Part 20 (1/2)
And with this admonition the captain drank his beer and thumped off for the water front, satisfied that the village would hear nothing from Mr.
Donovan. Nevertheless, it was shameful to let a hundred go that easy; twenty would have served. He was about to hail the skiff when he was accosted by the quiet little man he had recently observed sitting alone in the corner of Swan's office.
”Pardon, but you are Captain Flanagan of the yacht _Laura_?”
”Yessir,” patiently. ”But the owner never lets anybody aboard he don't know, sir.”
”I do not desire to come aboard, my Captain. What I wish to know is if his excellency the admiral is at home.”
”His excellency” rather confounded the captain for a moment; but he came about without ”takin' more'n a bucketful,” as he afterward expressed it to Halloran the engineer. ”I knew right then he wus a furriner; I know 'em. They ain't no excellencies in th' navy. But I tells him that the commodore was snug in his berth up yonder, and with that he looks to me like I wus a lady. I've seen him in Swan's at night readin'; allus chasin' b.u.t.terflies when he sees 'em in the street.” And the captain rounded out this period by touching his forehead as a subtle hint that in his opinion the foreigner carried no ballast.
In the intervening time the subject of this light suggestion was climbing the hill with that tireless resiliant step of one born to mountains. No task appeared visibly to weary this man. Small as he was, his bones were as strong and his muscles as stringy as a wolf's.
If the b.u.t.terfly was worth while he would follow till it fell to his net or daylight withdrew its support. Never he lost patience, never his smile faltered, never his mild spectacled eyes wavered. He was a savant by nature; he was a secret agent by choice. Who knows anything about rare b.u.t.terflies appreciates the peril of the pursuit; one never picks the going and often stumbles. He was a hunter of b.u.t.terflies by nature; but he possessed a something more than a mere smattering of other odd crafts. He was familiar with precious gems, marbles he knew and cameos; he could point out the weakness in a drawing, the false effort in a symphony; he was something of mutual interest to every man and woman he met.
So it fell out very well that Admiral Killigrew was fond of b.u.t.terflies. Still, he should have been equally glad to know that the sailor's hobby inclined toward the exploits of pirates. M. Ferraud was a modest man. That his exquisite brochure on lepidopterous insects was in nearly all the public libraries of the world only gratified, but added nothing to his vanity.
As it oftentimes happens to a man whose mind is occupied with other things, the admiral, who received M. Ferraud in the library, saw nothing in the name to kindle his recollection. He bade the savant to be seated while he read the letter of introduction which had been written by the secretary of the navy.
”MY DEAR KILLIGREW:
”This will introduce to you Monsieur Ferraud, of the b.u.t.terfly fame.
He has learned of the success of your efforts in the West Indies and South America and is eager to see your collection. Do what you can for him. I know you will, for you certainly must have his book. I myself do not know a b.u.t.terfly from a June-bug, but it will be a pleasure to bring you two together.”
Breitmann arranged his papers neatly and waited to be dismissed. He had seen M. Ferraud at Swan's, but had formed no opinion regarding him; in fact, the growth of his interest had stopped at indifference. On his part, the new arrival never so much as gave the secretary a second glance--the first was sufficient. And while the admiral read on, M.
Ferraud examined the broken skin on his palms.
”Mr. Ferraud! Well, well; this is a great honor, I'm sure. It was very kind of them to send you here. Where is your luggage?”
”I am stopping at Swan's Hotel.”
”We shall have your things up this very night.”
”Oh!” said Ferraud, in protest; though this was the very thing he desired.
”Not a word!” The admiral summoned the butler, who was the general factotem at The Pines, and gave a dozen orders.
”Ah, you Americans!” laughed M. Ferraud, pyramiding his fingers. ”You leave us breathless.”
”Your book has delighted me. But I'm afraid my collection will not pay you for your trouble.”
”That is for me to decide. My South American specimens are all seconds. On the other hand, you have netted yours yourself.”
And straightway a bond of friends.h.i.+p was riveted between these two men which still remains bright and untarnished by either absence or forgetfulness. They bent over the cases, agreed and disagreed, the one with the sharp gestures, the other with the rise and fall of the voice.
For them nothing else existed; they were truly engrossed.
Breitmann, hiding a smile that was partly a yawn, stole quietly away.
b.u.t.terflies did not excite his concern in the least.