Polly and Her Friends Abroad Part 24

So Mr. Fabian and Polly managed to creep warily over the obstructions which were heaped over the roadway and, further down the trail, they found a tree that grew beside the road. Here the red blouse signal was left flying from the stripped young tree, and a warning was printed on the white silk cuff, telling of the dangers ahead in the path.

When the tourists were settled in the cars again, the large car leading and the crippled roadster being towed behind, they felt that they had done their duty and expressed their deep grat.i.tude for their own safety, by leaving the signal flag for others to see and read.

It was slow work zig-zagging down the great height, as the little car could not work its brakes very well, and it had to be held back by the rear mud-guards of the leading car. But the breathless descent was finally accomplished and in the valley they found a tiny garage, placed there for the repairing of damaged automobiles.

"I shouldn't think it would pay you to keep up a shop in this isolated spot," remarked Mr. Fabian, when the mechanic was working on Mrs.

Alexander's car.

"But you don't know how many tourists cross the Alps in summer; everyone finds something wrong, or runs out of gas, by the time they reach this valley," explained the man.

Before the tourists were ready to depart, a number of cars had driven up, asked for gas or repairs, and then were told of the land-slide on top of the peak. This spared them climbing, as they could go by another road. The pa.s.sengers in these cars were most grateful to Mr. Fabian's party for the information, thus several parties had been benefited, before a crimson car drove up and a handsome young man called to the mechanic.

"Is this the right road over Top Pa.s.s?"

"Yes, but you can't pa.s.s," returned the man, then he told of the experiences the people in the American party had just had.

"My, that must have been some excitement! Wish we had been there," cried the other young man, eagerly.

"Are you an American?" asked Mr. Fabian, certain of it even as he spoke, because the accent and manner of speech was Yankee.

The two young men exchanged looks with each other, and one replied: "We lived in the United States for many years."

This speaker was about twenty-two or three, but the other one was younger. They both were exceptionally good-looking and free in their manner. It could be readily seen that their car and clothes were of the best, and one would naturally conclude that they were wealthy young men touring Europe for pleasure.

The roadster was now repaired and ready to be used, so the bill was paid and Mrs. Alexander got in. Mrs. Fabian was rather timid about trusting herself with such a chauffeur again, so Mr. Fabian seated himself beside the owner of the car.

"Which way do you go from here?" called out one of the strange young men.

"On to Turin," answered Mr. Alexander.

"Do you mind if we follow you? We lost our way to Turin, somewhere, back there, and when we found ourselves here we decided to go on and not stop at Turin."

This sounded rather lame for an excuse, but no one could refuse permission for the boys to follow, if they wanted to-so Mr. Alexander shouted back at them: "This air is free, and so is the earth! Foller what you like, as long as you don't run us down and make us stop for another over-haulin' of the cars."

The young men laughed and thanked the sarcastic little man, but the girls smiled as they wondered if this change in route-or minds of the two young men-was caused by seeing a number of pretty misses in the touring car?

The day was far spent when the roadster was in a shape to continue the tour, and Turin was many a mile away. So it was found to be impossible to reach there that night. The recent experience with the avalanche had caused a reaction, too, and as everyone felt worn out with the tension, it was decided to stop at a small inn in the foot-hills of the Alps.

The automobiles had been left in the shed that was used for the cows and oxen, and the travellers entered the low-ceiled primitive room with ravenous appet.i.tes. The inn-keeper was cooking at a huge fireplace at the end of the room, and the odor of bacon and onions permeated the entire place.

"Oh!" sighed Eleanor, rolling her eyes upwards, "I never smelled anything so delicious!"

"Yet you abominate onions at other times," laughed Polly.

"It all depends on the state of your appet.i.te," retorted Eleanor.

When the tourists were refreshed by was.h.i.+ng and brus.h.i.+ng, they returned to the great living-room. The two young strangers were there before them. The older of the two acted as spokesman and now introduced himself and his companion.

"This is my cousin, Alan Everard, of Winnipeg, Canada. And I am Basil Traviston, a resident of California, but not a native of that State."

Mr. Fabian introduced his wife, and the other members of his party by name only, without mentioning the city or state whence they came. All through supper hour he maintained a dignified att.i.tude which was meant to warn off any young men with dangerously good looks. But he might as well have tried to build a snow-man under the heat of a July sun.

Both young men were so charming, and told many witty stories which kept their audience in st.i.tches of laughter that it was generally conceded, afterward, the two were most desirable fellow-travellers. Mr. and Mrs.

Fabian sat up a full hour after the girls were asleep, however, trying to pick a flaw in the behavior of the two strangers, which might form a basis for the separation from the touring party. When all was said and done, the only tangible excuse was the fact that they were both so handsome and unknown.

The next morning the three cars started for Turin, and during the tiresome ride the two young men managed to keep up an exchange of interesting remarks that amused everyone. When they stopped for luncheon in the middle of the day, the two boys insisted upon waiting on the ladies and making themselves generally useful.

The time came for the tourists to get in their cars again, but Mrs.

Alexander had taken a decided liking for the younger of the two young men-Alan Everard. So she invited him to travel in her car, and that left Mr. Fabian without a place.

"It's only as far as Turin, you know," explained Mrs. Alexander, trying to smile sweetly on the guide of the touring party.

Rather than create any unpleasantness, Mr. Fabian got in beside Basil Traviston. But he was determined, as long as he was forced to accept the seat, to learn more about the two new additions to his party.

After a perfunctory exchange of sentiments, Mr. Fabian said: "Your name is very English, and the fact that your cousin is from Winnipeg, leads me to judge that you both are of English descent."

"My cousin's real name is not Everard-that is his first name; but we both are travelling incognito on the Continent, as our t.i.tles and names are so well-known that people stand to stare, and annoy us with their interest. So we decided to travel unknown, this season."

Mr. Fabian frowned, and glanced side-ways from his eyes, to see if the young man was presuming upon his intelligence. But Traviston was driving with a most guileless expression. In fact, no handsome babe could have appeared more innocent than he.

"It really seems as if we have been unusually blessed-or cursed, I don't know which-with young men who claim t.i.tles. Mrs. Alexander wished so intensely for t.i.tled young men to travel with, it looks as if she attracted them to our party," said Mr. Fabian, smiling cynically.

"Is that so?" returned Traviston, but his tone and expression failed to show any resentment or interest in the information. Mr. Fabian wondered, and decided not to tread on thin ice any more, just then.

But Mrs. Alexander was faring much better with the young man in her car.

Almost immediately after they had resumed the tour she asked pointedly: "Your cousin's name, and yours as well, is very English. Perhaps you belong to an old family?"

"Oh yes," returned Everard. "Both of us came over, this year, on purpose to trace our family-trees. I have learned that my people go back to Adam without a break."

"Not really!" gasped Mrs. Alexander, astonished at such a long line of ancestry.

"Yes, and Basil now believes he can antedate Adam, and trace some facts about his ancestry that started with a missing link." Young Everard laughed softly as he spoke, but his companion never having heard of Darwin, believed every word he said; whereas he thought she knew he was joking.

"You and your cousin must be young men of leisure, or you couldn't spend a whole summer touring Europe in such an expensive car. I noticed how sporty the car was, before I saw either of you," said Mrs. Alexander.

"That's just it. When Basil and I work, we have to work like Trojans.

But when we finish a contract we take life easy until the next job comes up."

"Oh, you work? I wouldn't have said so. What sort of contract work do you do?" asked Mrs. Alexander. The pedestal she had used for her two new heroes, seemed shaking dangerously.

Everard laughed. "Some people laugh at what we call work, but they don't realize that playing is the hardest kind of work. I sometimes think I will chuck the whole game and knuckle down to the real thing-work that is called work. But money is sweet, and if one likes to spend, then the weak little decision to work as others do, dies hard and I go on with the play."

Mrs. Alexander suddenly realized that she had misunderstood the young man's first words. Then he called "playing" his work, and with his money he found playing as hard a work as a poor man finds his labor. So she sympathized with his ideals and thought him a remarkable young man.

Before they reached Turin, she had her suspicions that he was a very _important_ young man; for he had given her certain bits of information that told how well-known he and his cousin were, and how they dodged at certain places to travel incognito to avoid publicity.