Third day out.
Kitty smiled at the galloping horizon; smiled at the sunny sky; smiled
at the deck-steward as he served the refreshing broth; smiled at the
tips of her sensible shoes, at her hands, at her neighbors: until Mrs.
Crawford could contain her curiosity no longer.
"Kitty Killigrew, what have you been doing?"
"Doing?"
"Well, going to do?"--shrewdly.
Kitty gazed at her friend in pained surprise, her blue eyes as innocent
as the sea--and as full of hidden mysterious things. "Good gracious!
can't a person be happy and smile?"
"Happy I have no doubt you are; but I've studied that smile of yours
too closely not to be alarmed by it."
"Well, what does it say?"
"Mischief."
Kitty did not reply to this, but continued smiling--at space this time.
On the ship crossing to Naples in February their chairs on deck had
been together; they had become acquainted, and this acquaintance had
now ripened into one of those intimate friendships which are really
sounder and more lasting than those formed in youth. Crawford had
heard of Killigrew as a great and prosperous merchant, and Killigrew
had heard of Crawford as a millionaire whose name was very rarely
mentioned in the society pages of the Sunday newspapers. Men recognize
men at once; it doesn't take much digging. Before they arrived in
Naples they had agreed to take the Sicilian trip together, then up
Italy, through France, to England. The scholar and the merchant at
play were like two boys out of school; the dry whimsical humor of the
Scotsman and the volatile sparkle of the Irishman made them capital
foils.
Killigrew dropped his _Rodney Stone_.
"Say, Crawford," he began, "after seeing ten thousand saints in ten
thousand cathedrals, since February, I'd give a hundred dollars for a
ringside ticket to a scrap like that one,"--indicating the volume on
his knee.
Crawford lay back and laughed.
"Well," said his wife, with an amused smile, "why don't you say it?"
"Say what?"
"'So would I!'"
"Men are quite hopeless," sighed Mrs. Killigrew, when the laughter had
subsided.
"You oughtn't object to a good shindy, Molly," slyly observed her
husband. "You'll never forgive me that black eye."
"I'll never forgive the country you got it in,"--grimly. "But what's
the harm in a good scrap between two husky fellows, trained to a hair
to slam-bang each other?"
"It isn't refined, dad," said Kitty.
He sent a searching glance at her; he never was sure when that girl was
laughing. "Fiddle-sticks! For four months now I've been shopping
every day with you women, and you can't tell me prize-fights are
brutal."
Crawford applauded gently.
"By the way, Crawford, you know something about direct charity."
Killigrew threw back his rug and sat up. "I've got an idea. What's
the use of giving checks to hospitals and asylums and colleges, when
you don't know whether the cash goes right or wrong? I'm going to let
Molly here start a home-bureau to keep her from voting; a lump sum
every year to give away as she pleases. I'm strong for giving boys
college education. Smooths 'em out; gives them a start in life; that
is, if they are worth anything at the beginning. Like this: back the
boy and screw up his honor and interest by telling him that you expect
to be paid back when the time comes. There's no better charity in the
world than making a man of a boy, making him want to stand on his own
feet, independent. When you help inefficient people, you throw your
money away. What do you think of the idea?"
"A first-rate one. I'd like to come in."
"No; this is all my own and Molly's. But how'll I start her off?"
"Get an efficient young man to act as private secretary; a fairly good
accountant; no rich man's son, but some one who has had a chance to
observe life. Make him a buffer between Mrs. Killigrew and the whining
cheats. And above all, no young man who has social entrée to your
house. That kind of a private secretary is always a fizzle."
"Any one in mind?"
"No."
"I have," said Kitty, rising and going toward the companion-ladder to
the lower decks.
"What now?" demanded Killigrew.
"Let her be; Kitty has a sensible head on her shoulders, for all her
foolery." Mrs. Killigrew laid a restraining hand on her husband's arm.
But Mrs. Crawford smiled a replica of that smile which had aroused her
curiosity in regard to Kitty. And then her face grew serious.
Kitty had a mind like her father's. Her ideas were seldom nebulous or
slow in forming. They sprang forth, full grown, like those
mythological creatures: Minerva was an idea of Jove's, as doubtless
Venus was an idea of Neptune's. Men with this quality become
captains-general of armies or of money-bags. In a man it signifies
force; in a woman, charm.
Kitty searched diligently and found the object of her quest on the
main-deck, starboard, leaning against one of the deck supports and
reading from a book which lay flat on the broad teak rail, in a blue
shadow. The sea smiled at Kitty and Kitty smiled at the sea. Men are
not the only adventurers; they have no monopoly on daring. And what
Kitty proposed doing was daring indeed, for she did not know into what
dangers it might eventually lead her.
"Mr. Webb?"
Thomas looked up. "You are wanting me, miss?"
"If you are not too busy."
"Really, no. I have been reading." He closed the book, loose-leafed
from frequent perusals. "I am at your service."
"Do you read much, Mr. Webb?"
The reiteration of the prefix to his name awakened him to the marvelous
fact that for the present he was no longer the machine; she was
recognizing the man.
"Perhaps, for a man in my station, I read too much, Miss Killigrew."
Kitty's scarlet lips stirred ever so slightly. It was the first time
he had added the name to the prefix: he in his turn was recognizing the
woman. And this rather pleased her, for she liked to be recognized.
"May I ask what it is you are reading?"
He offered the book to her. _Morte d'Arthur_. Kitty's eyebrows, a
hundred years or more ago, would have stirred to tender lyrics the
quills of Prior and Lovelace and Suckling: arched when interested, a
funny little twist to the inner points when angered, and when laughter
possessed her. . . . Let Thomas indite the sonnet! Just now they were
widely arched.
"I am very fond of the book," explained Thomas diffidently. "I love
the pompous gallantry of these fairy chaps. How politely they used to
hack each other into pieces!"
"Are you by chance a university man?"
"No. I am self-educated, if one may call it that. My father was a
fellow at Trinity. For myself, I have always had to work."
"Do you like your present occupation?"
"It was the best I could find." How he would have liked to throw
discretion to the winds and tell her the whole miserable story!
"Are you good at accounting?"
"Fairly." What was all this about? He began to riffle the leaves of
the book, restively.
"Could you tell an honest man from a dishonest one?"
"I believe so." Thomas had eyebrows, too, but he did not know how to
use them properly. Tell an honest man from a dishonest one, forsooth!
Kitty found the situation less easy than she had anticipated. The more
questions she asked, the more embarrassed she grew; and it angered her
because there was no clear reason why she should become embarrassed.
And she also remarked his uneasiness. However, she went on
determinedly.
"Have you ever had any contact with real poverty?"
"Yes,"--close-lipped. "Pardon me, Miss Killigrew, but . . ."
"Just a moment, Mr. Webb," she interrupted. "I dare say my questions
seem impertinent, but they have a purpose back of them. My mother and
I are looking for a private secretary for a charitable concern which we
are going to organize shortly. We desire some one who is educated, who
will be capable of guarding us from persons not worthy of benefactions,
who will make recommendations, seek into the affairs of those
considered worthy. We shall, of course, expect to find room for you.
It will not be a chatter-tea-drinking affair. You will have the
evenings to yourself and all of Sundays. The salary will be two
hundred a month."
"Pounds?" gasped Thomas.
"Oh, no; dollars. I do not expect your answer at this moment. You
must have time to think it over."
"It is not necessary, Miss Killigrew."
"You decline?"
"On the contrary, I accept with a good deal of gratitude. On
condition," he added gravely.
"And that?"
"You will ask me no questions regarding my past."
Kitty looked squarely into his eyes and he returned the glance steadily
and calmly.
"Very well; I accept the condition,"
Thomas was mightily surprised.