The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories

by George Barr McCutcheon

  There was not a waver in the clear brown eyes, nor a quiver in her voice as she replied. Instead, there was a flicker indicating injured pride, followed by the sweetest, tenderest smile that he ever had seen on her face.

  “Dear old Hugh! Did I not tell you that I would go to the end of the world with you?”

  “But we may go to the bottom of the sea,” he interposed, seizing her hands, his face lighting up gladly.

  “Then I shall go to the bottom of the sea with you. I never have felt the faintest desire to turn back. It has been my greatest happiness to think that some day we shall reach Manila, where our dear adventure may have its second and most delightful epoch. Would I turn back? Would you?” She looked divinely happy as she answered her first triumphant question with the second.

  And so they sailed again.

  As on their first voyage, their staterooms adjoined. Passage and accommodation had been booked for H.B. Ridge and Miss Ridge, Chicago, U.S.A.

  The following morning, Grace was awakened by a rattling at her stateroom door.

  “How are you feeling?” called a well-known voice rather anxiously.

  “Quite well, thank you. Is it time to get up?”

  “I should say so, Sis.”

  “All right; in ten minutes.” As she set her feet upon the floor she observed a tendency on their part to touch twice before settling finally. A momentary dizziness came over her. She closed her eyes quickly and waited a moment before reopening them. Suddenly Hugh’s photograph, which was leaning against her hat on the steamer trunk, ducked slowly toward her as if bowing a polite good-morning, and then fell face downward. Miss Vernon rubbed her eyes and stared at the overturned picture for a full minute before resuming her toilet. Then she laughed nervously and made all haste to get on deck. She was one of the few women who dress quickly and yet look well. Attired in a becoming gown, a jaunty cap, checked raincoat and rough brown gloves, she ventured forth expecting to find Hugh waiting for her. At the same time she was thanking her lucky stars that no longer need she fear the authorities.

  Slightly dismayed and a little bewildered, she looked to the right and left, trying to remember which stateroom Hugh occupied. The left, she concluded, and forthwith applied her pretty knuckles to the panel; vigorously. The door flew open, almost taking her breath, and a tall, dark man stood before her, but he was not Hugh Ridgeway. He looked askance in a very polite way.

  “I beg your pardon,” she stammered in confusion. “I have made a mistake. This isn’t Mr.—my brother’s room, is it? Oh, dear, how absurd of me.” She was turning away as she concluded.

  “Can I be of service to you?” asked the stranger, stepping forth. He had a very pleasant voice, but she did not remark it at the time.

  “No, I thank you,” she hastily replied. “His room is on my right, I remember. Sorry if I disturbed you,” and she was pounding on the other door. She glanced back at the stranger’s door involuntarily and then away instantly. He was staring at her in a most uncalled-for manner.

  And Hugh did not answer! She rapped again and—no response. The calm voice of the stranger came to her reddening ears.

  “The gentleman who occupies that room just passed me, going on deck. Straight ahead. That’s right.” He called the last injunction after her swiftly departing form.

  “Thank you,” came back to him with a breath between the words. Hugh met her at the bottom of the steps. She rushed recklessly toward him and cried,

  “Oh, you don’t know how glad I am to see you. Where have you been, Hugh Ridgeway—”

  “Sh! Ridge without the ‘way.’ For Heaven’s sake, don’t forget that. It’s every bit as important on this ship as on the other. I’ve been on deck for a look. Say, are you all right? Are you still glad you’re alive?” He was holding her hands and looking into her eyes.

  “Of course I am. What a ridiculous question! None but the good die young, and I’m not very good or I wouldn’t be running away with you. But come,—take me on deck. Is it raining? Why, your coat is wet. Hurry, Hugh; I want to take a good look,” she cried, dragging him up the steps hilariously. A peculiar smile came to his face as he followed her to the deck.

  Neither spoke for a full minute, she gazing dumbly at the bleak waste before her, he lovingly at her pretty, bewildered face.

  “Where are we, Hugh?” she finally asked, terrified for the moment. “Where is London?”

  “You are not afraid, are you, dearest?” he whispered, his strong arm stealing about her. “We are on the bounding main, ticketed for a port thousands of miles away. London is back there,” pointing astern.

  She placed her hand in his and looked out over the waters. Nothing but rain, leaden sky and rolling waves. What her thoughts were during the silence that followed he learned when she turned to him again, looking imploringly into his eyes.

  “Hugh, you will always be good to me?”

  “So long as I live, sweetheart,” he said, pressing her hand firmly. For some time they stood alone and silent beneath the awning which covered the promenade, the sleety rain pattering dismally over their heads. But few of the passengers were above deck. Several officers were chatting at the end of the deck-house.

  “We have not breakfasted yet, Grace, and I’m as hungry as a bear. Isn’t it a relief, dear, not to feel the necessity any longer of keeping a sharp lookout for detectives? Those days on the Atlantic, every other man I met I thought was a sleuth-hound bent on capturing the million-dollar reward that has been offered for our capture by Chicago society.”

  They went below and found the dining saloon almost deserted. Two or three late risers were drinking a last cup of coffee. Then she told him of the mistake she had made, and together they scanned their fellow-passengers in search of the man who occupied the stateroom adjoining hers on the left. He did not appear for luncheon or dinner, and Hugh cheerfully accused her of murdering him.

  The next morning, however, he was seated at the table, directly across from Hugh, a trifle pale and far from hungry. He was making a brave effort to conquer the sickness which had seized him. She nudged Hugh and nodded toward the quiet, subdued eater. He looked across and then gave her a questioning glance. She winked affirmatively.

  “Poor devil,” muttered Hugh. “I suppose he was just beginning to feel sick when you yanked him out, as if you were telling him the boat was on fire.”

  “Yanked him out? I did nothing but rap on his door. If he were sick, why did he open it and stare at me in such a remarkably healthy fashion?”

  “Because you rapped, I suspect. It’s no wonder that he stared at a beautiful young lady who had the temerity to visit him before breakfast. Nice-looking fellow, though, I’ll say that much for your sake, sister. And what’s more, I believe he’s an American,” said Hugh, surveying the stranger critically.

  “I haven’t observed his face,” she responded curtly.

  “How did you happen to recognize him? By his shoes? You naturally looked down when you saw your mistake, of course, but I don’t see how you can get a glance of his shoes now, under the table.”

  “I mean I have not noticed whether his face is handsome, Hugh.”

  “Better take a look then. He’s particularly good-looking with that piece of beefsteak in his check.”

  Grace glanced slyly at the man across the table, noting his pale cheeks and the dark rings beneath his eyes. Hugh had misrepresented the facts; he was not eating at all. Instead, he was merely toying with his fork, making uncertain circles in the layer of brown, gravy which covered the plate, his cheek resting on the other hand, a faraway look of distress in his eyes. They were directed at the plate, but saw it not.

  “Poor fellow,” she murmured compassionately; “he’s been awfully sick, hasn’t he?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Hugh heartlessly. “They don’t go to eating in a day’s time if they have been very sick.”

  A bright look flashed into her eyes and they danced with merriment as she whispered something in his ear.

&nbs
p; “By George, maybe you’re right. He’s a detective and chasing us to earth.”

  The stranger looked at them in a half interested manner when they laughed aloud over the harrowing supposition. They noticed that his eyes were blue and bloodshot, wan and fatigued. He gave Grace a second glance, sharper than the first, and politely resumed his manufacture of circles in the brown gravy and brown study. Miss Vernon flushed slightly.

  As they left the table she said to Hugh:

  “He remembers me, but he certainly understands it was a mistake, doesn’t he?” Hugh looked at her distressed face and laughed.

  The weather later that morning was a delightful surprise for all. The sky had resumed its blue and the air was fresh and clear. Notwithstanding the pleasant weather, there was a heavy sea running, the ship rolling uncomfortably for those who were poor sailors. Deck chairs on all sides were occupied by persons who had heroically determined to make the most of the brightness about them.

  The elopers found their chairs and joined the long line of spectators. Hugh glanced admiringly at Grace now and then. Her cheeks were warm and glowing, her eyes were bright and flashing with excitement, her whole being seemed charged with animation.

  The wan-faced stranger followed them on deck a few minutes later. His eyes were riveted on a chair nearby and his long body moved swiftly toward it. Then came a deep roll, the deck seemed to throw itself in the air, and, with a startled look, he plunged headlong toward Miss Vernon’s chair.

  His knee struck the chair, but he managed to throw his body to one side. He went driving against the deck-house, sinking in a heap. Miss Vernon gave a little shriek of alarm and pity, and Ridgeway sprang to the side of the fallen man, assisting him to his feet. The stranger’s face was drawn with momentary pain and his eyes were dazed.

  “Pardon me,” he murmured. “I am so very awkward. Have I hurt you?”

  “Not in the least,” cried she. “But I am afraid you are hurt. See! There is blood on your forehead.” She instantly extended her handkerchief, and he accepted it in a bewildered sort of a way, placing it to his forehead, where a tiny stream of blood was showing itself.

  “A piece of court plaster will stop the flow,” said Hugh critically, and at once produced the article from his capacious pocket-book. Grace immediately appropriated it and asked for his knife.

  “You are very good,” said the stranger, again pressing the handkerchief to his head. The act revealed to him the fact that he was using her handkerchief for the purpose, soiling it, perhaps. His face flushed deeply and an embarrassed gleam came to his eyes. “Why, I am using your handkerchief. I assure you I did not know what I was doing when I took it from you. Have I ruined it?”

  Miss Vernon laughed at his concern and her face brightened considerably. As she looked into his clear blue eyes and his square, firm face she observed for the first time that he was quite a handsome fellow.

  “It won’t soil it at all,” she said.

  “But it was thoughtless, even rude of me, to take yours when I had my own. I am so sorry.”

  “Do you think this will be large enough, Hugh?” she asked, holding up a piece of black court plaster. The stranger laughed.

  “If the cut is as big as that I’d better consult a surgeon,” he said. “About one-tenth of that, I should say.”

  “All right,” she said cheerfully. “It is your wound.”

  “But you are the doctor,” he protested.

  “I dare say it is too big to look well. People might think you were dynamited. Does it pain you?” she asked solicitously. For an instant their eyes looked steadily, unwaveringly, into each other,—one of those odd, involuntary searches which no one can explain and which never happen but once to the same people.

  “Not at all,” he replied, glancing out over the tumbling waves with a look which proved they were strange to him. Hugh dashed away and soon returned with a glass of brandy, which the stranger swallowed meekly and not very gracefully. Then he sat very still while Grace applied the court-plaster to the little gash at the apex of a rapidly rising lump.

  “Thank you,” he said. “You are awfully good to a clumsy wretch who might have crushed you. I shall endeavor to repay you both for your kindness.” He started to arise from Hugh’s chair, but that gentleman pushed him back.

  “Keep the chair until you get straightened out a bit. I’ll show you how to walk deck in a rough sea. But pardon me, you are an American like ourselves, are you not? I am Hugh Ridge, and this is my sister—Miss Ridge.”

  “My name is Veath—Henry Veath,” the other said as he bowed. “I am so glad to meet my own countrymen among all these foreigners. Again, let me thank you.”

  “Hardly a good sailor?” observed Hugh.

  “As you may readily guess.”

  “It’s pretty rough today. Are you going to Gibraltar and Spain?”

  “Only as a bird of passage. I am going out for our government. It’s a long and roundabout way they’ve sent me, but poor men must go where opportunity points the way. I assure you this voyage was not designed for my pleasure. However, I enjoyed a couple of days in London.”

  “An important mission, I should say,” ventured Mr. Ridge.

  “I’m in the revenue service. It is all new to me, so it doesn’t matter much where I begin.”

  “Where are you to be stationed?” asked Hugh, and something told him what the answer would be before it fell from the other’s lips.

  “Manila.”

  CHAPTER VI

  HENRY VEATH

  Mr. Veath’s abrupt announcement that he was bound for Manila was a decided shock to Grace, Hugh escaping because of his intuitive revelation. After the revenue man had gone below to lie down awhile before luncheon the elopers indulged in an animated discussion of affairs under new conditions.

  “Well, we can make use of him after we get there, dear,” said Hugh philosophically. “He can be a witness and swear to your age when I go for the license.”

  “But, Hugh, he thinks we are brother and sister, and we cannot tell him anything to the contrary. It would be awfully embarrassing to try to explain.”

  “That’s so,” mused he. “I doubt whether we could make him believe that brothers and sisters marry in Manila. There’s just one thing to do.”

  “It seems to me there are a great many things to do that we didn’t consider when we started,” ventured she.

  “We must let him believe we are brother and sister until after we are married. Then we’ll have the laugh on him. I know it’s not very pleasant to explain your own joke, or to tell the other fellow when to laugh, but it seems to be the only way. We can’t escape him, you know. He is to be at his post by the twentieth of May.”

  “After all, I think we ought to be nice to him. We can’t put him off the boat and we might just as well be friendly. How would you enjoy travelling to Manila all alone? Just put yourself in his place.”

  “Maybe he thinks he’s lucky to be travelling alone.”

  “That’s very pretty, sir. Would you rather be travelling alone?”

  “Not at all. I’m only saying what he may think. The poor devil may be married, you know.”

  “Oh, do you really think so?” cried she.

  “He looks a little subdued.”

  “That’s because he’s seasick.”

  “But, to return to our own troubles—you think, then, we would better adopt Mr. Veath for the voyage and break the news to him impressively after the deed is done?”

  “I think so, don’t you? It is sure to be embarrassing, any way you put it, isn’t it?” she asked, laughing nervously.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he replied airily. “People of our nerve should not be embarrassed by anything on earth.” He arose and assisted her to her feet. Then, slipping his arm through hers, he started for the companionway. “The prospect of being brother and sister for ten thousand miles is rather obnoxious to me,” he went on. She looked at him in surprise and then blushed faintly. As they descended the steps, he put h
is arm around her shoulder. At the bottom he stopped and glanced around apprehensively, something like alarm appearing in his face. His arm slipped from her shoulder to her waist and contracted suddenly.

  “What is the matter, Hugh?” she whispered, looking quickly about as if expecting a calamity.

  “Is any one in sight?” he demanded anxiously.

  “I don’t see a soul,” she answered.

  “Then I’m going to give up the brother act for a moment or two. This is a good, sequestered spot, and I’m going to kiss you.” And he did so more than once. “That’s the first chance I’ve had to kiss you since we came aboard. What an outrage it is that brothers cannot be more attentive to their own sisters than to other men’s sisters.”

  “It seems to be customary for brothers to neglect their sisters,” she suggested demurely.

  “A brother who neglects his sister ought to be horsewhipped,” declared he.

  “Amen to that. They use the cat-o’-nine-tails on board ship, you must remember,” she said, smiling.

  Shortly afterward he dropped in to see Veath and was welcomed gladly. He was lying in his berth, and Hugh sent for a bottle of his champagne. Two glasses of the wine put new life into him and something of a sparkle flew to his dull eyes, as if cast there by the bubbling liquor. His tongue loosened a little, Hugh finding him to be a bright, sensible fellow, somewhat ignorant of the ways of the world, but entirely capable of taking care of himself. Moreover, with the renewed vigor displaying itself, he was far better looking than his new acquaintance had thought. His blue eyes, keen and clear, appealed to Hugh’s love for straightforwardness; his wide mouth bespoke firmness, good nature, and the full ability to enjoy the humorous side of things. The lines about his clean-cut, beardless face were a trifle deep, and there was a network of those tiny wrinkles which belong to men of forty-five and not to those of twenty-eight.

  Evidently his had not been a life of leisure. As he lounged easily upon the edge of the berth, Hugh could not but admire his long, straight figure, the broad shoulders and the pale face with its tense earnestness.