3 SYNOPSIS. Oroide Ferelval Algernon Jones, vice president of the Metropolitan Oriental Rug ! company of New York, thirsting for ro mance, la In Cairo on a business trip. CHAPTER 11. An AffaOle Rogue. 'the carriage containing the gentle man with the reversible cuffs drew up at the side entrance. Instantly the Arab guides surged and eddied round Mm: but their clamor broke against a composure ns effective as granite. The roar was almost directly succeeded by a low gurgle, as of little waves reced ing. The proposed victim had not spoken a word; to ihe Arabs it was not accessary; in some manner, subtle and Indescribable, they recognized a brother. He carried a long, cylindri cal bundle wrapped in heavy paper variously secured by windings of thick twine. His regard for this bundle was one of tender solicitude, for he tucked it under his arm, cumbersome though tt was, and waved aside the carriage- Xjorter, who was, however, permitted to carry in the kit-bag. The manager appeared. When comes be not upon the scene? His quick, calculating eye was not wholly as sured. The stranger's homespun was travel-worn and time-worn, and of a cut popular to the season gone the year before. No fat letter of credit here, was the not unreasonable conclu sion reached by the manager. Still, ■with that caution acquired by years j of experience, which had culminated ' in what is known as Swiss diplomacy, he brought into being the accustomed salutatory smile and Inquired ifWhe gentleman had written ahead for res ervation, otherwise it would not be possible to accommodate him. "I telegraphed," crisply. "The name, if you please?" "Ryanne; spelled R-y-a double-n e. Save you ever been in County Clare?" "No, sir." The manager added a luestion with the uplift of his eye brows. "Well," was the enlightening an ■wer, "you pronounce it as they do '.here." The manager scanned the little slip ■>f paper in his hand. "Ah, yes; we nave reserved a room for you, sir. Ihe French style rather confused me." Xliis was not offered in irony, or sar- Msm, or satire; mining in a Swiss train for the saving grace of humor b about as remunerative as the ex raction of gold from sea-water. Nev rtheless, the Swiss has the talent of iwiftly subtracting from a confusion >t ideas one point of illumination: here was a quality to the stranger's one that decided him favorably. It »as the voloe of a man in the habit if being obeyed; and lti these days it vas the power of money alone that >btained obedience to any man. Be 'ond this, the same nebulous cogita ion that had subdued the Arabs out lide acted likewise upoij him. Here vas a brother. "Mail?" "I will Bee, sir." The manager sum toned a porter. "Room 208." The porter caught up the somewhat ollapsed kit-bag, which had in all evi ence received some rough usage in s time, and reached toward the roll, r. Ryanne Interposed. '•*l will see lo that, my man," terse y. "Yes, sir." "Where is ycur guest-list?" de landed Mr. Ryanne of the manager. "The head-porter's bureau, sir. I /ill see if you have any mail." The lanager passed into his own bureau, was rather difficult to tell whether ■ lis man was an American or an Eng |j shman. His accent was western, but ' is manner was decidedly British. At ny rate, that tone and carriage must e bastioned by good English sover igns, or for once his judgment was t fault. The porter dashed up-stairs. Mr. 'yanne, his bundle still snug under Is arm, sauntered over to the head orter s bureau and ran his glance up nd down the columns of visiting ards. Once he nodded with approval, nd again he smiled, having discov led that which sent a ripple across is sleeping sense of amusement. Ma >r Callahan, room 206; Fortune Ohed }ye, 205; George P. A. Jones, 210. "Hml ti>.e Major smells of County ntrim and the finest whisky in all le isle. Fortune Chedsoye; that is a leasing name; tinkling brooks, the avlng green grasses in the tnead ft'S, the kine in the water, the fleet lg shadows under the oaks; a pas ; >ral, a bucolic name. To claim For me for mine own; a happy thought." As he uttered these poesy expres ons aloud, in a voice low and not un easing, for all that It was banter g, the head-porter stared at him with ingling doubt and alann; and as if » pronounce these emotions mutely r t!;o benefit of the other, he per ltted his eyes to open their widest. ( "Tut. tut; that's all right, porter. 1 n cursed with the habit of speaking y inmost thoughts. Some persona •e afllieted with insomnia; some fall .Jeep in church; I iJjlnk orally Beau *Ahit. ar The porter then understood that he Mas dealing not with a species of mild lunacy, but with that kind of light-hearted cynicism upon which the world (as porters know it) had set its approving seal. In brief, ho smiled faintly; and if he had any pleasantry to pass in turn. *h*> approach of the ! manage.*. 2<rn clothed metaphorically ' in deferentialism, relegated It to | the limbo of things thought but left • unsaid. "Here is a letter for you, Mr. Ry anne. Have you any more luggage?" "No." Mr. Ryanne smiled. "Shall I pay for my room in advance ?** "Oh, no, sir!" Ten- years ago the manager would have blushed at hav ing been so misunderstood. "Your ' room is 208." "Will you have a boy show me the way ?" "I shall myself attend to that. If | the room is not what you wish it I may be exchanged." "The room is the one I telegraphed I for. I am superstitious to a degree, j On three boats I have had fine state- | ! rooms numbered 208. Twice the num- j ber of my hotel room has been the { same. On the last voyage there were I 208 passengers, and (he captain had j made 208 voyages on the Mediterra nean." "Quite a coincident." "Ah, if roulette could be played wi(h such a certainty." Mr. Ryanne sighed, hitched up his bundle, which, being heavy, was begin ning to wear upon his arm, and signi fied to the manager to lead the way. As they vanished round the corner to the lift, the head-porter studied the guest-list. Ho had looked over it a dozen times that day, but this was the j first instance of his being really in terested in it. As his chin was fresh ly shaven* he had no stubble to stroke to excite his mental processes; so he fell back, as we say, upon the con soling ends of his abundant mus tache. Curious; but all these persons were occupying or about to occupy adjacent rooms. There was truly nothing mysterious about it, save that the stranger had picked out these very names as a target for his banter. For tune Chedsoye; It was rather an un usual name; but as she had arrived only an hour or so before, he could not distinctly recall her features. And then, there was that word bucolic. He mentally turned it over and over as physically he was wont to do with post-cards left in his care to mail. He could make nothing of the word, except that It smacked of the East Indian plague. Here he was saved from further cerebral agony by a timely interrup tion. A man, who was not of bucolic persuasion either in dress or speech, urban from the tips of his bleached fingers to the bulb of his bibulous nose, leaned across the counter and asked if Mr. Horace Ryanne had yet arrived. Yes, he had just arrived; he i ; I Ran His Glance Up and Down the Columns of Visiting Card 3. was even now on his way to his room, i The urban gentleman nodded. Then, with H finger slim and well-trimmed, he trailed up and down the nuest-llst. "Ha! 1 see that you have the Duke of Whatd'-ye-call from Germany here. | I'll five you iny card. Send it up to Mr. Ilvanne. No hurry. 1 shall be hi again after dinner." He bustled off toward tho door. He was pursy, well-fed, and decently dressed, the sort of a man who, when he moved in any direction, created the impression that he had an important •bfcuuemeui somewhere else or was Author of HEARTS AND .MASKS Cho A\AN O/N THE BOX cte^. I llvi si by T\ . Gr. R_ . * ♦ COPYRIGHT 1911 by BOBBS - MERRILL CO/-VPA/SY ♦ paring minutes from time-tables. For a man in his business it was a clever expedient, deceiving all but those who < knew him. He hesitated at the door, < however; as if he had changed his mind in the twenty-odd paces it took to reach It. He stared for a long period at the elderly gentleman who was watching the feluccas on the river through the window. The white mustache and imperial stood out in crisp relief against the ruddy sunburn ■ on his face. If he was aware of this scrutiny on the part of the pursy gen tleman, he gave not the least sign. The revolving door spun round, send ing a puff of outdoor air into the lounging-room. The elderly gentleman then smiled, and applied his thumb and forefinger to the waxen point of ■ his imperial. In the intervening time Mr. Ryanne I entered hie room, threw the bundle lon the bed, sat down beside it, and read his letter. Shadows and lightr. moved across his face; frowns that I hardened it, smiles that mellowed it. Women hold the trick of writing let ters. Do they hate, their thoughts flash and burn from line to line. Do they love, 'tis lettered music. Do they conspire, the breadth of their imagi nation is without horizon. At best, man can indite only a polite business letter, his love-notes were adjudged j long since a maudlin collection of loose sentences. In this letter Mr. Ry anne found the three parts of life. "She's a good general; but hang these brimstone efforts of hers. She talks too much of heart. For my part, I prefer to regard it as a mere phys ical function, a pump, a motor, a pow er that gives action to the legs, either in coming or ingoing, more especially ingoing." He laughed. "Well, hers is the Inspiration and hers is the law. And to think that she could plan all this on the spur of the moment, down I to the minutest detail! It's a science." | He put the letter away, slid out his j legs and glared at the dusty tips of his shoes. "The United Romance and Adventure Company, Ltd., of New York, London, and Paris. She has the greatest gift of all, the sense of hu mor." He rose and opened hiß kit-bag doubtfully. He rummaged about iu the depths and at last straightened up with a mild oath. "Not a pair of cuff 3 in the whole outfit, not a shirt, not a collar. Oh, well, when a man has to leave Bagdad the way I did, over the back fence, so to speak, linen doesn't count." He drew down his cuffs, detached and reversed them, he turned his fold ing collar wrong-side out, and used the under side of the foot-rug as a shoe-polisher. It was the ingenious procedure of a man who was used to being out late nights, who made all things answer all purposes. This rapid and singularly careless toilet com pleted, he centered his concern upon the more vital matter of finances. He was close to the nadir: four sover eigns, a florin, and a collection of bat tered coppers that would have tickled the pulse of an amateur numismatist "No vintage tonight, my boy; no long, fat Havana, cither. A bottle of stout and a few rags of plug-cut; that s the pace we'll travel this «v«- — 1 ning. The United Romance and Ad venture Company is not listed at pres ent. If It was, I'd sell a few shares on my own hook. The kind Lord knows that I've stock enough and to spare." He laughed again, but with out the leaven of humor. "When the fool-killer snatches up the last fool, let rogues look to themselves; and fools are getting scarcer every day. "Percival Algernon! O age of po ets! I wonder, does he wear high col lars and spats, or has she plumbed him accurately? She is generally right. Rut a man changes some in seven years. I'qi an authority when it comes to that. 'Look what's happened to me in seven years! First, Horace, we shall dine, then we'll smoke our pipe in the billiard-room, then we'll softly approach Percival Algernon and introduce him to Sinbad. This in dependent excursion to Bagdad was a stroke on my part; it will work into the general plan as smoothly as if it had been grooved for the part. Sinbad. I might just as well have assumed that name; Horace Sinbad, sounds well and looks well." He mused in silence, his hand gently rubbing his chin; for he did possess the trick of talking aloud, in a low monotone, a I habit acquired during periods of lone ! liness, when the sound of his own I voice had succeeded in steadying his tottering mind. What a woman, what a wife, she would have been to the right man! Odd thing, a man can do almost any thing but direct his affections; they must be drawn. She was not for him; nay, not even on a desert Isle. Doubt less he was a fool. In time she would have made him a rich man. Alack! It was always the one we pursued that we loved and never the one that pursued us. "I'm afraid of her; and there you Everything Worth While Seemed to Have Slipped Through His Fingers. are. There isn't a man living who has gone back of that Mona Lisa smile of hers. If she was the last woman and I was the last man, I don't say." He hunted for a cigarette, but failed to find one. "Almost at the bottom, boy; the winter of our discontent, and no sun of York to make it glorious. Twenty-four hundred at cards, and to lose it like a tyro! Wallace has taught me all he knows, but I'm a booby. Twenty-four hundred, firm's money. It's a failing of mine, the firm's money. Hut, damn it all, I can't cheat a man at cards; I'd rather cut his throat." He found his pipe, and a careful search of the corners of his coat-pock ets revealed a meager pipeful of to bacco. He picked out the little balls of wool, the ground-cofToe, the cloves, and pushed the charge home into the crusted bowl of his briar. "To the devil with economy! A pint of burgundy and a perfecto If they hale us to jail for it. I'm dead tired. !\i ceeE three corners in hell in the past two months. I'rj going as far as four sovereigns will take iu«. | rrr—■ •■■ " v■ ■ r. 1 . . . Fortune Chedsoye." His blue eyes became less hard and his moutl less deilant. "I repeat, the heart should be nothing but a pump. Oth erwise it gets in the way, becomes an obstruction, a bottomless pit. Will power, that's the ticket. 1 can face a lion without an extra beat, I can face the various countenances of death without an additional flutter; and yet, here's a girl who, when I see her or think of her, sends the pulse soaring from seventy-seven up to eighty-four. Pad business; besides, it's so infer nally unfashionable. It's hard work for a man to keep his balance 'twixt the devil and the deep, blue sea; Gio conda on one side and Fortune on the other. Gioconda throws open windows and doors at my approach; but For tune locks and bars hers, nor knocks at mine. That's the way it always goes. "If a man coulii-only go back ten years and take a new start. Ass!" balling his fist at the reflection in the mirror. "Snivel and whine over the bed of your own making. You had your opportunity, but you listened to the popping of champagne-corks, the mutter of cards, the inane drivel of chorus-ladies. You had a decent col lege record, too. Bah! What a guile less fool you were! You ran on, didn't you, till you found your neck in the loop at the end of the rope? And | perhaps that soft-footed, estimable brother of yours didn't yank it taut as a hangman's? You heard the codicil; into one ear and out the other. Even then you had your chance; patience for two short years, and a million. No, a thousand times no. You knew what you were about, empty-headed fool! And today, two pennies for a dead man's eye 3." He dropped his fist dejectedly. Where had the first step begun? And where would be the last? In some drab corner, possibly; drink, mor phine, or starvation; he'd never have the courage to finish it with a bullet. He was terribly bitter. Everything worth while seemed to have slipped through his fingers, his pleasure-lov ing fingers. "Come, come, Horace; buck up. Still the ruby kindles in the vine. No turning back now. We'll goon till we come bang! against the wall. There may be some good bouts between here and there. I wonder what Gioconda would say if she knew why I was so eager for this game?" He went down to dinner, and they gave him a table in an obscure corner, as a subtle reminder that his style was passe. He didn't care; he was hungry and thirsty. He could see nearly every one, ever, if only a few could see him. This was somewhat to his vantage. He endeavored to pick out Perclval Alger non; but there were too many high collars, too many monocles. So he contented himself with a mild philo sophical observance of the scene. The murmur of voices, rising PS the wail of the violins sank, sinking as the wail rose; the tinkle of glass and china, the silver and linen, the pretty wom< n in their rustling gowns, the delicate perfumes, the flash of an irm, the glint of a polished shoulder; his was the essence of life he coveted. He smiled at the thought and the sure knowledge that he was not the only wolf in the fold. Ay, and who among " these dainty Red Riding Hoods might be fooled by a vulpine grandmother? Truth, when a fellow winnowed It all down to a handful, there were only fools and rogues. If one was a fool, the rogue got you, and he iu turn de voured himself. He held his glass toward the table lamp, moved It slowly to and fro un der his nose, epicureanly; then he sipped the wine. Something like! It ran across his tongue and down his throat in tingling fire, nectarious; and he went half way to Olympus, to the feet of the gods. For weeks he had lived in the vilest haunts, in desperate straits, his life in his open hands; and now once more he had crawled from the depths to the outer crust of the world. It did not matter that he was destined togo down into the depths again; so long as the spark burned he was going to crawl back each time. Damnable luck! He could have lived like a prince. Twenty-four hundred, and all in two nights, a steady stream of gold into the pockets of men whom he could have cheated with consum mate ease, and didn't. A fine wolf, whose predatory instincts were still riveted to that obsolete thing called conscience! "Conscience? Rot! Let us for once be frank and write it down as caution, as l'ear of publicity, anything but the white guardian-angel of the immortality of the soul. Heap up the gold, Apollyon; heap it up, higher and higher, till not a squeak of that still small voice that once awoke the chap in the Old Testament can ever again be heard. Now, no more retrospection, Horace; no more analysis; the vital question simmers down to this: If Percival Algernon balks; how l>r wiU four sovereigns go?" CHAPTER 111. The Holy Yhlordes. George drank his burgundy perfur torily. Had it been astringent as tl, native wine of Corsica, he would nc have noticed it. The little nerv« that ran from his tongue to his brain had temporarily lost the power of com munication. And all because of the girl across the way. He couldn't keep his eyes from wandering in her di rection. She faced him diagonally. She ate but little, and when the elder ly gentleman poured out for her a glass of sauterne, she motioned 'it Aside, rested her chin upon her fold ed hands, and stared not at but through her vis-a-vis. It was a lovely head, topped with coils of lustrous, light brown hair; an oval face, of white and rosa and ivory tones; scarlet lips, a small, reg ular nose, and a chin the soft round ness of which hid the resolute lift to it. To these attributes of loveliness was added a perfect form, the long, flowing curves of youth, not the abrupt cyitours of maturity. George couldn't recollect when he had been so im pressed by a face. From the moment she had stepped down from the car riage, his interest had been drawn, and had grown to such dimensions that when he entered the dining-room his glance immediately searched for her table. What luck in finding her across the way! He questioned if he had ever seen her before. There was something familiar; the delicate pro file stirred some sleeping memory but did not wake it. How to meet her, and when he did meet her, how to interest her? If she would only drop her handkerchief, her purse, something to give him an ex cuse, an opening. Ah, he was certain that this time the hydra-headed one should not overcome him. To gain ' her attention and to hold it, he would have faced a lion, a tiger, a wild-ele phant. To diagnose these symptoms might not be fair to George. "Love at first sight" reads well and sounds well, but we hoary-headed philoso phers know that the phrase is only poetical license. Once, and only once, she looked Jn his direction. It swept over htm with the chill of a winter wind that he meant as much to her as a tree, a fence, a meadow, as seen from the window of a speeding railway train. But this observation, transient as it was, left with him the indelible im pression that her eyes were the sad dest he had ever seen. Why? Why should a young and beautiful girl have eyes like that? It could not mean physical weariness, else the face would in some way have expressed It.. The elderly man appeared to do his best to animate her; lie was kindly and courteous and by the gentle way he laughed at intervals was trying to bolster up the situation with a jest or two. The'girl never so much as smiled, or shrugged her Rhoulders; she was as responsive to these overtures as mar ble would have been. (TO HE CONTINUED.) Uncle Pennywlse Says: Some of us can laugh when th® Joke is on us; but none of us believa In carrying that kind of a Joke too fax.
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