the chair, saying, "One dollar, if you please."
"What?"
"The price of the chair is one dollar."
"I haven't got a dollar."
The steward laughed as if to humor his passenger. "I'm afraid then you
can't have the chair."
"So I must stand up all the way to Panama, eh?"
"You are joking, sir. I'll have to pay it myself, if you don't."
"That's right--make me as uncomfortable as possible. By-the-way, what
size collar do you wear?"
"Sixteen."
Kirk sighed. "Send the purser to me, will you? I'll fix up the chair
matter with him."
While he was talking he heard the rustle of skirts close by and saw the
woman he had met earlier seating herself next to him. With her was a
French maid bearing a rug in her hands. It annoyed the young man to
realize that out of all the chairs on deck he had selected the one
nearest hers, and he would have changed his position had he not been
too indolent. As it was, he lay idly listening to her words of
direction to the maid; but as she spoke in French, he was undecided
whether she was telling her companion that bad weather was imminent, or
that the laundry needed counting--his mind, it seemed, ran to laundry.
Then the purser appeared. "Did you send for me?" he inquired.
"Yes. There was a strange man around just now, and he wanted a dollar
for this chair."
"Well?"
"I want to establish a line of credit."
The purser grunted.
"And say!" Kirk ran on, seriously. "I've been all over your little
ship, but the passengers are boys' size. I can't wear this collar any
longer."
"And I can't find any baggage of yours."
"Then there isn't any. I never really expected there was. Come now, be
a good fellow. This is my 'case shirt."
"If you really wish some clothes, I'll see what I can find among the
stewards."
"No, no," Kirk hastily interposed, "I can't wear a shirt with soup
stains on it. Let me have one of yours--we're twin brothers."
"I have no more than I need," said the purser, coldly. He opened a
cigarette case, at which Anthony gazed longingly. It seemed ages since
he had had a smoke; but the other seemed disinclined for small
courtesies.
"I've seen the captain about that ticket matter," he went on, "and he
says you must buy another."
Kirk shook his head languidly. "Once more I tell you there is nothing
doing."
The officer broke out with some heat: "If you are joking, you've
carried this thing far enough. If you are really strapped, as you say
you are, how does it happen that you are occupying the best suite on
the ship?"
"It is a long story."
"Humph! You will have to give up those quarters and go forward."
"Why? You have your money for that ticket?"
"Yes, but you're not Mr. Locke."
Kirk smiled meditatively. "How do you know?" he queried.
"Good heavens! You've told me so a dozen--"
"Ah! Then you have nothing except my word. Well, sir, now that I come
to think it over, I believe my name is Locke, after all." He grinned.
"Anyhow, I love my little room and I think I'll keep it. Please don't
be peevish. I want you to do me a favor." He removed the ring from his
finger, and, handing it to the Purser, said "I want you to get me two
diamonds' and a ruby's worth of shirts and collars; and also a safety
razor. My mind has stopped working, but my whiskers continue to grow."
The officer managed to say with dignity: "You wish to raise money on
this, I presume? Very well, I'll see what can be done for you, Mr.
Locke." As he turned away, Kirk became conscious that the woman in the
next chair had let her book fall and was watching him with amused
curiosity. Feeling a sudden desire to confide in some one, he turned
his eyes upon her with such a natural, boyish smile that she could not
take offence, and began quite as if he had known her for some time:
"These people are money-mad, aren't they? Worst bunch of gold-diggers I
ever saw." Surprised, she half raised her book, but Kirk ran on:
"Anybody would think I was trying to find a missing will instead of a
shirt. That purser is the only man on the ship my size, and he
distrusts me."
The woman murmured something unintelligible. "I hope you don't mind my
speaking to you," he added. "I'm awfully lonesome. My name is Anthony,
Kirk Anthony."
Evidently the occupant of the next chair was not a football enthusiast,
for, although she bowed her acknowledgment, her face showed that the
name carried no significance.
"I understood you to tell the purser your name was Locke," said she, in
a very low-pitched, well-modulated voice. "I couldn't help overhearing."
"But it isn't really, it's Anthony. I'm the undignified heir to the
stocks and bonds of an old party by that name who lives in Albany."
"Darwin K. Anthony?" questioned she, quickly. "Is he your father?" Her
face lighted with a flash of genuine interest.
Kirk nodded. "He's my prodigal father and I'm the fatted son. Do you
know the governor?"
"Yes, slightly."
"Well, what do you think of that? He's a great old party, isn't he?" He
chuckled irrepressibly. "Did you ever hear him swear?"
The woman shook her head with a smile. "I hardly know him well enough
for that."
"Oh, he's a free performer; he swears naturally; can't help it.
Everybody knows he doesn't mean anything. It's funny, isn't it, with
all his credit, that I can't get a shirt until I put up a diamond ring?
He could buy a railroad with half that security."
"You are joking, are you not?"
"No indeed. I never needed a shirt so badly in my life. You see, I
didn't intend to take this trip; I didn't even know I had sailed. When
I woke up I thought this was a hotel. I've got no more baggage than a
robin."
"Really?" The woman by now had closed her book and was giving him her
full attention, responding to some respectful quality in his tone that
robbed his frankness of offence. "How did it happen?"
"Well, to be perfectly honest, I got drunk--just plain drunk. I didn't
think so at the time, understand, for I'd never been the least bit that
way before. Hope I don't shock you?"
His new acquaintance shrugged her shoulders. "I have seen something of
the world; I'm not easily shocked."
"Well, I was perfectly sober the last I remember, and then I woke up on
the Santa Cruz. I'd never even heard the name before."
"And hadn't you intended taking an ocean trip?"
"Good Lord, no! I had just bought a new French car and was going to
drive it up to New Haven yesterday. It's standing out on Forty-fifth
Street now, if somebody hasn't stolen it. Gee! I can see the news-boys
cutting their monograms in those tires."
"How remarkable!"
"You see, it was a big night--football game, supper, and all that. I
remember everything up to a certain point, then--curtain! I was 'out'
for twelve hours, and SICK!--that's the funny part; I'm still sick." He
shook his head as if at a loss what to make of this phenomenon. He
noted how the woman's countenance lighted at even a passing interest,
as he continued: "What I can't understand is this: It took all my money
to pay for the supper, and yet I wake up with a first-class ticket to
Panama and in possession of one of the best suites on the ship. It's a
problem play."
"You say you were sick afterward?"
"WAS I?" Kirk turned his eyes upon the speaker, mournfully. "My head
isn't right yet."
"You were drugged," said the woman.
"By Jove!" He straightened up in his chair. "Knockouts!"
"Exactly. Some one drugged you and bought a ticket--"
"Wait! I'm beginning to see. It was Locke. That's how I got his name.
This is his ticket. Oh! There's going to be something doing when I get
back."
"What?"
"I don't know yet, but I'm going to sit right here and brood upon some
fitting revenge. After that chap gets out of the hospital--"
"You did not impress me as a college student," said the stranger.
"I'm not. I graduated four years ago. I barely made it, but I did get
through."
"And you have never been to the tropics?"
"Not since I had my last row with the governor. Have you?"
"Many times. It will prove an interesting trip for you. At least you
have that consolation."
"What is it like?"
Evidently the artless effrontery of the young man had not offended, for
his neighbor talked freely, and in a short time the two were conversing
as easily as old acquaintances. This was due, perhaps, to the fact that
he had appealed to her with the same frankness he would have used
toward a man and, thus far at least, had quite ignored her sex. She was
sufficiently quick to appreciate the footing thus established, and
allowed herself to meet him half-way. Had he presumed in the slightest,
she would have chilled him instantly; but, as it was, she seemed to
feel the innate courtesy back of his boldness, seeing in him only a
big, unaffected boy who needed an outlet for his feelings. In the same
way, had a fine St. Bernard dog thrust a friendly head beneath her hand
she would have petted it.
When at last she rose, after an hour that had swiftly sped, she was
gratified at the look of concern that came into his eyes. She looked at
him with genuine approval as he bowed and said:
"Thank you for the pointers about Panama. I hope I may have the
pleasure of talking to you again."
When she had disappeared he murmured, admiringly:
"Jove! She's a corker! And she's not so old, after all. I wonder who
she--" He leaned over and read the card on the back of her steamer
chair. "Mrs. Stephen Cortlandt, Suite B," it was lettered.
Straightening up, he grumbled with genuine disappointment: "Just my
blamed luck! She's MARRIED."
V
A REMEDY IS PROPOSED
By pledging his one article of jewelry Kirk became possessed that
afternoon of several shirts, collars, and handkerchiefs--likewise a
razor, over which he exercised a sort of leasehold privilege. The
purser made it plain, however, that he had not sold these articles, but
merely loaned them, holding the ring as security for their return, and
this arrangement allowed Kirk no spare cash whatever. Even with all his
necessities paid for, it surprised him to find how many channels
remained for spending money. For instance, the most agreeable loafing
spot on the ship was the smoking-room, but whenever he entered it he
was invited to drink, smoke, or play cards, and as he was fond of all
these diversions, it required such an effort of will to refuse that it
destroyed all the pleasure of good company. It was very hard always to
be saying no; and in addition it excited his disgust to learn that he
had inadvertently founded a reputation for abstemiousness.
Before long he discovered that the passengers considered him an
exceptionally sober, steady youth of economical habits, and this
enraged him beyond measure. Every tinkle of ice or hiss of seltzer made
his mouth water, the click of poker chips drew him with magnetic power.
He longed mightily to "break over" and have a good time. It was his
first effort at self-restraint, and the warfare became so intense that
he finally gave up the smoking-room almost entirely, and spent his
hours on deck, away from temptation. He suffered most, perhaps, from
the lack of tobacco, but even in the matter of cigarettes he could not
bring himself to accept favors that he could not return. In the
solitude of his richly appointed suite he collected a few cork-bound
stumps, which he impaled on a toothpick in order to light them.
Meanwhile he amused himself by baiting the purser. He dogged that
serious-minded gentleman through all his waking hours, finding a rare
delight in playing upon his suspicion and lack of humor. To him Kirk
was always Mr. Locke, while he insisted upon being called Mr. Anthony
by the others, and the officer never quite got the hang of it.
Moreover, the latter was full of dignity, and did not relish being
connected with a certainly dubious and possibly criminal character, yet
dared not resort to rudeness as a means of riddance.
The situation was trying enough to the young man at best; for the
ship's hirelings began to show a lack of interest in his comfort, once
it became known that he did not tip, and he experienced difficulty in
obtaining even the customary attentions. It was annoying to one who had
never known an unsatisfied whim; but Kirk was of a peculiarly sanguine
temperament that required much to ruffle, and looked upon the whole
matter as a huge joke. It was this, perhaps, that enabled him to make
friends in spite of his unsociable habits, for the men liked him. As
for the women, he avoided them religiously, with the exception of Mrs.
Cortlandt, whom he saw for an hour or two, morning and afternoon, as
well as at meal-times. With her he got on famously, finding her nearly
as entertaining as a male chum, though he never quite lost his dislike
for her husband. Had she been unmarried and nearer his own age, their
daily intimacy might have caused him to become self-conscious, but,
under the circumstances, no such thought occurred to him, and he began
to look forward with pleasure to their hours on deck.
The Santa Cruz was four days out before Cortlandt joined them, and when
he did he merely nodded casually to Kirk, then, after exchanging a
polite word or two with his wife, lapsed into his customary silence,
while Mrs. Cortlandt continued her conversation without a second glance
in her husband's direction.
"That's what I call an ideal married couple," Kirk reflected--"complete
understanding, absolute confidence." And the more he saw of them, the
stronger this impression grew. Cortlandt was always attentive and
courteous, without being demonstrative, while his wife showed a
charming graciousness that was plainly unassumed. Their perfect
good-breeding made the young man feel at ease; but though he endeavored
to cultivate the husband on several occasions, he made little headway.
The man evidently possessed a wide knowledge of current events, a keen
understanding of men and things, yet he never opened up. He listened,
smiled, spoke rarely, and continued to spend nine-tenths of his time in
that isolated corner of the smoking-room, with no other company than a
long glass and a siphon.
One day when Kirk had begun to feel that his acquaintance with Mrs.
Cortlandt was well established, he said to her:
"Stein told me to-day that your husband is in the diplomatic service."
"Yes," said she. "He was Consul-General to Colombia several years ago,
and since then he has been to France and to Germany."
"I thought you were tourists--you have travelled so much."
"Most of our journeys have been made at the expense of the Government."
"Are you diplomatting now?"
"In a way. We shall be in Panama for some time."
"This Stein seems to be a nice fellow. He's taken quite a liking to me."
Mrs. Cortlandt laughed lightly. "That is part of his business."
"How so?"
"He is one of Colonel Jolson's secret agents."
"Who is Colonel Jolson?"
"Chairman of the Isthmian Canal Commission. Your father knows him."
"Do you mean that Stein is a--detective?" Kirk looked uncomfortable.
"I do! Does he know you are the son of Darwin K. Anthony?"
"Why, yes, I suppose so."
"Colonel Jolson will be interested."
"Again I don't see the point."
"Your father is one of the most powerful and aggressive railroad men in
the country. Perhaps you know something about the railroad opposition
to the canal?"
Kirk smiled. "Well, to tell you the truth," said he, "the governor
doesn't consult me about his business as much as he ought to. He seems
to think he can run it all right without me, and we've only been
speaking over the telephone lately."
"One of the strongest forces the Government had to combat in putting
through the canal appropriations was the railroads. Colonel Jolson has
no reason to love your father."
"Yes, but _I_ don't object to this canal. I think it must be a rather
good idea."
Mrs. Cortlandt laughed for a second time. "The Colonel's dislike for
your father will not affect you, inasmuch as you are returning so soon,
but if you intended to stay it might be different."
"In what way?"
"Oh, in many ways. There are two classes of people who are not welcomed
on the Canal Zone--magazine writers and applicants for positions who
have political influence back of them. The former are regarded as
muckrakers, the latter as spies."
"That's rather rough on them, isn't it?"
"You must understand that there is a great big human machine behind the
digging of this canal, and, while it is more wonderful by far than the
actual machinery of iron and steel, it is subject to human weaknesses.
Men like Colonel Jolson, who form a part of it, are down here to make
reputations for themselves. They are handicapped and vexed by constant
interference, constant jealousy. It is a survival of the fittest, and I
suppose they feel that they must protect themselves even if they use
underhand means to do so. It is so in all big work of this character,
where the individual is made small. You would find the same condition
in your father's railroad organization."
"Oh, now! My old man is a pretty tough citizen to get along with, but
he wouldn't hire detectives to spy on his employees."
Mrs. Cortlandt smiled. "By-the-way, when are you going into business
with him?" she said.
"I? Oh, not for a long time. You see, I'm so busy I never seem to have
time to work. Work doesn't really appeal to me, anyway. I suppose if I
had to hustle I could, but--what's the use?"
"What is it that keeps you so busy? What are you going to do when you
get back, for instance?"
"Well, I'm going to Ormond for the auto races, and I may enter my new
car. If I don't get hurt in the races I'll take a hunting trip or two.
Then I want to try out an iceboat on the Hudson, and I'll have to be
back in New Haven by the time the baseball squad limbers up. Oh, I have
plenty of work ahead!"
Mrs. Cortlandt let her eyes dwell upon him curiously for a moment; then
she said:
"Have you no ambition?"
"Certainly."
"What is it?"
"Why--" Kirk hesitated. "I can't say right off the reel, but I've got
it--lots of it."
"Is there no--girl, for instance? Have you never been in love?"
"Oh, see here, now!" Anthony blushed in a manner to excite the envy of
any woman. "I don't like 'em. I'd rather play football."
"That explains something. When the time comes you will cease wasting
your life and--"
"I'm NOT wasting my life," the young man denied hotly. "I'm having a
great time; simply immense."
"I remember reading an article once by a man who attacked American
colleges with bitter personal feeling, on the ground that they fostered
exactly the attitude toward life which you have just expressed."
Anthony looked sober. "That was my father," he said.
"Really! How stupid of me to forget the name. But I don't agree with
him," she continued, gently. "You merely lack stimulus. If you should
meet the right woman--" Then, seeing the amusement in his face;
"Believe me, I know what I am talking about. I know what a woman can
do. Your life has been too easy and placid. You need some disturbing
element to make it ferment."
"But I don't want to ferment."
"Why don't you stay in Panama and go to work?"
"Work? Hideous word! For one thing, I haven't time. I must get back--"
"You will find great opportunities there."
"But how about the girl who is to sour the syrup of my being and make
it ferment?"
"Oh, she may appear at any moment; but, joking aside, you had better
think over what I have said." She left him with an admonitory shake of
her head.
The SANTA CRUZ was now rapidly drawing out of the cold northern winter
and into a tropic warmth. Already the raw chill of higher latitudes was
giving way to a balmy, spring-like temperature, while the glittering
sunshine transformed the sea into a lively, gleaming expanse of
sapphire. The nights were perfect, the days divine. The passengers
responded as if to a magic draught, and Kirk found his blood filled
with a new vigor.
A brief sight of Columbus' Landfall served to break the monotony; then
followed a swift flight past low, tropical islands ringed with coral
sand, upon which broke a lazy, milk-white surf. Through the glasses
villages were spied, backed by palm groves and guarded by tall sentinel
lighthouses; but the Santa Cruz pushed steadily southward, her decks as
level as a dancing floor, the melancholy voice of her bell tolling the
leagues as they slipped past. The eastern tongue of Cuba rose out of
the horizon, then dropped astern, and the gentle trades began to fan
the travellers. Now that they were in the Caribbean, schools of flying
fish whisked out from under the ship's prow, and away, like tiny
silver-sheathed arrows. New constellations rose into the evening sky.
It became impossible to rest indoors, with the trade-winds calling, and
the passengers spent long, lazy hours basking in the breath of the
tropics and grudging the pleasure of which sleep deprived them.
It was the last night of the voyage, and the thrill of approaching land
was felt by all. As usual, the monotony of the first day or two had
given way to an idle contentment and a vague regret at leaving the ship
and severing the ties so newly made. Home, instead of looming close and
overshadowing, had become a memory rather indistinct and blurred,
clouded by the proximity of the new and unknown.
Kirk Anthony acknowledged to a reluctant enjoyment of the change and
found himself less eager to go back. As he paced the deck after dinner
he felt a lurking desire to defer his return until he had absorbed
something more of this warmth and languor; he even reflected that he
might welcome a stay of some length in the tropics if it were not for
the fact that he had so much to do.
Mrs. Cortlandt joined him as usual, and they did a mile around the
promenade, chatting idly of many things. The evening was too glorious
to permit of early retiring, and a late hour found them leaning over
the rail, side by side, while Anthony bewailed the fact that he knew
nothing of the country just beyond the dark horizon ahead of them.
"You are quite right," his companion agreed. "You will miss its best
flavor if you don't know the history back of it. For instance, we are
now on the Spanish Main, the traditional home of romance and adventure."
"I always wanted to be a pirate," he acknowledged gravely, "up to
fifteen. Then I thought I'd rather run a candy store."
"The ships of Sir Henry Morgan and the galleons of His Catholic Majesty
Philip of Spain sailed these waters. Over yonder"--she waved a graceful
hand to the north and east--"are the haunts where the adventurers of
old England used to lie in wait for their prey. Ahead of us is the land
that Pizarro soaked with blood. We're coming into the oldest country on
this side of the globe, Mr. Anthony, where men lived in peace and
plenty when most of Europe was a wilderness. I suppose such things
appeal more to a woman's fancy than to a man's, but to me they're
mightily alluring."
Kirk wagged his head admiringly, as he said:
"I wish I could make language behave like that," and Edith Cortlandt
laughed like a young girl.
"Oh, I'm not a perfervid poet," she disclaimed, "but everything down
here is so full of association I can't help feeling it."
"I'm beginning to notice it myself. Maybe it's the climate."
"Perhaps. Anyhow, it is all very vivid to me. Did you ever stop to
think how brave those men must have been who first went venturing into
unknown seas in their little wooden boats?"
"They were looking for a short cut to the East Indies, weren't they?"
"Yes, to Cathay. And then the people they found and conquered! The
spoils they exacted! They were men--those conquistadores--whatever else
they were--big, cruel, heroic fellows like Bastida, Nicuesa, Balboa,
Pedrarias the Assassin, and the rest. They oppressed the natives
terribly, yet they paved the way for civilization, after all. The
Spaniards did try to uplift the Indians, you know. And the life in the
colonies was like that in old Spain, only more romantic and
picturesque. Why, whenever I pass through these Latin-American cities I
see, in place of the crumbling ruins, grand cathedrals and palaces; in
place of the squalid beggars idling about the market-places I see
velvet-clad dons and high-born ladies."
"Aren't there any beautiful ladies left?"
"A few, perhaps."
"What happened to the cathedrals and the velvet fellows and all that?"