HENRY VEATH
Mr. Veath's abrupt announcement that he was bound for Manila was a
decided shock to Grace, Hugh escaping because of his intuitive
revelation. After the revenue man had gone below to lie down awhile
before luncheon the elopers indulged in an animated discussion of
affairs under new conditions.
"Well, we can make use of him after we get there, dear," said Hugh
philosophically. "He can be a witness and swear to your age when I go
for the license."
"But, Hugh, he thinks we are brother and sister, and we cannot tell him
anything to the contrary. It would be awfully embarrassing to try
to explain."
"That's so," mused he. "I doubt whether we could make him believe that
brothers and sisters marry in Manila. There's just one thing to do."
"It seems to me there are a great many things to do that we didn't
consider when we started," ventured she.
"We must let him believe we are brother and sister until after we are
married. Then we'll have the laugh on him. I know it's not very pleasant
to explain your own joke, or to tell the other fellow when to laugh, but
it seems to be the only way. We can't escape him, you know. He is to be
at his post by the twentieth of May."
"After all, I think we ought to be nice to him. We can't put him off the
boat and we might just as well be friendly. How would you enjoy
travelling to Manila all alone? Just put yourself in his place."
"Maybe he thinks he's lucky to be travelling alone."
"That's very pretty, sir. Would you rather be travelling alone?"
"Not at all. I'm only saying what he may think. The poor devil may be
married, you know."
"Oh, do you really think so?" cried she.
"He looks a little subdued."
"That's because he's seasick."
"But, to return to our own troubles--you think, then, we would better
adopt Mr. Veath for the voyage and break the news to him impressively
after the deed is done?"
"I think so, don't you? It is sure to be embarrassing, any way you put
it, isn't it?" she asked, laughing nervously.
"Oh, I don't know," he replied airily. "People of our nerve should not
be embarrassed by anything on earth." He arose and assisted her to her
feet. Then, slipping his arm through hers, he started for the
companionway. "The prospect of being brother and sister for ten thousand
miles is rather obnoxious to me," he went on. She looked at him in
surprise and then blushed faintly. As they descended the steps, he put
his arm around her shoulder. At the bottom he stopped and glanced
around apprehensively, something like alarm appearing in his face. His
arm slipped from her shoulder to her waist and contracted suddenly.
"What is the matter, Hugh?" she whispered, looking quickly about as if
expecting a calamity.
"Is any one in sight?" he demanded anxiously.
"I don't see a soul," she answered.
"Then I'm going to give up the brother act for a moment or two. This is
a good, sequestered spot, and I'm going to kiss you." And he did so more
than once. "That's the first chance I've had to kiss you since we came
aboard. What an outrage it is that brothers cannot be more attentive to
their own sisters than to other men's sisters."
"It seems to be customary for brothers to neglect their sisters," she
suggested demurely.
"A brother who neglects his sister ought to be horsewhipped," declared
he.
"Amen to that. They use the cat-o'-nine-tails on board ship, you must
remember," she said, smiling.
Shortly afterward he dropped in to see Veath and was welcomed gladly. He
was lying in his berth, and Hugh sent for a bottle of his champagne. Two
glasses of the wine put new life into him and something of a sparkle
flew to his dull eyes, as if cast there by the bubbling liquor. His
tongue loosened a little, Hugh finding him to be a bright, sensible
fellow, somewhat ignorant of the ways of the world, but entirely capable
of taking care of himself. Moreover, with the renewed vigor displaying
itself, he was far better looking than his new acquaintance had thought.
His blue eyes, keen and clear, appealed to Hugh's love for
straightforwardness; his wide mouth bespoke firmness, good nature, and
the full ability to enjoy the humorous side of things. The lines about
his clean-cut, beardless face were a trifle deep, and there was a
network of those tiny wrinkles which belong to men of forty-five and not
to those of twenty-eight.
Evidently his had not been a life of leisure. As he lounged easily upon
the edge of the berth, Hugh could not but admire his long, straight
figure, the broad shoulders and the pale face with its tense
earnestness.
"Manila, you know, is an important post these days," said Veath.
"There's a lot of work to be done there in the next few years. I'm from
Indiana. Every able-bodied man in our district who voted right and
hasn't anything else to do wants a government job. Of course, most of
them want to be consul-generals, postmasters, or heads of bureaus, but
there are some of us who will take the best thing that is offered.
That's why I am going to Manila. Politics, you know, and my uncle's
influence with the administration." Ridgeway observed that wine made
loquacious a man who was naturally conservative. "Where are you going?"
he continued.
"We are going to Manila."
"What!" gasped Veath. "You don't mean it!"
"Certainly. Why not?" and Hugh smiled delightedly over the sensation he
had created.
"Why--why, it seems improbable," stammered Veath. "I had looked upon
Manila as the most wretched hole in the world, and yet I find you going
there, evidently from choice."
"Well, you'll have to change your opinion now," said Hugh.
"I do--forthwith. It cannot be such a bad place or you wouldn't be
taking your sister there. May I ask what is your object in going
to Manila?"
Hugh turned red in the face and stooped over to flick an imaginary
particle of dust from his trousers' leg. There was but one object in
their going and he had not dreamed of being asked what it was. He could
not be employed forever in brushing away that speck, and yet he could
not, to save his life, construct an answer to Veath's question. In the
midst of his despair a sudden resolution came, and he looked up, his
lips twitching with suppressed laughter.
"We are going as missionaries."
He almost laughed aloud at the expression on Veath's face. It revealed
the utmost dismay. There was a moment's silence, and then the man in the
berth said slowly:
"Is Miss Ridge a--a missionary also?"
"The very worst kind," replied Hugh cheerily.
"Going out among the natives, I suppose?"
"What natives?"
"Why,--the Igorrotes, or whatever they are, of course."
"Oh, of course--to be sure," cried Hugh hastily. "I am so d--d
absent-minded."
Veath stared in amazement.
"You must not think it strange that I swear," said Hugh, mopping his
brow. "I am not the missionary, you know."
"Oh," was the other's simple exclamation. Another pause and then, "You
don't mean to say that such a beautiful woman is going to waste her life
among savages?"
"She's got her head set on it and we think the only way to break her of
it is to give her a sample of the work. I am going with her ostensibly
to protect, but really to make her life miserable."
"I rather admire her devotion to the church," said Veath, still a trifle
dazed.
"She's a great crank on religion," admitted Hugh. Then he could feel
himself turn pale. He was passing Grace off as a missionary, and thereby
placing her under restrictions that never before had entered into her
gay life. Veath would treat her as if she were of fragile glass and it
would not be long until the whole boat would be staring at the beautiful
girl who was going to the heathen. Remorse struck him and he tried to
flounder out of the position.
[Illustration: GRACE VERNON]
"I should not have said that about her views. You would never take her
to be an ardent church-member, and she is particularly averse to being
called a missionary. The truth about the matter is that very few
people home know about this move of hers and there is no one on ship who
even suspects. She would not have had me tell it for the world."
"My dear Mr. Ridge, don't let that trouble you. She shall never know
that you have told me and I shall never repeat it. Please rest assured;
her wishes in the matter are most certainly to be considered sacred,"
cried Veath warmly.
"Thanks, old man," said Hugh, very much relieved. "Your hand on that. I
am not sorry I told you, for I'm sure you will be careful. She objects
to the--the--well, the notoriety of the thing, you know. Hates to be
glared at, questioned, and all that sort of thing."
"She is very sensible in that respect. I have but little use for the
people who parade their godliness."
"That's just the way she looks at it. She would be uncomfortable all the
way over if she thought that a single person knew of her intentions.
Funny girl that way."
"If I were you, I don't believe I'd tell any one else," said Veath
hesitatingly.
"That's all right, Veath. Depend upon me, I'll not breathe it to another
soul. It shall not go a bit farther. Grace wants to go about the good
work as quietly as possible. Still, I am bound to make her forget the
heathen and return to America another woman altogether." Mr. Veath, of
course, did not understand the strange smile that flitted over his
companion's face as he uttered the last remark. "I'm glad I met you,
Veath; we'll get along famously, I'm sure. There's no reason why we
shouldn't make the voyage a jolly one. I think we'd better get ready for
luncheon," said Hugh, looking at his watch.
Hugh took his departure, and fifteen minutes later was seated at one of
the tables in the dining-room with Grace beside him. He had told her of
the missionary story and was trying to smile before her display of
genuine annoyance.
"But I don't want him to treat me as if I were a missionary," she
pouted. "What fun can a missionary have?"
"Oho, you want to have fun with him, eh? That's the way the wind blows,
is it? I'll just tell Mr. Veath that you pray night and day, and that
you don't like to be disturbed. What do you suppose he'd be if he
interrupted a woman's prayers?" demanded he, glaring at her half
jealously.
"He'd be a heathen and I should have to enlighten him," she answered
sweetly.
Just then Mr. Veath entered the saloon and took a seat beside her. She
looked surprised, as did Mr. Ridgeway. They looked to the far end of the
table and saw that Veath's original chair was occupied by another man.
"I traded seats with that fellow," murmured Veath, a trifle red about
the ears. Miss Vernon's face assumed a stony expression for an instant,
but the gleam of pure frankness in his eyes dispelled her momentary
disapproval. "You don't mind, do you?" he asked hastily.
"Not at all, Mr. Veath," she said, forgetting that a moment before she
had considered him presumptuous. "On the contrary, I think it is so much
nicer to have you on this side of the table. We can talk without having
everybody in the room hear us."
"I have just heard that we are bound for the same destination and we can
certainly speculate among ourselves as to the outcome of our individual
and collective pilgrimages. We can talk about shipwrecks, pirates,
simoons, cholera, sea serpents--"
"And the heathen," said Hugh maliciously, but not looking up from his
plate.
"Ahem!" coughed loyal Mr. Veath.
"Are there any heathen over there?" asked Miss Vernon very innocently
but also very maliciously. She smiled at Hugh, who leaned far back in
his chair and winked solemnly at the bewildered Veath. That gentleman,
manlike, interpreted Hugh's wink as the means of conveying the
information that the tactful young lady asked the question merely to
throw him off the scent. So he answered very politely but very
carefully.
"I hear there are more missionaries than heathen."
"Indeed? Don't you think that the women who go out as missionaries among
those vile creatures are perfect idiots, Mr. Veath?"
"Well,--ahem, ah," stammered Veath, "I can't say that I do. I think, if
you will permit me to disagree with you, that they are the noblest
women in the world."
"Excellent sentiment, Veath," said the merry Ridgeway, "and quite worthy
of endorsement by this misguided sister of mine. She despises the
heathen, you know."
"Oh, I am sure she does not despise them," cried Veath.
"But I do--I think they ought to be burned alive!"
A dead silence, during which the two men were unnecessarily intent upon
the contents of their plates, followed this explosion. Miss Vernon
demurely smiled to herself, and finally kicked Hugh's foot. He laughed
aloud suddenly and insanely and then choked. Veath grew very red in the
face, perhaps through restraint. The conversation from that moment was
strained until the close of the meal, and they did not meet at all
during dinner.
"Perhaps we have offended him," said Grace as they strolled along the
deck that evening.
"It's probable that he thinks we are blamed fools and does not care to
waste his time on us."
"Then why did he change his seat?"
"Evidently did not want us to be staring him out of countenance all the
time. I notice, sister, that he took the seat next to yours and not to
mine," remarked he insinuatingly.
"Which proves that _he_ is no fool, brother," she retorted.