"The one fault I have to find with European life is the poor quality of
tobacco used."
It was eight o'clock, Thursday night, the night of the dinner at
Müller's. I was dressing when Max entered, with a miserable cheroot
between his teeth.
"They say," he went on, "that in Russia they drink the finest tea in
the world, simply because it is brought overland and not by sea.
Unfortunately, tobacco--we Americans recognize no leaf as tobacco
unless it comes from Cuba--has to cross the sea, and is, in some
unaccountable manner, weakened in the transit. There are worse cigars
in Germany than in France, and I wouldn't have believed it possible, if
I had not gone to the trouble of proving it. Fine country! For a week
I've been trying to smoke the German quality of the weed, as a
preventive, but I see I must give it up on account of my throat. My
boy, I have news for you,"--tossing the cheroot into the grate.
"Fire away," said I, struggling with a collar.
"I have a box of Havanas over at the custom house that I forgot to bail
out."
"No!" said I joyfully. A Havana, and one of Scharfenstein's!
"I've an idea that they would go well with the dinner. So, if you
don't mind, I'll trot over and get 'em."
"Be sure and get around to Müller, at half-past eight, then," said I.
"I'll be there." He knew where to find the place.
Müller's Rathskeller was the rendezvous of students, officers and all
those persons of quality who liked music with their meat. The place
was low-ceilinged, but roomy, and the ventilation was excellent,
considering. The smoke never got so thick that one couldn't see the
way to the door when the students started in to "clean up the place,"
to use the happy idiom of mine own country. There were marble tables
and floors and arches and light, cane-bottomed chairs from Kohn's. It
was at once Bohemian and cosmopolitan, and, once inside, it was easy to
imagine oneself in Vienna. A Hungarian orchestra occupied an inclosed
platform, and every night the wail of the violin and the pom-pom of the
wool-tipped hammers on the Hungarian "piano" might be heard.
It was essentially a man's place of entertainment; few women ever had
the courage or the inclination to enter. In America it would have been
the fashion; but in the capital of Barscheit the women ate in the
restaurant above, which was attached to the hotel, and depended upon
the Volksgarten band for their evening's diversion.
You had to order your table hours ahead--that is, if you were a
civilian. If you were lucky enough to be an officer, you were
privileged to take any vacant chair you saw. But Heaven aid you if you
attempted to do this not being an officer! In Barscheit there were
also many unwritten laws, and you were obliged to observe these with
all the fidelity and attention that you gave to the enameled signs.
Only the military had the right to request the orchestra to repeat a
piece of music. Sometimes the lieutenants, seized with that gay humor
known only to cubs, would force the orchestra in Müller's to play the
Hungarian war-song till the ears cried out in pain. This was always
the case when any Austrians happened to be present. But ordinarily the
crowds were good-natured, boisterous, but orderly.
It was here, then, that I had arranged to give my little dinner. The
orchestra had agreed--for a liberal tip--to play _The Star-Spangled
Banner_, and there was a case of Doppelkinn's sparkling Moselle. I may
as well state right here that we neither heard our national anthem nor
drank the vintage. You will soon learn why. I can laugh now, I can
treat the whole affair with becoming levity, but at the time I gained
several extra grey hairs.
If the princess hadn't turned around, and if Max hadn't wanted that box
of Havanas!
When I arrived at Müller's I found my boys in a merry mood. They were
singing softly from _Robin Hood_ with fine college harmony, and as I
entered they swarmed about me like so many young dogs. Truth to tell,
none of them was under twenty, and two or three were older than myself.
But to them I represented official protection for whatever they might
do. I assumed all the dignity I dared. I had kept Scharfenstein's
name back as a surprise.
Ellis--for whom I had the passports--immediately struck me as being so
nearly like Max that they might easily have been brothers. Ellis was
slighter; that was all the difference. I gave him his papers and
examined his tickets. All was well; barring accidents, he would be in
Dresden the next day.
"You go through Doppelkinn, then?" said I.
"Yes. I have friends in Dresden whom I wish to see before going home."
"Well, good luck to you!"
Then I announced that Max Scharfenstein, an old college comrade, would
join us presently. This was greeted with hurrahs. At that time there
wasn't an American student who did not recollect Max's great run from
the ten-yard line. (But where the deuce _was_ Max?) I took a little
flag from my pocket and stuck it into the vase of poppies, and the boys
clapped their hands. You never realize how beautiful your flag is till
you see it in a foreign land. I apologized for Max's absence,
explaining the cause, and ordered dinner to be served. We hadn't much
time, as Ellis's train departed at ten. It was now a quarter to nine.
We had come to the relishes when a party of four officers took the
table nearest us. They hung up their sabers on the wall-pegs, and sat
down, ordering a bottle of light wine. Usually there were five chairs
to the table, but even if only two were being used no one had the right
to withdraw one of the vacant chairs without the most elaborate
apologies. This is the law of courtesy in Barscheit. In America it is
different; if you see anything you want, take it.
Presently one of the officers--I knew none of them save by sight--rose
and approached. He touched the flag insolently and inquired what right
it had in a public restaurant in Barscheit. Ordinarily his question
would not have been put without some justification. But he knew very
well who I was and what my rights were in this instance.
"Herr Lieutenant," said I coldly, though my cheeks were warm enough, "I
represent that flag in this country, and I am accredited with certain
privileges, as doubtless you are aware. You will do me the courtesy of
returning to your own table." I bowed.
He glared at me for a brief period, then turned on his heel. This was
the first act in the play. At the fellow's table sat Lieutenant von
Störer, Doppelkinn's nephew and heir-presumptive. He was, to speak
plainly, a rake, a spendthrift and wholly untrustworthy. He was not
ill-looking, however.
My spirits floated between anger and the fear that the officers might
ruin the dinner--which they eventually did.
Things went on smoothly for a time. The orchestra was pom-pomming the
popular airs from _Faust_. (Where the deuce was that tow-headed
Dutchman?) Laughter rose and fell; the clinkle of glass was heard;
voices called. And then Max came in, looking as cool as you please,
though I could read by his heaving chest that he had been sprinting up
back streets. The boys crowded around him, and there was much ado over
the laggard.
Unfortunately the waiter had forgotten to bring a chair for his plate.
With a genial smile on his face, Max innocently stepped over to the
officers' table and plucked forth the vacant chair. For a wonder the
officers appeared to give this action no heed, and I was secretly
gratified. It was something to be a consul, after all. But I counted
my chickens too early.
"Where are the cigars?" I asked as Max sat down complacently.
"Cigars?"--blankly. "Hang me, I've clean forgotten them!" And then,
oblivious of the probable storm that was at that moment gathering for a
downpour over his luckless head, he told us the reason of his delay.
"There was a crowd around the palace," he began. "It seems that the
Princess Hildegarde has run away, and they believe that she has ridden
toward the Pass in a closed carriage. The police are at this very
moment scouring the country in that direction. She has eloped."
"Eloped?" we all cried, being more or less familiar with the state of
affairs at the palace.
"Good-by to Doppelkinn's _Frau_!"
"Good girl!"
"She has been missing since seven o'clock, when she drove away on the
pretense of visiting her father's old steward, who is ill," went on
Max, feeling the importance of his news. "They traced her there. From
the steward's the carriage was driven south, and that's the last seen
of her. There won't be any wedding at the cathedral next
Tuesday,"--laughing.
Queries and answers were going crisscross over the table, when I
observed with dread that Lieutenant von Störer had risen and was coming
our way. He stopped at Max's side. Max looked up to receive Von
Störer's glove full on the cheek. It was no gentle stroke. Von Störer
at once returned to his table and sat down.
For a moment we were all absolutely without power of motion or of
speech, Max's face grew as white as the table-cloth, and the print of
the glove glowed red against the white. I was horrified, for I knew
his tremendous strength. If he showed fight, Von Störer would calmly
saber him. It was the custom. But Max surprised me. He was the
coolest among us, but of that quality of coolness which did not
reassure me. He took up his story where he had left off and finished
it. For his remarkable control I could have taken him in my arms and
hugged him.
The officers scowled, while Von Störer bit his mustache nervously. The
American had ignored his insult. Presently he rose again and
approached. He thrust a card under Max's nose.
"Can you understand that?" he asked contemptuously.
Max took the card, ripped it into quarters and dropped these to the
floor. Then, to my terror and the terror of those with me, he
tranquilly pulled out a murderous-looking Colt and laid it beside his
plate. He went on talking, but none of us heard a word he said. We
were fearfully waiting to see him kill some one or be killed.
No one was killed. The officers hurriedly took down their sabers and
made a bee-line for the door of which I have spoken.
Max returned the revolver to his hip-pocket and gave vent to an Homeric
laugh.
"You tow-headed Dutchman!" I cried, when I found voice for my words,
"what have you done?"
"Done? Why, it looks as if we had all the downs this half," he replied
smartly. "Oh, the gun isn't loaded,"--confidentially.
Ellis fumbled in his pockets and produced his passports and tickets.
These he shoved over to Max.
"What's this for?" Max asked curiously.
"Ellis," said I, "it is very good of you. Max, take those. Mr. Ellis
wishes to save your hide. Take them and get to the station as quickly
as you can. And for the love of mercy, do not turn around till you're
over in Doppelkinn's vineyards."
"Well, I'm hanged if I understand!" he cried. "I'm a peaceful man. A
beggar walks up to me and slaps me in the face for nothing at all, and
now I must hike, eh? What the devil have I done now?"
Then, as briefly as I could, I explained the enormity of his offenses.
To take a chair from a table, as he had done, was a gross insult; to
receive a slap in the face and not to resent it, was another insult; to
tear up an opponent's visiting-card, still another; to take out a
revolver in Barscheit, unless you were an officer or had a permit, was
worse than an insult; it was a crime, punishable by long imprisonment.
They could accuse him of being either an anarchist or a socialist-red,
coming to Barscheit with the intent to kill the grand duke. The fact
that he was ignorant of the laws, or that he, was an alien, would remit
not one particle of his punishment and fine; and weeks would pass ere
the matter could be arranged between the United States and Barscheit.
"Good Lord!" he gasped; "why didn't you tell me?"
"Why didn't you tell me that you carried a cannon in your pocket? Take
Ellis' papers, otherwise you stand pat for a heap of trouble, and I
can't help you. Go straight to Dresden, telegraph me, and I'll forward
your luggage."
"But I came here to study!" Max argued.
"It will be geology in the form of prison walls," said Ellis quietly.
"Don't be foolish, Mr. Scharfenstein; it is not a matter of a man's
courage, but of his common sense. Take the tickets and light out. I
have lived here for three years, and have seen men killed outright for
less than you have done."
"But you don't expect me to leave this place without punching that
beggar's head?"--indignantly. "What do you think I'm made of?"
"You'll never get the chance to punch his head," said I. "We are
wasting valuable time. Those officers have gone for the police. You
have about twenty minutes to make the train. Come, for heaven's sake,
come!"
He finally got it into his head that we knew what we were talking
about. How we got him to the station I do not remember, but somehow we
got him there. He sputtered and fumed and swore, as all brave men will
who feel that they are running away in a cowardly fashion. He wasn't
convinced, but he thanked Ellis for his kindness and hoped that he
wouldn't get into trouble on his (Max's) account.
"Go straight to Dresden; say you've been studying medicine in Barscheit
for three years; refer to me by telegraph if there is any question as
to your new identity," said I. "You're the only man in the world, Max,
that I'd lie for."
He stumbled through the gates, and we saw him open the door of a
carriage just as the train began to pull out. A guard tried to stop
him, but he was not quite quick enough. We watched the train till it
melted away into the blackness beyond the terminus covering; then we, I
and my fellow diners, went soberly into the street. Here was a
howdy-do! Suddenly Ellis let out a sounding laugh, and, scarcely
knowing why, we joined him. It was funny, very funny, for every one
but poor old Max! The American spirit is based on the sense of humor,
and even in tragic moments is irrepressible.
We did not return to Müller's; each of us stole quietly home to await
the advent of the police, for they would rout out every American in
town in their search for the man with the gun. They would first visit
the consulate and ascertain what I knew of the affair; when they got
through with the rest of the boys Max would be in Doppelkinn. The
police were going to be very busy that night: a princess on one hand
and an anarchist on the other.
There were terrible times, too, in the palace. Long before we watched
Max's train and the vanishing green and red lights at the end of it the
grand duke was having troubles of his own. He was pacing wildly up and
down in his dressing-room. Clutched in his fist was a crumpled sheet
of paper. From time to time he smoothed it out and re-read the
contents. Each time he swore like the celebrated man in Flanders.
_You forced me and I warned you that I would do something desperate.
Do not send for me, for you will never find me till you come to your
senses. I have eloped._
_Hildegarde._