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The Man
From Home
A Novelizallon of the Play
of the Same Name
By BOOTH TARKINGTON and
HARRY LEON WILSON
Copyright. 1909, by American Press
Association
SYNOPSIS.
CHAPTER 1 Daniel Voorhees I’ike,
a rising young Kokomo (Ind ) lawyer,
hears that his ward, Ethel Granger-
Simpson, is to be married abroad to the
son of an English earl. Her father was
his nearest friend, and he has long loved
the girl. He goes abroad to arrange
the business matters connected with
her marriage.
CHAPTER 11.
thk kxii.es.
SIX years of life abroad, and these
during the most impressionable
period of their young lives, had
left an indelible imprint upon
the two young people.
Horace Simpson had taken to him
self the manners of the Harrow and
Oxford youth. He had eschewed the
society of what he had learned, with
parrot-like aptness, to call those "vul
gar Americans’’ and had confined his
social intercourse solely to such of the
European "hnut ton’’ as he could man
age to scrape acquaintance with.
And this hist was a somewhat uphill
task, for, whatever else one may say
about the English, they are inclined to
view with very little favor the pos
sessor of no other attribute than
money. True, there are exceptions,
and those but prove the rule.
Ethel, who had growfi into a really
beautiful young woman, had followed
suit, so far as in her modest powers
lay. Such of her school friends as
would permit the half formed ac
quaintance to ripen she had retained.
Such others of her own modest begin
nings she had quietly but emphatically
dropped. From plain democracy she
had sought the antithesis, and the leap
Was ail the more an earnest one be
cause of its breadth.
The Simpsons—and they bad added
their mother's maiden name and linked
it to the paternal nomenclature with
a hyphen— had been deeply bitten with
the aristocratic virus and after a long
nml arduous struggle had managed to
meet I.ndy Creech.
This titled mondaine had the misfor
tune to lie viciously short of patrimony
and inordinately loiik of lineage, and,
while her life of self denial had doubt
less imbittered her. she had a most
Inordinate value of birth and a distinct
appreciation of cash; hence when it
came her way to pick the Granger-
Slrupsons out of the slough of com
monplace acquaintance she did it with
a royal favor and for a stipulated con
sideration.
“Really, my dear ITawcastle”—she
pronounced it as old sailors pronounce
“fo’c’s’tle”—she was wont to say,
“really, of course, they are quite im
possible, but the girl is an adaptable
little thing, and I may be able to make
something of her in time, while the
boy—ah, 1 fear I shall have to leave
him to you and St. Aubyn.”
“Do as you like,” replied the Earl of
Haweastle, with some choler, “but
keep them out of my way as much as
possible. I positively will not be badg
ered by these unbaked colonists.”
“One might stand a quantity of
badgering, Hawcastle, for £300,000.”
at which the genial earl would squirm
nervously.
At any rate, the Simpson children
began to be seen in the second stratum
of society and met endless
numbers of the shopworn nobility, but,
sad to relate, never one of the truly
respectable. To those who know their
London there are several layers of no
bility, and the layer the ordinary in
dividual meets, who has no social pres
tige to begin with, is composed of that
peculiar class that lends its name to
doubtful directorates, to queer pros
pectuses. to struggling milliners with
an eye on the main chance and who
gladly extend unlimited credit to their
patrons in return for modest and well
put advertisement.
Strangely enough, the Ilawcastle-
Creeoh combination did not drag the
willing Simpsons into the glittering
presence of the real set.
On the contrary, with it somewhat
dog in the manger policy, they awak
ened both the earl and his sister in
law to the fact that they wished no
Sharers in those American dollars that
Johu Simpson had sweated his brow
for, and as a consequence they pro
posed a little trip—a quiet, ante-season
trip—to Sorrento, where not a guest
would disturb them and where mat
ters might be given a chance to right
themselves.
And there, strangely enough, the
Simpsons met the Cointesse de Cham
pigny and were oifite deljgbted to find
gifted and brilliant Frenchwoman
an Intimate of the earl’s. The second
morning of their arrival the gay com
tesse put In an appearance and with a
promptitude that was astonishing took
young Horace under the wldowly wing
and marked him for her own. And
that same morning the noble earl took
Ills equally noble son Into the shrub
bery and spoke to him.
“You’ve got to do it. St Aubyn.” he
said. “The family honor is at stake.
For heaven’s sake, marry the little
fool! What if her scurrilous name is
Simpson? You can make her forget it.
We are stony broke, my good boy, and
she lias n hundred and fifty thou.
That will keep us going for another
year or two, and if Helene can capture
the young ass, Horace, I'll force her
to divide with me."
“Hut it’s such a beastly bore, gov
ernor,” drawled A1 meric St. Aubyn,
and he flicked Idly at the rhododen
dron bushes with his slick.
He was a pale, washed out youth,
with an inimitable drawl and a shim
mering of intellect that might. If it
had been given an opportunity, have
resolved Itself iulo a good working im
itation of a brain. To his friends he
was “that hopeless ass” and to his
enemies and debtors—of the latter not
u few—“that beastly bounder, St. Au
byu.”
“You see, governor,” the honorable
Almerlc went on, “it isn't as if I cared
for the little gal. I'm it queer beggar.
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“The family honor is at stake ."
you know, and it's fearfully rough on
a chap to pretend interest in such a
little vulgarian. Of course I know
we’re awfully hard up and all that
sort of thing, but”—
His uoble father seized him roughly
by the arm.
"You don’t have to live with her, you
know,” he said savagely. "It will be
easy enough to make it so unpleasant
for the minx that she’ll be glad to go
back to the States, and she can’t get
back a penny. We’ll have that tight
enough.”
The Hon. Almeric laughed.
“Oh, all right, old chap!” he drawled.
“I’ll lift her to the iufernal seventh
heaven, or whatever you call it. Don’t
expect me to moon over her. though.”
And that compact being settled, the
eari went off for his morning walk
along the cliff and Almeric to keep
his engagement for a morning ride
with Ethel Granger-Simpson.
CHAPTER 111.
IN DISGUISE.
|giN hour later Mariano, the maltre
d’botel of the Regina Marghe
rita, stepped out upon the ter
upon one of the small round tables that
stood close to the white marble balus
trade. On the other side of the wall
could be heard the mandolins and gui
tars of the fishermen, and Mariano
glanced up crossly ns the song arose
upon the morning air.
"Silenzlo!” he cried, and for a mo
ment the music died down.
Mariano went at once to the table
upon which he had spread the cloth
and placed silverware and delicate
china upon it, and he was thus en
gaged when Michele, the commission
caire, appeared at the top of a flight of
marble steps that led into the eastern
wing of the hotel, fronting on the ter
race.
‘‘Here is M. Ribiere to see you, sir,”
he said softly, with a backward glance
over his shoulder, and Mariano
straightened up instantly, with a smile
of welcome, for Ribiere was an old
and valued accomplice in the gentle
art of soft Italian legal stealing.
A tall, alert young Frenchman, clad
lu an English walking suit of gray
and carrying a portfolio beneath his
arm, ran lightly down the steps and
approached the maitre d’hotel.
“Ah, Mariano!” he cried as he ap
preached.
The genial Mariano bowed graceful
ly and rubbed his flexible hands to
gether.
“M. Ribiere!” he chattered gayly.
‘‘This is oue of the days of days”—
The music burst forth again, and lie
wjiijjf<l about angrily in the direction
of’the lemon grove.
“Silenzio!” be cried, with waving
hands. “Sllenzlo!” and turned again
to Rlbiere. Michele, with a glance at
them, went back within the hotel.
Rlbiere turned a warning glance to
ward the hotel and whispered in Ital
ian:
“Let us speak Engleesh. Fewer un
derstand.”
Mariano again bowed and spread out
his hands in assent.
"I hope m’sien still occupy the ex
alt’ position of seoretar’ to monseigneur
the gran’ duke.”
The Frenchman walked quickly to
one of the little wicker tea tables that
were scattered about, sat down and
opened his portfolio.
“We will not mention either the
name or the rank of my employer,” he
said gravely. “There are reasons of
state. You understand?”
The maitre d’hotel threw up his
hands in despair, and his round eyes
rolled heavenward.
“Again incognito! Every year he
come to thees hotel for two, three or
four day, but always incognito!”
Itibiere paid little attention to him,
but opened a notebook and removed a
fountain pen from his pocket. Mariano
sitrugged his shoulders and went on
setting the table, then stopped and
looked up.
“Each time we lose the honor to
have it known,” he went on. “in Na
ples, everywhere, are reech Ameri
can peoples that would give large
pourbolre to mingle with his high
ness"—
The secretary lifted a warning fin
ger.
“Have I not said it is to be incog
nito, and yet you prate of highness in
the first breath. Would you wish he
shall withdraw his patronage?” lie
looked staringly tit the man opposite
him. “Fee that you do not offend
again.” He consulted his watch.
“He comes in his machine from Na
ples. As on former visits, all is to be
as before. No one must guess. To
all he must be Herr Grollerhagen”—
“Ilcrr Grollerhagen!” ejaculated Ma
riano quickly and with astonishment
in his round features. “Herr Groller
hagen!”
“He wishes to be known as a Ger
man,” went on M Itibiere. “It pleases
him to he so thought.”
Mariano stood lost in contemplative
astonishment.
“What a man,” he sighed—“of ca
price, eccentrique, so wonderful! Ha!"
The secretary smiled in a superior
manner.
“You have said it. Last night he
talked by chance to a strange North
American in the hotel at Napoli. Ap
parently lie is much interested. Today
he lias that stranger for companion in
Ills automobile. I remonstrate. What
use? He laugh for one-half the hour.’’
Again the maitre d’hotel remained
lost in astonishment. For some mo
ments he stood with the napkin in his
hands gazing out over the wonderful
bay that lay before the hotel.
"He is not like those cousin of his in
Petersburg and Moscowa,” he said at
last, with a touch of awe in his tones.
“And yet, though monseigneur is so
good and generoso, will not the an
archist strike against the name of even
royalty himself? You have not that
fear?”
The secretary shivered in the soft
warm air and seized his companion by
the wrist.
"I have!” he said quickly. “He has
not. I take what precautions I can
secretly from him. But of wbat use?
You have few patrons?”
A smile crossed Mariano’s face, and
he shrugged his shoulders expressive
ly.
“It is yet so early Id the season.
“Those poor musician”—he pointed off
beyond the gates—“they wait always
at every gate to play when they shall
see any one coming, but of late they
are disappoint. Within, with us in the
hotel, are but seex people, all of one
party!”
An expression of relief crossed the
Frenchman's face, and be opened his
notebook quickly.
“Good!” he murmured. “Who art
they ?”
Mariauo scratched his head with one
ruminative finger and bent his brows
upon the table in thought.
“There is milor', an English excel
lency—the Earl of Hawcastle; there is
also his son, the excellency bouorabilt
Almeric St. Aubyn; there is Miladi
Creeshe. au Euglish miladi, who is
sister-in-law to Milor' Hawcastle.”
Quickly Ribiere jotted down the
names in his book and then looked up
“Three English,” he said. “Good so
far. Those English are safe.”
Mariano went on:
“There is an American signori
na, Mees Granger-Seempsone. Miladi
Crceshe travel with her to be chap
eron.” Here he became enthusiastic as
the memory of sundry pieces of gold
and silver wakened his keen thoughts
“She is young, geueroso; she give
money to every one: she is multa bella.
so pretty, weeth charm”—
“You mean this Lady Creeshe?” in
terrupted the Frenchman, with a puz
zled frown.
“No, no. no!” cried Mariano in horri
fied amazement. “Miladi Creeshe Is ole
lady and does not hear so well; quite
deaf; no pourboires; nothing. 1 speak
of the young American lady, Mees
Granger-Seempsone, who the English
honorabile son of Milor’ Hawcastle
wishes to espouse. I think.”
Itibiere wrote rapidly in his note
book and without looking up said:
“Who else is there?”
“There Is the brother of Mees Gran
per-Seeinpsone, a young gentleman
from also North America. He make
Vf uv/ / * <V\
ri ■ it-'X
" u I
“Always incognito P’
the eyes all the day at another lady,
who is of the party, a French lady,
Comtesse de Cbampigny. Ha, eet
amuse me!” And he burst into a re
spectful titter.
Itibiere looked at him with grave
nstonishment mid bent once more to
his notebook, over which the pen flew
with a practiced hand.
“Why?” lie said shortly.
Mariano smothered his mirth with
the napkin he carried and with an ef
fort controlled himself.
“Becoss,” he answered—“becoss I
have thought that madaine the com
tesse is so good a friend of the ol’ Eng
lish Milor’ Hawcastle. A maitre d’ho
tel see many things, eh, and I think
Milor’ Hawcastle and madame have
known each other from long perhaps.
This dejeuner is for them; also 1
think from what I hear that both have
been in Russia one time. They spik
tegezzer in Russ.”
"I’ouf! They will not recognize ray
employer,” said Itibiere, “no more
than this North American who travels
with him and who is as innocent as a
babe. Set dejeuner on the table in
stantly, when he shall arrive, for two—
a perch, petit pois, iced figs, tea. I will
rend his own caviare and vodka from
what I carry.”
“Va bene, signor!” answered Mari
pno and vanished into the hotel
[continued next week]
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