CHAPTER X
AN HOUR ON DECK
She literally was blown into his presence. He sprang to his feet tocheck her swift approach before she could be dashed against the wall orupon the heap of chairs in the corner. The deep roll of the vessel hadended so suddenly that she was thrown off her balance, at bestprecariously maintained in the hurricane that swept her along the deck.She was projected with considerable violence against the waiting figureof R. Schmidt, who had hastily braced himself for the impact of theslender body in the thick sea-ulster. She uttered an excited littleshriek as she came bang up against him and found his ready arms closingabout her shoulders.
"Oh, goodness!" she gasped, with what little breath she had left, andthen began to laugh as she freed herself in confusion--a very prettyconfusion he recalled later on, after he had recovered to some extentfrom the effects of an exceedingly severe bump on the back of his head."How awkward!"
"Not at all," he proclaimed, retaining a grip on one of her arms untilthe ship showed some signs of resuming its way eastward instead ofdownward.
"I am sure it must have hurt dreadfully," she cried. "Nothing hurtsworse than a bump. It seemed as though you must have splintered thewall."
"I have a singularly hard head," said he, and forthwith felt of theback of it.
"Will you please stand ready to receive boarders? My maid is followingme, poor thing, and I can't afford to have her smashed to pieces. Hereshe is!"
Quite a pretty maid, with wide, horrified eyes and a pale greencomplexion came hustling around the corner. R. Schmidt, albeit aprince, received her with open arms.
"Merci, M'sieur!" she squealed and added something in muffled Frenchthat strangely reminded him of what Hobbs had said in English. Then shedeposited an armful of rugs and magazines at Robin's feet, and clutchedwildly at a post actually some ten feet away but which appeared to becoming toward her with obliging swiftness, so nicely was the deckrotating for her. "Mon dieu! Mon dieu!"
"You may go back to bed, Marie," cried her mistress in some haste.
"But ze rug, I feex it--" groaned the unhappy maid, and then once more:"Merci, M'sieur!" She clung to the arm he extended, and tried bravelyto smile her thanks.
"Here! Go in through this door," he said, bracing the door open withhis elbow. "You'll be all right in a little while. Keep your nerve." Heclosed the door after her and turned to the amused Miss Guile. "Well,it's an ill wind that blows no good," he said enigmatically, and sheflushed under the steady smile in his eyes. "Allow me to arrange yourrug for you. Miss Guile."
"Thank you, no. I think I would better go inside. It is really toowindy--"
"The wind can't get at you back here in this cubbyhole," he protested."Do sit down. I'll have you as snug as a bug in a rug before you cansay Jack Robinson. See! Now stick 'em out and I'll wrap it around them.There! You're as neatly done up as a mummy and a good deal better off,because you are a long way short of being two thousand years old."
"How is your head, Mr. Schmidt?" she inquired with grave concern. "Youseem to be quite crazy. I hope--"
"Every one is a little bit mad, don't you think? Especially in momentsof great excitement. I daresay my head _has_ been turned quiteappreciably, and I'm glad that you've been kind enough to notice it.Where is Mrs. Gaston?" He was vastly exhilarated.
She regarded him with eyes that sparkled and belied the unamiablenature of her reply.
"The poor lady is where she is not at all likely to be annoyed, Mr.Schmidt."
Then she took up a magazine and coolly began to run through the pages.He waited for a moment, considerably dashed, and then said "Oh," in avery unfriendly manner. She found her place in the magazine, assumed amore comfortable position, and, with noteworthy resolution, set aboutreading as if her life depended upon it.
He sat down, pulled the rug up to his chin, and stared out at thegreat, heaving billows. Suddenly remembering another injury, he feltonce more of the back of his head.
"By jove!" he exclaimed. "There _is_ a lump there."
"I can't hear you," she said, allowing the magazine to drop into herlap, but keeping her place carefully marked with one of her fingers.
"I can hear you perfectly," he said.
"It's the way the wind blows," she explained.
"Easily remedied," said he. "I'll move into Mrs. Gaston's chair if youthink it will help any."
"Do!" she said promptly. "You will not disturb me in the least,--unlessyou talk." She resumed her reading, half a page above the finger tip.
He moved over and arranged himself comfortably, snugly in Mrs. Gaston'schair. Their elbows almost met. He was prepared to be very patient. Fora long time she continued to read, her warm, rosy cheek half-averted,her eyes applied to their task with irritating constancy. He did notdespair. Some wise person once had told him that it was only necessaryto give a woman sufficient time and she would be the one to despair.
A few passengers possessed of proud sea-legs, staggered past the snugcouple on their ridiculous rounds of the ship. If they thought of MissGuile and R. Schmidt at all it was with the scorn that is usuallydevoted to youth at its very best. There could be no doubt in thepassing mind that these two were sweethearts who managed to thrive onthe smallest of comforts.
At last his patience was rewarded. She lowered the magazine and stifleda yawn--but not a real one.
"Have you read it?" she inquired composedly.
"A part of it," he said. "Over your shoulder."
"Is that considered polite in Vienna?"
"If you only knew what a bump I've got on the back of my head youwouldn't be so ungracious." he said.
"I couldn't possibly know, could I?"
He leaned forward and indicated the spot on the back of his head, firstremoving his cap. She laughed nervously, and then gently rubbed herfingers over the thick hair.
"There is a dreadful lump!" she exclaimed. "Oh, how sorry I am. Do--doyou feel faint or--or--I mean, is it very painful?"
"Not now," he replied, replacing his cap and favouring her with hismost engaging smile.
She smiled in response, betraying not the slightest sign ofembarrassment. As a matter of fact, she was, if anything, somewhat tooself-possessed.
"I remember falling down stairs once," she said, "and getting astupendous bump on my forehead. But that was a great many years ago andI cried. How was I to know that it hurt you, Mr. Schmidt, when youneglected to cry?"
"Heroes never cry," said he. "It isn't considered first-class fiction,you know."
"Am I to regard you as a hero?"
"If you will be so kind, please."
She laughed outright at this. "I think I rather like you, Mr. Schmidt,"she said, with unexpected candour.
"Oh, I fancy I'm not at all bad," said he, after a momentary stare ofastonishment. "I am especially good in rough weather," he went on,trying to forget that he was a prince of the royal blood, a ratherdifficult matter when one stops to consider he was not in the habit ofhearing people say that they rather liked him.
"Do your friends come from Vienna?" she inquired abruptly.
"Yes," he said, and then saved his face as usual by adding under hisbreath: "but they don't live there." It was not in him to lie outright,hence the handy way of appeasing his conscience.
"They are very interesting looking men, especially the younger. Icannot remember when I have seen a more attractive man."
"He is a splendid chap," exclaimed Robin, with genuine enthusiasm. "Iam very fond of Dank."
She was silent for a moment. Something had failed, and she was ratherglad of it.
"Do you like New York?" she asked.
"Immensely. I met a great many delightful people there. Miss Guile. Yousay you do not know the Blithers family? Mr. Blithers is a rare oldbird."
"Isn't there some talk of his daughter being engaged to the Prince ofGraustark?"
He felt that his ears were red. "The newspapers hinted at something ofthe sort, I believe." He was suddenly possessed by the curious notionthat he was being
"pumped" by his fair companion. Indeed, a certaininsistent note had crept into her voice and her eyes were searching hiswith an intentness that had not appeared in them until now.
"Have you seen him?"
"The Prince?"
"Yes. What is he like?"
"I've seen pictures of him," he equivocated. "Rather nice looking, Ishould say."
"Of course he is like all foreign noblemen and will leap at theBlithers millions if he gets the chance. I sometimes feel sorry for thepoor wretches." There was more scorn than pity in the way she said it,however, and her velvety eyes were suddenly hard and uncompromising.
He longed to defend himself, in the third person, but could not do sofor very strong and obvious reasons. He allowed himself the privilege,however, of declaring that foreign noblemen are not always as black asthey are painted. And then, for a very excellent reason, he contrivedto change the subject by asking where she was going on the continent.
"I may go to Vienna," she said, with a smile that served to puzzlerather than to delight him. He was more than ever convinced that shewas playing with him. "But pray do not look so gloomy, Mr. Schmidt, Ishall not make any demands upon your time while I am there. You may--"
"I am quite sure of that," he interrupted, with his ready smile. "Yousee, I am a person of no consequence in Vienna, while you--Ah, well, asan American girl you will be hobnobbing with the nobility while thehumble Schmidt sits afar off and marvels at the kindness of a fate thatbefell him in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, and yet curses the fatethat makes him unworthy of the slightest notice from the aforesaidAmerican girl. For, I daresay, Miss Guile, you, like all Americangirls, are ready to leap at titles."
"That really isn't fair, Mr. Schmidt," she protested, flushing. "Whyshould you and I quarrel over a condition that cannot apply to eitherof us? You are not a nobleman, and I am not a title-seeking Americangirl. So, why all this beautiful irony?"
"It only remains for me to humbly beg your pardon and to add that ifyou come to Vienna my every waking hour shall be devoted to thepleasure of--"
"I am sorry I mentioned it, Mr. Schmidt," she interrupted coldly. "Youmay rest easy, for I shall not keep you awake for a single hour.Besides, I may not go to Vienna at all."
"I am sure you would like Vienna," he said, somewhat chilled by hermanner.
"I have been there, with my parents, but it was a long time ago. I oncesaw the Emperor and often have I seen the wonderful PrinceLiechtenstein."
"Have you travelled extensively in Europe?"
She was smiling once more. "I don't know what you would considerextensively," she said. "I was educated in Paris, I have spentinnumerable winters in Rome and quite as many summers in Scotland,England, Switzerland, Germ--"
"I know who you are!" he cried out enthusiastically. To his amazement,a startled expression leaped into her eyes. "You are travelling underan assumed name." She remained perfectly still, watching him with ananxious smile on her lips. "You are no other than Miss Baedeker, thewell-known authoress."
It seemed to him that she breathed deeply. At any rate, her browcleared and her smile was positively enchanting. Never, in all hislife, had he gazed upon a lovelier face. His heart began to beat with arapidity that startled him, and a queer little sensation, as ofsmothering, made it difficult for him to speak naturally in his nextattempt.
"In that case, my pseudonym should be Guide, not Guile," she criedmerrily. The dimples played in her cheeks and her eyes were dancing.
"B. stands for Baedeker, I'm sure. Baedeker Guide. If the B. isn't forBaedeker, what is it for?"
"Are you asking what the B. really stands for, Mr. Schmidt?"
"In a round-about way, Miss Guile," he admitted.
"My name is Bedelia," she said, with absolute sincerity. "Me mither isIrish, d'ye see?"
"By jove, it's worth a lot of trouble to get you to smile like that,"he cried admiringly. "It is the first really honest smile you'vedisplayed. If you knew how it improves you, you'd be doing it all ofthe time."
"Smiles are sometimes expensive."
"It depends on the market."
"I never take them to a cheap market. They are not classed asnecessities."
"You couldn't offer them to any one who loves luxuries more than I do."
"You pay for them only with compliments, I see, and there is nothing socheap."
"Am I to take that as a rebuke?"
"If possible," she said sweetly.
At this juncture, the miserable Hobbs hove into sight, not figurativelybut literally. He came surging across the deck in a mad dash from onehaven to another, or, more accurately, from post to post.
"I beg pardon, sir," he gasped, finally steadying himself onwide-spread legs within easy reach of Robin's sustaining person. "Thereis a wireless for Mr. Totten, sir, but when I took it to 'im he said tofetch it to you, being unable to hold up 'is head, wot with thewretched meal he had yesterday and the--"
"I see, Hobbs. Well, where is it?"
Hobbs looked embarrassed. "Well, you see, sir, I 'esitated about givingit to you when you appear to be so--"
"Never mind. You may give it to me. Miss Guile will surely pardon me ifI devote a second or two to an occupation she followed so earnestly upto a very short time ago."
"Pray forget that I am present, Mr. Schmidt," she said, and smiled uponthe bewildered Hobbs, who after an instant delivered the message to hismaster.
Robin read it through and at the end whistled softly.
"Take it to Mr. Totten, Hobbs, and see if it will not serve to make himhold up his head a little."
"Very good, sir. I hope it will. Wouldn't it be wise for me tohannounce who it is from, sir, to sort of prepare him for--"
"He knows who it is from, Hobbs, so you needn't worry. It is from home,if it will interest you, Hobbs."
"Thank you, sir, it does interest me. I thought it might be from Mr.Blithers."
Robin's scowl sent him scuttling away a great deal more rigidly thanwhen he came.
"Idiot!" muttered the young man, still scowling.
There was silence between the two for a few seconds. Then she spokedisinterestedly:
"Is it from the Mr. Blithers who has the millions and the daughter whowants to marry a prince?"
"Merely a business transaction, Miss Guile," he said absently. He wasthinking of Romano's message.
"So it would appear."
"I beg pardon? I was--er--thinking--"
"It was of no consequence, Mr. Schmidt," she said airily.
He picked up the thread once more. "As a matter of fact, I've heard itsaid that Miss Blithers refused to marry the Prince."
"Is it possible?" with fine irony. "Is he such a dreadful person as allthat?"
"I'm sure I don't know," murmured Robin uncomfortably. "He may be nomore dreadful than she."
"I cannot hear you, Mr. Schmidt," she persisted, with unmistakeablemalice in her lovely eyes.
"I'm rather glad that you didn't," he confessed. "Silly remark, youknow."
"Well, I hope she doesn't marry him," said Miss Guile.
"So do I," said R. Schmidt, and their eyes met. After a moment, shelooked away, her first surrender to the mysterious something that laydeep in his.
"It would prove that all American girls are not so black as they'repainted, wouldn't it?" she said, striving to regain the ground she hadlost by that momentary lapse.
"Pray do not overlook the fact that I am half American," he said. "Youmust not expect me to say that they paint at all."
"Schmidt is a fine old American name," she mused, the mischief back inher eyes.
"And so is Bedelia," said he.
"Will you pardon me, Mr. Schmidt, if I express surprise that you speakEnglish without the tiniest suggestion of an accent?"
"I will pardon you for everything and anything, Miss Guile," said he,quite too distinctly. She drew back in her chair and the light ofraillery died in her eyes.
"What an imperial sound it has!"
"And why not? The R stands
for Rex."
"Ah, that accounts for the King's English!"
"Certainly," he grinned. "The king can do no wrong, don't you see?"
"Your servant who was here speaks nothing but the King's English, Iperceive. Perhaps that accounts for a great deal."
"Hobbs? I mean to say,'Obbs? I confess that he has taught me manytricks of the tongue. He is one of the crown jewels."
Suddenly, and without reason, she appeared to be bored. As a matter offact, she hid an incipient yawn behind her small gloved hand.
"I think I shall go to my room. Will you kindly unwrap me, Mr. Schmidt?"
He promptly obeyed, and then assisted her to her feet, steadying heragainst the roll of the vessel.
"I shall pray for continuous rough weather," he announced, with asgallant a bow as could be made under the circumstances.
"Thank you," she said, and he was pleased to take it that she was notthanking him for a physical service.
A few minutes later he was in his own room, and she was in hers, andthe promenade deck was as barren as the desert of Sahara.
He found Count Quinnox stretched out upon his bed, attended not only byHobbs but also the reanimated Dank. The crumpled message lay on thefloor.
"I'm glad you waited awhile," said the young lieutenant, getting upfrom the trunk on which he had been sitting. "If you had come anysooner you would have heard words fit only for a soldier to hear. Itreally was quite appalling."
"He's better now," said Hobbs, more respectfully than was his wont. Itwas evident that he had sustained quite a shock.
"Well, what do you think of it?" demanded the Prince, pointing to themessage.
"Of all the confounded impudence--" began the Count healthily, and thenuttered a mighty groan of impotence. It was clear that he could not dojustice to the occasion a second time.
Robin picked up the Marconigram, and calmly smoothed out the crinkles.Then he read it aloud, very slowly and with extreme disgust in his fineyoung face. It was a lengthy communication from Baron Romano, the PrimeMinister in Edelweiss.
"'Preliminary agreement signed before hearing Blithers had boughtLondon, Paris, Berlin. He cables his immediate visit to G. Object nowappears clear. All newspapers in Europe print despatches from Americathat marriage is practically arranged between R. and M. Interviews withBlithers corroborate reported engagement. Europe is amused. Editorialssarcastic. Price on our securities advance two points on confirmationof report. We are bewildered. Also vague rumour they have eloped, butdenied by B. Dawsbergen silent. What does it all mean? Wire truth tome. People are uneasy. Gourou will meet you in Paris.'"
"I shall pray for continuous rough weather"]
In the adjoining suite, Miss Guile was shaking Mrs. Gaston out of along-courted and much needed sleep. The poor lady sat up and blinkedfeebly at the excited, starry-eyed girl.
"Wake up!" cried Bedelia impatiently. "What do you think? I have aperfectly wonderful suspicion--perfectly wonderful."
"How can you be so unfeeling?" moaned the limp lady.
"This R. Schmidt is Prince Robin of Graustark!" cried the girlexcitedly. "I am sure of it--just as sure as can be."
Mrs. Gaston's eyes were popping, not with amazement but alarm.
"Do lie down, child," she whimpered. "Marie! The sleeping powders atonce! Do--"
"Oh, I'm not mad," cried the girl. "Now listen to me and I'll tell youwhy I believe--yes, actually believe him to be the--"
"Marie, do you hear me?"
Miss Guile shook her vigorously. "Wake up! It isn't a nightmare. Nowlisten!"