"Capital," I said; "I never saw her happier."

This seemed to satisfy him.

"Downcast at first, happy now," he remarked thoughtfully. "Yes, she got

over it. I'm much obliged to you, Crocker."

I left him to finish his short story and walked out across the circle of

smooth lawn towards the golf links. And there I met Mrs. Cooke and her

niece coming in together. The warm red of her costume became Miss Thorn

wonderfully, and set off the glossy black of her hair. And her skin was

glowing from the exercise. An involuntary feeling of admiration for this

tall, athletic young woman swept over me, and I halted in my steps for no

other reason, I believe, than that I might look upon her the longer.

What man, I thought resentfully, would not travel a thousand miles to be

near her?

"It is Mr. Crocker," said Mrs. Cooke; "I had given up all hope of ever

seeing you again. Why have you been such a stranger?"

"As if you didn't know, Aunt Maria," Miss Thorn put in gayly.

"Oh yes, I know," returned her aunt, "and I have not been foolish enough

to invite the bar without the magnet. And yet, Mr. Crocker," she went on

playfully, "I had imagined that you were the one man in a hundred who did

not need an inducement."

Miss Thorn began digging up the turf with her lofter: it was a painful

moment for me.

"You might at least have tried me, Mrs. Cooke," I said.

Miss Thorn looked up quickly from the ground, her eyes searchingly upon

my face. And Mrs. Cooke seemed surprised.

"We are glad you came, at any rate," she answered.

And at luncheon my seat was next to Miss Thorn's, while the Celebrity was

placed at the right of Miss Trevor. I observed that his face went blank

from time to time at some quip of hers: even a dull woman may be sharp

under such circumstances, and Miss Trevor had wits to spare. And I

marked that she never allowed her talk with him to drift into deep water;

when there was danger of this she would draw the entire table into their

conversation by some adroit remark, or create a laugh at his expense.

As for me, I held a discreet if uncomfortable silence, save for the few

words which passed between Miss Thorn and me. Once or twice I caught her

covert glance on me. But I felt, and strongly, that there could be no

friendship between us now, and I did not care to dissimulate merely for

the sake of appearances. Besides, I was not a little put out over the

senseless piece of gossip which had gone abroad concerning me.

It had been arranged as part of the day's programme that Mr. Cooke was to

drive those who wished to go over the Rise in his new brake. But the

table was not graced by our host's presence, Mrs. Cooke apologizing for

him, explaining that he had disappeared quite mysteriously. It turned

out that he and the judge had been served with luncheon in the Ethiopian

card-room, and neither threats nor fair words could draw him away. The

judge had not held such cards for years, and it was in vain that I talked

to him of consequences. The Ten decided to remain and watch a game which

was pronounced little short of phenomenal, and my client gave orders for

the smaller brake and requested the Celebrity to drive. And this he was

nothing loth to do. For the edification as well as the assurance of the

party Mr. Allen explained, while we were waiting under the porte cochere,

how he had driven the Windsor coach down Piccadilly at the height of the

season, with a certain member of Parliament and noted whip on the box

seat.

And, to do him justice, he could drive. He won the instant respect of

Mr. Cooke's coachman by his manner of taking up the lines, and clinched

it when he dropped a careless remark concerning the off wheeler. And

after the critical inspection of the horses which is proper he climbed up

on the box. There was much hesitation among the ladies as to who should

take the seat of honor: Mrs. Cooke declining, it was pressed upon Miss

Thorn. But she, somewhat to my surprise, declined also, and it was

finally filled by a young woman from Asquith.

As we drove off I found myself alone with Mrs. Cooke's niece on the seat

behind.

The day was cool and snappy for August, and the Rise all green with a

lavish nature. Now we, plunged into a deep shade with the boughs lacing

each other overhead, and crossed dainty, rustic bridges over the cold

trout-streams, the boards giving back the clatter of our horses' feet: or

anon we shot into a clearing, with a colored glimpse of the lake and its

curving shore far below us. I had always loved that piece of country

since the first look I had of it from the Asquith road, and the sight of

it rarely failed to set my blood a-tingle with pleasure. But to-day I

scarcely saw it. I wondered what whim had impelled Miss Thorn to get

into this seat. She paid but little attention to me during the first

part of the drive, though a mere look in my direction seemed to afford

her amusement. And at last, half way up the Rise, where the road takes

to an embankment, I got a decided jar.

"Mr. Allen," she cried to the Celebrity, "you must stop here. Do you

remember how long we tarried over this bit on Friday?"

He tightened the lines and threw a meaning glance backward.

I was tempted to say:

"You and Mr. Allen should know these roads rather well, Miss Thorn."

"Every inch of them," she replied.

We must have gone a mile farther when she turned upon me.

"It is your duty to be entertaining, Mr. Crocker. What in the world are

you thinking of, with your brow all puckered up, forbidding as an owl?"

"I was thinking how some people change," I answered, with a readiness

which surprised me.

"Strange," she said, "I had the same thing in mind. I hear decidedly

queer tales of you; canoeing every day that business does not prevent,

and whole evenings spent at the dark end of a veranda."

"What rubbish!" I exclaimed, not knowing whether to be angered or amused.

"Come, sir," she said, with mock sternness, "answer the charge. Guilty

or not guilty?"

"First let me make a counter-charge," said I; "you have given me the

right. Not long ago a certain young lady came to Mohair and found there

a young author of note with whom she had had some previous acquaintance.

She did not hesitate to intimate her views on the character of this

Celebrity, and her views were not favorable."

I paused. There was some satisfaction in seeing Miss Thorn biting her

lip.

"Well?"

"Not at all favorable, mind you," I went on. "And the young lady's

general appearance was such as to lead one to suppose her the sincerest

of persons. Now I am at a loss to account for a discrepancy between her

words and her actions."

While I talked Miss Thorn's face had been gradually turning from mine

until now I saw only the dainty knot at the back of her head. Her

shoulders were quivering with laughter. But presently her face came back

all gravity, save a suspicious gleam of mirth in the eyes.

"It does seem inconsistent, Mr. Crocker; I grant you that. No doubt it

is so. But let me ask you something: did you ever yet know a woman who

was not inconsistent?"

I did not realize I had been side-tracked until I came to think over this

conversation afterwards.

"I am not sure," I replied. "Perhaps I merely hoped that one such

existed."

She dropped her eyes.

"Then don't be surprised at my failing," said she. "No doubt I

criticised the Celebrity severely. I cannot recall what I said.

But it is upon the better side of a character that we must learn to look.

Did it ever strike you that the Celebrity had some exceedingly fine

qualities?"

"No, it did not," I answered positively.

"Nevertheless, he has," she went on, in all apparent seriousness.

"He drives almost as well as Uncle Farquhar, dances well, and is a

capital paddle."

"You were speaking of qualities, not accomplishments," I said.

A horrible suspicion that she was having a little fun at my expense

crossed my mind.

Very good, then. You must admit that he is generous to a fault, amiable;

and persevering, else he would never have attained the position he

enjoys. And his affection for you, Mr. Crocker, is really touching,

considering how little he gets in return."

"Come, Miss Thorn," I said severely, "this is ridiculous. I don't like

him, and never shall. I liked him once, before he took to writing

drivel. But he must have been made over since then. And what is more,

with all respect to your opinion, I don't believe he likes me."

Miss Thorn straightened up with dignity and said:

"You do him an injustice. But perhaps you will learn to appreciate him

before he leaves Mohair."

"That is not likely," I replied--not at all pleasantly, I fear. And

again I thought I observed in her the same desire to laugh she had before

exhibited.

And all the way back her talk was of nothing except the Celebrity.

I tried every method short of absolute rudeness to change the subject,

and went from silence to taciturnity and back again to silence. She

discussed his books and his mannerisms, even the growth of his

popularity. She repeated anecdotes of him from Naples to St.

Petersburg, from Tokio to Cape Town. And when we finally stopped under

the porte cochere I had scarcely the civility left to say good-bye.

I held out my hand to help her to the ground, but she paused on the

second step.

"Mr. Crocker," she observed archly, "I believe you once told me you had

not known many girls in your life."

"True," I said; "why do you ask?"

"I wished to be sure of it," she replied.

And jumping down without my assistance, she laughed and disappeared into

the house.

THE CELEBRITY

By Winston Churchill

VOLUME 3.

CHAPTER IX

That evening I lighted a cigar and went down to sit on the outermost

pile of the Asquith dock to commune with myself. To say that I was

disappointed in Miss Thorn would be to set a mild value on my feelings.

I was angry, even aggressive, over her defence of the Celebrity. I had

gone over to Mohair that day with a hope that some good reason was at the

bottom of her tolerance for him, and had come back without any hope. She

not only tolerated him, but, wonderful to be said, plainly liked him.

Had she not praised him, and defended him, and become indignant when I

spoke my mind about him? And I would have taken my oath, two weeks

before, that nothing short of hypnotic influence could have changed her.

By her own confession she had come to Asquith with her eyes opened, and,

what was more, seen another girl wrecked on the same reef.

Farrar followed me out presently, and I had an impulse to submit the

problem as it stood to him. But it was a long story, and I did not

believe that if he were in my boots he would have consulted me. Again,

I sometimes thought Farrar yearned for confidences, though it was

impossible for him to confide. And he wore an inviting air to-night.

Then, as everybody knows, there is that about twilight and an

after-dinner cigar which leads to communication. They are excellent

solvents. My friend seated himself on the pile next to mine, and said,

"It strikes me you have been behaving rather queer lately, Crocker."

This was clearly an invitation from Farrar, and I melted.

"I admit," said I, "that I am a good deal perplexed over the

contradictions of the human mind."

"Oh, is that all?" he replied dryly. "I supposed it was worse.

Narrower, I mean. Didn't know you ever bothered yourself with abstract

philosophy."

"See here, Farrar," said I, "what is your opinion of Miss Thorn?"

He stopped kicking his feet against the pile and looked up.

"Miss Thorn?"

"Yes, Miss Thorn," I repeated with emphasis. I knew he had in mind that

abominable twaddle about the canoe excursions.

"Why, to tell the truth," said he, "I never had any opinion of Miss

Thorn."

"You mean you never formed any, I suppose," I returned with some

tartness.

"Yes, that is it. How darned precise you are getting, Crocker! One

would think you were going to write a rhetoric. What put Miss Thorn into

your head?"

"I have been coaching beside her this afternoon."

"Oh!" said Farrar.

"Do you remember the night she came," I asked, "and we sat with her on

the Florentine porch, and Charles Wrexell recognized her and came up?"

"Yes," he replied with awakened interest, "and I meant to ask you about

that."

"Miss Thorn had met him in the East. And I gathered from what she told

me that he has followed her out here."

"Shouldn't wonder," said Farrar. "Don't much blame him, do you? Is that

what troubles you?" he asked, in surprise.

"Not precisely," I answered vaguely; "but from what she has said then and

since, she made it pretty clear that she hadn't any use for him; saw

through him, you know."

"Pity her if she didn't. But what did she say?"

I repeated the conversations I had had with Miss Thorn, without revealing

Mr. Allen's identity with the celebrated author.

"That is rather severe," he assented.

"He decamped for Mohair, as you know, and since that time she has gone

back on every word of it. She is with him morning and evening, and, to

crown all, stood up for him through thick and thin to-day, and praised

him. What do you think of that?"

"What I should have expected in a woman," said he, nonchalantly.

"They aren't all alike," I retorted.

He shook out his pipe, and getting down from his high seat laid his hand

on my knee.

"I thought so once, old fellow," he whispered, and went off down the

dock.

This was the nearest Farrar ever came to a confidence.

I have now to chronicle a curious friendship which had its beginning at

this time. The friendships of the other sex are quickly made, and

sometimes as quickly dissolved. This one interested me more than I care

to own. The next morning Judge Short, looking somewhat dejected after

the overnight conference he had had with his wife, was innocently and

somewhat ostentatiously engaged in tossing quoits with me in front of the

inn, when Miss Thorn drove up in a basket cart. She gave me a bow which

proved that she bore no ill-will for that which I had said about her

hero. Then Miss Trevor appeared, and away they went together. This was

the commencement. Soon the acquaintance became an intimacy, and their

lives a series of visits to each other. Although this new state of

affairs did not seem to decrease the number of Miss Thorn's

'tete-a-tetes' with the Celebrity, it put a stop to the canoe expeditions

I had been in the habit of taking with Miss Trevor, which I thought just

as well under the circumstances. More than once Miss Thorn partook of

the inn fare at our table, and when this happened I would make my escape

before the coffee. For such was the nature of my feelings regarding the

Celebrity that I could not bring myself into cordial relations with one

who professed to admire him. I realize how ridiculous such a sentiment

must appear, but it existed nevertheless, and most strongly.

I tried hard to throw Miss Thorn out of my thoughts, and very nearly

succeeded. I took to spending more and more of my time at the

county-seat, where I remained for days at a stretch, inventing business

when there was none. And in the meanwhile I lost all respect for myself

as a sensible man, and cursed the day the Celebrity came into the state.

It seemed strange that this acquaintance of my early days should have

come back into my life, transformed, to make it more or less miserable.

The county-seat being several miles inland, and lying in the midst of

hills, could get intolerably hot in September. At last I was driven out

in spite of myself, and I arrived at Asquith cross and dusty. As Simpson

was brushing me off, Miss Trevor came up the path looking cool and pretty

in a summer gown, and her face expressed sympathy. I have never denied

that sympathy was a good thing.

"Oh, Mr. Crocker," she cried, "I am so glad you are back again! We have

missed you dreadfully. And you look tired, poor man, quite worn out. It

is a shame you have to go over to that hot place to work."

I agreed with her.

"And I never have any one to take me canoeing any more."

"Let's go now," I suggested, "before dinner."

So we went. It was a keen pleasure to be on the lake again after the

sultry court-rooms and offices, and the wind and exercise quickly brought

back my appetite and spirits. I paddled hither and thither, stopping now

and then to lie under the pines at the mouth of some stream, while Miss

Trevor talked. She was almost a child in her eagerness to amuse me with

the happenings since my departure. This was always her manner with me,

in curious contrast to her habit of fencing and playing with words when

in company. Presently she burst out:

"Mr. Crocker, why is it that you avoid Miss Thorn? I was talking of you

to her only to-day, and she says you go miles out of your way to get out

of speaking to her; that you seemed to like her quite well at first. She

couldn't understand the change."

"Did she say that?" I exclaimed.

"Indeed, she did; and I have noticed it, too. I saw you leave before

coffee more than once when she was here. I don't believe you know what a

fine girl she is."

"Why, then, does she accept and return the attentions of the Celebrity?"

I inquired, with a touch of acidity. "She knows what he is as well, if

not better, than you or I. I own I can't understand it," I said, the

subject getting ahead of me. "I believe she is in love with him."

Miss Trevor began to laugh; quietly at first, and, as her merriment

increased, heartily.

"Shouldn't we be getting back?" I asked, looking at my watch. "It lacks

but half an hour of dinner."

"Please don't be angry, Mr. Crocker," she pleaded. "I really couldn't

help laughing."

"I was unaware I had said anything funny, Miss Trevor," I replied.

"Of course you didn't," she said more soberly; "that is, you didn't

intend to. But the very notion of Miss Thorn in love with the Celebrity

is funny."

"Evidence is stronger than argument," said I. "And now she has even

convicted herself."

I started to paddle homeward, rather furiously, and my companion said

nothing until we came in sight of the inn. As the canoe glided into the

smooth surface behind the breakwater, she broke the silence.

"I heard you went fishing the other day," said she.

"Yes."

"And the judge told me about a big bass you hooked, and how you played

him longer than was necessary for the mere fun of the thing."

"Yes."

"Perhaps you will find in the feeling that prompted you to do that a clue

to the character of our sex."

CHAPTER X

Mr. Cooke had had a sloop yacht built at Far Harbor, the completion of

which had been delayed, and which was but just delivered. She was,

painted white, with brass fittings, and under her stern, in big, black

letters, was the word Maria, intended as a surprise and delicate conjugal

compliment to Mrs. Cooke. The Maria had a cabin, which was finished in

hard wood and yellow plush, and accommodations for keeping things cold.

This last Mr. Cooke had insisted upon.

The skipper Mr. Cooke had hired at Far Harbor was a God-fearing man with

a luke warm interest in his new billet and employer, and had only been

prevailed upon to take charge of the yacht for the month after the offer

of an emolument equal to half a year's sea pay of an ensign in the navy.

His son and helper was to receive a sum proportionally exorbitant. This

worthy man sighted Mohair on a Sunday morning, and at nine o'clock

dropped his anchor with a salute which caused Mr. Cooke to say unpleasant

things in his sleep. After making things ship-shape and hoisting the

jack, both father and son rowed ashore to the little church at Asquith.

Now the butler at Mohair was a servant who had learned, from long

experience, to anticipate every wish and whim of his master, and from

the moment he descried the white sails of the yacht out of the windows

of the butler's pantry his duty was clear as daylight. Such was the

comprehension and despatch with which he gave his commands that the

captain returned from divine worship to find the Maria in profane hands,

her immaculate deck littered with straw and sawdust, and covered to the

coamings with bottles and cases. This decided the captain, he packed his

kit in high dudgeon, and took the first train back to Far Harbor, leaving

the yacht to her fate.

This sudden and inconsiderate departure was a severe blow to Mr. Cooke'

who was so constituted that he cared but little about anything until

there was danger of not getting it. My client had planned a trip to Bear

Island for the following Tuesday, which was to last a week, the party to

bring tents with them and rough it, with the Maria as headquarters. It

was out of the question to send to Far Harbor for another skipper, if,

indeed, one could be found at that late period. And as luck would have

it, six of Mr. Cooke's ten guests had left but a day or so since, and

among them had been the only yacht-owner. None of the four that remained

could do more than haul aft and belay a sheet. But the Celebrity, who

chanced along as Mr. Cooke was ruefully gazing at the graceful lines of

the Maria from the wharf and cursing the fate that kept him ashore with

a stiff wind blowing, proposed a way out of the difficulty. He, the

Celebrity, would gladly sail the Maria over to Bear Island provided

another man could be found to relieve him occasionally at the wheel, and

the like. He had noticed that Farrar was a capable hand in a boat, and

suggested that he be sent for.

This suggestion Mr. Cooke thought so well of that he hurried over to

Asquith to consult Farrar at once, and incidentally to consult me. We

can hardly be blamed for receiving his overtures with a moderate

enthusiasm. In fact, we were of one mind not to go when the subject

was first broached. But my client had a persuasive way about him that

was irresistible, and the mere mention of the favors he had conferred

upon both of us at different periods of our lives was sufficient. We

consented.

Thus it came to pass that Tuesday morning found the party assembled on

the wharf at Mohair, the Four and the Celebrity, as well as Mr. Cooke,

having produced yachting suits from their inexhaustible wardrobes. Mr.

Trevor and his daughter, Mrs. Cooke and Miss Thorn, and Farrar and myself

completed the party. We were to adhere strictly to primeval principles:

the ladies were not permitted a maid, while the Celebrity was forced to

leave his manservant, and Mr. Cooke his chef. I had, however, thrust

into my pocket the Minneapolis papers, which had been handed me by the

clerk on their arrival at the inn, which happened just as I was leaving.

'Quod bene notandum!'

Thereby hangs a tale!

For the northern lakes the day was rather dead: a little wind lay in the

southeast, scarcely enough to break the water, with the sky an intense

blue. But the Maria was hardly cast and under way before it became

painfully apparent that the Celebrity was much better fitted to lead a

cotillon than to sail a boat. He gave his orders, nevertheless, in a

firm, seamanlike fashion, though with no great pertinence, and thus

managed to establish the confidence of Mr. Cooke. Farrar, after setting

things to rights, joined Mrs. Cooke and me over the cabin.

"How about hoisting the spinnaker, mate?" the Celebrity shouted after

him.

Farrar did not deign to answer: his eye was on the wind. And the boom,

which had been acting uneasily, finally decided to gybe, and swept

majestically over, carrying two of the Four in front of it, and all but

dropped them into the water.

"A common occurrence in a light breeze," we heard the Celebrity reassure

Mr. Cooke and Miss Thorn.

"The Maria has vindicated her sex," remarked Farrar.

We laughed.

"Why don't you sail, Mr. Farrar?" asked Mrs. Cooke.

"He can't do any harm in this breeze," Farrar replied; "it isn't strong

enough to get anywhere with."

He was right. The boom gybed twenty times that morning, and the

Celebrity offered an equal number of apologies. Mr. Cooke and the Four

vanished, and from the uproarious laughter which arose from the cabin

transoms I judged they were telling stories. While Miss Thorn spent the

time profitably in learning how to conn a yacht. At one, when we had

luncheon, Mohair was still in the distance. At two it began to cloud

over, the wind fell flat, and an ominous black bank came up from the

south. Without more ado, Farrar, calling on me to give him a hand, eased

down the halliards and began to close reef the mainsail.

"Hold on," said the Celebrity, "who told you to do that?"

"I am very sure you didn't," Farrar returned, as he hauled out a reef

earing.

Here a few drops of rain on the deck warned the ladies to retire to the

cabin.

"Take the helm until I get my mackintosh, will you, Farrar?" said the

Celebrity, "and be careful what you do."

Farrar took the helm and hauled in the sheet, while the Celebrity, Mr.

Cooke, and the guests donned their rain-clothes. The water ahead was

now like blue velvet, and the rain pelting. The Maria was heeling to the

squall by the time the Celebrity appeared at the cabin door, enveloped in

an ample waterproof, a rubber cover on his yachting cap. A fool despises

a danger he has never experienced, and our author, with a remark about a

spanking breeze, made a motion to take the wheel. But Farrar, the

flannel of his shirt clinging to the muscular outline of his shoulders,

gave him a push which sent him sprawling against the lee refrigerator.

Well Miss Thorn was not there to see.

"You will have to answer for this," he cried, as he scrambled to his feet

and clutched the weather wash-board with one hand, while he shook the

other in Farrar's face.

"Crocker," said Farrar to me, coolly, "keep that idiot out of the way for

a while, or we'll all be drowned. Tie him up, if necessary."

I was relieved from this somewhat unpleasant task. Mr. Cooke, with his

back to the rain, sat an amused witness to the mutiny, as blissfully

ignorant as the Celebrity of the character of a lake squall.

"I appeal to you, as the owner of this yacht, Mr. Cooke," the Celebrity

shouted, "whether, as the person delegated by you to take charge of it,

I am to suffer indignity and insult. I have sailed larger yachts than

this time and again on the coast, at--" here he swallowed a portion of a

wave and was mercifully prevented from being specific.

But Mr. Cooke was looking a trifle bewildered. It was hardly possible

for him to cling to the refrigerator, much less quell a mutiny. One who

has sailed the lakes well knows how rapidly they can be lashed to fury by

a storm, and the wind was now spinning the tops of the waves into a

blinding spray. Although the Maria proved a stiff boat and a seaworthy,

she was not altogether without motion; and the set expression on Farrar's

face would have told me, had I not known it, that our situation at that

moment was no joke. Repeatedly, as she was held up to it, a precocious

roller would sweep from bow to stern, until we without coats were wet and

shivering.

The close and crowded cabin of a small yacht is not an attractive place

in rough weather; and one by one the Four emerged and distributed

themselves about the deck, wherever they could obtain a hold. Some of

them began to act peculiarly. Upon Mr. Cooke's unwillingness or

inability to interfere in his behalf, the Celebrity had assumed an

aggrieved demeanor, but soon the motion of the Maria became more and

more pronounced, and the difficulty of maintaining his decorum likewise

increased. The ruddy color left his face, which grew pale with effort.

I will do him the justice to say that the effort was heroic: he whistled

popular airs, and snatches of the grand opera; he relieved Mr. Cooke of

his glasses (of which Mr. Cooke had neglected to relieve himself), and

scanned the sea line busily. But the inevitable deferred is frequently

more violent than the inevitable taken gracefully, and the confusion

which at length overtook the Celebrity was utter as his humiliation was

complete. We laid him beside Mr. Cooke in the cockpit.

The rain presently ceased, and the wind hauled, as is often the case,

to the northwest, which began to clear, while Bear Island rose from the

northern horizon. Both Farrar and I were surprised to see Miss Trevor

come out; she hooked back the cabin doors and surveyed the prostrate

forms with amusement.

We asked her about those inside.

"Mrs. Cooke has really been very ill," she said, "and Miss Thorn is doing

all she can for her. My father and I were more fortunate. But you will

both catch your deaths," she exclaimed, noticing our condition. "Tell me

where I can find your coats."

I suppose it is natural for a man to enjoy being looked after in this

way; it was certainly a new sensation to Farrar and myself. We assured

her we were drying out and did not need the coats, but nevertheless she

went back into the cabin and found them.

"Miss Thorn says you should both be whipped," she remarked.

When we had put on our coats Miss Trevor sat down and began to talk.

"I once heard of a man," she began complacently, "a man that was buried

alive, and who contrived to dig himself up and then read his own epitaph.

It did not please him, but he was wise and amended his life. I have

often thought how much it might help some people if they could read their

own epitaphs."

Farrar was very quick at this sort of thing; and now that the steering

had become easier was only too glad to join her in worrying the

Celebrity. But he, if he were conscious, gave no sign of it.

"They ought to be buried so that they could not dig themselves up," he

said. "The epitaphs would only strengthen their belief that they had

lived in an unappreciative age."

"One I happen to have in mind, however, lives in an appreciative age.

Most appreciative."

"And women are often epitaph-makers."

"You are hard on the sex, Mr. Farrar," she answered, "but perhaps justly

so. And yet there are some women I know of who would not write an

epitaph to his taste."

Farrar looked at her curiously.

"I beg your pardon," he said.

"Do not imagine I am touchy on the subject," she replied quickly; "some

of us are fortunate enough to have had our eyes opened."

I thought the Celebrity stirred uneasily.

"Have you read The Sybarites?" she asked.

Farrar was puzzled.

"No," said he sententiously, "and I don't want to."

"I know the average man thinks it a disgrace to have read it. And you

may not believe me when I say that it is a strong story of its kind, with

a strong moral. There are men who might read that book and be a great

deal better for it. And, if they took the moral to heart, it would prove

every bit as effectual as their own epitaphs."

He was not quite sure of her drift, but he perceived that she was still

making fun of Mr. Allen.

"And the moral?" he inquired.

"Well," she said, "the best I can do is to give you a synopsis of the

story, and then you can judge of its fitness. The hero is called Victor

Desmond. He is a young man of a sterling though undeveloped character,

who has been hampered by an indulgent parent with a large fortune.

Desmond is a butterfly, and sips life after the approved manner of his

kind,--now from Bohemian glass, now from vessels of gold and silver. He

chats with stage lights in their dressing-rooms, and attends a ball in

the Bowery or a supper at Sherry's with a ready versatility. The book,

apart from its intention, really gives the middle classes an excellent

idea of what is called 'high-life.'

"It is some time before Desmond discovers that he possesses the gift of

Paris,--a deliberation proving his lack of conceit,--that wherever he

goes he unwittingly breaks a heart, and sometimes two or three. This

discovery is naturally so painful that he comes home to his chambers and

throws himself on a lounge before his fire in a fit of self-deprecation,

and reflects on a misspent and foolish life. This, mind you, is where

his character starts to develop. And he makes a heroic resolve, not to

cut off his nose or to grow a beard, nor get married, but henceforth to

live a life of usefulness and seclusion, which was certainly considerate.

And furthermore, if by any accident he ever again involved the affections

of another girl he would marry her, be she as ugly as sin or as poor as

poverty. Then the heroine comes in. Her name is Rosamond, which sounds

well and may be euphoniously coupled with Desmond; and, with the single

exception of a boarding-school girl, she is the only young woman he ever

thought of twice. In order to save her and himself he goes away, but the

temptation to write to her overpowers him, and of course she answers his

letter. This brings on a correspondence. His letters take the form of

confessions, and are the fruits of much philosophical reflection.

'Inconstancy in woman,' he says, because of the present social

conditions, is often pardonable. In a man, nothing is more despicable.'

This is his cardinal principle, and he sticks to it nobly. For, though

he tires of Rosamond, who is quite attractive, however, he marries her

and lives a life of self-denial. There are men who might take that story

to heart."

I was amused that she should give the passage quoted by the Celebrity

himself. Her double meaning was, naturally, lost on Farrar, but he

enjoyed the thing hugely, nevertheless, as more or less applicable to Mr.

Allen. I made sure that gentleman was sensible of what was being said,

though he scarcely moved a muscle. And Miss Trevor, with a mirthful

glance at me that was not without a tinge of triumph, jumped lightly to

the deck and went in to see the invalids.

We were now working up into the lee of the island, whose tall pines stood

clean and black against the red glow of the evening sky. Mr. Cooke began

to give evidences of life, and finally got up and overhauled one of the

ice-chests for a restorative. Farrar put into the little cove, where we

dropped anchor, and soon had the chief sufferers ashore; and a delicate

supper, in the preparation of which Miss Thorn showed her ability as a

cook, soon restored them. For my part, I much preferred Miss Thorn's

dishes to those of the Mohair chef, and so did Farrar. And the Four,

surprising as it may seem, made themselves generally useful about the

camp in pitching the tents under Farrar's supervision. But the Celebrity

remained apart and silent.

CHAPTER XI

Our first, night in the Bear Island camp passed without incident, and we

all slept profoundly, tired out by the labors of the day before. After

breakfast, the Four set out to explore, with trout-rods and shot-guns.

Bear Island is, with the exception of the cove into which we had put, as

nearly round as an island can be, and perhaps three miles in diameter.

It has two clear brooks which, owing to the comparative inaccessibility

of the place, still contain trout and grayling, though there are few

spots where a fly can be cast on account of the dense underbrush. The

woods contain partridge, or ruffed grouse, and other game in smaller

quantities. I believe my client entertained some notion of establishing

a preserve here.

The insults which had been heaped upon the Celebrity on the yacht seemed

to have raised rather than lowered him in Miss Thorn's esteem, for these

two ensconced themselves among the pines above the camp with an edition

de luxe of one of his works which she had brought along. They were soon

absorbed in one of those famous short stories of his with the ending left

open to discussion. Mr. Cooke was indisposed. He had not yet recovered

from the shaking up his system had sustained, and he took to a canvas

easy chair he had brought with him and placed a decanter of Scotch and a

tumbler of ice at his side. The efficacy of this remedy was assured.

And he demanded the bunch of newspapers he spied protruding from my

pocket.

The rest of us were engaged in various occupations: Mr. Trevor relating

experiences of steamboat days on the Ohio to Mrs. Cooke; Miss Trevor

buried in a serial in the Century; and Farrar and I taking an inventory

of fishing-tackle, when we were startled by aloud and profane

ejaculation. Mr. Cooke had hastily put down his glass and was staring at

the newspaper before him with eyes as large as after-dinner coffee-cups.

"Come here," he shouted over at us. "Come here, Crocker," he repeated,

seeing we were slow to move. "For God's sake, come here!"

In obedience to this emphatic summons I crossed the stream and drew near

to Mr. Cooke, who was busily pouring out another glass of whiskey to tide

him over this strange excitement. But, as Mr. Cooke was easily excited

and on such occasions always drank whiskey to quiet his nerves, I thought

nothing of it. He was sitting bolt upright and held out the paper to me

with a shaking hand, while he pointed to some headlines on the first

page. And this is what I read:

TREASURER TAKES A TRIP.

CHARLES WREXELL ALLEN, OF THE MILES STANDISH

BICYCLE COMPANY, GETS OFF WITH 100,000 DOLLARS.

DETECTIVES BAFFLED.

THE ABSCONDER A BACK BAY SOCIAL LEADER.

Half way down the column was a picture of Mr. Allen, a cut made from a

photograph, and, allowing for the crudities of newspaper reproduction,

it was a striking likeness of the Celebrity. Underneath was a short

description. Mr. Allen was five feet eleven (the Celebrity's height),

had a straight nose, square chin, dark hair and eyes, broad shoulders,

was dressed elaborately; in brief, tallied in every particular with the

Celebrity with the exception of the slight scar which Allen was thought

to have on his forehead.

The situation and all its ludicrous possibilities came over me with a

jump. It was too good to be true. Had Mr. Charles Wrexell Allen arrived

at Asquith and created a sensation with the man who stole his name I

should have been amply satisfied. But that Mr. Allen had been obliging

enough to abscond with a large sum of money was beyond dreaming!

I glanced at the rest of it: a history of the well-established company

followed, with all that Mr. Allen had done for it. The picture, by the

way, had been obtained from the St. Paul agent of the bicycle. After

doing due credit to the treasurer's abilities as a hustler there followed

a summary of his character, hitherto without reproach; but his tastes

were expensive ones. Mr. Allen's tendency to extravagance had been

noticed by the members of the Miles Standish Company, and some of the

older directors had on occasions remonstrated with him. But he had been

too valuable a man to let go, and it seems as treasurer he was trusted

implicitly. He was said to have more clothes than any man in Boston.

I am used to thinking quickly, and by the time I had read this I had an

idea.

"What in hell do you make of that, Crocker?" cried my client, eyeing me

closely and repeating the question again and again, as was his wont

when agitated.

"It is certainly plain enough," I replied, "but I should like to talk to

you before you decide to hand him over to the authorities."

I thought I knew Mr. Cooke, and I was not mistaken.

"Authorities!" he roared. "Damn the authorities! There's my yacht, and

there's the Canadian border." And he pointed to the north.

The others were pressing around us by this time, and had caught the

significant words which Mr. Cooke had uttered. I imagine that if my

client had stopped to think twice, which of course is a preposterous

condition, he would have confided his discovery only to Farrar and to me.

It was now out of the question to keep it from the rest of the party, and

Mr. Trevor got the headlines over my shoulder. I handed him the sheet.

"Read it, Mr. Trevor," said Mrs. Cooke.

Mr. Trevor, in a somewhat unsteady voice, read the headlines and began

the column, and they followed breathless with astonishment and agitation.

Once or twice the senator paused to frown upon the Celebrity with a

terrible sternness, thus directing all other eyes to him. His demeanor

was a study in itself. It may be surmised, from what I have said of him,

that there was a strain of the actor in his composition; and I am

prepared to make an affidavit that, secure in the knowledge that he had

witnesses present to attest his identity, he hugely enjoyed the sensation

he was creating. That he looked forward with a profound pleasure to the

stir which the disclosure that he was the author of The Sybarites would

make. His face wore a beatific smile.

As Mr. Trevor continued, his voice became firmer and his manner more

majestic. It was a task distinctly to his taste, and one might have

thought he was reading the sentence of a Hastings. I was standing next

to his daughter. The look of astonishment, perhaps of horror, which I

had seen on her face when her father first began to read had now faded

into something akin to wickedness. Did she wink? I can't say, never

before having had a young woman wink at me. But the next moment her

vinaigrette was rolling down the bank towards the brook, and I was after

it. I heard her close behind me. She must have read my intentions by a

kind of mental telepathy.

"Are you going to do it?" she whispered.

"Of course," I answered. "To miss such a chance would be a downright

sin."

There was a little awe in her laugh.

"Miss Thorn is the only obstacle," I added, "and Mr. Cooke is our hope.

I think he will go by me."

"Don't let Miss Thorn worry you," she said as we climbed back.

"What do you mean?" I demanded. But she only shook her head. We were

at the top again, and Mr. Trevor was reading an appended despatch from

Buffalo, stating that Mr. Allen had been recognized there, in the latter

part of June, walking up and down the platform of the station, in a

smoking-jacket, and that he had climbed on the Chicago limited as it

pulled out. This may have caused the Celebrity to feel a trifle

uncomfortable.

"Ha!" exclaimed Mr. Trevor, as he put down the paper. "Mr. Cooke, do you

happen to have any handcuffs on the Maria?"

But my client was pouring out a stiff helping from the decanter, which he

still held in his hand. Then he approached the Celebrity.

"Don't let it worry you, old man," said he, with intense earnestness.

"Don't let it worry you. You're my guest, and I'll see you safe out of

it, or bust."

"Fenelon," said Mrs. Cooke, gravely, "do you realize what you are

saying?"

"You're a clever one, Allen," my client continued, and he backed away the

better to look him over; "you had nerve to stay as long as you did."

The Celebrity laughed confidently.

"Cooke," he replied, "I appreciate your generosity,--I really do. I know

no offence is meant. The mistake is, in fact, most pardonable."

In Mr. Cooke amazement and admiration were clamoring for utterance.

"Damn me," he sputtered, "if you're not the coolest embezzler I ever

saw."

The Celebrity laughed again. Then he surveyed the circle.

"My friends," he said, "this is certainly a most amazing coincidence; one

which, I assure you, surprises me no less than it does you. You have no

doubt remarked that I have my peculiarities. We all have.

"I flatter thyself I am not entirely unknown. And the annoyances imposed

upon me by a certain fame I have achieved had become such that some

months ago I began to crave the pleasures of the life of a private man.

I determined to go to some sequestered resort where my face was

unfamiliar. The possibility of being recognized at Asquith did not occur

to me. Fortunately I was. And a singular chance led me to take the name

of the man who has committed this crime, and who has the misfortune to

resemble me. I suppose that now," he added impressively, "I shall have

to tell you who I am."

He paused until these words should have gained their full effect. Then

he held up the edition de luxe from which he and Miss Thorn had been

reading.

"You may have heard, Mrs. Cooke," said he, addressing himself to our

hostess, "you may perhaps have heard of the author of this book."

Mrs. Cooke was a calm woman, and she read the name on the cover.

"Yes," she said, "I have. And you claim to be he?"

"Ask my friend Crocker here," he answered carelessly, no doubt exulting

that the scene was going off so dramatically. "I should indeed be in a

tight box," he went on, "if there were not friends of mine here to help

me out."

They turned to me.

"I am afraid I cannot," I said with what soberness I could.

"What!" says he with a start. "What! you deny me?"

Miss Trevor had her tongue in her cheek. I bowed.

"I am powerless to speak, Mr. Allen," I replied.

During this colloquy my client stood between us, looking from one to the

other. I well knew that his way of thinking would be with my testimony,

and that the gilt name on the edition de luxe had done little towards

convincing him of Mr. Allen's innocence. To his mind there was nothing

horrible or incongruous in the idea that a well-known author should be a

defaulter. It was perfectly possible. He shoved the glass of Scotch

towards the Celebrity, with a smile.

"Take this, old man," he kindly insisted, "and you'll feel better.

What's the use of bucking when you're saddled with a thing like that?"

And he pointed to the paper. "Besides, they haven't caught you yet, by a

damned sight."

The Celebrity waved aside the proffered tumbler.

"This is an infamous charge, and you know it, Crocker," he cried.

"If you don't, you ought to, as a lawyer. This isn't any time to have

fun with a fellow."

"My dear sir," I said, "I have charged you with nothing whatever."

He turned his back on me in complete disgust. And he came face to face

with Miss Trevor.

"Miss Trevor, too, knows something of me," he said.

"You forget, Mr. Allen," she answered sweetly, "you forget that I have

given you my promise not to reveal what I know."

The Celebrity chafed, for this was as damaging a statement as could well

be uttered against him. But Miss Thorn was his trump card, and she now

came forward.

"This is ridiculous, Mr. Crocker, simply ridiculous," said she.

"I agree with you most heartily, Miss Thorn," I replied.

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Miss Thorn, and she drew her lips together, "pure

nonsense!"

"Nonsense or not, Marian," Mr. Cooke interposed, "we are wasting valuable

time. The police are already on the scent, I'll bet my hat."

"Fenelon!" Mrs. Cooke remonstrated.

"And do you mean to say in soberness, Uncle Fenelon, that you believe the

author of The Sybarites to be a defaulter?" said Miss Thorn.

"It is indeed hard to believe Mr. Allen a criminal," Mr. Trevor broke in

for the first time. "I think it only right that he should be allowed to

clear himself before he is put to further inconvenience, and perhaps

injustice, by any action we may take in the matter."

Mr. Cooke sniffed suspiciously at the word "action."

"What action do you mean?" he demanded.

"Well," replied Mr. Trevor, with some hesitation, "before we take any

steps, that is, notify the police."

"Notify the police!" cried my client, his face red with a generous anger.

"I have never yet turned a guest over to the police," he said proudly,

"and won't, not if I know it. I'm not that kind."

Who shall criticise Mr. Cooke's code of morality?

"Fenelon," said his wife, "you must remember you have never yet

entertained a guest of a larcenous character. No embezzlers up to the

present. Marian," she continued, turning to Miss Thorn, "you spoke as

if you might, be able to throw some light upon this matter. Do you know

whether this gentleman is Charles Wrexell Allen, or whether he is the

author? In short, do you know who he is?"

The Celebrity lighted a cigarette. Miss Thorn said indignantly,

"Upon my word, Aunt Maria, I thought that you, at least, would know

better than to credit this silly accusation. He has been a guest at your

house, and I am astonished that you should doubt his word."

Mrs. Cooke looked at her niece perplexedly.

"You must remember, Marian," she said gently, "that I know nothing about

him, where he came from, or who he is. Nor does any one at Asquith,

except perhaps Miss Trevor, by her own confession. And you do not seem

inclined to tell what you know, if indeed you know anything."

Upon this Miss Thorn became more indignant still, and Mrs. Cooke went on

"Gentlemen, as a rule, do not assume names, especially other people's.

They are usually proud of their own. Mr. Allen appears among us, from

the clouds, as it were, and in due time we learn from a newspaper that

he has committed a defalcation. And, furthermore, the paper contains a

portrait and an accurate description which put the thing beyond doubt. I

ask you, is it reasonable for him to state coolly after all this that he

is another man? That he is a well-known author? It's an absurdity. I

was not born yesterday, my dear."

"It is most reasonable under the circumstances," replied Miss Thorn,

warmly. "Extraordinary? Of course it's extraordinary. And too long to

explain to a prejudiced audience, who can't be expected to comprehend the

character of a genius, to understand the yearning of a famous man for a

little quiet."

Mrs. Cooke looked grave.

"Marian, you forget yourself," she said.

"Oh, I am tired of it, Aunt Maria," cried Miss Thorn; "if he takes my

advice, he will refuse to discuss it farther."

She did not seem to be aware that she had put forth no argument whatever,

save a woman's argument. And I was intensely surprised that her

indignation should have got the better of her in this way, having always

supposed her clear-headed in the extreme. A few words from her, such as

I supposed she would have spoken, had set the Celebrity right with all

except Mr. Cooke. To me it was a clear proof that the Celebrity had

turned her head, and her mind with it.

The silence was broken by an uncontrollable burst of laughter from Miss

Trevor. She was quickly frowned down by her father, who reminded her

that this was not a comedy.

"And, Mr. Allen," he said, "if you have anything to say, or any evidence

to bring forward, now is the time to do it."

He appeared to forget that I was the district attorney.

The Celebrity had seated himself on the trunk of a tree, and was blowing

out the smoke in clouds. He was inclined to take Miss Thorn's advice,

for he made a gesture of weariness with his cigarette, in the use of

which he was singularly eloquent.

"Tell me, Mr. Trevor," said he, "why I should sit before you as a

tribunal? Why I should take the trouble to clear myself of a senseless

charge? My respect for you inclines me to the belief that you are

laboring under a momentary excitement; for when you reflect that I am a

prominent, not to say famous, author, you will realize how absurd it is

that I should be an embezzler, and why I decline to lower myself by an

explanation."

Mr. Trevor picked up the paper and struck it.

"Do you refuse to say anything in the face of such evidence as that?" he

cried.

"It is not a matter for refusal, Mr. Trevor. It is simply that I cannot

admit the possibility of having committed the crime."

"Well, sir," said the senator, his black necktie working out of place as

his anger got the better of him, "I am to believe, then, because you

claim to be the author of a few society novels, that you are infallible?

Let me tell you that the President of the United States himself is liable

to impeachment, and bound to disprove any charge he may be accused of.

What in Halifax do I care for your divine-right-of-authors theory? I'll

continue to think you guilty until you are shown to be innocent."

Suddenly the full significance of the Celebrity's tactics struck Mr.

Cooke, and he reached out and caught hold of Mr. Trevor's coattails.

"Hold on, old man," said he; "Allen isn't going to be ass enough to own

up to it. Don't you see we'd all be jugged and fined for assisting a

criminal over the border? It's out of consideration for us."

Mr. Trevor looked sternly over his shoulder at Mr. Cooke.

"Do you mean to say, sir, seriously," he asked, "that, for the sake of a

misplaced friendship for this man, and a misplaced sense of honor, you

are bound to shield a guest, though a criminal? That you intend to

assist him to escape from justice? I insist, for my own protection and

that of my daughter, as well as for that of the others present that,

since he refuses to speak, we must presume him guilty and turn him over."

Mr. Trevor turned to Mrs. Cooke, as if relying on her support.

"Fenelon," said she, "I have never sought to influence your actions when

your friends were concerned, and I shall not begin now. All I ask of you

is to consider the consequences of your intention."

These words from Mrs. Cooke had much more weight with my client than Mr.

Trevor's blustering demands.

"Maria, my dear," he said, with a deferential urbanity, "Mr. Allen is my

guest, and a gentleman. When a gentleman gives his word that he is not a

criminal, it is sufficient."

The force of this, for some reason, did not overwhelm his wife; and her

lip curled a little, half in contempt, half in risibility.

"Pshaw, Fenelon," said she, "what a fraud you are. Why is it you wish to

get Mr. Allen over the border, then?" A question which might well have

staggered a worthier intellect.

"Why, my dear," answered my client, "I wish to save Mr. Allen the

inconvenience, not to say the humiliation, of being brought East in

custody and strapped with a pair of handcuffs. Let him take a shooting

trip to the great Northwest until the real criminal is caught."

"Well, Fenelon," replied Mrs. Cooke, unable to repress a smile, "one

might as well try to argue with a turn-stile or a weather-vane. I wash

my hands of it."

But Mr. Trevor, who was both a self-made man and a Western politician,

was far from being satisfied. He turned to me with a sweep of the arm

he had doubtless learned in the Ohio State Senate.

"Mr. Crocker," he cried, "are you, as attorney of this district, going

to aid and abet in the escape of a fugitive from justice?"

"Mr. Trevor," said I, "I will take the course in this matter which seems

fit to me, and without advice from any one."

He wheeled on Farrar, repeated the question, and got a like answer.

Brought to bay for a time, he glared savagely around him while groping

for further arguments.

But at this point the Four appeared on the scene, much the worse for

thickets, and clamoring for luncheon. They had five small fish between

them which they wanted Miss Thorn to cook.

CHAPTER XII

The Four received Mr. Cooke's plan for the Celebrity's escape to Canada

with enthusiastic acclamation, and as the one thing lacking to make the

Bear Island trip a complete success. The Celebrity was hailed with the

reverence due to the man who puts up the ring-money in a prize-fight. He

was accorded, too, a certain amount of respect as a defaulter, which the

Four would have denied him as an author, for I am inclined to the belief

that the discovery of his literary profession would have lowered him

rather than otherwise in their eyes. My client was naturally anxious to

get under way at once for the Canadian border, but was overruled in this

by his henchmen, who demanded something to eat. We sat down to an

impromptu meal, which was an odd affair indeed. Mrs. Cooke maintained

her usual serenity, but said little, while Miss Trevor and I had many a

mirthful encounter at the thought of the turn matters had taken.

At the other end of the cloth were Mr. Cooke and the Four, in wonderful

spirits and unimpaired appetite, and in their midst sat the Celebrity,

likewise in wonderful spirits. His behavior now and again elicited a

loud grunt of disapproval from Mr. Trevor, who was plying his knife and

fork in a manner emblematic of his state of mind. Mr. Allen was laughing

and joking airily with Mr. Cooke and the guests, denying, but not

resenting, their accusations with all the sang froid of a hardened

criminal. He did not care particularly to go to Canada, he said. Why

should he, when he was innocent? But, if Mr. Cooke insisted, he would

enjoy seeing that part of the lake and the Canadian side.

Afterwards I perceived Miss Thorn down by the brookside, washing dishes.

Her sleeves were drawn back to the elbow, and a dainty white apron

covered her blue skirt, while the wind from the lake had disentangled

errant wisps of her hair. I stood on the brink above, secure, as I

thought, from observation, when she chanced to look up and spied me.

"Mr. Crocker," she called, "would you like to make yourself useful?"

I was decidedly embarrassed. Her manner was as frank and unconstrained

as though I had not been shunning her for weeks past.

"If such a thing is possible," I replied.

"Do you know a dish-cloth when you see one?"

I was doubtful. But I procured the cloth from Miss Trevor and returned.

There was an air about Miss Thorn that was new to me.

"What an uncompromising man you are, Mr. Crocker," she said to me. "Once

a person is unfortunate enough to come under the ban of your disapproval

you have nothing whatever to do with them. Now it seems that I have

given you offence in some way. Is it not so?"

"You magnify my importance," I said.

"No temporizing, Mr. Crocker," she went on, as though she meant to be

obeyed; "sit down there, and let's have it out. I like you too well to

quarrel with you."

There was no resisting such a command, and I threw myself on the pebbles

at her feet.

"I thought we were going to be great friends," she said. "You and Mr.

Farrar were so kind to me on the night of my arrival, and we had such fun

watching the dance together."

"I confess I thought so, too. But you expressed opinions then that I

shared. You have since changed your mind, for some unaccountable

reason."

She paused in her polishing, a shining dish in her hand, and looked down

at me with something between a laugh and a frown.

"I suppose you have never regretted speaking hastily," she said.

"Many a time," I returned, warming; "but if I ever thought a judgment

measured and distilled, it was your judgment of the Celebrity."

"Does the study of law eliminate humanity?" she asked, with a mock

curtsey. "The deliberate sentences are sometimes the unjust ones, and

men who are hung by weighed wisdom are often the innocent."

"That is all very well in cases of doubt. But here you have the

evidences of wrong-doing directly before you."

Three dishes were taken up, dried, and put down before she answered me.

I threw pebbles into the brook, and wished I had held my tongue.

"What evidence?" inquired she.

"Well," said I, "I must finish, I suppose. I had a notion you knew of

what I inferred. First, let me say that I have no desire to prejudice

you against a person whom you admire."

"Impossible."

Something in her tone made me look up.

"Very good, then," I answered. "I, for one, can have no use for a man

who devotes himself to a girl long enough to win her affections, and then

deserts her with as little compunction as a dog does a rat it has shaken.

And that is how your Celebrity treated Miss Trevor."

"But Miss Trevor has recovered, I believe," said Miss Thorn.

I began to feel a deep, but helpless, insecurity.

"Happily, yes," I assented.

"Thanks to an excellent physician."

A smile twitched the corners of her mouth, as though she enjoyed my

discomfiture. I remarked for the fiftieth time how strong her face was,

with its generous lines and clearly moulded features. And a suspicion

entered my soul.

"At any rate," I said, with a laugh, "the Celebrity has got himself into

no end of a predicament now. He may go back to New York in custody."

"I thought you incapable of resentment, Mr. Crocker. How mean of you to

deny him!"

"It can do no harm," I answered; "a little lesson in the dangers of

incognito may be salutary. I wish it were a little lesson in the dangers

of something else."

The color mounted to her face as she resumed her occupation.

"I am afraid you are a very wicked man," she said.

Before I could reply there came a scuffling sound from the bank above us,

and the snapping of branches and twigs. It was Mr. Cooke. His descent,

the personal conduction of which he lost half-way down, was irregular and

spasmodic, and a rude concussion at the bottom knocked off a choice bit

of profanity which was balanced on the tip of his tongue.

"Tobogganing is a little out of season," said his niece, laughing

heartily.

Mr. Cooke brushed himself off, picked up the glasses which he had dropped

in his flight and pushed them into my hands. Then he pointed lakeward

with bulging eyes.

"Crocker, old man," he said in a loud whisper, "they tell me that is an

Asquith cat-boat."

I followed his finger and saw for the first time a sail-boat headed for

the island, then about two miles off shore. I raised the glasses.

"Yes," I said, "the Scimitar."

"That's what Farrar said," cried he.

"And what about it?" I asked.

"What about it?" he ejaculated. "Why, it's a detective come for Allen.

I knew sure as hell if they got as far as Asquith they wouldn't stop

there. And that's the fastest sail-boat he could hire there, isn't it?"

I replied that it was. He seized me by the shoulder and began dragging

me up the bank.

"What are you going to do?" I cried, shaking myself loose.

"We've got to get on the Maria and run for it," he panted. "There is no

time to be lost."

He had reached the top of the bank and was running towards the group at

the tents. And he actually infused me with some of his red-hot

enthusiasm, for I hastened after him.

"But you can't begin to get the Maria out before they will be in here,"

I shouted.

He stopped short, gazed at the approaching boat, and then at me.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, of course," said I, "they will be here in ten minutes."

The Celebrity stood in the midst of the excited Four. His hair was

parted precisely, and he had induced a monocle to remain in his eye long

enough to examine the Scimitar, his nose at the critical elevation. This

unruffled exterior made a deep impression on the Four. Was the Celebrity

not undergoing the crucial test of a true sport? He was an example alike

to criminals and philosophers.

Mr. Cooke hurried into the group, which divided respectfully for him, and

grasped the Celebrity by the hand.

"Something else has got to be done, old man," he said, in a voice which

shook with emotion; "they'll be on us before we can get the Maria out."

Farrar, who was nailing a rustic bench near by, straightened up at this,

his lip curling with a desire to laugh.

The Celebrity laid his hand on my client's shoulder.

"Cooke," said he, "I'm deeply grateful for all the trouble you wish to

take, and for the solicitude you have shown. But let things be. I'll

come out of it all right."

"Never," cried Cooke, looking proudly around the Four as some Highland

chief might have surveyed a faithful clan. "I'd a damned sight rather go

to jail myself."

"A damned sight," echoed the Four in unison.

"I insist, Cooke," said the Celebrity, taking out his eyeglass and

tapping Mr. Cooke's purple necktie, "I insist that you drop this

business. I repeat my thanks to you and these gentlemen for the

friendship they have shown, but say again that I am as innocent of this

crime as a baby."

Mr. Cooke paid no attention to this speech. His face became radiant.

"Didn't any of you fellows strike a cave, or a hollow tree, or something

of that sort, knocking around this morning?"

One man slapped his knee.

"The very place," he cried. "I fell into it," and he showed a rent in

his trousers corroboratively. "It's big enough to hold twenty of Allen,

and the detective doesn't live that could find it."

"Hustle him off, quick," said Mr. Cooke.

The mandate was obeyed as literally as though Robin Hood himself had

given it. The Celebrity disappeared into the forest, carried rather than

urged towards his destined place of confinement.

The commotion had brought Mr. Trevor to the spot. He caught sight of the

Celebrity's back between the trees, then he looked at the cat-boat

entering the cove, a man in the stern preparing to pull in the tender.

He intercepted Mr. Cooke on his way to the beach.

"What have you done with Mr. Allen?" he asked, in a menacing voice.

"Good God," said Mr. Cooke, whose contempt for Mr. Trevor was now

infinite, "you talk as if I were the governor of the state. What the

devil could I do with him?"

"I will have no evasion," replied Mr. Trevor, taking an imposing posture

in front of him. "You are trying to defeat the ends of justice by

assisting a dangerous criminal to escape. I have warned you, sir, and

warn you again of the consequences of your meditated crime, and I give

you my word I will do all in my power to frustrate it."

Mr. Cooke dug his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. Here was a

complication he had not looked for. The Scimitar lay at anchor with her

sail down, and two men were coming ashore in the tender. Mr. Cooke's

attitude being that of a man who reconsiders a rash resolve, Mr. Trevor

was emboldened to say in a moderated tone:

"You were carried away by your generosity, Mr. Cooke. I was sure when

you took time to think you would see it in another light."

Mr. Cooke started off for the place where the boat had grounded. I did

not catch his reply, and probably should not have written it here if I

had. The senator looked as if he had been sand-bagged.

The two men jumped out of the boat and hauled it up. Mr. Cooke waved an

easy salute to one, whom I recognized as the big boatman from Asquith,

familiarly known as Captain Jay. He owned the Scimitar and several

smaller boats. The captain went through the pantomime of an introduction

between Mr. Cooke and the other, whom my client shook warmly by the hand,

and presently all three came towards us.

Mr. Cooke led them to a bar he had improvised by the brook. A pool

served the office of refrigerator, and Mr. Cooke had devised an ingenious

but complicated arrangement of strings and labels which enabled him to

extract any bottle or set of bottles without having to bare his arm and

pull out the lot. Farrar and I responded to the call he had given, and

went down to assist in the entertainment. My client, with his back to

us, was busy manipulating the strings.

"Gentlemen," he said, "let me make you acquainted with Mr. Drew. You all

know the captain."

Had I not suspected Mr. Drew's profession, I think I should not have

remarked that he gave each of us a keen look as he raised his head. He

had reddish-brown hair, and a pair of bushy red whiskers, each of which

tapered to a long point. He was broad in the shoulders, and the clothes

he wore rather enhanced this breadth. His suit was gray and almost new,

the trousers perceptibly bagging at the knee, and he had a felt hat, a

necktie of the white and flowery pattern, and square-toed "Congress"

boots. In short, he was a decidedly ordinary looking person; you would

meet a hundred like him in the streets of Far Harbor and Beaverton. He

might have been a prosperous business man in either of those towns,--a

comfortable lumber merchant or mine owner. And he had chosen just the

get-up I should have picked for detective work in that region. He had a

pleasant eye and a very fetching and hearty manner. But his long

whiskers troubled me especially. I kept wondering if they were real.

"The captain is sailing Mr. Drew over to Far Harbor," explained Mr.

Cooke, "and they have put in here for the night."

Mr. Drew was plainly not an amateur, for he volunteered nothing further

than this. The necessary bottles having been produced, Mr. Cooke held up

his glass and turned to the stranger.

"Welcome to our party, old man," said he.

Mr. Drew drained his glass and complimented Mr. Cooke on the brand,--a

sure key to my client's heart. Whereupon he seated himself between Mr.

Drew and the captain and began a discourse on the subject of his own

cellar, on which he talked for nearly an hour. His only pauses were for

the worthy purpose of filling the detective's or the captain's glass, and

these he watched with a hospitable solicitude. The captain had the

advantage, three to one, and I made no doubt his employer bitterly

regretted not having a boatman whose principles were more strict. At the

end of the hour Captain Jay, who by nature was inclined to be taciturn

and crabbed, waxed loquacious and even jovial. He sang us the songs he

had learned in the winter lumber-camps, which Mr. Cooke never failed to

encore to the echo. My client vowed he had not spent a pleasanter

afternoon for years. He plied the captain with cigars, and explained to

him the mystery of the strings and labels; and the captain experimented

until he had broken some of the bottles.

Mr. Cooke was not a person who made any great distinction between the

three degrees, acquaintance, friendship, and intimacy. When a stranger

pleased him, he went from one to the other with such comparative ease

that a hardhearted man, and no other, could have resented his advances.

Mr. Drew was anything but a hard-hearted man, and he did not object to my

client's familiarity. Mr. Cooke made no secret of his admiration for Mr.

Drew, and there were just two things about him that Mr. Cooke admired and

wondered at, above all else,--the bushy red whiskers. But it appeared

that these were the only things that Mr. Drew was really touchy about.

I noticed that the detective, without being impolite, did his best to

discourage these remarks; but my client knew no such word as

discouragement. He was continually saying: "I think I'll grow some like

that, old man," or "Have those cut," and the like,--a kind of humor in

which the captain took an incredible delight. And finally, when a

certain pitch of good feeling had been arrived at, Mr. Cooke reached out

and playfully grabbed hold of the one near him. The detective drew back.

"Mr. Cooke," said he, with dignity, "I'll have to ask you to let my

whiskers alone."

"Certainly, old man," replied my client, anything but abashed. "You'll

pardon me, but they seemed too good to be true. I congratulate you on

them."

I was amused as well as alarmed at this piece of boldness, but the

incident passed off without any disagreeable results, except, perhaps,

a slight nervousness noticeable in the detective; and this soon

disappeared. As the sun grew low, the Celebrity's conductors straggled

in with fishing-rods and told of an afternoon's sport, and we left the

captain peacefully but sonorously slumbering on the bank.

"Crocker," said my client to me, afterwards, "they didn't feel like the

real, home-grown article. But aren't they damned handsome?"

CHAPTER XIII

After supper, Captain Jay was rowed out and put to bed in his own bunk on

the Scimitar. Then we heaped together a huge pile of the driftwood on

the beach and raised a blazing beacon, the red light of which I doubt not

could be seen from the mainland. The men made prongs from the soft wood,

while Miss Thorn produced from the stores some large tins of

marshmallows.

The memory of that evening lingers with me yet. The fire colored

everything. The waves dashed in ruby foam at our feet, and even the

tall, frowning pines at our backs were softened; the sting was gone out

of the keen night wind from the north. I found a place beside the gray

cape I had seen for the first time the night of the cotillon. I no

longer felt any great dislike for Miss Thorn, let it be known.

Resentment was easier when the distance between Mohair and Asquith

separated us,--impossible on a yachting excursion. But why should I be

justifying myself?

Mr. Cooke and the Four, in addition to other accomplishments, possessed

excellent voices, and Mr. Drew sang a bass which added much to the

melody. One of the Four played a banjo. It is only justice to Mr. Drew

to say that he seemed less like a detective than any man I have ever met.

He told a good story and was quick at repartee, and after a while the

music, by tacit consent, was abandoned for the sake of hearing him talk.

He related how he had worked up the lake, point by point, from Beaverton

to Asquith, and lightened his narrative with snappy accounts of the

different boatmen he had run across and of the different predicaments

into which he had fallen. His sketches were so vivid that Mr. Cooke

forgot to wink at me after a while and sat spellbound, while I marvelled

at the imaginative faculty he displayed. He had us in roars of laughter.

His stories were far from incredible, and he looked less like a liar than

a detective. He showed, too, an accurate and astonishing knowledge of

the lake which could hardly have been acquired in any other way than the

long-shore trip he had described. Not once did he hint of a special

purpose which had brought him to the island, and it was growing late.

The fire died down upon the stones, and the thought of the Celebrity,

alone in a dark cave in the middle of the island, began to prey upon me.

I was not designed for a practical joker, and I take it that pity is a

part of every self-respecting man's composition. In the cool of the

night season the ludicrous side of the matter did not appeal to me quite

as strongly as in the glare of day. A joke should never be pushed to

cruelty. It was in vain that I argued I had no direct hand in the

concealing of him; I felt my responsibility quite as heavy upon me.

Perhaps bears still remained in these woods. And if a bear should devour

the author of The Sybarites, would the world ever forgive me? Could I

ever repay the debt to the young women of these United States?

To speak truth, I expected every moment to see him appear. Why, in the

name of all his works, did he stay there? Nothing worse could befall him

than to go to Far Harbor with Drew, where our words concerning his

identity would be taken. And what an advertisement this would be for the

great author. The Sybarites, now selling by thousands, would increase

its sales to ten thousands. Ah, there was the rub. The clue to his

remaining in the cave was this very kink in the Celebrity's character.

There was nothing Bohemian in that character; it yearned after the

eminently respectable. Its very eccentricities were within the limits of

good form. The Celebrity shunned the biscuits and beer of the literary

clubs, and his books were bound for the boudoir. To have it proclaimed

in the sensational journals that the hands of this choice being had been

locked for grand larceny was a thought too horrible to entertain. His

very manservant would have cried aloud against it. Better a hundred

nights in a cave than one such experience!

Miss Trevor's behavior that evening was so unrestful as to lead me to

believe that she, too, was going through qualms of sympathy for the

victim. As we were breaking up for the evening she pulled my sleeve.

"Don't you think we have carried our joke a little too far, Mr. Crocker?"

she whispered uneasily. "I can't bear to think of him in that

terrible place."

"It will do him a world of good," I replied, assuming a gayety I did not

feel. It is not pleasant to reflect that some day one's own folly might

place one in alike situation. And the night was dismally cool and windy,

now that the fire had gone out. Miss Trevor began to philosophize.

"Such practical pleasantries as this," she said, "are like infernal

machines: they often blow up the people that start them. And they are

next to impossible to steer."

"Perhaps it is just as well not to assume we are the instruments of

Providence," I said.

Here we ran into Miss Thorn, who was carrying a lantern.

"I have been searching everywhere for you two mischief-makers," said she.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Heaven only knows how this

little experiment will end. Here is Aunt Maria, usually serene, on the

verge of hysterics: she says he shouldn't stay in that damp cave another

minute. Here is your father, Irene, organizing relief parties and

walking the floor of his tent like a madman. And here is Uncle Fenelon

insane over the idea of getting the poor, innocent man into Canada. And

here is a detective saddled upon us, perhaps for days, and Uncle Fenelon

has gotten his boatman drunk. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves,"

she repeated.

Miss Trevor laughed, in spite of the gravity of these things, and so did

I.

"Oh, come, Marian," said she, "it isn't as bad as all that. And you talk

as if you hadn't anything to be reproached for. Your own defence of the

Celebrity wasn't as strong as it might have been."

By the light of the lantern I saw Miss Thorn cast one meaning look at

Miss Trevor.

"What are you going to do about it?" asked Miss Thorn, addressing me.

"Think of that unhappy man, without a bed, without blankets, without even

a tooth-brush."

"He hasn't been wholly off my mind," I answered truthfully. "But there

isn't anything we can do to-night, with that beastly detective to notice

it."

"Then you must go very early to-morrow morning, before the detective gets

up."

I couldn't help smiling at the notion of getting up before a detective.

"I am only too willing," I said.

"It must be by four o'clock," Miss Thorn went on energetically, "and we

must have a guide we can trust. Arrange it with one of Uncle Fenelon's

friends."

"We?" I repeated.

"You certainly don't imagine that I am going to be left behind?" said

Miss Thorn.

I made haste to invite for the expedition one of the Four, who was quite

willing to go; and we got together all the bodily comforts we could think

of and put them in a hamper, the Fraction not forgetting to add a few

bottles from Mr. Cooke's immersed bar.

Long after the camp had gone to bed, I lay on the pine-needles above the

brook, shielded from the wind by a break in the slope, and thought of the

strange happenings of that day. Presently the waning moon climbed

reluctantly from the waters, and the stream became mottled, black and

white, the trees tall blurs. The lake rose and fell with a mighty

rhythm, and the little brook hurried madly over the stones to join it.

One thought chased another from my brain.

At such times, when one's consciousness of outer things is dormant, an

earthquake might continue for some minutes without one realizing it. I

did not observe, though I might have seen from where I lay, the flap of

one of the tents drawn back and two figures emerge. They came and stood

on the bank above, under the tree which sheltered me. And I experienced

a curious phenomenon. I heard, and understood, and remembered the first

part of the conversation which passed between them, and did not know it.

"I am sorry to disturb you," said one.

"Not at all," said the other, whose tone, I thought afterwards, betokened

surprise, and no great cheerfulness.

"But I have had no other opportunity to speak with you."

"No," said the other, rather uneasily.

Suddenly my senses were alert, and I knew that Mr. Trevor had pulled the

detective out of bed. The senator had no doubt anticipated an easier

time, and he now began feeling for an opening. More than once he cleared

his throat to commence, while Mr. Drew pulled his scant clothing closer

about him, his whiskers playing in the breeze.

"In Cincinnati, Mr. Drew," said Mr. Trevor, at length, "I am a known, if

not an influential, citizen; and I have served my state for three terms

in its Senate."

"I have visited your city, Mr. Trevor," answered Mr. Drew, his teeth

chattering audibly, "and I know you by reputation."

"Then, sir," Mr. Trevor continued, with a flourish which appeared

absolutely grotesque in his attenuated costume, "it must be clear to you

that I cannot give my consent to a flagrant attempt by an unscrupulous

person to violate the laws of this country."

"Your feelings are to be respected, sir."

Mr. Trevor cleared his throat again.

"Discretion is always to be observed, Mr. Drew. And I, who have been in

the public service, know the full value of it."

Mr. Trevor leaned forward, at the same time glancing anxiously up at the

tree, for fear, perhaps, that Mr. Cooke might be concealed therein. He

said in a stage whisper:

"A criminal is concealed on this island."

Drew started perceptibly.

"Yes," said Mr. Trevor, with a glance of triumph at having produced an

impression on a detective, "I thought it my duty to inform you. He has

been hidden by the followers of the unscrupulous person I referred to, in

a cave, I believe. I repeat, sir, as a man of unimpeachable standing, I

considered it my duty to tell you."

"You have my sincere thanks, Mr. Trevor," said Drew, holding out his

hand, "and I shall act on the suggestion."

Mr. Trevor clasped the hand of the detective, and they returned quietly

to their respective tents. And in course of time I followed them,

wondering how this incident might affect our morning's expedition.

CHAPTER XIV

My first thought on rising was to look for the detective. The touch of

the coming day was on the lake, and I made out the two boats dimly,

riding on the dead swell and tugging idly at their chains. The detective

had been assigned to a tent which was occupied by Mr. Cooke and the Four,

and they were sleeping soundly at my entrance. But Drew's blankets were

empty. I hurried to the beach, but the Scimitar's boat was still drawn

up there near the Maria's tender, proving that he was still on the

island.

Outside of the ladies' tent I came upon Miss Thorn, stowing a large

basket. I told her that we had taken that precaution the night before.

"What did you put in?" she demanded.

I enumerated the articles as best I could. And when I had finished, she

said,

"And I am filling this with the things you have forgotten."

I lost no time in telling her what I had overheard the night before, and

that the detective was gone from his tent. She stopped her packing and

looked at me in concern.

"He is probably watching us," she said. "Do you think we had better go?"

I thought it could do no harm. "If we are followed," said I, "all we

have to do is to turn back."

Miss Trevor came out as I spoke, and our conductor appeared, bending

under the hamper. I shouldered some blankets and the basket, and we

started. We followed a rough path, evidently cut by a camping party in

some past season, but now overgrown. The Fraction marched ahead, and I

formed the rear guard. Several times it seemed to me as though someone

were pushing after us, and more than once we halted. I put down the

basket and went back to reconnoitre. Once I believed I saw a figure

flitting in the gray light, but I set it down to my imagination.

Finally we reached a brook, sneaking along beneath the underbrush as

though fearing to show itself, and we followed its course. Branches

lashed our faces and brambles tore our clothes. And then, as the

sunlight was filtering through and turning the brook from blue to

crystal, we came upon the Celebrity. He was seated in a little open

space on the bank, apparently careless of capture. He did not even rise

at our approach. His face showed the effect of a sleepless night, and

wore an expression inimical to all mankind. The conductor threw his

bundle on the bank and laid his hand on the Celebrity's shoulder.

"Halloa, old man!" said he, cheerily. "You must have had a hard night

of it. But we couldn't make you any sooner, because that hawk of an

officer had his eye on us."

The Celebrity shook himself free. And in place of the gratitude for

which the Fraction had looked, and which he had every reason to expect,

he got something different.

"This outrage has gone far enough," said the Celebrity, with a terrible

calmness. The Fraction was a man of the world.

"Come, come, old chap!" he said soothingly, "don't cut up. We'll make

things a little more homelike here." And he pulled a bottle from the

depths of the hamper. "This will brace you up."

He picked up the hamper and disappeared into the place of retention,

while the Celebrity threw the bottle into the brush. And just then (may

I be forgiven if I am imaginative!) I heard a human laugh come from that

direction. In the casting of that bottle the Celebrity had given vent to

some of the feelings he had been collecting overnight, and it must have

carried about thirty yards. I dived after it like a retriever puppy for

a stone; but the bottle was gone! Perhaps I could say more, but it

doesn't do to believe in yourself too thoroughly when you get up early.

I had nothing to say when I returned.

"You here, Crocker?" said the author, fixing his eye on me. "Deuced

kind of you to get up so early and carry a basket so far for me."

"It has been a real pleasure, I assure you," I protested. And it had.

There was a silent space while the two young ladies regarded him,

softened by his haggard and dishevelled aspect, and perplexed by his

attitude. Nothing, I believe, appeals to a woman so much as this very

lack of bodily care. And the rogue knew it!

"How long is this little game of yours to continue,--this bull-baiting?"

he inquired. "How long am I to be made a butt of for the amusement of a

lot of imbeciles?"

Miss Thorn crossed over and seated herself on the ground beside him.

"You must be sensible," she said, in a tone that she might have used to a

spoiled child. "I know it is difficult after the night you have had.

But you have always been willing to listen to reason."

A pang of something went through me when I saw them together.

"Reason," said the Celebrity, raising his head. "Reason, yes. But where

is the reason in all this? Because a man who happens to be my double

commits a crime, is it right that I, whose reputation is without a mark,

should be made to suffer? And why have I been made a fool of by two

people whom I had every cause to suppose my friends?"

"You will have to ask them," replied Miss Thorn, with a glance at us.

"They are mischief-makers, I'll admit; but they are not malicious. See

what they have done this morning! And how could they have foreseen that

a detective was on his way to the island?"

"Crocker might have known it," said he, melting. "He's so cursed smart!"

"And think," Miss Thorn continued, quick to follow up an advantage,

"think what would have happened if they hadn't denied you. This horrid

man would have gone off with you to Asquith or somewhere else, with

handcuffs on your wrists; for it isn't a detective's place to take

evidence, Mr. Crocker says. Perhaps we should all have had to go to

Epsom! And I couldn't bear to see you in handcuffs, you know."

"Don't you think we had better leave them alone?" I said to Miss Trevor.

She smiled and shook her head.

"You are blind as a bat, Mr. Crocker," she said.

The Celebrity had weighed Miss Thorn's words and was listening passively

now while she talked. There may be talents which she did not possess; I

will not pretend to say. But I know there are many professions she might

have chosen had she not been a woman. She would have made a name for

herself at the bar; as a public speaker she would have excelled. And had

I not been so long accustomed to picking holes in arguments I am sure I

should not have perceived the fallacies of this she was making for the

benefit of the Celebrity. He surely did not. It is strange how a man

can turn under such influence from one feeling to another. The Celebrity

lost his resentment; apprehension took its place. He became more and

more nervous; questioned me from time to time on the law; wished to know

whether he would be called upon for testimony at Allen's trial; whether

there was any penalty attached to the taking of another man's name;

precisely what Drew would do with him if captured; and the tail of his

eye was on the thicket as he made this inquiry. It may be surmised that

I took an exquisite delight in quenching this new-born thirst for

knowledge. And finally we all went into the cave.

Miss Thorn unpacked the things we had brought, while I surveyed the

cavern. It was in the solid rock, some ten feet high and irregular in

shape, and perfectly dry. It was a marvel to me how cosy she made it.

One of the Maria's lanterns was placed in a niche, and the Celebrity's

silver toilet-set laid out on a ledge of the rock, which answered

perfectly for a dressing-table. Miss Thorn had not forgotten a small

mirror. And as a last office, set a dainty breakfast on a linen napkin

on the rock, heating the coffee in a chafing-dish.

"There!" she exclaimed, surveying her labors, "I hope you will be more

comfortable."

He had already taken the precaution to brush his hair and pull himself

together. His thanks, such as they were, he gave to Miss Thorn. It is

true that she had done more than any one else.

"Good-bye, old boy!" said the Fraction. "We'll come back when we get the

chance, and don't let that hundred thousand keep you awake."

The Fraction and I covered up the mouth of the cave with brush. He

became confidential.

"Lucky dog, Allen!" he said. "They'll never get him away from Cooke.

And he can have any girl he wants for the asking. By George! I believe

Miss Thorn will elope with him if he ever reaches Canada."

I only mention this as a sample of the Fraction's point of view.

I confess the remark annoyed me at the time.

Miss Thorn lingered in the cave for a minute after Miss Trevor came out.

Then we retraced our way down the brook, which was dancing now in the

sunlight. Miss Trevor stopped now and then to rest, in reality to laugh.

I do not know what the Fraction thought of such heartless conduct. He

and I were constantly on the alert for Mr. Drew, but we sighted the camp

without having encountered him. It was half-past six, and we had trusted

to slip in unnoticed by any one. But, as we emerged from the trees, the

bustling scene which greeted our eyes filled us with astonishment. Two

of the tents were down, and the third in a collapsed condition, while

confusion reigned supreme. And in the midst of it all stood Mr. Cooke,

an animated central figure pedestalled on a stump, giving emphatic

directions in a voice of authority. He spied us from his elevated

position before we had crossed the brook.

"Here they come, Maria," he shouted.

We climbed to the top of the slope, and were there confronted by Mrs.

Cooke and Mr. Trevor, with Mr. Cooke close behind them.

"Where the devil is Allen?" my client demanded excitedly of the

Fraction.

"Allen?" repeated that gentleman, "why, we made him comfortable and left

him, of course. We had sense enough not to bring him here to be pulled."

"But, you damfool," cried Mr. Cooke, slightly forgetting himself, "Drew

has escaped."

"Escaped?"

"Yes, escaped," said Mr. Cooke, as though our conductor were personally

responsible; "he got away this morning. Before we know it, we'll have

the whole police force of Far Harbor out here to jug the lot of us."

The Fraction, being deficient for the moment in language proper to

express his appreciation of this new development, simply volunteered to

return for the Celebrity, and left in a great hurry.

"Irene," said Mr. Trevor, "can it be possible that you have stolen away

for the express purpose of visiting this criminal?"

"If he is a criminal, father, it is no reason that he should starve."

"It is no reason," cried her father, hotly, "why a young girl who has

been brought up as you have, should throw every lady-like instinct to

the winds. There are men enough in this camp to keep him from starving.

I will not have my daughter's name connected with that of a defaulter.

Irene, you have set the seal of disgrace upon a name which I have labored

for a lifetime to make one of the proudest in the land. And it was my

fond hope that I possessed a daughter who--"

During this speech my anger had been steadily rising.. But it was Mrs.

Cooke who interrupted him.

"Mr. Trevor," said she, "perhaps you are not aware that while you are

insulting your daughter, you are also insulting my niece. It may be well

for you to know that Miss Trevor still has my respect as a woman and my

admiration as a lady. And, since she has been so misjudged by her

father, she has my deepest sympathy. But I wish to beg of you, if you

have anything of this nature to say to her, you will take her feelings

into consideration as well as ours."

Miss Trevor gave her one expressive look of gratitude. The senator was

effectually silenced. He had come, by some inexplicable inference, to

believe that Mrs. Cooke, while subservient to the despotic will of her

husband, had been miraculously saved from depravity, and had set her face

against this last monumental act of outlawry.

THE CELEBRITY

By Winston Churchill

VOLUME 4.

CHAPTER XV

I am convinced that Mr. Cooke possessed at least some of the qualities of

a great general. In certain campaigns of past centuries, and even of

this, it has been hero-worship that impelled the rank and file rather

than any high sympathy with the cause they were striving for. And so it

was with us that morning. Our commander was everywhere at once,

encouraging us to work, and holding over us in impressive language the

awful alternative of capture. For he had the art, in a high degree, of

inoculating his followers with the spirit which animated him; and

shortly, to my great surprise, I found myself working as though my life

depended on it. I certainly did not care very much whether the Celebrity

was captured or not, and yet, with the prospect of getting him over the

border, I had not thought of breakfast. Farrar had a natural inclination

for work of this sort, but even he was infused somewhat with the

contagious haste and enthusiasm which filled the air; and together we

folded the tents with astonishing despatch and rowed them out to the

Maria, Mr. Cooke having gone to his knees in the water to shove the boat

off.

"What are we doing this for?" said Farrar to me, as we hoisted the sail.

We both laughed.

"I have just been asking myself that question," I replied.

"You are a nice district attorney, Crocker," he said. "You have made a

most proper and equitable decision in giving your consent to Allen's

escape. Doesn't your conscience smart?"

"Not unbearably. I'll tell you what, Farrar," said I, "the truth is,

that this fellow never embezzled so much as a ten-cent piece. He isn't

guilty: he isn't the man."

"Isn't the man?" repeated Farrar.

"No," I answered; "it's a long tale, and no time to tell it now. But he

is really, as he claims to be, the author of all those detestable books

we have been hearing so much of."

"The deuce he is!" exclaimed Farrar, dropping the stopper he was tying.

"Did he write The Sybarites?"

"Yes, sir; he wrote The Sybarites, and all the rest of that trash."

"He's the fellow that maintains a man ought to marry a girl after he has

become engaged to her."

"Exactly," I said, smiling at his way of putting it.

"Preaches constancy to all men, but doesn't object to stealing."

I laughed.

"You're badly mixed," I explained. "I told you he never stole anything.

He was only ass enough to take the man's name who is the living image of

him. And the other man took the bonds."

"Oh, come now," said he, "tell me something improbable while you are

about it."

"It's true," I replied, repressing my mirth; "true as the tale of

Timothy. I knew him when he was a mere boy. But I don't give you that

as a proof, for he might have become all things to all men since. Ask

Miss Trevor; or Miss Thorn; she knows the other man, the bicycle man, and

has seen them both together."

"Where, in India? Was one standing on the ground looking at his double

go to heaven? Or was it at one of those drawing-room shows where a

medium holds conversation with your soul, while your body sleeps on the

lounge? By George, Crocker, I thought you were a sensible man."

No wonder I got angry. But I might have come at some proper estimation

of Farrar's incredulity by that time.

"I suppose you wouldn't take a lady's word," I growled.

"Not for that," he said, busy again with the sail stops; "nor St.

Chrysostom's, were he to come here and vouch for it. It is too damned

improbable."

"Stranger things than that have happened," I retorted, fuming.

"Not to any of us," he said. Presently he added, chuckling: "He'd better

not get into the clutches of that man Drew."

"What do you mean?" I demanded. Farrar was exasperating at times.

"Drew will wind those handcuffs on him like tourniquets," he laughed.

There seemed to be something behind this remark, but before I could

inquire into it we were interrupted by Mr. Cooke, who was standing on

the beach, swearing and gesticulating for the boat.

"I trust," said Farrar, as we rowed ashore, "that this blind excitement

will continue, and that we shall have the extreme pleasure of setting

down our friend in Her Majesty's dominions with a yachting-suit and

a ham sandwich."

We sat down to a hasty breakfast, in the middle of which the Celebrity

arrived. His appearance was unexceptionable, but his heavy jaw was set

in a manner which should have warned Mr. Cooke not to trifle with him.

"Sit down, old man, and take a bite before we start for Canada," said my

client.

The Celebrity walked up to him.

"Mr. Cooke," he began in a menacing tone, "it is high time this nonsense

was ended. I am tired of being made a buffoon of for your party. For

your gratification I have spent a sleepless night in those cold, damp

woods; and I warn you that practical joking can be carried too far. I

will not go to Canada, and I insist that you sail me back to Asquith."

Mr. Cooke winked significantly in our direction and tapped his head.

"I don't wonder you're a little upset, old man," he said, humoringly

patting him; "but sit down for a bite of something, and you'll see things

differently."

"I've had my breakfast," he said, taking out a cigarette.

Then Mr. Trevor got up.

"He demands, sir, to be delivered over to the authorities," said he, "and

you have no right to refuse him. I protest strongly."

"And you can protest all you damn please," retorted my client; "this

isn't the Ohio State Senate. Do you know where I would put you, Mr.

Trevor? Do you know where you ought to be? In a hencoop, sir, if I had

one here. In a hen-coop. What would you do if a man who had gone a

little out of his mind asked you for a gun to shoot himself with? Give

it him, I suppose. But I put Mr. Allen ashore in Canada, with the funds

to get off with, and then my duty's done."

This speech, as Mr. Cooke had no doubt confidently hoped, threw the

senator into a frenzy of wrath.

"The day will come, sir," he shouted, shaking his fist at my client, "the

day will come when you will rue this bitterly."

"Don't get off any of your oratorical frills on me," replied Mr. Cooke,

contemptuously; "you ought to be tied and muzzled."

Mr. Trevor was white with anger.

"I, for one, will not go to Canada," he cried.

"You'll stay here and starve, then," said Mr. Cooke; "damned little I

care."

Mr. Trevor turned to Farrar, who was biting his lip.

"Mr. Farrar, I know you to be a rising young man of sound principles, and

Mr. Crocker likewise. You are the only ones who can sail. Have you

reflected that you are about to ruin your careers?"

"We are prepared to take the chances, I think," said Farrar.

Mr. Cooke looked us over, proudly and gratefully, as much as to say that

while he lived we should not lack the necessities of life.

At nine we embarked, the Celebrity and Mr. Trevor for the same reason

that the animals took to the ark,--because they had to. There was a

spanking breeze in the west-northwest, and a clear sky, a day of days for

a sail. Mr. Cooke produced a map, which Farrar and I consulted, and

without much trouble we hit upon a quiet place to land on the Canadian

side. Our course was north-northwest, and therefore the wind enabled us

to hold it without much trouble. Bear Island is situated some eighteen

miles from shore, and about equidistant between Asquith and Far Harbor,

which latter we had to pass on our way northward.

Although a brisk sea was on, the wind had been steady from that quarter

all night, and the motion was uniform. The Maria was an excellent

sea-boat. There was no indication, therefore, of the return of that

malady which had been so prevalent on the passage to Bear Island. Mr.

Cooke had never felt better, and looked every inch a sea-captain in his

natty yachting-suit. He had acquired a tan on the island; and, as is

eminently proper on a boat, he affected nautical manners and nautical

ways. But his vernacular savored so hopelessly of the track and stall

that he had been able to acquire no mastery over the art of marine

invective. And he possessed not so much as one maritime oath. As soon

as we had swung clear of the cove he made for the weather stays, where he

assumed a posture not unlike that in the famous picture of Farragut

ascending Mobile Bay. His leather case was swung over his shoulder, and

with his glasses he swept the lake in search of the Scimitar and other

vessels of a like unamiable character.

Although my client could have told you, offhand, jackstraw's last mile in

a bicycle sulky, his notion of the Scimitar's speed was as vague as his

knowledge of seamanship. And when I informed him that in all probability

she had already passed the light on Far Harbor reef, some nine miles this

side of the Far Harbor police station, he went into an inordinate state

of excitement. Mr. Cooke was, indeed, that day the embodiment of an

unselfish if misdirected zeal. He was following the dictates of both

heart and conscience in his endeavor to rescue his guest from the law;

and true zeal is invariably contagious. What but such could have

commanded the unremitting labors of that morning? Farrar himself had

done three men's work before breakfast, and it was, in great part, owing

to him that we were now leaving the island behind us. He was sailing the

Maria that day as she will never be sailed again: her lee gunwale awash,

and a wake like a surveyor's line behind her. More than once I called to

mind his facetious observation about Mr. Drew, and wondered if he knew

more than he had said about the detective.

Once in the open, the Maria showed but small consideration for her

passengers, for she went through the seas rather than over them. And Mr.

Cooke, manfully keeping his station on the weather bow, likewise went

through the seas. No argument could induce him to leave the post he had

thus heroically chosen, which was one of honor rather than utility, for

the lake was as vacant of sails as the day that Father Marquette (or some

one else) first beheld it. Under such circumstances ease must be

considered as only a relative term; and the accommodations of the Maria

afforded but two comfortable spots,--the cabin, and the lea aft of the

cabin bulkhead. This being the case, the somewhat peculiar internal

relations of the party decided its grouping.

I know of no worse place than a small yacht, or than a large one for that

matter, for uncongenial people. The Four betook themselves to the cabin,

which was fortunately large, and made life bearable with a game of cards;

while Mrs. Cooke, whose adaptability and sense I had come greatly to,

admire, contented herself with a corner and a book. The ungrateful cause

of the expedition himself occupied another corner. I caught sight of him

through the cabin skylight, and the silver pencil he was holding over his

note-book showed unmistakable marks of teeth.

Outside, Mr. Trevor, his face wearing an immutable expression of defiance

for the wickedness surrounding him, had placed his daughter for

safe-keeping between himself and the only other reliable character on

board,--the refrigerator. But Miss Thorn appeared in a blue mackintosh

and a pair of heavy yachting-boots, courting rather than avoiding a

drenching. Even a mackintosh is becoming to some women. All morning she

sat behind Mr. Cooke, on the rise of the cabin, her back against the mast

and her hair flying in the wind, and I, for one, was not sorry the

Celebrity had given us this excuse for a sail.

CHAPTER XVI

About half-past eleven Mr. Cooke's vigilance was rewarded by a glimpse

of the lighthouse on Far Harbor reef, and almost simultaneously he picked

up, to the westward, the ragged outline of the house-tops and spires of

the town itself. But as we neared the reef the harbor appeared as quiet

as a Sunday morning: a few Mackinaws were sailing hither and thither, and

the Far Harbor and Beaverton boat was coming out. My client, in view

of the peaceful aspect affairs had assumed, presently consented to

relinquish his post, and handed the glasses over to me with an injunction

to be watchful.

I promised. And Mr. Cooke, feeling his way aft with more discretion than

grace, finally descended into the cabin, where he was noisily received.

And I was left with Miss Thorn. While my client had been there in front

of us, his lively conversation and naive if profane remarks kept us in

continual laughter. When with him it was utterly impossible to see any

other than the ludicrous side of this madcap adventure, albeit he himself

was so keenly in earnest as to its performance. It was with misgiving

that I saw him disappear into the hatchway, and my impulse was to follow

him. Our spirits, like those in a thermometer, are never stationary:

mine were continually being sent up or down. The night before, when I

had sat with Miss Thorn beside the fire, they went up; this morning her

anxious solicitude for the Celebrity had sent them down again. She both

puzzled and vexed me. I could not desert my post as lookout, and I

remained in somewhat awkward suspense as to what she was going to say,

gazing at distant objects through the glasses. Her remark, when it came,

took me by surprise.

"I am afraid," she said seriously, "that Uncle Fenelon's principles are

not all that they should be. His morality is something like his tobacco,

which doesn't injure him particularly, but is dangerous to others."

I was more than willing to meet her on the neutral ground of Uncle

Fenelon.

"Do you think his principles contagious?" I asked.

"They have not met with the opposition they deserve," she replied.

"Uncle Fenelon's ideas of life are not those of other men,--yours, for

instance. And his affairs, mental and material, are, happily for him,

such that he can generally carry out his notions with small

inconvenience. He is no doubt convinced that he is acting generously in

attempting to rescue the Celebrity from a term in prison; what he does

not realize is that he is acting ungenerously to other guests who have

infinitely more at stake."

"But our friend from Ohio has done his best to impress this upon him,"

I replied, failing to perceive her drift; "and if his words are wasted,

surely the thing is hopeless."

"I am not joking," said she. "I was not thinking of Mr. Trevor, but of

you. I like you, Mr. Crocker. You may not believe it, but I do."

For the life of me I could think of no fitting reply to this declaration.

Why was that abominable word "like" ever put into the English language?

"Yes, I like you," she continued meditatively, "in the face of the fact

that you persist in disliking me."

"Nothing of the kind."

"Oh, I know. You mustn't think me so stupid as all that. It is a

mortifying truth that I like you, and that you have no use for me."

I have never known how to take a jest from a woman. I suppose I should

have laughed this off. Instead, I made a fool of myself.

"I shall be as frank with you," I said, "and declare that I like you,

though I should be much happier if I didn't."

She blushed at this, if I am not mistaken. Perhaps it was unlooked for.

"At any rate," she went on, "I should deem it my duty to warn you of the

consequences of this joke of yours. They may not be all that you have

anticipated. The consequences for you, I mean, which you do not seem to

have taken into account."

"Consequences for me!" I exclaimed.

"I fear that you will think what I am going to say uncalled for, and that

I am meddling with something that does not concern me. But it seems to

me that you are undervaluing the thing you have worked so hard to attain.

They say that you have ability, that you have acquired a practice and a

position which at your age give the highest promise for the future. That

you are to be counsel for the railroad. In short, that you are the

coming man in this section of the state. I have found this out," said

she, cutting short my objections, "in spite of the short time I have been

here."

"Nonsense!" I said, reddening in my turn.

"Suppose that the Celebrity is captured," she continued, thrusting her

hands into the pockets of her mackintosh. "It appears that he is

shadowed, and it is not unreasonable to expect that we shall be chased

before the day is over. Then we shall be caught red-handed in an attempt

to get a criminal over the border. Please wait until I have finished,"

she said, holding up her hand at an interruption I was about to make.

"You and I know he is not a criminal; but he might as well be as far as

you are concerned. As district attorney you are doubtless known to the

local authorities. If the Celebrity is arrested after a long pursuit, it

will avail you nothing to affirm that you knew all along he was the noted

writer. You will pardon me if I say that they will not believe you then.

He will be taken East for identification. And if I know anything about

politics, and especially the state of affairs in local politics with

which you are concerned, the incident and the interval following it will

be fatal to your chances with the railroad,--to your chances in general.

You perceive, Mr. Crocker, how impossible it is to play with fire without

being burned."

I did perceive. At the time the amazing thoroughness with which she had

gone into the subject of my own unimportant affairs, the astuteness and

knowledge of the world she had shown, and the clearness with which she

had put the situation, did not strike me. Nothing struck me but the

alarming sense of my own stupidity, which was as keen as I have ever felt

it. What man in a public position, however humble, has not political

enemies? The image of O'Meara was wafted suddenly before me,

disagreeably near, and his face wore the smile of victory. All of Mr.

Cooke's money could not save me. My spirits sank as the immediate future

unfolded itself, and I even read the article in O'Meara's organ, the

Northern Lights, which was to be instrumental in divesting me of my

public trust and fair fame generally. Yes, if the Celebrity was caught

on the other side of Far Harbor, all would be up with John Crocker! But

it would never do to let Miss Thorn discover my discomfiture.

"There is something in what you say," I replied, with what bravado I

could muster.

"A little, I think," she returned, smiling; "now, what I wish you to do

is to make Uncle Fenelon put into Far Harbor. If he refuses, you can go

in in spite of him, since you and Mr. Farrar are the only ones who can

sail. You have the situation in your own hands."

There was certainly wisdom in this, also. But the die was cast now, and

pride alone was sufficient to hold me to the course I had rashly begun

upon. Pride! What an awkward thing it is, and more difficult for most

of us to swallow than a sponge.

"I thank you for this interest in my welfare, Miss Thorn," I began.

"No fine speeches, please, sir," she cut in, "but do as I advise."

"I fear I cannot."

"Why do you say that? The thing is simplicity itself."

"I should lose my self-respect as a practical joker. And besides,"

I said maliciously, "I started out to have some fun with the Celebrity,

and I want to have it."

"Well," she replied, rather coolly, "of course you can do as you choose."

We were passing within a hundred yards of the lighthouse, set cheerlessly

on the bald and sandy tip of the point. An icy silence sat between us,

and such a silence is invariably insinuating. This one suggested a

horrible thought. What if Miss Thorn had warned me in order to save the

Celebrity from humiliation? I thrust it aside, but it returned again and

grinned. Had she not practised insincerity before? And any one with

half an eye could see that she was in love with the Celebrity; even the

Fraction had remarked it. What more natural than, with her cleverness,

she had hit upon this means of terminating the author's troubles by

working upon my fears?

Human weakness often proves too much for those of us who have the very

best intentions. Up to now the refrigerator and Mr. Trevor had kept the

strictest and most jealous of vigils over Irene. But at length the

senator succumbed to the drowsiness which never failed to attack him at

this hour, and he forgot the disrepute of his surroundings in a

respectable sleep. Whereupon his daughter joined us on the forecastle.

"I knew that would happen to papa if I only waited long enough," she

said. "Oh, he thinks you're dreadful, Mr. Crocker. He says that

nowadays young men haven't any principle. I mustn't be seen talking to

you."

"I have been trying to convince Mr. Crocker that his stand in the matter

is not only immoral, but suicidal," said Miss Thorn. "Perhaps," she

added meaningly, "he will listen to you."

"I don't understand," answered Miss Trevor.

"Miss Thorn has been good enough to point out," I explained, "that the

political machine in this section, which has the honor to detest me, will

seize upon the pretext of the Celebrity's capture to ruin me. They will

take the will for the deed."

"Of course they will do just that," cried Miss Trevor. "How bright of

you to think of it, Marian!"

Miss Thorn stood up.

"I leave you to persuade him," said she; "I have no doubt you will be

able to do it."

With that she left us, quite suddenly. Abruptly, I thought. And her

manner seemed to impress Miss Trevor.

"I wonder what is the matter with Marian," said she, and leaned over the

skylight. "Why, she has gone down to talk with the Celebrity."

"Isn't that rather natural?" I asked with asperity.

She turned to me with an amused expression.

"Her conduct seems to worry you vastly, Mr. Crocker. I noticed that you

were quite upset this morning in the cave. Why was it?"

"You must have imagined it," I said stiffly.

"I should like to know," she said, with the air of one trying to solve a

knotty problem, "I should like to know how many men are as blind as you."

"You are quite beyond me, Miss Trevor," I answered; "may I request you to

put that remark in other words?"

"I protest that you are a most unsatisfactory person," she went on, not

heeding my annoyance. "Most abnormally modest people are. If I were to

stick you with this hat-pin, for instance, you would accept the matter as

a positive insult."

"I certainly should," I said, laughing; "and, besides, it would be

painful."

"There you are," said she, exultingly; "I knew it. But I flatter myself

there are men who would go into an ecstasy of delight if I ran a hat-pin

into them. I am merely taking this as an illustration of my point."

"It is a very fine point," said I. "But some people take pleasure in odd

things. I can easily conceive of a man gallant enough to suffer the

agony for the sake of pleasing a pretty girl."

"I told you so," she pouted; "you have missed it entirely. You are

hopelessly blind on that side, and numb. Perhaps you didn't know that

you have had a hat-pin sticking in you for some time."

I began feeling myself, nervously.

"For more than a month," she cried, "and to think that you have never

felt it." My action was too much for her gravity, and she fell back

against the skylight in a fit of merriment, which threatened to wake her

father. And I hoped it would.

"It pleases you to speak in parables this morning," I said.

"Mr. Crocker," she began again, when she had regained her speech, "shall

I tell you of a great misfortune which might happen to a girl?"