Turned from his socialistic theories and arguments into a different channel, Carker proved to be a most delightful conversationalist and companion. He was educated, cultured, and witty, although evidently lacking in humor. Possibly this came from the fact that he had so long and so earnestly regarded and meditated on the somber side of life. He seemed to fascinate Juanita, who listened intently whenever he spoke.
"What you do, señor, when you travel so much?" inquired Teresa. "You leave Señora Carkaire at home?"
Carker smiled sadly.
"There is no Señora Carker," he answered.
"Oo!" cried Teresa. "You are not marreed?"
"No," replied Greg, "I'm not married."
"That ees so singulaire!"
"Veree, veree," murmured Juanita.
"It may seem singular," admitted Carker, "but a man like me, who has pledged his life to humanity, has little right to get married."
"I do not see why you say that," said Juanita.
"Perhaps I cannot make my reason plain to you, but there is an excellent reason. A man who marriesshould have a home. And a man who has a home should live in it. If I had such a home and was bound to it, I could not travel and carry on my life-work. I could not drag my wife around over the country, and it is not right for a married man to leave his wife alone a great deal."
"Gol rap it, Greg," exclaimed Ephraim, "I don't believe that's your real reason for not gittin' married! I'll bet some gal throwed you down!"
"Well, perhaps you're right," admitted the young socialist. "You can't blame her if she did."
"Why not can we blame her?" questioned Juanita. "Deed she have the other lovaire? Oh, ha! ha! Señor Carkaire! Maybe eet ees not nice to laugh, to joke, to speak of eet. I beg the pardon, señor."
She had seen a shadow flit across his face and vanish.
He forced a laugh.
"If there was another man," he said, "I'm conceited enough to think I might have captured the prize in spite of him had I been willing to sacrifice my principles and renounce my socialistic beliefs."
"Oh, the girl she not have you because of that?" breathed Juanita. "Eet ees veree strange."
"Not so very strange," he asserted. "We'll say that she was a lady. Now it is a fact that nearly all ladies are extremely conventional in everything. They have a horror for the bizarre and the unconventional.They are shocked by the man who declines to be hampered with the fashion in clothes and in similar things. I could not fall in love with a girl who was not a lady."
"Begorra, you're an aristocrat at heart!" cried Mulloy. "Ye can't git away from it, me bhoy, no mather how much ye prate about socialism and th' brotherhood av mon."
"Still I protest you do not understand me."
"By gum!" muttered Gallup; "it don't seem to me that yeou are right 'bout the gals. Yeou kinder stick for the sort that's been born in the higher strata of life, as yeou call it. Ain't thar a hull lot of mighty smart ones that come out of the lower strata somewhere?"
"Oh, I admit that most of the brainy women and most of the brainy men come from the lower strata. Nevertheless, such women are not ladies."
"Begobs, ye make me tired!" cried Mulloy. "What you nade, Greg, is a dhoctor to look afther your liver."
"Mebbe the best doctor," grinned Gallup, "would be a girl he'd fall in love with and who'd fall in love with him. I guess she could cure him. If he happened to run across the right one and she axed him to give up his career and stop rampin' round over the country, I'll bet a good big punkin he'd cave in right on the spot."
"You're wrong," denied Carker. "No matter howmuch I cared for a girl, I could not give up my career. There was one once who asked me to give it up. She married another man."
He smiled as he made the confession, but in his eyes there was a look which told of the great sacrifice he had made.
"Mebbe you think you're doing a great work for humanity," observed Ephraim; "but, by ginger! I kinder think that Frank Merriwell is doing a greater work."
"What is he doing?"
"Haven't you heard 'bout it?"
"No. I haven't heard from Merriwell in the last year or more. The last I knew of him he was accumulating a fortune in mining. Like other men in these degenerate times, he had turned his great abilities to the mercenary task of amassing wealth. I was sorry when I heard this, for I had expected other things of him."
"Sorry, was ye?" snapped Ephraim.
"Sorry and disappointed," said Greg, shaking his head.
"Waal, now, you want to come right along with us to Bloomfield. We'll show you what Frank Merriwell's doing with that money he's accumulated. Ain't you ever heard 'bout his School of Athletic Development?"
"No."
"Waal, I guess that'll interest ye some, by jinks!"
"Tell me about it."
As clearly as he could, Ephraim explained the plan of Merry's new school. Carker listened with a show of interest until the Vermonter had finished.
"Well, I'm glad he's doing some good," said Greg. "Still, this is of minor importance compared with the great work in which I'm engaged."
"You go to grass!" almost snarled Ephraim. "Great fiddlesticks! Why, Frank is making real men of growing boys. He's making good, strong, healthy men that kin go out and successfully fight their way through life."
"Life should not be a battle," asserted the socialist. "Every man's hand should be outstretched to help a needy fellow man. This old-fashioned theory that human life is bound to be a battle is all wrong. We are one great body of brothers, bound together by a universal tie."
"Choke off roight where ye are," commanded Barney. "Oi'm yer fri'nd, Greg Carker, but Oi'll hit ye av ye sling any of that socialist talk at us! Ye've r'iled me now. Oi must have a shmoke to soothe me narves."
"Me, too," grinned Ephraim, as they both rose. "You'll 'scuse us for a little while, won't ye, girls? We'll jest step into the smokin' compartment."
"You may have the excuse if you weel leave Señor Carkaire to entertain us," murmured Juanita.
"I'll remain here," nodded Greg. "I don't smoke."
"Gol ding him!" growled Ephraim, as he followed Barney into the smoking compartment. "He's a bigger crank than ever! He's gittin' wuss and wuss!"
"What he nades is a girrul to marry him and straighten him out," declared the Irish youth.
Five minutes after the departure of Eph and Barney a slender, black-eyed man, with a small dark mustache, came sauntering through the car. As he reached the spot where Carker was talking to Teresa and Juanita he stopped short, uttered an exclamation of satisfaction, and lifted his hat, bowing with a triumphant smile.
"Ah, Señorita Garcia," he jubilantly said, "you take the flight from me, but I have found you."
"Jose Murillo!" exclaimed Juanita. And there was dismay and fear in her voice.
"Si, señorita," laughed the stranger, "Jose Murillo."
"Where deed you come from?"
"The train on wheech I travel from the West eet join this train back at the junction."
Teresa's eyes were flashing. She rose and confronted the young Mexican.
"Señor Murillo," she said, in Spanish, "you have annoyed Juanita enough. You have no right to follow her. You have threatened her. You have frightened her. If you are the gentleman you profess to be, you will leave her alone."
He showed his white teeth in a smile.
"I am a man with a purpose," he retorted, in the same language. "I love Señorita Garcia! Her father promised that she should be my wife!"
"Her father is dead," said Teresa, "and that promise no longer binds her. In Mexico you sought to force her into a marriage. We are not in Mexico now. We are in the United States. It's different here. My husband is close at hand. If you do not leave us, I'll call him. He will protect us from you."
"Pardon, señorita," said Carker, also speaking in Spanish. "Permit me to offer my protection. I willsee that this man gives neither you nor Señorita Garcia further annoyance."
He rose and placed himself squarely before Murillo.
The Mexican glared fiercely at Greg.
"Gringo dog!" he sneered. "Who are you that offers your protection to these ladies?"
"I am their friend, señor, and the friend of Mrs. Gallup's husband. It'll be a good thing for you if you move along and move at once."
Murillo laughed.
"You miserable gringo!" he exclaimed. "Do you think you can frighten me? Do you think you can drive me away with words? I have followed that girl a very long distance. She belongs to me by the promise of her father. She cannot run away from me! I will have her!"
"Look here, Señor Murillo," retorted Greg quietly, "if you don't move along, I'll throw you out of that window!"
The Mexican fell back, and his hand was thrust into his bosom.
"Touch me, and you'll regret it!" he hissed, keeping his black eyes fastened on Carker.
"Is it a knife or a pistol you have in your hand?" questioned Greg quietly. "I know you've reached for one or the other. All the same I'll make good by throwing you out of the window if you don't pass on!"
Teresa grasped Carker's arm and whispered in his ear:
"Wait! Here come the boyees!"
Ephraim and Barney were returning from the smoking compartment. The moment they saw Murillo they hurried forward, realizing that something unpleasant was taking place. Gallup uttered a cry of exasperation as he recognized the Mexican.
"Look here, Barney," he exclaimed, "here's old Wan! Consarn his pate, he's followed Juanita!"
"Begorra, we'll have to soak the persistint gint in the neck!" burst from the young Irishman.
Murillo backed away a bit, and his hand came forth from his bosom. It grasped a small shining revolver.
"Touch me, you gringo curs, and I'll keel you!" he threatened.
A stalky, broad-shouldered young man, wearing a broad-brimmed Stetson hat, came down the aisle behind the Mexican. There was a certain breezy, Western air about this broad-hatted stranger. He gave one sharp look at Murillo, and a moment later he had the threatening Mexican in a grip of iron. One of the stranger's hands shot over Murillo's shoulder and grasped the revolver, turning the muzzle toward the roof of the car.
"A popgun like that is a whole lot dangerous for fools to play with," observed this person who had interrupted. "You ought to be turned over some one's knee and spanked a-plenty. That's whatever!"
"Great Juniper!" squawked Ephraim Gallup, flourishing his arms with a wild gesture of delight. "It's Buck—it's old Buck, by gum!"
"Hooroo, Badger, me bhoy!" laughed Barney. "Wherever did yez come from so suddint, Oi dunno?"
"In truth, it is my old college mate from Kansas!" breathed Carker.
Badger had twisted the pistol out of Murillo's fingers, with one hand while he easily held the Mexican helpless with the other hand. Badger was a big man. He stood six feet tall, and every inch of him was put up for strength and endurance. He was a fine-looking man, too, bronzed and weather-beaten, as if he had seen much outdoor life, yet having a certain atmosphere of ease and refinement about him which proclaimed him no ordinary cow-puncher or laborer. There was command and self-confidence in every glance of his eyes, in every movement of his person. In spite of his youth, a critical, discerning stranger would have pronounced him a man of much experience who feared nothing made of flesh and blood.
Murillo snarled at the Kansan in Spanish:
"Santissima! Caramba! Caraj——"
Like a flash Badger snapped the revolver out through the open window, and his hand closed on thethroat of the furious Mexican, cutting the vile word short.
"Here, you low-mouthed spawn of sin," grated the big Westerner, "there are ladies present! If you use that word before them, I'll shut off your wind a-plenty and let it stay shut! You hear me murmur!"
Murillo made one last furious struggle, but it was quite ineffectual, and he finally subsided, lying limp in the grasp of the big man.
"Who is this greaser coyote?" asked Badger, as he relaxed his hold on the man's throat, allowing him to catch a painful breath. "Whatever was he doing a-pulling a popgun that fashion?"
"Oh, he ees the veree bad man, señor!" exclaimed Teresa. "He annoy my dear friend, Juanita! He follow her all the way from Mexico! He threaten her eef she do not marry heem!"
Badger took a look at Juanita, and something like a gleam of admiration came into his big brown eyes.
"Juanita, you sure have my sympathy a-plenty," he observed. "You don't want to marry him?"
"Oh, no, no, señor!" replied the frightened girl.
"Well, then I opine I'll drop him out of the window. That may jar him some."
A second later Murillo, kicking and gasping, clawing at the air, had been lifted like an infant by Badger, who seemed on the point of hurling him headlong through the open window.
"Santa Maria! Mercee!" begged the frightened wretch. "Spare me, señor! Spare me, good señor! Eef you throw me through the window, eet will keel me!"
"And that wouldn't be any great loss to the world, I judge," said the man from Kansas.
But now Juanita interfered.
"Oh, please do not throw heem from the train, señor!" she implored. "Even eef I do despise heem, I should not weesh to see heem keeled."
Badger chuckled.
"Well, on condition that the gent will promise a whole lot that he'll quit bothering you, I'll let him off and won't throw him out of the window. Speak up, you whining, chattering gopher! Make the promise instanter, or out you go!"
"Oh, I promeese, señor—I swear!" came from the frightened Mexican.
"Swear by all your saints," commanded Badger.
"By all the saints, I swear!" gasped Murillo.
"If I let you go now, you'll keep away from the señorita in future? You'll never trouble her again?"
Murillo choked, but his fear caused him to take the oath.
Badger dropped the wretch in an upright position, turned him down the aisle, gave him a start, and said:
"Don't look back! Keep on going just as far as you can go on this train! Get into the rear car, andif you show your cowardly mug around here again, I'll kick you clean up through the top of your hat! You hear my promise, I opine."
Murillo heard it, and he kept on going until he had vanished from the car.
Barney Mulloy fairly quivered with laughter.
"Be heavins, Badger," he chuckled, "ye know how to handle a shnake! It's a relation to St. Pathrick ye are, and he drove all the shnakes out av Oireland. Hereafther you're St. Buck, begobs!"
"St. Buck is a heap good," laughed the Westerner, as he shook hands with his old friends, removed his broad-brimmed Stetson, and made a sweeping bow to the girls. "Mrs. Badger has a right jolly way of calling me angel sometimes, but, on my word, I can't discover even a pimple of a wing anywhere about me. But, say, people, however is it I find you all here together? Wherever are you bound for?"
"Bloomfield," answered Barney and Ephraim, in chorus.
"We're taking Carker along with us," explained Gallup. "We're all going to see old Frank at Bloomfield, by jinks!"
"Well, that's right fine," nodded Buck. "I'm bound for Bloomfield myself. Mrs. Badger and a friend are in the next car. Say, Winnie will be a heap surprised to see you boys. I'll lead her in. No, I have a better idea than that. We'll all hit the trail for the other carand descend on her in a bunch. There are plenty of empty seats in there, and we can have a right jolly old time."
In his breezy, commanding way he gathered them all up and led them into the next car, which had been attached to the train at the junction recently left.
Mrs. Badger—the Winnie Lee of the old days at Yale—was dozing in her chair when Buck came down upon her and awoke her by grasping her shoulder and giving her a shake.
"Waugh!" cried he. "Part the curtains of your peepers, Winnie, and observe this bunch of Injuns."
Mrs. Badger's companion was a slender young woman in a brown traveling suit. She was rather pretty in a supercilious way, but she showed questionable taste in a display of jewels while traveling.
"Oh, Buck, how you startled me, you great bear!" exclaimed Winnie. "What is it? Who is it?"
"Take a survey," directed the Kansan, with a sweep of his hand. "Here is our friend Gallup from Vermont, and that Frenchman, Mulloy, who was born somewhere in the north of Ireland."
"Oh, Ephraim Gallup! Oh, Barney Mulloy!" cried Winnie, in delight, as she sprang to her feet and grasped the hand of each.
"And you don't want to overlook Professor Gregory Carker, whose earthquake predictions must have beenunheeded by the people of Frisco. Here he is, Winnie."
"Greg Carker!" burst from Winnie, as she shook hands with the young socialist. "Why, Greg, you're as handsome as a poet! You remind me of pictures of Lord Byron."
"Begobs, Ephie," whispered Mulloy, "we'll have to hold him and cut his hair! It's his hair that the ladies are shtuck on. No mon who predicts earthquakes has a roight to wear such ravishing hair."
At the mention of Carker's name Winnie Badger's companion had started and was now sitting bolt upright, staring at Greg and smiling.
Ephraim proudly introduced his wife and Juanita to Winnie.
While this was taking place Carker observed Winnie's friend. In a moment his face turned paler than usual, his eyelids started wide apart, and he lifted one hand with a movement of surprise and consternation. She looked straight into his eyes and continued to smile.
The others noted this. There was a hush, and all eyes were turned on the two.
Finally Carker's lips parted.
"Madge!" he breathed. And then after a moment, during which his bosom heaved, he repeated: "Madge!"
"Why, how do you do, Greg!" she laughed, extending her hand. "This is perfectly delightful! This is a most unexpected pleasure! I never dreamed of seeing you, Greg!"
"Why, this is queer!" exclaimed Winnie Lee. "So you know my friend, Mrs. Morton, do you, Gregory?"
"I know her," came huskily, from Carker's lips. "I know her very well."
"Oh, yes," gushed the young woman, "we are old friends—dear old friends."
Juanita had fallen back behind the others. Her hands quivered a bit, and her white teeth were sunk into her lower lip. In a whisper she breathed to herself:
"This is the woman!"
On arriving in Bloomfield, they found Frank Merriwell at the station with carriages to accommodate them all.
Imagine their feelings as they once more greeted their old comrade and leader. Even Buck Badger, the big breezy man of command, seemed to take a second place in the presence of Frank.
Many of the Bloomfield citizens had somehow learned that several of Merry's friends were coming on that train, and, as a result, there was a gathering at the station. The curious ones stared at Merriwell's old flock, and it was generally remarked that these friends of Frank were "all right."
Eli Given, Uncle Ed Small, and Deacon Elnathan Hewett were there in a triangular group, and they nodded and chuckled and shook hands with each other as Frank shook hands with the members of his old flock.
"Purty 'tarnal good-looking people, Eben," said Eli. "Look at that big feller with the wide hat that has the leather band round it. There's a real man for ye."
"Yep," nodded Eben, leaning on his crooked cane and looking the party over. "He's a man, the hull of him, but even at that I don't cal'late he quite comes up to our Frank. What do you think, deacon?"
"Boys," said Elnathan, "I ain't never yit seen the man that comes up to our Frank. All Bloomfield is proud of him to the bustin' point, and they ought to be."
"By jinks!" grinned Eli; "that tall feller jest introduced one of the dark-eyed gals as his wife. Wush! but she's a beaut! He's homelier than a barn door with the paint washed off, but she's a peach. Wonder how he ever ketched her."
"She's Spanish, or French, or something ferrun," asserted Uncle Eb. "I heerd her say something in some outlandish language to that other dark-eyed gal."
"Speakin' 'bout good-lookers," put in the deacon, "what's the matter with the one the big feller pushed for'ard as his wife? I don't guess Frank needed no introducin' to them, for it seems to me that he's met 'em both before."
"But, my jinks," gasped Eben, "look at the sparklers in the ears of that one in brown! S'pose them is real dimints? If they me, I bet they cost much as twenty-five dollars apiece!"
"Twenty-five?" said the deacon, with an intonation of contempt. "You ain't no judge of dimints, Eben! I bet they cost thirty!"
"Most of them seem to know Frank's nigger, Toots," said Eli. "Look at him show them ivories and nod and bow. By jinks! he'll snap his head offif he keeps that up. See that mouth of his'n stretch! The corners are going to pass each other at the back of his neck in a minute. If he keeps on, he'll lose the whole top of his head. It'll jest naturally crack right off."
"Well, well, boys, this makes me feel mighty good, myself," said the deacon. "Never used to be no sech things as this going on here in our town. I tell you if I wasn't a temperance man, I feel so good I'd jest go down to Applesnack's store and open up two or three bottles of ginger ale."
"A little hard cider for me," laughed Uncle Eb. "Rufus has it in his storeroom. I know where we kin git at the keg, boys, and I think we better celebrate ourselves."
"That's a good idee, Eben," said Eli. "We'll all go over to the grocery and wash the dust out of our throats with Applesnack's cider."
"Now, boys," protested the deacon, "I don't think I'd better go. If it should come out, people would talk. I think I'll keep away."
"No, ye don't! No, ye don't!" declared Given, as he grasped one of the deacon's arms. "Git hold of his other wing, Eben. We'll lead him up to the keg and pour it into him, if we have to. There won't nobody see us, deacon. We'll be in the back room, and we'll have Rufus shet the door. I guess you kin trust us, can't ye? I guess you ain't afraid we'll go roundtellin' folks 'bout it, are ye? You know we're your friends, don't ye?"
"Course I know it," retorted the deacon. "But it's some agin' my principles, boys. It ain't jest right."
"Oh, fudge!" laughed Uncle Eb. "On a grand occasion like this you'd better set them air principles aside a little while. Frank is gittin' them into the carriages now. We'll see them off, and then we'll stroll over to Applesnack's and have jest one little taste of that cider."
"Let's start a cheer for Frank Merriwell and his friends as they go," suggested the deacon.
The others caught at this eagerly, and, as a result, when the carriages started away from the station, the villagers on the platform, led by the three "old boys," gave an irregular but hearty cheer for Frank Merriwell and his friends. Frank turned a laughing face toward them and waved his hand.
"The people around here seem a-plenty stuck on you, Merry," observed Badger, who was in the carriage with him.
"Oh, I have lots of friends in Bloomfield," answered Frank. "I had enemies enough at the start, but my worst enemies—the most of them—have turned into friends."
"Same old story," said the Kansan. "It was that way at college. You always made your strongest friends out of your bitterest enemies. Browning, forinstance, was an enemy at the start, and I certain didn't cotton to you any at all. We had some hot old times in those days, Merry. That's whatever!"
"Hot old times! Grand old times!" came from Frank's lips. "I often think of them. You'll find Browning, Diamond, Hodge, and Carson at the house. And away back in the days at Fardale, long before I met you, Buck, Bart Hodge was a bitter enemy. Browning and Diamond are two of my instructors in the A. S. of A. D. Hodge is my overseer at the mines. Bruce and Jack have had their hands full this afternoon rushing the boys through the regular work in order that they might get off for the afternoon. Hodge and Carson have been helping. I've kept Carson at work during the last week or so. It was necessary. Certain unpleasant affairs of his put him in a bad way, and the only thing was to take up his mind by work. I haven't given him much time to think and brood."
"I opine we've got a brooder with us in the carriage behind," said Badger, in a low tone. "Carker shows it in his face and eyes."
"Oh, he's still suffering mentally over the troubles of the masses, I suppose," said Frank.
"There's something beyond that—something that has affected him still worse," explained Buck. "You noticed Winnie's chum, Mrs. Morton?"
"Of course I noticed her," smiled Frank. "Didn't you introduce me? She's rather pretty."
"Well, to the surprise of both Winnie and myself, we discovered on the train when Madge and Greg met that there had been some sort of an old love affair between them. I reckon that's two-thirds the trouble with Carker."
Over the bridge rumbled the carriages. As they rolled past Applesnack's store the grocer and several of his friends stood on the steps and waved a salute at them. All these villagers were smiling as if the reunion gave them almost as much enjoyment as it gave Frank and his old flock.
After leaving the village they soon came in sight of the buildings of Farnham Hall. These structures, located on a splendid site, brought exclamations of astonishment and pleasure from all who had not seen them before.
Then they saw Merry Home setting back amid the tall trees which surrounded it. The old Colonial house seemed to open its arms to them in welcome.
And on the veranda were Inza, Elsie, Jack Diamond, Bruce Browning, Bart Hodge, and Berlin Carson.
It's impossible to describe adequately the meeting as the newcomers left the carriages and were greeted by those waiting for them. The chatter and laughter of the girls made merry music, but for the most part the young men shook hands in silence, looking deep into one another's eyes and letting the grasp of their fingers express the emotions their lips could not speak.
The two colored men, Toots and Jumbo, together with the young Irish man of all work, who had also acted as a driver, took the turnouts round to the stables, where the three of them joined hands and did a crazy dance.
"Bah golly, Jumbo, you big stiff," cried Toots, as he struck the huge darky a resounding blow on the back, "Ah'ze the happiest nigger in dis hull unumverse! Wasn't dat de finest-looking bunch ob people yo' eber set yo' homely eyes on, Jumbo? Bah golly! dat's de kind ob folks Marsa Frank trains round wid. Ain't dem gals jes' de slappinest good-lookers yo' eber see?"
"Now don' yo' git familiar talkin' 'bout Marsa Frank's lady friends!" warned Jumbo. "Ah'ze a friend to you, Toots, but dis familumarity don' sot well on mah stomach."
"Aw, go on dar, you big brack jollier!" yapped Toots. "Ah'ze known Marsa Frank eber since he was knee high to a grasseshopper. Ah guess Ah knows mah place. He's tol' me more'n once, 'Toots, yo'se a gemman distinctive ob yo' color.' Dar ain't no udder nigger dat could gib Marsa Frank a piece of device de way Ah can. He'd took it off'n me when he'd up and slam any udder brack sassbox right ober de crannyum whack-o! Don' yo' git no notion, Jumbo, jes' beca'se Ah injuiced Marsa Frank to gib yo' a job, dat yo' ken hab de same familiar acquaintance wid himdat Ah has. Now back up an' look arter dem hosses! Git onto yo' job befo' Ah discharges yo'!"
"Well, wouldn't dat ar gib a ring-tailed elephant a cramp!" muttered Jumbo warmly, as he went about his work.
An hour after the arrival at Merry Home the visitors were ushered into the large, light, airy dining room, where they found seats at a long table. There were servants enough for the occasion, and everything was served promptly.
Mrs. Morton sought to secure a seat at Greg Carker's side, but in a clever manner Carker had avoided such proximity to her, without seeming to do so intentionally. Instead of having her at his elbow, it was Juanita who sat there.
"Well, señorita," said Carker, smiling on her, "what do you think of Frank Merriwell's home and his friends?"
"Oh, eet ees the most splendeed theeng I evaire see," she murmured. "Eet makes me feel so happy for you all."
"Happy?" said Carker, regarding her closely. "Why, I fancied you were looking rather unhappy. To me you seemed downcast. Has anything occurred to make you sad?"
"Oh, eet ees that I am so far from home—perhaps," she answered. "Why deed you not seet by thebeauteeful lady you meet again one time more on the train?"
"Whom do you mean?"
"The friend of Señorita Badgaire. I theenk she ees so veree pretty. She ees marreed, eh?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Yes, she's married," muttered Carker.
"You are sorree?"
"Sorry?"
"Si, señor.Eef she was not marreed, perhaps you would beside her seet."
"I don't think so—at least, knowing her as I do now. Still, I don't blame her. I'm the cause of it all."
"You feel veree, veree bad?"
"I'll be honest with you, señorita—I can't tell whether I feel very bad or not. I have felt rather upset, I confess. But, my dear girl, human nature is peculiar. It's a strange thing, but I believe most men and most women take melancholy delight in feeling themselves to be martyrs. We all delight to moan over lost loves. That is the poetry in our natures. Occasionally we spend our time grieving over some lost love that reason and good judgment tells us would have come to naught under any circumstances. I hope Mrs. Morton is happy and satisfied. Perhaps you'll think me fickle, señorita, but let me confess to you the fact that I'm not feeling as much like grieving as I was—before I met you."
For a few moments Juanita did not seem to grasp his meaning, but when she did the soft, warm color mounted to her cheeks, and her confusion was plainly evident.
On the opposite side of the table Gallup nudged Teresa, who had been placed at his left.
"Hey, Teresa," he whispered, "get onto Carker. Gol rap him! He's making hay in a hurry."
"What ees eet you mean to make the hay?" questioned Teresa, puzzled. "To me it seem that he make the love. He talk so verree low that nobody except Juanita hear what he say, and Juanita she blush."
"That's right," chuckled Ephraim, "and, by Jim! Mrs. Morton is looking daggers and hoss pistols."
Then he lifted his voice and addressed Carker.
"Hold on there, Greg!" he called. "You can't eat your soup with your fork! Why don't you use a spoon?"
It was Carker's turn to be confused, but he forced a laugh.
"I have a lamentable habit of becoming abstracted in pleasant company," he said.
"Evidently you find your company extremely pleasant, Mr. Carker," observed Mrs. Morton, with a little toss of her head.
"Extremely is not quite the word, madam," he replied, with a bow. "Absorbingly pleasant is far better."
At intervals during the meal the sound of plaintive, doleful music floated in through the open windows.
"Sounds like a baby squawking," observed Ephraim Gallup.
"Begobs! Oi thought it was some wan playing on bagpoipes," observed Barney Mulloy. "Oi wonder whativer it can be, Oi dunno?"
Frank listened.
"To me it sounds like a cross between a clarinet, a flute, and a piccolo," he smiled. "Some one is trying to furnish music for this festive occasion."
He called one of the servants and asked her to find out the origin of the peculiar doleful music.
In a few moments the girl returned and quietly explained that a wandering musician had halted on the lawn and was performing on some sort of a wind instrument.
"He's a bery funny-lookin' maan, Mr. Merriwell," grinned the girl. "He suttinly am wearin' de oddest clo'es Ah eber seen. An' he's round an' corperlous, wid de biggest fat cheeks when he blows, an' a yeller mustache dat keeps wigwaggin' all de time."
Frank thrust his hand into his pocket, brought outa silver half dollar and put it in the colored girl's palm.
"Give him this, Liza, and tell him to jog along," he said quietly.
But after Liza had performed the commission and returned to the dining room the doleful notes of the wind instrument continued to float in through the open windows.
"The wandering minstrel is bound to give you your money's worth, Merry," laughed Jack Diamond.
Although they lingered at the table fully an hour after that, the musician continued to play outside during all that time, with brief intervals of rest.
Finally, when dessert was over and they had chatted and gossiped a while, Frank proposed that they should move to the veranda.
As the jolly party came out upon the veranda they discovered the musician. He was a portly young German, and he stood on the lawn, with a battered old carpetbag between his feet, while he blew at a wheezy flute with such vigor and vim that his eyes threatened to pop out of his head.
"He certainly is working overtime," observed Diamond.
"I'd like to know the name of his tailor," chuckled Browning. "His clothes certainly fit him handsomely—in spots."
"Anyhow they touch the high places," came from Badger.
Frank Merriwell paused on the veranda steps and scrutinized the musician intently.
"Fellows," he said, "that chap looks familiar to me. I've seen him before. I know him."
Bart Hodge's hand dropped on Merry's shoulder.
"You're right, Frank," he said. "We both know, him—we all know him."
An instant later Merry sprang down the steps, rushed forward and seized the flute player.
"If you need any assistance," called Gallup, as he descended to the lawn, "I'll help you kill him, Merry."
"Hans Dunnerwurst!" cried Frank, as he grasped the hand of the German and shook it delightedly. "I thought I knew you!"
The stranger seemed nearly pumped out of breath. As soon as he could speak he retorted:
"Uh-ha! I pelieft you vould knew me uf you recognitioned me. How you vos alretty, Vrankie? It peen a long dime since ve med up py each udder, ain'd it? I knew der lufly musig vot I vos discouragin' to you vould pring de houze oudt uf you bretty quick. Yah! I knew you coot not stand der delightfulness uf id forefer.Ach Himmel!How der flute does luf to blay me! Id peen der grandest instrument dot efer found me der vorld in."
Several of the party had followed Frank down thesteps and surrounded Dunnerwurst. They greeted him warmly, seizing his hand and shaking it.
But suddenly the Dutchman caught sight of Gallup. With a whoop of joy, he grabbed up his carpetbag and started for the Vermonter.
"Oh, Ephie, Ephie!" he squawked, rushing forward and embracing Gallup, who was nearly upset by this impetuosity. "You vos so glad to see me dot I coot almost cry right avay alretty quick now!"
"Waal, gol dern my punkins!" exploded Ephraim. "It sartinly is old Hans!"
"Oldt Hans? Oldt Hans?" yelled Dunnerwurst indignantly. "Who vos you callin' oldt Hans mit such carelessness? Py Chiminy! I peen not more than a year younger as you vos yourselluf! Don'd you git so bersonal in my remarks!"
Then he saw Barney Mulloy, who was standing near, a broad grin on his face.
With a howl, Hans flung the carpetbag and the flute straight up into the air.
"Id vos Parney!" he shouted. "Id vos dot Irish pogtrotter!"
Then the carpetbag came down, struck Hans on the head and knocked him to a sitting position on the grass.
"Sarves ye roight for torturin' our ears wid thot croupy flute, ye bologna sausage!" laughed Mulloy.
"Pologna sissage! Pologna sissage!" howled Hans."You vos chust as sauciness as I efer vos! Vy don'd I learnt some manners dot vould make a chentleman uf you!"
Together, Mulloy and Gallup seized the Dutchman, one by each arm, lifted him part way to his feet and then permitted him to fall back with a thud.
"Look out there, boys," laughed Frank, "you'll dent the ground!"
"Mine cootness!" gurgled Hans. "The ground dented me alretty soon! Don'd put my hands on you again!" he ordered, as his friends once more offered assistance. "Don'd try to pull der ground avay from me! I vill dood it mineselluf. I vill got up mitoudt nopody's resistance."
Puffing and grunting, he finally rose to his feet, wiped the perspiration from his face, and stood there, bowing and smiling in a manner that was little short of distressing.
Frank led the Dutchman up the steps and presented him to the ladies. Hans' effort at suave politeness as he bowed with his hand over his heart was most laughable.
"Mine cootness! vos dot Inza Purrage?" he gurgled. "I used to think she vos der most peautiful girl vot efer seen me, but, so hellup me sour krout, she vos sixdeen times prettier-lookin' than efer!"
"You're the same old flatterer, Hans," said Inza;"but you mustn't try to flirt with me now. I'm married, you know."
"Vy dit you hurriness so much? Vy dit I not vait for you?" he demanded.
"Here's Elsie, Hans."
"Vot, dot—dot angel vomans mit der golden hair her head all ofer?"
"She's now Mrs. Hodge," explained Bart.
Hans struck himself a furious blow on the chest and staggered.
"Dere I vos again!" he groaned. "Oh, vot a terrible misdake for her! Elsie Pellwood—und she iss now Elsie Hotch? By Chiminy! you vos a lucky poy, Part; but I don'd blame her when I see tears in her eyes because she knows I vos not marreed mineselluf."
"You come here," invited Gallup, as he grasped Hans' arm and turned him toward Teresa. "I jest want to knock you daown to my wife. Mrs. Gallup, this hot dog is my old friend, Hans Dunnerwurst, that I've told ye about more'n once."
"Oo!" murmured Teresa; "I am charmed to meet Señor Dunnerwierst."
Hans seemed speechless as he bowed and bowed, keeping his eyes on Teresa all the while. Finally he turned, seized Gallup by the shoulder, pulled him down, and hissed in his ear:
"How dit you dood id? You vos so homely dot a clock coot stob you, und you haf marreed up py a curldot vords coot not found my tongue for expressment."
"Waal," chuckled the Vermonter, "if you want to express your tongue, send it to the Adams Express Company."
"Maype I think dot vos a coot choke!" sneered Hans. "You alvays vos so funny, Ephie, dot you caused me puckets uf tears to veep."
Frank presented Juanita and Mrs. Morton, and when it was all over Hans sank on a chair, quite overcome.
"How did you happen to show up at such an opportune time, Dunnerwurst?" inquired Merry.
"Vun veek ago," answered the Dutchman, "vile the flute vos learning to blay me in Cinsanity, Ohio, a newsbaper reads me apout Vrang Merriwell's great School Athletic Envelopment uf. My mint made me up to come right avay soon as der car fare coot raise me. Und here I vos."
"Well, you're welcome to Merry Home. You just fill out the party. You make it complete. This is indeed a great reunion of the old flock. Tell us what you are doing, Hans."
"Dit you not heard me on der flute play? I vos a musiga. Der heart uf me vos so full uf musig alretty dot I haf to play it oudt to keep from pursting vide open."
"Here comes some more visitors, Merry," called Diamond. "I think we know them."
With their arms linked together, three old men were approaching rather unsteadily.
Merry instantly recognized Eli Given, Uncle Eb Small, and Deacon Hewett. As the trio turned in from the road their feet somehow became tangled, and all three went down sprawlingly. Uncle Eb sat up and made a whack at Eli with his crooked cane, crying shrilly:
"That's the second time you've tripped me!"
"Don't blame it on me, you doddering old fossil!" flung back Given.
"Peace, boys—peace!" remonstrated the deacon, waving his hands in the air. "Raise not your voices in harsh words and brawling. I don't think any one tripped you, Eben. I've noticed myself that the ground is rather unsteady. I think we're feeling a few left-over tremors from the Frisco earthquake."
"Mebbe you're right, deacon," said Uncle Eb, seeming pacified. "Kin you tell me jest how them earthquakes work? Do they make things go round in a circle? I've been noticin' durin' the last few minutes that the trees and fences were all floatin' round us."
"If we brace ourselves and walk carefully," said Elnathan, as he rose and swayed a bit, "I think we'll have no further difficulty in getting along. Permit me to assist you, Eben."
But when he tried to lift Uncle Eb up he lost his balance, fell heavily on Small and flattened him out.
"This is really astonishing," muttered Frank, repressing his laughter with difficulty as he started down the steps.
"Oh, what's the matter with them, Merry?" asked Inza.
"Now don't get worried, dear," he answered, over his shoulder. "The sun is very warm to-day, and I'm afraid they're suffering from it. We must get them into the shade before they have sunstroke. Come on, fellows."
Assisted by the boys, the three old men were lifted to their feet and escorted into the shade beneath the spreading trees in front of the house.
Uncle Eb poked Elnathan in the ribs with his cane.
"Come on now with that speech, deacon," he urged. "You're the speechmaker of the party."
Elnathan cleared his throat.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "this is a grand and glorious day. This is the day when that grand and glorious bird, the American eagle, should plume itself with pride and utter a scream that could be heard from the Pacific to the Atlantic, from the Gulf to the Canadian border."
"Hooray! hooray!" piped Eli Given. "That's the talk, deacon. Spatter it on thick!"
"We are sons of free men," continued Elnathan,making a gesture that nearly caused him to lose his balance. "The Declaration of Independence and the Emancipation Proclamation made us all free and equal. If there be one among you who is not stirred by this glorious thought, let him hide his head in shame. This is the day on which the whole country rejoices at the birth of liberty. Let the cannons boom! Let the rockets siz! Let the pinwheels whiz! And let the popcorn pop!"
"Hold on, deacon—hold on!" interrupted Uncle Eb. "That's your last year's Fourth of July speech. That don't seem 'zactly 'propriate to this occasion."
"Now you back up, Eben," commanded Given. "You let him spout. It sounds purty good to me, whether there's any sense to it or not."
"What was I sayin'?" asked the deacon. "Where did I leave off? You kinder interrupted my train of discourse, Eben. Mebbe I'd better stop."
"There's a lady coming to join our party," said Bart Hodge. "I think it's your wife, Eli."
"My w-h-a-t?" gasped Eli Given, actually turning pale. "Where is she? Great scissors! If she ever gits her hands on me now, I see my finish!"
A woman, with a sunbonnet dangling by the strings tied beneath her chin, was coming down the road in a hurried manner. With some difficulty Eli finally discovered her.
"That's Mrs. Given as sure as Adam ett the apple!"he exclaimed. "I don't believe she's seen me. Boys, I've gut to go, and I've gut to go in a hurry, too."
"Well, don't you think I'm goin' to hang around for her to git holt of me," said Uncle Eb, as he started toward the corner of the house, hobbling along as fast as his legs and his cane could carry him.
"I think perhaps I'd better go, too," muttered the deacon, as he followed Eben's example.
In spite of the start of his companions, Given passed them on a run and turned the corner, making straight for the stable. The three old chaps legged it into that building and disappeared from view.
Nevertheless, Mrs. Given had seen them, and she was not far behind when they vanished through the wide-open door. She found Uncle Eb propped up with his cane, standing in a dark corner of a box stall.
"Eben Small," she said, as she shook her fingers in his face, "you're a disgrace to the community! Now, not a word! Don't speak! I know what you've been doing, you and my husband and Elnathan Hewett! You've been drinking hard cider at Rufus Applesnack's store! I'm going to take Eli home, and I'll give him a dressing down he won't soon forgit! I tell ye not to speak! You ain't gut nuthin' to say!"
She then lifted her voice and called for her husband to come forth. As there was no response, she looked into the crib, and there she found Elnathan curled up, pretending to be fast asleep.
"Deacon Hewett," she said, "you've posed as an example to the community. Now don't snore! I know you're awake! You can't fool me? So you will continue to snore, will ye?"
There was a squawk from the deacon, for she had seized him by the nose and given it a twist that brought him upright in the crib.
"Where's my husband?" she demanded. "Don't speak! Don't say a word! I want to know where my husband is!"
"Well, how kin I tell you if I don't speak?" snarled the deacon. "I dunno where he is, anyhow! Go 'way and lemme alone! This hot weather is giving me an awful headache."
"Oh, you've got a headache, have ye? Well, that's retribution, Mr. Hewett. You ought to have a headache. You've led my husband astray. He's a temperance man."
"Me lead him astray!" groaned Hewett. "Why, 'twas him and Eben that coaxed me over to Applesnack's store."
"Now don't you tell me that, you sinful old hypocrite! Eli never touches hard cider unless somebody induces him to do so. And I know Eben don't drink it on account of the effect on his rheumatiz."
"That's right, mother!" piped a weak, small voice from beneath the crib, as Eli poked his head out. "The deacon is all to blame!"
"Oh, there you be!" she snapped, as she pounced on him and pulled him forth. "Now you git up here and march home!"
Having pulled him to his feet, she took a firm grip on his ear and led him from the stall and out of the stable.
That afternoon was to be long remembered by all the visitors at Merry Home. It passed pleasantly in spite of the fact that Hans insisted on "rending a selection" on the flute and seemed rather disappointed and downcast when they begged him not to play any more.
"Der musig haf no heart for you," he complained. "Maype you vould like a popular song to sing to me. I vill gif you 'Efrybody Vorks Poor Vather.' Yes? No?"
"Don't yez do it, Hans," entreated Barney. "We have suffered enough already."
"Und id vos such a peautiful song!" moaned Dunnerwurst. "I understandt der author uf dot song got only fife hundret dollars for writin' id."
"Waal," drawled Gallup, "maybe it was his first offense. Did he pay the fine?"
"Fife hundret dollars vos a small amoundt," said Hans. "Still I vould like to add it py my 'lefen dollars and seventeen cents vot I haf my pocket in."
"How much would that make in all?" questioned Gallup. "You always was a rippin' good mathematicker, Hans, though seems to me you did git a little balled up in substraction. If you've gut eleven dollarsand sixteen cents in your pocket, and I should take five dollars away from you, whaot would be the result?"
"You vould be carried avay an ambulance in," said the Dutchman promptly.
Carker had bestowed a great deal of attention on Juanita. Although she pretended not to notice this, Mrs. Morton was waiting her opportunity, and it came when Greg strolled away alone beneath the trees. In a few moments she made an excuse and followed him. Finding him seated on a rustic bench in a little nook, she uttered an exclamation of pretended surprise over discovering him there.
"Why, Greg," she fluttered, "are you here?"
He rose at once.
"Yes, I'm here," he answered. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Morton, if I alarmed you. I'll not bother you if you wish to sit here."
"Oh, you foolish boy!" she laughed, placing her hands on his breast and pushing him back on the seat. "Sit down. Isn't this a delightful place! We're all alone here by ourselves, and nobody can see or hear us."
She placed herself at his side.
"It might be somewhat embarrassing for you if any one should discover us here," said Greg.
"Embarrassing for me? What a foolish idea! You always were a foolish fellow, Greg Carker."
"You've told me so before."
"And told you the truth."
"I presume you still think so. You thought me foolish because of my socialistic beliefs. You used to make sport of me. I haven't forgotten that."
"The trouble with you, Greg, is that you take things too seriously. You never can see a joke. If any one plays a joke on you, you're offended, and you try to get even. You've been getting even with me to-day."
"In what manner?"
"By the way you made eyes at that insipid creature, Juanita."
"I wouldn't call her insipid if I were in your place," he remonstrated. "It doesn't seem nice of you, Madge—I mean Mrs. Morton."
"Oh, call me Madge. There is no reason why you should be so extremely formal. I knew you before I met George Morton."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"I thought I knew you," he retorted, "but I discovered I was mistaken."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because it is true."
"I don't believe you ever cared for me, Greg."
"And I know you never really cared for me. If you had, you'd not have cast me over as you did for Morton."
"But I couldn't do anything with you, Gregory. You persisted in throwing your life away."
"In what manner?"
"In becoming a socialist. In lecturing on socialism in defiance of your father's wishes and my entreaties. Your father threatened to cut you off without a dollar."
"I believe he's made a will in which I am given the liberal sum of one dollar," said Carker. "So you see he has not quite cut me off without a dollar. The money made all the difference with you, Madge. Morton was wealthy. I had nothing in the world, and no particular prospects. You married Morton."
"Well, a girl has to look out for herself in these days."
"But you pretended that you loved me."
"I did," she declared earnestly. "I loved you then, Greg, and I've loved you ever since."
Again he shrugged his shoulders, and a low laugh came from his lips.
"You don't believe me!" she exclaimed. "If you only knew how much it hurt me to see you smiling into the eyes of that Spanish girl! Oh, I longed to choke her!"
"How do you think I felt when you dropped me and became George Morton's wife?"
"I'd never done that had you been sensible. Had you promised your father that you'd give up socialism, I'd have clung to you through everything, Gregory. You know socialism is so ridiculous! And socialistsare the skuff and rabble of humanity. All the cranks and crackbrains are socialists."
"Every great thinker since the world began has been called a crank. I admit that there are many undesirable persons allied with the socialists, but because of that the great principles of the party cannot be condemned. The theory of socialism is founded on the rock of justice and——"
"Oh, I've heard all that before, Gregory. Don't talk it any more. How can you blame me if I did not wish to marry a penniless man absolutely without prospects?"
"I don't blame you," he said. "At the same time, Madge, I hate to think that you married George Morton simply for his money. I hate to think you deceived him in such a manner."
"Oh, George was a good fellow, and money is an absolute necessity, Gregory. Had I possessed a fortune, it would have been different. The mere fact that your father had cut you off would have made no difference to me then. It makes no difference to me now."
"But it's too late now, Madge."
"Oh, no, it isn't too late."
He drew back from her, and the look she saw in his eyes brought a sudden flush to her cheeks.
"You think me bold. You think me forward," she hastily said. "Long ago you made me confess that Iloved you. Do you think I forgot you? Oh, no; there's been never a day since we parted that I've not longed to see you again."
In spite of her hand on his arm, he rose to his feet.
"This won't do, Madge," he said calmly. "You're a married woman. What if your husband should hear you speaking such words to me?"
She was on her feet also.
"My husband—why, Gregory,—don't you know—haven't you heard? I have no husband!"
"You—have—no—husband?"
"No. I'm a widow. I've just come out of mourning. George has been dead more than a year."
Carker seemed turned to stone. She was standing squarely in front of him, and she placed both her hands on his arms, looking up into his eyes.
"I supposed you knew," she murmured. "He left me in comfortable circumstances, and there is now no reason why I should worry about the future. If your father is unrelenting, it can make but little difference to us. Even though we may not agree about socialism, I'll let you have your way. Everything has come out right at last, Greg. Isn't it splendid!"
Before he realized her intention, one of her arms slipped round his neck.
At that moment Juanita Garcia passed the entrance to that little nook and saw them. She did not pause, but, pale-faced and wide-eyed, hurried silently on.