H E ART S 
 
 ARE, TRUMPS 
 
 ALEXANDER OTIS
 
 ^ 
 
 C7
 
 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS

 
 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE JOHN McBuiDE Co. 
 1909
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1 909, BY 
 THE JOHN McBwoE Co
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I I Start on My Vacation 1 
 
 II Predicament 19 
 
 III The Inquisition 32 
 
 IV Beatrice 47 
 
 V An Interloper 62 
 
 VI I Speak Out 80 
 
 VII Flight 94 
 
 VIII A Chance Encounter 112 
 
 IX The Best Man. 127 
 
 X The Garment of Betrayal 142 
 
 XI The Bishop 156 
 
 XII Entanglements 172 
 
 XIII Artifice 187 
 
 XIV Plot and Surprise 202 
 
 XV On the Trail 215 
 
 XVI Captive 228 
 
 XVII A Corner in Clothes-line 240 
 
 XVIII Love Among the Roses 252 
 
 XIX The Voice of Authority 264 
 
 XX Wanted: A Husband 281 
 
 XXI Complications 293 
 
 XXII General Dementia 308 
 
 XXIII Boomerang 
 
 2137539
 
 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 I START ON MY VACATION 
 
 Through the lace curtains of a wide bay-win- 
 dow came a stream of fresh mountain air and 
 beams of bright sunshine, while the chimes of a 
 neighbouring church pealed joyously in the blue 
 air, sending to my ears their mellow lin-lan-lone, 
 their distant melody, which the breeze brought to 
 me sometimes louder and sometimes fainter, as 
 the wind rose or fell. There was a repetition of 
 the rap on the door that had awakened me, fol- 
 lowed by the announcement: "It's half past 
 eight, sir. Breakfast at quarter past nine." 
 
 I arose, and after collecting my scattered senses 
 and a few garments, looked out of the bay-win- 
 dow. The view was glorious, stretching across a
 
 2 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 wide, deep valley to lofty hills beyond. The 
 little church, nestling among the trees on the 
 hither slope, must be the place whence the chimes 
 had pealed. And even as I formed the thought, 
 their voices, momentarily hushed, again resumed 
 their insistent melody. The tune was, "Ancient 
 of Days." 
 
 I rather wondered at their having such chimes 
 in a small country place like Hilltown. The 
 grounds about the inn, too, would have done 
 credit to any millionaire's residence. They were 
 the finest hotel grounds I had ever seen. The 
 bells continued to call their message to the hill- 
 tops, to the woodland, to the spirit of beauty 
 everywhere, to whatever of joy and of reverence 
 still lingered in the world of man. It was Sun- 
 day morning. 
 
 My inner man began to assert himself; not my 
 soul, I regret to say, merely my appetite. This 
 served to bring me down to the practical things 
 of life. Feeling that the day called for the clean- 
 est of fresh linen, I sought my suit-case. But the 
 bag I produced from the closet wasn't mine at
 
 I START ON MY VACATION 3 
 
 all. It was a glossy, tan kit-bag of the latest 
 Cross pattern. Mine had been a suit-case worn 
 and travel-stained. Yet that blunder, serious 
 though it was, was only part of the trouble. The 
 silken tile the porter had stuck on my head lay 
 before me. Instead of my outing- jacket I beheld 
 the solemn frock-coat he had hustled onto my 
 back. 
 
 But now I was awake, and as I breathed in the 
 tonic qualities of the Berkshire air I was inclined 
 to look at all things from a cheerful point of 
 view. It couldn't be helped. So I opened the 
 grip, which luckily was not locked, and drew out 
 a rather clerical-looking collar. It was at least 
 a size too large, and seemed intended to go on 
 hind-side-to. I succeeded in getting it into place, 
 however. The other man would have to do some 
 choking, while I had plenty of breathing-space. 
 Under the circumstances I decided to make my 
 own shirt serve me until Monday, and undertook 
 no further depredations among the stranger's 
 linen. 
 
 It was not, then, all a dream ; the clothes were
 
 4. HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 pretty tangible evidence of the reality of my ex- 
 perience. Gradually, as I sat down and tried to 
 center my somewhat scattered faculties on the 
 matter, the course of events of the preceding 
 night came back to me. 
 
 A long course of overwork and social dissipa- 
 tion had left me, Basil Plympton, well nigh a 
 nervous wreck. I had decided on an immediate 
 and extensive vacation as my only hope of salva- 
 tion. I dropped my work as dramatic and musi- 
 cal critic for the time being, so far as my 
 connection with one of Gotham's leading news- 
 papers was concerned, though I had in my grip 
 the manuscript of a play that Carl Krull had en- 
 trusted to me for a reading. Krull was one of 
 New York's leading theatre lessees and man- 
 agers, and had a reputation for bringing out new 
 actors and plays of first-class caliber. I was one 
 of five men to whose judgment he submitted 
 every new play, and he never put one on without 
 our united approval. He was a thrifty, cautious 
 German, was Carl, and well deserved the success 
 he had achieved.
 
 I START ON MY VACATION 5 
 
 "Have you looked over 'Diamonds Lead, 
 but Hearts are Trumps?' " he wrote. "The other 
 four all say it is a 'corker', and I am only waiting 
 to hear from you. Come to Hilltown for that 
 vacation you spoke of taking and bring the manu- 
 script with you. I must decide the matter at 
 once, if I am to produce the play this fall." 
 
 I had been so pressed with work for the two 
 weeks before starting on my outing that I had 
 had no time to look over the play. I was to see 
 Carl in the morning, and it would not do to have 
 to confess that I had not even glanced at the 
 manuscript. I had barely time to run it through 
 hastily before putting it into my grip on leav- 
 ing for the train. The handwriting, I no- 
 ticed, was feminine and bespoke a cultivated 
 mind and an artistic temperament. The plot 
 was clever and original, but its general lay-out 
 indicated a woman's view of things. It was a keen 
 view, though, and a cheerful one. Whatever my 
 final verdict might be as to the intrinsic merit of 
 the composition, I made up my mind at once that 
 the writer was a charming girl and one whom I
 
 6 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 would like to meet. Even harried and fagged as 
 I was I could not help laughing over one or two 
 of the situations. 
 
 As far as I could see, the other readers were 
 probably right. My off -hand judgment agreed 
 with theirs, that the new play was a "find." 
 
 No name was attached to it, but I was con- 
 vinced that it was a first venture. In spite of 
 its extreme cleverness, it bore some earmarks of 
 the amateur, though it had evidently been read 
 over and corrected by a man with wide experi- 
 ence on the stage. It was marked by many in- 
 terlineations and corrections in a masculine hand. 
 
 Even the slight mental exertion of arousing 
 myself to this light task exhausted me com- 
 pletely. It was nearly time for me to leave for 
 my train, and I was tired out. That I could ap- 
 preciate any dramatic work while in such a 
 condition was a high tribute to his intrinsic 
 merits. 
 
 As I staggered aboard the train, five minutes 
 before midnight, I had another bad attack of 
 faintness. The porter was just making up the
 
 I START ON MY VACATION 7 
 
 last two berths, five and seven. I saw him hang- 
 ing up a frock coat and silk hat belonging to 
 lower seven. Five happened to be mine, and 
 seven some one else's. 
 
 Having nothing else to do, I went into the 
 smoking compartment. Among its occupants 
 was a fleshy young man of clerical aspect, who 
 was sitting in an alpaca coat, chatting sociably 
 with a fellow passenger. Dropping into a vacant 
 seat, I picked up a newspaper and commenced 
 to read. The only item that attracted any espe- 
 cial attention from me was one relating to the 
 Apthorpes. The Apthorpes were a proud and 
 wealthy family who had dug up a set of ancestors. 
 Buried ancestors are easier to locate than buried 
 treasure, otherwise we should all be digging for 
 the latter. They were pillars of the Episcopal 
 church, and extremely good and proper people. 
 Jim Apthorpe belonged to the group of pious 
 millionaires who rob the poor to give unto the 
 Lord, making no change in the financial status 
 of either, but serving to lay up treasures in heav- 
 en and to keep the long green in circulation.
 
 8 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 With all their wealth, with all their ancestors, 
 and with all their piety, a rather unusual thing 
 had occurred within the circle of that exclusive 
 family. Miss Beatrice Apthrope, the only un- 
 married daughter, and with her sister, Mrs. 
 Gosse, the heir presumptive to several millions, 
 had just announced her engagement to Harry 
 Fielding, the popular actor, who had created 
 something of a furore among matinee girls 
 during the season just closed. Naturally there 
 was all sorts of talk about a match which had 
 given the four hundred a fit of nervous prostra- 
 tion. All things considered, it was indeed a 
 strange alliance. 
 
 In her own set Miss Beatrice Apthorpe had 
 the reputation of being clever and accomplished, 
 and though not much over twenty was considered 
 to be unusually mature and a girl of refined 
 nature. 
 
 Fielding was reported to be a handsome, fasci- 
 nating fellow of vast assurance and low origin. 
 I had seen him act, but we had not met. Even if 
 the young lady had taken a romantic fancy to
 
 I START ON MY VACATION 9 
 
 him, it seemed strange that her proud and aris- 
 tocratic relatives should countenance such a 
 match. Yet (and it was the most peculiar cir- 
 cumstance of all) the girl's family encouraged 
 the alliance, so report declared. Gossip had it, 
 in fact, that it was the parents who were hasten- 
 ing the culmination. This seemed highly im- 
 probable, yet the city editor of my own paper had 
 it on good authority. 
 
 The pair were to be married at once and sail 
 immediately after for Europe. A report of the 
 wedding was a thing to be desired by all news- 
 papers, but it was scarcely likely that any of them 
 would obtain one, at least first-hand. The wed- 
 ding was to be private, only immediate members 
 of the families being present. It was to take 
 place at Burgmoor, the summer residence of the 
 Apthorpes, which was at Greenford, a station 
 on the same line as Hilltown, my destination, and 
 about twenty miles south of it. The fact that the 
 scene of this social comedy was in the vicinity of 
 my own destination was what enlisted my some- 
 what listless interest. All newspaper correspon-
 
 10 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 dents had been warned to keep away, Apthorpe 
 having refused all requests from the various pa- 
 pers to send representatives. Some of this I 
 gathered from the article before me; the rest I 
 had read before. 
 
 I was very sleepy and soon went to my berth. 
 The porter had finished his task and disappeared. 
 In my comatose condition I must have tumbled 
 into lower seven, instead of lower five. When I 
 had been asleep for what seemed like five min- 
 utes, I was roused to semi -consciousness by some 
 one shaking me violently by the shoulder. A 
 gentleman with a suave voice and clerical smile 
 was trying to wake me up and explain things. 
 But I did not want to be disturbed and told him 
 so. I also, if I remember rightly, made some 
 pointed and pertinent reference to the tropical 
 regions. I told him I was in my own berth and 
 wanted to sleep, and that it would be better for 
 him to seek the right place now even if he persist- 
 ed in going to the wrong one hereafter. He was 
 in no mood to discuss his soul's ultimate destina- 
 tion, and must have taken my advice and occupied
 
 I START ON MY VACATION 11 
 
 the other berth, for he disturbed me no more. So 
 much for being good-natured; it doesn't pay, in 
 the long run. Of course I was very sleepy, or 
 I should have been less rude. 
 
 The porter aroused me a few minutes after- 
 ward it seemed, though it was five hours later, 
 in point of fact. While I was still dazed and more 
 than half asleep he helped me on with my clothes, 
 clapped a hat on my head, stuck a grip into my 
 hand, and bundled me off the train which drew 
 away from the little station as my feet touched 
 the platform, having barely come to a full 
 stop. 
 
 Had I been fully awake I would scarcely 
 have permitted myself to be handed into the 
 waiting carriage and driven without explanation 
 to my destination. But as I felt then I didn't 
 care what became of me as long as I could sleep, 
 and it must be borne in mind that I was, for all 
 practical purposes, performing accustomed mo- 
 tions from force of habit rather than of my own 
 volition. I again partly awoke as we lurched in- 
 to a driveway, under a rustic arch. I glanced
 
 12 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 back at the gate, over which was a rustic sign, 
 lettered in wooden filigree work. It read: 
 
 ROOM GRUB 
 
 No, there was no mistake about that ridiculous 
 sign. That is what it said. It does still! 
 
 I merely followed the man who took my grip 
 up a broad stairway, and into a sumptuous apart- 
 ment whose snowy bed looked very inviting. 
 Five minutes later I was sound asleep. 
 
 The hat, the coat and the bag doubtless all be- 
 longed to the clergyman who had good-naturedly 
 allowed me to remain in his berth while he took 
 mine, when he saw how tired and sleepy I was. 
 It seemed clear that I had been put off at his 
 destination while he had probably been carried 
 on to mine. I could not repress a chuckle at the 
 vision of the reverend young gentleman wearing 
 my jaunty hat and outing jacket. All in all, I 
 had much the best of the bargain and should be 
 thankful. 
 
 Where was I? As I stood before the mirror,
 
 I START ON MY VACATION 13 
 
 adjusting my cravat, my eyes lighted on the 
 photograph of a young woman on the bureau be- 
 fore me. Assuredly she was no inn-keeper's 
 daughter; that fact was patent to me at the first 
 glance. It was a face to be remembered, one to 
 dream about. It was original, moody, joyous 
 and pure. The features were necessarily a little 
 irregular to express all that. The right eyebrow 
 was highly arched and the other almost straight. 
 The left corner of the mouth had a droll droop 
 and the right a slight smile. The eyes looked at 
 you from under a veil of remarkably long lashes, 
 and the retrousse nose seemed to have just scent- 
 ed mischief. She was fashionably dressed, yet 
 there was something even in the drapery of her 
 flowing sleeves that indicated originality. 
 
 It was not at all probable that the photograph 
 of such a girl would be found in the bedroom of a 
 country hotel, nor were the dainty water-colors 
 that adorned the walls, the vase of fresh roses on 
 the stand, the S wiss clock on the mantel, and the 
 various other appointments that bespoke both 
 taste and wealth, at all likely to be furnished by
 
 14 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 a public hostelry. These things made me think 
 that the destination of the young clergyman must 
 have been a private dwelling, and some residence 
 of the refined and well-to-do as well. This ex- 
 plained also the extensive and picturesque 
 grounds and the fine chimes. Wealth can com- 
 pass almost anything of a material sort. The 
 fact gradually percolated through the somewhat 
 dense strata of my overworked mentality that I 
 had not only appropriated the young clergyman's 
 grip, coat and hat, but that I had been seized up- 
 on by the servants of some wealthy family as an 
 expected guest. I had been given a drive 
 intended for the minister ; I had been shown to a 
 room prepared for him, and I had occupied the 
 couch spread for his repose. The unsuspicious 
 family below stairs were without doubt at this 
 moment waiting to donate me his breakfast. 
 Doubtless Carl Krull was waiting for me also; 
 he would have to wait. 
 
 How was I to extricate myself from this pre- 
 dicament? I went to the window with the wild 
 notion of jumping out and making a run for it.
 
 I START ON MY VACATION 15 
 
 There were difficulties. If I jumped out it was 
 not at all likely that I would be able to run until 
 after I had been taken to the hospital and treat- 
 ed. Besides, while in my own clothes I might 
 have chanced the latter part of it, were I able to 
 run after alighting, in the parson's costume it 
 would have been highly undignified. I wasn't 
 arrayed for the part of a runaway thief, and I 
 ought to have a proper respect for the cloth, espe- 
 cially when it was borrowed cloth. Frock coat 
 and silk hat would be an unseemly sight if seen 
 streaking across a broad lawn at a quarter to nine 
 in the morning. A couple of hours after they 
 might think me late to church; but something 
 would have to be done long before that. Yet 
 coatless and hatless I would be a marked man and 
 quite likely to be held up and asked to explain 
 myself before I reached the gate. 
 
 There were people astir in the hall and parlors 
 below ; any hope of my getting away unobserved 
 was chimerical. And the sounds I heard did not 
 seem to be the voices of servants ; members of the 
 household were about. This was made plain by
 
 16 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 a laugh, a girl's laugh, a mirthful, tinkling, sil- 
 ver-toned runlet of musical notes, sweeter than 
 the notes of the chimes and more joyous. Of 
 course the laugh belonged to the photograph ; of 
 that there could be no question. If the miniature 
 mouth were quickened into life it would make 
 just that sort of music in its mirthful moments. 
 But I was growing desperate. If I did not 
 make a break and get away soon, the breakfast 
 would be announced, and I would be proclaimed 
 an interloper or a thief, and even the probable 
 murderer of the young clergyman whose ward- 
 robe I had seemingly purloined. Of course I 
 could walk boldly down-stairs and confess the 
 whole thing as it had actually occurred, but who 
 would believe such an improbable tale? Besides, 
 all the details of my strange misadventures were 
 not clear even in my own mind, so sleepy and 
 overwrought had I been at the time of their oc- 
 currence. It might easily happen that I would 
 get tangled up in my recital and contradict my- 
 self. Yet, unless I could devise some other 
 means of escape, what else was there for me to do
 
 I START ON MY VACATION 17 
 
 but to come out with my absurd story and lame 
 apologies ? 
 
 I took one last, despairing look out of the win- 
 dow before putting myself in the hands of fate. 
 I was in a front room that overlooked the drive- 
 way as well as the valley and church from the 
 bay-window on the side. I now saw that absurd 
 rustic sign over the gate, which had attracted my 
 sleepy eyes as I had looked back upon it in driv- 
 ing in : 
 
 ROOM GRUB 
 
 So it seemed to announce to the public in hospit- 
 able vernacular. In one respect, at least, I had 
 made no mistake. What in the world did any 
 one mean by sticking up a sign like that at the 
 entrance to private grounds? 
 
 "Let me see," I muttered, "how can that sign 
 be explained in keeping with everything else 
 about me? Now that I was wide awake it was 
 easy enough. There was something queer about 
 those letters. They had been turned inside-out, 
 hindside-foremost, or wrongside-to, or something,
 
 18 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 by the country bumpkin who did the carpenter 
 
 work. To my waking vision the letters did not 
 
 exactly read ROOM GRUB. They looked more like 
 
 this: 
 
 Of course the letters faced the street and were in- 
 tended to be read from the street ! From that side 
 the sign wouldn't spell ROOMGRUB, or anything 
 like it. It spelled: 
 
 BURGMOOR 
 
 I remembered the newspaper story I had been 
 reading on the train the night before, and the 
 truth came over me in a flash. I was an uninvited 
 guest at the summer residence of the Apthorpe 
 family !
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 PREDICAMENT 
 
 If I presented myself to the Apthorpes with 
 no better or more convincing excuses than those 
 afforded by the actual facts of the case, I might 
 pass the rest of the day in jail and the remainder 
 of my life in ridicule. I couldn't go to them and 
 say: "I am Basil Plympton of the New York 
 'Express.' My paper is anxious to get a repre- 
 sentative inside your house, but I am here by 
 mistake. A variety of curious circumstances con- 
 spired to put me in the place of another man. 
 All I want is to go away and seek for the minister 
 whom I have robbed quite inadvertently. Kind- 
 ly allow me to depart in peace." Does any one 
 suppose for a moment that they would let me go 
 without calling for the police? 
 
 As the truth was unbelievable, a story must 
 of necessity be invented. My imagination is of
 
 20 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 the capable and vivid character required in the 
 newspaper profession, but there must be some 
 basis of fact upon which to weave a fabric of ro- 
 mance. As it would not do to tell who I actually 
 was or how I really came there, I must personate 
 some one else and provide an explanation of my 
 presence more plausible than the truth. The log- 
 ical starting-point was the personality of the 
 young clergyman whom they expected as a guest. 
 When I found out who he was I might invent 
 some excuse for his absence and put myself for- 
 ward as one delegated by him to come in his 
 stead. 
 
 I turned to his kit-bag as furnishing a probable 
 clue, and dumped its contents upon the bed. 
 The result was disappointing. Collars, shirts, 
 underwear and the manuscript of a sermon lay 
 there in a heap; nothing else. 
 
 "Men who travel in a sleeping car untagged 
 ought to be compelled to pay double fare!" I 
 ejaculated. 
 
 I glanced over the sermon hoping to find his 
 name attached to it somewhere. It was full of
 
 PREDICAMENT 21 
 
 peace and good- will to man, with frequent refer- 
 ences to mountain flowers and purity as of snow. 
 I was in no mood to be edified and thrust it back 
 contemptuously into the dominie's grip, wrapped 
 up in undergarments. Had I realized what a use- 
 ful asset that sermon was to prove, I should have 
 treated it with more respect. 
 
 I was up a tree once more, and from force of 
 habit sought to thrust my hands into the pockets 
 of my jacket. They slid down the sides of the 
 minister's frock-coat without finding any resting- 
 place. Of course the pockets were in the tail of 
 the coat and of course the coat-tail pockets were 
 the receptacle of all the young parson's more 
 valuable worldly possessions. The object I drew 
 forth was a purse! 
 
 It was a sleek purse and one well lined with 
 bills of sizable denominations. I counted them. 
 One hundred and fifty dollars was the figure. It 
 was a clear case of grand larceny. Were my 
 troubles never to stop accumulating? Burglary 
 and larceny make a good start, anyhow. My 
 vacation had begun under promising auspices.
 
 22 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 The money was a grievous cross, to express it 
 clerically, but the purse contained information 
 which the valise omitted to furnish, namely sev- 
 eral cards, inscribed as follows: 
 
 REV. CHARLES W. TUPPER 
 
 West End Ave. 
 ST. LUKE'S RECTORY and Eighty-first St. 
 
 Now that I knew the name of the man whom 
 the Apthorpes supposed to be their guest, the 
 prospects were a little more hopeful. To per- 
 sonate his substitute for a short time ought not 
 to be difficult save for the fact that such a substi- 
 tute must, of necessity, also be a clergyman. I 
 could say that Tupper had been suddenly taken 
 ill, that his grandmother was dead, that his rector 
 was off on a hunting-trip and could not spare 
 him any one of a dozen excuses. Then I could 
 take a stroll before breakfast and disappear.
 
 PREDICAMENT 23 
 
 Yes, I would disappear in a hurry. The van- 
 ishing lady in the circus wouldn't be a circum- 
 stance to me when it came to that part of the 
 act! 
 
 But I would not go empty-handed. A man 
 likely to be accused of all the crimes that were 
 piling up against me had no cause to hesitate over 
 a little tiling like appropriating a young woman's 
 photograph, especially when he happened to be 
 infatuated with it. 
 
 So I took the picture of Miss Beatrice Ap- 
 thorpe, for it could be no other than she, from 
 its place on the bureau and concealed it against 
 my palpitating heart. 
 
 Would I pass for a clergyman, even for a few 
 minutes? That was the vital question. I looked 
 at my reflection in the mirror, but the result was 
 not reassuring. My clothing did not have that 
 ample mantle of charity which covereth all sins. 
 My hat was proper, though I had let it roll on the 
 floor and misused it shamefully. It had to be 
 rubbed briskly with a towel to restore its sheen. 
 My frock-coat was unimpeachable, my collar
 
 24 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 duly clerical; so far, good. There, however, the 
 appropriate ended, and the deficiencies began to 
 glare by contrast. 
 
 My vest was decidedly off -color, but that didn't 
 show when the coat was tightly buttoned, so it 
 did not count. I had no gloves, and my hands 
 were long and lean. My necktie was red; it 
 should have been either white or black. My shirt 
 was striped with pink when it should have been 
 pure white. I had no time now to undress again 
 and try on one of the parson's. My cuffs also 
 had lines of pink in them to match the shirt. My 
 shoes should have been high patent-leathers. 
 They were low tans with bright red stockings 
 peeping over the tops. All these sins of omission 
 and commission were sufficiently incongruous, 
 but they sank into insignificance and merely 
 served to form a bizarre background to the utter- 
 ly damning iniquity of my trousers! 
 
 I had been beguiled into purchasing those glar- 
 ing white and brown checks through the blandish- 
 ments of a plausible tailor who had them in stock 
 and recognized me for an easy mark. They were
 
 PREDICAMENT 25 
 
 all the rage in London and freshly imported, he 
 assured me. Well, they may have been all right 
 for London, and might pass in New York, but 
 they would scarcely do for a parson, even when 
 on an outing. 
 
 Yes, I was pretty sporty for a clergyman, but 
 such I must be for a brief season; and as my 
 trousers were from London, I considered it wise 
 to turn the rest of me into an imported article. 
 I would be an Englishman. That would not only 
 explain to some extent my eccentric attire; it 
 would also free me from the responsibility of 
 accounting for a host of American friends and 
 relatives in my assumed character. Ah, yes, I 
 would be English, very English! I took for my 
 model a young fellow from the London "Times" 
 who had tried his luck on the "Express" in order 
 to learn the methods of American journalism. He 
 stood it for about a week and then returned to 
 his native land in disgust. I stood before the 
 mirror for a dress-rehearsal, and tried to practise 
 the "broad a" as I had heard him use it. Just 
 then a gong sounded. The Swiss clock on the
 
 26 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 mantle struck quarter past nine. My hour had 
 come! 
 
 I buttoned the clergyman's coat tightly over 
 my palpitating heart and my iniquitous vest, and 
 opened the door of the bedroom. With a dig- 
 nified and pompous stride I descended the broad 
 stairway into the spacious hall. Then events fol- 
 lowed in quick succession. From that moment 
 onward I was in the hands of fate and tossed 
 hither and thither on the seas of chance. 
 
 A fine, erect gentleman, of fifty or upwards, 
 with silver hair and mustache, and a face in which 
 pride was blended with refinement, met me at the 
 foot of the stairs. "Good morning, Mr. Tupper, 
 welcome to Burgmoor," he said, extending his 
 
 hand. 
 
 Before I had time to explain that I wasn't the 
 Rev. Charles W. Tupper, of St. Luke's rectory, 
 but his friend and substitute, the Rev. Hogarth 
 Applethwaite, of Hallam Manor, Devonshire, a 
 stately lady, arrayed in rustling black silks, came 
 forward and seized my other hand with: 
 "Charmed to have you with us, Mr. Tupper."
 
 PREDICAMENT 27 
 
 A curly-headed little boy of eight or nine walked 
 after her with his finger in his mouth, and gazed 
 upon me with reverent awe. 
 
 Then followed all the rest of the family. These 
 were Mrs. John W. Gosse, nee Miss Apthorpe, 
 and mother of the young hopeful with the suc- 
 culent fist; Mr. John W. Gosse, of Blessom & 
 Gosse, bankers and brokers, 20 Broad Street, 
 New York City; and Miss Beatrice Apthorpe, 
 the young lady of the whimsical face and musical 
 laugh, the bewitching damsel of the photograph. 
 
 They welcomed me, one and all, as Mr. Tup- 
 per. There was no chance for that contemplated 
 stroll before breakfast, and the vanishing act I 
 had planned to execute. I had delayed so long 
 rehearsing the part of the ultra-English clergy- 
 man that breakfast was already on the table when 
 I came down. The worst of it was that no one 
 seemed to have any suspicion that I wasn't Tup- 
 per. Every one in the family so addressed me in 
 turn. Apparently none of them knew their guest 
 by sight. I had stepped into his shoes and they 
 fitted exactly.
 
 28 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 I hadn't figured on this at all. I was all 
 screwed up to the part of the Rev. Hogarth Ap- 
 plethwaite, of Hallam Manor, Devonshire. To 
 be obliged to fall back upon plain, unaccented 
 Charles Tupper, of St. Luke's rectory, was a 
 bit of a come-down. 
 
 Moreover, it defied all the laws of the drama. 
 It was just as though Henry Irving entered 
 "right center" as King Lear, to discover the stage 
 all set for the balcony scene in "Romeo and 
 Juliet." In that event the curtain would be rung 
 down and the scenes shifted. Nothing of the sort 
 was possible in my case. I had to play the part 
 assigned me. 
 
 The Rev. Hogarth Applethwaite was never to 
 appear on any stage. His "broad a" and his 
 pompous stride must go with him. The trouble 
 was, his red necktie, his striped shirt, his low tan 
 shoes, his bright red stockings and his impossible 
 trousers remained. 
 
 We all sat down to the breakfast-table. I had 
 to do it; there was no other course possible. 
 Then followed an ominous pause. What was the
 
 PREDICAMENT 29 
 
 matter? The servants stood about us motionless. 
 I looked around to perceive that all present were 
 stiff and queer. Mrs. Gosse gazed heavenward; 
 Mr. Gosse examined his plate with absorbing in- 
 terest ; Master Gosse stopped staring at me long 
 enough to stare at each of the others in turn. 
 Mrs. Apthorpe smiled upon me benignly, but 
 with a far-off gaze, as though I were floating 
 somewhere in the realms of space, as indeed I 
 wished I were. Miss Beatrice Apthorpe looked 
 out of the window. 
 
 Then Mr. Apthorpe shaded his eyes with two 
 fingers and said: "Mr. Tupper?" 
 
 The awful truth dawned upon me at last. 
 They were waiting for me to say grace ! I bowed 
 my head, but not with reverence. I am glad to 
 confess I had the grace to be ashamed. But that 
 was the only kind of grace vouchsafed me. My 
 face I knew to be the color of boiled lobster. 
 
 "Mamma, he's cryin'," I heard Master Gosse 
 whisper to Mrs. Gosse. 
 
 In vain I strove to rise to the occasion and 
 think of some simple form of prayer. "Now I
 
 30 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 lay me down to sleep," would not do at that early 
 hour in the morning. Besides, I had done enough 
 in that line to last for one while. "Twinkle, 
 twinkle, little star," was open to the same objec- 
 tion. "Little drops of water" were falling, but I 
 was averse to advertising them. 
 
 After an awful two minutes of oppressive 
 silence, Mrs. Gosse removed her eyes from the 
 ceiling. Miss Beatrice lost her interest in the 
 distant landscape. Mr. Apthorpe removed 
 his eye-shade and Master Gosse observed with 
 gravity: "Mamma, God's had his breakfast and 
 I want mine." 
 
 "A silent grace is always so much more im- 
 pressive than any spoken words," said Mrs. Ap- 
 thorpe to me. "I was much moved, Mr. Tup- 
 per, by the devotional atmosphere which seems 
 to surround you. I know some sweetly solemn 
 thought possessed you, for you made me feel it." 
 
 I caught the eye of Miss Beatrice. How shall 
 I ever describe the roguish commiseration of that 
 glance? 
 
 Then followed the clatter of knives and forks
 
 PREDICAMENT 31 
 
 and the bustle of servants, the odor of steak and 
 baked potatoes and the aroma of coffee. As I 
 fortified the inner man I began to take a more 
 cheerful view of the situation. If I could only 
 last for half an hour or so I could easily get away. 
 
 "Mr. Tupper," demanded Master Howard 
 Gosse, "can God make a five-year-old dog in five 
 minutes?" 
 
 "Hush, Howard," said his mother.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE INQUISITION 
 
 I shall never forget that breakfast for a num- 
 ber of reasons. I ate it in the odor of sanctity, 
 with my sinful trousers under the table. It was 
 a good breakfast, well cooked, well seasoned and 
 well served; and I fell upon it with the proverbial 
 appetite of my new calling. I felt like a parson 
 and I ate like one. Barring the slight indiscre- 
 tion of a red necktie and a striped shirt, which 
 didn't show much, the upper part of me was 
 dressed like one. If I could fetch up at the end 
 of the race with the nether portions of my 
 anatomy still concealed as securely from view, the 
 Rev. Charles W. Tupper himself could not com- 
 plain of my appearance or demeanour. 
 
 The windows were wide open and the air that 
 flooded the room was fresh and invigorating. 
 Even though I was in a predicament, I began 
 to enjoy the full benefits of my vacation. It
 
 THE INQUISITION 83 
 
 wasn't so bad, they all treated me with such def- 
 erence. They hung upon my opinions as though 
 I were Moses with a fresh tablet of command- 
 ments. "A minister's couch is surely strewn with 
 roses," I thought. 
 
 Then there came a bolt from out the blue that 
 brought me up with a round turn. 
 
 "Do tell us, Mr. Tupper, what your text is to 
 be," said Miss Beatrice Apthorpe, her arched eye- 
 brow raising itself and the droll corner of her 
 mouth twitching almost imperceptibly. 
 
 "My text?" I asked, fairly puzzled. 
 
 "Yes, the text of the sermon, you know; or do 
 you preach without one, after the new fashion?" 
 
 "The sermon?" I gasped. 
 
 "Of course, what else? Didn't you know you 
 were to preach this morning?" 
 
 I didn't. The possibility that a church service 
 and a sermon were on the program prepared for 
 the Rev. Charles W. Tupper had never entered 
 my unclerical head. It was a case of vacating in 
 short order or the last state of that man would 
 be worse than the first.
 
 34 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "All Greenford is anticipating a real sermon," 
 continued the girl, with intense mischief in her 
 eyes. "The people here have to get along with a 
 lay-reader nine months in the year, you know. 
 Now Burgmoor has been built, papa will change 
 aU that." 
 
 "Do not be alarmed, there is plenty of time," 
 said Mrs. Apthorpe soothingly, as I looked at 
 my watch to conceal my dismay. "The country 
 people have so far to come we do not begin service 
 until quarter past eleven." 
 
 I recovered my self-possession. It was only 
 half past nine. It would be very hard luck if I 
 could not find some way out of the trap before 
 church time. Meanwhile there was no use worry- 
 ing. If worst came to worst there was a sermon 
 all ready in the parson's grip up-stairs. I very 
 much feared the good people of Greenford would 
 have to make their lay-reader read his lays one 
 more Sunday, despite the laudable efforts of the 
 Apthorpe family to supply the pulpit. 
 
 "But can't you tell what the sermon will be 
 about," persisted Miss Apthorpe, bound to worry
 
 THE INQUISITION 35 
 
 me all she could. What was she up to, anyway? 
 Did she know I wasn't Tupper? It looked like 
 it. Did she know who I, in fact, was ? That was 
 not so probable. If she did, then surely there 
 were breakers ahead. Owing to my connection 
 with a New York newspaper I would be sus- 
 pected of invading Burgmoor for journalistic 
 purposes. 
 
 "It will be very simple," I smiled. "I believe 
 in the old-fashioned gospel discourse. No timely 
 topics from the pulpit, if you please." The sen- 
 timent was conservative and served to head off 
 the young lady's curiosity, but it burned a lot 
 of bridges behind me at the same time. 
 
 Master Howard Gosse, whose mother had re- 
 strained him up to this point, now broke loose 
 and began to catechise. 
 
 "Is God everywhere, Mr. Tupper?" he asked 
 solemnly. 
 
 "Yes, my lad." I beamed graciously. 
 
 "Is he out in the kitchen with the cook?" 
 
 "Surely. He is the greatest democrat of 
 all."
 
 36 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "And under the table?" 
 
 I drew in my legs convulsively, but replied 
 with due dignity: "Everywhere, my boy, means 
 in all places at once." 
 
 "Then is God in heaven?" 
 
 "Certainly, with all his little cherubs and an- 
 gels." 
 
 "And in hell with all the little demons and 
 devils?" 
 
 I was stumped, as I deserved to be, and re- 
 mained discreetly silent. Master Howard knew 
 he had me foul and expected no reply. 
 
 "Hush, Howard," said his mother. 
 
 "He will learn. He is a bright child, Mrs. 
 Gosse," I said. It was tempting providence; 
 Master Howard was encouraged to come at me 
 again. 
 
 "Mr. Tupper," he said, "a bad dog bit my leg 
 last week. Where will he go when he dies?" 
 
 "Dogs have no souls, my child. He won't go 
 anywhere. He will just die." 
 
 "But when a bad man dies he goes to hell and 
 is burned in eternal torments. Couldn't God
 
 THE INQUISITION 37 
 
 send that bad doggie there, too?" persisted the 
 young theologian. 
 
 I saw some terrible clincher was coming again, 
 so I waived the child aside with: "I'll tell you 
 all about these things in the sermon, my lad." 
 
 But that didn't satisfy him a bit. As soon as 
 a pause in the general conversation gave him an- 
 other chance he was up and at me again with: 
 "Say, Mr. Tupper, if a cow eats grass will she 
 give milk?" 
 
 I was learning that it was unsafe to give un- 
 qualified assent to the most obvious proposition, 
 when dealing with this youngster, so I replied 
 guardedly, "I have been told so." 
 
 "If I eat grass will I give milk like a cow?" 
 
 "Probably not," I ventured, with great cau- 
 tion. It seemed a perfectly safe assertion. 
 
 "Why won't I?" he demanded. 
 
 I couldn't tell and so was floored again. 
 
 The family all laughed and I joined in the 
 mirth, but preserved a due solemnity the while. 
 I couldn't treat them to a good round guffaw. 
 The privileges of the clergy have their limita-
 
 38 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 tions. You have to be so very careful and to 
 answer so many fool questions, from adults as 
 well as from children, that it isn't such a rose-bed 
 after all. 
 
 "Beatrice, Mr. Fielding will be here by the 
 one o'clock train. Don't you want to drive down 
 and meet him?" asked her father. 
 
 "I I would rather be excused, papa," faltered 
 the girl, blushing and then turning very pale. 
 
 "As you probably know, Mr. Tupper," ex- 
 plained Mr. Apthorpe, "Mr. Fielding is my 
 daughter's fiance. As you are also aware, they 
 are to be married very quietly here and to sail for 
 Europe this week." 
 
 "I have heard something of it," I ventured. 
 
 "We had thought of requesting you to of- 
 ficiate," he continued. 
 
 "I shall be most pleased," I asserted. "When 
 will you require my services?" 
 
 "Beatrice has decided upon to-morrow noon as 
 an appropriate hour. Eh, my girl?" 
 
 "As you please, father," she murmured, fixing 
 her eyes upon her plate with a peculiar expres-
 
 THE INQUISITION 39 
 
 sion. Could it be possible were they filled with 
 tears? Had I caught a look of utter despair in 
 her face, or was it merely my vivid imagination 
 and my tendency to find the sensational lurking 
 amid the commonplace things of life? I might 
 be mistaken about it, but she did not look to me 
 like a happy bride. 
 
 A pause of general embarrassment followed 
 Apthorpe's reference to his daughter's approach- 
 ing marriage. It had evidently thrown a wet 
 blanket upon the whole company. Why? Clearly 
 there was some mystery here. 
 
 Weddings are in some respects sad affairs. 
 Old ties are broken and new ones formed, and 
 the parents are apt to feel lonely and desolate. 
 Nevertheless a happy bride does not usually hail 
 the thought of her future husband's coming with 
 tears, or shrink from meeting him at the depot. 
 Nor do society girls ordinarily select such a 
 secluded retreat for their nuptials and omit all 
 the customary festivities from mere caprice. 
 
 Mystery or no mystery, however, I was in no 
 position to probe it at present. Just then I had
 
 40 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 all I could do, or a little more, to attend to my 
 own affairs without prying into those of 
 others. 
 
 Evidently partaking of the embarrassment, 
 Apthorpe sought to create a diversion by asking 
 me how the bishop was. 
 
 "Kindly and genial as ever, but growing a lit- 
 tle childish," I said. 
 
 "Childish? He never struck me so. He is 
 only fifty-five." 
 
 Why couldn't I have left off that touch! I 
 thought all bishops were aged. "His heart is 
 as young and his goodness as simple as a 
 child's," I explained. It was a silly crawl, but 
 it was the best I could do and had to go. 
 
 "What are the trustees of St. Luke's finally 
 going to do about the Brownlee bequest, after all 
 the fuss?" asked Mr. Gosse. 
 
 This was a poser, but I had to keep the ball 
 rolling, so I made a lucky guess: "Keep it, of 
 course." 
 
 "Then you do not disapprove of tainted 
 money?"
 
 THE INQUISITION 41 
 
 "All money is more or less tainted," I replied, 
 "but the chief trouble with it is, 'tain't mine and 
 'tain't yours." 
 
 I was sorry the moment I let that speech slip. 
 It was right off the roof -garden, and smelled of 
 beer and sausages. They all laughed, however, 
 though they probably had all heard it half a 
 dozen times, for they were all New Yorkers. I 
 had yet to learn that any joke is new, any joke 
 is sanctified, so long as a minister stands sponsor 
 for it. 
 
 But though I had done fairly well so far the 
 ice was very thin, and I might take a cold plunge 
 at any moment. 
 
 "We have so many mutual acquaintances it is 
 strange we have never met before," observed Mr. 
 Gosse. 
 
 "It is rather strange," I assented. 
 
 "Not so peculiar when you remember that Mr. 
 T upper always lived near Boston and was only 
 recently transferred to Bishop Porter's diocese," 
 said Mrs. Apthorpe. "I noticed your New Eng- 
 land 'broad a,' Mr. Tupper, when you first came
 
 42 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 down, but you dropped it as soon as you began to 
 feel at home." 
 
 So the Rev. Hogarth Applethwaite had stood 
 me in good stead, after all! Having crawled 
 through so far I began to feel easy once more; 
 but now I received another shock that sent a cold 
 chill down my spine. 
 
 "But you forget, my dear brother-in-law," an- 
 nounced Miss Beatrice Apthorpe, "that Mr. 
 Tupper and I met frequently at Bath Beach last 
 summer I" 
 
 I started, and upset a cup of coffee. The 
 servants bustled about with fresh napkins and 
 cleaned up the mess. Under cover of the con- 
 fusion I regained my composure somewhat. I 
 had thought she rather suspected me of being in 
 the wrong pew. But suspicion is one thing, abso- 
 lute knowledge quite another. What story could 
 I tell her? There was no time now for elaborate 
 and ornate invention, and I left it to the inspira- 
 tion of the moment. I was sure she wouldn't 
 swallow that Englishman, however. I wished 
 now that I had stuck to those "broad a's."
 
 THE INQUISITION 43 
 
 "I have read your poems in the 'Churchman'; 
 they are full of graceful metaphor," said Mrs. 
 Gosse. 
 
 "What are they about?" asked her husband. 
 
 I made another three-bagger, as the sermon in 
 the grip upstairs flashed upon my memory. 
 " 'Beautiful Snow' and 'Mountain Daisies' are 
 my latest efforts," I said. 
 
 "I have read them both!" cried Mrs. Gosse. 
 
 Miss Apthorpe bestowed upon me a glance of 
 bewildered admiration. I had almost shaken her 
 faith in the evidence of her own senses by that 
 last hit. I could see that she was half wondering 
 if I wasn't Tupper, after all, or his twin brother, 
 perhaps. But my triumph was short-lived. In 
 another moment I was on thin ice once more. 
 
 "By the way, ah the Rev. Oh, bother, 
 what is the name of your rector?" asked Ap- 
 thorpe. 
 
 A false reply meant instant exposure. I did 
 not know the true one, and it was no use saying 
 he was dead. While I was hesitating I could see 
 that Miss Apthorpe was watching me closely,
 
 44 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 and I made bold to give her a look of supplicat- 
 ing appeal. 
 
 "Why, papa, you do not mean to say you have 
 forgotten the Rev. Dr. Beacham?" 
 
 She had saved me! What was her game? 
 She had lent a hand in keeping me dancing on a 
 hot griddle until I was nearly done brown; but 
 now that there was danger of my jumping out of 
 the frying-pan into the fire she had deftly inter- 
 fered to save the day. 
 
 The grilling went on for some minutes longer; 
 but I had stopped worrying. Whenever I was 
 in the least doubt I would hesitate and glance at 
 Beatrice Apthorpe. She would at once respond 
 with the necessary prompting, displaying the 
 while a plausibility, resource and ready wit I 
 could not but admire. Moreover, she seemed to 
 take a keen enjoyment in assisting me to carry 
 on the imposture. Several times when I might 
 have blundered through, unassisted, I made no 
 effort, but left the laboring oar to her while I 
 studied her moves. 
 
 She had the game right in her hands. The
 
 THE INQUISITION 45 
 
 others made no difference now, but she was a 
 riddle I would have to solve unless I could make 
 good my escape within the next half -hour. She 
 was a bright one, a deep one, and her eyes shone 
 with mischief . What sort of mischief? That was 
 the problem. 
 
 She was capable of leading me on into the 
 worst sort of a mess from pure high spirits. But 
 there was more to it than that. Some hidden pur- 
 pose had clearly actuated her from the very first. 
 
 Why had she addressed me as Mr. Tupper in- 
 stead of exposing me the moment I came down to 
 breakfast? Why, in the name of common-sense, 
 had she not given me a chance to explain things ; 
 make a fool of myself, to be sure, but still a much 
 decenter sort of a fool than the rank impostor I 
 had now become? 
 
 This girl's character was evidently as indi- 
 vidual as her face, and the mystery of her engage- 
 ment to the actor and her aversion to the impend- 
 ing marriage lent spice to the problem. I must 
 get out and get out soon; that was the best and 
 safest solution. If I could only see half a chance
 
 46 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 to bolt I wouldn't wait for any explanation with 
 the young lady. She was altogether too dan- 
 gerous. 
 
 As we arose from the breakfast-table I mum- 
 bled an excuse about being obliged to look over 
 my sermon, and retreated to my room.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 BEATRICE 
 
 Save for the mysterious clemency of Beatrice 
 Apthorpe I would now be exposed, and perhaps 
 in the hands of the law. This was the thought 
 that forced itself upon me as I reentered my 
 room, no nearer escape from my embarrassing 
 situation than when I left it. 
 
 To be sure, I had learned a few facts which 
 would be very useful in an article for the 'Ex- 
 press," and was on the track of a myste- / which 
 could be probed from a safe distance with fair 
 promise of result. Had I planned the whole 
 thing I could not have been more successful from 
 a newspaper point of view. I knew the hour of 
 the proposed marriage and some of the sig- 
 nificant facts concerning its mysterious privacy. 
 The rest I hoped to be able to ascertain. I had 
 material for a full description of the summer
 
 48 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 palace and its surrounding gardens. I had a 
 picture of the bride. It was all exclusive stuff, 
 too a clean scoop on every other paper in New 
 York City. While I was now a dramatic and 
 musical critic, and had dropped out of all other 
 lines of work, I was of course alert to the possi- 
 bilities of such a story for my paper. I had 
 landed scoops before, and I could turn the trick 
 again. 
 
 As the thought of what would happen to me 
 if I was caught began to loom large before my 
 mind's eye, I felt in the tail pocket of the clergy- 
 man's coat for a handkerchief wherewith to mop 
 my perspiring brow and polish up my wits. 
 
 In plac of that useful and necessary article I 
 drew fort i a letter, which in my haste I must 
 have overlooked before, when I purloined the 
 dominie's purse. It was addressed : 
 
 Rev. Charles W. Tupper, 
 
 St. Luke's Rectory, 
 West End Ave. and 81st St., 
 New York City.
 
 BEATRICE 49 
 
 The hand was feminine; moreover, I recog- 
 nized it at a glance. It was from the unknown 
 authoress of the play! 
 
 Yes, I held in my hands a note to the young 
 clergyman written by the girl who had conceived 
 and executed that charming comedy, "Diamonds 
 Lead, but Hearts are Trumps," which the ablest 
 manager and the most competent critics of the 
 metropolis pronounced a success beforehand. 
 
 How did the young minister come to know 
 such a woman? Who was she? My curiosity 
 in this regard proved too strong for my 
 scruples. I was in a tight place and bound to 
 use anything that fell into my hands which might 
 throw any light on the problem. The seal of the 
 envelope was broken. I drew out the enclosed 
 note and read it. The knowledge I thus acquired 
 was to stand me in good stead. The letter was 
 
 as follows: 
 
 BURGMOOR. 
 
 Greenford, July 12, 1908. 
 My Dear Mr. Tupper : 
 
 I know you will be surprised at my venturing
 
 50 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 to address you upon such slight acquaintance; 
 and more surprised still at the favor I am going 
 to ask. I cannot explain myself, and yet I know 
 you will do what I request and take me on faith. 
 
 You will be offered the church here for the 
 summer. My father, who heard of you in New 
 York, has arranged with the bishop of this dio- 
 cese to have you come here. He will invite you 
 to become a guest at Burgmoor. If you have any 
 regard for me, if you mean a word you have said 
 to me, do not come! No matter how fair the 
 prospect may seem, it can bring you nothing but 
 embarrassment and bitter regret me nothing 
 but lifelong misery. 
 
 If I can I will make everything clear to you 
 when we return to New York. For the present 
 my lips are sealed. 
 
 Do not disregard this warning, this appeal. I 
 have every confidence in your generosity and 
 trust you to burn this letter. 
 
 Sincerely your friend, 
 
 BEATRICE APTHOEPE.
 
 BEATRICE 51 
 
 Was it possible? This young girl the writer 
 of a play which would shortly make her famous ? 
 That was the first thing the letter brought home 
 to me. Yes, she had the originality, the clever- 
 ness and the wit. Moreover, the handwriting was 
 identical beyond question. To make sure I 
 sought for the manuscript. The young parson 
 had it ! I was in possession of his sermon ; but he 
 had walked off with my play Carl Krull's play, 
 Beatrice Apthorpe's play. 
 
 Well, it would be returned to me sooner or 
 later. The young minister had doubtless been 
 aroused by the porter as the passenger for Hill- 
 town. It was only twenty miles away ; he would 
 doubtless be back by the first morning train. 
 
 I consulted the time-table with feverish haste. 
 Strangely enough, the danger from this quarter 
 occurred to me for the first time. Yes, there was 
 a train, both daily and Sunday, that left Hill- 
 town at nine fifty-five and reached Greenford at 
 ten minutes of eleven. 
 
 I looked at my watch ; it was nearly half past 
 ten. If I could give the Apthorpes the slip I
 
 52 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 could make the two miles to the station with ease, 
 as it was down-hill all the way. I could meet the 
 parson at the train, change hats, coats and grips 
 with him again and escape from Greenford by 
 the same train that brought him. 
 
 The dominie would have just time to reach the 
 church and preach his sermon. The Apthorpes 
 would know nothing of the shift until the young 
 minister came in with the processional. When 
 he then appeared he would create something of a 
 sensation in that select family circle, no doubt, 
 and would have some pretty clever explaining to 
 do for a while, after church. Of course I would 
 tell him nothing, for he might insist upon my 
 remaining to help him make matters clear, which 
 would be inconvenient for me. 
 
 I was not at all sorry for him. He deserved 
 to have a little trouble after all the worry he had 
 given me. Besides, if he had any decency he 
 would never have come to Greenford at all. I 
 glanced the letter over again. Yes, the man who 
 would come to Burgmoor after that appeal was a 
 brute. I forgot the enormity of my own sins in
 
 BEATRICE 53 
 
 the contemplation of those of the Rev. Charles 
 W. Tupper. He was beneath contempt, I then 
 thought. 
 
 If I could have done it safely, I would have 
 prevented his return. As I could not, there was 
 nothing for it but to swap identities once more 
 and resume my own name and vocation. When 
 it was all over I didn't plan to give up journalism 
 and study for the ministry. 
 
 There was no time for further cogitation. If 
 I was to meet the clergyman at the Greenford 
 station it behooved me to start. On returning to 
 my room after breakfast I had taken my bearings 
 a bit, and had an idea there was likely to be a way 
 of escape down the back stairs. 
 
 The hall upon which my bedroom opened ex- 
 tended through to the rear of the house. It of- 
 fered the most feasible mode of exit. There must 
 be a back stairway and a rear door. Thence it 
 should not be difficult to find a way through the 
 gardens and into the fields beyond. Once there 
 I could strike across lots for the road, and reach 
 the station in a short time.
 
 54 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 So I took my clerical friend's grip, opened the 
 door, and stole along the hall. I found the back 
 stairs, descended them stealthily, and made my 
 way to the rear door of the house. I had met no 
 one, and the path to the garden lay before me. 
 
 As I turned the corner of the hedge I ran 
 plump into a man whom I took to be the gar- 
 dener. He had no suspicion, but greeted me 
 with: "The top of the mornin', sir," and touched 
 his hat. 
 
 "I want to take a stroll through the hills and 
 find a roundabout way to church," I explained. 
 "Is there a back gate to the garden? Does it 
 lead anywhere?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, sir," he replied with the utmost re- 
 spect. "The path yonder through the bushes leads 
 directly to the gate, and the bridle-path winds 
 among the hills to a point a short distance below 
 the church." 
 
 I followed his directions at a quick pace, though 
 they were not just what I wanted. I was bound 
 for the station, not the church. It was not likely 
 that any of the family had seen me enter the gar-
 
 BEATRICE 55 
 
 den, and I was now concealed from the house by 
 a mass of trees and shrubbery. The place was 
 abloom with roses of all colors and varieties. 
 Flowering plants of every description filled the 
 air with the most delicate blends of perfume. 
 Paths wound in and out among them, and there 
 were many nooks and arbors of romantic seclu- 
 sion and attractive shade. Had I been an invited 
 guest at Burgmoor I should have been delighted 
 to loiter there for hours. 
 
 As I finally made my way to the gate and pre- 
 pared to scamper for the station to make up for 
 the time I had lost in enjoying the beauties of 
 the garden, my heart jumped into my mouth. 
 There, sitting upon a bench by the gateway, smil- 
 ing and apparently waiting for me, was Miss 
 Beatrice Apthorpe! She rose to greet me, say- 
 ing: "I though you would probably take this 
 way to church, Mr. Tupper." 
 
 She still called me Tupper. She still insisted 
 upon my identity with her correspondent of St. 
 Luke's rectory and her friend of Bath Beach. 
 She knew better; there was no doubt of that.
 
 56 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 For some reason, some powerful reason, she did 
 not propose to acknowledge it. It was clear that 
 before I could escape I should have to read her 
 riddle. 
 
 As she arched her right eyebrow and looked 
 up at me under veiled lashes with those roguish 
 eyes of hers she seemed to be saying: "Riddle 
 me, riddle me, ree, a hundred eyes and cannot 
 see!" 
 
 Even in the midst of my dilemma I looked 
 upon the youthful playwright with intense curi- 
 osity. It was easy enough to imagine how she 
 had come to know Harry Fielding. The leading 
 part in her comedy was exactly adapted to his 
 style, and he would necessarily make a hit in 
 such a role. But that offered no explanation of 
 her apparent unwillingness to become his wife 
 on the very eve of the wedding. 
 
 As I stood there, grip in hand, staring at her 
 in surprise, she laid a little hand on my sleeve and 
 said, with a childlike simplicity : "You don't look 
 pleased to see me, Mr. Tupper. I have been 
 waiting here for you for fifteen minutes. Do
 
 BEATRICE 57 
 
 you wish to be alone? Would you prefer to have 
 me go away?" 
 
 When girls look most innocent they are usually 
 up to the biggest mischief. Of course I could not 
 be a brute and tell her that she was the last per- 
 son I wished to meet at that particular time. I 
 came as near saying it as I dared, though. "I am 
 rather shaky on the sermon," I replied. "I 
 thought I'd take a short walk through the hills 
 and con it over a bit." 
 
 "Oh, any old sermon will do for us here!" She 
 laughed. "You must have one already written 
 in your bag. All you will have to do is to read it." 
 
 "I never read my sermons ; that is a lazy man's 
 way of doing things," I was forced to reply. 
 
 "You need a rest," she persisted. "Everything 
 will be made easy for you. Mr. Dobbs, the lay- 
 reader, will conduct the service, say the prayers 
 and all that. All you will have to do is to im- 
 press people with your appearance and read the 
 sermon." 
 
 The mischievous minx was actually persuading 
 me, in a left-handed sort of fashion, to stay and
 
 58 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 face it out. She seemed anxious for me to com- 
 mit all sorts of sacrilege merely to gratify her 
 whims and afford her amusement. So it seemed 
 on the surface of things. But my eyes had been 
 opened through reading that letter to the real 
 Tupper. The bright little authoress had got into 
 a bad box of some sort, with all her cleverness. 
 
 For some reason she was desperately anxious 
 to keep Tupper out of Burgmoor and equally 
 eager to have me remain. In this I should have 
 been glad to accommodate her, provided Tupper 
 would only stay away. As he was doubtless just 
 on the point of arriving, it was suicide for me 
 to dally longer. 
 
 "You are thoughtful," I said, "very thought- 
 ful and very kind, all of you. We do not have our 
 path smoothed out for us like that in New York." 
 
 "New York is lovely, I hate it here," she cried, 
 while a look of desperation suddenly clouded her 
 brow and her quick, bright eyes rolled restlessly, 
 like some wild thing caught in a trap and panting 
 for liberty. 
 
 If I could have helped her I might have sought
 
 BEATRICE 59 
 
 and won her confidence, then and there ; but time 
 was pressing and I had no wish to be burdened 
 with a secret which I might afterwards be 
 tempted to betray. Even a newspaper man has 
 some decency in such matters, and I had enough 
 on my conscience already. 
 
 "I must hurry on, Miss Apthorpe," I said, "or 
 I shall be late late for church, of course, I 
 mean." I just saved myself. 
 
 "I will walk around by the bridle-path with 
 you and show you the way," she replied, opening 
 the gate. "You might miss it, you know, if you 
 went alone, and never reach church at all. What 
 would they do without the sermon they are antici- 
 pating so hopefully?" 
 
 "They seem to have done very well without it 
 up to date," I retorted, in extreme vexation. 
 
 "No, they haven't. It's terribly stupid to have 
 the service read and no minister to look up to and 
 tell you things. The people here are simply 
 ravenous for a sermon." 
 
 "They must be different from city people, 
 then."
 
 60 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "They are very." 
 
 "I am afraid my humble discourse will prove 
 disappointing. I am not accustomed to such at- 
 tention." 
 
 "Oh, they will dote on anything you say any- 
 thing!" 
 
 "But you could never keep up with me. I shall 
 have to walk fast, very fast." 
 
 "Try me and see. I will race you to the church 
 or to any other place you choose !" 
 
 "I would be glad to accept the challenge were 
 I out of the ministry." 
 
 "You would lose. I won the prize at the Sun- 
 day-school picnic, last summer, as the fastest run- 
 ner among the girls. I feel much stronger and 
 'faster' now than then." 
 
 There was a desperate defiance in the eyes of 
 the young woman as she made this boast. I could 
 well believe she was light on her feet and a high 
 stepper. The covert threat of pursuit and expo- 
 sure should I attempt to run away was not lost 
 on me. She was evidently determined not to let 
 me go.
 
 BEATRICE 61 
 
 "I was merely afraid I might tire you," I fal- 
 tered. 
 
 "You look far more tired than I do," was her 
 retort. It was true. I was tired, very tired; I 
 was also badly scared. 
 
 "This is a fine place for a rest." I sighed. It 
 might be; but I had found it pretty lively up 
 to date. 
 
 "Are you coming?" she asked, swinging the 
 gate wide open and looking quizzically into my 
 face. 
 
 What could I do? There was no hope now 
 of reaching the station in time to head off the 
 minister. 
 
 A shrill whistle echoed among the hills. The 
 morning train from Hilltown was approaching 
 the Greenford station. 
 
 "I am coming," I replied.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 AN INTERLOPER 
 
 I was neatly caught; Beatrice Apthorpe was 
 too clever for me. For some reason, best known 
 to herself, she was determined to hold me a 
 prisoner. 
 
 Under happier circumstances I would have 
 given my hope of salvation, or any other hope 
 more probable of fruition, for a chance to wander 
 through the Berkshire Hills with Beatrice Ap- 
 thorpe for a companion, on a bright Sunday 
 morning with nature glowing in beauty on every 
 hand. I could have tolerated the idea of conclud- 
 ing that walk at the church door. 
 
 As it was, I was desperately anxious to make 
 myself scarce. But when I disappeared I wanted 
 to do it with decorum. The picture of a tall, lean 
 man, in a silk tile and frock-coat, scampering
 
 AN INTERLOPER 63 
 
 down a Berkshire knoll with a sweet young girl 
 chasing after him in mad pursuit was not at all 
 to my mind. 
 
 She had boasted she could outrun me and had 
 covertly threatened to do it. I was not at all 
 sure she would not be as good as her word. I 
 would rather serve time in state's-prison than 
 cut such a figure for ten seconds. 
 
 But the alternative was even worse. To be un- 
 masked at the very door of the church, before the 
 entire congregation, by the genuine parson, 
 would place me in an attitude equally ridiculous 
 and even more unpleasant. To proceed was ruin ; 
 to run away from a girl was disgrace. In despair 
 I sat down upon a boulder at the side of the path, 
 not daring either to advance or retreat. 
 
 "I am tired," I said. I spoke the truth. 
 
 "I fear it will prove too long a walk for you," 
 remarked the girl sympathetically. "You should 
 not have undertaken it." How she enjoyed quiz- 
 zing me ! 
 
 I was thinking fast. There might be a chance 
 that Tupper had been carried beyond Hilltown.
 
 64 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 Without his clerical coat and hat he might be 
 afraid to put in an appearance at church, even 
 if he came to Greenford in time. There were 
 half a dozen chances that he might not turn up 
 at the critical moment to two dozen that he would. 
 Anyhow, I could walk with Miss Apthorpe as far 
 as the road, take a good look when we came in 
 view of the church, and if I saw Tupper drop 
 everything and run for it. 
 
 I made a rapid calculation and concluded that, 
 if the minister came in by the train that was just 
 at that moment stopping at Greenford, he would 
 arrive at the church at about the same time we 
 did, provided he went there directly. 
 
 I had just reached this conclusion and was 
 about to proceed when Miss Apthorpe addressed 
 me : "I want to ask you a question, Mr. Plymp 
 Tupper, I mean.'* 
 
 I started as though I had been stung. I was 
 stung. She not only knew I wasn't Tupper, but 
 she was also aware of my true name ! How had 
 she discovered it? That ended all thought of 
 running away for the present. Even if I escaped
 
 AN INTERLOPER 65 
 
 temporarily, she could make things very disagree- 
 able for me afterwards. 
 
 "Well, well, what, er what is it?" I stam- 
 mered. 
 
 "If a girl is married by a man who isn't a 
 minister, is the marriage legal? Would she be 
 bound by it in any way?" 
 
 I whistled. The cat was out of the bag. 
 Through my help she was cherishing a wild hope 
 of avoiding her approaching marriage. "How do 
 you mean?" I asked. 
 
 "Well, suppose a girl had to be married, was 
 forced to go through the ceremony, that there 
 were no possible escape from it. Suppose on the 
 other hand, she had rather die than be really, 
 truly married, bound for life to one for whom 
 she had no love or respect. If the minister that 
 married them wasn't a minister at all, would she 
 be a wife, would she be married? Would she be 
 bound in any way by the ceremony?" 
 
 So that was the program! That was why she 
 wanted the Rev. Charles W. Tupper out of it, 
 and had use for Basil Plympton in his accidental
 
 66 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 disguise. It was a foolish, silly scheme, I thought, 
 and one to be discouraged. A girl who could con- 
 ceive a dramatic plot so clever seemed astonish- 
 ingly remiss in her conceptions when it came to 
 facing the problems of real life. I had no inten- 
 tion of lending the slightest countenance to a 
 notion so absurd. 
 
 "Would she be bound? Not unless a bogus 
 minister happened to be a real justice of the 
 peace," I replied, "or an alderman, or a notary 
 public, or a governor, or a mayor, or something 
 like that. It's a risky experiment. You never 
 can tell." 
 
 "Oh!" she said, and her face fell. 
 
 "I knew a girl once," I continued, " who was 
 married in fun by a newspaper reporter, and they 
 found out afterwards that he was a commissioner 
 of deeds. She was married so hard and fast they 
 had a lot of fuss and trouble getting it annulled." 
 
 "Oh!" remarked Miss Beatrice Apthorpe once 
 more. 
 
 "Most newspaper men are commissioners of 
 deeds," I added.
 
 AN INTERLOPER 67 
 
 I hoped that clinched it. If she thought to use 
 me as a foil in her entanglement with Fielding, 
 she took me for a bigger fool than I was. She 
 looked so disconsolate, so utterly woe-begone as 
 I drove in that last peg that my heart went out 
 to the girl in sympathy, in spite of the way she 
 was treating me. 
 
 "No such case as you suppose can possibly 
 arise," I ventured to assert. "There are always 
 hundreds of loopholes out of a difficult situation 
 without making light of a sacred religious cere- 
 mony." 
 
 I meant it in all sincerity, but she responded 
 with a body blow that turned my own words on 
 me neatly. "Find one, then," she challenged with 
 a mischievous laugh, "if you can !" 
 
 My own sad plight had been forgotten for the 
 moment in my sympathy for her. That mocking 
 laugh recalled it most vividly. I also was in a 
 fix where I must "make light of a sacred religious 
 ceremony" or take such consequences as this girl 
 chose to visit on my head. She looked dangerous.
 
 68 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 I did not dare defy her openly. For the time be- 
 ing I appeared to yield. 
 
 "Some newspaper men are not even commis- 
 sioners of deeds," I admitted shamefacedly. "I 
 would take an attorney's advice were I in that 
 young lady's position. As far as my legal knowl- 
 edge goes, however, a marriage by such a man as 
 you describe would probably be of no more ac- 
 count than hopping over a broomstick, provided 
 it were immediately repudiated." 
 
 "But could you wait long enough to make the 
 man who thought he was your husband confess 
 the manner in which he had acquired a hold on 
 you and forced you to become an unwilling 
 bride?" 
 
 "Probably. But with such a rascal as you de- 
 scribe, that might prove difficult. A father or a 
 brother-in-law with a loaded revolver at his head 
 would prove more persuasive, in my humble judg- 
 ment." 
 
 "But suppose you were in a situation where 
 every one was against you; where the truth was 
 imposible of belief. Where you, yourself, were
 
 AN INTERLOPER 69 
 
 compelled by force of circumstances to admit and 
 to act a falsehood?" 
 
 "Such a situation will sometimes arise," I ad- 
 mitted ruefully; "but only where a man is 
 tired out, half asleep and a great blockhead 
 into the bargain." 
 
 "I am not talking about you I mean, that is, 
 about any man. I am talking about a girl an 
 impulsive, trusting, foolish girl who thought her- 
 self clever and able to take care of herself. Such 
 a thing might occur with such a girl where the 
 man she relied upon was still cleverer." 
 
 A dim inkling of the true situation began to 
 dawn on me. Beatrice Apthorpe was in the grip 
 of some extraordinarily tangled web from which 
 she saw no way of escape save by means as un- 
 usual as her dilemma. But, in any event, she did 
 not intend to let me go. Willing or unwilling, 
 she was determined that I should remain and 
 continue to play my part. 
 
 I was merely a pawn in her life's game of chess. 
 A valuable pawn, though, and one she did not 
 mean to lose until the time came to offer me as a
 
 70 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 sacrifice on the gambit. My dangers were in- 
 creasing hourly, for her bright eyes and winning 
 face now held me in complete entrancement. 
 
 While we were talking we had been descending 
 the bridle-path, and we now entered the road. 
 Not five minutes walk to the right was the little 
 church. The critical moment was at hand, but I 
 consoled myself with the thought that if Miss 
 Apthorpe knew who I was and the Rev. Charles 
 W. Tupper knew who I wasn't, there really was 
 not much to expose then and there. Tupper 
 might think I had robbed him, however, and I 
 could explain how things had happened privately 
 much better than in the presence of such a mis- 
 chievous young lady. 
 
 It was in this frame of mind that I beheld, 
 coming rapidly forward, not two hundred yards 
 from us, a young man somewhat curiously attired. 
 He wore black and well-pressed trousers, shining 
 patent-leather shoes, a clerical vest, a shapeless 
 slouch hat and a jaunty outing jacket. In his 
 hand he carried a suit-case. It was the Rev. 
 Charles W. Tupper of St. Luke's rectory!
 
 AN INTERLOPER 71 
 
 We recognized each other at about the same 
 moment. Then I lost my head, dropped the grip 
 I was carrying right in the road and turned to 
 run for it. It wasn't physical fear but dread of 
 exposure, and I thought that was all there was 
 left for me to do. Miss Apthorpe held a con- 
 trary opinion. A little hand caught me firmly 
 by the sleeve and held me fast. I could not have 
 torn myself loose save by the exercise of brute 
 force. It would never do to try to run with a 
 young woman clinging to one's coat-tails. Even 
 arrest and imprisonment would be better than 
 that! 
 
 "What is the matter, Mr. Tupper?" she asked 
 me, with astonishing coolness and a daring gleam 
 in her bright eyes. 
 
 "Nothing, only I I forgot something," I 
 said, striving at the same time to loosen her hold 
 with gentle effort. She held on convulsively. 
 To escape I must hurt her, and I could not do 
 that. 
 
 "Never mind," she said. "It's too late to go 
 back for anything now. Too late, you under-
 
 72 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 stand. People are already arriving at church." 
 
 The young man in the slouch hat and out- 
 rageous outing jacket came up with fire in his 
 eye. There was nothing for it but to face it out. 
 The Rev. Charles W. Tupper of St. Luke's rec- 
 tory had a most unclerical, most unchristian 
 hearing. I was really shocked, he seemed so 
 fierce and revengeful. I grew more calm and 
 gazed upon him with benign dignity. 
 
 "You rascal," he cried in a very loud, offensive 
 voice, "give me my property and make yourself 
 scarce or I will turn you over to the police." 
 
 It was very imprudent of him to talk like that 
 if he wished to establish his identity. I began to 
 hope, and also to grow in grace. 
 
 Miss Apthorpe uttered a little shriek and seized 
 my arm with both her hands. She possessed his- 
 trionic powers and she now brought them into 
 play with telling effect. "Oh, Mr. Tupper," she 
 cried to me, "I am afraid of that man; he looks 
 so queer and talks so loud ; protect me from him !" 
 
 "Poor man, perhaps he is in pain. I am sure 
 he means no offense," I reassured her, with a love-
 
 AN INTERLOPER 73 
 
 your-enemy, forgive-everybody sort of a look. 
 
 "No offense to Miss Apthorpe," he returned 
 more calmly ; "no off ense to her in any event. But 
 you, sir, are an impostor and a villain, as she 
 ought to know very well." 
 
 "How strangely he talks," cried my fair com- 
 panion. "I never spoke to the man before in all 
 my life." 
 
 "Never spoke to me!" cried the bewildered 
 young parson. "Why, Miss Apthorpe, surely you 
 are mistaken. Don't you remember last summer 
 at Bath Beach?" 
 
 "What assurance!" exclaimed the young lady. 
 "I do recognize him now, Mr. Tupper. He is one 
 of those horrid and ridiculous newspaper men 
 who pester us at every turn." 
 
 "Ridiculous!" shouted the outraged young 
 dominie, his temper getting the better of him 
 again. "You know me well enough, and I am 
 not going to submit to this shameful treatment." 
 
 "Know you, indeed I do know you, sir," said 
 the daring young lady.
 
 74 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "Who am I, then?" cried the excited young 
 parson. 
 
 "You are Mr. Basil Plympton of the New 
 York 'Express,' and you had better go away and 
 let me alone, or I shall appeal to my father. He is 
 coming up the road now; be warned in time." 
 Then, turning to me, with an enigmatical expres- 
 sion, she continued: "I suppose the 'Express' 
 sent its dramatic critic instead of just an ordinary 
 reporter, because he might be expected to act in 
 a less newspaperlike manner. I am disappointed 
 in Mr. Plympton, who was once pointed out to 
 me at the theatre as one of our most discriminat- 
 ing dramatic critics." The merry twinkle in her 
 eye as she made that thrust strike home was hard- 
 ly reassuring, though how she came to know me 
 was now explained. 
 
 Some distance away the Apthorpe carriage 
 was slowly mounting the hill. In it were Mr. and 
 Mrs. Apthorpe, Mr. and Mrs. Gosse, and Master 
 Howard Gosse. Desperate indeed must be the 
 plight of a girl who was willing to venture such 
 chances; but she took them unflinchingly and
 
 AN INTERLOPER 75 
 
 with an aplomb calculated to carry conviction. I 
 almost began to believe I was the minister, after 
 all, and that Tupper wasn't. 
 
 Of the two I was the better dressed and much 
 better behaved. His silk tile on my head had lost 
 none of its sheen. His beautiful frock-coat on 
 my shoulders hung in glossy folds. His ample 
 collar on my neck shone white in the morning 
 sun. 
 
 My collar on his neck was tight to suffocation, 
 and its sharp points stuck into his chin, giving 
 him an apoplectic appearance that was enhanced 
 by the anger which flushed his face. My slouch 
 hat on his head was the height of jaunty pertness. 
 My outing jacket on his shoulders was redolent 
 of tobacco. The odor was decidedly unclerical. 
 
 Notwithstanding the unfavorable testimony 
 of my gaudy trousers, bright stockings, low tan 
 shoes and red necktie, no jury in the country 
 would fail to give me the verdict when I smiled 
 upon them with brotherly love, even without the 
 convincing testimony of Miss Beatrice Apthorpe. 
 One of us was going to be in trouble pretty soon,
 
 76 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 and I hoped to prove the more fortunate party. 
 Even if they put me in jail I was resolved to for- 
 give them and bless them. While I was in the 
 ministry I wanted to live up to its noblest 
 traditions. 
 
 The reverend young gentleman confronting us 
 was dumfounded at thus being bereft of his iden- 
 tity, his wardrobe and his money while in the 
 very act of triumphantly exposing an impostor 
 and a thief, before the very door of his church and 
 before the very eyes of the family whose guest he 
 had expected to be. 
 
 I was really sorry for him. If I could have 
 done so safely I would have thrown up the game 
 that I was playing merely to gratify a girl's 
 whim. He gave me no chance, in the first place. 
 In the next, it wasn't my funeral. He had chosen 
 to come to Greenford in the face of Miss Ap- 
 thorpe's urgent request that he remain in New 
 York. She was giving him about what he de- 
 served, and avenging herself neatly. 
 
 I was forced to save my own skin, though I 
 was helping her incidentally. She did all the
 
 AN INTERLOPER 77 
 
 difficult part of the performance. All I had to do 
 was to stand around and look my part. Chris- 
 tian charity comes easy when you are on top. I 
 felt a brotherly love for everybody and tried to 
 show it. I gazed at the stupefied young fellow 
 with benign compassion. 
 
 "Do not be too hard upon him, Miss Ap- 
 thorpe," I said. "Even a newspaper man is en- 
 titled to some sympathy when earning his bread 
 and butter on a distasteful assignment. The sun 
 is hot and he has been a bit touched, that's all." 
 
 My commiseration was the last straw. He 
 looked as if he wanted to strangle me. His face 
 was flushed with unseemly rage as he shouted: 
 "Touched! touched! I should say I had been 
 touched to the tune of one hundred and fifty 
 dollars, to say nothing of other things !" 
 
 "So?" I cried, "Poor fellow! If you are really 
 in want I always have a little fund to draw upon 
 for the needy in distress." So saying I tossed 
 him his own purse, with the air of a belted knight 
 bestowing a piece of gold on a leper, or a benevo- 
 lent citizen dropping a penny in a blind man's
 
 78 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 hat. "It is more blessed to give than to receive," 
 I murmured. 
 
 The much-abused young parson stooped down 
 to pick up his own purse. One couldn't blame 
 him, yet it was right there he lost his only chance. 
 While he was groveling for the money and I 
 stood, erect and unruffled, the Apthorpe carriage 
 drove by at a rapid trot. 
 
 "Hurry up, Beatrice, don't make Mr. Tupper 
 late," called her father, as the carriage passed us. 
 
 Had Tupper scorned the money ; had he bold- 
 ly stopped the carriage and asserted his identity, 
 gently but firmly, he must have carried the day. 
 There were reasons of which I was at that time 
 ignorant which would have inclined the family 
 to suspect the girl of any desperate hoax, and 
 they would have stood ready to give Tupper a 
 hearing, which was all he needed. 
 
 But young Mr. Tupper was just as ignorant 
 as I was of the strange situation. Moreover, as 
 it turned out, he had certain tender sentiments 
 toward the young lady who treated him so shame- 
 fully, and was ready to submit to anything rather
 
 AN INTERLOPER 79 
 
 than join issue with her before her family and 
 thus bring her into trouble. 
 
 So it came about that we won the day with all 
 the chances against us. I had completely sup- 
 planted the young clergyman; to all intents and 
 purposes he had lost his identity.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 I SPEAK OUT 
 
 "You will repent this, both of you," snapped 
 the Rev. Charles W. Tupper, alias Basil Plymp- 
 ton, of the New York "Express." 
 
 "Come to church and hear a sermon on moun- 
 tain daisies and beautiful snow. It will calm 
 your nerves," coolly responded Basil Plympton, 
 of the New York "Express," alias the Rev. 
 Charles W. Tupper. 
 
 What more could I do for the poor outcast 
 than to invite him to go to church and hear me 
 read his own sermon? I would not be mean 
 enough to deny him any little pleasure like that. 
 
 "Thank you, I will certainly accept your in- 
 vitation," replied the aggressive dominie. 
 
 We turned our backs upon him with calm dig- 
 nity and walked toward the little church whose 
 bells were now tolling clamorously. Behind us,
 
 I SPEAK OUT 81 
 
 close behind us, with vengeful brow, walked our 
 persecuted persecutor. 
 
 I could hear his footsteps as they crunched the 
 gravel, and it made me nervous ; but I took care 
 not to show it. 
 
 Beatrice Apthorpe still rested her soft, per- 
 suading hand upon my arm. It served to increase 
 my stature and made my heart grow exceedingly 
 bold. The morning was sweet, the verdure fresh, 
 and far down the valley ran the happy river, 
 flowing as doth kindness from the purified human 
 heart. I was at peace with all the world and even 
 forgave Tupper. Kindness wasn't flowing from 
 his heart just then, but he had his excuses and I 
 tried to make allowances for him. 
 
 I walked with Miss Apthorpe to her pew, 
 where her family were already seated. I bowed 
 to her in the presence of the curious rural congre- 
 gation assembled, amid vast craning of necks and 
 flutter of flaring headgear. Then I sauntered uj) 
 the aisle, the observed of all observers. I passed 
 the little organ where sat a young woman, 
 impatient to begin, and entered the small
 
 82 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 door at the north side of the tiny chancel. 
 
 At last were the direful splendours of those 
 obstreperous plaid pantaloons to be cloaked in 
 obscurity. Mr. Dobbs had a surplice in readiness, 
 and clapped it on my shoulders as soon as I 
 entered. 
 
 He was very impatient, was Mr. Dobbs. I 
 was five minutes late, and the lay-reader was the 
 soul of promptitude. He was also the soul of 
 jealousy. That a man of his ability should be 
 supplanted by a city parson was not at all to 
 his mind. 
 
 The organ was now resounding through the 
 small edifice with a solemn rumble, and the little 
 choir was assembling for the processional that 
 was to follow. Eight small, shock-headed ur- 
 chins were treading upon one another's toes and 
 whispering personal comments upon the new par- 
 son, while four young women in snow-white robes 
 were casting either shy or sly glances at me. A 
 hymnal was thrust into my hands by some one. 
 and the little boys began to march in. The young 
 ladies followed. The lay-reader and I fell in be- 
 hind, side by side.
 
 I SPEAK OUT 83 
 
 "Jerusalem the golden," we were singing. 
 Among my few personal advantages is a mellow 
 bass. When I was a little shaver I sang in an 
 Episcopal choir, though my people were all Con- 
 gregationalists. 
 
 From out the dim past a vision of that little 
 church rose before me and transported me to 
 eastern Massachusetts. We called it the "ortho- 
 dox" church, to distinguish it from the schis- 
 matic Unitarians. I could see the good old 
 country folk in the pews about me, while my 
 mother sat by my side and held my hand in hers. 
 There had my parents worshipped, there their 
 parents before them. Though far from right- 
 eousness I had trod my wayward steps, though 
 the old faith had often been forgotten, a touch 
 of early reverence fell upon me. 
 
 There was not much ritual in that old church. 
 There were long sermons and hard-and-fast the- 
 ology. There was a very long Sunday-school, 
 following the service, that spun things well out 
 into the afternoon while all the little ones became 
 hungry and consequently cross.
 
 84 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 As I entered behind that swaying little proces- 
 sion of songsters and sang the hymn myself with 
 a right good-will, I felt very low and sinful. I 
 was a fraud, a cheat and an impostor. That was 
 not what worried me. I served as well as another, 
 perhaps. Had I been duly ordained ; had I been 
 rightfully in the pulpit, I might have felt much 
 the same. I was a mere man, standing before my 
 fellow men and women, to represent the Holy 
 One. 
 
 I was blind, seeking to lead others as blind as 
 I toward a light which I did not see. I have had 
 more charity and leniency toward the clergy of 
 all denominations from that hour. 
 
 I was familiar enough with the ritual, from my 
 early experience as a choir-boy, to have put the 
 whole thing through without the help of Mr. 
 Dobbs. Had I known or guessed what an awful 
 nuisance he was going to prove, and what a dread- 
 ful predicament he was going to plunge me into, 
 I should have declined his assistance at the outset 
 and sent him packing to his home in Highfield, 
 where he belonged.
 
 I SPEAK OUT 85 
 
 It wasn't the ritual that bothered me. A lay- 
 reader has an easy task. The dread moment was 
 approaching. The sermon must soon begin! 
 
 Under my robe I clutched desperately the Rev. 
 Charles W. Tupper's manuscript, but my soul 
 rebelled at the notion of reading it. I was really 
 in earnest about that church service. I had not 
 had time to go to church for a long while, and my 
 religious nature was reawakened. 
 
 Being forced by circumstances over which I 
 had no control to sit in the pulpit and pass myself 
 off as the minister, I threw myself into the part 
 with whole-souled earnestness and perfect rev- 
 erence for the church on earth. In fact, my 
 troubles did not spring from too little sincerity, 
 but rather from a superabundance of it. 
 
 I didn't want to preach a sermon while the poor 
 fellow whose identity I had appropriated sat be- 
 fore me and listened to his own fine periods with 
 woe-begone countenance. He looked unhappy 
 enough, as it was. I was averse to stealing his 
 sermon, after all the other wrongs I had done 
 him ;and I would not do it unless really obliged to.
 
 86 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 Could I not rise to the occasion, and incident- 
 ally convince Miss Beatrice Apthorpe that there 
 was something in me of worth and truth in the 
 very face of all the chances and mischances that 
 had made me appear ridiculous in her sight? Yes, 
 it was certainly worth while trying, anyway. 
 
 How demurely she sat there with her family 
 in their pew! How her roguish face had softened 
 with the dignity of the hour! And yet and 
 yet she was responsible for it all. She had "put 
 up the job," she had forced the sacrilege. She 
 could look as pious as she pleased, the fact re- 
 mained. 
 
 Well, we were in the same box, and she was 
 probably thinking the same thing about me. 
 Wasn't I compelled to look saintly also? If I 
 could preach my own sermon I would to some ex- 
 tent escape hypocrisy. 
 
 I had a capacious memory, full of all sorts of 
 odds and ends. My mind was a literary scrap- 
 book, arranged helter-skelter. I knew a number 
 of quotations from famous preachers of various
 
 I SPEAK OUT 87 
 
 denominations. I mentally sorted out a few of 
 these and conned them over. 
 
 This was my program: I would try hard to 
 give them an original sermon, newly coined from 
 a fresh and virgin mint. If I stuck fast anywhere 
 I could anchor to one of these quotations until 
 the storm blew over and I was once more riding 
 calmly on the smooth seas of oratory. If all else 
 failed I had the Rev. Charles W. Tupper's ortho- 
 dox discourse to fall back upon. 
 
 The time sped rapidly for me. I never before 
 realized how much faster the minutes fly behind 
 the pulpit than in front of it. Had I been in a 
 pew that morning I should have been bored to 
 death long before the sermon began, and longed 
 for the fresh air and bright sunshine without. As 
 it was, I wasn't bored. Whatever else may have 
 been the matter with me, bored I assuredly was 
 not. 
 
 In the rear of the church my eye rested upon 
 the sad face of the Rev. Charles W. Tupper. 
 How vulgar he looked, how out of place in a pew 
 at church. Who would believe him presentable in
 
 88 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 the pulpit ? There he sat, all manner of uncharity 
 
 in his heart and upon his countenance. As I 
 
 gazed upon him I grew in grace and benign 
 
 serenity. 
 
 I began well. I addressed them appropriately 
 as "dearly beloved brethren," and started in to 
 give them my own ideas of the cosmos generally. 
 Having covered a wide field in a few minutes, by 
 way of preamble, I advanced my thoughts on a 
 vital question that confronts us all, of whatever 
 creed or denomination. 
 
 "If a man lose a hand or an eye," I said, "does 
 he place it in a coffin and bury it with many 
 tears? Do his friends gather about the ground 
 where it lies and offer prayers and lamentations, 
 and strew flowers ? It has been plucked out and 
 cast from him. One of his members has perished. 
 Has his soul, or any fraction of his soul perished 
 with it? 
 
 "Is the whole greater than the sum of all its 
 parts? Does the whole body, indeed, contain the 
 soul at all, in any other sense than did the hand
 
 I SPEAK OUT 89 
 
 or the eye that are dead, but which once mani- 
 fested the soul's presence to other souls?" 
 
 That is all I care to quote of my remarks. I 
 reproduce this much only because these are the 
 words that Mr. Dobbs took exception to and 
 made such a fuss about; so much of a fuss that 
 it brought a number of people into difficulties, 
 including myself. 
 
 I was much in earnest about all this. The 
 question of mortality or immortality is a live one 
 yet, out of the pulpit as well as in it, among rank 
 heretics as well as in the fold of true believers. 
 I had thought much about it. 
 
 But this sort of newspaper theology, fresh from 
 the editorial sanctum of the "Express," was 
 bound to create something of a stir among the 
 conservative denizens of the Berkshires. 
 
 "Perhaps I am going it a little strong," it 
 occurred to me, as I sensed the magnetic waves 
 afloat. "It will not do to preach a sermon that 
 will make any fuss." Had I but known it, I 
 might as well have kept on to a finish, as the fuss 
 was already brewing.
 
 90 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 The orator who hesitates in the midst of an 
 extemporaneous discourse is generally lost. I 
 caught the eyes of Beatrice Apthorpe. They 
 were fixed upon me as though she would read my 
 inmost soul. They had a strange light in them, 
 the insignia of a mighty fraternity whose free- 
 masonry exchanges signals among its members 
 in every age and clime. Yes, she too was 
 a slave of the lamp. Her keen mind was 
 scampering through vistas of sympathetic 
 speculations. 
 
 Even if it had been wise to continue the re- 
 construction of the heavens above, the earth be- 
 neath and the waters under the earth, the divine 
 afflatus, which had thus far borne me aloft and 
 way over the heads of the congregation had 
 disappeared. 
 
 Mentally I made a drowning man's clutch for 
 one of those fine quotations: "As another great 
 preacher has said ahem !" 
 
 The words would not come and even the intro- 
 duction was a sad miscue. There was a half-sup- 
 pressed titter as I hesitated. "Of course you un-
 
 I SPEAK OUT 91 
 
 derstand I mean another great preacher besides 
 myself," I explained. 
 
 That was worse yet, and I did not dare try to 
 explain it again. There is no knowing what 
 might have happened had I attempted it. Des- 
 perately I fell back upon my last line of entrench- 
 ments. I drew out the Rev. Charles W. Tupper's 
 manuscript and began to read his safe and sane 
 platitudes. 
 
 They had a very soothing effect. Their high- 
 flown generalities, their vacuous climaxes, their 
 inane periods were all proportioned to the atmos- 
 phere of the place. Somehow they fitted most ap- 
 propriately into the surroundings, although the 
 city editor of any New York newspaper would 
 have tossed the sermon into the waste-basket as 
 being utterly without human interest. 
 
 One star differeth from another in glory : there 
 is one glory of newspaper diction and another 
 glory of clerical diction. I had never really got 
 this through my head until I came to preach my- 
 self, then it became self-evident. To talk news- 
 paper theology in the pulpit is like mending old
 
 92 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 garments, respectable and venerable garments, 
 with new cloth. It was like a patch cut out of 
 my London trousers and sewn on the seat of cleri- 
 cal breeches. That is what an unbiased auditor 
 thought of my first, last and only sermon. She 
 told me about it afterwards, when we knew each 
 other well enough for her to speak her mind 
 freely. 
 
 Well, if my own sermon was a bad fizzle, the 
 Rev. Charles W. Tupper's purloined manuscript 
 pulled me through the knot-hole. I read it in 
 sonorous tones, but with none of the energy or 
 enthusiasm I had displayed in advancing my own 
 crude ideas. That also was an improvement. I 
 am told I did it with a dignity, gravity and 
 decorum which certified to my absolute ortho- 
 doxy and ultra good-form. 
 
 Moreover, it served to establish my stolen iden- 
 tity beyond cavil or dispute in the town of Green- 
 ford. I might be a rash young man with peculiar 
 and startling ideas, as was indicated by the intro- 
 ductory discourse; but I was also evidently a 
 trained writer of sermons, conventional sermons,
 
 I SPEAK OUT 93 
 
 the kind that soothe one spiritually and mentally, 
 and make one feel very good and very sleepy. 
 
 I glanced at Beatrice Apthorpe as I sat down. 
 Her right eyebrow was elevated to its drollest 
 arch, and her eyes were radiant with suppressed 
 mischief.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 FLIGHT 
 
 But I had other things to do in the world be- 
 sides furnishing amusement for Miss Beatrice 
 Apthorpe. I had been betrayed into carrying 
 matters much too far through the efforts of that 
 whimsical young lady, and if I got off with a 
 year in the penitentiary I should be lucky. 
 
 Of course she was very charming and bewitch- 
 ing, but she was far over my head, and the sooner 
 I put her out of sight and mind the better it 
 would undoubtedly be for my peace and happi- 
 ness. 
 
 From the young parson I could hope for no 
 mercy. If I could have put through the service 
 without delivering his sermon there might have 
 been some hope of making him ultimate amends. 
 While I was vaingloriously peddling out my own 
 views he had worn a smile of contemptuous
 
 FLIGHT 95 
 
 amusement. "Give the impudent impostor 
 enough rope and he will hang himself," it had 
 seemed to say. 
 
 When I drew out his manuscript and began 
 to read his sermon the sneer melted into anguish, 
 the leer into rage and dismay. In his eyes I had 
 committed the unpardonable sin, and he would 
 leave no stone unturned to punish me here, while 
 using his personal influence to see that I was pro- 
 vided with a good warm berth hereafter. I might 
 triumph for a season, but the day of reckoning 
 would surely come. As long as he remained on 
 the scene Greenford was no safe abiding-place 
 for me. 
 
 The closing hymn and recessional followed in 
 quick succession, and I marched out behind the 
 choir by the side of Mr. Dobbs. 
 
 The full enormity of my sins had been growing 
 upon me gradually, and the nervous tension was 
 tightening every moment. I was in a cold per- 
 spiration, and as I removed the surplice I 
 mopped off my moist brow with its ample folds, 
 not thinking what I was doing.
 
 96 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 That careless indiscretion settled my case with 
 Dobbs. He snatched the sacred garment from 
 my polluting grasp with an angry jerk. He had 
 been boiling within throughout the service, and 
 the indignity with which I had treated the holy 
 robe was like a match to gunpowder. 
 
 "Heresy and sacrilege ever go hand in hand!" 
 he cried. 
 
 "Heresy your grandmother!" I snorted, losing 
 patience just when it was most needed. 
 
 "My grandmother was no heretic," retorted 
 the literal Dobbs, "and I will thank you to make 
 no aspersions upon her sacred memory. She was 
 a far better Christian than you, with all your 
 citified airs." 
 
 I cooled off a bit. It would never do to enter 
 upon an unseemly dispute with the lay-reader 
 before the members of the choir. I had enough 
 troubles on my hands already. 
 
 "I intended no offense, sir," I replied, with 
 my blandest smile. "I merely wanted to convey 
 the impression that my discourse was absolutely 
 orthodox, and my wish that your respected
 
 FLIGHT 97 
 
 grandparents and all your other relatives could 
 have been on hand to hear it." 
 
 "You have denied some of the cardinal ele- 
 ments of Christian doctrine. You have struck 
 at the foundation of the Apostles' creed," as- 
 serted Dobbs in a tense whisper. He didn't want 
 a scene any more than I ; but he had his convic- 
 tions, and he intended to give them airing. 
 
 We retired to the little robing-room to fight 
 it out privately. I had no time to lose, but I 
 could not afford to depart without convincing 
 Dobbs that I had taught true doctrine. I wanted 
 to sow a little grain of mustard-seed in the 
 church universal, and then stand by on the out- 
 side and watch it grow. I did not want to tell 
 my newspaper friends that I couldn't even hold 
 up my end with an unanointed lay-reader. 
 
 All the same, such was the fact; Dobbs car- 
 ried all the guns. He didn't do anything else all 
 winter but talk theology; he had all the fine 
 points at his tongue's end and would not let me 
 put in a word edgewise. His idea of argument 
 was to do all the talking himself, and then lose
 
 98 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 his temper and sulk when his opponent remained 
 unconvinced. He was one of the toughest doc- 
 trinal propositions I ran across during my brief 
 clerical career. 
 
 Anyway, he went, in fact slammed the door 
 behind him and slammed it hard. I may have 
 worked that little grain of mustard-seed into his 
 system somewhere, but it has been a long time 
 sprouting. The garniture of pickles and sand- 
 wiches would be scarce indeed if all the mustard 
 plantations worked like that. 
 
 Well, it was a comfort to be alone for a min- 
 ute, nevertheless. The small robing-room was 
 lighted by a single window. The little church 
 backed up against a steep hill, and the room's 
 solitary window looked out on it. You entered the 
 edifice up a flight of steps, but the ground rose 
 rapidly, and the window-sill was on a level with 
 the slope of the hill. 
 
 I raised the sash cautiously and peered out. A 
 thick growth of young trees and underbrush con- 
 cealed this part of the church from the roadway. 
 The path to freedom lay before me.
 
 FLIGHT 99 
 
 I could hear a murmur of voices from the 
 church. Evidently several members of the con- 
 gregation were waiting to seize upon me when I 
 came out. The Apthorpes were doubtless among 
 the expectant ones. 
 
 In spite of my apparent boldness and self-con- 
 fidence, Dobbs had shaken me up badly. To be 
 accused of heresy is a serious thing for a young 
 parson, even when he is as genuine as the best- 
 advertised brands of baking-powder. A spurious 
 article cannot afford to be anything but ultra- 
 conservative. The members of a congregation 
 can be as liberal in their views as they please, but 
 they expect their minister to deal out sulphur and 
 brimstone, or they begin to doubt the sincerity 
 of his faith. 
 
 My sympathy was aroused for the poor young 
 fledglings who are forced to meet such criticism. 
 I didn't blame Tupper for confining himself to 
 safe and sane platitudes. If I had stuck to what 
 he had written Dobbs would have had no chance 
 to criticise me. 
 
 I took my hat and grip and crawled out of the
 
 100 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 window. Behind me was controversy and detec- 
 tion ; before me was the peaceful hillside and the 
 calm of natural beauty. I had had enough of 
 the ministry and of the ideals that are not to be 
 disturbed. 
 
 Beatrice Apthorpe would have to struggle with 
 her life problem as best she might without further 
 aid from me. I had a good chance to decamp, 
 and I proposed to make the most of it. There 
 were other heretic-hunters waiting to devour me. 
 
 It was half past twelve already. At one o'clock 
 Harry Fielding would arrive. By two the Ap- 
 thorpe family would be gathered about the din- 
 ing-table. I shouldn't be there to give them an- 
 other silent blessing with devotional atmosphere 
 oozing from me, but over the hills and far away. 
 
 I slipped cautiously out of the window and 
 began my hurried scramble up the hillside. The 
 brambles caught at the dominie's frock-coat and 
 made scratches here and there. That didn't mat- 
 ter; it wasn't mine. Besides, the job of wearing 
 out my London trousers on the Berkshire Hills 
 had begun at last. That is what I had come for.
 
 FLIGHT 101 
 
 Up, up I went, now walking, now crawling 
 on hands and knees, now going back to pick up 
 the silk tile which was continually getting 
 knocked off and rolling down hill. 
 
 In half an hour I had overcome all obstacles 
 and sat down on a rock, under a widespreading 
 oak, with the parson's hat resting on one side of 
 me and his grip on the other. It was a lovely 
 day and a fine view. Far below was the church. 
 Further on was the Apthorpe mansion with its 
 beautiful grove of maple trees and decorative gar- 
 dens surrounding it. Beyond that, two miles be- 
 low, but still in full view, was the station. 
 
 A little toy train puffed up silently and 
 stopped, then went on. There was a toy car- 
 riage waiting there, probably the same victoria 
 which had met me that morning. Two little ants 
 crawled into it. They were men, of course, guests 
 of the Apthorpes. One of them was doubtless 
 Fielding and the other probably some friend of 
 his brought up for the occasion, to see him 
 through the ordeal of wedlock. 
 
 Beatrice Apthorpe was in for it, apparently.
 
 102 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 Well, if the bogus parson had seen fit to make 
 himself scarce, the real one was in no position to 
 establish his identity and officiate at the ceremony 
 the following noon. The girl was no worse off 
 than if Tupper had heeded her request and failed 
 to put in an appearance. I had done her 
 that much service at least by my madcap 
 folly. 
 
 I drew out her photograph and gazed upon it 
 intently. I did not like the idea of seeing her 
 married to that fellow Fielding, but I could do 
 nothing to prevent it. I would probably never 
 see her again, and her picture was the only 
 memento of my adventure I intended to keep. 
 I thought to conceal the grip, coat and hat in a 
 hollow of the oak, where they would be safe 
 enough until I could arrange for their transfer 
 to their true owner. Hatless and in shirt-sleeves 
 I would make my way to a nearby town, say 
 Highfield, and make necessary purchases. The 
 trouble was, the minister had my grip and in it 
 the manuscript so prized by Carl Krull. 
 
 I enjoyed that rest. It was the first real rest
 
 FLIGHT 103 
 
 I had had that day. How pure the air was, how 
 fresh, how free! 
 
 "You infernal scoundrel, I have you at last!" 
 Those were the rough words that broke in upon 
 my day-dream. 
 
 A hand had seized me from behind, and I was 
 being shaken violently by the collar. I slipped 
 out of the frock-coat like an eel, leaving it in the 
 grasp of my assailant, and turned to face him. 
 It was the Rev. Charles W. Tupper, of St. 
 Luke's rectory. 
 
 Ministers are but men, and they must be for- 
 given if they display the passions and courage 
 of men when they are goaded past endurance. 
 The young clergyman had been abused most 
 grievously. I didn't blame him, but I wasn't 
 going to stand helpless and let him pommel me. 
 I was human, too, and thought there was no need 
 for him to be so rough. I had been kind to him 
 and forgiven him, and there is a limit to all things. 
 He made me angry. 
 
 We didn't stop to argue, we just went at 
 it. I know that members of the congregation
 
 104 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 are apt to feel ugly after a long church service, 
 before dining. That is a matter of personal 
 observation. I have been told that the same is 
 true of clergymen, only more so. That is purely 
 a matter of hearsay, unless my brief experience 
 can be counted. Tupper had written a sermon 
 and I had preached it ; between us it had proved 
 a success. The result was that we were both very 
 cross. I am afraid we let fall some ejaculations 
 which ill accorded with the sylvan beauty of the 
 scene. 
 
 He drew blood from my nose and I closed up 
 his left eye. I regret to state that we had gone 
 at each other like a pair of bruisers. Having 
 vented our spleen by inflicting these personal in- 
 juries we each stood panting for breath, glaring 
 at one another. 
 
 This pause gave us time to think. I knew I 
 couldn't lick him without being laid up myself 
 for a week or more. He was similarly situated. 
 He couldn't thrash me without suffering more or 
 less disagreeable personal disfigurement. 
 
 If I could have taught him the lesson I thought
 
 FLIGHT 105 
 
 he deserved I would have done so, and then vis- 
 ited him at the hospital and brought him flowers 
 and books. I have every reason to suppose he 
 would have been just as kind to me after having 
 had the satisfaction of taking it out of my hide. 
 
 As neither of us was able to administer con- 
 dign punishment without proportionate suffer- 
 ing, our Christianity began to reassert itself. 
 What we couldn't do for ourselves the Lord 
 would surely do for us in good time. If you 
 can't lick a man you can always picture him 
 to yourself suffering the torments of the 
 damned in another world, and it's a heap 
 of comfort. 
 
 His bruised eye and my twisted nose had also 
 served to cultivate a vast degree of mutual re- 
 spect. Men are only overgrown boys in such 
 matters. 
 
 "Perhaps we have been a little hasty, brother," 
 said the young parson, feeling of his eye. 
 
 "Somewhat rash on the whole," I admitted, 
 holding my bleeding nose. 
 
 "It would have been far more seemly to have
 
 106 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 sat down and talked over our differences like 
 gentlemen," he regretted. 
 
 "It isn't too late." I smiled, and we sat down. 
 
 "I cannot understand you at all," he began. 
 
 "I will try to explain myself, then," I said. 
 
 "Why did you take my berth and bribe the 
 porter?" he asked. 
 
 "I didn't; it was all a mistake," I answered. 
 
 "I thought so at first, but your subsequent con- 
 duct hardly tallies with such a theory. It seems 
 you are a newspaper man." 
 
 "One thing led to another," I apologized. "I 
 was half asleep and thought I was being taken 
 to a hotel. When I awoke I was in a private 
 residence. I have been trying to get out of the 
 mess ever since." 
 
 I could see the smile of growing incredulity 
 upon his face. He said that any man who had 
 the impudence to go into another man's pulpit 
 and deliver a stolen sermon as I had done, with 
 the genuine minister sitting in a pew before me, 
 could not plead innocence. 
 
 We were both growing angry about it, and
 
 FLIGHT 107 
 
 the conference seemed likely to end in another 
 encounter. Neither of us wanted that, so I said : 
 "Well, what difference does it make? The thing 
 is done now and cannot be undone. Take your 
 property, give me mine, and I'll most gladly call 
 it square and disappear. I will never trouble you 
 again, I assure you. I wouldn't be a parson for 
 a hundred thousand dollars a year." 
 
 "But where will that leave me?" he asked. 
 "Can't you see that you have ruined me by your 
 glaring but successful imposture? No one will 
 believe that I am I, when they have such reasons 
 for supposing that you are I." 
 
 "Oh, that's easy, you can go back to New 
 York. They know us both there." 
 
 "But my place in New York is filled. I have 
 been sent here, and here they don't know the dif- 
 ference between us," protested the perplexed 
 young cleric. 
 
 "Well, send for the bishop, or somebody, and 
 get identified." 
 
 I was serious, but he took it wrong seemed to 
 think I was making a joke of it. "It isn't any
 
 108 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 laughing matter," he said. "Do you think I am 
 going to place myself in a position so utterly 
 ridiculous? Just think what a light I'd stand 
 in before the good people of my church! They 
 would laugh me out of the parish." 
 
 I laughed myself. I couldn't help it, he looked 
 so upset and vexed. When a man has once lost 
 his identity it is not so easy to step back into the 
 old place, as I was in the end to learn by sad 
 experience. 
 
 "What do you propose doing about it?" I 
 asked, sobering down a bit. The case had a very 
 serious side to it, and I could see that the young 
 parson did not appreciate the humor of the situa- 
 tion. 
 
 "I propose that you shall repair the wrong you 
 have done me and make amends for the outrage 
 you have committed upon me," he replied firmly. 
 "We will go back to the Apthorpes together, in 
 our own proper persons, clothed in our own 
 proper garments, and explain the mistake, if mis- 
 take it were." 
 
 "Not on your clerical tintype!"
 
 FLIGHT 109 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 "Pardon the vernacular. The sentiment re- 
 mains unchanged, but if you insist I'll withdraw 
 the photograph." 
 
 "Why should you refuse to do me that simple 
 justice?" he asked, frowning darkly. 
 
 "In the first place, because it might prove em- 
 barrassing for me." 
 
 "Oh, I wouldn't let them hurt you." 
 
 "Thank you politely. I do not mean to give 
 them the chance." 
 
 "You are guilty, and are afraid to face the 
 music like a man and a gentleman." 
 
 "Put it that way, if you like. By the way, has 
 it occurred to you that they wouldn't believe 
 either of us?" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "For one reason, because Miss Apthorpe is 
 possessed of a strange hallucination. She thinks 
 I am you and you are I, and nothing could con- 
 vince her to the contrary." 
 
 "Absurd!" 
 
 "It is a fact none the less. She is committed
 
 110 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 to that point of view. She cannot admit the 
 mistake." 
 
 The young clergyman relapsed into silence. 
 There were difficulties in the way of his rehabili- 
 tation which had not at first occurred to him. 
 Beatrice Apthorpe did not want him at Burg- 
 moor, and meant to keep him at a distance for a 
 while by fair means or foul. Still, he could not 
 see any way out of his difficulties which would 
 not leave him in a position far more unpleasant. 
 
 "I shall have to insist upon it all the same," Jie 
 announced as the irrevocable result of his cogita- 
 tions. 
 
 "Insist upon what?" 
 
 "Upon your returning with me and putting 
 me right in the eyes of the Apthorpe family and 
 the good people of Greenford. No other honor- 
 able course is open to either of us." 
 
 "I do not agree with you." 
 
 "I did not anticipate that you would," he re- 
 plied doggedly, "but I am going to make you. 
 I shall follow you wherever you go, and at the 
 first town we reach I shall turn you over to the
 
 FLIGHT 111 
 
 police. Then I will send for Mr. Apthorpe. 
 Believe me, my dear sir, I am in earnest. I have 
 made up my mind. You must either come with 
 me willingly, like a gentleman, or I shall compel 
 you to do justice like a thief. How will you 
 have it?" 
 
 I began rather to like that dominie. He was 
 no milksop; he knew his rights and he wouldn't 
 be buncoed or bluffed out of them. The position 
 he took was to me obnoxious in the extreme, to 
 be sure, but from his point of view it was the 
 right one.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 
 
 "Perhaps we may find some form of com- 
 promise," I suggested. 
 
 "There can be no compromise," the Rev. Mr. 
 Tupper insisted stubbornly. 
 
 "Miss Apthorpe won't have you at Burgmoor; 
 she asked you not to come and gave you fair 
 warning." 
 
 "You read other people's letters, it seems," he 
 sneered. 
 
 "Not at all. I am in her confidence to some 
 extent, as you have reason to know. She is in 
 desperate straits. She objects to this marriage, 
 and for some reason the family is forcing her 
 into it." 
 
 "She told you that?" 
 
 "Not exactly. It isn't hard to guess. Much
 
 A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 113 
 
 easier than to imagine why you failed to respect 
 her wishes in the matter." 
 
 He flushed a little at that. "I would do any- 
 thing in the world to serve her," he muttered. 
 
 "Then why did you come?" I demanded. 
 
 "I had my reasons." 
 
 "Undoubtedly." 
 
 "But I am not accountable for them to you." 
 
 "Perhaps not. None the less, it would make 
 the way out of this mess much easier if I knew all 
 the facts." 
 
 "You know all that is necessary." 
 
 "Well, since you refuse to enlighten me, I will 
 make my compromise proposition in the dark. It 
 is impossible for us to go back together. It would 
 make a scene and probably we should both be 
 turned out as two of a kind." 
 
 He winced. He knew there was a chance of it, 
 but felt obliged to take the risk. "What then?" 
 he asked with some curiosity. 
 
 "Let me go back again and continue to play 
 the game out. I will prepare the way for the 
 explanation and make it at the most favorable
 
 114 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 opportunity. You remain at the hotel here until 
 I send for you." 
 
 "And how soon will that be?" 
 
 "Give me twenty-four hours and I will set you 
 right, and get out of the scrape myself into the 
 bargain." 
 
 "Do you propose to perform the marriage- 
 Ceremony?" 
 
 "There will be no marriage," I asserted. That 
 was true, as I thought. There would be no mar- 
 riage if I officiated. 
 
 The dominie considered the matter and shook 
 his head. "It will not do," he said. "I cannot 
 trust you. I have too much at stake. While I 
 was waiting you might disappear, and then I 
 might have to call in some one from New York 
 to identify me, or to go back there in dis- 
 grace." 
 
 "Why can't you trust me?" 
 
 "Have I any reason to?" 
 
 "You have a most excellent reason," I said 
 impressively. "If we cannot come to terms you 
 may hand me over to the police; but that will
 
 A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 115 
 
 not help your case much at present. Besides, 
 you have as much of my property as I have of 
 yours. How about my possessing equal ability 
 to hand you over to the police? Furthermore, 
 my dear sir, think of the undesirable publicity 
 for a man of your instincts and calling. You 
 would never hear the last of it." 
 
 The last two points told. After some mental 
 digestion of them, the Rev. Charles W. Tupper 
 said: 
 
 "What do you want to do?" 
 
 "Let me go back to Burgmoor, and give me 
 twenty-four hours to set things to rights. I can 
 fix it all up nicely in that time." 
 
 "What are you going to do?" he persisted. 
 
 "Stand by Miss Apthorpe until she is out of 
 danger ; then she can smooth out our troubles with 
 a wave of her hand." 
 
 "That may prove more difficult than you imag- 
 ine," rejoined the dominie. 
 
 "What do you know about it?" 
 
 "Not much. There is some mystery, but I am 
 not in the secret. I had thought I might help her
 
 116 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 myself in some way when the proper time came. 
 That is one reason why I felt it my duty to dis- 
 regard her request. But I had others. I met 
 her last summer at Bath Beach, and I confess I 
 was very much attracted, though she is so far out 
 of my reach. Then she wrote me requesting that 
 I refuse the call here. When I received her letter 
 I was already pledged to come. The week before 
 I had received a note from Mr. Fielding, her 
 fiance. He said that he had not the pleasure of 
 my acquaintance, but that I had been selected as 
 the clergyman who was to officiate at her wed- 
 ding, which was to take place at Burgmoor 
 shortly, and that he was very anxious there 
 should be no delay as he was about to sail for 
 Europe. Therefore he must request me to be on 
 hand without fail. He enclosed a check for two 
 hundred dollars. I am poor. When her letter 
 came I had already spent part of the money. 
 The rest was in the purse you so graciously re- 
 turned to me." 
 
 There was a grave twinkle in his eye as he 
 referred to my generosity. He had a sense of
 
 A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 117 
 
 humor, had the parson. I was growing to like 
 him. 
 
 "That actor chap foresaw the girl might play 
 some trick on him and forestalled her," I said. 
 "It's a queer game they are playing down there, 
 and I wish I could get to the bottom of it. With 
 your help, I may." 
 
 "You will be taking very long chances," he 
 warned. 
 
 "My dear fellow, with you for a friend instead 
 of an enemy I am perfectly safe. You have no 
 notion how firmly my identity is established. I 
 breakfasted with the family and talked about all 
 your affairs." 
 
 "How could you do it?" 
 
 "Miss Apthorpe gave me the points, and luck 
 ran my way." 
 
 "I fear that young woman will come to no good 
 end," said Tupper disapprovingly. "She seems 
 to be as false as she is fair." 
 
 "All good-looking women are that way more 
 or less," I generalized cynically. "Besides, she 
 seems to be in a bad scrape, and women will do
 
 118 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 all sorts of queer things when driven to the point 
 
 of desperation." 
 
 "We are all acting rather queerly, and fate 
 seems to force us to continue the farce," said the 
 dominie. "But mark you, if I ever let another 
 man sleep in my berth because he looks tired and 
 I am sorry for him I hope I may get into a still 
 worse pickle." 
 
 "Amen!" 
 
 Having agreed upon this compromise arrange- 
 ment, we cemented our alliance by exchanging 
 the grips and their contents. He had his baggage 
 with him still, having no place where he could 
 leave it. He had not the good-fortune, like my- 
 self, of being a welcome guest. I gave him back 
 his sermon and he returned to me the manuscript 
 of the play, "Diamonds Lead, but Hearts are 
 Trumps." 
 
 He let me keep a couple of his clerical collars 
 and supplied a black necktie which had been over- 
 looked in my haste. He also loaned me a white 
 shirt and a soberer pair of socks. His feet were
 
 A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 119 
 
 much larger than mine, so we could not exchange 
 shoes. 
 
 He seemed to grow much interested in costum- 
 ing my part to better effect, and lent me his 
 clerical vest, taking my light one in exchange. 
 That encouraged me to presume upon his good 
 nature. 
 
 "Now you have gone so far, couldn't you swap 
 trousers?" 
 
 He looked at me in blank dismay. "That 
 passes the limits of good nature," he said, shak- 
 ing his head. "I want you to succeed, but I 
 would rather face any sort of disgrace or ridicule 
 than than wear those things. Pardon my 
 speaking so frankly. You brought up the sub- 
 ject, you know." 
 
 "Oh, never mind," I replied with affected care- 
 lessness. "While you were about it I thought 
 you might be willing to throw in the trousers, 
 that was all." 
 
 "I'd be glad to oblige you," he replied sol- 
 emnly, "but really, you couldn't expect 
 that."
 
 120 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 I sighed, but I had played the game success- 
 fully so far, trousers and all, and I thought I 
 could pull it through. It did not occur to me that 
 fresh complications might have arisen during my 
 absence. 
 
 It was agreed that Tupper should put up at 
 the small village hotel and remain there that 
 night. If he heard nothing from me before two 
 o'clock the following afternoon he was to walk 
 boldly into Burgmoor. 
 
 Meanwhile I promised to keep him posted un- 
 less unforeseen difficulties arose, and to send for 
 him at once as soon as the final explanation was 
 in order. 
 
 We shook hands in a fashion quite friendly, 
 considering the way in which our interview had 
 begun. His eye was still a bit discolored and my 
 nose somewhat swollen, but otherwise we were 
 none the worse off physically. 
 
 Then he left me, making his way toward the vil- 
 lage at the foot of one side of the hill, while I 
 took the path toward the church on the other 
 slope.
 
 A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 121 
 
 As I emerged upon the road I ran right into 
 a phaeton being driven at a rapid pace by a young 
 lady who looked woe-begone and desperate. 
 When she saw me she reined up suddenly and 
 her face was wreathed in smiles. 
 
 "Why Mr. Plympton Mr. Tupper, I mean 
 I thought we had lost you!" 
 
 "I was just taking a walk among the hills," 
 I apologized. 
 
 "What, what is the matter with your how did 
 you hurt yourself?" 
 
 "I tripped and fell. Does it look very bad?" 
 
 "What a shame! No, a little red, perhaps, 
 that's all. Won't you get in and drive back with 
 me? We shall be late for lunch, but they were 
 still waiting for you when I left." 
 
 I accepted the invitation. 
 
 "Why did you run away?" she said reproach- 
 fully. "I thought you had promised to stand by 
 me. It was mean to desert me like that, when I 
 had risked so much to keep you." 
 
 "It would have been folly to stay, with that 
 young clergyman thirsting for revenge. I had
 
 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 to arrange matters with him, or I should never 
 have dared to return." 
 
 "You have seen him. then?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And he will be generous, will make no fuss?" 
 
 "For the present he will let matters stand until 
 they can be explained." 
 
 "You are very clever, Mr. Mr. Tupper. 
 That is why I have such urgent need of your 
 help." 
 
 "Not a bit; I have been very stupid. It was 
 all a mistake of the sleeping-car porter and of the 
 servants, Miss Apthorpe." 
 
 "Or a smart trick on a mooning minister." 
 
 "Don't you believe me, either? Remember 
 your own statement that there are situations 
 where the truth is impossible of belief, where one 
 is forced to admit and act a falsehood. That has 
 been my case ; it is my case still. I have promised 
 that young clergyman to return and explain 
 things." 
 
 "Not right away?"
 
 A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 123 
 
 "Within twenty-four hours." 
 
 "Oh, that's all right. Lots of things can hap- 
 pen in twenty-four hours." 
 
 "Most anything, even the loss of one's iden- 
 tity," I assented. 
 
 "How funny!" she said, and again I was 
 treated to that musical laugh. 
 
 "Very absurd," I admitted ruefully. 
 
 The girl had cheered up wonderfully since she 
 had recaptured her prisoner. She informed me 
 afterwards that she had waited anxiously about 
 the church until some one told her that I had 
 been seen walking far up the hill. She had made 
 up her mind to try and intercept me by driving 
 around through a woodland roadway. 
 
 As we approached Burgmoor we reached the 
 point where the road forked. Down the hill it 
 wound its sinuous way to the station far below. 
 Up the hill it ascended to the summer place of 
 the Apthorpe family. 
 
 "We are at the parting of the ways," I said. 
 I had taken the reins and stopped the horse. 
 
 "Why so?" she asked in alarm.
 
 124 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "I cannot proceed in this matter blindfold, 
 Miss Apthorpe. I do not wish to intrude upon 
 your affairs ; but if I must be concerned in them 
 it is necessary that I should know all the facts. 
 I am willing to continue the adventure, but even 
 to oblige you and the good young parson I can- 
 not proceed with my eyes shut. The way at best 
 is full of pitfalls, and I need all the light there 
 is to guide me." 
 
 "You would not believe me, no one will," said 
 the girl disconsolately. 
 
 "I promise in advance to place absolute faith 
 in every word you say." 
 
 "How can you, when my own father and 
 brother-in-law, my own mother and sister laugh 
 my story to scorn?" 
 
 "Because my calling deals with the strange and 
 unusual in life. Nothing is impossible to a news- 
 paper man, however incredible it might seem to 
 others." 
 
 "And you will promise to stand by me ; swear 
 not to desert me again, whatever happens?" 
 
 I might be running my neck into a noose, but
 
 A CHANCE ENCOUNTER 125 
 
 I promised nevertheless, and, turning the horse 
 up the hill, drove on toward Burgmoor. 
 
 "How could any power on earth force you to 
 marry against your will?" I asked as we wound 
 up the hillside. 
 
 "It will take a long while to explain all the 
 ins and outs of the matter," she answered. 
 "There is no time now. We must not be too 
 late for lunch or they will ask embarrassing ques- 
 tions. I will meet you in the garden this 
 evening, and 'tell all.' I shall be putting great 
 trust in you, Mr. Plympton." 
 
 "I shall not betray it," I said, "though I don't 
 know why you trust me." 
 
 "I trust you because of some of the things you 
 said in the sermon this morning. The first part 
 of it, the part that made the talk." 
 
 "Oh, that was newspaper theology. It won't 
 go in Greenford, or in any other pulpit, I'm 
 afraid." 
 
 "Perhaps not," she replied thoughtfully, 
 "though I think you are mistaken. Anyway, I 
 like newspaper theology; I like newspaper men."
 
 126 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 She looked at me with an expression that seemed 
 to say, "I like you." 
 
 Basil Plympton were better never born than 
 lose his heart to this daughter of the Apthorpes, 
 married or single. That was the idea uppermost 
 in my mind as we turned into the driveway.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE BEST MAN 
 
 As Beatrice Apthorpe anticipated, we were 
 late for lunch. They had given us up and, skip- 
 ping the blessing, had begun the soup. I had 
 that much to be thankful for, but other troubles 
 were in store for me. 
 
 The company had been augmented by two new 
 arrivals. One of these I took to be Harry Field- 
 ing. He was a large, good-looking man; but I 
 had no time to inspect him carefully. The other 
 guest who had come with him claimed my whole 
 attention. 
 
 Seated at the actor's elbow, in the midst of 
 this exclusive family circle, was a man whom I 
 recognized immediately as Samuel Sears, a star 
 reporter for the New York "Gazette." We knew 
 each other fairly well. 
 
 Sears looked at me in astonishment. I gazed
 
 128 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 upon him with a bland stare, as though he were 
 a perfect stranger. Then he choked in his soup ; 
 took a whole spoonful of it down his windpipe, I 
 presume. He made a disgraceful exhibition of 
 himself, and I was justified in declining to 
 acknowledge his acquaintance. 
 
 As we entered the family arose to greet us, and 
 Sears staggered to his feet, gasping and red in 
 the face. 
 
 I was presented to the newcomers as the Rev. 
 Charles W. Tupper, of St. Luke's rectory. Then 
 we took our seats, a place for Miss Apthorpe 
 having been reserved at my side. The Apthorpes 
 began talking about my sermon before I was well 
 in my chair. 
 
 Sears stared at me in bewilderment, and I re- 
 turned his gaze benevolently, but without a 
 shadow of recognition. There was nothing for 
 it but to face him down and out. 
 
 I rehearsed the action of the trustees of St. 
 Luke's on the Brownlee bequest, and aired my 
 views of the topic of tainted money. And the 
 sermon, above all things the sermon! I rubbed
 
 THE BEST MAN 129 
 
 that into Samuel Sears' moral consciousness with 
 sand-paper and Sapolio. He began to waver in 
 his conviction, and mopped his forehead in per- 
 plexity. 
 
 Miss Apthorpe noticed that the friend of her 
 fiance looked at me queerly, and she scented dan- 
 ger. She backed up my play with her best trump 
 cards, enlightening me deftly as to things I 
 should know about other people, and I took her 
 pointers and enlarged upon them. 
 
 But the thing that stumped Sears was her con- 
 tinual reference to our doings at Bath Beach the 
 previous summer. Sam knew that I had been in 
 Ne\^ York City all last summer, except for three 
 weeks spent at a resort in New Jersey. It was 
 clear that I could not have been in two places so 
 distant at one time. It was also evident that the 
 young clergyman who resembled his friend so 
 strikingly was an old acquaintance of Miss Ap- 
 thorpe's. Sears was beside himself. Clever as 
 he is, he could not make it out. 
 
 Then they began a theok>gical discussion and 
 I was right on deck; I had learned my lesson.
 
 130 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 No more heresy for me; I couldn't afford the 
 luxury. To even things up and make mvself 
 solid with these pillars of the Episcopal Church I 
 was so orthodox that I fairly smelled of sulphur 
 and brimstone. I was for fore-ordination, pre- 
 destination and even ventured to postulate infant 
 damnation. I condemned the population of the 
 globe from the creation of man to the Christian 
 era to eternal torments. Buddha, Confucius, 
 Aristotle, Socrates, Epictetus and all the rest of 
 them I sent to swim in the boiling lake. I re- 
 duced the number of the elect to the smallest 
 possible minimum. I thinned out the population 
 of paradise until it was no bigger than that of 
 the village of Greenford. When I had finished 
 my forecast of the census on the day of judgment 
 there were hardly enough saints left to make a re- 
 spectable procession at a masonic funeral. 
 
 Sears began to perceive marked differences be- 
 tween me and his friend of the "Express," even 
 in personal appearance. For one thing, he no- 
 ticed that my nose was bigger and redder, so he 
 told me afterwards. He liked Basil Plympton,
 
 THE BEST MAN 131 
 
 but the Rev. Charles Tupper was too bloodthirsty 
 altogether. 
 
 That I was the Rev. Charles W. Tupper, of 
 St. Luke's rectory, was established by proof 
 irrefutable. There could be no question about it. 
 Yet, barring my enlarged proboscis, I was Basil 
 Plympton, of the New York "Express," to a hair. 
 Could he refuse to credit the evidence of his own 
 senses? Had we not met frequently during the 
 last two years? 
 
 It was a hard proposition. All he could do 
 was to watch and bide his time. While I was 
 making good I fenced about warily to discover 
 how Sam Sears, of all people, came to be a guest 
 of the Apthorpes. The solution was not difficult. 
 
 Harry Fielding knew him well and had 
 brought him to act as his best man ; but the Ap- 
 thorpes were evidently unaware of his newspaper 
 affiliations. As the wedding was supposed to be 
 strictly private, with all representatives of the 
 press rigidly excluded, this maneuver on the part 
 of Fielding was the worst sort of bad faith. 
 
 Incidentally it threw a side-light on the mys-
 
 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 tery itself. The family had published the engage- 
 ment far and wide, but wanted the wedding quiet 
 and were going to bundle the bride and groom 
 off to Europe immediately after. Fielding, on 
 the other hand, wanted to keep the wedding and 
 his movements afterward in the limelight. 
 
 Miss Apthorpe, it would seem, did not wish 
 to be married at all, but was under some sort of 
 compulsion and dared not openly rebel. Yet, if 
 actually brought to the point she undoubtedly 
 stood ready to back out at the last moment and 
 to defy everybody. 
 
 The situation was peculiar in the extreme, but 
 not so strange as to afford no rational explana- 
 tion; and this she had promised to give me that 
 evening. If I could only make my imposture 
 hold its own with Sam Sears I might yet save the 
 day. 
 
 Of the two of us, my position for the time being 
 was the better assured. I knew him; he merely 
 suspected me. Neither of us had any business 
 to be where we were. I could expose him at will. 
 He would find some difficulty in tearing off my
 
 THE BEST MAN 133 
 
 mask, even should he finally make up his mind 
 that I wore one. 
 
 Nevertheless he could do much mischief, if he 
 chose. A mere suspicion, a plausible doubt 
 excited in the actor's mind would serve to make 
 him set inquiries afoot and be fatal to Miss Ap- 
 thorpe and myself. Sam Sears also would un- 
 questionably make investigations on his own 
 account. 
 
 Backed up by the young lady and the clergy- 
 man I had thought myself fairly secure for a 
 few hours. I had not reckoned on Sam. He 
 hadn't figured on me, either. He had fancied 
 himself assured of the inside track for the "Ga- 
 zette " in the Apthorpe matter, and now saw him- 
 self in danger of being shunted upon a siding, 
 provided always Tupper wasn't Tupper, but 
 Plympton. 
 
 At this crisis in my affairs Master Gosse tried 
 his hand on me again. Master Gosse was the 
 most dangerous logician for his size I had ever 
 met. The ice was altogether too thin just then 
 to risk another bout with that juvenile inquisi-
 
 134 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 tor. I framed one comprehensive rejoinder to all 
 his questions, and stuck to that as long as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 "Mr. Tupper, why can't hens fly like birds?" 
 he demanded. I might have undertaken an in- 
 structive discourse on the hen with any other 
 youngster, but I had learned my lesson and 
 learned it well. I didn't dare. Some trap lurked 
 in the simplest query. "Ask your mother about 
 it, my young friend," I said, with my most cler- 
 ical smile. 
 
 That kept him still for a moment. Then he 
 sprang another. "Say, Mr. Tupper, is Beulah- 
 land in South America?" 
 
 "Your mother is an authority on Beulahland, 
 my boy." 
 
 "Could God go skating on the Fourth of July 
 if He wanted to?" 
 
 "Ask your mother." 
 
 "What makes one end of an egg smaller than 
 the other?" 
 
 "Ask your mother." 
 
 Master Gosse wasn't accustomed to this sort
 
 THE BEST MAN 135 
 
 of a squelching, and eyed me revengefully. He 
 bided his time and reflected. When he had 
 thought of a question impossible to be disposed of 
 by the maternal referendum, he produced it. 
 
 "Mr. Tupper," he said, "what makes a min- 
 ister leave church by a back window when every 
 one else goes out by the front door?" 
 
 That young scamp was one too many for me. 
 He always came out on top, somehow. The 
 others listened breathlessly for my reply. I 
 couldn't say, "Ask your mother," for Mrs. Gosse 
 evidently would have made the same inquiry of 
 me had she dared. Sam Sears was all attention. 
 
 "It is not a customary thing to do, my child," 
 I said, with fatherly tolerance, "but I learned a 
 poor old woman was ill and I was in a hurry to 
 make her a visit. If I had gone out the other way 
 I should have been detained. I was late for lunch 
 as it was." 
 
 "A poor old woman ill who was it, pray?" 
 inquired the kind-hearted Mrs. Apthorpe. 
 
 How did I know? I could have wrung the 
 neck of that young Gosseling.
 
 136 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 Beatrice pulled me out of the mire, as usual. 
 "Old Mrs. Flannigan," she explained. "I met 
 Mr. Tupper returning from his visit. She lives 
 right over the hill, two miles from the church, 
 you know." 
 
 "You are evidently going to be a friend to our 
 sick and poor, Mr. Tupper. I shall have to for- 
 give you for being tardy, after all," said Mrs. 
 Apthorpe, with moist eyes. 
 
 Sears had been listening with marked at- 
 tention; but after that he sank back in his chair 
 and looked wilted. I had turned out such a saint 
 that he was ashamed of himself. 
 
 "Mr. Tupper," began Master Gosse again, 
 and a cold shiver went down my spine. Mrs. 
 Gosse, however, now awoke to the fact that 1 
 was being annoyed and put a stop to the perse- 
 cution. I didn't say, "Never mind, he's a bright 
 child," or anything like that. I knew better. 
 
 But Sam Sears had been collecting his wits 
 and now unmasked his batteries and opened fire. 
 "Mr. Tupper," he queried, "do you happen to 
 know a man named Basil Plympton?"
 
 THE BEST MAN 137 
 
 "Of the New York 'Express'?" 
 
 "The same." 
 
 "Slightly; by reputation only. Do you?" 
 
 "I did once." 
 
 "I have had a number of requests from various 
 newspapers for permission to send men here," 
 put in Apthorpe. "I have advised them all that 
 the marriage is purely a private matter, and that 
 the public is not concerned with it in any 
 way." 
 
 "Not in the least degree," observed Fielding 
 pompously. 
 
 "We must look out that none of these cattle 
 presume to intrude upon our privacy," remarked 
 Apthorpe. 
 
 "They are very persistent fellows," observed 
 Gosse. "I think one of them was at church this 
 morning. He eyed us all with the impudent and 
 vulgar curiosity of his calling." 
 
 "You don't say so!" cried his wife in alarm. 
 
 "Awful!" exclaimed Beatrice, with a roguish 
 side glance at me. 
 
 "What kind of a looking fellow was he?" asked
 
 138 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 Samuel Sears, who was evidently very uncom- 
 fortable. 
 
 "He wore a loud jacket and carried a slouch 
 hat," replied Gosse. "I recognized him for a re- 
 porter by his nervous air and peculiarly irreve- 
 rent aspect. He can seldom have been inside of 
 a church; he scowled at our good divine all 
 through the sermon." 
 
 Poor Tupper! How clothes and environment 
 do make the man. And he thought these good 
 people would receive him as a genuine parson 
 after that! 
 
 "I'll have the gardener instructed to put him 
 out if he dares intrude here," snorted Apthorpe. 
 
 "If you mean the man who sat at the back of 
 the church," ventured Miss Beatrice Apthorpe, 
 "I think I recognized him." 
 
 "Who was he?" asked her father. 
 
 "Basil Plympton, of the New York 'Ex- 
 press/ " declared that veracious young lady. 
 
 Sears upset a glass of water at his elbow. His 
 clumsiness was really most annoying.
 
 THE BEST MAN 139 
 
 "How did you happen to know him, dear?" 
 asked her mother. 
 
 "I have often seen his picture in magazine ar- 
 ticles on dramatic criticism, and he has been 
 pointed out to me. That was two years ago, 
 though; he may have changed." 
 
 "How did he look, the man in the church?" in- 
 quired Samuel. 
 
 "He had a long nose and a pale face," replied 
 the daring Miss Apthorpe. Why could she not 
 leave well enough alone? She was very clever, 
 but sometimes cleverness overreaches itself. 
 
 "I did not notice that," said Gosse. "On the 
 contrary, I thought him rather fat and flabby." 
 
 Sam pricked up his ears again. The dis- 
 crepancies were too perceptible. Not only this, 
 but the girl had drawn his suspicions upon her. 
 If she was in the deal it was very plain that I 
 would have no trouble in mystifying all the rest. 
 I knew Sam Sears to be shrewd enough to miss 
 no obvious pointer like that. It was essential 
 to carry the war into Africa. That young man 
 was looking for trouble.
 
 140 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "Speaking of resemblances," I said slowly, so 
 that all present should fix their attention upon 
 him, "a man was pointed out to me not long ago 
 as being a prominent newspaper writer who 
 strongly reminded me of you, Mr. Sears." 
 
 The blow was unexpected and right from the 
 shoulder. Sears winced, shook his head and gave 
 me a beseeching look. He suddenly appreciated 
 that, were his suspicions well founded, I still had 
 the upper hand of him and could have him ex- 
 pelled with but scant ceremony, if I but said the 
 word. 
 
 I did not want to do that; it was risky. He 
 would be sure to retaliate. Besides, it wasn't 
 professional ethics. I merely thought to show 
 my hand sufficiently to shut him up for a season, 
 and it worked very well. For the rest of the 
 meal Sammy was the nicest, the politest, the most 
 quiet and subdued man you ever saw. But the 
 question was: "How long would he remain like 
 that?" 
 
 The meal came to an end and the entire party 
 adjourned to the veranda. I engaged Fielding in
 
 THE BEST MAN 141 
 
 conversation and soon sized him up for the mat- 
 inee-girl-favorite type I had thought him. Yet 
 he was a man of parts in a superficial and social 
 way, and one of a peculiarly engaging person- 
 ality. He reminded me strongly of Steerforth, 
 in "David Copper-field." 
 
 He was a big, handsome chap, just the sort to 
 attract a young girl ; especially one who loved fun. 
 He was bright in his talk, and told stories cleverly. 
 
 I had several plans revolving in my head. To 
 work them out properly it would be necessary 
 for me to break away from the assembled com- 
 pany for an hour or so. I maneuvered a little 
 and managed to whisper to Beatrice Apthorpe: 
 "I must go to the station at once. Do not fear, 
 I am going to stand by you. I do not need watch- 
 ing any more." 
 
 She made some excuse and re-entered the 
 house. A moment later I followed. She piloted 
 me to a side door, whence I could reach the road 
 without coming into view. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" she asked. 
 
 "Only a little work on the wires," I replied.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE GARMENT OF BETRAYAL 
 
 On the way to the station I met the Rev. 
 Charles W. Tupper wandering about the country 
 like a disembodied spirit, with an air so dejected 
 and a face so forlorn that I felt acutely sorry for 
 him. 
 
 "Hello!" I cried. "Cheer up. Your innings 
 is soon coming." 
 
 "It's all well enough for you to talk, but if you 
 were in my place you wouldn't think it so much 
 fun," responded the dominie. He was right; I 
 was having all the excitement. I had no time to 
 think about things or to suffer from ennui. Up 
 to date my vacation had been a glittering success, 
 and I was enjoying it hugely. 
 
 But to be robbed of your identity and to be un- 
 able to regain it when you want to is a trying ex- 
 perience. I went through it later and know 
 whereof I speak. The hour was to come when I
 
 THE GARMENT OF BETRAYAL 143 
 
 would have given, for a brief but vivid interval, 
 all I had or hoped for, to be recognized and iden- 
 tified for my true self by some respectable author- 
 ity. 
 
 "How are you coming out?" he asked. 
 
 "It's pretty hard sledding," I confessed. 
 "Fielding brought up a newspaper chap with him 
 as best man, and I am afraid there are drifts 
 ahead." 
 
 "Does he know you?" 
 
 "He knows Basil Plympton like a brother, but 
 as yet he is a bit perplexed about me. We are 
 all on thin ice, though, and it may give way under 
 our feet any moment." 
 
 The young parson seemed frightened. "Let's 
 drop it and both go back to New York to-night," 
 he said. 
 
 "I would have agreed to that gladly enough 
 up on the hill this noon," I replied, "but you 
 wouldn't have it that way. Now it is too late. I 
 have given the young lady my word of honor to 
 remain." 
 
 "But what are you going to do about the other
 
 144 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 newspaper fellow? He will be sure to recognize 
 you sooner or later, and then he will expose us. 
 I wish I had never let you go back." 
 
 "That is hind-sight. We can't help it now." 
 "Easily enough; chloroform him, perhaps." 
 The young minister started. "Oh, don't do 
 that!" he cried. 
 
 He seemed so "easy" I couldn't resist the temp- 
 tation to "string" him a bit. 
 
 "But how will you dispose of your rival?" 
 "Oh, I won't hurt him," I said, with be- 
 coming gravity. "He is nervous. A narcotic 
 would have a soothing effect, and would do him 
 a world of good. We have to work all sorts of 
 tricks in our trade, you know." 
 
 "I am sure there is some better way," said the 
 cleric with a twinkle in his eye. 
 
 "Well, we'll see," I admitted. "If things are 
 going slow and you want some real excitement, 
 think up a scheme yourself. I'll lure him to the 
 back garden gate late this evening, and we'll find 
 some method of putting him out of harm's way." 
 "I will try to think of something," he promised.-
 
 THE GARMENT OF BETRAYAL 145 
 
 "All right, if you care to bother," I replied 
 carelessly. 
 
 "But won't it make trouble if we do anything 
 to him at all?" 
 
 "Trouble? Make trouble? My dear fellow, if 
 we put this thing through to a finish and escape 
 the electric-chair we are lucky." 
 
 He laughed at that, and I supposed he saw 
 that I was merely joking and had no real inten- 
 tion of doing mischief to Mr. Sears. 
 
 "Keep cheerful," I added, as we parted. 
 "When it's all over, I'll make you famous. This 
 morning's sermon will be published in the 
 'Express' anyhow your part of it, that is." 
 
 He went off with his face all aglow. He had 
 his ambitions, and the mere suggestion of seeing 
 himself in print seemed to add three inches to 
 his stature. 
 
 I entered the station and made friends with 
 the ticket-agent, who was also the telegraph- 
 operator. 
 
 I sent a message and fee to Haskin & Hall, 
 leading criminal lawyers of Boston. It read:
 
 146 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "Advise effect of marriage solemnized by un- 
 authorized party. Is it criminal offense? Is the 
 marriage binding? Wire full particulars." I 
 signed Tupper's name to that telegram. 
 
 Then I wired Carl Krull at Hilltown: "Come 
 to Greenford on nine fifty-five train to-morrow. 
 Have discovered authoress of play. Go to Ap- 
 thorpe residence. Inquire for Rev. Charles W. 
 Tupper, of St. Luke's rectory. No matter what 
 I say or do, call me by that name only. Will 
 explain later." 
 
 Carl was a great success in his own line, but 
 was ultra-German, and often thickheaded in other 
 matters. Before the wedding I wanted to have 
 a talk with him. He knew Fielding had brought 
 him to the front, and was now his manager. If 
 any man on earth could control the actor that 
 man was Carl Krull. At any rate, he would 
 be anxious to meet Beatrice Apthorpe and secure 
 the right to produce her play. 
 
 In all this it never occurred to me what a box 
 I was nailing myself into. 
 
 As I left the station I stepped right into the
 
 THE GARMENT OF BETRAYAL 147 
 
 arms of Sam Sears. He started guiltily. He 
 also had designs on the telegraph-operator, but 
 he didn't want me around while he was making 
 agonized inquiries concerning a certain young 
 clergyman and his whereabouts. 
 
 "Basil Plympton, you are a dandy!" It was 
 in this rude vernacular that Samuel saw fit to ac- 
 cost me. It hurt my clerical dignity. 
 
 "Sir!" I said, with an indignant stare. 
 
 "Oh, let up, old man! Do you think that I am 
 a fool?" 
 
 "I really do not understand you, brother." 
 
 "Call me sister," facetiously suggested Mr. 
 Sears. 
 
 "My dear young man, you talk very 
 strangely." 
 
 Seeing that his unseemly mirth was not to be . 
 checked by my art of meek forbearance and that 
 the man really thought me funny, I turned my 
 back upon him in disgust and walked away with 
 the pompous stride of offended dignity. 
 
 "Wait," he called after me. "I was going to
 
 148 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 wire for certain information; but I don't need 
 it now." 
 
 We walked on for half a mile in silence. I 
 was thinking hard. I had made up my mind to 
 stick to my disguise, if possible. Sam Sears 
 might suspect all he pleased. As long as he 
 wasn't cock-sure he would hold his tongue and 
 await developments. 
 
 "To think of it!" he resumed. "Preaching a 
 sermon, actually holding forth from the pulpit. 
 Basil, weren't you afraid the lightning might 
 be sent down from heaven and destroy you in 
 your blasphemy?" 
 
 "How long is this sort of thing to continue?" 
 I asked, with some show of irritation. Then I 
 bethought myself and treated him to a look full 
 of forgiveness and brotherly love. 
 
 "You will be the death of me with that bland, 
 clerical smile of yours, Basil," he cried, doubling 
 up with convulsive merriment. 
 
 There was nothing for it but to walk on and 
 ignore his jibes, but I had a very unclerical im-
 
 THE GARMENT OF BETRAYAL 149 
 
 pulse to kick him. It would have given me a lot 
 of satisfaction just then. 
 
 He stumbled on up the hill after me, all out of 
 breath and chuckling to himself without a 
 let-up. 
 
 Another half-mile was passed in this fashion. 
 
 "See here, Basil Plympton," he said at length, 
 "we must come to some understanding, make 
 some agreement. I'd be willing to let you alone, 
 if you would not interfere with me. But I can't 
 let you go on to the point of officiating at the wed- 
 ding. You are perfectly capable of doing it and 
 then writing it up afterwards. Can't you see 
 what a mess you are getting into?" 
 
 Still I smiled upon him in placid disdain. I 
 was very anxious to draw him out and learn his 
 views. 
 
 "You have fooled the Apthorpes," he con- 
 tinued, "you have managed to trick a poor par- 
 son out of his own identity and hide him away 
 where he can't be found. You have bamboozled 
 a whole churchful of people. You have hypno- 
 tized Miss Apthorpe. But it won't go. I was
 
 150 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 puzzled ; I might have been fooled altogether but 
 for one thing. Basil, I may not know you, even 
 now. But my dear boy, I know your trousers!" 
 
 Oh, my trousers, my conspicuous London 
 trousers, they had betrayed me! Sam was right. 
 The game was up. I acknowledged the fact with 
 a sickly grin. Sam Sears did not suspect merely. 
 He knew! 
 
 "Hush," I whispered, and looked about in 
 alarm, but we were alone. 
 
 "Never fear, old man, we'll work this thing up 
 together. I won't bother you so long as you 
 agree to bring a genuine parson before to-morrow 
 noon." 
 
 "Oh, that's all attended to; he is coming," I 
 assured him. 
 
 "Then you did not propose to marry them 
 yourself?" 
 
 "Not a bit of it." 
 
 "You are capable of anything anything 
 whatever." 
 
 "You flatter. Tupper was ill and let me come 
 in his place. Miss Apthorpe understands. A
 
 THE GARMENT OF BETRAYAL 151 
 
 genuine, unadulterated article is to be imported 
 for the occasion to-morrow. I shall only assist." 
 
 "Who is the real thing?" 
 
 "The Rev. Hogarth Applethwaite, of Hallam 
 Manor, Devonshire." 
 
 "An Englishman?" 
 
 "Sounds like it." 
 
 "Friend of Tupper's?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "Does Fielding know him?" 
 
 "He wiU be able to satisfy Mr. Fielding." 
 
 "Look here, Plympton. This is all rather 
 queer. I want things to be right. What's up?" 
 
 Sam Sears was a hard man to fool, as he had 
 already demonstrated. He was fast driving me 
 into a corner. I dared not confide in him. He 
 was Harry Fielding's friend even more than 
 mine, and would stand by the actor through thick 
 and thin in this affair. He was indeed a thorn in 
 the flesh. I could not trust him and I could not 
 deceive him successfully. All I could do was to 
 play for time and trust to luck. 
 
 "There is a lot to this business that you are not
 
 152 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 onto, Sam," I said mysteriously. "There'll be a 
 big scarehead in it before we get through. There 
 is no time now, but I will let you in on it and we 
 will trade pointers. Meet me in the garden late 
 this evening, and I'll give you something to think 
 about." 
 
 He had to be satisfied with that, as we were 
 rapidly approaching Burgmoor. Fielding and 
 his fiancee were standing under the rustic arch 
 of the gate. They did not look like a happy 
 couple. 
 
 She was talking rapidly and gesticulating ve- 
 hemently. He was shaking his head. Was she 
 making a last vain appeal for mercy? It certainly 
 looked like it, and my heart went out to her. 
 
 As we joined them she dropped behind with 
 me, leaving Sam Sears and the happy bride- 
 groom to walk on together. Something in the 
 girl's face told me that she must speak to me 
 privately and at once, at all hazards. 
 
 She laid her little hand on my sleeve and de- 
 tained me at the gate until the two men were out 
 of earshot.
 
 THE GARMENT OF BETRAYAL 153 
 
 "What's the matter? Don't worry; I'll fix 
 him," I said, nodding toward Sears. 
 
 "Oh, he doesn't count now; we are lost any- 
 way," she whispered. 
 
 "What has happened?" 
 
 "The bishop is here." 
 
 "The bishop?" 
 
 "Yes, Bishop Hungerford." 
 
 "Hungerford? I know him. A dear old man. 
 Most eighty and near-sighted. I interviewed 
 him once." 
 
 "Worse and worse. But it doesn't matter. He 
 knows Mr. Tupper. What shall we do?" 
 
 "What's he here for?" 
 
 "Mr. Dobbs and the wardens say your sermon 
 was heresy; heresy of the worst, most virulent 
 kind. It was the first part, your part, the part I 
 liked." 
 
 "The idiots ! How did they happen to lay their 
 hands on the bishop so soon?" 
 
 "He was confirming a class at Highfield and 
 they drove over for him. Oh, they are up in arms 
 about it, I can tell youl"
 
 154 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "What's the fuss, anyhow? What sacred doc- 
 trine have I denied, I should like to know?" 
 
 "It's the resurrection of the body. They claim 
 you dispute that. They declare you have struck 
 a blow against the foundations of the Church and 
 of the Christian religion. They are having a 
 great scene over it on the veranda. Papa has 
 been trying to take your side, but Bishop Hun- 
 gerford is against you." 
 
 "Humph." 
 
 "Poor Mr. Tupper!" 
 
 "It is rough on Tupper. I am afraid it is all 
 up with us, but I must stand by Tupper and de- 
 fend his views of theology as I have expounded 
 them." 
 
 "You will be exposed, and we shall all be dis- 
 graced. I'd almost prefer to marry Mr. Field- 
 ing and be done with it. But he has been horrid 
 to me. Things seem to be growing more compli- 
 cated every minute. Can't you think of some- 
 thing?" 
 
 "Don't worry. Keep up your courage. If I
 
 THE GARMENT OF BETRAYAL 155 
 
 could fool Sam Sears for half an hour I can pull 
 the wool over the eyes of the bishop, I imagine. 
 I'll chance it, anyhow." 
 
 "Mr. Sears knows you, then? I feared he 
 recognized you at dinner, but thought we con- 
 vinced him by our talk." 
 
 "We did, and all would have gone well if he 
 hadn't recognized my trousers." 
 
 "They are a bit well, gay. For a minister, I 
 mean, of course," she said, looking down upon 
 their gaudy splendors demurely. 
 
 "Gay they are loud; they shriek unto the 
 hilltops; the Berkshires echo with the racket." 
 
 As we came in sight of the veranda, we stopped 
 talking. From an animated group there assem- 
 bled loud voices greeted us.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE BISHOP 
 
 Mr. Dobbs was laying down the law while Mr. 
 Gosse and Mr. Apthorpe were protesting. The 
 bishop was evidently much disturbed, his shaggy 
 eyebrows being drawn over his kind old eyes. 
 Two pompous-looking Berkshire farmers were 
 putting in a word now and then to back up 
 Dobbs, who was sweeping all before him. 
 
 We walked up the steps just behind Fielding 
 and Sam Sears, who had been waiting for us. 
 
 The minute he saw the bishop Sears knew that 
 I was up against it, and he gave me a grin of 
 commiseration. He evidently thought I was 
 done for, and he was glad of it. He just stood 
 apart from the crowd to enjoy things all by him- 
 self. 
 
 Now, if I had been a genuine minister I should 
 have been frightened half to death. It was pretty
 
 THE BISHOP 157 
 
 rough treatment to pile the bishop and the war- 
 dens on me the very first Sunday, and haul me 
 over the coals for heresy before my sermon was 
 cold. As I wasn't subject to be fried upon the 
 ecclesiastical griddle personally, the whole thing 
 amused me immensely. But it came home to me 
 as never before how very careful a parson has to 
 be, and why he can't afford to talk too much. If 
 every young man was at liberty to start a new 
 schism there would be nearly as many churches 
 as there are people to go to them. That grain of 
 mustard-seed of mine seemed to be working. 
 
 It wasn't my doctrine that bothered me. The 
 question was, Would the bishop recognize me for 
 the fraud I really was, or would he endorse my 
 assumed identity? 
 
 I walked right up to the old gentleman with 
 extended hand, and asked feelingly after his 
 health. 
 
 The bishop shook my hand and looked up into 
 my face. Then he took off his glasses, slowly 
 polished them with his handkerchief, put them on 
 carefully and looked at me again. Every one was
 
 158 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 silent while the bishop was peering at me. Per- 
 haps he wanted to see how a real live young here- 
 tic looked. 
 
 He folded up his pince-nez and took out a 
 leather case. From this he extracted his long- 
 distance spectacles and put them on. The result 
 was no more satisfactory. Then he tried on the 
 eye-glasses at the end of his nose beyond the 
 spectacles. They must have obscured his vision 
 sufficiently, for a smile of recognition spread over 
 his face. I do not believe he could see me at all , 
 through all that glass, but he wouldn't own up 
 to it. 
 
 "I am in good health, my dear young friend," 
 he said at length, "but my eyesight is growing 
 very poor. You must have been ill. You have 
 changed terribly since I saw you last. You must 
 have lost twenty pounds, and your face is sadly 
 emaciated." 
 
 "I have been ill. That is why I am very glad 
 to be transferred from New York to your dio- 
 cese. I have been working quite hard. It ran 
 into insomnia; and the city air is bad for my
 
 THE BISHOP 159 
 
 lungs, which have been troubling me of late." 
 
 "I know," nodded the old gentleman. "These 
 city parishes make heavy demands upon our 
 young shepherds." 
 
 "What is the matter, Mr. Sears?" asked Mrs. 
 Apthorpe of Samuel, who was evidently stirred 
 by some invisible impulse and was writhing con- 
 vulsively. "Are you ill? You seem to be in 
 pain." 
 
 "No, madam," gasped Sam. "It is nothing. I 
 I Excuse me, I'll I'll take a short walk." 
 
 Sam Sears was possessed of the idea that there 
 was something funny in my talk with the good old 
 bishop and that it was all done exclusively for 
 his personal amusement. That man never .had 
 any reverence. 
 
 I had no time to bother with him. I was busy. 
 The worst was over so far as the bishop was con- 
 cerned. My identity as the Rev. Charles W. 
 Tupper was more firmly established than ever. 
 
 But Dobbs and the wardens were after me re- 
 lentlessly. They were bound to lay me low, pull 
 me down and trample on me. Dobbs took a mali-
 
 160 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 cious satisfaction in making things just as dis- 
 agreeable for the new minister as he knew how* 
 He began his onslaught by quoting my introduc- 
 tory discourse with more or less accuracy. He 
 then proceeded to show that I had asserted the 
 perishability of the body, that it would be left 
 behind and the soul struggle along without 'it. 
 Also, that I had asserted that the soul was a thing 
 entirely apart from it, and was merely manifested 
 through its medium. That I had therefore de- 
 nied absolutely a bodily resurrection as laid down 
 in the Apostle's creed. 
 
 "I didn't say all that," I urged in defense. "I 
 merely intimated that the whole is no greater 
 than the sum of all its parts, a proposition which 
 is pretty good mathematics, anyhow. All I 
 claimed was that if the soul did not reside in one 
 hand or one eye that had gone, it could not dwell 
 in the other hand or the other eye which re- 
 mained." 
 
 "That's just our complaint, bishop," put in one 
 of the farmers, a shrewd, orthodox old Yankee. 
 "This here young chap has come up from the city
 
 THE BISHOP 161 
 
 into our hills to tell us that the hull ain't no 
 greater when it is hull, than when it's all busted 
 up inter smithereens. When I cut down a tree 
 and split it up into a pile of kindlin's, that cord 
 of wood ain't no tree." 
 
 I was about to retort. The illustration was just 
 what I wanted, but the bishop held up his hand. 
 The young parson was there to listen to his elders, 
 not to convert them to his personal notions about 
 things. I would very much like to work an elab- 
 oration of my ideas in here, seeing how I was shut 
 off there, but perhaps it would be better to write 
 them up in a separate paper and send it to Dobbs, 
 the wardens and Bishop Hungerford. They 
 might read it and you wouldn't. 
 
 Well, the good old man stopped the dispute 
 right there. "My dear friends," he said, "when 
 young Mr. Tupper has grown in thought and 
 in grace, he will come to see that what may 
 be good mathematics is poor theology. The 
 whole is greater than its parts, when the tree we 
 speak of is the tree of life. It holds the germ of 
 a whole forest. There is the mystery, the mystery
 
 162 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 of infinity. It dwells in the acorn as well as in 
 the oak. 'It dwells in the fowls of the air and the 
 creatures of the deep as well as in man. Every- 
 where, all about us, without and within, there is 
 the mystery of the infinite." 
 
 Then that simple-hearted Christian gentleman 
 preached us a sermon there on the veranda such 
 as I had never heard before on the stateliest oc- 
 casions and from the most exalted pulpits. 
 
 He defended all the theological dogmas that 
 young men of the day decry, when they bother 
 their heads about them at all. He yielded not one 
 jot nor one tittle of the good old faith. I didn't 
 agree with him at all ; but he soothed us all down 
 and quenched the fires of debate with the dignity 
 and power of his presence and the lofty grace of 
 his language. 
 
 The bishop was all right; I liked him first- 
 rate. When he had finished with me I felt just 
 as small and cheap as though I had been stealing 
 something and had been caught at it. If I had 
 not been caught of course I should have had no 
 feelings on the subject. So I recanted cheerfully
 
 THE BISHOP 163 
 
 anything heretical which might have been in- 
 ferred from what I had said. That was all the old 
 gentleman wanted, and it made me solid with 
 him. It was probably the shortest and least sen- 
 sational heresy-trial that ever took place. If I 
 accomplished nothing else while I was in the min- 
 istry, at least I made a new record for heresy- 
 trials. 
 
 "What is the matter with that man?" asked 
 Gosse, pointing to where Sam Sears lay rolling 
 over and over under a tree, out on the lawn, in 
 full view of all of us. 
 
 "Henry," called Apthorpe to the gardener, 
 who was working on the flower-beds near by, "go 
 and see if our guest yonder is ill." 
 
 Henry went and returned with a grin on his 
 face. He came up to the front steps and touched 
 his hat. "Please, sir," he said, "Mr. Sears, he 
 ain't got nothin' the matter with him. He's 
 laughin'." 
 
 "Laughing?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, he says as how he had a tooth ex- 
 tracted yesterday and they gave him an overdose
 
 164 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 of laughing gas. He says it breaks out on him 
 sudden like, and he has got to go off by hisself 
 and work it out of his system. He do seem to 
 have taken a powerful lot o' that gas." 
 
 Sam was rapidly disgracing himself beyond 
 redemption. I was ashamed of him. Fielding, 
 who was responsible for him, looked very uncom- 
 fortable. The guest whom he had introduced into 
 this select household had certainly been acting 
 in a very original manner all the afternoon. 
 
 He had jumped around, choked in his soup and 
 upset things at lunch. He had stared at me, the 
 parson, with offensive impertinence, and now he 
 had seen fit to yield himself up to a fit of hys- 
 terics before the eyes of the bishop and the war- 
 dens of the church, to say nothing of its minister 
 and its lay-reader. 
 
 If the bishop was satisfied with the result of his 
 examination into my doctrinal soundness, Mr. 
 Dobbs was proportionately disappointed. His 
 small and jealous soul still sought opportunity 
 to ruin the new minister. 
 
 He had supposed that the bishop would un-
 
 THE BISHOP 165 
 
 frock me on the spot for my extreme heresy ; and 
 when he found that I was to escape with merely 
 a mild reproof, his chagrin and indignation knew 
 no bounds. 
 
 "But, sir," he protested to the bishop, " he was 
 not only wrong in his theology, he was disrespect- 
 ful to holy things. He wiped his face on the 
 surplice. I saw him do it." 
 
 The good old bishop frowned. He did not like 
 Dobbs any better than I did, though he had felt 
 it his duty to back him up. He had not lived to 
 nearly four-score years without learning more or 
 less about human nature and its manifold frail- 
 ties. 
 
 "I did make a mistake," I said maliciously. 
 "The surplice was very dusty and badly soiled, 
 as I found to my sorrow. I wanted to make sure 
 it would go to the wash, but it was a sad mistake 
 to wipe my face with it." 
 
 That sally tickled the bishop in his secret soul, 
 though he did not smile. He was glad of one 
 good chance to get after the obstreperous lay- 
 reader.
 
 166 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "How is this, Mr. Dobbs?" he inquired, frown- 
 ing upon that now quailing worthy until his 
 shaggy eyebrows met over his nose. "Is this not 
 a case of the mote and the beam?" 
 
 "It was an oversight, sir. Mrs. Flannigan, the 
 laundress, has been quite ill," mumbled the lay- 
 reader. 
 
 "So we learned from Mr. Tupper, who hurried 
 to see her right after church," cried Apthorpe, 
 glad to squelch Dobbs and put in a good word 
 for his guest at the same time. 
 
 "Humph," snorted the lay-reader, "he must 
 have traveled in an airship at the rate of about 
 forty miles a minute, then. She was removed to 
 a hospital at Pittsfield yesterday." 
 
 "So I learned when I inquired for her," I said 
 with my blandest and most forgiving smile. 
 
 "You must have heard it from burglars," re- 
 torted Dobbs, "for the house is closed." 
 
 "She was the finest-looking burglar I ever 
 saw," I assented. I had to stick to my guns even 
 if I invented a whole family in the course of the 
 argument.
 
 THE BISHOP 167 
 
 "Her daughter has returned, of course," said 
 Beatrice Apthorpe. "She is said to be very 
 pretty. I see you have an eye for our Berk- 
 shire lasses, Mr. Tupper. You will have to 
 keep a sharp watch on him, Mr. Dobbs. Look 
 out for Sally Henderson in the choir, she may 
 need your protection." 
 
 "Of course it was her daughter," said the 
 bishop. 
 
 Then everybody else said "Of course" in 
 chorus, and looked upon the lay-reader in scorn. 
 Even the two farmers turned their backs on him. 
 They had stood by him in his nonsense about my 
 heresy. When it came to an issue of fact, in 
 which I was quite wrong and he was entirely in 
 the right, they struck their colors and deserted. 
 That is the way of the world. 
 
 Meanwhile Gosse, Apthorpe and Fielding had 
 been whispering together. They now came for- 
 ward and invited the bishop to remain and offi- 
 ciate at the marriage-service on the morrow. 
 They knew Mr. Tupper wouldn't mind. 
 
 Beatrice gasped and turned very pale. Just
 
 168 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 as we had rounded all the roughest corners her 
 whole scheme fell through. 
 
 One thing that struck me as very peculiar was 
 the fact that none of the men thought it necessary 
 or desirable to ask what her pleasure was in the 
 matter. She was not being treated with much 
 consideration; that was clear. But what girl 
 wouldn't prefer to be married by a bishop, if she 
 had the chance? 
 
 I was sure it was the work of Sam Sears. He 
 must have dropped some sort of a hint to Field- 
 ing. I learned afterwards that he had whispered 
 to the actor that it would look better in print to 
 have the bishop's name mentioned in connection 
 with the affair. Sears intended no harm, per- 
 haps, but he was a nuisance. He had made 
 trouble for me all the afternoon. 
 
 The new arrangement about the wedding did 
 not worry me as much as it did Miss Apthorpe. 
 I had already formed a plan for getting the good 
 old bishop out of the way. On the whole, had it 
 not been for Sam Sears, I should have felt pretty 
 safe and taken my first easy breath for several
 
 THE BISHOP 169 
 
 hours. Just as I had everybody nicely set to 
 rights in this Apthorpe business something al- 
 ways happened to set my teeth on edge again. 
 I had triumphed completely. Every prospect 
 was pleasing, and only Dobbs and his wardens 
 wore no smile. But they were about to depart. 
 
 Just then Beatrice Apthorpe seized me by the 
 arm and pointed up the road. "Look I" she cried. 
 
 And well I might look. The Rev. Charles W. 
 Tupper, alias Basil Plympton, was coming down 
 the hill at a hot pace, grim determination on his 
 face. He turned in at the gateway under the 
 rustic arch, and came toward us. Evidently he 
 had heard of the bishop's visit to Burgmoor, and, 
 believing it all up with me, had come to help ex- 
 plain things and resume his lost place in the 
 world. 
 
 I could see that he had serious misgivings about 
 what was going to happen to him; but I could 
 see also that he had resolved to confess and lay 
 the whole case before the bishop. When he 
 looked up at the veranda and saw us all sitting 
 there, calm and peaceful and happy, good faith
 
 170 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 required him to retreat at once. But he was mad 
 clear through because I was hobnobbing with the 
 bishop instead of his doing so. I could not very 
 well blame him; he had been losing chances of 
 distinction all day. 
 
 The case was one, however, which justified ex- 
 treme measures on my part. I waited until he 
 was in full view of every one as he came up the 
 walk. Then I pointed to him and asked Mr. 
 Gosse if that wasn't the reporter he had seen in 
 church that morning. 
 
 "That is the chap, sure enough," he replied. 
 
 "The same man!" cried Beatrice Apthorpe. 
 
 "Perhaps he wants to interview Bishop Hun- 
 gerford," I suggested, "and while he is doing it 
 pick up some gossip about the wedding." 
 
 That was like a red rag to a bull. Apthorpe 
 arose in his might. "Henry," he shouted, "tell 
 that fellow he isn't wanted here and lead him off 
 the premises! Pay no attention to what he says. 
 Just put him out. I won't have any of those ras- 
 cals around." 
 
 Before poor Tupper came within speaking
 
 THE BISHOP 171 
 
 distance or close enough for the near-sighted old 
 bishop to have a good look at his face, the faith- 
 ful and muscular gardener took him by the arm 
 and led him away. 
 
 I could see that the dominie was inclined to 
 argue the point. But Henry was mindful of his 
 orders and deaf to all persuasion, and the much- 
 abused young parson was summarily ejected. 
 
 It was hard luck for him ; I did not blame him 
 for feeling sore. It was good luck for me, though, 
 and he couldn't blame me, either. It was a close 
 call; but once more we had saved the day by a 
 narrow margin.
 
 When Sam Sears stepped into my room to chat 
 a few moments before dinner, he seemed in a 
 mirthful mood. 
 
 "All right," I said, "have your laugh out. 
 Wash all of that gas out of your system before 
 you go downstairs. I should like to see you go 
 through one meal without choking in your soup." 
 
 "Well, Plympton, I'll try to mend my ways, 
 only don't crowd me too hard. Give me a pointer 
 in advance now and then so I can know what to 
 look for. It's these continual surprises you spring 
 that upset a fellow." 
 
 "Did I not tell you I was going to have a high 
 dignitary of the church on hand to do the wed- 
 ding? What is the use of giving you a pointer, 
 if you can't take it?" 
 
 "You gave me some talk about an English-
 
 ENTANGLEMENTS 173 
 
 man. Do you mean to say you meant the 
 bishop?" 
 
 "It was between him and Bishop Hungerford. 
 I wired both ; the bishop came." 
 
 "Come now, do you mean to say you sent for 
 the bishop yourself?" 
 
 "Certainly. Why not?" 
 
 "It didn't look like it. Is that what you were 
 going to tell me this evening?" 
 
 "Not at all. There is more to this thing than 
 you have any notion. I'll put you onto all the fine 
 points as soon as I have a fair chance. Meet me 
 at half past ten to-night at the back gate in the 
 garden. I'll tell you a few things that will 
 awaken you. We will take in some of this fine 
 hill-country air and have a good talk." 
 
 With that we went down. I hadn't the least 
 notion what cock-and-bull story I could prepare 
 for him. There was plenty of time to make one 
 up between seven and ten-thirty, provided my in- 
 ventive powers were equal to the emergency. 
 When I came to think of it I had undertaken a 
 big contract, and meanwhile other duties were
 
 174. HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 of pressing importance. In fact my inventive 
 powers had been stretched to high tension all day 
 long. The first day of my vacation had been a 
 pretty lively one so far. 
 
 The evening meal was the easiest of all. The 
 bishop held the center of the stage, asked the 
 blessing, led the conversation and answered the 
 questions of young Master Howard Gosse with 
 skill and suavity. Beatrice Apthorpe's eyes were 
 red from weeping and her pretty face was so ut- 
 terly downcast I could hardly stand it. However 
 foolish her plan might seem, one thing was cer- 
 tain : she had rather die than marry Fielding, and 
 with the advent of the good old bishop had given 
 herself up to despair. Whether or not I carried 
 my role of impostor to the point of perform- 
 ing a mock marriage, I resolved to get the kind 
 old gentleman out of Burgmoor without unneces- 
 sary delay. 
 
 The task was not so difficult as it might ap- 
 pear at first thought. I turned the conversation 
 upon things dramatic, and soon developed the 
 fact that the bishop had a holy horror of the stage
 
 ENTANGLEMENTS 175 
 
 and of everything pertaining thereto. It was 
 clear that he was ignorant of Fielding's profes- 
 sion. The Apthorpes had not seen fit to enlight- 
 en him. 
 
 I supplied the omission with apparent inno- 
 cence. The bishop started, frowned, and bent a 
 glance of the utmost curiosity on the real, live 
 actor. He seemed astonished to find such a speci- 
 men actually eating in peace like any other mor- 
 tal. I could see that the benevolent old man was 
 much disturbed within himself, though he made 
 no sign while I drew Fielding on to converse 
 about topics theatrical. 
 
 This all took time and I let it gradually have 
 its effect. That was but the first move. Then I 
 began to talk about newspapers and how the 
 representatives of the press were haunting the 
 vicinity. 
 
 "I am so glad you happened over here," I said 
 to Bishop Hungerford. "A man of your ex- 
 alted station does not mind having his picture 
 published in every newspaper in New York City. 
 It would be embarrassing for a young clergyman.
 
 176 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 Evil-minded persons might insinuate that he was 
 seeking notoriety." 
 
 "Dear me, you don't say there is any likelihood 
 of such publicity?" said the bishop in extreme 
 annoyance. 
 
 "Nonsense," said Mr. Apthorpe, frowning and 
 shaking his head at me; "nothing of the sort. 
 We have kept the affair most private. I have 
 refused -a dozen applications to have reporters 
 present at the ceremony." 
 
 The remark was unfortunate from his point 
 of view. It didn't serve to soothe the bishop. 
 
 "One of them was put off the grounds this 
 afternoon," I reminded that excellent prelate. 
 
 The bishop said nothing more, but I could see 
 that my shot had hit the bull's-eye. Immediately 
 after dinner he laid his hand heavily on my arm 
 and asked me to take a turn with him in the 
 garden. 
 
 "I do not know how I can thank you, my 
 young brother, for your timely warning," he said 
 with much agitation. "I would not do anything
 
 ENTANGLEMENTS 177 
 
 that would bring my name, much less my picture, 
 into the papers in this way for worlds. I am 
 much perplexed. I should not have been de- 
 ceived into such a position." 
 
 "It is easily avoided, if you wish it," I ven- 
 tured. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Oh, it can be arranged so you can escape 
 from the situation without hurting the feelings 
 of any one. As I said at the table, it would be 
 embarrassing, even for a young man; not alone 
 the publicity, but the apparent sanction it gives 
 to the evils of the stage." 
 
 The good bishop's hand trembled as it rested 
 on my arm. I was really sorry for him. 
 
 "What excuse can I make?" he asked desper- 
 ately. "These excellent people are of high stand- 
 ing and give largely of their worldly goods to the 
 needs, the pressing needs of the Church, and the 
 poor of the Church who are always with us." 
 
 "They did not dream that you would accept 
 when they asked you," I asserted. "They would 
 have requested you to come in the first place and
 
 178 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 not an unknown young man like me had they 
 hoped for your sanction." 
 
 "But what shall I do? I can think of nothing 
 that does not savour of duplicity, and it is too late 
 for me to begin deception at my time of life. It 
 is a cross, but perhaps I must bear it." 
 
 I did not want to have him think that he was 
 going to have an easy chance to martyr himself. 
 "You are too old and have suffered too much to 
 take fresh burdens meant for younger shoulders," 
 I suggested. I didn't know just what he had suf- 
 fered, but one couldn't live to that age without 
 enduring a great deal first and last. "Leave it 
 all to me," I added; "you are not to blame if 
 some one else deceives you." 
 
 He looked at me rather doubtfully. He didn't 
 like to have his young meniso fertile in expedients 
 which smacked of worldly cunning. But he was 
 in sore straits, and finally decided to let things 
 take their course. If he was not required to fall 
 from grace himself, well, young men would be 
 young men, whether ordained or not. 
 
 I cast no reflections on the bishop. He was one
 
 ENTANGLEMENTS 179 
 
 of the best and kindest old gentlemen I have ever 
 had the good fortune to meet. After all, I was a 
 wolf in sheep's clothing, and tempted him. 
 
 On parting from the perplexed prelate I took 
 a walk to the village tavern. There I found Tup- 
 per, half beside himself. The poor young fellow 
 had lost ten pounds by the nerve-wear of that 
 dreadful day. It did him good ; he had been too 
 stout before. 
 
 Tupper was very angry with me, for he guessed 
 rightly that I was at the bottom of his ejection 
 from the Apthorpe premises. I soon convinced 
 him, however, that it would have been fatal to us 
 both had he appeared on the scene. 
 
 When I told him how I had outfaced and out- 
 maneuvered Dobbs and his lieutenants, his brow 
 cleared. And when I disclosed the fashion in 
 which we were to dispose of Bishop Hungerford 
 he laughed heartily and joined in the scheme with 
 a right good will. Anything was justifiable in 
 his eyes, now that the bishop had tacitly approved. 
 
 By means of a substantial bribe we secured the 
 services of a shrewd, close-mouthed native. He
 
 180 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 was to deliver a letter addressed to the bishop at 
 Burgmoor. All he had to say was that he had 
 driven over from the neighboring town of High- 
 field and was ready ito drive the bishop back there, 
 if that prelate cared to go. The missive called 
 the bishop to the bedside of a friend who was very 
 ill and thought to be dying. 
 
 On my walk back to Burgmoor, I met the 
 bishop driving away at a fast trot. I glided into 
 the underbrush on one side of the road. I did 
 not wish to detain him or give him any chance to 
 repent. 
 
 When I passed the gate I met Henry, the 
 gardener, who was looking very important. He 
 had a shot-gun in his hand and was peering up 
 and down the road. He was out gunning for 
 newspaper correspondents. I hoped he would 
 wing one. He greeted me very pleasantly. 
 
 Further on I met Beatrice Apthorpe, now 
 wreathed in smiles. She seized my hand with 
 both of hers and looked up at me admiringly. 
 
 "How clever you are!" she cried. "You have 
 saved me. You have saved my life. How can I
 
 ENTANGLEMENTS 181 
 
 ever thank you enough? How neatly you did it. 
 Father and Mr. Gosse are in a fury. Harry 
 Fielding is beside himself. They all think there is 
 a trick, but they can't quite see through it. They 
 believe you managed it some way in order to get 
 your own name into the papers ! I came to warn 
 you not to go in just now. Father is so angry 
 he might ask embarrassing questions. He will 
 cool off by morning. Mr. Fielding, Mr. Sears, 
 my sister and Mr. Gosse have gone for a short 
 drive. They invited me to join them, but I didn't 
 care to go." 
 
 I told her that a little trick like that wasn't 
 worth talking about. I said I was not at all 
 proud of it, and would never have done it save 
 from force of circumstances. !< I am not half as 
 clever as you," I added. 
 
 "I?" 
 
 "Yes, Miss Apthorpe. Some time ago I had 
 the pleasure of reading a production from your 
 pen which proves you a very able woman." 
 
 "What what do you mean?" She had flushed 
 red and then turned very pale.
 
 182 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "Your play, you know, 'Diamonds Lead, but 
 Hearts are Trumps.' ' 
 
 At that, to my astonishment, she threw up her 
 hands and fell fainting into my arms. 
 
 We were in a secluded part of the garden or I 
 should have had a bees' nest about my devoted 
 head in a trice. 
 
 I chafed her wrists and her temples, and she 
 soon revived. If you wish to keep from falling 
 in love with a young woman toward whom you 
 are attracted by powerful influences and from 
 whom you are repelled by every dictate of honour 
 and common sense, don't let her faint in your 
 arms in a rose-garden on a warm July evening. 
 If fate puts you in that situation, lay her gently 
 down and summon help. Don't play doctor and 
 nurse yourself. 
 
 "What is the matter, dear?" I asked, the word 
 of caress falling from my lips so naturally that 
 I was scarcely conscious of it; but then, I'll never 
 tell all the restoratives I applied. 
 
 "Nothing," she said, opening her bright eyes, 
 but making no effort to abandon my support.
 
 ENTANGLEMENTS 183 
 
 "Nothing; only I dreamed you said you had 
 found it." 
 
 "Foun<l what?" 
 
 "The play, my lost, stolen manuscript the 
 only proof I had of my innocence." 
 
 "My dear child, calm yourself. Your words 
 are wild and without meaning. Think a moment ; 
 just reason about it." 
 
 "I am all right, Mr. Plympton," she said. 
 "You are kind and chivalrous. You do not un- 
 derstand, that is all." 
 
 "It's very perplexing," I confessed. 
 
 "You said something about reading my play, 
 about having seen the manuscript. That fatal 
 effort of mine is responsible for everything. If 
 I had never written it; if I had never let it out 
 of my hands, this hateful, this detestable marriage 
 could not have been forced upon me." 
 
 We sat down on a bench, under an arbor of 
 vines, and she asked me a number of questions in 
 quick succession. Where was the manuscript 
 now? When I told her it was in my room 
 lodged safely in my grip, she clasped her hands
 
 184 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 in triumph. "We may foil him yet," she said. 
 
 Then she wanted to know how the play had 
 come into my possession. I told her about Carl 
 Krull and of the opinion of the critics, including 
 my own, which was now quite worthless as I had 
 become too much biased in the matter to be any 
 judge. 
 
 She did not seem at all surprised to know her 
 play was well thought of by competent judges, 
 or to learn that Krull was eager to meet the 
 authoress and to arrange for putting her drama 
 on the stage. 
 
 "I have known all that from the moment I 
 wrote it," she said with the calm of perfect assur- 
 ance, yet without a trace of egotism. "Believe me, 
 I do not care if it is never acted. I do not 
 care if it is lauded to the skies. I would 
 not go across the street to see it presented. I have 
 been caused such utter misery through the manu- 
 script of that play that I hate the very thought 
 of it." 
 
 "Even now when your moment of triumph 
 seems close at hand?"
 
 ENTANGLEMENTS 185 
 
 "Even now, when the light seems breaking 
 through the clouds. Can you not guess what 
 agony it has been to me, can you not imagine to 
 what a pass I must have been brought, to act as 
 I have acted today, casting myself on the mercy 
 of a total stranger, wnen I am apparently sur- 
 rounded by every luxury, guarded by every pro- 
 tection that could surround, could guard any girl 
 in this broad land?" 
 
 "Do you still look upon me as a perfect 
 stranger?" 
 
 "Have you not seen that I liked you? We do 
 not like strangers, and what is more we do not 
 tell them so. And yet, we never spoke to each 
 other until this morning. Liking isn't computed 
 by the clock; it is measured by heart-throbs." 
 "If that is the way you figure it, Miss Ap 
 She held up her hand, with a pretty gesture of 
 supplication and protest. 
 
 "If that is the way you count the length of 
 our acquaintance," I said, "we must have known 
 each other for years. My heart has been running 
 like a millrace all day long."
 
 186 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "That is the way a woman counts the time, 
 anyway," she said, arching that whimsical eye- 
 brow of hers at me. "And I am going to prove it 
 to you, by telling you my whole story and putting 
 my entire trust in you. I will be guided abso- 
 lutely by your advice, even if you decide, as my 
 father and Mr. Gosse have done, that I must 
 marry a man whom I can never regard with any 
 feeling other than one of contempt and hatred." 
 
 "Perhaps I may be compelled to agree with 
 them," I acknowledged gravely, as I felt the 
 weight of the responsibility that was falling upon 
 me. "It. will be strange, though, if I do not see 
 a better way."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 ARTIFICE 
 
 The dusk was falling amid the crimsons 
 of the after-glow, and the warm shade of the 
 grape-vines shut us off from the rest of the world. 
 Some moments stand out in bold relief against 
 the background of half-remembered and half- 
 forgotten incidents. I can see her now as she sat 
 there by my side close by my side, and can re- 
 member every movement of her restless little 
 hands, every turn of her head, and each expres- 
 sion that passed over her mobile features. There 
 was a look of trust in her eyes that set my heart 
 athrob as I whispered: "Now for the whole 
 story." 
 
 "Did you ever see Mr. Fielding act?" she 
 asked, inconsequentially, as I thought. 
 
 "Yes," I replied, "and, frankly, the one great 
 mystery to me is that a man of his sort could have
 
 188 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 attracted a woman like you. The rest I might 
 guess at, or, at least, make an attempt to surmise, 
 but that passes my comprehension." 
 
 "Naturally," admitted the young lady de- 
 murely, "for, as a matter of fact, he never did 
 attract me in the way you mean, not in the least 
 degree." 
 
 I smiled, but made no other comment. 
 
 "You needn't look so incredulous," protested 
 Batrice, with a moue, "for he never made the 
 slightest impression upon me, of that sort, after 
 the fashion of other girls, even in my own set, who 
 showered him, last winter, with notes, flowers 
 and invitations. But he did exert a powerful in- 
 fluence upon me, none the less. It was his art 
 as a comedian, his exquisite sense of the ludicrous, 
 his refined, yet telling humor, his delicate rail- 
 lery " 
 
 "You must have seen him in 'A Midsummer 
 Night's Dream,' as Nick Bottom," I could not 
 help suggesting. 
 
 "But not with the eyes of Titania," she per- 
 sisted, with quick appreciation of the insinuation.
 
 ARTIFICE 189 
 
 "I know you don't like him, I don't want you to, 
 but you must at least concede him to be a clever 
 actor." 
 
 "And yet again wonderful, out of all hooping," 
 I rejoined. 
 
 "Don't be so terribly Shakespearian, and lis- 
 ten," she protested. "I, at all events, admired 
 his talent, and it fired my imagination served 
 as an inspiration to attempt something in a hu- 
 morous vein myself. I first saw Mr. Fielding at 
 a matinee, which I attended with a school friend 
 of mine, who had already made his personal ac- 
 quaintance and urged me to see him. It was 
 while enjoying his power of fun-making that 
 afternoon, that the scheme of a play, full of dash 
 and situation, just the sort of a comedy he could 
 act well and make successful, popped into my 
 head. I have never quite determined how much 
 of the inspiration came from him and what pro- 
 portion was latent in me." 
 
 "We will let the public be the final judge of 
 that," I suggested. 
 
 "Anyway, I hurried home and began to write.
 
 190 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 New turns to events, new developments to the 
 characters and new subjects of ridicule poured 
 in upon me, until in a few days my attempt grew 
 into a four-act comedy which you have been good 
 enough to praise." 
 
 "I liked it when I was in the position of an im- 
 partial critic, and I certainly haven't changed my 
 mind since," I assured her. "I suppose it was the 
 play that brought you Fielding's acquaintance?" 
 
 "I naturally turned to him to secure recogni- 
 tion, as he was the source of much of the inspira- 
 tion there was in it. The friend who had taken 
 me to see him act arranged an introduction at her 
 home. I did not tell her about the play. I did 
 not tell any one but Mr. Fielding about it. I 
 wanted it kept a profound secret until it was ac- 
 cepted and produced." 
 
 "I can quite understand your feelings in the 
 matter," I said. 
 
 "But others have not been as lenient. You 
 see, my family are all rather practical. Not one 
 of them ever attempted literary work, and they 
 fail to appreciate how sensitive one might be
 
 ARTIFICE 191 
 
 under such circumstances. But Mr. Fielding was 
 all sympathy and appreciation when I told him 
 about my effort and showed him the manuscript. 
 He felt, or skilfully simulated, deep interest. We 
 met alone and dined together several times while 
 he went over the play with me and made correc- 
 tions which I could see improved it immensely 
 and lent the professional touches it lacked, which 
 I could never have given it. When this had been 
 done he took the manuscript and promised to 
 place it in the hands of his manager. I have 
 never seen it since." 
 
 "All this sounds harmless enough; how could 
 it have led to your present difficulties?" I queried. 
 
 "It seemed entirely innocent and proper to 
 me," rejoined Beatrice, "but it was very uncon- 
 ventional and I ought to have known better. I 
 should, at the very least, have taken my mother 
 into my confidence; but, as I once told you, I 
 thought myself clever and able to take care of 
 myself. I failed to appreciate in what an un- 
 favorable light my conduct might be regarded by 
 those who did not know all the facts."
 
 192 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "And did you talk of nothing but the play? 
 Did you have no inkling of the actor's ulterior 
 motives?" I could not forbear to ask. 
 
 "Ah, I know you will blame me," admitted 
 Beatrice, with a slight flush. "Mr. Fielding, 
 from the very first, affected to admire me, as well 
 as my play, and said things of that sort, you 
 know." 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you do. Things of the kind that most 
 men say to most girls ; but there was a theatrical 
 flavor to it all, so I didn't pay much attention to 
 it." 
 
 "You mean that you did not think him se- 
 rious," I suggested. 
 
 "Why should I?" queried the young lady, with 
 a trace of mischief. 
 
 "Why, indeed?" I exclaimed sententiously. 
 
 "Don't be absurd," she pleaded. "I really 
 and truly did not suppose him more in earnest 
 or sincere than many other men I have met who 
 have talked to me in the same vein."
 
 ARTIFICE 193 
 
 "Do you doubt us all like that?" I asked, with 
 a touch of tender significance. 
 
 "I have had reason to," declared Miss Ap- 
 thorpe. She didn't appear to me to be one who 
 had so frequently been deceived and trifled with, 
 so I didn't press the matter. 
 
 "Toward the last," she continued, "I began to 
 appreciate that I had, perhaps, let affairs pro- 
 gress too far, in my interest in the comedy." 
 
 "Which comedy?" 
 
 "The play I had written; please don't be flip- 
 pant. When I was at last forced to make him 
 understand there could be nothing like that be- 
 tween us he grew so wild and desperate in his 
 talk that I should have been frightened, had I 
 not known him to be such a perfect actor. I told 
 him that I could never meet him again and that 
 all was at an end between us. I wish I had ad- 
 hered to that resolution." 
 
 "I suppose he allured you with some assurance 
 about the play?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes, he wrote me that his manager wished to 
 meet me with reference to producing it. I went
 
 194 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 to the place appointed. It was early in the even- 
 ing, not later than eight o'clock. I left word at 
 home that I would be dining with the Van Ant- 
 werps. I have already told you that I was not 
 at all frank with my family, but I have been 
 severely punished for what I considered an in- 
 nocent deception." 
 
 "You took serious risks," I observed gravely. 
 
 "More serious than I could possibly antici- 
 pate," she conceded. "The manager was not 
 there, and Mr. Fielding resumed his wild and 
 foolish talk. He was in the midst of it when my 
 father and brother-in-law suddenly broke in upon 
 us and made a horrid scene. They refused to 
 listen to my excuses and explanations, but took 
 me home, where mother and sister Kit sided with 
 them in their reproaches. The upshot of it all 
 was that they thought I should marry Mr. Field- 
 ing." 
 
 "And he was villain enough to take advantage 
 of the misapprehension," I cried, my blood boil- 
 ing at the outrage. 
 
 "He not only took every possible advantage of
 
 ARTIFICE 195 
 
 it; he denied my story about the play, declared 
 it made up out of whole cloth, as a mere woman's 
 excuse. No one believed me and I was helpless. I 
 had no way to prove what I said and the story 
 didn't sound true. It seemed much more prob- 
 able that I had become infatuated, like so many 
 other girls." 
 
 "But how did your father and brother-in-law 
 happen to suspect you, and arrive so inoppor- 
 tunely?" I queried. 
 
 "I have always believed Mr. Fielding respon- 
 sible, but I never quite knew. He may have 
 written them an anonymous letter, or something 
 of that sort." 
 
 "Do you believe him still sincere, in spite of 
 his villainy, or that mercenary considerations 
 have come to be of chief influence with him?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "I have offered him money, large sums of 
 money, if that is what you mean," rejoined Bea- 
 trice, flushing a little. "I would give my whole 
 fortune to avoid this hateful marriage; yes, and 
 all that I may ever have in the future. But he still
 
 196 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 insists that he loves me for myself, and for myself 
 only. That is the part I fail to understand. How 
 can love exist without honour?" 
 
 "Men will do desperate things under its im- 1 
 pulse," I acknowledged. "I can almost appre- 
 ciate how the fellow was tempted to the course 
 he pursued, especially with his stage ideals and 
 dramatic surroundings." 
 
 "I suppose that is the way he satisfies his con- 
 science," mused Beatrice, "and his wretched 
 scheme has been made possible by the blindness 
 of my family and my own folly." 
 
 "Your people have certainly taken a wrong 
 position. If I had my way the knave would be 
 horsewhipped and sent about his business in 
 short order," I cried. 
 
 "Then you then I have, at least, convinced 
 you?" And she looked me through and through 
 with those clear brown eyes of hers. 
 
 "With whatever of sincerity and of worth 
 there is in me," I said, with sufficient earnestness, 
 as I ventured to take her little hand in mine and 
 hold it. The glow in her cheeks was perceptible
 
 ARTIFICE 197 
 
 even amid the rose-light of parting day about us, 
 as I bent my face close to hers. 
 
 Man and woman do not come to an under- 
 standing by spoken words, always. Love often 
 blooms from bud to full blown flower in an in- 
 stant of silent sympathy. So it then was with us, 
 nor could it well have been otherwise. In my 
 view, while she remained Fielding's affianced 
 bride, my own devotion to her ought to be dis- 
 played by deeds rather than in words, if I could 
 hold myself in hand sufficiently. But I told her 
 what I thought of the whole rascally business, 
 and I didn't mince matters. On that score, at 
 least, I was sufficiently explicit, and she had so 
 long been misconstrued and misunderstood, by 
 those whose pleasure it should have been to un- 
 derstand and protect her, that her face was fairly 
 radiant with joy and gratitude. 
 
 "Then you don't think that I ought to marry 
 him, now that you know all?" she whispered. 
 
 "Not much; not if I can help it," I declared. 
 
 "But I must pretend to marry him. You can 
 see that, can't you?"
 
 198 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "I confess I am now more averse to that plan 
 than ever," I replied. 
 
 But Beatrice was all for the mock marriage. 
 For Fielding had responded to all her reproaches 
 with the often repeated promise that he would 
 make a clean breast of the whole story the very 
 moment they were pronounced man and wife. 
 She was attracted by the eclat of tricking her 
 would-be husband into a confession which would 
 clear her in the eyes of her incredulous family. I 
 much preferred a less showy and less risky 
 course. With the information I had and the in- 
 estimable advantage which the possession of her 
 manuscript gave me, I was confident that I could 
 take Apthorpe aside and, without disclosing my 
 identity, show him the irrefragable proofs that 
 his daughter had not been blameworthy. I was 
 sure I could make him see that the actor was a 
 lying scoundrel. With Carl Krull on the scene 
 the following morning I did not doubt but that 
 the case would be established conclusively in her 
 favor. 
 
 If Apthorpe were once thoroughly convinced,
 
 ARTIFICE 199 
 
 we could dispose of Fielding, and send him pack- 
 ing in short order. We could give Samuel Sears 
 his walking-ticket at the same time. Personally 
 that was the most pleasant part of the prospect. 
 Sam bothered me. The little drama thus brought 
 to a happy termination, we could then tell the 
 whole story of the imposture, and send for the 
 Rev. Charles W. Tupper. 
 
 It was a good plan, perfect in all its details, 
 and Beatrice agreed to it, though not without 
 strong reluctance even yet. Her heart was set 
 upon the dramatic denouement of a mock mar- 
 riage ; but she apparently yielded to my superior 
 wisdom. 
 
 She was in the midst of explaining to me how 
 she had met the young clergyman, and why she 
 had sought to prevent his coming to Burgmoor, 
 when the sound of voices and approaching foot- 
 steps warned us that we were in danger of being 
 interrupted. For the supposed clergyman and 
 the prospective bride to be discovered in a remote 
 garden retreat whispering together in the twi- 
 light was far from desirable, especially when one
 
 200 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 of the intruders happened to be the bridegroom. 
 Such an event would ruin me in the eyes of the 
 young lady's family and probably result in the 
 complete triumph of Fielding, just when his de- 
 feat was imminent. 
 
 .They were almost upon us before we noticed 
 them, so absorbed had we been in one another and 
 our mutual interests. Fielding was accompanied 
 by his faithful best man, Sam Sears, and they 
 also were deeply engaged in conference, or our 
 fate would have been sealed then and there. 
 
 Beatrice was the first to take alarm. Before 
 I had realized what was in the wind she had 
 sprung to her feet and glided from the arbor into 
 the path, where she accosted them gaily: "What 
 do you men find to talk about that is so interest- 
 ing you cannot see anybody?" 
 
 Fielding protested that he had been waiting 
 all the evening for a chance to see her, and had 
 just returned from a short drive to seek for her 
 in the garden, where the gardener had told him 
 he would find her. He begged her to take a
 
 ARTIFICE 201 
 
 walk with him, saying: "I feel sure Mr. Sears 
 will understand and excuse us." 
 
 "You are both most excusable," Sam assured 
 them. 
 
 "Oh, I really couldn't think of it, the night 
 before the wedding, it wouldn't be proper at all," 
 said Beatrice with a light laugh, as she passed 
 them and hurried toward the house. 
 
 Fielding muttered something under his breath. 
 I fear that what he said wasn't very polite.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 PLOT AND SURPRISE 
 
 Miss Apthorpe had done her best to create a 
 diversion in my favor, and evidently supposed 
 she had given me ample opportunity to escape 
 from the arbor. She had, perhaps, forgotten in 
 her hurry and excitement that it backed up 
 against a wall of moss-covered rock and was over- 
 spread with a tangle of grape-vines, leaving no 
 possible exit save that which would bring me face 
 to face with Fielding and Sam Sears. For once 
 I was caught in a trap from which my ingenuity 
 could devise no escape. I hoped she would accept 
 Fielding's invitation for a stroll in the garden, 
 and thus lead him from such unpleasant and 
 dangerous proximity, but she was too much 
 averse to his society to appreciate the importance 
 of momentary complaisance. 
 
 I had barely time to slip under the rustic bench
 
 PLOT AND SURPRISE 203 
 
 upon which we had been seated, lying prone on 
 my back, with the grape-leaves tickling my face, 
 when Sears and the actor entered the arbor and 
 seated themselves upon the bench under which I 
 had taken refuge. 
 
 The situation was distressingly unpleasant. 
 The slightest noise, an involuntary sneeze or 
 cough, incautiously heavy breathing, even, would 
 betray me, and I should be dragged from my 
 place of concealment, and called upon for impos- 
 sible explanations. Fielding would have me 
 
 ejected from the premises, and Sam ! The 
 
 very thought of his triumphant ridicule was in- 
 tolerable. There was nothing for it but to wait, 
 wait quietly, and take my chances. The leaves 
 tickled until it became torture, while every per- 
 verse impulse of my nature demanded relief in a 
 round "cachoo!" But I managed to avert the 
 calamity. Meanwhile the pair above me were 
 saying things. 
 
 "That young clergyman played me a dirty 
 trick with the bishop," growled Fielding. "I 
 would cheerfully lay violent hands on him. if I
 
 204 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 could do it safely, and teach him a thing or two." 
 
 "Perhaps it can be arranged," urged Sears, 
 gleefully. "I'd like to help you with the details. 
 Do you think there would be time after the 
 service?" 
 
 Sam wouldn't actually give me away; but, 
 short of that, he was with the enemy. My score 
 against Mr. Sears was becoming a long one. 
 
 "It wouldn't quite do," returned Fielding. 
 "We couldn't afford any scandal, you know." 
 
 "Oh, there wouldn't be any fuss," said Samuel. 
 "He wouldn't want any publication of the details. 
 You know I said I would take care of them. We 
 could lure him to a quiet spot and give him a 
 little medicine. You are on your way to Europe, 
 you know. He wouldn't follow you." And 
 Samuel Sears chuckled inanely. He had in pros- 
 pect my ultimate exposure, and was laying plans 
 for the finale, which would be more picturesque 
 were I duly castigated at the hands of the irate 
 husband. Sam's sense of humor was somewhat 
 grotesque, as I have already made apparent. To 
 him it was all a jolly game, with visions of good
 
 PLOT AND SURPRISE 205 
 
 copy in the background. I would have given a 
 handsome sum if I could have ventured to stick 
 my penknife into his leg, just then, but I had to 
 bide my time. 
 
 "I was just going to explain things to you, 
 about Beatrice, you know," said Fielding. "You 
 must have remarked her rather peculiar treatment 
 of me?" 
 
 "She has been somewhat cool to you, and it 
 made me wonder what was in the wind," acknowl- 
 edged Sam. "There is nothing wrong about this 
 business?" he added seriously. 
 
 "Nothing wrong when you understand how 
 deeply and devotedly I love her," returned the 
 actor impressively. "I have been obliged to em- 
 ploy a little artifice to manage her and to bring 
 her family to my way of thinking all's fair in 
 love, you know." 
 
 "Trite but true," commented the facetious 
 Sears. 
 
 "She was a bit stage-struck, you see," 
 explained Fielding, "and was quite willing to 
 meet me for little dinners about town, and the
 
 206 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 like, but I could not bring her to the point of say- 
 ing she would marry me ; so I sent a letter to her 
 father, unsigned, of course, saying that if he 
 would go to a certain restaurant he would find 
 his daughter dining privately with the actor, 
 Fielding. The scene that followed was dramatic 
 in the extreme irate parent, tearful mother, 
 vengeful brother-in-law, indignant protests from 
 the young lady, and all the rest of it. I handled 
 them all with kid gloves ; and, as a result, the en- 
 gagement was announced." 
 
 His own conduct didn't seem so black the way 
 he told the story, suppressing the all-important 
 feature of the comedy she had written. Sam was 
 his friend, liked and admired him, was even prone 
 to find excuses for him. Fielding led him by the 
 nose, as he did every one who fell under the 
 glamour of his influence. 
 
 "It's a bit rough on the girl, isn't it?" was 
 Sam's only protest. 
 
 "Not when you consider that the whole story 
 is kept in the family, and that she would have 
 been glad to marry me anyway, had she consid-
 
 PLOT AND SURPRISE 207 
 
 ered me her social equal," asserted Fielding. 
 
 "Then she still really cares for you at heart?" 
 asked Sears. 
 
 "I am confident I have her love," declared the 
 actor. "It's her pride I have to conquer. She is 
 a spirited creature, but I shall see to it that she 
 is a submissive wife. That is one result I have 
 hoped to accomplish by this unpleasant but neces- 
 sary artifice." 
 
 "It's a clever one," chuckled the jovial but un- 
 scrupulous Sam. "Like a play, isn't it? Wonder 
 if she has confided her troubles to that young 
 minister?" 
 
 "You don't think that possible?" cried Field- 
 ing in evident alarm. 
 
 "You never can tell. Women take to the 
 clergy like ducks to water," philosophized Mr. 
 Sears. 
 
 "Have you seen them together?" demanded 
 Fielding. 
 
 "Not often, but he's a bad one, keep your eye 
 on him," cautioned my fellow scribe. 
 
 "Have you anything definite against him?"
 
 208 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "Nothing, as yet, only he has a shifty way 
 about him can't look you square in the eye." 
 
 My account with Samuel was growing apace. 
 It would take a lot of ingenuity on my part to 
 even things up and I began to meditate cruel and 
 unusual punishments. Sam hadn't actually be- 
 trayed me, to be sure, but he might do so sooner 
 or later, if he took the notion. And, meantime, 
 he had said enough to make my path precarious 
 and ultimate exposure almost certain. 
 
 Presently Sears and Fielding arose from their 
 seat, left the arbor and sauntered toward the 
 house, while I emerged from my uncomfortable 
 place of concealment to resume the enterprise 
 in which I was engaged. I planned to go to my 
 room at once and get the manuscript of the play. 
 Hence I proposed to proceed to Mr. Apthorpe's 
 study and lay before him the convincing proofs 
 of his daughter's innocence and Fielding's guilt. 
 I thought it wouldn't take many minutes to do 
 this. With the stern and wrong-headed parent 
 for an ally I thought that swift retribution would 
 be visited on the actor and on Sam Sears. Yes,
 
 PLOT AND SURPRISE 209 
 
 particularly and individually on Mr. Sears. Of 
 that I would undertake personal supervision, 
 while leaving Fielding to more potent hands. 
 Sam for me ! 
 
 When I finally retired to my room for the night 
 I had arranged with Beatrice to rap on the door 
 which led from my room to hers, against which a 
 dresser was standing. I was to rap once, if her 
 father was convinced of her innocence, and twice 
 if he required further proof. In the latter event 
 she was to meet me in the garden at sunrise and 
 prepare for any fresh contingency. 
 
 I sauntered slowly from the arbor, devising 
 the best method of introducing the delicate sub- 
 ject to the girl's father, and then went to my 
 room. 
 
 I put my hand into the bag. The play was not 
 there! 
 
 A few minutes from the time when the course 
 leading to safe anchorage lay plainly before us 
 all our plans were knocked into a cocked hat and 
 the clouds gathered darker than ever. The dis- 
 appearance of the manuscript was a body-blow.
 
 210 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 I churned around among the things in the bag 
 and thrust my hand into its linings. I turned it 
 upside down and shook its contents on the floor. 
 The precious document had seemingly taken unto 
 itself wings and flown away! 
 
 Then I began to rummage frantically about the 
 room, poking under the bed and other furniture, 
 opening drawers and shutting them, and creating 
 a dreadful racket. Beatrice heard the rumpus 
 and knocked timidly upon the door behind the 
 dresser. "What is the matter?" she whispered. 
 
 "It is gone; some one has stolen it!" I ex- 
 claimed in dismay. 
 
 "Impossible; let me come in and look," re- 
 turned that imprudent young lady. 
 
 Of course it was indiscreet, but we were fight- 
 ing for her honour and happiness and had to take 
 all chances, whatever might happen. 
 
 I moved the dresser, and she opened the door 
 and came in. She blushed prettily. She knew 
 well enough that it was quite improper for her to 
 be in my room at half past nine in the evening, 
 and that if discovered she would be in another
 
 PLOT AND SURPRISE 211 
 
 bad scrape. The all important thing, though, 
 was to find that manuscript. We did not bother 
 our heads much about anything else. 
 
 We searched high and low. We stripped the 
 bed and turned over the mattress. We ran- 
 sacked every place, possible and impossible. 
 Then the ineludable truth became very evident. 
 I had been robbed; the manuscript had been 
 stolen! Sam Sears had been in the room and must 
 have seen it lying in the open grip or on the bu- 
 reau. At first blush it seemed highly probable 
 that he had taken it, thinking to do a service for 
 his friend Fielding. 
 
 Here, again, I was up a tree. The theory was 
 untenable. Fielding had not taken Sears into 
 his confidence about the play. If Sam had known 
 all the facts he would never have sided with the 
 actor at all. I had many proofs of his honor and 
 good faith. He has no sense of propriety; he 
 thinks many things smart that are not. But he 
 wouldn't countenance a fellow like Fielding, if 
 shown in his true colors. 
 
 But if Sears didn't do it, then Fielding must
 
 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 have done it himself. There was no alternative. 
 In either case it was clear that the actor must 
 much more than suspect my disguise. He would 
 never look for such a find among the possessions 
 of the Rev. Charles W. Tupper. 
 
 Without the manuscript I had no case to pres- 
 sent to Apthorpe. My story would sound quite 
 as wild and improbable as that of Beatrice her- 
 self. Even Carl Krull could not help me, for he 
 had never seen the authoress and did not know 
 her name. Without the manuscript he would 
 scarcely be able to identify the handwriting with 
 that of Beatrice so positively as to carry convic- 
 tion. 
 
 On the other hand, we were in momentary 
 dread of the next move on the part of an 
 intriguer so clever. He would doubtless have his 
 trap ready to spring, to my confusion, before 
 noon the next day. 
 
 Beatrice tried to put as cheerful a face on the 
 matter as possible. She said to me that it was no 
 use worrying and that it would all come out right ; 
 that I would save her somehow. At worst we
 
 PLOT AND SURPRISE 
 could await events and trust to luck. We would 
 stand by our guns until the bitter end, anyhow, 
 she assured me. She seemed to take a lot of com- 
 fort from my presence and smiled upon me cheer- 
 fully, appearing to think that I could work mir- 
 acles. I told her to secure a good night's rest 
 and be fresh for whatever might happen the next 
 day. 
 
 She left me to my reflections, which were any- 
 thing but rosy. I paced back and forth in the 
 fruitless endeavor to see some way out of the 
 snarl, which looked pretty dark to me. The mys- 
 terious theft upset me completely, dismayed and 
 puzzled me to an extent I had not dared to con- 
 fess to her. She had all the troubles she could 
 well stand as it was. It was time some one took 
 them off her shoulders. 
 
 At the very moment when I was feeling more 
 depressed and downcast than I had at any time 
 from the beginning of the adventure, I heard a 
 loud laugh in the room next mine, on the side op- 
 posite to that occupied by Beatrice. I recognized 
 the irritating, insensate risibility of Samuel Sears.
 
 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 I felt sufficiently out of sorts, anyway, and that 
 was the last straw. A man who would laugh like 
 that all day long over nothing was fool enough 
 to be a mere tool in the hands of a cunning rascal. 
 What in the world was the fellow hooting about 
 now, I wondered. Had he heard us hunting for 
 the lost manuscript was he laughing at our sad 
 plight? 
 
 Then I heard his door open and shut. He had 
 stepped out into the hall and was tiptoeing down 
 the stairs. Where was he going? What deviltry 
 was he up to? I considered it highly essential 
 to find an answer to these questions. Sam Sears 
 required close watching, or I might have cause 
 to repent my lack of alertness. 
 
 I stole out after him and silently followed him 
 down the staircase and out the front door, skulk- 
 ing like an Indian on the war-path.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 ON THE TRAIL 
 
 When we left the house and entered upon the 
 vivid contrasts of deep shade and silver sheen 
 created by the moonlight, Samuel Sears saun- 
 tered along as though he had not a care in the 
 world. He appeared to be in no hurry, but 
 glanced at his watch, yawned and strolled down 
 to the front gate. 
 
 Henry, the gardener, had gone to bed. He 
 didn't think the reporters he was looking for 
 would play any pranks after ten o'clock at night. 
 I dodged after Samuel, gliding from the shadow 
 of one tree into that of another. 
 
 He went out into the road and down the hill 
 toward the station. It looked very much like a 
 secret rendezvous, and I followed closely. Sud- 
 denly he turned and walked back again. I was 
 nearly caught napping, and had to jump into a 
 clump of bramble-bushes and lie still with prick-
 
 216 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 ers sticking into me all over until he had passed 
 
 by- 
 
 I suffered for my sins in those few minutes. I 
 hadn't scratched out both my eyes, like the man in 
 "Mother Goose," but I had scratched out pretty 
 nearly everything else. The dominie's frock-coat 
 was beginning to look rather seedy. I accom- 
 plished one good thing, though; I tore a big rip 
 in those elaborate trousers. 
 
 Sears walked up the driveway to the veranda- 
 steps, looked at his watch once more and returned 
 to the road, this time turning up hill toward the 
 church. He was evidently early for his appoint- 
 ment and was killing time. 
 
 I could not be sure, however, that he was not 
 doubling about to elude possible surveillance, and 
 thought it best to keep him in sight. I shall not 
 attempt to describe our wanderings in further de- 
 tail. I followed him about for nearly an hour. 
 He finally brought up at the gate in the rear of 
 the garden and sat down to wait. Clearly this 
 was his final destination, his place of rendezvous 
 with his co-conspirator.
 
 ON THE TRAIL 217 
 
 For whom was he waiting? Not for Fielding, 
 surely, as he had just parted from him. But I 
 was positive the meeting would throw some light 
 on the purloined manuscript and the plans of my 
 enemies for my downfall on the morrow. I 
 listened intently, but could hear no sound of 
 approaching footsteps. 
 
 Sam Sears now looked at his watch every min- 
 ute or two. He was growing impatient; his 
 confederate was sadly behind time. He had a 
 note-book and pencil in hand, and he began to 
 write. When I observed that, the truth dawned 
 upon me. 
 
 I had been following him all over a ten-acre lot, 
 getting torn by brambles, barking my shins and 
 blistering my hands, and all the time my quarry 
 was merely trying to kill time while waiting for 
 me! 
 
 It was I who had the appointment with him at 
 the rear garden-gate. I had promised to reveal 
 to him the secrets of my prison-house, or any 
 other ghost-story I could make him believe, or 
 even half believe, with the aid of suavity and
 
 218 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 moonshine. He was anticipating a tale which 
 would supply him with copy for a big scarehead, 
 and sat there, with faith in me that was really 
 childlike, note-book all ready, awaiting my 
 arrival. 
 
 Well, he would have to wait. When I prom- 
 ised to unfold my story I thought it would be 
 easy enough to fill him up with a yarn that would 
 look extremely well in print, even if it had but 
 small foundation in fact. The trouble was I had 
 been able to spare no time to invent it. If I 
 could only have been preparing a tale for his ears 
 instead of "playing Indian" there might have 
 been a chance ; but I had worked my machine for 
 grinding out romances so hard that it refused to 
 budge. The cogs slipped and failed to work. 
 
 While I was cudgeling my brains to concoct 
 some scheme that would dispose of Samuel until 
 after the wedding, I heard a gentle "hist" at my 
 side. A form was gliding toward me through 
 the shadows. It proved to be the Rev. Charles 
 W. Tupper. The young clergyman seemed very 
 much excited and intensely in earnest.
 
 ON THE TRAIL 219 
 
 "Shall we creep upon him now and capture 
 him while he is off his guard?" he asked in a 
 whisper. 
 
 "On whom?" I returned in some astonishment. 
 
 Tupper pointed to Sam Sears. "Don't you 
 see him? I thought you were watching him!" he 
 said. 
 
 Then I understood. He had taken me seri- 
 ously about getting Sears out of our way, and 
 was fully prepared to play his part in the re- 
 moval. Doubtless, as he had promised, he had 
 thought up some scheme. He was a manly fel- 
 low, that young parson, and handy with his fists, 
 as I had cause to remember. His interest in the 
 adventure was thoroughly aroused, and he meant 
 to see things through to a finish. 
 
 "What can we do with him, after we have got 
 him?" I asked. 
 
 "I have found a fine prison," he returned with 
 apparent seriousness. "There is a deserted house, 
 half a mile up the road, and back of it is a small 
 building where the former tenants used to keep 
 their hens. I judge so, at least, by the number
 
 220 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 of feathers about. It would be a safe place. No 
 one would ever think of looking for him there, 
 and he would come to no harm." 
 
 That seemed probable enough. Sam couldn't 
 get into mischief in a deserted hen-roost, though 
 I wouldn't vouch for him anywhere else. I be- 
 gan to get interested. The plan looked more 
 feasible than I had at first thought, though there 
 were still serious objections. 
 
 "How can we persuade him to stay there, after 
 we have captured him and carried him off?" I 
 queried. I wish to make it clear, both to Sam 
 and to the public at large, that the dominie was 
 the one who planned the whole thing, and that I 
 merely acquiesced because I could see no other 
 way open. 
 
 "Oh, I have been studying the thing out all the 
 afternoon," whispered Tupper. "I hadn't any- 
 thing else to do, and I knew you depended on me. 
 I would do anything for her, and I have it all 
 arranged down to the smallest detail. Of course 
 you were not serious about the chloroform busi- 
 ness ; and, anyway, it's too risky."
 
 ON THE TRAIL 
 
 "I also am enlisted in her cause to the death. 
 What's the scheme?" said I. 
 
 "Well, we don't want to hurt him, or drug him, 
 or anything like that. It would be wrong to tie 
 him up tight and stop the circulation. He would 
 suffers agonies before to-morrow noon, if we did 
 that. I have been searching for clothes-line all 
 the afternoon, and have collected twenty coils of 
 it and piled them around the gate. He is sitting 
 on some of it now. We won't pull it tight, but 
 we will wind it about him until there is no pos- 
 sible chance of his breaking loose, and yet there 
 will be no strain on him anywhere. We can make 
 the pressure even all over, you see." 
 
 Poor, unsuspicious, trusting Samuel! He lit- 
 tle guessed what fell designs were being enter- 
 tained against him. That energetic parson had 
 industriously gathered several hundred feet of 
 rope and stored it in the vicinity. I hesitated. 
 It was a drastic remedy, but Sam was sorely in 
 the way. I had fully expected to find some means 
 of packing him off after the bishop ; but as I had 
 failed to devise any fraud that would serve the
 
 822 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 purpose, brute force seemed all that remained. 
 Of course there were chances to take, but I had 
 been doing that all day long. 
 
 Yet I did not like the idea; it lacked finesse. 
 It was too easy and had no subtlety about it. It 
 wasn't my way of doing things, and would never 
 have occurred to me if it had not been for the 
 parson. It was amusing to see how ardent he 
 was in the nefarious business. He had nothing 
 to do but plan that piece of deviltry ; and, on the 
 whole, he planned it well. 
 
 Well, I had promised to give Samuel Sears 
 something to think about. I had agreed to give 
 him material for a sensational article. I had no 
 story to relate to him, so I'd have to enact one, 
 I was in honor bound to do it. Of course he 
 might not be in a position to write it up right 
 away, but it would keep. Besides, he was likely 
 to prove a troublesome customer if left at large. 
 Clearly, it would be a good plan to render his ar- 
 dent impulses inactive for a short period. 
 
 His subsequent account of his adventures in 
 that hen-roost was a remarkable story; and he
 
 ON THE TRAIL 223 
 
 didn't give me any credit for "putting him on," 
 as it were, either. 
 
 The die was cast. The two of us stole upon 
 that unsuspicious journalist like a couple of In- 
 dians. 
 
 There he was, actually sitting on several coils 
 of the rope that was to be instrumental in his 
 captivity. He was, perhaps, dreaming of his 
 sweetheart, as he sat there in the moonlight, tak- 
 ing in the ozone as it was wafted from the pines 
 of the hills. If ever the world seemed at peace 
 to the contemplative soul of Samuel Sears it was 
 then. 
 
 Suddenly he felt his hands pinioned behind him 
 while a cloth was thrust rudely into his mouth. 
 He has complained since that it wasn't a nice, 
 clean napkin but an old dish-cloth the parson had 
 found hanging on one of the clothes-lines. Sam 
 is too particular ; war is hell. 
 
 Of course he struggled like a madman, but he 
 was taken by surprise and we were too many for 
 him. After reducing him to submission we wound 
 him up in the clothes-line. It took some time.
 
 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 There was a lot of it around, and we didn't wish 
 to waste any. When we had used up all Sam had 
 been sitting on, I held our victim while the parson 
 fetched another coil from its hiding-place. I had 
 never before handled so much rope all at once in 
 my life. We wound it carefully and symmetri- 
 cally, so that the pressure would be perfectly 
 even and not very tight anywhere. We were as 
 careful of his comfort as we would have been of 
 that of a new-born baby. 
 
 When we had finished Sam looked like a big 
 ball of yarn, or a spool of wire. There was no 
 danger of his catching cold, we were very careful 
 about that. He could have stood many de- 
 grees below zero with the wraps we furnished 
 him. We made him spherical, like the earth, just 
 a little flattened at the poles. 
 
 We lifted him up between us, but it was about 
 all we could stagger under. Part of the weight 
 was Sam, but more if it was rope. We car- 
 ried him about half a mile up the hill to the un- 
 occupied house, and back to the hen-coop in the 
 rear. It was a hard pull. I wanted to roll him
 
 ON THE TRAIL 225 
 
 along in front of us, but the dominie wouldn't let 
 me. "It might make him dizzy," he urged. 
 
 "He's a giddy youth, anyway; a little extra 
 whirling about won't hurt him," I argued. 
 
 "But if he should slip, if we should have an 
 accident, just think how far he'd roll!" protested 
 the dominie. 
 
 "I'd like to see," said I, and we both turned 
 our glances down the steep hill into the dim val- 
 ley where the river ran three miles away and a 
 thousand feet below. 
 
 Sam's feet wiggled. He couldn't join in the dis- 
 cussion and argue the point because of an artifi- 
 cial impediment in his speech, but he managed to 
 display his emotions, just the same, by the fright- 
 ful agitation of his feet which goes to show 
 what a short remove we are from the dumb ani- 
 mals. Stop our mouths and our other members 
 begin to be expressive. 
 
 Just then we heard the sound of wheels rapidly 
 approaching. A carriage was coming toward us 
 down the road at a rapid pace and was almost 
 upon us. We had to ditch Sam. There was no
 
 226 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 help for it, and he bounded into the roadside gul- 
 ly like a rubber ball. We crouched behind some 
 bushes and the vehicle passed us and disappeared 
 down the hill, but we had a bad scare. So did 
 Sam. He thought we had let him slip and that 
 he had started in a three-mile journey down hill 
 toward the river so he said afterwards, any- 
 how. 
 
 Then we took up our burden and struggled 
 on, reaching our destination after half an hour's 
 hard labour. At the gate of the deserted farm- 
 house Tupper had placed a couple of lanterns 
 which we lighted before taking Sam to his place 
 of confinement. We needed them, for it was 
 dark as pitch in the coop. It was a little stuffy 
 in there and smelled some of chickens, but it was 
 otherwise comfortable enough. There was plenty 
 of straw on the floor and lots of soft, downy 
 feathers. I think they must have plucked a whole 
 flock of chickens in that coop at some time, or 
 else dumped the contents of an old feather-bed 
 on the floor. It was the featheriest place I was 
 ever in.
 
 ON THE TRAIL 227 
 
 It was important to determine whether Sam 
 could be heard from the road, should he call for 
 help, for we could not leave him gagged all night. 
 So Tupper went out to the gate to listen while I 
 removed the napkin from Sam's mouth. For a 
 second or so he couldn't say anything. He merely 
 gasped and spat out lint and such portions of the 
 napkin as I had failed to extract. 
 
 When he was fully uncorked the language be- 
 gan to come out the way champagne spurts up 
 from the mouth of a bottle when it is overwarm. 
 That was Sam's trouble; he was too hot. If 
 we could only have laid him away on ice there 
 wouldn't have been so much said. When cham- 
 pagne is chilled a bit a lot of it stays in the bot- 
 tle after the cork is drawn. It wasn't that way 
 with Sam. When the stopper was removed all 
 
 the words he had inside of him came out with a 
 rush.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 CAPTIVE 
 
 I was glad to be alone with Samuel Sears for 
 a few minutes. I wanted to have a heart to heart 
 talk with him, in the first place; and, secondly, 
 what he said would have shocked the minister it 
 even shocked me a bit, his talk was so wild and 
 bloodthirsty. 
 
 The first words were merely oaths of a type so 
 varied and ornate that they would have qualified 
 Sam to become a rear-admiral. The .volley of 
 hot shot was followed by grape and canister 
 somewhat after this fashion: "Oh, you jackasses! 
 Just wait only wait knaves! fools! impostors! 
 scoundrels! swindlers oh, I'll get even with you 
 before I die! Hounds! whelps! curs! dogs! (and 
 I forget what other canine varieties) clowns! 
 chumps! bally idiots! silly asses! Oh, you think 
 you're funny, don't you?"
 
 CAPTIVE 229 
 
 "Calm yourself, my dear fellow, calm your- 
 self," I protested. 
 
 "I'll murder you for this, Basil Plympton, I'll 
 have your heart's blood, just see if I don't," 
 bawled Samuel, fairly beside himself with fury. 
 
 I saw that he was in a frame cf mind more 
 dangerous to himself than to me, but that he had 
 not yet acquired the humble and contrite heart 
 and meekness of spirit that I was endeavoring to 
 cultivate in him, and in all others with whom I 
 might come in contact while I wore the cloth. 
 Besides, there were a number of things I wanted 
 to say to him and I felt he must be rendered more 
 amenable to reason before it would be worth my 
 while to enter into serious conversation. 
 
 As he was starting upon a fresh tirade of abuse 
 I gave him a push and set him rolling around the 
 hen-coop on a little practice excursion. He 
 whirled about and about, rapidly absorbing 
 feathers, until he became an animated ball of 
 them. This downy globule was meanwhile ex- 
 claiming: "Help, murder! fire! thieves! robbers! 
 help ! help !" But the voice was choked with wrath
 
 230 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 and other things, and didn't prove effective. 
 
 I can't see why he should have been so un- 
 reasonable. I had merely changed his status. 
 He wasn't a featherless biped any more he was 
 a whole world in himself, trying to find an orbit 
 and revolve on an axis. It must be fun to try 
 such an experiment. You can do lots of things 
 and enjoy all sorts of novel and interesting ex- 
 periences. The chief problem was to keep him- 
 self inclined at a proper angle to the plane of the 
 ecliptic. He had to bear in mind that his head 
 was the north pole and should always be kept at 
 the top of the map. 
 
 This was his chief difficulty in his debut in a 
 "star" part. It would seem that even a planet 
 has to take lessons in curves and functions. He 
 undertook to circulate with his south pole up and 
 his north pole down hence the occasional choke 
 in his voice and his difficulty in enunciating his 
 sentiments clearly. All this was excellent prac- 
 tice. Why shouldn't he learn the business of be- 
 ing a sphere while he was at it? 
 
 It was at this juncture that the parson returned
 
 CAPTIVE 231 
 
 and undertook to interfere. He said I was car- 
 rying things too far. I tried to explain that it 
 was all for Sam's good, but he seemed to think 
 I had some personal grudge to satisfy in spite 
 of my most earnest disclaimer. 
 
 "This won't do," asserted Tupper. 
 
 "Could you hear him out by the gate?" I asked. 
 
 "Not a whisper, but that is all the more reason 
 why we should be gentle in our treatment of him. 
 We can't let him stay all night rolling around 
 with his heels higher than his head. We will 
 have to unwind some of the line." 
 
 "Don't do that," I expostulated. "He is a bit 
 unbalanced just now, but with a little practice 
 and self-control he will regain both his mental 
 and his physical equilibrium." 
 
 But the parson wouldn't pay any attention to 
 these well-meant suggestions. He rolled Sam 
 gently into a corner and unwound enough of the 
 line from the middle and upper hemisphere so that 
 Sam's head tilted upwards, while the ungrateful 
 and belligerent spheroid glared at us and tried 
 to collect his scattered senses and realize what
 
 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 had happened to him, anyhow. When he spoke 
 again he was more civil. He had been whirled 
 about until he was sick and dizzy, and he didn't 
 want any more of that sort of medicine, so he 
 endeavored to be more polite. 
 
 "Look here, Basil Plympton, and you other 
 fellow, whoever you are," he cried, "what is the 
 meaning of this infamous outrage, anyway?" 
 
 "We think you need rest, Samuel," I explained 
 soothingly. "This is a sanitarium and we are all 
 trying to help you and aid in your recovery." 
 
 "It's a blame-fool trick, but if you will unwind 
 this stuff and let me go, I'll try and for- 
 give you." 
 
 "It is the general opinion of your friends that 
 it isn't safe for you to be at large," I declared. 
 "You have the delusion that you have been turned 
 into a planet and must learn how to revolve." 
 
 "How long are you going to keep up this non- 
 sense?" 
 
 "You don't like being a sphere, eh? Well, if 
 I couldn't be a better one than you, I'd sell out. 
 Come now, would you prefer being turned into
 
 CAPTIVE 2S3 
 
 something else, say a poached egg or a Bismark 
 herring?" 
 
 "Shut up, you miserable tree-toad!" raged our 
 unreasonable patient. 
 
 "You see he has delusions," I said to the cleric. 
 "How about a terrapin or a bald-headed eagle?" 
 
 "Don't goad him to madness," interposed the 
 dominie. "He will injure himself if you keep it 
 up much longer have a stroke of apoplexy or 
 something." 
 
 "Oh, you are worse than he, with your infernal 
 hypocrisy," sneered Samuel. "You must be the 
 real clergyman. Ah! I see! I know you, now, 
 you knave, you are that rascal Tupper." 
 
 "All the more reason why you should be kept 
 where you cannot disclose the fact," explained 
 the dominie blandly. 
 
 "Yes, Sam, your interests and our own both 
 require your temporary elimination from the 
 scene of action," I added. "And so we have un- 
 dertaken this little enchantment. You really 
 should thank us. If I had nothing else to do I'd 
 enjoy changing places with you."
 
 234 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "I wish you would, for about five minutes ; I'd 
 show you a thing or two," muttered Samuel with 
 renewed ire. "Oh, you wait, you silly jay, won't 
 I lay you out handsome!" 
 
 "I understand you had it all fixed for a little 
 scene after the wedding-service in which I was 
 to suffer humiliation. You wanted to arrange 
 the details, Sam. Much obliged, but I had other 
 views." 
 
 "You heard ; you were spying on us !" 
 
 "You are not much of a conspirator, Sammy, 
 but we can't afford to have you at large, until 
 after the wedding is over, anyway." 
 
 My thrust had gone home, and Sam meditated 
 in silence for a moment. He had got it through 
 his head, at last, that there was method in our mad 
 prank, and that we meant business in spite of our 
 jocularity. Having reduced him to the proper 
 frame of mind we thought it good time to leave 
 him. I asked him if he had any messages for his 
 mother, or anything like that, but receiving no 
 intelligible reply Tupper and I left him to rumi- 
 nate on his sins.
 
 CAPTIVE 235 
 
 We walked back to the garden-gate and sat 
 down for a quiet chat. I had secured permission 
 from Beatrice to take Tupper fully into our con- 
 fidence. I was much impressed by the young 
 man's initiative in the evening's adventure, and 
 I had already been convinced of his manliness 
 and genuine worth in spite of the ludicrous part 
 fate had compelled him to play. Besides, we 
 needed his help. I laid the whole case before him 
 and he reflected upon it for some time. 
 
 "That stolen manuscript is the key to the whole 
 situation," he remarked. "You cannot afford to 
 go ahead in the dark." 
 
 "That is obvious," I returned somewhat impa- 
 tiently. I had said that same thing over to my- 
 self at least fifty times, and there I had stuck. 
 
 "Let us reason it out," he said. "When did 
 you last see it?" 
 
 "Sam Sears was with me in my room, just be- 
 fore we went down to dinner. My grip was 
 open and it was lying in it. That is the last I 
 saw of it." 
 
 "What time was that?"
 
 236 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "About seven o'clock. They served dinner 
 promptly at seven." 
 
 "What time was it when you first missed it?" 
 
 "It was about half past nine when I returned 
 to my room and found it gone." 
 
 "When you went walking with the bishop 
 where were Sears and Fielding?" 
 
 "They were on the veranda with all the rest 
 of the family." 
 
 "I have had a young man watch the place for 
 me and report all who enter or leave it. That is 
 how I learned of the bishop's arrival this after- 
 noon. Mr. and Mrs. Gosse, Sears and Fielding 
 went for a drive at quarter of eight. They had 
 just returned when I left the hotel at nine 
 o'clock." 
 
 I whistled. The dominie had thrown a new 
 light on the case. I told him that we had left the 
 dinner-table shortly before eight. The actor had 
 gone out on the veranda with us. I remembered 
 that distinctly, and the drive was arranged almost 
 immediately afterwards. Sears and Fielding had 
 come into the garden directly upon their return,
 
 CAPTIVE 237 
 
 after, learning from the gardener that Beatrice 
 Apthorpe was to be found there. 
 
 "That eliminates both Sears and Fielding," 
 concluded the logical theologian, after we had 
 thus compared notes. "They had no opportunity 
 to take it from the time it was last seen to the 
 time it was first missed. There seems but one 
 other possible explanation. One of the servants 
 may have taken it." 
 
 "Not likely." 
 
 "Nevertheless, it would be well to have Miss 
 Apthorpe make careful but guarded inquiries to- 
 morrow morning. If we could by any good for- 
 tune find that manuscript the desperate expedient 
 of a mock marriage could be avoided." 
 
 That was clear enough, and I began to feel 
 more at ease. The clergyman's review of the situ- 
 ation had demonstrated that the chances of Field- 
 ing's being directly implicated in the theft were 
 small. 
 
 Having arrived at this conclusion we proceeded 
 to lay our plans for the morrow. I considered 
 it important to have Tupper on the ground ready
 
 238 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 to step forward in any emergency that might 
 arise. I could think of no place in which to con- 
 ceal him more secure than my own room. 
 
 It would be hopeless to attempt to smuggle 
 him into the Apthorpe residence on the morrow, 
 with Henry on guard with his shot-gun. At that 
 time of night, however, there was little danger. 
 
 I agreed to be up with the sun and to climb the 
 hill to visit our captive in the hen-coop, to look 
 after his comfort, give him food and water, and 
 minister unto him generally. I shrank from the 
 task, for I am a literary man and do not like to 
 hear language used which might get into my 
 head and unconsciously corrupt my style. We 
 all have to make little sacrifices for others, how- 
 ever. 
 
 So the bogus parson and the genuine one stole 
 into the Apthorpe residence like a couple of 
 burglars. We made our way to my room, where 
 we hastened to seek a few hours of slumber. It 
 was a queer thing that we, who had exchanged 
 sleeping-car berths the night before and became 
 involved in a curious chain of adventures in con-
 
 CAPTIVE 239 
 
 sequence, should pass the next night as bedroom 
 companions. We had begun the day as sworn 
 enemies. We ended it as intimate friends. 
 
 "There is nothing like a vacation among these 
 beautiful, restful Berkshire Hills to regenerate a 
 man," I thought, as I drowsed off to sleep. 
 
 Of course it hadn't been as restful as it might 
 have been, but that wasn't the fault of the hills. 
 Something had occurred all the while, but it was 
 a change, anyway. 
 
 Certain it is that I had already felt the benefit 
 of it. Perhaps it was the pure air. Perhaps also 
 it was the inspiring influence of the young woman 
 who was beginning to monopolize my thoughts. 
 
 "Liking isn't computed by the clock; it is 
 measured by heart-throbs," was my last conscious 
 thought.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A CORNER IN CLOTHES-LINEi 
 
 I was awake with the first glimmer of dawn 
 and dressed with silent haste. It was to be a mo- 
 mentous day for me, and I had much to accom- 
 plish before other folk were astir. As I made 
 my way cautiously down the hall I heard restless 
 footsteps and the murmur of low voices from an 
 apartment which I took to be that of the Ap- 
 thorpes. 
 
 I was just passing by the door when I heard 
 Mrs. Apthorpe say: "Are you never going to re- 
 tire, James? You will worry yourself sick. It is 
 already daylight and neither of us has slept a 
 wink." 
 
 "God forgive me if I am doing wrong," re- 
 turned her husband. "My girl's face haunts me 
 whenever I try to close my eyes." 
 
 "Can nothing be done, even yet? Is there no
 
 A CORNER IN CLOTHES-LINE 
 
 help for her? She detests the man so," pleaded 
 the mother. 
 
 "We have been debating the matter all night," 
 sighed Apthorpe, "and we always arrive at the 
 inevitable conclusion. Our duty is clear and 
 there is but one course open to us." 
 
 I was about to hurry on and leave them to 
 their unhappy vigil, when Mrs. Apthorpe's next 
 remark arrested my attention. "What are you 
 going to do about the young clergyman?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "Mr. Fielding seems determined that he shall 
 not be permitted to perform the service," was the 
 reply. "He says he has proof that the bishop 
 was lured away by a hoax and that his friend, Mr. 
 Sears, has other damaging evidence against the 
 young man, which can be produced, if neces- 
 sary, and which renders it highly improper for 
 him to officiate." 
 
 I had been suffering some pangs of conscience 
 about the way we had treated Samuel. They were 
 now removed, and they have never troubled me 
 since. I listened breathlessly as Apthorpe con-
 
 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 tinued: "I do not enjoy being dictated to in this 
 way by these underbred fellows, and personally 
 I like Mr. Tupper." 
 
 "I am glad of that," said Mrs. Apthorpe (so 
 was I). "I think him a very upright and spirit- 
 ual young man. He should not be condemned 
 unheard." 
 
 "That was the view I took of it, and I am glad 
 you agree with me. I told Mr. Fielding last 
 night that, unless Mr. Sears had something defi- 
 nite and substantial to allege, Mr. Tupper would 
 officiate, or there would be no wedding at 
 all." 
 
 "It rejoices my heart to think you were 
 so firm," said his wife. "To my mind Mr. Tup- 
 per bears every mark of being one of the Lord's 
 elect. They do not like him because he is so much 
 above them, and they wish to hurt and humiliate 
 him, knowing they have us in their power." 
 
 "The actor has gone as far as he dares," Ap- 
 thorpe replied. "I think that silly, mischief -mak- 
 ing fellow he brought up from New York with
 
 A CORNER IN CLOTHES-LINE 243 
 him is responsible for this last piece of impu- 
 dence." 
 
 "I wish they would both go away and never 
 cross our path again, James; I am wretched." 
 And Mrs. Apthorpe sobbed. 
 
 "So am I, Emma, but I shall do my duty," 
 declared her husband. 
 
 I don't believe in eavesdropping as a general 
 practice, but here I was surely justified. I did 
 not care to hear more and glided down the hall, 
 leaving them to their sorrow. They were doing 
 what they thought was right, and making every 
 one near and dear to them wretched, themselves 
 included which is often the logical result of 
 misguided rectitude. 
 
 It was more evident than ever that we had done 
 well to place Samuel Sears hors de combat. I 
 had had a narrow escape owing to him, as it was, 
 and would unquestionably have been dismissed 
 in disgrace as persona non grata to the bride- 
 groom if it hadn't been for my spirituality and 
 general godliness. I seemed to feel a halo grow-
 
 244 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 ing about my head and wings sprouting from my 
 
 shoulders. 
 
 However vengeful I might feel toward Mr. 
 Sears, it was one of the obligations of my new- 
 born saintship to forgive him and to provide him 
 a breakfast. To get him one I should have to 
 commit larceny, a course which I think I can de- 
 fend theologically. Anyhow, I tiptoed down the 
 back stairs with Christian motive and burglar- 
 ious intent. My objective was the Apthorpe 
 pantry. This I entered with such stealth that I 
 almost stepped on a mouse. 
 
 While I was in the burglary business I wanted 
 to do a good job, so I cut several slices of bread, 
 spread it neatly with butter and sliced a cold 
 tongue to supply several tempting sandwiches. 
 Then I discovered a big custard pie, soft and well 
 frosted. It was such a luscious pie I was con- 
 vinced the cook intended it for the village consta- 
 ble, if there was such an official in Greenford. I 
 hoped there wasn't. I did not care for his per- 
 sonal acquaintance just then. At any rate I was 
 sure the pie would be to Sam's liking, so I took
 
 A CORNER IN CLOTHES-LINE 245 
 
 it. Putting these eatables into a convenient bas- 
 ket, I went for a brisk walk among the hills, 
 winding up at the untenanted farmhouse. 
 
 We had set a pole against the rickety door of 
 the coop, and it was well we did so, for Sam had 
 certainly made progress during the night. By 
 dint of worming and squirming he had man- 
 aged to work his arms through the great coil of 
 rope which enveloped him, so that his hands and 
 wrists stuck out on either side of the big ball of 
 hemp and feathers, looking like the flippers of a 
 white seal. He had also managed to work his 
 legs out so that they projected half-way up to the 
 knees. By rocking himself back and forth, with 
 increasing momentum, he could now and then 
 tip himself up on his pins, to waddle half a step 
 and then roll over. 
 
 He was engaged in this interesting acrobatic 
 performance, with a skill and perseverance that 
 would have made his fortune in a dime museum 
 as I entered just in time to view the roly-poly 
 collapse which concluded the exhibition.
 
 246 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 I clapped my hands and bade him a cheery 
 good morning. 
 
 "For God's sake, Basil, let me loose. I'm 
 nearly dead," gasped the prisoner. 
 
 "Don't get impatient, old fellow," I returned, 
 "there are only a few hours more of captivity be- 
 fore you, and I have brought you a good break- 
 fast." 
 
 "Breakfast? How do you suppose I can eat 
 with my mouth, nose and throat full of nasty, 
 dusty feathers? Oh, you will have to suffer the 
 torments of hell before I get even with you, 
 Basil Plympton!" 
 
 I wasn't to blame if he persisted in training 
 for the circus instead of lying quietly in the com- 
 fortable corner where the dominie had placed him. 
 His hair and beard were full of feathers and 
 looked as if they had turned white over night. I 
 tried to clean some of them off, but when I en- 
 deavored to work a few out of his nostrils he 
 snapped at me like a cross dog. "Let me alone," 
 he snarled, "you will have to let me out sooner or 
 later, and when you do I'll half murder you. I'll
 
 A CORNER IN CLOTHES-LINE 247 
 thrash you within an inch of your life, and then 
 I'll sue you for abduction, assault, battery and 
 false imprisonment." 
 
 "Why not throw in libel, slander and seduc- 
 tion? 5 ' I suggested. But I saw it was useless to 
 endeavour to mollify him, so gave it up and made 
 an honest effort to feed him the sandwiches. He 
 ate a little, though mainly for the purpose of 
 biting my fingers. He caught me twice, and the 
 second time nearly took my fore-finger off at the 
 first joint. That is the kind of return one is apt 
 to get for trying to help the afflicted. I wasn't 
 obliged to bring him food. I could just have left 
 him alone until afternoon and then sent Henry 
 up to liberate him, while I started for parts un- 
 known. 
 
 But I wasn't going to stop trying to do him 
 good just because he was mean and revengeful. 
 I had learned a thing or two while I had been 
 in the ministry. There are ways of making the 
 wicked see the light by kindness and charity and 
 moral suasion. 
 
 As I did not wish to lose any more fingers I
 
 248 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 tried a new way of feeding him the pie. I set it 
 down upon the floor of the hen-coop and took 
 Sam by his equator. I tipped up his south pole 
 and dipped his north pole well into the middle 
 of the pie. 
 
 I hope he imbibed some of it. I am sure I 
 wanted him to have plenty. If his whole north 
 pole was abundantly plastered with bright yellow 
 custard and nice white frosting I was not to 
 blame. There was more custard in that pie than 
 I ever saw in one of the sort before or since. It 
 was deep, soft and abundant beyond measure. 
 
 Having given the captive his breakfast I drew 
 water from the well in an old oaken bucket and 
 gave him to drink. He took down about a gal- 
 lon. I never saw a man so thirsty. Dust, feath- 
 ers and oratory are apt to make one dry, to say 
 nothing of the pie he had taken, inside and out. 
 The difficulty was I couldn't see how there was 
 room for all that water inside that coil of rope. 
 
 I was sorry for him, but he was too smart to 
 be fooled and too dangerous to be left at large 
 just then. Led astray by a clergyman, I had
 
 A CORNER IN CLOTHES-LINE 249 
 reluctantly consented to his temporary captivity ; 
 but I was good to him and gave him all the pie 
 and water he wanted. He claimed afterwards 
 that I made a mistake about that pie and just 
 mopped him around in it without giving him a 
 chance to swallow any. I am real sorry. It was 
 due to my total inexperience in handling an un- 
 tamed spheroid that bites one's fingers. 
 
 As I couldn't do him any more good I left him, 
 to resume my stroll over the hills. 
 
 Sam remained in the hen-coop practicing to 
 become an acrobat until nearly noon, when he was 
 liberated through a peculiar combination of cir- 
 cumstances that was entirely out of my reckon- 
 ing. All this I myself didn't learn until later. 
 But I'll satisfy the suspense of the reader, and 
 tell him here. 
 
 If I had only known that the young parson had 
 spent all Sunday afternoon appropriating all the 
 visible clothes-line in the village of Greenford, I 
 should have surmised that there would be a cor- 
 ner in clothes-line Monday morning in that en- 
 terprising town where all the villagers do up their
 
 250 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 own laundry. As it had not occurred to me to 
 ask the parson where or how he had obtained the 
 rope I did not dream what a hornets'-nest he was 
 going to stir up. When a clergyman once sets 
 out to be a genuine, all-around desperado, he is 
 apt to stop at nothing. 
 
 When Mrs. Smith started in to wash that 
 morning she discovered that her clothes-line had 
 mysteriously vanished, and sent her husband 
 around to Mrs. Jones to borrow a few yards. 
 Then Mrs. Jones found that her line had gone 
 also, and Jones and Smith set out in quest of 
 Robinson to see if he had any clothes-line; but 
 the parson had been around to the Robinsons'. 
 In point of fact, he had gathered all the rope in 
 the neighbourhood, hence the throng of irate farm- 
 ers and indignant housewives that assembled. 
 
 . One enterprising laundress thought that she 
 might find a line around the premises of the de- 
 serted James house. On making search she found 
 Samuel Sears with all the clothes-line of the 
 entire village in his possession or adjacent. She 
 hailed the mob, and the indignant villagers rolled
 
 A CORNER IN CLOTHES-LINE 251 
 Sam out. Then they unwound him. It was a 
 long job, as they stopped to identify each coil 
 and find its proper owner before they unwound 
 the next. Finally they unrolled the last cord 
 and Sam was free, but still very feathery and 
 furiously angry. I shall always believe those 
 feathers went to his brain, for he acted queer and 
 light-headed for some time thereafter, as you'll 
 see. 
 
 I do not know how he explained it to the 
 farmers. They were inclined to make him out a 
 thief at first, and as there was tar handy and the 
 feathers were already laid on thick he might have 
 had further unpleasant experiences. 
 
 Anyway, he was clever enough to convince 
 them that he was not the guilty party, though the 
 stolen property was found upon his person, and 
 they were finally persuaded to let him go. 
 
 As soon as he was free to depart, Sam started 
 in to make trouble for me. But that came later. 
 Just now my lines were set in pleasant places, 
 and fairer prospects beckoned.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 LOVE AMONG THE ROSES 
 
 It was still very early morning, and th? sun's 
 long beams quivered in the crisply cool air. 
 I needed solitude and time to think breathing 
 space in which to reflect upon one of the greatest 
 problems of my life. As Stevenson's Doctor 
 Desprez has said, there is no time for making 
 theories like the early morning. Of all the 
 strange things that had happened to me in the 
 course of twenty-four short hours, the most wild 
 and wonderful was the fact that I had fallen 
 deeply in love with Beatrice Apthorpe; and yet 
 I had scarcely had a chance even to think about 
 it. 
 
 One cannot reason much concerning such 
 things. They are a part of the daily recurring mir- 
 acle of human existence. But there was much 
 to be considered when the one great fact of my
 
 LOVE AMONG THE ROSES 253 
 
 love was established and recognized. She was the 
 affianced bride of another man, though she de- 
 tested him and did not wish to wed him. The 
 question was, were my lips sealed, or had I the 
 right and was it my duty to speak? Should 
 I wait until time had proved the quality of this 
 new emotion, or should I acknowledge it at once 
 for what I knew it to be a thing of life, death, 
 fate and eternity ; and seize upon the golden op- 
 portunity while it presented itself? 
 
 These were the questions I was debating within 
 myself as I sauntered down the road and entered 
 the gardens of Burgmoor. The trouble was that 
 all ordinary standards of honour and conventional 
 rules of propriety were set at naught by the ex- 
 traordinary and unusual situation in which I 
 found myself. So I concluded to drift along 
 under the guidance of my lucky star, and place 
 myself unreservedly in the hands of destiny, as 
 I wandered along the winding garden paths, 
 humming the song of the Scotch plough-boy, 
 dear to all lovers:
 
 254 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "My love is like a red } red rose, 
 
 That's newly sprung in June: 
 My love is like the melody 
 
 That's sweetly played in tune. 
 As fair art thou, my bonny lass, 
 
 So deep in love am 1, 
 And I will love thee still, my dear, 
 
 Till a the seas gang dry" 
 
 Just then I caught sight of Beatrice wandering 
 along a garden path. "There she comes with 
 romance on her young eyelashes," I thought, my 
 heart aglow with anticipation. We met. She 
 seemed as sweet as the dewy morn itself, and as 
 rosy. Now that there was some hope of escaping 
 from her false position and the unpleasant al- 
 liance, some of the tense alertness seemed to be 
 softened out of her face and she appeared more 
 tender and more girlish. Was it this ; or was it 
 something within me that acquired higher per- 
 ceptions as it matured? Both, probably. Any- 
 way, the world seemed to be a mighty fine place 
 to be in, just then, as we walked in the sunshine
 
 LOVE AMONG THE ROSES 255 
 
 among the flowers. I like to remember that morn- 
 ing. 
 
 A crisis was impending. Our fate hung in the 
 balance by a very slender thread. To be sure, it 
 always does that ; but our threads were slenderer 
 that day than they had ever been before! 
 
 She looked at me shyly, as I took her hand 
 and pressed it. "Where have you been?" she 
 asked. "I was worried about things and thought 
 I might find you here." 
 
 I told her about Samuel Sears and explained 
 that he would have to be liberated, if Tupper 
 and I happened to be arrested or driven out of 
 town, or anything, before the day was over a 
 result not at all improbable, all things considered. 
 
 She looked very grave, but I assured her that 
 the deed had been necessary to the success of our 
 plans, as Sam had warned me he would not per- 
 mit me to conduct the ceremony. As it was, he 
 might have said enough already to do the mis- 
 chief ; and we couldn't afford to have him at large. 
 
 "I am afraid he will murder you, or do some- 
 thing dreadful," she said.
 
 256 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "Oh, don't waste any thoughts on him; they 
 are too precious," I protested. 
 
 "Don't," she cried, "that sort of thing reminds 
 me of Jam." 
 
 "I am duly abashed ; but may I never say any- 
 thing sentimental?" 
 
 "I have had enough of it to last me all the 
 rest of my life. What were you singing when I 
 met you; something about a lady and a rose?" 
 
 "About my lady and my rose. You must know 
 who she is and that I am all hers." 
 
 "Tell me about her," commanded the young 
 lady demurely, but blushing radiantly. 
 
 We had reached the grape-arbor and had seat- 
 ed ourselves on the rustic bench once more. "I 
 am quite unworthy of her," I whispered, "and 
 she is altogether out of my reach, though not be- 
 yond my love." 
 
 "And why, sir?" 
 
 "Can't you see; can't you guess?" 
 
 "Has she friends, parents, wealth, refined sur- 
 roundings, natural guardians and protectors, 
 everything that should keep her from harm and
 
 LOVE AMONG THE ROSES 257 
 
 shield her from misfortune? Have all these 
 failed her in her hour of need? Is her sole re- 
 liance upon your ability and devotion, and faith?" 
 And she looked up into my eyes with such 
 trust and affection I believed my love to be re- 
 turned. I took her little warm hand and kissed 
 it, then clasped it against my heart. 
 
 And thereupon an odd thing happened which 
 brought me down from my seventh heaven of 
 bliss with a dull, cold thud. She snatched her 
 hand away almost rudely and looked at me with 
 a most peculiar expression of suspicion and pique. 
 I could not understand it. What had happened? 
 
 "Have I offended you?" I asked. 
 
 "Oh, not at all. It isn't what you might think 
 in the least. I was glad to let you hold my hand. 
 It isn't that. You will never understand and I 
 can never explain; but how, oh, how can I ever 
 trust you now!" And there were tears gathering 
 in her eyes. 
 
 Was I demented; or was she suffering from 
 nervous prostration? 
 
 "What is it?" I cried dumfounded. "How can
 
 258 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 I have offended you, when I love you so deeply, 
 and was trying to make you understand it? In 
 the name of all that is good and true, what is 
 this horrid thing that has come between us?" 
 
 "I suppose I am foolish," she faltered, "but it, 
 it it felt like a photograph!" 
 
 I gave a sigh of immense relief. When a man 
 presses a girl's hand to his heart he ought to 
 make sure there are no compromising things in 
 his left breast pocket. If she happens to feel 
 pasteboard instead of a palpitating organ it is 
 apt to disappoint her and arouse her suspicion. 
 "It was a photograph," I admitted. 
 
 "And one that you cherish so sentimentally, 
 while you are saying such things to me ? That is 
 just what I thought! Oh, are all men Eke that? 
 Shall I never meet one who is faithful and true?" 
 
 Well, I produced the picture. It was her own 
 miniature, which, it will be remembered, I had 
 purloined the morning previous. 
 
 "Oh!" she said. That was about all she could 
 say very well. 
 
 "I admit I did wrong," I sighed, "but I was so
 
 LOVE AMONG THE ROSES 259 
 
 taken with it that I couldn't resist the tempta- 
 tion." 
 
 But she had been ruffled, and was still rather 
 coy. "It seems like a presumption, doesn't it?" 
 she demanded. 
 
 "It was a presumption," I admitted, "but I 
 am a very presuming fellow, or I wouldn't 
 be here at all." Then I kissed the miniature and 
 offered to return it. 
 
 She pushed it away shyly. "I thought you 
 had better taste than that," she said. 
 
 "Better taste? How, how what do you 
 mean?" I stammered. 
 
 "Oh, never mind," she protested, blushing 
 prettily, "keep the picture, if you like." 
 
 I saw that somehow I had blundered once 
 more. She was beginning to be mollified, until 
 I kissed the picture; that seemed to ruffle her 
 again. She thought I should have better taste. 
 Then our eyes met and in the depths of hers I 
 saw a glow. My heart beat wildly as I bent 
 over her face and kissed it, murmuring involun- 
 tarily, "I love you."
 
 260 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 We were hedged in on all sides by the dark 
 green grape-leaves and bright red roses, as I did 
 it. How could I help it? Yet I wasn't as bold 
 as I might have been for I was oppressed by the 
 thought of all the fine and virtuous resolutions 
 I was breaking, for I had not intended to do any- 
 thing like that until Harry Fielding was finally 
 disposed of. And yet I knew she returned my 
 love, though she wouldn't say so, covering her 
 emotion with baffling coquetry. 
 
 "You evidently haven't kissed many girls," 
 she laughed, as red as the roses. "You are terri- 
 bly unsophisticated. I like that ; but still, a man 
 of your knowledge of the world should be in bet- 
 ter practice." 
 
 I tried it once more, my heart thumping 
 against my side as if trying to break through. 
 Yet I only touched her flushing cheek gently 
 with my lips, both times. It seemed a sort of 
 sacrilege, somehow, such was my regard for her. 
 I had lost all my assurance because my very soul 
 was filled with tenderness. She was right, 
 though; I didn't know how the thing should be
 
 LOVE AMONG THE ROSES 261 
 
 done. No man does until a woman shows him 
 how. 
 
 "I am sure of it," she whispered. "You have 
 never kissed a girl before!" 
 
 I was on dangerous ground again. To admit 
 the allegation was folly, to deny it was embar- 
 rassing. I did not like to be thought so ama- 
 teurish, so I said: "Oh, yes, I have, lots of times." 
 
 "Then you shall never kiss me again, sir. 
 When when was it?" 
 
 "Oh, long ago, in the country; playing post- 
 office, you know, and things like that." 
 
 "Oh, I thought so. Why, you dropped a kiss 
 on my cheek almost as though it were a letter- 
 box." 
 
 That is how she bewitched me, drove my scru- , 
 pies to the winds, and taught me the divine poetry 
 of love. How roguish she looked, the very in- 
 carnation of tender mischief! The tenderness 
 grew and the mischief gradually vanished, as 
 I took her in my arms and pressed my lips to 
 hers, whereupon she whispered in my ear so 
 faintly I could hardly hear it: "I love you, too."
 
 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 After a little we began to talk about the future. 
 A good deal for both of us depended upon the 
 events of the next few hours. She was worried 
 about that mock marriage. She said it would 
 not do for me to appear such a novice at that as 
 I had at certain other things. At the very moment 
 of triumph some awkward blunder on my part 
 might arouse suspicion and spoil everything. She 
 had dreamed about it, and when she awoke she 
 felt worried. That was why she had risen so early 
 to meet me in the garden. That was absolutely 
 the only reason, she assured me. 
 
 I was a little shaky about that wedding-service 
 myself. I admitted it frankly. It wasn't at all 
 in my line. I'd rather preach half a dozen ser- 
 mons. 
 
 "Well," she said, "practice makes perfect, as 
 you know. (No, no, I didn't mean anything like 
 that.) Could we have a dress-rehearsal?" 
 
 "Splendid, if it could be managed." 
 
 "That will be easy enough," she declared. 
 "When you and Mr. Tupper are ready for it, 
 knock on my door. I will have Mary and Ellen
 
 LOVE AMONG THE ROSES 263 
 
 in my room with me the maids, you know, to 
 act as witnesses." 
 
 "They are in the secret? Is it wise to trust the 
 servants in such an affair?" 
 
 "Oh, no, they know nothing as yet. But they 
 love me devotedly, and will do anything I ask 
 without question." 
 
 "Well, what do you propose to do then?" 
 
 "Then you must remove the dresser, and we'll 
 open the door and come in. Mr. Tupper will 
 show you how everything is to be done and act 
 the part of bridegroom." 
 
 "I do not like that." 
 
 "Silly! You don't suppose I would marry 
 
 "With all the people you are going to practice 
 on you might throw me in. Couldn't I make one 
 of a job lot of husbands?" 
 
 "Never. I could not marry you and have any 
 pretense about it. (Will you never stop?)" 
 
 As I left the garden I felt as if I were walking 
 on air.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE VOICE OF AUTHORITY 
 
 I returned to my room and aroused Tupper. 
 As soon as he was dressed he hunted up a pad 
 of blank marriage-certificates from the recesses 
 of his grip, and explained the simple details of 
 filling them out. He was charmed with the 
 notion of a dress-rehearsal; in fact, delighted 
 with everything, now that he was on the inside 
 and a main factor in the game. 
 
 I could see from the way he spoke that he also 
 was badly smitten with Beatrice, and that the 
 lingering hope of winning her had drawn him to 
 Greenford in spite of himself and of her letter. 
 That cleared up the one serious blemish I had 
 found in him ; and though we were rivals we had 
 also become fast friends. 
 
 By half past eight we had set our room to 
 rights and made ourselves presentable. Then,
 
 THE VOICE OF AUTHORITY 265 
 
 as agreed, we rapped on the door of the adjoin- 
 ing room, occupied by Beatrice, and removed the 
 dresser. There was a flutter in the next room 
 and then Beatrice entered attired in a traveling- 
 dress. The bare sight of that gown and the 
 thought of the journey that it portended made 
 me sick at heart. 
 
 If our plot failed she would be the victim of 
 Fielding or an outcast from her home by the fiat 
 of her sternly blind parents, with all the infamy 
 of the scandal bearing her down. The terror of 
 her possible fate pressed upon me for the first 
 time. As I grew to love her more dearly, as I 
 came more closely in touch with her sorrow, I 
 saw the abyss that yawned between us with 
 clearer eyes. 
 
 All the plans that we had concocted to thwart 
 the designs of the cunning villain who was about 
 to become her husband seemed puerile in com- 
 parison with the danger that threatened. 
 
 Of course Beatrice could refuse at the last 
 moment to do her father's bidding. Of course 
 she could leave the paternal roof and face the
 
 266 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 world and the ever-pointed finger of ignominy. 
 That is easy to say in print, and other girls have 
 done it, but they seldom lead happy lives, and 
 few young ladies of gentle and wealthy upbring- 
 ing have the courage or the hardihood to endure 
 it. 
 
 I feared that nothing I could do would shield 
 her effectually. It was all well enough for me 
 to kiss her in the garden and whisper words of 
 tender love in her ear. But to give a girl like 
 Beatrice the comforts and luxuries to which she 
 was accustomed, even if she would marry me 
 under such circumstances, would be a difficult 
 undertaking with a powerful family like hers 
 frowning upon me. 
 
 No, unless something intervened, unless our 
 hoax, bizarre as was the scheme, should succeed, 
 there was small hope. It certainly seemed 
 probable that Beatrice would be the bride of 
 Harry Fielding within a few short hours, unless 
 he was tricked out of it, and he was not the man 
 to be fooled easily with the warnings he had had 
 and with so much at stake.
 
 THE VOICE OF AUTHORITY 267 
 
 When she came in, followed by her two maids, 
 we were all very solemn. I think that we felt 
 that the critical moment was uncomfortably near 
 and that we were, after all, but ill prepared to 
 meet it. 
 
 Just as I took up the book and was about to 
 begin reading the marriage-service, while Beat- 
 rice and Tupper stood hand in hand before me, 
 with the two maids giggling in the background, 
 there was a sharp rap on the door of my bedroom. 
 Fortunately I had not begun to read the service. 
 As it turned out it was more fortunate still that 
 I didn't complete it. 
 
 We looked at one another in dismay, then Tup- 
 per and the maids stole silently after Beatrice 
 into her room. I closed the door after them soft- 
 ly, slid the dresser into its place against it, and 
 breathed more easily. 
 
 All this had taken time and meanwhile my 
 visitor knocked again. Then I let him in. It 
 was Harry Fielding. 
 
 I started guiltily as my eye met his, but he did 
 not seem to notice my embarrassment. He had
 
 268 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 been told by Sam Sears that I had a shifty way 
 about me, and now was doubtless convinced of it. 
 
 "Good morning," he said pleasantly, "pardon 
 my disturbing you, but a telegram addressed to 
 you has just arrived from Boston. It was so 
 bulky and the tariff so high I thought I would 
 consult you before paying for it. The boy wants 
 three dollars and seventy-five cents." 
 
 He looked at me curiously. I knew he was 
 wondering what business a young parson could 
 have that necessitated the luxury of such 
 extended messages over the wires. I did my best 
 to satisfy him. 
 
 "I am much obliged," I said. "My family 
 have some important real estate transactions in 
 Boston, and are probably consulting me in a 
 matter of such financial importance that cost is 
 no objection." The explanation was lame 
 enough, but it served the purpose. 
 
 I went down with him, paid the messenger, and 
 took the precious envelope in my hands. That 
 was one of those slender threads of chance that 
 sway our lives. Fielding was curious and sus-
 
 THE VOICE OF AUTHORITY 269 
 
 picious, and thought that there was something 
 wrong about me. He lacked all scruple, yet 
 apparently it had never entered his head to pay 
 for the telegram, open it and read it. Even a 
 clever rascal will blunder occasionally, and be 
 both less rascally and less clever than the occasion 
 demands. 
 
 "Have you seen anything of. my friend, Mr. 
 Sears?" asked the actor. "He seems to have 
 mysteriously disappeared. I went to his room, 
 but his bed has not been disturbed; no one has 
 seen him since he retired last evening." 
 
 "Strange," I said. "Isn't he one of those 
 newspaper fellows?" 
 
 Fielding eyed me narrowly with those fierce 
 black eyes of his. "Why do you say that?" he, 
 asked. 
 
 "Oh, I have occasionally seen him at public 
 gatherings among the representatives of the 
 press. I did not say anything about it yesterday 
 for fear it might offend you and disturb the Ap- 
 thorpes." 
 
 "That was clever of you," smiled the rascal,
 
 370 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 showing his white teeth. "These good people are 
 all right, but they are a little peculiar in such 
 matters." 
 
 "So I judged." 
 
 "You seem a good sort, though my friend inti- 
 mated that I would do well to keep an eye on 
 you. These newspaper chaps have queer fancies 
 and are apt to see a mare's nest in everything." 
 
 "It's their trade, you know," I commented. I 
 was glad he had such a poor opinion of the acu- 
 men of my craft. I was also rejoiced to think I 
 had given Samuel all the pie he wanted. 
 
 "I want to ask you a rather delicate question," 
 said the actor, hesitating and looking somewhat 
 embarrassed. He evidently felt the necessity of 
 sounding me. Sears had failed him, and he could 
 not persist in his refusal to accept me as the 
 officiating clergyman without a disagreeable fuss 
 with the Apthorpes and perhaps a delay that 
 would be fatal to his hopes. 
 
 "You can rely on me entirely," I was diplo- 
 matic enough to assure him. 
 
 "You must have noticed, then," he found
 
 THE VOICE OF AUTHORITY 271 
 
 courage to say, "that there is some slight es- 
 trangement between myself, and and the young 
 lady up-stairs. It is but a child's whim, how- 
 ever. Has she said anything to you about it?" 
 
 "She has intimated that she is not very eager 
 about the marriage, but that her parents have in- 
 sisted that she must keep faith. I tried to per- 
 suade her that it was too late to withdraw now; 
 that no good could come of it in the end." I had 
 to make myself solid with Fielding at the cost 
 of verisimilitude. 
 
 "That's right," he returned heartily. "I see 
 you understand what you were sent for and what 
 you are expected to do. Do the right thing, and 
 I will take care of you in a substantial fashion." 
 
 I bowed submissively and said: "I know on 
 which side my bread is buttered. I have already 
 been very generously treated." 
 
 Perhaps I overdid it a little. It may be that 
 he caught the gleam in my eye before I brought 
 myself to this apparently meek submission. I 
 thought he eyed me rather suspiciously as I 
 turned and went back to my room.
 
 272 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 It was too late now for any dress-rehearsal be- 
 fore breakfast, but I moved the dresser once more 
 and summoned Tupper and Beatrice to a council 
 of war. 
 
 They were a badly scared lot. Fielding's sud- 
 den appearance had led them to believe his com- 
 ing premeditated, and they had listened fearfully 
 for the expected uproar below when I went down 
 with him. 
 
 I told them not to worry, that all was going 
 well, which hardly accorded with my real opinion. 
 Then I informed them that I had just received a 
 telegram from Boston lawyers of high repute, 
 giving advice on the subject of mock marriages. 
 
 I opened and read the momentous missive 
 while they listened with breathless attention. It 
 ran as follows: 
 
 Boston, July 16, 1908. 
 
 "Rev. Charles W. Tupper, 
 
 Burgmoor, Greenford, Mass. 
 "Replying to your inquiry: Chapter 781, 
 
 L. 1897, State of Massachusetts, reads as 
 
 follows :
 
 THE VOICE OF AUTHORITY 273 
 
 "Section I. All duly ordained clergymen 
 of every Christian denomination, all rabbis of 
 synagogues, all justices of the peace, selectmen 
 of towns, or any member of a body clothed by 
 law with legislative powers, and all executive 
 officials of the state, may solemnize marriages 
 within this state. 
 
 "Section II. Any marriage performed by 
 any person not herein authorized, shall, on 
 and after the passage of this act, be valid and 
 binding upon the contracting parties, but such 
 unauthorized person shall be guilty of a felony 
 and subject to fine and imprisonment. 
 
 "Section III. Nothing contained in the 
 last section shall be made the foundation for 
 any prosecution for bigamy. If one or both 
 of said contracting parties are, at the time of 
 said marriage by said unauthorized person, 
 already married and have a lawful husband or 
 wife still living, then, and in that event, said 
 section shall be of no force or effect whatever. 
 
 "Section IV. This act shall take effect im- 
 mediately."
 
 274 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 While I read these formal words, Beatrice 
 stood with puckered brow, endeavoring to com- 
 prehend the legal phraseology. Its intent was 
 clear enough, however, and none of us could fail 
 to understand it. 
 
 "What does it all mean," she asked, though her 
 pale face showed that she must know. 
 
 "For one thing," I replied, "it means that if I 
 had conducted that dress-rehearsal we started 
 when Mr. Fielding interrupted us, you would 
 now he Mrs. Charles W. Tupper, and I a candi- 
 date for state-prison, where several persons 
 would be extremely glad to land me." 
 
 "You can't fool with the wedding-ceremony 
 very much in these parts, can you?" said Tupper 
 ruefully. 
 
 I could see that he was inwardly abusing his 
 hard luck. He would have been willing enough 
 that I should go to jail, provided that Beatrice 
 thereby became his wife. I did not blame him 
 much. Were the case reversed I might have felt 
 just as he did. 
 
 "We could have procured a pardon from the
 
 THE VOICE OF AUTHORITY 275 
 
 governor, or something," he added, thinking 
 aloud. 
 
 "No, I thank you," I returned. "I am willing 
 to be kind and obliging, and in some respects I 
 like the ministry; but I do not care about going 
 to jail." 
 
 "Not even for me?" ventured Beatrice. 
 
 "If it would do you any good I'd serve twenty 
 years for you, my dear young lady. But I won't 
 marry you to another fellow and go to prison my- 
 self, not for love or money." 
 
 "Of course not," she assented. "How fortu- 
 nate that you sent to those lawyers for advice. I 
 should have been the bride of three or four dif- 
 ferent men, all in one morning, if we had not 
 been warned in time." 
 
 "Yes," I added, "and if we had omitted the 
 dress-rehearsal, and I had married you down- 
 stairs to Mr. Fielding, as we first planned, we 
 should be in a still worse fix. You could never set 
 it aside on the ground of accident, or anything 
 like that, as you could have done in my friend 
 Tupper's case."
 
 276 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 I shot that last suggestion at the dominie just 
 for luck. I didn't want him to feel too bad about 
 the chance he had missed. 
 
 "Yes, of course," said the girl, "a marriage by 
 accident would not stand in the courts, so I 
 should not have been compelled to remain Mrs. 
 Tupper." 
 
 "Of course not," assented the clergyman, look- 
 ing much crestfallen. He seemed really un- 
 happy over it. 
 
 Then Beatrice was seized with one of those 
 senseless fits of sympathy women have, and ad- 
 ded, with a bright smile. "But I would rather 
 have been Mrs. Tupper than Mrs. Fielding. So 
 I might never have gone to law about it, after 
 all." 
 
 "Really?" said the poor cleric, with a beatified 
 grin. 
 
 I went over and kicked the dress-suit case. I 
 kicked it clear to the other end of the room. I 
 might have spared my energy, for the young lady 
 laughed in the dominie's face. Then the break- 
 fast bell sounded, and she hurried back into her
 
 THE VOICE OF AUTHORITY 277 
 
 room. It was just as well she went. We were 
 both getting foolish over her, and we needed all 
 our wits and a united company. 
 
 Tupper and I looked at each other in blank 
 dismay. Beatrice seemed strangely oblivious to 
 the fact, but we were dished. There was no mis- 
 take about it this time. That monstrous statute 
 left no loophole for us through which to crawl. 
 
 It was only when all seemed lost that I real- 
 ized what hopes I had founded on the wild scheme 
 of a mock marriage, into which ordinarily sen- 
 sible men, like the young clergyman and myself, 
 had been beguiled through the witcheries of the 
 young lady and the misfortunes that threatened 
 her. 
 
 As there was nothing else that could be done 
 for the present, I went down to breakfast with a 
 sore heart. Oh, if I could only have laid my 
 hands on the stolen manuscript of that play! 
 
 We had arranged to have Mary and Ellen 
 serve Tupper a meal in my room, where he was 
 to remain concealed until we could rearrange our 
 plans.
 
 278 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 It began to look as if he would have to marry 
 the girl to Fielding in the end. Certainly I 
 wouldn't do it after reading that statute. 
 
 I felt pretty blue as I sat down to breakfast, 
 but I was no more so than every one else at the 
 table. As the time drew near the whole family 
 were oppressed by the young girl's very ap- 
 parent unhappiness. Fielding had tried to keep 
 a bold front, but he could have felt very little 
 joy in the success of his calculations. 
 
 Perhaps he, too, as the critical moment ap- 
 proached, began to have misgivings, and to wish 
 that he had never descended to the dishonorable 
 course which was to make Beatrice Apthorpe his 
 unwilling bride. I hope so, anyway. 
 
 Beatrice was late, but when she came down she 
 was radiant. She smiled upon every one and 
 even bestowed a gracious nod upon her destined 
 husband whom she had hitherto rather studiedly 
 ignored. 
 
 What had got into the girll Had she been 
 playing with me all along? No, I could not very 
 well believe that, for when she looked at me her
 
 THE VOICE OF AUTHORITY 279 
 
 eyes had a shine in them that I had never seen 
 before. 
 
 I could not make it out, so gave up trying. 
 A man who endeavors fully to comprehend any 
 woman, even the simplest of her sex, has a job of 
 large dimensions on his hands, and Beatrice Ap- 
 thorpe possessed as complex a personality as any 
 woman I had ever met. 
 
 After breakfast we all went out on the veranda 
 It was a very gloomy wedding-party. 
 
 Beatrice invited Fielding to walk with her in 
 the garden. Was she going to make a last appeal 
 for mercy, or did she intend to throw him off his 
 guard? 
 
 I watched her as they walked, with jealous 
 rage boiling in my heart. I noticed that she 
 kept well in view all the time. There was no 
 effort to draw the actor aside for a private con- 
 ference. She laughed and chatted, and I could 
 see Fielding smiling all over. How I wanted 
 to choke him. He her husband I 
 
 For half an hour or more the bride and groom 
 sauntered back and forth on the lawn before us
 
 280 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 while we all sat and watched them. The girl was 
 apparently resigned to her fate and endeavouring 
 to make the best of it. Her relatives had done 
 their duty as they saw it, but they were very de- 
 jected. 
 
 It was nearly eleven o'clock when the pair re- 
 joined us. The wedding was to take place at 
 quarter of twelve, and at quarter past that hour 
 the carriage was to drive the couple to the depot. 
 
 Beatrice went up-stairs to finish her toilette. I 
 hurried after her to my room, where Tupper was 
 still cudgeling his brains for some expedient, 
 without avail. 
 
 A quarter of an hour elapsed, and then 
 Beatrice tapped on our door.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 WANTED: A HUSBAND' 
 
 When Beatrice entered we were both silent 
 with wonder, she had been transfigured with 
 such startling loveliness. Ordinarily she was 
 attractive and original rather than an aspiring 
 beauty. There are moments when women out- 
 shine themselves, and this morning she was 
 radiant. 
 
 Tupper was dumfounded. He had never 
 seen her like that before. I had once, in the 
 rose-garden that morning and as our glances 
 met I felt inspired by her joy and confident 
 hope. 
 
 Our eyes were exchanging rapid wireless 
 telegrams of love and trust and mutual under- 
 standing. She was ready, then and there, to 
 be my wife, if I would marry her and I ? My 
 heart beat high with triumphant expectation. 
 I was fully prepared to solve the whole prob- 
 lem by wedding her on the spot, if it could
 
 282 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 only be brought to pass. But Tupper how 
 about Tupper? Would he consent to turn the 
 proposed dress-rehearsal into a genuine cere- 
 mony? It seemed very unlikely unless he was 
 urged into it by some clever ruse on our part. 
 The young clergyman had aspirations in that 
 direction himself, and would not surrender 
 them without a desperate struggle. Perhaps 
 it would be impossible to persuade him at all. 
 
 Our eyes had said all that ? Wait until you 
 yourself love and are beloved and are placed 
 in a similarly desperate situation. 
 
 "Are you ready to perform the ceremony, Mr. 
 Plympton?" she asked, with arch of eyebrow. 
 
 "I do not understand you," I declared 
 (though I had caught her play instantly). Tup- 
 ter stared at us both in bewilderment. 
 
 "Don't you see there is but one way open 
 for me!" she explained for the clergyman's bene- 
 fit. "Before I go down-stairs I must be mar- 
 ried to some one. That is what the law says. 
 The marriage down-stairs won't count at all, 
 if I'm married already."
 
 WANTED: A HUSBAND 283 
 
 "But," protested the amazed dominie, "you 
 do not mean " 
 
 "I am not married now, you wish to say?" 
 rejoined Beatrice. "That is unfortunately true, 
 to be sure. I certainly am not going to die an 
 old maid, however. I have only fifteen minutes, 
 but even in that short time I can find husbands 
 to burn." 
 
 She looked at me so roguishly, she blushed 
 so brilliantly, she was altogether so bewitch- 
 ing, that I was dazzled and scared, too, for 
 Tupper must scent what was in the wind. 
 So I frowned and asked her what on earth she 
 was talking about. 
 
 Tupper knew, or rather thought he knew; 
 so, flushing to the roots of his fair hair, he 
 seized her hand and sought to touch it with his 
 lips. But she snatched it away laughing. 
 
 "Oh, no," she cried, "wait until we find out 
 if you are to have the appointment. You 
 know the latest smart fad among the girls is 
 to have a list of husbands certified by the civil 
 service commission. As you are not a veteran
 
 284 ^HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 of the Spanish-American War you are not en- 
 titled to any preference. Then, too, Mr. Plymp- 
 ton may refuse to unite us. In that case I 
 shall have to select another candidate, as you 
 could not very well be the bridegroom and the 
 officiating clergyman at one and the same time." 
 
 "But, who else is there?" cried the enrap- 
 tured and bewildered Tupper. 
 
 "Well," said Beatrice, counting on her fin- 
 gers, "There is Henry, the gardener, that's 
 one; and Alfred, the coachman, that's two; 
 and Fran9ois, the chef, that's three and three 
 is all the law allows. But they are all ready 
 and within call." 
 
 "Nonsense," said the dominie, with a gay 
 laugh. "The time is short, but if Mr. Plympton 
 will act the part of a brave man, the law will 
 declare you my wife, and no one shall take you 
 from me." 
 
 "What do you take me for, Tupper?" I 
 snorted. "Do you think that I would serve 
 time in the penitentiary for the sake of making 
 her your wife ?"
 
 WANTED: A HUSBAND 285 
 
 "Can't you see there is no other course?" 
 he urged. "We would manage to save you 
 from any serious consequences." 
 
 "And will promise to bring you flowers and 
 read to you while in prison," mockingly im- 
 plored Beatrice. 
 
 'Thank you politely, both of you. I'll see 
 myself in Jericho before I'll make you her hus- 
 band, Tupper." 
 
 "How mean!" deplored Beatrice. "You see, 
 Mr. Tupper, you will have to be the clergyman, 
 and marry me to some one else. Now, Alfred, 
 the coachman, is a veteran of the Spanish War, 
 and the law gives a preference to veterans, but 
 that should not apply in a case of this kind. 
 Fra^ois is younger than the coachman and 
 not so fat as Henry the gardener; besides, he 
 makes bully raspberry tarts. I nominate Fran- 
 9ois. Ellen, go and fetch him." 
 
 "Don't stir from the room, Ellen," I 
 cried, in affected wrath. "I never heard 
 of such folly. Raspberry tarts, indeed! You 
 make me sick they would make you sick.
 
 286 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 I won't permit you to marry the cook." 
 
 Tupper looked from one to the other in puz- 
 zled astonishment. He was still blind as to 
 the climax up to which we were leading. 
 
 "Since you decline to make me Mrs. Tupper, 
 and forbid me to marry Fra^ois, or to eat his 
 tarts, what do you say to Alfred, the coach- 
 man ?" 
 
 "To the devil with Alfred, the coachman!" 
 I cried with a melodramatic gesture. 
 
 "Then how 'about Henry, the gardener? 
 He is a brave man, and muscular as Mr. 
 Tupper has reason to know." (Poor Tupper 
 flushed scarlet at the recollection of his eject- 
 ment from Burgmoor by the stalwart Henry, 
 the day previous, and began to realize, at last, 
 that his own hopes were vain.) "After all, 
 Henry is not so fleshy as the man we had last 
 spring," continued the merry young lady. "Be- 
 sides, I could dose him with mamma's reduc- 
 tion-tablets, and he will become as thin as sis- 
 ter Kit, who nearly died of them." 
 
 "Now, look here," I cried, springing the coup
 
 WANTED: A HUSBAND 287 
 
 we had been preparing all the while, "if you 
 do not stop this nonsense I'll why, I'll marry 
 you myself!" 
 
 ''Indeed, I hadn't thought of that," she said; 
 but her looks belied her words. The clergy- 
 man began to catch the drift of things, and 
 looked much disconcerted and perplexed. 
 
 "The situation is very clear," I now ex- 
 plained. "This young lady requires a hus- 
 band, and must be provided with one within 
 seven minutes by the clock. I would be glad 
 to accommodate you, Mr. Tupper, if I could do 
 so safely, and it would do any good. But the 
 insurmountable obstacle is that, in case of two 
 unauthorized marriages, it is the second one 
 and not the first that holds good." 
 
 "How do you know that?" he demanded, 
 all hope vanishing at that announcement. 
 
 "I called up a lawyer by telephone, after 
 breakfast," I prevaricated. "A recent decision 
 settles the law that way." It's nice to be judge 
 and jury and court of appeal, all rolled into 
 one.
 
 288 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "Then I would not be her husband, after 
 all, even if you should marry us?" 
 
 "Not if I also married her to Harry Field- 
 ing afterwards, which is an essential part of the 
 program. Otherwise she would not wed either 
 of us. She could take her time and find some 
 one more worthy and acceptable, from a worldly 
 point of view, at all events, than either you or 
 I." 
 
 The poor young parson was nonplussed. It 
 was a mean trick, but I had to do it. He would 
 never have consented to make her Mrs. Plymp- 
 ton, if, by hook or by crook, there was any 
 chance remaining of my making her Mrs. Tup- 
 per. 
 
 "Come," I said, taking Beatrice by the hand, 
 and giving it a tender squeeze, to let her know 
 what an earnest of love lay beneath my jesting 
 demeanor, "I cannot make her your wife, but 
 you can make her mine. Of course Fra^ois 
 is altogether out of the question. Therefore, 
 there is no alternative. You must marry us, 
 friend Tupper, and do it quickly."
 
 WANTED: A HUSBAND 289 
 
 'Yes, Mr. Tupper, there is no help for it," 
 rejoined Beatrice, with that musical laugh of 
 hers. "I would have been glad to many you, 
 if there was no other way out of it. That is 
 out of the question, however, as you see. I 
 thank you a thousand times, though, and I 
 shall never forget your manliness and devoted 
 courage throughout this trying ordeal. But 
 I must marry some one immediately, and Mr. 
 Plympton seems to be the handiest man I can 
 secure, just at this moment. If Fra^ois were 
 only up-stairs, I might hesitate, but there is no 
 time, now, even to send for him. Under the 
 circumstances I can only repeat what Mr. 
 Plympton has just said: Please marry us, and 
 do it as quickly as you can." 
 
 It was rough on Tupper. He had the worst 
 end of it all the way through. 
 
 He glanced keenly at both of us, and I think 
 he could surmise, from the way we were looking 
 at one another, that we did not at heart take 
 the matter as lightly as we pretended. It is a 
 way we have, this merry folly. We have it still.
 
 290 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 At any rate, he rose to the occasion. There 
 was nothing little or mean about that young 
 clergyman. My laughing bride had not treated 
 him right. She acknowledges that, now that 
 she has grown more mature, and is sorry. But 
 he was too noble-hearted to take any small 
 man's revenge. He was about to open the 
 book and begin reading the service, when we 
 were all startled and alarmed by a knock on 
 the door of Beatrice's room adjoining. Even 
 a friendly interruption at this crisis would be 
 fatal, we had cut the thing so fine. 
 
 "Can't I come in, sister?" Mrs. Gosse was 
 calling. It was a natural and proper request 
 but most inconvenient. As Beatrice couldn't 
 say she was particularly engaged getting mar- 
 ried, I wondered what would happen. 
 
 She was equal to the emergency. Gliding 
 to the door of her own apartment, she whispered 
 tensely: "Kit, if you love me, get me some 
 hairpins at once. Don't delay a moment, or 
 I shall never be dressed in time." 
 
 The ruse was distinctly feminine. Sister
 
 WANTED: A HUSBAND 291 
 
 Kit scurried along the hall in a wild scramble 
 for those necessities of coiffure which a woman 
 always wants at the last moment and never can 
 find when she is in a hurry. Could Tupper 
 put the thing through while Mrs. Gosse was find- 
 ing and returning with the hairpins? That 
 was the all important question. 
 
 He began with due solemnity, seeming to 
 me unnecessarily slow and unctuous, but he 
 finally got to the crucial question: 
 
 "Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded 
 husband ?" Before he could proceed further 
 Mrs. Gosse called: "Here are the hairpins, 
 dear both shell and wire. Can't I come in 
 and help ?" 
 
 "Not now, Kit," whispered her sister, while 
 reaching her hand through the opening as she 
 set the door just ajar. "I'm in a dreadful state 
 and shall go crazy if I try to talk to anyone 
 while Mary and Ellen are fussing with me." 
 
 "Catherine, tell Beatrice to descend imme- 
 diately," cried Apthorpe sternly, from the stair- 
 case.
 
 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "Just wait a moment, papa," returned the 
 young lady who was in the process of being 
 made my wife, while Mrs. Gosse hurried down 
 to explain the alleged cause of delay to the 
 impatient father and bridegroom. She did us 
 a good turn, for they were beginning to smell 
 a rat not the kind used with hairpins, either. 
 
 Still at her post by the door, Beatrice called 
 to us: "Yes, a thousand times yes," and Tupper 
 thereupon pronounced us man and wife. 
 
 That wedding broke all records for despatch 
 when the time occupied by the interruptions 
 is deducted.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 COMPLICATIONS 
 
 IF the secret marriage up-stairs was con- 
 ducted with unseemly haste, amid frivolous 
 merriment and interruptions that threatened at 
 any moment to prevent its consummation, the 
 ceremony that followed in the parlors below 
 was sufficiently solemn and conventional, on 
 the surface of things. And yet we one and all 
 felt as though we were sitting on barrels of 
 nitroglycerin, the while. The Apthorpes and 
 Fielding were expecting some rebellious demon- 
 stration from Beatrice at the last moment. They 
 thought that it would come before the supposed 
 marriage was performed. We knew that the 
 explosion would occur immediately after. 
 
 Apthorpe and Gosse were sad but stern, de- 
 termined to do their duty, as they saw it. Mrs. 
 Gosse and her mother were tearful, Fielding 
 appropriately suave, Beatrice subdued and ap-
 
 294 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 parently submissive, while I trembled with 
 conflicting emotions as I opened the book and 
 began to read the service. I was in a most 
 peculiar and embarrassing position. 
 
 I think I may safely venture the assertion 
 that I am the first husband who was ever in 
 honor bound to officiate at a wedding, with his 
 own wife and another man as the high con- 
 tracting parties, within a few minutes after his own 
 nuptials. It was the most unpleasant duty I 
 ever performed, but I managed to put it through 
 to a finish, though Master Howard Gosse eyed 
 me all the time, in a way to make me tremble. 
 
 It was Fieldingi himself who applied the 
 match to the fuse and produced the fireworks 
 we had all been looking for. The last words 
 of the service had hardly been spoken when he 
 sprang forward and attempted to seize Beatrice 
 in his arms and kiss her. My blood boiled, 
 but I endeavored to restrain myself, for I could 
 see materials for the darkest tragedy in our 
 little drama, if I didn't take care. 
 
 Beatrice nimbly eluded her supposed husband,
 
 COMPLICATIONS 295 
 
 crying: "No, sir, you shall not even touch me 
 until you fulfill your promise and tell the whole 
 truth at once. I demand it as my just right." 
 
 Fielding shuffled uneasily, but braced him- 
 self up to the emergency, as he said: "I will 
 keep my word, dearest. Mr. Apthorpe, I have 
 a confession to make. All is fair in love and 
 war, you know, and this is both affection and 
 conflict. She would not have married me, and 
 you good people would never have favoured 
 my suit had I adopted ordinary tactics. My 
 love is my best and my only excuse." 
 
 "What is all this, sir?" demanded Apthorpe, 
 frowning with puzzled astonishment. 
 
 "Nothing much, only I must now admit what 
 I have hitherto strenuously denied. The fact is 
 there was a play, written by Mrs. Fielding, as 
 she has always asserted. She and I met while 
 I undertook to revise it for her. That accounts 
 for her apparent indiscretions. It also explains 
 my own infatuation. How could I come into 
 such close contact with so much charm and 
 loveliness and not be driven to distraction?"
 
 296 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "How, indeed!" sneered Gosse. 
 
 "She was so eager to have her play accepted 
 and produced she thought of nothing else. I 
 fear she was not so much in love with me as she 
 was enamoured of the drama. But I am going 
 to change all that. To do so will be my pride 
 and my duty." And he once more sought to 
 embrace Beatrice. 
 
 "Not now, not yet," she cried. "Papa, do 
 you not understand at last? Will you not 
 believe him, though you always refused to 
 credit me?" 
 
 "It sounds plausible; I will try to believe it," 
 said her father incredulously. He clearly thought 
 the newly wedded pair were "putting up a job" 
 to re-establish themselves in his good graces. 
 
 "It may be all right, but it looks rather fishy," 
 observed Gosse. 
 
 "Beatrice couldn't write a play if she tried; 
 I am glad to believe it isn't in her to do such 
 a thing," sniffed her mother, who regarded 
 dramatic literature and all things thereunto 
 pertaining with a holy horror.
 
 COMPLICATIONS 297 
 
 "But, papa, mamma, here is the play," cried 
 Beatrice; and before my astonished eyes she 
 produced the manuscript she must have taken 
 from my room with her own fair hands. Yes, 
 she had fooled me to the top of my bent. She 
 says she will never do it again, but I have my 
 misgivings. 
 
 While I was involuntarily detained in hiding 
 under the garden bench by Sears and Fielding, 
 the previous evening, she had possessed herself 
 of the manuscript, and then capped the climax 
 by coming in and helping me hunt for it. She 
 was sorry to worry me, but determined to have 
 her own way. When a woman says she will 
 take your advice and be guided by it implicitly, 
 she usually does so with some mental reservation. 
 
 This was the hour of her supreme triumph. 
 For this she had watched and waited, schemed 
 and prayed. With sparkling eyes she showed 
 her father, mother and brother-in-law the work 
 of her own pen and the interlineations in the 
 hand of Fielding. 
 
 They were all puzzled and chagrined, but not
 
 298 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 yet convinced. Apthorpe questioned the actor 
 sharply. "How are we to know that you are 
 not lying now, when you admit that you have 
 lied to us hitherto," he demanded. 
 
 "Have you still got that anonymous letter 
 which summoned you to your daughter's res- 
 cue?" he asked with calm assurance. 
 
 "Well, what of it?" 
 
 "I wrote it," declared Fielding, with his 
 inimitable aplomb. 'You have only to com- 
 pare my handwriting there with my correc- 
 tions of the play, or better still with a fresh 
 specimen of my penmanship, with which I will 
 furnish you right now." 
 
 So saying he sat down at the desk and wrote 
 half a page while Apthorpe opened a private 
 box and drew out the fatal missive through which 
 he had been so terribly misled. A moment's 
 glance at the three specimens of chirography 
 was sufficient to demonstrate the truth of 
 Fielding's assertions. 
 
 "Well, Beatrice," said her father sadly, "all 
 this would have been quite pertinent half an
 
 COMPLICATIONS 299 
 
 hour ago; but I do not see the use of it all now. 
 As the wife of such a man as he has confessed 
 himself to be, you must necessarily, in time, 
 sink to his level, if you have not already done so." 
 
 "But, papa, is the fact of my innocence 
 nothing to you?" 
 
 Apthorpe, like many professing Christians, 
 was apt to be harsh in family matters. "No, 
 my young lady," he said, sternly, "your im- 
 prudence led you to folly, and folly to ruin. 
 With such evidence in your possession you need 
 not have married the fellow, if you did not wish 
 to do so. Having united yourself to him, you 
 cannot complain if I am somewhat indifferent." 
 
 "But, papa, I am not married to him," she 
 cried, springing her second coup with an air of 
 triumph. 
 
 There was a general exclamation of astonish- 
 ment, while Fielding glared at me and I re- 
 turned the ill-will expressed in his eyes with 
 compound interest. 
 
 "What do you mean by that, vou silly child ?" 
 asked her father.
 
 300 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "Just what I say, I am not married to him at 
 all. This man who performed the service is not 
 a real minister, and the words we have said have 
 no binding force or legal validity. He is not 
 Mr. Tupper at all, but came here in disguise. 
 He is Mr. Basil Plympton, a dramatic critic." 
 
 "And what is more," I interposed, "I am 
 not a clergyman." 
 
 "What is this?" cried Fielding, in cold fury, 
 "Do you think, sir, to impose on me? Even 
 if what you say is true, it would make no dif- 
 ference. A marriage, even by an unauthorized 
 person, is binding in this state, as I am advised 
 by the best authority." 
 
 Did he think to crush us ? Had he known of 
 my disguise all along, while holding this trump 
 card up his sleeve ? He was a clever schemer 
 and hard to match in cunning. It was more 
 than likely that he had had his suspicions, but 
 had preferred to let matters take their course, 
 fearing that Beatrice might back out, thus 
 luring her on to be caught in her own trap. 
 
 "Since you are so well advised, sir," I replied,
 
 COMPLICATIONS 301 
 
 "you will be aware that such an unauthorized 
 marriage is binding only in the event that the 
 contracting parties are free to wed. If one of them 
 is married already the statute does not apply." 
 
 "What do you mean to insinuate by that?" 
 demanded the actor, turning pale. 
 
 "What are you both talking about?" queried 
 the perplexed and astounded Apthorpe. 
 
 "All hands seem to have gone crazy," re- 
 marked Gosse with a forced laugh in which no 
 one joined. 
 
 "Oh, dear, what are we coming to," be- 
 wailed Mrs. Apthorpe, as she began to cry 
 hysterically. 
 
 "The explanation is simple enough," I an- 
 swered with matter-of-fact coolness. "The lady 
 was already my wife when I went through 
 the farce of pretending to make her yours, Mr. 
 Fielding. As she is Mrs. Basil Plympton she 
 cannot become Mrs. Fielding, by any law of any 
 state in the union until she is divorced from me. 
 Your infamous conduct toward her has justified 
 the deception."
 
 302 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "This is the most outrageous piece of impu- 
 dence that was ever perpetrated," cried the 
 actor. "If you dare repeat that falsehood, you 
 rascal, I'll brain you!" And he seized upon 
 the back of a chair with a dangerous expression 
 in his black eyes. It was a mere stage trick, 
 though well played. His melodramatic flourish 
 served, however, to support his position, and it 
 intensified the interest of his audience. 
 
 "None of that in my house," commanded 
 Apthorpe, taking Fielding by the arm. 
 
 "I bow to your will, sir," said the big bluffer. 
 
 Beatrice had screamed and sprung between 
 me and Fielding, when he threatened me. 
 " Can't we all try to display a little patience and 
 common sense?" she asked. "If you'll only 
 listen, papa, I will prove to you clearly enough 
 whose wife I am." 
 
 "So far as that is concerned, mademoiselle," 
 returned her disgusted parent, "I do not very 
 much care, so long as you are well off my hands." 
 
 "Mr. Tupper," cried Beatrice, preparing to 
 play another trump card, "come down, Mr.
 
 COMPLICATIONS 303 
 
 Tupper, and bring Mary and Ellen with you." 
 
 They had been waiting anxiously at the head 
 of the stairs for some such summons, and now 
 descended and marched into the room. 
 
 "Well, sir, who are you, and what are you 
 doing in my house?" demanded Apthorpe, 
 with a heavy frown. 
 
 "I am the Rev. Charles W. Tupper, sir," 
 announced the young clergyman with becoming 
 dignity. 
 
 "Tupper!" exclaimed Gosse. "Are there 
 two Tuppers ? All this looks like an outrageous 
 conspiracy against us." 
 
 "Be quiet, John," interposed Apthorpe. "I 
 fully appreciate the enormity of the case. Let's 
 see what the fellow has to say for himself. 
 You claim to be a clergyman?" 
 
 "Certainly," asserted Tupper, flushing and 
 becoming disconcerted by the smiles of in- 
 credulity on the faces of those he was seeking 
 to impress with his newly restored identity. 
 
 "And what are you doing here?" 
 
 "I was persuaded by your daughter to assist
 
 304 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 her in punishing a man who had wronged her, 
 and in making her the wife of one whom she 
 loved and wished to marry. I am sure that I 
 have done what is right, and that you will ac- 
 knowledge it when you know all the facts." 
 
 "Indeed? And why didn't you come to me 
 about all this beforehand?" demanded Ap- 
 thorpe sharply. His persistent incredulity was 
 getting on Tupper's nerves. The clergyman 
 was manly and courageous, but his want of 
 status phased him. He became flustered, and 
 began to look like a guilty man. 
 
 "Because," he stammered, after a fatal hesi- 
 tation, "because you, sir, had been led to be- 
 lieve evil of your own child; and I wanted to 
 help her establish her innocence and the guilt of 
 this knave." He pointed his finger at Fielding, 
 but his hand trembled and he never appeared to 
 worse advantage. His manner had now become 
 so bad that he aroused and confirmed suspicion 
 instead of carrying conviction. He produced 
 the certificate, and Mary and Ellen testified to 
 the genuineness of their signatures, but they
 
 COMPLICATIONS 305 
 
 tittered nervously the while, after the fashion 
 of servants, which made matters all the worse. 
 
 Our case was now fully presented, but it 
 didn't look right, even to me. It was all too 
 fine-spun. There was too much plot and trick- 
 ery about it. 
 
 Fielding was not slow to take advantage of 
 the fact. He may have had serious misgivings, 
 but his all was at stake and he played a bold 
 man's part. "This is the most absurd per- 
 formance I ever heard of!" he cried. "My 
 wife, as you all know, has been acting very 
 strangely of late. The whole affair has worried 
 her, for which I am myself somewhat to blame. 
 But she is so nervous and hysterical she has 
 been victimized by these two designing rascals. 
 This fellow who came in with the maids from 
 the kitchen is the very chap you had kicked 
 out of the premises yesterday by your gardener. 
 He is a reporter sent up by a New York news- 
 paper, and is capable of any unscrupulous 
 knavery to intrude upon us and work up a sen- 
 sation."
 
 306 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "He seems to have succeeded," put in Gosse. 
 "Mr. Fielding is right. I remember seeing the 
 fellow at church. We will have you punished 
 as you deserve for this untimely intrusion, sir!" 
 he exclaimed, turning upon the now crestfallen 
 Tupper. 
 
 "Out of this, you impudent dog, out of my 
 house instantly!" stormed the enraged Ap- 
 thorpe. But Tupper stood his ground manfully, 
 and no one was on hand, just at that moment, 
 who cared to enforce the command for his eject- 
 ment. "I am here rightfully and lawfully, as 
 you will soon admit," he asserted firmly. 
 
 "Come, I am going to endure this scene no 
 longer, the carriage is waiting," cried Fielding 
 triumphantly, as he seized the shrinking Beatrice 
 by the arm, "You are mine now, and no one 
 shall hinder me. Come at once and put an end 
 to this disgraceful scene." 
 
 That was the last straw. I had been strug- 
 gling to control myself, but could stand no more. 
 
 "You villain," I cried, seizing the rascal by 
 the throat. "If ever you dare lay hands on my
 
 COMPLICATIONS 307 
 
 wife again, I'll launch your miserable soul into 
 eternity!" 
 
 I clutched his windpipe in a vicelike grip, 
 until his face grew black and his eyes took on a 
 glassy stare.
 
 GENERAL DEMENTIA 
 
 I am glad they pulled me off and released 
 Harry Fielding from my grasp before I choked 
 him to death. I was myself astonished at my 
 own savage impulse and insensate desire to 
 take his life. These primeval passions lurk 
 somewhere in all of us, I presume, but my par- 
 ticular devil had never before so taken possession 
 of me. Fielding was shorter than I, but much 
 heavier and broader of shoulder. Under ordi- 
 nary conditions I was no match for him physi- 
 cally, yet for the moment he had been as a 
 child in my hands. 
 
 But my sudden ebullition of fury had gone 
 far to lose our case. Tupper was already 
 thoroughly discredited, and I was now in much 
 the same boat. With all the winning cards in 
 our hands we were rapidly throwing away the 
 game.
 
 GENERAL DEMENTIA 309 
 
 Apthorpe and Gosse had managed to separ- 
 ate us, after a short struggle during which the 
 women shrieked for help. Several men ser- 
 vants entered the drawing-room just as the brief 
 combat was over, and stood at the door wait- 
 ing for orders, while all four of us stood 
 glaring at one another and panting for breath. 
 
 "What a disgraceful exhibition!" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Apthorpe. "And I thought him so spiri- 
 tual and unworldly," I was forever fallen from 
 her good graces, anyhow. 
 
 "I am going to send for the police," announced 
 Mrs. Gosse. 
 
 "Don't do that, Kit," implored Beatrice. 
 "Mr. Plympton is my husband, and nothing 
 any one can say or do will alter the fact. Mr. 
 Fielding brought the attack upon himself, and 
 is fortunate to have escaped serious injury." 
 
 Gosse now collected his scattered faculties 
 and took matters in hand. "This will never 
 do," he said. "We can't have murderous 
 violence here, and both of you should under- 
 stand it and restrain yourselves. On the other
 
 310 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 hand, we must keep our own heads level and look 
 into this thing carefully, however little we may 
 enjoy the task. We must not make the fatal 
 mistake of sending Beatrice from the house with 
 one man when she is, in fact, the wife of another. 
 The question seems to be who this man is who 
 has been masquerading here as a clergyman, and 
 which one of the claimants the poor, silly child 
 has actually married.'* 
 
 "That seems reasonable," I said. "It really 
 sounds like sense. It is the first glimmering of 
 rationality I have heard in this conglomeration 
 of dementia." 
 
 Gosse was a business man, and he seemed 
 to have the clearest head of any one in the party. 
 I began to have hopes that he might manage 
 to straighten out the muddle. 
 
 The broker eyed me keenly. 'You are the 
 center of the disturbance," he said. "In any 
 event, you are utterly discredited. If you did, 
 in fact, marry this girl secretly, as you claim, 
 and then undertook to make her another man's 
 wife, you are a cross between a villain and a
 
 GENERAL DEMENTIA 311 
 
 lunatic. If you did not in fact do these things, 
 but, nevertheless, continue to assert that you 
 did them, you are just plain lunatic. That is 
 the only difference. We cannot well believe a 
 word you say. Have you any further proof, 
 aside from your bare assertion and that of those 
 who are implicated with you in this wretched 
 business?'* 
 
 I glanced about me in desperation. I had 
 never dreamed that it would be so difficult to 
 make the plain truth appear rational. From 
 beginning to end in this affair the truth was 'the 
 last thing people seemed to want or were willing 
 to accept. 
 
 Just as I was going to ask them to telegraph 
 to some people who knew me, I caught sight of 
 my friend, Carl Krull, striving to make his 
 way up the drive in the face of Henry and a 
 corps of gardeners armed with shotguns and 
 prepared to shoot reporters on sight. At last 
 I was to be indisputably identified, and claim 
 my own! 
 
 "There is a man who knows me, and whose
 
 312 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 word you cannot doubt!" I cried, pointing 
 through the window to the picturesque group 
 in the driveway. 
 
 "Why, that is Mr. Krull, my manager," said 
 Fielding, suddenly turning pale and evidently 
 giving up the game for lost. "He should not 
 be kept out," he added, anxious to let himself 
 down as easily as possible with Krull's help. 
 
 Apthorpe had heard of Krull as who has 
 not ? and forthwith sent word to Henry to call 
 off his over-zealous dogs of war and admit the 
 new arrival. 
 
 When there has been a nice, sweet family row, 
 such as will occur now and then in the best 
 regulated households, and a stranger suddenly 
 rings the doorbell, it is refreshing to see how 
 quickly peace is restored. The excited com- 
 batants stop calling one another names, and 
 cease trying to scratch out eyes and pull hair. 
 When the guest enters he is greeted by a smiling 
 group of saints, all wearing wings and halos. 
 
 When the well-known theatrical manager 
 entered, therefore, we all calmed down and
 
 GENERAL DEMENTIA 313 
 
 tried to behave as if there were nothing out of 
 the ordinary going on. 
 
 When Carl came in he did not seem to notice 
 me at all, a neglect I could not understand. He 
 greeted the actor warmly and congratulated him 
 effusively. Then Fielding presented Beatrice 
 as his wife and the author of "Diamonds 
 Lead, but Hearts are Trumps." 
 
 The young lady thought it best to make no 
 disclaimer but to wait until Carl saw and recog- 
 nized me. We both wondered what had got 
 into him, anyway. 
 
 Then Carl said a few things to Beatrice which 
 much astonished her sedate and prosaic family, 
 as well as surprising Fielding and putting me in 
 a seventh heaven of joy. That stolid German 
 took up the manuscript which had been at the 
 bottom of so many adventures and expatiated 
 on its merits, predicting that it would be the 
 comedy sensation of the year. 
 
 The Apthorpes were impressed. They were 
 not enthusiastic in their approval of matters 
 theatrical, but when Carl Krull praised a play
 
 314 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 and stood ready to produce it, the fortunate 
 dramatist was already on the footsteps of the 
 Hall of Fame. 
 
 Carl did that much good, anyhow. But he 
 soon made a sad mess of things and mixed us 
 all up worse than we had been before his 
 arrival. 
 
 "By the way, Mr. Krull," said Gosse, when 
 the excitement over the debut of Beatrice as a 
 successful playwright had somewhat subsided, 
 "can you tell us who this gentleman is?" As 
 he spoke he pointed to me. "He says that he 
 knows you and asserts that we are mistaken as to 
 his identity. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I know him well," replied the dra- 
 matic manager gravely, looking directly at me 
 for the first time since he had entered. 
 
 "Will you kindly tell us who he is?" asked 
 Gosse, with well-affected nonchalance. 
 
 "Certainly. He is the Rev. Charles W. 
 Tupper of St. Luke's rectory, New York City. 
 I have known him for years." 
 
 My rising hopes were blasted by this utterly
 
 GENERAL DEMENTIA 315 
 
 unexpected assertion. "Why, you chuckle- 
 headed Dutchman!" I roared. 
 
 "Have you noticed anything peculiar about 
 him? Is he quite "right'?" asked Gosse anx- 
 iously. 
 
 "He does queer things sometimes," admitted 
 Carl, with an exasperating grin. 
 
 "What do you mean by this foolishness, Carl," 
 I cried in sore dismay. "Can't you see that I 
 want to be recognized that I must be identified ? 
 Tell them at once that I am Basil Plympton, 
 the dramatic critic, and be quick about it." 
 
 "But your telegram?" 
 
 "Oh, bother the telegram!" 
 
 'You said no matter what you said." 
 
 "And that's what I say now, no matter what I 
 said then. Can't you see for yourself that every- 
 is changed?" That nuisance of a telegram! I 
 had forgotten all about it. I seemed to be deeper 
 in the toils than ever. 
 
 "Stop tampering with the witness," sneered 
 Fielding, taking courage once more after he had 
 lost all hope.
 
 316 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "On second thoughts," began the perplexed 
 Carl, running his hand through his hair, and 
 wondering how he could satisfy my varying 
 demands without branding himself before the 
 assembled company of respectable people as a 
 liar. 
 
 "Well, what are the second thoughts?" I 
 urged, determined to bring him right up to the 
 mark. 
 
 He combed his hair until his head must have 
 become sore. At last he worked an idea into 
 it. His face brightened. "I should have added," 
 he said, "that my reverend young friend some- 
 times writes for the press under an assumed 
 name. He is known among newspaper men as 
 Mr. Basil Plympton." 
 
 "You idiot!" I cried, fairly beside myself. 
 "Why must you try to invent things all by your- 
 self ? I didn't telegraph you anything like that ! " 
 
 "The case seems to be going against you, sir," 
 said Gosse. "It now turns out that you are 
 both Plympton and Tupper!" 
 
 "Then who am I? Won't somebody please
 
 GENERAL DEMENTIA 317 
 
 tell me that?'* cried the poor young clergyman, 
 wondering whether he was going to be allowed 
 to remain on earth at all. 
 
 'You?" snapped Apthorpe. "You are an 
 interloper. No one cares who you are, anyway." 
 
 Tupper, looking like a ruined community, 
 crawled back into his shell, sorry that he had 
 ventured to say a word for himself. 
 
 "Papa," urged Beatrice, "can't you see that 
 Mr. Plympton telegraphed Mr. Krull not to 
 recognize him when he came here, but to ad- 
 dress him as Mr. Tupper? Mr. Krull did not 
 understand that things had changed and that 
 Mr. Plympton now wants to be identified." 
 
 "Beatrice, I do not wish to hear another word 
 from you," declared her angry parent. "How 
 any sane girl could be willing to involve her 
 whole family in such a disgraceful mess I cannot 
 for the life of me see." 
 
 "Nobody seems to know who anybody is," 
 observed Mrs. Apthorpe with a sniff. 
 
 "Come, Carl, speak up like a man and con- 
 fess that I telegraphed you," I demanded.
 
 318 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 "That's right, he telegraphed me," exclaimed 
 poor Carl, turning red and looking very sheepish. 
 
 "The fellow is a hypnotist," laughed the actor 
 impudently. "He has bewitched us all." 
 
 "I believe you are right," said Gosse, giving 
 up his manful effort to unravel the snarl, and 
 becoming as befuddled as all the rest of the 
 group. 
 
 Fielding now came forward once more to in- 
 sist that he must end the scene by bearing his 
 wife away from this turmoil. I begged Carl to 
 interfere. I knew he could control the actor by 
 a word. I told him Beatrice had already be- 
 come my wife by a secret marriage before I mar- 
 ried her to Fielding. I explained rapidly and 
 with gusto. I told him that if he ever had any 
 friendship for me now was the time to show it. 
 I tried in every way to convince him as to the 
 righteousness of our cause and the iniquity of 
 Fielding's. 
 
 I succeeded in convincing Carl that I was clean 
 out of my head and a raving maniac. 
 
 He was not slow to announce his conviction.
 
 GENERAL DEMENTIA 319 
 
 He said all my friends had noticed that I had 
 been breaking down with overwork, and that 
 I was to be pitied rather than blamed for my 
 queer delusions and strange conduct. 
 
 "I sent for him to come and see me at Hill- 
 town in order to get him away from New York," 
 said Krull. "He telegraphed me from New 
 York on Saturday that he was going to leave on 
 the midnight train. Instead of coming to me 
 he came here, where he pretends to have married 
 a girl whom he has just made the bride of my good 
 friend Mr. Fielding. I think the case is clear." 
 
 "His vicious attack on me, which was entirely 
 unprovoked, shows that it is not safe for him to 
 be at large," said Fielding, showing Carl the 
 marks of my fingers on his throat. "Poor 
 fellow, I'm sorry for him, now that I under- 
 stand, and I assure you, Mr. Krull, I bear no 
 malice. But such a raving lunatic should not 
 be permitted to deprive me of my wife, even if 
 she is possessed with a perverse fancy and wishes 
 to set her marriage at naught." 
 
 "I believe you are right, after all," said Ap-
 
 320 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 thorpe. "Here, two or three of you men, take 
 these fellows out to the stable and lock them up 
 in the boiler-room until we can summon the police 
 and turn them over to the village authorities." 
 
 Half a dozen stalwart serving-men, who had 
 been anticipating some such command, sprang 
 forward eagerly, seized upon Tupper and myself 
 and began to drag us away. Everything had 
 gone wrong and become topsy-turvy. 
 
 Beatrice, who had born up, until now, con- 
 fident in the ultimate triumph of our cause, broke 
 down with heart-rending sobs: "Papa, papa," 
 she wailed, "how can you be so cruel and so 
 obstinately blind?" 
 
 Just as we were being hustled from the room, 
 in spite of our struggles and protests for I 
 began to lay about me like the madman I was 
 supposed to be our exit was delayed by an 
 uproar without, that rose above the confusion 
 within. 
 
 The men who held us stopped to look and 
 listen as cries of "Stop, thief! Help!" and the 
 like resounded.
 
 GENERAL DEMENTIA 321 
 
 As we could not very well be placed in any 
 worse position than we were in already, almost 
 any diversion must necessarily work in our 
 favour. I began to hope that something was 
 about to occur that would turn the tide our 
 way. But a glance out of the window, and I 
 gave myself over to utter despair!
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 BOOMERANG 
 
 The uproar grew nearer and nearer, and 
 some one rushed up the steps of the veranda, 
 leaving a mob hooting without, and dashed in 
 among us. 
 
 If we all seemed more or less out of our heads, 
 the person who thus rudely broke in upon our 
 unhappy and disunited company was clearly 
 just escaped from a madhouse. 
 
 His face was covered with a yellow paste 
 which glued his hair and beard into a weird 
 coiffure. The paste had been mixed with 
 feathers. The madman was covered with them. 
 I felt like saying, "Soft you now, the fair Ophe- 
 lia!" But I didn't dare. I did not want any 
 
 more mistaken identities around, or to confuse 
 things in any way. 
 
 But I was lost, utterly lost, nevertheless. It 
 was Samuel Sears! Were my troubles never 
 to stop accumulating?
 
 BOOMERANG 323 
 
 Mrs. Apthorpe was the first to address the 
 poor creature who had thus thrown himself into 
 the midst of us, and now stood glaring about 
 him in a bewildered fashion. "Why, Mr. 
 Sears," she cried, "what has happened to you ?" 
 
 "Where have you been, Sam?" asked Field- 
 ing brusquely, not at all pleased with the inex- 
 plicable appearance and demeanour of his friend 
 and associate. 
 
 "How came you in this plight?" queried 
 Gosse, with a grim smile of wonderment. 
 
 "Has any one been trying to murder you?" 
 demanded Mr. Apthorpe. 
 
 Samuel Sears paid no attention to these per- 
 tinent questions, for he had suddenly perceived 
 me standing behind one of the serving-men and 
 not unwilling to escape his observation. 
 
 Samuel assumed the center of the stage, 
 folded his arms and frowned upon me until 
 his pasty eyebrows met over his nose as he 
 glared at me with the air of an avenger who 
 wants blood. 
 
 If he had been costumed for the part he would
 
 324? HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 have been more impressive. The pie and 
 the feathers detracted from his solemnity. 
 
 "You see that man!" he shouted, pointing 
 his finger at me and trembling with rage. 
 
 "Well?" they all cried expectantly. 
 
 "Arrest him. He is a thief, a robber, an 
 impostor! He has entered this home secretly, 
 and in blasphemous disguise, the better to ac- 
 complish his wicked designs. Oh, I'll show 
 you up, you damn* fool! Just see me do it!" 
 
 "We know all these things you are saying 
 about him," said Apthorpe grimly. "But who 
 is he?" 
 
 "Who is he?" asked Gosse. 
 
 "Who is he?" demanded every one breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 " He is a rascally humbugger ! He imposed on 
 the bishop, he cheated the wardens, he fooled 
 Mr. Dobbs, he deceived everybody. He blas- 
 phemed in the church and desecrated its altar. 
 He betrayed me, his friend, wound me up in 
 stolen clothes-line, imprisoned me in a hen-coop, 
 and drowned me in custard pie ! He is a knave,
 
 BOOMERANG 325 
 
 a thief, a liar, a swindler, a hypnotist, a rogue, 
 
 a- 
 
 "Hold on!" cried Apthorpe, interrupting 
 this interesting catalogue of my high crimes and 
 misdemeanours, "We know all these things 
 already. Just tell us who he is; that is the 
 question." 
 
 "That I will," exclaimed Sam, with vengeful 
 eye and triumphant mien. "He is not the Rev. 
 Charles W. Tupper, or the reverend anything 
 else. He is that impudent and sacrilegious im- 
 postor, Basil Plympton of the New York * Ex- 
 press'!" 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed Gosse, suddenly becom- 
 ing intensely interested, "And can you tell us 
 who this fellow may be?" he said, pointing to 
 Tupper. 
 
 "Certainly," cried Samuel with vengeful glee. 
 "Arrest him, too!" 
 
 "Why? What has he done?" cried Ap- 
 thorpe, awaking to the significance of these 
 virulent accusations. 
 
 "He is in the plot up to his neck. He is
 
 326 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 Tupper, the genuine and only Tupper, the Rev. 
 Charles W. Tupper, of St. Luke's rectory, New 
 York City, and a disgrace to his cloth. He 
 kept in hiding while Basil Plyrapton fooled 
 everybody, and lent him his clothes and his 
 sermon so that the deception could be practised 
 successfully. Oh, you fellows thought you were 
 smart to roll me up in a ball of rope and half 
 strangle and smother me! It was great sport, 
 wasn't it ? But my time has come and I am on 
 top now. I will have you both in jail before 
 night, see if I don't, and all these good people 
 will back me up and appear to testify 
 against you!" And Sam fairly bubbled over 
 with the triumphant expectation of our down- 
 fall and utter disgrace. It was nuts to him. 
 
 "This is clear and convincing testimony from 
 a witness somewhat biased against the gentle- 
 men he accuses," announced Gosse, suddenly 
 illuminated by a dawning comprehension of 
 the true state of the case. "One thing more, 
 Mr. Sears," he continued. "You say that you 
 have been outrageously ill-treated by Mr. Tupper
 
 BOOMERANG 327 
 
 and Mr. Plympton that they tied you up with 
 rope and imprisoned you in a a hen-coop, do 
 I understand?" 
 
 "And mopped me around in nasty, sticky, 
 mushy pie don't forget that," urged Samuel, 
 without the faintest inkling of the effect he was 
 producing upon his audience. 
 
 "No, we will not forget," rejoined Gosse with 
 apparent sympathy. " But why did they do it ? 
 How do you explain their remarkable conduct ? " 
 
 "They were afraid I would give them away. 
 They had conspired to cheat my friend Fielding 
 and prevent his marriage by having the cere- 
 mony performed by the bogus parson instead of 
 the real one, and they knew I wouldn't stand for 
 it! There, I've fixed you now, you fellows!" 
 
 While Gosse had thus been examining the 
 volunteer witness, Fielding had been frowning 
 and shaking his head and vainly trying to catch 
 the eye of Samuel Sears, but now he broke out 
 with: "You infernal fool! you! You are the 
 biggest faker of them all, and in league with 
 them from the very beginning."
 
 328 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 It was Fielding's last card, but Sam trumped 
 his ace with: "Why, Harry, how can you be so 
 unjust? Do I look as though I had been in 
 league with anybody, or had any friends any- 
 way?" 
 
 Gosse now crossed the room and took me by 
 the hand, saying: "I suppose, sir, we have much 
 to thank you for and many apologies to make, 
 but you must admit that things did look black 
 against you for a time." 
 
 "What is he saying?" asked the astonished 
 Sears. 
 
 ; 'You unspeakable idiot, you have ruined 
 me!" snarled Fielding. "Get out of this before 
 they give you what you deserve." 
 
 Beatrice, who had given herself up to despair 
 and had been weeping hysterically on her 
 sister's shoulder now looked up, smiling through 
 her tears, to say: "I told you the truth, papa, 
 from the very first, but you would not believe me." 
 
 Apthorpe rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. 
 
 "She is right, James," cried his wife with con- 
 viction.
 
 BOOMERANG 329 
 
 "Of course she is," declared her sister. 
 
 "It is beginning to dawn upon me that I have 
 been duped and misled into doing a gross in- 
 justice to my child," said Apthorpe slowly. "It 
 is a hard thing for me to admit, but I can fail to 
 see the truth no longer. 
 
 "Mr. Fielding, I always knew that you were 
 an ill-bred upstart, but I was led to believe, 
 through the dishonourable artifice to which you 
 have confessed, that you had bewitched my 
 child and taken advantage of her youth and 
 inexperience to compromise her. The law of 
 God forbids me to take vengeance into my own 
 hands and chastise you personally, but do not 
 tempt me too far. Take yourself out of my 
 sight or my natural passions will overthrow my 
 self-control and I shall do you violence. Go!" 
 
 Harry Fielding had played his game boldly 
 and well, for high stakes, and had walked 
 through the snares of his opponents like cob- 
 webs, only to have his house of cards demolished 
 by the indiscretion of his most zealous friend. 
 Was it the irony of fate or the guiding hand of
 
 330 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 providence? He turned on his heel without a 
 word, and left the room with bowed head, 
 pausing only to give one last despairing glance 
 upon the woman he had so nearly won and lost 
 so utterly. 
 
 Samuel Sears still stood in the center of the 
 room, glancing from one to another of us in 
 speechless wrath and amazement. The out- 
 come of events passed his comprehension. 
 
 " Aren't you going to do anything to him?" 
 he demanded at length, nodding toward me. 
 
 "The poor fellow doesn't understand yet!" ex- 
 claimed Beatrice. And she indulged in one of her 
 musical laughs, that broke the tension all around. 
 
 First Gosse joined in her mirth, then Tupper 
 and Carl Krull. Then Mrs. Apthorpe uttered 
 a suppressed titter which set her daughter 
 Catherine into spasms of uncontrollable merri- 
 ment. Master Howard Gosse gazed from his 
 mother's side. The contagion even affected 
 the stern and unbending Apthorpe, who gave an 
 audible chuckle, which set the servants off into 
 an uproarious chorus.
 
 BOOMERANG 331 
 
 Sears glared from one to another, and then 
 he shook his fist at me, crying: "This is all your 
 doing, but I'll get even with you, if it takes 
 years!'* With that he stalked out of the room 
 and down the driveway, probably intending to 
 join his friend Fielding. 
 
 He had done his utmost to avenge himself for 
 his fancied wrongs and to punish me; but he 
 had actually proved my guardian angel in dis- 
 guise. 
 
 Now that I can look back upon the events of 
 that somewhat emotional hour with some degree 
 of calmness I do not much wonder that those 
 matter-of-fact people were confused and be- 
 wildered by the surprises we tried to spring on 
 them all at once. 
 
 If we could only have developed things more 
 artistically and taken more time for it, they 
 wouldn't have been so mixed up. We ex- 
 pected them to comprehend and grasp in an 
 eye-wink a dozen or more happenings they had 
 never dreamed possible. 
 
 They had to learn that Beatrice was an
 
 332 HEARTS ARE TRUMPS 
 
 authoress and to look over her play. They had 
 to understand that Fielding was an odd and 
 original genius at rascality, and had tricked 
 them all into bringing about this marriage. 
 They had to comprehend that I wasn't a parson, 
 that Tupper wasn't a newspaper man, that we 
 had swapped identities, that the wedding they 
 had all witnessed wasn't a wedding at all, that 
 Beatrice was not the actor's wife, though they 
 had just seen her married to him, and that she 
 was my wife, although I had just undertaken 
 to marry her to another man. 
 
 Now that this was all explained and under- 
 stood there were kisses and tears and general 
 congratulations and felicitations, as we re- 
 hearsed the story of our adventures and misad- 
 ventures and cleared up the few points that still 
 remained obscure. 
 
 We all stayed to luncheon at the Apthorpes' 
 hospitable board, and the real, true and only 
 Rev. Charles W. Tupper held his due and 
 proper place in the seat of honor and asked the 
 blessing upon us with fervent reverence.
 
 BOOMERANG 333 
 
 Not long afterwards my bride and I said a 
 general farewell and were driven to the train 
 in the same carriage which had awaited Beatrice 
 when she was about to become the wife of Henry 
 Fielding. 
 
 As Alfred, the coachman, whipped up his 
 horses I wondered what he would say if he were 
 told that he had occupied a conspicuous place 
 on my wife's civil-service list of husbands! 
 
 We concluded not to pass our honeymoon in 
 the Berkshires; they were too lively for us. We 
 found things much more quiet in New York. 
 Nevertheless, I had a restful vacation. 
 
 A month later I chanced to meet Sam Sears 
 and asked him home to dine at our modest 
 apartment. To my great joy he shook my ex- 
 tended hand and accepted the invitation. 
 
 But Beatrice was much disturbed when we 
 arrived together. Taking me aside she whis- 
 pered: "How could you? Didn't you know that 
 we haven't a thing for dessert but custard pie!" 
 
 THE END.
 
 The Gipsy Count 
 
 & Romance of Cfnbalrp 
 
 By MAY WYNNE, author of Henry of 
 Navarre," "A Maid of Brittany," etc. 
 With frontispiece in colors by E. Fuhr. 
 
 I2mo, $1.50 
 
 SINCE that famous novel, "When Knighthood 
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 of heart this gifted author tells in the engaging story of 
 The Gipsy Count. May Wynne makes her people 
 living, breathing characters, with whom the reader quick- 
 ly makes close friends and whom to know once is to 
 remember always. This is one of those rare novels 
 that everyone, without exception, enjoys in the reading 
 of it, and afterwards in the recollection of it.
 
 The Hawk 
 
 & &>torp of aerial 
 
 By RONALD LEGGE, author of " The 
 Admirable Davis/* etc. 12 mo, $1.50 
 
 RONALD LEGGE'S novel, "The Hawk," 
 reads so easily and vividly that it is as if one sat 
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 Moving quickly from incident to incident, its exciting 
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 One of the greatest of English Generals, Baden 
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 41 The Hawk " tells of the accomplishment of all 
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 the end.
 
 The Harvest Moon 
 
 & (Tale of lobe anb Constant? 
 By J. S. FLETCHER. 12010., $1.50 
 
 HERE is a great heart-throbbing story the love 
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 great reward when the price has at last been 
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 Some Typical Opinions of the Reviewers .* 
 BUFFALO, N. Y., COURIER: 
 
 Acclaimed by the leading critics as one of the most 
 beautiful and powerful love stories one of the most 
 elevating and touching that has been published for 
 many years. 
 
 THE OUTLOOK: 
 
 " This story represents Mr. Fletcher in his highest 
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 love episode that brought the first cloud into the iife of 
 his daughter Linda." 
 
 KANSAS CITY STAR: 
 
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 A Prisoner of the Sea 
 
 By CHAUNCY C. HOTCHKISS, author 
 of "Fora Maiden Brave," "A Colonial 
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 trated in colors by Bert Knight. 
 12010 - - $1.50 
 
 A Few Comments by the Critics . 
 
 CHICAGO RECORD-HERALD: 
 
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 NEW YORK TIMES: 
 
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 PHILADELPHIA RECORD : 
 
 " Full of bounding spirit and dashing adventure told 
 with vigor." 
 
 BIRMINGHAM HERALD: 
 
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 mystery and love, with a most charming American girl in 
 the center of the stage." 
 
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 " A brave tale of adventure developed with skill and 
 finish."
 
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