The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories

by George Barr McCutcheon

  “Manila, you know, is an important post these days,” said Veath. “There’s a lot of work to be done there in the next few years. I’m from Indiana. Every able-bodied man in our district who voted right and hasn’t anything else to do wants a government job. Of course, most of them want to be consul-generals, postmasters, or heads of bureaus, but there are some of us who will take the best thing that is offered. That’s why I am going to Manila. Politics, you know, and my uncle’s influence with the administration.” Ridgeway observed that wine made loquacious a man who was naturally conservative. “Where are you going?” he continued.

  “We are going to Manila.”

  “What!” gasped Veath. “You don’t mean it!”

  “Certainly. Why not?” and Hugh smiled delightedly over the sensation he had created.

  “Why—why, it seems improbable,” stammered Veath. “I had looked upon Manila as the most wretched hole in the world, and yet I find you going there, evidently from choice.”

  “Well, you’ll have to change your opinion now,” said Hugh.

  “I do—forthwith. It cannot be such a bad place or you wouldn’t be taking your sister there. May I ask what is your object in going to Manila?”

  Hugh turned red in the face and stooped over to flick an imaginary particle of dust from his trousers’ leg. There was but one object in their going and he had not dreamed of being asked what it was. He could not be employed forever in brushing away that speck, and yet he could not, to save his life, construct an answer to Veath’s question. In the midst of his despair a sudden resolution came, and he looked up, his lips twitching with suppressed laughter.

  “We are going as missionaries.”

  He almost laughed aloud at the expression on Veath’s face. It revealed the utmost dismay. There was a moment’s silence, and then the man in the berth said slowly:

  “Is Miss Ridge a—a missionary also?”

  “The very worst kind,” replied Hugh cheerily.

  “Going out among the natives, I suppose?”

  “What natives?”

  “Why,—the Igorrotes, or whatever they are, of course.”

  “Oh, of course—to be sure,” cried Hugh hastily. “I am so d—d absent-minded.”

  Veath stared in amazement.

  “You must not think it strange that I swear,” said Hugh, mopping his brow. “I am not the missionary, you know.”

  “Oh,” was the other’s simple exclamation. Another pause and then, “You don’t mean to say that such a beautiful woman is going to waste her life among savages?”

  “She’s got her head set on it and we think the only way to break her of it is to give her a sample of the work. I am going with her ostensibly to protect, but really to make her life miserable.”

  “I rather admire her devotion to the church,” said Veath, still a trifle dazed.

  “She’s a great crank on religion,” admitted Hugh. Then he could feel himself turn pale. He was passing Grace off as a missionary, and thereby placing her under restrictions that never before had entered into her gay life. Veath would treat her as if she were of fragile glass and it would not be long until the whole boat would be staring at the beautiful girl who was going to the heathen. Remorse struck him and he tried to flounder out of the position.

  “I should not have said that about her views. You would never take her to be an ardent church-member, and she is particularly averse to being called a missionary. The truth about the matter is that very few people home know about this move of hers and there is no one on ship who even suspects. She would not have had me tell it for the world.”

  “My dear Mr. Ridge, don’t let that trouble you. She shall never know that you have told me and I shall never repeat it. Please rest assured; her wishes in the matter are most certainly to be considered sacred,” cried Veath warmly.

  “Thanks, old man,” said Hugh, very much relieved. “Your hand on that. I am not sorry I told you, for I’m sure you will be careful. She objects to the—the—well, the notoriety of the thing, you know. Hates to be glared at, questioned, and all that sort of thing.”

  “She is very sensible in that respect. I have but little use for the people who parade their godliness.”

  “That’s just the way she looks at it. She would be uncomfortable all the way over if she thought that a single person knew of her intentions. Funny girl that way.”

  “If I were you, I don’t believe I’d tell any one else,” said Veath hesitatingly.

  “That’s all right, Veath. Depend upon me, I’ll not breathe it to another soul. It shall not go a bit farther. Grace wants to go about the good work as quietly as possible. Still, I am bound to make her forget the heathen and return to America another woman altogether.” Mr. Veath, of course, did not understand the strange smile that flitted over his companion’s face as he uttered the last remark. “I’m glad I met you, Veath; we’ll get along famously, I’m sure. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t make the voyage a jolly one. I think we’d better get ready for luncheon,” said Hugh, looking at his watch.

  Hugh took his departure, and fifteen minutes later was seated at one of the tables in the dining-room with Grace beside him. He had told her of the missionary story and was trying to smile before her display of genuine annoyance.

  “But I don’t want him to treat me as if I were a missionary,” she pouted. “What fun can a missionary have?”

  “Oho, you want to have fun with him, eh? That’s the way the wind blows, is it? I’ll just tell Mr. Veath that you pray night and day, and that you don’t like to be disturbed. What do you suppose he’d be if he interrupted a woman’s prayers?” demanded he, glaring at her half jealously.

  “He’d be a heathen and I should have to enlighten him,” she answered sweetly.

  Just then Mr. Veath entered the saloon and took a seat beside her. She looked surprised, as did Mr. Ridgeway. They looked to the far end of the table and saw that Veath’s original chair was occupied by another man.

  “I traded seats with that fellow,” murmured Veath, a trifle red about the ears. Miss Vernon’s face assumed a stony expression for an instant, but the gleam of pure frankness in his eyes dispelled her momentary disapproval. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked hastily.

  “Not at all, Mr. Veath,” she said, forgetting that a moment before she had considered him presumptuous. “On the contrary, I think it is so much nicer to have you on this side of the table. We can talk without having everybody in the room hear us.”

  “I have just heard that we are bound for the same destination and we can certainly speculate among ourselves as to the outcome of our individual and collective pilgrimages. We can talk about shipwrecks, pirates, simoons, cholera, sea serpents—”

  “And the heathen,” said Hugh maliciously, but not looking up from his plate.

  “Ahem!” coughed loyal Mr. Veath.

  “Are there any heathen over there?” asked Miss Vernon very innocently but also very maliciously. She smiled at Hugh, who leaned far back in his chair and winked solemnly at the bewildered Veath. That gentleman, manlike, interpreted Hugh’s wink as the means of conveying the information that the tactful young lady asked the question merely to throw him off the scent. So he answered very politely but very carefully.

  “I hear there are more missionaries than heathen.”

  “Indeed? Don’t you think that the women who go out as missionaries among those vile creatures are perfect idiots, Mr. Veath?”

  “Well,—ahem, ah,” stammered Veath, “I can’t say that I do. I think, if you will permit me to disagree with you, that they are the noblest women in the world.”

  “Excellent sentiment, Veath,” said the merry Ridgeway, “and quite worthy of endorsement by this misguided sister of mine. She despises the heathen, you know.”

  “Oh, I am sure she does not despise them,” cried Veath.

  “But I do—I think they ought to be burned alive!”

  A dead silence, during which the two men were unnecessarily int
ent upon the contents of their plates, followed this explosion. Miss Vernon demurely smiled to herself, and finally kicked Hugh’s foot. He laughed aloud suddenly and insanely and then choked. Veath grew very red in the face, perhaps through restraint. The conversation from that moment was strained until the close of the meal, and they did not meet at all during dinner.

  “Perhaps we have offended him,” said Grace as they strolled along the deck that evening.

  “It’s probable that he thinks we are blamed fools and does not care to waste his time on us.”

  “Then why did he change his seat?”

  “Evidently did not want us to be staring him out of countenance all the time. I notice, sister, that he took the seat next to yours and not to mine,” remarked he insinuatingly.

  “Which proves that he is no fool, brother,” she retorted.

  CHAPTER VII

  GLUM DAYS FOR MR. RIDGE

  Gibraltar. And the ship stopping only long enough to receive the mail and take on passengers; then off again.

  During the voyage in the Bay of Biscay, Veath had done all in his power to relieve Hugh of the boredom which is supposed to fall upon the man who has a sister clinging to him. At first Hugh rather enjoyed the situation, but as Veath’s amiable sacrifice became more intense, he grew correspondingly uncomfortable. It was not precisely what he had bargained for. There was nothing in Veath’s manner which could have been objectionable to the most exacting of brothers.

  When he was trespassing Hugh hated him, but when they were together, with Grace absent, he could not but admire the sunny-faced, frank, stalwart Indianian. When Hugh’s heart was sorest, a slap on the back from Veath, a cheery word and an unspoken pledge of friendship brought shame to take the place of resentment.

  She was troubled, as well as he, by the turn of affairs; her distress managed to keep her awake of nights, especially when she began to realize there was no escape from consequences. That usually pleasant word “brother” became unbearable to her; she began to despise it. To him, the word “sister” was the foundation for unpublishable impressions.

  Poor Veath knew nothing of all this and continued to “show Miss Ridge a good time.” On the second night out of Gibraltar, he and Grace were strolling the deck. He was happy, she in deep despair. Down at the other end of the deck-house, leaning over the rail, smoking viciously, was Hugh, alone, angry, sulky. It was a beautiful night, cool and crisp, calm and soft. A rich full moon threw its glorious shimmer across the waves, flashing a million silvery blades along the watery pavement that seemed to lead to the end of the world. Scores of passengers were walking the deck, and all were happy, save two.

  For two days Hugh had found but little chance to speak with Grace. She had plotted and calculated and so had he, but Veath gallantly upset the plans.

  “This can’t go on any longer, or I’ll go back,” vowed Hugh as he glared with gloomy eyes at the innocent path of silver.

  “Your brother is not very sociable of late, is he, Miss Ridge?” asked Veath, as they turned once more up the deck toward the disconsolate relative. “There are a great many pretty young women on board, but he seems to ignore them completely. I haven’t seen him speak to a woman in two days.”

  “Perhaps he is in love,” she murmured half sedately. Poor, lonely Hugh! How she longed to steal up from behind and throw her arms about his neck. Even though both fell overboard, it would be a pleasure, it seemed to her.

  “We ought to go over and jolly him up a bit,” suggested Veath, innocently magnanimous. She hated him at that moment.

  “He is probably enjoying himself better than if we were with him,” she said rather coldly.

  “Lovers usually like moonshine,” he said.

  “I did not say he was in love; ‘perhaps’ was the word, I think,” said Grace.

  “I believe one of the rules of love is that a brother never confides in his sister. At any rate, she is sure to be among the last.”

  “I think Hugh would tell me of his love affairs,” she answered, a merry sparkle coming into her eyes. “He thinks a great deal of my opinions.”

  “And I suppose you tell him of your love affairs,” he said jestingly. She blushed furiously.

  “He has a whole book full of my confidences,” she finally said, seeking safety in exaggeration.

  “Quite an interesting volume. How does it end? With an elopement?”

  “Elopement! What do you—oh, ah, I—ha, ha! Wouldn’t that be a jolly way to end it?” She laughed hysterically, recovering quickly from the effects of the startling, though careless question. For a few moments her heart throbbed violently.

  Hugh came swinging toward them, his cigar tilted upward at an unusual angle because of the savage position of the lower jaw. His hands were jammed into his pockets and his cap was drawn well down over his eyes. He was passing without a word, ignoring them more completely than if they had been total strangers. He would, at least, have glanced at strangers.

  “Hello, Mr. Ridge, going below?” called Veath.

  “I’m going wherever the ship goes,” came the sullen reply.

  “Hope she’s not going below,” laughed the disturber.

  “It’s my only hope,” was the bitter retort from the companionway.

  “He’s certainly in love, Miss Ridge. Men don’t have the blues like that unless there’s a woman in the case. I think you’d better talk to your brother. Tell him she’ll be true, and if she isn’t, convince him that there are just as good fish in the sea. Poor fellow, I suppose he thinks she’s the only woman on earth,” commented Mr. Veath, with mock solemnity.

  “She may be as much at sea as he,” she said,—and very truthfully.

  “Well, if love dies, there is a consolation in knowing that the sea casts up its dead,” was his sage, though ill-timed remark.

  Grace slept but little that night, and went early to breakfast in the hope that she might see Hugh alone. But he came in late, haggard and pale, living evidence of a sleepless night. Veath was with him and her heart sank. During the meal the good-natured Indianian did most of the talking, being driven at last, by the strange reticence of his companions, to the narration of a series of personal experiences. Struggle as he would, he could not bring a mirthful laugh from the girl beside him, nor from the sour visaged man beyond. They laughed, of course, but it was the laugh of politeness.

  “I wonder if she is in love, too,” shot through his mind, and a thrill of regret grew out of the possibility. Once his eye caught her in the act of pressing Hugh’s hand as it was being withdrawn from sight. With a knowing smile he bent close to her and whispered: “That’s right, cheer him up!” Grace admitted afterward that nothing had ever made her quite so furious as that friendly expression.

  But jealousy is jealousy. It will not down. The next three days were miserable ones for Hugh. The green-eyed monster again cast the cloak of moroseness over him—swathed him in the inevitable wet blanket, as it were. During the first two days Veath had performed a hundred little acts of gallantry which fall to the lot of a lover but hardly to that of a brother—a score of things that would not have been observed by the latter, but which were inwardly cursed by the lover. Hugh began to have the unreasonable fear that she cared more for Veath’s society than she did for his. He was in ugly humor at lunch time and sent a rather peremptory message to Grace’s room, telling her that he was hungry and asking her to get ready at once. The steward brought back word that she was not in her room. She had been out since ten o’clock.

  Without a word Ridgeway bolted to Veath’s room and knocked at the door. There was no response. The steward, quite a distance down the passageway, heard the American gentleman swear distinctly and impressively.

  He ate his luncheon alone,—disconsolate, furious, miserable. Afterward he sought recreation and finally went to his room, where he tried to read. Even that was impossible.

  Some time later he heard her voice, then Veath’s.

  “I wonder if Hugh is in his room?” she was asking.


  “He probably thinks we’ve taken a boat and eloped Shall I rap and see?” came in Veath’s free voice.

  “Please—and we’ll tell him where we have been.”

  “You will like thunder!” hissed Hugh to himself, glaring at the door as if he could demolish it.

  Then came a vigorous pounding on the panel; but he made no move to respond. Again the knocking and a smile, not of mirth, overspread his face.

  “Knock! Confound you! You can’t get in!” he growled softly but triumphantly. Veath tried the knob, but the door was locked.

  “He’s not in, Miss Ridge. I’ll see if I can find him. Good-by—see you at luncheon.”

  Then came Grace’s voice, sweet and untroubled: “Tell him we’ll go over the ship another time with him.”

  “Over the ship,” growled Hugh almost loud enough to be heard. “So they’re going to square it by taking brother with them another time—eh? Well, not if I know it! I’ll show her what’s what!” A minute later he rapped at Miss Vernon’s stateroom. She was removing her hat before the mirror, and turning quickly as the irate Hugh entered, she cried:

  “Hello, Hugh! Where have you been, dear?”

  “Dear! Don’t call me dear,” he rasped.

  “Why, Hugh, dear,—Mr. Veath looked everywhere for you this morning. I said I would not go unless he could find you. You would have enjoyed it so much.”

  “And you really wanted me?” he asked guiltily.

  “Of course, I did—we both did. Won’t you ever understand that I love you—and you alone?”

  “I guess I’ll never understand love at all,” he mused.

  “Now where were you all morning?” she demanded.

  “He didn’t look in the right place, that’s all.”

  “Where was the right place?”

  “It happened to be in the wrong place,” he said. He had been playing a social game of bridge in the room of one of the passengers. At this moment Veath was heard at the door. Hugh heartily called out to him, bidding him to enter.