[Illustration: I consented to deliver a message for him]
THE SLIM PRINCESS
* * * * *
_By_ GEORGE ADE
1907
* * * * *
"The Slim Princess" has been elaborated and rewritten from a story
printed in _The Saturday Evening Post_ of Philadelphia late in 1906 and
copyright, 1906, by the Curtis Publishing Company.
* * * * *
CONTENTS
I WOMAN IN MOROVENIA
II KALORA'S AFFLICTION
III THE CRUELTY OF LAW
IV THE GARDEN PARTY
V HE ARRIVES
VI HE DEPARTS
VII THE ONLY KOLDO
VIII BY MESSENGER
IX AS TO WASHINGTON, D.C.
X ON THE WING
XI AN OUTING--A REUNION
XII THE GOVERNOR CABLES
XIII THE HOME-COMING
XIV HEROISM REWARDED
* * * * *
THE SLIM PRINCESS
* * * * *
I
WOMAN IN MOROVENIA
Morovenia is a state in which both the mosque and the motor-car now
occur in the same landscape. It started out to be Turkish and later
decided to be European.
The Mohammedan sanctuaries with their hideous stencil decorations and
bulbous domes are jostled by many new shops with blinking fronts and
German merchandise. The orthodox turn their faces toward Mecca while the
enlightened dream of a journey to Paris. Men of title lately have made
the pleasing discovery that they may drink champagne and still be good
Mussulmans. The red slipper has been succeeded by the tan gaiter. The
voluminous breeches now acknowledge the superior graces of intimate
English trousers. Frock-coats are more conventional than beaded jackets.
The fez remains as a part of the insignia of the old faith and
hereditary devotion to the Sick Man.
The generation of males which has been extricating itself from the
shackles of Orientalism has not devoted much worry to the Condition of
Woman.
In Morovenia woman is still unliberated. She does not dine at a
palm-garden or hop into a victoria on Thursday afternoon to go to the
meeting of a club organized to propagate cults. If she met a cult face
to face she would not recognize it.
Nor does she suspect, as she sits in her prison apartment, peeping out
through the lattice at the monotonous drift of the street life, that her
sisters in far-away Michigan are organizing and raising missionary funds
in her behalf.
She does not read the dressmaking periodicals. She never heard of the
Wednesday matinée. When she takes the air she rides in a carriage that
has a sheltering hood, and she is veiled up to the eyes, and she must
never lean out to wriggle her little finger-tips at men lolling in front
of the cafés. She must not see the men. She may look at them, but she
must not see them. No wonder the sisters in Michigan are organizing to
batter down the walls of tradition, and bring to her the more recent
privileges of her sex!
Two years ago, when this story had its real beginning, the social status
of woman in Morovenia was not greatly different from what it is to-day,
or what it was two centuries ago.
Woman had two important duties assigned to her. One was to hide herself
from the gaze of the multitude, and the other was to be beautiful--that
is, fat. A woman who was plump, or buxom, or chubby might be classed as
passably attractive, but only the fat women were irresistible. A woman
weighing two hundred pounds was only two-thirds as beautiful as one
weighing three hundred. Those grading below one hundred and fifty were
verging upon the impossible.
II
KALORA'S AFFLICTION
If it had been planned to make this an old-fashioned discursive novel,
say of the Victor Hugo variety, the second chapter would expend itself
upon a philosophical discussion of Fat and a sensational showing of how
and why the presence or absence of adipose tissue, at certain important
crises, had altered the destinies of the whole race.
The subject offers vast possibilities. It involves the physical
attractiveness of every woman in History and permits one to speculate
wildly as to what might have happened if Cleopatra had weighed forty
pounds heavier, if Elizabeth had been a gaunt and wiry creature, or if
Joan of Arc had been so bulky that she could not have fastened on her
armor.
The soft layers which enshroud the hard machinery of the human frame
seem to arrive in a merely incidental or accidental sort of way. Yet
once they have arrived they exert a mysterious influence over careers.
Because of a mere change in contour, many a queen has lost her throne.
It is a terrifying thought when one remembers that fat so often comes
and so seldom goes.
It has been explained that in Morovenia, obesity and feminine beauty
increased in the same ratio. The woman reigning in the hearts of men was
the one who could displace the most atmosphere.
Because of the fashionableness of fat, Count Selim Malagaski,
Governor-General of Morovenia, was very unhappy. He had two daughters.
One was fat; one was thin. To be more explicit, one was gloriously fat
and the other was distressingly thin.
Jeneka was the name of the one who had been blessed abundantly. Several
of the younger men in official circles, who had seen Jeneka at a
distance, when she waddled to her carriage or turned side-wise to enter
a shop-door, had written verses about her in which they compared her to
the blushing pomegranate, the ripe melon, the luscious grape, and other
vegetable luxuries more or less globular in form.
No one had dedicated any verses to Kalora. Kalora was the elder of the
two. She had come to the alarming age of nineteen and no one had started
in bidding for her.
In court circles, where there is much time for idle gossip, the most
intimate secrets of an important household are often bandied about when
the black coffee is being served. The marriageable young men of
Morovenia had learned of the calamity in Count Malagaski's family. They
knew that Kalora weighed less than one hundred and twenty pounds. She
was tall, lithe, slender, sinuous, willowy, hideous. The fact that poor
old Count Malagaski had made many unsuccessful attempts to fatten her
was a stock subject for jokes of an unrefined and Turkish character.
Whereas Jeneka would recline for hours at a time on a shaded veranda,
munching sugary confections that were loaded with nutritious nuts,
Kalora showed a far-western preference for pickles and olives, and had
been detected several times in the act of bribing servants to bring
this contraband food into the harem.
Worse still, she insisted upon taking exercise. She loved to play
romping games within the high walls of the inclosure where she and the
other female attaches of the royal household were kept penned up. Her
father coaxed, pleaded and even threatened, but she refused to lead the
indolent life prescribed by custom; she scorned the sweet and heavy
foods which would enable her to expand into loveliness; she persistently
declined to be fat.
Kalora's education was being directed by a superannuated professor named
Popova. He was so antique and book-wormy that none of the usual
objections urged against the male sex seemed to hold good in his case,
and he had the free run of the palace. Count Selim Malagaski trusted
him implicitly. Popova fawned upon the Governor-General, and seemed
slavish in his devotion. Secretly and stealthily he was working out a
frightful vengeance upon his patron. Twenty years before, Count Selim,
in a moment of anger, had called Popova a "Christian dog."
In Morovenia it is flattery to call a man a "liar." It is just the same
as saying to him, "You belong in the diplomatic corps." It is no
disgrace to be branded as a thief, because all business transactions are
saturated with treachery. But to call another a "Christian dog" is the
thirty-third degree of insult.
Popova writhed in spirit when he was called "Christian," but he covered
his wrath and remained in the nobleman's service and waited for his
revenge. And now he was sacrificing the innocent Kalora in order to
punish the father. He said to himself: "If she does not fatten, then her
father's heart will be broken, and he will suffer even as I have
suffered from being called Christian."
It was Popova who, by guarded methods, encouraged her to violent
exercise, whereby she became as hard and trim as an antelope. He
continued to supply her with all kinds of sour and biting foods and
sharp mineral waters, which are the sworn enemies of any sebaceous
condition. And now that she was nineteen, almost at the further boundary
of the marrying age, and slimmer than ever before, he rejoiced greatly,
for he had accomplished his deep and malign purpose, and laid a heavy
burden of sorrow upon Count Selim Malagaski.
III
THE CRUELTY OF LAW
If the father was worried by the prolonged crisis, the younger sister,
Jeneka, was well-nigh distracted, for she could not hope to marry until
Kalora had been properly mated and sent away.
In Morovenia there is a very strict law intended to eliminate the
spinster from the social horizon. It is a law born of craft and inspired
by foresight. The daughters of a household must be married off in the
order of their nativity. The younger sister dare not contemplate
matrimony until the elder sister has been led to the altar. It is
impossible for a young and attractive girl to make a desirable match
leaving a maiden sister marooned on the market. She must cooperate with
her parents and with the elder sister to clear the way.
As a rule this law encourages earnest getting-together in every
household and results in a clearing up of the entire stock of eligible
daughters. But think of the unhappy lot of an adorable and much-coveted
maiden who finds herself wedged in behind something unattractive and
shelf-worn! Jeneka was thus pocketed. She could do nothing except fold
her hands and patiently wait for some miraculous intervention.
In Morovenia the discreet marrying age is about sixteen. Jeneka was
eighteen--still young enough and of a most ravishing weight, but the
slim princess stood as a slight, yet seemingly insurmountable barrier
between her and all hopes of conventional happiness.
Count Malagaski did not know that the shameful fact of Kalora's
thinness was being whispered among the young men of Morovenia. When the
daughters were out for their daily carriage-ride both wore flowing
robes. In the case of Kalora, this augmented costume was intended to
conceal the absence of noble dimensions.
It is not good form in Morovenia for a husband or father to discuss his
home life, or to show enthusiasm on the subject of mere woman; but the
Count, prompted by a fretful desire to dispose of his rapidly maturing
offspring, often remarked to the high-born young gentlemen of his
acquaintance that Kalora was a most remarkable girl and one possessed of
many charms, leaving them to infer, if they cared to do so, that
possibly she weighed at least one hundred and eighty pounds.
[Illustration: Papova rejoiced greatly]
[Blank Page]
These casual comments did not seem to arouse any burning curiosity
among the young men, and up to the day of Kalora's nineteenth
anniversary they had not had the effect of bringing to the father any of
those guarded inquiries which, under the oriental custom, are always
preliminary to an actual proposal of marriage.
Count Selim Malagaski had a double reason for wishing to see Kalora
married. While she remained at home he knew that he would be second in
authority. There is an occidental misapprehension to the effect that
every woman beyond the borders of the Levant is a languorous and waxen
lily, floating in a milk-warm pool of idleness. It is true that the
women of a household live in certain apartments set aside as a "harem."
But "harem" literally means "forbidden"--that is, forbidden to the
public, nothing more. Every villa at Newport has a "harem."
The women of Morovenia do not pour tea for men every afternoon, and they
are kept well under cover, but they are not slaves. They do not inherit
a nominal authority, but very often they assume a real authority. In the
United States, women can not sail a boat, and yet they direct the cruise
of the yacht. Railway presidents can not vote in the Senate, and yet
they always know how the votes are going to be cast. And in Morovenia,
many a clever woman, deprived of specified and legal rights, has learned
to rule man by those tactful methods which are in such general use that
they need not be specified in this connection.
Kalora had a way of getting around her father. After she had defied him
and put him into a stewing rage, she would smooth him the right way
and, with teasing little cajoleries, nurse him back to a pleasant humor.
He would find himself once more at the starting-place of the
controversy, his stern commands unheeded, and the disobedient daughter
laughing in his very face.
Thus, while he was ashamed of her physical imperfections, he admired her
cleverness. Often he said to Popova: "I tell you, she might make some
man a sprightly and entertaining companion, even if she _is_ slender."
Whereupon the crafty Popova would reply: "Be patient, your Excellency.
We shall yet have her as round as a dumpling."
And all the time he was keeping her trained as fine as the proverbial
fiddle.
IV
THE GARDEN PARTY
Said the Governor-General to himself in that prime hour for wide-awake
meditation--the one just before arising for breakfast: "She is not all
that she should be, and yet, millions of women have been less than
perfect and most of them have married."
He looked hard at the ceiling for a full minute and then murmured, "Even
men have their shortcomings."
This declaration struck him as being sinful and almost infidel in its
radicalism, and yet it seemed to open the way to a logical reason why
some titled bachelor of damaged reputation and tottering finances might
balance his poor assets against a dowry and a social position, even
though he would be compelled to figure Kalora into the bargain.
It must be known that the Governor-General was now simply looking for a
husband for Kalora. He did not hope to top the market or bring down any
notable catch. He favored any alliance that would result in no discredit
to his noble lineage.
"At present they do not even nibble," he soliloquized, still looking at
the ceiling. "They have taken fright for some reason. They may have an
inkling of the awful truth. She is nineteen. Next year she will be
twenty--the year after that twenty-one. Then it would be too late. A
desperate experiment is better than inaction. I have much to gain and
nothing to lose. I must exhibit Kalora. I shall bring the young men to
her. Some of them may take a fancy to her. I have seen people eat sugar
on tomatoes and pepper on ice-cream. There may be in Morovenia one--one
would be sufficient--one bachelor who is no stickler for full-blown
loveliness. I may find a man who has become inoculated with western
heresies and believes that a woman with intellect is desirable, even
though under weight. I may find a fool, or an aristocrat who has
gambled. I may stumble upon good fortune if I put her out among the
young men. Yes, I must exhibit her, but how--how?"
He began reaching into thin air for a pretext and found one. The
inspiration was simple and satisfying.
He would give a garden-party in honor of Mr. Rawley Plumston, the
British Consul. Of course he would have to invite Mrs. Plumston and
then, out of deference to European custom, he would have his two
daughters present. It was only by the use of imported etiquette that he
could open the way to direct courtship.
Possibly some of the cautious young noblemen would talk with Kalora,
and, finding her bright-eyed, witty, ready in conversation and with
enthusiasm for big and masculine undertakings, be attracted to her. At
the same time her father decided that there was no reason why her
pitiful shortage of avoirdupois should be candidly advertised. Even at a
garden-party, where the guests of honor are two English subjects, the
young women would be required to veil themselves up to the nose-tips and
hide themselves within a veritable cocoon of soft garments.
The invitations went out and the acceptances came in. The English were
flattered. Count Malagaski was buoyed by new hopes and the daughters
were in a day-and-night flutter, for neither of them had ever come
within speaking distance of the real young man of their dreams.
On the morning of the day set apart for the début of Kalora, Count Selim
went to her apartments, and, with a rather shamefaced reluctance, gave
his directions.
"Kalora, I have done all for you that any father could do for a beloved
child and you are still thin," he began.
"Slender," she corrected.
"Thin," he repeated. "Thin as a crane--a mere shadow of a girl--and,
what is more deplorable, apparently indifferent to the sorrow that you
are causing those most interested in your welfare."
"I am not indifferent, father. If, merely by wishing, I could be fat, I
would make myself the shape of the French balloon that floated over
Morovenia last week. I would be so roly-poly that, when it came time for
me to go and meet our guests this afternoon, I would roll into their
presence as if I were a tennis-ball."
"Why should you know anything about tennis-balls? You, of all the young
women in Morovenia, seem to be the only one with a fondness for
athletics. I have heard that in Great Britain, where the women ride and
play rude, manly games, there has been developed a breed as hard as
flint--Allah preserve me from such women!"
"Father, you are leading up to something. What is it you wish to say?"
"This. You have persistently disobeyed me and made me very unhappy, but
to-day I must ask you to respect my wishes. Do not proclaim to our
guests the sad truth regarding your deficiency."
"Good!" she exclaimed gaily. "I shall wear a robe the size of an Arabian
tent, and I shall surround myself with soft pillows, and I shall wheeze
when I breathe and--who knows?--perhaps some dark-eyed young man worth a
million piasters will be deceived, and will come to you to-morrow, and
buy me--buy me at so much a pound." And she shrieked with laughter.
"Stop!" commanded her father. "You refuse to take me seriously, but I am
in earnest. Do not humiliate me in the presence of my friends this
afternoon."
Then he hurried away before she had time to make further sport of him.
To Count Selim Malagaski this garden-party was the frantic effort of a
sinking man. To Kalora it was a lark. From the pure fun of the thing,
she obeyed her father. She wore four heavily quilted and padded gowns,
one over another, and when she and Jeneka were summoned from their
apartments and went out to meet the company under the trees, they were
almost like twins and both duck-like in general outlines.
First they met Mrs. Rawley Plumston, a very tall, bony and dignified
woman in gray, wearing a most flowery hat. To every man of Morovenia
Mrs. Plumston was the apotheosis of all that was undesirable in her sex,
but they were exceedingly polite to her, for the reason that Morovenia
owed a great deal of money in London and it was a set policy to
cultivate the friendship of the British.
While Jeneka and Kalora were being presented to the consul's wife,
these same young men, the very flower of bachelorhood, stood back at a
respectful distance and regarded the young women with half-concealed
curiosity. To be permitted to inspect young women of the upper classes
was a most unusual privilege, and they knew why the privilege had been
extended to them. It was all very amusing, but they were too well bred
to betray their real emotions. When they moved up to be presented to the
sisters they seemed grave in their salutations and restrained
themselves, even though one pair of eyes, peering out above a very gauzy
veil, seemed to twinkle with mischief and to corroborate their most
pronounced suspicions.
Out of courtesy to his guests, Count Malagaski had made his garden-party
as deadly dull as possible. Little groups of bored people drifted about
under the trees and exchanged the usual commonplace observations. Tea
and cakes were served under a canopy tent and the local orchestra
struggled with pagan music.
Kalora found herself in a wide and easy kind of a basket-chair sitting
under a tree and chatting with Mrs. Plumston. She was trying to be at
her ease, and all the time she knew that every young man present was
staring at her out of the corner of his eye.
Mrs. Plumston, although very tall and evidently of brawny strength, had
a twittering little voice and a most confiding manner. She was immensely
interested in the daughter of the Governor-General. To meet a young girl
who had spent her life within the mysterious shadows of an oriental
household gave her a tingling interest, the same as reading a forbidden
book. She readily won the confidence of Kalora, and Kalora, being most
ingenuous and not educated to the wiles of the drawing-room, spoke her
thoughts with the utmost candor.
"I like you," she said to Mrs. Plumston, "and, oh, how I envy you! You
go to balls and dinners and the theater, don't you?"
"Alas, yes, and you escape them! How I envy _you_!"
"Your husband is a very handsome man. Do you love him?"
"I tolerate him."
"Does he ever scold you for being thin?"
"Does he _what_?"
"Is he ever angry with you because you are not big and plump
and--and--pulpy?"
"Heavens, no! If my husband has any private convictions regarding my
personal appearance, he is discreet enough to keep them to himself. If
he isn't satisfied with me, he should be. I have been working for years
to save myself from becoming fat and plump and--pulpy."
"Then you don't think fat women are beautiful?"
"My child, in all enlightened countries adipose is woman's worst enemy.
If I were a fat woman, and a man said that he loved me, I should know
that he was after my bank-account. Take my advice, my dear young lady,
and bant."
"Bant?"
"Reduce. Make yourself slender. You have beautiful eyes, beautiful hair,
a perfect complexion, and with a trim figure you would be simply
incomparable."
Kalora listened, trembling with surprise and pleasure. Then she leaned
over and took the hand of the gracious Englishwoman.
"I have a confession to make," she said in a whisper. "I am not fat--I
am slim--quite slim."
And then, at that moment, something happened to make this whole story
worth telling. It was a little something, but it was the beginning of
many strange experiences, for it broke up the wonderful garden-party in
the grounds of the Governor-General, and it gave Morovenia something to
talk about for many weeks to come. It all came about as follows:
At the military club, the night before the party, a full score of young
men, representing the quality, sat at an oblong table and partook of
refreshments not sanctioned by the Prophet. They were young men of
registered birth and supposititious breeding, even though most of them
had very little head back of the ears and wore the hair clipped short
and were big of bone, like work-horses, and had the gusty manners of the
camp.
They were foolishly gloating over the prospect of meeting the two
daughters of the Governor-General, and were telling what they knew about
them with much freedom, for, even in a monarchy, the chief executive and
his family are public property and subject to the censorship of any one
who has a voice for talking.
Of these male gossips there were a few who said, with gleeful certainty,
that the elder daughter was a mere twig who could hide within the shadow
of her bounteous and incomparable sister.
"Wait until to-morrow and you shall see," they said, wagging their heads
very wisely.
To-morrow had come and with it the party and here was Kalora--a pretty
face peering out from a great pod of clothes.
They stood back and whispered and guessed, until one, more enterprising
than the others, suggested a bold experiment to set all doubts at rest.
Count Malagaski had provided a diversion for his guests. A company of
Arabian acrobats, on their way from Constantinople to Paris, had been
intercepted, and were to give an exhibition of leaping and
pyramid-building at one end of the garden. While Kalora was chatting
with Mrs. Plumston, the acrobats had entered and, throwing off their
yellow-and-black striped gowns, were preparing for the feats. They were
behind the two women and at the far end of the garden. Mrs. Plumston and
Kalora would have to move to the other side of the tree in order to
witness the exhibition. This fact gave the devil-may-care young
bachelors a ready excuse.
"Do as I have directed and you shall learn for yourselves," said the one
who had invented the tactics. "I tell you that what you see is all
shell. Now then--"
Four conspirators advanced in a half-careless and sauntering manner to
where Kalora and the consul's wife sat by the sheltering tree, intent
upon their exchange of secrets.
"Pardon me, Mrs. Plumston, but the acrobats are about to begin," said
one of the young men, touching the fez with his forefinger.
"Oh, really?" she exclaimed, looking up. "We must see them."
"You must face the other way," said the young man. "They are at the east
end of the garden. Permit us."
Whereupon the young man who had spoken and a companion who stood at his
side very gently picked up Mrs. Plumston's big basket-chair between them
and carried it around to the other side of the tree. And the two young
men who had been waiting just behind picked up Kalora's chair and
carried _her_ to the other side of the tree, and put her down beside the
consul's wife.
Did they carry her? No, they dandled her. She was as light as a feather
for these two young giants of the military. They made a palpable show of
the ridiculous ease with which they could lift their burden. It may have
been a forward thing to do, but they had done it with courtly
politeness, and the consul's wife, instead of being annoyed, was pleased
and smiling over the very pretty little attention, for she could not
know at the moment that the whole maneuver had grown out of a wager and
was part of a detestable plan to find out the actual weight of the
Governor-General's elder daughter.
If Mrs. Plumston did not understand, Count Selim Malagaski understood.
So did all the young men who were watching the pantomime. And Kalora
understood. She looked up and saw the lurking smiles on the faces of the
two gallants who were carrying her, and later the tittering became
louder and some of the young men laughed aloud.
She leaped from her chair and turned upon her two tormentors.
"How dare you?" she exclaimed. "You are making sport of me in the
presence of my father's guests! You have a contempt for me because I am
ugly. You mock at me in private because you hear that I am thin. You
wish to learn the truth about me. Well, I will tell you. I _am_ thin. I
weigh one hundred and eighteen pounds."
She was speaking loudly and defiantly, and all the young men were
backing away, dismayed at the outbreak. Her father elbowed his way among
them, white with terror, and attempted to pacify her.
"Be still, my child!" he commanded. "You don't know what you are
saying!"
"Yes, I do know what I am saying!" she persisted, her voice rising
shrilly. "Do they wish to know about me? Must they know the truth? Then
look! _Look_!"
With sweeping outward gestures she threw off the soft quilted robes
gathered about her, tore away the veil and stood before them in a white
gown that fairly revealed every modified in-and-out of her figure.
What ensued? Is it necessary to tell? The costume in which she stood
forth was no more startling or immodest than the simple gown which the
American high-school girl wears on her Commencement Day, and it was
decidedly more ample than the sum of all the garments worn at polite
social gatherings in communities somewhat to the west. Nevertheless, the
company stood aghast. They were doubly horrified--first, at the
effrontery of the girl, and second, at the revelation of her real
person, for they saw that she was doomed, helpless, bereft of hope, slim
beyond all curing.
V
HE ARRIVES
Kalora was alone.
After putting the company to consternation she had flung herself
defiantly back into the chair and directed a most contemptuous gaze at
all the desirable young men of her native land.
The Governor-General made a choking attempt to apologize and explain,
and then, groping for an excuse to send the people away, suggested that
the company view the new stables. The acrobats were dismissed. The
guests went rapidly to an inspection of the carriages and horses. They
were glad to escape. Jeneka, crushed in spirit and shamed at the brazen
performance of her sister, began a plaintive conjecture as to "what
people would say," when Kalora turned upon her such a tigerish glance
that she fairly ran for her apartment, although she was too corpulent
for actual sprinting. Mrs. Plumston remained behind as the only
comforter.
"It was a most contemptible proceeding, my child. When they lifted us
and carried us to the other side of the tree I thought it was rather
nice of them; something on the order of the old Walter Raleigh days of
chivalry, and all that. And just think! The beasts did it to find out
whether or not you were really plump and heavy. It's a most
extraordinary incident."
"I wouldn't marry one of them now, not if he begged and my father
commanded!" said Kalora bitterly. "And poor Jeneka! This takes away her
last chance. Until I am married she can not marry, and after to-day not
even a blind man would choose me."
"For goodness' sake, don't worry! You tell me you are nineteen. No woman
need feel discouraged until she is about thirty-five. You have sixteen
years ahead of you."
"Not in Morovenia."
"Why remain in Morovenia?"
"We are not permitted to travel."
"Perhaps, after what happened to-day, your father will be glad to let
you travel," said Mrs. Plumston with a significant little nod and a wise
squint. "Don't you generally succeed in having your own way with him?"
"Oh, to travel--to travel!" exclaimed Kalora, clasping her hands. "If I
am to remain single and a burden for ever, perhaps it would lighten
father's grief if I resided far away. My presence certainly would
remind him of the wreck of all his ambitions, but if I should settle
down in Vienna or Paris, or--" she paused and gave a little gasp--"or if
anything should happen to me, if I should--should disappear, that is,
really disappear, Jeneka would be free to marry and--"
"Oh, pickles!" said Mrs. Plumston. "I have heard of romantic young women
jumping overboard and taking poison on account of rich young men, but I
never heard of a girl's snuffing herself out so as to give her sister a
chance to get married. The thing for you to do at a time like this, when
you find yourself in a tangle, is to think of yourself and your own
chances for happiness. Father and Jeneka will take care of themselves.
They are popular and beloved characters here in Morovenia. They are not
taking you into consideration except as you seem to interfere with
their selfish plans. I have made it a rule not to work out my neighbor's
destiny."
"What can I do?" asked Kalora, seemingly impressed by the earnestness of
the consul's wife.
"Leave Morovenia. Keep at your father until he consents to your going.
Here you are despised and ridiculed--a victim of heathen prejudice left
over from the Dark Ages. Get away, even if you have to walk, and take my
word for it, the moment you leave Morovenia you will be a very beautiful
girl; not a merely attractive young person, but what we would call at
home a radiant beauty--the oriental type, you know. And as a personal
favor to me, don't be fat."
"No fear of that," said the girl with a melancholy attempt at a smile.
"But you must go and join the others. Do, please. I am now in disgrace,
and you may compromise your social standing in Morovenia if you remain
here and talk to me."
"I dare say I should go. I have a husband who requires as much attention
and scolding as a four-year-old. Sometimes I almost favor the oriental
system of the husband's directing the wife. Good-by."
"Good-by."
Mrs. Plumston gave her a kiss and a friendly little pat on the arm, and
walked away toward the stables with a swinging, heel-and-toe, masculine
stride.
Kalora had the whole garden to herself. She sat squared up in the wicker
chair with her fists clenched, looking straight ahead, trying in vain to
think of some plan for avenging herself upon the whole race of
bachelors. As she sat thus some one spoke to her.
"How do you do?" came a voice.
She was startled and looked about, but saw no one.
"Up here!" came the voice again.
She looked up and saw a young man on the top of the wall, his legs
hanging over. Evidently he had climbed up from the outside, and yet
Kalora had never suspected that the wall could be climbed.
[Illustration: "Up here!" came the voice again]
He was smoothly shaven, with blond hair almost ripe enough to be auburn;
he wore a gray suit of rather loose and careless material, a belt, but
no waistcoat; his trousers were reefed up from a pair of saddle-brown
shoes, and the silk band around his small straw hat was tricolored. In
his hand was a paper-covered book. Swung over his shoulder was a camera
in a leather case. He sat there on top of the high wall and gazed at
Kalora with a grinning interest, and she, forgetting that she was
unveiled and clad only in the simple garments which had horrified the
best people of Morovenia, gazed back at him, for he was the first of the
kind she had seen.
"What are you doing here?" she asked wonderingly.
"I am looking for the show," he replied. "They told me down at the hotel
that a very hot bunch of acrobats were doing a few stunts down here this
afternoon, and I thought I'd break in if I could. Wanted to get some
pictures of them."
"Were you invited?"
"No, but that doesn't make any difference. In Cairo I went to a native
wedding every day. If I passed a house where there was a wedding being
pulled off, I simply went inside and mingled. They never put me
out--seemed to enjoy having me there. I suppose they thought it was the
American custom for outsiders to ring in at a wedding."
"You said American, didn't you? Are you from America?"
"Do I look like a Scandinavian? I am from the grand old commonwealth of
Pennsylvania. Did you ever hear of the town of Bessemer?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Did you ever hear of the Pike family that robbed all the orphans, tore
down the starry banner, walked on the humble working-girl and gave the
double cross to the common people? Did you?"
"Dear me, no," she replied, following him vaguely.
"Well, I am Alexander H., of the tribe of Pike, and I have two reasons
for being in your beautiful little city. One is Federal grand jury and
the other is ten-cent magazine. You know, our folks are sinfully rich.
About four years ago I came in for most of the guvnor's coin, and in
trying to keep up the traditions of the family, I have made myself
unpopular, but I didn't know how unpopular I really was until I got this
magazine from home this morning." And he held up the paper-covered book,
which had a rainbow cover. "They have been writing up a few of us
captains of industry, and they have said everything about me that they
_could_ say without having the thing barred out of the mails. I notice
that you speak our kind of talk fairly well, but I think I can take you
by the hand and show you a lot of new and beautiful English language. I
will read this to you."
Before she could warn him, or do anything except let out a horrified
"Oh-h!" he had leaped lightly from his high perch and was standing in
front of her.
"I'm afraid you don't understand," she said, rising and taking a
frightened survey of the garden, to be sure that no one was watching.
"Strangers are not permitted in here. That is, men, and more
especially--ah--Christians."
"I'm not a Christian, and I can prove it by this magazine. I am an
octopus, and a viper, and a vampire, and a man-eating shark. I am what
you might call a composite zoo. If you want to get a line on me just
read this article on _The Shameless Brigand of Bessemer_, and you will
certainly find out that I am a nice young fellow."
Kalora had studied English for years and thought she knew it, and yet
she found it difficult fully, to comprehend all the figurative phrases
of this pleasing young stranger.
"Do I understand that you are traveling abroad because of your
unpopularity at home?" she asked.
"I am waiting for things to cool down. As soon as the muck-rakers wear
out their rakes, and the great American public finds some other kind of
hysterics to keep it worked up to a proper temperature, I shall mosey
back and resume business at the old stand. But why tell you the story of
my life? Play fair now, and tell me a lot about yourself. Where am I?"
"You are here in my father's private garden, where you hare no right to
be."
"And father?"
"Is Count Selim Malagaski, Governor-General of Morovenia."
"Wow! And you?"
"I am his daughter."
"The daughter of all that must be something. Have you a title?"
"I am called Princess."
"Can you beat that? Climb up a wall to see some A-rabs perform, and find
a real, sure-enough princess, and likewise, if you don't mind my saying
so, a pippin."
"I don't know what you mean," she said.
"A corker."
"Corker?"
"I mean that you're a good-looker--that it's no labor at all to gaze
right at you. I didn't think they grew them so far from headquarters,
but I see I'm wrong. You are certainly all right. Pardon me for saying
this to you so soon after we meet, but I have learned that you will
never break a woman's heart by telling her that she is a beaut."
[Illustration: "Are you a real ingénue, or a kidder?"]
Kalora leaned back in her chair and laughed. She was beginning to
comprehend the whimsical humor of the very unusual young man. His direct
and playful manner of speech amused her, and also seemed to reassure
her. And, when he seated himself within a few inches of her elbow,
fanning himself with the little straw hat, and calmly inspecting the
tiny landscape of the forbidden garden, she made no protest against his
familiarity, although she knew that she was violating the most sacred
rules laid down for her sex.
She reasoned thus with herself:
"To-day I have disgraced myself to the utmost, and, since I am utterly
shamed, why not revel in my lawlessness?"
Besides, she wished to question this young man. Mrs. Plumston had said
to her: "You are beautiful." No one else had ever intimated such a
thing. In fact, for five years she had been taunted almost daily because
of her lack of all physical charms. Perhaps she could learn the truth
about herself by some adroit questioning of the young man from
Pennsylvania.
"You have traveled a great deal?" she asked.
"Me and Baedeker and Cook wrote it," he replied; and then, seeing that
she was puzzled, he said: "I have been to all of the places they keep
open."
"You have seen many women in many countries?"
"I have. I couldn't help it, and I'm glad of it."
"Then you know what constitutes beauty?"
"Not always. What is sponge cake for me may be sawdust for somebody
else. Say, I rode for an hour in a 'rickshaw at Nagoya to see the most
beautiful girl in Japan and when we got to the teahouse they trotted out
a little shrimp that looked as if she'd been dried over a barrel--you
know, stood _bent_ all the time, as if she was getting ready to jump.
Her neck was no bigger than a gripman's wrist and she had a nose that
stood right out from her face almost an eighth of an inch. Her eyes were
set on the bias and she was painted more colors than a bandwagon. I
said, 'If this is the champion geisha, take me back to the land of the
chorus girl.' And in China! Listen! I caught a Chinese belle coming down
the Queen's Road in Hong-Kong one day, and I ran up an alley. I have
seen Parisian beauties that had a coat of white veneering over them an
inch thick, and out here in this country I have seen so-called
cracker-jacks that ought to be doing the mountain-of-flesh act in the
Ringling side-show. So there you are!"
"But in your own country, and in the larger cities of the world, there
must be some sort of standard. What are the requirements? What must a
woman be, that all men would call her beautiful?"
"Well, Princess, that's a pretty hard proposition to dope out. Good
looks can not be analyzed in a lab or worked out by algebra, because,
I'm telling you, the one that may look awful lucky to me may strike
somebody else as being fairly punk. Providence framed it up that way so
as to give more girls a chance to land somebody. Still, there is one
kind that makes a hit wherever people are bright enough to sit up and
take notice. Now I suppose that any male being in his right senses would
find it easy to look at a woman who was young enough and had eyes and
hair and teeth and the other items, all doing team-work together, and
then if she was trim and slender--"
"Should she be slender?" interrupted Kalora, leaning toward him.
"Sure. I don't mean the same width all the way up and down, like an art
student, but trim and--Here, I'll show you. You will find the pictures
of the most beautiful women in the world right here in the ads of a
ten-cent magazine. Look them over and you will understand what I mean."
He turned page after page and showed her the tapering goddesses of the
straight front, the tooth-powder, the camera, the breakfast-food, the
massage-cream, and the hair-tonic.
"These are what you call beautiful women?" she asked.
"These are about the limit."
"Then in your country I would not be considered hideous, would I?"
"Hideous? Say, if you ever walked up Fifth Avenue you would block the
traffic! And in the palm-garden at the Waldorf--why, you and the head
waiter would own the place! Are you trying to string me by asking such
questions? Are you a real ingénue, or a kidder?"
"I hardly know what you mean, but I assure you that here in Morovenia
they laugh at me because I am not fat."
"This is a shine country, and you're in wrong, little girl," said Mr.
Pike, in a kindly tone. "Why don't you duck?"
"Duck?"
"Leave here and hunt up some of the red spots on the map. You know what
I mean--away to the bright lights! I don't like to knock your native
land but, honestly, Morovenia is a bad boy. I've struck towns around
here where you couldn't buy illustrated post-cards. They take in the
sidewalks at nine o'clock every night. That orchestra down at the hotel
handed me a new coon song last night--_Bill Bailey_! Can you beat that?
As long as you stay here you are hooked up with a funeral."
Kalora, with wrinkled brow, had been striving to follow him in his
figurative flights.
"Strange," she murmured. "You are the second person I have met to-day
who advises me to go away--to the west."
"That's the tip!" he exclaimed with fervor. "Go west and when you start,
keep on going. You come to America and bring along the papers to show
that you're a real live princess and you'll own both sides of the
street. We'll show you more real excitement in two weeks than you'll
see around here if you live to be a hundred."
"I should like to go, but--Look! Hurry, please! You must go!"
She pointed, and young Mr. Pike turned to see two guards in baggy
uniforms bearing down upon him, their eyes bulging with amazement.
"Shall I try to put up a bluff, or fight it out?" he asked, as he stood
up to meet them.
"You can not explain," gasped Kalora. "Run! _Run_! They know you have no
right here. This means going to prison--perhaps worse."
"Does it?" he asked, between his set teeth. "If those two brunettes get
me, they'll have to go some."
When the two pounced upon him he made no resistance and they captured
him. He stood between them, each of them clutching an arm and breathing
heavily, not only from exertion, but also out of a sense of triumph.
VI
HE DEPARTS
And now, in order to give a key to the surprising performances of
Alexander H. Pike, it will be necessary to call up certain biographical
data.
When he was in the Hill School he won the pole vault, but later, in his
real collegiate days, he never could come within two inches of 'varsity
form, and therefore failed to make the track-team.
While attending the Institute of Technology he worked one whole autumn
to perfect an offensive play which was to be used against "Buff"
Rodigan, of the semi-professional athletic-club team. This play was
known as "giving the shoulder," with the solar plexus as the point of
attack. The purpose of the play was not to kill the opposing player, but
to induce him to relinquish all interest in the contest.
Furthermore, Mr. Pike, while spending a month or more at a time in New
York City, during his post-graduate days, had worked with Mr. Mike
Donovan, in order to keep down to weight. Mr. Donovan had illustrated
many tricks to him, one of the best being a low feint with the left,
followed by a right cross to the point of the jaw.
While the two bronze-colored guards stood holding him, Mr. Pike rapidly
took stock of his accomplishments, and formulated a program. With a
sudden twist he cleared himself, sprang away from the two, and jumped
behind a tree. One soldier started to the right of the tree and the
other to the left, so as to close in upon him and retake him. This was
what he wanted, for he had them "spread," and could deal with them
singly.
He used the Donovan tactics on the first guard, and they worked out with
shameful ease. When the soldier saw the left coming for the pit of his
stomach, he crouched and hugged himself, thereby extending his jaw so
that it waited there with the sun shining on it until the young man's
right swing came across and changed the middle of the afternoon to
midnight. Number one was lying in profound slumber when Alumnus Pike
turned to greet number two.
The second soldier, having witnessed the feat of pugilism, doubled his
fists and extended them awkwardly, coming with a rush. Mr. Pike suddenly
squatted and leaned forward, balancing on his finger-tips, until number
two was about to fall upon him and crush him, and then he arose with
that rigid right shoulder aimed as a catapult. There was a sound as when
the air-brake is disconnected, and number two curled over limply on the
ground and made faces in an effort to resume breathing.
Mr. Pike picked up his magazine and put it under his coat. He buttoned
the coat, smiled in a pale, but placid manner at Kalora, who was still
immovable with terror, and then he proceeded to vindicate his "prep
school" training. He ran over to the canopy tent, under which the
refreshments had been served, pulled out one of the poles and, pointing
it ahead of him, ran straight for the wall.
Kalora, watching him, regarded this as a wholly insane proceeding. Was
he going to attempt to poke a hole through a wall three feet thick?
Just as he seemed ready to flatten himself against the stones, he
dropped the end of the pole to the ground and shot upward like a rocket.
Kalora saw him give an upward twist and wriggle, fling himself free from
the pole and disappear on the other side of the wall, the camera
following like the tail of a comet. As he did so, number two, coming to
a sitting posture, began to shriek for reinforcements. Number one was up
on his elbow, regarding the affairs of this world with a dreamy
interest.
Fortunately for the Governor-General, the participants in the exploded
garden-party had escaped at the very first opportunity.
Count Malagaski, greatly perturbed and almost in a state of collapse
over the unhappy affair in the garden, was returning to his apartments
when the second surprising episode of the day came to a noisy climax.
He heard the uproar and had the two guards brought before him. They
reported that they had found a stranger in the garb of an infidel seated
within the secret garden chatting with the Princess Kalora. They did not
agree in their descriptions of him, but each maintained that the
intruder was a very large person of forbidding appearance and terrific
strength.
"How did he manage to escape?" asked the Governor-General.
"By jumping over the wall."
"Over a wall ten feet high?" demanded the Governor-General.
"Without touching his hands, sir. He was very tall; must have been seven
feet."
"If you ever had an atom of gray matter, evidently this stranger has
beaten it out of you. Hurry and notify the police!"
Kalora's candid version of the whole affair was hardly less startling
than that of the guards. The stranger had come over the wall suddenly,
much to her alarm. He attempted to converse with her, but she sternly
ordered him from the premises. He was exceedingly tall, as the guards
had said, and very dark, with rather long hair and curling black
mustache. He addressed her in English, but spoke with a marked German
accent.