LEAVING MADRID.
As Frank, Ephraim and the Spaniard walked along a quiet street,
breathing heavily, Esparto turned to Frank, saying, warmly:
“Young señor, I have you to thank for my life. A knife would have
finished me but for you. I am grateful.”
“It is possible I have you to thank for my life,” said the boy. “I had
just become aware that my friend and myself were in a very bad scrape
when you interested yourself in the affair.”
“Yes, señor. It was very foolish of you to come there.”
“I did not know what sort of a place I was getting into.”
“Gonzalez meant to kill you. To me that was plain, and I sought to give
you an opportunity to escape by creating a diversion. I did not look to
find myself exposed, but somebody saw my beard was not natural, and it
was snatched away. Still, I had many friends there, and I knew it. What
I feared was that you would not get out. I looked for you to hasten
away, but you remained.”
“I did not feel like getting out and leaving you to be cut to death. I
had heard of you.”
“And still Spaniards think Americans have no courage! You had heard of
me?”
“Yes, Señor Esparto.”
“From whom?”
“Señorita Zuera.”
“Zuera? Then you must have seen her since the bull fight.”
“I have. She came to the hotel where I am stopping.”
“She came there?” questioned Esparto, wonderingly.
“Yes, to warn me that Villasca might seek to kill me.”
“Of that I have no doubt. He is a scoundrel. It was a wonderful thing
you did to-day in killing the bull, and I thank you, young señor, a
thousand times, for saving Zuera. I was with the spectators, but I was
so far back that it was impossible for me to reach the ring in time to
save her. Barbastro should have been on hand when Villasca failed. Brave
little Zuera!”
“She is indeed brave; but it seems a dreadful thing that she should
follow such a dangerous business.”
“Ah! She shall follow it no more! I have come back to her. I have come
to take her away. We will escape from Spain and go to America together.
Spain has made me an outcast, and I shall have to adopt another country.
I shall interest myself in Cuba. When the revolution comes in Spain, as
it must come soon, I may return here. Not till then.”
“You may not find it so easy to get out of Spain. It will be known that
you are in Madrid, and then they will watch for you.”
“I tricked them once,” laughed Esparto, confidently, “and I can do so
again. They will not capture me.”
“I trust you are right. You have done me a great service to-night, and
it is but fair that I should do what I could in return. I will give you
letters of introduction to persons in America whom it will be a good
thing for you to know.”
“You are very kind, young señor. You are as generous as you are brave. I
will accept such letter ... with thanks.”
“Where can we go that I may write them, for it is possible I shall not
see you again after we part to-night?”
“That is true. I shall be forced to change my disguise, and I shall
leave Madrid as soon as possible after seeing Zuera. If you are wise,
you will not delay in getting out of Spain. To-morrow it may be charged
against you that you aided Esparto, the revolutionist, and you may find
yourself arrested. It can avail you nothing to remain here, and it may
cost you your liberty—your very life. Be warned and get away as soon as
possible.”
“I will do so, señor.”
Frank was impressed by the words of the Valencian, for he realized that
the shot he had fired in the saloon might make him a criminal in the
eyes of the Spanish government. Obstinacy is not courage, and no one
knew it better than Frank.
“You are wise,” said Esparto. “Villasca hates you and it is plain that
Gonzalez has no love for you. Your enemies may combine against you.”
“I will leave Madrid by the first train in the morning.”
“Very good. I may be on the same train, but you will not know me. And
now I shall lose no time in hastening to Zuera. If you come with me, you
may write those letters in her house.”
“I will come. I wish to see her once more and bid her farewell. Lead on,
Señor Esparto.”
It did not take the party long to reach the house in which the beautiful
bull fighter resided.
They were warmly received, and once again Frank was thanked for what he
had done.
“If you ever come over to America you must call upon me,” said Frank, to
both the girl and her lover. And he wrote down his home address.
It was arranged that Señor Esparto and Zuera should leave Madrid the
next day. Their flight was, of course, a secret one, and their absence
was not discovered by their enemies until it proved too late to follow
them.
When Frank and Ephraim got back to their hotel they found the professor
anxiously awaiting their return.
He had heard ugly rumors, and was afraid the boys were dead.
“We leave for London to-morrow, at seven in the morning,” he said.
And all the argument in the world would not budge him.
“Well, it’s just as well,” said Frank. “I’ve had enough of these
blood-thirsty Spaniards.”
“By gum! so hev I,” came from the Vermont boy. “Let’s git out, an’ to
some spot where a feller kin talk English, by gosh!”
To avoid trouble, they went to the depot in a round-about way. No
enemies were encountered, and soon they were speeding northward.
Three days later found Frank and his friends in London. They took
lodging at St. John’s Wood, and proceeded to see the sights without
delay.
Ephraim felt more at home here than in either Paris or Madrid, and the
boys proceeded to enjoy themselves hugely until one day Ephraim was
summoned to come home.
The parting was keenly felt by both.
But a day later something happened that upset Frank a good deal more.
What that was is best told in this notice, which appeared immediately
afterward in a leading English paper:
“It is feared that the dynamite outrages of a dozen years ago are about
to be renewed in London. Although an effort has been made to suppress
the facts, it is now known that an attempt was made last Saturday to
wreck the Houses of Parliament, and it might have been successful but
for the suspicions of a young American tourist, who gave his name as
Frank Merriwell, and who saw a mysterious old man deliberately abandon a
satchel on the stairs leading up into Westminster Hall. Mr. Merriwell
heard a singular ticking sound that seemed to come from the satchel, and
he directed the attention of a policeman to it. The satchel was
immediately removed and opened, when it was found to contain an infernal
machine that was on the point of exploding. By his prompt action in
notifying the officer, Mr. Merriwell undoubtedly prevented a frightful
explosion, that must have wrecked the houses and killed scores of
persons, as Saturday was ‘visiting day,’ and the place was thronged. The
mysterious old man who left the satchel has not been found, but the
police are industriously working on the case.”
And thus it came about that, much to his disgust, before he had been a
week in London, Frank found himself under the close surveillance of the
English police. Wherever he went, there always seemed to be an officer
in uniform or in plain clothes who was watching him.
“Confound it!” he angrily cried, as he flung himself into an easy-chair,
after a day of sight-seeing from the top of an omnibus. “I am getting
decidedly sick of this business.”
“Eh?” said Professor Scotch, looking up from his journal, in which he
had been writing. “What did you say?”
“I say I am getting sick and tired of this business.”
“To what do you refer, my boy?”
“This being dogged about like a criminal by the police. I have been
watched and tracked ever since the discovery of that infernal machine,
just as if I did not tell all I knew about it at the time. I have been
summoned to Scotland Yard, where I was questioned and cross-questioned,
as if I were a witness on the stand. It seems as if I have been
compelled to give the addresses of almost all the respectable persons I
know. To-day, when I left the house, I suspected that I would be
followed, and I resolved to give the fellow who followed me a merry
chase. I took a ’bus to Westminster Bridge, where I left it and tramped
back to Charing Cross. There I took another ’bus to Paddington, where I
left it and took another through Oxford Street and Holborn. Then I took
another line and went northward to the Queen’s Elm, returning by
Holloway Road, City Road, Caledonian Road, Euston Road, Portland Road,
Regent Street and Piccadilly. And, say—what do you think?”
“Eh? What do I think?”
“Yes. I presume you think sometimes.”
“Sir, sir! It has been demonstrated that even apes think.”
“In that case there can be no further doubt but you sometimes think. I
beg your pardon.”
“What’s that?” spluttered the little man, leaping to his feet. “Do you
mean to compare me to an ape? You insolent young scoundrel! You saucy
young rascal! It is more than I can endure!”
“Keep cool, professor. Of course I didn’t mean anything of the sort. I
must have somebody to joke with, now that Ephraim has left me and
returned ‘hum to the farm,’ and I sometimes forget your age.”
“Ephraim Gallup was not to blame for going home. I presume he decided it
was his only chance of getting home with his life, for you were
continually getting into scrapes, and the scrapes grew worse and worse
as you progressed.”
“He went home because his ‘folks’ succeeded in getting an appealing
letter to him at last. His mother could not endure the thought that her
boy was ‘racin’ up an’ daown the universe from one end uv creation to
t’other. But you did not answer my question. What do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I was followed everywhere to-day, from the time I left the house
till I returned.”
“Is that all?”
“Is that all! I should say it was quite enough. Every time I took a
different ’bus line, a little, dried-up sort of a man, with a melancholy
mustache that curled around the corners of his mouth and an eye that
never by any chance seemed to be looking in my direction, changed with
me. At Queen’s Cross I got mad. I demanded to know what he was following
me around for. I grabbed him by the shoulders and talked fiercely to
him. Then I was ashamed of myself, for he seemed nearly frightened to
death, and he begged my pardon twenty times, saying he was out to see
the sights, and he would take particular care not to ride on another
’bus with me.”
“Well?”
“Well, he was not on the ’bus when I started back, and I began to think
I had made a fool of myself. There was a garrulous old lady, dressed
like a fright, with cork-screw curls, out-of-date bonnet, black mits and
spotted veil. She said she was on a ‘tower,’ and she was bound to see
all the sights. She was a character, and she made fun for me. She said
she was traveling alone, as her man was too scared to leave the hotel
where they were stopping. I volunteered to show her some of the sights,
for I thought I could have a barrel of fun with her. And so I showed her
around.”
“Very kind of you, Frank; very kind.”
Frank groaned.
“Yes, awfully kind! I took a tumble to myself, after spending two hours
showing her the ‘sights.’”
“Took a tumble?”
“Exactly.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was helping the old lady down from the ’bus. Her dress caught, and
then I saw she wore a pair of men’s trousers underneath. That aroused
me, and I looked her over carefully. May I be hanged, if it wasn’t the
same dried up little man who had been following me in the first place!
His mustache was gone, and he had changed his disguise, but it was the
same man.”
“Well! well! I do declare!”
“I declared a trifle about then myself. I quietly informed him that I
knew him, and that I would give him a jolly good thrashing if I caught
him again. And then I skipped.”
“Well, you got rid of him at last.”
“Did I! Look here, professor.”
Frank led Scotch to the window, and pointed to a wretched-looking beggar
who was loafing along on the opposite side of the way.
“See there.”
“Eh? Well, sir?”
“That is the man!”
“Good gracious!”
Frank returned to his chair, and flung himself down.
“It is too much,” he said; “it is altogether too much! Did I commit a
crime against the government by discovering that infernal machine? or
what have I done? I can’t stand this business! Somebody will get damaged
if it keeps on.”
“Easy, Frank, easy,” cautioned the professor, entreatingly. “Now, don’t
get into trouble in London, I beg of you! You nearly lost your life in
Paris, and we were forced to flee from Madrid and from Spain. It seems
to me that we might get along in London without a repetition of those
experiences.”
“Well, I am not going to be dogged around in this way much longer. If it
continues, I shall go to Scotland Yard and make a complaint. It is
altogether too much for me to endure.”
“Now, I beg you not to get mixed up with the police. London police are
peculiar. They arrest you if you toss a scrap of paper from a cab window
into the street. I know how you will talk if you go to Scotland Yard,
and I’m sure you’ll get into trouble.”
“You are altogether too afraid of getting into trouble, professor. A
little trouble does not worry me, although I never go around looking for
it. A small row with the London police would make it all the more
interesting. By Jove! I believe I’ll go out and have a session with that
fellow who has been chasing me around.”
He arose quickly, but the professor caught hold of him.
“Don’t, Frank! Have some regard for my feelings. We will change our
lodgings.”
“And let them think we are trying to avoid them by sneaking away! Not on
your life, professor! I am not that kind of a hairpin!”
“Well, we won’t mind them. To-morrow we will go and see Westminster
Abbey.”
“I’ve seen it.”
“We will go to the British Museum.”
“And dig over old musty books and squint at antique manuscripts. Excuse
me! It would be altogether too jolly. My nerves would not stand the
pressure.”
“Then we will visit Kensal Green Cemetery, where Thackeray and Tom Hood
are buried.”
“Say, that would be simply hilarious! I fear I should die from pure
enjoyment! I’m afraid you will have to excuse me, professor. My heart is
too weak to stand the strain.”
“I never saw such a boy! Where shall we go?”
“I say, we’ll go to the Derby! To-morrow is the day. Now, it is useless
for you to say no, professor. You declined to allow me to attend the
races in Paris, but I do not mean to miss the Derby. All Americans who
come to London see the Derby. It wouldn’t do to go back to the United
States and confess that we did not attend. It is settled, professor.”
Scotch groaned.
“Well,” he said, “I suppose I’ll have to humor you this time; but I do
not know what your poor dead uncle would think of me if he knew I
permitted you to witness such degrading spectacles.”
Frank laughed.
“In his younger days, Uncle Asher was somewhat sporty himself,
professor. If he were alive and here, I am sure he would take me to see
the Derby. Don’t let it worry you. And to-night we will go to the
theater.”
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