THE MAKER OF 
 OPPORTUNITIES
 
 By GEORGE GIBBS 
 
 The Maker of Opportunities 
 The Forbidden Way 
 The Bolted Door 
 Tony's Wife 
 The Medusa Emerald 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 NEW YORK
 
 OF GALIF. LRWARY. LOS
 
 But the Great Head rocks didn't hear." 
 
 [Page 99.]
 
 THE MAKER OF 
 OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE GIBBS 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE FORBIDDEN WAY," 
 "THE BOLTED DOOR," ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 EDMUND FREDERICK 
 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 1912
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 Copyright, 1905, by The Metropolitan Magazine Company 
 
 Copyright, 1905, 1906, by Street and Smith 
 Copyright, 1911, by the Red Book Corporation 
 
 Published April, 1912 
 
 Printed in the United States of America
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 "But the Great Head rocks didn't hear" Frontispiece 
 
 "'I beg pardon,' he repeated, 'but isn't this yours?' ". 66 
 
 "'What a lot of vermilion you use' ' 142 
 
 <You are supposed to be playing the golf of the New 
 
 Era'" 256 
 
 2128830
 
 THE 
 MAKER OF OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IT was two o'clock. Mr. Mortimer Crabb 
 pushed back the chair from his break- 
 fast tray and languidly took up the 
 morning paper. He had a reputation (in 
 which he delighted) of dwelling in a Castle 
 of Indolence, and took particular pains that 
 no act of his should belie it. There were per- 
 sons who smiled at his affectations, for he had 
 a studio over a stable in one of the cross streets 
 up town, where he dawdled most of his days, 
 supine in his easy chair. The age was run- 
 ning to athletics, so Mr. Crabb in public 
 had become the apostle and high priest of 
 flaccidity. He raised a supercilious eyebrow 
 at tennis, drawled his disparagement of polo 
 and racquets and recoiled at the mere 
 
 i
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 mention of college football. But those 
 highest in Crabb's favor knew that there were 
 evenings when he met professional pugilists 
 at this same shrine of aestheticism, who, at 
 liberal compensation, matched their skill and 
 heft to his. 
 
 Nor was he a mean antagonist in conversa- 
 tion. For Mr. Crabb had a slow and rather 
 halting way of making the most trenchantly 
 witty remarks, and a style exactly suited to 
 the successful dinner table. And when a 
 satiated society demanded something new it 
 was to Crabb they turned for a suggestion. 
 Mrs. Ryerson's Gainsborough ball, Jack Bur- 
 row's remarkable ushers' dinner, and the pet- 
 dog tea at Mrs. Jennings' country place were 
 fantasies of the mind of this Prester John 
 of the effete. When to these remarkable tal- 
 ents is added a yacht and a hundred and fifty 
 thousand a year, it is readily to be seen that 
 Mr. Mortimer Crabb was a person of conse- 
 quence, even in New York. 
 
 Mr. Crabb scanned the headlines of the 
 
 2
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 Sun, while McFee fastened his boots. But 
 his eye fell upon an item that made him sit 
 up straight and drop his monocle. 
 
 "H m!" he muttered in a strange tone. 
 "So Dicky Bowles is coming home!" 
 
 He peered at the item again and read, 
 frowning. 
 
 "Owing to the necessity for the immediate 
 departure of the prospective groom for Eu- 
 rope, the marriage of Miss Juliet Hazard, 
 daughter of Mr. Henry Hazard, to Mr. 
 Carl Geltman will take place on Wednes- 
 day, June twentieth, instead of in October, 
 the month at first selected." 
 
 Crabb's expression had suddenly undergone 
 a startling change, unknown in the Platonic 
 purlieus of the Bachelors' Club. The brows 
 tangled, the lower jaw protruded, while the 
 feet which had languidly emerged from the 
 dressing-room a few moments before, had par- 
 taken suddenly of the impulses which dom- 
 inated the entire body. He rose abruptly and 
 took a few rapid turns up and down the room. 
 
 3
 
 "So! They didn't dare wait! Poor little 
 Julie! There ought to be better things in 
 store for her than that! And Dicky won't be 
 here until Thursday morning! It's too evi- 
 dent the haste." 
 
 He dropped into his chair, picked up the 
 paper again, and re-read the item. June 
 twentieth! And to-day was Sunday, June 
 seventeenth! Geltman had taken no more 
 chances than decency demanded. Crabb 
 remembered the calamitous result of Haz- 
 ard's ventures in Wall Street, and it was com- 
 mon gossip that, had it not been for Carl 
 Geltman, the firm of Hazard and Company 
 would long since have ceased to exist. It was 
 easy to read between the lines of the news- 
 paper paragraph. Between the ruin of her 
 father's fortunes and her own, duty left Juliet 
 Hazard no choice. And here was Dicky 
 Bowles upon the ocean coming back to claim 
 his own. It was monstrous. 
 
 Mr. Crabb laid aside the paper and paced 
 the floor again. Then walked to the window 
 
 4
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 and presently found himself smiling down 
 upon the hansom tops. 
 
 "The very thing," he said. "The very 
 thing. It's worth trying at any rate. Jepson 
 will help. And what a lark!" And then 
 aloud: 
 
 "McFee," he called, "get me a hansom." 
 Mr. Carl Geltman sat in his office of 
 chamfered oak, and smiled up at a photo- 
 graph upon his desk, conscious of nothing but 
 the dull ecstasy which suffused his ample per- 
 son and blinded him to everything but the 
 contemplation of his approaching nuptials. 
 The watch-chain stretched tightly between his 
 waistcoat pockets somehow conveyed the im- 
 pression of a tension of suppressed emotions, 
 which threatened to burst their confines. His 
 rubicund visage exuded delight, and his short 
 fingers caressed his blond mustache. It was 
 difficult for him to comprehend that all of 
 his ambitions were to be realized at once. 
 Money, of course, would buy almost anything 
 in New York, but Mr. Geltman had hardly 
 
 5
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 dared to dream of this. Until he had seen 
 Miss Hazard he had never even thought of 
 marriage. After he had seen her he had 
 thought of nothing else. 
 
 After working late in his office, Geltman 
 dined alone at a fashionable restaurant in a 
 state of beatitude, then lit his cigar and 
 walked forth into Broadway for a breath of 
 air before going to bed. The sooner to sleep, 
 the sooner would his wedding day dawn. But 
 the glare of the lights distracted him, the bells 
 jangled out of harmony with his mood, so he 
 sought a side street and walked on toward the 
 river, where he could continue his dreams in 
 quiet, until the hurrying thoroughfare was far 
 behind. 
 
 He had reached a spot between tall ware- 
 houses or factories when he felt himself seized 
 from behind by strong arms, and before he 
 could make an outcry something soft was 
 thrust into his mouth and he had a dim sense 
 of sudden darkness, of hands not too tender 
 lifting him into a carriage, a brief whispered 
 
 6
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 order, a hurried drive, more carrying, the 
 sound of lapping water and ship's bells, the 
 throbbing of ferry paddles, the motion of a 
 boat, and the damp night air of the river 
 through his thin evening clothes. 
 
 When Geltman opened his eyes it was to 
 fix them rather dully upon the deck-beams of 
 a yacht. The rushing water alongside sent 
 rapid reflections dancing along their polished 
 surfaces. At first it occurred to him that he 
 was on an ocean steamer. Had he been mar- 
 ried, and was this ? He looked around. No. 
 He was a good sailor, but the vessel rolled and 
 pitched sharply in a way to which he was un- 
 accustomed. He arose to a sitting posture 
 and tried to piece together the shattered rem- 
 nants of his recollection. He felt strangely 
 stupid and inert. How long had he been 
 lying in the bunk? He remarked that he was 
 attired very properly in pajamas very fine 
 pajamas they were, too, of silk such as he wore 
 himself. Upon the leather-covered bench op- 
 posite was a suit of flannels carefully folded, 
 
 7
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 white canvas shoes, stockings upon the deck, 
 and other unfamiliar undergarments disposed 
 upon hooks by the cabin door. 
 
 He rose suddenly, his mind dully trying to 
 grasp the situation. He lurched to the port- 
 hole and looked out. It was a wilderness of 
 amber-color and white, rather bewildering 
 and terrifying seen so near at hand, for Celt- 
 man had been accustomed to look upon the 
 ocean from the security of fifty feet of free- 
 board. Far away where the leaping wave 
 crests met the line of sky, he could just dis- 
 tinguish the faint blue of the land. He was 
 seized with a sudden terror and, turning, he 
 ran to the cabin door and tried to open it. It 
 was locked. He threw himself against it and 
 cried aloud, but his voice was lost in the rush 
 of wind and water without. His despairing 
 eye at this moment lit upon a push-button by 
 the side of the bunk. He touched it with his 
 finger and anxiously waited. There was no 
 sound. He sat upon the edge of the bunk, 
 conscious of a cold wind blowing upon his 
 
 8
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 bare toes and of a dull ache within which pro- 
 claimed the lack of food or drink, or both. 
 He rang again and renewed his shouting. In 
 a moment there was the sound of a key in the 
 lock, the door opened, and a sober, smooth- 
 shaven person in brass buttons stood in the 
 door. 
 
 "Did you ring, sir?" said the man, respect- 
 fully. 
 
 "I did," said Geltman, wrathfully. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said the man. "Can I get you 
 anything, sir?" 
 
 "Can you get me ?" began the bewildered 
 Geltman. "Is there anything you can't get 
 me? Get me some food my own clothes 
 and get me get me out of this. Where am 
 I? What am I doing here?" 
 
 "You were sleeping, sir," said the man, im- 
 perturbably. "I thought you might not wish 
 to be disturbed." 
 
 Geltman looked around him again as 
 though unwilling to credit the evidence of 
 his senses. He saw that the man kept his 
 
 9
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 hand upon the door and eyed him nar- 
 rowly. 
 
 "I've been drugged and shanghaied. What 
 boat is this? Where are we?" 
 
 "We're at sea, sir," said the man, quietly. 
 "Off Fire Island, I believe, sir." 
 
 "Fire Island," he cried, "and this" as 
 memory came back with a horrible rush 
 "what day is this?" 
 
 "Wednesday, June the twentieth," replied 
 the man, calmly. 
 
 Geltman raised his hands toward the deck 
 beams and sank upon the bunk on the verge 
 of collapse. He remembered now it was his 
 wedding day!
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 AS the fog upon his memory still hung 
 heavily he raised his head toward the 
 man at the door of the cabin. That 
 person was eyeing him rather pityingly and 
 had come a step forward into the room. 
 
 "Shall I be getting you something, sir?" he 
 was saying again. 
 
 Geltman sprang unsteadily to his feet. 
 
 "No," he cried. "I'm going to get out of 
 this." 
 
 "In pajamas, sir?" said the man, reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 Geltman glanced down at the flimsy silk 
 garment 
 
 "Yes in pajamas," he cried, hotly. And 
 with an imprecation he strode past the out- 
 raged servant and rushed through the saloon 
 and up the companion. As he raised his head 
 and shoulders above the deck he was imme- 
 2 ii
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 diately aware of a chill wind which was sing- 
 ing sharply through the rigging. A gentle- 
 man, in a double-breasted suit and yachting 
 cap, was standing aft steadying a telescope to- 
 ward a distant schooner. By his side was a 
 short and very stocky man with a bushy red 
 beard and brass buttons. 
 
 "What is the meaning of this outrage?" he 
 cried, wildly addressing the man in the yacht- 
 ing cap. "Are you the owner of this yacht?" 
 The gentleman calmly lowered his telescope, 
 passed it to the bearded man, turned mildly 
 toward the tousled apparition and looked at 
 him from top to toe while the sportive wind 
 gleefully defined Geltman's generous figure. 
 
 "I say, old man," he said, smiling, "hadn't 
 you better get into some clothes?" 
 
 "C clothes be " chattered Geltman. 
 
 "I've been drugged, kidnapped, and shang- 
 haied! Somebody's going to smart for this. 
 Who are you? What does it mean?" 
 
 The enraged brewer, with his arms waving, 
 his slender garment flapping, his inflamed 
 
 12
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 countenance and ruffled hair, presented the 
 wildest appearance imaginable. The man in 
 the yachting cap wore an expression of com- 
 miseration and exchanged a significant glance 
 with the red-bearded man. 
 
 "There now," said he, raising a protesting 
 hand, "we're all your friends aboard here. 
 You're in no danger at all, except " he 
 smiled at the brewer's costume "except from 
 a bad cold." 
 
 "What does this outrage mean?" cried Celt- 
 man anew. "You'll suffer for it. As long as 
 I have a dollar left in the world " 
 
 "You really don't mean that," said the 
 gentleman. "Go below now, that's a good 
 fellow, get breakfast and some clothes." 
 
 "No, I'll n not," said the brewer in chilly 
 syncopation. "I'm Carl Geltman, of Henry 
 Geltman and Company, and I want an ex- 
 planation of this outrage." 
 
 The two men exchanged another look, and 
 the red-bearded one tapped his forehead 
 twice with a blunt forefinger. 
 
 13
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "I haven't the least idea what you're talk- 
 ing about, Mr. Fehrenbach," said the man in 
 the yachting cap, calmly. 
 
 "Fehrenbach!" cried the brewer. "My 
 name isn't Fehrenbach!" he screamed. "Otto 
 Fehrenbach is on the East Side. I'm on the 
 West. My name is Geltman, I tell you!" 
 
 The man in blue looked gravely down at 
 the astonished brewer and pushed a bell on 
 the side of the cabin skylight. 
 
 "That was one of the symptoms, Weck- 
 erly," he said aside to the man with the red 
 beard. 
 
 "Yes, Doctor," said the other quizzically. 
 "The sea air ought to do him a lot of good." 
 
 Geltman, now bewildered, limp and very 
 much alarmed, suffered himself to be led 
 shivering below by the two blue-shirted sailor- 
 men. There he found the steward in the 
 cabin with a drink, and the blue flannels, and 
 a boy laying a warm breakfast in the saloon. 
 He dressed. At table he discovered an appe- 
 tite which even his troubled spirit had not
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 abated. Hot coffee and a cigar completed his 
 rehabilitation. His situation would have been 
 an agreeable joke had it not been so tragic. 
 He had learned enough to feel that he was 
 powerless, that there had been some terrible 
 mistake, and that the only way out of the dif- 
 ficulty was through the somewhat tortuous 
 and sparsely buoyed channels of diplomacy. 
 
 But he walked out upon deck with renewed 
 confidence. It was early yet. If he could 
 persuade his host of his mistake there was 
 still time to run in shore where the telegraph 
 might set all things right. The man in the 
 yachting cap was smoking a pipe in the lee 
 of the after hatch. 
 
 "Will you please tell me your name?" be- 
 gan the brewer, constrainedly. 
 
 "With all the good will in the world," said 
 the other, rising. "I'm glad you're feeling 
 better. I'm Doctor Norman Woolf of New 
 York, and this," indicating the red-bearded 
 man, "is Captain Weckerly of the Pinta. 
 Captain Weckerly Mr. Fehrenbach." 
 
 '5
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 Geltman started at the repetition of the 
 name, but he gave no other sign. 
 
 "Would you mind," said the brewer, 
 "telling me how I came aboard your 
 boat?" 
 
 "Not at all," said Woolf, easily. "You see, 
 when I cruise on the Pinta I make it a point 
 to leave all thought of my cases behind. But 
 sometimes I break my rule, and when they 
 told me of yours I made up my mind I should 
 like to study you under intimate and extraor- 
 dinary conditions and so 
 
 "Really, I don't quite follow " 
 
 "And so I had to bring you out to the yacht 
 on which I was just starting for a little run 
 over to the Azores." 
 
 "The Azores!" 
 
 Dr. Woolf was smiling benignly at the un- 
 happy brewer. 
 
 "You know," he continued, "these cases of 
 aphasia have a peculiar interest for me. It 
 seems such a little slipping of the cogs. 
 What's in a name, after all? Yours is an old 
 
 16
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 and honored one. The Fehrenbachs have 
 made beer for fifty years " 
 
 "It's a lie," shouted Geltman springing to 
 his feet, unable longer to contain himself. 
 "It's only thirty and the stuff isn't fit to 
 drink." 
 
 "Pray be calm. Don't you know that if 
 this was to get abroad, it would hurt your 
 business?" 
 
 "My business the business of Geltman 
 and Company 
 
 "The business of Fehrenbach and Com- 
 pany," interrupted Dr. Woolf sternly. 
 
 The unfortunate brewer with an effort con- 
 tained himself. He knew that anger would 
 avail him nothing. The only thing left was 
 to listen patiently. He subsided again into 
 his wicker chair and fastened his nervous gaze 
 upon the distant horizon. 
 
 "It's a pleasure to see you capable of self- 
 control. If you can, I should like you to try 
 and tell me how you happened to begin using 
 the name of Geltman." 
 
 17
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 How had he happened to use the name of 
 Geltmanl 
 
 "What would you say," continued the Doc- 
 tor, without awaiting the answer, "if I were 
 to tell you that I was Christopher Columbus 
 and that Captain Weckerly here was Fran- 
 cisco Pizarro or Hernandez Cortes? You'd 
 say we were mistaken, wouldn't you? Of 
 course you would. When you say that you're 
 Geltman and we know you're Fehren- 
 bach " 
 
 "Stop!" roared the unhappy brewer, 
 springing to his feet. "Stop, for the love of 
 Heaven, and let me off this floating mad- 
 house!" 
 
 "Calm yourself!" 
 
 "Calm myself! Can you not see that the 
 whole thing is a terrible mistake? You have 
 taken me for some one else. Last evening, I 
 tell you, I was knocked down and drugged. 
 Then I was carried to a boat and brought 
 here. Look in my clothes, my handkerchiefs, 
 my linen, you will see the monogram or 
 
 18
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 initials C. G. Will not that be enough to 
 satisfy you?" 
 
 "My dear sir, I assure you you were 
 brought aboard in the very clothes you now 
 wear. Even that cap was on your head. 
 Can't you remember coming up the gangway 
 with Captain Weckerly?" And then, half 
 aloud, and with looks of misgivings toward 
 the Captain, who was shaking his head, "He's 
 worse than I supposed." 
 
 Geltman had taken off the yachting cap 
 and there, perforated in the band, were the let- 
 ters O. F. He searched his pockets and found 
 a handkerchief with the same initials. As he 
 did so he saw that the two men were looking 
 at him with a expression of new interest and 
 concern. His mind was still befogged. For 
 the first time he really began to doubt himself, 
 and the evidence of his belated memory. He 
 had not heard that Otto Fehrenbach was mad. 
 Was it possible that after all some dreadful 
 misfortune had happened to him, Geltman? 
 That a blow he had received in falling had 
 
 19
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 turned his mind, and that his soul had mi- 
 grated to the body of the hated Fehrenbach? 
 And if so, did the soul of Fehrenbach occupy 
 his body? Fehrenbach, sitting in his office, 
 directing his business with the shoddy 
 methods of the Fehrenbachs, driving his 
 horses, and perhaps could it be that he was 
 at this moment marrying Juliet Hazard in 
 his place? The thought of it made him sick. 
 He was dimly conscious of some science which 
 dealt with these things. He had once read a 
 story of a happening of this kind at a German 
 university. He looked at these strangers be- 
 fore him and found himself returning in kind 
 their mysterious glances. Was he mad? Or 
 were they? Or were they all mad together? 
 He glanced aloft at the swaying masts. And 
 the yacht, too? Was it real or was that, too, 
 some fantasy of a diseased imagination? 
 The Fliegende Hollander flitted playfully 
 into his mind. Just forward of the cabin a 
 group of sailors were standing looking at him 
 and whispering. It was uncanny. Were they, 
 
 20
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 too, in the same state as the others? It could 
 not be. The vessel was real. Geltman or 
 Fehrenbach he, himself, was real. There 
 must be some one aboard the accursed craft 
 who would listen to him and understand. Be- 
 wildered, he walked forward. As he did so 
 the group of sailor-men dissolved and each 
 one hurried about some self-appointed task. 
 He walked over to a man who was coiling a 
 rope. 
 
 "I say, my man," he said, "are you from 
 New York?" . 
 
 "Yes, sir," said the man, but he looked over 
 his shoulder to right and left as though seek- 
 ing a mode of escape. 
 
 "Did you ever happen to drink any of Celt- 
 man's beer?" 
 
 The man gave the brewer one fleeting look, 
 then dropped his coil and disappeared down 
 the fo'c's'le hatch. 
 
 The brewer watched the retreating figure 
 with some dismay. He walked toward an- 
 other man who was shining some bright work 
 
 21
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 around the galley stovepipe. But the man 
 saw him coming and vanished as the other 
 had done. An old man with a gray beard sat 
 on a ditty box at the lee rail, sewing a pair 
 of breeches. He was chewing tobacco and 
 scowling, but did not move as the landsman 
 approached. 
 
 "I say, my man," began the brewer again, 
 "did you ever drink any of Geltman's beer?" 
 
 The old man eyed him from head to foot 
 before he answered. But there was no fear 
 in his face only pity naked and undis- 
 guised. 
 
 "Naw," he replied, spitting to leeward. 
 "There ain't no beer in N' York fer me but 
 Otto Fehrenbach's." 
 
 Geltman looked at him a moment and then 
 turned despairingly aft. The yacht was be- 
 witched and they were all bewitched with 
 her.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 IT'S lucky Ollie Farquhar's fat," said 
 Mortimer Crabb when Geltman was 
 out of earshot. "It was neat, Jepson, 
 beautifully neat. Did you ever see fish take 
 the bait better? But he'll be coming to in a 
 minute." 
 
 Captain Jepson was watching the bewil- 
 dered brewer. "He won't get much informa- 
 tion there," he grinned. 
 
 "It can't last much longer, though," said 
 Crabb. "How much of a run is it to the 
 coast?" 
 
 "About an hour, sir." 
 
 "Well, keep her on her course until eight 
 bells. Then if he insists we'll run in and land 
 him on the beach somewhere." 
 
 "Aye, aye, sir." 
 
 "It will soon be over now. He can't get 
 in until to-morrow and then" Crabb beamed 
 
 23
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 with satisfaction "and then it'll be too late. 
 Stow your smile, Jepson. He's coming back." 
 
 Not even this complete chain of circum- 
 stantial evidence could long avail against the 
 brisk air and sunlight. In the broad expanse 
 between the thumb and forefinger of his right 
 hand Geltman noted the blue of some youth- 
 ful tattooing. As he saw the familiar letters 
 doubt took flight. He was himself. There 
 was no doubt of that. As he went aft again 
 he smiled triumphantly. 
 
 "Let's be done with nonsense, Dr. Woolf," 
 he growled. "Look at that," holding his 
 hand before Crabb's eyes. "If I'm Otto Feh- 
 renbach how is it that the letters C. G. arc 
 marked in my hand?" 
 
 Crabb, his arms akimbo, stood looking him 
 steadily in the eyes. 
 
 "So," he said calmly, "you're awake at 
 last!" 
 
 He looked at Crabb and the Captain with 
 eyes which saw not. What he had thought of 
 saying and doing remained unsaid and un- 
 
 24
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 done. With no other word he lurched heavily 
 forward and down the companion. 
 
 "There'll be a hurricane in that quarter, 
 Jepson, or I'm not weather wise," laughed 
 Crabb. "We'd better run in now. There 
 isn't much sea and the wind is offshore. 
 We'll land him at Quogue or Westhampton. 
 In the meanwhile, keep the tarpaulin over the 
 for'ard boat so that he can't see the name on 
 her. We'll use the gig. If he tries to peep 
 over the stern we'll clap him in the stateroom. 
 It will mean five years at least for me if he 
 learns the name of the Blue Wing. So look 
 sharp, Jepson, and keep an eye on him." 
 
 "Never fear," said the Captain with a grin, 
 and walked forward. 
 
 Crabb walked the deck in high jubilation. 
 He looked at his watch. Three o'clock! If 
 McFee had followed his instructions Dicky 
 Bowles and Juliet Hazard were man aad 
 wife. He had nicely figured his chances. To 
 Geltman he was Dr. Woolf. To his crew he 
 was Mr. Crabb taking an unfortunate rela- 
 
 25
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 tive for an airing; to Dicky Bowles he was the 
 rescuer of forlorn damsels and the trump of 
 good fellows. 
 
 Crabb was fully prepared to carry the vil- 
 lainy through to the end. Of one thing he 
 was certain, the sooner his guest was off the 
 Blue Wing and safely landed the better. 
 
 And so, when at last Geltman came on deck 
 with the watchful Weckerly at his heels, 
 Crabb noted the chastened expression upon 
 the brewer's face with singular satisfaction. 
 
 "I'll go ashore, if you please," he said, 
 quietly. 
 
 Crabb affected disappointed surprise. 
 
 "Here? Now?" he said. "We're pretty far 
 down the coast. That's Quogue in there. I 
 can't very well run back to New York, but 
 
 "Put me ashore, sir," said Geltman sulkily. 
 
 When the gig was lowered, Crabb bowed 
 the brewer over the side, his evening clothes 
 tied in a paper package. 
 
 "Good-by," said Crabb. "When you're 
 26
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 done with the flannels, Mr. Geltman, send 'em 
 to Fehrenbach." 
 
 But Geltman had no reply. He had folded 
 his arms and was gazing stolidly toward the 
 shore. The last glimpse Crabb had of him 
 was when the Blue Wing drew offshore leav- 
 ing him gesticulating wildly upon the beach in 
 the glow of the setting sun. 
 
 When the figure was but a speck in the dis- 
 tance Mortimer Crabb turned away and threw 
 himself wearily in his wicker chair. 
 
 "Where to now, sir?" asked Jepson. 
 
 "Oh, anywhere you like." 
 
 "Sandy Hook, sir?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," he sighed, "as well go there as 
 anywhere else. New York, Jepson." 
 
 Poor Crabb! In twenty-four hours he was, 
 if anything, more bored than ever. The sight 
 of the joyous faces of Dicky Bowles and his 
 bride had done something to relieve the 
 tedium vita, but he knew that their joy was 
 of themselves and not of him, and so he gave 
 3 27
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 them a "God bless you" and his country place 
 on Long Island for a few weeks of honey- 
 mooning. He had even had the presumption 
 to offer them the Blue Wing, but Dicky, 
 whose new responsibilities had developed a 
 vein of prudence, refused point blank. Crabb 
 shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Suit yourselves," he laughed. "It's yours 
 if you want it." 
 
 "And have Geltman putting you in jail?" 
 
 "Oh, he won't trouble me." 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 "I've made some inquiries. He's dropped 
 the thing." 
 
 "Are you sure?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. He's not so thick-skinned as he 
 looks. That story wouldn't look well in print, 
 you know." 
 
 With an outburst of friendship, Dicky 
 threw his arms around Crabb's shoulders and 
 gave him a bear hug. 
 
 "I'll never forget it, Mort, never! You're 
 
 the salt of the earth " 
 
 28
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "There, there, Dicky. Salt should be taken 
 in pinches, not by the spoonful, and you've 
 mussed my cravat! Be off with you and don't 
 come back here until matrimony has sobered 
 you into a proper sense of your new responsi- 
 bilities to your Creator." 
 
 From the window of his apartment Crabb 
 watched Dicky's taxi spin up the avenue in 
 the direction of the modest boarding-house 
 which sheltered the waiting bride, then turned 
 with a heavy sigh and rang for McFee. Love 
 like that never comes to the very rich. He, 
 Mortimer Crabb, was not a sentient being, 
 but only a chattel, an animated bank account 
 upon which designing matrons cast envious 
 eyes and for which ambitious daughters laid 
 their pretty snares. No, love like that was 
 not for him or ever would be, it seemed. 
 
 His toilet made, Crabb strolled out for the 
 air, wondering as he often did how the people 
 on the street could smile their way through 
 life, while he 
 
 A hansom passed, turned just beyond and 
 29
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 drew up at the curb beside him, and a voice 
 addressed him. 
 
 "Crabb! Mortimer Crabb! By all that's 
 lucky!" 
 
 "Ross Burnett!" said Crabb, gladly. "I 
 thought that you were dead. Have you 
 dropped from heaven, man?" 
 
 "No," laughed Ross, "not so far, only from 
 China." 
 
 Burnett dismissed the hansom at once and 
 together they went to the Bachelors' Club 
 near by, where, over a friendly glass, they 
 gathered up the loose ends of their friendship. 
 Crabb listened with new interest as his old 
 friend gave him an account of what had hap- 
 pened in the five years which had intervened 
 since they had last met, recalling piece by 
 piece the unfortunate events which had led 
 to his departure from New York, and Bur- 
 nett, glad of receptive ears, rehearsed it for 
 him. 
 
 The boy had squandered his patrimony in 
 Wall Street. Then by the grace of one of the 
 
 30
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 senators from New York he obtained from 
 the President an appointment as consular 
 clerk, an office, which if it paid but little at 
 home carried with it some dignity, a little au- 
 thority, and certain appreciable perquisites in 
 foreign ports. 
 
 He had chosen wisely. At Cairo, where 
 he had been sent to fill a temporary vacancy 
 caused by the death of the consul general and 
 subsequent illness of his deputy, he found him- 
 self suddenly in charge of the consular office 
 in the fullest press of business, with diplo- 
 matic functions requiring both ingenuity and 
 discretion. 
 
 After all, it was very simple. The business 
 of a consulate was child's play, and the usual 
 phases in the life of a diplomat were to be 
 requisitely met by the usages of gentility a 
 quality Burnett discovered was not too amply 
 possessed by those political gentlemen who sat 
 abroad in the posts of honor to represent the 
 great republic. 
 
 He thought that if he could get a post,
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 however small, with plenary powers, he would 
 be happy. But, alas! He had been away from 
 home so long that he didn't even know whether 
 his senator was dead or alive, and when he 
 reached Washington, a month or so after the 
 inauguration, he realized how small were his 
 chances for preferment. 
 
 The President and Secretary of State were 
 besieged daily by powerful politicians, and 
 one by one the posts coveted, even the 
 smallest of them, were taken by frock-coated, 
 soft-hatted, flowing-tied gentlemen, whom he 
 had noticed lounging and chewing tobacco in 
 the Willard Hotel lobby. It was apparently 
 with such persons that power took prefer- 
 ment. His roseate dreams vanished. Ross 
 Burnett was a mere State Department drudge 
 again at twelve hundred a year! 
 
 He told Crabb that he had spoken to the 
 chief of the diplomatic bureau in despair. 
 
 "Isn't there any way, Crowthers?" he had 
 asked. "Can't a fellow ever get any higher?" 
 
 "If he had a pull, he might but a consular 
 32
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 clerk The shake of Crowthers' head 
 
 was eloquent. 
 
 "Isn't there anything a fellow even a con- 
 sular clerk could do to win promotion in 
 this service?" he continued. 
 
 Crowthers had looked at him quizzically. 
 
 "Yes, there's one thing. If you could do 
 that, you might ask the Secretary for anything 
 you wanted." 
 
 "And that " 
 
 "Get the text of the treaty between Ger- 
 many and China from Baron Arnim." 
 
 Crowthers had chuckled. Crabb chuckled, 
 too. He thought it a very good joke. Baron 
 Arnim had been the special envoy of Ger- 
 many to China, accredited to the court of 
 the Eastern potentate with the special mission 
 of formulating a new and secret treaty be- 
 tween these monarchs. He was now return- 
 ing home carrying a copy of this document in 
 his baggage. 
 
 Burnett had laughed. It 'was a good joke. 
 
 "You'd better send me out again," Bur- 
 
 33
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 nett had said, hopelessly. "Anything from 
 Arakan to Zanzibar will do for me." 
 
 Crabb listened to the story with renewed 
 marks of appreciation. 
 
 "So you've been out and doing in the world, 
 after all?" he said, languidly, "while we 
 eheu jam satis! have glutted ourselves with 
 the stale and unprofitable. How I envy you!" 
 
 Burnett smoked silently. It was very easy 
 to envy from the comfortable vantage ground 
 of a hundred and fifty thousand a year. 
 
 "Why, man, if you knew how sick of it all 
 I am," sighed Crabb, "you'd thank your stars 
 for the lucky dispensation that took you out 
 of it. Rasselas was right. I've been pursuing 
 the phantoms of hope for thirty years, and I'm 
 still hopeless. There have been a few bright 
 spots" Crabb smiled at his cigar ash "a 
 very few, and far between." 
 
 "Bored as ever, Crabb?" 
 
 "Immitigably. To live in the thick of 
 things and see nothing but the pale drabs and 
 grays. No red anywhere. Oh, for a passion 
 
 34
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 that would burn and sear love, hate, fear! 
 I'm forever courting them all. And here I 
 am still cool, colorless and unscarred. Only 
 once" his gray eyes lit up marvelously 
 "only once did I learn the true relation of 
 life to death, Burnett; only once. That was 
 when the Blue Wing struggled six days in a 
 hurricane with Hatteras under her lee. It 
 was glorious. They may talk of love and hate 
 as they will; fear, I tell you, is the Titan of 
 passions." 
 
 Burnett was surprised at this unmasking. 
 
 "You should try big game," he said, care- 
 lessly. 
 
 "I have," said the other; "both beasts and 
 men and here I am in flannels and a red tie! 
 I've skinned the one and been skinned by the 
 other to what end?" 
 
 "You've bought experience." 
 
 "Cheap at any cost. You can't buy fear. 
 Love comes in varieties at the market values. 
 Hate can be bought for a song; but fear, gen- 
 uine and amazing, is priceless a gem which 
 
 35
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 only opportunity can provide; and how sel- 
 dom opportunity knocks at any man's door!" 
 
 "Crabb the original the esoteric!" 
 
 "Yes. The same. The very same. And 
 you, how different! How sober and 
 rounded!" 
 
 There was a silence, contemplative, retro- 
 spective on both their parts. Crabb broke it. 
 
 "Tell me, old man," he said, "about your 
 position. Isn't there any chance?" 
 
 Burnett smiled a little bitterly. 
 
 "I'm a consular clerk at twelve hundred a 
 year during good behavior. When I've said 
 that, I've said it all." 
 
 "But your future?" 
 
 "I'm not in line of promotion." 
 
 "Impossible! Politics?" 
 
 "Exactly. I've no pull to speak of." 
 
 "But your service?" 
 
 "I've been paid for that." 
 
 "Isn't there any other way?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," Burnett laughed, "that treaty. 
 I happened to know something about it when 
 
 36
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 I was out there. It has to do with neutrality, 
 trade ports and coaling stations ; but just what, 
 the devil only knows, and his deputy, Baron 
 Arnim, won't tell. Arnim is now in Wash- 
 ington, ostensibly sight-seeing, but really to 
 confer with Von Schlichter, the ambassador 
 there, about it. You see, we've got rather 
 more closely into the Eastern question than 
 we really like, and a knowledge of Germany's 
 attitude is immensely important to us." 
 
 "Pray go on," drawled Crabb. 
 
 "That's all there is. The rest was a joke. 
 Crowthers wants me to get the text of that 
 treaty from Baron Arnim's dispatch-box." 
 
 "Entertaining!" said Crabb, with cloud- 
 ing brow. And then, after a pause, with all 
 the seriousness in the world: "And aren't 
 you going to?" 
 
 Burnett turned to look at him in surprise. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Get it. The treaty." 
 
 "The treaty! From Baron Arnim! You 
 don't know much of diplomacy, Crabb." 
 
 37
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "You misunderstood me," he said, coolly; 
 and then, with lowered voice: 
 
 "Not from Baron Arnim from Baron 
 Arnim's dispatch-box." 
 
 Burnett look at his acquaintance in a maze. 
 Crabb had been thought a mystery in the old 
 days. He was an enigma now. 
 
 "Surely you're jesting." 
 
 "Why? It oughtn't to be difficult." 
 
 Burnett looked fearfully around the room 
 at their distant neighbors. "But it's burglary. 
 Worse than that. If I, in my connection with 
 the State Department, were discovered tam- 
 pering with the papers of a foreign govern- 
 ment, it would lead to endless complications 
 and, perhaps, the disruption of diplomatic re- 
 lations. Such a thing is impossible. Its very 
 impossibility was the one thing which 
 prompted Crowthers' suggestion. Can't you 
 understand that?" 
 
 Crabb was stroking his chin and contem- 
 plating his well-shaped boot. 
 
 "Admit that it's impossible," he said calmly. 
 
 38
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "Do you think, if by some chance you were 
 enabled to give the Secretary of State this in- 
 formation, you'd better your condition?" 
 
 "What is the use, Crabb?" began Burnett. 
 
 "It can't do any harm to answer me." 
 
 "Well yes, I suppose so. If we weren't 
 plunged immediately into war with Emperor 
 William." 
 
 "Oh!" Crabb was deep in thought. It was 
 several moments before he went on, and then, 
 as though dismissing the subject. 
 
 "What are your plans, Ross? Have you a 
 week to spare? How about a cruise on the 
 Blue Wing? There's a lot I know that you 
 don't, and a lot you know that I'd like to. I'll 
 take you up to Washington whenever you're 
 bored. What do you say?" 
 
 Ross Burnett accepted with alacrity. He 
 remembered the Blue Wing, Jepson and Val- 
 entin's dinners. He had longed for them 
 many times when he was eating spaghetti at 
 Gabri's little restaurant in Genoa. 
 
 When they parted it was with a conscious- 
 
 39
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 ness on the part of Burnett that the affair of 
 Baron Arnim had not been dismissed. The 
 very thought had been madness. Was it only 
 a little pleasantry of Crabb's? If not, what 
 wild plan had entered his head? It was un- 
 like the Mortimer Crabb he remembered. 
 
 And yet there had been a deeper current 
 flowing below his placid surface that gave a 
 suggestion of desperate intent which nothing 
 could explain away. And how illimitable 
 were the possibilities if some plan could be de- 
 vised by which the information could be ob- 
 tained without resort to violent measures! It 
 meant for him at least a post at the helm some- 
 where, or, perhaps, a secretaryship on one of 
 the big commissions. 
 
 The idea of burglary, flagrant and nefari- 
 ous, he dismissed at a thought. Would there 
 not be some way an unguarded moment a 
 faithless servant to give the thing the aspect 
 of possible achievement? As he dressed he 
 found himself thinking of the matter with 
 more seriousness than it deserved. 
 
 40
 
 A WEEK had passed since the two 
 friends had met, and the Blue Wing 
 now lay in the Potomac near the 
 Seventh Street wharf. It was night and the 
 men had dined. 
 
 Valentin's dinners were a distinct achieve- 
 ment. They were of the kind which made 
 conclusive the assumption of an especial 
 heaven for cooks. After coffee and over a 
 cigar, which made all things complete, Morti- 
 mer Crabjb chose his psychological moment. 
 
 "Burnett," he said, "you must see that 
 treaty and copy it." 
 
 Burnett looked at him squarely. Crabb's 
 glance never wavered. 
 
 "So you did mean it?" said Burnett. 
 
 "Every word. You must have it. I'm go- 
 ing to help." 
 
 "It's hopeless."
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "Perhaps. But the game is worth the can- 
 dle." 
 
 "A bribe to a servant?" 
 
 "Leave that to me. Come, come, Ross, it's 
 the chance of your life. Arnim, Von Schlich- 
 ter and all the rest of them dine at the British 
 embassy to-night. There's to be a ball after- 
 ward. They won't be back until late. We 
 must get into Arnim's rooms at the German 
 embassy. Those rooms are in the rear of the 
 house. There's a rain spout and a back build- 
 ing. You can climb?" 
 
 "To-night?" Burnett gasped. "You found 
 out these things to-day?" 
 
 "Since I left you. I saw Denton Thorpe 
 at the British embassy." 
 
 "And you were so sure I'd agree! Don't 
 you think, old man " 
 
 "Hang it all, Burnett! I'm not easily de- 
 ceived. You're down on your luck; that's 
 plain. But you're not beaten. Any man who 
 can buck the market down to his last thousand 
 the way you did doesn't lack sand. The end 
 
 42
 
 isn't an ignoble one. You'll be doing the Ad- 
 ministration a service and yourself. Why, 
 how can you pause?" 
 
 Burnett looked around at the familiar fit- 
 tings of the saloon, at the Braun prints let 
 into the woodwork, at the flying teal set in 
 the azure above the wainscoting, at his im- 
 maculate host and at his own conventional 
 black. Was this to be indeed a setting for 
 Machiavellian conspiracy? 
 
 Crabb got up from the table and opened the 
 doors of a large locker under the companion. 
 Burnett watched him curiously. 
 
 Garment after garment he pulled out upon 
 the deck under the glare of the cabin lamp ; 
 shoes, hats and caps, overcoats and clothing of 
 all sizes and shapes from the braided gray 
 of the coster to the velvet and sash of 
 the Nigois. 
 
 He selected a soft hat and a cap and two 
 long, tattered coats of ancient cut and style 
 and threw them over the back of a chair. 
 Then he went to his stateroom and brought 
 
 4 43
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 out a large square box of tin and placed it on 
 the table. 
 
 He first wrapped a handkerchief around 
 his neck, then seated himself deliberately be- 
 fore the box, opened the lid and took out a 
 tray filled with make-up sticks. These he put 
 aside while he drew forth from the deeper 
 recesses mustachios, whiskers and beards of 
 all shapes and complexions. He worked rap- 
 idly and silently, watching his changing image 
 in the little mirror set in the box lid. 
 
 Burnett, fascinated, followed his skillful 
 fingers as they moved back and forth, lining 
 here, shading there, not as the actor does for 
 an effect by the calcium, but carefully, deli- 
 cately, with the skill of the art anatomist who 
 knows the bone structure of the face and the 
 pull of the aging muscles. 
 
 In twenty minutes Mortimer Crabb had 
 aged as many years, and now bore the phiz 
 of a shaggy rum-sot. The long coat, soft hat 
 and rough bandanna completed the character. 
 The fever of the adventure had mounted in 
 
 44
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 Burnett's veins. He sprang to his feet with a 
 reckless gesture of final resolution. 
 
 "Give me my part!" he exclaimed. "I'll 
 play it!" 
 
 The aged intemperate smiled approval. 
 "Good lad!" he said. "I thought you'd be 
 game. If you hadn't been I was going alone. 
 It's lucky you're clean shaved. Come and be 
 transfigured." 
 
 And as he rapidly worked on Burnett's face 
 he completed the details of his plan. Like a 
 good general, Crabb disposed his plans for 
 failure as well as for success. 
 
 They would wear their disguises over their 
 evening clothes. Then, if the worst came, 
 vaseline and a wipe of the bandannas would 
 quickly remove all guilty signs from their 
 faces, they could discard their tatters, and re- 
 sume the garb of convention. 
 
 Ross Burnett at last rose swarthy and darkly 
 mustached, lacking only the rings in his ears 
 to be old Gabri himself. He was fully awak- 
 ened to the possibilities of the adventure. 
 
 45
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 Whatever misgivings he had had were speed- 
 ily dissipated by the blithe optimism of his 
 companion. 
 
 Crabb reached over for the brandy de- 
 canter. 
 
 "One drink," he said, "and we must be off." 
 
 The night was thick. A mist which had 
 been gathering since sunset now turned to a 
 soft drizzle of rain. Crabb, hands in pockets 
 and shoulders bent, walked with a rapid and 
 shambling gait up the street. 
 
 "We can't risk the cars or a cab in this," 
 muttered Crabb. "We might do it, but it's not 
 worth the risk. Can you walk? It's not over 
 three miles." 
 
 It was after one o'clock before they 
 reached Highland Terrace. Without stop- 
 ping they examined the German embassy at 
 long range from the distant side of Massachu- 
 setts Avenue. A gas lamp sputtered dimly 
 under the porte-cochere. Another light 
 gleamed far up in the slanting roof. Crabb 
 led the way around and into the alley in the
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 rear. It was long, badly lighted and ran the 
 entire length of the block. 
 
 "I got the details in the city plot-book from 
 a real-estate man this afternoon. He thinks 
 I'm going to buy next door. I wanted to be 
 particular about the alleys and back en- 
 trances." Crabb chuckled. 
 
 Burnett looked along the backs of the row 
 of N Street houses. They were all as stolid 
 as sphinxes. Several lights at wide intervals 
 burned dimly. The night was chill for the 
 season, and all the windows were down. The 
 occasion was propitious. The rear of the em- 
 bassy was dark, except for a dim glow in a 
 window on the second floor. 
 
 "That should be Arnim's room," said 
 Crabb. 
 
 He tried the back gate. It was unlocked. 
 Noiselessly they entered, closing it after them. 
 There was a rain spout, which Crabb eyed 
 hopefully; but they found better luck in the 
 shape of a thirty-foot ladder along the fence. 
 
 "A positive invitation," whispered Crabb, 
 47
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 joyfully. "Here, Ross ; in the shadow. Once 
 on the back building the deed is done. Quiet, 
 now. You hold it and I'll go up." 
 
 Burnett did not falter. But his hands were 
 cold, and he was trembling from top to toe 
 with excitement. He could not but admire 
 Crabb's composure as he went firmly up the 
 rungs. 
 
 He saw him reach the roof and draw him- 
 self over the coping, and in a moment Bur- 
 nett, less noiselessly but safely, had joined his 
 fellow criminal by the window. There they 
 waited a moment, listening. A cab clattered 
 down Fifteenth Street, and the gongs on the 
 car line clanged in reply, but that was all. 
 
 Crabb stealthily arose and peered into the 
 lighted window. It was a study. The light 
 came from a lamp with a green shade. Un- 
 der its glow upon the desk were maps and 
 documents in profusion. And in the corner 
 he could make out the lines of an iron-bound 
 chest or box. They had made no mistake. 
 Unless in the possession of Von Schlichter it
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 was here that the Chinese treaty would be 
 found. 
 
 "All right," whispered Crabb. "An old- 
 fashioned padlock, too." 
 
 Crabb tried the window. It was locked. 
 He took something from one of the pockets 
 of his coat and reached up to the middle of 
 the sash. There was a sound like the quick 
 shearing of linen which sent the blood back 
 to Burnett's heart. In the still night it seemed 
 to come back manifold from the wings of the 
 buildings opposite. They paused again. A 
 slight crackling of broken glass, and Crabb's 
 long fingers reached through the hole and 
 turned the catch. In a moment they were in 
 the room. 
 
 The intangible and Quixotic had become a 
 latter-day reality. Burnett's spirits rose. He 
 did not lack courage, and here was a situation 
 which spurred him to the utmost. 
 
 Instinctively he closed the inside shutters 
 behind him. From the alley the pair would 
 not have presented an appearance which ac- 
 
 49
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 corded with the quiet splendor of the room. 
 He found himself peering around, his ears 
 straining for the slightest sound. 
 
 A glance revealed the dispatch-box, heavy, 
 squat and phlegmatic, like its owner. Crabb 
 had tiptoed over to the door of the adjoining 
 room. Burnett saw the eyes dilate and the 
 warning finger to his lips. 
 
 From the inner apartment, slowly and 
 regularly, came the sound of heavy breathing. 
 There, in a broad armchair by the foot of the 
 bed, sprawled the baron's valet, in stertorous 
 sleep. His mouth was wide open, his limbs 
 relaxed. He had heard nothing. 
 
 "Quick," whispered Crabb; "your ban- 
 danna around his legs." 
 
 Burnett surprised himself by the rapidity 
 and intelligence of his collaboration. A hand- 
 kerchief was slipped into the man's mouth, 
 and before his eyes were fairly opened he was 
 gagged and bound hand and foot by the cord 
 from the baron's own dressing gown. 
 
 From a pocket Crabb had produced a re- 
 50
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 volver, which he flourished significantly under 
 the nose of the terrified man, who recoiled be- 
 fore the dark look which accompanied it. 
 
 Crabb seemed to have planned exactly what 
 to do. He took a bath towel and tied it over 
 the man's ears and under his chin. From the 
 bed he took the baron's sheets and blankets, 
 enswathing the unfortunate servant until 
 nothing but the tip of his nose was visible. A 
 rope of suspenders and cravats completed the 
 job. 
 
 The Baron Arnim's valet, to all the pur- 
 poses of usefulness in life, was a bundled 
 mummy. 
 
 "Phew!" said Crabb, when it was done. 
 "Poor devil! But it can't be helped. He 
 mustn't see or know. And now for it." 
 
 Crabb produced a bunch of skeleton keys 
 and an electric bull's-eye. He tried the keys 
 rapidly. In a moment the dispatch-box was 
 opened and its contents exposed to view. 
 
 "Carefully now," whispered Crabb. "What 
 should it look like?"
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "A foolscap-shaped thing in silk covers 
 with dangling cords," said Ross. "There, un- 
 der your hand." 
 
 In a moment they had it out and between 
 them on the desk. There it was, in all truth, 
 written in two columns, Chinese on the one 
 side, French on the other. 
 
 "Are you sure?" said Crabb. 
 
 "Sure! Sure as I'm a thief in the night!" 
 
 "Then sit and write, man. Write as you 
 never wrote before. I'll listen and watch 
 Rameses the Second." 
 
 In the twenty minutes during which Bur- 
 nett fearfully wrote, Crabb stood listening at 
 the doors and windows for sounds of servants 
 or approaching carriages. The man swad- 
 dled in the sheets made a few futile struggles 
 and then subsided. Burnett's eyes gleamed. 
 Other eyes than his would gleam at what he 
 saw and wrote. When he finished he closed 
 the document, removed all traces of his work, 
 replaced it in the iron box and shut the lid. 
 He dropped the precious sheets into an inner 
 
 52
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 pocket and was moving toward the window 
 when Crabb seized him by the arm. There 
 was a step in the hallway without, and the 
 door opened. There, stout and grizzled, his 
 walrus mustache bristling with surprise, in all 
 the distinction of gold lace and orders, stood 
 Baron Arnim.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 FOR a moment there was no sound. The 
 burglars looked at the Baron and the 
 Baron looked at the burglars, mouths 
 and eyes open alike. Then, even before Crabb 
 could display his intimidating revolver, the 
 German had disappeared through the door 
 screaming at the top of his lungs. 
 
 "Quick! Out of the window!" said Crabb, 
 helping Burnett over the sill. "Down you 
 go I'll follow. Don't fall. If you miss your 
 footing, we're ruined." 
 
 Burnett scrambled out, over the coping and 
 down the ladder, Crabb almost on his fingers. 
 But they reached the yard in safety and were 
 out in the alley running in the shadow of the 
 fence before a venturesome head stuck forth 
 from the open window and a revolver blazed 
 into the vacant air. 
 
 "The devil!" said Crabb. "They'll hare 
 
 54
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 every copper in the city on us in a minute. 
 This way." He turned into a narrow alley at 
 right angles to the other. "Off with the coat 
 as you go now, the mustache and grease 
 paint. Take your time. Into this sewer with 
 the coats. So!" 
 
 Two gentlemen in light topcoats, one in a 
 cap, the other in a hat, walked up N street 
 arm in arm, thickly singing. Their shirt 
 fronts and hair were rumpled, their legs were 
 not too steady, and they clung affectionately 
 to each other for support and sang thickly. 
 
 A window flew up and a tousled head ap- 
 peared. 
 
 "Hey!" yelled a voice. "Burglars in the al- 
 ley!" 
 
 "Burglars!" said one of the singers; and 
 then: "Go to bed. You're drunk." 
 
 More sounds of windows, the blowing of 
 night whistles and hurrying feet. 
 
 Still the revelers sang on. 
 
 A stout policeman, clamorous and belli- 
 cose, broke in. 
 
 55
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "Did you see 'em? Did you see 'em?" he 
 cried, glaring into their faces. Bleary eyes 
 returned his look. 
 
 "W-who?" said the voices in unison. 
 
 "Burglars," roared the copper. "If I 
 wasn't busy I'd run ye in." And he was off 
 at full speed on his vagrant mission. 
 
 "Lucky you're busy, old chap," muttered 
 Crabb to the departing figure. "Do sober up 
 a little, Ross, or we'll never get away. And 
 don't jostle me so, for I clank like a bell- 
 wether." 
 
 Slowly the pair made their way to Thomas 
 Circle and Vermont Avenue, where the 
 sounds of commotion were lost in the noises 
 of the night. 
 
 At L Street Burnett straightened up. 
 "Lord!" he gasped. "But that was close." 
 
 "Not as close as it looked," said Crabb, 
 coolly. "A white shirt-front does wonders 
 with a copper. It was better than a knock on 
 the head and a run for it. In the meanwhile, 
 Ross, for the love of Heaven, help me with 
 
 56
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 some of the bric-a-brac." And with that he 
 handed Burnett a gold pin tray, a silver box 
 and a watch fob. 
 
 Burnett soberly examined the spoils. "I 
 only wish we could have done without 
 that." 
 
 "And had Arnim know what we were driv- 
 ing for? Never, Ross. I'll pawn them in 
 New York for as little as I can and send 
 von Schlichter the tickets. Won't that do?" 
 
 "I suppose it must," said Burnett, dubi- 
 ously. 
 
 By three o'clock they were on the Blue 
 Wing again, Burnett with mingled feelings of 
 doubt and satisfaction, Crabb afire with the 
 achievement. 
 
 "Rasselas was a fool, Ross, a malcontent 
 a faineant. Life is amazing, bewitching, con- 
 summate." And then, gayly: "Here's a 
 health, boy a long life to the new ambassa- 
 dor to the Court of St. James!" 
 
 But Ross did not go to the Court of St. 
 57
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 James. In the following winter, to the sur- 
 prise of many, the President gave him a spe- 
 cial mission to prepare a trade treaty with 
 Peru. Baron Arnim, in due course, recovered 
 his bric-a-brac. Meanwhile Emperor Wil- 
 liam, mystified at the amazing sagacity of the 
 Secretary of State in the Eastern question, 
 continues the building of a mighty navy in the 
 fear that one day the upstart nation across the 
 ocean will bring the questions complicating 
 them to an issue. 
 
 But life was no longer amusing, bewitch- 
 ing or consummate to Crabb. The flavor of 
 an adventure gone from his mouth, the com- 
 monplace became more flat and tasteless than 
 before. Life was all pale drabs and grays 
 again. To make matters worse he had been 
 obliged to make a business visit in Philadel- 
 phia, and this filled the cup of insipidity to 
 the brim. He was almost ready to wish that 
 his benighted forbears had never owned the 
 coal mines in Pennsylvania to which he had 
 fallen heir, for it seemed there were many
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 matters to be settled, contracts to be signed 
 and leases to be drawn by his attorney in the 
 sleepy city, and it would be several days, he 
 discovered, before he could get off to New- 
 port. Not even the Blue Wing was at his 
 disposal, for an accident in the engine room 
 had laid her out of commission for two weeks 
 at least. 
 
 So he resigned himself to the inevitable, and 
 took a room at a hotel, grimly determined to 
 see the matter through, conscious meanwhile 
 of a fervid hope that the unusual might hap- 
 pen the lightning might strike. Hate he had 
 known and fear, but love had so far eluded 
 him. Why, he did not know, save that he 
 had never been willing to perceive that emo- 
 tion when offered in conventional forms and 
 since no other forms were possible, he had 
 simply ceased to consider the matter. Yet 
 marry some day, he must, of course. But 
 whom? Little he dreamed how soon he would 
 know. Little did Miss Patricia Wharton 
 think that she had anything to do with it. 
 5 59
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 In fact, Patricia's thoughts at that time were 
 far from matrimony. Patricia was bored. 
 For a month while Wharton pere boiled out 
 his gout at the sulphur springs, Patricia had 
 dutifully sat and rocked, tapping a small foot 
 impatiently, looking hourly less a monument 
 of Patience and smiling not at all. 
 
 At last they were in Philadelphia. Wilson 
 had opened two rooms at the house and a 
 speedy termination of David Wharton's busi- 
 ness would have seen them soon at Bar Har- 
 bor. But something went wrong at the office 
 in Chestnut Street, and Patricia, once a lamb 
 and now a sheep of sacrifice, found herself at 
 this particular moment doomed to another 
 weary week of waiting. 
 
 To make matters worse not a girl Patricia 
 knew was in town, or if there were any the 
 telephone refused to discover them. Her 
 aunt's place was at Haverford, but she knew 
 that an invitation to dinner there meant aged 
 Quaker cousins and that kind of creaky in- 
 formality which shows a need of oil at the 
 
 60
 
 joints. That lubricant Patricia had no in- 
 tention of supplying. She had rather be bored 
 alone than bored in company. She found her- 
 self sighing for Bar Harbor as she had never 
 sighed before. She pictured the cottage, cool 
 and gray among the rocks, the blue bowl oi 
 the sea with its rim just at her window-ledge, 
 the clamoring surf, and the briny smell with 
 its faint suggestion of things cool and curious 
 which came up newly breathed from the heart 
 of the deep. She could hear "Country Girl" 
 whinnying impatience from the stable when 
 Jack Masters on "Kentucky" rode down from 
 "The Pinnacle" to inquire. 
 
 Indeed, as she walked out into the Square 
 in the afternoon she found herself relapsing 
 into a minute and somewhat sordid introspec- 
 tion. It was the weather, perhaps. Surely the 
 dog-days had settled upon the sleepy city in 
 earnest. No breath stirred the famishing 
 trees, the smell of hot asphalt was in the air, 
 locusts buzzed vigorously everywhere, trolley 
 bells clanged out of tune, and the sun was 
 
 61
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 leaving a blood-hot trail across the sky in 
 angry augury for the morrow. 
 
 Patricia sank upon a bench, and poked vi- 
 ciously at the walk with her parasol. She ex- 
 perienced a certain grim satisfaction in being 
 more than usually alone. Poor Patricia! who 
 at the crooking of a finger, could have sum- 
 moned to her side any one of five estimable 
 scions of stupid, distinguished families. Only 
 something new, something difficult and ex- 
 traordinary would lift her from the hopeless 
 slough of despond into which she had found 
 herself precipitated. 
 
 Andromeda awaiting Perseus on a bench in 
 Rittenhouse Square! She smiled widely and 
 unrestrainedly up and precisely into the face 
 of Mr. Mortimer Crabb.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A PLEASANT face it was, upon 
 which, to her surprise, a smile very 
 suddenly grew into being as though 
 in response to her own. Patricia's eyes 
 dropped quickly sedately, as became those 
 of a decorous woman, and yet in that brief 
 second in which the eyes of the tall young 
 man met hers, she had noticed that they were 
 gray, as though sun-bleached, but very clear 
 and sparkling. And when she raised her own 
 to look quite through and beyond the opposite 
 bench, her conscience refused to deny that she 
 had enjoyed the looking. Were the eyes 
 smiling at, or with her? In that distinction 
 lay a question in morals. Was their sparkle 
 quizzical or intrusive? She would have 
 vowed that good humor, benevolence (if be- 
 nevolence may be found in the eyes of two 
 and thirty), and a certain polite interest were 
 
 63
 
 its actual ingredients. It was all very inter- 
 esting. She surprised herself in a not un- 
 lively curiosity as to his life and calling, and 
 in a lack of any sort of misgiving at the con- 
 tretemps. 
 
 The shadows beneath the wilted trees grew 
 deeper. The sun swept down into the west 
 and suddenly vanished with all his train of 
 gold and purple. Patricia stole a furtive look 
 at her neighbor. Triumphantly she confirmed 
 her diagnosis. The man was lost in the glow 
 of the sunset. Importunity and he were miles 
 asunder. 
 
 It may have been that Patricia's eyes were 
 more potent than the sunset, or that her 
 triumphant deduction was based upon a false 
 premise, or that the young man had been 
 watching her all the while from the tail of his 
 benevolent eye; for without the slightest 
 warning, his head turned suddenly to find the 
 eyes of the unfortunate Patricia again fixed 
 upon his. However quickly she might turn 
 aside, the glance exchanged was long enough
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 to disclose the fact that the sparkle was still 
 there and to excite a suspicion that it had 
 never been dispelled. Nor did the character 
 of the smile reassure her. She was not at all 
 certain now that he was not smiling both with 
 and at her. 
 
 The quickly averted head, the toss of the 
 chin, seemed all too inadequate to the situa- 
 tion ; yet she availed herself of those bulwarks 
 of maiden modesty in virtuous effort to refute 
 the unconscious testimony of her unlucky eyes. 
 Instinct suggested immediate flight. But 
 Patricia moved not. Here indeed was a case 
 where flight meant confession. She felt rather 
 than saw his gaze search her from head to 
 foot, and struggle as she might against it, the 
 warm color raced to her cheek and brow. If 
 she had enjoyed the situation a moment be- 
 fore, the impertinence, so suddenly born, filled 
 her with dismay. By some subtle feminine 
 process of reasoning, she succeeded in elim- 
 inating her share in the trifling adventure and 
 now saw only the sin of the offending male. 
 
 65
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 At last she arose the very presentment of in- 
 jured and scornful dignity and walked, look- 
 ing neither to the left hand nor to the right. 
 
 There was a sound of firm, rapid footsteps 
 and then a deep voice at her elbow. 
 
 "I beg pardon," it was saying. 
 
 The lifted straw hat, the inclined head, the 
 mellow tones, the gray eyes (again benevo- 
 lent), however unalarming in themselves, 
 filled her with very real inquietude. What- 
 ever he had done before, this, surely, was in- 
 supportable. She was about to turn away 
 when her eye fell upon his extended arm and 
 upon her luckless parasol. 
 
 "I beg pardon," he repeated, "but isn't this 
 yours?" 
 
 The blood flew to her face again and it was 
 with an embarrassment, a gaucherie, the like 
 of which she could not remember, that she ex- 
 tended her hand toward the errant sunshade. 
 No sound came from her lips; with bent head 
 she took it from him. But as she walked on, 
 she found that he was walking, too with her, 
 
 66
 
 
 'I beg pardon,' he repeated, 'but isn't this yours ?
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 directly at her side. For a moment she was 
 cold with terror. 
 
 "I hope you'll let me go along," he was say- 
 ing coolly, "I'm really quite harmless. If you 
 knew if you only knew how dreadfully bored 
 I've been, you really wouldn't mind me at 
 all." 
 
 Patricia stole a hurried glance at him, her 
 fears curiously diminished. 
 
 "I'm what the fallen call a victim of cir- 
 cumstances," he went on. "I ask no worse fate 
 for my dearest enemy than to be consigned 
 without a friend to this wilderness of whit- 
 ened stoops and boarded doors to wait upon 
 your city's demigod, Procrastination. This 
 I've done for forty-eight hours with a dear 
 memory of a past but without a hope for the 
 future. If the Fountain of Youth were to 
 gush hopefully from the office water-cooler of 
 my aged lawyer, he would eye it askance and 
 sigh for the lees of the turbid Schuykill." 
 
 However she strove to lift her brows, 
 Patricia was smiling now in spite of herself.
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "I've followed the meandering tide down 
 the narrow canon you call Chestnut Street, 
 watched the leisurely coal wagon and its at- 
 tendant tail of trolleys, or sat in my hotel 
 striving to dust aside the accumulating cob- 
 webs, one small unquiet molecule of discon- 
 solation. I'm stranded marooned. By com- 
 parison, Crusoe was gregarious." 
 
 During this while they were walking 
 north. All the way to Chestnut Street, Pa- 
 tricia was wondering whether to be most 
 alarmed or amused. Of one thing she was as- 
 sured, she was bored no longer. A sense of 
 the violence done to her traditions hung like a 
 millstone around her neck; and yet Patricia 
 found herself peeping avidly through the 
 hole to listen to the seductive voice of uncon- 
 vention. 
 
 When Patricia succeeded in summoning 
 her voice, she was not quite sure that it was 
 her own. 
 
 "You're an impertinent person," she found 
 herself saying. 
 
 68
 
 "Can't you forgive?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Circumstances are against me," he said, 
 "but I give you my word, I've a place in my 
 own city, a friend or two, and a certain pro- 
 clivity for virtue." 
 
 "Even if you do speak to strange " 
 
 "But I don't. It was the blessed parasol. 
 Otherwise I shouldn't have dared." 
 
 "And the proclivity for virtue " 
 
 "Why, that's exactly the reason. Can't you 
 see? It was you! You fairly exuded gentil- 
 ity. Come now, I'm humility itself. I've 
 sinned. How can I expiate?" 
 
 "By letting me go home to dinner." 
 
 Patricia was laughing this time. The man 
 was looking at his watch. 
 
 "What a brute I am!" He stopped, took 
 off his hat and turned away. And here it was 
 that some little frivolous genius put unmedi- 
 tated words upon Patricia's tongue. 
 
 "I'm not so dreadfully hungry," she 
 said.
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 After all, he had been impertinent so very 
 courteously. 
 
 In a moment he was at her side again. 
 
 "That was kind of you. Perhaps you've 
 forgiven me." 
 
 "N no," with rising inflection. 
 
 "Come now! Let's be friends, just for this 
 little while. Let's begin at once to believe 
 we've known each other always just for to- 
 night. I will be getting out of town to-mor- 
 row and we won't meet again. I'm certain of 
 that." 
 
 "How can I be sure?" Patricia spoke as 
 though thinking aloud. 
 
 "They've promised me this time. I'll go 
 away to-morrow. If my papers aren't ready 
 I'll leave without them." 
 
 "Will you give me your word?" 
 
 "Upon my honor." 
 
 Patricia turned for the first time and looked 
 directly up at him. What value could she 
 set upon the honor of one she knew not? 
 
 70
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 Whatever the feminine process of examina- 
 tion, she seemed satisfied. 
 
 "What can I do? It's almost dusk." 
 
 "I was about to suggest er I thought 
 perhaps you might be willing to er go and 
 have a bite to eat in fact, dinner." 
 
 Patricia stopped and looked up at him in 
 startled abstraction. The word and its train 
 of associated ideas evolved in significant fash- 
 ion from her mental topsy-turvy. Dinner! 
 With a strange man in a public place! The 
 prosaic word took new and curious meanings 
 unwritten upon the lexicon of her code. There 
 was the tangible presentation of her sin that 
 she might read and run while there was yet 
 time. How had it all happened? What had 
 this insolent person said to make it possible 
 for her to forget herself for so long? 
 
 With no word of explanation her small feet 
 went hurrying down the hill while his big 
 ones strode protestingly alongside. 
 
 "Well?" he said at last.
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 But she gave him no answer and only 
 walked the faster. 
 
 "You're going?" 
 
 "Home at once." She spoke with cold in- 
 cisiveness. 
 
 He walked along a few moments in silence 
 then said assertively: 
 
 "You're afraid." 
 
 For reply she only shook her head. 
 
 "It's true," he went on. "You're afraid. 
 A moment ago, you were willing to forget we 
 had just met. Now in a breath you're willing 
 to forget that we've met at all." 
 
 But she would not answer. 
 
 He glanced at the poise of the haughty 
 head just below his own. Was it mock vir- 
 tue? He felt thoroughly justified in believ- 
 ing it so. 
 
 They had reached a corner. Patricia 
 stopped. 
 
 "You'll let me go here, won't you? You'll 
 not follow me or try to find out anything, will 
 you? Say you won't, please, please! It has 
 
 72
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 all been a dreadful mistake how dreadful 
 I didn't know until until just now. I must 
 go alone, you understand alone " 
 
 "But it is getting dark, you 
 
 "No, no! It doesn't matter. I'm not 
 afraid. How can I be now? Please let me 
 go alone. Good-by!" 
 
 And in a moment she had vanished in the 
 cross street.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 MORTIMER CRABB watched the 
 retreating figure. 
 
 "H-m," he said, "the Eternal 
 Question as usual without the answer. And 
 yet I would have sworn that that parasol in 
 
 the Square 
 
 He had always possessed an attitude of 
 amused and tolerant patronage for the City 
 of Brotherly Love it was the birthright of 
 any typical New Yorker and yet since that 
 inconsiderable adventure in Rittenhouse 
 Square, he had discovered undreamed-of vir- 
 tues in the Pennsylvania metropolis. It was a 
 city not of apartments, but of homes homes 
 in which men lived with their families and 
 brought up interesting children in the old- 
 fashioned way a city of conservative prog- 
 ress, of historic association, of well-guarded 
 tradition an American city, in short which 
 
 74
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 New York was not. At the Bachelors' Club 
 he sang its praises, and mentioned a plan of 
 wintering there, but was laughed at for his 
 pains. Anything unusual and extraordinary 
 was to be expected of Mortimer Crabb. But 
 a winter in Philadelphia! This was too pre- 
 posterous. 
 
 Crabb said nothing in reply. He only 
 smiled politely and when the Blue Wing was 
 put in commission went off on a cruise with 
 no other company but his thoughts and Cap- 
 tain Jepson. Jepson under ordinary circum- 
 stances would have been sufficient, but now 
 Mortimer Crabb spent much time in a deck 
 chair reading in a book of poems, or idly gaz- 
 ing at the swirl of foam in the vessel's wake. 
 Jepson wondered what he was thinking of, 
 for Crabb was not a man to spend much time 
 in dreaming, and the Captain would have 
 given much that he possessed to know. He 
 would have been surprised if Mortimer Crabb 
 had told him. To tell the truth Crabb was 
 thinking of a parasol. He was wondering 
 6 75
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 if after all, his judgment had been erring. 
 The lady in the Square had left the parasol, 
 it was true. But then all the tribe of para- 
 sols and umbrellas seemed born to the fate of 
 being neglected and forgotten, and there was 
 no reason why this particular specimen of 
 the genus should be exempt from the frail- 
 ties of its kind. As he remembered, it was 
 a flimsy thing of green silk and lace, obvi- 
 ously a French frippery which might be 
 readily guilty of such a form of naughtiness. 
 
 It had long worried him to think that he 
 might have misjudged the sleeping princess 
 as he had learned to call her and he knew 
 that it would continue to worry him until he 
 proved the matter one way or another for 
 himself. Had she really forgotten the para- 
 sol? Or had she not forgotten it? 
 
 The cruise ended, the summer lengthened 
 into fall, and winter found Mortimer Crabb 
 established in residence at a fashionable hotel 
 in Philadelphia. 
 
 Letters had come from New York to cer-
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 tain Philadelphia dowagers in the councils of 
 the mighty, to the end that in due course 
 Crabb accepted for several desirable dinners, 
 and before he knew he found himself in the 
 full swing of a social season. And so when 
 the night of the Assembly came around, he 
 found himself dining at the house of one of 
 his sponsors in a party wholly given over to 
 the magnification of three tremulous young fe- 
 male persons, who were to receive their cachet 
 and certificate of eligibility in attending that 
 ancient and honorable function. 
 
 It was just at the top of the steps leading 
 to the foyer of the ball-room that Crabb met 
 Patricia Wharton in the crowd, face to face. 
 The encounter was unavoidable. He saw 
 the brief question in her glance before she 
 placed him, the vanishing smile, the momen- 
 tary pallor, and then was conscious that she 
 had gone by, her eyes looking past him, her 
 brows slightly raised, her lips drawn together, 
 the very letter of indifference and contempt. 
 It was cutting advanced to the dignity of a 
 
 77
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 fine art. Crabb felt the color rise to his tem- 
 ples and heard the young bud at his side 
 saying: 
 
 "What is it, Mr. Crabb? You look as if 
 you'd seen the ghost of all your past trans- 
 gressions." 
 
 "All of them, Miss Cheston! Oh, I hope 
 I don't look as bad as that," he laughed. "Only 
 one a very tiny one." 
 
 "Do tell me," cried the bud. 
 
 "First, let's safely run the gantlet of the 
 lorgnons." 
 
 When the party was assembled and past the 
 grenadiers who jealously guard the sacred 
 inner bulwarks, Crabb was glad to relinquish 
 his companion to another, while he sought se- 
 clusion behind a bank of azaleas to watch the 
 moving dancers. So she really was somebody. 
 He began, for a moment, to doubt the testi- 
 mony of the vagrant glances and the guilty 
 parasol. Could he have been mistaken? Had 
 she really forgotten the parasol after all? The 
 situation was brutal enough for her and he 
 
 78
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 was quite prepared to respect her delicacy. 
 What he did resent was the way in which she 
 had done it. She had taken to cover angrily 
 and stood at bay with all her woman's weap- 
 ons sharpened. The curl of lip and narrowed 
 eye bespoke a degree of disdain quite out of 
 proportion to the offense. But he made a 
 rapid resolution not to seek her or meet her 
 eye. If his was the fault, it was the only rep- 
 aration he could offer her. 
 
 As he whirled around the room with his 
 little bud, he caught a glimpse of her upon 
 the opposite side and so maneuvered that he 
 would come no nearer. When he had guided 
 his partner to a seat, it did not take him long 
 to gratify a very natural curiosity. 
 
 "Will you tell me," he asked, "who 
 no, don't look now the girl in the black 
 spangly dress is?" 
 
 "Who? Where?" asked Miss Cheston. 
 "Patricia? you mean? Of course! Miss 
 Wharton, my cousin. Haven't you met her?" 
 
 "Er no! She's good-looking." 
 
 79
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "Isn't she? And the dearest creature but 
 rather cold and the least bit prim." 
 
 "Pri Oh, really!" 
 
 "Yes! We're Quakers, you know. She be- 
 longs to the older set. Perhaps that's why she 
 seems a trifle cold and er conventional." 
 
 "Convent ! Oh, yes, of course." 
 
 "You know we're really quite a breezy lot, 
 if you only know us. Some of this year's debs 
 are really very dreadful." 
 
 "How shocking, and Miss Wharton is not 
 dreadful?" 
 
 "Oh, dear, no. But she is awfully good fun. 
 Come, you must meet her. Let me take you 
 
 over." 
 
 But good fortune in the person of Stephen 
 Ventnor intervened. 
 
 It was the unexpected which was to hap- 
 pen. Crabb was returning from the table 
 with a favor. His eye ran along the line of 
 chairs in a brief fruitless search. Mr. Bar- 
 clay, who was leading the cotillion, caught 
 his eye at this precise psychological moment. 
 
 80
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 "Stranded, Crabb? Let me present you 
 
 He mentioned no name but was off in a 
 moment winding in and out among those on 
 the floor. Crabb followed. When he had 
 succeeded in eluding the imminent dancers 
 and had reached the other side of the room, 
 there was Barclay bending over. 
 
 "Awfully nice chap stranger," he was 
 saying, and then aloud, "Miss Wharton, may 
 I present Mr. Crabb?" 
 
 It was all over in a moment. The crowded 
 room had hidden the black dress and the fair 
 hair. But it was too late. Barclay was off 
 in a second and there they were looking again 
 into each other's eyes, Patricia pale and cold 
 as stone, Crabb a trifle ill at ease at the awk- 
 ward situation which, however appearances 
 were against him, was none of his choosing. 
 
 Crabb inclined his head and extended the 
 hand which carried his favor. They both 
 glanced down, seeking in that innocent trinket 
 a momentary refuge from the predicament. 
 
 81
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 It was then for the first time that Crabb dis- 
 covered the thing he was offering her a lit- 
 tle frivolous green silk parasol. 
 
 She looked up at him again, her eyes blaz- 
 ing, but she rose to her feet and looked around 
 her as though seeking some mode of escape. 
 He fully expected that she would refuse to 
 dance, and was preparing to withdraw as 
 gracefully as he might when, with chin erect 
 and eyes which looked and carried her spirit 
 quite beyond him, she took the parasol and 
 followed him upon the floor. 
 
 But the subtlety of suggestion which seemed 
 to possess Crabb's particular little comedy 
 was to be still more amusingly developed. 
 The figure in which they became a part was 
 a pretty vari-colored whirl of flowers and 
 ribbons, in which the green parasols were 
 destined to play a part. For a miniature 
 Maypole was brought and the parasols were 
 fastened to the depending ribbons in accord- 
 ance with their color. 
 
 As the figure progressed and the dancers 
 82
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 interwove, Crabb could not fail to note the 
 recurrent intentional snub. He felt himself 
 blameless in the unlucky situation, and this 
 needless display of hostility so clearly ex- 
 pressed seemed made in very bad taste. Each 
 time he passed the flaunted shoulder, the up- 
 cast chin, or curling lip, he found his humility 
 to be growing less and less until as the dance 
 neared its end he glowed with a very right- 
 eous ire. If she had meant to deny him com- 
 pletely, she should have chosen the oppor- 
 tunity when he had first come up. And as he 
 passed her, he rejoiced in the discovery that 
 she had inadvertently chosen the other end of 
 the ribbon attached to the very parasol which 
 he bore. When the May dance was over, 
 Miss Wharton found Mr. Crabb at her side 
 handing her the green parasol precisely as 
 he had handed her that other one in the 
 Square six months before. 
 
 "I beg pardon," he was saying quizzically, 
 "but isn't this yours?" 
 
 The accent and benevolent eye were unmis- 
 
 83
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 takable. If there were any arrow in her 
 quiver of scorn unshot, his effrontery com- 
 pletely disarmed her. If looks could have 
 killed, Crabb must have died at once. As- 
 sured of the depths of his infamy, she could 
 only murmur rather faintly: 
 
 "I shall go to my seat, at once, please." In- 
 deed, Crabb was a very lively corpse. He 
 was smiling coolly down at her. 
 
 "Certainly, if you wish it. Only er I 
 hope you'll let me go along." 
 
 How she hated him! The words uttered 
 again with the same smiling effrontery seemed 
 to be burned anew into her memory. Could 
 she never be free from this inevitable man? 
 Her seat was at the far end of the room. 
 
 "I think you have done me some injustice," 
 he said quietly, and then, "It has been a pleas- 
 ant dance. Thank you so much." 
 
 "Thank you," replied Patricia acidly, and 
 he was gone.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MISS WHARTON rather crossly dis- 
 missed her weary maid, and threw 
 herself into an armchair. Odious 
 situation! Her peccadillo had found her out! 
 What made the matter still worse was the in- 
 genuous impeccability of her villain. On 
 every hand she heard his praises sung. And 
 it vexed her that she had been unable to con- 
 tribute anything to his detriment. Of course, 
 after seeing her leave the parasol it would 
 have been stupid of him to to let her forget 
 it. In her thoughts that adventure had long 
 since been condoned. It was this new ren- 
 contre which had so upset her. It angered 
 her to think how little delicacy he gave her 
 credit for when he had asked Jack Barclay 
 to present him. If they had met by chance, 
 it would have been different. She would have 
 been sharply civil, but not retrospective; and 
 
 8?
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 would have trusted to his sense of the situ- 
 ation to be the same. That he had assailed 
 her helpless barriers, wrote him down a brute, 
 divested him of all the garments of sensibil- 
 ity in which she had clothed him. It angered 
 her to think that her fancy had seen fit to 
 make him any other than he was. But min- 
 gled with her anger, she was surprised to dis- 
 cover disappointment, too. It was this this 
 person who shared with her the secret of her 
 one iniquity. 
 
 She pulled impatiently at her long gloves 
 and arose with an air of finality. And so 
 Miss Wharton put the importunate Mr. 
 Crabb entirely from her mind; until the fol- 
 lowing Thursday night at the dinner at the 
 Hollingsworths'. 
 
 "Patty, dear, have you met Mr. Crabb?" 
 Mrs. Hollingsworth was saying. 
 
 Miss Wharton had, at the Assembly. 
 
 Mr. Crabb politely echoed; and Patricia 
 hated him for the nebulous smile which 
 seemed to contain hidden meanings. But she 
 
 86
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 rose to the occasion in a way which seemed 
 to disconcert her companion who only an- 
 swered her rapid fire of commonplaces in 
 monosyllables. At the table she found her 
 refuge upon the other side to be an Italian 
 from the embassy at Washington, whose 
 French limped but whose English was a crip- 
 ple. And so they minced and stuttered, Ol- 
 lendorf fashion, through the oysters and soup, 
 while Crabb occupied himself with the 
 daughter of the house upon his other side. 
 But at last Patty was aware that Mr. Crabb 
 was speaking. 
 
 "Miss Wharton," he began, "I fear I've 
 been put somewhat under a cloud." 
 
 "Really," she answered sweetly, "how so?" 
 A little disconcerted but undismayed, he 
 continued: 
 
 "Because of the manner of our meeting." 
 "Our meeting!" she said uncertainly. 
 "At the Assembly, you know. I thought 
 perhaps that you thought I'd asked to be 
 presented."
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "Didn't you? Then, how did we happen 
 to meet?" 
 
 He could not but admire her sang-froid. 
 She was smiling a non-committal smile at the 
 centerpiece. 
 
 "Er I should explain. I was adrift and 
 Barclay came to my rescue. I give you my 
 word, I had no notion it was to you he was 
 taking me. It was all over in a second." 
 
 "Then you really didn't wish to meet me? 
 I'm so sorry." 
 
 She had turned her face slowly to his and 
 was looking him levelly in the eyes. It was 
 a challenge, not a petition. He met her thrust 
 fairly. 
 
 "My dear Miss Wharton," he smiled, 
 "how could I know what you were like er 
 if I'd never seen you?" 
 
 This time he fairly set her weapon fly- 
 ing. 
 
 "What I wish you to understand," he con- 
 tinued, steadily, "is that I didn't know that 
 Barclay was taking me to you. I wish credit
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 for a certain delicacy. I should not have 
 cared to force myself upon you." 
 
 "I'm sure I shouldn't have minded in the 
 least," she said, lightly. "I'm not so difficult 
 as all that" 
 
 As soon as she had spoken she knew she had 
 overshot her mark. 
 
 "That's awfully good of you, you know. 
 I'm sure you'll admit I had no means of know- 
 ing," he added, "how difficult you were." 
 
 She flushed a little before returning to the 
 attack. 
 
 "Of course a girl wishes to know a little 
 something about a man before " 
 
 "Before she permits herself to misjudge 
 him." He smiled. "Candidly, do you feel 
 in any better position to judge me now than 
 you did before ' 
 
 "Before the Assembly?" she interrupted. 
 "I think so. You don't eat with your knife," 
 laughing. "You've a respect for the napkin. 
 People say you're clever. Why shouldn't I 
 believe them?"
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "If this is your creed of morality, I'm re- 
 spectability itself. Can you doubt me? Why 
 won't you be frank? If I'm respectable why 
 shouldn't you have cared to meet me?" 
 
 "I'm not sure I thought very much about it 
 How did you know I didn't wish to meet 
 you?" 
 
 "How could I know you did?" 
 
 She looked up at him, a new expression on 
 her face. 
 
 "I didn't," she said quietly, "I I ab- 
 horred the very thought of you." 
 
 Crabb looked contemplatively at his truffle. 
 "I thank you f jr your candor," he replied at 
 last. 
 
 Then after a pause, "If you'll forgive me, 
 I'll promise not to mention the subject again." 
 
 "And if I don't forgive you?" 
 
 "You're at my mercy for this hour at least," 
 he laughed. 
 
 "I can still fly to Italy," she replied. "I 
 could forgive you, I think, but for one thing." 
 
 He looked the question. 
 90
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "This dinner. Is it to chance that I'm in- 
 debted for the the honor of your society?" 
 
 Crabb's gaze had dropped to the table, but 
 she had seen just such a sparkle in them once 
 before. Nor when he looked at her had it 
 disappeared. 
 
 "You mean " 
 
 She continued gazing at him steadily. 
 
 "You mean did I arrange it?" he asked. 
 
 Patricia bowed her head. 
 
 "How could I have done so?" he urged. 
 
 "Isn't Nick Hollingsworth an intimate 
 friend of yours?" 
 
 "Yes, but I fail to see 
 
 "Will you deny it?" 
 
 "I'm afraid you'll have to take me a lit- 
 tle on faith," he pleaded. "At any rate you 
 will not suffer long. I'm leaving town in a 
 few days." 
 
 "For long?" she asked politely. 
 
 "For good, I think. Won't you let me come 
 in to see you before then?" 
 
 "Perhaps " 
 
 7 91
 
 But Mrs. Hollingsworth had cast her 
 glance down the line and drawn back her 
 chair. 
 
 When the men came down into the draw- 
 ing room, Mr. Crabb discovered that Miss 
 Wharton had carefully ensconced herself in 
 the center of a perimeter of skirts, which de- 
 fied disintegration and apportionment. There 
 was music and afterwards a call for carriages. 
 So Mr. Crabb saw no more of Miss Wharton 
 upon that night. Nor, indeed, did Patricia 
 see him again. The following day he called. 
 She was out. Then came a note and some 
 roses. Business had called him sooner than 
 he had expected. He begged to assure her of 
 his distinguished consideration; would she 
 forgive him now that he was gone, accept this 
 new impertinence and forget all those that 
 had gone before? 
 
 Patricia accepted the impertinence; and 
 for many days it rilled her little white room 
 with seductive odors that made his last ad- 
 monition more difficult. 
 
 92
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE months of winter passed and 
 Crabb returned not. July found 
 the Whartons again at Bar Harbor. 
 Patricia would go out for hours in her canoe 
 or her sailboat, rejoicing with bronzed cheek 
 and hardening muscles in the buffets and ca- 
 resses of Frenchman's Bay. It was a very tiny 
 catboat that she had learned to manage her- 
 self and in which she would tolerate no male 
 hand at the helm except in the stiffest blows. 
 One quiet afternoon, early in August, she 
 was sailing alone down toward Sorrento. It 
 was one of those brilliant New England days 
 when every detail of water and sky shone 
 clear as an amethyst. Here and there a sail 
 cut a sharp yellow rhomboid from the velvet 
 woods. Patricia listened idly to the lapping 
 of the tiny waves and found herself thinking 
 again rather uncomfortably of the one person 
 
 93
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 who had caught her off her guard and kept 
 her there. If he had only stayed in Philadel- 
 phia one week more, she could at least have 
 retired with drums beating and colors flying. 
 
 A sound distracted her. She looked to lee- 
 ward under the lifting sail and on her bow, 
 well out in the open off Stave Island, she 
 could make out the lines of an overturned 
 canoe and two figures in the water. She 
 quickly loosed the sheet and shifted her helm 
 and bore down rapidly upon the unfortunates. 
 She could see a man bearing upon one end of 
 the canoe lifting the other into the air, trying 
 to get the water out; but each time he did so, 
 a bull terrier dog swam to the gunwale and 
 overturned it again. She sped by to leeward 
 and, skilfully turning her little craft upon its 
 heel, came up into the wind alongside. 
 
 "How do you do?" said the moistful per- 
 son, smiling. 
 
 The hair was streaked down into his eyes. 
 He hardly wondered that she didn't recognize 
 him. 
 
 94
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "Mr. Crabb!" she said at last, rather faint- 
 ly, "how did you happen " 
 
 "It was the dog," he said cheerfully. "I 
 thought he understood canoes." 
 
 "He might have drowned you. Why, it's 
 Jack Masters' 'Teddy,' " she cried. "Here, 
 Teddy, come aboard at once, sir." She bent 
 over the low freeboard and by dint of much 
 hauling managed to get him in. 
 
 In the meantime, the catboat had drifted 
 away from the canoe. Crabb had at last suc- 
 ceeded in getting in and was now bailing with 
 his cap. 
 
 "Won't you come over?" shouted Patricia. 
 
 "Oh, I'm all right," he returned. "It was 
 the dog I was worried about." Then for the 
 first time he was aware that the paddle had 
 drifted off and was now floating a hundred 
 yards away. 
 
 "I'm sorry, but my paddle is adrift." 
 
 So Patricia, amid much barking from the 
 rejuvenated Teddy, came alongside again. 
 
 There sat the bedraggled and dripping 
 
 95
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 Crabb in three inches of water, his empty 
 hands upon the gunwales, looking rather fool- 
 ishly up at the blue eyes that were smiling 
 rather whimsically down. 
 
 She could not resist the temptation to ban- 
 ter him. Had she prayed for vengeance, 
 nothing could have been sent to her sweeter 
 than this. 
 
 "You look rather er glum," she said. 
 
 "I'm not," he replied, calmly. "I've not 
 been so happy in months." 
 
 "What on earth is there to prevent my sail- 
 ing off and leaving you?" she laughed. 
 
 "Nothing," he said. "I'm all right. I'll 
 swim for the paddle when I'm rested." 
 
 "Have you thought I might take that with 
 me, too?" she asked sweetly. 
 
 "All right," he laughed, trying to suppress 
 the chattering teeth. "Somebody'll be along 
 presently." 
 
 "Don't be too sure. You're really very 
 much at my mercy." 
 
 "You were not always so unkind."
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "Mr. Crabb!" Patricia retired in confusion 
 to the tiller. "You're impudent!" She hauled 
 in her sheet and the boat gathered head- 
 way. 
 
 "Please, Miss WhaVton, please!" he 
 shouted. But Patricia did not move from the 
 tiller, and the catboat glided off. He watched 
 her sail down and recover the paddle and 
 then head back toward him. 
 
 "Won't you forgive me and take me in?" 
 
 "I suppose I must. But I'm sure I'd rather 
 you'd drown. I'm hardly in the mood for 
 coals of fire." 
 
 "I am, though," he chattered, "for I'm 
 d deucedly c cold." 
 
 "You don't deserve it. But if you were 
 drowned I suppose I'd be to blame. I 
 wouldn't have you on my conscience again for 
 anything." 
 
 "Then please take me on your boat." 
 
 "Will you behave yourself?" 
 
 "I'll try." 
 
 "And never again refer to to " 
 
 97
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "Urn " 
 
 "Then please come in out of the wet" 
 
 It was toward the end of August when the 
 southeast wind had raised a gray and thun- 
 derous sea, that two persons sat under the lee 
 of a rock near Great Head and watched the 
 giant breakers shatter themselves to foam. 
 They sat very close together, and the little 
 they said was drowned in the roar of the ele- 
 ments. But they did not care. They were 
 willing just to sit and watch the fruitless 
 struggles of the swollen waters. 
 
 "Won't you tell me," said the girl at last, 
 "about that dinner? Didn't you really ask 
 Mrs. Hollingsworth to send you in with me?" 
 
 The man looked amusedly off at the jagged 
 horizon. 
 
 "No, I really didn't," he said, and then, 
 after a pause, with a laugh: "but Nick did." 
 
 "Whited sepulcher!" said the girl. An- 
 other pause. This time the man questioned: 
 
 "There is another thing won't you tell
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 me? About the parasol last summer did 
 you forget it, really or or just leave it?" 
 
 "Mortimer!" she cried, flushing furiously. 
 "I didn't!" 
 
 But he assisted her in hiding her face, smil- 
 ing down benevolently the while. 
 
 "Really? Honestly? Truly?" he said, 
 softly. 
 
 "I didn't I didn't," she repeated. 
 
 "Didn't what?" he still persevered. 
 
 She looked up at him for a moment, flushed 
 more furiously than before and sought refuge 
 anew. But the muffled reply was perfectly 
 distinguishable to the man. 
 
 "I I didn't forget it." 
 
 But the Great Head rocks didn't hear. 
 
 Thus Mortimer Crabb, having spent much 
 of his time in making opportunities for other 
 people, had at last succeeded in making one 
 for himself. 
 
 He had the pleasure of knowing, too, that 
 he was also making one for Patty not that 
 this was Miss Wharton's first opportunity, 
 
 99
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 for everyone knew that her rather sedate de- 
 meanor concealed a capricious coquetry which 
 she could no more control than she could the 
 music of the spheres. But this was going to 
 be a different kind of opportunity, for Crabb 
 had decided that not only was she going to be 
 engaged to him, but that when the time came 
 she was going to marry him. 
 
 This decision reached, he spent all of his 
 time in convincing her that he was the one 
 man in the world exactly suited to her pro- 
 tean moods. The sum of his possessions had 
 not been made known to her, and he delighted 
 in planning his surprise. So that when the 
 Blue Wing appeared in the harbor, he in- 
 vited her for a sail in her own catboat, calmly 
 took the helm in spite of her protests, and be- 
 fore she was aware of it, had made a neat 
 landing at his own gangway. Jepson poked 
 his head over the side and welcomed them, 
 grinning broadly, and, following Crabb's in- 
 viting gesture, Patricia went up on deck feel- 
 ing very much like the lady who had married 
 
 100
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 the Lord of Burleigh. Then Jepson gave 
 some mysterious orders and before long she 
 was reclining luxuriously in a deck chair and 
 the Blue Wing was breasting the surges which 
 showed the way to the open sea. 
 
 " 'All of this,' " quoted Crabb gayly, with a 
 fine gesture which comprehended the whole 
 of the North Atlantic Ocean, " 'is mine and 
 thine.' " 
 
 "It's very nice of you to be so rich. Why 
 didn't you tell me?" said Patricia. 
 
 "Because I had a certain pride in wanting 
 you to like me for myself." 
 
 "You think I would have married you for 
 your money?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," he said, promptly, "of course 
 you would. A rich man has about as much 
 chance of entering the Kingdom of Romance 
 as the Biblical camel has to get through the 
 eye of the needle." 
 
 "Why is it then that I find you so very 
 much more attractive now that I've found the 
 Blue Wing?" 
 
 101
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "But you found me first," he laughed. 
 
 "Did I?" archly. 
 
 "If you still doubt it, there's the 
 parasol!" 
 
 The mention of the parasol always silenced 
 her.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THAT was one of many cruises, 
 and the Blue Wing contributed not 
 a little to the gayety of the waning 
 days of summer at Mount Desert. It was the 
 Blue Wing, too, that in early September 
 brought the Wharton family, bag and bag- 
 gage, southward to Philadelphia, where Mor- 
 timer Crabb lingered, hoping to exact a prom- 
 ise of marriage before Christmas. But Pa- 
 tricia would make no promises. She had a 
 will of her own, her fiance discovered, and 
 had no humor to forego the independence of 
 her spinsterhood for the responsibilities which 
 awaited her. It was in this situation that 
 Crabb discovered himself to be possessed of 
 surprising virtues in tolerance and tact. Pa- 
 tricia, he knew, had many admirers. The 
 woods at Bar Harbor had been, both figura- 
 tively and literally, filled with them, and 
 
 103
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 most of them had been eligible. Jack Mas- 
 ters, and Stephen Ventnor, who lived in Phil- 
 adelphia, were still warm in pursuit of the 
 fair quarry, who had not yet consented to an 
 announcement of her engagement to Crabb. 
 But these men caused him little anxiety. 
 They were both quite young and quite callow 
 and stood little chance with a cosmopolitan 
 of Crabb's caliber. But there was another 
 man of whom people spoke. His name was 
 Heywood Pennington, and for three years he 
 had been off a-soldiering in the Philippines. 
 It had only been a boy-and-girl affair, of 
 course, and most people in Philadelphia had 
 forgotten it, but from his well-stored mem- 
 ory Crabb recalled at least one calf-love that 
 had later grown into a veritable bull-in-the- 
 china-shop. It was not that he didn't believe 
 fully that Patricia would marry him, and it 
 wasn't that he didn't believe in Patricia. It 
 was only that he knew that for the first time 
 in his life, his whole happiness depended upon 
 that least stable but most wonderful of crea- 
 
 104
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 tures, the unconscious coquette. Moreover, 
 Mortimer Crabb believed firmly in himself, 
 and he also believed that, married to him, 
 Patricia would be safely fulfilling her mani- 
 fest destiny. 
 
 But the Philippine soldier kept bobbing up 
 into Crabb's background at the most inop- 
 portune moments: once when the soldier's 
 name had been mentioned on the Blue Wing, 
 and Patricia had sighed and turned her gaze 
 to the horizon, again at a dinner at Bar Har- 
 bor, and later in Philadelphia, at the Club. 
 Bit by bit Crabb had learned Heywood Pen- 
 nington's history, from the wild college days, 
 through his short business career to the tem- 
 pestuous and scarcely honorable adventures 
 which had led to his enlistment under a false 
 name in the regular army three years ago. It 
 was not a creditable history for a fellow of 
 Pennington's antecedents, and when his name 
 was mentioned, even the fellows who had 
 known him longest, turned aside and dis- 
 missed him with a word. 
 
 105
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 The name of the soldier never passed be- 
 tween the engaged couple, and so far as Crabb 
 was concerned, Mr. Pennington might never 
 have existed. 
 
 Patricia lacked nothing which the most ex- 
 acting fiancee might require. Roses and vio- 
 ets arrived regularly at the Wharton country 
 place near Haverford, and in the afternoons 
 Crabb himself came in a motor car, always 
 cheerful, always patient, always original and 
 amusing. 
 
 To such a wooing, placid, and ardent by 
 turns, Patty yielded inevitably, and at last, 
 late in September, consented to announce the 
 engagement. The news was received in her 
 own family circle with delighted amazement, 
 for Mortimer Crabb had by this time made 
 many friends in Philadelphia, and Miss 
 Wharton had refused so many offers that her 
 people, remembering Pennington, had de- 
 cided that their handsome relative was des- 
 tined to a life of single blessedness. They 
 bestirred themselves at once in a round of 
 
 1 06
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 entertainments in her honor, the first of which 
 was a lawn party and masque at her uncle 
 Philip Wharton's country place, near Bryn 
 Mawr. 
 
 Philip Wharton never did things by halves, 
 and society, back from the seashore and moun- 
 tains, welcomed the first large entertainment 
 which was to mark the beginning of the coun- 
 try life between seasons. 
 
 The gay crowds swarmed out from the 
 wide doorways, into the balmy night, liber- 
 ated from the land of matter-of-fact into a do- 
 main of enchantment. Gayly caparisoned 
 cavaliers, moving in the spirit of the charac- 
 ters they represented strode gallantly in the 
 train of their ladies whose graceful draperies 
 floated like film from white shoulders and 
 caught in their silken meshes the shimmer of 
 the moonbeams. Bright eyes flashed from 
 slits in masks and bolder ones looked search- 
 ingly into them. All of the ages had assembled 
 upon a common meeting ground; a cinque- 
 cento rubbed elbows with an American In- 
 8 107
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 dian, Joan of Arc was cajoling a Crusader, a 
 nun was hazarding her hope of salvation in 
 flirtation with the devil, the eyes of a Puri- 
 tan maid fell before the glances of a mata- 
 dor. Nothing had been spared in costume or 
 in setting to make the picture complete. The 
 music halted a moment and then swept into 
 the rhythm of a waltz. A murmur of delight 
 and like a change in the kaleidoscope the 
 pieces all converged upon the terrace. 
 
 It was here that a diversion occurred. A 
 laugh went up from a group upon the steps 
 and their glances were turned in one direc- 
 tion. Seated upon the balustrade in the glow 
 of the Chinese lanterns sat a tramp, drinking 
 a glass of punch from the refreshment table 
 close at hand. It was a wonderful disguise 
 that he wore. The shirt of some dark mate- 
 rial, was stained and torn, the hat, of the 
 brown, army type, was battered out of shape, 
 and many holes had been bored into the 
 crown. The trousers had worn to the color 
 of dry grass and the boots were old, patched, 
 
 1 08
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 and yellow with mud and grime. In place 
 of the conventional black mask, he wore a 
 bandanna handkerchief tied around his brow, 
 with holes for the eyes. The ends of the hand- 
 kerchief hung to his breast and hid his fea- 
 tures, but under its edges could be seen a 
 brown ear and a patchy beard. As the crowd 
 watched him he lifted his glass aloft solemnly 
 and made the motions of drinking their 
 health. There was a roar of applause. A 
 whimsical arrogance in the pose of the 
 squarely-made shoulders and the tilt of the 
 head gave an additional interest to the som- 
 ber figure. He looked like a drawing from 
 the pages of a comic weekly, but the osten- 
 tation of his gesture gave him a dignity that 
 made the resemblance less assured. As the 
 people crowded around him and sought to 
 pierce his disguise, he got down from his 
 perch and strolled away into the shadows. 
 When the music stopped again he was sur- 
 rounded by a curious group, but he towered 
 in their center grotesque, and inscrutable. To 
 
 109
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 those who questioned him too closely he mum- 
 bled at their meddling and told them to be off. 
 Then he tightened his belt and asked when 
 supper would be ready. 
 
 "Are you hungry?" someone asked. He 
 glared at the questioner. 
 
 "What kind of a tramp would I be if I 
 wasn't hungry?" he growled, and those around 
 him laughed again. So they took him to a 
 table and fed him. He ate ravenously. They 
 got him something to drink and it seemed to 
 vanish down his throat without even touching 
 his lips. 
 
 "Isn't he splendid?" said Patricia Whar- 
 ton, who, with Mortimer Crabb, had just 
 
 come up. "But who ? I can't think of 
 
 anyone, and yet " 
 
 The tramp looked up at her suddenly and 
 dropped his fork upon the table. 
 
 "Splendid," he cried. "That's me. Splen- 
 did. I sure glitter in this bunch, don't I?" 
 
 There was something irresistibly comic in 
 the gesture with which he swept the group. 
 
 no
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 Patricia was still watching him a puzzled 
 expression in her eyes. 
 
 "Who is he?" she asked; but Crabb shook 
 his head. "I haven't an idea but he is 
 clever. And look at those boots they're the 
 real thing. I wouldn't want to try to dance 
 in them, though." 
 
 The tramp drained his glass set it down 
 on the table and wiped his mouth on the back 
 of his hand rose and disappeared between 
 the palms and hydrangeas into the darkness. 
 
 For a guest in good standing the tramp 
 then behaved strangely, for when he had 
 reached a sheltered spot, in the bushes at the 
 end of the English Garden, he sank at full 
 length upon the grass and buried his head in 
 his hands, groaning aloud. It was three years 
 since he had seen her three years, and yet 
 she was just as he had seen her last. Time had 
 touched her lightly, only caressing her play- 
 fully, rounding her features to matured 
 
 beauty, while he A vision of camps, 
 
 cities, skirmishes, orgies, came out of his mind 
 
 in
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 in a disordered procession, all culminating in 
 the incident which had brought him to ruin. 
 Every detail of that at least was clear; the 
 sudden rage where the bonds of patience had 
 reached the snapping point and then the 
 blow. The tramp laughed outright. He 
 could see now the smirk on the face of the 
 drunken lieutenant as he toppled over back- 
 ward and struck his head on the edge of the 
 mahogany table. After that irons, the 
 court martial, the transport, Alcatraz, his 
 chance, the friendly plank, the swim for the 
 mainland, and freedom. He had never heard 
 whether the man lived or died. He didn't 
 much care. He got what was coming to him. 
 The tramp was a fugitive still. He had 
 walked since morning from Malvern station, 
 where he had been thrown off the freight 
 train on which he had worked a ride east from 
 Harrisburg. At Bryn Mawr he had begged 
 a meal the irony of it had sunk into his soul 
 at the back door of a country house at which 
 he had once been a welcome guest. A gos- 
 
 112
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 sipy chauffeur had let him into his garage for 
 a rest and had given him a cigarette over 
 which he had learned the recent doings in 
 the neighborhood. The thought of venturing 
 into Philip Wharton's grounds- that night had 
 entered his madcap brain while he lay in the 
 woods along the Gulf Road, trying to make 
 up his mind whether his tired feet would 
 carry him the twelve miles that remained be- 
 tween him and the city. 
 
 Why had he returned? God knew. His 
 feet had dragged him onward as though im- 
 pelled by some force beyond his power to re- 
 sist. Now that he was near the home of his 
 boyhood it seemed as if any other place in the 
 world would have been better. It was so real 
 the peaceful respectability of this country 
 so like Her. And yet its very peacefulness 
 and respectability angered him. Was it noth- 
 ing to have hungered and thirsted and sweated 
 that the honor of these people and that of 
 others like them might be preserved? Even 
 Patricia's blamelessness was intolerant re- 
 
 "3
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 proachful. The springs of memory that had 
 gushed forth just now at the sight of her 
 were dried in their source. There was a dull 
 ache, a sinking of the spirit that was almost 
 a physical pain; but the unreasoning fever of 
 the wayward boy, the wrenching fury of the 
 outcast soldier were lacking, and for a long 
 time he lay where he had fallen without 
 moving.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 PATRICIA WHARTON stood a mo- 
 ment on the edge of the terrace after 
 the dance, slipped her hand into Mor- 
 timer Crabb's arm and came down upon the 
 path, drawing a drapery across her white 
 shoulders. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Crabb. "You are not 
 cold?" 
 
 "Oh, no," she said quietly. "I think I am a 
 little tired." 
 
 "Come," he said. "There's a beautiful 
 spot just here." He led her across the lawn 
 and through an opening in the trees to a 
 garden-bench in the shadow, a spot which 
 none of the other maskers had discovered. 
 Through the leafy screen they could see the 
 gay figures floating like will-o'-the-wisps 
 across the golden lawn, but here they were 
 quiet and unobserved. Patricia sank upon the 
 
 "5
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 bench with a sigh, while Crabb sat beside 
 her. 
 
 "Are you happy?" he asked after awhile. 
 
 "Perfectly," she murmured. "What a 
 beautiful party!" She placed her hand in his 
 and moved a little closer to him, then sat list- 
 lessly, her eyes seeking the spaces between the 
 branches where the people were. "I don't 
 want to grow old too soon," she was saying. 
 "The whole world is in short clothes to-night. 
 Wouldn't it be good to be young forever?" 
 
 Crabb smiled indulgently. 
 
 "Yes," he said. "It is good to be young. 
 But isn't it anything to take your place in the 
 world? I want you to know all a man can do 
 for the woman he loves. Won't you let me? 
 Soon?" He bent over her and took the 
 rounded arm in his strong hand. She did not 
 withdraw it, but something told him a link of 
 sympathy was lacking in the chain. As she 
 did not reply he straightened and sat moodily 
 looking before him. 
 
 "Don't think me capricious, please," she 
 116
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 began. "You're everything I can hope for 
 and yet 
 
 "And yet?" he repeated. 
 
 She paused a moment, then broke in, "For- 
 give me, won't you? I don't know what it is. 
 Something has affected me strangely." She 
 leaned against the back of the bench, rested 
 her head in her hand, away from him, and 
 Crabb turned jealously toward her. 
 
 "You were thinking of him of the 
 other." 
 
 "Why shouldn't I be honest with you? I 
 can't help it. Something has suddenly 
 brought him into my mind. I was wonder- 
 ing- -" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I was wondering where he is now 
 to-night. It is so beautiful here. Everything 
 has been done to make us happy. I was think- 
 ing that perhaps if I had written him a line 
 I might have saved him some terrible trial. 
 It was only a boy-and-girl affair, of course, 
 
 but " 
 
 117
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 Patricia suddenly stopped speaking, and 
 both of them turned their heads toward the 
 dark bank of bushes behind them. 
 
 "What was it?" she asked. 
 
 "A dead branch falling," he replied. 
 
 They listened again, but all they heard was 
 the sound of the orchestra and the voices of 
 the dancers. 
 
 "You're teaching me a lesson in patience," 
 Crabb began again soberly. "I can wait, of 
 course. I'm not jealous of him," he said. "I 
 was only wondering how you could think of 
 him at all." 
 
 "I don't think of him not in that way. I 
 believe I haven't thought of him at all until 
 to-night. To-night, I can't help thinking of 
 others less fortunate than ourselves. I suppose 
 it's only the natural thing that he should suf- 
 fer. He never seemed to get things right, 
 somehow ; his point of view was always askew. 
 He was a wild boy but he was human." 
 
 She paused and clasped her hands before 
 her. Crabb sat silent beside her, but his brow 
 
 118
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 was clouded. When he spoke it was in a 
 voice low and constrained. 
 
 "Do you think it kind wise to speak of 
 this now?" 
 
 "I was thinking that perhaps if he'd had 
 a little luck 
 
 "He might have come back to you?" 
 
 Patricia turned toward him and with a swift 
 movement took one of his hands in both of 
 hers. 
 
 "Don't speak in that way," she pleaded. 
 "You mustn't." 
 
 But his fingers still refused to respond to 
 her pressure. 
 
 "If I think of him at all, it is because I 
 have learned how great a thing is love and 
 how much the greater must be its loss. You 
 know," she whispered, timidly, "you know I 
 I love you." 
 
 "God bless you for that," he murmured. 
 
 They were so absorbed that they did not 
 hear the sound behind them a suppressed 
 moan like that of an animal in pain. 
 
 119
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "Will you forgive me?" asked the girl, at 
 last. "It is all over now. I shall never speak 
 of it again. I've spoiled your evening. You 
 don't regret?" 
 
 Crabb laughed happily. 
 
 "I'll promise to be good," she said, softly. 
 "I'll do whatever you ask me 
 
 "Will you marry me next month?" 
 
 "Yes," she murmured, "whenever you 
 wish." 
 
 He took her in his arms and kissed her. 
 They stood for some time deaf to all voices 
 but those in their hearts. There was a break- 
 ing of tiny twigs under the trees behind them 
 and a drab figure came out into the open on 
 the other side and vanished into the darkness 
 by the garden wall. And as they walked back 
 into the house neither guessed just what had 
 happened except that some new miracle, 
 which, really, is very old, had happened to 
 them. 
 
 As a matter of fact, when Patricia an- 
 nounced the miracle in the form of her en- 
 
 120
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 gagement to Mortimer Crabb a prayer of 
 thanksgiving went up from at least three 
 young women of her acquaintance. And 
 though these feminine petitioners were left as 
 much to their own devices as before the an- 
 nouncement, there was a certain comfort in 
 knowing that she was out of the way at 
 least, that she was as much out of the way as 
 it was possible for Patricia to be, bound or 
 untrammeled. Jack Masters went abroad, 
 Steve Ventnor actually went to work, and 
 various other swains sought pastures new. 
 
 Ross Burnett was best man and, when the 
 ceremony and breakfast were over, saw the 
 happy couple off upon the Blue Wing, for 
 their long Southern cruise. They offered 
 him conduct as far as Washington, whither he 
 was bound, but he knew from the look in their 
 eyes that he was not wanted, and with a 
 promise to meet them in New York when they 
 returned, he waved them a good-by from the 
 pier and took up the thread of his Govern- 
 ment business where it had been dropped. It 
 
 121
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 is not often that good comes out of villainy, 
 and the memory of the adventure in which 
 Crabb had involved him, often troubled his 
 conscience. What if some day he should meet 
 Baron Arnim or Baron Arnim's man and 
 be recognized? At the State Department 
 Crowthers had asked him no questions and 
 he had thought it wise not to offer explana- 
 tions. But certain it was that to that adven- 
 ture alone was his present prosperity directly 
 due. His South American mission success- 
 fully concluded, he had returned to Washing- 
 ton with the assurance that other and even 
 more important work awaited him. His 
 point of view had changed. All he had need- 
 ed was initiative, and, Crabb having supplied 
 that deficiency, he had learned to face the 
 world again with the squared shoulders of the 
 man who had at last found himself. The 
 world was his oyster and he would open it 
 how and when he liked. 
 
 It was this new attitude perhaps which en- 
 abled him to take note of the taming of Mor- 
 
 122
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 timer Crabb, for when he visited the bride 
 and groom in their sumptuous house in New 
 York, he discovered that Crabb had formed 
 the habit of the easy-chair after dinner, and 
 that the married life, which all his days he 
 had professed to abhor, was the life for him. 
 It took the combined efforts of Burnett and 
 Patricia to dislodge him. 
 
 "He's absolutely impossible," said Patricia. 
 "He says that he has solved the problem of 
 happiness that he has done with the world. 
 It's so like a man," and she stamped her small 
 foot, "to think that marriage is the end of 
 everything when as everyone knows it's 
 only the beginning. He's getting stout al- 
 ready, and I know, I'm positive that he is 
 going to be bald. Won't you help me, Mr. 
 Burnett?" 
 
 "That's a dreadful prospect Benedick, the 
 married man. You only need carpet slippers 
 and a cribbage-board, Mort, to make the pic- 
 ture complete. Have you stopped seeking 
 opportunities?" 
 
 9 123
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "Ah, yes," drawled Crabb, "Patty is the 
 only opportunity I ever had at least er 
 the only one worth embracing " 
 
 "Mortimer!" 
 
 "And don't you ever go to the Club?' 1 
 laughed Ross. 
 
 "Oh, no. I'm taboo there since I lived in 
 Philadelphia. Besides, I'm not a bachelor 
 any more, you know. If Patty only wouldn't 
 insist on dragging me out " 
 
 Patricia laughed. 
 
 "Twice, Ross, already this winter," Crabb 
 continued. "It's cruelty, nothing less." But 
 the perpetrator of the outrage was smiling, 
 and she leaned forward just then and laid her 
 hand in that of her husband, saying with a 
 laugh, "Mort, you know we'll have to get 
 Ross married at once." 
 
 "Me?" said Burnett, in alarm. 
 
 "Of course. A bachelor only sneers at a 
 Benedick when he has given up hoping " 
 
 "Oh, I say now I'm not so old." 
 
 "Then you do hope?" 
 124
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "Oh, no, I only wait for a miracle." 
 
 "This isn't the age of miracles," remarked 
 Patty thoughtfully, "at least not miracles of 
 that kind. How can you expect anyone to 
 fall in love with you if you go on leaping from 
 one end of the earth to the other. No girl 
 wants to marry a kangaroo even a diplomatic 
 kangaroo." She paused and examined him 
 with her head on one side. "And yet you 
 know you're passably decent looking -" 
 
 "Oh, thanks!" 
 
 "Even distinguished that foreign way of 
 wearing your mustache is really quite fetch- 
 ing. You'll do, I think, with some coach- 
 ing." 
 
 "Will you coach me?" 
 
 "I object," interrupted Crabb, lazily. 
 
 "I will. You're quite worth marrying 
 I'm at least sure you wouldn't condemn your 
 wife to her own lares and penates." 
 
 "Not I. She'd get the wanderlust or a 
 divorce." 
 
 "Don't boast, worse vagabonds than you 
 125
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 have been tamed come now, what shall she 
 be blonde or brunette?" 
 
 Burnett shrugged his shoulders. "I'm quite 
 indifferent pigment is cheap nowadays." 
 
 "Now you're scoffing." 
 
 Ross Burnett leaned back in his chair and 
 smiled at the chandelier. Women had long 
 ago been omitted from his list of possibilities. 
 But Patricia was not to be denied. 
 
 "Married you shall be," she said with the 
 air of an oracle, "and before the year is out. 
 I swear it." 
 
 "But why do you want me to " 
 
 "Revenge!" she said tragically. "You 
 helped marry me to Mort" 
 
 And the young matron was as good as her 
 word, though her method may have been un- 
 usual. 
 
 It came about in the following manner, and 
 Burnett's brother and Miss Millicent Dar- 
 row were her unconscious agents. Miss 
 Darrow had gone to the Academy Exhibit. 
 The rooms were comfortably crowded. She 
 
 126
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 entered conscious of a certain dignity and ro- 
 pose in the character of her surroundings. 
 She brought forth her catalogue, resolutely 
 opened it to the first page and in a moment was 
 oblivious to the people about her. She did 
 not belong to the great army "who know what 
 they like." She had an instinctive perception 
 of the good, and found herself not a little 
 amazed at the amount of masterly work by 
 younger men whose names she had never 
 heard. It was an unpleasant commentary 
 upon the mentality and taste of the set in 
 which she moved, and she was conscious of a 
 sense of guilt; for was she not a reflection of 
 the shortcomings of those she was so ready 
 to condemn? "The Plain Evening Will- 
 iam Hazelton" a direct rendering of an up- 
 land field at dusk, between portraits by well- 
 known men; "Sylvia Henry Marlow" a 
 girl in a green bodice painted with knowledge 
 and assurance. 
 
 In another room were the things in a high- 
 er key she knew them at a glance; and on 
 
 127
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 the opposite wall a full-length portrait that 
 looked like a Sargent. She was puzzled at 
 the color, which was different from that of 
 any man she remembered. The Sargents she 
 knew were grouped in another room and yet 
 there was here the force and breadth of the 
 master. She experienced the same perplex- 
 ity "Agatha Philip Burnett," said the cat- 
 alogue. She sank upon a bench before it and 
 gave herself up to quiet rapture. 
 
 "If I were a man," she said at last, "that 
 is how I should wish to paint, the drawing of 
 Sargent, the poetry of Whistler, the grace of 
 Alexander, the color of Benson. Philip Bur- 
 nett," she apostrophized, "I'm a Philistine. 
 Forgive me."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 IT was very pleasant under the subdued 
 lights from above. She followed the 
 sweep of the drapery with delighted eye, 
 taking an almost sensuous pleasure in the re- 
 lation of color and the grace of the arms and 
 throat the simplicity of the modeling and 
 the admirable characterization. 
 She found herself repeating: 
 
 " 'And those that were good shall be happy, 
 
 They shall sit in a golden chair ; 
 They shall splash at a ten-league canvas 
 
 With brushes of comet's hair.' 
 
 "Philip Burnett, I wonder if you're good? 
 You ought to be. I'd be good if I could 
 paint like that. I'd work for an age at a 
 sitting, too. How could one ever be tired 
 making adagios in color? Oh!" she sighed, 
 "how good it must be to amount to some- 
 thing!" 
 
 129
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 A procession of agreeable, vacuous faces 
 passed before the canvas, creatures of a com- 
 mon fate, garbed in the uniform of conven- 
 tion, carrying the polite weapons of Vanity 
 Fair, each like the others and as uninteresting. 
 The few who wore the bright chevrons of dis- 
 tinction had marched with the throng for a 
 time, but had gone back to their own. She 
 wondered if it would really matter if she 
 never saw them again; of course, the women 
 but the men. Would she care? 
 
 Was there not another life? It beckoned 
 to her. What was Philip Burnett like? 
 Could he be young and handsome as well as 
 gifted? The vacuous faces vanished and in 
 their place she could see this young genius 
 Antinous and Hercules combined standing 
 before this canvas living for the mere joy of 
 work. Here was her answer. Was she to 
 flit through enchanted gardens other people 
 had planted, sipping only at the perfumed 
 petals while the honey to be garnered was in 
 plain sight? 
 
 130
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 A voice broke in just beside her: 
 
 "It's convincing, but I tell you, Burnett, 
 the arm's too long." 
 
 "Perhaps. Not bad, though, for a new 
 man. You know we Burnetts are an excep- 
 tional race." 
 
 The men moved away and the other's reply 
 was lost in the murmur of the crowd. Miss 
 Darrow turned to follow them with her eyes 
 what a big fellow he was! with an admir- 
 able profile, a straight nose, a waxed mus- 
 tache, and a chin like the one on the mask of 
 Brutus. Conceited, of course! All artists 
 were conceited. And who was that with him 
 Mortimer Crabb? Yes, and there was the 
 bride talking to the Pendergasts. 
 
 "Why, Milly, dear!" Mrs. Pendergast 
 passed an incurious but observant eye over 
 her acquaintance. "I thought you were in 
 Aiken. What a lovely hat! Are you going to 
 the Inghams? What will you wear? Isn't 
 it restful here?" 
 
 Miss Darrow politely acquiesced and at-
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 tempted replies, but her eyes strayed toward 
 the Burnett portrait. 
 
 "Stunning," continued Mrs. Pendergast. 
 "A new man just over. Quite too clever. 
 Wonderful color, isn't it? Like a ripe pome- 
 granate." 
 
 "Have you met him?" 
 
 "No. He belongs to the Westchester Bur- 
 netts, though. Mrs. Hopkinson. So glad. Is 
 Frederick here?" 
 
 The agreeable lady had made of the por- 
 tion of the galleries in the neighborhood of 
 the Burnett portrait a semblance of her own 
 busy drawing-room. Other acquaintances 
 came up and Miss Darrow was soon lost in 
 the maze of small talk. A broad pair of 
 shoulders were thrust forward into her group, 
 and Miss Darrow found herself looking into 
 a pair of quizzical gray eyes which were 
 beaming a rather frank admiration into hers. 
 "Miss Darrow Mr. Burnett," Patricia 
 Crabb was saying; and Millicent Darrow was 
 conscious that in a moment the new arrival 
 
 132
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 had quietly and cleverly appropriated her 
 and was taking her to the opposite side of 
 the room where he found for her a Winslow 
 Homer of rocks and stormy splendor. 
 
 "Why is it," she asked, after her first en- 
 thusiasm, "that the work of the artist so sel- 
 dom suggests its creator's personality?" 
 
 "The perversity of the human animal," he 
 laughed. "That's the system of justice of the 
 great Republic of Art, Miss Darrow. If we 
 lose a characteristic here, we gain it some- 
 where else. Rather a nice balance, don't you 
 think?" 
 
 "You hardly look the poet, Mr. Burnett 
 you don't mind my saying so?" she laughed. 
 "And if you do dream, you do it with your 
 eyes very wide open." 
 
 Mr. Burnett's brows were tangled in be- 
 wilderment. "I'm really not much given to 
 dreaming. I'm rather busy, you know." 
 
 "It's splendid of you. You've worked 
 long?" 
 
 "Er yes since I left college," he said, 
 133
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 the tangle in his brows suddenly unraveling. 
 A smile now illuminated his rather whimsi- 
 cal eyes. Miss Darrow found herself laugh- 
 ing frankly into them. 
 
 "Art is long you must be at least 
 thirty." 
 
 "Less," he corrected. "Youth is my com- 
 pensation for not being a lawyer or a 
 broker." 
 
 She was conscious of the personal note in 
 their conversation, but she made no effort to 
 avoid it. This genius of less than thirty 
 gave every token of sanity and good fellow- 
 ship. 
 
 "Who is Agatha?" she asked suddenly. 
 
 "A er a friend of mine in Paris." 
 
 "Oh!" she said, in confusion. 
 
 And then: 
 
 "The face is of the East the Slav did 
 you choose her for that character?" 
 
 "Not at all. She was er just just a sit- 
 ter a commission, you know." 
 
 "How interesting!" 
 
 134
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 They had made the rounds of the room and 
 were now facing the portrait again. 
 
 "It was lucky to have so good a model," he 
 continued. "One doesn't always. Have you 
 ever posed, Miss Darrow?" 
 
 "I? No, never. Father has been trying to 
 get me painted this winter. But I've been so 
 busy and then we're going South in two 
 weeks so we haven't been able to manage 
 it." 
 
 "What a pity!" The subtle sparkle had 
 died in his eyes, which from the shadow of 
 their heavy lashes were regarding hers in- 
 tently. 
 
 "You're very kind. Would you really like 
 to paint me?" said Miss Darrow. "Suppose 
 I said you should. I want my portrait done. 
 If you make me half as wonderful as Agatha, 
 I shall die happy. Won't you come in to- 
 morrow at five? We can talk it over. I must 
 be going now. No, not now, to-morrow. Au 
 revoir." She gave him her hand with a 
 friendly nod, and threaded her way through 
 
 135
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 the crowd, leaving Burnett staring at the card 
 she had left in his hand. 
 
 On the way up-town in the machine Pa- 
 tricia examined him, smiling curiously. 
 
 "What a delusion you are, Ross Burnett! 
 Railing in one moment at matrimony and in 
 the next, tagging around like a tame bear at 
 the heels of the first pretty girl that crosses 
 your path." 
 
 "She is pretty, isn't she?" he admitted, 
 promptly. 
 
 "And quite the rage this is her third sea- 
 son you know. You seemed to be getting on 
 very rapidly " 
 
 "Oh, it was all a mistake," Burnett laughed. 
 "She thought I was an artist." 
 
 "An artist? What in the world " 
 
 "I'm going to do her portrait " 
 
 "You!" Patricia leaned forward eagerly. 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "That I'm brother Philip the chap that 
 did the Agatha. She mistook me for him, 
 
 136
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 and she was so nice about.it that I didn't like 
 to interfere." 
 
 Crabb was lighting a cigarette. 
 
 "I'm afraid, my dear Ross, that the East 
 has sapped some of your moral fiber," he said. 
 
 "It's perfectly delightful," laughed Pa- 
 tricia. 
 
 "But Ross can't paint 
 
 "I'd like to try," said Burnett. 
 
 "Fiddlesticks!" 
 
 Patricia said no more, but all the way home 
 her face wore a smile which would not come 
 off. The miracle had happened. Had she 
 searched New York she could not have found 
 a girl more eminently suited to Ross Burnett. 
 That night Mortimer had some writing to 
 do, but Patricia and her guest sat for a long 
 while talking earnestly in the library. They 
 didn't take Mortimer into their confidence, 
 for Patricia had now gleefully donned the 
 mantle her husband had so carelessly thrown 
 aside. Here was an opportunity to make, and 
 Patricia became the goddess in the machine. 
 
 137
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 SEVERAL days passed. Ross Burnett 
 moved about the studio adjusting a 
 canvas upon an easel, bringing out 
 draperies, raising and lowering curtains, and 
 peering into drawers and chests in a manner 
 which betrayed an uncertain state of mind. 
 At last he seemed to find what he was looking 
 for a drapery of soft gray material. This 
 he cast over the back of the easel, walked 
 back from it to the far side of the room where 
 he put his head on one side and looked with 
 half-closed eyes. 
 
 There was a clatter of the old French 
 knocker. Burnett dropped his paint tubes 
 and cigarette and opened the door. 
 
 "Am I late?" laughed Miss Darrow. 
 
 "You couldn't come too early," said Bur- 
 nett. But he dubiously eyed the French maid 
 who had entered bearing a huge portmanteau. 
 
 138
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "I was so afraid to keep you waiting. You're 
 not very angry?" 
 
 "I'm sure I've been here since dawn," he 
 replied. 
 
 "Then let's not waste any time. Oh, isn't 
 it charming! Where shall I go?" 
 
 He pushed open the door of the dressing 
 room. 
 
 "I think you'll find the mirror fair," he 
 said. "If there's anything 
 
 "How exciting! No. And I'll be out in 
 a jiffy." 
 
 When the door was closed Burnett eyed 
 the model-throne, the draperies, the chair, 
 and the canvas, seeking a last inspiration be- 
 fore the imminent moment. He put a Japan- 
 ese screen behind the chair and threw a scar- 
 let drapery over one end of it, knocking at the 
 rebellious folds to make them fall as he 
 wished. 
 
 "Will I do?" asked the girl, radiantly 
 emerging. She wore a black evening dress. 
 The maid had thrown a filmy drapery over 
 10 139
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 her which brought out the dull whiteness of 
 the shoulders. "It is so different in the day- 
 time," she said, coloring; "but father has al- 
 ways wanted it so. You know I haven't told 
 him. It's to be a surprise." 
 
 Burnett's color responded to hers. He 
 bowed his head. "You are charming," he 
 murmured gallantly with a seriousness she 
 could not fail to notice. 
 
 When Julie was dismissed to return at 
 luncheon-time, Mr. Burnett conducted Miss 
 Darrow to her throne and took his place be- 
 fore the canvas. She stood leaning easily upon 
 the back of the chair, the lines of her slender 
 figure sweeping down from the radiant 
 head and shoulders into the dusky shadows 
 behind her. She watched him curiously as 
 he stood away from the easel to study the 
 pose. 
 
 "If I only could it's splendid so," he was 
 murmuring, "but I wish you to sit." 
 
 She acquiesced without question. "I feel 
 like a specimen," she sighed. "It's a terrible 
 
 140
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 ordeal. I'm all arms and hands. Must you 
 squint?" 
 
 In Burnett's laugh all restraint was liber- 
 ated to the winds. 
 
 "Of course. All artists squint. It's like the 
 circular sweep of the thumb a symbol of the 
 craft." 
 
 He walked behind her and adjusted the 
 screen, taking away the crimson drapery 
 and putting a greyish-green one in its 
 place. 
 
 "There," he cried, "just as you are. It's 
 stunning." 
 
 She was leaning forward with an elbow 
 on the chair arm, her hands clasped, one 
 slender wrist at her chin. 
 
 "Really! You're awfully easy to please 
 I wonder if I shall do as well as Agatha." 
 
 He took up a charcoal looked at its end, 
 and made a slight adjustment of the easel. 
 "Before we begin there's one thing I for- 
 got." He paused. "All painters are sensitive, 
 you know. I'm rather queerer than most. I 
 
 141
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 hope you won't care." The charcoal was now 
 making rapid gyrations upon the surface of 
 the canvas. "I'm awfully sensitive to criti- 
 cism in the early stages. I usually manage 
 to pull out somehow but in the beginning 
 when I'm drawing, laying in the figure I 
 don't like my canvas seen. Sometimes it lasts 
 even longer. You won't mind not looking, 
 will you?" 
 
 "I see. That's what the grey thing is for. 
 I don't mind in the least; only I hope it will 
 come soon. I'm wild to see. And please 
 smoke. I know you want to." 
 
 The grateful Burnett drew forth his ciga- 
 rette-case and while his model rested busied 
 himself among his tubes of paint, squeezing 
 the colors out upon the palette. 
 
 "If you only knew," he sighed, "how very 
 difficult it seems." But the large brush dipped 
 into the paint and Burnett worked vigorously, 
 a fine light glowing in his eyes. Miss Darrow 
 watched the generous flow from the oil cup 
 mingling with the colors. 
 
 142
 
 
 " ' What a lot of vermilion you use."'
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "What a lot of vermilion you use!" 
 
 "Hair," he replied. He seemed so absorbed 
 that she said no more, and she didn't know 
 whether to laugh or frown. Later she ven- 
 tured: 
 
 "If it's carroty I'll never speak to you again. 
 Please make it auburn, Mr. Burnett." 
 
 He only worked the more rapidly. He 
 seemed to be dipping into every color upon 
 the palette, in the center of which had grown 
 a brown of the color of walnut-juice. This 
 he was applying vigorously to the lower part 
 of the canvas. When the palette was cleared 
 he put it aside and sank back in a chair with 
 a sigh. 
 
 "Rest," said the artist. 
 
 "I'm not in the least tired," she replied. 
 
 "But 7 am. It takes it out of me to be so 
 interested." 
 
 "Does it?" She leaned back in her chair, 
 regarding him with a new curiosity. "Do you 
 know," she added, "you are full of sur- 
 prises 
 
 H3
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 She ignored the inquiry of his upraised 
 brows. 
 
 and paint," she finished with a laugh. 
 
 He ruefully eyed a discolored thumb. "I'm 
 awfully untidy, I know. I've always been. 
 In Paris they called me Slovenly Peter." 
 
 "I shouldn't say that only 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Only ' she indicated several streaks 
 of black on his grey walking-suit. "Must one 
 always pay such a price to inspiration?" 
 
 "Jove! That was stupid. I always do, 
 though, Miss Darrow." He examined the 
 spots and touched them with the tips of his 
 fingers. "It's paint," he finished, examining 
 it with a placidity almost impersonal. "It 
 doesn't matter in the least." 
 
 "And do you always smudge your face?" 
 she asked sweetly. He looked at himself in 
 the mirror. There was a broad streak of red 
 across his forehead. He wiped it off with a 
 handkerchief. 
 
 "Oh, please don't laugh." 
 144
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 He sank upon the edge of the throne, and 
 then they both laughed joyously, naturally, 
 like two children. 
 
 "I'm an awfully lucky fellow," he said, at 
 last. "I feel like a feudal baron with a cap- 
 tured princess. Here are you, that most in- 
 accessible of persons, the Woman of Society, 
 doomed every morning for two weeks to play 
 Darby and Joan with a man you've known 
 only three days. How on earth can a fellow 
 survive seeing a girl he likes behind cups of 
 tea! It's rough, I think. Society seems to ac- 
 complish every purpose but its avowed one. 
 Instead of which everybody plays puss-in-the- 
 corner. A fellow might have a chance if the 
 corners weren't so far apart. And I, just back 
 from abroad with all the skeins of old friend- 
 ship at a loose end, walk into your circle and 
 quietly appropriate you for a fortnight- 
 while your other friends go a-begging." 
 
 "They haven't begged very hard," she 
 laughed. "If they had, perhaps they might 
 be playing Darby and Joan, too. I've never
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 tried it before. But I think it's rather 
 nice " She broke off suddenly. 
 
 "Do you know, I've rested quite twenty 
 minutes," she said after a moment. "Come, 
 time is precious." 
 
 "That depends " 
 
 She waited a moment for him to finish, but 
 he said no more. 
 
 "How extraordinary!" she said with a 
 pretty moue. "I don't know whether I should 
 be pleased or not." 
 
 "Can you blame me? The Forelock of 
 Time hangs too temptingly," he laughed. "Of 
 
 course, if you'd rather pose He took 
 
 up his dripping brushes with a sigh. 
 
 "Oh, indeed, I don't care," she sank back 
 in the chair. "Only don't you think isn't 
 that really what I'm here for?" 
 
 "It is time to pose, Miss Darrow," he said 
 determinately. 
 
 But she made no move to get into the posi- 
 tion. 
 
 "I haven't complained," and she smiled at 
 146
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 him. "Your muse is difficult, and I'm the 
 gainer. Really, I think I'd rather talk." 
 
 "And I'm waiting to go on with the por- 
 trait." 
 
 "I'll pose again on one condition " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That you put on overalls." 
 
 The brushes and palette dropped to his side. 
 "That's rough on Slovenly Peter," he 
 laughed. He set about squeezing the paint 
 tubes, wiping the brush handles and edge of 
 the palette. When the pose was over Julie 
 appeared. The artist drew the grey drapery 
 over the easel and helped Miss Darrow to 
 descend.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THESE mornings in the studio were 
 full of subtleties. Miss Darrow 
 discovered that Burnett could talk 
 upon many subjects. He had traveled much 
 in Europe, and could even draw a bold out- 
 line for her of the East, which she had never 
 seen. He talked little of art, and then only 
 when the subject was introduced by his model. 
 In the rests, which were long, he led Miss 
 Darrow, often without her being aware of it, 
 down pleasant lanes of thought, all of which 
 seemed to end abruptly in the garish sunshine 
 of personality. She did not find it unpleasant ; 
 only it seemed rather surprising the way all 
 formality between them had been banished. 
 
 One morning there was a diversion. A 
 clatter on the knocker and Burnett, frowning, 
 went to the door. Miss Darrow heard a fem- 
 inine voice and an exclamation. Burnett went 
 
 148
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 rather hurriedly and stood outside, his hand 
 upon the door knob. There was a murmur of 
 conversation and a feminine laugh. She tried 
 not to hear what was said. The hand fidgeted 
 on the knob, but the murmur of voices con- 
 tinued. Miss Darrow got down from the 
 throne and moved to the window, adjusting a 
 stray curl as she passed. 
 
 She looked away from the mirror, then 
 stopped suddenly and looked again. When 
 Burnett entered she was sitting in the window- 
 seat, looking out over the roof-tops. He was 
 profuse in apology. She resumed the pose 
 and the artist painted silently. "They say 
 there's a pleasure in painting that only a 
 painter knows," she began. 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "Then why do we rest so often? I'm not 
 easily deceived. The fine frenzy is lacking, 
 Mr. Burnett isn't it so?" 
 
 For reply he held out his paint-smudged 
 hands. 
 
 "No no," she went on. "You're painting 
 149
 
 timidly with the tips of your fingers not in 
 the least like the 'Agatha.' I'm sure you're 
 doing me early- Victorian." 
 
 Burnett stopped painting, looked at his can- 
 vas and laughed. "Oh, it's hardly that," he 
 said. 
 
 "Won't you prove it?" 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "By letting me look." She rose from her 
 chair, got down from the throne and took a 
 rapid step or two towards the easel. But Bur- 
 nett's broad shoulders barred the way. 
 
 "Please," she urged. 
 
 "I can't, really." 
 
 "Why not?" She stood her ground firmly, 
 looking up into his face, but Burnett did not 
 move or reply. 
 
 She settled into the pose again and Burnett 
 went mechanically to his place before the can- 
 vas. Once it seemed as if he were about to 
 speak but he thought better of it. He looked 
 down at the mass of color mingled on the 
 palette. His brush moved slowly on the can- 
 
 150
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 vas. At last it stopped and dropped to his 
 side. 
 
 "I can't go on." 
 
 She dropped out of the pose. "Are you 
 ill?" 
 
 "Oh, no," he laughed. With the setting 
 aside of the brushes and palette, Burnett 
 seemed to put away the shadow that had been 
 hanging over his thoughts all the morning. 
 He stood beside her and was looking frankly 
 into her eyes. She saw something in his that 
 had not been there before, for she looked 
 away, past the chimneys and apartment 
 houses, past the clouds, and into the void that 
 was beyond the blue. She had forgotten his 
 presence, and one of her hands which he held 
 in both of his. 
 
 "Perhaps you understand," he said quietly. 
 "Perhaps you know." 
 
 The fingers moved slightly, but on the 
 brows a tiny frown was gathering. He re- 
 linquished her hand with a sigh and stood 
 looking rather helplessly in the direction of
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 the mute and pitiless easel. They were so 
 deep in thought that neither of them heard 
 the turning of a skeleton key in the latch and 
 the opening of the door. The Japanese screen 
 for a moment concealed them from the view 
 of a gentleman who emerged into the room. 
 Ross Burnett looked up helplessly. It was 
 Mortimer Crabb, horror-stricken at this vio- 
 lation of his sanctum. 
 
 "Ross!" he said, "what on earth " 
 
 Miss Darrow started from her chair, the 
 crimson rushing to her cheeks, and stood 
 drawing the lace across her shoulders. 
 
 Burnett was cool. "Miss Darrow," he 
 asked, "you know Mr. Crabb? He's study- 
 ing painting, and er sometimes uses this 
 place. Perhaps 
 
 The words hung on his lips as he realized 
 that Miss Darrow with an inclination of the 
 head toward the visitor, had vanished into the 
 dressing-room. 
 
 As the door closed words less polite came 
 forth. 
 
 1152
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 But Crabb broke in: "Oh, I say, Ross, you 
 don't mean you've had the nerve- 
 Ross Burnett's brows drew together and his 
 large frame seemed to grow compact. 
 
 "Hush, Mort," he whispered. "You don't 
 understand. You've made an awful mess of 
 things. Won't you go?" 
 
 "But, my dear chap " 
 
 "I'll explain later. But go please!" 
 
 With a glance toward the easel Mortimer 
 Crabb went out. 
 
 Ross Burnett closed the door, shot its bolt 
 and put his back against it. As the clatter of 
 Crabb's boots on the wooden stairs died away 
 on the lower floor, he gave a sigh, folded his 
 arms and waited. 
 
 When Miss Darrow emerged from the 
 dressing-room ready for the street, she found 
 him there. 
 
 "My things are in the portmanteau," she 
 said, icily. "My maid will call for them. If 
 you will permit me " 
 
 But Burnett did not move. 
 
 153
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "Miss Darrow " he began. 
 
 "Will you let me pass?" 
 
 "I can't, Miss Darrow until you hear. I 
 wouldn't have had it happen for anything in 
 the world." 
 
 "I cannot listen. Won't you open the 
 door?" 
 
 He bowed his head as though better to 
 receive her reproaches, but he did not 
 move. 
 
 "Oh!" she cried, "how could you!" Her 
 chin was raised, and she glanced scornfully at 
 him from under her narrowed lids. 
 
 "Please," he pleaded, quietly. "If you'll 
 only listen " 
 
 She turned and walked towards the win- 
 dow. "Isn't it punishment enough for it all 
 to end like this," he went on, "without making 
 it seem as though I were worse than I am? 
 Really, I'm not as bad as I'm painted." 
 
 It was an unfortunate phrase. An awk- 
 ward silence followed it, in which he was 
 conscious that Miss Darrow had turned sud- 
 
 154
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 denly from the window and was facing the 
 Thing upon the easel, which was now re- 
 vealed to them both in all its uncompromis- 
 ing ugliness. From the center of a myriad 
 of streaks of paint something emerged. 
 Something in dull tones, staring like a Gor- 
 gon from its muddy illusiveness. To Burnett 
 it had been only a canvas daubed with in- 
 felicitous paint. Now from across the room 
 it seemed to have put on a smug and scurri- 
 lous personality and odiously leered at him 
 from its unlovely background. 
 
 "Don't," cried Burnett. "Don't look at 
 the thing like that." 
 
 But the girl did not move. She stood be- 
 fore the easel, her head a little on one side, 
 her eyes upon the canvas. 
 
 "It's really not Victorian, is it?" she asked 
 calmly. 
 
 "You must listen!" cried Burnett, leaving 
 his post at the door. "I insist. You know 
 why I did this mad thing. I've told you. I'd 
 
 do it again " 
 
 11 155
 
 The 'MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "I've no doubt you will," she put in scorn- 
 fully. "It doesn't seem to have been so dif- 
 ficult." 
 
 "It was. The hardest thing I've ever done 
 in my life. You gave me the chance. I took 
 it. I won't regret it. It was selfish brutal 
 anything you like. But I don't regret 
 nine wonderful mornings, twenty-seven pre- 
 cious hours more, I hope, than you've given 
 any man in your life." He made one rapid 
 stride and took her in his arms. "I love you, 
 Millicent, dear. I've loved you from the 
 first moment there in the picture gallery. 
 Yes, I'd do it again. Every moment I've 
 blessed the luck that made it possible. Don't 
 turn away from me. You don't hate me. I 
 know it. You couldn't help feeling a re- 
 sponse to a love like mine." He held her 
 close to him, raising her head at last until 
 her lips were level with his own. But he did 
 not touch them. She still struggled faintly, 
 but she would not open her eyes and look at 
 him.
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "No, no, you mustn't," was all that she 
 found strength to say. 
 
 "You can't deny it. You do care for 
 me. Look up at me and tell me so." 
 
 She would not look at him and at last 
 struggled away and stood, her cheeks flaming. 
 
 "You are masterful!" she stammered. "A 
 girl is not to be won in this fashion." 
 
 "I love you," he said. "And you ' 
 
 "I despise you," she gasped. She turned 
 to the mirror, and rearranged her disordered 
 hair. 
 
 "Don't say that. Won't you forgive me?" 
 
 She sank on the model stand and buried 
 her face in her hands. "It was cruel of you 
 -cruel." 
 
 The sight of her distress unnerved him and 
 gave him for the first time a new view of the 
 enormity of his offense. It was her pride that 
 was wounded. It was the thought of what 
 Mortimer Crabb might think of her that 
 had wrought the damage. He bent over her, 
 his fingers nearly touching her, yet restrained 
 
 157
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 by a delicacy and a new tenderness begotten 
 by the thought that it was he alone who had 
 caused her unhappiness. 
 
 "Forgive me," he whispered. "I'm sorry." 
 
 And she only repeated. "What can he 
 think of me? What can he think?" 
 
 Burnett straightened, a new thought com- 
 ing to him. It seemed like an inspiration 
 a stroke of genius. 
 
 "Of course," he said, calmly, "you're hope- 
 lessly compromised. He must think what he 
 pleases. There's only one thing to do." 
 
 She arose and breathlessly asked, "What 
 can I do? How can I " 
 
 "Marry me at once." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 She spoke the word slowly wonderingly 
 as if the idea had never occurred to her be- 
 fore. He had left the way to the door un- 
 guarded, but instead she walked toward the 
 window, and looked out over the roof-tops. 
 To Burnett the silence was burdened with 
 meaning, and he broke it timorously. 
 
 .58
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "Won't you won't you, Millicent, dear?" 
 
 Her voice trembled a little when she re- 
 plied: "There is one thing more important 
 than that than anything else in the world 
 to me." 
 
 At her side his eyes questioned mutely. 
 
 "And that?" he asked at last. 
 
 "My reputation," she whispered. 
 
 He stood a second studying her face, for 
 his happiness grew upon him slowly. But 
 behind the crooked smile which was half- 
 hidden from him, he caught the dawn of a 
 new light that he understood. He took her 
 in his arms then, and wondered how it was 
 that he had not kissed her when her lips had 
 been so close before. But the new wonder 
 that came to them both made them willing 
 to forget that there had ever been anything 
 else before. 
 
 Later, Ross, unable to credit his good for- 
 tune and marveling at the intricacies of the 
 feminine mind, asked her a question. Her 
 reply caused him more amazement: 
 
 159
 
 "Poor, foolish, Slovenly Peter! I saw it by 
 accident in the mirror a week ago." 
 
 So it was Mortimer Crabb after all who 
 made the opportunity; for Miss Darrow 
 smilingly admitted that had it not been for 
 his abrupt entrance at that precise psycho- 
 logical moment, she should now have been in 
 Aiken and Ross on the way to the Antipodes. 
 But Patricia was doubly happy; for had 
 she not circumvented her own husband in 
 opening the studio he had forsworn, the 
 veritable chamber of Bluebeard which had 
 been bolted against her? Had she not 
 browsed away among the gods of his youth to 
 her heart's content and made that sacred 
 apartment the vestibule of Paradise for at 
 least two discontented mortals whose hearts 
 were now beating as one?
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 AFTER this first success, Patricia was 
 filled with the spirit of altruism, and 
 winter and summer went out upon 
 the highways and byways seeking the raw 
 material for her fateful loom. She was Puck, 
 Portia and Patricia all rolled into one. There 
 were Stephen Ventnor and Jack Masters, whom 
 she still saw occasionally, but they only sighed 
 and even refused to dine at the Castle of En- 
 chantment. She thought sometimes of Hey- 
 wood Pennington, too, and often found her- 
 self wondering how the world was faring 
 with him, hoping that some day chance would 
 throw him in her way. The old romance 
 was dead, of course. But what an opportu- 
 nity for regeneration! 
 
 Meantime she had much to do in keeping 
 up her establishment, many friends to make 
 in New York, many social duties to perform. 
 
 161
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 She spent much time with her husband over 
 the plans of the country place he was build- 
 ing on Long Island, which was to be ready 
 for occupancy late in the following spring. 
 Mortimer Crabb had formed a habit of going 
 down town for a part of every day at least, 
 and if he really did no work he created an 
 impression of stability which was rather sur- 
 prising to those who had known him longest. 
 The Crabbs were desirable acquaintances in 
 the married set, and before two years had 
 passed, Patricia made for herself an enviable 
 reputation as a hostess and dinner guest, to say 
 nothing of that of a model wife. Not a cloud 
 larger than a speck had risen upon the matri- 
 monial horizon and their little bark sailed 
 steadily forward propelled by the mildest of 
 breezes upon an ocean that was all made up 
 of ripples and sunshine. Mortimer Crabb 
 loved abundantly, and Patricia was contented 
 to watch him worship, while she shaped the 
 course to her liking. 
 
 There were still times, however, when she 
 162
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 sat and watched the flames of the library fire 
 while she stirred up the embers of romance. 
 Few women who have been adored as Patricia 
 had been are willing too abruptly to shut the 
 door upon the memory of the might-have- 
 beens. The coquette in her was dying hard 
 as it sometimes does in childless women. She 
 still liked the attentions to which she had been 
 accustomed, and her husband saw that she was 
 constantly amused provided with clever men 
 from his clubs as dance partners for the Phila- 
 delphia girls who visited them. Stephen 
 Ventnor, who was selling bonds down-town, 
 had been persuaded at last to forget his troub- 
 les and now came frequently to dinner. 
 There was nothing Patricia wanted, it seemed, 
 except something to want. 
 
 One day, quite by chance, she met another 
 one of the might-have-beens upon the street. 
 She did not know him at first, for he now 
 wore a small moustache and the years had not 
 passed as lightly over his head as they had 
 over hers. She felt her way barred by a tall 
 
 163
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 figure, and before she knew it, was shaking 
 hands with Heywood Pennington. 
 
 "Patty," he was saying, "don't you know 
 me? Does four years make such a dif- 
 ference?" A warm tint rose and spread un- 
 bidden from Patricia's neck to temples. It 
 angered her that she could not control it, but 
 she smiled at him and said that she was glad 
 to see him. 
 
 Together they walked up the Avenue, and, 
 as they went, she questioned and he told her 
 his story. No recriminations passed. He 
 made it plain to her that he was too glad to 
 see her for that. He was in business, he said 
 vaguely, and in the future was to make New 
 York his home. So, when she took leave of 
 him, Patricia asked the prodigal to call. It 
 will be apparent to anyone that there was 
 nothing else to do. 
 
 Mortimer Crabb received the information 
 at the dinner table that night with a change- 
 less expression. 
 
 "I'm sure if you want Mr. Pennington 
 164
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 here, he'll be welcome," he said with a slow 
 smile. "He's a very, very old friend of 
 yours, isn't he, Patty?" 
 
 "Oh, yes since school days," she said, 
 quietly. And she blushed again, but if Crabb 
 noticed, it was not apparent, for he im- 
 mediately busied himself with his soup. 
 
 "He used to be such a nice boy," said Pa- 
 tricia. "But I'm afraid he got pretty wild 
 and " 
 
 "Yes," put in her husband, a little dryly. 
 "I've heard something about him." 
 
 She glanced at him quickly, but he did not 
 look up and she went on : 
 
 "I thought it would be nice if we could do 
 a little something for him, give him a lift, in- 
 troduce him to some influential people 
 
 "Make an opportunity for him, in short," 
 said Crabb. 
 
 "Er yes. He has had a pretty hard time, 
 I think." 
 
 "I shouldn't be surprised," said Crabb, 
 "most people do."
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 Patricia foresaw an opportunity such as 
 she had never had before, and a hundred 
 plans at once flashed into her pretty head for 
 the prodigal's regeneration. First, of course, 
 she must kill the fatted calf, and she therefore 
 planned at once a dinner party, at which Mr. 
 Pennington should meet some of her intimate 
 friends, Dicky Bowles and his wife, the Bur- 
 netts, who were on from Washington, the 
 Charlie Chisolms and her sister Penelope. 
 For reasons of her own Steohen Ventnor was 
 not invited. 
 
 Patricia presided skilfully with an air of 
 matronly benevolence not to be denied and 
 dextrously diverted the conversation into 
 channels strictly impersonal. So that after 
 dinner, while Charlie Chisolm was still talk- 
 ing rifle-bores with Mortimer, Patricia and 
 Heywood Pennington went into the conserva- 
 tory to see the new orchids. 
 
 That was the first of many dinners. Pa- 
 tricia invited all the eligible girls of her ac- 
 quaintance, one after another, and sat them 
 
 1 66
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 next to Mr. Pennington in an apparent en- 
 deavor to supply the deficiency she had 
 caused in that gentleman's affections. But new 
 orchids came continually to the conservatory, 
 and Patricia was not loath to show them. 
 Then followed rides in the motor car when 
 Crabb was down-town, and shopping expedi- 
 tions when Crabb was at the club, for which 
 Patricia chose Heywood Pennington as her 
 escort, and whatever Mortimer Crabb 
 thought of it all, he said little and looked less. 
 
 But if her husband had been willing to wor- 
 ship blindly before he and Patricia had been 
 engaged, marriage had cleared away some of 
 the nebulae. He had learned to look upon his 
 wife as a dear, capricious being, and with the 
 abounding faith and confidence of amply pro- 
 portioned men he was willing to believe that 
 Patricia, like Caesar's wife, was above suspi- 
 cion. He was quite sure that she was foolish. 
 But Patty's little finger foolish was more im- 
 portant to Mortimer than a whole Minerva. 
 
 Mr. Pennington's ways were not Crabb's 
 167
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 ways, however, and the husband learned one 
 day, quite by chance, of an incident that had 
 happened in New York which confirmed a 
 previous impresson. He went home a little 
 sombre, for that very night Mr. Pennington 
 was to dine again at his house. 
 
 After dinner Patricia and Pennington van- 
 ished as usual into the conservatory and were 
 seen no more until it was time for Patricia's 
 guests to go. The husband lingered moodily 
 by the fire after the door had closed upon the 
 last one, who happened to be the might-have- 
 been. 
 
 "Patty," he began, "don't you think it a lit- 
 tle er inhospitable " 
 
 "Oh, Mort," Patricia broke in, "don't be 
 tiresome." 
 
 But Mortimer Crabb had taken out his 
 watch and was examining it with a judicial 
 air. 
 
 "Do you know," he said, calmly, "that 
 you've been out there since ten? I don't think 
 it's quite decent." 
 
 168
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 It was the first time her husband had used 
 exactly this tone, and Patricia looked at him 
 curiously, then pouted and laughed. 
 
 "Jealous!" she laughed, and blowing him a 
 kiss flew upstairs, leaving her husband still 
 looking into the fire. But he did not smile as 
 he usually did when this was her mood, and in 
 her last backward glance Patricia did not fail 
 to notice it. Instead of following her, Morti- 
 mer Crabb lit a cigar and went over to his 
 study. Perhaps he should have spoken more 
 severely to Patricia before this. He had been 
 on the point of it a dozen times. Gossip had 
 dealt with Pennington none too kindly, but 
 Crabb didn't believe in gossip and he did be- 
 lieve in his wife. 
 
 He finished his cigar and then lit another 
 while he tried to think the matter out, until, 
 at last, Patricia, a pretty vision in braids and 
 lace, came pattering down. He heard the 
 footfalls and felt the soft hands upon his 
 shoulders, but did not turn his head. He 
 knew what was to come and had not the humor 
 
 169
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 or the art to compromise. Patricia, with quick 
 divination, took her hands away and went 
 around by the fire where she could look at her 
 husband. 
 
 "Well," she said, half defiantly. Crabb re- 
 plied without raising his eyes from the fire. 
 
 "Patty," he said quietly, "you mustn't ask 
 Mr. Pennington to the house." Patricia 
 looked at him as though she had not heard 
 aright. But she did not speak. 
 
 "You must know," he went on, "that I've 
 been thinking about you and Mr. Pennington 
 for some time, but I haven't spoken so plainly 
 before. You mustn't be seen with Mr. Pen- 
 nington again." 
 
 He rose and knocked his cigar ashes into 
 the chimney and then turned to face his wife. 
 Patricia's foot was tapping rapidly upon the 
 fender while her figure presented the picture 
 of injured dignity. 
 
 "It is preposterous impossible," she 
 gasped, "I'm going to ride with him to-mor- 
 row afternoon." 
 
 170
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 And then after a pause in which she ea- 
 gerly scanned her husband's face, she broke 
 forth into a nervous laugh : "Upon my word, 
 Mort, I believe you are jealous." 
 
 "Perhaps I am," said Crabb, slowly, "but 
 I'm in earnest, too. Do what I ask, Patricia. 
 Don't ride to-morrow 
 
 "And if I should refuse 
 
 Crabb shrugged his broad shoulders and 
 turned away. 
 
 "It would be too bad," he said, "that's all." 
 
 "But how can you do such a thing," she 
 cried, "without a reason without any ex- 
 cuse? Why, Heywood has been here every 
 day for " and then broke off in confusion. 
 
 Crabb smiled rather grimly, but he gene- 
 rously passed the opportunity by. 
 
 "Every reason that I wish every excuse 
 that I need. Isn't that enough?" 
 
 "No, it isn't I refuse to believe anything 
 about him." Crabb looked at his wife som- 
 brely. 
 
 "Then we'd better say no more. Your at- 
 12 171
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 titude makes it impossible for me to argue 
 the question. Good-night." He opened the 
 door and stood waiting for her to go out. She 
 hesitated a moment and then swept by him, 
 her very ruffles breathing rebellion. 
 
 The next morning he kissed her good-bye 
 when she was reading her mail. 
 
 "You'll write him, Patty, won't you?" he 
 said, as he went out. 
 
 "Yes yes," she answered, quickly, "I will 
 -I'll write him." 
 
 Patricia did write to him. But it was not 
 at all the sort of a letter that Crabb would 
 have cared to see. 
 
 Dear Heywood [it ran], something has 
 happened, so can't ride to-day. Meet me near 
 the arch in Washington Square at three. Un- 
 til then 
 
 As ever, 
 
 P.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 PATRICIA awoke rudely and with an 
 appalling sense that she had made a 
 shocking fool of herself. Heywood 
 Pennington suddenly vanished out of her life 
 as completely as though Fifth Avenue had 
 opened and swallowed him. Very suddenly 
 he had left New York, they said. And upon 
 her breakfast tray one morning Patricia found 
 the following in a handwriting unfamiliar 
 and evidently disguised: 
 
 March 12, 19 
 Mrs. Mortimer Crabb, 
 
 Dear Madam : 
 
 I have in my possession twenty-one letters 
 and notes written by you to Mr. Heywood 
 Pennington, formerly of Philadelphia. 
 Kindly acknowledge receipt of this communi- 
 cation and bring to this office, in person, on 
 Wednesday of next week, five thousand dol- 
 
 173
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 lars in cash or the letters will be mailed to 
 Mr. Crabb. 
 
 (Signed) JOHN DOE, 
 Care of Fairman and Brooke, 
 
 No. - Liberty Street. 
 
 There in her fingers it flaunted its brutality. 
 What could it mean? Her letters? To Hey- 
 wood Pennington? Why they were only 
 notes harmless little records of their friend- 
 ship. What had she said? How had this 
 odious Doe ? 
 
 It was a week since she had seen the prodi- 
 gal. They had quarreled some days ago, for 
 Mr. Pennington's lazy humor had turned to 
 a reckless unconvention which had somewhat 
 startled her. Her secret declaration of in- 
 dependence had led her a little out of her 
 depth, and she began to feel more and more 
 like the child with the jam-pot only the 
 jam-pot was out of all proportion to real jam- 
 pots and the smears seemed to defy the most 
 generous use of soap and water. This horri- 
 ble Doe was the neighbor's boy who told, and 
 
 174
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 Mortimer Crabb was suddenly invested with 
 a newly-born parental dignity and wisdom. 
 Mort! It made her shudder to think of her 
 husband receiving those letters. She knew 
 him so well and yet she knew him so little. 
 She felt tempted to throw all else to the winds 
 and make a full confession of what? of 
 a childish ingenuousness which confession 
 would magnify a hundred-fold. What had 
 she to confess? Meetings in the Park? Her 
 face burned with shame. It would have 
 seemed less childish if her face had burned 
 with shame at things a little more tangible. 
 Lunches in out-of-the-way restaurants, inno- 
 cent enough in themselves, whose only pleas- 
 ure was the knowledge that she took them un- 
 permitted. She knew that she deserved to be 
 stood in the corner or be sent to bed without 
 her supper, but she quailed at the thought of 
 meeting her husband's eye. She knew that he 
 could make it singularly cold and uncompro- 
 mising. 
 
 And the letters. Why hadn't Heywood 
 
 175
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 burned them? And yet why should he have? 
 Pennington's ideas of a compromising posi- 
 tion she realized, with some bitterness, dif- 
 fered somewhat from hers. And she knew she 
 couldn't have written anything to regret. She 
 tried to think, and a phrase here and there re- 
 curred to her. Perhaps Mort might know her 
 well enough to guess how little they meant 
 but perhaps he didn't. Words written to 
 another were so desperately easy to misunder- 
 stand. 
 
 How could these letters have fallen into the 
 hands of a stranger? The more she thought 
 of it the more impenetrable became the mys- 
 tery. How could this villainous Doe have 
 guessed her identity? A few of these letters 
 were signed merely "Patty," but most of them 
 were not signed at all. It was dreadful to be 
 insulted with no redress at any hand. Five 
 thousand dollars! The very insignificance of 
 the figures made her position worse. Was this 
 the value of her reputation? Truly her for- 
 tunes had sunk to their lowest ebb. She tried 
 
 176
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 to picture John Doe, a small ferret of a man 
 with heavy eyes, red hair, and a rumpled 
 shirt-front, sitting in a dingy office up three 
 flights of stairs, fingering her little scented 
 notes with his soiled fingers. Oh, it was hor- 
 rible horrible! Yet how could she escape? 
 Would she not tarnish her soul still more by 
 paying the wretched money Mort's money 
 in forfeit of her disobedience to him? Every 
 instinct revolted at the thought. Wouldn't 
 it be better after all to throw herself upon 
 Mort's mercy? She knew now how much 
 bigger and better he was than anything else 
 in the world. She loved him now. She knew 
 it. There wouldn't ever be any more might- 
 have-beens. She longed to feel his protecting 
 arms about her and hear his quiet steady voice 
 in her ears, even though it was to scold her for 
 the mere child that she was. His arms seemed 
 the greater sanctuary now now that she was 
 not sure that they ever could be opened to 
 her. Still clasping the letter she buried her 
 face in the pillows of her couch and wept. 
 
 177
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 That night she sent down word that she had a 
 headache, but a night's rest did wonders. A 
 cheerful, smiling person descended on Crabb 
 in the midst of his morning coffee. 
 
 "What! Patty! At the breakfast table? 
 Will the wonders never cease?" 
 
 "I didn't come to breakfast, Mort. I wanted 
 to see you before you went out." 
 
 Crabb smiled over the top of his coffee 
 cup. 
 
 "What is it, Patty? A hat bill or an opera 
 cloak? I'm prepared. Tell me the awful 
 worst." 
 
 "Don't, Mort please. I can't bear you 
 facetious. It's er about Madame Jac- 
 quard's bill and some others. They've gotten 
 a little large and she she wants me to help 
 her out to-day if I can if you can and I 
 told her I would 
 
 Crabb was wrapped in contemplation of his 
 muffin. But he allowed his wife to struggle 
 through to the end. Then he looked up a lit- 
 tle seriously from under heavy brows.
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "Um er how much, Patty? A thousand? 
 I think it can be managed 
 
 "No, Mort," she interrupted, tremulously, 
 "you see I have had to get so many things of 
 late we've been going out a great deal you 
 know a lot of other things you wouldn't un- 
 derstand." 
 
 "Oh! Perhaps I might." 
 
 "No I I'm afraid I've been rather ex- 
 travagant this winter. I didn't tell you but I 
 I've used up my allowance long ever so 
 long ago." 
 
 Mortimer Crabb's brows were now really 
 menacing. 
 
 "It seems to me ' he began. But she 
 interrupted him at once. 
 
 "I know I ought to be called a beggar on 
 horseback, because I really have ridden 
 rather rather fast this winter 
 
 "Two thousand?" he questioned. 
 
 "No, Mort, you see, it isn't only the dresses 
 and the hats. I'm afraid I've been losing more 
 than I should have lost at auction." 
 
 179
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 "Bridge!" he said, pitilessly, "I thought 
 
 "Yes bub bridge." 
 
 "I thought my warning might be sufficient. 
 I'm sorry 
 
 "So am I," she whispered, her head low- 
 ered, now thoroughly abased. "I am not go- 
 ing to play any more." 
 
 "How much three thousand?" he asked 
 again. 
 
 "No," she said, desperately, "more. I'm 
 afraid it will take five thousand dollars to pay 
 everything." 
 
 "Phew!" he whistled. "How in the name 
 of all that's expensive 
 
 "Oh, I don't know " helplessly, "money 
 adds up so fast I suppose that father 
 might help me if you can't but I didn't 
 want to ask him if I could help it; you know 
 he " 
 
 "Oh, no," said Crabb, with a sudden move 
 of the hand. "It can be managed, of course, 
 but I admit I'm surprised very much sur- 
 
 180
 
 The MAKER of' OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 prised that you havea't thought fit to take me 
 closer into your confidence." 
 
 "I'm sorry, Mort," she muttered, humbly. 
 "It won't happen again." 
 
 Crabb pushed back his chair and rose. 
 "Oh, well, don't say anything more about it, 
 Patty. It must be attended to, of course. 
 Just give me a list of the items and I'll send 
 out the checks." 
 
 "But, Mort, I'd like to " 
 
 "I'll just stop in at Madame Jacquard's on 
 the way uptown and 
 
 Patty started up and then sank back weakly. 
 
 "Oh, Mort, dear," she faltered, "it isn't 
 worth while. It would be so much out of 
 your way 
 
 "Not a bit," said Crabb, striding cheerfully 
 to the door. "It's only a step from the sub- 
 way, and then I can come on up the Ave- 
 
 nue " 
 
 But Patricia by this time had fastened 
 tightly upon the lapeis of his coat, and was 
 looking half tearfully up into his face. 
 
 1*1
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "I I want to see Madame about some 
 things she hasn't sent up yet I must go there 
 to-day. I'll I'll tell her, Mort, and then if 
 you'll arrange it, I'll just send it to her to- 
 
 morrow." 
 
 Mortimer Crabb looked into the blue eyes 
 that she raised to his and relented. 
 
 "All right," he said, "you shall have your 
 own way." And then, with the suspicion of 
 a smile, "Shall I make a check to your order?" 
 
 "To to mine, Mort it always makes me 
 feel more important to pay my bills myself 
 and besides the bub bridge, you know." 
 
 When Patricia heard the front door shut be- 
 hind her husband, she gave a great sigh and 
 sank on the divan in a state of utter collapse. 
 
 The next day Patricia dressed herself in 
 a plain, dark skirt, a long grey coat and wore 
 two heavy veils over an unobtrusive sailor hat. 
 In her hand she clutched a small hand satchel 
 containing the precious check and the odious 
 letter of John Doe. First she went to the 
 bank and converted the check into crisp thou- 
 
 182
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 sand dollar notes. Then walking rapidly she 
 took the elevated for that unknown region 
 which men call down-town. There was little 
 difficulty in finding the place. The narrow 
 doorway she had imagined was wide even 
 imposing, and an Irish janitor with a cheerful 
 countenance, was sweeping the pavement and 
 whistling. It was not in the least Dickens-ish, 
 or Machiavellian. The atmosphere was that 
 of a very cheerful and modern New York and 
 Patricia's spirits revived. A cleanly boy in 
 buttons ran the elevator. 
 
 But as the elevator shot up, Patty's heart 
 shot down. She had hoped there would be 
 stairs to climb. The imminence of the visit 
 filled her with alarm, and before she realized 
 it, she was deposited a bundle of quivering 
 nerves, before the very door. Gathering her 
 shattered forces together, she knocked timor- 
 ously and entered. It was a cheerful room 
 with a bright carpet and an outlook over the 
 river. A small boy who sat inside a wooden 
 railing, sprang up and came forward.
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "I wish to see Mr. Doe," stammered Patty, 
 "Mr. John Doe." 
 
 "Must be a mistake," said the youth. "This 
 is Fairman & Brookes, Investments. Nobody 
 that name here, ma'am." 
 
 At that moment an elderly man of very 
 proper appearance came forward from an in- 
 ner office. 
 
 "Mrs. Crabb?" he inquired, politely. "That 
 will do, Dick, you may go inside," and then 
 rather quizzically: "You wished to see Mr. 
 er Mr. Doe? Mr. John Doe? I think 
 he was expecting you. If you'll wait a mo- 
 ment I'll see," and he entered a door which 
 led to another office. 
 
 Patricia dropped into a chair by the rail- 
 ing completely baffled. This villainous crea- 
 ture expected her! How could he expect her? 
 It was only Friday and the appointment was 
 not until the Wednesday of the following 
 week. She looked at her surroundings, trying 
 to find a flaw in their prosperous garb of re- 
 spectability. That such rascality could exist 
 
 184
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 under the guise of decent business! And the 
 benevolent person who had carried her name 
 might very properly serve upon the vestry of 
 
 St. 's church! Truly there were depths 
 
 of iniquity in this vile community of business 
 people that her little social plummet could 
 never seek to sound. The little red-headed 
 man with the ferret eyes had vanished from 
 her mind. In his place she saw a type even 
 more alarming the sleek, well-groomed man 
 with dissipated eyes that she and Mort had 
 often seen dining at popular restaurants. Her 
 mission would not be as easy to accomplish 
 as it had seemed. Her speech to the ferret- 
 eyed man which she had so carefully rehearsed 
 had gone completely from her mind. What 
 she should say to this other man, whom she 
 both loathed and feared, her vagrant wits re- 
 fused to invent. So in spite of a brave poise of 
 the head she sat in a kind of syncope of dis- 
 may, and awaited she knew not what. 
 
 The benevolent vestryman returned smiling. 
 
 "Mr. Doe has just come in, Mrs. Crabb. If 
 
 .85
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 you'll kindly come this way." He opened the 
 door and stood aside with an old-world court- 
 liness that all but disarmed her. He followed 
 her into the inner corridor and opened an- 
 other door, smiling the while, and Patricia, 
 trembling from head to foot, yet resolute, went 
 in, while the elderly person carefully closed 
 the door behind her. A tall figure in an over- 
 coat and soft hat was bending over the fire- 
 place upon the opposite side of the room ad- 
 justing a log. 
 
 "Mr. Doe?" came in a small, muffled voice 
 from behind Patricia's veil. 
 
 The man at the fireplace still poked at the 
 logs and made no move to take off his hat. 
 
 "The brute the utter brute," thought Pa- 
 tricia and then aloud, "Mr. Doe, I be- 
 lieve." 
 
 "Yes, madam," said a voice at last. "I'm 
 John Doe what can I do for you?" 
 
 "I came about the letters the letters, you 
 know, you wrote me about. I am prepared 
 to to redeem them." 
 
 1 86
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "H m," growled the overcoat. "It's 
 Crabb, isn't it? Mrs. Crabb? I'm always get- 
 ting the Cobb and Crabb letters mixed six of 
 one and half a dozen of the other " 
 
 "I beg pardon," faltered Patty. 
 
 "Cases very similar. Bad man good 
 woman. Trusting husband hey? Well," 
 he muttered brutally, "did you bring the 
 money?" 
 
 "It is here," said Patricia, trembling. "Now 
 the letters and let me go." 
 
 The man moved slowly toward a desk 
 against the wall with his back still turned, 
 took out a package, rose and, turning, handed 
 it to Patricia. 
 
 Had her gaze not been fixed so eagerly upon 
 the handwriting on the package she could not 
 have failed to note the smiling gray eyes above 
 the upturned coat collar. 
 
 "Why, it is sealed and addressed to me!" 
 she cried, in surprise. "The package hasn't 
 even been opened." 
 
 "I never said it had," said the man in the 
 13 187
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 overcoat, removing his hat. "I didn't want 
 to read the stuff, Patty." 
 
 The package fell to the floor amid the flut- 
 tering bills. Patricia's knees trembled and 
 she would have fallen had not a pair of strong 
 arms gone about her and held her up. 
 
 "It's only Mort, Patty," said a voice. 
 "Don't you understand? It's all been a de- 
 ception and mistake. There isn't any John 
 Doe. It's only your husband 
 
 "Oh, how could you, Mort?" sobbed Patri- 
 cia. "How could you be so hard so so 
 cruel?" 
 
 Crabb's answer was to push the veil back 
 from his wife's face and kiss away her tears. 
 She did not resist now and sank against him 
 with a restful sigh that told him more than 
 any words could do the full measure of her 
 penitence. But in a moment she started up 
 pale and wide-eyed. 
 
 "But this office these people do they 
 know " 
 
 "Bless you, no," laughed Crabb. "Fair- 
 188
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 man's a sort of business associate of mine. I 
 only borrowed his private office for an hour or 
 so. He thinks it is a practical joke. It was 
 is a cruel one " 
 
 "But he'll guess " 
 
 "Oh, no, he won't," laughed Crabb. 
 
 Patricia's gaze fell quietly upon the floor 
 where the bills and the package still lay in 
 disordered confusion. 
 
 "And the letters you never even read 
 them?" 
 
 "Oh, Patty," said her husband, "I didn't 
 want to read 'em." 
 
 "Can you ever forgive me, Mort?" She 
 broke away from him, bent to the floor, picked 
 up the package, and broke the seal. 
 
 "But you shall read them, Mort," she cried, 
 her face flaming, "every last silly one of 
 them." 
 
 But Crabb's hands closed over hers and 
 took the package gently from her. His only 
 answer was to throw the papers into the fire. 
 
 "Oh, Mort," she murmured, horrified, 
 1 80
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "what have you done you might believe 
 anything of me now." 
 
 "I shall" he chuckled, "that's your pen- 
 
 ance." 
 
 "Please, Mort there's time yet just read 
 a few " 
 
 Crabb poked vigorously at the fire. 
 
 "Oh, Mort, it's inhuman! You only knew 
 Heywood Pennington " 
 
 "Sh " said Crabb, putting his hand over 
 
 her lips. "No names 
 
 "But he " 
 
 "No, no." And then, after a pause, "He 
 wasn't even a might-have-been, Patty." She 
 said no more. They sat hand in hand watch- 
 ing the record of Patricia's foolishness go up 
 in smoke. And when the last scrap had van- 
 ished, he sprang cheerfully to his feet and 
 picked up the scattered bills. 
 
 "Come, Patty, luncheon! And after that" 
 Mortimer Crabb stopped again and blinked 
 quizzically at the fire "hadn't we better keep 
 your engagement with Madame Jacquard?" 
 
 190
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THUS ended the might-have-beens. 
 And the thing that Patricia had 
 taken to be the phantom of romance 
 went up in the smoke of John Doe's fire. 
 Mortimer Crabb never volunteered any infor- 
 mation as to how he got the letters, nor any 
 information as to what became of Heywood 
 Pennington. For one horrible moment the 
 thought crossed Patricia's brain that perhaps 
 there had never been any letters of hers in the 
 package her husband had burned, but she dis- 
 missed it as once as reflecting unpleasantly 
 upon the quality of her intelligence. But one 
 thing was sure, she now had an adequate un- 
 derstanding of the mind of her husband. It 
 was the only misunderstanding they had ever 
 had and Patricia knew there would never be 
 another. Mr. Pennington did not appear 
 again and so far as this veracious history is 
 
 191
 
 concerned, after his departure from New 
 York, may have gone at once to Jericho. Pa- 
 tricia ceased to think of him, not because he 
 was not present, but because thinking of him 
 reminded her that she had been a fool, and 
 no woman with the reputation for cleverness 
 which Patricia possessed, could afford to 
 make such an admission even to herself. She 
 was now sure of several things that she loved 
 Mortimer Crabb with all her heart and that 
 she would never all her life long love anyone 
 else. She might flirt, yes nay more, she must 
 flirt. What was the use spending one's life 
 in bringing an art to the perfection Patricia 
 had attained and then suddenly forswearing 
 it? Fortunately her husband did not require 
 that of her. He never quite knew what she 
 was going to do next, but he never really mis- 
 trusted her. And to Patricia's credit it may 
 be said that she never caused pain and that if 
 she flirted she sometimes did it was in a 
 good cause. 
 
 The building of the country place had gone 
 192
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 forward during the winter, and early summer 
 found them installed there. Beginning with 
 the housewarming, which was memorable, 
 guests came and went and upon them all Pa- 
 tricia practiced her altruism which, since the 
 adventure with John Doe, had taken a some- 
 what different character. Yet even among 
 these she found work for her busy hands to do. 
 
 It happened that among their guests the 
 Crabbs had staying with them as a remnant 
 of the housewarming party a young girl who, 
 because she was only a little younger than 
 Patricia in years, but centuries younger in 
 knowledge of the world, had become one of 
 her most treasured friends. 
 
 Little Miss North loved her, too looked 
 up to her as the ignorant do to the wise, and 
 when her engagement to the Baron DeLaunay 
 was announced Aurora came and told Patricia 
 even before she told her family. Yet Pa- 
 tricia's shrewd mind found something wrong 
 and she urged the girl to come and join her 
 housewarming for the sole reason of finding 
 
 193
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 out the true inwardness of the engagement, 
 and perhaps, too who shall say? to prac- 
 tice her arts again. 
 
 After a day or two of mild questioning, of 
 studying, of watching, she began to see 
 light. 
 
 Then she invited the Baron for a week end, 
 and made certain preparations. 
 
 Then she waited his arrival with her nerves 
 tingling. 
 
 She met her husband and the Baron at the 
 steps as they ascended from the machine 
 which brought them from the station. 
 
 "Ah monsieur! so glad! I was wondering 
 if you'd be here in time for tea." 
 
 "Wild horses could not have detained me 
 longer, from a glimpse of your beaux yeux, 
 Madame." 
 
 He bent forward with a handsome gesture 
 and kissed the tips of Patricia's fingers, but 
 she laughed gaily. 
 
 "Don't waste pretty speeches, Baron. Be- 
 sides " she paused significantly and 
 
 194
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 pointed toward the door through which her 
 husband's shoulders had disappeared, "she is 
 there," she finished. 
 
 "Helas!" The Frenchman shrugged his 
 shoulders expressively; then straightened and 
 showed his teeth in a smile. 
 
 "Since my speeches are wasted, I will fol- 
 low you in, Madame." 
 
 Patricia paused. 
 
 "All the world loves a lover even I " 
 
 "Yes yes " 
 
 "If I could be sure that you loved " 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "Her," sternly. 
 
 He shrugged again, "Ah, yes I love her 
 of course! Why, otherwise, should I wish to 
 marry her?" 
 
 "I wonder," slowly, "why you speak of my 
 beaux yeux?" she said thoughtfully. 
 
 "Because I cannot help it " 
 
 "A lover should be blind," she put in. 
 
 "Like a husband?" he asked, significantly. 
 
 "Like a wife," she corrected, soberly. 
 
 I9S
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 He followed her indoors, where Aurora 
 met them at the door of the library. 
 
 "Tea, Aurora," she announced. "Will you 
 pour it? Mort and I will be in in a mo- 
 ment." 
 
 She hovered in the doorway insistently un- 
 til she saw DeLaunay safely seated on the 
 davenport at the tea-table by Aurora's side, 
 and only then she departed in the direction of 
 the smoking room. 
 
 Mortimer Crabb was drinking a glass of 
 whiskey and water. At the sound of his wife's 
 voice he turned. 
 
 "Did you get it, Mort?" she asked. 
 
 For reply he fumbled in the pockets of his 
 dust-coat and brought forth a small package. 
 
 "Oh, yes. Here it is. Pretty insignificant 
 affair to make such a fuss about," and he 
 handed it to her. 
 
 "It's the little things that mean the most, 
 my dear husband like that," she said signifi- 
 cantly, "and this," and she kissed him for his 
 reward. 
 
 196
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 He held her away from him, and looked at 
 her good-humoredly the quizzical humor 
 that was characteristic of him. 
 
 "You never kiss me unless you're up to some 
 mischief, Patty." 
 
 "Then you ought to be glad I'm mischie- 
 vous, Mort It's an ill wind that blows no- 
 body any good." 
 
 "H m. Why all the mystery? Can't you 
 tell a fellow?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because then you don't know as much as 
 I do." 
 
 "Why shouldn't I?" he protested. "I'm 
 your husband." 
 
 "Because if you knew as much as I do " 
 
 She paused. "You know, Mort, it's only the 
 ignorant husband who's entirely, blissfully 
 happy." 
 
 "I'm not so sure about that," he laughed. 
 
 "Aren't you happy, Mort?" she asked. 
 197
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "Ah, hang it, yes. But 
 
 "Then there's nothing left to be said," and 
 she kissed him again. 
 
 "I can't understand 
 
 She laid resisting fingers on his arm. 
 
 "Of course you can't. That's one of your 
 charms, Mort, dear. It's much better for a 
 woman to be misunderstood. The husband 
 who 'understands' his wife is on the highway 
 to purgatory. Ask no more questions. If I 
 answer them I surely will lie to you." 
 
 "What the deuce can Daggett and McDade 
 be doing for you. They're job-printers. They 
 don't engrave your cards or stationery or any- 
 thing " 
 
 "N o," with a rising inflection. 
 
 "Well what?" 
 
 "I needed some printing." 
 
 "Well, why not go to Tiffany's? The idea 
 of your sending me away over on the East 
 side " 
 
 "They're such adorable printers, Mort.'* 
 
 "Who ever heard of a printer being ador- 
 198
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 able? Fudge! What's the game now? Can't 
 you tell a fellow?" 
 
 "No," firmly. 
 
 Crabb always recognized the note of finality 
 in his wife's voice, so he merely shrugged his 
 shoulders and followed her with his eyes as 
 she blew another kiss in his direction and van- 
 ished up the stairs. 
 
 In the privacy of her own room Patricia did 
 some cryptic things with newspapers, a pair 
 of scissors, and the package from the adorable 
 printers, and when she had finished, she folded 
 up the newspapers, with their mysterious 
 contents, including the scissors, and with a 
 fleeting glance at herself in the mirror, went 
 down stairs. 
 
 She entered the library noiselessly and after 
 a glance at her guests at the tea-table, she 
 slipped her package into the drawer of the 
 library table and joined them. 
 
 "How envious you make me you two," she 
 sighed, sinking into a chair, "you're so satis- 
 fied with yourselves and with each other." 
 
 199
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 DeLaunay smiled and fingered his tea-cup. 
 
 "Would you have it otherwise?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, no," she said lightly, "I'm a profes- 
 sional nursery governess to polite and well- 
 meaning persons of opposite sexes. Nursery 
 governesses are not permitted emotions or 
 opinions of any kind, my dears." 
 
 "But even nursery governesses are human, 
 I am told," said DeLaunay, showing his white 
 teeth. 
 
 "Are they? My governesses never were. 
 They were all inhuman like me. The sight 
 of youthful license arouses all my professional 
 instincts. That's why I'm in such demand by 
 despairing mothers of romantic heiresses." 
 
 "Patty! you're horrid." Aurora's heavily 
 lidded eyes opened wide. "I'm not romantic 
 
 not in the least and I'm not an heiress 
 
 
 "Oh," said Patricia. 
 
 "At least," Aurora amended, "not in the 
 modern sense. But it wouldn't matter to 
 Louis or to me if we really had to work for 
 
 200
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 our living. I'm so anxious to be of some use 
 in the world. Oh, we've planned that already, 
 haven't we, Louis?" 
 
 "Yes," said DeLaunay, crisply, with a 
 glance of defiance in his eye for Patricia. "We 
 have planned that." 
 
 Patricia's lips twisted, but she said noth- 
 ing. 
 
 "I sometimes think, Patty," went on Au- 
 rora, "that you're a little unsympathetic. 
 Won't you really like to see us married?" 
 
 Patricia laughed. "Oh, yes but not to 
 each other." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "You're too much in love, dear, for one 
 thing. C'est si bourgeois nest-ce-pas, Baron? 
 Things are arranged better in France?" 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 'Your customs in America are very pleas- 
 ant ones," he replied, imperturbably. "I am 
 indeed fortunate to find myself so much in 
 accord with them." 
 
 Aurora gave him a rapturous glance for re- 
 20 1
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 ward, and he took her fingers in his in calm 
 defiance of his pretty hostess. 
 
 Patricia put down her finished tea-cup with 
 a laugh and rose. 
 
 "Then I can't dismay you either of 
 you?" 
 
 Aurora smiled scornfully. 
 
 "Not in the least can she, Louis?" 
 
 "Not in the least," he repeated. 
 
 "Oh, very well, your blood upon your own 
 heads." 
 
 "Or in our hearts, Madame," corrected De- 
 Launay, with a bow. 
 
 "Come, Aurora," smiled Patricia, "it's 
 time to dress." 
 
 Patricia spent some time and some thought 
 upon her toilet. Deep sea-green was her 
 color, for it matched her eyes, which to-night 
 were unfathomable. In the midst of her 
 dainty occupation she turned her head over 
 her shoulder and called her husband. Morti- 
 mer Crabb appeared in the door of his dress- 
 
 202
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 ing-room which adjoined, one side of his face 
 shaved, the other white with lather. 
 
 "What is it?" he mumbled. 
 
 Patricia contemplated the back of her head 
 at the dressing-table by the aid of a hand mir- 
 ror, removed the hairpins one by one from her 
 mouth and deliberately placed them before 
 she replied. 
 
 "Mort," she said, slowly, "I want you to 
 take Aurora out for a ride in the motor " 
 
 "To-night! Oh, I say, Patty " 
 
 "To-night," she said, firmly. "I'll arrange 
 it. It will be dark and you're going to lose 
 your way 
 
 "How do you know I am?" 
 
 "Because I tell you so, stupid! You've got 
 to lose your way for three hours." 
 
 He looked at her shrewdly. 
 
 "What's up now? Tell me, won't you? I'm 
 tired of rolling over and playing dead. I am. 
 Besides, what can I do with that girl for three 
 hours?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't care," said Patricia. "Tell her 
 u 203
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 stories romantic ones. She likes those. Any- 
 thing make love to her if you like." 
 
 "So DeLaunay can make love to you" peev- 
 ishly. "I see. I'm not going to stand for it. 
 I'm not any too keen on that fellow as it is. 
 He's neglecting Aurora shamefully 
 
 "It is careless of him, isn't it?" she said, 
 tilting her head back to get another angle on 
 her head-dress. 
 
 Crabb took a step nearer, brandishing his 
 safety razor in righteous indignation. 
 
 "It's a shame, I tell you. You don't seem to 
 have any conscience or any sense of propor- 
 tion. You'd flirt with a cigar-Indian if there 
 wasn't anything else around. Why can't you 
 leave these young people alone? Do you 
 think I like the idea of your spending the eve- 
 ning here snug and warm with that French- 
 man while I'm shuttling around with that silly 
 girl in the dark?" 
 
 "Mortimer, you're ungallant! What has 
 poor Aurora ever done to you?" She turned 
 in her chair, looked at him, and then burst 
 
 204
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 into laughter. He watched her with a puz- 
 zled frown. He never knew exactly how to 
 take Patricia when she laughed at him. 
 
 "If you only knew how funny you look, 
 Mort, dear. There's a smudge of soap on the 
 end of your nose and you look like a char- 
 lotte russe." She rose slowly, put her fingers 
 on his arm, and looked up into his eyes with 
 a very winning expression. 
 
 "Don't be silly, dear," she said, softly. 
 "You know you said you weren't going to 
 doubt me again ever. I know what I'm 
 about. I have a duty, a sacred duty to per- 
 form and you're going to take your share of 
 it." 
 
 "A duty?" 
 
 She nodded. "You're not to know until it's 
 all over. You mustn't question, you're to be 
 good and do exactly what I tell you to do. 
 Won't you, Mort? There, I knew you would. 
 It's such a little thing to do." 
 
 She leaned as close to him as she could 
 without getting soap on her face. 
 
 205
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "I'll tell you a secret if you'll promise to be 
 nice. I don't like the man really I don't 
 not at all." 
 
 He looked in her eyes and believed her. 
 "You always get your way in the end, don't 
 you?" he said, after a pause. 
 
 "Of course I do. What would be the use 
 of a way, if one didn't have it?" 
 
 That seemed unanswerable logic, so Crabb 
 grinned. 
 
 "You're a queer one, Pfctty," which, as Pa- 
 tricia knew, meant that she was the most ex- 
 traordinary and wonderful of persons. So she 
 smiled at the back of his head as he went out 
 because she agreed with him.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 PATRICIA'S dinner drew to its delecta- 
 ble close, and coffee had already been 
 served when the butler went to the 
 front door and brought back a telegram on a 
 silver tray. 
 
 Patricia picked it up and turned it over 
 daintily. 
 
 "For you, Aurora," she said. 
 
 Aurora with apologies tore open the en- 
 velope and read, her brow clouding. 
 
 "I hope it's nothing serious," said Patricia, 
 sweetly sympathetic. 
 
 Aurora rose hurriedly. "I don't know," she 
 said dubiously, and then reading: " 'Aunt 
 Jane sick, motor over this evening if possible.* 
 There's no signature. I suppose I'll have to 
 go." Her lip protruded childishly. "How 
 tiresome!" 
 
 "It's very inconsiderate of her, isn't it?" 
 207
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 said Patricia. The look of incomprehension 
 still lingered on the young girl's face. 
 
 "I can't see what she wants of me," she 
 murmured. 
 
 "Perhaps she's seriously ill," Patricia vol- 
 unteered. 
 
 "Perhaps yes, I must go, of course. But 
 how can I?" 
 
 "Mortimer," Patricia provided the cue. 
 
 "I'll drive you, Aurora," said Crabb. 
 
 "And Louis?" 
 
 DeLaunay made no sign. 
 
 "I will take care of the Monsieur DeLau- 
 nay, dear. Do you think you could trust 
 me?" 
 
 Aurora's lips said, "Of course," but her eyes 
 winked rapidly several times as she adapted 
 her mind to the situation. 
 
 The decision reached, DeLaunay stepped 
 forward. 
 
 "If you wish that I should go " 
 
 "Quite unnecessary," put in Patricia, quick- 
 ly. "If your aunt Jane is sick, Aurora " 
 
 208
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 Aurora hung in the wind a regretful mo- 
 ment. 
 
 "Oh, yes he'd be in the way. I'll leave 
 him with you, Patty. Please don't flirt any 
 more than you can help." 
 
 "My dear child," said Patty, with solemn 
 conviction, "since poor, foolish Freddy Win- 
 throp, engaged men are taboo. Besides, to- 
 night I have other plans. I would not flirt if 
 you could animate the Apollo Belvedere. As 
 Mortimer so chastely puts it, 'me for the 
 downy at 10 G. M.' Monsieur will doubtless 
 practice pool-shots or play a game of Napo- 
 leon." 
 
 "Oh, yes," said the Frenchman, with a 
 calmness which scarcely concealed the note of 
 derision. 
 
 But Aurora, after one long look in his 
 direction, had vanished to don motor cloth- 
 ing, and when she came down, Mortimer 
 Crabb with his quivering car awaited her in 
 the drive. Patricia and the Baron waved 
 them good-by from the porch and then went 
 
 209
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 indoors to the subtle effulgence of the draw- 
 ing room. Patricia walked to the mantel, 
 turned her back to the fire and stretched her 
 shapely arms along its shelf, facing her guest 
 with level gaze and a smile which was some- 
 thing between a taunt and a caress. DeLaunay 
 inhaled luxiously the smoke of his cigarette 
 and appraised his hostess through the half- 
 closed eyes of the artist searching for a "mo- 
 tif." She was puzzling this woman like 
 the vagrant color in a landscape in the after- 
 noon sunlight, which shimmered one moment 
 in the sun and in the next was lost in 
 shadowy mystery not the mystery of the 
 solemn hills, but the playful mystery of the 
 woodland brook which laughs mockingly 
 from secret places. Her eyes were laugh- 
 ing at him. He felt it, though none of the 
 physical symbols of laughter were offered in 
 evidence. 
 
 "I'm so sorry, Monsieur," she began in 
 French. "It is such a pity. There is no ex- 
 cuse for any one to have a sick aunt when the 
 
 210
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 stage is set for sentiment. I had planned your 
 evening so carefully, too 
 
 "You are the soul of kindness, Madame," 
 he said politely, still studying her. 
 
 "Yes," she went on, slowly, "I think I am. 
 But then I am chez moi, and charity, you 
 know, begins at home." 
 
 "I hope you will not call it charity. Char- 
 ity they say is cold. And you, Madame, what- 
 ever you would seek to express, are not 
 cold." 
 
 "How can you know?" 
 
 "Your eyes ' 
 
 "My beaux yeux again." She shrugged her 
 shoulders, and turned toward the door. "It 
 is time, I think, for you to practice pool- 
 shots." 
 
 "Ah, you are cruel !" He stepped before her 
 and held out protesting hands. "I do not care 
 for pool, Madame." 
 
 "Or Napoleon?" 
 
 "No I wish to talk with you. Please!" 
 
 She paused, appraising him sideways. 
 211
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "I have some letters to write," she said, 
 briefly. 
 
 "Please, Madame." He stood before her, 
 his slender figure gracefully bent, motioning 
 appealingly toward the deep davenport, 
 which was set invitingly in front of the fire. 
 She followed his gesture with her eyes, then 
 with a light laugh passed before him and sat 
 down. 
 
 "Nothing about my beaux yeux then," she 
 mocked. 
 
 He glanced at her with a smile which 
 showed his fine teeth and sank beside her and 
 at a distance. 
 
 "Voila, Madame! You see? I am an angel 
 of discretion." 
 
 She smiled approvingly. "I'm glad we 
 understand each other." 
 
 "Do we?" he asked with a suggestion of ef- 
 frontery. 
 
 "I hope so." 
 
 "I'm not so sure. To me you are still a mys- 
 tery." 
 
 212
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "Am I? That's curious. I've tried to make 
 my meaning plain. Perhaps I can make it 
 clearer. For some weeks you have been mak- 
 ing love to me, Monsieur. I don't like it. I 
 never flirt, except with the very ancient or the 
 very youthful," she said mendaciously. "You 
 don't come within my age limits." 
 
 He laughed gayly. 
 
 "Love is of all ages and no ages. I am both 
 ancient and youthful. Old in hope, young in 
 despair in affairs of the heart, I assure you, 
 a veritable babe in the arms. I have never 
 really loved until now." 
 
 "Why do you marry Aurora then?" she put 
 in. 
 
 He looked at her with a puzzled brow, then 
 laughed merrily. "Madame, you are too 
 clever to waste your time in America." But 
 as Patricia was looking very gravely into the 
 fire, he too relapsed into silence, and frowned 
 at the ash of his cigarette. 
 
 "I do not see, Madame, why we should 
 speak of her," he said, sulkily. "It must be 
 
 213
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 clear to you that our understanding is com- 
 plete. The marriages in my country, as you 
 know " 
 
 "Oh, yes, I know," she interrupted, "but 
 Miss North is different. She has not the social 
 ambitions of other girls. Miss North is ro- 
 mantic but quite unspoiled. Has it occurred 
 to you that perhaps she may hope for a some- 
 what different relation between you?" 
 
 "We are good friends very good friends. 
 She is enchanting," he said with enthusiasm, 
 "so innocent of the ways of the world, so tal- 
 ented, so charming. We shall be very 
 happy." 
 
 "I hope so," dryly.. 
 
 He examined her shrewdly. 
 
 "You have her happiness close to your 
 heart! Is it not so? What is to be feared? 
 I shall be very good to her. We understand 
 each other. She will be glad of the splendor 
 of my ancient name, and I desire the means to 
 restore my estates and place myself in a posi- 
 tion of influence among my people. I care for 
 
 214
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 her as one cares for a lovely flower but the 
 mind the soul, Madame, I have found them 
 elsewhere," he leaned forward and touched 
 her fingers with his own. 
 
 Patricia's gaze was far away. It seemed 
 as though she was unconscious of his touch. 
 "It is a pity," she said, softly, "a great pity. I 
 am very sorry." 
 
 "Could you not learn to care a little?" 
 
 She turned on him then, but her voice was 
 still gentle. 
 
 "We are not in France, Monsieur," she said 
 coldly. 
 
 "What does that matter?" he urged. "Love 
 knows nothing of geography. Love is a cos- 
 mopolite. It cares not for time or place or 
 convention. I care for you very much, Mad- 
 ame, and whatever you may think, it makes 
 me happy to tell you so." 
 
 "And Aurora?" Patricia reiterated the 
 word, like the clanging of an alarm bell. 
 
 The Baron relaxed his grasp and lowered 
 his head. 
 
 215
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 She leaned forward, elbow on knee, looking 
 into the fire. 
 
 "You know, Baron, I'm very sorry for 
 Aurora." 
 
 As he made no comment she went on : 
 
 "She has always been a very sweet, amiable, 
 honorable child. I'm very fond of her. She 
 was very much alone with her books and her 
 family. She has always lived in an atmos- 
 phere of her own an atmosphere that she 
 made for herself, without companions of her 
 own age. Her mother brought her up with- 
 out the slightest knowledge of the guile, the 
 deceit, or wickedness of the world in which 
 some day she was to live. They used even to 
 scan the newspapers before she was permitted 
 to read them, and clip out objectionable para- 
 graphs. Even I have done that since she has 
 been here visiting me. Her father was always 
 too busy making money to bother. At the age 
 of twenty she is still a dreamer, old in nothing 
 but years, living in an idyl of her own, the 
 sleeping princess in the fairy-tale whom you, 
 
 216
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 the gallant prince, have awakened with a 
 kiss." 
 
 DeLaunay's shoulders moved slightly as he 
 sighed. 
 
 "That kiss, Monsieur! You have awakened 
 her," she went on, "to what?" She paused 
 abruptly and turned toward him for a reply. 
 
 "Your question is hardly flattering to 
 my vanity," he said, smiling. "There are 
 women 
 
 "She is a child." 
 
 "All women are children. I shall find 
 means to make her happy." 
 
 Patricia resumed her study of the fire. 
 
 "I hope so. With money your opportu- 
 nities for happiness would be greater. With- 
 out money ' she paused and shook her 
 head slowly. 
 
 The Baron turned abruptly, but Patricia's 
 gaze was fixed upon the fire. When he spoke 
 his tones were suppressed his manner con- 
 strained. 
 
 "Madame what do you mean?" 
 217
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 She faced him slowly, her expression gently 
 sympathetic. 
 
 "Have you not heard?" 
 
 "Heard what, Madame?" 
 
 "Of Monsieur North's misfortune you 
 must have seen it in the newspapers " 
 
 "The newspapers! No what is it?" 
 
 "Monsieur North has lost his money." 
 
 DeLaunay rose quickly, one hand before 
 him as though to ward off a blow. 
 
 "What you tell me is impossible," he said 
 thickly. 
 
 "No," gravely. "It is true." 
 
 He stared at her unbelieving, but her eyes 
 met his calmly, eagerly, and in their depths 
 he saw only pity. 
 
 "Would I not have heard this dreadful 
 thing, Madame? Aurora would have told me." 
 
 "She might have told you if she had 
 known." 
 
 "She did not know?" 
 
 "They want to save her the pain. They al- 
 ways have. That is one reason why she is 
 
 218
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 stopping here with me. Don't you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 DeLaunay showed other signs of inquie- 
 tude and was now pacing the rug nervously. 
 
 "It is incredible!" he was saying, "incredi- 
 ble! I cannot no And he stopped 
 before her. "No, I will not believe it!" 
 
 Patricia clasped her hands over her knees 
 and was looking very gravely into the fire. 
 She had the air of a person who is mourning 
 the loss of a very dear friend. 
 
 "How do you know this?" he asked again, 
 anxiously. 
 
 "From Mrs. North a week ago, when she 
 let Aurora come to me. But it is no secret 
 now, as it has been in the newspapers. I have 
 kept them from Aurora. She is so happy here 
 with you I hadn't the heart to do anything 
 to destroy her pleasure." 
 
 "But North and Company is a very great 
 business house. So rich that even in France 
 we have heard of them." 
 
 "Yes Mr. North has been rich for years," 
 15 219
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 and then with a sigh, "It is very sad very, 
 very sad." 
 
 "But how could such a thing happen? 
 Surely he is wise enough " 
 
 "Speculation!" said Patricia, simply. "All 
 of our business men speculate. Even the old- 
 est the wisest." 
 
 DeLaunay sank into a chair at some dis- 
 tance, his head in his hands. "Dieuf" she 
 heard him mutter. "What a terrible country. 
 I cannot believe " 
 
 Patricia got up at last and walked over and 
 put her hand quietly on his shoulder. She 
 was even smiling. 
 
 "I am so sorry, Monsieur. Of course you 
 know that, don't you? But I am sure every- 
 thing will turn out for the best. Aurora loves 
 you. You must remember that poverty will 
 make no difference in the relations between 
 you. She will even welcome the chance to 
 be poor she wants to be of some real use in 
 the world she has said so you had even 
 planned that, Monsieur!" 
 
 220
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 The Frenchman turned just one look in her 
 direction, a look in which despair, inquietude, 
 inquiry and anger were curiously blended and 
 then rose and strode the length of the room 
 away. 
 
 "You are mocking me. You know, Madame 
 that that it is impossible this marriage 
 if what you tell me is true." 
 
 "I wish I could reassure you," slowly. 
 
 "What proofs have you?" 
 
 "Isn't my word enough?" 
 
 "Yes, but " 
 
 "You want confirmation. Very well!" 
 Patricia walked to the library table, opened 
 its drawer, and took out the Sun and Herald. 
 As she opened them two paper cuttings and 
 a pair of scissors fell to the floor. She picked 
 them up before DeLaunay could reach her, 
 opening the newspapers, both of which bore 
 signs of mutilation. And while he wondered 
 what she was about to do or say, she resumed 
 calmly, even indifferently. "I had clipped 
 these papers that Aurora might not see them. 
 
 221
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 Since you profess some incredulity, perhaps 
 you'd rather read for yourself." And she 
 handed them to him. 
 
 He adjusted his monocle with trembling 
 fingers, and began reading the slips, his lips 
 moving, his eyes dilated, while Patricia 
 watched him, her eyes masked by her ringers. 
 She saw him read one article through, then 
 scan the other, his lips compressed, his small 
 chin working forward. 
 
 "Five million dollars !" he whispered at last. 
 "It is terrible terrible. And there will be 
 nothing at all." 
 
 "It looks so, doesn't it ?" she replied. "Read 
 
 on." 
 
 And he read the remainder of it aloud, 
 pausing at each sentence as though fascinated 
 by the horror of it. When he had read the 
 last word, the papers dropped from his fingers 
 upon the tea-table beside him. At a grim- 
 ace his eye-glass dropped the length of its 
 cord and he stood erect, squaring his shoul- 
 ders and straightening to his small height 
 
 222
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 with the air of a man who has made a reso- 
 lution. 
 
 "Madame," he said, more calmly, "this is 
 very disagreeable news." 
 
 "It's quite sad, isn't it? But I must warn 
 you against speaking to Aurora just yet. The 
 news is spreading fast enough and to-morrow 
 it may be necessary to tell her. In the mean- 
 while you must be gentle with her and 
 tender you can comfort her so much. 
 She will need all your kindness now, Mon- 
 
 sieur." 
 
 But DeLaunay had taken out his watch. 
 "Madame, I thank you for your kindness to 
 me, but I am I am much perturbed I I 
 do not want to see Miss North until I can 
 think what I must do. Would you mind if 
 I went in town to my hotel " 
 
 "To-night?" 
 
 "Yes to-night." 
 
 "She will think it strange for you to go 
 without a word." 
 
 "I I " 
 
 223
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "You could leave a note." 
 
 "You will permit me?" 
 
 Patricia watched him seat himself heavily 
 at her writing-desk. 
 
 "Monsieur," she asked, "what will you say 
 to her?" 
 
 "That I am ill that I " 
 
 "How will that help either you or her?" 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. 
 
 "What then, Madame?" 
 
 "I don't know," she said, slowly. "It is a 
 very painful note to write. I am very sorry 
 for you, sorry for Miss North, sorry for my- 
 self that you learned of this through me. It 
 is curious that no one told you," she sighed. 
 "But perhaps it is just as well that you know." 
 
 "I am grateful, Madame, I cannot tell you 
 how grateful," he began, but she held up her 
 hand. 
 
 "It pains me to see Miss North unhappy, 
 but I know more of life than she does. I was 
 educated in France, Monsieur, and I know 
 what is expected of American girls who marry 
 
 224
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 into the ancienne noblesse the noblesse de 
 souche. Of course, without a dot, this mar- 
 riage is impossible." 
 
 "Yes, Madame, that is true. It is impos- 
 sible, absolutely impossible." 
 
 "Aurora Miss North believes in your love 
 for her she will hardly understand " 
 
 DeLaunay swung around in his chair and 
 rose, facing the hostess. 
 
 "There must be no misunderstanding be- 
 tween us," decisively, "I shall go at once." 
 
 "That's your decision your final de- 
 cision?" 
 
 "It is final." 
 
 By this time she stood beside him at the 
 desk, and as she spoke her finger pointed to 
 the paper and ink. 
 
 "Then you must write her to-night before 
 you go. It would not be fair to leave matters 
 to me. It is not fair to her or to yourself. Sit 
 down, Monsieur, and write." 
 
 He sank into the chair again. 
 
 "And what shall I write?" 
 225
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "If I can help you " sweetly. 
 
 "I will write what you say," with a sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 So Patricia seated herself beside him and 
 with a troubled brow dictated in English. 
 
 "My dear Miss North: 
 
 "I have learned with horror and dismay of 
 the great bereavement which has fallen upon 
 you and your family, but in view of this mis- 
 fortune, I have thought it wisest to take my 
 departure at once. 
 
 "You will understand, of course, that under 
 these conditions it is advisable to discontinue 
 our present relations at once, and as my pres- 
 ence might prove embarrassing I leave with 
 feelings of great unhappiness. You are doubt- 
 less aware of the customs of my country in the 
 matter of settlements, the absence of which 
 would preclude the possibility of marriage on 
 my part. 
 
 "Mrs. Crabb has kindly consented to make 
 my apologies and excuses to you for my abrupt 
 departure which I take with deep regret, the 
 deeper because of my profound esteem for 
 your many delightful qualities, of which you 
 
 226
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 may be assured I shall never cease to think 
 
 with tender and regretful sentiments 
 
 Patricia broke off abruptly. "I think that 
 is all, Monsieur. Will you finish it as you 
 please?" 
 
 The baron nodded and added: 
 "I am, Mademoiselle, with profound assur- 
 ances of my friendship and consideration, 
 
 "Yours, 
 "Louis Charles Bertram de Chartres, 
 
 "Baron DeLaunay." 
 
 Patricia meanwhile had ordered the 
 Baron's suitcase packed and had 'phoned for a 
 station wagon and a while later stood in the 
 hallway speeding the parting guest. 
 
 "Must you go, Monsieur? I am so very 
 sorry. I understand, of course. I am the 
 loser." And with all the generosity of a vic- 
 torious general whose enemy is no longer dan- 
 gerous. "If you are nice you may kiss my 
 hand." 
 
 As DeLaunay bent over her fingers he mur- 
 mured: "If it had only been you, Madame." 
 
 And in a moment he had gone. 
 227
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 PATRICIA stood in the hallway a mo- 
 ment looking at the note to Aurora, 
 which she held in her fingers. Then 
 she went to the desk so recently vacated by her 
 guest and wrote steadily for an hour. Her 
 thesis was the international marriage, and she 
 called it Crabb vs. DeLaunay, enclosing two 
 papers, DeLaunay's note and the newspaper 
 clippings from her adorable printers. Slips 
 of paper were pinned to them, upon one of 
 which she had written "Exhibit A," and on 
 the other "Exhibit B." She sealed them all in 
 a long envelope addressed to Miss North and 
 handed it to Aurora's maid with instructions 
 that it should be given to her mistress when 
 she had gone up to her room. 
 
 From her own bed Patricia heard the motor 
 arrive and her husband fuming in the hallway 
 below, the sound of Aurora's door closing 
 
 228
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 and of Mortimer's heavy footsteps in his own 
 quarters; then after awhile, silence. She lay on 
 her bed in the dark thinking, listening in- 
 tently. It was long before she was rewarded. 
 Then her door opened quietly, and in the 
 aperture the night-lamp showed a pale, tear- 
 stained face and a slender, girlish figure 
 swathed in a pale blue dressing gown. 
 
 "Patricia!" the girl half sobbed, half 
 whispered, "Patty!" 
 
 Patricia rose in her bed and took the slen- 
 der figure into her sheltering arms. "Aurora 
 darling. I've been waiting for you. Can 
 you forgive me?" 
 
 "Yes yes," sobbed the girl. "I under- 
 stand." 
 
 "You were too good for him, Aurora, dear. 
 He wasn't worthy of you." And then, as an 
 afterthought. "But then, I don't know a man 
 who is." 
 
 Patricia breathed a sigh of relief. She had 
 thought it was going to be more difficult. 
 She made room for the girl in the bed beside 
 
 229
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 her and soothed and petted her until she fell 
 asleep. 
 
 "Poor Aurora," she murmured softly to 
 herself. "You were never destined for a life 
 like that, child. The man you marry is to be 
 an American, a fine, young, healthy animal 
 like yourself. I will not tell you his name 
 because if I did, you'd probably refuse him, 
 and of course that would never do. It must 
 be managed some way. He's poor, you know, 
 dear, but then that won't matter because you 
 will have enough for both." 
 
 It did not take Aurora a great while to re- 
 cover from the shock of disillusion and be- 
 fore long she was out on the golf links again, 
 with her usual happy following. Aurora had 
 many virtues as well as accomplishments, and 
 Patricia was very fond of her. During the 
 winter in the city, she had given a dinner for 
 her to which Stephen Ventnor was invited. 
 Patricia's plan had succeeded admirably, for 
 Ventnor, after several years of indomitable 
 faithfulness to the ashes of the mourned Pa- 
 
 230
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 tricia, had suddenly come to life. He liked 
 Aurora so much that he didn't even take the 
 trouble to hide his new emotion from Patricia. 
 Patricia sighed, for even now renunciation 
 was difficult to her, but when she moved into 
 the country for the summer, she held out the 
 latch-string to him for the week ends so 
 that he could come out every week and play 
 golf with Aurora, which showed that 
 after all marriage had taught Patricia some- 
 thing. 
 
 Patricia had decided that Aurora North 
 was to marry Steve Ventnor, and this resolu- 
 tion made she left no stone unturned to bring 
 the happy event to a consummation. The skil- 
 ful maker of opportunities she remembered 
 sometimes trusted to opportunity to make it- 
 self. Propinquity, she knew, was her first lieu- 
 tenant and the unobtrusive way in which these 
 two young people were continually thrown to- 
 gether must have been a surprise even to them- 
 selves. Ventnor took his two weeks of vaca- 
 tion in July and spent them at the Crabbs'. 
 
 231
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 Patricia had thought that those two weeks 
 would have brought the happy business to a 
 conclusion for Aurora was just ready to be 
 caught on the rebound, and Ventnor was now 
 very much in love. But when Steve's vacation 
 was over and he had packed his trunk to go 
 mournfully back to town, Patricia knew that 
 something had happened to change her well- 
 laid plans. 
 
 She had never given Jimmy McLemore a 
 thought. She had seen the three many times 
 during the summer from her bedroom win- 
 dows, Aurora, Steve and McLemore, but the 
 thought of Aurora having a tenderness for the 
 golfing automaton had never for a moment 
 entered her mind. She watched Mr. Vent- 
 nor's departing back with mingled feelings. 
 
 "You'll be out on Saturday as usual, won't 
 you, Steve?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh, yes, thank you, Patty," he replied, "I'll 
 be out, if you'll have me. But there isn't 
 much use, you know." 
 
 "Don't be so meek, Steve!" she cried. 
 232
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "You're impossible when you're that way. 
 What earthly use did you make of all of my 
 training?" 
 
 Ventnor smiled mournfully. 
 
 "You didn't begin soon enough, Patty," he 
 said. 
 
 That pleased Patricia and she made a men- 
 tal resolution that marry Aurora, Steve 
 should, if it lay in her power to accomplish 
 it 
 
 "There's something wrong with that girl," 
 she mused, as she watched Aurora and "the 
 Sphynx" as McLemore was familiarly 
 called playing the fifth hole. "Anybody 
 who can see anything marriageable in Jimmy 
 McLemore, ought to be carefully confined be- 
 hind a garden wall. Jimmy! I would as soon 
 think of marrying a statue of Buddha." 
 
 The Blue Wing was out of commission for 
 the summer. Mortimer insisted that no sane 
 man could maintain both a big yacht and a big 
 country place. But Patricia was very happy 
 and watched the development of Steve Vent- 
 
 233
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 nor's romance with a jealous eye. She was 
 obliged to admit, as the summer lengthened 
 into autumn, that after all, the whole thing 
 was very much a matter of golf. 
 
 Aurora was golf mad, Patricia knew, and 
 when Jimmy McLemore ran down a twenty- 
 foot putt for a "bird" on the sixteenth hole, 
 thereby winning "three up and two" from 
 Steve Ventnor, the golf championship of the 
 Country Club, Patricia detached herself from 
 the "gallery" which had followed the players 
 and made her way sadly to the Club House 
 veranda. Penelope Wharton, her sister, who 
 was fond of Ventnor, followed, the picture of 
 dejection. In the morning round Steve had 
 been "one up"; and the hopes of the two 
 women had run high that their champion 
 would be able to increase his lead during the 
 afternoon, or at least to maintain it against 
 his redoubtable adversary, but after the first 
 few holes the victor had developed one of 
 those "streaks" for which he was famous, and 
 though poor old Steve had played a steady 
 
 234
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 up-hill game, the luck went against him and 
 he knew at the tenth hole that unless McLe- 
 more fell over in a fit, the gold cup was lost 
 for that year at least. 
 
 Patricia realized, too, that the famous gold 
 cup might not be the only prize at stake. 
 
 "And now," she said wrathfully, "she'll 
 probably marry that person/' Mr. McLemore 
 would have withered could he have seen the 
 expression in Patricia's eyes, for when Pa- 
 tricia called any human being a "person," it 
 meant that her thoughts were unutterable. 
 
 "I suppose so," said Penelope. 
 
 "I've no patience with Aurora North," said 
 Patty, "she's absolutely lacking in a sense of 
 proportion. Imagine letting one's life hap- 
 piness hang on the fate of a single putt." 
 
 "And Steve is such a dear." 
 
 "He is, that's the worst of it and they're 
 eminently fitted for each other in every way 
 by birth, breeding, and circumstances. As a 
 sportsman Jimmy may be a success, but as a 
 
 gentleman as a lover as a husband " 
 
 16 235
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 Patricia's two brown hands were raised in 
 protest toward Olympus. "It's odious, Pen, 
 a case for a grand jury or a coroner!" 
 
 "Aurora is too nice a girl," sighed Pene- 
 lope. 
 
 "Nice! In everything but discrimination. 
 That's the peril of being an 'out-of-door girl.* 
 The more muscle, the less gray matter. That 
 kind of thmg disturbs the balance of power." 
 Patricia sighed u Oh, I tried it and I know. 
 A woman with too much muscle is like an 
 over-rigged yawl all right in light airs, but 
 dangerous in a blow. What's the use? Our 
 greatest strength after all, is weakness." 
 
 "I'm sure you couldn't convince Aurora of 
 that nor Steve." 
 
 "I don't know," said Patricia, slowly, "but 
 I'd like to try." 
 
 Further talk was interrupted by the arrival 
 of the crowd from the fair-green, thirsty and 
 controversial. Steve Ventnor, like the good 
 loser that he was, had been the first to shake 
 McLemore by the hand in congratulation, and 
 
 236
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 if he was heavy of heart, his smiling face gave 
 no sign of it. For the present, at least, he had 
 abandoned the field to his conqueror who 
 brought up the rear of the "gallery" with 
 Aurora, accepting handshakes right and left 
 with the changeless dignity which had gained 
 him his sobriquet of "Sphynx." At the ve- 
 randa steps Mortimer Crabb took him in tow 
 and brought him to the table where Penelope 
 and Patricia were mournfully absorbing lem- 
 onade. 
 
 "Too bad, Steve," said Patricia with a 
 brightness that failed to deceive. "Nobody 
 with mere blood in his veins can expect to 
 compete with a hydraulic ram. He's a won- 
 derful piece of mechanism Jimmy is but 
 I'm always tortured with the fear that he may 
 forget to wind himself up some morning. 
 Mort, couldn't you have dropped a little sand 
 in his bearings?" 
 
 "Oh, he's got plenty of sand," said Crabb 
 generously. 
 
 "He's a cracking good golfer," said Steve, 
 
 237
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 looking reprovingly at Patricia. "He's the 
 better man, that's all." 
 
 He sank beside Patricia while Crabb had 
 a steward take the orders. 
 
 "No," muttered Patricia. "Not that, not 
 the better man, only the better golfer, Steve." 
 And then with a sudden and mystifying 
 change of manner, "Do you know why he al- 
 ways wears a crimson vest?" 
 
 "No I've never thought," replied Steve. 
 
 "It's very un er unprofessional isn't 
 it?" 
 
 "It isn't what a man wears that wins holes, 
 you know, Patty." 
 
 "Oh, no," she said, carelessly, "I was just 
 wondering 
 
 Mortimer Crabb, unofficial host of the oc- 
 casion, had beckoned to Aurora and Mc- 
 Lemore, who now joined the party. Steve 
 Ventnor rose as the girl approached and their 
 eyes met. Aurora's eyes were the color of 
 lapis-lazuli, but the deep tan of her skin made 
 them seem several shades lighter. They were 
 
 238
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 handsome eyes, very clear and expressive, and 
 at important moments like the present ones 
 her long lashes effectually screened what 
 might have been read in their depths. 
 
 "I'm sorry, Steve," she said gently. "You 
 didn't have enough practice." 
 
 "Are you really?" asked Steve. He bent his 
 head forward and said something for Au- 
 rora's ears alone, at which her lids dropped 
 still further and the ends of her lips curved 
 demurely. But she did not reply, and turned 
 in evident relief when Crabb made a hos- 
 pitable suggestion. 
 
 Patricia watched the by-play with interest. 
 She had followed the romance with mingled 
 feelings, for it was apparent that the triangle 
 which had been equilateral in the spring was 
 now distorted out of all semblance to its 
 former shape, with poor Steve getting the 
 worst of it. The reason was clear. The 
 Sphynx was rich and so could afford to 
 play golf with Aurora every day of the year 
 if he wished, while Steve Ventnor, who 
 
 239
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 spent his daylight hours selling bonds in 
 the city, had to make the most of his Satur- 
 day and Sunday afternoons. It was really too 
 bad. 
 
 But the Sphynx only smiled his unhumor- 
 ous smile, and went on playing golf during 
 the week when Ventnor was at work. Pro- 
 pinquity had done a damage which even Pa- 
 tricia, with all her worldliness, could not find 
 available means to repair. But she joined 
 good-humoredly in the toasts to the new club 
 champion who was accepting his honors care- 
 lessly, keeping her eyes meanwhile on Jimmy 
 McLemore's crimson vest. That vest was a 
 part of Jimmy's golf, as much a part of it 
 as his tauric glasses, his preliminary wiggle 
 on the tee, or his maddening precision on the 
 putting-green. It fascinated her somehow, 
 almost to the exclusion of the gayety in which 
 she rightfully had a part. 
 
 The gold cup was brought forth and passed 
 from hand to hand. As it came to Patricia 
 she looked at it inside and out, read the in- 
 
 240
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 scription leisurely, then handed it carelessly 
 to her neighbor. 
 
 "Chaste and quite expensive," was her com- 
 ment. 
 
 "Oh, I think it's beautiful," said Aurora, 
 reprovingly. 
 
 "Chaque enfant a son gou gou, my dear," 
 said Patricia. "You know, Aurora, I never 
 did approve of golf prizes especially valu- 
 able ones. After all, golf is merely a game 
 not a religion. It's the habit in this club to 
 consider a golf cup with the same kind of an 
 eye that one gives to a possible seat in Para- 
 dise." 
 
 Even Steve Ventnor thought Patricia's re- 
 marks in bad taste. 
 
 "If Jimmy plays the game of life the way 
 he played golf to-day," he laughed, "he'll 
 have an eighteen-karat halo, and no mistake." 
 
 "Patty!" exclaimed Miss North, reprov- 
 ingly. "You know you don't believe a word 
 you say. You love golf prizes. Why you're 
 always giving the Bachelors' Cup, and this 
 
 241
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 year you've presented the cup for the 'Affin- 
 ity Foursomes.' Besides, you've won at least 
 three prizes yourself." 
 
 "I've reformed," said Patricia, decisively. 
 "I've lost patience with golf. I haven't any 
 interest in a game that requires the elimina- 
 tion of all human attributes." 
 
 "What on earth are you talking about?" 
 
 "One can't be entirely human and play a 
 good game of golf, that's all," she an- 
 nounced. 
 
 "That's rough on McLemore," laughed 
 Mortimer. 
 
 "It's human to be irritated, human to be 
 angry, human to have nerves, human to make 
 mistakes. I've no patience with people who 
 can't lose their tempers." 
 
 "I'm apt to lose mine, if you keep calling 
 me names," said the Sphynx, affably. 
 
 "You couldn't, Jimmy," said Patricia, so- 
 berly. "Anyone who can make the tenth, 
 eleventh and twelfth in eleven playing out of 
 two bunkers will never lose his temper in this 
 
 242
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 world or anything else," she added, sotto 
 voce. 
 
 "There won't be any more Bachelors' Cups, 
 then?" 
 
 "Not if I can help it. At least not for the 
 Ancient and Honorable Game as we play it 
 now. The Bachelors' Cup this fall will be 
 played for across country." The members 
 of the party examined her as though they be- 
 lieved she had suddenly been bereft of her 
 senses all but her husband, who knew that in 
 being surprised at Patty, one was wasting 
 valuable energy, but even Mortimer was 
 mildly curious. 
 
 "Across country!" they asked. 
 
 "Exactly. I'm going to invest the game 
 with a real sporting interest, develop the pos- 
 sibilities of the niblick, eliminate the merely 
 mechanical, introduce a stronger element of 
 chance. The course will be laid out like a 
 'drag.' " 
 
 "With an anise-seed bag?" queried Crabb. 
 
 Patricia withered her husband with a look. 
 243
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "With scraps of paper," she asserted, firmly. 
 "The course will be four miles long over good 
 hunting country." 
 
 "You can't mean it," said McLemore. 
 
 "I do. It's quite feasible." 
 
 "Yes, but " 
 
 "It's a good sporting proposition," said 
 Aurora North, suddenly kindling to interest. 
 "Why not?" 
 
 Ventnor and McLemore only smiled amus- 
 edly, as became true golfers. 
 
 "Oh you can laugh, you two. Why not give 
 it a trial? Just to make it interesting I'll offer 
 a cup for the Club champion and runner-up. 
 It will be a pretty cup and Aurora and I will 
 caddy." 
 
 "Willingly," laughed Aurora. 
 
 There the matter stopped. It was a joke, of 
 course, and both men realized it, but any joke 
 in which Aurora North had a part was the 
 joke for them. A week passed before Pa- 
 tricia completed her plans and in the mean- 
 while everybody had forgotten all about her 
 
 244
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 amazing proposition. It was, therefore, with 
 surprise and not a little amusement that Mc- 
 Lemore and Ventnor received the dainty no- 
 tice in Patricia's handwriting, which advised 
 them that the Cross Country Match would be 
 played off on the following Thursday after- 
 noon, at two o'clock. Jimmy McLemore 
 smiled at a photograph on the desk in his li- 
 brary, but later in the day after a talk over 
 the telephone with Aurora he got a mashie, 
 and a heavy mid-iron from his bag and went 
 out in his own cow-pasture to practice. Steve 
 Ventnor in his office in the city turned the 
 note over in his fingers and frowned. Thurs- 
 day was his busiest day, but he realized that 
 he had given his promise and that if McLe- 
 more played he must. It was a very silly busi- 
 ness. Several things mystified him, however. 
 What did Patricia mean, for instance, by the 
 absurd lines at the bottom of his invitation? 
 "Aurora will caddy for you; and don't wear a 
 crimson vest there's nothing to be gained by 
 it." 
 
 245
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 On a slip of paper enclosed were the local 
 rules : 
 
 1 i ) The first ball and every fourth ball there- 
 
 after may be played from a rubber tee. 
 
 (2) A ball in "casual" water may be lifted 
 
 and dropped without penalty. 
 
 (3) Running brooks, ponds, rocks, fences, 
 
 etc., are natural hazards, and must be 
 played over as such. 
 
 (4) A lost ball means the loss of one stroke, 
 
 but not of distance. A ball may be 
 dropped within twenty-five yards of 
 the spot where ball disappeared. 
 
 (5) The match must be finished within four 
 
 hours. The competitor who for any 
 reason fails to finish loses the match. 
 
 Steve Ventnor smiled as he read, but in 
 spite of his golf sense, which is like no other 
 sense in the world, felt himself gently warm- 
 ing to the project. He would go of course 
 for Aurora was to caddy for him.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 EVEN Mortimer Crabb was excluded 
 from that charming luncheon of 
 four. It was very informal and 
 great was the merriment at Patricia's ex- 
 pense, but through it all she smiled calmly 
 at their scepticism as Columbus at Sala- 
 manca must have smiled, if he ever did, or 
 Newton or Edison, or any others of the 
 world's great innovators. 
 
 "Cross-country golf," she continued proudly 
 to assert, "is the golf of the New Era." 
 
 "Do you really mean it, Patty?" asked Au- 
 rora seriously, when the men had gone up- 
 stairs to change. 
 
 "Of course I do, Aurora. The Ancient and 
 Honorable Game has its limitations. Cross- 
 country golf has none. You'll see, my dear, 
 in ten years, they'll be playing distance 
 matches between New York and Philadelphia 
 
 247
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 the fewest strokes in the shortest time that 
 will be a game." 
 
 "And who'll pay for the lost balls?" asked 
 Aurora, laughing. 
 
 "That, Aurora," replied Patricia with a 
 touch of dignity, "is something with which I 
 am remotely concerned." 
 
 The men came down stairs dressed for the 
 fray, grinning broadly, and Patricia, after a 
 glance at McLemore's red vest, took up his 
 golf bag with a business-like air and led the 
 way to the terrace. The Sphynx blinked 
 through his tauric glasses at her unresponsive 
 back silhouetted in the doorway, but as Au- 
 rora had taken Steve's bag, he followed 
 meekly, submitting to the inevitable. Out- 
 side, Patricia was indicating a rift in the 
 row of maples which bordered her vege- 
 table garden, through which was to be 
 seen the brown sweep of the meadow be- 
 yond. 
 
 "The drive is through there. You'll get the 
 direction marks for your second. The dis- 
 
 248
 
 tance is four miles. The finish is on Aurora's 
 lawn the putting-green near the rear portico 
 of the house. Drive off, gentlemen." 
 
 The honor was Mr. McLemore's. With a 
 saddish smile, half of pity and half of a pro- 
 test for his outraged golfing dignity, he took 
 his bag from Patricia, and with a frugality 
 which did him credit, upturned the bag on 
 the lawn, spilling out a miscellany of old balls 
 which he had saved for practice strokes. Se- 
 lecting half a dozen, he stuffed five of them 
 in his pockets, returned the newer ones to his 
 bag and scorning the rubber tee which Pa- 
 tricia offered him, dropped a ball over his 
 shoulder and took his cleek out of his bag. 
 Each act was sportsman-like a fine expres- 
 sion of the golfing spirit. 
 
 The drive went straight and they saw it 
 bouncing coquettishly up the meadow beyond. 
 Steve, with the munificence which only pov- 
 erty knows, brought forth a new ball, took 
 the rubber tee and, with his driver, got 
 off a long low one which cleared the 
 
 249
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 bushes and vanished over the brow of the 
 hill. 
 
 "A new golfing era has begun," said Pa- 
 tricia, with the air of a prophet. 
 
 "If I ever find my ball," said Ventnor, du- 
 biously. 
 
 "What do you care, Steve, as long as you're 
 making history?" laughed Aurora, with a sly 
 glance at their hostess. 
 
 Patricia, unperturbed, led the way through 
 a breach in the hedge and out into the sunlight 
 where she raised a crimson parasol, which no 
 one had noticed before. 
 
 "My complexion," she explained to Aurora. 
 "One can't be too careful when one gets to be 
 ahem thirty. Besides, it just matches 
 Jimmy's vest." 
 
 The grass in the pasture was short and Mc- 
 Lemore played his brassey his caddy in- 
 structing him as to the ground on the other 
 side, which fell gently down to a brook he 
 could not reach. 
 
 "I got that one away," said McLemore, liv- 
 250
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 ening to his task. "It's not really bad going 
 at all." 
 
 Patricia smiled gratefully, but made no re- 
 sponse, for Steve, a little further on, was in a 
 hole and had to play out with a mashie, which 
 he did with consummate skill, the ball rolling 
 down the hill thirty yards short of McLe- 
 more's. 
 
 From the hilltop they could easily see the 
 line of the paper chase which Patricia had 
 laid when she rode over the course yes- 
 terday. It stretched across the lower end 
 of the Renwick's meadows along the road, 
 crossing two streams, bordered with willow 
 trees and led straight for Waterman's stone 
 quarry. Ventnor played a careful mid-iron 
 which cleared the brook and bounded forward 
 into the meadow beyond ; but McLemore 
 overreached himself trying for distance and 
 found the brook, losing his ball and two 
 strokes; but he teed up, having played five 
 and lay six well down the meadow, within 
 carrying distance of the second stream. But 
 17 251
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 Steve, playing steadily, passed him with his 
 fourth, a long cleek shot which fell just short 
 of the stream. 
 
 Beyond the creek was the hill to the quarry, 
 three shots for McLemore, two long ones for 
 Ventnor. With excellent judgment McLe- 
 more played safely over the creek with a mid- 
 iron, reaching the brinl of the quarry in two 
 more, which gave him a chance to tee up on 
 his ninth for the long drive across. Steve 
 Ventnor was less fortunate, dribbling his sixth 
 up the hill, fifty yards short of the quarry, 
 into which, trying a long cleek shot to clear 
 it, he unfortunately drove. He waited to see 
 the Sphynx carefully tee his ball and send it 
 straight down the course which Patricia in- 
 dicated, and then taking the bag from his 
 caddy helped her into the path which zig- 
 zagged down to where his ball lay, a hundred 
 feet below. 
 
 Patricia and the Sphynx had chosen the 
 shorter way through the woods at the upper 
 end and Steve and Aurora were alone. 
 
 252
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 At the bottom of the slope behind a pro- 
 jecting crag Steve stopped and faced his 
 companion. 
 
 "Aurora," he said. 
 
 "Yes, Steve." 
 
 "Is it true you're going to marry McLe- 
 more?" 
 
 Aurora picked a flower which grew in a 
 ledge beside her before she replied. 
 
 "Why do you ask?" 
 
 "I thought I'd like to know, that's all. Peo- 
 ple say you are 
 
 "/ haven't said so." 
 
 "Then," eagerly, "you aren't?" 
 
 "I don't see what right you've got to ask." 
 
 "I haven't only I thought I'd like to be 
 the first to congratulate him." 
 
 "Oh, is that all?" 
 
 "And I thought I'd like to tell you again 
 that I love you better than anybody could 
 and that I always will, even if you marry him. 
 He's a very nice fellow but but I'll be very 
 unhappy " 
 
 253
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 " Will you? I don't believe it." 
 
 "Why do you say that?" 
 
 "Because you're too cool about it. You 
 wouldn't think he was such a nice fellow if 
 you were jealous of him. Why haven't you 
 played more with me this summer?" 
 
 "I had to work you know that. What's 
 the use 
 
 "If you love me as you say you do, I don't 
 see how you could be so cool about about 
 seeing us together 
 
 "Perhaps I wasn't as cool as I looked. See 
 here, Aurora, you mustn't talk like that." He 
 had turned and before she could escape him, 
 had taken her in his arms and was kissing her. 
 "Don't say I'm cool. I love you, Aurora, with 
 every ounce that's in me. I want you more 
 than I can ever want anything again in this 
 world or the next. I'm not going to let you 
 marry that fellow or anybody else do you 
 understand?" 
 
 She had yielded for a moment to his 
 warmth because there didn't seem to be any- 
 
 254
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 thing else to do. But when she slowly dis- 
 engaged herself from his arms and faced him 
 her eyes were wet and the color flamed 
 through her tan. 
 
 "Steve!" she stammered. "Steve! how 
 could you?" 
 
 But he still faced her passionately, un- 
 daunted. "It's true," he said huskily. "I 
 love you you can't marry him I won't let 
 you " 
 
 He took a step forward but this time she 
 retreated. 
 
 "Don't, Steve not again not now you 
 mustn't. They'll be coming out in the open 
 there in a moment. I'll never say you are 
 cool again never after that. You're not 
 cool not in the least I was mistaken. I've 
 never seen you like this before you're dif- 
 ferent 
 
 "You made me do it. I couldn't stand 
 your saying I didn't care. I'm not sorry," 
 he went on, "he couldn't love you the way I 
 do." 
 
 255
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "I think perhaps you're right," said Aurora 
 coolly. "In the meantime 
 
 "Won't you give me an answer?" 
 
 "In the meanwhile," she went on, preening 
 her disordered hair, "you are supposed to be 
 playing the golf of the New Era 
 
 "Aurora " 
 
 "No," she had taken up his golf bag and 
 was walking away. 
 
 "Won't you answer me?" he pleaded 
 
 "Get your ball out of this quarry," she said, 
 relentlessly, "and I'll think about it." 
 
 It took Steve Ventnor thirteen strokes to 
 play out of that quarry, which, for a fellow 
 with a record of seventy-two at Apawomeck, 
 was "going it." The first stroke he missed 
 clean; the second he sliced into a clay-bank; 
 his third struck the rocks and bounded back 
 against the wall behind him, finding lodgment 
 at last in some bushes where he took three 
 more. To make matters worse, Aurora was 
 laughing at him, hysterically, unrestrainedly, 
 and Patricia and the Sphynx, who had ap- 
 
 256
 
 'You are supposed to be playing the golf of the New Era.' '
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 peared on the path above, were joining in the 
 merriment. 
 
 "Oh, I'll lift," he growled at last. 
 
 "You can't," laughed Aurora. "It's against 
 the rules." And Patricia appealed to, con- 
 firmed the statement. 
 
 Three more swings he took, each of them 
 in impossible lies, the last of which smashed 
 his niblick. After that there followed a period 
 of strange calmness of desperation, while he 
 worked his ball into a good lie on the far side 
 of the quarry from which, with a fine mashie 
 shot he lifted it over the cliffs and into the 
 open beyond. 
 
 Steve Ventnor toiled wearily up the hill 
 at the heels of his caddy, struggling for his 
 lost composure. He caught up with Aurora 
 at a point half-way up where he took the golf 
 bag from her shoulder and faced her again. 
 
 "Won't you answer me, Aurora?" he 
 pleaded, breathlessly. 
 
 "No, I won't," she said, calmly. "You 
 swore horribly in the bushes." 
 
 257
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "I didn't" 
 
 "I heard you," firmly. "I'll never marry 
 a man who swears," and she hurried on. 
 When Ventnor joined the others, he found 
 Patricia sitting on a rock making up the score, 
 which at the present moment stood: Ventnor 
 20; McLemore 9. 
 
 "How do you like it, Steve?" asked Pa- 
 tricia, still figuring. 
 
 "Oh, it's great!" said Steve, ironically, 
 holding up his shattered niblick. "I like 
 granite, it's so spongy." 
 
 "I'm afraid you've got a bad temper, 
 Steve." 
 
 But Ventnor had taken out his pipe, lit it 
 and was now doggedly moving toward his 
 ball. 
 
 The luck favored him on his next volley, 
 for playing two mid-irons down the hill, he 
 reached the level meadow below safely, while 
 McLemore sliced his second into a row of hot 
 frames, where an indignant horticulturist and 
 two dogs contributed an interesting mental 
 
 258
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 hazard. But the Sphynx handed the farmer 
 a dollar in exchange for lacerated feelings and 
 glass, and the match went on. Over the brook 
 McLemore lay thirteen, having "dubbed" 
 his shot into the stream, but playing steadily 
 after that reached the top of the long hill be- 
 fore them, safely in four more; while Ventnor 
 lost his ball in the bushes and was now play- 
 ing twenty-five.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 FROM there on, the luck varied and at 
 the Stockbridge farm the score stood 
 McLemore 21 ; Ventnor, 30. It seemed 
 a difficult lead to overcome, for the Sphynx 
 was playing straight with a mid-iron, while 
 Steve, whose only hope lay in getting distance, 
 had twice pulled into rough grass, which cost 
 him lost balls and extra strokes. The wonder 
 was how he played at all, for Aurora had re- 
 fused to marry him three times in the last 
 twenty minutes. The result was inevitable, 
 and so like the man in the adage, after play- 
 ing thirty-eight strokes, he "went up in the 
 air," missing shot after shot and relinquishing 
 all claim to consideration, playing on only 
 because fate seemed to demand it of him. 
 
 At the Van Westervelt's fence both men 
 got off "good ones," landing well in the mid- 
 dle of the pasture and had gone forward into 
 the field, their caddies close behind them, 
 
 260
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 when from the shelter of a clump of trees 
 along the stream to their left, there emerged a 
 shadow. Aurora saw it first. 
 
 "It's a bull," she said. 
 
 "No, it's only a cow," ventured the Sphynx, 
 whose tauric glasses were not adjusted to dis- 
 tances or to bulls. 
 
 "I'm sure it's a bull," repeated Aurora. 
 
 Steve glanced at the beast over his shoulder, 
 and then took a brassey from his bag. 
 
 "He won't bother us," he muttered. But 
 the animal was approaching majestically, 
 pausing now and then to paw up the dirt with 
 his front hoofs and throwing a cloud of dust 
 over his back. 
 
 "It's your parasol, Patty," said Aurora. 
 
 "Or Jimmy's vest," put in Patricia. 
 
 "You'd better run for it, you and Aurora," 
 said Ventnor. "You can easily make the 
 fence." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 "I'm going to play this shot. It's the pret- 
 tiest lie I've had all day." 
 
 261
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "Come, Aurora," said Patricia, taking up 
 her bag. "There's no time to lose. He's 
 really coming this way," and gathering up her 
 golf bag and skirts, she ran. The Sphynx, 
 meanwhile, still holding his mid-iron in his 
 hand, was undecided. His ball was twenty 
 yards further on, and his eyes shifted uneasily 
 from the bull to an old apple-tree within a 
 reaching distance. The women by this time 
 had reached a convenient stile and were 
 perched upon it shouting. 
 
 "Run, Steve! 1 .' they cried. "He's coming!" 
 Ventnor, who was addressing his ball, 
 glanced up for a moment and then swung. It 
 was the prettiest shot that he had made all 
 day, for the ball started with a low trajec- 
 tory and soared and soared, clearing the fence 
 on the far side of the field, a carry of two 
 hundred yards, and landed in the next 
 meadow. Then he turned, club in hand, and 
 looked at the bull which now stood twenty 
 paces away, eying them viciously. It was too 
 late to make a sprint for the fence, and like 
 
 262
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 McLemore, Steve wistfully eyed the apple- 
 tree. But he brandished his brassey manfully 
 and prepared to jump aside if the bull low- 
 ered his head and rushed him. It was at this 
 moment that Jimmy McLemore, white as a 
 sheet, made up his mind to run. Jimmy's red 
 vest decided the matter, and scorning Vent- 
 nor, with a bellow which lent wings to Jim- 
 my's feet, the brute lowered its thick head and 
 charged, passing like a tornado under the limb 
 to which McLemore had fled for safety. 
 Steve Ventnor forgot to be frightened and 
 stood leaning on his club roaring with laugh- 
 ter, for the Sphynx's dignity had always been 
 a fearful and wonderful thing to him. He 
 heard the voices of the women behind him, 
 pleading with him to run, but in his heart 
 Steve Ventnor made a mighty resolution that 
 run he would not. He had no dignity like 
 Jimmy's to lose, but the spectacle Jimmy made 
 decided him. It took some strength of mind 
 to moderate his pace as he picked up Pa- 
 tricia's red parasol and walked toward the 
 
 263
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 fence. The bull however, refused to be dis- 
 tracted, and stood pawing the ground beneath 
 the apple-tree, bellowing up at the soles of the 
 Sphynx's boots and making havoc of the beau- 
 tiful Campbell mid-iron, which was the only 
 thing of Jimmy's that he could touch. 
 
 The women on the stile were laughing, Pa- 
 tricia frankly, uncontrollably, Aurora nerv- 
 ously, looking at Steve as he came up with a 
 queer little anxious wrinkle between her eye- 
 brows. 
 
 "I haven't any patience with you," she said. 
 "You might have been gored to death." 
 
 Ventnor was still laughing. "I never saw 
 Jimmy run before," he said. "We'll have to 
 get him out of that somehow. I think I'll 
 have a try at it with Patricia's parasol." 
 
 But Patricia quickly snatched it from his 
 hand. Her little drama had worked out far 
 more beautifully than she had ever hoped it 
 would, and she didn't propose to have it 
 ruined now. 
 
 "Nothing of the sort," she cried. "You may 
 264
 
 do whatever you like with your own skin, but 
 that is a perfectly good French parasol, and 
 it's mine." And she put it behind her back. 
 
 Meanwhile the Sphynx was pelting the 
 brute below him with apples and shouting 
 anathema, both of which rolled from the ani- 
 mal's impervious back, as he circled angrily 
 around the tree, up which he showed every 
 disposition to climb. From tragic-comedy the 
 scene had degenerated into broadest farce. 
 
 "It's like Sothern playing a part of Georgie 
 Cohan's," commented Patricia, sweetly. "Is 
 he apt to be there all day?" 
 
 "It looks so," said Aurora, struggling be- 
 tween anxiety and laughter. "We really 
 ought to do something." 
 
 But Patricia had settled herself comfort- 
 ably on the top rail of the fence. Things were 
 going very much to her liking. 
 
 "What?" she asked. 
 
 "Tell somebody. There's a wagon coming 
 this way now." 
 
 "But how about the Cross-Country Cup?" 
 265
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 looking at her watch. "There's only an hour 
 and a half to finish in." 
 
 "But we can't leave him up there," said 
 Steve, more seriously. "That bull will be 
 there until until the cows come home." 
 
 "Jimmy is perfectly safe," said Patricia, 
 "unless he goes to sleep and falls out ; and he 
 can't starve unless he throws all the apples 
 at the bull." 
 
 "Patty, you're heartless," said Aurora, but 
 she laughed when she said it. 
 
 The farmer who came along in the wagon 
 took in the situation at a glance and laughing 
 more loudly than any of them, consented at 
 last to drive to the barnyard and tell the 
 farmer. 
 
 "It won't do any good," he said, sagely. 
 "That bull won't go back until he follows the 
 cows at milking time. He might quit before 
 that I dunno. I'll do what I can though." 
 And with a laconic chirrup to his nag, he de- 
 parted in the direction of the Van Wester- 
 velts' farmyard. 
 
 266
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 The party of three followed him with their 
 eyes until he had disappeared in a cloud of 
 dust and then examined the apple-tree from 
 which the Sphynx's legs dangled hopelessly. 
 The rest of him was hidden among the leaves. 
 
 "Until the cows come home," said Patricia, 
 solemnly, and looking into one another's eyes 
 all three of them burst into shameless laugh- 
 ter. And with that laugh free-masonry was 
 established. It was plainly to be read in Au- 
 rora's eyes. The toppling of Jimmy's dignity 
 had been too much for her own sense of 
 gravity. 
 
 Patricia meanwhile had taken out her 
 watch. "This, my dear children," she said, 
 indicating with a fine gesture, the Sphynx's 
 apple-tree, "is one of the hazards of the New 
 Game of Golf. There is only an hour and a 
 half to finish in. Play the game, you two, I 
 must wait." 
 
 "It wouldn't be the sporting thing," said 
 Steve, struggling with a desire to obey. 
 
 "I'd like to know who is as good a judge 
 is 267
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 of the rules of a game as its inventor," said 
 Patricia. "Am I right, Aurora?" 
 
 Aurora by this time was fingering at the 
 strap of Ventnor's golf bag. "Yes," she de- 
 cided, "as Patricia says, it's in the game." 
 
 Steve glanced at her quickly, joyfully, but 
 her head was lowered and she was already 
 down the steps of the stile and walking along 
 the road toward the adjoining meadow. Vent- 
 nor's eyes met Patricia's for the fraction of a 
 second of wireless telegraphy, after which 
 Steve plunged down the steps and followed 
 his caddy. 
 
 The gabled roof of Augustus North's house 
 was visible above the trees scarcely half a 
 mile away, but the paper chase led to it by 
 devious, sequestered ways, which Steve Vent- 
 nor and his caddy scrupulously followed. 
 Many times on the way they stopped in the 
 shadow of the trees, and but a few minutes of 
 time remained when Steve ran down his putt. 
 It had taken him just one hundred and three 
 shots to do that last nine hundred yards in an 
 
 268
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 hour and forty minutes. His caddy counted 
 them; which only went to prove her a consci- 
 entious person, for under the circumstances 
 book-keeping was a difficult matter. 
 
 Perched upon her stile, in smiling patience 
 Patricia waited "until the cows came home," 
 while Mortimer Crabb, who had been noti- 
 fied over the telephone of the disaster, drove 
 up to see the final chapter in Jimmy McLe- 
 more's undoing. For the farmer came and at 
 some pains extracted him from his perilous 
 post. The Crabbs drove McLemore to his 
 home in their motor and then ran over to the 
 Norths to hear how the cross-country match 
 had finished. The happy couple met them at 
 the steps. 
 
 "The ball is in the hole, Patty, dear," said 
 Steve Ventnor. a Do I win the Cup?" 
 
 "You do," said Patricia, looking at her 
 watch, "by three hours and a half. And it's 
 a loving-cup, Steve, with cupids and things, 
 I had it made especially for you and Aurora." 
 
 Aurora kissed Patricia with enthusiasm. 
 269
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "How did you know, Patty, it was to be 
 Steve?" 
 
 "Simplest thing imaginable! Because Steve 
 is the most adorable boy, always excepting 
 Mort, that was ever born and then you 
 know, Aurora you couldn't have married 
 Jimmy!" 
 
 "That's true," said Aurora, thinking of Jim- 
 my's legs in the apple-tree, "I really couldn't." 
 
 Steve refused to return to the Crabbs' to 
 dinner, so the Makers of Opportunities de- 
 parted alone. Mortimer drove slowly through 
 the gathering dusk and Patricia sat silent. 
 
 "Are you happy, Patty?" he asked, at last. 
 
 "No, of course not," said Patricia, pinching 
 his ear, "you know I'm never happy with you, 
 Mort." 
 
 "Aren't you getting a little tired of putting 
 the world in order?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. But young people are so provok- 
 ing. They can never make up their own 
 minds, and you know somebody has to do it 
 for them." 
 
 270
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "Haven't you ever wondered how the world 
 would get on without you?" 
 
 "No, but sometimes I've wondered how 
 you would." 
 
 "I? Ah! I wouldn't get on at all. And 
 yet you know there's a responsibility in being 
 married to a Dea ex Machina." 
 
 "What, please?" 
 
 "The machinery may run down." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "The goddess may end in the ditch." 
 
 "Mort!" 
 
 "Or get a blow-out you came near it, 
 Patty." 
 
 "I didn't, Mort ever." 
 
 "How about ?" 
 
 He was going to say John Doe, but she put 
 her fingers over his lips so that he only mum- 
 bled. 
 
 "No, Mort I'm a prudent goddess a 
 chauffeuse extraordinary." 
 
 "I'm sure of that, but " 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 271
 
 The MAKER of OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 "No car can endure so long out of the 
 garage." 
 
 "You're a silly old thing." She sighed 
 comfortably and leaned her head over on his 
 shoulder. In a moment she spoke again. "I 
 think you're quite right though, Mort." 
 
 "Aren't you tired of making opportunities 
 for other people?" 
 
 She made a sound that he understood. 
 
 "I am, a little, you know, Patty," he added. 
 The motor purred gently as it glided out of 
 a country road into the turnpike. 
 
 "What do you say if we begin making op- 
 portunities for each other?" 
 
 She started up with a laugh. 
 
 "I never thought of that," she said. "When 
 shall we start?" 
 
 "At once, Patty. If you'll provide the op- 
 portunity," and he kissed her, "I'll be its 
 thief." 
 
 But she captured him at once. 
 
 THE END. (i)
 
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 468
 
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