CHAPTER IX.
THE ROYSTERERS.
"Get the mail, Indigo."
The letters made a goodly heap on the salver, but Harry Arnold siftedthem over with an air of dissatisfaction. One cream-colored envelope,superscribed in a dainty hand, he laid apart. The rest he tore open andtossed into Indigo's lap, as if they were duns, invitations and othersuch formal matters.
"Drop a line apiece to these bores," he said to his valet, with a yawn.Like the whole tribe of the unoccupied, he was too busy to answerletters.
"Where's Aladdin?"
"Grazing in the paddock."
"Did you get the roses for Miss March?"
"Two dozen Marechal Neils."
"I want some paper for a note to go with them. Mother's prompt," headded, opening the letter he had reserved, while Indigo went on hiserrand. It was headed "Hillsborough," and ran as follows:
"Dear Harry: It is a pleasure to be in our old summer home again, especially after the trying day I spent in that courtroom. The orchards are no longer in bloom, and the pear tree in the angle (your favorite), which was just a great pyramid of snowy blossoms when we arrived last year, is now budding with fruit. These things remind me how late the season has begun this year. Do not prolong it too far, Harry, dear. I am sure, after your illness, the mere sight of the open fields would do you good. Woodlawn is suburban, but it is not real country. Besides, we are only twenty miles out and you could ride in town in an hour whenever you liked.
"Be assured you shall have the money for your club expenses as soon as I can collect it. But property has its embarrassments, you know; and we may be rich in bonds and indentures, yet lack ready pennies at times, strange as it may seem to your inexperience. Do not worry, dear. In your present delicate state of health it may injure you more than I care to think. The very next time I come to town you shall have what you desire. But I make my own terms. You must be a good boy and come to Hillsborough for it. Forgive my writing so soon. I have been thinking of you, and it surely cannot displease you to hear once more how dearly you are remembered, wherever she goes, by your loving mother,
"ALICE BREWSTER ARNOLD."
"Once more! No, nor a thousand times more!" cried Harry. "But I wishshe'd come down sooner with the cash," he added. "What's this?Postscript?"
"Your friends, the Marches, have taken their cottage in Lenox. Possiblythis may hasten your coming more than my entreaties."
"Jealous of Rosalie, already," laughed Harry. "Poor mother! What,another?"
"P. S. (Private)--It would be wise, Harry, if you should call upon your cousin. A visit from you would look well at this time."
"A call on Rob? Gad, I never thought of that. Give me the stationery,Indigo."
For five minutes Harry Arnold was alone, writing his prettiest note ofcompliment to accompany the gift of flowers to Miss Rosalie March. Hehad just moistened the mucilage when there came a ring at the bell.
"See if that's the fellows, Indigo. Look through the shutters."
"It's Kennedy," said Indigo, twisting his neck and eyes so as to get aslanting view of the callers.
"Who else?"
"Idler and Sunburst."
"Let them up."
"Well, Harry," cried the first of the three bloods, extending a hand,"what's the tempo of your song this morning?"
"Allegro, vivace, vivacissimo, Idler. Convalescing; doctor says I may goout; mother agreeable; medicine chest thrown to the dogs. Have a pill;only a few more left."
"Hello!" cried the fragile youth who had entered last. "Miss RosalieMarch!" He picked up the envelope which Harry had laid down. "Sits thewind in that quarter still, Horatio?"
"The actress, Harry?" cried a second of the trio.
"What actress, you booby? Miss March isn't an actress."
"Nevertheless, she occasionally acts," retorted Sunburst. His yellowbeard entitled him to this alias.
"Just the opposite, then, of her brother, Tristram," said the tall,sallow youth addressed as Idler. "He is a sculptor, but he never sculps.Did you see his alto-relievo of a Druid's head in the Art club? Capitalstudy. Why in the deuce doesn't he work?"
"If he did he might get his goods on the market," said Kennedy.
"Out on you for a Philistine, a dunderhead!" cried Harry. "Do youconfound genius with salability? Idler could correct you on that point.You remember his satire on 'The Religious Significance of Umbrellas inChina?' Was anything ever more daringly conceived, more wittilyexecuted, more--but I spare the shades of Addison and Lamb. And how muchdid it fetch him? A paltry $15."
Idler was the only one of these well-born good-for-naughts who everturned his gifts to use. Sketches over the sobriquet by which he wasknown to his friends occasionally appeared in the lighter magazines.
"But my 'New Broom' made a clean sweep, Harry," he protested.
"Murder," groaned Harry. "He had that in for us. A prepared joke isdetestable. It's like bottled spring water."
"Hang spring water!" said Idler. "Hang water anyway!"
"Indigo," cried Harry, jumping at the hint, "fetch us some very weakwhey from the spa. Let's have a real old high jinks of a slambang bustto celebrate my convalescence. Hello! What's that?"
The wild wail of a bagpipe smote the air and the four boon companionsrushed to the window.
"Have him in!"
"Yoho!"
"Here, Sawnie!"
"He's coming."
Indigo and the piper entered from opposite doors at about the same time,the former fetching the "whey," which had a suspiciously reddish hue andwas served in narrow bottles, the latter arrayed in all the bravery ofhis plaids, with a little boy by his side in similar costume.
"Hit her up, Sawnie," cried Kennedy.
"Let him wet his whistle first," said the Sunburst.
"And here's a handsel to cross his palm," added Harry, passing the pipersomething invisible. The minstrel pocketed it with an awkward bow anddrank down the proffered "whey" at one gulp.
"I'll be reminding you, gentlemen," he said in "braid Scots," "lest yelabor under a misapprehension of my cognomen, that my name is notSawnie, but Duncan McKenzie Logan, and this is my wee bairn, ArchibaldCampbell of that ilk. We're half-lowland, as ye doubtless know, theLogans being a border clan."
"Why don't you make the youngster blow the bellows?" cried Idler. "Theorgan-player never does the pumping."
"I'm no organ-player, if you please. 'Tis the hieland pipes I play, andthere's no blowing the bellows except with my ain mouth. But the laddiedances prettily. Show your steps, Archie. Show the gentlemen a fling.Ainblins they've never seen the like of it before."
Archie was as highland as his father in rig, from his jaunty featheredbonnet to the kilt just reaching below his bare, brown knees. His firmboyish face had a Scotch prettiness in it, nothing effeminate, yet sweetto look at, and he went through the steps of the highland flinggracefully, one hand on hip, the other over his head, reversing them nowand then, and occasionally spinning around, while the piper struck up"Roy's Wife." The conclusion was greeted with a burst of applause.
"Can't we dance to that tune, boys?" shouted Harry, seizing Kennedyaround the waist. "Choose your partners. Give us a Tarantella."
"There's nae such tune in the hielands," said the piper, gravely.
"Well, the skirt dance will do. Hit her up and I'll make you a presentbig enough to buy all your aunts and cousins porridge for a fortnight."
"There's nae skeert dance known to my pipes," said the highlander,shaking his head. "Dinna ye mean the sword dance?"
"Try 'Highland Laddie'," suggested Idler, hitting up a lively jig on thepiano. The piper fell in and soon was pacing up and down the room, redin the face from his exertions, while the four merrymakers capered,kicked and skipped, with all sorts of offhand juvenilities. Harry,though the tallest present, was graceful as a girl.
"Hold up, fellows," cried the Sunburst, at last, puffing audibly. Butt
he piper continued pacing up and down, forgetting everything in thefurore of his enthusiasm except the moaning and shrieking of hisinstrument.
"Hold up, I say. Shut off your infernal drone. We can't hear ourselvesthink."
"'Tis the wind wailing on Craig-Ellachie I hear," said he of theCaledonian names.
"I think it's delirium tremens. Take a nip of the whey. That'll cureyou. Here, Indigo, tap the geyser again for Sawnie."
Logan was not the man to set up frivolous punctilios against such anorder as Idler's.
"There's medicine for the inner mon," he said, smacking his lips withgusto.
"Medicinal, eh? If you happen to take an overdose it's a medicinalspree, I suppose."
"I say, isn't tomorrow the Fourth?" cried Sunburst. "Play somethingpatriotic, Sawnie, 'Hull's Victory,' or 'Lady Washington's Reel.'"
"There's nane o' them known to me or my instrument," said the minstrel."It's a Scotch pipe and will play nane but the auld tunes of Scotland."
"Scotland! What's Scotland?" asked Idler.
"Wha--can it be ye never heard tell o' bonnie Scotland?" gasped thehighlander, who was nearing the condition which Idler had described asa "medicinal spree."
"What is it, a man or a place? Did you ever meet the name before,fellows?"
All three solemnly shook their heads, whereat the Caledonian's jawdropped in amazement.
"Wull, wull, I knew 'twas a most barbarous country I entered, but I'dthought the least enlightened peoples of the airth had heard of theglory and the celebrity of bonnie Scotland."
"Bonnie Scotland? Is Bonnie his first name?"
"Why, 'tis the country o' Scotland, I mean."
"Oh, I know," interposed Harry; "that little, barren, outlying provincesomewhere to the north of England."
"Oh, that!" cried the others, in contemptuous chorus.
"Where the coast line gets ragged, like an old beggar's coat," saidIdler.
"And the people live on haggis and finnan haddie," added Kennedy.
"They are mostly exiles of Erin that have drifted back into barbarism,"cried the Sunburst.
"Yes, that's the place," said Harry. "I've heard travelers tell of it. Ibelieve it's put down in the latest gazetteer."
Poor Logan looked like a stifling man, but before he could launch hisreply the long-drawn tones of a rival troubadour invaded the apartment.Once more the four roysterers rushed to the window.
"It's a dago!"
"Ahoy!" they signaled, waving their hands.
"Open the door for him, Indigo," cried Harry.
"Did you ever hear tell o' such savages, Archie?" whispered the piper tohis son; "that had no enlightenment on the name o' bonnie Scotland,which is famous wherever valor and minstrelsy are honored."
"They maun be jestin', daddy."
"Jestin'? Tut, tut! Whaur's the jest?"
"Presto bellisimo, Paganini," cried the four youths, each rushing to thedoor and welcoming the organ-grinder, with a warm shake-hands. TheItalian smiled profusely and doffed his cap, his monkey climbing to theorgan top and imitating him in every gesture.
"Tune up your bagpipes, Sawnie," cried Harry. "We are going to have atournament. Take a smell, Paganini?"
"Noa," answered the Italian, shaking his head, "noa drink--a."
"Then you're a bigger fool than you look," cried Idler, stumblingtipsily. "(Hic) I'm losing control of my curves."
"What tunes have you got in that box?" asked Harry of the organ-grinder,while Logan eyed him grimly with a look of scorn.
"What-a sing-a? 'Anni Runi.'"
"That will do. Grind away. Hold on. Get a full breath, Sawnie. Now for amedley."
The organ-grinder began turning his crank, but the Scotchman sulked inthe corner.
"Stop there, Paganini. False start. Try again."
"I'll accompany nae uncivilized barrel-box, that's only fit to dandleidiot bairns wi'."
"What are you talking about?" cried Idler. "Uncivilized! You wildman ofthe hills! A red outlaw in his war paint couldn't look and act moreoutlandish than you do."
"Smooth him down, Harry," cried Sunburst. "Here, Sawnie, how much willyou take for your pipes?"
"Enough to buy me them back again," answered the Scotchman, cannily,"and a bonus for the time o' their privation."
"You'll do," said Idler.
"Have another nip of the whey and let's hear you drown the dago,"whispered Harry, confidentially, patting Logan on the back.
"Drown him? 'Twad na tak' a big puddle to do that."
"Of course not. But he's vain enough to think just the opposite. A goodswig! Start her up now."
Idler drummed on the piano a few bars of "Scots Wha Ha'e," which set thepiper marching and stamping again. At a nod from Harry the bowingItalian resumed his tune, and when the four carousers took hands in acircle and began chanting "Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot," the airwas infernal with discord.
"Faster! Faster!" cried Harry. The Scotchman pranced in his industriousecstasy, while the Italian put both hands to the organ-crank and turnedfor all that was in him.
"Oh, a smile for my Rosalie!" shouted Kennedy, maliciously, changing theair.
"None of that!" cried Harry, barely making his voice heard above thedin. The little boy sitting in one corner had clapped both palms overhis ears, and the monkey, watching his gesture, gravely climbed up andperched beside him, doing likewise.
"A kiss for my Rosalie," roared Kennedy, tantalizing his host.Half-angry, Harry caught up a wine bottle from the tray and pointed itat his tormentor.
"Pop!" the cork flew out and Kennedy put his hand to his eye with anexclamation of pain.
"Hello! What have I done?" cried Harry.
"Didn't know it was loaded," jeered Idler. But the concert had stopped,and when Kennedy uncovered his eye there was a blue swelling alreadyunder the lid.
"A surgeon!" cried Sunburst. "Amputate his head. It is the only hope ofsaving the eye."
"What's good for a black eye?" asked Harry, less unfeelingly than theothers.
"Black the other for symmetry," cried Sunburst.
"Get some beefsteak, Indigo," said Harry.
"Kill the Jersey cow, Indigo, and cut off a sirloin," mocked Idler, whowas half-seas over now. Meanwhile the Scotchman and the Italian,counting their emoluments, had folded their instruments and silentlystolen away; while Sunburst, apparently as porous as a sponge, calmlyand steadily put the bottle Harry had popped to his lips and drained itto the dregs.
The Incendiary: A Story of Mystery Page 9