The Unspeakable Perk

  III

  THE BETTER PART OF VALOR

  Night fell with the iron clangor of bells, and day broke to theaccompaniment of further insensate jangling, for Caracuna City has thenoisiest cathedral in the world; and still the graceful gray yacht Pollylay in the harbor at Puerto del Norte, hemmed in by a thin film of smokealong the horizon where the Dutch warship promenaded.

  In one of the side caverns off the main dining-room of the Hotel Kast,the yacht's owner, breakfasting with the yacht's tutelary goddess andthe goddess's determined pursuer, discussed the blockade. Though MissPolly Brewster kept up her end of the conversation, her thoughts werefar upon a breeze-swept mountain-side. How, she wondered, had that dryand strange hermit of the wilds known the news before the city learnedit? With her wonder came annoyance over her lost wager. The beetle man,she judged, would be coolly superior about it. So she delivered herselfof sundry stinging criticisms regarding the conduct of the CaracunanAdministration in having stupidly involved itself in a blockade. Sheeven spoke of going to see the President and apprising him of her views.

  "I'd like to tell him how to run this foolish little island," said she,puckering a quaintly severe brow.

  "Now is the appointed time for you to plunge in and change the courseof empire," her father suggested to her. "There's an official morningreception at ten o'clock. We're invited."

  "Then I shan't go. I wouldn't give the old goose the satisfaction ofgoing to his fiesta."

  "Meaning the noble and patriotic President?" said Carroll. "Treason mostfoul! The cuartels are full of chained prisoners who have said less."

  "Father can go with Mr. Sherwen. I shall do some important shopping,"announced Miss Brewster. "And I don't want any one along."

  Thus apprised of her intentions, Carroll wrapped himself in gloom, andretired to write a letter.

  Miss Polly's shopping, being conducted mainly through the medium of thesign language, presently palled upon her sensibilities, and about twelveo'clock she decided upon a drive. Accordingly she stepped into one ofthe pretty little toy victorias with which the city swarms.

  "Para donde?" inquired the driver.

  His fare made an expansive gesture, signifying "Anywhere." Beingan astute person in his own opinion, the Jehu studied the prettyforeigner's attire with an appraising eye, profoundly estimated that somuch style and elegance could be designed for only one function of theday, whirled her swiftly along the two-mile drive of the CalvarioRoad, and landed her at the President's palace, half an hour after thereception was over. Supposing from the coachman's signs that she wasexpected to go in and view some public garden, she paid him, walkedfar enough to be stopped by the apologetic and appreciative guard, andreturned to the highway, to find no carriage in sight. Never mind, shereflected; she needed the exercise. Accordingly, she set out to walk.

  But the noonday sun of Caracuia has a bite to it. For a time, MissBrewster followed the car tracks which were her sure guide from thepalace to the Kast; briskly enough, at first. But, after three cars hadpassed her, she began to think longingly of the fourth. When it stoppedat her signal, it was well filled. The most promising ingress appearedto be across the blockade of a robust and much-begilded young man, whowas occupying the familiar position of an "end-seat hog," and displayingthe full glories of the Hochwaldian dress uniform.

  Herr von Plaanden was both sleepy and cross, for, having lingered afterthe reception to have a word and several drinks with the Minister ofForeign Affairs, he had come forth to find neither coach nor automobilein attendance. There had been nothing for it but the plebeian trolley.Accordingly, when he heard a foreign voice of feminine timbre and felta light pressure against his knee, he only snorted. What he next feltagainst his knee was the impact of a half-shove, half-blow, brisk enoughto slue him around. The intruder passed by to the vacant seat, while thenow thoroughly awakened and annoyed Hochwaldian whirled, to find himselflooking into a pair of expressionless brown goggles.

  With a snort of fury, the diplomat struck backward. The glasses andthe solemn face behind them dodged smartly. The next moment, Herr vonPlaanden felt his neck encircled by a clasp none the less warm for beingnot precisely affectionate. He was pinned. Twisting, he worked one armloose.

  "Be careful!" warned the cool voice of Polly Brewster, addressing herdefender. "He's trying to draw his sword."

  The gogglesome one's grip slid a little lower. The car had now stopped,and the conductor came forward, brandishing what was apparently the wandof authority, designed to be symbolic rather than utile, since at nopoint was it thicker than a man's finger. From a safe distance on therunning-board, he flourished this, whooping the while in a shrill anddissuasive manner. Somewhere down the street was heard a responsiveyell, and a small, jerky, olive-green policia pranced into view.

  Thereupon a strange thing happened. The rescuing knight relaxed hisgrip, leaped the back of his seat, dropped off the car, and darted likea hunted hare across a compound, around a wall, and so into the unknown,deserting his lady fair, if not precisely in the hour of greatest need,at least in a situation fraught with untoward possibilities. Indeed, itseemed as if these possibilities might promptly become actualities,for the diplomat turned his stimulated wrath upon the girl, and wasaddressing her in tones too emphatic to be mistaken when a large angularform interposed itself, landing with a flying leap on the seat betweenthem.

  "Move!" the newly arrived one briefly bade Herr von Plaanden.

  Herr von Plaanden, feeling the pressure of a shoulder formed upon thegenerous lines of a gorilla's, and noting the approach of the policia onthe other side, was fain to obey.

  "Don't you be scared, miss," said Cluff, turning to the girl. "It's allover."

  "I'm not frightened," she said, with a catch in her voice.

  "Of course you ain't," he agreed reassuringly. "You just sit quiet--"

  "But I--I--I'm MAD, clean through."

  "You gotta right. You gotta perfect right. Now, if this was New York,I'd spread that gold-laced guy's face--"

  "I'm not angry at him. Not particularly, I mean."

  "No?" queried her friend in need. "What got your goat, then?"

  Miss Brewster shot a quick and scornful glance over her shoulder.

  "Oh, HIM!" interpreted the athlete. "Well, he made his get-away like aman with some reason for being elsewhere."

  "Reason enough. He was afraid."

  "Maybe. Being afraid's a queer thing," remarked her escort academically."Now, me, I'm afraid of a fuzzy caterpillar. But I ain't exactly timidabout other things."

  "You certainly aren't. And I don't know how to thank you."

  "Aw, that's awright, miss. What else could I do? Our departed friend,Professor Goggle-Eye, when he made his jump, landed right in my shirtfront. 'Take my place,' he says; 'I've got an engagement.' Well, I wasjust moving forward, anyway, so it was no trouble at all, I assure you,"asserted the doughty Cluff, achieving a truly elegant conclusion.

  "Most fortunate for me," said the girl sweetly. "Mr. Perkins scuttledaway like one of his own little wretched beetles. When I see himagain--"

  "Again? Oh, well, if he's a friend of yours, accourse he'd awtuv stoodby--"

  "He isn't!" she declared, with unnecessary vehemence.

  "Don't you be too hard on him, miss," argued her escort. "Seems to me hedid a pretty good job for you, and stuck to it until he found some oneelse to take it up."

  "Then why didn't he stand by you?"

  "Oh, I don't carry any 'Help-wanted' signs on me. You know, miss, youcan't size up a man in this country like he was at home. Now, me, I'dhave natcherly hammered that Von Plaanden gink all to heh--heh--hash.But did I do it? I did not. You see, I got a little mining concessionout here in the mountains, and if I was to get into any diplomaticmix-up and bring in the police, it'd be bad for my business, besidesmaybe getting me a couple of tons of bracelets around my pretty littleankles. Like as not your friend, Professor Lamps, has got an equallygood reason for keeping the peace."

  "Do you mean that thi
s man will make trouble for you over this?"

  "Not as things stand. So long as nothing was done--no arrests oranything like that--he'll be glad to forget it, when he sobers up. I'llforget it, too, and maybe, miss, it wouldn't be any harm to anybody ifyou did a turn at forgetting, yourself."

  But neither by the venturesome Miss Polly nor by her athlete servitorwas the episode to be so readily dismissed. Late that afternoon, whenthe Brewster party were sitting about iced fruit drinks amid the dingyand soiled elegance of the Kast's one private parlor, Mr. Sherwen's cardarrived, followed shortly by Mr. Sherwen's immaculate self, creaselessexcept for one furrow of the brow.

  "How you are going to get out of here I really don't know," he said.

  "Why should we hurry?" inquired Miss Brewster. "I don't find Caracuna souninteresting."

  "Never since I came here has it been so charming," said the legationrepresentative, with a smiling bow. "But, much as your party adds to thelandscape, I'm not at all sure that this city is the most healthful spotfor you at present."

  "You mean the plague?" asked Mr. Brewster.

  "Not quite so loud, please. 'Healthful,' as I used it, was, in part, afigure of speech. Something is brewing hereabout."

  "Not a revolution?" cried Miss Polly, with eyes alight. "Oh, do brew arevolution for me! I should so adore to see one!"

  "Possibly you may, though I hardly think it. Some readjustment offoreign relations, at most. The Dutch blockade is, perhaps, only abeginning. However, it's sufficient to keep you bottled up, though if wecould get word to them, I dare say they would let a yacht go out."

  "Senator Richland, of the Committee on Foreign Relations, is an oldfriend of my family," said Carroll, in his measured tones. "A cable--"

  "Would probably never get through. This Government wouldn't allow it.There are other possibilities. Perhaps, Mr. Brewster," he continued,with a side glance at the girl, "we might talk it over at length thisevening."

  "Quite useless, Mr. Sherwen," smiled the magnate. "Polly would haveit all out of me before I was an hour older. She may as well get itdirect."

  "Very well, then. It's this quarantine business. If Dr. Pruyn comes hereand declares bubonic plague--"

  "But how will he get in?" asked Carroll.

  "So far as the blockade goes, the Dutch will help him all they can. Butthis Government will keep him out, if possible."

  "He is not persona grata?" asked Brewster.

  "Not with any of the countries that play politics with pestilence.But if he's sent here, he'll get in some way. In fact, Stark, thepublic-health surgeon at Puerto del Norte, let fall a hint that makes methink he's on his way now. Probably in some cockleshell of a small boatmanned by Indian smugglers."

  "It sounds almost too adventurous for the scholarly Pruyn whom Irecall," observed Mr. Brewster.

  "The man who went through the cholera anarchy on the lazar island offCamacho, with one case of medical supplies and two boxes of cartridges,may have been scholarly; he certainly didn't exhibit any distaste foradventure. Well, I wish he'd arrive and get something settled. Only I'dlike to have you out of the way first."

  "Oh, don't send ME away, Mr. Sherwen," pleaded Miss Polly, with mischiefin her eyes. "I'd make the cunningest little office assistant to busyold Dr. Pruyn. And he's a friend of dad's, and we surely ought to waitfor him."

  "If only I COULD send you! The fact is, Americans won't be very popularif matters turn out as I expect."

  "Shall we be confined to our rooms and kept incomunicado, while Dr.Pruyn chases the terrified germ through the streets of Caracuna?"queried the irrepressible Polly.

  "You'll probably have to move to the legation, where you will be verywelcome, but none too comfortable. The place has been practically closedand sealed for two months."

  "I'm sure we should bother you dreadfully," said the girl.

  "It would bother me more dreadfully if you got into any trouble. Justthis morning there was some kind of an affair on a street car in whichsome Americans were involved."

  Miss Polly's countenance was a design--a very dainty and ornamentaldesign--in insouciance as her father said:--

  "Americans? Any one we have met?"

  "No news has come to me. I understand one of the diplomatic corps,returning from the President's matinee, spoke to an American woman, andan American man interfered."

  "When did this happen?" asked Carroll.

  "About noon. Inquiries are going on quietly."

  The young man directed a troubled and accusing look from his fine eyesupon Miss Brewster.

  "You see, Miss Polly," he said, "no lady should go about unprotecteddown here."

  "Ordinarily it's as safe as any city," said Sherwen. "Just now I can'tbe so certain."

  "I hate being watched over like a child!" pouted Miss Brewster. "AndI love sight-seeing alone. The flowers along the Calvario Road were solovely."

  "That's the road to the palace," remarked Carroll, looking at herclosely.

  "And the butterflies are so marvelous," she continued cheerfully. "Wholives in that salmon-pink pagoda just this side of the curve?"

  Trouble sat dark and heavy upon the handsome features of Mr. PrestonFairfax Fitzhugh Carroll, but he was too experienced to put a directquery to his inamorata. What suspicion he had, he cherished untilafter dinner, when he took it to the club and made it the foundation ofcertain inquiries.

  Thus it happened that at eleven o'clock that evening, he paused beforea bench in the plaza, bowered in the bloom of creepers which flowed downfrom a balcony of the Kast, and occupied by the comfortably sprawled-outform of Mr. Thomas Cluff, who was making a burnt offering to Morpheus.

  "Good-evening!" said Mr. Carroll pleasantly.

  "Evenin'! How's things?" returned the other.

  "Right as can be, thanks to you. On behalf of the Brewster family, Iwant to express our appreciation of your assistance to Miss Brewsterthis morning."

  "Oh, that was nothing," returned the other.

  "But it might have been a great deal. Mr. Brewster will wish to thankyou in person--"

  "Aw, forget it!" besought Mr. Thomas Cluff. "That little lady is allright. I'd just as soon eat an ambassador, let alone a gilt-framedsecretary, to help her out."

  "Miss Brewster," said the other, somewhat more stiffly, "is a whollyadmirable young lady, but she is not always well advised in going outunescorted. By the way, you can doubtless confirm the rumor as to theidentity of her insulter."

  "His name is Von Plaanden. But I don't think he meant to insult anyone."

  "You will permit me to be the best judge of that."

  "Go as far as you like," asserted the big fellow cheerfully. "Thatfellow Perkins can tell you more about the start of the thing than Ican."

  "From what I hear, he has no cause to be proud of his part in thematter," said the Southerner, frowning.

  "He's sure a prompt little runner," asserted Cluff. "But I've run awayin my time, and glad of the chance."

  "You will excuse me from sympathizing with your standards."

  "Sure, you're excused," returned the athlete, so placidly that Carroll,somewhat at a loss, altered his speech to a more gracious tone.

  "At any rate, you stood your ground when you were needed, which is morethan Mr. Perkins did. I should like to have a talk with him."

  "That's easy. He was rambling around here not a quarter of an hourago with young Raimonda. That's them sitting on the bench over by thefountain."

  "Will you take me over and present me? I think it is due Mr. Perkinsthat some one should give him a frank opinion of his actions."

  "I'd like to hear that," observed Cluff, who was not without humanisticcuriosity. "Come along."

  Heaving up his six-feet-one from the seat, he led the way to thetwo conversing men. Raimonda looked around and greeted the newcomerspleasantly. Cluff waved an explanatory hand between his charge and thebench.

  "Make you acquainted with Mr. Perkins," he said, neglecting to mentionthe name of the first party of the introduction.


  Perkins, goggling upward to meet a coldly hostile glance, rose, noddedin some wonder, and said: "How do you do?" Raimonda sent Cluff a glanceof interrogation, to which that experimentalist in human antagonismsresponded with a borrowed Spanish gesture of pleasurable uncertainty.

  "I will not say that I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Perkins," began Carrollweightily, and paused.

  If he expected a query, he was doomed to a disappointment. Such of thePerkins features as were not concealed by his extraordinary glassesexpressed an immovable calm.

  "Doubtless you know to what I refer."

  Still those blank brown glasses regarded him in silence.

  "Do you or do you not?" demanded Carroll, struggling to keep his temperin the face of this exasperating irresponsiveness.

  "Haven't the least idea," replied Perkins equably.

  "You were on the tram this morning when Miss Brewster was insulted,weren't you?"

  "Yes."

  "And ran away?"

  "I did."

  "What did you run away for?"

  "I ran away," the other sweetly informed him, "on important business ofmy own."

  Cluff snickered. The suspicion impinged upon Carroll's mind that thiswasn't going to be as simple as he had expected.

  "Let that go for the moment. Do you know Miss Brewster's insulter?"

  "No."

  "Are you telling me the truth?" asked the Southerner sternly.

  The begoggled one's chin jerked up. To the trained eye of Cluff, swiftto interpret physical indications, it seemed that Perkins's weight hadalmost imperceptibly shifted its center of gravity.

  "Our Southern friend is going to run into something if he doesn't lookout," he reflected.

  But there was no hint of trouble in Perkins's voice as he replied:--

  "I know who he is. I don't know him."

  "Was it Von Plaanden?"

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "Because," returned the other, with convincing coolness, "if it was, Iintend to slap his face publicly as soon as I can find him."

  "You must do nothing of the sort."

  Now, indeed, there was a change in the other's bearing. The words camesharp and crisp.

  "I shall do exactly as I said. Perhaps you will explain why you thinkotherwise."

  "Because you must have some sense somewhere about you. Do you realizewhere you are?"

  "I hardly think you can teach me geography, or anything else, Mr.Perkins."

  "Well, good God," said the other sharply, "somebody's got to teach you!What do you suppose would be the result of your slapping Von Plaanden'sface?"

  "Whatever it may be, I am ready. I will fight him with any weapons, andgladly."

  "Oh, yes; gladly! Fun for you, all right. But suppose you think ofothers a little."

  "Afraid of being involved yourself?" smiled Carroll. "I'm sure you couldrun away successfully from any kind of trouble."

  "Others might not be so able to escape."

  "Of course I'm wholly wrong, and my training and traditions are absurdlyold-fashioned, but I've been brought up to believe that the American whowill run from a fight, or who will not stand up at home or abroad forAmerican rights, American womanhood, and the American flag, isn't aman."

  "Oh, keep it for the Fourth of July," returned Perkins wearily. "Youcan't get me into a fight."

  "Fight?" Carroll laughed shortly. "If you had the traditions of agentleman, you would not require any more provocation."

  "If I had the traditions of a deranged doodle bug, I'd go around huntingtrouble in a country that is full of it for foreigners--even those whobehave themselves like sane human beings."

  "Meaning, perhaps, that I'm not a sane human being?" inquired theSoutherner.

  "Do you think you act like it? To satisfy your own petty vanity ofcourage, you'd involve all of us in difficulties of which you knownothing. We're living over a powder magazine here, and you want to lightmatches to show what a hero you are. Traditions! Don't you talk to meabout traditions! If you can serve your country or a woman better byrunning away than by fighting, the sensible thing to do is to run away.The best thing you can do is to keep quiet and let Von Plaanden drop.Otherwise, you'll have Miss Brewster the center of--"

  "Keep your tongue from that lady's name!" warned Carroll.

  "You're giving a good many orders," said the other slowly. "But I'll doalmost anything just now to keep you peaceable, and to convince you thatyou must let Von Plaanden strictly alone."

  "Just as surely as I meet him," said the Southerner ominously, "on myword of honor--"

  "Wait a moment," broke in the other sharply. "Don't commit yourselfuntil you've heard me. Just around the corner from here is a cuartel. Itisn't a nice clean jail like ours at home. Fleas are the pleasantestcompanions in the place. When a man--particularly an obnoxiousforeigner--lands there, they are rather more than likely to forgetlittle incidentals like food and water. And if he should happen to be ofa nation without diplomatic representation here, as is the case with theUnited States at present, he might well lie there incomunicado until hishearing, which might be in two days or might not be for a month. Is thatcorrect, Mr. Raimonda?"

  "Essentially," confirmed the Caracunan.

  "When you are through trying to frighten me--" began Carrollcontemptuously.

  "Frighten you? I'm not so foolish as to waste time that way. I'm tryingto warn you."

  "Are you quite done?"

  "I am not. On MY honor--" He broke off as Carroll smiled. "Smile if youlike, but believe what I'm telling you. Unless you agree to keep yourhands and tongue off Von Plaanden I'll lay an information which willland you in the cuartel within an hour."

  The smile froze on the Southerner's lips.

  "Could he do that?" he asked Raimonda.

  "I'm afraid he could. And, really, Mr. Carroll, he's correct inprinciple. In the present state of political feeling, an assault by anAmerican upon the representative of Hochwald might seriously endangerall of your party."

  "That's right," Cluff supported him. "I'm with you in wanting to breakthat gold-frilled geezer's face up into small sections, but it justwon't do."

  With an effort, Carroll recovered his self-control.

  "Mr. Raimonda," he said courteously, "I give YOU my word that there willbe no trouble between Herr Von Plaanden and myself, of my seeking, untilMr. and Miss Brewster are safely out of the country."

  "That's enough," said Cluff heartily. "The rest of us can take care ofourselves."

  "Meantime," said Raimonda, "I think the whole matter can be arranged.Von Plaanden shall apologize to Miss Brewster to-morrow. It is not hisfirst outbreak, and always he regrets. My uncle, who is of the ForeignOffice, will see to it."

  "Then that's settled," remarked Perkins cheerfully.

  Carroll turned upon him savagely:--

  "To your entire satisfaction, no doubt, now that you've shown yourselfan informer as well as--"

  "Easy with the rough stuff, Mr. Carroll," advised Cluff, hisgood-natured face clouding. "We're all a little het up. Let's have adrink, and cool down."

  "With you, with pleasure. I shall hope to meet you later, Mr. Perkins,"he added significantly.

  "Well, I hope not," retorted the other. "My voice is still for peace.Meantime, please assure Miss Brewster for me--"

  "I warned you to keep that lady's name from your lips."

  "You did. But I don't know by what authority. You're not her father, Isuppose. Are you her brother, by any chance?"

  As he spoke, Perkins experienced that curious feeling that someinvisible person was trying to catch his eye. Now, as he turned directlyupon Carroll, his glance, passing over his shoulder, followed a broadray of light spreading from a second-story leaf-framed balcony ofthe hotel. There was a stir amid the greenery. The face of the Voiceappeared, framed in flowers. Its features lighted up with mirth, and thelips formed the unmistakable monosyllable: "Boo!"

  The identification was complete--"Boo to a goose."

  "Preston Fairfax Fitzhugh Carroll!"
Unwittingly he spoke the name aloud,and, unfortunately, laughed.

  To a less sensitive temperament, even, than Carroll's, the provocationwould have been extreme. Perkins was recalled to a more serious view ofthe situation by the choking accents of that gentleman.

  "Take off your glasses!"

  "What for?"

  "Because I'm going to thrash you within an inch of your life!"

  "Gentlemen, gentlemen!" cried the young Caracunan. "This is no place forsuch an affair."

  Apparently Perkins held the same belief. Stepping aside, he abruptly satdown on the end of the bench, facing the fountain and not four feet fromit. His head drooped a little forward; his hands dropped between hisknees; one foot--but Cluff, the athlete, was the only one to notethis--edged backward and turned to secure a firm hold on the pavement.Carroll stepped over in front of him and stood nonplused. He half drewhis hand back, then let it fall.

  "I can't hit a man sitting down," he muttered distressfully.

  Perkins's set face relaxed.

  "Running true to tradition," he observed, pleasantly enough. "I didn'tthink you would. See here, Mr. Carroll, I'm sorry that I laughed atyour name. In fact, I didn't really laugh at your name at all. It was atsomething quite different which came into my mind at that moment."

  "Your apology is accepted so far," returned the other stiffly. "But thatdoesn't settle the other account between us, when we meet again. Or doyou choose to threaten me with jail for that, also?"

  "No. It's easier to keep out of your way."

  "Good Lord!" cried the Southerner in disgust. "Are you afraid ofeverything?"

  "Why, no!" Perkins rose, smiling at him with perfect equanimity. "Asa matter of fact, if you're interested to know, I wasn't particularlyafraid of Von Plaanden, and, if I may say so without offense, I'm notparticularly afraid of you."

  Carroll studied him intently.

  "By Jove, I believe you aren't! I give it up!" he cried desperately."You're crazy, I reckon--or else I am." And he took himself off withoutthe formality of a farewell to the others.

  Raimonda, with a courteous bow to his companions, followed him.

  Wearily the goggled one sank back in his seat. Cluff moved across,planting himself exactly where Carroll had stood.

  "Perkins!"

  "Eh?" responded the sitter absently.

  "What would you do if I should bat you one in the eye?"

  "Eh, what?"

  "What would you do to me?"

  "You, too?" cried the bewildered Perkins. "Why on earth--"

  "You'd dive into my knees, wouldn't you, and tip me over backward?"

  "Oh, that!" A slow grin overspread the space beneath the glasses. "Thatwas the idea."

  "I know the trick. It's a good one--except for the guy that gets it."

  "It wouldn't have hurt him. He'd have landed in the fountain."

  "So he would. What then?"

  "Oh, I'd have held him there till he got cooled off, and then made a runfor it. A wet man can't catch a dry man."

  "Say, son, YOU'RE a dry one, all right."

  "Eh?"

  "Wake up! I'm saying you're all right."

  "Much obliged."

  "You certainly took enough off him to rile a sheep. Why didn't you doit?"

  "Do what?"

  "Tip him in."

  Perkins glanced upward at the balcony where the vines had closed upon aface that smiled.

  "Oh," he said mildly, "he's a friend of a friend of mine."

  IV

  TWO ON A MOUNTAIN-SIDE

  ORCHIDS do not, by preference, grow upon a cactus plant. Little thoughshe recked of botany, Miss Brewster was aware of this fundamental truth.Neither do they, without extraneous impulsion, go hurtling through theair along deserted mountain-sides, to find a resting-place far below;another natural-history fact which the young lady appreciated withoutbeing obliged to consult the literature of the subject. Therefore, when,from the top of the appointed rock, she observed a carefully composedbunch of mauve Cattleyas describe a parabola and finally join twoprevious clusters upon the spines of a prickly-pear patch, she divinedsome energizing force back of the phenomenon. That energizing force shesurmised was temper.

  "Fie!" said she severely. "Beetle gentlemen should control their littlefeelings. Naughty, naughty!"

  From below rose a fervid and startled exclamation.

  "Naughtier, naughtier!" deprecated the visitor. "Are these the cold andmeasured terms of science?"

  "You haven't lived up to your bet," complained the censured one.

  "Indeed I have! I always play fair, and pay fair. Here I am, as percontract."

  "Nearly half an hour late."

  "Not at all. Four-thirty was the time."

  "And now it is three minutes to five."

  "Making twenty-seven minutes that I've been sitting here waiting for awelcome."

  "Waiting? Oh, Miss Brewster--"

  "I'm not Miss Brewster. I'm a voice in the wilderness."

  "Then, Voice, you haven't been there more than one minute. A voice isn'ta voice until it makes a noise like a voice. Q.E.D."

  "There is something in that argument," she admitted. "But why didn't youcome up and look for me?"

  "Does one look for a sound?"

  "Please don't be so logical. It tires my poor little brain. You might atleast have called."

  "That would have been like holding you up for payment of the bet,wouldn't it? I was waiting for you to speak."

  "Not good form in Caracuna. The senor should always speak first."

  "You began the other time," he pointed out.

  "So I did, but that was under a misapprehension. I hadn't learnedthe customs of the country then. By the way, is it a local custom forhermits of science to climb breakneck precipices for golden-heartedorchids to send to casual acquaintances?"

  "Is that what you are?" he queried in a slightly depressed tone.

  "What on earth else could I be?" she returned, amused.

  "Of course. But we all like to pretend that our fairy tales arepermanent, don't we?"

  "I can readily picture you chasing beetles, but I can't see you chasingfairies at all," she asserted positively.

  "Nor can I. If you chase them, they vanish. Every one knows that."

  "Anyway, your orchids were fit for a fairy queen. I haven't thanked youfor them yet."

  "Indeed you have. Much more than they deserve. By coming here to-day."

  "Oh, that was a point of honor. Are you going to let those lovely purpleones wither on that prickly plant down there? Think how much betterthey'd look pinned on me--if there were any one here to see andappreciate."

  If this were a hint, it failed of its aim, for, as the hermit scuttledout from his shelter, looking not unlike some bulky protrusive-eyedinsect, secured the orchids, and returned, he never once glanced up.Safe again in his rock-bound retreat, he spoke:--

  "'Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.'"

  "So you do know something of fairies and fairy lore!" she cried.

  "Oh, it wasn't much more than a hundred years ago that I read my Grimm.In the story, only one call was necessary."

  "Well, I can't spare any more of my silken tresses. I brought a stringthis time. Where's the other hair line?"

  "I've used it to tether a fairy thought so that it can't fly away fromme. Draw up slowly."

  "Thank you so much, and I'm so glad that you are feeling better."

  "Better?"

  "Yes. Better than the day before yesterday."

  "Day before yesterday?"

  "Bless the poor man! Much anxious waiting hath bemused his wits. Hethinks he's an echo."

  "But I was all right the day before yesterday."

  "You weren't. You were a prey to the most thrilling terrors. You werea moving picture of tender masculinity in distress. You let bashfulnesslike a worm i' th' bud prey upon your damask cheek. Have you a damaskcheek? Stand out! I wish to consider you impartially. YOU needn't lookat ME, you know."

  "I'm not going to,
" he assured her, stepping forth obediently.

  "Basilisk that I am!" she laughed. "How brown you are! How long did yousay you'd been here? A year?"

  "Fourteen weary Voiceless months. Not on this island, you know, butaround the tropics."

  "Yet you look vigorous and alert; not like the men I've seen comeback from the hot countries, all languid and worn out. And you do lookclean."

  "Why shouldn't I be clean?"

  "Of course you should. But people get slack, don't they, when they liveoff all alone by themselves? Still, I suppose you spruced up a littlefor me?"

  "Nothing of the sort," he denied, with heat.

  "No? Oh, my poor little vanity! He wouldn't dress up for us, Vanity,though we did dress up for him, and we're looking awfully nice--fora voice, that is. Do you always keep so soft and pink and smooth, Mr.Beetle Man?"

  "I own a razor, if that's what you mean. You're making fun of me. Well,_I_ don't mind." He lifted his voice and chanted:--

  "Although beyond the pale of law, He always kept a polished jaw; For he was one of those who saw A saving hope In shaving soap."

  "Oh, lovely! What a noble finish. What is it?"

  "Extract from 'Biographical Blurbings.'"

  "Autobiographical?"

  "Yes. By Me."

  "And are you beyond the pale of law?"

  "Poetical license," he explained airily. "Hold on, though." He fellsilent a moment, and out of that silence came a short laugh. "I supposeI AM beyond the pale of law, now that I come to think of it. But youneedn't be alarmed, I'm not a really dangerous criminal."

  Later she was to recall that confession with sore misgivings. Now sheonly inquired lightly:

  "Is that why you ran away from the tram car yesterday?"

  "Ran away? I didn't run away," he said, with dignity. "It just happenedthat there came into my mind an important engagement that I'd forgotten.My memory isn't what it should be. So I just turned over the matter inhand to an acquaintance of mine."

  "The matter in hand being me."

  "Why, yes; and the acquaintance being Mr. Cluff. I saw him throw fourmen out of a hotel once for insulting a girl, so I knew that he was muchbetter at that sort of thing than I. May I go back now and sit down?""Of course. I don't know whether I ought to thank you about yesterday orbe very angry. It was such an extraordinary performance on your part--"

  "Nothing extraordinary about it." His voice came up out of the shadow,full of judicial confidence. "Merely sound common sense."

  "To leave a woman who has been insulted--"

  "In more competent hands than one's own."

  "Oh, I give it up!" she cried. "I don't understand you at all. Fitzhughis right; you haven't a tradition to your name."

  "Tradition," he repeated thoughtfully. "Why, I don't know. They'repretty rigid things, traditions. Rusty in the joints and all that sortof thing. Life isn't a process of machinery, exactly. One has to meet itwith something more supple and adjustable than traditions."

  "Is that your philosophy? Suppose a man struck you. Wouldn't you hit himback?"

  "Perhaps. It would depend."

  "Or insulted your country? Don't you believe that men should be ready todie, if necessary, in such a cause?"

  "Some men. Soldiers, for instance. They're paid to."

  "Good Heavens! Is it all a question of pay in your mind? Wouldn't YOU,unless you were paid for it?"

  "How can I tell until the occasion arises?"

  "Are you afraid?"

  "I suppose I might be."

  "Hasn't the man any blood in his veins?" cried his inquisitor,exasperated. "Haven't you ever been angry clear through?"

  "Oh, of course; and sorry for it afterward. One is likely to lose one'stemper any time. It might easily happen to me and drive me to make afool of myself, like--like--" His voice trailed off into a silence ofembarrassment.

  "Like Fitzhugh Carroll. Why not say it? Well, I much prefer him and hishot-headedness to you and your careful wisdom."

  "Of course," he acquiesced patiently. "Any girl would. It's the romantictemperament."

  "And yours is the scientific, I suppose. That doesn't take into accountlittle things like patriotism and heroism, does it? Tell me, have youactually ever admired--really got a thrill out of--any deed of heroism?"

  "Oh, yes," he replied tranquilly. "I've done my bit of hero worship inmy time. In fact, I've never quite recovered from it."

  "No! Really? Do go on. You're growing more human every minute."

  "Do you happen to know anything about the Havana campaign?"

  "Not much. It never seemed to me anything to brag of. Dad says theSpanish-American War grew a crop of newspaper-made heroes, manufacturedby reporters who really took more risks and showed more nerve than themen they glorified."

  "Spanish-American War? That isn't what I'm talking about. I'm speakingof Walter Reed and his fellow scientists, who went down there and foughtthe mosquitoes."

  The girl's lip curled.

  "So that's your idea of heroism! Scrubby peckers into the lives ofhelpless bugs!"

  "Have you the faintest idea what you are talking about?"

  His voice had abruptly hardened. There was an edge to it; such an edgeas she had faintly heard on the previous night, when Carroll had pressedhim too hard. She was startled.

  "Perhaps I haven't," she admitted.

  "Then it's time you learned. Three American doctors went down into thatpesthole of a Cuban city to offer their lives for a theory. Not for atangible fact like the flag, or for glory and fame as in battle, but fora theory that might or might not be true. There wasn't a day or a nightthat their lives weren't at stake. Carroll let himself be bitten byinfected mosquitoes on a final test, and grazed death by a hair'sbreadth. Lazear was bitten at his work, and died in the agony ofyellow-fever convulsions, a martyr and a hero if ever there was one.Because of them, Havana is safe and livable now. We were able tobuild the Panama Canal because of their work, their--what did you callit?--scrubby peeking into the lives of--"

  "Don't!" cried the girl. "I--I'm ashamed. I didn't know."

  "How should you?" he said, in a changed tone. "We Americans set upmonuments to our destroyers, not to our preservers, of life. Nobodyknows about Walter Reed and James Carroll and Jesse Lazear--not even theAmerican Government, which they officially served--except a few doctorsand dried-up entomologists like myself. Forgive me. I didn't mean todeliver a lecture."

  There was a long pause, which she broke with an effort.

  "Mr. Beetle Man?"

  "Yes, Voice?"

  "I--I'm beginning to think you rather more man than beetle at times."

  "Well, you see, you touched me on a point of fanaticism," he apologized.

  "Do you mind standing up again for examination? No," she decided, as hestepped out and stood with his eyes lowered obstinately. "You don'tseem changed to outward view. You still remind me," with a ripple ofirrepressible laughter, "of a near-sighted frog. It's those ridiculousglasses. Why do you wear them?"

  "To keep the sun out of my eyes."

  "And the moon at night, I suppose. They're not for purposes ofdisguise?"

  "Disguise! What makes you say that?" he asked quickly.

  "Don't bark. They'd be most effective. And they certainly give your facea truly weird expression, in addition to its other detriments."

  "If you don't like my face, consider my figure," he suggestedoptimistically. "What's the matter with that?"

  "Stumpy," she pronounced. "You're all in a chunk. It does look like apractical sort of a chunk, though."

  "Don't you like it?" he asked anxiously.

  "Oh, well enough of its kind." She lifted her voice and chanted:--

  "He was stubby and square, But SHE didn't much care.

  "There's a verse in return for yours. Mine's adapted, though.Examination's over. Wait. Don't sit down. Now, tell me your opinion ofme."

  "Very musical."

  "I'm not musical at all."

  "Oh, I'm c
onsidering you as a VOICE."

  "I'm tired of being just a voice. Look up here. Do," she pleaded. "Turnupon me those lucent goggles."

  When orbs like thine the soul disclose, Tee-deedle-deedle-dee.

  Don't be afraid. One brief fleeting glance ere we part."

  "No," he returned positively. "Once is enough."

  "On behalf of my poor traduced features, I thank you humbly. Did theyprove as bad as you feared?"

  "Worse. I've hardly forgotten yet what you look like. Your kind of faceis bad for business."

  "What is business?"

  "Haven't I told you? I'm a scientist."

  "Well, I'm a specimen. No beetle that crawls or creeps or hobbles, ordoes whatever beetles are supposed to do, shows any greater variationfrom type--I heard a man say that in a lecture once--than I do. Can'tI interest you in my case, O learned one? The proper study of mankindis--"

  "Woman. Yes, I know all about that. But I'm a groundling."

  "Mr. Beetle Man," she said, in a tremulous voice, "the rock is moving."

  "I don't feel it. Though it might be a touch of earthquake. We have 'emoften."

  "Not your rock. The tarantula rock, I mean."

  "Nonsense! A hundred tarantulas couldn't stir it."

  "Well, it seems to be moving, and that's just as bad. I'm tired and I'mlonely. Oh, please, Professor Scarab, have I got to fall on your neckagain to introduce a little human companionship into this conversation?"

  "Caesar! No! My shoulder's still lame. What do you want, anyway?"

  "I want to know about you and your work. ALL about you."

  "Humph! Well, at present I'm making some microscopical studies ofinsects. That's the reason for these glasses. The light is so harsh inthese latitudes that it affects the vision a trifle, and every triflecounts in microscopy."

  "Does the microscope add charm to the beetle?"

  "Some day I'll show you, if you like. Just now it's the flea, thenational bird of Caracuna."

  "The wicked flea?"

  "Nobody knows how wicked until he has studied him on his native heath."

  "Doesn't the flea have something to do with plague? They say there'splague in the city now. You knew all about the Dutch. Do you knowanything about the plague?"

  "You've been listening to bolas."

  "What's a bola?"

  "A bola is information that somebody who is totally ignorant of thefacts whispers confidentially in your ear with the assurance that heknows it to be authentic--in other words, a lie."

  "Then there isn't any plague down under those quaint, old, red-tiledroofs?"

  "Who ever knows what's going on under those quaint, old, red-tiledroofs? No foreigner, certainly."

  "Even I can feel the mystery, little as I've seen of the place," saidthe girl.

  "Oh, that's the Indian of it. The tiled roofs are Spanish; the speechis Spanish; but just beneath roof and speech, the life and thought areprofoundly and unfathomably Indian."

  "Not with all the Caracunans, surely. Take Mr. Raimonda, for instance."

  "Ah, that's different. Twenty families of the city, perhaps, arepure-bloods. There are no finer, cleaner fellows anywhere than thewell-bred Caracunans. They are men of the world, European educated, goodsportsmen, straight, honorable gentlemen. Unfortunately not they, but agang of mongrel grafters control the politics of the country."

  "For a hermit of science, you seem to know a good deal of what goes on.By the way, Mr. Raimonda called on me--on us last evening."

  "So he mentioned. Rather serious, that, you know."

  "Far from it. He was very amusing."

  "Doubtless," commented the other dryly. "But it isn't fair to play thegame with one who doesn't know the rules. Besides, what will Mr. PrestonFairfax--"

  "For a professedly shy person, you certainly take a rather intimatetone."

  "Oh, I'm shy only under the baleful influence of the feminine eye.Besides, you set the note of intimacy when you analyzed my personalappearance. And finally, I have a warm regard for young Raimonda."

  "So have I," she returned maliciously. "Aren't you jealous?"

  He laughed.

  "Please be a little bit jealous. It would be so flattering."

  "Jealousy is another tradition in which I don't believe."

  "Then I can't flirt with you at all?" she sighed. "After taking all thislong hot walk to see you!"

  PLOP! The sound punctured the silence sharply, though not loudly.Some large fruit pod bursting on a distant tree might have made such areport.

  "What was that?" asked the girl curiously.

  "That? Oh, that was a revolver shot," he remarked.

  "Aren't you casual! Do revolver shots mean nothing to you?"

  "That one shakes my soul's foundations." His tone by no means indicatedan inner cataclysm. "It may mean that I must excuse myself and leave.Just a moment, please."

  Passing across the line of her vision, he disappeared to the left. Whenshe next heard his voice, it was almost directly above her.

  "No," it said. "There's no hurry. The flag's not up."

  "What flag?"

  "The flag in my compound."

  "Can you see your home from here?"

  "Yes; there's a ledge on the cliff that gives a direct view."

  "I want to come up and see it."

  "You can't. It's much too hard a climb. Besides, there are rockdevilkins on the way."

  "And when you hear a shot, you go up there for messages?"

  "Yes; it's my telephone system."

  "Who's at the other end?"

  "The peon who pretends to look after the quinta for me."

  "A man! No man can keep a house fit to live in," she said scornfully.

  "I know it; but he's all I've got in the servant line."

  "How far is the house from here?"

  "A mile, by air. Seven by trail from town."

  "Isn't it lonely?"

  "Yes."

  Suddenly she felt very sorry for him. There was such a quiet, conclusiveacceptance of cheerlessness in the monosyllable.

  "How soon must you go back?"

  "Oh, not for an hour, at least."

  "If it's a call, it must be an important one, so far from civilization."

  "Not necessarily. Don't you ever have calls that are not important?"

  No answer came.

  "Miss Brewster!" he called. "Oh, Voice! You haven't gone?"

  Still no response.

  "That isn't fair," he complained, making his way swiftly down, andsatisfying himself by a peep about the angle commanding her point ofthe rock that she had, indeed, vanished. Sadly he descended to his ownnook--and jumped back with a half-suppressed yell.

  "You needn't jump out of your skin on my account," said Miss PollyBrewster, with a gracious smile. "I'm not a devilkin."

  "You are! That is--I mean--I--I--beg your pardon. I--I--"

  "The poor man's having another bashful fit," she observed, withmalicious glee. "Did the bold, bad, forward American minx scare italmost out of its poor shy wits?"

  "You--you startled me."

  "No!" she exclaimed, in wide-eyed mock surprise. "Who would havesupposed it? You didn't expect me down here, did you?"

  Thereupon she got a return shock.

  "Yes, I did," he said; "sooner or later."

  "Don't fib. Don't pretend that you knew I was here."

  "W-w-well, no. Not just now. B-b-but I knew you'd come if--if--if Ipretended I didn't want you to long enough."

  "Young and budding scientist," said she severely, "you're a gaydeceiver. Is it because you have known me in some former existence thatyou are able thus accurately to read my character?"

  "Well, I knew you wouldn't stay up there much longer."

  "I'm angry at you; very angry at you. That is, I would be if it weren'tthat you really didn't mean it when you said that you really didn't wantto see my face again."

  "Did any one ever see your face once without wanting to see it again?"

  "Ah, bravo!" She
clapped her hands gayly. "Marvelous improvement undermy tutelage! Where, oh, where is your timidity now?"

  "I--I--I forgot," he stammered, "As long as I don't think, I'm allright. Now, you--you--you've gone and spoiled me."

  "Oh, the pity of it! Let's find some mild, impersonal topic, then, thatwon't embarrass you. What do you do under the shadow of this rock, in aparched land?"

  "Work. Besides, it isn't a parched land. Look on this side."

  Half a dozen steps brought her around the farther angle, where, hiddenin a growth of shrubbery, lay a little pool of fairy loveliness,

  "That's my outdoor laboratory."

  "A dreamery, I'd call it. May I sit down? Are there devilkins here?There's an elfkin, anyway," she added, as a silvered dragon-fly hoveredabove her head inquisitively before darting away on his own concerns.

  "One of my friends and specimens. I'm studying his methods of aviationwith a view to making some practical use of what I learn, eventually."

  "Really? Are you an inventor, too? I'm crazy about aviation."

  "Ah, then you'll be interested in this," he said, now quite at his ease."You know that the mosquito is the curse of the tropics."

  "Of other places, as well."

  "But in the tropics it means yellow fever, Chagres fever, and otherepidemic illness. Now, the mosquito, as you doubtless realize, is amonoplane."

  "A monoplane?" repeated the girl, in some puzzlement. "How a monoplane?"

  "I thought you claimed some knowledge of aviation. Its wings are all onone plane. The great natural enemy of the mosquito is the dragon-fly,one of which just paid you a visit. Now, modern warfare has taught usthat the most effective assailant of the monoplane is a biplane. Youknow that."

  "Y-y-yes," said the girl doubtfully.

  "Therefore, if we can breed a biplane dragonfly in sufficient numbers,we might solve the mosquito problem at small expense."

  "I don't know much about science," she began, "but I should hardly havesupposed--"

  "It's curious how nature varies the type of aviation," he continueddreamily. "Now, the pigeon is, of course, a Zeppelin; whereas the seaurchin is obviously a balloon; and the thistledown an undirigible--"

  "You're making fun of me!" she accused, with sharp enlightenment.

  "What else have you done to me ever since we met?" he inquired mildly.

  "Now I AM angry! I shall go home at once."

  A second far-away PLOP! set a period to her decision.

  "So shall I," said he briskly.

  "Does that signal mean hurry up?" she asked curiously.

  "Well, it means that I'm wanted. You go first. When will you comeagain?"

  "Not at all."

  "Do you mean that?"

  "Of course. I'm angry. Didn't I tell you that? I don't permit people tomake fun of me. Besides, you must come and see me next. You owe me twocalls. Will you?"

  "I--I--don't know."

  "Afraid?"

  "Rather."

  "Then you must surely come and conquer this cowardice. Will you cometo-morrow?"

  "No; I don't think so."

  Miss Brewster opened wide her eyes upon him. She was little accustomedto have her invitations, which she issued rather in the manner of royalcommands, thus casually received. Had the offender been any other ofher acquaintance, she would have dropped the matter and the man then andthere. But this was a different species. Graceful and tactful he mightnot be, but he was honest.

  "Why?" she said.

  "I've got something more important to do."

  "You're reverting to type sadly. What is it that's so important?"

  "Work."

  "You can work any time."

  "No. Unfortunately I have to eat and sleep sometimes."

  The implication she accepted quite seriously.

  "Are you really as busy as all that? I'm quite conscience-stricken overthe time I've wasted for you."

  "Not wasted at all. You've cheered me up."

  "That's something. But you won't come to the city to be cheered up?"

  "Yes, I will. When I get time."

  "Perhaps you won't find me at home."

  "Then I'll wait."

  "Good-bye, then," she laughed, "until your leisure day arrives."

  She climbed the rock, stepping as strongly and surely as a lithe animal.At the top, the spirit of roguery, ever on her lips and eyes, struck inand possessed her soul.

  "O disciple of science!" she called.

  "Well?"

  "Can you see me?"

  "Not from here."

  "Good! I'm a Voice again. So don't be timid. Will you answer aquestion?"

  "I've answered a hundred already. One more won't hurt."

  "Have you ever been in love?"

  "What?"

  "Don't I speak plainly enough? Have--you--ever--been--in--love?"

  "With a woman?"

  "Why, yes," she railed. "With a woman, of course. I don't mean with yourmusty science."

  "No."

  "Well, you needn't be violent. Have you ever been in love withANYTHING?"

  "Perhaps."

  "Oh, perhaps!" she taunted. "There are no perhapses in that. With what?"

  "With what every man in the world is in love with once in his life," hereplied thoughtfully.

  She made a little still step forward and peeped down at him. He stoodleaning against the face of the rock, gazing out over the hot blueCaribbean, his hat pushed back and his absurd goggles firm and highon his nose. His words and voice were in preposterous contrast to hisappearance.

  "Riddle me your riddle," she commanded. "What is every man in love withonce in his life?"

  "An ideal."

  "Ah! And your ideal--where do you keep it safe from the common gaze?"

  "I tether it to my heart--with a single hair," said the man below.

  "Oh," commented Miss Brewster, in a changed tone. And, again, "Oh," justa little blankly. "I wish I hadn't asked that," she confessed silentlyto herself, after a moment.

  Still, the spirit of reckless experimentalism pressed her onward.

  "That's a peril to the scientific mind, you know," she warned. "Supposeyour ideal should come true?"

  "It won't," said he comfortably.

  Miss Brewster's regrets sensibly mitigated.

  "In that case, of course, your career is safe from accident," sheremarked.

  He moved out into the open.

  "Mr. Beetle Man," she called,

  He looked up and saw her with her chin cupped in her hand, regarding himthoughtfully.

  "I'm NOT just a casual acquaintance," she said suddenly. "That is, ifyou don't want me to be."

  "That's good," was his hearty comment. "I'm glad you like me better thanyou did at first."

  "Oh, I'm not so sure that I like you, exactly. But I'm coming to havea sort of respectful curiosity about you. What lies under that beetleshell of yours, I wonder?" she mused, in a half breath.

  Whether or not he heard the final question she could not tell. Hesmiled, waved his hand, and disappeared. Below, she watched the motionof the bush-tops where the shrubbery was parted by the progress of hissturdy body down the long slope.