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The Make-Believe Man by Richard Harding Davis

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Prepared by Don Lainson



I had made up my mind that when my vacation came I would spend it
seeking adventures. I have always wished for adventures, but,
though I am old enough--I was twenty-five last October--and have
always gone half-way to meet them, adventures avoid me. Kinney
says it is my fault. He holds that if you want adventures you must
go after them.

Kinney sits next to me at Joyce & Carboy's, the woollen
manufacturers, where I am a stenographer, and Kinney is a clerk,
and we both have rooms at Mrs. Shaw's boarding-house. Kinney is
only a year older than myself, but he is always meeting with
adventures. At night, when I have sat up late reading law, so that
I may fit myself for court reporting, and in the hope that some day
I may become a member of the bar, he will knock at my door and tell
me some surprising thing that has just happened to him. Sometimes
he has followed a fire-engine and helped people from a fire-escape,
or he has pulled the shield off a policeman, or at the bar of the
Hotel Knickerbocker has made friends with a stranger, who turns out
to be no less than a nobleman or an actor. And women, especially
beautiful women, are always pursuing Kinney in taxicabs and calling
upon him for assistance. Just to look at Kinney, without knowing
how clever he is at getting people out of their difficulties, he
does not appear to be a man to whom you would turn in time of
trouble. You would think women in distress would appeal to some
one bigger and stronger; would sooner ask a policeman. But, on the
contrary, it is to Kinney that women always run, especially, as I
have said, beautiful women. Nothing of the sort ever happens to
me. I suppose, as Kinney says, it is because he was born and
brought up in New York City and looks and acts like a New York man,
while I, until a year ago, have always lived at Fairport. Fairport
is a very pretty harbor, but it does not train one for adventures.
We arranged to take our vacation at the same time, and together.
At least Kinney so arranged it. I see a good deal of him, and in
looking forward to my vacation, not the least pleasant feature of
it was that everything connected with Joyce & Carboy and Mrs.
Shaw's boarding-house would be left behind me. But when Kinney
proposed we should go together, I could not see how, without being
rude, I could refuse his company, and when he pointed out that for
an expedition in search of adventure I could not select a better
guide, I felt that he was right.

"Sometimes," he said, "I can see you don't believe that half the
things I tell you have happened to me, really have happened. Now,
isn't that so?"

To find the answer that would not hurt his feelings I hesitated,
but he did not wait for my answer. He seldom does.

"Well," on this trip," he went on, "you will see Kinney on the job.
You won't have to take my word for it. You will see adventures
walk up and eat out of my hand."

Our vacation came on the first of September, but we began to plan
for it in April, and up to the night before we left New York we
never ceased planning. Our difficulty was that having been brought
up at Fairport, which is on the Sound, north of New London, I was
homesick for a smell of salt marshes and for the sight of water and
ships. Though they were only schooners carrying cement, I wanted
to sit in the sun on the string-piece of a wharf and watch them. I
wanted to beat about the harbor in a catboat, and feel the tug and
pull of the tiller. Kinney protested that that was no way to spend
a vacation or to invite adventure. His face was set against
Fairport. The conversation of clam-diggers, he said, did not
appeal to him; and he complained that at Fairport our only chance
of adventure would be my capsizing the catboat or robbing a
lobster-pot. He insisted we should go to the mountains, where we
would meet what he always calls "our best people." In September,
he explained, everybody goes to the mountains to recuperate after
the enervating atmosphere of the sea-shore. To this I objected
that the little sea air we had inhaled at Mrs. Shaw's basement
dining-room and in the subway need cause us no anxiety. And so,
along these lines, throughout the sleepless, sultry nights of June,
July, and August, we fought it out. There was not a summer resort
within five hundred miles of New York City we did not consider.
From the information bureaus and passenger agents of every railroad
leaving New York, Kinney procured a library of timetables, maps,
folders, and pamphlets, illustrated with the most attractive
pictures of summer hotels, golf links, tennis courts, and boat-
houses. For two months he carried on a correspondence with the
proprietors of these hotels; and in comparing the different prices
they asked him for suites of rooms and sun parlors derived constant

"The Outlook House," he would announce, "wants twenty-four dollars
a day for bedroom, parlor, and private bath. While for the same
accommodations the Carteret Arms asks only twenty. But the
Carteret has no tennis court; and then again, the Outlook has no
garage, nor are dogs allowed in the bedrooms."

As Kinney could not play lawn tennis, and as neither of us owned an
automobile or a dog, or twenty-four dollars, these details to me
seemed superfluous, but there was no health in pointing that out to
Kinney. Because, as he himself says, he has so vivid an
imagination that what he lacks he can "make believe" he has, and
the pleasure of possession is his.

Kinney gives a great deal of thought to his clothes, and the
question of what he should wear on his vacation was upon his mind.
When I said I thought it was nothing to worry about, he snorted
indignantly. "YOU wouldn't!" he said. "If I'D been brought up in
a catboat, and had a tan like a red Indian, and hair like a
Broadway blonde, I wouldn't worry either. Mrs. Shaw says you look
exactly like a British peer in disguise." I had never seen a
British peer, with or without his disguise, and I admit I was

"Why are the girls in this house," demanded Kinney, "always running
to your room to borrow matches? Because they admire your CLOTHES?
If they're crazy about clothes, why don't they come to ME for

"You are always out at night," I said.

"You know that's not the answer," he protested. "Why do the type-
writer girls at the office always go to YOU to sharpen their
pencils and tell them how to spell the hard words? Why do the
girls in the lunch-rooms serve you first? Because they're
hypnotized by your clothes? Is THAT it?"

"Do they?" I asked; "I hadn't noticed."

Kinney snorted and tossed up his arms. "He hadn't noticed!" he
kept repeating. "He hadn't noticed!" For his vacation Kinney
bought a second-hand suit-case. It was covered with labels of
hotels in France and Switzerland.

"Joe," I said, "if you carry that bag you will be a walking

Kinney's name is Joseph Forbes Kinney; he dropped the Joseph
because he said it did not appear often enough in the Social
Register, and could be found only in the Old Testament, and he has
asked me to call him Forbes. Having first known him as "Joe," I
occasionally forget.

"My name is NOT Joe," he said sternly, "and I have as much right to
carry a second-hand bag as a new one. The bag says IT has been to
Europe. It does not say that I have been there."

"But, you probably will," I pointed out, "and then some one who has
really visited those places--"

"Listen!" commanded Kinney. "If you want adventures you must be
somebody of importance. No one will go shares in an adventure with
Joe Kinney, a twenty-dollar-a-week clerk, the human adding machine,
the hall-room boy. But Forbes Kinney, Esq., with a bag from
Europe, and a Harvard ribbon round his hat--"

"Is that a Harvard ribbon round your hat?" I asked.

"It is!" declared Kinney; "and I have a Yale ribbon, and a Turf
Club ribbon, too. They come on hooks, and you hook 'em on to match
your clothes, or the company you keep. And, what's more," he
continued, with some heat, "I've borrowed a tennis racket and a
golf bag full of sticks, and you take care you don't give me away."

"I see," I returned, "that you are going to get us into a lot of

"I was thinking," said Kinney, looking at me rather doubtfully, "it
might help a lot if for the first week you acted as my secretary,
and during the second week I was your secretary."

Sometimes, when Mr. Joyce goes on a business trip, he takes me with
him as his private stenographer, and the change from office work is
very pleasant; but I could not see why I should spend one week of
my holiday writing letters for Kinney.

"You wouldn't write any letters," he explained. "But if I could
tell people you were my private secretary, it would naturally give
me a certain importance."

"If it will make you any happier," I said, "you can tell people I
am a British peer in disguise."

"There is no use in being nasty about it," protested Kinney. "I am
only trying to show you a way that would lead to adventure."

"It surely would!" I assented. "It would lead us to jail."

The last week in August came, and, as to where we were to go we
still were undecided, I suggested we leave it to chance.

"The first thing," I pointed out, "is to get away from this awful
city. The second thing is to get away cheaply. Let us write down
the names of the summer resorts to which we can travel by rail or
by boat for two dollars and put them in a hat. The name of the
place we draw will be the one for which we start Saturday
afternoon. The idea," I urged, "is in itself full of adventure."

Kinney agreed, but reluctantly. What chiefly disturbed him was the
thought that the places near New York to which one could travel for
so little money were not likely to be fashionable.

"I have a terrible fear," he declared, "that, with this limit of
yours, we will wake up in Asbury Park."

Friday night came and found us prepared for departure, and at
midnight we held our lottery. In a pillow-case we placed twenty
slips of paper, on each of which was written the name of a summer
resort. Ten of these places were selected by Kinney, and ten by
myself. Kinney dramatically rolled up his sleeve, and, plunging
his bared arm into our grab-bag, drew out a slip of paper and read
aloud: "New Bedford, via New Bedford Steamboat Line." The choice
was one of mine.

"New Bedford!" shouted Kinney. His tone expressed the keenest
disappointment. "It's a mill town!" he exclaimed. "It's full of
cotton mills."

"That may be," I protested. "But it's also a most picturesque old
seaport, one of the oldest in America. You can see whaling vessels
at the wharfs there, and wooden figure-heads, and harpoons--"

"Is this an expedition to dig up buried cities," interrupted
Kinney, "or a pleasure trip? I don't WANT to see harpoons! I
wouldn't know a harpoon if you stuck one into me. I prefer to see

The Patience did not sail until six o'clock, but we were so anxious
to put New York behind us that at five we were on board. Our cabin
was an outside one with two berths. After placing our suit-cases
in it, we collected camp-chairs and settled ourselves in a cool
place on the boat deck. Kinney had bought all the afternoon
papers, and, as later I had reason to remember, was greatly
interested over the fact that the young Earl of Ivy had at last
arrived in this country. For some weeks the papers had been giving
more space than seemed necessary to that young Irishman and to the
young lady he was coming over to marry. There had been pictures of
his different country houses, pictures of himself; in uniform, in
the robes he wore at the coronation, on a polo pony, as Master of
Fox-hounds. And there had been pictures of Miss Aldrich, and of
HER country places at Newport and on the Hudson. From the
afternoon papers Kinney learned that, having sailed under his
family name of Meehan, the young man and Lady Moya, his sister, had
that morning landed in New York, but before the reporters had
discovered them, had escaped from the wharf and disappeared.

"'Inquiries at the different hotels,'" read Kinney impressively,
"'failed to establish the whereabouts of his lordship and Lady
Moya, and it is believed they at once left by train for Newport.'"

With awe Kinney pointed at the red funnels of the Mauretania.

"There is the boat that brought them to America," he said. "I
see," he added, "that in this picture of him playing golf he wears
one of those knit jackets the Eiselbaum has just marked down to
three dollars and seventy-five cents. I wish--" he added

"You can get one at New Bedford," I suggested.

"I wish," he continued, "we had gone to Newport. All of our BEST
people will be there for the wedding. It is the most important
social event of the season. You might almost call it an alliance."

I went forward to watch them take on the freight, and Kinney
stationed himself at the rail above the passengers gangway where he
could see the other passengers arrive. He had dressed himself with
much care, and was wearing his Yale hat-band, but when a very
smart-looking youth came up the gangplank wearing a Harvard ribbon,
Kinney hastily retired to our cabin and returned with one like it.
A few minutes later I found him and the young man seated in camp-
chairs side by side engaged in a conversation in which Kinney
seemed to bear the greater part. Indeed, to what Kinney was saying
the young man paid not the slightest attention. Instead, his eyes
were fastened on the gangplank below, and when a young man of his
own age, accompanied by a girl in a dress of rough tweed, appeared
upon it, he leaped from his seat. Then with a conscious look at
Kinney, sank back.

The girl in the tweed suit was sufficiently beautiful to cause any
man to rise and to remain standing. She was the most beautiful
girl I had ever seen. She had gray eyes and hair like golden-rod,
worn in a fashion with which I was not familiar, and her face was
so lovely that in my surprise at the sight of it, I felt a sudden
catch at my throat, and my heart stopped with awe, and wonder, and

After a brief moment the young man in the real Harvard hat-band
rose restlessly and, with a nod to Kinney, went below. I also rose
and followed him. I had an uncontrollable desire to again look at
the girl with the golden-rod hair. I did not mean that she should
see me. Never before had I done such a thing. But never before
had I seen any one who had moved me so strangely. Seeking her, I
walked the length of the main saloon and back again, but could not
find her. The delay gave me time to see that my conduct was
impertinent. The very fact that she was so lovely to look upon
should have been her protection. It afforded me no excuse to
follow and spy upon her. With this thought, I hastily returned to
the upper deck to bury myself in my book. If it did not serve to
keep my mind from the young lady, at least I would prevent my eyes
from causing her annoyance.

I was about to take the chair that the young man had left vacant
when Kinney objected.

"He was very much interested in our conversation," Kinney said,
"and he may return."

I had not noticed any eagerness on the part of the young man to
talk to Kinney or to listen to him, but I did not sit down.

"I should not be surprised a bit," said Kinney, "if that young man
is no end of a swell. He is a Harvard man, and his manner was most
polite. That," explained Kinney, "is one way you can always tell a
real swell. They're not high and mighty with you. Their social
position is so secure that they can do as they like. For instance,
did you notice that he smoked a pipe?"

I said I had not noticed it.

For his holiday Kinney had purchased a box of cigars of a quality
more expensive than those he can usually afford. He was smoking
one of them at the moment, and, as it grew less, had been carefully
moving the gold band with which it was encircled from the lighted
end. But as he spoke he regarded it apparently with distaste, and
then dropped it overboard.

"Keep my chair," he said, rising. "I am going to my cabin to get
my pipe." I sat down and fastened my eyes upon my book; but
neither did I understand what I was reading nor see the printed
page. Instead, before my eyes, confusing and blinding me, was the
lovely, radiant face of the beautiful lady. In perplexity I looked
up, and found her standing not two feet from me. Something pulled
me out of my chair. Something made me move it toward her. I
lifted my hat and backed away. But the eyes of the lovely lady
halted me.

To my perplexity, her face expressed both surprise and pleasure.
It was as though either she thought she knew me, or that I reminded
her of some man she did know. Were the latter the case, he must
have been a friend, for the way in which she looked at me was kind.
And there was, besides, the expression of surprise and as though
something she saw pleased her. Maybe it was the quickness with
which I had offered my chair. Still looking at me, she pointed to
one of the sky-scrapers.

"Could you tell me," she asked, "the name of that building?" Had
her question not proved it, her voice would have told me not only
that she was a stranger, but that she was Irish. It was
particularly soft, low, and vibrant. It made the commonplace
question she asked sound as though she had sung it. I told her the
name of the building, and that farther uptown, as she would see
when we moved into midstream, there was another still taller. She
listened, regarding me brightly, as though interested; but before
her I was embarrassed, and, fearing I intruded, I again made a
movement to go away. With another question she stopped me. I
could see no reason for her doing so, but it was almost as though
she had asked the question only to detain me.

"What is that odd boat," she said, "pumping water into the river?"

I explained that it was a fire-boat testing her hose-lines, and
then as we moved into the channel I gained courage, and found
myself pointing out the Statue of Liberty, Governors Island, and
the Brooklyn Bridge. The fact that it was a stranger who was
talking did not seem to disturb her. I cannot tell how she
conveyed the idea, but I soon felt that she felt, no matter what
unconventional thing she chose to do, people would not be rude, or

I considered telling her my name. At first it seemed that that
would be more polite. Then I saw to do so would be forcing myself
upon her, that she was interested in me only as a guide to New York

When we passed the Brooklyn Navy Yard I talked so much and so
eagerly of the battle-ships at anchor there that the lady must have
thought I had followed the sea, for she asked: "Are you a

It was the first question that was in any way personal.

"I used to sail a catboat," I said.

My answer seemed to puzzle her, and she frowned. Then she laughed
delightedly, like one having made a discovery.

"You don't say 'sailorman,'" she said. "What do you ask, over
here, when you want to know if a man is in the navy?"

She spoke as though we were talking a different language.

"We ask if he is in the navy," I answered.

She laughed again at that, quite as though I had said something

"And you are not?"

"No," I said, "I am in Joyce & Carboy's office. I am a

Again my answer seemed both to puzzle and to surprise her. She
regarded me doubtfully. I could see that she thought, for some
reason, I was misleading her.

"In an office?" she repeated. Then, as though she had caught me,
she said: "How do you keep so fit?" She asked the question
directly, as a man would have asked it, and as she spoke I was
conscious that her eyes were measuring me and my shoulders, as
though she were wondering to what weight I could strip.

"It's only lately I've worked in an office," I said. "Before that
I always worked out-of-doors; oystering and clamming and, in the
fall, scalloping. And in the summer I played ball on a hotel

I saw that to the beautiful lady my explanation carried no meaning
whatsoever, but before I could explain, the young man with whom she
had come on board walked toward us.

Neither did he appear to find in her talking to a stranger anything
embarrassing. He halted and smiled. His smile was pleasant, but
entirely vague. In the few minutes I was with him, I learned that
it was no sign that he was secretly pleased. It was merely his
expression. It was as though a photographer had said: "Smile,
please," and he had smiled.

When he joined us, out of deference to the young lady I raised my
hat, but the youth did not seem to think that outward show of
respect was necessary, and kept his hands in his pockets. Neither
did he cease smoking. His first remark to the lovely lady somewhat
startled me.

"Have you got a brass bed in your room?" he asked. The beautiful
lady said she had.

"So've I," said the young man. "They do you rather well, don't
they? And it's only three dollars. How much is that?"

"Four times three would be twelve," said the lady. "Twelve

The young man was smoking a cigarette in a long amber cigarette-
holder. I never had seen one so long. He examined the end of his
cigarette-holder, and, apparently surprised and relieved at finding
a cigarette there, again smiled contentedly.

The lovely lady pointed at the marble shaft rising above Madison

"That is the tallest sky-scraper," she said, "in New York." I had
just informed her of that fact. The young man smiled as though he
were being introduced to the building, but exhibited no interest.

"IS it?" he remarked. His tone seemed to show that had she said,
"That is a rabbit," he would have been equally gratified.

"Some day," he stated, with the same startling abruptness with
which he had made his first remark, "our war-ships will lift the
roofs off those sky-scrapers."

The remark struck me in the wrong place. It was unnecessary.
Already I resented the manner of the young man toward the lovely
lady. It seemed to me lacking in courtesy. He knew her, and yet
treated her with no deference, while I, a stranger, felt so
grateful to her for being what I knew one with such a face must be,
that I could have knelt at her feet. So I rather resented the

"If the war-ships you send over here," I said doubtfully, "aren't
more successful in lifting things than your yachts, you'd better
keep them at home and save coal!"

Seldom have I made so long a speech or so rude a speech, and as
soon as I had spoken, on account of the lovely lady, I was sorry.

But after a pause of half a second she laughed delightedly.

"I see," she cried, as though it were a sort of a game. "He means
Lipton! We can't lift the cup, we can't lift the roofs. Don't you
see, Stumps!" she urged. In spite of my rude remark, the young man
she called Stumps had continued to smile happily. Now his
expression changed to one of discomfort and utter gloom, and then
broke out into a radiant smile.

"I say!" he cried. "That's awfully good: 'If your war-ships aren't
any better at lifting things--' Oh, I say, really," he protested,
"that's awfully good." He seemed to be afraid I would not
appreciate the rare excellence of my speech. "You know, really,"
he pleaded, "it is AWFULLY good!"

We were interrupted by the sudden appearance, in opposite
directions, of Kinney and the young man with the real hat-band.
Both were excited and disturbed. At the sight of the young man,
Stumps turned appealingly to the golden-rod girl. He groaned
aloud, and his expression was that of a boy who had been caught
playing truant.

"Oh, Lord!" he exclaimed, "what's he huffy about now? He TOLD me I
could come on deck as soon as we started."

The girl turned upon me a sweet and lovely smile and nodded. Then,
with Stumps at her side, she moved to meet the young man. When he
saw them coming he halted, and, when they joined him, began talking
earnestly, almost angrily. As he did so, much to my bewilderment,
he glared at me. At the same moment Kinney grabbed me by the arm.

"Come below!" he commanded. His tone was hoarse and thrilling with

"Our adventures," he whispered, "have begun!"


I felt, for me, adventures had already begun, for my meeting with
the beautiful lady was the event of my life, and though Kinney and
I had agreed to share our adventures, of this one I knew I could
not even speak to him. I wanted to be alone, where I could delight
in it, where I could go over what she had said; what I had said. I
would share it with no one. It was too wonderful, too sacred. But
Kinney would not be denied. He led me to our cabin and locked the

"I am sorry," he began, "but this adventure is one I cannot share
with you." The remark was so in keeping with my own thoughts that
with sudden unhappy doubt I wondered if Kinney, too, had felt the
charm of the beautiful lady. But he quickly undeceived me.

"I have been doing a little detective work," he said. His voice
was low and sepulchral. "And I have come upon a real adventure.
There are reasons why I cannot share it with you, but as it
develops you can follow it. About half an hour ago," he explained,
"I came here to get my pipe. The window was open. The lattice was
only partly closed. Outside was that young man from Harvard who
tried to make my acquaintance, and the young Englishman who came on
board with that blonde." Kinney suddenly interrupted himself.
"You were talking to her just now," he said. I hated to hear him
speak of the Irish lady as "that blonde." I hated to hear him
speak of her at all. So, to shut him off, I answered briefly: "She
asked me about the Singer Building."

"I see," said Kinney. "Well, these two men were just outside my
window, and, while I was searching for my pipe, I heard the
American speaking. He was very excited and angry. 'I tell you,'
he said, 'every boat and railroad station is watched. You won't be
safe till we get away from New York. You must go to your cabin,
and STAY there.' And the other one answered: 'I am sick of hiding
and dodging.'"

Kinney paused dramatically and frowned.

"Well," I asked, "what of it?"

"What of it?" he cried. He exclaimed aloud with pity and

"No wonder," he cried, "you never have adventures. Why, it's plain
as print. They are criminals escaping. The Englishman certainly
is escaping."

I was concerned only for the lovely lady, but I asked: "You mean
the Irishman called Stumps?"

"Stumps!" exclaimed Kinney. "What a strange name. Too strange to
be true. It's an alias!" I was incensed that Kinney should charge
the friends of the lovely lady with being criminals. Had it been
any one else I would have at once resented it, but to be angry with
Kinney is difficult. I could not help but remember that he is the
slave of his own imagination. It plays tricks and runs away with
him. And if it leads him to believe innocent people are criminals,
it also leads him to believe that every woman in the Subway to whom
he gives his seat is a great lady, a leader of society on her way
to work in the slums.

"Joe!" I protested. "Those men aren't criminals. I talked to that
Irishman, and he hasn't sense enough to be a criminal."

"The railroads are watched," repeated Kinney. "Do HONEST men care
a darn whether the railroad is watched or not? Do you care? Do I
care? And did you notice how angry the American got when he found
Stumps talking with you?"

I had noticed it; and I also recalled the fact that Stumps had said
to the lovely lady: "He told me I could come on deck as soon as we

The words seemed to bear out what Kinney claimed he had overheard.
But not wishing to encourage him, of what I had heard I said

"He may be dodging a summons," I suggested. "He is wanted,
probably, only as a witness. It might be a civil suit, or his
chauffeur may have hit somebody."

Kinney shook his head sadly.

"Excuse me," he said, "but I fear you lack imagination. Those men
are rascals, dangerous rascals, and the woman is their accomplice.
What they have done I don't know, but I have already learned enough
to arrest them as suspicious characters. Listen! Each of them has
a separate state-room forward. The window of the American's room
was open, and his suit-case was on the bed. On it were the
initials H. P. A. The stateroom is number twenty-four, but when I
examined the purser's list, pretending I wished to find out if a
friend of mine was on board, I found that the man in twenty-four
had given his name as James Preston. Now," he demanded, "why
should one of them hide under an alias and the other be afraid to
show himself until we leave the wharf?" He did not wait for my
answer. "I have been talking to Mr. H. P. A., ALIAS Preston," he
continued. "I pretended I was a person of some importance. I
hinted I was rich. My object," Kinney added hastily, "was to
encourage him to try some of his tricks on ME; to try to rob ME; so
that I could obtain evidence. I also," he went on, with some
embarrassment, "told him that you, too, were wealthy and of some

I thought of the lovely lady, and I felt myself blushing

"You did very wrong," I cried; "you had no right! You may involve
us both most unpleasantly."

"You are not involved in any way," protested Kinney. "As soon as
we reach New Bedford you can slip on shore and wait for me at the
hotel. When I've finished with these gentlemen, I'll join you."

"Finished with them!" I exclaimed. "What do you mean to do to

"Arrest them!" cried Kinney sternly, "as soon as they step upon the

"You can't do it!" I gasped.

"I HAVE done it!" answered Kinney. "It's good as done. I have
notified the chief of police at New Bedford," he declared proudly,
"to meet me at the wharf. I used the wireless. Here is my

From his pocket he produced a paper and, with great importance,
read aloud: "Meet me at wharf on arrival steamer Patience. Two
well-known criminals on board escaping New York police. Will
personally lay charges against them.--Forbes Kinney."

As soon as I could recover from my surprise, I made violent
protest. I pointed out to Kinney that his conduct was outrageous,
that in making such serious charges, on such evidence, he would lay
himself open to punishment.

He was not in the least dismayed.

"I take it then," he said importantly, "that you do not wish to
appear against them?"

"I don't wish to appear in it at all!" I cried. "You've no right
to annoy that young lady. You must wire the police you are

"I have no desire to arrest the woman," said Kinney stiffly. "In
my message I did not mention HER. If you want an adventure of your
own, you might help her to escape while I arrest her accomplices."

"I object," I cried, "to your applying the word 'accomplice' to
that young lady. And suppose they ARE criminals," I demanded, "how
will arresting them help you?"

Kinney's eyes flashed with excitement.

"Think of the newspapers," he cried; "they'll be full of it!"
Already in imagination he saw the headlines. "'A Clever Haul!'" he
quoted. "'Noted band of crooks elude New York police, but are
captured by Forbes Kinney.'" He sighed contentedly. "And they'll
probably print my picture, too," he added.

I knew I should be angry with him, but instead I could only feel
sorry. I have known Kinney for a year, and I have learned that his
"make-believe" is always innocent. I suppose that he is what is
called a snob, but with him snobbishness is not an unpleasant
weakness. In his case it takes the form of thinking that people
who have certain things he does not possess are better than
himself; and that, therefore, they must be worth knowing, and he
tries to make their acquaintance. But he does not think that he
himself is better than any one. His life is very bare and narrow.
In consequence, on many things he places false values. As, for
example, his desire to see his name in the newspapers even as an
amateur detective. So, while I was indignant I also was sorry.

"Joe," I said, "you're going to get yourself into an awful lot of
trouble, and though I am not in this adventure, you know if I can
help you I will."

He thanked me and we went to the dining-saloon. There, at a table
near ours, we saw the lovely lady and Stumps and the American. She
again smiled at me, but this time, so it seemed, a little

In the mind of the American, on the contrary, there was no doubt.
He glared both at Kinney and myself, as though he would like to
boil us in oil.

After dinner, in spite of my protests, Kinney set forth to
interview him and, as he described it, to "lead him on" to commit
himself. I feared Kinney was much more likely to commit himself
than the other, and when I saw them seated together I watched from
a distance with much anxiety.

An hour later, while I was alone, a steward told me the purser
would like to see me. I went to his office, and found gathered
there Stumps, his American friend, the night watchman of the boat,
and the purser. As though inviting him to speak, the purser nodded
to the American. That gentleman addressed me in an excited and
belligerent manner.

"My name is Aldrich," he said; "I want to know what YOUR name is?"

I did not quite like his tone, nor did I like being summoned to the
purser's office to be questioned by a stranger.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because," said Aldrich, "it seems you have SEVERAL names. As one
of them belongs to THIS gentleman"--he pointed at Stumps--"he wants
to know why you are using it."

I looked at Stumps and he greeted me with the vague and genial
smile that was habitual to him, but on being caught in the act by
Aldrich he hurriedly frowned.

"I have never used any name but my own," I said; "and," I added
pleasantly, "if I were choosing a name I wouldn't choose 'Stumps.'"

Aldrich fairly gasped.

"His name is not Stumps!" he cried indignantly. "He is the Earl of

He evidently expected me to be surprised at this, and I WAS
surprised. I stared at the much-advertised young Irishman with

Aldrich misunderstood my silence, and in a triumphant tone, which
was far from pleasant, continued: "So you see," he sneered, "when
you chose to pass yourself off as Ivy you should have picked out
another boat."

The thing was too absurd for me to be angry, and I demanded with
patience: "But why should I pass myself off as Lord Ivy?"

"That's what we intend to find out," snapped Aldrich. "Anyway,
we've stopped your game for to-night, and to-morrow you can explain
to the police! Your pal," he taunted, "has told every one on this
boat that you are Lord Ivy, and he's told me lies enough about
HIMSELF to prove HE'S an impostor, too!"

I saw what had happened, and that if I were to protect poor Kinney
I must not, as I felt inclined, use my fists, but my head. I
laughed with apparent unconcern, and turned to the purser.

"Oh, that's it, is it?" I cried. "I might have known it was
Kinney; he's always playing practical jokes on me." I turned to
Aldrich. "My friend has been playing a joke on you, too," I said.
"He didn't know who you were, but he saw you were an Anglomaniac,
and he's been having fun with you!"

"Has he?" roared Aldrich. He reached down into his pocket and
pulled out a piece of paper. "This," he cried, shaking it at me,
"is a copy of a wireless that I've just sent to the chief of police
at New Bedford."

With great satisfaction he read it in a loud and threatening voice:
"Two impostors on this boat representing themselves to be Lord Ivy,
my future brother-in-law, and his secretary. Lord Ivy himself on
board. Send police to meet boat. We will make charges.--Henry
Philip Aldrich."

It occurred to me that after receiving two such sensational
telegrams, and getting out of bed to meet the boat at six in the
morning, the chief of police would be in a state of mind to arrest
almost anybody, and that his choice would certainly fall on Kinney
and myself. It was ridiculous, but it also was likely to prove
extremely humiliating. So I said, speaking to Lord Ivy: "There's
been a mistake all around; send for Mr. Kinney and I will explain
it to you." Lord Ivy, who was looking extremely bored, smiled and
nodded, but young Aldrich laughed ironically.

"Mr. Kinney is in his state-room," he said, "with a steward
guarding the door and window. You can explain to-morrow to the

I rounded indignantly upon the purser.

"Are you keeping Mr. Kinney a prisoner in his state-room?" I
demanded. "If you are--"

"He doesn't have to stay there," protested the purser sulkily.
"When he found the stewards were following him he went to his

"I will see him at once," I said. "And if I catch any of your
stewards following ME, I'll drop them overboard."

No one tried to stop me--indeed, knowing I could not escape, they
seemed pleased at my departure, and I went to my cabin.

Kinney, seated on the edge of the berth, greeted me with a hollow
groan. His expression was one of utter misery. As though begging
me not to be angry, he threw out his arms appealingly.

"How the devil!" he began, "was I to know that a little red-headed
shrimp like that was the Earl of Ivy? And that that tall blonde
girl," he added indignantly, "that I thought was an accomplice, is
Lady Moya, his sister?"

"What happened?" I asked.

Kinney was wearing his hat. He took it off and hurled it to the

"It was that damned hat!" he cried. "It's a Harvard ribbon, all
right, but only men on the crew can wear it! How was I to know
THAT? I saw Aldrich looking at it in a puzzled way, and when he
said, 'I see you are on the crew,' I guessed what it meant, and
said I was on last year's crew. Unfortunately HE was on last
year's crew! That's what made him suspect me, and after dinner he
put me through a third degree. I must have given the wrong
answers, for suddenly he jumped up and called me a swindler and an
impostor. I got back by telling him he was a crook and that I was
a detective, and that I had sent a wireless to have him arrested at
New Bedford. He challenged me to prove I was a detective, and, of
course, I couldn't, and he called up two stewards and told them to
watch me while he went after the purser. I didn't fancy being
watched, so I came here."

"When did you tell him I was the Earl of Ivy?"

Kinney ran his fingers through his hair and groaned dismally.

"That was before the boat started," he said; "it was only a joke.
He didn't seem to be interested in my conversation, so I thought
I'd liven it up a bit by saying I was a friend of Lord Ivy's. And
you happened to pass, and I happened to remember Mrs. Shaw saying
you looked like a British peer, so I said: 'That is my friend Lord
Ivy.' I said I was your secretary, and he seemed greatly
interested, and--" Kinney added dismally, "I talked too much. I am
SO sorry," he begged. "It's going to be awful for you!" His eyes
suddenly lit with hope. "Unless," he whispered. "we can escape!"

The same thought was in my mind, but the idea was absurd, and
impracticable. I knew there was no escape. I knew we were
sentenced at sunrise to a most humiliating and disgraceful
experience. The newspapers would regard anything that concerned
Lord Ivy as news. In my turn I also saw the hideous head-lines.
What would my father and mother at Fairport think; what would my
old friends there think; and, what was of even greater importance,
how would Joyce & Carboy act? What chance was there left me, after
I had been arrested as an impostor, to become a stenographer in the
law courts--in time, a member of the bar? But I found that what,
for the moment, distressed me most was that the lovely lady would
consider me a knave or a fool. The thought made me exclaim with
exasperation. Had it been possible to abandon Kinney, I would have
dropped overboard and made for shore. The night was warm and
foggy, and the short journey to land, to one who had been brought
up like a duck, meant nothing more than a wetting. But I did not
see how I could desert Kinney.

"Can you swim?" I asked

"Of course not!" he answered gloomily; "and, besides," he added,
"our names are on our suitcases. We couldn't take them with us,
and they'd find out who we are. If we could only steal a boat!" he
exclaimed eagerly--"one of those on the davits," he urged--"we
could put our suitcases in it and then, after every one is asleep,
we could lower it into the water."

The smallest boat on board was certified to hold twenty-five
persons, and without waking the entire ship's company we could as
easily have moved the chart-room. This I pointed out.

"Don't make objections!" Kinney cried petulantly. He was rapidly
recovering his spirits. The imminence of danger seemed to inspire

"Think!" he commanded. "Think of some way by which we can get off
this boat before she reaches New Bedford. We MUST! We must not be
arrested! It would be too awful!" He interrupted himself with an
excited exclamation.

"I have it!" he whispered hoarsely: "I will ring in the fire-alarm!
The crew will run to quarters. The boats will be lowered. We will
cut one of them adrift. In the confusion--"

What was to happen in the confusion that his imagination had
conjured up, I was not to know. For what actually happened was so
confused that of nothing am I quite certain. First, from the water
of the Sound, that was lapping pleasantly against the side, I heard
the voice of a man raised in terror. Then came a rush of feet,
oaths, and yells; then a shock that threw us to our knees, and a
crunching, ripping, and tearing roar like that made by the roof of
a burning building when it plunges to the cellar.

And the next instant a large bowsprit entered our cabin window.
There was left me just space enough to wrench the door open, and
grabbing Kinney, who was still on his knees, I dragged him into the
alleyway. He scrambled upright and clasped his hands to his head.

"Where's my hat?" he cried.

I could hear the water pouring into the lower deck and sweeping the
freight and trunks before it. A horse in a box stall was squealing
like a human being, and many human beings were screaming and
shrieking like animals. My first intelligent thought was of the
lovely lady. I shook Kinney by the arm. The uproar was so great
that to make him hear I was forced to shout. "Where is Lord Ivy's
cabin?" I cried. "You said it's next to his sister's. Take me

Kinney nodded, and ran down the corridor and into an alleyway on
which opened three cabins. The doors were ajar, and as I looked
into each I saw that the beds had not been touched, and that the
cabins were empty. I knew then that she was still on deck. I felt
that I must find her. We ran toward the companionway.

"Women and children first!" Kinney was yelling. "Women and
children first!" As we raced down the slanting floor of the saloon
he kept repeating this mechanically. At that moment the electric
lights went out, and, except for the oil lamps, the ship was in
darkness. Many of the passengers had already gone to bed. These
now burst from the state-rooms in strange garments, carrying life-
preservers, hand-bags, their arms full of clothing. One man in one
hand clutched a sponge, in the other an umbrella. With this he
beat at those who blocked his flight. He hit a woman over the
head, and I hit him and he went down. Finding himself on his
knees, be began to pray volubly.

When we reached the upper deck we pushed out of the crush at the
gangway and, to keep our footing, for there was a strong list to
port, clung to the big flag-staff at the stern. At each rail the
crew were swinging the boats over the side, and around each boat
was a crazy, fighting mob. Above our starboard rail towered the
foremast of a schooner. She had rammed us fair amidships, and in
her bows was a hole through which you could have rowed a boat.
Into this the water was rushing and sucking her down. She was
already settling at the stern. By the light of a swinging lantern
I saw three of her crew lift a yawl from her deck and lower it into
the water. Into it they hurled oars and a sail, and one of them
had already started to slide down the painter when the schooner
lurched drunkenly; and in a panic all three of the men ran forward
and leaped to our lower deck. The yawl, abandoned, swung idly
between the Patience and the schooner. Kinney, seeing what I saw,
grabbed me by the arm.

"There!" he whispered, pointing; "there's our chance!" I saw that,
with safety, the yawl could hold a third person, and as to who the
third passenger would be I had already made up my mind.

"Wait here!" I said.

On the Patience there were many immigrants, only that afternoon
released from Ellis Island. They had swarmed into the life-boats
even before they were swung clear, and when the ship's officers
drove them off, the poor souls, not being able to understand,
believed they were being sacrificed for the safety of the other
passengers. So each was fighting, as he thought, for his life and
for the lives of his wife and children. At the edge of the
scrimmage I dragged out two women who had been knocked off their
feet and who were in danger of being trampled. But neither was the
woman I sought. In the half-darkness I saw one of the immigrants,
a girl with a 'kerchief on her head, struggling with her life-belt.
A stoker, as he raced past, seized it and made for the rail. In my
turn I took it from him, and he fought for it, shouting:

"It's every man for himself now!"

"All right," I said, for I was excited and angry, "look out for
YOURSELF then!" I hit him on the chin, and he let go of the life-
belt and dropped.

I heard at my elbow a low, excited laugh, and a voice said: "Well
bowled! You never learned that in an office." I turned and saw
the lovely lady. I tossed the immigrant girl her life-belt, and as
though I had known Lady Moya all my life I took her by the hand and
dragged her after me down the deck.

"You come with me!" I commanded. I found that I was trembling and
that a weight of anxiety of which I had not been conscious had been
lifted. I found I was still holding her hand and pressing it in my
own. "Thank God!" I said. "I thought I had lost you!"

"Lost me!" repeated Lady Moya. But she made no comment. "I must
find my brother," she said.

"You must come with me!" I ordered. "Go with Mr. Kinney to the
lower deck. I will bring that rowboat under the stern. You will
jump into it.

"I cannot leave my brother!" said Lady Moya.

Upon the word, as though shot from a cannon, the human whirlpool
that was sweeping the deck amidships cast out Stumps and hurled him
toward us. His sister gave a little cry of relief. Stumps
recovered his balance and shook himself like a dog that has been in
the water.

"Thought I'd never get out of it alive!" he remarked complacently.
In the darkness I could not see his face, but I was sure he was
still vaguely smiling. "Worse than a foot-ball night!" he
exclaimed; "worse than Mafeking night!"

His sister pointed to the yawl.

"This gentleman is going to bring that boat here and take us away
in it," she told him. "We had better go when we can!"

"Right ho!" assented Stumps cheerfully. "How about Phil? He's
just behind me."

As he spoke, only a few yards from us a peevish voice pierced the

"I tell you," it cried, "you must find Lord Ivy! If Lord Ivy--"

A voice with a strong and brutal American accent yelled in answer:
"To hell with Lord Ivy!"

Lady Moya chuckled.

"Get to the lower deck!" I commanded. "I am going for the yawl."

As I slipped my leg over the rail I heard Lord Ivy say: "I'll find
Phil and meet you."

I dropped and caught the rail of the deck below, and, hanging from
it, shoved with my knees and fell into the water. Two strokes
brought me to the yawl, and, scrambling into her and casting her
off, I paddled back to the steamer. As I lay under the stern I
heard from the lower deck the voice of Kinney raised importantly.

"Ladies first!" he cried. "Her ladyship first, I mean," he
corrected. Even on leaving what he believed to be a sinking ship,
Kinney could not forget his manners. But Mr. Aldrich had evidently
forgotten his. I heard him shout indignantly: "I'll be damned if I

The voice of Lady Moya laughed.

"You'll be drowned if you don't!" she answered. I saw a black
shadow poised upon the rail. "Steady below there!" her voice
called, and the next moment, as lightly as a squirrel, she dropped
to the thwart and stumbled into my arms.

The voice of Aldrich was again raised in anger. "I'd rather
drown!" he cried.

Lord Ivy responded with unexpected spirit.

"Well, then, drown! The water is warm and it's a pleasing death."

At that, with a bump, he fell in a heap at my feet.

"Easy, Kinney!" I shouted. "Don't swamp us!"

"I'll be careful!" he called, and the next instant hit my shoulders
and I shook him off on top of Lord Ivy.

"Get off my head!" shouted his lordship.

Kinney apologized to every one profusely. Lady Moya raised her

"For the last time, Phil," she called, "are you coming or are you

"Not with those swindlers, I'm not!" he shouted. "I think you two
are mad! I prefer to drown!"

There was an uncomfortable silence. My position was a difficult
one, and, not knowing what to say, I said nothing.

"If one must drown!" exclaimed Lady Moya briskly, "I can't see it
matters who one drowns with."

In his strangely explosive manner Lord Ivy shouted suddenly: "Phil,
you're a silly ass."

"Push off!" commanded Lady Moya.

I think, from her tone, the order was given more for the benefit of
Aldrich than for myself. Certainly it was effective, for on the
instant there was a heavy splash. Lord Ivy sniffed scornfully and
manifested no interest.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "he prefers to drown!"

Sputtering and gasping, Aldrich rose out of the water, and, while
we balanced the boat, climbed over the side.

"Understand!" he cried even while he was still gasping, "I am here
under protest. I am here to protect you and Stumps. I am under
obligation to no one. I'm--"

"Can you row?" I asked.

"Why don't you ask your pal?" he demanded savagely; "he rowed on
last year's crew."

"Phil!" cried Lady Moya. Her voice suggested a temper I had not
suspected. "You will row or you can get out and walk! Take the
oars," she commanded, "and be civil!" Lady Moya, with the tiller
in her hand, sat in the stern; Stumps, with Kinney huddled at his
knees, was stowed away forward. I took the stroke and Aldrich the
bow oars.

"We will make for the Connecticut shore," I said, and pulled from
under the stern of the Patience.

In a few minutes we had lost all sight and, except for her whistle,
all sound of her; and we ourselves were lost in the fog. There was
another eloquent and embarrassing silence. Unless, in the panic,
they trampled upon each other, I had no real fear for the safety of
those on board the steamer. Before we had abandoned her I had
heard the wireless frantically sputtering the "standby" call, and I
was certain that already the big boats of the Fall River,
Providence, and Joy lines, and launches from every wireless station
between Bridgeport and Newport, were making toward her. But the
margin of safety, which to my thinking was broad enough for all the
other passengers, for the lovely lady was in no way sufficient.
That mob-swept deck was no place for her. I was happy that, on her
account, I had not waited for a possible rescue. In the yawl she
was safe. The water was smooth, and the Connecticut shore was, I
judged, not more than three miles distant. In an hour, unless the
fog confused us, I felt sure the lovely lady would again walk
safely upon dry land. Selfishly, on Kinney's account and my own, I
was delighted to find myself free of the steamer, and from any
chance of her landing us where police waited with open arms. The
avenging angel in the person of Aldrich was still near us, so near
that I could hear the water dripping from his clothes, but his
power to harm was gone. I was congratulating myself on this when
suddenly he undeceived me. Apparently he had been considering his
position toward Kinney and myself, and, having arrived at a
conclusion, was anxious to announce it.

"I wish to repeat," he exclaimed suddenly, "that I'm under
obligations to nobody. Just because my friends," he went on
defiantly, "choose to trust themselves with persons who ought to be
in jail, I can't desert them. It's all the more reason why I
SHOULDN'T desert them. That's why I'm here! And I want it
understood as soon as I get on shore I'm going to a police station
and have those persons arrested."

Rising out of the fog that had rendered each of us invisible to the
other, his words sounded fantastic and unreal. In the dripping
silence, broken only by hoarse warnings that came from no
direction, and within the mind of each the conviction that we were
lost, police stations did not immediately concern us. So no one
spoke, and in the fog the words died away and were drowned. But I
was glad he had spoken. At least I was forewarned. I now knew
that I had not escaped, that Kinney and I were still in danger. I
determined that so far as it lay with me, our yawl would be beached
at that point on the coast of Connecticut farthest removed, not
only from police stations, but from all human habitation.

As soon as we were out of hearing of the Patience and her whistle,
we completely lost our bearings. It may be that Lady Moya was not
a skilled coxswain, or it may be that Aldrich understands a racing
scull better than a yawl, and pulled too heavily on his right, but
whatever the cause we soon were hopelessly lost. In this
predicament we were not alone. The night was filled with fog-
horns, whistles, bells, and the throb of engines, but we never were
near enough to hail the vessels from which the sounds came, and
when we rowed toward them they invariably sank into silence. After
two hours Stumps and Kinney insisted on taking a turn at the oars,
and Lady Moya moved to the bow. We gave her our coats, and, making
cushions of these, she announced that she was going to sleep.
Whether she slept or not, I do not know, but she remained silent.
For three more dreary hours we took turns at the oars or dozed at
the bottom of the boat while we continued aimlessly to drift upon
the face of the waters. It was now five o'clock, and the fog had
so far lightened that we could see each other and a stretch of open
water. At intervals the fog-horns of vessels passing us, but
hidden from us, tormented Aldrich to a state of extreme
exasperation. He hailed them with frantic shrieks and shouts, and
Stumps and the Lady Moya shouted with him. I fear Kinney and
myself did not contribute any great volume of sound to the general
chorus. To be "rescued" was the last thing we desired. The yacht
or tug that would receive us on board would also put us on shore,
where the vindictive Aldrich would have us at his mercy. We
preferred the freedom of our yawl and the shelter of the fog. Our
silence was not lost upon Aldrich. For some time he had been
crouching in the bow, whispering indignantly to Lady Moya; now he
exclaimed aloud:

"What did I tell you?" he cried contemptuously; "they got away in
this boat because they were afraid of ME, not because they were
afraid of being drowned. If they've nothing to be afraid of, why
are they so anxious to keep us drifting around all night in this
fog? Why don't they help us stop one of those tugs?"

Lord Ivy exploded suddenly.

"Rot!" he exclaimed. "If they're afraid of you, why did they ask
you to go with them?"

"They didn't!" cried Aldrich, truthfully and triumphantly. "They
kidnapped you and Moya because they thought they could square
themselves with YOU. But they didn't want ME!" The issue had been
fairly stated, and no longer with self-respect could I remain

"We don't want you now!" I said. "Can't you understand," I went on
with as much self-restraint as I could muster, "we are willing and
anxious to explain ourselves to Lord Ivy, or even to you, but we
don't want to explain to the police? My friend thought you and
Lord Ivy were crooks, escaping. You think WE are crooks, escaping.
You both--"

Aldrich snorted contemptuously.

"That's a likely story!" he cried. "No wonder you don't want to
tell THAT to the police!"

From the bow came an exclamation, and Lady Moya rose to her feet.

"Phil!" she said, "you bore me!" She picked her way across the
thwart to where Kinney sat at the stroke oar.

"My brother and I often row together," she said; "I will take your

When she had seated herself we were so near that her eyes looked
directly into mine. Drawing in the oars, she leaned upon them and

"Now, then," she commanded, "tell us all about it."

Before I could speak there came from behind her a sudden radiance,
and as though a curtain had been snatched aside, the fog flew
apart, and the sun, dripping, crimson, and gorgeous, sprang from
the waters. From the others there was a cry of wonder and delight,
and from Lord Ivy a shriek of incredulous laughter.

Lady Moya clapped her hands joyfully and pointed past me. I turned
and looked. Directly behind me, not fifty feet from us, was a
shelving beach and a stone wharf, and above it a vine-covered
cottage, from the chimney of which smoke curled cheerily. Had the
yawl, while Lady Moya was taking the oars, NOT swung in a circle,
and had the sun NOT risen, in three minutes more we would have
bumped ourselves into the State of Connecticut. The cottage stood
on one horn of a tiny harbor. Beyond it, weather-beaten shingled
houses, sail-lofts, and wharfs stretched cosily in a half-circle.
Back of them rose splendid elms and the delicate spire of a church,
and from the unruffled surface of the harbor the masts of many
fishing-boats. Across the water, on a grass-grown point, a
whitewashed light-house blushed in the crimson glory of the sun.
Except for an oyster-man in his boat at the end of the wharf, and
the smoke from the chimney of his cottage, the little village
slept, the harbor slept. It was a picture of perfect content,
confidence, and peace. "Oh!" cried the Lady Moya, "how pretty, how

Lord Ivy swung the bow about and raced toward the wharf. The
others stood up and cheered hysterically.

At the sound and at the sight of us emerging so mysteriously from
the fog, the man in the fishing-boat raised himself to his full
height and stared as incredulously as though he beheld a mermaid.
He was an old man, but straight and tall, and the oysterman's boots
stretching to his hips made him appear even taller than he was. He
had a bristling white beard and his face was tanned to a fierce
copper color, but his eyes were blue and young and gentle. They
lit suddenly with excitement and sympathy.

"Are you from the Patience?" he shouted. In chorus we answered
that we were, and Ivy pulled the yawl alongside the fisherman's

But already the old man had turned and, making a megaphone of his
hands, was shouting to the cottage.

"Mother!" he cried, "mother, here are folks from the wreck. Get
coffee and blankets and--and bacon--and eggs!"

"May the Lord bless him!" exclaimed the Lady Moya devoutly.

But Aldrich, excited and eager, pulled out a roll of bills and
shook them at the man.

"Do you want to earn ten dollars?" he demanded; "then chase
yourself to the village and bring the constable."

Lady Moya exclaimed bitterly, Lord Ivy swore, Kinney in despair
uttered a dismal howl and dropped his head in his hands.

"It's no use, Mr. Aldrich," I said. Seated in the stern, the
others had hidden me from the fisherman. Now I stood up and he saw
me. I laid one hand on his, and pointed to the tin badge on his

"He is the village constable himself," I explained. I turned to
the lovely lady. "Lady Moya," I said, "I want to introduce you to
my father!" I pointed to the vine-covered cottage. "That's my
home," I said. I pointed to the sleeping town. "That," I told
her, "is the village of Fairport. Most of it belongs to father.
You are all very welcome."

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