some things that are funny. And the people they're happening to can't
see the fun in them as the outsiders--Jack and I--can. Naturally there
_would_ be heaps of heart interest, all over the place, wherever Patty
was; and that would be all right if Larry weren't simply followed around
by it too, the way actor-managers are by the spotlight. When we were
doing our delicious motor run around Long Island, getting acquainted
with the old whalers, and Indian chieftains, and golfers and
millionairesses, it was sweet to see how Pat was unconsciously taming
our Stormy Petrel to eat out of her hand. Even Jack saw it happening, so
it must have been pretty obvious, because men never _can_ see other
people's love stories going on under their noses. I knew as well as if
he'd told me, that Peter Storm would rather be torpedoed again than fall
in love and settle down. Besides though none but the brave deserve the
fair, few but the rich ever get them. And I suppose the Stormy One
_can't_ be rich, whatever else he may be. Perhaps he was _once_, and
lost all his money; for he certainly has the look of a banished prince,
and the long-distance manner of one, if he doesn't like anybody or is
bored. But strong as he may be in many ways, he could not resist Pat
when he was in a motor car with her day after day. Jack and I would have
bet (if that hadn't been callous) as to whether he'd cave in far enough
to propose; and if _I_ had bet I should have lost. But it wouldn't have
been my fault. It would have been Ed Caspian's. Jimmy Payne at his worst
wasn't a patch on him.
How the man managed it I can't conceive (as Pat is of an almost
exaggerated and clamlike loyalty), but she arrived at Kidd's Pines at
the end of that short trip _engaged to Caspian_!
I didn't know till the next day; didn't know that, or the rest. You see,
we finished up with a moonlight run from the gorgeous house I wrote you
a postcard about. We were late, for the Faust-cry in our hearts was
communicated to our speed: "Linger awhile: thou art so fair!" Jack and I
didn't stop at Kidd's Pines at all, though they asked us in to have
night-blooming sandwiches and such things. We went straight on to
Awepesha and slept the sleep of the moderately just. Pat had promised to
'phone in the morning, and did. She merely asked how we were, and said
she was well; but I could tell from her voice that something dreadful
was the matter. I dashed over in the car before Jack was dressed, ready
with an excuse about a book I wished to borrow, and was so early that I
found myself colliding--nay, telescoping--with the breakfast brigade of
the "hotel."
Pat doesn't break her fast with the paying guest, however: she's an
early bird, though her pet aversion is a worm. I sent a message to her
room (the smallest in the house) and was invited to go up. There was a
cloud of cigar smoke in the air, and as Pat doesn't smoke, I deduced a
miraculously matinal call from Larry. That alone was an omen of
catastrophe, for Larry is either up all night or not before 10 A. M. And
Pat's face was worse than an omen. I could see behind her poor little
smile of greeting, right into her mind, as if her head had been a watch
with nothing but glass over the works.
"Good gracious, darling, whatever _is_ it?" I gasped.
"Nothing," said she, "except--except that Tom has toothache, and I'm
sorry for him."
"That boy has got a regular rush of teeth to the head!" I snapped.
"Never mind him. It's you I'm interested in. Dear baby, your nosebud is
quite pink. You've been crying--not for Tom's tooth."
"Maybe I got sunburned motoring," she paltered with me.
"Nonsense! You've a sunproof complexion, as well as waterproof hair.
_Out_ with it, darling!"
"You talk like a dentist," Pat put off the evil moment.
"I hope your dentist doesn't call you 'darling.' Mine wouldn't twice.
Seriously, my child, I don't want to intrude; but we're friends, aren't
we? and I'm older than you (worse luck!), so you might let me help. Is
it anything to do with housekeeping worries? Has the cook fainted on the
breakfast bacon--or----"
With that--perhaps the picture was too awful!--she burst into tears.
"Oh, Larry has promised Mrs. Shuster he'd marry her, and I must save
him," she sobbed.
My dear Mercedes, you could have knocked me down with a dandelion seed!
Positively my feet felt wobbly under me, like standing on poached eggs.
Instantly I realized why the Dove of Peace hadn't wanted to go motoring
with us happy, innocent mortals, and why Larry--hypnotized by Mrs.
Shuster's money or his own fatal good nature--had pretended that he must
stop at home to look after his guests. I wished I were as common as
_mud_, and could have gasped out "_Gosh!_"
I've told you a good deal about Mrs. Shuster, haven't I? She's not a bad
sort in her way--but for Larry, _unthinkable_! Yet I might have
guessed. She's been doing her hair a new way lately, and powdering her
face. For Larry to have to kiss it now would be exactly like kissing a
marshmallow. She's so awkward, too: the least obstacle attracts her like
a magnet to stumble over it, and Larry hates awkwardness. Then her
clothes! She could force a fashion to change, simply by following it far
enough; and she's taken to wearing such bright colours it would be more
comfortable to look at her through smoked glasses. Oh, yes, I ought to
have guessed!
"Save him?" I echoed. "We'll all save him."
"He says it's too late to back out, now, in honour," wailed Pat. "The
Moores have always been ter-r-ibly honourable."
I thought from what I'd heard of some, not excepting Larry himself, that
"terribly" was the word. I bit my heart and was silent, however, and
Patsey went on: "I've done my very best. I've told him it wasn't
_necessary_. I feel sure (though of course he's too chivalrous to say so
of poor Mrs. Shuster) that he would _nevaire_ marry her except for my
good. Oh, dear, how I wish money were _extinct_!"
"It is almost, in lots of pockets and other places," I said. "You mean,
you think Mr. Moore--er--chose this way of giving you a _dot_?"
"What else could it be? And the cruel part is, I have already the _dot_.
I have dotted myself. I am engaged to Mr. Caspian."
"The _devil_ you are!" I coarsely exclaimed. But it seemed to comfort
Pat somehow. She gave herself to my arms, and cried into my neck the
hottest tears I ever felt. They might have boiled out of a Yellowstone
geyser, as a sample.
I soothed the child as well as I could. "Don't cry, dear," I begged.
"You didn't on the dock, you know, when you got the bad news."
"Oh, but we were only ruined then!" she choked. "Now we're both of us
nearly married. And if Larry'd only known about me in time, he needn't
have spoiled himself."
I was tempted to assure her that Larry would hardly have taken such a
step for any one's sake except his own. But I knew she'd never quite
forgive me for mentioning clay in connection with her idol's feet.
Instead, I repeated that Larry _should_ be rescued; that I'd talk it
over with Jack, and surely, surely we'd think of a plan. Within my heart
I vowed, and with far more earnestness, to rescue Larry's daughter also.
The very fact that Pat didn't confess to sacrificing herself, however,
warned me from indiscretion. I repeated that I would consult Jack; and a
little snake of an idea wriggled into my head at the same instant. I let
it curl up and get warm. It was not a viper!
Jack said even worse than I had said. He said "Damn!" But when he says
it, my dear, it sounds the most satisfactory word! I _was_ pleased he
took it that way, instead of reminding me it wasn't our business! I felt
encouraged to mention my idea, which was to send a note with our car,
and ask Mr. Storm to lunch at Awepesha. "Three heads are better than
two," said I, "though it mayn't be so with hearts."
"But Storm's still supposed to be Mrs. Shuster's secretary," said Jack.
"If they had any differences after the affair of the telegrams, they've
swallowed the hatchet--I mean, buried it. You remember, Storm stayed at
home a whole day doing proofs, in the middle of the trip----"
"Yes, the day Pat also stayed at home--the same home--to write letters!"
"Well, what I was coming to is this: while he remains in Mrs. Shuster's
service, whatever his motive for doing so may be, he's more or less at
her beck and call. It suited her to have Storm's back, and all our
backs, turned for a bit; now the ground is safe again under the lady's
feet. She'll want our congratulations, and Storm's stylo, to send out
the glad tidings. Ten to one by this time she's got hold of him, and
he's heard the worst----"
"Meaning, not about her and Larry, but Pat and Caspian," I finished
Jack's sentence.
"Storm will be at Kidd's Pines for lunch," went on my fellow-conspirator
(I took it for granted he would be that!), "eating Dead Sea Apples."
"I don't believe it!" I contradicted. "Pat would hardly be equal to
meeting him, with that nosebud and those eyes. He'll have escaped into
the wilderness--his own backyard, probably. It's the safest and most
retired place there is to have a Berserker rage in. I'll word my note so
that he'll understand we're on the salvage dodge. Then he'll come like
an arrow shot from the bow."
"Car permitting!" said Jack; but he was really sympathetic of course, or
he wouldn't have been Jack.
Peter did come, and it was more complicated than I had thought, leading
up to the subject, because as I've told you, P. S. is as reserved as a
Leyden drop--if that's the name for it: don't you know, it falls into a
jar full of something or other and instantly hardens on the outside,
which sets up a great strain, and you have to be careful in touching it
for fear it flies to bits? However, I began with Larry and Mrs. Shuster.
He hadn't heard about them, for he had been advised in a note from his
employeress that he needn't come over till she sent for him (I suppose
_that_ was to please Caspian and keep the hated rival out of the way
till the creature could rush back). Peter didn't laugh at all, except
just at first when I got off my _mot_ about the marshmallow kiss. He
seemed to think, not about the funny part of such an entanglement for
Larry, but about the horrid part of it for Pat. And then, when I had got
him quite melted and human, I blurted out: "The worst of it is, poor
little Patsey has sacrificed herself to save her father, because _she_
thought he'd sacrificed himself to save her, or something of that sort."
"What do you mean?" asked Peter, not able to wait till I had finished
swallowing heavily.
"She's promised to marry a man she doesn't even _like_," I said. "Mr.
Caspian."
You ought to have seen his face! His lips tightened, and his eyes simply
blazed. I almost thought in another second my Leyden drop _would_ fly to
bits! But Peter isn't really that sort of badly regulated drop.
"Caspian's cursed money," he remarked, when he felt able to speak.
"Yes," I replied. "The poor girl said that she wished money were
extinct. I wish his were, anyhow!"
"Stranger things have happened," returned Peter.
"I promised Pat that we'd save Larry, and I promised myself that we'd
save her," I went on. "Jack and I have an exalted idea of your
cleverness about conducting cars and affairs in general, so we decided
to ask you to help us conspire. It was really you who made the success
of the venture at Kidd's Pines, by your marvellous conjuring trick of
getting Marcel Moncourt to come. We felt, if you could do a thing like
that you could do anything. But my gracious, you look as if you'd resort
to murder! We don't want you to go as far as that."
"I would if necessary," Peter said, "but I think it won't be necessary.
We'll scotch our snake, not kill him."
"The snake doesn't love _you_," I ventured. "I've sometimes thought he'd
do all he could to hurt you. But--but I suppose he couldn't do anything
very troublesome, could he, even if you envenomed him a little more?"
"He might be able to upset some of my arrangements," said Peter, "but in
upsetting them, his own would be under the avalanche."
I saw by his look that this wasn't just a joke. The Stormy Petrel meant
_something in particular_, something he didn't intend to explain to Jack
or me; and all my old feeling about his mysteriousness came back. "I
should feel guilty," I said, "if by asking you to plot with us, I'd
induced you to mix yourself up in a business which might be annoying."
"However it turns out, it won't be annoying," Peter answered. "Things
have gone far beyond that. If I choose, Mrs. Winston, I can put Caspian
out of the running to-morrow. Money has given him power to use this
situation for his own advantage. If he lost it----"
"Heavens, man, if he lost it, don't you see that Patricia Moore's the
sort of girl to feel she owed him allegiance?" broke in Jack, who had so
far confined himself to listening. "Any one who could take Caspian's
money away would be _giving_ him the girl."
As I heard this, I realized how _very_ clever Jack is, for neither Peter
Storm nor I had thought of that, though it was absolutely true. He and I
would have rushed wildly ahead and broken every bank Caspian had a cent
in, if we could. But we both had the wisdom to realize instantly that
Jack was right about Pat.
"We mustn't do anything serious to begin with," I said. "Let's see if we
can't think of something _silly_, like the mouse gnawing the net that
had caught the lion. Another lion trying to do that would only have
tangled up his teeth. Can you condescend to think of a thoroughly silly
and frivolous trick?"
"I've thought of one," said Peter, "without condescending at all. As you
say, we won't begin by tearing the net; we'll unravel it. What do you
think would have happened to you, Mrs. Winston, before you were married,
if you'd had to travel day after day in a motor car with a man you
already disliked?"
"I _know_ what would have happened. It did happen!" Jack and I tossed
each other a smile across the memory of Jimmy Payne. "I got to _loathe_
him. I see what's in your head--don't I?"
"You do. But one of us conspirators would have to be in the car to see
how things worked, and when they'd gone far enough."
"Of course!" I caught him up. "And that one would have to be you. I
must stick to my poor wounded man on our next trip, as on the last."
"Very well, let it be me," said Peter.
I don't think he wanted his eyes to meet mine at that moment, for he
hadn't time to push his soul back behind the glass doors and lock it in.
Somehow he couldn't help it, though; and I knew that he knew that _I_
knew what was in his heart for Patricia Moore. Whatever the wild streak
in his nature was, which had made him vow not to marry and settle down,
the flame of love had burst out with such terrific force the streak was
simply _melted_.
Truly, I hadn't begun this scene with the deliberate intention of being
a matchmaker. But I saw that if the man hadn't loved to _desperation_,
he would never have given in at all. Perhaps if this unpleasant tangle
hadn't arrived he might have taken himself out of Patsey Moore's life
without quite knowing what his had missed--until it was too late.
We went on developing our plan, with occasional suggestions from Jack;
and we thought we might as well try to kill another bird with the same
stone, by throwing it in the direction of Larry and Mrs. S.
Think what it will be for Larry to be engaged to Mrs. Shuster day after
day in a motor car, especially if there's a better looking and younger
woman on board!
You see how things are shaping themselves. I _hope_ it makes you look
forward a little, little bit, to my next letter, dear girl!
Your affectionate, anxious, but optimistic
MOLLY.
XIV
PETER STORM TO JAMES STRICKLAND
_The Day before the Battle._
Many thanks for your letter, my dear fellow. It's less pessimistic than
I expected, and gives me the impression that I may regard you as a Prop.
I shall follow your advice rigidly, though I must juggle some of the
details, as Caspian has taken advantage of the poor little girl's love
for her father, and practically (from what I understand) blackmailed her
into promising to marry him. Mrs. Winston is in her confidence, though
both she and I think there are unexplored depths. Patricia confesses
that, rather than Larry should give her Mrs. Shuster for a step-mamma,
she took the line of least resistance to obtain money. But I have a
horrible instinctive idea that the trouble began at Piping Rock, and
that she really sacrificed herself to shield me. This makes me feel
positively hydrophobic toward Caspian; but all the same I'll remember
what you say, and not be "precipitate"--one of your favourite words:
follows you about like a dog!
Before doing anything drastic, I'm hoping that my dear girl may see for
herself that Caspian is impossible. Or, if her devotion to Larry is like
the Rock of Gibraltar on which waves of contrary emotions dash
themselves in vain, it may be that Larry will do a little mining and
sapping on his own account. Captain and Mrs. Winston and I have formed
an alliance offensive and defensive, particularly the former, against
the coalesced forces of Caspian and Shuster. There has been no talk of
my private feelings--_bien entendu_--but the small nations are to be
protected by our united diplomacy. We're starting off on another
expedition planned with a certain bold audacity. Moore and his fat
fiancee are to travel together in Caspian's Wilmot, conducted by his
chauffeur, accompanied by the prettiest, most coquettish Miss Goodrich,
and one of Mrs. Shuster's Peace League Confreres, ex-Senator Collinge, a
violently intelligent man who looks (Mrs. Winston says) like a
moth-eaten lion with false teeth.
We hope and expect that Mrs. Shuster will get on Larry's sensitive
nerves when at such close quarters; that desperation combined with
natural inclination will drive him to flirt with Idonia Goodrich, who
will enthusiastically respond; that Mrs. Shuster's mortification may
drive her to such vulgar vengeance as will disgust Larry beyond repair;
that the lion may not be too moth-eaten to seize his chance and the
lady, and that Pat may then scramble down from the pyre of
self-sacrifice.
This seems a good deal to expect from a three or four days' motoring
trip, doesn't it? But almost anything can happen in automobiles. And I
haven't told you yet the rest of our programme.
"Tom, Dick, and Harry" don't count. They're simply "on in the scene,"
and like the poor, always with us! They pound through the landscape as
before, with their Hippopotamus; and Captain and Mrs. Winston, who are
to be of the party, will take our bride and bridegroom again, a very
appropriate arrangement. But everything hangs upon the Grayles-Grice.
After a council of war with the Winstons, I advised Miss Moore that it
would be comparatively safe to have Caspian conduct. You see, the two
engagements are announced (Caspian and Mrs. Shuster saw to that, without
letting a blade of grass grow under their feet!), and so it was easy for
me to take it for granted that Patricia would wish to give the wheel of
her car to C. "Of course you'll want to sit in front," I said humbly.
"But if you would still care to have any help I can give, I'd gladly
offer my services. I can perch on one of the fold-up chairs," I went on,
"which will leave plenty of room for any others you like to take, no
matter how large (I thought of the Goodriches). I've had more experience
as a mechanic than Mr. Caspian, perhaps, and I might be useful in
emergencies----"
"Oh you _would!_" broke in the darling, with adorable alacrity. And as
far as she was concerned, the matter was settled. You would have
thought, however, that Caspian would be the rock I'd split on, now that
he has a "say" in the affairs of Patricia. But the Winstons and I hadn't
forgotten this chance in our calculations. We expected C. to take a
fiendish joy in the prospect of kicking me when I was down: "putting me
into my place" and making love to Miss Moore before my starting eyes--a
great triumph for him after the very different Long Island trip in the
same car with some of the same passengers. Well, we were as right as
rain. The yellow dog snapped at the attractive morsel, which we _hope_
we have poisoned. How will _she_ stand the situation he is exulting in?
Next time I write I shall know how our strategy works out. I talk of it
lightly, but honestly, Strickland, I'm not laughing on the right side of
my mouth. And if it weren't for your advice, and Molly Winston's
conviction that Pat would stick to C. if he were ruined, I shouldn't be
playing about with any such piffling policy as I've just outlined.
There'd be a cataclysm for somebody! I might get involved in it
myself--but I'd risk that. It may have to come, anyhow, of course, so
hold yourself prepared, as I do. And meanwhile we mustn't forget where
the _two Marcels_ come in.
Yours ever, THE STORMY PETREL.
(That's what they named me on shipboard, and, by Jingo, it's appropriate
now!)
XV
MOLLY WINSTON TO MERCEDES LANE
_Just Back at Awepesha._
DEAREST MERCEDES:
Jack says he would be having _the_ time of his life lightning conducting
over here (I'm not sure he expressed it as Americanly as that) if only
people would be sensible enough to do what we want them to do. They do
seem so obstinate when they won't! Even dear Patsey, not to speak of
Larry and the Two Unspeakables--but no, I won't let myself go on that
subject now: I might say too much. I'll cool my feelings by telling you
about the lovely--or ought-to-have-been-lovely--trip we have just had.
Scenery is far more restful than human nature--other people's human
nature I mean, not Jack's and mine. And Jack says that American country
scenery is the _most_ restful in the world, just as the cities are the
most exciting. Clever adjustment of the Law of Contrast! I'm not sure he
isn't right, are you? Surely there aren't such exquisite, laughing,
dryad-haunted woods in Europe, so young and gay and unspoiled looking,
as if you had just discovered them yourself, and nobody else had ever
seen them before. I'm falling in love with my own country all over
again, and appreciating it proudly because my much-travelled Jack is so
ingenuously astonished every minute at its striking individuality, its
difference from any other part of the globe he has ever "infested" (his
own word!).
Oh yes, every prospect pleases, and only Ed Caspian is vile--though Mrs.
Shuster is a good second, and Pat--but I said I wouldn't mention them,
anyhow at first. I'm sure Jack and I were _never_ so irritating, except
perhaps to Aunt Mary. But she was _different_. One somehow wanted to
irritate her. She was born to be irritated.
Dearest, I'm going to write you a straightforward account of three
divine days which would have been all spotless brightness if it hadn't
been for--but no matter!
We (quite a large party in four cars: the Grayles-Grice, the Wilmot,
ours, and the Hippopotamus) started early on a warm morning, not from
Long Island but from a New York hotel. We'd been invited by Mrs. Shuster
to a roof-garden dinner in (or on) it the night before, where we'd been
dazzled by an incredible assemblage of gunpowder pearls and dynamite
diamonds on the bosoms of the Ammunition Aristocracy--a wondrous new
class of Americans sprung up since the war. Not _one_ of us wore a
jewel, I must tell you, except Mrs. Shuster, who flaunted an ancestral
ring she'd cozened out of poor Larry. (Pat had "forgotten" her
searchlight which Caspian made a special expedition to New York to buy
her as a badge of slavery.)
Jack was quite excited about beginning the Hudson River trip in this
way, because he's been so busy discovering Long Island, and it's been so
warm, that he kept New York up his sleeve (sleeves are worn large) until
later. He hadn't even seen Riverside Drive I'd boasted of so much; but
he wouldn't be Jack Winston if he didn't know rather more about it than
the average American, including me.
If it were any other Englishman, I couldn't stand his airs of historic
erudition about my native land, but Jack is _so_ human and boyish in his
joy of "fagging up things," and so broad-mindedly pleased that we beat
his wrong-headed ancestors in our Revolution, that I don't grudge him
the crumbs he's gathered. Of course, I pretend to have crumbs in my
cupboard, too, even when it's really bare as bone. I say, "Oh, yes, now
I _remember_!" and intelligent-sounding things like that.