III
THE ADVENTURE BEGINS
It was only when the ship was less than a day's journey off Sandy Hookthat the colonel came on deck, once more to resume his interest inhuman affairs. How the girl hovered about him! She tucked the shawlmore snugly around his feet; she arranged and rearranged the pillowsback of his head; she fed him from a bowl of soup; she read from somefavorite book; she smoothed the furrowed brow; she stilled the long,white, nervous fingers with her own small, firm, brown ones; she wasmother and daughter in one. Wherever she moved, the parent eye followedher, and there lay in its deeps a strange mixture of fear, and trouble,and questioning love. All the while he drummed ceaselessly on the armsof his chair.
And Mr. Robert, watching all these things from afar, Mr. Robert sigheddolorously. The residue air in his lungs was renewed more frequentlythan nature originally intended it should be. Love has its beneficencesas well as its pangs, only they are not wholly appreciable by therecipient. For what is better than a good pair of lungs constantlyfilled and refilled with pure air? Mr. Robert even felt a twinge ofremorse besides. He was brother to a girl almost as beautiful as yonderone (to my mind far more beautiful!) and he recalled that in two yearshe had not seen her nor made strenuous efforts to keep up thecorrespondence. Another good point added to the score of love! And,alas! he might never see this charming girl again, this daughter sofull of filial love and care. He had sought the captain, but that haleand hearty old sea-dog had politely rebuffed him.
"My dear young man," he said, "I do all I possibly can for theentertainment and comfort of my passengers, but in this case I mustrefuse your request."
"And pray, why, sir?" demanded Mr. Robert, with dignity.
"For the one and simple reason that Colonel Annesley expressed thedesire to be the recipient of no ship introductions."
"What the deuce is he, a billionaire?"
"You have me there, sir. I confess that I know nothing whatever abouthim. This is the first time he has ever sailed on my deck."
All of which perfectly accounts for Mr. Robert's sighs in whatmusicians call the _doloroso_. If only he knew some one who knew thecolonel! How simple it would be! Certainly, a West Point graduate wouldfind some consideration. But the colonel spoke to no one save hisdaughter, and his daughter to none but her parent, her maid, and thestewardess. Would they remain in New York, or would they seek theirfar-off southern home? Oh, the thousands of questions which surgedthrough his brain! From time to time he glanced sympathetically at thecolonel, whose fingers drummed and drummed and drummed.
"Poor wretch! his stomach must be in bad shape. Or maybe he has thepalsy." Warburton mused upon the curious incertitude of the humananatomy.
But Colonel Annesley did not have the palsy. What he had is at once thegreatest blessing and the greatest curse of God--remembrance, orconscience, if you will.
What a beautiful color her hair was, dappled with sunshine and shadow!... Pshaw! Mr. Robert threw aside his shawl and book (it is of no realimportance, but I may as well add that he never completed the readingof that summer's most popular novel) and sought the smoking-room,where, with the aid of a fat perfecto and a liberal stack of blues, heproceeded to divert himself till the boat reached quarantine. I shallnot say that he left any of his patrimony at the mahogany table withits green-baize covering and its little brass disks for cigar ashes,but I am certain that he did not make one of those stupendous winningswe often read about and never witness. This much, however: he made theacquaintance of a very important personage, who was presently to add noinsignificant weight on the scales of Mr. Robert's destiny.
He was a Russian, young, handsome, suave, of what the newspapers insiston calling distinguished bearing. He spoke English pleasantly butimperfectly. He possessed a capital fund of anecdote, and Warburton,being an Army man, loved a good droll story. It was a revelation to seethe way he dipped the end of his cigar into his coffee, a stimulantwhich he drank with Balzacian frequency and relish. Besides theseaccomplishments, he played a very smooth hand at the great Americangame. While Mr. Robert's admiration was not aroused, it was surelyawakened.
My hero had no trouble with the customs officials. A brace of oldFrench dueling pistols and a Turkish simitar were the only articleswhich might possibly have been dutiable. The inspector looked hard, buthe was finally convinced that Mr. Robert was _not_ a professionalcurio-collector. Warburton, never having returned from abroad before,found a deal of amusement and food for thought in the ensuing scenes.There was one man, a prim, irascible old fellow, who was not allowed topass in two dozen fine German razors. There was a time of it, angrywords, threats, protestations. The inspector stood firm. The oldgentleman, in a fine burst of passion, tossed the razors into thewater. Then they were going to arrest him for smuggling. A friendextricated him. The old gentleman went away, saying something about thetariff and an unreasonably warm place which has as many synonyms as anoctopus has tentacles.
Another man, his mouth covered by an enormous black mustache which musthave received a bath every morning in coffee or something stronger,came forward pompously. I don't know to this day what magic word hesaid, but the inspectors took never a peep into his belongings.Doubtless they knew him, and that his word was as good as his bond.
Here a woman wept because the necklace she brought trustingly fromRotterdam must be paid for once again; and here another, who clenchedher fists (do women have fists?) and if looks could have killed therewould have been a vacancy in customs forthwith. All her choicest linenstrewn about on the dirty boards, all soiled and rumpled and useless!
When the colonel's turn came, Warburton moved within hearing distance.How glorious she looked in that smart gray traveling habit! With whatwell-bred indifference she gazed upon the scene! Calmly her glancepassed among the circles of strange faces, and ever and anon returnedto the great ship which had safely brought her back to her native land.There were other women who were just as well-bred and indifferent, onlyWarburton had but one pair of eyes. Sighs in the _doloroso_ again. Ha!if only one of these meddling jackasses would show her some disrespectand give him the opportunity of avenging the affront!
(Come, now; let me be your confessor. Have you never thought and actedlike this hero of mine? Haven't you been just as melodramatic andridiculous? It is nothing to be ashamed of. For my part, I shouldconfess to it with the same equanimity as I should to the mumps or themeasles. It comes with, and is part and parcel of, all that strangemedley we find in the Pandora box of life. Love has no diagnosis, sothe doctors say. 'Tis all in the angle of vision.)
But nothing happened. Colonel Annesley and his daughter were old hands;they had gone through all this before. Scarce an article in theirtrunks was disturbed. There was a slight duty of some twelve dollars(Warburton's memory is marvelous), and their luggage was free. Butalas, for the perspicacity of the inspectors! I can very well imaginethe god of irony in no better or more fitting place than in the UnitedStates Customs House.
Once outside, the colonel caught the eye of a cabby, and he and hisdaughter stepped in.
"Holland House, sir, did you say?" asked the cabby.
The colonel nodded. The cabby cracked his whip, and away they rolledover the pavement.
Warburton's heart gave a great bound. She had actually leaned out ofthe cab, and for one brief moment their glances had met. Scarce knowingwhat he did, he jumped into another cab and went pounding after. It waseasily ten blocks from the pier when the cabby raised the lid andpeered down at his fare.
"Do you want t' folly them ahead?" he cried.
"No, no!" Warburton was startled out of his wild dream. "Drive to theHolland House--no--to the Waldorf. Yes, the Waldorf; and keep your naggoing."
"Waldorf it is, sir!" The lid above closed.
Clouds had gathered in the heavens. It was beginning to rain. ButWarburton neither saw the clouds nor felt the first few drops of rain.All the way up-town he planned and planned--as many plans as there weredrops of rain; the rain wet him, but the plans drowned him--he became
submerged. If I were an expert at analysis, which I am not, I shouldsay that Mr. Robert was not violently in love; rather I should observethat he was fascinated with the first really fine face he had seen inseveral years. Let him never see Miss Annesley again, and in two weekshe would entirely forget her. I know enough of the race to be able toput forward this statement. Of course, it is understood that he wouldhave to mingle for the time among other handsome women. Now, strive ashe would, he could not think out a feasible plan. One plan might havegiven him light, but the thousand that came to him simply overwhelmedhim fathoms deep. If he could find some one he knew at the HollandHouse, some one who would strike up a smoking-room acquaintance withthe colonel, the rest would be simple enough. Annesley--Annesley; hecouldn't place the name. Was he a regular, retired, or a veteran of theCivil War? And yet, the name was not totally unfamiliar. Certainly, hewas a fine-looking old fellow, with his white hair and Alexandriannose. And here he was, he, Robert Warburton, in New York, simplybecause he happened to be in the booking office of the _Gare du Nord_one morning and overheard a very beautiful girl say: "Then we shallsail from Southampton day after to-morrow." Of a truth, it is theinfinitesimal things that count heaviest.
So deep was he in the maze of his tentative romance that when the cabfinally stopped abruptly, he was totally unaware of the transition fromactivity to passivity.
"Hotel, sir!"
"Ah, yes!" Warburton leaped out, fumbled in his pocket, and broughtforth a five-dollar note, which he gave to the cabby. He did notrealize it, but this was the only piece of American money he had on hisperson. Nor did he wait for the change. Mr. Robert was exceedinglycareless with his money at this stage of his infatuation; being asoldier, he never knew the real value of legal tender. I know that _I_should never have been guilty of such liberality, not even if MisterCabby had bowled me from Harlem to Brooklyn. And you may take my wordfor it, the gentleman in the ancient plug-hat did not wait to see ifhis fare had made a mistake, but trotted away good and hearty. The cabsystem is one of the most pleasing and amiable phases of metropolitanlife.
Warburton rushed into the noisy, gorgeous lobby, and wandered abouttill he espied the desk. Here he turned over his luggage checks to theclerk and said that these accessories of travel must be in his roombefore eight o'clock that night, or there would be trouble. It was nowhalf after five. The clerk eagerly scanned the register. Warburton,Robert Warburton; it was not a name with which _he_ was familiar. Athin film of icy hauteur spread over his face.
"Very well, sir. Do you wish a bath with your room?"
"Certainly." Warburton glanced at his watch again.
"The price--"
"Hang the price! A room, a room with a bath--that's what I want. Haveyou got it?" This was said with a deal of real impatience and a hauteurthat overtopped the clerk's.
The film of ice melted into a gracious smile. Some new millionaire fromPittsburg, thought the clerk. He swung the book around.
"You have forgotten your place of residence, sir," he said.
"Place of residence!"
Warburton looked at the clerk in blank astonishment. Place ofresidence? Why, heaven help him, he had none, none! For the first timesince he left the Army the knowledge came home to him, and it struckrather deep. He caught up the pen, poised it an indecisive moment, thenhastily scribbled Paris: as well Paris as anywhere. Then he took outhis wallet, comfortably packed with English and French bank-notes, anda second wave of astonishment rolled over him. Altogether, it was arare good chance that he ever came to the surface again. No plan, noplace of residence, no American money!
"Good Lord! I forgot all about exchanging it on shipboard!" heexclaimed.
"Don't let that trouble you, sir," said the clerk, with realaffability. "Our own bank will exchange your money in the morning."
"But I haven't a penny of American money on my person!"
"How much will you need for the evening, sir?"
"Not more than fifty."
The clerk brought forth a slip of paper, wrote something on it, andhanded it to Warburton.
"Sign here," he said, indicating a blank space.
And presently Mr. Robert, having deposited his foreign money in thesafe, pocketed the receipt for its deposit along with five crispAmerican notes. There is nothing lacking in these modern hostelries,excepting it be a church.
Our homeless young gentleman lighted a cigar and went out under theportico. An early darkness had settled over the city, and a heavysteady rain was falling. The asphalt pavements glistened and twinkledas far as the eye's range could reach. A thousand lights gleamed downon him, and he seemed to be standing in a canon dappled with fireflies.Place of residence! Neither the fig-tree nor the vine! Did he lose hismoney to-morrow, the source of his small income, he would be without aroof over his head. True, his brother's roof would always welcome him:but a roof-tree of his own! And he could lay claim to no city, either,having had the good fortune to be born in a healthy country town. Placeof residence! Truly he had none; a melancholy fact which he had notappreciated till now. And all this had slipped his mind because of apair of eyes as heavenly blue as a rajah's sapphire!
Hang it, what should he do, now that he was no longer traveling, nowthat his time was no longer Uncle Sam's? He had never till now knownidleness, and the thought of it did not run smoothly with the grain. Hewas essentially a man of action. There might be some good sport for asoldier in Venezuela, but that was far away and uncertain. It was quitepossible Jack, his brother, might find him a post as military attache,perhaps in France, perhaps in Belgium, perhaps in Vienna. That was thegoal of more than one subaltern. The English novelist is to be blamedfor this ambition. But Warburton could speak French with a certainfluency, and his German was good enough to swear by; so it will be seenthat he had some ground upon which to build this ambition.
Heigho! The old homestead was gone; his sister dwelt under the elderbrother's roof; the prodigal was alone.
"But there's always a fatted calf waiting in Washington," he laughedaloud. "Once a soldier, always a soldier. I suppose I'll be begging thecolonel to have a chat with the president. There doesn't seem to be anyway of getting out of it. I'll have to don the old togs again. I oughtto write a letter to Nancy, but it will be finer to drop in on 'emunexpectedly. Bless her heart! (So say I!) And Jack's, too, and hislittle wife's! And I haven't written a line in eight weeks. But I'llmake it all up in ten minutes. And if I haven't a roof-tree, at leastI've got the ready cash and can buy one any day." All of which provesthat Mr. Robert possessed a buoyant spirit, and refused to be downcastfor more than one minute at a time.
He threw away his cigar and reentered the hotel, and threaded his waythrough the appalling labyrinths of corridors till he found some one toguide him to the barber shop, where he could have his hair cut and hisbeard trimmed in the good old American way, money no object. For a planhad at last come to him; and it wasn't at all bad. He determined todine at the Holland House at eight-thirty. It was quite possible thathe would see Her.
My only wish is that, when I put on evening clothes (in my humbleopinion, the homeliest and most uncomfortable garb that man everinvented!) I might look one-quarter as handsome and elegant as Mr.Robert looked, as he came down stairs at eight-ten that night. Hewasn't to be blamed if the women glanced in his direction, and thenwhispered and whispered, and nodded and nodded. Ordinarily he wouldhave observed these signs of feminine approval, for there was warmblood in his veins, and it is proverbial that the Army man is gallant.But to-night Diana and her white huntresses might have passed him byand not aroused even a flicker of interest or surprise on his face.There was only one pair of eyes, one face, and to see these he wouldhave gladly gone to the ends of the earth, travel-weary though he was.
He smoked feverishly, and was somewhat troubled to find that he hadn'tquite got his land legs, as they say. The floor swayed at intervals,and the throbbing of the engines came back. He left the hotel, hailed acab, and was driven down Fifth Avenue. He stopped before the fortressof privilege
s. From the cab it looked very formidable. Worldly as hewas, he was somewhat innocent. He did not know that New York hotels areformidable only when your money gives out. To get past all thesebrass-buttoned lackeys and to go on as though he really had businesswithin took no small quantity of nerve. However, he slipped by theoutpost without any challenge and boldly approached the desk. A quickglance at the register told him that they had indeed put up at thishotel. He could not explain why he felt so happy over his discovery.There are certain exultations which are inexplicable. As he turned awayfrom the desk, he bumped into a gentleman almost as elegantly attiredas himself.
"I beg your pardon!" he cried, stepping aside.
"What? Mr. _Warrr_burton?"
Mr. Robert, greatly surprised and confused, found himself shaking handswith his ship acquaintance, the Russian.
"I am very glad to see you again, Count," said Warburton, recovering.
"A great pleasure! It is wonderful how small a city is. I had neverexpect' to see you again. Are you stopping here?" I had intended to tryto reproduce the Russian's dialect, but one dialect in a book isenough; and we haven't reached the period of its activity.
"No, I am at the Waldorf."
"Eh? I have heard all about you millionaires."
"Oh, we are not all of us millionaires who stop there," laughedWarburton. "There are some of us who try to make others believe that weare." Then, dropping into passable French, he added: "I came hereto-night with the purpose of dining. Will you do me the honor ofsharing my table?"
"You speak French?"--delighted. "It is wonderful. This English has somany words that mean so many things, that of all languages I speak itwith the least fluency. But it is my deep regret, Monsieur, to refuseyour kind invitation. I am dining with friends."
"Well, then, breakfast to-morrow at eleven," Warburton urged, for hehad taken a fancy to this affable Russian.
"Alas! See how I am placed. I am forced to leave for Washington earlyin the morning. We poor diplomats, we earn our honors. But my businessis purely personal in this case, neither political nor diplomatic." Thecount drew his gloves thoughtfully through his fingers. "I shall ofcourse pay my respects to my ambassador. Do I recollect your sayingthat you belonged to the United States Army?"
"I recently resigned. My post was in a wild country, with little ornothing to do; monotony and routine."
"You limp slightly?"
"A trifling mishap,"--modestly.
"Eh, you do wrong. You may soon be at war with England, and havingresigned your commission, you would lose all you had waited these yearsfor."
Warburton smiled. "We shall not go to war with England."
"This Army of yours is small."
"Well, yes; but made of pretty good material--fighting machines withbrains."
"Ha!" The count laughed softly. "Bah! how I detest all these cars andships! Will you believe me, I had rather my little chateau, myvineyard, and my wheat fields, than all the orders.... Eh, well, _mycountry_: there must be some magic in that phrase. Of all loves, thatof country is the most lasting. Is that Balzac? I do not recall. Onlyonce in a century do we find a man who is willing to betray hiscountry, and even then he may have for his purpose neither hate,revenge, nor love of power." A peculiar gravity sat on his mobile face,caused, perhaps, by some disagreeable inward thought.
"How long shall you be in Washington?" asked Warburton.
The count shrugged. "Who can say?"
"I go to Washington myself within a few days."
"Till we meet again, then, Monsieur."
The count lifted his hat, a courtesy which was gracefully acknowledgedby the American; while the clerks at the desk eyed with tolerantamusement these polite but rather unfamiliar ceremonies of departure.These foreigners were odd duffers.
"A very decent chap," mused Warburton, "and a mighty shrewd hand atpoker--for a foreigner. He is going to Washington: we shall meet again.I wonder if she's in the restaurant now."
Meet again? Decidedly; and had clairvoyance shown my hero that nighthow he and the count were to meet again, certainly he would havelaughed.
If I dared, I should like to say a good deal more about this Russian.But I have no desire to lose my head, politically or physically. Eventhe newsboys are familiar with this great young man's name; and if Ishould disclose it, you would learn a great many things which I have nodesire that you should. One day he is in Paris, another in Berlin, thenoff to Vienna, to Belgrade, or St. Petersburg, or Washington, orLondon, or Rome. A few months ago, previous to this writing, he was inManchuria; and to this very day England and Japan are wondering how ithappened; not his being there, mind you, but the result. Rich, that isto say independent; unmarried, that is to say unattached; free to comeand go, he stood high up in that great army of the czar's, which I callthe uncredited diplomatic corps, because the phrase "secret service"always puts into my mind a picture of the wild-eyed, bearded anarchist,whom I most heartily detest.
What this remarkable diplomatic free-lance did in Washington washonestly done in the interests of his country. A Russ understands honorin the rough, but he lacks all those delicate shadings which make theword honor the highest of all words in the vocabularies of the Gaul andthe Saxon. And while I do not uphold him in what he did, I can notplace much blame at the count's door. Doubtless, in his place, andgiven his cast of mind, I might have done exactly as he did. Russianever asks how a thing is done, but why it is _not_ done. Ah, theseAspasias, these Circes, these Calypsos, these Cleopatras, with theirblue, their gray, their amber eyes! I have my doubts concerning Jonah,but, being a man, I am fully convinced as to the history of Eve. Andyet, the woman in this case was absolutely innocent of any guile,unless, a pair of eyes as heavenly blue as a rajah's sapphire may becalled guile.
Pardon me this long parenthesis. By this time, no doubt, Mr. Robert hasentered the restaurant We shall follow him rather than this aimlesstrain of thought.
Mr. Robert's appetite, for a healthy young man, was strangelyincurious. He searched the menu from top to bottom, and then frombottom to top; nothing excited his palate. Whenever persons entered, hewould glance up eagerly, only to feel his heart sink lower and lower. Idon't know how many times he was disappointed. The waiter ahemmedpolitely. Warburton, in order to have an excuse to remain, at lengthhit upon a partridge and a pint of Chablis.
Nine o'clock. Was it possible that the colonel and his daughter weredining in their rooms? Perish the possibility! And he looked in vainfor the count. A quarter-past nine. Mr. Robert's anxiety was becomingalmost unendurable. Nine-thirty. He was about to surrender in despair.His partridge lay smoking on his plate, and he was on the point ofdemolishing it, when, behold! they came. The colonel entered first,then his daughter, her hand--on--the--arm--of--the--count! Warburtonnever fully described to me his feelings at that moment; but, knowinghim as I do, I can put together a very, respectable picture of thechagrin and consternation that sat on his countenance.
"To think of being nearly six days aboard," Mr. Robert once bawled atme, wrathfully, "and not to know that that Russian chap knew her!" It_was_ almost incredible that such a thing should happen.
The three sat down at a table seven times removed from Warburton's. Hecould see only an adorable profile and the colonel's handsome butcare-worn face. The count sat with his back turned. In that blackevening gown she was simply beyond the power of adjectives. Whatshoulders, what an incomparable throat! Mr. Robert's bird grew cold;the bouquet from his glass fainted and died away. How her face lightedwhen she laughed, and she laughed frequently! What a delicious curveran from her lips to her young bosom! But never once did she look inhis direction. Who invented mirrors, the Egyptians? I can not say.There were mirrors in the room, but Mr. Robert did not realize it. Hehas since confessed to me that he hadn't the slightest idea how muchhis bird and bottle cost. Of such is love's young dream! (Do I worryyou with all these repetitious details? I am sorry.)
At ten o'clock Miss Annesley rose, and the count escorted her to theelevator, returning almost immediate
ly. He and the colonel drew theirheads together. From time to time the count shrugged, or the colonelshook his head. Again and again the Russian dipped the end of his cigarinto his coffee-cup, which he frequently replenished.
But for Mr. Robert the gold had turned to gilt, the gorgeous to thegaudy. She was gone. The imagination moves as swiftly as light, leapingfrom one castle in air to another, and still another. Mr. Robert wasthe architect of some fine ones, I may safely assure you. And he didn'tmind in the least that they tumbled down as rapidly as they builded:only, the incentive was gone. What the colonel had to say to the count,or the count to the colonel, was of no interest to him; so he made anorderly retreat.
I am not so old as not to appreciate his sleeplessness that night. Somebeds are hard, even when made of the softest down.
In the morning he telephoned to the Holland House. The Annesleys, hewas informed, had departed for parts unknown. The count had leftdirections to forward any possible mail to the Russian Embassy,Washington. Sighs in the _doloroso_; the morning papers and numerouscigars; a whisky and soda; a game of indifferent billiards with anaffable stranger; another whisky and soda; and a gradual reclamation ofMr. Robert's interest in worldly affairs.
She was gone.