V
THE CAPTAIN'S LEGACY
When in my tender years I was taken to the matinee, usually themost thrilling feature of the spectacle to me was the scenedepicted on the drop-curtain. I know not why only the decoratorsof drop-curtains are inspired to create landscapes of such strangeenchantment, of a beauty which not alone beguiles the senses--Ispeak from the standpoint of the ten-year-old--but throws wide tofancy the gate of dreams. Directly I was seated--in the body--andhad had my hat taken off and been told not to wriggle, I vaultedairily over the unconscious audience, over an orchestra engaged intuning up, and was lost in the marvelous landscape of thedrop-curtain. The adventures which I had there put to shame anywhich the raising of the curtain permitted to be seen upon thestage.
I had never hoped to recover in this prosaic world my long-lostparadise of the drop-curtain, but morning revealed it to me here onLeeward Island. Here was the feathery foliage, the gushingsprings, the gorgeous flowers of that enchanted land. And herewere the soft and intoxicating perfumes that I had imagined in mycurtain landscape.
Leeward Island measures roughly four miles across from east to westby three from north to south. The core of the island is the peak,rising to a height of nearly three thousand feet. At its base onthree sides lies a plateau, its edges gnawed away by the sea to theunderlying rocky skeleton. On the southeastern quarter the peakdrops by a series of great precipices straight into the sea.
Back from the cove stretches a little hollow, its floor risinggently to the level of the plateau. Innumerable clear springswhich burst from the mountain converge to a limpid stream, whichwinds through the hollow to fall into the little bay. All theplateau and much of the peak are clothed with woods, a beautifulbright green against the sapphire of sea and sky. High above allother growth wave the feathery tops of the cocoa-palms, whichflourish here luxuriantly. You saw them in their thousands,slender and swaying, tossing all together in the light sea-windtheir crowns of nodding plumes.
The palms were nowhere more abundant than in the hollow by the covewhere our camp was made, and their size and the regularity of theirorder spoke of cultivation. Guavas, oranges and lemons grew here,too, and many beautiful banana-palms. The rank forest growth hadbeen so thoroughly cleared out that it had not yet returned, exceptstealthily in the shape of brilliant-flowered creepers which woundtheir sinuous way from tree to tree, like fair Delilahs striving toovercome arboreal Samsons by their wiles. They were rankest besidethe stream, which ran at one edge of the hollow under the rise ofthe plateau.
At the side of the clearing toward the stream stood a hut, built ofcocoa-palm logs. Its roof of palm-thatch had been scattered bystorms. Nearer the stream on a bench were an old decaying wash-tuband a board. A broken frying-pan and a rusty axe-head lay in thegrass.
In the hut itself were a rude bedstead, a small table, and acupboard made of boxes. I was excited at first, and fancied we hadcome upon the dwelling of a marooned pirate. Without taking thetrouble to combat this opinion, Mr. Shaw explained to Cuthbert Vanethat a copra gatherer had once lived here, and that the place musthave yielded such a profit that he was only surprised to find itdeserted now. Behind this cool, unemphatic speech I sensed anironic zest in the destruction of my pirate.
After their thrilling experience of being ferried from the _RufusSmith_ to the island, my aunt and Miss Browne had been easilypersuaded to dispose themselves for naps. Aunt Jane, however,could not be at rest until Mr. Tubbs had been restored by a cordialwhich she extracted with much effort from the depths of herhand-bag. He partook with gravity and the rolled up eyes ofgratitude, and retired grimacing to comfort himself from a privatebottle of his own.
The boats of the _Rufus Smith_ had departed from the island, andour relations with humanity were severed. The thought of ourisolation awed and fascinated me as I sat meditatively upon a kegof nails watching the miracle of the tropic dawn. The men werehard at work with bales and boxes, except Mr. Tubbs, who gaveadvice. It must have been valuable advice, for he assuredeverybody that a word from his lips had invariably been enough tomake Wall Street sit up and take notice. But it is a far cry fromWall Street to Leeward Island. Mr. Tubbs, ignored, sought refugewith me at last, and pointed out the beauties of Aroarer as sherose from the embrace of Neptune.
"Aroarer Borealis, to be accurate," he explained, "but they didn'tuse parties' surnames much in classic times."
The glad cry of breakfast put an end to Mr. Tubbs's exposition ofmythology.
So does dull reality clog the feet of dreams that it provedimpossible to begin the day by digging up the treasure. Camp hadto be arranged, for folk must eat and sleep even with the wealth ofthe Indies to be had for the turning of a sod. The cabin wasreroofed and set apart as the bower of Aunt Jane and Miss Browne.I declined to make a third in this sanctuary. You could tell bylooking at her that Violet was the sort of person who wouldinevitably sleep out loud.
"Hang me up in a tree or anywhere," I insisted, and it ended by myhaving a tarpaulin shelter rigged up in a group of cocoa-palms.
Among our earliest discoveries on the island was one regrettablefrom the point of view of romance, though rich in practicaladvantages; the woods were the abode of numerous wild pigs. Thisis not to write a new chapter on the geographical distribution ofthe pig, for they were of the humdrum domestic variety, and haddoubtless appertained to the copra gatherer's establishment. Butyou should have seen how clean, how seemly, how self-respectingwere our Leeward Island pigs to realize how profoundly the pig ofChristian lands is a debased and slandered animal. Thesequadrupeds would have strengthened Jean Jacques's belief in theprimitive virtue of man before civilization debauched him. And Ishall always paraphrase the familiar line to read: "When wild inwoods the noble porker ran."
Aunt Jane had been dreadfully alarmed by the pigs, and wanted tokeep me immured in the cabin o' nights so that I should not beeaten. But nothing less than a Bengal tiger would have driven meto such extremity.
"Though if a pig should eat me," I suggested, "you might mark himto avoid becoming a cannibal at second hand. I should hate tothink of you, Aunt Jane, as the family tomb!"
"Virginia, you are most unfeeling," said Aunt Jane, getting pinkabout the eyelids.
"Ah, I didn't know you Americans went in much for family tombs?"remarked the beautiful youth interestedly.
"No, we do our best to keep out of them," I assured him, and hewalked off meditatively revolving this.
If the beautiful youth had been beautiful on shipboard, in theinformal costume he affected on the island he was more splendidstill. His white cotton shirt and trousers showed him lithe andlean and muscular. His bared arms and chest were like creamsolidified to flesh. Instead of his nose peeling like common nosesin the hot salt air, every kiss of the sun only gave his skin awarmer, richer glow. With his striped silk sash of red and blueabout his waist, and his crown of ambrosial chestnut curls--adevelopment due to the absence of a barber--the Honorable Cuthbertwould certainly have been hailed by the natives, if there had beenany, as the island's god.
Camp was made in the early hours of the day. Then came luncheon,prepared with skill by Cookie, and eaten from a table ofpacking-cases laid in the shade. Afterward every one, hot andweary, retired for a siesta. It was now the cool as well as thedry season on the island, yet the heat of the sun at midday wasterrific. But the temperature brought us neither illness nor evenany great degree of lassitude. Always around the island blew thefaint cooling breath of the sea. No marsh or stagnant water bredinsect pests or fever. Every day while we were there the menworked hard, and grew lean and sun-browned, and thrived on it.Every afternoon with unfailing regularity a light shower fell, butin twenty minutes it was over and the sun shone again, greedilylapping up the moisture that glittered on the leaves. And foreverthe sea sang a low muttering bass to the faint threnody of the windin the palms.
On this first day we gathered in the cool of the afternoon aboutour table of packing-boxes for an event which even I, w
hose rolewas that of skeptic, found exciting. Miss Browne was at last toproduce her map and reveal the secret of the island. So far,except in general terms, she had imparted it to no one. Everybody,in coming along, had been buying a pig in a poke--though to be sureAunt Jane had paid for it. The Scotchman, Cuthbert Vane had toldme incidentally, had insured himself against loss by demanding aretaining fee beforehand. Somehow my opinion, both of his honestyand of his intelligence, had risen since I knew this. As toCuthbert Vane, he had come purely in a spirit of adventure, and hadpaid his own expenses from the start.
However, now the great moment was at hand. But before it comes, Iwill here set down the treasure-story of Leeward Island, as Igathered it later, a little here and there, and pieced it togetherinto a coherent whole through many dreaming hours.
In 1820, the city of Lima, in Peru, being threatened by therevolutionaries under Bolivar and San Martin, cautious folk beganto take thought for their possessions. To send them out upon thehigh seas under a foreign flag seemed to offer the best hope ofsafety, and soon there was more gold afloat on the Pacific than atany time since the sailing of the great plate-galleons of theseventeenth century. Captain Sampson, of the brig _Bonny Lass_,found himself with a passenger for nowhere in particular in theshape of a certain Spanish merchant of great wealth, reputedcustodian of the private funds of the bishop of Lima. Thisgentleman brought with him, besides some scanty personalbaggage--for he took ship in haste--a great iron-bound chest. Fourstout sailors of the _Bonny Lass_ staggered under the weight of it.
The _Bonny Lass_ cruised north along the coast, the passengerdesiring to put in at Panama in the hope that word might reach himthere of quieter times at home. But somewhere off Ecuadoron a dark and starless night the merchant of Lima vanishedoverboard--"and what could you expect," asked Captain Sampson ineffect, "when a lubber like him would stay on deck in a gale?"Strange to say, the merchant's body-servant met the fate of theheedless also.
Shrugging his shoulders at the carelessness of passengers, CaptainSampson bore away to Leeward Island, perhaps from curiosity to seethis old refuge of the buccaneers, where the spoils of the sack ofGuayaquil were said to have been buried. Who knows but that he,too, was bent on treasure-seeking? Be that as it may, the littlebrig found her way into the bay on the northeast side of theisland, where she anchored. Water was needed, and there isrefreshment in tropic fruits after a diet of salt horse andhardtack. So all hands had a holiday ashore, where the captain didnot disdain to join them. Only he went apart, and had otheroccupation than swarming up the palms for cocoanuts.
One fancies, then, a moonless night, a crew sleeping off doublegrog, generously allowed them by the captain; a boat putting offfrom the _Bonny Lass_, in which were captain, mate, and one BillHalliwell, able seaman, a man of mighty muscle; and as freight anobject large, angular and ponderous, so that the boat laggedheavily beneath the rowers' strokes.
Later, Bill, the simple seaman, grows presumptuous on the strengthof this excursion with his betters. It is a word and a blow withthe captain of the _Bonny Lass_, and Bill is conveniently disposedof. Dead, as well as living, he serves the purpose of the captain,but of that later.
Away sailed the _Bonny Lass_, sailing once for all out of thestory. As for Captain Sampson, there is a long gap in his history,hazily filled by the story of his having been lieutenant to BenitoBonito, and one of the two survivors when Bonito's black flag wasbrought down by the British frigate _Espiegle_. But sober historyknows nothing of him until he reappears years later, an aged andbroken man, in a back street of Bristol. Here was living a certainHopperdown, who had been boatswain on the _Bonny Lass_ at the timethat she so regrettably lost her passengers overboard. He too hadbeen at Leeward Island, and may have somewhat wondered andquestioned as to the happenings during the brig's brief stay there.He saw and recognized his old skipper hobbling along the Bristolquays, and perhaps from pity took the shabby creature home withhim. Hopperdown dealt in sailors' slops, and had a snug room ortwo behind the shop. Here for a while the former Captain Sampsondwelt, and after a swift illness here he died. With the hand ofdeath upon him, his grim lips at last gave up their secret. Withstiffening fingers he traced a rough map, to refresh Hopperdown'smemory after the lapse of time since either had seen thewave-beaten cliffs of Leeward Island. For Captain Sampson hadnever been able to return to claim the treasure which he had leftto Bill Halliwell's silent guardianship. Somehow he had lost hisown vessel, and there would be rumors about, no doubt, which wouldmake it difficult for him to get another. If he had, indeed,sailed with Bonito, he had kept his secret from his formidablecommander. Even as he had dealt with Bill Halliwell, so mightBonito deal by him--or at least the lion's share must be yieldedto the pirate captain. And the passion of Captain Sampson's lifehad come to be his gold--his hidden hoard on far-off LeewardIsland. It was his, now, all his. The only other who knew itshiding-place, his former mate, had been killed in Havana in atavern brawl. The secret of the bright unattainable treasure wasall the captain's own. He dreamed of the doubloons, gloated overthem, longed for them with a ceaseless gnawing passion of desire.And in the end he died, in Hopperdown's little shop in the narrowBristol by-street.
Hopperdown, an aging man himself, and in his humble way contented,fell straightway victim to the gold-virus. He sold all he had, andbought passage in a sailing ship for Valparaiso, trusting that onceso far on the way he would find means to accomplish the rest. Butthe raging of the fever in his thin old blood brought him to hisbed, and the ship sailed without him. Before she was midway in theAtlantic Hopperdown was dead.
The old man died in the house of a niece, to whom by way of legacyhe left his map. For the satisfaction of his anxious mind, stillporing on the treasure, she wrote down what she could grasp of hisinstructions, and then, being an unimaginative woman, gave thematter little further heed. For years the map lay among otherpapers in a drawer, and here it was at length discovered by herson, himself a sailor. He learned from her its history, and havingbeen in the Pacific, and heard the tales and rumors that clingabout Leeward Island like the everlasting surf of its encompassingseas, this grand-nephew of old Hopperdown's, by name David Jenkins,became for the rest of his days a follower of the _ignis fatuus_.An untaught, suspicious, grasping man, he rejected, or knew not howto set about, the one course which offered the least hope, whichwas to trade his secret for the means of profiting by it. AH hisrestless, hungry life he spent in wandering up and down the seas,ever on the watch for some dimly imagined chance by which he mightcome at the treasure. And so at last he wandered into the Londonhospital where he died.
And to me the wildest feature of the whole wild tale was that atthe last he should have parted with the cherished secret of alifetime to Miss Higglesby-Browne.
In a general way, every one of us knew this history. Even I hadhad an outline of it from Cuthbert Vane. But so far nobody hadseen the map. And now we were to see it; the time that intervenedbefore that great event had already dwindled to minutes, toseconds--
But no; for Miss Browne arose and began to make a speech. Thebeginning of it dealt in a large and generalizing manner withcomradeship and loyalty, and the necessity of the proper mentalattitude in approaching the business we had in hand. I did notlisten closely. The truth is, I wanted to see that map. Under thespell of the island, I had almost begun to believe in the chest ofdoubloons.
Suddenly I awoke with a start to the fact that Miss Browne wastalking about me. Yes, I, indubitably, was the Young Person whosemotives in attaching herself to the party were so at variance withthe amity and mutual confidence which filled all other breasts. Itwas I who had sought to deprive the party of the presence, counseland support of a member lacking whom it would have been but a bodywithout a soul. It was I who had uttered words which were painfuland astounding to one conscious of unimpugnable motives. In thedays of toil to come, we were reminded, the Young Person, to wit,myself, would have no share. She would be but skeptic, critic,drone in the busy hive.
Thus it was obvious that the Young Personcould not with any trace of justice claim part or lot in thetreasure. Were it not well, then, that the Young Person berequired to make formal and written renunciation of all interest inthe golden hoard soon to reward the faith and enterprise of theHarding-Browne expedition? Miss Browne requested the sense of themeeting on the matter.
Under the fire of this arraignment I sat hot-cheeked andincredulous, while a general wave of agitation seemed to stir thedrowsy atmosphere. Aunt Jane was quivering, her round eyes fixedon Miss Higglesby-Browne like a fascinated rabbit's on a serpent.Mr. Hamilton H. Tubbs had pursed his lips to an inaudible whistle,and alternately regarded the summits of the palms and stole swiftferret-glances at the faces of the company. Captain Magnus hadtaken a sheath-knife from his belt and was balancing it on onefinger, casting about him now and then a furtive, crooked,roving look, to meet which made you feel like a party to somehidden crime. Mr. Vane had remained for some time in happyunconsciousness of the significance of Miss Browne's oration. Itwas something to see it gradually penetrate to his perceptions,vexing the alabaster brow with a faint wrinkle of perplexity, thensuffusing his cheeks with agonized and indignant blushes. "Oh, Isay, really, you know!" hovered in unspoken protest on his tongue.He threw imploring looks at Mr. Shaw, who alone of all the partysat imperturbable, except for a viciously bitten lip.
Miss Higglesby-Browne had drawn a deep breath, preparatory toresuming her verbal ramble, but I sprang to my feet.
"Miss Browne," I said, in tones less coldly calm than I could havewished, "if you have thought it necessary to--to orate at thislength merely to tell me that I am to have no share in thisridiculous treasure of yours, you have wasted a great deal ofenergy. In the first place, I don't believe in your treasure."(Which, of course, despite my temporary lapse, I really didn't.)"I think you are--sillier than any grown-up people I ever saw. Inthe second place, anything you do find you are welcome to keep. Doyou think I came along with people who didn't want me, and haveturned my own aunt against me, for the sake of filthy lucre? Did Icome intentionally at all, or because I was shanghaied and couldn'thelp myself? Aunt Jane!" I demanded, turning to my strickenrelative, who was gazing in anguish and doubt from Miss Browne tome, "haven't you one spark left of family pride--I don't talk ofaffection any longer--that you sit still and hear me made speechesat in this fashion? Have you grown so sordid and grasping that youcan think of nothing but this blood-stained pirate gold?"
Aunt Jane burst into tears.
"Good gracious, Virginia," she wailed, "how shocking of you to saysuch things! I am sure we all got along very pleasantly until youcame--and in that dreadfully sudden way. You might at least havebeen considerate enough to wire beforehand. As to blood-stains,there was a preparation your Aunt Susan had that got them outbeautifully--I remember the time the little boy's nose bled on thedrawing-room rug. But I should think just washing the gold woulddo very well!"
It was impossible to feel that these remarks helped greatly toclear the situation. I opened my mouth, but Miss Browne wasbeforehand with me.
"Miss Virginia Harding has herself admitted that she has no just orequitable claim to participate in the profits of this expedition--Ibelieve I give the gist of your words, Miss Harding?"
"Have it your own way," I said, shrugging.
"I move, then, Mr. Secretary"--Miss Browne inclined her head in astately manner toward Mr. Tubbs--"that you offer for Miss VirginiaHarding's signature the document prepared by you."
"Oh, I say!" broke out Mr. Vane suddenly, "I call this rotten, youknow!"
"In case of objection by any person," said Miss Browne loftily,"the matter may be put to a vote. All those in favor say aye!"
An irregular fire of ayes followed. Mr. Tubbs gave his with acough meant so far as possible to neutralize its effect--with aview to some future turning of the tables. Captain Magnusresponded with a sudden bellow, which caused him to drop thegleaming knife within an inch of Aunt Jane's toe. Mr. Shaw saidbriefly, "I think the distribution of the treasure, if any isrecovered, should be that agreed upon by the original members ofthe party. Aye!"
Aunt Jane's assenting voice issued from the depths of herhandkerchief, which was rapidly becoming so briny and inadequatethat I passed her mine. From Cuthbert Vane alone there came asteadfast no--and the Scotchman put a hand on the boy's shoulderwith a smile which was like sudden sunlight in a bleak sky.
Mr. Tubbs then produced a legal-looking document which I took to bethe original agreement of the members of the expedition. Beneaththeir signatures he had inscribed a sort of codicil, by which Irelinquished all claim on any treasure recovered by the party. Mr.Tubbs took evident pride in the numerous aforesaids and thereofsand other rolling legal phrases of his composition, and Miss Brownelistened with satisfaction as he read it off, as though each wordhad been a nail in the coffin of my hopes. I signed the clause ina bold and defiant hand, under the attentive eyes of the company.A sort of sigh went round, as though something of vast moment hadbeen concluded. And indeed it had, for now the way was clear forViolet's map.
I suppose that with a due regard for my dignity I should have risenand departed. I had been so definitely relegated to the positionof outsider that to remain to witness the unveiling of the greatmystery seemed indecently intrusive. Let it be granted, then, thatI ought to have got up with stately grace and gone away. Only, Idid nothing of the sort. In spite of my exclusion from all itsmaterial benefits, I had an amateur's appreciation of that map. Ifelt that I should gloat over it. Perhaps of all those present Ialone, free from sordid hopes, would get the true romantic zest andessence of it--
Covertly I watched the faces around me. Mr. Tubbs's eyes had grownbright; he licked his dry lips. His nose, tip-tilted and slightlybulbous, took on a more than usually roseate hue. Captain Magnus,who was of a restless and jerky habit at the best of times, waslike a leashed animal scenting blood. Beneath his open shirt yousaw the quick rise and fall of his hairy chest. His lips, drawnback wolfishly, displayed yellow, fang-like teeth. Under theraw crude greed of the man you seemed to glimpse somethingindescribably vulpine and ferocious.
The face of Dugald Shaw was controlled, but there was a slightrigidity in its quiet. A pulse beat rapidly in his cheek. Allworldly good, all hope of place, power, independence, hung for himon the contents of the small flat package, wrapped in oil-silk,which Miss Browne was at this moment withdrawing from her pocket.
Only Cuthbert Vane, seated next to me, maintained without efforthis serenity. For him the whole affair belonged in the categoryknown as sporting, where a gentleman played his stake and acceptedwith equanimity the issue.
As Miss Browne undid the oil-silk package everybody held hisbreath, except poor Aunt Jane, who most inopportunely swallowed agnat and choked.
The dead sailor's legacy consisted of a single sheet oftime-stained paper. Two-thirds of the sheet was covered by aroughly-drawn sketch in faded ink, giving the outline of the islandshores as we had seen them from the _Rufus Smith_. Here was thecove, with the name it bears in the Admiralty charts--LanternBay--written in, and a dotted line indicating the channel. Northof the bay the shore line was carried for only a little distance.On the south was shown the long tongue of land which protects theanchorage, and which ends in some detached rocks or islets. At apoint on the seaward side of the tongue of land, about on a linewith the head of the bay, the sketch ended in a swift backwardstroke of the pen which gave something the effect of a cross.
To all appearance the map was merely to give Hopperdown hisdirections for entering the cove. There was absolutely no markupon it to show where the treasure had been buried.
Now for the writing on the sheet below the map. It was in anotherhand than that which had written _Lantern Bay_ across the face ofthe cove, and which, though labored, was precise and clear. Thisother was an uneven, wavering scrawl:
_He sed it is in a Cave with 2 mouths near by the grave of BillHalliwell wich was cut down for he new to much. He s
ed you canbring a boat to the cave at the half Tide but beware the turn forthe pull is strong. He sed to find the Grave again look for thestone at the head marked B. H. and a Cross Bones. In the Chist isgold Dubloons, a vast lot, also a silver Cross wich he sed leve forthe Grave for he sed Bill walks and thats unlucky_.
That was all. A fairly clear direction for any friend who hadattended the obsequies of Bill and knew where to look for the stonemarked B. H. and a cross-bones, but to perfect strangers it wasvague.
A blank look crept into the intent faces about the table.
"It--it don't happen to say in more deetail jest precisely wherethat cave might be looked for?" inquired Mr. Tubbs hopefully.
"In more detail?" repeated Miss Browne challengingly. "Pray, Mr.Tubbs, what further detail could be required?"
"A good deal more, I am afraid," remarked the Scotchman grimly.
Miss Browne whirled upon him. In her cold eye a spark had kindled.And suddenly I had a new vision of her. I saw her no longer as thedeluder of Aunt Jane, but as herself the deluded. Her belief inthe treasure was an obsession. This map was her talisman, her wayof escape from an existence which had been drab and dull enough, Idare say.
"Mr. Shaw, we are given not one, but several infallible landmarks.The cave has two mouths, it can be approached by sea, it is IN theimmediate neighborhood of the grave of William Halliwell, which isto be recognized by its headstone. As the area of our search iscircumscribed by the narrow limits of this island, I fail to seewhat further marks of identification can be required."
"A grave ninety years old and hidden beneath a tropical jungle isnot an easy thing to find, Miss Browne. As to caves, I doubt butthey are numerous. The formation here makes it more than likely.And there'll be more than one with two mouths, I'm thinking."
"Mr. Shaw"--Miss Browne gave the effect of drawing herself up inline of battle--"I feel that I must give expression to the thoughtwhich comes to me at this moment. It is this--that if the membersof this party are to be chilled by carping doubts, the wave ofenthusiasm which has floated us thus far must inevitably recede,leaving us flotsam on a barren shore. What can one weakwoman--pardon, my unfaltering Jane!--two women, achieve against thethought of failure firmly held by him to whom, we looked to lead usboldly in our forward dash? Mr. Shaw, this is no time for crawlingearthworm tactics. It is with the bold and sweeping glance of theeagle that we must survey this island, until, the proper pointdiscerned, we swoop with majestic flight upon our predestined goal!"
Miss Browne was somewhat exhausted by this effort, and paused forbreath, whereupon Mr. Tubbs, anxious to retrieve his recentblunder, seized with dexterity this opportunity.
"I get you. Miss Browne, I get you," said Mr. Tubbs withconviction. "Victory ain't within the grasp of any individual thatcarries a heart like a cold pancake in his bosom. What this partyneeds is pep, and if them that was calculated on to supply itdon't, why there's others which is not given to blowin' their ownhorn, but which might at a pinch dash forward like Arnold--norelation to Benedict--among the spears. I may be rather a man orthought than action, ma'am, and at present far from my nativeheath, which is the financial centers of the country, but if Iremember right it was Ulysses done the dome-work for the Greeks,while certain persons that was depended on sulked in their tents.Miss Higglesby-Browne, you can count--count, I say--on old H. H.!"
"I thank you, Mr. Tubbs, I thank you!" replied Miss Browne withemotion. As for Aunt Jane, she gazed upon the noble countenance ofMr. Tubbs with such ecstatic admiration that her little nosequivered like a guinea-pig's.