Graustark

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GRAUSTARK

I

MR. GRENFALL LORRY SEEKS ADVENTURE

Mr. Grenfall Lorry boarded the east-bound express at Denver with
all the air of a martyr. He had traveled pretty much all over
the world, and he was not without resources, but the prospect of
a twenty-five hundred mile journey alone filled him with dismay.
The country he knew; the scenery had long since lost its
attractions for him; countless newsboys bad failed to tempt him
with the literature they thrust in his face, and as for his
fellow-passengers--well, he preferred to be alone. And so it was
that he gloomily motioned the porter to his boxes and mounted the
steps with weariness.

As it happened, Mr. Grenfall Lorry did not have a dull moment
after the train started.

He stumbled on a figure that leaned toward the window in the dark
passageway. With reluctant civility he apologized; a lady stood
up to let him pass, and for an instant in the half light their
eyes met, and that is why the miles rushed by with incredible
speed.

Mr. Lorry had been dawdling away the months in Mexico and
California. For years he had felt, together with many other
people, that a sea-voyage was the essential beginning of every
journey; he had started round the world soon after leaving
Cambridge; he had fished through Norway and hunted in India, and
shot everything from grouse on the Scottish moors to the rapids
above Assouan. He had run in and out of countless towns and
countries on the coast of South America; he had done Russia and
the Rhone valley and Brittany and Damascus; he had seen them all
--but not until then did it occur to him that there might be
something of interest nearer home. True he had thought of
joining some Englishmen on a hunting tour in the Rockies, but
that had fallen through. When the idea of Mexico did occur to
him he gave orders to pack his things, purchased interminable
green tickets, dined unusually well at his club, and was off in
no time to the unknown West.

There was a theory in his family that it would have been a
decenter thing for him to stop running about and settle down to
work. But his thoughtful father had given him a wealthy mother,
and as earning a living was not a necessity, he failed to see why
it was a duty. "Work is becoming to some men," he once declared,
"like whiskers or red ties, but it does not follow that all men
can stand it." After that the family found him "hopeless," and
the argument dropped.

He was just under thirty years, as good-looking as most men, with
no one dependent upon him and an income that had withstood both
the Maison Doree and a dahabeah on the Nile. He never tired of
seeing things and peoples and places. "There's game to be found
anywhere," he said, "only it's sometimes out of season. If I had
my way--and millions--I should run a newspaper. Then all the
excitements would come to me. As it is--I'm poor, and so I have
to go all over the world after them."

This agreeable theory of life had worked well; he was a little
bored at times--not because he had seen too much, but because
there were not more things left to see. He had managed somehow
to keep his enthusiasms through everything--and they made life
worth living. He felt too a certain elation--like a spirited
horse--at turning toward home, but Washington had not much to
offer him, and the thrill did not last. His big bag and his
hatbox--pasted over with foolish labels from continental hotels
--were piled in the corner of his compartment, and he settled back
in his seat with a pleasurable sense of expectancy. The presence
in the next room of a very smart appearing young woman was
prominent in his consciousness. It gave him an uneasiness which
was the beginning of delight. He had seen her for only a second
in the passageway, but that second had made him hold himself a
little straighter. "Why is it," he wondered, "that some girls
make you stand like a footman the moment you see them?" Grenfall
had been in love too many times to think of marriage; his habit
of mind was still general, and he classified women broadly. At
the same time he had a feeling that in this case generalities did
not apply well; there was something about the girl that made him
hesitate at labelling her "Class A, or B, or Z." What it was he
did not know, but--unaccountably-she filled him with an affected
formality He felt like bowing to her with a grand air and much
dignity. And yet he realized that his successes had come from
confidence.

At luncheon he saw her in the dining car. Her companions were
elderly persons--presumably her parents. They talked mostly in
French--occasionally using a German word or phrase. The old
gentleman was stately and austere--with an air of deference to
the young woman which Grenfall did not understand. His
appearance was very striking; his face pale and heavily lined;
moustache and imperial gray; the eyebrows large and bushy, and
the jaw and chin square and firm. The white-haired lady carried
her head high with unmistakable gentility. They were all dressed
in traveling suits which suggested something foreign, but not
Vienna nor Paris; smart, but far from American tastes.

Lorry watched the trio with great interest. Twice during
luncheon the young woman glanced toward him carelessly and left
an annoying impression that she had not seen him. As they left
the table and passed into the observation car, he stared at her
with some defiance. But she was smiling, and her dimples showed,
and Grenfall was ashamed. For some moments he sat gazing from
the car window--forgetting his luncheon-dreaming.

When he got back to his compartment he rang vigorously for the
porter. A coin was carelessly displayed in his fingers. "Do you
suppose you could find out who has the next compartment, porter?"

"I don't know their name, sub, but they's goin' to New York jis
as fas' as they can git thuh. I ain' ax um no questions, 'cause
thuh's somethin' 'bout um makes me feel's if I ain' got no right
to look at um even."

The porter thought a moment.

"I don' believe it'll do yuh any good, suh, to try to shine up to
tha' young lady. She ain' the sawt, I can tell yuh that. I done
see too many guhls in ma time--"

"What are you talking about? I'm not trying to shine up to her.
I only want to know who she is--just out of curiosity."
Grenfall's face was a trifle red.

"Beg pahdon, suh; but I kind o' thought you was like orh'
gent'men when they see a han'some woman. Allus wants to fin' out
somethin' 'bout huh, suh, yuh know. 'Scuse me foh misjedgin'
yuh, suh. Th' lady in question is a foh'ner--she lives across
th' ocean, 's fuh as I can fin' out. They's in a hurry to git
home foh some reason, 'cause they ain' goin' to stop this side o'
New York, 'cept to change cahs."

"Where do they change cars?"

"St. Louis--goin' by way of Cincinnati an' Washin'ton."

Grenfall's ticket carried him by way of Chicago. He caught
himself wondering if he could exchange his ticket in St. Louis.

"Traveling with her father and mother, I suppose?"

"No, suh; they's huh uncle and aunt. I heah huh call 'em uncle
an' aunt. Th' ole gent'man is Uncle Caspar. I don' know what
they talk 'bout. It's mostly some foh'en language. Th' young
lady allus speaks Amehican to me, but th' old folks cain't talk
it ver' well. They all been to Frisco, an' the hired he'p they's
got with 'em say they been to Mexico, too. Th' young lady's got
good Amehican dollahs, don' care wha' she's been. She allus
smiles when she ask me to do anythin', an' I wouldn' care if she
nevah tipped me, 's long as she smiles thataway."

"Servants with them, you say?"

"Yas, suh; man an' woman, nex' section t'other side the ole
folks. Cain't say mor'n fifteen words in Amehican. Th' woman is
huh maid, an' the man he's th' genial hustler fer th' hull
pahty."

"And you don't know her name?"

"No, sun, an' I cain't ver' well fin' out."

"In what part of Europe does she live?"

"Australia, I think, suh."

"You mean Austria."

"Do I? 'Scuse ma ig'nance. I was jis' guessin' at it anyhow;
one place's as good as 'nother ovah thuh, I reckon."

"Have you one of those dollars she gave you?"

"Yes, sub. Heh's a coin that ain' Amehican, but she says it's
wuth seventy cents in our money. It's a foh'en piece. She tell
me to keep it till I went ovah to huh country; then I could have
a high time with it--that's what she says--'a high time'--an'
smiled kind o" knowin' like."

"Let me see that coin," said Lorry, eagerly taking the silver
piece from the porter's hand. "I never saw one like it before.
Greek, it looks to me, but I can't make a thing out of these
letters. She gave it to you?"

"Yas, suh--las' evenin'. A high time on seventy cents! That's
reediculous, ain't it?" demanded the porter scornfully.

"I'll give you a dollar for it. You can have a higher time on
that."

The odd little coin changed owners immediately, and the new
possessor dropped it into his pocket with the inward conviction
that he was the silliest fool in existence. After the porter's
departure he took the coin from his pocket, and, with his back to
the door, his face to the window, studied its lettering.

During the afternoon he strolled about the train, his hand
constantly jingling the coins. He passed her compartment several
times, yet refrained from looking in. But he wondered if she saw
him pass.

At one little station a group of Indian bear hunters created
considerable interest among the passengers. Grenfall was down at
the station platform at once, looking over a great stack of game.
As he left the car he met Uncle Caspar, who was hurrying toward
his niece's section. A few moments later she came down the
steps, followed by the dignified old gentleman. Grenfall tingled
with a strange delight as she moved quite close to his side in
her desire to see. Once he glanced at her face; there was a
pretty look of fear in her eyes as she surveyed the massive bears
and the stark, stiff antelopes. But she laughed as she turned
away with her uncle.

Grenfall was smoking his cigarette and vigorously jingling the
coins in his pocket when the train pulled out. Then he swung on
the car steps and found himself at her feet. She was standing at
the top, where she had lingered a moment. There was an
expression of anxiety, in her eyes as he looked up into them,
followed instantly by one of relief. Then she passed into the
car. She had seen him swing upon the moving steps and had feared
for his safety--had shown in her glorious face that she was glad
he did not fall beneath the wheels. Doubtless she would have
been as solicitous had he been the porter or the brakeman, he
reasoned, but that she had noticed him at all pleased him.

At Abilene he bought the Kansas City newspapers. After breakfast
he found a seat in the observation car and settled himself to
read. Presently some one took a seat behind him. He did not
look back, but unconcernedly cast his eyes upon the broad mirror
in the opposite car wall. Instantly he forgot his paper. She
was sitting within five feet of him, a book in her lap, her gaze
bent briefly on the flitting buildings outside. He studied the
reflection furtively until she took up the book and began to read.
Up to this time he had wondered why some nonsensical idiot
had wasted looking-glasses on the walls of a railway coach;
now he was thinking of him as a far-sighted man.

The first page of his paper was fairly alive with fresh and
important dispatches, chiefly foreign. At length, after allowing
himself to become really interested in a Paris dispatch of some
international consequence, he turned his eyes again to the
mirror. She was leaning slightly forward, holding the open book
in her lap, but reading, with straining eyes, an article in the
paper he held.

He calmly turned to the next page and looked leisurely over it.
Another glance, quickly taken, showed to him a disappointed frown
on the pretty face and a reluctant resumption of novel reading.
A few moments later he turned back to the first page, holding the
paper in such a position that she could not see, and, full of
curiosity, read every line of the foreign news, wondering what
had interested her.

Under ordinary circumstances Lorry would have offered her the
paper, and thought nothing more of it. With her, however, there
was an air that made him hesitate. He felt strangely awkward and
inexperienced beside her; precedents did not seem to count. He
arose, tossed the paper over the back of the chair as if casting
it aside forever, and strolled to the opposite window and looked
out for a few moments, jingling his coins carelessly. The jingle
of the pieces suggested something else to him. His paper still
hung invitingly, upside down, as he had left it, on the chair,
and the lady was poring over her novel. As he passed her he drew
his right hand from his pocket and a piece of money dropped to
the floor at her feet. Then began an embarrassed search for the
coin--in the wrong direction, of course. He knew precisely where
it had rolled, but purposely looked under the seats on the other
side of the car. She drew her skirts aside and assisted in the
search. Four different times he saw the little piece of money,
but did not pick it up. Finally, laughing awkwardly, he began to
search on her side of the car. Whereupon she rose and gave him
more room. She became interested in the search and bent over to
scan the dark corners with eager eyes. Their heads were very
close together more than once. At last she uttered an
exclamation, and her hand went to the floor in triumph. They
arose together, flushed and smiling. She had the coin in her
hand.

"I have it," she said, gaily, a delicious foreign tinge to the
words.

"I thank you--" he began, holding out his hand as if in a dream
of ecstacy, but her eyes had fallen momentarily on the object of
their search.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, the prettiest surprise in the world coming
into her face. It was a coin from her faraway homeland, and she
was betrayed into the involuntary exclamation. Instantly,
however, she regained her composure and dropped the piece into
his outstretched hand, a proud flush mounting to her cheek, a
look of cold reserve to her eyes. He had, hoped she would offer
some comment on what she must have considered a strange
coincidence, but he was disappointed. He wondered if she even
heard him say:

"I am sorry to have troubled you."

She had resumed her seat, and, to him, there seemed a thousand
miles between them. Feeling decidedly uncomfortable and not a
little abashed, he left her and strode to the door. Again a
mirror gave him a thrill. This time it was the glass in the
car's end. He had taken but a half dozen steps when the brown
head was turned slyly and a pair of interested eyes looked after
him. She did not know that he could see her, so he had the
satisfaction of observing that pretty, puzzled face plainly until
he passed through the door.

Grenfall had formed many chance acquaintances during his travels,
sometimes taking risks and liberties that were refreshingly bold.
He had seldom been repulsed, strange to say, and as he went to
his section dizzily, he thought of the good fortune that had been
his in other attempts, and asked himself why it had not occurred
to him to make the same advances in the present instance.
Somehow she was different. There was that strange dignity, that
pure beauty, that imperial manner, all combining to forbid the
faintest thought of familiarity.

He was more than astonished at himself for having tricked her a
few moments before into a perfectly natural departure from
indifference. She had been so reserved and so natural that he
looked back and asked himself what had happened to flatter his
vanity except a passing show of interest. With this, he smiled
and recalled similar opportunities in days gone by, all of which
had been turned to advantage and had resulted in amusing
pastimes. And here was a pretty girl with an air of mystery
about her, worthy of his best efforts, but toward whom he had not
dared to turn a frivolous eye.

He took out the coin and leaned back in his chair, wondering
where it came from. "In any case," he thought, "it'll make a
good pocket-piece and some day I'll find some idiot who knows
more about geography than I do." Mr. Lorry's own ideas of
geography were jumbled and vague--as if he had got them by
studying the labels on his hat-box. He knew the places he had
been to, and he recognized a new country by the annoyances of the
customs house, but beyond this his ignorance was complete. The
coin, so far as he knew, might have come from any one of a
hundred small principalities scattered about the continent. Yet
it bothered him a little that he could not tell which one. He
was more than curious about a very beautiful young woman--in
fact, he was, undeniably interested in her. He pleasantly called
himself an "ass" to have his head turned by a pretty face, a
foreign accent and an insignificant coin, and yet he was
fascinated.

Before the train reached St. Louis he made up his mind to change
cars there and go to Washington with her. It also occurred to
him that he might go on to New York if the spell lasted. During
the day he telegraphed ahead for accommodations; and when the
flyer arrived in St. Louis that evening he hurriedly attended to
the transferring and rechecking of his baggage, bought a new
ticket, and dined. At eight he was in the station, and at 8:15
he passed her in the aisle. She was standing in her stateroom
door, directing her maid. He saw a look of surprise flit across
her face as he passed. He slept soundly that night, and dreamed
that he was crossing the ocean with her.

At breakfast he saw her, but if she saw him it was when he was
not looking at her. Once he caught Uncle Caspar staring at him
through his monocle, which dropped instantly from his eye in the
manner that is always self-explanatory. She had evidently called
the uncle's attention to him, but was herself looking sedately
from the window when Lorry unfortunately spoiled the scrutiny.
His spirits took a furious bound with the realization that she
had deigned to honor him by recognition, if only to call
attention to him because he possessed a certain coin.

Once the old gentleman asked him the time of day and set his
watch according to the reply. In Ohio the manservant scowled at
him because he involuntarily stared after his mistress as she
paced the platform while the train waited at a station. Again,
in Ohio, they met in the vestibule, and he was compelled to step
aside to allow her to pass. He did not feel particularly
jubilant over this meeting; she did not even glance at him.

Lorry realized that his opportunities were fast disappearing, and
that he did not seem to be any nearer meeting her than when they
started. He had hoped to get Uncle Caspar into a conversation
and then use him, but Uncle Caspar was as distant as an iceberg.
"If there should be a wreck," Grenfall caught himself thinking,
"then my chance would come; but I don't see how Providence is
going to help me in any other way."

Near the close of the day, after they left St. Louis, the train
began to wind through the foothills of the Alleghenies.
Bellaire, Grafton and other towns were left behind, and they were
soon whirling up the steep mountain, higher and higher, through
tunnel after tunnel, nearer and nearer to Washington every
minute. As they were pulling out of a little mining town built
on the mountain side, a sudden jar stopped the train. There was
some little excitement and a scramble for information. Some part
of the engine was disabled, and it would be necessary to replace,
it before the "run" could proceed.

Lorry strolled up to the crowd of passengers who were watching
the engineer and fireman at work. A clear, musical voice, almost
in his ear, startled him, for he knew to whom it belonged. She
addressed the conductor, who, impatient and annoyed, stood
immediately behind him.

"How long are we to be delayed?" she asked. Just two minutes
before this same conductor had responded most ungraciously to a
simple question Lorry had asked and had gone so far as to
instruct another inquisitive traveler to go to a warmer climate
because he persisted in asking for information which could not be
given except by a clairvoyant. But now he answered in most
affable tones:
"We'll be here for thirty minutes, at least, Miss--perhaps
longer."
She walked away, after thanking him, and Grenfall looked at his
watch.

Off the main street of the town ran little lanes leading to the
mines below. They all ended at the edge of a steep declivity.
There was a drop of almost four hundred feet straight into the
valley below. Along the sides of this valley were the entrances
to the mines. Above, on the ledge, was the machinery for lifting
the ore to the high ground on which stood the town and railroad
yards.

Down one of these streets walked the young lady, curiously
interested in all about her. She seemed glad to escape from the
train and its people, and she hurried along, the fresh spring
wind blowing her hair from beneath her cap, the ends of her long
coat fluttering.

Lorry stood on the platform watching her; then he lighted a
cigarette and followed. He had a vague feeling that she ought
not to be alone with all the workmen. She started to come back
before he reached her, however, and he turned again toward the
station. Then he heard a sudden whistle, and a minute later from
the end of the street he saw the train pulling out. Lorry had
rather distinguished himself in college as a runner, and
instinctively he dashed up the street, reaching the tracks just
in time to catch the railing of the last coach. But there he
stopped and stood with thumping heart while the coaches slid
smoothly up the track, leaving him behind. He remembered he was
not the only one left, and he panted and smiled. It occurred to
him--when it was too late--that he might have got on the train
and pulled the rope or called the conductor, but that was out of
the question now. After all, it might not be such a merry game
to stay in that filthy little town; it did not follow that she
would prove friendly.

A few moments later she appeared--wholly unconscious of what had
happened. A glance down the track and her face was the picture
of despair.

Then she saw him coming toward her with long strides, flushed and
excited. Regardless of appearances, conditions or consequences,
she hurried to meet him.

"Where is the train?" she gasped, as the distance between them
grew short, her blue eyes seeking his beseechingly, her hands
clasped.

"It has gone."

"Gone? And we--we are left?"

He nodded, delighted by the word "we."

"The conductor said thirty minutes; it has been but twenty," she
cried, half tearfully, half angrily, looking at her watch. "Oh,
what shall I do?" she went on, distractedly. He had enjoyed the
sweet, despairing tones, but this last wail called for manly and
instant action.

"Can we catch the train? We must! I will give one thousand
dollars. I must catch it." She had placed her gloved hand
against a telegraph pole to steady her trembling, but her face
was resolute, imperious, commanding.

She was ordering him to obey as she would have commanded a slave.
In her voice there was authority, in her eye there was fear. She
could control the one but not the other.

"We cannot catch the flyer. I want to catch it as much as you
and"--here he straightened himself--"I would add a thousand to
yours." He hesitated a moment-thinking. "There is but one way,
and no time to lose."

With this he turned and ran rapidly toward the little depot and
telegraph office.

II

TWO STRANGERS IN A COACH

Lorry wasted very little time. He dashed into the depot and up
to the operator's window.

"What's the nearest station east of here?"

"P----," leisurely answered the agent, in some surprise.

"How far is it?"

'Four miles."

"Telegraph ahead and hold the train that just left here."

"The train don't stop there."

"It's got to stop there--or there'll be more trouble than this
road has had since it began business. The conductor pulled out
and left two of his passengers--gave out wrong information, and
he'll have to hold his train there or bring her back here. If
you don't send that order I'll report you as well as the
conductor." Grenfall's manner was commanding. The agent's
impression was that he was important that he had a right to give
orders. But he hesitated.

"There's no way for you but to get to P---- anyway," he said,
while turning the matter over in his mind.

"You stop that train! I'll get there inside of twenty minutes.
Now, be quick! Wire them to hold her--or there'll be an order
from headquarters for some ninety-day lay-offs." The agent
stared at him; then turned to his instrument, and the message
went forward. Lorry rushed out. On the platform he nearly ran
over the hurrying figure in the tan coat.

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