by Bret Harte
THE HEIR OF THE McHULISHES.
I.
The consul for the United States of America at the port of St. Kentigernwas sitting alone in the settled gloom of his private office. Yet it wasonly high noon, of a "seasonable" winter's day, by the face of the clockthat hung like a pallid moon on the murky wall opposite to him. Whatelse could be seen of the apartment by the faint light that struggledthrough the pall of fog outside the lustreless windows presented theordinary aspect of a business sanctum. There were a shelf of fog-boundadmiralty law, one or two colored prints of ocean steamships underfull steam, bow on, tremendously foreshortened, and seeming to forcethemselves through shadowy partitions; there were engravings of Lincolnand Washington, as unsubstantial and shadowy as the dead themselves.Outside, against the window, which was almost level with the street,an occasional procession of black silhouetted figures of men and women,with prayer-books in their hands and gloom on their faces, seemed to beborn of the fog, and prematurely to return to it. At which a convictionof sin overcame the consul. He remembered that it was the Sabbath day,and that he had no business to be at the consulate at all.
Unfortunately, with this shameful conviction came the sound of a bellringing somewhere in the depths of the building, and the shuffling offeet on the outer steps. The light of his fire had evidently been seen,and like a beacon had attracted some wandering and possibly intoxicatedmariner with American papers. The consul walked into the hall with asudden righteous frigidity of manner. It was one thing to be loungingin one's own office on the Sabbath day, and quite another to bedeliberately calling there on business.
He opened the front door, and a middle-aged man entered, accompanyingand partly shoving forward a more diffident and younger one. Neitherappeared to be a sailor, although both were dressed in that dingyrespectability and remoteness of fashion affected by second and thirdmates when ashore. They were already well in the hall, and making theirway toward the private office, when the elder man said, with an airof casual explanation, "Lookin' for the American consul; I reckon thisyer's the consulate?"
"It is the consulate," said the official dryly, "and I am the consul;but"--
"That's all right," interrupted the stranger, pushing past him, andopening the door of the private office, into which he shoved hiscompanion. "Thar now!" he continued to the diffident youth, pointing toa chair, and quite ignoring the presence of the consul; "thar's a bitof America. Sit down thar. You're under the flag now, and can do asyou darn please." Nevertheless, he looked a little disappointed as heglanced around him, as if he had expected a different environment andpossibly a different climate.
"I presume," said the consul suavely, "you wish to see me on some urgentmatter; for you probably know that the consulate is closed on Sunday toordinary business. I am here myself quite accidentally."
"Then you don't live here?" said the visitor disappointedly.
"No."
"I reckon that's the reason why we didn't see no flag a-flyin' when wewas a-huntin' this place yesterday. We were directed here, but I says toMalcolm, says I, 'No; it ain't here, or you'd see the Stars and Stripesafore you'd see anythin' else.' But I reckon you float it over yourhouse, eh?"
The consul here explained smilingly that he did NOT fly a flag over hislodgings, and that except on national holidays it was not customary todisplay the national ensign on the consulate.
"Then you can't do here--and you a CONSUL--what any nigger can do in theStates, eh? That's about how it pans out, don't it? But I didn't thinkYOU'D tumble to it quite so quick, Jack."
At this mention of his Christian name, the consul turned sharply on thespeaker. A closer scrutiny of the face before him ended with a flashof reminiscence. The fog without and within seemed to melt away; he wasstanding once more on a Western hillside with this man; a hundred milesof sparkling sunshine and crisp, dry air stretching around him, andabove a blue and arched sky that roofed the third of a continent withsix months' summer. And then the fog seemed to come back heavier andthicker to his consciousness. He emotionally stretched out his hand tothe stranger. But it was the fog and his personal surroundings which nowseemed to be unreal.
"Why it's Harry Custer!" he said with a laugh that, however, ended ina sigh. "I didn't recognize you in this half light." He then glancedcuriously toward the diffident young man, as if to identify anotherpossible old acquaintance.
"Well, I spotted you from the first," said Custer, "though I ain't seenyou since we were in Scott's Camp together. That's ten years ago. You'relookin' at HIM," he continued, following the consul's wandering eye."Well, it's about him that I came to see you. This yer's a McHulish--agenuine McHulish!"
He paused, as if to give effect to this statement. But the nameapparently offered no thrilling suggestion to the consul, who regardedthe young man closely for further explanation. He was a fair-faced youthof about twenty years, with pale reddish-brown eyes, dark hair reddishat the roots, and a singular white and pink waxiness of oval cheek,which, however, narrowed suddenly at the angle of the jaw, and fell awaywith the retreating chin.
"Yes," continued Custer; "I oughter say the ONLY McHulish. He is thedirect heir--and of royal descent! He's one of them McHulishes whosename in them old history times was enough to whoop up the boys and make'em paint the town red. A regular campaign boomer--the old McHulish was.Stump speeches and brass-bands warn't in it with the boys when HE wasaround. They'd go their bottom dollar and last cartridge--if they'd hadcartridges in them days--on him. That was the regular McHulish gait. AndMalcolm there's the last of 'em--got the same style of features, too."
Ludicrous as the situation was, it struck the consul dimly, asthrough fog and darkness, that the features of the young man were notunfamiliar, and indeed had looked out upon him dimly and vaguely atvarious times, from various historic canvases. It was the face ofcomplacent fatuity, incompetency, and inconstancy, which had draggeddown strength, competency, and constancy to its own idiotic fate andlevels,--a face for whose weaknesses valor and beauty had not onlysacrificed themselves, but made things equally unpleasant to a greatmany minor virtues. Nevertheless, the consul, with an amused sense ofits ridiculous incongruity to the grim Scottish Sabbath procession inthe street, and the fog-bound volumes of admiralty law in the room,smiled affably.
"Of course our young friend has no desire to test the magic of his namehere, in these degenerate days."
"No," said Custer complacently; "though between you and me, old man,there's always no tellin' what might turn up over in this yer monarchy.Things of course are different over our way. But jest now Malcolm willbe satisfied to take the title and property to which he's rightfulheir."
The consul's face fell. Alas! it was only the old, old story. Itsendless repetitions and variations had been familiar to him even in hisyouth and in his own land. "Ef that man had his rights," had once beenpointed out to him in a wild Western camp, "he'd be now sittin' inscarlet on the right of the Queen of England!" The gentleman who wasindicated in this apocalyptical vision, it appeared, simply bore asingular likeness to a reigning Hanoverian family, which for someunexplained reason he had contented himself with bearing with fortitudeand patience. But it was in his official capacity that the consul'sexperience had been the most trying. At times it had seemed to him thatmuch of the real property and peerage of Great Britain was the inheritedright of penniless American republicans who had hitherto refrainedfrom presenting their legal claims, and that the habitual first duty ofgenerations of British noblemen on coming into their estates and titleswas to ship their heirs and next of kin to America, and then forget allabout them. He had listened patiently to claims to positions moreor less exalted,--claims often presented with ingenuous sophistry orpathetic simplicity, prosecuted with great good humor, and abandonedwith invincible cheerfulness; but they seldom culminated more seriouslythan in the disbursement of a few dollars by the consul to enable therightful owner of millions to procure a steerage passage back to hisprevious democratic retirement. There had been others, less sincere butmore preten
tious in quality, to whom, however, a letter to the Heralds'College in London was all sufficient, and who, on payment of variousfees and emoluments, were enabled to stagger back to New York or Bostonwith certain unclaimed and forgotten luggage which a more gallantancestor had scorned to bring with him into the new life, or had thrownaside in his undue haste to make them citizens of the republic. Still,all this had grown monotonous and wearisome, and was disappointingas coming through the intervention of an old friend who ought to knowbetter.
"Of course you have already had legal opinion on the subject overthere," said the consul, with a sigh, "but here, you know, you oughtfirst to get some professional advice from those acquainted with Scotchprocedure. But perhaps you have that too."
"No," said Custer cheerfully. "Why, it ain't only two months ago thatI first saw Malcolm. Tumbled over him on his own farm jest out ofMacCorkleville, Kentucky, where he and his fathers before him had beenlivin' nigh a hundred years--yes, A HUNDRED YEARS, by Jove! ever sincethey first emigrated to the country. Had a talk over it; saw an oldBible about as big and as used up as that,"--lifting the well-wornconsular Bible,--"with dates in it, and heard the whole story. And herewe are."
"And you have consulted no lawyer?" gasped the consul.
"The McHulishes," said an unexpected voice that sounded thin andfeminine, "never took any legal decision. From the craggy summits ofGlen Crankie he lifted the banner of his forefathers, or raised thewar-cry, 'Hulish dhu, ieroe!' from the battlements of Craigiedurrach.And the clan gathered round him with shouts that rent the air. That wasthe way of it in old times. And the boys whooped him up and stood byhim." It was the diffident young man who had half spoken, half recited,with an odd enthusiasm that even the culminating slang could not makeconventional.
"That's about the size of it," said Custer, leaning back in his chaireasily with an approving glance at the young man. "And I don't know ifthat ain't the way to work the thing now."
The consul stared hopelessly from the one to the other. It had alwaysseemed possible that this dreadful mania might develop into actualinsanity, and he had little doubt but that the younger man's brainwas slightly affected. But this did not account for the delusion andexpectations of the elder. Harry Custer, as the consul remembered him,was a level-headed, practical miner, whose leaning to adventure andexcitement had not prevented him from being a cool speculator, and hehad amassed more than a competency by reason of his judicious foresightand prompt action. Yet he was evidently under the glamour of thismadman, although outwardly as lazily self-contained as ever.
"Do you mean to tell me," said the consul in a suppressed voice, "thatyou two have come here equipped only with a statement of facts anda family Bible, and that you expect to take advantage of a feudalenthusiasm which no longer exists--and perhaps never did exist out ofthe pages of romance--as a means of claiming estates whose titles havelong since been settled by law, and can be claimed only under thattenure? Surely I have misunderstood you. You cannot be in earnest."
"Honest Injun," said Custer, nodding his head lazily. "We mean it, butnot jest that way you've put it. F'r instance, it ain't only us two.This yer thing, ole pard, we're runnin' as a syndicate."
"A syndicate?" echoed the consul.
"A syndicate," repeated Custer. "Half the boys that were at Eagle Campare in it, and two of Malcolm's neighbors from Kentucky--the regularold Scotch breed like himself; for you know that MacCorkle Countywas settled by them old Scotch Covenanters, and the folks are ScotchPresbyterians to this day. And for the matter of that, the Eagle boysthat are in it are of Scotch descent, or a kind of blend, you know; infact, I'm half Scotch myself--or Irish," he added thoughtfully. "Soyou see that settles your argument about any local opinion, for if themScots don't know their own people, who does?"
"May I ask," said the consul, with a desperate attempt to preserve hiscomposure, "what you are proposing to do?"
"Well," said Custer, settling himself comfortably back in his chairagain, "that depends. Do you remember the time that we jumped themMexican claims on the North Fork--the time them greasers wanted to takein the whole river-bank because they'd found gold on one of the upperbars? Seems to me we jest went peaceful-like over there one moonshinynight, and took up THEIR stakes and set down OURS. Seems to me YOU wereone of the party."
"That was in our own country," returned the consul hastily, "and was anindefensible act, even in a lawless frontier civilization. But you aresurely not mad enough even to conceive of such a thing HERE!"
"Keep your hair on, Jack," said Custer lazily. "What's the matter withconstitutional methods, eh? Do you remember the time when we didn't likePueblo rules, and we laid out Eureka City on their lines, and whooped upthe Mexicans and diggers to elect mayor and aldermen, and put the cityfront on Juanita Creek, and then corraled it for water lots? Seems tome you were county clerk then. Now who's to keep Dick Macgregor and JoeHamilton, that are both up the Nile now, from droppin' in over here tosee Malcolm in his own house? Who's goin' to object to Wallace or Baird,who are on this side, doin' the Eytalian lakes, from comin' here ontheir way home; or Watson and Moore and Timley, that are livin' over inParis, from joinin' the boys in givin' Malcolm a housewarmin' in his oldhome? What's to keep the whole syndicate from gatherin' at Kelpie Islandup here off the west coast, among the tombs of Malcolm's ancestors, andfixin' up things generally with the clan?"
"Only one thing," said the consul, with a gravity which he neverthelessfelt might be a mistaken attitude. "You shouldn't have told ME aboutit. For if, as your old friend, I cannot keep you from committing anunconceivable folly, as the American consul here it will be my firstduty to give notice to our legation, and perhaps warn the authorities.And you may be sure I will do it."
To his surprise Custer leaned forward and pressed his hand with anexpression of cheerful relief. "That's so, old pard; I reckoned on it.In fact, I told Malcolm that that would be about your gait. Of courseyou couldn't do otherwise. And it would have been playin' it rather lowdown on you to have left you out in the cold--without even THAT show inthe game. For what you will do in warnin' the other fellows, don't yousee, will just waken up the clan. It's better than a campaign circular."
"Don't be too sure of that," said the consul, with a half-hystericallaugh. "But we won't consider so lamentable a contingency. Come anddine with me, both of you, and we'll discuss the only thing worthdiscussing,--your LEGAL rights,--and you can tell me your whole story,which, by the way, I haven't heard."
"Sorry, Jack, but it can't be done," said Custer, with his firstapproach to seriousness of manner. "You see, we'd made up our mind notto come here again after this first call. We ain't goin' to compromiseyou."
"I am the best judge of that," returned the consul dryly. Then suddenlychanging his manner, he grasped Custer's hands with both his own. "Come,Harry," he said earnestly; "I will not believe that this is not a joke,but I beg of you to promise me one thing,--do not move a step further inthis matter without legal counsel. I will give you a letter to a legalfriend of mine--a man of affairs, a man of the world, and a Scot astypical, perhaps, as any you have mentioned. State your LEGAL caseto him--only that; but his opinion will show you also, if I am notmistaken, the folly of your depending upon any sectional or historicalsentiment in this matter."
Without waiting for a reply, he sat down and hastily wrote a few linesto a friendly local magnate. When he had handed the note to Custer, thelatter looked at the address, and showed it to his young companion.
"Same name, isn't it?" he asked.
"Yes," responded Mr. McHulish.
"Do you know him?" asked the consul, evidently surprised.
"We don't, but he's a friend of one of the Eagle boys. I reckon we wouldhave seen him anyhow; but we'll agree with you to hold on until we do.It's a go. Goodby, old pard! So long."
They both shook the consul's hand, and departed, leaving him staring atthe fog into which they had melted as if they were unreal shadows of thepast.
II.
The next morning the fog
had given way to a palpable, horizontallydriving rain, which wet the inside as well as the outside of umbrellas,and caused them to be presented at every conceivable angle as theydrifted past the windows of the consulate. There was a tap at the door,and a clerk entered.
"Ye will be in to Sir James MacFen?"
The consul nodded, and added, "Show him in here."
It was the magnate to whom he had sent the note the previous day, a manof large yet slow and cautious nature, learned and even pedantic, yetfar-sighted and practical; very human and hearty in social intercourse,which, however, left him as it found him,--with no sentimental orunbusiness-like entanglements. The consul had known him sensible andsturdy at board meetings and executive councils; logical and convincingat political gatherings; decorous and grave in the kirk; and humorousand jovial at festivities, where perhaps later in the evening, incompany with others, hands were clasped over a libation lyricallydefined as a "right guid williewaught." On one of these occasions theyhad walked home together, not without some ostentation of steadiness;yet when MacFen's eminently respectable front door had closed uponhim, the consul was perfectly satisfied that a distinctly proper andunswerving man of business would issue from it the next morning.
"Ay, but it's a soft day," said Sir James, removing his gloves. "Ye'llnot be gadding about in this weather."
"You got my note of introduction, I suppose?" said the consul, when themomentous topic of the weather was exhausted.
"Oh, ay."
"And you saw the gentlemen?"
"Ay."
"And what's your opinion of--his claims?"
"He's a fine lad--that Malcolm--a fine type of a lad," said SirJames, with an almost too effusive confidence. "Ye'll be thinking soyourself--no doubt? Ay, it's wonderful to consider the preservation oftype so long after its dispersal in other lands. And it's a strangeand wonderful country that of yours, with its plantations--as one mightsay--of homogeneity unimpaired for so many years, and keeping the oldfaith too--and all its strange survivals. Ay, and that Kentucky,where his land is--it will be a rich State! It's very instructing andinteresting to hear his account of that remarkable region they call 'theblue grass country,' and the stock they raise there. I'm obliged to ye,my friend, for a most edifying and improving evening."
"But his claim--did he not speak of that?"
"Oh, ay. And that Mr. Custer--he's a grand man, and an amusing one.Ye'll be great comrades, you and he! Man! it was delightful to hear himtell of the rare doings and the bit fun ye two had in the old times.Eh, sir, but who'd think that of the proper American consul at St.Kentigern!" And Sir James leaned back in his chair, and bestowed anadmiring smile on that official.
The consul thought he began to understand this evasion. "Then you don'tthink much of Mr. McHulish's claim?" he said.
"I'm not saying that."
"But do you really think a claim based upon a family Bible and a familylikeness a subject for serious consideration?"
"I'm not saying THAT either, laddie."
"Perhaps he has confided to you more fully than he has to me, orpossibly you yourself knew something in corroboration of his facts."
His companion had evidently no desire to be communicative. But theconsul had heard enough to feel that he was justified in leaving thematter in his hands. He had given him fair warning. Yet, nevertheless,he would be even more explicit.
"I do not know," he began, "whether this young McHulish confided to youhis great reliance upon some peculiar effect of his presence among thetenants, and of establishing his claim to the property by exciting theenthusiasm of the clan. It certainly struck me that he had some ratherexaggerated ideas, borrowed, perhaps, from romances he'd read, like DonQuixote his books of chivalry. He seems to believe in the existence of aclan loyalty, and the actual survival of old feudal instincts and of oldfeudal methods in the Highlands. He appears to look upon himself as akind of local Prince Charlie, and, by Jove! I've an idea he's almost ascrazy."
"And why should he na believe in his own kith and kin?" said Sir James,quickly, with a sudden ring in his voice, and a dialectical freedomquite distinct from his former deliberate and cautious utterance. "TheMcHulishes were chieftains before America was discovered, and many's thetime they overran the border before they went as far as that. If there'sanything in blood and loyalty, it would be strange if they did narespond. And I can tell ye, ma frien', there's more in the Hielands thanany 'romancer,' as ye call them,--ay, even Scott hissel', and he was butan Edinboro' man,--ever dreamed of. Don't fash yoursel' about that. Andyou and me'll not agree about Prince Charlie. Some day I'll tell ye,ma frien', mair aboot that bonnie laddie than ye'll gather from yourpartisan historians. Until then ye'll be wise when ye'll be talking toScotchmen not to be expressing your Southern prejudices."
Intensely surprised and amused at this sudden outbreak of enthusiasm onthe part of the usually cautious lawyer, the consul could not refrainfrom accenting it by a marked return to practical business.
"I shall be delighted to learn more about Prince Charlie," he said,smiling, "but just now his prototype--if you'll allow me to call himso--is a nearer topic, and for the present, at least until he assume hisnew titles and dignities, has a right to claim my protection, and Iam responsible for him as an American citizen. Now, my dear friend, isthere really any property, land, or title of any importance involved inhis claim, and what and where, in Heaven's name, is it? For I assure youI know nothing practical about it, and cannot make head or tail of it."
Sir James resumed his slow serenity, and gathered up his gloves. "Ay,there's a great deer-forest in Ballochbrinkie, and there's part ofLoch Phillibeg in Cairngormshire, and there's Kelpie Island offMoreovershire. Ay, there's enough land when the crofters are clearedoff, and the small sheep-tenants evicted. It will be a grand propertythen."
The consul stared. "The crofters and tenants evicted!" he repeated. "Arethey not part of the clan, and loyal to the McHulish?"
"The McHulish," said Sir James with great deliberation, "hasn't set footthere for years. They'd be burning him in effigy."
"But," said the astonished consul, "that's rather bad for the expectantheir--and the magic of the McHulish presence."
"I'm not saying that," returned Sir James cautiously. "Ye see he can bemaking better arrangements with the family on account of it."
"With the family?" repeated the consul. "Then does he talk ofcompromising?"
"I mean they would be more likely to sell for a fair consideration, andhe'd be better paying money to them than the lawyers. The syndicatewill be rich, eh? And I'm not saying the McHulish wouldn't take Kentuckylands in exchange. It's a fine country, that blue grass district."
The consul stared at Sir James so long that a faint smile came into thelatter's shrewd eyes; at which the consul smiled, too. A vague air ofrelief and understanding seemed to fill the apartment.
"Oh, ay," continued Sir James, drawing on his gloves with easydeliberation, "he's a fine lad that Malcolm, and it's a praiseworthyinstinct in him to wish to return to the land of his forebears, and takehis place again among them. And I'm noticing, Mr. Consul, that a greatmany of your countrymen are doing the same. Eh, yours is a gran' countryof progress and ceevel and religious liberty, but for a' that, as Burnssays, it's in your blood to turn to the auld home again. And it's a finething to have the money to do it--and, I'm thinking, money well spentall around. Good-morning. Eh, but I'm forgetting that I wanted to askyou to dine with me and Malcolm, and your Mr. Custer, and Mr. Watson,who will be one of your syndicate, and whom I once met abroad. But ye'llget a bit note of invitation, with the day, from me later."
The consul remembered that Custer had said that one of the "Eagle boys"had known Sir James. This was evidently Watson. He smiled again, butthis time Sir James responded only in a general sort of way, as hegenially bowed himself out of the room.
The consul watched his solid and eminently respectable figure as itpassed the window, and then returned to his desk, still smiling. Firstof all he was relieved. What had
seemed to him a wild and recklessenterprise, with possibly some grim international complications on thepart of his compatriots, had simply resolved itself into an ordinarybusiness speculation--the ethics of which they had pretty equallydivided with the local operators. If anything, it seemed that theScotchman would get the best of the bargain, and that, for once atleast, his countrymen were deficient in foresight. But that was a matterbetween the parties, and Custer himself would probably be the first toresent any suggestion of the kind from the consul. The vision of theMcHulish burned in effigy by his devoted tenants and retainers, and thethought that the prosaic dollars of his countrymen would be substitutedfor the potent presence of the heir, tickled, it is to be feared, thesaturnine humor of the consul. He had taken an invincible dislike tothe callow representative of the McHulish, who he felt had in someextraordinary way imposed upon Custer's credulity. But then he hadapparently imposed equally upon the practical Sir James. The thought ofthis sham ideal of feudal and privileged incompetency being elevatedto actual position by the combined efforts of American republicans andhard-headed Scotch dissenters, on whom the soft Scotch mists fell fromabove with equal impartiality, struck him as being very amusing, andfor some time thereafter lightened the respectable gloom of his office.Other engagements prevented his attendance at Sir James's dinner,although he was informed afterward that it had passed off with greateclat, the later singing of "Auld lang Syne," and the drinking of thehealth of Custer and Malcolm with "Hieland honors." He learned also thatSir James had invited Custer and Malcolm to his lacustrine country-seatin the early spring. But he learned nothing more of the progress ofMalcolm's claim, its details, or the manner in which it was prosecuted.No one else seemed to know anything about it; it found no echo in thegossip of the clubs, or in the newspapers of St. Kentigern. In theabsence of the parties connected with it, it began to assume to him theaspect of a half-humorous romance. He often found himself wondering ifthere had been any other purpose in this quest or speculation than whathad appeared on the surface, it seemed so inadequate in result. It wouldhave been so perfectly easy for a wealthy syndicate to buy up a muchmore valuable estate. He disbelieved utterly in the sincerity ofMalcolm's sentimental attitude. There must be some other reason--perhapsnot known even to the syndicate.
One day he thought that he had found it. He had received a noteaddressed from one of the principal hotels, but bearing a largepersonal crest on paper and envelope. A Miss Kirkby, passing through St.Kentigern on her way to Edinburgh, desired to see the consul the nextday, if he would appoint an hour at the consulate; or, as her time waslimited, she would take it as a great favor if he would call at herhotel. Although a countrywoman, her name might not be so well known tohim as those of her "old friends" Harry Custer, Esq., and SirMalcolm McHulish. The consul was a little surprised; the use of thetitle--unless it referred to some other McHulish--would seem to indicatethat Malcolm's claim was successful. He had, however, no previousknowledge of the title of "Sir" in connection with the estate, andit was probable that his fair correspondent--like most of hercountrywomen--was more appreciative than correct in her bestowal ofdignities. He determined to waive his ordinary business rules, andto call upon her at once, accepting, as became his patriotism, thatcharming tyranny which the American woman usually reserves exclusivelyfor her devoted countrymen.
She received him with an affectation of patronage, as if she hadlately become uneasily conscious of being in a country where there weredistinctions of class. She was young, pretty, and tastefully dressed;the national feminine adaptability had not, however, extended to hervoice and accent. Both were strongly Southwestern, and as she began tospeak she seemed to lose her momentary affectation.
"It was mighty good of you to come and see me, for the fact is, I didn'tadmire going to your consulate--not one bit. You see, I'm a Southerngirl, and never was 'reconstructed' either. I don't hanker after yourGov'ment. I haven't recognized it, and don't want to. I reckon I ain'tbeen under the flag since the wah. So you see, I haven't any papers toget authenticated, nor any certificates to ask for, and ain't wantingany advice or protection. I thought I'd be fair and square with you fromthe word 'go.'"
Nothing could be more fascinating and infectious than the mirthfulingenuousness which accompanied and seemed to mitigate this ungraciousspeech, and the consul was greatly amused, albeit conscious that it wasonly an attitude, and perhaps somewhat worn in sentiment. He knew thatduring the war of the rebellion, and directly after it, Great Britainwas the resort of certain Americans from the West as well as fromthe South who sought social distinction by the affectation ofdissatisfaction with their own government or the ostentatious simulationof enforced exile; but he was quite unprepared for this senselessprotraction of dead and gone issues. He ventured to point out withgood-humored practicality that several years had elapsed since the war,that the South and North were honorably reconciled, and that he waslegally supposed to represent Kentucky as well as New York. "Yourfriends," he added smilingly, "Mr. Custer and Mr. McHulish, seemed toaccept the fact without any posthumous sentiment."
"I don't go much on that," she said with a laugh. "I've been livingin Paris till maw--who's lying down upstairs--came over and brought meacross to England for a look around. And I reckon Malcolm's got to keeptouch with you on account of his property."
The consul smiled. "Ah, then, I hope you can tell me something aboutTHAT, for I really don't know whether he has established his claim ornot."
"Why," returned the girl with naive astonishment, "that was just what Iwas going to ask YOU. He reckoned you'd know all about it."
"I haven't heard anything of the claim for two months," said theconsul; "but from your reference to him as 'Sir Malcolm,' I presumed youconsidered it settled. Though, of course, even then he wouldn't be 'SirMalcolm,' and you might have meant somebody else."
"Well, then, Lord Malcolm--I can't get the hang of those titles yet."
"Neither 'Lord' nor 'Sir'; you know the estate carries no title whateverwith it," said the consul smilingly.
"But wouldn't he be the laird of something or other, you know?"
"Yes; but that is only a Scotch description, not a title. It's not thesame as Lord."
The young girl looked at him with undisguised astonishment. A half laughtwitched the corners of her mouth. "Are you sure?" she said.
"Perfectly," returned the consul, a little impatiently; "but do Iunderstand that you really know nothing more of the progress of theclaim?"
Miss Kirkby, still abstracted by some humorous astonishment, saidquickly: "Wait a minute. I'll just run up and see if maw's coming down.She'd admire to see you." Then she stopped, hesitated, and as she roseadded, "Then a laird's wife wouldn't be Lady anything, anyway, wouldshe?"
"She certainly would acquire no title merely through her marriage."
The young girl laughed again, nodded, and disappeared. The consul,amused yet somewhat perplexed over the naive brusqueness of theinterview, waited patiently. Presently she returned, a little out ofbreath, but apparently still enjoying some facetious retrospect, andsaid, "Maw will be down soon." After a pause, fixing her bright eyesmischievously on the consul, she continued:--
"Did you see much of Malcolm?"
"I saw him only once."
"What did you think of him?"
The consul in so brief a period had been unable to judge.
"You wouldn't think I was half engaged to him, would you?"
The consul was obliged again to protest that in so short an interview hehad been unable to conceive of Malcolm's good fortune.
"I know what you mean," said the girl lightly. "You think he's a crank.But it's all over now; the engagement's off."
"I trust that this does not mean that you doubt his success?"
The lady shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. "That's all right enough,I reckon. There's a hundred thousand dollars in the syndicate. Maw putin twenty thousand, and Custer's bound to make it go--particularly asthere's some talk of a compromise. But Malcolm's a crank, and I reckoni
f it wasn't for the compromise the syndicate wouldn't have much show.Why, he didn't even know that the McHulishes had no title."
"Do you think he has been suffering under a delusion in regard to hisrelationship?"
"No; he was only a fool in the way he wanted to prove it. He actuallygot these boys to think it could be filibustered into his possession.Had a sort of idea of 'a rising in the Highlands,' you know, like thatpoem or picture--which is it? And those fool boys, and Custer amongthem, thought it would be great fun and a great spree. Luckily, maw hadthe gumption to get Watson to write over about it to one of his friends,a Mr.--Mr.--MacFen, a very prominent man."
"Perhaps you mean Sir James MacFen," suggested the consul. "He's aknight. And what did HE say?" he added eagerly.
"Oh, he wrote a most sensible letter," returned the lady, apparentlymollified by the title of Watson's adviser, "saying that there waslittle doubt, if any, that if the American McHulishes wanted the oldestate they could get it by the expenditure of a little capital. Heoffered to make the trial; that was the compromise they're talkingabout. But he didn't say anything about there being no 'Lord' McHulish."
"Perhaps he thought, as you were Americans, you didn't care for THAT,"said the consul dryly.
"That's no reason why we shouldn't have it if it belonged to us, or wechose to pay for it," said the lady pertly.
"Then your changed personal relations with Mr. McHulish is the reasonwhy you hear so little of his progress or his expectations?"
"Yes; but he don't know that they are changed, for we haven't seen himsince we've been here, although they say he's here, and hiding somewhereabout."
"Why should he be hiding?"
The young girl lifted her pretty brows. "Maybe he thinks it'smysterious. Didn't I tell you he was a crank?" Yet she laughed sonaively, and with such sublime unconsciousness of any reflection onherself, that the consul was obliged to smile too.
"You certainly do not seem to be breaking your heart as well as yourengagement," he said.
"Not much--but here comes maw. Look here," she said, turning suddenlyand coaxingly upon him, "if she asks you to come along with us up north,you'll come, won't you? Do! It will be such fun!"
"Up north?" repeated the consul interrogatively.
"Yes; to see the property. Here's maw."
A more languid but equally well-appointed woman had entered the room.When the ceremony of introduction was over, she turned to her daughterand said, "Run away, dear, while I talk business with--er--thisgentleman," and, as the girl withdrew laughingly, she half stifled areminiscent yawn, and raised her heavy lids to the consul.
"You've had a talk with my Elsie?"
The consul confessed to having had that pleasure.
"She speaks her mind," said Mrs. Kirkby wearily, "but she means well,and for all her flightiness her head's level. And since her father diedshe runs me," she continued with a slight laugh. After a pause, sheadded abstractedly, "I suppose she told you of her engagement to youngMcHulish?"
"Yes; but she said she had broken it."
Mrs. Kirkby lifted her eyebrows with an expression of relief. "It was apiece of girl and boy foolishness, anyway," she said. "Elsie and he werechildren together at MacCorkleville,--second cousins, in fact,--and Ireckon he got her fancy excited over his nobility, and his being thechief of the McHulishes. Of course Custer will manage to get somethingfor the shareholders out of it,--I never knew him to fail in a moneyspeculation yet,--but I think that's about all. I had an idea of goingup with Elsie to take a look at the property, and I thought of askingyou to join us. Did Elsie tell you? I know she'd like it--and so wouldI."
For all her indolent, purposeless manner, there was enough latentsincerity and earnestness in her request to interest the consul.Besides, his own curiosity in regard to this singularly supported claimwas excited, and here seemed to be an opportunity of satisfying it. Hewas not quite sure, either, that his previous antagonism to his faircountrywoman's apparent selfishness and snobbery was entirely just. Hehad been absent from America a long time; perhaps it was he himselfwho had changed, and lost touch with his compatriots. And yet thedemonstrative independence and recklessness of men like Custer were lessobjectionable to, and less inconsistent with, his American ideas thanthe snobbishness and almost servile adaptability of the women. Or wasit possible that it was only a weakness of the sex, which no republicannativity or education could eliminate? Nevertheless he looked upsmilingly.
"But the property is, I understand, scattered about in various places,"he said.
"Oh, but we mean to go only to Kelpie Island, where there is the ruin ofan old castle. Elsie must see that."
The consul thought it might be amusing. "By all means let us see that. Ishall be delighted to go with you."
His ready and unqualified assent appeared to relieve and dissipate thelady's abstraction. She became more natural and confiding; spoke freelyof Malcolm's mania, which she seemed to accept as a hallucination or aconviction with equal cheerfulness, and, in brief, convinced theconsul that her connection with the scheme was only the caprice ofinexperienced and unaccustomed idleness. He left her, promising toreturn the next day and arrange for their early departure.
His way home lay through one of the public squares of St. Kentigern, atan hour of the afternoon when it was crossed by working men and womenreturning to their quarters from the docks and factories. Never in anylight a picturesque or even cheery procession, there were days whenits unwholesome, monotonous poverty and dull hopelessness of prospectimpressed him more forcibly. He remembered how at first the spectacleof barefooted girls and women slipping through fog and mist across thegreasy pavement had offended his fresh New World conception of a moretenderly nurtured sex, until his susceptibilities seemed to have grownas callous and hardened as the flesh he looked upon, and he had begun toregard them from the easy local standpoint of a distinct and differentlyequipped class.
It chanced, also, that this afternoon some of the male workers had addedto their usual solidity a singular trance-like intoxication. It hadoften struck him before as a form of drunkenness peculiar to the St.Kentigern laborers. Men passed him singly and silently, as if followingsome vague alcoholic dream, or moving through some Scotch mist ofwhiskey and water. Others clung unsteadily but as silently together,with no trace of convivial fellowship or hilarity in their dull fixedfeatures and mechanically moving limbs. There was something weird inthis mirthless companionship, and the appalling loneliness of thosefixed or abstracted eyes. Suddenly he was aware of two men who werereeling toward him under the influence of this drug-like intoxication,and he was startled by a likeness which one of them bore to some onehe had seen; but where, and under what circumstances, he could notdetermine. The fatuous eye, the features of complacent vanity andself-satisfied reverie were there, either intensified by drink, orperhaps suggesting it through some other equally hopeless form ofhallucination. He turned and followed the man, trying to identifyhim through his companion, who appeared to be a petty tradesman of ashrewder, more material type. But in vain, and as the pair turned intoa side street the consul slowly retraced his steps. But he had notproceeded far before the recollection that had escaped him returned, andhe knew that the likeness suggested by the face he had seen was that ofMalcolm McHulish.
III.
A journey to Kelpie Island consisted of a series of consecutive episodesby rail, by coach, and by steamboat. The consul was already familiarwith them, as indeed were most of the civilized world, for it seemedthat all roads at certain seasons led out of and returned to St.Kentigern as a point in a vast circle wherein travelers were sureto meet one another again, coming or going, at certain depots andcaravansaries with more or less superiority or envy. Tourists on theroad to the historic crags of Wateffa came sharply upon other touristsreturning from them, and glared suspiciously at them, as if to wrest thedread secret from their souls--a scrutiny which the others returned withhalf-humorous pity or superior calm.
The consul knew, also, that the service by boat and r
ail was admirableand skillful; for were not the righteous St. Kentigerners of the tribeof Tubal-cain, great artificers in steel and iron, and a mighty raceof engineers before the Lord, who had carried their calling and accentbeyond the seas? He knew, too, that the land of these delightfulcaravansaries overflowed with marmalade and honey, and that the mannaof delicious scones and cakes fell even upon deserted waters of cragand heather. He knew that their way would lie through much scenerywhose rude barrenness, and grim economy of vegetation, had been usuallyaccepted by cockney tourists for sublimity and grandeur; but he knew,also, that its severity was mitigated by lowland glimpses of sylvanluxuriance and tangled delicacy utterly unlike the complacent snugnessof an English pastoral landscape, with which it was often confounded andmisunderstood, as being tame and civilized.
It rained the day they left St. Kentigern, and the next, and the dayafter that, spasmodically, as regarded local effort, sporadically, asseen through the filmed windows of railway carriages or from the shiningdecks of steamboats. There was always a shower being sown somewherealong the valley, or reluctantly tearing itself from a mountain-top,or being pulled into long threads from the leaden bosom of a lake; thecoach swept in and out of them to the folding and unfolding of umbrellasand mackintoshes, accompanied by flying beams of sunlight that racedwith the vehicle on long hillsides, and vanished at the turn of theroad. There were hat-lifting scurries of wind down the mountain-side,small tumults in little lakes below, hysteric ebullitions on mild,melancholy inland seas, boisterous passages of nearly half an hour withlandings on tempestuous miniature quays. All this seen through wonderfulaqueous vapor, against a background of sky darkened at times to thedepths of an India ink washed sketch, but more usually blurredand confused on the surface like the gray silhouette of a child'sslate-pencil drawing, half rubbed from the slate by soft palms.Occasionally a rare glinting of real sunshine on a distant fringe ofdripping larches made some frowning crest appear to smile as through wetlashes.
Miss Elsie tucked her little feet under the mackintosh. "I know," shesaid sadly, "I should get web-footed if I stayed here long, Why, it'slike coming down from Ararat just after the deluge cleared up."
Mrs. Kirkby suggested that if the sun would only shine squarely anddecently, like a Christian, for a few moments, they could see theprospect better.
The consul here pointed out that the admirers of Scotch scenery thoughtthat this was its greatest charm. It was this misty effect which made itso superior to what they called the vulgar chromos and sun-pictures ofless favored lands.
"You mean because it prevents folks from seeing how poor the view reallyis."
The consul remarked that perhaps distance was lacking. As to the sunshining in a Christian way, this might depend upon the local idea ofChristianity.
"Well, I don't call the scenery giddy or frivolous, certainly. And Ireckon I begin to understand the kind of sermons Malcolm's folks broughtover to MacCorkleville. I guess they didn't know much of the heaventhey only saw once a year. Why, even the highest hills--which they callmountains here--ain't big enough to get above the fogs of their owncreating."
Feminine wit is not apt to be abstract. It struck the consul that inMiss Elsie's sprightliness there was the usual ulterior and personalobject, and he glanced around at his fellow-passengers. The objectevidently was sitting at the end of the opposite seat, an amused butwell-behaved listener. For the rest, he was still young and reserved,but in face, figure, and dress utterly unlike his companions,--anEnglishman of a pronounced and distinct type, the man of society andclubs. While there was more or less hinting of local influence in theapparel of the others,--there was a kilt, and bare, unweather-beatenknees from Birmingham, and even the American Elsie wore a bewitchingtam-o'-shanter,--the stranger carried easy distinction, from his tweedtraveling-cap to his well-made shoes and gaiters, as an unmistakableSoutherner. His deep and pleasantly level voice had been heard only onceor twice, and then only in answering questions, and his quiet, composedeyes alone had responded to the young girl's provocation.
They were passing a brown glen, in the cheerless depths of which a brownwatercourse, a shade lighter, was running, and occasionally foaminglike brown beer. Beyond it heaved an arid bulk of hillside, the scantvegetation of which, scattered like patches of hair, made it look likethe decaying hide of some huge antediluvian ruminant. On the dreariestpart of the dreary slope rose the ruins of a tower, and crumbling wallsand battlements.
"Whatever possessed folks to build there?" said Miss Elsie. "If theywere poor, it might be some excuse; but that those old swells, orchiefs, should put up a castle in such a God-forsaken place gets ME."
"But don't you know, they WERE poor, according to our modern ideas, andI fancy they built these things more for defense than show, and reallymore to gather in cattle--like one of your Texan ranches--after a raid.That is, I have heard so; I rather fancy that was the idea, wasn't it?"It was the Englishman who had spoken, and was now looking around at theother passengers as if in easy deference to local opinion.
"What raid?" said Miss Elsie, animatedly. "Oh, yes; I see--one of theirold border raids--moss-troopers. I used to like to read about them."
"I fancy, don't you know," said the Englishman slowly, "that it wasn'texactly THAT sort of thing, you know, for it's a good way from theborder; but it was one of their raids upon their neighbors, to lifttheir cattle--steal 'em, in fact. That's the way those chaps had. Butof course you've read all about that. You Americans, don't you know, areall up in these historical matters."
"Eh, but they were often reprisals," said a Scotch passenger.
"I don't suppose they took much trouble to inquire if the beastsbelonged to an enemy," said the Englishman.
But here Miss Elsie spoke of castles generally, and averred that thedearest wish of her life was to see Macbeth's castle at Glamis, whereDuncan was murdered. At which the Englishman, still deferentially,mistrusted the fact that the murder had been committed there, andthought that the castle to which Shakespeare probably referred, if hehadn't invented the murder, too, was farther north, at Cawdor. "Youknow," he added playfully, "over there in America you've discovered thatShakespeare himself was an invention."
This led to some retaliating brilliancy from the young lady, and whenthe coach stopped at the next station their conversation had presumablybecome interesting enough to justify him in securing a seat nearer toher. The talk returning to ruins, Miss Elsie informed him that they weregoing to see some on Kelpie Island. The consul, from some instinctiveimpulse,--perhaps a recollection of Custer's peculiar methods, gave hera sign of warning. But the Englishman only lifted his eyebrows in a kindof half-humorous concern.
"I don't think you'd like it, you know. It's a beastly place,--rocksand sea,--worse than this, and half the time you can't see the mainland,only a mile away. Really, you know, they oughtn't to have induced you totake tickets there--those excursion-ticket chaps. They're jolly frauds.It's no place for a stranger to go to."
"But there are the ruins of an old castle, the old seat of"--began theastonished Miss Elsie; but she was again stopped by a significant glancefrom the consul.
"I believe there was something of the kind there once--somethinglike your friends the cattle-stealers' castle over on that hillside,"returned the Englishman; "but the stones were taken by the fishermen fortheir cabins, and the walls were quite pulled down."
"How dared they do that?" said the young lady indignantly. "I call itnot only sacrilege, but stealing."
"It was defrauding the owner of the property; they might as well takehis money," said Mrs. Kirkby, in languid protest.
The smile which this outburst of proprietorial indignation brought tothe face of the consul lingered with the Englishman's reply.
"But it was only robbing the old robbers, don't you know, and they puttheir spoils to better use than their old masters did; certainly tomore practical use than the owners do now, for the ruins are good fornothing."
"But the hallowed associations--the picturesqueness!" continued Mrs
.Kirkby, with languid interest.
"The associations wouldn't be anything except to the family, you know;and I should fancy they wouldn't be either hallowed or pleasant. As forpicturesqueness, the ruins are beastly ugly; weather-beaten instead ofbeing mellowed by time, you know, and bare where they ought to be hiddenby vines and moss. I can't make out why anybody sent you there, for youAmericans are rather particular about your sightseeing."
"We heard of them through a friend," said the consul, with assumedcarelessness. "Perhaps it's as good an excuse as any for a pleasantjourney."
"And very likely your friend mistook it for something else, or washimself imposed upon," said the Englishman politely. "But you might notthink it so, and, after all," he added thoughtfully, "it's years sinceI've seen it. I only meant that I could show you something better afew miles from my place in Gloucestershire, and not quite so far froma railway as this. If," he added with a pleasant deliberation whichwas the real courtesy of his conventionally worded speech, "you everhappened at any time to be anywhere near Audrey Edge, and would look meup, I should be glad to show it to you and your friends." An hour later,when he left them at a railway station where their paths diverged, MissElsie recovered a fluency that she had lately checked. "Well, I likethat! He never told us his name, or offered a card. I wonder if theycall that an invitation over here. Does he suppose anybody's going tolook up his old Audrey Edge--perhaps it's named after his wife--to findout who HE is? He might have been civil enough to have left his name, ifhe--meant anything."
"But I assure you he was perfectly sincere, and meant an invitation,"returned the consul smilingly. "Audrey Edge is evidently a well-knownplace, and he a man of some position. That is why he didn't specifyeither."
"Well, you won't catch me going there," said Miss Elsie.
"You would be quite right in either going or staying away," said theconsul simply.
Miss Elsie tossed her head slightly. Nevertheless, before they left thestation, she informed him that she had been told that the station-masterhad addressed the stranger as "my lord," and that another passenger hadsaid he was "Lord Duncaster."
"And that proves"--
"That I'm right," said the young lady decisively, "and that hisinvitation was a mere form."
It was after sundown when they reached the picturesque andwell-appointed hotel that lifted itself above the little fishing-villagewhich fronted Kelpie Island. The hotel was in as strong contrast to thenarrow, curving street of dull, comfortless-looking stone cottages belowit, as were the smart tourists who had just landed from the steamer tothe hard-visaged, roughly clad villagers who watched them with a certainmingling of critical independence and superior self-righteousness.As the new arrivals walked down the main street, half beach, halfthoroughfare, their baggage following them in low trolleys drawn byporters at their heels, like a decorous funeral, the joyless faces ofthe lookers-on added to the resemblance. Beyond them, in the prolongednorthern twilight, the waters of the bay took on a peculiar pewterybrightness, but with the usual mourning-edged border of Scotch seacoastscenery. Low banks of cloud lay on the chill sea; the outlines of KelpieIsland were hidden.
But the interior of the hotel, bright with the latest fastidiousness inmodern decoration and art-furniture, and gay with pictured canvases andcolor, seemed to mock the sullen landscape, and the sterile crags amidwhich the building was set. An attempt to make a pleasance in thisbarren waste had resulted only in empty vases, bleak statuary, andiron settees, as cold and slippery to the touch as the sides of theirsteamer.
"It'll be a fine morning to-morra, and ther'll be a boat going away toKelpie for a peekneek in the ruins," said the porter, as the consul andhis fair companions looked doubtfully from the windows of the cheerfulhall.
A picnic in the sacred ruins of Kelpie! The consul saw the ladiesstiffening with indignation at this trespass upon their possible rightsand probable privileges, and glanced at them warningly.
"Do you mean to say that it is common property, and ANYBODY can gothere?" demanded Miss Elsie scornfully.
"No; it's only the hotel that owns the boat and gives the tickets--ahalf-crown the passage."
"And do the owners, the McHulishes, permit this?"
The porter looked at them with a puzzled, half-pitying politeness. Hewas a handsome, tall, broad-shouldered young fellow, with a certainnaive and gentle courtesy of manner that relieved his strong accent,"Oh, ay," he said, with a reassuring smile; "ye'll no be troubled byTHEM. I'll just gang away noo, and see if I can secure the teekets."
An elderly guest, who was examining a time-table on the wall, turned tothem as the porter disappeared.
"Ye'll be strangers noo, and not knowing that Tonalt the porter is aMcHulish hissel'?" he said deliberately.
"A what?" said the astonished Miss Elsie.
"A McHulish. Ay, one of the family. The McHulishes of Kelpie were hisown forebears. Eh, but he's a fine lad, and doin' well for the hotel."
Miss Elsie extinguished a sudden smile with her handkerchief as hermother anxiously inquired, "And are the family as poor as that?"
"But I am not saying he's POOR, ma'am, no," replied the stranger, withnative caution. "What wi' tips and gratooities and percentages on theteekets, it's a bit of money he'll be having in the bank noo."
The prophecy of Donald McHulish as to the weather came true. The nextmorning was bright and sunny, and the boat to Kelpie Island--a largeyawl--duly received its complement of passengers and provisionhampers. The ladies had apparently become more tolerant of their fellowpleasure-seekers, and it appeared that Miss Elsie had even overcome herhilarity at the discovery of what "might have been" a relative inthe person of the porter Donald. "I had a long talk with him beforebreakfast this morning," she said gayly, "and I know all about him. Itappears that there are hundreds of him--all McHulishes--all along thecoast and elsewhere--only none of them ever lived ON the island,and don't want to. But he looks more like a 'laird' and a chief thanMalcolm, and if it comes to choosing a head of the family, remember,maw, I shall vote solid for him."
"How can you go on so, Elsie?" said Mrs. Kirkby, with languid protest."Only I trust you didn't say anything to him of the syndicate. And,thank Heaven! the property isn't here."
"No; the waiter tells me all the lovely things we had for breakfast camefrom miles away. And they don't seem to have ever raised anything onthe island, from its looks. Think of having to row three miles for themorning's milk!"
There was certainly very little appearance of vegetation on the sterilecrags that soon began to lift themselves above the steely waves ahead.A few scraggy trees and bushes, which twisted and writhed like vinesaround the square tower and crumbling walls of an irregular but angularbuilding, looked in their brown shadows like part of the debris.
"It's just like a burnt-down bone-boiling factory," said Miss Elsiecritically; "and I shouldn't wonder if that really was old McHulish'sbusiness. They couldn't have it on the mainland for its being anuisance."
Nevertheless, she was one of the first to leap ashore when the yawl'sbow grated in a pebbly cove, and carried her pretty but incongruouslittle slippers through the seaweed, wet sand, and slimy cobbles with aheroism that redeemed her vanity. A scrambling ascent of a few momentsbrought them to a wall with a gap in it, which gave easy ingress tothe interior of the ruins. This was merely a little curving hollow fromwhich the outlines of the plan had long since faded. It was kept greenby the brown walls, which, like the crags of the mainland valleys,sheltered it from the incessant strife of the Atlantic gales. A fewpale flowers that might have grown in a damp cellar shivered againstthe stones. Scraps of newspapers, soda-water and beer bottles, highlydecorated old provision tins, and spent cartridge cases,--the remainsof chilly picnics and damp shooting luncheons,--had at first sight lentcolor to the foreground by mere contrast, but the corrosion of timeand weather had blackened rather than mellowed the walls in a way whichforcibly reminded the consul of Miss Elsie's simile of the "burnt-downfactory." The view from the square tower--a mere roos
t for uncleansea-fowl, from the sides of which rags of peeling moss and vine hunglike tattered clothing--was equally depressing. The few fishermen's hutsalong the shore were built of stones taken from the ruin, and roofed inwith sodden beams and timbers in the last stages of deliquescence. Thethick smoke of smouldering peat-fires came from the low chimneys, anddrifted across the ruins with the odors of drying fish.
"I've just seen a sort of ground-plan of the castle," said Miss Elsiecheerfully. "It never had a room in it as big as our bedroom in thehotel, and there weren't windows enough to go round. A slit in thewall, about two inches wide by two feet long, was considered dazzlingextravagance to Malcolm's ancestors. I don't wonder some of 'em brokeout and swam over to America. That reminds me. Who do you suppose ishere--came over from the hotel in a boat of his own, just to see maw!"
"Not Malcolm, surely."
"Not much," replied Miss Elsie, setting her small lips together. "It'sMr. Custer. He's talking business with her now down on the beach.They'll be here when lunch is ready."
The consul remembered the romantic plan which the enthusiastic Custerhad imparted to him in the foggy consulate at St. Kentigern, and thenthought of the matter of fact tourists, the few stolid fishermen, andthe prosaic ruins around them, and smiled. He looked up, and saw thatMiss Elsie was watching him.
"You know Mr. Custer, don't you?"
"We are old Californian friends."
"I thought so; but I think he looked a little upset when he heard youwere here, too."
He certainly was a little awkward, as if struggling with somehalf-humorous embarrassment, as he came forward a few moments later withMrs. Kirkby. But the stimulation of the keen sea air triumphed over theinfelicities of the situation and surroundings, and the little partywere presently enjoying their well-selected luncheon with the wholesomeappetite of travel and change. The chill damp made limp the napkinsand table-cloth, and invaded the victuals; the wind, which was rising,whistled round the walls, and made miniature cyclones of the torn paperand dried twigs around them: but they ate, drank, and were merry. At theend of the repast the two gentlemen rose to light their cigars in thelee of the wall.
"I suppose you know all about Malcolm?" said Custer, after an awkwardpause.
"My dear fellow," said the consul, somewhat impatiently, "I know nothingabout him, and you ought to know that by this time."
"I thought YOUR FRIEND, Sir James, might have told you," continuedCuster, with significant emphasis.
"I have not seen Sir James for two months."
"Well, Malcolm's a crank--always was one, I reckon, and is reg'larlyoff his head now. Yes, sir; Scotch whiskey and your friend Sir Jamesfinished him. After that dinner at MacFen's he was done for--went wild.Danced a sword-dance, or a strathspey, or some other blamed thing, onthe table, and yelled louder than the pipes. So they all did. Jack, I'vepainted the town red once myself; I thought I knew what a first-classjamboree was: but they were prayer-meetings to that show. Everybody wasblind drunk--but they all got over it except HIM. THEY were a differentlot of men the next day, as cool and cautious as you please, but HE wasshut up for a week, and came out crazy."
"But what's that to do with his claim?"
"Well, there ain't much use 'whooping up the boys' when only the whoopergets wild."
"Still, that does not affect any right he may have in the property."
"But it affects the syndicate," said Custer gloomily; "and when we foundthat he was whooping up some shopkeepers and factory hands who claimedto belong to the clan,--and you can't heave a stone at a dog around herewithout hitting a McHulish,--we concluded we hadn't much use for himornamentally. So we shipped him home last steamer."
"And the property?"
"Oh, that's all right," said Custer, still gloomily. "We've effected anamicable compromise, as Sir James calls it. That means we've taken a lotof land somewhere north, that you can shoot over--that is, you needn'tbe afraid of hitting a house, or a tree, or a man anywhere; and we'vegot a strip more of the same sort on the seashore somewhere off here,occupied only by some gay galoots called crofters, and you can raisea lawsuit and an imprecation on every acre. Then there's thissoul-subduing, sequestered spot, and what's left of the old bone-boilingestablishment, and the rights of fishing and peat-burning, and otherwisecreating a nuisance off the mainland. It cost the syndicate only ahundred thousand dollars, half cash and half in Texan and Kentucky grasslands. But we've carried the thing through."
"I congratulate you," said the consul.
"Thanks." Custer puffed at his cigar for a few moments. "That Sir JamesMacFen is a fine man."
"He is."
"A large, broad, all-round man. Knows everything and everybody, don'the?"
"I think so."
"Big man in the church, I should say? No slouch at a party canvass, orward politics, eh? As a board director, or president, just takes thecake, don't he?"
"I believe so."
"Nothing mean about Jimmy as an advocate or an arbitrator, either, isthere? Rings the bell every time, don't he? Financiers take a back seatwhen he's around? Owns half of Scotland by this time, I reckon."
The consul believed that Sir James had the reputation of beingexceedingly sagacious in financial and mercantile matters, and that hewas a man of some wealth.
"Naturally. I wonder what he'd take to come over to America, and givethe boys points," continued Custer, in meditative admiration. "Therewere two or three men on Scott's River, and one Chinaman, that we usedto think smart, but they were doddering ijuts to HIM. And as for me--Isay, Jack, you didn't see any hayseed in my hair that day I walked interyour consulate, did you?"
The consul smilingly admitted that he had not noticed these signs ofrustic innocence in his friend.
"Nor any flies? Well, for all that, when I get home I'm going to resign.No more foreign investments for ME. When anybody calls at the consulateand asks for H. J. Custer, say you don't know me. And you don't. And Isay, Jack, try to smooth things over for me with HER."
"With Miss Elsie?"
Custer cast a glance of profound pity upon the consul. "No with Mrs.Kirkby, of course. See?"
The consul thought he did see, and that he had at last found a clue toCuster's extraordinary speculation. But, like most theorists whoargue from a single fact, a few months later he might have doubted hisdeduction.
He was staying at a large country-house many miles distant from thescene of his late experiences. Already they had faded from his memorywith the departure of his compatriots from St. Kentigern. He was smokingby the fire in the billiard-room late one night when a fellow-guestapproached him.
"Saw you didn't remember me at dinner."
The voice was hesitating, pleasant, and not quite unfamiliar. Theconsul looked up, and identified the figure before him as one of the newarrivals that day, whom, in the informal and easy courtesy of thehouse, he had met with no further introduction than a vague smile. Heremembered, too, that the stranger had glanced at him once or twice atdinner, with shy but engaging reserve.
"You must see such a lot of people, and the way things are arrangedand settled here everybody expects to look and act like everybodyelse, don't you know, so you can't tell one chap from another. Deucedannoying, eh? That's where you Americans are different, and that'swhy those countrywomen of yours were so charming, don't you know, sooriginal. We were all together on the top of a coach in Scotland, don'tyou remember? Had such a jolly time in the beastly rain. You didn'tcatch my name. It's Duncaster."
The consul at once recalled his former fellow-traveler. The two menshook hands. The Englishman took a pipe from his smoking-jacket, anddrew a chair beside the consul.
"Yes," he continued, comfortably filling his pipe, "the daughter,Miss Kirkby, was awfully good fun; so fresh, so perfectly natural andinnocent, don't you know, and yet so extraordinarily sharp and clever.She had some awfully good chaff over that Scotch scenery before thoseScotch tourists, do you remember? And it was all so beastly true, too.Perhaps she's with you here?"
; There was so much unexpected and unaffected interest in the youngEnglishman's eyes that the consul was quite serious in his regrets thatthe ladies had gone back to Paris.
"I'd like to have taken them over to Audrey Edge from here. It's nodistance by train. I did ask them in Scotland, but I suppose they hadsomething better to do. But you might tell them I've got some sistersthere, and that it is an old place and not half bad, don't you know,when you write to them. You might give me their address."
The consul did so, and added a few pleasant words regarding theirposition,--barring the syndicate,--which he had gathered from Custer.Lord Duncaster's look of interest, far from abating, became gentlyconfidential.
"I suppose you must see a good deal of your countrymen in your business,and I suppose, just like Englishmen, they differ, by Jove! Some of them,don't you know, are rather pushing and anxious for position, and allthat sort of thing; and some of 'em, like your friends, are quiteindependent and natural."
He stopped, and puffed slowly at his pipe. Presently he took it fromhis mouth, with a little laugh. "I've a mind to tell you a rather queerexperience of mine. It's nothing against your people generally, youknow, nor do I fancy it's even an American type; so you won't mind myspeaking of it. I've got some property in Scotland,--rather poor stuffyou'd call it,--but, by Jove! some Americans have been laying claimto it under some obscure plea of relationship. There might have beensomething in it, although not all they claim, but my business man, aclever chap up in your place,--perhaps you may have heard of him,Sir James MacFen,--wrote to me that what they really wanted were someancestral lands with the right to use the family name and privileges.The oddest part of the affair was that the claimant was an impossiblesort of lunatic, and the whole thing was run by a syndicate of shrewdWestern men. As I don't care for the property, which has only beendropping a lot of money every year for upkeep and litigation, Sir James,who is an awfully far-sighted chap at managing, thought he could effecta compromise, and get rid of the property at a fair valuation. And,by Jove! he did. But what your countrymen can get out of it,--forthe shooting isn't half as good as what they can get in their owncountry,--or what use the privileges are to them, I can't fancy."
"I think I know the story," said the consul, eying his fellow-guestattentively; "but if I remember rightly, the young man claimed to be therightful and only surviving heir."
The Englishman rose, and, bending over the hearth, slowly knocked theashes from his pipe. "That's quite impossible, don't you know. For," headded, as he stood up in front of the fire in face, figure, and carelessrepose more decidedly English than ever, "you see my title of Duncasteronly came to me through an uncle, but I am the direct and sole heir ofthe old family, and the Scotch property. I don't perhaps look like aScot,--we've been settled in England some time,--but," he continuedwith an invincible English drawling deliberation,
"I--am--really--you--know--what they call The McHulish."
