such a lot that came before," said Phil, mildly; but the blood sprang to
her cheeks at the sound of a step on the stairs. Our rival for
possession of the boat had come back alone.
"That old rascal has, with extraordinary suddenness and opportuneness,
forgotten every word of English," he announced, "and pretends not to
understand German. I can't speak Dutch; can you?"
"No," said I. "Not a syllable. But he spoke English quite respectably an
hour ago."
"That was before he was found out. He can now do nothing but shake his
head and say '_niets verstaen_,' or something that sounds like that. I
thought of killing him, but concluded it would be better to wait until
I'd asked you how you'd like it done."
"It ought to be something lingering," said I. "We'll talk it over. But
first, perhaps, we'd better decide what's to be done with _ourselves_.
You see, we've come to Holland to have a cruise on our new boat;
otherwise, if you liked, _we_, as the real owners, might let her to you,
and all would be well. Still, it does seem a shame that you should be
disappointed when you took 'Lorelei' in good faith, and made her so
pretty. Of course, you must let us know what you've paid----"
"A few gulden," said the young man, evasively.
"Never mind. You must tell how many. Unfortunately that won't mend your
disappointment. But--what can we do?"
"I suppose there isn't the slightest hope that you could--er--take me as
a passenger?"
"Oh, we couldn't possibly do that," hastily exclaimed Phil. "We're
alone. Though my stepsister, Miss Van Buren, has cousins in Rotterdam,
we've come from England without a chaperon, and--for the present----"
The young man's eyes were more brilliant than ever, though the rest of
his face looked sad.
"Oh, don't say any more," he implored. "I see how it is. I oughtn't to
have made such a suggestion. My only excuse is, I was thinking--of my
poor aunt. She'll be horribly disappointed. I care most for her, and
what she'll feel at giving up the cruise."
"Oh, was your aunt coming?" I asked.
"Yes, my Scotch aunt. Such a charming woman. I'm an American, you know.
Clever of me to have a Scotch aunt, but I have. I've been visiting her
lately, near Edinburgh. You would like Lady MacNairne, I think."
Phil's face changed. She is the last girl in the world to be a snob; but
hearing that this young man had a Scotch aunt, with a title, was almost
as good as a proper introduction. And there really is something
singularly winning about my countryman. I suppose it is that he has "a
way with him," as the Irish say. Besides, it seemed nice of so young a
man to care so much about a mere aunt. Many young men despise aunts as
companions; but evidently he isn't one of those, as he beautified
"Lorelei" simply to give his aunt pleasure.
"It really _does_ seem hard," I said. "Now, if only Phyllis hadn't so
many rules of propriety--" But, to my surprise, the very thought in my
mind, which I hadn't dared breathe, was spoken out next minute by Phil
herself.
"Maybe we might come to some kind of arrangement--as you have an aunt,"
she faltered.
"Yes, as you have an aunt," I repeated.
"She'd make an ideal chaperon for young ladies," hastily went on the
Southerner. "I should like you to meet her."
"Is Lady MacNairne in Rotterdam?" asked Phil.
"Not exactly; but she's coming--almost at once."
"We don't know your name yet," said Phyllis. "I'm Miss Rivers; my
stepsister is Miss Van Buren. Perhaps you'd better introduce yourself."
"I shall be glad to," returned my countryman. "My name is Ronald Lester
Starr----"
"Why, the initials are just right--R. L. S." I murmured.
"I know what you mean," he said, with a nice smile. "They say I look
like him. I'm very proud. You'll think I ought to be a writer; but I'm
not. I paint a little--just enough to call myself an artist----"
"Oh, I remember," I broke in. "I thought the name sounded familiar. You
had a picture in the Salon this spring."
He looked anxious. "Did you see it?"
"No--not even a copy. What was the subject? Horrid of me to ask; but,
you see, it's July now, and one forgets."
"One does," he admitted, as if he were pleased. "Oh, it was only a
portrait of my aunt."
"Your Scotch aunt?"
"Yes. But if you'd seen it, and then should see her, you mightn't even
recognize her. I--er--didn't try to make a striking likeness."
"I wish I'd seen the picture," said I. And I thought Mr. Starr must be
very modest, for his expression suggested that he didn't echo my wish.
"Do you think you could let my aunt and me join you?" he asked. "I don't
mean to crowd up your boat; that would never do, for you might want to
sleep on it sometimes. But I might get a barge, and you could tow it.
I'd thought of that very thing; indeed, I've practically engaged a
barge. My friend and I, who were to have chummed together, if he hadn't
been called away--oh, you know, that was a plan before my aunt promised
to come, quite another idea. But what I mean to say is, I got an idea
for hiring a barge, and having it towed by the motor-boat. I could have
had a studio in that way, for I wanted to do some painting. I'd just
come back from seeing rather a jolly barge that's to let, when
I--er--stumbled on you."
"Had you engaged any one to work 'Lorelei'?"
"A chauffeur," said Mr. Ronald; "but no skipper for certain yet. I've
been negotiating."
"Dear me!" I exclaimed. "Must we have a chauffeur and a skipper too?"
"I'm afraid we must; a man who understands the waterways of Holland. A
chauffeur understands only the motor, and lucky if he does that."
"Won't it be dreadfully expensive?" asked Phyllis.
"The skipper's wages won't be more than five or six dollars (a bit more
than one of your sovereigns) a week, and the chauffeur less. They'll
keep themselves, but I meant them to sleep on the barge. The skipper
ought to be a smart chap, who can be trusted with money to pay the
expenses of the boat as one goes along--bridge-money and all sorts of
things. The chauffeur can buy the _essence_--petrol, you call it in
England, don't you?--but the skipper had better do the rest."
"It does seem a frightful responsibility for two girls," said Phyllis.
"Of course, if you'd consent to have my aunt--and me--we'd take all the
trouble off your hands, and half the expense," remarked Mr. Starr. "My
poor aunt is so fond of the water, and there's so little in
Scotland----"
"Little in Scotland?"
"Well, only a few lakes and rivers. It does seem hard she should be
disappointed."
"She mightn't like us," said Phyllis.
"She would lo--I mean, she'd be no aunt of mine if she didn't. I'd cut
her off with a penny."
"It's generally aunts who do that with their nephews," said I.
"Ah, but she's different from other aunts, and I'm different from other
nephews. May I telegraph that she's to come?"
"I thought she was coming."
"I mean, may I telegraph that she's to be a chaperon? I ought to let her
know. She might--er--want more dresses or bonnets, or something."
Phil and I laughed, and so did Mr. Starr. After that, of course, we
couldn't be stony-hearted; besides, we didn't want to be. I could see
that, even to Phil, the thought of a cruise taken in the company of our
new friend and that ideal chaperon, his aunt, Lady MacNairne, had
attractions which the idea of a cruise alone with her stepsister had
lacked.
"Well, in the circumstances, I think we should be callous brutes not to
say 'Yes,'" I replied.
"I don't want to force you into consenting from pure generosity," went
on Mr. Starr. "If you'd like to consult your relations, and have them
find out that I'm all right----"
I laughed again. "I know you better than I do them," said I. "I've never
seen them yet. I think we can take you on faith, just as you've taken
our claims to the boat. Your Scotch aunt alone would be a guarantee, if
we needed one. A Scotch aunt sounds so _extra_ reliable. But perhaps my
relatives may be of use in other ways, as they've lived in Rotterdam
always, I fancy. They might even find us a skipper, if your negotiations
fall through. Anyhow, I'll write a letter from our hotel to the head of
the family, introducing myself as his long-lost cousin twice removed."
"What is your hotel, if I may ask?" inquired Mr. Starr.
I told him, and it turned out that it had been his till this very
morning, when he had removed his things to "Lorelei," with the intention
of living on board till he was ready to start. Now he proposed to have
them taken back to the hotel, and rearranged on the barge when his aunt
came. As for that sly old person, the caretaker, our new friend
volunteered to straighten out everything with him, our affair as well
as his own.
"When he discovers that we can't be bothered having the law of him, as
he richly deserves, he will remember his English, or I'll find the way
to make him," said the young man in such a joyous, confident way, that
thereupon I dubbed him our "lucky Starr."
IV
"How funny if I've got relations who can't speak any language except
Dutch!" I said, after I'd sent a letter by messenger to the address of
the Robert van Buren found in the directory.
But half an hour later an answer came back, in English. Mine very
sincerely, Robert van Buren, would give himself the pleasure of calling
on his cousin immediately. When I received this news it was one o'clock,
and we were finishing lunch at the hotel, in the society of Mr. Starr,
who had already wired to his aunt that she was to play the part of
chaperon.
I read the letter aloud, and Phil and I decided that it sounded _old_.
"Mother spoke once or twice of father's cousin, Robert van Buren; so I
suppose he's about the age my father would have been if he'd lived," I
said. "I hope he'll not turn out a horror."
"I hope he'll not forbid you to associate with my aunt and me," cut in
Mr. Starr. "It's a stiff kind of handwriting."
"He can't make me stiff," said I. "Cousins twice removed don't
count--except when they can be useful."
"A gentleman in the reading-room to see you, miss," announced the
waiter, who could speak English, handing me a card on a tray. It was a
foreign-looking card, and I couldn't feel in the least related to it,
especially as the "van" began with a little "v."
"Come and support me, Phil," I begged, glancing regretfully at a
seductive bit of Dutch cheese studded with caraway seeds, which it would
be rude to stop and eat.
It's rather an ordeal to meet a new relation, even if you tell yourself
that you don't care what he thinks of you. I slipped behind Phil, making
her enter the reading-room first, which gave me time to peep over her
shoulder and fancy we had been directed wrongly. There was a man in the
room, but he could not have been a man in the days when mother was
speaking of "father's cousin." His expression only was old: it might
have been a hundred. The rest of him could not be more than twenty-eight,
and it was all extremely good-looking. If he were to turn out a cousin
I should not have to be ashamed of him. He was like a big, handsome
cavalryman, with a drooping mustache that was hay-colored, in contrast
with a brown skin, and a pair of the solemnest gray eyes I've ever
seen--except in the face of a baby.
"Are you Miss Van Buren?" this giant asked Phil gravely, holding out a
large brown hand.
"No," said Phil, unwilling to take the hand under false pretenses.
It fell, and so did the handsome face, if anything so solemn could have
become a degree graver than before.
"I beg your pardon," said the owner of both, speaking English with a
Scotch accent. "I have made a deceit."
I laughed aloud. "I'm Helen Van Buren," I said. And I put out my hand.
His swallowed it up, and though I wear only one ring I could have
shrieked. Yet his expression was not flattering. There are persons who
prefer my style to Phil's, but I could see that he wasn't one of them. I
felt he thought me garish; which was unjust, as I can't help it if my
complexion is very white and very pink, my eyes and eyelashes rather
dark, and my hair decidedly chestnut. I haven't done any of it myself,
yet I believe the handsome giant suspected me, and was sorry that Phil
was not Miss Van Buren.
"Are you my cousin Robert Van Buren's son?" I asked.
"I am the only Robert van Buren now living," he answered.
I longed to be flippant, and say that there were probably several dotted
about the globe, if we only knew them; but I dared not, under those
eyes--absolutely dared not. Instead, I remarked inanely that I was sorry
to hear his father was not alive.
"He died many years ago. We have got over it," he replied. And I almost
laughed again; but that angel of a Phil looked quite sympathetic.
In a few minutes we settled down more comfortably, with Phil and me on a
sofa together, and Cousin Robert on a chair, which kept me in fits of
anxiety by creaking and looking too small to hold him.
Phil and I held hands, as girls generally do when they are at all
self-conscious, if they sit within a yard of each other; and we all
began to talk in the absurd way of new-found relations, or people you
haven't seen for a long time.
We asked Robert things, and he answered; and when we'd encouraged him a
good deal, he asked us things too, looking mostly at Phyllis. At last we
arrived at the information that he had a mother and two sisters, who
spent the summers at Scheveningen, in a villa. Then fell a silence,
which Phil tactfully broke by saying that she had heard of Scheveningen.
It must be a beautiful place, and she'd been brought up with a cup that
came from there. When she was good, as a child, she was allowed to play
with it.
"I should think you were always good," said Cousin Robert. Phyllis
blushed, and then he blushed too, under his brown skin. "I have also a
fiancee at Scheveningen," he went on, a propos of nothing--unless of the
blush.
"Is she a Dutch girl?" I asked.
"Oh yes."
"I suppose she is very pretty and charming?"
"I do not know. I am used to her. We have played together when we were
young. I go every Saturday to Scheveningen, when they are there, to stay
till Monday."
"Oh!" said Phil.
"Oh!" said I.
Silence again. Then, "It was very good of you to come and see us so
quickly after I wrote."
"It was my duty; and my pleasure too" (as second thought). "You must
tell me your plans."
So we told them, and Cousin Robert did not approve. "I do not think it
will do," said he, firmly.
"I'm afraid it must do," I returned, with equal firmness disguised under
a smile.
Phil apologized for me as she gave me a squeeze of the hand.
"We've been very happy together, Nell and I," she explained, "but we
have never had much excitement. This is our first chance, and--we shall
be _well_ chaperoned by Lady MacNairne."
"Yes; but she is the aunt of the stranger young man."
"Geniuses are never strangers. He is a genius," I said. "You've no idea
how his Salon picture was praised."
"But his character. What do you know of that?"
"It's his aunt's character that matters most, and the MacNairnes are
irreproachable."
(I had never heard the name until this morning, but there are some
things which you seem to have been born knowing; and I was in a mood to
stake my life upon Lady MacNairne.)
"It is better that you see my mother," said Cousin Robert.
"It will be sweet of her to call on us."
"I do not think she can do that. She is too large; and she does not
easily move from Scheveningen. But if she writes you a note, to ask you
and Miss Rivers, you will go, is it not?"
"With pleasure," I said, "if it isn't too far. You see, Lady MacNairne
may arrive soon, and when she does----"
"But now I will see my mother, and I will bring back the letter. I will
drive with an automobile which a friend has lent me--Rudolph Brederode;
and when you have read the note, you will both go in the car with me to
Scheveningen to stay for all night, perhaps more."
"Oh, we couldn't think of staying all night," I exclaimed. "We'll stop
here till----"
"It is not right that you stop here. I will go now, and, please, you
will pack up to be ready."
"We haven't unpacked yet," I said. "But we couldn't possibly--for one
thing, your mother may not find it convenient."
My cousin Robert's jaw set. "She surely will find it convenient."
"What people you Dutch are!" the words broke from me.
He looked surprised. "We are the same like others."
"I think you are the same as you used to be hundreds of years ago, when
you first began to do as you pleased; and I suppose you have been doing
it ever since."
Cousin Robert smiled. "Maybe we like our own way," he admitted.
"And maybe you get it!"
"I hope. And now I will go to order the automobile." He glanced at his
watch, an old-fashioned gold one. "In an hour and a quarter I will be at
Scheveningen. Fifteen minutes there will be enough. Another hour and a
quarter to come back. I will be for you at four."
"You don't allow any time for the motor to break down," I said.
"I do not hope that she will break down. She is a Dutch car."
"And serves a Dutch master. Oh no; certainly she won't break down."
He stared, not fully comprehending; but he did not pull his mustache, as
an Englishman does, when he wonders if he is being chaffed. He shook
hands with us gravely, and bowed several times at the door. Then he was
gone, and we knew that if he didn't come back at four with that letter
from his mother, it would be because she--or the motor--was more Dutch
than he.
When he disappeared, Phil and I went out into the garden for the sole
purpose, we told each other, of having coffee; and when we saw Mr. Starr
sitting with an empty cup and a cigarette, we both exclaimed, "Oh, are
you here?" as if we were surprised; so I suppose we were.
[Illustration: _We both exclaimed, "Oh, are you here?"_]
He had caught a glimpse of Cousin Robert, and said what a
splendid-looking fellow he was--a regular Viking; but when we agreed, he
appeared depressed. "Oh, my prophetic soul!" he murmured. "The cousin
will want his mother to go with you, and my poor aunt will be nowhere."
"His mother is too large for the boat," I assured him confidently. Mr.
Starr brightened at this, but clouded again when he heard that Phil and
I were to stop the night with my cousins.
"They will tear you away from me--I mean, from my aunt," he said.
I shook my head. "No. It's difficult to resist the Dutch, I find, when
they want you to do anything; but when they want you _not_ to do
anything--why, that is too much. Your pride comes to the rescue, and you
fight for your life. We'll _promise_, if you like; for your aunt's sake.
Won't we, Phil?"
"Yes; for your aunt's sake," she echoed.
"We can depend upon you, then--my aunt and I?"
"Upon us and 'Lorelei.'"
"You're angels. My aunt will bless you. And now, would you care to look
at the barge I've got the refusal of? If you're going to tow her, you
ought to know what she's like. I don't think she'll put 'Lorelei' to
shame, though, for she's good of her kind; belongs to a Dutch artist
who's in the habit of living aboard, but he has a commission for work in
France, this summer, and wants to let her. She's lying near by."
Who would have thought, when we arrived a few hours before, strangers in
Rotterdam, that we would be sauntering about the town with an American
young man, calmly making plans for a cruise in his society? I'm sure
that if a palmist had contrived to capture Phil's virtuous little hand,
and foretold any such events, my stepsister would have considered them
as impossible as monstrous. Nevertheless, she now accepted the
arrangements Fate made for her, as quietly as the air she breathed; for
was not the figure of our future chaperon already hovering in the
background, title and old Scotch blood and all, sanctifying the whole
proceeding?
Phil was so enchanted with the barge (which turned out to be a sort of
glorified Dutch sea-going house-boat) that she was fired with sudden
enthusiasm for our cruise. And the thing really is a delectable
craft--stout, with a square-shouldered bow, and a high, perky nose of
brass, standing up in the air as one sees the beak of a duck sometimes,
half-sunk among its feathers and pointing upward. "Waterspin" (which
means "water-spider") is the creature's name, and she is a brilliant
emerald, lined and painted round her windows with an equally brilliant
scarlet. This bold scheme of color would be no less than shocking on the
Thames; but, sitting in that olive-green canal, in a retired part of
Rotterdam, "Waterspin" looked like a pleasing Dutch caricature of Noah's
Ark.
Inside we found her equally desirable, with four little boxes of
sleeping-rooms, yellow painted floors, and bunks curtained with
hand-embroidered dimity, stiff as a frozen crust of snow; a studio, with
a few charming bits of old painted Dutch furniture to redeem it from
bareness, and a kitchen which roused all Phil's domestic instincts.
"Oh, the darling blue and white china, and brass things, and those
adorable pewter pots!" she cried. "I love this boat. I could be quite
happy living on her all the rest of my life."
"So you shall! I mean, while she is mine you must consider yourselves
as much at home on her as on your own boat," stammered Mr. Starr.
"Or, if you'd rather take up your quarters on the barge----"
"No, no. Nell and I will live on 'Lorelei'; but I do think, if you'll
let me, I'll come sometimes and cook things in that heavenly kitchen."
"Let you? Whatever you make shall be preserved in amber."
"Wouldn't it be better to eat it?" asked Phil.
"Can you cook? I should as soon expect to see a Burne-Jones lady run
down the Golden Stair into a kitchen----"
"I can make delicious toast and tea-cakes and salad dressing--can't I,
Nell?--and lots of other things."
"Pluperfect. I only wish I could. I shan't trouble your kitchen, Mr.
Starr."
"But you can sing so beautifully, dear, and sketch, too; and your
stories----"
"Don't dare speak of them!" I glared; and poor Phil, unselfishly anxious
to show off my accomplishments to Lady MacNairne's nephew, was silent
and abashed. I hoped that Mr. Starr hadn't heard.
He was delighted with our approval of the barge, and enlarged upon the
good times before us. No one could know Holland properly without seeing
her from the waterways, he said, and we would know her by-and-by as few
foreigners did. She could not hide a secret from us that was worth
finding out. He hadn't planned any regular tour for himself; he had
meant to wander here and there, as the fancy seized him; but now the
route was for us to decide. Whatever pleased us would please him. As for
his painting, you could hardly go round a corner in Holland without
stumbling on a scene for a picture, and he should come across them
everywhere; he had no choice of direction. But in seven or eight weeks
we could explore the waterways pretty thoroughly. Our skipper would be
able to put us on the right track, and let us miss nothing. Had we,
by-the-by, asked Mr. van Buren if he'd any skippers up his sleeve? Oh,
well, it didn't matter that we'd forgotten. He himself had the names of
several, besides some men he had already seen, and he would interview
them all. It was certain that in a day or two at most, he could find
exactly the right person for the place, and we might be sure that while
we were away at Scheveningen he would not be idle in our common
interests.
"After all, even _you_ must admit that men are of some use," said Phil,
when we were at the hotel again, waiting for Cousin Robert and his car.
"Supposing you'd had to organize the tour alone, as we expected, could
you have done it?"
"Of course," I replied, bravely.
"What! and engaged a chauffeur and a skipper? Who would have told you
what to do? I'm sure we could never have started without your cousin
Robert and Mr. Starr."
"What has Cousin Robert got to do with it?" I demanded.
Phil reflected. "Now I come to think of it, I don't know exactly. But he
is so _dependable_; and there's so much of him."
"I hope there won't be too much," said I.
"I like tall men," remarked Phil, dreamily. Then she looked at her
watch. "It's five minutes to four. He ought to be here soon."
"He'll come inside ten minutes," I prophesied.
But he came in three. I might have known he would be before his time,
rather than after. And he arrived with a nice letter from his mother.
Neither Phyllis nor I had ever been in a motor-car until we got gingerly
into that one. I had heard her say that she would never thus risk her
life; but she made no mention of this resolution to Cousin Robert. If
she had, it would have been useless; for without doubt she would in the
end have had to go; and it saved time not to demur.
V