[Illustration: Miss Forbes]
The Scarlet Car
The Princess Aline
BY
RICHARD HARDING DAVIS
ILLUSTRATED
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
NEW YORK 1910
THE SCARLET CAR
COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY
RICHARD HARDING DAVIS
COPYRIGHT, 1907, 1910, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
THE PRINCESS ALINE
COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY
HARPER & BROTHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
[Illustration]
THE SCARLET CAR
THE PRINCESS ALINE
CONTENTS
THE SCARLET CAR
PAGE
THE JAIL-BREAKERS 3
THE TRESPASSERS 39
THE KIDNAPPERS 70
THE PRINCESS ALINE
ILLUSTRATIONS
Miss Forbes _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
In the two circles of light the men surveyed each other 56
“You’ve broken the bone,” he said 66
“Next to her stood the Princess Aline of Hohenwald” 142
“A man was talking in English, with an accent” 152
“This is she. Do you wonder I travelled four thousand
miles to see her?” 164
THE SCARLET CAR
TO
NED STONE
THE SCARLET CAR
I
THE JAIL-BREAKERS
For a long time it had been arranged they all should go to the Harvard
and Yale game in Winthrop’s car. It was perfectly well understood. Even
Peabody, who pictured himself and Miss Forbes in the back of the car,
with her brother and Winthrop in front, condescended to approve. It was
necessary to invite Peabody because it was his great good fortune to be
engaged to Miss Forbes. Her brother Sam had been invited, not only
because he could act as chaperon for his sister, but because since they
were at St. Paul’s, Winthrop and he, either as participants or
spectators, had never missed going together to the Yale-Harvard game.
And Beatrice Forbes herself had been invited because she was herself.
When at nine o’clock on the morning of the game, Winthrop stopped the
car in front of her door, he was in love with all the world. In the
November air there was a sting like frost-bitten cider, in the sky there
was a brilliant, beautiful sun, in the wind was the tingling touch of
three ice-chilled rivers. And in the big house facing Central Park,
outside of which his prancing steed of brass and scarlet chugged and
protested and trembled with impatience, was the most wonderful girl in
all the world. It was true she was engaged to be married, and not to
him. But she was not yet married. And to-day it would be his privilege
to carry her through the State of New York and the State of Connecticut,
and he would snatch glimpses of her profile rising from the rough fur
collar, of her wind-blown hair, of the long, lovely lashes under the
gray veil.
“‘Shall be together, breathe and ride, so, one day more am I deified;’”
whispered the young man in the Scarlet Car; “‘who knows but the world
may end to-night?’”
As he waited at the curb, other great touring-cars, of every speed and
shape, in the mad race for the Boston Post Road, and the town of New
Haven, swept up Fifth Avenue. Some rolled and puffed like tugboats in a
heavy seaway, others glided by noiseless and proud as private yachts.
But each flew the colors of blue or crimson.
Winthrop’s car, because her brother had gone to one college, and he had
played right end for the other, was draped impartially. And so every
other car mocked or cheered it, and in one a bareheaded youth stood up,
and shouted to his fellows: “Look! there’s Billy Winthrop! Three times
three for old Billy Winthrop!” And they lashed the air with flags, and
sent his name echoing over Central Park.
Winthrop grinned in embarrassment, and waved his hand. A bicycle cop,
and Fred, the chauffeur, were equally impressed.
“Was they the Harvoids, sir?” asked Fred.
“They was,” said Winthrop.
Her brother Sam came down the steps carrying sweaters and steamer-rugs.
But he wore no holiday countenance.
“What do you think?” he demanded indignantly. “Ernest Peabody’s inside
making trouble. His sister has a Pullman on one of the special trains,
and he wants Beatrice to go with her.”
In spite of his furs, the young man in the car turned quite cold. “Not
with us?” he gasped.
Miss Forbes appeared at the house door, followed by Ernest Peabody. He
wore an expression of disturbed dignity; she one of distressed
amusement. That she also wore her automobile coat caused the heart of
Winthrop to leap hopefully.
“Winthrop,” said Peabody, “I am in rather an embarrassing position. My
sister, Mrs. Taylor Holbrooke”—he spoke the name as though he were
announcing it at the door of a drawingroom—“desires Miss Forbes to go
with her. She feels accidents are apt to occur with motor cars—and there
are no other ladies in your party—and the crowds——”
Winthrop carefully avoided looking at Miss Forbes.
“I should be very sorry,” he murmured.
“Ernest!” said Miss Forbes, “I explained it was impossible for me to go
with your sister. We would be extremely rude to Mr. Winthrop. How do you
wish us to sit?” she asked.
She mounted to the rear seat, and made room opposite her for Peabody.
“Do I understand, Beatrice,” began Peabody, in a tone that instantly
made every one extremely uncomfortable, “that I am to tell my sister you
are not coming?”
“Ernest!” begged Miss Forbes.
Winthrop bent hastily over the oil valves. He read the speedometer,
which was, as usual, out of order, with fascinated interest.
“Ernest,” pleaded Miss Forbes, “Mr. Winthrop and Sam planned this trip
for us a long time ago—to give us a little pleasure——”
“Then,” said Peabody in a hollow voice, “you have decided?”
“Ernest,” cried Miss Forbes, “don’t look at me as though you meant to
hurl the curse of Rome. I have. Jump in. Please!”
“I will bid you good-by,” said Peabody; “I have only just time to catch
our train.”
Miss Forbes rose and moved to the door of the car.
“I had better not go with any one,” she said in a low voice.
“You will go with me,” commanded her brother. “Come on, Ernest.”
“Thank you, no,” replied Peabody. “I have promised my sister.”
“All right, then,” exclaimed Sam briskly, “see you at the game. Section
H. Don’t forget. Let her out, Billy.”
With a troubled countenance Winthrop bent forward and clasped the
clutch.
“Better come, Peabody,” he said.
“I thank you, no,” repeated Peabody. “I must go with my sister.”
As the car glided forward Brother Sam sighed heavily.
“My! but he’s got a mean disposition,” he said. “He has quite spoiled
_my_ day.”
He chuckled wickedly, but Winthrop pretended not to hear, and his sister
maintained an expression of utter dejection.
But to maintain an expression of utter dejection is very difficult when
the sun is shining, when you are flying at the rate of forty miles an
hour, and when in the cars you pass foolish youths wave Yale flags at
you, and take advantage of the day to cry: “Three cheers for the girl in
the blue hat!”
And to entirely remove the last trace of the gloom that Peabody had
forced upon them, it was necessary only for a tire to burst. Of course,
for this effort, the tire chose the coldest and most fiercely wind-swept
portion of the Pelham Road, where from the broad waters of the Sound
pneumonia and the grip raced rampant, and where to the touch a steel
wrench was not to be distinguished from a piece of ice. But before the
wheels had ceased to complain, Winthrop and Fred were out of their fur
coats, down on their knees, and jacking up the axle.
“On an expedition of this sort,” said Brother Sam, “whatever happens,
take it as a joke. Fortunately,” he explained, “I don’t understand
fixing inner tubes, so I will get out and smoke. I have noticed that
when a car breaks down there is always one man who paces up and down the
road and smokes. His hope is to fool passing cars into thinking that the
people in his car stopped to admire the view.”
Recognizing the annual football match as intended solely to replenish
the town coffers, the thrifty townsfolk of Rye, with bicycles and red
flags, were, as usual, and regardless of the speed at which it moved,
levying tribute on every second car that entered their hospitable
boundaries. But before the Scarlet Car reached Rye, small boys of the
town, possessed of a sporting spirit, or of an inherited instinct for
graft, were waiting to give a noisy notice of the ambush. And so,
forewarned, the Scarlet Car crawled up the main street of Rye as
demurely as a baby-carriage, and then, having safely reached a point
directly in front of the police station, with a loud and ostentatious
report, blew up another tire.
“Well,” said Sam crossly, “they can’t arrest _us_ for speeding.”
“Whatever happens,” said his sister, “take it as a joke.”
Two miles outside of Stamford, Brother Sam burst into open mutiny.
“Every car in the United States has passed us,” he declared. “We won’t
get there, at this rate, till the end of the first half. Hit her up,
can’t you, Billy?”
“She seems to have an illness,” said Winthrop unhappily. “I think I’d
save time if I stopped now and fixed her.”
Shamefacedly Fred and he hid themselves under the body of the car, and a
sound of hammering and stentorian breathing followed. Of them all that
was visible was four feet beating a tattoo on the road. Miss Forbes got
out Winthrop’s camera, and took a snapshot of the scene.
“I will call it,” she said, “The Idle Rich.”
Brother Sam gazed morosely in the direction of New Haven. They had
halted within fifty yards of the railroad tracks, and as each special
train, loaded with happy enthusiasts, raced past them he groaned.
“The only one of us that showed any common-sense was Ernest,” he
declared, “and you turned him down. I am going to take a trolley to
Stamford, and the first train to New Haven.”
“You are not,” said his sister; “I will not desert Mr. Winthrop, and you
cannot desert me.”
Brother Sam sighed, and seated himself on a rock.
“Do you think, Billy,” he asked, “you can get us to Cambridge in time
for next year’s game?”
The car limped into Stamford, and while it went into dry-dock at the
garage, Brother Sam fled to the railroad station, where he learned that
for the next two hours no train that recognized New Haven spoke to
Stamford.
“That being so,” said Winthrop, “while we are waiting for the car, we
had better get a quick lunch now, and then push on.”
“Push,” exclaimed Brother Sam darkly, “is what we are likely to do.”
After behaving with perfect propriety for half an hour, just outside of
Bridgeport the Scarlet Car came to a slow and sullen stop, and once more
the owner and the chauffeur hid their shame beneath it, and attacked its
vitals. Twenty minutes later, while they still were at work, there
approached from Bridgeport a young man in a buggy. When he saw the mass
of college colors on the Scarlet Car, he pulled his horse down to a
walk, and as he passed raised his hat.
“At the end of the first half,” he said, “the score was a tie.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Brother Sam.
“Now,” he cried, “we’ve got to turn back, and make for New York. If we
start quick, we may get there ahead of the last car to leave New Haven.”
“I am going to New Haven, and in this car,” declared his sister. “I must
go—to meet Ernest.”
“If Ernest has as much sense as he showed this morning,” returned her
affectionate brother, “Ernest will go to his Pullman and stay there. As
I told you, the only sure way to get anywhere is by railroad train.”
When they passed through Bridgeport it was so late that the electric
lights of Fairview Avenue were just beginning to sputter and glow in the
twilight, and as they came along the shore road into New Haven, the
first car out of New Haven in the race back to New York leaped at them
with siren shrieks of warning, and dancing, dazzling eyes. It passed
like a thing driven by the Furies; and before the Scarlet Car could
swing back into what had been an empty road, in swift pursuit of the
first came many more cars, with blinding searchlights, with a roar of
throbbing, thrashing engines, flying pebbles, and whirling wheels, and
behind these, stretching for a twisted mile, came hundreds of others;
until the road was aflame with flashing will-o’-the-wisps, dancing
fire-balls, and long, shifting shafts of light.
Miss Forbes sat in front, beside Winthrop, and it pleased her to
imagine, as they bent forward, peering into the night, that together
they were facing so many fiery dragons, speeding to give them battle, to
grind them under their wheels. She felt the elation of great speed, of
imminent danger. Her blood tingled with the air from the wind-swept
harbor, with the rush of the great engines, as by a hand-breadth they
plunged past her. She knew they were driven by men and half-grown boys,
joyous with victory, piqued by defeat, reckless by one touch too much of
liquor, and that the young man at her side was driving, not only for
himself, but for them.
Each fraction of a second a dazzling light blinded him, and he swerved
to let the monster, with a hoarse, bellowing roar, pass by, and then
again swept his car into the road. And each time for greater confidence
she glanced up into his face.
Throughout the mishaps of the day he had been deeply concerned for her
comfort, sorry for her disappointment, under Brother Sam’s indignant
ironies patient, and at all times gentle and considerate. Now, in the
light from the onrushing cars, she noted his alert, laughing eyes, the
broad shoulders bent across the wheel, the lips smiling with excitement
and in the joy of controlling, with a turn of the wrist, a power equal
to sixty galloping horses. She found in his face much comfort. And in
the fact that for the moment her safety lay in his hands, a sense of
pleasure. That this was her feeling puzzled and disturbed her, for to
Ernest Peabody it seemed, in some way, disloyal. And yet there it was.
Of a certainty, there was the secret pleasure in the thought that if
they escaped unhurt from the trap in which they found themselves, it
would be due to him. To herself she argued that if the chauffeur were
driving, her feeling would be the same, that it was the nerve, the
skill, and the coolness, not the man, that moved her admiration. But in
her heart she knew it would not be the same.
At West Haven Green Winthrop turned out of the track of the racing
monsters into a quiet street leading to the railroad station, and with a
half-sigh, half-laugh, leaned back comfortably.
“Those lights coming up suddenly make it hard to see,” he said.
“Hard to breathe,” snorted Sam; “since that first car missed us, I
haven’t drawn an honest breath. I held on so tight that I squeezed the
hair out of the cushions.”
When they reached the railroad station, and Sam had finally fought his
way to the stationmaster, that half-crazed official informed him he had
missed the departure of Mrs. Taylor Holbrooke’s car by just ten minutes.
Brother Sam reported this state of affairs to his companions.
“God knows we asked for the fish first,” he said; “so now we’ve done our
duty by Ernest, who has shamefully deserted us, and we can get something
to eat, and go home at our leisure. As I have always told you, the only
way to travel independently is in a touring-car.”
At the New Haven House they bought three waiters, body and soul, and, in
spite of the fact that in the very next room the team was breaking
training, obtained an excellent but chaotic dinner; and by eight they
were on their way back to the big city.
The night was grandly beautiful. The waters of the Sound flashed in the
light of a cold, clear moon, which showed them, like pictures in silver
print, the sleeping villages through which they passed, the ancient
elms, the low-roofed cottages, the town-hall facing the common. The post
road was again empty, and the car moved as steadily as a watch.
“Just because it knows we don’t care now when we get there,” said
Brother Sam, “you couldn’t make it break down with an axe.”
From the rear, where he sat with Fred, he announced he was going to
sleep, and asked that he be not awakened until the car had crossed the
State line between Connecticut and New York. Winthrop doubted if he knew
the State line of New York.
“It is where the advertisements for Besse Baker’s twenty-seven stores
cease,” said Sam drowsily, “and the bill-posters of Ethel Barrymore
begin.”
In the front of the car the two young people spoke only at intervals,
but Winthrop had never been so widely alert, so keenly happy, never
before so conscious of her presence.
And it seemed as they glided through the mysterious moonlit world of
silent villages, shadowy woods, and wind-swept bays and inlets, from
which, as the car rattled over the planks of the bridges, the wild duck
rose in noisy circles, they alone were awake and living.
The silence had lasted so long that it was as eloquent as words. The
young man turned his eyes timorously, and sought those of the girl. What
he felt was so strong in him that it seemed incredible she should be
ignorant of it. His eyes searched the gray veil. In his voice there was
both challenge and pleading.
“‘Shall be together,’” he quoted, “‘breathe and ride. So, one day more
am I deified; who knows but the world may end to-night?’”
The moonlight showed the girl’s eyes shining through the veil, and
regarding him steadily.
“If you don’t stop this car quick,” she said, “the world _will_ end for
all of us.”
He shot a look ahead, and so suddenly threw on the brake that Sam and
the chauffeur tumbled awake. Across the road stretched the great bulk of
a touring-car, its lamps burning dully in the brilliance of the moon.
Around it, for greater warmth, a half-dozen figures stamped upon the
frozen ground, and beat themselves with their arms. Sam and the
chauffeur vaulted into the road, and went toward them.
“It’s what you say, and the way you say it,” the girl explained. She
seemed to be continuing an argument. “It makes it so very difficult for
us to play together.”
The young man clasped the wheel as though the force he were holding in
check were much greater than sixty horse-power.
“You are not married yet, are you?” he demanded.
The girl moved her head.
“And when you are married, there will probably be an altar from which
you will turn to walk back up the aisle?”
“Well?” said the girl.
“Well,” he answered explosively, “until you turn away from that altar, I
do not recognize the right of any man to keep me quiet, or your right
either. Why should I be held by your engagement? I was not consulted
about it. I did not give my consent, did I? I tell you, you are the only
woman in the world I will ever marry, and if you think I am going to
keep silent and watch some one else carry you off without making a fight
for you, you don’t know me.”
“If you go on,” said the girl, “it will mean that I shall not see you
again.”
“Then I will write letters to you.”
“I will not read them,” said the girl.
The young man laughed defiantly.
“Oh, yes, you will read them!” He pounded his gauntleted fist on the rim
of the wheel. “You mayn’t answer them, but if I can write the way I
feel, I will bet you’ll read them.”
His voice changed suddenly, and he began to plead. It was as though she
were some masculine giant bullying a small boy.
“You are not fair to me,” he protested. “I do not ask you to be kind, I
ask you to be fair. I am fighting for what means more to me than
anything in this world, and you won’t even listen. Why should I
recognize any other men? All I recognize is that _I_ am the man who
loves you, that ‘I am the man at your feet.’ That is all I know, that I
love you.”
The girl moved as though with the cold, and turned her head from him.
“I love you,” repeated the young man.
The girl breathed like one who has been swimming under water, but, when
she spoke, her voice was calm and contained.
“Please!” she begged, “don’t you see how unfair it is? I can’t go away;
I _have_ to listen.”
The young man pulled himself upright, and pressed his lips together.
“I beg your pardon,” he whispered.
There was for some time an unhappy silence, and then Winthrop added
bitterly: “‘Methinks the punishment exceeds the offence.’”
“Do you think you make it easy for _me_?” returned the girl.
She considered it most ungenerous of him to sit staring into the
moonlight, looking so miserable that it made her heart ache to comfort
him, and so extremely handsome that to do so was quite impossible. She
would have liked to reach out her hand and lay it on his arm, and tell
him she was sorry, but she could not. He should not have looked so
unnecessarily handsome.
Sam came running toward them with five grizzly bears, who balanced
themselves apparently with some slight effort upon their hind legs. The
grizzly bears were properly presented as: “Tommy Todd, of my class, and
some more like him. And,” continued Sam, “I am going to quit you two and
go with them. Tom’s car broke down, but Fred fixed it, and both our cars
can travel together. Sort of convoy,” he explained.
His sister signalled eagerly, but with equal eagerness he retreated from
her.
“Believe me,” he assured her soothingly, “I am just as good a chaperon
fifty yards behind you, and wide awake, as I am in the same car and fast
asleep. And, besides, I want to hear about the game. And, what’s more,
two cars are much safer than one. Suppose you two break down in a lonely
place? We’ll be right behind you to pick you up. You will keep
Winthrop’s car in sight, won’t you, Tommy?” he said.
The grizzly bear called Tommy, who had been examining the Scarlet Car,
answered doubtfully that the only way he could keep it in sight was by
tying a rope to it.
“That’s all right, then,” said Sam briskly, “Winthrop will go slow.”
So the Scarlet Car shot forward with sometimes the second car so far in
the rear that they could only faintly distinguish the horn begging them
to wait, and again it would follow so close upon their wheels that they
heard the five grizzly bears chanting beseechingly:
“Oh, bring this wagon home, John,
It will not hold us a-all.”
For some time there was silence in the Scarlet Car, and then Winthrop
broke it by laughing.
“First, I lose Peabody,” he explained, “then I lose Sam, and now, after
I throw Fred overboard, I am going to drive you into Stamford, where
they do not ask runaway couples for a license, and marry you.”
The girl smiled comfortably. In that mood she was not afraid of him.
She lifted her face, and stretched out her arms as though she were
drinking in the moonlight.
“It has been such a good day,” she said simply, “and I am really so very
happy.”
“I shall be equally frank,” said Winthrop. “So am I.”
For two hours they had been on the road, and were just entering
Fairport. For some long time the voices of the pursuing grizzlies had
been lost in the far distance.
“The road’s up,” said Miss Forbes.
She pointed ahead to two red lanterns.
“It was all right this morning,” exclaimed Winthrop.
The car was pulled down to eight miles an hour, and, trembling and
snorting at the indignity, nosed up to the red lanterns.
They showed in a ruddy glow the legs of two men.
“You gotta stop!” commanded a voice.
“Why?” asked Winthrop.
The voice became embodied in the person of a tall man with a long
overcoat and a drooping mustache.
“’Cause I tell you to!” snapped the tall man.
Winthrop threw a quick glance to the rear. In that direction for a mile
the road lay straight away. He could see its entire length, and it was
empty. In thinking of nothing but Miss Forbes, he had forgotten the
chaperon. He was impressed with the fact that the immediate presence of
a chaperon was desirable. Directly in front of the car, blocking its
advance, were two barrels with a two-inch plank sagging heavily between
them. Beyond that the main street of Fairport lay steeped in slumber and
moonlight.
“I am a selectman,” said the one with the lantern. “You been exceedin’
our speed limit.”
The chauffeur gave a gasp that might have been construed to mean that
the charge amazed and shocked him.
“That is not possible,” Winthrop answered. “I have been going very
slow—on purpose—to allow a disabled car to keep up with me.”
The selectman looked down the road.
“It ain’t kep’ up with you,” he said pointedly.
“It has until the last few minutes.”
“It’s the last few minutes we’re talking about,” returned the man who
had not spoken. He put his foot on the step of the car.
“What are you doing?” asked Winthrop.
“I am going to take you to Judge Allen’s. I am chief of police. You are
under arrest.”
Before Winthrop rose moving pictures of Miss Forbes appearing in a dirty
police station before an officious Dogberry, and, as he and his car were
well known along the post road, appearing the next morning in the New
York papers. “William Winthrop,” he saw the printed words, “son of
Endicott Winthrop, was arrested here this evening, with a young woman
who refused to give her name, but who was recognized as Miss Beatrice
Forbes, whose engagement to Ernest Peabody, the Reform candidate on the
Independent ticket——”
And, of course, Peabody would blame her.
“If I have exceeded your speed limit,” he said politely, “I shall be
delighted to pay the fine. How much is it?”
“Judge Allen ’ll tell you what the fine is,” said the selectman gruffly.
“And he may want bail.”
“Bail?” demanded Winthrop. “Do you mean to tell me he will detain us
here?”
“He will, if he wants to,” answered the chief of police combatively.
For an instant Winthrop sat gazing gloomily ahead, overcome apparently
by the enormity of his offence. He was calculating whether, if he rammed
the two-inch plank, it would hit the car or Miss Forbes. He decided
swiftly it would hit his new two-hundred-dollar lamps. As swiftly he
decided the new lamps must go. But he had read of guardians of the
public safety so regardless of private safety as to try to puncture
runaway tires with pistol bullets. He had no intention of subjecting
Miss Forbes to a fusillade.
So he whirled upon the chief of police:
“Take your hand off that gun!” he growled. “How dare you threaten me?”
Amazed, the chief of police dropped from the step and advanced
indignantly.
“Me?” he demanded. “I ain’t got a gun. What you mean by——”
With sudden intelligence, the chauffeur precipitated himself upon the
scene.
“It’s the other one,” he shouted. He shook an accusing finger at the
selectman. “He pointed it at the lady.”
To Miss Forbes the realism of Fred’s acting was too convincing. To learn
that one is covered with a loaded revolver is disconcerting. Miss Forbes
gave a startled squeak, and ducked her head.
Winthrop roared aloud at the selectman.
“How dare you frighten the lady!” he cried. “Take your hand off that
gun.”
“What you talkin’ about?” shouted the selectman. “The idea of my havin’
a gun! I haven’t got a——”
“All right, Fred!” cried Winthrop. “Low bridge.”
There was a crash of shattered glass and brass, of scattered barrel
staves, the smell of escaping gas, and the Scarlet Car was flying
drunkenly down the main street.
“What are they doing now, Fred?” called the owner. Fred peered over the
stern of the flying car.
“The constable’s jumping around the road,” he replied, “and the long
one’s leaning against a tree. No, he’s climbing the tree. I can’t make
out _what_ he’s doing.”
“_I_ know!” cried Miss Forbes; her voice vibrated with excitement.
Defiance of the law had thrilled her with unsuspected satisfaction; her
eyes were dancing. “There was a telephone fastened to the tree, a hand
telephone. They are sending word to some one. They’re trying to head us
off.”
Winthrop brought the car to a quick halt.
“We’re in a police trap!” he said. Fred leaned forward and whispered to
his employer. His voice also vibrated with the joy of the chase.
“This’ll be our _third_ arrest,” he said. “That means——”
“I know what it means,” snapped Winthrop. “Tell me how we can get out of
here.”
“We can’t get out of here, sir, unless we go back. Going south, the
bridge is the only way out.”
“The bridge!” Winthrop struck the wheel savagely with his knuckles. “I
forgot their confounded bridge!” He turned to Miss Forbes. “Fairport is
a sort of island,” he explained.
“But after we’re across the bridge,” urged the chauffeur, “we needn’t
keep to the post road no more. We can turn into Stone Ridge, and strike
south to White Plains. Then——”
“We haven’t crossed the bridge yet,” growled Winthrop. His voice had
none of the joy of the others; he was greatly perturbed. “Look back,” he
commanded, “and see if there is any sign of those boys.”
He was now quite willing to share responsibility. But there was no sign
of the Yale men, and, unattended, the Scarlet Car crept warily forward.
Ahead of it, across the little reed-grown inlet, stretched their road of
escape, a long wooden bridge, lying white in the moonlight.
“I don’t see a soul,” whispered Miss Forbes.
“Anybody at that draw?” asked Winthrop. Unconsciously his voice also had
sunk to a whisper.
“No,” returned Fred. “I think the man that tends the draw goes home at
night; there is no light there.”
“Well, then,” said Winthrop, with an anxious sigh, “we’ve got to make a
dash for it.”
The car shot forward, and, as it leaped lightly upon the bridge, there
was a rapid rumble of creaking boards.
Between it and the highway to New York lay only two hundred yards of
track, straight and empty.
In his excitement, the chauffeur rose from the rear seat.
“They’ll never catch us now,” he muttered. “They’ll never catch us!”
But even as he spoke there grated harshly the creak of rusty chains on a
cogged wheel, the rattle of a brake. The black figure of a man with
waving arms ran out upon the draw, and the draw gaped slowly open.
When the car halted there was between it and the broken edge of the
bridge twenty feet of running water.
At the same moment from behind it came a patter of feet, and Winthrop
turned to see racing toward them some dozen young men of Fairport. They
surrounded him with noisy, raucous, belligerent cries. They were, as
they proudly informed him, members of the Fairport “Volunteer Fire
Department.” That they might purchase new uniforms, they had arranged a
trap for the automobiles returning in illegal haste from New Haven. In
fines they had collected $300, and it was evident that already some of
that money had been expended in bad whiskey. As many as could do so
crowded into the car, others hung to the running boards and step, others
ran beside it. They rejoiced over Winthrop’s unsuccessful flight and
capture with violent and humiliating laughter.
For the day, Judge Allen had made a temporary court in the club-room of
the fire department, which was over the engine-house; and the
proceedings were brief and decisive. The selectman told how Winthrop,
after first breaking the speed law, had broken arrest, and Judge Allen,
refusing to fine him and let him go, held him and his companions for a
hearing the following morning. He fixed the amount of bail at $500 each;
failing to pay this, they would for the night be locked up in different
parts of the engine-house, which, it developed, contained on the
ground-floor the home of the fire-engine, on the second floor the
club-room, on alternate nights, of the firemen, the local G. A. R., and
the Knights of Pythias, and in its cellar the town jail.
Winthrop and the chauffeur the learned judge condemned to the cells in
the basement. As a concession, he granted Miss Forbes the freedom of the
entire club-room to herself.
The objections raised by Winthrop to this arrangement were of a nature
so violent, so vigorous, at one moment so specious and conciliatory, and
the next so abusive, that his listeners were moved by awe, but not to
pity.
In his indignation, Judge Allen rose to reply, and as, the better to
hear him, the crowd pushed forward, Fred gave way before it, until he
was left standing in sullen gloom upon its outer edge. In imitation of
the real firemen of the great cities, the vamps of Fairport had cut a
circular hole in the floor of their club-room, and from the engine-room
below had reared a sliding pole of shining brass. When leaving their
club-room, it was always their pleasure to scorn the stairs and, like
real firemen, slide down this pole. It had not escaped the notice of
Fred, and since his entrance he had been gravitating toward it.
As the voice of the judge rose in violent objurgation, and all eyes were
fixed upon him, the chauffeur crooked his leg tightly about the brass
pole, and, like the devil in the pantomime, sank softly and swiftly
through the floor.
The irate judge was shaking his finger in Winthrop’s face.
“Don’t you try to teach me no law,” he shouted; “I know what I can do.
Ef _my_ darter went gallivantin’ around nights in one of them
automobiles, it would serve her right to get locked up. Maybe this young
woman will learn to stay at home nights with her folks. She ain’t goin’
to take no harm here. The constable sits up all night downstairs in the
fire-engine-room, and that sofa’s as good a place to sleep as the hotel.
If you want me to let her go to the hotel, why don’t you send to your
folks and bail her out?”
“You know damn well why I don’t,” returned Winthrop. “I don’t intend to
give the newspapers and you and these other idiots the chance to annoy
her further. This young lady’s brother has been with us all day; he left
us only by accident, and by forcing her to remain here alone you are
acting outrageously. If you knew anything of decency, or law, you’d——”
“I know this much!” roared the justice triumphantly, pointing his
spectacle-case at Miss Forbes. “I know her name ain’t Lizzie Borden, and
yours ain’t Charley Ross.”
Winthrop crossed to where Miss Forbes stood in a corner. She still wore
her veil, but through it, though her face was pale, she smiled at him.
His own distress was undisguised.
“I can never forgive myself,” he said.
“Nonsense!” replied Miss Forbes briskly. “You were perfectly right. If
we had sent for any one, it would have had to come out. Now, we’ll pay
the fine in the morning and get home, and no one will know anything of
it excepting the family and Mr. Peabody, and they’ll understand. But if
I ever lay hands on my brother Sam!”—she clasped her fingers together
helplessly. “To think of his leaving you to spend the night in a cell——”
Winthrop interrupted her.
“I will get one of these men to send his wife or sister over to stay
with you,” he said.
But Miss Forbes protested that she did not want a companion. The
constable would protect her, she said, and she would sit up all night
and read. She nodded at the periodicals on the club table.
“This is the only chance I may ever have,” she said, “to read the
_Police Gazette_!”
“You ready there?” called the constable.
“Good-night,” said Winthrop.
Under the eyes of the grinning yokels, they shook hands.
“Good-night,” said the girl.
“Where’s your young man?” demanded the chief of police.
“My what?” inquired Winthrop.
“The young fellow that was with you when we held you up that first
time.”
The constable, or the chief of police as he called himself, on the
principle that if there were only one policeman he must necessarily be
the chief, glanced hastily over the heads of the crowd.
“Any of you holding that shoffer?” he called.
No one was holding the chauffeur.
The chauffeur had vanished.
The cell to which the constable led Winthrop was in a corner of the
cellar in which formerly coal had been stored. This corner was now
fenced off with boards, and a wooden door with chain and padlock.
High in the wall, on a level with the ground, was the opening, or
window, through which the coal had been dumped. This window now was
barricaded with iron bars. Winthrop tested the door by shaking it, and
landed a heavy kick on one of the hinges. It gave slightly, and emitted
a feeble groan.
“What you tryin’ to do?” demanded the constable. “That’s town property.”
In the light of the constable’s lantern, Winthrop surveyed his cell with
extreme dissatisfaction.
“I call this a cheap cell,” he said.
“It’s good enough for a cheap sport,” returned the constable. It was so
overwhelming a retort that after the constable had turned the key in the
padlock, and taken himself and his lantern to the floor above, Winthrop
could hear him repeating it to the volunteer firemen. They received it
with delighted howls.
For an hour, on the three empty boxes that formed his bed, Winthrop sat,
with his chin on his fist, planning the nameless atrocities he would
inflict upon the village of Fairport. Compared to his tortures, those of
Neuremberg were merely reprimands. Also he considered the particular
punishment he would mete out to Sam Forbes for his desertion of his
sister, and to Fred. He could not understand Fred. It was not like the
chauffeur to think only of himself. Nevertheless, for abandoning Miss
Forbes in the hour of need, Fred must be discharged. He had, with some
regret, determined upon this discipline, when from directly over his
head the voice of Fred hailed him cautiously.
“Mr. Winthrop,” the voice called, “are you there?”
To Winthrop the question seemed superfluous. He jumped to his feet, and
peered up into the darkness.
“Where are _you_?” he demanded.
“At the window,” came the answer. “We’re in the back yard. Mr. Sam wants
to speak to you.”
On Miss Forbes’s account, Winthrop gave a gasp of relief. On his own,
one of savage satisfaction.
“And _I_ want to speak to _him_!” he whispered.
The moonlight, which had been faintly shining through the iron bars of
the coal chute, was eclipsed by a head and shoulders. The comfortable
voice of Sam Forbes greeted him in a playful whisper.
“Hullo, Billy! You down there?”
“Where the devil did you think I was?” Winthrop answered at white heat.
“Let me tell you if I was not down here I’d be punching your head.”
“That’s all right, Billy,” Sam answered soothingly. “But I’ll save you
just the same. It shall never be said of Sam Forbes he deserted a
comrade——”
“Stop that! Do you know,” Winthrop demanded fiercely, “that your sister
is a prisoner upstairs?”
“I do,” replied the unfeeling brother, “but she won’t be long. All the
low-comedy parts are out now arranging a rescue.”
“Who are? Todd and those boys?” demanded Winthrop. “They mustn’t think
of it! They’ll only make it worse. It is impossible to get your sister
out of here with those drunken firemen in the building. You must wait
till they’ve gone home. Do you hear me?”
“Pardon _me_!” returned Sam stiffly, “but this is _my_ relief
expedition. I have sent two of the boys to hold the bridge, like
Horatius, and two to guard the motors, and the others are going to
entice the firemen away from the engine-house.”
“Entice them? How?” demanded Winthrop. “They’re drunk, and they won’t
leave here till morning.”
Outside the engine-house, suspended from a heavy cross-bar, was a steel
rail borrowed from a railroad track, and bent into a hoop. When hit with
a sledge-hammer it proclaimed to Fairport that the “consuming element”
was at large.
At the moment Winthrop asked his question, over the village of Fairport
and over the bay and marshes, and far out across the Sound, the great
steel bar sent forth a shuddering boom of warning.
From the room above came a wild tumult of joyous yells.
“Fire!” shrieked the vamps, “fire!”
The two men crouching by the cellar window heard the rush of feet, the
engine banging and bumping across the sidewalk, its brass bell clanking
crazily, the happy vamps shouting hoarse, incoherent orders.
Through the window Sam lowered a bag of tools he had taken from
Winthrop’s car.
“Can you open the lock with any of these?” he asked.
“I can kick it open!” yelled Winthrop joyfully. “Get to your sister,
quick!”
He threw his shoulder against the door, and the staples flying before
him sent him sprawling in the coal-dust. When he reached the head of the
stairs, Beatrice Forbes was descending from the club-room, and in front
of the door the two cars, with their lamps unlit and numbers hidden,
were panting to be free.
And in the north, reaching to the sky, rose a roaring column of flame,
shameless in the pale moonlight, dragging into naked day the sleeping
village, the shingled houses, the clock-face in the church steeple.
“What the devil have you done?” gasped Winthrop.
Before he answered, Sam waited until the cars were rattling to safety
across the bridge.
“We have been protecting the face of nature,” he shouted. “The only way
to get that gang out of the engine-house was to set fire to something.
Tommy wanted to burn up the railroad station, because he doesn’t like
the New York and New Haven, and Fred was for setting fire to Judge
Allen’s house, because he was rude to Beatrice. But we finally formed
the Village Improvement Society, organized to burn all advertising
signs. You know those that stood in the marshes, and hid the view from
the trains, so that you could not see the Sound. We chopped them down
and put them in a pile, and poured gasolene on them, and that fire is
all that is left of the pickles, flyscreens, and pills.”
It was midnight when the cars drew up at the door of the house of
Forbes. Anxiously waiting in the library were Mrs. Forbes and Ernest
Peabody.
“At last!” cried Mrs. Forbes, smiling her relief; “we thought maybe Sam
and you had decided to spend the night in New Haven.”
“No,” said Miss Forbes, “there _was_ some talk about spending the night
at Fairport, but we pushed right on.”
II
THE TRESPASSERS
With a long, nervous shudder, the Scarlet Car came to a stop, and the
lamps bored a round hole in the night, leaving the rest of the
encircling world in a chill and silent darkness.
The lamps showed a flickering picture of a country road between high
banks covered with loose stones, and overhead, a fringe of pine boughs.
It looked like a colored photograph thrown from a stereopticon in a
darkened theatre.
From the back of the car the voice of the owner said briskly: “We will
now sing that beautiful ballad entitled ‘He Is Sleeping in the Yukon
Vale To-night.’ What are you stopping for, Fred?” he asked.
The tone of the chauffeur suggested he was again upon the defensive.
“For water, sir,” he mumbled.
Miss Forbes in the front seat laughed, and her brother in the rear seat
groaned in dismay.
“Oh, for water?” said the owner cordially. “I thought maybe it was for
coal.”
Save a dignified silence, there was no answer to this, until there came
a rolling of loose stones and the sound of a heavy body suddenly
precipitated down the bank, and landing with a thump in the road.
“He didn’t get the water,” said the owner sadly.
“Are you hurt, Fred?” asked the girl.
The chauffeur limped in front of the lamps, appearing suddenly, like an
actor stepping into the lime-light.
“No, ma’am,” he said. In the rays of the lamp, he unfolded a road map
and scowled at it. He shook his head aggrievedly.
“There _ought_ to be a house just about here,” he explained.
“There _ought_ to be a hotel and a garage, and a cold supper, just about
here,” said the girl cheerfully.
“That’s the way with those houses,” complained the owner. “They never
stay where they’re put. At night they go around and visit each other.
Where do you think you are, Fred?”
“I think we’re in that long woods, between Loon Lake and Stoughton on
the Boston Pike,” said the chauffeur, “and,” he reiterated, “there
_ought_ to be a house somewhere about here—where we get water.”
“Well, get there, then, and get the water,” commanded the owner.
“But I can’t get there, sir, till I get the water,” returned the
chauffeur.
He shook out two collapsible buckets, and started down the shaft of
light.
“I won’t be more nor five minutes,” he called.
“I’m going with him,” said the girl. “I’m cold.”
She stepped down from the front seat, and the owner with sudden alacrity
vaulted the door and started after her.
“You coming?” he inquired of Ernest Peabody. But Ernest Peabody being
soundly asleep made no reply. Winthrop turned to Sam. “Are _you_
coming?” he repeated.
The tone of the invitation seemed to suggest that a refusal would not
necessarily lead to a quarrel.
“I am _not_!” said the brother. “You’ve kept Peabody and me twelve hours
in the open air, and it’s past two, and we’re going to sleep. You can
take it from me that we are going to spend the rest of this night here
in this road.”
He moved his cramped joints cautiously, and stretched his legs the full
width of the car.
“If you can’t get plain water,” he called, “get club soda.”
He buried his nose in the collar of his fur coat, and the odors of
camphor and raccoon skins instantly assailed him, but he only yawned
luxuriously and disappeared into the coat as a turtle draws into its
shell. From the woods about him the smell of the pine needles pressed
upon him like a drug, and before the footsteps of his companions were
lost in the silence he was asleep. But his sleep was only a review of
his waking hours. Still on either hand rose flying dust clouds and
twirling leaves; still on either side raced gray stone walls, telegraph
poles, hills rich in autumn colors; and before him a long white road,
unending, interminable, stretching out finally into a darkness lit by
flashing shop-windows, like open fireplaces, by street lamps, by
swinging electric globes, by the blinding searchlights of hundreds of
darting trolley cars with terrifying gongs, and then a cold white mist,
and again on every side, darkness, except where the four great lamps
blazed a path through stretches of ghostly woods.
As the two young men slumbered, the lamps spluttered and sizzled like
bacon in a frying-pan, a stone rolled noisily down the bank, a white
owl, both appalled and fascinated by the dazzling eyes of the monster
blocking the road, hooted, and flapped itself away. But the men in the
car only shivered slightly, deep in the sleep of utter weariness.
In silence the girl and Winthrop followed the chauffeur. They had passed
out of the light of the lamps, and in the autumn mist the electric torch
of the owner was as ineffective as a glowworm. The mystery of the forest
fell heavily upon them. From their feet the dead leaves sent up a clean,
damp odor, and on either side and overhead the giant pine-trees
whispered and rustled in the night wind.
“Take my coat, too,” said the young man. “You’ll catch cold.” He spoke
with authority and began to slip the loops from the big horn buttons. It
was not the habit of the girl to consider her health. Nor did she permit
the members of her family to show solicitude concerning it. But the
anxiety of the young man did not seem to offend her. She thanked him
generously. “No; these coats are hard to walk in, and I want to walk,”
she exclaimed. “I like to hear the leaves rustle when you kick them,
don’t you? When I was so high, I used to pretend it was wading in the
surf.”
The young man moved over to the gutter of the road where the leaves were
deepest and kicked violently. “And the more noise you make,” he said,
“the more you frighten away the wild animals.”
The girl shuddered in a most helpless and fascinating fashion.
“Don’t!” she whispered. “I didn’t mention it, but already I have seen
several lions crouching behind the trees.”
“Indeed?” said the young man. His tone was preoccupied. He had just
kicked a rock, hidden by the leaves, and was standing on one leg.
“Do you mean you don’t believe me?” asked the girl, “or is it that you
are merely brave?”
“Merely brave!” exclaimed the young man. “Massachusetts is so far north
for lions,” he continued, “that I fancy what you saw was a grizzly bear.
But I have my trusty electric torch with me, and if there is anything a
bear cannot abide, it is to be pointed at by an electric torch.”
“Let us pretend,” cried the girl, “that we are the babes in the wood,
and that we are lost.”
“We don’t have to pretend we’re lost,” said the man; “and as I remember
it, the babes came to a sad end. Didn’t they die, and didn’t the birds
bury them with leaves?”
“Sam and Mr. Peabody can be the birds,” suggested the girl.
“Sam and Peabody hopping around with leaves in their teeth would look
silly,” objected the man. “I doubt if I could keep from laughing.”
“Then,” said the girl, “they can be the wicked robbers who came to kill
the babes.”
“Very well,” said the man with suspicious alacrity, “let us be babes. If
I have to die,” he went on heartily, “I would rather die with you than
live with any one else.”
When he had spoken, although they were entirely alone in the world and
quite near to each other, it was as though the girl could not hear him,
even as though he had not spoken at all. After a silence, the girl said:
“Perhaps it would be better for us to go back to the car.”
“I won’t do it again,” begged the man.
“We will pretend,” cried the girl, “that the car is a van and that we
are gypsies, and we’ll build a camp-fire, and I will tell your fortune.”
“You are the only woman who can,” muttered the young man.
The girl still stood in her tracks.
“You said—” she began.
“I know,” interrupted the man, “but you won’t let me talk seriously, so
I joke. But some day——”
“Oh, look!” cried the girl. “There’s Fred.”
She ran from him down the road. The young man followed her slowly, his
fists deep in the pockets of the great-coat, and kicking at the
unoffending leaves.