CHAPTER 1 Mr. Grenfell-Laurie seeks adventure. Mr. Grenfell-Laurie boarded the eastbound express at Denver with all the air of a martyr. He had travelled pretty much all over the world, and he was not without resources, but the prospect of a twenty-five hundred mile journey alone filled him with dismay. The country he knew, the scenery had long since lost its attractions for him. His news boys had failed to tempt him with the literature they thrust in his face, and as for his fellow-passengers, well, he preferred to be alone. And so it was that he gloomily motioned the porter to his boxes and mounted the steps with weariness. As it happened, Mr. Grenfell-Laurie did not have a dull moment after the train started. He stumbled on a figure that leaned toward the window in the dark passageway. With reluctant civility he apologized. A lady stood up to let him pass, and for an instant in the half-light their eyes met. And that is why the miles rushed by with incredible speed. Mr. Laurie had been dawdling away the months in Mexico and California. For years he had felt, together with many other people, that a sea voyage was the essential beginning of every journey. He had started round the world soon after leaving Cambridge. He had fished through Norway and hunted in India, and shot everything from grouse on the Scottish moors to the rapids above Aswan. He had run in and out of countless towns and countries on the coast of South America. He had done Russia and the Roan Valley and Brittany and Damascus. He had seen them all. But not until then did it occur to him that there might be something of interest nearer home. True, he had thought of joining some Englishmen on a hunting tour in the Rockies, but that had fallen through. When the idea of Mexico did occur to him, he gave orders to pack his things, purchased interminable green tickets, dined unusually well at 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 dissenter thing for him to stop running about and settle down to work. But his thoughtful father had given him a wealthy mother, and as earning a living was not a necessity, he failed to see why it was a duty. Work is becoming 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 family found him hopeless and the argument dropped. He was just under thirty years, as good-looking as most men, with no one dependent upon him and an income that had withstood both the mezando-ri and a dabea on the Nile. He never tired of seeing things and peoples and places. There's game to be found anywhere, he said, only at sometimes out of season. If I had my way, and millions, I should run a newspaper. Then all the excitements would come to me. As it is, 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 at times, not because he had seen too much, but because there were not more things left to see. He had managed somehow to keep his enthusiasm through everything, and they made life worth living. He fell to a certain elation, like a spirited horse, at turning toward home, but Washington had not much to offer him, and the thrill did not last.  The presence in the next room of a very smart-appearing young woman was prominent in his consciousness. It gave him an uneasiness which was the beginning of delight. He had seen her for only a second in the passageway, but that second had made him hold himself a little straighter. Why is it, he wondered, that some girls make you stand like a footman the moment you see them? Well had been in love too many times to think of marriage. His habit of mind was still general, and he classified women broadly. At the same time, he had a feeling that in this case generalities did not apply well. There was something about the girl that made him hesitate at labeling her Class A, or B, or Z. But it was, he did not know, but, unaccountably, she filled him with an affected formality. 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 were elderly persons, presumably her parents. They talked mostly in French, occasionally using a German word or phrase. The old gentleman was stately and austere, with an air of deference to the young woman which Grenfell did not understand. His appearance was very striking, his face pale and heavily lined, mustache and imperial gray, the eyebrows large and bushy, and the jaw and chin square and firm. The white-haired lady carried her head high with unmistakable gentility. They were all dressed in traveling suits, which suggested something foreign, but not Vienna or Paris. Smart, but far from American tastes. Lori watched the trio with great interest. Twice during luncheon the young woman glanced toward him carelessly and left an annoying impression that she had not seen him. As they left the table and passed into the observation-car he stared at her with some defiance. But she was smiling, and her dimple showed, and Grenfell was ashamed. For some moments he sat gazing from the car window, forgetting his luncheon, dreaming. When he got back to his compartment he rang vigorously for the porter. A coin was carelessly displayed in his fingers. Do you suppose you could find out who has the next compartment, porter? I don't know their names, sir, but they go into New York just as fast as they can get, though. I ain't asked them no questions, because the something-bottom makes me feel if I ain't got no right to look at them, even. The porter thought for a moment. I don't believe it'll do you any good, sir, to try to shine up to the young lady. She ain't that sought, I can tell you that. I done see too many girls in my time. What are you talking about? I'm trying to shine up to her. I only want to know who she is. Just out of curiosity. Grenfell's face was a trifle red. Big pons, huh? But I kind of thought you was like our gentleman when they see a handsome woman. All us ones to find out something about, huh, sir? You know?  The lady in question is a foreigner. She lives across the ocean, as far as I can find out. There isn't a hurry to get home for some reason, because they ain't going to stop this side of New York except to change cars. Where do they change cars? St. Louis, going by way of Cincinnati and Washington. Grenfell's ticket carried him by way of Chicago. He caught himself wondering if he could exchange his ticket in St. Louis. Travelling with her father and mother, I suppose? Nosa, they's her uncle and aunt.  The old gentleman is Uncle Kaspar. I don't know what they talk about. It's mostly some foreign language. The young lady a la speaks American to me, but the old folks, it can't talk it very well. They've all been to Frisco, and the high adept they's got with them say they've been to Mexico too. Young ladies got good American dollars.  She a la smiles when she asks me to do anything, and I wouldn't care if she now tipped me, as long as she smiles that away. Servants with them, you say? Yes, sir. Man or woman? Next section to the other side, the old folks. Let's say more than fifteen words in American. The woman is a maid, and the man he's the genial hustler for the whole potty. And you don't know her name? No, son, and I can't very well find out. In what part of Europe does she live? Australia, I think so. You mean Austria. Do I? Excuse my ignorance. I was just guessing at it anyhow. One place as good as another over there, I reckon. Have you one of those dollars she gave you? Yes, sir. He's a coin that ain't American. But she says it's what, seventy cents in our money. It's a form piece. She'd tell me to keep it till I went over to Haw Country. Then I could have a high time with it. That's what she says. A high time. And smiled kind of no one like. Let me see that coin, said Laurie, eagerly taking the silver piece from the porter's hand. I never saw one like it before. Greek, it looks to me, but I can't make a thing out of these letters. She gave it to you? Yes, sir, last evening. A high time on seventy cents. That's ridiculous, 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 possessor dropped it into his pocket with an inward conviction that he was the silliest fool in existence. After the porter's departure he took the coin from his pocket and, with his back to the door, his face to the window, studded it sleddering. During the afternoon he strolled about the train, his hand constantly jiggling the coins. He passed her compartment several times, yet refrained from looking in. Then he wondered if she saw him pass. At one little station a group of Indian bear hunters created considerable interest among the passengers. Grenfell was down at the station platform at once, looking over a great stack of game. As he left the car he met Uncle Kaspar, who was hurrying toward his niece's section. A few moments later she came down the steps, followed by the dignified old gentleman. Grenfell tingled with a strange delight as she moved quite close to his side in her desire to see. Once he glanced at her face there was a pretty look of fear in her eyes as she surveyed the massive bears and the stark stiff antelopes, but she laughed as she turned away with her uncle. Grenfell was smoking his cigarette and vigorously jiggling the coins in his pocket when the train pulled out. Then he swung on the car steps and found himself at her feet. She was standing at the top where she had lingered a moment. There was an expression of anxiety in her eyes as he looked up into them, followed instantly by one of relief. Then she passed into the car. She had seen him swing upon the moving steps and had feared for his safety, had shown in her glorious face that she was glad he did not fall beneath the wheels. Outless she would have been as solicitous had he been the porter or the breakman, he reasoned, but that she had noticed him at all pleased him. At Abilene he bought the Kansas City newspapers. After breakfast he found a seat in the observation car and settled himself to read. Presently someone took a seat behind him. He did not look back, but unconcernedly cast his eyes upon the broad mirror in the opposite car wall. Instantly he forgot his paper. She was sitting within five feet of him, a book in her lap, her gaze bent briefly on the flitting buildings outside. He studied the reflection furtively until she took up the book and began to read.  Now he was thinking of him as a far-sighted man. The first page of his paper was fairly alive with fresh and important dispatches, chiefly foreign. At length, after allowing himself to become really interested in a Paris dispatch of some international consequence, he turned his eyes again to the mirror. She was leaning slightly forward, holding the open book in her lap but reading, with straining eyes, an article in the paper he held. He calmly turned to the next page and looked leisurely over it. Another glance, quickly taken, showed to him a disappointed frown on the pretty face and a reluctant resumption of novel reading. A few moments later he turned back to the first page, holding the paper in such a position that she could not see, and, full of curiosity, read every line of the foreign news, wondering what had interested her. Under ordinary circumstances Laurie would have offered her the paper and thought nothing more of it. With her, however, there was an air that made him hesitate. He felt strangely awkward and inexperienced beside her. This did not seem to count. He arose, tossed the paper over the back of the chair as if casting it aside for ever, and strolled to the opposite window and looked out for a few moments, jingling his coins carelessly. The jingle of the pieces suggested something else to him. His paper still hung invitingly upside down as he had left it on the chair and the lady was pouring over her novel. As he passed her he drew his right hand from his pocket and a piece of money dropped to the floor at her feet. Then began an embarrassed search for the coin, in the wrong direction, of course. He knew precisely where it had rolled, but purposely looked under the seats on the other side of the car. She drew her skirts aside and assisted in the search. Four different times he saw the little piece of money but did not pick it up. Finally, laughing awkwardly, he began to search on her side of the car, whereupon she rose and gave him more room. She became interested in the search and bent over to scan the dark corners with eager eyes. Their heads were very close together more than once. At last she uttered an exclamation and her hand went to the floor in triumph. They arose together, flushed and smiling. She had the coin in her hand. I have it! She said gaily, a delicious foreign tinge to her words. I thank you!  Oh! she exclaimed, the prettiest surprise in the world coming into her face. It was a coin from her faraway homeland and she was betrayed into the involuntary exclamation.  He had hoped she would offer some comment on what she must have considered a strange coincidence, but he was disappointed. He wondered if she even heard him say, I am sorry to have troubled you. She had resumed her seat, and to him there seemed a thousand miles between them. Feeling decidedly uncomfortable and not a little abashed, he left her and stroked 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 a half-dozen steps when the brown head was turned slightly and a pair of interested eyes looked after him. She did not know that he could see her, so he had the satisfaction of observing that pretty puzzled face plainly until he passed through the door. Grenfell had formed many chance acquaintances during his travels, sometimes taking risks and liberties that were refreshingly bold. He had seldom been repulsed, strange to say, and as he went to his section dizzily he thought of the good fortune that had been his in other attempts, and asked himself why it had not occurred to him to make the same advances in the present instance. Somehow she was different. There was that strange dignity, that pure beauty, that imperial manner, all combining to forbid the faintest thought of familiarity. He was more than astonished at himself for having tricked her a few moments before into a perfectly natural departure from indifference. She had been so reserved and so natural that he looked back and asked himself what had happened to flatter his vanity except a passing show of interest. With this he smiled and recalled similar opportunities in days gone by, all of which had been turned to advantage and had resulted in amusing pastimes. And here was a pretty girl with an air of mystery about her, worthy of his best efforts, but toward whom he had not dared to turn a fervourless eye. He took out the coin and leaned back in his chair, wondering where it came from. In any case he thought, it'll make a good pocket-piece, and some day I'll find some idiot who knows more about geography than I do. Mr. Lorry's own ideas of geography were jumbled and vague, as if he had got them by studying the labels on his hat-box. He knew the places he had been to, and he recognized a new country by the annoyances of the Customs House, but beyond this his ignorance was complete. The coin, so far as he knew, might have come from any one of a hundred small principalities scattered about the continent, yet it bothered him a little that he could not tell which one. He was more than curious about a very beautiful young woman. In fact he was undeniably interested in her.  Before the train reached St. Louis he made up his mind to change cars there and go to Washington with her. It also occurred to him that he might go on to New York if the spell lasted. During the day he telegraphed ahead for accommodations, and when the flyer arrived in St. Louis that evening, he hurriedly attended to the transferring and rechecking of his baggage, bought a new ticket, and dined. At eight he was in the station, and at eight fifteen he passed her in the aisle. She was standing in her stateroom door directing her maid. He saw a look of surprise flit across her face as he passed. He slept soundly that night, and dreamt that he was crossing the ocean with her. At breakfast he saw her, but if she saw him it was when he was not looking at her. Once he caught Uncle Caspar staring at him through his monocle, which dropped instantly from his eye in the manner that is always self-explanatory. She had evidently called the uncle's attention to him, but was herself looking sedately from the window when Laurie unfortunately spoiled the scrutiny. His spirits took a furious bound with 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 watch according to the reply. In Ohio the manservant scowled at him because he involuntarily stared after his mistress as she paced the platform while the train waited at a station. Again in Ohio they met in the vestibule, and he was compelled to step aside to allow her to pass. He did not feel particularly jubilant over this meeting. She did not even glance at him. Laurie realized that his opportunities were fast disappearing, and that he did not seem to be any nearer meeting her than when they started. He had hoped to get Uncle Caspar into a conversation and then use him, but Uncle Caspar was as distant as an iceberg. If there should be a wreck, Grenfell caught him all thinking, then my chance would come. But I don'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 began to whine through the foothills of the Alleghenes. Belair, Grafton, and other towns were left behind, and they were soon whirling up the steep mountain, higher and higher, through tunnel after tunnel, nearer and nearer to Washington every minute. As they were pulling out of a little mining-town, built on the mountainside, a sudden jar stopped the train. There was some little excitement and a scramble for information. Some part of the engine was disabled, and it would be necessary to replace it before the run could proceed. Laurie strolled up to the crowd of passengers who were watching the engineer and fireman at work. A clear musical voice almost in his ear startled him, for he knew to whom it belonged. She addressed the conductor, who, impatient and annoyed, stood immediately behind him. "'How long are we to be delayed?' she asked. Just two minutes before the same conductor had responded most ungraciously to a simple question Laurie had asked, and had gone so far as to instruct another inquisitive traveller to go to a warmer climate because he persisted in asking for information which could not be given except by a clairvoyant. But now he answered in most affable tones, "'We'll be here for thirty minutes at least, Miss, perhaps longer.' She walked away after thanking him, and Grenfell looked at his watch. Half the main streets of the town ran little lanes leading to the mines below. They all ended at the edge of a steep declivity. There was a drop of almost four hundred feet straight into the valley below. Along the sides of this valley were the entrances to the mines. Above, on the ledge, was the machinery for lifting the oar to the high ground, on which stood the town and railroad yards. Then one of these streets walked the young lady, curiously interested in all about her. She seemed glad to escape from the train and its people, and she hurried along, the fresh spring wind blowing her hair from beneath her cap, the ends of her long coat fluttering. Laurie stood on the platform watching her. Then he lighted a cigarette and followed. He had a vague feeling that she ought not to be alone with all the workmen. She started to come back before he reached her, however, and he turned again toward the station. Then he heard a sudden whistle, and a minute later, from the end of the street, he saw the train pulling out. Laurie had rather distinguished himself in college as a runner, and instinctively he dashed up the street, reaching the tracks just in time to catch the railing of the last coach. But there he stopped, and stood with thumping heart while the coach slid smoothly up the track, leaving him behind. He remembered he was not the only one left, and he panted and smiled. It occurred to him, when it was too late, that he might have got on the train and pulled the rope or crawled the conductor. But that was out of the question now.  It did not follow that she would prove friendly. A few moments later she appeared, wholly unconscious of what had happened.  Then she saw him coming toward her with long strides, flushed and excited. Regardless of appearances, conditions, or consequences, she hurried to meet him. Where is the train? She gasped as the distance between them grew short. Her blue eyes, seeking his beseechingly, her hands clasped. It has gone. Gone? And 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 I do? She went on distractedly. He had enjoyed the sweet, despairing tones, but this last wail called for manly and instant action. Can we catch the train? We must. I will give one thousand dollars. I must catch it. She had placed her gloved hand against the telegraph pole 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 her voice there was authority. In her eyes there was fear. She could control the one, but not the other. We cannot catch the flyer. I want to catch it as much as you, and here he straightened himself. I would add a thousand to yours. He hesitated a moment, thinking. There's but one way and no time to lose. With this he turned and ran rapidly toward the little depot and telegraph office. End of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 of Graw-Stark This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Graw-Stark by George Barr McCutcheon. Chapter 2 Two Strangers in a Coach Libri wasted very little time. He dashed into the depot and up to the operator's window. What's the nearest station east of here? P. leisurely answered the agent in some surprise. How far is it? Four miles. Telegraph ahead and hold the train that just left here. The train don't stop there. It's got to stop there, or there'll be more trouble than this road has had since it begun business. The conductor pulled out and left two of his passengers, gave out wrong information, and he'll have to hold his train there or bring her back here. If you don't send that order, I'll report you as well as the conductor. Grenfels Manor was commanding. The agent's impression was that he was important, that he had a right to give orders, but he hesitated. There's no way for you but to get to P. Anyway, he said, while turning the matter over in his mind, you stop that train. I'll get there inside of 20 minutes. Now be quick, wire them to hold her, or there'll be an order from headquarters for some 90 day layoffs. The agent stared at him, then turned to his instrument, and the message went forward. Laurie rushed out. On the platform, he nearly ran over the hurrying figure in the tan coat. Pardon me, I'll explain things in a minute, he gasped and dashed away. Her troubled eyes blinked with astonishment. At the end of the platform stood a mountain coach along the sides of which was printed in yellow letters, happy springs. The driver was climbing up to his seat, and the cumbersome trap was empty. Wanted to make $10, cried Grenfels. What say? Demanded the driver, half falling to the ground.  Yes, but you see, I'm hired too. Oh, that's all right, you'll never make money easier. Can you get us there in 20 minutes? It's for my help, partner, and not very good road, either. Pile in and we'll make it or kill old hip and gym. Miss the train. Get yourself ready for a race with an express train and don't ask questions. Kill them both if you have to. I'll be back in a second. Back to the station he tore. She was standing near the door, looking up the track miserably. Already night was falling. Men were lighting the switch lanterns and the mountains were turning into great dark shadows. Come quickly, I have a wagon out here. Resistlessly, she was hurried along and fairly shoved through the open door of the odd-looking coach. He was beside her on the seat in an instant and her bewildered ears heard him say, "'Drive like the very juice.' Then the door slammed. The driver cluttered up to his seat and the horses were off with a rush. Where are we going?' She demanded, sitting very straight and defiant. After that train, I'll tell you all about it when I get my breath. This is to be the quickest escape from a dilemma on record, providing it is an escape. By this time, they were bumping along the flinty road at a lively rate, jolting about on the seat in a most disconcerting manner. After a few long, deep breaths, he told her how the ride in the springs hack had been conceived and of the arrangement he had made with the dispatcher. He furthermore acquainted her with the cause of his being left when he might have caught the train. Just as I reached the track, out of breath, but rejoicing, I remembered having seen you on that side street and knew that you would be left. It would have been heartless to leave you here without protection, so I felt at my duty to let the train go and help you out of a very ugly predicament. How can I repay you, she murmured. It was so good and so thoughtful of you. Oh, I should have died had I been left here alone. Do you not think my uncle will miss me and have the train sent back? She went on sage-leaf. That's so, he exclaimed, somewhat disconcerted, but I don't know either. He may not miss you for a long time, thinking you are in some other car, you know. That could easily happen triumphantly. Can this man get us to the next station in time? She questioned, looking at the black mountains and the dense foliage. It was now quite dark. If he doesn't bump us to death before we get halfway there, he's driving like the wind. You must let me pay half this bill, she said decidedly, from the dark corner in which he was huddling. He could find no response to this peremptory request. The road is growing rougher. If you will allow me to make a suggestion, I think you will see it's wisdom. You can escape a great deal of ugly jostling if you will take hold of my arm and cling toward tightly. I will brace myself with this strap. I am sure it will save you many hard bumps. Without a word, she moved to his side and wound her strong little arm about his big one. I had thought of that, she said simply, thank you. Then after a moment, while his heart thumped madly, had it occurred to you that after you ran so hard, you might have climbed aboard the train and ordered the conductor to stop it for me. I never thought of that, he cried confusedly. Please do not think me ungrateful. You have been very good to me, a stranger. One often thinks afterward of things one might have done. Don't you know? You did the noblest when you inconvenienced yourself for me. What trouble I have made for you. She said this so prettily that he came gaily from the despondency into which her shrewdness, bordering on criticism, had thrown him. He knew perfectly well that she was questioning his judgment and presence of mind. And the more he thought of it, the more transparent became the absurdity of his action. It has been no trouble, he floundered. An adventure like this is worth no end of inconvenience, as you call it. I'm sure I must have lost my head completely, and I am ashamed of myself. How much anxiety I could have saved you had I been possessed of an ounce of brains. Hush, I will not allow you to say that. You would have me appear ungrateful when I certainly am not. Act how he is driving. Do you think it's dangerous? She cried as the hack gave two or three wild lurchers, throwing him into the corner and the girl half upon him. Not in the least, he gasped. The breath knocked out of his body. Just the same, he was very much alarmed. It was as dark as pitch outside and in, and he could not help wondering how near the edge of the mountain side they were running. A false move of the flying horses and they might go rolling to the bottom at the ravine, hundreds of feet below. Still, he must not let her see his apprehension. This fellow is considered the best driver in the mountains. He prevaricated. Just then, he remembered having detected liquor on the man's breath as he closed the door behind him. Perhaps he was intoxicated. Do you know him? Question the clear voice, her lips close to his ear, her warm body pressing against his. Perfectly, he is no other than Light Horse Jerry, the king of stage drivers. In the darkness, he smiled to himself maliciously. Oh, then, we need feel no alarm, she said, reassured, not knowing that Jerry existed, only in the yellowback novel her informant had read Winner Boy. There was such a roaring and clattering that conversation became almost impossible. When either spoke, it was with the mouth closed to the ear of the other. At such times, Grenfell could feel her breath on his cheek. Her sweet voice went tingling to his toes with every word she uttered. He was in a daze, out of which sung the mad wish that he might clasp her in his arms, kiss her, and then go tumbling down the mountain. She trembled in the next fierce lurches that gave forth no complaint. He knew that she was in terror, but too brave to murmur. Unable to resist, he released the strap to which he had clung so grimly and placed his strong, firm hand encouragingly over the little one that gripped his arm with the clutch of death. It was very dark and very lonely too. Oh, she cried, as his hand clasped hers, you must hold to the strap. It is broken, he lied gladly. There is no danger, see? My hand does not tremble, does it? Be calm, it cannot be much farther. Will it not be dreadful if the conductor refuses to stop? She cried, her hand resting calmly beneath its protector. He detected a tone of security in her voice. But he will stop. Your uncle will see to that, even if the operator fails.  She said complacently, I was not wrong, thought Grenfell. He looks like a duelist. Who the devil are they, anyhow? Then aloud, at this rate, we'd be able to beat the train to Washington in a straightaway race. Isn't it a delightfully wild ride? I have acquired a great deal of knowledge in America, but this is the first time I have heard your definition of delight. I agree that it is wild. For some moments there was silence in the noisy conveyance. Outside the crack of the driver's whip, his horse cries and the nerve-destroying crash of the wheels produced impressions of a mighty storm rather than a peace and pleasure. I am curious to know where you obtained the coin you lost in the car yesterday. She said at last, as if relieving her mind of a question that had been long subdued. The one you so kindly found for me, he asked, procrastinatingly. Yes, they are certainly rare in this country. I never saw a coin like it until after I had seen you, he confessed. He felt her arm press his, ah, little tighter, and there was a quick movement over her head, which told him, dark as it was, that she was trying to see his face and that her blue eyes were wide with something more than terror. I do not understand, she exclaimed. I obtained the coin from a sleeping-car porter who said someone gave it to him and told him to have a high time with it. He explained in her ear. He evidently did not care for the high time, she said, after a moment. He would have given a fortune for one glimpse of her face at that instant. I think he said it would be necessary to go to Europe in order to follow the injunction of the donor. As I am more likely to go to Europe than he, I relieved him of the necessity and brought his right to a high time. There was a long pause during which she attempted to withdraw herself from his side. Her little fingers, struggling timidly, beneath the big ones. A Euler collector of coins, she asked at length, a perceptible coldness in her voice. No, I am considered a dispenser of coins. Still, I rather like the idea of possessing this queer bit of money as a pocket piece. I intend to keep it forever and let it descend as an heirloom to the generations that follow me. He said, laughingly, why are you so curious about it? Because it comes from the city and country in which I live, she responded. If you were in a land far from your own, would you not be interested in anything, even a coin that reminded you of home? Especially if I had not seen one of its kind since leaving home, he replied insinuatingly. Oh, but I have seen many like it. In my purse, there are several at this minute. Isn't it strange that this particular coin should have reminded you of home? You have no right to question me, sir. She said, coldly, drawing away, only to be lurched back again. In spite of herself, she laughed audibly. I beg your pardon, he said tantalisingly. When did he give it you? Who? The porter, sir. You have no right to question me, he said. Oh, she gasped. I did not mean to be inquisitive, but I grant the right. He gave it me inside of two hours after I first entered the car. At Denver, how do you know I got on at Denver? Why, you passed me in the aisle with your luggage. Don't you remember? Did he remember? His heart almost turned over with the joy of knowing that she had really noticed and remembered him. Involuntarily, his glad fingers closed down upon the gloved hand that lay beneath them. I believe I do remember, now that you speak of it, he said in a stifled voice, you were standing at a window. Yes, and I saw you kissing those ladies goodbye too. Was one of them your wife, or were they all your sisters I have wondered? They were cousins, he informed her, confusedly recalling an incident that had been forgotten. He had kissed Mary Lyons and Edna Barrage, but their brothers were present and foolish habit, isn't it? I do not know, I have no grown cousins, she replied demurely. You Americans have such funny customs though. Where I live, no gentleman would think of pressing a lady's hand until it pained her. Is it necessary? In the question, there was a quiet dignity, half submerged in scorn, so pointed, so unmistakable that he flushed, turned cold with mortification, and hastily removed the amorous fingers.  You will not misunderstand my motive, he begged, fearful lest he had offended her by his ruthlessness. I could not misunderstand something that does not exist, she said simply proudly. By Jove, she's beyond comparison, he thought. You have explained, and I am sorry I spoke as I did. I shall not again forget how much I owe you. You're in debt-ness, if there be one, does not deprive you of the liberty to speak to me as you will. You could not say anything unjust without asking my forgiveness, and when you do that, you more than pay the debt. It is worth a great deal to me to hear you say that you owe something to me, for I am only too glad to be your creditor. If there is a debt, you shall never pay it. It is too pleasant an account to be settled with. You're welcome. If you insist that you owe much to me, I shall refuse to cancel the debt and allow it to draw interest forever. What a financier, she cried. That just is worthy of the courtier's deepest flattery. Let me say that I am proud to owe my gratitude to you. You will not permit it to grow less. That was either irony or the prettiest speech a woman ever uttered, he said warmly. I also am curious about something. You were reading over my shoulder in the observation car. I was not, she exclaimed indignantly. How did you know that? She inconsistently went on. You forget the mirror in the opposite side of the car. Ah, now I am offended. With the poor old mirror, for shame, yet in the name of our American glass industry, I ask your forgiveness. It shall not happen again. You will admit that you were trying to read over my shoulder. Thanks for that immutable nod. Well, I am curious to know what you were so eager to read. Since you presumed to believe the mirror instead of me, I will tell you, there was a dispatch on the first page that interested me deeply. I believe I thought as much at the time. I have confound this road. For half a mile or more, the road had been fairly level. But as the ejaculation indicates, a rough place had been reached. He was slung back in the corner violently. His head coming in contact with a sharp projection of some kind.  Oh, we shall be killed, she half shrieked. Can you not stop him? This is madness, madness. Pray, be calm, I was to blame, for I had become careless. He is earning his money, that's all. It was not stipulated in the contract that he was to consider the comfort of his passengers. Grenfell could feel himself turn pale as something warm began to trickle down his neck. Now tell me which dispatch it was. I've read all of them. You did, of what interest could they have been? Curiosity does not recognize reason. You read every one of them, assuredly. Then I shall grant you the right to guess which interested me the most. You Americans delight in puzzles, I am told. Now, that is unfair. So it is. Did you read the dispatch from Constantinople? Her arm fell to her side suddenly as if she had just realized its position. The one that told of the French ambassador's visit to the Salton. Concerning the small matter of a loan of some millions, yes. Well, that was of interest to me in as much as the loan, if made will affect my country. Will you tell me what country you are from? I am from Groestark. Yes, but I don't remember where that is. Is it possible that you American schools do not teach geography? Ours tell us where the United States are located. I confess ignorance, he admitted. Then I shall insist that you study a map. Groestark is small, but I am as proud of it as you are of this great broad country that reaches from ocean to ocean. I can scarcely wait until I again see our dear crags and valleys, our rivers and ever blue skies, our plains and our towns. I wonder if you worship your country as I love mine. From the tenor of your remarks, I judge that you have been away from home for a long time, he volunteered. We have seen something of Asia, Australia, Mexico and the United States since we left Idol wise six months ago. Now we are going home, home. She uttered the word so lovingly, so longingly, so tenderly that he envied the homeland. There was a long break in the conversation, both evidently wrapped in thought, which could not be disturbed by the will of the coach. He was wondering how he could give her up, now that she had been tossed into his keeping so strangely. She was asking herself over and over again how so thrilling an adventure would end. They were sore and fatigued with the strain on nerve and flesh. It was an experience never to be forgotten, this romantic race over the wild mountain road, the result still in doubt. Ten minutes ago, strangers, now friends at least, neither knowing the other. She was admiring him for his general ship, his wonderful energy. He was blessing the fate that had come to his rescue when hope was almost dead. He could scarcely realise that he was awake, could have be anything but a vivid fancy from which he was to awaken and find himself alone in his birth. The buzzing, clacking car wheels piercing his ears with sounds so unlike those that had been whispered into them by a voice, sweet and maddening, from out the darkness of a dreamland cab. Surely we must be almost at the end of this awful road, she moaned, yielding completely to the long suppressed alarm. Every bone in my body aches, what shall we do if they have not held the train? Send for an undertaker, he replied grimly, seeing policy ingest. They were now ascending and inclined, bumping over boulders, hurtling through treacherous ruts and water washed holes, rolling, swinging, jerking, crashing. You have been brave all along, don't give up now, it is almost over, you'll soon be with your friends. How can I thank you?  I wish that I could do a thousand times as much for you, he said thrillingly, heard the shoveled hair touching his face, so close were his lips. Ah, the lights of the town, he cried an instant later. Look, he held her so that she could peer through the rattling glass window. Close at hand, higher up the steep, many lights were twinkling ling against high old blackness. Almost before they realized how near they were to the lights, the horses began to slacken their speed, a moment later coming to a standstill. The awful ride was over. The train, the train, she cried in ecstasy. Here on the other side, thank heaven, he could not speak for the joyful pride that distented his heart, almost to bursting. The coach door flew open and light horse Jerry yelled, here you are, I made her. I should say you did, exclaimed Grandform, climbing out and drawing her after him gently. Here's your tin. I must send you something too, my good fellow, cried the lady. What is your address, quick? William Perkins, oh, West Virginia man. Laurie was dragging her toward the cars as the driver completed the sentence. Several persons were running down the platform. Dimly lighted from the stringer car windows, she found time to pant as they sped along. He was not light horse Jerry at all. End of chapter two, chapter three of Groestark. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Groestark by George Barr McCutcheon. Chapter three, Miss Goovinslocker. He laughed, looking down into her serious, upturned face, a brief smile of understanding flitted across her lips as she broke away from him and threw herself into the arms of tall, excited uncle Casper. The conductor, several trainmen and a few eager passengers came up, the former crusty and snappish. Well, get aboard, he growled. We can't wait all night. The young lady looked up quickly, her sensitive face cringing beneath the rough command. Laurie stepped instantly to the conductor's side, shook his finger vigorously under his nose and exclaimed in no uncertain tones. Now, that's enough from you.  Understand, my friend? Oh, who are you? Demanded the conductor belligerently. You'll learn that soon enough. After this, you'll have sense enough to find out whom you are talking to before you open that mouth of yours. Not another word, Mr. Grenfell Laurie was not president of the road, nor was he in any way connected with it. But his well-assumed air of authority caused the trainmen's eye to dissolve at once. Excuse me, sir. I've been worried to death on this run. I meant no offense. That old gentleman has threatened to kill me. Just now, he took out his watch and said, if I did not run back through his niece in two minutes, he'd call me out and run me through. I've been nearly crazy here for the life of me. I don't see how you happen to be. Oh, that's all right. Let's be off, cried Laurie, who had fallen some distance behind his late companion and her uncle. Hurrying after them, he reached her side in time to assist her in mounting the car steps. Thank you, smiling down upon him bewitchingly. At the top of the steps, she was met by her aunt, behind whom stood the anxious manservant and the maid. Into the coach, she was drawn by the relieved old lady who was critically inspecting her personal appearance when Laurie and the foreigner entered. Ah, it was so wild and exhilarating. Aunt Yvonne, the girl was saying, her eyes sparkling. She stood straight and firm, her chin in the air, her hands in nose of her aunt. The little traveling cat was on the side of her head. Her hair was loose and very maturely, strange straying hair, curls flowing there in utter confusion. Laurie fairly gasped with admiration for the loveliness that would not be vanquished. We came like the wind. I shall never, never forge it, she said. But how could you remain there, child? Tell me how it happened. We had been frantic, said her aunt, half in English, half in German. Not now, dear Aunt Yvonne, see my hair.  Fortunate man, your hair cannot be so unruly as mine. Oh, the exclamation was one of alarm. In an instant she was at his side, peering with terrified eyes at the bloodstains on his neck and face. It is blood, you are hurt. Uncle Casper, Hedrick, quick, attending. Come to my room at once. You are suffering. Men are fine bandages. She dragged him to the door of her section before he could interpose a remonstrance. It is nothing, a mere scratch. Bump my head against the side of the coach. Please don't worry about it. I can care for myself. Really, it doesn't. But it does. It has bled terribly. Sit there. Now, Hedrick, some water. Hedrick rushed off and was back in a moment with a basin of water, a sponge, and a towel. And before Grenfell fully knew what was happening, the man's servant was bathing his head, the others looking on anxiously, the young lady apprehensively, her hands clasped before her as she bent over to inspect the wound above his ear.  Does it pay you, sir? Oh, not a great deal. Anne said lorry, closing his eyes comfortably. It was all very pleasant, he thought. Should it not have stitches, Uncle Casper asked the sweet, eager voice. I think not. The flow is staunched. If the gentleman will allow Hedrick to trim the hair away for a plaster and then bandage it, I think the wound will give him no trouble. The old man spoke slowly and in very good English. Really, Uncle, is it not serious? No, no, interpose Grenfell lorry. I knew it was a trifle. You cannot break an American's head. Let me go to my own section and I'll be ready to present myself as good as new in 10 minutes. You must let Hedrick bandage your head, she insisted. Go with him, Hedrick. Grenfell arose and started toward his section, followed by Hedrick. I trust you were not hurt during that reckless ride. He said more as a question, stopping in the aisle to look back at her. I should have been a master bruiser. Gashes and lumps had it not been for one thing, she said, a faint flush coming to her cheek, although her eyes looking unfalteringly into his. Will you join us in the dining car? I will have a place prepared for you at our table. Thank you. You are very good. I shall join you as soon as I am presentable. We are to be honoured, sir, said the old gentleman, but in such a way that Grenfell had a distinct feeling that it was he who was to be honoured. Aunt Yvonne smiled graciously and he took his departure. While Hedrick was dressing the jagged little cut, Grenfell complacently surveyed the patient in the mirror opposite and said to himself a hundred times, you lucky dog, it was worth 40 gashes like this. By Joe, she's divine. In a fever of eager haste, he bathed and attired himself for dinner, the impertable Hedrick assisting. One query filled the Americans mind. I wonder if I am to sit beside her and then I have sat beside her. There can never again be such delight. It was seven o'clock before his rather unusual toilet was completed. See if they have gone to dinner, Hedrick, he said to the manservant, who departed ceremoniously. I don't know why he should be so damn polite, observed Laurie, gazing wonderingly after him. I'm not a king. That reminds me, I must introduce myself. She doesn't know me from Adam. Hedrick returned and announced that they had just gone to the dining car and were awaiting him there. He hurried to the diner and made his way to their table. Uncle Casper and his niece were facing him as he came up between the tables and he saw with no little regret that he was to sit beside the aunt, directly opposite the girl, however. She smiled up at him as he stood before them, bowing. He saw the expression of inquiry in those deep, liquid eyes of violet as their gaze wandered over his hair. Your head? I see no bandage, she said reproachfully. There is a small plaster and that is all. Only heroes may have dangerous wounds, he said, laughingly. Is heroism in America measured by the number of stitches or the size of the plaster? She asked pointedly. In my country it is a joy and not a calamity. Wounds are the misfortune of valor. Pray be seated, Mr. Laurie, is it not? She said, pronouncing it quaintly. He sat down rather suddenly on hearing her utter his name. How had she learned it? Not a soul on the train knew it, he was sure. I am Casper Guginslocker. Permit me, Mr. Laurie, to present my wife and my niece, Miss Guginslocker, said the uncle, more gracefully than he had ever heard such a thing uttered before. In a daze, stunned by the name Guginslocker, mystified over their acquaintance with his own, when he had been foiled at every fair attempt to learn theirs, Laurie could only mumble his acknowledgments. In all his life he had never lost command of himself as at this moment. Guginslocker, he could feel the dank sweat of disappointment starting on his brow. A butcher, a beer maker, a cobbler, a gardener, all cinnamon's a Guginslocker. A sausage manufacturer's niece, Miss Guginslocker, he tried to glance unconcertedly at her as he took up his napkin, but his eyes waved it helplessly. She was looking serenely at him, yet he fancied, he saw a shadow of mockery in her blue eyes. If you were a novel writer, Mr. Laurie, what manner of heroine would you choose? She asked, with a smile so tantalising, that he understood instinctively why she was reviving a topic once abandoned. His confusion was increased. Her uncle and aunt were regarding him calmly, expectantly he imagined. I have no ambition to be a novel writer, he said, so I have not made a study of heroines. But you would have an ideal, she persisted. I'm sure I don't, that is, she would not necessarily be a heroine, unless, of course, it would require heroism to pose as an ideal for such a prosaic fella as I. To begin with, you would call her Clara Belle Montrose or something equally as impossible. You know the name of a heroine in a novel, must be Euphonis. That is an exacting rule. It was an open tort, and he could see that she was enjoying his disconfiture. It aroused his indignation and his wits. I would first give my hero a distinguished name, no matter what the heroine's name might be. Pretty or otherwise, I could easily change it to his in the last chapter. She flushed beneath his now bright, keen eyes and the ready, though unexpected, retort. Uncle Casper placed his napkin to his lips and coughed. Aunt Evon studiously inspected her bill of fare. No matter what you call arose, it is always sweet, he added meaningly. At this, she laughed good-naturedly. He marvelled at her white teeth and red lips. A rose, after all. Guggensocker, rose. Rose, not Guggensocker. No, no, a rose only. He fancied he'd caught a sly look or triumph in her uncle's swift glance toward her. But Uncle Casper was not a rose. He was a Guggensocker. Guggensocker, butcher. Still, he did not look the part. No, indeed. That extraordinary man, a butcher, a gardener and Aunt Evon. Yet they were Guggensockers. Here is the waiter, the girl observed to his relief. I am famished after my pleasant drive. It was so bracing, was it not, Mr. Grenfell Lorry? Give me a mountain ride always as an appetiser, he said, obligingly, and so ended the jest about a name. The orders for dinner were given, and the quartet sat back in their chairs to await the coming of the soup. Grenfell was still wondering how she had learned his name and was on the point of asking several times during the conventional discussion of the weather, the train and the mountains. He considerably refrained, however, unwilling to embarrass her. Aunt Evon tells me she never expected to see me alive after the station agent telegraphed that we were coming overland in that awful old carriage. The agent at P says it is a dangerous road at the very edge of the mountain. He also increased the composure of my uncle and aunt by telling them that a wagon rolled off yesterday, killing a man, two women, and two horses. Dear Aunt Evon, how troubled you must have been. I'll confess there were times when I thought we were rolling down the mountain, said Lorry, with a relieved shake of the head. Sometimes I thought we were souring through space, whether upward or downwards I could not tell. We never failed to come to Earth, though did we, she laughingly asked.  Does it pain you? She asked quickly. Not in the least. I was merely feeling to see if the cup was still there. Mr Guggensocker did the conductor object to holding the train. He asked, remembering what the conductor had told him of the old gentleman's actions. At first, but I soon convinced him that it should be held, said the other quietly. My husband spoke very harshly to the poor man, added Aunt Evon. But I am afraid, Casper, he did not understand a word you said. You were very much excited. The sweet old lady's attempts at English were much more laborious than her husband's. If he did not understand my English, he was very good at guessing, said her husband grimly. He told me you had threatened to call him out, ventured the young man. Call him out, ah, a railroad conductor, exclaimed Uncle Casper in fine scorn. Casper, I heard you say that you would call him out, interposed his wife with reproving eyes. Ah, God, God, I have made a mistake. I see it all. It was the other word I meant, down, not out. I intended to call him down, as you Americans say. I hope he will not think I challenged him. He was very much perturbed. I think he was afraid you would, said Laurie. He should have no fear. I could not meet a railroad conductor. Will you please tell him I could not so condescend? Besides, dueling is murder in your country, I am told. It usually is, sir, much more so than in Europe. The others looked at him inquiringly. I mean that in America, when two men pull their revolvers and go to shooting at each other, someone is killed frequently both. In Europe, as I understand it, a scratch with a sword ends the combat. You have been misinformed, exclaimed Uncle Casper. His eyebrows elevated. Why, Uncle Casper has fought more duels than he can count, cried the girl proudly. And has he slain his man every time, asked Grenfell, smilingly glancing from one to the other.  God, Laurie heard the old gentleman mutter. He was looking at his bill of fare, but his eyes were fixed and staring. The card was crumbling between the long, bony fingers. The American realised that a forbidden topic had been touched upon. He has fought and he has slain. He thought as quick as a flash. He is no butcher, no gardener, no coupler. That's certain. Tell us, Uncle Casper, what you said to the conductor, cried the young lady nervously. Tell them, Casper, how alarmed we were, added soft voice, Aunt Yvonne. Grenfell was a silent, interested spectator. He somehow felt as if a scene from some tragedy had been reproduced in the briefest of moments. Calmly and composedly, a half-smile now in his face, the soldierly Casper narrated the story of the train's run from one station to the other. We did not miss you until we almost reached the other station. Then your Aunt Yvonne asked me where you had gone. I told her I had not seen you, but went into the coach ahead to search. You were not there. Then I went on to the dining car. Ah, you were not there. In alarm, I returned to our car. Your Aunt and I looked everywhere. You were not anywhere. I shall never forget your Aunt's face when she sunk into a chair, nor shall I feel again so near like dying as when she suggested that you might have fallen from the train. I sent Hendrick ahead to summon the conductor that he had hardly left us when the engine whistled sharply and the train began to slow up in a jerky fashion. We were very pale as we looked at each other for something told us that the stop was unusual. I rushed to the platform meeting Hendrick, who was as much alarmed as I. He said the train had been flagged and that there must be something wrong.  Grenfell observed that he was addressing himself exclusively to the young lady. She had found that the gentleman in the next section was also missing. While we were standing there in doubt and perplexity, the train came to a standstill and soon there was shouting on the outside. I climbed down from the car and saw that we were at a little station. The conductor came running toward me excitedly. Is the young lady in the car? He asked. No, for heaven's sake, what have you heard? I cried. Then she has been left at O. He exclaimed and used some very extraordinary American words.  He said he would be damned if he would pardon the word, ladies. He was very angry and said he would give orders to go ahead. But I told him I would demand restitution of his government. He laughed in my face and then I became shamelessly angry. I said to him, Sir, I shall call you down, not out, as you have said, and I shall run you through the mill. That was good American talk, sir. Was it not, Mr. Laurie? I wanted him to understand me. So I tried to use your very best language. Some gentlemen who are traveling on this train and some very excellent ladies also joined in the demand that the train be held. His dispatch from O said that you, Mr. Laurie, insisted on having it held for 20 minutes. The conductor insulted you, sir, by saying that you had more, ah, what is it?  When he said that, although I did not fully understand that it was a reflection on you, so ignorant am I of your language, I took occasion to tell him that you were a gentleman and a friend of mine. He asked me your name, but as I did not know it, I could only tell him that he would learn it soon enough. Then he said something which has puzzled me ever since. He told me to close my face. What did he mean by that, Mr. Laurie? Well, Mr. Guggensocker, that means in refined American, stop talking, said Laurie, controlling a desire to shout. Ah, that accounts for his surprise when I talk louder and faster than ever. I did not know what he meant. He said positively he would not wait, but just then a second message came from the other station. I did not know what it was then, but a gentleman told me that it instructed him to hold the train if he wanted to hold his job. Job is situation, is it not? Well, when he read that message, he said he would wait just 20 minutes. I asked him to tell me how you were coming to us, but he refused to answer. Your aunt and I went at once to the telegraph man and implored him to tell us the truth, and he said you were coming in a carriage over a very dangerous road. Imagine our feelings when he said some people had been killed yesterday on that very road. He said you would have to drive like that, the very devil if you got here in 20 minutes. We did, Uncle Casper, interrupted Ms. Guggensocker naively. Our driver followed Mr. Laurie's instructions. Mr. Grenfell Laurie blushed and laughed awkwardly. He had been admiring her eager face and expressive eyes during Uncle Casper's recital. How sweet her voice, when it pronounced his name, have charming the foreign flavour to the words. He would not have understood if I had said other things, he explained hastily. When your aunt and I returned to the train, we saw the conductor holding his watch. He said to me, in just three minutes, we pull out. If they are not here by that time, they can get on the best they know how. I've done all I can, I did not say a word, but went to my section and had Hedrick get out my pistols. If the train left before you arrived, it would be without its conductor. In the meantime, your aunt, Ethan, was pleading with the wretch. I hastened back to his side with my pistols in my pocket. It was then that I told him to start his train if he did. The man will never know how close he was to death. One minute passed and he coolly announced that but one minute was left. I had made up my mind to give him one of my pistols when the time was up and to tell him to defend himself. It was not to be a duel, for there was nothing regular about it. It was only a question as to whether the train should move. Then came the sound of carried wheels and gulloping horses. Almost before we knew it, you were with us. I am so happy that you were not a minute later. There was something so cool and grim in the quiet voice, something so determined in those brilliant eyes that Grenfell felt like looking up the conductor to congratulate him. The dinner was served and while it was being discussed, his fair companion of the drive graphically described the experience of 20 strange minutes in a shackled-down mountain coach. He was surprised to find that she admitted no part, but not even the hand-class or the manner in which she clung to him. His ears burned as he listened to this frank confession, for he expected to hear words of disapproval from their uncle and aunt. His astonishment was increased by their utter disregard of these rather peculiar details. It was then that he realized how trusting she had been, how serenely unconscious of his tender and sudden passion. And had she told her relatives that she had kissed him, he firmly believed that they would have smiled approvingly. Somehow the real flavor of romance was stricken from the ride by her candid admissions. What he had considered a romantic treasure was being calmly robbed of its glitter, leaving through his memory the blur of an adventure in which he had played the part of the gallant gentleman and she a grateful lady. He was beginning to feel ashamed of the conceit that had misled him. Down in his heart he was saying, I might have known it, I did know it, she is not like other women. The perfect confidence that dwelt in the wrapped faces of the others forced into his wandering mind, the impression that this girl could do no wrong. And Aunt Yvonne, she said, in conclusion, the luck which you say is mine as birthright asserted itself. I escaped unhurt while Mr. Laurie alone possesses the pain and unpleasantness of our ride. I possessed neither, he objected, the pain that you refer to is a pleasure. The pain that a man endures for a woman should always be a pleasure, said Uncle Casper smilingly. But it could not be a pleasure to him unless the women considered it a pain, reasoned Miss Guggensocker. He could not feel happy if she did not respect the pain and encouraged supplemented Laurie dryly. If you do not remind me occasionally that I am hurt, Miss Guggensocker, I am liable to forget it. To himself he added, I'll never learn how to say it in one breath.  To my deepest satisfaction, he said warmly, not lightly. There was nothing further from his mind than survival flattery, as his rejoinder might imply. Unless he went on, we no sooner meet than we part. May I ask when you are to sail? On Thursday replied Mr. Guggensocker. On the Kaiser Wilhelm de Groce added his niece, a faraway look coming into her eyes. We are to stop off one day, tomorrow, in Washington, said Aunt Yvonne, and the jump that Laurie's heart gave was so mighty that he was afraid they could see it in his face.  Then we sail. Ah, how I long for Thursday. His heart sunk, like lead, to the depths from which it had sprung. It required no effort on his part to see that he was alone in his infatuation. Thursday was more to her than his existence. She could forget him and think of Thursday. And when she thought of Thursday, the future, he was but a thing of the past, not even of the present. Have you always lived in Washington, Mr. Laurie? Asked Mrs. Guganslocker. All my life, he replied, wishing at that moment that he was homeless and free to choose for himself. You Americans live in one city and then in another. She said, now in our country, generation after generation, lives and dies in one town. We are not migratory. Mr. Laurie has offended us by not knowing where Groostark is located on the map, cried the young lady, and he could see the flash of resentment in her eyes. Why, my dear, Groostark is in, begun Uncle Casper, but she checked him instantly. Uncle Casper, you are not to tell him. I have recommended that he study geography and discover us for himself.  He was not ashamed, but he mentally vowed that before he was a day older, he would find Groostark on the map and would stock his negligent brain with all that history and the encyclopedia had to say at the unknown lane. Her uncle laughed and, to Laurie's disappointment, obeyed the young lady's command. Shall I study the map of Europe, Asia or Africa? Asked he, and they laughed. Study the map of the world, said Miss Guggensocker proudly. Idol-wise is the capital. Yes, our home city, the queen of the crags, cried she. You should see Idol-wise, Mr. Laurie. It is at the mountain, the plain and the sky. There are homes in the valley, homes in the mountainside and homes in the clouds. And yours, from what you say, it must be above the clouds in heaven. We are farthest from the clouds. We live in the green valley, shaded by the white top mountains. We may, in Idol-wise, have what climate we will. Doctors do not send us on long journeys for our help. They tell us to move up or down the mountain. We have balmy spring, glorious summer, refreshing autumn and chilly winter, just as we like. Ideal, I think you must be pretty well toward the south. You could not have July and January if you were far north. True, yet we have January in July. Study your map. We are discernible to the naked eye, she said half ironically. I care not if there are but three inhabitants grew stark, all tall. It is certainly worthy of a position on any map, said Laurie Gallantly, and his listeners applauded with patriotic appreciation. By the way, Mr. Guganslocker, you say the conductor asked you for my name and you did not know it. May I ask how you learned it later on? His curiosity got the better of him and his courage was increased by the champagne the old gentleman had ordered. I did not know your name until my niece told it to me after your arrival in the carriage, said Uncle Casper. I don't remember giving it to Miss Guganslocker at any time, said Laurie. You were not my informant, she said demulally. Surely you did not guess it. Oh no indeed, I am no mind reader. My own name was the last thing you could have read in my mind in that event, for I have not thought of it in three days.  You say you obtained that coin from the porter on the den for train within two hours after I got aboard. Well, that coin purchased your name for me, she said calmly, candidly. He gasped.  You see, Mr. Laurie, I wanted to know the name of a man who came near as my ideal of what an American should be. As soon as I saw you, I knew that you were the American as I had grown to know him through the books. Big, strong, bold and comely, that is why I bought your name of the porter. I shall always say that I know the name of an ideal American, Grenfell Laurie. The ideal American was not unmoved. He was in a fever of fear and happiness, fear because he thought she was jesting, happiness because he hoped she was not. He laughed awkwardly, absolutely unable to express himself in words. Her frank statements staggered him almost beyond the power of recovery. There was joy in the knowledge that she had been attracted to him at first sight, but there was bitterness in the thought that he had come to her notice as a sort of specimen. The name of which she had sought as a botanist would look for the name of an unknown flower. I am honoured, he at last managed to say, his eyes gleaming with embarrassment. I trust you have not found your first judgment a faulty one. He felt very foolish after this flat remark. I have remembered your name, she said graciously. His heart swelled. There are a great many better Americans than I, he said. You forget our president and our statesman. I thought they were mere politicians. Grenfell Laurie, idealised, retired to his birth that night. He said whirling with the emotions inspired by this strange, beautiful woman. How lovely, how charming, how naive, how cleanly, how indifferent, how warm, how cold, how everything that puzzled him was she. His last-waiting thought was, Guggensocker, an angel with a name like that. End of Chapter 3.