Green Fancy

by George Barr McCutcheon

  CHAPTER XIX

  A TRIP BY NIGHT, A SUPPER, AND A LATE ARRIVAL

  Shortly after sundown that evening, the Rushcroft Company evacuatedHart's Tavern. They were delayed by the irritating and, to Mr.Rushcroft, unpardonable behaviour of two officious gentlemen, latelyarrived, who insisted politely but firmly on prying into the past,present and future history of the several members of the organisation,including the new "backer" or "angel," as one of the operatives slylyobserved to the other on beholding Miss Thackeray.

  Barnes easily established his own identity and position, and was notlong in convincing the investigators that his connection with thestranded company was of a purely philanthropic nature,--yes, evenplatonic, he asseverated with some heat when the question was put tohim.

  They examined him closely concerning his solitary visit to Green Fancy,and he described to the best of his ability all but one of the inmates.He neglected to mention Miss Cameron. Realising that he would bestoring up trouble for himself if he failed to mention his trip to thehouse that morning,--they were sure to hear of it in time,--he set hismind to the task of constructing a satisfactory explanation. Heconcluded to sacrifice Peter Ames, temporarily at least. Taking Peteraside, he explained the situation to him, impressing upon him theimportance of leaving Miss Cameron and her luggage out of theinterview, and to say nothing about the return of "Mr. Perkins."

  Fortified by Barnes's promise to protect him if he followed theseinstructions, Peter consented to tell all that he knew about the peopleat Green Fancy. Whereupon his new employer informed the secret servicemen that he had gone up to Green Fancy that morning in response to anappeal from Peter Ames, who had applied to him for a position a day ortwo before. On his arrival there he confirmed the bewilderedchauffeur's story that the whole crowd had stolen away during thenight. He guaranteed to produce Peter at any time he was needed, andwas perfectly willing to discommode himself to the extent of leavingthe man behind if they insisted on holding him.

  The officers, after putting him through a rather rigid examination,held private consultation over Peter. To Barnes's surprise andsubsequent dismay, they announced that there was nothing to be gainedby holding the man; he was at liberty to depart with his employer,provided he would report when necessary.

  Barnes was some time in fathoming the motive behind this seemingindifference on the part of the secret service men. It came to him likea flash, and its significance stunned him. They had decided that therewas more to be gained by letting Peter Ames think he was abovesuspicion than by keeping him on the anxious seat. Peter unrestrainedwas of more value to them than Peter in durance vile. And from thatmoment forward there would not be an hour of the day or night when hewas far ahead of the shadower who followed his trail. There would be asly, invisible pursuer at his heels, and an eye ever ready to detectthe first false move that he made. They were counting on Peter to leadthem, in his own good time, to the haunts of his comrades. He could notescape. And he could make the fatal mistake of considering them a packof fools!

  Barnes, perceiving all this, was in a state of perturbation. He haddevised a very clever plan for getting Miss Cameron away from theTavern without attracting undue attention. She was to leave in one ofthe automobiles that he had engaged to convey the players to Crowndale.It should go without saying that she was to travel with him in Peter'sramshackle car. In case of detention or inquiry, she was to pose as astage-struck young woman who had obtained a place with the company atthe last moment through his influence.

  Mr. Rushcroft was not in the secret. Barnes merely announced that hewanted to give a charming young friend of the family a chance to seewhat she could do on the stage, and that he had taken the liberty ofsending for her. The star was magnanimous. He slapped Barnes on theback and declared that nothing could give him greater joy than totransform any friend of his into an actress, and he didn't give a hangwhether she had talent or not.

  "We'll write in a part for her to-night," he said, "and we'll make it asmall one at first, so that she won't have any difficulty in learningit. From night to night we'll build it up, Barnes, so that by the endof our first month your protegee practically will be a co-star with me.There's nothing mean about me, old chap. Any friend of yours can have--"

  Barnes made haste to explain that he did not want any one to know thatthis friend of the family was going on the stage, and that he would begreatly indebted to Rushcroft if he would keep "mum" about it for thetime being.

  "Certainly. Not a word. I understand," said Mr. Rushcroft amiably."I've had it happen before," he went on, a perfectly meaningless remarkthat brought a flush to Barnes's cheek.

  It had been Barnes's intention to spirit his charge away from Hart'sTavern under cover of darkness, in company with his other"responsibilities," but the fresh turn of affairs now presenteddifficulties that were likely to upset his hastily conceived strategy.He had but one purpose in view, and that was to spare her an unpleasantencounter with the government officials,--an encounter that conceivablymight result in very distressing complications. He had revealed hisplan to her and she apparently was very much taken with it,--indeed,she was quite enthusiastic over the prospect of being whiskedunceremoniously to Crowndale, and thence to the home of his sister inNew York City, where she could at once put herself in communicationwith friends and supporters.

  He was looking forward with dubious hopes to a possible extension ofhis guardianship, involving a voyage across the Atlantic and thetriumphant delivery of the Countess, so to speak, into the eager armsof her country's ambassador at Paris. He was now in a state of mindthat inspired him with the belief that it would be a joy to die forher. If he died for her, she would always remember him as a brave,devoted champion; she would exalt him; in her tender, grateful heartthere would always be a corner for him, even to the end of herdays,--even to the end of her days on the throne of her country'sruler. Far better that he should die for her,--and have it all overwith,--than that he should live to see her the wife of--But invariablyhe ceased dreaming at this point and admitted that it would beinfinitely more satisfying to live. It was his matter-of-factcontention that while there is life there is hope.

  When the hour came for the departure from Hart's Tavern he deliberatelyengaged the two secret service men in conversation in the tap-room.Miss Cameron left the house by the rear door and was safely ensconcedin Peter's automobile long before he shook hands with the"rat-catchers" and dashed out to join her. Tommy Gray's car, occupiedby the four players, was moving away from the door as he sprang inbeside her and slammed the door. The interior of the car was as blackas pitch.

  "Are you there?" he whispered.

  "Yes. Isn't it jolly, running away like this? It must be wonderfullyexciting to be a criminal, always dodging and--"

  "Sh! Even a limousine may have ears!"

  But if the limousine had possessed a thousand ears they would have beenrendered useless in the stormy racket made by Peter's muffler and thethunderous roar of the exhaust as the car got under way.

  Sixty miles lay between them and Crowndale. Tommy Gray guaranteed thatthe distance could be covered in three hours, even over the vilemountain roads. Ten o'clock would find them at the Grand Palace Hotel,none the worse for wear, provided (he always put it parenthetically)they lived to tell the tale! The luggage had gone on ahead of themearlier in the day.

  Peter's efforts to stay behind Tommy's venerable but surprisinglyenergetic Buick were the cause of many a gasp and shudder from thecouple who sat behind him in the bounding car. He had orders to keepback of Tommy but never to lose sight of his tail light.

  Peter was like the celebrated Tam O' Shanter. He was pursued byspectres. The instant that he discovered that he was lagging a trifle,he shot the car up to top speed, with the result that he had to jam onthe brakes violently in order to avoid crashing into Tommy's taillight, and at such times Miss Cameron and Barnes sustained unpleasantjars. Something seemed to be telling Peter that the law was stretchingout its cruel hand to clutch him from behind; he was determined
to keepout of its reach.

  There was small opportunity for conversation. The trip was not at allas Barnes had imagined it would be. After the car had raced throughHornville he decided that it was not necessary to keep Tommy's taillight in view, and so directed Peter. After that conversation waspossible, but the gain was counterbalanced by a distinct sense of loss.She relinquished her rather frenzied grasp upon his arm, and sank backinto the corner of the seat.

  "Oh, dear, what a relief!" she gasped.

  "What arrant stupidity," he growled, and she never knew that the remarkbore no relation whatsoever to Peter.

  He confessed his fears to her, and was immeasurably consoled by herenthusiastic scorn for the consequences of his mistake.

  "Let them follow poor old Peter," she said. "We will outwit them, neverfear. If necessary, Mr. Barnes, we can travel with the company for daysand days. I think I should rather enjoy it. If you can manage to getword to my friends in New York, to relieve their anxiety, I shall bemore than grateful. I am sure they will decide that you are acting forthe best in every particular. It would grieve them,--yes, it woulddistress them greatly,--if I were to be subjected to an inquiry at thehands of the authorities. The notoriety would be--harrowing, to say theleast. Moreover, the disclosures would certainly bring disaster uponthose who are working so loyally to right a grave wrong. They willunderstand, and they will thank you not only for all that you have donefor me but for the cause I support."

  "The first time I ever saw you, I said to myself that you were a brave,indomitable little soldier," he said warmly. "I am more than everconvinced of it now."

  "The men of my family have been soldiers for ten generations," she saidsimply, as if that covered everything. "They haven't all been heroesbut none of them has been a coward."

  "I can believe that," he said. "Blood will tell."

  "If God gives back my country to my people, Mr. Barnes," she said,after a long silence, "will you not one day make your way out there tous, so that we may present some fitting expression of the gratitude--"

  "Don't speak of gratitude," he exclaimed. "I don't want to be thanked.Good Lord, do you suppose I--"

  "There, there! Don't be angry," she cried. "But you must come to mycountry. You must see it. You will love it."

  "But suppose that God does not see fit to restore it to you. Supposethat he leaves it in the hands of the vandals. What then? Will you goback to--that?"

  She was still for a long time. "I shall not return to my country untilit is free again, Mr. Barnes," she said, and there was a break in hervoice.

  "You--you will remain in MY country?" he asked, leaning closer to herear.

  "The world is large," she replied. "I shall have to live somewhere. Itmay be here, it may be France, or England or Switzerland."

  "Why not here? You could go far and do worse."

  "Beggars may not be choosers. The homeless cannot be very particular,you know. If the Germans remain in my country, I shall be without ahome."

  His voice was tense and vibrant when he spoke again, after a moment'sreflection. "I know what O'Dowd would say if he were in my place."

  "O'Dowd has known me a great many years," she said. "When you haveknown me as many months as he has years, you will thank your lucky starthat you do not possess the affability that the gods have bestowed uponO'Dowd."

  "Don't be too sure of that," he said, and heard the little catch in herbreath. He found her hand and clasped it firmly. His lips were close toher ear. "I have known you long enough to--"

  "Don't!" she cried out sharply. "Don't say it now,--please. I couldlisten to O'Dowd, but--but you are different. He would forget byto-morrow, and I would forget even sooner than he. But it would not beso easy to forget if you were to say it,--it would not be easy foreither of us."

  "You are not offended?" he whispered hoarsely.

  "Why should I be offended? Are you not my protector?"

  The subtle implication in those words brought him to his senses. Was henot her protector? And was he not abusing the confidence she placed inhim?

  "I shall try to remember that,--always," he said abjectly.

  "Some day I shall tell you why I am glad you did not say it to meto-night," she said, a trifle unsteadily. She squeezed his hand. "Youare very good to me. I shall not forget that either."

  And she meant that some day she would confess to him that she was sotired, and lonely, and disconsolate on this journey to Crowndale, andso in need of the strength he could give, that she would havesurrendered herself gladly to the comfort of his arms, to the passionthat his touch aroused in her quickening blood!

  Soon after ten o'clock they entered the town of Crowndale and drew upbefore the unattractive portals of the Grand Palace Hotel. An arc lampswinging above the entrance shed a pitiless light upon the dreary,God-forsaken hostelry with the ironic name.

  Mr. Rushcroft was already at the desk, complaining bitterly ofeverything seen and unseen. As a matter of habit he was roaring abouthis room and, while he hadn't put so much as his nose inside of it, heinsisted on knowing what they meant by giving it to him. Mr. Bacon andMr. Dillingford were growling because there was no elevator to hoistthem two flights up, and Miss Thackeray was wanting to know WHY shecouldn't have a bit of supper served in her room.

  "They're all alike," announced Mr. Rushcroft despairingly, addressingthe rafters. He meant hotels in general.

  "They're all alike," vouchsafed the clerk in an aside to the "drummer"who leaned against the counter, meaning stage-folk in general.

  "You're both right," said the travelling salesman, who knew.

  "Is there a cafe in the neighbourhood?" inquired Barnes, with authority.

  "There's a rest'rant in the next block," replied the clerk, instantlyimpressed. Here was one who obviously was not "alike." "A two-minutes'walk, Mr.--" (looking at the register)--"Mr. Barnes."

  "That's good. We will have supper in Miss Thackeray's room. Let me haveyour pencil, please. Send over and have them fill this order inside oftwenty minutes." He handed what he had written to the blinking clerk."For eight persons. Tell 'em to hurry it along."

  "Maybe they're closed for the night," said the clerk. "And besides--"

  "My God! He even hesitates to get food for us when--" began Mr.Rushcroft.

  "Besides there's only one waiter on at night and he couldn't get off, Iguess. And besides it's against the rules of this house to serve drinksin a lady's--"

  "You tell that waiter to close up when he comes over here with whatI've ordered, and tell him that I will pay double for everything, andto-morrow morning you can tell the proprietor of this house that webroke the rules to-night."

  For the first time in her life Miss Tilly sat down to a meal served bya member of her late profession. She sat on the edge of MissThackeray's bed and held a chicken sandwich in one hand and a fullglass of beer in the other. Be it said to the credit of her forebears,she did not take even so much as a sip from the glass, but sevensandwiches, two slices of cold ham, half a box of sardines, a plate ofpotato salad, a saucer of Boston baked beans, two hardboiled eggs, apiece of apple pie and two cups of coffee passed her freshly carminedlips. She was in her seventh heaven. She was no longer dreaming offame: it was a gay reality. Emulating the example of Miss Thackeray,she addressed Mr. Dillingford as "dear," and came near to being thecause of his death by strangulation.

  Miss Cameron submitted to the contagion. She had had no such dreams asMiss Tilly's, but she was quite as thrilled by the novelty of hersurroundings, the informality of the feast, and the sprightliness ofthese undaunted spirits. She sat on Miss Thackeray's trunk, her backagainst the wall, her bandaged foot resting on a decrepit suit-case.Her eyes were sparkling, her lips ever ready to part in the joy oflaughter, the colour leaping into her cheeks in response to the amazingquips of these unconventional vagabonds.

  She too was hungry. Food had never tasted so good to her. From time totime her soft, smiling eyes sought Barnes with a look of mingled wonderand confusion. She always laughed when she cau
ght the expression ofconcern in his eyes, and once she slyly winked at him. He was entranced.

  He crossed over and sat beside her. "They are a perfectly irresponsiblelot," he said in a low voice. "I hope you don't mind their--er--levity."

  "I love it," she whispered. "They are an inspiration. One would thinkthat they had never known such a thing as trouble. I am taking lessons,Mr. Barnes."

  She was still warmly conscious of the thrill that had come into herblood when he carried her up the stairs in his powerful arms,disdaining the offer of assistance from the suddenly infatuated TommyGray.

  "Rehearsal at eleven sharp," announced Mr. Rushcroft, arising from thewindow-sill on which he was seated. "Letter perfect, every one of you.No guessing. By the way, Miss--er--'pon my soul, I don't believe I gotyour name?"

  "Jones," said the new member, shamelessly.

  "Ah," said he, smiling broadly, "a word oft spoken in jest--ahem!--howdoes it go? No matter. You know what I mean. I have not had time towrite in the part for you, Miss Jones, but I shall do so the firstthing in the morning. Now that I see how difficult it is for you to getaround, I have hit upon a wonderful idea. I shall make it a sittingpart. You won't have to do anything with your legs at all. Mostbeginners declare that they don't know what to do with their hands, butI maintain that they know less about what to do with their legs.Fortunately you are incapacitated--"

  "Perhaps it would be just as well to excuse Miss Jones from rehearsalin the morning," broke in Barnes hastily. "She is hardly fit to--"

  "Just as you say, old chap. Doesn't matter in the least. Good night,everybody. Sleep tight."

  "I sha'n't sleep a wink," said Miss Tilly.

  "Homesick already?" demanded Mr. Bacon, fixing her with a pitying stare.

  "Worrying over my part," she explained.

  "Haven't you committed it yet? Say it now. 'It is half past seven, mylord.' All you have to do is to remember that it comes in the secondact and not in the first or third."

  "Good night," said Miss Cameron, giving her hand to Barnes at the door.She was leaning on Miss Thackeray's arm. He never was to forget thedeep, searching look she sent into his eyes. She seemed to be asking athousand questions.

  He went down to the dingy lobby. A single, half-hearted electric bulbshed its feeble light on the desk, in front of which stood a manregistering under the sleepy eye of the night clerk.

  After the late arrival had started upstairs in the wake of the clerk,Barnes stepped up to inspect the book. The midnight express from thenorth did not stop at Crowndale, he had learned upon inquiry, and itwas the only train touching the town between nightfall and dawn.

  The register bore the name of Thomas Moore, Hornville. There was notthe slightest doubt in Barnes's mind that this was the man who had beendetailed to shadow the luckless Peter. Only an imperative demand bygovernment authorities could have brought about the stopping of theexpress at Hornville and later on at Crowndale.

  Barnes smiled grimly. "I've just thought of a way to fool you, myfriend," he said to himself, and was turning away when a familiar voiceassailed him.

  Whirling, he looked into the face of a man who stood almost at hiselbow,--the sharp, impassive face of Mr. Sprouse.