MYSTERY OF THE FLOWER QUEEN.
Frank looked at Professor Scotch in amazement, for he had never known
the little man to use such language or show such spirit in the face of
actual danger.
"I wonder if the professor has been drinking, and, if so, where he got
his drinks?" was the thought that flashed through Frank's mind.
"Mistah Raymon', sah, has no quarrel with you, sah," said the individual
with the bristling mustache. "If there is to be any further trouble,
sah, I will attend to your case."
"You? Who are you?"
"I, sah, am Colonel La Salle Vallier, the ver' particular friend of
Mistah Raymon'. If yo' say so, we will exchange cards, sah."
"Then we will exchange. Here is mine."
"And here, sah, is mine."
"This," said Colonel Vallier, "precludes yo' from interfering in this
othah affair, Professor Scotch."
"Hey? It does! How's that, I'd like to know?"
"I am at your service, professor," bowed the colonel. "You shall make
such arrangements as yo' choose. Pistols or swords make no difference to
me, for I am a dead shot and an expert swordsman. I trust yo' will
excuse us now, gentlemen. We will see yo' later. Good-day."
He locked arms with the young man, and they turned away, with a sweeping
salute. The throng parted, and they passed through.
Professor Scotch stood staring after them till Frank tapped him on the
shoulder, saying:
"Come, professor, we may as well get out of this."
"Excuse-a me, senors," said a soft, musical voice, and a young man with
a Spanish face and pink cheeks was bowing before them. "I t'ink you
need-a to be tole 'bout it."
"Told about what?" demanded Frank, who took an instant dislike to this
softly smiling fellow with the womanish voice and gentle ways. "What do
you mean?"
"Excuse-a me," repeated the stranger, who was gaudily dressed in many
colors. "Yo' are strangar-a-rs from de Noath, an' yo' do not know-a de
men what you have a de troub' wid. Excuse-a me; I am Manuel Mazaro, an'
I know-a dem. De young man is son of de ver' reech Senor Roderick
Raymon', dat everybody in New Orle'n know. He is ver' wile--ver'
reckless. Ha! He love-a to fight, an' he has been in two duel, dough he
is ver' young. But de odare, senors--de man wid de white mustache--ah!"
Manuel Mazaro threw up his hands with an expression that plainly said
words failed him.
"Well, what of the other?" asked Frank, impatiently.
"Senors," purred Mazaro, "he is de wor-r-rst fightar ever leeve! He
like-a to fight fo' de sport of keelin'. Take-a my advice, senors, an'
go 'way from New Orle'n'. Yo' make ver' gre't mistake to get in troub'
wid dem."
"Thank you for your kind advice," said Frank, quietly. "I presume it is
well meant, but it is wasted. This is a free country, and a dozen
fire-eaters like Colonel La Salle Vallier and Mr. Rolf Raymond cannot
drive us out of New Orleans till we are ready to go. Eh, professor?"
"Well, I guess not!" rumbled the little man, stiffening up and looking
as fierce as he could.
"Oh, ver' well, ver' well," said Mazaro, lifting his eyebrows, the ghost
of a scornful smile on his face. "You know-a your own biz. Good-day,
senors."
"Good-day, sir."
They passed through the crowd and sought their carriage, which was
waiting for them, although the driver had begun to think they had
deserted him.
The procession, which had been broken up by the stampeded steers, was
again forming, making it evident that the pleasure-loving people were
determined that the unfortunate occurrence should not ruin the day.
The Queen of Flowers and her subjects had vanished, and the flower barge
was a wreck, so a part of the programme could not be carried out.
The procession formed without the flower barge, and was soon on its way
once more, the band playing its liveliest tune.
The way was lined with tens of thousands of spectators, while flags
fluttered from every building. All along the line the king was greeted
with cheers and bared heads. It was a most magnificent spectacle.
The carriage bearing Frank and the professor had found a place in the
procession through the skill of the driver, and the man and boy were
able to witness this triumphal entrance of King Rex to the Crescent
City.
At the City Hall, the Duke of Crescent City, who was the mayor, welcomed
Rex with great pomp and ceremony, presenting him the keys and the
freedom of the city.
Shortly afterward, the king mysteriously disappeared, and the procession
broke up and dispersed.
Frank and the professor returned to the St. Charles Hotel, both feeling
decidedly hungry.
Frank had little to say after they had satisfied their hunger and were
in their suite of rooms. He had seemed to be thinking all the while, and
the professor again repeated a question that he had asked several times:
"What in the world makes you so glum, Frank? What are you thinking
about?"
"The Queen of Flowers," was the reply.
"My boy," cried the professor, enthusiastically, "I am proud of
you--yes, sir, proud! But, at one time, I thought you were done for.
That steer was right upon you, and I could see no way for you to escape
the creature's horns. I held my breath, expecting to see you impaled.
And then I saw you escape with no further injury than the slitting of
your coat sleeve, but to this minute I can't say how you did it."
Frank scarcely seemed to hear the professor's words. He sat with his
hand to his head, his eyes fixed on a pattern in the carpet.
"She knew my name," he muttered. "She spoke it distinctly. There can be
no doubt about that."
Professor Scotch groaned dismally.
"There you go again!" he exclaimed. "Now, what are you mumbling about?"
"The Queen of Flowers."
"Confound the Queen of Flowers!" exploded Scotch. "You saved her life
at the risk of your own, but you don't know her from Adam."
"She knows me."
"How is that?"
"She spoke my name."
"You must be mistaken."
"I am not."
Professor Scotch looked incredulous.
"Why, she was unconscious."
"She was when I saved her from the steer."
"And she recovered afterward?"
"Yes; just as Colonel Vallier was taking her to the carriage."
"And she spoke your name then?"
"Yes. First I saw her open her eyes, and I noticed that she was looking
straight at me; then I heard her distinctly but faintly pronounce my
name."
The professor still looked doubtful.
"You were excited, my boy, and you imagined it."
"No, professor, it was no case of imagination; I know she called me
Frank Merriwell, but what puzzles me is the fact that this young cad,
Raymond, was determined I should not speak with her, and she was carried
away quickly. Why should they wish to keep us from having a few words of
conversation?"
"That is a question I cannot answer, Frank."
"There's a mystery here, professor--a mystery I mean to solve. I am
going to find out who the Queen of Flowers really is."
"And get into more trouble, you hot-headed young rascal. I should think
you were in trouble enough already, with a possible duel impending."
A twinkle of mischief showed in Frank's eyes.
"How about yourself, professor?"
"Oh, the young scoundrel won't dare to meet me," blustered Scotch,
throwing out his chest and strutting about the room.
"But he is not the one you will have to meet. You exchanged cards with
Colonel La Salle Vallier."
"As a mere matter of courtesy."
"That might go in the North, but you exchanged under peculiar
circumstances, and, taking everything into consideration, I have no
doubt but you will be waited on by a friend of Colonel Vallier. You will
have to meet him."
"Hey!" roared the professor, turning pale. "Is it possible that such a
result will come from a mere matter of politeness? Why, I'm no fighter,
Frank--I'm no blood-and-thunder ruffian! I did not mean to hint that I
wished to meet the colonel on the field of honor."
"But you have, and you can't back out now. You heard what Manuel Mazaro
had to say about him. He is a dead shot and a skilled swordsman. Oh,
professor, my heart bleeds for you! But you shall have a great funeral,
and I'll plant tiddly-wink posies all over your grave."
"Caesar's ghost!" groaned Scotch, collapsing on a chair, and looking very
ill indeed. "This is a terrible scrape! I don't feel well. I fear I am
going to be very ill."