The Unspeakable Perk Read online

  V

  AN UPHOLDER OF TRADITIONS

  One day passes much like another in Caracuna City. The sun risesblandly, grows hot and angry as it climbs the slippery polished vaultof the heavens, and coasts down to its rest in a pleased and mild glow.From the squat cathedral tower the bells clang and jangle defiance tothe Adversary, temporarily drowning out the street tumult in which theyells of the lottery venders, the braying of donkeys, the whoops of thecabmen, and the blaring of the little motor cars with big horns, combineto render Caracuna the noisiest capital in the world. Through thesaddle-colored hordes on the moot ground of the narrow sidewalks movesan occasional Anglo-Saxon resident, browned and sallowed, on his wayto the government concession that he manages; a less occasionalAnglo-Saxoness, browned and marked with the seal that the tropics putupon every woman who braves their rigors for more than a brief period;and a sprinkling of tourists in groups, flying on cheek, brow, and nosethe stark red of their newness to the climate.

  Not of this sorority Miss Polly Brewster. Having blithe regard to herduty as an ornament of this dull world, she had tempered the sun to theforeign cuticle with successively diminishing layers of veils, to suchgood purpose that the celestial scorcher had but kissed her graduatedbrownness to a soft glow of color. Not alone in appreciation of herexternal advantages was Miss Brewster. Such as it was,--and it had itsqualities, albeit somewhat unformulated,--Caracuna society gave herprompt welcome. There were teas and rides and tennis at the little club;there were agreeable, presentable men and hospitable women; and alwaysthere was Fitzhugh Carroll, suave, handsome, gentle, a polished man ofthe world among men, a courteous attendant to every woman, but alwayswith a first thought for her. Was it sheer perversity of character, thatelfin perversity so shrewdly divined by the hermit of the mountain, thatput in her mind, in this far corner of the world, among these strangepeople, the thought:

  "All men are alike, and Fitz, for all that he's so different and thebest of them, is the MOST alike."

  Which paradox, being too much for her in the heat of the day, she putaside in favor of the insinuating thought of her beetle man. Whateverelse he might or might not be, he wasn't alike. She was by no means surethat she found this difference either admirable or amiable. But at leastit was interesting.

  Moreover, she was piqued. For four days had passed and the recluse hadnot returned her call. True, there had come to her hotel a wickerfull of superb wild tree blooms, and, again, a tiny box, cunning inworkmanship of scented wood, containing what at first glance she hadtaken to be a jewel, until she saw that it was a tiny butterfly withopalescent wings, mounted on a silver wire. But with them had come noword or token of identification. Perhaps they weren't from the queerand remote person at all. Very likely Mr. Raimonda had sent them; orFitzhugh Carroll was adding secret attention to his open homage; or theymight even be a further peace offering from the Hochwald secretary.

  That occasionally too festive diplomat had, indeed, made amends bothprofound and, evidently, sincere. Soliciting the kind offices of bothSherwen and Raimonda, he had presented himself, under their escort,stiff and perspiring in his full official regalia, before Mr. Brewster;then before his daughter, whose solemnity, presently breaking downbefore his painfully rehearsed English, dissolved in fluent French,setting him at ease and making him her slave. Poor penitent VonPlaanden even apologized to Carroll, fortunately not having heard ofthe American's threat, and made a most favorable impression upon thatprecisian.

  "Intoxicated, he may be a rough, Miss Polly," Carroll confided to thegirl. "But sober, the man is a gentleman. He feels very badly about thewhole affair. Offered to your father to report it all through officialchannels and attach his resignation."

  "Not for worlds!" cried Miss Polly. "The poor man was half asleep. AndMr. Bee--Mr. Perkins DID jog him rather sharply."

  "Yes. Von Plaanden asked my advice as an American about his attitudetoward Cluff and Perkins."

  "I hope you told him to let the whole thing drop."

  "Exactly what I did. I explained about Cluff; that he was a very goodfellow, but of a different class, and probably wouldn't give the thinganother thought."

  "And Mr. Perkins?"

  "Von Plaanden wanted to challenge him, if he could find him. I suggestedthat he leave me to deal with Mr. Perkins. After some discussion, heagreed."

  "Oh! And what are you going to do with him?"

  "Find him first, if I can."

  "I can tell you where." Carroll stared at her, astonished. "But I don'tthink I will."

  "He announced his intention of keeping out of my way. The man has nosense of shame."

  "You probably scared the poor lamb out of his wits, fire-eater that youare."

  Carroll would have liked to think so, but an innate sense of justicebeneath his crust of prejudice forbade him to accept this judgment.

  "The strange part of it is that he doesn't impress me as being afraid.But there is certainly something very wrong with the fellow. A man whowill deliberately desert a woman in distress"--Carroll's manner expandedinto the roundly rhetorical--"whatever else he may be, cannot be agentleman."

  "There might have been mitigating circumstances."

  "No circumstances could excuse such an action. And, after that, thefellow had the effrontery to send you a message."

  "Me? What was it?" asked Miss Polly quickly.

  "I don't know. I didn't let him finish. I forbade his even mentioningyour name."

  "Indeed!" cried the girl, in quick dudgeon. "Don't you think you aretaking a great deal upon yourself, Fitz? What do you really know aboutMr. Perkins, anyway, that you judge him so offhandedly?"

  "Very little, but enough, I think. And I hardly think you know more."

  "Then you're wrong. I do."

  "You KNOW this man?"

  "Yes; I do."

  "Does your father approve of--"

  "Never mind my father! He has confidence enough in me to let me judge ofmy own friends."

  "Friends?" Carroll's handsome face clouded and reddened. "If I had knownthat he was a friend of yours, Miss Polly, I never would have spoken asI did. I'm most sincerely sorry," he added, with grave courtesy.

  The girl's color deepened under the brown.

  "He isn't exactly a friend," she admitted. "I've just met and talkedwith him a few times. But your judgment seemed so unfair, on such aslight basis."

  "I'm sorry I can't reverse my judgment," said the Southerner stiffly,"But I know of only one standard for those matters."

  "That's just your trouble." Her eyes took on a cold gleam as she scannedthe perfection and finish of the man before her. "Fitzhugh, do you wearready-made clothing?"

  "Of course not," he answered, in surprise at this turn.

  "Your suits are all made to order?"

  "Yes, Miss Polly."

  "And your shirts?"

  "Yes, and shoes, and various other things." He smiled.

  "Why do you have them specially made?"

  "Beeause they suit me better, and I can afford it."

  "It's really because you want them individualized for you, isn't it?"

  "Yes; I suppose so."

  "Then why do you always get your mental clothes ready-made?"

  "I don't think I understand, Miss Polly," he said gently.

  "It seems to me that all your ideas and estimates and standards areof stock pattern," she explained relentlessly. "Inside, you're as justexactly so as a pair of wooden shoes. Can't you see that you can't judgeall men on the same plane?"

  "I see that you're angry with me, and I see that I'm being punished forwhat I said about--about Mr. Perkins. If I'd known that you took anyinterest in him, I'd have bitten my tongue in two before speaking as Idid. As for the message, if you wish it, I'll go to him--"

  "Oh, that doesn't matter," she interrupted.

  "This much I can say, in honesty," continued the Southerner, with aneffort: "I had a talk, almost an encounter, with him in the plaza, and Idon't believe he is the coward I thought him."

&nb
sp; His intent to be fair to the object of his scorn was so genuine that hiscritic felt a swift access of compunction.

  "Oh, Fitz," she said sweetly, "you're not to blame. I should have toldyou. And you're honest and loyal and a gentleman. Only I wish sometimesthat you weren't quite so awfully gentlemanly a gentleman."

  The Southerner made a gesture of despair.

  "If I could only understand you, Miss Polly!"

  "Don't hope it. I've never yet understood myself. But there's a sympathyin me for the under dog, and this Mr. Perkins seems a sort of helplesscreature. Yet in another way he doesn't seem helpless at all. Quite thereverse. Oh, dear! I'm tired of Perkins, Perkins, Perkins! Let's talkabout something pleasanter--like the plague."

  "What's that about Perkins?" Galpy had entered the drawing-room wherethe conversation had been carried on, and now crossed over to them."I'll tell you a good one on the little blighteh. D' you know what theycall him at the Club Amicitia since his adventure on the street car,Miss Brewster?"

  "What?"

  "'The Unspeakable Perk.' Rippin', ain't it? Like 'The Unspeakable Turk,'you know."

  Despite herself, Polly's lips twitched; in some ways he WAS unspeakable.

  "They've nicknamed him that because of his trying to help me, andthen--leaving?" she asked.

  "Oh, not entirely. There's other things. He's a nahsty,stand-offish way with him, you know. Don't-want-to-know-yeh trick.Wouldn't-speak-to-yeh-if-I-could-help-it twist to his face. 'TheUnspeakable Perk.' Stands him right, I should say. There's otherreasons, too."

  "What are they?"

  She saw a quick, warning frown on Carroll's sharply turned face. Galpynoted it, too, and was lost in confusion.

  "Oh--ah--just gossip--nothing at all. I say, Miss Brewster, therailway--I'm in the Ferrocarril-del-Norte office, you know--has offeredyour party a special on an hour's notice, any time you want it."

  "That's most kind of your road, Mr. Galpy. But why should we want it?"

  "Things might be getting a bit ticklish any day now. I've just taken themessage from the manager to your father."

  The young Englishman took his leave, and Polly Brewster went to herroom, to freshen up for luncheon, carrying with her the sobriquet shehad just heard. Certainly, applied to its subject, it had a mucilaginousconsistency. It stuck.

  "'The Unspeakable Perk,'" she repeated, with a little chuckle. "If Ihad a month to train him in, eh, what a speakable Perk I'd make him! I'dmake him into a Perk that would sit up and speak when I lifted my littlefinger." She considered this. "I'm not so sure," she concluded, moredoubtfully. "How can one tell through those horrid glasses, particularlywhen one doesn't see him for days and days?"

  Without moving, she might, however, have seen him forthwith, for at thatprecise and particular moment, the Unspeakable Perk was in plain sightof her window, on a bench in the corner of the plaza, engaged in lightconversation with a legless and philosophical beggar whom he had justastonished by the presentation of a whole bolivar, of the value oftwenty cents gold.

  After she had finished luncheon and returned to her room, he wasstill there. Not until the mid-heat of the afternoon, however, did sheobserve, first with puzzlement, then with a start of recognition,the patiently rounded brown back of the forward-leaning figure in thecorner. Greatly wroth was Miss Polly Brewster. For some hours--two,at least--the man to keep tryst and wager with whom she had trampedup miles of mountain road had been in town and hadn't called upon her!Truly was he an Unspeakable Perk!

  Wasn't there possibly a mistake somewhere, though? A second peep atthe far-away back interpreted into the curve a suggestion of resignedwaiting. Maybe he had called, after all. Thought being usually with MissBrewster the mother of the twins, Determination and Action, she slippeddownstairs and inquired of the three guardians of the door, in suchSpanish as she could muster, whether a Mr. Perkins, wearing largeglasses--this in the universal sign manual--had been to see her thatday.

  "Si, Senorita"--he had.

  Why, then, hadn't his name been brought to her?

  Extended hands and up-shrugged shoulders that might mean either apologyor incomprehension.

  Straightway Miss Brewster pinned a hat upon her brown head at analtogether casual and heart-distracting angle and sallied down into thetesselated bowl of the park. Quite unconscious of her approach, untilshe was close upon him, her objective chatted fluently with the leglessone, until she spoke quietly, almost in his ear. Then it was only bya clutch at the bench back that he saved himself from disaster on hisreturn to earth.

  "Wh--wh--what--wh--where--how did you come here?" he stuttered.

  "Now, now, don't be alarmed," she admonished. "Shut your eyes, draw adeep breath, count three. And, as soon as you are ready I'll give you atalisman against social panic. Are you ready?"

  "Y-yes."

  "Very well. Whenever I come upon you suddenly, you mustn't try to jumpup into a tree as you did just now--"

  "I didn't!"

  "Oh, yes. Or burrow under a rock, as you did the other day--"

  "Miss B-B-Brewster--"

  "Wait until I've finished. You must turn your thoughts firmly uponyour science, until you've recovered equilibrium and the power of humanspeech."

  "But when you jump at me that way, I c-c-can't think of anything butyou."

  "That's where the charm comes in. As soon as you see me or hearme approaching, you must repeat, quite slowly, this scientificincantation." She beat time with a pink and rhythmic finger as shechanted:--

  "Scarab, tarantula, doodle-bug, flea."

  The beggar rapidly made the sign that protects one from the influence ofthe malign and supernatural. The scientist scowled.

  "Repeat it!" she commanded.

  "There is no such insect as a doodle-bug," he protested feebly.

  "Isn't there? I thought I heard you mention it in your conversation withMr. Carroll the other night."

  "You put that into my head," he accused.

  "Truly? Then life is indeed real and earnest. To have introducedsomething unscientific into that compendium of science--there's triumphenough for any ambition. Besides, see how beautifully it scans."

  Again she beat time, and again the beggar crooked defensive fingers asshe declaimed:--

  "SCAR-ab, tar-ANT-u-la, DOO-dle-bug, FLEA!"

  Homeric, I call it. Perhaps you think you could improve on it."

  "Would you mind substituting 'neuropter' in the third strophe?" heventured. "It would be just as good as 'doodle-bug,' and more--moreaccurate."

  "What's a neuropter? You didn't make him up for the occasion?"

  "Heaven forbid! The dragon-fly is a neuropter. The dragon-fly we'regoing to breed to a biplane, you know," he reminded her slyly.

  "Indeed! Well, I shall stick to my doodle-bug. He's more euphonious.Now, repeat it."

  "Let me off this time," he pleaded. "I'm all right--quite recovered.It's only at the start that it's so bad."

  "Very well," she agreed. "But you're not to forget it. And next time wemeet you're to be sure and say it over until you're sane."

  "Sane!" he said resentfully. "I'm as sane as any one you know. It's thejob of KEEPING sane in this madhouse of the tropics that's almost drivenme crazy."

  "Lovely!" she approved. "Well, now that you've recovered, I'll tell youwhat I came out to say. I'm sorry that I missed you."

  "Missed me?" he repeated. "Oh, you have missed me, then? That's nice.You see, I've been so busy for the last three or four days--"

  "No; I haven't missed you a bit," she declared indignantly. "The conceitof the man!"

  "But you said you w-w-were sorry you'd--"

  "Don't be wholly a beetle! I meant I was sorry not to see you when youcame to call on me this morning."

  "I didn't come to call on you this morning."

  "No? The boy at the door said he'd seen you, or something answering toyour description."

  "So he did. I came to see your father. He was out."

  "What time?"

  "From eleven on.
"

  "Father? No, I don't think so."

  "His secretary came down and told me so, or sent word each time."

  She smiled pityingly at him.

  "Of course. That's what a secretary is for."

  "To tell lies?"

  "White lies. You see, dad is a very busy man, and an important man, andmany people come to see him whom he hasn't time to see. So, unless heknew your business, he would naturally be 'out' to you."

  The corners of the young man's rather sensitive mouth flattened outperceptibly.

  "Ah, I see. My mistake. Living in countries where, however queer thepeople may be, they at least observe ordinary human courtesies, oneforgets--if one ever knew."

  "What did you want of dad?"

  "Oh, to borrow four dollars of him, of course," he replied dryly.

  "You needn't be angry at me. You see, dad's time is valuable."

  "Indeed? To whom?"

  "Why, to himself, of course."

  "Oh, well, my time--However, that doesn't matter. I haven't whollywasted it." He glanced toward the beggar, who was profoundly regardingthe cathedral clock.

  "If you like, I'll get you an interview with dad," she offeredmagnanimously.

  "Me? No, I thank you," he said crisply. "I'm not patient of unnecessaryred tape."

  Miss Brewster looked at him in surprise. It was borne in upon her, asshe looked, that this man was not accustomed to being lightly regardedby other men, however busy or important; that his own concerns in lifewere quite as weighty to him, and in his esteem, perhaps, to others, aswere the interests of any magnate; and that, man to man, there would beno shyness or indecision or purposelessness anywhere in his make-up.

  "If it was important," she began hesitantly, "my father would be--"

  "It was of no importance to me," he cut in. "To others--Perhaps I couldsee some one else of your party."

  "Well, here I am." She smiled. "Why won't I do?"

  Behind the obscuring disks she could feel his glance read her. Thegrimness at the mouth's corners relaxed.

  "I really don't know why you shouldn't."

  "Dad says I'd have made a man of affairs," she remarked.

  "Why, it's just this. You should be planning to leave this country."

  Miss Brewster bewailed her harsh lot with drooping lip.

  "Every one wants to drive me away!"

  "Who else?"

  "That railroad man, Mr. Galpy, was offering us special inducementsto leave, in the form of special trains any time we liked. It isn'thospitable."

  "A jail is hospitable. But one doesn't stay in it when one can get out."

  "If Caracuna were the jail and I the 'one,' one might. I quite love ithere."

  He made a sharp gesture of annoyance.

  "Don't be childish," he said.

  "Childish? You come down like Freedom from the mountain heights, andunfurl your warnings to the air, and complain of lost time and allthat sort of thing, and what does it all amount to?" she demanded, withspirit. "That we should sail away, when you know perfectly well that theDutch won't let us sail away! Childish, indeed! Don't you be BEETLISH!"

  "There's a way out, without much risk, but some discomfort. You couldstrike south-east to the Bird Reefs, take a small boat, and get over tothe mainland. As soon as the blockade is off, the yacht can take yourluggage around. The trip would be rough for you, but not dangerous. Notas dangerous as staying here may be."

  "Do you really think it so serious?"

  "Most emphatically."

  "Will you come with us and show us the way?" she inquired, gazing withexaggerated appeal into his goggles.

  "I? No."

  "What shall you do?"

  "Stick."

  "Pins through scarabs," she laughed, "while beneath you Caracuna riotsand revolutes and massacres foreigners. Nero with his fiddle was nothingto you."

  "Miss Brewster, I'm afraid you are suffering from a misplaced sense ofhumor. Will you believe me when I tell you that I have certain sourcesof information in local matters both serviceable and reliable?"

  "You seem to have bet on a certainty in the Dutch blockade matter."

  "Well, it's equally certain that there is bubonic plague here."

  "A bola. You told me so yourself."

  "Perhaps there was nothing to be gained then by letting you know, asyou were bottled up, with no way out. Now, through the good offices ofa foreign official, who, of course, couldn't afford to appear, thisopportunity to reach the mainland is open to you."

  "Had you anything to do with that?" she inquired suspiciously.

  "Oh, the official is a friend of mine," he answered carelessly.

  "And you really believe that there is an epidemic of plague here? Don'tyou think that I'd make a good Red Cross nurse?"

  His voice was grave and rather stern.

  "You've never seen bubonic plague," he said, "or you wouldn't joke aboutit."

  "I'm sorry. But it wasn't wholly a joke. If we were really cooped upwith an epidemic, I'd volunteer. What else would there be to do?"

  "Nothing of the sort," he cried vehemently. "You don't know what you'retalking about."

  "Anyway, isn't the wonderful Luther Pruyn on his way to exorcise thedemon, or something of the sort?"

  "What about Luther Pruyn? Who says he's coming here?"

  "It's the gossip of the diplomatic set and the clubs. He's the favoritemystery of the day."

  "Well, if he does come, it won't improve matters any, for the firstcase he verifies he'll clap on a quarantine that a mouse couldn't creepthrough. I know something of the Pruyn method."

  "And don't wholly approve it, I judge."

  "It may be efficacious, but it's extremely inconvenient at times."

  Again the cathedral clock boomed.

  "See how I've kept you from your own affairs!" cried Miss Pollycontritely. "What are you going to do now? Go back to your mountains?"

  "Yes. As soon as you tell me that your father will go out by the reefs."

  "Do you expect him to make up his mind, on five minutes' notice, toabandon his yacht?"

  "I thought great magnates were supposed to be men of instant andunalterable decisions. I don't know the type."

  "Anyway, dad has gone out. I saw him drive away. Wouldn't to-morrow do?"

  "Why, yes; I suppose so."

  "I'll tell you. The Voice will report at the rock to-morrow, at four."

  "No."

  "What a very uncompromising 'no'!"

  "I can't be there at four. Make it five."

  "What a very arbitrary beetle man! Well, as I've wasted so much of yourtime to-day, I'll accept your orders for to-morrow."

  "And please impress your father with the extreme advisability of yourgetting off this island."

  "Yes, sir," she said meekly. "You'll be most awfully glad to get rid ofus, won't you?"

  "Very greatly relieved."

  "And a little bit sorry?"

  The begoggled face turned toward her. There was a perceptible tensity inthe line of the jaw. But the beetle man made no answer.

  "Now, if I could see behind those glasses," said Miss Polly Brewsterto her wicked little self, "I'd probably BITE myself rather than say itagain. Just the same--And a little bit sorry?" she persisted aloud.

  "Does that matter?" said the man quietly.

  Miss Polly Brewster forthwith bit herself on her pink and waywardtongue.

  "Don't think I'm not grateful," she employed that chastened member tosay. "I am, most deeply. So will father be, even if he decides not toleave. I'm afraid that's what he will decide."

  "He mustn't."

  "Tell him that yourself."

  "I will, if it becomes necessary."

  "Let me be present at the interview. Most people are afraid of dad.Perhaps you'd be, too."

  "I could always run away," he remarked, unsmiling. "You know how well Ido it."

  "I must do it now myself, and get arrayed for the daily tea sacrifice.Au revoir."

  "Hasta manana," he said abs
ently.

  She had turned to go, but at the word she came slowly back a pace ortwo, smiling.

  "What a strange beetle man you are!" she said softly. "I have no otherfriends like you. You ARE a friend, aren't you, in your queer way?" Shedid not wait for an answer, but went on: "You don't come to see me whenI ask you. You don't send me any word. You make me feel that,compared to your concerns with beetles and flies, I'm quite hopelesslyunimportant. And yet here I find you giving up your own pursuits andwasting your time to plan and watch and think for us."

  "For you," he corrected.

  "For me," she accepted sweetly. "What an ungrateful little pig you mustthink me! But truly inside I appreciate it and thank you, and I think--Ifeel that perhaps it amounts to a lot more than I know."

  He made a gesture of negation.

  "No great thing," he said. "But it's the best I can do, anyway. Do youremember what the mediaeval mummer said, when he came bearing his poorhomage?"

  "No. Tell it to me."

  "It runs like this: 'Lady, who art nowise bitter to those who serve youwith a good intent, that which thy servant is, that he is for you.'"

  "Polly Brewster," said the girl to herself, as she walked, slowly andmusingly, back to her room, "the busy haunts of men are more suited toyour style than the free-and-untrammeled spaces of nature, and well youknow it. But you'll go to-morrow and you'll keep on going until youfind out what is behind those brown-green goblin spectacles. If only hedidn't look so like a gnome!"

  The clause conditional, introduced by the word "if," does not alwaysimply a conclusion, even in the mind of the propounder. Miss Brewsterwould have been hard put to it to round out her subjunctive.