Green Fancy

by George Barr McCutcheon

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE SECOND WAYFARER IS TRANSFORMED, AND MARRIAGE IS FLOUTED

  Mr. Rushcroft sent for Barnes at three o'clock. "Come to my room assoon as possible," was the message delivered by Mr. Bacon. Barnes wastaking a nap. More than that, he was pleasantly dreaming when thepounding fell upon his door. Awakened suddenly from this elysian dreamhe leaped from his bed and rushed to the door, his heart in his mouth.Something sinister was back of this imperative summons! She was infresh peril. The gang from Green Fancy had descended upon the Tavern inforce and--

  "Sorry to disturb you," said Mr. Bacon, as the door flew open, "but hesays it's important. He says--"

  "I wish you would tell him to go to the devil," said Barnes wrathfully.

  "Superfluous, I assure you, sir. He says that everything and everybodyis going to the devil, so--"

  "If he wants to see me why doesn't he come to my room? Why should I goto his?"

  "Lord bless you, don't you know that it's one of the prerogatives of astar to insist on people coming to him instead of the other way about?What's the use of being a star if you can't--"

  "Tell him I will come when I get good and ready."

  "Quite so," said Mr. Bacon absently. He did not retire, but stood inthe door, evidently weighing something that was on his mind andconsidering the best means of relieving himself of the mental burden."Ahem!" he coughed. "Miss Thackeray advises me that you have expresseda generous interest in our personal"--(He stepped inside the room andclosed the door)--"er--in our private future, so to speak, and I takethis opportunity to thank you, Mr. Barnes. If it isn't asking too muchof you, I'd like you to say a word or two in my behalf to the old man.You might tell him that you believe I have a splendid future beforeme,--and you wouldn't be lying, let me assure you,--and that there isno doubt in your mind that a Broadway engagement is quite imminent. Aword from you to one of the Broadway managers, by the way, would--"

  "You want me to intercede for you in the matter of two engagementsinstead of one, is that it?"

  "I am already engaged to Miss Thackeray,--in a way. The better way toput it would be for you to intercede in the matter of one marriage andone engagement. I think he would understand the situation much betterif you put it in that way."

  "Have you spoken to Mr. Rushcroft about it?"

  "Only in a roundabout way. I told him I'd beat his head off if he everspoke to Miss Thackeray again as he did last night."

  "Well, that's a fair sort of start," said Barnes, who was brushing hishair. "What did he say to that?"

  "I don't know. I had to close the door rather hastily. If he saidanything at all it was after the chair hit the door. Ahem! That waslast night. He is as nice as pie this afternoon, so I have an idea thathe busted the chair and doesn't want old Jones to find out about it."

  "I will say a good word for you," said Barnes, grinning.

  He found Mr. Rushcroft in a greatly perturbed state of mind.

  "I've had telegrams from the three people I mentioned to you, Barnes,and the damned ingrates refuse to join us unless they get theirrailroad fares to Crowndale. Moreover, they had the insolence to sendthe telegrams collect. The more you do for the confounded bums, themore they ask. I once had a leading woman who--"

  Barnes was in no humour to listen to the long-winded reminiscences ofthe "star," so he cut him short at once. He ascertained that the"ingrates" were in New York, on their "uppers," and that they could notaccomplish the trip to Crowndale unless railroad tickets were provided.The difficulty was bridged in short order by telegrams requesting thedistant players to apply the next day at his office in New York wheretickets to Crowndale would be given them. He telegraphed his office tobuy the tickets and hold them for Miss Milkens, Mr. Hatcher and Mr.Fling.

  "That completes one of the finest companies, Mr. Barnes, that ever tookthe road," said Mr. Rushcroft warmly, forgetting his animosity. "Youwill never be associated with a more evenly balanced company ofplayers, sir. I congratulate you upon your wonderful good fortune inhaving such a cast for 'The Duke's Revenge.' If you can maintain asimilar standard of excellence in all of your future productions, youwill go down in history as the most astute theatrical manager of theday."

  Barnes winced, but was game. "When do you start rehearsals, Rushcroft?"

  "It is my plan to go to Crowndale to-morrow or the next day, where Ishall meet my company. Rehearsals will undoubtedly start at once. Thatwould give us--let me see--Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday--four days.We open on Tuesday night. Oh, by the way, I have engaged a young womanof most unusual talent to take the minor part of Hortense. You may havenoticed her in the dining-room. Miss Rosamond--er--where did I put thatcard?--ah, yes, Miss Floribel Blivens. The poor idiot insists onBlivens, desiring to perpetuate the family monicker. I have gotten ridof her spectacles, however, and the name that the prehistoric Blivensesgave her at the christening."

  "You--you don't mean Miss Tilly?"

  "I do. She is to give notice to Jones to-day. There are more ways thanone of getting even with a scurvy caitiff. In this case, I take oldJones's best waitress away from him, and, praise God, he'll never findanother that will stick to him for eighteen years as she has done."

  O'Dowd returned late in the afternoon. He was in a hurry to get back toGreen Fancy; there was no mistaking his uneasiness. He drew Barnesaside.

  "For the love of Heaven, Barnes, get her away from here as soon aspossible, and do it as secretly as you can," he said. "I may as welltell you that she is in more danger from the government secret servicethan from any one up yonder. Understand, I'm not pleading guilty toanything, but I shall be far, far away from here meself before anothersunrise. That ought to mean something to you."

  "But she has done no wrong. She has not laid herself liable to--"

  "That isn't the point. She has been up there with us, and you don'twant to put her in the position of having to answer a lot of nastyquestions they'll be after asking her if they get their hands on her.She might be weeks or months clearing herself, innocent though she be.Mind you, she is as square as anything; she is in no way mixed up withour affairs up there. But I'm giving you the tip. Sneak her out as soonas you can, and don't leave any trail."

  "She may prefer to face the music, O'Dowd. If I know her at all, shewill refuse to run away."

  "Then ye'll have to kidnap her," said the Irishman earnestly. "Therewill be men swarming here from both sides of the border by to-morrownight or next day. I've had direct information. The matter is in thehands of the people at Washington and they are in communication withOttawa this afternoon. Never mind how I found it out. It's the gospeltruth, and--it's going to be bad for all of us if we're here when theycome."

  "Who is she, O'Dowd? Man to man, tell me the truth. I want to know justwhere I stand."

  O'Dowd hesitated, looked around the tap-room, and then leaned acrossthe table.

  "She is the daughter of Andreas Mara-Dafanda, former minister of war inthe cabinet of Prince Bolaroz the Sixth. Her mother was first cousin tothe Prince. Both father and mother are dead. And for that matter, so isBolaroz the Sixth. He was killed early in this war. His brother, aprisoner in Austria, as you may already know, is the next in line forthe throne,--if the poor devil lives to get it back from the Huns. MissCameron is in reality the Countess Therese Mara-Dafanda--familiarly andlovingly known in her own land as the Countess Ted. She was visiting inthis country when the war broke out. If it is of any use to you, I'lladd that she would be rich if Aladdin could only come to life andrestore the splendours of the demolished castle, refill the chests ofgold that have been emptied by the conquerors, and restock the farmsthat have been pillaged and devastated. In the absence of Aladdin,however, she is almost as poor as the ancient church-mouse. But she hasa fortune of her own. Two of the most glorious rubies in the worldrepresent her lips; her eyes are sapphires that put to shame the rocksof all the Sultans; when she smiles, you may look upon pearls thatwould make the Queen of Sheba's trinkets look like chinaware; her skinis of the rarest and riches
t velvet; her hair is all silk and a yardwide; and, best of all, she has a heart of pure gold. So there you are,me man. Half the royal progeny of Europe have been suitors for herhand, and the other half would be if they didn't happen to be of thesame sex."

  "Is she likely to--er--marry any one of them, O'Dowd?"

  "Do you mean, is she betrothed to one of the royal nuts? If I were herworst enemy I couldn't wish her anything as bad as that. The world isfull of regular men,--like meself, for example,--and 'twould be a pityto see her wasted upon anything so cheap as a king."

  "Then, she isn't?"

  "Isn't what?"

  "Betrothed."

  "Oh!" He squinted his eyes drolly. "Bedad, if she is, she's kept it asecret from me. Have you aspirations, me friend?"

  "Certainly not," said Barnes sharply. "By the way, you have mentionedPrince Bolaroz the Sixth, but you haven't given a name to the countryhe ruled."

  O'Dowd stared. "The Saints preserve us! Is the man a numbskull? Are yousaying that you don't know who and what--My God, such ignorancebewilders me!"

  "Painful as it may be to you, O'Dowd, I don't seem able to placeBolaroz in his proper realm."

  "Whist, then!" He put his hand to his mouth and whispered a name.

  An incredulous expression came into Barnes's eyes. "Are you jestingwith me, O'Dowd?"

  "I am not."

  "But I thought it was nothing more than a make-believe, imaginary land,cooked up by some hair-brained novelist for the purpose of--"

  "Well, ye know better now," said O'Dowd crisply. "Good-bye. I must beon my way. Deliver my best wishes to her, Barnes, and say that if sheever needs a friend Billy O'Dowd is the boy to respond to any call shesends out. God willing, I may see her again some day,--and I'll say thesame to you, old man." He arose and held out his hand. "I'm trusting toyou to get her away from these parts before the rat-catchers come.Don't let 'em bother her. Good-bye and good luck forever."

  "You are a brick, O'Dowd. I want to see you again. You will always findme--"

  "Thanks. Don't issue any rash invitations. I might take you up." Hestrode to the door, followed by Barnes.

  "Is there anything to be feared from this Prince Ugo or the crowd upthere?"

  "There would be if they knew where they could lay their hands on herinside of the next ten hours. She could a tale unfold, and theywouldn't like that. Keep her under cover here till--well, till THATdanger is past and then keep her out of the danger that is to come."

  Barnes started upstairs as soon as O'Dowd was off, urged by aneagerness that put wings on his feet and a thrill of excitement in hisblood. Half way up he stopped short. A new condition confronted him.What was the proper way to approach a person of royal blood? Certainlyit wasn't right to go galumping upstairs and bang on her door, andsaunter in as if she were just like any one else. He would have tothink.

  When he resumed his upward progress it was with a chastened anddeferential mien. Pausing at her door, he was at once aware of voicesinside the room. He stood there for some time before he realised thatMiss Thackeray was repeating, with theatric fervour, though haltingly,as much of her "part" as she could remember, evidently to thesatisfaction of the cousin of princes, for there were frequentinterruptions which had all the symptoms of applause.

  He rapped on the door, but so timorously that nothing came of it. Hissecond effort was productive. He heard Miss Thackeray say "goodgracious," and, after a moment, Miss Cameron's subdued: "What is it?"

  "May I come in?" he inquired, rather ashamed of his vigour. "It's onlyBarnes."

  "Come in," was her lively response. "It was awfully good of you, MissThackeray, to let me hear your lines. I think you will be a greatsuccess in the part."

  "Thanks," said Miss Thackeray drily. "I'll come in again and let youhear me in the third act." She went out, mumbling her lines as shepassed Barnes without seeing him.

  "Forgive me for not arising, Mr. Barnes," said Royalty, a wry littlesmile on her lips. "I fear I twisted it more severely than I thought atfirst. It is really quite painful."

  "Your ankle?" he cried in surprise. "When and how did it happen? I'msorry, awfully sorry."

  "It happened last night, just as we were crossing the ditch in front--"

  "Last night? Why didn't you tell me? Don't you know that it's wrong towalk with a sprained ankle? Don't--"

  "Don't be angry with me," she pleaded. "You could not have doneanything."

  "Couldn't I, though? I certainly could have carried you the rest of theway,--and upstairs." He was conscious of a strange exasperation. Hefelt as though he had been deliberately cheated out of something.

  "You poor man! I am quite heavy."

  "Pooh! A hundred and twenty-five at the outside. Do you think I'm aweakling?"

  "Please, please!" she cried. "You look so--so furious. I know you arevery, very strong,--but so am I. Why should I expect you to carry meall that distance when--"

  "But, good Lord," he blurted out, "I would have loved to do it. I can'timagine anything more--I--I--" He broke off in confusion.

  She smiled divinely. "Alas, it is too late now. But--" she went ongaily, "you may yet have the pleasure of carrying me downstairs, Mr.Barnes. Will that appease your wrath?"

  He flushed. "I'm sorry I--"

  "See," she said, "it is nicely bandaged,--and if you could see throughthe bandages you would find it dreadfully swollen. That nice MissThackeray doctored me. What a quaint person she is."

  His brow clouded once more. "I hope you will feel able to leave thisplace to-morrow, Countess. We must get away almost immediately."

  "Ah, you have been listening to O'Dowd, I see."

  "Yes. He tells me it will be dangerous to--"

  "I was thinking of something else that he must have told you. Youforgot to address me as Miss Cameron."

  "I might have gone even farther and called you the Countess Ted," hesaid.

  She sighed. "It was rather nice being Miss Cameron to you, Mr. Barnes.You will not let it make any difference, will you? I mean to say, youwill be just the same as if I were still Miss Cameron and not--some oneelse?"

  "I will be just the same," he said, leaning a little closer. "I am notso easily frightened as all that, you know."

  She looked into his eyes for a moment, and then turned her own swiftlyaway. Entranced, he watched the delicate colour steal into her cheek.

  "You are just like other women," he said thickly, "and I am like othermen. We can't help being what we are, Countess. Flesh and bloodmortals, that's all. If a cat may look at a king, why may not I look ata countess?"

  She met his gaze, but not steadily. Her deep blue eyes were filled witha vague wonder; she seemed to be searching for something in his toexplain the sudden embarrassment that had come over her.

  "Ah, I do not understand you American men," she murmured, shaking herhead. "A king would have found as much pleasure in looking at MissCameron as at a countess. Why shouldn't YOU?" A radiant smile lightedher face. "The king would not think of reproving the cat. I see noreason why you should not look at a poor little countess with impunity."

  "Do you think it would be possible for you to understand me any betteras Miss Cameron?" he asked bluntly.

  "I think perhaps it would," she said, the smile fading.

  "Then, I shall continue to look upon you as Miss Cameron, Countess. Itwill make it easier for both of us."

  "Yes," she said, a little sadly, "I am sure Miss Cameron would not behalf so dense as the Countess. She would understand perfectly. She hasgrown to be a very discerning person, Mr. Barnes, notwithstanding herextreme youth. Miss Cameron is only four days old, you see."

  He bowed very low and said: "My proudest boast is that I have known hersince the day she was born. If I had the tongue and the courage ofO'Dowd I might add a great deal to that statement."

  "A great deal that you would not say to a countess?" she asked, playingwith fire.

  "A great deal that a child four days old could hardly be expected tograsp, Miss Cameron," he replied, pointed
ly. "Having lived to a greatage myself, and acquired wisdom, I appreciate the futility of utteringprofound truths to an infant in arms."

  She beamed. "O'Dowd could not have done any better than that," shecried. Then quickly, even nervously, as he was about to speak again:"Now, tell me all that Mr. O'Dowd had to say."

  He seated himself and repeated the Irishman's warning. Her eyes cloudedas he went on; utter dejection came into them.

  "He is right. It would be difficult for me to clear myself. My ownpeople would be against me. No one would believe that I did notdeliberately make off with the jewels. They would say that I--oh, it istoo dreadful!"

  "Don't worry about that," he exclaimed. "You have me to testify that--"

  "How little you know of intrigue," she cried. "They would laugh at youand say that you were merely another fool who had lost his head over awoman. They would say that I duped you--"

  "No!" he cried vehemently. "Your people know better than you think. Youare disheartened, discouraged. Things will look brighter to-morrow.Good heavens, think how much worse it might have been. That--thatinfernal brute was going to force you into a vile, unholy marriage.He--By the way," he broke off abruptly, "I have been thinking a lotabout what you told me. He couldn't have married you without yourconsent. Such a marriage would never hold in a court of--"

  "You are wrong," she said quietly. "He could have married me without myconsent, and it would have held,--not in one of your law courts, I daresay, but in the court to which he and I belong by laws that were madecenturies before America was discovered. A prince of the royal housemay wed whom and when he chooses, provided he does not look too farbeneath his station. He may not wed a commoner. The state would notrecognise such a union. My consent was not necessary."

  "But you are in my country now, not in yours," he argued. "Our lawswould have protected you."

  "You do not understand. Marriages such as he contemplated are madeevery year in Europe. Do you suppose that the royal marriages you readabout in the newspapers are made with the consent of the poor littleprinces and princesses? Your laws are one thing, Mr. Barnes; our courtsare another. Need I be more explicit?"

  "I think I understand," he said slowly. "Poor wretches!"

  "Prince Ugo is of royal blood. I am not too far beneath him. In mycountry his word is the law. The marriage that was to have beencelebrated to-day at Green Fancy would have bound me to him forever. Itwould have been recognised in my country as legal. I have not the rightof appeal. I would not even be permitted to question his right to makeme his wife against my will. He is a prince. His will is law."

  "Isn't love allowed to enter into a--"

  "Love?" she scorned. "What has love to do with it? There isn't a queenin all the world who loves--or loved, I would better say,--the man shemarried. Some of them may have grown afterwards to love their kings,because all kings are not alike. You may be quite sure, however, thatthe wives of kings and princes did not marry their ideals; they did notmarry the men they loved. So, you see, it wouldn't have mattered in theleast to Prince Ugo whether I loved him or hated him. It was all thesame to him. It was enough that he loved me and wanted me. And besides,laying sentiment aside, it wouldn't have been a bad stroke of businesson his part. He has a fair chance to sit on the throne of our country.By placing me beside him on the throne he would be taking a long steptoward uniting the factions that are now bitterly opposing each other.I am able to discuss all this very calmly with you now, Mr. Barnes, forthe nightmare is ended. I am here with you, alive and well. If you hadnot come for me last night, I would now be sleeping the long sleep atGreen Fancy."

  "You--you would have taken your own life?" he said, in a shocked voice.

  "I would have spared myself the horror of letting him destroy it in aslower, more painful fashion," she said, compressing her lips.

  He did not speak at once. Looking into her troubled eyes, he said,after a soulful moment: "I am glad that I came in time. You were madeto love and be loved. The man you love,--if there ever be one sofortunate,--will be my debtor to the end of his days. I glorify myselffor having been instrumental in saving you for him."

  "If there ever be one so fortunate," she mused. Suddenly her moodchanged. A new kind of despair came into her lovely eyes, a plaintivenote into her voice. (I may be pardoned for declaring that she became,in the twinkling of an eye, a real flesh and blood woman.) "I don'tknow what I shall do unless I can get something to wear, Mr. Barnes. Ihaven't a thing, you see. This suit is--well, you can see what it is.I--"

  "I've never seen a more attractive suit," he pronounced. "I said asmuch to myself the first time I saw it, the other evening at thecross-roads. It fits--"

  "But I cannot LIVE in it, you know. My boxes are up at GreenFancy,--two small ones for steamer use. Everything I have in the worldis in them. Pray do not look so forlorn. You really couldn't havecarried them, Mr. Barnes, and I shudder when I think of what would havehappened to you if I had tumbled them out of the window upon your head.You would have been squashed, and it isn't unlikely that you would havearoused every one in the house with your groans and curses."

  "I dropped a trunk on my toes one time," he said, grinning with adelight that had nothing to do with the reminiscence. She was quaintlyhumorous once more, and he was happy. "I think one swears moreprodigiously when a trunk falls on his toes than he does when it dropson his head. There is something wonderfully quieting and soothing abouta trunk lighting on one's head from a great height. Don't worry aboutyour boxes. I have a feeling it will be perfectly safe to call for themwith a wagon to-morrow."

  "I don't know what I should do without you," she said.

  That evening at supper, Barnes and Mr. Rushcroft, to say nothing ofthree or four "transients," had great cause for complaint about theservice. Miss Tilly was wholly pre-occupied. She was memorising her"part." Instead of asking Mr. Rushcroft whether he would have bean soupor noodles, she wanted to know whether she should speak the line thisway or that. She had a faraway, strained look in her eyes, and shemumbled so incessantly that one of the guests got up and went out tosee Mr. Jones about it. Being assured that she was just a plain damn'fool and not crazy, he returned and said a great many unpleasant thingsin the presence of Miss Tilly, who fortunately did not hear them.

  "You've spoiled a very good waitress, Rushcroft," said Barnes.

  "And a very good appetite as well," growled the Star.

  Late in the night, Barnes, sitting at his window dreaming dreams, sawtwo big touring cars whiz past the tavern. The next morning Peter Ames,the chauffeur, called him up on the telephone to inquire whether he hadheard anything more about the job on his sister's place. He was anxiousto know, he said, because everybody had cleared out of Green Fancyduring the night and he had received instructions to lock up the houseand look for another situation.