perhaps, "Never mind, my dear Molly, beggars mustn't be choosers. Pat
is, it seems, a beggar maid. You shouldn't look a gift Cophetua in the
mouth. Here he is, to be had for the taking. Encourage her to take him."
But I just _couldn't_! I wanted her by and by to marry some one tall and
handsome and altogether splendid. In fact, a _Man_. And if a man were a
Man, it didn't matter whether he were a Cophetua or not. So I listened
quite disgustedly as Mr. Ed Caspian answered Pat's piteous question
about the newspapers, and criticised his affected accent. I think he
fancied it English.
"Oh, it happens to lots of the best men," he set out to console her, "to
be in the papers that way. There's nothing in it! I shouldn't have
noticed, had it been some chap I'd never heard of. And then, Kidd's
Pines, don't you know! That's a famous place. There was a picture of it
in the Sunday _Times_, and something about its history. I've always
wanted to see the house. May I come down, Miss Moore? There might be
ways I could help you--your father, I mean--if I could look around and
study the situation. For instance, it might pay me--actually _pay_ me
(no question of obligations)--to lend money on the place enough to set
Mr. Moore right with his creditors and enough over to begin again."
"I don't understand," said Pat.
"Oh, you _spider_!" said I, in my mind, also perhaps with my eyes. I
refrained from saying it with my lips, however, because after all, you
see, I was a new friend of Pat's and mustn't stick my fingers into the
mechanism of her fate without being sure I could improve its working.
Jack and I aren't millionaires, especially since the war broke out and
all our pet investments slumped. That convalescent home for soldiers
we're financing at Folkestone eats up piles of money, to say nothing of
the Belgian refugees to whom we've given up Edencourt. There are
fourteen families, and not less than seven children in the smallest, the
largest has sixteen--the average is ten. Is your brain equal to the
calculation? Mine isn't, but our purse _has_ to be; for we've guaranteed
to clothe as well as feed the lot for the duration of the war, and I
hear we're keeping a shoe factory working double time. I felt that the
most we could do in a financial way for dear Pat would be to pay duty on
her car and clothes, and see that, personally, she lacked for nothing.
Whatever Mr. Caspian's motives might be, I dared not choke him off on
my own responsibility, and Jack said not a word. So I swallowed that
"spider," but just as I was choking it down and Caspian was beginning to
explain his noble, disinterested scheme, Mrs. Shuster and the S. M. (for
that in future please read Ship's Mystery) bore down upon the letter
"M."
For an instant I supposed that Pirate Shuster had captured Storm as a
reluctant prize, but his expression told me that this was not the case.
He came willingly, had even the air of leading the expedition; and his
look of interested curiosity Caspian-ward was only equalled by mine at
him. Remembering vividly the strange, brilliant, and puzzling glance he
had thrown to me as I left him with Mrs. Shuster, I threw him one which
I hoped was as brilliant and at the same time more intelligible. What I
put into it was: "You're a _man_, even if you are a mystery, so do hurry
up and interrupt this conversation, which has got beyond me."
Of course, I didn't dream that he could help by word or deed, but I
thought if he just hurled himself blindly into the breach it would be
something. By the time Mr. Caspian could renew his offer, Larry Moore
might be at hand to look after his own interests and Pat's.
Mr. Peter Storm (perhaps I've mentioned this?) is tall and has therefore
very long legs--soldier legs--that is, they can take prodigious strides
as if they had a redoubt or something to carry in record time. Whether
my glance had lassoed him, or whether he _wanted_ to be introduced to
Mrs. Shuster's rich friend, I couldn't tell. Anyhow, he landed among us
like an arrow shot from an unseen bow, and "Jill came tumbling after."
(By the way, "Jill" would be a lovely name for Mrs. S. I believe her
real one is _Lily_.)
Mr. Caspian had to stop talking and turn to the newcomers; but before he
stopped his explanation had got as far as "a perfectly businesslike
arrangement: a mortgage on the place could be----"
I wondered if Peter Storm's ears were as quick of hearing as they were
well shaped; and if so whether he would guess what was up, and take
enough impersonal interest in a pretty girl far removed from his sphere
to be sorry for her.
Mrs. Shuster's first words went far to answer that question. "Oh, my
dear Captain and Mrs. Winston, Mr. Storm suggests the most wonderful
plan. I was telling him more about poor Miss Moore's troubles--all I'd
heard from Mr. Caspian--and it seems he knows about Kidd's Pines, dear
Miss Patty's beautiful place which is her own in spite of all
misfortunes." She stopped and giggled a little; then went on in a coy
tone, with an arch glance at her tall protege. "I had to confess that I
could never believe he was an American. But now I have to. He knows too
much about America not to have lived here. He says he used to keep a
winter hotel in Florida, and he knows all about the business. He thinks
Miss Moore might make a fortune turning Kidd's Pines into a hotel--the
right kind of hotel. Isn't it a _wonderful_ idea, to help her poor
father? Oh, I forgot! Mr. Caspian, Mr. Storm! I was telling you about
him, Eddy."
The two men acknowledged the introduction, inapropos as it was. They
were the most extraordinary contrast to one another: the important
Caspian in his pluperfect clothes, looking insignificant; the
unimportant Storm in his junk-shop get-up, looking extraordinarily
significant. _He_, an ex-hotel-keeper! It was a blow to mystery. Yet I
didn't lose interest. Somehow I felt more.
"I shouldn't know how to keep a hotel, should I?" faltered Patsey, in
her childlike voice.
"You'd have to get expert assistance," said the S. M.
"I asked Mr. Storm if he would be free to give advice, and--and perhaps
do _more_," broke in Mrs. Shuster. "I've persuaded him to reconsider his
first decision. He's now promised to begin over here as my secretary
till he gets something better to do. And, dear Miss Patty, I'll be just
_delighted_ to come as your first guest, to bring you _luck_, if you
approve of the idea. I haven't any home. I intended to live at the
Waldorf and look around. But from what I hear, nobody need ever look
farther than Kidd's Pines, if things there are managed the right way."
"I don't think Miss Moore will need to turn her wonderful old historic
place into an inn," said Ed Caspian acidly. "I, too, have a plan,
haven't I, Miss Moore? And with all respect to our friend Mrs. Shuster,
it's just as practical and a good deal pleasanter than hers."
"Not mine, Eddy: Mr. Storm's," the lady hastened to disclaim
responsibility at the first buffet.
"Ah, Mr. Storm's," amended Eddy, trying to look down on the S. M. (Have
you ever seen a pet fox terrier or a dachshund with a bone, try to look
down on a wandering collie unprovided with bone? Well!...)
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Caspian," I ventured, "but I don't see how your
plan is quite as 'practical' as the other. Interest has to be paid on a
mortgage, and if it can't be paid, why it's foreclosed, both in real
life and Irish melodramas where the lovely heroine has the most
agonizing alternatives offered her. Suppose, anyhow, we just let Mr.
Storm tell us--since he's an expert--what he means by the 'right way' of
turning Kidd's Pines into a hotel. Maybe he means something very
special."
"I do," replied the S. M. "I mean what is called an 'exclusive'
hotel--especially exclusive in its prices. If people think it difficult
to get in, they'll all fight to do so." He looked at Pat. "I hope you
won't think I'm pushing," he said, "I remember Kidd's Pines when I was a
boy. I thought it was the most beautiful place I ever saw. I've seen a
good many since then; but I still think the same."
A little colour crept back to Pat's cheeks. "Why!" she exclaimed,
evidently forgetting her troubles for an instant, as Atlas might if some
one lifted up the world to ease his shoulders. "Why, do you know when I
first met you, I had a feeling as if I'd seen you before somewhere--a
long time ago. Did we ever meet when I was a little girl? I seem to
associate you with--with my father, as if you'd been a friend of his?"
"No, I was never a friend of his," said the S. M., quietly. "He wouldn't
know the name of Storm from the name of Adam."
My brain worked wildly as he made this answer. I thought--perhaps I
imagined it--that he looked suddenly as stormy as his name. I remembered
the sheet of paper that had fluttered to me, the day we went to visit
the third class--part of a letter which, rightly or wrongly, I had
attributed to Peter Storm. Could it be possible that he had known about
Larry Moore's wild speculations and other foolishnesses?--that he had
some hold over Moore?--that he had wanted to send him a warning which
would now be too late?
There was nothing to put such wild ideas into my head, except the
sudden, really _very_ odd look in the man's expressive dark eyes--a look
I couldn't help associating with the talk about Laurence Moore.
"But I'm a friend of the house," Mr. Storm was going on to explain.
"There was a story I read once--almost the first after I learned to read
and could enjoy myself with a book. It was called 'Cade of Kidd's
Pines': a great tale for boys."
"Oh, and for girls, too!" cried Pat. "An uncle of mine wrote that book.
It was dedicated to----"
"I've read it!" chipped in Ed Caspian, not to be outdone by any Storm.
"What fellow hasn't? I've given it away for prizes to boys in mission
schools. To my mind it would be a shame to make a common hotel out of
such a place as Kidd's Pines."
"I don't suggest making a common hotel," said the S. M. The two gazed at
each other, the S. M. with a resolutely impersonal look, Caspian with as
rude a stare as his sainted eyebrows would permit. "A good thing,"
thought I, "that you've reconsidered and taken Mrs. Shuster's offer, for
you'd never squeeze one out of Caspian even if you'd accept it--which
you wouldn't!"
While I was thinking, Jack spoke. "Shall we hold a council of war?" he
proposed. "You're all interested in finding some way for Miss Moore and
her father out of their troubles. We're interested, too, but we must
consult Mr. Moore himself before we can decide anything definite. For
some reason he hasn't been able to come to the ship: a business reason
probably. My wife and I are going to be neighbours of Miss Moore. We'll
take her to Kidd's Pines, and if it's better for her to stay with us for
a while we shall only be too happy. Anyhow, we invite you to Awepesha
this afternoon; you, Mrs. Shuster----"
"And Mr. Storm, my new secretary?" she broke in coyly.
"Of course. We hope Mr. Storm will come and elaborate this interesting
hotel scheme of his. I shouldn't wonder if there were something in it."
"Do I share the invitation?" asked Caspian. "Don't forget that I have a
scheme, too!"
"Delighted!" said Jack, making no allusion to the latter "scheme."
When he got me alone, under pretext of going back to "W" for the
examination of our luggage, we hastily counted up what money we had
between us, in order to regulate Pat's affairs at the custom house
without delay and without mortification to her. Even before the blow
fell, she had given Jack the bills for the Paris purchases, so that he
might help her calculate the sums which must be paid. "Larry always
writes that he has no head for figures," she had said, "so if Captain
Winston and I know what's to be done it will save time and gray matter.
All poor Larry will have to do is to hand over the right change."
She spoke lightly of "change," having been brought up to know little
difference between pounds and pence. Even now when the blow had fallen,
and fallen hard, happiness was so much more natural to her than
unhappiness that she was already cheered by our suggestions. It seemed
to her that everything must soon "come right." I believe she was more
anxious to comfort Larry and show him what a tower of strength she could
be to him than anything else. The first thought in many girls' heads
would have been: "Here's an end of my good times before they've begun!"
but I'm sure there was no place in Pat's mind for her own grievances. I
fancied that she'd even forgotten those dresses for the debutante who
might now never "debut," and the birthday car which might appropriately
be named the "White Elephant." Indeed I hoped she would forget, so that
Jack might pay the duty and escape protests or gratitude. But the girl
had a more practical side to her nature than I'd supposed. Just as Jack
and I had finished our calculations by discovering that we hadn't enough
ready money to settle up with the customs for ourselves and Pat, the
Stormy Petrel "hovered in the offing."
"Miss Moore asked me to find you," he said, "and ask you not to pay duty
for her things, as she thinks they'd better be sold for what they'll
fetch, so the Paris trades-people may be paid without worrying her
father."
"My gracious!" I exclaimed. "I never thought of that! She gave my
husband the bills. I took it for granted _they'd_ been paid, at least!"
"It seems not," said the S. M. "I suppose the trades-folk considered Mr.
Moore's name a good one. The French have an almost pathetic faith in
Americans." (I wondered how he knew that!) "But," he went on more
slowly, "I should have liked to suggest to Miss Moore, if I'd dared,
that she ought to stick to her car if she's going to keep a hotel. It
might be useful."
"Of course she must stick to it," Jack agreed, "and to her poor little
bits of finery. We'll see to all that, and the Paris people shan't
suffer. I'm afraid these custom-house chaps won't be keen on taking my
cheque, as they don't know me, but later will do, perhaps. They won't
make a fuss----"
"I can let you have a thousand dollars if it would be any good," said
the surprising Storm, taking from a breast pocket of his cheap
ready-made coat an ancient leather wallet, which looked as if it might
have belonged to Cain or Abel.
"Oh, then all your money _wasn't_ torpedoed!" I blurted out before I
knew that I was thinking aloud. Then I blushed furiously and wished that
the most top-heavy skyscraper in New York would fall on my head. But the
S. M. only laughed. "It was not," he replied. "When a man hasn't much he
sticks to what he's got a good deal closer than a brother. My savings
and I escaped together."
This made him seem to me even more mysterious than before, if possible.
A man travelling steerage, _plastered_ with bank-notes! But, I reminded
myself, he had a right to be Spartan if he liked: there was no crime in
that, and if he'd _stolen_ the money he wouldn't be likely to mention
its existence, even for the sake of as pretty a girl as Patricia Moore.
I hardly expected Jack to accept the loan, but he promptly did, and when
I saw how pleased, almost grateful, Peter Storm looked, a flash of
intuition made clear Jack's tactics. Just because the S. M. was what he
was, and wore what he wore, the dear boy treated him as man to man. I
_do_ think men are nice, don't you?... All the same, for a minute I came
near doing Mr. Storm an injustice. I suspected him of wanting Pat to
hear what he had done: but no, on the contrary. He asked us both to
promise that the matter shouldn't be mentioned to her.
"I've done nothing," he said. "I shall get my money back from you in a
day or two." And he handed over to Jack ten one-hundred-dollar bills
which I suppose went down with him in the _Lusitania_ and the _Arabic_,
and bobbed up again. I couldn't help seeing that when they came out they
left his wallet as empty as the whale after it had disgorged Jonah. I
did hope he had pennies in other pockets, or that his salary from Mrs.
Shuster was going to begin in advance.
After my cousin died and left Awepesha to me, Jack and I decided to keep
all the servants on, anyhow until we'd made our visit to America. That
being the case, we'd wired to the house the day and probable time of our
arrival in New York, and the chauffeur had come for us with a
respectable elderly automobile which (as the estate agents say) "went
with the place." The chauffeur was (is) elderly and respectable, too,
evidently transferred by the fairy wand of Circumstance from the
box-seat of a carriage to the wheel of a car. We took poor forlorn
little Pat and pouting Angele to Awepesha with us, instead of carrying
them a mile farther on; and then, without waiting for half a glance at
his new domain, Jack nobly undertook a voyage of discovery to Kidd's
Pines.
What he found out there and the decision of the war council I must wait
to tell you till my next letter. I do want this to catch the first ship
bound for England, home, and beauty, otherwise you'll think me
ungrateful for that ten-dollar telegram. And I'm not--I'm not!
We both send love to you and dear old Monty.
Ever your
M.
III
THE HONBLE MRS. WINSTON TO THE COUNTESS OF LANE
_Awepesha, Long Island,_
_March 25th._
DEAREST MERCEDES:
I don't know whether or not I ought to take it for granted that you and
Monty are hanging breathlessly on the fate of Patricia Moore; but I
suppose I'm subconsciously judging you by Jack and myself. We think,
talk, dream, eat, drink, nothing except her business in one form or
other!
I meant to write you (about the one absorbing subject, of course) a day
or two after I closed my last letter, which was a sort of "to be
continued in my next" affair. But it was a case of deeds, not words.
Things had to be done and done quickly. It's all rather tragic and
wildly funny.
You should have seen Jack's face when he came back to Awepesha after
motoring over to spy out the nakedness of the land at Kidd's Pines. It
takes a lot to flabbergast Jack, as I learned when he was my "Lightning
Conductor"; but he certainly did look flabbergasted this time. You know
the look as well as the "feel," don't you? It makes the eyes seem wider
apart and dropped down at the outer corners.
He glanced hastily about to see if I were alone. I was still in the
library where he'd left me, because I didn't want to go over the house
till he could go, too: and luckily I'd found enough piled-up letters and
telegrams to keep me occupied.
"It's all right," I said. "Patsey's taking a walk in the garden. She's
too restless to sit still. Besides, I dare say she hoped to head you
off. A wonder she didn't! But perhaps she's gone down to the water to
try and catch a distant glimpse of Kidd's Pines. What _has_ become of
the adored Larry? Did you find him?"
"I did not," said Jack. "I didn't find anybody--at least at the house."
"You didn't expect to find anybody but Larry, did you?" I asked.
"I expected to find servants."
"Good heavens! aren't there any?" I gasped.
"No. Wait till I tell you what happened. There's a porter's lodge, of
course, but the gate was closed when we got there and nobody came to
open it. Fortunately it was only shut, not locked. We drove in. It's a
ripping place, my child. This can't be compared with it. Yet there's an
air of neglect over everything. That didn't surprise me much. But when I
rang the bell a dozen times without getting an answer it began to seem
like a bad dream. I got tired of admiring the doorway, though it's a
beauty, and you'll be mad about it; so I decided to investigate
elsewhere. I tried my luck at two side entrances and then at the back.
Not a sound. Not even the mew of a cat. Palace of the Sleeping Beauty!
Not to be discouraged, I wandered along till I found the stables--fine
big ones, and a huge garage. Locked up and silent as the grave. Farther
on I discovered a gardener's house: door fastened, blinds down. I went
back and told our chauffeur: Jekyll, his name is. He knew no more about
Mr. Moore's affairs than we--only what he'd read in the papers; but he
proposed running on to the village, and making an errand at the
post-office: thought they'd be sure to be up in everything there. He
bought stamps, and asked questions while he waited for change. It seems
that Moore hasn't been at Kidd's Pines for a week, and yesterday there
was a servants' strike. They stampeded in a body; hadn't been paid for
months, but hung on hoping for the best till after the bankruptcy. Then
as Moore lay low they decided the game was up."
"What a homecoming for Patsey!" I moaned. "How _are_ we to tell her?"
"You won't have to, dear," she said. Which paid us out for talking at
the tops of our voices in front of a long French window which I had
opened. She was standing in it.
My bones turned to water, and Jack looked as if he'd been shot for
treason. But there it was. She knew! And she behaved like a heroine. She
wasn't even pale, as she had been when Ed Caspian broke things gently to
her.
"Please don't mind," she went on, turning from me to Jack. "I didn't
mean to eavesdrop at first, but when I heard what you were talking about
I thought it would be no harm to listen. It would save your telling me
afterward. I don't feel one bit worse than I did. Rats leave sinking
ships, don't they? I always thought it stupid of them, because they
might have to swim miles with waves mountains high. _I_ shan't desert
the ship! You've both been angels to me, but now I know that Larry isn't
at Kidd's Pines just oversleeping himself. I want to go there at once to
wait for him. Think, if he came home sad and tired after all his
troubles, to find the house shut up like _you_ found it, Captain
Winston! Would you be so very kind as to let your chauffeur drive me
home at once?"
"We can all three go over directly after luncheon," I suggested.
Can you picture to yourself, Mercedes, an American beauty rose suddenly
transforming itself into an obstinate mule? You'd say it couldn't be
done. But it can. I realized on the instant that unless I sent for wild
horses to tear her to pieces, Patsey would start for Kidd's Pines within
the next ten minutes, chauffeur or no chauffeur. To ask her mildly how
she expected to get in would have been a waste of breath. The frail
young creature was quite capable of breaking the beautiful door down
with a mallet if no easier way offered!
My eyes and Jack's met. Without a word he rang, and sent word to Jekyll
that he must be ready to start out again immediately. Doubtless poor
Cousin John's well-regulated clockwork servants thought we'd lost our
heads, for luncheon had already been put back for Jack's return, and now
here we were proposing to go off without it! Yet no, not exactly without
it. What could be taken with us we took in a basket: for man must eat
and woman must at least nibble.
While I'd been giving hasty but apologetic orders, Pat had darted away
in search of Angele, who might, she imagined, be useful in a
servantless house. I don't know how much Angele had heard or understood,
but when she appeared with fire in her eye and crumbs on her lip, I
thought she looked dangerous.