The Mission of the Ruby
I could not imagine why the princess desired to see me. It would have
been much more natural to punish the impertinence of which I had no
doubt been guilty--I mean, of which it was agreed on all hands that I
had been guilty--by merely declining to receive me or see me again.
Even the desire for a written apology would have been treating me as of
too much account. But she wanted to see me. What I had heard of the
princess' character utterly forbade any idea which ought not to have
been, but would have been, pleasant to entertain. No; she clearly
wanted me, but what for I could not imagine.
When I went to claim my audience, the prince was not visible, nor
Dumergue either, and I was at once received by the princess alone. She
was looking smaller, and more simple and helpless than ever. I also
thought her looking prettier, and I enjoyed immensely the pious, severe,
forgiving little rebuke which she administered to me. I humbly craved
pardon, and had no difficulty in obtaining it. Indeed, she became very
gracious.
"You must come to Glottenberg," she said, "in a few months' time."
"To obey Your Royal Highness' commands will be a delightful duty," said
I, bowing.
She rose and stood by the fire, "toying" (as the novelists say) with
her fan.
"You seem to be an obliging man, Mr. Jason," she said. "You were ready
to oblige Mme. Vooght."
I made a gesture of half-serious protest.
"I wonder," she continued, "if you would do me a little service."
"I shall be most honored if I may hope to be able to," said I. What did
she want?
She blushed slightly, and, with a nervous laugh, said:
"It's only a short story. When I was a young girl, I was foolish
enough, Mr. Jason, to fall in love, or at least to think I did. There
was a young English _attaché_--I know I can rely on your perfect
discretion--at my father's court, and he--he forgot the difference
between us. He was a man of rank, though. Well, I was foolish enough
to accept from him a very valuable ring--a fine ruby--quite a family
heirloom. Of course, I never wore it, but I took it. And when I married,
I----"
She paused.
"Your Royal Highness had no opportunity of returning it?"
"Exactly. He had left the court. I didn't know where he was, and--and
the post was not quite trustworthy."
"I understand perfectly."
"I saw in the papers the other day that he was married. Of course I
can't keep it. His wife ought to have it--and I dare not--I would prefer
not to--send it."
"I see. You would wish me----"
"To be my messenger. Will you?"
Of course I assented. She went into an adjoining room, and returned with
a little morocco case. Opening it, she showed me a magnificent ruby, set
in an old gold ring of great beauty.
"Will you give it him?" she said.
"Your Royal Highness has not told me his name?"
"Lord Daynesborough. You will be able to find him?"
"Oh, yes!"
"And you will--you _will_ be careful, Mr. Jason?"
"He shall have it safely in three days. Any message with it, madame?"
"No. Yes--just my best wishes for his happiness."
I bowed and prepared to withdraw.
"And you must come and tell me----"
"I will come and make my report."
"I do not know how to thank you."
I kissed her hand and bowed myself out, mightily amused, and, maybe,
rather touched at the revelation of this youthful romance. Somehow such
things are always touching, stupid as they are for the most part. It
pleased me to find that the little princess was flesh and blood.
She followed me to the door, and whispered, as I opened it:
"I have not troubled the prince with the matter."
"Wives are so considerate," thought I, as I went downstairs.
On arriving in England, I made inquiries about Lord Daynesborough. I
found that it was seven years since he had abruptly thrown up his post
of _attaché_, without cause assigned. After this event, he lived in
retirement for some time, and then returned into society. Three months
ago he had married Miss Dorothy Codrington, a noted beauty, with whom
he appeared much in love, and had just returned from his wedding tour
and settled down for the season at his house in Curzon Street. Hearing
all this, I thought the little princess might have let well alone,
and kept her ring; but her conduct was no business of mine, and I set
about fulfilling my commission. I needed no one to tell me that Lady
Daynesborough had better, as the princess would have phrased it, not
be troubled with the matter.
I had no difficulty in meeting the young lord. In spite of the times we
live in, a Jason is still a welcome guest in most houses, and before
long he and I were sitting side by side at Mrs. Closmadene's table.
The ladies had withdrawn, and we were about to follow them upstairs.
Daynesborough was a frank, pleasant fellow, and scorned the affectation
of concealing his happiness in the married state. In fact, he seemed to
take a fancy to me, and told me that he would like me to come and see
him at home.
"Then," he said, "you will cease to distrust marriage."
"I shall be most glad to come," I answered, "more especially as I want
a talk with you."
"Do you? About what?"
"I have a message for you."
"You have a message for me, Mr. Jason? Forgive me, but from whom?"
I leaned over toward him, and whispered, "The Princess Ferdinand of
Glottenberg."
The man turned as white as a sheet, and, gripping my hand, said under
his breath:
"Hush! Surely you--you haven't--she hasn't sent it?"
"Yes, she has," said I.
"Good God! After seven years!"
General Closmadene rose from his chair. Daynesborough drank off a very
large "white-wash," and added:
"Come to dinner to-morrow--eight o'clock. We shall be alone; and, for
Heaven's sake, say nothing."
I said nothing, and I went to dinner, carrying the ruby ring in my
breast-pocket. But I began to wonder whether the little princess was
quite as childlike as she seemed.
Lady Daynesborough dined with us. She was a tall, slender girl; very
handsome, and, to judge from her appearance, not wanting in resolution
and character. She was obviously devoted to her husband, and he treated
her with an affectionate deference that seemed to me almost overdone.
It was like the manner of a man who is remorseful for having wounded
someone he loves.
When she left us, he returned to the table, and, with a weary sigh,
said:
"Now, Mr. Jason, I am ready."
"My task is a very short one," said I. "I have no message except to
convey to you the princess' best wishes for your happiness on your
marriage, of which she has recently heard, and to give you the ring.
Here it is."
"Have women no mercy?" groaned he.
"I beg your pardon?" said I, rather startled.
"She waits seven years--seven years without a word or a sign--and then
sends it! And why?"
"Because you're married."
"Exactly. Isn't it--devilish?"
"Not at all. It's strictly correct. She said herself that your wife was
the proper person to have the ring now."
He looked at me with a bitter smile.
"My dear Jason," he said, "I have been flattering your acumen at the
expense of your morality. I thought you knew what this meant."
"No more than what the princess told me."
"No, of course not, or you would not have brought it. When we parted, I
gave her the ring, and she made me promise, on my honor as a gentleman,
to come to her the moment she sent the ring--to leave everything and
come to her, and take her away. And I promised."
"And she has never sent till now?"
"I never married till now," he said bitterly. "What's the matter with
her?"
"Nothing that I know of."
He rose, went to a writing table, and came back with a fat paper book--a
Continental Bradshaw.
"You're not going?" I exclaimed.
"Oh, yes! I promised."
"You promised something to your wife too, didn't you?"
"I can't argue it. I must go and see what she wants. I--I hope she'll
let me come back."
I tried to dissuade him. I know I told him he was a fool; I think I
told him he was a scoundrel. I was not sure of the second, but I thought
it wisest to pretend that I was.
"I hope it will be all right," he said, again and again; "but, right or
wrong, I must go."
I took an immediate resolution.
"I suppose you'll go by the eleven-o'clock train to Paris to-morrow?"
"Yes," he said.
"Well, you're wrong. Good-night."
At twelve o'clock the next day I called in Curzon Street, and sent in my
card to Lady Daynesborough.
She saw me at once. I expect that she fancied I had something to do with
her husband's sudden departure. She was looking pale and dispirited,
and I rather thought she had been crying. Her husband, it appeared, had
told her that he had to go to Paris on business, and would be back in
three days.
"He didn't tell you what it was?"
"No. Some public affairs, I understood."
"Lady Daynesborough," said I, "you hardly know me, but my name tells you
I am a gentleman."
She looked at me in surprise.
"Why, of course, Mr. Jason. But what has that to do----"
"I can't explain. But, if you are wise, you will come with me to Paris."
"Go with you to Paris! Oh! is he in danger?"
"In danger of making a fool of himself. Now, I'll say nothing more. Will
you come?"
"It will look very strange."
"Very."
"In fact--most unusual."
"Most."
"Won't there be a--a--scandal, if----"
"Sure to be. Will you come?"
"You must have a reason," she said. "I will come."
We started that evening, nine hours after My Lord, going separately
to the station, and meeting on the boat. All through the journey she
scarcely spoke a word. When we were nearing Paris, she asked:
"Do you know where he is?"
"No; but I can trace him," I replied.
So I could. I bought a paper, and found that Prince and Princess
Ferdinand had, the day before, proceeded from Paris _en route_ for
Glottenberg. Of course Daynesborough had followed them.
"We must go on," I said.
"Why?"
"Because your husband has gone on."
She obeyed me like a lamb; but there was a look about her pretty mouth
that made me doubt if Daynesborough would find her like a lamb.
We went to the principal hotel in Glottenberg. I introduced Lady
Daynesborough as my sister, Miss Jacynth Jason, and stated that she was
in weak health, and would keep her room for the present. Then I sallied
forth, intent on discovering Dumergue; he would be able to post me up in
the state of affairs.
On my way, I met the king taking his daily drive. He was a dour,
sour-looking, pasty-faced creature, and I quite understood that he
would fail to appreciate many of my prince's characteristics. A priest
sat by him, and a bystander told me it was the king's confessor (the
Glottenberg family are all of the old church), and added that the king's
confessor was no mean power in the state. I asked him where M. Dumergue
was lodged, and he directed me to Prince Ferdinand's palace, which stood
in a pleasant park in the suburbs of the town.
I found Dumergue in a melancholy condition, though he professed to be
much cheered by the sight of me.
"My dear fellow," he said, "you, if anybody, can get us out of this."
"I never knew such people," said I. "What's up now?"
"There has been a--an explosion. Did you ever hear of Daynesborough?"
I said no, and Dumergue told me of the princess' former _penchant_ for
him.
"Well?" said I.
"Well, she's invited him here, and he's now in the palace. You may
imagine the prince's feelings."
"I suppose the prince can turn him out?"
Dumergue shook his head dolefully.
"She holds the trumps," he answered. "Jason, she's a clever woman. We
thought we had hoodwinked her. When Daynesborough turned up, looking,
I'm bound to say, very sheepish, the prince was really quite annoyed. He
told the princess that she must send him away. She refused flatly. 'Then
I shall consult my brother,' says the prince. 'I shall consult the king
too,' said the princess. 'It's indecent,' said he. 'It's not as bad as
taking my ladies to masked balls in disguise,' she answered. 'Oh, you
think you imposed on me--you and that clumsy young animal (forgive me,
my dear fellow), Jason. I am not an idiot. I knew all the time. And now
the king will know too--unless Lord Daynesborough stays just as long as
I like.'"
"Confound her!" said I.
"There it is," he went on. "The prince is furious, the princess
triumphant, and Daynesborough in possession."
"What does he mean to do?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Who can tell? She's a little devil. Fancy pretending to be deceived,
and then turning on us like this! You should have heard her describe
you, my boy!" and Dumergue chuckled in sad pleasure.
I object to being ridiculed, especially by women. I determined to take
a hand in the game. I wondered if they knew that Daynesborough was
married.
"I suppose this young Daynesborough enjoys himself?"
"Well, he ought to. He's got nothing to lose; but he seems a melancholy,
glum creature. I think he must be one of the king's kidney."
"Or married, perhaps?" I suggested airily.
"Oh, no! She wouldn't have him here, if he were married."
I saw that Dumergue did not yet appreciate the princess in whose
household he had the honor to serve.
"She won't compromise herself, I suppose?"
"Not she!" he replied regretfully. "She may compromise the prince."
I rebuked him for his cynicism, and promised to consider and let him
know if anything occurred to me. My hope lay in Daynesborough. I could
see that he was _galant malgré lui_, and I thought I could persuade him
that he had done all that his mistaken promise fairly entailed on him;
or, if I could not convince him, I had a suspicion that his wife might,
could, and would, in a very peremptory fashion, if I brought about an
encounter between them. I was full of eagerness, for, apart from my zeal
in the cause of morality and domestic happiness, I did not approve of
being called a clumsy young animal. It was neither true nor witty; and
surely abuse ought to be one or the other, if it is to be distinguished
from mere vulgar scurrility.
I have been told, by those who know the place, that Glottenberg is not,
as a rule, a very exciting residence. But for the next four-and-twenty
hours I, at least, had no reason to grumble at a lack of incidents.
The play began, if I may so express myself, by the princess sending for
the doctor. The doctor, having heard from the princess what she wanted
to do, told her what she ought to do; of course I speak from conjecture.
He prescribed a visit to her country villa for a week or two, plenty
of fresh air, complete repose, and freedom from worry. Dumergue told
me that the princess considered that the terms of this prescription
entailed a temporary separation from her husband, and that the prince
had agreed to remain in Glottenberg. The princess started for her villa
at twelve o'clock on Wednesday morning. The distance was but fifteen
miles, and she traveled by road in her own carriage, although the main
line of railway from Glottenberg to Paris passed within two miles of her
destination.
At one o'clock Lord Daynesborough was received by Prince Ferdinand,
having requested an interview for the purpose of taking his leave, as
he left for Paris by the five o'clock train. Everybody knew that the
prince and Daynesborough were not on cordial terms; but this fact hardly
explained Daynesborough's extreme embarrassment and obvious discomfort
during the brief conversation. Dumergue escorted him from the prince's
presence, and said that he was shaking like an aspen-leaf or an
ill-made blanc-mange.
At three o'clock I went to the hotel, and had an interview with Lady
Daynesborough. I then returned to the palace, and made a communication
to the prince. The prince was distinctly perturbed.
"I never thought she would go so far," he said. "It's not that she cares
twopence about Daynesborough."
"To what, then, sir, do you attribute----"
"Temper! all temper, Mr. Jason! She is angry about that wretched ball,
and she wants to anger me."
"Her Royal Highness is, however, giving a handle to her enemies," I
ventured to suggest.
"She must come back to-night," said he. "I won't be made to look like a
fool."
"My plan will, I hope, dispose of Lord Daynesborough. If so, Your Royal
Highness might join the princess."
"I shan't do anything of the sort. I shall have her brought back."
Apparently there was a reserve of resolution latent somewhere in this
indolent gentleman.
"Will you go yourself, sir?"
"No. You must do it."
"I, sir? Surely, M. Dumergue----"
"Dumergue's afraid of her. Will you bring her back?"
"Supposing she won't come?"
"I didn't request you to ask her to come. I requested you to bring her."
I looked at him inquiringly. He inhaled a mouthful of smoke, and added,
with a nod:
"Yes, if necessary."
"Will Your Royal Highness hold me harmless from the king--or the law."
"No. I can't. Will you do it?"
"With pleasure, sir."
At ten minutes to five, Lady Daynesborough, heavily veiled, and I drove
up to the station in a hired cab, and hid ourselves in the third-class
waiting room. At five minutes to five, Lord Daynesborough arrived. He
wore a scarf up to his nose, and a cap down to his eyes, and walked to
the station, unattended and without luggage. He got into a second-class
smoking carriage--one of the long compartments divided into separate
boxes by intervening partitions reaching within a yard of the roof,
a gang-way running down the middle. On seeing him enter, I caught the
guard, gave him twenty marks, and told him to admit no one except myself
and my companion into that carriage. Then I hauled Lady Daynesborough
in, and we sat down at the opposite end to that occupied by her husband.
The train started. It was only five-and-twenty minutes' run to the
station for the princess' villa. There was no time to lose.
"Are you ready?" I whispered.
"Yes," she answered, her voice trembling a little.
We rose, walked along, and sat down opposite to Lord Daynesborough. He
was looking out of the window, although it was dark, and did not turn.
"Lord Daynesborough," said I, "you have forgotten your ticket." And I
held out a through ticket to Paris.
He started as if he had been shot.
"Who the devil----" he began. "Jason!"
"Yes," said I. "Here's your ticket."
"I thought you were in England," he gasped.
"No, I am here."
"Spying on my actions?"
"Acquainted with them."
"I'll have no interference, sir. If you know me, you will kindly be
silent, and leave me to myself."
Time was passing.
"You are going to Paris with this lady," said I.
"You're insolent, sir--you and your----"
"Don't say what you'll regret. She's your wife."
Well, of course he was very much in the wrong, and looked uncommonly
ridiculous to boot. Still, the way he collapsed was rather craven. I
withdrew for five minutes. Then I returned, and held out the ticket
again. He took it.
"If you will leave us for five minutes, Lady Daynesborough?"
She went into the next box. Then I said:
"Now, we've only ten minutes. We're going to change clothes. Be quick."
I took off my coat.
"By God, I'll not stand this!"
And he rose.
In a moment I had him by the collar, and was presenting a pistol at his
head.
"No nonsense!" I whispered. "Off with them!"
He might have known I would not shoot him in his wife's presence; but I
could and would have undressed him with my own hands. Perhaps he guessed
this.
"Let me go," he muttered.
I released him, and he took off his coat.
The train began to slacken speed. I called to Lady Daynesborough, who
rejoined us.
"You have fulfilled your promise," said I to the young man. "And," I
added, turning to her, "I have fulfilled mine. Good-night!"
I opened the door, and jumped out as we entered the station. I stood
waiting till the train started again, but Lord Daynesborough remained in
his place. I wonder what passed on that journey. She was a plucky girl,
and I can only trust she gave him what he deserved. At any rate, he
never, so far as I heard, ran away again.
I asked my way to the villa, and reached it after half an hour's
walking. I did not go in by the lodge gates, but climbed the palings,
and reached the door by way of the shrubberies. I knocked softly. A man
opened the door instantly. He must have been waiting.
"Is it Milord?" he said in French.
"Yes," I answered, entering rapidly.
"You are expected, Milord."
I did not know his voice, and it was dark in the passage.
"I am wet," I said. "Take me to a fire."
"There is one in the pantry," he answered, leading the way.
We reached the pantry, and he turned to light the gas.
Looking at me in the full blaze, he started back, then scrutinized me
closely, then exclaimed:
"What? You are not----"
"Oh, yes, I am! I am Lord Daynesborough."
"It's a lie. You are a robber--a----"
"I am Lord Daynesborough--Lord Daynesborough--Lord Daynesborough."
At each repetition I advanced a step nearer; at the last I produced my
trusty pistol, at the same time holding out a bank-note in the other
hand.
He took the note.
"You will stay here," I said, "for the next two hours. You will not come
out, whatever happens. Is there anyone else in the house?"
"One maid, Milord, and a man in the stables."
"Where is the maid?"
"In the kitchen."
"Is the man within hearing?"
"No."
"Good! Is the princess upstairs?"
"She is, Milord."
I made him direct me to the room, and left him. I thought I would
neglect the maid, and go straight to work. I went up to the door to
which I had been directed, and knocked.
"Come in!" said the gentle, childlike voice.
I went in. The princess was lying on a sofa by the fire, reading a
paper-covered book. She turned her head with a careless glance.
"Ah, you have come! Well, I almost hoped you would be afraid. I really
don't want you."
This reception would probably have annoyed Lord Daynesborough.
"Why should I be afraid?" I asked, mimicking Daynesborough's voice as
well as I could.
Meanwhile I quietly locked the door.
"Why, because of your wife. I know you tremble before her."
I advanced to the sofa.
"I have no wife," I said; "and, seeing what I do, I thank God for it."
She leaped up with a scream, loud and shrill.
A door opposite me opened, and a girl rushing in, crying:
"Madame!"
"Go back!" I said. "Go back!"
She paused, looking bewildered. I walked quickly up to her.
"Go back and keep quiet;" and, taking her by the shoulders, I pushed
her back into the next room.
The princess rushed to the other door, and, on finding it locked,
screamed again.
"Nobody," I remarked, "should embark on these things who has not good
nerves."
She recognized me now. Her fright had been purely physical--I suppose
she thought I was a burglar. When she knew me, she came forward in a
dignified way, sat down on the sofa, and said:
"Explain your conduct, sir, if you are in a condition to do so."
"I am sober, madame," said I; "and I have two messages for you."
"You present yourself in a strange way. Pray be brief," and she glanced
anxiously at the clock.
"Time does not press, madame," said I. "Nobody will come."
"Nobody will---- What do you mean? I expect nobody."
"Precisely, madame--and nobody will come."
Her ivory fan broke between her fingers with a sharp click.
"What do you want?" she said.
"To deliver my messages."
"Well?"
"First, Lord Daynesborough offers his apologies for being compelled to
leave for Paris without tendering his farewell."
She turned very red, and then very white. But she restrained herself.
"And the other?"
"His Royal Highness requests that you will avail yourself of my escort
for an immediate return to Glottenberg."
"And his reasons?"
"Oh, madame, as if I should inquire them!"
"You are merely insolent, sir. I shall not go to-night."
"His Royal Highness was very urgent."
She looked at me for a moment.
"Why had Lord Daynesborough to leave so suddenly?" she asked
suspiciously.
"His wife wished it."
"Did she know where he was?"
"Apparently. She followed him to Glottenberg. She arrived there
yesterday."
"Now I see--now I understand! I had to deal with a traitor."
"You must bestow trust, if you desire not to be deceived, madame. You
dared to use me as a go-between."
"You had had practice in the trade."
The princess had a turn for repartee. I could not have set her right
without quite an argument. I evaded the point.
"And yet Your Royal Highness thought me a clumsy animal!"
"Oh," she said, with a slight laugh, "it's wounded _amour propre_, is
it? Come, Mr. Jason, I apologize. You are all that is brilliant and
delightful--and English."
"Your Royal Highness is too good."
"And now, Mr. Jason, your device being accomplished, I suppose I may
bid you good-night?"
"I regret, madame, that I must press the prince's request on your
notice."
She sighed her usual impatient, petulant little sigh.
"Oh, you are tiresome! Pray go!"
"I cannot go without you, madame."
"I am not going--and my establishment does not admit of my entertaining
gentlemen," she said, with smiling effrontery.
"Your Royal Highness refuses to allow me to attend you to Glottenberg?"
"I order you to leave this room."
"Finally refuses?"
"Go."
"Then I must add that I am commissioned, if necessary, to convey your
Royal Highness to Glottenberg."
"To convey me?"
I bowed.
"You dare to threaten me?"
"I follow my instructions. Will you come, madame, or----"
"Well?"
"Will you be taken?"
I was not surprised at her vexation. Dumergue had, in his haste, called
her "a little devil." She looked it then.
"You mean," she asked slowly, "that you will use force?"
I bowed.
"Then I yield," she said, after a pause.
I called the maid, and told her to order the carriage in five minutes.
The silence was unbroken till it came round. The princess went into her
room, and returned in cloak and hat, carrying a large muff. She was
smiling.
"Ah, Mr. Jason, what can a woman do, against men? I am ready. We will go
alone. The servants can follow."
I handed her into the coach, ordering the coachman to drive fast. He was
the only man with us, and we were alone inside.
I began, perhaps stupidly, to apologize for my peremptory conduct. The
princess smiled amiably.
"I like a man of resolution," she said, edging, I thought, a trifle
nearer me, her hands nestling in her muff.
Apparently she was going to try the effect of amiability. I was prepared
for this. She would not tempt me in that way.
"Your Royal Highness is most forgiving."
"Oh, that is my way," she answered, with the kindest possible glance,
and she came nearer still.
"You are a most generous foe."
She turned to me with a dazzling smile.
"Don't say _foe_," she said, with a pretty lingering on the last word.
And as she said it, I felt a knife driven hard into my ribs, and the
muff dropped to the ground.
"God in heaven!" I cried.
The princess flung herself into the corner of the carriage.
"Ha--ha--ha! Ha--ha--ha!" she laughed, merrily, musically, fiendishly.
I tried to clutch her; I believe I should have killed her, I was half
mad. But the blood was oozing fast from the wound--only the knife itself
held my life in. Things danced before my eyes, and my hands fell on my
lap.
The carriage stopped, the door opened, and the coachman appeared. It was
all like a dream to me.
"Take his feet," said the princess. The man obeyed, and between them
they lifted, or, rather, hauled and pushed, me out of the carriage, and
laid me by the roadside. I was almost in a faint, and the last thing I
was conscious of was a pretty, mocking mouth, which said:
"Won't you escort me, Mr. Jason?"--and then added to the coachman, "To
Glottenberg--quick!"
I did not die. I was picked up by some good folk, and well tended.
Dumergue arrived and looked after me, and in a couple of weeks I was on
my legs.
"Now for Glottenberg!" said I.
Dumergue shook his head.
"You won't be admitted to the town."
"Not admitted!"
"No. They have made it up--for the time. There must be no scandal. Come,
Jason; surely you see that?"
"She tried to murder me."
"Oh, quite, quite!" said he. "But you can't prosecute her."
"And I am to be turned adrift by the prince?"
"What use would it be to return? No doubt you annoyed her very much."
"I wish you had undertaken the job."
"I know her. I should have ridden outside."
"It is, then, the prince's wish that I should not return?"
"Yes. But he charges me to say that he will never forget your friendly
services."
I was disgusted. But I would force myself on no man.
"Then I'll go home."
"That will be much best," he answered, with revolting alacrity.
"I say, Dumergue, what does the princess say about me?"
"She laughs every time your name is mentioned, and----"
"The devil take her!"
"She says you may keep the knife!"
I have it still, a little tortoise-shell-handled thing, with a sharp--a
very sharp--point. On the blade is engraved, in German letters,
"Sophia." It is a pretty toy, and in its delicacy, its tininess, its
elegance, its seeming harmlessness, and its very sharp point, it reminds
me much of Princess Ferdinand of Glottenberg.
A TRAGEDY IN OUTLINE.
I.
DEAR MR. BROWN: * * * *
Yours sincerely,
M. ROBINSON.
II.
MY DEAR MR. BROWN: * * * *
Always yours very sincerely,
MINNIE ROBINSON.
III.
MY DEAR JACK (!): * * * *
Yours always,
MINNIE ROBINSON.
IV.
MY DEAREST JACK: * * * *
Yours,
MINNIE.
V.
MY DARLING JACK: * * * *
Lovingly, your
MIN.
VI.
MY DEAREST JACK: * * * *
Lovingly,
MINNIE.
VII.
MY DEAR JACK: * * * *
With love,
Yours,
MINNIE.
VIII.
DEAR JACK: * * * *
Ever yours,
MINNIE ROBINSON.
IX.
MY DEAR MR. BROWN: * * * *
Your sincere friend,
MINNIE ROBINSON.
X.
DEAR MR. BROWN: * * * *
Yours sincerely,
M. ROBINSON.
XI.
Silence.
A MALAPROPOS PARENT.
Young Mr. Pippitt had a father somewhere in America. Everyone who knew
young Mr. Pippitt knew that; for he had often spoken of his father, of
the fortune he was making, and of the liberal presents he sent home.
Then came a time when young Mr. Pippitt said less about his father and
less about the presents. Thus it was that people had almost forgotten
the existence of old Mr. Pippitt, when it was recalled to their memories
in a very startling and tragical way. Old Mr. Pippitt had landed in
England and was on his way to London, when he was killed in a great
railway disaster. His name, discovered from a letter in his pocket, was
published; and young Mr. Pippitt flew to the scene. The body was not
mangled or disfigured, and after one moment of extreme agitation the
bereaved son informed the official who had led him to where the dead man
lay that it was indeed his father. His evidence before the coroner put
the matter beyond doubt. Mr. Pippitt buried his father, assumed deep
mourning, and wrote to the company's solicitors. Repugnant as it was to
him to appear to make money out of the unhappy occurrence, the loss of
a rich and liberal parent was a matter which no struggling young man
could, in justice to himself, submit to without compensation.
Railway companies, having an extensive experience of humanity, are
prone to skepticism; and very many inquiries were made as to the life,
doings, profession, and profits of old Mr. Pippitt, and especially as
to his alleged remittances to his son. That gentleman stood the fire
of questions very successfully; he had letters from his father up to
within six months of the accident, and he proved the receipt of very
considerable yearly sums, in each of the four years during which his
father had been absent. In face of this evidence, the matter in issue
reduced itself to a difference of opinion between the company and
young Mr. Pippitt: first, as to the probability of old Mr. Pippitt
continuing to make money; secondly, as to the probability of his
continuing to share what he made with his son. More concretely still,
the company, without prejudice, offered two thousand pounds, and Mr.
Pippitt, without prejudice, asked seven thousand; whereupon the case
was entered for trial.
Mr. Naylor, the company's counsel, declared that young Mr. Pippitt was
one of the best witnesses he had ever seen. His demeanor was excellent,
his facts irrefragable, his memory neither unnaturally bad nor
suspiciously good. The last letter he produced from his father inclosed
a draft for three hundred pounds, and announced the writer's return on
a business visit by the next mail but one. By that mail, a gentleman of
the name of Pippitt had crossed the ocean, and had, presumably, taken
the train on landing, and met his death in the accident. Mr. Naylor
felt his case was so bad that he almost charged young Mr. Pippitt with
direct perjury, and twisted up a note to Mr. Budge, who was on the other
side, offering four thousand pounds and costs. Mr. Budge answered that
he must consult his client, and that he would wait till the end of the
plaintiff's evidence. Mr. Naylor nodded, and redoubled his insinuations
of an unscrupulous conspiracy.
Mr. Budge rose to re-examine with a smile on his face. Mr. Pippitt said
he had no reason to anticipate a falling-off in his father's business;
it was well established: nor in his father's liberality; his father had
always led him to suppose that he would provide for him. Yes, there was
a strong--yes, a very strong, affection between them. Here Mr. Pippitt's
voice faltered; the judge nodded sympathetically; and the foreman of
the jury wrote "£5,000?" on a slip of paper and passed it round the box.
That artistic falter produced another effect also. The gangways of the
court were crowded with the usual throng of idle folk, assembled to hear
Mr. Naylor's cross-examination; and as the plaintiff bore witness to the
bonds of love which bound him to his father there came from the recesses
of the crowd a voice, which said:
"That there is! Let me through! Who's saying my boy doesn't love his old
father?"
The group of people parted; and an elderly man came to the front,
advancing in an uncertain, apologetic manner.
"Silence! silence!" cried the usher, a world of pained indignation in
his accents.
"You mustn't disturb the court, sir!" thundered the judge.
"I came to speak a word for Joe. I was passing, and dropped in, and,
seeing Joe, I made bold to speak. He's been a good son, has Joe."
The judge looked appealingly at counsel.
"Who is Joe, and who is this person?" And getting no answer, he turned
to the plaintiff. Young Mr. Pippitt met his eye with an uneasy smile.
"I haven't the least idea, my lord," he said.
The judge looked at the writ.
"Your name is Joseph?" he asked.
"No, it--yes--that is, certainly, my lord."
"You don't seem very sure, sir," remarked the judge; and he added,
addressing the intruder, "Who are you, sir?"
The old man seemed in a nervous and broken-down condition; but he
stammered out, "He's my son, my son, my lord."
"It's a lie," cried young Mr. Pippitt.
"Hold your tongue till you're asked to speak," said his lordship
snappishly. "I want to hear what this man has to say."
The old man had much to say: much of young Mr. Pippitt's virtue,
industry, and much of his own fortunes, misfortunes, and wrongs. He
usurped the functions of both lawyer and witness, and all the court
listened to him.
"I'm glad to be here, gentlemen," he said--"glad to be here. I thought
I was never going to get out of that cell they put me in, not for long
years. But here I am, Joe, thank God!"
"Who put you in a cell?" asked the judge.
"I'm telling you as fast as I can," answered the old man petulantly.
"I'd just written to Joe to send him a bit of money and tell him
to look out for me, when they brought a charge of fraud against
me--against me, a respectable merchant. And I was tried: tried and
found guilty--unjustly, my lord--and sentenced to five years. To think
of it! They didn't know me out in Louisiana; no east-coast jury would
have convicted."
"Why didn't they know you?"
"I wasn't going to have my name known. I called myself Brown; and they
convicted me--as I wrote to you, Joe--for five years. But the Governor
did his duty. He was a white man, the Governor. He let me out."
"Why?" asked the judge curiously.
"Was a white man to get five years for besting a nigger?" demanded the
old man, with his first approach to vigor. "Not if the Governor knew it!
Oh, he was a white man. So here I am, Joe--here I am, thank God!"
The judge leaned forward and asked, "Have you any letters from the man
you say is your son?"
The old man pulled a dirty letter out of his pocket, and handed it up
with a bewildered look.
Young Mr. Pippitt still looked on with his fixed smile, while the judge
read:
"DEAR FATHER:
"It's a bad job that you're nabbed. Five years is no joke. Why were
you such a fool? You were right about the name. Keep it quite dark,
for God's sake! I'll see what I can do.
"Yours,
"J. P.
"Received your last all right."
"Is that your handwriting?" the judge asked of the plaintiff; but young
Mr. Pippitt swayed to and fro and fell in a faint in the witness-box.
The judge turned to Mr. Budge.
"Do you desire," he asked, "that this man should be sworn, and repeat
his evidence on oath, so that you may cross-examine him?"
Mr. Budge looked at his inanimate client, and answered, "I do not, my
lord. I shall probably have your lordship's approval in withdrawing from
the case?"
While the judge directed the jury to return a verdict for the defendant,
the old man had anxiously watched the usher, who was unloosing young Mr.
Pippitt's neckcloth. When the plaintiff revived, the old man leaned over
to Mr. Budge, and said, with a pleased smile, "Oh, he'll be all right
directly, won't he? I thought I could help a bit. I have helped a bit,
haven't I?"
"You have helped him to twelve months' hard labor," said Mr. Budge.
But the old man did not understand what it all meant, till one day they
took him to Kensal Green, and showed him a handsome tombstone. The
inscription ran:
"IN MEMORY OF JAMES PIPPITT."
The old man read and laughed.
"To think of that!" he said. "It beats everything!"
He read on with a chuckle:
"Erected by his sorrowing son, Joseph Pippitt. Born 13th December,
1821. Died 5th February, 1891. 'I shall go to him, but he shall not
return to me.'"
This prophecy might or might not be true of the person interred beneath
the tombstone. On its unfortunate inapplicability to his father, and on
the tainting of the fountain of Louisiana justice, young Mr. Pippitt
enjoyed twelve months' quiet reflection.
HOW THEY STOPPED THE "RUN."
There was a run on the Sandhill and District Bank. It had lasted the
whole of one day, and had shown no signs of abating in the evening. If
it lasted another day! Old Mr. Bradshaw wiped his brow. It had come
just at the awkwardest time--just after the farmers had got their usual
loans, just when securities were hard to realize; in fact, just at the
moment when the bank, though in reality solvent, was emphatically not in
a position in answer a long-continued demand for payment on the spot.
Mr. Bradshaw groaned out all these distressing facts to his son Dick.
It was, indeed, no use talking to Dick, for he took no interest in
business, and had spent the day in a boat with the Flirtington girls;
still, Mr. Bradshaw was bound to talk to someone.
"We shall have to put the shutters up. One day's grace would save us,
I believe; we could get the money then. But if they're at us again
to-morrow morning, we can't last two hours."
Dick sympathized, but had nothing to suggest, except that it would not
make matters worse if he carried out his engagement to go to the circus
with the Flirtington girls.
"Oh, go to h--ll with the Flirtington girls, if you like," groaned Mr.
Bradshaw.
So Dick went--to the circus (the other expedition, as he observed,
would keep), and enjoyed the performance very much, especially the
lion-taming, which was magnificent, and so impressed Dick that he
deserted his companions, went behind the scenes, and insisted on
standing Signor Philippini several glasses.
"Is that big chap quite safe?" he asked admiringly.
"_I_ can do anythink with 'im," said the signor (whose English was
naturally defective); "but with anyone helse 'e's a roarer, 'e is, and
no mistake."
After the performance Dick took the Flirtington girls home; then, with a
thoughtful look on his face, he went and had some talk with his father,
and came away, carefully placing a roll of notes in his breast pocket.
Then he sought Signor Philippini's society once more. And that's all
that is really known about it--if, that is, we discard the obviously
fanciful statement of Fanny Flirtington that, as she was gazing at
the moon about 2 A. M., she saw a heavy wagon, drawn by two horses and
driven by Signor Philippini, pass along the street in the direction of
the bank. She must have been wrong; for Philippini, by the evidence of
his signora (whose name, notwithstanding that Philippini's morals were
perfectly correct, was Mrs. Buggins), went to bed at 11.30, and snored
like a pig all night.
However these things may be, this is what happened next morning. When
the first of the depositors arrived at 7 A. M., they found one of the
windows of the bank smashed to pieces and the shutter hanging loose. A
cry went up that there had been a robbery, and one or two men began to
climb in. They did not get far before a fearful roar proceeded from the
neighborhood of the counter. They looked at one another, and said it
would be more regular to wait for the officials. The roars continued.
They sent for Mr. Bradshaw. Hardly had he arrived (accompanied by Dick,
breathless and in shirt-sleeves) before the backmost rows of the now
considerable crowd became agitated with a new sensation. The news
spread rapidly. Frantic men ran to and fro; several ladies fainted; the
circus-proprietor was sent for. A lion had escaped from the menagerie,
and was supposed to be at large in the town!
"Send for Philippini!" cried the proprietor. They did so. Philippini
had started early for a picnic in the country, and would not return
till just before the performance in the evening. The proprietor was in
despair.
"Where's the beast gone to?" he cried.
A roar from the bank answered his question.
"Well, I'm blowed if he's not in the bank!" exclaimed the proprietor.
It certainly appeared to be the fact that Atlas (that was the lion's
name) had taken refuge in the bank, and was in full possession of the
premises and assets. Under these circumstances there was, Mr. Bradshaw
explained, a difficulty in resuming cash payments; but if his checks
would be accepted---- The crowd roared almost as loud as Atlas at such
an idea. Something must be done. They sent for the mayor; he repudiated
liability. They sent for the fire brigade and the lifeboat crew; neither
would come. They got guns, and peppered the furniture. Atlas retired
behind the fireproof safe and roared worse than ever. Meanwhile the
precious hours were passing. Mr. Bradshaw's money was also on its way
from London. At last Dick took a noble resolution.
"I will go in at any cost," he cried, and, in spite of Fanny
Flirtington's tears, he scaled the window and disappeared from view. The
crowd waited to hear Atlas scrunching; but he only roared. When Dick was
inside, he paused and asked in a low voice: "Is he chained?"
"Yes," answered Signor Philippini from behind the safe. "Is the Aunt
Sally business over?" and he came out with a long pole in his hand. He
used the pole to stir poor Atlas up when the roars became deficient in
quantity and quality.
"The money ought to be here in three hours," said Dick. "Have you got
the back-door key?"
Philippini reassured him. Then Dick took a wild running leap at the
window; Philippini stirred up Atlas, who roared lustily. Dick escaped
with his life, and landed, a breathless heap, at the mayor's feet. The
mayor raised him, and said he should write to Her Majesty, and suggest
that Dick would be a proper recipient of the Albert Medal, and the
vicar (who had no money in the bank) indignantly asked the crowd if they
could not trust a family which produced scions like that. Several people
cried "Hear, hear!" and told Mr. Bradshaw that they never really meant
to withdraw their deposits. Mr. Bradshaw thanked them, and looked at his
watch.
At half-past three Philippini ran up; he also was breathless, and his
shoes were dusty from walking in the country. At once he effected an
entry, amid a scene of great excitement. A moment later he appeared at
the window and cried in a terror-stricken voice:
"I can't 'old 'im! I can't 'old 'im! 'E's mad! Look out for yourselves!"
and he leaped from the window.
The crowd fled in all directions, and two boys were all but run over by
a cart which was being driven rapidly from the railway station to the
bank.
"All right," said Dick to the signor; "bring up the wagon." And then,
with great difficulty and consummate courage, the signor and Dick
brought an iron cage up to the window, and drove Atlas in. The operation
took more than an hour, because they had to feed Atlas and drink a
bottle of champagne themselves before they set about it. So that it was
six o'clock before Atlas was out, and the money was in, and the Sandhill
and District Bank opened its doors for business.
"We gained just the time we needed," said Mr. Bradshaw. "It was
dirt-cheap at fifty pounds!"
And Dick, although he did not get the Albert Medal, was taken into
partnership, and married Fanny Flirtington. It was the only way of
preventing her seeing things she was not meant to see out of the window
at 2 A. M. and chattering about them in public.
A LITTLE JOKE.
A day or two before Easter, I was sitting in my office, finishing up
some scraps of work, and ever and anon casting happy glances at my
portmanteau, which stood in the corner. I was just off to spend a
fortnight with my old friend Colonel Gunton, in Norfolk, and I was
looking forward to seeing him again with great pleasure. We had not met
for ten years, and I had never been to his place or seen any of his
family. It would be delightful.
The telephone bell rang.
"Oh, confound it! I hope that's nothing to keep me!" I exclaimed; and I
rose to see to it.
"Mr. Miller? Are you there?"
"Yes."
"All right. I'll come round."
A few minutes passed, and then my clerk announced, "A lady to see you,
sir."
A remarkably pretty girl of about eighteen was ushered in. She stood
still some way from me till the door was closed. Then she suddenly
rushed toward me, fell at my feet, and exclaimed, "You will protect me,
won't you?"
"My dear young lady, what in the world----"
"You're the famous Mr. Miller, aren't you? Mr. Joseph Miller, the
philanthropist?"
"My name is Joseph Miller certainly."
"Ah! Then I am safe;" and she sat down in an armchair, and smiled
confidingly at me.
"Madam," said I sternly, "will you have the goodness to explain to what
I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
"They told me to come to you."
"Who?"
"Why, the people at the police station."
"The police station?"
"Yes, when they let me go--because it was a first offense, you know.
They said you always took up cases like mine, and that if I stuck to you
I should be well looked after."
It was quite true that I have taken an interest in rescuing young
persons from becoming habitual criminals; but I was hardly prepared for
this.
"What have you been doing?"
"Oh, nothing this time--only a bracelet."
"This time?"
"They didn't know me up here," she explained smilingly. "I've always
practiced in the country. Wasn't it lucky? But really, Mr. Miller, I'm
tired of it; I am indeed. The life is too exciting: the doctors say so;
so I've come to you."
The case was a strange one, but I had no time to investigate it now. It
wanted only half an hour to the time my train left Liverpool Street.
"What is your name?" I asked.
"Sarah Jones."
"Well, I will have your case looked into. Come and see me again; or, if
you are in distress, you may write to me--at Colonel Gunton's, Beech
Hill, Norfolk. I shall be staying there----"
"Going now?"
"I start in a few minutes."
"Oh, I'll come with you."
"Madam," I answered, with emphasis, "I will see you--out of the office
first."
"But what am I to do? Oh, it's nonsense! I shall come. I shall say I
belong to you."
I rang the bell. "Show this lady out, Thomas, at once."
She laughed, bowed, and went. Evidently a most impudent hussy. I
finished my business, drove to Liverpool Street, and established myself
in a first-class smoking carriage. I was alone, and settled myself for
a comfortable cigar. I was rudely interrupted. Just as the train was
starting, the door opened--and that odious young woman jumped in.
"There! I nearly missed you!" she said.
"I can hold no communication with you," said I severely; "you are a
disgrace to your--er--sex."
"It's all right. I've wired to the colonel."
"You've wired to my friend Colonel Gunton?"
"Yes, I didn't want to surprise them. I said you would bring a friend
with you. It's all right, Mr. Miller."
"I don't know who you are or what you are; but the Guntons are
respectable people, and I am a respectable man, and----"
"That's no reason why you should promenade up and down, Mr. Miller.
It's very uncomfortable for me."
"What is the meaning of this insolent behavior?"
"Why not be friendly? We're off now, and I must go on."
"I shall give you in charge at the next station."
"What for?"
On reflection, I supposed she had committed no criminal offense; and
with a dignified air I opened my paper.
"I don't mind you smoking," she said, and took out a box of chocolates.
I was at my wits' end. Either this girl was mad or she was a dangerous
and unscrupulous person. She was quite capable of making a most
unpleasant and discreditable commotion on the platform at Beach Hill
Station. What in the world was I to do?
"Shall we stay long at the Guntons'?" she asked.
"You, madam, will never go there."
"Oh, yes, I shall."
"Indeed you won't. I'll take care of that. The police will see to
that."
"I don't care a fig for the police. I shall go and stay as long as you
do. They told me to stick to you."
I became angry. Any man would have. But nothing was to be gained by
losing my temper. I took out a sovereign.
"If you'll get out at the next station, I'll give you this."
She laughed merrily. "I thought you went in for personal supervision,
not mere pecuniary doles," she said; "I read that in your speech at the
Charity Organization meeting. No; I'm not to be bribed. I'm going to the
Guntons'."
"It's absurd. It's preposterous. What will--what will Mrs. Gunton say?"
"Oh, _she_ won't mind," answered my companion, with a confident nod.
"She's used to girls like me."
"You surprise me," I retorted sarcastically; but she only laughed again.
I returned to my paper.
An hour passed in silence. The train began to slacken speed as we neared
the station next before Beech Hill. She looked up and said:
"Would you really rather I didn't come with you?"
I had passed a wretched hour. This girl was evidently bent on blasting
my character.
"Madam," I said, "if you'll get out at this station, I'll give you a
five-pound note."
"What? I heard you never gave away a farthing! They said no one could
get a penny out of you."
"It is true that I disapprove of indiscriminate charity; but, under the
circumstances, I----"
"Think I am a deserving object? Well, I'll take it."
With a sigh of relief, I took a note from my pocket-book, and gave it
her.
"I'll pay it back soon," she said.
"Never let me see your face again."
"Apologize for me to the Guntons. Good-by."
She jumped out lightly, and I sank back, murmuring, "Thank Heaven!"
After I got rid of her my journey was peaceful and happy, and I forgot
my troubles in the warm greeting my old friend Bob Gunton and his wife
gave me. The girl must have lied about the telegram; at least, Bob
made no reference to it. He had a fine family of boys and girls, and
presented them to me with natural pride.
"That's my lot--except Addie. She's gone to see some friends; but we
expect her back every minute. They keep me alive, I can tell you,
Miller."
After tea, my host and hostess insisted on taking me for a stroll on the
terrace. It was a beautiful evening, and I did not mind the cold. As we
were talking together, I heard the rumble of wheels. An omnibus stopped
at the gate.
"Ah, the 'bus," said Gunton; "it runs between here and our market-town."
I hardly heard him; for, to my horror, I saw, descending from the 'bus
and opening the gate, that girl!
"Send her away!" I cried; "send her away! On my honor, Bob, as a
gentleman, I know nothing about her."
"Why, what's the matter?"
"I solemnly assure Mrs. Gunton and yourself that----"
"What's the matter with the man? What's he talking about?"
"Why, Bob, that girl--that barefaced girl!"
"That girl! Why, that's my daughter Addie!"
"Your daughter?"
The little minx walked up to me with a smile, dropped a little courtesy,
and said: "I knew, Mr. Miller, that it wasn't true that you would refuse
to help a really deserving case. The others said you would; but I
thought better of you."
And she had the effrontery, then and there, to tell her parents all
about it!
I think parents are the most infatuated class of persons in the
community. They laughed, and Mrs. Gunton said, "How clever of you,
Addie! You must forgive her, Mr. Miller. My dear girls are so playful!"
_Playful!_ And she never returned the five-pound note!
A GUARDIAN OF MORALITY.
Miss Tabitha Grey had not reached the age of forty-five years without
acquiring an extensive and unfavorable knowledge of her sex. Men were
wicked; Miss Grey admitted and deplored the fact, but it was so much in
the order of nature that she had almost ceased to cavil at it. But that
women should be wicked! Here Miss Grey's toleration gave out. And so
many women, especially young women, and more especially pretty young
women, were wicked. It was atrocious! Entertaining this general opinion,
Miss Grey, as a matter of course, held Maggie Lester in the utmost
detestation. The Waterfall Hotel was, in fact, hardly large enough to
contain, in any comfort, Miss Grey on the one hand and on the other
Maggie Lester, her brother Charles, and their friend and traveling
companion. Captain Petrie. It is true that the feeling of discomfort was
entirely confined to Miss Grey. The young people were very civil to her
when any one of them happened to be next her at _table d'hôte_, and at
other times thought nothing about her; but Miss Grey endured agonies
enough for an hotelful of people. She shuddered at Maggie's striped
waistcoat and white sailor's knot with its golden pin, at her brown
boots, at her love of long and hard rides, at her not infrequent slang;
above all, at the terms of hearty and familiar _camaraderie_ on which
she thought fit to conduct her acquaintance with Captain Petrie. The
decorum of literature forbids that Miss Grey's inmost suspicions should
be put in writing; it must suffice to say that they were very dark
indeed--so dark that all the other ladies, to whom Miss Grey repeated
them, could not but come to the conclusion that there must be some truth
in them.
One morning, after breakfast, Miss Grey took her knitting and the
_Church Times_ and sat down in the veranda. A moment later, to her
disgust, Charlie Lester and Captain Petrie came out of the breakfast
room, lit their pipes, and, after a polite "Good-morning," took their
seats a few yards from her. Miss Grey sniffed the tobacco-tainted air,
and was about to rise and ostentatiously remove herself from the
infected zone, when she heard a scrap of conversation between the two
young men which entirely altered her determination. She sat still and
listened with all her might.
"I wonder when Maggie will be down," said Lester; "I want to tell her."
"Oh, you're too late," said Petrie; "I've told her."
"What, have you seen her?"
"Yes. I knew she'd like to know, so I went outside her door five minutes
ago and shouted what we'd heard, and she came out directly."
"Had she anything on?" inquired Lester, in an interested tone.
"No," responded Captain Petrie; "but that made no difference."
"It would to me," said Lester, with a smile.
"And to me," said the captain; "but it didn't to her. I reminded her of
it, and she said that it made no odds--she wanted to hear all I knew
directly. So we stood in the passage, and----"
Miss Grey had been gradually becoming more and more horrified. She had
been prepared for a good deal, but this was too much. And the creature's
own brother listened to it! Her knitting fell from her grasp, and the
needles jangled on the tiled floor. The captain hastened to pick them
up, interrupting his narrative for that purpose; but Miss Grey froze him
with an awful look, and strode into the house.
Miss Grey was a woman who never allowed herself to be turned from
the path of duty, however painful that path might be to others. She
soon made up her mind as to what she must do, and, having come to a
resolution, she laid the whole matter before an informal committee of
three irreproachable and austere matrons, whom she selected from among
her fellow-guests. The immediate result of their conference was, that
when Maggie Lester, looking very fresh and blooming after her morning
gallop, came in to luncheon and took her place at the table, no fewer
than four elderly ladies put down their knives and forks, rose from
their chairs, and solemnly stalked out of the room.
"Hullo! what's up?" said Charlie Lester.
But nobody knew what was up; and, to all appearance, Maggie least of
all, for she cheerfully began her lunch, mere remarking to the captain,
as though in continuance of a previous conversation:
"It wouldn't have been so bad if I'd had anything--even the least little
bit--on, would it?"
"Ah, you ought to have put your boots on," said the captain, with a
smile.
A fifth lady, sitting by, overheard these remarks, and when, after
lunch, Miss Grey informed her of the startling occurrence of the
morning, her testimony completed the damning chain of evidence. They
made a joke of it! What could the suggestion of boots--only boots--be,
except a vulgar, shameless jest? The ladies went in a body to the
proprietor, and intimated that either they or the Lester party must
forthwith leave the hotel. The proprietor demanded reasons; cogent,
irrefragable reasons were supplied by Miss Grey and the fifth
lady--reasons clothed, of course, in decorous language, but unmistakably
revealing the infamous conduct of Maggie Lester.
"I assure you, ladies," exclaimed the proprietor, beads of perspiration
standing on his brow, "it's the first time such a thing has ever
occurred in my house."
"It must be the last," said Miss Grey firmly.
"I will act at once," declared the proprietor. "This is a respectable
house, and such proceedings cannot be tolerated. Good gracious! It would
endanger my license!"
"And your soul," said Miss Grey solemnly.