A man that you'd call your friend. Such had been FitzhughCarroll's reference to the Unspeakable Perk. With thatcharacterization in her mind. Miss Brewster let herself drift,after her suitor had left her, into a dreamy consideration of thehermit's attitude toward her. She was not prone lightly to employthe terms of friendship, yet this new and casual acquaintance hadshown a readiness to serve--not as cavalier, but as friend--nonetoo common in the experience of the much-courted and a littlespoiled beauty. Being, indeed, a "lady nowise bitter to those whoserved her with good intent," she reflected, with a kindly lightin her eyes, that it was all part and parcel of the beetle's man'samiable queerness.
Still musing upon this queerness, she strolled back to find hermount waiting at the corner of the plaza. In consideration of theheat she let her cream-colored mule choose his own pace, so theyproceeded quite slowly up the hill road, both absorbed inmeditation, which ceased only when the mule started an argumentabout a turn in the trail. He was a well-bred trotting mule,worth six hundred dollars in gold of any man's money, and he wasself-appreciative in knowledge of the fact. He brought a singularfirmness of purpose to the support of the negative of herproposition, which was that he should swing north from the broadinto the narrow path. When the debate was over, St. John theBaptist--this, I hesitate to state, yet must, it being the truth,was the spirited animal's name--was considerably chastened, andMiss Brewster more than a trifle flushed. She left him tied to aceiba branch at the exit from the dried creek bed, with strictinstructions not to kick, lest a worse thing befall him. MissBrewster's fighting blood was up, when, ten minutes late, becauseof the episode, she reached the summit of the rock.
"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 fallon your neck again and break it."
"Has anything happened?"
"Nothing in particular. I've been boxing the compass with a mule.It's tiresome."
He reflected.
"You're not, by any chance, speaking figuratively of yourrespected parent?"
"Certainly not!" she disclaimed indignantly. "This was a realmule. You're very impertinent."
"Well, you see, he was impertinent to me, saying he was out whenhe was in. 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 ofyours. Will you 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 owe me 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 toWashington, he thinks the Secretary of State, who is his friend,can reach the Dutch and 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 messagethrough, 'unsight--unseen,' as we children used to say?"
"Willing enough, but not able to. I'd have got a messenger throughwith it, if necessary. But in four days, there'll be otherobstacles besides the 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 certainlyhere. I satisfied 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. Toknow how people die, you have to know how they live. So Icultivated my beggar friend and listened to the gossip of quickfunerals and unexplained disappearances. I'd have had some realarguments 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 easierto get through than the blockade."
"Do you think so? I'm afraid you'll find that pull doesn't workwith the service 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 quickerway."
"Wireless?" she asked quickly.
"No wireless on the island. No. This way you'll just have to trustme for."
"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 comingdown."
"Wh--why--wait! Can't you send it down?"
"No. Besides, you know you want to see me. No use pretending,after last time. 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 theoccasion of their first encounter.
"Hopeless!" she mourned. "Incurable! Wanted: a miracle of St.Vitus. Do stop nibbling your hat, and sit down."
"I don't think it's as bad as it was," he murmured, obeying. "Onegets accustomed to you."
"One gets accustomed to anything in time, even the eccentricitiesof one'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 ofme. 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 thesubject of them before her, it seemed ridiculously impossible, yetthe spirit of mischief, ever hovering about her like an attendantsprite, descended and took possession of her speech. She assumed aseverely judicial expression.
"Mr. Beetle Man, will you lay your hand upon your microscope, orwhatever else scientists make oath upon, and answer fully andtruly the question about to be put to you?"
"As I hope for a blessed release from this abode of lunacy, Iwill."
"Mr. Beetle Man, have you got an awful secret in your life?"
So sharply did he start that the heavy goggles slipped a fractionof an inch along his nose, the first time she had ever seen themin any degree misplaced. She was herself sensibly discountenancedby his perturbation.
"Why do you ask that?" he demanded.
"Natural interest in a friend," she answered lightly, but withgrowing wonder. "I think you'd be altogether irresistible if youwere a pirate or a smuggler or a revolutionary. The romanticspirit could lurk so securely behind those gloomy soul-screensthat you wear. What do you keep back of them, O dark and shroudedbeetle 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 youhaven't answered my question. Have you ever murdered any one incold blood? Or are you a married man trifling with the affectionsof 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. Atthe age of three years and four months, a maternal uncle, who,having been a proofreader of Abyssinian dialect stories for aladies' magazine, was considered a literary prophet, foretold thatI--"
"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'tbelieve it would 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 lifehistory. I won't have it! You shan't treat an unprotected andhelpless stranger so. Besides, I'm much more interested to knowhow you came to be familiar with Lewis Carroll."
"Just because I've wasted my career on frivolous trifles likescience, you needn't think I've wholly neglected the trueinwardness of life, as exemplified in 'The Hunting of the Snark,'"he said gravely.
"Do you know"--she leaned forward, searching his face--"I believeyou came 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 realBoojum. And you'll be doing it soon enough, anyway," he concludedruefully.
"So I shall, but don't be too sure that I'll 'never be heard ofagain.'"
He glanced up at the sun, which was edging behind a dark cloud,over the gap.
"Is your raging thirst for personal information sufficientlyslaked?" he asked. "We've still fifteen or twenty minutes left."
"Is that all? And I haven't yet given you the message!" She drewit from the 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 generouswrath she tore the envelope open and held out the inclosure. "ButI shouldn't have thought you so concerned with formalities," shecommented curiously.
"It isn't that. But in some respects, possibly important, it wouldbe better 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 canbe put through."
"If it were dangerous, you'd do it just the same," she said,almost accusingly.
"It would be worth some danger now to get you away from greaterdanger later. See here, Miss Brewster"--he rose and stood overher--"there must be no mistake or misunderstanding about this."
"Don't gloom at me with those awful glasses," she said fretfully."I feel 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 fatherwill take out the yacht as soon as the Dutch send word to him?"
"Oh, yes. He will do that. How are you going to deliver themessage?"
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, itwould be 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 missyou."
"As a curiosity?" he asked, smiling.
"As a friend. You have been a friend to us--to me," she amendedsweetly. "Each time I see you, I have more the feeling that you'vebeen more of a friend than I know."
"'That which thy servant is,'" he quoted lightly. But beneath thelightness she divined a pain that she could not wholly fathom.Quite aware of her power, Miss Polly Brewster was now, for one ofthe few times in her life, stricken with contrition for her use ofit.
"And I--I haven't been very nice," she faltered. "I'm afraid"sometimes I've been quite horrid."
"You? You've been 'the glory and the dream.' I shall be needingmemories for a while. And when the glory has gone, at least thedream will remain--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 bea friend, if you'll let me. And I'm going to write to you, if youwill tell me where. You won't find it so very easy to make a merememory of me. 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 andvisit us at our summer place, where there's a mountain-side thatwe can sit on, and you can pretend that our lake is the Caribbeanand hate it to your heart'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 forour lake, nobody could really help loving it. So you must be sureand 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," shewent on, conscious of talking against time, of striving to put offthe moment of departure. "You'll find plenty of work there. Do youknow, Mr. Beetle Man, you haven't told me a thing, really, aboutyour work, or a thing, really, about yourself. Is that the way totreat a friend?"
"When I undertook to spread before you the true and veracioushistory of my life," he began, striving to make his tone light,"you would none of it."
"Are you determined to put me off? Do you think that I wouldn'tfind the things 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 lifefor you?"
"Oh, yes; that, of course." It was as if he were surprised at theneed of such a question. "I suppose I find the same excitement andadventure in research that other men find in politics, or war, ormaking money."
"Adventure?" she said, puzzled. "I shouldn't have supposedresearch an adventurous career, exactly."
"No; not from the outside." His hidden gaze shifted to sweep thefar distances. His voice dropped and softened, and, when he spokeagain, she felt vaguely and strangely that he was hardly thinkingof her or her question, except as a part of the great wonder-worldsurrounding and enfolding 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 fingers 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 shehad thought them vapid or priggish or affected, according as theyhad chosen this or that medium. This man was different. For allhis outer grotesquery, the noble simplicity of the verse matchedsome veiled and hitherto but half-expressed quality within him,and dignified him. Miss Brewster suffered the strange but notwholly unpleasant sensation of feeling herself dwindle.
"It's very beautiful," she said, with an effort. "Is it MatthewArnold?"
"Nearer home. You an American, and don't know your Whittier? Thatpassage from his 'Agassiz' comes pretty near to being what lifemeans to me. Have I answered your requirements?"
"Fully and finely."
She rose from the rock upon which she had been seated, andstretched out both hands to him. He took and held them withoutawkwardness or embarrassment. By that alone she could have knownthat he was suffering with a pain that submerged consciousness ofself.
"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.Abruptly she stamped a determined foot. "I'm not going awaywithout having seen my 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 disfiguringapparatus, and stood before her, quietly submissive to her wish.She took a quick step backward, stumbled, and thrust out a handagainst the face of the giant rock for support.
"Oh!" she cried, and again, "Oh, I didn't think you'd look likethat!"
"What is it? Is there anything very wrong with me?" he askedseriously, 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 hadbecome accustomed to regard her beetle man rather more in thelight of a beetle than a man. In fact, the human side of him hadimpressed her only as a certain dim appeal to sympathy; themasculine side had simply not existed. Now it was as if he hadunmasked. The visage, so grotesque and gnomish behind itsmechanical apparatus, had given place to a wholly different andformidably strange face. The change all centered in the eyes. Theywere wide-set eyes of the clearest, steadiest, and darkest grayshe had ever met; and they looked out at her from sharply angledbrows with a singular clarity and calmness of regard. In theirlight the man's face became instinct with character in every line.Strength was there, self-control, dignity, a glint of humor in thelittle wrinkles at the corner of the mouth, and, withal a sort ofquiet and sturdy beauty.
She had half-turned her face from him. Now, as her gaze returnedand was fixed by his, she felt a wave of blood expand her heart,rush upward into her cheeks, and press into her eyes tears ofswift regret. But now she was sorry, not for him, but for herself,because he had become remote 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 oflaughing a little. "I'm a goose. You see, I've pictured you asquite different. Have you ever seen yourself in the glass withthose dreadful disguises on?"
"Why, no; I don't suppose I have," he replied, after reflection."After all, they're meant for use, not for ornament."
By this time she had mastered her confusion and was able toexamine his face. 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 tothe rescue. "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 littlestupid affairs! And what return have I made?"
"You've made the sun shine," he said, "in a rather shadedexistence."
"Promise me that you'll sleep to-night; that you won't work astroke."
"No; I can't promise that."
"You'll break down. You'll go to pieces. What have you got to domore important than keeping in condition?"
"As to that, I'll last through. And there's some business thatwon't wait."
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'll never 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 youreally the man who ran away from the street car?" she askeddoubtfully.
"I really am."
"Then I'm most surely sure that you had good reason." She began tolaugh softly. "As for the stories about you, I'd believe them lessthan 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'sown word 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!"broke forth the irrepressible Polly. "I'll be your sister forthis. Is there anything about you and your life here that you'd beafraid to tell me?"
"No."
"I knew there wasn't," she said contentedly. She hesitated amoment, then put a hand on his arm. "Does this have to be good-bye, Mr. Beetle Man?" she said wistfully.
"I'm afraid so."
"No!" She stamped imperiously. "I want to see you again, and I'mgoing to see you again. Won't you come down to the port and bringme another bunch of your mountain orchids when we sail--just forgood-bye?"
Through the dull medium of the glasses she could feel his eyesquestioning hers. And she knew that once more before she sailedaway, she must look into those eyes, in all their clarity and alltheir strength--and then try to forget them. The swift color ranup into her cheeks.
"I--I suppose so," he said. "Yes."
"Au revoir, then!" she cried, with a thrill of gladness, and fledup the rock.
The Unspeakable Perk strode down his path, broke into a trot, andheld to it until he reached his house. But Miss Polly, departingin her own direction, stopped dead after ten minutes' going. Ithad struck her forcefully that she had forgotten the matter of theexpense of the message. How could she reach him? She rememberedthe cliff above the rock, and the signal. If a signal was valid inone direction, it ought to work equally well in the other. She hadher automatic with her. Retracing her steps, she ascended thecliff, a rugged climb. Across the deep-fringed chasm she couldplainly see the porch of the quinta with the little clearing atthe side, dim in the clouded light. Drawing the revolver, shefired three shots.
"He'll come," she thought contentedly.
The sun broke from behind the obscuring cloud and sent a shaft oflight straight down upon the clearing. It illumined with pitilessdistinctness the shimmering silk of a woman's dress, hanging on aline and waving in the first draft of the evening breeze. For amoment Polly stood transfixed. What did it mean? Was it perhaps aservant's dress. No; he had told her that there was no womanservant.
As she sought the solution, a woman's figure emerged from theporch of the quinta, crossed the compound, and dropped upon abench. Even at that distance, the watcher could tell from thewoman's bearing and apparel that she was not of the servant class.She seemed to be gazing out over the mountains; there wassomething dreary and forlorn in her attitude. What, then, did shedo in the beetle man's house?
Below the rock the shrubbery weaved and thrashed, and the personwho could best answer that question burst into view at a fulllope.
"What is it?" he panted. "Was it you who fired?"
She stared at him mutely. The revolver hung in her hand. In amoment he was beside her.
"Has anything happened?" he began again, then turned his head tofollow the direction of her regard. He saw the figure in thecompound.
"Good God in heaven!" he groaned.
He caught the revolver from her hand and fired three slow shots.The woman turned. Snatching off his hat, he signalled violentlywith it. The woman rose and, as it seemed to Polly Brewster, movedin humble submissiveness back to the shelter.
White consternation was stamped on the Unspeakable Perk's face ashe handed the revolver to its owner.
"Do you need me?" he asked quickly. "If not, I must go back atonce."
"I do not need you," said the girl, in level tones. "You lied tome."
His expression changed. She read in it the desperation of guilt.
"I can explain," he said hurriedly, "but not now. There isn'ttime. Wait here. I'll be back. I'll be back the instant I can getaway."
As he spoke, he was halfway down the rock, headed for the lowertrail. The bushes closed behind him.
Painfully Polly Brewster made her way down the treacherous footingof the cliff path to her place on the rock. From her bag she drewone of her cards, wrote slowly and carefully a few words, found adry stick, set it between two rocks, and pinned her message to it.Then she ran, as helpless humans run from the scourge of their ownhearts.
Half an hour later the hermit, sweat-covered and breathless,returned to the rock. For a moment he gazed about, bewildered bythe silence. The white card caught his eye. He read its angularscrawl.
"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 examiningthe message 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 stoneat a bird.