Part 20 (1/2)
Polly: ”Can't be too few for me.”
_Later._
A. D., I've made an awful mistake! I was too good to the Prince and he took advantage of it. In fact he was pretty naughty. You see he thought we were quite alone this afternoon, the others had gone fis.h.i.+ng, and before I knew what he was doing, he entered my tent and had me in his arms, kissing my hair, my eyes, my mouth. I screamed and one of the guides ran in. Boris cursed him for interfering, so I simply asked the man to remain. There was nothing for the Prince to do but walk out. Then the guide looked at me funnily and said that the canoe didn't tip over that time in the wind, that Boris had hired him to upset it, the spot being fairly shallow and perfectly safe.
Apparently our Russian wanted to get the credit of an heroic rescue.
So you were right after all. He's not to be trusted.
Also, there is a very queer thing that your little Sherlock Holmes has just discovered. He's had letters come to him over another name, not in the least like his own. They fell out of his pocket when he was struggling with me. I picked them up--one was marked up in the corner with the name of some antique dealer. Can Boris be selling Peppi's pictures? Is that the mysterious ”business” that takes him from one big city to another? When you get back to Was.h.i.+ngton, ask about him at the Russian Emba.s.sy. Oh give me a good straight American man, say I!
We're about a hundred miles north of Toronto now. One day more and then we leave for home.
Fourth Day. A gray mist and an early start. I insisted on going in Checkers' canoe. Boris and I are not speaking. Our two mile portage led to Rock Lake. Saw a bear and caught some trout and ba.s.s for supper. Railway in sight. To celebrate our last meal we indulged in a bonfire, had soup and a welsh rarebit, and gambled late into the night by the light of candles stuck into broken bottles.
Fourth Day's Remarks:
Aunt: ”Fiddlesticks! What's all this trouble about?”
Checkers: ”Bow wow.”
Sybil: ”Meow, meow.”
Polly: (Silence.)
Prince: (More silence.)
Fifth Day. This morning the tents came down, fis.h.i.+ng tackle was put away, clothes shoved into the duffle bags for the last time. We paddled across the lake to the hotel. Closing remarks by the Party:
Aunt: ”Camp generally becomes pa.s.sably comfortable just as one nears the end of the trip.”
Prince: ”How I love the railway.”
Sybil: ”At the end of the last carry, still carrying on!”
Checkers: ”Prince Tripp tripped up--a spring trip! Polly's eyes have been opened.”
Polly: ”They've never been entirely shut. I only winked occasionally.”
These journal notes I am sending you with my love, care of the State Department, Was.h.i.+ngton.
A. D. TO POLLY
_En Route, May._
Goodbye, Rome! I'm on the train at last, speeding away from the Eternal City.
When I came home to dress for my farewell Roman dinner last evening, there was a note on the table from the Doyen of the Amba.s.sadors stating that the King would receive at twenty-one hours and thirty minutes. I hurriedly calculated this would be half-past ten, so calmly went off to dine with some of my old pals, a sort of goodbye party, thinking there would be plenty of time. Suddenly I had a lucid moment and realized that twenty-one thirty meant half-past nine! I looked at my watch--just twenty-eight minutes past. Whew, but I flew--took a cab and galloped at full speed to the Quirinal, rushed up the great staircase past the astonished lackeys, through the guard room into the State Reception Rooms, got there, terribly out of breath, but--on the minute!