Cap'n Sue E-Book

Hulbert Footner

• Herausgeber: Wildside Press
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 399

Beschreibung

Rum-runners and river pirates make a dangerous combination in Hulbert Footner's suspense-filled novel. Rich with adventure and romance, it's one of mystery author Hulbert Footner's most exciting yarns.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

CAP’N SUE, by Hulbert Footner

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CAP’N SUE,by Hulbert Footner

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

Copyright © 2023 by Wildside Press LLC.

Originally published in 1927.

Published by Wildside Press LLC.

wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com | blackcatweekly.com

INTRODUCTION

Hulbert Footner (1879–1944) was a Canadian-born American writer best known for his adventure and detective fiction. He was born in Canada, but grew up in New York City, where he attended elementary school—beyond that, he was entirely self educated. He began writing poetry and non-fiction in the earliest days of the 20th century, publishing essays about such topics as canoe trips on the Hudson River. Like most writers, he explored various jobs and genres of fiction, including newspaper reporting and journalism, as well as acting (which allowed him to see much of the United States when he toured in a production of Sherlock Holmes). His early novels were adventures set in the Canadian Northwest, which he had helped explore by canoe and document for publication while working as a reporter in his newspaper days.

His friend Christopher Morley, also a writer of books and poetry, steered him away from northwestern stories into crime stories and romance. Here Footner met his biggest success with the creation of beautiful and brilliant Madame Rosika Storey. The Madame Storey mysteries fit well in the Roaring 1920s. They appeared in leading pulp magazines of the day every year from 1922 through 1935. When reissued as books, the series consisted of:

The Under Dogs

Madame Storey

The Velvet Hand

The Doctor Who Held Hands

Easy to Kill

The Casual Murderer

The Almost Perfect Murder

Dangerous Cargo

The Kidnapping of Madame Storey

This success allowed him to travel, and his family spent a year in Europe in 1932-1933.

His earnings fell fell during the Great Depression, which eventually had a grim effect on the family's time in Europe. It led to Footner having a heart attack during the winter of 1933 while on the Côte d’Azur. He recovered, though, and his subsequent production of novels, non-fiction books, and even a play were prolific, although he would never again travelled far from New York.

His book sales fell as the depression deepened in the 1930s. To try to recapture his place in the mystery field, he introduced a new detective, Amos Lee Mappin, a successful, middle aged mystery writer, whose investigations tended to occur in New York’s café society. He published Mappin stories until his death in 1944, alternating at times with Madame Storey.

Cap’n Sue, which combines adventure, crime, and romance, originally appeared in 1927.

—Karl Wurf

Rockville, Maryland

CHAPTER 1

THE “HIT-OR-MISS”

Minus masts and sails, the hull of a Chesapeake Bay Canoe with its clipper bows and fine lines makes a dashing motorboat. Such was the Hit-or-Miss. With an old one-lugger Globe in the stern, she could do her eight miles an hour; and to an observer she seemed to be moving twice as fast, so suggestive of speed were all her lines; the pointing bowsprit, the pronounced sheer, the beautifully-modelled stern, surmounted by a little rail. She was painted white. Nobody would ever think of painting a canoe other than white or pink down there. They do not build such beauties nowadays.

She was flinging herself into the teeth of a brisk north-west wind, that wind which washes earth and air like a strong cleaning fluid. The Pocomico River, two miles wide here, more like an estuary than a river, was as dark under the wind as sapphires flecked with white; the sky was turquoise, the distant shores emerald and agate. Indeed it was a jewelled world this morning, but the two good-looking young people aboard the Hit-or-Miss showed no exultation in it. Temp Wye stood up forward with one hand on the tiny steering-wheel, and his gaze fixed sternly ahead, though steering was a sinecure in those wide spaces; while Sue Rousby was astern, leaning back against the combing, staring down at the bilge under the whirling flywheel, and biting her crimson underlip.

The canoe belonged to Sue—or to her father, which was much the same thing. At any rate it was Sue who really kept the family going by freighting up and down river in the Hit-or-Miss. To the rivermen she was Cap’n Sue. On this particular morning she had collected a load of fish from the various fishermen in the neighbourhood, and had carried it to the fish house at Claggett’s wharf where it would be iced and shipped to Baltimore. Temp Wye happened to be along simply because he had seen her getting ready to start from the river-field where he was ploughing, and had been tempted beyond his strength. Throwing the reins to a negro lad who would certainly spoil his morning’s work, he had dashed downhill and jumped in just as Sue was giving the flywheel its first turn.

He had got no good from it. They had done nothing but quarrel. It seemed as if they were always quarrelling nowadays. The trouble this morning arose from the fact that Sue in the wind and the sunshine was so maddeningly pretty. Head, neck and arms were bare; her skin was tinted a delicious biscuit colour by the sun, and brave flags of red were hoisted in her cheeks. She had a rag of red chiffon bound around her head to confine her short hair; but the ends of her brown curls fluttered adventurously, showing a hundred changes of light and shade. Whenever she raised her head, she screwed up her eyes a little to mitigate the dazzle, and her lips parted, revealing two perfect rows of creamy teeth.

The fresh morning beauty of her caused Temp to groan inwardly with the desire to seize her in his arms. That was why he turned his back and scowled along their course. At the same time Sue was wondering why he didn’t seize her; that was why she bit her lip. One corner of her mouth curled a little scornfully at his timidity, as she considered it. What a wasted morning!

Temp was not timid but proud. When he became a man he had sworn to himself that he and the playmate of his childhood should not drift into one of the interminable, barren, hopeless “engagements” that were so common in that community. Either he would have the girl or he would not have her. And since marriage appeared to be entirely out of the question, he let her alone—at least as far as he was able. He could not stay away from her altogether. He knew that she was ready enough to love him back again, but he would not spoil her chances by taking advantage of it. The neighbourhood did not offer much; but he told himself she was pretty enough to attract suitors from afar. All this he had argued out in bitter solitude.

Sue did not understand his bitter pride because it went dead against the Southern Maryland tradition, which expects a spirited young man to kiss first and afterwards consider the consequences. Temp must have had a Puritan ancestor somewhere behind him; or what was more likely, his late father (also a Templeton Wye) had been such a complete exemplar of the gallant tradition that Temp the son had just naturally swung as far as possible in the other direction. As the result of a life of gallantry the elder Templeton had bequeathed to the younger a run-down farm burdened with a seven thousand dollar mortgage, and a querulous faded beauty, Temp’s stepmother, to take care of.

The interest was four hundred and twenty dollars a year. In these days of big figures such a sum appears like a mere drop in the bucket, but to Temp it was the biggest fact in life. He had to sweat his heart out to earn it. He was further hampered by worn-out machinery which he could not renew, and by his inability to hire efficient labour. All he had to pit against these odds was his own youthful strength and determination. It was a nip-and-tuck struggle. When crops were good he gained a little; when Nature turned against him too, he had to borrow to meet his interest, and so fell back again.

The Rousbys lived on the next farm. Their situation was worse. Their mortgage was only to the tune of five thousand dollars; but the interest had not been paid in three years, nor was there the slightest chance of its ever being paid. Temp Wye was considered a good risk at the bank, because he was young and he would work; whereas old Sam Rousby was incurably shif’less. The Rousbys as a family were on the toboggan. It would only be a question of a short time now when they would be sold up and turned out of house and home. The thought was like gall and wormwood to Sue. Her bitterness was due to the fact that she knew her family was looked down upon by the rest of the County. The children had run wild since the death of their mother thirteen years before. The harum-scarum Rousbys they were called; and the worst was expected of them. Now they seemed to be about to justify this expectation. Cap’n Sue left the housework to her three younger sisters, while she worked up and down the river in all weathers to try to bring in enough to meet running expenses. Sam pottered about his farm in a futile fashion, disregarded by his children. Of the two boys, the elder, Johnny, was “wild,” while Ed was still a schoolboy.

The motorboat had come in sight of the two homesteads, each planted on its low rise, with a stretch of flat land between. Over the flat came a newly constructed branch of the State road ending at the wharf. Rousby’s was a real old Maryland farm-house with overhanging eaves and a pair of mighty chimneys; the Wye house which Temp’s father had built in the fancy style of the nineties, already looked more dilapidated than its ancient neighbour. Across the river from the two farms lay the village of Batcheller in Prince Edward’s County. Here a man from Washington had lately erected a dancing pavilion to which the youth of both counties were accustomed to repair on Saturday nights.

Suddenly the Hit-or-Miss, determined to live up to her name, missed an explosion; recovered; missed again; coughed once or twice and stopped altogether. Temp ran back to the engine; Sue was already kneeling there.

“It’s the carburettor,” said Temp. “The mixture’s wrong.”

“Nothing of the sort!” said Sue, sharply. “I adjusted it before starting.”

Temp smiled in an exasperating male fashion.

“It’s the commutator,” said Sue stiffly. “The points are foul.”

“It’s the carburettor,” said Temp stubbornly. “I could tell by the sound.”

“It’s the commutator! I ought to know my own boat!”

Temp reached a hand towards the needle valve of the carburettor.

“Don’t touch it!” cried Sue. “This is my boat!”

“As long as I am with you…” Temp began stiffly.

“I didn’t ask you to come!”

“Well, believe me, I won’t come again!” Temp said with extreme bitterness. “But as long as I am here, you might as well let me fix it for you. It’s a man’s place.”

Sue laughed scornfully. “What foolishness!” she said. “After I’ve driven this boat up and down the river every day for years. And got it going a hundred times when it stopped on me. Why don’t you add that women’s place is the home?”

“Well, it is!” said Temp stubbornly.

Sue laughed loud and long. “Wake up, Rip van Winkle!” she cried. “You’re still in the last century.”

“I wish I was!” said Temp darkly. “I would have liked it better when women didn’t try to make themselves like men!”

“Suits me!” said Sue flippantly. “I’d rather drive a motorboat than a sewing machine! I wish to Heaven I was a man out and out!”

“Well, you’re not,” said Temp. “And your tomboy tricks only bring discredit on you!”

“With whom?” demanded Sue.

“You know what I mean!”

“With all the old cats in the county!” cried Sue. “I know what they say about me, and I don’t care. I’ve always done exactly what I pleased, and I mean to go on doing it, and if anybody doesn’t like it they can lump it!”

Temp had no retort to this. His face had become very pale; he gazed at her steadily, his heavy brows drawn down low and level over his grey eyes, his mouth tightly compressed. One would have said that he hated her with a deadly hatred, and so he did at that moment; but it was the sort of hatred which is only separated by a hair’s breadth from passionate love. Ah! how he desired to shake the exasperating creature until her teeth rattled, and then cover her face with kisses! Sue, glancing at his haughty, pale face out of the corners of her eyes, wondered at how handsome he had become of late. He seemed to her the handsomest man she had ever beheld, and it caused her breath to fail deliciously. But she taunted him still.

“It’s too bad you haven’t got the power to regulate us all according to your ideas!”

“This hasn’t got anything to do with the carburettor,” said Temp with a cold smile.

“It’s the commutator!” cried Sue in a rage.

Then it was Temp’s turn to laugh.

“Get back, you’re in my way,” cried Sue.

Temp turned on his heel, and walked away to the bow. Sue laughed at his dignified air. “Lord Baltimore!” she called after him. That was her name for Temp when he mounted his high horse. It always enraged him. He affected to take no notice of it now. Sue bent over the engine.

Whether it was carburettor or commutator will never be known, for at the first vigorous twist that Sue gave the flywheel in her ill-temper, the engine started, and never stopped again until it brought them to Rousby’s wharf. They exchanged not a word the whole way.

Temp jumped out, and giving the painter a half hitch around a snubbing post, walked stiffly away without a backward glance. Sue’s heart failed her for a moment. “Temp!” she said, but not very loud. He paid no attention. Then a renewed rage filled her breast. He would, would he! Then he should pay for it well. How bitterly she regretted having spoken, however softly.

At the shore end of the wharf, Temp turned to the left, Sue to the right. Sue’s anger died down. He hates me really and truly, she thought sadly. I wonder what makes me so hateful to him? Then with a sudden jerk up of her head: Well, I shan’t stop living even if Temp Wye does hate me!

She set to her work about the place with a sort of feverish energy. Apparently she was in the highest spirits, talking and laughing more than was her custom. But her sisters looked at her a little askance; they had a feeling that thunder was in the air. As for Sue, she felt that if she let up for a moment, she would be drowned in tears.

CHAPTER 2

THE COVE

At ten o’clock that night she was still in the grip of the demon of restlessness. She had come upstairs with the rest of the family, but had not gone to bed. When the house fell quiet, she stole downstairs again, and throwing a cape around her shoulders, went out of doors. Sue had a deep, instinctive sympathy with the night, and she often did this. She had never told anyone about it, fearing that such a fancy would be one more count against her with the unco’ good. Tonight the moon was shining.

The front yard of the Rousby house was on the side away from the river. It was bounded by an old-fashioned picket fence. Outside the fence ran the private road which served the farm. If you turned to the left it would bring you down a gentle slope to the new highway; if you turned to the right after passing between the farm buildings and descending the slope on that side, it ended on the shore of a cove which was entirely within the Rousby property. The old road and the wharf had been on this side; but when the new road was projected Sam Rousby had asked too much for the extra strip of land that was required; and the road had been moved off his property altogether. There was nothing left of the old wharf now. On the shore stood a ruinous building which had once housed a little country store.

It was to the right that Sue turned. Opening a gate, she passed through the farmyard, a place of mystery and beauty in the moonlight, through another gate and down a rutty piece of road to the water’s edge. The water was bordered by a strip of firm sand that made a good place to walk. Back of the sand grew the tall picturesque bushes that are called water-weeds locally. Seen against the moon their irregular tops looked like little carved ebony clouds.

There was not a breath of air stirring; not the merest whisper of a lap on the sand. But in the moonlight one could see lines along the water’s edge, fairy breakers turning over without a sound. The surface of the cove was so smooth that it seemed to be powdered. Here and there sea-nettles had risen to the surface of the water, their glassy disks faintly reflecting the light like little moons. Across the river two miles away, the lights of Batcheller were strung along the shore. The village had lately put in an electric light plant. The lights were lovely.

Sue drew in great draughts of the delicious river air, and a feeling of peace descended on her breast. At such a moment of beauty one seemed to be able to survey life calmly; one could regard mortgages undismayed. There is no use, Sue said to herself; it is clear that Temp and I are not suited to each other. I must put him out of my mind. When he marries I will make friends with his wife.

Suddenly Sue became aware that there was a man standing against the inky background of the bushes. She stopped short, not in fear but in astonishment. This strip of beach could not be reached except through the Rousby property. Never before had her privacy been intruded upon. Then a wild hope sprang up in her heart.

“Temp!” she said, eagerly stepping forward.

He came out from the shadow. As soon as he moved Sue saw that it was not her friend. This man was a little taller, more graceful in action. He raised his hat.

“I beg your pardon,” he said in a soft, baritone voice. “I’m afraid I’m a trespasser here.”

“Ohh!” breathed Sue. She was just one great O of astonishment. For it was not the voice of anybody she knew; it was not a voice of that country at all. In its modulations; in its cultivated enunciation it suggested cities and far-off places. The ring of youth was in it. A young gentleman of the great world dropped down there on their lonely beach!—why, one might as easily have expected a visitor from the skies!

“Don’t be afraid,” he said entreatingly, alarmed by her stillness.

In reality Sue was no more afraid of him than if he had been another girl. Her out-of-door life, throwing her in with all kinds of men, had enabled her to conquer the instinctive fear of women. But she was paralysed with astonishment. “Who are you?” she murmured.

“My name is Earl Darrah,” he said. “I’m from New York. It needs such a lot of explanation.” He laughed lightly. “Let’s just pretend we’re spirits of the night.”

He kept his straw hat in his hand, and Sue could see that he had a graceful head with smoothly brushed dark hair that gleamed faintly in the moonlight. His face was merely an agreeable oval; but Sue knew by intuition that he was a handsome man. That was all very well, but it was his voice which made her breast thrill like harpstrings. The cultivated accents taken with the ring of youth and laughter suggested careless elegance, worldly distinction, beautiful living, everything for which the secret heart of a girl yearns. To have this voice strike upon her ears at a moment when her heart was big and soft with the beauty of the night, overwhelmed her. Her keen, sure judgment of young men was in abeyance. This one laid a spell on her.

Suddenly recalled to the necessity of breaking the silence, she said breathlessly: “How did you get here?”

He laughed again. That agreeable laugh was his long suit. “Just strayed in from the road. Left my car out there. It was the moonlight shining on your beautiful old house that first attracted me.—At least, I suppose it is your house since you came from that direction.”

“Yes,” murmured Sue, so charmed by the voice, that she scarcely heard what it was saying.

“Then I wandered on,” he continued, “through the farmyard and down here. I just wanted to get by myself in the moonlight.”

“Me too,” said Sue.

“But you were looking for somebody,” he said teasingly. “You mentioned a name.”

“That was the only person who could have been here,” said Sue quickly. “I wasn’t expecting to find him.”

The young man laughed a little complacently. There was a silence, during which Sue imagined that she could hear the beating of her heart. Finally he murmured:

“What a lovely little bay!”

“Yes,” said Sue, “now that the road goes down on the other side, nobody would suspect the existence of this deep cove.”

“Is it deep?” he asked eagerly.

Sue, in a dream, never noticed the exigency of his tone. “Oh, yes,” she said, “this is a much better landing than the other. They only had to build fifty feet here to deep water, while the new wharf is four hundred feet long. It was a saying among the old rivermen before there was any wharf at all, that in Rousby’s cove a pungy could run her nose up on the beach and unload.”

“So!” murmured the young man. He said louder: “The old road used to run down here, you say?”

“Yes,” said Sue, “it came out by that building yonder which was the old store. The road is still there.”

“And where does it go?” asked the young man.

“It joins the State road about a quarter of a mile back. But there are fences built across it now.”

“What kind of fences?”

“Wire fences,” said Sue. Suddenly it occurred to her that this was a very odd conversation. “Why do you ask?” she said.

“Oh, just to keep you talking,” he said with his quick laugh. “I was afraid you’d run away.”

Sue turned at the words.

“There now, why did I mention it!” he said in quick dismay. “Please don’t go, night-spirit!”

She lingered yet a moment.

“How far is it down the river to Chesapeake Bay?”

“Thirty miles.”

“Difficult navigation, I suppose.”

“Yes, unless you know it. There are so many long bars. Only a few of the principal points are staked and lighted.”

“You speak as if you knew it.”

“Me!” said Sue. “Why, twice a week during the season I carry a load of strawberries down to Absolom’s Island to catch the direct steamboat. Besides hundreds of other trips. Nobody knows it better than me.”

“A pilot!” exclaimed the young man.

Sue turned again. “I must get back,” she said uneasily.

“Oh, please, please don’t go!” he begged.

“You said you wanted to be alone in the moonlight,” she retorted.

“But how could I know that anything like you would come down!” he said ardently.

“You don’t know anything about me,” said Sue quickly.

“I know all that I need to know.”

“The moon is kind to me. In the daylight you would shudder at me.”

“You can’t fool me that way,” he said. “The light is entangled in your hair; your voice is like hushed silver bells. You could not be anything but perfectly beautiful. I’d stake my life on it!”

How different from the silent, stubborn Temp! If Sue had been quite herself she would have heard the tone of practised gallantry in his voice, but she was still dreamy. Moonlight, and a tall figure of romance walking at her side, murmuring in his resonant voice! They passed through the first gate.

“You still haven’t told me how you came to be in this part of the world,” said Sue.

“I scarcely know myself,” he said lightly. “I’m just bumming around blindly in my car. The fact is I got so fed up with New York I couldn’t stand it another day. The endless round of dinners and dances and frivolous society girls disgusted me at last. I set off to find the simple life.”

Sue thrilled at this, though she was half conscious that it was hot air. She would never have admitted that. “But where are you going to sleep?” she asked.

“I suppose you couldn’t take me in?” he asked laughing.

“Mercy, no!” said Sue demurely. “I’m supposed to have gone to bed an hour ago. There’s a hotel at King’s Green seven miles up the road.”

“I’ll go there, then.”

They arrived at the yard gate. “Come on and see my car,” he pleaded. “It’s rather good-looking.”

Beyond the corner of the picket fence stood a great mulberry tree. Here the farm road forked and joined the State road running both ways. The car rested below, an extraordinarily long and rakish runabout, bearing a New York licence. The young man murmured the name of the most famous and expensive of all makes of cars.

“Ohh!” breathed Sue. “How beautiful! There’s never been one down here before!”

“Take a little spin up the road,” he pleaded.

Sue crushed down the temptation. “No, thanks,” she laughed. “Not with a night-spirit!”

“Please…” he began to plead.

Sue walked firmly back to the yard gate, and he had no choice but to follow. Sue put the gate between them.

“Can I come and call tomorrow?” he asked.

“Good gracious, no!” said Sue. “How would I explain you to my people?”

“Do I need so much explanation?” he grumbled.

“Rather! Night-spirit wouldn’t go down with my father.”

“Then meet me again down by the cove.”

“No! There wouldn’t be any magic in it if it was all pre-arranged.”

“But I must see you again. What can I do?”

“There will be a dance at the pavilion across the river tomorrow night,” said Sue. “All the boys and girls from this side leave their cars here and go over on a scow. Get one of the boys I know to introduce you to me at the dance.”

“Oh, you darling!” he murmured, suddenly reaching for her over the gate. But Sue backed off.

“Good night,” she said over her shoulder, and ran into the house.

CHAPTER 3

AT THE PAVILION

A flat-bottomed scow with an engine in it served as an occasional ferry between Rousby’s Point and the village of Batcheller. At nine o’clock on the following night it carried the Travis County crowd over to the pavilion. Sue went under escort of her brother Johnny. There were no lights aboard and the moon was obscured. Sue surveyed the various dark shapes sitting and standing about, wondering with a little thrill in her breast which might be her mysterious acquaintance. By a process of elimination she settled on a tall man standing silent near the bow.—But of course that figure might have been anybody. Very likely he had no intention of coming to a rube dance. Thus she prepared herself for a possible disappointment.

The dancing pavilion was built on top of a bathing establishment, and was open on all sides to the breezes of heaven. The floor was perfect; the orchestra, from Washington, first-rate. The place had brought a new pleasure into the lives of the young people of both counties, and on Saturday nights they turned out in force. Sue to herself might term it a rube affair, but at least the girls were as pretty as those to be found anywhere—and healthier than town girls.

Johnny Rousby, having danced the first dance with his sister, considered that he had done his duty, and went off about his own concerns. But Sue, deposited on the side lines, suffered from no lack of attention. As soon as it was perceived that the jealous Temp Wye was not standing guard over her tonight, the young men thronged about her, asking for dances. Sue saved out two dances. And how silly I shall look if nobody comes after them, she thought.

When she could, she discreetly overlooked the lines of stags outside the dancing floor. First she saw Temp Wye in the farthest corner, staring at her blackly, and biting his lip. The simpleton! she thought scornfully; to wear his heart on his sleeve like that! He’s dying to make up; but if I did we would quarrel again in five minutes. He’s too difficult. Better let it be a clean break. She would not admit to herself that the prospect of having a second string to her bow, or a second beau on her string, had anything to do with this decision.

There were a number of strange men present, but she picked out her gallant by intuition. He was not looking at her at the moment, but appeared to be trying to ingratiate himself with some of the Travis County boys. He was tall and slenderly graceful; that Sue knew already; his black hair was as sleek as a raven’s wing. He had black eyes too, elongated in shape, and showing a wicked sparkle through their lashes. The corners of his mouth turned up in a provoking grin. Good Heavens! thought Sue; he’s better looking than I expected. He’s positively dangerous! However, this feeling of fear was not exactly unpleasant.

Three dances passed by, and Sue began to grow anxious. The fourth dance was the first that she was holding in reserve. However, during the pause between dances, a mild voice spoke at her elbow:

“Miss Rousby, may I introduce Mr. Darrah?”

The speaker was little Bowie Denton who would not ordinarily have had the assurance to approach Sue. His eye was bright and swimming now, his thin cheeks flushed. Sue thought no worse of him for it. For a fellow to take a drink or two was part of the tradition. She was glad to see though, that the dark young man showed no signs of it. He was very cool; cool, and smiling delightfully and wickedly.

“May I have a dance?” he murmured.

“The next one,” said Sue carelessly.

“May I have a dance?” Bowie asked boldly.

“Sorry, Bowie, but I’ve promised all the rest,” said Sue kindly. “But after the intermission you can break.”

The music started.

“Sue, you darling!” murmured Darrah as they floated away. “You’re even prettier than I thought!”

“You work too fast,” said Sue. “My name is Miss Rousby.”

“Oh, but nobody bothers about handles nowadays.”

“We are old-fashioned down here.”

He was not in the least abashed. “Oh, I’ve learned something about you,” he said, laughing. “You’re a wild duck in this barnyard.”

He blandly continued to address her as Sue, and Sue having recorded her protest, let it go. He danced divinely; one could not quarrel with such a dancer. They had little to say to each other. Sue had to resist the impulse to close her eyes, and drift on the arm of that perfect leader. With the two counties looking on, that would have been too much even for Sue. Darrah by reason of his height, his good looks, his perfectly fitting clothes was a conspicuous object on the floor, and Sue knew that tongues were already busy.

When the music stopped they strolled up and down the platform that overhung the beach in front of the pavilion.

“Take my arm,” suggested Darrah.

“No, thanks,” said Sue.

“Everybody else is.”

“Yes, and everybody knows that I only met you ten minutes ago.”

“Will you dance all the rest with me?”

“Mercy, no! You can have one more, the sixth.”

“Is that all?”

“Well, I couldn’t deny everybody who asked me.”

“What can I do with myself all evening?”

“Get yourself introduced to some other girls.”

“No, thanks, I couldn’t go through with it. You don’t know what you’ve done to me!”

“Well, the sixth is the one before the intermission. We can have a nice long talk then.”

“You darling! You thought of that when you saved it for me!”

“Bless me, no! Nobody else asked me for it.”

* * * *

Two stags leaned their elbows on the rail of the upper gallery, and looked down at the promenaders below.

“Who’s the long lad with Sue Rousby?” asked Tom Starrett.

“Name of Darrah,” answered Reed Bonniger. “I never saw him before tonight. Says he is from New York. All I know is, he totes damn good licker. Unlimited supply. Been passing it all evening.”

“Boot-legger?”

“Maybe. Didn’t offer to sell any. Anyhow, we couldn’t afford licker of that quality down here. He came to me to get me to introduce him to Sue. I accepted a drink off him, but of course I wouldn’t. What does he think we are? I noticed he only took a sip himself. He’s a cool hand whoever he is. After goin’ from one to another, he finally got little Bowie Denton all tanked up, and made him introduce him to Sue. It’s a rotten shame, but what you goin’ to do?”

“Sue doesn’t seem to object,” remarked Tom.

“Aah! just like a girl!” said Reed sorely. “It’s the New York clothes. Sue and Temp Wye have quarrelled, and I thought we’d all get a look-in. I asked her for a dance and she said they were all gone. But later this Darrah fellow comes along and she gives him one right off the bat. Looks funny to me, this fellow from nowhere goin’ round trying to bribe fellows to introduce him to Sue. Looks as if they had some sort of understandin’ beforehand, and the introduction was only a bluff.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m not in Temp Wye’s shoes,” said Tom. “He’s mad about the girl.”

* * * *

During the intermission Darrah and Sue strolled up the road for a short distance, as did many another couple. Somehow they seemed to have made a great advance in intimacy, though they had only danced two dances. Sue, never strong for conventionality, found it harder and harder to keep up the bars.

“May I see you home?” asked Darrah, as they returned towards the pavilion.

“My brother will.”

“He’s got a girl of his own.”

“Whoever brings a girl takes her home; that is our custom.”

After a pause Darrah blurted out: “Listen, Sue. I like this country so well I telegraphed to my sister this morning to come down and spend a few days with me. She’s as much fed up with New York society as I am. I’m expecting her on the bus Monday afternoon. Can I bring her around to call?”

“Well!” exclaimed the astonished Sue. “It’s a bit unusual, but— Oh, well, all right. How long will she be down here?”

“Only a few days,” said Darrah. “I’ll have to drive her up to New York at the end of the week. There’s a dance that we’re both pledged to attend.”

Another silence.

“Listen,” said Darrah breathlessly. “Why not drive up to New York with us. Stay with my people. After a day or two the three of us will drive back again.”

“Goodness!” said Sue. “But I don’t even know your sister.”

“You will soon.”

“She may not like me.”

“She’s bound to. She’s just like me—in character I mean, not looks. It would be such fun to take you to a New York dance, and to a show or two! Will you, Sue? Oh, say you will!”

“Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” said Sue. “You take my breath away!”

“Wouldn’t you like to see New York?” he urged.

Sue groaned inwardly. Would I like to see New York! she thought. But she was careful not to give anything away to this precipitate young man. “Let’s wait until your sister comes before we commit ourselves to anything,” she said with an offhand air. New York! New York! New York! was ringing in her head like a bell. Was it possible that the opportunity was really within her grasp? New York had always seemed as far away as heaven.

* * * *

After the intermission the stags were permitted to break dances. Temp Wye remained outside the rail encircling the dance floor, watching with a jealous, bitter eye. Sue appeared to be getting a general rush tonight. Whenever she approached the line of stags, there was a concerted movement towards her. Many good-humoured disputes took place. Temp didn’t mind the county boys; they were always ready to yield him the first place with Sue; but the slick city man with his wicked, sparkling eyes and mocking mouth roused him to a fury of rage that put him beside himself. It was an understood thing that a fellow must be allowed to make a complete circuit of the floor before another broke his dance; and Temp watched how slowly and endlessly Darrah gyrated in the corners in order to prolong his turn with Sue.

“Home, Sweet Home” was played at midnight, and all the Travis County crowd thronged back on board the scow. They chugged slowly across the wide river. Up near the bow Sue sat demurely beside her young brother. Darrah manœuvred himself into the seat alongside her; and they talked the whole way—but very discreetly so that all the world might hear. Temp Wye sneered, hearing the polite small talk that they exchanged. He stood near by with his hat pulled down over his eyes, watching them with a pose as still and deadly as a coiled snake. He was mad with jealousy.

When they landed on the other shore he kept the three in view. They turned off the State road, and sauntering up the little rise, lingered for a moment chatting at the Rousby gate. Temp hung alongside the side fence hidden in the shadows. The stripling Johnny Rousby had been drinking, and was in an impatient humour; Sue clung affectionately to his arm in the way that sisters have when another young man is to be kept at bay. Meanwhile the rest of the crowd scattered to their motor-cars, and set off pell-mell up the road.

Finally good nights were exchanged at the gate, and Sue and Johnny went in the house. As Darrah returned, whistling carelessly, Temp stepped out from the shadows. He had a very courtly air.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, lifting his hat, “may I have a few words with you?”

All the motor-cars had departed except Darrah’s rakish sport car, which rested in the State road a few yards ahead of the big tree. “Who are you?” asked the surprised Darrah.

“My name is Templeton Wye,” was the haughty answer.

“Well, that means nothing in my life,” retorted Darrah. “What do you want?”

“Let us go a little farther away,” said Temp. “Out of earshot.”

The astonished Darrah followed him down into the State road under the branches of the big tree.

“Well?” he said.

Still in the courtly style of an old-fashioned duellist, Temp said quietly: “I must ask you to cease all further attentions to the young lady you have just left.”

“What the hell…!” Darrah burst out, but not loudly. “What business is it of yours?”

“Let us just say that I have made it my business,” said Temp evenly. “My opinion is that you are not a fit person to associate with her, and I’m prepared to back it up.”

“What do you know about me?” demanded Darrah; the quickness with which it came out suggested a certain fear.

“Nothing,” said Temp. “I am prepared to receive your explanations. If I am mistaken in you I shall apologize.”

“To hell with you!” said Darrah roughly. “You talk like an actor! You mind your own business, and I’ll tend to mine!”

“I have made this my business,” said Temp quietly. “I just wanted to warn you.”

“Well, I don’t take your warning, see?” said Darrah truculently. “What then?”

“This!” cried Temp in quite a different voice. “Guard yourself!” His fist shot out. There was a dull crack as it collided with Darrah’s jaw, and the tall young man measured his length in the road. Temp groaned with relief as the blow went home. All the torments he had been enduring gave his fist driving power. He had only been afraid that Darrah would give him no show to punch him.

Darrah sprang up a little dazed, but fighting mad. They mixed it up. Some ineffective blows were exchanged. Neither young man spoke again. Temp got another opening, and Darrah went down again. Darrah was game enough, but he had no show at all. While he had an advantage over Temp in reach, the young farmer’s muscles were like steel springs; moreover Temp was inspired with a wholehearted, furious rage that made him irresistible. The elegant Darrah was incapable of such a tremendous feeling.

However, it was all over in a minute or two. Darrah’s car was standing in the road a few feet ahead of the antagonists; a roadster with the top up. At the first sounds of an altercation between the two young men, a crafty face appeared in the little window in the back. Seeing that Darrah was likely to get the worst of it, a figure stole out of the car into the shadow of the big tree. Making a detour around by the shrubbery that lined the side fence of the Rousby yard, he came up behind Temp, and dropped without a sound in the tall weeds that lined the road. At the moment when Temp was waiting for Darrah to rise and defend himself, the third man rose again out of the grass, and raising his arm, brought down a blunt instrument on Temp’s head. Temp dropped all of a piece without a sound in the road. His assailant seized hold of the shaken Darrah’s arm, and hustled him towards the car.

“What the devil…!” muttered Darrah. “Have you croaked him? That would spoil everything!”

“Nah!” said the other. “Just a tap on the bean. He’ll come to in a shake. Who is he?”

“A jealous lover,” said Darrah with an exasperated laugh.

“Ain’t he gummed the works anyhow?”

“No! He’s not on to our game. It’s just a personal matter. I’m not going to let a hick like that spoil it. He don’t count.”

They got in the car.

CHAPTER 4

IN NEW YORK

On a morning a week later, shortly after sunrise, three young people settled themselves amidst much laughter in the high-powered roadster standing at Sue’s gate. This early start was necessary since they meant to make three hundred miles that day. It seemed to be generally understood that Sue must sit in the middle. Sue herself would have preferred to put Ruby Darrah between her and the ardent Earl, but she made no objection. I mustn’t be a prune, she told herself; for once I am going to have a perfectly lovely time, and nothing must interfere. New York! New York! New York! It is like a dream coming true!

During the past five days Ruby and Sue had become like sisters. Earl laughingly made believe to be jealous of the affection which had sprung up between the two. Ruby was a tall girl no less handsome than her brother, but in a totally different style. She was a true blonde with hair like spun gold, and gentian blue eyes. At first glance Sue had considered that there was a little too much display of permanent wave, rouge and lipstick; but she supposed all New York girls did it. She told herself that it was the make-up which gave Ruby’s face rather a hard look in repose.

But Ruby’s face was almost never in repose, and Sue had soon forgotten her first misgivings. Ruby’s impulsive manner suggested that Sue was the one person in the world whom she wished to win for a friend; and of course the warm-hearted Sue could not resist that. And indeed Ruby with her experience of the great world—she knew London, Paris, Rome, was wonderful to the country girl, not to speak of the marvellous clothes that appeared as from a conjuror’s hat, out of one suit-case. Sue’s family had been less enthusiastic about Ruby, but Sue had put that down to jealousy. There had been loud-voiced opposition to this New York trip; but Sue had taken the bit in her teeth. After all she was the real head of the household; they were accustomed to having her run things.

Earl let the clutch in, and they slipped into rapid motion so smooth that it seemed to give the lie to the figure 45 which turned up on the speedometer. Sue relaxed with a sigh of content. It was the nearest thing to flying that she ever hoped to experience. How different from the family Ford! In less than ten minutes they had whisked through the county seat, and in no time at all it seemed, they were entering the suburbs of Baltimore. Here a motor-cycle policeman warned them, but Earl was so good-humoured about it, and Ruby smiled so dazzlingly, the officer had not the heart to carry it any further. It’s great to be rich! thought Sue.

They breakfasted in one splendid hotel in Baltimore; lunched at another in Philadelphia. As soon as the elegant roadster drew up at the door, the hotel servants began to smile and bow and run about. Sue had not believed that a journey could be carried through in such comfort. Between their stops everything was a delightful blur; they travelled too fast for her to take things in; but the motion was wildly exhilarating. Already at five o’clock they were passing through the towns and cities that surrounded New York, and Sue’s heart beat fast in anticipation. At last they came out on the brow of a steep hill. At the bottom lay the broad river crowded with shipping; and on the other side rose the marvellous towers of Manhattan. Sue received the greatest thrill of her life.