The Ne'er-Do-Well. Rex Beach
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a gossipy person, ran on glibly for a time, pointing out the passengers of note and giving brief details about them. Suddenly he laid his hand on Anthony's arm, and said:
"See this fellow coming down the stairs?" Anthony beheld a slender, bald-headed man of youthful appearance. "That is Stephen Cortlandt. You've heard of the Cortlandts?"
"Sure! One of them pitched for the Cubs."
"I mean the Cortlandts of Washington. They're swell people, society folks and all that—" He broke off to bow effusively to the late comer, who seated himself opposite; then he introduced Kirk.
Mr. Cortlandt impressed Anthony as a cold-blooded, highly schooled person, absolutely devoid of sentiment. His face was stony, his eyes were cool, even his linen partook of his own unruffled calm. He seemed by no means effeminate, yet he was one of those immaculate beings upon whom one can scarcely imagine a speck of dust or a bead of perspiration. His hair—what was left of it—was parted to a nicety, his clothes were faultless, and he had an air of quiet assurance.
"By-the-way, we're getting up a pool on the ship's run," Stein told his new acquaintance. "Would you like to join?"
"Yes, indeed. I'm for anything in the line of chance."
"Very well. I'll see you in the smoking-room later. It will cost you only five dollars."
Kirk suddenly recalled his financial condition and hastened to say, a trifle lamely:
"Come to think about it, I believe I'll stay out. I never gamble." Chancing to glance up at the moment, he found Mr. Cortlandt's eyes fixed upon him with a peculiarly amused look, and a few minutes later he followed Mr. Stein to the deck above.
Once in his own stateroom, the young man began a thorough exploration, realizing more keenly than before that without baggage or money his plight might prove distressing. But, look as he would, he could find no trace of either, and an inadvertent glance in the mirror betrayed the further fact that his linen was long since past a presentable stage. Another despairing search showed that even his watch was gone and that his only asset, evidently overlooked by the hilarious Higgins and his co-partner in crime, was a modest three-stone finger ring. He was regarding this speculatively when the purser knocked, then entered at his call.
"I've just heard that there's a mistake about your ticket," the new-comer began. "It is made out to 'Mr. Jefferson Locke,' but the doctor says you insist your name is something else."
"That's right. My name is Anthony."
"Then how did I get this ticket?"
"I'm sure I don't know."
"Have you any baggage?"
"I don't know."
"What is your destination?"
"I don't know. You'll pardon my limited vocabulary?"
"Are you joking?"
"Do I look as if I were?"
"But I don't understand."
"Neither do I. But I must have some luggage—a fellow wouldn't make a trip like this without baggage, would he?"
"I should think not. I'll look it up for you if you wish. But about this ticket—"
"My dear man, don't bother me with that. I have worries enough as it is. What I want now is a clean shirt and collar."
"Yes, but this ticket says—"
"Please! Look at my linen. I'll create a scandal this way."
"Mr. Locke—"
"Anthony."
"Very well, Mr. Anthony. I must straighten out this ticket affair.
Really, I must."
"All right, straighten away."
"If you are not Mr. Locke, it is no good."
"Hurrah! Put me off."
"You don't understand—the ticket is good, but—See here, there's something mighty strange about this. You say your name isn't Locke, you have no baggage, you even thought this ship was a hotel—"
"I did. It was a great disappointment. And now I want a shirt." Anthony began to laugh. "Funny, isn't it?"
"You will have to buy another ticket," said the purser, with dignity.
"A bright idea!" Kirk smiled grimly; then, turning his pockets wrong side out, continued lightly: "You look me over and if you can find the price of a ticket I'll give you half."
"Then you have lost your money as well as your baggage and your identity?"
"So it would seem."
"Impossible!"
It was plain that the officer was growing angry, so Kirk made haste to say:
"Now let's be friends, at least. By-the-way—pardon the personal nature of the question—but—what size shirt do you wear?"
"Seventeen."
"Saved! Let me have about six, will you?"
"Certainly NOT," returned the other. "I need all I have."
"Miser! Then you must help me find some one my size."
The purser, however, seemed in no mood to go shirt-hunting, and backed out of the door, saying: "I'll have a look for your baggage, Mr.—Anthony, and I'll see the captain about this ticket, also. I don't know whether you're making fun of me or not, but—I'll look you up later."
He departed, shaking his head as if this were a form of insanity he had never before encountered. A moment later Kirk followed him and made a round of the deck, staring at each man he met and mentally estimating the girth of his neck; but it seemed that the male passengers of the Santa Cruz were all of medium size, and he saw no one whose appearance held out the slightest hope. He did observe one fellow whose neck seemed as large as his own, but the man looked surly and not too cleanly, and Kirk was not yet desperate enough to bring himself to the point of approaching such a fellow for such a favor. He thought of appealing directly to the captain, but promptly remembered that he was a small, wiry man whose wardrobe could by no possible chance afford him relief. At last he made his way toward the smoking-room, determined to enlist the help of his new acquaintance, Stein.
Midway aft, he paused. A girl had emerged from the deck-house ahead of him, whose appearance was sufficiently striking to divert him, momentarily at least, from his quest. She was well above the usual height, quite slender, yet of an exquisite rounded fulness, while her snug-fitting tailor-made gown showed the marks of a Redfern or a Paquin. He noted, also, that her stride was springy and athletic and her head well carried. Feeling that friendly approval with which one recognizes a member of his own kind, Kirk let his eyes follow her, then retraced his way around the deck in the hope of meeting her face to face.
A woman frequently betrays her beauty by the poise of her head, by the turn of her neck, or the lines of her figure, just as truly as by a full glimpse of her features. Hence it was that Anthony felt a certain pleasurable expectancy as he crossed in front of the deck-house, realizing that she was approaching. But when they had met and passed he went his way vaguely disappointed. Instead of a girl, as the first sight of her youthful figure had led him to expect, he had seen a woman of perhaps forty. There was little in her countenance to reveal her age except a certain settled look that does not go with girlhood, and, while no one could have thought her plain, she was certainly not so handsome as he had imagined from a distance. Yet the face was attractive. The eyes were wide-set, gray, and very clear, the mouth large enough to be expressive. Her hair shone in the morning sun with a delicate bronze lustre like that of a turkey's wing. It did not add to the young man's comfort to realize that her one straight, casual glance in passing had taken him in from his soiled collar to his somewhat extreme patent leathers with the tan tops and pearl buttons.
Being very young himself and of limited social experience, he classed all women as either young or old—there was no middle ground.