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  Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer

  GRAUSTARK

  By George Barr McCutcheon

  I. MR. GRENFALL LORRY SEEKS ADVENTURE

  Mr. Grenfall Lorry boarded the east-bound express at Denver with all theair of a martyr. He had traveled pretty much all over the world, andhe was not without resources, but the prospect of a twenty-five hundredmile journey alone filled him with dismay. The country he knew; thescenery had long since lost its attractions for him; countless newsboyshad failed to tempt him with the literature they thrust in his face, andas for his fellow-passengers--well, he preferred to be alone. And so itwas that he gloomily motioned the porter to his boxes and mounted thesteps with weariness.

  As it happened, Mr. Grenfall Lorry did not have a dull moment after thetrain started.

  He stumbled on a figure that leaned toward the window in the darkpassageway. With reluctant civility he apologized; a lady stood up tolet him pass, and for an instant in the half light their eyes met, andthat is why the miles rushed by with incredible speed.

  Mr. Lorry had been dawdling away the months in Mexico and California.For years he had felt, together with many other people, that asea-voyage was the essential beginning of every journey; he had startedround the world soon after leaving Cambridge; he had fished throughNorway and hunted in India, and shot everything from grouse on theScottish moors to the rapids above Assouan. He had run in and out ofcountless towns and countries on the coast of South America; he had doneRussia and the Rhone valley and Brittany and Damascus; he had seenthem all--but not until then did it occur to him that there might besomething of interest nearer home. True he had thought of joiningsome Englishmen on a hunting tour in the Rockies, but that had fallenthrough. When the idea of Mexico did occur to him he gave orders to packhis things, purchased interminable green tickets, dined unusually wellat his club, and was off in no time to the unknown West.

  There was a theory in his family that it would have been a decenterthing for him to stop running about and settle down to work. But histhoughtful father had given him a wealthy mother, and as earning aliving was not a necessity, he failed to see why it was a duty. "Work isbecoming to some men," he once declared, "like whiskers or red ties,but it does not follow that all men can stand it." After that the familyfound him "hopeless," and the argument dropped.

  He was just under thirty years, as good-looking as most men, with noone dependent upon him and an income that had withstood both the MaisonDoree and a dahabeah on the Nile. He never tired of seeing things andpeoples and places. "There's game to be found anywhere," he said, "onlyit's sometimes out of season. If I had my way--and millions--I shouldrun a newspaper. Then all the excitements would come to me. As itis--I'm poor, and so I have to go all over the world after them."

  This agreeable theory of life had worked well; he was a little bored attimes--not because he had seen too much, but because there were notmore things left to see. He had managed somehow to keep his enthusiasmsthrough everything--and they made life worth living. He felt too acertain elation--like a spirited horse--at turning toward home, butWashington had not much to offer him, and the thrill did not last. Hisbig bag and his hatbox--pasted over with foolish labels from continentalhotels--were piled in the corner of his compartment, and he settled backin his seat with a pleasurable sense of expectancy. The presence in thenext room of a very smart appearing young woman was prominent in hisconsciousness. It gave him an uneasiness which was the beginning ofdelight. He had seen her for only a second in the passageway, but thatsecond had made him hold himself a little straighter. "Why is it," hewondered, "that some girls make you stand like a footman the momentyou see them?" Grenfall had been in love too many times to think ofmarriage; his habit of mind was still general, and he classifiedwomen broadly. At the same time he had a feeling that in this casegeneralities did not apply well; there was something about the girl thatmade him hesitate at labelling her "Class A, or B, or Z." What it washe did not know, but--unaccountably-she filled him with an affectedformality He felt like bowing to her with a grand air and much dignity.And yet he realized that his successes had come from confidence.

  At luncheon he saw her in the dining car. Her companions wereelderly persons--presumably her parents. They talked mostly inFrench--occasionally using a German word or phrase. The old gentlemanwas stately and austere--with an air of deference to the young womanwhich Grenfall did not understand. His appearance was very striking; hisface pale and heavily lined; moustache and imperial gray; the eyebrowslarge and bushy, and the jaw and chin square and firm. The white-hairedlady carried her head high with unmistakable gentility. They were alldressed in traveling suits which suggested something foreign, but notVienna nor Paris; smart, but far from American tastes.

  Lorry watched the trio with great interest. Twice during luncheonthe young woman glanced toward him carelessly and left an annoyingimpression that she had not seen him. As they left the table and passedinto the observation car, he stared at her with some defiance. But shewas smiling, and her dimples showed, and Grenfall was ashamed. Forsome moments he sat gazing from the car window--forgetting hisluncheon-dreaming.

  When he got back to his compartment he rang vigorously for the porter. Acoin was carelessly displayed in his fingers. "Do you suppose you couldfind out who has the next compartment, porter?"

  "I don't know their name, sub, but they's goin' to New York jis as fas'as they can git thuh. I ain' ax um no questions, 'cause thuh's somethin''bout um makes me feel's if I ain' got no right to look at um even."

  The porter thought a moment.

  "I don' believe it'll do yuh any good, suh, to try to shine up to tha'young lady. She ain' the sawt, I can tell yuh that. I done see too manyguhls in ma time--"

  "What are you talking about? I'm not trying to shine up to her. I onlywant to know who she is--just out of curiosity." Grenfall's face was atrifle red.

  "Beg pahdon, suh; but I kind o' thought you was like orh' gent'men whenthey see a han'some woman. Allus wants to fin' out somethin' 'bout huh,suh, yuh know. 'Scuse me foh misjedgin' yuh, suh. Th' lady in questionis a foh'ner--she lives across th' ocean, 's fuh as I can fin' out.They's in a hurry to git home foh some reason, 'cause they ain' goin' tostop this side o' New York, 'cept to change cahs."

  "Where do they change cars?"

  "St. Louis--goin' by way of Cincinnati an' Washin'ton."

  Grenfall's ticket carried him by way of Chicago. He caught himselfwondering if he could exchange his ticket in St. Louis.

  "Traveling with her father and mother, I suppose?"

  "No, suh; they's huh uncle and aunt. I heah huh call 'em uncle an' aunt.Th' ole gent'man is Uncle Caspar. I don' know what they talk 'bout. It'smostly some foh'en language. Th' young lady allus speaks Amehican to me,but th' old folks cain't talk it ver' well. They all been to Frisco,an' the hired he'p they's got with 'em say they been to Mexico, too. Th'young lady's got good Amehican dollahs, don' care wha' she's been. Sheallus smiles when she ask me to do anythin', an' I wouldn' care if shenevah tipped me, 's long as she smiles thataway."

  "Servants with them, you say?"

  "Yas, suh; man an' woman, nex' section t'other side the ole folks.Cain't say mor'n fifteen words in Amehican. Th' woman is huh maid, an'the man he's th' genial hustler fer th' hull pahty."

  "And you don't know her name?"

  "No, sun, an' I cain't ver' well fin' out."

  "In what part of Europe does she live?"

  "Australia, I think, suh."

  "You mean Austria."

  "Do I? 'Scuse ma ig'nance. I was jis' guessin' at it anyhow; one place'sas good as 'nother ovah thuh, I reckon."

  "Have you one of those dollars she gave you?"

  "Yes, sub. Heh's a coin that ain' Amehican, but she says it's wuthseventy cents in our money. It's a foh'en piec
e. She tell me to keepit till I went ovah to huh country; then I could have a high time withit--that's what she says--'a high time'--an' smiled kind o' knowin'like."

  "Let me see that coin," said Lorry, eagerly taking the silver piece fromthe porter's hand. "I never saw one like it before. Greek, it looks tome, but I can't make a thing out of these letters. She gave it to you?"

  "Yas, suh--las' evenin'. A high time on seventy cents! That'sreediculous, ain't it?" demanded the porter scornfully.

  "I'll give you a dollar for it. You can have a higher time on that."

  The odd little coin changed owners immediately, and the new possessordropped it into his pocket with the inward conviction that he was thesilliest fool in existence. After the porter's departure he took thecoin from his pocket, and, with his back to the door, his face to thewindow, studied its lettering.

  During the afternoon he strolled about the train, his hand constantlyjingling the coins. He passed her compartment several times, yetrefrained from looking in. But he wondered if she saw him pass.

  At one little station a group of Indian bear hunters createdconsiderable interest among the passengers. Grenfall was down at thestation platform at once, looking over a great stack of game. As heleft the car he met Uncle Caspar, who was hurrying toward his niece'ssection. A few moments later she came down the steps, followed by thedignified old gentleman. Grenfall tingled with a strange delight as shemoved quite close to his side in her desire to see. Once he glanced ather face; there was a pretty look of fear in her eyes as she surveyedthe massive bears and the stark, stiff antelopes. But she laughed as sheturned away with her uncle.

  Grenfall was smoking his cigarette and vigorously jingling the coins inhis pocket when the train pulled out. Then he swung on the car steps andfound himself at her feet. She was standing at the top, where she hadlingered a moment. There was an expression of anxiety, in her eyes ashe looked up into them, followed instantly by one of relief. Then shepassed into the car. She had seen him swing upon the moving steps andhad feared for his safety--had shown in her glorious face that she wasglad he did not fall beneath the wheels. Doubtless she would have beenas solicitous had he been the porter or the brakeman, he reasoned, butthat she had noticed him at all pleased him.

  At Abilene he bought the Kansas City newspapers. After breakfast hefound a seat in the observation car and settled himself to read.Presently some one took a seat behind him. He did not look back, butunconcernedly cast his eyes upon the broad mirror in the opposite carwall. Instantly he forgot his paper. She was sitting within five feet ofhim, a book in her lap, her gaze bent briefly on the flitting buildingsoutside. He studied the reflection furtively until she took up the bookand began to read. Up to this time he had wondered why some nonsensicalidiot had wasted looking-glasses on the walls of a railway coach; now hewas thinking of him as a far-sighted man.

  The first page of his paper was fairly alive with fresh and importantdispatches, chiefly foreign. At length, after allowing himself to becomereally interested in a Paris dispatch of some international consequence,he turned his eyes again to the mirror. She was leaning slightlyforward, holding the open book in her lap, but reading, with strainingeyes, an article in the paper he held.

  He calmly turned to the next page and looked leisurely over it. Anotherglance, quickly taken, showed to him a disappointed frown on the prettyface and a reluctant resumption of novel reading. A few moments later heturned back to the first page, holding the paper in such a positionthat she could not see, and, full of curiosity, read every line of theforeign news, wondering what had interested her.

  Under ordinary circumstances Lorry would have offered her the paper,and thought nothing more of it. With her, however, there was an air thatmade him hesitate. He felt strangely awkward and inexperienced besideher; precedents did not seem to count. He arose, tossed the paper overthe back of the chair as if casting it aside forever, and strolled tothe opposite window and looked out for a few moments, jingling his coinscarelessly. The jingle of the pieces suggested something else to him.His paper still hung invitingly, upside down, as he had left it, on thechair, and the lady was poring over her novel. As he passed her he drewhis right hand from his pocket and a piece of money dropped to the floorat her feet. Then began an embarrassed search for the coin--in thewrong direction, of course. He knew precisely where it had rolled, butpurposely looked under the seats on the other side of the car. She drewher skirts aside and assisted in the search. Four different times hesaw the little piece of money, but did not pick it up. Finally, laughingawkwardly, he began to search on her side of the car. Whereupon she roseand gave him more room. She became interested in the search and bentover to scan the dark corners with eager eyes. Their heads were veryclose together more than once. At last she uttered an exclamation, andher hand went to the floor in triumph. They arose together, flushed andsmiling. She had the coin in her hand.

  "I have it," she said, gaily, a delicious foreign tinge to the words.

  "I thank you--" he began, holding out his hand as if in a dream ofecstacy, but her eyes had fallen momentarily on the object of theirsearch.

  "Oh!" she exclaimed, the prettiest surprise in the world coming into herface. It was a coin from her faraway homeland, and she was betrayedinto the involuntary exclamation. Instantly, however, she regained hercomposure and dropped the piece into his outstretched hand, a proudflush mounting to her cheek, a look of cold reserve to her eyes. He had,hoped she would offer some comment on what she must have considered astrange coincidence, but he was disappointed. He wondered if she evenheard him say:

  "I am sorry to have troubled you."

  She had resumed her seat, and, to him, there seemed a thousand milesbetween them. Feeling decidedly uncomfortable and not a little abashed,he left her and strode to the door. Again a mirror gave him a thrill.This time it was the glass in the car's end. He had taken but ahalf dozen steps when the brown head was turned slyly and a pair ofinterested eyes looked after him. She did not know that he could seeher, so he had the satisfaction of observing that pretty, puzzled faceplainly until he passed through the door.

  Grenfall had formed many chance acquaintances during his travels,sometimes taking risks and liberties that were refreshingly bold. Hehad seldom been repulsed, strange to say, and as he went to his sectiondizzily, he thought of the good fortune that had been his in otherattempts, and asked himself why it had not occurred to him to make thesame advances in the present instance. Somehow she was different. Therewas that strange dignity, that pure beauty, that imperial manner, allcombining to forbid the faintest thought of familiarity.

  He was more than astonished at himself for having tricked her a fewmoments before into a perfectly natural departure from indifference.She had been so reserved and so natural that he looked back and askedhimself what had happened to flatter his vanity except a passing showof interest. With this, he smiled and recalled similar opportunities indays gone by, all of which had been turned to advantage and had resultedin amusing pastimes. And here was a pretty girl with an air of mysteryabout her, worthy of his best efforts, but toward whom he had not daredto turn a frivolous eye.

  He took out the coin and leaned back in his chair, wondering where itcame from. "In any case," he thought, "it'll make a good pocket-pieceand some day I'll find some idiot who knows more about geography than Ido." Mr. Lorry's own ideas of geography were jumbled and vague--as if hehad got them by studying the labels on his hat-box. He knew the placeshe had been to, and he recognized a new country by the annoyances of thecustoms house, but beyond this his ignorance was complete. The coin,so far as he knew, might have come from any one of a hundred smallprincipalities scattered about the continent. Yet it bothered him alittle that he could not tell which one. He was more than curious abouta very beautiful young woman--in fact, he was, undeniably interested inher. He pleasantly called himself an "ass" to have his head turned by apretty face, a foreign accent and an insignificant coin, and yet he wasfascinated.

  Before the train reached St. Louis he m
ade up his mind to change carsthere and go to Washington with her. It also occurred to him thathe might go on to New York if the spell lasted. During the day hetelegraphed ahead for accommodations; and when the flyer arrived inSt. Louis that evening he hurriedly attended to the transferring andrechecking of his baggage, bought a new ticket, and dined. At eighthe was in the station, and at 8:15 he passed her in the aisle. She wasstanding in her stateroom door, directing her maid. He saw a look ofsurprise flit across her face as he passed. He slept soundly that night,and dreamed that he was crossing the ocean with her.

  At breakfast he saw her, but if she saw him it was when he was notlooking at her. Once he caught Uncle Caspar staring at him through hismonocle, which dropped instantly from his eye in the manner that isalways self-explanatory. She had evidently called the uncle's attentionto him, but was herself looking sedately from the window when Lorryunfortunately spoiled the scrutiny. His spirits took a furious boundwith the realization that she had deigned to honor him by recognition,if only to call attention to him because he possessed a certain coin.

  Once the old gentleman asked him the time of day and set his watchaccording to the reply. In Ohio the manservant scowled at him because heinvoluntarily stared after his mistress as she paced the platformwhile the train waited at a station. Again, in Ohio, they met in thevestibule, and he was compelled to step aside to allow her to pass. Hedid not feel particularly jubilant over this meeting; she did not evenglance at him.

  Lorry realized that his opportunities were fast disappearing, and thathe did not seem to be any nearer meeting her than when they started. Hehad hoped to get Uncle Caspar into a conversation and then use him, butUncle Caspar was as distant as an iceberg. "If there should be a wreck,"Grenfall caught himself thinking, "then my chance would come; but Idon't see how Providence is going to help me in any other way."

  Near the close of the day, after they left St. Louis, the train beganto wind through the foothills of the Alleghenies. Bellaire, Grafton andother towns were left behind, and they were soon whirling up the steepmountain, higher and higher, through tunnel after tunnel, nearer andnearer to Washington every minute. As they were pulling out of a littlemining town built on the mountain side, a sudden jar stopped the train.There was some little excitement and a scramble for information. Somepart of the engine was disabled, and it would be necessary to replaceit before the "run" could proceed.

  Lorry strolled up to the crowd of passengers who were watching theengineer and fireman at work. A clear, musical voice, almost in hisear, startled him, for he knew to whom it belonged. She addressed theconductor, who, impatient and annoyed, stood immediately behind him.

  "How long are we to be delayed?" she asked. Just two minutes beforethis same conductor had responded most ungraciously to a simple questionLorry had asked and had gone so far as to instruct another inquisitivetraveler to go to a warmer climate because he persisted in asking forinformation which could not be given except by a clairvoyant. But nowhe answered in most affable tones: "We'll be here for thirty minutes, atleast, Miss--perhaps longer." She walked away, after thanking him, andGrenfall looked at his watch.

  Off the main street of the town ran little lanes leading to the minesbelow. They all ended at the edge of a steep declivity. There was a dropof almost four hundred feet straight into the valley below. Along thesides of this valley were the entrances to the mines. Above, on theledge, was the machinery for lifting the ore to the high ground on whichstood the town and railroad yards.

  Down one of these streets walked the young lady, curiously interested inall about her. She seemed glad to escape from the train and its people,and she hurried along, the fresh spring wind blowing her hair frombeneath her cap, the ends of her long coat fluttering.

  Lorry stood on the platform watching her; then he lighted a cigaretteand followed. He had a vague feeling that she ought not to be alonewith all the workmen. She started to come back before he reached her,however, and he turned again toward the station. Then he heard a suddenwhistle, and a minute later from the end of the street he saw the trainpulling out. Lorry had rather distinguished himself in college as arunner, and instinctively he dashed up the street, reaching the tracksjust in time to catch the railing of the last coach. But there hestopped and stood with thumping heart while the coaches slid smoothlyup the track, leaving him behind. He remembered he was not the onlyone left, and he panted and smiled. It occurred to him--when it was toolate--that he might have got on the train and pulled the rope or calledthe conductor, but that was out of the question now. After all, it mightnot be such a merry game to stay in that filthy little town; it did notfollow that she would prove friendly.

  A few moments later she appeared--wholly unconscious of what hadhappened. A glance down the track and her face was the picture ofdespair.

  Then she saw him coming toward her with long strides, flushed andexcited. Regardless of appearances, conditions or consequences, shehurried to meet him.

  "Where is the train?" she gasped, as the distance between them grewshort, her blue eyes seeking his beseechingly, her hands clasped.

  "It has gone."

  "Gone? And we--we are left?"

  He nodded, delighted by the word "we."

  "The conductor said thirty minutes; it has been but twenty," she cried,half tearfully, half angrily, looking at her watch. "Oh, what shall Ido?" she went on, distractedly. He had enjoyed the sweet, despairingtones, but this last wail called for manly and instant action.

  "Can we catch the train? We must! I will give one thousand dollars. Imust catch it." She had placed her gloved hand against a telegraphpole to steady her trembling, but her face was resolute, imperious,commanding.

  She was ordering him to obey as she would have commanded a slave. In hervoice there was authority, in her eye there was fear. She could controlthe one but not the other.

  "We cannot catch the flyer. I want to catch it as much as you and"--herehe straightened himself--"I would add a thousand to yours." He hesitateda moment-thinking. "There is but one way, and no time to lose."

  With this he turned and ran rapidly toward the little depot andtelegraph office.