Alone in her stateroom after signing the agreement, she wondered what he would think of her. She owed him so much that she at least should have stood by him. She felt that he would be conscious of this? How could she have turned against him? He would not understand—of course he would never understand. And he would hate her with the others—more than the others. It was all a wretched muddle and she could not see her way out of it.
Monty found his guests very difficult. They listened to his plans with but little interest, and he could not but see that they were uncomfortable. The situation was new to their experience, and they were under a strain. “They mope around like a lot of pouting boys and girls,” he growled to himself. “But it’s the North Cape now in spite of everything. I don’t care if the whole crowd deserts me, my mind is made up.”
Try as he would, he could not see Peggy alone. He had much that he wanted to say to her and he hungered for the consolation her approval would bring him, but she clung to Pettingill with a tenacity that was discouraging. The old feeling of jealousy that was connected with Como again disturbed him.
“She thinks that I am a hopeless, brainless idiot,” he said to himself. “And I don’t blame her, either.”
Just before nightfall he noticed that his friends were assembling in the bow. As he started to join the group “Subway” Smith and DeMille advanced to meet him. Some of the others were smiling a little sheepishly, but the two men were pictures of solemnity and decision.
“Monty,” said DeMille steadily, “we have been conspiring against you and have decided that we sail for New York tomorrow morning.”
Brewster stopped short and the expression on his face was one they never could forget. Bewilderment, uncertainty and pain succeeded each other like flashes of light. Not a word was spoken for several seconds. The red of humiliation slowly mounted to his cheeks, while in his eyes wavered the look of one who has been hunted down.
“You have decided?” he asked lifelessly, and more than one heart went out in pity to him.
“We hated to do it, Monty, but for your own sake there was no other way,” said “Subway” Smith quickly. “We took a vote and there wasn’t a dissenting voice.” “It is a plain case of mutiny, I take it,” said Monty, utterly alone and heart-sick.
“It isn’t necessary to tell you why we have taken this step,” said DeMille. “It is heart-breaking to oppose you at this stage of the game. You’ve been the best ever and—”
“Cut that,” cried Monty, and his confidence in himself was fast returning. “This is no time to throw bouquets.”
“We like you, Brewster.” Mr. Valentine came to the chairman’s assistance because the others had looked at him so appealingly. “We like you so well that we can’t take the responsibility for your extravagance. It would disgrace us all.”
“That side of the matter was never mentioned,” cried Peggy indignantly, and then added with a catch in her voice, “We thought only of you.”
“I appreciate your motives and I am grateful to you,” said Monty. “I am more sorry than I can tell you that the cruise must end in this way, but I too have decided. The yacht will take you to some point where you can catch a steamer to New York. I shall secure passage for the entire party and very soon you will be at home. Captain Perry, will you oblige me by making at once for any port that my guests may agree upon?” He was turning away deliberately when “Subway” Smith detained him.
“What do you mean by getting a steamer to New York? Isn’t the ‘Flitter’ good enough?” he asked.
“The ‘Flitter’ is not going to New York just now,” answered Brewster firmly, “notwithstanding your ultimatum. She is going to take me to the North Cape.”
CHAPTER XXVII
A FAIR TRAITOR
“Now will you be good?” cried Reggie Vanderpool to DeMille as Monty went down the companionway. The remark was precisely what was needed, for the pent-up feelings of the entire company were now poured forth upon the unfortunate young man. “Subway” Smith was for hanging him to the yard arm, and the denunciation of the others was so decisive that Reggie sought refuge in the chart house. But the atmosphere had been materially cleared and the leaders of the mutiny were in a position to go into executive session and consider the matter. The women waited on deck while the meeting lasted. They were unanimous in the opinion that the affair had been badly managed.
“They should have offered to stay by the ship providing Monty would let DeMille manage the cruise,” said Miss Valentine. “That would have been a concession and at the same time it would have put the cruise on an economical basis.”
“In other words, you will accept a man’s invitation to dinner if he will allow you to order it and invite the other guests,” said Peggy, who was quick to defend Monty.
“Well that would be better than helping to eat up every bit of food he possessed.” But Miss Valentine always avoided argument when she could and gave this as a parting thrust before she walked away.
“There must be something more than we know about in Monty’s extravagance,” said Mrs. Dan. “He isn’t the kind of man to squander his last penny without having something left to show for it. There must be a method in his madness.”
“He has done it for us,” said Peggy. “He has devoted himself all along to giving us a good time and now we are showing our gratitude.”
Further discussion was prevented by the appearance of the conspiring committee and the whole company was summoned to hear DeMille’s report as chairman.
“We have found a solution of our difficulties,” he began, and his manner was so jubilant that every one became hopeful. “It is desperate, but I think it will be effective. Monty has given us the privilege of leaving the yacht at any port where we can take a steamer to New York. Now, my suggestion is that we select the most convenient place for all of us, and obviously there is nothing quite so convenient as Boston.”
“Dan DeMille, you are quite foolish,” cried his wife. “Who ever conceived such a ridiculous idea?”
“Captain Perry has his instructions,” continued DeMille, turning to the captain. “Are we not acting along the lines marked out by Brewster himself?”
“I will sail for Boston if you say the word,” said the thoughtful captain. “But he is sure to countermand such an order.”
“He won’t be able to, captain,” cried “Subway” Smith, who had for some time been eager to join in the conversation. “This is a genuine, dyed-in-the-wool mutiny and we expect to carry out the original plan, which was to put Mr. Brewster in irons, until we are safe from all opposition.”
“He is my friend, Mr. Smith, and at least it is my duty to protect him from any indignity,” said the captain, stiffly.
“You make for Boston, my dear captain, and we’ll do the rest,” said DeMille. “Mr. Brewster can’t countermand your orders unless he sees you in person. We’ll see to it that he has no chance to talk to you until we are in sight of Boston Harbor.”
The captain looked doubtful and shook his head as he walked away. At heart he was with the mutineers and his mind was made up to assist them as long as it was possible to do so without violating his obligations to Brewster. He felt guilty, however, in surreptitiously giving the order to clear for Boston at daybreak. The chief officers were let into the secret, but the sailors were kept in darkness regarding the destination of the “Flitter.”
Montgomery Brewster’s guests were immensely pleased with the scheme, although they were dubious about the outcome. Mrs. Dan regretted her hasty comment on the plan and entered into the plot with eagerness. In accordance with plans decided upon by the mutineers, Monty’s stateroom door was guarded through the night by two of the men. The next morning as he emerged from his room, he was met by “Subway” Smith and Dan DeMille.
“Good morning,” was his greeting. “How’s the weather today?”
“Bully,” answered DeMille. “By the way, you are going to have breakfast in your room, old man.”
Brewster unsuspectingly led t
he way into his stateroom, the two following.
“What’s the mystery?” he demanded.
“We’ve been deputized to do some very nasty work,” said “Subway,” as he turned the key in the door. “We are here to tell you what port we have chosen.”
“It’s awfully good of you to tell me.”
“Yes, isn’t it? But we have studied up on the chivalrous treatment of prisoners. We have decided on Boston.”
“Is there a Boston on this side of the water?” asked Monty in mild surprise.
“No; there is only one Boston in the universe, so far as we know. It is a large body of intellect surrounded by the rest of the world.”
“What the devil are you talking about? You don’t mean Boston, Massachusetts?” cried Monty, leaping to his feet.
“Precisely. That’s the port for us and you told us to choose for ourselves,” said Smith.
“Well, I won’t have it, that’s all,” exclaimed Brewster, indignantly. “Captain Perry takes orders from me and from no one else.”
“He already has his orders,” said DeMille, smiling mysteriously.
“I’ll see about that.” Brewster sprang to the door. It was locked and the key was in “Subway” Smith’s pocket. With an impatient exclamation he turned and pressed an electric button.
“It won’t ring, Monty,” explained “Subway.” “The wire has been cut. Now, be cool for a minute or two and we’ll talk it over.”
Brewster stormed for five minutes, the “delegation” sitting calmly by, smiling with exasperating confidence. At last he calmed down and in terms of reason demanded an explanation. He was given to understand that the yacht would sail for Boston and that he would be kept a prisoner for the entire voyage unless he submitted to the will of the majority.
Brewster listened darkly to the proclamation. He saw that they had gained the upper hand by a clever ruse, and that only strategy on his part could outwit them. It was out of the question for him to submit to them now that the controversy had assumed the dignity of a struggle.
“But you will be reasonable, won’t you?” asked DeMille, anxiously.
“I intend to fight it out to the bitter end,” said Brewster, his eyes flashing. “At present I am your prisoner, but it is a long way to Boston.”
For three days and two nights the “Flitter” steamed westward into the Atlantic, with her temporary owner locked into his stateroom. The confinement was irksome, but he rather liked the sensation of being interested in something besides money. He frequently laughed to himself over the absurdity of the situation. His enemies were friends, true and devoted; his gaolers were relentless but they were considerate. The original order that he should be guarded by one man was violated on the first day. There were times when his guard numbered at least ten persons and some of them served tea and begged him to listen to reason.
“It is difficult not to listen,” he said fiercely. “It’s like holding a man down and then asking him to be quiet. But my time is coming.”
“Revenge will be his!” exclaimed Mrs. Dan, tragically.
“You might have your term shortened on account of good conduct if you would only behave,” suggested Peggy, whose reserve was beginning to soften. “Please be good and give in.”
“I haven’t been happier during the whole cruise,” said Monty. “On deck I wouldn’t be noticed, but here I am quite the whole thing. Besides I can get out whenever I feel like it.”
“I have a thousand dollars which says you can’t,” said DeMille, and Monty snapped him up so eagerly that he added, “that you can’t get out of your own accord.”
Monty acceded to the condition and offered odds on the proposition to the others, but there were no takers.
“That settles it,” he smiled grimly to himself. “I can make a thousand dollars by staying here and I can’t afford to escape.”
On the third day of Monty’s imprisonment the “Flitter” began to roll heavily. At first he gloated over the discomfort of his guards, who obviously did not like to stay below. “Subway” Smith and Bragdon were on duty and neither was famous as a good sailor. When Monty lighted his pipe there was consternation and “Subway” rushed on deck.
“You are a brave man, Joe,” Monty said to the other and blew a cloud of smoke in his direction. “I knew you would stick to your post. You wouldn’t leave it even if the ship should go down.”
Bragdon had reached the stage where he dared not speak and was busying himself trying to “breathe with the motion of the boat,” as he had called it.
“By Gad,” continued Monty, relentlessly, “this smoke is getting thick. Some of this toilet water might help if I sprinkled it about.”
One whiff of the sweet-smelling cologne was enough for Bragdon and he bolted up the companionway, leaving the stateroom door wide open and the prisoner free to go where he pleased. Monty’s first impulse was to follow, but he checked himself on the threshold.
“Damn that bet with DeMille,” he said to himself, and added aloud to the fleeting guard, “The key, Joe, I dare you to come back and get it!”
But Bragdon was beyond recall and Monty locked the door on the inside and passed the key through the ventilator.
On deck a small part of the company braved the spray in the lee of the deck house, but the others had long since gone below. The boat was pitching furiously in the ugliest sea it had encountered, and there was anxiety underneath Captain Perry’s mask of unconcern. DeMille and Dr. Lotless talked in the senseless way men have when they try to conceal their nervousness. But the women did not respond; they were in no mood for conversation.
Only one of them was quite oblivious to personal discomfort and danger. Peggy Gray was thinking of the prisoner below. In a reflection of her own terror, she pictured him crouching in the little state-room, like a doomed criminal awaiting execution, alone, neglected, forgotten, unpitied. At first she pleaded for the men for his release, but they insisted upon waiting in the hope that a scare might bring him to his senses. Peggy saw that no help was to be secured from the other women, much as they might care for Brewster’s peace of mind and safety. Her heart was bitter toward every one responsible for the situation, and there was dark rebellion in her soul. It culminated finally in a resolve to release Monty Brewster at any cost.
With difficulty she made her way to the stateroom door, clinging to supports at times and then plunging violently away from them. For some minutes she listened, frantically clutching Brewster’s door and the wall-rail. There was no guard, and the tumult of the sea drowned every sound within. Her imagination ran riot when her repeated calls were not answered.
“Monty, Monty,” she cried, pounding wildly on the door.
“Who is it? What is the trouble?” came in muffled tones from within, and Peggy breathed a prayer of thanks. Just then she discovered the key which Monty had dropped and quickly opened the door, expecting to find him cowering with fear. But the picture was different. The prisoner was seated on the divan, propped up with many pillows and reading with the aid of an electric light “The Intrusions of Peggy.”
CHAPTER XXVIII
A CATASTROPHE
“Oh!” was Peggy’s only exclamation, and there was a shadow of disappointment in her eyes.
“Come in, Peggy, and I’ll read aloud,” was Monty’s cheerful greeting as he stood before her.
“No, I must go,” said Peggy, confusedly. “I thought you might be nervous about the storm—and—”
“And you came to let me out?” Monty had never been so happy.
“Yes, and I don’t care what the others say. I thought you were suffering—” But at that moment the boat gave a lurch which threw her across the threshold into Monty’s arms. They crashed against the wall, and he held her a moment and forgot the storm. When she drew away from him she showed him the open door and freedom. She could not speak.
“Where are the others?” he asked, bracing himself in the doorway.
“Oh, Monty,” she cried, “we must not go to them. The
y will think me a traitor.”
“Why were you a traitor, Peggy?” he demanded, turning toward her suddenly.
“Oh—oh, because it seemed so cruel to keep you locked up through the storm,” she answered, blushing.
“And there was no other reason?” he persisted.
“Don’t, please don’t!” she cried piteously, and he misunderstood her emotion. It was clear that she was merely sorry for him.
“Never mind, Peggy, it’s all right. You stood by me and I’ll stand by you. Come on; we’ll face the mob and I’ll do the fighting.”
Together they made their way into the presence of the mutineers, who were crowded into the main cabin.
“Well, here’s a conspiracy,” cried Dan DeMille, but there was no anger in his voice. “How did you escape? I was just thinking of unlocking your door, Monty, but the key seemed to be missing.”
Peggy displayed it triumphantly.
“By Jove,” cried Dan. “This is rank treachery. Who was on guard?”
A steward rushing through the cabin at this moment in answer to frantic calls from Bragdon furnished an eloquent reply to the question.
“It was simple,” said Monty. “The guards deserted their post and left the key behind.”
“Then it is up to me to pay you a thousand dollars.”
“Not at all,” protested Monty, taken aback. “I did not escape of my own accord. I had help. The money is yours. And now that I am free,” he added quietly, “let me say that this boat does not go to Boston.”
“Just what I expected,” cried Vanderpool.
“She’s going straight to New York!” declared Monty. The words were hardly uttered when a heavy sea sent him sprawling across the cabin, and he concluded, “or to the bottom.”
“Not so bad as that,” said Captain Perry, whose entrance had been somewhat hastened by the lurch of the boat. “But until this blows over I must keep you below.” He laughed, but he saw they were not deceived. “The seas are pretty heavy and the decks are being holystoned for nothing, but I wouldn’t like to have any of you washed overboard by mistake.”
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories Page 16