Quick Action

by Robert W. Chambers

  XXIII

  That night he turned in, greatly depressed. Bad dreams assailed hisslumbers--menacing ones like the visions that annoyed _Eugene Aram_.

  And every time he awoke and sat up in his bunk, shaken by the swayingcar, he realised that Romance had also its tragic phases--a sample ofwhich he was now enduring. And yet, miserable as he was, a horrid sortof joy neutralised the misery when he recollected that it _was_ Romance,after all, and that he, George Z. Green, was in it up to his neck.

  A grey morning--a wet and pallid sky lowering over the brown NorthCarolina fields--this was his waking view from his tumbled bunk.

  Neither his toilet nor his breakfast dispelled the gloom; certainly thespeeding landscape did not.

  He sat grimly in the observation car, reviewing a dispiriting landscapeset with swamps, razorbacks, buzzards, and niggers.

  Luncheon aided him very little. _She_ had not appeared at all. Eitherher own misery and fright were starving her to death or she preferred totake her meals in her stateroom. He hoped fervently the latter might bethe case; that murder might not be added to whatever else he evidentlywas suspected of committing.

  Like the ticket he had seen her purchase, his own ticket took him as faras Ormond. Of course he could go on if she did. She could go to the WestIndies and ultimately to Brazil. So could he. They were on the maintravelled road to almost anywhere.

  Nevertheless, he was on the watch at St. Augustine; and when he saw hercome forth hastily and get into a bus emblazoned with the name andescutcheon of the Hotel Royal Orchid, he got in also.

  The bus was full. Glancing at the other occupants of the bus, sheincluded him in her brief review, and to his great relief he saw herincurious blue eyes pass calmly to the next countenance.

  A dreadful, almost hysterical impulse assailed him to suddenly rise andsay: "I am George Z. Green!"--merely to observe the cataclysmic effecton her.

  But it did not seem so funny to him on after thoughts, for the chancesappeared to be that she could not survive the shock. Which scared him;and he looked about nervously for fear somebody who knew him might beamong the passengers, and might address him by name.

  In due time the contents of the bus trooped into the vast corridors ofthe Hotel Royal Orchid. One by one they registered; and on the ledgerGreen read her name with palpitating heart--Miss Marie Wiltz and Maid.And heard her say to the clerk that her maid had been delayed and wouldarrive on the next train.

  It never occurred to this unimaginative man to sign any name but his ownto the register that was shoved toward him. Which perfectly proves hisguilelessness and goodness.

  He went to his room, cleansed from his person the stains of travel, and,having no outer clothes to change to, smoked a cigarette and gazedmoodily from the window.

  Now, his window gave on the drive-encircled fountain before the frontentrance to the hotel; and, as he was standing there immersed in tobaccosmoke and gloom, he was astonished to see the girl herself come outhastily, travelling satchel in hand, and spring lightly into a cab. Itwas one of those victorias which are stationed for hire in front of suchsouthern hotels; he could see her perfectly plainly; saw the darkeycoachman flourish his whip; saw the vehicle roll away.

  The next instant he seized his new satchel, swept his brand new toiletarticles into it, snapped it, picked up hat and cane, and dashed downstairs to the desk.

  Here he paid his bill, ran out, and leaped into a waiting victoria.

  "Where did that other cab drive?" he demanded breathlessly to his negrocoachman. "Didn't you hear what the young lady said to her driver?"

  "Yaas, suh. De young lady done say she's in a pow'ful hurry, suh. She'low she gotta git to Ormond."

  "Ormond! There's no train!"

  "Milk-train, suh."

  "What! Is she going to Ormond on a milk-train?"

  "Yaas, suh."

  "All right, then. Drive me to the station."

  It was not very far. She was standing alone on the deserted platform,her bag at her feet, his overcoat lying across it. Her head was bent,and she did not notice him at first. Never had he seen a youthful figureso exquisitely eloquent of despair.

  The milk-train was about an hour overdue, which would make it about duein the South. Green seated himself on a wooden bench and folded hishands over the silver crook of his walking-stick. The situation was nowperfectly clear to him. She had come down from her room, and had seenhis name on the register, had been seized by a terrible panic, and hadfled.

  Had he been alone and unobserved, he might have attempted to knock hisbrains out with his walking-stick. He desired to, earnestly, when herealised what an ass he had been to sign the register.

  She had begun to pace the platform, nervously, halting and leaningforward from time to time to scan impatiently the long, glitteringperspective of the metals.

  It had begun to grow dusk. Lanterns on switches and semaphores flashedout red, green, blue, white, stringing their jewelled sparks far awayinto the distance.

  To and fro she paced the empty platform, passing and repassing him. Andhe began to notice presently that she looked at him rather intently eachtime.

  He wondered whether she suspected his identity. Guiltless of anythingthat he could remember having done, nevertheless he shivered guiltilyevery time she glanced at him.

  Then the unexpected happened; and he fairly shook in his shoes as shemarched deliberately up to him.

  "I beg your pardon," she said in a very sweet and anxious voice, "butmight I ask if you happen to be going to Ormond?"

  He was on his feet, hat in hand, by this time; his heart and pulsesbadly stampeded; but he managed to answer calmly that he was going toOrmond.

  "There is only a milk-train, I understand," she said.

  "So I understand."

  "Do you think there will be any difficulty in my obtaining permission totravel on it? The station-master says that permission is not given toladies unaccompanied."

  She looked at him almost imploringly.

  "I really must go on that train," she said in a low voice. "It isdesperately necessary. Could you--could you manage to arrange it for me?I would be so grateful!--so deeply grateful!"

  "I'll do what I can," said that unimaginative man. "Probably bribery canfix it----"

  "There might be--if--if--you would be willing--if you didn't object--Iknow it sounds very strange--but my case is so desperate----" Shechecked herself, flushing a delicate pink. And he waited.

  Then, very resolutely she looked up at him:

  "Would you--could you p-pretend that I am--am--your sister?"

  "Certainly," he said. An immense happiness seized him. He was not onlyup to his neck in Romance. It was already over his head, and he was outof his depth, and swimming.

  "Certainly," he repeated quietly, controlling his joy by a supremeeffort. "That would be the simplest way out of it, after all."

  She said earnestly, almost solemnly: "If you will do this generous thingfor--for a stranger--in very deep perplexity and trouble--that strangerwill remain in your debt while life lasts!"

  She had not intended to be dramatic; she may not have thought she was;but the tears again glimmered in her lovely eyes, and the situationseemed tense enough to George Z. Green.

  Moreover, he felt that complications already were arising--complicationswhich he had often read of and sometimes dreamed of. Because, as hestood there in the southern dusk, looking at this slim, young girl, hebegan to realise that never before in all his life had he gazed uponanything half as beautiful.

  Very far away a locomotive whistled: they both turned, and saw thedistant headlight glittering on the horizon like a tiny star.

  "W-would it be best for us to t-take your name or mine--in case they askus?" she stammered, flushing deeply.

  "Perhaps," he said pleasantly, "you might be more likely to rememberyours in an emergency."

  "I think so," she said naively; "it is rather difficult for me todeceive anybody. My name is Marie Wiltz."

  "Then I am Mr. Wil
tz, your brother, for an hour or two."

  "If you please," she murmured.

  It had been on the tip of his tongue to add, "Mr. George Z. Wiltz," buthe managed to check himself.

  The great, lumbering train came rolling in; the station agent lookedvery sharply through his spectacles at Miss Wiltz when he saw her withGreen, but being a Southerner, he gallantly assumed that it was allright.

  One of the train crew placed two wooden chairs for them in the partlyempty baggage car; and there they sat, side by side, while the big,heavy milk cans were loaded aboard, and a few parcels shoved into theircar. Then the locomotive tooted leisurely; there came a jolt, a resonantclash; and the train was under way.