denounce the Chaperon as a fraud, disgust the girls with Starr, and put
a sudden end to the adventure as far as the two men in it were
concerned, was not conducive to appetite. I forgot whether I had just
begun my breakfast, or just finished it, but in either case it
interested me no more than eggs and toast would have interested Damocles
at the moment of discovering the sword.
"The principal thing is not to let the girls see the _Herald_," said
Starr.
I wished it were the principal thing; still, I said nothing, and getting
up, we went into the hall.
"Miss Van Buren would think it cool of you, perhaps, if she knew you'd
registered her boat in your name," said Starr, taking up the subject
again. "She wouldn't understand----"
"_What_ would Miss Van Buren think cool?" asked Miss Van Buren's voice
behind us, and the Mariner started as if we were conspirators.
"Oh, nothing particular," he answered limply.
"Please tell me."
"I'll tell you," I said, with a sudden determination that she should
know the worst, and do her worst, and be conquered by something stronger
than her prejudice. The tug-of-war was coming between us now, that
tug-of-war I had been expecting and almost desiring.
"I registered your boat in my name," I said calmly, "and Starr thinks
you wouldn't understand."
She threw up her head, flushing. "I _don't_ understand."
"It gives us the right to use the flag of my club."
"We could have got on without it."
"Often with grave inconvenience."
"I would have risked that."
"Forgive me, but amateurs are always ready to take risks."
(At this moment I became aware that Starr had slipped away.)
"Isn't it rather late," she flashed at me, "to ask my forgiveness
for--_anything_?"
"It was a mere civility," I answered with equal insolence. "I've done
nothing for which I've felt the need of your forgiveness, Miss Van
Buren; but if you think I have, pray tell me once for all what it was,
that I may defend myself."
"You don't feel," she echoed, "_that you've done anything for which you
need my forgiveness_? Oh, then you're more hardened than I thought. I
hoped that by this time you were repenting."
"Repenting of what?"
"Of everything. Of--putting yourself in your present position, among
other things."
"You mean in the position of your skipper? I may say, that if I haven't
repented, it isn't your fault. But, really, I've been so busy trying to
make myself useful to the party in more ways than one, that I've had no
time for repentance."
"Oh, you have made yourself useful," she had the grace to admit. "If--it
hadn't been for the _beginning_, I--I should have been grateful. You
know things which none of the rest of us know. You've shown us sights
which without you we should never have seen or heard of. But as it is,
how can I, why should I, be grateful? It's only for the sake of the
others, and their pleasure, that I----"
"So you said before," I broke in. "But now I refuse to accept toleration
from you--we won't say consideration, for that's too warm a word--for
the sake of others. The boat is yours. I am your skipper. If, after
serving you as well as I could for a week, you wish me to go, I will
go."
She stood and stared at me from under lashes meant only for sweet looks.
"You will go?"
"Certainly. This moment. I only wait your word." I heard myself saying
it; and in a way I was sincere, though I was the same man who, only a
few minutes since, had vowed to do anything rather than let the trip
end. Of course I would have to go now, if she told me to go. But I knew
that I should not go. As skipper, I was her servant, if she chose to
give me the name; but as a man I felt myself her master.
"I--I--" she faltered, and I saw her throat flutter. "You're putting me
in a horrid position. We--I thought we'd settled this matter, things
being as they are."
"Not at all," said I. "Nothing was settled."
"You're Mr. Starr's friend, and I can't send you away."
"You can, easily," I replied. "And since that appears to be your only
reason for not doing so, I'll not wait for your orders to go. Good-by,
Miss Van Buren, I'll do my best to get you another skipper, a
professional this time."
I moved a step away, and my blood was beating fast. Everything depended
on the next instant.
"Stop! Please stop," she said.
I stopped, and looked at her coldly.
For a moment we stood regarding each other in silence, for it seemed
that, having detained me, she could think of nothing more to say. But
suddenly she broke out, with a fierce little stamp of the foot.
"_Oh!_ Sometimes I can understand why it was that Philip _liked_ to
torture the Dutch."
It was all I could do not to burst out laughing. But it would have
spoiled everything for me if I had laughed.
"You have tortured the Dutch," said I. "But now it's finished. The Dutch
have tired of the torture."
"Oh, you're tired? Then you had _better_ go, I suppose. Why are you
waiting?"
"You stopped me for something. What was it?"
"I--hardly know. It was only--I was going to propose----"
"You were going to propose?"
"That--you stayed a little longer. You were to take us--them, I mean--on
an excursion to-day in your motor-car. They're getting ready now.
They'll be--_so_ disappointed."
"I'll lend you--them--my car and my chauffeur."
"No, it would be horrid without y--It would be too ungracious.
I--they--couldn't accept."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't you think maybe you'd better stay a little longer?"
"No, Miss Van Buren, I go now, or I--go with you to the end." I wonder
if she guessed just what I meant by those words? "I'll not stop, after
what's passed between us, for a day longer, except on two conditions."
"Conditions? _You_ make conditions with me?"
"Certainly, I have the right."
"You are extraordinary."
"I am a Dutchman."
"Oh, here comes Lady MacNairne--in her motor-coat and hood. She bought
them yesterday--because they're Tibe-color. What excuse can I make? Oh,
what _are_ your conditions?"
"First, that you tell me you want me to stay."
"I do--on their account."
"That's not the way."
"Well, then, I ask you to stay. I hope your next condition isn't as hard."
"You must be the judge. It is, that you'll be civil to me, and
friendly--at least in appearance. I have done, and will do my best for
you and 'Lorelei.' In return, I'll have no more snubs."
"But if they've been deserved? No! I won't be brow-beaten."
"Nor will I. Good-by, again, Miss Van Buren."
"Here comes Phil now, in _her_ motoring things. Oh dear! Have it as you
like. I will--be nice to you."
She smiled in spite of herself, or else to encourage me with a sample of
future treatment; and giving way to impulse at last, I held out my hand.
"Shake hands on the bargain, then, and it's signed and sealed," I said.
She laid her fingers delicately in mine, and dared not look resentful
when I gently pressed them.
For all I cared, she might see the Paris _Herald_ now. For all I cared,
the sky might fall.
XVII
Never was man in better mood for the rush and thrill of the motor than
I, after the conquering of Miss Van Buren. It was but a shadow victory,
a tempest in a tea-pot, yet it was so good an augury of a further
triumph for which I hoped in future, that the joy of it went fizzily to
my head, and I could have shouted, if I had been alone in some desert
place with nobody by to know that it was a Dutchman who made a fool of
himself.
It was the first time I had had the car out in Amsterdam; for the city,
with its network of electric trams and tremendous traffic, is far from
ideal for motoring, and I wanted to keep the nerves of my people cool
for sight-seeing. Therefore the automobile had been eating her head off
in a garage, while we pottered about in cabs, driven by preposterously
respectable-looking old gentlemen, bearded as to their chins, and white
as to the seams of their coats.
To take "Lorelei" to all the places I meant to see to-day would have
occupied half a week, though none were at a great distance from
Amsterdam but the waterways there do not in all places connect
conveniently for a boat of "Lorelei's" size, though we might have left
"Waterspin" behind. So I proposed the car, and everybody caught at the
idea.
There was not one of the party who by this time had not studied
guide-books enough to know something of Muiden, Laren, Baarn, Hilversum,
and Amersfoort; but they might have searched Baedeker and all his rivals
from end to end without finding even the name of Spaakenberg; and little
quaint, hidden Spaakenberg was to be the _clou_ of our expedition. It
was ten o'clock when I got them all--including Tibe--into the car;
indeed, it always seems to be exactly ten o'clock when we start on any
excursion, even when it has been decided over night that we should set
off promptly at nine. But Starr, who pretends to knowledge of women's
ways, says we are lucky to get away anywhere before eleven, seeing that
at the last moment one of the ladies remembers that she must write and
post an important letter, which will take only five minutes; or she
finds she has forgotten her purse in a drawer at the hotel, and must go
back; or she thinks she will be too cool or too hot, and must make some
change in her costume; or if nothing of this sort happens, Tibe is lost
sight of for a second, and disappears in pursuit of new friendships,
canine or human. He has then not only to be retrieved, which is usually
an affair of twenty minutes, but has to be caressed for an extra five by
his mistress, who never fails to abandon hope of seeing him again the
moment he is out of sight.
To test the quality of Miss Van Buren's resolutions, I asked her to take
the seat beside the driver, expecting some excuse; but she came like a
lamb; and the taste of conquest was sweet in my mouth.
In Haarlem all had proved such good motorists that, despite the ferocity
of Amsterdam trams, I was scarcely prepared for the emotions which began
to seethe in the _tonneau_ the moment the car was started and the
chauffeur had sprung to his place at my feet. According to my idea,
there's no courage in reckless driving, but selfishness and other less
agreeable qualities; still, we did not exactly dawdle as we left the
Amstel, to swing out into the tide of city life.
"Heavens, he's going to kill us!" I heard the Chaperon groan. "Ronald,
tell him to stop."
Miss Rivers was also giving vent to despairing murmurs. Tibe was
"wuffing" full-noted threats at each tram which loomed toward us, and
Starr was attempting to advise me over my shoulder that the ladies
would wish to be driven less furiously.
To my joy, Nell looked back and laughed. "Why, we're not going more than
seven miles an hour," said she.
"Then, for goodness' sake, let's go _one_," implored her chaperon. "I
never dreamed of anything so awful."
I slackened pace. "Are you an old motorist?" I inquired of my companion,
as if I were used to asking her friendly, commonplace questions.
"I never was in a car until the other day with my cousin," said she, in
the same carefully unconscious tone. "And I'm afraid in my feet and
hands now; but the rest of me is enjoying it awfully. Yes, that's the
word, I think, for it _is_ rather awful. I shouldn't have dreamed that
trams could look so big, or bridges so narrow, except in nightmares.
And--and you can't make your horn heard _much_, can you, over the noise
on the stones? Oh, there was a close shave with that wagon, wasn't it? I
felt bristling like a fretful porcupine--oh, but a stark, staring mad,
blithering, _driveling_ porcupine!"
It was delicious to have her talk to me, and to feel that because she
trusted my skill, she was not really afraid, but only excited enough to
forget her stiffness.
"Perhaps Amsterdam wouldn't be a pleasant place to learn 'chauffeuring'
in," I said; "but it's all right when you have learned."
"It's a good thing," she went on, "that motoring wasn't invented by some
grand seignor in the Middle Ages, when the rich thought no more of the
poor than we do of flies, or they'd have run over every one who didn't
get out of their way on the instant. They'd have had a sort of
cow-catcher fitted on to their cars, to keep themselves from coming to
harm, and they'd have dashed people aside, anyhow. In these days, no
matter how hard your heart may be, you have to sacrifice your
inclinations more or less to decency. I dare say the Car of Juggernaut
was a motor. Oh, what a _huge_ town! Shall we ever get out of
Pandemonium into the country?"
We did get out at last, and suddenly, for in Hollow Land the line
between town and country is abrupt, with no fading of city into suburb
and meadow. One moment we were in the bustle of Amsterdam; the next, we
were running along a klinker road, straight as a ruler, beside a quiet
canal. Such horses as we met, being accustomed to the traffic of
Amsterdam, had no fear of the motor, which was well; for on so narrow a
road, with the canal on one side, and a deep drop into meadows on the
other, an adventure would be disagreeable. But it was not all straight
sailing ahead. Outside the traffic, I put on speed to make up for lost
time, and the car quickly ate up the distance between Amsterdam and
Muiden.
My passengers broke into admiration of the medieval fortress with its
paraphernalia of moats, bastions, and drawbridges, which give an air of
historic romance to the country round; but their emotion would have been
of a different kind had they guessed the risk we must take in running
through the winding fortifications. It was not so great a risk that it
was foolish to take it, and thirty or forty cars must do the same thing
every day; but the fact was, that we had to run through these tunnels on
tram-lines, with no room to turn out in case of meeting a steam monster
from Hilversum. I had chosen my time, knowing the hours for trams;
still, had there been a delay, there was a chance of a crash, for our
horn could not be heard by the tram driver, nor could he see us in time
to put on his brakes and prevent a collision.
With the girl I love beside me, and three other passengers, not to
mention the chauffeur, it was with a tenseness of the nerves that I
drove through the labyrinth, and I was glad to clear Muiden. Next came
Naarden--that tragic Naarden whose capture and sack by the Spaniards
encouraged Alva to attack Haarlem; and then, without one of the party
having dreamed of danger, we swung out on the road to Laren, a road set
in pineland and heather, which would have reminded the real Lady
MacNairne of her Scottish home. There was actually something like a hill
here and there, which the strangers were astonished to find in Holland,
and would hardly believe when I said that, on reaching Gelderland, I
would be able to show them a Dutch mountain two hundred feet high, among
a colony of smaller eminences to which half the Netherlands rush in
summer.
Meanwhile they were satisfied with what they saw; and it is a pretty
enough road, this way between Amsterdam and Laren. At first we had had
the canal, with its sleepy barges, peopled with large families, and
towed by children harnessed in tandem at the end of long ropes; its
little shady, red-and-green wayside houses, with "Melk Salon" printed
attractively over their doors. We had had avenues of trees, knotted here
and there into groves; we had passed pretty farmhouses with bright
milk-cans and pans hanging on the red walls, like placks in a
drawing-room; we had seen gardens flooded with roses, and long stretches
of water carpeted with lilies white and yellow; then we had come to pine
forests and heather, and always we had had the good klinker which,
though not as velvety for motoring as asphalt, is free from dust even in
dry weather. We had run almost continuously on our fourth speed; and
even in Laren I came down to the second only long enough to let them all
see the beauty of the Mauve country.
Starr knows Anton Mauve's pictures, and his history; but the ladies had
seen only a few delicious landscapes in the Ryks Museum. Still, they
liked to hear that at Laren Corot's great disciple had found
inspiration. Nowhere in the Netherlands are there such beautiful barns,
each one of which is a background for a Nativity picture; and it was
Laren peasants, Laren cows, and the sunlit and cloud-shadowed meadows of
Laren which kept Mauve's brush busy for years.
After the charm of Haarlem's suburbs, Hilversum, where merchants of
Amsterdam play at being in the country, was disappointing; but having
lunched in open air, and spun on toward Amersfoort, we ran into a
district which holds some delightful houses, set among plane trees,
varied with flowering acacias and plantations of oak. Everywhere our
eyes followed long avenues cut in the forest, avenues stretching out
like the rays of a star, and full of a tremulous green light, shot with
gold.
In the midst of this forest we came upon Soestdyk, where the
Queen-Mother lives, that pleasant palace with its romance of a
mysterious, secret room; then by-and-by we ran into Amersfoort, ringed
by its park, and Nell was so entranced with the Gothic church tower,
that she rejoiced to hear it was the finest in the northern Netherlands.
I had chosen market-day in Amersfoort for our drive, and as we sailed
into the spacious square of the town, my passengers saw in one moment
more Dutch costumes than in all their previous days in Hollow Land.
It was too late for the best of the picture; still, the market-place
glittered with gold and silver helmets, and delicate spiral
head-ornaments. Ear-rings flashed in the sun, and massive gold brooches
and buckles. There was a moving rainbow of color and a clatter of
sabots, as the market women packed up their wares; but there was no time
to linger, if we were to reach Spaakenberg before the shadows grew long.
We sped on, until the next toll-gate (we had come to so many that Nell
said our progress was made by tolling, rather than tooling along the
roads) where a nice apple-cheeked old lady shook her white cap at the
motor, while accepting my pennies. It was her opinion, though she was
not sure, that the road--oh, a very bad road!--to Spaakenberg, was now
forbidden to automobiles.
To tell the truth, I had never motored to Spaakenberg, but I had
bicycled, and thought there ought to be room on the narrow road for two
vehicles, even if one were a motor and the other a hay-cart.
I was not surprised that the old lady had no certainty with which to
back up her opinion. It was more surprising that she should know of the
existence of Spaakenberg, of which many Dutch bicyclists who pride
themselves on their knowledge, have never heard.
Naturally we determined to persevere, more than ever eager for a sight
of the strange fishing-village, and a glimpse of the Zuider Zee.
"But what shall we do if we find the road forbidden, and we're too far
off to walk?" Nell asked. "It would be dreadful to turn back."
"We shan't turn back," said I. "We'll hire a wagon and go on, or--we'll
pass the sign which forbids us to proceed, too quickly to see it. Such
things happen; and the road's too narrow to turn or even to reverse."
"I am glad you're a Dutchman," said she.
"Why? Because I know the ropes?"
"No. Because you'd die rather than give up anything you've set out to
do."
It was now as if the apple-cheeked old prophetess had bewitched the
country. The monarchs of the forest fled away and left us in the open,
with a narrow strip of road between a canal loaded with water-lilies and
low-lying meadows of yellow grain.
The landscape was charming, and the air balmy with summer; but with the
first horse we met all peace was over.
Here were no longer the _blase_ beasts of a sophisticated world. Animals
of this region had never seen a town larger than Amersfoort. A motor-car
was to them as horrifying an object as a lion escaping from his cage at
a circus.
Horses reared, hay-carts swayed, peasants shrieked maledictions or
shook fists; but always, crawling at snail's pace, we managed to scrape
past without accident. Sometimes we frightened cows; and a couple of
great yellow dogs, drawing a cart which contained two peasant girls in
costume, swore canine oaths against the car.
[Illustration: _A couple of great yellow dogs, drawing a cart, swore
canine oaths against the car_]
"Oh, mercy, we've just passed a sign in Dutch, 'Motors forbidden'!"
cried Nell.
"Well, we've passed it," said I. "Perhaps it meant that side road; it's
narrower than ours. Let's think it did."
So we gave it the benefit of the doubt and fled on, until in less than
an hour we flashed into a fishing-village. They all cried, "Spaakenberg
and the Zuider Zee!" But as it was not Spaakenberg, I gave them only a
flashing glimpse of masts and dark blue water.
Half a mile's drive along a canal, and we came to our destination. And
of Spaakenberg the first thing we saw was a forest of masts, with nets
like sails, brown, yet transparent as spider-webs. Fifty sturdy
fishing-boats were grouped together in a basin of quiet water within
sight of the Zuider Zee, which calls to men on every clear night, "the
fish are waiting."
I stopped; and as we counted the boats, the whole able-bodied population
of Spaakenberg issued from small, peak-roofed houses to see what monster
made so odd a noise. By twenties and by thirties they came, wonderful
figures, and the air rang with the music of sabots on klinker.
There were young women carrying tiny round babies; there were old women
who had all they could do to carry themselves; there were little girls
gravely knitting their brothers' stockings; and toddling creatures so
infinitesimal that one could not guess whether they would grow up male
or female. There were men, too, but not many young ones; and there were
plenty of chubby-faced boys.
As for the women and girls, they wore Heaven knows how many
petticoats--seven or eight at the minimum--and their figures went out
at the places where they should have gone in, and went in at the places
where they should have gone out. They were like the old-fashioned ladies
with panniers on each side; and those who could not afford enough
petticoats had padded out their own and their children's hips to supply
the right effect.
Some had black hoods with furry rolls round their rose-and-snow faces;
some heightened the brilliancy of their complexion by close-fitting caps
of white lace, according to their religion--whether they were of the
Catholic or Protestant faith; and the babies, in black hoods,
neck-handkerchiefs, and balloon-like black skirts reaching to their
feet, were the quaintest figures of all. The men and boys, in their
indigo blouses, were not living pictures like their female relatives,
save when, with bright blue yokes over their shoulders (from which swung
green, scarlet-lined pails, foaming with yellow cream), they returned
from milking blue-coated, black and white cows.
Unspoiled by the influx of strangers, the simple people thronged round
us, not for what they might get, but for what they could see. We were
quainter to them than they to us, and Tibe was as rare as a dragon. His
mistress was of opinion that they believed the noise of the motor (now
stilled) to have issued from his black velvet muzzle; and when we all,
including the tragic-faced, happy-hearted bulldog, got out to wander
past the rows of tiny houses in the village, they swarmed round him,
buzzed round him, whirled round him, to his confusion.
Escape seemed hopeless, when Nell and Phyllis had an inspiration. They
rushed in at the door of a miniature shop, with a few picture postcards
and sweets in glass jars displayed in a dark window. Three minutes later
they fought their way out through the crowd of strange dolls "come
alive," and, like a farmer sowing seed, strewed pink and white lozenges
over the heads of girls and boys.
Instantly the "clang of the wooden shoon" ceased. Down squatted the
children with the suddenness of collapsed umbrellas. There was a
scramble, and we seized the opportunity for flight. We had seen the
Zuider Zee; we had seen the cows in blue coats; we had seen Spaakenberg;
and Spaakenberg had seen us.
XVIII
Returning by way of wooded Baarn, we spun back to Amsterdam when violet
shadows lengthened over golden meadows, and gauzy mist-clouds floated
above the canal, burnished to silver by the sunset.
It was too late to do anything but dine and plan for to-morrow, which I
had mapped out in my mind, subject to approval. But I let them all talk,
as I often do, without saying anything until they turn to me with a
question.
"There's an island which people say is wonderful, and you mustn't miss
it," remarked the Chaperon. "But I've forgotten the name."
"Why is it wonderful?" asked Miss Rivers.