be cared for in due season. Last summer Octavia took them both abroad.
As you are aware, they are young women of unusual distinction of
appearance and manner, and they attracted a great deal of attention.
From what I hear, a troop of suitors followed them about. That sort of
thing would appeal to Octavia; to me it is most repellent, but I had
already committed myself, agreeing that Octavia should manage in her
own fashion. There is now something forward here which I do not
understand. I have an idea that Octavia has contrived some
preposterous scheme for choosing a husband for Cecilia that is in
keeping with her odd fashion of transacting all her business. I do not
know its nature, and by the terms of her agreement Cecilia is not to
disclose the method to be employed to me,--not even to me, her own
father. You must agree, Ames, that that is rather rubbing it in."
"But you don't assume that your daughter is not to be a free agent in
the matter? You don't believe that some unworthy and improper man is
to be forced upon her?"
"That, sir, is exactly what I fear!"
"You will pardon me, but I cannot for a moment believe that Miss
Hollister would risk her niece's happiness even to satisfy her own
peculiar humor. Your sister is a shrewd woman, and her heart, I am
convinced, is the kindest. Among the suitors now camped at the
Prescott Arms there must be some one whom your daughter approves, and I
see no reason why he should not ultimately be her choice. Now that you
have broached the matter, I make free to say that one of these suitors
is an old friend of mine. Hartley Wiggins by name, and that he is a
man of the highest character and a gentleman in the strictest sense."
He had been listening to me with the greatest composure, but at the
mention of Wiggins's name he started and nervously clutched my arm.
"That man may be all that you say," he cried chokingly, "but he has
acted infamously toward both my daughters. He is a rogue, and a most
despicable fellow. He has flirted outrageously with Hezekiah while at
the same time pretending to be deeply interested in Cecilia. I say to
you in all candor that a man who will trifle with the affections of a
child like Hezekiah is a villain, nothing less."
"But, my dear sir, is it not possible that you do him a great wrong?
May it not be the other way round, that Hezekiah is trifling with
Wiggins's affections? He 's a splendid fellow, Hartley Wiggins, but he
's a little slow, that's all. And between two superb young women like
your daughters a man may be pardoned for doubts and hesitations; a case
of being happy with either if t'other dear charmer were only away. To
put it quite concretely, I will say that in my own very slight
acquaintance with these young women I feel the spell of both. Your
sister, I take it, is anxious not to show partiality for any of these
men, and yet I dare say she probably feels kindly disposed toward
Wiggins. His worst crime seems to be that he chose Tory ancestors!
The thing is bound to straighten itself out."
He tossed his head impatiently.
"Has it occurred to you that Octavia's interest in this Hartley Wiggins
may be due to a trifling and immaterial fact?"
"Nothing beyond his indubitable eligibility."
"Then let me tell you what I suspect. Both his names contain seven
letters. My sister is slightly cracked as to the number seven. I
swear to you my belief that the fact that his names contain seven
letters each is at the bottom of all this. Incredible, my dear sir,
but wholly possible!"
"Then, such being the case, why does n't she show her hand openly? If
she believes that Wiggins with his septenary names is ordained by the
seven original pleiades to marry your daughter Cecilia, I should think
that by the same token she would have sought a man rejoicing in the
noble name of Septimus. You send conjecture far when once you
entertain so absurd an idea."
"You think my assumption unlikely?" he asked eagerly.
"I certainly do, Mr. Hollister. But I confess that I had never counted
the letters in Wiggins's name before, and your suggestion is
interesting. And this whole idea of the potential seven in our affairs
has possibilities. If seven at all, why is n't it possible that your
sister has Jacob in mind and the seven years he served for Rachel? You
may as well assume that, as Wiggins is specially favored in the number
of letters in his singularly prosaic and unromantic name, it is Miss
Hollister's plan to keep him dallying seven years."
He seized me by the arm and forced me back against the battlements,
then stood off and eyed me fiercely.
"You speak of serving and of service! Will you tell me just why you
are here and what brings you into this affair! My daughter Hezekiah is
the frankest person alive, and she told me of her meetings with you and
that you had been to the Asolando,--where she spent a day in the
sheerest spirit of mischief. That was the beginning of all our
troubles, that damned hole with its insane confectionery and poetry.
If Cecilia, in a misguided notion of earning her own living, had not
gone there and worn an apron for a week before I dragged her out, she
would never have met Wiggins. And now will you kindly tell me just
what you are doing in my sister's house, where I have to come like a
thief in the night to see one of my own children?"
This fierce deliverance touched me nearly: I doubted my ability to
explain to one of these amazing Hollisters just how I came to be
sojourning in the house of another of the family without any business
that would bear scrutiny. I hastened to declare my profession, and
that I had been summoned by Miss Hollister to examine her chimneys. I
could not, however, tell him that until my arrival the chimneys had
behaved themselves admirably!
"You've admitted your friendship for this Wiggins person; that's
enough," he said when I had concluded. "I advise you to leave the
house at once. I tell you he 's got to be eliminated from the
situation. Understand, that I do not threaten you with violence, but I
will not promise to abstain from visiting heavy punishment upon that
fellow. And you? A chimney-doctor? I am a man of considerable
knowledge of the world, and I say to you very candidly that I don't
believe there is any such profession."
"Then let me tell you," I replied, not without heat, "that I am a
graduate in architecture, and that if you will do me the honor to
consult a list of the alumni of the Institute of Technology, you will
find that I was graduated there not without credit. And as for
remaining in this house, I beg to inform you, Mr. Hollister, that as I
am your sister's guest and as she is perfectly competent to manage her
own affairs, I shall stay here as long as it pleases her to ask me to
remain. And now, one other matter. How did you gain this roof
to-night, when by your own admission you are not on such terms with
your sister as would justify you in entering it openly?"
The moonlight did not fail to convey the contempt in his face, but I
thought he grinned as he answered quietly:--
"You don't seem to understand, young man, that you are entitled to no
explanations from me. If my sister has her sense of a joke, I assure
you that I have mine. I came here to see my daughter. As I taught her
to fence when she was ten years old and as she is particularly expert,
and moreover, as in my present condition of poverty I have been obliged
to forego the pleasure of metropolitan life and to give up my
membership in the Fencers' Club, you can hardly deny my right to meet
my own daughter for a brief bout anywhere I please. You strike me as a
singularly fresh young person. It would be a positive grief to me to
feel that my conduct had displeased you. And now, as the night grows
chill, I shall beg you to precede me into the house by the way you
came."
"But first," I persisted, "let me ask a question. It is possible that
you yourself have some preference among your daughter's several
suitors, Mr. Hollister. Would you object to telling me which one you
would choose for Miss Cecilia?"
"Beyond question, the man for Cecilia, if I have any voice in the
matter, is Lord Arrowood."
"Arrowood!" I exclaimed. "You surprise me greatly. I saw him at the
inn, and he seemed to me the most insignificant and uninteresting one
of the lot."
"That proves you a person of poor gifts of discernment, Mr. Ames;" and
his tone and manner were quite reminiscent of his sister's ways; and
his further explanation proved him even more worthily the brother of
his sister.
"As I was obliged," he began, "owing to an unfortunate physical
handicap, to abandon my art, that of a marine painter, I have given my
attention for a number of years to the study of the Irish situation.
Between the various political parties of Great Britain, poor Ireland
can never regain her ancient power. But I see no reason why she should
not become once more a free and independent nation. I have gone deeply
into Irish history, and I may modestly say that I probably know that
history from the time of the Anglo-Norman invasion to the death of
Gladstone better than any other living man. I met Arrowood by chance
in the highway yesterday, and I found that he holds exactly my ideas."
"But Arrowood isn't an Irishman," I interjected; "neither, I should
say, are you!"
"That's not to the point. Neither was Napoleon a Frenchman strictly
speaking; nor was Lafayette an American. A friend of mine in Wall
Street is ready, when the time is ripe, to finance the scheme by
selling bonds to the multitudes of Irish office-holders throughout the
United States,--most of whom are not unknown to the banks."
"And I suppose you and Arrowood would sit jointly in the seat of the
ancient kings in Dublin after you had effected your _coup_."
"You lose your bet, Mr. Ames. We have agreed that, as the mayors of
Boston for many years have been Irishmen, and as they have, by their
prowess in holding the natives in subordination, demonstrated the
highest political sagacity, we could not do better than take one of
these rulers of the old Puritan capital and place him on the Irish
throne. The keen humor of that move would so tickle all interested
powers, that the investiture and coronation of the new ruler would be
accomplished without firing a shot."
This certainly had the true Hollister touch! Miss Octavia herself
could not have devised a more delightful scheme.
"And so," Mr. Bassford Hollister concluded, "I naturally incline toward
Arrowood, though he is so poor that he was obliged to come over in the
steerage to continue his wooing of my daughter."
He let himself down into the dark trunk-room, waited for me
courteously, and walked by my side to the stairway, both of us
maintaining silence. I was deeply curious to know how he had entered
and whether he expected to go down the front way and out the main door.
We kept together to the third-floor hall,--I could have sworn to that;
then suddenly, just as we reached the stairway, out went the lights,
and we were in utter darkness. I smothered an exclamation, clutched my
matches and struck a light, and as the stick flamed slowly, I looked
about for Bassford Hollister; but he had vanished as suddenly and
completely as though a trap had yawned beneath us and swallowed him. I
found the third-floor switch and it responded immediately, flooding the
stair-well to the lower hall, but I neither saw nor heard anything more
of Hollister.
Astounded by this performance, I continued on to the lower floor to
have a look around, and there, calmly reading by the library table, sat
Miss Octavia!
"Late hours, Mr. Ames!" she cried. "I supposed you had retired long
ago."
I was still the least bit ruffled by that last transaction on the
stair, and I demanded a little curtly:--
"Pardon my troubling you; but may I inquire, Miss Hollister, how long
you have been sitting here?"
The clock on the stair began to strike twelve, and she listened
composedly to a few of the deep-toned strokes before replying.
"Just half an hour. I thought some one knocked at my door about an
hour ago. The lights were on and I came down, saw a magazine that had
escaped my eye before, and here you find me."
"Some one knocked at your door?"
"I thought so. You know, the servants have an idea that the place is
haunted, and I thought that if I sat here the ghost might take it upon
himself to walk. I confess to a slight disappointment that it is only
you who have appeared. I suppose it was n't you who knocked at my
door?"
"No," I replied, laughing a little at her manner, "not unless it was
you who switched off the lights as I was coming down from the fourth
floor. I have been studying this chimney from the roof. I know
something of the ways of electric switches, and they don't usually move
of their own accord."
"Your coming to this house has been the greatest joy to me, Mr. Ames.
I should not have imagined, in a chance look at you, that you were
psychical, and yet such is clearly the fact. I assure you that I have
not touched any switch since I left my room. It was unnecessary, as I
found the lights on. And I acquit you of rapping, rapping at my
chamber-door. It gives me the greatest satisfaction to assume that the
house is haunted, and at any time you find the ghost, I beg that you
will lose no time in presenting me. If the prowler is indeed one of
King George's soldiers, hanged during the Revolution on the site of
this house, I should like to have words with him. I have just been
reading an article on the political corruption in Philadelphia in this
magazine. It bears every evidence of truth, but if half of it is
fiction I still feel that, as an American citizen, though denied the
inalienable right of representation assured me in the Constitution, we
owe that ghost an apology; for certainly nothing was gained by throwing
off the British yoke, and that poor soldier died in a worthy cause."
She wore a remarkable lavender dressing-gown, and a night-cap such as I
had never seen outside a museum. As she concluded her speech, spoken
in that curious lilting tone which, from the beginning, had left me in
doubt as to the seriousness of all her statements, she rose and, still
clasping her magazine, made me a courtesy and was soon mounting the
stair.
I heard her door close a minute later, and then, feeling that I had
earned the right to repose, I went to my room and to bed.
XI
I PLAY TRUANT
I slept late, and on going down found the table set in the
breakfast-room. A pleasant inadvertence marked the choice of
eating-places at Hopefield Manor; I was never quite sure where I should
find a table spread. No one was about, and I was seized with that mild
form of panic familiar to the guest who finds himself late to a meal.
As I paused uncertainly in the door, viewing the table, set, I noticed,
for only one person, Miss Octavia entered briskly, her slight figure
concealed by a prodigious gingham apron.
"Good-morrow, merry gentleman," she began blithely. "The most
delightful thing has happened. Without the slightest warning, without
the faintest intimation of their dissatisfaction, the house-servants
have departed, with the single exception of my personal maid, who,
being a Swede and therefore singularly devoid of emotion, was unshaken
by the ghost-rumors that have sent the rest of my staff scampering over
the hills."
She lighted the coffee-machine lamp in her most tranquil fashion, and
begged me to be seated.
"I have already breakfasted," she continued, "and Cecilia is even now
preparing you an omelet with her own hand. I beg to reassure you, as
my guest, that the _emeute_ of the servants causes me not the slightest
annoyance. From reading the comic papers you may have gained an
impression that the loss of servants is a tragic business in any
household, but nothing so petty can disturb me. Cecilia is an
excellent cook; and I myself shall not starve so long as I have
strength to crack an egg or lift a stove-lid. And besides, I still
retain my early trust in Providence. I do not doubt that before
nightfall a corps of excellent servants will again be on duty here.
Very likely they are even now bound for this place, coming from the wet
coasts of Ireland, from Liverpool, from lonely villages in Scandinavia.
The average woman would merely fret herself into a sanatorium if
confronted with the problem I face this morning, but I hope you will
testify in future to the fact that I faced this day in the cheeriest
and most hopeful spirit."
"Not only shall I do so, Miss Hollister," I replied, trying to catch
her own note, "but it will, throughout my life, give me the greatest
satisfaction to set your cause aright. To that extent let me be
Horatio to your Hamlet."
"Thank you, milord," she returned, with the utmost gravity. "And may I
say further that the incident gives the stamp of authenticity to my
ghost? I was obliged to pay those people double wages to lure them
from the felicities of the city, and they must have been a good deal
alarmed to have left so precipitately. You must excuse me now, as it
is necessary for me to do the pastry-cook's work this morning, that
individual having fled with the rest, and it being incumbent on me, to
maintain my fee-simple in this property, to make a dozen pies before
high noon. But first I must visit the stables, where I believe the
coachman still lingers, having been prevented from joining the stampede
of the house-servants by the painful twinges of gout."
With this she left me, and I began pecking at a grape-fruit. It had
been in my mind as I dressed that morning to play truant and visit the
city. It was almost imperative that I take a look at my office, and I
had resolved upon a plan which would, I believed, give me the key to
the ghost mystery. If Pepperton had built that house he must know
whether he had contrived any secret passages that would afford exits
and entrances not apparent to the eye. It would be an easy matter to
run into the city, explain myself to my assistant, and get hold of
Pepperton. My mind was made up, and I had even consulted a time-table
and chosen one of the express trains. As I sat at the table absorbed
in my plans for the day, my nerves received a sudden shock. I had
heard no one enter, yet a voice at my shoulder murmured casually:
"Hast thou seen ghosts? Hast thou at midnight heard"--
It was the voice of Hezekiah, I knew, before I faced her. She wore a
blue sailor-waist with a broad red ribbon tied under the collar, and a
blue tam o' shanter capped her head. She bore a tray that contained my
omelet, a plate of toast, and other sundries incidental to a
substantial breakfast, which she distributed deftly upon the table.
"How did you get here?" I blurted, my nerves still out of control.
"The kitchen door, sir. I had ridden into the garden, and seeing Aunt
Octavia heading for the stables and Cecilia at the kitchen window, I
pedaled boldly in. Cecilia wanted to borrow my bicycle, and being a
good little sister, I gave it to her. She also said that you required
food, so I told her to go and I would carry you your breakfast. I
shall skip myself in a minute. You may draw your own coffee. Mind the
machine; it tips if you are n't careful."
She went to the window and peered out toward the stables.
"May I ask, Daughter of Kings, where your sister has gone so suddenly?"
"Certainly. She 's off for town to chase a cook and a few other people
to run this hotel. I heard at the post-office that the whole camp had
deserted, so I ran over to see what was doing; and just for that I 've
got to walk home."
"But your aunt said that Providence would take care of the servant
question; she expected a whole corps of ideal servants to come straying
in during the day."
Hezekiah laughed. (It is not right for any girl to be as pretty as
Hezekiah, or to laugh as musically.) She told me to sit down, and as I
did so she passed the toast and helped herself to a slice into which
she set her fine white teeth neatly, watching me with the merriest of
twinkles in her brown eyes.
"Cecilia has n't Aunt Octavia's confidence in Providence, so she 's
taking a shot at the employment agencies. She has left a note on the
kitchen table to inform Aunt Octavia that she had forgotten an
engagement with the dentist and has gone to catch the ten-eighteen."
"That, Hezekiah, is a lie. It isn't quite square to deceive your aunt
that way," I remarked soberly.
Hezekiah laughed again.
"You absurdity! Don't you know Aunt Octavia yet! She will be
perfectly overjoyed when she comes back and finds that note from
Cecilia. She likes disappearances, mysteries, and all that kind of
thing. But it is barely possible that you will have to wash the
dishes. I can't, you see, for I 'm not supposed to come on the
reservation at all--not until Cecilia has found a husband. Is n't it
perfectly delicious?"
"All of that, Daughter of Kings! I think that as soon as I can regain
confidence in my own sanity I shall like it myself. But,"--and I
watched her narrowly,--"you see, Hezekiah, there is really a ghost, you
know."
Once more that divine mirth in her bubbled mellowly. She had walked
guardedly to the window and turned swiftly with a mockery of fear in
her face.
"Aunt Octavia approaches, and I must be off. But that ghost, Mr.
Chimney-Man,--when you find him, please let me know. There are a lot
of things I want to ask some reliable ghost about the hereafter."
With this she fled, and I heard the front door close smartly after her.
An instant later Miss Octavia appeared and asked solicitously how I
liked my omelette.
"The coachman has been telling me a capital ghost-story. He believes
them to be beneficent and declares that he will under no circumstances
leave my employment."
She sat down and folded her arms upon the table. For the first time I
believed that she was serious. There was, in fact, a troubled look on
her sweet, whimsical face. It occurred to me that the loss of her
servants was not really the slight matter she had previously made of it.
"Mr. Ames, will you pardon me for asking you a question of the most
intimate character? It is only after much hesitation that I do so."
I bowed encouragingly, my curiosity fully aroused.
"You may ask me anything in the world, Miss Hollister."
"Then I wish you would tell me whether,--I can't express the dislike I
feel in doing this,--but can you tell me whether you have seen in the
hands of my niece Cecilia a small--a very small, silver-backed
note-book."
"Yes, I have," I answered, greatly surprised.
"And may I ask whether,--and again I must plead my deep concern as an
excuse for making such an inquiry,--whether you by any chance saw her
making any notation in that book?"
I recalled the silver-bound book perfectly, but had attached no
importance to it; but if Cecilia's fortunes were so intimately related
to it as Miss Hollister's manner implied, I felt that I must be careful
of my answer. I was trying to recall the precise moment at which I had
entered the library the preceding evening after Hume's departure, and
while I was intent upon this my silence must have been prolonged. I
felt obliged to make an answer of some sort, and yet I did not relish
the thought of conveying information that might distress and embarrass
a noble girl like Cecilia Hollister. Something in my face must have
conveyed a hint of this inner conflict to Miss Hollister, for she rose
suddenly, holding up her hand as though to silence me. She seemed
deeply moved, and cried in agitation:--
"Do not answer me! The question was quite unfair,--quite unfair,--and
yet I assure you that at the moment I made the inquiry, I felt
justified."
She retreated toward the door as I rose; and then with her composure
fully restored she courtesied gracefully.
"Luncheon here will be a buffet affair to-day, as I shall be engaged
with matters of pastry. I'm sure, however, that you will find
employment until dinner-time, when my house will be fully in order
again."
I intended that this should be a busy day, so without making
explanations I went to the stable, told the coachman I wished to be
driven to the station, and was soon whizzing over the hills toward
Katonah. The coachman, an Irishman, introduced the subject of the
ghost as soon as we were out of sight of the house.
"The ole lady's dipped; she's dipped, sir," he remarked leadingly.
"It's catching," I answered; "so you'd better forget it."
He thereupon settled glumly to his driving. As we crossed the bridge
near where I had first encountered Hezekiah in the apple-orchard, I
spied her trudging across a meadow, and she waved her hand gaily.
Meadows and streams and stars! Of such were Hezekiah's kingdom.
I wondered how Wiggins and the other gentlemen at the Prescott Arms
were faring. My question was partially answered a second later, as we
passed the road that forked off to the inn. On a stone by the roadside
sat Lord Arrowood, desolately guarding a kit-bag and a suit-case. He
was dressed in a shabby Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, and sucked a
pipe.
[Illustration: On a stone by the roadside sat Lord Arrowood.]
I bade the driver pause, and greeted the nobleman affably.