his eyes he scanned his surroundings more carefully; but his vision was
unreliable. His head, too, continued to feel as if his skull were being
forcibly spread apart by some fiendish instrument concealed within it.
His mouth was parched, his stomach violently rebellious. In spite of
these distractions he began to note certain unfamiliar features about
this place. The wall-paper, for instance, which at first glance he had
taken for the work of some cheap decorator, turned out to be tapestry,
as he proved by extending a shaky hand. The low ceiling, the little
windows with wooden blinds, the furniture itself, were all out of
keeping with hotel usages. He discovered by rolling his head that there
was a mahogany dresser over by the door and a padded couch covered with
chintz. There were folding brass clothes-hooks on the wall, moreover,
and an electric fan, while a narrow door gave him a glimpse of a tiny,
white-enamelled bath-room.
He took in these details laboriously, deciding finally that he was too
intoxicated to see aright, for, while the place was quite unlike an
ordinary hotel room, neither did it resemble any steamship stateroom he
had ever seen; it was more like a lady's boudoir. To be sure, he felt a
sickening surge and roll now and then, but at other times the whole
room made a complete revolution, which was manifestly contrary to the
law of gravitation and therefore not to be trusted as evidence. There
were plenty of reasons, moreover, why this could not be a ship. The
mere supposition was absurd. No, this must be a room in some up-town
club, or perhaps a bachelor hotel. Kirk had many friends with quarters
decorated to suit their own peculiar fancies, and he decided that in
all probability one of these had met him on the street and taken him
home for safe-keeping. He had barely settled this in his mind when the
door opened for a second time and a man in uniform entered.
"The steward said you wanted me," he began.
"No; I want a doctor."
"I am the doctor."
"I thought you were the elevator man. I'm sick--awful sick--"
"Can you vomit?"
"Certainly! Anybody can do that."
The stranger pulled up a stool, seated himself beside the bed, then
felt of Anthony's cheek.
"You have a fever."
"That explains everything." Kirk sighed thankfully and closed his eyes
once more, for the doctor had begun to revolve slowly, with the bed as
an axis. "How are the other boys coming on?"
"Everybody is laid out. It's a bad night."
"Night? It must be nearly daylight by this time."
"Oh no! It is not midnight yet."
"Not midnight? Why, I didn't turn in until--" Anthony raised himself
suddenly. "Good Lord! have I slept all day?"
"You certainly have."
"Whose room is this?"
"Your room, of course. Here, take one of these capsules; it will settle
your stomach."
"Better give me something to settle my bill if I've been here that
long. I'm broke again."
"You're not fully awake yet," said the doctor. "People have funny ideas
when they're sick."
"Well, I know I'm broke, anyhow! That's no idea; it's a condition. I
went through my clothes just now and I'm all in. I must get back to the
Astor, too, for I had arranged to motor up to New Haven at noon."
"Let me feel your pulse," said the doctor, quietly.
"The boys will think I'm lost. I never did such a thing before."
"Where do you think you are?" inquired the physician.
"I don't know. It's a nice little hotel, but--"
"This isn't a hotel. This is a ship."
Anthony was silent for a moment. Then he sighed feebly and said:
"Doctor, you shouldn't make fun of a man at the point of death. It
isn't professional."
"Fact," said the doctor, abstractedly gazing at his watch, while he
held Anthony's wrist between his fingers. "We are one hundred and fifty
miles out of New York. The first officer told me you were considerably
intoxicated when you came aboard, but," he continued brusquely, rising
and closing his watch with a snap, "you will remember it all in a
little while, Mr. Locke."
"What did you call me?"
"Locke. You haven't forgotten your name, too?"
"Wait!"
Again Anthony pressed his throbbing temples with both hot hands and
strove to collect his whirling wits. At last he began to speak,
measuring his words with care.
"Now, I KNOW you are wrong, Doctor, and I'll tell you why. You see, my
name isn't Locke; it's Anthony. Locke went away on a ship, but _I_
stayed in New York; understand? Well, he's the fellow you're talking to
and I'm asleep somewhere down around the Bowery. I'm not here at all.
_I_ didn't want to go anywhere on a ship; I couldn't go; I didn't have
the price. That supper was a hundred and seventy."
"Nevertheless, this is a ship," the physician patiently explained, "and
you're on it and I'm talking to you. What is more, you have not
exchanged identities with your friend Anthony, for your ticket reads
'Jefferson Locke.' You'll be all right if you will just go to sleep and
give that capsule a chance to operate."
"Ask Higgins or Ringold who I am."
"There's no one aboard by either of those names."
"Say!" Anthony raised himself excitedly on one arm, but was forced to
lie down again without delay. "If this is a ship, I must have come
aboard. How did I do it? When? Where?"
"You came on with two men, or rather between two men, about
eight-thirty this morning. They put you in here, gave your ticket to
the purser, and went ashore. The slim fellow was crying, and one of the
deck-hands had to help him down the gangway."
"That was Higgins all right. Now, Doctor, granting, just for the sake
of argument, that this is a ship and that I am Jefferson Locke, when is
your next stop?"
"One week."
"What?" Kirk's eyes opened wide with horror. "I can't stay here a week."
"You will have to."
"But I tell you I CAN'T, I just can't. I bought a new car the other day
and it's standing in front of the New York Theatre. Yes, and I have two
rooms and a bath at the Astor, at fifteen dollars a day."
The physician smiled heartlessly. "You must have been drinking pretty
heavily, but I guess you will remember everything by-and-by."
"I can't understand it," groaned the bewildered invalid. "What ship is
this--if it is really a ship?"
"The SANTA CRUZ. Belongs to the United Fruit Company. This is one of
the bridal suites; it is 11:30 P.M., November 21st. We are bound for
Colon."
"Where is that?"
"Panama."
"Panama is in Central America or Mexico or somewhere, isn't it?"
"It is. Now, do you remember anything more?"
"Not a thing."
"Well, then, go to sleep. You'll be all right in the morning, Mr.
Locke."
"Anthony."
"Very well, Mr. Anthony, if you prefer. Is there anything more you
would like to ask me?"
"No."
"Of course, there may have been some mistake," the medical man
observed, doubtfully, as he opened the door. "Maybe you intended to
take some other ship?"
"No mistake at all," the sick man assured him. "I'm beginning to
remember now. You see, I lost my hat and decided I'd run down to Panama
and get another. Good-night."
"Good-night. That capsule will make you sleep."
When the officer had gone Kirk mumbled to himself: "If it turns out
that I AM in New York, after all, when I wake up I'll lick that
doctor." Then he turned over and fell asleep.
But morning showed him the truth of the doctor's information. He awoke
early and, although his head still behaved queerly and he had moments
of nausea, he dressed himself and went on deck. The shock he had
received on the evening before was as nothing to what he felt now upon
stepping out into the light of day. In spite of his growing conviction,
he had cherished a lingering hope that it was all a dream, and the
feeling did not entirely vanish until he had really seen for himself.
Then his dismay was overwhelming.
A broad deck, still wet from its morning scrubbing and lined with
steamer chairs, lay in front of him. A limitless, oily sea stretched
out before his bewildered eyes; he touched the rail with his hands to
verify his vision. The strangeness of it was uncanny. He felt as if he
were walking in his sleep. He realized that a great fragment had
suddenly dropped out of his life's pattern, and it was intensely
disquieting to think of all it might have carried with it.
He began to pace the deck mechanically, falling in with the other early
risers who were out for a breath of morning air, striving to adjust
himself to this new state of affairs. But even though the solid reality
of his surroundings soon brought him back more nearly to a normal state
of mind, he felt an ever-present expectancy of some new shock, some new
and abrupt transition that might yet bring him back to his
starting-point. But this obsession gradually left him, as the brisk sea
breeze brought him to a proper perspective and braced him to face the
full consequences of his long, restless night's orgy.
No man is so systematic, none is so well ordered in his affairs, that
he can cut out a slice of his life at a moment's notice without
suffering many kinds of loss and inconvenience. Although Anthony was a
youth of few responsibilities, he awoke suddenly to the fact that there
were a thousand things that needed doing, a thousand people who needed
to know his whereabouts, a thousand things that were bound to go wrong.
For instance, there was his brand-new French car, standing with motor
blanketed beside the Forty-fifth Street curb.
What had happened to it, and to the urchin he had left in charge of it?
He owed a thousand dollars on its purchase, which he had promised to
pay yesterday. Then, too, he had neglected his house account at the
University Club, and it was long overdue. That remittance from his
father had come just in the nick of time. Suddenly he recalled placing
the check in his bill-case, and he searched himself diligently, but
found nothing. That reminded him that he had won a bet or two on the
football game and the money needed collecting. There was the shooting
trip to Cape Cod as well. He was due there to-day for a week-end among
the geese and brant. What would Benny Glover think when he failed to
show up or even telegraph? Benny's sister was coming down from Boston
with some friends and--oh, it was simply imperative that he get some
word ashore.
He let his eyes rove over the ship in desperation, then a happy thought
came to him.
"The wireless!" he said aloud. "Bonehead! Why didn't you think of that
long ago?" A glance at the rigging showed him that the Santa Cruz was
equipped with a plant, and a moment later he was hammering at the
operator's door.
"I want to send a message right away!" he cried, excitedly; but the
"wireless" shook his head with a smile.
"I'm sorry, but--"
"It's important; awfully important. I'll pay you anything!" Kirk rammed
a hand mechanically into his empty pocket.
"We're installing a new system," said the operator. "The old apparatus
wasn't satisfactory and it's being changed throughout."
"Then you-you can't send a message--possibly?"
"Nothing doing until the next trip."
Kirk strode forward and stared disconsolately down upon the freight
deck in a vain endeavor to collect his thoughts. How in the devil had
he managed to get into this mess? Could it be one of Higgins's
senseless pranks, or was there something deeper, more sinister behind
it? He recalled the incidents of that wild night and began to have a
disquieting doubt. Did that chance meeting with the chap from St. Louis
have anything to do with his presence here, or had he really decided in
some foolish, drunken whim to take a trip to Central America? He hardly
knew what to think or where to begin his reasoning. He recollected that
Jefferson Locke had not impressed him very favorably at the start, and
that his behavior upon the appearance of the plain-clothes man had not
improved that first impression. It seemed certain that he must have had
his hand in this affair, else how would Anthony now find himself in
possession of his ticket? What had become of the rightful occupant of
Suite A? What had become of Higgins's unfortunate victim with the
cracked head? What did it all signify? Kirk sighed disconsolately and
gave it up. In five days more he would learn the answer, anyhow, for
there must be a cable from Panama to the States. Meanwhile, he supposed
he must reconcile himself to his condition. But it was tough to have
two weeks of valuable time snatched out of his eventful life. It was
maddening.
IV
NEW ACQUAINTANCES
The sound of a bugle, which Kirk interpreted as an invitation to
breakfast, reminded him that he was famished, and he lost no time in
going below. Upon his appearance the steward made it plain to him in
some subtle manner that the occupant of Suite A needed nothing beyond
the mere possession of those magnificent quarters to insure the most
considerate treatment. Kirk was placed at the captain's table, where
his hunger was soon appeased, and his outlook grew more cheerful with
the complete restoration of bodily comfort. Feeling somewhat less
dissatisfied with his surroundings, he began to study the faces of his
fellow-passengers.
"Getting your sea legs, Mr. Locke?" inquired the man at his right.
"My name is Anthony."
"I beg your pardon! The passenger list said--"
"That was a mistake."
"My name is Stein. May I ask where you are bound for?"
"I think the place is Panama."
"Going to work on the canal?"
"What canal? Oh, of course! Now I remember hearing something about a
Panama Canal. Is that where it is?"
"That's the place," Stein replied, dryly.
"I'm not going to work. I don't work--don't know how."
"I see. Pleasure trip?"
"Purely a pleasure trip. I'm having a great time. By-the-way, this
canal affair is something new, isn't it?"
"It was begun about thirty years ago." Mr. Stein regarded the speaker
with puzzled inquiry, as if undecided in what spirit to take him.
"What's the idea? Why don't they finish it up?"
"I thought you were an American," returned the other, politely. "You
have no accent."
"I am an American. I'm the fellow who was born in Albany, New York. If
you look on the map you'll find the town has a little ring around it."
"And really don't you know anything about the Panama Canal?"
"Oh, I've heard it mentioned."
"Well, you won't hear anything else mentioned down here; it's the one
and only subject of conversation. Nobody thinks or talks or dreams
about anything except the canal. Everybody works on it or else works
for somebody who does. For instance, that white-haired man at the other
end of the table is Colonel Bland, one of the commissioners. The man
over there with the black beard is one of the engineers at Gatun."
Stein, who seemed a gossipy person, ran on glibly for a time, pointing
out the passengers of note and giving brief details about them.
Suddenly he laid his hand on Anthony's arm, and said:
"See this fellow coming down the stairs?" Anthony beheld a slender,
bald-headed man of youthful appearance. "That is Stephen Cortlandt.
You've heard of the Cortlandts?"
"Sure! One of them pitched for the Cubs."
"I mean the Cortlandts of Washington. They're swell people, society
folks and all that--" He broke off to bow effusively to the late comer,
who seated himself opposite; then he introduced Kirk.
Mr. Cortlandt impressed Anthony as a cold-blooded, highly schooled
person, absolutely devoid of sentiment. His face was stony, his eyes
were cool, even his linen partook of his own unruffled calm. He seemed
by no means effeminate, yet he was one of those immaculate beings upon
whom one can scarcely imagine a speck of dust or a bead of
perspiration. His hair--what was left of it--was parted to a nicety,
his clothes were faultless, and he had an air of quiet assurance.
"By-the-way, we're getting up a pool on the ship's run," Stein told his
new acquaintance. "Would you like to join?"
"Yes, indeed. I'm for anything in the line of chance."
"Very well. I'll see you in the smoking-room later. It will cost you
only five dollars."
Kirk suddenly recalled his financial condition and hastened to say, a
trifle lamely:
"Come to think about it, I believe I'll stay out. I never gamble."
Chancing to glance up at the moment, he found Mr. Cortlandt's eyes
fixed upon him with a peculiarly amused look, and a few minutes later
he followed Mr. Stein to the deck above.
Once in his own stateroom, the young man began a thorough exploration,
realizing more keenly than before that without baggage or money his
plight might prove distressing. But, look as he would, he could find no
trace of either, and an inadvertent glance in the mirror betrayed the
further fact that his linen was long since past a presentable stage.
Another despairing search showed that even his watch was gone and that
his only asset, evidently overlooked by the hilarious Higgins and his
co-partner in crime, was a modest three-stone finger ring. He was
regarding this speculatively when the purser knocked, then entered at
his call.
"I've just heard that there's a mistake about your ticket," the
new-comer began. "It is made out to 'Mr. Jefferson Locke,' but the
doctor says you insist your name is something else."
"That's right. My name is Anthony."
"Then how did I get this ticket?"
"I'm sure I don't know."
"Have you any baggage?"
"I don't know."
"What is your destination?"
"I don't know. You'll pardon my limited vocabulary?"
"Are you joking?"
"Do I look as if I were?"
"But I don't understand."
"Neither do I. But I must have some luggage--a fellow wouldn't make a
trip like this without baggage, would he?"
"I should think not. I'll look it up for you if you wish. But about
this ticket--"
"My dear man, don't bother me with that. I have worries enough as it
is. What I want now is a clean shirt and collar."
"Yes, but this ticket says--"
"Please! Look at my linen. I'll create a scandal this way."
"Mr. Locke--"
"Anthony."
"Very well, Mr. Anthony. I must straighten out this ticket affair.
Really, I must."
"All right, straighten away."
"If you are not Mr. Locke, it is no good."
"Hurrah! Put me off."
"You don't understand--the ticket is good, but--See here, there's
something mighty strange about this. You say your name isn't Locke, you
have no baggage, you even thought this ship was a hotel--"
"I did. It was a great disappointment. And now I want a shirt." Anthony
began to laugh. "Funny, isn't it?"
"You will have to buy another ticket," said the purser, with dignity.
"A bright idea!" Kirk smiled grimly; then, turning his pockets wrong
side out, continued lightly: "You look me over and if you can find the
price of a ticket I'll give you half."
"Then you have lost your money as well as your baggage and your
identity?"
"So it would seem."
"Impossible!"
It was plain that the officer was growing angry, so Kirk made haste to
say:
"Now let's be friends, at least. By-the-way--pardon the personal nature
of the question--but--what size shirt do you wear?"
"Seventeen."
"Saved! Let me have about six, will you?"
"Certainly NOT," returned the other. "I need all I have."
"Miser! Then you must help me find some one my size."
The purser, however, seemed in no mood to go shirt-hunting, and backed
out of the door, saying: "I'll have a look for your baggage,
Mr.--Anthony, and I'll see the captain about this ticket, also. I don't
know whether you're making fun of me or not, but--I'll look you up
later."
He departed, shaking his head as if this were a form of insanity he had
never before encountered. A moment later Kirk followed him and made a
round of the deck, staring at each man he met and mentally estimating
the girth of his neck; but it seemed that the male passengers of the
Santa Cruz were all of medium size, and he saw no one whose appearance
held out the slightest hope. He did observe one fellow whose neck
seemed as large as his own, but the man looked surly and not too
cleanly, and Kirk was not yet desperate enough to bring himself to the
point of approaching such a fellow for such a favor. He thought of
appealing directly to the captain, but promptly remembered that he was
a small, wiry man whose wardrobe could by no possible chance afford him
relief. At last he made his way toward the smoking-room, determined to
enlist the help of his new acquaintance, Stein.
Midway aft, he paused. A girl had emerged from the deck-house ahead of
him, whose appearance was sufficiently striking to divert him,
momentarily at least, from his quest. She was well above the usual
height, quite slender, yet of an exquisite rounded fulness, while her
snug-fitting tailor-made gown showed the marks of a Redfern or a
Paquin. He noted, also, that her stride was springy and athletic and
her head well carried. Feeling that friendly approval with which one
recognizes a member of his own kind, Kirk let his eyes follow her, then
retraced his way around the deck in the hope of meeting her face to
face.
A woman frequently betrays her beauty by the poise of her head, by the
turn of her neck, or the lines of her figure, just as truly as by a
full glimpse of her features. Hence it was that Anthony felt a certain
pleasurable expectancy as he crossed in front of the deck-house,
realizing that she was approaching. But when they had met and passed he
went his way vaguely disappointed. Instead of a girl, as the first
sight of her youthful figure had led him to expect, he had seen a woman
of perhaps forty. There was little in her countenance to reveal her age
except a certain settled look that does not go with girlhood, and,
while no one could have thought her plain, she was certainly not so
handsome as he had imagined from a distance. Yet the face was
attractive. The eyes were wide-set, gray, and very clear, the mouth
large enough to be expressive. Her hair shone in the morning sun with a
delicate bronze lustre like that of a turkey's wing. It did not add to
the young man's comfort to realize that her one straight, casual glance
in passing had taken him in from his soiled collar to his somewhat
extreme patent leathers with the tan tops and pearl buttons.
Being very young himself and of limited social experience, he classed
all women as either young or old--there was no middle ground. So he
dismissed her from his thoughts and continued his search for a number
seventeen shirt, and collar to match. But he did not fare well. He
found Mr. Stein in the smoking-room, but discovered that his size was
fifteen and a half; and there was no one else to whom he could apply.
For a second time Stein importuned him to buy a chance on the ship's
run, and, failing in this, suggested that they have a drink together.
Had not Kirk realized in time his inability to reciprocate he would
have accepted eagerly, for his recent dissipation had left him
curiously weak and nervous. At the cost of an effort, however, he
refused. It was a rare experience for him to refuse anything, being,
like many indolent youths, an accomplished guest. In fact, he was
usually as ready to accept favors as he was carelessly generous when he
happened to be in funds. The technique of receiving comes to some
people naturally; others cannot assume an obligation without giving
offence. Kirk was one of the former. Yet now he felt a sudden, strange
hesitancy and a self-consciousness that made graceful acquiescence
impossible. He continued firm, therefore, even when Stein gibed at him
good-humoredly:
"I suppose it's against your principles to drink, as well as to gamble?"
"Exactly."
"That's good, after the way you came aboard."
"How did I come aboard?"
"Oh, I didn't see you, but I heard about it."
Kirk flushed uncomfortably, muttering: "The acoustics of this ship are
great. A man can't fall asleep but what somebody hears it."
Stein laughed: "Don't get sore; all ships are alike--we have to talk
about something. Sorry I can't help you with the shirt question. Deuced
careless of them to lose your luggage."
"Yes! It makes one feel about as comfortable as a man with a broken arm
and the prickly heat. Something's got to be done about it, that's all."
He glared enviously at the well-dressed men about the room.
Over in a corner, propped against the leather upholstery, was Mr.
Cortlandt, as pale, as reserved, and as saturnine as at breakfast. He
was sipping Scotch-and-soda, and in all the time that Anthony remained
he did not speak to a soul save the waiter, did not shift his position
save to beckon for another drink. Something about his sour,
introspective aloofness displeased the onlooker, who shortly returned
to the deck.
The day was warming up, and on the sunny side of the ship the steamer
chairs were filling. Two old men were casting quoits; a noisy quartette
was playing shuffle-board. After idling back and forth for a time, Kirk
selected a chair and stretched himself out; but he was scarcely seated
before the deck steward approached him and said:
"Do you wish this chair for the voyage, sir?"
"Yes, I think so."
"I'll put your name on it."
"Anthony, Suite A, third floor, front."