to have anyone else miserable, so I suggested + that this attempt to steal the Czarina's necklace might be only the first + of a series of such attempts by an unscrupulous gang, and that I might + still be in danger. + </p> + <p> + “I winked at the Chief, and the Chief smiled at me, and we went to Nice + together in a saloon-car with a guard of twelve carabineers and twelve + plain-clothes men, and the Chief and I drank champagne all the way. We + marched together up to the hotel where the Russian Ambassador was + stopping, closely surrounded by our escort of carabineers, and delivered + the necklace with the most profound ceremony. The old Ambassador was + immensely impressed, and when we hinted that already I had been made the + object of an attack by robbers, he assured us that his Imperial Majesty + would not prove ungrateful. + </p> + <p> + “I wrote a swinging personal letter about the invaluable services of the + Chief to the French Minister of Foreign Affairs, and they gave him enough + Russian and French medals to satisfy even a French soldier. So, though he + never caught the woman, he received his just reward.” + </p> + <p> + The Queen's Messenger paused and surveyed the faces of those about him in + some embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “But the worst of it is,” he added, “that the story must have got about; + for, while the Princess obtained nothing from me but a cigar-case and five + excellent cigars, a few weeks after the coronation the Czar sent me a gold + cigar-case with his monogram in diamonds. And I don't know yet whether + that was a coincidence, or whether the Czar wanted me to know that he knew + that I had been carrying the Czarina's diamonds in my pig-skin cigar-case. + What do you fellows think?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + Sir Andrew rose, with disapproval written in every lineament. + </p> + <p> + “I thought your story would bear upon the murder,” he said. “Had I + imagined it would have nothing whatsoever to do with it, I would not have + remained.” He pushed back his chair and bowed, stiffly. “I wish you good + night,” he said. + </p> + <p> + There was a chorus of remonstrance, and, under cover of this and the + Baronet's answering protests, a servant, for the second time, slipped a + piece of paper into the hand of the gentleman with the pearl stud. He read + the lines written upon it and tore it into tiny fragments. + </p> + <p> + The youngest member, who had remained an interested but silent listener to + the tale of the Queen's Messenger, raised his hand, commandingly. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Andrew,” he cried, “in justice to Lord Arthur Chetney, I must ask you + to be seated. He has been accused in our hearing of a most serious crime, + and I insist that you remain until you have heard me clear his character.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” cried the Baronet. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered the young man, briskly. “I would have spoken sooner,” he + explained, “but that I thought this gentleman”—he inclined his head + toward the Queen's Messenger—“was about to contribute some facts of + which I was ignorant. He, however, has told us nothing, and so I will take + up the tale at the point where Lieutenant Sears laid it down and give you + those details of which Lieutenant Sears is ignorant. It seems strange to + you that I should be able to add the sequel to this story. But the + coincidence is easily explained. I am the junior member of the law firm of + Chudleigh & Chudleigh. We have been solicitors for the Chetneys for + the last two hundred years. Nothing, no matter how unimportant, which + concerns Lord Edam and his two sons is unknown to us, and naturally we are + acquainted with every detail of the terrible catastrophe of last night.” + </p> + <p> + The Baronet, bewildered but eager, sank back into his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Will you be long, sir?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I shall endeavor to be brief,” said the young solicitor; “and,” he added, + in a tone which gave his words almost the weight of a threat, “I promise + to be interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no need to promise that,” said Sir Andrew, “I find it much too + interesting as it is.” He glanced ruefully at the clock and turned his + eyes quickly from it. + </p> + <p> + “Tell the driver of that hansom,” he called to the servant, “that I take + him by the hour.” + </p> + <p> + “For the last three days,” began young Mr. Chudleigh, “as you have + probably read in the daily papers, the Marquis of Edam has been at the + point of death, and his physicians have never left his house. Every hour + he seemed to grow weaker; but although his bodily strength is apparently + leaving him forever, his mind has remained clear and active. Late + yesterday evening, word was received at our office that he wished my + father to come at once to Chetney House and to bring with him certain + papers. What these papers were is not essential; I mention them only to + explain how it was that last night I happened to be at Lord Edam's + bedside. I accompanied my father to Chetney House, but at the time we + reached there Lord Edam was sleeping, and his physicians refused to have + him awakened. My father urged that he should be allowed to receive Lord + Edam's instructions concerning the documents, but the physicians would not + disturb him, and we all gathered in the library to wait until he should + awake of his own accord. It was about one o'clock in the morning, while we + were still there, that Inspector Lyle and the officers from Scotland Yard + came to arrest Lord Arthur on the charge of murdering his brother. You can + imagine our dismay and distress. Like everyone else, I had learned from + the afternoon papers that Lord Chetney was not dead, but that he had + returned to England, and, on arriving at Chetney House, I had been told + that Lord Arthur had gone to the Bath Hotel to look for his brother and to + inform him that if he wished to see their father alive he must come to him + at once. Although it was now past one o'clock, Arthur had not returned. + None of us knew where Madame Zichy lived, so we could not go to recover + Lord Chetney's body. We spent a most miserable night, hastening to the + window whenever a cab came into the square, in the hope that it was Arthur + returning, and endeavoring to explain away the facts that pointed to him + as the murderer. I am a friend of Arthur's, I was with him at Harrow and + at Oxford, and I refused to believe for an instant that he was capable of + such a crime; but as a lawyer I could not help but see that the + circumstantial evidence was strongly against him. + </p> + <p> + “Toward early morning, Lord Edam awoke, and in so much better a state of + health that he refused to make the changes in the papers which he had + intended, declaring that he was no nearer death than ourselves. Under + other circumstances, this happy change in him would have relieved us + greatly, but none of us could think of anything save the death of his + elder son and of the charge which hung over Arthur. + </p> + <p> + “As long as Inspector Lyle remained in the house, my father decided that + I, as one of the legal advisers of the family, should also remain there. + But there was little for either of us to do. Arthur did not return, and + nothing occurred until late this morning, when Lyle received word that the + Russian servant had been arrested. He at once drove to Scotland Yard to + question him. He came back to us in an hour, and informed me that the + servant had refused to tell anything of what had happened the night + before, or of himself, or of the Princess Zichy. He would not even give + them the address of her house. + </p> + <p> + “'He is in abject terror,' Lyle said. 'I assured him that he was not + suspected of the crime, but he would tell me nothing.' + </p> + <p> + “There were no other developments until two o'clock this afternoon, when + word was brought to us that Arthur had been found, and that he was lying + in the accident-ward of St. George's Hospital. Lyle and I drove there + together, and found him propped up in bed with his head bound in a + bandage. He had been brought to the hospital the night before by the + driver of a hansom that had run over him in the fog. The cab-horse had + kicked him on the head, and he had been carried in unconscious. There was + nothing on him to tell who he was, and it was not until he came to his + senses this afternoon that the hospital authorities had been able to send + word to his people. Lyle at once informed him that he was under arrest, + and with what he was charged, and though the Inspector warned him to say + nothing which might be used against him, I, as his solicitor, instructed + him to speak freely and to tell us all he knew of the occurrences of last + night. It was evident to anyone that the fact of his brother's death was + of much greater concern to him than that he was accused of his murder. + </p> + <p> + “'That,' Arthur said, contemptuously, 'that is damned nonsense. It is + monstrous and cruel. We parted better friends than we have been in years. + I will tell you all that happened—not to clear myself, but to help + you to find out the truth.' His story is as follows: Yesterday afternoon, + owing to his constant attendance on his father, he did not look at the + evening papers, and it was not until after dinner, when the butler brought + him one and told him of its contents, that he learned that his brother was + alive and at the Bath Hotel. He drove there at once, but was told that + about eight o'clock his brother had gone out, but without giving any clew + to his destination. As Chetney had not at once come to see his father, + Arthur decided that he was still angry with him, and his mind, turning + naturally to the cause of their quarrel, determined him to look for + Chetney at the home of the Princess Zichy. + </p> + <p> + “Her house had been pointed out to him, and though he had never visited + it, he had passed it many times and knew its exact location. He + accordingly drove in that direction, as far as the fog would permit the + hansom to go, and walked the rest of the way, reaching the house about + nine o'clock. He rang, and was admitted by the Russian servant. The man + took his card into the drawing-room, and at once his brother ran out and + welcomed him. He was followed by the Princess Zichy, who also received + Arthur most cordially. + </p> + <p> + “'You brothers will have much to talk about,' she said. 'I am going to the + dining-room. When you have finished, let me know.' + </p> + <p> + “As soon as she had left them, Arthur told his brother that their father + was not expected to outlive the night, and that he must come to him at + once. + </p> + <p> + “'This is not the moment to remember your quarrel,' Arthur said to him; + 'you have come back from the dead only in time to make your peace with him + before he dies.' + </p> + <p> + “Arthur says that at this Chetney was greatly moved. + </p> + <p> + “'You entirely misunderstand me, Arthur,' he returned. 'I did not know the + governor was ill, or I would have gone to him the instant I arrived. My + only reason for not doing so was because I thought he was still angry with + me. I shall return with you immediately, as soon as I have said good-by to + the Princess. It is a final good-by. After to-night I shall never see her + again.' + </p> + <p> + “'Do you mean that?' Arthur cried. + </p> + <p> + “'Yes,' Chetney answered. 'When I returned to London I had no intention of + seeking her again, and I am here only through a mistake.' He then told + Arthur that he had separated from the Princess even before he went to + Central Africa, and that, moreover, while at Cairo on his way south, he + had learned certain facts concerning her life there during the previous + season, which made it impossible for him to ever wish to see her again. + Their separation was final and complete. + </p> + <p> + “'She deceived me cruelly,' he said; 'I cannot tell you how cruelly. + During the two years when I was trying to obtain my father's consent to + our marriage she was in love with a Russian diplomat. During all that time + he was secretly visiting her here in London, and her trip to Cairo was + only an excuse to meet him there.' + </p> + <p> + “'Yet you are here with her to-night,' Arthur protested, 'only a few hours + after your return.' + </p> + <p> + “'That is easily explained,' Chetney answered. 'As I finished dinner + to-night at the hotel, I received a note from her from this address. In it + she said she had just learned of my arrival, and begged me to come to her + at once. She wrote that she was in great and present trouble, dying of an + incurable illness, and without friends or money. She begged me, for the + sake of old times, to come to her assistance. During the last two years in + the jungle all my former feeling for Zichy has utterly passed away, but no + one could have dismissed the appeal she made in that letter. So I came + here, and found her, as you have seen her, quite as beautiful as she ever + was, in very good health, and, from the look of the house, in no need of + money. + </p> + <p> + “'I asked her what she meant by writing me that she was dying in a garret, + and she laughed, and said she had done so because she was afraid, unless I + thought she needed help, I would not try to see her. That was where we + were when you arrived. And now,' Chetney added, 'I will say good-by to + her, and you had better return home. No, you can trust me, I shall follow + you at once. She has no influence over me now, but I believe, in spite of + the way she has used me, that she is, after her queer fashion, still fond + of me, and when she learns that this good-by is final there may be a + scene, and it is not fair to her that you should be here. So, go home at + once, and tell the governor that I am following you in ten minutes.' + </p> + <p> + “'That,' said Arthur, 'is the way we parted. I never left him on more + friendly terms. I was happy to see him alive again, I was happy to think + he had returned in time to make up his quarrel with my father, and I was + happy that at last he was shut of that woman. I was never better pleased + with him in my life.' He turned to Inspector Lyle, who was sitting at the + foot of the bed, taking notes of all he told us. + </p> + <p> + “'Why, in the name of common-sense,' he cried, 'should I have chosen that + moment, of all others, to send my brother back to the grave?' For a moment + the Inspector did not answer him. I do not know if any of you gentlemen + are acquainted with Inspector Lyle, but if you are not, I can assure you + that he is a very remarkable man. Our firm often applies to him for aid, + and he has never failed us; my father has the greatest possible respect + for him. Where he has the advantage over the ordinary police-official is + in the fact that he possesses imagination. He imagines himself to be the + criminal, imagines how he would act under the same circumstances, and he + imagines to such purpose that he generally finds the man he wants. I have + often told Lyle that if he had not been a detective he would have made a + great success as a poet or a playwright. + </p> + <p> + “When Arthur turned on him, Lyle hesitated for a moment, and then told him + exactly what was the case against him. + </p> + <p> + “'Ever since your brother was reported as having died in Africa,' he said, + 'your lordship has been collecting money on post-obits. Lord Chetney's + arrival, last night, turned them into waste-paper. You were suddenly in + debt for thousands of pounds—for much more than you could ever + possibly pay. No one knew that you and your brother had met at Madame + Zichy's. But you knew that your father was not expected to outlive the + night, and that if your brother were dead also, you would be saved from + complete ruin, and that you would become the Marquis of Edam.' + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, that is how you have worked it out, is it?' Arthur cried. 'And for + me to become Lord Edam was it necessary that the woman should die, too?' + </p> + <p> + “'They will say,' Lyle answered, 'that she was a witness to the murder—that + she would have told.' + </p> + <p> + “'Then why did I not kill the servant as well?' Arthur said. + </p> + <p> + “'He was asleep, and saw nothing.' + </p> + <p> + “'And you believe that?' Arthur demanded. + </p> + <p> + “'It is not a question of what I believe,' Lyle said, gravely. 'It is a + question for your peers.' + </p> + <p> + “'The man is insolent!' Arthur cried. 'The thing is monstrous! Horrible!' + </p> + <p> + “Before we could stop him, he sprang out of his cot and began pulling on + his clothes. When the nurses tried to hold him down, he fought with them. + </p> + <p> + “'Do you think you can keep me here,' he shouted, 'when they are plotting + to hang me? I am going with you to that house!' he cried at Lyle. 'When + you find those bodies I shall be beside you. It is my right. He is my + brother. He has been murdered, and I can tell you who murdered him. That + woman murdered him.' + </p> + <p> + “'She first ruined his life, and now she has killed him. For the last five + years she has been plotting to make herself his wife, and last night, when + he told her he had discovered the truth about the Russian, and that she + would never see him again, she flew into a passion and stabbed him, and + then in terror of the gallows, killed herself. She murdered him, I tell + you, and I promise you that we will find the knife she used near her—perhaps + still in her hand. What will you say to that?' + </p> + <p> + “Lyle turned his head away and stared down at the floor. 'I might say,' he + answered, 'that you placed it there.' + </p> + <p> + “Arthur gave a cry of anger and sprang at him, and then pitched forward + into his arms. The blood was running from the cut under the bandage, and + he had fainted. Lyle carried him back to the bed again, and we left him + with the police and the doctors, and drove at once to the address he had + given us. We found the house not three minutes' walk from St. George's + Hospital. It stands in Trevor Terrace, that little row of houses set back + from Knightsbridge, with one end in Hill Street. + </p> + <p> + “As we left the hospital, Lyle had said to me, 'You must not blame me for + treating him as I did. All is fair in this work, and if by angering that + boy I could have made him commit himself, I was right in trying to do so; + though, I assure you, no one would be better pleased than myself if I + could prove his theory to be correct. But we cannot tell. Everything + depends upon what we see for ourselves within the next few minutes.' + </p> + <p> + “When we reached the house, Lyle broke open the fastenings of one of the + windows on the ground-floor, and, hidden by the trees in the garden, we + scrambled in. We found ourselves in the reception-room, which was the + first room on the right of the hall. The gas was still burning behind the + colored glass and red, silk shades, and when the daylight streamed in + after us it gave the hall a hideously dissipated look, like the foyer of a + theatre at a matinee, or the entrance to an all-day gambling-hall. The + house was oppressively silent, and, because we knew why it was so silent, + we spoke in whispers. When Lyle turned the handle of the drawing-room + door, I felt as though someone had put his hand upon my throat. But I + followed, close at his shoulder, and saw, in the subdued light of + many-tinted lamps, the body of Chetney at the foot of the divan, just as + Lieutenant Sears had described it. In the drawing-room we found the body + of the Princess Zichy, her arms thrown out, and the blood from her heart + frozen in a tiny line across her bare shoulder. But neither of us, + although we searched the floor on our hands and knees, could find the + weapon which had killed her. + </p> + <p> + “'For Arthur's sake,' I said, 'I would have given a thousand pounds if we + had found the knife in her hand, as he said we would.' + </p> + <p> + “'That we have not found it there,' Lyle answered, 'is to my mind the + strongest proof that he is telling the truth, that he left the house + before the murder took place. He is not a fool, and had he stabbed his + brother and this woman, he would have seen that by placing the knife near + her he could help to make it appear as if she had killed Chetney and then + committed suicide. Besides, Lord Arthur insisted that the evidence in his + behalf would be our finding the knife here. He would not have urged that + if he knew we would NOT find it, if he knew he himself had carried it + away. This is no suicide. A suicide does not rise and hide the weapon with + which he kills himself, and then lie down again. No, this has been a + double murder, and we must look outside of the house for the murderer.' + </p> + <p> + “While he was speaking, Lyle and I had been searching every corner, + studying the details of each room. I was so afraid that, without telling + me, he would make some deductions prejudicial to Arthur, that I never left + his side. I was determined to see everything that he saw, and, if + possible, to prevent his interpreting it in the wrong way. He finally + finished his examination, and we sat down together in the drawing-room, + and he took out his note-book and read aloud all that Mr. Sears had told + him of the murder and what we had just learned from Arthur. We compared + the two accounts, word for word, and weighed statement with statement, but + I could not determine, from anything Lyle said, which of the two versions + he had decided to believe. + </p> + <p> + “'We are trying to build a house of blocks,' he exclaimed, 'with half of + the blocks missing. We have been considering two theories,' he went on: + 'one that Lord Arthur is responsible for both murders, and the other that + the dead woman in there is responsible for one of them, and has committed + suicide; but, until the Russian servant is ready to talk, I shall refuse + to believe in the guilt of either.' + </p> + <p> + “'What can you prove by him?' I asked. 'He was drunk and asleep. He saw + nothing.' + </p> + <p> + “Lyle hesitated, and then, as though he had made up his mind to be quite + frank with me, spoke freely. + </p> + <p> + “'I do not know that he was either drunk or asleep,' he answered. + 'Lieutenant Sears describes him as a stupid boor. I am not satisfied that + he is not a clever actor. What was his position in this house? What was + his real duty here? Suppose it was not to guard this woman, but to watch + her. Let us imagine that it was not the woman he served, but a master, and + see where that leads us. For this house has a master, a mysterious, + absentee landlord, who lives in St. Petersburg, the unknown Russian who + came between Chetney and Zichy, and because of whom Chetney left her. He + is the man who bought this house for Madame Zichy, who sent these rugs and + curtains from St. Petersburg to furnish it for her after his own tastes, + and, I believe, it was he also who placed the Russian servant here, + ostensibly to serve the Princess, but in reality to spy upon her. At + Scotland Yard we do not know who this gentleman is; the Russian police + confess to equal ignorance concerning him. When Lord Chetney went to + Africa, Madame Zichy lived in St. Petersburg; but there her receptions and + dinners were so crowded with members of the nobility and of the army and + diplomats, that, among so many visitors, the police could not learn which + was the one for whom she most greatly cared.' + </p> + <p> + “Lyle pointed at the modern French paintings and the heavy, silk rugs + which hung upon the walls. + </p> + <p> + “'The unknown is a man of taste and of some fortune,' he said, 'not the + sort of man to send a stupid peasant to guard the woman he loves. So I am + not content to believe, with Mr. Sears, that the servant is a boor. I + believe him, instead, to be a very clever ruffian. I believe him to be the + protector of his master's honor, or, let us say, of his master's property, + whether that property be silver plate or the woman his master loves. Last + night, after Lord Arthur had gone away, the servant was left alone in this + house with Lord Chetney and Madame Zichy. From where he sat in the hall, + he could hear Lord Chetney bidding her farewell; for, if my idea of him is + correct, he understands English quite as well as you or I. Let us imagine + that he heard her entreating Chetney not to leave her, reminding him of + his former wish to marry her, and let us suppose that he hears Chetney + denounce her, and tell her that at Cairo he has learned of this Russian + admirer—the servant's master. He hears the woman declare that she + has had no admirer but himself, that this unknown Russian was, and is, + nothing to her, that there is no man she loves but him, and that she + cannot live, knowing that he is alive, without his love. Suppose Chetney + believed her, suppose his former infatuation for her returned, and that, + in a moment of weakness, he forgave her and took her in his arms. That is + the moment the Russian master has feared. It is to guard against it that + he has placed his watch-dog over the Princess, and how do we know but + that, when the moment came, the watch-dog served his master, as he saw his + duty, and killed them both? What do you think?' Lyle demanded. 'Would not + that explain both murders?' + </p> + <p> + “I was only too willing to hear any theory which pointed to anyone else as + the criminal than Arthur, but Lyle's explanation was too utterly + fantastic. I told him that he certainly showed imagination, but that he + could not hang a man for what he imagined he had done. + </p> + <p> + “'No,' Lyle answered, 'but I can frighten him by telling him what I think + he has done, and now when I again question the Russian servant I will make + it quite clear to him that I believe he is the murderer. I think that will + open his mouth. A man will at least talk to defend himself. Come,' he + said, 'we must return at once to Scotland Yard and see him. There is + nothing more to do here.' + </p> + <p> + “He arose, and I followed him into the hall, and in another minute we + would have been on our way to Scotland Yard. But just as he opened the + street-door a postman halted at the gate of the garden, and began fumbling + with the latch. + </p> + <p> + “Lyle stopped, with an exclamation of chagrin. + </p> + <p> + “'How stupid of me!' he exclaimed. He turned quickly and pointed to a + narrow slit cut in the brass plate of the front door. 'The house has a + private letter-box,' he said, 'and I had not thought to look in it! If we + had gone out as we came in, by the window, I would never have seen it. The + moment I entered the house I should have thought of securing the letters + which came this morning. I have been grossly careless.' He stepped back + into the hall and pulled at the lid of the letter-box, which hung on the + inside of the door, but it was tightly locked. At the same moment the + postman came up the steps holding a letter. Without a word, Lyle took it + from his hand and began to examine it. It was addressed to the Princess + Zichy, and on the back of the envelope was the name of a West End + dressmaker. + </p> + <p> + “'That is of no use to me,' Lyle said. He took out his card and showed it + to the postman. 'I am Inspector Lyle from Scotland Yard,' he said. 'The + people in this house are under arrest. Everything it contains is now in my + keeping. Did you deliver any other letters here this morning?' + </p> + <p> + “The man looked frightened, but answered, promptly, that he was now upon + his third round. He had made one postal delivery at seven that morning and + another at eleven. + </p> + <p> + “'How many letters did you leave here?' Lyle asked. + </p> + <p> + “'About six altogether,' the man answered. + </p> + <p> + “'Did you put them through the door into the letter-box?' + </p> + <p> + “The postman said, 'Yes, I always slip them into the box, and ring and go + away. The servants collect them from the inside.' + </p> + <p> + “'Have you noticed if any of the letters you leave here bear a Russian + postage-stamp?' Lyle asked. + </p> + <p> + “'The man answered, 'Oh, yes, sir, a great many.' + </p> + <p> + “'From the same person, would you say?' + </p> + <p> + “'The writing seems to be the same,' the man answered. 'They come + regularly about once a week—one of those I delivered this morning + had a Russian postmark.' + </p> + <p> + “'That will do,' said Lyle, eagerly. 'Thank you, thank you very much.' + </p> + <p> + “He ran back into the hall, and, pulling out his penknife, began to pick + at the lock of the letter-box. + </p> + <p> + “'I have been supremely careless,' he said, in great excitement. 'Twice + before when people I wanted had flown from a house I have been able to + follow them by putting a guard over their mailbox. These letters, which + arrive regularly every week from Russia in the same handwriting, they can + come but from one person. At least, we shall now know the name of the + master of this house. Undoubtedly, it is one of his letters that the man + placed here this morning. We may make a most important discovery.' + </p> + <p> + “As he was talking he was picking at the lock with his knife, but he was + so impatient to reach the letters that he pressed too heavily on the blade + and it broke in his hand. I took a step backward and drove my heel into + the lock, and burst it open. The lid flew back, and we pressed forward, + and each ran his hand down into the letter-box. For a moment we were both + too startled to move. The box was empty. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know how long we stood, staring stupidly at each other, but it + was Lyle who was the first to recover. He seized me by the arm and pointed + excitedly into the empty box. + </p> + <p> + “'Do you appreciate what that means?' he cried. 'It means that someone has + been here ahead of us. Someone has entered this house not three hours + before we came, since eleven o'clock this morning.' + </p> + <p> + “'It was the Russian servant!' I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “'The Russian servant has been under arrest at Scotland Yard,' Lyle cried. + 'He could not have taken the letters. Lord Arthur has been in his cot at + the hospital. That is his alibi. There is someone else, someone we do not + suspect, and that someone is the murderer. He came back here either to + obtain those letters because he knew they would convict him, or to remove + something he had left here at the time of the murder, something + incriminating—the weapon, perhaps, or some personal article; a + cigarette-case, a handkerchief with his name upon it, or a pair of gloves. + Whatever it was, it must have been damning evidence against him to have + made him take so desperate a chance.' + </p> + <p> + “'How do we know,' I whispered, 'that he is not hidden here now?' + </p> + <p> + “'No, I'll swear he is not,' Lyle answered. 'I may have bungled in some + things, but I have searched this house thoroughly. Nevertheless,' he + added, 'we must go over it again, from the cellar to the roof. We have the + real clew now, and we must forget the others and work only it.' As he + spoke he began again to search the drawing-room, turning over even the + books on the tables and the music on the piano. + </p> + <p> + “'Whoever the man is,' he said, over his shoulder, 'we know that he has a + key to the front door and a key to the letter-box. That shows us he is + either an inmate of the house or that he comes here when he wishes. The + Russian says that he was the only servant in the house. Certainly, we have + found no evidence to show that any other servant slept here. There could + be but one other person who would possess a key to the house and the + letter-box—and he lives in St. Petersburg. At the time of the murder + he was two thousand miles away.' Lyle interrupted himself, suddenly, with + a sharp cry, and turned upon me, with his eyes flashing. 'But was he?' he + cried. 'Was he? How do we know that last night he was not in London, in + this very house when Zichy and Chetney met?' + </p> + <p> + “He stood, staring at me without seeing me, muttering, and arguing with + himself. + </p> + <p> + “'Don't speak to me,' he cried, as I ventured to interrupt him. 'I can see + it now. It is all plain. It was not the servant, but his master, the + Russian himself, and it was he who came back for the letters! He came back + for them because he knew they would convict him. We must find them. We + must have those letters. If we find the one with the Russian postmark, we + shall have found the murderer.' He spoke like a madman, and as he spoke he + ran around the room, with one hand held out in front of him as you have + seen a mind-reader at a theatre seeking for something hidden in the + stalls. He pulled the old letters from the writing-desk, and ran them over + as swiftly as a gambler deals out cards; he dropped on his knees before + the fireplace and dragged out the dead coals with his bare fingers, and + then, with a low, worried cry, like a hound on a scent, he ran back to the + waste-paper basket and, lifting the papers from it, shook them out upon + the floor. Instantly, he gave a shout of triumph, and, separating a number + of torn pieces from the others, held them up before me. + </p> + <p> + “'Look!' he cried. 'Do you see? Here are five letters, torn across in two + places. The Russian did not stop to read them, for, as you see, he has + left them still sealed. I have been wrong. He did not return for the + letters. He could not have known their value. He must have returned for + some other reason, and, as he was leaving, saw the letter-box, and, taking + out the letters, held them together—so—and tore them twice + across, and then, as the fire had gone out, tossed them into this basket. + Look!' he cried, 'here in the upper corner of this piece is a Russian + stamp. This is his own letter—unopened!' + </p> + <p> + “We examined the Russian stamp and found it had been cancelled in St. + Petersburg four days ago. The back of the envelope bore the postmark of + the branch-station in upper Sloane Street, and was dated this morning. The + envelope was of official, blue paper, and we had no difficulty in finding + the other two parts of it. We drew the torn pieces of the letter from them + and joined them together, side by side. There were but two lines of + writing, and this was the message: 'I leave Petersburg on the night-train, + and I shall see you at Trevor Terrace, after dinner, Monday evening.' + </p> + <p> + “'That was last night!' Lyle cried. 'He arrived twelve hours ahead of his + letter—but it came in time—it came in time to hang him!'” + </p> + <p> + The Baronet struck the table with his hand. + </p> + <p> + “The name!” he demanded. “How was it signed? What was the man's name?” + </p> + <p> + The young Solicitor rose to his feet and, leaning forward, stretched out + his arm. “There was no name,” he cried. “The letter was signed with only + two initials. But engraved at the top of the sheet was the man's address. + That address was 'THE AMERICAN EMBASSY, ST. PETERSBURG, BUREAU OF THE + NAVAL ATTACHE,' and the initials,” he shouted, his voice rising into an + exultant and bitter cry, “were those of the gentleman who sits opposite + who told us that he was the first to find the murdered bodies, the Naval + Attache to Russia, Lieutenant Sears!” + </p> + <p> + A strained and awful hush followed the Solicitor's words, which seemed to + vibrate like a twanging bowstring that had just hurled its bolt. Sir + Andrew, pale and staring, drew away, with an exclamation of repulsion. His + eyes were fastened upon the Naval Attache with fascinated horror. But the + American emitted a sigh of great content, and sank, comfortably, into the + arms of his chair. He clapped his hands, softly, together. + </p> + <p> + “Capital!” he murmured. “I give you my word I never guessed what you were + driving at. You fooled ME, I'll be hanged if you didn't—you + certainly fooled me.” + </p> + <p> + The man with the pearl stud leaned forward, with a nervous gesture. “Hush! + be careful!” he whispered. But at that instant, for the third time, a + servant, hastening through the room, handed him a piece of paper which he + scanned eagerly. The message on the paper read, “The light over the + Commons is out. The House has risen.” + </p> + <p> + The man with the black pearl gave a mighty shout, and tossed the paper + from him upon the table. + </p> + <p> + “Hurrah!” he cried. “The House is up! We've won!” He caught up his glass, + and slapped the Naval Attache, violently, upon the shoulder. He nodded + joyously at him, at the Solicitor, and at the Queen's Messenger. + “Gentlemen, to you!” he cried; “my thanks and my congratulations!” He + drank deep from the glass, and breathed forth a long sigh of satisfaction + and relief. + </p> + <p> + “But I say,” protested the Queen's Messenger, shaking his finger, + violently, at the Solicitor, “that story won't do. You didn't play fair—and—and + you talked so fast I couldn't make out what it was all about. I'll bet you + that evidence wouldn't hold in a court of law—you couldn't hang a + cat on such evidence. Your story is condemned tommy-rot. Now, my story + might have happened, my story bore the mark—” + </p> + <p> + In the joy of creation, the story-tellers had forgotten their audience, + until a sudden exclamation from Sir Andrew caused them to turn, guiltily, + toward him. His face was knit with lines of anger, doubt, and amazement. + </p> + <p> + “What does this mean?” he cried. “Is this a jest, or are you mad? If you + know this man is a murderer, why is he at large? Is this a game you have + been playing? Explain yourselves at once. What does it mean?” + </p> + <p> + The American, with first a glance at the others, rose and bowed, + courteously. + </p> + <p> + “I am not a murderer, Sir Andrew, believe me,” he said; “you need not be + alarmed. As a matter of fact, at this moment I am much more afraid of you + than you could possibly be of me. I beg you, please to be indulgent. I + assure you, we meant no disrespect. We have been matching stories, that is + all, pretending that we are people we are not, endeavoring to entertain + you with better detective-tales than, for instance, the last one you read, + 'The Great Rand Robbery.'” + </p> + <p> + The Baronet brushed his hand, nervously, across his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to tell me,” he exclaimed, “that none of this has happened? + That Lord Chetney is not dead, that his Solicitor did not find a letter of + yours, written from your post in Petersburg, and that just now, when he + charged you with murder, he was in jest?” + </p> + <p> + “I am really very sorry,” said the American, “but you see, sir, he could + not have found a letter written by me in St. Petersburg because I have + never been in Petersburg. Until this week, I have never been outside of my + own country. I am not a naval officer. I am a writer of short stories. And + to-night, when this gentleman told me that you were fond of + detective-stories, I thought it would be amusing to tell you one of my own—one + I had just mapped out this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “But Lord Chetney IS a real person,” interrupted the Baronet, “and he did + go to Africa two years ago, and he was supposed to have died there, and + his brother, Lord Arthur, has been the heir. And yesterday Chetney did + return. I read it in the papers.” + </p> + <p> + “So did I,” assented the American, soothingly; “and it struck me as being + a very good plot for a story. I mean his unexpected return from the dead, + and the probable disappointment of the younger brother. So I decided that + the younger brother had better murder the older one. The Princess Zichy I + invented out of a clear sky. The fog I did not have to invent. Since last + night I know all that there is to know about a London fog. I was lost in + one for three hours.” + </p> + <p> + The Baronet turned, grimly, upon the Queen's Messenger. + </p> + <p> + “But this gentleman,” he protested, “he is not a writer of short stories; + he is a member of the Foreign Office. I have often seen him in Whitehall, + and, according to him, the Princess Zichy is not an invention. He says she + is very well known, that she tried to rob him.” + </p> + <p> + The servant of the Foreign Office looked, unhappily, at the Cabinet + Minister, and puffed, nervously, on his cigar. + </p> + <p> + “It's true, Sir Andrew, that I am a Queen's Messenger,” he said, + appealingly, “and a Russian woman once did try to rob a Queen's Messenger + in a railway carriage—only it did not happen to me, but to a pal of + mine. The only Russian princess I ever knew called herself Zabrisky. You + may have seen her. She used to do a dive from the roof of the Aquarium.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Andrew, with a snort of indignation, fronted the young Solicitor. + </p> + <p> + “And I suppose yours was a cock-and-bull story, too,” he said. “Of course, + it must have been, since Lord Chetney is not dead. But don't tell me,” he + protested, “that you are not Chudleigh's son either.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry,” said the youngest member, smiling, in some embarrassment, + “but my name is not Chudleigh. I assure you, though, that I know the + family very well, and that I am on very good terms with them.” + </p> + <p> + “You should be!” exclaimed the Baronet; “and, judging from the liberties + you take with the Chetneys, you had better be on very good terms with + them, too.” + </p> + <p> + The young man leaned back and glanced toward the servants at the far end + of the room. + </p> + <p> + “It has been so long since I have been in the Club,” he said, “that I + doubt if even the waiters remember me. Perhaps Joseph may,” he added. + “Joseph!” he called, and at the word a servant stepped briskly forward. + </p> + <p> + The young man pointed to the stuffed head of a great lion which was + suspended above the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + “Joseph,” he said, “I want you to tell these gentlemen who shot that lion. + Who presented it to the Grill?” + </p> + <p> + Joseph, unused to acting as master of ceremonies to members of the Club, + shifted, nervously, from one foot to the other. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you—you did,” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I did!” exclaimed the young man. “I mean, what is the name of + the man who shot it? Tell the gentlemen who I am. They wouldn't believe + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Who you are, my lord?” said Joseph. “You are Lord Edam's son, the Earl of + Chetney.” + </p> + <p> + “You must admit,” said Lord Chetney, when the noise had died away, “that I + couldn't remain dead while my little brother was accused of murder. I had + to do something. Family pride demanded it. Now, Arthur, as the younger + brother, can't afford to be squeamish, but, personally, I should hate to + have a brother of mine hanged for murder.” + </p> + <p> + “You certainly showed no scruples against hanging me,” said the American, + “but, in the face of your evidence, I admit my guilt, and I sentence + myself to pay the full penalty of the law as we are made to pay it in my + own country. The order of this court is,” he announced, “that Joseph shall + bring me a wine-card, and that I sign it for five bottles of the Club's + best champagne.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” protested the man with the pearl stud, “it is not for YOU to + sign it. In my opinion, it is Sir Andrew who should pay the costs. It is + time you knew,” he said, turning to that gentleman, “that, unconsciously, + you have been the victim of what I may call a patriotic conspiracy. These + stories have had a more serious purpose than merely to amuse. They have + been told with the worthy object of detaining you from the House of + Commons. I must explain to you that, all through this evening, I have had + a servant waiting in Trafalgar Square with instructions to bring me word + as soon as the light over the House of Commons had ceased to burn. The + light is now out, and the object for which we plotted is attained.” + </p> + <p> + The Baronet glanced, keenly, at the man with the black pearl, and then, + quickly, at his watch. The smile disappeared from his lips, and his face + was set in stern and forbidding lines. + </p> + <p> + “And may I know,” he asked, icily, “what was the object of your plot?” + </p> + <p> + “A most worthy one,” the other retorted. “Our object was to keep you from + advocating the expenditure of many millions of the people's money upon + more battle-ships. In a word, we have been working together to prevent you + from passing the Navy Increase Bill.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Andrew's face bloomed with brilliant color. His body shook with + suppressed emotion. + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir!” he cried, “you should spend more time at the House and less + at your Club. The Navy Bill was brought up on its third reading at eight + o'clock this evening. I spoke for three hours in its favor. My only reason + for wishing to return again to the House to-night was to sup on the + terrace with my old friend, Admiral Simons; for my work at the House was + completed five hours ago, when the Navy Increase Bill was passed by an + overwhelming majority.” + </p> + <p> + The Baronet rose and bowed. “I have to thank you, sir,” he said, “for a + most interesting evening.” + </p> + <p> + The American shoved the wine-card which Joseph had given him toward the + gentleman with the black pearl. + </p> + <p> + “You sign it,” he said. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ranson's Folly, by Richard Harding Davis + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RANSON'S FOLLY *** + +***** This file should be named 5643-h.htm or 5643-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/6/4/5643/ + +Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +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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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: Ranson's Folly + +Author: Richard Harding Davis + + +Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5643] +This file was first posted on August 3, 2002 +Last Updated: April 10, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RANSON'S FOLLY *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + +RANSON'S FOLLY + +And Others + +By Richard Harding Davis + + +Illustrations By Frederic Remington, Walter Appleton Clark, Howard +Chandler Christy, E.M. Ashe & F. Dorr Steele (illustrations not +available in this file) + + + + + +CONTENTS + +RANSOM'S FOLLY Illustrated by Frederic Remington. + +THE BAR SINISTER Illustrated by E.M. Ashe. + +A DERELICT Illustrated by Walter Appleton Clark. + +LA LETTRE D'AMOUR Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy. + +IN THE FOG Illustrated by Frederic Dorr Steele. + + + + +Illustrations: + +"Throw up your hands," he commanded. + +Ranson faced the door, spinning the revolver around his fourth finger. + +"I suppose I'm the ugliest bull-dog in America". + +"Miss Dorothy snatches me up and kisses me between the ears." + +"We've got a great story! We want a clear wire." + +He played to the empty chair. + +The men around the table turned and glanced toward the gentleman in +front of the fireplace. + +"What was the object of your plot?" + + + + +RANSON'S FOLLY + +I + + +The junior officers of Fort Crockett had organized a mess at the +post-trader's. "And a mess it certainly is," said Lieutenant Ranson. The +dining-table stood between hogsheads of molasses and a blazing log-fire, +the counter of the store was their buffet, a pool-table with a cloth, +blotted like a map of the Great Lakes, their sideboard, and Indian Pete +acted as butler. But none of these things counted against the great fact +that each evening Mary Cahill, the daughter of the post-trader, presided +over the evening meal, and turned it into a banquet. From her high +chair behind the counter, with the cash-register on her one side and +the weighing-scales on the other, she gave her little Senate laws, and +smiled upon each and all with the kind impartiality of a comrade. + +At least, at one time she had been impartial. But of late she smiled +upon all save Lieutenant Ranson. When he talked, she now looked at the +blazing log-fire, and her cheeks glowed and her eyes seemed to reflect +the lifting flame. + +For five years, ever since her father brought her from the convent at +St. Louis, Mary Cahill had watched officers come and officers go. Her +knowledge concerning them, and their public and private affairs, was +vast and miscellaneous. She was acquainted with the traditions of +every regiment, with its war record, with its peace-time politics, its +nicknames, its scandals, even with the earnings of each company-canteen. +At Fort Crockett, which lay under her immediate observation, she knew +more of what was going forward than did the regimental adjutant, more +even than did the colonel's wife. If Trumpeter Tyler flatted on church +call, if Mrs. Stickney applied to the quartermaster for three feet +of stovepipe, if Lieutenant Curtis were granted two days' leave for +quail-shooting, Mary Cahill knew it; and if Mrs. "Captain" Stairs +obtained the post-ambulance for a drive to Kiowa City, when Mrs. +"Captain" Ross wanted it for a picnic, she knew what words passed +between those ladies, and which of the two wept. She knew all of these +things, for each evening they were retailed to her by her "boarders." +Her boarders were very loyal to Mary Cahill. Her position was a +difficult one, and had it not been that the boy-officers were so +understanding, it would have been much more difficult. For the life of a +regimental post is as circumscribed as the life on a ship-of-war, and +it would no more be possible for the ship's barber to rub shoulders with +the admiral's epaulets than that a post-trader's child should visit the +ladies on the "line," or that the wives of the enlisted men should dine +with the young girl from whom they "took in" washing. + +So, between the upper and the nether grindstones, Mary Cahill was left +without the society of her own sex, and was of necessity forced to +content herself with the society of the officers. And the officers +played fair. Loyalty to Mary Cahill was a tradition at Fort Crockett, +which it was the duty of each succeeding regiment to sustain. Moreover, +her father, a dark, sinister man, alive only to money-making, was known +to handle a revolver with the alertness of a town-marshal. + +Since the day she left the convent Mary Cahill had held but two +affections: one for this grim, taciturn parent, who brooded over her as +jealously as a lover, and the other for the entire United States Army. +The Army returned her affection without the jealousy of the father, and +with much more than his effusiveness. But when Lieutenant Ranson +arrived from the Philippines, the affections of Mary Cahill became less +generously distributed, and her heart fluttered hourly between trouble +and joy. + +There were two rooms on the first floor of the post-trader's--this +big one, which only officers and their women-folk might enter, and the +other, the exchange of the enlisted men. The two were separated by +a partition of logs and hung with shelves on which were displayed +calicoes, tinned meats, and patent medicines. A door, cut in one end +of the partition, with buffalo-robes for portieres, permitted Cahill to +pass from behind the counter of one store to behind the counter of the +other. On one side Mary Cahill served the Colonel's wife with many yards +of silk ribbons to be converted into german favors, on the other her +father weighed out bears' claws (manufactured in Hartford, Conn., from +turkey-bones) to make a necklace for Red Wing, the squaw of the Arrephao +chieftain. He waited upon everyone with gravity, and in obstinate +silence. No one had ever seen Cahill smile. He himself occasionally +joked with others in a grim and embarrassed manner. But no one had ever +joked with him. It was reported that he came from New York, where, it +was whispered, he had once kept bar on the Bowery for McTurk. + +Sergeant Clancey, of G Troop, was the authority for this. But when, +presuming on that supposition, he claimed acquaintanceship with Cahill, +the post-trader spread out his hands on the counter and stared at the +sergeant with cold and disconcerting eyes. "I never kept bar nowhere," +he said. "I never been on the Bowery, never been in New York, never been +east of Denver in my life. What was it you ordered?" + +"Well, mebbe I'm wrong," growled the sergeant. + +But a month later, when a coyote howled down near the Indian village, +the sergeant said insinuatingly, "Sounds just like the cry of the Whyos, +don't it?" And Cahill, who was listening to the wolf, unthinkingly +nodded his head. + +The sergeant snorted in triumph. "Yah, I told you so!" he cried, "a man +that's never been on the Bowery, and knows the call of the Whyo gang! +The drinks are on you, Cahill." + +The post-trader did not raise his eyes, but drew a damp cloth up and +down the counter, slowly and heavily, as a man sharpens a knife on a +whetstone. + +That night, as the sergeant went up the path to the post, a bullet +passed through his hat. Clancey was a forceful man, and forceful men, +unknown to themselves, make enemies, so he was uncertain as to whether +this came from a trooper he had borne upon too harshly, or whether, In +the darkness, he had been picked off for someone else. The next night, +as he passed in the full light of the post-trader's windows, a shot +came from among the dark shadows of the corral, and when he immediately +sought safety in numbers among the Indians, cowboys, and troopers in the +exchange, he was in time to see Cahill enter it from the other store, +wrapping up a bottle of pain-killer for Mrs. Stickney's cook. But +Clancey was not deceived. He observed with satisfaction that the soles +and the heels of Cahill's boots were wet with the black mud of the +corral. + +The next morning, when the exchange was empty, the post-trader turned +from arranging cans of condensed milk upon an upper shelf to face the +sergeant's revolver. He threw up his hands to the level of his ears as +though expressing sharp unbelief, and waited in silence. The sergeant +advanced until the gun rested on the counter, Its muzzle pointing at the +pit of Cahill's stomach. "You or me has got to leave this post," said +the sergeant, "and I can't desert, so I guess it's up to you." + +"What did you talk for?" asked Cahill. His attitude was still that +of shocked disbelief, but his tone expressed a full acceptance of the +situation and a desire to temporize. + +"At first I thought it might be that new 'cruity' in F Troop," explained +the sergeant "You came near making me kill the wrong man. What harm did +I do you by saying you kept bar for McTurk? What's there in that to get +hot about?" + +"You said I run with the Whyos." + +"What the h--l do I care what you've done!" roared the sergeant. "I +don't kmow nothing about you, but I don't mean you should shoot me in +the back. I'm going to tell this to my bunky, an' if I get shot up, the +Troop'll know who done it, and you'll hang for it. Now, what are you +going to do?" + +Cahill did not tell what he would do; for, from the other store, the low +voice of Mary Cahill called, "Father! Oh, father!" + +The two men dodged, and eyed each other guiltily. The sergeant gazed at +the buffalo-robe portieres with wide-opened eyes. Cahill's hands dropped +from the region of his ears, and fell flat upon the counter. + +When Miss Mary Cahill pushed aside the portieres Sergeant Clancey, of +G Troop, was showing her father the mechanism of the new +regulation-revolver. He apparently was having some difficulty with the +cylinder, for his face was red. Her father was eying the gun with the +critical approval of an expert. + +"Father," said Miss Cahill petulantly, "why didn't you answer? Where is +the blue stationery--the sort Major Ogden always buys? He's waiting." + +The eyes of the post-trader did not wander from the gun before him. +"Next to the blank books, Mame," he said. "On the second shelf." + +Miss Cahill flashed a dazzling smile at the big sergeant, and whispered, +so that the officer in the room behind her might not overhear, "Is +he trying to sell you Government property, dad? Don't you touch it. +Sergeant, I'm surprised at you tempting my poor father." She pulled the +two buffalo-robes close around her neck so that her face only showed +between them. It was a sweet, lovely face, with frank, boyish eyes. + +"When the major's gone, sergeant," she whispered, "bring your gun around +my side of the store and I'll buy it from you." + +The sergeant nodded in violent assent, laughing noiselessly and slapping +his knee in a perfect ecstasy of delight. + +The curtains dropped and the face disappeared. + +The sergeant fingered the gun and Cahill folded his arms defiantly. + +"Well?" he said. + +"Well?" asked the sergeant. + +"I should think you could see how it is," said Cahill, "without my +having to tell you." + +"You mean you don't want she should know?" + +"My God, no! Not even that I kept a bar." + +"Well, I don't know nothing. I don't mean to tell nothing, anyway, so if +you'll promise to be good I'll call this off." + +For the first time in the history of Fort Crockett, Cahill was seen to +smile. "May I reach under the counter NOW?" he asked. + +The sergeant grinned appreciatively, and shifted his gun. "Yes, but +I'll keep this out until I'm sure it's a bottle," he said, and laughed +boisterously. + +For an instant, under the cover of the counter, Cahill's hand touched +longingly upon the gun that lay there, and then passed on to the bottle +beside it. He drew it forth, and there was the clink of glasses. + +In the other room Mary Cahill winked at the major, but that officer +pretended to be both deaf to the clink of the glasses and blind to the +wink. And so the incident was closed. Had it not been for the folly of +Lieutenant Ranson it would have remained closed. + +A week before this happened a fire had started in the Willow Bottoms +among the tepees of some Kiowas, and the prairie, as far as one could +see, was bruised and black. From the post it looked as though the sky +had been raining ink. At the time all of the regiment but G and H +Troops was out on a practice-march, experimenting with a new-fangled +tabloid-ration. As soon as it turned the buttes it saw from where the +light in the heavens came and the practice-march became a race. + +At the post the men had doubled out under Lieutenant Ranson with wet +horse-blankets, and while he led G Troop to fight the flames, H Troop, +under old Major Stickney, burned a space around the post, across which +the men of G Troop retreated, stumbling, with their ears and shoulders +wrapped in the smoking blankets. The sparks beat upon them and the +flames followed so fast that, as they ran, the blazing grass burned +their lacings, and they kicked their gaiters ahead of them. + +When the regiment arrived it found everybody at Fort Crockett talking +enthusiastically of Ranson's conduct and resentfully of the fact that +he had regarded the fire as one which had been started for his especial +amusement. + +"I assure you," said Mrs. Bolland to the colonel, "if it hadn't been +for young Ranson we would have been burned in our beds; but he was most +aggravating. He treated it as though it were Fourth of July fireworks. +It is the only entertainment we have been able to offer him since he +joined in which he has shown the slightest interest." Nevertheless, +it was generally admitted that Ranson had saved the post. He had been +ubiquitous. He had been seen galloping into the advancing flames like +a stampeded colt, he had reappeared like a wraith in columns of black, +whirling smoke, at the same moment his voice issued orders from twenty +places. One instant he was visible beating back the fire with a wet +blanket, waving it above him jubilantly, like a substitute at the +Army-Navy game when his side scores, and the next staggering from out +of the furnace dragging an asphyxiated trooper by the collar, and +shrieking, "Hospital-steward, hospital-steward! here's a man on fire. +Put him out, and send him back to me, quick!" + +Those who met him in the whirlwind of smoke and billowing flame related +that he chuckled continuously. "Isn't this fun?" he yelled at them. +"Say, isn't this the best ever? I wouldn't have missed this for a trip +to New York!" + +When the colonel, having visited the hospital and spoken cheering words +to those who were sans hair, sans eyebrows and with bandaged hands, +complimented Lieutenant Ranson on the parade-ground before the assembled +regiment, Ranson ran to his hut muttering strange and fearful oaths. + +That night at mess he appealed to Mary Cahill for sympathy. "Goodness, +mighty me!" he cried, "did you hear him? Wasn't it awful? If I'd thought +he was going to hand me that I'd have deserted. What's the use of +spoiling the only fun we've had that way? Why, if I'd known you could +get that much excitement out of this rank prairie I'd have put a match +to it myself three months ago. It's the only fun I've had, and he goes +and preaches a funeral oration at me." + +Ranson came into the army at the time of the Spanish war because it +promised a new form of excitement, and because everybody else he +knew had gone into it too. As the son of his father he was made an +adjutant-general of volunteers with the rank of captain, and unloaded +on the staff of a Southern brigadier, who was slated never to leave +Charleston. But Ranson suspected this, and, after telegraphing his +father for three days, was attached to the Philippines contingent and +sailed from San Francisco in time to carry messages through the surf +when the volunteers moved upon Manila. More cabling at the cost of many +Mexican dollars caused him to be removed from the staff, and given a +second lieutenancy in a volunteer regiment, and for two years he pursued +the little brown men over the paddy sluices, burned villages, +looted churches, and collected bolos and altar-cloths with that +irresponsibility and contempt for regulations which is found chiefly +in the appointment from civil life. Incidentally, he enjoyed himself +so much that he believed in the army he had found the one place where +excitement is always in the air, and as excitement was the breath of his +nostrils he applied for a commission in the regular army. On his record +he was appointed a second lieutenant in the Twentieth Cavalry, and on +the return of that regiment to the States--was buried alive at Fort +Crockett. + +After six months of this exile, one night at the mess-table Ranson broke +forth in open rebellion. "I tell you I can't stand it a day longer," he +cried. "I'm going to resign!" + +From behind the counter Mary Cahill heard him in horror. Second +Lieutenants Crosby and Curtis shuddered. They were sons of officers +of the regular army. Only six months before they themselves had been +forwarded from West Point, done up in neat new uniforms. The traditions +of the Academy of loyalty and discipline had been kneaded into their +vertebrae. In Ranson they saw only the horrible result of giving +commissions to civilians. + +"Maybe the post will be gayer now that spring has come," said Curtis +hopefully, but with a doubtful look at the open fire. + +"I wouldn't do anything rash," urged Crosby. + +Miss Cahill shook her head. "Why, I like it at the post," she said, "and +I've been here five years--ever since I left the convent--and I--" + +Ranson interrupted, bowing gallantly. "Yes, I know, Miss Cahill," he +said, "but I didn't come here from a convent. I came here from the +blood-stained fields of war. Now, out in the Philippines there's always +something doing. They give you half a troop, and so long as you bring +back enough Mausers and don't get your men cut up, you can fight all +over the shop and no questions asked. But all I do here is take care of +sick horses. Any vet. in the States has seen as much fighting as I have +in the last half-year. I might as well have had charge of horse-car +stables." + +"There is some truth in that," said Curtis cautiously. "If you do +resign, certainly no one can accuse you of resigning in the face of the +enemy." + +"Enemy, ye gods!" roared Ranson. "Why, if I were to see a Moro entering +that door with a bolo in each fist I'd fall on his neck and kiss him. +I'm not trained to this garrison business. You fellows are. They took +all the sporting blood out of you at West Point; one bad mark for +smoking a cigarette, two bad marks for failing to salute the instructor +in botany, and all the excitement you ever knew were charades and +a cadet-hop a t Cullum Hall. But, you see, before I went to the +Philippines with Merritt, I'd been there twice on a fellow's yacht, and +we'd tucked the Spanish governor in his bed with his spurs on. Now, +I have to sit around and hear old Bolland tell how he put down a +car-strike in St. Louis, and Stickney's long-winded yarns of Table +Mountain and the Bloody Angle. He doesn't know the Civil War's over. I +tell you, if I can't get excitement on tap I've got to make it, and if I +make it out here they'll court-martial me. So there's nothing for it but +to resign." + +"You'd better wait till the end of the week," said Crosby, grinning. +"It's going to be full of gayety. Thursday, paymaster's coming out with +our cash, and to-night that Miss Post from New York arrives in the up +stage. She's to visit the colonel, so everybody will have to give her a +good time." + +"Yes, I certainly must wait for that," growled Ranson; "there probably +will be progressive euchre parties all along the line, and we'll sit up +as late as ten o'clock and stick little gilt stars on ourselves." + +Crosby laughed tolerantly. + +"I see your point of view," he said. "I remember when my father took me +to Monte Carlo I saw you at the tables with enough money in front of +you to start a bank. I remember my father asked the croupiers why they +allowed a child of your age to gamble. I was just a kid then, and so +were you, too. I remember I thought you were the devil of a fellow." + +Ranson looked sheepishly at Miss Cahill and laughed. "Well, so I +was--then," he said. "Anybody would be a devil of a fellow who'd been +brought up as I was, with a doting parent who owns a trust and doesn't +know the proper value of money. And yet you expect me to be happy with +a fifty-cent limit game, and twenty miles of burned prairie. I tell you +I've never been broken to it. I don't know what not having your own way +means. And discipline! Why, every time I have to report one of my men to +the colonel I send for him afterward and give him a drink and apologize +to him. I tell you the army doesn't mean anything to me unless there's +something doing, and as there is no fighting out here I'm for the back +room of the Holland House and a rubber-tired automobile. Little old New +York is good enough for me!" + +As he spoke these fateful words of mutiny Lieutenant Ranson raised his +black eyes and snatched a swift side-glance at the face of Mary Cahill. +It was almost as though it were from her he sought his answer. He could +not himself have told what it was he would have her say. But ever since +the idea of leaving the army had come to him, Mary Cahill and the army +had become interchangeable and had grown to mean one and the same thing. +He fought against this condition of mind fiercely. He had determined +that without active service the army was intolerable; but that without +Mary Cahill civil life would also prove intolerable, he assured himself +did not at all follow. He had laughed at the idea. He had even argued it +out sensibly. Was it reasonable to suppose, he asked himself, that after +circling the great globe three times he should find the one girl on it +who alone could make him happy, sitting behind a post-trader's counter +on the open prairie? His interest in Miss Cahill was the result of +propinquity, that was all. It was due to the fact that there was no +one else at hand, because he was sorry for her loneliness, because her +absurd social ostracism had touched his sympathy. How long after he +reached New York would he remember the little comrade with the brave, +boyish eyes set in the delicate, feminine head, with its great waves of +gorgeous hair? It would not be long, he guessed. He might remember the +way she rode her pony, how she swung from her Mexican saddle and caught +up a gauntlet from the ground. Yes, he certainly would remember that, +and he would remember the day he had galloped after her and ridden with +her through the Indian village, and again that day when they rode to the +water-fall and the Lover's Leap. And he would remember her face at night +as it bent over the books he borrowed for her, which she read while they +were at mess, sitting in her high chair with her chin resting in her +palms, staring down at the book before her. And the trick she had, +whenever he spoke, of raising her head and looking into the fire, her +eyes lighting and her lips smiling. They would be pleasant memories, he +was sure. But once back again in the whirl and rush of the great world +outside of Fort Crockett, even as memories they would pass away. + +Mary Cahill made no outward answer to the rebellious utterance of +Lieutenant Ranson. She only bent her eyes on her book and tried to think +what the post would hold for her when he had carried out his threat and +betaken himself into the world and out of her life forever. Night after +night she had sat enthroned behind her barrier and listened to his talk, +wondering deeply. He had talked of a world she knew only in novels, in +history, and in books of travel. His view of it was not an educational +one: he was no philosopher, nor trained observer. He remembered +London--to her the capital of the world--chiefly by its restaurants, +Cairo on account of its execrable golf-links. He lived only to enjoy +himself. His view was that of a boy, hearty and healthy and seeking only +excitement and mischief. She had heard his tales of his brief career at +Harvard, of the reunions at Henry's American bar, of the Futurity, the +Suburban, the Grand Prix, of a yachting cruise which apparently had +encountered every form of adventure, from the rescuing of a stranded +opera-company to the ramming of a slaver's dhow. The regret with which +he spoke of these free days, which was the regret of an exile marooned +upon a desert island, excited all her sympathy for an ill she had never +known. His discourteous scorn of the social pleasures of the post, from +which she herself was excluded, rilled her with speculation. If he could +forego these functions, how full and gay she argued his former life must +have been. His attitude helped her to bear the deprivations more easily. +And she, as a loyal child of the army, liked him also because he was +no "cracker-box" captain, but a fighter, who had fought with no morbid +ideas as to the rights or wrongs of the cause, but for the fun of +fighting. + +And one night, after he had been telling the mess of a Filipino officer +who alone had held back his men and himself, and who at last died in his +arms cursing him, she went to sleep declaring to herself that Lieutenant +Ranson was becoming too like the man she had pictured for her husband +than was good for her peace of mind. He had told the story as his +tribute to a brave man fighting for his independence and with such +regret that such a one should have died so miserably, that, to the +embarrassment of the mess, the tears rolled down his cheeks. But he +wiped them away with his napkin as unconcernedly as though they were +caused by the pepper-box, and said simply, "He had sporting blood, he +had. I've never felt so bad about anything as I did about that chap. +Whenever I think of him standing up there with his back to the cathedral +all shot to pieces, but giving us what for until he died, it makes me +cry. So," he added, blowing his nose vigorously, "I won't think of it +any more." + +Tears are properly a woman's weapon, and when a man makes use of them, +even in spite of himself, he is taking an advantage over the other +sex which is unfair and outrageous. Lieutenant Ranson never knew the +mischief the sympathy he had shown for his enemy caused in the heart of +Mary Cahill, nor that from that moment she loved him deeply. + +The West Point graduates before they answered Ranson's ultimatum smoked +their cigarettes for some time in silence. + +"Oh, there's been fighting even at Fort Crockett," said Crosby. "In the +last two years the men have been ordered out seven times, haven't they, +Miss Cahill? When the Indians got out of hand, and twice after cowboys, +and twice after the Red Rider." + +"The Red Rider!" protested Ranson; "I don't see anything exciting in +rounding up one miserable horse thief." + +"Only they don't round him up," returned Curtis crossly. "That's why +it's exciting. He's the best in his business. He's held up the stage six +times now in a year. Whoever the fellow is, if he's one man or a gang of +men, he's the nerviest road-agent since the days of Abe Case." + +Ranson in his then present mood was inclined toward pessimism. "It +doesn't take any nerve to hold up a coach," he contradicted. + +Curtis and Crosby snorted in chorus. "That's what you say," mocked +Curtis. + +"Well, it doesn't," repeated Ranson. "It's all a game of bluff. The +etiquette is that the driver mustn't shoot the road-agent, and that the +road-agent mustn't hurt the driver, and the passengers are too scared +to move. The moment they see a man rise out of the night they throw up +their hands. Why, even when a passenger does try to pull his gun the +others won't let him. Each thinks sure that if there's any firing he +will be the one to get hurt. And, besides, they don't know how many more +men the road agent may have behind him. I don't---" + +A movement on the part of Miss Cahill caused him to pause abruptly. +Miss Cahill had descended from her throne and was advancing to meet the +post-trader, who came toward her from the exchange. + +"Lightfoot's squaw," he said. "Her baby's worse. She's sent for you." + +Miss Cahill gave a gasp of sympathy, snatched up her hat from the +counter, and the buffalo robes closed behind her. + +Ranson stooped and reached for his sombrero. With the flight of Miss +Cahill his interest in the courage of the Red Rider had departed also. + +But Crosby appealed to the new-comer, "Cahill, YOU know," he said. +"We've been talking of the man they call the Red Rider, the chap that +wears a red bandanna over his face. Ranson says he hasn't any nerve. +That's not so, is it?" + +"I said it didn't take any nerve to hold up a stage," said Ranson; "and +it doesn't." + +The post-trader halted on his way back to the exchange and rubbed one +hand meditatively over the other arm. With him speech was golden and +difficult. After a pause he said: "Oh, he takes his chances." + +"Of course he does," cried Crosby, encouragingly. "He takes the chance +of being shot by the passengers, and of being caught by the posse and +lynched, but this man's got away with it now six times in the last year. +And I say that takes nerve." + +"Why, for fifty dollars---" laughed Ranson. + +He checked himself, and glanced over his shoulder at the retreating +figure of Cahill. The buffalo robes fell again, and the spurs of +the post-trader could be heard jangling over the earth-floor of the +exchange. + +"For fifty dollars," repeated Ranson, in brisk, businesslike tones, +"I'll rob the up stage to-night myself!" + +Previous knowledge of his moods, the sudden look of mischief in his eyes +and a certain vibration in his voice caused the two lieutenants to jump +simultaneously to their feet. "Ranson!" they shouted. + +Ranson laughed mockingly. "Oh, I'm bored to death," he cried. "What will +you bet I don't?" + +He had risen with them, but, without waiting for their answer, ran to +where his horse stood at the open door. He sank on his knees and began +tugging violently at the stirrup-straps. The two officers, their eyes +filled with concern, pursued him across the room. With Cahill twenty +feet away, they dared not raise their voices, but in pantomime they +beckoned him vigorously to return. Ranson came at once, flushed and +smiling, holding a hooded army-stirrup in each hand. "Never do to have +them see these!" he said. He threw the stirrups from him, behind the row +of hogsheads. "I'll ride in the stirrup-straps!" He still spoke in the +same low, brisk tone. + +Crosby seized him savagely by the arm. "No, you won't!" he hissed. "Look +here, Ranson. Listen to me; for Heaven's sake don't be an ass! They'll +shoot you, you'll be killed---" + +--"And court-martialed," panted Curtis. + +"You'll go to Leavenworth for the rest of your life!" + +Ranson threw off the detaining hand, and ran behind the counter. From a +lower shelf he snatched a red bandanna kerchief. From another he dragged +a rubber poncho, and buttoned it high about his throat. He picked up the +steel shears which lay upon the counter, and snipping two holes in the +red kerchief, stuck it under the brim of his sombrero. It fell before +his face like a curtain. From his neck to his knees the poncho concealed +his figure. All that was visible of him was his eyes, laughing through +the holes in the red mask. + +"Behold the Red Rider!" he groaned. "Hold up your hands!" + +He pulled the kerchief from his face and threw the poncho over his arm. +"Do you see these shears?" he whispered. "I'm going to hold up the stage +with 'em. No one ever fires at a road agent. They just shout, 'Don't +shoot, colonel, and I'll come down.' I'm going to bring 'em down with +these shears." + +Crosby caught Curtis by the arm, laughing eagerly. "Come to the stables, +quick," he cried. "We'll get twenty troopers after him before he can go +a half mile." He turned on Ranson with a triumphant chuckle. "You'll not +be dismissed this regiment, if I can help it," he cried. + +Ranson gave an ugly laugh, like the snarl of a puppy over his bone. "If +you try to follow me, or interfere with me, Lieutenant Crosby," he said, +"I'll shoot you and your troopers!" + +"With a pair of shears?" jeered Crosby. + +"No, with the gun I've got in my pocket. Now you listen to me. I'm not +going to use that gun on any stage filled with women, driven by a man +seventy years old, but--and I mean it--if you try to stop me, I'll use +it on you. I'm going to show you how anyone can bluff a stage full with +a pair of tin shears and a red mask for a kicker. And I'll shoot the man +that tries to stop me." + +Ranson sprang to his horse's side, and stuck his toe into the empty +stirrup-strap; there was a scattering of pebbles, a scurry of hoofs, and +the horse and rider became a gray blot in the moonlight. + +The two lieutenants stood irresolute. Under his breath Crosby was +swearing fiercely. Curtis stood staring out of the open door. + +"Will he do it?" he asked. + +"Of course he'll do it." + +Curtis crossed the room and dropped into a chair. "And what--what had we +better do?" he asked. For some time the other made no answer. His brows +were knit, and he tramped the room, scowling at the floor. Then with an +exclamation of alarm he stepped lightly to the door of the exchange and +threw back the curtain. In the other room, Cahill stood at its furthest +corner, scooping sugar from a hogshead. + +Crosby's scowl relaxed, and, reseating himself at the table, he rolled +a cigarette. "Now, if he pulls it off," he whispered, "and gets back to +quarters, then--it's a case of all's well. But, if he's shot, or caught, +and it all comes out, then it's up to us to prove he meant it as a +practical joke." + +"It isn't our duty to report it now, is it?" asked Curtis, nervously. + +"Certainly not! If he chooses to make an ass of himself, that's none +of our business. Unless he's found out, we have heard nothing and seen +nothing. If he's caught, then we've got to stick by him, and testify +that he did it on a bet. He'll probably win out all right. There is +nobody expected on the stage but that Miss Post and her aunt. And the +driver's an old hand. He knows better than to fight." + +"There may be some cowboys coming up." + +"That's Ranson's lookout. As Cahill says, the Red Rider takes his +chances." + +"I wish there was something we could do now," Curtis protested, +petulantly. "I suppose we've just got to sit still and wait for him?" + +"That's all," answered Crosby, and then leaped to his feet. "What's +that?" he asked. Out on the parade ground, a bugle-call broke suddenly +on the soft spring air. It rang like an alarm. The noise of a man +running swiftly sounded on the path, and before the officers reached the +doorway Sergeant Clancey entered it, and halted at attention. + +"The colonel's orders," panted the sergeant, "and the lieutenant's are +to take twenty men from G and H Troops, and ride to Kiowa to escort the +paymaster." + +"The paymaster!" Crosby cried. "He's not coming till Thursday." + +"He's just telegraphed from Kiowa City, lieutenant. He's ahead of his +schedule. He wants an escort for the money. He left Kiowa a few minutes +ago in the up stage." + +The two lieutenants sprang forward, and shouted in chorus: "The stage? +He is in the stage!" + +Sergeant Clancey stared dubiously from one officer to the other. He +misunderstood their alarm, and with the privilege of long service +attempted to allay it. "The lieutenant knows nothing can happen to the +stage till it reaches the buttes," he said. "There has never been a +hold-up in the open, and the escort can reach the buttes long before +the stage gets here." He coughed consciously. "Colonel's orders are to +gallop, lieutenant." + +As the two officers rode knee to knee through the night, the pay escort +pounding the trail behind them, Crosby leaned from his saddle. "He +has only ten minutes' start of us," he whispered. "We are certain to +overtake him. We can't help but do it. We must do it. We MUST! If we +don't, and he tries to stop Colonel Patten and the pay-roll, he'll die. +Two women and a deaf driver, that--that's a joke. But an Indian fighter +like old Patten, and Uncle Sam's money, that means a finish fight-and +his death and disgrace." He turned savagely in his saddle. "Close up +there!" he commanded. "Stop that talking. You keep your breath till I +want it--and ride hard." + +After the officers had galloped away from the messroom, and Sergeant +Clancey had hurried after them to the stables, the post-trader entered +it from the exchange and barred the door, which they in their haste had +left open. As he did this, the close observer, had one been present, +might have noted that though his movements were now alert and eager, +they no longer were betrayed by any sound, and that his spurs had ceased +to jangle. Yet that he purposed to ride abroad was evident from the fact +that from a far corner he dragged out a heavy saddle. He flung this upon +the counter, and swiftly stripped it of its stirrups. These, with more +than necessary care, he hid away upon the highest shelf of the shop, +while from the lower shelves he snatched a rubber poncho and a red +kerchief. For a moment, as he unbarred the door, the post-trader paused +and cast a quick glance before and behind him, and then the door closed +and there was silence. A minute later it was broken by the hoofs of a +horse galloping swiftly along the trail to Kiowa City. + + + + +II + + +That winter Miss Post had been going out a great deal more than was +good for her, and when the spring came she broke down. The family doctor +recommended Aiken, but an aunt of Miss Post's, Mrs. Truesdall, had +been at Farmington with Mrs. "Colonel" Bolland, and urged visiting her +instead. The doctor agreed that the climatic conditions existing at Fort +Crockett were quite as health-giving as those at Aiken, and of the two +the invalid decided that the regimental post would be more of a novelty. + +So she and her aunt and the maid changed cars twice after leaving St. +Louis and then staged it to Kiowa City, where, while waiting for "Pop" +Henderson's coach to Fort Crockett, they dined with him on bacon, fried +bread, and alkali water tinged with coffee. + +It was at Kiowa City, a city of four hundred houses on blue-print paper +and six on earth, that Miss Post first felt certain that she was going +to enjoy her visit. It was there she first saw, at large and on his +native heath, a blanket Indian. He was a tall, beautiful youth, with +yellow ochre on his thin, brown arms and blue ochre on his cheekbones, +who sat on "Pop's" steps, gazing impassively at the stars. Miss Post +came out with her maid and fell over him. The maid screamed. Miss Post +said: "I beg your pardon"; and the brave expressed his contempt by +gutteral mutterings and by moving haughtily away. Miss Post was then +glad that she had not gone to Aiken. For the twelve-mile drive through +the moonlit buttes to Fort Crockett there was, besides the women, one +other passenger. He was a travelling salesman of the Hancock Uniform +Company, and was visiting Fort Crockett to measure the officers for +their summer tunics. At dinner he passed Miss Post the condensed +milk-can, and in other ways made himself agreeable. He informed her aunt +that he was in the Military Equipment Department of the Army, but, much +to that young woman's distress, addressed most of his remarks to the +maid, who, to his taste, was the most attractive of the three. + +"I take it," he said genially to Miss Post, "that you and the young lady +are sisters." + +"No," said Miss Post, "we are not related." + +It was eight o'clock, and the moon was full in the heavens when "Pop" +Henderson hoisted them into the stage and burdened his driver, Hunk +Smith, with words of advice which were intended solely for the ears of +the passengers. + +"You want to be careful of that near wheeler, Hunk," he said, "or he'll +upset you into a gully. An' in crossing the second ford, bear to the +right; the water's running high, and it may carry youse all down stream. +I don't want that these ladies should be drowned in any stage of mine. +An' if the Red Rider jumps you don't put up no bluff, but sit still. The +paymaster's due in a night or two, an' I've no doubt at all but that the +Rider's laying for him. But if you tell him that there's no one inside +but womenfolk and a tailor, mebbe he won't hurt youse. Now, ladies," he +added, putting his head under the leather flap, as though unconscious +that all he had said had already reached them, "without wishing to make +you uneasy, I would advise your having your cash and jewelry ready in +your hands. With road-agents it's mostly wisest to do what they say, an' +to do it quick. Ef you give 'em all you've got, they sometimes go away +without spilling blood, though, such being their habits, naturally +disappointed." He turned his face toward the shrinking figure of the +military tailor. "You, being an army man," he said, "will of course want +to protect the ladies, but you mustn't do it. You must keep cool. Ef you +pull your gun, like as not you'll all get killed. But I'm hoping for the +best. Good-night all, an' a pleasant journey." + +The stage moved off with many creaks and many cracks of the whip, which +in part smothered Hunk Smith's laughter. But after the first mile, he, +being a man with feelings and a family, pulled the mules to a halt. + +The voice of the drummer could instantly be heard calling loudly from +the darkness of the stage: "Don't open those flaps. If they see us, +they'll fire!" + +"I wanted you folks to know," said Hunk Smith, leaning from the +box-seat, "that that talk of Pop's was all foolishness. You're as safe +on this trail as in a Pullman palace-car. That was just his way. Pop +will have his joke. You just go to sleep now, if you can, and trust to +me. I'll get you there by eleven o'clock or break a trace. Breakin' a +trace is all the danger there is, anyway," he added, cheerfully, "so +don't fret." + +Miss Post could not resist saying to Mrs. Truesdall: "I told you he was +joking." + +The stage had proceeded for two hours. Sometimes it dropped with +locked wheels down sheer walls of clay, again it was dragged, careening +drunkenly, out of fathomless pits. It pitched and tossed, slid and +galloped, danced grotesquely from one wheel to another, from one stone +to another, recoiled out of ruts, butted against rocks, and swept down +and out of swollen streams that gurgled between the spokes. + +"If ever I leave Fort Crockett," gasped Mrs. Truesdall between jolts, "I +shall either wait until they build a railroad or walk." + +They had all but left the hills, and were approaching the level prairie. +That they might see the better the flaps had been rolled up, and +the soft dry air came freely through the open sides. The mules were +straining over the last hill. On either side only a few of the buttes +were still visible. They stood out in the moonlight as cleanly cut +as the bows of great battleships. The trail at last was level. Mrs. +Truesdall's eyes closed. Her head fell forward. But Miss Post, weary +as she was in body, could not sleep. To her the night-ride was full of +strange and wonderful mysteries. Gratefully she drank in the dry scent +of the prairie-grass, and, holding by the frame of the window, leaned +far out over the wheel. As she did so, a man sprang into the trail from +behind a wall of rock, and shouted hoarsely. He was covered to his knees +with a black mantle. His face was hidden by a blood-red mask. + +"Throw up your hands!" he commanded. There was a sharp creaking as the +brakes locked, and from the driver's seat an amazed oath. The stage +stopped with a violent jerk, and Mrs. Truesdall pitched gently forward +toward her niece. + +"I really believe I was asleep, Helen," she murmured. "What are we +waiting for?" + +"I think we are held up," said Miss Post. + +The stage had halted beyond the wall of rock, and Miss Post looked +behind it, but no other men were visible, only a horse with his bridle +drawn around a stone. The man in the mask advanced upon the stage, +holding a weapon at arm's-length. In the moonlight it flashed and +glittered evilly. The man was but a few feet from Miss Post, and the +light fell full upon her. Of him she could see only two black eyes that +flashed as evilly as his weapon. For a period of suspense, which seemed +cruelly prolonged, the man stood motionless, then he lowered his weapon. +When he opened his lips the mask stuck to them, and his words came from +behind it, broken and smothered. "Sorry to trouble you, miss," the mask +said, "but I want that man beside you to get out." + +Miss Post turned to the travelling salesman. "He wants you to get out," +she said. + +"Wants me!" exclaimed the drummer. "I'm not armed, you know." In a +louder voice he protested, faintly: "I say, I'm not armed." + +"Come out!" demanded the mask. + +The drummer precipitated himself violently over the knees of the ladies +into the road below, and held his hands high above him. "I'm not armed," +he said; "indeed I'm not." + +"Stand over there, with your back to that rock," the mask ordered. For +a moment the road agent regarded him darkly, pointing his weapon +meditatively at different parts of the salesman's person. He suggested +a butcher designating certain choice cuts. The drummer's muscles jerked +under the torture as though his anatomy were being prodded with an awl. + +"I want your watch," said the mask. The drummer reached eagerly for his +waistcoat. + +"Hold up your hands!" roared the road agent. "By the eternal, if you +play any rough-house tricks on me I'll--" He flourished his weapon until +it flashed luminously. + +An exclamation from Hunk Smith, opportunely uttered, saved the drummer +from what was apparently instant annihilation. "Say, Rider," cried the +driver, "I can't hold my arms up no longer. I'm going to put 'em down. +But you leave me alone, an' I'll leave you alone. Is that a bargain?" +The shrouded figure whirled his weapon upon the speaker. "Have I ever +stopped you before, Hunk?" he demanded. + +Hunk, at this recognition of himself as a public character, softened +instantly. "I dunno whether 'twas you or one of your gang, but--" + +"Well, you've still got your health, haven't you?" + +"Yes." + +"Then keep quiet," snarled the mask. + +In retort Hunk Smith muttered audible threatenings, but sank obediently +into an inert heap. Only his eyes, under cover of his sombrero, roamed +restlessly. They noted the McClellan saddle on the Red Rider's horse, +the white patch on its near fore-foot, the empty stirrup-straps, and at +a great distance, so great that the eyes only of a plainsman could have +detected it, a cloud of dust, or smoke, or mist, that rode above the +trail and seemed to be moving swiftly down upon them. + +At the sight, Hunk shifted the tobacco in his cheek and nervously +crossed his knees, while a grin of ineffable cunning passed across his +face. + +With his sombrero in his hand, the Red Rider stepped to the wheel of +the stage. As he did so, Miss Post observed that above the line of his +kerchief his hair was evenly and carefully parted in the middle. + +"I'm afraid, ladies," said the road agent, "that I have delayed you +unnecessarily. It seems that I have called up the wrong number." He +emitted a reassuring chuckle, and, fanning himself with his sombrero, +continued speaking in a tone of polite irony: "The Wells, Fargo +messenger is the party I am laying for. He's coming over this trail +with a package of diamonds. That's what I'm after. At first I thought +'Fighting Bob' over there by the rock might have it on him; but he +doesn't act like any Wells, Fargo Express agent I have ever tackled +before, and I guess the laugh's on me. I seem to have been weeping +over the wrong grave." He replaced his sombrero on his head at a rakish +angle, and waved his hand. "Ladies, you are at liberty to proceed." + +But instantly he stepped forward again, and brought his face so close to +the window that they could see the whites of his eyes. "Before we part," +he murmured, persuasively, "you wouldn't mind leaving me something as a +souvenir, would you?" He turned the skull-like openings of the mask full +upon Miss Post. + +Mrs. Truesdall exclaimed, hysterically: "Why, certainly not!" she cried. +"Here's everything I have, except what's sewn inside my waist, where I +can't possibly get at it. I assure you I cannot. The proprietor of that +hotel told us we'd probably--meet you, and so I have everything ready." +She thrust her two hands through the window. They held a roll of bills, +a watch, and her rings + +Miss Post laughed in an ecstasy of merriment "Oh, no, aunt," she +protested, "don't. No, not at all. The gentleman only wants a keepsake. +Something to remember us by. Isn't that it?" she asked. She regarded the +blood-red mask steadily with a brilliant smile. + +The road agent did not at once answer. At her words he had started +back with such sharp suspicion that one might have thought he meditated +instant flight. Through the holes in his mask he now glared searchingly +at Miss Post, but still in silence. + +"I think this will satisfy him," said Miss Post. + +Out of the collection in her aunt's hands she picked a silver coin +and held it forward. "Something to keep as a pocket-piece," she said, +mockingly, "to remind you of your kindness to three lone females in +distress." + +Still silent, the road agent reached for the money, and then growled +at her in a tone which had suddenly become gruff and overbearing. It +suggested to Miss Post the voice of the head of the family playing Santa +Claus for the children. "And now you, miss," he demanded. + +Miss Post took another coin from the heap, studied its inscription, and +passed it through the window. "This one is from me," she said. "Mine is +dated 1901. The moonlight," she added, leaning far forward and smiling +out at him, "makes it quite easy to see the date; as easy," she went +on, picking her words, "as it is to see your peculiar revolver and the +coat-of-arms on your ring." She drew her head back. "Good-night," she +cooed, sweetly. + +The Red Rider jumped from the door. An exclamation which might have been +a laugh or an oath was smothered by his mask. He turned swiftly upon the +salesman. "Get back into the coach," he commanded. "And you, Hunk," he +called, "if you send a posse after me, next night I ketch you out here +alone you'll lose the top of your head." + +The salesman scrambled into the stage through the door opposite the one +at which the Red Rider was standing, and the road agent again raised +his sombrero with a sweeping gesture worthy of D'Artagnan. "Good-night, +ladies," he said. + +"Good-night, sir," Mrs. Truesdall answered, grimly, but exuding a +relieved sigh. Then, her indignation giving her courage, she leaned from +the window and hurled a Parthian arrow. "I must say," she protested, "I +think you might be in a better business." + +The road agent waved his hand to the young lady. "Good-by," he said. + +"Au revoir," said Miss Post, pleasantly. + +"Good-by, miss," stammered the road agent, + +"I said 'Au revoir,'" repeated Miss Post. + +The road agent, apparently routed by these simple words, fled muttering +toward his horse. + +Hunk Smith was having trouble with his brake. He kicked at it and, +stooping, pulled at it, but the wheels did not move. + +Mrs. Truesdall fell into a fresh panic. "What is it now?" she called, +miserably. + +Before he answered, Hunk Smith threw a quick glance toward the column of +moving dust. He was apparently reassured. + +"The brake," he grunted. "The darned thing's stuck!" + +The road agent was tugging at the stone beneath which he had slipped +his bridle. "Can I help?" he asked, politely. But before he reached +the stage, he suddenly stopped with an imperative sweep of his arm +for silence. He stood motionless, his body bent to the ground, leaning +forward and staring down the trail. Then he sprang upright. "You old +fox!" he roared, "you're gaining time, are you?" + +With a laugh he tore free his bridle and threw himself across his horse. +His legs locked under it, his hands clasped its mane, and with a cowboy +yell he dashed past the stage in the direction of Kiowa City, his voice +floating back in shouts of jeering laughter. From behind him he heard +Hunk Smith's voice answering his own in a cry for "Help!" and from a +rapidly decreasing distance the throb of many hoofs. For an instant he +drew upon his rein, and then, with a defiant chuckle, drove his spurs +deep into his horse's side. + +Mrs. Truesdall also heard the pounding of many hoofs, as well as Hunk +Smith's howls for help, and feared a fresh attack. "Oh, what is it?" she +begged. + +"Soldiers from the fort," Hunk called, excitedly, and again raised his +voice in a long, dismal howl. + +"Sounds cheery, doesn't it?" said the salesman; "referring to the +soldiers," he explained. It was his first coherent remark since the Red +Rider had appeared and disappeared. + +"Oh, I hope they won't--" began Miss Post, anxiously. + +The hoof-beats changed to thunder, and with the pounding on the dry +trail came the jangle of stirrups and sling-belts. Then a voice, and +the coach was surrounded by dust-covered troopers and horses breathing +heavily. Lieutenant Crosby pulled up beside the window of the stage. +"Are you there, Colonel Patten?" he panted. He peered forward into the +stage, but no one answered him. "Is the paymaster in here?" he demanded. + +The voice of Lieutenant Curtis shouted in turn at Hunk Smith. "Is the +paymaster in there, driver?" + +"Paymaster? No!" Hunk roared. "A drummer and three ladies. We've been +held up. The Red Rider--" He rose and waved his whip over the top of the +coach. "He went that way. You can ketch him easy." + +Sergeant Clancey and half a dozen troopers jerked at their bridles. But +Crosby, at the window, shouted "Halt!" + +"What's your name?" he demanded of the salesman. + +"Myers," stammered the drummer. "I'm from the Hancock Uniform--" + +Curtis had spurred his horse beside that of his brother officer. "Is +Colonel Patten at Kiowa?" he interrupted. + +"I can't give you any information as to that," replied Mr. Myers, +importantly; "but these ladies and I have just been held up by the Red +Rider. If you'll hurry you'll--" + +The two officers pulled back their horses from the stage and, leaning +from their saddles, consulted in eager whispers. Their men fidgeted with +their reins, and stared with amazed eyes at their officers. Lieutenant +Crosby was openly smiling, "He's got away with it," he whispered. +"Patten missed the stage, thank God, and he's met nothing worse than +these women." + +"We MUST make a bluff at following him," whispered Curtis. + +"Certainly not! Our orders are to report to Colonel Patten, and act as +his escort." + +"But he's not at Kiowa; that fellow says so." + +"He telegraphed the Colonel from Kiowa," returned Crosby. "How could he +do that if he wasn't there?" He turned upon Hunk Smith. "When did you +leave Henderson's?" he demanded. + +"Seven o'clock," answered Hunk Smith, sulkily. "Say, if you young +fellows want to catch--" + +"And Patten telegraphed at eight," cried Crosby. "That's it. He reached +Kiowa after the stage had gone. Sergeant Clancey!" he called. + +The Sergeant pushed out from the mass of wondering troopers. + +"When did the paymaster say he was leaving Kiowa?" + +"Leaving at once, the telegram said," answered Clancey. + +"'Meet me with escort before I reach the buttes.' That's the message I +was told to give the lieutenant." + +Hunk Smith leaned from the box-seat. "Mebbe Pop's driving him over +himself in the buckboard," he volunteered. "Pop often takes 'em over +that way if they miss the stage." + +"That's how it is, of course," cried Crosby. "He's on his way now in the +buckboard." + +Hunk Smith surveyed the troopers dismally and shook his head. "If he +runs up against the Red Rider, it's 'good-by' your pay, boys," he cried. + +"Fall in there!" shouted Crosby. "Corporal Tynan, fall out with two men +and escort these ladies to the fort." He touched his hat to Miss Post, +and, with Curtis at his side, sprang into the trail. "Gallop! March!" he +commanded. + +"Do you think he'll tackle the buckboard, too?" whispered Curtis. + +Crosby laughed joyously and drew a long breath of relief. + +"No, he's all right now," he answered. "Don't you see, he doesn't know +about Patten or the buckboard. He's probably well on his way to the post +now. I delayed the game at the stage there on purpose to give him a good +start. He's safe by now." + +"It was a close call," laughed the other. "He's got to give us a dinner +for helping him out of this." + +"We'd have caught him red-handed," said Crosby, "if we'd been five +minutes sooner. Lord!" he gasped. "It makes me cold to think of it. The +men would have shot him off his horse. But what a story for those women! +I hope I'll be there when they tell it. If Ranson can keep his face +straight, he's a wonder." For some moments they raced silently neck +by neck, and then Curtis again leaned from his saddle. "I hope he HAS +turned back to the post," he said. "Look at the men how they're keeping +watch for him. They're scouts, all of them." + +"What if they are?" returned Crosby, easily. "Ranson's in uniform--out +for a moonlight canter. You can bet a million dollars he didn't wear his +red mask long after he heard us coming." + +"I suppose he'll think we've followed to spoil his fun. You know you +said we would." + +"Yes, he was going to shoot us," laughed Crosby. "I wonder why he packs +a gun. It's a silly thing to do." + +The officers fell apart again, and there was silence over the prairie, +save for the creaking of leather and the beat of the hoofs. And then, +faint and far away, there came the quick crack of a revolver, another, +and then a fusillade. "My God!" gasped Crosby. He threw himself forwards +digging his spurs into his horse, and rode as though he were trying to +escape from his own men. + +No one issued an order, no one looked a question; each, officer and +enlisted man, bowed his head and raced to be the first. + +The trail was barricaded by two struggling horses and an overturned +buckboard. The rigid figure of a man lay flat upon his back staring at +the moon, another white-haired figure staggered forward from a rock. +"Who goes there?" it demanded. + +"United States troops. Is that you, Colonel Patten?" + +"Yes." + +Colonel Patten's right arm was swinging limply at his side. With +his left hand he clasped his right shoulder. The blood, black in the +moonlight, was oozing between his fingers. + +"We were held up," he said. "He shot the driver and the horses. I fired +at him, but he broke my arm. He shot the gun out of my hand. When he +reached for the satchel I tried to beat him off with my left arm, but he +threw me into the road. He went that way--toward Kiowa." + +Sergeant Clancey, who was kneeling by the figure in the trail, raised +his hand in salute. "Pop Henderson, lieutenant," he said. "He's shot +through the heart. He's dead." + +"He took the money, ten thousand dollars," cried Colonel Patten. "He +wore a red mask and a rubber poncho. And I saw that he had no stirrups +in his stirrup-straps." + +Crosby dodged, as though someone had thrown a knife, and then raised his +hand stiffly and heavily. + +"Lieutenant Curtis, you will remain here with Colonel Patten," he +ordered. His voice was without emotion. It fell flat and dead. "Deploy +as skirmishers," he commanded. "G Troop to the fight of the trail, H +Troop to the left. Stop anyone you see--anyone. If he tries to escape, +cry 'Halt!' twice and then fire--to kill. Forward! Gallop! March! Toward +the post." + +"No!" shouted Colonel Patten. "He went toward Kiowa." + +Crosby replied in the same dead voice: "He doubled after he left you, +colonel. He has gone to the post." + +Colonel Patten struggled from the supporting arms that held him and +leaned eagerly forward. "You know him, then?" he demanded. + +"Yes," cried Crosby, "God help him! Spread out there, you, in open +order--and ride like hell!" + +Just before the officers' club closed for the night Lieutenant Ranson +came in and, seating himself at the piano, picked out "The Queen of the +Philippine Islands" with one finger. Major Stickney and others who were +playing bridge were considerably annoyed. Ranson then demanded that +everyone present should drink his health in champagne for the reason +that it was his birthday and that he was glad he was alive, and wished +everyone else to feel the same way about it. "Or, for any other reason +why," he added generously. This frontal attack upon the whist-players +upset the game entirely, and Ranson, enthroned upon the piano-stool, +addressed the room. He held up a buckskin tobacco-bag decorated with +beads. + +"I got this down at the Indian village to-night," he said. "That old +squaw, Red Wing, makes 'em for two dollars. Crosby paid five dollars for +his in New Mexico, and it isn't half as good. What do you think? I got +lost coming back, and went all the way round by the buttes before I +found the trail, and I've only been here six months. They certainly +ought to make me chief of scouts." + +There was the polite laugh which is granted to any remark made by the +one who is paying for the champagne. + +"Oh, that's where you were, was it?" said the post-adjutant, genially. +"The colonel sent Clancey after you and Crosby. Clancey reported that +he couldn't find you. So we sent Curtis. They went to act as escort +for Colonel Patten and the pay. He's coming up to-night in the stage." +Ranson was gazing down into his glass. Before he raised his head he +picked several pieces of ice out of it and then drained it. + +"The paymaster, hey?" he said. "He's in the stage to-night, is he?" + +"Yes," said the adjutant; and then as the bugle and stamp of hoofs +sounded from the parade outside, "and that's him now, I guess," he +added. + +Ranson refilled his glass with infinite care, and then, in spite of a +smile that twitched at the corners of his mouth, emptied it slowly. + +There was the jingle of spurs and a measured tramp on the veranda of +the club-house, and for the first time in its history four enlisted men, +carrying their Krags, invaded its portals. They were led by Lieutenant +Crosby; his face was white under the tan, and full of suffering. The +officers in the room received the intrusion in amazed silence. Crosby +strode among them, looking neither to the left nor right, and touched +Lieutenant Ranson upon the shoulder. + +"The colonel's orders, Lieutenant Ranson," he said. "You are under +arrest." + +Ranson leaned back against the music-rack and placed his glass upon the +keyboard. One leg was crossed over the other, and he did not remove it. + +"Then you can't take a joke," he said in a low tone. "You had to run +and tell." He laughed and raised his voice so that all in the club might +hear, "What am I arrested for, Crosby?" he asked. + +The lines in Crosby's face deepened, and only those who sat near could +hear him. "You are under arrest for attempting to kill a superior +officer, for the robbery of the government pay-train--and for murder." + +Ranson jumped to his feet. "My God, Crosby!" he cried. + +"Silence! Don't talk!" ordered Crosby. "Come along with me." + +The four troopers fell in in rear of Lieutenant Crosby and their +prisoner. He drew a quick, frightened breath, and then, throwing back +his shoulders, fell into step, and the six men tramped from the club and +out into the night. + + + + +III + + +That night at the post there was little sleep for any one. The feet +of hurrying orderlies beat upon the parade-ground, the windows of the +Officers' Club blazed defiantly, and from the darkened quarters of the +enlisted men came the sound of voices snarling in violent vituperation. +At midnight, half of Ranson's troop, having attacked the rest of +the regiment with cavalry-boots, were marched under arrest to the +guard-house. As they passed Ranson's hut, where he still paced the +veranda, a burning cigarette attesting his wakefulness, they cheered him +riotously. At two o'clock it was announced from the hospital that both +patients were out of danger; for it had developed that, in his hurried +diagnosis, Sergeant Clancey had located Henderson's heart six inches +from where it should have been. + +When one of the men who guarded Ranson reported this good news the +prisoner said, "Still, I hope they'll hang whoever did it. They +shouldn't hang a man for being a good shot and let him off because he's +a bad one." + +At the time of the hold-up Mary Cahill had been a half-mile distant from +the post at the camp of the Kiowas, where she had gone in answer to the +cry of Lightfoot's squaw. When she returned she found Indian Pete in +charge of the exchange. Her father, he told her, had ridden to the +Indian village in search of her. As he spoke the post-trader appeared. +"I'm sorry I missed you," his daughter called to him. + +At the sound Cahill pulled his horse sharply toward the corral. "I had +a horse-deal on--with the chief," he answered over his shoulder. "When I +got to Lightfoot's tent you had gone." + +After he had dismounted, and was coming toward her, she noted that his +right hand was bound in a handkerchief, and exclaimed with apprehension. + +"It is nothing," Cahill protested. "I was foolin' with one of the new +regulation revolvers, with my hand over the muzzle. Ball went through +the palm." + +Miss Cahill gave a tremulous cry and caught the injured hand to her +lips. + +Her father snatched it from her roughly. + +"Let go!" he growled. "It serves me right." + +A few minutes later Mary Cahill, bearing liniment for her father's hand, +knocked at his bedroom and found it empty. When she peered from the top +of the stairs into the shop-window below she saw him busily engaged with +his one hand buckling the stirrup-straps of his saddle. + +When she called, he sprang upright with an oath. He had faced her so +suddenly that it sounded as though he had sworn, not in surprise, but at +her. + +"You startled me," he murmured. His eyes glanced suspiciously from her +to the saddle. "These stirrup-straps--they're too short," he announced. +"Pete or somebody's been using my saddle." + +"I came to bring you this 'first-aid' bandage for your hand," said his +daughter. + +Cahill gave a shrug of impatience. + +"My hand's all right," he said; "you go to bed. I've got to begin taking +account of stock." + +"To-night?" + +"There's no time by day. Go to bed." + +For nearly an hour Miss Cahill lay awake listening to her father moving +about in the shop below. Never before had he spoken roughly to her, and +she, knowing how much the thought that he had done so would distress +him, was herself distressed. + +In his lonely vigil on the veranda, Ranson looked from the post down +the hill to where the light still shone from Mary Cahill's window. He +wondered if she had heard the news, and if it were any thought of him +that kept sleep from her. + +"You ass! you idiot!" he muttered. "You've worried and troubled her. She +believes one of her precious army is a thief and a murderer." He cursed +himself picturesquely, but the thought that she might possibly be +concerned on his account, did not, he found, distress him as greatly +as it should. On the contrary, as he watched the light his heart glowed +warmly. And long after the light went out he still looked toward the +home of the post-trader, his brain filled with thoughts of his return +to his former life outside the army, the old life to which he vowed he +would not return alone. + +The next morning Miss Cahill learned the news when the junior officer +came to mess and explained why Ranson was not with them. Her only +comment was to at once start for his quarters with his breakfast in a +basket. She could have sent it by Pete, but, she argued, when one of her +officers was in trouble that was not the time to turn him over to the +mercies of a servant. No, she assured herself, it was not because +the officer happened to be Ranson. She would have done as much, or as +little, for any one of them. When Curtis and Haines were ill of the +grippe, had she not carried them many good things of her own making? + +But it was not an easy sacrifice. As she crossed the parade-ground she +recognized that over-night Ranson's hut, where he was a prisoner in his +own quarters, had become to the post the storm-centre of interest, +and to approach it was to invite the attention of the garrison. At +head-quarters a group of officers turned and looked her way, there was a +flutter among the frocks on Mrs. Bolland's porch, and the enlisted men, +smoking their pipes on the rail of the barracks, whispered together. +When she reached Ranson's hut over four hundred pairs of eyes were upon +her, and her cheeks were flushing. Ranson came leaping to the gate, +and lifted the basket from her arm as though he were removing an +opera-cloak. He set it upon the gate-post, and nervously clasped the +palings of the gate with both hands. He had not been to bed, but that +fact alone could not explain the strangeness of his manner. Never before +had she seen him disconcerted or abashed. + +"You shouldn't have done it," he stammered. "Indeed, indeed, you are +much too good. But you shouldn't have come." + +His voice shook slightly. + +"Why not?" asked Mary Cahill. "I couldn't let you go hungry." + +"You know it isn't that," he said; "it's your coming here at all. Why, +only three of the fellows have been near me this morning. And they +only came from a sense of duty. I know they did--I could feel it. You +shouldn't have come here. I'm not a proper person; I'm an outlaw. You +might think this was a pest-house, you might think I was a leper. +Why, those Stickney girls have been watching me all morning through a +field-glass." He clasped and unclasped his fingers around the palings. +"They believe I did it," he protested, with the bewildered accents of a +child. "They all believe it." + +Miss Cahill laughed. The laugh was quieting and comforting. It brought +him nearer to earth, and her next remark brought him still further. + +"Have you had any breakfast?" she asked. + +"Breakfast!" stammered Ranson. "No. The guard brought some, but I +couldn't eat it. This thing has taken the life out of me--to think sane, +sensible people--my own people--could believe that I'd steal, that I'd +kill a man for money." + +"Yes, I know," said Miss Cahill soothingly; "but you've not had any +sleep, and you need your coffee." She lifted the lid of the basket. +"It's getting cold," she said. "Don't you worry about what people think. +You must remember you're a prisoner now under arrest. You can't expect +the officers to run over here as freely as they used to. What do you +want?" she laughed. "Do you think the colonel should parade the band and +give you a serenade?" For a moment Ranson stared at her dully, and then +his sense of proportion returned to him. He threw back his head and +laughed with her joyfully. + +From verandas, barracks, and headquarters, the four hundred pairs of +eyes noted this evidence of heartlessness with varied emotions. But, +unmindful of them, Ranson now leaned forward, the eager, searching look +coming back into his black eyes. They were so close to Mary Cahill's +that she drew away. He dropped his voice to a whisper and spoke swiftly. + +"Miss Cahill, whatever happens to me I won't forget this. I won't forget +your coming here and throwing heart into me. You were the only one who +did. I haven't asked you if you believe that I--" + +She raised her eyes reproachfully and smiled. "You know you don't have +to do that," she said. + +The prisoner seized the palings as though he meant to pull apart the +barrier between them. He drew a long breath like one inhaling a draught +of clean morning air. + +"No," he said, his voice ringing, "I don't have to do that." + +He cast a swift glance to the left and right. The sentry's bayonet was +just disappearing behind the corner of the hut. To the four hundred +other eyes around the parade-ground Lieutenant Ranson's attitude +suggested that he was explaining to Cahill's daughter what he wanted +for his luncheon. His eyes held her as firmly as though the palings he +clasped were her two hands. + +"Mary," he said, and the speaking of her name seemed to stop the +beating of his heart. "Mary," he whispered, as softly as though he were +beginning a prayer, "you're the bravest, the sweetest, the dearest girl +in all the world. And I've known it for months, and now you must know. +And there'll never be any other girl in my life but you." + +Mary Cahill drew away from him in doubt and wonder. + +"I didn't mean to tell you just yet," he whispered, "but now that I've +seen you I can't help it. I knew it last night when I stood back there +and watched your windows, and couldn't think of this trouble, nor of +anything else, but just you. And you've got to promise me, if I get out +of this all right--you must--must promise me--" + +Mary Cahill's eyes, as she raised them to his, were moist and glowing. +They promised him with a great love and tenderness. But at the sight +Ranson protested wildly. + +"No," he whispered, "you mustn't promise--anything. I shouldn't have +asked it. After I'm out of this, after the court-martial, then you've +got to promise that you'll never, never leave me." + +Miss Cahill knit her hands together and turned away her head. The +happiness in her heart rose to her throat like a great melody and choked +her. Before her, exposed in the thin spring sunshine, was the square +of ugly brown cottages, the bare parade-ground, in its centre Trumpeter +Tyler fingering his bugle, and beyond on every side an ocean of +blackened prairie. But she saw nothing of this. She saw instead a +beautiful world opening its arms to her, a world smiling with sunshine, +glowing with color, singing with love and content. + +She turned to him with all that was in her heart showing in her face. + +"Don't!" he begged, tremblingly, "don't answer. I couldn't bear it--if +you said 'no' to me." He jerked his head toward the men who guarded him. +"Wait until I'm tried, and not in disgrace." He shook the gate between +them savagely as though it actually held him a prisoner. + +Mary Cahill raised her head proudly. + +"You have no right. You've hurt me," she whispered. "You hurt me." + +"Hurt you?" he cried. + +She pressed her hands together. It was impossible to tell him, it was +impossible to speak of what she felt; of the pride, of the trust and +love, to disclose this new and wonderful thing while the gate was +between them, while the sentries paced on either side, while the curious +eyes of the garrison were fastened upon her. + +"Oh, can't you see?" she whispered. "As though I cared for a +court-martial! I KNOW you. You are just the same. You are just what you +have always been to me--what you always will be to me." + +She thrust her hand toward him and he seized it in both of his, and then +released it instantly, and, as though afraid of his own self-control, +backed hurriedly from her, and she turned and walked rapidly away. + +Captain Carr, who had been Ranson's captain in the Philippines, and +who was much his friend, had been appointed to act as his counsel. When +later that morning he visited his client to lay out a line of defence he +found Ranson inclined to treat the danger which threatened him with the +most arrogant flippancy. He had never seen him in a more objectionable +mood. + +"You can call the charge 'tommy-rot' if you like," Carr protested, +sharply. "But, let me tell you that's not the view any one else takes +of it, and if you expect the officers of the court-martial and the civil +authorities to take that view of it you've got to get down to work and +help me prove that it IS 'tommy rot.' That Miss Post, as soon as she got +here, when she thought it was only a practical joke, told them that the +road agent threatened her with a pair of shears. Now, Crosby and Curtis +will testify that you took a pair of shears from Cahill's, and from what +Miss Post saw of your ring she can probably identify that, too; so--" + +"Oh, we concede the shears," declared Ranson, waving his hand grandly. +"We admit the first hold-up." + +"The devil we do!" returned Carr. "Now, as your counsel, I advise +nothing of the sort." + +"You advise me to lie?" + +"Sir!" exclaimed Carr. "A plea of not guilty is only a legal form. When +you consider that the first hold-up in itself is enough to lose you your +commission--" + +"Well, it's MY commission," said Ranson. "It was only a silly joke, +anyway. And the War Department must have some sense of humor or it +wouldn't have given me a commission in the first place. Of course, we'll +admit the first hold-up, but we won't stand for the second one. I had no +more to do with that than with the Whitechapel murders." + +"How are we to prove that?" demanded Carr. "Where's your alibi? Where +were you after the first hold-up?" + +"I was making for home as fast as I could cut," said Ranson. He suddenly +stopped in his walk up and down the room and confronted his counsel +sternly. "Captain," he demanded, "I wish you to instruct me on a point +of law." + +Carr's brow relaxed. He was relieved to find that Ranson had awakened to +the seriousness of the charges against him. + +"That's what I'm here for," he said, encouragingly. + +"Well, captain," said Ranson, "if an officer is under arrest as I am and +confined to his quarters, is he or is he not allowed to send to the club +for a bottle of champagne?" + +"Really, Ranson!" cried the captain, angrily, "you are impossible." + +"I only want to celebrate," said Ranson, meekly. "I'm a very happy +man; I'm the happiest man on earth. I want to ride across the prairie +shooting off both guns and yelling like a cowboy. Instead of which I am +locked up indoors and have to talk to you about a highway robbery +which does not amuse me, which does not concern me--and of which I +know nothing and care less. Now, YOU are detailed to prove me innocent. +That's your duty, and you ought to do your duty, But don't drag me in. +I've got much more important things to think about." + +Bewilderment, rage, and despair were written upon the face of the +captain. + +"Ranson!" he roared. "Is this a pose, or are you mad? Can't you +understand that you came very near to being hanged for murder and that +you are in great danger of going to jail for theft? Let me put before +you the extremely unpleasant position in which you have been ass enough +to place yourself. You don't quite seem to grasp it. You tell two +brother-officers that you are going to rob the stage. To do so you +disguise yourself in a poncho and a red handkerchief, and you remove the +army-stirrups from your stirrup-leathers. You then do rob this coach, or +at least hold it up, and you are recognized. A few minutes later, in the +same trail and in the same direction you have taken, there is a second +hold-up, this time of the paymaster. The man who robs the paymaster +wears a poncho and a red kerchief, and he has no stirrups in his +stirrup-leathers. The two hold-ups take place within a half-mile of +each other, within five minutes of each other. Now, is it reasonable to +believe that last night two men were hiding in the buttes intent +upon robbery, each in an army poncho, each wearing a red bandanna +handkerchief, and each riding without stirrups? Between believing in +such a strange coincidence and that you did it, I'll be hanged if I +don't believe you did it." + +"I don't blame you," said Ranson. "What can I do to set your mind at +rest?" + +"Well, tell me exactly what persons knew that you meant to hold up the +stage." + +"Curtis and Crosby; no one else." + +"Not even Cahill?" + +"No, Cahill came in just before I said I would stop the stage, but I +remember particularly that before I spoke I waited for him to get back +to the exchange." + +"And Crosby tells me," continued Carr, "that the instant you had gone he +looked into the exchange and saw Cahill at the farthest corner from the +door. He could have heard nothing." + +"If you ask me, I think you've begun at the wrong end," said Ranson. "If +I were looking for the Red Rider I'd search for him in Kiowa City." + +"Why?" + +"Because, at this end no one but a few officers knew that the paymaster +was coming, while in Kiowa everybody in the town knew it, for they saw +him start. It would be very easy for one of those cowboys to ride ahead +and lie in wait for him in the buttes. There are several tough specimens +in Kiowa. Any one of them would rob a man for twenty dollars--let alone +ten thousand. There's 'Abe' Fisher and Foster King, and the Chase boys, +and I believe old 'Pop' Henderson himself isn't above holding up one of +his own stages." + +"He's above shooting himself in the lungs," said Carr. "Nonsense. No, +I am convinced that someone followed you from this post, and perhaps +Cahill can tell us who that was. I sent for him this morning, and he's +waiting at my quarters now. Suppose I ask him to step over here, so that +we can discuss it together." + +Before he answered, Ranson hesitated, with his eyes on the ground. He +had no way of knowing whether Mary Cahill had told her father anything +of what he had said to her that morning. But if she had done so, he did +not want to meet Cahill in the presence of a third party for the first +time since he had learned the news. + +"I'll tell you what I wish you would do," he said. "I wish you'd let me +see Cahill first, by myself. What I want to see him about has nothing to +do with the hold-up," he added. "It concerns only us two, but I'd like +to have it out of the way before we consult him as a witness." + +Carr rose doubtfully. "Why, certainly," he said; "I'll send him over, +and when you're ready for me step out on the porch and call. I'll be +sitting on my veranda. I hope you've had no quarrel with Cahill--I mean +I hope this personal matter is nothing that will prejudice him against +you." + +Ranson smiled. "I hope not, too," he said. "No, we've not +quarrelled--yet," he added. + +Carr still lingered. "Cahill is like to be a very important witness for +the other side--" + +"I doubt it," said Ranson, easily. "Cahill's a close-mouthed chap, but +when he does talk he talks to the point and he'll tell the truth. That +can't hurt us." + +As Cahill crossed the parade-ground from Captain Carr's quarters on his +way to Ranson's hut his brain was crowded swiftly with doubts, memories, +and resolves. For him the interview held no alarms. He had no misgivings +as to its outcome. For his daughter's sake he was determined that he +himself must not be disgraced in her eyes and that to that end Ranson +must be sacrificed. It was to make a lady of her, as he understood what +a lady should be, that on six moonlit raids he had ventured forth in his +red mask and robbed the Kiowa stage. That there were others who roamed +abroad in the disguise of the Red Rider he was well aware. There were +nights the stage was held up when he was innocently busy behind his +counter in touch with the whole garrison. Of these nights he made much. +They were alibis furnished by his rivals. They served to keep suspicion +from himself, and he, working for the same object, was indefatigable +in proclaiming that all the depredations of the Red Rider showed the +handiwork of one and the same individual. + +"He comes from Kiowa of course," he would point out. "Some feller who +lives where the stage starts, and knows when the passengers carry +money. You don't hear of him holding up a stage full of recruits or +cow-punchers. It's always the drummers and the mine directors that the +Red Rider lays for. How does he know they're in the stage if he don't +see 'em start from Kiowa? Ask 'Pop' Henderson. Ask 'Abe' Fisher. Mebbe +they know more than they'd care to tell." + +The money which at different times Cahill had taken from the Kiowa stage +lay in a New York bank, and the law of limitation made it now possible +for him to return to that city and claim it. Already his savings were +sufficient in amount to support both his daughter and himself in one of +those foreign cities, of which she had so often told him and for which +he knew she hungered. And for the last five years he had had no other +object in living than to feed her wants. Through some strange trick of +the mind he remembered suddenly and vividly a long-forgotten scene +in the back room of McTurk's, when he was McTurk's bouncer. The night +before a girl had killed herself in this same back room; she made +the third who had done so in the month. He recalled the faces of the +reporters eyeing McTurk in cold distaste as that terror of the Bowery +whimpered before them on his knees. "But my daughters will read it," +he had begged. "Suppose they believe I'm what you call me. Don't go and +give me a bad name to them, gentlemen. It ain't my fault the girl's +died here. You wouldn't have my daughters think I'm to blame for that? +They're ladies, my daughters, they're just out of the convent, and they +don't know that there is such women in the world as come to this place. +And I can't have 'em turned against their old pop. For God's sake, +gentlemen, don't let my girls know!" + +Cahill remembered the contempt he had felt for his employer as he pulled +him to his feet, but now McTurk's appeal seemed just and natural. His +point of view was that of the loving and considerate parent. In Cahill's +mind there was no moral question involved. If to make his girl rich and +a lady, and to lift her out of the life of the Exchange, was a sin the +sin was his own and he was willing to "stand for it." And, like McTurk, +he would see that the sin of the father was not visited upon the child. +Ranson was rich, foolishly, selfishly rich; his father was a United +States Senator with influence enough, and money enough, to fight the +law--to buy his son out of jail. Sooner than his daughter should know +that her father was one of those who sometimes wore the mask of the Red +Rider, Ranson, for all he cared, could go to jail, or to hell. With this +ultimatum in his mind, Cahill confronted his would-be son-in-law with a +calm and assured countenance. + +Ranson greeted him with respectful deference, and while Cahill seated +himself, Ranson, chatting hospitably, placed cigars and glasses before +him. He began upon the subject that touched him the most nearly. + +"Miss Cahill was good enough to bring up my breakfast this morning," he +said. "Has she told you of what I said to her?" + +Cahill shook his head. "No, I haven't seen her. We've been taking +account of stock all morning." + +"Then--then you've heard nothing from her about me?" said Ranson. + +The post trader raised his head in surprise. "No. Captain Carr spoke +to me about your arrest, and then said you wanted to see me first +about something private." The post trader fixed Ranson with his keen, +unwavering eyes. "What might that be?" he asked. + +"Well, it doesn't matter now," stammered Ranson; "I'll wait until Miss +Cahill tells you." + +"Any complaint about the food?" inquired the post trader. + +Ranson laughed nervously. "No, it's not that," he said. He rose, and, +to protect what Miss Cahill evidently wished to remain a secret, changed +the subject. "You see you've lived in these parts so long, Mr. Cahill," +he explained, "and you know so many people, I thought maybe you could +put me on the track or give me some hint as to which of that Kiowa gang +really did rob the paymaster." Ranson was pulling the cork from the +whiskey bottle, and when he asked the question Cahill pushed his glass +from him and shook his head. Ranson looked up interrogatively and +smiled. "You mean you think I did it myself?" he asked. + +"I didn't understand from Captain Carr," the post trader began in heavy +tones, "that it's my opinion you're after. He said I might be wanted to +testify who was present last night in my store." + +"Certainly, that's all we want," Ranson answered, genially. "I only +thought you might give me a friendly pointer or two on the outside. And, +of course, if it's your opinion I did the deed we certainly don't want +your opinion. But that needn't prevent your taking a drink with me, need +it? Don't be afraid. I'm not trying to corrupt you. And I'm not trying +to poison a witness for the other fellows, either. Help yourself." + +Cahill stretched out his left hand. His right remained hidden in the +side pocket of his coat. "What's the matter with your right hand?" +Ranson asked. "Are you holding a gun on me? Really, Mr. Cahill, you're +not taking any chances, are you?" Ranson gazed about the room as though +seeking an appreciative audience. "He's such an important witness," he +cried, delightedly, "that first he's afraid I'll poison him and he won't +drink with me, and now he covers me with a gun." + +Reluctantly, Cahill drew out his hand. "I was putting the bridle on my +pony last night," he said. "He bit me." + +Ranson exclaimed sympathetically, "Oh, that's too bad," he said. "Well, +you know you want to be careful. A horse's teeth really are poisonous." +He examined his own hands complacently. "Now, if I had a bandage like +that on my right hand they would hang me sure, no matter whether it was +a bite, or a burn, or a bullet." + +Cahill raised the glass to his lips and sipped the whiskey critically. +"Why?" he asked. + +"Why? Why, didn't you know that the paymaster boasted last night to the +surgeons that he hit this fellow in the hand? He says--" + +Cahill snorted scornfully. "How'd he know that? What makes him think +so?" + +"Well, never mind, let him think so," Ranson answered, fervently. "Don't +discourage him. That's the only evidence I've got on my side. He says he +fired to disarm the man, and that he saw him shift his gun to his left +hand. It was the shot that the man fired when he held his gun in his +left that broke the colonel's arm. Now, everybody knows I can't hit +a barn with my left. And as for having any wounds concealed about my +person"--Ranson turned his hands like a conjurer to show the front and +back--"they can search me. So, if the paymaster will only stick to +that story--that he hit the man--it will help me a lot." Ranson seated +himself on the table and swung his leg. "And of course it would be a +big help, too, if you could remember who was in your Exchange when I was +planning to rob the coach. For someone certainly must have overheard +me, someone must have copied my disguise, and that someone is the man we +must find. Unless he came from Kiowa." + +Cahill shoved his glass from him across the table and, placing his hands +on his knees, stared at his host coldly and defiantly. His would-be +son-in-law observed the aggressiveness of his attitude, but, in his +fuller knowledge of their prospective relations, smiled blandly. + +"Mr. Ranson," began Cahill, "I've no feelings against you personally. +I've a friendly feeling for all of you young gentlemen at my mess. But +you're not playing fair with me. I can see what you want, and I can tell +you that you and Captain Carr are not helping your case by asking me +up here to drink and smoke with you, when you know that I'm the most +important witness they've got against you." + +Ranson stared at his father-in-law-elect in genuine amazement, and then +laughed lightly. + +"Why, dear Mr. Cahill," he cried, "I wouldn't think of bribing you with +such a bad brand of whiskey as this. And I didn't know you were such an +important witness as all that. But, of course, I know whatever you say +in this community goes, and if your testimony is against me, I'm sorry +for it, very sorry. I suppose you will testify that there was no one in +the Exchange who could have heard my plan?" + +Cahill nodded. + +"And, as it's not likely two men at exactly the same time should have +thought of robbing the stage in exactly the same way, I must have robbed +it myself." + +Cahill nursed his bandaged hand with the other. "That's the court's +business," he growled; "I mean to tell the truth." + +"And the truth is?" asked Ransom + +"The truth is that last night there was no one in the Exchange but you +officers and me. If anybody'd come in on the store side you'd have seen +him, wouldn't you? and if he'd come into the Exchange I'd have seen him. +But no one come in. I was there alone--and certainly I didn't hear your +plan, and I didn't rob the stage. When you fellows left I went down to +the Indian village. Half the reservation can prove I was there all the +evening--so of the four of us, that lets me out. Crosby and Curtis were +in command of the pay escort--that's their alibi--and as far as I can +see, lieutenant, that puts it up to you." + +Ranson laughed and shook his head. "Yes, it certainly looks that way," +he said. "Only I can't see why you need be so damned pleased about it." +He grinned wickedly. "If you weren't such a respectable member of Fort +Crockett society I might say you listened at the door, and rode after me +in one of your own ponchos. As for the Indian village, that's no alibi. +A Kiowa swear his skin's as white as yours if you give him a drink." + +"And is that why I get this one?" Cahill demanded. "Am I a Kiowa?" + +Ranson laughed and shoved the bottle toward his father-in-law-elect. + +"Oh, can't you take a joke?" he said. "Take another drink, then." + +The voice outside the hut was too low to reach the irate Cahill, but +Ranson heard it and leaped to his feet. + +"Wait," he commanded. He ran to the door, and met Sergeant Clancey at +the threshold. + +"Miss Cahill, lieutenant," said the sergeant, "wants to see her father." + +Cahill had followed Ranson to the door, "You want to see me, Mame?" he +asked. + +"Yes," Miss Cahill cried; "and Mr. Ransom, too, if I may." She caught +her father eagerly by the arm, but her eyes were turned joyfully upon +Ranson. They were laughing with excitement. Her voice was trembling and +eager. + +"It is something I have discovered," she cried; "I found it out just +now, and I think--oh, I hope!--it is most important. I believe it will +clear Mr. Ranson!" she cried, happily. "At least it will show that last +night someone went out to rob the coach and went dressed as he was." + +Cahill gave a short laugh. "What's his name?" he asked, mockingly. "Have +you seen him?" + +"I didn't see him and I don't know his name, but--" + +Cahill snorted, and picked up his sombrero from the table. "Then it's +not so very important after all," he said. "Is that all that brought you +here?" + +"The main thing is that she is here," said Ranson; "for which the poor +prisoner is grateful--grateful to her and to the man she hasn't seen, in +the mask and poncho, whose name she doesn't know. Mr. Cahill, bad as +it is, I insist on your finishing your whiskey. Miss Cahill, please sit +down." + +He moved a chair toward her and, as he did so, looked full into her face +with such love and happiness that she turned her eyes away. + +"Well?" asked Cahill. + +"I must first explain to Lieutenant Ranson, father," said his daughter, +"that to-day is the day we take account of stock." + +"Speaking of stock," said Ranson, "don't forget that I owe you for a +red kerchief and a rubber poncho. You can have them back, if you like. I +won't need a rain coat where I am going." + +"Don't," said Miss Cahill. "Please let me go on. After I brought you +your breakfast here, I couldn't begin to work just at once. I was +thinking about--something else. Everyone was talking of you--your +arrest, and I couldn't settle down to take account of stock." She threw +a look at Ranson which asked for his sympathy. "But when I did start +I began with the ponchos and the red kerchiefs, and then I found out +something." Cahill was regarding his daughter in strange distress, but +Ranson appeared indifferent to her words, and intent only on the light +and beauty in her face. But he asked, smiling, "And that was?" + +"You see," continued Miss Cahill, eagerly, "I always keep a dozen of +each article, and as each one is sold I check it off in my day-book. +Yesterday Mrs. Bolland bought a poncho for the colonel. That left eleven +ponchos. Then a few minutes later I gave Lightfoot a red kerchief for +his squaw. That left eleven kerchiefs." + +"Stop!" cried Ranson. "Miss Cahill," he began, severely, "I hope you do +not mean to throw suspicion on the wife of my respected colonel, or +on Mrs. Lightfoot, 'the Prairie Flower.' Those ladies are my personal +friends; I refuse to believe them guilty. And have you ever seen Mrs. +Bolland on horseback? You wrong her. It is impossible." + +"Please," begged Miss Cahill, "please let me explain. When you went to +hold up the stage you took a poncho and a kerchief. That should have +left ten of each. But when I counted them this morning there were nine +red kerchiefs and nine ponchos." + +Ranson slapped his knee sharply. "Good!" he said. "That is interesting." + +"What does it prove?" demanded Cahill. + +"It proves nothing, or it proves everything," said Miss Cahill. "To my +mind it proves without any doubt that someone overheard Mr. Ranson's +plan, that he dressed like him to throw suspicion on him, and that this +second person was the one who robbed the paymaster. Now, father, this +is where you can help us. You were there then. Try to remember. It is so +important. Who came into the store after the others had gone away?" + +Cahill tossed his head like an angry bull. + +"There are fifty places in this post," he protested, roughly, "where a +man can get a poncho. Every trooper owns his slicker." + +"But, father, we don't know that theirs are missing," cried Miss Cahill, +"and we do know that those in our store are. Don't think I am foolish. +It seemed such an important fact to me, and I had hoped it would help." + +"It does help--immensely!" cried Ranson. + +"I think it's a splendid clue. But, unfortunately, I don't think we can +prove anything by your father, for he's just been telling me that there +was no one in the place but himself. No one came in, and he was quite +alone--" Ranson had begun speaking eagerly, but either his own words or +the intentness with which Cahill received them caused him to halt and +hesitate--"absolutely--alone." + +"You see," said Cahill, thickly, "as soon as they had gone I rode to the +Indian village." + +"Why, no, father," corrected Miss Cahill. "Don't you remember, you told +me last night that when you reached Lightfoot's tent I had just gone. +That was quite two hours after the others left the store." In her +earnestness Miss Cahill had placed her hand upon her father's arm and +clutched it eagerly. "And you remember no one coming in before you +left?" she asked. "No one?" + +Cahill had not replaced the bandaged hand in his pocket, but had shoved +it inside the opening of his coat. As Mary Cahill caught his arm her +fingers sank into the palm of the hand and he gave a slight grimace of +pain. + +"Oh, father," Miss Cahill cried, "your hand! I am so sorry. Did I hurt +it? Please--let me see." + +Cahill drew back with sudden violence. + +"No!" he cried. "Leave it alone! Come, we must be going." But Miss +Cahill held the wounded hand in both her own. When she turned her eyes +to Ranson they were filled with tender concern. + +"I hurt him," she said, reproachfully. "He shot himself last night with +one of those new cylinder revolvers." + +Her father snatched the hand from her. He tried to drown her voice by a +sudden movement toward the door. "Come!" he called. "Do you hear me?" + +But his daughter in her sympathy continued. "He was holding it so," she +said, "and it went off, and the bullet passed through here." She laid +the tip of a slim white finger on the palm of her right hand. + +"The bullet!" cried Ranson. He repeated, dully, "The bullet!" + +There was a sudden, tense silence. Outside they could hear the crunch of +the sentry's heel in the gravel, and from the baseball field back of the +barracks the soft spring air was rent with the jubilant crack of the bat +as it drove the ball. Afterward Ranson remembered that while one half +of his brain was terribly acute to the moment, the other was wondering +whether the runner had made his base. It seemed an interminable time +before Ranson raised his eyes from Miss Cahill's palm to her father's +face. What he read in them caused Cahill to drop his hand swiftly to his +hip. + +Ranson saw the gesture and threw out both his hands. He gave a +hysterical laugh, strangely boyish and immature, and ran to place +himself between Cahill and the door. "Drop it!" he whispered. "My God, +man!" he entreated, "don't make a fool of yourself. Mr. Cahill," he +cried aloud, "you can't go till you know. Can he, Mary? Yes, Mary." The +tone in which he repeated the name was proprietary and commanding. He +took her hand. "Mr. Cahill," he said, joyously, "we've got something to +tell you. I want you to understand that in spite of all I'VE done--I +say in spite of all I'VE done--I mean getting into this trouble and +disgrace, and all that--I've dared to ask your daughter to marry me." +He turned and led Miss Cahill swiftly toward the veranda. "Oh, I knew he +wouldn't like it," he cried. "You see. I told you so. You've got to let +me talk to him alone. You go outside and wait. I can talk better when +you are not here. I'll soon bring him around." + +"Father," pleaded Miss Cahill, timidly. From behind her back Ranson +shook his head at the post-trader in violent pantomime. "She'd better go +outside and wait, hadn't she, Mr. Cahill?" he directed. + +As he was bidden, the post-trader raised his head and nodded toward +the door. The onslaught of sudden and new conditions overwhelmed and +paralyzed him. + +"Father!" said Miss Cahill, "it isn't just as you think. Mr. Ranson did +ask me to marry him--in a way--At least, I knew what he meant. But I did +not say--in a way--that I would marry him. I mean it was not settled, +or I would have told you. You mustn't think I would have left you out of +this--of my happiness, you who have done everything to make me happy." + +She reproached her father with her eyes fastened on his face. His +own were stern, fixed, and miserable. "You will let it be, won't you, +father?" she begged. "It--it means so much. I--can't tell you--" She +threw out her hand toward Ranson as though designating a superior being. +"Why, I can't tell HIM. But if you are harsh with him or with me it will +break my heart. For as I love you, father, I love him--and it has got to +be. It must be. For I love him so. I have always loved him. Father," she +whispered, "I love him so." + +Ranson, humbly, gratefully, took the girl's hand and led her gently to +the veranda and closed the door upon her. Then he came down the room +and regarded his prospective father-in-law with an expression of +amused exasperation. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his +riding-breeches and nodded his head. "Well," he exclaimed, "you've made +a damned pretty mess of it, haven't you?" + +Cahill had sunk heavily into a chair and was staring at Ranson with the +stupid, wondering gaze of a dumb animal in pain. During the moments in +which the two men eyed each other Ranson's smile disappeared. Cahill +raised himself slowly as though with a great effort. + +"I done it," said Cahill, "for her. I done it to make her happy." + +"That's all right," said Ranson, briskly. "She's going to be happy. +We're all going to be happy." + +"An' all I did," Cahill continued, as though unconscious of the +interruption, "was to disgrace her." He rose suddenly to his feet. +His mental sufferings were so keen that his huge body trembled. He +recognized how truly he had made "a mess of it." He saw that all he had +hoped to do for his daughter by crime would have been done for her by +this marriage with Ranson, which would have made her a "lady," made her +rich, made her happy. Had it not been for his midnight raids she would +have been honored, loved, and envied, even by the wife of the colonel +herself. But through him disgrace had come upon her, sorrow and trouble. +She would not be known as the daughter of Senator Ranson, but of Cahill, +an ex-member of the Whyo gang, a highway robber, as the daughter of a +thief who was serving his time in State prison. At the thought Cahill +stepped backward unsteadily as though he had been struck. He cried +suddenly aloud. Then his hand whipped back to his revolver, but before +he could use it Ranson had seized his wrist with both hands. The two +struggled silently and fiercely. The fact of opposition brought back to +Cahill all of his great strength. + +"No, you don't!" Ranson muttered. "Think of your daughter, man. Drop +it!" + +"I shall do it," Cahill panted. "I am thinking of my daughter. It's the +only way out. Take your hands off me--I shall!" + +With his knuckles Ranson bored cruelly into the wounded hand, and it +opened and the gun dropped from it; but as it did so it went off with a +report that rang through the building. There was an instant rush of +feet upon the steps of the veranda, and at the sound the two men sprang +apart, eyeing each other sheepishly like two discovered truants. When +Sergeant Clancey and the guard pushed through the door Ranson stood +facing it, spinning the revolver in cowboy fashion around his fourth +finger. He addressed the sergeant in a tone of bitter irony. + +"Oh, you've come at last," he demanded. "Are you deaf? Why didn't you +come when I called?" His tone showed he considered he had just cause for +annoyance. + +"The gun brought me, I--" began Clancey. + +"Yes, I hoped it might. That's why I fired it," snapped Ranson. "I want +two whiskey-and-sodas. Quick now!" + +"Two--" gasped Clancey. + +"Whiskey-and-sodas. See how fast one of you can chase over to the club +and get 'em. And next time I want a drink don't make me wake the entire +garrison." + +As the soldiers retreated Ranson discovered Miss Cahill's white face +beyond them. He ran and held the door open by a few inches. + +"It's all right," he whispered, reassuringly. "He's nearly persuaded. +Wait just a minute longer and he'll be giving us his blessing." + +"But the pistol-shot?" she asked. + +"I was just calling the guard. The electric bell's broken, and your +father wanted a drink. That's a good sign, isn't it? Shows he's +friendly, What kind did you say you wanted, Mr. Cahill--Scotch was it, +or rye?" Ranson glanced back at the sombre, silent figure of Cahill, and +then again opened the door sufficiently for him to stick out his head. +"Sergeant," he called, "make them both Scotch--long ones." + +He shut the door and turned upon the post-trader. "Now, then, +father-in-law," he said, briskly, "you've got to cut and run, and you've +got to run quick. We'll tell 'em you're going to Fort Worth to buy the +engagement ring, because I can't, being under arrest. But you go to +Duncan City instead, and from there take the cars, to--" + +"Run away!" Cahill repeated, dazedly. "But you'll be court-martialled." + +"There won't be any court-martial!" + +Cahill glanced around the room quickly. "I see," he cried. In his +eagerness he was almost smiling. "I'm to leave a confession and give it +to you." + +"Confession! What rot!" cried Ranson. + +"They can't prove anything against me. Everyone knows by now that there +were two men on the trail, but they don't know who the other man was, +and no one ever must know--especially Mary." + +Cahill struck the table with his fist. "I won't stand for it!" he cried. +"I got you into this and I'm goin'--" + +"Yes, going to jail," retorted Ranson. "You'll look nice behind the +bars, won't you? Your daughter will be proud of you in a striped suit. +Don't talk nonsense. You're going to run and hide some place, somewhere, +where Mary and I can come and pay you a visit. Say--Canada. No, not +Canada. I'd rather visit you in jail than in a Montreal hotel. Say +Tangier, or Buenos Ayres, or Paris. Yes, Paris is safe enough--and so +amusing." + +Cahill seated himself heavily. "I trapped you into this fix, Mr. +Ranson," he said, "you know I did, and now I mean to get you out of it. +I ain't going to leave the man my Mame wants to marry with a cloud on +him. I ain't going to let her husband be jailed." + +Ranson had run to his desk and from a drawer drew forth a roll of bills. +He advanced with them in his hand. + +"Yes, Paris is certainly the place," he said. "Here's three hundred +dollars. I'll cable you the rest. You've never been to Paris, have you? +It's full of beautiful sights--Henry's American Bar, for instance, and +the courtyard of the Grand Hotel, and Maxim's. All good Americans go to +Paris when they die and all the bad ones while they are alive. You'll +find lots of both kinds, and you'll sit all day on the sidewalk and +drink Bock and listen to Hungarian bands. And Mary and I will join you +there and take you driving in the Bois. Now, you start at once. I'll +tell her you've gone to New York to talk it over with father, and buy +the ring. Then I'll say you've gone on to Paris to rent us apartments +for the honeymoon. I'll explain it somehow. That's better than going to +jail, isn't it, and making us bow our heads in grief?" + +Cahill, in his turn, approached the desk and, seating himself before it, +began writing rapidly. + +"What is it?" asked Ranson. + +"A confession," said Cahill, his pen scratching. + +"I won't take it," Ranson said, "and I won't use it." + +"I ain't going to give it to you," said Cahill, over his shoulder. +"I know better than that. But I don't go to Paris unless I leave a +confession behind me. Call in the guard," he commanded; "I want two +witnesses." + +"I'll see you hanged first," said Ranson. + +Cahill crossed the room to the door and, throwing it open, called, +"Corporal of the guard!" + +As he spoke, Captain Carr and Mrs. Bolland, accompanied by Miss Post and +her aunt, were crossing the parade-ground. For a moment the post-trader +surveyed them doubtfully, and then, stepping out upon the veranda, +beckoned to them. + +"Here's a paper I've signed, captain," he said; "I wish you'd witness my +signature. It's my testimony for the court-martial." + +"Then someone else had better sign it," said Carr. "Might look +prejudiced if I did." He turned to the ladies. "These ladies are coming +in to see Ranson now. They'll witness it." + +Miss Cahill, from the other end of the veranda, and the visitors entered +the room together. + +"Mrs. Truesdale!" cried Ranson. "You are pouring coals of fire upon my +head. And Miss Post! Indeed, this is too much honor. After the way I +threatened and tried to frighten you last night I expected you to hang +me, at least, instead of which you have, I trust, come to tea." + +"Nothing of the sort," said Mrs. Bolland, sternly. "These ladies +insisted on my bringing them here to say how sorry they are that they +talked so much and got you into this trouble. Understand, Mr. Ranson," +the colonel's wife added, with dignity, "that I am not here officially +as Mrs. Bolland, but as a friend of these ladies." + +"You are welcome in whatever form you take, Mrs. Bolland," cried Ranson, +"and, believe me, I am in no trouble--no trouble, I assure you. In fact, +I am quite the most contented man in the world. Mrs. Bolland, in spite +of the cloud, the temporary cloud which rests upon my fair name, I take +great pride in announcing to you that this young lady has done me the +honor to consent to become my wife. Her father, a very old and dear +friend, has given his consent. And I take this occasion to tell you of +my good fortune, both in your official capacity and as my friend." + +There was a chorus of exclamations and congratulations in which Mrs. +Bolland showed herself to be a true wife and a social diplomatist. In +the post-trader's daughter she instantly recognized the heiress to the +Ranson millions, and the daughter of a Senator who also was the chairman +of the Senate Committee on Brevets and Promotions. She fell upon Miss +Cahill's shoulder and kissed her on both cheeks. Turning eagerly upon +Mrs. Truesdale, she said, "Alice, you can understand how I feel when I +tell you that this child has always been to me like one of my own." + +Carr took Ranson's hand and wrung it. Sergeant Clancey grew purple with +pleasure and stole back to the veranda, where he whispered joyfully to a +sentry. In another moment a passing private was seen racing delightedly +toward the baseball field. + +At the same moment Lieutenants Crosby and Curtis and the regimental +adjutant crossed the parade ground from the colonel's quarters and ran +up the steps of Ranson's hut. The expressions of good-will, of smiling +embarrassment and general satisfaction which Lieutenant Crosby observed +on the countenances of those present seemed to give him a momentary +check. + +"Oh," he exclaimed, disappointedly, "someone has told you!" + +Ranson laughed and took the hand which Crosby held doubtfully toward +him. "No one has told me," he said. "I've been telling them." + +"Then you haven't heard?" Crosby cried, delightedly. "That's good. +I begged to be the first to let you know, because I felt so badly at +having doubted you. You must let me congratulate you. You are free." + +"Free?" smiled Ranson. + +"Yes, relieved from arrest," Crosby cried, joyfully. He turned and took +Ranson's sword from the hands of the adjutant. "And the colonel's let +your troop have the band to give you a serenade." + +But Ranson's face showed no sign of satisfaction. + +"Wait!" he cried. "Why am I relieved from arrest?" + +"Why? Because the other fellow has confessed." + +Ranson placed himself suddenly in front of Mary Cahill as though to +shield her. His eyes stole stealthily towards Cahill's confession. Still +unread and still unsigned, it lay unopened upon the table. Cahill was +gazing upon Ranson in blank bewilderment. + +Captain Carr gasped a sigh of relief that was far from complimentary to +his client. + +"Who confessed?" he cried. + +"'Pop' Henderson," said Crosby. + +"'Pop' Henderson!" shouted Cahill. Unmindful of his wound, he struck the +table savagely with his fist. For the first time in the knowledge of the +post he exhibited emotion. "'Pop' Henderson, by the eternal!" he cried. +"And I never guessed it!" + +"Yes," said Crosby, eagerly. "Abe Fisher was in it. Henderson persuaded +the paymaster to make the trip alone with him. Then he dressed up Fisher +to represent the Red Rider and sent him on ahead to hold him up. They +were to share the money afterward. But Fisher fired on 'Pop' to kill, so +as to have it all, and 'Pop's' trying to get even. And what with wanting +to hurt Fisher, and thinking he is going to die, and not wishing to see +you hanged, he's told the truth. We wired Kiowa early this morning and +arrested Fisher. They've found the money, and he has confessed, too." + +"But the poncho and the red kerchief?" protested Carr. "And he had no +stirrups!" + +"Oh, Fisher had the make-up all right," laughed Crosby; "Henderson says +Fisher's the 'only, original' Red Rider. And as for the stirrups, I'm +afraid that's my fault. I asked the colonel if the man wasn't riding +without stirrups, and I guess the wish was father to the fact. He only +imagined he hadn't seen any stirrups. The colonel was rattled. So, old +man," he added, turning to Ranson, "here's your sword again, and God +bless you." + +Already the post had learned the news from the band and the verandas of +the enlisted men overflowed with delighted troopers. From the stables +and the ball field came the sound of hurrying feet, and a tumult of +cheers and cowboy yells. Across the parade-ground the regimental band +bore down upon Ranson's hut, proclaiming to the garrison that there +would be a hot time in the old town that night. But Sergeant Clancey +ran to meet the bandmaster, and shouted in his ear. "He's going to marry +Mary Cahill," he cried. "I heard him tell the colonel's wife. Play 'Just +Because She Made Them Goo-goo Eyes.'" + +"Like hell!" cried the bandmaster, indignantly, breaking in on the tune +with his baton. "I know my business! Now, then, men," he commanded, +"'I'll Leave My Happy Home for You.'" + +As Mrs. Bolland dragged Miss Cahill into view of the assembled troopers +Ranson pulled his father-in-law into a far corner of the room. He shook +the written confession in his face. + +"Now, will you kindly tell me what that means?" he demanded. "What sort +of a gallery play were you trying to make?" + +Cahill shifted his sombrero guiltily. "I was trying to get you out of +the hole," he stammered. "I--I thought you done it." + +"You thought I done it!" + +"Sure. I never thought nothing else." + +"Then why do you say here that YOU did it?" + +"Oh, because," stammered Cahill, miserably, "'cause of Mary, 'cause she +wanted to marry you--'cause you were going to marry her." + +"Well--but--what good were you going to do by shooting yourself?" + +"Oh, then?" Cahill jerked back his head as though casting out an +unpleasant memory. "I thought you'd caught me, you, too--between you!" + +"Caught you! Then you did--?" + +"No, but I tried to. I heard your plan, and I did follow you in the +poncho and kerchief, meaning to hold up the stage first, and leave it to +Crosby and Curtis to prove you did it. But when I reached the coach you +were there ahead of me, and I rode away and put in my time at the Indian +village. I never saw the paymaster's cart, never heard of it till this +morning. But what with Mame missing the poncho out of our shop and the +wound in my hand I guessed they'd all soon suspect me. I saw you did. +So I thought I'd just confess to what I meant to do, even if I didn't do +it." + +Ranson surveyed his father-in-law with a delighted grin. "How did you +get that bullet-hole in your hand?" he asked. + +Cahill laughed shamefacedly. "I hate to tell you that," he said. "I got +it just as I said I did. My new gun went off while I was fooling with +it, with my hand over the muzzle. And me the best shot in the Territory! +But when I heard the paymaster claimed he shot the Red Rider through the +palm I knew no one would believe me if I told the truth. So I lied." + +Ranson glanced down at the written confession, and then tore it slowly +into pieces. "And you were sure I robbed the stage, and yet you believed +that I'd use this? What sort of a son-in-law do you think you've got?" + +"You thought _I_ robbed the stage, didn't you?" + +"Yes." + +"And you were going to stand for robbing it yourself, weren't you? Well, +that's the sort of son-in-law I've got!" + +The two men held out their hands at the same instant. + +Mary Cahill, her face glowing with pride and besieged with blushes, +came toward them from the veranda. She was laughing and radiant, but she +turned her eyes on Ranson with a look of tender reproach. + +"Why did you desert me?" she said. "It was awful. They are calling you +now. They are playing 'The Conquering Hero.'" + +"Mr. Cahill," commanded Ranson, "go out there and make a speech." He +turned to Mary Cahill and lifted one of her hands in both of his. "Well, +I AM the conquering hero," he said. "I've won the only thing worth +winning, dearest," he whispered; "we'll run away from them in a minute, +and we'll ride to the waterfall and the Lover's Leap." He looked down at +her wistfully. "Do you remember?" + +Mary Cahill raised her head and smiled. He leaned toward her +breathlessly. + +"Why, did it mean that to you, too?" he asked. + +She smiled up at him in assent. + +"But I didn't say anything, did I?" whispered Ranson. "I hardly knew you +then. But I knew that day that I--that I would marry you or nobody else. +And did you think--that you--" + +"Yes," Mary Cahill whispered. + +He bent his head and touched her hand with his lips. + +"Then we'll go back this morning to the waterfall," he said, "and tell +it that it's all come right. And now, we'll bow to those crazy people +out there, those make-believe dream-people, who don't know that there +is nothing real in this world but just you and me, and that we love each +other." + +A dishevelled orderly bearing a tray with two glasses confronted Ranson +at the door. "Here's the Scotch and sodas, lieutenant," he panted. "I +couldn't get 'em any sooner. The men wanted to take 'em off me--to drink +Miss Cahill's health." + +"So they shall," said Ranson. "Tell them to drink the canteen dry and +charge it to me. What's a little thing like the regulations between +friends? They have taught me my manners. Mr. Cahill," he called. + +The post-trader returned from the veranda. + +Ranson solemnly handed him a glass and raised the other in the air. +"Here's hoping that the Red Rider rides on his raids no more," he said; +"and to the future Mrs. Ranson--to Mary Cahill, God bless her!" + +He shattered the empty glass in the grate and took Cahill's hand. + +"Father-in-law," said Ranson, "let's promise each other to lead a new +and a better life." + + + + + + +THE BAR SINISTER + +I + + +The Master was walking most unsteady, his legs tripping each other. +After the fifth or sixth round, my legs often go the same way. + +But even when the Master's legs bend and twist a bit, you mustn't think +he can't reach you. Indeed, that is the time he kicks most frequent. So +I kept behind him in the shadow, or ran in the middle of the street. He +stopped at many public-houses with swinging doors, those doors that are +cut so high from the sidewalk that you can look in under them, and see +if the Master is inside. At night when I peep beneath them the man at +the counter will see me first and say, "Here's the Kid, Jerry, come to +take you home. Get a move on you," and the Master will stumble out and +follow me. It's lucky for us I'm so white, for no matter how dark the +night, he can always see me ahead, just out of reach of his boot. At +night the Master certainly does see most amazing. Sometimes he sees two +or four of me, and walks in a circle, so that I have to take him by the +leg of his trousers and lead him into the right road. One night, when he +was very nasty-tempered and I was coaxing him along, two men passed us +and one of them says, "Look at that brute!" and the other asks "Which?" +and they both laugh. The Master, he cursed them good and proper. + +This night, whenever we stopped at a public-house, the Master's pals +left it and went on with us to the next. They spoke quite civil to me, +and when the Master tried a flying kick, they gives him a shove. "Do you +want we should lose our money?" says the pals. + +I had had nothing to eat for a day and a night, and just before we set +out the Master gives me a wash under the hydrant. Whenever I am locked +up until all the slop-pans in our alley are empty, and made to take +a bath, and the Master's pals speak civil, and feel my ribs, I know +something is going to happen. And that night, when every time they see a +policeman under a lamp-post, they dodged across the street, and when at +the last one of them picked me up and hid me under his jacket, I began +to tremble; for I knew what it meant. It meant that I was to fight again +for the Master. + +I don't fight because I like it. I fight because if I didn't the other +dog would find my throat, and the Master would lose his stakes, and I +would be very sorry for him and ashamed. Dogs can pass me and I can pass +dogs, and I'd never pick a fight with none of them. When I see two dogs +standing on their hind-legs in the streets, clawing each other's ears, +and snapping for each other's windpipes, or howling and swearing and +rolling in the mud, I feel sorry they should act so, and pretend not to +notice. If he'd let me, I'd like to pass the time of day with every dog +I meet. But there's something about me that no nice dog can abide. When +I trot up to nice dogs, nodding and grinning, to make friends, they +always tell me to be off. "Go to the devil!" they bark at me; "Get +out!" and when I walk away they shout "mongrel," and "gutter-dog," and +sometimes, after my back is turned, they rush me. I could kill most of +them with three shakes, breaking the back-bone of the little ones, and +squeezing the throat of the big ones. But what's the good? They are nice +dogs; that's why I try to make up to them, and though it's not for them +to say it, I am a street-dog, and if I try to push into the company of +my betters, I suppose it's their right to teach me my place. + +Of course, they don't know I'm the best fighting bull-terrier of my +weight in Montreal. That's why it wouldn't be right for me to take no +notice of what they shout. They don't know that if I once locked my jaws +on them I'd carry away whatever I touched. The night I fought Kelley's +White Rat, I wouldn't loosen up until the Master made a noose in my +leash and strangled me, and if the handlers hadn't thrown red pepper +down my nose, I never would have let go of that Ottawa dog. I don't +think the handlers treated me quite right that time, but maybe they +didn't know the Ottawa dog was dead. I did. + +I learned my fighting from my mother when I was very young. We slept in +a lumber-yard on the river-front, and by day hunted for food along the +wharves. When we got it, the other tramp-dogs would try to take it off +us, and then it was wonderful to see mother fly at them, and drive them +away. All I know of fighting I learned from mother, watching her picking +the ash-heaps for me when I was too little to fight for myself. No one +ever was so good to me as mother. When it snowed and the ice was in the +St. Lawrence she used to hunt alone, and bring me back new bones, and +she'd sit and laugh to see me trying to swallow 'em whole. I was just a +puppy then, my teeth was falling out. When I was able to fight we kept +the whole river-range to ourselves, I had the genuine long, "punishing" +jaw, so mother said, and there wasn't a man or a dog that dared worry +us. Those were happy days, those were; and we lived well, share and +share alike, and when we wanted a bit of fun, we chased the fat old +wharf-rats. My! how they would squeal! + +Then the trouble came. It was no trouble to me. I was too young to care +then. But mother took it so to heart that she grew ailing, and wouldn't +go abroad with me by day. It was the same old scandal that they're +always bringing up against me. I was so young then that I didn't know. I +couldn't see any difference between mother--and other mothers. + +But one day a pack of curs we drove off snarled back some new names +at her, and mother dropped her head and ran, just as though they had +whipped us. After that she wouldn't go out with me except in the dark, +and one day she went away and never came back, and though I hunted for +her in every court and alley and back street of Montreal, I never found +her. + +One night, a month after mother ran away, I asked Guardian, the old +blind mastiff, whose Master is the night-watchman on our slip, what it +all meant. And he told me. + +"Every dog in Montreal knows," he says, "except you, and every Master +knows. So I think it's time you knew." + +Then he tells me that my father, who had treated mother so bad, was +a great and noble gentleman from London. "Your father had twenty-two +registered ancestors, had your father," old Guardian says, "and in him +was the best bull-terrier blood of England, the most ancientest, the +most royal; the winning 'blue-ribbon' blood, that breeds champions. He +had sleepy pink eyes, and thin pink lips, and he was as white all over +as his own white teeth, and under his white skin you could see his +muscles, hard and smooth, like the links of a steel chain. When your +father stood still, and tipped his nose in the air, it was just as +though he was saying, 'Oh, yes, you common dogs and men, you may well +stare. It must be a rare treat for you Colonials to see a real English +royalty.' He certainly was pleased with hisself, was your father. He +looked just as proud and haughty as one of them stone dogs in Victoria +Park--them as is cut out of white marble. And you're like him," says +the old mastiff--"by that, of course, meaning you're white, same as him. +That's the only likeness. But, you see, the trouble is, Kid--well, you +see, Kid, the trouble is--your mother--" + +"That will do," I said, for I understood then without his telling me, +and I got up and walked away, holding my head and tail high in the air. + +But I was, oh, so miserable, and I wanted to see mother that very +minute, and tell her that I didn't care. + +Mother is what I am, a street-dog; there's no royal blood in mother's +veins, nor is she like that father of mine, nor--and that's the +worst--she's not even like me. For while I, when I'm washed for a fight, +am as white as clean snow, she--and this is our trouble, she--my mother, +is a black-and-tan. + +When mother hid herself from me, I was twelve months old and able to +take care of myself, and, as after mother left me, the wharves were +never the same, I moved uptown and met the Master. Before he came, lots +of other men-folks had tried to make up to me, and to whistle me home. +But they either tried patting me or coaxing me with a piece of meat; +so I didn't take to 'em. But one day the Master pulled me out of a +street-fight by the hind-legs, and kicked me good. + +"You want to fight, do you?" says he. "I'll give you all the FIGHTING +you want!" he says, and he kicks me again. So I knew he was my Master, +and I followed him home. Since that day I've pulled off many fights for +him, and they've brought dogs from all over the province to have a go at +me, but up to that night none, under thirty pounds, had ever downed me. + +But that night, so soon as they carried me into the ring, I saw the dog +was over-weight, and that I was no match for him. It was asking too much +of a puppy. The Master should have known I couldn't do it. Not that I +mean to blame the Master, for when sober, which he sometimes was, though +not, as you might say, his habit, he was most kind to me, and let me out +to find food, if I could get it, and only kicked me when I didn't pick +him up at night and lead him home. + +But kicks will stiffen the muscles, and starving a dog so as to get him +ugly-tempered for a fight may make him nasty, but it's weakening to his +insides, and it causes the legs to wabble. + +The ring was in a hall, back of a public-house. There was a red-hot +whitewashed stove in one corner, and the ring in the other. I lay in the +Master's lap, wrapped in my blanket, and, spite of the stove, shivering +awful; but I always shiver before a fight; I can't help gettin' excited. +While the men-folks were a-flashing their money and taking their last +drink at the bar, a little Irish groom in gaiters came up to me and give +me the back of his hand to smell, and scratched me behind the ears. + +"You poor little pup," says he. "You haven't no show," he says. "That +brute in the tap-room, he'll eat your heart out." + +"That's what you think," says the Master, snarling. "I'll lay you a quid +the Kid chews him up." + +The groom, he shook his head, but kept looking at me so sorry-like, +that I begun to get a bit sad myself. He seemed like he couldn't bear to +leave off a-patting of me, and he says, speaking low just like he would +to a man-folk, "Well, good-luck to you, little pup," which I thought so +civil of him, that I reached up and licked his hand. I don't do that to +many men. And the Master, he knew I didn't, and took on dreadful. + +"What 'ave you got on the back of your hand?" says he, jumping up. + +"Soap!" says the groom, quick as a rat. "That's more than you've got +on yours. Do you want to smell of it?" and he sticks his fist under the +Master's nose. But the pals pushed in between 'em. + +"He tried to poison the Kid!" shouts the Master. + +"Oh, one fight at a time," says the referee. "Get into the ring, Jerry. +We're waiting." So we went into the ring. + +I never could just remember what did happen in that ring. He give me +no time to spring. He fell on me like a horse. I couldn't keep my feet +against him, and though, as I saw, he could get his hold when he liked, +he wanted to chew me over a bit first. I was wondering if they'd be able +to pry him off me, when, in the third round, he took his hold; and I +began to drown, just as I did when I fell into the river off the Red +C slip. He closed deeper and deeper, on my throat, and everything went +black and red and bursting; and then, when I were sure I were dead, the +handlers pulled him off, and the Master give me a kick that brought me +to. But I couldn't move none, or even wink, both eyes being shut with +lumps. + +"He's a cur!" yells the Master, "a sneaking, cowardly cur. He lost the +fight for me," says he, "because he's a---------cowardly cur." And +he kicks me again in the lower ribs, so that I go sliding across the +sawdust. "There's gratitude fer yer," yells the Master. "I've fed that +dog, and nussed that dog, and housed him like a prince; and now he puts +his tail between his legs, and sells me out, he does. He's a coward; +I've done with him, I am. I'd sell him for a pipeful of tobacco." He +picked me up by the tail, and swung me for the men-folks to see. +"Does any gentleman here want to buy a dog," he says, "to make into +sausage-meat?" he says. "That's all he's good for." + +Then I heard the little Irish groom say, "I'll give you ten bob for the +dog." + +And another voice says, "Ah, don't you do it; the dog's same as +dead--mebby he is dead." + +"Ten shillings!" says the Master, and his voice sobers a bit; "make it +two pounds, and he's yours." + +But the pals rushed in again. + +"Don't you be a fool, Jerry," they say. "You'll be sorry for this when +you're sober. The Kid's worth a fiver." + +One of my eyes was not so swelled up as the other, and as I hung by +my tail, I opened it, and saw one of the pals take the groom by the +shoulder. + +"You ought to give 'im five pounds for that dog, mate," he says; "that's +no ordinary dog. That dog's got good blood in him, that dog has. Why, +his father--that very dog's father--" + +I thought he never would go on. He waited like he wanted to be sure the +groom was listening. + +"That very dog's father," says the pal, "is Regent Royal, son of +Champion Regent Monarch, champion bull-terrier of England for four +years." + +I was sore, and torn, and chewed most awful, but what the pal said +sounded so fine that I wanted to wag my tail, only couldn't, owing to my +hanging from it. + +But the Master calls out, "Yes, his father was Regent Royal; who's +saying he wasn't? but the pup's a cowardly cur, that's what his pup +is, and why--I'll tell you why--because his mother was a black-and-tan +street-dog, that's why!" + +I don't see how I get the strength, but some way I threw myself out of +the Master's grip and fell at his feet, and turned over and fastened all +my teeth in his ankle, just across the bone. + +When I woke, after the pals had kicked me off him, I was in the +smoking-car of a railroad-train, lying in the lap of the little groom, +and he was rubbing my open wounds with a greasy, yellow stuff, exquisite +to the smell, and most agreeable to lick off. + + + + +II + + +"Well--what's your name--Nolan? Well, Nolan, these references are +satisfactory," said the young gentleman. My new Master called "Mr. +Wyndham, sir." + +"I'll take you on as second man. You can begin to-day." + +My new Master shuffled his feet, and put his finger to his forehead. +"Thank you, sir," says he. Then he choked like he had swallowed a +fish-bone. "I have a little dawg, sir," says he. + +"You can't keep him," says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," very short. + +"'Es only a puppy, sir," says my new Master; "'e wouldn't go outside the +stables, sir." + +"It's not that," says "Mr. Wyndham, sir;" "I have a large kennel of very +fine dogs; they're the best of their breed in America. I don't allow +strange dogs on the premises." + +The Master shakes his head, and motions me with his cap, and I crept out +from behind the door. "I'm sorry, sir," says the Master. "Then I can't +take the place. I can't get along without the dog, sir." + +"Mr. Wyndham, sir," looked at me that fierce that I guessed he was going +to whip me, so I turned over on my back and begged with my legs and +tail. + +"Why, you beat him!" says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," very stern. + +"No fear!" the Master says, getting very red. "The party I bought him +off taught him that. He never learnt that from me!" He picked me up in +his arms, and to show "Mr. Wyndham, sir," how well I loved the Master, I +bit his chin and hands. + +"Mr. Wyndham, sir," turned over the letters the Master had given him. +"Well, these references certainly are very strong," he says. "I guess +I'll let the dog stay this time. Only see you keep him away from the +kennels--or you'll both go." + +"Thank you, sir," says the Master, grinning like a cat when she's safe +behind the area-railing. + +"He's not a bad bull-terrier," says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," feeling my head. +"Not that I know much about the smooth-coated breeds. My dogs are St. +Bernards." He stopped patting me and held up my nose. "What's the matter +with his ears?" he says. "They're chewed to pieces. Is this a fighting +dog?" he asks, quick and rough-like. + +I could have laughed. If he hadn't been holding my nose, I certainly +would have had a good grin at him. Me, the best under thirty pounds in +the Province of Quebec, and him asking if I was a fighting dog! I ran to +the Master and hung down my head modest-like, waiting for him to tell +my list of battles, but the Master he coughs in his cap most painful. +"Fightin' dog, sir," he cries. "Lor' bless you, sir, the Kid don't +know the word. 'Es just a puppy, sir, same as you see; a pet dog, so to +speak. 'Es a regular old lady's lap-dog, the Kid is." + +"Well, you keep him away from my St. Bernards," says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," +"or they might make a mouthful of him." + +"Yes, sir, that they might," says the Master. But when we gets outside +he slaps his knee and laughs inside hisself, and winks at me most +sociable. + +The Master's new home was in the country, in a province they called Long +Island. There was a high stone wall about his home with big iron gates +to it, same as Godfrey's brewery; and there was a house with five red +roofs, and the stables, where I lived, was cleaner than the aerated +bakery-shop, and then there was the kennels, but they was like nothing +else in this world that ever I see. For the first days I couldn't sleep +of nights for fear someone would catch me lying in such a cleaned-up +place, and would chase me out of it, and when I did fall to sleep I'd +dream I was back in the old Master's attic, shivering under the rusty +stove, which never had no coals in it, with the Master flat on his +back on the cold floor with his clothes on. And I'd wake up, scared and +whimpering, and find myself on the new Master's cot with his hand on +the quilt beside me; and I'd see the glow of the big stove, and hear the +high-quality horses below-stairs stamping in their straw-lined boxes, +and I'd snoop the sweet smell of hay and harness-soap, and go to sleep +again. + +The stables was my jail, so the Master said, but I don't ask no better +home than that jail. + +"Now, Kid," says he, sitting on the top of a bucket upside down, "you've +got to understand this. When I whistle it means you're not to go out of +this 'ere yard. These stables is your jail. And if you leave 'em I'll +have to leave 'em, too, and over the seas, in the County Mayo, an old +mother will 'ave to leave her bit of a cottage. For two pounds I must +be sending her every month, or she'll have naught to eat, nor no thatch +over 'er head; so, I can't lose my place, Kid, an' see you don't lose it +for me. You must keep away from the kennels," says he; "they're not for +the likes of you. The kennels are for the quality. I wouldn't take a +litter of them woolly dogs for one wag of your tail, Kid, but for all +that they are your betters, same as the gentry up in the big house are +my betters. I know my place and keep away from the gentry, and you keep +away from the Champions." + +So I never goes out of the stables. All day I just lay in the sun on +the stone flags, licking my jaws, and watching the grooms wash down the +carriages, and the only care I had was to see they didn't get gay and +turn the hose on me. There wasn't even a single rat to plague me. Such +stables I never did see. + +"Nolan," says the head-groom, "some day that dog of yours will give you +the slip. You can't keep a street-dog tied up all his life. It's against +his natur'." The head-groom is a nice old gentleman, but he doesn't know +everything. Just as though I'd been a street-dog because I liked it. As +if I'd rather poke for my vittles in ash-heaps than have 'em handed +me in a wash-basin, and would sooner bite and fight than be polite and +sociable. If I'd had mother there I couldn't have asked for nothing +more. But I'd think of her snooping in the gutters, or freezing of +nights under the bridges, or, what's worse of all, running through the +hot streets with her tongue down, so wild and crazy for a drink, that +the people would shout "mad dog" at her, and stone her. Water's so good, +that I don't blame the men-folks for locking it up inside their houses, +but when the hot days come, I think they might remember that those are +the dog-days and leave a little water outside in a trough, like they +do for the horses. Then we wouldn't go mad, and the policemen wouldn't +shoot us. I had so much of everything I wanted that it made me think a +lot of the days when I hadn't nothing, and if I could have given what I +had to mother, as she used to share with me, I'd have been the happiest +dog in the land. Not that I wasn't happy then, and most grateful to the +Master, too, and if I'd only minded him, the trouble wouldn't have come +again. + +But one day the coachman says that the little lady they called Miss +Dorothy had come back from school, and that same morning she runs over +to the stables to pat her ponies, and she sees me. + +"Oh, what a nice little, white little dog," said she; "whose little dog +are you?" says she. + +"That's my dog, miss," says the Master. "'Is name is Kid," and I ran up +to her most polite, and licks her fingers, for I never see so pretty and +kind a lady. + +"You must come with me and call on my new puppies," says she, picking me +up in her arms and starting off with me. + +"Oh, but please, Miss," cries Nolan, "Mr. Wyndham give orders that the +Kid's not to go to the kennels." + +"That'll be all right," says the little lady; "they're my kennels too. +And the puppies will like to play with him." + +You wouldn't believe me if I was to tell you of the style of them +quality-dogs. If I hadn't seen it myself I wouldn't have believed it +neither. The Viceroy of Canada don't live no better. There was forty of +them, but each one had his own house and a yard--most exclusive--and +a cot and a drinking-basin all to hisself. They had servants standing +'round waiting to feed 'em when they was hungry, and valets to wash 'em; +and they had their hair combed and brushed like the grooms must when +they go out on the box. Even the puppies had overcoats with their +names on 'em in blue letters, and the name of each of those they called +champions was painted up fine over his front door just like it was a +public-house or a veterinary's. They were the biggest St. Bernards I +ever did see. I could have walked under them if they'd have let me. But +they were very proud and haughty dogs, and looked only once at me, and +then sniffed in the air. The little lady's own dog was an old gentleman +bull-dog. He'd come along with us, and when he notices how taken aback +I was with all I see, 'e turned quite kind and affable and showed me +about. + +"Jimmy Jocks," Miss Dorothy called him, but, owing to his weight, he +walked most dignified and slow, waddling like a duck as you might say, +and looked much too proud and handsome for such a silly name. + +"That's the runway, and that's the Trophy House," says he to me, +"and that over there is the hospital, where you have to go if you get +distemper, and the vet. gives you beastly medicine." + +"And which of these is your 'ouse, sir?" asks I, wishing to be +respectful. But he looked that hurt and haughty. "I don't live in the +kennels," says he, most contemptuous. "I am a house-dog. I sleep in Miss +Dorothy's room. And at lunch I'm let in with the family, if the visitors +don't mind. They most always do, but they're too polite to say so. +Besides," says he, smiling most condescending, "visitors are always +afraid of me. It's because I'm so ugly," says he. "I suppose," says +he, screwing up his wrinkles and speaking very slow and impressive, "I +suppose I'm the ugliest bull-dog in America," and as he seemed to be so +pleased to think hisself so, I said, "Yes, sir, you certainly are the +ugliest ever I see," at which he nodded his head most approving. + +"But I couldn't hurt 'em, as you say," he goes on, though I hadn't said +nothing like that, being too polite. "I'm too old," he says; "I haven't +any teeth. The last time one of those grizzly bears," said he, glaring +at the big St. Bernards, "took a hold of me, he nearly was my death," +says he. I thought his eyes would pop out of his head, he seemed so +wrought up about it. "He rolled me around in the dirt, he did," says +Jimmy Jocks, "an' I couldn't get up. It was low," says Jimmy Jocks, +making a face like he had a bad taste in his mouth. "Low, that's what +I call it, bad form, you understand, young man, not done in our +circles--and--and low." He growled, way down in his stomach, and puffed +hisself out, panting and blowing like he had been on a run. + +"I'm not a street-fighter," he says, scowling at a St. Bernard marked +"Champion." "And when my rheumatism is not troubling me," he says, "I +endeavor to be civil to all dogs, so long as they are gentlemen." + +"Yes, sir," said I, for even to me he had been most affable. + +At this we had come to a little house off by itself and Jimmy Jocks +invites me in. "This is their trophy-room," he says, "where they keep +their prizes. Mine," he says, rather grand-like, "are on the sideboard." +Not knowing what a sideboard might be, I said, "Indeed, sir, that must +be very gratifying." But he only wrinkled up his chops as much as to +say, "It is my right." + +The trophy-room was as wonderful as any public-house I ever see. On the +walls was pictures of nothing but beautiful St. Bernard dogs, and rows +and rows of blue and red and yellow ribbons; and when I asked Jimmy +Jocks why they was so many more of blue than of the others, he laughs +and says, "Because these kennels always win." And there was many shining +cups on the shelves which Jimmy Jocks told me were prizes won by the +champions. + +"Now, sir, might I ask you, sir," says I, "wot is a champion?" + +At that he panted and breathed so hard I thought he would bust hisself. +"My dear young friend!" says he. "Wherever have you been educated? A +champion is a--a champion," he says. "He must win nine blue ribbons in +the 'open' class. You follow me--that is--against all comers. Then +he has the title before his name, and they put his photograph in the +sporting papers. You know, of course, that _I_ am a champion," says +he. "I am Champion Woodstock Wizard III., and the two other Woodstock +Wizards, my father and uncle, were both champions." + +"But I thought your name was Jimmy Jocks," I said. + +He laughs right out at that. + +"That's my kennel name, not my registered name," he says. "Why, you +certainly know that every dog has two names. Now, what's your registered +name and number, for instance?" says he. + +"I've only got one name," I says. "Just Kid." + +Woodstock Wizard puffs at that and wrinkles up his forehead and pops out +his eyes. + +"Who are your people?" says he. "Where is your home?" + +"At the stable, sir," I said. "My Master is the second groom." + +At that Woodstock Wizard III. looks at me for quite a bit without +winking, and stares all around the room over my head. + +"Oh, well," says he at last, "you're a very civil young dog," says he, +"and I blame no one for what he can't help," which I thought most fair +and liberal. "And I have known many bullterriers that were champions," +says he, "though as a rule they mostly run with fire-engines, and to +fighting. For me, I wouldn't care to run through the streets after a +hose-cart, nor to fight," says he; "but each to his taste." + +I could not help thinking that if Woodstock Wizard III. tried to follow +a fire-engine he would die of apoplexy, and that, seeing he'd lost his +teeth, it was lucky he had no taste for fighting, but, after his being +so condescending, I didn't say nothing. + +"Anyway," says he, "every smooth-coated dog is better than any hairy +old camel like those St. Bernards, and if ever you're hungry down at +the stables, young man, come up to the house and I'll give you a bone. +I can't eat them myself, but I bury them around the garden from force +of habit, and in case a friend should drop in. Ah, I see my Mistress +coming," he says, "and I bid you good-day. I regret," he says, "that our +different social position prevents our meeting frequent, for you're a +worthy young dog with a proper respect for your betters, and in this +country there's precious few of them have that." Then he waddles off, +leaving me alone and very sad, for he was the first dog in many +days that had spoken to me. But since he showed, seeing that I was a +stable-dog, he didn't want my company, I waited for him to get well +away. It was not a cheerful place to wait, the Trophy House. The +pictures of the champions seemed to scowl at me, and ask what right had +such as I even to admire them, and the blue and gold ribbons and the +silver cups made me very miserable. I had never won no blue ribbons or +silver cups; only stakes for the old Master to spend in the publics, and +I hadn't won them for being a beautiful, high-quality dog, but just for +fighting--which, of course, as Woodstock Wizard III. says, is low. So I +started for the stables, with my head down and my tail between my legs, +feeling sorry I had ever left the Master. But I had more reason to be +sorry before I got back to him. + +The Trophy House was quite a bit from the kennels, and as I left it I +see Miss Dorothy and Woodstock Wizard III. walking back toward them, +and that a fine, big St. Bernard, his name was Champion Red Elfberg, had +broke his chain, and was running their way. When he reaches old Jimmy +Jocks he lets out a roar like a grain-steamer in a fog, and he makes +three leaps for him. Old Jimmy Jocks was about a fourth his size; but +he plants his feet and curves his back, and his hair goes up around his +neck like a collar. But he never had no show at no time, for the grizzly +bear, as Jimmy Jocks had called him, lights on old Jimmy's back and +tries to break it, and old Jimmy Jocks snaps his gums and claws the +grass, panting and groaning awful. But he can't do nothing, and the +grizzly bear just rolls him under him, biting and tearing cruel. The +odds was all that Woodstock Wizard III. was going to be killed. I had +fought enough to see that, but not knowing the rules of the game among +champions, I didn't like to interfere between two gentlemen who might be +settling a private affair, and, as it were, take it as presuming of me. +So I stood by, though I was shaking terrible, and holding myself in like +I was on a leash. But at that Woodstock Wizard III., who was underneath, +sees me through the dust, and calls very faint, "Help, you!" he says. +"Take him in the hind-leg," he says. "He's murdering me," he says. +And then the little Miss Dorothy, who was crying, and calling to the +kennel-men, catches at the Red Elfberg's hind-legs to pull him off, and +the brute, keeping his front pats well in Jimmy's stomach, turns his big +head and snaps at her. So that was all I asked for, thank you. I went +up under him. It was really nothing. He stood so high that I had only +to take off about three feet from him and come in from the side, and my +long, "punishing jaw" as mother was always talking about, locked on his +woolly throat, and my back teeth met. I couldn't shake him, but I shook +myself, and every time I shook myself there was thirty pounds of weight +tore at his windpipes. I couldn't see nothing for his long hair, but +I heard Jimmy Jocks puffing and blowing on one side, and munching the +brute's leg with his old gums. Jimmy was an old sport that day, was +Jimmy, or, Woodstock Wizard III., as I should say. When the Red Elfberg +was out and down I had to run, or those kennel-men would have had my +life. They chased me right into the stables; and from under the hay I +watched the head-groom take down a carriage-whip and order them to the +right about. Luckily Master and the young grooms were out, or that day +there'd have been fighting for everybody. + +Well, it nearly did for me and the Master. "Mr. Wyndham, sir," comes +raging to the stables and said I'd half-killed his best prize-winner, +and had oughter be shot, and he gives the Master his notice. But Miss +Dorothy she follows him, and says it was his Red Elfberg what began the +fight, and that I'd saved Jimmy's life, and that old Jimmy Jocks +was worth more to her than all the St. Bernards in the Swiss +mountains--where-ever they be. And that I was her champion, anyway. Then +she cried over me most beautiful, and over Jimmy Jocks, too, who was +that tied up in bandages he couldn't even waddle. So when he heard that +side of it, "Mr. Wyndham, sir," told us that if Nolan put me on a chain, +we could stay. So it came out all right for everybody but me. I was glad +the Master kept his place, but I'd never worn a chain before, and it +disheartened me--but that was the least of it. For the quality-dogs +couldn't forgive my whipping their champion, and they came to the fence +between the kennels and the stables, and laughed through the bars, +barking most cruel words at me. I couldn't understand how they found it +out, but they knew. After the fight Jimmy Jocks was most condescending +to me, and he said the grooms had boasted to the kennel-men that I was +a son of Regent Royal, and that when the kennel-men asked who was my +mother they had had to tell them that too. Perhaps that was the way of +it, but, however, the scandal was out, and every one of the quality-dogs +knew that I was a street-dog and the son of a black-and-tan. + +"These misalliances will occur," said Jimmy Jocks, in his old-fashioned +way, "but no well-bred dog," says he, looking most scornful at the St. +Bernards, who were howling behind the palings, "would refer to your +misfortune before you, certainly not cast it in your face. I, myself, +remember your father's father, when he made his debut at the Crystal +Palace. He took four blue ribbons and three specials." + +But no sooner than Jimmy would leave me, the St. Bernards would take to +howling again, insulting mother and insulting me. And when I tore at my +chain, they, seeing they were safe, would howl the more. It was never +the same after that; the laughs and the jeers cut into my heart, and the +chain bore heavy on my spirit. I was so sad that sometimes I wished I +was back in the gutter again, where no one was better than me, and some +nights I wished I was dead. If it hadn't been for the Master being so +kind, and that it would have looked like I was blaming mother, I would +have twisted my leash and hanged myself. + +About a month after my fight, the word was passed through the kennels +that the New York Show was coming, and such goings on as followed I +never did see. If each of them had been matched to fight for a thousand +pounds and the gate, they couldn't have trained more conscientious. But, +perhaps, that's just my envy. The kennel-men rubbed 'em and scrubbed 'em +and trims their hair and curls and combs it, and some dogs they fatted, +and some they starved. No one talked of nothing but the Show, and the +chances "our kennels" had against the other kennels, and if this one of +our champions would win over that one, and whether them as hoped to +be champions had better show in the "open" or the "limit" class, and +whether this dog would beat his own dad, or whether his little puppy +sister couldn't beat the two of them. Even the grooms had their money +up, and day or night you heard nothing but praises of "our" dogs, until +I, being so far out of it, couldn't have felt meaner if I had been +running the streets with a can to my tail. I knew shows were not for +such as me, and so I lay all day stretched at the end of my chain, +pretending I was asleep, and only too glad that they had something so +important to think of, that they could leave me alone. + +But one day before the Show opened, Miss Dorothy came to the stables +with "Mr. Wyndham, sir," and seeing me chained up and so miserable, she +takes me in her arms. + +"You poor little tyke," says she. "It's cruel to tie him up so; he's +eating his heart out, Nolan," she says. "I don't know nothing about +bull-terriers," says she, "but I think Kid's got good points," says she, +"and you ought to show him. Jimmy Jocks has three legs on the Rensselaer +Cup now, and I'm going to show him this time so that he can get the +fourth, and if you wish, I'll enter your dog too. How would you like +that, Kid?" says she. "How would you like to see the most beautiful dogs +in the world? Maybe, you'd meet a pal or two," says she. "It would cheer +you up, wouldn't it, Kid?" says she. But I was so upset, I could only +wag my tail most violent. "He says it would!" says she, though, being +that excited, I hadn't said nothing. + +So, "Mr. Wyndham, sir," laughs and takes out a piece of blue paper, and +sits down at the head-groom's table. + +"What's the name of the father of your dog, Nolan?" says he. And Nolan +says, "The man I got him off told me he was a son of Champion Regent +Royal, sir. But it don't seem likely, does it?" says Nolan. + +"It does not!" says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," short-like. + +"Aren't you sure, Nolan?" says Miss Dorothy. + +"No, Miss," says the Master. + +"Sire unknown," says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," and writes it down. + +"Date of birth?" asks "Mr. Wyndham, sir." + +"I--I--unknown, sir," says Nolan. And "Mr. Wyndham, sir," writes it +down. + +"Breeder?" says "Mr. Wyndham, sir." + +"Unknown," says Nolan, getting very red around the jaws, and I drops my +head and tail. And "Mr. Wyndham, sir," writes that down. + +"Mother's name?" says "Mr. Wyndham, sir." + +"She was a--unknown," says the Master. And I licks his hand. + +"Dam unknown," says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," and writes it down. Then he +takes the paper and reads out loud: "Sire unknown, dam unknown, breeder +unknown, date of birth unknown. You'd better call him the 'Great +Unknown,'" says he. "Who's paying his entrance-fee?" + +"I am," says Miss Dorothy. + +Two weeks after we all got on a train for New York; Jimmy Jocks and me +following Nolan in the smoking-car, and twenty-two of the St. Bernards, +in boxes and crates, and on chains and leashes. Such a barking and +howling I never did hear, and when they sees me going, too, they laughs +fit to kill. + +"Wot is this; a circus?" says the railroad-man. + +But I had no heart in it. I hated to go. I knew I was no "show" dog, +even though Miss Dorothy and the Master did their best to keep me from +shaming them. For before we set out Miss Dorothy brings a man from town +who scrubbed and rubbed me, and sand-papered my tail, which hurt most +awful, and shaved my ears with the Master's razor, so you could most see +clear through 'em, and sprinkles me over with pipe-clay, till I shines +like a Tommy's cross-belts. + +"Upon my word!" says Jimmy Jocks when he first sees me. "What a swell +you are! You're the image of your grand-dad when he made his debut at +the Crystal Palace. He took four firsts and three specials." But I knew +he was only trying to throw heart into me. They might scrub, and they +might rub, and they might pipe-clay, but they couldn't pipe-clay the +insides of me, and they was black-and-tan. + +Then we came to a Garden, which it was not, but the biggest hall in the +world. Inside there was lines of benches, a few miles long, and on them +sat every dog in the world. If all the dog-snatchers in Montreal had +worked night and day for a year, they couldn't have caught so many dogs. +And they was all shouting and barking and howling so vicious, that my +heart stopped beating. For at first I thought they was all enraged at my +presuming to intrude, but after I got in my place, they kept at it just +the same, barking at every dog as he come in; daring him to fight, and +ordering him out, and asking him what breed of dog he thought he was, +anyway. Jimmy Jocks was chained just behind me, and he said he never see +so fine a show. "That's a hot class you're in, my lad," he says, looking +over into my street, where there were thirty bull-terriers. They was all +as white as cream, and each so beautiful that if I could have broke +my chain, I would have run all the way home and hid myself under the +horse-trough. + +All night long they talked and sang, and passed greetings with old +pals, and the home-sick puppies howled dismal. Them that couldn't sleep +wouldn't let no others sleep, and all the electric lights burned in the +roof, and in my eyes. I could hear Jimmy Jocks snoring peaceful, but I +could only doze by jerks, and when I dozed I dreamed horrible. All the +dogs in the hall seemed coming at me for daring to intrude, with their +jaws red and open, and their eyes blazing like the lights in the roof. +"You're a street-dog! Get out, you street-dog!" they yells. And as they +drives me out, the pipe-clay drops off me, and they laugh and shriek; +and when I looks down I see that I have turned into a black-and-tan. + +They was most awful dreams, and next morning, when Miss Dorothy comes +and gives me water in a pan, I begs and begs her to take me home, but +she can't understand. "How well Kid is!" she says. And when I jumps into +the Master's arms, and pulls to break my chain, he says, "If he knew +all as he had against him, Miss, he wouldn't be so gay." And from a book +they reads out the names of the beautiful high-bred terriers which I +have got to meet. And I can't make 'em understand that I only want to +run away, and hide myself where no one will see me. + +Then suddenly men comes hurrying down our street and begins to brush the +beautiful bull-terriers, and Nolan rubs me with a towel so excited that +his hands trembles awful, and Miss Dorothy tweaks my ears between her +gloves, so that the blood runs to 'em, and they turn pink and stand up +straight and sharp. + +"Now, then, Nolan," says she, her voice shaking just like his fingers, +"keep his head up--and never let the Judge lose sight of him." When I +hears that my legs breaks under me, for I knows all about judges. Twice, +the old Master goes up before the Judge for fighting me with other dogs, +and the Judge promises him if he ever does it again, he'll chain him +up in jail. I knew he'd find me out. A Judge can't be fooled by no +pipe-clay. He can see right through you, and he reads your insides. + +The judging-ring, which is where the Judge holds out, was so like a +fighting-pit, that when I came in it, and find six other dogs there, I +springs into position, so that when they lets us go I can defend myself, +But the Master smoothes down my hair and whispers, "Hold 'ard, Kid, hold +'ard. This ain't a fight," says he. "Look your prettiest," he whispers. +"Please, Kid, look your prettiest," and he pulls my leash so tight that +I can't touch my pats to the sawdust, and my nose goes up in the air. +There was millions of people a-watching us from the railings, and three +of our kennel-men, too, making fun of Nolan and me, and Miss Dorothy +with her chin just reaching to the rail, and her eyes so big that I +thought she was a-going to cry. It was awful to think that when the +Judge stood up and exposed me, all those people, and Miss Dorothy, would +be there to see me driven from the show. + +The Judge, he was a fierce-looking man with specs on his nose, and a red +beard. When I first come in he didn't see me owing to my being too quick +for him and dodging behind the Master. But when the Master drags me +round and I pulls at the sawdust to keep back, the Judge looks at us +careless-like, and then stops and glares through his specs, and I knew +it was all up with me. + +"Are there any more?" asks the Judge, to the gentleman at the gate, but +never taking his specs from me. + +The man at the gate looks in his book. "Seven in the novice-class," says +he. "They're all here. You can go ahead," and he shuts the gate. + +The Judge, he doesn't hesitate a moment. He just waves his hand toward +the corner of the ring. "Take him away," he says to the Master. "Over +there and keep him away," and he turns and looks most solemn at the six +beautiful bull-terriers. I don't know how I crawled to that corner. +I wanted to scratch under the sawdust and dig myself a grave. The +kennel-men they slapped the rail with their hands and laughed at the +Master like they would fall over. They pointed at me in the corner, and +their sides just shaked. But little Miss Dorothy she presses her lips +tight against the rail, and I see tears rolling from her eyes. The +Master, he hangs his head like he had been whipped. I felt most sorry +for him, than all. He was so red, and he was letting on not to see the +kennel-men, and blinking his eyes. If the Judge had ordered me right +out, it wouldn't have disgraced us so, but it was keeping me there while +he was judging the high-bred dogs that hurt so hard. With all those +people staring too. And his doing it so quick, without no doubt nor +questions. You can't fool the judges. They see insides you. + +But he couldn't make up his mind about them high-bred dogs. He scowls at +'em, and he glares at 'em, first with his head on the one side and then +on the other. And he feels of 'em, and orders 'em to run about. And +Nolan leans against the rails, with his head hung down, and pats me. And +Miss Dorothy comes over beside him, but don't say nothing, only wipes +her eye with her finger. A man on the other side of the rail he says to +the Master, "The Judge don't like your dog?" + +"No," says the Master. + +"Have you ever shown him before?" says the man. + +"No," says the Master, "and I'll never show him again. He's my dog," +says the Master, "an' he suits me! And I don't care what no judges +think." And when he says them kind words, I licks his hand most +grateful. + +The Judge had two of the six dogs on a little platform in the middle of +the ring, and he had chased the four other dogs into the corners, where +they was licking their chops, and letting on they didn't care, same as +Nolan was. + +The two dogs on the platform was so beautiful that the Judge hisself +couldn't tell which was the best of 'em, even when he stoops down and +holds their heads together. But at last he gives a sigh, and brushes the +sawdust off his knees and goes to the table in the ring, where there was +a man keeping score, and heaps and heaps of blue and gold and red and +yellow ribbons. And the Judge picks up a bunch of 'em and walks to the +two gentlemen who was holding the beautiful dogs, and he says to each +"What's his number?" and he hands each gentleman a ribbon. And then he +turned sharp, and comes straight at the Master. + +"What's his number?" says the Judge. And Master was so scared that he +couldn't make no answer. + +But Miss Dorothy claps her hands and cries out like she was laughing, +"Three twenty-six," and the Judge writes it down, and shoves Master the +blue ribbon. + +I bit the Master, and I jumps and bit Miss Dorothy, and I waggled so +hard that the Master couldn't hold me. When I get to the gate Miss +Dorothy snatches me up and kisses me between the ears, right before +millions of people, and they both hold me so tight that I didn't know +which of them was carrying of me. But one thing I knew, for I listened +hard, as it was the Judge hisself as said it. + +"Did you see that puppy I gave 'first' to?" says the Judge to the +gentleman at the gate. + +"I did. He was a bit out of his class," says the gate-gentleman. + +"He certainly was!" says the Judge, and they both laughed. + +But I didn't care. They couldn't hurt me then, not with Nolan holding +the blue ribbon and Miss Dorothy hugging my ears, and the kennel-men +sneaking away, each looking like he'd been caught with his nose under +the lid of the slop-can. + +We sat down together, and we all three just talked as fast as we could. +They was so pleased that I couldn't help feeling proud myself, and I +barked and jumped and leaped about so gay, that all the bull-terriers in +our street stretched on their chains, and howled at me. + +"Just look at him!" says one of those I had beat. "What's he giving +hisself airs about?" + +"Because he's got one blue ribbon!" says another of 'em. "Why, when I +was a puppy I used to eat 'em, and if that Judge could ever learn to +know a toy from a mastiff, I'd have had this one." + +But Jimmy Jocks he leaned over from his bench, and says, "Well done, +Kid. Didn't I tell you so!" What he 'ad told me was that I might get a +"commended," but I didn't remind him. + +"Didn't I tell you," says Jimmy Jocks, "that I saw your grandfather make +his debut at the Crystal--" + +"Yes, sir, you did, sir," says I, for I have no love for the men of my +family. + +A gentleman with a showing leash around his neck comes up just then and +looks at me very critical. "Nice dog you've got, Miss Wyndham," says he; +"would you care to sell him?" + +"He's not my dog," says Miss Dorothy, holding me tight. "I wish he +were." + +"He's not for sale, sir," says the Master, and I was that glad. + +"Oh, he's yours, is he?" says the gentleman, looking hard at Nolan. +"Well, I'll give you a hundred dollars for him," says he, careless-like. + +"Thank you, sir, he's not for sale," says Nolan, but his eyes get very +big. The gentleman, he walked away, but I watches him, and he talks to a +man in a golf-cap, and by and by the man comes along our street, looking +at all the dogs, and stops in front of me. + +"This your dog?" says he to Nolan. "Pity he's so leggy," says he. "If he +had a good tail, and a longer stop, and his ears were set higher, he'd +be a good dog. As he is, I'll give you fifty dollars for him." + +But before the Master could speak, Miss Dorothy laughs, and says, +"You're Mr. Polk's kennel-man, I believe. Well, you tell Mr. Polk from +me that the dog's not for sale now any more than he was five minutes +ago, and that when he is, he'll have to bid against me for him." The man +looks foolish at that, but he turns to Nolan quick-like. "I'll give you +three hundred for him," he says. + +"Oh, indeed!" whispers Miss Dorothy, like she was talking to herself. +"That's it, is it," and she turns and looks at me just as though she had +never seen me before. Nolan, he was a gaping, too, with his mouth open. +But he holds me tight. + +"He's not for sale," he growls, like he was frightened, and the man +looks black and walks away. + +"Why, Nolan!" cries Miss Dorothy, "Mr. Polk knows more about +bull-terriers than any amateur in America. What can he mean? Why, Kid is +no more than a puppy! Three hundred dollars for a puppy!" + +"And he ain't no thoroughbred neither!" cries the Master. "He's +'Unknown,' ain't he? Kid can't help it, of course, but his mother, +Miss--" + +I dropped my head. I couldn't bear he should tell Miss Dorothy. I +couldn't bear she should know I had stolen my blue ribbon. + +But the Master never told, for at that, a gentleman runs up, calling, +"Three Twenty-Six, Three Twenty-Six," and Miss Dorothy says, "Here he +is, what is it?" + +"The Winner's Class," says the gentleman "Hurry, please. The Judge is +waiting for him." + +Nolan tries to get me off the chain onto a showing leash, but he shakes +so, he only chokes me. "What is it, Miss?" he says. "What is it?" + +"The Winner's Class," says Miss Dorothy. "The Judge wants him with the +winners of the other classes--to decide which is the best. It's only a +form," says she. "He has the champions against him now." + +"Yes," says the gentleman, as he hurries us to the ring. "I'm afraid +it's only a form for your dog, but the Judge wants all the winners, +puppy class even." + +We had got to the gate, and the gentleman there was writing down my +number. + +"Who won the open?" asks Miss Dorothy. + +"Oh, who would?" laughs the gentleman. "The old champion, of course. +He's won for three years now. There he is. Isn't he wonderful?" says he, +and he points to a dog that's standing proud and haughty on the platform +in the middle of the ring. + +I never see so beautiful a dog, so fine and clean and noble, so white +like he had rolled hisself in flour, holding his nose up and his eyes +shut, same as though no one was worth looking at. Aside of him, we other +dogs, even though we had a blue ribbon apiece, seemed like lumps of mud. +He was a royal gentleman, a king, he was. His Master didn't have to hold +his head with no leash. He held it hisself, standing as still as an iron +dog on a lawn, like he knew all the people was looking at him. And so +they was, and no one around the ring pointed at no other dog but him. + +"Oh, what a picture," cried Miss Dorothy; "he's like a marble figure by +a great artist--one who loved dogs. Who is he?" says she, looking in her +book. "I don't keep up with terriers." + +"Oh, you know him," says the gentleman. "He is the Champion of +champions, Regent Royal." + +The Master's face went red. + +"And this is Regent Royal's son," cries he, and he pulls me quick into +the ring, and plants me on the platform next my father. + +I trembled so that I near fall. My legs twisted like a leash. But my +father he never looked at me. He only smiled, the same sleepy smile, and +he still keep his eyes half-shut, like as no one, no, not even his son, +was worth his lookin' at. + +The Judge, he didn't let me stay beside my father, but, one by one, he +placed the other dogs next to him and measured and felt and pulled at +them. And each one he put down, but he never put my father down. And +then he comes over and picks up me and sets me back on the platform, +shoulder to shoulder with the Champion Regent Royal, and goes down on +his knees, and looks into our eyes. + +The gentleman with my father, he laughs, and says to the Judge, +"Thinking of keeping us here all day. John?" but the Judge, he doesn't +hear him, and goes behind us and runs his hand down my side, and holds +back my ears, and takes my jaws between his fingers. The crowd around +the ring is very deep now, and nobody says nothing. The gentleman at the +score-table, he is leaning forward, with his elbows on his knees, and +his eyes very wide, and the gentleman at the gate is whispering quick to +Miss Dorothy, who has turned white. I stood as stiff as stone. I didn't +even breathe. But out of the corner of my eye I could see my father +licking his pink chops, and yawning just a little, like he was bored. + +The Judge, he had stopped looking fierce, and was looking solemn. +Something inside him seemed a troubling him awful. The more he stares +at us now, the more solemn he gets, and when he touches us he does +it gentle, like he was patting us. For a long time he kneels in the +sawdust, looking at my father and at me, and no one around the ring says +nothing to nobody. + +Then the Judge takes a breath and touches me sudden. "It's his," he +says, but he lays his hand just as quick on my father. "I'm sorry," says +he. + +The gentleman holding my father cries: + +"Do you mean to tell me--" + +And the Judge, he answers, "I mean the other is the better dog." He +takes my father's head between his hands and looks down at him, most +sorrowful. "The King is dead," says he, "long live the King. Good-by, +Regent," he says. + +The crowd around the railings clapped their hands, and some laughed +scornful, and everyone talks fast, and I start for the gate so dizzy +that I can't see my way. But my father pushes in front of me, walking +very daintily, and smiling sleepy, same as he had just been waked, with +his head high, and his eyes shut, looking at nobody. + +So that is how I "came by my inheritance," as Miss Dorothy calls it, +and just for that, though I couldn't feel where I was any different, the +crowd follows me to my bench, and pats me, and coos at me, like I was a +baby in a baby-carriage. And the handlers have to hold 'em back so that +the gentlemen from the papers can make pictures of me, and Nolan walks +me up and down so proud, and the men shakes their heads and says, "He +certainly is the true type, he is!" And the pretty ladies asks Miss +Dorothy, who sits beside me letting me lick her gloves to show the crowd +what friends we is, "Aren't you afraid he'll bite you?" and Jimmy Jocks +calls to me, "Didn't I tell you so! I always knew you were one of us. +Blood will out, Kid, blood will out. I saw your grandfather," says he, +"make his debut at the Crystal Palace. But he was never the dog you +are!" + +After that, if I could have asked for it, there was nothing I couldn't +get. You might have thought I was a snow-dog, and they was afeerd I'd +melt. If I wet my pats, Nolan gave me a hot bath and chained me to the +stove; if I couldn't eat my food, being stuffed full by the cook, for +I am a house-dog now, and let in to lunch whether there is visitors or +not, Nolan would run to bring the vet. It was all tommy-rot, as Jimmy +says, but meant most kind. I couldn't scratch myself comfortable, +without Nolan giving me nasty drinks, and rubbing me outside till it +burnt awful, and I wasn't let to eat bones for fear of spoiling my +"beautiful" mouth, what mother used to call my "punishing jaw," and my +food was cooked special on a gas-stove, and Miss Dorothy gives me an +overcoat, cut very stylish like the champions', to wear when we goes out +carriage-driving. + +After the next show, where I takes three blue ribbons, four silver cups, +two medals, and brings home forty-five dollars for Nolan, they gives +me a "Registered" name, same as Jimmy's. Miss Dorothy wanted to call me +"Regent Heir Apparent," but I was THAT glad when Nolan says, "No, Kid +don't owe nothing to his father, only to you and hisself. So, if you +please, Miss, we'll call him Wyndham Kid." And so they did, and you can +see it on my overcoat in blue letters, and painted top of my kennel. It +was all too hard to understand. For days I just sat and wondered if I +was really me, and how it all come about, and why everybody was so kind. +But, oh, it was so good they was, for if they hadn't been, I'd never +have got the thing I most wished after. But, because they was kind, and +not liking to deny me nothing, they gave it me, and it was more to me +than anything in the world. + +It came about one day when we was out driving. We was in the cart they +calls the dog-cart, because it's the one Miss Dorothy keeps to take +Jimmy and me for an airing. Nolan was up behind, and me in my new +overcoat was sitting beside Miss Dorothy. I was admiring the view, and +thinking how good it was to have a horse pull you about so that you +needn't get yourself splashed and have to be washed, when I hears a +dog calling loud for help, and I pricks up my ears and looks over the +horse's head. And I sees something that makes me tremble down to my +toes. In the road before us three big dogs was chasing a little, old +lady-dog. She had a string to her tail, where some boys had tied a can, +and she was dirty with mud and ashes, and torn most awful. She was too +far done up to get away, and too old to help herself, but she was making +a fight for her life, snapping her old gums savage, and dying game. All +this I see in a wink, and then the three dogs pinned her down, and I +can't stand it no longer and clears the wheel and lands in the road on +my head. It was my stylish overcoat done that, and I curse it proper, +but I gets my pats again quick, and makes a rush for the fighting. +Behind me I hear Miss Dorothy cry, "They'll kill that old dog. Wait, +take my whip. Beat them off her! The Kid can take care of himself," and +I hear Nolan fall into the road, and the horse come to a stop. The old +lady-dog was down, and the three was eating her vicious, but as I come +up, scattering the pebbles, she hears, and thinking it's one more of +them, she lifts her head and my heart breaks open like someone had sunk +his teeth in it. For, under the ashes and the dirt and the blood, I can +see who it is, and I know that my mother has come back to me. + +I gives a yell that throws them three dogs off their legs. + +"Mother!" I cries. "I'm the Kid," I cries. "I'm coming to you, mother, +I'm coming." + +And I shoots over her, at the throat of the big dog, and the other two, +they sinks their teeth into that stylish overcoat, and tears it off me, +and that sets me free, and I lets them have it. I never had so fine a +fight as that! What with mother being there to see, and not having +been let to mix up in no fights since I become a prize-winner, it just +naturally did me good, and it wasn't three shakes before I had 'em +yelping. Quick as a wink, mother, she jumps in to help me, and I just +laughed to see her. It was so like old times. And Nolan, he made me +laugh too. He was like a hen on a bank, shaking the butt of his whip, +but not daring to cut in for fear of hitting me. + +"Stop it, Kid," he says, "stop it. Do you want to be all torn up?" says +he. "Think of the Boston show next week," says he, "Think of Chicago. +Think of Danbury. Don't you never want to be a champion?" How was I to +think of all them places when I had three dogs to cut up at the same +time. But in a minute two of 'em begs for mercy, and mother and me lets +'em run away. The big one, he ain't able to run away. Then mother and +me, we dances and jumps, and barks and laughs, and bites each other and +rolls each other in the road. There never was two dogs so happy as we, +and Nolan, he whistles and calls and begs me to come to him, but I just +laugh and play larks with mother. + +"Now, you come with me," says I, "to my new home, and never try to run +away again." And I shows her our house with the five red roofs, set on +the top of the hill. But mother trembles awful, and says: "They'd never +let the likes of me in such a place. Does the Viceroy live there, Kid?" +says she. And I laugh at her. "No, I do," I says; "and if they won't let +you live there, too, you and me will go back to the streets together, +for we must never be parted no more." So we trots up the hill, side by +side, with Nolan trying to catch me, and Miss Dorothy laughing at him +from the cart. + +"The Kid's made friends with the poor old dog," says she. "Maybe he knew +her long ago when he ran the streets himself. Put her in here beside me, +and see if he doesn't follow." + +So, when I hears that, I tells mother to go with Nolan and sit in the +cart, but she says no, that she'd soil the pretty lady's frock; but I +tells her to do as I say, and so Nolan lifts her, trembling still, into +the cart, and I runs alongside, barking joyful. + +When we drives into the stables I takes mother to my kennel, and tells +her to go inside it and make herself at home. "Oh, but he won't let me!" +says she. + +"Who won't let you?" says I, keeping my eye on Nolan, and growling a bit +nasty, just to show I was meaning to have my way. "Why, Wyndham Kid," +says she, looking up at the name on my kennel. + +"But I'm Wyndham Kid!" says I. + +"You!" cries mother. "You! Is my little Kid the great Wyndham Kid the +dogs all talk about?" And at that, she, being very old, and sick, and +hungry, and nervous, as mothers are, just drops down in the straw and +weeps bitter. + +Well, there ain't much more than that to tell. Miss Dorothy, she settled +it. + +"If the Kid wants the poor old thing in the stables," says she, "let her +stay." + +"You see," says she, "she's a black-and-tan, and his mother was a +black-and-tan, and maybe that's what makes Kid feel so friendly toward +her," says she. + +"Indeed, for me," says Nolan, "she can have the best there is. I'd never +drive out no dog that asks for a crust nor a shelter," he says. "But +what will Mr. Wyndham do?" + +"He'll do what I say," says Miss Dorothy, "and if I say she's to stay, +she will stay, and I say--she's to stay!" + +And so mother and Nolan, and me, found a home. Mother was scared at +first--not being used to kind people--but she was so gentle and loving, +that the grooms got fonder of her than of me, and tried to make me +jealous by patting of her, and giving her the pick of the vittles. But +that was the wrong way to hurt my feelings. That's all, I think. Mother +is so happy here that I tell her we ought to call it the Happy Hunting +Grounds, because no one hunts you, and there is nothing to hunt; it just +all comes to you. And so we live in peace, mother sleeping all day in +the sun, or behind the stove in the head-groom's office, being fed +twice a day regular by Nolan, and all the day by the other grooms most +irregular, And, as for me, I go hurrying around the country to the +bench-shows; winning money and cups for Nolan, and taking the blue +ribbons away from father. + + + + + + +A DERELICT + + +When the war-ships of a navy lie cleared for action outside a harbor, +and the war-ships of the country with which they are at war lie cleared +for action inside the harbor, there is likely to be trouble. Trouble +between war-ships is news, and wherever there is news there is always a +representative of the Consolidated Press. + +As long as Sampson blockaded Havana and the army beat time back of the +Tampa Bay Hotel, the central office for news was at Key West, but +when Cervera slipped into Santiago Harbor and Sampson stationed his +battle-ships at its mouth, Key West lost her only excuse for existence, +and the press-boats burled their bows in the waters of the Florida +Straits and raced for the cable-station at Port Antonio. It was then +that Keating, the "star" man of the Consolidated Press Syndicate, was +forced to abandon his young bride and the rooms he had engaged for her +at the Key West Hotel, and accompany his tug to the distant island of +Jamaica. + +Keating was a good and faithful servant to the Consolidated Press. He +was a correspondent after its own making, an industrious collector of +facts. The Consolidated Press did not ask him to comment on what it +sent him to see; it did not require nor desire his editorial opinions or +impressions. It was no part of his work to go into the motives which led +to the event of news interest which he was sent to report, nor to point +out what there was of it which was dramatic, pathetic, or outrageous. + +The Consolidated Press, being a mighty corporation, which daily fed +seven hundred different newspapers, could not hope to please the policy +of each, so it compromised by giving the facts of the day fairly set +down, without heat, prejudice, or enthusiasm. This was an excellent +arrangement for the papers that subscribed for the service of the +Consolidated Press, but it was death to the literary strivings of the +Consolidated Press correspondents. + +"We do not want descriptive writing," was the warning which the manager +of the great syndicate was always flashing to its correspondents. "We do +not pay you to send us pen-pictures or prose poems. We want the facts, +all the facts, and nothing but the facts." + +And so, when at a presidential convention a theatrical speaker sat down +after calling James G. Blaine "a plumed knight," each of the "special" +correspondents present wrote two columns in an effort to describe +how the people who heard the speech behaved in consequence, but the +Consolidated Press man telegraphed, "At the conclusion of these remarks +the cheering lasted sixteen minutes." + +No event of news value was too insignificant to escape the watchfulness +of the Consolidated Press, none so great that it could not handle it +from its inception up to the moment when it ceased to be quoted in the +news-market of the world. Each night, from thousands of spots all over +the surface of the globe, it received thousands of facts, of cold, +accomplished facts. It knew that a tidal wave had swept through China, a +cabinet had changed in Chili, in Texas an express train had been held up +and robbed, "Spike" Kennedy had defeated the "Dutchman" in New Orleans, +the Oregon had coaled outside of Rio Janeiro Harbor, the Cape Verde +fleet had been seen at anchor off Cadiz; it had been located in the +harbor of San Juan, Porto Rico; it had been sighted steaming slowly past +Fortress Monroe; and the Navy Department reported that the St. Paul had +discovered the lost squadron of Spain in the harbor of Santiago. This +last fact was the one which sent Keating to Jamaica. Where he was sent +was a matter of indifference to Keating. He had worn the collar of +the Consolidated Press for so long a time that he was callous. A board +meeting--a mine disaster--an Indian uprising--it was all one to Keating. +He collected facts and his salary. He had no enthusiasms, he held no +illusions. The prestige of the mammoth syndicate he represented gained +him an audience where men who wrote for one paper only were repulsed on +the threshold. Senators, governors, the presidents of great trusts and +railroad systems, who fled from the reporter of a local paper as from +a leper, would send for Keating and dictate to him whatever it was they +wanted the people of the United States to believe, for when they talked +to Keating they talked to many millions of readers. Keating, in turn, +wrote out what they had said to him and transmitted it, without color or +bias, to the clearinghouse of the Consolidated Press. His "stories," +as all newspaper writings are called by men who write them, were as +picturesque reading as the quotations of a stock-ticker. The personal +equation appeared no more offensively than it does in a page of +typewriting in his work. + +Consequently, he was dear to the heart of the Consolidated Press, and, +as a "safe" man, was sent to the beautiful harbor of Santiago--to a spot +where there were war-ships cleared for action, Cubans in ambush, +naked marines fighting for a foothold at Guantanamo, palm-trees and +coral-reefs--in order that he might look for "facts." + +There was not a newspaper man left at Key West who did not writhe with +envy and anger when he heard of it. When the wire was closed for +the night, and they had gathered at Josh Kerry's, Keating was the +storm-centre of their indignation. + +"What a chance!" they protested. "What a story! It's the chance of a +lifetime." They shook their heads mournfully and lashed themselves with +pictures of its possibilities. + +"And just fancy its being wasted on old Keating," said the Journal man. +"Why, everything's likely to happen out there, and whatever does happen, +he'll make it read like a Congressional Record. Why, when I heard of it +I cabled the office that if the paper would send me I'd not ask for any +salary for six months." + +"And Keating's kicking because he has to go," growled the Sun man. "Yes, +he is, I saw him last night, and he was sore because he'd just moved his +wife down here. He said if he'd known this was coming he'd have let her +stay in New York. He says he'll lose money on this assignment, having to +support himself and his wife in two different places." + +Norris, "the star man" of the World, howled with indignation. + +"Good Lord!" he said, "is that all he sees in it? Why, there never was +such a chance. I tell you, some day soon all of those war-ships will let +loose at each other and there will be the best story that ever came over +the wire, and if there isn't, it's a regular loaf anyway. It's a picnic, +that's what it is, at the expense of the Consolidated Press. Why, +he ought to pay them to let him go. Can't you see him, confound him, +sitting under a palm-tree in white flannels, with a glass of Jamaica rum +in his fist, while we're dodging yellow fever on this coral-reef, and +losing our salaries on a crooked roulette-wheel." + +"I wonder what Jamaica rum is like as a steady drink," mused the +ex-baseball reporter, who had been converted into a war-correspondent by +the purchase of a white yachting-cap. + +"It won't be long before Keating finds out," said the Journal man. + +"Oh, I didn't know that," ventured the new reporter, who had just come +South from Boston. "I thought he didn't drink. I never see Keating in +here with the rest of the boys." + +"You wouldn't," said Norris. "He only comes in here by himself, and he +drinks by himself. He's one of those confidential drunkards, You give +some men whiskey, and it's like throwing kerosene on a fire, isn't it? +It makes them wave their arms about and talk loud and break things, but +you give it to another man and it's like throwing kerosene on a cork +mat. It just soaks in. That's what Keating is. He's a sort of a cork +mat." + +"I shouldn't think the C. P. would stand for that," said the Boston man. + +"It wouldn't, if it ever interfered with his work, but he's never fallen +down on a story yet. And the sort of stuff he writes is machine-made; a +man can write C. P. stuff in his sleep." + +One of the World men looked up and laughed. + +"I wonder if he'll run across Channing out there," he said. The men at +the table smiled, a kindly, indulgent smile. The name seemed to act +upon their indignation as a shower upon the close air of a summer-day. +"That's so," said Norris. "He wrote me last month from Port-au-Prince +that he was moving on to Jamaica. He wrote me from that club there at +the end of the wharf. He said he was at that moment introducing the +President to a new cocktail, and as he had no money to pay his passage +to Kingston he was trying to persuade him to send him on there as his +Haitian Consul. He said in case he couldn't get appointed Consul, he had +an offer to go as cook on a fruit-tramp." + +The men around the table laughed. It was the pleased, proud laugh that +flutters the family dinner-table when the infant son and heir says +something precocious and impudent. + +"Who is Channing?" asked the Boston man. + +There was a pause, and the correspondents looked at Norris. + +"Channing is a sort of a derelict," he said. "He drifted into New York +last Christmas from the Omaha Bee. He's been on pretty nearly every +paper in the country." + +"What's he doing in Haiti?" + +"He went there on the Admiral Decatur to write a filibustering story +about carrying arms across to Cuba. Then the war broke out and he's +been trying to get back to Key West, and now, of course, he'll make for +Kingston. He cabled me yesterday, at my expense, to try and get him a +job on our paper. If the war hadn't come on he had a plan to beat his +way around the world. And he'd have done it, too. I never saw a man who +wouldn't help Charlie along, or lend him a dollar." He glanced at the +faces about him and winked at the Boston man. "They all of them look +guilty, don't they?" he said. + +"Charlie Channing," murmured the baseball reporter, gently, as though +he were pronouncing the name of a girl. He raised his glass. "Here's +to Charlie Channing," he repeated. Norris set down his empty glass and +showed it to the Boston man. + +"That's his only enemy," he said. "Write! Heavens, how that man can +write, and he'd almost rather do anything else. There isn't a paper in +New York that wasn't glad to get him, but they couldn't keep him a +week. It was no use talking to him. Talk! I've talked to him until three +o'clock in the morning. Why, it was I made him send his first Chinatown +story to the International Magazine, and they took it like a flash and +wrote him for more, but he blew in the check they sent him and didn't +even answer their letter. He said after he'd had the fun of writing a +story, he didn't care whether it was published in a Sunday paper or in +white vellum, or never published at all. And so long as he knew he wrote +it, he didn't care whether anyone else knew it or not. Why, when that +English reviewer--what's his name--that friend of Kipling's--passed +through New York, he said to a lot of us at the Press Club, 'You've got +a young man here on Park Row--an opium-eater, I should say, by the look +of him, who if he would work and leave whiskey alone, would make us all +sweat.' That's just what he said, and he's the best in England!" + +"Charlie's a genius," growled the baseball reporter, defiantly. "I say, +he's a genius." + +The Boston man shook his head. "My boy," he began, sententiously, +"genius is nothing more than hard work, and a man--" + +Norris slapped the table with his hand. + +"Oh, no, it's not," he jeered, fiercely, "and don't you go off believing +it is, neither. I've worked. I've worked twelve hours a day. Keating +even has worked eighteen hours a day--all his life--but we never wrote +'The Passing of the Highbinders,' nor the 'Ships that Never Came +Home,' nor 'Tales of the Tenderloin,' and we never will. I'm a better +news-gatherer than Charlie, I can collect facts and I can put them +together well enough, too, so that if a man starts to read my story +he'll probably follow it to the bottom of the column, and he may turn +over the page, too. But I can't say the things, because I can't see +the things that Charlie sees. Why, one night we sent him out on a big +railroad-story. It was a beat, we'd got it by accident, and we had it +all to ourselves, but Charlie came across a blind beggar on Broadway +with a dead dog. The dog had been run over, and the blind beggar +couldn't find his way home without him, and was sitting on the +curb-stone, weeping over the mongrel. Well, when Charlie came back to +the office he said he couldn't find out anything about that railroad +deal, but that he'd write them a dog-story. Of course, they were raging +crazy, but he sat down just as though it was no concern of his, and, +sure enough, he wrote the dog-story. And the next day over five hundred +people stopped in at the office on their way downtown and left dimes and +dollars to buy that man a new dog. Now, hard work won't do that." + +Keating had been taking breakfast in the ward-room of H. M. S. +Indefatigable. As an acquaintance the officers had not found him an +undoubted acquisition, but he was the representative of seven hundred +papers, and when the Indefatigable's ice-machine broke, he had loaned +the officers' mess a hundred pounds of it from his own boat. + +The cruiser's gig carried Keating to the wharf, the crew tossed their +oars and the boatswain touched his cap and asked, mechanically, "Shall I +return to the ship, sir?" + +Channing, stretched on the beach, with his back to a palm-tree, observed +the approach of Keating with cheerful approbation. + +"It is gratifying to me," he said, "to see the press treated with such +consideration. You came in just like Cleopatra in her barge. If the flag +had been flying, and you hadn't steered so badly, I should have thought +you were at least an admiral. How many guns does the British Navy give a +Consolidated Press reporter when he comes over the side?" + +Keating dropped to the sand and, crossing his legs under him, began +tossing shells at the water. + +"They gave this one a damned good breakfast," he said, "and some very +excellent white wine. Of course, the ice-machine was broken, it always +is, but then Chablis never should be iced, if it's the real thing." + +"Chablis! Ice! Hah!" snorted Channing. "Listen to him! Do you know what +I had for breakfast?" + +Keating turned away uncomfortably and looked toward the ships in the +harbor. + +"Well, never mind," said Channing, yawning luxuriously. "The sun is +bright, the sea is blue, and the confidences of this old palm are +soothing. He's a great old gossip, this palm." He looked up into the +rustling fronds and smiled. "He whispers me to sleep," he went on, +"or he talks me awake--talks about all sorts of things--things he has +seen--cyclones, wrecks, and strange ships and Cuban refugees and +Spanish spies and lovers that meet here on moonlight nights. It's always +moonlight in Port Antonio, isn't it?" + +"You ought to know, you've been here longer than I," said Keating. + +"And how do you like it, now that you have got to know it better? Pretty +heavenly? eh?" + +"Pretty heavenly!" snorted Keating. "Pretty much the other place! What +good am I doing? What's the sense of keeping me here? Cervera isn't +going to come out, and the people at Washington won't let Sampson go in. +Why, those ships have been there a month now, and they'll be there just +where they are now when you and I are bald. I'm no use here. All I do +is to thrash across there every day and eat up more coal than the whole +squadron burns in a month. Why, that tug of mine's costing the C. P. six +hundred dollars a day, and I'm not sending them news enough to pay for +setting it up. Have you seen 'em yet?" + +"Seen what? Your stories?" + +"No, the ships!" + +"Yes, Scudder took me across once in the Iduna. I haven't got a paper +yet, so I couldn't write anything, but--" + +"Well, you've seen all there is to it, then; you wouldn't see any more +if you went over every day. It's just the same old harbor-mouth, and +the same old Morro Castle, and same old ships, drifting up and down; the +Brooklyn, full of smoke-stacks, and the New York, with her two bridges, +and all the rest of them looking just as they've looked for the last +four weeks. There's nothing in that. Why don't they send me to Tampa +with the army and Shafter--that's where the story is." + +"Oh, I don't know," said Channing, shaking his head. "I thought it was +bully!" + +"Bully, what was bully?" + +"Oh, the picture," said Channing, doubtfully, "and--and what it meant. +What struck me about it was that it was so hot, and lazy, and peaceful, +that they seemed to be just drifting about, just what you complain of. +I don't know what I expected to see; I think I expected they'd be racing +around in circles, tearing up the water and throwing broadsides at Morro +Castle as fast as fire-crackers. + +"But they lay broiling there in the heat just as though they were +becalmed. They seemed to be asleep on their anchor-chains. It reminded +me of a big bull-dog lying in the sun with his head on his paws and his +eyes shut. You think he's asleep, and you try to tiptoe past him, but +when you're in reach of his chain--he's at your throat, what? It seemed +so funny to think of our being really at war. I mean the United States, +and with such an old-established firm as Spain. It seems so presumptuous +in a young republic, as though we were strutting around, singing, 'I'm +getting a big boy now.' I felt like saying, 'Oh, come off, and stop +playing you're a world power, and get back into your red sash and +knickerbockers, or you'll get spanked!' It seems as though we must be +such a lot of amateurs. But when I went over the side of the New York I +felt like kneeling down on her deck and begging every jackey to kick me. +I felt about as useless as a fly on a locomotive-engine. Amateurs! Why, +they might have been in the business since the days of the ark; all of +them might have been descended from bloody pirates; they twisted those +eight-inch guns around for us just as though they were bicycles, and the +whole ship moved and breathed and thought, too, like a human being, and +all the captains of the other war-ships about her were watching for her +to give the word. All of them stripped and eager and ready--like a lot +of jockeys holding in the big race-horses, and each of them with his +eyes on the starter. And I liked the way they all talk about Sampson, +and the way the ships move over the stations like parts of one machine, +just as he had told them to do. + +"Scudder introduced me to him, and he listened while we did the talking, +but it was easy to see who was the man in the Conning Tower. Keating--my +boy!" Channing cried, sitting upright in his enthusiasm, "he's put a +combination-lock on that harbor that can't be picked--and it'll work +whether Sampson's asleep in his berth, or fifteen miles away, or killed +on the bridge. He doesn't have to worry, he knows his trap will work--he +ought to, he set it." + +Keating shrugged his shoulders, tolerantly. + +"Oh, I see that side of it," he assented. "I see all there is in it for +YOU, the sort of stuff you write, Sunday-special stuff, but there's no +NEWS in it. I'm not paid to write mail-letters, and I'm not down here to +interview palm-trees either." + +"Why, you old fraud!" laughed Channing. "You know you're having the time +of your life here. You're the pet of Kingston society--you know you +are. I only wish I were half as popular. I don't seem to belong, do I? I +guess it's my clothes. That English Colonel at Kingston always scowls +at me as though he'd like to put me in irons, and whenever I meet our +Consul he sees something very peculiar on the horizon-line." + +Keating frowned for a moment in silence, and then coughed, consciously. + +"Channing," he began, uncomfortably, "you ought to brace up." + +"Brace up?" asked Channing. + +"Well, it isn't fair to the rest of us," protested Keating, launching +into his grievance. "There's only a few of us here, and we--we think +you ought to see that and not give the crowd a bad name. All the other +correspondents have some regard for--for their position and for the +paper, but you loaf around here looking like an old tramp--like any +old beach-comber, and it queers the rest of us. Why, those English +artillerymen at the Club asked me about you, and when I told them +you were a New York correspondent they made all sorts of jokes about +American newspapers, and what could I say?" + +Channing eyed the other man with keen delight. + +"I see, by Jove! I'm sorry," he said. But the next moment he laughed, +and then apologized, remorsefully. + +"Indeed, I beg your pardon," he begged, "but it struck me as a sort +of--I had no idea you fellows were such swells--I knew I was a social +outcast, but I didn't know my being a social outcast was hurting anyone +else. Tell me some more." + +"Well, that's all," said Keating, suspiciously. "The fellows asked me +to speak to you about it and to tell you to take a brace. Now, for +instance, we have a sort of mess-table at the hotels and we'd like to +ask you to belong, but--well--you see how it is--we have the officers +to lunch whenever they're on shore, and you're so disreputable"--Keating +scowled at Channing, and concluded, impotently, "Why don't you get +yourself some decent clothes and--and a new hat?" + +Channing removed his hat to his knee and stroked it with affectionate +pity. + +"It is a shocking bad hat," he said. "Well, go on." + +"Oh, it's none of my business," exclaimed Keating, impatiently. "I'm +just telling you what they're saying. Now, there's the Cuban refugees, +for instance. No one knows what they're doing here, or whether they're +real Cubans or Spaniards." + +"Well, what of it?" + +"Why, the way you go round with them and visit them, it's no wonder they +say you're a spy." + +Channing stared incredulously, and then threw back his head and laughed +with a shout of delight. + +"They don't, do they?" he asked. + +"Yes, they do, since you think it's so funny. If it hadn't been for +us the day you went over to Guantanamo the marines would have had you +arrested and court-martialed." + +Channing's face clouded with a quick frown, "Oh," he exclaimed, in a +hurt voice, "they couldn't have thought that." + +"Well, no," Keating admitted grudgingly, "not after the fight, perhaps, +but before that, when you were snooping around the camp like a Cuban +after rations." Channing recognized the picture with a laugh. + +"I do," he said, "I do. But you should have had me court-martialed and +shot; it would have made a good story. 'Our reporter shot as a spy, his +last words were--' what were my last words, Keating?" + +Keating turned upon him with impatience, "But why do you do it?" he +demanded. "Why don't you act like the rest of us? Why do you hang out +with all those filibusters and runaway Cubans?" + +"They have been very kind to me," said Channing, soberly. "They are a +very courteous race, and they have ideas of hospitality which make the +average New Yorker look like a dog hiding a bone." + +"Oh, I suppose you mean that for us," demanded Keating. "That's a slap +at me, eh?" + +Channing gave a sigh and threw himself back against the trunk of the +palm, with his hands clasped behind his head. + +"Oh, I wasn't thinking of you at all, Keating," he said. "I don't +consider you in the least." He stretched himself and yawned wearily. +"I've got troubles of my own." He sat up suddenly and adjusted the +objectionable hat to his head. + +"Why don't you wire the C. P.," he asked, briskly, "and see if they +don't want an extra man? It won't cost you anything to wire, and I need +the job, and I haven't the money to cable." + +"The Consolidated Press," began Keating, jealously. "Why--well, you know +what the Consolidated Press is? They don't want descriptive writers--and +I've got all the men I need." + +Keating rose and stood hesitating in some embarrassment. "I'll tell you +what I could do, Channing," he said, "I could take you on as a stoker, +or steward, say. They're always deserting and mutinying; I have to carry +a gun on me to make them mind. How would you like that? Forty dollars a +month, and eat with the crew?" + +For a moment Channing stood in silence, smoothing the sand with the sole +of his shoe. When he raised his head his face was flushing. + +"Oh, thank you," he said. "I think I'll keep on trying for a paper--I'll +try a little longer. I want to see something of this war, of course, and +if I'm not too lazy I'd like to write something about it, but--well--I'm +much obliged to you, anyway." + +"Of course, if it were my money, I'd take you on at once," said Keating, +hurriedly. + +Channing smiled and nodded. "You're very kind," he answered. "Well, +good-by." + +A half-hour later, in the smoking-room of the hotel, Keating addressed +himself to a group of correspondents. + +"There is no doing anything with that man Channing," he said, in a tone +of offended pride. "I offered him a good job and he wouldn't take it. +Because he got a story in the International Magazine, he's stuck on +himself, and he won't hustle for news--he wants to write pipe-dreams. +What the public wants just now is news." + +"That's it," said one of the group, "and we must give it to them--even +if we have to fake it." + +Great events followed each other with great rapidity. The army ceased +beating time, shook itself together, adjusted its armor and moved, and, +to the delight of the flotilla of press-boats at Port Antonio, moved, +not as it had at first intended, to the north coast of Cuba, but to +Santiago, where its transports were within reach of their megaphones. + +"Why, everything's coming our way now!" exclaimed the World manager +in ecstasy. "We've got the transports to starboard at Siboney, and the +war-ships to port at Santiago, and all we'll need to do is to sit on the +deck with a field-glass, and take down the news with both hands." + +Channing followed these events with envy. Once or twice, as a special +favor, the press-boats carried him across to Siboney and Daiquiri, and +he was able to write stories of what he saw there; of the landing of the +army, of the wounded after the Guasimas fight, and of the fever-camp at +Siboney. His friends on the press-boats sent this work home by mail on +the chance that the Sunday editor might take it at space rates. But mail +matter moved slowly and the army moved quickly, and events crowded so +closely upon each other that Channing's stories, when they reached New +York, were ancient history and were unpublished, and, what was of more +importance to him, unpaid for. He had no money now, and he had become +a beach-comber in the real sense of the word. He slept the warm nights +away among the bananas and cocoanuts on the Fruit Company's wharf, +and by calling alternately on his Cuban exiles and the different +press-boats, he was able to obtain a meal a day without arousing any +suspicions in the minds of his hosts that it was his only one. + +He was sitting on the stringer of the pier-head one morning, waiting for +a press-boat from the "front," when the Three Friends ran in and lowered +her dingy, and the "World" manager came ashore, clasping a precious +bundle of closely written cable-forms. Channing scrambled to his feet +and hailed him. + +"Have you heard from the chief about me yet?" he asked. The "World" man +frowned and stammered, and then, taking Channing by the arm, hurried +with him toward the cable-office. + +"Charlie, I think they're crazy up there," he began, "they think they +know it all. Here I am on the spot, but they think--" + +"You mean they won't have me," said Channing. "But why?" he asked, +patiently. "They used to give me all the space I wanted." + +"Yes, I know, confound them, and so they should now," said the "World" +man, with sympathetic indignation. "But here's their cable; you can see +it's not my fault." He read the message aloud. "Channing, no. Not safe, +take reliable man from Siboney." He folded the cablegram around a dozen +others and stuck it back in his hip-pocket. + +"What queered you, Charlie," he explained, importantly, "was that last +break of yours, New Year's, when you didn't turn up for a week. It +was once too often, and the chief's had it in for you ever since. You +remember?" + +Channing screwed up his lips in an effort of recollection. + +"Yes, I remember," he answered, slowly. "It began on New Year's eve in +Perry's drug-store, and I woke up a week later in a hack in Boston. So +I didn't have such a run for my money, did I? Not good enough to have to +pay for it like this. I tell you," he burst out suddenly, "I feel like +hell being left out of this war, with all the rest of the boys working +so hard. If it weren't playing it low down on the fellows that have been +in it from the start, I'd like to enlist. But they enlisted for glory, +and I'd only do it because I can't see the war any other way, and it +doesn't seem fair to them. What do you think?" + +"Oh, don't do that," protested the World manager. "You stick to your own +trade. We'll get you something to do. Have you tried the Consolidated +Press yet?" + +Channing smiled grimly at the recollection. + +"Yes, I tried it first." + +"It would be throwing pearls to swine to have you write for them, I +know, but they're using so many men now. I should think you could get on +their boat." + +"No, I saw Keating," Channing explained. "He said I could come along as +a stoker, and I guess I'll take him up, it seems--" + +"Keating said--what?" exclaimed the "World" man. "Keating? Why, he +stands to lose his own job, if he isn't careful. If it wasn't that he's +just married, the C. P. boys would have reported him a dozen times." + +"Reported him, what for?" + +"Why--you know. His old complaint." + +"Oh, that," said Channing. "My old complaint?" he added. + +"Well, yes, but Keating hasn't been sober for two weeks, and he'd +have fallen down on the Guasimas story if those men hadn't pulled him +through. They had to, because they're in the syndicate. He ought to go +shoot himself; he's only been married three months and he's handling the +biggest piece of news the country's had in thirty years, and he can't +talk straight. There's a time for everything, I say," growled the +"World" man. + +"It takes it out of a man, this boat-work," Channing ventured, in +extenuation. "It's very hard on him." + +"You bet it is," agreed the "World" manager, with enthusiasm. "Sloshing +about in those waves, sea-sick mostly, and wet all the time, and with a +mutinous crew, and so afraid you'll miss something that you can't +write what you have got." Then he added, as an after-thought, "And our +cruisers thinking you're a Spanish torpedo-boat and chucking shells at +you." + +"No wonder Keating drinks," Channing said, gravely. "You make it seem +almost necessary." + +Many thousand American soldiers had lost themselves in a jungle, and +had broken out of it at the foot of San Juan Hill. Not wishing to return +into the jungle, they took the hill. On the day they did this Channing +had the good fortune to be in Siboney. The "World" man had carried him +there and asked him to wait around the waterfront while he went up to +the real front, thirteen miles inland. Channing's duty was to signal +the press-boat when the first despatch-rider rode in with word that the +battle was on. The World man would have liked to ask Channing to act as +his despatch-rider, but he did not do so, because the despatch-riders +were either Jamaica negroes or newsboys from Park Row--and he remembered +that Keating had asked Channing to be his stoker. + +Channing tramped through the damp, ill-smelling sand of the beach, +sick with self-pity. On the other side of those glaring, inscrutable +mountains, a battle, glorious, dramatic, and terrible, was going +forward, and he was thirteen miles away. He was at the base, with the +supplies, the sick, and the skulkers. + +It was cruelly hot. The heat-waves flashed over the sea until the +transports in the harbor quivered like pictures on a biograph. From the +refuse of company kitchens, from reeking huts, from thousands of empty +cans, rose foul, enervating odors, which deadened the senses like a +drug. The atmosphere steamed with a heavy, moist humidity. Channing +staggered and sank down suddenly on a pile of railroad-ties in front of +the commissary's depot. There were some Cubans seated near him, dividing +their Government rations, and the sight reminded him that he had had +nothing to eat. He walked over to the wide door of the freight-depot, +where a white-haired, kindly faced, and perspiring officer was, with his +own hands, serving out canned beef to a line of Cubans. The officer's +flannel shirt was open at the throat. The shoulder-straps of a colonel +were fastened to it by safety-pins. Channing smiled at him uneasily. + +"Could I draw on you for some rations?" he asked. "I'm from the Three +Friends. I'm not one of their regular accredited correspondents," he +added, conscientiously, "I'm just helping them for to-day." + +"Haven't you got a correspondent's pass?" asked the officer. He was +busily pouring square hardtack down the throat of a saddle-bag a Cuban +soldier held open before him. + +"No," said Channing, turning away, "I'm just helping." + +The officer looked after him, and what he saw caused him to reach under +the counter for a tin cup and a bottle of lime-juice. + +"Here," he said, "drink this. What's the matter with you--fever? Come in +here out of that sun. You can lie down on my cot, if you like." + +Channing took the tin cup and swallowed a warm mixture of boiled water +and acrid lime-juice. + +"Thank you," he said, "but I must keep watch for the first news from the +front." + +A man riding a Government mule appeared on the bridge of the lower +trail, and came toward them at a gallop. He was followed and surrounded +by a hurrying mob of volunteers, hospital stewards, and Cubans. + +The Colonel vaulted the counter and ran to meet him. + +"This looks like news from the front now," he cried. + +The man on the mule was from civil life. His eyes bulged from their +sockets and his face was purple. The sweat ran over it and glistened on +the cords of his thick neck. + +"They're driving us back!" he shrieked. + +"Chaffee's killed, an' Roosevelt's killed, an' the whole army's beaten!" +He waved his arms wildly toward the glaring, inscrutable mountains. The +volunteers and stevedores and Cubans heard him, open-mouthed and with +panic-stricken eyes. In the pitiless sunlight he was a hideous and awful +spectacle. + +"They're driving us into the sea!" he foamed. + +"We've got to get out of here, they're just behind me. The army's +running for its life. They're running away!" + +Channing saw the man dimly, through a cloud that came between him and +the yellow sunlight. The man in the saddle swayed, the group about him +swayed, like persons on the floor of a vast ball-room. Inside he burned +with a mad, fierce hatred for this shrieking figure in the saddle. He +raised the tin cup and hurled it so that it hit the man's purple face. + +"You lie!" Channing shouted, staggering. "You lie! You're a damned +coward. You lie!" He heard his voice repeating this in different places +at greater distances. Then the cloud closed about him, shutting out +the man in the saddle, and the glaring, inscrutable mountains, and the +ground at his feet rose and struck him in the face. + +Channing knew he was on a boat because it lifted and sank with him, and +he could hear the rush of her engines. When he opened his eyes he was in +the wheel-house of the Three Friends, and her captain was at the wheel, +smiling down at him. Channing raised himself on his elbow. + +"The despatch-rider?" he asked. + +"That's all right," said the captain, soothingly. "Don't you worry. He +come along same time you fell, and brought you out to us. What ailed +you--sunstroke?" + +Channing sat up. "I guess so," he said. + +When the Three Friends reached Port Antonio, Channing sought out the +pile of coffee-bags on which he slept at night and dropped upon them. +Before this he had been careful to avoid the place in the daytime, so +that no one might guess that it was there that he slept at night, but +this day he felt that if he should drop in the gutter he would not care +whether anyone saw him there or not. His limbs were hot and heavy and +refused to support him, his bones burned like quicklime. + +The next morning, with the fever still upon him, he hurried restlessly +between the wharves and the cable-office, seeking for news. There was +much of it; it was great and trying news, the situation outside of +Santiago was grim and critical. The men who had climbed San Juan Hill +were clinging to it like sailors shipwrecked on a reef unwilling to +remain, but unable to depart. If they attacked the city Cervera promised +to send it crashing about their ears. They would enter Santiago only to +find it in ruins. If they abandoned the hill, 2,000 killed and wounded +would have been sacrificed in vain. + +The war-critics of the press-boats and of the Twitchell House saw but +two courses left open. Either Sampson must force the harbor and destroy +the squadron, and so make it possible for the army to enter the city, +or the army must be reinforced with artillery and troops in sufficient +numbers to make it independent of Sampson and indifferent to Cervera. + +On the night of July 2d, a thousand lies, a thousand rumors, a thousand +prophecies rolled through the streets of Port Antonio, were filed at the +cable-office, and flashed to the bulletin-boards of New York City. + +That morning, so they told, the batteries on Morro Castle had sunk three +of Sampson's ships; the batteries on Morro Castle had surrendered +to Sampson; General Miles with 8,000 reinforcements had sailed from +Charleston; eighty guns had started from Tampa Bay, they would occupy +the mountains opposite Santiago and shell the Spanish fleet; the +authorities at Washington had at last consented to allow Sampson to run +the forts and mines, and attack the Spanish fleet; the army had not been +fed for two days, the Spaniards had cut it off from its base at Siboney; +the army would eat its Fourth of July dinner in the Governor's Palace; +the army was in full retreat; the army was to attack at daybreak. + +When Channing turned in under the fruit-shed on the night of July 2d, +there was but one press-boat remaining in the harbor. That was +the Consolidated Press boat, and Keating himself was on the wharf, +signalling for his dingy. Channing sprang to his feet and ran toward +him, calling him by name. The thought that he must for another day +remain so near the march of great events and yet not see and feel them +for himself, was intolerable. He felt if it would pay his passage to +the coast of Cuba, there was no sacrifice to which he would not stoop. +Keating watched him approach, but without sign of recognition. His eyes +were heavy and bloodshot. + +"Keating," Channing begged, as he halted, panting, "won't you take me +with you? I'll not be in the way, and I'll stoke or wait on table, or +anything you want, if you'll only take me." + +Keating's eyes opened and closed, sleepily. He removed an unlit cigar +from his mouth and shook the wet end of it at Channing, as though it +were an accusing finger. + +"I know your game," he murmured, thickly. "You haven't got a boat and +you want to steal a ride on mine--for your paper. You can't do it, you +see, you can't do it." + +One of the crew of the dingy climbed up the gangway of the wharf and +took Keating by the elbow. He looked at him and then at Channing and +winked. He was apparently accustomed to this complication. "I haven't +got a paper, Keating," Channing argued, soothingly. "Who have you got to +help you?" he asked. It came to him that there might be on the boat some +Philip sober, to whom he could appeal from Philip drunk. + +"I haven't got anyone to help me," Keating answered, with dignity. "I +don't need anyone to help me." He placed his hand heavily and familiarly +on the shoulder of the deck-hand. "You see that man?" he asked. "You +see tha' man, do you? Well, tha' man he's too good for me an' you. Tha' +man--used to be the best reporter in New York City, an' he was too good +to hustle for news, an' now he's--now he can't get a job--see? Nobody'll +have him, see? He's got to come and be a stoker." + +He stamped his foot with indignation. + +"You come an' be a stoker," he commanded. "How long you think I'm going +to wait for a stoker? You stoker, come on board and be a stoker." + +Channing smiled, guiltily, at his good fortune, He jumped into the bow +of the dingy, and Keating fell heavily in the stern. + +The captain of the press-boat helped Keating safely to a bunk in the +cabin and received his instructions to proceed to Santiago Harbor. +Then he joined Channing. "Mr. Keating is feeling bad to-night. That +bombardment off Morro," he explained, tactfully, "was too exciting. We +always let him sleep going across, and when we get there he's fresh as a +daisy. What's this he tells me of your doing stoking?" + +"I thought there might be another fight tomorrow, so I said I'd come as +a stoker." + +The captain grinned. + +"Our Sam, that deck-hand, was telling me. He said Mr. Keating put it on +you, sort of to spite you--is that so?" + +"Oh, I wanted to come," said Channing. + +The captain laughed, comprehendingly. "I guess we'll be in a bad way," +he said, "when we need you in the engine-room." He settled himself +for conversation, with his feet against the rail and his thumbs in his +suspenders. The lamps of Port Antonio were sinking into the water, the +moonlight was flooding the deck. + +"That was quite something of a bombardment Sampson put up against Morro +Castle this morning," he began, critically. He spoke of bombardments +from the full experience of a man who had seen shells strike off Coney +Island from the proving-grounds at Sandy Hook. But Channing heard him, +eagerly. He begged the tugboat-captain to tell him what it looked like, +and as the captain told him he filled it in and saw it as it really was. + +"Perhaps they'll bombard again to-morrow," he hazarded, hopefully. + +"We can't tell till we see how they're placed on the station," the +captain answered. "If there's any firing we ought to hear it about eight +o'clock to-morrow morning. We'll hear 'em before we see 'em." + +Channing's conscience began to tweak him. It was time, he thought, that +Keating should be aroused and brought up to the reviving air of the +sea, but when he reached the foot of the companion-ladder, he found +that Keating was already awake and in the act of drawing the cork from +a bottle. His irritation against Channing had evaporated and he greeted +him with sleepy good-humor. + +"Why, it's ol' Charlie Channing," he exclaimed, drowsily. Channing +advanced upon him swiftly. + +"Here, you've had enough of that!" he commanded. "We'll be off Morro by +breakfast-time. You don't want that." + +Keating, giggling foolishly, pushed him from him and retreated with the +bottle toward his berth. He lurched into it, rolled over with his face +to the ship's side, and began breathing heavily. + +"You leave me 'lone," he murmured, from the darkness of the bunk. "You +mind your own business, you leave me 'lone." + +Channing returned to the bow and placed the situation before the +captain. That gentleman did not hesitate. He disappeared down the +companion-way, and, when an instant later he returned, hurled a bottle +over the ship's side. + +The next morning when Channing came on deck the land was just in sight, +a rampart of dark green mountains rising in heavy masses against the +bright, glaring blue of the sky. He strained his eyes for the first +sight of the ships, and his ears for the faintest echoes of distant +firing, but there was no sound save the swift rush of the waters at the +bow. The sea lay smooth and flat before him, the sun flashed upon it; +the calm and hush of early morning hung over the whole coast of Cuba. + +An hour later the captain came forward and stood at his elbow. + +"How's Keating?" Channing asked. "I tried to wake him, but I couldn't." + +The captain kept his binoculars to his eyes, and shut his lips grimly. +"Mr. Keating's very bad," he said. "He had another bottle hidden +somewhere, and all last night--" he broke off with a relieved sigh. +"It's lucky for him," he added, lowering the glasses, "that there'll be +no fight to-day." + +Channing gave a gasp of disappointment. "What do you mean?" he +protested. + +"You can look for yourself," said the captain, handing him the glasses. +"They're at their same old stations. There'll be no bombardment to-day. +That's the Iowa, nearest us, the Oregon's to starboard of her, and the +next is the Indiana. That little fellow close under the land is the +Gloucester." + +He glanced up at the mast to see that the press-boat's signal was +conspicuous, they were drawing within range. + +With the naked eye, Channing could see the monster, mouse-colored +war-ships, basking in the sun, solemn and motionless in a great +crescent, with its one horn resting off the harbor-mouth. They made +great blots on the sparkling, glancing surface of the water. Above +each superstructure, their fighting-tops, giant davits, funnels, and +gibbet-like yards twisted into the air, fantastic and incomprehensible, +but the bulk below seemed to rest solidly on the bottom of the ocean, +like an island of lead. The muzzles of their guns peered from the +turrets as from ramparts of rock. + +Channing gave a sigh of admiration. + +"Don't tell me they move," he said. "They're not ships, they're +fortresses!" + +On the shore there was no sign of human life nor of human habitation. +Except for the Spanish flag floating over the streaked walls of Morro, +and the tiny blockhouse on every mountain-top, the squadron might have +been anchored off a deserted coast. The hills rose from the water's edge +like a wall, their peaks green and glaring in the sun, their valleys +dark with shadows. Nothing moved upon the white beach at their feet, no +smoke rose from their ridges, not even a palm stirred. The great range +slept in a blue haze of heat. But only a few miles distant, masked by +its frowning front, lay a gayly colored, red-roofed city, besieged by +encircling regiments, a broad bay holding a squadron of great war-ships, +and gliding cat-like through its choked undergrowth and crouched among +the fronds of its motionless palms were the ragged patriots of the Cuban +army, silent, watchful, waiting. But the great range gave no sign. It +frowned in the sunlight, grim and impenetrable. + +"It's Sunday," exclaimed the captain. He pointed with his finger at the +decks of the battleships, where hundreds of snow-white figures had +gone to quarters. "It's church service," he said, "or it's general +inspection." + +Channing looked at his watch. It was thirty minutes past nine. "It's +church service," he said. "I can see them carrying out the chaplain's +reading-desk on the Indiana." The press-boat pushed her way nearer into +the circle of battleships until their leaden-hued hulls towered high +above her. On the deck of each, the ship's company stood, ranged in +motionless ranks. The calm of a Sabbath morning hung about them, the sun +fell upon them like a benediction, and so still was the air that those +on the press-boat could hear, from the stripped and naked decks, the +voices of the men answering the roll-call in rising monotone, "one, two, +three, FOUR; one, two, three, FOUR." The white-clad sailors might have +been a chorus of surpliced choir-boys. + +But, up above them, the battle-flags, slumbering at the mast-heads, +stirred restlessly and whimpered in their sleep. + +Out through the crack in the wall of mountains, where the sea runs in to +meet the waters of Santiago Harbor, and from behind the shield of Morro +Castle, a great, gray ship, like a great, gray rat, stuck out her nose +and peered about her, and then struck boldly for the open sea. High +before her she bore the gold and blood-red flag of Spain, and, like a +fugitive leaping from behind his prison-walls, she raced forward for her +freedom, to give battle, to meet her death. + +A shell from the Iowa shrieked its warning in a shrill crescendo, a +flutter of flags painted their message against the sky. "The enemy's +ships are coming out," they signalled, and the ranks of white-clad +figures which the moment before stood motionless on the decks, broke +into thousands of separate beings who flung themselves, panting, down +the hatchways, or sprang, cheering, to the fighting-tops. + +Heavily, but swiftly, as islands slip into the water when a volcano +shakes the ocean-bed, the great battle-ships buried their bows in the +sea, their sides ripped apart with flame and smoke, the thunder of their +guns roared and beat against the mountains, and, from the shore, the +Spanish forts roared back at them, until the air between was split and +riven. The Spanish war-ships were already scudding clouds of smoke, +pierced with flashes of red flame, and as they fled, fighting, their +batteries rattled with unceasing, feverish fury. But the guns of the +American ships, straining in pursuit, answered steadily, carefully, with +relentless accuracy, with cruel persistence. At regular intervals they +boomed above the hurricane of sound, like great bells tolling for the +dead. + +It seemed to Channing that he had lived through many years; that the +strain of the spectacle would leave its mark upon his nerves forever. He +had been buffeted and beaten by a storm of all the great emotions; pride +of race and country, pity for the dead, agony for the dying, who clung +to blistering armor-plates, or sank to suffocation in the sea; the lust +of the hunter, when the hunted thing is a fellow-man; the joys of danger +and of excitement, when the shells lashed the waves about him, and the +triumph of victory, final, overwhelming and complete. + +Four of the enemy's squadron had struck their colors, two were on the +beach, broken and burning, two had sunk to the bottom of the sea, two +were in abject flight. Three battle-ships were hammering them with +thirteen-inch guns. The battle was won. + +"It's all over," Channing said. His tone questioned his own words. + +The captain of the tugboat was staring at the face of his silver watch, +as though it were a thing bewitched. He was pale and panting. He looked +at Channing, piteously, as though he doubted his own senses, and turned +the face of the watch toward him. + +"Twenty minutes!" Channing said. "Good God! Twenty minutes!" + +He had been to hell and back again in twenty minutes. He had seen an +empire, which had begun with Christopher Columbus and which had spread +over two continents, wiped off the map in twenty minutes. The captain +gave a sudden cry of concern. "Mr. Keating," he gasped. "Oh, Lord, but I +forgot Mr. Keating. Where is Mr. Keating?" + +"I went below twice," Channing answered. "He's insensible. See what you +can do with him, but first--take me to the Iowa. The Consolidated Press +will want the 'facts.'" + +In the dark cabin the captain found Keating on the floor, where Channing +had dragged him, and dripping with the water which Channing had thrown +in his face. He was breathing heavily, comfortably. He was not concerned +with battles. + +With a megaphone, Channing gathered his facts from an officer of the +Iowa, who looked like a chimney-sweep, and who was surrounded by a crew +of half-naked pirates, with bodies streaked with sweat and powder. + +Then he ordered all steam for Port Antonio, and, going forward to the +chart-room, seated himself at the captain's desk, and, pushing the +captain's charts to the floor, spread out his elbows, and began to write +the story of his life. + +In the joy of creating it, he was lost to all about him. He did not know +that the engines, driven to the breaking-point, were filling the ship +with their groans and protests, that the deck beneath his feet was +quivering like the floor of a planing-mill, nor that his fever was +rising again, and feeding on his veins. The turmoil of leaping engines +and of throbbing pulses was confused with the story he was writing, and +while his mind was inflamed with pictures of warring battle-ships, his +body was swept by the fever, which overran him like an army of tiny +mice, touching his hot skin with cold, tingling taps of their scampering +feet. + +From time to time the captain stopped at the door of the chart-room +and observed him in silent admiration. To the man who with difficulty +composed a letter to his family, the fact that Channing was writing +something to be read by millions of people, and more rapidly than he +could have spoken the same words, seemed a superhuman effort. He even +hesitated to interrupt it by an offer of food. + +But the fever would not let Channing taste of the food when they placed +it at his elbow, and even as he pushed it away, his mind was still fixed +upon the paragraph before him. He wrote, sprawling across the desk, +covering page upon page with giant hieroglyphics, lighting cigarette +after cigarette at the end of the last one, but with his thoughts far +away, and, as he performed the act, staring uncomprehendingly at the +captain's colored calendar pinned on the wall before him. For many +months later the Battle of Santiago was associated in his mind with a +calendar for the month of July, illuminated by a colored picture of six +white kittens in a basket. + +At three o'clock Channing ceased writing and stood up, shivering and +shaking with a violent chill. He cursed himself for this weakness, and +called aloud for the captain. + +"I can't stop now," he cried. He seized the rough fist of the captain as +a child clings to the hand of his nurse. + +"Give me something," he begged. "Medicine, quinine, give me something to +keep my head straight until it's finished. Go, quick," he commanded. His +teeth were chattering, and his body jerked with sharp, uncontrollable +shudders. The captain ran, muttering, to his medicine-chest. + +"We've got one drunken man on board," he said to the mate, "and now +we've got a crazy one. You mark my words, he'll go off his head at +sunset." + +But at sunset Channing called to him and addressed him sanely. He held +in his hand a mass of papers carefully numbered and arranged, and he +gave them up to the captain as though it hurt him to part with them. + +"There's the story," he said. "You've got to do the rest. I +can't--I--I'm going to be very ill." He was swaying as he spoke. His +eyes burned with the fever, and his eyelids closed of themselves. He +looked as though he had been heavily drugged. + +"You put that on the wire at Port Antonio," he commanded, faintly; "pay +the tolls to Kingston. From there they are to send it by way of Panama, +you understand, by the Panama wire." + +"Panama!" gasped the captain. "Good Lord, that's two dollars a word." +He shook out the pages in his hand until he found the last one. "And +there's sixty-eight pages here," he expostulated. "Why the tolls will +be five thousand dollars!" Channing dropped feebly to the bench of the +chart-room and fell in a heap, shivering and trembling. + +"I guess it's worth it," he murmured, drowsily. + +The captain was still staring at the last page. + +"But--but, look here," he cried, "you've--you've signed Mr. Keating's +name to it! 'James R. Keating.' You've signed his name to it!" + +Channing raised his head from his folded arms and stared at him dully. + +"You don't want to get Keating in trouble, do you?" he asked with +patience. "You don't want the C. P. to know why he couldn't write the +best story of the war? Do you want him to lose his job? Of course you +don't. Well, then, let it go as his story. I won't tell, and see you +don't tell, and Keating won't remember." + +His head sank back again upon his crossed arms. "It's not a bad story," +he murmured. + +But the captain shook his head; his loyalty to his employer was still +uppermost. "It doesn't seem right!" he protested. "It's a sort of a +liberty, isn't it, signing another man's name to it, it's a sort of +forgery." + +Channing made no answer. His eyes were shut and he was shivering +violently, hugging himself in his arms. + +A quarter of an hour later, when the captain returned with fresh +quinine, Channing sat upright and saluted him. + +"Your information, sir," he said, addressing the open door politely, "is +of the greatest value. Tell the executive officer to proceed under full +steam to Panama. He will first fire a shot across her bows, and then +sink her!" He sprang upright and stood for a moment, sustained by the +false strength of the fever. "To Panama, you hear me!" he shouted. He +beat the floor with his foot. "Faster, faster, faster," he cried. "We've +got a great story! We want a clear wire, we want the wire clear from +Panama to City Hall. It's the greatest story ever written--full of +facts, facts, facts, facts for the Consolidated Press--and Keating wrote +it. I tell you, Keating wrote it. I saw him write it. I was a stoker on +the same ship." + +The mate and crew came running forward and stood gaping stupidly +through the doors and windows of the chart-room. Channing welcomed them +joyously, and then crumpled up in a heap and pitched forward into the +arms of the captain. His head swung weakly from shoulder to shoulder. + +"I beg your pardon," he muttered, "I beg your pardon, captain, but your +engine-room is too hot. I'm only a stoker and I know my place, sir, but +I tell you, your engine-room is too hot. It's a burning hell, sir, it's +a hell!" + +The captain nodded to the crew and they closed in on him, and bore him, +struggling feebly, to a bunk in the cabin below. In the berth opposite, +Keating was snoring peacefully. + +After the six weeks' siege the Fruit Company's doctor told Channing he +was cured, and that he might walk abroad. In this first walk he found +that, during his illness, Port Antonio had reverted to her original +condition of complete isolation from the world, the press-boats had left +her wharves, the correspondents had departed from the veranda of her +only hotel, the war was over, and the Peace Commissioners had sailed for +Paris. Channing expressed his great gratitude to the people of the hotel +and to the Fruit Company's doctor. He made it clear to them that if they +ever hoped to be paid those lesser debts than that of gratitude which he +still owed them, they must return him to New York and Newspaper Row. +It was either that, he said, or, if they preferred, he would remain and +work out his indebtedness, checking bunches of bananas at twenty dollars +a month. The Fruit Company decided it would be paid more quickly if +Channing worked at his own trade, and accordingly sent him North in one +of its steamers. She landed him in Boston, and he borrowed five dollars +from the chief engineer to pay his way to New York. + +It was late in the evening of the same day when he stepped out of the +smoking-car into the roar and riot of the Grand Central Station. He had +no baggage to detain him, and, as he had no money either, he made his +way to an Italian restaurant where he knew they would trust him to +pay later for what he ate. It was a place where the newspaper men were +accustomed to meet, men who knew him, and who, until he found work, +would lend him money to buy a bath, clean clothes, and a hall bedroom. + +Norris, the World man, greeted him as he entered the door of the +restaurant, and hailed him with a cry of mingled fright and pleasure. + +"Why, we didn't know but you were dead," he exclaimed. "The boys said +when they left Kingston you weren't expected to live. Did you ever get +the money and things we sent you by the Red Cross boat?" + +Channing glanced at himself and laughed. + +"Do I look it?" he asked. He was wearing the same clothes in which he +had slept under the fruit-sheds at Port Antonio. They had been soaked +and stained by the night-dews and by the sweat of the fever. + +"Well, it's great luck, your turning up here just now," Norris assured +him, heartily. "That is, if you're as hungry as the rest of the boys +are who have had the fever. You struck it just right; we're giving a big +dinner here to-night," he explained, "one of Maria's best. You come in +with me. It's a celebration for old Keating, a farewell blow-out." + +Channing started and laughed. + +"Keating?" he asked. "That's funny," he said. "I haven't seen him +since--since before I was ill." + +"Yes, old Jimmie Keating. You've got nothing against him, have you?" + +Channing shook his head vehemently, and Norris glanced back complacently +toward the door of the dining-room, from whence came the sound of +intimate revelry. + +"You might have had, once," Norris said, laughing; "we were all +up against him once. But since he's turned out such a wonder and +a war-hero, we're going to recognize it. They're always saying we +newspaper men have it in for each other, and so we're just giving him +this subscription-dinner to show it's not so. He's going abroad, you +know. He sails to-morrow morning." + +"No, I didn't know," said Channing. + +"Of course not, how could you? Well, the Consolidated Press's sending +him and his wife to Paris. He's to cover the Peace negotiations there. +It's really a honeymoon-trip at the expense of the C. P. It's their +reward for his work, for his Santiago story, and the beat and all +that--" + +Channing's face expressed his bewilderment. + +Norris drew back dramatically. + +"Don't tell me," he exclaimed, "that you haven't heard about that!" + +Channing laughed a short, frightened laugh, and moved nearer to the +street. + +"No," he said. "No, I hadn't." + +"Yes, but, good Lord! it was the story of the war. You never read such +a story! And he got it through by Panama a day ahead of all the other +stories! And nobody read them, anyway. Why, Captain Mahan said it was +'naval history,' and the Evening Post had an editorial on it, and said +it was 'the only piece of literature the war has produced.' We never +thought Keating had it in him, did you? The Consolidated Press people +felt so good over it that they've promised, when he comes back from +Paris, they'll make him their Washington correspondent. He's their +'star' reporter now. It just shows you that the occasion produces the +man. Come on in, and have a drink with him." + +Channing pulled his arm away, and threw a frightened look toward the +open door of the dining-room. Through the layers of tobacco-smoke he +saw Keating seated at the head of a long, crowded table, smiling, +clear-eyed, and alert. + +"Oh, no, I couldn't," he said, with sudden panic. "I can't drink; doctor +won't let me. I wasn't coming in, I was just passing when I saw you. +Good-night, I'm much obliged. Good-night." + +But the hospitable Norris would not be denied. + +"Oh, come in and say 'good-by' to him, anyhow," he insisted. "You +needn't stay." + +"No, I can't," Channing protested. "I--they'd make me drink or eat and +the doctor says I can't. You mustn't tempt me. You say 'good-by' to him +for me," he urged. "And Norris--tell him--tell him--that I asked you to +say to him, 'It's all right,' that's all, just that, 'It's all right.' +He'll understand." + +There was the sound of men's feet scraping on the floor, and of chairs +being moved from their places. + +Norris started away eagerly. "I guess they're drinking his health," he +said. "I must go. I'll tell him what you said, 'It's all right.' That's +enough, is it? There's nothing more?" + +Channing shook his head, and moved away from the only place where he was +sure to find food and a welcome that night. + +"There's nothing more," he said. + +As he stepped from the door and stood irresolutely in the twilight of +the street, he heard the voices of the men who had gathered in Keating's +honor upraised in a joyous chorus. + +"For he's a jolly good fellow," they sang, "for he's a jolly good +fellow, which nobody can deny!" + + + + + + +LA LETTRE D'AMOUR + + +When Bardini, who led the Hungarian Band at the Savoy Restaurant, was +promoted to play at the Casino at Trouville, his place was taken by +the second violin. The second violin was a boy, and when he greeted his +brother Tziganes and the habitues of the restaurant with an apologetic +and deprecatory bow, he showed that he was fully conscious of the +inadequacy of his years. The maitre d'hotel glided from table to table, +busying himself in explanations. + +"The boy's name is Edouard; he comes from Budapest," he said. "The +season is too late to make it worth the while of the management to +engage a new chef d'orchestre. So this boy will play. He plays very +good, but he is not like Bardini." + +He was not in the least like Bardini. In appearance, Bardini suggested a +Roumanian gypsy or a Portuguese sailor; his skin was deeply tanned, his +hair was plastered on his low forehead in thick, oily curls, and his +body, through much rich living on the scraps that fell from the tables +of Girot's and the Casino des Fleurs, was stout and gross. He was +the typical leader of an orchestra condemned to entertain a noisy +restaurant. His school of music was the school of Maxim's. To his skill +with the violin he had added the arts of the head waiter, and he and the +cook ran a race for popularity, he pampering to one taste, and the cook, +with his sauces, pampering to another. When so commanded, his pride +as an artist did not prevent him from breaking off in the middle of +Schubert's Serenade to play Daisy Bell, nor was he above breaking it off +on his own accord to salute the American patron, as he entered with the +Belle of New York, or any one of the Gaiety Girls, hurrying in late for +supper, with the Soldiers in the Park. When he walked slowly through the +restaurant, pausing at each table, his eyes, even while they ogled the +women to whom he played, followed the brother Tzigane--who was passing +the plate--and noted which of the patrons gave silver and which gave +gold. + +Edouard, the second violin, was all that Bardini was not, consequently +he was entirely unsuited to lead an orchestra in a restaurant. Indeed, +so little did he understand of what was required of him that on the +only occasion when Bardini sent him to pass the plate he was so +unsophisticated as not to hide the sixpences and shillings under the +napkin, and so leave only the half-crowns and gold pieces exposed. +And, instead of smiling mockingly at those who gave the sixpences, and +waiting for them to give more, he even looked grateful, and at the same +time deeply ashamed. He differed from Bardini also in that he was very +thin and tall, with the serious, smooth-shaven face of a priest. Except +for his fantastic costume, there was nothing about him to recall the +poses of the musician: his hair was neither long nor curly; it lay +straight across his forehead and flat on either side, and when he +played, his eyes neither sought out the admiring auditor nor invited +his applause. On the contrary, they looked steadfastly ahead. It was as +though they belonged to someone apart, who was listening intently to the +music. But in the waits between the numbers the boy's eyes turned from +table to table, observing the people in his audience. He knew nearly all +of them by sight: the head waiters who brought him their "commands," +and his brother-musicians, had often discussed them in his hearing. They +represented every city of the world, every part of the social edifice: +there were those who came to look at the spectacle, and those who came +to be looked at; those who gave a dinner for the sake of the diners, +those who dined for the dinner alone. To some the restaurant was a +club; others ventured in counting the cost, taking it seriously, even +considering that it conferred upon them some social distinction. There +were pretty women in paint and spangles, with conscious, half-grown +boys just up from Oxford; company-promoters dining and wining possible +subscribers or "guinea-pigs" into an acquiescent state; Guardsmen giving +a dinner of farewell to brother-officers departing for the Soudan or the +Cape; wide-eyed Americans just off the steamer in high dresses, great +ladies in low dresses and lofty tiaras, and ladies of the stage, utterly +unconscious of the boon they were conferring on the people about them, +who, an hour before, had paid ten shillings to look at them from the +stalls. + +Edouard, as he sat with his violin on his knee, his fingers fretting the +silent strings, observed them all without envy and without interest. Had +he been able to choose, it would not have been to such a well-dressed +mob as this that he would have given his music. For at times a burst +of laughter killed a phrase that was sacred to him, and sometimes the +murmur of the voices and the clatter of the waiters would drown him out +altogether. But the artist in him forced him to play all things well, +and for his own comfort he would assure himself that no doubt somewhere +in the room someone was listening, someone who thought more of the +strange, elusive melodies of the Hungarian folksongs than of the chefs +entrees, and that for this unknown one he must be true to himself and +true to his work. Covertly, he would seek out some face to which he +could make the violin speak--not openly and impertinently, as did +Bardini, but secretly and for sympathy, so that only one could +understand. It pleased young Edouard to see such a one raise her head as +though she had heard her name spoken, and hold it poised to listen, and +turn slowly in her chair, so completely engaged that she forgot the +man at her elbow, and the food before her was taken away untouched. It +delighted him to think that she knew that the music was speaking to +her alone. But he would not have had her think that the musician spoke, +too--it was the soul of the music, not his soul, that was reaching out +to the pretty stranger. When his soul spoke through the music it would +not be, so he assured himself, to such chatterers as gathered on the +terrace of the Savoy Restaurant. + +Mrs. Warriner and her daughter were on their way home, or to one of +their homes; this one was up the Hills of Lenox. They had been in Egypt +and up the Nile, and for the last two months had been slowly working +their way north through Greece and Italy. They were in London, at the +Savoy, waiting for their sailing-day, and on the night of their arrival +young Corbin was giving them a dinner. For three months Mrs. Warriner +and himself had alternated in giving each other dinners in every part of +Southern Europe, and the gloom which hung over this one was not due to +the fact that the diners had become wearied of one another's society, +but that the opportunities still left to them for this exchange of +hospitality were almost at an end. That night, for the hundredth time, +young Corbin had decided it would have been much better for him if they +had come to an end many weeks previous, for the part he played in the +trio was a difficult one. It was that of the lover who will not take +"no" for an answer. The lover who will take no, and goes on his way +disconsolate, may live to love another day, and everyone is content; but +the one who will not have no, who will not hear of it, nor consider it, +has much to answer for in making life a burden to himself and all around +him. + +When Corbin joined the Warriners on their trip up the Nile it was +considered by all of them, in their ignorance, a happy accident. +Other mothers, more worldly than Mrs. Warriner, with daughters less +attractive, gave her undeserved credit for having lured into her +party one of the young men of Boston who was most to be desired as a +son-in-law. But the mind of Mrs. Warriner, so far as Mr. Corbin was +concerned, was quite free from any such consideration; so was the mind +of the young bachelor; certainly Miss Warriner held no tender thoughts +concerning him. The families of the Warriners and the Corbins had been +friends ever since the cowpath crossed the Common. Before Corbin entered +Harvard Miss Warriner and he had belonged to the same dancing-class. +Later she had danced with him at four class-days, and many times +between. When he graduated, she had gone abroad with her mother, and he +had joined the Somerset Club, and played polo at Pride's Crossing, and +talked vaguely of becoming a lawyer, and of re-entering Harvard by the +door of the Law School, chiefly, it was supposed, that he might have +another year of the football team. He was very young in spirit, very +big and athletic, very rich, and without a care or serious thought. Miss +Warriner was to him, then, no more than a friend; to her he was a boy, +one of many nice, cultivated Harvard boys, who occasionally called upon +her and talked football. On the face of things, she was not the sort of +girl he should have loved. But for some saving clause in him, he should +have loved and married one of the many other girls who had belonged to +the same dancing-class, who would have been known as "Mrs. Tom" Corbin, +who would have been sought after as a chaperone, and who would have +stood up in her cart when he played polo and shouted at him across the +field to "ride him off." + +Miss Warriner, on the contrary, was much older than he in everything but +years, and was conscious of the fact. She was a serious, self-centred +young person, and satisfied with her own thoughts, unless her companion +gave her better ones. She concerned herself with the character and ideas +of her friends. If a young man lacked ideas, the fact that he possessed +wealth and good manners could not save him. If these attributes had been +pointed out to her as part of his assets she would have been surprised. +She was not impressed with her own good looks and fortune--she took them +for granted; so why should they count with her in other people? + +Miss Warriner made an error of analysis in regard to Mr. Corbin in +judging his brain by his topics of conversation. His conversation +was limited to the A B C's of life, with which, up to the time of his +meeting her, his brain had been fed. When, however, she began to cram it +full with all the other letters of the alphabet, it showed itself just +as capable of digesting the economic conditions of Egypt as it had +previously succeeded in mastering the chess-like problems of the game of +football. + +Young Corbin had not considered the Home Beautiful, nor Municipal +Government, nor How the Other Half Lives as topics that were worth his +while; but when Miss Warriner showed her interest in them, her doing so +made them worth his while, and he fell upon them greedily. He even went +much further than she had gone, and was not content merely to theorize +and to discuss social questions from the safe distance of the deck of +a dahabiyeh on the Nile, but proposed to at once put her theories into +practice. To this end he offered her a house in the slums of Boston, +rent free, where she could start her College Settlement. He made +out lists of the men he thought would like to teach there, and he +volunteered to pay the expenses of the experiment until it failed or +succeeded. When her interest changed to the Tombs of the Rameses, and +the succession of the ancient dynasties, he spent hours studying his +Baedeker that he might keep in step with her; and when she abandoned +ancient for modern Egypt and became deeply charmed with the intricacies +of the dual control and of the Mixed Courts, he interviewed subalterns, +Pashas, and missionaries in a gallant effort to comprehend the social +and political difficulties of the white men who had occupied the land of +the Sphinx, who had funded her debt, irrigated her deserts, and "made a +mummy fight." + +One night, as the dahabiyeh lay moored beneath a group of palms in the +moonlight, Miss Warriner gave him praise for offering her the house +in the slums for her experiment. He assured her that he was entirely +selfish--that he did so because he believed her settlement would be a +benefit to the neighborhood, in which he owned some property. When +she then accused him of giving sordid reasons for what was his genuine +philanthropy he told her flatly that he neither cared for the higher +education of the slums nor the increased value of his rents, but for +her, and to please her, and that he loved her and would love her always. +In answer to this, Miss Warriner told him gently but firmly that she +could not love him, but that she liked him and admired him, even though +she was disappointed to find that his sudden interest in matters more +serious than polo had been assumed to please her. She added that she +would always be his friend. This, she thought, ended the matter; it was +unfortunate that they should be shipbound on the Nile; but she trusted +to his tact and good sense to save them both from embarrassment. She +was not prepared, however, to see him come on deck very late the next +morning, after, apparently, a long sleep, as keen, as cheerful, and +as smiling as he had been before the blow had fallen. It piqued her a +little, and partly because of that, and partly because she really was +relieved to find him in such a humor, she congratulated him on his most +evident happiness. + +"Why not?" he asked, suddenly growing sober. "I love you. That is enough +to make any man happy, isn't it? You needn't love me, but you can't +prevent my going on loving you." + +"Well, I am very sorry," she sighed in much perplexity. + +"You needn't be," he answered, reassuringly. "I'm more sorry for you +than I am for myself. You are going to have a terrible time until you +marry me." + +They were at Thebes, and he went off that afternoon to the Temple of +Luxor with her mother, and made violent use of the sacred altars, +the beauty of Cleopatra, the eternity of the scarabea, and the +indestructibility of the Pyramids to suggest faintly to Mrs. Warriner +how much he loved her daughter. He shook his hand at the crouching +sphinxes and said: + +"Mrs. Warriner, in forty centuries they have never looked down upon a +man as proud as I am, and I am told they have seen Napoleon; but I need +help; she won't help me, so you must. It's no use arguing against me. +When this Nile dries up I shall have ceased loving your daughter!" + +"Did you tell Helen what you have told me? Did you talk to her so?" +asked Mrs. Warriner. + +"No, not last night," said Corbin; "but I will, in time, after she gets +more used to the Idea." + +Unfortunately for the peace of Mr. Corbin and all concerned. Miss +Warriner did not become reconciled to the idea. On the contrary, she +resented it greatly. She had looked at the possibility of something to +be carried out later--much later, perhaps not at all. It did not seem +possible that before she had really begun to enjoy life it should be +subjected to such a change. She saw that it was obviously the thing +that should happen. If the match had been arranged by the entire city of +Boston it could not have been more obvious. But she argued with him that +marriage was a mutual self-sacrifice, and that until she felt ready to +make her share of the sacrifice it was impossible for her to consent. + +He combated her arguments, which he refused to consider as arguments, +and demolished them one by one. But the objection which he destroyed +before he went to sleep at night was replaced the next day by another, +and his cause never advanced. Each day he found the citadel he was +besieging girt in by new and intricate defences. The reason was +simple enough: the girl was not in love with him. Her objections, her +arguments, her reasons were as absurd as he proved them to be. But they +were insurmountable because they were really various disguises of the +fact that she did not care for him. They were disguises to herself as +well as to him. He was so altogether a good fellow, so earnest, honest, +and desperate a lover that the primary fact that she did not want his +love did not present itself, and she kept casting about in her mind +for excuses and reasons to explain her lack of feeling. He wooed her in +every obvious way that would present itself to a boy of deep feeling, of +quick mind, and an unlimited letter of credit. He created wants in order +to gratify them later. He suggested her need of things which he had +already ordered, which, before she had been enticed into expressing a +wish for them, were then speeding across the Continent toward her. Every +hour brought her some fresh and ingenuous sign of his thought and of his +devotion. He treated these tributes as a matter of course; if she failed +to observe them and to see his handiwork in them he let them fall to the +ground unnoticed. + +His love itself was his argument-in-chief; it was its own excuse; it +needed no allies; "I love you" was his first and last word. It puzzled +her to find that she could not care. When she was alone she asked +herself what there was in him of which she disapproved, and she could +only answer that there was nothing. She asked herself what other men +there were who pleased her more, and she could think of none. On the +contrary, she found him entirely charming as a friend--but his love +distressed her greatly. It was a foreign language; she could not +comprehend it. When he allowed it to appear it completely disguised him +in her eyes; it annoyed her so much that at times she considered herself +a much ill-used young person. + +It was in this way that the matter stood between them when their long +journey was ended and they reached London. He was miserable, desperate, +and hopeless; the girl was firm in that she would not marry him, and +her mother, who respected both the depth of Corbin's feelings and her +daughter's reticence, and who had watched the struggle with a troubled +heart, was only thankful that they were to part, and that it was at +an end. Corbin had no idea where he would go nor what he would do. He +recognized that to cross the ocean with them would only subject his love +to fresh distress and humiliation, and he had determined to put as +much space between him and Miss Warriner as the surface of the globe +permitted. The Philippines seemed to offer a picturesque retreat for a +broken life. He decided he would go there and enlist and have himself +shot. He was uncertain whether he would follow in the steps of his +Revolutionary ancestors and join the men who were struggling for their +liberty and independence, or his fellow-Americans; but that he would +get shot by one side or the other he was determined. And then in days to +come she would think, perhaps, of the young man on the other side of the +globe, buried in the wet rice-fields, with the palms fanning him through +his eternal sleep, and she might be sorry then that she had not listened +to his troubled heart. The picture gave him some small comfort, and that +night when he ordered dinner for them at the Savoy his manner showed the +inspired resolve of one who is soon to mount the scaffold unafraid, and +with a rose between his lips. + +Edouard, the first violin, saw Miss Warriner when she entered and took +her place facing him at one of the tables in the centre of the room. He +was sitting with his violin on his knees, touching the strings with his +finger-tips. When he saw her he choked the neck of the violin with his +hand, as though it had been the hand of a friend which he had grasped in +a sudden ecstasy of delight. The effect her appearance had made upon him +was so remarkable that he glanced quickly over his shoulder to see if +he had betrayed himself by some sign or gesture. But the other musicians +were concerned with their own gossip, and he felt free to turn again and +from under his half-closed eyelids to observe her covertly. + +There was nothing to explain why Miss Warriner, in particular, should +have so disturbed him; the English women seated about her were as fair; +she showed no great sorrow in her face; her beauty was not of the +type which carried observers by assault. And yet not one of the many +beautiful women who on one night or another passed before Edouard in the +soft light of the red shades had ever stirred him so strangely, had ever +depressed him with such a tender melancholy, and filled his soul--the +soul of a Hungarian and a musician--with such loneliness and unrest. He +knew that, so far as he was concerned, she was as distant as the Venus +in the Louvre; she was, for him, a beautiful, unapproachable statue, +placed, by some social convention, upon a pedestal. + +As he looked at her he felt hotly the degradation of his silly uniform, +of the striped sash around his waist, the tawdry braids, and the +tasselled boots. He felt as he had often felt before, but now more +keenly than ever, the prostitution of his art in this temple of the +senses, this home of epicures, where people met to feast their eyes and +charm their palates. He could not put his feelings into words, and he +knew that if by some upheaval of the social world he should be thrown +into her presence he would still be bound, he would not be able to speak +or write what she inspired in him. But--and at the thought he breathed +quickly, and raised his shoulders with a touch of pride--he could tell +her in his own way; after his own fashion he could express what he felt +better even than those other men could tell what they feel--these men +for whose amusement he performed nightly, to whom it was granted to sit +at her side, who spoke the language of her class and of her own people. +Edouard was not given to analyzing his emotions; like the music of his +Tzigane ancestors, they came to him sweeping every chord in his nature, +beating rapidly to the time of the Schardash, or with the fitfulness of +the gypsy folksongs sinking his spirits into melancholy. So he did not +stop to question why this one face so suddenly inspired him; he only +knew that he felt grateful, that he was impatient to pay his tribute +of admiration, that he was glad he was an artist who could give his +feelings voice. + +In the long programme of selected airs he remembered that there was one +which would give him this chance to speak, in the playing of which he +could put all his skill and all his soul, an air which carried with it +infinite sadness and the touch of a caress. The other numbers on the +programme had been chosen to please the patrons of a restaurant, +this one, La Lettre d'Amour, was included in the list for his own +satisfaction. He had put it there to please himself; to-night he would +play it to please her--to this unknown girl who had so suddenly awakened +and inspired him. + +As he waited for this chance to come he watched her, noting her every +movement, her troubled smile, her air of being apart and above her +surroundings. He noticed, too, the set face of the young man at her side +and, with the discernment of one whose own interest is captive, saw the +half-concealed longing in his eyes. He felt a quick antipathy to this +young man. His assured position at the girl's side accentuated how far +he himself was removed from her; he resented also the manner of the +young man to the waiters, and he wondered hotly if, in the mind of +this favored youth, the musician who played for his entertainment was +regarded any more highly than the servant who received his orders. To +this feeling of resentment was added one of contempt. For, as he read +the tableau at the table below him, the young man was the devotee of the +young girl at his side, and if one could judge from her averted eyes, +from her silent assent to his questions, from the fact that she withdrew +from the talk between him and the older woman, his devotion was not +welcome. + +This reading of the pantomime pleased Edouard greatly. Nothing could +have so crowned the feeling which the beauty of the stranger stirred in +him as the thought that another loved her as well as himself, and that +the other, who started with all things in his favor, met with none from +her. + +Edouard assured himself that this was so because he had often heard his +people boast that men not of their country could not feel as they could +feel. If he had ever considered them at all it was as cold and conscious +creatures who taught themselves to cover up what they felt, so that when +their emotions strove to assert themselves they were found, through long +disuse, to be dumb and inarticulate. Edouard rejoiced that to the men of +his race it was given to feel and suffer much. He was sure that beneath +the calmness of her beauty this woman before him could feel deeply; he +read in her eyes the sympathy of a great soul; she made him think of a +Madonna in the church of St. Sophia at Budapest. He saw in her a woman +who could love greatly. When he considered how impossible it was for the +young man at her side ever to experience the great emotions which alone +could reach her, his contempt for him rose almost to pity. His violin, +with his power to feel, and with his knowledge of technic added, could +send his message as far as sound could carry. He could afford to be +generous, and when he rose to play La Lettre d'Amour it was with the +elation of a knight entering the lists, with the ardor of a lover +singing beneath his lady's window. La Lettre d'Amour is a composition +written to a slow measure, and filled with chords of exquisite pathos. +It comes hesitatingly, like the confession of a lover who loves so +deeply that he halts to find words with which to express his feelings. +It moves in broken phrases, each note rising in intensity and growing +in beauty. It is not a burst of passionate appeal, but a plea, tender, +beseeching, and throbbing with melancholy. As he played, Edouard stepped +down from the dais on which the musicians sat, and advanced slowly +between the tables. It was late, and the majority of those who had been +dining had departed to the theatres. Those who remained were lingering +over their coffee, and were smoking; their voices were lowered to a +polite monotone; the rush of the waiters had ceased, and the previous +chatter had sunk to a subdued murmur. Into this, the quivering sigh +of Edouard's violin penetrated like a sunbeam feeling its way into +a darkened room, and, at the sound, the voices, one by one, detached +themselves from the general chorus, until, lacking support, it ceased +altogether. Some were silent, that they might hear the better, others, +who preferred their own talk, were silent out of regard for those who +desired to listen, and a waiter who was so indiscreet as to clatter a +tray of glasses was hushed on the instant. The tribute of attention lent +to Edouard an added power; his head lifted on his shoulders with pride; +his bow cut deeper and firmer, and with more delicate shading; the +notes rose in thrilling, plaintive sadness, and flooded the hot air with +melody. + +Edouard made his way to within a short distance of the table at which +Miss Warriner was seated, and halted there as though he had found his +audience. He did not look at her, although she sat directly facing him, +but it was evident to all that she was the one to whom his effort +was directed, and Corbin, who was seated with his back to Edouard, +recognized this and turned in his chair. + +The body of the young musician was trembling with the feeling which +found its outlet through the violin. He was in ecstasy over his power +and its accomplishment. The strings of the violin pulsated to the +beating of his heart, and he felt that surely by now the emotion which +shook him must have reached the girl who had given it life--and, for one +swift second, his eyes sought hers. What he saw was the same beautiful +face which had inspired him, but unmoved, cold, and unresponsive. As his +eyes followed hers she raised her head and looked, listlessly, around +the room, and then turned and glanced up at him with a careless and +critical scrutiny. If his music had been the music of an organ in the +street, and he the man who raised his hat for coppers, she could not +have been less moved. The discovery struck Edouard like a cold blast +from an open door. His fingers faltered on the neck of his violin, his +bow wavered, drunkenly, across the strings, and he turned away his eyes +to shut out the vision of his failure, seeking relief and sympathy. And, +in their swift passage, they encountered those of Corbin looking up at +him, his eyes aglow with wonder, feeling, and sorrow. They seemed to +hold him to account; they begged, they demanded of him not to break +the spell, and, in response, the hot blood in the veins of the musician +surged back, his pride flared up again, his eyes turned on Corbin's +like those of a dog to his master's. Under their spell the music soared, +trembling, paused and soared again, thrilling those who heard it with +its grief and tenderness. + +Edouard's heart leaped with triumph. "The man knows," he whispered to +the violin; "he understands us. He knows." + +The people, leaning with their elbows on the tables before them, the +waiters listening with tolerant smiles, the musicians following Edouard +with anxious pride, saw only a young man with his arm thrown heavily +across the back of his chair, who was looking up at Edouard with a +steady, searching gaze. But Edouard saw in him both a disciple and a +master. He saw that this man was lifted up and carried with him, that he +understood the message of the music. The notes of the violin sank lower +and lower, until they melted into the silence of the room, and the +people, freed of the spell the music had put upon them, applauded +generously. Edouard placed his violin under his arm, and with his eyes, +which had never left Corbin's face, still fastened upon his, bowed low +to him, and Corbin raised his head and nodded gravely. It was as though +they were the only people in the room. As Edouard retreated his face was +shining with triumph, for he knew that the other had understood him, and +that the other knew that he knew. + +That night until he fell asleep, and all of the day following, the +beautiful face of Miss Warriner troubled Edouard, and the thought of her +alternately thrilled and depressed him. One moment he mocked at himself +for presuming to think that his simple art could reach the depths of +such a nature, and the next he stirred himself to hope that he should +see her once again, and that he should succeed where he had failed. + +The music had moved Corbin so deeply that when he awoke the day +following the effect of it still hung upon him. It seemed to him as +though all he had been trying to tell Miss Warriner of his love for her, +and which he had failed to make her understand in the last three months, +had been expressed in the one moment of this song. It was that in it +which had so enchanted him. It was as though he had listened to his +own deepest and most sacred thoughts, uttered for the first time +convincingly, and by a stranger. Why was it, he asked himself, that this +unknown youth could translate another's feelings into music, when he +himself could not put them into words? He was walking in Piccadilly, +deep in this thought, when a question came to him which caused him to +turn rapidly into Green Park, where he could consider it undisturbed. + +The doubt which had so suddenly presented itself was in some degree the +same one which had stirred Edouard. Was it that he was really unable to +express his feelings, or was it that Miss Warriner could not understand +them? Was it really something lacking in him, or was it not something +lacking in her? He flushed at the disloyalty of the thought and put it +from him; but, as his memory reached back over the past three months, +the question returned again and again with fresh force, and would not +be denied. He called himself a fatuous, conceited fool. Because he could +not make a woman love him other men could do so. That was really the +answer; he was not the man. But the answer did not seem final. What, +after all, was the thing his love sought--a woman only, or a woman +capable of deep and great feeling? Even if he could not inspire such +emotions, even if another could, he would still be content and proud +to love a woman capable of such deep feelings. But if she were without +them? At the thought, Corbin stared blankly before him as though he had +stumbled against a stone wall. What sign had she ever given him that she +could care greatly? Was not any form of emotion always distasteful to +her? Was not her mind always occupied with abstract questions? Was she +not always engaged in her own self-improvement--with schemes, it is +true, for bettering the world; but did her heart ever ache once for the +individual? What was it, then, he loved? Something he imagined this girl +to be, or was he in love with the fact that his own nature had been so +mightily stirred? Was it not the joy of caring greatly which had carried +him along? And if this was so, was he now to continue to proffer this +devotion to one who could not feel, to a statue, to an idol? Were not +the very things which rendered her beautiful the offerings which he +himself had hung upon her altar? Did the qualities he really loved in +her exist? Was he not on the brink of casting his love before one +who could neither feel it for him nor for any other man? He stood up, +trembling and frightened. Even though the girl had rejected him again +and again, he felt a hateful sense of disloyalty. He was ashamed to +confess it to himself, and he vowed, hotly, that he must be wrong, that +he would not believe. He would still worship her, fight for her, and +force her to care for him. + +Mrs. Warriner and her daughter were to sail on the morrow, and +that night they met Corbin at dinner for the last time. After many +days--although self-accused--he felt deeply conscious of his recent lack +of faith, and, in the few hours still left him, he determined to atone +for the temporary halt in his allegiance. They had never found him more +eager, tactful, and considerate than he was that evening. The eyes of +Mrs. Warriner softened as she watched him. As one day had succeeded +another, her admiration and liking for him had increased, until now she +felt as though his cause was hers--as though she was not parting from +a friend, but from a son. But the calmness of her daughter was +impenetrable; from her manner it was impossible to learn whether the +approaching separation was a relief or a regret. + +To Edouard the return of the beautiful girl to the restaurant appeared +not as an accident, but as a marked favor vouchsafed to him by Fate. He +had been given a second chance. He read it as a sign that he should take +heart and hope. He felt that fortune was indeed kind. He determined that +he would play to her again, and that this time he would not fail. + +As the first notes of La Lettre d'Amour brought a pause of silence +in the restaurant, Corbin, who was talking at the moment, interrupted +himself abruptly, and turned in his chair. + +All through the evening he had been conscious of the near presence of +the young musician. He had not forgotten how, on the night before, his +own feelings had been interpreted in La Lettre d'Amour, and for some +time he had been debating in his mind as to whether he would request +Edouard to play the air again, or let the evening pass without again +submitting himself to so supreme an assault upon his feelings. Now the +question had been settled for him, and he found that it had been decided +as he secretly desired. It was impossible to believe that Edouard was +the same young man who had played the same air on the night previous, +for Edouard no longer considered that he was present on sufferance--he +invited and challenged the attention of the room; his music commanded it +to silence. It dominated all who heard it. + +As he again slowly approached the table where Miss Warriner was seated, +the eyes of everyone were turned upon him; the pathos, the tenderness +of his message seemed to speak to each; the fact that he dared to offer +such a wealth of deep feeling to such an audience was in itself enough +to engage the attention of all. A group of Guardsmen, their faces +flushed with Burgundy and pulling heavily on black cigars, stared at him +sleepily, and then sat up, erect and alert, watching him with intent, +wide-open eyes; and at tables which had been marked by the laughter of +those seated about them there fell a sudden silence. Those who fully +understood the value of the music withdrew into themselves, submitting, +thankfully, to its spell; others, less susceptible, gathered from the +bearing of those about them that something of moment was going forward; +but it was recognized by each, from the most severe English matron +present down to the youngest "omnibus-boy" among the waiters, that it +was a love-story which was being told to them, and that in this public +place the deepest, most sacred, and most beautiful of emotions were +finding noble utterance. + +The music filled Corbin with desperate longing and regret. It was +so truly the translation of his own feelings that he was alternately +touched with self-pity and inspired to fresh resolve. It seemed to +assure him that love such as his could not endure without some return. +It emboldened him to make still another and a final appeal. Mrs. +Warriner, with all the other people in the room, was watching Edouard, +and so, unobserved, and hidden by the flowers upon the table, Corbin +leaned toward Miss Warriner and bent his head close to hers. His eyes +were burning with feeling; his voice thrilled in unison to the plaint of +the violin. + +He gave a toss of his head in the direction from whence the music came. + +"That is what I have been trying to tell you," he whispered. His voice +was hoarse and shaken. "That is how I care, but that man's genius is +telling you for me. At last, you must understand." In his eagerness, his +words followed each other brokenly and impetuously. "That is love," he +whispered. "That is the real voice of love in all its tenderness +and might, and--it is love itself. Don't you understand it now?" he +demanded. + +Miss Warriner raised her head and frowned. She stared at Edouard with a +pained expression of perplexity and doubt. + +"He shows no lack of feeling," she said, critically, "but his technic is +not equal to Ysaye's." + +"Good God!" Corbin gasped. He sank away from Miss Warriner and stared at +her with incredulous eyes. + +"His technic," he repeated, "is not equal to Ysaye's?" He gave a laugh +which might have been a sob, and sat up, suddenly, with his head +erect and his shoulders squared. He had the shaken look of one who has +recovered from a dangerous illness. But when he spoke again it was in +the accents of every-day politeness. + +At an early hour the following morning, Mrs. Warriner and her daughter +left Waterloo Station on the steamer-train for Southampton, and Corbin +attended them up to the moment of the train's departure. He concerned +himself for their comfort as conscientiously as he had always +done throughout the last three months, when he had been their +travelling-companion; nothing could have been more friendly, more +sympathetic, than his manner. This effort, which Mrs. Warriner was sure +cost him much, touched her deeply. But when he shook Miss Warriner's +hand and she said, "Good-by, and write to us before you go to the +Philippines," Corbin for the first time stammered in some embarrassment. + +"Good-by," he said; "I--I am not sure that I shall go." + +He dined at the Savoy again that night, in company with some Englishmen. +They sat at a table in the corner where they could observe the whole +extent of the room, and their talk was eager and their laughter constant +and hearty. It was only when the boy who led the orchestra began to +walk among the tables, playing an air of peculiar sadness, that Corbin's +manner lost its vivacity, and he sank into a sudden silence, with his +eyes fixed on the table before him. + +"That's odd," said one of his companions. "I say, Corbin, look at that +chap! What's he doing?" + +Corbin raised his eyes. He saw Edouard standing at the same table at +which for the last two nights Miss Warriner had been seated. "What is +it?" he asked. + +"Why, that violin chap," said the Englishman. "Don't you see? He's been +playing to the only vacant table in the room, and to an empty chair." + + + + + + +IN THE FOG + +I + + +The Grill is the club most difficult of access in the world. To be +placed on its rolls distinguishes the new member as greatly as though he +had received a vacant Garter or had been caricatured in "Vanity Fair." + +Men who belong to the Grill Club never mention that fact. If you were +to ask one of them which clubs he frequents, he will name all save that +particular one. He is afraid if he told you he belonged to the Grill, +that it would sound like boasting. + +The Grill Club dates back to the days when Shakespeare's Theatre stood +on the present site of the "Times" office. It has a golden Grill which +Charles the Second presented to the Club, and the original manuscript +of "Tom and Jerry in London," which was bequeathed to it by Pierce Egan +himself. The members, when they write letters at the Club, still use +sand to blot the ink. + +The Grill enjoys the distinction of having blackballed, without +political prejudice, a Prime Minister of each party. At the same sitting +at which one of these fell, it elected, on account of his brogue and his +bulls, Quiller, Q. C., who was then a penniless barrister. + +When Paul Preval, the French artist who came to London by royal command +to paint a portrait of the Prince of Wales, was made an honorary +member--only foreigners may be honorary members--he said, as he signed +his first wine-card, "I would rather see my name on that than on a +picture in the Louvre." + +At which Quiller remarked, "That is a devil of a compliment, because the +only men who can read their names in the Louvre to-day have been dead +fifty years." + +On the night after the great fog of 1897 there were five members in +the Club, four of them busy with supper and one reading in front of the +fireplace. There is only one room to the Club, and one long table. At +the far end of the room the fire of the grill glows red, and, when +the fat falls, blazes into flame, and at the other there is a broad +bow-window of diamond panes, which looks down upon the street. The four +men at the table were strangers to each other, but as they picked at +the grilled bones, and sipped their Scotch and soda, they conversed +with such charming animation that a visitor to the Club, which does +not tolerate visitors, would have counted them as friends of long +acquaintance, certainly not as Englishmen who had met for the first +time, and without the form of an introduction. But it is the etiquette +and tradition of the Grill that whoever enters it must speak with +whomever he finds there. It is to enforce this rule that there is but +one long table, and whether there are twenty men at it or two, the +waiters, supporting the rule, will place them side by side. + +For this reason the four strangers at supper were seated together, with +the candles grouped about them, and the long length of the table cutting +a white path through the outer gloom. + +"I repeat," said the gentleman with the black pearl stud, "that the days +for romantic adventure and deeds of foolish daring have passed, and that +the fault lies with ourselves. Voyages to the pole I do not catalogue +as adventures. That African explorer, young Chetney, who turned up +yesterday after he was supposed to have died in Uganda, did nothing +adventurous. He made maps and explored the sources of rivers. He was +in constant danger, but the presence of danger does not constitute +adventure. Were that so, the chemist who studies high explosives, or +who investigates deadly poisons, passes through adventures daily. No, +'adventures are for the adventurous.' But one no longer ventures. The +spirit of it has died of inertia. We are grown too practical, too just, +above all, too sensible. In this room, for instance, members of this +Club have, at the sword's point, disputed the proper scanning of one +of Pope's couplets. Over so weighty a matter as spilled Burgundy on a +gentleman's cuff, ten men fought across this table, each with his +rapier in one hand and a candle in the other. All ten were wounded. The +question of the spilled Burgundy concerned but two of them. The eight +others engaged because they were men of 'spirit.' They were, indeed, the +first gentlemen of the day. To-night, were you to spill Burgundy on +my cuff, were you even to insult me grossly, these gentlemen would not +consider it incumbent upon them to kill each other. They would separate +us, and to-morrow morning appear as witnesses against us at Bow Street. +We have here to-night, in the persons of Sir Andrew and myself, an +illustration of how the ways have changed." + +The men around the table turned and glanced toward the gentleman in +front of the fireplace. He was an elderly and somewhat portly person, +with a kindly, wrinkled countenance, which wore continually a smile +of almost childish confidence and good-nature. It was a face which the +illustrated prints had made intimately familiar. He held a book from him +at arm's-length, as if to adjust his eyesight, and his brows were knit +with interest. + +"Now, were this the eighteenth century," continued the gentleman with +the black pearl, "when Sir Andrew left the Club to-night I would have +him bound and gagged and thrown into a sedan chair. The watch would not +interfere, the passers-by would take to their heels, my hired bullies +and ruffians would convey him to some lonely spot where we would guard +him until morning. Nothing would come of it, except added reputation to +myself as a gentleman of adventurous spirit, and possibly an essay in +the 'Tatler' with stars for names, entitled, let us say, 'The Budget and +the Baronet.'" + +"But to what end, sir?" inquired the youngest of the members. "And +why Sir Andrew, of all persons--why should you select him for this +adventure?" + +The gentleman with the black pearl shrugged his shoulders. + +"It would prevent him speaking in the House to-night. The Navy Increase +Bill," he added, gloomily. "It is a Government measure, and Sir Andrew +speaks for it. And so great is his influence and so large his following +that if he does"--the gentleman laughed ruefully--"if he does, it will +go through. Now, had I the spirit of our ancestors," he exclaimed, "I +would bring chloroform from the nearest chemist's and drug him in that +chair. I would tumble his unconscious form into a hansom-cab, and hold +him prisoner until daylight. If I did, I would save the British taxpayer +the cost of five more battleships, many millions of pounds." + +The gentleman again turned, and surveyed the baronet with freshened +interest. The honorary member of the Grill, whose accent already had +betrayed him as an American, laughed softly. + +"To look at him now," he said, "one would not guess he was deeply +concerned with the affairs of state." + +The others nodded silently. + +"He has not lifted his eyes from that book since we first entered," +added the youngest member. "He surely cannot mean to speak to-night." + +"Oh, yes, he will speak," muttered the one with the black pearl, +moodily. "During these last hours of the session the House sits late, +but when the Navy bill comes up on its third reading he will be in his +place--and he will pass it." + +The fourth member, a stout and florid gentleman of a somewhat sporting +appearance, in a short smoking-jacket and black tie, sighed enviously. + +"Fancy one of us being as cool as that, if he knew he had to stand up +within an hour and rattle off a speech in Parliament. I'd be in a devil +of a funk myself. And yet he is as keen over that book he's reading as +though he had nothing before him until bedtime." + +"Yes, see how eager he is," whispered the youngest member. "He does +not lift his eyes even now when he cuts the pages. It is probably an +Admiralty Report, or some other weighty work of statistics which bears +upon his speech." + +The gentleman with the black pearl laughed morosely. + +"The weighty work in which the eminent statesman is so deeply +engrossed," he said, "is called 'The Great Rand Robbery.' It is a +detective novel for sale at all bookstalls." + +The American raised his eyebrows in disbelief. + +"'The Great Rand Robbery'?" he repeated, incredulously. "What an odd +taste!" + +"It is not a taste, it is his vice," returned the gentleman with the +pearl stud. "It is his one dissipation. He is noted for it. You, as a +stranger, could hardly be expected to know of this idiosyncrasy. Mr. +Gladstone sought relaxation in the Greek poets, Sir Andrew finds his in +Gaboriau. Since I have been a member of Parliament, I have never seen +him in the library without a shilling shocker in his hands. He +brings them even into the sacred precincts of the House, and from the +Government benches reads them concealed inside his hat. Once started on +a tale of murder, robbery, and sudden death, nothing can tear him from +it, not even the call of the division-bell, nor of hunger, nor the +prayers of the party Whip. He gave up his country house because when +he journeyed to it in the train he would become so absorbed in his +detective-stories that he was invariably carried past his station." The +member of Parliament twisted his pearl stud nervously, and bit at the +edge of his mustache. "If it only were the first pages of 'The Rand +Robbery' that he were reading," he murmured bitterly, "instead of the +last! With such another book as that, I swear I could hold him here +until morning. There would be no need of chloroform to keep him from the +House." + +The eyes of all were fastened upon Sir Andrew, and each saw, with +fascination, that, with his forefinger, he was now separating the +last two pages of the book. The member of Parliament struck the table, +softly, with his open palm. + +"I would give a hundred pounds," he whispered, "if I could place in his +hands at this moment a new story of Sherlock Holmes--a thousand pounds," +he added, wildly--"five thousand pounds!" + +The American observed the speaker sharply, as though the words bore to +him some special application, and then, at an idea which apparently had +but just come to him, smiled, in great embarrassment. + +Sir Andrew ceased reading, but, as though still under the influence of +the book, sat looking, blankly, into the open fire. For a brief space, +no one moved until the baronet withdrew his eyes and, with a sudden +start of recollection, felt, anxiously, for his watch. He scanned its +face eagerly, and scrambled to his feet. + +The voice of the American instantly broke the silence in a high, nervous +accent. + +"And yet Sherlock Holmes himself," he cried, "could not decipher the +mystery which to-night baffles the police of London." + +At these unexpected words, which carried in them something of the tone +of a challenge, the gentlemen about the table started as suddenly +as though the American had fired a pistol in the air, and Sir Andrew +halted, abruptly, and stood observing him with grave surprise. + +The gentleman with the black pearl was the first to recover. + +"Yes, yes," he said, eagerly, throwing himself across the table. "A +mystery that baffles the police of London. I have heard nothing of it. +Tell us at once, pray do--tell us at once." + +The American flushed uncomfortably, and picked, uneasily, at the +table-cloth. + +"No one but the police has heard of it," he murmured, "and they only +through me. It is a remarkable crime, to which, unfortunately, I am the +only person who can bear witness. Because I am the only witness, I +am, in spite of my immunity as a diplomat, detained in London by the +authorities of Scotland Yard. My name," he said, inclining his head, +politely, "is Sears, Lieutenant Ripley Sears, of the United States Navy, +at present Naval Attache to the Court of Russia. Had I not been detained +to-day by the police, I would have started this morning for Petersburg." + +The gentleman with the black pearl interrupted with so pronounced an +exclamation of excitement and delight that the American stammered and +ceased speaking. + +"Do you hear, Sir Andrew?" cried the member of Parliament, jubilantly. +"An American diplomat halted by our police because he is the only +witness of a most remarkable crime--THE most remarkable crime, I believe +you said, sir," he added, bending eagerly toward the naval officer, +"which has occurred in London in many years." + +The American moved his head in assent, and glanced at the two other +members. They were looking, doubtfully, at him, and the face of each +showed that he was greatly perplexed. + +Sir Andrew advanced to within the light of the candles and drew a chair +toward him. + +"The crime must be exceptional, indeed," he said, "to justify the police +in interfering with a representative of a friendly power. If I were not +forced to leave at once, I should take the liberty of asking you to tell +us the details." + +The gentleman with the pearl pushed the chair toward Sir Andrew, and +motioned him to be seated. + +"You cannot leave us now," he exclaimed. "Mr. Sears is just about to +tell us of this remarkable crime." + +He nodded, vigorously, at the naval officer and the American, after +first glancing, doubtfully, toward the servants at the far end of the +room, and leaned forward across the table. The others drew their chairs +nearer and bent toward him. The baronet glanced, irresolutely, at his +watch, and, with an exclamation of annoyance, snapped down the lid. +"They can wait," he muttered. He seated himself quickly, and nodded at +Lieutenant Sears. + +"If you will be so kind as to begin, sir," he said, impatiently. + +"Of course," said the American, "you understand that I understand that +I am speaking to gentlemen. The confidences of this Club are inviolate. +Until the police give the facts to the public press, I must consider you +my confederates. You have heard nothing, you know no one connected with +this mystery. Even I must remain anonymous." + +The gentlemen seated around him nodded gravely. + +"Of course," the baronet assented, with eagerness, "of course." + +"We will refer to it," said the gentleman with the black pearl, "as 'The +Story of the Naval Attache.'" + +"I arrived in London two days ago," said the American, "and I engaged a +room at the Bath Hotel. I know very few people in London, and even the +members of our embassy were strangers to me. But in Hong Kong I had +become great pals with an officer in your navy, who has since retired, +and who is now living in a small house in Rutland Gardens, opposite +the Knightsbridge Barracks. I telegraphed him that I was in London, and +yesterday morning I received a most hearty invitation to dine with him +the same evening at his house. He is a bachelor, so we dined alone and +talked over all our old days on the Asiatic Station and of the changes +which had come to us since we had last met there. As I was leaving the +next morning for my post at Petersburg, and had many letters to write, +I told him, about ten o'clock, that I must get back to the hotel, and he +sent out his servant to call a hansom. + +"For the next quarter of an hour, as we sat talking, we could hear the +cab-whistle sounding, violently, from the doorstep, but apparently with +no result. + +"'It cannot be that the cabmen are on strike,' my friend said, as he +rose and walked to the window. + +"He pulled back the curtains and at once called to me. + +"'You have never seen a London fog, have you?' he asked. 'Well, come +here. This is one of the best, or, rather, one of the worst, of them.' I +joined him at the window, but I could see nothing. Had I not known that +the house looked out upon the street I would have believed that I was +facing a dead wall. I raised the sash and stretched out my head, but +still I could see nothing. Even the light of the street-lamps, opposite, +and in the upper windows of the barracks, had been smothered in the +yellow mist. The lights of the room in which I stood penetrated the fog +only to the distance of a few inches from my eyes. + +"Below me the servant was still sounding his whistle, but I could afford +to wait no longer, and told my friend that I would try and find the way +to my hotel on foot. He objected, but the letters I had to write were +for the Navy Department, and, besides, I had always heard that to be out +in a London fog was the most wonderful experience, and I was curious to +investigate one for myself. + +"My friend went with me to his front door, and laid down a course for me +to follow. I was first to walk straight across the street to the brick +wall of the Knightsbridge Barracks. I was then to feel my way along the +wall until I came to a row of houses set back from the sidewalk. They +would bring me to a cross street. On the other side of this street was +a row of shops which I was to follow until they joined the iron railings +of Hyde Park. I was to keep to the railings until I reached the gates +at Hyde Park Corner, where I was to lay a diagonal course across +Piccadilly, and tack in toward the railings of Green Park. At the end +of these railings, going east, I would find the Walsingham, and my own +hotel. + +"To a sailor the course did not seem difficult, so I bade my friend +good-night and walked forward until my feet touched the paving. I +continued upon it until I reached the curbing of the sidewalk. A few +steps further, and my hands struck the wall of the barracks. I turned +in the direction from which I had just come, and saw a square of faint +light cut in the yellow fog. I shouted, 'All right,' and the voice of +my friend answered, 'Good luck to you.' The light from his open door +disappeared with a bang, and I was left alone in a dripping, yellow +darkness. I have been in the Navy for ten years, but I have never known +such a fog as that of last night, not even among the icebergs of Behring +Sea. There one at least could see the light of the binnacle, but last +night I could not even distinguish the hand by which I guided myself +along the barrack-wall. At sea a fog is a natural phenomenon. It is as +familiar as the rainbow which follows a storm, it is as proper that +a fog should spread upon the waters as that steam shall rise from a +kettle. But a fog which springs from the paved streets, that rolls +between solid house-fronts, that forces cabs to move at half speed, that +drowns policemen and extinguishes the electric lights of the music-hall, +that to me is incomprehensible. It is as out of place as a tidal wave on +Broadway. + +"As I felt my way along the wall, I encountered other men who were +coming from the opposite direction, and each time when we hailed each +other I stepped away from the wall to make room for them to pass. But +the third time I did this, when I reached out my hand, the wall had +disappeared, and the further I moved to find it the further I seemed +to be sinking into space. I had the unpleasant conviction that at any +moment I might step over a precipice. Since I had set out, I had heard +no traffic in the street, and now, although I listened some minutes, I +could only distinguish the occasional footfalls of pedestrians. Several +times I called aloud, and once a jocular gentleman answered me, but only +to ask me where I thought he was, and then even he was swallowed up in +the silence. Just above me I could make out a jet of gas which I guessed +came from a street-lamp, and I moved over to that, and, while I tried +to recover my bearings, kept my hand on the iron post. Except for this +nicker of gas, no larger than the tip of my finger, I could distinguish +nothing about me. For the rest, the mist hung between me and the world +like a damp and heavy blanket. + +"I could hear voices, but I could not tell from whence they came, and +the scrape of a foot, moving cautiously, or a muffled cry as someone +stumbled, were the only sounds that reached me. + +"I decided that until someone took me in I had best remain where I +was, and it must have been for ten minutes that I waited by the lamp, +straining my ears and hailing distant footfalls. In a house near me some +people were dancing to the music of a Hungarian band. I even fancied I +could hear the windows shake to the rhythm of their feet, but I could +not make out from which part of the compass the sounds came. And +sometimes, as the music rose, it seemed close at my hand, and, again, to +be floating high in the air above my head. Although I was surrounded by +thousands of householders, I was as completely lost as though I had been +set down by night in the Sahara Desert. There seemed to be no reason +in waiting longer for an escort, so I again set out, and at once bumped +against a low, iron fence. At first I believed this to be an area +railing, but, on following it, I found that it stretched for a long +distance, and that it was pierced at regular intervals with gates. I was +standing, uncertainly, with my hand on one of these, when a square +of light suddenly opened in the night, and in it I saw, as you see a +picture thrown by a biograph in a darkened theatre, a young gentleman in +evening dress, and, back of him, the lights of a hall. I guessed, from +its elevation and distance from the sidewalk, that this light must come +from the door of a house set back from the street, and I determined +to approach it and ask the young man to tell me where I was. But, in +fumbling with the lock of the gate, I instinctively bent my head, and +when I raised it again the door had partly closed, leaving only a narrow +shaft of light. Whether the young man had re-entered the house, or had +left it I could not tell, but I hastened to open the gate, and as I +stepped forward I found myself upon an asphalt walk. At the same instant +there was the sound of quick steps upon the path, and someone rushed +past me. I called to him, but he made no reply, and I heard the gate +click and the footsteps hurrying away upon the sidewalk. + +"Under other circumstances the young man's rudeness, and his +recklessness in dashing so hurriedly through the mist, would have struck +me as peculiar, but everything was so distorted by the fog that at the +moment I did not consider it. The door was still as he had left it, +partly open. I went up the path, and, after much fumbling, found the +knob of the door-bell and gave it a sharp pull. The bell answered me +from a great depth and distance, but no movement followed from inside +the house, and, although I pulled the bell again and again, I could hear +nothing save the dripping of the mist about me. I was anxious to be on +my way, but unless I knew where I was going there was little chance +of my making any speed, and I was determined that until I learned my +bearings I would not venture back into the fog. So I pushed the door +open and stepped into the house. + +"I found myself in a long and narrow hall, upon which doors opened from +either side. At the end of the hall was a staircase with a balustrade +which ended in a sweeping curve. The balustrade was covered with heavy, +Persian rugs, and the walls of the hall were also hung with them. The +door on my left was closed, but the one nearer me on the right was open, +and, as I stepped opposite to it, I saw that it was a sort of reception +or waiting-room, and that it was empty. The door below it was also open, +and, with the idea that I would surely find someone there, I walked on +up the hall. I was in evening dress, and I felt I did not look like +a burglar, so I had no great fear that, should I encounter one of the +inmates of the house, he would shoot me on sight. The second door in the +hall opened into a dining-room. This was also empty. One person had +been dining at the table, but the cloth had not been cleared away, and +a flickering candle showed half-filled wineglasses and the ashes of +cigarettes. The greater part of the room was in complete darkness. + +"By this time I had grown conscious of the fact that I was wandering +about in a strange house, and that, apparently, I was alone in it. +The silence of the place began to try my nerves, and in a sudden, +unexplainable panic I started for the open street. But as I turned, +I saw a man sitting on a bench, which the curve of the balustrade had +hidden from me. His eyes were shut, and he was sleeping soundly. + +"The moment before I had been bewildered because I could see no one, but +at sight of this man I was much more bewildered. + +"He was a very large man, a giant in height, with long, yellow hair, +which hung below his shoulders. He was dressed in a red silk shirt, that +was belted at the waist and hung outside black velvet trousers, which, +in turn, were stuffed into high, black boots. I recognized the costume +at once as that of a Russian servant, but what a Russian servant in his +native livery could be doing in a private house in Knightsbridge was +incomprehensible. + +"I advanced and touched the man on the shoulder, and, after an effort, +he awoke, and, on seeing me, sprang to his feet and began bowing +rapidly, and making deprecatory gestures. I had picked up enough Russian +in Petersburg to make out that the man was apologizing for having fallen +asleep, and I also was able to explain to him that I desired to see his +master. + +"He nodded vigorously, and said, 'Will the Excellency come this way? The +Princess is here.' + +"I distinctly made out the word 'princess,' and I was a good deal +embarrassed. I had thought it would be easy enough to explain my +intrusion to a man, but how a woman would look at it was another matter, +and as I followed him down the hall I was somewhat puzzled. + +"As we advanced, he noticed that the front door was standing open, and +with an exclamation of surprise, hastened toward it and closed it. Then +he rapped twice on the door of what was apparently the drawing-room. +There was no reply to his knock, and he tapped again, and then, timidly, +and cringing subserviently, opened the door and stepped inside. He +withdrew himself at once and stared stupidly at me, shaking his head. + +"'She is not there,' he said. He stood for a moment, gazing blankly +through the open door, and then hastened toward the dining-room. The +solitary candle which still burned there seemed to assure him that the +room also was empty. He came back and bowed me toward the drawing-room. +'She is above,' he said; 'I will inform the Princess of the Excellency's +presence.' + +"Before I could stop him, he had turned and was running up the +staircase, leaving me alone at the open door of the drawing-room. I +decided that the adventure had gone quite far enough, and if I had been +able to explain to the Russian that I had lost my way in the fog, and +only wanted to get back into the street again, I would have left the +house on the instant. + +"Of course, when I first rang the bell of the house I had no other +expectation than that it would be answered by a parlor-maid who would +direct me on my way. I certainly could not then foresee that I would +disturb a Russian princess in her boudoir, or that I might be thrown out +by her athletic bodyguard. Still, I thought I ought not now to leave +the house without making some apology, and, if the worst should come, +I could show my card. They could hardly believe that a member of an +Embassy had any designs upon the hat-rack. + +"The room in which I stood was dimly lighted, but I could see that, like +the hall, it was hung with heavy, Persian rugs. The corners were filled +with palms, and there was the unmistakable odor in the air of Russian +cigarettes, and strange, dry scents that carried me back to the bazaars +of Vladivostock. Near the front windows was a grand piano, and at the +other end of the room a heavily carved screen of some black wood, +picked out with ivory. The screen was overhung with a canopy of silken +draperies, and formed a sort of alcove. In front of the alcove was +spread the white skin of a polar bear, and set on that was one of those +low, Turkish coffee-tables. It held a lighted spirit-lamp and two gold +coffee-cups. I had heard no movement from above stairs, and it must have +been fully three minutes that I stood waiting, noting these details of +the room and wondering at the delay, and at the strange silence. + +"And then, suddenly, as my eye grew more used to the half-light, I saw, +projecting from behind the screen, as though it were stretched along the +back of a divan, the hand of a man and the lower part of his arm. I +was as startled as though I had come across a footprint on a deserted +island. Evidently, the man had been sitting there since I had come +into the room, even since I had entered the house, and he had heard the +servant knocking upon the door. Why he had not declared himself I could +not understand, but I supposed that, possibly, he was a guest, with +no reason to interest himself in the Princess's other visitors, or, +perhaps, for some reason, he did not wish to be observed. I could see +nothing of him except his hand, but I had an unpleasant feeling that he +had been peering at me through the carving in the screen, and that +he still was doing so. I moved my feet noisily on the floor and said, +tentatively, 'I beg your pardon.' + +"There was no reply, and the hand did not stir. Apparently, the man +was bent upon ignoring me, but, as all I wished was to apologize for my +intrusion and to leave the house, I walked up to the alcove and peered +around it. Inside the screen was a divan piled with cushions, and on the +end of it nearer me the man was sitting. He was a young Englishman with +light-yellow hair and a deeply bronzed face. He was seated with his arms +stretched out along the back of the divan, and with his head resting +against a cushion. His attitude was one of complete ease. But his mouth +had fallen open, and his eyes were set with an expression of utter +horror. At the first glance, I saw that he was quite dead. + +"For a flash of time I was too startled to act, but in the same flash I +was convinced that the man had met his death from no accident, that he +had not died through any ordinary failure of the laws of nature. The +expression on his face was much too terrible to be misinterpreted. It +spoke as eloquently as words. It told me that before the end had come he +had watched his death approach and threaten him. + +"I was so sure he had been murdered that I instinctively looked on the +floor for the weapon, and, at the same moment, out of concern for my +own safety, quickly behind me; but the silence of the house continued +unbroken. + +"I have seen a great number of dead men; I was on the Asiatic Station +during the Japanese-Chinese war. I was in Port Arthur after the +massacre. So a dead man, for the single reason that he is dead, does not +repel me, and, though I knew that there was no hope that this man was +alive, still, for decency's sake, I felt his pulse, and, while I kept +my ears alert for any sound from the floors above me, I pulled open his +shirt and placed my hand upon his heart. My fingers instantly touched +upon the opening of a wound, and as I withdrew them I found them wet +with blood. He was in evening dress, and in the wide bosom of his shirt +I found a narrow slit, so narrow that in the dim light it was scarcely +discernible. The wound was no wider than the smallest blade of a +pocket-knife, but when I stripped the shirt away from the chest and left +it bare, I found that the weapon, narrow as it was, had been long enough +to reach his heart. There is no need to tell you how I felt as I stood +by the body of this boy, for he was hardly older than a boy, or of the +thoughts that came into my head. I was bitterly sorry for this stranger, +bitterly indignant at his murderer, and, at the same time, selfishly +concerned for my own safety and for the notoriety which I saw was sure +to follow. My instinct was to leave the body where it lay, and to hide +myself in the fog, but I also felt that since a succession of accidents +had made me the only witness to a crime, my duty was to make myself a +good witness and to assist to establish the facts of this murder. + +"That it might, possibly, be a suicide, and not a murder, did not +disturb me for a moment. The fact that the weapon had disappeared, and +the expression on the boy's face were enough to convince, at least me, +that he had had no hand in his own death. I judged it, therefore, of +the first importance to discover who was in the house, or, if they had +escaped from it, who had been in the house before I entered it. I had +seen one man leave it; but all I could tell of him was that he was a +young man, that he was in evening dress, and that he had fled in such +haste that he had not stopped to close the door behind him. + +"The Russian servant I had found apparently asleep, and, unless he acted +a part with supreme skill, he was a stupid and ignorant boor, and as +innocent of the murder as myself. There was still the Russian princess +whom he had expected to find, or had pretended to expect to find, in the +same room with the murdered man. I judged that she must now be either +upstairs with the servant, or that she had, without his knowledge, +already fled from the house. When I recalled his apparently genuine +surprise at not finding her in the drawing-room, this latter supposition +seemed the more probable. Nevertheless, I decided that it was my duty to +make a search, and after a second hurried look for the weapon among the +cushions of the divan, and upon the floor, I cautiously crossed the hall +and entered the dining-room. + +"The single candle was still flickering in the draught, and showed only +the white cloth. The rest of the room was draped in shadows. I picked up +the candle, and, lifting it high above my head, moved around the corner +of the table. Either my nerves were on such a stretch that no shock +could strain them further, or my mind was inoculated to horrors, for +I did not cry out at what I saw nor retreat from it. Immediately at my +feet was the body of a beautiful woman, lying at full length upon the +floor, her arms flung out on either side of her, and her white face and +shoulders gleaming, dully, in the unsteady light of the candle. Around +her throat was a great chain of diamonds, and the light played upon +these and made them flash and blaze in tiny flames. But the woman who +wore them was dead, and I was so certain as to how she had died that, +without an instant's hesitation, I dropped on my knees beside her and +placed my hands above her heart. My fingers again touched the thin slit +of a wound. I had no doubt in my mind but that this was the Russian +princess, and when I lowered the candle to her face I was assured that +this was so. Her features showed the finest lines of both the Slav and +the Jewess; the eyes were black, the hair blue-black and wonderfully +heavy, and her skin, even in death, was rich in color. She was a +surpassingly beautiful woman. + +"I rose and tried to light another candle with the one I held, but +I found that my hand was so unsteady that I could not keep the wicks +together. It was my intention to again search for this strange dagger +which had been used to kill both the English boy and the beautiful +princess, but before I could light the second candle I heard footsteps +descending the stairs, and the Russian servant appeared in the doorway. + +"My face was in darkness, or I am sure that, at the sight of it, he +would have taken alarm, for at that moment I was not sure but that this +man himself was the murderer. His own face was plainly visible to me in +the light from the hall, and I could see that it wore an expression of +dull bewilderment. I stepped quickly toward him and took a firm hold +upon his wrist. + +"'She is not there,' he said. 'The Princess has gone. They have all +gone.' + +"'Who have gone?' I demanded. 'Who else has been here?' + +"'The two Englishmen,' he said. + +"'What two Englishmen?' I demanded. 'What are their names?' + +"The man now saw by my manner that some question of great moment hung +upon his answer, and he began to protest that he did not know the names +of the visitors and that until that evening he had never seen them. + +"I guessed that it was my tone which frightened him, so I took my hand +off his wrist and spoke less eagerly. + +"'How long have they been here?' I asked, 'and when did they go?' + +"He pointed behind him toward the drawing-room. + +"'One sat there with the Princess,' he said; 'the other came after I +had placed the coffee in the drawing-room. The two Englishmen talked +together, and the Princess returned here to the table. She sat there in +that chair, and I brought her cognac and cigarettes. Then I sat outside +upon the bench. It was a feast-day, and I had been drinking. Pardon, +Excellency, but I fell asleep. When I woke, your Excellency was standing +by me, but the Princess and the two Englishmen had gone. That is all I +know.' + +"I believed that the man was telling me the truth. His fright had +passed, and he was now apparently puzzled, but not alarmed. + +"'You must remember the names of the Englishmen,' I urged. 'Try to +think. When you announced them to the Princess what name did you give?' + +"At this question he exclaimed, with pleasure, and, beckoning to me, +ran hurriedly down the hall and into the drawing-room. In the corner +furthest from the screen was the piano, and on it was a silver tray. He +picked this up and, smiling with pride at his own intelligence, pointed +at two cards that lay upon it. I took them up and read the names +engraved upon them." + +The American paused abruptly, and glanced at the faces about him. "I +read the names," he repeated. He spoke with great reluctance. + +"Continue!" cried the baronet, sharply. + +"I read the names," said the American with evident distaste, "and the +family name of each was the same. They were the names of two brothers. +One is well known to you. It is that of the African explorer of whom +this gentleman was just speaking. I mean the Earl of Chetney. The other +was the name of his brother. Lord Arthur Chetney." + +The men at the table fell back as though a trapdoor had fallen open at +their feet. + +"Lord Chetney?" they exclaimed, in chorus. They glanced at each +other and back to the American, with every expression of concern and +disbelief. + +"It is impossible!" cried the Baronet. "Why, my dear sir, young Chetney +only arrived from Africa yesterday. It was so stated in the evening +papers." + +The jaw of the American set in a resolute square, and he pressed his +lips together. + +"You are perfectly right, sir," he said, "Lord Chetney did arrive in +London yesterday morning, and yesterday night I found his dead body." + +The youngest member present was the first to recover. He seemed much +less concerned over the identity of the murdered man than at the +interruption of the narrative. + +"Oh, please let him go on!" he cried. "What happened then? You say you +found two visiting-cards. How do you know which card was that of the +murdered man?" + +The American, before he answered, waited until the chorus of +exclamations had ceased. Then he continued as though he had not been +interrupted. + +"The instant I read the names upon the cards," he said, "I ran to the +screen and, kneeling beside the dead man, began a search through his +pockets. My hand at once fell upon a card-case, and I found on all +the cards it contained the title of the Earl of Chetney. His watch and +cigarette-case also bore his name. These evidences, and the fact of his +bronzed skin, and that his cheek-bones were worn with fever, convinced +me that the dead man was the African explorer, and the boy who had fled +past me in the night was Arthur, his younger brother. + +"I was so intent upon my search that I had forgotten the servant, and +I was still on my knees when I heard a cry behind me. I turned, and saw +the man gazing down at the body in abject horror. + +"Before I could rise, he gave another cry of terror, and, flinging +himself into the hall, raced toward the door to the street. I leaped +after him, shouting to him to halt, but before I could reach the hall he +had torn open the door, and I saw him spring out into the yellow fog. I +cleared the steps in a jump and ran down the garden-walk but just as +the gate clicked in front of me. I had it open on the instant, and, +following the sound of the man's footsteps, I raced after him across the +open street. He, also, could hear me, and he instantly stopped running, +and there was absolute silence. He was so near that I almost fancied I +could hear him panting, and I held my own breath to listen. But I could +distinguish nothing but the dripping of the mist about us, and from far +off the music of the Hungarian band, which I had heard when I first lost +myself. + +"All I could see was the square of light from the door I had left open +behind me, and a lamp in the hall beyond it flickering in the draught. +But even as I watched it, the flame of the lamp was blown violently to +and fro, and the door, caught in the same current of air, closed slowly. +I knew if it shut I could not again enter the house, and I rushed madly +toward it. I believe I even shouted out, as though it were something +human which I could compel to obey me, and then I caught my foot against +the curb and smashed into the sidewalk. When I rose to my feet I was +dizzy and half stunned, and though I thought then that I was moving +toward the door, I know now that I probably turned directly from it; +for, as I groped about in the night, calling frantically for the police, +my fingers touched nothing but the dripping fog, and the iron railings +for which I sought seemed to have melted away. For many minutes I beat +the mist with my arms like one at blind man's buff, turning sharply in +circles, cursing aloud at my stupidity and crying continually for help. +At last a voice answered me from the fog, and I found myself held in the +circle of a policeman's lantern. + +"That is the end of my adventure. What I have to tell you now is what I +learned from the police. + +"At the station-house to which the man guided me I related what you have +just heard. I told them that the house they must at once find was one +set back from the street within a radius of two hundred yards from the +Knightsbridge Barracks, that within fifty yards of it someone was giving +a dance to the music of a Hungarian band, and that the railings before +it were as high as a man's waist and filed to a point. With that to work +upon, twenty men were at once ordered out into the fog to search for +the house, and Inspector Lyle himself was despatched to the home of Lord +Edam, Chetney's father, with a warrant for Lord Arthur's arrest. I was +thanked and dismissed on my own recognizance. + +"This morning, Inspector Lyle called on me, and from him I learned the +police theory of the scene I have just described. + +"Apparently, I had wandered very far in the fog, for up to noon to-day +the house had not been found, nor had they been able to arrest Lord +Arthur. He did not return to his father's house last night, and there is +no trace of him; but from what the police knew of the past lives of the +people I found in that lost house, they have evolved a theory, and their +theory is that the murders were committed by Lord Arthur. + +"The infatuation of his elder brother, Lord Chetney, for a Russian +princess, so Inspector Lyle tells me, is well known to everyone. About +two years ago the Princess Zichy, as she calls herself, and he were +constantly together, and Chetney informed his friends that they were +about to be married. The woman was notorious in two continents, and when +Lord Edam heard of his son's infatuation he appealed to the police for +her record. + +"It is through his having applied to them that they know so much +concerning her and her relations with the Chetneys. From the police Lord +Edam learned that Madame Zichy had once been a spy in the employ of the +Russian Third Section, but that lately she had been repudiated by her +own government and was living by her wits, by blackmail, and by her +beauty. Lord Edam laid this record before his son, but Chetney either +knew it already or the woman persuaded him not to believe in it, and the +father and son parted in great anger. Two days later the marquis altered +his will, leaving all of his money to the younger brother, Arthur. + +"The title and some of the landed property he could not keep from +Chetney, but he swore if his son saw the woman again that the will +should stand as it was, and he would be left without a penny. + +"This was about eighteen months ago, when, apparently, Chetney tired +of the Princess, and suddenly went off to shoot and explore in Central +Africa. No word came from him, except that twice he was reported as +having died of fever in the jungle, and finally two traders reached +the coast who said they had seen his body. This was accepted by all +as conclusive, and young Arthur was recognized as the heir to the Edam +millions. On the strength of this supposition he at once began to borrow +enormous sums from the money-lenders. This is of great importance, as +the police believe it was these debts which drove him to the murder of +his brother. Yesterday, as you know, Lord Chetney suddenly returned from +the grave, and it was the fact that for two years he had been considered +as dead which lent such importance to his return and which gave rise +to those columns of detail concerning him which appeared in all the +afternoon papers. But, obviously, during his absence he had not tired of +the Princess Zichy, for we know that a few hours after he reached London +he sought her out. His brother, who had also learned of his reappearance +through the papers, probably suspected which would be the house he would +first visit, and followed him there, arriving, so the Russian servant +tells us, while the two were at coffee in the drawing-room. The +Princess, then, we also learn from the servant, withdrew to the +dining-room, leaving the brothers together. What happened one can only +guess. + +"Lord Arthur knew now that when it was discovered he was no longer the +heir, the moneylenders would come down upon him. The police believe +that he at once sought out his brother to beg for money to cover the +post-obits, but that, considering the sum he needed was several hundreds +of thousands of pounds, Chetney refused to give it him. No one knew +that Arthur had gone to seek out his brother. They were alone. It is +possible, then, that in a passion of disappointment, and crazed with +the disgrace which he saw before him, young Arthur made himself the heir +beyond further question. The death of his brother would have availed +nothing if the woman remained alive. It is then possible that he crossed +the hall, and, with the same weapon which made him Lord Edam's heir, +destroyed the solitary witness to the murder. The only other person +who could have seen it was sleeping in a drunken stupor, to which fact +undoubtedly he owed his life. And yet," concluded the Naval Attache, +leaning forward and marking each word with his finger, "Lord Arthur +blundered fatally. In his haste he left the door of the house open, so +giving access to the first passer-by, and he forgot that when he entered +it he had handed his card to the servant. That piece of paper may yet +send him to the gallows. In the meantime, he has disappeared completely, +and somewhere, in one of the millions of streets of this great capital, +in a locked and empty house, lies the body of his brother, and of the +woman his brother loved, undiscovered, unburied; and with their murder +unavenged." + +In the discussion which followed the conclusion of the story of the +Naval Attache, the gentleman with the pearl took no part. Instead, he +arose, and, beckoning a servant to a far corner of the room, whispered +earnestly to him until a sudden movement on the part of Sir Andrew +caused him to return hurriedly to the table. + +"There are several points in Mr. Sears's story I want explained," he +cried. "Be seated, Sir Andrew," he begged. "Let us have the opinion of +an expert. I do not care what the police think, I want to know what you +think." + +But Sir Andrew rose reluctantly from his chair. + +"I should like nothing better than to discuss this," he said. "But it +is most important that I proceed to the House. I should have been there +some time ago." He turned toward the servant and directed him to call a +hansom. + +The gentleman with the pearl stud looked appealingly at the Naval +Attache. "There are surely many details that you have not told us," he +urged. "Some you have forgotten." + +The Baronet interrupted quickly. + +"I trust not," he said, "for I could not possibly stop to hear them." + +"The story is finished," declared the Naval Attache; "until Lord Arthur +is arrested or the bodies are found there is nothing more to tell of +either Chetney or the Princess Zichy." + +"Of Lord Chetney, perhaps not," interrupted the sporting-looking +gentleman with the black tie, "but there'll always be something to tell +of the Princess Zichy. I know enough stories about her to fill a book. +She was a most remarkable woman." The speaker dropped the end of his +cigar into his coffee-cup and, taking his case from his pocket, selected +a fresh one. As he did so he laughed and held up the case that the +others might see it. It was an ordinary cigar-case of well-worn +pig-skin, with a silver clasp. + +"The only time I ever met her," he said, "she tried to rob me of this." + +The Baronet regarded him closely. + +"She tried to rob you?" he repeated. + +"Tried to rob me of this," continued the gentleman in the black tie, +"and of the Czarina's diamonds." His tone was one of mingled admiration +and injury. + +"The Czarina's diamonds!" exclaimed the Baronet. He glanced quickly and +suspiciously at the speaker, and then at the others about the table. +But their faces gave evidence of no other emotion than that of ordinary +interest. + +"Yes, the Czarina's diamonds," repeated the man with the black tie. +"It was a necklace of diamonds. I was told to take them to the Russian +Ambassador in Paris, who was to deliver them at Moscow. I am a Queen's +Messenger," he added. + +"Oh, I see," exclaimed Sir Andrew, in a tone of relief. "And you say +that this same Princess Zichy, one of the victims of this double murder, +endeavored to rob you of--of--that cigar-case." + +"And the Czarina's diamonds," answered the Queen's Messenger, +imperturbably. "It's not much of a story, but it gives you an idea +of the woman's character. The robbery took place between Paris and +Marseilles." + +The Baronet interrupted him with an abrupt movement. "No, no," he cried, +shaking his head in protest. "Do not tempt me. I really cannot listen. I +must be at the House in ten minutes." + +"I am sorry," said the Queen's Messenger. He turned to those seated +about him. "I wonder if the other gentlemen--" he inquired, tentatively. +There was a chorus of polite murmurs, and the Queen's Messenger, bowing +his head in acknowledgment, took a preparatory sip from his glass. At +the same moment the servant to whom the man with the black pearl had +spoken, slipped a piece of paper into his hand. He glanced at it, +frowned, and threw it under the table. + +The servant bowed to the Baronet. + +"Your hansom is waiting, Sir Andrew," he said. + +"The necklace was worth twenty thousand pounds," began the Queen's +Messenger, "It was a present from the Queen of England to celebrate--" +The Baronet gave an exclamation of angry annoyance. + +"Upon my word, this is most provoking," he interrupted. "I really ought +not to stay. But I certainly mean to hear this." He turned irritably to +the servant. "Tell the hansom to wait," he commanded, and, with an air +of a boy who is playing truant, slipped guiltily into his chair. + +The gentleman with the black pearl smiled blandly, and rapped upon the +table. + +"Order, gentlemen," he said. "Order for the story of the Queen's +Messenger and the Czarina's diamonds." + + + + +II + + +"The necklace was a present from the Queen of England to the Czarina of +Russia," began the Queen's Messenger. "It was to celebrate the occasion +of the Czar's coronation. Our Foreign Office knew that the Russian +Ambassador in Paris was to proceed to Moscow for that ceremony, and I +was directed to go to Paris and turn over the necklace to him. But when +I reached Paris I found he had not expected me for a week later and was +taking a few days' vacation at Nice. His people asked me to leave the +necklace with them at the Embassy, but I had been charged to get a +receipt for it from the Ambassador himself, so I started at once for +Nice. The fact that Monte Carlo is not two thousand miles from Nice may +have had something to do with making me carry out my instructions so +carefully. + +"Now, how the Princess Zichy came to find out about the necklace I don't +know, but I can guess. As you have just heard, she was at one time a spy +in the service of the Russian Government. And after they dismissed her +she kept up her acquaintance with many of the Russian agents in London. +It is probable that through one of them she learned that the necklace +was to be sent to Moscow, and which one of the Queen's Messengers had +been detailed to take it there. Still, I doubt if even that knowledge +would have helped her if she had not also known something which I +supposed no one else in the world knew but myself and one other man. +And, curiously enough, the other man was a Queen's Messenger, too, and a +friend of mine. You must know that up to the time of this robbery I had +always concealed my despatches in a manner peculiarly my own. I got the +idea from that play called 'A Scrap of Paper.' In it a man wants to hide +a certain compromising document. He knows that all his rooms will be +secretly searched for it, so he puts it in a torn envelope and sticks it +up where anyone can see it on his mantle-shelf. The result is that the +woman who is ransacking the house to find it looks in all the unlikely +places, but passes over the scrap of paper that is just under her nose. +Sometimes the papers and packages they give us to carry about Europe are +of very great value, and sometimes they are special makes of cigarettes, +and orders to court-dressmakers. Sometimes we know what we are carrying +and sometimes we do not. If it is a large sum of money or a treaty, +they generally tell us. But, as a rule, we have no knowledge of what the +package contains; so to be on the safe side, we naturally take just as +great care of it as though we knew it held the terms of an ultimatum or +the crown-jewels. As a rule, my confreres carry the official packages +in a despatch-box, which is just as obvious as a lady's jewel-bag in the +hands of her maid. Everyone knows they are carrying something of value. +They put a premium on dishonesty. Well, after I saw the 'Scrap-of-Paper' +play, I determined to put the government valuables in the most unlikely +place that anyone would look for them. So I used to hide the documents +they gave me inside my riding-boots, and small articles, such as money +or jewels, I carried in an old cigar-case. After I took to using my case +for that purpose I bought a new one, exactly like it, for my cigars. +But, to avoid mistakes, I had my initials placed on both sides of the +new one, and the moment I touched the case, even in the dark, I could +tell which it was by the raised initials. + +"No one knew of this except the Queen's Messenger of whom I spoke. +We once left Paris together on the Orient Express. I was going to +Constantinople and he was to stop off at Vienna. On the journey I told +him of my peculiar way of hiding things and showed him my cigar-case. If +I recollect rightly, on that trip it held the grand cross of St. Michael +and St. George, which the Queen was sending to our Ambassador. The +Messenger was very much entertained at my scheme, and some months later +when he met the Princess he told her about it as an amusing story. Of +course, he had no idea she was a Russian spy. He didn't know anything +at all about her, except that she was a very attractive woman. It was +indiscreet, but he could not possibly have guessed that she could ever +make any use of what he told her. + +"Later, after the robbery, I remembered that I had informed this young +chap of my secret hiding-place, and when I saw him again I questioned +him about it. He was greatly distressed, and said he had never seen the +importance of the secret. He remembered he had told several people of +it, and among others the Princess Zichy. In that way I found out that it +was she who had robbed me, and I know that from the moment I left London +she was following me, and that she knew then that the diamonds were +concealed in my cigar-case. + +"My train for Nice left Paris at ten in the morning. When I travel at +night I generally tell the chef de gare that I am a Queen's Messenger, +and he gives me a compartment to myself, but in the daytime I take +whatever offers. On this morning I had found an empty compartment, and +I had tipped the guard to keep everyone else out, not from any fear of +losing the diamonds, but because I wanted to smoke. He had locked the +door, and as the last bell had rung I supposed I was to travel alone, so +I began to arrange my traps and make myself comfortable. The diamonds +in the cigar-case were in the inside pocket of my waistcoat, and as +they made a bulky package, I took them out, intending to put them in my +hand-bag. It is a small satchel like a bookmaker's, or those hand-bags +that couriers carry. I wear it slung from a strap across my shoulders, +and, no matter whether I am sitting or walking, it never leaves me. + +"I took the cigar-case which held the necklace from my inside pocket +and the case which held the cigars out of the satchel, and while I was +searching through it for a box of matches I laid the two cases beside me +on the seat. + +"At that moment the train started, but at the same instant there was a +rattle at the lock of the compartment, and a couple of porters lifted +and shoved a woman through the door, and hurled her rugs and umbrellas +in after her. + +"Instinctively I reached for the diamonds. I shoved them quickly into +the satchel and, pushing them far down to the bottom of the bag, snapped +the spring-lock. Then I put the cigars in the pocket of my coat, but +with the thought that now that I had a woman as a travelling companion I +would probably not be allowed to enjoy them. + +"One of her pieces of luggage had fallen at my feet, and a roll of rugs +had landed at my side. I thought if I hid the fact that the lady was +not welcome, and at once endeavored to be civil, she might permit me +to smoke. So I picked her hand-bag off the floor and asked her where I +might place it. + +"As I spoke I looked at her for the first time, and saw that she was a +most remarkably handsome woman. + +"She smiled charmingly and begged me not to disturb myself. Then she +arranged her own things about her, and, opening her dressing-bag, took +out a gold cigarette-case. + +"'Do you object to smoke?' she asked. + +"I laughed and assured her I had been in great terror lest she might +object to it herself. + +"'If you like cigarettes,' she said, 'will you try some of these? They +are rolled especially for my husband in Russia, and they are supposed to +be very good.' + +"I thanked her, and took one from her case, and I found it so much +better than my own that I continued to smoke her cigarettes throughout +the rest of the journey. I must say that we got on very well. I judged +from the coronet on her cigarette-case, and from her manner, which was +quite as well bred as that of any woman I ever met, that she was someone +of importance, and though she seemed almost too good-looking to be +respectable, I determined that she was some grande dame who was so +assured of her position that she could afford to be unconventional. At +first she read her novel, and then she made some comment on the scenery, +and finally we began to discuss the current politics of the Continent. +She talked of all the cities in Europe, and seemed to know everyone +worth knowing. But she volunteered nothing about herself except that she +frequently made use of the expression, 'When my husband was stationed at +Vienna,' or 'When my husband was promoted to Rome.' Once she said to +me, 'I have often seen you at Monte Carlo. I saw you when you won the +pigeon-championship.' I told her that I was not a pigeon-shot, and she +gave a little start of surprise. 'Oh, I beg your pardon,' she said; 'I +thought you were Morton Hamilton, the English champion.' As a matter +of fact, I do look like Hamilton, but I know now that her object was to +make me think that she had no idea as to who I really was. She needn't +have acted at all, for I certainly had no suspicions of her, and was +only too pleased to have so charming a companion. + +"The one thing that should have made me suspicious was the fact that +at every station she made some trivial excuse to get me out of the +compartment. She pretended that her maid was travelling back of us in +one of the second-class carriages, and kept saying she could not imagine +why the woman did not come to look after her, and if the maid did not +turn up at the next stop, would I be so very kind as to get out and +bring her whatever it was she pretended she wanted. + +"I had taken my dressing-case from the rack to get out a novel, and had +left it on the seat opposite to mine, and at the end of the compartment +farthest from her. And once when I came back from buying her a cup of +chocolate, or from some other fool-errand, I found her standing at my +end of the compartment with both hands on the dressing-bag. She looked +at me without so much as winking an eye, and shoved the case carefully +into a corner. 'Your bag slipped off on the floor,' she said. 'If you've +got any bottles in it, you had better look and see that they're not +broken.' + +"And I give you my word, I was such an ass that I did open the case and +looked all through it. She must have thought I WAS a Juggins. I get hot +all over whenever I remember it. But, in spite of my dulness, and her +cleverness, she couldn't gain anything by sending me away, because what +she wanted was in the hand-bag, and every time she sent me away the +hand-bag went with me. + +"After the incident of the dressing-case her manner changed. Either in +my absence she had had time to look through it, or, when I was examining +it for broken bottles, she had seen everything it held. + +"From that moment she must have been certain that the cigar-case, in +which she knew I carried the diamonds, was in the bag that was fastened +to my body, and from that time on she probably was plotting how to get +it from me. + +"Her anxiety became most apparent. She dropped the great-lady manner, +and her charming condescension went with it. She ceased talking, and, +when I spoke, answered me irritably, or at random. No doubt her mind +was entirely occupied with her plan. The end of our journey was drawing +rapidly nearer, and her time for action was being cut down with the +speed of the express-train. Even I, unsuspicious as I was, noticed +that something was very wrong with her. I really believe that before we +reached Marseilles if I had not, through my own stupidity, given her the +chance she wanted, she might have stuck a knife in me and rolled me out +on the rails. But as it was, I only thought that the long journey had +tired her. I suggested that it was a very trying trip, and asked her if +she would allow me to offer her some of my cognac. + +"She thanked me and said, 'No,' and then suddenly her eyes lighted, and +she exclaimed, 'Yes, thank you, if you will be so kind.' + +"My flask was in the hand-bag, and I placed it on my lap and, with my +thumb, slipped back the catch. As I keep my tickets and railroad-guide +in the bag, I am so constantly opening it that I never bother to lock +it, and the fact that it is strapped to me has always been sufficient +protection. But I can appreciate now what a satisfaction, and what a +torment, too, it must have been to that woman when she saw that the bag +opened without a key. + +"While we were crossing the mountains I had felt rather chilly and had +been wearing a light racing-coat. But after the lamps were lighted +the compartment became very hot and stuffy, and I found the coat +uncomfortable. So I stood up, and after first slipping the strap of the +bag over my head, I placed the bag in the seat next me and pulled off +the racing-coat. I don't blame myself for being careless; the bag was +still within reach of my hand, and nothing would have happened if +at that exact moment the train had not stopped at Arles. It was the +combination of my removing the bag and our entering the station at the +same instant which gave the Princess Zichy the chance she wanted to rob +me. + +"I needn't say that she was clever enough to take it. The train ran into +the station at full speed and came to a sudden stop. I had just thrown +my coat into the rack, and had reached out my hand for the bag. In +another instant I would have had the strap around my shoulder. But at +that moment the Princess threw open the door of the compartment and +beckoned wildly at the people on the platform. 'Natalie!' she called, +'Natalie! here I am. Come here! This way!' She turned upon me in the +greatest excitement. 'My maid!' she cried. 'She is looking for me. She +passed the window without seeing me. Go, please, and bring her back.' +She continued pointing out of the door and beckoning me with her other +hand. There certainly was something about that woman's tone which made +one jump. When she was giving orders you had no chance to think of +anything else. So I rushed out on my errand of mercy, and then rushed +back again to ask what the maid looked like. + +"'In black,' she answered, rising and blocking the door of the +compartment. 'All in black, with a bonnet!' + +"The train waited three minutes at Arles, and in that time I suppose I +must have rushed up to over twenty women and asked, 'Are you Natalie?' +The only reason I wasn't punched with an umbrella or handed over to the +police was that they probably thought I was crazy. + +"When I jumped back into the compartment the Princess was seated where +I had left her, but her eyes were burning with happiness. She placed +her hand on my arm almost affectionately, and said, in a hysterical way, +'You are very kind to me. I am so sorry to have troubled you.' + +"I protested that every woman on the platform was dressed in black. + +"'Indeed, I am so sorry,' she said, laughing; and she continued to laugh +until she began to breathe so quickly that I thought she was going to +faint. + +"I can see now that the last part of that journey must have been a +terrible half-hour for her. She had the cigar-case safe enough, but she +knew that she herself was not safe. She understood if I were to open my +bag, even at the last minute, and miss the case, I would know positively +that she had taken it. I had placed the diamonds in the bag at the very +moment she entered the compartment, and no one but our two selves had +occupied it since. She knew that when we reached Marseilles she would +either be twenty thousand pounds richer than when she left Paris, or +that she would go to jail. That was the situation as she must have read +it, and I don't envy her her state of mind during that last half-hour. +It must have been hell. + +"I saw that something was wrong, and, in my innocence, I even wondered +if possibly my cognac had not been a little too strong. For she suddenly +developed into a most brilliant conversationalist, and applauded and +laughed at everything I said, and fired off questions at me like a +machine-gun, so that I had no time to think of anything but of what she +was saying. Whenever I stirred, she stopped her chattering and leaned +toward me, and watched me like a cat over a mouse-hole. I wondered how I +could have considered her an agreeable travelling-companion. I thought +I would have preferred to be locked in with a lunatic. I don't like to +think how she would have acted if I had made a move to examine the bag, +but as I had it safely strapped around me again, I did not open it, and +I reached Marseilles alive. As we drew into the station she shook hands +with me and grinned at me like a Cheshire cat. + +"'I cannot tell you,' she said, 'how much I have to thank you for.' What +do you think of that for impudence? + +"I offered to put her in a carriage, but she said she must find Natalie, +and that she hoped we would meet again at the hotel. So I drove off by +myself, wondering who she was, and whether Natalie was not her keeper. + +"I had to wait several hours for the train to Nice; and as I wanted to +stroll around the city I thought I had better put the diamonds in the +safe of the hotel. As soon as I reached my room I locked the door, +placed the hand-bag on the table, and opened it. I felt among the things +at the top of it, but failed to touch the cigar-case. I shoved my hand +in deeper, and stirred the things about, but still I did not reach it. +A cold wave swept down my spine, and a sort of emptiness came to the pit +of my stomach. Then I turned red-hot, and the sweat sprung out all over +me. I wet my lips with my tongue, and said to myself, 'Don't be an ass. +Pull yourself together, pull yourself together. Take the things out, one +at a time. It's there, of course, it's there. Don't be an ass.' + +"So I put a brake on my nerves and began very carefully to pick out the +things, one by one, but, after another second, I could not stand it, and +I rushed across the room and threw out everything on the bed. But the +diamonds were not among them. I pulled the things about and tore them +open and shuffled and rearranged and sorted them, but it was no use. The +cigar-case was gone. I threw everything in the dressing-case out on the +floor, although I knew it was useless to look for it there. I knew that +I had put it in the bag. I sat down and tried to think. I remembered I +had put it in the satchel at Paris just as that woman had entered the +compartment, and I had been alone with her ever since, so it was she +who had robbed me. But how? It had never left my shoulder. And then I +remembered that it had--that I had taken it off when I had changed +my coat and for the few moments that I was searching for Natalie. I +remembered that the woman had sent me on that goose-chase, and that at +every other station she had tried to get rid of me on some fool-errand. + +"I gave a roar like a mad bull, and I jumped down the stairs, six steps +at a time. + +"I demanded at the office if a distinguished lady of title, possibly a +Russian, had just entered the hotel. + +"As I expected, she had not. I sprang into a cab and inquired at two +other hotels, and then I saw the folly of trying to catch her without +outside help, and I ordered the fellow to gallop to the office of the +Chief of Police. I told my story, and the ass in charge asked me to calm +myself, and wanted to take notes. I told him this was no time for taking +notes, but for doing something. He got wrathy at that, and I demanded +to be taken at once to his Chief. The Chief, he said, was very busy, and +could not see me. So I showed him my silver greyhound. In eleven years +I had never used it but once before. I stated, in pretty vigorous +language, that I was a Queen's Messenger, and that if the Chief of +Police did not see me instantly he would lose his official head. At that +the fellow jumped off his high horse and ran with me to his Chief--a +smart young chap, a colonel in the army, and a very intelligent man. + +"I explained that I had been robbed, in a French railway-carriage, of +a diamond-necklace belonging to the Queen of England, which her Majesty +was sending as a present to the Czarina of Russia. I pointed out to him +that if he succeeded in capturing the thief he would be made for life, +and would receive the gratitude of three great powers. + +"He wasn't the sort that thinks second thoughts are best. He saw Russian +and French decorations sprouting all over his chest, and he hit a +bell, and pressed buttons, and yelled out orders like the captain of a +penny-steamer in a fog. He sent her description to all the city-gates, +and ordered all cabmen and railway-porters to search all trains +leaving Marseilles. He ordered all passengers on outgoing vessels to be +examined, and telegraphed the proprietors of every hotel and pension to +send him a complete list of their guests within the hour. While I was +standing there he must have given at least a hundred orders, and sent +out enough commissaires, sergeants de ville, gendarmes, bicycle-police, +and plain-clothes Johnnies to have captured the entire German army. +When they had gone he assured me that the woman was as good as arrested +already. Indeed, officially, she was arrested; for she had no more +chance of escape from Marseilles than from the Chateau D'If. + +"He told me to return to my hotel and possess my soul in peace. Within +an hour he assured me he would acquaint me with her arrest. + +"I thanked him, and complimented him on his energy, and left him. But I +didn't share in his confidence. I felt that she was a very clever woman, +and a match for any and all of us. It was all very well for him to be +jubilant. He had not lost the diamonds, and had everything to gain if he +found them; while I, even if he did recover the necklace, would only +be where I was before I lost them, and if he did not recover it I was a +ruined man. It was an awful facer for me. I had always prided myself on +my record. In eleven years I had never mislaid an envelope, nor missed +taking the first train. And now I had failed in the most important +mission that had ever been intrusted to me. And it wasn't a thing that +could be hushed up, either. It was too conspicuous, too spectacular. It +was sure to invite the widest notoriety. I saw myself ridiculed all over +the Continent, and perhaps dismissed, even suspected of having taken the +thing myself. + +"I was walking in front of a lighted cafe, and I felt so sick and +miserable that I stopped for a pick-me-up. Then I considered that if I +took one drink I would probably, in my present state of mind, not want +to stop under twenty, and I decided I had better leave it alone. But +my nerves were jumping like a frightened rabbit, and I felt I must +have something to quiet them, or I would go crazy. I reached for my +cigarette-case, but a cigarette seemed hardly adequate, so I put it back +again and took out this cigar-case, in which I keep only the strongest +and blackest cigars. I opened it and stuck in my fingers, but, instead +of a cigar, they touched on a thin leather envelope. My heart stood +perfectly still. I did not dare to look, but I dug my finger-nails into +the leather, and I felt layers of thin paper, then a layer of cotton, +and then they scratched on the facets of the Czarina's diamonds! + +"I stumbled as though I had been hit in the face, and fell back into one +of the chairs on the sidewalk. I tore off the wrappings and spread out +the diamonds on the cafe-table; I could not believe they were real. I +twisted the necklace between my fingers and crushed it between my palms +and tossed it up in the air. I believe I almost kissed it. The women in +the cafe stood up on the chairs to see better, and laughed and screamed, +and the people crowded so close around me that the waiters had to form a +body-guard. The proprietor thought there was a fight, and called for +the police. I was so happy I didn't care. I laughed, too, and gave the +proprietor a five-pound note, and told him to stand everyone a drink. +Then I tumbled into a fiacre and galloped off to my friend the Chief of +Police. I felt very sorry for him. He had been so happy at the chance I +gave him, and he was sure to be disappointed when he learned I had sent +him off on a false alarm. + +"But now that I had found the necklace, I did not want him to find the +woman. Indeed, I was most anxious that she should get clear away, for, +if she were caught, the truth would come out, and I was likely to get a +sharp reprimand, and sure to be laughed at. + +"I could see now how it had happened. In my haste to hide the diamonds +when the woman was hustled into the carriage, I had shoved the cigars +into the satchel, and the diamonds into the pocket of my coat. Now that +I had the diamonds safe again, it seemed a very natural mistake. But I +doubted if the Foreign Office would think so. I was afraid it might not +appreciate the beautiful simplicity of my secret hiding-place. So, when +I reached the police-station, and found that the woman was still at +large, I was more than relieved. + +"As I expected, the Chief was extremely chagrined when he learned of my +mistake, and that there was nothing for him to do. But I was feeling so +happy myself that I hated to have anyone else miserable, so I suggested +that this attempt to steal the Czarina's necklace might be only the +first of a series of such attempts by an unscrupulous gang, and that I +might still be in danger. + +"I winked at the Chief, and the Chief smiled at me, and we went to Nice +together in a saloon-car with a guard of twelve carabineers and twelve +plain-clothes men, and the Chief and I drank champagne all the way. +We marched together up to the hotel where the Russian Ambassador was +stopping, closely surrounded by our escort of carabineers, and delivered +the necklace with the most profound ceremony. The old Ambassador was +immensely impressed, and when we hinted that already I had been made the +object of an attack by robbers, he assured us that his Imperial Majesty +would not prove ungrateful. + +"I wrote a swinging personal letter about the invaluable services of +the Chief to the French Minister of Foreign Affairs, and they gave him +enough Russian and French medals to satisfy even a French soldier. So, +though he never caught the woman, he received his just reward." + +The Queen's Messenger paused and surveyed the faces of those about him +in some embarrassment. + +"But the worst of it is," he added, "that the story must have got about; +for, while the Princess obtained nothing from me but a cigar-case and +five excellent cigars, a few weeks after the coronation the Czar sent +me a gold cigar-case with his monogram in diamonds. And I don't know yet +whether that was a coincidence, or whether the Czar wanted me to know +that he knew that I had been carrying the Czarina's diamonds in my +pig-skin cigar-case. What do you fellows think?" + + + + +III + + +Sir Andrew rose, with disapproval written in every lineament. + +"I thought your story would bear upon the murder," he said. "Had I +imagined it would have nothing whatsoever to do with it, I would not +have remained." He pushed back his chair and bowed, stiffly. "I wish you +good night," he said. + +There was a chorus of remonstrance, and, under cover of this and the +Baronet's answering protests, a servant, for the second time, slipped +a piece of paper into the hand of the gentleman with the pearl stud. He +read the lines written upon it and tore it into tiny fragments. + +The youngest member, who had remained an interested but silent listener +to the tale of the Queen's Messenger, raised his hand, commandingly. + +"Sir Andrew," he cried, "in justice to Lord Arthur Chetney, I must ask +you to be seated. He has been accused in our hearing of a most serious +crime, and I insist that you remain until you have heard me clear his +character." + +"You!" cried the Baronet. + +"Yes," answered the young man, briskly. "I would have spoken sooner," +he explained, "but that I thought this gentleman"--he inclined his head +toward the Queen's Messenger--"was about to contribute some facts of +which I was ignorant. He, however, has told us nothing, and so I will +take up the tale at the point where Lieutenant Sears laid it down and +give you those details of which Lieutenant Sears is ignorant. It seems +strange to you that I should be able to add the sequel to this story. +But the coincidence is easily explained. I am the junior member of +the law firm of Chudleigh & Chudleigh. We have been solicitors for +the Chetneys for the last two hundred years. Nothing, no matter how +unimportant, which concerns Lord Edam and his two sons is unknown to +us, and naturally we are acquainted with every detail of the terrible +catastrophe of last night." + +The Baronet, bewildered but eager, sank back into his chair. + +"Will you be long, sir?" he demanded. + +"I shall endeavor to be brief," said the young solicitor; "and," he +added, in a tone which gave his words almost the weight of a threat, "I +promise to be interesting." + +"There is no need to promise that," said Sir Andrew, "I find it much too +interesting as it is." He glanced ruefully at the clock and turned his +eyes quickly from it. + +"Tell the driver of that hansom," he called to the servant, "that I take +him by the hour." + +"For the last three days," began young Mr. Chudleigh, "as you have +probably read in the daily papers, the Marquis of Edam has been at the +point of death, and his physicians have never left his house. Every hour +he seemed to grow weaker; but although his bodily strength is apparently +leaving him forever, his mind has remained clear and active. Late +yesterday evening, word was received at our office that he wished my +father to come at once to Chetney House and to bring with him certain +papers. What these papers were is not essential; I mention them only +to explain how it was that last night I happened to be at Lord Edam's +bedside. I accompanied my father to Chetney House, but at the time we +reached there Lord Edam was sleeping, and his physicians refused to have +him awakened. My father urged that he should be allowed to receive Lord +Edam's instructions concerning the documents, but the physicians would +not disturb him, and we all gathered in the library to wait until he +should awake of his own accord. It was about one o'clock in the morning, +while we were still there, that Inspector Lyle and the officers from +Scotland Yard came to arrest Lord Arthur on the charge of murdering his +brother. You can imagine our dismay and distress. Like everyone else, +I had learned from the afternoon papers that Lord Chetney was not dead, +but that he had returned to England, and, on arriving at Chetney House, +I had been told that Lord Arthur had gone to the Bath Hotel to look +for his brother and to inform him that if he wished to see their father +alive he must come to him at once. Although it was now past one o'clock, +Arthur had not returned. None of us knew where Madame Zichy lived, so we +could not go to recover Lord Chetney's body. We spent a most miserable +night, hastening to the window whenever a cab came into the square, in +the hope that it was Arthur returning, and endeavoring to explain +away the facts that pointed to him as the murderer. I am a friend of +Arthur's, I was with him at Harrow and at Oxford, and I refused to +believe for an instant that he was capable of such a crime; but as a +lawyer I could not help but see that the circumstantial evidence was +strongly against him. + +"Toward early morning, Lord Edam awoke, and in so much better a state +of health that he refused to make the changes in the papers which he had +intended, declaring that he was no nearer death than ourselves. Under +other circumstances, this happy change in him would have relieved us +greatly, but none of us could think of anything save the death of his +elder son and of the charge which hung over Arthur. + +"As long as Inspector Lyle remained in the house, my father decided that +I, as one of the legal advisers of the family, should also remain there. +But there was little for either of us to do. Arthur did not return, and +nothing occurred until late this morning, when Lyle received word that +the Russian servant had been arrested. He at once drove to Scotland Yard +to question him. He came back to us in an hour, and informed me that +the servant had refused to tell anything of what had happened the night +before, or of himself, or of the Princess Zichy. He would not even give +them the address of her house. + +"'He is in abject terror,' Lyle said. 'I assured him that he was not +suspected of the crime, but he would tell me nothing.' + +"There were no other developments until two o'clock this afternoon, when +word was brought to us that Arthur had been found, and that he was lying +in the accident-ward of St. George's Hospital. Lyle and I drove there +together, and found him propped up in bed with his head bound in a +bandage. He had been brought to the hospital the night before by the +driver of a hansom that had run over him in the fog. The cab-horse had +kicked him on the head, and he had been carried in unconscious. There +was nothing on him to tell who he was, and it was not until he came to +his senses this afternoon that the hospital authorities had been able +to send word to his people. Lyle at once informed him that he was under +arrest, and with what he was charged, and though the Inspector warned +him to say nothing which might be used against him, I, as his solicitor, +instructed him to speak freely and to tell us all he knew of the +occurrences of last night. It was evident to anyone that the fact of +his brother's death was of much greater concern to him than that he was +accused of his murder. + +"'That,' Arthur said, contemptuously, 'that is damned nonsense. It +is monstrous and cruel. We parted better friends than we have been in +years. I will tell you all that happened--not to clear myself, but to +help you to find out the truth.' His story is as follows: Yesterday +afternoon, owing to his constant attendance on his father, he did not +look at the evening papers, and it was not until after dinner, when the +butler brought him one and told him of its contents, that he learned +that his brother was alive and at the Bath Hotel. He drove there at +once, but was told that about eight o'clock his brother had gone out, +but without giving any clew to his destination. As Chetney had not at +once come to see his father, Arthur decided that he was still angry +with him, and his mind, turning naturally to the cause of their quarrel, +determined him to look for Chetney at the home of the Princess Zichy. + +"Her house had been pointed out to him, and though he had never +visited it, he had passed it many times and knew its exact location. He +accordingly drove in that direction, as far as the fog would permit the +hansom to go, and walked the rest of the way, reaching the house about +nine o'clock. He rang, and was admitted by the Russian servant. The man +took his card into the drawing-room, and at once his brother ran out and +welcomed him. He was followed by the Princess Zichy, who also received +Arthur most cordially. + +"'You brothers will have much to talk about,' she said. 'I am going to +the dining-room. When you have finished, let me know.' + +"As soon as she had left them, Arthur told his brother that their father +was not expected to outlive the night, and that he must come to him at +once. + +"'This is not the moment to remember your quarrel,' Arthur said to him; +'you have come back from the dead only in time to make your peace with +him before he dies.' + +"Arthur says that at this Chetney was greatly moved. + +"'You entirely misunderstand me, Arthur,' he returned. 'I did not know +the governor was ill, or I would have gone to him the instant I arrived. +My only reason for not doing so was because I thought he was still angry +with me. I shall return with you immediately, as soon as I have said +good-by to the Princess. It is a final good-by. After to-night I shall +never see her again.' + +"'Do you mean that?' Arthur cried. + +"'Yes,' Chetney answered. 'When I returned to London I had no intention +of seeking her again, and I am here only through a mistake.' He then +told Arthur that he had separated from the Princess even before he went +to Central Africa, and that, moreover, while at Cairo on his way south, +he had learned certain facts concerning her life there during the +previous season, which made it impossible for him to ever wish to see +her again. Their separation was final and complete. + +"'She deceived me cruelly,' he said; 'I cannot tell you how cruelly. +During the two years when I was trying to obtain my father's consent to +our marriage she was in love with a Russian diplomat. During all that +time he was secretly visiting her here in London, and her trip to Cairo +was only an excuse to meet him there.' + +"'Yet you are here with her to-night,' Arthur protested, 'only a few +hours after your return.' + +"'That is easily explained,' Chetney answered. 'As I finished dinner +to-night at the hotel, I received a note from her from this address. In +it she said she had just learned of my arrival, and begged me to come to +her at once. She wrote that she was in great and present trouble, dying +of an incurable illness, and without friends or money. She begged me, +for the sake of old times, to come to her assistance. During the last +two years in the jungle all my former feeling for Zichy has utterly +passed away, but no one could have dismissed the appeal she made in that +letter. So I came here, and found her, as you have seen her, quite as +beautiful as she ever was, in very good health, and, from the look of +the house, in no need of money. + +"'I asked her what she meant by writing me that she was dying in a +garret, and she laughed, and said she had done so because she was +afraid, unless I thought she needed help, I would not try to see her. +That was where we were when you arrived. And now,' Chetney added, 'I +will say good-by to her, and you had better return home. No, you can +trust me, I shall follow you at once. She has no influence over me now, +but I believe, in spite of the way she has used me, that she is, after +her queer fashion, still fond of me, and when she learns that this +good-by is final there may be a scene, and it is not fair to her that +you should be here. So, go home at once, and tell the governor that I am +following you in ten minutes.' + +"'That,' said Arthur, 'is the way we parted. I never left him on more +friendly terms. I was happy to see him alive again, I was happy to think +he had returned in time to make up his quarrel with my father, and I was +happy that at last he was shut of that woman. I was never better pleased +with him in my life.' He turned to Inspector Lyle, who was sitting at +the foot of the bed, taking notes of all he told us. + +"'Why, in the name of common-sense,' he cried, 'should I have chosen +that moment, of all others, to send my brother back to the grave?' For +a moment the Inspector did not answer him. I do not know if any of you +gentlemen are acquainted with Inspector Lyle, but if you are not, I can +assure you that he is a very remarkable man. Our firm often applies +to him for aid, and he has never failed us; my father has the greatest +possible respect for him. Where he has the advantage over the ordinary +police-official is in the fact that he possesses imagination. He +imagines himself to be the criminal, imagines how he would act under the +same circumstances, and he imagines to such purpose that he generally +finds the man he wants. I have often told Lyle that if he had not been a +detective he would have made a great success as a poet or a playwright. + +"When Arthur turned on him, Lyle hesitated for a moment, and then told +him exactly what was the case against him. + +"'Ever since your brother was reported as having died in Africa,' he +said, 'your lordship has been collecting money on post-obits. Lord +Chetney's arrival, last night, turned them into waste-paper. You were +suddenly in debt for thousands of pounds--for much more than you could +ever possibly pay. No one knew that you and your brother had met at +Madame Zichy's. But you knew that your father was not expected to +outlive the night, and that if your brother were dead also, you would +be saved from complete ruin, and that you would become the Marquis of +Edam.' + +"'Oh, that is how you have worked it out, is it?' Arthur cried. 'And for +me to become Lord Edam was it necessary that the woman should die, too?' + +"'They will say,' Lyle answered, 'that she was a witness to the +murder--that she would have told.' + +"'Then why did I not kill the servant as well?' Arthur said. + +"'He was asleep, and saw nothing.' + +"'And you believe that?' Arthur demanded. + +"'It is not a question of what I believe,' Lyle said, gravely. 'It is a +question for your peers.' + +"'The man is insolent!' Arthur cried. 'The thing is monstrous! +Horrible!' + +"Before we could stop him, he sprang out of his cot and began pulling +on his clothes. When the nurses tried to hold him down, he fought with +them. + +"'Do you think you can keep me here,' he shouted, 'when they are +plotting to hang me? I am going with you to that house!' he cried at +Lyle. 'When you find those bodies I shall be beside you. It is my right. +He is my brother. He has been murdered, and I can tell you who murdered +him. That woman murdered him.' + +"'She first ruined his life, and now she has killed him. For the last +five years she has been plotting to make herself his wife, and last +night, when he told her he had discovered the truth about the Russian, +and that she would never see him again, she flew into a passion and +stabbed him, and then in terror of the gallows, killed herself. She +murdered him, I tell you, and I promise you that we will find the knife +she used near her--perhaps still in her hand. What will you say to +that?' + +"Lyle turned his head away and stared down at the floor. 'I might say,' +he answered, 'that you placed it there.' + +"Arthur gave a cry of anger and sprang at him, and then pitched forward +into his arms. The blood was running from the cut under the bandage, and +he had fainted. Lyle carried him back to the bed again, and we left him +with the police and the doctors, and drove at once to the address he had +given us. We found the house not three minutes' walk from St. George's +Hospital. It stands in Trevor Terrace, that little row of houses set +back from Knightsbridge, with one end in Hill Street. + +"As we left the hospital, Lyle had said to me, 'You must not blame me +for treating him as I did. All is fair in this work, and if by angering +that boy I could have made him commit himself, I was right in trying to +do so; though, I assure you, no one would be better pleased than +myself if I could prove his theory to be correct. But we cannot tell. +Everything depends upon what we see for ourselves within the next few +minutes.' + +"When we reached the house, Lyle broke open the fastenings of one of the +windows on the ground-floor, and, hidden by the trees in the garden, we +scrambled in. We found ourselves in the reception-room, which was the +first room on the right of the hall. The gas was still burning behind +the colored glass and red, silk shades, and when the daylight streamed +in after us it gave the hall a hideously dissipated look, like the foyer +of a theatre at a matinee, or the entrance to an all-day gambling-hall. +The house was oppressively silent, and, because we knew why it was +so silent, we spoke in whispers. When Lyle turned the handle of the +drawing-room door, I felt as though someone had put his hand upon my +throat. But I followed, close at his shoulder, and saw, in the subdued +light of many-tinted lamps, the body of Chetney at the foot of the +divan, just as Lieutenant Sears had described it. In the drawing-room we +found the body of the Princess Zichy, her arms thrown out, and the +blood from her heart frozen in a tiny line across her bare shoulder. But +neither of us, although we searched the floor on our hands and knees, +could find the weapon which had killed her. + +"'For Arthur's sake,' I said, 'I would have given a thousand pounds if +we had found the knife in her hand, as he said we would.' + +"'That we have not found it there,' Lyle answered, 'is to my mind the +strongest proof that he is telling the truth, that he left the house +before the murder took place. He is not a fool, and had he stabbed his +brother and this woman, he would have seen that by placing the knife +near her he could help to make it appear as if she had killed Chetney +and then committed suicide. Besides, Lord Arthur insisted that the +evidence in his behalf would be our finding the knife here. He would not +have urged that if he knew we would NOT find it, if he knew he himself +had carried it away. This is no suicide. A suicide does not rise and +hide the weapon with which he kills himself, and then lie down again. +No, this has been a double murder, and we must look outside of the house +for the murderer.' + +"While he was speaking, Lyle and I had been searching every corner, +studying the details of each room. I was so afraid that, without telling +me, he would make some deductions prejudicial to Arthur, that I never +left his side. I was determined to see everything that he saw, and, if +possible, to prevent his interpreting it in the wrong way. He finally +finished his examination, and we sat down together in the drawing-room, +and he took out his note-book and read aloud all that Mr. Sears had told +him of the murder and what we had just learned from Arthur. We compared +the two accounts, word for word, and weighed statement with statement, +but I could not determine, from anything Lyle said, which of the two +versions he had decided to believe. + +"'We are trying to build a house of blocks,' he exclaimed, 'with half of +the blocks missing. We have been considering two theories,' he went on: +'one that Lord Arthur is responsible for both murders, and the other +that the dead woman in there is responsible for one of them, and has +committed suicide; but, until the Russian servant is ready to talk, I +shall refuse to believe in the guilt of either.' + +"'What can you prove by him?' I asked. 'He was drunk and asleep. He saw +nothing.' + +"Lyle hesitated, and then, as though he had made up his mind to be quite +frank with me, spoke freely. + +"'I do not know that he was either drunk or asleep,' he answered. +'Lieutenant Sears describes him as a stupid boor. I am not satisfied +that he is not a clever actor. What was his position in this house? What +was his real duty here? Suppose it was not to guard this woman, but to +watch her. Let us imagine that it was not the woman he served, but a +master, and see where that leads us. For this house has a master, a +mysterious, absentee landlord, who lives in St. Petersburg, the unknown +Russian who came between Chetney and Zichy, and because of whom Chetney +left her. He is the man who bought this house for Madame Zichy, who sent +these rugs and curtains from St. Petersburg to furnish it for her after +his own tastes, and, I believe, it was he also who placed the Russian +servant here, ostensibly to serve the Princess, but in reality to spy +upon her. At Scotland Yard we do not know who this gentleman is; the +Russian police confess to equal ignorance concerning him. When Lord +Chetney went to Africa, Madame Zichy lived in St. Petersburg; but there +her receptions and dinners were so crowded with members of the nobility +and of the army and diplomats, that, among so many visitors, the police +could not learn which was the one for whom she most greatly cared.' + +"Lyle pointed at the modern French paintings and the heavy, silk rugs +which hung upon the walls. + +"'The unknown is a man of taste and of some fortune,' he said, 'not the +sort of man to send a stupid peasant to guard the woman he loves. So I +am not content to believe, with Mr. Sears, that the servant is a boor. +I believe him, instead, to be a very clever ruffian. I believe him to +be the protector of his master's honor, or, let us say, of his master's +property, whether that property be silver plate or the woman his master +loves. Last night, after Lord Arthur had gone away, the servant was left +alone in this house with Lord Chetney and Madame Zichy. From where he +sat in the hall, he could hear Lord Chetney bidding her farewell; for, +if my idea of him is correct, he understands English quite as well as +you or I. Let us imagine that he heard her entreating Chetney not to +leave her, reminding him of his former wish to marry her, and let us +suppose that he hears Chetney denounce her, and tell her that at Cairo +he has learned of this Russian admirer--the servant's master. He hears +the woman declare that she has had no admirer but himself, that this +unknown Russian was, and is, nothing to her, that there is no man she +loves but him, and that she cannot live, knowing that he is alive, +without his love. Suppose Chetney believed her, suppose his former +infatuation for her returned, and that, in a moment of weakness, he +forgave her and took her in his arms. That is the moment the Russian +master has feared. It is to guard against it that he has placed his +watch-dog over the Princess, and how do we know but that, when the +moment came, the watch-dog served his master, as he saw his duty, and +killed them both? What do you think?' Lyle demanded. 'Would not that +explain both murders?' + +"I was only too willing to hear any theory which pointed to anyone else +as the criminal than Arthur, but Lyle's explanation was too utterly +fantastic. I told him that he certainly showed imagination, but that he +could not hang a man for what he imagined he had done. + +"'No,' Lyle answered, 'but I can frighten him by telling him what I +think he has done, and now when I again question the Russian servant +I will make it quite clear to him that I believe he is the murderer. +I think that will open his mouth. A man will at least talk to defend +himself. Come,' he said, 'we must return at once to Scotland Yard and +see him. There is nothing more to do here.' + +"He arose, and I followed him into the hall, and in another minute we +would have been on our way to Scotland Yard. But just as he opened +the street-door a postman halted at the gate of the garden, and began +fumbling with the latch. + +"Lyle stopped, with an exclamation of chagrin. + +"'How stupid of me!' he exclaimed. He turned quickly and pointed to a +narrow slit cut in the brass plate of the front door. 'The house has a +private letter-box,' he said, 'and I had not thought to look in it! If +we had gone out as we came in, by the window, I would never have seen +it. The moment I entered the house I should have thought of securing +the letters which came this morning. I have been grossly careless.' +He stepped back into the hall and pulled at the lid of the letter-box, +which hung on the inside of the door, but it was tightly locked. At the +same moment the postman came up the steps holding a letter. Without +a word, Lyle took it from his hand and began to examine it. It was +addressed to the Princess Zichy, and on the back of the envelope was the +name of a West End dressmaker. + +"'That is of no use to me,' Lyle said. He took out his card and showed +it to the postman. 'I am Inspector Lyle from Scotland Yard,' he said. +'The people in this house are under arrest. Everything it contains is +now in my keeping. Did you deliver any other letters here this morning?' + +"The man looked frightened, but answered, promptly, that he was now upon +his third round. He had made one postal delivery at seven that morning +and another at eleven. + +"'How many letters did you leave here?' Lyle asked. + +"'About six altogether,' the man answered. + +"'Did you put them through the door into the letter-box?' + +"The postman said, 'Yes, I always slip them into the box, and ring and +go away. The servants collect them from the inside.' + +"'Have you noticed if any of the letters you leave here bear a Russian +postage-stamp?' Lyle asked. + +"'The man answered, 'Oh, yes, sir, a great many.' + +"'From the same person, would you say?' + +"'The writing seems to be the same,' the man answered. 'They come +regularly about once a week--one of those I delivered this morning had a +Russian postmark.' + +"'That will do,' said Lyle, eagerly. 'Thank you, thank you very much.' + +"He ran back into the hall, and, pulling out his penknife, began to pick +at the lock of the letter-box. + +"'I have been supremely careless,' he said, in great excitement. 'Twice +before when people I wanted had flown from a house I have been able to +follow them by putting a guard over their mailbox. These letters, which +arrive regularly every week from Russia in the same handwriting, they +can come but from one person. At least, we shall now know the name of +the master of this house. Undoubtedly, it is one of his letters that the +man placed here this morning. We may make a most important discovery.' + +"As he was talking he was picking at the lock with his knife, but he +was so impatient to reach the letters that he pressed too heavily on the +blade and it broke in his hand. I took a step backward and drove my +heel into the lock, and burst it open. The lid flew back, and we pressed +forward, and each ran his hand down into the letter-box. For a moment we +were both too startled to move. The box was empty. + +"I do not know how long we stood, staring stupidly at each other, but +it was Lyle who was the first to recover. He seized me by the arm and +pointed excitedly into the empty box. + +"'Do you appreciate what that means?' he cried. 'It means that someone +has been here ahead of us. Someone has entered this house not three +hours before we came, since eleven o'clock this morning.' + +"'It was the Russian servant!' I exclaimed. + +"'The Russian servant has been under arrest at Scotland Yard,' Lyle +cried. 'He could not have taken the letters. Lord Arthur has been in his +cot at the hospital. That is his alibi. There is someone else, someone +we do not suspect, and that someone is the murderer. He came back here +either to obtain those letters because he knew they would convict him, +or to remove something he had left here at the time of the murder, +something incriminating--the weapon, perhaps, or some personal article; +a cigarette-case, a handkerchief with his name upon it, or a pair of +gloves. Whatever it was, it must have been damning evidence against him +to have made him take so desperate a chance.' + +"'How do we know,' I whispered, 'that he is not hidden here now?' + +"'No, I'll swear he is not,' Lyle answered. 'I may have bungled in some +things, but I have searched this house thoroughly. Nevertheless,' he +added, 'we must go over it again, from the cellar to the roof. We have +the real clew now, and we must forget the others and work only it.' As +he spoke he began again to search the drawing-room, turning over even +the books on the tables and the music on the piano. + +"'Whoever the man is,' he said, over his shoulder, 'we know that he has +a key to the front door and a key to the letter-box. That shows us he is +either an inmate of the house or that he comes here when he wishes. The +Russian says that he was the only servant in the house. Certainly, we +have found no evidence to show that any other servant slept here. There +could be but one other person who would possess a key to the house +and the letter-box--and he lives in St. Petersburg. At the time of +the murder he was two thousand miles away.' Lyle interrupted himself, +suddenly, with a sharp cry, and turned upon me, with his eyes flashing. +'But was he?' he cried. 'Was he? How do we know that last night he was +not in London, in this very house when Zichy and Chetney met?' + +"He stood, staring at me without seeing me, muttering, and arguing with +himself. + +"'Don't speak to me,' he cried, as I ventured to interrupt him. 'I can +see it now. It is all plain. It was not the servant, but his master, the +Russian himself, and it was he who came back for the letters! He came +back for them because he knew they would convict him. We must find +them. We must have those letters. If we find the one with the Russian +postmark, we shall have found the murderer.' He spoke like a madman, and +as he spoke he ran around the room, with one hand held out in front of +him as you have seen a mind-reader at a theatre seeking for something +hidden in the stalls. He pulled the old letters from the writing-desk, +and ran them over as swiftly as a gambler deals out cards; he dropped on +his knees before the fireplace and dragged out the dead coals with +his bare fingers, and then, with a low, worried cry, like a hound on +a scent, he ran back to the waste-paper basket and, lifting the papers +from it, shook them out upon the floor. Instantly, he gave a shout of +triumph, and, separating a number of torn pieces from the others, held +them up before me. + +"'Look!' he cried. 'Do you see? Here are five letters, torn across in +two places. The Russian did not stop to read them, for, as you see, he +has left them still sealed. I have been wrong. He did not return for the +letters. He could not have known their value. He must have returned +for some other reason, and, as he was leaving, saw the letter-box, and, +taking out the letters, held them together--so--and tore them twice +across, and then, as the fire had gone out, tossed them into this +basket. Look!' he cried, 'here in the upper corner of this piece is a +Russian stamp. This is his own letter--unopened!' + +"We examined the Russian stamp and found it had been cancelled in St. +Petersburg four days ago. The back of the envelope bore the postmark of +the branch-station in upper Sloane Street, and was dated this morning. +The envelope was of official, blue paper, and we had no difficulty in +finding the other two parts of it. We drew the torn pieces of the letter +from them and joined them together, side by side. There were but two +lines of writing, and this was the message: 'I leave Petersburg on the +night-train, and I shall see you at Trevor Terrace, after dinner, Monday +evening.' + +"'That was last night!' Lyle cried. 'He arrived twelve hours ahead of +his letter--but it came in time--it came in time to hang him!'" + +The Baronet struck the table with his hand. + +"The name!" he demanded. "How was it signed? What was the man's name?" + +The young Solicitor rose to his feet and, leaning forward, stretched out +his arm. "There was no name," he cried. "The letter was signed with +only two initials. But engraved at the top of the sheet was the man's +address. That address was 'THE AMERICAN EMBASSY, ST. PETERSBURG, BUREAU +OF THE NAVAL ATTACHE,' and the initials," he shouted, his voice rising +into an exultant and bitter cry, "were those of the gentleman who sits +opposite who told us that he was the first to find the murdered bodies, +the Naval Attache to Russia, Lieutenant Sears!" + +A strained and awful hush followed the Solicitor's words, which seemed +to vibrate like a twanging bowstring that had just hurled its bolt. Sir +Andrew, pale and staring, drew away, with an exclamation of repulsion. +His eyes were fastened upon the Naval Attache with fascinated horror. +But the American emitted a sigh of great content, and sank, comfortably, +into the arms of his chair. He clapped his hands, softly, together. + +"Capital!" he murmured. "I give you my word I never guessed what you +were driving at. You fooled ME, I'll be hanged if you didn't--you +certainly fooled me." + +The man with the pearl stud leaned forward, with a nervous gesture. +"Hush! be careful!" he whispered. But at that instant, for the third +time, a servant, hastening through the room, handed him a piece of paper +which he scanned eagerly. The message on the paper read, "The light over +the Commons is out. The House has risen." + +The man with the black pearl gave a mighty shout, and tossed the paper +from him upon the table. + +"Hurrah!" he cried. "The House is up! We've won!" He caught up his +glass, and slapped the Naval Attache, violently, upon the shoulder. He +nodded joyously at him, at the Solicitor, and at the Queen's Messenger. +"Gentlemen, to you!" he cried; "my thanks and my congratulations!" +He drank deep from the glass, and breathed forth a long sigh of +satisfaction and relief. + +"But I say," protested the Queen's Messenger, shaking his finger, +violently, at the Solicitor, "that story won't do. You didn't play +fair--and--and you talked so fast I couldn't make out what it was all +about. I'll bet you that evidence wouldn't hold in a court of law--you +couldn't hang a cat on such evidence. Your story is condemned tommy-rot. +Now, my story might have happened, my story bore the mark--" + +In the joy of creation, the story-tellers had forgotten their audience, +until a sudden exclamation from Sir Andrew caused them to turn, +guiltily, toward him. His face was knit with lines of anger, doubt, and +amazement. + +"What does this mean?" he cried. "Is this a jest, or are you mad? If you +know this man is a murderer, why is he at large? Is this a game you have +been playing? Explain yourselves at once. What does it mean?" + +The American, with first a glance at the others, rose and bowed, +courteously. + +"I am not a murderer, Sir Andrew, believe me," he said; "you need not +be alarmed. As a matter of fact, at this moment I am much more afraid of +you than you could possibly be of me. I beg you, please to be indulgent. +I assure you, we meant no disrespect. We have been matching stories, +that is all, pretending that we are people we are not, endeavoring to +entertain you with better detective-tales than, for instance, the last +one you read, 'The Great Rand Robbery.'" + +The Baronet brushed his hand, nervously, across his forehead. + +"Do you mean to tell me," he exclaimed, "that none of this has happened? +That Lord Chetney is not dead, that his Solicitor did not find a letter +of yours, written from your post in Petersburg, and that just now, when +he charged you with murder, he was in jest?" + +"I am really very sorry," said the American, "but you see, sir, he could +not have found a letter written by me in St. Petersburg because I have +never been in Petersburg. Until this week, I have never been outside +of my own country. I am not a naval officer. I am a writer of short +stories. And to-night, when this gentleman told me that you were fond of +detective-stories, I thought it would be amusing to tell you one of my +own--one I had just mapped out this afternoon." + +"But Lord Chetney IS a real person," interrupted the Baronet, "and he +did go to Africa two years ago, and he was supposed to have died there, +and his brother, Lord Arthur, has been the heir. And yesterday Chetney +did return. I read it in the papers." + +"So did I," assented the American, soothingly; "and it struck me as +being a very good plot for a story. I mean his unexpected return from +the dead, and the probable disappointment of the younger brother. So I +decided that the younger brother had better murder the older one. The +Princess Zichy I invented out of a clear sky. The fog I did not have to +invent. Since last night I know all that there is to know about a London +fog. I was lost in one for three hours." + +The Baronet turned, grimly, upon the Queen's Messenger. + +"But this gentleman," he protested, "he is not a writer of short +stories; he is a member of the Foreign Office. I have often seen him +in Whitehall, and, according to him, the Princess Zichy is not an +invention. He says she is very well known, that she tried to rob him." + +The servant of the Foreign Office looked, unhappily, at the Cabinet +Minister, and puffed, nervously, on his cigar. + +"It's true, Sir Andrew, that I am a Queen's Messenger," he said, +appealingly, "and a Russian woman once did try to rob a Queen's +Messenger in a railway carriage--only it did not happen to me, but to +a pal of mine. The only Russian princess I ever knew called herself +Zabrisky. You may have seen her. She used to do a dive from the roof of +the Aquarium." + +Sir Andrew, with a snort of indignation, fronted the young Solicitor. + +"And I suppose yours was a cock-and-bull story, too," he said. "Of +course, it must have been, since Lord Chetney is not dead. But don't +tell me," he protested, "that you are not Chudleigh's son either." + +"I'm sorry," said the youngest member, smiling, in some embarrassment, +"but my name is not Chudleigh. I assure you, though, that I know the +family very well, and that I am on very good terms with them." + +"You should be!" exclaimed the Baronet; "and, judging from the liberties +you take with the Chetneys, you had better be on very good terms with +them, too." + +The young man leaned back and glanced toward the servants at the far end +of the room. + +"It has been so long since I have been in the Club," he said, "that I +doubt if even the waiters remember me. Perhaps Joseph may," he added. +"Joseph!" he called, and at the word a servant stepped briskly forward. + +The young man pointed to the stuffed head of a great lion which was +suspended above the fireplace. + +"Joseph," he said, "I want you to tell these gentlemen who shot that +lion. Who presented it to the Grill?" + +Joseph, unused to acting as master of ceremonies to members of the Club, +shifted, nervously, from one foot to the other. + +"Why, you--you did," he stammered. + +"Of course I did!" exclaimed the young man. "I mean, what is the name of +the man who shot it? Tell the gentlemen who I am. They wouldn't believe +me." + +"Who you are, my lord?" said Joseph. "You are Lord Edam's son, the Earl +of Chetney." + +"You must admit," said Lord Chetney, when the noise had died away, "that +I couldn't remain dead while my little brother was accused of murder. +I had to do something. Family pride demanded it. Now, Arthur, as the +younger brother, can't afford to be squeamish, but, personally, I should +hate to have a brother of mine hanged for murder." + +"You certainly showed no scruples against hanging me," said the +American, "but, in the face of your evidence, I admit my guilt, and I +sentence myself to pay the full penalty of the law as we are made to pay +it in my own country. The order of this court is," he announced, "that +Joseph shall bring me a wine-card, and that I sign it for five bottles +of the Club's best champagne." + +"Oh, no!" protested the man with the pearl stud, "it is not for YOU to +sign it. In my opinion, it is Sir Andrew who should pay the costs. It +is time you knew," he said, turning to that gentleman, "that, +unconsciously, you have been the victim of what I may call a patriotic +conspiracy. These stories have had a more serious purpose than merely to +amuse. They have been told with the worthy object of detaining you +from the House of Commons. I must explain to you that, all through +this evening, I have had a servant waiting in Trafalgar Square with +instructions to bring me word as soon as the light over the House of +Commons had ceased to burn. The light is now out, and the object for +which we plotted is attained." + +The Baronet glanced, keenly, at the man with the black pearl, and then, +quickly, at his watch. The smile disappeared from his lips, and his face +was set in stern and forbidding lines. + +"And may I know," he asked, icily, "what was the object of your plot?" + +"A most worthy one," the other retorted. "Our object was to keep you +from advocating the expenditure of many millions of the people's money +upon more battle-ships. In a word, we have been working together to +prevent you from passing the Navy Increase Bill." + +Sir Andrew's face bloomed with brilliant color. His body shook with +suppressed emotion. + +"My dear sir!" he cried, "you should spend more time at the House and +less at your Club. The Navy Bill was brought up on its third reading +at eight o'clock this evening. I spoke for three hours in its favor. My +only reason for wishing to return again to the House to-night was to sup +on the terrace with my old friend, Admiral Simons; for my work at the +House was completed five hours ago, when the Navy Increase Bill was +passed by an overwhelming majority." + +The Baronet rose and bowed. "I have to thank you, sir," he said, "for a +most interesting evening." + +The American shoved the wine-card which Joseph had given him toward the +gentleman with the black pearl. + +"You sign it," he said. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ranson's Folly, by Richard Harding Davis + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RANSON'S FOLLY *** + +***** This file should be named 5643.txt or 5643.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/6/4/5643/ + +Produced by 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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