"More than that," quickly; "it is philanthropic, since it will employ me for some length of time."
"When do they expect you?"
"At half-after ten."
"We"ll go up together, then. Did you see the admiral"s daughter?"
"A daughter? Has he one?" Breitmann accepted this news with an expression of disfavor.
"Yes; and charming, I can tell you. It"s all very odd. In Paris that night, they both sat at the next table."
"Why did you not speak to them?"
"Didn"t know who they were. The admiral was one of my father"s boyhood friends, and I did not meet them till very recently;" which was all true enough. For some unaccountable reason, Fitzgerald found that he was on guard. "I have ordered an open carriage. If you have any trunks, I can take them up for you."
"It will be good of you."
They proceeded to finish the repast, and then sought the office, for their reckoning. Later, they strolled toward the water front.
Fitzgerald, during moments when the talk lagged, thought over the meeting. There was a false ring to it somewhere. If Breitmann had been turned down in all the offices in New York, there must have been some good cause. Newspapers were not pa.s.sing over men of this fellow"s experience, unless he had been proved untrustworthy. Breitmann had not told him everything; he had even told him too little. Still, he would withhold his judgment till he heard from New York on the subject.
Cathewe hadn"t been enthusiastic over the name; but Cathewe was never inclined to enthusiasms.
Pa.s.sing the angle of the freight depot brought the little harbor into full view. A fine white yacht lay tugging at her cables.
"There"s a beauty," said Fitzgerald admiringly.
"She looks as if she could take care of herself. How fresh the green water-line looks! She"ll be fast in moderate weather; a fair thousand tons, perhaps."
"A close guess."
"I understand she belongs to my employer. I hope he takes the sea soon. I suppose you know that I have knocked about some as a sailor."
"That will help you into the good graces of the admiral."
"How dull and uninteresting the coast-lines are here! No gardens, no palms, nothing of beauty."
"You must remember the immensity of this coast and that our summers are really less than three months. Here comes one who can tell us about the yacht," cried Fitzgerald, espying the peg-legged sailor. "I say!"
he hailed, as the old sailor drew nigh; "you are on the _Laura_, are you not?"
"Yessir. An" I"ve bin on her since she wus commissioned as a pleasure yacht, sir. Capt"n."
"Ah!"
"Fought under th" commodore in th" war, sir; an" he knows me, an" I knows him; an" when Flanagan is on th" bridge, he doesn"t signal no pilots between Key West an" St. Johns."
"I am visiting the admiral," said Fitzgerald, amused.
"Oh!" Captain Flanagan ducked, with his hand to his cap. On land, he was likely to imitate landsmen in manners and politeness; but on board he tipped his hat to n.o.body; leastwise, to n.o.body but Miss Laura, bless her heart! "I reckon one o" you is th" new sec"rety."
"Yes, I am the new secretary," replied Breitmann, unsmiling.
"Furrin parts?"
"Yes."
"Well, well!" as if, while he couldn"t help the fact, it was none the less to be pitied. "You"ll be comin" aboard soon, then. Off for th"
Banks. Take my word for it, you"ll find her as stiddy as one o" your floatin" hotels, sir, where you don"t see no sailor but a deck hand as swabs th" scuppers when a beam sea"s on. Good mornin"!" And Captain Flanagan stumped off toward the village.
Breitmann shrugged contemptuously.
"He may not be in European yachting form," admitted Fitzgerald, "but he"s the kind of man who makes a navy a good fighting machine."
"But we usually pick out gentlemen to captain our private yachts."
"Oh, this Flanagan is an exception. There is probably a fighting bond between him and the admiral; that makes some difference. You observed, he called the owner by the t.i.tle of commodore, as he did thirty-five years ago. Ten o"clock; we should be going up."
The carriage was at the hotel when they returned. They bundled in their traps, and drove away.
The little man now dropped into the railway station, and stuck his head into the ticket aperture. The agent, who was seated before the telegraph keys, looked up.
"No tickets before half-past ten, sir."
"I am not wanting a ticket. I wish to know if I can send a cable from here."
"A cable? Sure. Where to?"
"Paris."
"Yes, sir. I telegraph it to the cable office in New York, and they do the rest. Here are some blanks."
The other wrote some hieroglyphics, which made the address impossible to decipher, save that it was directed mainly to Paris. The body of the cablegram contained a single word. The writer paid the toll, and went away.
"Now, what would you think of that?" murmured the operator, scratching his head in perplexity. "Well, the company gets the money, so it"s all the same to me. b.u.t.terflies; and all the rest in French. Next time it"ll be bugs. All right; here goes!"
CHAPTER VII
A BIT OF ROMANTIC HISTORY
The house at the top of the hill had two names. It had once been called The Watch Tower, for reasons but vaguely known by the present generation of villagers. To-day it was generally styled The Pines.
Yet even this had fallen into disuse, save on the occupant"s letter paper. When any one asked where Rear Admiral Killigrew lived, he was directed to "the big white house at the top o" the hill."
The Killigrews had not been born and bred there. Its builder had been a friend of King George; that is, his sympathies had been with taxation without representation. One day he sold the manor cheap. His reasons were sufficient. It then became the property of a wealthy trader, who died in it. This was in 1809. His heirs, living, and preferring to live, in Philadelphia, put up a sign; and being of careful disposition, kept the place in excellent repair.
In the year 1816, it pa.s.sed into the hands of a Frenchman, and during his day the villagers called the house The Watch Tower; for the Frenchman was always on the high balcony, telescope in hand, gazing seaward. No one knew his name. He dealt with the villagers through his servant, who could speak English, himself professing that he could not speak the language. He was a recluse, almost a hermit. At odd times, a brig would be seen dropping anchor in the offing. She was always from across the water, from the old country, as villagers to this day insist upon calling Europe. The manor during these peaceful invasions showed signs of life. Men from the brig went up to the big white house, and remained there for a week or a month. And they were lean men, battle-scarred and fierce of eye, some with armless sleeves, some with stiff legs, some twisted with rheumatism. All spoke French, and spat whenever they saw the perfidious flag of old England. This was not marked against them as a demerit, for the War of 1812 was yet smoking here and there along the Great Lakes. Suddenly, they would up and away, and the manor would rea.s.sume its repellent aloofness. Each time they returned their number was diminished. Old age had succeeded war as a harvester. In 1822, the mysterious old recluse surrendered the ghost. His heirs--ignored and hated by him for their affiliation with the Bourbons--sold it to the father of the admiral.
The manor wasn"t haunted. The hard-headed longsh.o.r.emen and sailors who lived at the foot of the hill were a practical people, to whom spirits were something mostly and generally put up in bottles, and emptied on sunless, bl.u.s.tery days. Still, they wouldn"t have been human if they had not done some romancing.