About half-past eleven Mr. Cooke's vigilance was rewarded by a glimpse
of the lighthouse on Far Harbor reef, and almost simultaneously he
picked up, to the westward, the ragged outline of the house-tops and
spires of the town itself. But as we neared the reef the harbor appeared
as quiet as a Sunday morning: a few Mackinaws were sailing hither
and thither, and the Far Harbor and Beaverton boat was coming out. My
client, in view of the peaceful aspect affairs had assumed, presently
consented to relinquish his post, and handed the glasses over to me with
an injunction to be watchful.
I promised. And Mr. Cooke, feeling his way aft with more discretion than
grace, finally descended into the cabin, where he was noisily received.
And I was left with Miss Thorn. While my client had been there in front
of us, his lively conversation and naive if profane remarks kept us in
continual laughter. When with him it was utterly impossible to see
any other than the ludicrous side of this madcap adventure, albeit he
himself was so keenly in earnest as to its performance. It was with
misgiving that I saw him disappear into the hatchway, and my impulse
was to follow him. Our spirits, like those in a thermometer, are never
stationary: mine were continually being sent up or down. The night
before, when I had sat with Miss Thorn beside the fire, they went up;
this morning her anxious solicitude for the Celebrity had sent them
down again. She both puzzled and vexed me. I could not desert my post as
lookout, and I remained in somewhat awkward suspense as to what she was
going to say, gazing at distant objects through the glasses. Her remark,
when it came, took me by surprise.
“I am afraid,” she said seriously, “that Uncle Fenelon's principles are
not all that they should be. His morality is something like his tobacco,
which doesn't injure him particularly, but is dangerous to others.”
I was more than willing to meet her on the neutral ground of Uncle
Fenelon.
“Do you think his principles contagious?” I asked.
“They have not met with the opposition they deserve,” she replied.
“Uncle Fenelon's ideas of life are not those of other men,--yours, for
instance. And his affairs, mental and material, are, happily for
him, such that he can generally carry out his notions with small
inconvenience. He is no doubt convinced that he is acting generously in
attempting to rescue the Celebrity from a term in prison; what he does
not realize is that he is acting ungenerously to other guests who have
infinitely more at stake.”
“But our friend from Ohio has done his best to impress this upon him,”
I replied, failing to perceive her drift; “and if his words are wasted,
surely the thing is hopeless.”
“I am not joking,” said she. “I was not thinking of Mr. Trevor, but of
you. I like you, Mr. Crocker. You may not believe it, but I do.” For the
life of me I could think of no fitting reply to this declaration. Why
was that abominable word “like” ever put into the English language?
“Yes, I like you,” she continued meditatively, “in the face of the fact
that you persist in disliking me.”
“Nothing of the kind.”
“Oh, I know. You mustn't think me so stupid as all that. It is a
mortifying truth that I like you, and that you have no use for me.”
I have never known how to take a jest from a woman. I suppose I should
have laughed this off. Instead, I made a fool of myself.
“I shall be as frank with you,” I said, “and declare that I like you,
though I should be much happier if I didn't.”
She blushed at this, if I am not mistaken. Perhaps it was unlooked for.
“At any rate,” she went on, “I should deem it my duty to warn you of the
consequences of this joke of yours. They may not be all that you have
anticipated. The consequences for you, I mean, which you do not seem to
have taken into account.”
“Consequences for me!” I exclaimed.
“I fear that you will think what I am going to say uncalled for, and
that I am meddling with something that does not concern me. But it seems
to me that you are undervaluing the thing you have worked so hard
to attain. They say that you have ability, that you have acquired a
practice and a position which at your age give the highest promise for
the future. That you are to be counsel for the railroad. In short, that
you are the coming man in this section of the state. I have found this
out,” said she, cutting short my objections, “in spite of the short time
I have been here.”
“Nonsense!” I said, reddening in my turn.
“Suppose that the Celebrity is captured,” she continued, thrusting
her hands into the pockets of her mackintosh. “It appears that he is
shadowed, and it is not unreasonable to expect that we shall be chased
before the day is over. Then we shall be caught red-handed in an attempt
to get a criminal over the border. Please wait until I have finished,”
she said, holding up her hand at an interruption I was about to make.
“You and I know he is not a criminal; but he might as well be as far as
you are concerned. As district attorney you are doubtless known to the
local authorities. If the Celebrity is arrested after a long pursuit,
it will avail you nothing to affirm that you knew all along he was the
noted writer. You will pardon me if I say that they will not believe you
then. He will be taken East for identification. And if I know anything
about politics, and especially the state of affairs in local politics
with which you are concerned, the incident and the interval following
it will be fatal to your chances with the railroad,--to your chances in
general. You perceive, Mr. Crocker, how impossible it is to play with
fire without being burned.”
I did perceive. At the time the amazing thoroughness with which she had
gone into the subject of my own unimportant affairs, the astuteness and
knowledge of the world she had shown, and the clearness with which she
had put the situation, did not strike me. Nothing struck me but the
alarming sense of my own stupidity, which was as keen as I have
ever felt it. What man in a public position, however humble, has not
political enemies? The image of O'Meara was wafted suddenly before me,
disagreeably near, and his face wore the smile of victory. All of Mr.
Cooke's money could not save me. My spirits sank as the immediate future
unfolded itself, and I even read the article in O'Meara's organ, the
Northern Lights, which was to be instrumental in divesting me of my
public trust and fair fame generally. Yes, if the Celebrity was caught
on the other side of Far Harbor, all would be up with John Crocker! But
it would never do to let Miss Thorn discover my discomfiture.
“There is something in what you say,” I replied, with what bravado I
could muster.
“A little, I think,” she returned, smiling; “now, what I wish you to do
is to make Uncle Fenelon put into Far Harbor. If he refuses, you can go
in in spite of him, since you and Mr. Farrar are the only ones who can
sail. You have the situation in your own hands.”
There was certainly wisdom in this, also. But the die was cast now, and
pride alone was sufficient to hold me to the course I had rashly begun
upon. Pride! What an awkward thing it is, and more difficult for most of
us to swallow than a sponge.
“I thank you for this interest in my welfare, Miss Thorn,” I began.
“No fine speeches, please, sir,” she cut in, “but do as I advise.”
“I fear I cannot.”
“Why do you say that? The thing is simplicity itself.”
“I should lose my self-respect as a practical joker. And besides,” I
said maliciously, “I started out to have some fun with the Celebrity,
and I want to have it.”
“Well,” she replied, rather coolly, “of course you can do as you
choose.”
We were passing within a hundred yards of the lighthouse, set
cheerlessly on the bald and sandy tip of the point. An icy silence
sat between us, and such a silence is invariably insinuating. This one
suggested a horrible thought. What if Miss Thorn had warned me in
order to save the Celebrity from humiliation? I thrust it aside, but it
returned again and grinned. Had she not practised insincerity before?
And any one with half an eye could see that she was in love with the
Celebrity; even the Fraction had remarked it. What more natural than,
with her cleverness, she had hit upon this means of terminating the
author's troubles by working upon my fears?
Human weakness often proves too much for those of us who have the very
best intentions. Up to now the refrigerator and Mr. Trevor had kept
the strictest and most jealous of vigils over Irene. But at length the
senator succumbed to the drowsiness which never failed to attack him
at this hour, and he forgot the disrepute of his surroundings in a
respectable sleep. Whereupon his daughter joined us on the forecastle.
“I knew that would happen to papa if I only waited long enough,” she
said. “Oh, he thinks you're dreadful, Mr. Crocker. He says that nowadays
young men haven't any principle. I mustn't be seen talking to you.”
“I have been trying to convince Mr. Crocker that his stand in the matter
is not only immoral, but suicidal,” said Miss Thorn. “Perhaps,” she
added meaningly, “he will listen to you.”
“I don't understand,” answered Miss Trevor.
“Miss Thorn has been good enough to point out,” I explained, “that the
political machine in this section, which has the honor to detest me,
will seize upon the pretext of the Celebrity's capture to ruin me. They
will take the will for the deed.”
“Of course they will do just that,” cried Miss Trevor. “How bright of
you to think of it, Marian!”
Miss Thorn stood up.
“I leave you to persuade him,” said she; “I have no doubt you will be
able to do it.”
With that she left us, quite suddenly. Abruptly, I thought. And her
manner seemed to impress Miss Trevor.
“I wonder what is the matter with Marian,” said she, and leaned over the
skylight. “Why, she has gone down to talk with the Celebrity.”
“Isn't that rather natural?” I asked with asperity.
She turned to me with an amused expression.
“Her conduct seems to worry you vastly, Mr. Crocker. I noticed that you
were quite upset this morning in the cave. Why was it?”
“You must have imagined it,” I said stiffly.
“I should like to know,” she said, with the air of one trying to solve
a knotty problem, “I should like to know how many men are as blind as
you.”
“You are quite beyond me, Miss Trevor,” I answered; “may I request you
to put that remark in other words?”
“I protest that you are a most unsatisfactory person,” she went on, not
heeding my annoyance. “Most abnormally modest people are. If I were to
stick you with this hat-pin, for instance, you would accept the matter
as a positive insult.”
“I certainly should,” I said, laughing; “and, besides, it would be
painful.”
“There you are,” said she, exultingly; “I knew it. But I flatter myself
there are men who would go into an ecstasy of delight if I ran a hat-pin
into them. I am merely taking this as an illustration of my point.”
“It is a very fine point,” said I. “But some people take pleasure in
odd things. I can easily conceive of a man gallant enough to suffer the
agony for the sake of pleasing a pretty girl.”
“I told you so,” she pouted; “you have missed it entirely. You are
hopelessly blind on that side, and numb. Perhaps you didn't know that
you have had a hat-pin sticking in you for some time.”
I began feeling myself, nervously.
“For more than a month,” she cried, “and to think that you have never
felt it.” My action was too much for her gravity, and she fell back
against the skylight in a fit of merriment, which threatened to wake her
father. And I hoped it would.
“It pleases you to speak in parables this morning,” I said.
“Mr. Crocker,” she began again, when she had regained her speech, “shall
I tell you of a great misfortune which might happen to a girl?”
“I should be pleased to hear it,” I replied courteously.
“That misfortune, then, would be to fall in love with you.”
“Happily that is not within the limits of probability,” I answered,
beginning to be a little amused. “But why?”
“Lightning often strikes where it is least expected,” she replied
archly. “Listen. If a young woman were unlucky enough to lose her heart
to you, she might do everything but tell you, and you would never know
it. I scarcely believe you would know it if she did tell you.”
I must have jumped unconsciously.
“Oh, you needn't think I am in love with you.”
“Not for a minute,” I made haste to say.
She pointed towards the timber-covered hills beyond the shore.
“Do you see that stream which comes foaming down the notch into the lake
in front of us?” she asked. “Let us suppose that you lived in a cabin
beside that brook; and that once in a while, when you went out to draw
your water, you saw a nugget of--gold washing along with the pebbles
on the bed. How many days do you think you would be in coming to the
conclusion that there was a pocket of gold somewhere above you, and in
starting in search of it?”
“Not long, surely.”
“Ah, you are not lacking in perception there. But if I were to tell you
that I knew of the existence of such a mine, from various proofs I have
had, and that the mine was in the possession of a certain person who was
quite willing to share it with you on application, you would not believe
me.”
“Probably not.”
“Well,” said Miss Trevor, with a nod of finality, “I was actually about
to make such a disclosure. But I see it would be useless.”
I confess she aroused my curiosity. No coaxing, however, would induce
her to interpret.
“No,” she insisted strangely, “if you cannot put two and two together, I
fear I cannot help you. And no one I ever heard of has come to any good
by meddling.”
Miss Trevor folded her hands across her lap. She wore that air which
I am led to believe is common to all women who have something of
importance to disclose; or at least what they consider is of importance.
There was an element of pity, too, in her expression. For she had given
me my chance, and my wits had been found wanting.
Do not let it be surmised that I attach any great value to such banter
as she had been indulging in. At the same time, however, I had an
uneasy feeling that I had missed something which might have been to
my advantage. It was in vain that I whipped my dull senses; but one
conclusion was indicated by all this inference, and I don't care even to
mention that: it was preposterous.
Then Miss Trevor shifted to a very serious mood. She honestly did her
best to persuade me to relinquish our enterprise, to go to Mr. Cooke and
confess the whole thing.
“I wish we had washed our hands of this Celebrity from the first,” she
said, with a sigh. “How dreadful if you lose your position on account of
this foolishness!”
“But I shan't,” I answered reassuringly; “we are getting near the border
now, and no sign of trouble. And besides,” I added, “I think Miss Thorn
tried to frighten me. And she very nearly succeeded. It was prettily
done.”
“Of course she tried to frighten you. I wish she had succeeded.”
“But her object was transparent.”
“Her object!” she exclaimed. “Her object was to save you.”
“I think not,” I replied; “it was to save the Celebrity.”
Miss Trevor rose and grasped one of the sail rings to keep her balance.
She looked at me pityingly.
“Do you really believe that?”
“Firmly.”
“Then you are hopeless, Mr. Crocker, totally hopeless. I give you up.”
And she went back to her seat beside the refrigerator.