Part 3 (1/2)
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”Up here!” came the voice again]
He was smoothly shaven, with blond hair almost ripe enough to be auburn; he wore a gray suit of rather loose and careless material, a belt, but no waistcoat; his trousers were reefed up from a pair of saddle-brown shoes, and the silk band around his small straw hat was tricolored. In his hand was a paper-covered book. Swung over his shoulder was a camera in a leather case. He sat there on top of the high wall and gazed at Kalora with a grinning interest, and she, forgetting that she was unveiled and clad only in the simple garments which had horrified the best people of Morovenia, gazed back at him, for he was the first of the kind she had seen.
”What are you doing here?” she asked wonderingly.
”I am looking for the show,” he replied. ”They told me down at the hotel that a very hot bunch of acrobats were doing a few stunts down here this afternoon, and I thought I'd break in if I could. Wanted to get some pictures of them.”
”Were you invited?”
”No, but that doesn't make any difference. In Cairo I went to a native wedding every day. If I pa.s.sed a house where there was a wedding being pulled off, I simply went inside and mingled. They never put me out--seemed to enjoy having me there. I suppose they thought it was the American custom for outsiders to ring in at a wedding.”
”You said American, didn't you? Are you from America?”
”Do I look like a Scandinavian? I am from the grand old commonwealth of Pennsylvania. Did you ever hear of the town of Bessemer?”
”I'm afraid not.”
”Did you ever hear of the Pike family that robbed all the orphans, tore down the starry banner, walked on the humble working-girl and gave the double cross to the common people? Did you?”
”Dear me, no,” she replied, following him vaguely.
”Well, I am Alexander H., of the tribe of Pike, and I have two reasons for being in your beautiful little city. One is Federal grand jury and the other is ten-cent magazine. You know, our folks are sinfully rich.
About four years ago I came in for most of the guvnor's coin, and in trying to keep up the traditions of the family, I have made myself unpopular, but I didn't know how unpopular I really was until I got this magazine from home this morning.” And he held up the paper-covered book, which had a rainbow cover. ”They have been writing up a few of us captains of industry, and they have said everything about me that they _could_ say without having the thing barred out of the mails. I notice that you speak our kind of talk fairly well, but I think I can take you by the hand and show you a lot of new and beautiful English language. I will read this to you.”
Before she could warn him, or do anything except let out a horrified ”Oh-h!” he had leaped lightly from his high perch and was standing in front of her.
”I'm afraid you don't understand,” she said, rising and taking a frightened survey of the garden, to be sure that no one was watching.
”Strangers are not permitted in here. That is, men, and more especially--ah--Christians.”
”I'm not a Christian, and I can prove it by this magazine. I am an octopus, and a viper, and a vampire, and a man-eating shark. I am what you might call a composite zoo. If you want to get a line on me just read this article on _The Shameless Brigand of Bessemer_, and you will certainly find out that I am a nice young fellow.”
Kalora had studied English for years and thought she knew it, and yet she found it difficult fully, to comprehend all the figurative phrases of this pleasing young stranger.
”Do I understand that you are traveling abroad because of your unpopularity at home?” she asked.
”I am waiting for things to cool down. As soon as the muck-rakers wear out their rakes, and the great American public finds some other kind of hysterics to keep it worked up to a proper temperature, I shall mosey back and resume business at the old stand. But why tell you the story of my life? Play fair now, and tell me a lot about yourself. Where am I?”
”You are here in my father's private garden, where you hare no right to be.”
”And father?”
”Is Count Selim Malagaski, Governor-General of Morovenia.”
”Wow! And you?”
”I am his daughter.”
”The daughter of all that must be something. Have you a t.i.tle?”
”I am called Princess.”