One day passes much like another in Caracuna City. The sun risesblandly, grows hot and angry as it climbs the slippery polishedvault of the heavens, and coasts down to its rest in a pleased andmild glow. From the squat cathedral tower the bells clang andjangle defiance to the Adversary, temporarily drowning out thestreet tumult in which the yells of the lottery venders, thebraying of donkeys, the whoops of the cabmen, and the blaring ofthe little motor cars with big horns, combine to render Caracunathe noisiest capital in the world. Through the saddle-coloredhordes on the moot ground of the narrow sidewalks moves anoccasional Anglo-Saxon resident, browned and sallowed, on his wayto the government concession that he manages; a less occasionalAnglo-Saxoness, browned and marked with the seal that the tropicsput upon every woman who braves their rigors for more than a briefperiod; and a sprinkling of tourists in groups, flying on cheek,brow, and nose the stark red of their newness to the climate.
Not of this sorority Miss Polly Brewster. Having blithe regard toher duty as an ornament of this dull world, she had tempered thesun to the foreign cuticle with successively diminishing layers ofveils, to such good purpose that the celestial scorcher had butkissed her graduated brownness to a soft glow of color. Not alonein appreciation of her external advantages was Miss Brewster. Suchas it was,--and it had its qualities, albeit somewhatunformulated,--Caracuna society gave her prompt welcome. Therewere teas and rides and tennis at the little club; there wereagreeable, presentable men and hospitable women; and always therewas Fitzhugh Carroll, suave, handsome, gentle, a polished man ofthe world among men, a courteous attendant to every woman, butalways with a first thought for her. Was it sheer perversity ofcharacter, that elfin perversity so shrewdly divined by the hermitof the mountain, that put in her mind, in this far corner of theworld, among these strange people, the thought:
"All men are alike, and Fitz, for all that he's so different andthe best of them, is the most alike."
Which paradox, being too much for her in the heat of the day, sheput aside in favor of the insinuating thought of her beetle man.Whatever else he might or might not be, he wasn't alike. She wasby no means sure that she found this difference either admirableor amiable. But at least it was interesting.
Moreover, she was piqued. For four days had passed and the reclusehad not returned her call. True, there had come to her hotel awicker full of superb wild tree blooms, and, again, a tiny box,cunning in workmanship of scented wood, containing what at firstglance she had taken to be a jewel, until she saw that it was atiny butterfly with opalescent wings, mounted on a silver wire.But with them had come no word or token of identification. Perhapsthey weren't from the queer and remote person at all. Very likelyMr. Raimonda had sent them; or Fitzhugh Carroll was adding secretattention to his open homage; or they might even be a furtherpeace offering from the Hochwald secretary.
That occasionally too festive diplomat had, indeed, made amendsboth profound and, evidently, sincere. Soliciting the kind officesof both Sherwen and Raimonda, he had presented himself, undertheir escort, stiff and perspiring in his full official regalia,before Mr. Brewster; then before his daughter, whose solemnity,presently breaking down before his painfully rehearsed English,dissolved in fluent French, setting him at ease and making him herslave. Poor penitent Von Plaanden even apologized to Carroll,fortunately not having heard of the American's threat, and made amost favorable impression upon that precisian.
"Intoxicated, he may be a rough, Miss Polly," Carroll confided tothe girl. "But sober, the man is a gentleman. He feels very badlyabout the whole affair. Offered to your father to report it allthrough official channels and attach his resignation."
"Not for worlds!" cried Miss Polly. "The poor man was half asleep.And Mr. Bee--Mr. Perkins did jog him rather sharply."
"Yes. Von Plaanden asked my advice as an American about hisattitude toward Cluff and Perkins."
"I hope you told him to let the whole thing drop."
"Exactly what I did. I explained about Cluff; that he was a verygood fellow, but of a different class, and probably wouldn't givethe thing another thought."
"And Mr. Perkins?"
"Von Plaanden wanted to challenge him, if he could find him. Isuggested that he leave me to deal with Mr. Perkins. After somediscussion, he agreed."
"Oh! And what are you going to do with him?"
"Find him first, if I can."
"I can tell you where." Carroll stared at her, astonished. "But Idon't think I will."
"He announced his intention of keeping out of my way. The man hasno sense of shame."
"You probably scared the poor lamb out of his wits, fire-eaterthat you are."
Carroll would have liked to think so, but an innate sense ofjustice beneath his crust of prejudice forbade him to accept thisjudgment.
"The strange part of it is that he doesn't impress me as beingafraid. But there is certainly something very wrong with thefellow. A man who will deliberately desert a woman in distress"--Carroll's manner expanded into the roundly rhetorical--"whateverelse he may be, cannot be a gentleman."
"There might have been mitigating circumstances."
"No circumstances could excuse such an action. And, after that,the fellow had the effrontery to send you a message."
"Me? What was it?" asked Miss Polly quickly.
"I don't know. I didn't let him finish. I forbade his evenmentioning your name."
"Indeed!" cried the girl, in quick dudgeon. "Don't you think youare taking a great deal upon yourself, Fitz? What do you reallyknow about Mr. Perkins, anyway, that you judge him sooffhandedly?"
"Very little, but enough, I think. And I hardly think you knowmore."
"Then you're wrong. I do."
"You know this man?"
"Yes; I do."
"Does your father approve of--"
"Never mind my father! He has confidence enough in me to let mejudge of my own friends."
"Friends?" Carroll's handsome face clouded and reddened. "If I hadknown that he was a friend of yours, Miss Polly, I never wouldhave spoken as I did. I'm most sincerely sorry," he added, withgrave courtesy.
The girl's color deepened under the brown.
"He isn't exactly a friend," she admitted. "I've just met andtalked with him a few times. But your judgment seemed so unfair,on such a slight basis."
"I'm sorry I can't reverse my judgment," said the Southernerstiffly, "But I know of only one standard for those matters."
"That's just your trouble." Her eyes took on a cold gleam as shescanned the perfection and finish of the man before her."Fitzhugh, do you wear ready-made clothing?"
"Of course not," he answered, in surprise at this turn.
"Your suits are all made to order?"
"Yes, Miss Polly."
"And your shirts?"
"Yes, and shoes, and various other things." He smiled.
"Why do you have them specially made?"
"Beeause they suit me better, and I can afford it."
"It's really because you want them individualized for you, isn'tit?"
"Yes; I suppose so."
"Then why do you always get your mental clothes ready-made?"
"I don't think I understand, Miss Polly," he said gently.
"It seems to me that all your ideas and estimates and standardsare of stock pattern," she explained relentlessly. "Inside, you'reas just exactly so as a pair of wooden shoes. Can't you see thatyou can't judge all men on the same plane?"
"I see that you're angry with me, and I see that I'm beingpunished for what I said about--about Mr. Perkins. If I'd knownthat you took any interest in him, I'd have bitten my tongue intwo before speaking as I did. As for the message, if you wish it,I'll go to him--"
"Oh, that doesn't matter," she interrupted.
"This much I can say, in honesty," continued the Southerner, withan effort: "I had a talk, almost an encounter, with him in theplaza, and I don't believe he is the coward I thought him."
His intent to be fair to the object of his scorn was so genuinethat his critic felt a swift access of compunction.
"Oh, Fitz," she said sweetly, "you're not to blame. I should havetold you. And you're honest and loyal and a gentleman. Only I wishsometimes that you weren't quite so awfully gentlemanly agentleman."
The Southerner made a gesture of despair.
"If I could only understand you, Miss Polly!"
"Don't hope it. I've never yet understood myself. But there's asympathy in me for the under dog, and this Mr. Perkins seems asort of helpless creature. Yet in another way he doesn't seemhelpless at all. Quite the reverse. Oh, dear! I'm tired ofPerkins, Perkins, Perkins! Let's talk about something pleasanter--like the plague."
"What's that about Perkins?" Galpy had entered the drawing-roomwhere the conversation had been carried on, and now crossed overto them. "I'll tell you a good one on the little blighteh. D' youknow what they call him at the Club Amicitia since his adventureon the street car, Miss Brewster?"
"What?"
"'The Unspeakable Perk.' Rippin', ain't it? Like 'The UnspeakableTurk,' you know."
Despite herself, Polly's lips twitched; in some ways he wasunspeakable.
"They've nicknamed him that because of his trying to help me, andthen--leaving?" she asked.
"Oh, not entirely. There's other things. He's a nahsty, stand-offish way with him, you know. Don't-want-to-know-yeh trick.Wouldn't-speak-to-yeh-if-I-could-help-it twist to his face. 'TheUnspeakable Perk.' Stands him right, I should say. There's otherreasons, too."
"What are they?"
She saw a quick, warning frown on Carroll's sharply turned face.Galpy noted it, too, and was lost in confusion.
"Oh--ah--just gossip--nothing at all. I say, Miss Brewster, therailway--I'm in the Ferrocarril-del-Norte office, you know--hasoffered your party a special on an hour's notice, any time youwant it."
"That's most kind of your road, Mr. Galpy. But why should we wantit?"
"Things might be getting a bit ticklish any day now. I've justtaken the message from the manager to your father."
The young Englishman took his leave, and Polly Brewster went toher room, to freshen up for luncheon, carrying with her thesobriquet she had just heard. Certainly, applied to its subject,it had a mucilaginous consistency. It stuck.
"'The Unspeakable Perk,'" she repeated, with a little chuckle. "IfI had a month to train him in, eh, what a speakable Perk I'd makehim! I'd make him into a Perk that would sit up and speak when Ilifted my little finger." She considered this. "I'm not so sure,"she concluded, more doubtfully. "How can one tell through thosehorrid glasses, particularly when one doesn't see him for days anddays?"
Without moving, she might, however, have seen him forthwith, forat that precise and particular moment, the Unspeakable Perk was inplain sight of her window, on a bench in the corner of the plaza,engaged in light conversation with a legless and philosophicalbeggar whom he had just astonished by the presentation of a wholebolivar, of the value of twenty cents gold.
After she had finished luncheon and returned to her room, he wasstill there. Not until the mid-heat of the afternoon, however, didshe observe, first with puzzlement, then with a start ofrecognition, the patiently rounded brown back of the forward-leaning figure in the corner. Greatly wroth was Miss PollyBrewster. For some hours--two, at least--the man to keep tryst andwager with whom she had tramped up miles of mountain road had beenin town and hadn't called upon her! Truly was he an UnspeakablePerk!
Wasn't there possibly a mistake somewhere, though? A second peepat the far-away back interpreted into the curve a suggestion ofresigned waiting. Maybe he had called, after all. Thought beingusually with Miss Brewster the mother of the twins, Determinationand Action, she slipped downstairs and inquired of the threeguardians of the door, in such Spanish as she could muster,whether a Mr. Perkins, wearing large glasses--this in theuniversal sign manual--had been to see her that day.
"Si, Senorita"--he had.
Why, then, hadn't his name been brought to her?
Extended hands and up-shrugged shoulders that might mean eitherapology or incomprehension.
Straightway Miss Brewster pinned a hat upon her brown head at analtogether casual and heart-distracting angle and sallied downinto the tesselated bowl of the park. Quite unconscious of herapproach, until she was close upon him, her objective chattedfluently with the legless one, until she spoke quietly, almost inhis ear. Then it was only by a clutch at the bench back that hesaved himself from disaster on his return to earth.
"Wh--wh--what--wh--where--how did you come here?" he stuttered.
"Now, now, don't be alarmed," she admonished. "Shut your eyes,draw a deep breath, count three. And, as soon as you are readyI'll give you a talisman against social panic. Are you ready?"
"Y-yes."
"Very well. Whenever I come upon you suddenly, you mustn't try tojump up into a tree as you did just now--"
"I didn't!"
"Oh, yes. Or burrow under a rock, as you did the other day--"
"Miss B-B-Brewster--"
"Wait until I've finished. You must turn your thoughts firmly uponyour science, until you've recovered equilibrium and the power ofhuman speech."
"But when you jump at me that way, I c-c-can't think of anythingbut you."
"That's where the charm comes in. As soon as you see me or hear meapproaching, you must repeat, quite slowly, this scientificincantation." She beat time with a pink and rhythmic finger as shechanted:--
"Scarab, tarantula, doodle-bug, flea."
The beggar rapidly made the sign that protects one from theinfluence of the malign and supernatural. The scientist scowled.
"Repeat it!" she commanded.
"There is no such insect as a doodle-bug," he protested feebly.
"Isn't there? I thought I heard you mention it in yourconversation with Mr. Carroll the other night."
"You put that into my head," he accused.
"Truly? Then life is indeed real and earnest. To have introducedsomething unscientific into that compendium of science--there'striumph enough for any ambition. Besides, see how beautifully itscans."
Again she beat time, and again the beggar crooked defensivefingers as she declaimed:--
"Scar-ab, tar-ant-u-la, doo-dle-bug, flea!"
Homeric, I call it. Perhaps you think you could improve on it."
"Would you mind substituting 'neuropter' in the third strophe?" heventured. "It would be just as good as 'doodle-bug,' and more--more accurate."
"What's a neuropter? You didn't make him up for the occasion?"
"Heaven forbid! The dragon-fly is a neuropter. The dragon-flywe're going to breed to a biplane, you know," he reminded herslyly.
"Indeed! Well, I shall stick to my doodle-bug. He's moreeuphonious. Now, repeat it."
"Let me off this time," he pleaded. "I'm all right--quiterecovered. It's only at the start that it's so bad."
"Very well," she agreed. "But you're not to forget it. And nexttime we meet you're to be sure and say it over until you're sane."
"Sane!" he said resentfully. "I'm as sane as any one you know.It's the job of keeping sane in this madhouse of the tropicsthat's almost driven me crazy."
"Lovely!" she approved. "Well, now that you've recovered, I'lltell you what I came out to say. I'm sorry that I missed you."
"Missed me?" he repeated. "Oh, you have missed me, then? That'snice. You see, I've been so busy for the last three or four days--"
"No; I haven't missed you a bit," she declared indignantly. "Theconceit of the man!"
"But you said you w-w-were sorry you'd--"
"Don't be wholly a beetle! I meant I was sorry not to see you whenyou came to call on me this morning."
"I didn't come to call on you this morning."
"No? The boy at the door said he'd seen you, or somethinganswering to your description."
"So he did. I came to see your father. He was out."
"What time?"
"From eleven on."
"Father? No, I don't think so."
"His secretary came down and told me so, or sent word each time."
She smiled pityingly at him.
"Of course. That's what a secretary is for."
"To tell lies?"
"White lies. You see, dad is a very busy man, and an importantman, and many people come to see him whom he hasn't time to see.So, unless he knew your business, he would naturally be 'out' toyou."
The corners of the young man's rather sensitive mouth flattened outperceptibly.
"Ah, I see. My mistake. Living in countries where, however queerthe people may be, they at least observe ordinary humancourtesies, one forgets--if one ever knew."
"What did you want of dad?"
"Oh, to borrow four dollars of him, of course," he replied dryly.
"You needn't be angry at me. You see, dad's time is valuable."
"Indeed? To whom?"
"Why, to himself, of course."
"Oh, well, my time--However, that doesn't matter. I haven't whollywasted it." He glanced toward the beggar, who was profoundlyregarding the cathedral clock.
"If you like, I'll get you an interview with dad," she offeredmagnanimously.
"Me? No, I thank you," he said crisply. "I'm not patient ofunnecessary red tape."
Miss Brewster looked at him in surprise. It was borne in upon her,as she looked, that this man was not accustomed to being lightlyregarded by other men, however busy or important; that his ownconcerns in life were quite as weighty to him, and in his esteem,perhaps, to others, as were the interests of any magnate; andthat, man to man, there would be no shyness or indecision orpurposelessness anywhere in his make-up.
"If it was important," she began hesitantly, "my father would be--"
"It was of no importance to me," he cut in. "To others--Perhaps Icould see some one else of your party."
"Well, here I am." She smiled. "Why won't I do?"
Behind the obscuring disks she could feel his glance read her. Thegrimness at the mouth's corners relaxed.
"I really don't know why you shouldn't."
"Dad says I'd have made a man of affairs," she remarked.
"Why, it's just this. You should be planning to leave thiscountry."
Miss Brewster bewailed her harsh lot with drooping lip.
"Every one wants to drive me away!"
"Who else?"
"That railroad man, Mr. Galpy, was offering us special inducementsto leave, in the form of special trains any time we liked. Itisn't hospitable."
"A jail is hospitable. But one doesn't stay in it when one can getout."
"If Caracuna were the jail and I the 'one,' one might. I quitelove it here."
He made a sharp gesture of annoyance.
"Don't be childish," he said.
"Childish? You come down like Freedom from the mountain heights,and unfurl your warnings to the air, and complain of lost time andall that sort of thing, and what does it all amount to?" shedemanded, with spirit. "That we should sail away, when you knowperfectly well that the Dutch won't let us sail away! Childish,indeed! Don't you be beetlish!"
"There's a way out, without much risk, but some discomfort. Youcould strike south-east to the Bird Reefs, take a small boat, andget over to the mainland. As soon as the blockade is off, theyacht can take your luggage around. The trip would be rough foryou, but not dangerous. Not as dangerous as staying here may be."
"Do you really think it so serious?"
"Most emphatically."
"Will you come with us and show us the way?" she inquired, gazingwith exaggerated appeal into his goggles.
"I? No."
"What shall you do?"
"Stick."
"Pins through scarabs," she laughed, "while beneath you Caracunariots and revolutes and massacres foreigners. Nero with his fiddlewas nothing to you."
"Miss Brewster, I'm afraid you are suffering from a misplacedsense of humor. Will you believe me when I tell you that I havecertain sources of information in local matters both serviceableand reliable?"
"You seem to have bet on a certainty in the Dutch blockadematter."
"Well, it's equally certain that there is bubonic plague here."
"A bola. You told me so yourself."
"Perhaps there was nothing to be gained then by letting you know,as you were bottled up, with no way out. Now, through the goodoffices of a foreign official, who, of course, couldn't afford toappear, this opportunity to reach the mainland is open to you."
"Had you anything to do with that?" she inquired suspiciously.
"Oh, the official is a friend of mine," he answered carelessly.
"And you really believe that there is an epidemic of plague here?Don't you think that I'd make a good Red Cross nurse?"
His voice was grave and rather stern.
"You've never seen bubonic plague," he said, "or you wouldn't jokeabout it."
"I'm sorry. But it wasn't wholly a joke. If we were really coopedup with an epidemic, I'd volunteer. What else would there be todo?"
"Nothing of the sort," he cried vehemently. "You don't know whatyou're talking about."
"Anyway, isn't the wonderful Luther Pruyn on his way to exorcisethe demon, or something of the sort?"
"What about Luther Pruyn? Who says he's coming here?"
"It's the gossip of the diplomatic set and the clubs. He's thefavorite mystery of the day."
"Well, if he does come, it won't improve matters any, for thefirst case he verifies he'll clap on a quarantine that a mousecouldn't creep through. I know something of the Pruyn method."
"And don't wholly approve it, I judge."
"It may be efficacious, but it's extremely inconvenient at times."
Again the cathedral clock boomed.
"See how I've kept you from your own affairs!" cried Miss Pollycontritely. "What are you going to do now? Go back to yourmountains?"
"Yes. As soon as you tell me that your father will go out by thereefs."
"Do you expect him to make up his mind, on five minutes' notice,to abandon his yacht?"
"I thought great magnates were supposed to be men of instant andunalterable decisions. I don't know the type."
"Anyway, dad has gone out. I saw him drive away. Wouldn't to-morrow do?"
"Why, yes; I suppose so."
"I'll tell you. The Voice will report at the rock to-morrow, atfour."
"No."
"What a very uncompromising 'no'!"
"I can't be there at four. Make it five."
"What a very arbitrary beetle man! Well, as I've wasted so much ofyour time to-day, I'll accept your orders for to-morrow."
"And please impress your father with the extreme advisability ofyour getting off this island."
"Yes, sir," she said meekly. "You'll be most awfully glad to getrid of us, won't you?"
"Very greatly relieved."
"And a little bit sorry?"
The begoggled face turned toward her. There was a perceptibletensity in the line of the jaw. But the beetle man made no answer.
"Now, if I could see behind those glasses," said Miss PollyBrewster to her wicked little self, "I'd probably bite myselfrather than say it again. Just the same--And a little bit sorry?"she persisted aloud.
"Does that matter?" said the man quietly.
Miss Polly Brewster forthwith bit herself on her pink and waywardtongue.
"Don't think I'm not grateful," she employed that chastened memberto say. "I am, most deeply. So will father be, even if he decidesnot to leave. I'm afraid that's what he will decide."
"He mustn't."
"Tell him that yourself."
"I will, if it becomes necessary."
"Let me be present at the interview. Most people are afraid ofdad. Perhaps you'd be, too."
"I could always run away," he remarked, unsmiling. "You know howwell I do it."
"I must do it now myself, and get arrayed for the daily teasacrifice. Au revoir."
"Hasta manana," he said absently.
She had turned to go, but at the word she came slowly back a paceor two, smiling.
"What a strange beetle man you are!" she said softly. "I have noother friends like you. You are a friend, aren't you, in yourqueer way?" She did not wait for an answer, but went on: "Youdon't come to see me when I ask you. You don't send me any word.You make me feel that, compared to your concerns with beetles andflies, I'm quite hopelessly unimportant. And yet here I find yougiving up your own pursuits and wasting your time to plan andwatch and think for us."
"For you," he corrected.
"For me," she accepted sweetly. "What an ungrateful little pig youmust think me! But truly inside I appreciate it and thank you, andI think--I feel that perhaps it amounts to a lot more than Iknow."
He made a gesture of negation.
"No great thing," he said. "But it's the best I can do, anyway. Doyou remember what the mediaeval mummer said, when he came bearinghis poor homage?"
"No. Tell it to me."
"It runs like this: 'Lady, who art nowise bitter to those whoserve you with a good intent, that which thy servant is, that heis for you.'"
"Polly Brewster," said the girl to herself, as she walked, slowlyand musingly, back to her room, "the busy haunts of men are moresuited to your style than the free-and-untrammeled spaces ofnature, and well you know it. But you'll go to-morrow and you'llkeep on going until you find out what is behind those brown-greengoblin spectacles. If only he didn't look so like a gnome!"
The clause conditional, introduced by the word "if," does notalways imply a conclusion, even in the mind of the propounder.Miss Brewster would have been hard put to it to round out hersubjunctive.