"I should be pleased to hear it," I replied courteously.

"That misfortune, then, would be to fall in love with you."

"Happily that is not within the limits of probability," I answered,

beginning to be a little amused. "But why?"

"Lightning often strikes where it is least expected," she replied archly.

"Listen. If a young woman were unlucky enough to lose her heart to you,

she might do everything but tell you, and you would never know it. I

scarcely believe you would know it if she did tell you."

I must have jumped unconsciously.

"Oh, you needn't think I am in love with you."

"Not for a minute," I made haste to say.

She pointed towards the timber-covered hills beyond the shore.

"Do you see that stream which comes foaming down the notch into the lake

in front of us?" she asked. "Let us suppose that you lived in a cabin

beside that brook; and that once in a while, when you went out to draw

your water, you saw a nugget of--gold washing along with the pebbles on

the bed. How many days do you think you would be in coming to the

conclusion that there was a pocket of gold somewhere above you, and in

starting in search of it?"

"Not long, surely."

"Ah, you are not lacking in perception there. But if I were to tell you

that I knew of the existence of such a mine, from various proofs I have

had, and that the mine was in the possession of a certain person who was

quite willing to share it with you on application, you would not believe

me."

"Probably not."

"Well," said Miss Trevor, with a nod of finality, "I was actually about

to make such a disclosure. But I see it would be useless."

I confess she aroused my curiosity. No coaxing, however, would induce

her to interpret.

"No," she insisted strangely, "if you cannot put two and two together, I

fear I cannot help you. And no one I ever heard of has come to any good

by meddling."

Miss Trevor folded her hands across her lap. She wore that air which I

am led to believe is common to all women who have something of importance

to disclose; or at least what they consider is of importance. There was

an element of pity, too, in her expression. For she had given me my

chance, and my wits had been found wanting.

Do not let it be surmised that I attach any great value to such banter as

she had been indulging in. At the same time, however, I had an uneasy

feeling that I had missed something which might have been to my

advantage. It was in vain that I whipped my dull senses; but one

conclusion was indicated by all this inference, and I don't care even to

mention that: it was preposterous.

Then Miss Trevor shifted to a very serious mood. She honestly did her

best to persuade me to relinquish our enterprise, to go to Mr. Cooke and

confess the whole thing.

"I wish we had washed our hands of this Celebrity from the first," she

said, with a sigh. "How dreadful if you lose your position on account of

this foolishness!"

"But I shan't," I answered reassuringly; "we are getting near the border

now, and no sign of trouble. And besides," I added, "I think Miss Thorn

tried to frighten me. And she very nearly succeeded. It was prettily

done."

"Of course she tried to frighten you. I wish she had succeeded."

"But her object was transparent."

"Her object!" she exclaimed. "Her object was to save you."

"I think not," I replied; "it was to save the Celebrity."

Miss Trevor rose and grasped one of the sail rings to keep her balance.

She looked at me pityingly.

"Do you really believe that?"

"Firmly."

"Then you are hopeless, Mr. Crocker, totally hopeless. I give you up."

And she went back to her seat beside the refrigerator.

CHAPTER XVII

"Crocker, old man, Crocker, what the devil does that mean?"

I turned with a start to perceive a bare head thrust above the cabin

roof, the scant hair flying, and two large, brown eyes staring into mine

full of alarm and reproach. A plump finger was pointing to where the

sandy reef lay far astern of us.

The Mackinaws were flecked far and wide over the lake, and a dirty smudge

on the blue showed where the Far Harbor and Beaverton boat had gone over

the horizon. But there, over the point and dangerously close to the

land, hung another smudge, gradually pushing its way like a writhing,

black serpent, lakewards. Thus I was rudely jerked back to face the

problem with which we had left the island that morning.

I snatched the neglected glasses from the deck and hurried aft to join my

client on the overhang, but a pipe was all they revealed above the bleak

hillocks of sand. My client turned to me with a face that was white

under the tan.

"Crocker," he cried, in a tragic voice, "it's a blessed police boat, or I

never picked a winner."

"Nonsense," I said; "other boats smoke beside police boats. The lake is

full of tugs."

I was a little nettled at having been scared for a molehill.

"But I know it, sure as hell," he insisted.

"You know nothing about it, and won't for an hour. What's a pipe and a

trail of smoke?"

He laid a hand on my shoulder, and I felt it tremble.

"Why do you suppose I came out?" he demanded solemnly.

"You were probably losing," I said.

"I was winning."

"Then you got tired of winning."

But he held up a thumb within a few inches of my face, and with it a ring

I had often noticed, a huge opal which he customarily wore on the inside

of his hand.

"She's dead," said Mr. Cooke, sadly.

"Dead?" I repeated, perplexed.

"Yes, she's dead as the day I lost the two thousand at Sheepshead. She's

never gone back on me yet. And unless I can make some little arrangement

with those fellows," he added, tossing his head at the smoke, "you and I

will put up to-night in some barn of a jail. I've never been in jail but

once," said Mr. Cooke, "and it isn't so damned pleasant, I assure you."

I saw that he believed every word of it; in fact, that it was his

religion. I might as well have tried to argue the Sultan out of

Mohammedanism.

The pipe belonged to a tug, that was certain. Farrar said so after a

look over his shoulder, disdaining glasses, and he knew the lake better

than many who made their living by it. It was then that I made note of a

curious anomaly in the betting character; for thus far Mr. Cooke, like a

great many of his friends, was a skeptic. He never ceased to hope until

the stake had found its way into the other man's pocket. And it was for

hope that he now applied to Farrar. But even Farrar did not attempt to

account for the tug's appearance that near the land.

"She's in some detestable hurry to get up this way, that's flat," he

said; "where she is, the channel out of the harbor is not forty feet

wide."

By this time the rest of the party were gathered behind us on the high

side of the boat, in different stages of excitement, scrutinizing the

smoke. Mr. Cooke had the glasses glued to his eyes again, his feet

braced apart, and every line of his body bespeaking the tension of his

mind. I imagined him standing thus, the stump of his cigar tightly

clutched between his teeth, following the fortunes of some favorite on

the far side of the Belmont track.

We waited without comment while the smoke crept by degrees towards the

little white spindle on the tip of the point, now and again catching a

gleam of the sun's rays from off the glass of the lantern. And

presently, against the white lather of the lake, I thought I caught sight

of a black nose pushed out beyond the land. Another moment, and the tug

itself was bobbing in the open. Barely had she reached the deep water

beyond the sands when her length began to shorten, and the dense cloud of

smoke that rose made it plain that she was firing. At the sight I

reflected that I had been a fool indeed. A scant flue miles of water lay

between us and her, and if they really meant business back there, and

they gave every sign of it, we had about an hour and a half to get rid of

the Celebrity. The Maria was a good boat, but she had not been built to

try conclusions with a Far Harbor tug.

My client, in spite of the ominous condition of his opal, was not slow to

make his intentions exceedingly clear. For Mr. Cooke was first and last,

and always, a gentleman. After that you might call him anything you

pleased. Meditatively he screwed up his glasses and buckled them into

the case, and then he descended to the cockpit. It was the Celebrity he

singled out of the party.

"Allen," said he, when he stood before him, "I want to impress on you

that my word's gold. I've stuck to you thus far, and I'll be damned now

if I throw you over, like they did Jonah."

Mr. Cooke spoke with a fine dignity that in itself was impressive, and

when he had finished he looked about him until his eye rested on Mr.

Trevor, as though opposition were to come from that quarter. And the

senator gave every sign of another eruption. But the Celebrity, either

from lack of appreciation of my client's loyalty, or because of the

nervousness which was beginning to show itself in his demeanor, despite

an effort to hide it, returned no answer. He turned on his heel and

resumed his seat in the cabin. Mr. Cooke was visibly affected.

"I'd sooner lose my whip hand than go back on him now," he declared.

Then Vesuvius began to rumble.

"Mr. Cooke," said the senator, "may I suggest something which seems

pertinent to me, though it does not appear to have occurred to you?"

His tone was the calm one that the heroes used in the Celebrity's novels

when they were about to drop on and annihilate wicked men.

"Certainly, sir," my client replied briskly, bringing himself up on his

way back to the overhang.

"You have announced your intention of 'standing by' Mr. Allen, as you

express it. Have you reflected that there are some others who deserve to

be consulted and considered beside Mr. Allen and yourself?"

Mr. Cooke was puzzled at this change of front, and unused, moreover, to

that veiled irony of parliamentary expression.

"Talk English, my friend," said he.

"In plain words, sir, Mr. Allen is a criminal who ought to be locked up;

he is a menace to society. You, who have a reputation, I am given to

understand, for driving four horses, have nothing to lose by a scandal,

while I have worked all my life for the little I have achieved, and have

a daughter to think about. I will neither stand by Mr. Allen nor by

you."

Mr. Cooke was ready with a retort when the true significance of this

struck him. Things were a trifle different now. The tables had turned

since leaving the island, and the senator held it in his power to ruin

our one remaining chance of escape. Strangely enough, he missed the

cause of Mr. Cooke's hesitation.

"Look here, old man," said my client, biting off another cigar, "I'm a

first-rate fellow when you get to know me, and I'd do the same for you as

I'm doing for Allen."

"I daresay, sir, I daresay," said the other, a trifle mollified; "I don't

claim that you're not acting as you think right."

"I see it," said Mr. Cooke, with admirable humility; "I see it. I was

wrong to haul you into this, Trevor. And the only thing to consider now

is, how to get you out of it."

Here he appeared for a moment to be wrapped in deep thought, and checked

with his cigar an attempt to interrupt him.

"However you put it, old man," he said at last, "we're all in a pretty

bad hole."

"All!" cried Mr. Trevor, indignantly.

"Yes, all," asserted Mr. Cooke, with composure. "There are the police,

and here is Allen as good as run down. If they find him when they get

abroad, you don't suppose they'll swallow anything you have to say about

trying to deliver him over. No, sir, you'll be bagged and fined along

with the rest of us. And I'd be damned sorry to see it, if I do say it;

and I blame myself freely for it, old man. Now you take my advice and

keep your mouth shut, and I'll take care of you. I've got a place for

Allen."

During this somewhat remarkable speech Mr. Trevor, as it were, blew hot

and cold by turns. Although its delivery was inconsiderate, its logic

was undeniable, and the senator sat down again on the locker, and was

silent. But I marked that off and on his fingers would open and shut

convulsively.

Time alone would disclose what was to happen to us; in the interval there

was nothing to do but wait. We had reached the stage where anxiety

begins to take the place of excitement, and we shifted restlessly from

spot to spot and looked at the tug. She was ploughing along after us,

and to such good purpose that presently I began to catch the white of the

seas along her bows, and the bright red with which her pipe was tipped.

Farrar alone seemed to take but slight interest in her. More than once I

glanced at him as he stood under me, but his eye was on the shuddering

leach of the sail. Then I leaned over.

"What do you think of it?" I asked.

"I told you this morning Drew would have handcuffs on him before night,"

he replied, without raising his head.

"Hang your joking, Farrar; I know more than you about it."

"Then what's the use of asking me?"

"Don't you see that I'm ruined if we're caught?" I demanded, a little

warmly.

"No, I don't see it," he replied. "You don't suppose I think you fool

enough to risk this comedy if the man were guilty, do you? I don't

believe all that rubbish about his being the criminal's double, either.

That's something the girls got up for your benefit."

I ignored this piece of brutality.

"But I'm ruined anyway."

"How?"

I explained shortly what I thought our friend, O'Meara, would do under

the circumstances. An inference sufficed Farrar.

"Why didn't you say something about this before?" he asked gravely.

"I would have put into Far Harbor."

"Because I didn't think of it," I confessed.

Farrar pulled down the corners of his mouth with trying not to smile.

"Miss Thorn is a woman of brains," he remarked gently; "I respect her."

I wondered by what mysterious train of reasoning he had arrived at this

conclusion. He said nothing for a while, but toyed with the spokes of

the wheel, keeping the wind in the sail with undue nicety.

"I can't make them out," he said, all at once.

"Then you believe they're after us?"

"I changed the course a point or two, just to try them."

"And--"

"And they changed theirs."

"Who could have informed?"

"Drew, of course," I said; "who else?"

He laughed.

"Drew doesn't know anything about Allen," said he; "and, besides, he's no

more of a detective than I am."

"But Drew was told there was a criminal on the island."

"Who told him?"

I repeated the conversation between Drew and Mr. Trevor which I had

overheard. Farrar whistled.

"But you did not speak of that this morning," said he.

"No," I replied, feeling anything but comfortable. At times when he was

facetious as he had been this morning I was wont to lose sight of the

fact that with Farrar the manner was not the man, and to forget the

warmth of his friendship. I was again to be reminded of this.

"Well, Crocker," he said briefly, "I would willingly give up this year's

state contract to have known it."

CHAPTER XVIII

It was, accurately as I can remember, half after noon when Mr. Cooke

first caught the smoke over the point, for the sun was very high: at two

our fate had been decided. I have already tried to describe a part of

what took place in that hour and a half, although even now I cannot get

it all straight in my mind. Races, when a great deal is at stake, are

more or less chaotic: a close four miles in a college eight is a

succession of blurs with lucid but irrelevant intervals. The weary

months of hard work are forgotten, and you are quite as apt to think of

your first velocipede, or of the pie that is awaiting you in the

boathouse, as of victory and defeat. And a yacht race, with a pair of

rivals on your beam, is very much the same.

As I sat with my feet dangling over the washboard, I reflected, once or

twice, that we were engaged in a race. All I had to do was to twist my

head in order to make sure of it. I also reflected, I believe, that I

was in the position of a man who has bet all he owns, with large odds on

losing either way. But on the whole I was occupied with more trivial

matters a letter I had forgotten to write about a month's rent, a client

whose summer address I had mislaid. The sun was burning my neck behind

when a whistle aroused me to the realization that the tug was no longer a

toy boat dancing in the distance, but a stern fact but two miles away.

There could be no mistake now, for I saw the white steam of the signal

against the smoke.

I slid down and went into the cabin. The Celebrity was in the corner by

the companionway, with his head on the cushions and a book in his hand.

And forward, under the low deck beams beyond the skylight, I beheld the

crouching figure of my client. He had stripped off his coat and was busy

at some task on the floor.

"They're whistling for us to stop," I said to him.

"How near are they, old man?" he asked, without looking up.

The perspiration was streaming down his face, and he held a brace and bit

in his hand. Under him was the trap-door which gave access to the

ballast below, and through this he had bored a neat hole. The yellow

chips were still on his clothes.

"They're not two miles away," I answered. "But what in mystery are you

doing there?"

But he only laid a finger beside his nose and bestowed a wink in my

direction. Then he took some ashes from his cigar, wetted his finger,

and thus ingeniously removed all appearance of newness from the hole he

had made, carefully cleaning up the chips and putting them in his pocket.

Finally he concealed the brace and bit and opened the trap, disclosing

the rough stones of the ballast. I watched him in amazement as he tore a

mattress from an adjoining bunk and forced it through the opening,

spreading it fore and aft over the stones.

"Now," he said, regaining his feet and surveying the whole with

undisguised satisfaction, "he'll be as safe there as in my new family

vault."

"But" I began, a light dawning upon me.

"Allen, old man," said Mr. Cooke, "come here."

The Celebrity laid down his book and looked up: my client was putting on

his coat.

"Come here, old man," he repeated.

And he actually came. But he stopped when he caught sight of the open

trap and of the mattress beneath it.

"How will that suit you?" asked Mr. Cooke, smiling broadly as he wiped

his face with an embroidered handkerchief.

The Celebrity looked at the mattress, then at me, and lastly at Mr.

Cooke. His face was a study:

"And--And you think I am going to get in there?" he said, his voice

shaking.

My client fell back a step.

"Why not?" he demanded. "It's about your size, comfortable, and all the

air you want" (here Mr. Cooke stuck his finger through the bit hole).

"Damn me, if I were in your fix, I wouldn't stop at a kennel."

"Then you're cursed badly mistaken," said the Celebrity, going back to

his corner; "I'm tired of being made an ass of for you and your party."

"An ass!" exclaimed my client, in proper indignation.

"Yes, an ass," said the Celebrity. And he resumed his book.

It would seem that a student of human nature, such as every successful

writer should be, might by this time have arrived at some conception of

my client's character, simple as it was, and have learned to overlook the

slight peculiarity in his mode of expressing himself. But here the

Celebrity fell short, if my client's emotions were not pitched in the

same key as those of other people, who shall say that his heart was not

as large or his sympathies as wide as many another philanthropist?

But Mr. Cooke was an optimist, and as such disposed to look at the best

side of his friends and ignore the worst; if, indeed, he perceived their

faults at all. It was plain to me, even now, that he did not comprehend

the Celebrity's attitude. That his guest should reject the one hope of

escape left him was, according to Mr. Cooke, only to be accounted for by

a loss of mental balance. Nevertheless, his disappointment was keen. He

let down the door and slowly led the way out of the cabin. The whistle

sounded shrilly in our ears.

Mr. Cooke sat down and drew a wallet from his pocket. He began to count

the bills, and, as if by common consent, the Four followed suit. It was

a task which occupied some minutes, and when completed my client produced

a morocco note-book and a pencil. He glanced interrogatively at the man

nearest him.

"Three hundred and fifty."

Mr. Cooke put it down. It was entirely a matter of course. What else

was there to be done? And when he had gone the round of his followers he

turned to Farrar and me.

"How much are you fellows equal to?" he asked.

I believe he did it because he felt we should resent being left out: and

so we should have. Mr. Cooke's instincts were delicate.

We told him. Then he paused, his pencil in the air, and his eyes

doubtfully fixed on the senator. For all this time Mr. Trevor had been

fidgeting in his seat; but now he opened his long coat, button by button,

and thrust his hand inside the flap. Oh, Falstaff!

"Father, father!" exclaimed Miss Trevor. But her tongue was in her

cheek.

I have heard it stated that if a thoroughly righteous man were cast away

with ninety and nine ruffians, each of the ruffians would gain

one-one-hundredth in virtue, whilst the righteous man would sink to their

new level. I am not able to say how much better Mr. Cooke's party was

for Mr. Trevor's company, but the senator seemed to realize that

something serious had happened to him, for his voice was not altogether

steady as he pronounced the amount of his contribution.

"Trevor," cried Mr. Cooke, with great fervor, "I take it all back.

You're a true, public-spirited old sport."

But the senator had not yet reached that extreme of degradation where it

is pleasurable to be congratulated on wickedness.

My client added up the figures and rubbed his hands. I regret to say

that the aggregate would have bought up three small police organizations,

body and soul.

"Pull up, Farrar, old man," he shouted.

Farrar released the wheel and threw the Maria into the wind. With the

sail cracking and the big boom dodging over our heads, we watched the tug

as she drew nearer and nearer, until we could hear the loud beating of

her engines. On one side some men were making ready to lower a boat, and

then a conspicuous figure in blue stood out by the davits. Then came the

faint tinkle of a bell, and the H Sinclair, of Far Harbor, glided up and

thrashed the water scarce a biscuit-throw away.

"Hello, there!" the man in uniform called out. It was Captain McCann,

chief of the Far Harbor police.

Mr. Cooke waved his cigar politely.

"Is that Mr. Cooke's yacht, the Maria?

"The same," said Mr. Cooke.

"I'm fearing I'll have to come aboard you, Mr. Cooke."

"All right, old man, glad to have you," said my client.

This brought a smile to McCann's face as he got into his boat. We were

all standing in the cockpit, save the Celebrity, who was just inside of

the cabin door. I had time to note that he was pale, and no more: I must

have been pale myself. A few strokes brought the chief to the Maria's

stern.

"It's not me that likes to interfere with a gent's pleasure party, but

business is business," said he, as he climbed aboard.

My client's hospitality was oriental.

"Make yourself at home, old man," he said, a box of his largest and

blackest cigars in his hand. And these he advanced towards McCann before

the knot was tied in the painter.

Then a wave of self-reproach swept over me. Was it possible that I, like

Mr. Trevor, had been deprived of all the morals I had ever possessed?

Could it be that the district attorney was looking calmly on while Mr.

Cooke wilfully corrupted the Far Harbor chief-of-police? As agonizing a

minute as I ever had in my life was that which it took McCann to survey

those cigars. His broad features became broader still, as a huge, red

hand was reached out. I saw it close lingeringly over the box, and then

Mr. Cooke had struck a match. The chief stepped over the washboard onto

the handsome turkey-red cushions on the seats, and thus he came face to

face with me.

"Holy fathers!" he exclaimed. "Is it you who are here, Mr. Crocker?"

And he pulled off his cap.

"No other, McCann," said I, with what I believe was a most pitiful

attempt at braggadocio.

McCann began to puff at his cigar. Clouds of smoke came out of his face

and floated down the wind. He was so visibly embarrassed that I gained a

little courage.

"And what brings you here?" I demanded.

He scrutinized me in perplexity.

"I think you're guessing, sir."

"Never a guess, McCann. You'll have to explain yourself."

McCann had once had a wholesome respect for me. But it looked now as if

the bottom was dropping out of it.

"Sure, Mr. Crocker," he said, "what would you be doing in such company as

I'm hunting for? Can it be that ye're helping to lift a criminal over

the border?"

"McCann," I asked sternly, "what have you had on the, tug?"

Force of habit proved too much for the man. He went back to the

apologetic.

"Never a drop, Mr. Crocker. Upon me soul!"

This reminded Mr. Cooke of something (be it recorded) that he had for

once forgotten. He lifted up the top of the refrigerator. The chief's

eye followed him. But I was not going to permit this.

"Now, McCann," I commenced again, "if you will state your business here,

if you have any, I shall be obliged. You are delaying Mr. Cooke."

The chief was seized with a nervous tremor. I think we were a pair in

that, only I managed to keep mine, under. When it came to the point,

and any bribing was to be done, I had hit upon a course. Self-respect

demanded a dignity on my part. With a painful indecision McCann pulled

a paper from his pocket which I saw was a warrant. And he dropped his

cigar. Mr. Cooke was quick to give him another.

"Ye come from Bear Island, Mr. Crocker?" he inquired.

I replied in the affirmative.

"I hope it's news I'm telling you," he said soberly; "I'm hoping it's

news when I say that I'm here for Mr. Charles Wrexell Allen,--that's the

gentleman's name. He's after taking a hundred thousand dollars away from

Boston." Then he turned to Mr. Cooke. "The gentleman was aboard your

boat, sir, when you left that country place of yours,--what d'ye call it?

--Mohair? Thank you, sir." And he wiped the water from his brow. "And

they're telling me he was on Bear Island with ye? Sure, sir, and I can't

see why a gentleman of your standing would be wanting to get him over the

border. But I must do my duty. Begging your pardon, Mr. Crocker," he

added, with a bow to me.

"Certainly, McCann," I said.

For a space there was only the bumping and straining of the yacht and the

swish of the water against her sides. Then the chief spoke again.

"It will be saving you both trouble and inconvenience, Mr. Crocker, if

you give him up, sir."

What did the man mean? Why in the name of the law didn't he make a move?

I was conscious that my client was fumbling in his clothes for the

wallet; that he had muttered an invitation for the chief to go inside.

McCann smoked uneasily.

"I don't want to search the boat, sir."

At these words we all turned with one accord towards the cabin. I felt

Farrar gripping my arm tightly from behind.

The Celebrity had disappeared!

It was Mr. Cooke who spoke.

"Search the boat!" he said, something between a laugh and a cry.

"Yes, sir," the chief repeated firmly. "It's sorry I am to do it, with

Mr. Crocker here, too."

I have always maintained that nature had endowed my client with rare

gifts; and the ease with which he now assumed a part thus unexpectedly

thrust upon him, as well as the assurance with which he carried it out,

goes far to prove it.

"If there's anything in your line aboard, chief," he said blandly, "help

yourself!"

Some of us laughed. I thought things a little too close to be funny.

Since the Celebrity had lost his nerve and betaken himself to the place

of concealment Mr. Cooke had prepared for him, the whole composition of

the affair was changed. Before, if McCann had arrested the ostensible

Mr. Allen, my word, added to fifty dollars from my client, would probably

have been sufficient. Should he be found now, no district attorney on

the face of the earth could induce the chief to believe that he was any

other than the real criminal; nor would any bribe be large enough to

compensate McCann for the consequences of losing so important a prisoner.

There was nothing now but to carry it off with a high hand. McCann got

up.

"Be your lave, Mr. Crocker," he said.

"Never you mind me, McCann," I replied, "but you do what is right."

With that he began his search. It might have been ludicrous if I had had

any desire to laugh, for the chief wore the gingerly air of a man looking

for a rattlesnake which has to be got somehow. And my client assisted at

the inspection with all the graces of a dancing-master. McCann poked

into the forward lockers where we kept the stores,--dropping the iron lid

within an inch of his toe,--and the clothing-lockers and the

sail-lockers. He reached under the bunks, and drew out his hand again

quickly, as though he expected to be bitten. And at last he stood by the

trap with the hole in it, under which the Celebrity lay prostrate. I

could hear my own breathing. But Mr. Cooke had his wits about him still,

and at this critical juncture he gave McCann a thump on the back which

nearly carried him off his feet.

"They say the mast is hollow, old man," he suggested.

"Be jabers, Mr. Cooke," said McCann, "and I'm beginning to think it is!

"He took off his cap and scratched his head.

"Well, McCann, I hope you're contented," I said.

"Mr. Crocker," said he, "and it's that thankful I am for you that the

gent ain't here. But with him cutting high finks up at Mr. Cooke's house

with a valet, and him coming on the yacht with yese, and the whole

country in that state about him, begorra," said McCann, "and it's domned

strange! Maybe it's swimmin' in the water he is!"

The whole party had followed the search, and at this speech of the

chief's our nervous tension became suddenly relaxed. Most of us sat down

to laugh.

"I'm asking no questions, Mr. Crocker, yell take notice," he remarked,

his voice full of reproachful meaning.

"McCann," said I, "you come outside. I want to speak to you."

He followed me out.

"Now," I went on, "you know me pretty well" (he nodded doubtfully), "and

if I give you my word that Charles Wrexell Allen is not on this yacht,

and never has been, is that sufficient?"

"Is it the truth you're saying, sir?"

I assured him that it was.

"Then where is he, Mr. Crocker?"

"God only knows!" I replied, with fervor. "I don't, McCann."

The chief was satisfied. He went back into the cabin, and Mr. Cooke, in

the exuberance of his joy, produced champagne. McCann had heard of my

client and of his luxurious country place, and moreover it was the first

time he had ever been on a yellow-plush yacht. He tarried. He drank Mr.

Cooke's health and looked around him in wonder and awe, and his remarks

were worthy of record. These sayings and the thought of the author of

The Sybarites stifling below with his mouth to an auger-hole kept us in a

continual state of merriment. And at last our visitor rose to go.

As he was stepping over the side, Mr. Cooke laid hold of a brass button

and pressed a handful of the black cigars upon him.

"My regards to the detective, old man," said he.

McCann stared.

"My regards to Drew," my client insisted.

"Oh!" said McCann, his face lighting up, "him with the whiskers, what

came from Bear Island in a cat-boat. Sure, he wasn't no detective, sir."

"What was he? A police commissioner?"

"Mr. Cooke," said McCann, disdainfully, as he got into his boat, "he

wasn't nothing but a prospector doing the lake for one of them summer

hotel companies."

CHAPTER XIX

When the biography of the Celebrity is written, and I have no doubt it

will be some day, may his biographer kindly draw a veil over that instant

in his life when he was tenderly and obsequiously raised by Mr. Cooke

from the trap in the floor of the Maria's cabin.

It is sometimes the case that a good fright will heal a feud. And

whereas, before the arrival of the H. Sinclair, there had been much

dissension and many quarrels concerning the disposal of the quasi Charles

Wrexell Allen, when the tug steamed away to the southwards but one

opinion remained,--that, like Jonah, he must be got rid of. And no one

concurred more heartily in this than the Celebrity himself. He strolled

about and smoked apathetically, with the manner of one who was bored

beyond description, whilst the discussion was going on between Farrar,

Mr. Cooke, and myself as to the best place to land him. When

considerately asked by my client whether he had any choice in the matter,

he replied, somewhat facetiously, that he could not think of making a

suggestion to one who had shown such superlative skill in its previous

management.

Mr. Trevor, too, experienced a change of sentiment in Mr. Cooke's favor.

It is not too much to say that the senator's scare had been of such

thoroughness that he was willing to agree to almost anything. He had

come so near to being relieved of that most precious possession, his

respectability, that the reason in Mr. Cooke's course now appealed to

him very strongly. Thus he became a tacit assenter in wrong-doing,

for circumstances thrust this, once in a while, upon the best of our

citizens.

The afternoon wore cool; nay, cold is a better word. The wind brought

with it a suggestion of the pine-clad wastes of the northwestern

wilderness whence it came, and that sure harbinger of autumn, the

blue haze, settled around the hills, and benumbed the rays of the sun

lingering over the crests. Farrar and I, as navigators, were glad to get

into our overcoats, while the others assembled in the little cabin and

lighted the gasoline stove which stood in the corner. Outside we had our

pipes for consolation, and the sunset beauty of the lake.

By six we were well over the line, and consulting our chart, we selected

a cove behind a headland on our left, which seemed the best we could do

for an anchorage, although it was shallow and full of rocks. As we were

changing our course to run in, Mr. Cooke appeared, bundled up in his

reefer. He was in the best of spirits, and was good enough to concur

with our plans.

"Now, sir," asked Farrar, "what do you propose to do with Allen?"

But our client only chuckled.

"Wait and see, old man," he said; "I've got that all fixed."

"Well," Farrar remarked, when he had gone in again, "he has steered it

deuced well so far. I think we can trust him."

It was dark when we dropped anchor, a very tired party indeed; and as the

Maria could not accommodate us all with sleeping quarters, Mr. Cooke

decided that the ladies should have the cabin, since the night was cold.

And so it might have been, had not Miss Thorn flatly refused to sleep

there. The cabin was stuffy, she said, and so she carried her point.

Leaving Farrar and one of Mr. Cooke's friends to take care of the yacht,

the rest of us went ashore, built a roaring fire and raised a tent, and

proceeded to make ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would allow.

The sense of relief over the danger passed produced a kind of

lightheartedness amongst us, and the topics broached at supper would

not have been inappropriate at a friendly dinner party. As we were

separating for the night Miss Thorn said to me:

"I am so happy for your sake, Mr. Crocker, that he was not discovered."

For my sake! Could she really have meant it, after all? I went to sleep

thinking of that sentence, beside my client beneath the trees. And it

was first in my thoughts when I awoke.

As we dipped our faces in the brook the next morning my client laughed

softly to himself between the gasps, and I knew that he had in mind the

last consummate touch to his successful enterprise. And the revelation

came when the party were assembled at breakfast. Mr. Cooke stood up, and

drawing from his pocket a small and mysterious paper parcel he forthwith

delivered himself in the tone and manner which had so endeared him to the

familiars of the Lake House bar.

"I'm not much for words, as you all know," said he, with becoming

modesty, "and I don't set up to be an orator. I am just what you see

here,--a damned plain man. And there's only one virtue that I lay any

claim to,--no one can say that I ever went back on a friend. I want to

thank all of you (looking at the senator) for what you have done for me

and Allen. It's not for us to talk about that hundred thousand dollars.

--My private opinion is (he seemed to have no scruples about making it

public) that Allen is insane. No, old man, don't interrupt me; but you

haven't acted just right, and that's a fact. And I won't feel square

with myself until I put him where I found him, in safety. I am sorry to

say, my friends," he added, with emotion, "that Mr. Allen is about to

leave us."

He paused for breath, palpably satisfied with so much of it, and with the

effect on his audience.

"Now," continued he, "we start this morning for a place which is only

four miles or so from the town of Saville, and I shall then request my

esteemed legal adviser, Mr. Crocker, to proceed to the town and buy a

ready-made suit of clothes for Mr. Allen, a slouch hat, a cheap necktie,

and a stout pair of farmer's boots. And I have here," he said, holding

up the package, "I have here the rest of it. My friends, you heard the

chief tell me that Drew was doing the lake for a summer hotel syndicate.

But if Drew wasn't a detective you can throw me into the lake! He wasn't

exactly Pinkerton, and I flatter myself that we were too many for him,"

said Mr. Cooke, with deserved pride; "and he went away in such a

devilish hurry that he forgot his hand-bag with some of his extra

things."

Then my client opened the package, and held up on a string before our

astonished eyes a wig, a pair of moustaches, and two bushy red whiskers.

And this was Mr. Cooke's scheme! Did it electrify his hearers? Perhaps.

Even the senator was so choked with laughter that he was forced to cast

loose one of the buttons which held on his turn-down collar, and Farrar

retired into the woods. But the gravity of Mr. Cooke's countenance

remained serene.

"Old man," he said to the Celebrity, "you'll have to learn the price of

potatoes now. Here are Mr. Drew's duplicates; try 'em on."

This the Celebrity politely but firmly refused to do.

"Cooke," said he, "it has never been my lot to visit so kind and

considerate a host, or to know a man who pursued his duty with so little

thought and care of his own peril. I wish to thank you, and to apologize

for any hasty expressions I may have dropped by mistake, and I would it

were possible to convince you that I am neither a maniac nor an

embezzler. But, if it's just the same to you, I believe I can get along

without the disguise you mentioned, and so save Mr. Crocker his pains.

In short, if you will set me down at Saville, I am willing to take my

chances of reaching the Canadian Pacific from that point without fear of

detection."

The Celebrity's speech produced a good impression on all save Mr. Cooke,

who appeared a trifle water-logged. He had dealt successfully with Mr.

Allen when that gentleman had been in defiant moods, or in moods of ugly

sarcasm. But this good-natured, turn-you-down-easy note puzzled my

client not a little. Was this cherished scheme a whim or a joke to be

lightly cast aside? Mr. Cooke thought not. The determination which

distinguished him still sat in his eye as he bustled about giving orders

for the breaking of camp. This refractory criminal must be saved from

himself, cost what it might, and responsibility again rested heavy on my

client's mind as I rowed him out to the Maria.

"Crocker," he said, "if Allen is scooped in spite of us, you have got to

go East and make him out an idiot."

He seemed to think that I had a talent for this particular defence. I

replied that I would do my best.

"It won't be difficult," he went on; "not near as tough as that case you

won for me. You can bring in all the bosh about his claiming to be an

author, you know. And I'll stand expenses."

This was downright generous of Mr. Cooke. We have all, no doubt, drawn

our line between what is right and what is wrong, but I have often

wondered how many of us with the world's indorsement across our backs

trespass as little on the other side of the line as he.

After Farrar and the Four got aboard it fell to my lot to row the rest of

the party to the yacht. And this was no slight task that morning. The

tender was small, holding but two beside the man at the oars, and owing

to the rocks and shallow water of which I have spoken, the Maria lay

considerably over a quarter of a mile out. Hence each trip occupied some

time. Mr. Cooke I had transferred with a load of canvas and the tent

poles, and next I returned for Mrs. Cooke and Mr. Trevor, whom I

deposited safely. Then I landed again, helped in Miss Trevor and Miss

Thorn, leaving the Celebrity for the last, and was pulling for the yacht

when a cry from the tender's stern arrested me.

"Mr. Crocker, they are sailing away without us!"

I turned in my seat. The Maria's mainsail was up, and the jib was being

hoisted, and her head was rapidly falling off to the wind. Farrar was

casting. In the stern, waving a handkerchief, I recognized Mrs. Cooke,

and beside her a figure in black, gesticulating frantically, a vision of

coat-tails flapping in the breeze. Then the yacht heeled on her course

and forged lakewards.

"Row, Mr. Crocker, row! they are leaving us!" cried Miss Trevor, in

alarm.

I hastened to reassure her.

"Farrar is probably trying something," I said. "They will be turning

presently."

This is just what they did not do. Once out of the inlet, they went

about and headed northward, up the coast, and we remained watching them

until Mr. Trevor became a mere oscillating black speck against the sail.

"What can it mean?" asked Miss Thorn.

I had not so much as an idea.

"They certainly won't desert us, at any rate," I said. "We had better

go ashore again and wait."

The Celebrity was seated on the beach, and he was whittling. Now

whittling is an occupation which speaks of a contented frame of mind, and

the Maria's departure did not seem to have annoyed or disturbed him.

"Castaways," says he, gayly, "castaways on a foreign shore. Two

delightful young ladies, a bright young lawyer, a fugitive from justice,

no chaperon, and nothing to eat. And what a situation for a short story,

if only an author were permitted to make use of his own experiences!"

"Only you don't know how it will end," Miss Thorn put in.

The Celebrity glanced up at her.

"I have a guess," said he, with a smile.

"Is it true," Miss Trevor asked, "that a story must contain the element

of love in order to find favor with the public?"

"That generally recommends it, especially to your sex, Miss Trevor," he

replied jocosely.

Miss Trevor appeared interested.

"And tell me," she went on, "isn't it sometimes the case that you start

out intent on one ending, and that your artistic sense of what is fitting

demands another?"

"Don't be silly, Irene," said Miss Thorn. She was skipping flat pebbles

over the water, and doing it capitally, too.

I thought the Celebrity rather resented the question.

"That sometimes happens, of course," said he, carelessly. He produced

his inevitable gold cigarette case and held it out to me. "Be sociable

for once, and have one," he said.

I accepted.

"Do you know," he continued, lighting me a match, "it beats me why you

and Miss Trevor put this thing up on me. You have enjoyed it, naturally,

and if you wanted to make me out a donkey you succeeded rather well. I

used to think that Crocker was a pretty good friend of mine when I went

to his dinners in New York. And I once had every reason to believe," he

added, "that Miss Trevor and I were on excellent terms."

Was this audacity or stupidity? Undoubtedly both.

"So we were," answered Miss Trevor, "and I should be very sorry to think,

Mr. Allen," she said meaningly, "that our relations had in any way

changed."

It was the Celebrity's turn to flush.

"At any rate," he remarked in his most offhand manner, "I am much

obliged to you both. On sober reflection I have come to believe that you

did the very best thing for my reputation."

CHAPTER XX

He had scarcely uttered these words before the reason for the Maria's

abrupt departure became apparent. The anchorage of the yacht had been at

a spot whence nearly the whole south of the lake towards Far Harbor was

open, whilst a high tongue of land hid that part from us on the shore.

As he spoke, there shot before our eyes a steaming tug-boat, and a second

look was not needed to assure me that she was the "H. Sinclair, of Far

Harbor." They had perceived her from the yacht an hour since, and it was

clear that my client, prompt to act as to think, had decided at once to

put out and lead her a blind chase, so giving the Celebrity a chance to

make good his escape.

The surprise and apprehension created amongst us by her sudden appearance

was such that none of us, for a space, spoke or moved. She was about a

mile off shore, but it was even whether the chief would decide that his

quarry had been left behind in the inlet and turn in, or whether he would

push ahead after the yacht. He gave us an abominable five minutes of

uncertainty. For when he came opposite the cove he slowed up, apparently

weighing his chances. It was fortunate that we were hidden from his

glasses by a copse of pines. The Sinclair increased her speed and pushed

northward after the Maria. I turned to the Celebrity.

"If you wish to escape, now is your chance," I said.

For contrariness he was more than I have ever had to deal with. Now he

crossed his knees and laughed.

"It strikes me you had better escape, Crocker," said he. "You have more

to run for."

I looked across at Miss Thorn. She had told him, then, of my

predicament. And she did not meet my eye. He began to whittle again,

and remarked:

"It is only seventeen miles or so across these hills to Far Harbor, old

chap, and you can get a train there for Asquith."

"Just as you choose," said I, shortly.

With that I started off to gain the top of the promontory in order to

watch the chase. I knew that this could not last as long as that of the

day before. In less than three hours we might expect the Maria and the

tug in the cove. And, to be frank, the indisposition of the Celebrity to

run troubled me. Had he come to the conclusion that it was just as well

to submit to what seemed the inevitable and so enjoy the spice of revenge

over me? My thoughts gave zest to my actions, and I was climbing the

steep, pine-clad slope with rapidity when I heard Miss Trevor below me

calling out to wait for her. At the point of our ascent the ridge of the

tongue must have been four hundred feet above the level of the water, and

from this place of vantage we could easily make out the Maria in the

distance, and note from time to time the gain of the Sinclair.

"It wasn't fair of me, I know, to leave Marian," said Miss Trevor,

apologetically, "but I simply couldn't resist the temptation to come up

here."

"I hardly think she will bear you much ill will," I answered dryly; "you

did the kindest thing possible. Who knows but what they are considering

the advisability of an elopement!"

We passed a most enjoyable morning up there, all things taken into

account, for the day was too perfect for worries. We even laughed at our

hunger, which became keen about noon, as is always the case when one has

nothing to eat; so we set out to explore the ridge for blackberries.

These were so plentiful that I gathered a hatful for our friends below,

and then I lingered for a last look at the boats. I could make out but

one. Was it the yacht? No; for there was a trace of smoke over it. And

yet I was sure of a mast. I put my hand over my eyes.

"What is it?" asked Miss Trevor, anxiously.

"The tug has the Maria in tow," I said, "and they are coming this way."

We scrambled down, sobered by this discovery and thinking of little else.

And breaking through the bushes we came upon Miss Thorn and the

Celebrity. To me, preoccupied with the knowledge that the tug would soon

be upon us, there seemed nothing strange in the attitude of these two,

but Miss Trevor remarked something out of the common at once. How keenly

a woman scents a situation.

The Celebrity was standing with his back to Miss Thorn, at the edge of

the water. His chin was in the air, and to a casual observer he looked

to be minutely interested in a flock of gulls passing over us. And Miss

Thorn? She was enthroned upon a heap of drift-wood, and when I caught

sight of her face I forgot the very existence of the police captain. Her

lips were parted in a smile.

"You are just in time, Irene," she said calmly; "Mr. Allen has asked me

to be his wife."

I stood, with the hatful of berries in my hand, like a stiff wax figure

in a museum. The expected had come at last; and how little do we expect

the expected when it comes! I was aware that both the young women were

looking at me, and that both were quietly laughing. And I must have cut

a ridiculous figure indeed, though I have since been informed on good

authority that this was not so. Much I cared then what happened. Then

came Miss Trevor's reply, and it seemed to shake the very foundations of

my wits.

"But, Marian," said she, "you can't have him. He is engaged to me. And

if it's quite the same to you, I want him myself. It isn't often, you

know, that one has the opportunity to marry a Celebrity."

The Celebrity turned around: an expression of extraordinary intelligence

shot across his face, and I knew then that the hole in the well-nigh

invulnerable armor of his conceit had been found at last. And Miss

Thorn, of all people, had discovered it.

"Engaged to you?" she cried, "I can't believe it. He would be untrue

to everything he has written."

"My word should be sufficient," said Miss Trevor, stiffly. (May I be

hung if they hadn't acted it all out before.) "If you should wish proofs,

however, I have several notes from him which are at your service, and an

inscribed photograph. No, Marian," she added, shaking her head, "I

really cannot give him up."

Miss Thorn rose and confronted him, and her dignity was inspiring.

"Is this so?" she demanded; "is it true that you are engaged to marry

Miss Trevor?"

The Bone of Contention was badly troubled. He had undoubtedly known what

it was to have two women quarrelling over his hand at the same time, but

I am willing to bet that the sensation of having them come together in

his presence was new to him.

"I did not think--" he began. "I was not aware that Miss Trevor looked

upon the matter in that light, and you know--"

"What disgusting equivocation," Miss Trevor interrupted. "He asked me

point blank to marry him, and of course I consented. He has never

mentioned to me that he wished to break the engagement, and I wouldn't

have broken it."

I felt like a newsboy in a gallery,--I wanted to cheer. And the

Celebrity kicked the stones and things.

"Who would have thought," she persisted, "that the author of The

Sybarites, the man who chose Desmond for a hero, could play thus idly

with the heart of woman? The man who wrote these beautiful lines:

'Inconstancy in a woman, because of the present social conditions, is

sometimes pardonable. In a man, nothing is more despicable.' And how

poetic a justice it is that he has to marry me, and is thus forced to

lead the life of self-denial he has conceived for his hero. Mr. Crocker,

will you be my attorney if he should offer any objections?"

The humor of this proved too much for the three of us, and Miss Trevor

herself went into peals of laughter. Would that the Celebrity could have

seen his own face. I doubt if even he could have described it. But I

wished for his sake that the earth might have kindly opened and taken him

in.

"Marian," said Miss Trevor, "I am going to be very generous.

I relinquish the prize to you, and to you only. And I flatter myself

there are not many girls in this world who would do it."

"Thank you, Irene," Miss Thorn replied gravely, "much as I want him,

I could not think of depriving you."

Well, there is a limit to all endurance, and the Celebrity had reached

his.

"Crocker," he said, "how far is it to the Canadian Pacific?"

I told him.

"I think I had best be starting," said he.

And a moment later he had disappeared into the woods.

We stood gazing in the direction he had taken, until the sound of his

progress had died away. The shock of it all had considerably muddled my

brain, and when at last I had adjusted my thoughts to the new conditions,

a sensation of relief, of happiness, of joy (call it what you will), came

upon me, and I could scarce restrain an impulse to toss my hat in the

air. He was gone at last! But that was not the reason. I was safe from

O'Meara and calumny. Nor was this all. And I did not dare to look at

Miss Thorn. The knowledge that she had planned and carried out with

dignity and success such a campaign filled me with awe. That I had

misjudged her made me despise myself. Then I became aware that she was

speaking to me, and I turned.

"Mr. Crocker, do you think there is any danger that he will lose

his way?"

"No, Miss Thorn," I replied; "he has only to get to the top of that ridge

and strike the road for Saville, as I told him."

We were silent again until Miss Trevor remarked:

"Well, he deserved every bit of it."

"And more, Irene," said Miss Thorn, laughing; "he deserved to marry

you."

"I think he won't come West again for a very long time," said I.

Miss Trevor regarded me wickedly, and I knew what was coming.

"I hope you are convinced, now, Mr. Crocker, that our sex is not as black

as you painted it: that Miss Thorn knew what she was about, and that she

is not the inconsistent and variable creature you took her to be."

I felt the blood rush to my face, and Miss Thorn, too, became scarlet.

She went up to the mischievous Irene and grasping her arms from behind,

bent them until she cried for mercy.

"How strong you are, Marian! It is an outrage to hurt me so. I haven't

said anything." But she was incorrigible, and when she had twisted free

she began again:

"I took it upon myself to speak a few parables to Mr. Crocker the other

day. You know, Marian, that he is one of these level-headed old fogies

who think women ought to be kept in a menagerie, behind bars, to be

inspected on Saturday afternoons. Now, I appeal to you if it wouldn't be

disastrous to fall in love with a man of such ideas. And just to let you

know what a literal old law-brief he is, when I said he had had a hat-pin

sticking in him for several weeks, he nearly jumped overboard, and began

to feel himself all over. Did you know that he actually believed you

were doing your best to get married to the Celebrity?" (Here she dodged

Miss Thorn again.) "Oh, yes, he confided in me. He used to worry himself

ill over that. I'll tell you what he said to me only--"

But fortunately at this juncture Miss Trevor was captured again, and Miss

Thorn put her hand over her mouth. Heaven only knows what she would have

said!

The two boats did not arrive until nearly four o'clock, owing to some

trouble to the tug's propeller. Not knowing what excuse my client might

have given for leaving some of his party ashore, I thought it best to go

out to meet them. Seated on the cabin roof of the Maria I beheld Mr.

Cooke and McCann in conversation, each with a black cigar too big for

him.

"Hello, Crocker, old man," shouted my client, "did you think I was never

coming back? I've had lots of sport out of this hayseed captain" (and he

poked that official playfully), "but I didn't get any grub. So we'll

have to go to Far Harbor."

I caught the hint. Mr. Cooke had given out that he had started for

Saville to restock the larder.

"No," he continued, "Brass Buttons didn't let me get to Saville. You

see, when he got back to town last night they told him he had been

buncoed out of the biggest thing for years, and they got it into his head

that I was child enough to run a ferry for criminals. They told him he

wasn't the sleuth he thought he was, so he came back. They'll have the

laugh on him now, for sure."

McCann listened with admirable good-nature, gravely pulling at his cigar,

and eyeing Mr. Cooke with a friendly air of admiration.

"Mr. Crocker," he said, with melancholy humor, "it's leery I am with the

whole shooting-match. Mr. Cooke here is a gentleman, every inch of him,

and so be you, Mr. Crocker. But I'm just after taking a look at the hole

in the bottom of the boat. 'Ye have yer bunks in queer places, Mr.

Cooke,' says I. It's not for me to be doubting a gentleman's word, sir,

but I'm thinking me man is over the hills and far away, and that's true

for ye."

Mr. Cooke winked expressively.

"McCann, you've been jerked," said he. "Have another bottle!"

The Sinclair towed us to Far Harbor for a consideration, the wind being

strong again from the south, and McCann was induced by the affable owner

to remain on the yellow-plush yacht. I cornered him before we had gone a

great distance.

"McCann," said I, "what made you come back to-day?"

"Faith, Mr. Crocker, I don't care if I am telling you. I always had a

liking for you, sir, and bechune you and me it was that divil O'Meara

what made all the trouble. I wasn't taking his money, not me; the saints

forbid! But glory be to God, if he didn't raise a rumpus whin I come

back without Allen! It was sure he was that the gent left that place,

--what are ye calling it?--Mohair, in the Maria, and we telegraphs over to

Asquith. He swore I'd lose me job if I didn't fetch him to-day. Mr.

Crocker, sir, it's the lumber business I'll be startin' next week," said

McCann.

"Don't let that worry you, McCann," I answered. "I will see that you

don't lose your place, and I give you my word again that Charles Wrexell

Allen has never been aboard this yacht, or at Mohair to my knowledge.

What is more, I will prove it to-morrow to your satisfaction."

McCann's faith was touching.

"Ye're not to say another word, sir," he said, and he stuck out his big

hand, which I grasped warmly.

My affection for McCann still remains a strong one.

After my talk with McCann I was sitting on the forecastle propped against

the bitts of the Maria's anchor-chain, and looking at the swirling foam

cast up by the tug's propeller. There were many things I wished to turn

over in my mind just then, but I had not long been in a state of reverie

when I became conscious that Miss Thorn was standing beside me. I got to

my feet.

"I have been wondering how long you would remain in that trance, Mr.

Crocker," she said. "Is it too much to ask what you were thinking of?"

Now it so chanced that I was thinking of her at that moment. It would

never have done to say this, so I stammered. And Miss Thorn was a young

woman of tact.

"I should not have put that to so literal a man as you," she declared.

"I fear that you are incapable of crossing swords. And then," she added,

with a slight hesitation that puzzled me, "I did not come up here to ask

you that,--I came to get your opinion."

"My opinion?" I repeated.

"Not your legal opinion," she replied, smiling, "but your opinion as a

citizen, as an individual, if you have one. To be frank, I want your

opinion of me. Do you happen to have such a thing?"

I had. But I was in no condition to give it.

"Do you think me a very wicked girl?" she asked, coloring. "You once

thought me inconsistent, I believe, but I am not that. Have I done wrong

in leading the Celebrity to the point where you saw him this morning?"

"Heaven forbid!" I cried fervently; "but you might have spared me a

great deal had you let me into the secret."

"Spared you a great deal," said Miss Thorn. "I--I don't quite

understand."

"Well--" I began, and there I stayed. All the words in the dictionary

seemed to slip out of my grasp, and I foundered. I realized I had said

something which even in my wildest moments I had not dared to think of.

My secret was out before I knew I possessed it. Bad enough had I told it

to Farrar in an unguarded second. But to her! I was blindly seeking

some way of escape when she said softly:

"Did you really care?"

I am man enough, I hope, when there is need to be. And it matters not

what I felt then, but the words came back to me.

"Marian," I said, "I cared more than you will ever learn."

But it seems that she had known all the time, almost since that night I

had met her at the train. And how? I shall not pretend to answer, that

being quite beyond me. I am very sure of one thing, however, which is

that I never told a soul, man or woman, or even hinted at it. How was it

possible when I didn't know myself?

The light in the west was gone as we were pulled into Far Harbor, and the

lamps of the little town twinkled brighter than I had ever seen them

before. I think they must have been reflected in our faces, since Miss

Trevor, when she came forward to look for us, saw something there and

openly congratulated us. And this most embarrassing young woman demanded

presently:

"How did it happen, Marian? Did you propose to him?"

I was about to protest indignantly, but Marian laid her hand on my arm.

"Tell it not in Asquith," said she. "Irene, I won't have him teased any

more."

We were drawing up to the dock, and for the first time I saw that a crowd

was gathered there. The report of this chase had gone abroad. Some

began calling out to McCann when we came within distance, among others

the editor of the Northern Lights, and beside him I perceived with

amusement the generous lines: of the person of Mr. O'Meara himself.

I hurried back to give Farrar a hand with the ropes, and it was O'Meara

who caught the one I flung ashore and wound it around a pile. The people

pressed around, peering at our party on the Maria, and I heard McCann

exhorting them to make way. And just then, as he was about to cross the

plank, they parted for some one from behind. A breathless messenger

halted at the edge of the wharf. He held out a telegram.

McCann seized it and dived into the cabin, followed closely by my client

and those of us who could push after. He tore open the envelope, his eye

ran over the lines, and then he began to slap his thigh and turn around

in a circle, like a man dazed.

"Whiskey!" shouted Mr. Cooke. "Get him a glass of Scotch!"

But McCann held up his hand.

"Holy Saint Patrick!" he said, in a husky voice, "it's upset I am,

bottom upwards. Will ye listen to this?"

"'Drew is your man. Reddish hair and long side whiskers, gray

clothes. Pretends to represent summer hotel syndicate. Allen at

Asquith unknown and harmless.

"' (Signed.) Everhardt."'

"Sew me up," said Mr. Cooke; "if that don't beat hell!"

CHAPTER XXI

In this world of lies the good and the bad are so closely intermingled

that frequently one is the means of obtaining the other. Therefore, I

wish very freely to express my obligations to the Celebrity for any share

he may have had in contributing to the greatest happiness of my life.

Marian and I were married the very next month, October, at my client's

palatial residence of Mohair. This was at Mr. Cooke's earnest wish: and

since Marian was Mrs. Cooke's own niece, and an orphan, there seemed no

good reason why my client should not be humored in the matter. As for

Marian and me, we did not much care whether we were married at Mohair or

the City of Mexico. Mrs. Cooke, I think, had a secret preference for

Germantown.

Mr. Cooke quite over-reached himself in that wedding. "The knot was

tied," as the papers expressed it, "under a huge bell of yellow roses."

The paper also named the figure which the flowers and the collation and

other things cost Mr. Cooke. A natural reticence forbids me to repeat

it. But, lest my client should think that I undervalue his kindness,

I will say that we had the grandest wedding ever seen in that part of the

world. McCann was there, and Mr. Cooke saw to it that he had a punchbowl

all to himself in which to drink our healths: Judge Short was there,

still followed by the conjugal eye: and Senator Trevor, who remained

over, in a new long black coat to kiss the bride. Mr. Cooke chartered

two cars to carry guests from the East, besides those who came as

ordinary citizens. Miss Trevor was of the party, and Farrar, of course,

was best man. Would that I had the flow of words possessed by the

reporter of the Chicago Sunday newspaper!

But there is one thing I must mention before Mrs. Crocker and I leave for

New York, in a shower of rice, on Mr. Cooke's own private car, and that

is my client's gift. In addition to the check he gave Marian, he

presented us with a huge, 'repousse' silver urn he had had made to order,

and he expressed a desire that the design upon it should remind us of him

forever and ever. I think it will. Mercury is duly set forth in a

gorgeous equipage, driving four horses around the world at a furious

pace; and the artist, by special instructions, had docked their tails.

From New York, Mrs. Crocker and I went abroad. And it so chanced, in

December, that we were staying a few days at a country-place in Sussex,

and the subject of The Sybarites was broached at a dinner-party. The

book was then having its sale in England.

"Crocker," said our host, "do you happen to have met the author of that

book? He's an American."

I looked across the table at my wife, and we both laughed.

"I happen to know him intimately," I replied.

"Do you, now?" said the Englishman; "what a very entertaining chap he is,

is he not? I had him down in October, and, by Jove, we were laughing the

blessed time. He was telling us how he wrote his novels, and he said,

'pon my soul he did, that he had a secretary or something of that sort to

whom he told the plot, and the secretary elaborated, you know, and wrote

the draft. And he said, 'pon my honor, that sometimes the clark wrote

the plot and all,--the whole blessed thing,--and that he never saw the

book except to sign his name to it."

"You say he was here in October?" asked Marian, when the laugh had

subsided.

"I have the date," answered our host, "for he left me an autograph copy

of The Sybarites when he went away." And after dinner he showed us the

book, with evident pride. Inscribed on the fly-leaf was the name of the

author, October 10th. But a glance sufficed to convince both of us that

the Celebrity had never written it.

"John," said Marian to me, a suspicion of the truth crossing her mind,

"John, can it be the bicycle man?"

"Yes, it can be," I said; "it is."

"Well," said Marian, "he's been doing a little more for our friend than

we did."

Nor was this the last we heard of that meteoric trip through England,

which the alleged author of The Sybarites had indulged in. He did not go

up to London; not he. It was given out that he was travelling for his

health, that he did not wish to be lionized; and there were friends of

the author in the metropolis who had never heard of his secretary, and

who were at a loss to understand his conduct. They felt slighted. One

of these told me that the Celebrity had been to a Lincolnshire estate

where he had created a decided sensation by his riding to hounds,

something the Celebrity had never been known to do. And before we

crossed the Channel, Marian saw another autograph copy of the famous

novel.

One day, some months afterwards, we were sitting in our little salon in a

Paris hotel when a card was sent up, which Marian took.

"John," she cried, "it's the Celebrity."

It was the Celebrity, in the flesh, faultlessly groomed and clothed, with

frock coat, gloves, and stick. He looked the picture of ruddy, manly

health and strength, and we saw at once that he bore no ill-will for the

past. He congratulated us warmly, and it was my turn to offer him a

cigarette. He was nothing loath to reminisce on the subject of his

experiences in the wilds of the northern lakes, or even to laugh over

them. He asked affectionately after his friend Cooke. Time had softened

his feelings, and we learned that he had another girl, who was in Paris

just then, and invited us on the spot to dine with her at "Joseph's."

Let me say, in passing, that as usual she did credit to the Celebrity's

exceptional taste.

"Now," said he, "I have something to tell you two."

He asked for another cigarette, and I laid the box beside him.

"I suppose you reached Saville all right," I said, anticipating.

"Seven at night," said he, "and so hungry that I ate what they call

marble cake for supper, and a great many other things out of little side

dishes, and nearly died of indigestion afterward. Then I took a train up

to the main line. An express came along. 'Why not go West?' I asked

myself, and I jumped aboard. It was another whim--you know I am subject

to them. When I got to Victoria I wired for money and sailed to Japan;

and then I went on to India and through the Suez, taking things easy. I

fell in with some people I knew who were going where the spirit moved

them, and I went along.

"Algiers, for one place, and whom do you think I saw there, in the lobby

of a hotel?"

"Charles Wrexell Allen," cried Marian and I together.

The Celebrity looked surprised. "How did you know?" he demanded.

"Go on with your story," said Marian; "what did he do?"

"What did he do?" said the Celebrity; "why, the blackguard stepped up

and shook me by the hand, and asked after my health, and wanted to know

whether I were married yet. He was so beastly familiar that I took out

my glass, and I got him into a cafe for fear some one would see me with

him. 'My dear fellow,' said he, 'you did me the turn of my life.--How

can I ever repay you?' 'Hang your impudence,' said I, but I wanted to

hear what he had to say. 'Don't lose your temper, old chap,' he laughed;

'you took a few liberties with my name, and there was no good reason why

I shouldn't take some with yours. Was there? When I think of it, the

thing was most decidedly convenient; it was the hand of Providence.'

'You took liberties with my name,' I cried. With that he coolly called

to the waiter to fill our glasses. 'Now,' said he, 'I've got a story for

you. Do you remember the cotillon, or whatever it was, that Cooke gave?

Well, that was all in the Chicago papers, and the "Miles Standish" agent

there saw it, and he knew pretty well that I wasn't West. So he sent me

the papers, just for fun. You may imagine my surprise when I read that

I had been leading a dance out at Mohair, or some such barbarous place in

the northwest. I looked it up on the map (Asquith, I mean), and then I

began to think. I wondered who in the devil it might be who had taken my

name and occupation, and all that. You see, I had just relieved the

company of a little money, and it hit me like a clap of thunder one day

that the idiot was you. But I couldn't be sure. And as long as I had to

get out very soon anyway, I concluded to go to Mohair and make certain,

and then pile things off on you if you happened to be the man.'"

At this point Marian and I were seized with laughter, in which the

Celebrity himself joined. Presently he continued:

"'So I went,' said Allen. 'I provided myself with two disguises, as a

careful man should, but by the time I reached that outlandish hole,

Asquith, the little thing I was mixed up in burst prematurely, and the

papers were full of it that morning. The whole place was out with

sticks, so to speak, hunting for you. They told me the published

description hit you to a dot, all except the scar, and they quarrelled

about that. I posed as the promoter of resort syndicates, and I hired

the Scimitar and sailed over to Bear Island; and I didn't have a bad time

that afternoon, only Cooke insisted on making remarks about my whiskers,

and I was in mortal fear lest he might accidentally pull one off. He

came cursed near it. By the way, he's the very deuce of a man, isn't he?

I knew he took me for a detective, so I played the part. And in the

night that ass of a state senator nearly gave me pneumonia by getting me

out in the air to tell me they had hid you in a cave. So I sat up all

night, and followed the relief party in the morning, and you nearly

disfigured me for life when you threw that bottle into the woods. Then

I went back to camp, and left so fast that I forgot my extra pair of red

whiskers. I had two of each disguise, you know, so I didn't miss them.

"'I guess,' Mr. Allen went on, gleefully, 'that I got off about as

cleanly as any criminal ever did, thanks to you. If we'd fixed the thing

up between us it couldn't have been any neater, could it? Because I went

straight to Far Harbor and got you into a peck of trouble, right away,

and then slipped quietly into Canada, and put on the outfit of a

travelling salesman. And right here another bright idea struck me. Why

not carry the thing farther? I knew that you had advertised a trip to

Europe (why, the Lord only knows), so I went East and sailed for England

on the Canadian Line. And let me thank you for a little sport I had in a

quiet way as the author of The Sybarites. I think I astonished some of

your friends, old boy.'"

The Celebrity lighted another cigarette.

"So if it hadn't been for me," he said, "the 'Miles Standish Bicycle

Company' wouldn't have gone to the wall. Can they sentence me for

assisting Allen to get away, Crocker? If they can, I believe I shall

stay over here."

"I think you are safe," said I. "But didn't Allen tell you any more?"

"No. A man he used to know came into the cafe, and Allen got out of the

back door. And I never saw him again."

"I believe I can tell you a little more," said Marian.

......................

The Celebrity is still writing books of a high moral tone and

unapproachable principle, and his popularity is undiminished. I have not

heard, however, that he has given way to any more whims.

PG EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

A man's character often give the lie to his tongue

A lie has short legs

Appearance of a professional pallbearer

Architects should be driven and not followed

Consequential or inconsequential irrespective of their size

Deal with a fool according to his folly

Impervious to hints, and would not take no for an answer

Old enough to know better, and too old to be taught

That abominable word "like"

THE CRISIS

By Winston Churchill

CONTENTS

BOOK I

Volume 1.

I. Which Deals With Origins

II. The Mole

III. The Unattainable Simplicity

IV. Black Cattle

V. The First Spark Passes

VI. Silas Whipple

VII. Callers

Volume 2.

VIII. Bellegarde

IX. A Quiet Sunday in Locust Street

X. The Little House

XI. The Invitation

XII. "Miss Jinny"

XIII. The Party

BOOK II.

Volume 3.

I. Raw Material.

II. Abraham Lincoln

III. In Which Stephen Learns Something

IV. The Question

V. The Crisis

VI. Glencoe

Volume 4.

VII. An Excursion

VIII. The Colonel is Warned

IX. Signs of the Times

X. Richter's Scar,

XI. How a Prince Came

XII. Into Which a Potentate Comes

XIII. At Mr. Brinsmade's Gate

XIV. The Breach becomes Too Wide

XV. Mutterings

Volume 5.

XVI. The Guns of Sumter

XVII. Camp Jackson

XVIII. The Stone that is Rejected

XIX. The Tenth of May.

XX. In the Arsenal

XXI. The Stampede

XXII. The Straining of Another Friendship

XXIII. Of Clarence

BOOK III

Volume 6.

I. Introducing a Capitalist

II. News from Clarence

III. The Scourge of War,

IV. The List of Sixty

V. The Auction

VI. Eliphalet Plays his Trumps

Volume 7.

VII. With the Armies of the West

VIII. A Strange Meeting

IX. Bellegarde Once More

X. In Judge Whipple's Office

XI. Lead, Kindly Light

Volume 8.

XII. The Last Card

XIII. From the Letters of Major Stephen Brice

XIV. The Same, Continued

XV. The Man of Sorrows

XVI. Annapolis

THE CRISIS

BOOK I

CHAPTER I

WHICH DEALS WITH ORIGINS

Faithfully to relate how Eliphalet Hopper came try St. Louis is to betray

no secret. Mr. Hopper is wont to tell the story now, when his

daughter-in-law is not by; and sometimes he tells it in her presence, for

he is a shameless and determined old party who denies the divine right of

Boston, and has taken again to chewing tobacco.

When Eliphalet came to town, his son's wife, Mrs: Samuel D. (or S. Dwyer

as she is beginning to call herself), was not born. Gentlemen of Cavalier

and Puritan descent had not yet begun to arrive at the Planters' House,

to buy hunting shirts and broad rims, belts and bowies, and depart

quietly for Kansas, there to indulge in that; most pleasurable of

Anglo-Saxon pastimes, a free fight. Mr. Douglas had not thrown his bone

of Local Sovereignty to the sleeping dogs of war.

To return to Eliphalet's arrival,--a picture which has much that is

interesting in it. Behold the friendless boy he stands in the prow of the

great steamboat 'Louisiana' of a scorching summer morning, and looks with

something of a nameless disquiet on the chocolate waters of the

Mississippi. There have been other sights, since passing Louisville,

which might have disgusted a Massachusetts lad more. A certain deck on

the 'Paducah', which took him as far as Cairo, was devoted to cattle

--black cattle. Eliphalet possessed a fortunate temperament. The deck was

dark, and the smell of the wretches confined there was worse than it

should have been. And the incessant weeping of some of the women was

annoying, inasmuch as it drowned many of the profane communications of

the overseer who was showing Eliphalet the sights. Then a fine-linened

planter from down river had come in during the conversation, and paying

no attention to the overseer's salute cursed them all into silence, and

left.

Eliphalet had ambition, which is not a wholly undesirable quality. He

began to wonder how it would feel to own a few of these valuable

fellow-creatures. He reached out and touched lightly a young mulatto

woman who sat beside him with an infant in her arms. The peculiar dumb

expression on her face was lost on Eliphalet. The overseer had laughed

coarsely.

"What, skeered on 'em?" said he. And seizing the girl by the cheek, gave

it a cruel twinge that brought a cry out of her.

Eliphalet had reflected upon this incident after he had bid the overseer

good-by at Cairo, and had seen that pitiful coffle piled aboard a steamer

for New Orleans. And the result of his reflections was, that some day he

would like to own slaves.

A dome of smoke like a mushroom hung over the city, visible from far down

the river, motionless in the summer air. A long line of steamboats

--white, patient animals--was tethered along the levee, and the Louisiana

presently swung in her bow toward a gap in this line, where a mass of

people was awaiting her arrival. Some invisible force lifted Eliphalet's

eyes to the upper deck, where they rested, as if by appointment, on the

trim figure of the young man in command of the Louisiana. He was very

young for the captain of a large New Orleans packet. When his lips moved,

something happened. Once he raised his voice, and a negro stevedore

rushed frantically aft, as if he had received the end of a

lightning-bolt. Admiration burst from the passengers, and one man cried

out Captain Brent's age--it was thirty-two.

Eliphalet snapped his teeth together. He was twenty-seven, and his

ambition actually hurt him at such times. After the boat was fast to the

landing stage he remained watching the captain, who was speaking a few

parting words to some passengers of fashion. The body-servants were

taking their luggage to the carriages. Mr. Hopper envied the captain his

free and vigorous speech, his ready jokes, and his hearty laugh. All the

rest he knew for his own--in times to come. The carriages, the trained

servants, the obsequiousness of the humbler passengers. For of such is

the Republic.

Then Eliphalet picked his way across the hot stones of the levee, pushing

hither and thither in the rough crowd of river men; dodging the mules on

the heavy drays, or making way for the carriages of the few people of

importance who arrived on the boat. If any recollections of a cool, white

farmhouse amongst barren New England hills disturbed his thoughts, this

is not recorded. He gained the mouth of a street between the low houses

which crowded on the broad river front. The black mud was thick under his

feet from an overnight shower, and already steaming in the sun. The brick

pavement was lumpy from much travel and near as dirty as the street.

Here, too, were drays blocking the way, and sweaty negro teamsters

swinging cowhides over the mules. The smell of many wares poured through

the open doors, mingling with the perspiration of the porters. On every

side of him were busy clerks, with their suspenders much in evidence, and

Eliphalet paused once or twice to listen to their talk. It was tinged

with that dialect he had heard, since leaving Cincinnati.

Turning a corner, Eliphalet came abruptly upon a prophecy. A great drove

of mules was charging down the gorge of the street, and straight at him.

He dived into an entrance, and stood looking at the animals in startled

wonder as they thundered by, flinging the mud over the pavements.

A cursing lot of drovers on ragged horses made the rear guard.

Eliphalet mopped his brow. The mules seemed to have aroused in him some

sense of his atomity, where the sight of the pillar of smoke and of the

black cattle had failed. The feeling of a stranger in a strange land was

upon him at last. A strange land, indeed! Could it be one with his native

New England? Did Congress assemble from the Antipodes? Wasn't the great,

ugly river and dirty city at the end of the earth, to be written about in

Boston journals?

Turning in the doorway, he saw to his astonishment a great store, with

high ceilings supported by columns. The door was stacked high with bales

of dry goods. Beside him was a sign in gold lettering, "Carvel and

Company, Wholesale Dry Goods." And lastly, looking down upon him with a

quizzical expression, was a gentleman. There was no mistaking the

gentleman. He was cool, which Eliphalet was not. And the fact is the more

remarkable because the gentleman was attired according to the fashion of

the day for men of his age, in a black coat with a teal of ruffled shirt

showing, and a heavy black stock around his collar. He had a white

mustache, and a goatee, and white hair under his black felt hat. His face

was long, his nose straight, and the sweetness of its smile had a strange

effect upon Eliphalet, who stood on one foot.

"Well, sonny, scared of mules, are you?" The speech is a stately drawl

very different from the nasal twang of Eliphalet's bringing up. "Reckon

you don't come from anywhere round here?"

"No, sir," said Eliphalet. "From Willesden, Massachusetts."

"Come in on the 'Louisiana'?"

"Yes, sir." But why this politeness?

The elderly gentleman lighted a cigar. The noise of the rushing mules had

now become a distant roar, like a whirlwind which has swept by. But

Eliphalet did not stir.

"Friends in town?" inquired the gentleman at length.

"No, sir," sighed Mr. Hopper.

At this point of the conversation a crisp step sounded from behind and

wonderful smile came again on the surface.

"Mornin', Colonel," said a voice which made Eliphalet jump. And he swung

around to perceive the young captain of the Louisiana.

"Why, Captain Lige," cried the Colonel, without ceremony, "and how do you

find yourself to-day, suh? A good trip from Orleans? We did not look for

you so soon."

"Tolluble, Colonel, tolluble," said the young man, grasping the Colonel's

hand. "Well, Colonel, I just called to say that I got the seventy bales

of goods you wanted."

"Ephum" cried the Colonel, diving toward a counter where glasses were set

out,--a custom new to Eliphalet,--"Ephum, some of that very particular

Colonel Crittenden sent me over from Kentucky last week."

An old darkey, with hair as white as the Colonel's, appeared from behind

the partition.

"I 'lowed you'd want it, Marse Comyn, when I seed de Cap'n comin'," said

he, with the privilege of an old servant. Indeed, the bottle was beneath

his arm.

The Colonel smiled.

"Hope you'se well, Cap'n," said Ephum, as he drew the cork.

"Tolluble, Ephum," replied the Captain. "But, Ephum--say, Ephum!"

"Yes, sah."

"How's my little sweetheart, Ephum?"

"Bress your soul, sah," said Ephum, his face falling perceptibly, "bress

your soul, sah, Miss Jinny's done gone to Halcyondale, in Kaintuck, to

see her grandma. Ole Ephum ain't de same nigger when she's away."

The young Captain's face showed as much disappointment as the darkey's.

"Cuss it!" said he, strongly, "if that ain't too bad! I brought her a

Creole doll from New Orleans, which Madame Claire said was dressed finer

than any one she'd ever seen. All lace and French gewgaws, Colonel. But

you'll send it to her?"

"That I will, Lige," said the Colonel, heartily. "And she shall write you

the prettiest note of thanks you ever got."

"Bless her pretty face," cried the Captain. "Her health, Colonel! Here's

a long life to Miss Virginia Carvel, and may she rule forever! How old

did you say this was?" he asked, looking into the glass.

"Over half a century," said Colonel Carvel.

"If it came from the ruins of Pompeii," cried Captain Brent, "it might be

worthy of her!"

"What an idiot you are about that child, Lige," said the Colonel, who was

not hiding his pleasure. The Colonel could hide nothing. "You ruin her!"

The bluff young Captain put down his glass to laugh.

"Ruin her!" he exclaimed. "Her pa don't ruin her I eh, Ephum? Her pa

don't ruin her!"

"Lawsy, Marse Lige, I reckon he's wuss'n any."

"Ephum," said the Colonel, pulling his goatee thoughtfully, "you're a

damned impertinent nigger. I vow I'll sell you South one of these days.

Have you taken that letter to Mr. Renault?" He winked at his friend as

the old darkey faded into the darkness of the store, and continued: "Did

I ever tell you about Wilson Peale's portrait of my grandmother, Dorothy

Carvel, that I saw this summer at my brother Daniel's, in Pennsylvania?

Jinny's going to look something like her, sir. Um! She was a fine woman.

Black hair, though. Jinny's is brown, like her Ma's." The Colonel handed

a cigar to Captain Brent, and lit one himself. "Daniel has a book my

grandfather wrote, mostly about her. Lord, I remember her! She was the

queen-bee of the family while she lived. I wish some of us had her

spirit."

"Colonel," remarked Captain Lige, "what's this I heard on the levee just

now about your shootin' at a man named Babcock on the steps here?"

The Colonel became very grave. His face seemed to grow longer as he

pulled his goatee.

"He was standing right where you are, sir," he replied (Captain Lige

moved), "and he proposed that I should buy his influence."

"What did you do?"

Colonel Carvel laughed quietly at the recollection

"Shucks," said he, "I just pushed him into the streets gave him a little

start, and put a bullet past his ear, just to let the trash know the

sound of it. Then Russell went down and bailed me out."

The Captain shook with laughter. But Mr. Eliphalet Hopper's eyes were

glued to the mild-mannered man who told the story, and his hair rose

under his hat.

"By the way, Lige, how's that boy, Tato? Somehow after I let you have him

on the 'Louisiana', I thought I'd made a mistake to let him run the

river. Easter's afraid he'll lose the little religion she taught him."

It was the Captain's turn to be grave.

"I tell you what, Colonel," said he; "we have to have hands, of course.

But somehow I wish this business of slavery had never been started!"

"Sir," said the Colonel, with some force, "God made the sons of Ham the

servants of Japheth's sons forever and forever."

"Well, well, we won't quarrel about that, sir," said Brent, quickly. "If

they all treated slaves as you do, there wouldn't be any cry from

Boston-way. And as for me, I need hands. I shall see you again, Colonel."

"Take supper with me to-night, Lige," said Mr. Carvel. "I reckon you'll

find it rather lonesome without Jinny."

"Awful lonesome," said the Captain. "But you'll show me her letters,

won't you?"

He started out, and ran against Eliphalet.

"Hello!" he cried. "Who's this?"

"A young Yankee you landed here this morning, Lige," said the Colonel.

"What do you think of him?"

"Humph!" exclaimed the Captain.

"He has no friends in town, and he is looking for employment. Isn't that

so, sonny?" asked the Colonels kindly.

"Yes."

"Come, Lige, would you take him?" said Mr. Carvel.

The young Captain looked into Eliphalet's face. The dart that shot from

his eyes was of an aggressive honesty; and Mr. Hopper's, after an attempt

at defiance, were dropped.

"No," said the Captain.

"Why not, Lige?"

"Well, for one thing, he's been listening," said Captain Lige, as he

departed.

Colonel Carvel began to hum softly to himself:--

"'One said it was an owl, and the other he said nay,

One said it was a church with the steeple torn away,

Look a' there now!'

"I reckon you're a rank abolitionist," said he to Eliphalet, abruptly.

"I don't see any particular harm in keepin' slaves," Mr. Hopper replied,

shifting to the other foot.

Whereupon the Colonel stretched his legs apart, seized his goatee, pulled

his head down, and gazed at him for some time from under his eyebrows, so

searchingly that the blood flew to Mr. Hopper's fleshy face. He mopped it

with a dark-red handkerchief, stared at everything in the place save the

gentleman in front of him, and wondered whether he had ever in his life

been so uncomfortable. Then he smiled sheepishly, hated himself, and

began to hate the Colonel.

"Ever hear of the Liberator?"

"No, sir," said Mr. Hopper.

"Where do you come from?" This was downright directness, from which there

was no escape.

"Willesden, Massachusetts."

"Umph! And never heard of Mr. Garrison?"

"I've had to work all my life."

"What can you do, sonny?"

"I cal'late to sweep out a store. I have kept books," Mr. Hopper

vouchsafed.

"Would you like work here?" asked the Colonel, kindly. The green eyes

looked up swiftly, and down again.

"What'll you give me?"

The good man was surprised. "Well," said he, "seven dollars a week."

Many a time in after life had the Colonel reason to think over this

scene. He was a man the singleness of whose motives could not be

questioned. The one and sufficient reason for giving work to a homeless

boy, from the hated state of the Liberator, was charity. The Colonel had

his moods, like many another worthy man.

The small specks on the horizon sometimes grow into the hugest of thunder

clouds. And an act of charity, out of the wisdom of God, may produce on

this earth either good or evil.

Eliphalet closed with the bargain. Ephum was called and told to lead the

recruit to the presence of Mr. Hood, the manager. And he spent the

remainder of a hot day checking invoices in the shipping entrance on

Second Street.

It is not our place here to chronicle Eliphalet's faults. Whatever he may

have been, he was not lazy. But he was an anomaly to the rest of the

young men in the store, for those were days when political sentiments

decided fervent loves or hatreds. In two days was Eliphalet's reputation

for wisdom made. During that period he opened his mouth to speak but

twice. The first was in answer to a pointless question of Mr. Barbo's

(aetat 25), to the effect that he, Eliphalet Hopper, was a Pierce

Democrat, who looked with complacency on the extension of slavery. This

was wholly satisfactory, and saved the owner of these sentiments a broken

head. The other time Eliphalet spoke was to ask Mr. Barbo to direct him

to a boardinghouse.

"I reckon," Mr. Barbo reflected, "that you'll want one of them

Congregational boarding-houses. We've got a heap of Yankees in the town,

and they all flock together and pray together. I reckon you'd ruther go

to Miss Crane's nor anywhere."

Forthwith to Miss Crane's Eliphalet went. And that lady, being a Greek

herself, knew a Greek when she saw one. The kind-hearted Barbo lingered

in the gathering darkness to witness the game which ensued, a game dear

to all New Englanders, comical to Barbo. The two contestants calculated.

Barbo reckoned, and put his money on his new-found fellow-clerk.

Eliphalet, indeed, never showed to better advantage. The shyness he had

used with the Colonel, and the taciturnity practised on his

fellow-clerks, he slipped off like coat and waistcoat for the battle. The

scene was in the front yard of the third house in Dorcas Row. Everybody

knows where Dorcas Row was. Miss Crane, tall, with all the severity of

side curls and bombazine, stood like a stone lioness at the gate. In the

background, by the steps, the boarders sat, an interested group.

Eliphalet girded up his loins, and sharpened his nasal twang to cope with

hers. The preliminary sparring was an exchange of compliments, and

deceived neither party. It seemed rather to heighten mutual respect.

"You be from Willesden, eh?" said Crane. "I calculate you know the

Salters."

If the truth were known, this evidence of an apparent omniscience rather

staggered Eliphalet. But training stood by him, and he showed no dismay.

Yes, he knew the Salters, and had drawed many a load out of Hiram

Salters' wood-lot to help pay for his schooling.

"Let me see," said Miss Crane, innocently; "who was it one of them

Salters girls married, and lived across the way from the meetin'-house?"

"Spauldin'," was the prompt reply.

"Wal, I want t' know!" cried the spinster: "not Ezra Spauldin'?"

Eliphalet nodded. That nod was one of infinite shrewdness which commended

itself to Miss Crane. These courtesies, far from making awkward the

material discussion which followed; did not affect it in the least.

"So you want me to board you?" said she, as if in consternation.

Eliphalet calculated, if they could come to terms. And Mr. Barbo keyed

himself to enjoyment.

"Single gentlemen," said she, "pay as high as twelve dollars." And she

added that they had no cause to complain of her table.

Eliphalet said he guessed he'd have to go somewhere else. Upon this the

lady vouchsafed the explanation that those gentlemen had high positions

and rented her large rooms. Since Mr. Hopper was from Willesden and knew

the Salters, she would be willing to take him for less. Eliphalet said

bluntly he would give three and a half. Barbo gasped. This particular

kind of courage was wholly beyond him.

Half an hour later Eliphalet carried his carpet-bag up three flights and

put it down in a tiny bedroom under the eaves, still pulsing with heat

waves. Here he was to live, and eat at Miss Crane's table for the

consideration of four dollars a week.

Such is the story of the humble beginning of one substantial prop of the

American Nation. And what a hackneyed story it is! How many other young

men from the East have travelled across the mountains and floated down

the rivers to enter those strange cities of the West, the growth of which

was like Jonah's gourd.

Two centuries before, when Charles Stuart walked out of a window in

Whitehall Palace to die; when the great English race was in the throes of

a Civil War; when the Stern and the Gay slew each other at Naseby and

Marston Moor, two currents flowed across the Atlantic to the New World.

Then the Stern men found the stern climate, and the Gay found the smiling

climate.

After many years the streams began to move again, westward, ever

westward. Over the ever blue mountains from the wonderland of Virginia

into the greater wonderland of Kentucky. And through the marvels of the

Inland Seas, and by white conestogas threading flat forests and floating

over wide prairies, until the two tides met in a maelstrom as fierce as

any in the great tawny torrent of the strange Father of Waters. A city

founded by Pierre Laclede, a certain adventurous subject of Louis who

dealt in furs, and who knew not Marly or Versailles, was to be the place

of the mingling of the tides. After cycles of separation, Puritan and

Cavalier united on this clay-bank in the Louisiana Purchase, and swept

westward together--like the struggle of two great rivers when they meet

the waters for a while were dangerous.

So Eliphalet was established, among the Puritans, at Miss Crane's. The

dishes were to his taste. Brown bread and beans and pies were plentiful,

for it was a land of plenty. All kinds of Puritans were there, and they

attended Mr. Davitt's Congregational Church. And may it be added in

justice to Mr. Hopper, that he became not the least devout of the

boarders.

CHAPTER. II

THE MOLE

For some years, while Stephen A. Douglas and Franklin Pierce and other

gentlemen of prominence were playing at bowls on the United States of

America; while Kansas was furnishing excitement free of charge to any

citizen who loved sport, Mr. Eliphalet Hopper was at work like the

industrious mole, underground. It is safe to affirm that Colonel Carvel

forgot his new hand as soon as he had turned him over to Mr. Hood, the

manager. As for Mr. Hopper, he was content. We can ill afford to dissect

motives. Genius is willing to lay the foundations of her structure

unobserved.

At first it was Mr. Barbo alone who perceived Eliphalet's greatness,--Mr.

Barbo, whose opinions were so easily had that they counted for nothing.

The other clerks, to say the least, found the newcomer uncompanionable.

He had no time for skylarking, the heat of the day meant nothing to him,

and he was never sleepy. He learned the stock as if by intuition, and

such was his strict attention to business that Mr. Hood was heard is say,

privately, he did not like the looks of it. A young man should have other

interests. And then, although he would not hold it against him, he had

heard that Mr. Hopper was a teacher in Mr. Davitt's Sunday School.

Because he did not discuss his ambitions at dinner with the other clerks

in the side entry, it must not be thought that Eliphalet was without

other interests. He was likewise too shrewd to be dragged into political

discussions at the boarding-house table. He listened imperturbably to the

outbursts against the Border Ruffian, and smiled when Mr. Abner Reed, in

an angry passion, asked him to declare whether or not he was a friend of

the Divine Institution. After a while they forgot about him (all save

Miss Crane), which was what Mr. Hopper of all things desired.

One other friend besides Miss Crane did Eliphalet take unto himself,

wherein he showed much discrimination. This friend was none other than

Mr. Davitt, minister for many years of the Congregational Church. For Mr.

Davitt was a good man, zealous in his work, unpretentious, and kindly.

More than once Eliphalet went to his home to tea, and was pressed to talk

about himself and his home life. The minister and his wife ware

invariably astonished, after their guest was gone, at the meagre result

of their inquiries.

If Love had ever entered such a discreet soul as that into which we are

prying, he used a back entrance. Even Mr. Barbo's inquiries failed in the

discovery of any young person with whom Eliphalet "kept company."

Whatever the notions abroad concerning him, he was admittedly a model.

There are many kinds of models. With some young ladies at the Sunday

School, indeed, he had a distant bowing acquaintance. They spoke of him

as the young man who knew the Bible as thoroughly as Mr. Davitt himself.

The only time that Mr. Hopper was discovered showing embarrassment was

when Mr. Davitt held his hand before them longer than necessary on the

church steps. Mr. Hopper was not sentimental.

However fascinating the subject, I do not propose to make a whole book

about Eliphalet. Yet sidelights on the life of every great man are

interesting. And there are a few incidents in his early career which have

not gotten into the subscription biographical Encyclopaedias. In several

of these volumes, to be sure, we may see steel engravings of him, true

likenesses all. His was the type of face which is the glory of the steel

engraving,--square and solid, as a corner-stone should be. The very

clothes he wore were made for the steel engraving, stiff and wiry in

texture, with sharp angles at the shoulders, and sombre in hue, as befit

such grave creations.

Let us go back to a certain fine morning in the September of the year

1857, when Mr. Hopper had arrived, all unnoticed, at the age of two and

thirty. Industry had told. He was now the manager's assistant; and, be it

said in passing, knew more about the stock than Mr. Hood himself. On this

particular morning, about nine o'clock, he was stacking bolts of woollen

goods near that delectable counter where the Colonel was wont to regale

his principal customers, when a vision appeared in the door. Visions were

rare at Carvel & Company's. This one was followed by an old negress with

leathery wrinkles, whose smile was joy incarnate. They entered the store,

paused at the entrance to the Colonel's private office, and surveyed it

with dismay.

"Clar t' goodness, Miss Jinny, yo' pa ain't heah! An' whah's Ephum, dat

black good-fo'-nuthin'!"

Miracle number one,--Mr. Hopper stopped work and stared. The vision was

searching the store with her eyes, and pouting.

"How mean of Pa!" she exclaimed, "when I took all this trouble to

surprise him, not to be here! Where are they all? Where's Ephum? Where's

Mr. Hood?"

The eyes lighted on Eliphalet. His blood was sluggish, but it could be

made to beat faster. The ladies he had met at Miss Crane's were not of

this description. As he came forward, embarrassment made him shamble, and

for the first time in his life he was angrily conscious of a poor figure.

Her first question dashed out the spark of his zeal.

"Oh," said she, "are you employed here?"

Thoughtless Virginia! You little know the man you have insulted by your

haughty drawl.

"Yes."

Then find Mr. Carvel, won't you, please? And tell him that his daughter

has come from Kentucky, and is waiting for him."

"I callate Mr. Carvel won't be here this morning," said Eliphalet. He

went back to the pile of dry goods, and began to work. But he was unable

to meet the displeasure in her face.

"What is your name?" Miss Carvel demanded.

"Hopper."

"Then, Mr. Hopper, please find Ephum, or Mr. Hood."

Two more bolts were taken off the truck. Out of the corner of his eye he

watched her, and she seemed very tall, like her father. She was taller

than he, in fact.

"I ain't a servant, Miss Carvel," he said, with a meaning glance at the

negress.

"Laws, Miss Jinny," cried she, "I may's 'ell find Ephum. I knows he's

loafin' somewhar hereabouts. An' I ain't seed him dese five month." And

she started for the back of the store.

"Mammy!"

The old woman stopped short. Eliphalet, electrified, looked up and

instantly down again.

"You say you are employed by Mr. Carvel, and refuse to do what I ask?"

"I ain't a servant," Mr. Hopper repeated doggedly. He felt that he was in

the right,--and perhaps he was.

It was at this critical juncture in the proceedings that a young man

stepped lightly into the store behind Miss Jinny. Mr. Hopper's eye was on

him, and had taken in the details of his costume before realizing the

import of his presence. He was perhaps twenty, and wore a coat that

sprung in at the waist, and trousers of a light buff-color that gathered

at the ankle and were very copious above. His features were of the

straight type which has been called from time immemorial patrician. He

had dark hair which escaped in waves from under his hat, and black eyes

that snapped when they perceived Miss Virginia Carvel. At sight of her,

indeed, the gold-headed cane stopped in its gyrations in midair.

"Why, Jinny!" he cried--"Jinny!"

Mr. Hopper would have sold his soul to have been in the young man's

polished boots, to have worn his clothes, and to have been able to cry

out to the young lady, "Why, Jinny!"

To Mr. Hopper's surprise, the young lady did not turn around. She stood

perfectly still. But a red flush stole upon her cheek, and laughter was

dancing in her eyes yet she did not move. The young man took a step

forward, and then stood staring at her with such a comical expression of

injury on his face as was too much for Miss Jinny's serenity. She

laughed. That laugh also struck minor chords upon Mr. Hopper's

heart-strings.

But the young gentleman very properly grew angry.

"You've no right to treat me the way you do, Virginia," he cried. "Why

didn't you let me know that you were coming home?" His tone was one of

authority. You didn't come from Kentucky alone!"

"I had plenty of attendance, I assure you," said Miss Carvel. "A

governor, and a senator, and two charming young gentlemen from New

Orleans as far as Cairo, where I found Captain Lige's boat. And Mr.

Brinsmade brought me here to the store. I wanted to surprise Pa," she

continued rapidly, to head off the young gentleman's expostulations. "How

mean of him not to be here!"

"Allow me to escort you home," said he, with ceremony:

"Allow me to decline the honah, Mr. Colfax," she cried, imitating him. "I

intend to wait here until Pa comes in."

Then Eliphalet knew that the young gentleman was Miss Virginia's first

cousin. And it seemed to him that he had heard a rumor, amongst the

clerks in the store; that she was to marry him one day.

"Where is Uncle Comyn?" demanded Mr. Colfax, swinging his cane with

impatience.

Virgina looked hard at Mr. Hopper.

"I don't know," she said.

"Ephum!" shouted Mr. Colfax. "Ephum! Easters where the deuce is that

good-for-nothing husband of yours?"

"I dunno, Marse Clarence. 'Spec he whah he oughtn't ter be."

Mr. Colfax spied the stooping figure of Eliphalet.

"Do you work here?" he demanded.

"I callate."

"What?"

"I callate to," responded Mr. Hopper again, without rising.

"Please find Mr. Hood," directed Mr. Colfax, with a wave of his cane,

"and say that Miss Carvel is here--"

Whereupon Miss Carvel seated herself upon the edge of a bale and giggled,

which did not have a soothing effect upon either of the young men. How

abominably you were wont to behave in those days, Virginia.

"Just say that Mr. Colfax sent you," Clarence continued, with a note of

irritation. "There's a good fellow."

Virginia laughed outright. Her cousin did not deign to look at her. His

temper was slipping its leash.

"I wonder whether you hear me," he remarked.

No answer.

"Colonel Carvel hires you, doesn't he? He pays you wages, and the first

time his daughter comes in here you refuse to do her a favor. By thunder,

I'll see that you are dismissed."

Still Eliphalet gave him no manner of attention, but began marking the

tags at the bottom of the pile.

It was at this unpropitious moment that Colonel Carvel walked into the

store, and his daughter flew into his arms.

"Well, well," he said, kissing her, "thought you'd surprise me, eh,

Jinny?"

"Oh, Pa," she cried, looking reproachfully up at his Face. "You knew

--how mean of you!"

"I've been down on the Louisiana, where some inconsiderate man told me,

or I should not have seen you today. I was off to Alton. But what are

these goings-on?" said the Colonel, staring at young Mr. Colfax, rigid as

one of his own gamecocks. He was standing defiantly over the stooping

figure of the assistant manager.

"Oh," said Virginia, indifferently, "it's only Clarence. He's so

tiresome. He's always wanting to fight with somebody."

"What's the matter, Clarence?" asked the Colonel, with the mild unconcern

which deceived so many of the undiscerning.

"This person, sir, refused to do a favor for your daughter. She told him,

and I told him, to notify Mr. Hood that Miss Carvel was here, and he

refused."

Mr. Hopper continued his occupation, which was absorbing. But he was

listening.

Colonel Carvel pulled his goatee, and smiled.

"Clarence," said he, "I reckon I can run this establishment without any

help from you and Jinny. I've been at it now for a good many years."