Barr Robert
A Chicago Princess

“It isn’t the same thing. A horse may have notable ancestors, whereas I am told that most of your aristocracy sprang from thieves and outlaws.”

“As far as that goes, some of them are still in the pirate profession, those who belong to the public companies, for example, – bogus companies, I mean. I suppose, after all said and done, that the pedigree of even the oldest family in Europe is as nothing to that of the Eastern Kings, for this King of Corea that we are going to see traces his ancestry about as far back as did Pooh-Bah.”

“Do you think there will be any trouble in getting to see his Corean Majesty?” Miss Hemster asked with a shade of anxiety in her tone.

“I am not at all sure, for the etiquette of the Corean Court is very rigid. A horseman must dismount when he is passing the Palace, although it is but a ramshackle conglomeration of shabbiness. Every one admitted to the Presence must prostrate himself before the King.”

“Well, I shan’t do it,” said the girl confidently.

“I hope to obtain a relaxation of the rule in the case of a Princess like yourself, Miss Hemster. If his Majesty should graciously touch your hand, the law of Corea demands that ever afterward you must wear a badge as token of the distinction conferred upon you.”

“Oh, I shall just wear another ring with the arms of Corea on it, – that is, if Corea has arms,” – said Miss Hemster with vivacity. “I am sure it is very good of you to take all this trouble for us. And now I must bid you good-night and thank you for the very pleasant walk we have had together.”

With that my lady withdrew her bright presence and disappeared down the companion-way.

CHAPTER VIII

I awoke next morning after a sweet and dreamless sleep that was almost inspiring. Months and months had passed since I slept in a European bed, and, although necessity had accustomed me to the habit of a Japanese mat upon the floor and a block of wood for a pillow, I must confess that the bed of the West still seemed to me a very paradise of luxury. There were more patent contrivances about that yacht than I have ever seen in such small compass before. Of course it had electric lights everywhere. There was a water-condensing machine, an ice-making machine, and all the usual fittings that now go to the construction of a luxurious steamer for sailing in warm latitudes. There was a bathroom which was Oriental in its splendour and Occidental in its patent fittings. One could have any sort of bath that one desired. By simply turning a handle on a dial the great marble basin became filled with water at any temperature indicated by the figures at which you set the pointer, from boiling-hot to ice-cold. This was indeed a delight, and when I came to it from my room in dressing-gown and slippers I found the Japanese boy there with a cup of delicious tea such as can be had only in the immediate vicinity of China. On a dainty plate whose figure work was only partially obscured by a filmy lace napkin were some finger-lengths and finger-widths of buttered toast. “Rupert, my boy,” I said to myself, “you have indeed fallen upon your feet!”

I now knew that I was going to have the pleasantest voyage of my life. The clouds which yesterday threatened to obscure my acquaintance with Miss Hemster had cleared away, and although I had surmised that the young woman was somewhat quick to take offence when one approached the confines of either ridicule or criticism, yet I was well aware that no man has a right to inflict conversation that is distasteful upon any woman, and I thought I had sufficient power over my speech to prevent further errors in that direction. A most unaccustomed sense of elation filled me, and, as I tossed about my wardrobe, I came across a pair of Oxford bags that I had not worn for years. As they were still spotlessly white, I put them on, with a blazer which gave to the world the somewhat glaring colors of my college, and, thus gloriously arrayed with cap on head, I almost imagined myself about to stroll along the High, once more an extremely young man.

My costume made quite a sensation at the breakfast-table, and caused great laughter on the part of our worthy captain, who said the only thing it reminded him of was a clown in Barnum’s circus. Miss Hemster was good enough to compliment the outfit, and, after the meal was over, did me the honour of strolling up and down the deck for nearly an hour, after which she disappeared below. Silas K. Hemster occupied his customary place on deck in the wicker armchair, and after his daughter had deserted me I stood beside him for a few moments, endeavouring to engage him in conversation, but soon saw that he preferred his own thoughts, for which preference, to be sure, I could find no fault with him, for anything I had to say was neither novel nor entertaining. I was about to go below and select a book from the rather extensive library when there met me at the head of the companion-way the notes of the very subdued playing of one of Chopin’s most charming nocturnes. I paused for a moment at the head of the stair, then descended softly, saying to myself that Miss Hemster was a most accomplished musician.

Perhaps I have not stated that at the farther end of the saloon from the foot of the stairs stood an excellent piano, and at the stairway end an equally fine American organ. As I descended I soon saw that the musician was Miss Stretton, who sat with her back toward me, playing with a touch I have seldom heard equalled even by professionals. I am very fond of music, so I slipped quietly into a chair and listened to those divine harmonies divinely played. Miss Stretton went on from nocturne to nocturne, and I felt somewhat guilty at thus surreptitiously listening, but resolved that the moment she gave a sign of ceasing I would steal quietly up the stair again without revealing my presence.

Down the passage facing me, that formed a highway from the saloon to the suites occupied by the ladies, I saw Miss Hemster come out of her room, and, by the same token, she must have seen me. She advanced a few steps, then stood still, apparently listening to the music, finally turned, and re-entered her apartment with a distinct, emphatic slam of the door. I paid no attention to this, but then was the time for me to steal on deck again if I had had any wisdom in my head, which I so frequently must admit I have not. Miss Stretton, absorbed in the music, presumably had not heard the slam of the door, but a little later Miss Hemster emerged again, and this time came straight down the passage and through the saloon, with a swish, swish of silken skirts that sounded eloquent in anger. I have never heard silk skirts rustle since then without remembering the occasion I am endeavouring to describe; yet never before or since have I heard the hiss of silk that actually swore, if I may be permitted the use of such an expression.

The young woman marched past me with head erect, and a gleam in her eyes such as I had seen on one occasion before, but this time fixed and anything but transient, as the other flash had been. I rose respectfully to my feet as she passed, but she cast not even a glance at me, merely pausing for a second at the foot of the stairs to catch up the train of her magnificent gown, then up the steps she went at a run. Now I had consciously given the girl no cause of annoyance, but, the music having ceased suddenly, I turned around and saw Miss Stretton regarding me with something like dismay in her eyes.

“How long have you been here?” she asked.

“Oh, only for a few minutes,” I replied. “Pray go on, Miss Stretton. I am very fond of music, and not for years have I been privileged to hear it so well played.”

“It is very kind of you to say that,” murmured Hilda Stretton, “but I think I have played enough for one morning.”

“At least finish the selection you were just now engaged upon,” I begged.

“Some other time, please,” she said in a low voice; and I did not urge her further, for I saw she was frightened.

“Very well,” I replied, “I shall take that as a promise.”

She inclined her head as she came down the room, and went up the stairs, disappearing also on deck, leaving me wondering what all this disquietude was about. I thought of going on deck myself, but, feeling slightly resentful at the treatment accorded me by Miss Hemster, I walked forward, sat down on the piano-stool, and began to drum a few of the catchy London tunes that ran through my head. I was playing “Knocked ’em in the Old Kent Road” with little idea of how excellent an overture it would prove for the act about to be commenced, and was thinking of the Strand, and the Tivoli, and Chevalier, and Piccadilly Circus, and the Empire, and Leicester Square, and the Alhambra, when I was startled by a woman’s appealing voice crying just above a whisper:

“Oh, don’t, Gertie; please don’t!”

I turned my head and saw, coming down the stairway, Gertrude Hemster followed by Hilda Stretton. The latter was evidently almost on the verge of tears, but the face of the former was shocking to behold. I could not have believed that a countenance so beautiful was capable of being transformed into a visage that might have stood model for a picture of murderous wrath.

“Will you stop your foolish pounding on my piano?” she cried, with a tremendous emphasis on the first personal pronoun.

“Madam, I have stopped,” I replied, giving a soft answer that failed to have the supposed effect.

“I guess you think you own the yacht and all it contains, don’t you? Now, I beg to inform you that we don’t allow employees to conduct themselves as if they were in a bar-room or a drinking-saloon.”

As she said this, she strode once up and down the length of the room.

“Madam,” said I, “I beg your pardon, and shall never touch your piano again. My only excuse is that I have been so accustomed to public liners, where the piano is free to all, that for the moment I forgot myself.”

At this juncture Miss Stretton was so injudicious as to touch the other on the elbow, apparently trying to guide her into the passage that led to her room, but Miss Hemster whirled around like an enraged tigress, and struck her companion a blow that would have landed on her cheek had not the victim suddenly and instinctively raised an arm to protect her face. Then with the viciousness of a harridan of Drury Lane Miss Hemster grasped the shrinking girl by the shoulders, and shook her as a terrier does a rat, finally forcing her down into a seat by the side of the table. One girl’s face was as white as paper, and the other’s nearly purple with rage. I had intended to go up on deck, but paused for two reasons. First I was afraid of injury to Miss Stretton, and secondly the struggle took place, if struggle it could be called when one was entirely passive, in the midst of the only route open to me.

“You dare to interfere, you little fool,” shrieked Miss Hemster. “You that are the cause of all the trouble, with your silly little ditties – tinkle-tinkle-tinkle-tinkle – and I’ll box your ears for you if you dare stir!”

“Madam,” said I, “you are possibly so ignorant as not to know that you were listening to Chopin’s most subtle harmonies.”

This had exactly the effect I desired, which was to turn her away from the trembling girl whom she had so harshly misused.

“Ignorant, you puppy! Have you the gall to apply such language to me, looking, as you do, like a monkey on a stick; like a doll that one can buy at the bargain counter.”

This graphic description of my Oxford blazer was so striking that in spite of the seriousness of the case I did the one thing I should not have done, – I laughed. The laugh was like a spark to a powder-mine, and what made the crisis worse was that the old gentleman in his armchair on deck, hearing the shrieking voice, came down, his face haggard with anxiety.

“Gertie, Gertie!” he cried. I would not like to say the young lady swore, but she came so near it that there was but tissue paper between the expression she used and that which an angry fish-wife would have employed. With the quickness of light she sprang at a large Japanese vase which temporarily decorated the center of the table. This she heaved up, and with the skill of a football player flung it squarely at me. Now, I have had some experience on the football field myself, and I caught that vase with a dexterity which would have evoked applause had any enthusiast of the game happened to be present. I suppose my placing of this huge vase on the top of the piano was the last straw, or perhaps it was her father coming forward, crying in a grief-shaken voice, “Oh, Gertie, Gertie, my child, my child!”

I was so sorry for him that I passed him and would have gone on deck out of the way, but my purpose was checked by a startling incident. The young woman had whisked open a drawer. I heard it come clattering to the floor, for she had jerked it clear from its place; then there was a scream. Turning quickly around I met the blinding flash of a pistol, and heard behind me the crash of a splintering mirror. The sound of the revolver in that contracted space was deafening, and even through the smoke I saw that my young friend was about to fire again. I maintain it was not fear for my own life that caused instant action on my part, but this infuriated creature, who seemed to have become insane in her anger, faced three helpless, unarmed people, and whatever was to be done had to be done quickly. I leaped through the air, and grasped her two wrists with an energetic clutch I daresay she had never encountered before.

“Drop that revolver!” I cried.

“Let go my wrists, you beast,” she hissed in my face. For answer I raised her arms and brought them down with a force that would have broken her fingers with the weight of the revolver if she had not let it go clattering to the floor.

“You beast, you beast, you beast!” she shrieked at me, as well as her choking throat would allow utterance. I swung her around a quarter-circle, then pushed her back, somewhat rudely I fear, until she sank down into a chair.

“Now, sit there and cool,” I cried, giving her a hearty shake, so that she should know how it felt herself. “If you don’t keep quiet I’ll box your ears.”

I don’t defend my action at all; I merely state that I was just as angry as she was, and perhaps a little more so.

“You brute, let go of my wrists! I’ll kill you for this! Hilda, call the captain and have this man put in irons. Father, how can you stand there like a coward and see a beastly ruffian use me in this way?”

“Oh, Gertie, Gertie!” repeated the father without moving.

She now burst into a passionate flood of tears, and I released her wrists, ready, however, to catch them again if she made any motion to reach the revolver.

During this fierce if brief contest, – it took less time in happening than it requires in telling, – Miss Stretton had been seated in the chair upon which the angry woman had thrust her, and she gazed at us in open-eyed terror. The old man stood half leaning against the table, steadying himself with his hands. Miss Hemster’s fit of weeping was as dramatic as everything else she did. It began with a burst of very angry and genuine tears, and this storm passed through a gamut of more or less varying emotions until it subsided into a hysterical half-sobbing, half-gasping wail which resembled the cry of the helpless child who had been tyrannized over. It was bogusly pathetic, but I saw it went straight to the old man’s heart and wrung it with very real agony, and this mean advantage which I knew she was taking of the father’s deep love for her increased my scornful contempt for the creature. His grief was actual enough, and she was quite consciously playing upon it, although, – wonderful actress that she was, – she pretended an utter abandon of heart-breaking sorrow.

As for me, I undoubtedly felt myself the brute she had named me, and even at that moment, – much more so later, – was shocked to find in my own nature depths of primeval savagery which had hitherto been unsuspected. Seeing, however, that the worst of the storm was over, and that the young woman would make no more attempts at gun-firing, I replaced the drawer in position and threw into it its scattered former contents. Then I picked up the revolver, saying:

“I will keep this, for there is nothing more dangerous than such an instrument in the hands of a woman who can’t shoot.”

The effect of this remark on the drooping figure was instantaneous. She abruptly raised her tear-sodden face, which now became crimson with a new wave of anger.

“You gaping baboon,” she cried, “I can shoot a great deal better than you can!”

I paid no heed to her, but, advising Mr. Hemster to lock up any other firearms he might have on board, abruptly left the saloon.

CHAPTER IX

I walked the deck alone, the revolver stuck between my hip and my gaudy sash, as if I were a veritable pirate, and doubtless my appearance was not dissimilar to some of those nautical heroes who have been terrors of the sea. A pirate more dissatisfied with himself never trod a quarter-deck. If there had been a plank at hand I would willingly have walked it. It was no comfort that I despised the girl, for I despised myself a thousand times more. What right had I to interfere? Why had I not bowed to her when she ordered me away from the piano, and come at once on deck, without proffering any of my foolish explanations? The whole disgraceful row had arisen through my contemptible efforts to justify a situation which allowed of no justification. The piano was hers, as she truly said, and I had no more right to touch it than I had to wear her jewellery. My sole desire at first was to get ashore as soon as anchor was dropped, and never again see either father or daughter. But a few moments’ reflection showed me the quandary into which I had brought myself. I was already indebted to the old gentleman, not only for the money he had advanced to me, but for his kindness from the very first, which I had repaid by an interference in his family affairs that made me loathe myself. Never before had I felt so acutely the sting of poverty. Not even in my starvation days at Nagasaki had my lack of means borne so heavily upon me. It was utterly impossible for me to refund a penny of the pounds he had so generously bestowed upon me. The only requital in my power was that of honest service to him, and now I had made my stay on the yacht impossible, when, had I retained a modicum of sanity at the proper moment, I might have withdrawn with no loss of dignity. Now my own self-respect was gone, and I had more than justified every bitter taunt she flung at me.

So, in a very hopeless state of misery and dejection, I walked up and down the deck until Mr. Hemster himself came quietly up the companion-way and took his usual place in his wicker chair, setting his heels upon the rail in front of him, and biting off the end of a cigar. He gave me no greeting, but this also was usual with him, and so it meant nothing one way or another. However, I had at last made up my mind on a course of action, so I strode over to where he sat, and he looked up at me with what I took to be more of apprehension than censure in his gaze. It was no matter of wonder to me that he must be seriously doubting his wisdom in taking on board without recommendation a stranger who had just proved himself such a brawler.

“Mr. Hemster,” said I, “an apology is a cheap method of trying to make amends for what is inexcusable; but I should like to tell you, and I should like you to believe, how sorry I am for my conduct of a short time since. I regret to say it is impossible for me to return the money you have advanced. When I first had the pleasure of meeting you, I stated to you quite truthfully that I was at the end of my resources, and of course my prospects have not improved in the mean time, except in so far as your own favour is concerned, and that, I quite realize, I have forfeited. From this time until we sight land, I shall live forward with the crew in the forecastle, and shall not again come aft except in obedience to your orders. When we reach Corea I am entirely at your disposal. If you wish me to carry out the project you have in hand, I shall do so to the best of my ability; if not, I give you my word I will refund to you the money as soon as I can earn it.”

“Sit down,” he said very quietly, and when I had done so he remained silent, gazing over the rail at the distant horizon for what seemed to me a very long time. Then he spoke, never raising his voice above the level at which he always kept it.

“You are a little excited just now,” he said, “and take an exaggerated view of the matter. Do you think any one on deck heard that pistol-shot?”

“I don’t know; I rather imagine not. No one seemed at all on the alert when I came up.”

“Well, it sounded as if it would raise all creation down below, but perhaps it didn’t make such a racket up here. Now, if you went forward and lived with the crew, what would be the effect? They would merely say we made it impossible for you to live aft. I suppose by rights I shouldn’t mind what my crew thinks or says; but I do mind it. We are in a way a small democracy afloat, one man as good as another. If the firing were heard on deck, then the captain will be joking about it at luncheon time, and we’ll know. If it wasn’t, the least said about it the better. If you don’t like to come to meals, I haven’t a word to say; you can have them served in your own room. As for the money I advanced, that doesn’t amount to anything. I am sure you are just the man I want for what there is to do, and when that’s done it will be me that’s owing you money. I’m a good deal older than you, and I have found that in business a man must keep his temper, or he’s going to give all his adversaries a great advantage over him, and things are cut so close nowadays that no one can afford to give points to his rival. I’ve had to control my temper or be a failure, so I controlled it. My daughter hasn’t had to do that. Instead of blaming her, you should blame me. It’s my temper she’s got.”

“My dear Mr. Hemster, I assure you I am blaming neither of you; I am blaming myself.”

“Well, that’s all right. It’s a good state of Christian feeling and won’t do you any harm. Now you said that when we land you are willing to do anything I ask. Are you willing to do that before we go ashore?”

“Yes, Mr. Hemster, any command you may lay upon me I shall execute without question.”

“Oh, I won’t lay a command on you at all; but I ask as a favour that you go below, knock at my daughter’s door, and tell her you are sorry for what has happened. Put it any way you like, or don’t do it at all if you don’t want to. After all, she is a woman, you know. You and I are men, and should stand the brunt, even if we are not entitled to it, and it may make things go a little smoother, perhaps.”

We are supposed to be an unemotional race, but I confess that the old man’s mild words touched me deeply, and made it next to impossible for me to reply to him. But, even so, my own judgment told me that a life of this desire to make things go smoothly had resulted in building up a character in his daughter which took an obstreperous advantage of the kindly old gentleman’s strong affection for her. I arose without a word, thrust forward my hand to him, which he shook somewhat shamefacedly, glancing nervously around, fearing there might be onlookers. I entirely appreciated his reserve, and wished for a moment that I had not acted upon my impulse, to his visible embarrassment. I went instantly to the saloon, along the passage, and knocked at the door of Miss Hemster’s apartment. She herself opened the door, with what seemed to me to be her usual briskness; but when I looked at her, I saw her drooping like a stricken flower, head bent, and eyes on the floor. Scarcely above a whisper, she asked with tremor-shaken voice:

“Did you wish to see me?”

“Yes, Miss Hemster,” I replied, nerving myself to the point. “I wish, since you are good enough to receive me, to apologize most abjectly for my rudeness to you this morning.”

She replied in a sad little voice, without looking up:

“I do not really mind in the least how much you play the piano, Mr. Tremorne.”

This was so unexpected a remark, so ludicrously aside from the real point at issue between us, so far from touching the hideousness of my culpability, that I looked at the girl, wondering whether or not she was in earnest. I had not come to get permission to play the piano. Her attitude, to which no other word than “wilted” so appropriately applied, continued to be one of mute supplication or dependence. Yet in the semi-darkness I fancied I caught one brief glance at my face. Then she leaned her fair head against the jam of the door and began to cry very softly and very hopelessly.

I stood there like the awkward fool I was, not knowing what to say; and finally she completed my desolation by slowly raising her two arms up toward my face. Since our contest she had removed the striking costume she then wore, and had put on a white lace fleecy garment that was partly dressing-gown, partly tea-gown, decorated with fluttering blue ribbon. This had very wide sleeves which fell away from her arms, leaving them bare and rounded, pure and white. Her two slender, shapely hands hung in helpless fashion from the wrists like lilies on a broken stem. The slow upraising of them seemed to me strange and meaningless, until the light from the inner room fell upon her wrists, and then the purport of her action became stunningly clear to me. Around that dainty forearm, delicately fashioned for the tenderest usage, showed red and angry the marks of my brutal fingers, silent accusers held up before my very eyes. Distraught as I was with self-accusation, I could not help admiring the dramatic effectiveness of the slow motion and resulting attitude. The drooping girl, with her soft, clinging draperies, her sad face so beautiful, her contour so perfect, and those soft appealing hands upraised, – hands that I could not forget had been placed with impulsive friendliness in mine on the streets of Nagasaki, – and all this accompanied by the almost silent symphony of quivering sobs that were little louder than sighs tremulously indrawn, formed a picture that has never been effaced from my memory. I had rather a man’s clenched fist had struck me to the ground than that a woman’s open palm should be so held in evidence against me. I regard that moment as the most unbearable of my life, and with a cry almost of despair I turned and fled. For once language had become impossible and utterly inadequate.

As I beat this precipitate retreat, was it my over-wrought imagination, or was it actual, that I heard an indignant word of expostulation, followed by a low sweet ripple of laughter. Had there been some one else in the room during this painful interview? I staggered like a drunken man up to the deck, and then endeavoured to walk it off and cease thinking.

Mr. Hemster said nothing to me that day, nor I to him, after I came on deck again. For an hour I strode the deck with an energy which, if applied in the right direction, would have driven the yacht faster than she was going. When the gong sounded for luncheon I went down to my own room and was served there. After the meal I did not go up on deck again, but sat on the sofa gloomily smoking. Later I got a novel from the library, and tried to interest myself in it, but failed. I felt physically tired, as if I had done a hard day’s work, and, unsentimental as it is to confess it, I fell asleep on the sofa, and slept until the gong for dinner aroused me.

Dinner I also enjoyed in solitary state in my own apartment, then, under the brilliant cluster of electric lights, tried the novel again, but again without success. The nap in the afternoon made sleep improbable if I turned in, so I scarcely knew what to do with myself. I rather envied Silas K. Hemster’s reticence, and his seeming dislike for intercourse with his fellows. He was the most self-contained man I had ever met, preferring the communion of his own thoughts to conversation with any one. At this crisis of indecision the way was made plain for me by the youth from Japan. There came a gentle tap at my door, and on opening it the Japanese boy said respectfully:

“Sir, Miss Stretton would like to speak with you on deck.”