The Port of Adventure Part 11

"Surely, it's hardly necessary for me to tell you I can't keep it?"

She held the bag out to him, and when he would have none of it, forced the soft gold mesh into his hand. He let the thing drop, and at the instant of its fall Kate returned, hovering uncertainly. She supposed that Mrs.

May's visitor had gone by this time, and had come to ask for a promised book.

"Kate, there's been a mistake." Angela said. "This gold bag isn't mine after all, though they look so much alike. Please pick it up from the floor and give it to Mr. Hilliard."

These tactics overmastered Nick. He could not let a woman, be she maid or mistress, grovel on the carpet in his presence. He dived for the bag, and, pale and troubled, handed it to Kate. "It seems this has got to be mine,"

he stammered. "But I don't want it. Will you take the thing? If you won't, it goes out of the window, sure as fate."

"Oh, ma'am, what will I do?" cried Kate. "Why, it's a rale fortune!

I--_must_ I let him throw it out the window? What all them jewels and gold would mean to me and Tim--the difference in our lives! If I won't have the bag some wicked tramp may find and sell it for drink."

"Do as you choose. It has ceased to be my affair," said Angela.

"Are you _sure_ you'd fling the bag away, sir, if I say no to it?" the Irish girl implored.

"Dead sure."

"Then--oh, I _must_ take it! I can't give it up to a tramp, when 'twould buy Tim and me a home. You must be a millionaire, sir, throwing away good money like that."

"I've got more than I know what to do with, good or bad," said Nick, drowned in gloom. "Thank you very much for taking it. It's real kind of you. And it's a comfort to me the thing'll be of use to some one."

He looked at Angela, but she would not see him. And without another word he effaced himself.

"I suppose that snuffs me out," he muttered, dolefully, returning to his own car. Almost, he was minded to leave the train in Texas--to go on by another; or to return to New York and do what he could to forget the hard-hearted angel. But he did not leave the train. He went on doggedly.

"I'm hanged if I give up," was his last thought. "It's no soft snap, but I'll make her forgive me before we're through."

"You'll not be cross with me, ma'am because I couldn't be lettin' him throw away the beautiful bag?" Kate coaxed her mistress. "I seen he _would_ ha' done it. There was fire in his eyes."

"Yes, he would have done it," Angela echoed. "I'm not cross with you, though I hoped you would refuse. I'd no right to dictate when it meant your sacrificing a lot of money--a hundred pounds at least, which would go begging unless you accepted."

"A hundred pounds!" the girl stammered. "Oh, I didn't know the bag was worth the half of that! Will I give it back to the gentleman?"

"It's too late. There would only be a scene. He'd refuse to take the thing."

Kate looked relieved. "Then I'll just try and sell it in the first big city where we're stopping ma'am," she said, with a happy sigh. "You _tould_ me a black cat brought luck!"

Angela neither slept well nor lay awake well that night. Whenever she closed her eyes she seemed to meet Nick Hilliard's beseeching look; and next day, angrily pus.h.i.+ng him and his problems out of her mind, she devoted herself pa.s.sionately to scenery. He must have taken his meals very early or very late, or else had none at all, for not once did she see him in the dining-car. The following day at luncheon, however, he was going out as she came in. She bowed to him coldly, but her heart beat as if something exciting had happened. That night she forgot to set back her watch, and so went to dinner earlier than usual. Not far ahead, also bound for the dining-car, was Mr. Hilliard. She disliked the large tables laid for four; and when he could, her favourite waiter kept a place for Mrs.

May at a small table for two persons. Often she got one to herself, but this evening, as she sat down, Mr. Millard appropriated the other chair.

Had he not been rather stout, he would have squeezed himself into place before she could protest; but being a tight fit, inadvertently he gave her time to think.

"This seat is engaged," she said, raising her voice to reach the ears of Mr. Nickson Hilliard. He turned and saw invitation in her eyes. "I'm keeping your chair," she calmly informed him--since between two evils it is wise to choose the less.

"Thank you," said Nick, as quietly as if it had been a long engagement.

"Did that galoot annoy you?" he asked, dropping into the seat.

"No," said Angela. "But I preferred you for a neighbour."

Having explained her motives, she made it clear that conversation was not included, and Nick, knowing that a man in disgrace should be seen and not heard, was silent. When Mrs. May had finished a light meal, she unbent far enough to say: "It was clever--and kind of you to understand. One thing more! I must have your address at Bakersfield, to send the money."

Then Nick told her that he lived on a ranch a good many miles from Bakersfield. "I call it the 'Lucky Star Ranch,'" he added.

"I'll write you from Los Angeles," said she, and became conscious that her last words had been overheard by Mr. Millard. He had seated himself at a table close by, and now glanced up with such an intelligent look that she was sure he had taken in something of the situation.

When the journey through Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona was over, and the train slowed into the station at Los Angeles, she had cause to remember this incident, for Millard was on the car steps, just in front of her. He caught up the large dressing-bag which the porter had carried out of her stateroom, and, looking back, said:

"It's my turn to help you a little now, Mrs. May, since your friend's going on farther. You're English, I guess; and if you haven't got anybody to show you around here, you must let me make myself useful."

"I would rather the porter took all my luggage, please," replied Angela, glancing about for her black friend. But doubtless Mr. Millard had claimed authority, and "George" was giving his services to some one else.

"Porter isn't here. You'd better let me look after you, and get a carriage," said Millard, whose legitimate business it was to travel for a manufacturing firm.

The train stopped, and he jumped off with Angela's dressing-bag, but only in time to have it taken in a business-like manner by Nick, who had swung down from his own car while the train was still in motion.

"It just occurred to me you might be giving yourself a little unnecessary trouble," said he. "I'll see to this lady."

"I thought you were going on," stammered the commercial traveller.

"Not just yet," Nick spoke mildly, but his eyes looked dangerous, and Mr.

Millard thought best to give up the point without further argument.

"I always have to thank you for something! It's too bad!" laughed Angela, as Nick put her and Kate into a carriage which he had secured. "Good-bye; I suppose it's fated that I must forgive you, as we shan't see each other again."

With this she put out her hand, half friendly, half reluctant, and as Nick shook it eagerly, the train moved away.

Angela gave a little cry. "Now I've made you miss your train! And your luggage!"

"I won't howl about that," said he. "I'll wire. And I can get another train by and by--when I want it," he added under his breath. Then he let the carriage drive away.

IX

THE LAST ACT OF THE GOLD BAG COMEDY

"May I go out, ma'am, and see what they'll be givin' me for the gold bag?"

Kate asked, when the unpacking--for a few days--was done at a Los Angeles hotel.

This was a sore subject with Angela. She believed that she disliked the bag; but also she disliked having it go out of her life beyond recall.

"Think of the money he spent, and the trouble he took!" something seemed to moan in her mind. But with an impersonal air she gave Kate permission, dismissing the past as represented by the Hilliard incident, and plunging into the joy of arranging future motor-cars and trains--a future which was to concern her, and Kate, and Kate's cat alone, not Mr. Hilliard.

A singularly sympathetic and apparently intelligent hotel clerk not only advised a motor for sightseeing in the neighbourhood, but recommended one owned and invented by a friend. It was a "clipper," he said; could do anything but climb trees or jump brooks, and might be hired by Mrs. May, at a reasonable price, for a day, a week, a month, a year. Angela felt bound to say that she should like to see it; and--almost before the last word was out of her mouth--the garage was rung up by telephone.

The car arrived with startling promptness, and if Angela had been given time to think it might have occurred to her that there was not, perhaps, as much compet.i.tion for this new invention as the hotel clerk had implied.

The inventor, who was driver and chauffeur as well, bore a striking resemblance to a sulky codfish, but his half-boiled eyes lighted up and glittered (even as his car glittered with blue paint), at the prospect of business. Other vehicles were now being produced by a firm who had bought his patent, said he, but at present his own; appropriately named the "Model," was the "only one running." He lifted the brilliant bonnet, and revealed intricate things, all new and silvery and glistening like crystallized sugar. Angela fell an easy victim. She knew nothing about the mechanical virtues and vices of cars, though she had two at home for her own use, and the Prince a dozen, valued only less than his aeroplanes.

Hers had been gray and dark green. She had always wanted a blue car, and this was a lovely colour. Though she was no more vain than a pretty young woman ought to be, she consented to an experimental run, with an undertone of conviction that the car would become her as a background.