Chapter II: Part 2

Of one thing he was certain--it would help his case if he made no attempt to hurry across the frontier. He believed in the wisdom of hunting up the authorities whenever the authorities were hunting for him. For instance, in the prep school, after getting the cow into the chapel, he discovered her there and notified the principal and was the only boy who did not fall under suspicion. To assume a childlike innocence and to bluff magnificently,--these had been the twin rules that had saved him so often and would save him now, unless he should be confronted by the princess or the two guards, in which case--he whistled softly.

Suddenly two men came slamming in at the front door and stalked down the avenue of palms. They seemed to be throbbing with the importance of their errand, as they moved toward a little side office, which was the official lair of the manager.

One of the men was elderly and wizened and the other was a detective. Pike knew it as soon as he glanced at the heavy jowls and the broad face and heard the authoritative footfall. He knew, also, that he was not a bona fide detective, but a municipal detective, who is paid a monthly salary and walks stealthily along side streets in citizen's dress, all the time imagining that the people he meets take him to be a merchant or a lawyer. In this he is mistaken, for he resembles nothing except a municipal detective.

If Mr. Pike had known that the officer who accompanied Popova was the celebrated Koldo, chief of the secret service, no doubt the impulse to retreat to his apartment and get behind the bed canopies would have been stronger. He knew, however, that no detective of analytical methods would expect to find the criminal standing at his elbow, so he followed the two over to the office and calmly wedged himself into the conference.

The great Koldo was agitated as he told his story to the manager, who was a polite and sympathetic importation from Switzerland. Popova stood by and corroborated by nodding.

"An outrage of the most dreadful nature has been reported from the palace," said Koldo.

"Dear me!" murmured the manager. "I am so sorry."

"A stranger scaled the wall and entered the forbidden precincts. He addressed himself to the Princess Kalora with most insulting familiarity. Two of the household guards captured him, but he escaped after beating them brutally. The report of the whole affair and a description of the man have been brought to me by the esteemed Popova--this gentleman here, who is court interpreter and instructor in languages to the royal family."

Popova nodded and Mr. Pike saw the scattered spires of Bessemer, Pennsylvania, whirling away into a cloud of disappearance.

"If you have a description of the man, no doubt you will be able to find him," he said, knowing that this kind of speech would strengthen his plea of innocence when brought out at the trial.

The chief of the secret service turned and looked wonderingly at the bland stranger and resumed: "After some reflection I have decided to make inquiries at all the hotels, to learn if any foreigner answering this description has lately arrived in the city."

"You may be sure that any information I possess will be put at your disposal immediately," said the manager, with a smile and a professional bow.

The only Koldo, breathing deeply, brought from his pocket a sheet of paper, while Mr. Pike propped himself deliberately against the door and tried to mold his features into that expression of guileless innocence which he had observed on the face of a cherub in the Vatican.

"He is very rugged and powerful," said the detective, referring to his notes. "Large, quite large--black hair, dark eyes with a glance that seems to pierce through anything--long mustache, also black--wears much jewelry--speaks with a marked German accent--wears a suit of Scotch plaid--heavy military boots."

Mr. Pike removed his hat and allowed the electric light to twinkle on his ruddy hair.

"How--ah--where did you get this description?" he asked gently.

"From the Princess herself," replied Popova. "She saw him at close range."

"Believe me, I am sorry, but no one answering the description has been at my hotel," said the manager.

"Then I shall go to the Hotel Bristol and the Hotel Victoria," announced Koldo, with something of fierce determination in his tone.

"An excellent plan," assented the manager.

"Would you mind if I butted in with a suggestion?" said Mr. Pike, laying a friendly hand on the arm of the redoubtable Koldo. "Don't you think it would be better if you went alone to these hotels? This distinguished gentleman," indicating Popova, "is well known on account of being a high guy up at the palace. Sure as you live, if he trails around with you, you will be spotted. You don't want to hunt this fellow with a brass band. Besides, you don't need any help, do you?"--to the head of the secret service.

"Certainly not," replied the famous detective, swelling visibly. "I have all the data--already I am planning my campaign."

"Then I should like to have a talk with Pop-what's-his-name. I think I can slip him a few valuable pointers. You go right along and nail your man and we'll sit here in the shade of the sheltering palm and tell each other our troubles."

"I must return to the palace quite soon," murmured Popova, gazing at the stranger uneasily.

"Call a carriage for the professor," spoke up Mr. Pike briskly, to the manager. "I know his time is valuable, so we'll get down to business immediately, if not sooner."

The manager knew a millionaire's voice when he heard it, so he hurried away. The impatient Koldo said that he would communicate directly with the palace as soon as he had effected the capture, and started for the front door. Then, remembering himself, he went out the back way.

The old tutor, finding himself alone with Mr. Pike, was not permitted to relapse into embarrassment.

"In the first place, I want you to know who and what I am," said Mr. Pike. "Come into my suite and I'll show you something. Then you'll see that you're not wasting your time on a light-weight."

He led the way to a large parlor ornately done in red, and pulled out from a leather trunk a passport issued by the Department of State of the United States of America. It was a huge parchment, with pictorial embellishments, heavy Gothic type and a seal about the size of a pie. Mr. Pike's physical peculiarities were enumerated and there was a direct request that the bearer be shown every courtesy and attention due a citizen of the great republic. Popova looked it over and was impressed.

"It isn't everybody that gets those," said Mr. Pike, as he put the document carefully back into the trunk and covered it with shirts. "Have a red chair. Take off your hat--ah, I remember, you leave that on, don't you?"

The old gentleman seated himself, somewhat reassured by the cheery manner of his host, who sat in front of him and beamed.

Mr. Pike, supposed to be given to vapory and aimless conversation, really was a general. Already we have learned that he based his every-day conduct on a groundwork of safe principles. He had certain private theories, which had stood the test, and when following these theories he proceeded with bustling confidence. One of his theories was that every man in the world has a grievance and regards himself as much-abused, and in order to win the regard and confidence of that man, all one has to do is feel around for the grievance and then play upon it. Mr. Pike, in his province of employer, had been compelled to study the methods of successful labor-union agitators.

"You don't know much about me, but I know plenty about you," he began, closing one eye and nodding wisely. "I hadn't been here very long before I found out who was the real brains of that outfit up at the palace."

"Really, you know, we are not supposed to discuss the merits of our ruler," said Popova, fairly startled at the candid tone of the other. He lifted one hand in timid deprecation.

"Of course you're not. That's why some one who is simply a figurehead goes on taking all the credit for tricks turned by a smart fellow who is working for him. Now, if you lived in the dear old land of ready money, where the accident of birth doesn't give any man the right to sit on somebody else's neck, you'd be a big gun. You'd have money and a pull and probably, before you got through, you'd be investigated. Over here, you are deliberately kept in the background. You are the Patsy."

"The what?"

"The squidge--that means the fellow who does all the worrying and gets nothing out of it. Now, before you return to what you call the palace, and which looks to me like the main building of the Allegheny Brick Works, will you do me the honor of going into that cave of gloom, known as the American bar, and hitting up just one small libation?"

"I am not sure that I catch your meaning," said Popova, who felt himself somewhat smothered by rhetoric.

"Into the bar--down at the little iron table--business of hoisting beverage."

"We of the faith are not supposed to partake of any drink containing even a small percentage of alcohol."

"I'm not _supposed_ to dally with it myself, having been brought up on cistern water, but I find in traveling that I entertain a more kindly feeling for you strange foreign people when I carry a medium-sized headlight. Come along, now. Don't compel me to tear your clothes."

There was no resisting the masterful spirit of the young steel magnate, and Popova was led away to a remote apartment, where a single shelf, sparsely set with bottles, made a weak effort to reproduce the fabled splendors of far-away New York.

"Let's see, what shall we tackle?" asked Mr. Pike, as he checked down the line with a rigid forefinger. "If you don't care what happens to you, we might try a couple of cocktails--that is, if you like the taste of _eau de quinine_. Oh, I'll tell you what! Here are lemons, seltzer and gin. Boy, two gin fizzes."

The attendant, who was very juvenile and much afraid of his job, smiled and shook his head.

"Do you mean to say that you never heard of a gin fizz?" asked Mr. Pike. "All the ingredients within reach, simply waiting to be introduced to each other, and you have been holding them apart. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Bring out some ice. Produce your jigger. Get busy. Hand me the tools and I'll do this myself."

Then, while the other two looked on in abashed admiration, Mr. Pike deftly squeezed the lemons and splashed in allopathic portions of the crystal fluid and used ice most wastefully. After vigorous shaking and patient straining he shot a seething stream of seltzer into each glass and finally delivered to Popova a translucent drink that was very tall and capped with foam.

"Hide that, Professor," he said. "In a few minutes you will speak several new languages."

Popova sipped conservatively.

"Don't be afraid," urged Mr. Pike, encouragingly. "If the boy watched me carefully, possibly he can duplicate the order."

The youth was more than willing, for he seldom received instruction. With now and then a word of counsel or warning from the wise man of the west in the corner, he cautiously assembled two other fizzes, while Mr. Pike, in a most nonchalant and roundabout manner, sought information concerning affairs of state, local politics, the Governor-General's household and Princess Kalora. Popova told more than he had meant to tell and more than he knew that he was telling.

It may have been that the fizzes were insidious or that Mr. Pike was unduly persuasive, or that a combination of these two powerful influences moved the elderly tutor to impulses of unusual generosity. At any rate, he found himself possessed of an affection for the young man from Bessemer, Pennsylvania. It was an affection both fatherly and brotherly. When Mr. Pike asked him to perform just a small service for him, he promised and then promised again and was still promising when his host went with him to the carriage and said that he had not lived in vain and that in years to come he would gather his grandchildren around him and tell of the circumstances of his meeting with the greatest scholar in southeastern Europe.

VIII

BY MESSENGER

On the morning after the strange happenings in the garden, Kalora sat by one of the cross-barred windows overlooking a side street, and envied the humble citizens and unimportant woman drifting happily across her field of vision.

Never in all her life had she walked out alone. The sweet privilege of courting adventure had been denied her. And yet she felt, on this morning, an almost intimate acquaintance with the outside world, for had she not talked with a valorous young man who could leap over high walls and subdue giants and pay compliments? He had thrown a sudden glare of romance across her lonesome pathway. The few minutes with him seemed to encompass everything in life that was worth remembering. She told herself that already she liked him better than any other young man she had met, which was not surprising, for he had been the first to sit beside her and look into her eyes and tell her that she was beautiful. She knew that whatever of wretchedness the years might hold in store for her, no local edict could rob her of one precious memory. She had locked it up and put it away, beyond the reach of courts and relatives.

During many wakeful hours she had recalled each minute detail of that amazing interview in the garden, and had tried to estimate and foreshadow the young man's plan of escape from the secret police.

Perhaps he had been taken during the night. The greatest good fortune that she could picture for him was a quick flight across the frontier, which meant that he would never return--that she had seen him once and could not hope to see him again.

In her contemplation of the luminous figure of the Only Young Man, she had ceased to speculate concerning her own misfortunes. The fact of her disgrace remained in the background, eclipsed--not in evidence except as a dim shadow over the day.

While she sat immovable, gazing into the street, feeling within herself a tumult which was not of pain, nor yet of pleasure, but a satisfactory commingling of both, she heard her name spoken. Popova was standing in the doorway. He greeted her with a smile and bow, both of which struck her as being singularly affected, for he was not given to polite observances. As he squatted near her, she noticed that he was tremulous and seemed almost frightened about something.

"I have come to tell you that I regret exceedingly the--the distressing incident of yesterday, and that I sympathize with you deeply--deeply," he began.

"It is your fault," she said, turning from him and again gazing into the street. "You taught me everything I do not need in Morovenia. You neglected the one essential. I am not blind. It was never your desire that I should be like my sister."

She spoke in a low monotone and with no tinge of resentment, but her words had an immediate and perturbing effect on Popova, who stared at her wide-eyed and seemed unable to find his voice.

"You must know that I have been governed by your father's wishes," he said awkwardly. "Why do you--"

"Do not misunderstand me. I thank you for what you have done. I would not be other than what I am. Tell me--the stranger--you know, the one in the garden--has he been taken?" inquired the Princess.

"Taken! Taken! Not even a clue--not a trace! Either the earth opened to swallow him or else Koldo is a dunce. The description was most accurate. By the way, I--I had a most interesting conversation regarding the case, with a young man at the Hotel de l'Europe last evening. He is a person of great importance in his own country, also a student of world-politics--I--he--never have I encountered such discrimination in one so young. It was because of my admiration for his talents and my confidence in his integrity that I consented to deliver a message for him."

Kalora squirmed in her pillows, and turned eagerly to face Popova.

"A message? For me?" she cried, eagerly.

"I will admit that the whole proceeding is most irregular, to put it mildly. The young man was so deeply interested in your perilous adventure of yesterday, and so desirous of felicitating you upon your escape, that I yielded to his importunities and promised to deliver to you this letter."

He brought it out cautiously, as if it were loaded with an explosive, and Kalora pounced upon it.

"I rely upon you to maintain absolute secrecy in regard to my part in this unusual--"

But Kalora, unheeding him, had torn open the letter and was reading, as follows:

MY DEAR PRINCESS:

I hope that's the way to begin. Something tells me that you would not
stand for "Your Majesty" or any of these "Royal Highness" trimmings.

Believe me, you are the best ever. I have just had a talk with the
eminent plain-clothes man who is looking for the burglar that broke into
the garden this afternoon and tried to steal you. He read to me the
description. Say, if I tried to write at this minute all of my present
emotions concerning you, I would burn holes in the paper. When it comes
to turning out fiction, Marie Corelli is not in the running. Honestly,
when Mr. Detective walked into the hotel this evening, I figured it a
toss-up whether I should ever see home and mother again.

I am only an humble steel-maker, but I am for you and I want to see you
again and tell you right to your face what I think of you. If you will
sort of happen to be in the garden at 4 p.m. to-morrow (Thursday), I
will come over the wall at the very spot I picked out to-day. I know
that this method of becoming acquainted with young women is not indorsed
by the _Ladies_' _Home Journal_ or Beatrice Fairfax, but, as nearly as I
can find out, there is no other way in which I can get into society over
here.

So far as the bloodhounds of the law are concerned, don't give them a
thought. I have met, the great Koldo, and he won't know until about next
Sunday that yesterday was Tuesday. The professor has promised to bring a
reply to the hotel. He is not on.

Sincerely,
YOUR GERMAN FRIEND.

She read it all and found herself gasping--surprised, frightened, and moved to a fluttering delight. She had thought of him as skulking in byways, of concealing his name and attempting to disguise himself so that he might dodge through the meshes woven by the invincible Koldo, and here he was, still flaunting himself at the hotel and calmly preparing to repeat his hazardous experiment.

"He is a fool!" she exclaimed, forgetting that Popova was present.

"I trust the message has not offended you," said the tutor, decidedly alarmed at her agitation and not understanding what it meant.

"I tell you he is a fool--a fool!" she repeated. And while Popova wondered, she sprang to her feet and ran to him and gave him a muscular embrace around the tender portion of his neck, for he still squatted after the oriental manner, even though he wore a long black coat of German make.

"I consented to bring it because he was most urgent, and seemed a proper sort of person," began Popova, "and not knowing the contents--"

"Bless you, I am not offended," interrupted Kalora, and then, looking at the letter again, she burst into happy laughter.

The young stranger was unquestionably a fool. She had not dreamed that any one could be so reckless and heedless, so contemptuous of the dread machinery of the law, so willing to risk his very life for the sake of--of seeing her again!

"If he has been impertinent, possibly you will take no notice of his communication," suggested Popova.

"Oh, I _must_--I must at least acknowledge the receipt of it. Common courtesy demands that. I shall write just a few lines and you must take them to him at once. He seems to be a very forward person unacquainted with our local customs, and so I shall formally thank him and suggest to him that any further correspondence would be inadvisable. That's the really proper thing to do, don't you think?"

"Possibly."

"Then wait here until I have written it, and unless you wish me to go to my father and tell him something that would put an end to your illustrious career, deliver this message within a hour--deliver it yourself. Give it to him and to no one else."

Never was a go-between more nonplussed, but he promised with a readiness and a sincerity which indicated that he was keenly aware of the fact that Kalora held him in her power. The minx had read his secret without an effort!

Mr. Pike was waiting in the avenue of potted palms when the greatest scholar of southeastern Europe, now reduced to the humble role of messenger boy, came to him, somewhat flurried and breathless, and slipped a small envelope into his hand.

Popova rather curtly refused to renew his acquaintance with occidental fizzes, and waited only until he had announced to Mr. Pike that the Princess wished to emphasize the advice contained in the letter and to assure the presumptuous stranger that it was meant for his welfare.

This is what Mr. Pike read:

My very good friend:

I have protected you, not because you deserve protection, but because I
like you very much. You must not come to the palace grounds again. They
are now under double guard and, if I attempted to meet you, no doubt a
whole company of our big soldiers would surround you and surely you
could not overcome so many powerful men. I am thinking only of your
safety. I beg you to leave Morovenia at once. Your danger is greater
than you can imagine. What more can I say, except that I shall always
remember you? Sincerely,

K.

Mr. Pike read it carefully three times and then told himself aloud that it was not what he would precisely term a love-letter.

"I may have made an impression, but certainly not a ten-strike," he thought to himself, as he folded up the missive and put it into the most sacred compartment of his Russia-leather pocketbook, along with the letter of credit.

"I fear me that the incident is closed," he said. "I would stay here one year if I thought there was a chance of seeing her again, but if she wants me to fly I guess I had better fly."

That evening, after an earnest controversy with the manager over a very complicated bill, studded with "extras," Mr. Alexander H. Pike, accompanied by dragoman, leather trunks, hat-boxes and hold-alls, drove away to the transcontinenta express, and slept soundly while crossing the dangerous frontier.

Possibly he would not have slept so soundly if he had known that at four o'clock that afternoon the Princess Kalora had been idling her time in the palace garden, walking back and forth near the high wall.

She had told him not to come, and of course he would not come. No one could be so audacious and foolhardy as to invite destruction after being solemnly warned--and yet, if he _did_ come, she wanted to be there to speak to him again and rebuke him and tell him not to come a third time.

She went back to her apartment much relieved and intensely disappointed.

Such is the perverseness of the feminine nature, even in Morovenia.

IX

AS TO WASHINGTON, D.C.

About the time that Mr. Pike arrived in Vienna, and after Kalora had been in voluntary retirement for some forty-eight hours, the famous Koldo, head of the secret police, came into possession of a most important clue.

Having searched for two days, without finding the trail of the criminal with the black mustache and the German accent, he bethought himself of the wisdom of going to the garden where the intruder had engaged in a desperate struggle with the two guards. Possibly he would discover incriminating footprints. Instead, he found some scraps of paper, with printing of a foreign character.

By questioning the guards he learned that these tatters had come from a printed book which the mysterious stranger had carried, and which he never relinquished even while reducing his foes to insensibility.

Koldo put these pieces of paper into a strong envelope, which he sealed and marked "Exhibit A," and delivered his precious find to the Governor-General.

While Mr. Pike sat in Ronacher's at Vienna, watching a most entertaining vaudeville performance, Count Selim Malagaski was in his library, conferring with the wise Popova.

"How did he escape?" asked Count Malagaski again and again, shaking his head. "The police have searched every corner of the town, and can find no one answering the description."

"Have you questioned Kalora again?"

"Yes, and she now remembers that he had a very heavy scar over his right eye. Her description and these few scraps of paper torn from the book he was carrying are all that we have to guide us in our search."

The Governor-General held up the several remnants of a ten-cent magazine.

"It is in English; I read it badly."

He gave the torn pages to the old tutor, and Popova, picking up the first, read as follows:

What is the great danger that threatens the American woman? It is
_obesity_. It is well known that ninety-nine per cent of all the women
in the United States are striving to reduce their weight. For all such
we have a message of hope. Write to Madam Clarissa and she----

"The remainder is torn away," said Popova.

The Governor-General had been leaning forward, listening intently. "Do you mean to say that there is a country in which all the woman are fat?" he asked.

"It would seem so," replied Popova. "Let us read further." He picked up another of the torn pages and read aloud:

To the Oatena Company of Pine Creek, Michigan:

When I began using your wonderful health-food I was a mere skeleton. I
have been living on it for three months and I have gained a pound a day.
Permit me to express the conviction that you are real benefactors to the
human race. Gratefully yours,

OSCAR TILBURY,
Oakdale, Arkansas.

"Stop!" exclaimed the Governor-General, striking the table. "Is it possible that somewhere in this world there is a food which will add a pound a day?"

"The testimonial seems genuine," replied Popova. "It has been sworn to before a notary."

"What country is this?"

"America, the land of milk and honey."

"Both very fattening," commented the Governor-General. "Popova, I have an inspiration. You well know that my situation here is most desperate. I must find husbands for these two daughters, but I dare not hope that any one will come for Kalora until the disgraceful affair has been forgotten and I can absolutely demonstrate that she has developed into some degree of attractiveness. It is better for all concerned that she should leave Morovenia until the present scandal blows over. Now, why not America? It is a remote, half-savage country, and she will be far from the temptations which would beset her at any fashionable capital in Europe. We read in this magazine that all the women in America are fat. She will come back to us in a little while as plump as a partridge. From the sworn testimonial it would appear that she can obtain in America a marvelous food which will cause her to gain a pound a day. She now weighs one hundred and eighteen pounds. If she remained there a year she would weigh, let me see--one hundred and eighteen plus three hundred and sixty-five--oh, that doesn't seem possible! That is too good to be true! But even six months, or only three months, would be sufficient. She _must_ be sent away for a while, in the care of some one who will guard her carefully. Read up on America to-night, and let me know all about it in the morning."

Next day Popova, having consulted all the British authorities at hand, reported that the United States of America covered a large but undeveloped area, that the population was so engrossed with the accumulation of wealth that it gave little heed to pleasures or intellectual relaxation, and that the country as a whole was unworthy of consideration except as the abode of a swollen material prosperity.

"Just the place for her," exclaimed the Governor-General. "No pleasures to distract her, an atmosphere of plodding commercialism, an abundance of health-giving nourishment! Perhaps the mere change of climate will have the desired effect. We will make the experiment. She is doomed if she remains here, and America seems to be our only hope. I suppose our beloved Monarch sends a minister to that country. If so, communicate with the Secretary of the Legation and request him to secure secluded apartments for her and a suite. You shall accompany her."

"I?" exclaimed Popova, unable to conceal his joy.

"Yes; she must be under careful restraint all the time. What is the capital of the United States?"

"Washington. It is a sleepy and well-behaved town. I have looked it up."

"Good! You shall take her to Washington. If one of the many civil wars should break out, or there should be an uprising of the red men, she can hurry to the protection of the Turkish Embassy. Let us make immediate preparations--and remember, Popova, that my whole future happiness as a father depends upon the success of this expedition."

When Kalora was gravely informed by her father that she and the tutor and a half-dozen female attendants were to be bundled up and sent away to America, and that she was to do penance, take a dieting treatment, and come back in due time to try and atone for her unfortunate past, did she weep and beg to be allowed to remain at her own dear home? No; she listened in apparently meek and rather mournful submission, and, after her father went away, she turned handsprings across the room.

Her utmost dream of happiness had been realized. She was to go to the land of the red-headed stranger where she would be admired and courted, and where, in time, she might aspire to the ultimate honor of having her picture in a ten-cent magazine.

X

ON THE WING

The train rolled away from the low and dingy station and was in the open country of Morovenia. Kalora and her elderly guardian and the young women who were to be her companions during the period of exile had been tucked away into adjoining compartments. Each young woman was muffled and veiled according to the most discreet and orthodox rules.

Popova's bright red fez contrasted strangely with his silvering hair, but no more strangely than did this wondrous experience of starting for a new world contrast with the quiet years that he had spent among his books.

The train sped into the farm-lands. On either side was a wide stretch of harvest fields, heaving into gentle billows, with here and there a shabby cluster of buildings. If Kalora had only known, Morovenia was very much like the far-away America, except that Morovenia had not learned to decorate the hillsides with billboards.

At last she was to have a taste of freedom! No father to scold and plead; no much-superior sister to torment her with reproaches; no peering through grated windows at one little rectangle of outside sunshine. To be sure, Popova had received explicit and positive instructions concerning her government. But Popova--pshaw!

She unwound her veil and removed her head-gear and sat bareheaded by the car-window, greedily welcoming each new picture that swung into view.

"You must keep your face covered while we are in public or semi-public places," said Popova gently, repeating his instructions to the very letter.

"I shall not."

Thus ended any exercise of Popova's authority during the whole journey.

Before the train had come to Budapest all the young women, urged on to insubordination, had removed their veils, and Kalora had boldly invaded another compartment to engage in rapt and feverish dialogue with a little but vivacious Frenchwoman.

Two hours out from Vienna, the tutor found her involved in a business conference with a guard of the train. She had learned that the tickets permitted a stopover in Vienna. She wished to see Vienna. She had decided to spend one whole day in Vienna.

Popova, as usual, made a feeble show of maintaining his authority, but he was overruled.

Count Selim Malagaski, at home, consulting the prearranged schedule, said, "This morning they have arrived in Paris and Popova is arranging for the steamship tickets."

At which very moment, Kalora was in an open carriage driving from one Vienna shop to another, trying to find ready-made garments similar to those worn by Mrs. Rawley Plumston. Popova was now a bundle-carrier.

The shopping in Vienna was merely a prelude to a riotous extravagance of time and money in Paris. Popova, writing under dictation, sent a message to Morovenia to the effect that they had been compelled to wait a week in order to get comfortable rooms on a steamer.

Kalora had the dressmakers working night and day.

She and her mother and her grandmother and her great-grandmother and the whole line of maternal ancestors had been under suppression and had attired themselves according to the directions of a religious Prophet, who had been ignorant concerning color effects. And yet, now that Kalora had escaped from the cage, the original instinct asserted itself. The love of finery can not be eliminated from any feminine species.

When she boarded the steamer she was outwardly a creature of the New World.

From the moment of embarking she seemed exhilarated by the salt air and the spirit of democracy.

She lingered in New York--more shopping.

By the time she arrived at Washington and went breezing in to call upon a certain dignified young Secretary, the transformation was complete. She might not have been put together strictly according to mode, but she was learning rapidly, and willing to learn more rapidly.

XI

AN OUTING--A REUNION

The Secretary of the Legation at Washington was surprised to receive a letter from the Governor-General of Morovenia requesting him to find apartments for the Princess Kalora and a small retinue. The letter explained that the Governor-General's daughter had been given a long sea-voyage and assigned to a period of residence within the quiet boundaries of Washington, in the hope that her health might be improved.

The Secretary looked up the list of hotels and boarding-houses. He did not deem it advisable to send a convalescent to one of the large and busy hotels; neither did he think it proper to reserve rooms for her at an ordinary boarding-house, where she would sit at the same table with department-employees and congressmen. So he compromised on a very exclusive hotel patronized by legislators who had money of their own, by many of the titled attaches of the embassies, and by families that came during the season with the hope of edging their way into official society. He explained to the manager of the hotel that the Princess Kalora was an invalid, would require secluded apartments, and probably would not care to meet any of the other persons living at the hotel.

Within a week after the rooms had been reserved the invalid drove up to the Legation to thank the Secretary for his kindness. Now, the Secretary had lived in modern capitals for many years, was trained in diplomacy, and had schooled himself never to appear surprised. But the Princess Kalora fairly bowled him over. He had pictured her as a wan and waxen creature, who would be carried to the hotel in a closed carriage or ambulance, there to recline by the windowside and look out at the rustling leaves. He had decided, after hours of deliberation, that the etiquette of the situation would be for some member of the Legation to call upon her about once a week and take flowers to her.

And here was the invalid, bounding out of a coupé, tripping up the front steps and bursting in upon him like an untamed Amazon from the prairies of Nebraska. She wore a tailor-made suit of dark material, a sailor hat, tan gloves with big welts on the back and stout, low-heeled Oxfords. This was the young woman who had come five thousand miles to improve her health! This was the child of the Orient, and in the Orient, woman is a hothouse flower. This was the timid young recluse to whom the soft-spoken diplomats were to carry a few roses about once a week.

Why had she called upon the Secretary? First, to thank him for having engaged the rooms; second, to invite him to take her out to a country club and teach her the game of golf. She had heard people at the hotel talking about golf. The game had been strongly commended to her by a congressman's daughter, with whom she had ascended to the top of the Washington Monument.

When the Secretary, having recovered his breath, asked if she felt strong enough to attempt such a vigorous game, she was moved to silvery laughter. She told what she had accomplished during three short days in Washington. She had attended two matinees with Popova, had gone motoring into the Virginia hills, had inspected all the public buildings, and studied every shop-window in Pennsylvania Avenue. The Secretary knew that all this outdoor freedom was not usually accorded a young woman of his native domain, and yet he felt that he had no authority to restrain her or correct her. She was a princess, and he was relatively a subordinate, and, when she requested him to take her to the country club, he gave an embarrassed consent.

"You have been in America a long time?" she asked.

"About three years."

"You have met many people--that is, the important people?"

"All of them are important over here. Those that are not very wealthy or very eminent are getting ready to be."

"I am wondering if you could tell me something about a young man I met abroad. I met him only once, and I have quite forgotten his name."

"I'm afraid I haven't met him."

"He is rather good-looking and has--well, red hair; not rusty red, but a sort of golden red."

"There are millions of red-haired young men in America."

"Please don't discourage me. Now I remember the name of his home. He lived in Pennsa--Pennsylvania, that's it."

"Pennsylvania is about four times as large as Morovenia."

"But he is very wealthy. He talked as if he had come into millions."

"I can well believe it. The millionaires of Pennsylvania are even as the sands of the sea or the leaves of the forest."

"He owns some sort of mills or factories--where they make steel."

"Every millionaire in Pennsylvania has something to do with steel. Now, if you were searching in that state for a young man who is penniless and has nothing to do with the steel industry, possibly I might be of some service to you. The whole area of Pennsylvania is simply infested with millionaires. Not all of them are red-headed, but they will be, before Congress gets through with them."

This playful lapse into the American vernacular was quite lost upon the Princess Kalora, who was sitting very still and gazing in a most disconsolate manner at the Secretary.

"I felt sure that you could tell me all about him," she said.

"Believe me, if I encounter any young millionaire from Pennsylvania, whose hair is golden-red, I shall put detectives on his trail and let you know at once. You met him abroad?"

"At a garden party in Morovenia."

"Indeed! Garden parties in Morovenia! And yet that is not one-half as surprising as to find you here in Washington."

"You are not displeased to find me here?"

"Charmed--delighted."

"And you will take me to the country club?"

"At any time. It will really give me much pleasure."

"I shall drop a note. Good-by."

He stood at the window to watch her as she nimbly jumped into the coupé and was driven away.

That evening he made a most astonishing report to his intimates of the corps and asked:

"What shall I do?"

"Do you feel competent to take charge of her and regulate her conduct?"

"I do not."

"Have you instructions to watch her and make sure that she observes the etiquette and keeps within the restrictions of her own country while she is visiting in Washington?"

"Nothing of the sort."

"From your first interview with her, do you believe that it would be advisable for any of us to attempt to interfere with her plans?"

"Decidedly not."

"Then take her to the country club and teach her the game of golf, and remember the old saying at home, that no man was ever given praise for attempting to govern another man's family."

So it was settled that the Legation would not attempt any supervision of Kalora's daily program. And it was a very wise decision, for the daily program was complicated and the Legation would have been kept exceedingly busy.

Popova became merely a sort of footman, or modified chaperon. He knew that he had no real authority and seldom attempted even the most timid suggestions as to her conduct. Once or twice he mentioned health-food and dieting, and was pooh-poohed into a corner. As for the women attendants, who had been sent along that they might be the companions of the Princess during the long hours of loneliness and seclusion, they were trained to act as hair-dressers and French maids and repairing seamstresses!

Kalora had money and a title and physical attractions. Could she well escape the gaieties of Washington? Be assured that she made no effort to escape them. She followed the busy routine of dinners and balls, receptions and afternoon teas, her childish enthusiasm never lagging. She could play at golf and she seemed to know horseback riding the first time she tried it, and after the first two weeks she drove her own motor-car.

The letters that went back to Morovenia were fairly dripping with superlatives and happy adjectives. She was delighted with Washington; she was in excellent health; the members of the Legation were very thoughtful in their attentions; the autumn weather was all that could be desired; her apartments at the hotel were charming. In fact, her whole life was rose-colored, but never a word of real news for her anxious father and sister--nothing about gaining a pound a day. The Governor-General hoped from the encouraging tone of the letters that she was quietly housed, out in the borders of some primeval forest, gradually enlarging into the fullness of perfect womanhood.

About three months after her departure, in order to reassure himself regarding the progress in her case, he wrote a letter to the minister at Washington. He told the minister that his child was disposed to be unruly and that Popova had become careless and somewhat indefinite in his reports--and would he, the minister, please write and let an anxious parent know the actual weight of Princess Kalora?

The minister resented this manner of request. He did not feel that it was within the duties of a high official to go out and weigh young women, so he replied briefly that he knew no way of ascertaining the exact weight of an acrobatic young woman who never stood still long enough to be weighed, but he could assure the father that she was somewhat slimmer and more petite than when she arrived in Washington a few weeks before.

This letter slowly traveled back to Morovenia, and on the very day of its delivery to Count Selim Malagaski, who read it aloud and then went into a frothing paroxysm of rage, the Princess Kalora in Washington figured in a most joyful episode.

A western millionaire, who had bought a large cubical palace on one of the radiating avenues, was giving a dancing-party, to which the entire blue book had been invited. Kalora went, trailed by the long-suffering Popova. She wore her most fetching Parisian gown, and decked herself out with wrought jewelry of quaint and heavy design, which was the envy of all the other young women in town, and she put in a very busy night, for she danced with army officers, and lieutenants of the navy, and one senator, and goodness knows how many half-grown diplomats.

At two o'clock in the morning she was in the supper-room: a fairly late hour for a young woman supposed to be leading a quiet life. The food set before her would not have been prescribed for a tender young creature who was dieting. She was supping riotously on stuffed olives. Her companion was a young gentleman from the army. They sat beneath a huge palm. The tables were crowded together rather closely.

She chanced to look across at the little table to her right, and she saw a young man--a young man with light hair almost ripe enough to be auburn.

With a smothered "Oh!" she dropped the olive poised between her fingers, and as she did so, he looked across and saw her and exclaimed:

"Well, I'll be--"

He came over, almost upsetting two tables in his impetuous course. She expected to see him jump over them.

He seized her hand and gazed at her in grinning delight, and the young gentleman from the army went into total eclipse.

XII

THE GOVERNOR CABLES

"I don't believe it. It's too good to be true. I am in a trance. It isn't you, is it?"

And he was still holding her hand.

"Yes--it is."

"The Princess--ah--?"

"Kalora."

"_That's_ it. I was so busy thinking of you after I left your cute little country that I couldn't remember the name. I thought of 'calico' and 'Fedora' and 'Kokomo' and a lot of names that sounded like it, but I knew I was wrong. _Kalora_--_Kalora_--I'll remember that. I knew it began with a 'K.' But what in the name of all that is pure and sanctified are you doing in the land of the free?"

"You invited me to come. Don't you remember? You urged me to come."

"That's why you notified me as soon as you arrived, isn't it? How long have you been here?"

"I forget--three months--four months. Surely you have seen my name in the papers. Every morning you may read a full description of what Princess Kalora of Morovenia wore the night before. For a simple and democratic people you are rather fond of high-sounding titles, don't you think?"

"I haven't read the papers, because I'm always afraid I'll find something about myself. They don't describe my costumes, however. They simply say that I am trying to blow up and scuttle the ship of State. But this has nothing to do with your case. It is customary, when you accept an invitation, to let the host know something about it. In other words, why didn't you drop me a line?"

"I will confess--the whole truth--since you have been candid enough to admit that you had forgotten my name. I tried to find you, through the Legation. I described you, but--your name--_please_ tell me your name again? You mentioned it, that day in the garden. Popova promised to go to the hotel and get it for me, but we were bundled away in such a hurry."

"Heavens! Imagine any one forgetting such a name! Alexander H. Pike, Bessemer, Pennsylvania, tariff-fed infant and all-round plutocrat."

"Why, of course, _Pike, Pike_--it is the name of a fish."

"Thank you."

The young gentleman from the army moved uneasily, and they remembered that he was present. He hoped they wouldn't mind if he went to look up his partner for the next dance, and they assured him that they wouldn't, and he believed them and was backing away when Popova arrived to suggest the lateness of the hour and intimate his willingness to return to the hotel.

His sudden journey to the western hemisphere and his period of residence at Washington had been punctuated with surprises, but the amazement which smote him when he saw Kalora leaning across the table toward the young man who had introduced the gin fizz into Morovenia was sudden and shocking.

Mr. Pike greeted him rapturously and gave him the keys to North America, and then Kalora patted him on the arm and sent him away to wait for her.

They sat and talked for an hour--sat and talked and laughed and pieced out between them the wonderful details of that very lively day in Morovenia.

"And you have come all the way to Washington, D.C. in order to increase your weight?" he asked. "That certainly would make a full-page story for a Sunday paper. Think of anybody's coming to Washington to fatten up! Why, when I come down here to regulate these committees, I lose a pound a day."

"I never dreamed that there could be a country in which women are given so much freedom--so many liberties."

"And what we don't give them, they take--which is eminently correct. Of all the sexes, there is only one that ever made a real impression on me."

"And to think that some day I shall have to return to Morovenia!"

"Forget it," urged Mr. Pike, in a low and soothing tone. "Far be it from me to start anything in your family, but if I were you, I would never go back there to serve a life sentence in one of those lime-kilns, with a curtain over my face. You are now at the spot where woman is real superintendent of the works, and this is where you want to camp for the rest of your life."

"But I can not disobey my father. I dare not remain if he--"

She paused, realizing that the talk had led her to dangerous ground, for Mr. Pike had dropped his large hand on her small one and was gazing at her with large devouring eyes.

"You won't go back if I can help it," he said, leaning still nearer to her. "I know this is a little premature, even for me, but I just want you to know that from the minute I looked down from the wall that day and saw you under the tree--well, I haven't been able to find anything else in the world worth looking at. When I met you again to-night, I didn't remember your name. You didn't remember my name. What of that? We know each other pretty well--don't you think we do? The way you looked at me, when I came across to speak to you--I don't know, but it made me believe, all at once, that maybe you had been thinking of me, the same as I had been thinking of you. If I'm saying more than I have a right to say, head me off, but, for once in my life, I'm in earnest."

"I'm glad--you like me," she said, and she pushed back in her chair and looked down and away from him and felt that her face was burning with blushes.

"When you have found out all about me, I hope you'll keep on speaking to me just the same," he continued. "I warn you that, from now on, I am going to pester you a lot. You'll find me sitting on your front door-step every morning, ready to take orders. To-morrow I must hie me to New York, to explain to some venerable directors why the net earnings have fallen below forty per cent. But when I return, O fair maiden, look out for me."

He would be back in Washington within three days. He would come to her hotel. They were to ride in the motor-car and they were to go to the theaters. She must meet his mother. His mother would take her to New York, and there would be the opera, and this, and that, and so on, for he was going to show her all the attractions of the Western Hemisphere.

The night was thinning into the grayness of dawn when he took her to the waiting carriage. She put her hand through the window and he held it for a long time, while they once more went over their delicious plans.

After the carriage had started, Popova spoke up from his dark corner.

"I am beginning to understand why you wished to come to America. Also I have made a discovery. It was Mr. Pike who overcame the guards and jumped over the wall."

"I shall ask the Governor-General to give you Koldo's position."