against the dock before Miss Black came from her cabin. Coleman was at the time gazing shoreward, but his three particular friends instantly nudged him. “What?”
“There she is?”
“Oh, Miss Black?” He composedly walked toward her. It was impossible to tell whether she saw him coming or whether it was accident, but at any rate she suddenly turned and moved toward the stern of the ship. Ten watchful gossips had noted Coleman’s travel in her direction and more than half the passengers noted his defeat. He wheeled casually and returned to his three friends. They were colic-stricken with a coarse and yet silent merriment. Coleman was glad that the voyage was over.
After the polite business of an English custom house, the travellers passed out to the waiting train. A nimble little theatrical agent of some kind, sent from London, dashed forward to receive Miss Black. He had a first-class compartment engaged for her and he bundled her and her maid into it in an exuberance of enthusiasm and admiration. Coleman passing moodily along the line of coaches heard Nora’s voice hailing him.
“Rufus.” There she was, framed in a carriage window, beautiful and smiling brightly. Every nearby person turned to contemplate this vision.
“Oh,” said Coleman advancing, “I thought I was not going to get a chance to say good-bye to you.” He held out his hand. “Good-bye.”
She pouted. “Why, there’s plenty of room in this compartment.” Seeing that some forty people were transfixed in observation of her, she moved a short way back. “Come on in this compartment, Rufus,” she said.
“Thanks. I prefer to smoke,” said Coleman. He went off abruptly.
On the way to London, he brooded in his corner on the two divergent emotions he had experienced when refusing her invitation. At Euston Station in London, he was directing a porter, who had his luggage, when he heard Nora speak at his shoulder. “Well, Rufus, you sulky boy,” she said, “I shall be at the Cecil. If you have time, come and see me.”
“Thanks, I’m sure, my dear Nora,” answered Coleman effusively. “But honestly, I’m off for Greece.”
A brougham was drawn up near them and the nimble little agent was waiting. The maid was directing the establishment of a mass of luggage on and in a fourwheeler cab. “Well, put me into my carriage, anyhow,” said Nora. “You will have time for that.” Afterward she addressed him from the dark interior. “Now, Rufus, you must come to see me the minute you strike London again—” She hesitated a moment, and then smiling gorgeously upon him, she said: “Brute!”
CHAPTER VIII .
As soon as Coleman had planted his belongings in a hotel he was bowled in a hansom briskly along the smoky Strand, through a dark city whose walls dripped like the walls of a cave and whose passages were only illuminated by flaring yellow and red signs.
Walkley the London correspondent of the Eclipse , whirled from his chair with a shout of joy and relief at sight of Coleman. “Cables,” he cried. “Nothin’ but cables! All the people in New York are writing cables to you. The wires groan with them. And we groan with them too. They come in here in bales. However, there is no reason why you should read them all. Many are similar in words and many more are similar in spirit. The sense of the whole thing is that you get to Greece quickly, taking with you immense sums of money and enormous powers over nations.”
“Well, when does the row begin?”
“The most astute journalists in Europe have been predicting a general European smash-up every year since
1878,”
said Walkley, “and the prophets weep. The English are the only people who can pull off wars on schedule time, and they have to do it in odd corners of the globe. I fear the war business is getting tuckered. There is sorrow in the lodges of the lone wolves, the war correspondents. However, my boy, don’t bury your face in your blanket This Greek business looks very
“There she is?”
“Oh, Miss Black?” He composedly walked toward her. It was impossible to tell whether she saw him coming or whether it was accident, but at any rate she suddenly turned and moved toward the stern of the ship. Ten watchful gossips had noted Coleman’s travel in her direction and more than half the passengers noted his defeat. He wheeled casually and returned to his three friends. They were colic-stricken with a coarse and yet silent merriment. Coleman was glad that the voyage was over.
After the polite business of an English custom house, the travellers passed out to the waiting train. A nimble little theatrical agent of some kind, sent from London, dashed forward to receive Miss Black. He had a first-class compartment engaged for her and he bundled her and her maid into it in an exuberance of enthusiasm and admiration. Coleman passing moodily along the line of coaches heard Nora’s voice hailing him.
“Rufus.” There she was, framed in a carriage window, beautiful and smiling brightly. Every nearby person turned to contemplate this vision.
“Oh,” said Coleman advancing, “I thought I was not going to get a chance to say good-bye to you.” He held out his hand. “Good-bye.”
She pouted. “Why, there’s plenty of room in this compartment.” Seeing that some forty people were transfixed in observation of her, she moved a short way back. “Come on in this compartment, Rufus,” she said.
“Thanks. I prefer to smoke,” said Coleman. He went off abruptly.
On the way to London, he brooded in his corner on the two divergent emotions he had experienced when refusing her invitation. At Euston Station in London, he was directing a porter, who had his luggage, when he heard Nora speak at his shoulder. “Well, Rufus, you sulky boy,” she said, “I shall be at the Cecil. If you have time, come and see me.”
“Thanks, I’m sure, my dear Nora,” answered Coleman effusively. “But honestly, I’m off for Greece.”
A brougham was drawn up near them and the nimble little agent was waiting. The maid was directing the establishment of a mass of luggage on and in a fourwheeler cab. “Well, put me into my carriage, anyhow,” said Nora. “You will have time for that.” Afterward she addressed him from the dark interior. “Now, Rufus, you must come to see me the minute you strike London again—” She hesitated a moment, and then smiling gorgeously upon him, she said: “Brute!”
CHAPTER VIII .
As soon as Coleman had planted his belongings in a hotel he was bowled in a hansom briskly along the smoky Strand, through a dark city whose walls dripped like the walls of a cave and whose passages were only illuminated by flaring yellow and red signs.
Walkley the London correspondent of the Eclipse , whirled from his chair with a shout of joy and relief at sight of Coleman. “Cables,” he cried. “Nothin’ but cables! All the people in New York are writing cables to you. The wires groan with them. And we groan with them too. They come in here in bales. However, there is no reason why you should read them all. Many are similar in words and many more are similar in spirit. The sense of the whole thing is that you get to Greece quickly, taking with you immense sums of money and enormous powers over nations.”
“Well, when does the row begin?”
“The most astute journalists in Europe have been predicting a general European smash-up every year since
1878,”
said Walkley, “and the prophets weep. The English are the only people who can pull off wars on schedule time, and they have to do it in odd corners of the globe. I fear the war business is getting tuckered. There is sorrow in the lodges of the lone wolves, the war correspondents. However, my boy, don’t bury your face in your blanket This Greek business looks very
Similar Books
