"I haven't decided yet just what to do with him, but the scoundrel
undoubtedly belongs in South Carolina, and I have every intention of
making his own state punish him."
The prisoner leaned heavily against his prison door and glared out upon
his jailer with a new, fierce interest.
"I tell you I've nothing to do with the Appleweights! I don't want to
reveal my identity to you, you young beggar; but I demand my legal
rights."
"My dear sir," retorted Ardmore, "you have no legal rights, for the writ
of habeas corpus doesn't go here. You seem rather intelligent for a
barn burner and timber thief. Come now, what is your name?"
The prisoner gazed down upon the imperturbable figure of his captor
through the slats of the corn-crib. Ardmore returned his gaze with his
most bland and child-like air. Many people had been driven to the point
of madness by Ardmore's apparent dullness. The prisoner realized that he
must launch a thunderbolt if he would disturb a self-possession so
complete--a tranquillity as sweet as the fading afternoon.
"Mr. Ardmore, I dislike to do it, but your amazing conduct makes it
necessary for me to disclose my identity," and the man's manner showed
real embarrassment.
"I knew it; I knew it;" nodded Ardmore, folding his arms across his
chest. "You're either the King of Siam or the Prince of Petosky. As
either, I salute you!"
"No!" roared the captive, beating impotently against the door of the
cage with his hands. "No! I'm the governor of South Carolina!"
This statement failed, however, to produce the slightest effect on Mr.
Ardmore, who only smiled slightly, a smile less incredulous than
disdainful.
"Oh, pshaw! that's nothing," he replied; "_I'm_ the governor of North
Carolina!" and mounting his horse he gravely lifted his hat to the
prisoner and galloped away.
While Mr. Ardmore was securing his prisoner in the corn-crib it may be
interesting to return for a moment to the haunted log cabin on Raccoon
Creek, the interior of which was roughly but comfortably furnished.
Above were two small sleeping-rooms, and beside the bed in each stood a
suit-case and a hand-satchel. In each room hung, on convenient hooks, a
long, black frock-coat, a pair of trousers of light cloth, and a
broad-brim black felt hat. Coat, trousers and hat were exactly alike.
In the room below sat a man in his shirt-sleeves, his feet on a cheap
deal table, blowing rings from a cigar. He presented a picture of the
greatest ease and contentment, as he occasionally stroked his short
brown beard, or threw up his arms and clasped his hands about his head
or caught lazily at the smoke rings. On the table lay an array of
playing cards and poker chips.
"It's too good to last forever," the lone occupant reflected aloud,
stifling a yawn, and he reached out, with careless indifference, toward
a bundle of newspapers tied together with a piece of twine and drew one
out and spread it across his knees. He yawned again as though the
thought of a world whose affairs were stamped in printer's ink bored
him immensely; and then the bold head-lines that shouted at him across
half a quarter of the sheet caused him to gasp, and his feet struck the
bare floor of the cabin resoundingly. He now bent over the paper with
the greatest eagerness, muttering as he read, and some of his mutterings
were, it must be confessed, not without profane embellishment.
TWO COWARDLY GOVERNORS MISSING
SCANDAL AFFECTING TWO STATE EXECUTIVES
IS THE APPLEWEIGHT CASE RESPONSIBLE?
RUMORS OF FATAL DUEL ON STATE LINE
He read breathlessly the startling story that followed the head-lines,
then rose and glanced anxiously at his watch.
"Am I drunk or mad? I must find Osborne and get out of this."
He leaped to the open door, and gazed into the forest from a little
platform that commanded all sides of the cabin. And there, to his utter
amazement, he saw men in khaki emerging cautiously from the woods. They
were unmistakably soldiers of some sort, for an officer was giving sharp
commands, and the line opened out like a fan along the creek. The
observer of this maneuver mopped his head with his handkerchief as he
watched the alert movements of the figures in khaki.
He was so absorbed that he failed to hear stealthy steps at the rear of
the platform, but he was now rudely aroused by two uniformed youngsters
with S. C. N. G. on their caps, who sprang upon him and bore him with a
crash to the puncheon floor.
"You're our prisoner!" shouted one of them, rising when he found that
the prisoner yielded without resistance.
"What for?" blurted the captive, sitting up and rubbing his elbow.
"For being Bill Appleweight, _alias_ Poteet. Get up, now, and come with
us to headquarters, or my instructions are to break your head."
"Who in the devil are you?" panted the prisoner.
"Well, if it's anything to you, we're the South Carolina militia, so
you'd better get up and climb."
CHAPTER XVI
THE FLIGHT OF GILLINGWATER
"It will be better for me to break the news to Colonel Gillingwater,"
said Jerry, "and you must go out and meet the troops yourself, with Mr.
Cooke and that amusing Mr. Collins. There is no telling what effect my
tidings will have on Rutherford, or what he will decide to do. He has
never before been so near trouble as he is now, and I may have to give
him first aid to the injured when he finds out that the South Carolina
troops are on Raccoon Creek, all ready to march upon our sacred soil."
"But suppose your adjutant-general shouldn't go back to his troops after
he sees you, then what am I to do?"
"If you don't see him by ten o'clock you will take personal command and
exercise your own discretion as to the best method of landing
Appleweight in a South Carolina jail. After that we must find papa, and
it will be up to him to satisfy the newspapers and his constituents with
some excuse for his strange disappearance."
Collins had come from Raleigh on the evening train, and he had solemnly
assured Ardmore that the present state of affairs could not be
maintained another twenty-four hours. He had exhausted his professional
resources, and the North Carolina newspapers of all shades of opinion
were clamoring for the truth, and were insisting that, for the honor and
dignity of the state, Governor Dangerfield should show himself in
Raleigh. Even the metropolitan press, which Collins had filled for
several days with blithe stories of the administration's vigorous policy
in the Appleweight case, had refused further matter from him.
"We've got to find Dangerfield or bust. Now, where is that eminent
statesman, Ardmore? You can't tell me you don't know; but if you don't,
Miss Dangerfield does, and she's got to tell."
"She hasn't the slightest idea, but if the newspapers find out that he's
really and truly missing, he will have to show up; but first we've got
to take Appleweight off that case of Chateau Bizet and lodge him in the
jail at Turner Court House, and let Governor Osborne have the odium of
incarcerating the big chief of the border, to whom he is under the
greatest political obligations."
"But it's all over the country now that Osborne hasn't been seen in
Columbia since he and Dangerfield had that row in New Orleans. Cranks
are turning up everywhere, pretending to be governors of various states,
and old Dangerfield is seen on all the outgoing steamers. There's been
nothing like it since the kidnapping of Charley Ross."
Ardmore drew on his riding-gloves reflectively, and a delighted grin
illuminated his countenance.
"I caught a lunatic down on the Raccoon this afternoon who said _he_ was
the governor of South Carolina, and I locked him up."
"Well, he may be Osborne," remarked Collins, with journalistic
suspicion.
"And he may be a Swiss admiral or the king of Mars. I guess I'm a
governor myself, and I know what a governor looks like and acts
like--you can't fool me. I put this impostor where he'll have a chance
to study astronomy to-night."
"Then he isn't on that case of Chateau Bizet with Appleweight?"
"No; I locked him up in a corn-crib until I get time to study his
credentials. Come along now!"
Ardmore, Collins and Cooke rode rapidly away through the wide gates of
the estate along the Sapphire road, over which, by his last bulletin,
the adjutant-general of North Carolina was marching his troops. They
had left Cooke's men with Paul's foresters to guard the house and to
picket the banks of the Raccoon in the immediate neighborhood of the
camp of the South Carolinians.
"I guess those fellows can hold 'em till morning," said Cooke. "We've
got to clean up the whole business by to-morrow night. You can't have
two states at war with each other this way without shaking up the
universe, and if federal troops come down here to straighten things out
it won't be funny."
They had ridden about a mile, when Cooke checked his horse with an
exclamation.
"There's somebody coming like the devil was after him. It must be
Gillingwater."
They drew rein and waited, the quick patter of hoofs ringing out sharply
in the still night. The moonlight gave them a fair sweep of the road,
and they at once saw a horseman galloping rapidly toward them.
"Lordy, the man's on fire!" gasped Ardmore.
"By George, you're right!" muttered Collins, moving nervously in his
saddle. "It's a human sunburst."
"It's only his gold braid," explained the practical Cooke.
"He must have on solid gold armor, then," declared Collins.
Seeing three men drawn across the road, the horseman began to check his
flight.
"Men!" he shouted, as his horse pawed the air with its forefeet, "is
this the road to Ardsley?"
"Right you are," yelled Cooke, and they were aware of a flash, a glitter
that startled and dazzled the eye, and Colonel Rutherford Gillingwater
thundered on.
Ardmore looked at his watch.
"He's undoubtedly a man of action, if I ever saw one; and I think we are
to be congratulated on having so gallant a commander for our troops,"
said the master of Ardsley; but the sight of Rutherford Gillingwater had
filled his soul with jealous forebodings. He had heard that women are
prone to fall in worship before warriors in their battle armor, and he
was sure that Jerry Dangerfield was a girl of infinitely kind heart, who
might not, when face to face with the issue, subject the man she had
engaged to marry to any severe test.
They rode on, however, and saw presently the lights of camp-fires, and a
little later were ceremoniously halted at the roadside by an armed
guard.
It had been arranged that Collins, who had once been a second
lieutenant in the Georgia militia, should be presented as an officer of
the regular army, detailed as special aide to Governor Dangerfield
during the encampment, and that in case Gillingwater failed to return
promptly he should take command of the North Carolina forces.
An open field had been seized for the night's camp, and the tents
already shone white in the moonlight. The three men introduced
themselves to the militia officers, and Collins expressed their regret
that they had missed the adjutant-general.
"Governor Dangerfield wished you to move your force on to Ardsley should
we fail to meet Colonel Gillingwater; and you had better strike your
tents and be in readiness to advance in case he doesn't personally
return with orders."
Captain Collins, as he had designated himself, apologized for not being
in uniform.
"I lost my baggage train," he laughed, "and Governor Dangerfield is so
anxious not to miss this opportunity to settle the Appleweight case that
I hurried out to meet you with these gentlemen."
"Appleweight!" exclaimed the group of officers in amazement.
"None other than the great Appleweight!" responded Collins. "The
governor has him in his own hands at last, and is going to carry him
across the border and into a South Carolina bastile, as a little
pleasantry on the governor of South Carolina."
"He's had a sudden change of heart if he's captured Appleweight,"
remarked a major incredulously. "His policy has always been to let old
Bill alone."
"It's only a ripple of the general reform wave that's sweeping the
country," suggested Ardmore cheerfully. "Turn the rascals out; put the
rascals in; keep the people hopeful and the jails full. That's the
Dangerfield watchword."
"Well, I guess Dangerfield knows how to drive the hearse if there's got
to be a funeral," observed the quartermaster. "The governor's not a man
to ride inside if he can find another corpse."
And they all laughed and accepted the situation as promising better
diversion than they had expected from the summer maneuvers.
The militia officers gave the necessary orders for breaking the
half-formed camp, and then turned their attention to the entertainment
of their guests. Ardmore kept track of the time, and promptly at ten
o'clock Collins rose from the log by the roadside where they had been
sitting.
"We must obey the governor's orders, gentlemen," said Collins
courteously, "and march at once to Ardsley. I, you understand, am only a
courier, and your guest for the present."
"If you please," asked Cooke, when the line had begun to move forward,
"what is that wagon over there?"
He pointed to a mule team hitched to a quartermaster's wagon that a
negro was driving into position across the rough field. It was piled
high with luggage, a pyramid that rose black against the heavens. One of
the militia officers, evidently greatly annoyed, bawled to the driver to
get back out of the way.
"Pardon me," said Collins politely, "but is that your personal baggage,
gentlemen?"
"That belongs to Colonel Gillingwater," remarked the quartermaster. "The
rest of us have a suit-case apiece."
"Do you mean," demanded Ardmore, "that the adjutant-general carries all
that luggage for himself?"
"That is exactly it! But," continued the quartermaster loyally, "you
never can tell what will happen when you take the field this way, and
our chief is not a man to forget any of the details of military life."
"In Washington we all think very highly of Colonel Gillingwater,"
remarked Collins, with noble condescension, "and in case we should
become involved in war he would undoubtedly be called to high rank in
the regular establishment."
"It's too bad," said Cooke, as the three drew aside and waited for a
battery of light artillery to rumble into place behind the infantry,
"it's too bad, Collins, that it didn't occur to you to impersonate the
president of the French Republic or Emperor William. You'll be my death
before we finish this job."
"This won't be so funny when Dangerfield gets hold of us," grinned the
reporter. "We'd better cheer up all we can now. We're playing with the
state of North Carolina as though it were a bean-bag. But what's that
over there?"
The pyramidal baggage wagon had gained the road behind them, and
lingered uncertainly, with the driver asleep and waiting for orders. The
conspirators were about to gallop forward to the head of the moving
column, when Collins pointed across the abandoned campground to where a
horseman, who had evidently made a wide detour of the advancing column,
rode madly toward the baggage wagon.
"The gentleman's trying to kill his horse, I should judge," murmured
Ardmore. "By Jove!"
"It's Gillingwater!" chorused the trio.
The rider in his haste had overlooked the men in the road. He dashed
through the wide opening in the fence, left by the militiamen, took the
ditch by the roadside at a leap, wakened the sleeping driver on the
wagon with a roar, and himself leaped upon the box and began turning the
horses.
"What do you think he's doing?" asked Cooke.
"He's in a hurry to get back to mother's cooking," replied Ardmore.
"He's seen Miss Dangerfield and learned that war is at hand, and he's
going to get his clothes out of danger. Lordy! Listen to him slashing
the mules!"
"But you don't think--"
The wagon had swung round, and already was in rapid flight. Collins
howled in glee.
"Come on! We can't miss a show like this!"
"Leave the horses then! There's a hill there that will break his neck.
We'd better stop him if we can!" cried Cooke, dismounting.
They threw their reins to the driver of the wagon, who had been brushed
from his seat by the impatient adjutant-general, and was chanting
weirdly to himself at the roadside.
The wagon, piled high with trunks and boxes, was dashing forward,
Gillingwater belaboring the mules furiously, and, hearing the shouts of
strange pursuers, yelling at the team in a voice shrill with fear.
"Come on, boys!" shouted Ardmore, thoroughly aroused, "catch the spy and
traitor!"
The road dipped down into the shadow of a deep cut, where the moon's dim
rays but feebly penetrated, and where the flow of springs had softened
the surface; but the pursuers were led on by the rumble of the wagon,
which swung from side to side perilously, the boxes swinging about
noisily and toppling threateningly at the apex. Down the sharp declivity
the wagon plunged like a ship bound for the bottom of the sea.
The pursuers bent gamely to their task in the rough road, with Cooke
slightly in the lead. Suddenly he shouted warningly to the others, as
something rose darkly above them like a black cloud, and a trunk fell
with a mighty crash only a few feet ahead of them. The top had been
shaken off in the fall, and into it head first plunged Ardmore.
"There's another coming!" yelled Collins, and a much larger trunk
struck and split upon a rock at the roadside. Clothing of many kinds
strewed the highway. A pair of trousers, flung fiercely into the air,
caught on the limb of a tree, shook free like a banner, and hung there
somberly etched against the stars.
Ardmore crawled out of the trunk, screaming with delight. The fragrance
of toilet water broke freshly upon the air.
"It's his ammunition!" bawled Ardmore, rubbing his head where he had
struck the edge of a tray. "His scent bottles are smashed, and it's only
by the grace of Providence that I haven't cut myself on broken glass."
"Thump! Bump!" sounded down the road.
"Are those pants up there?" asked Cooke, pointing, "or is it a hole in
the sky?"
"This," said Collins, picking up a garment from the bush over which it
had spread itself, "has every appearance of being his little nightie.
How indelicate!"
"No," said Ardmore, taking it from him, "it's a kimona of the most
expensive silk, which the colonel undoubtedly wears when they get him up
at midnight to hear the reports of his scouts."
They went down the road, stumbling now and then over a bit of debris
from the vanished wagon.
"It's like walking on carpet," observed Cooke, picking up a feathered
chapeau. "I didn't know there were so many clothes in all the world."
They abandoned the idea of farther pursuit on reaching a trunk standing
on end, from which a uniform dress-coat drooped sadly.
"This is not our trouble; it's his trouble. I guess he's struck a
smoother road down there. We'd better go back," said Cooke.
"Whom the gods would destroy they first dress in glad rags," piped
Collins.
They sat down and laughed until the negro approached warily with the
horses.
"He's lost his raiment, but saved his life," sputtered Collins, climbing
into his saddle.
"He's lost more than that," remarked Ardmore, and his flushed
countenance, noted by the others as he lighted a cigarette, was
cheerfuller than they had ever seen it before.
In a moment they had climbed the hill and were in hot pursuit of the
adjutant-general's abandoned army.
CHAPTER XVII
ON THE ROAD TO TURNER'S
"Who goes there?"
"A jug."
"What kind of a jug?"
"A little brown jug from Kildare."
Thus Mr. Thomas Ardmore tested his pickets with a shibboleth of his own
devising. The sturdy militiamen of North Carolina patrolled the northern
bank of Raccoon Creek at midnight, aware that that riotous flood alone
separated them from their foes. The terraces at Ardsley bristled with
the guns of the First Light Battery, while, upon a cot in the wine
cellar beneath, Mr. Bill Appleweight, _alias_ Poteet, slept the sleep of
the just.
He was rudely aroused, however, at one o'clock in the morning by
Ardmore, Cooke and Collins, and taken out through the kitchen to one of
the Ardsley farm wagons. Big Paul held the reins, and four of Cooke's
detectives were mounted as escort. Ardmore, Cooke and Collins were to
accompany the party as a board of strategy in the movement upon Turner
Court House, South Carolina.
Appleweight, the terror of the border, blinked at the lanterns that
flashed about him in the courtyard. He had been numbed by his
imprisonment, and even now he yielded himself docilely to the
inevitable. His capture in the first instance at Mount Nebo had been
clear enough, and he could have placed his hand on the men who did it if
he had been free for a couple of hours. This he had pondered over his
solacing solitaire as he sat on the case of Chateau Bizet in the Ardsley
wine cellar; but the subsequent events had been altogether too much for
him. He had been taken from his original captors by a girl, and while
the ignominy of this was not lost on the outlaw, his wits had been
unequal to the further fact, which he had no ground for disbelieving,
that this captivity within the walls of Ardsley had been due to a
daughter of that very governor of North Carolina whom he had counted his
friend. Why the girl had interested herself in his seizure and
incarceration; why he had been carried to the great house of a New York
gentleman whom he had never harmed in the least; and why, more than all,
he should have been locked in a room filled with bottles bearing absurd
and unintelligible titles, and containing, he had learned by much
despairing experiment, liquids that singularly failed to satisfy
thirst--these were questions before which Appleweight, _alias_ Poteet,
bowed his head helplessly.
"The road between Kildare and Turner's is fairly good," announced Cooke,
"though we've got to travel four miles to strike it. Griswold evidently
thinks that holding the creek is all there is of this business, and he
won't find out till morning that we've crawled round his line and placed
Appleweight in jail at Turner's where he belongs."
"You must have a good story ready for the press, Collins," said Ardmore.
"The North Carolina border counties don't want Appleweight injured, and
Governor Dangerfield don't want any harm to come to him--you may be sure
of that, or Bill would have been doing time long ago. The moral element
in the larger cities and the people in Boston and Springfield,
Massachusetts, who only hear of Appleweight in the newspapers, want him
punished, and we must express to them our righteous indignation that he
has been kidnapped and dragged away from our vengeance by the governor
of South Carolina, who wants him in his own state merely to protect him.
We can come pretty near pleasing everybody if you work it right,
Collins. Our manner of handling the matter will do much to increase
Governor Dangerfield's popularity with all classes."
"Gentlemen, it was very impolite of you not to tell me you were ready to
start!" and Jerry came briskly from the side entrance, dressed for the
saddle and nibbling a biscuit.
"But you are not to go! I thought that was understood!" cried Ardmore.
"It may have been understood by you, Mr. Ardmore, but not by me! I
should never forgive myself if, after all the trouble I have taken to
straighten out this little matter, I should not be in at the finish.
Will you kindly get me a horse?"
Miss Dangerfield's resolution was not to be shaken, and a few minutes
later the party moved out from the courtyard. Cooke rode several hundred
yards ahead; then two detectives preceded the wagon, in which
Appleweight sat on a cross-seat with two more of Cooke's men on a seat
just behind him. He was tied and gagged, and an old derby hat (supplied
by Paul) had been clapped upon the side of his head at an angle that
gave him a jaunty air belied by his bonds. Though his tongue was
silenced, his eyes were at once eloquent of wonderment, resignation and
impotent rage. Beside the wagon rode Miss Jerry Dangerfield, alert and
contented. Ardmore and Collins were immediately behind her, and she
indulged the journalist in some mild chaff from time to time, to his
infinite delight, though considerably to Ardmore's distress of heart;
for, though no words had passed between him and Jerry as to the
disgraceful flight of the adjutant-general, yet the master of Ardsley
was in a jealous mood. The moon had left the conspirators to the softer
radiance of the stars, but there was sufficient light for Ardmore to
mark the gentle lines of Jerry's face, as she lifted it now and then to
scan the bright globes above.
Paul drove his team at a trot over the smooth road of the estate to a
remote and little-used gate on the southern side, but still safely
removed from the South Carolina pickets along the Raccoon.
"It's all right over there," remarked Collins, jerking his head toward
the creek. "The fronting armies are waiting for morning and battle. I
suppose that when we send word to Griswold that Appleweight is in a
South Carolina jail it will change the scene of operations. It will then
be Governor Osborne's painful task to dance between law-and-order
sentiment and the loud cursing of his border constituents. The
possibilities of this rumpus grow on me, Ardmore."
"There is no rumpus, Mr. Collins," said Jerry over her shoulder. "The
governor of North Carolina is merely giving expression to his civic
pride and virtue."
Leaving Ardsley, they followed a dismal stretch of road until they
reached the highway that connects Turner's and Kildare.
"It's going to be morning pretty soon. We must get the prisoner into
Turner's by five o'clock. Trot 'em up, Paul," ordered Cooke.
They were all in capital spirits now, with a fairly good road before
them, leading straight to Turner's, and with no expectation of any
trouble in landing their prisoner safely in jail. A wide publication of
the fact that Appleweight had been dragged from North Carolina and
locked in a South Carolina jail would have the effect of clearing
Governor Dangerfield's skirts of any complicity with the border outlaws,
while at the same time making possible a plausible explanation by
Governor Dangerfield to the men in the hills of the contemptible conduct
of the governor of South Carolina in effecting the arrest of their great
chief.
They were well into South Carolina territory now, and were jogging on
at a sharp trot, when suddenly Cooke turned back and halted the wagon.
"There's something coming--wait!"
"Maybe Bill's friends are out looking for him," suggested Collins.
"Or it may be Grissy," cried Ardmore in sudden alarm.
"Your professor is undoubtedly asleep in his camp on the Raccoon,"
replied Collins contemptuously. "Do not be alarmed, Mr. Ardmore."
Cooke impatiently bade them be quiet.
"If we're accosted, what shall we say?" he asked.
"We'll say," replied Jerry instantly, "that one of the laborers at
Ardsley is dead, and that we are taking his remains to his wife's family
at Turner's. I shall be his grief-stricken widow."
The guards already had Appleweight down on the floor of the wagon, where
one of them sat on his feet to make sure he did not create a
disturbance. At her own suggestion Jerry dismounted and climbed into the
wagon, where she sat on the side board, with her head deeply bowed as
though in grief.
"Pretty picture of a sorrowing widow," mumbled Collins. Ardmore punched
him in the ribs to make him stop laughing. To the quick step of walking
horses ahead of them was now added the whisper and creak of leather.
"Hello, there!" yelled Cooke, wishing to take the initiative.
"Hey-O!" answered a voice, and all was still.
"Give us the road; we're taking a body into Turner's to catch the
morning train," called Cooke.
"Who's dead?"
"One of Ardmore's Dutchmen. Shipping the corpse back to Germany."
The party ahead of them paused as though debating the case.
The north-bound party was a blur in the road. Their horses sniffed and
moved restlessly about as their riders conferred.
"Give us the road!" shouted Cooke. "We haven't much time to catch our
train."
"Who did you say was dead?"
"Karl Schmidt," returned Paul promptly.
Ardmore's heart sank, fearful lest an inspection of the corpse should be
proposed. But at this moment a wail, eerie and heart-breaking, rose and
fell dismally upon the night. It was Jerry mourning her dead husband,
her slight figure swaying back and forth over his body in an abandon of
grief.
"De poor vidow--she be mit us," called out big Paul, forsaking his usual
excellent English for guttural dialect.
"Who are _you_ fellows?" demanded Cooke, spurring his horse forward. The
horsemen, to his surprise, seemed to draw back, and he heard a voice
speak out sharply, followed by a regrouping of the riders at the side of
the road.
"We been to a dance at Turner's, and air goin' back home to Kildare,"
came the reply.
"That seems all right," whispered Ardmore to Collins.
"Thus," muttered Collins, "in the midst of death we are in life," and
this, reaching Jerry, caused her to bend over the corpse at her feet as
though in a convulsive spasm of sorrow, whereupon, to add color to their
story, Paul rumbled off a few consolatory sentences in German.
"Give us the road!" commanded Cooke, and without further parley they
started ahead, closing about the wagon to diminish, as far as possible,
the size of the caravan. Paul kept the horses at a walk, as became
their sad errand, and Jerry continued to weep dolorously.
They passed the horsemen at a slight rise in the rolling road. The party
bound for Turner's moved steadily forward, the horsemen huddled about
the wagon, with Jerry's led horse between Ardmore and Collins at the
rear. At the top of the knoll hung the returning dancers, well to the
left of the road, permitting with due respect the passing of the funeral
party. One of the men, Ardmore could have sworn, lifted his hat until
the wagon had passed. Then some one called good night, and, looking
back, Ardmore saw them--a dozen men, he judged--regain the road and
quietly resume their journey toward Kildare.
"Pretty peaceable for fellows who've been attending a dance," suggested
Collins, craning his neck to look after them.
Cooke turned back with the same observation, and seemed troubled.
"I was afraid to look too closely at those men. They seemed rather too
sober, and I was struck with the fact that they bunched up pretty close,
as though they were hiding something."
"They were afraid of the corpse," remarked Collins readily. "To meet a
dead man on a lonely road at this hour of the morning is enough to sober
the most riotous."
"One fellow lifted his hat as we passed, and I thought--"
"Well, what did you think, Mr. Ardmore?" demanded Cooke impatiently.
"Well, it may seem strange, but I thought there was something about that
chap that suggested Grissy. It would be like Grissy to lift his hat to a
corpse under any circumstances. He has spent a whole lot of time in
Paris, and besides, he never forgets his manners."
"But suppose it was Griswold," said Cooke, wishing to dispose of the
suspicion, "what could he be doing out here? _He_ hasn't Appleweight--we
know that; and he has just now missed his chance of ever getting him."
They paused to allow Jerry to resume her horse, and one of the
detectives joined in the conference to venture his opinion that the men
they had passed were in uniform. "They looked like militia to me," and
as he was a careful man, Cooke took note of his remark, though he made
no comment.
"Suppose they were in uniform," said Jerry lightly; "they can do no
harm, and as we are now in South Carolina, and they are not our troops,
it would not be proper for us to molest them. Let us go on, for Mr.
Appleweight's widow is not anxious to miss her train back to the
fatherland."
"If they were a detail of the enemy's militia, they would have held us
up," declared Cooke with finality.
But as they moved on toward Turner's, Ardmore was still troubled over
what had seemed to him the remarkable Parisian courtesy of the returning
reveler who had lifted his hat as the corpse passed. Grissy, he kept
saying over and over to himself, was no fool by any manner of means, and
he was unable to conjecture why the associate professor of admiralty,
known to be detached on special duty for the governor of South Carolina,
should be riding to Kildare, unless he contemplated some _coup_ of
importance.
The stars paled under the growing light of the early summer dawn.
Appleweight, with shoulders wearily drooping, contemplated the attending
cortege with the gaze of one who sullenly accepts a condition he does
not in the least understand.
A few early risers saw the strange company enter and proceed to the
jail; but before half the community had breakfasted, Bill Appleweight,
the outlaw, was securely locked in jail in Turner Court House, the seat
of Mingo County, in the state of South Carolina, and the jailer,
moreover, was sharing the distinguished captive's thraldom.
Collins, at the railway station, was announcing to the world the fact
that at the very moment when Governor Dangerfield was about to seize
Appleweight and punish him for his crimes, the outlaw had been kidnapped
in North Carolina and taken under cover of night to a jail in South
Carolina where Governor Osborne might be expected to shield him from
serious prosecution with all the power of his high office.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE BATTLE OF THE RACCOON
Mrs. Atchison met the returning adventurers at the door.
"Your conduct, Jerry Dangerfield, is beyond words!" she exclaimed,
seizing the girl's hands. "And so you really locked that horrid person
in a real jail! Well, we shan't miss him! We have been kept up all night
by the arrival here of other prisoners--brought in like parcels from the
grocer's."
"More prisoners!" shouted Ardmore.
"Dragged here at an unearthly hour of the morning, and flung into the
most impossible places by your soldiers! You can hear them yelling
without much trouble from the drawing-room, and we had to give up
breakfast because the racket they are making was so annoying."
The captain of the battery whose guns frowned upon the terraces came up
and saluted.
"Mr. Ardmore," he said, "I have been trying for several hours to see
Governor Dangerfield, but this lady tells me that he has left Ardsley."
"That is quite true; the governor was called away last night on official
business, and he will not return for an hour or two. You will kindly
state your business to me."
The captain was peevish from loss of sleep, and by no means certain that
he cared to transact business with Mr. Ardmore. He glanced at Miss
Dangerfield, whom he had met often at Raleigh, and the governor's
daughter met the situation promptly.
"Captain Webb, what prisoners have you taken, and why are they not
gagged to prevent this hideous noise?"
Seemingly from beneath the ample porte-cochère, where this colloquy
occurred, rose yells, groans and curses, and the sound of thumps, as of
the impact of human bodies against remote subterranean doors.
"They're trying to get loose, Miss Dangerfield, and they refuse to stay
tied. The fiercest row is from the fellows we chucked into the coal
bins."
"It's excellent anthracite, the best I can buy; they ought to be glad it
isn't soft coal," replied Ardmore defensively. "Who are they?"
"They're newspaper men, and they're most terribly enraged," answered
Captain Webb. "We picked them up one at a time in different places on
the estate. They say they're down here looking for Governor
Dangerfield."
Collins grinned his delight.
"Oh, perfect hour!" he sang. "We'll keep them until they promise to be
good and print what we tell them. The little squeaky voice you hear
occasionally--hark!--that's Peck, of the Consolidated Press. He scooped
me once on a lynching, and here is where I get even with him."
"You have done well, Captain Webb," said Jerry with dignity, "and I
shall urge your promotion upon papa at the earliest moment possible. Are
these newspaper gentlemen your only prisoners?"
"No; we gathered up two other parties, and one of them is in the
servants' laundry; the other, a middle-aged person, I lodged in the
tower, where he can enjoy the scenery."
He pointed to the tower, from which the flag of North Carolina waved
gently in the morning breeze.
"The prisoner up there made an awful rumpus. He declares he will ruin
the whole state of North Carolina for this. Here is his card, which, in
a comparatively lucid interval, he gave me to hand you at the earliest
possible moment," and Captain Webb placed a visiting card in Ardmore's
hands.
A smile struggled for possession of Ardmore's countenance, but he
regained control of himself promptly, and his face grew severe.
He gave the card to Jerry, who handed it to Mrs. Atchison, and that lady
laughed merrily.
"Your prisoner, Captain Webb, is George P. Billings, secretary of the
Bronx Loan and Trust Company of New York. What was he doing when you
seized him?" demanded Ardmore.
"He was chasing the gentleman who's resting on the anthracite. He chased
him and chased him, around a tea-house out here somewhere on the place;
and finally this person in the coal hole fell, and they both rolled over
together. The gentleman in the coal hole declares that he's Foster, the
state treasurer of North Carolina, but his face got so scratched on the
shrubbery that he doesn't look in the least like Mr. Foster."
"I have sent him witch hazel and court plaster, and we can get a doctor
for his wounds, if necessary," said Mrs. Atchison.
A sergeant rushed up in hot haste with a demand from Colonel
Daubenspeck, of the North Carolina First, to know when Governor
Dangerfield could be seen.
"The South Carolina pickets have been withdrawn, and our officers want
orders from the governor in person," said the messenger.
"Then they shall have orders!" roared Ardmore. "If our men dare abandon
their outposts--"
He turned and rode furiously toward the border, and in his rage he had
traversed a thousand yards before he saw that Jerry was close behind
him. As they passed the red bungalow the crack of scattering rifle-shots
reached them.
"Go back! Go back! The war's begun!" cried Ardmore; but, though he
quickened the pace of his horse, Jerry clung to his side.
"If there's war, and I hope there is, I shall not shrink from the firing
line, Mr. Ardmore."
As they dashed into their own lines they came upon the regimental
officers, seated in comfortable chairs from the red bungalow, calmly
engaged in a game of cards.
"Great God, men!" blurted Ardmore, "why do you sit here when the state's
honor is threatened? Where was that firing?"
"You seem rather placid, gentlemen, to say the least," added Jerry,
coldly bowing to the officers, who had risen at her approach. "Unless I
am greatly mistaken, that is the flag of South Carolina I see flaunted
in yonder field." And she pointed with a gauntleted hand to a palmetto
flag beyond the creek.
"It is, Miss Dangerfield," replied the colonel politely, "and you can
see their pickets occasionally, but they have been drawn back from the
creek, and I apprehend no immediate advance."
"No advance! Who are we to wait for them to offer battle? Who are we to
play bridge and wait upon the pleasure of a cowardly enemy?" and Jerry
gazed upon the furious Ardmore with admiration, as he roared at the
officers, who stood holding their caps deferentially before the daughter
of their commander-in-chief. Ardmore, it was clear, they did not take
very seriously, a fact which she inwardly resented.
"I don't think it would be quite fair," said the colonel mildly, "to
force issues to-day."
"Not force issues!" yelled Ardmore. "With your brave sons of our Old
North State, not force battle! In the name of the constitution, I ask
you, why not?"
"For the reason," replied the colonel, "that the South Carolina troops
ate heavily of green apples last night in an orchard over there by
their camp, and they have barely enough men to maintain their pickets
this morning. These, you can see, they have withdrawn a considerable
distance from the creek."
"Then tell me why they have been firing upon our lines? Why have they
been permitted to shoot at our helpless and unresisting men if they are
not ready for war?"
"They were not shooting at our men, Mr. Ardmore. Their pickets are very
tired from loss of sleep, and they were trying to keep awake by shooting
at a buzzard that hung over a field yonder, where there is, our scouts
inform us, a dead calf lying in one of your pastures."
"They shall have better meat! Buzzards shall eat the whole state of
South Carolina before night! Colonel, I order you to prepare at once to
move your troops across that creek."
The colonel hesitated.
"I regret to say, sir, that we have no pontoons!"
"Pontoons! Pontoons! What, by the shade of Napoleon, do you want with
pontoons when you have legs? Again, sir, I order you to advance your
men!"
It was at this crisis that Jerry lifted her chin a trifle and calmly
addressed the reluctant colonel.
"Colonel Daubenspeck, in my father's name, I order you to throw your
troops across the Raccoon!"
A moment later the clear notes of the bugle rose above the splash and
bubble of the creek. There was no opportunity for a grand onward sweep;
it must be a scramble for the southern shore over the rocks and fallen
timber in that mad torrent.
And the Raccoon is a stream from all time dedicated to noble uses and
destined to hold mighty kingdoms in leash. One might well hesitate
before crossing this wayward Rubicon. The Mississippi is merely an
excuse for appropriations, the Potomac the sporting ground of
congressmen and shad. No other known stream is so happily calculated as
the foamy Raccoon to delight at once the gods of battle and the gentle
sons of song. It marks one of those impatient flings of nature in which,
bored with creating orderly, broadly-flowing streams, or varying the
landscape with quiet woodlands or meadows, she abandons herself for a
moment to madness and, shaking water and rock together as in a dice-box,
splashes them out with joyous laughter.
Jerry Dangerfield, seated upon her horse on a slight rise under a clump
of trees a little way back from the stream, coolly munched a cracker and
sipped coffee from a tincup. Ardmore, again calm, now that Daubenspeck
had been spurred to action, smoked his pipe and watched the army prepare
to advance.
Beyond the creek, and somewhat removed from it on the South Carolina
side, a rifle cracked, and far against the blue arch a huge, black,
languorous object, rising with a last supreme effort, as though to claim
refuge of heaven, fell clawing at space with sprawling wings, then
collapsed and pitched earthward until the trees on the farther shore hid
it from sight. A feeble cheer rose in the distance.
"They sound pretty tame over there," remarked Ardmore critically.
"There's no ginger in that cheer."
"The ginger," suggested Colonel Daubenspeck ironically, "is probably all
in their stomachs."
One gun from the battery was brought down and placed on a slight
eminence to support the advance, for which all was now in readiness. The
bugle sang again, and the men of one company sprang forward and began
leaping from rock to rock, silently, steadily moving upon the farther
shore. Here and there some brown khaki-clad figure slipped and splashed
into the stream with a wild confusion of brown leggings; but on they
went intrepidly. The captain, leading his men through the torrent, was
first to gain the southern shore. He waved his sword, and with a shout
his men clambered up the bank and formed in neat alignment. This was
hardly accomplished before a uniformed figure dashed from a neighboring
blackberry thicket and waved a white handkerchief. He bore something in
his hand, which to Ardmore's straining vision seemed to be a small
wicker basket.
"It's a flag of truce!" exclaimed Colonel Daubenspeck, and a sigh that
expressed incontestable relief broke from that officer.
"The cowards!" cried Ardmore. "Does that mean they won't fight?"
"It means that hostilities must cease until we have permitted the bearer
of the flag to carry his message into our lines."
The man with the basket was already crossing the creek in charge of a
corporal.
"I have read somewhere about being careful of the Greeks bearing gifts,"
said Jerry. "There may be something annoying in that basket."
The bearer of the basket gained the North Carolina shore and strode
rapidly toward Miss Dangerfield, Ardmore and Colonel Daubenspeck. He
handed the trifle of a basket to the colonel, who gazed upon its
contents for a moment with unspeakable rage. The color mounted in his
neck almost to the point of apoplexy, and his voice bellowed forth an
oath so bleak, so fraught with peril to the human race, that Jerry
shuddered and turned away her head as from a blast of flame. The colonel
cast the wicker basket from him with a force that nearly tore him from
his saddle. It struck against a tree, spilling upon the earth six small,
hard, bright green apples.
"My letter," said the emissary soberly, "is for Mr. Thomas Ardmore, and,
unless I am mistaken, you are that gentleman."
Ardmore seized a long envelope which the man extended, tore it open, and
read:
Thomas Ardmore, Esq.,
Acting Governor of North Carolina,
In the Field:
SIR--As I understand the present unhappy differences between the
states of North and South Carolina, they are due to a reluctance on
the part of the governor of North Carolina to take steps toward
bringing to proper punishment in North Carolina an outlaw named
Appleweight. I have the honor to inform you that that person is now
in jail at Kildare, Dilwell County, North Carolina, properly
guarded by men who will not flinch. If necessary I will support
them with every South Carolinian able to bear arms. This being the
case, a _casus belli_ no longer exists, and to prevent the
effusion of blood I beg you to cease your hostile demonstrations on
our frontier.
Our men seized a few prisoners during the night, and I am willing
to meet you to arrange an exchange on the terms proper in such
cases.
I am, sir, your obedient servant,
HENRY MAINE GRISWOLD,
For the Governor of South Carolina.
"The nerve of it! The sublime cheek of it!" exclaimed Ardmore, though
the sight of Griswold's well-known handwriting had shaken him for the
moment.
"As a bluffer your little friend is quite a wonder," was Jerry's only
comment when she had read the letter.
Ardmore promptly wrote on the back of Griswold's letter this reply:
Henry Maine Griswold, Esq.,
Assistant Professor of Admiralty,
Camp Buzzard, S. C.:
SIR--Appleweight is under strong guard in the jail at Turner Court
House, Mingo County, South Carolina. I shall take pleasure in
meeting you at Ardsley at five o'clock this afternoon for the
proposed exchange of prisoners. To satisfy your curiosity the man
Appleweight will be produced there for your observation and
identification.
I have the honor, sir, to remain, with high regard and admiration,
your obliged and obedient servant,
THOMAS ARDMORE,
Acting Governor of North Carolina.
"Putting 'professor' on that will make him crazy," remarked Ardmore to
Jerry.
The messenger departed, but recrossed the Raccoon shortly with a formal
note agreeing to an armistice until after the meeting proposed at
Ardsley.
"Colonel Daubenspeck, you may withdraw your men and go into camp until
further orders," said Jerry, and the notes of the bugle singing the
recall rose sweetly upon the air.
"By George," said Ardmore, as he and Jerry rode away, "we'll throw it
into old Grissy in a way that will jar the professor. But when it comes
to the exchange of prisoners, I must tell the boys to bring up that chap
I locked in the corn-crib. I had clean forgotten him."
"I don't think you mentioned him, Mr. Ardmore, but I suppose he's one of
the Appleweight ruffians."
"Undoubtedly," replied Ardmore, whose spirits had never been higher,
"though the fellow was not without his pleasant humor. He insisted with
great vigor that he is the governor of South Carolina."
"I wonder"--and Jerry spoke wistfully--"I wonder where papa is!"
"Well, he's not in the corn-crib; be sure of that."
"Papa looks every inch the statesman," replied Jerry proudly, "and in
his frock-coat no one could ever mistake him for other than the patriot
he is."
CHAPTER XIX
IN THE RED BUNGALOW
"What do you think," cried Mrs. Atchison, glowing before Jerry and
Ardmore on their return; "we have a new guest!"
"In the coal cellar?" inquired her brother.
"No, in the blue room adjoining Miss Dangerfield's! And what do you
think! It is none other than the daughter of the governor of South
Carolina."
"Oh, Nellie!" gasped Ardmore.
"Why, what's the matter?" demanded Mrs. Atchison. "I had gone in to
Turner's to look at that memorial church we're building there, and I
learned from the rector that Miss Osborne, with only a maid, was
stopping at that wretched hole called the Majestic Hotel. I had met Miss
Osborne in Washington last winter, and you may forget, Tommy, that on
our mother's side I am a Daughter of the Seminole War, a society of
which Miss Osborne is the president-general. I hope Miss Osborne's
presence here will not be offensive to you, Miss Dangerfield. She
seemed reluctant to come, but I simply would not take no, and I am to
send for her at four o'clock."
"Miss Osborne's presence is not only agreeable to me, Mrs. Atchison,"
responded Jerry, "but I shall join you in welcoming her. I have heard
that the ancestor through whom Barbara Osborne derives membership in the
Daughters of the Seminole War was afterward convicted of robbing an
orphan of whose estate he was the trusted executor, and such being the
case I feel that the commonest Christian charity demands that I should
treat her with the most kindly consideration. I shall gather some roses,
with your permission, and have them waiting in her room when she
arrives, with my card and compliments."
Ardmore had rarely been so busy as during the afternoon. Several more
newspaper correspondents were found prowling about the estate, and they
were added to the howling mob in the Ardsley cellars. Collins searched
them and read their instructions with interest. They were all
commissioned to find the lost governors of North and South Carolina; and
a number were instructed to investigate a rumor that North Carolina was
about to default her bonds through malfeasance of the state treasurer.
It was clear from the fact that practically every newspaper in New York
had sent its best man to the field that the world waited anxiously for
news from the border.
"It has all happened very handily for us," said Collins; "we've got the
highest-priced newspaper talent in the world right under our hands, and
before we turn them loose we'll dictate exactly what history is to know
of these dark proceedings. Those fellows couldn't get anything out of
either Kildare or Turner's for some time, as Paul's men have cut the
wires and Cooke has operators at the railway stations to see that
nothing is sent out."
"When we've settled with Griswold and proved to him that he's lost out
and that the real Mr. Appleweight is in his jail, not ours, we'll have
to find Governor Dangerfield and be mighty quick about it," replied
Ardmore. "Paul says there's a battery of South Carolina artillery
guarding the Dilwell County jail, and that they've fooled the people
into thinking they're North Carolina troops, and nobody can get within
four blocks of the jail. They must have somebody in jail at Kildare. I
don't like the looks of it. I hope those men we left guarding old
Appleweight in the Mingo jail know their business. It would be nasty to
lose that old chap after all the trouble he's given us."
"They'll keep him or eat him, if I know old Cookie."
Jerry--a pleasing figure to contemplate in white lawn and blue
ribbons--suggested that the meeting take place in the library, as more
like an imperial council chamber; but Ardmore warmly dissented from
this. A peace should never be signed, he maintained, in so large a house
as Ardsley. At Appomattox and in many other cases that he recalled, the
opponents met in humble farmhouses. It would be well, however, to have
the meeting on the estate, for the property would thus become historic,
but it would never do to have it take place in the Ardsley library.
"There should be great difficulty in securing pens and paper," Ardmore
continued, "and we must decline to accept the swords of our fallen
foes."
They finally agreed on the red bungalow as convenient and sufficiently
modest for the purpose. And so it was arranged.
A few minutes before five the flag of North Carolina was hung from the
wide veranda of the bungalow. At the door stood an armed militiaman.
Colonel Daubenspeck had been invited to be present, and he appeared
accompanied by several other officers in full uniform. Word of the
meeting place had been sent through the lines to the enemy, and the
messenger rode back with Griswold, who was followed quickly by the
adjutant-general of South Carolina and half a dozen other officers. The
guard saluted as Griswold ran up the steps of the veranda, and at the
door Ardmore met him and greeted him formally.
At the end of a long table Jerry Dangerfield sat with her arms folded.
She wore, as befitting the occasion, a gray riding-dress and a gray felt
hat perched a trifle to one side.
She bowed coldly to Griswold, whose hand, as he surveyed the room and
glanced out at the flag that fluttered in the doorway, went to his
mustache with that gesture that Ardmore so greatly disliked; but
Griswold again bowed gravely to his adversaries.
"Miss Dangerfield, and gentlemen," began Griswold, with an air of
addressing a supreme tribunal, "I believe this whole matter depends upon
the arrest of one Appleweight, a well-known outlaw of North Carolina--"
"I beg your pardon--"
It was Jerry who interrupted him, her little fists clenching, a glint of
fire in her eyes.
"It is for me to ask your pardon, Miss Dangerfield! Let us agree that
this person is an unworthy citizen of any state, and proceed. It has
been your endeavor to see this man under arrest in South Carolina, thus
relieving North Carolina or her chief executive of responsibility for
him. We, on our side, have used every effort to lodge Appleweight in
jail on your side of the state line. Am I correct?"
Jerry nodded affirmatively.
"Then, Miss Dangerfield, and gentlemen, I must tell you that you have
lost your contention, for Appleweight spent last night in jail at
Kildare, and to secure his safe retention there, we generously lent your
state a few of our militia to guard him. The proceeding was a trifle
irregular, we admit--the least bit _ultra vires_--but the peculiar
situation seemed to justify us."
"There are not two Bill Appleweights," remarked Colonel Daubenspeck. "I
assure you that the real criminal spent last night in jail at Turner
Court House, guarded by trustworthy men, and we are able to produce
him."
"The quickest way to settle this point, Professor Griswold, is by
bringing in your man," remarked Ardmore icily.
"On the other hand"--and Griswold's tone was confident--"as there is no
reason for doubt that we have the real Appleweight, and as we are on
your territory and in a measure your guests, it is only fair that you
produce the man you believe to be Appleweight, that we may have a look
at him first."
"Certainly," said Jerry. "Our prisoner does not deny his identity. It
gives us pleasure to produce him."
At a nod from Colonel Daubenspeck the orderly at the door ran off to
where Cooke and the prisoner waited.
In the interval there was a general exchange of introductions at the
bungalow. The adjutant-general of South Carolina was in a merry mood and
began chaffing Ardmore upon the deadly character of apples found in his
orchard beyond the Raccoon.
"I deeply regret," said Ardmore, rubbing his chin, "that the
adjutant-general of North Carolina is suffering from a severe attack of
_paralysis agitans_ and will be unable to meet with us."
"I deplore the fact," replied the adjutant-general of South Carolina,
"for one of our scouts picked up a darky in the highway a while ago who
had on a uniform dress-coat with the initials 'R. G.' sewed in the
pocket."
"If you will return that garment to me, General," said Ardmore, "I will
see that it reaches Colonel Gillingwater by special messenger, where,
upon his couch of pain, he chafes over his enforced absence from the
field of danger."
Steps sounded on the veranda and all rose as Cooke appeared in the door,
leading his handcuffed prisoner, who stood erect and glared at the
company in gloomy silence.
"This man," said Ardmore, "we declare to be Bill Appleweight, _alias_
Poteet. I ask you, sir,"--he addressed the prisoner--"to state whether
you are not known by one or both of these names?"
The man nodded his head and grumbled a reluctant affirmative.
"Professor Griswold," Ardmore went on, "the gentleman in charge of the
prisoner is Roger Cooke, for many years in the secret service of the
United States. He now conducts a private agency and is in my employ. Mr.
Cooke, I will ask you whether you identify this man as Appleweight?"
"There is no doubt of it whatever. I have known him for years. I once
arrested him for moonshining and he served a year in the penitentiary as
the result of that arrest. You will pardon me, sir," Cooke continued,
addressing Griswold directly, "but this is undoubtedly the man you had
yourself captured at Mount Nebo Church two nights ago, but who was taken
from you, as you may not know, by Miss Geraldine Dangerfield. She was
lost in the woods and came upon the captive much to her own surprise."
Griswold lifted his brows in amazement and turned toward Jerry.
"If that is the case, Miss Dangerfield, I salute you! I am sorry to
confess, however, that I did not myself see the man who was captured by
my friends at the church, owing, it appears, to Miss Dangerfield's
prompt and daring action, and the regrettable cowardice of my men. I
want to say to you, gentlemen, in all frankness, that I am greatly
astonished at what you tell me. Our prisoner is about the same height as
this man, has the same slight stoop in the shoulders, and the same short
beard; but there the resemblance ends."
Ardmore was trying not to show too plainly his joy at Griswold's
discomfiture. None of the South Carolina officers had ever seen
Appleweight, as they lived remote from the scene of his exploits.
Habersham's men, who had so signally failed in the descent upon Mount
Nebo Church, had taken to the woods on the appearance of the state
soldiery along the border, and could not be found to identify the man
seized at the house on the creek. Habersham had discreetly declined to
support Griswold's venture at the last moment; to do so would, he
pleaded, ruin his chances of political preferment in the future; or
worse things might, indeed, happen if he countenanced and supported the
armed invasion of North Carolina by South Carolina militia. The zealous
young militiamen who had captured the stranger in the house on the creek
had pronounced the man Appleweight, and their statement had been
accepted and emphasized when the man was taken before Griswold, to whom
he had stubbornly refused to make any statement whatever.
"Now that you can not deny that we have the real Appleweight," began
Jerry, "who is, you must remember, a prisoner of the state of South
Carolina, and must be returned to the Mingo County jail at once, I think
we may as well look at your prisoner, Professor Griswold. He may be one
of Mr. Appleweight's associates in business; but as we are interested
only in the chief culprit, the identity of the man you hold is of very
little interest to us."
"If," said Griswold, "he is not Appleweight, the original blown in the
bottle--"
"Jug, if you please!" interposed Ardmore very seriously.
"Then we don't care about him and I shall make you a present of him."
"Or," remarked Ardmore, "I might exchange him for a ruffian I captured
myself down on the Raccoon. He seemed quite insane, declaring himself to
be the governor of South Carolina and I locked him up in a corn-crib for
safe keeping."
"Any man," said Jerry, lifting her chin slightly, "who would impersonate
the governor of South Carolina would, beyond question, be utterly insane
and an object of compassion. Professor Griswold, will you please produce
your imaginary Appleweight, as at this hour Mrs. Atchison usually serves
tea. Let us therefore make haste."
One of Griswold's retinue ran off to summon the prisoner, who was
guarded by half a dozen soldiers near at hand.
The company in the bungalow were all laughing heartily at some sally by
the adjutant-general of South Carolina, who insisted upon giving a light
note to the proceedings, when hurried footsteps sounded on the veranda
and a sergeant appeared in the doorway and saluted.
The adjutant-general, annoyed at being interrupted in the telling of a
new story, frowned and bade the sergeant produce his prisoner. At once a
man was thrust into the room, a tall man, with a short, dark beard and
slightly stooping shoulders. The strong light at his back made it
difficult for the people grouped about the table to see his face
clearly, but the air somehow seemed charged with electricity, and all
bent forward, straining for a sight of the captive. As he stood framed
in the doorway his face was slowly disclosed to them, and there appeared
to be a humorous twinkle in his eyes. Before any one spoke, he broke out
in a hearty laugh. Then a cry rose piercingly in the quiet room--a cry
of amazement from the lips of Jerry Dangerfield, who had taken a step
forward,
"Oh, papa!" she cried.
"The Governor!" roared Colonel Daubenspeck, leaping across the table.
"It's Governor Dangerfield!" shouted half a dozen men in chorus.
At this moment Mrs. Atchison and Miss Barbara Osborne stole softly in
and ranged themselves at the back of the room.
The governor of North Carolina alone seemed to derive any pleasure from
the confusion and astonishment caused by his appearance. He crossed to
the table and took his daughter's hand.
"Jerry, what part do you play in these amateur theatricals?"
Jerry rose, thrusting her handkerchief into her sleeve, and her lips
trembled slightly, though whether with mirth or some soberer emotion it
would be difficult to say. The room at once gave her attention, seeing
that she was about to speak.
"Papa, before these people I am not ashamed to confess that during your
absence from the seat of government I took it upon myself to fill your
office to the best of my ability, finding that many important matters
were pressing and that you had gone into exile without leaving your
address behind. I made Mr. Ardmore, the gentleman on my left in the
pearl-gray suit and lavender tie, first private secretary, and then,
when occasion required, acting governor, though in reality he did
nothing without my entire approval. I am happy to say that nothing has
been neglected and your reputation as a great statesman and friend of
the people has not suffered at our hands. We arrested Mr. Appleweight,
who is standing there by the fireplace, and landed him in the Mingo
County jail as a joke on Governor Osborne, and to appease the demands of
the press and the Woman's Civic League of Raleigh. The copies of our
correspondence on this and other matters will tell you the story more
completely. And as for Governor Osborne, I have taught him a lesson in
the etiquette that should obtain between governors that he is not likely
to forget. You will find that we have not hesitated to grant pardons,
and we have filled, in one instance, the office of justice of the peace,
made vacant by resignation. The key to your desk, papa, is behind the
clock on the mantel in your private room."
"Ladies and gentlemen," began the governor of North Carolina, laying a
hand upon the table, and with the other seizing the lapel of his rough,
brown coat--a pose made familiar by all his photographs--"the jails of
North Carolina are more uncomfortable than I had believed them to be,
and I have taken a slight cold which compels me to be briefer than this
interesting occasion demands. You have witnessed here an exhibition of
filial devotion that has, I am sure, touched us all. It is well worth
while for me to have suffered arrest and imprisonment to realize the
depth of my daughter's love, and the jealousy with which she has
safeguarded my private and public honor."
He felt for a handkerchief and touched it gently to his eyes; but
Collins declared afterward that Governor Dangerfield was exactly like
his daughter and that one never could be sure that his mirth was
genuine.
"I was aware only yesterday, when I saw a newspaper for the first time
in a week, that political capital was being made of my absence from
Raleigh; and that my dear friend, the governor of South Carolina, also,
was being called to account for flinching in the face of imperative
duty."
"Your friend, Governor?" cried Ardmore, unable to restrain himself.
"Certainly, Mr. Ardmore," continued Governor Dangerfield. "That angry
parting of ours at New Orleans was all for effect to get space in the
newspapers. We had confided to each other that the cares of state had
worn us to an intolerable point and that we must have rest. Brother
Appleweight had, I confess, given us both a great deal of annoyance, and
to be frank, neither Osborne nor I wished to take the initiative in his
case. So we resolved to disappear, and go to some quiet place for rest.
We outfitted with old clothes and came to the border. Governor Osborne
has a farm over there somewhere in Mingo County and we made it our
headquarters; but in roaming about we came upon that charming shanty of
yours, Mr. Ardmore, down on the Raccoon. The house was deserted, and
finding the marks of the official survey running clearly through the
timber, we were amused to find that the house was partly in North,
partly in South Carolina. The thing touched our fancy. A negro cooked
for us--what has become of him I do not know. We cut ourselves off from
the mail and telegraph and received no newspapers until a packet came
yesterday, and it was only a few minutes after I saw from the head-lines
of the _Vidette_ what a row was going on that I realized that strange
things may happen when the king goes a-hunting."
As he paused, Miss Osborne stepped forward, the men making way for her.
"If this be true, Governor Dangerfield, may I ask you, sir, what has
become of my father?"
Governor Dangerfield smiled.
"I regret, Miss Barbara, that I can not answer that question; I must
refer it to my daughter."
"Miss Osborne," responded Jerry, "while I should be glad, to assist you
in recovering your father as a slight return for your having placed mine
in the Dilwell County jail and kept him there all night, I regret that I
am unable to be of the slightest help to you."
The perspiration was beading Ardmore's brow, but he smiled as though in
joy at Jerry's readiness.
"We have taken a number of prisoners," said Ardmore, meeting the
governor's glance, "and while I do not think Governor Osborne can
possibly be of the number, yet I shall be glad to produce them all.
There's a person in the corn-crib a little way across country whom I
captured myself. I believe he's now tied to a mulberry tree a little way
down the road, as he pretended to be the governor of South Carolina and
I feared that he might do himself some harm."
Before he ceased speaking big Paul strode in, an angry and crestfallen
man following at his heels.
"Oh, father!"
It was Barbara Osborne's voice; but whatever of anger or joy there may
have been in her words and tone was lost in the shout of laughter that
broke from Governor Dangerfield. The governor of South Carolina was in
no such high humor. He sputtered, swore, stamped his foot and struck
the table with his clenched hand as he demanded to know the meaning of
the outrageous indignity to which he had been subjected.
The more his friend stormed the more Governor Dangerfield roared with
laughter, but when he could control himself he laid an arresting arm on
Governor Osborne's shoulder, and spoke to Barbara.
"Barbara, may I ask whether you, like my own Jerry, have been protecting
your father's fair name during his absence; and does that account for my
night spent in the jail at Kildare? If so--"
Governor Dangerfield's laughter got the better of him, but Barbara, with
dignity, turned to her father.
"It is quite true, that finding your absence occasioning serious remark,
while your attorney-general took advantage of your absence to annoy me
in a most cowardly fashion, with the kind help of Professor Griswold, I
did all in my power to thwart your enemies, and to show the people of
South Carolina that you were not a man to evade the responsibilities of
your office. As to the details of these matters I prefer, father, to
speak to you in private."
"Professor Griswold?" repeated Governor Osborne haughtily. "I believe I
have not the honor of the gentleman's acquaintance;" whereupon, to ease
the situation, Ardmore presented his old friend.
"Governor Osborne, allow me to present Professor Henry Maine Griswold,
associate professor of admiralty in the University of Virginia, and the
author of--"
"Griswold?" The anger slowly left Governor Osborne's face. "Do I
understand that you belong to the Virginia tide-water family of that
name? Then, sir, without hesitation I offer you my hand."
"Osborne," cried Governor Dangerfield, "we have every reason to be proud
of our daughters. They have done their best for us; and they seem to
have acted wisely in accepting aid from these gentlemen; and now, what
is to be done with Bill Appleweight."
"We have with us that requisition you left on your desk," exclaimed
Barbara, turning to her father.
"I'm afraid that won't help," laughed Governor Osborne, "that
requisition, Barbara, is purely Pickwickian in character."
"The disposition of Appleweight," said Cooke, "is a matter of delicacy
for both of you gentlemen, and you will pardon me for thrusting myself
forward, but that this affair may end happily for all, neither North nor
South Carolina should bear the burden of prosecuting a man to whom--we
may say it as between friends here--the governors of both states are
under some trifling obligations."
The governor of North Carolina exchanged a glance and a nod with the
governor of South Carolina.
"Therefore," resumed Cooke, "we must hit upon a plan of action that will
eliminate both states from the controversy. I will, with your
permission, turn Appleweight over to the United States revenue officers
who are even now in this neighborhood looking for him."
"No!" cried Jerry. "We shall do nothing of the kind! I met Mr.
Appleweight under peculiar circumstances, but I must say that I formed a
high opinion of his chivalry and I beg that we allow him to take a
little trip somewhere until the Woman's Civic League of Raleigh and the
carping Massachusetts press have found other business, and he can return
in peace to his home."
"That," said Governor Osborne, "meets my approval."
"And I," Ardmore added, "will give him my private caboose in which to
cruise the larger Canadian cities."
Two more prisoners were now brought in.
"Governor Dangerfield," continued Ardmore, "here is your state
treasurer, who had sought to injure you by defaulting the state bonds
due to-day, which is the first of June. And that frowsy person with Mr.
Foster is Secretary Billings, of the Bronx Loan and Trust Company, who
has treated me at times with the greatest injustice and condescension.
Whether Treasurer Foster has the money with which to meet those bonds I
do not know; but I do know that I have to-day paid them in full through
the Buckhaw National Bank of Raleigh."
Colonel Daubenspeck leaped to his feet and swung his cap. He proposed
three cheers for Jerry Dangerfield; and three more for Barbara Osborne;
and then the two governors were cheered three times three; and when the
bungalow had ceased to ring, it was seen that Ardmore and Griswold were
in each other's arms.
"Surely, by this time," said Mrs. Atchison, "you have adjusted enough of
these weighty matters for one day, and I beg that you will all dine with
us at Ardsley to-night at eight o'clock, where my brother and I will
endeavor to mark in appropriate fashion the signing of peace between
your neighboring kingdoms."
"For Governor Osborne and myself I accept, madam," replied Governor
Dangerfield, "providing the flowing frock-coats, which are the vesture
and symbol of our respective offices, are still in the log house on the
Raccoon where I became a prisoner."
CHAPTER XX
ROSÆ MUNDI
Mrs. Atchison and Ardmore had given their last touches to the
preparations for the dinner. Every window of the great house shone and a
myriad of lanterns illuminated the lawns and terraces. The flags of
North and South Carolina were everywhere entwined; nor were the stars
and stripes neglected. They surveyed the long table in the dining-room,
where gold and silver and crystal were bright upon the snowy napery.
"The matter of precedence is serious, Tommy," urged Mrs. Atchison. "I
can not for the life of me remember what two monarchs do about entering
a room at the same time."
"Nor do I, Nellie," said Ardmore; "unless they sprint for the door and
the one who gets through first takes the head of the table. Still, that
would be undignified, particularly if the kings were old and fat, and if
they bumped going through the door and took a header it would jar the
divine right."
"Here in democratic America," said Griswold, joining them, "there can
be no such preposterous idea of precedence."
"I should think better of that notion, Professor Griswold," laughed Mrs.
Atchison, "if I had never seen the goats carefully shepherded to keep
them away from the lambs at functions in Washington. Democracy may be a
political triumph, but it is certainly deficient socially. Personally I
have always wished to bring myself in touch with the poor. Ardy is quite
right that our own kind are distinctly uninteresting."
"You ought to remember, Nellie, that your idea of going slumming in a
purple coupé and dressed up in your best rags is not well calculated to
inspire confidence and affection among the submerged. But how to handle
two governors has me fussed. You are the hostess, and it's for you to
decide which excellency shall take you in. I see no way out but to match
for it."
"That will be unnecessary," said Mrs. Atchison, "for the doors and the
hall are broad enough for a dozen governors to march in abreast."
"That would never do, Nellie! You don't understand these things. You
can't hitch up a brace of American governors in a team and drive them
like a pair of horses. At least, speaking for the Old North State, I
will say that we can never consent to any such compromise."
"And I, speaking for the great Palmetto Commonwealth, not less
emphatically reject the idea!" declared Griswold.
"Then," said Mrs. Atchison, "there is only one possible solution. When
the rest of us have entered the dining-room and taken our places, a
bugle will sound; the governor of North Carolina shall enter from the
north door; the governor of South Carolina from the south door, and
advance to seats facing each other midway of the table. Professor
Griswold, you are an old friend of the family, and you shall yourself
take me in to dinner."
The members of Mrs. Atchison's house party, well distributed among the
official guests, were still somewhat at a loss to know what had
happened, but it seemed to be in the air that Tommy Ardmore had at last
done something, though just what was not wholly clear. It was
sufficiently obvious, however, that the little girl with blue eyes who
had the drollest possible way of talking, and whom one never seemed able
to take off guard, had seized strong hold upon the master of Ardsley;
and she, on her part, treated him with the most provoking
condescension. It was agreed by all that Miss Osborne was distinguished
and lovely and that Professor Griswold did not seem out of place at her
side.
The talk grew general after the first restraint was over, and Mrs.
Atchison dropped just the right word here and there to keep the ball
rolling. Governor Osborne had generously forgotten and forgiven his
painful incarceration in the corn-crib, and he and Governor Dangerfield
vied with each other in avowing their determination to live up to the
high standards that had been set for them by their daughters.
Both governors had at almost the same moment turned down their glasses.
It even seemed that they had been drilled in the part, so dexterous were
they in reversing them, so nimbly did they put from them the hope of
wine. The members of the house-party noted this act of the two governors
with well-bred surprise; and Ardmore was grieved, feeling that in some
measure the illustrious guests were criticizing his hospitality. The
butler at this moment spoke to him, and much relieved he smiled and
nodded. A moment later two jugs, two little brown jugs, were carried in,
and one was placed quietly in front of each governor at precisely the
same moment. Expectation was instantly a-tiptoe.
"Gentlemen," said Ardmore, addressing the governors, "these jugs have
just been left at the house by our old friend, Mr. Bill Appleweight,
_alias_ Poteet, with his compliments, for the governors of the two
greatest states in the Union. I note that there's a bit of pink calico
around the stopper of Governor Dangerfield's jug, while Governor
Osborne's is garnished with blue and white gingham."
Governor Osborne rose.
"In politics," he began, resting his hand gently on the jug, "it would
be a fine thing if we could all live up to our noblest ideals, but
unfortunately we must be all things to all men. What I have here is not
merely the testimonial of a valued constituent, but something much
subtler than that, ladies and gentlemen--a delicate proof that those of
us who would command the good-will and suffrages of the people must keep
a careful eye on the weather-vane. This jug, which you probably all
believe contains the rude product of some hidden still, is as equivocal
as a political platform. I will illustrate my meaning."
All eyes were bent upon the governor of South Carolina as he picked up
the jug, twisted the cob stopper for a moment, and then poured into a
tumbler which the butler placed for him, a clear white fluid; then,
turning the stopper slightly, he poured into another glass a thick
milk-like liquid.
"When among my constituents I almost invariably call for a gourd for
drinking purposes in preference to a tumbler; but in this company I
shall abandon a custom of the plain people and yield to the habits of
the sons of Mammon. I am here, I take it, once more in my official
capacity as governor of South Carolina, and as I am not one to offend
the best sentiments of my people, I pledge you, my friends, not in the
untaxed corn whisky of Appleweight's private still, but in the excellent
and foamy buttermilk of Mrs. Appleweight's homely churn."
As he concluded, Governor Dangerfield rose and performed exactly the
same solemn rite with the jug before him, pouring whisky into one glass,
buttermilk into the other, and leaning across the table he touched his
tumbler of buttermilk to that extended by Governor Osborne. When the
applause that greeted this exchange of courtesies had subsided, Governor
Dangerfield was still standing, and in a quiet conversational tone, and
with a manner engagingly frank, he said:
"Before it seemed expedient to follow the reform bandwagon, I held
certain principles touching the drinking habit. But the American bar
has destroyed drinking as a fine art, and it has now become a vulgar
habit. In the good old times no gentleman ever jumped at his liquor. He
took it with a casual air, even with a sanctifying reluctance. The idea
of rushing into a public place and gulping your liquor is repugnant to
the most primary of the instincts that govern gentlemen. To precipitate
a gill of applejack into that most delicate organism, the human stomach,
without the slightest warning, is an insult to the human body,--ay,
more, it is an outrage upon man's very soul. The aim of liquor, ladies
and gentlemen, is to stay and lift the spirit, not to degrade it.
Drinking at proper intervals ceased to be respectable at a fixed date in
human progress--to be exact, at the moment when it was no longer a mere
incident of personal or social recreation but had become a sociological
and political issue, staggering drunkenly under a weary burden of most
painful statistics."
"You are eminently right, Governor Dangerfield," said the governor of
South Carolina, helping himself to the salted almonds; "but you have
used a phrase which piques my curiosity. Will you kindly enlighten us as
to how you interpret proper intervals?"
"With greatest pleasure," responded Governor Dangerfield. "I remember,
as though it were yesterday, my venerable grandfather saying that no
gentleman should ever approach the sideboard oftener than once before
breakfast, and he was himself a very early riser. I discount this,
however, because he always slept with a jug of Cuban rum--the annual
offering of a West Indian friend--easily within his reach at the head of
his bed. It was his practice for years to sip a little rum and water
while he shaved. He was a gentleman if ever I knew one and as I look
upon him as a standard authority in all matters of deportment and
morals, I may safely cite him further in answer to your question.
"During the long open season in our country my grandfather constantly
rode over the plantation in immaculate white duck followed by a darky on
a mule carrying a basket. On our ancestral estate there were many
springs giving the purest and coldest of water, and these were
providentially scattered at the most convenient intervals for my
grandfather's comfort. And as a slight return to nature for what she had
done for him in this particular, my grandfather, in his early youth, had
planted mint around all these springs. I need hardly point out the
advantages of this happiest of combinations--a spring of clear, icy
water; the pungent bouquet of lush mint; the ample basket home by a
faithful negro, and my grandfather, in his white duck suit and a Panama
hat a yard wide, seated by the mossy spring, selecting with the most
delicate care the worthiest of the fragrant leaves.
"Now"--and Governor Dangerfield smiled--"I can see that you are all busy
guessing at the number of stops made by my grandfather in the course of
a day, and I hasten to satisfy your curiosity. My grandfather always
started out at six o'clock in the morning, and the springs were so
arranged that he had to make six stops before noon, and four in the
afternoon; but at five o'clock, when he reached home all fagged out by a
hard day's work and sorely needing refreshment, a pitcher of cherry
bounce was waiting for him on the west gallery of the house. After that
he took nothing but a night-cap on retiring for the night. To my friend,
the governor of South Carolina, I need offer no apologies for my
grandfather, once a senator in Congress, and a man distinguished for his
sobriety and probity. He was an upright man and a gentleman, and died at
ninety-two, full of years and honors, and complaining, almost with his
last breath, of a distressing dusty feeling in the throat."
When, as time passed, it seemed that every one had told a story or made
a speech, it was Ardmore's inspiration that Griswold should sing a song.
The associate professor of admiralty in the University of Virginia had
already pledged the loyalty of his state to her neighbors and twin
sisters, the Carolinas, and Barbara, who wore a great bunch of her own
white roses, had listened to him with a new respect and interest, for he
spoke well, with the special grace of speech that men of his state have,
and with little turns of humor that kept the table bubbling merrily.
"I shall comply with your request, my friends, if you can bear with the
poor voice of one long out of tune, and if our host still has in the
house a certain ancient guitar I remember from old times. But I must
impose one condition, that I shall not again in this place be called by
my academic title. I have known wars and the shock of battle along the
Raccoon"--here his hand went to his lips in the gesture that had so
often distressed Ardmore--"and I have known briefly the joy of a
military title. Miss Osborne conferred on me in an emergency the noble
title of major, and by it I demand hereafter to be known."
The governor of South Carolina was promptly upon his feet.
"Henry Maine Griswold," he said in his most official manner, "I hereby
appoint you a major on my staff with all the rights, privileges and
embarrassments thereunto belonging, and you shall to-morrow attend me
personally in my inspection of our troops in the field."
As the guitar was placed in Griswold's hands, Ardmore caused all the
lights to be turned out save those on the table. In the soft candle-glow
Ardmore bent his face upon Jerry, who had been merrily chaffing him at
intervals, but who feigned at other times an utter ignorance of his
presence on earth. As Griswold's voice rose in the mellow dusk it seemed
to Ardmore that the song spoke things he could not, like his friend, put
into utterance, and something fine and sweet and hallowed--that sweet
sabbath of the soul that comes with first love--possessed him, and he
ceased looking at Jerry, but bent his head and was lost in dreams. For
the song and the voice were both beyond what the company had expected.
It was an old air that Griswold sang, and it gave charm to his words,
which were those of a man who loves deeply and who dares speak them to
the woman he loves. They rose and fell in happy cadences, and every word
rang clear. In the longer lines of the song there was a quickening of
time that carried the sense of passion, and Griswold lifted his head
when he uttered them and let them cry out of him.
One of Barbara's white roses had fallen into her lap and she played with
it idly; but after the first verse it slipped from her fingers and she
folded her arms on the table and bent her gaze on the quiet flame of the
candle before her. And this was the song that Griswold sang:
Fair winds and golden suns
Down the year's dim aisles of gray depart;
But you are the dear white rose of the world
That I hide in my heart.
Last leaves, and the first wild snow,
And the earth through an iron void is whirled;
But safe from the tempest abide in my heart,
O dear white rose of the world!
Blithe air and flashing wing,
And awakened sap that thrills and flows;
But hid from the riot, and haste of the spring
Sleeps one white rose.
O scattered leaves of days!
O low-voiced glories that fade and depart!
But changeless and dear through the changing year
Blooms one white rose in my heart.
The last words hung tremulously, tenderly, on the air, and left a spell
upon the company that no one seemed anxious to break; then there was
long applause and cries of encore; but Ardmore, who knew that his
friend had been greatly moved, drew attention away from him to Collins,
who had just entered the room.
The correspondent had been called away shortly before from the table,
and he wore the serious air of one heavy with news.
"I beg to report that I have just completed a treaty with the
journalists assembled in the cellar."
"I hope, Mr. Collins, that the journalists' convention below stairs
realized that the lobster we sent them for supper was not canned, and
that the mushrooms were creamed for their refreshment by Mrs. Atchison's
special command. It is not for us to trifle with the dignity of the
press," said Jerry.
"The reputations of two governors and of two states are in their hands,"
said the governor of South Carolina, with feeling. "It would be a
distressing end of my public services if the truth of all these matters
should be known. The fact that Governor Dangerfield and I had merely
withdrawn from public life for a little quiet poker in the country would
sound like the grossest immorality to my exacting constituency."
"Both yourself and Governor Dangerfield will be relieved to know that
they have accepted my terms and all is well," responded Collins. "They
will tell the waiting world that you have both been the guests of Mr.
Ardmore, and that the troops assembled on the Raccoon are merely at
their usual summer maneuvers. As for Appleweight, it has seemed
expedient that he should be dead, and the man who has been called by
that name of late is only an impostor seeking a little cheap notoriety.
The boys are very sick of the cellar, and they would do even more than
this to get away."
"Mr. Collins," said Governor Dangerfield, rising, "your great merits
shall not go unrewarded. I have carelessly neglected to appoint a
delegate from North Carolina to the annual conference of the Supreme
Lodge of the Society of American Liars shortly to meet at Lake Placid,
New York. As a slight testimonial of my confidence and admiration, I
hereby appoint you to represent the Old North State at that meeting, and
your expenses shall be paid from the public purse."
"The boys wish to see your excellencies before they leave," said Collins
when he had acknowledged the governor's compliment; and as he spoke the
sound of great cheering broke through the windows, and Mrs. Atchison
promptly rose and led the way to the broad terraces which were now gay
with colored lanterns.
"Speech! Speech!" cried the corps of correspondents. Then Ardmore
seized Governor Osborne's hand and led him forward to the balustrade;
but before the governor of South Carolina could speak the group of
newspaper men began chanting, in the manner of a college antiphonal:
What did he say to you?
What did he say to you?
_What did who say?_
What did the governor of North Carolina
SAY
To the governor of South Carolina?
"Gentlemen," began Governor Osborne, speaking with great deliberation,
"I am profoundly touched by the cordiality of your greeting. (Applause.)
Amid the perplexities of my official life I am deeply sensible always of
the consideration and generosity of our free and untrammeled American
press. (Cheers.) Without your support and approval, my best aims, my
sincerest endeavors in behalf of the people, must fall short and fail of
their purpose. (A voice: You're dead right about that.) I am proud of
this opportunity to greet this most complimentary delegation of men
distinguished in the noble profession of which Greeley, Raymond and Dana
were the high ornaments. (Cheers.) I look into your upturned faces as
into the faces of old friends. But I dare not--(A voice: Oh, don't be
afraid, Governor!)--I dare not take too personally this expression of
your good-will. It is not myself but the great state of South Carolina
that you honor, and on behalf of mine own people, who have always stood
sturdily for the great principles of the constitution; (Cheers) who have
failed in no hour of the country's need, but have tilled their fields in
peace and defended them in the dark days of war, I thank you, my
friends, with all my heart, again and again." (Applause and cheers.)
What did you say to him?
What did you say to him?
_What did who say?_
What did the governor of North Carolina
SAY
To the governor of South Carolina?
"On an occasion so purely social as this," began Governor Dangerfield,
balancing himself lightly upon the balustrade, "it would be most
indelicate for me to discuss any of the great issues of the day. (A
voice: Oh, I don't know!) I indorse, with all the strength of my being,
and with all the sincerity of which my heart is capable, the stirring
tribute paid to your noble profession by my friend, known far and near,
and justly known, as the great reform governor of South Carolina.
(Cheers.) I am proud that the American press is incorruptible. (Cheers.)
Great commercial nation though we be, the American newspaper--the
American newspaper, I say, is one thing that is never for sale.
(Applause and cheers.) The temptation is strong upon me to take
advantage of this gathering of representative journalists to speak--not
of the fathers of the constitution, not of Jefferson or Jackson, but of
living men and living issues (Cheers and cries of Let 'er go!); but the
hour is late (A voice: Oh, not on Broadway, William!) and, to repeat, it
would be the height of impropriety--a betrayal of the bountiful
hospitality we have all enjoyed (A voice: Our lobster was all right.
Another voice, with ironical inflection; _This_ lobster is all right!),
a betrayal, I say, of hospitality for me to do more, gentlemen, than to
thank you, and to say that in your strong hands the liberties of the
people are safe indeed." (Prolonged cheering.)
As the correspondents marched away to take the special train provided
for them at Kildare by Ardmore, they continued to cheer, and they were
still demanding, as long as their cries could be heard at Ardsley:
What did he say to him?
What did he say to him?
_What did who say?_
What did the governor of North Carolina
SAY
To the governor of South Carolina?
With a sigh Ardmore left them at the great gates of Ardsley and returned
to the house to find Jerry; but that young woman was the center of a
wide circle of admiring militia officers, and the master of Ardsley was
so depressed by the spectacle that he sought a dim corner of the grounds
where there was a stone bench by a fountain, and there, to his
confusion, he beheld Miss Barbara Osborne and Henry Maine Griswold; and
Miss Osborne, it seemed, was in the act of fastening a white rose in
Professor Griswold's coat.
CHAPTER XXI
GOOD-BY TO JERRY DANGERFIELD
The next morning Ardmore knocked at Griswold's door as early as he
dared, and went in and talked to his friend in their old intimate
fashion. The associate professor of admiralty was shaving himself with
care.
"You won't have any hard feelings about that scarlet fever business,
will you, Grissy? It was downright selfish of me to want to keep the
thing to myself, but I thought it would be fun to go ahead and carry it
through and then show you how well I pulled it off."
"Don't ever refer to it again, if you love me," spluttered Griswold
amiably, as he washed off the lather. "I, too, have ruled over a
kingdom, and I have seen history in the making, _quorum pars magna
fui_."
"But I say, Grissy, there is such a thing as fate and destiny and all
that after all; don't you believe it?"
"Don't I believe it! I know it!" thundered Griswold, reaching for a
towel. He lifted a white rose from a glass of water where it had spent
the night and regarded it tenderly. "The right rose under the right
star, and the thing's done; the rose, the star and the girl,--the
combination simply can't be beat, Ardy."
Ardmore seized and wrung his friend's hand, for the twentieth time; but
he was preoccupied, and Griswold, fastening his collar at the mirror,
hummed softly the couplet:
With the winking eye
For my battle-cry.
"Grissy!" shouted Ardmore, "she never did it!"
"Oh--bless my soul, what was I saying! Why, of course she wasn't the
one! Not Miss Dangerfield--never!"
"Well, you like her, don't you?" demanded Ardmore petulantly.
"Of course I like her, you idiot! She's wonderful. She's--"
He frowned upon the scarf he had chosen with much care, snapped it to
shake the wrinkles out, humming softly, while Ardmore glared at him.
"She's wise," Griswold resumed, "with the wisdom of laughter--accept
that, with my compliments. It's not often I do so well before breakfast.
And now if you're to be congratulated before I go back to the groves of
Academe pray bestir yourself. At this very moment I have an engagement
to walk with a lady before breakfast--thanks, yes, that's my coat.
Good-by!"
Breakfast was a lingering affair at Ardsley that morning. The two
governors and the national guard officers who had spent the night in the
house were not in the slightest hurry to break up the party, for such a
company, they all knew, could hardly be assembled again. The governors
were a trifle nervous as to the attitude of the press, in spite of
Collins' efforts to dictate what history should say of the affair on the
Raccoon; but before they left the table the Raleigh morning papers were
brought in and it was clear that the newspaper men were keeping their
contract.
"I congratulate you, Dangerfield," said Governor Osborne. "I only hope
that the Columbia and Charleston papers have done half as well by me."
Both governors had decided upon an inspection of such portions of their
militia as were assembled on the Raccoon, and a joint dress parade was
appointed for six o'clock.
Ardmore, anxious to make every one at home, saw the morning pass without
a chance to speak to Jerry; and when he was free shortly before noon he
was chagrined to find that she had gone for a ride over the estate with
her father, Governor Osborne, Barbara and Griswold. He went in pursuit,
and to his delight found her presently sitting alone on a log by the
Raccoon, having dismounted, it appeared, to rescue a fledgling robin
whose cries had led her away from her companions. She pointed out the
nest and directed him to climb the tree and restore the bird. This done
he sat down beside her at a point where the Raccoon curved sweepingly
and swung off abruptly into a new course.
"I hope your father didn't scold you for anything we did," he began
meekly.
"No; he took it all pretty well, and promised that if I wouldn't tell
mama what he had been doing--about coming down here with Governor
Osborne just to settle an old score at poker--mama doesn't approve of
cards, you know--that he would make me a present of a better riding
horse than the one I now have, and he might even consider a trip abroad
next summer."
"Oh, you mustn't go abroad! It's--it's so lonesome abroad!"
"How perfectly ridiculous! Has it never occurred to you that I am never
lonesome, not even when I'm alone."
"Well," said Ardmore, who saw that he was headed for a blind alley,
"I'm glad your father was not displeased with our work."
"He'll think we did pretty well after he's read our correspondence in
his letter books. I told him the stamp we stamped his name with worked
better with the red ink pad than with the black one, which ought, at any
rate, to be clear enough to a man of papa's intelligence."
"Did you tell him about that railroad lawyer from New York who wanted to
suppress the law which compels all locomotive whistles to be tuned to E
flat?"
"No; that man sent me a ten-pound box of candy, which was highly
improper, considering papa's position, and I should have scorned to
accept the candy only I had forgotten to keep his card."
"And besides," added Ardmore gently, "you had eaten the candy. Don't you
remember that you left nothing but a few burnt almonds which you wanted
to keep for eating filapenas?"
"Don't be silly!" ejaculated Jerry contemptuously.
"It's a good thing all this fuss about the Appleweight people is over or
I should be worse than silly. My mind was not intended for such heavy
work."
[Illustration]
"I think you have a good mind, Mr. Ardmore," said Jerry, with the air
of one who makes concessions. "You really did well in all these
troubles, and you did much better than I thought you would the day I
hired you for private secretary. I think I could safely recommend you to
any governor in need of assistance."
"You talk as though you were getting ready to discharge me," said
Ardmore plaintively, "and I don't want to lose my job."
"You ought to have something to do," said Jerry thoughtfully. "As near
as I can make out you have never done anything but study about pirates
and collect pernicious books on the sinful life of Captain Kidd. You
should have some larger aim in life than that and I think I know of a
good position that is now open, or will be as soon as papa has cleared
out the peanut shells we left in his desk. I think you would make an
excellent adjutant-general with full charge of the state militia. You
have already had experience in the handling of troops, and as Rutherford
Gillingwater never did anything but get typhoid fever to earn the place,
I see no reason why papa should not appoint you to the position."
"But you have to get rid of Gillingwater first," suggested Ardmore, his
heart beating fast.
"If you mean that he has to be removed from office, I will tell you
now, Mr. Ardmore, that Rutherford Gillingwater will no longer sign
himself adjutant-general of North Carolina. I removed him myself in a
general order I wrote yesterday afternoon just before I told papa that
you and I could not act as governor any longer, but that he must resume
the yoke."
"But that must have been a matter of considerable delicacy, Miss
Dangerfield, when you consider that you are engaged to marry Mr.
Gillingwater."
"Not in the least," said Jerry. "I broke our engagement the moment I saw
that he came here the other night all dressed up to eat and not to
fight, and he is now free to engage himself to that thin blonde at
Goldsboro whom he thinks so highly intellectual."
Jerry held up her left hand and regarded its ringless fingers
judicially, while Ardmore, his heart racing hotly against all records,
watched her, and with a particular covetousness his eyes studied that
trifle of a hand.
Then with a quick gesture he seized her hand and raised her gently to
her feet.
"Jerry!" he cried. "From the moment you winked at me I have loved you. I
should have followed you round the world until I found you. If you can
marry a worthless wretch like me, if--oh, Jerry!"
She gently freed her hand and stepped to one side, bending her head like
a bird that pauses alarmed, or uncertain of its whereabouts, glancing
cautiously up and down the creek.
"Mr. Ardmore," she said, "you may not be aware that when you asked me to
be your wife--and that, I take it, was your intention--you were standing
in South Carolina, while I stood with both feet on the sacred soil of
the Old North State. Under the circumstances I do not think your
proposal is legal. Moreover, unless you are quite positive which eye it
was that so far forgot itself as to wink, I do not think the matter can
go further."
The slightest suggestion of a smile played about her lips, but he was
very deeply troubled, and, seeing this, her eyes grew grave with
kindness.
"Mr. Ardmore, if your muscles of locomotion have not been utterly
paralyzed, and if you will leave that particular state of the Union
which, next to Massachusetts, I most deeply abhor, I will do what I can
in my poor weak way--as father says in beginning his best speeches--to
assist you to the answer."
Then for many æons, when he had his arms about her, a kiss, which he
had intended for the lips that were so near, somehow failed of its
destination, and fell upon what seemed to him a rose-leaf gone to
Heaven, but which was, in fact, Jerry Dangerfield's left eye. His being
tingled with the most delicious of intoxications, to which the clasp of
her arms about his neck added unnecessary though not unwelcome delight.
Then she drew back and held him away with her finger-tips for an
instant.
"Mr. Thomas Ardmore," she said, with maddening deliberation, "it may not
be important, but I must tell you in all candor that it was the other
eye."
[Illustration]