VII
"THAT WHICH THY SERVANT IS--"
A man that you'd call your friend. Such had been Fitzhugh Carroll'sreference to the Unspeakable Perk. With that characterization in hermind. Miss Brewster let herself drift, after her suitor had left her,into a dreamy consideration of the hermit's attitude toward her. She wasnot prone lightly to employ the terms of friendship, yet this new andcasual acquaintance had shown a readiness to serve--not as cavalier, butas friend--none too common in the experience of the much-courted and alittle spoiled beauty. Being, indeed, a "lady nowise bitter to those whoserved her with good intent," she reflected, with a kindly light inher eyes, that it was all part and parcel of the beetle's man's amiablequeerness.
Still musing upon this queerness, she strolled back to find her mountwaiting at the corner of the plaza. In consideration of the heat shelet her cream-colored mule choose his own pace, so they proceeded quiteslowly up the hill road, both absorbed in meditation, which ceased onlywhen the mule started an argument about a turn in the trail. He was awell-bred trotting mule, worth six hundred dollars in gold of any man'smoney, and he was self-appreciative in knowledge of the fact. He broughta singular firmness of purpose to the support of the negative of herproposition, which was that he should swing north from the broad intothe narrow path. When the debate was over, St. John the Baptist--this,I hesitate to state, yet must, it being the truth, was the spiritedanimal's name--was considerably chastened, and Miss Brewster more than atrifle flushed. She left him tied to a ceiba branch at the exit fromthe dried creek bed, with strict instructions not to kick, lest a worsething befall him. Miss Brewster's fighting blood was up, when, tenminutes late, because of the episode, she reached the summit of therock.
"Oh, Mr. Beetle Man, are you there?" she called.
"Yes, Voice. You sound strange. What is it?"
"I've been hurrying, and if you tell me I'm late, I'll--I'll fall onyour neck again and break it."
"Has anything happened?"
"Nothing in particular. I've been boxing the compass with a mule. It'stiresome."
He reflected.
"You're not, by any chance, speaking figuratively of your respectedparent?"
"Certainly NOT!" she disclaimed indignantly. "This was a real mule.You're very impertinent."
"Well, you see, he was impertinent to me, saying he was out when he wasin. What is his decision--yes or no?"
"No."
A sharp exclamation came from the nook below.
"Is that the entomological synonym for 'damn'?" she inquired.
"It's a lament for time wasted on a--Well, never mind that."
"But he wants you to carry a message by that secret route of yours. Willyou do it for him?"
"NO!"
"That's not being a very kind or courteous beetle man."
"I owe Mr. Brewster no courtesy."
"And you pay only where you owe? Just, but hardly amiable. Well, you oweme nothing--but--will you do it for me?"
"Yes."
"Without even knowing what it is?"
"Yes."
"In return you shall have your heart's desire."
"Doubted."
"Isn't the dearest wish of your soul to drive me out of Caracuna?"
"Hum! Well--er--yes. Yes; of course it is."
"Very well. If you can get dad's message on the wire to Washington, hethinks the Secretary of State, who is his friend, can reach the Dutchand have them open up the blockade for us."
"Time apparently meaning nothing to him."
"Would it take much time?"
"About four days to a wire."
She gazed at him in amazement.
"And you were willing to give up four days to carry my message through,'unsight--unseen,' as we children used to say?"
"Willing enough, but not able to. I'd have got a messenger through withit, if necessary. But in four days, there'll be other obstacles besidesthe Dutch."
"Quarantine?"
"Yes."
"I thought that had to wait for Dr. Pruyn."
"Pruyn's here. That's a secret, Miss Brewster."
"Do you know EVERYTHING? Has he found plague?"
"Ah, I don't say that. But he will find it, for it's certainly here. Isatisfied myself of that yesterday."
"From your beggar friend?"
"What made you think that, O most acute observer?"
"What else would you be talking to him of, with such interest?"
"You're correct. Bubonic always starts in the poor quarters. To know howpeople die, you have to know how they live. So I cultivated my beggarfriend and listened to the gossip of quick funerals and unexplaineddisappearances. I'd have had some real arguments to present to Mr.Brewster if he had cared to listen."
"He'll listen to Dr. Pruyn. They're old friends."
"No! Are they?"
"Yes. Since college days. So perhaps the quarantine will be easier toget through than the blockade."
"Do you think so? I'm afraid you'll find that pull doesn't work with theservice that Dr. Pruyn is in."
"And you think that there will be quarantine within four days?"
"Almost sure to be."
"Then, of course, I needn't trouble you with the message."
"Don't jump at conclusions. There might be another and quicker way."
"Wireless?" she asked quickly.
"No wireless on the island. No. This way you'll just have to trust mefor."
"I'll trust you for anything you say you can do."
"But I don't say I can. I say only that I'll try."
"That's enough for me. Ready! Now, brace yourself. I'm coming down."
"Wh--why--wait! Can't you send it down?"
"No. Besides, you KNOW you want to see me. No use pretending, after lasttime. Remember your verse now, and I'll come slowly."
Solemnly he began:--
"Scarab, tarantula, neurop--" "'Doodle-bug,'" she prompted severely. "--doodle-bug, flea,"--
he concluded obediently.
"Scarab, tarantula, doodle-bug, flea. Scarab, tarantula, doodle--"
"Oof! I--I--didn't think you'd be here so soon!"
He scrambled to his feet, hardly less palpitating than on the occasionof their first encounter.
"Hopeless!" she mourned. "Incurable! Wanted: a miracle of St. Vitus. Dostop nibbling your hat, and sit down."
"I don't think it's as bad as it was," he murmured, obeying. "One getsaccustomed to you."
"One gets accustomed to anything in time, even the eccentricities ofone's friends."
"Do you think I'm eccentric?"
"Do I think--Have you ever known any one who didn't think youeccentric?"
Upon this he pondered solemnly.
"It's so long since I've stopped to consider what people think of me.One hasn't time, you know."
"Then one is unhuman. _I_ have time."
"Of course. But you haven't anything else to do."
As this was quite true, she naturally felt annoyed.
"Knowing as you do all the secrets of my inner life," she observedsarcastically, "of course you are in a position to judge."
Her own words recalled Carroll's charge, and though, with the subjectof them before her, it seemed ridiculously impossible, yet the spiritof mischief, ever hovering about her like an attendant sprite, descendedand took possession of her speech. She assumed a severely judicialexpression.
"Mr. Beetle Man, will you lay your hand upon your microscope, orwhatever else scientists make oath upon, and answer fully and truly thequestion about to be put to you?"
"As I hope for a blessed release from this abode of lunacy, I will."
"Mr. Beetle Man, have you got an awful secret in your life?"
So sharply did he start that the heavy goggles slipped a fraction of aninch along his nose, the first time she had ever seen them in any degreemisplaced. She was herself sensibly discountenanced by his perturbation.
"Why do you ask that?" he demanded.
"Natura
l interest in a friend," she answered lightly, but with growingwonder. "I think you'd be altogether irresistible if you were a pirateor a smuggler or a revolutionary. The romantic spirit could lurk sosecurely behind those gloomy soul-screens that you wear. What do youkeep back of them, O dark and shrouded beetle man?"
"My eyes," he grunted.
"Basilisk eyes, I'm sure. And what behind the eyes?"
"My thoughts."
"You certainly keep them securely. No intruders allowed. But you haven'tanswered my question. Have you ever murdered any one in cold blood? Orare you a married man trifling with the affections of poor little me?"
"You shall know all," he began, in the leisurely tone of one whocommences a long narrative. "My parents were honest, but poor. At theage of three years and four months, a maternal uncle, who, having beena proofreader of Abyssinian dialect stories for a ladies' magazine, wasconsidered a literary prophet, foretold that I--"
"Help! Wait! Stop!--
"'Oh, skip your dear uncle!' the bellman exclaimed, And impatiently tinkled his bell."
Her companion promptly capped her verse:--
"'I skip forty years,' said the baker in tears,"--
"You can't," she objected. "If you skipped half that, I don't believe itwould leave you much."
"When one is giving one's life history by request," he began, withdignity, "interruptions--"
"It isn't by request," she protested. "I don't want your life history. Iwon't have it! You shan't treat an unprotected and helpless stranger so.Besides, I'm much more interested to know how you came to be familiarwith Lewis Carroll."
"Just because I've wasted my career on frivolous trifles like science,you needn't think I've wholly neglected the true inwardness of life, asexemplified in 'The Hunting of the Snark,'" he said gravely.
"Do you know"--she leaned forward, searching his face--"I believe youcame out of that book yourself. ARE you a Boojum? Will you, unless I'charm you with smiles and soap,'
"'Softly and silently vanish away, And never be heard of again'?"
"You're mixed. YOU'D be the one to do that if I were a real Boojum. Andyou'll be doing it soon enough, anyway," he concluded ruefully.
"So I shall, but don't be too sure that I'll 'never be heard of again.'"
He glanced up at the sun, which was edging behind a dark cloud, over thegap.
"Is your raging thirst for personal information sufficiently slaked?" heasked. "We've still fifteen or twenty minutes left."
"Is that all? And I haven't yet given you the message!" She drew it fromthe bag and handed it to him.
"Sealed," he observed.
The girl colored painfully.
"Dad didn't intend--You mustn't think--" With a flash of generous wrathshe tore the envelope open and held out the inclosure. "But I shouldn'thave thought you so concerned with formalities," she commentedcuriously.
"It isn't that. But in some respects, possibly important, it would bebetter if--" He stopped, looking at her doubtfully.
"Read it," she nodded.
He ran through the brief document.
"Yes; it's just as well that I should know. I'll leave a copy."
Something in his accent made her scrutinize him.
"You're going into danger!" she cried.
"Danger? No; I think not. Difficulty, perhaps. But I think it can be putthrough."
"If it were dangerous, you'd do it just the same," she said, almostaccusingly.
"It would be worth some danger now to get you away from greater dangerlater. See here, Miss Brewster"--he rose and stood over her--"there mustbe no mistake or misunderstanding about this."
"Don't gloom at me with those awful glasses," she said fretfully. "Ifeel as if I were being stared at by a hidden person."
He disregarded the protest.
"If I get this message through, can you guarantee that your father willtake out the yacht as soon as the Dutch send word to him?"
"Oh, yes. He will do that. How are you going to deliver the message?"
Again her words might as well not have been spoken.
"You'd better have your luggage ready for a quick start."
"Will it be soon?"
"It may be."
"How shall we know?"
"I will get word to you."
"Bring it?"
He shook his head.
"No; I fear not. This is good-bye."
"You're very casual about it," she said, aggrieved. "At least, it wouldbe polite to pretend."
"What am I to pretend?"
"To be sorry. Aren't you sorry? Just a little bit?"
"Yes; I'm sorry. Just a little bit--at least."
"I'm most awfully sorry myself," she said frankly. "I shall miss you."
"As a curiosity?" he asked, smiling.
"As a friend. You have been a friend to us--to me," she amended sweetly."Each time I see you, I have more the feeling that you've been more of afriend than I know."
"'That which thy servant is,'" he quoted lightly. But beneath thelightness she divined a pain that she could not wholly fathom. Quiteaware of her power, Miss Polly Brewster was now, for one of the fewtimes in her life, stricken with contrition for her use of it.
"And I--I haven't been very nice," she faltered. "I'm afraid sometimesI've been quite horrid."
"You? You've been 'the glory and the dream.' I shall be needing memoriesfor a while. And when the glory has gone, at least the dream willremain--tethered."
"But I'm not going to be a dream alone," she said, with wistfullightness. "It's far too much like being a ghost. I'm going to be afriend, if you'll let me. And I'm going to write to you, if you willtell me where. You won't find it so very easy to make a mere memory ofme. And when you come home--When ARE you coming home?"
He shook his head.
"Then you must find out, and let me know. And you must come and visit usat our summer place, where there's a mountain-side that we can sit on,and you can pretend that our lake is the Caribbean and hate it to yourheart's content--"
"I don't believe I can ever quite hate the Caribbean again."
"From this view you mustn't, anyway. I shouldn't like that. As for ourlake, nobody could really help loving it. So you must be sure and come,won't you?"
"Dreams!" he murmured.
"Isn't there room in the scientific life for dreams?"
"Yes. But not for their fulfillment."
"But there will be beetles and dragon-flies on our mountain," she wenton, conscious of talking against time, of striving to put off the momentof departure. "You'll find plenty of work there. Do you know, Mr. BeetleMan, you haven't told me a thing, really, about your work, or a thing,really, about yourself. Is that the way to treat a friend?"
"When I undertook to spread before you the true and veracious history ofmy life," he began, striving to make his tone light, "you would none ofit."
"Are you determined to put me off? Do you think that I wouldn't find thethings that are real to you interesting?"
"They're quite technical," he said shyly.
"But they are the big things to you, aren't they? They make life foryou?"
"Oh, yes; that, of course." It was as if he were surprised at the needof such a question. "I suppose I find the same excitement and adventurein research that other men find in politics, or war, or making money."
"Adventure?" she said, puzzled. "I shouldn't have supposed research anadventurous career, exactly."
"No; not from the outside." His hidden gaze shifted to sweep the fardistances. His voice dropped and softened, and, when he spoke again,she felt vaguely and strangely that he was hardly thinking of her orher question, except as a part of the great wonder-world surrounding andenfolding their companioned remoteness.
"This is my credo," he said, and quoted, half under his breath:--
"'We have come in search of truth, Trying with uncertain key Door by door of mystery. We are reaching, through His laws, To the garment hem of Cause. As, with fi
ngers of the blind, We are groping here to find What the hieroglyphics mean Of the Unseen in the seen; What the Thought which underlies Nature's masking and disguise; What it is that hides beneath Blight and bloom and birth and death.'"
Other men had poured poetry into Polly Brewster's ears, and she hadthought them vapid or priggish or affected, according as they hadchosen this or that medium. This man was different. For all his outergrotesquery, the noble simplicity of the verse matched some veiled andhitherto but half-expressed quality within him, and dignified him. MissBrewster suffered the strange but not wholly unpleasant sensation offeeling herself dwindle.
"It's very beautiful," she said, with an effort. "Is it Matthew Arnold?"
"Nearer home. You an American, and don't know your Whittier? Thatpassage from his 'Agassiz' comes pretty near to being what life means tome. Have I answered your requirements?"
"Fully and finely."
She rose from the rock upon which she had been seated, and stretchedout both hands to him. He took and held them without awkwardness orembarrassment. By that alone she could have known that he was sufferingwith a pain that submerged consciousness of self.
"Whether I see you again or not, I'll never forget you," she saidsoftly. "You HAVE been good to me, Mr. Perkins."
"I like the other name better," he said.
"Of course. Mr. Beetle Man." She laughed a little tremulously. Abruptlyshe stamped a determined foot. "I'm NOT going away without having seenmy friend for once. Take off your glasses, Mr. Beetle Man."
"Too much radiance is bad for the microscopical eye."
"The sun is under a cloud."
"But you're here, and you'd glow in the dark."
"No; I'm not to be put off with pretty speeches. Take them off. Please!"
Releasing her hand, he lifted off the heavy and disfiguring apparatus,and stood before her, quietly submissive to her wish. She took a quickstep backward, stumbled, and thrust out a hand against the face of thegiant rock for support.
"Oh!" she cried, and again, "Oh, I didn't think you'd look like that!"
"What is it? Is there anything very wrong with me?" he asked seriously,blinking a little in the soft light.
"No, no. It isn't that. I--I hardly know--I expected somethingdifferent. Forgive me for being so--so stupid."
In truth, Miss Polly Brewster had sustained a shock. She had becomeaccustomed to regard her beetle man rather more in the light of a beetlethan a man. In fact, the human side of him had impressed her only asa certain dim appeal to sympathy; the masculine side had simply notexisted. Now it was as if he had unmasked. The visage, so grotesque andgnomish behind its mechanical apparatus, had given place to a whollydifferent and formidably strange face. The change all centered in theeyes. They were wide-set eyes of the clearest, steadiest, and darkestgray she had ever met; and they looked out at her from sharply angledbrows with a singular clarity and calmness of regard. In their light theman's face became instinct with character in every line. Strength wasthere, self-control, dignity, a glint of humor in the little wrinkles atthe corner of the mouth, and, withal a sort of quiet and sturdy beauty.
She had half-turned her face from him. Now, as her gaze returned andwas fixed by his, she felt a wave of blood expand her heart, rush upwardinto her cheeks, and press into her eyes tears of swift regret. Butnow she was sorry, not for him, but for herself, because he had becomeremote and difficult to her.
"Have I startled you?" he asked curiously. "I'll put them back onagain."
"No, no; don't do that!" She rallied herself to the point of laughinga little. "I'm a goose. You see, I've pictured you as quite different.Have you ever seen yourself in the glass with those dreadful disguiseson?"
"Why, no; I don't suppose I have," he replied, after reflection. "Afterall, they're meant for use, not for ornament."
By this time she had mastered her confusion and was able to examine hisface. Under his eyes were circles of dull gray, defined by deep lines,
"Why, you're worn out!" she cried pitifully. "Haven't you beensleeping?"
"Not much."
"You must take something for it." The mothering instinct sprang to therescue. "How much rest did you get last night?"
"Let me see. Last night I did very well. Fully four hours."
"And that is more than you average?"
"Well, yes; lately. You see, I've been pretty busy."
"Yet you've given up your time to my wretched, unimportant little stupidaffairs! And what return have I made?"
"You've made the sun shine," he said, "in a rather shaded existence."
"Promise me that you'll sleep to-night; that you won't work a stroke."
"No; I can't promise that."
"You'll break down. You'll go to pieces. What have you got to do moreimportant than keeping in condition?"
"As to that, I'll last through. And there's some business that won'twait."
Divination came upon her.
"Dad's message!"
"If it weren't that, it would be something else."
Her hand went out to him, and was withdrawn.
"Please put on your glasses," she said shyly.
Smiling, he did her bidding.
"There! Now you are my beetle man again. No, not quite, though. You'llnever be quite the same beetle man again."
"I shall always be," he contradicted gently.
"Anyway, it's better. You're easier to say things to. Are you really theman who ran away from the street car?" she asked doubtfully.
"I really am."
"Then I'm most surely sure that you had good reason." She began to laughsoftly. "As for the stories about you, I'd believe them less than ever,now."
"Are there stories about me?"
"Gossip of the club. They call you 'The Unspeakable Perk'!"
"Not a bad nickname," he admitted. "I expect I have been ratherunspeakable, from their point of view."
A desire to have the faith that was in her supported by this man's ownword overrode her shyness.
"Mr. Beetle Man," she said, "have you got a sister?"
"I? No. Why?"
"If you had a sister, is there anything--Oh, DARN your sister!" brokeforth the irrepressible Polly. "I'll be your sister for this. Is thereanything about you and your life here that you'd be afraid to tell me?"
"No."
"I knew there wasn't," she said contentedly. She hesitated a moment,then put a hand on his arm. "Does this HAVE to be good-bye, Mr. BeetleMan?" she said wistfully.
"I'm afraid so."
"No!" She stamped imperiously. "I want to see you again, and I'm goingto see you again. Won't you come down to the port and bring me anotherbunch of your mountain orchids when we sail--just for good-bye?"
Through the dull medium of the glasses she could feel his eyesquestioning hers. And she knew that once more before she sailed away,she must look into those eyes, in all their clarity and all theirstrength--and then try to forget them. The swift color ran up into hercheeks.
"I--I suppose so," he said. "Yes."
"Au revoir, then!" she cried, with a thrill of gladness, and fled up therock.
The Unspeakable Perk strode down his path, broke into a trot, and heldto it until he reached his house. But Miss Polly, departing in her owndirection, stopped dead after ten minutes' going. It had struck herforcefully that she had forgotten the matter of the expense of themessage. How could she reach him? She remembered the cliff above therock, and the signal. If a signal was valid in one direction, it oughtto work equally well in the other. She had her automatic with her.Retracing her steps, she ascended the cliff, a rugged climb. Across thedeep-fringed chasm she could plainly see the porch of the quinta withthe little clearing at the side, dim in the clouded light. Drawing therevolver, she fired three shots.
"He'll come," she thought contentedly.
The sun broke from behind the obscuring cloud and sent a shaft of lightstraight down upon the clearing. It illumined with pitiless distinctnessthe shimmering sil
k of a woman's dress, hanging on a line and wavingin the first draft of the evening breeze. For a moment Polly stoodtransfixed. What did it mean? Was it perhaps a servant's dress. No; hehad told her that there was no woman servant.
As she sought the solution, a woman's figure emerged from the porch ofthe quinta, crossed the compound, and dropped upon a bench. Even at thatdistance, the watcher could tell from the woman's bearing and apparelthat she was not of the servant class. She seemed to be gazing out overthe mountains; there was something dreary and forlorn in her attitude.What, then, did she do in the beetle man's house?
Below the rock the shrubbery weaved and thrashed, and the person whocould best answer that question burst into view at a full lope.
"What is it?" he panted. "Was it you who fired?"
She stared at him mutely. The revolver hung in her hand. In a moment hewas beside her.
"Has anything happened?" he began again, then turned his head to followthe direction of her regard. He saw the figure in the compound.
"Good God in heaven!" he groaned.
He caught the revolver from her hand and fired three slow shots. Thewoman turned. Snatching off his hat, he signalled violently with it.The woman rose and, as it seemed to Polly Brewster, moved in humblesubmissiveness back to the shelter.
White consternation was stamped on the Unspeakable Perk's face as hehanded the revolver to its owner.
"Do you need me?" he asked quickly. "If not, I must go back at once."
"I do not need you," said the girl, in level tones. "You lied to me."
His expression changed. She read in it the desperation of guilt.
"I can explain," he said hurriedly, "but not now. There isn't time. Waithere. I'll be back. I'll be back the instant I can get away."
As he spoke, he was halfway down the rock, headed for the lower trail.The bushes closed behind him.
Painfully Polly Brewster made her way down the treacherous footing ofthe cliff path to her place on the rock. From her bag she drew one ofher cards, wrote slowly and carefully a few words, found a dry stick,set it between two rocks, and pinned her message to it. Then she ran, ashelpless humans run from the scourge of their own hearts.
Half an hour later the hermit, sweat-covered and breathless, returnedto the rock. For a moment he gazed about, bewildered by the silence. Thewhite card caught his eye. He read its angular scrawl.
"I wish never to see you again. Never! Never! Never!"
A sulphur-yellow inquisitor, of a more insinuating manner than theformer participant in their conversation, who had been examining themessage on his own account, flew to the top of the cliff.
"Qu'est-ce qu'elle dit? Qu'est-ce qu'elle dit?" he demanded.
For the first time in his adult life the beetle man threw a stone at abird.