tell the truth, but he pulled himself up in time. “It’s a funny old world, Colonel,” he said; “and sometimes one’s nearest friend is a stranger. I know I seem a fool; but, after all, why isn’t it good philosophy to make the most of a holiday and then settle back to work?”
“That is all very well, Monty,” and Colonel Drew was entirely serious; “but the work is a hundred times harder after you have played to the limit You’ll find that you are way beyond it. It’s no joke getting back into the harness.”
“Perhaps you are right, Colonel, but at least I shall have something to look back upon—even if the worst comes.” And Monty instinctively straightened his shoulders.
They turned to leave the building, and the Colonel had a moment of weakness.
“Do you know, Monty,” he said, “my daughter is awfully cut up about this business. She is plucky and tries not to show it, but after all a girl doesn’t get over that sort of thing all in a moment. I am not saying”—it seemed necessary to recede a step “that it would be an easy matter to patch up. But I like you, Monty, and if any man could do it, you can.”
“Colonel, I wish I might,” and Brewster found that he did not hesitate. “For your sake I very much wish the situation were as simple as it seems. But there are some things a man can’t forget, and—well—Barbara has shown in a dozen ways that she has no faith in me.”
“Well, I’ve got faith in you, and a lot of it. Take care of yourself, and when you get back you can count on me. Good-bye.”
On Thursday morning the “Flitter” steamed off down the bay, and the flight of the prodigal grand-son was on. No swifter, cleaner, handsomer boat ever sailed out of the harbor of New York, and it was a merry crowd that she carried out to sea. Brewster’s guests numbered twenty-five, and they brought with them a liberal supply of maids, valets, and luggage. It was not until many weeks later that he read the vivid descriptions of the weighing of the anchor which were printed in the New York papers, but by that time he was impervious to their ridicule.
On deck, watching the rugged silhouette of the city disappear into the mists, were Dan DeMille and Mrs. Dan, Peggy Gray, “Rip” Van Winkle, Reginald Vanderpool, Joe Bragdon, Dr. Lotless and his sister Isabel, Mr. and Mrs. Valentine—the official chaperon—and their daughter Mary, “Subway” Smith, Paul Pettingill, and some others hardly less distinguished. As Monty looked over the eager crowd, he recognized with a peculiar glow that here were represented his best and truest friendships. The loyalty of these companions had been tested, and he knew that they would stand by him through everything.
There was no little surprise when it was learned that Dan DeMille was ready to sail. Many of the idle voyagers ventured the opinion that he would try to desert the boat in mid-ocean if he saw a chance to get back to his club on a west-bound steamer. But DeMille, big, indolent, and indifferent, smiled carelessly, and hoped he wouldn’t bother anybody if he “stuck to the ship” until the end.
For a time the sea and the sky and the talk of the crowd were enough for the joy of living. But after a few peaceful days there was a lull, and it was then that Monty gained the nickname of Aladdin, which clung to him. From somewhere, from the hold or the rigging or from under the sea, he brought forth four darkies from the south who strummed guitars and sang ragtime melodies. More than once during the voyage they were useful.
“Peggy,” said Brewster one day, when the sky was particularly clear and things were quiet on deck, “on the whole I prefer this to crossing the North River on a ferry. I rather like it, don’t you?”
“It seems like a dream,” she cried, her eyes, bright, her hair blowing in the wind.
“And, Peggy, do you know what I tucked away in a chest down in my cabin? A lot of books that you like—some from the old garret. I’ve saved them to read on rainy days.”
Peggy did not speak, but the blood began to creep into her face and she looked wistfully across the water. Then she smiled.
“I didn’t know you could save anything,” she said, weakly.
“Come now, Peggy, that is too much.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. But you must not forget, Monty, that there are other years to follow this one. Do you know what I mean?”
“Peggy, dear, please don’t lecture me,” he begged, so piteously that she could not be serious.
“The class is dismissed for today, Monty,” she said, airily. “But the professor knows his duty and won’t let you off so easily next time.”
CHAPTER XIX
ONE HERO AND ANOTHER
At Gibraltar, Monty was handed an ominous-looking cablegram which he opened tremblingly.
To MONTGOMERY BREWSTER,
Private Yacht Flitter, Gibraltar.
There is an agitation to declare for free silver. You may have twice as much to spend. Hooray.
JONES.
To which Monty responded:
Defeat the measure at any cost. The more the merrier, and charge it to me. BREWSTER. P.S. Please send many cables and mark them collect.
The Riviera season was fast closing, and the possibilities suggested by Monte Carlo were too alluring to the host to admit of a long stop at Gibraltar. But the DeMilles had letters to one of the officers of the garrison, and Brewster could not overlook the opportunity to give an elaborate dinner. The success of the affair may best be judged by the fact that the “Flitter’s” larder required an entirely new stock the next day. The officers and ladies of the garrison were asked, and Monty would have entertained the entire regiment with beer and sandwiches if his friends had not interfered.
“It might cement the Anglo-American alliance,” argued Gardner, “but your pocketbook needs cementing a bit more.”
Yet the pocketbook was very wide open, and Gardner’s only consolation lay in a tall English girl whom he took out to dinner. For the others there were many compensations, as the affair was brilliant and the new element a pleasant relief from the inevitable monotony.
It was after the guests had gone ashore that Monty discovered Mr. and Mrs. Dan holding a tete-a-tete in the stern of the boat.
“I am sorry to break this up,” he interrupted, “but as the only conscientious chaperon in the party, I must warn you that your behavior is already being talked about. The idea of a sedate old married couple sitting out here alone watching the moon! It’s shocking.”
“I yield to the host,” said Dan, mockingly. “But I shall be consumed with jealousy until you restore her to me.”
Monty noticed the look in Mrs. Dan’s eyes as she watched her husband go, and marked a new note in her voice as she said, “How this trip is bringing him out.”
“He has just discovered,” Monty observed, “that the club is not the only place in the world.”
“It’s a funny thing,” she answered, “that Dan should have been so misunderstood. Do you know that he relentlessly conceals his best side? Down underneath he is the kind of man who could do a fine thing very simply.”
“My
