Third day out. All kinds of doings, weather and otherwise. This is a queer old Atlantic. ~ Smith's Log
Overnight, Mrs. Charlton Denyse (wife of an erstwhile Charley Dennis whohad made his pile in the wheat-pit) was a busy person. Scenting socialprestige, of which she was avid, in connection with Cecily Wayne, shehad sought to establish herself as the natural protectress ofunchaperoned maidenhood and had met with a well-bred, well-timed, andwell-placed snub.
Thick of skin, indeed, must they be who venture into the New York socialscramble, and Mrs. Denyse shared at least one characteristic of therhinoceros. Nothing daunted by her failure with the daughter, sheproceeded to invest a part of the Dennis pile in wireless messages toHenry Clay Wayne, on the basis of her kinship with Remsen Van Dam. Inthe course of time these elicited replies. Mrs. Denyse was wellsatisfied. She was mingling in the affairs of the mighty.
She was also mingling in the affairs of the Tyro. To every one on boardwhom she knew--and she was expert in making or claimingacquaintance--she expanded upon the impudence of a young nobody namedSmith who was making up to Cecily Wayne, doubtless with a hope ofcapturing her prospective millions. Among others, she approached JudgeEnderby, and that dry old Machiavelli congratulated her upon heraltruistic endeavors to keep the social strain of the ship pure andundefiled, promising his help. He it was who suggested her appealing tothe captain.
As I have indicated, Judge Enderby in his unprofessional hours had anelfish and prank-some love of mischief.
Quite innocent of plots and stratagems formulating about him, the Tyrotried all the various devices made and provided for the killing of timeon shipboard, but found none of them sufficiently lethal. At dinner hehad caught a far glimpse of Little Miss Grouch seated at the captain'stable between Lorf Guenn and the floppy-eared scion of the house ofSperry. Later in the evening he had passed her once and she had givenhim the most casual of nods. He went to bed with a very restless wonderas to what was going to happen in the morning, when she had promised towalk with him again.
Nothing happened in the morning. Nothing, that is, except an uncertainbobble of sea, overspread by a wind-driven mist which kept the waryunder cover. The Tyro tramped endless miles at the side of theindefatigable Dr. Alderson; he patrolled the deck with a more anxiouswatchfulness than is expected even of the ship's lookout; he peered intonooks and corners; he studied the plan of the leviathan for possiblerefuges; he pervaded the structure like a lost dog. Useless. Alluseless. No Little Miss Grouch anywhere to be seen.
At noon he had given up hope and stood leaning against a stanchion inmorose contemplation of a school of porpoises. They were very playfulporpoises. They seemed to be actually enjoying themselves. That thereshould be joy anywhere in that gray and colorless world was, to theTyro, a monstrous thing. Then he turned and beheld Little Miss Grouch.
She sat, muffled up in a steamer chair, just behind him. Only her eyesappeared, bright and big under the quaintly slanted brows; but that wasenough. The Tyro was under the impression that the sun had come out.
"Hel-lo!" he cried. "How long have you been there?"
"One minute, exactly."
"Isn't it a glorious day?" said the Tyro, meaning every word of it.
"No; it isn't," she returned, with conviction. "I think this is a veryqueer-acting ship."
"No! Do you? Why, I supposed all ships acted this way."
"Well, they don't. I don't like it. I haven't been feeling a bit well."
The Tyro expressed commiseration and sympathy.
"You look disgustingly fit," she commented.
"I? Never felt so well in my life. A minute ago, I won't say. Butnow--I could burst into poetry."
"Do," she urged.
"All right, I will. Listen. It's a limerick. I made it up out of thefullness of my heart, and it's about myself but dedicated to you.
"There once was a seaworthy child Whose feelings could never be riled. While the porpoises porped--"
"There's no such word as 'porped,'" she interrupted.
"Yes, there is. There has to be. Nothing else in the world acts like aporpoise; therefore there must be a word meaning to act like a porpoise;and that word is the verb 'to porp.'"
"You're an ingenious lunatic," she allowed.
"Dangerous only when interrupted. I will now resume my lyric:--
"While the porpoises porped And the passengers torped--"
"The passengers what-ed?"
"Torped. What you've been doing this morning."
"I haven't!" she denied indignantly.
"Of course you have. You've been in a torpor, haven't you? Well, to bein a torpor, is to torp. Now I'm going to do it all over again, and ifyou interrupt this time, I'll sing it.
"There once was a seaworthy child Whose feelings could never be riled. While the porpoises porped And the passengers torped, He sat on the lee rail and smiled."
"Beautiful!" she applauded. "I feel much better already."
"Don't you think a little walk would put you completely on your feet?"he inquired.
"On yours, more probably." She smiled up at him. "Come and sit down andtell me: are you a poet, or a lunatic, or a haberdasher, or what kind ofa--a Daddleskink are you?"
"Haberdasher? Why should I be a haberdasher?"
"An acquaintance of yours has been talking--trying to talk to me aboutyou. She said you were."
"Mrs. Denyse?"
"She seems a fearfully queer person, and quite excited about you. Therewas something about you and a necktie, and--and Mr. Van Dam, and then Iescaped."
"Oh! The necktie. Why, yes, I suppose I am a sort of haberdasher, cometo think of it."
"I'm glad you're not ashamed of your business if you are of your name.You told her it was Smith."
"Did I? I don't remember that I did, exactly. Even so, what would be theuse of wasting a really good name on her? She wouldn't appreciate it."
"Mr. De Dalesquinc--"
"Daddleskink," corrected the Tyro firmly.
"Very well," she sighed. "Daddleskink, then. Wasn't that Dr. Alderson,the historian, that you were walking with yesterday?"
"Yes. Do you know him?"
"Only by correspondence. He did some research work on my house."
"Your house. Do you inhabit a prehistoric ruin, that Alderson shouldtake an interest in it?"
"I call it mine. It isn't really--yet. It doesn't belong to anybody."
"Then why not just go and grab it? Squatter sovereignty, I believe theycall the process."
"I thought it was called jumping a claim. Somebody has a claim on it.But that doesn't count. I always get what I want."
"Without trying?"
"Yes," she purred.
"Unfortunate maiden!"
"What?"
"I said 'unfortunate maiden.' Life must be fearfully dull for you."
"It isn't dull at all. It's delightful!"
"As witness day before yesterday. Were you getting what you wantedthen?"
"I wanted a good cry, and I got it. And I don't want to talk about it.If you're going to be stupid--"
"Tell me about the prehistoric ruin," he implored hastily.
"It isn't a ruin at all. It's the cunningest, quaintest, homiest littleold house in all New York."
"I'm sorry," he said in the tone of one who reluctantly thwartsanother's project.
"What are you sorry about?" She drew down the slanted brows with adelicious effect of surprise.
"I'm sorry; but you can't have that house."
"Why not?"
"It's mine."
"Now, you take any other house in New York that you want," she cajoled."Fifth Avenue is still nice. Any one can live on Fifth Avenue, though.But to have a real house on Battery Place--that's different."
"My idea exactly."
She sat bolt upright. "You aren't serious. You don't mean themosaic-front house with the little pillars?"
"The oldest house left on Battery Place. That's it."
"And you claim it's yours?"
"Practically. I don't exactly own it--"
"Then you never will. I've wished it in," she announced with thecalmness of finality.
"Think how good for you it would be not to get something you wanted. Thetonic effect of a life-size disappointment--"
"No," she said, shaking her head violently, "it wouldn't be good for meat all. I should cry and become a red-nosed mess again.I'm--going--to--have--that--house. Why, Mr. Dad--Mr. Smi--Mr. Man,"she cried, with a gesture of desperation, "I've owned that house in mymind for five years."
"Five years! I've owned it for five generations."
"Are you claiming that it's your family place?"
"It is. Is it yours? Are you my long-lost cousin, by any chance? Welcometo my arms--coat of arms, I mean."
"What would that be?" she inquired mischievously, "a collar-button,fessed--"
"Bending above a tearful maiden rampant. The legend, 'Stand on your ownfeet; if you don't, somebody else will.'"
"I don't think I can boast any cousin named Daddleskink," sheobserved. "Anyway, we're not New Yorkers. We came from the West."
"Where the money is made," he commented.
"To the East where it is spent," she concluded.
"Why spend it buying other people's houses?"
"Daddleskink Manor," ruminated the girl, in mocking solemnity. "Shallyou restore the ancient glory of the name? By the way, Dr. Alderson'sresearches don't seem to have brought your clan to light, in the recordsof the house."
"Oh, my interest is on my mother's side," said the Tyro hastily. "That'swhy I'm buying the property."
"You're not!" said the girl, with a little stamp of her foot. Hercompanion moved back apprehensively. "Can you pay a million dollars forit?"
"No. Can you?"
"Never mind. Dad said he'd get it for me if--if--well, he promised to,anyway."
"If you'd marry the marionette who recently faded from view?"
"Ye--yes."
"Far be it from me," said the Tyro modestly, "to enter the lists againstso redoubtable a champion on such short notice. Still, if you aremarrying real estate, rather than wealth, intellect, or beauty, I maymention that I've got an option on that very house, and that it willcost me pretty much every cent I've made since I left college to pay forit."
"That you've made? Haven't you got any money of your own?"
"Whose do you suppose the money I've made is?"
"But anything to live on, I mean. Do you have to work?"
"Oh, no. The poorhouse is contiguous and hospitable. But I've always hada puerile prejudice against pauperdom as a career."
"You know what I mean," she accused. "Haven't your people got money?"
"Enough. And they can use what they have. Why should they waste it onme?"
"But the men I know don't have to work," said the young lady.
There was nothing patronizing or superior in her tone, but the curiositywith which she regarded her companion was in itself an irritant.
"Oh, well," he said, "after you've bought an old historic house andmaybe a coat of arms, I dare say you'll come to know some decentcitizens by and by."
"You mustn't think I have any feeling about your working," she explainedmagnanimously. "Lots of nice men do. I know that. Only I don't happento know them. Young men, I mean. Of course dad works, but that'sdifferent. I suppose Mrs. Denyse told you who dad is."
"She did. But I didn't know any more after she got through telling thanbefore."
The slanted brows went up to a high pitch of incredulity. "Where in theworld do you live?"
"Why, I've been in the West mostly for some years. My work has kept methere."
"Oh, your haberdashery isn't in New York?"
"My haber--er--well--no; that is, I don't depend on the--er--tradeentirely. I'm a sort of a kind of a chemist, too."
"In a college?" inquired the young lady, whose impressions of chemistryas a pursuit were derived chiefly from her schooldays.
"Mainly in mining-camps. Far out of the world. That's why I don't knowwho you and your father are."
"Don't you really? Well, never mind us. Tell me more about your work,"she besought, setting the feminine pitfall--half unconsciously--intowhich trapper and prey so often walk hand in hand.
He answered in the words duly made and provided for such occasions: "Notmuch to tell," and, as the natural sequence, proceeded to tell it,encouraged by her interested eyes, at no small length.
Little Miss Grouch was genuinely entertained. From the young men whomshe knew she had heard sundry tales of the wild, untamed portions of ourcountry, but these gilded ones had peeked into such places from thewindows of transcontinental trains, or lingered briefly in them onprivate-car junkets, or used them as bases of supply for luxurioushunting-trips. Here was a youth--he looked hardly more--who had gone outin dead earnest and fought the far and dry West for a living, and, asnearly as she could make out from this gray-eyed Othello's modestnarrative, had won his battle all along the line.
I am violating no confidence in stating that this was the beginning oftrouble for Little Miss Grouch, though she was far from appreciating herdanger at the time, or of realizing that her dire design of vengeancewas becoming diluted with a very different sentiment.
"So," concluded the narrator, "here I am, a tenderfoot of the ocean,having marketed my ore-reducing process for a sufficient profit to giveme a vacation, and also to permit of my buying a little old house on theBattery."
"I'm sorry," said Little Miss Grouch, imitatively.
"What are you sorry for?"
"Your disappointment. Still, disappointment is good for the soul.Anyway, I'm not going to quarrel with you now. You're too brutal. Ithink I'm feeling better. How do I look?"
"Like a perfect wond--hum!" broke off the Tyro, nearly choking over hissudden recollection of the terms of acquaintance. "I can't see anyimprovement."
"Perhaps walking would help. They say the plainest face looks betterunder the stimulus of exercise. Is your foot fit to walk on?"
"It's fit for me to walk on," said the Tyro cautiously.
"Come along, then," and she set out at a brisk, swinging stride whichtold its own tale of pulsing life and joyous energy. After half a dozenturns, she paused to lean over the rail which shuts off the carefullycaged creatures of the steerage from the superior above.
"My grandfather came over steerage," she remarked casually. "I don'tthink I should like it."
A big-eyed baby, in its mother's sturdy arms below, caught sight of herand crowed with delight, stretching up its arms.
"Oh," she cried with a little intake of the breath, "look at thatadorable baby!"
As she spoke the Tyro surprised in her face a change; a look of infinitewistfulness and tenderness, the yearning of the eternal mother thatrises in every true woman when she gazes upon the child that might havebeen her own; and suddenly a great longing surged over his soul andmastered him for the moment. But the baby was lisping something inGerman.
"What is it saying?" Little Miss Grouch asked.
"'Pretty-pretty,' substantially," translated the Tyro, recoveringhimself. "Madam," he continued, addressing the mother, "it is evidentthat your offspring suffers from some defect of vision. I advise you toconsult an oculist at once."
"Bitte?" said the mother, a broad-shouldered, deep-chested youngmadonna.
"He says," explained Little Miss Grouch, "that it is a beautiful baby,with a wonderful intelligence and unusually keen eyes. What is hername?"
"Karl, lady," said the mother.
"Let's adopt Karl," said the corrected one, to the Tyro. "We'll comehere every day, and bring him nougats and candied violets--"
"And some p鈚?de foie gras, and brandied peaches, and dry Martinicocktails," concluded the Tyro. "And then there'll be a burial at sea.What do you think a baby's stomach is, beautiful--er--example ofmisplaced generosity? Oranges would be more to the purpose."
"Very well, oranges, then. And we'll come twice a day and meet ourprot間?here."
Thus it was arranged in the course of a talk with the mother. She wasgoing back to the Fatherland, she explained, to exhibit her wonderfulbabe to its grandparents. And if the beautiful lady (here the Tyro shookhis head vigorously) thought the captain wouldn't object, the youngstercould be handed up over the rail for an occasional visit, and could bewarranted to be wholly contented and peaceful. The experiment was triedat once, with such success that the Tyro was presently moved to complainof being wholly supplanted by the newcomer. Thereupon Little Miss Grouchcondescended to resume the promenade.
"As our acquaintance bids fair to be of indefinite duration--" began theTyro, when she cut in:--
"Why indefinite?"
"Since it is to last until I belie my better judgment and basely recantmy opinion as to your looks."
"You were nearly caught while we were discussing our prot間? Well, goon."
"I think you'd best tell me a little about yourself."
"Oh, my life is dull compared with yours," she returned. "Our onlyinteresting problem has been a barn-storming of the doors of New YorkSociety."
"And did you break in?"
For a moment her eyes opened wide. Then she remembered his confessedignorance and laughed.
With such reservations as she deemed advisable, she sketched briefly forhim one of those amazing careers so typical of the swiftly changingsocial conditions of America.
As she talked, he visualized her father, keen, restless, resolute, amoney-hunter, who had bred out of a few dollars many dollars, and out ofmany dollars an overwhelming fortune; her mother, a woman of clean,fine, shrewd, able New England stock (the Tyro, being of the oldAmerica, knew the name at once); and the daughter, born to moderatemeans, in the Middle West, raised luxuriously on the basis of waxingwealth, educated abroad and in America in a school which shields itspupils from every reality of life and forces their growth in a hothouseatmosphere specially adapted to these human orchids, and then presentedas a finished product for the acceptance of the New York circle which,by virtue of much painful and expensive advertising in the newspapers,calls itself Society.
Part of this she told him, qualifying the grossness of the reality byher own shrewd humor; part he read between the lines of theautobiography.
What she did not reveal to him was that she was the most flattered andpampered heiress of the season; courted by the great and shining ones,fawned on by the lesser members of the charmed circle, the pet andplaything of the Sunday newspapers--and somewhat bored by it all.
The siege of society had been of farcical ease. Not her prospectivemillions nor her conquering loveliness, either of which might eventuallyhave gained the entr閑 for her, would have sufficed to set her on thethrone. Shrewd social critics ascribed her effortless success to whatLord Guenn called her "You-be-d----d" air.
The fact is, there was enough of her New England mother in Cecily tokeep her chin up. She never fawned. She never truckled. She was directand honest, and free from taint of snobbery, and a society perhaps themost restlessly, self-distrustfully snobbish in the world marveled andadmired and accepted. Gay, high-spirited, kind in her somewhatthoughtless way, clever, independent of thought and standard, with acertain sweet and wistful vigor of personality, Cecily Wayne ruled,almost as soon as she entered; ruled--and was lonely.
For the Puritan in her demanded something more than her own circle gaveher. And, true to the Puritan character, she wanted her price. Thatprice was happiness. Hence she had fled from Remsen Van Dam.
"But what's become of your promenade deck court?" inquired the Tyro,when he found his attempts to elicit any further light upon hercharacter or career ineffective.
"Scattered," she laughed. "I told them I wouldn't be up until afterluncheon. Aren't you flattered?"
"I'm grateful," he said. "But don't forget that we have to call on Karlat four o'clock."
"Well, come and rescue me then from the 'court,' as you call it. Now Imust make myself pretty--I mean less homely--for luncheon."
Leaden clogs held back the hands of the Tyro's watch after luncheon.Full half an hour before the appointed time he was on deck, aforehandedness which was like to have proved his undoing, for JudgeEnderby, who had taken a fancy to the young man and was moreover amusedby the incipient romance, swooped down upon him and inveigled him into awalk. Some five minutes before the hour, the Joyous Vision appeared, andmade for her deck-throne attended by her entire court, including severalnew accessions.
Judge Enderby immediately tightened his coils around his captive.Brought up in a rigid school of courtesy toward his elders, the Tyrosought some inoffensive means of breaking away; but when the otherhooked an arm into his, alleging the roll of the vessel,--though not inthe least needing the support,--he all but gave up hope. For aninterminable quarter of an hour the marplot jurist teased his captive.Then, with the air of one making a brilliant discovery, he said:--
"Why, there's your homely little friend."
"Who?" said the Tyro.
"Little Miss--what was it you called her?--oh, yes, Miss Grouch. Strangehow these plain girls sometimes attract men, isn't it? Look at thecircle around her. Suppose we join it."
The Tyro joyfully assented. The Queen welcomed Judge Enderby graciously,and ordered a chair vacated for him; young Mr. Sperry, whose chair itwas, obeying with ill grace. The Tyro she allowed to stand, vouchsafinghim only the most careless recognition. Was he not a good ten minuteslate? And should the Empress of Hearts be kept waiting with impunity?Punishment, mild but sufficient for a lesson, was to be the portion ofthe offender. She gave him no opportunity to recall their appointment.And with a quiet suggestion she set young Sperry on his trail.
Now Mr. Diedrick Sperry, never notable for the most amiable of moods andmanners, was nourishing in his rather dull brain a sense of injury, inthat he had been ousted from his point of vantage. As an object ofredress the Tyro struck him as eminently suitable. From Mrs. Denyse hehad heard the story of the pushing young "haberdasher," and hissuspicions identified the newcomer.
"Say, Miss Cecily," he said, "why 'n't you interdoose your friend tous?" In defense of the Sperry accent, I may adduce that, by virtue ofhis wealth and position he had felt at liberty to dispense with thelesser advantages of education and culture; therefore he talked thelanguage of Broadway.
"What? To all of you?" she said lazily. "Oh, it would take much toolong."
"Well, to me, anyway," insisted the rather thinly gilded youth. "I binhearin' about him."
"Very well: Mr. Sperry, Mr. Daddleskink."
She pronounced the abominable syllables quite composedly. But upon Mr.Sperry they produced an immediate effect.
"Wha-at!" he cried with a broad grin. "What's the name?"
"Daddleskink," explained the Tyro mildly. "An umlaut over the K, and thefinal Z silent as in 'buzz.'"
"Daddleskink," repeated the other. "Daddle--Haw! haw! haw!!"
"Cut it, Diddy!" admonished young Journay, giving him a surreptitiousdig in the ribs. "Your work is coarse."
Temporarily the trouble-seeker subsided, but presently above theconversation, which had again become general, his cackling voice washeard inquiring from Judge Enderby:--
"Say, Judge, how do you catch a diddleskink? Haw--haw--haw!"
This was rather further than the Empress intended that reprisals forl鑣e-majest?/i> should go. Still, she was curious to see how her strangeacquaintance would bear himself under the test. She watched him from thecorner of an observant eye. Would he be disconcerted by the brusquenessof the attack? Would he lose his temper? Would he cheapen himself toanswer in kind? What would he do or say?
Habituation to a rough, quick-action life had taught the Tyro to keephis wits, his temper, and his speech. No sign indicated that he hadheard the offensive query. He stood quietly at ease, listening to somecomments of Lord Guenn on the European situation. Judge Enderby,however, looked the questioner up and down with a disparaging regard andsnorted briefly. Feeling himself successful thus far, Sperry turned froma flank to a direct onset.
"Know Mrs. Denyse, Mr. Gazink?" he asked.
"I've met her."
"How? When you were peddlin' neckties and suspenders?"
"No," said the Tyro quietly.
"Doin' much business abroad?" pursued the other.
"No; I'm not here on business. It's a pleasure trip," explained thevictim pleasantly.
"Gents' furnishin's must be lookin' up. Go every year?" Mr. Sperry waslooking for an opening.
"This is my first trip."
"Your first!" cried the other. "Why, I bin across fifteen times." Heconceived the sought-for opening to be before him. "So you're outcuttin' a dash. A sort of haberdash, hey? Haw--haw--haw!" He burst intoa paroxysm of self-applausive mirth over his joke, in which a couple ofsatellites near at hand joined. "Haw--haw--haw!" he roared, stimulatedby their support.
The Tyro slowly turned a direct gaze upon his tormentor. "The Westernvariety of your species," he observed pensively, "pronounce that'hee-haw' rather than 'haw-haw.'"
There was a counter-chuckle, with Judge Enderby leading. Mr. Sperry'smirth subsided. "Say, what's the chap mean?" he appealed to Journay.
"Oh, go eat a thistle," returned that disgusted youth. "He means you'rean ass, and you are. Serves you right."
Sperry rose and hulked out of the circle. "I'll see you on deck--later,"he muttered to the Tyro in passing.
Little Miss Grouch turned bright eyes upon him. "Mr. Daddleskink is notaddicted to haberdashery exclusively. He also daddles in--"
"Real estate," put in the Tyro.
"Fancy his impudence!" She turned to Lord Guenn. "He wants to buy myhouse."
"Not the house on the Battery?" said one of the court.
"I say, you know," put in Lord Guenn. "I have a sort of an interest inthat house. Had a great-grandfather that was taken in there when he waswounded in one of the colonial wars. The Revolution, I believe you callit."
"Then I suppose you will put in a claim, too, Bertie," said Miss Grouch,and the familiar friendliness of her address caused the Tyro a littleunidentified and disconcerting pang.
"Boot's on the other leg," replied the young Englishman. "The house hasa claim on us, for hospitality. We paid it in part to old SpencerForsyth--he was my revered ancestor's friend--when he came over toEngland after the war. Got a portrait of him now at Guenn Oaks.Straight, lank, stern, level-eyed, shrewd-faced old boy--regularwhackin' old Yankee type. I beg your pardon," he added hastily.
"What for?" asked the Tyro with bland but emphatic inquiry.
Lord Guenn was not precisely slug-witted.
"Stupid of me," he confessed heartily. "What should an Americangentleman be but of Yankee type? You know,"--he regarded the Tyrothoughtfully,--"his portrait at Guenn Oaks looks a bit like you."
Little Miss Grouch shot a glance of swift interest and curiosity at theTyro.
"Very likely," he said. "I'm a Yankee, too, and the type persists.Speaking of types, there's the finest young German infant in thesteerage that ever took first prize in a baby-show."
As strategy this gained but half its object. Up rose Little Miss Grouchwith the suggestion that they all make a pilgrimage to see theIncomparable Infant of her adoption. Much disgruntled, the Tyro broughtup the rear. Judge Enderby drew him aside as they approached thesteerage rail.
"Young man, are you a fighter?"
"Me? I'm the white-winged dove of peace."
"Then I think I'll warn young Sperry that if he molests you I'll seethat--"
"Wait a moment, judge. Don't do that."
"Why not?"
"I don't like the notion. A man ought to be able to take care ofhimself."
"But he's twice your weight. And he's got a record for beating upwaiters and cabbies about New York. Now, my boy," the judge slid agaunt hand along the other's shoulder and paused. The hand also paused;then it gripped, slid along, gripped again.
"Where did you get those muscles?" he demanded.
"Oh, I've wrestled a bit--foot and horseback both," said the other,modestly omitting to mention that he had won the cowboy equinewrestling-match at Denver two years before.
"Hum! That'll be all right. But why did you tell those people your namewas Daddleskink?"
"I didn't. Little Miss--Miss Wayne did."
"So she did. Mystery upon mystery. Well, I'm only the counsel in thiscase; but it isn't safe, you know, to conceal anything from yourlawyer."
At this point the voice of royalty was heard demanding the Tyro. Thebaby, he was informed, wished to see him. If this were so, that InfantExtraordinary showed no evidence of it, being wholly engrossed with thefascinations of his new mother-by-adoption. However, the chance wasafforded for the reigning lady to inform her slave that there was to bedancing that evening in the grand salon, and would he be present?
He would! By all his gods, hopes, and ambitions he would!
As he turned by his liege lady's side, an officer approached andaccosted him.
"The captain would like to see you in his cabin at once, if you please."
* * * * * * *
Among those present at the evening's dance was not Alexander ForsythSmith, alias Sanders Daddleskink. Great was the wrath of Little MissGrouch.