The Lady and the Pirate by Emerson Hough (best new books to read txt) 📕

scores is now suspended. And send John here.”

The old man touched his cap again, a trifle puzzled. I wondered if he recognized Davidson’s waistcoat—he asked no more questions.

“John,” said I to my Chinaman, “carry this to the ladies;” and handed him a card on which I had inscribed: “Black Bart’s compliments; and he desires the attendance of the ladies on deck for a parley. At once.”

John came back in a few moments and stood on one foot. “She say, she say, Misal Hally, she say no come.”

“Letter have got, John?”

“Lessah have got.”

“Take it back. Say, at once.”

“Lessah. At wullunce.”

“Lessah,” he added two moments later. “Catchee lettah, them lady, and she say, she say, go to hellee!”

“What! What’s that, John? She said nothing of the sort!”

“Lessah, said them. No catchee word, that what she mean. Lady, one time she say, she say, go topside when have got plenty leady for come.”

“Go back to your work, John,” said I. And I waited with much dignity, for perhaps ten minutes or so, before I heard any signs of life from the after suite. Then I heard the door pushed back, and saw a head come out, a head with dark tendrils of hair at the white neck’s nape, and two curls at the temple, and as clean and thoroughbred a sweep of jaw and chin as the bows of the Belle Helène herself. She did not look at me, but studiously gazed across the river, pretended to yawn, idly looked back to see if she were followed; as she knew she was not to be.

At length, she turned as she stepped out on the deck. She was fresh as the dew itself, and like a rose. All color of rose was the soft skirt she wore, and the little bolero above, blue, with gold buttons, covered a soft rose-colored waist, light and subtle as a spider’s web, stretched from one grass stalk to another of a dewy morning. She was round and slender, and her neck was tall and round, and in the close fashion of dress which women of late have devised, to remind man once more of the ancient Garden, she seemed to me Eve herself, sweet, virginal, as yet in a garden dew-sweet in the morning of the world.

She turned, I say, and by mere chance and in great surprise, discovered me, now cap in hand, and bowing.

“Oh,” she remarked; very much surprised.

“Good morning, Eve,” said I. “Have you used Somebody’s Soap; or what is it that you have used? It is excellent.”

A faint color came to her cheek, the corners of her bowed lips twitched. “For a pirate, or a person of no culture, you do pretty well. As though a girl could sleep after all this hullabaloo.”

“You have slept very well,” said I. “You never looked better in all your life, Helena. And that is saying the whole litany.”

“You are absurd,” said she. “You must not begin it all again. We settled it once.”

“We settled it twenty times, or to be exact, thirteen times, Helena. The only trouble is, it would not stay settled. Tell me, is there any one else yet, Helena?”

“It is not any question for you to ask, or for me to answer.” She was cold at once. “I’ve not tried to hear of you or your plans, and I suppose the same is true of you. It is long since I have had a heartache over you—a headache is all you can give me now, or ever could. That is why I can not in the least understand why you are here now. Auntie is almost crazy, she is so frightened. She thinks you are entirely crazy, and believes you have murdered Mr. Davidson.”

“I have not yet done so, although it is true I am wearing his shoes; or at least his waistcoat. How do you like it?”

“I like the one with pink stripes better,” she replied demurely.

“So then—so then!” I began; but choked in anger at her familiarity with Cal Davidson’s waistcoats. And my anger grew when I saw her smile.

“Tell me, are you engaged to him, Helena?” I demanded. “But I can see; you are.” She drew herself up as she stood, her hands behind her back.

“A fine question to ask, isn’t it? Especially in view of what we both know.”

“But you haven’t told me.”

“And am not going to.”

“Why not?”

“Because it is the right of a middle-aged woman like myself——”

“—Twenty-four,” said I.

“—To do as she likes in such matters. And she doesn’t need make any confidences with a man she hasn’t seen for years. And for whom she never—she never——”

“Helena,” said I, and I felt pale, whether or not I looked it, “be careful. That hurts.”

“Oh, is it so?” she blazed. “I am glad if it does hurt.”

I bowed to her. “I am glad if it gives you pleasure to see me hurt. I am. Habeo!”

“But it was not so as to me,” I added presently. “Yes, I said good-by to you, that last time, and I meant it. I had tried for years, I believe, with every argument in my power, to explain to you that I loved you, to explain that in every human likelihood we would make a good match of it, that we—we—well, that we’d hit it off fine together, very likely. And then, I was well enough off—at first, at least——”

“Oh, don’t!” she protested. “It is like opening a grave. We buried it all, Harry. It’s over. Can’t you spare a girl, a middle-aged girl of twenty-four, this resurrection? We ended it. Why, Harry, we have to make out some sort of life for ourselves, don’t we? We can’t just sit down and—and——”

“No,” said I. “I tried it. I got me a little place, far up in the wilderness with what remained of my shattered fortunes—a few acres. And I sat down there and tried that ‘and—and’ business. It didn’t seem to work. But we don’t get on much in our parley, do we?”

“No. The most charitable thing I can think of is that you are crazy. Aunt Lucinda must be right. But what do you intend to do with us? We can’t get off the boat, and we can’t get any answer to our signals for help.”

“So you have signaled?”

“Of course. Waved things, you know.”

“Delightful! The passing steamers no doubt thought you a dissipated lot of northern joy-riders, bound south on some rich man’s yacht.”

“Instead of two troubled women on a stolen boat.”

“Are you engaged to Cal Davidson, Helena?”

“What earthly difference?”

“True, none at all. As you say, I have stolen his boat, stolen his wine, stolen his fried potatoes, stolen his waistcoats. But, bear witness, I drew the line at his neckties. Nowhere else, however!” And as I added this I looked at her narrowly.

“Will you put us ashore?” she asked, her color rising.

“No.”

“We’re coming to a town.”

“Baton Rouge. The capital of Louisiana. A quaint and delightful city of some sixty thousand inhabitants. The surrounding country is largely devoted to the sugar industry. But we do not stop. Tell me, are you engaged?”

But, suddenly, I saw her face, and on it was something of outraged dignity. I bent toward her eagerly. “Forgive me! I never wanted to give you pain, Helena. Forget my improper question.”

“Indeed!”

“I’ve been fair with you. And that’s hard for a man. Always, always,—let me tell you something women don’t understand—there’s the fight in a man’s soul to be both a gentleman and a brute, because a woman won’t love him till he’s a brute, and he hates himself when he isn’t a gentleman. It’s hard, sometimes, to be both. But I tried. I’ve been a gentleman—was once, at least. I told you the truth. When they investigated my father, and found that, acting under the standard of his day, he hadn’t run plumb with the standards of to-day, I came and told you of it. I released you then, although you never had promised me, because I knew you mightn’t want an alliance with—well, with a front page family, you know. It blew over, yes; but I was fair with you. You knew I had lost my money, and then you——”

“I remained ‘released’.”

“Yes, it is true.”

“And am free, have been, to do as I liked.”

“Yes, true.”

“And what earthly right has a man to try both rôles with a woman—that of discarded and accepted? You chose the first; and I never gave you the last. It is horrible, this sort of talk. It is abominable. For three years we have not met or spoken. I’ve not had a heartache since I told you. Don’t give me a headache now. And it would make my head ache, to follow these crazy notions. Put us ashore!”

“Not till I know the truth,” said I.

“About what?”

“Well, for instance, about the waistcoat with pink stripes.”

“You are silly.”

“Yes. How do you like my suit?”

“I never saw Mr. Davidson wear that one,” said she.

“For good reasons. It is my own, and four years old. You see, a poor man has to economize. And you know, since I lost my fortune, I’ve been living almost from hand to mouth. Honestly, Helena, many is the time when I’ve gone out fishing, trying to catch me a fish for my supper!”

“So does a poor girl have to economize,” said she.

“You are most sparing of the truth this morning, Helena, my dear,” I said.

“How dare you!” she blazed now at the tender phrase. “Fine, isn’t it, when I can’t get away? If I could, I’d go where I’d never see or hear of you again. I thought I had.”

“But you have not. You shall hear and see me daily till I know from your own lips the truth about you and—and every and any other man on earth who—well, who wears waistcoats with pink stripes.”

“We’ll have a long ride then,” said she calmly, and rose.

I rose also and bowed.

CHAPTER XVII IN WHICH IS HUE AND CRY

WE ran by the river-front of Baton Rouge, and lay to on the opposite side while our dingey ran in with mail. I sent Peterson and Lafitte ashore for the purpose, and meantime paced the deck in several frames of mind. I was arrested in this at length by L’Olonnois, who was standing forward, glasses in hand.

“Here they come,” said he, “and a humpin’ it up, too. Look, Jean Lafitte is standin’ up, wavin’ at us. Something’s up, sure. Mayhap, we are pursued by the enemy. Methinks ’tis hue and cry, good Sir.”

“It jolly well does look like it, mate,” said I, taking his glasses. “Something’s up.”

I could see the stubby dingey forced half out the water by Peterson’s oars, though she made little speed enough. And I saw men hurrying on the wharf, as though about to put out a boat.

“What’s wrong, Peterson?” I shouted as he came in range at last.

“Hurry up!” It was Lafitte who answered. “Clear the decks for action. Yon varlet has wired on ahead to have us stopped! They’re after us!” So came his call through cupped hands.

I ran to the falls and lowered away the blocks to hoist them aboard, even as I ordered speed and began to break out the anchor. We hardly were under way before a small power boat, bearing a bluecoated man, puffed alongside.

“What boat is this?” he called. “Belle Helène, of Mackinaw?”

In answer—without order from me,—my bloodthirsty mate, L’Olonnois, brought out the black burgee of the Jolly Rover, bearing a skull and cross-bones. “Have a look at that!” he piped. “Shall we clear the stern-chaser, Black Bart?”

“Hold on there, wait! I’ve got papers for you,” called the officer, still hanging at our rail, for I had not yet ordered full speed.

“He hollered to me he