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, ’ “And Yet This Moment He Asked a Hundred for It.”
4
SYNOPSIS.
George Percival Algernon Jones, vice
president of the Metropolitan Oriental Rug
company of New York, thirsting tor ro
mance, is In Cairo on a business trip.
Horace Ryanne arrives at the hotel in
Cairo with a carefully guarded bundle.
Ryanne sells Jones the famous holy Yhi
ordes rug which he admits having stolen
from a pasha at Bagdad.
CHAPTER IV.—(Continued.)
Some light steps, a rustle, and he
wheeled In time to see a woman open
a door, stand for a minute in the full
light, and disappear. It was she.
George opened the door of his own
room, threw the rug inside, and tip
toed along the corridor, stopping for
the briefest time to ascertain the
number of that room. He felt "vastly
more guilty in performing this harm
less act than in smothering his men
tor.
There was no one In the head-por
ter's bureau; thus, unobserved and un
embarrassed, he was free to Inspect
the guest-list. Fortune Chedsoye. He
had never seen a name quite like that.
Its quaintness did not suggest to him,
as It had done to Ryanne, the pas
toral, the bucolic. Rather it remind
ed him of the old French courts, of
rapiers and buckles, of powdered wigs
and furbelows, masks, astrologers,
love-intrigues, of all those colorful,
mutable scenes so charmingly de
scribed by the genial narrator of the
exploits of D'Artagnan. And abruptly
out of this age of Lebrun, Watteau
Moliere, reached an ice-cold hand. If
that elderly codger wasn’t her father,
who was he and what?
The Major—for George had looked
him up also—was in excellent trim so»
his age, something of a military dandy
besides; but as the husband of so
young and exquisite a creature! Out
upon the thought! He might be her
guardian, or, at most, her uncle, but
never her husband. Yet (O poisonous
doubt!), at the table she had ignored
the Major, both his jests and his at
tentions. He had seen many wives,
joyfully from a safe distance, act to
ward their husbands in this fashion.
Oh, rot! If his name was Callahan
and hers Chedsoye, they could not
possibly be tied in any legal bonds. He
dismissed the ice-cold hand and turned
again to the comforting warmth of his
ardor.
He had never spoken to young wom
en without presentation, and on these
rare occasions he had broached the
weather, suggested the possibilities of
the weather, and concluded with an
apostrophe on the weather at large. It
was usually a valedictory. For he was
always positive that he had acted like
a fool, and was afraid to speak to the
girl again. Never it failed, ten minutes
after the girl was out of sight, the
brightest and cleverest things crowd
ed upon his tongue, to be but wasted
on the desert air. He was not particu
larly afraid of women older than
himself, more’s the pity. And yet, had
he been as shy toward them as toward
the girls, there would have been no
stolen Yhiordes, no sad-eyed maiden,
no such thing as The United Romance
and Adventure Company, Ltd.; and he
would have stepped the even tenor of
his way, unknown of grand passions,
swift adventure, life.
George -was determined to meet For
tune Chedsoye, and this determination,
the first of its kind to take definite
form in his mind, gave him a novel
sensation. He would find some way,
and he vowed to best his old enemy,
diffidence, if it was the last fight he
ever put up. He would maneuver to
get in the way of the Major. He never
found much trouble in talking to men.
Once he exchanged a word or two
with the uncle or guardian, he would
make it a point to renew the acquaint
ance when he saw the two together.
It appeared to him as a bright idea,
and he was rather proud of it. Even
now he was conscious of clenching his
teeth strongly. It’s an old saying that
he goes farthest who shuts his teeth
longest. He was going to test the pre
cept by immediate practice.
He had stood before the list fully
three minutes. Now he turned about
face, a singular elation tingling his
blood. Once he set his mind upon a
thing, he went forward. He had lost
many pleasurable things in life be
cause he had doubted and faltered,
not because he had reached out to
ward them and had then drawn back
He was going to meet Fortune Ched
soye; when or how were but details.
And as he discovered the Major him
self idling before the booth of the East
Indian merchant, he saw in fancy the
portcullis rise and the drawbridge fall
to the castle of enchantment. He
strolled over leisurely and pretended
to be interested in the case containing
mediocre jewels.
"This is a genuine Bokhara em
broidery?” the Major was inquiring.
“Oh, yes, sir."
"How old?”
The merchant picked up the tag
and squinted at it. “It is between two
and three hundred years old, sir.”
To George’s opinion the gods them
selves could not have arranged a more
propitious moment
“You’ve made a mistake,” he inter
posed quietly. “That is Bokhara, but
the stitch is purely modern.”
The dark eyes of the Indian flashed.
"The gentleman is an authority?” sar
castically.
“Upon that style of embroidery, ab
solutely.” George smiled. And then,
without more ado, he went on to ex
plain the difference between the an
tique and the modern. “You have one
good piece of old Bokhara, but it isn’t
rare. Twenty pounds would be a good
price for it."
The Major laughed heartily. “And
just this moment.he asked a hundred
for it. I’m not much of a hand in
judging these things. I admire them,
but have no intimate knowledge re
garding their worth. Nothing tonight,”
he added to the bitter-eyed merchant.
“The Oriental is like the amateur fish
erman; truth is not in him. You seem
to be a keen judge,” as they moved
away from the booth.
“I suppose it’s because I’m inor
dinately fond of the things. I’ve really
a good collection of Bokhara em
i broideries at home in New York.”
“You live in New York?” with mild
i interest. The Major sat down and
i graciously motioned for George to do
' the same. “I used to live there; twen
ty-odd years ago. But European travel
spoils America; the rush there, the
hurry, the clamor. Over here they
dine, there they eat There’s as much
difference between those two perform
ances as there Is between The Mikado
and Florodora. From Portland in
Maine to Portland in Oregon, the same
dress, same shops, same ungodly high
buildings. Here it is different, at the
end of every hundred miles."
George agreed conditionally. (The
Major wasn’t very original in his
views.) He would have shed his last
drop of blood for his native land, but
he was honest in acknowledging her
faults.
Conversation idled in various chan
nels, and finally became anchored at
jewels. Here the Major was at home,
and he loved emeralds above all oth
er stones. He proved to be an engag
ing old fellow, had circled the globe
three or four times, and had had an
adventure or two worth recounting.
And when he incidentally mentioned
his niece, George wanted to shake his
hand.
Would Mr. Jones join him with a
peg to sleep on? Mr. Jones certainly
would. And after a mutual health,
George diplomatically excused himself,
retired, buoyant and happy. How sim
ple the affair had been! A fellow
could do anything if only he set his
mind to it. Tomorrow he would meet
Fortune Chedsoye, and may Beelzebub
shrive him if he could not manage to
control his recalcitrant tongue.
As he passed out of sight, Major
Callahan smiled. It was that old fa
miliar smile which, charged with gen
tle mockery, we send after departing
fools. It was plain that he needed
another peg to keep company with the
first, for he rose and gracefully wend
ed his way down-stairs to the bar. Two
men were already leaning against the
friendly, inviting mahogany. There
was a magnum of champagne stand
ing between their glasses. The Major
ordered a temperate whisky and soda,
drank it, frowned at the magnum, paid
the reckoning, and went back up-stairs
again.
“Don’t remember old friends, eh?”
said the shorter of the two men,
caressing his incarnadined proboscis.
“A smile wouldn’t have hurt him any,
do you think?”
"Shut up!” admonished Ryanne.
"You know the orders; no recognition
on the public floors.”
“Why, I meant no harm,” the other
protested. He took a swallow of wine.
“But, dash it! here I am, more’n four
thousand miles from old Broadway,
and still walking blind. When is the
show to start?”
“Not so loud, old boy. You’ve got to
have patience. You’ve had some good
pickings for the past three months,
in the smoke-rooms. That ought to
soothe you.”
"Well, it doesn’t. Here I come from
New York, three months ago, with a
wad of money for you and a great
game in sight. It takes a week to find
you, and when I do . . . Well, you
know. No sooner are you awake, than
what? Off you go to Bagdad, on the
wildest goose-chase a man ever heard
of. And that leaves me with nothing
to do and nobody to talk to. I could
have cried yesterday when I got your
letter saying you’d be In today.”
"Well, I got it.”
“The rug?”
“Yes. It was wild; but after what
I’d been through I needed something
wild to steady my nerves; some big
danger, where I’d simply have to get
together."
“And you got it?” There was frank
wonder and admiration in the pursy
gentleman’s eyes. "All alone, and you
got it? Honest?”
"Honest. They nearly had my hide,
though.”
“Where is it?”
"Sold.”
“Who?”
"Percival.”
“Horace, you’re a wonder, if there
ever was one. Sold it to Percival!
You couldn’t beat that in a thousand
years. You’re a great man.”
"Praise from Sir Hubert.”'
"Who's he?”
“An authority on several matters.”
“How much did he give you for it?”
"Tut, tut! It was all my own little
jaunt, Wallace. I should hate to lie
to you about it.”
"What about the stake I gave you?”
Ryanne made a sign of dealing
cards.
“Threw It away on a lot of dubs,
after all I’ve taught you!”
“Cards aren’t my forte.”
“There’s a yellow streak In your
hide, somewhere, Horace."
“There is, but it is the tiger's stripe,
my friend. What I did with my money
is my own business.”
“Will she allow for that?”
"Would it matter one way or the
other?”
"No, I don’t suppose it would. Some
times I think you’re with us as a huge
. joke. You don’t take the game seri
ous enough.” W’allace emptied his
glass and tipped the bottle carefully.
। “You’re out of your class, somehow.”
"So?”
i "Yes. You have always struck me
■ as a man who was hunting trouble for
। one end.”
i “And that?” Ryanne seemed inter
i ested.
Wallace drew his finger across his
i throat. Ryanne looked him squarely
in the eye and nodded affirmatively.
i “I don't understand at all.”
, "You never will, Wallace, old chap.
. I am the prodigal son whose brother
, ate the fatted calf before I returned
• home. I had a letter today. She
will be here tomorrow sometime. You
may have to go to Port Said, if my
plan doesn’t mature.”
"The Ludwig?”
“Yes.”
"Say, what a Frau she would have
made the right man!”
Ryanne did not answer, but glow
ered at his glass.
“The United Romance and Adven
ture Company.” Wallace twirled his
glass. “If you’re a wonder, she’s a
marvel. A Napoleon in petticoats! It
does make a fellow grin, when you
look it all over. But this is going to
be her Austerlitz or her Waterloo.
And you really got the rug; and on top
of that, you have sold it to George P.
A. Jones! Here’s —”
“Many happy returns,” Ironically.
They finished the bottle without
further talk. There was no convivial
ity here. Both were fond of good wine,
but the more they drank, the tighter
grew their lips. Men who have been
in the habit of guarding dangerous
secrets become taciturn in their cups.
From time to time, flittingly, there
appeared against one of the windows,
just above the half-curtain, a lean,
dark face, which, in profile, resembled
the kite —the hooked beak, the watch
ful, preyful eyes. There were two
hungers written upon that Arab face,
food and revenge.
"Allah is good,” he murmured.
He had but one eye in use, the oth
er was bandaged. In fact, the face ex
hibited general indications of rough
warfare, the skin broken on the bridge
of the nose, a freshly healed cut un
der the seeing eye, a long strip of
plaster extending from the ear to the
mouth. There was nothing of the beg
gar in his mien. His lean throat was
erect, his chin protrusive, the set of
his shoulders proud and defiant. Ordi
narily, the few lingering guides would
rudely have told him to be off about
his business; but they were familiar
with all turbans, and in the peculiar
twist of this one, soiled and ragged
though it was, they recognized some
prince from the eastern deserts. Pres
ently he strode away, but with a stiff
ness which they knew came from long
journeys upon racing-camels.
George dreamed that night of magic
carpets, of sad-eyed maidens, of fierce
Bedouins, of battles in the desert, of
genii swelling terrifically but of squat
bottles. And once he rose and turned
on the lights to assure himself that
the old Yhlordes was not a part of
these vivid dreams.
. He was up shortly after dawn, in
white riding-togs, for a final canter to
Mena House and return. In two days
more he would be leaving Egypt be
hind. Rather glad in one sense, rath
er sorry in another. Where to put the
rug was a problem. He might carry
it in his steamer-roll; it would be
handier there than In the bottom of
his trunk, stored away in the ship’s
hold. Besides, his experience had
taught him that steamer-rolls were
only indifferently inspected. You will
observe that the luster of his high
ideals was already dimming. He rea
soned that inasmuch as he was bound
to smuggle and lie, it might be well to
plan something artistically. He wished
now that he was going to spend Christ
mas in Cairo; but It was too late to
change his booking without serious
loss of time and money.
He had a light breakfast on the
veranda of the Mena House, climbed
up to the desert, bantered the donkey
boys, amused himself by watching the
descent of some German tourists who
had climbed the big Pyramid before
dawn to witness the sun rise, and
threw pennies to the horde of blind
> beggars who instantly swarmed about
■ him and demanded, in the name of Al
lah, it competence for the rest of their
' days. He finally escaped them by
; footing it down the incline to the ho
tel gardens, where his horse stood
, waiting.
It was long after nine when he slid
from the saddle at the side entrance
■ of the Semiramis. He was on his way
to the bureau for his key, when an
, exquisitely gloved hand lightly touched
his arm.
"Don’t you remember me, Mr.
Jones?” said a voice of vocal honey.
> George did. In his confusion he
dropped his pith-helmet, and in stoop
ing to pick it up, bumped into the por-
> ter who had rushed to his aid. Re
• member her! Would he ever forget
! her? He never thought of her with
. out dubbing himself an outrageous ass.
IHe straightened, his cheeks afire;
hi ;.#“ w' -I
iW ill i Ifo*
i I I Rhol I
1 1V I ® i\l ——
i i n o o
yr gF I I
"This Is the Gentleman I’ve Often T old You- About.”
blushing was another of those uncon
trollable asininities of his. It was
really she, come out of a past he had
hoped to be eternally inresuscitant;
the droll, the witty woman, to whom
In one mad moment of liberality and
Galahadism he had loaned without se
curity one hundred and fifty pounds at
the roulette tables in Monte Carlo;
she, for whom he had always blushed
when he recalled how easily she had
mulcted him! And here she was, se
rene, lovely as ever, unchanged.
“My dear,” said the stranger (George
couldn’t recall by w'hat name he had
known her); “my dear,” to Fortune
Chedsoye, who stood a little behind
her, “this is the gentleman I’ve often
told you about. You were at school
at the time. I borrowed a hundred and
fifty pounds of him at Monte Carlo.
And what do you think? When I went
to pay him back the next day, he was
gone, without leaving the slightest
clue to his whereabouts. Isn’t, that
droll? And to think that I should
meet him here!”
That her name had slipped his
memory, if indeed he had ever known
it, was true; but one thing lingered
incandescently in his mind, and that
was, he had written her, following
minutely her own specific directions
and inclosing his banker’s address in
Paris, Naples and Cairo; and for many
passings of moons he had opened his
foreign mail eagerly and hopefully.
But hope must have something to
feed upon, and after a struggle lasting
two years, she rendered up the ghost.
... It wasn’t the loss of money that
hurt; it was the finding of dross metal
where he supposed there was naught
but gold. Perhaps his later shyness
was due as much to this disillusion
ing incident as to his middle names.
“Isn’t it droll, my dear?” the en
chantress repeated; and George grew
redder and redder under the beautiful,
grateful eyes. “I must give him a draft
this very morning.”
“But . . . Why, my dear Ma
dame,” stammered George. “You must
not ... I ... —”
Fortune laughed. Somehow the qual
ity of that laughter pierced George’s
confused brain as sometimes a shaft
of sunlight rips into a fog, suddenly,
stiletto-like. It was full of malice.
CHAPTER V.
x The Girl Who Wasn’t Wanted.
If any on^ wronged George, defraud
ed him of money or credit, he was al
ways ready to forgive, agreeing that
perhaps half the fault had been his.
This was not a sign of weakness, but
of a sense of justice too well leavened
with mercy. Humanity errs in the one
as much as in the other, doubtless
with some benign purpose in perspec
tive. Now, it might be that this charm
ing woman had really never received
his letter; such things have been
known to go astray. In any case he
could not say that he had written.
That would have cast a doubt upon
her word, an unpardonable rudeness.
So, for her very beauty alone, he gave
her the full benefit of the doubt.
“You mustn’t let the matter trouble
you in the least,” he said, his 'helmet
now nicely adjusted under his arm.
“It was so long ago I had really for
gotten all about it.” Which was very
well said for George.
“But I haven’t. I have often won- !
dered what you must have thought of |
me. Monte Carlo is such a place! But
I must present my daughter. I am
Mrs. Chedsoye.”
“I am glad to meet you, Mr. Jones;'*
and in the sad eyes there was a glim
mer of real friendliness. More, she
extended her hand.
It was well worth while, that hun
dred and fifty pounds. It was well
worth the pinch here and the pinch
there which had succeeded that loan.
For he had determined to return to
America with a pound or two on his
letter of credit, and the success of
this determination was based upon
many a sacrifice in comfort, sacrifices
he had never confided to his parents.
It was not in'.the nature of things to
confess that the first woman he had
met in his wanderings should have
been the last. As he took the girl’s
hand, with the ulterior intent of hold
ing it till death do us part, he won
dered why she had laughed like that.
The echo of it still rang in his ears.
And while he could not have described
it, he knew instinctively that it had
been born of bitter thought.
They chatted for 'a quarter of an
hour or more, and managed famously.
It seemed to him that Fortune Ched
soye was the first young woman he
had ever met who could pull away
sudden barriers and open up pathways
for speech, who, when he wan about
to flounder into some cul-de-sab, guided
him adroitly into an alley round it
Not once was it necessary to drag
in the weather, that perennial if
threadbare topic. He was truly aston
ished at the ease with which he sus
tained his part in the conversation,
and began to think pretty well of
himself. It did not occur to him that
when two clever and attractive women
set forth to make a man talk (al
ways excepting he is dumb), they nev
er fail to succeed. To do this they
contrive to bring the conversation
within the small circle of his work,
his travels, his preferences, his ambi
tions. To be sure, all this is not fully
extracted In fifteen minutes, but a
woman obtains In that time a good
idea of the ground plan.
Two distinct purposes controlled the
women In this instance. One desired
to interest him, while the other sought
to learn whether he was stupid or only
shy.
At last, when he left them to change
his clothes and hurry down to Cook’s,
to complete the bargain for the Yhior
des, he had advanced so amazingly
well that they had accepted his invi
tation to the nolo-match that after
noon. He felt that Invisible Mercuri
al wings had sprouted from his heels,
for in running up the stairs, he was
aware of no gravitative resistance.
That this anomaly (an acquaintance
with two women about whom he knew
nothing) might be looked upon
askance by those who conformed to
the laws and by-laws of social usages,
worried him not in the least. On the
contrary, he was thinking that he
would be the envy of every other man
out at the club that afternoon.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Champagne Bottles.
Great skill is required in manufac
turing champagne bottles, which must
be almost mathematically even in the
thickness of the glass. The glass must
be perfectly smooth and the necks ex-
I act in every particular to insure per
| feet corking.
