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A New Sensation

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Title: A New Sensation

Author: Albert Ross


        
Release date: October 5, 2012 [eBook #40937]
                Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A NEW SENSATION ***

  ALBERT ROSS'
  ROMANCES

  A NEW EDITION AT A POPULAR PRICE

ALBERT ROSS is a brilliant and wonderfully successful writer whose books
have sold far into the millions. Primarily his novels deal with the
sex-problem, but he depicts vice with an artistic touch and never makes
it unduly attractive. Gifted with a fine dramatic instinct, his
characters become living, moving human beings full of the fire and
passion of loving just as they are in real life. His stories contain all
the elements that will continue to keep him at the head of American
novelists in the number of his admirers.

MR. ROSS is to be congratulated on the strength as well as the purity of
his work. It shows that he is not obliged to confine his pen to any
single theme, and that he has a good a right to be called the "American
Eugene Sue" or the "American Zola."

_12mo, cloth. Price per volume, 50 cents._

  Black Adonis, A
  Garston Bigamy, The
  Her Husband's Friend
  His Foster Sister
  His Private Character
  In Stella's Shadow
  Love at Seventy
  Love Gone Astray
  Moulding a Maiden
  Naked Truth, The
  New Sensation, A
  Original Sinner, An
  Out of Wedlock
  Speaking of Ellen
  Stranger than Fiction
  Sugar Princess, A
  That Gay Deceiver
  Their Marriage Bond
  Thou Shalt Not
  Thy Neighbor's Wife
  Why I'm Single
  Young Fawcett's Mabel
  Young Miss Giddy

G.W. DILLINGHAM CO.

Publishers    New York




  A NEW SENSATION,

  BY ALBERT ROSS.


  AUTHOR OF

  "THOU SHALT NOT," "HIS PRIVATE CHARACTER,"
  "SPEAKING OF ELLEN," "IN STELLA'S SHADOW,"
  "THEIR MARRIAGE BOND," ETC.


  NEW YORK:
  COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY

  _G.W. Dillingham Co., Publishers._


  [_All rights reserved._]




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER                          PAGE

    I. Lady Typewriter Wanted      9

   II. Outlining the Scheme      21

  III. An Evening at Koster and Bial's      32

   IV. "You are a hopeless scamp"      46

    V. Meeting Miss Marjorie      57

   VI. "Do you really want me?"      71

  VII. Getting Ready for my Journey      83

 VIII. "A woman I like very well"      93

   IX. A Private Dining Room      104

    X. "Once there was a child"      116

   XI. A Theft on Board Ship      129

  XII. A Little Game of Cards      144

 XIII. Bathing in the Surf      155

  XIV. "Oh! this naughty boy!"      166

   XV. Wesson Becomes a Nuisance      176

  XVI. "It is from a girl"      184

 XVII. A Struggle on the Balcony      196

XVIII. Our Night at Martinique      208

  XIX. "It is a strange idea"      219

   XX. New Work for my Typewriter      230

  XXI. "You were in my room?"      241

 XXII. Too Much Excitement      252

XXIII. A Wedding Ring      265

 XXIV. The Brutal Truth      275

  XXV. "With his wife, of course"      286

 XXVI. Behind the Bars      297

XXVII. "I pressed them to my lips"      305




TO MY READERS.


It is a common question of my correspondents, "Are your novels ever
founded on fact?" Sometimes; not often. This one is.

A year ago I had an attack of neurasthenia, as did "Donald Camran." I
did not die, nor go to an insane asylum, both of which items of "news"
appeared in the daily papers from one end of the country to the other;
but I wasn't exactly well for awhile. In January of this year I made my
second trip to the Caribbean Islands and wrote this novel among the
scenes I have described.

Before going I advertised in the New York Herald "Personal" column for a
typewriter to accompany me as private secretary. I received more than a
hundred letters from women who desired the situation and interviewed
quite a number of them. I decided, however, to go alone. (If the reader
doesn't believe me I refer him to the passenger lists of the "Madiana"
and "Pretoria.") The basis of this story, however, grew out of the
advertisement and answers.

"Marjorie" and "Statia" have a genuine existence, and so have many of
the other characters in this tale. I have used real people as an artist
does his models, taking a little from one, a little from another, and a
great deal from the vivid imagination with which nature has endowed me.
I hope the result will be satisfactory to my friends, who have waited
double the usual time for this novel.

My health seems wholly recovered and unless something unforeseen occurs
my stories will continue to appear each July and January, as they have
for the past ten years. This is the nineteenth volume of the "Albatross
Series." I again send a too indulgent public my warmest thanks for their
appreciation.

Very Truly,

ALBERT ROSS.

Cambridge, Mass., May, 1898.




A NEW SENSATION.




CHAPTER I.

LADY TYPEWRITER WANTED.


"A New Sensation--that is what you need," said Dr. Chambers, wisely.

"Yes, that is what you want, above all things," assented Harvey Hume.

"A New Sensation--it would be the making of you!" cried Tom Barton, with
enthusiasm.

I agreed with them all. My brain was exhausted with my long illness and
responded feebly to the new strength that was returning to my body. It
was much easier, however, for people to discover the remedy I needed
than to find the right way to apply it. They would never have united in
prescribing the same kind of "sensation." What one would suggest would
be opposed by the others; and had they come to a united decision in the
matter their ideas might not have suited me at all. I was in a condition
when it is not easy to make up the mind to anything.

After long reflection, I decided to go and propose marriage to Statia. I
had never offered my hand to any woman and it seemed as if that ought to
give me at least a diversion, which was something. Not that I intended
to make the offer lightly. I had as lief get married as anything else. I
was sick to death of idleness--nothing could well be worse than doing
nothing, day after day.

But when I had carried out my plan, I left Statia in greater despondency
than ever. For she refused me pointblank--something that had not entered
into my calculations. She did it, too, in anything but an agreeable
manner, as it then seemed to me.

If the reader of these lines has ever gone through a period of insomnia
in its most acute form, he will understand the condition in which it
leaves a fellow. When Tom's sister laughed me out of court, as one might
say, even though she did it with the highest expressions of good will, I
was ready for anything desperate.

"You are a silly fellow," she said, as if I were a five years' old child
and she my governess. "What kind of a husband do you think you would
make? Look back over the last five years of your life and see how much
of it does you credit. You think I don't know what you have been up to,
and perhaps it is best for me that I don't know all of it; but I am
sure, at least, that you have undertaken nothing serious, and that every
hour has been practically wasted. A girl has got to have something
different in a partner on whom she is to rely for life. And that tale of
your physician's advice is worse than all. I am not going to let myself
for a hospital. Your health is broken on account of your persistent
violation of all hygienic rules. You have no right to quarter yourself
on a strong, well girl like me until you can bring something better than
you now have to offer."

I was too provoked at her manner, even more than at her words, to reply
with much patience. I said, ill-manneredly, I must now admit, that if I
did not have my old physique, it was only a question of time when it
would return, and that I certainly had something else that many a young
man would gladly take in exchange for beef and brawn.

"Oh, _that_ for your fortune!" she said, snapping her fingers
disdainfully. "I am not talking of marrying your grandfather, who
gathered the dollars you think of such moment. Wealth is a good thing
only when harnessed to the right horses. The man that marries me must
have a better recommendation. I would give more for a character of
sterling merit, a disposition to conquer the difficulties of life, than
for all your cash. If the will of Aleck Camran had not tied up his
savings, you would have made ducks and drakes of the whole of it before
this time."

I was angry at myself for arguing with her. She had a great deal of
assurance to address me in that manner, I thought.

"Will or no will, I have a certainty of five thousand dollars a year
till I am thirty," I retorted. "How many of the brave young chaps you
talk about can gain as much as that? And when I am thirty I get
possession of the entire estate, a quarter of a million now, and more
when that time comes. But I am not going to debate the matter with you.
You are a coquette, Statia Barton, and have had your amusement with me.
Some day, when you hear I have gone to the devil, a little remorse may
touch your heart. I don't care a rap now whether I live or die."

She paled at the concluding sentence.

"Don't add crime to your follies," she said, in a low tone. "Existence
does not end with this brief life on earth. When you have time to
reflect, you will be ashamed of your present state of mind. If there is
anything I can do for you, short of sacrificing my whole future--"

"I know," I responded, sarcastically. "You are willing to be 'a sister'
to me!"

"I am, indeed!" she answered, fervently. "It's what you need much more
than a wife. You accuse me of coquetry, because I have tried to treat
you as--well--as the closest friend of my brother Tom. I fear your
experience with women has not fitted you to be a good judge of their
actions."

"They are pretty much alike," I snarled. "Selfish to the core, when you
get at their true natures. All this talk amounts to nothing. So, I'll
say good-by, for as soon as I can get my things packed I'm going to get
out of the country."

She seemed genuinely distressed, and like the soft fellow I always was
where her sex is concerned I found myself relenting.

"Dr. Chambers advises travel," I explained, in a gentler tone. "His
exact prescription was, 'Marry the nicest girl you know, then take a
journey to some place where you can forget the troubles through which
you have passed.' If I can't carry out the first part, I can the last."

Statia's face lit up.

"And am I--really--the 'nicest girl you know,' that you came so straight
to me with your proposal?" she asked.

"I thought so an hour ago," I responded, growing gloomy again. "I've
intended for two years to ask you sometime, though I didn't think it
would be so soon. I supposed you knew what was on my mind, and it never
occurred to me that, instead of accepting my offer, you would play the
schoolma'am with me. But let it go now. I believe I shall live through
it, after all. That cursed insomnia leaves a man ready for the blues on
the slightest provocation. The sooner I get out of this part of the
world the better."

She asked if I had decided where to go, and I told her I had not. I
thought the best thing was to get on the sea as soon as I could and keep
out of sight of land for awhile.

"I don't think you ought to go alone," she said, thoughtfully.

"Perhaps you would undertake to chaperone me," I suggested,
mischievously.

"No. It would be too great a responsibility. But, seriously, you should
have some one. You are not in a condition to make a long journey alone."

I felt that as well as she. But of all my friends I could think of no
one to fill the bill, and I told her so.

"Tom would go, if he could," she said. "He would lose a year in his
classes, though, which is a serious matter. Can you not hire some
capable young man, who would act as an assistant and companion
combined?"

If I was sure of anything it was that I wanted nothing of that kind. A
servant was all right, and there were lots of fellows who would make
good travelling companions, but a man who could combine the two
qualities would be unbearable.

"There's another alternative you haven't thought of," I remarked,
catching at an idea. "What would you say to a typewriter?"

"There are many young men in that business who would be glad to go with
you," was her reply.

"Hang young men! If I take a typewriter it will be a young woman," I
retorted. "Oh, don't glare at me in that frigid way. There are
respectable young women enough without letting your thoughts run wild.
Uncle Dugald has been trying to get me to resume work on the family
genealogy, which I was plodding through when I was knocked out by that
confounded illness. I have all of the notes on hand. Supposing I
advertise for a young woman of good moral character to assist a literary
man, one that is willing to travel. Don't you think I might secure the
right sort of person in that way?"

"Good moral character!" she echoed, her lip curling. "And what do you
think her character would resemble when she returned with you from your
journey?"

I replied that it would be something like that of a vestal virgin, as
near as I could prognosticate. And I demanded where she got the notion
that I was a menace to the purity of any young creature who might decide
to trust herself in my company.

"The idea is too silly to talk of seriously," she answered.

"Oh, I don't know," said I. "The more I think about it, the better I
like the thing. Some of these typewriter girls are not bad looking. Many
are well educated. A good salary ought to overcome their objections to
travel, especially at this season of the year, when New York is under
the dominion of the Ice King. I shall put an advertisement in the
'Personal' column of the Herald, next Sunday."

Statia tried to pretend that she thought me simply fooling, but it was
evident that she was not as sure on that point as she would like to be.
If there was nothing else to be gained by the conversation, I was at
least getting even with her to some degree for the disappointment she
had caused me a few minutes earlier.

"You will do nothing of the sort," she said. "Come, Don, don't be an
idiot. I can hardly find patience to discuss the senseless thing. If you
weren't such a reckless boy, I should know you were only joking. You
shall not leave the room until you promise to drop this nonsense."

I liked her, in spite of her cruel conduct; yes, I liked her very much;
and it did me an immense amount of good to sense the taint of jealousy
in her words and manner.

"Statia Barton," I replied, taking a step that brought me to her side,
"it all lies with you. Again I ask you to be my wife and go with me on
the journey my doctor declares I must take at once. If you refuse to
guard and protect me you have no right to say that some one else shall
be prevented from doing so."

She trembled, and I thought she was about to relent. My heart gave a
quick bound, only to be stilled by her answer.

"Your conduct in this matter confirms all my previous suspicions," she
replied, and her voice was unsteady. "I am merely, in your mind, a toy
to be used as occasion requires. If I refuse to lend myself to that
object you have only to find another. Now, Donald Camran, I am a little
too proud to take that sort of place. Marriage, in my mind, is rather
more sacred than it seems to be in yours. You evidently have no idea how
near you are to insulting me, which makes it easier to forgive the
slight. I thank you for the honor"--she pronounced the word in an
ironical manner--"that you have offered and decline it absolutely.
Further, I withdraw all my advice, since it evidently is useless to
offer any. Advertise for your lady typewriter, make your arrangements
with her, and go your way. And now excuse me, as I have to dress for a
walk."

I didn't really want to hurt her feelings, and it was too evident that I
had done so. I asked meekly if she would let me wait in the parlor till
she was ready and escort her to her destination.

"No," she answered, with more determination that I had ever heard in her
tone. "I prefer to say good-by to you here."

I liked her immensely, in spite of all, and was sorry that anything
should make a break between us, but I had no idea of crawling on my
knees for any woman alive. I took up my overcoat, that lay on a
chair--I was as much at home in Tom Barton's house as in my own
lodgings--and put it on. Then I took my gloves, my hat and cane, said
"Good-by," with great formality, and left the house.

I preferred to walk, for although the air was frosty, there was heat
enough in my veins. Block after block was traversed in an aimless way,
for I had no destination in particular. All at once, I noticed a group
of people staring into a window, and realized that I had reached the
up-town building of the New York Herald.

For several seconds I tried to remember what there was about that
building to interest me. It was one of the results of my illness that
memory had become treacherous. It frequently happened that I met
intimate friends and could not tell their names if I were to be hanged.
I slackened my pace, and cudgeled my brain, as the saying is, for some
moments.

It was the Herald Building--I knew that well enough. What did I want
there? Suddenly, glancing into the business office, it all came back to
me and I entered.

The idea I had suggested to Statia as a joke began to strike me as a
rather good thing.

I would insert an advertisement for a female typewriter, if only to
spite Statia Barton! Dr. Chambers had almost forbidden me to travel
alone. I had a right to select my companion, and it was the business of
no one--least of all of a woman who had thrown me over--whether the
person I chose wore pantaloons or petticoats.

Going to one of the desks I took up a pen, dipped it in ink, and tried
to indite a suitable announcement. My hand shook, for I had not
recovered a quarter of my normal strength. When I had written the first
line it would have puzzled the best copy-holder in the office above to
decipher it. I tore it up, took a second piece of paper and began again.
When I had written the advertisement at last it did not suit me, and
once more I essayed the task with new construction. Other men and
several women were using the desks about me, and I glanced at them to
see if any nervousness was visible on their countenances. There appeared
to be none, however, which fact made my own sensations harder than ever
to bear.

Several times I fancied that the clerks behind the wire guards were
watching me, that they had managed in some mysterious manner to see over
my shoulder, and were laughing at my efforts. Still I hated to give up
beaten. It is a part of my nature to carry out any task which I have
attempted, no matter how insignificant. I took the pen once more and
finally completed with difficulty the following:

    TYPEWRITER WANTED--To travel in the Tropics for the winter. Duties
    light, salary satisfactory. Machine Furnished. Address--Herald
    up-town.

Just as I was about to take this to one of the clerks, an extremely
pretty young woman came to the desk I was using and attracted my
attention. She had a pair of solitaire diamonds in her beautiful ears
and half a dozen costly rings on her pretty fingers. She wore a tastily
trimmed hat, with veil, a well fitting seal coat and a plaided silk
skirt of subdued colors. I judged her to be the wife or daughter of some
wealthy man, who had come to advertise for a maid or cook. With a few
quick strokes of the pen, in a hand that I saw was clear and bold, she
completed her writing and stepped quickly to the nearest counter. I
followed her; and as there was already one customer engaging the
attention of the clerk, I plainly saw the notice she had written, as she
held it daintily against her muff. Its purport was as follows:

    A YOUNG LADY, stranger in the city, beautiful of face and form, 22
    years of age, suddenly thrown on her own resources, wishes the
    acquaintance of elderly gent.

The clerk looked up and nodded to the fair creature, when her turn came.
He had evidently seen her there before.

"You have forgotten again," he said, smiling. "Object matrimony."

"So, I have," she answered, in mellifluous tones. "It seems so silly,
you know."

"A rule of the office," he responded, adding the words for her. "Dollar
and a half."

She took a twenty dollar bill from a purse and received the change as if
it was hardly worth picking up. It was evident that much sympathy need
not be wasted on this young "stranger," and that the "resources" on
which she was "thrown" were likely to be amply sufficient.

"One twenty," said the clerk, to me. "Business Personals, of course. I
will write the word 'Lady' before 'Typewriter,' if that is what you
mean. It may save annoyance. Sunday? Very well."

He gave me my change and I withdrew to make room for others, who were
already crowding for recognition.

It was only Thursday, but it was something to have done the thing. After
months of insomnia it is hard to make up one's mind. Delighted that I
had taken the first step, I bought a paper from one of the boys at the
door and went home to study the steamship routes.




CHAPTER II.

OUTLINING THE SCHEME.


The most intimate masculine friend I had in the world was Statia's
brother, Tom Barton. We seemed to have become attached for the reason
that a story reminded some one of an event--because we were so
different. Tom was not the kind of chap, however, to trust with such a
plan as I had just been maturing. Not only was he virtuous--which may be
forgiven in a young man of good qualities--but he would never have liked
me had he suspected a thousandth part of the peccadilloes of which I had
been guilty. Tom was my friend, but never my confidant. For a fellow to
share the present secret, there was no one like Harvey Hume.

I was reasonably sure that Harvey would tell me I was contemplating a
ridiculous move; indeed I more than half suspected that to be the case.
But he would content himself with pointing out the silliness of the
plan, leaving it to my own judgment what to do afterward. Tom, on the
contrary, would have told Statia all about it, not imagining, of course,
that I had done so; then he would have gone to my Uncle Dugald and set
him on my track. If these means failed to bring me to my senses, I am
not sure but he would have applied for an inquirendo to determine my
sanity; all with the best intentions in the world and a sincere desire
to promote my moral welfare.

Tom is a fellow who would jump off a steamer in mid-ocean to save me,
should I fall overboard while in his company, and never think, until he
found himself on the way to the bottom, that I could swim, while he
could not even float a little bit. He is as decent a chap as it has ever
been my privilege to know, and as much to be avoided on certain
occasions as a fer-de-lance. At any rate, my recent tilt with his sister
did not make me particularly anxious to see any person who bore her
family name. So I went to Harvey Hume.

Harvey is, or professes to be, a lawyer. One of our mutual friends once
got credit for a _mot_ that really didn't amount to much, when a third
party inquired if Harvey had yet been 'admitted to the bar,' by replying
that he had been admitted to every bar in Greater New York, although he
had always failed to pass. Whatever might be said of him, he was a
thoroughbred. The Spanish Inquisition could not have drawn a secret out
of him. The worst he would do if he disapproved of my scheme was to tell
me so, and I had a wild anxiety to talk it over with some one.

"Halloa, old fellow!" he cried, as I entered his door. "Devilish glad to
see you. Take one of these cigars, draw up here, put your feet beside
mine on the desk, and tell me how you are."

Accepting the invitation in both its phases I responded that I was
improving every day, and that I believed myself nearly, if not quite,
out of the woods.

"Of course, you are," he replied, jovially. "And now you are out, will
you get back again, or take a friend's advice and stay out?"

"I don't even know how I got in," I remarked, dolefully. "When I see a
chap like you in the enjoyment of all the health and spirits in the
world it seems unfair that I should be knocked down in the way I was.
Why, all the drinking I've done since I was born wouldn't satisfy you
for half a year."

Harvey blew a cloud of smoke to the ceiling and winked knowingly.

"Rats!" he responded. "I only drink just enough to lubricate my mucous
membrane. If you had drunk oftener and done some other things less, you
would be in as fit shape as I am. It was plain to me for a long time
that you would bring up where you did. No fellow can live on the edge of
his nerves month after month without paying the piper, sooner or later."

"Well," I said, "I'm through with it now, at all events. Lovely woman
has got to get along without me, in the old way, for a long time to
come. Dr. Chambers has given me a scare, and I'm going to profit by it."

"Good!" exclaimed Harvey, with warmth.

"Yes," I continued, smiling inwardly at the scheme I was about to
divulge, "the sort of female creature with which I have spent my time
and cash is to be banished from my waking and my sleeping dreams. I am
going to take ship for some foreign port, and remain away till I am sure
of my resolutions."

Hume leaned over and took my hand in his own. My esteem for him rose
with the action, which spoke more than words, but I went on with my
story.

"The doctor will not hear of my going alone, however," I pursued,
"and--"

"And he's quite right," he interpolated.

"So I have advertised for a companion to make the trip. You don't seem
to have conceived any plan for me, so I've invented one of my own."

My friend interrupted again to compliment me on the common sense of the
move.

"You see, the genealogy of the Camran family that my Uncle has set his
heart on gives me an excuse to secure the services of a companion in the
guise of a typewriter. It takes off the feeling that I require a nurse,
while practically providing the very same thing, in the event that one
is needed."

Hume nodded frequently, in approval. I was evidently rising rapidly in
his estimation as a young man whose common sense had returned after a
long vacation.

"I hope you'll find the right sort of fellow," he said. "You ought to,
if you've worded the advertisement right. The last time I put in such a
notice, the time I got the man I now have--there was half a peck of
answers."

Taking up a pen, and putting my feet nearer the floor, I wrote a copy of
the announcement I had left at the Herald office, and passed it to my
friend.

"How do you think that will do?" I inquired, gravely.

He read it, sniffed once or twice and then threw it on the floor.

"You are a good deal of a fool, but not such a d----d one as that!" he
said.

"It's exactly what I have done," was my reply. "When the answers come in
I shall expect you to help me pick out the prizes."

He laughed, refusing at first to be drawn into what he thoroughly
believed a trap to catch him. Then he studied my face and grew doubtful.

"Anybody but you, Don, might get some fun out of this. If you really
have put such an ad. in the paper, the best thing you can do is to turn
the entire lot of replies over to me, for investigation after you have
left the country. But," he grew very sober, "to prance around among that
sort of stuff yourself--at this time--would almost certainly put you
back where you were last winter, with less chance than ever of
recovery."

It was a much rougher way of putting it than I had expected, and, to
tell the truth, there was something creepy in the suggestion.

"Your generosity is fully appreciated," I replied, with some dignity,
"but I cannot think of exposing you to such terrible dangers. On
reflection I do not think it best to trouble you in this matter. It
would be a source of never-ending regret were I to return from abroad,
and learn that you had taken my old place in the Sanitarium."

Hume threw the butt of his finished cigar into a cuspidor and lit
another one nonchalantly.

"Don't you really see the difference?" he asked, when he found the weed
drawing satisfactorily. "To me the adventures that might grow out of
meeting a dozen or a hundred pretty women would result in nothing worse
than passing some agreeable evenings. I never lost my head over one of
the sex, and I never shall. If Mr. Donald Camran could say as much, I
would tell him to carry out his intention. But, I leave it to you, my
dear boy, to prophesy the result, if you go into this thing."

I told him, with some mental misgivings, to be sure, that I had learned
my lesson during the year that was past. No woman could make me lose my
head again. At the same time I had not gotten over my admiration for the
sex, and I saw no reason to do so.

"I'm beginning to believe you're not fooling," said Hume, after studying
my countenance again. "Now, tell me precisely what your game is. Let us
have the scheme, just as it lies in your mind and, if there's a
redeeming feature about it, trust me as a true friend to say so."

We had at last reached the point I had hoped for, and I complied without
hesitation.

"I am acting primarily on the advice--almost on the orders--of Dr.
Chambers. He wants me to take a sea voyage. He advises me strongly not
to go alone. Then Uncle Dugald hints every time I see him that I ought
to recommence the genealogy as soon as I feel able. A good stenographer
would make that task an easy one. The reason I purpose taking a lady
instead of a man--but you will certainly laugh if I tell you."

My friend responded gravely that he would promise to do nothing of the
sort.

"Well," I continued, "it is this: and you may laugh at me if you like. I
have led a life as regards women that I now think worse than idiotic. I
have followed one after another of them, from pillar to post, falling
madly in love, troubling my mind, worrying over the inevitable
separations, getting the blues, losing heart, all that sort of thing;
then, beginning over again with a new charmer, and pursuing the
inevitable round. I have never been intimately acquainted with a pure,
honest girl of the better classes, except one, who, this morning,
refused my offer of marriage. I have no feminine relations except a
couple of old aunts. I need sadly to be educated by a woman who will not
hold out temptation. I believe a few months in the society of such a
woman, away from old associations, will make another man of me."

When I think of it now I wonder that Harvey, with his keen sense of the
ludicrous, did not burst into a laugh, in spite of his promise. But he
took my serious story with equal seriousness and bowed gravely.

"What is to keep you from falling in love with your secretary, when you
and she are practically alone, miles and miles from all the people you
both know?"

"I intend to secure a promise from her, before we start, that she will
repel, absolutely, the slightest familiarity on my part. I shall fix a
salary that will be an object. If she allows me to forget the position
toward her that I have chosen, she is to be sent home on the next
steamer, with a month's advance wages."

Harvey bowed again, with the same gravity as before. He pulled at his
cigar, but it had gone out and he did not relight it.

"I have never talked so freely with you before," I went on to say, "and
there is no other person on earth with whom I would do so. A year ago,
as you are aware, I was stricken suddenly with that damnable thing
called neurasthenia. For two months I had insomnia in the worst form
that a man can have it and live. Sleepy from noon to noon, I only
secured thirty minutes of unconsciousness in each twenty-four hours.
Figure the situation to yourself. At nine o'clock every night I fell
asleep; at half past nine I awoke, and there was not a wink again until
nine the next night. I gave up all expectation of recovery, and the most
disheartening things I heard were the predictions of Dr. Chambers, that
I would ultimately get well.

"Finally they sent me to the Sanitarium, where with treanol and bromides
I was lulled to unconsciousness for several hours at a time. I would not
consent to take opium in any form, even if the refusal killed me. A
month passed. The artificial sleep induced brought me little strength,
but it helped in a way. Then I went to the Hot Springs of North
Carolina, with a valet. My sleeping capacity had returned, and I ceased
to use the incentives previously found necessary; but my appetite, poor
enough before, deserted me there. For breakfast I actually had to force
down the single cup of coffee that formed the repast. At lunch I did not
go to the table. For dinner my menu never varied--a few spoonfuls of
soup and a small dish of iced cream.

"The days dragged horribly. Somehow in the absence of real courage I
developed a dogged determination that I would live. When I reached New
York on my return North, I had too little strength to write a letter or
to sit upright for more than a few moments. But the worst was over, and
I knew it. It had become only a question of time. Step by step I have
advanced until you see me as I am to-day."

My friend listened intently.

"And you don't want to fall into the old slough again," he remarked.

"No, and I never will," I said, with earnestness. "Now, listen: I
realize that I was a year ago a slave to certain vices. Yes, let us give
them the unconventional name. If I go off alone to some distant part of
the world, what is to prevent my beginning again on the old road and
ending where I did before? I could take a male companion, but do you
imagine he would have any influence with me if I started to go wrong? At
best he would be but a servant. If he tried to stand in the way of
anything I wanted, the result is certain; he would get his walking
papers _de suite_. I have no mother, no sister. The only woman I ever
thought of marrying has coldly declined my offer. Let me go in the
company of a woman that is what she should be, and I will return a
different man altogether."

Still Hume did not laugh. I was more grateful for this consideration
than I can describe, for I was really very much in earnest. I was like
the drowning man, clutching at what seemed to me a life-preserver.

"How old are you?" asked Hume. "Twenty-five?"

"Twenty-four."

"What age would you prefer your secretary to be?"

"About the same. I could not endure an old maid, and I do not wish to
undertake the care of a child."

"Won't it be hard to find a woman of twenty-four years with the skill
and judgment that your situation seems to require?"

"We shall see. Some of these girls who are obliged to earn their living
develop wonderful self-possession."

He nodded, as if he could not dispute this.

"Well, Don," he said, after a thoughtful pause, "I am going to be candid
with you. The scheme you have outlined would be considered, as you must
know, by nine-tenths of our friends, as absolutely senseless. To me it
really has some points in its favor, if it can be carried out. You have
left the advertisement for insertion? Very well. If you like to trust me
so far, bring a batch of your answers here next Tuesday and we will go
over them together. There will be a certain per centum that we shall
both agree are not worth attention. We will classify the others, and
pick out a dozen or so to look up. My time, my services, are at your
disposal. The Law is not pressing me particularly just now, and I shall
be glad if I can be of use to anybody."

I accepted the proposition with delight.

"And now," added Hume, "come over and get a drink."

But this I was obliged to decline. I had made a solemn promise to Dr.
Chambers, nearly a year before, that there were two things from which I
would refrain for twelve whole months; and one of them was drinking
anything of an alcoholic nature between meals, or stronger than claret
even then. This I explained to Harvey, with the additional information
that I had not broken my pledge and that the time specified would expire
within three weeks.

"Meet me on the day it is up and let me see you quaff your first
Manhattan," he said, laughingly.

"If I have good luck I shall be far away, on the Briny," I answered. "I
shall begin very gingerly, wherever I am. I would rather shoot myself
to-night than get into the condition I was when Chambers squeezed that
promise out of me. He said the other day that when I entered his office
I had eyes like those of a dead fish and so little pulse he could hardly
distinguish it."

"He is quite correct," said Hume. "I saw you about the same time, and I
thought, as I live, that you were a goner. You're all right now, though,
and--upon my soul!--I hope you'll keep so. The charms of Bacchus are not
your worst danger, Venus, my boy, is the lady you want to keep shy of."

"Don't I know that?" I answered. "Confound her and all her nymphs!"

"Well, good day," he said, taking my hand in his and putting the other
on my shoulder affectionately. "Tuesday I shall look for you, remember,
with a dray load of letters from the fair maidens of this metropolis!"




CHAPTER III.

AN EVENING AT KOSTER & BIAL'S.


Before I actually engaged passage to any foreign port I thought it wise
to pay a parting visit to good Dr. Chambers. It was six months since I
had last called on him, for finding that I was gaining in every way I
did not care to fill myself up with medicines. His advice about
abstinence from things hurtful had been religiously followed, and I
presented the outward appearance of a man in fairly good health when he
came into his office and took my hand. Between us there has grown up a
feeling warmer than generally, I am afraid, exists between physician and
patient. I am intensely grateful for the skill that changed me from a
desponding invalid to one so nearly the opposite in spirits, and the odd
five dollar bills I have paid seem no equivalent for the great boon he
conferred upon me.

In plain terms, he saved my life and more. He redeemed me from a sort of
hell which I think the old romancers would have substituted for their
fire and brimstone had they ever had personal experience of it, as a
means of deterring the sinful from their ways. Money cannot pay for such
service, and I shall feel an affection for Dr. Chambers as long as
memory remains to me.

If you have the pleasure of his acquaintance, you know that the Doctor
is probably the handsomest man in New York. He has a good physique that
has not degenerated into mere muscle and brawn; a fine color which does
not lead you to suspect that too much old port and brandy is responsible
for it. His hair is nearly white, though he has hardly seen fifty years,
and has no other sign of age. His mustache and imperial would do credit
to a trooper and yet has not that bovine appearance shown in portraits
of the late Victor Immanuel. His manner is delightful, his voice
musical, though by no means effeminate.

I ascribe my cure partly to a perfect confidence in his powers with
which he inspired me on our very first meeting. He is not one to make
rash predictions, to tell you that he will bring you around all right in
a week; but rest on his superior powers with the confidence of a child
and the result will justify your faith.

No physician can cure a man against his will or without his assistance.
Go to Dr. Chambers with your heart open, tell him no more lies than you
would tell your confidential attorney, obey every injunction he gives
you, summon whatever of courage is left in your failing heart, take his
medicines according to direction. If you do that and die, be sure your
time has come and that no mortal could bring about a different result.
If you recover, as you probably will, be honest and ascribe the result
as much to the Doctor's intuitive knowledge of persons as to his eminent
acquaintance with the best medical discoveries.

One of the nervine preparations that he gave me is manufactured in
Paris, and I have heard jealous physicians say that no one here knows
the precise formula by which it is compounded; which is, it appears, a
technical violation of the rules of the Medical Society, and
consequently "unprofessional." If Dr. Chambers cures his patients by the
help of this remedy, and other physicians let theirs perish, his course
is certainly preferable from a layman's point of view. He has proved the
efficacy of the article. Whether it be composed of one thing or another,
or whatever be the proportions of the mixture, is of little interest to
the one it benefits and less still to the victims of more scrupulous
practitioners, after they have passed from earth for want of it. There
is a great deal of nonsense in the medical profession and the
establishment of set rules to meet all cases is bound to result in
disaster.

I asked Dr. Chambers to re-examine me in a general way, and to say, when
he had finished, whether he saw any reason why I should not go at once
on an ocean voyage. He devoted the better part of an hour to this task
and ended with the declaration that the sooner I went the better my plan
was.

"I have urged you before to take a long journey to some interesting
place," he reminded me. "At this time of year a warm country is better
than a frigid or even a temperate one. You will thus secure a natural
action of the skin on account of the perspiration, much better than any
Turkish bath, which is at best only a makeshift. You will be able to
partake of tropical fruits in their best state, fresh from the trees and
vines. Your mind will be stimulated in a healthful manner. The voyage
will do you great good. All I insist on now is that you do not go
alone. While you have made immense progress you must run no risks. A
bright, cheerful companion to fill in a dull hour is very necessary.
And, although I believe the year for which I interdicted some of your
habits has about expired, it does not follow that you are to plunge into
excesses. Use the common sense you have been acquiring. Take all your
pleasures sparingly. Still consider yourself a convalescent. I don't
want you coming here again in the shape you were last winter."

I assured him that there was no danger; that I had learned my lesson
well; and that I would make a sensible use of my liberty. Then, when he
had added that I need carry very little medicine--and that only for
emergencies--and made me promise to write him once in a month or so, in
a friendly way, I grasped his hand warmly and took my leave.

If he had been a woman I would certainly have kissed him. He will never
know, unless he happens to read these lines, how near my eyes came to
filling with grateful tears.

The next thing was a visit to my Uncle, Dugald Camran, that staid old
bachelor, who still possesses the virtues of our Scotch ancestry, that I
have put so often to shame. He has charge of my father's estate, which
he manages with the same acumen that he handles his own, and which is as
safe in his hands as in that of the Bank of England. Between my Uncle
and me there has been much good will, but very little confidence. Our
relations have been little more than business ones. He has no curiosity
apparently as to my personal conduct, and I would be the last to wish
him to know what it has been in some respects.

He attributed my late illness, as did most of my other acquaintances, to
over-study, and I had no intention of undeceiving him. There was no
attempt on his part to influence me in any way, when I gave up my course
at Yale without graduating. He only said that I was the best judge.

He could see well enough that I was not cut from the same piece as the
rest of the Camrans, staid, methodical getters together of money as they
are. Probably, bad as things went, he would have made them no better had
he interfered. His is not a nature that could understand mine. When I
became twenty-one years of age he handed over without demur the ten
thousand dollars that my father's testament said was to be given me on
that date, and although he knew well that I had not a penny of it left
at the end of a twelve-month he never uttered a word against my folly.
He was, as far as appeared, an automatic machine to obey the provisions
of the will.

For nine years to come there was the five thousand a year for me, either
in lump annual sums or monthly, as I might prefer. With the knowledge
that I could not retain my hold on anything in the shape of money I
decided to take it in the safer way. My illness had enabled me, in spite
of the special expense to which it subjected my purse, to get a couple
of thousand ahead, which I was foolish enough to think did me credit. As
a matter of fact, I was never extravagant in the necessaries of life,
and might have gained a reputation as a very careful fellow had I not
fallen into habits that sent my change flying like geese feathers in a
storm.

Uncle Dugald listened without approval or disapproval to my statement
that I was going on a sea voyage, which I took pains to say was advised
by Dr. Chambers. In spite of our relation he evidently regarded me much
as the cashier of my bank did when I presented a check--if there was a
balance to my credit, all right; if there was none I should meet with a
polite refusal.

It was not necessary for this canny Scot to turn to his books to see how
my balance stood. His head was full of figures and if a fire had
destroyed every account he had, I believe he could have restored his
ledgers accurately from memory alone.

"I shall want a letter of credit," I said, "and I shall be obliged if
you will attend to the matter for me. I suppose it is necessary to
deposit the amount with the firm on which the letter is drawn."

"That is the customary way," he answered, "but I can arrange it a little
better to your advantage, by guaranteeing payment through my banker.
That will save interest on the money. What size shall the letter be?"

My Uncle had no idea of being responsible for a penny beyond the amount
in his hands, out of my annual allowance. Ah, well, that would be more
than enough, probably. At the worst, my income was accumulating, and at
the end of a few months I could send to him for another letter, if I
remained away so long. So I told him to get a credit for $2000 and send
it to my lodgings at his convenience. Then having asked after the health
of my two maiden aunts, with whom he lived--as if I cared whether they
were sick or well; they never had bothered about me when I was at the
worst of my long illness!--I took my departure.

That evening I studied the advertisements of the steamship lines, both
in the Herald and in the Commercial Advertiser. There were excursions
going to the Mediterranean, which presented most attractive
prospectuses, but they did not convince me that they were what I wanted.
I never liked travelling by route, preferring to leave everything open
for any change of mind. There were the usual lines to England, France
and Germany, but I had seen those countries several years earlier, just
before entering college, and according to my recollection they were
anything but restful. The particular temptations I was to avoid were
rather too plenty on the other side of the Atlantic to trust myself
there. I was more inclined toward some of the South American countries,
till I happened to read in a despatch that yellow fever had broken out
there, and I knew that those quarantines were something to be avoided at
all hazards.

Thinking of quarantines suddenly brought back the memory of a trip I had
taken three years earlier to the Windward and Leeward Islands, where I
had been detained in the most comfortable quarantine station in the
world--the one at St. Thomas.

I smiled to recall the discouraged feeling with which I and my
travelling acquaintances heard, at the little town of Ponce, in Porto
Rico, that we would have to be detained under guard fifteen days when we
reached St. Thomas; how we had the blues for twenty hours; how the
indigo darkened, when we were taken from our steamer and landed from a
row boat, bag and baggage, at the foot of a long path that led up to the
Station.

And then the revulsion of feeling when we found the cosiest of homes
awaiting us! The hearty welcome of Eggert, the quarantine master and
lighthouse keeper; the motherly smile of his wife; the cheery welcome of
his daughter, Thyra; the bright little faces of Thorwald, his son, and
of the baby, Ingeborg; even the rough growl of "Laps," the Danish hound,
had no surliness about it.

Then the comfortable beds in the little rooms, curtained from all
obnoxious insects; the five o'clock sea baths in the morning, inside the
high station fence that we must not pass; the meals an epicure need not
have scoffed at; our first acquaintance with a dozen varieties of the
luscious fish that abound in that part of the Caribbean.

I remembered them all, as if it were yesterday, and at this juncture
that meant but one thing: I must see St. Thomas again, if only to
determine whether that fortnight was a dream or a reality.

The craze which this decision inspired brought to my mind the fact that
I was still liable to excitements from which I must free myself. The
great desideratum for which I must strive above all things was repose.
It was mere suicide to go wild over everything that happened to please
me for the moment. The chance was more than even that if my feelings ran
away with me over the delights of the Antilles I would awake the next
morning with an aversion to that part of the world. It was one of the
penalties of my illness that the pendulum of a wish could not swing
violently in one direction without swinging just as far in the other. I
was afraid this would be the result in the present instance; and I sent
for a ticket to Koster & Bial's, while I went to take my dinner at the
Club, in order to get a diversion that would be effective.

Among the entertainments presented at the great Vaudeville house that
evening was the startling sensation known as "Charmion," and I was not
sorry to see it, even though I had to hold my breath during part of the
exhibition. At the risk of relating what a large number of readers must
already know, I will describe briefly the act given by the young woman
appearing under that title.

When the curtain rose nothing was visible except a trapeze about twenty
feet above the stage, and a rope hanging loosely beside it. Presently
there entered a woman in full street costume, who inserted one hand
nonchalantly in a ring at the end of the rope and was drawn lightly to
the trapeze. Here she sat comfortably for an instant; and then, as if by
accident, fell backward and hung head down by one leg, bent at the knee.

Her gown and skirts naturally dropped in a mass over her head, leaving
the hosiery and minor lingerie in full exposure, with a liberal supply
of what was undoubtedly silken tights, but was meant to simulate the
flesh of her lower limbs, in full view. For a second she remained in
this posture, and then regained her seat on the trapeze, smoothing her
skirts into place, with a pretended air of chagrin at what was intended
to be considered her accidental fall.

Next, with a bit of pantomime which indicated that concealment of her
charms was useless after what had happened, "Charmion" stood up on the
trapeze and began deliberately to disrobe, in full view of the audience,
composed nearly equally of well garbed men and women, and completely
filling the house.

She took off first her immense "picture hat," black with great ostrich
plumes, and let it fall into a net spread beneath her. Then she slowly
unbuttoned her basque and removed it, exposing some very shapely arms
and shoulders. Next came the corset, followed by a delicious rubbing
with the hands where the article had closed too tightly around the form.
The skirts tumbled to the feet, then the remaining garments, and the
woman stood in her long black stockings, blue garters encircling the
lower portion of the thighs.

At this stage I noted a special expectancy in the occupants of the front
seats--men leaning forward, with outstretched hands--the cause of which
was soon apparent. The fair occupant of the trapeze seated herself,
untied her garters and, with a moment of hesitation, cast them, one
after the other, into the crowd, where they were seized by the most
agile or most lucky of the spectators, and retained as souvenirs. Then
came, last of all, the hose themselves, and the actual work of the
performer as a trapeze artist began in earnest.

I will do Charmion the credit of admitting that her act was truly
wonderful. Suspended first by the insteps and then by nothing,
apparently, but her heels, she passed easily from one round of a
horizontal ladder to another, backward and forward, hanging head down
in mid-air.

But it was easy to see that the marvellous exhibition of skill was not
what had drawn the immense audience. It was the risqué undressing which
had done that. So far as I can learn, she had gone several paces beyond
anything in this line hitherto permitted in any reputable American
theatre.

For myself I am glad I saw it, though I would not care to see it again.
I was like the young lady who consented after some demur to take a ride
on a very steep toboggan slide. "I wouldn't have missed it for a
thousand dollars!" she exclaimed to her escort. "Let us try again," he
suggested. "Not for a million!" she responded, with equal fervor.

If such things are to be allowed in metropolitan theatres, I want to
"size up," by that means, the taste of what are called the respectable
men and women of my time. But I certainly felt a dizziness in the brain
when that corset came off in the presence of a thousand individuals who
seemed to represent a fairly average respectability of our women.

I saw young girls of seventeen or eighteen there, middle-aged matrons
and several elderly ladies, and I did not detect in a single face the
agitation I knew showed in my own. Perhaps I may ascribe my extra
nervousness to the neurasthenia from which I had so recently recovered.

While at this point I hope I may be pardoned a word in reference to the
growing taste among our theatrical audiences for what was once called
indecent exposure. Our elders relate that New York nearly had a fit
when, in the late sixties, the first "Black Crook" company opened its
doors at Niblo's. To see women in flesh-colored tights reaching to the
hips was so awful that only eye-witnesses would believe it possible, and
to make sure it actually occurred, everybody had to go. Then came the
"British Blondes," who wore longer tights, and filled them in a more
satisfactory manner than those who had preceded. Soldene followed, with
a new and startling sensation, in Sara, the skirt dancer, who pulled her
underclothing up to her forehead, to the delight and scandal of the
bald-headed row--just as a hundred others do now without attracting
special attention.

The demand kept ahead of the supply of indelicacy. Dancers vied with
each other in so garbing their lower limbs as to give the impression
that they were partially nude, and Mrs. Grundy merely bought spectacles
of increased power and engaged a front seat.

Then came the "Living Picture" craze. As Clement Scott said in his
London paper, "We are told that these women are covered with a tightly
fitting, skin-like gauze, but this is a matter of information and belief
and not of ocular demonstration." The nymph at the fountain stood night
after night, like her marble prototype, with the water running down her
breasts and dropping from the points thereof. She refused to follow
Beaumont and Fletcher's advice, to--

    "Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow
     That thy frozen bosom bears,
     On whose tops the pinks that grow
     Are of those that April wears."

Venus rose from the sea, with all the appearance of absolute nudity. The
glorious curves of the tempter of Tannhauser were revealed in their
fullness to cultured audiences. The North Star came down that men might
admire her shapeliness, while the three Graces proved Byron's words:--

    "There is more beauty in the ripe and real
     Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal."

And then a daring manager went all this one better. He posed his women
as bronze figures, with nothing between them and the gaze of the
audience but bronze powder. The sensation lasted but a short time,
spectators not caring for mulatoes when there were white forms to be
seen at the same price. Next came the "Wedding Night," which I saw in
Paris, and which still seems to me comparatively sweet and innocent--and
it was suppressed, perhaps for that very reason. And now we have
"Charmion"--meat for strong minds, but not, I fear, for the average
young man.

What will come next? I would not dare predict, but really within ten
years we may expect anything. "The leaves are falling--even the fig
leaves," says George Meredith. They have fallen long ago from most of
the male statues in European galleries, and there at least I am in
accord with the sculptors. Perfect nudity never stirred the beast in any
sane man. Why should we not have afternoon or evening receptions by
professional models in their native undress? It would be better for
morality than the ingenious titillation of the senses induced by your
Edwinas and your Charmions!

Confound Charmion, any way! She spoiled a night for me that I needed for
refreshing sleep. In my brief snatches of slumber I was with those silly
fellows in the front rows, clutching wildly in the air for the garters
she flung from her perch above our heads.




CHAPTER IV.

YOU ARE A HOPELESS SCAMP.


Without even waiting for letters at the Herald office, in answer to my
advertisement, I went on Saturday morning to Cook & Son's, on Broadway,
and engaged two staterooms on the steamship "Madiana," of the Quebec SS.
Company's line, to sail January 12. I found that I could secure both
rooms, and, if it proved that I needed but one, the amount of passage
money paid in advance--one hundred dollars--could be applied to mine
alone. This pleased the remnant of Scotch blood left in my veins, for my
relations have always said I "favored" my mother's side of the family,
and she was a native of France. Though careless enough with money, I did
not wish to pay for a stateroom that nobody would occupy, and there was
a possibility that I would go alone, after all. The clerk, an affable
fellow, promised to hold the extra room until the 5th of January, and to
write me when it became necessary to put up the balance of the price or
surrender the rights I had in it. I thought, on the whole, it was a
sensible business transaction.

"What name shall I register for the lady's room?" he asked, taking up a
pen.

"I am uncertain," I said, hesitating. "There are several of the family,
and I don't know which it will be finally."

"I will call it 'Miss Camran,' then," he said.

There seemed no objection to this, and he wrote the name in his book.

Arming myself with a handful of literature about the Islands, that he
gave me, and which contained little information I was not already
possessed of, I went back to my rooms and took a look at my wardrobe. I
decided that I should want one or two new suits, of the very coolest
texture, besides thin underclothing, some outing shirts, a couple of
pairs of light shoes, etc. On Monday I began a search for these things,
and found them with more difficulty than I anticipated. In midwinter few
New York tradesmen are able to furnish thin clothing with celerity, and
my time was growing short. I visited half a dozen shops before I could
get fitted with shoes of the right weight, for instance. There were long
hunts for underflannels and hose. The tailors offered me anything but
thin weights, until I persisted and would not be put off, and then I had
to select the goods by sample. With some extra light pajamas, a gauzy
bathrobe, a lot of new collars and cuffs, and an extra dozen of colored
bosom shirts, I thought myself at last nearly ready. I urged upon each
dealer the necessity of sending his articles at the earliest possible
moment, thinking it wisest to deceive him a little about the day I was
to sail. The event proved this the only way I succeeded in getting them
all delivered in season.

It was with more excitement than was good for me that I took a hansom
on Tuesday morning, at an early hour, and drove to the up-town office of
the Herald. I expected a number of answers to my advertisement and
wanted to take them home as expeditiously as possible. Nor was I
disappointed. The clerk handed me out not less than a hundred and fifty
envelopes, when I presented the card that had been given me, and he was
kind enough to tie them in bundles at my request. Twenty minutes later I
was in my sitting room, the door locked for fear of intrusion, and
tearing open one after another with the hunger of curiosity.

The first five or six were not at all satisfactory. They contained
little beside requests for "further particulars," and had a
business-like air that did not suit my mood. Then came one that was
interesting enough to be put in the reserve pile from which the final
decision was to be made. Perhaps I may as well give it now in its
entirety:

    Dear Mr. 107--[that was the number the Herald had assigned
    me]--Although your announcement does not state your sex, I feel
    justified in assuming that you are a Man. "Lady" Typewriter! Well,
    as far as I know I answer that description, and now for the
    situation. "To travel in the Tropics?" I certainly have no objection
    to doing that, provided--! You say the "duties are light." Certainly
    that sounds encouraging. What do they consist of--actual typewriting
    or keeping dull care from drawing wrinkles on your manly brow?
    Typewriters are called upon to do such strange things in these days.
    The individual whose bread I now earn seems to consider that he has
    a right (in consideration of twelve dollars per week) to kiss me
    whenever he takes a fancy, which is the reason why I am seeking
    another employer, who, if he has the same tastes, may have a more
    attractive mouth for the purpose. How long is your journey to last
    and what pay do you intend to offer?

    I am twenty-six years of age, not specially ill looking, and have a
    good temper unless angered. I won't say much about my ability on the
    machine, for I presume that is a secondary consideration. Send your
    reply--if you think me worth it--to No. -- East Sixteenth Street,
    but don't call in person unless you wish to have an interview with a
    gouty uncle or a frightfully jealous cousin.

    Ever Yours,

    ALICE BRAZIER.

    N.B. If you take me off with you, I shall let neither of them know
    where I have gone.

This was bright and breezy, at least. The next one that I laid aside was
as follows:

    Dear Sir:--I am a Southern girl, if one who has reached the age of
    22 may so call herself. I have a good education and am refined in
    manner. I have no doubt I can fill all the requirements of the
    position you offer, and would be pleased to have you call, Wednesday
    afternoon, between two and four, at my lodgings, or on any other
    afternoon you may name. Please grant me at least an interview.

    Very Truly,

    MARJORIE MAY.

    No. -- W. 45th Street.

I read all the others, to the last one; but these two had attracted my
attention so thoroughly that the rest palled on my taste. Some were too
plainly sent by the ordinary class of immoral women, who had taken this
manner of making an acquaintance. One stated that she had the finest
form in New York, which she would be happy to exhibit for my approval,
in all its chaste splendor. Another had "lost her job" in a big
department store, and would "appreciate the true friendship of a man who
could spare $6 or $8 a week." Another frankly owned herself to be a
"grass widow," who on the whole preferred one "friend" to twenty and
offered me the first chance to fill that permanent position. Three or
four were apparently school-girls who were tired of the wholesome
restraints of home and wanted to run away with any man who would pay
their bills.

One declared herself to be 42 years of age, an expert typewriter, and
warned me against taking a "giddy young thing" on my journey when one of
her assured character could be obtained. She added that her reason for
desiring a change was that her employer was a scandalous person, whose
goings-on with a younger typewriter with whom she had to associate were
"awful." And she enclosed as a clincher an autograph letter from her
pastor, recommending her to "any Christian gentleman" needing a reliable
assistant.

Several were either married to men whose whereabouts were at present
unknown or had been divorced. One admitted in a burst of frankness that
she had "trusted a professed friend too far" and did not care what
became of herself.

All of which was rather amusing in its way, but brought me no nearer to
the goal of my desire--a bright, cheerful companion for the voyage I was
about to undertake.

I examined the entire lot before I recollected the agreement I had made
with Harvey Hume. Then I gathered up all the letters (except my two
favorites)--for I did not mean to show these to any one--and started for
his office in the middle of the afternoon. Harvey was in, of course; not
that he had any clients or expected any, but because those were his
office hours and he had nowhere else to go in particular. He was
evidently glad to see me, especially when he espied my package, for he
scented something to dispel his ennui.

We withdrew into his private office and he closed the door.

"Any prizes?" he asked, jocosely.

"You can decide for yourself," I answered. "They are entirely at your
disposal."

"Humph!" he grunted, as he laid down the first one. "I wouldn't pay that
girl's fare to Coney Island, judging by her capacity as a letter
writer." Then he struck the communication from the forty-two-years-old
damsel and gravely proceeded to show why she was the one I had best
select. After awhile he asked leave to retain two or three, that he
thought might be of use to him, and that I quite agreed were of none
whatever to me. When he had read over about half of the entire number,
he pushed the rest aside.

"Rot and rubbish!" he exclaimed.

"That's what I call them," I answered.

"You've given up your plan?" he said, inquiringly.

"By no means. But there's nothing very appetizing in that trash."

"How will you find anything better?"

"Oh, I've a scheme. When it develops I may let you in, but not just at
this stage." I wanted to tantalize him a bit. "You asked to see this
stuff and I've obliged you."

Just at this moment Tom Barton came in, and Harvey threw a newspaper
over the heap of letters, lest it should attract his attention and
arouse his suspicions. It was quite needless, for Tom never suspected
anything in his life. We talked over a few trifles for fifteen minutes
and then, as Tom said he must be going, I walked out into the hall with
him.

"I'm going home early," he remarked. "Statia hasn't felt very well for
the past day or two, and I am a little worried about her."

I was sincerely sorry to hear it. My chagrin over the things she said to
me had modified a good deal and I entertained at that moment only the
kindest feelings toward her.

"I wish you would come up to dinner to-night," said Tom, wistfully. "I
think that would brighten her up if anything can. She's not ill, but
merely out of sorts. Come, that's a good fellow."

I had as lief go there as anywhere and I consented without more demur.
There was something in the dog-like attachment of Tom for me that was
touching, and in a few days more I would be gone from him for months. As
for his sister, I was sure she couldn't bother me more than I could her.
I had the two letters in my pocket. If she tried any of her games, I
would read them to her.

Statia was unquestionably pale that evening when, after some delay, she
came into the parlor to greet me. But she assumed a cheerful air and,
when Tom went up stairs and left us alone, inquired if I had carried out
my plan of advertising for a companion on my voyage.

"Not only have I advertised," I said, pointedly, "but I have received
over a hundred answers. From that number I have picked out several,
among which I have no doubt I shall find what I want. In fact, I have
secured two staterooms on the Madiana, that sails for the Windward
Islands on the 12th, so certain am I that I shall need them both."

There was not much color in her face before, but what little there was
left it; which I attributed to her disappointment at the ill success of
her predictions.

"Are you really going to carry out this senseless project?" she asked.
"I can hardly believe you such a reckless fellow."

"Why is it reckless?" I inquired, boldly. "I need a typewriter. Some
young woman needs a situation. Dr. Chambers says it will not do for me
to travel alone, and he believes a journey to the tropics the best thing
for my health. I'd like to know what ideas you have in that head of
yours. I don't mind the reflections you cast upon me, but I object to
your attacking the character of a young lady who is to become my
employee."

She avoided the point and asked if I was willing to let her see the
answers I had received. She added that sometimes a woman's intuitions
were better than a man's judgment and that she might save me from
getting entrapped.

I laughed at her ingenious stratagem, and drew the two letters that I
had laid aside from my coat pocket.

"It is almost like ill faith," said I, "but as you will not even see the
handwriting, and can never know the identity of the writers, I am going
to read two of these letters to you. They are the best of the lot, so
far as I can judge, and I have no doubt one of them will be the lucky
applicant."

She composed herself as well as she could, though the nervous fit was
still on her, while I read slowly, pausing between the sentences, each
of the letters given in full in the earlier part of this chapter.

"Which of them do you imagine it will be?" she inquired, when I had
finished.

"I must at least see them before I can answer that. The first one (the
one signed 'Alice') is the brightest, and indicates a jolly nature that
I would like to cultivate; but there is something in the other that I
fancy, also. A sort of melody in a minor key. I shall not be content
until I see the original."

Statia twisted the tassels on the arms of the chair she sat in.

"You are a hopeless scamp!" she said, reddening. "Why do you pretend to
me that you have the least intention of doing any sensible work with the
assistance of these women, or that you believe either what an honest
girl should be?"

"Come, that's going too far!" I replied.

"No, it's not," she persisted, earnestly. "It is right that I should say
these things to you. You are the most intimate friend of--my brother.
You have no mother, no sister, no one to advise you. This plan, which
you are entering upon with such a gay heart, may result in dragging you
down to the depths, and perhaps your companion, if she be not already in
that category. Don, if you ever cared for Tom--for any of us--stop this
thing now!"

I was so astounded at the plainness of her insinuation that I could not
reply for some moments. She sat opposite to me, her head thrown forward,
her lips parted, her eyes slowly filling with tears.

"You had your chance," I responded, not very politely, it must be
admitted. "If you had answered in the affirmative the question I asked
you last week this could never have happened. Since you throw me back on
myself, you have no right to prevent me going my own way."

She dropped her face in her open hands, to recover her equanimity. When
she looked up again she appeared much calmer.

"Don," she said, tenderly, "you must not be so impetuous. Give up this
plan and perhaps--some day--I--"

"It is too late," I replied, understanding her very well. "I will never
ask any woman a second time the question I asked you. Be decent, Statia.
You make too much of a little thing. If there had been anything very
wicked in my mind, do you think I would have come here to tell you about
it? Let us drop the subject, and be good friends for the short time that
remains before I go. Why, there's less than a fortnight left."

She nodded, attempted to smile, and finding that she made a poor show at
it, left the room to prepare herself for dinner. When the meal was
served, however, we missed her old joviality. She did not speak unless
spoken to, and Tom, after trying in vain to engage her in conversation,
declared that she must go to see Dr. Chambers the very next morning.

"You'll get into the state that Don did last winter," he said, half
jestingly, "if you keep on. He began with just a plain, ordinary attack
of the blues, and see where it landed him. Yes, you certainly must go to
see Chambers. I never knew you like this before, and there's nothing on
earth to cause it."

When I mentioned, soon after we rose from the table, that I had an
engagement at my rooms--a fiction, by-the-by--Tom said if I was going to
walk he would go part way with me. I was glad to breathe the pure cold
air of December and listen to the chatter of the honest fellow, while at
the same time escaping from that house, that had nearly sent me again
into the doldrums.




CHAPTER V.

MEETING MISS MARJORIE.


The next morning was an awfully long one. I had decided to call on Miss
May in the afternoon, "between the hours of two and four," as she had
stipulated. Although I had never seen her and had no description of what
she was like, I already hoped she would be the One to make my coming
journey agreeable. I had the old impetuosity, you will see, that absence
of calm deliberation that had sent me to a Sanitarium and nearly to my
grave.

If I intended to take a train scheduled to start for any given point at
ten I was always in the station without fail at half past nine, stamping
my feet at the closed gate, with alternate glances at my watch. If I had
an engagement of special interest for a Friday, the Tuesdays, Wednesdays
and Thursdays dragged horribly.

It had been explained to me fully by Dr. Chambers that I must reform
this by my own exertions and that drugs could but assist me in a slight
degree. Still breaking away from the habits of years is not an easy
thing, and in spite of all I could do I had the old nervousness that
day.

At about eleven o'clock, having exhausted the charms of breakfast, the
morning papers and several cigars, I thought of a plan to get rid of an
hour or more, and taking my coat, hat and cane, I walked down to Cook's
office to see if anything new had transpired with regard to the trip of
the "Madiana." There was a rumor in the Journal that yellow fever had
broken out in Jamaica, one of the points where I wanted to touch, and
although the source of the news did not particularly recommend it, I
thought it well to inquire what the agent had heard in relation to the
matter.

As I entered the office my attention was attracted by a quiet appearing
man of about thirty, dressed in black and wearing a white tie, who was
evidently contemplating the same journey as myself. Now a man wearing a
white tie may be either a clergyman, a gambler or a confidence man, and
I had no faith in my ability to decide which of those eminent
professions this particular person was most likely to adorn. He glanced
up from a prospectus which he was examining, as I entered, and made way
for me at the counter.

For reasons which I could not explain I liked the man at first sight. If
he was a rogue, I reasoned, it was no more true of him, probably, than
of most men, and there was no reason to suppose that he had any design
in going to the West Indies other than to recuperate his health, which
appeared rather delicate. If, on the contrary, he was any sort of
clergyman I would be delighted with his companionship.

When the agent introduced us to each other, as he did a few minutes
later, I discovered that the white tie had no especial significance,
being merely a fad or fancy; for Mr. Wesson informed me that he was a
hardware merchant from Boston, with a slight tendency to bronchitis,
and was going south to escape February and March, which are usually
injurious to persons affected by that complaint in the Eastern States.

I learned from the agent that the "Madiana" was filling up rapidly, and
that there were now no entire staterooms unoccupied, except two or three
containing four berths. Mr. Wesson had no choice but to share the room
of some one who was already on the list, and at the time I came in he
was making natural inquiries as to the other passengers, in the hope of
selecting a congenial roommate. The agent told him what he could about
those whom he had personally seen, but the information was necessarily
meagre.

"It may not seem specially important," remarked Mr. Wesson, in an
affable manner, to me, "who occupies the other berth, for a few weeks on
a steamer, but I happened on one occasion to get a very disagreeable
companion, and ever since I have tried to use caution. I should have
entered my name earlier, and thus have secured an entire room, as you
have done, but I waited a long time before deciding whether to come this
way or another. Now, I am just a little too late to get a room by
myself, unless I wish to pay three fares for one person, which candidly
I do not feel like doing."

I suggested that unless the boat was very much crowded, which I did not
anticipate, an arrangement for a change of cabin could doubtless be made
in case the first one proved unbearable. With the remark that this was
true, Mr. Wesson decided to take the remaining berth in a room not far
from mine, in the after part of the ship, which had the advantage of
being removed from all the smells of the cook's galley, as well as the
dumping of ashes, which often annoys people quartered amidships at a
very early hour in the morning.

I asked the agent for a list of the passengers, so far as he was able to
give them, desiring to see if there were any names of people who knew
me, and devoutly hoping there were none. Mr. Wesson and I went over them
together, and made a simultaneous announcement that the entire lot were
strangers to us.

They had come from the West, the North, the South, hardly any from New
York, and only one from Boston, a strange thing when every traveller
knows that Bostonians rival Chicagoans in being found in all sorts of
places.

"I often think," said Mr. Wesson, with a smile, "of the odd fate that
brings fifty or hundred people together on a steamer, where neither sees
a single familiar face except those he has brought with him; and before
the voyage is ended the miniature world is like the larger one outside,
with its strong likes and dislikes, its petty jealousies, its small
talk, its gauging of character and capacity. Give me a month at sea with
a man, and I think I can figure him up pretty well."

I agreed with him to a great extent, but remarked that there was always
the disadvantage that the "man" might "figure us up" at the same time. I
said further that I had found some most delightful companions on board
ship who had proved insufferable bores when encountered later on terra
firma.

"Your extra berth is reserved still," said a clerk, coming forward and
addressing me, "the one in the opposite stateroom. I don't wish to
hasten you, but the list is filling up very fast."

"You won't have to wait but a day or two more, I think," was my reply.
"Hold it till Saturday, unless you hear from me. Perhaps I may be able
to tell you positively to-morrow."

"If the lady is willing to have another share the room with her," he
said, "I have an application that I can fill at once. A very pleasant
young woman, too, if I may be allowed to judge. She is to be accompanied
by her uncle, and as he is not entirely well he is anxious to have her
as near him as possible."

I answered that I must ask a little delay before deciding that question.
I told him I had three cousins, and as I could not yet say which would
go I could not tell whether she would consent to share her cabin with
another person. If I could arrange it, I would gladly do so.

"You are to have a travelling companion, then," remarked Mr. Wesson.
"Excuse me for saying I envy you. Mrs. Wesson expected to go with me,
but the doctor has forbidden it. She is quite frail, and he fears the
seasickness she is almost sure to have. I made a canvass of my female
relations that are eligible, and one after another found reasons for
declining. I am not used to travelling alone, and I don't fancy it in
the least. One of the pleasantest things in visiting foreign parts is to
have some one along to share the pleasures."

As we parted he asked me if I would exchange cards, and I readily did
so. I already felt better acquainted with him that I am with some men
whom I have known for months.

"If you find you are to bunk with a specially ugly customer," I said, in
parting, "take my other berth. You can keep it for an 'anchor to
windward,' as our distinguished statesman from Maine might have said. I
don't think you and I will quarrel."

He thanked me profusely, and it was plain that the suggestion was the
very one he would have made himself, had he felt warranted in doing so.
He mentioned that he would be at the Imperial for several days and asked
me, if I found it convenient, to dine with him there some evening before
he returned to Boston; which I told him I would try to do.

It was now lunch-time and I thought with exultation of the closeness of
the hour when I might call at the lodging of Miss Marjorie May on
Forty-fifth Street, and see the lady whom I had already surrounded with
the most charming attributes of which a young and impulsive mind could
conceive. That I might be disappointed I had also thought, in a vague
way, but I had little apprehension on that score.

I went over to the club, and partook of a light repast. Then I looked at
my watch and found that, if I walked slowly, I need not reach the number
at which I was to call before two o'clock.

But I did not walk slowly. It still lacked ten minutes of the hour when
I found myself in front of the residence. I took a turn down Seventh
Avenue, and through Forty-fourth Street, to dispose of the remaining
minutes. Then, with my heart beating in a way that Dr. Chambers would
not have approved--and for which I could give no sensible reason--I
climbed the tall steps and rang the bell.

A colored servant answered, after what seemed ages, and when I asked if
Miss May was in, invited me to walk into the parlor. She then requested
my card, and I had nearly given it to her, when I recollected that it
was not my intention to reveal my true name, at this stage.

I said I had forgotten my card case and that she need only say it was
the gentleman from the Herald.

During the next ten minutes I did my best to compose my nerves, for I
dreaded exhibiting their shaky condition to one in whose presence I
would need all my firmness. The room was darkened, and I could see the
objects in it but dimly, while the windows, being tightly curtained,
afforded me no relief in that direction.

"Why does she not come?" I said to myself, over and over. "If she wanted
the situation for which she wrote, a little more celerity of movement
would be becoming."

I rose and walked up and down the room. The minutes lengthened horribly.
I grew almost angry at the delay and had half a mind to drop the whole
business, when I heard a low voice at the door, and saw the outlines of
a graceful young form.

"I am Miss May," said a bright voice, that I liked instantly. "If you
don't mind coming up stairs I think we can see each other better."

Mind coming up stairs! I would have climbed to the top of the World
Building, never minding the elevator.

"Certainly," I responded, and I followed her up two long flights, and
into a front chamber, where in the bright light I saw her distinctly for
the first time.

The reader will expect--certainly the feminine reader--a description of
the sight that met my eyes, and how can I give it? A relation of that
sort always seems to me but a modified version of the record of a
prisoner at a police station, where he is put under a measuring machine,
stood on scales and pumped as to his ancestry and previous record as a
criminal.

The impression made on me at that moment by Miss May was wholly general.
She was not handsome, in the ordinary acceptation of that term, but very
engaging. Her smile put me much at my ease.

I could have told you no more, had you met me that evening. All that I
knew or cared to know, before I had taken the chair to which she
motioned me, was that out of the million women in Greater New York, I
would choose her, and only her, were they presented for my approval one
by one.

She was evidently waiting for me to begin the conversation, after the
manner of a discreet young woman in the presence for the first time of a
possible employer. I made the excuse that the stairs were long, to
explain my shortness of breath. For I found it very difficult to talk.

She was kind enough to admit that the stairs were hard. She also made
some allusion to the weather, and to the unseasonableness of the
temperature, for although it was at the very end of the year there had
been hardly any snow and very little cold. This helped me along and
finally I managed to reach the business on hand.

"I have received a great many answers to my advertisement," I said, "and
a certain number seem to have been sent in a spirit of mischief rather
than seriousness. I hope that was not the case with yours."

She shook her head and smiled faintly.

"How shall we begin, then?" I asked. "Shall I submit a few questions to
you, or would you rather put some queries of your own?"

"As you please," she said, and I noted that there was a confidence in
her manner that seemed at variance with her appearance. "Perhaps I may
inquire, to commence with, what are the duties of the position."

I hesitated a moment, feeling my breath coming shorter, and this time I
had not the stairs to fall back upon as an excuse.

"I have recently recovered from a severe illness," I finally managed to
say, "although you might not guess it from my appearance. I may as well
admit that while I have use for the services of a typewriter in some
work I wish to do, I need quite as much an intelligent person to travel
with me--as--a--"

"Companion?" she interpolated, quickly.

"Well, yes, perhaps that is as good a word as any. My physician says I
ought not to go alone. I have the literary work to do. Under all the
circumstances a combination of assistant in that respect and friendly
companionship seems advisable."

She bowed affably, doing her best to put me at my ease.

"You are a younger man than I expected," she said.

"I hope that is not a serious objection," I remarked, "for I see no way
to overcome it at present. I want this considered as a business
matter--in a way. I should pay a regular salary, and give you the best
of travelling accommodations. I am only twenty-four, and you wrote me
that you are twenty-two, but I cannot understand how the addition of
fifty years to either of those ages would make my proposition more
agreeable."

She bowed again, still pleasantly, and inquired what sort of work I was
engaged on. I told her, after which she asked what machine I preferred
to use. This I left to her, although I mentioned that I owned a Hammond,
which had the advantage of being more easily carried than some. She said
she had never used that machine, but could easily learn.

"Only give me three or four days alone with it," she smiled. "And now,
as these things must all be settled, what salary do you wish to pay?"

I wonder what salary I would not have paid, at that moment, rather than
hear her decline the position on the ground that it was insufficient,
but I realized that I must not seem over-anxious.

"I would prefer you to name the price," I replied, "I do not think we
shall quarrel on that score."

"When do you wish me to leave the city?" was her question.

"I have already engaged berths in the 'Madiana,' of the Quebec SS. Line,
which will leave her dock on the North River, Jan. 12th next."

"Berths? You have engaged two?"

"It was necessary to secure them. I have determined that I will not go
alone. The list is filling up and I had to put down the names."

"What names?" she asked. "You can hardly have given them mine."

I was getting more and more at my ease. I said I had registered for
"self and friend," with the understanding that the "friend" would be a
lady.

"Ah!" she said. "Now, how do you intend that I shall travel--if it is
decided that I am to go?"

She did not redden as she asked the question, and I do not know why I
did.

"As my cousin," I answered. "It is my belief, Miss May," I added, "that
you will find this journey very charming, if you go about it right. To
be registered simply as my secretary, which will come as near as
anything to the fact, or not to be given any title at all, might arouse
silly gossip among the other passengers. A relationship of the kind I
suggest will still idle tongues and make your position more agreeable."

She thought a little while and then said, suddenly:

"You--you are not married, I suppose?"

"Not in the least," I replied, smiling.

"There is hardly time for much preparation," was her next observation.
"What kind of clothing should I need?"

"After the first few days, about the same as you would want here in
August. I am not well versed in ladies' attire, but I should say that a
travelling dress of some very thin material would be the first
requisite; then a 'best' dress or two of very light weight; a liberal
supply of articles" (I stammered slightly) "that need laundering, as
there may be a fortnight at a time when washing cannot be obtained; thin
shoes, slippers, walking boots suitable for summer, two or three
hats--and--" I paused to think if I had omitted anything--"an umbrella
and parasol."

She laughed as I finished. A sweet, engaging laugh that made me resolve
that I would kidnap her and convey her on board by force in case she
refused to go.

"No gloves?" she inquired, archly. "No cape, no--"

"Oh, there are doubtless a lot of kickshaws that will occur to you," I
admitted, "that I need not mention. I am pretty sure that I do not even
know the names of all of them. On January 12th and 13th the weather will
be winter, on the 14th, 15th and 16th spring, and the rest of the time
till May midsummer. I don't know as I can give you any better guide."

She said she would make an overhauling of her last year's clothing and
see where she stood; which led me to ask, with, I fear too much anxiety
in my tone, if she had, then, decided to go.

"Have you decided?" she replied, parrying the question. "You cannot have
seen all the women who sent replies. Perhaps you will yet find one more
suitable for your purpose. It is only fair to both of us to leave the
matter open for a day or two."

"No," I answered, shaking my head decidedly. "As you said a few moments
ago, the time is very brief for any one to get ready. Let us settle the
matter now. And if you wish any part of your salary advanced--on
account of the immediate expense you will have to assume--we shall have
no difficulty in arranging that matter."

She grew thoughtful, and finally begged me to give her till the
following morning, at least. She promised to send a messenger to my
address before noon. I did not like the idea, but I could say nothing in
opposition without appearing unreasonable, and ended by consenting to
it.

"I passed some months in the part of the world to which I am now going,
three years since," I said, to strengthen her resolutions in favor of
the journey, "and I can assure you that the voyage, from beginning to
end, is simply delightful. The Caribbean is truly a summer sea; the
Antilles are beautiful to look at, charming in flora and delicious in
atmosphere. Then think of the escape you will have from the freezing and
thawing of a New York spring. I promise to treat you with all
consideration, and as for the labor you are to do, it will be very light
indeed. If there is anything I have omitted, consider it included. I am
sure," I added, as I rose to go, "that you will never be sorry for the
chance that brings us into each other's company."

"Oh," she answered, with superb frankness, "I have no fear that I shall
not like you, or that you will treat me in any manner unbecoming a
gentleman. I only wish to think the matter over. In the meantime let me
thank you for the partiality with which you view my application."

She insisted on going to the street door with me, where I bade her
good-by without more ado, fearful that if I talked much longer I should
say something foolish.

"To-morrow morning, then, I am to get your letter," I said, handing her
a card on which I had previously written an address that would do for
the present--"David Camwell, Lambs Club." "And to-morrow afternoon, at
two again, I shall return to complete our arrangements."

As she bowed an affirmative, I lifted my hat and left her there;
wondering why I had not chosen the Klondike for my vacation, so near the
boiling point was every drop of blood in my veins.




CHAPTER VI.

"DO YOU REALLY WANT ME?"


I did not sleep well, that night, and as I tossed from one side of my
bed to the other, I began to fear that the insomnia from which I had
escaped, and whose return I so much dreaded, would fasten itself on me
once more. During the long, still hours I had many moments when I was
inclined to give up my plan of travelling in the company of a charming
young woman, and even to drop the entire trip itself. I imagined my
condition in a far land, with no physician at hand who understood my
case or had the history of my illness. Only one who has known the
horrors of sleepless months can conceive the terror which a possible
renewal of its symptoms inspired. The mere thought of meeting my fair
correspondent had deranged my arterial circulation. The sight of her,
our conversation, though carried on in the quietest manner, had thrown
my heart out of equipoise, speaking physically. What would happen when
she and I were alone together for weeks and weeks?

She was very pretty--there was no doubt of that. She was also
marvellously self-contained, and in a conflict of desires would
certainly prove the stronger. Was it not the part of common prudence to
"foresee the evil and hide?"

I had almost decided to adopt this course, when the sleep which had
evaded me descended and for four hours I was blissfully unconscious.

It was nearly eight o'clock when I awoke, and with returning reason all
the fears of the night vanished. I could only count the minutes now
before the expected message would arrive--that message, I assured
myself, which would confirm the hopes I so fondly cherished. Not a
single doubt remained of the perfect wisdom of the double journey I had
planned. I thought again of Dr. Chambers' advice not to travel alone; of
Uncle Dugald's wish that the "genealogy" should be pushed to completion
as rapidly as possible; of the advantage of having with me a constant
companion, to while away the inevitable hours of loneliness. I raised
Miss May to the highest pedestal as a young lady of excellent attributes
and delightful personality.

Whatever happened, I would not go alone. If Miss May failed me, I would
fall back on Miss Brazier. If she also proved obdurate or
unsatisfactory, I would go through my other answers and try again.

But I came back always to the original point. It was Miss May I wanted,
Miss May I meant to have.

Why should I not induce her to go? She needed a situation, or she would
not have written for it. She had seen me and expressed herself candidly
in my favor. There could hardly be anything now in the way, except the
financial aspect of the case, and I was prepared to meet her on any
ground she chose to name.

I lingered as long over my breakfast as possible, to kill the time, and
read the morning papers, advertisements and all. Especially closely did
I scan the "professional situations wanted," thinking perhaps there
might be among them one from which I could fashion another "string to my
bow." Most of the advertisers that morning were, however, either German
governesses, or elderly ladies who wished positions in private families.

There were several professional models, who would "pose" for the figure
at from one to two dollars an hour. In my desperation I almost resolved
to turn painter and carry one of these off with me, if worse came to
worst. Anything was better than making the journey alone, in my present
state of mind.

A knock at the door startled me, and to my faint "Come in," a boy
responded, wearing the uniform of a messenger. I looked at him like one
in a dream, as he walked across the carpet and handed me an envelope.
Was there anything to pay? I inquired, and when he responded in the
negative, I put a silver dollar into his hand for himself. Did I wish
him to wait for an answer? No, I did not. I wished him to get out of the
room as soon as possible, and to close the door behind him; which he
proceeded at once to do.

For what seemed hours, and yet did not probably exceed ten minutes, I
held that envelope in my hand, before I found courage to open it. Laugh
at me, ye who will, your siege with nervous prostration has evidently
not yet arrived. No prisoner awaiting the decision of a governor as to
whether his sentence of death is to be commuted could lay greater stress
on the contents of a message. I wanted Miss May to take that journey
with me, as I had never wanted anything else. Her decision undoubtedly
lay within that bit of paper.

I stared at the name I had given her, written in a bold, and still
feminine hand, strong, clear, handsome. I turned the envelope over and
noted the sealing wax with the impress of some sort of stamp which I
could not entirely make out. And at last, with shaking fingers, I took
up my paper cutter and made the requisite incision which released the
note within.

    My Dear Mr. Camwell--[this was the way it read]--Since you were here
    yesterday I have given a great deal of thought to the matter of
    which we spoke. It is a little more serious than I imagined when I
    answered your advertisement, and I am somewhat in doubt even now
    what I ought to say. ["When a woman hesitates, she is lost!" came to
    my mind.] Will you pardon me for being perfectly frank, [Pardon her?
    I would pardon her anything but a refusal] in relation to a few
    personal matters? I wish to tell you my exact situation, and then I
    will leave it to you to decide. [Joy! It was coming.]

    I am at present employed by a man--excuse me if I do not say
    gentleman--who pays me what I consider the liberal salary of twenty
    dollars a week, my services occupying only a portion of the morning
    hours. For reasons which I need not give in full I find the place
    very distasteful. In fact, had I been able to afford it, I would
    have resigned the position long ago. I am, however, entirely
    dependent upon my exertions for a livelihood, and not only that,
    there is another who looks to me for a certain amount of help, which
    I cannot, nor do I wish to withhold. When I read your notice in the
    Herald it seemed to contain two opportunities that I would be glad
    to secure. One was to change my situation, the other to absent
    myself from the city for a time, where I would escape annoyances
    which have become almost unbearable.

    Now, on the other hand, as I told you when here, you are a much
    younger man that I expected to see. It is a little difficult to
    believe--you will excuse my frankness--that you wish my
    companionship from a purely business standpoint; indeed, you
    admitted that one of your reasons was a disinclination to travel
    alone. You cannot deny that a trip such as you contemplate, taken in
    my company, would subject me to unpleasant suspicions from any
    person we might happen to meet, who has known me before or should
    discover that the relationship claimed between us is a false one. A
    girl who has her way to make in this world cannot always listen to
    Mrs. Grundy, but there are certain precautions which she can hardly
    be excused from taking. How can I best protect my good name, if I
    accept your generous offer? That is one of the prime questions you
    must help me to settle.

    Again, while, in a friendly journey like the one suggested, the
    matter of compensation seems almost impertinent, in the present case
    it cannot be treated as such. Were my circumstances what I could
    wish them, I would gladly make the journey without thinking of
    payment; candidly, I do not feel that the services I might render
    you would justify me ordinarily in accepting money for them.
    Necessity, it has well been said, knows no law. I have never learned
    how to live and assist those depending on me without cash, that
    brutal desirability. You have expressed a willingness to pay a
    salary in addition to travelling expenses, and I, if I go, shall be
    compelled to accept it, reluctant though I am to do so.

    On looking over my wardrobe I find that there are more things
    required than I supposed when you were here. When you call this
    afternoon I will make that matter plainer by exhibiting exactly
    what I have suitable to the climate to which you are going. I do not
    wish to influence you in the least, and I beg that if my needs are
    greater than you desire to supply, you will say so without fear. All
    of the money I could spare was expended very recently for winter
    garments, of which I have a supply suitable to a girl in my station.
    I had no warning that I should be asked to exchange them at this
    season for others suitable to a tropical clime. If I do so, I know
    no source from which the cost can come except your purse. There!
    Could anything be more candid than this straightforward statement?

    If I see you at my room this afternoon, I shall understand that you
    appreciate the candor with which I write, and are willing to accede
    to my requests. If there is a doubt in your mind as to the
    advisability of doing so, it will be best for us both that you do
    not come. I shall comprehend and leave the field open to some
    happier girl, who may be able to accept your generous offer without
    these disagreeable preliminaries.

    Yours, M.M.

    No. -- West Forty-fifth Street.

I was all impatience till I read the very latest line, fearing there
would be some qualification that I could not meet. When I found that it
had resolved itself into a question so easily solved I sprang up and
shouted in glee.

She would go! She was going! My dream was to become a reality!

Seizing a sheet of paper I began to write a note in response to the one
I had received. She might get it only a short time before the hour of
two, but it would prepare her for my coming, and clinch the bargain a
little sooner. For five minutes I wrote rapidly, and when I stopped to
peruse the lines I tore up the sheet.

Had she been my sweetheart for ages I could hardly have used more
extravagant language than I had been guilty of on that first page. Would
I never learn the first principles of common sense? I had begun with the
words, "My Darling Marjorie," and gone on to state that "your sweet
letter fills me with supreme happiness;" "I shall not breathe until once
more I am in your loved presence.

"Already I contemplate those heavenly hours when you and I will sail out
upon the seas of Elysium," was another sample sentence, a type of the
others. I paused in the rapid walk that I took up and down my room to
look in my mirror, and was almost frightened at what I saw there. My
cheeks were suffused with unusual color, my eyes dilated, my hair
dishevelled, where I had run my nervous hands through it. My collar was
rumpled, my tie disarranged, and in a room where the mercury was not
above seventy the beads of perspiration stood on my forehead.

Dame! I went to the bath-room that formed a part of my little suite, let
the icy water run till it filled the bowl and bathed my hands and face
in it. Slowly I dried them with the towel, and then applied bay rum in
liberal quantity.

I realized disagreeably for the hundredth time how that awful
neurasthenia had left its traces upon me, and that if I was ever to
wholly recover I must regain control of my emotions. With this in view
I again seated myself at my desk and indited the following:

    Dear Miss May:--It is with much satisfaction that I have perused
    your letter. The amount necessary to purchase the articles you need
    shall be left entirely to you. I will furnish whatever sum you
    decide upon. I will be at your lodging promptly at two. If there is
    anything else that occurs to you, please consider yourself at full
    liberty to mention it then. In the meantime I am going to Cook's
    office to pay the balance on the two rooms, as the time for doing so
    will soon expire.

    Your Friend,

    D.C.

It was pretty sensible, I thought, as I read it over; a sort of medium
between the cold tone of an ordinary employer and the unrestrained ardor
of a happy boy. I was glad, however, to get out of doors and breathe the
frosty air, for my temperature was still excessive. At Cook's I learned
that several new names had been booked, and that there would soon be no
more room, as things were going.

"I have given Mr. Wesson the upper berth in your room, subject to your
approval," added the clerk. "He has a positive dread of bunking with an
absolute stranger and he says you made him a conditional promise."

"That's all right," I said, pleased at the news. "I am sure we shall get
along together finely. You may register the berth in the opposite room,
that you have reserved for me, in the name of 'Miss M. May.' I have
finally prevailed upon my cousin to go."

While he was entering the name, I wrote a check for the balance, upon
receiving which the clerk handed me the tickets, from New York to St.
Thomas.

"Hadn't you better book for the entire cruise?" he asked. "I don't
believe you will care to remain at St Thomas longer than the day the
Madiana is to be there."

"Oh, yes, I shall," I answered. "I stayed on the island three weeks the
last time, and found it delightful. Probably I shall join some of your
later cruises, but I must go unhampered."

"Supposing when you are ready to take one of the other boats you find
every cabin full?" he asked, in a good-natured way.

"That's a risk I must run. The Royal Mail comes every fortnight, and
there are three or four steamers a week, of one kind or another, at St.
Lucia. There are ways enough to keep moving and I am unlimited as to
time."

"Well, if I don't see you again," he said, with that affability that
only one of Cook & Son's clerks can assume, "I wish you a very pleasant
voyage."

"I am sure to have that," I replied.

I wondered if he would doubt it if he knew all!

Before leaving I purchased several books about the Caribbean, for the
purpose of giving them to Miss May. There was "English in the West
Indies," as entertaining as a romance, though in some respects hardly
more reliable; Stark's "History and Guide to Barbados and Caribbee
Islands," better than nothing, in the absence of a really desirable work
on the subject; and half a dozen paper covered documents, issued by the
Quebec SS. Company, a perusal of which revealed so many discrepancies as
to make one doubt whether the line actually ran any boats to that part
of the world. With these under one arm I went over to the "Lambs" and
partook of a brace of chops and some musty ale. Then, after smoking a
cigar, I found the clock indicating that I might with safety begin my
second pilgrimage to the Mecca of my ambition.

Crossing Broadway, great was my astonishment, and very small my
satisfaction, to come suddenly upon Miss Statia Barton. She was looking
undeniably pretty in her fur turban and cloth jacket, but she had no
charms for me at that moment and I was sorry to lose the few seconds
necessary to be courteous to her.

"Have you deserted us entirely?" she asked, with a constrained smile.
"Tom said this morning he hadn't seen you for nearly a week."

"My time is much occupied," I answered. "You know it is but a few days
now before I sail."

Had I been less full of another subject I should certainly have noticed
that the coldness of my manner hurt her, and I hope I am not brute
enough to do that intentionally. But, I did not think of such a thing
then, nor till a long, long time after.

"Have you arranged the--the other matter?" she asked, with short breath.

"Excuse me. We can gain nothing by talking on that subject," said I.

"Then your charmer has decided not to go with you?" she said,
interrogatively, but with a hard little laugh. "I thought it would come
to that."

I was foolish enough to take out Miss May's letter and hold it up.

"On the contrary, since you insist on knowing," I answered, "here is
the final decision, and it is in favor of the plaintiff."

Her eyes opened as the conviction that I was telling the truth forced
itself upon her. She was evidently not pleased.

"Mr. Camran," she said, in tones as clear and cutting as ice, "I asked
you a moment ago why you had not been to my home. I now say you need
never call there again, as far as I am concerned, and I shall endeavor
to have my brother write you to the same effect."

"Don't put Tom to so much trouble," I replied, stung by her manner. "I
have business too important and too pleasant to allow much time for mere
duty calls."

Lifting my hat, an action that she did not see, as her eyes were bent on
the sidewalk, I resumed my stroll. I should have been more annoyed at
the occurrence if another subject had not so fully filled my head. The
clocks struck two before I reached the number I sought, and I walked
more rapidly.

"Miss May said you were to come to her room at once," said the colored
servant, when she recognized my features. Needing no second invitation I
mounted the stairs.

Her door stood slightly open and as I entered, without knocking, she
rose from a low rocker and came toward me.

I could not have resisted had I been liable to execution for the
offense; I met her in the middle of the apartment and held out both my
hands.

In the most unaffected and delightful manner she extended her own and I
clasped them.

"It is settled, then?" I cried. "You are going!"

"Take a seat," she said, releasing herself composedly. "There are still
a few things that I must talk over with you."

The blood rushed back upon my heart, leaving my face pale. I was very
glad to get the support of the arm-chair to which she motioned me.

"I have recently been ill, as I told you," I said in pleading tones,
"and doubts, whatever their nature, are trying to me. Tell me only
this--you are going?"

She breathed deeply for several seconds and then, with her head slightly
on one side, looked at me.

"Do you really want me to?" she asked, gently.




CHAPTER VII.

GETTING READY FOR MY JOURNEY.


She could not know the pain she gave me by her evasions, that was the
excuse I found for her. The dread that after all she intended to
disappoint me pressed like a heavy weight upon my brain. She must have
seen something in my face that alarmed her, for she asked if I would
like a glass of water--or wine. When I replied in the negative she came
at once to the preliminaries that were in her mind.

"I am going, of course," she said. "That is, if you think it worth while
to grant all the demands I find necessary. I shall be glad when this
disagreeable part of our bargain is ended, and I believe you will be
equally, if not more so."

"What is it now?" I inquired, rather querulously. "What do you want?
Come to the point, I beg, without further delay."

She turned to a mirror, and with a brush that lay on the bureau pushed
back the hair that was half tumbling over her face--hair that was light
and yet not blonde; hair that matched well with her blue-gray eyes and
her regular features.

"It is not so easy as you may think to detail these things," she said,
when her face was again turned toward me. "I have to depend on myself
for my living, but I hate to assume the guise of a beggar. Still, as I
told you in the first place, my purse is practically empty. There are
many articles needed if I am to go with you, that I would not otherwise
want at this season of the year. They will cost money. I--"

"All that was settled in my letter to-day," I interrupted. "Have you not
received it?"

"Yes, I received the letter, and I want to thank you for its kindness of
tone. As I understand it, you offer to advance me what I need to prepare
for the journey. This, I presume, is to be deducted from my salary,
which under ordinary circumstances, would be quite acceptable. But, as I
told you, I have another to support, and I have to rely upon my weekly
stipend for that purpose."

For a moment I doubted the girl. Was she after all an adventuress who
meant to get what she could in advance, and disappear when the time of
departure came? No man likes to be made the victim of a schemer. I do
not care any more for a few dollars than the average of my fellows, but
the thought of having them cheated out of me is not pleasant to
contemplate. I imagined my chagrin if I should go sailing off to the
Caribbean with the reflection that I had been the victim of a
smooth-tongued woman--I, who had been through the same mill, and ought
to have learned something.

"I see my suggestion does not please you," came in low tones from my
companion. "I was a little afraid it would not. I am such a stranger
that I cannot wonder if you distrust me. Well, I have no desire to
influence you. I have told you my situation."

Rousing myself from my reverie I looked earnestly into the fair young
face.

"Marjorie," I began; "may I call you 'Marjorie?'"

"As you please."

"I am sure, as I gaze into your eyes, that I trust you implicitly. The
recollection of a woman whom I once trusted to my sorrow came between us
for an instant, that is all. I am going to believe in you without the
slightest mental reservation, but I want to say just one thing. If I
discover that I am again deceived it will not be the paltry cash I shall
mind. I shall only regret the new wrench to my confidence in the honesty
of your sex. What you will need in the present emergency will have but
little effect on my income. I would willingly make you a present of it,
if no plan such as I have in mind were a part of the contract.
Marjorie," I continued, leaning toward her and taking up one of her
hands respectfully, "I trust you perfectly. Tell me how much money you
wish and I will bring it within an hour. As the expense is caused
entirely on my account, I have no idea of deducting a cent of it from
your salary, which, if agreeable will be the same you already receive,
twenty dollars a week. While I shall not promise too much, let me add
that this will not be the extent of your compensation, by any means, if
we get along together as well as I hope. Now, my dear girl, say there
are no more lions in my path and that your last stipulation is agreed
to."

She did not answer at once and her delay filled me with the most
disagreeable forebodings.

"I want to go," she said, at last; and it was something that she did not
compel me to release her hand. "I want to go, very much indeed. Only,
you must not expect--" she paused again--"anything more than--"

"Do not distress yourself," I replied, divining what was in her mind. "I
am going to the West Indies. Until the importation of coal begins at
Newcastle, no one will dream of taking a woman on such a journey for an
improper purpose."

She brightened visibly, and although she released my hand at the same
moment she did it in a way that implied naught of distrust.

"It is a peculiar arrangement, though, take it altogether, is it not?"
she asked, softly. "You are a man with, I judge, some knowledge of the
world. What would your masculine friends say if you told them your plan?
Would they believe in the innocence of your motive, as you ask me to
do?"

I told her that my masculine friends were like others of their sex, I
presumed, and might put the worst construction on anything, if they
chose. There was not one of them to whom I had imparted my secret, and
there would be none. I had looked over the "Madiana's" passenger list
and seen no familiar name. There was not a chance in ten thousand that
any person on the boat would know me, and if they did, there was a
practical impossibility that they would know my family. I promised the
most perfect discretion while on board, desiring as much as she to avoid
exciting suspicion. Would she, I asked her, be any better off if I had
proved what she imagined when she answered my advertisement--an elderly
gentleman with rheumatism and green glasses? The proverb that there is
no fool like an old fool might answer that question. As she had
remarked in her letter, Mrs. Grundy could not arrange the lives of all
her friends, and the best thing was to satisfy one's own self.

This seemed to please her, for she dropped the subject and asked
particulars about the amount of baggage that each passenger was allowed
to carry; which put me in better spirits, for it indicated that her face
was at last turned toward the morning. I told her that a steamer trunk
for the stateroom, a handbag, and a larger trunk to put in the hold was
what I intended to take for myself, and I thought she would need the
same. I asked if she had the articles, saying that, if she had not, I
would be glad to order them sent to her.

"I have only a small trunk--it has managed hitherto to hold what things
I have," was her reply.

"Then, with your permission, I will procure the entire outfit," I said.
"Now, about the clothing and that sort of stuff. How much cash shall you
require?"

She drew a long breath, and conceiving that she was afraid to name a sum
I came again to the rescue.

"I will bring you two hundred and fifty dollars this afternoon," I said.
"That ought to take you through."

Indeed, I thought the amount very liberal, and supposed she would say
that it was even more than she expected. She did nothing of the kind,
however, but only nodded acquiescence.

"There is something I was to ask you," I said, remembering what Mr.
Cook's clerk had requested. "The berths are getting scarce on the
'Madiana'--and the agent wishes to know if you are willing to have
another person share your room."

The young woman drew herself up and surveyed me with a cold expression.
It was several seconds before I divined its cause, and then I had sense
enough to pretend not to notice.

"A passenger who is going to occupy a room in that part of the boat
wants, if possible, to have his niece near him," I continued. "She will
take the upper berth, if you are willing, in your cabin, but it rests
with you. I have arranged for the entire room."

Her icy features relaxed and she was herself again.

"I am quite willing," she answered. "In fact, had I known you intended
to reserve an entire room for me I should have protested. Of course, it
adds to the expense and I would rather have some one there than not. Are
you going to occupy your room alone?"

I told her about Wesson, and she endorsed my action unreservedly.

"Where a trip cost so much, there is no need of adding to the expense,"
she said, thoughtfully. "I want to say another thing: As I am putting
you to so much cost, you need not feel obliged on my account to stop at
the highest priced hotels, when we are on shore. Anything comfortable
and respectable will satisfy me."

I laughed as I responded that the best hotels in the Caribbean were
neither very dear nor very luxurious. I would take her where I should
have gone had I been alone and I hoped she would find herself
"comfortable," as she expressed it, at all of them. I glanced at my
watch at this juncture and suggested that perhaps I had best be going.
If she was to do any shopping that day she would have to receive the
"needful" very soon.

"Oh, to-morrow will do for the shopping," she replied. "If it is
convenient you may send the money to-night, but I could not make much
progress after this hour of the day. I shall probably have to get my
suits ready made and submit to alterations. There is very little time
left us now."

There was a partnership in this expression that pleased me greatly. I
said as I rose that I hoped no new doubts would creep into her head, for
I felt as if the journey we were to make together had actually begun.

"I cannot conceive of a reason to change my mind, unless it comes from
some action of yours," said Miss May. "And I feel quite certain there
will not be any."

"You may be positive of it," I replied. "I will go now to order the
trunks, which may not, however, arrive before morning. As to the money,
I will send it by a messenger as soon as possible. Au revoir."

"Au revoir," she said. "Let me add one thing more before you go. I am
very grateful for the kindness you are showing me, more so than I fear I
make plain, and as far as lies in my power I will endeavor to prove it."

"Don't mention it," I said, affected by her words. "All the obligation
has been and will continue to remain on my side. Expect me Saturday
afternoon."

I had again escaped without yielding to a temptation to do something
foolish, for which I thanked my stars. It was with positive elation
that I walked toward Sixth Avenue.

The dream was coming true. She was going with me. Nothing would come
between us now!

I went without delay to my bank and drew four hundred dollars in fifty
dollars bills, three hundred of which I enclosed in an envelope and sent
at once to Miss May, by a district messenger. I thought it would drive
another nail in the transaction to increase the amount I had promised,
and fifty dollars was to me, in this connection, like a brass farthing
to a millionaire.

Taking a passing car I rode to Macy's, where I purchased a large and a
small trunk of compressed bamboo, covered with cloth of imitation
leather, the lightest and strongest trunk that human ingenuity has yet
invented. The larger one had several trays and a hat box, and was
pronounced by the salesman the very latest thing. The bag gave me more
trouble, but I settled at last on a tasty affair, with special
arrangements for toilet articles, which was to be its main object of
use, and heard to my delight that all of the things would be delivered
without fail that very evening.

On returning to my room I picked up the letters received from the Herald
office and read them over again, laughing occasionally at something
particularly amusing. What a lot of silly women there must be in New
York, when a modest "Personal" like mine had set so many of them
spoiling good stationery with such nonsense. The only two worth giving
any thought to were those from Marjorie and Miss Brazier. A whimsical
notion struck me to write to "Alice" and tell her how near she had been
to winning the "prize" in my case. In the course of fifteen minutes I
had produced the following letter:

    My Dear Miss Brazier:--As there were but two answers to my Herald
    advertisement (out of nearly as many hundred) worth noticing, and as
    yours was one of them, I may be pardoned for telling you that your
    Hated Rival has been secured by me for my Tropical Trip. Had you
    given me the least chance to discover your excellencies, it might
    quite as likely have been your fate to accompany me, so you will see
    how very narrow was your escape. Having recently recovered from a
    long illness (whence the necessity of a Southern voyage) I had no
    desire to meet your angry relatives, and I have yet to learn how to
    gauge a young lady's personality by mail. So you put yourself out of
    the running to begin with.

    I am sure, however, it will please you to know that Another has
    satisfied herself with my proposals and is now engaged in
    preparations to accompany me to a warmer clime. She is not only "all
    my fancy painted her," but more. As near as I can tell in the
    absence of actual measurements, she is about S feet 4 inches in
    height, well made, full chested, with a face to dream about, bluish
    gray eyes and hair of a rather light shade. But this description
    fails utterly to convey an adequate idea of her exquisite charm.

    I am to pay her--imagine making a pecuniary arrangement with an
    houri!--twenty dollars a week and expenses, only; except that the
    wardrobe which she finds it necessary to purchase for a climate
    averaging 78 deg. at this season, is also to be charged to me.

    Was ever so much given for so little? I shall certainly insist on
    her accepting a nice little purse of "conscience money" on her
    return, if we decide, on mature reflection, to terminate our
    contract at that time.

    Now, be magnanimous and write me a note of congratulation; I am sure
    you have a kind heart and will be glad all my correspondents did not
    threaten me with gouty and quick tempered uncles in case I wished to
    call on a purely business errand.

    Very Truly,

    David Camwell, Lambs Club.

    New York, Dec. 30, 1897.

I summoned a district messenger, by a call in my room, and dispatched
this to East Sixteenth Street, though why I did not put it in the mail I
do not know. There was certainly no haste required. The steward of the
club would send an answer, if one was received, without delay, for I had
given him my pseudonym, and he was too wise to ask questions.

That night I dreamed I was at St. Thomas; that Marjorie had somehow
changed into the Quarantine Keeper's daughter; and that Laps, the Danish
dog, was proceeding to tear her in pieces, when I interfered and treated
him as Samson did the Lion in the Hebrew tale. The girl had fainted in
my arms and, I was calling wildly upon Heaven to restore her senses,
when a servant, up late, woke me by knocking on my door and inquiring if
I wished for anything.

I searched for a bootjack to throw at the fellow's head, and not finding
it in the dark, I threw a few uncomplimentary expletives instead. But
sleep had vanished for that night, and after taking a cold bath I threw
myself on a sofa, where with a pipe in my mouth I spent the long hours
till morning drawing pictures of the happiness so soon to be mine.




CHAPTER VIII.

"A WOMAN I LIKE VERY WELL."


The first thought that struck me when I was ready for breakfast was that
my new secretary ought to terminate her arrangement with that
disagreeably affectionate employer and keep open house during each
entire day and evening for my benefit. The mornings that were to elapse
before the sailing of the "Madiana" would be terribly dull. I had tried
to make it clear to Miss May that her salary had already begun to be
reckoned and I did not see why she should carry on two business
engagements at the same time.

When I rose from the table on which my coffee and eggs had been spread,
it was to receive a letter which had passed through the Lambs Club and
was undoubtedly a reply to the one I had sent Miss Brazier on the
previous day. It would at least entertain me for a few moments to know
what that apparently lively young lady had to say:

    Dear Sir:--[it began--coldly enough, I thought] Your communication
    has been duly received and its contents noted. Although it is
    unlikely, and certainly, on my part, not desired, that we shall ever
    meet, I must inform you that my answer to your advertisement was
    written purely in fun and without the least idea of accepting your
    remarkable proposition. I will add that I am surprised that you
    have succeeded in inducing any woman of the least respectability to
    undertake such a journey, and I fear that your impression of her
    high character will receive some severe wrenches before your return.

    It must require unusual "nerve" to start off for several months with
    an unmarried man (or a married one, for that matter) putting ones
    self at his mercy, for that is what it amounts to. When the
    individual is wholly unknown to the woman who is to accompany
    him--when he may, for all she knows, be a "Jack, the Ripper"--the
    foolhardiness of the idea grows on one. I am sure I do not envy your
    companion, though it is by no means certain but you, and not she,
    will be the most swindled in the affair.

    I conjure you, however, though a total stranger, that if your friend
    proves to be merely a misguided girl of good intentions, you will
    not soil your soul with the greatest guilt of which a man can be
    capable. Remember, if your thoughts are dishonorable, that you have
    or have had a Mother, perhaps a Sister, whose memory should make you
    pause before you inflict irreparable ruin on one of the same sex.

    Yours Sincerely,

    A.B.

    New York, Dec. 31, 1897.

A strange letter, I thought, take it altogether. I read it over slowly
for the second time. The first few lines indicated disappointment, and a
perusal of the remaining portion did not remove this impression,
entirely. The final sentences sobered me. The reflections they induced
were certainly not exhilarating. Although I have no sister and cannot
remember my mother, I have a great veneration for my lost parents, and
there is no string so susceptible of influence on my actions as the one
this writer touched.

I made a new resolution that I would carry myself like a gentleman in
the truest sense of the word with Miss May. I had been honest in the
expressions I used when talking the matter over with Harvey Hume. The
earnest admonitions of Dr. Chambers had not been without effect. I meant
to prove by this journey that I was capable of being in the close
companionship of a young lady without becoming either a brute or a Don
Juan.

Looking at it even from the standpoint of an enlightened selfishness I
was sure to get more satisfaction in a voyage with a woman whom I could
respect than with one who assumed the role of a cyprienne.

Loose creatures are to be found in plenty in the Caribbee Islands, as
well as in New York. A sweet, true, honest, intelligent bit of
femininity was quite another thing, and infinitely to be preferred, from
any sensible view.

Marjorie! So far as my uncertain mind could do so I pledged to her a
purity of intercourse such as a man might give to his affianced
sweetheart.

I had folded the letter up and put it in my pocket when a visitor was
announced, no less a person than Tom Barton. He came toward me with a
distressed look on his honest countenance and it was plain that he was
far from being at ease.

"Don," he said, paying no attention to my motion toward a chair, "what
is the trouble between you and Statia? I can't believe you have done
anything intentionally to set her so against you, and yet--"

"Sit down and don't get excited," I responded quickly, deciding to
dispose of the matter in the calmest way. "Have you had your coffee? If
not, let me ring for another pot. You don't seem well this morning, old
boy."

"I'm not well," he said, in a dispirited tone, taking the chair at last.
"But you can make me so with one word. Last night Statia came to me with
her eyes full of tears. 'Tom,' she said, 'if you love me I want you to
promise never to see Donald Camran again.' 'Never to see Don!' I
exclaimed, unable to believe my ears. 'Yes,' said she, 'I've told him I
don't wish him to call here and I want you to write him to the same
effect.' You may imagine what a staggerer that was. There's not another
fellow in the world of whom I wouldn't rather she'd have said that. I
tried to get her to give some reason--any reason, or the hint of
one--but it was no use. She only cried the harder, and when at last I
went to bed, I tell you I didn't get much sleep. Tell me, Don, what it
means."

"It seems you didn't make your sister the promise," I replied. "And you
were quite right. The whim of a girl should not come between stanch
friends like us."

That did not satisfy him, however. He murmured that we had been good
friends--that he couldn't bear to think we should ever be otherwise--but
he wanted to understand what his sister meant. As she wouldn't tell him,
he had come to ask that favor of me.

"Supposing I don't care to say anything about it," I replied, quietly.
"If Statia is set on keeping the wonderful secret, how can you expect
me to divulge it?"

He struggled a moment with this idea, for Tom was always slow in
grasping abstruse problems.

"You'll have to help me clear up the mystery," he said, at last. "I've
only got one sister, Don, and she and I are all there are to the family
now. If it comes to losing my sister or my best friend, I must stand by
Statia."

I felt a chill going over my flesh as he spoke. I liked Tom, and I liked
Statia--yes, in spite of the silly meeting of the day before. It was
better to back down a little than to lose such friends.

"What a serious matter you make of it!" I exclaimed. "You ask me what is
the trouble between Statia and me. Well, the fact is, I hardly know. She
met me in Broadway yesterday and wanted to make me promise something
that I could not see--to be candid--was any affair of hers. When I
declined, as courteously as I knew how, she flew at me with the
statement that I need never call at her house again. I had no choice in
the matter, Tom, not the least. I wouldn't do anything to justify her in
talking to me in that way, if I could help it, but one must retain a few
of his personal rights, you know."

"And what was it about?" asked Tom, very earnestly.

"It was about a woman. A woman I like very well, and who happens to be
going on the same steamer I am to the Tropics. There! The terrible
secret is out."

Tom studied the answer a long time, but evidently could make nothing of
it.

"Statia has always liked you immensely, Don," he said. "I've been almost
jealous of you sometimes. She wouldn't go against you all of a sudden
without what seemed to her a strong reason."

"And I like Statia," was my reply. "Yes, in spite of the ugly attitude
she has chosen to take toward me. Why, Tom--I don't know but, under the
circumstances, I ought to tell you--I asked her only a week ago to marry
me."

"Ah!" he exclaimed, in a mixture of happiness and pain, that was very
touching.

"Yes, and she refused positively. I was disappointed, you may believe,
for I had thought she entertained a decided feeling in my favor, and
would have asked long before except for that illness of mine. Her
attitude might have thrown me back into the doctor's hands, for my head
is not yet any too strong, but I managed to crush down my thoughts and
bear up under it. I hope it's not wrong to tell you this, old chap, but
I don't think I ought to let you go off with wrong impressions of me."

He shook his head in mute dismay.

"The other woman--the one you and she were speaking about," he said.
"Who is she? It seems as if the key to the whole trouble was there."

"Now, Tom," I replied, "you have no right to ask me a question like that
and I shall have to decline to bring the name of a third person into
this discussion. I have the greatest regard for you and the highest
respect for Statia. If you decide to throw me over, the responsibility
must rest where it belongs."

"Would you--would you come round to the house and talk it over with
both of us together?" he asked, after a long pause. "It troubles me more
than I can tell you. Would you come over, say Tuesday evening?"

"Yes," I said, smilingly, "if Statia writes me a letter asking me to do
so."

"She must write it," he said, brightening. "I can't have our friendship
broken up like this. Shall you be at home all day?"

I answered that I would be there just before dinner, at least, to
receive any communication that might be sent, and Tom, taking my hand in
his hearty grasp for the first time since he had been in the room, said
'Good-by' and left me, evidently much relieved.

I was by no means as certain as he that Statia would make any such
back-down. I have noticed that women are more apt than men to stick to a
position they have once taken, even after they find that the mistake is
on their side.

But, I really hoped some avenue would be opened for a reconciliation
without my having to go on bended knees to either of them, which I saw
no reason for doing.

I had told Tom all it would be safe to tell. He was so immaculate in all
his thoughts of women that there was no saying how my plan, if fully
presented, would strike his mind. I certainly did not mean to risk it.

It was a day that had begun disagreeably and I was looking forward to at
least a pleasant afternoon, when a note from Miss May came, to dash that
prospect to the ground. Here it is:

    My Dear Mr. C.:--I fear you have undertaken a larger contract than
    you anticipated when you began. To be plain, the amount you left in
    my hands will hardly suffice to provide all the necessaries for a
    lady travelling as your relation and equal. If you are satisfied I
    will consent, though I am sure I would not have done so at first, to
    go as your ward, merely,--as a young woman whom you have promised
    some friend to see on her journey to a point where she is to be a
    governess or whatever you like to say.

    In that case you will not be disgraced if I do not dress very well.
    I cannot endure the thought of being suspected; and a lady such as
    you wish me to appear would have three or four gowns suitable for
    appearing at table, with at least a little jewelry--of which, alas!
    I have practically nothing.

    I write you this with a heavy heart, for I fear you will begin to
    consider me a nuisance, but I hope you will understand. I went out
    this morning and priced several gowns, but finding that the money
    you left me would be exhausted before the really necessary things
    were obtained, I returned to my room without breaking one of the
    banknotes.

    Please reply by messenger, stating what you think it best to do. If
    I am going to cost you more than you wish to expend, tell me so
    frankly and I will release you from every obligation. I resigned my
    other position last night, but am certain my old employer will
    gladly take me back if I have to ask it. Ugh! that is the most
    disagreeable thought in connection with this entire matter!

    Understand, I am ready to go with you--I want to go--and I leave the
    position I am supposed to occupy to your own judgment. If I am to
    pass as a governess, in whom you have no special interest, you may
    return me half of the money enclosed and I shall find it amply
    sufficient. If I am to be your "cousin," I fear it will have to be
    doubled.

    Please do not decide in a way you will regret. I am obliged to leave
    the city on an early train, to remain over New Years with friends,
    but shall expect you Tuesday at any hour after ten. That is, if you
    wish to see me again.

    Yours Faithfully,

    M.M.

    P.S. The trunks and bag are splendid. Of course, I shall hold them
    subject to your orders if you decide to drop our arrangement.

I looked at the six fifty dollar bills lying on the table, where they
had fallen from the envelope. The messenger boy looked at them also, as
if he half wished he had run away with the package instead of delivering
it. His presence disturbed me and I told him to walk around the block,
returning in a quarter of an hour. This he hesitated to do and I shoved
a two dollar bill into his fist, as a guarantee of my good faith.

What a criss-cross of ideas piled upon my brain when I was alone! At one
instant I said to myself that Miss May was a schemer, who had determined
to "play me for a sucker,"--to use a common, though not over delicate
expression. She had been indiscreet in returning my cash; I would put it
in my pocket and forget her. On the other hand, the thought of going
south alone was enough to madden me. I did not care two straws that the
cost of the trip would be doubled, if it possessed the charming features
I had allowed myself to paint.

The woman's going into the country for two whole days when the question
was unsettled was also most exasperating. If I could proceed
immediately to her room and talk with her face to face it would be
easier to decide.

The fifteen minutes passed, the boy returned, and I was still in a
quandary. Finally, when the young imp presented himself in a
business-like attitude, I seized a pen and wrote as follows:

    _Destroy the note I sent a moment ago and substitute this one._

    Dear Miss May:--["Dear" does not mean anything at the beginning of a
    letter]--I am very sorry to learn that you feel it necessary to be
    absent over Monday, as I have many things to say to you. Perhaps, as
    you can do nothing in the meantime, it is best to let the matter
    rest till Tuesday morning, when I will call, promptly at ten, and we
    will decide everything.

    Yours,

    D.C.

The boy took this note, when it was sealed and addressed, and
disappeared like magic. He had hardly gone when I wished I had sent a
letter of different purport. There was an awful possibility that Miss
May would take the chance I had undoubtedly offered, to give up the
whole idea of going. She had certainly not seemed as enthusiastic as I
could wish. I ran to a window, threw it open, and would have whistled to
the boy, but he was nowhere to be seen.

It was like a matter of life and death to me then. Ringing in a call I
took my pen again and indited the following:

    Dear Marjorie:--for so you said I might call you:--I return the
    money that you sent back to me. Keep it till I meet you Tuesday
    morning at ten, when I will come prepared with a sum which will
    certainly meet every demand you can put upon it. You are wiser than
    I about feminine apparel and could not please me better than by the
    forethought you display. It is with great regret that I learn you
    are to be absent over Sunday and Monday, when I had hoped to pass
    some pleasant hours with you, but I cheerfully yield to your
    arrangement. Within a few days there will be no other friends to
    distract your attention from one who will prove himself the truest
    of them all.

    Sincerely Yours,

    D.C.

    No. -- Thirty-fourth Street.

I procured a large envelope and took it into the bedroom, where I could
re-insert the bank bills without danger of arousing the cupidity of
young Mercury. With a lead pencil I added to the note a request that the
recipient would send just a line by bearer to show that my message had
arrived safely, and saw the boy depart, feeling that I had at last done
the sensible thing.

Whether this proved to be the case I will leave the reader to judge when
he has finished this volume.




CHAPTER IX.

A PRIVATE DINING ROOM.


Saturday evening was dull enough, being only brightened by a pencilled
note from Miss May, reading simply, "Money received. Will see you
Tuesday." I went over to the Lyceum Theatre to a play called "The Tree
of Knowledge," which I now believe one of the brightest things produced
on the American stage in years, though I was too full of other thoughts
to appreciate it at the time.

It was an attempt to shift the burden of blame that has rested in all
fiction on the shoulders of the man, to that of the woman, and was so
far rather welcome to me. We are a bad lot, as a rule, I am afraid, but
some allowance should be made for a case like the one in the play, where
a well intentioned young fellow is used as a football by a girl who does
not care if his life is ruined, so long as she accomplishes her designs.

I remember being somewhat surprised at the apparent approval of the fine
audience, but that may have been due in a measure to the delightful
acting of the various parts. I had not been to the Lyceum for a long
time and did not remember to have seen the "wronged young man" before,
but he made a most favorable impression on me as more natural and less
stagey than the average. The "villain,"--the masculine one--was an
excellent actor, also. As for the "wicked" woman, I thought, if
Marjorie failed me, I would give her an invitation to spend the rest of
the winter in the Caribbean.

Sunday was weariness itself. I poured over the newspapers, took a walk,
managed to get a short nap, for I was tired, ate my lunch, and then, to
fill up the time, wrote a letter to Miss Brazier, in defense of myself
from the severe attack that unknown young woman had made. It was a silly
proceeding, but I liked to write about Marjorie, even to one wholly
unknown, and this is what I said, as near as I can remember it:

    Dear Alice (Ben Bolt):--I feel justified in calling you "Alice," now
    it is settled that you are not to be my companion for long and (to
    you, doubtless) weary weeks, a liberty I should never have dreamed
    of taking had you decided to go. I do not know in what way I have
    offended you, which I judge by your letter to be the case, but as
    the children say, "If I've done anything I'm sorry for, I'm glad of
    it." (Of course I don't mean exactly that.) The reason I write this
    is to ask you to dine with me (in a highly respectable public dining
    room--no cabinet particulaire, mind!) some evening before the 12th,
    when I am to sail.

    If you will do this, I will fill your shell-like ears with such an
    account of your Rival that you will acquit her of intending any of
    the horrors you intimate. She is neither, I believe, a sinful
    creature nor a dunce--just a sweet, strong-minded, trusting seeker
    after change and rest.

    And I don't like your insinuations, either, about my own moral
    character. If you knew me, I should not blame you so much, but as
    you don't--it's simply reprehensible. I have no intention of
    "soiling my soul," or that of any other person, but if that awful
    event happens (I wonder how I would look with a soiled soul!) you
    will be to blame. If you really thought I was in danger, why did you
    not do the patriotic thing and offer to go in her place? That would
    have disposed of the s--s--possibility.

    Now, if you have not already thrown this down in a rage--I judge you
    to be a woman of the most fiendish temper!--let me be sensible for
    just one moment. I am recovering slowly from a long illness and am
    as harmless as a dove. I have, honestly, some work for a typewriter
    to do, and my physician has advised me to take one. The young lady
    who has agreed to go is not the sort you seem to imagine. She has
    consented only after the most distressing stipulations in regard to
    my conduct--all of which were entirely unnecessary, by the way. I am
    to file a bond to return her to New York by May 1st in absolutely
    perfect condition.

    Come and dine with me, Alice dear, and have your doubts removed. I
    won't bite you, nor offer the slightest familiarity, upon my word!
    Name your hotel and, provided it is of undoubted respectability, I
    will meet you there at any hour you choose, after 6 P.M., or I will
    send a carriage for you. I only wish I could bring 'Marjorie'--isn't
    it a perfectly sweet name! One sight of her soulful eyes would say
    more than all my protestations. Unhappily she is out of town, and I
    am afraid she wouldn't like to be exhibited, if she were here.

    You'd best come.

    Yours Fraternally,

    D. CAMWELL.

    The Lambs, Dec. 31, 1897.

It didn't seem too funny, when I read it over, as I thought it would,
but I sent it to East Sixteenth Street by a messenger that I summoned,
telling him to bring an answer, if there was any, and to return for his
pay, if there was none. He came back in half an hour, saying that a boy
at the house took the letter up stairs, presumably to Miss B., and
returned in a few minutes stating that she would reply by mail. As this
exhausted all the fun I could expect out of that matter for the day, I
went over to the Club and lounged away the afternoon.

It was nine o'clock and I had only been at home for a few minutes when a
note came from Statia Barton. It was written in a very cool strain, but
its contents were unexpectedly agreeable, for all that. Statia said she
was afraid she had been a little too severe, and that, as it distressed
Tom very much to have a general falling out, she had made it up with
him. She had nothing to take back in what she had said relating to a
certain matter, (what woman ever took back anything?) but was willing to
admit that it was, really, my personal affair and that she had no right
to control my conduct. She believed it best, on the whole, that we
should see each other as little as possible before I went away, but she
did not wish, on reflection, to make trouble between her brother and his
friend. If Tom wanted me to come to spend an evening with him, she hoped
I would do it, and she promised to keep out of my way.

It was a queer mixture, take it altogether, but I was very glad to
receive it. The calming effect on my general condition was such that
when I went to bed, I slept for nearly seven hours without interruption,
something I had not done for the previous fortnight.

Monday, on account of New Years, was as dull as Sunday. When I awoke
with the exultant knowledge that it was at last Tuesday morning, I
sprang from bed joyfully. Filling my tub with water as it ran from the
street pipe, I plunged into its icy depths. Rising again I repeated the
operation half a dozen times, until the effect on my entire body was of
a healthy glow, and then proceeded to dress with care. I was long in
selecting a necktie, for one thing, and tried three pairs of cuff-links
before I was content. My coffee was barely tasted, and the newspapers
were scanned as if in a dream.

All the time, mind you, I was trying my best to obey the injunction of
Dr. Chambers to avoid the least excitement. I persuaded myself that I
was simply happy and that no injurious effect could be apprehended from
a merely contented frame of mind. I did not stop to think that I was
pursuing a short road to the nervous prostration from which I had
emerged, and which had its origin in the same lack of control I was
exhibiting.

Tom Barton called about eight o'clock and, as he entered the room, came
straight to me with his right hand extended. I took it heartily in mine,
glad that the chasm between us was bridged at last.

"Dear old fellow," he said, with strong feeling, "forgive me for
anything disagreeable I said, the other day. I feel now that I misjudged
you. Let us end that matter and when you come to my house this evening,
tell me exactly what route you are going to take, so I can arrange where
to write you."

I promised to come if I could, and if that was impossible, to send a
message to account for my absence. I told him I had bought a set of
small maps which would show my route perfectly and that I hoped for
frequent communications with him. Neither of us said anything about
Statia, for I think he felt as I did that we should get along better
without bringing in her name. He was obliged to leave after a brief
call. As soon as he was out of sight I donned my out-door garments and
proceeded by round-about stages toward Miss May's residence.

The hands of my watch pointed to ten exactly, when I rang her bell. It
is considered a virtue, I believe, to be prompt at an appointment. The
woman who attended the door dampened my ardor somewhat, however, by
informing me that Miss May had not yet returned. She suggested that I go
at once to the lady's room and make myself comfortable till she came,
which must be very soon.

I walked slowly up the stairs, which seemed longer than ever, oppressed
with a new series of doubts. Perhaps she would not come at all. Perhaps
she had taken my three hundred dollars and fled to parts unknown.
Perhaps--oh! the ugly things that came into my head between the lower
hall and the door of that empty room.

I turned the knob and entered. Somehow the sight of the things that
belonged to her began to mollify me. There was the chair in which she
had been seated when I saw her last--happy chair! There was the dressing
table, the brush and comb she used, the glass into which she had looked
with her beautiful blue-gray eyes. Yes, and masquerading as a cabinet,
yet deceiving no one for a second, was the folding bed that had often
received her lovely form, with her head pillowed in happy slumber.

It was something to be in the room she occupied, to see the furniture
she used.

I seated myself in her chair--the one I had seen her in--but almost
instantly rose and walked about. My nerves were too much on edge to
permit me to remain long without motion of some kind. At the end of half
an hour I began to grow incensed again. She had made the appointment for
ten o'clock. She knew from previous experience that I would keep it to
the moment. Trains from the suburbs ran frequently enough. Did she
consider me merely a puppet, to be played with?

Between half-past ten and eleven I was a hundred times on the point of
descending the stairs and leaving the house, ending the whole affair.

But I didn't.

She came about ten minutes past eleven, with many expressions of regret
at having kept me waiting. The timepiece at the house of her friend had
broken its mainspring, or something of the sort, and with the
carelessness of a woman she had forgotten to wind her watch the evening
before. The family were all deceived by the fact that the sky was
cloudy. When she reached her station the train had just gone and she was
obliged to wait three-quarters of an hour for another. As soon as she
alighted in New York, she took a cab and bade the driver hasten. Had I
been waiting very long?

I did not know, at that instant, whether I had been a minute or a week,
and I did not care. It was enough that I was again in her presence--that
she had actually arrived. I begged her to say nothing more about it.

"I have kept the cab," she said, looking me full in the face, "thinking
you might be kind enough to go with me to the shops and help me pick out
my things. If it isn't asking too much--"

I assured her it would give me the greatest pleasure to accept the
invitation and that I had no engagement so important as helping her to
get ready for our journey. With a smile, she took off her hat and
arranged her hair at the mirror, with a few passes of the brush and
comb. Then she put it on again and said she was quite ready.

"Drive to Altman's," she said to the cabman, as she stepped inside the
vehicle.

We were together, side by side. Had we been on the way to the steamer
nothing could have exceeded my delight. These preliminaries all tended
in that direction, however, and I was fain to curb my haste and content
myself with the present.

"I think you ought to see what it costs to dress a young woman who is
going to masquerade as the cousin of a gentleman of means," said Miss
May, as we turned the corner. "I want you to decide on each article,
since the expense is to come out of your pocket. I must say another
thing also, at this time. I shall not consider as my own anything I need
to buy. I am merely in the position of an actress whose wardrobe is to
be provided by her manager. Whenever our engagement terminates I will
return every article to you in as good shape as possible."

I was staggered by the suggestion, as well as impressed by the sentiment
that led her to make it.

"What could I do with a lot of gowns--and--lingerie?" I inquired,
helplessly. "They would be a veritable drug on my hands."

"They could be altered," she said, thoughtfully. "I shall be very
careful of them."

"Altered!" I cried. "For whom?"

"For the next typewriter you may happen to engage."

I laughed to conceal the disagreeable feeling which the thought gave me.

"As a joke that is stupendous," I said, "but, if you don't mind, I would
rather you would be funny on some other subject."

She relapsed into silence, something after the manner of a child who has
been chidden, which did not add to my ease. I had no idea of scolding
her. Luckily we were soon at Altman's.

I had come provided with plenty of money that time. The cash she had
brought was exhausted when we left this place and we did not seem to
have got much for it, either. A milliner was next visited, where the
price of the few articles purchased was forgotten in my admiration of
the charming appearance Marjorie made in her new headgear. Then we drove
to another establishment, where she was obliged to hide herself from
view for three-quarters of an hour, with a bill of eighty-five dollars
as the result. She explained that she had got nothing she could possibly
avoid, when it was considered that we might be several weeks at a time
without a laundress, and I said the only fear I had was that she would
buy too little.

A boot shop came next in order, where I had a jealous pang as one of the
salesmen fitted her with various articles in his stock, all suitable
for a warm climate, at a total cost of forty dollars. And then we drove
about, from glove shop to perfumer's, from umbrella maker to fan dealer,
from this to that, and the hands on my watch showed that it was nearly
five o'clock.

"I think that is about all for to-day," said Miss May, drawing a long
breath. "You must be glad it's over."

"Not at all," I replied. "Isn't it about time, though, that we had
something in the way of refreshment?" (She had declined several offers
to lunch during the preceding five hours.) "Mayn't I tell the driver now
to take us to a restaurant?"

She consented, after a little thought, and also said she would leave the
place to me. When I suggested the Hotel Martin, she thought a little
longer, and then surprised me with a request that I would get a private
room.

"Impossible," I said, when I could catch my breath. "They will assign no
party of two to a room alone."

She blushed, which was not surprising. I had put her in the position of
wishing to break a puritanic rule of which she had never heard.

I mentioned several other places, and we finally agreed on one some
distance up-town, at which I told her the regulation against a single
couple dining alone did not apply. She was rather tired and leaned back
in the carriage in a manner that showed it. I studied her face as much
as I could without appearing to stare, but it was wholly
expressionless.

"You are very good to me," she said, after a long pause.

"And you are very kind to me," I answered.

"What a lot of money we have spent to-day," she added. "Aren't you sorry
yet?"

"No," I answered, smiling. "Not yet."

"I shall need almost nothing more," she said, "to appear in a garb that
will not disgrace you. Nothing, but a little jewelry, I think."

I said we would go to-morrow and attend to that, or she could go alone
if she preferred, and send the bills to me.

"It must be lovely to have all the money one wants," she remarked,
dreamily. "To order whatever you please without stopping to see if you
can afford it."

"Yes," I assented.

"You can do that?" said Miss May, putting one of her gloved hands on my
arm.

"Within a reasonable limit. My wants are seldom extravagant."

"Why," she asked, slowly, "is the world arranged so unevenly? Why are
some provided with all they want, and more, while others have to study
each item of actual necessity?"

"That is a deep question, that I would not like to settle in my present
state of hunger," I replied, at which she smiled and sat up in the
carriage. "We are luckily near the end of our route. I think I had best
dismiss the cab and get another one when we leave."

She agreed and then asked if I had any objection to her donning a veil.
It was all right, of course--dining in a private room with her
employer--but it might not seem so to a casual passer, who would
possibly recognize her face at some future period. A woman had to be so
particular.

I cut her explanations short by saying that I did not object to the
idea, but quite approved of it; at which she put on the veil, which to
my consternation was blue and quite opaque. I did not wish to let any
difference of opinion come between us, but I reflected that if one of my
friends saw me, with a woman veiled like that, his conclusions would be
anything but pleasing. There is such a thing as going too far.

We were shown to a nice little room, where the waiter came near getting
himself into trouble by informing me with needless severity that it was
not permitted to lock the door.

Miss May did not seem to hear what he said. She was removing her blue
veil at a little glass that hung on the wall.

When she took the chair opposite to me and accepted the menu at my
hands, she looked so charming that I had to put a veritable Westinghouse
brake on my arms.




CHAPTER X.

ONCE THERE WAS A CHILD.


The meal that we ordered was well cooked and well served, and being
provided with that best of all sauces, hunger, I did it full justice.
Our conversation seemed, however, rather dull, and there was not that
flow of spirits that I expected when we entered the place. Miss May
seemed absorbed in thought, though she declared, when I rallied her on
the point, that she was not down hearted, but very happy to be there.
Occasionally when footsteps were heard in the corridor she started
nervously, which led me to suppose that she feared intrusion. I
thereupon remarked that while it was against the rules to bolt the door
of the room, I believed a good-sized tip would secure the privilege; to
which she replied, with a vehemence I could not understand, that she
would not hear of such a thing.

One might imagine she suspected me of an intention to murder her, so
earnest was her protest.

"Oh, I would much rather leave it unlocked," I said. "I was only trying
to please you."

She made no answer, and I found my spirits, always mercurial, beginning
to sink a little. Noticing my dejection, she came to my rescue and soon
had me all right again. We talked of the journey, she asking many
particulars of my former visit to the Caribbean Islands. She had never
been at sea for more than a few hours and wondered if she was liable to
that malady so much to be dreaded, seasickness. I assured her it was not
nearly as bad as it was painted and told of my own slight experiences in
that line, years before.

My companion ate and drank sparingly. She declined my proposal to order
champagne, and mixed her claret and apollinaris like a veritable tyro in
restaurant dining. This rather pleased me, on the lookout as I was for
indications that she might be other than she seemed. She had every mark
of the true lady, and I was well prepared to believe it, when I learned,
some days later, of the station in which she had been born and in which
her childhood was passed.

"I have been thinking," she remarked, after one of her long pauses;
"would it not be best for me, to take your family name? I wish, above
all things, to avoid suspicion."

"I fear we are a little too late for that," I replied. "I was obliged to
give your name to the agent and he has already placed it on the
passenger list."

"Will that list get into the newspapers?" she asked, nervously.

"I presume so."

"Then you must manage to have my name changed, at all hazards. My old
employer would use every means to annoy me if he discovered where I am
going."

"It is only recorded as 'Miss M. May,'" I said. "Surely there is more
than one person of that name in the world."

She shook her head and bit her lips in distress.

"It must be changed," she repeated. "It will not do to give him the
slightest clue. He imagines himself 'in love'--Heaven help me!--and I
dare not risk it. Any name you like, but my own."

"What can he do?" I inquired. "You don't think I would let him annoy
you, when you were under my protection."

"He can do many things. No, there is no way but to alter the name. Tell
the agent the lady you expected is not going--that she has been taken
ill--and that another is to fill her place. Do not argue, do not
hesitate, or I shall be compelled, even now, to give up the journey. And
that," she added, seeing my sober face, "you know well I would not like
to do."

This was enough to settle the matter and I said I would give the agent
in the morning any name she desired.

"I would like it the same as your own," she said, thoughtfully. "It
might save infinite trouble. Just record me as Miss M. Camwell. Is there
any reason against that?"

Yes, there was one and it occurred to me. The name, which I had decided
to use, was so near my own that Uncle Dugald would be likely to see it,
not to say anything about Hume, Tom Barton and Statia. They might lay
the twisting of Donald Camran into "David Camwell" to the carelessness
of copyist and printer, but their suspicions would certainly be aroused
if they saw next to my name that of a "Miss" Camwell.

"I will change your name in some way," I answered, after a long pause,
"but I see dangers in the plan you propose, nearly as great as in the
present one."

I then gave her an inkling of my fears, saying I did not wish any sharp
friend to guess what I was doing, which was possible with two such
uncommon names in just a position on an alphabetical list.

She did not seem satisfied, but raised no objection when I asked her if
I might call her Miss M. Carney, which I thereupon decided to do.

It was rather dull, take it altogether, the dinner, but when we were
again in a cab and rolling toward Forty-fifth Street, Miss May
brightened, like the close of a cloudy day, just before the sun sinks
into the obscurity of the western sky. She put one of her hands on mine,
quite as if the act was a wholly thoughtless one, but it sufficed to
cheer me up. She even volunteered a prophesy that we would be good
friends and contented fellow voyagers.

Before we reached her door she asked me at what hour I would call on the
morrow, quite as if anxious to see me. After a little debate I decided
upon three in the afternoon. That would give her the entire morning with
her dressmaker, for necessary alterations in the garments she had
purchased.

She did not seem to notice particularly when I raised the gloved hand I
held and pressed it to my lips at parting. It was an act that any lady
might pardon, and she probably thought nothing of it.

"To-morrow, then, at three," she said, smiling at me from the curbstone.

"Yes. Don't keep me waiting," I answered, remembering the morning.

"I will try not to; these dressmakers are so unreliable, though.
You--you wouldn't rather I would come to your rooms? Perhaps there is
another of those rules we have been running across, against it. If there
is none, and you prefer--"

I said I approved of the idea highly and that I was at liberty to invite
to my apartment any person I pleased.

"You spoke of a machine that I have never used," said Miss May,
tentatively. "If you have one there, as a sort of excuse--"

"I have one," said I. "Although it won't be needed for that purpose. You
remember the number, -- West Thirty-fourth."

She nodded and spoke to my driver, repeating it to him. Then with
another of her bright smiles she waved me good-by and ascended the
steps, while I was driven away.

"Henry," I was saying ten minutes after, to the hall boy, "I expect a
young lady to-morrow, between three and four, who will ask for Mr.
Camwell."

"There isn't any Mr. Camwell in the house, sir," said the boy.

"There will be at that hour. He will be in my rooms. You may not see him
enter and you may not see him leave, but he will be here. All you have
to do is to say 'Yes, ma'am,' to the lady and bring her to my door."

"I understand," said Henry, with a wholly superfluous grin, that showed
how little common sense the average hall-boy possesses.

"No, you don't understand anything," I responded, snappishly. "Do as I
order and you'll lose nothing. Make the least mistake and I will see
that you get your notice."

He responded meekly that he would be careful and then handed me a
letter, which I saw was from Miss Brazier. He also said that Mr. Barton
had called and expressed surprise when he heard that I had left no word
for him.

Poor Tom! It came to my recollection all at once that I had promised to
spend the evening at his house, or send him a note if unable to do so.
Well, I would write him an apology before I went to sleep.

This is what Miss Brazier said:

    Dear Mr. Camwell:--I wish I could understand you, but the riddle
    grows harder and harder. Sometimes you seem a combination of Don
    Quixote, Mephistopheles and Hector Greyburn. At one moment I believe
    you the greatest wretch alive; at the next I ascribe your sentiments
    to the buoyancy of youth and convince myself that you are at heart
    an honorable man.

    As to dining with you, I must deny myself that pleasure. I do not
    believe you would "bite" me, nor am I afraid your levity would turn
    my head. I can merely say that dining with a stranger is not in
    accord with my habits and that I see no sufficient reason to make
    your case an exception. I would be glad to see your "Marjorie,"
    though, were that feasible, but this also I must forego.

    Now, as a last word--for my correspondence may weary you--remember
    that true happiness in this life does not consist in the mere
    gratification of every passing whim, and that the path you have
    before you may contain thorns as well as roses. If you return to
    America with your conscience void of offence toward God and your
    companion you will have accomplished something of which you may
    well be proud.

    Won't you write me just a line when you are again at home, to say
    that my petition has been answered.

    Your True Friend,

    A.B.

    Jan. 2, 1898.

Sobered more than I could account for by reading this letter, I sat for
a long time in silence. Then, after writing a brief note to Tom,
excusing my neglect, I sought my pillow, or in plain English, went to
bed.

My first act in the morning after coffee was to go to Cook's and alter
the name of May to that of Carney, as well as change my own to "David
Camwell," for which I gave a satisfactory reason to the clerk. He told
me that he could omit both names from the list sent to the newspapers,
if I desired, and I decided that this was, on the whole, the better way.

On leaving I had an idea that pleased me, no less than to visit
Tiffany's and purchase a little jewelry for Marjorie. It would be
pleasant to see her eyes light up as I put it into her hand.

Taking a Broadway car, I soon reached the shop I sought, and emerged a
few minutes later with a pair of diamond eardrops, a ring of turquoise
and small diamonds, and another of chased gold without a stone. Each was
enclosed in a tasty case. I was much pleased that the selection had been
made so easily.

Miss May arrived at my room nearly on time, with a fine color in her
cheeks, due to the fact that she had walked some distance. She was
undeniably good-looking and my heart warmed as I thought of the long
companionship we were to have together. She was a little tired, she
said, from standing for the dressmaker's measurer, and dropped into my
largest chair with a very fetching air of fatigue. As soon as I could
without seeming in haste I produced the case containing the turquoise
ring and presented it for her inspection.

"I took the liberty," I remarked, "of buying this, to fill the vacant
place on one of your fingers. If it does not fit, you can take it back
for alteration; or if it does not please you Tiffany will exchange it."

She took it out languidly and found that it fitted very well. She was
not as delighted as I had supposed she would be, but her tired feeling
probably accounted for that.

"It is very pretty," she said, "and you are very kind."

Then I opened the case containing the plain ring and she found a
suitable position for that also. When I showed her the eardrops she grew
more interested and on trying them on declared them "perfectly sweet."

"I used to have some very like them," she said, with a sigh, "but that
was long ago. How very good you are. Are you not tired of the expense I
cause you?"

I assured her that I was not, in the least.

"I do not own a piece of jewelry in the world," she added, "except a
wedding ring, that belonged to my mother."

"And these," I corrected her by saying.

"No. These are not mine. They are merely part of the make-up for the
rôle I am to play. You shall have them all back again when the curtain
is rung down."

She took out her purse, and drew forth the ring of which she had spoken.
Placing it on her wedding finger she held it out to me.

"Don't I look quite like a married woman?" she asked, smilingly.

"Quite," I assented, "and a very sweet bride you make, too."

"Have you the typewriting machine here?" she asked, ignoring my
compliment. "I wish to see what it is like."

I put the machine on a table, arranging it for her inspection. It was an
original Hammond, which I prefer to the universal keyboard. She drew up
a chair and listened intently while I explained its workings, showing
how the capitals and figures are produced with the same set of keys as
the lower case letters. I showed the working of the ribbon, the
arrangement of the alarm bell and all the other points needed by one who
had never operated that style. When I had finished and inserted a sheet
of paper she began carefully to write a sentence, encouraged
occasionally by my guidance when the unfamiliar location of the keys
caused her to pause.

"I shall be able to use it as rapidly as the Remington, in a week," she
said, when she finished the sheet. "It is not nearly as hard as I
imagined."

She left the table and resumed her seat in the chair, where we fell into
a conversation that lasted several hours. She counted with me the days
that remained and was glad they were so few. She said she could think of
nothing more that she needed before starting: yes, the jewelry was
quite sufficient. She put back each piece in the case it had come in,
asking me to keep them till we were ready to go.

"You are sure you will not be sorry for what you are doing?" she asked,
after a time.

"How can I, if you enjoy the journey?" was my reply.

She shrugged her shoulders prettily and said it was time to leave. She
declined with many thanks an invitation to dine with me again, making a
light excuse, and with a friendly grasp of the hand took her departure.
It had been agreed that she would call for a short time each afternoon
that remained.

When I had become chilled at the vacancy her absence made in the room I
went over to the table and looked at what she had written on the
machine. It was a pleasure even to see the lines her fair hands had
made, and I withdrew the sheet she had covered as if it were something
sacred. Glancing over it I noted to my surprise, that the lines had not
been written with accidental meaning--that it contained a message for my
eyes and heart. There were naturally slight errors caused by the
writer's unfamiliarity with the instrument, but no ambiguity of any
kind. And this is what the message said to me:

       *       *       *       *       *

Once there was a child, who had been reared in comfort, almost in
luxury, in the fairest part of the fair State of Maryland. At the age of
sixteen a cruel fate deprived her of both parents. The guardian to whom
her small means were intrusted proved false and in another year she was
left to face poverty alone.

Almost stunned by her misfortunes, this child found it necessary to
provide herself with some means of subsistence, for even sorrow must
have bread. She learned the art of stenography and typewriting; and
after attaining sufficient speed in these branches went to a large city
and sought a situation. Luckily she found one, though for a long time
the pay was very small and she could no more than support life in the
poorest manner.

Later a place was offered her with a largely increased stipend, and the
cloud seemed about to lift a little. But her new employer soon unmasked
his soul and disclosed himself a wretch. The girl could hardly breathe
in his presence, but she resolved to endure his attentions as long as
they were bearable, hoping for relief from some unknown source.

When the purpose of her employer became all too plain, and she was on
the point of despair; when advertisement after advertisement had been
answered and nothing secured; when she had advertised, herself, and
found by the replies received that the majority of the situations
promised nothing better than the one she was unable to endure--there
came a ray of light.

A gentleman, or what seemed to be one, sought an interview in reference
to a most novel proposition. He wanted her to accompany him, alone, on a
long journey; announced his willingness to provide her with an outfit
suitable for a member of his family, which she was to profess to be; and
assured her that behind this offer there was lurking no sinister design
such as she at first suspected.

Her situation had grown desperate. Slowly she came to the decision to
trust this man. She grew to believe that there might be one who could
give these things with an honest mind and a pure purpose.

She accepted the situation, if such it might be called; purchased the
necessary clothing; donned the jewelry he provided; gave her trust into
his hands, and sailed with him on the ship he selected.

He was only twenty-four years of age, she but twenty-two. She had not
concealed from him that she was poor and nearly friendless. He was rich
and what is called a man of the world.

What will happen to the girl on that journey?

       *       *       *       *       *

There can be but two possibilities. Either the man will prove the kind
friend he has represented and they will return able to look the world in
the face without a blush--that is one of them. Or somewhere beneath the
blue waters of the Caribbean Sea the fishes will gnaw the flesh of a
woman who is drowned--that is the other. Let neither delude themselves,
when the hour of temptation comes. There is no possibility outside these
two.

       *       *       *       *       *

I rose and paced the floor in remorse for my ill-spent life, in sympathy
for the unhappy creature whose fears clouded the pleasure I meant to
share with her.

If there had been, away down in the lowest depths of my wild nature, the
slightest thought of wrong to Marjorie May, it was crushed out of sight
by that pathetic appeal.

Crushed out of sight, yes! But there are seeds that put forth life with
the dust of years piled above them.




CHAPTER XI.

A THEFT ON BOARD SHIP.


The time before the date set for the sailing of the Madiana passed
slowly enough, but contained little that is worth recording at length.
Miss May took another dinner with me, though not in the same restaurant
as before, she expressing a preference for another in a different part
of the city. She came to my room daily about half the time and I went to
hers the rest, for our afternoon talks. Her gowns were fitted, her
baggage made ready; and she sent the trunks out to have the initials
"M.C." marked upon them, to consort with her new title.

As the date of sailing approached she grew visibly nervous, saying
repeatedly that she would be glad when the ocean waves lay between us
and Manhattan Island, in which sentiment I concurred heartily. On the
day before our departure she expressed a wish to go to the wharf alone,
rather than have me come for her, giving as a reason that she did not
like the people at her lodgings to connect us in that move. This seemed
sensible and I agreed without demur. I had long since ceased to have any
suspicion of her and felt as certain that we would meet at the steamer
as that the boat would sail.

The evening before the day I was to go, I passed with Tom Barton at his
house. It was the second time I had been there within a week. In some
way Tom fixed it so that Statia consented to dine with us. She did the
best she could, I suppose, to act as usual, but made a poor show of it
to eyes as watchful as mine.

I got a minute alone with her by accident and tried my best to cheer her
up.

"I wish you would write me a line or two while I am gone," I said. "If
you send to St. Thomas by the 18th, I ought to get it before I leave
there. The mails are fearfully slow in that part of the world, but they
do arrive eventually. I will let you know how I am getting on, if you
wish it, besides what I send to Tom. I'm not going to let you quarrel
with me any longer."

She said without much enthusiasm that she would be glad to have me
write, and that perhaps she would do so herself. I did not care to press
the matter, thinking it best to leave it that way.

On the morning of the 12th I went early to the steamer, inspected the
cabins I had engaged and made arrangements with the head porter to
reserve a good place for my steamer chairs on the after-deck. I was
rather pleased with the accommodations, for I had not expected too much.
Driving back up-town I secured my letter of credit and did a last bit of
shopping. An hour before the time the vessel was to slip her moorings I
was again on board, not wishing Miss May to arrive and find me absent.

As the passengers arrived, one after another, I looked into their faces
to see if there was a familiar one, but there was none, until Mr. Wesson
came. I exchanged a few words with him about the arrangement of things
in the room we were to occupy jointly. When he left, my attention was
attracted to a woman, just coming up the plank, whom I certainly had
seen before. An elderly man walked just behind her, and as she turned to
speak to him I judged they were together. It was some time before I
remembered where I had seen that face, and when it flashed upon me I
could not restrain a low whistle.

She was the woman who had advertised in the Herald "Personal" column
that she desired the acquaintance of an "elderly gent," describing
herself as "beautiful of face and form," with her "object matrimony."

Well, she seemed to have found what she sought and I hoped the "gent"
was also not disappointed. I did not believe that the ceremony of
marriage had been performed between them, but perhaps a temporary
arrangement was equally pleasing to both. One of the stewards took their
hand baggage and descended with it, showing them to their rooms.

Miss May, arrived finally. I did not recognize her at first, heavily
veiled as she was, though happily without the blue article she had worn
to the restaurant. I rose and escorted her to her cabin, where she
seated herself on the sofa and tried to recover her breath, which I
could not see she had any reason to lose. As soon as she could speak she
asked which was my room; when I told her, she begged me to wait there a
few minutes.

Rather distressed by her manner I could, nevertheless, do nothing but
comply. After what seemed an endless time I heard her voice, speaking my
name in low tones, and went to see what she wanted.

"Don't come in!" she said, opening the door slightly. She spoke hardly
above a whisper and yet in a way that conveyed an imperative
prohibition. "Has the boat started yet?"

"No," I answered. "I think it will go in a few moments."

"Will you inquire if my baggage has been brought on and have the smaller
trunk sent down here as soon as possible?"

"You ought to come on deck and see the start," I said. "That is one of
the interesting things of a voyage like this."

"Oh, no!" she said. "I am feeling faint--I don't know what is the
matter--doubtless I shall be better in a few minutes. I am going to lie
down and see if that makes me more comfortable. Go on deck and amuse
yourself. I shall try to get a nap."

Seeing that I hesitated she looked pleadingly into my eyes.

"Please go!" she said.

I went, swallowing my disappointment. The boat had commenced to move and
I witnessed the usual waving handkerchiefs, tearful eyes, loud good-bys,
and that sort of thing. The elderly gentleman with his well-formed,
matrimonially-inclined lady was apparently enjoying the scene, for both
of them looked happy. Mr. Wesson smiled as I approached and uttered some
commonplace remark, as he made room for me by his side. Each moment the
distance between the Madiana and her late moorings widened; presently we
were well out in the river and proceeding down the Bay.

Wesson suggested a walk on the deck and as we were both well wrapped up
I saw no objection. I remarked what a wonderful thing it was, how soon
our heavy clothing would be discarded. Ice and snow to-day and summer
garments day after to-morrow.

"That is due to the Gulf Stream, of course," he replied.

"Yes. In two days any passenger not actually an invalid can bathe with
pleasure in water pumped from the ocean."

Wesson expressed his surprise at this statement. We fell to talking of
the islands we were to visit, he appearing deeply interested in all I
had to say. The time was thus occupied until the first dinner bell rang,
when I excused myself to go and look after my "cousin."

Miss May answered the knock by saying that she had already asked the
stewardess to bring her a cup of tea and would want nothing more. She
would try to get upon the deck to-morrow, if the water was sufficiently
smooth, but at present she was quite unable to move. I was to be at ease
about her and not allow her condition to interfere with my enjoyment. As
there seemed no help for it, I went back to the deck and soon descended
with the others to the dining table.

I thought it an odd fate that the "elderly gent" with his
matrimonially-inclined companion should be seated at the same table with
myself and Mr. Wesson, but odd things happen continually on shipboard
and this voyage was to prove the rule. There were just eight of us
assigned to that table, a married couple and one man travelling singly,
besides those mentioned. Before we separated I took a printed list of
the passengers, such as had been generally distributed, bearing on the
reverse side a map of the Windward Islands, and requested those present
to mark their names, that I might know them better. Wesson and I marked
ours first. The "elderly gent" put his cross against two names reading
Matthew Howes and Miss Nellie Howes, the married couple endorsed the
names of Mr. and Mrs. H.G. Stone and the single passenger claimed the
title of Robert Edgerly. The seats had been assigned by the steward with
written cards on each plate, and Mr. Edgerly, who sat at my left, took
up that of Miss Carney.

"We have still another messmate, who has not made her appearance," he
said, to the table in general. "Miss M. Carney."

"The lady is not feeling well and will not appear to-night," I said.

"I believe she occupies the stateroom with me," said Miss Howes, to my
surprise. "She is evidently not used to the sea, for she was taken ill
before the steamer left the dock."

"Miss Carney is my cousin," I explained, forced into it by the inquiring
eyes of Mr. Howes, who evidently connected us in some way. "She was not
very well before we started, is in fact taking the journey mainly for
her health. I hope she will feel able to be out to-morrow."

With the freedom that sometimes prevails in parties thrown together at a
steamer table the conversation then became general, and before we rose I
knew that Mr. Edgerly claimed Albany as his home and Mr. and Mrs. Stone,
Montpelier, Vt.; while Mr. and Miss Howes said they resided in
Binghamton. It helps very much in remembering people to get a city or
town tacked on to their names, and I wrote the locations on my passenger
list.

It was a dull evening, in spite of the fact that I passed it in the
smoking room, where considerable cheap wit was bandied about and my
fellow-passengers got acquainted with each other and with me. The
push-button was kept busy until the steward in charge of that department
gave signs of exhaustion. I drank very little, though I paid for several
rounds, after the fashion of most Americans, who think such proceedings
necessary to preserve their self-respect.

At last, when there was nothing else to do, I went to my cabin and to
bed.

Before breakfast I saw the stewardess and asked her to learn how Miss
Carney was and whether she would be at the table. She soon returned with
the information that the lady thought it best not to leave her room, and
that she wished me to procure her a list of the passengers. This I did,
marking the addresses of those who sat at our table, and scrawling a bit
of advice on the margin, recommending her to make her appearance on deck
during the forenoon as the sea was remarkably smooth.

After leaving the table I took a novel called "His Foster Sister," which
somebody told me had a reference to the Islands, and seeking my steamer
chair became absorbed in its contents.

In a short time Mr. Edgerly came along and dropped into my second chair
in a friendly way. He also had a book and it was some time before we
engaged in conversation beyond the customary greetings.

My first impression of Edgerly was decidedly favorable. He was
apparently a jolly sort of chap, ready for a joke or story and not
inclined to be a bore. We got along together famously until about eleven
o'clock, when Miss May came slowly up the companion way, with the
stewardess to assist her. Edgerly saw her before I did and sprang to
offer her his arm. As she looked into his face and detected that it was
that of a stranger, she drew back, but he reassured her in low tones.

"You must permit me to help you to your chair," he said, "which I have
just vacated. It's evident you cannot reach it without aid."

By this time I had arrived at her side and Miss May took my arm, leaning
very heavily upon it. I was surprised to find her so weak and as soon as
she was seated I asked if there was anything I could order to give her
strength.

"No," she replied, faintly. "I shall be better soon. Please wrap the rug
around me."

The stewardess had the rug on her arm and at my request placed it over
the lady's skirts, tucking in the ends about her feet. She wore her
cloak and a steamer cap, and seemed provided against the coolness of the
air, which was still marked.

When the stewardess had gone, and Edgerly also, for he disappeared at
once, I waited for Miss May to speak again, but she lay with closed eyes
so long that I grew uneasy.

"There is a doctor among the passengers," I said. "I think when you go
below, you had best let him see you. I am alarmed at your condition."

She raised herself and surveyed the decks in every direction. Then she
took a less recumbent position.

"Who is the man that came to me at the top of the stairs?" she asked, in
a whisper.

"His name is Edgerly and he is from Albany. I never saw him till
yesterday."

"He has called at the office of my last employer, and I am afraid he
recognized me. Did he say anything to intimate it?"

"No," I answered. "There is not one chance in a thousand that he
remembers you. I never in my life have looked closely enough at a
stenographer to know her if we met outside."

"I hope he doesn't," she said, uneasily. "I felt so sure there would be
no one here who had ever seen me!"

"His chair is next yours at the table," I remarked. "If he intimates
that your face is known to him you have only to convince him that he is
mistaken."

"I want that seat changed," she said, earnestly. "Can't you sit between
us? I--I can't explain why, but I don't like him. What business had he
to offer me his arm?"

I laughed at the serious way she regarded the matter, saying he had only
done as any gentleman might, but added that I would certainly put her
between myself and Mr. Wesson, if she preferred.

"And who is Mr. Wesson?" she asked.

"My room-mate, that I told you about. He is a splendid fellow."

"Can you see him anywhere at this moment?" she asked, looking around.

"Yes--he is there, talking with the second officer--the man with the
white cap. If he comes this way I will present you."

She said there was no need of haste, that she did not wish to meet the
passengers any more than was absolutely necessary; when we went to the
table would be quite time enough.

"Mr. Camwell," she added, after a pause, "you can't imagine how I feel.
If I had dreamed I should experience such sensations I never would have
come."

"What sensations?" I asked, rather shortly, for I thought she might
consider my feelings a little.

"The sensation of being a deceiver of those about me; the shame of
passing for what I am not; the dread of somehow being exposed for what I
am."

I grew angrier as she proceeded.

"If you were not ill," I said, "I should be out of patience with you.
What awful crime have you committed? You are travelling in a perfectly
respectable way, with a respectable party of people; occupying a room
with a lady; acting in a rational manner except for these vagaries,
which I must ask you to suppress. To be sure the name assigned you on
the passenger list is not your own, but plenty of people travel
incognito, even princes and dukes, for that matter. You make a mountain
out of a molehill. Your whole journey will be ruined--and mine, if you
care anything about that--if you go on as you have begun."

She begged my pardon humbly, saying she would do her best to amend her
conduct in the future. And, as usual, the moment she took this attitude,
I repented of my hard words and assured her I had no intention of being
too critical.

"The lady who occupies the room with me is very agreeable," was her next
observation. "She offered to do anything she could to relieve my head
last night, and this morning she bathed it with cologne for half an
hour."

"She sits opposite us at the table," I said. "With her uncle."

"I am glad of that. I feel quite acquainted with her now."

Then she assayed a question of the sort that eminate from women.

"Don't you think her very handsome?"

"She's not bad looking," I admitted.

"I call her magnificent. Such a face and form do not often go together."

I wanted to reply, "So she said in her advertisement," but I merely
nodded.

"There is another woman on this boat that I would not exchange for a
thousand of her," I said, presently, in a low voice.

"Point her out to me," said Miss May. "I would like to know what your
ideal is."

"Look in your mirror," I responded.

"Why do you think it necessary," she asked, frowning, "to pay me that
kind of compliment?"

"I think it necessary to refrain from doing so, but sometimes I grow
forgetful."

She saw that I was very sober again.

"If you meant what you say, it would not be so wicked," she replied,
gently.

"You know very well that I mean it."

"Mr. Camwell," she said, leaning very close to me, "we are obliged to
lie to outsiders, in the contract we have assumed. Let us always tell
the truth to each other."

"If I told you the truth," I responded, gloomily, "you would not sit
where you are. You would find strength to walk down those stairs and
back to your room alone."

She grew slightly paler, though her cheeks were waxen enough before.

"Then do not tell it to me just now," she replied, with an attempt at a
laugh. "I would rather remain on deck where the air is purer."

When the lunch bell rang I advised Miss May to take her repast where she
was, promising to send a steward to her with a bill of fare. It pleased
me to learn when I came back that she had made quite a meal and was
feeling considerably better.

       *       *       *       *       *

The succeeding two days contained nothing of high importance, but there
were several little things that deserve to be chronicled.

The first time Marjorie came to the table and was introduced by me to
the others as "Miss Carney," I fancied that a smile rested lightly on
the features of Miss Howes, for which I could not account. Marjorie was
seated between Mr. Wesson and me, and I saw with pleasure that they
seemed likely to be good friends. It was desirable in the interest of
our general plan that she and I should not act as if there was no one
else in the world. Stone and his wife were quiet people, who rarely
spoke unless first addressed. Edgerly was good-natured but not
obtrusive. The most of the talk, therefore, at table, came from Mr. and
Miss Howes, Wesson and myself. We got to be at last a rather jolly
party.

Carrying out my plan, now that Miss May had apparently recovered from
her indisposition, I left her alone a good deal, or rather with one or
more of the others as her companion on deck. They aroused in her an
interest in the trip, for which I was glad. Edgerly probably talked with
her the least of all, and she told me he never mentioned having seen her
before. Miss Howes was her most constant companion, quite naturally,
when it is considered that they roomed in one cabin.

But on the third day out, just before dinner time, Miss May came to me
with a distressed face that showed unusual perturbation. She was
actually trembling and her eyes looked as if she had been weeping.

"A terrible thing has happened!" she said, when I followed her to a
place where no one could overhear us. "I would not tell you if I could
help it, but you will have to know." Then, in response to my inquiring
look, she added, "Some one has entered my stateroom and robbed me!"

As far as she could learn, nothing had been taken but her turquoise
ring, but the feeling that her effects were unsafe agitated her greatly.
In response to questions she said she had left the ring on a little rack
above the washbowl, when she washed her hands for lunch, as she had done
twice before. She was absolutely certain where she put it, but had made
a thorough search of her handbag, the only other place it could have
been.

I told her not to get excited, but to ask the stewardess, whom I would
send to her when she went down again, if she had seen it. I remarked,
also, that I believed a theft on that line under such conditions was of
extremely rare occurrence, and that she had best quiet her nerves until
an investigation could be made.

"But it was your ring--it really belonged to you--" she stammered, "and
I feel ever so much worse than if it were my own."

"That is mere casuistry," I replied, "but, if it pleases you to call all
your things mine, of course, you will continue doing so. Whosever it is,
we must do our best to recover it."

At dinner Miss May whispered to me that the stewardess had made a
diligent search, but without effect. The meal passed rather dully. Miss
May was pale and distraught. I sympathized with her, though the value of
the lost article was not great. I wished I had some of the intuition of
a Monsieur Lecoq that I might place the offence on the right person and
relieve the strain I could not help feeling.

It must be one of the stewards, who were continually in and out of the
adjacent rooms, or a fellow passenger. In either case something of t

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