"We don't know your name," said Jimmy, "but neither of us will give you away."
Jean Lafitte was all for opening up his own thumb for blood, but I stopped him. "This will do," said I, and stained his fingers and those of L'Olonnois--who grew pale at sight of it to his evident disgust.
So, thus, I became a pirate, and we three were brother rovers of the deep. I fancied my associates would be loyal. I was thinking of a certain cousin of the younger pirate. Not for worlds would I seek to pursue her now; but there had arisen in my soul, already, a sort of strange wonder whether some intent of fate had sent this youngster here to remind me once more of her, whom I would forget.
"Now," said I at last, "let us seek what fare the castle offers for the night." I could see they were tired and sleepy, and so found for them bath and clean pajamas--somewhat too large to be sure--and good beds in the wing of my log house. And never, as I be a true pirate, never have I seen so many and so various single-fire and revolving short arms, in my life, as these two buccaneers disclosed when they unbelted and laid aside their jackets! Even thus equipped, I found them looking enviously at my walls, where hung weapons of many lands.
I sent them to bed happier by telling them that, in the morning, they should select such as they chose for the equipment of our vessel.
"Gee!" said Jean Lafitte again. "Gee! _Gee!_" He was so happy that I, too, was happy. It was L'Olonnois who changed that.
"Methinks," said he, regarding me sternly, "that in yonder ivy-clad halls might dwell some lady fair! Tell me, is it not so?"
He stretched a thin arm out, in the sleeve of my smallest pajamas, and pointed a slender finger at the interior of my castle of dreams. Alas, after all it was empty! My old melancholy came back to me.
"No, my brothers," said I, "no maid has ever passed yon door. No, nor ever will."
L'Olonnois bent his flaxen head in dignified and manly sympathy. "I see," said he, "our brother in his youth has, perhaps, been deceived by some fair one!"
Upon which I left them for my own room.
If two buccaneers in my castle slept well that night, a third did not.
Anopheles might go hang. I did not fancy my new microscope. I doubted if my last violin were a real Strad. I did not like the last music my dealers had sent out to me. My studies of Confucius and Buddha might go hang, and my new book as well. For now, before me, came the face of a certain pirate's aunt, and she was indeed a lady fair. And I knew full well--as I had known all these years, although I had tried to deceive myself into believing otherwise--that gladly as I had exchanged the city for the wilderness, with equal gladness would I exchange my leisure, all my wealth, all my belongings, for a moment's touch of her hand, a half-hour of talk heart-to-heart with her, so that, indeed, I might know the truth; so that, at least, I might have it direct from her, bitter though the truth might be.
CHAPTER V
IN WHICH WE SAIL FOR THE SPANISH MAIN
When, in the morning, I passed from my quarters toward the main room which served me both as living-room and dining hall, I found that my pirate guests were also early risers. I could hear them arguing over some matter, which proved to be no more serious than the question of a cold bath of mornings, Jimmy maintaining that everybody had a cold bath every morning, whereas John insisted with equal heat that nobody ever bathed ("washed," I think he called it), oftener than once a week, to wit, on Saturdays only. They engaged in a pillow fight to settle it, and as Jimmy had John fairly well smothered by his rapid fire, I voted that the ayes appeared to have it when they referred the point to me.
As we are very remote and never visited in my wilderness home, it is not infrequent that I take my morning meal very much indeed in mufti, although Hiroshimi is always most exact himself. On this morning it occurred to us all that pajamas made a garb more piratical and more nautical than anything else obtainable, so we took breakfast--and I think Hiroshimi never served me a breakfast more delicate and tempting--clad as perhaps the Romans were, if they had pajamas in those times. All went well until the keen eyes of Jimmy, wandering about my place, noted a certain photograph which rested on the top of my piano--where I was much comforted always to have it, especially of an evening, when sometimes I played Mendelssohn's _Spring Song_, or other music of the like. It was the picture of the woman who did not know and very likely did not care where, or how, I lived--Helena Emory, to my mind one of the most beautiful women of her day; and I have seen the world's portraits of the world's beauties of all recorded days in beauty. Toward this Jimmy ran excitedly--I, with equal speed, endeavoring to divert him from his purpose.
"But it's my Auntie Helen!" he protested, when I recovered it and placed it in my pocket.
"It is your Auntie fiddlesticks, Jimmy," said I hastily, hoping my color was not heightened. "It is your grandmother! Finish your breakfast."
"I guess I ought to know--" he began.
"What!" I rejoined. "Wouldst pit your wisdom against one who has the second sight; have a care, shipmate."
"It was!" he reiterated. "I know ain't anybody pretty as she is, so it was."
"Jimmy L'Olonnois," said I, "let us reason about this. I----"
"Lemme see it, then. I can tell in a minute. Why don't you lemme see it, then?" He was eager.
"Shipmate," I replied to him, "the hand is sometimes quicker than the eye, and the mind slower than the heart. For that reason I can not agree to your request."
"But what'd _he_ be doing with Miss Emory's picture, Jimmy?" argued Lafitte.
"That's what I'd like to know," I added. "It may be that, in your haste, you have confused in your mind, Jimmy, some portrait with that of the Princess Amelie Louise, of Furstenburg." (I had indeed sometimes commented on the likeness of Helena Emory to that light-hearted old-world beauty.) Jimmy did not know that a photograph of the princess herself, also, stood upon the piano top, nor did he fully grasp the truth of that old saying that the hand is quicker than the eye. At least, he gazed somewhat confused at the portrait which I now produced before his eyes.
"Who was she?" he inquired.
"A very charming young lady of rank, who eloped with a young man not of rank. In short, although she did not marry a chauffeur, she did marry an automobile agent. And surely, Jimmy, your Auntie Helen--whoever she may be--would do no such thing as that and still claim to be a cousin of a L'Olonnois?"
"I don't know. You can't always tell what a girl's going to do," said Jimmy sagely. "But I don't think Auntie Helen's going to marry a auto man."
"Why, Jimmy?" (I found pleasure and dread alike in this conversation.)
"Because everybody says she's going to get married to Mr. Davidson, and he's a commission man."
Now, I am sure, my face did not flush. It may have paled. I tried to be composed. I reached for the melon dish and remarked, "Yes? And who is he? And really, who is your Auntie Helena, Jimmy, and what does she look like?" I spoke with a fine air of carelessness.
"She looks like the princess, you said," replied Jimmy. "And Mr.
Davidson's rich. He's got a house on our lake, this summer, and he lives in New York and has offices in Chicago, and travels a good deal.
He has some sort of factory, too, and he's awful rich. I like him pretty well. He knows how all the ball clubs stand, both leagues, every day in the year. You ought to know him, because then you might get to know my Auntie Helena. If they got married, like as not, I could take you up to their house. I thought everybody knew Mr.
Davidson, and my Auntie Helena, too."
Everybody did. Why should I not know Cal Davidson, one of the decentest chaps in the world? Why not, since we belonged to half a dozen of the same clubs in New York and other cities? Why not, since this very summer I had put my private yacht (named oddly enough, the _Belle Helene_) in commission for the first season in three years, and chartered her for the summer around Mackinaw, and a cruise down the Mississippi to the Gulf that fall? Why not, since I had still unbanked the handsome check Davidson had insisted on my taking as charter money for the last quarter?
Davidson! Of all men I had counted him my friend. And now here was he, reputed to be about to marry the girl who, as he knew, must have known, ought to have known, was all the world to me! Even if she would have none of me, and even though I had no shadow of claim on her--even though we had parted not once but a dozen times, and at last in a final parting--Davidson ought to have known, must have known! And my own yacht! Why, no man may know what may go forward in a yachting party. And, if perchance that fall he could persuade to accompany him Helena and her chaperon (I made no doubt that would be her Aunt Lucinda; for Helena's mother died when she was a child, and she was somewhat alone, although in rather comfortable circumstances) what could not so clever a man as Davidson, I repeat, one with so much of a way with women, accomplish in a journey so long as that, with no other man as his rival? It would be just like Cal Davidson to go ashore at St. Louis long enough to find a chaplain, and then go on ahead for a honeymoon around the world--on my boat, with my.... No, she was not mine ... but then....
All my life I have tried to be fair, even with my own interests at stake. I tried now to be fair; and I failed! I could see but one side to this case. Davidson must be found at once, must be halted in mid-career.
It was about this time that Hiroshimi came in with the morning's mail and telegrams, all of which at my place come in from the railway, ten miles or so, by rural free delivery. I paid small attention to him, most of my mail, these days, having to do with gasoline pumps or patent hay rakes and lists from my gun and tackle dealers and such like.
Hiroshimi coughed. "Supposing Honorable like to see these yellow wire envelopings."
I glanced down and idly opened the telegram. It was from Cal Davidson himself, and read:
"Name best price outright sale bill Helen to me answer Chicago."
So then, the scoundrel actually was on his way down the lakes, headed for the South, even thus early in the season! I knew, of course, that Bill Helen meant _Belle Helene_. As though I would sell my boat to him, of all men! It might almost as well have been a sale of Helena herself outright, as this cursed telegram stated. I crumpled the sheet in my hand.
"If Honorable contemplates some answering of mail this morning, it will be one ow-wore till the miserable pony mail carry all man comes,"
ventured Hiroshimi.
"Nothing this morning, Hiro," I managed to choke out, "and, Hiro, make ready my bag, the small one, for a journey."
"S-s-s-s!" hissed Hiroshimi, which was his way of saying, "Yes, sir, very well, sir." Surprise he neither showed now nor at any time; and since he never could tell at what hour I might conclude to start for his country or Europe or Africa or some other land for a stay of weeks or months, there was perhaps some warrant for his calm. He had less to do when I was away; although I always suspected him of poaching my trout with his infernal Japanese methods of angling.
At this moment L'Olonnois saw, through the open door, a red squirrel which scampered up a tree. At once he forgot all about his Auntie Helen and scampered off in pursuit, followed presently by Lafitte.
This gave me time to decide upon a plan.... At last, I lifted my head again.... Why not, then?
When L'Olonnois returned from the chase of the squirrel, he was all L'Olonnois and none Jimmy Henderson. The spell of his drama was upon him once more.