E'^tlMd^ Miss NOBODY OF NOWHERE a Nobel BY ARCHIBALD CLAVERING GUNTER AUTHOR OF "MR. POTTER OF TEXAS," "THAT FRENCHMAN," " MK. BARNES OF NEW YORK," " SMALL BOYS IN BIG BOOTS," "A FLORIDA ENCHANTMENT," "MISS DIVIDENDS," " BARON MONTEZ OF PANAMA AND PARIS," ETC. NEW YORK HURST & COMPANY PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1888, by A. C. GUNTER. AH rights reserved. CONTENTS. BOOK I. A COLLEGE COWBOY. MM CHAPTER I. The Last Kick of the Harvard- Yale Foot-ball Match, 7 II. Pete, the Cowboy, -21 " III. The Little Girl from England, - 33 IV. The Lone Ranch by the San Francisco, 44 V. The Box Cafion of the Gila, - 56 * VL Brick Garvey's Inquest, 66 BOOK IL A DENVER BELLE. CHAPTER VII. Diary of a Western Debutante, 84 u VIII. Mrs. Marvin, of New York, - 88 IX. The " Baby " Mine, ..95 ** X. A Bursted Speculation, - 107 " XI. An Evening on Fifth Avenue. 115 * XII. Madame Lamere's Academy for Young Ladies, - - 123 * XIII. An American Lord, 139 * XIV. Pete Enters Society, - 153 " XV. Little Gussie's Razzle-dacete, - ij iV CONTENTS. BOOK III. MISS SOMEBODY OF SOMEWHERE. PAGE CHAPTER XVI. Lord Avonmere's Ghost, - 181 u XVII." Darn me if it ain't Pete ! " 192 * XVIII. An Episode of the Patriarchs, 203 * XIX. The Bogus Bassington, - 215 * XX." Dear Gal do Something for her Some Day," - 227 u XXI. She shall Remember ! - 239 XXII." Not till I have a Name ! " - 247 " XXIII. Mrs. Warburton's Circus, - 260 " XXIV. An International Bride, 276 * XXV. Happy Cowboy ! - - 288 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. BOOK I. A COLLEGE COWBOY. CHAPTER I. THE LAST KICK OP THE HARVARD-YALE FOOT-BALL MATCH. THE game is drawing to a close ! It is the contest of the season, the foot-ball match between Yale and Harvard. The shivering spectators are trying to keep themselves warm with enthusiasm. There are only some seven hun- dred of them, for the day is a miserable one, and every undergraduate of Harvard who looks on this game and sports the crimson does so despite the frowns of his fac- ulty ; and every student from Yale who has come to Boston to wear his cherished blue and cry his college cry has hanging over his head the promise of suspen- sion from the authorities of the old Connecticut seat of learning. Besides, in 1878, college foot-ball had not reached the popularity that has come to it with advancing years. The dons of the universities frowned upon the sport, the public gazed on it with partial indifference ; and there were no crowded ovals and but little of the attendant beauty and fashion that give to great college games the brilliancy and excitement that have come upon them in the last few yean. S MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. But every man-jack of these foot-ball pioneers, tators or players, are devotees of the sport and their colleges. They have come from Harvard to the Boston base ball grounds in omnibuses, street-cars, and private turn- outs, singing their time-worn ditties, in spite of their fac- ulty, who have prevented their playing this match on their own college field, because one of their team is sus- pended and cannot step on university soil. They have come from Yale by train, singing that old- time glee with which the Sophs used to taunt the Freshes into the annual class foot-ball scrimmages that called the beauties of New Haven to the State House steps, Chapel Street, and the hotel balcony to see the great class con- tests that have now degenerated into class rushes. This ditty half the undergraduates now suppose ap- plies to their professors, and consequently sing this year with additional fervor : *' Let them come on, the base-born crew, Each soil-stained churl, alack ! What gain they but a splitten skull, A sod for their base back ! " Only the distance from New Haven to the Boston base-ball grounds being much greater than the distance from Cambridge to that point, the Harvard partisans greatly exceed in numbers the Yale delegation. So it is with the girls, who, being Boston ones, wear crimson in some aggressive form and shout Harvard Rahs ! all save one, a little maiden of about twelve, who has a blue ribbon in her hat, and enthusiastically swings a blue parasol over her pretty head whenever Yale makes a tell- ing play. All through the long game that is even now drawing to a close she has kept her eyes on one of the blue half- backs ; in every scrimmage and every rush her gaze has followed him, as if upon his prowess alone depended the fate of the contest. Were she older, one might suppose her his sweetheart, for her blue eyes have love in them of some kind, and the figure she is gazing on might well inspire admiration, even passion ; for its physical development is superb both as regards its graceful activity and direct strength, MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. p and h i* tunnounted by a head and face which arc not only beautiful but intellectual. While playing, though his great muscles work his lithe limbs like those of an animated giant, his bright eyes also flash with excited idea he fights his college battle not alone with his body but with his head ; and head is the only thing that will settle this contest now, for both sides have tried brute strength time and again without avail. The little lady's relationship to the Yale half-back is not long undetermined. Whenever Harvard makes a telling play and Cambridge cries fill the air, and the crimson color is flaunted on high, she gives a Yale yell with all the power of youthful lungs, and waving her blue parasol in the faces of the lovers of magenta, shouts out : " Just you wait and see my brother kick ! " This aggressiveness angers a Harvard girl, who whis- pers to her next neighbor : " Who is that little blue fiend?" " Fiend! " answers the other. " She's worse, she's a TRAITOR ! She's Bessie Everett, and lives on Beacon Street." " A Boston girl a YALE girl ? " whispers the first, over- come by this awful thought. " Yes, and her brother's that nasty Yale creature who scrimmages so fearfully the one who's just downed Blanchard. Ain't he horrid ? " " Yes, and he's downed another one ! " cries Bessie, whose pretty ears have caught this conversation. " And he'll down some more Y ! A ! L ! E ! YALE ! " But here her voice is drowned by the tumult of the grand stand. Aided by the wind that is blowing with them, the blues have got the ball well into the crimson territory, and are now fighting like giants for goal or touch-down, while their opponents are struggling with equal will and vigor to get the ball out of bounds and so gain time, for in two short minutes the second three- quarters of an hour will have passed and the game will be over. So far neither collage has gained a point, though by a wedge rush Yale had made a touch-down in the first half, which had not been allowed, as it had been gained twenty seconds or so after the forty-five minutes for play had expired. H MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. That half the wind had been against them. This half it is in their favor ; and now, thinking themselves robbed by the umpire's watch, and remembering that the blue this year has been beaten both at base-ball and regatta by the crimson, they are desperately fighting to make the slight advantage they have productive of a foot- ball victory ; with only two short minutes in which to do it. But now a mighty though discordant noise comes from the upholders of the blue. Some cry : ** Kick it ! kick it quick I " Others yell : " Run, Everett, RUN ! " for the little girl's brother has caught the ball from a fair kick by one of the Harvard backs. This, though apparently an accident, is really the result of thought quick as instinct. He had noted the leather sphere going to one of thfe Harvard half-backs, celebrated for his long kicks, and therefore judged he would propel the ball with his foot ; not run with it, and attempt to dodge the rushers waiting to tackle and down him. Consequently Everett had sprung for the territory where he thought a good drop kick would plant the ball, and guessing correctly, has made a fair catch of the sphere and so holds it, the Har- vard goal-posts right in front of him, but many a long yard away. He doesn't wait for the advice of the grand stand whether he shall kick the ball or run with it. To win this game he knows he must do both, for no human being can drive that ball over the Harvard goal at the distance he is from it. As the crowd is yelling he is running swiftly forward, the crimson rushers and half-backs hurrying to tackle and down him. Can he get near enough and kick sure enough and strong enough to send the sphere between those two dis- tant goal-posts and over their cross-bar before he is over- whelmed ? It looks impossible \ On one side comes Blanchard, the Harvard half-back, to seize and throw him ; on the other, Perry, the rusher, to tackle him round body or limb low if he can, high if he must, but savage any way. Behind these, other^ MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. II of the crimson are hurrying ; while Wetherby, one of the Harvard backs (they had three in those days), is almost in front of him, well down by the goal, but charging like a locomotive ; for they mean to roll Phil Everett in the mud and pile half a dozen rushers on top of him, to slug him, crush the wind out of his body, and leave him bat- tered and bruised, weak and windless, rather than he shall get a fair kick at Harvard goal on this last minute of a game that may be drawn. There is only one Yale rusher to aid him. Lamb is on his right and will tackle Blanchard. Noting this, Everett runs more to the right, and so farther from Perry, and dodging him, speeds on with the Harvard rusher at his heels. He has gained ten yards ; a herculean kick may now reach goal. Will he have time to make it ? Even now he feels the breath of the Harvard rusher on the back of his neck and dare not stay, so speeds on. But suddenly he hears a Yale yell the Mercury of their rush line has come up with winged feet at a sprint- ing pace, and springing on Perry, has thrown an arm around h : .s neck ; then jumping back, has thus jerked the crimson rusher to the earth with his head half wrung off his body. Then Everett knows he has just time to kick before Wetherby, the Harvard back, will be upon him. He drops the ball, and kicking rather high to give the favoring wind time to do its work, and also to avoid any chance of catch from Wetherby, smites the ball with his foot, giving it every pound of weight and ounce of power in his mighty body. The sphere flies from the ground, the Harvard back makes a wild spring for it, but it is eight inches above his grasp and sailing over his head as it gradually rises in the air. Then both teams and spectators gaze upon it, and there is silence. The ball goes straight as an arrow for the goal-posts, but making its curve, seems to falter and have scarce strength enough to reach, the distance is so great ; then, caught, perhaps, by a stronger gust of wind, it gains new power and shoots over the cross-bar and between the goal-posts, while up to Heaven goes a Yald It MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. yell that might wake the seven sleepers, and the air be- comes azure with banners, while the little girl waves her blue parasol and cries : " Didn't I tell you just to wait and see my big brother kick ! " But no one answered her taunts the Harvard maidens are crushed lilies now. The ball is put in play again, but before any effort of the crimsons can retrieve their fortunes, time is called, and Harvard stands beaten by a single goal. So they ^11 turn to leave the grounds, little Bessie Everett humming a Yale ditty and gazing contemptu- ously at the crushed young ladies who wear the crim- son. She has not made half a dozen steps from her seat on the grand stand when she cries out suddenly : " Why, Mr. Van Beekman, have you come to take me to my brother ? Wasn't Phil's kick lovely ? " and holds out her little hand to a Yale undergraduate who is pressing toward her in the crush. "Lovely? It was real agitating I actually clapped my hands ! " cries this creature, who is very little, and is arrayed most strikingly in azure shirt, collar, and cuffs, with a blue scarf around his neck, a blue flower in his buttonhole, and exquisite blue gloves on his dainty hands. Curiously enough, he sports a single eyeglass and knicker- bockers, for in the year 1878 American gentlemen still thought they might be considered gentlemen without af- fecting the fads of English costume or manner. " I'm so excited I think I shall go in for athletics myself ! " he babbles on. " Yes, they would improve you AWFULLY ! " remarks Bessie, with the frankness of childhood, taking a sly but scornful glance at Van Beekman's diminutive calves, that are ludicrously exhibited by his knickerbockers. " Awh, glad you agree with me. And what do you think of my Yale get-up ? My tailor was excited over it. You see I'm blue all over." " It would be simply perfect if you only had an eye- glass to match," cries Bessie. " An eyeglass to match ? " "Yes, a/5/^one." " A blue eyeglass ! Oh ! by Jove, that is a fetching idea. That will be an eye-opener. I'll order one for MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. I| the Princeton affair next week. A blue eyeglass J By George, you're a genius, Miss Bessie ! " he ejaculates, producing a diminutive pocket-book and jotting down the article under discussion. He has scarcely time to finish this when Miss Everett, who is of an impetuous disposition, grabs his arm and shouts, for the hum of the grand stand is still very loud : " Why don't you take me to my brother, as you said you would, Mr. Augustus de Punster Van Beekman ?" A minute or two after this they are both gazing on the Yale half-back, who, having got into citizen's dress, is nursing a very black eye, for the slugging and scrim- maging, according to the custom of that day, had been something awful. He is standing up, like a stag at bay, surrounded by a crowd of Yale undergraduates, who every now and again make frantic rushes at him and embrace and squeeze him as if they loved him which they do, for Phil Everett has this day made one of those phenomenal plays that put a man's name high up in college annals, and are told of, around the campus, by students long after their hero has passed from university life, till they become as col- lege household words. Notwithstanding the boisterous attentions of his sur- rounders, the young man is looking very proud and happy, for the captain of his team, another giant like himself, has just given him an awful squeeze and whis- pered : " You've done a great thing for Yale foot-ball this day, old fellow ! " And so he has, for from that time to this, when the blue has met the crimson or the black and orange, and the scrimmage has been most savage, and the charging most furious, many a Yale rusher has tackled a little harder, and many a Yale back has kicked a little longer as the memory of Everett's winning goal has come into his mind to fire his heart, amid the cries of foot-ball par- tisans and dust of foot-ball battle. For Everett's kick was the first of those extraordinary exhibitions of strength and skill that, followed up by " Lamar's run " and the phenomenal playing of Camp and Moffat, and later on, Beecher and Bull, aod Ames and Poe, have made college foot-ball what it now is, when beauty, wealth, and fashion by thousands crowd 4 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHBRE. college fields and ovals to see Yale, Harvard, and Prince, ton fight like students and demons to carry the crimson of blue or black and orange to victory and glory. There is no such crowd on this day of Everett's kick, though the Yale men about him make up for lack of numbers by abundance of enthusiasm. He puts them off, however, by saying : " Look out, fellows, here's a lady." " A lady ! " they cry, all giving back. Then one suddenly says, rather contemptuously : Why, it's a child ! " But another laughs : " By George ! she was the only Yale girl on the ground. I saw her wave that blue para- sol every time we downed the magenta." Then one of the team suddenly cries : " Why, she's Phil's sister ! " for the little lady has visited her brother at Yale the preceding term, and has been petted and made much of by most of the athletic set, having had the supreme honor and bliss of feeling the muscle of the stroke of the Yale boat, among the crew of which Everett pulled the bow oar. So the crowd make way for her, and in a moment she fs in her brother's arms, kissing him and telling him how proud she is of him, and how she has cried out for him and taunted the Harvard girls with him ; and that she loves him and is sure he can kick further than any man in the world. This probably makes the giant happy, for he loves his little sister very dearly, and there is a smile on his face as he kisses her. But suddenly the look becomes a troubled one as she whispers in his ear : " If mother were only here for me to tell her all about it." A moment after his face grows even more serious as she babbles on: " Phil, you must see father before you go back to Yale. He's awfully angry at you about something." u About what ? " asks the young man, uneasily. " I don't know exactly ; but he got & letter this morn- ing I think it was from England, because the butler said it was foreign and whep he read it he went on awful about you and forbid my coming to see you play." " So you've disobeyed father and got yourself into trou- ble on my account ? " mutters Everett with a slight sigh. " Oh ! I'd do it over again every time to see you kick,* returns the little girl, giving her brother another hug. MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 15 But this interview is suddenly broken in upon. With a kind of simultaneous emotion, the crowd of Yale men, that has gradually been growing larger about Phil, make a rush at him, and though he struggles good-humoredly and cries out he won't have it, they pick him up, and sing- ing a wild college glee, carry him in triumph out of the place and deposit him on the sidewalk. Whereupon the Irish door-keeper of the base-ball grounds, becoming inspired by Yale sentiment and Yale victory, and getting his colors mixed, joins in with " The Green above the Red," and calls out : " Down with the Hairvards and the English, and all who float that bloody color ! " This raises a laugh, and taking advantage of it Phil hurries his sister into her carriage, that has been waiting for the little lady ; then, stepping in himself, says to the coachman : " Home ! " As he drives off, the crowd cheer him and give a Yale yell ; and even as he smiles back at them and calls out he's going to New Haven with them on the evening train his face becomes so gloomy and disturbed that his sister cries at him : " What are you so black about, Phil ? " then suddenly whispers : " Is it mother ? " and clings to him. But he only answers her by a caress that is half a sigh, and goes into silent meditation till the brougham draws up in front of one of the handsomest residences on Beacon Street, both as regards house and location. It is a spacious brown-stone facing and overlooking the beau- tiful botanical gardens, from which, in the autumn, it receives the perfumes of myriad flowers and shrubs. Telling his sister to run upstairs and he'll see her be- fore he goes, he turns to the servant who has opened the door and says : " Father in, Thomas ? " "Yes, sir," answers the man. " He's been asking for you ever since he heard you'd come from New Haven to-day." " Very well, I'll see him now," mutters the young man, and steps into the library with a very solemn face to meet his father, Robert Everett, one of Boston's finan- cial magnates. This gentleman is as unlike his son as a nervous gray fox-terrier is to a mastiff ; his manner is quick, snappy, fidgety, save at sundry intervals, when he draws l6 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE,. himself up and assumes the old-fashioned dignity of a past generation. He is evidently in a fearful humor, and greets his son with no more kindly words of welcome than a savage " So you've got a black eye, eh ? Been fighting again, sir ? " To this Phil answers respectfully, though his other eye becomes red with passion and his lips tremble, showing a struggle for self-control : " I've not been fighting again, for I never fight. This black eye is a souvenir of the foot-ball match of to-day." " And what's that but fighting a mere excuse to punch each other's heads off in sections ? The faculty think so also ; they forbade this match, I'm told, and threatened suspension to all who played-! " cries the old man. ' Yes, sir." ' And yet you performed in it ? " 'The faculty '11 come round all right." ' But 7 won't ! " says the father, grimly. Then he suddenly cries out : " Who won ? " ' Yale ! " ' And you helped them ? " ' I did my best, and, I think, my share." ' Ah ! came here to disgrace your native town, Boston, by beating its college, Harvard, and holding it up to ridicule. For this you defy your own professors and risk expulsion and disgrace to my name do you hear me, sir ? MY NAME ! " And the old gentleman, working him- self up to a sexagenarian fury, goes into a long rigmarole of invective, pacing the floor with rapid footsteps, while the young man gazes at him with a little sneer of con- tempt, though he is nervously chewing the end of his brown mustache. At last from want of breath the elder man gives the younger one a chance to speak. Then Phil Everett says quietly: "This attack on me and foot-ball and my college is not the reason of your anger. Suppose you give me the true cause, father." " Then, if you will have it," cries the senior Everett, as if he had been anxious to save his son and is only forced to revelation by the young man's importunity, " here it is from England." And opening a drawer in his desk, he produces a letter. The document is from London, and signed by Messrs. MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 17 Shamerstein, Abrahamoff & Co. , Bankers. It brie6y asks for payment of a bill endorsed by Philip E. T. Everett, the paper having gone to protest ; and states that it has been placed in their correspondent's hands in Boston for collection. " I took up that note to-day look at it ! " cries the father, producing from his pocket-book an I. O. U. for ^400, dated some three months previous, signed by one John Colquhoun Heather, and endorsed by Philip E. T. Everett. Then he remarks savagely : " What do you say to that?" " I say," cries Phil, " that I never received one farthing of that money. I had met Lord John Heather, and found him a perfect gentleman. I endorsed simply as a matter of accommodation. Heather has suddenly been called to India and must have forgotten the matter in the hurry of departure. He is an officer in the Scotch Fusi- leer Guards, and probably like most men of his class careless as regards business. I was notified of the pro- test and sent five hundred dollars on account I have written to Heather, and know that paper will ultimately be paid by him. " " All right ; inform me when his lordship is ready to honor his signature and I'll be very happy to transfer the note," remarks the elder Everett grimly. " At pres- ent I have charged it to your account ; and this with other drafts gives you only five hundred dollars to go through your senior year." "I'll get along with that," remarks Phil with a wince. Then he says hopefully : " But Heather will doubtless make it good before long ; I'm confident of his being an honorable gentleman." " You're welcome to your belief in your lord," sneers the father. But here he comes , to the true gist of the matter ; his face gets white with rage, and he cries out : " How did you come to be in London this summer ? and where did you pick up your aristocrat ? " " Lord John Heather," says the young man rapidly, " is a friend of my moth " Here he suddenly bites the word in two and swallows the latter part of it. " A friend of your mother's ! Don't try to dodge the word ! " yells the old man, growing livid. " Then it is * ft MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. as I guessed the instant I saw this cursed paper. When I thought you salmon-fishing in Labrador last summel you had gone over to England to see your mother." " You guessed right," says the son, with a pale face but determined voice. " I went by the Allen line from Que- bec." " Despite my orders not to visit that wo " "I'll trouble you not to say anything against my mother," whispers the young man. "If you do, I'll " But he says no more, for his father cries out : " And you, Phil, my son, have turned your back on me ! You you YOU ! " and sinks down with tears of mixed rage and agony in his old eyes. Looking at him, the son turns over in his mind the following facts : His father, an old man of sixty-five, made irritable by the strange combination of sensitive nerves and Puritanical nature ; his mother, still young at forty, who loves fashion, pleasure, and gayety, and, worst of all in her husband's eyes, does not hesitate to lavish his large fortune on the same. These two gradually drawing apart, until they have reached a practical sepa- ration. They have no grounds for divorce, save incom- patibility of temper and uncongenial dispositions. The mother spending a great portion of her time in Europe, the father striving to make his two children take his part in the family quarrel to alienate their affections from their mother. It is this thought that makes the son gaze at his father sternly ; but as he looks, the tears in the old man's eyes soften him. He says quietly : " You can never turn my face from my mother's love. You know that, father ! Best give it up ; let me honor you and her together. I shall do the best I can this year with my allowance. Good-by." And leaving the room, he goes upstairs to make some preparations for his return to New Haven. The old gentleman looks after his departing son, and after a time sighs out : " Yes, I know that ; Phil '11 never give up his mother for me ; but he still honors me, loves me as his father. I'll I'll make up what money to him he loses by his boyish endorsement of that lordling's paper." A softer and more paternal feeling comes into his heart, and all would be well did not at this moment MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. U) Bessie come running in, crying : "Where's Phil, papa?" and then looking round, whimpers : " Oh, he can't hav gone without bidding me good-by ! " " You knew he was here ? " says the senior Everett, surprised. " Of course ; I came home with him from the match." Here remembering her father's command, she stops very suddenly and her pretty face gets red. " So you went against my orders ! Are all my chil- dren to disobey me ? " cries the old man, looking in a way that would frighten Bessie had she not been petted and spoiled and is now about to show it. " Oh," she says airily, thinking to carry off this situa- tion as she has done a dozen similar ones, and not know- ing her father's present nervous irritation, " I didn't suppose you meant what you said." " And why not ? " " Because that would have been too stupid." " Too stupid, you ! " " Yes, too stupid, papa, to keep me from having a good time because you were down on Phil. Besides, to see such a lovely game I'd go if you told me a hundred times not to, you dear old foolish papa, you " Here she tries to pat her parent's head, and run her hand through his scanty white locks, and tickle his venerable ear; a plan that has worked admirably up to this time, but now has a very bad effect, as it reminds him of some of hef mother's former wiles to coax checks out of his bank- book. " You impudent little minx ! " he cries. " How dare you call me old and foolish ? Unless you are respectful to me I shall punish you ! " And seizing her by one of her plump white arms he stands her in front of him. Now this grip on her wrist hurts Miss Bessie, who is not accustomed to such treatment ; besides, her pride is wounded by his threat. She loses her temper and cries back at him : " Punish me ? I dare you to do it ! Punish me f You can't bully me as you did my mother. Punish me ? I dare you I " " SMACK ! " She has been taken at her word, and is staring at her e ather. holding a little hand to her ear and cheek that have 20 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. become pink under her father's discipline, upon whom she is gazing speechless and astounded, for until now she has never been boxed in her life. The old gentleman is gazing upon his wayward off- spring, astonished also, for he had never laid hand upon his pert little daughter before, though this time the pro vocation has been beyond his self-control. He is about to be more astonished. For now a great brown hand is inserted into the collar of his coat, upon which it takes a vice-like grip, and a kind of human derrick lifts him and skips him along on tip-toe, and with a wrench that tears the garment from neck to waist, gives him an awful yank that deposits him in an arm-chair with a scream of amazed terror, while Philip Everett hisses into his face: "You miserable brute ! If you lay hands upon that child again I'll for- get I am your son and He does not put the rest into words, but his look fills out the sentence. " Don't you think you have forgotten that already ? " whispers his father, giving a cool, steely, awful, unfor- giving, unforgetting look at the young man, who, having made his preparations for departure, has been looking for his sister, and hearing her voice in the library, has entered just in time to see the box on the ear, but not what had provoked it. " Perhaps ; but I won't have you strike my sister." "She was an impertinent child and deserved correc- tion. And you dared in my own house to raise your hand against me your father ? It is the last time you shall ever enter it. Out of my home FOREVER ! " Then, with the same stony, uncompromising, unforgiving stare on his face, the old man rises to his feet and points sternly to the door. But here Bessie, who has recovered her voice, throws herself between them and cries to her father to forgive Phil, who did it for love of her that she deserved it that he can punish her all he wants if he'll only forget what her darling brother has done. But Robert Everett's hand still points to the door, and he says to his son : "Out/ Let me see your face for the last time ! " " Not till you promise to keep your hands off Bessie." * Certainly," says his father. " In a moment of provo- MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. if cation I forgot myself. You may trust her with me Outofthvfdoor/" Then Phil, knowing Bessie is as certain of pardon as he is of unforgiveness, seizes his sister, who is sobbing at the work she has done, gives her a long, passionate squeeze and kiss, and staggers from his father's house. On the sidewalk he takes a long look at the home of his childhood, and mutters : " An insult to his pride he'll never forgive that." Then he does something he has not done before in his life counts the money in his pocket. A moment after he sneers : " I can't go through Yale on nothing but a fifty-dollar note and two nickels By George, my best kick at foot-ball was my last 1 " CHAPTER IL PETE, THE COWBOY. WITH a rather gloomy countenance, Phil takes his way to the Parker House, where he imagines he will find some college chums, who will doubtless give him some- thing else than his own woes to think about. But no young man is sad very long at the thought of making his own living ; it takes maturity to teach him the terrors of the battle of life, its disappointments and despairs. By the time he turns down School Street he is whis- tling a popular air ; and when he enters the Parker House he is laughing to himself at the thought of how he'll astonish his father by making a million or two in some way ; for the young Yale half-back has got to thinking he can kick a goal as surely in the game of fortune as he did in the day's foot-ball match. No collegians chancing to be in the reading-room, he. picks up an evening edition of one of the day's papers, and glancing over it has the pleasure of seeing his name in big letters heading the account of the foot-ball game. Immediately below he notes a letter from Silver City, New Mexico, announcing wonderful discoveries of ore in the Bully Boy mine, with a long account of its luoky owners and the fortunes that the earth has yielded to ft MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. their persevering picks. One, whose credit wasn't goD3 Sttle charge, giving as an excuse that he has mining interests in this state that claim his attention for a week or two. Two months after this, amid the perfume blown into the windows of the Beacon street mansion from the flowers and shrubs of the beautiful Boston botanical gar- dens, Pete the cowboy awakes to a new life. The West has passed away from him, the East is around him. Hardship and poverty have been replaced by luxury and wealth, for his mother whispers in his ear, " Your father is dead, but he forgave you and remembered you in his will." Yet his thoughts still turn to the frontier, and while lying in his mother's arms he asks curiously, perhaps doubting, " I saved little Flossie Willoughby from the Apaches, didn't I ? " " Ah ! " says Mrs. Everett, " don't think of that awful time ; it will bring the delirium back to you." " Not if I'm satisfied on that point, says the young man, eagerly. " Tell me ! " " Then if you ask no more questions," replies his mother, " the pretty little English girl went home with her uncle eight weeks ago, alive and well ! " " Thank God ! " cries the invalid. A moment after he mutters, " I suppose Willoughby got the packet of papers all right ? " To this his mother whispers, " Hush ! no more excite- ment at present ! " and turns away with a little troubled look, for she has just remembered that the documents Phil mentions have somehow or other been lost or mis- laid by her on her journey to the East. But, curiously enough, on the very day this con- versation takes place, Arthur Willoughby is in the act of sailing from New York on the Arizona for England ALONE ! BOOK II. A DENVER BELLB. CHAPTER VII. DIARY OF A WESTERN DEBUTAMTB. NEW YORK, January 3, 1890. A DIARY a la Bashkirtseff is now a fad in fashionable ^oung-ladyhood in New York. I've been dying to commence mine. Like Marie, I have unsatisfied longings lots of them ! but, unlike Marie, I'm going to get mine. Matilde Tompkins Follis doesn't fall off or sulk on the homestretch. She's always got a little extra speed in her, and gets under the wire first, most every time. This article, that I clip entire from the Town Tattler^ will give my diary a piquant send-off : " It is .announced on the highest authority that the languid young club-man, Augustus de Punster Van Beekman, will very shortly lead to the hymeneal altar Miss Matilde Tompkins Follis, who lately made her d/but in society at the Patriarchs, under the wing of Mrs. Aurora Dabney Marvin, the widow who makes a business of introducing so many Western heiresses into the portals of the 'Four Hundred.' This marriage win shove La Follis plump in. " The young lady's silvery voice is said to have attracted the imp* cunious Augustus. "The bride will look lovely at the altar in a complete costume of woven ' Baby ' silver, from her father's great mine, ' The Baby.' " MEM. Were it not for the ' Baby ' silver we hardly imagine would come to time, as he is very exclusive ; the oroud MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 85 blood of the De Punsters and Van Beekmans abhorring plebeian streams, though their family estates have wofully dwindled, since in early Dutch days they swindled the Indians out of many fair acres up the Hudson and on Manhattan Island." This article from the Town Tattler is so atrociously striking that I paste it into my diary, malice and all, as I sit in my luxurious boudoir, at No. 637 Fifth Avenue, the residence my dad I mean father has taken for the winter, having removed mother and me from Capitol Hill, Denver, to Murray Hill, New York, in order that Colorado's richest heiress may make her dtbut in metro- politan society. I am struck by the article partly with joy, mostly with rage. Were I not such an ennuye"e from my exertions at Mr. Mac's ball at the Metropolitan Opera House last night that I haven't spunk for anything, and were it "good form " in the East, I should lay out that editor in true Colorado style. Pshaw ! I am going back to the wild Tillie Follis of Aspen mining camp, six years ago, before I was sent to receive a coat of British fads and French polish at Madame Lamere's Academy, No. 327^ Madison Avenue, at which my younger sister still resides. Upon consideration, I shall take no notice of the para- graph. I sha'n't remember I have ever read it. I sha'n't know such a paper as the Town Tattler exists. The whole article is evidently filled with the malice that low- bred society reporters generally feel for the aristocracy, whose champagne they drink in ante-rooms, and whose dinners they report from butlers' pantries. I'd have the writer, whoever he or she is (its malicious flavor indicates femininity), know that- 1, Matilde Tomp kins Follis, am not at the portals, but am plump in the middle of the swim. Has not Mrs. Rivington Van Schermerhorn and the Misses Van Damm called upon me? Are not the cards of those society magnates, Mrs. George Van Tassel Nailer, Miss Alice May Catskill, the Hon. Mrs. Ross Dumboyle, and Clara Jenks Remington, upon my hall- table ? Don't such well-known club boys (I can't call them men) as Bertie Van Tassel, Georgia Remsen. and 86 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. Foxhunter Reach drop in to my afternoon teas and tefo hor*e to me ? At which I can beat them all, having spent a ood deal of my early life on a mustang. And did I not clench my position by last night, when, between the pauses of a landers, and drowned by the romantic crash of Lander's music, I practically accepted little A. de P. Van B. ? The De Punster and Van Beekman families are in the very Walhalla of the Four Hundred, and though Augustus 1 call him Gussie now is regarded as a little off color, as we express it in Colorado, by the heads of the family, he belonging to a collateral branch that has had, like most aristocratic houses, a scandal (some time during the Revolution, I believe); but chiefly because, ~"ith the wildness necessary to be a " thoroughbred " (Gu&^ie's own expression), he has run through a pot of money. Still, with the millions father is sure to give me, I think the De Punsters and Van Beekmans will take him once more into the family fold, and the Colorado heiress along with him. But as I gaze at the Town Tattler I give a shudder. What will dad I mean my father say ? For little Gussie is the most dudish dude in New York ; and though a washed-out descendant of the old Dutch stock, a maniac of the most ultra Anglo tendencies. My ! how dad does hate dudes ! When I think of how he'll treat my poor little Gussie, I shudder. But I don't care so much for father ; I reckon ma'll fetch him round all O.K. in a little time. It's Bob ! the brave-eyed Bob ; Bob, the hero who saved the Baby Mine from the jumpers for us how sad Bob '11 look, and how he'll hate Gussie. But it won't be because he's a aude ; it'll be because Oh, pshaw ! what nonsense I'm writing. And then what 11 SHE say when she hears I've gone back on Bob ; she who bosses the family ; my erratic younger sister, who has a will of her own, and such eyes ! Florence, to use a Western expression, being a " corker " ! 1 remember once, a few years ago. when ma for some childish cutting up was going to correct us (the Eastern terra for a Western spanking) ; she looked at ma with big brown, flashing, blazing eyes till mother turned away and muttered something and dropped her hand and 027 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. tj mother has faced a grizzly in her time. I may also re- mark that I caught it I tried the look, but it didn't work in my case. What'll SHE say ? When I think of dad and Bob and Florence, I cry out : " Oh, fashion and triumph and greatness^ you are not all roses ! " Pshaw ! yes, they are ! When I think of what Sallie Jackson and Lavie Mar* tin and other Capitol Hill girls would have said if they had seen me last night dancing with a lord no Italian barber count like the one who did all the West up last year, but a real English baron when I think of the sen- sation that would have struck feminine Denver had they seen Lord Avonmere making up to me last night in Sir Roger de Coverley, which is the British expression for the American Virginia reel (shade of George Washing- ton ! how English we are now !), I can stand anything, any one ! dad ! Floss ! Bob ! Yes, even Bob, though I am a wretch to say it. Mrs. Marvin introduced Lord Avonmere to me last night. Mrs. M. seemed to wish to impress me with him ; so also did Avonmere ; he hung on to me at supper until Gussie got so jealous that he spoke quite unmistakably the very next dance. Lord Avonmere is very English in appearance, though rather continental in expression ; a big, hulking fellow, with soft, naughty, black Italian eyes, and looks as if he had run the pace. I mean to ask Mrs. Marvin about him. She hates Gussie, and this paragraph in the Town Tattler will drive her crazy. It's lucky she's out, as the servant has just brought in Gussie's card. Mother, who has come in from Arnold & Constable's. has also announced him, for she has remarked : " That chit's ag'in in the parlor ! " I wish ma would say drawing-room. It's much bettef form. I'll lock this up and 11 go down and see Gussi A-a-ah ! the fatal moment** 88 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. CHAPTER VIII. MRS. MARVIN, OP NEW YORK. THE young lady who has been writing the preceding drops her pen, gives a little dainty shiver, and after a settling shake to her imported afternoon gown and a hur. ried glance at her charming reflection in a cheval glass, leaves her boudoir, which is a creation in blue by Tiffany, and descends to meet the little " Gussie " of her diary. As she passes down the oaken stairs of the great Fifth Avenue house, for the use of which during the New York winter season, furniture, bric-a-brac, pictures, and all, her father, Abraham Alcibiades Foil is, the great Denver sil- ver-miner and millionnaire, has paid a very pretty penny, Miss Matilde makes a delightful picture. She is a Western girl, and fresh as the breezes of her own prairies, not yet having lost the roses from her cheeks nor the brightness from her eyes by the all-night balls of winter and the long round of watering-place dis- sipations, which so often destroy the freshness and im- pair the beauty of our more fashionable Eastern belles, making them look aged and feel old at twenty, about the time in life they would be emerging from a Euro- pean schoolroom. With the daintiest of hands and feet, that charm so common in American women, her figure, though beauti- fully rounded and curved, and only slightly above the medium height, has the graces that come from out-door exercise and the fresh air of the Rocky Mountains ; of which she had had plenty, having lived a good portion of her early youth in a tent when her father was moving about prospecting for mines, and in a dug-out when he was at a stationary camp. To this true health and beauty of person add a very piquant, bright, feminine American face, with the bluest of eyes, not of the indefinite kind of washed-out, worn- out womanhood, but filled with the peculiar fresh, deep color of the wood violet, that becomes almost a purple when lighted by the fire of passion ; a little mouth that can grow very firm, an inheritance from her mother, a frontier woman who had fought Indians with her own MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 89 hands in the Sioux outbreak in Minnesota ; place in her shapely head that quick grasp of humor, wit, logic, and idea, common to the women of any country where they are encouraged and permitted to think and act for them- selves ; clothe her with the dainty taste that characterizes an American woman with an unlimited pocket-book, when assisted by a French artiste de la mode ; permit a glimpse of one little foot in its light satin slipper peeping from under her lace jupons ; cast over the face, in the changing pictures of a magic lantern, a little shuddering blush then a pout next a very savage frown, that runs away into a laugh of mixed amusement and chagrin, and it is the picture of Miss Matilde Follis as she trips down to encounter so much of her fate as Mr. Augustus de Punster Van Beekman may have for her. That she has a quick mind is evinced by her rapid change of expression as she has descended the stairs, for from the top step to the bottom she has dissected a thought that has suddenly struck her vivacious brain like a shock of electricity. Evolved from the article in the Town Tattler, it is not a pleasant one, being this curiously humiliating idea : If Mrs. Marvin makes a business of introducing Western heiresses, where does the money come into the transac- tion ? What's the merchandise ? As the answer flashes, ME and MY FORTUNE, the shud- dering blush has come upon her ; with the thought of her beauty and her money bringing a commission to the pocket of Mrs. Marvin has come the savage frown ; then the certainty that little Gussie can't be a paying cus- tomer, the widow being so down on him, brings the laugh. She mutters : " I only thought Aurora Marvin a sponge. It she's a speculator, Matilda Follis won't be one of her securities ! " And opening the portiere, steps into a reception-room to meet her expectant fiance. In this sudden idea this young Western girl has guessed the truth, but hardly the whole of it. Mrs. Aurora Dabney Marvin is one of the anomalies and curiosities of our so-called "fashionable society." Being left a widow at the close of the war, with no capital but what is in Western parlance termed " un- adulterated gall " aad "colossal cheek," she has stocked 90 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. and capitalized this in social dollars, and has lived off S in luxury and plenty, and will so continue to do as long as American society is what it now is. Beginning with no position whatever, Mrs. Marvin had made herself somewhat of a social power, by marvellous tact and unblushing assumption ; the first of which had given her the entree into many of the houses of the more exclusive New York set, and the second of which had made her imagine she owned the family as soon as she had got inside their front door. Most of her income had been produced by assuming to lecture for charity, with a check from the committee of the entertainment in her pocket. Her lectures on " The Kings I have met," " Intimate Princes," " Countesses I have visited," etc., etc., had raised her to high esteem in the cultured circles on whom she had deigned to bestow her literary pearls. She never discoursed upon " The Presidents I have seen," or " The Bankers I have dined with," though the last were numerous ; for Presidents and business men are American, and being a snob, she knew exactly how to flavor her dish with aristocratic seasoning to suit the palates of her audience, who saw her two hun- dred pounds of robust Yankee flesh surrounded by kings, princelings, and lordlings, and fell down and worshipped her as the intimate of royalty, with almost as much fervor as they would have done the kings and princelings and lordlings themselves could they have got a chance at them in person. But this lecture business not being as profitable as for- merly, the committees of ladies engaged in charitable entertainments making wry faces at her demands, which reduced the profits going to the deserving poor, Mrs. Marvin had, in the last few years, struck upon a new invention in speculation, for which, though she could not patent it, she enjoyed the exclusive right i.e., introducing to New York and European society the daughters of men who had made sudden and colossa! fortunes. These aggregations of wealth, just at this moment, are unusually numerous. They come mostly from railroads, mining, cattle, or manufacturing, fostered by that great iniquity of taxing the many for the benefit of the favored few, that has been practised in most barbarous aristoc MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. f racies, but has been brought to its perfection by the tarifl system of this so-called enlightened republic. Fortunately for Mrs. Marvin's ingenious speculation, a good many of these sudden Croesuses, surrendering to the insidious arguments of their wives and daughters, have made an advance and assault upon the society of New York and Boston, which has quite often yielded to their demands and admitted them to fellowship when their millions were numerous enough and their manners not too provincial. Some others, defeated in their direct attacks, have with masterly strategy effected what has been called "The European Flank Movement." They- have left Newport, Lenox, New York, and Bos- ton on one side, and, crossing the ocean, have married a daughter, by the power of a glorious dot, to some titled impecuniosity who has been willing to honor (?) a beautiful, young, cultivated American girl by taking her to his bed and board, if he received enough money to make the matrimonial pill a sugar-coated one to his high-bred self, to pay his gambling debts, and to gild his escutcheon so brightly that the democratic mud upon it is concealed by American gold. Then, armed with a titled son-in-law, the old couple come back, attack our exclusive society, and conquer it. Thus the social ambitions of women made Mrs. Mar- vin's American merchandise, and the necessities of im- pecunious aristocrats gave her the European customers necessary to complete her bargains. It need hardly be stated that she always, under some understood or implied contract, received a handsome bonus or commission on the transaction, most generally from the bridegroom upon his fingering the money of his American bride. The bargain, plainly stated in its naked horror, stood thus : On one side a young and sometimes beautiful American girl (without much knowledge of the world, mostly without very great self-respect or womanly pride), who gave her fresh youth and generous fortune to the po*e*sion of a man who usually had destroyed his own by a life of dissipated luxury, because he gave to her, by a desecration of all that is sacred in the marriage cere- mony, some high-sounding title. Her last operation in this peculiar line of trade had been a very great success ; she had married the daughter of a Western cattle man to a blue-blooded count of the German Empire for Mrs. Marvin always warranted her goods. If she had an heiress on hand, one could be sure she was true plutocrat, and her dues, and comics, and viscomtes were all warranted of sang azure and mediseva! manufacture. This was of great assistance to her in her business, for lately some fearful mistakes had been made on the Amer- ican side of the water. One Oil City heiress had married an Italian barber who had palmed himself off for a count on her parents. This wretch, after taking his miserable dupe home to his Italian hovel with a poetic name, a la Claude Melnotte, had, in contradistinction to Bulwer's poetic hero, given his unhappy victim the discipline a Roman peasant does his spouse i.e., beaten her daily with a vine stick because, forsooth, her drafts from America were not large enough nor numerous enough to suit his Italian taste. Another, a Harrisburg belle, had been taken to mate about the same time by a baron of one of the smaller German states, with much church ceremony, rejoicing, and flow of wine, and had to her horror and dismay found that she was regarded as little better than a morganatic connection by his blue-blooded relatives. These disasters to the ladies of the Buck Tail State lad produced for the time being a panic in the foreign title market that had taken all the glory of Mrs. Mar- vin's last successful coup to allay. No American mother doubted any nobleman she introduced ; no foreign aristo- crat that didn't have faith in the fortune of any American girl she chaperoned. Therefore Aurora Marvin's matrimonial business was in the full tide of success, and heeding the maxim, " Make hay when the sun shines," the widow, immediately after the celebration of the grand nuptial ceremony that made Malvina Shorthorns the Countess Von Hesse Kimmel, turned her business eyes about to find a nobleman, if pos- sible a little higher, a little nobbier, a little more puissant -_aan her last, for her next speculation ; and had almost imrr ediately found Lord Avonmere, of Avonmere Castle, Har.ts., Beachman Manor, Berks., and Oak Hall, Sussex, in the Prage of England ; or, rather, he had MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 93 found her, for that nobleman had caused himself to be introduced to the American widow, to her glory and de- light, for English titles are to foreign ones in the eyes of Americans very much as the flaming pigeon-blooded ruby of Burmah is to the humble Siberian garnet. Of course Mrs. Marvin knew the gentleman very wel! by hearsay and reputation ; his escapades and adventures had been of a kind that almost caused his exclusion from London society. But a lord dies very hard socially and Avonmere was still received in some London houses, though in many of the best of them his card was not as welcome as it might have been. Being perfectly aware that he had tied up the bulk oi his income, as far as the law of entail permitted him, and having run through all his personal property and ex- hausted his credit, which also lasts much longer with a titled biped than with mortals of commoner clay, he was now living a by no means pleasant existence, pursued by duns and hounded by attorney's clerks, Mrs. Marvin, the moment she saw him, divined his desire in making her acquaintance, though both of them were much too well bred to mention the matter directly. The time was the height of the London season, and in the course of two weeks, having contrived to meet the widow at a garden party, a reception or two, and a few dances and balls, the English lord and American widow became quite friendly, not to say intimate. So matters ran along until Mrs. Marvin one day an- nounced to Baron Avonmere her intended return to America, hinting that he might as well run over and visit the United States during the coming winter, and extoll- ing the beauty and charm of American girls, as well she might. Concluding, she said : " You really should come over, Lord Avonmere ; who knows but perhaps one of my fair compatriots may induce you to settle down in New York. I'm told your own countrywomen have not been able to persuade you to give up bachelor joys and free- dom." " A-ab ! " returned the gentleman, attempting a little mock sigh, and putting on a saddish face. " Don't you know, Mrs. Marvin, that I'm too poor to marry?" " Nonsense ; you should do as the Frenchman doe* demand a dft through your mother." 4 MIS6 NOBODY OF NOWHERE. * But I have no mother," replied the young man. " My poor boy," laughed Mrs. Marvin, " let m act as your mother ; I'm almost old enough to." Here she gave a sigh that was a real one. " And you will demand a dot ? " " I'll be more exacting than a French duchesse. I'll insist on the biggest portion ever given with even an American bride." u By George ! " he cried, for even British immobility could not resist an exclamation at this pleasing picture, and Avonmere had something of the Italian in him. "She shall be beautiful also, and young. You may trust your adopted mtre to pick and choose for you, as she would for her own first-born." " Really ! " muttered Avonmere, as he kissed the wid- ow's plump hand. " You have awh quite converted me to the French method of betrothal, belle maman. You may expect me in New York in December." With this he made his adieux, and strolled out from Mrs. Marvin's presence, knowing the matter was entirely understood between them, though after getting out of her sight he muttered to himself savagely : " Hang the old woman ! She daudled over that affair and played the delicate until I had about made up my mind to ask her point blank how big a present Von Hesse Kimmel had given her for his present financial ease." Two days after this Mrs. Marvin sailed for America, with her mind pretty well settled as to the heiress she should next sacrifice upon the altar of aristocratic mar- riage ; for at this time the newspapers were full of the wonderful wealth of the Baby mine, and the number of millions Abe Follis had already salted down and put away out of it. She had also incidentally heard from Miss Daisy Ver- plank, of New York, of Miss Matilda Follis's beauty and ambition, Miss Verplank having been for some time a room-mate with Miss Follis at; Madame Lamere's select academy, Madison Avenue. MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE 95 CHAPTER IX. THE " BABY" MINE, WITH this idea in her mind, Mrs. Marvin, very shortly after her arrival in the United States, arranged a little pleasure party to the Rocky Mountains, and visiting Denver in the late autumn, soon made the acquaintance of the female part of the Follis family, who were de lighted to know her, the widow's fashionable glory hav- ing been displayed in newspaper type from the Atlantic to the Pacific slope. Filled with delight at this social windfall, Mrs. Follis and her daughter proceeded to break the hearts of Capi- tol Hill and Lincoln Avenue society by cramming Mrs. Marvin and the New York Four Hundred and foreign aristocracy into its envious ears until feminine Denver actually forgot to discuss artesian wells and the best filtrate for Platte River water to make it fit for human digestion, a topic that usurps the place of the weather in that Colorado town. After taking up her residence for a month at the Follis mans'on, her Denver hotel being so atrociously bad that she would have been tempted to forego her speculation had further residence in that building of magnificent architecture, poor beds, and vile cooking been necessary to its success, Mrs. Marvin felt herself intimate enough to propose that Miss Matilde should visit New York the coming winter, and, under her chaperonage, see a little of its society. This offer was seized on with an avidity that made Mrs. Marvin jump ; and the matter was very shortly set- tled to their mutual satisfaction, Mrs. Follis proposing, as the plump Aurora's house was rented for the year, that Abe, her husband, should secure a furnished mansion on Murray Hill, and that Mrs. Marvin should be their guest until she departed in the annual spring exodus across the ocean. " At which time I hope to take one of your daughters with me for a little European tour," suggests Mrs. Marvin, as she accepts the Follis offer, and thinks, witb MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE a sigh of relief, that she has escaped for a year all Ne* York housekeeping bills, which are of a size and length to frighten a Croesus and horrify a spendthrift. "One of my darters?" ejaculates Rachel, Mrs. Fol- lis, who is a lean, angular, masculine-looking woman ; then she suddenly goes on in a way that makes La Marvin shudder, for Rachel has a backwoods manner of talking that indicates that the vacations of her youth have been long ones, and her school terms proportionally short. "Oh, it's Flossie you're driving at. Madame Lamher's fixing up her educash. She'll be hardly ready to take her po-sish in society till next fall. She's only seventeen, I reckon." In her horror at Mrs. Follis's diction Mrs. Marvin does not notice the peculiarity of a parent's being doubt- ful of the age of her own offspring. The arrangements are so satisfactory to her as regards the elder daughter that she puts the younger out of her mind, for Abe Follis, who loves his family with all his big, generous heart, gives Mrs. Marvin a carte blanche. to make their house in New York equal to any one's. The only difficulty in her matrimonial speculation bursts upon Mrs. Marvin's eyes the day before the de- parture of Matilde, her mother, and the widow from Denver. It comes upon her with the suddenness of a Western cyclone, in the person of Robert Jackson, the owner of a fourth of the " Baby," and superintendent of the same, and considered one of the best practical as well as scientific miners in the West. To his bravery in fighting off jumpers, and executive management in the earlier history of the property, Abe Follis, who has been his partner nearly ten years, owes the immensity of his fortune. At this time Bob Jackson, as he is generally known among the mining camps of Colorado, is a man of per- haps thirty two or three years of age, having the educa- tion and manner of a gentleman, though its polish has been somewhat worn off and its finesse partially blunted by his continuous life in "rough and tumble" mining camps, ever since he finished his Frieburgh studies and came to the West as mining engineer, to discover thai German theory made very great and costly mistakes it MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 97 the practical problems of American metallurgy and ore extraction. His face, red from Colorado sun, his manner perhaps a little too abrupt, and his heart as big and as full of precious metal as the " Baby " bonanza, this gentleman strides into the Follis grounds, having come hurriedly down by the Midland Railroad from the mine, near Aspen District. Half way from the front door he turns suddenly aside, for he sees Miss Matilde a few steps away plucking a late rosebud. The girl looks perhaps a little paler on meet- ing his glance, and pauses in her occupation, and were Bob not too much agitated himself, he would see that her hand is trembling slightly as she still grasps the rose-tree, unmindful of its thorns. Mrs. Marvin, who is seated in the garden at the moment, the autumn day being a perfect one, as most Denver days are, notes this as she looks on, if the big, stalwart creature, who has eager eyes and agitated face, and is draped in a linen duster stained with hurried travel and plenty of alkali, does not. Astonished and interested, Mrs. Marvin opens ears and eyes and looks on this hurried scene. " Is it true, Tillie," he breaks out, for he has known her since she was a child, and addresses her in the easy man- ner of the West, " that to-morrow you are going East to live ? " "Yes, Mister Jackson," says the young lady very slowly, though she has to steady herself by a strong grasp of the rose-bush. And as the formal address comes to him and strikes his soul, for she had always called him " Bob " before, the brave eyes, that had faced the pistols of jumpers and the thousand horrors and perils of a great mine, droop before the beauty of this girl, as she stands with one white arm raised to pluck the rosebud that is no redder than her cheeks, one little foot advanced and trembling, two blue eyes, half haughty, half penitent, and a pair of coral lips that quiver as the breath comes panting from them. Then Bob's great, big, honest eyes are raised to hers once more ; pleading and stricken he mutters : " Good-by God bless you, Miss Follis " and staggers toward the gate. 98 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. A second more and Matilde is running after him and has laid a pleading hand upon his arm, and would offer him the rosebud and call him Bob, and probably never go to New York, for her eyes are all penitence now ; did not just at this moment Mrs. Marvin, who is an old so- ciety general, and has the cunning strategy and tactics of a social Caesar, come hurriedly up, saying : " My dear, introduce him immediately, please. This must be the celebrated Bob, whose exploits the Follis family are never tired of praising." This, of course, necessitates a presentation, and La Mar- vin, who has no idea of permitting Bob another tete-a-tete, goes into an elaborate description of the sensation she expects Miss Follis to make in New York society, until that young lady's eyes glow with triumph and again be- come haughty, and the dejected and enraged Bob, who is a child of nature in matters of the heart, bids them good- by, and doesn't come back again to catch his charmer alone, as he should. As he reaches the gate his face is full of despair, and Mrs. Follis, who has been out for a walk, coming along the street, encounters and catches sight of him. She grows suddenly pale and cries out : " Bob, what's the matter with you ? Great Scott ! the mine hain't give out ? " Rachel is quickly reassured, however, by Bob giving a melancholy laugh and saying : " You knew last month we, had ore in sight to last five years ? " ^Yes," mutters Mrs. Follis, relieved. " Well, the developments since that time on the eight and nine hundred foot levels have added two more years to the life of the mine. I was about to write this to Miss Flossie myself, as she likes to know about her property, but as you're going to New York you can tell her for me." Then he continues in rather a troubled tone : " Sometimes I almost wish it was not so infernal rich ! " and so goes away. Does Mrs. Marvin, as she looks after Bob as he passes faltering down the street, feel sorry for the big heart she is going to break, so that she may dissipate on a foreign titled spendthrift the fortune he has risked his life so many times to protect and expand ? It would seem not, for she regards his departing duster with a cynical smile ; then slips her arm in Miss Matilde's, MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 99 and suggests, as they walk up the gravel path to the Fol- lis's front door : " YVhat a curious way Mr. Jackson has of talking of your sister's property ; one would think it was segregated from your own." " So it is," says Miss Follis. " You see, my dear Mrs. Marvin, Flossie is the heiress of the family." " The ^> delinquent debtor. This sudden knowledge of the ease that has come to him, even through the rumor of his engagement to the beautiful girl before him, makes him rather grateful to her for the moment ; for none of little Gussie's impulses last long, the better ones flitting quicker than the worst as a rule. " Very well," says the girl returning his smile. " Since it has got out, I wish you to make it public everywhere, and if I am questioned I shall not deny it It will save trouble and set things right at once." " Save trouble ? Your father is not here ? " cries little Gussie uneasily rising and turning pale, for he has heard old man Follis described as a Western border ruf- fian. " My father ! " laughs Matilde ; " he won't hurt any one." Then she bursts out merrily : " My poor little Gussie, I did not say danger, I said trouble. It is better every one knows this as soon as possible." A moment after she turns away with an embarrassed blush, for she is thinking that it will be much better for " Bob " to see it announced as a certainty in the news- papers ; then there will be no danger of his coming to New York to bring with him struggles between her am- bition and her regard for him. She would not call it love, now, not for worlds. Gussie, however, destroys lengthy meditation, by cry- ing out suddenly : " I'll announce it everywhere ; the clubs shall ring with my happiness ! " It has just struck him that more tradesmen in New York than his tailor should be very sure and certain of his good fortune. " Now for the remainder of my instructions ! " says the girl suddenly, for with this speech he has made an abor- tive attempt to capture her hand again; "We're going to run this engagement on the French system." " The French system ? What is that ? " ejaculates Van Bcekman surprised. " Well," says his instructor consideringly, " the French system consists of extremely formal interviews between the contracting parties, always in the presence of the young lady's mother, until the fat I mean happy, day It's the proper European form how does it strike II* MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE, " As rather hard lines on your mamma," murmurs Au- gustus, who doesn't seem to like the idea. " I shall drop in so often and unexpected, yer see. I shall come so early and stay so late, yer know, mamma will be rather done up next morning." "Oh, no, she won't!" laughs Matilde ; "you don't know mamma. At ten o'clock she will give you a hint at least she always did in Denver." " I nevah take hints ! " remarks Gussie, who doesn't like the Denver allusion, with sententious sullenness. " No ? but you will take my mother's ! Young men in Denver never refused them, they were so very pointed ! " " Were they ? " laughs Van Beekman, then he cries with sudden vivacity : " As mamma is not present, I'll make good use of my time, Matilde." " Excuse me, we will imagine my mother is here," re- marks Miss Follis severely, becoming pale and red by turns, but haughty all the while, for this sudden use of her Christian name has given the girl a start, emphasiz- ing as it does the familiarity that her engagement entitles little Gussie to assume to her. A moment after she gives a faint little cry, partly of surprise, partly of rage ; for, inflamed by the tempting tnorceau before him that he considers sealed to him for time, Augustus, who has been working his nervous sys- tem up to the proper pitch, cries : " Matilde, how beauti- ful you are ! Your awh coldness kills me," and makes a sudden dive for her peachy cheek ; but being dodged adroitly contrives to lodge his engagement kiss upon the end of her pretty chin. She would probably have been very angry with him for this attempt at amatory robbery, and perhaps would have ended their compact then and there, for the assaulted chin has grown very haughty and her cheeks are very red and her eyes very bright, when just at this moment she catches a silken rustle behind her, and turning suddenly sees Mrs. Marvin, who is a very dragon of routine for- mality and orthodox virtue, in the act of leaving the room with an expression upon her face as severe as that of an abbess condemning an eloping nun. This is a case that will admit of no misunderstanding, In two antelope glides Matilde is beside the widow's re MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. llj treating figure, speaking as she conies : " My dear Mrs. Marvin, as my chaperone in New York society, I owe you my confidence as well as I do my mother. Permit me to introduce to you Mr. Van Beekman, as the gentleman to whom I am engaged, and whose name I some day expect to bear as my own." Then the iron enters Aurora's soul the expression of outraged virtue changes for one moment to that of rage, misery, and almost despair. That is when her back is towards Miss Follis ; then conquering her rage and choking down her misery, this wily old diplomat turns a sickly smile runs over her wrinkles, and by the time Matilde sees her face it is almost good-natured. She contrives to mutter : " My dear, you surprise me. Mr. Van Beekman, my my congratulations. I I know the true value of the prize you have won." Though as she thoroughly realizes this last, the words seem to falter and linger among her false teeth till they fill her mouth and nearly choke her. " So glad you like the idea ! " murmurs Gussie. Then he says suddenly : " But I must bid you good-bye. I have to call upon Phil Everett and his sister old college chum one of Boston's heavy capitalists, and heavy swells now Beacon-street family, Plymouth Rock Puritan fathers all that sort of thing, yer know. They're to spend a month or two heah. Have brought with them the catch of the season, Grousemoor, very rich, and a string of titles as long as his rent-roll. He has some investments with Phil on this side the pond, but before they let him loose among our New York belles, Bessie Everett, the little Boston girl, hooked him- for her- self. These demure Puritan maidens know a thing or two, I can tell you. You are acquainted with Grouse- moor, I believe, Mrs. Marvin ? " " Oh, yes," returns Aurora, haughtily. ** I knew him first as Lord John Heather ; next after the death of his elder brother, as Viscount Blackgame ; and now since the demise of his father, as the Marquis of Grousemoor. He has been very attentive to me on my annual visits to Eng- land. I spent a week at Heather Castle, one of his places in Scotland. You will see I make mention of him in my lecture on ' Titled Intimates.' " "Awn, then I'll mention you to him." murmurs Gussie. 114 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. A second after he lisps: " Au revoir till to-morrow. Look out for the ring, don't yer know, Matilde," and taking a hurried kiss of his fiances outstretched hand, Mr. Augustus proceeds on his way in pursuit of the Everetts and Lord Grousemoor. For a moment the two women gaze at each other ; then the elder impulsively says : " My dear, I hope you'll be happy ! " and kisses the Western heiress. " I'm very glad you're pleased, Mrs. Marvin," returns Matilde. " Yes, yes," murmurs the widow. " But it's hardly the match I had imagined you would make with your attrac- tions and social success this season. Why, Avonmere, who is also an English lord and great catch, told me confidentially to-day that you were the most beauti- ful woman he had met in America. There, don't blush though it is very becoming." And planting this idea in the young lady's ambitions brain, La Marvin leaves her and goes up-stairs to her room. Then locking the door, this poor old lady ap- pears dazed, for she mutters to herself : " The girl fool ! The Colorado imbecile ! Who'd have thought an heiress would ever want to marry an American?" as if such an idea could never have entered a sane mind. Yet, all the time she is trying to think if there is any chance of her getting money from little Van Beekman for bringing his prize from the West for him. A moment's consideration drives away such hope from her mind. She knows the commercial Flemish blood that flows in his veins. He'll never pay for something he has already won. Then, this idea bringing dismay to her, she begins to cry out, " That lazy lord ! lingering six weeks in England after the appointed time, till that little Dutch pauper sneaked in and got his paws on the prize. Has he ? Has he 1 HAS HE ? I'll circumvent him at the church door ! Oh, my heaven ! won't Avonmere be savage ! How shall I tell him ? How ? Oh my ! o-o-oh ! " and she sobs and wrings her hands and stamps her feet till the tears run down her poor old cheeks in torrents, mak- ing fearful havoc among the powder that covers a too great natural redness of complexion. For Mrs. Marvin had this very afternoon met Lord MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. IIj Avonmere at a reception, and after hearing him drawl out that Tillie Follis is a captivating little minx one that he wouldn't mind marrying if the treasure was enough and to spare had whispered to him, " She is the girl" Then, riding up-town in her brougham, she had giver him an inventory of Abe Follis's wealth and had des- canted upon the immense settlement her listener might obtain with the heiress. On this Avonmere had become enthusiastic, for the novelty of Matilde's vivacious beauty and piquant spirit had quite caught the Italian part of his nature, and, the day being cold, he had abstractedly marked with his finger upon the frosted window of the brougham before him, "Five per cent.," then looked inquiringly at La Marvin. A moment after, in a brown study, she had scraped with her fan in the dim moisture of the glass in front of her, *' Ten per cent." And they had carried this business on, till the pane the lord sat opposite was all " Five per cents.," and the glass facing the widow was a mass of " Ten per cents.," when suddenly he had grinned and marked, " Seven and a half per cent., "and she had smiled and inscribed, " Seven and a half per cent.," and they had both shaken hands, but i. either said a word over this speculation in an American heiress, that has just been bursted by the despised little Augustus de Punster Van Beekman. CHAPTER XI. AN EVENING ON FIFTH AVEMUE. THAT evening Lord Avonmere calls ; his card fa brought to Mrs. Marvin, for whom he asks. She is in her room with a headache, produced by the revela- tion of the afternoon. But this old lady, who has some- thing of the Napoleon in her disposition, ignoring her neuralgia and replacing her powder, conies down to meet her English customer ; omitting, however, to bring her wares with her, though they are within call Miss Follis not feeling in form for any evening entertainment after the long-drawn-out ball of the night before. Il6 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. So, entering the same reception-room where Matilde had given little Gussie his instructions, she strides up to Avonmere and tells him the sudden obstacle that has come between him and the heiress. This gentleman, in his conventional evening dress, would look a typical Englishman, were it not for his very dark hair, that has a romantic curl in it, and his black eyes, that never look one straight in the face and seem always seeking something that they never find. His speech and bearing are nonchalant and British, and never more so than when he hears this news, that is even more ominous to him than Mrs. Marvin imagines ; for he knows perfectly well that he must marry some heiress, and she must be an exceptional one, who brings him millions and that very soon, if he would ever hope to go back and assume his station in the London world which is his delight and existence. He listens to the widow calmly while she reproaches him for not having been in New York sooner she had expected him in the middle of November, and he only came just before the New Year. Then she gives him an aphorism : " In matters of business punctuality is necessary to success." "Quite true, my dear madam," he replies. "In mat- ters of business money also is necessary to success, and I couldn't raise the funds for a proper appearance before. Egad ! you wouldn't have cared for me to borrow from you on the very day of my arrival, would you ? " To this potent question the widow gives an affrighted shiver and nervous but decided " No ! " "You need not fear any immediate appeal to your bank account ! " he says, with a slight sneer and mock- ing laugh. " Before I left England I took care to pro* vide myself for the New York campaign I mortgaged my heiress in advance I raised the money on your credit ! " At this Mrs. Marvin grows very pale and whispers : ** What do you mean ? " *' Nothing to frighten you," he laughs. " I was unable to borrow the necessary funds on my own promise to marry an heiress ; Messrs. Pharisee and Sadducee doubted my success unaided, but when I told them that you were engaged in the transaction, they came up with ready MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. I f- promptness and alacrity young Ikey Sadducee remarking that ' Your heiresses were as good as bullion.' They'd handled some of the Hesse Kimmel paper, and had re- ceived old Shorthorn's checks for same and interest." " A ah ! " murmurs his listener, quite relieved and rather flattered ; for she had horrible fears that he had dipped her signature across a bill or some other enor- mity of that kind. After a moment's consideration, he continues quietly : " I don't apprehend much difficulty in getting rid of little Augustus the young lady seems quite taken with my attentions most American girls rather dote on lords. Couldn't you contrive for me to see Miss Follis this evening ? and from her we may judge how best to trim our sails." " I think I can arrange that," remarks his coadjutor. And, asking him to excuse her, she goes off in quest of Matilde. A few moments after she returns and, taking his arm, leads him to the library, where Miss Follis, with a frank smile and outstretched hand, awaits him. The girl says : " I asked Mrs. Marvin to bring you here, Lord A von mere ; it's much more cosey than that dreary, big room. Mother is tired after last night, so I cannot have the pleasure of presenting you to her ; and Mrs. Marvin " " Will be your chaperone this evening," remarks the widow very pleasantly, for Avonmere's calm reception of her bad news has restored her confidence. So the three sit down and pass a very enjoyable hour, Aurora pretending to occupy herself looking at some new music lately sent home to Miss Follis, though she can't read a note, while the other two go into rather a fete d-tete, Avonmere using all his powers of language and charm of manner to put himself on intimate and friendly terms with the young lady ; and no man had greater re sources of the kind when he chose to bring them to his aid. He has travelled a good deal ; and when he wishes can assume a lighter and more fluent style of conver- sation than is usually given to Englishmen, this last being his inheritance from an Italian mother. A very short time convinces him of the girl's social ambition, she confessing to him in excited Western slang, B$ MKSS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. that she is not accustomed to take a back seat and hai made up her mind to be at the top of the society heap in New York. " At the top in New York, Miss Follis ! " he lisps "Is not that rather a poor ambition ior you when there is a London and a Paris ? " With this he goes into a descrip- tion of the beauties and pleasures of European aristocratic life, mentioning lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses, with the easy freedom of one who has met them on an equal footing. On this the young lady's imagination, that has been properly prepared for the seed he is sowing, becomes excited ; she begins to think an American triumph but a poor one, and New York and Newport by no means so fine as London or Trouville, a common mistake to un- travelled Americans. Having got her to this feeling, Avonmere adroitly changes the subject to one upon which Matilde can do the talking, and from being a brilliant expounder be- comes an attentive listener, simply mentioning that when he was quite a boy he visited New Mexico, Colorado, and the far West, as Miss Follis gives him a dissertation on her life in Denver. This he finds very easy work, as the girl grows ani- mated and much more beautiful ; for Matilde is at her best when in action. So he sits in a lazy Italian way, looking at a very pretty picture. Miss Follis is in a white evening gown, with just a dash of color knotted about her lithe waist ; her bare, white arms, moving in graceful gestures to emphasize the tale she is telling ; her snowy shoulders dimpled by each rhange of pose in head and body, while her blue eyes (lash with vivacious fire, save once or twice when they meet his own. Then they droop, but grow darker and a slight blush conies over her cheeks. A moment later Matilde says, " You say you were once in Colorado see if you can recognize any of its scenery," and turns to a photographic portfolio near her. For ^Avonmere, looking at this beauty, has got something in his own Italian orbs that makes the girl restless under his gaze ; and try how he will, he can't keep the passion out of them. He has even forgotten the Follis's millions in looking at the Follis's charms and graces. He moves near her and assumes to examine the pict- MISS NOBODY OF NOW HERS. 119 ares. Mrs. Marvin gives an inward chuckle, and think to herself, " I could have got ten per cent, commission now," as she notes with her watchful old eyes that Avon- mere, standing a little behind the girl, is giving his attention to Matilde's glowing beauty rather than to the stock photographs of Colorado scenery she has placed on exhibition. But suddenly, the widow's wary glance catches sight of Avonmere's face, and it is as pale as if all the blood in his body had rushed to his heart Miss Follis has in her pretty hands a photograph. He takes this from her, and Aurora can see his own hands tremble a little as they hold it, and that his eyes have a curious troubled expression in them, as he asks rather faintly, "What place is this?" and Matilde answers, "That that is the celebrated canon of the Baby mine. No one could look at those twin peaks at the head of it, covered with eternal snow, and ever for- get it ! " " No, no one ever could ! " he mutters, and gives the picture hurriedly back to her as if anxious to get it out of his sight. A moment or two after this, Avonmere remarks that he must say good-bye ; and Miss Follis bidding him adieu becomes quite cordial, telling him she has tea every Wednesday afternoon, and also remarking sh will be happy, and she knows her mother will be pleased, if he will drop in whenever he finds no better amusement. Bowing his acknowledgments and saying adieu to Mrs. Marvin, he passes into the halL When making some excuse of a forgotten message, the widow follows him, and the footman being busy with the front door, he whispers to her with British confidence, " Have no fear, I shall make myself intimate with young Van Beekman and find a way to his undoing " " But if you don't ? " she asks anxiously. "If I don't?" he laughs, next suddenly mutters, Ital- ian passion coming into his eyes, " But I will! Id ruwe that beauty were she no engaged girl, but had Van Beek- man's wedding-ring upon her finger." *' Don't let me hear another such word from your lips!" cries Mrs. Marvin, growing very red " Remember, sic I JO MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. I am your mother in this affair and an American witii American principles! " For this lady, though she trades in heiresses, is of Bpadicea-like but conventional virtue, and holds the wedding-ring very sacred, though it some- times covers a multitude of sins. At this he gives a little laugh and says, " I thought it was understood this affair was to be conducted by you on the French system ; why not carry into it Parisian ethics also, belle maman?" Then with a little laugh on his mobile features he gives the flunky at the hall dooi a liberal tip, believing it is always convenient to stand well with the servitors in any house he has an interest ia and strolls down the brown-stone steps on to Fifth Ave nue ; leaving Mrs. Marvin looking after him and thinking, " The horrid foreign wretch ! if I'd known he would fall in love with the girl, I could have got fifteen per cent, A moment after she says very haughtily to the footman who has been gazing at her Boadicea expression with open mouth, " What are you looking at, sir ? Close the door at once. Do you want to freeze me ? " and strides back to the library to find Miss Follis looking at a big diamond on her engagement finger in a rather contem- plative way. " Isn't it a beautiful stone ? " exclaims the girl, holding it up for inspection, and whispers, " I'm afraid it must have ruined poor Gussie." " Yes, if he paid for it ! " returns La Marvin, who has gone to turning over the photographs, searching for the picture of the Baby mine canon. This she examines very carefully, striving to see what the picture contained to cause such extraordinary emotions to Lord Avonmere. Though she racks her aged brains over this photo- graph, she can make nothing of it, and so follows Matilde up-stairs and to bed, where she again sets her mind upon the puzzle with no better success. The subject of her anxious meditations lighting a cigar, strolls down Fifth Avenue, now bright with elec- tric light and made bustling with equipages bringing their occupants home from the theatres and the opera, and transferring them from dinners and receptions to the balls and dancing parties that generally begin about this time of the evening. These are less numerous than usual, a good portion of New York society having, like Mist MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 121 Follis, worn itself out at the great ball of the night before. After wandering along a few blocks, he hails a passing "hansom" and says, "The Stuyvesant Club Quick!" for he has made up his mind to become intimate with little Gussie, and knows the place where he will quite probably run upon him at this time of night. He has in his pocket a visitors' card sent him for this rendezvous of the more Anglofied New York set, and strolls into the spacious hall of this establishment to hear the sounds of revelry coming from the smoking-room. Among the voices he recognizes that of little Van Beek- man. Then the flunky taking his hat suddenly begins to snicker, and a song is wafted to Avonmere's ears that makes him grit his teeth with rage as the hidden mean- ing of its refrain conies home to him, for it is an atro- cious paraphrase of the popular ditty, " Baby Mine," and Gussie's friends end it with this significant chorus: I shall get it from papa, baby mine, baby mine, 1 shall spend it all, tra la ! baby mine, baby mine. It is coming quick to me, baby mine, baby mine. It'll all be brought by she, baby mine, baby mine. Then Beek '11 have a spree, baby mine, baby mine. A moment after, controlling his features, he enters the room to find Augustus holding high carnival, surrounded by his particular cronies, to whom he has been imparting the news of his engagement, and who have been toasting him in champagne, which has gone to their heads and driven them to singing the doggerel Avonmere has just heard. This has been the concoction of a stock -broking youth, one Grayson, who has just remarked, with brutal Wall Street wit, " We could spare the gals, don't yer know, but it's losing the money hurts us. We're shipping too much gold to Europe anyway. Gussie has saved the country this trip ! " Strolling up to this little savior of his country, who is slightly elated both by good fortune and champagne, Avonmere remarks : " I've just been calling at No. 637 Fifth Avenue and heard the news. My congratulations, old fellow I " 122 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. " Awh thanks, my dear Lord Avonmere ! " ejaculates Gussie with tremendous emphasis on the title. " Please sit down with us," and introduces his friends to him. On this Avonmere joins the party, and throwing him- self into the conversation becomes so genial and pleasant that they all get to loving this hearty, jovial English aris- tocrat, and make a very jolly night of it ; little Augustus during the evening telling him he has just come from the Brevoort, where he has been to see Phil Everett and his pretty sister, Miss Bessie, who has captured the Marquis of Grousemoor. " Is Grousemoor in town ? " asks Avonmere, a slight shade running over his countenance. " Oh, trust him for that ! " cries Van Beekman. " Phil and his sister have come over from Boston to stay a month or two, and Grousemoor's so sweet on the charm- ing Bessie, he could no more keep away from her than a fly could from fly-paper." Then he goes on reflectively: ' I wonder how an English lord can marry in this coun- try. By George ! if I had an English title and an Eng- lish estate, it would be an earl s daughter or nothing." " Would it ? " mutters Avonmere under his mustache, and sits looking at the little fellow as he sips his wine with his caddish affectation and dudish ideas until on a sudden a smile of mixed amusement and triumph lights the nobleman's Italian eyes. A few moments after, he bids little Gussie and his friends good evening and passes out ; but getting to the cloak-room of the club he goes into such a spasm of jeer- ing laughter that the attendant handing him his hat drops that article in amazement on the floor. But some- how the English lord has got into such a good humor that he doesn't chide the servant, though not as a rule polite to his inferiors. Little Gussie is also happy, and issues from the smok- ing-room to be made more so. Avonmere contrives to meet him in the hall, remark- ing : " You live up the avenue ? I am at the Saint Marc. Supposing we walk along together." " Right you are, chappie ! " cries the elated Van Beck- man, whose elegance of diction has been somewhat de- stroyed by champagne. The Englishman lighting a cigar, and the puny New MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 12$ Yorker illuminating a cigarette, they leave the club, arm in arm, for Gussie is determined upon getting as close to the peer as he can, and in fact finds his support almost a physical necessity. As they stroll on their way, Avon- mere deftly pumps his little companion as to his views on certain social questions, and just as they reach Gussie's door brings the subject round again to Lord Grouse- moor's American fiancte. He remarks : " American women are generally hand- some. I hear Miss Everett is extremely beautiful. I don't wonder at Grousemoor's infatuation. I understand she'll have a very pretty portion, though of course no such a settlement as your Western heiress." " Of course, little Bessie's good-looking and rich, but how any Englishman of title can wish to marry out of his own class is more than I can get through my head," babbles Augustus. "Indeed!" murmurs Avonmere. "But I'm keeping you in the cold. Good night ! If you've nothing better to do, breakfast with me to-morrow at eleven will you ? " " Delighted ! Won't I ! " giggles Gussie. " Saint Marc, you said," and passes into his doorway. Gazing after him, the Englishman laughs a nasty little laugh again and then mutters : " His own caddishness shall be his ruin." As for Augustus, he gets into his room and dances about and screams out significantly, " Skyrockets ! Sky- rockets I SKYROCKETS ! " then chuckles merrily, " Yes- terday pursued by a beast of a tailor to-day engaged to millions and chums with two Lords," and so goes to bed the happiest dude in New York. CHAPTER XII MADAME LAMERE'S ACADEMY FOR YOUNG LADIES. IF the announcement of his engagement brings com- fort, ease, and rest to little Gussie, it raises up a buzz of dissent, and even opposition, about the pretty ears of Miss Matilde. 124 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. She announces her happiness to her mother, and that lady cries out, astounded : " Going to marry that little sniff ? Tilly, don't joke on such a biz J I should think you had too much ed-u-cash to fool about such a going on ! " " But I mean it, mamma ! " mutters the young lady, with a charming, little surly pout, partly at Mrs. Follis's unbelief and partly at her diction. " Don't you tell me fibs, Tillie ! " cries her mother. " I won't stand it from you now no more than I would if you was knee-high. No girl tells her mother she's keep- ing company with her fellah without a blush of maiden skittishness, and you ain't got the color of a chloride this morning ! " " Blushes have nothing to do with facts," returns Miss Follis calmly. " It is not the fashion to blush now in society ; and please don't ever use such an awful expres- sion as 'keeping company with a fellow.' If anyone else had heard it I should die of blushes, fashion or no fashion. Besides, you may know I'm not joking by this I" And she exhibits, perhaps a little defiantly, Mr. Gussie's diamond. At this a mother's tears of tenderness come into Rachel's eyes, as she says, astonished : " You love that popinjay ? 'Tain't possible ! " Then suddenly cries : " Darter, I I ask your pardon for caMing your fellah that if you're really sweet on him ! " And getting her arms about Matilde's fair neck, she sobs : " He's going to take you from me I can see it in your face ;" this criticism of her choice having put a very determined look into the girl's eyes. Softened by Rachel's tears, the young lady gets to cry- ing also, and blurts out : " No man shall take me from you if you don't wish it." For she loves her mother very dearly. And this settles the matter. After that speech Mrs Follis is as wax in her daughter's hands, and tells her with many caresses and some tears : " You shall do just as you like, my darter, and marry the man you cotton to ; and if father objects send him to me; I'll take the ginger out of him in short order ! " " It isn't dad I mean father that'll make the trouble, I think," mutters Miss Follis, forgetting the fashion and MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 125 holding a blushing and tearful face upon her mother's bosom. " No ? " mutters Rachel. Then with a sudden flash of thought, she cries : " It's Bob you're thinking of you never promised him, did you, Tillie ? " and goes on sternly : " If you gave your word, my darter, you shall live up to it ! " " Mother, as I'm your child, I never gave him hope ! " answers Matilde. " Then if he comes from Colorado to make a muss, you send him to me, and I'll teach him to raise his eyes to people that have moved out of his set I'll ! You pass him on to me and I'll give Bob Jackson the settling down of his life ! " And Rachel Follis looks her words. Her forefathers have fought Indians in Kentucky, and she has defended herself from them in Minnesota, and once faced a grizzly in the Rocky Mountains, and at this moment, though robed in silks and laces, she is the fron- tier woman of her earlier days. This makes Matilde think she has got over the worst of her opposition, but in this she is mistaken, for the absent Bob has a very zealous and near-by champion. Some three or four hours after Matilde's interview with her mother, Miss Flossie Follis, having obtained leave of absence from Madame Lamere, drives up from her school, and passing the attending footman in the hall, strides up the stairs to her sister's room, with a very determined look on her young face. At the door of Matilde's boudoir for Miss Follis has taken unto her own use a complete suit of apartments in this ample house the girl raps sharply, and cries : " It's Flossie, home from school," and getting the answer : " Come in, you darling ! " runs into Matilde's open arms, for the two girls love each other very dearly, hav- ing been inseparable companions and confidantes until the elder had left the younger at school and entered society. " This is delightful ! " cries Miss Follis, after their first caress. " Are you off forjthe day ? How did you get out of Madame's clutches ? " " I I had to go to the dentist," mutters the other, with an embarrassed blush. " Oh, a little fib ! " laughs Matilde. " I am to be your 126 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. tooth-extractor to-day. Which tooth, Flossie ? " and seizing her sister she playfully forces her into an easy- chair, crying out : " Open your mouth ! I want a pretty pearl from your lips ! " "Look out ! I always bite my dentist if he hurts," returns Flossie, and the two girls go into a laughing love- struggle, in which they make a picture that would have been very beautiful to masculine eyes, the one blonde and piquant, the other dark and noble. But finally, the patient conquering the dentist, the two sink down on a sofa, with arms around each other's waist, exhausted but still struggling. A moment later Flossie asks : " How's mother ? Your dentist attack was so sudden, I couldn't ask before." "Well, but at present out of the house," answers Matilde, lightly. But here the conversation takes a sudden and awful turn. A severe and determined voice comes to her ears. " What is that awful new diamond doing on your en- gagement finger ? Oh, you needn't try to turn it round and hide it. I've seen it ! Tillie, it isn't true ? That's what I came up about," and Miss Flossie, producing a copy of the Town Tattler, and holding the paper before her sister, says earnestly and reproachfully : " TELL ME IT ISN'T TRUE." But she gets no answer to this. Matilde seeing her chance, carries the war into Africa. " You horrid, naughty child ! " she cries. " How dare you read that abominable paper ? That's nice reading for a boarding- school girl ! If Madame Lamere, or worse still, mother knew WHEUGH ! " She emphasizes this with a piquant Uttle gesture, and a miserable paraphrase of a laugh. " That's nothing to do with it," answers Flossie, very seriously. " That paper was shoved before me by half a dozen girls. The school's full of it. I I did not be- lieve it. Tell me it is not so. Tell me that awful ring is a lie ! " Looking at her sister, Miss Follis thinks it is as well to have the matter out with her at once. She says slowly : " Florence, it is the truth ! " To this the other answers with a great reproach in her voice, but one word "Bob!" "Don't talk of him !" cries the older. "You shan't MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 127 ding his name into my ears. Sometimes I think it never leaves them, sleeping or waking." " Ah ! That proves that you have no right to wear another man's ring. That proves that Bob has still your heart." " Still has my heart ? He never had it. I never gave him hope. NEVER ! How dare you reproach me ? " answers Matilde, trying to unclasp her sister's arms. But the other, unheeding her, goes on : " The awful vanity of this place has changed you. You are not the same little girl that used to stand by me waiting for the stage when it brought Bob in from Denver, loaded down with everything his generous heart could think of for our appetites and pleasures." " They were for you as much as for me ! " answers Matilde. Then attempting an affected laugh, she cries : " You seem interested in Bob yourself, why not give him the happiness I deny him ? " " And you dare sneer at his great love ? " stammers Flossie, as she starts back from her sister, her face pale with astonishment and reproach. " It was not a sneer only a suggestion," murmurs Matilde, avoiding Flossie's eyes and appearing embar- rassed and ashamed of herself, as in truth she is. " You know that would be impossible," returns her sis- ter gravely. " Bob likes me, he loves you. You've had his big heart, Tillie, since you were almost a child. Be- sides, why talk to me in this way ? Haven't I often told you " here the girl blushes and hesitates a little " that I love another ? " " Oh ! " screams Matilde, eager to change the subject ; " haven't you got over that mythical cowboy you've always been dreaming about ever since I found a dear little sister who had forgotten who she ever was ? " But >>*: Mr. Stillman is rising slowly ; so is Gussie, with a pale face, trembling limbs, and rolling eyes " You are now, my lord, A PEER OF THE BRITISH REALM, and I am, my lord, your very obedient servant. Permit me to humbly kiss your lordship's hand." Stooping to do obeisance, the lawyer gives a yell of terror ; for joy and bliss and ecstasy have been too much for little Gussie, and Augustus, Baron Bassington of the English peerage, has fallen faint and limp into his arms. " Jarvis ! ** calls Mr. Stillman, getting his client into a chair, "his lordship is rather overcome with the news. Some water for his lordship ! '* But just at this moment Gussie springs up, crying out wildly : " It can't be true ! Call me that again, Stillman, call me a lord again ! " " What is your lordship's pleasure j? " asks the attorney, seeming quite merry and fighting down a laugh. " That's right, I heard you ! You gave me my title ! I'm a lord, an English lord ! Am I really, or is it some cursed dream from which I shall awake to be only an American and kill myself in despair?" screams the new- made peer. His ravings, for now he is nearly delirious with joy and rapture, seem to affect the attorney and his clerk with a hysteria that is difficult for them to control, though they fight it down, even when Baron Bassington suddenly seizes Burke, turns to his title, and cries out : " Jove ! what a lovely coat-of-arms ! Two lions rampant supporting a baron's coronet." After a time his excitement becomes somewhat less, and he pulls himself together a little and remarks, " This news rather takes the form out of a man, don't yet know I " and suddenly gasps once more, " I can't believe I5 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. it ! " Then turning to his lawyer he says, looking at him very earnestly and imploringly, "You are certain that you have made no mistake, that I am an English lord ? " " I am as certain," returns that gentleman, with a gulp in his voice, "that you are Baron Bassington of the British peerage, and entitled to a seat in the House of Lords, as that I am Harold Stebbins Stillman, of the firm of Stillman, Myth & Co., Counsellors and Attorneys at Law and Proctors in Admiralty." " That being the case," says Mr. Van Beekman, quietly reseating himself, " I'll take something on account." "Something on account oh, ah, yes ! Your lordship would like to touch a portion of your rent-roll ? " replies Mr. Stillman, blandly. " That was anticipated by your London solicitors. Brown, Studley & Wilberforce cabled some money over for your account yesterday." " Yaas ! Then you can awh give me a check for a thousand ! " remarks Gussie. " Jarvis, a check for a thousand dollars for his lord- ship, at once ! " says the attorney. " Dollars ? " laughs Augustus. " My poor Stillman, don't you know the unit of the English aristocracy impounds ? " " Certainly, if you put it on that basis, Lord Bassing- ton," he says, and goes into the next room. A moment later he returns, remarking : " I was com- pelled to make this out to the order of Mr. Augustus Van Beekman, as you are not yet known in the bank- ing world under your true title," and hands that gen- tleman a check for five thousand dollars on the Park National. "Would your lordship please sign a receipt for this?" He passes a pen to Gussie, whose little heart beats with pride as he signs, for the first time in his life, after the fashion of the English nobility, " Bas- sington." " You can open an account with this check, your lord- ship, under the name of Bassington, by which, after this, our firm will address its communications to you. We must, however, notify you that this amounWs all that has been cabled over. If you wish further funds we will for- ward your draft on Brown, Studley & Wilberforce to Lon- don for collection, and the returns will be here in a little fver two weeks." MISS NOBODY OP NOWHERE. 15! " Yaas. Tell Jarvis to draw on my London solicitors for five thousand pounds," says Augustus, grandly Then with a sudden interest he asks, " What is my income from my English estates ? " " That I'm unable to state with absolute accuracy, but I believe it is between thirty and fifty thousand pounds a year, your lordship." " Humph I Tell Jarvis to draw for ten thousand,'' cries Gussie. " Certainly, my lord," mutters Stillman, struggling with a grin ; " but I deem it my duty to inform you thai the tenants upon your Irish property are somewhat be- hind in their rents." " The devil they are ? " says his lordship, in a severe and awful voice. " Then evict the scoundrels at once ! Advise Brown, Studley & Wilberforce that Lord Bas- sington's instructions are to evict AT ONCE ! " "Y-e-s, your lordship," gulps Stillman, who pops his head into a drawer of his desk and seems over- come at this order, for when he raises his eyes to his client his face is very red and there are tears on his cheeks. " What's the matter with you, sir ! " cries the new- made lord ; " you seem amused." " No, my lord, not amused, but affected," returns the lawyer, very slowly. " Does your lordship know the cruelty of these sudden evictions how the poor tenants are turned out into the road to starve ? " " I know the villains don't pay their rents," interrupts Gussie, " and that s. lawyer's duty is to do what he is told ! " Crushed by this rebuke, Mr. Stillman mutters : " Cer- tainly, my lord." And Jarvis having brought the draft for ten thousand pounds to him, their noble client signs it " Bassington," and says : " Deposit this to the awh account of Bassington at Second National Bank as soon as collected. You can send in your bill also at the same time." With this hfc rises and begins to draw on his gloves. " We will send in our bill, my lord, if you so desire," assents the attorney. " But, my lord, we had hoped to have the honor of doing your American business, aa Brown, Studley & Wilberforce are anxious to manage yoiu 152 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. European properties." This last Stillman emphasizes H a bow that Is low enough and humble enough for an obeisance. His humility causes greater hauteur on the part of his client. Little Gussie draws himself up and says : " Yaas, Avonmere recommended you to me over our breakfast this morning. I shall take that into consideration. Jar- vis, a cab for me, my man." To this the clerk answers, " Yes, your lordship," and bolts from the office ; but getting outside clinches his fists and mutters : " Curse his impertinence ! " but does his errand. Meantime Gussie chats condescendingly with the law- yer. " Stillman, do you know you're rather like that infernal bad actor, Chumpie, of the Broadway ? Your manner and style are like his, but your face has not the humor in it ! " he remarks superciliously. " Your lordship has seen the gentleman act ? " asks the attorney, growing very red in the face. " Oh, yaas ! I've seen him of ten, but I did not go there to see him ; little Rosalie Mount joy was my attraction." And he gives him a sickening wink and leer. Then he runs on, telling the lawyer that he guesses the reporters '11 be after him before night. " I shall refer the ^beggars to you, Stillman," he adds. "If you do that, my lord," says the attorney shortly, " we shall be compelled to throw up your business." " Throw up my business ? " " Certainly ! because the gentlemen of the newspapers will so crowd this office that we won't be able to do any- body else's business." " Ah," remarks Gussie. " I see. I'll refer to my Lon- don solicitors ; they're farther away." Then he runs on, declaring that he shortly will go to England, and that he will give his personal attention to matters connected with his large landed property. " By Jove ! it's a noble- man's duty ! " cries Augustus. " I'll down that low gro- velling leveller Gladstone the first day I sit in the House of Lords." " Certainly ; but to do that your lordship will be com- pelled to renounce your American citizenship," returns the lawyer. MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 153 " Lord Bassington's cab ! " interrupts Jarvis, showing hie face at the door. " OH, CURSE AMERICA ! " says Mr. Gussie. " Don't for- get that draft, Stillman ! " And this little patriot depart^ leaving the lawyer and his clerk gazing at each other. Then the first, with a jeer and a laugh, yells, " Oh, Boycotts and Parnell ! He'll turn out all the tenants on his Irish estates," and he imitates little Gussie, giving his eviction sentiments with much affected haughtiness. ' The impudent little beggar ! " cries the other. " It's lucky he left or I should have kicked his lordship down- stairs. ' Jarvis, a cab for me, my man.' " " He said I was a bad actor," mutters the lawyer. " I pray the Lord I'm good enough for his undoing ! " With these ominous words Mr. Stillman looks at his watch and ejaculates, " One o'clock, Machlin ; just time to get to the theatre for rehearsal." CHAPTER XIV. PETE ENTERS SOCIETY. " SECOND National Bank like a streak ! " screams the new-made lord to the driver, as he jumps into the hack at 61 Wall Street. Then he suddenly cries, "Drive slow ! Be careful ! Five dollars if you get me home without accident ! " for the fact has just entered his head that he has suddenly become very precious. This morning he recklessly came down-town on the ele- vated railroad ; this afternoon the cab must go very slowly and gingerly on its way. So Augustus Baron Bassing- ton is driven cautiously up-town in a very daze of rapt- ure. The sun is brighter, the day is more pleasant, though the people in the streets seem more lowly and of poorer clay to this newly-manufactured nobleman. As he passes his friends his bow is very haughty and distant. He hardly returns the salute of Mr. Grayson, who is on the sidewalk at the corner of Wall and Nassau streets, and who calls after him, "Hello, Gussie, my boy! After your Baby mine dividends ? " " Disgusting, vulgar creature," muses this peer of re- 154 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE, cent manufacture. " You'll see what a dividend I've drawn. I shall cut you, my boy, very soon ; and I've other social scores to pay. Baby mine dividends ? " He gives a start as this comes into his mind, and mutters, " Wonder if they had any idea of this. Marvin has the peerage at her ringer ends ; perhaps she gave Matilde a hint to trap me before I knew my rank. Perhaps she thinks I'll sully old Hugo de Bassington's Norman blood. Perhaps ? " And assuming a most virtuous and indignant look Mr. Gussie sinks back in the hack and tries to think how he can escape his promise to the West- ern heiress, and leave himself and his sang azure free to marry the daughter of a duke. A moment after he raps with his cane on the cab win- dow and calls, " Park National Bank quick ! " for it has suddenly struck him he had just as well get his check certified. That will be an absolute settler to the slightest suspicion of a doubt ; that will down any sneering unbe- liever in his social and financial windfall. In a few moments he enters this great money ex- change, and getting to the paying-teller's window pauses and trembles, fearing there may have been some mis- take ; but a moment after, remembering the genteelly imposing business connection of Stillman, Myth & Co., he plucks up courage and says : " Certify this, please ! " Then his little heart gives one great long jump of tri- umphant joy as that official puts the stamp of this great financial institution upon it, and initials it, and makes it good for its $5,000 face beyond peradventure ; for to Gussie he is also certifying that Augustus Van Beekman has estates in England and Ireland, and is Baron Bass- ington to boot. There is no doubt of his wealth, there can be no doubt of his rank, both come from the same source. He is a Peer of the British Realm as surely as the Duke of West- minster. He astounds the telter by crying, " Money talks ! " and joy and ecstasy making his step light, springs into his cab once more to drive up-town to his haunts and clubs, to strike his cronies mad with envy, to make girls who had snubbed and matrons who had ignored little Gussie Van Beekman bow down and do homage before Augustus Baron Bassington of the Peerage of England to be the sensation of the hour and talk of the town, MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 155 for into his little caddish > selfish mind, in all his good fortune, there never comes one thought of how he shall, in his happiness, make one other person on this earth, happier or more blessed by the great wealth and grand social position this day has brought to him. At Brentano's he buys Burke 's Peerage of the year and turns down the leaf at Bassington. At Tiffany's he orders the following : besides unlimited stationery with his coronet, crest, coat- of-arms, and motto in full on both envelopes and paper. These he instructs them to have ready next day, if they work all night to do it. Speed is everything ; expense nothing ! Then he turns his face to the Second National Bank, and entering the portals of that establishment, he meets Phil Everett. " I am going to open an account here. They don't know me. Would you mind introducing me, Phil ? " he remarks to his old-time college companion. " Certainly," says Everett, who looks but little older, though perhaps a little stouter, than Pete the cowboy, for a Boston capitalist generally has daintier fare and less exercise than come to the vaquero of a New Mexi can cattle range. And taking him into the private office he presents him to the cashier of this institution as Mr. Augustus Van Beekman. " That's all right as to cashing the check," says Gussie flippantly, "but as regards opening the account I'm Baron Bassington of the English peerage, yer know." Then he cries suddenly : " You needn't look at me as if I were a lunatic or embezzler ! " For Phil is gazing at him in a suspicious way, and the cashier is examining hif check with curious eyes. Im an authority in the disposal of American heiresses, Mrs. Marvin. Avonmere loves Matilde, but Van Beck- .nan's charms were too potent. But if I am to have any dinner this evening, I must dress for it," and she rustles away, leaving the two gentlemen together. " Well, bad as he is, I believe little Gussie is the better of the two. Avonmere's such a cold-blooded scoundrel," murmurs Bessie's lover. " You're not very light upon the peccadillos of youl brother peer," returns Phi 1 who has only heard of Avon mere incidentally. l6o MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. " Perhaps it is because he is one of my clas that I ara o severe on his peccadillos, as you call them, though Avonmere's have been sometimes what I term crimes," replies Grousemoor, who is a nobleman of the old school, and looks upon his title as a sacred thing, to be protected and upheld, pure and immaculate, not only from the out- side world but from his own feeblenesses and passions, and regards a faux pas in one of his order as a greater sin than it would be in mortals of more common clay. " Avonmere drags his title in the dust. It's the blood of an Italian mother that does it ! " he goes on, with true British prejudice. "He had an elder brother, Tom, who was all English a captain in the Fourth Hussars, and as fine a gentleman as a man would want to meet." "Then how is it Tom has not the title ? " asks Phil. " Tom Willoughby is dead ! " returns Grousemoor. " He had a cattle ranch in New Mexico, somewhere neal the place to which my carelessness in not paying my note banished you. Captain Tom Willoughby and his lovely wife and daughter were killed by Indians " " Not the daughter ! " interrupts Phil, suddenly. " Certainly the daughter, or how could Avonmere get the title ? It's a barony by writ, and descends to females. You see his brother Tom was Lord Avonmere for four days, though he didn't know it. As I understand, he was killed before his daughter ; the poor little child was a peeress of England when the Apaches or Utes, or what- ever the cursed Indians were, took her young life." To this Phil says nothing, being in a very disturbed meditation. " You look troubled, Everett," continues his lordship ; 'nothing about those Atchison, Topeka and Santa F6 bonds ? " for the two gentlemen have been caught to a slight extent in the financial misfortunes of that great railroad whose appetite was too big for its digestion. It is the reorganization of this company that has brought Phil to New York, he having a seat in the board of direct ors of the consolidated and rejuvenated properties of this great trunk line. " No," mutters Everett, slowly. " It is not that, but I've been unfaithful to a dying man's trust." " What do you mean ? " asks his lordship, astonished * / mean to do my duty ! n says Phil, very solemnly. MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. l6f * Can I help you, old fellow ? " suggests Grousemoor. noting from his companion's voice that the affair is serious. " Not now ; but you are quite sure that Avonmere's surname is Arthur ? " " Certainly ! " ' Then, in a few days you may help me very much." " Call on me at any time," says his lordship ; and, noti- cing that his friend is greatly agitated, he goes off to his room, wondering what is the matter with Phil, who is pacing the floor in a nervous, excited, and tremulous manner. As soon as he is alone the ex-cowboy mutters to him- self, " Killed by Indians little Flossie Willoughby ? Not by these scars ! " and puts his hands to his face, that still bears the signs of Apache handiwork. A moment later, for he wishes to be very sure, he strides to his sis- ter's room and knocks upon her portal. " You can't come in, Phil, I'm dressing for dinner," cries that young lady from behind her door. " What do you want ? " " You remember a little girl you met at Lordsburgh, when mother and you found me wounded and delirious?" " Of course ! Little Flossie Willoughby. Her father and mother had been killed. You saved her ! " comes Miss Bessie's voice firm and strong through the oak panels. " Mother and you did not conceal her being killed from me because you feared the news might injure me on my recovery from the fever ? " "Of course not! How did that idea get into your head?" " The child was well when you saw her ? " " Certainly, as well as I am now. She came into our car several times to look at you as you raved that day, between Lordsburgh and Pueblo, and kissed you and called you her dear Mr. Peter so many times that I got quite jealous. What's the matter, you're not ill, Phil ? " for a short quick gasp comes to her through the panel. " No, I am quite well," he says, the words coming rather slowly. " Can you remember any particulars of the child during the journey? You know I was delirious for months after, and don't recollect half what hap* pened." it |6 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERfc. " Yes," says the girl, " you don't remember your great scene at the inquest, when you grabbed the child out of her uncle's arms, and gave a melodramatic, ' Not to him ! Not to HIM ! ' What's got into your head to come and ask me such questions while I'm dressing. My maid is jabbering French maledictions at you in a whisper, iaid I'm a little cold O-o-ough ! " But the last of this is lost on Everett ; his mind has gone back to New Mexico. After he had recovered from his wounds his mother never mentioned to him what he had done at the inquest, fearing it might again unsettle him, and judging it to have been some delirious raving of the fever. So the matter had passed out of sight ; but now his sister's words bring back full recollection to his mind. He mutters, " I saved her from the Apaches to give her up to a man with a brain of a Machiavelli and the heart of one of those brutes out there ! " and quoting poor Tom Willoughby's words, imitates poor Tom Wil- loughby's gesture. Then he walks up to his room and overhauls a package of papers. The first of these is a letter which reads as follows : PULLMAN, ILLINOIS, December 15, 1889. PHILIP E. T. EVERETT, Esq., Director Atchison, Topeka & Santa Frf Railroad, Boston, Mass. Dear Sir : Some three months ago, in repairing car No. 427, which required radical alterations, a sealed packet with your name on it was found by one of the workmen employed. From the dust with which it was covered, and the position in which it was discovered, it has probably been in the car for several years, ha /ing been forced under one of the heating pipes in the bottom of the stateroom. This parcel was, as usual in such cases, delivered to the office for the return of lost articles ; but not being called for, and I noting your name upon the newly elected list of Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe directors, I imagine it probably belongs to you, as car 427 ran over that line for several years ; consequently forward to you the packet. MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 163 Please acknowledge receipt of same in case it is your property! and oblige, Yours most respectfully, GKORGE LANGDON, Assistant Foreman. This letter, together with a package bearing his name in his mother's handwriting, had been forwarded to Everett from Boston some few days before ; but knowing that the contents of the envelope were the missing letters of Tom Willoughby, and the matter being of such distant date that it could hardly be of importance to any one now, Phil had neglected to open the package. He does so no longer, and in a few moments the cor- respondence of the dead Englishman, slightly yellow from age and stained here and there with Phil's own blood, lies in front of him. He looks hurriedly through the letters, which are not numerous, and are all from Mrs. Willoughby to her husband. They are chiefly on domestic matters, most of them being filled with descriptions, praise, and love of their little girl Flossie, who is just arriving at that age so interesting to mothers, when a child shows the first graces of budding maidenhod. These throw no light whatsoever upon the subject he is investigating ; neither do the photographs of the child and her mother ; though with tears in his eyes he kisses that of the beautiful little girl, and sighs as he looks on Agnes Willoughby and thinks of her cruel death. But a closed envelope bearing these curiously prophetic words : " TO MY EXECUTORS IN CASE I DIE BY APPARENT ACCIDENT," signed " Thomas Willoughby," seems more promising. Under the circumstances any scruple that might make him hesitate to read this document would be childish. Phil tears open the envelope, and the following curious epistle meets his eye : WILLOUOHBV'* RANCH, Nw MEXICO, February 21, 1881. News has Just arrived from England that causes me to write this, for a new danger has come upon me. 164 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. By the death of my cousin in Cairo, Egypt, from cholera or scow Eastern fever, I am the heir presumptive to the estates and title of the Barony of Avonmere. And in case of my death by accident, additional danger might come upon my daughter Florence. It is as a warning and protec- tion to her, and not from any wish of vengeance upon my brother Arthur, that I make this statement. The belief that I will fall from some accident, in which the ap- parent hand of God can only be seen, but which shall really be directed by the hand of my brother, has been forced upon me by the following extraordinary incidents of my life : FIRST. In Colombo, Ceylon, when a portion of my regiment was stationed in barracks at that place, a Hindoo snake-charmer one day exhibited his art upon several cobras, permitting some of them to bite him. To one of these writhing brutes he did not allow that privilege, handling it with much more circumspection and care than he did the others. During his exhibition that snake escaped, and he did not succeed in recapturing it I think chiefly on account of his dread of the serpent's fangs, for these mountebanks have a habit of extracting the poisonous teeth of the reptiles they play with, dreading them as much as any of their spectators. Two days after this, tiffin being over, some of the mess were en- joying their cheroots on the veranda facing the garden in which the cobra had disappeared. Arthur, who was a government clerk in the East India service at that time, though only nineteen years of age, was seated among us. He had been walking about the grounds smoking a cigar before he joined us. A little time after he turned the conversation upon various athletic feats, among others jumping. There was a large stump of a tree at the bottom of the garden path. In speaking of such feats, Arthur offered to wager that no one in the company could leap the tree ; something any one of us could easily accomplish. I thought him a foolish fellow to lose his money in that way, but he offered to bet that none of us could do it, aV a pound a head. This was immediately accepted by all. In arranging the order of the jump, which was to be a running ona, Arthur suggested that we go by seniority, all of us but himself being officers in the army. This gave me the first leap. Father laughing at the idea of winning a pound so easily from mj MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 16$ younger brother, I was in the act of beginning my run when poo? young Majoribanks, crying, " Youth before beauty," ran ahead of me and sprang over the tree. While in mid-air we heard idm give an awful scream of terror, and as he descended on the other side another and more horrible cry came from his lips. He staggered back and sank down with excla- mations of despair. Running to him we found that he had jumped upon the cobra, which was lying on the other side of the tree, and had been bitten. He died in a little over an hour. SECOND. Arthur took passage for me in a ship infected by Asiatic cholera, bound from Ceylon to the Straits Settlements. Before \ve arrived at Penang, two-thirds the passengers and half the crew had been thrown overboard. I luckily escaped, perhaps through having been acclimated by service in the jungles of Bengal and the Malay Peninsula. I now have reason to believe my brother knew the vessel was infected when he engaged my passage. THIRD. On the yacht Sylvic, Arthur left us at nine P. M. to go on shore at Ryde. At ten only God's mercy saved us being run down by a Channel steamer. Our sailing lights had been reversed Heaven knows by whom, but I suspect by my brother ; they were certainly right before he left us. FOURTH. At Shilton, a little station on the London and North- western Railway, while waiting to meet my wife and child, Arthur stood upon what looked like a shunt, and I beside him. After talking to me a moment he asked me to wait for him while he stepped into the station house to get a light for his cigar. Ten seconds after- ward the guard ran out and pulled me off the track ; in five seconds more the Liverpool express rushed over the place I had stood it was the main through line. The station master incidentally mentioned to me that he wondered my brother had left me standing in such a spot, as he knew the sta- tion very well and had spent several hours there, off and on, watching the trains and noting their times of passage. " He saw the Liverpool express run over that line yesterday at that self-same minute," the man asserted. This is what first forced me to suspect my brother, and furthei investigation compelled me at last to the conviction that he had delib- erately placed me in the path of death in the other instances men- tioned ; notwithstanding I gave him the benefit of every doubt, for it it bard to believe that one you love would be morally your murderer 166 MISS NOBODY OP NOWHERE. I expect no danger from direct attack ; but If I survive th pres. *at Lord Avonmer* what may I not fear? One who has made uch efforti when he had only a pittance to gain, will be more inventive with a title and great wealth to help him design some new accident, some fatal mishap for the brother that signs this THOMAS WILLOUGHBY. P. S. Inspect any accident that may happen to me, no matter how much it may appear the hand of God for directing it will be the man I once loved, but now despise and dread, my half-brother Arthur Willoughby, whose mother's Italian blood must have had in it some stream from the Borgias. T. W. After he has read the last of this curious document, Everett does some of the hardest thinking of his life, sending the plea of business as an excuse for missing his dinner. At dessert, however, he makes his appearance and rather startles his sister, for his eyes have a look in them she has not seen since the fever left him, nine years before. His words astound Miss Bessie still more, but also relieve her mind. He says rather lightly, " I think a little society would do me good ; what are your invita- tions for this evening ? " " None for you," she answers ; " according to your orders I have refused every one for you this week ; but if you want to make your debut in the social world, there's a card for the coming Patriarchs, and an invitation to the great sensation Mrs. Warburton's Private Circus a fortnight afterward." " A private circus !" he echoes, astonished. *' Yes horses, amateur bareback riders. That would be the place for you," cries Miss Bessie, who is mightily glad her brother will cast away business cares and take to enjoying himself. " Pete and his lasso ! The only original broncho act by a real cowboy ! That would make a sensation," and she claps her hands ; " I'll send your name in to the ring-master. We'll bring Possum down from the farm, and you shall appear on his back in your old costume of the prairie. I've got it up in the Beacon Street garret. It's lucky you've kept up your riding. Hurrah ! you'll be the sensation of the show 1 * MISS NOBODY OP NOWHERE. 167 After a moment, this proposition not being responded to enthusiastically, she quiets down and suggests : " As you're barred from private entertainments by your own act, why not come to a public one ? This evening, Grousemoor and I, chaperoned by Mrs. Livingston Willis, are going to the opera for an hour or two join us There'll be plenty of people to look at and talk to if you don't care for Wagner." " Thank you very much I will," says her brother, and stalks away to his room to make his preparations, muttering with threatening tone : " Perhaps fit see him there!" CHAPTER XV. LITTLE GUSSIE'S RAZZLE DAZZLE. THE Metropolitan Opera House that evening presents its usual brilliant scene ; the boxes filled with the usual fashionable crowd, who come only for love of society ; the orchestra occupied by people who come for love of music and nothing else. But no one of all the throng is attracted by a motive like unto that of Philip Everett. He enters a little late and sits abstractedly behind Mrs. Willis's pretty white shoulders, giving out so little con- versation that this fashionable young matron turns to him and remarks, with one of those charming petite pouts of which she makes a specialty : " Mr. Everett, she has not come yet ?" " Whom do you mean ? " says Phil, with a start. " Why, the lady you are looking for, of course. The people down there " she points with her fan to the or- chestra " are listening ; the people up here " she indi- cates the circle of boxes "are talking ; you do neither: you simply look. Let me know when you see her." " It's not a lady I'm seeking," remarks Phil, quietly. Then he suddenly says : " Who is that just coming into the box opposite to us ? " "Oh, that's the beautiful Mlsi Follli of Colorado," answers Mrs. Willis. " If she's the lady you're in search ot I'm sorry for you ; she's already spoken for by little |68 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. Gnssie Van Beekman, who I hear has just been discov- ered to be an English lord, and I don't think an Ameri- can gentleman would have much chance with a Western heiress in comparison to a full-fledged peer of the Brit- ish realm." Mrs. Willis's loge is a parterre one, almost facing that which Mr. Follis has engaged for the use of his family during the season. Into this box Miss Matilde is coming, in all the glory of a fresh new imported dress and flashing jewels. She is accompanied by Mrs. Marvin, her mother not caring for Wagner's music, which she says reminds her of the wash-house strains of John Chinaman. Curiously enough, no gentleman appears in their party. They lake their seats, and after distributing a few bows to neai by acquaintances in other boxes, elevate their opera- glasses and proceed to take a survey of the house. "There's the beautiful Miss Follis that I told you about," whispers Bessie, leaning over to her brother and calling his attention with her fan. " Humph ! " replies Phil ; then he remarks suddenly : "By George! she does look like Tiliie Follis of New Mexico, grown up, after all lend me your glass ! " Through a powerful lorgnette he views the beauty of Matilde. And this evening she is more beautiful than ever, for the news of Van Beekman's elevation to the peer- age has been brought to her this afternoon by Mrs. Mar- vin, and Gussie's good fortune the girl proudly considers her own, and imagines she will be an English peeress after all, and has said " Lady Bassington " to herself almost as often as her fiancJ has done himself a similar honor this day. There has been a great buzz all the evening, the boxes having had something more exciting than the usual lan- guid society news to gossip about, for the sudden eleva- tion of Augustus Van Beekman, who has been on the verge of ostracism by the more exclusive clique for the past year or two, has given them an absorbing sensa- tion ; and as they think the matter over they are very glad they have not done it. They had half forgiven him when he became engaged to a great heiress ; now they are wholly reconciled to his eccentricities, and are hastily preparing themselves to get upon their haughty knees and bow their aristocratic MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 169 heads to this little Manhattan Island dandy whom for- tune has at last kicked into the English House of Lords. Curiously enough there are few doubters as to the truth of the news, though every one has heard it. Little Gussie, on his arrival at the Stuyvesant, had not waited long to tell his story and to impress it on his hear- ers, stating that he had been cabled to draw at sight upon Brown, Studley & Wilberforce for ^20,000, and lavishing his money to prove that his draft had been honored. He has certainly got the estates, and, of course, the title. A few minutes later, Avonmore lounges into the club, and his manner confirms Gussie 's news. He strides up to the little aristocrat and says : " Bas- sington, I've just heard of your being confirmed in your title. I had a hint that you were the coming baron from my London solicitors, Brown, Studley & Wilberforce, and now the news is confirmed. My congratulations, old man Harrowby Castle's the prettiest place in Kent. I hope you'll ask me down when you take possession." " Won't I, old boy ? " cries Gussie, who thinks he'll die with joy. " I've just come from Grousemoor ; he sent for me to ask my vote for the Conservative party when I take my seat." " The devil he did ! " mutters Avonmere, rather aston- ished ; though he is delighted that this proud Scottish peer had furthered his plans. So the two go off together to dinner, for Gussie says : "You dine with me to-day you must, Avonmere by Jove ! you wouldn't have me sit down with a com- moner on such a day as this ? " Now, this occurrence being carried home by every married club-man to his wife, soon got to the ears ol nearly all other ladies, and those who had not known it before they arrived at the Metropolitan were very shortly acquainted with the facts of the case by the various visiting young men, who were delighted to have something astounding to whisper into the ears of beauty when they lounged into her box. This news causes the appearance of Miss Follis to make quite a sensation ; those who know her pointing her out to those who do not as the young lady who is engaged to marry the lucky little Gussie, the new- made British peer, with fifty or sixty thousand pounds a I7 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. year ; for this Bassington fortune is growing as tran* ferred from mouth to mouth. Eyes that have been cold to her under this benign influence grow warm, and Matilde Follis, as she sits in her box, with the music of " Tristan and Isolde " floating in the air about her, feels something more inspiring than Wagner in the bright, congratulatory nods and wafted salutations that concentrate upon her pretty face, though Herr Seidl and his orchestra are fiddling their arms away and blowing their lungs away quite stoutly, as all Wag- nerian orchestras should do. But if a buzz goes up on Matilde's arrival, a regular hurr. invades the air to Mr. Gussie's grand entrance as Lord Bassington. The vocal accompaniment from the boxes drowns the orchestra, and several German gentle- men in the body of the house, who have come this even- ing under the mistaken notion that they will hear an opera, express their displeasure by a vigorous hissing from the seats below ; but they might as well appeal to the murmuring waves to stop murmuring as to expect the wagging tongues of women to stop wagging when this new star of rank and fashion first comes under their eager opera-glasses. " I see him ! He's there ! centre entrance to the orchestra ! looking about for the box he'll first honor " cries Miss Alice Morton Budd, the most innocent ingenue of the season. " By George ! " whispers the envious Grayson, who is sitting behind this floweret of fashionable life, "you women ought to call Bassington in front of the curtain and cheer him as our Teuton friends used to do their pet tenor Alvary ! " " You forget Alvary often led his prima donna out with him ; perhaps Bassington might bring his, and I shouldn't applaud her. She looks as haughty as if she had the coronet on her head already," returns Miss Budd, gazing across at the Follis box, the loge she is occupy- ing being next to that of Mrs. Willis and her party. Miss Budd goes prattling on in this strain for a few moments when Grayson suddenly whispers : " Hush ! he's coming in next door. See the fair Tillie looks astonished and piqued because my lord didn't give her bis first greeting. His English lordship will get an MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE, Ifl American talking to when he puts in an appearance over there. La Follis's eyes are blazing more than her dia- monds," and Mr. Grayson turns his lorgnette upon Mrs. Marvin's prottgtc. A moment after he says suddenly, and perhaps disap- pointedly, " George ! did you hear that ? Grousemoor has given him his title as if he'd already taken his seat in the House of Lords. It's a sure go ! Excuse me a moment, Miss Alice," and bolts off to other boxes to tell them that Grousemoor has publicly recognized Gussie Van Beekman as Lord Bassington. This has come about in this way. Avonmere and Augustus have taken dinner at an up- town restaurant in a private room, little Gussie clamor- ing for Delmonico's, where he can make a display of himself and his luck ; Avonmere over-ruling this, fearing the all-seeing reporter, who he knows is even now tramp- ing Fifth Avenue, looking in at all likely restaurants and clubs, and will shortly drop in to the opera in pursuit of Baron Bassington and his Aladdin tale for the morning papers. At dinner Avonmere has suggested the opera, wishing to force little Gussie close to Miss Follis, so that he may have every chance to slight hisfancee, shrewdly guessing the nearer they are brought together, the more the American lord will give the cold shoulder to the American heiress. For Augustus has become very chatty over his wine, and has told Avonmere of his contemplated evictions on his Irish estates in a manner that makes his hearer writhe on his chair with suppressed laughter ; and a moment after has asked Avonmere's advice on this very subject. " It's rather a delicate matter, my boy," he has said ; "but I know you'll give your opinion to a brother peer. What am I to do now in that unfortunate complication with little Follis?" " I had supposed you were going to marry ner,~ returns the Englishman with a smile. Here Gussie astounds and actually overawes him. His little frame grows taller, his air grows more haughty, and his voice becomes very severe as he says, " I am sur- prised, Lord Avonmere, at such a suggestion. I have not forgotten my rank if Grousemoor has his. I had presumed that your opinion and mine coincided upon 17 1 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. this question, which is at the basis of our rank. Blua blood for blue blood ! Keep the canaille away t Curse : em ! " For vanity and champagne have by this time nearly made him crazy. " That being the case," returns Avonmere, with a choked-down chuckle, " you should cut the young lady's hopes short at once! It's kinder. Perhaps even now s Le is dreaming of wearing your coronet." " No doubt she is," interrupts Gussie with a grin. ' She's been dreaming of this for weeks. Old Marvin, who has a nose for a peer like a pointer for a quail, scented me out long ago and put Matilde up to the game, and so she took me at advantage and literally trapped me, by Jove ! " " It does look a little curious," murmurs Avonmere. "Curious? I should think so !" cries Gussie. " I shall cut the Follis affair in a way that'll make Miss Matilde open her eyes. Watch me do it at the opera to-night." So the two take cab for the Metropolitan, Avonmere suggesting that as Grousemoor has recognized his title, it would be no more than polite for Gussie to drop into his box and pay his compliments to him, shrewdly imag- ining that if the great Scottish nobleman indorses the claim of Augustus to the Barony of Bassington, New York society will follow his lead in a way that will make the new young peer very haughty and snobbish to com- mon clay and especially so to Miss Follis of Colorado. He moreover remarks that he imagines Lord Bassing- ton may be persecuted by reporters this evening and ad- vises that he simply tell them his knowledge of his rank and draft for his money came direct from Brown, Studley & Wilberforce of London. " I wouldn't mention Stillman, Myth & Co. in the matter, or that firm won't be able to transact business to-morrow, the gentlemen of the press will persecute them so." " That's what old Stillman said himself," returns Gus- sie, " and I've concluded to take pity on him and give him a rest." Which he does that evening, telling all inquir- ing reporters that if they want further particulars they can apply to his London solicitors, Brown, Studley & Wilberforce a policy that insures him rank and title for a few short days ; for had he set those lynxes of the press upon Stillman, Myth & Co., the peerage of Ba* MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. IJ3 ington would have passed from him within twenty-four hours. Dodging such reporters as he can in the lobby of the Metropolitan, and promising interviews later in the even- ing to those that get their hands upon him, he leaves Avonmere and soon finds himself in Mrs. Willis's box, where there is a little throng of gentlemen. For that lady is quite popular herself, and Miss Ever- ett's face is fresh to New York and very pretty as well , besides, she is about to marry the great gun of the win- ter, and they wish to keep themselves in her memory, hoping for invitations to the Boston wedding, and social recognition from her as the Marchioness of Grousemoor upon their annual trips across the ocean to merry Eng- land. Squeezing his way among these and getting three hearty grips in his passage, Mr. Gussie finds himself be- hind Miss Bessie's chair. That young lady holds out a welcoming hand to him, while the Scotch peer smiles and says, " How are you ? Still booked to uphold our constitution against Gladstone ? " For this nobleman has his party's welfare very much at heart, and is deter- mined to enlist the new peer and give him the Conser- vative shilling at once. " Yaas, count on me ! " murmurs Augustus. Then Mrs. Willis whispers a word to Grousemoor, and that gentleman says, " Excuse me, I did not know you were unacquainted Mrs. Willis, Lord Bassington,"and the trick is done I Three or four of the loungers in the box lounge out of it and into others, where they confirm Gussie's luck, stating that he has been introduced, under his title, to Mrs. Willis, by that strict upholder of social etiquette and class distinction, Grousemoor. After this comes to its ears, New York society is very kind and cordial to little Gussie to-night. This news finding its way to the De Punster Van Beekman box, old Van Twiler Van Beekman, who has hardly bowed to the scapegrace for years he is only his first cousin ccmes out into the foyer and pounces on Gussie as he leaves Mrs. Willis's party. " You young rascal f " cries the old gentleman, slap- ping him on the back with playful cordiality, "what 174 MIS3 NOBODY OF NOWHERE. have you been doing with yourself ? We haven't seen you for months, and I don't believe you called this win- ter." " Yaas, been rather busy with my Irish tenants lately," lisps Gussie, remembering that Van Twiler had hardly nodded to him as he passed him on the street but yester- day, and his last call at his old-fashioned mansion in Washington Square had met with such a chilly reception that he had never had the courage to ring his door-bell afterward. " Come into our box ; Lydia is anxious to see you and give you your new title." And he drags Augustus to the ancient Lydia, who makes much of him in a cousinly familiar way which Gussie brings himself to endure, as the old couple have lots of real estate and no direct heir, and fifty thousand pounds a year is none too much for a dashing young nobleman to spend on his stable, steam yacht, and attentions to the fair sex, monde and demimonde, After a little Gussie gets away from his old relations, being anxious for more juvenile adulation. He is fol- lowed, however, by the venerable Van Twiler, who, taking him aside in the lobby, whispers, "Cousin Bassington, we look to you to lift our family to the place it occupied in old Manhattan days, before its social supremacy was contested by more recent and perhaps larger fortunes. I've had you down in my will almost since you were born, and I hope you will make no mistake when you settle in life. I heard the other day with some concern that you had forgotten your blood in this modern craze, after wealth. I hope it is not so." " Awh you refer to that Follis gal," returns Gussie, airily. " With sixty thousand pounds a year I need seek no addition to my fortune. Lord Bassington will be very careful of himself matrimonially." And he departs upon his triumphal tour, dropping in to all boxes to which he has the entree, and being in- vited into some of the others ; saying a few words to old friends, and making a good many new ones. Thus to- night beauty, wealth, and fashion smile Mpon this new- made lord, for there is no place on earth where an English nobleman is so great a nobleman as in this city of New York, in the republic of these United States of America, among a certain clique. MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 1 75 But in all his peregrinations of the evening, he avoids approach to that loge where Mrs. Marvin sits accom- panied by his sweetheart and fianete t the young and charming Western heiress. Other men whisper nothings into Miss Follis's pretty ears ; other men sit behind her gleaming shoulders ; other men lounge in and out of her box and catch the sweetness of her voice, that is gradually growing sad and subdued, or seek the brightness of her glance, which be- comes pathetic as the evening wears away but never the man whose betrothal ring she wears, Augustus, Baron Bassington. Towards the end of the evening her eyes and voice take another change and become flashingly cool and stridently haughty, for by this time Matilde Follis knows she is under a hundred opera-glasses who are seaching every motion of her hands, every movement of her lips, every glance of her eyes, to pry into her heart and see how she bears the public desertion and neglect of the man who, on this evening if on no other, should have halved with her his social happiness and glory. So this young girl, who has not been trained to con- cealing her heart, and who has been used to little but kindness, endures a crucial ordeal and social martyrdom that come to few women thank Heaven ! in this life, and does it bravely and successfully; fighting down any tremor in her voice, subduing any nervous play of coun- tenance that may betray the agony of an insulted self- esteem and crucified pride. But the struggle ages her, and from the rise of the curtain on the third act to Isolde's dying song seems a lustrum in her life. And on this spectacle the ladies and gentlemen of the parterre boxes gaze, criticising her motions and noting how she bears her humiliation. Some with little giggles these are mostly unthinking girls ; others with smiles they are women whose hearts have been destroyed in social battle ; and some thank Heaven ! with just rage and righteous indignation. " Miss Denver's coronet is growing pale," say* Alice Budd, with a malicious smile. "By George, he's just been in the boxes on each Side M hers. After greeting the Laurisons, he is in the Ro* I? MISS NOBODY OF ingstons. The general is shaking his hand oft. Two unmarried daughters, you know. Isn't Gussie putting the Follis on a social gridiron ? " replies Mr. Grayson. " If he wishes to break his engagement he might have done it afterward, decently," remarks Mrs. Willis. " How bravely she suffers," whispers Bessie to Gtouse- moor, and tears come into the girl's eyes, for an awful vision comes to her of her betrothed placing public scorn upon her. "The cruel little snob !" mutters the true nobleman, with a smothered curse, for which hisjzantee gives him an astonished but grateful look. " If you'll excuse me for a few minutes, I'll leave you to Phil's care and step ovef to Miss Follis's box," he adds. " I know her well enough to take the liberty." M Certainly ! " says Bessie. " But what do you mean to do ? " " I mean to uphold that insulted girl in the only way I can by my presence at her side," he answers shortly. " I want Miss Follis to know that every nobleman is not what Bassington is a cad ! " and he departs on his errand, pursued by a pleased glance from his sweethea r t. While this has been going on, Phil, in a retired ncok of Mrs. Willis's box, has been looking for the man he has come to see, in vain. Taking pity on his loneliness, his hostess from time. to time has leaned back and chatted with him on the past glories of opera in New York, telling him of the days when the Academy resounded with the plaudits of united Italy in its upper gallery, when Gerster and Patti and Campanini and Ravelli sang, " Oh, you need not look at me as if I were old ! " she .nterjects, with a little laugh. " It was only eight years ago, and I had just come out and was in love with music, Italian music, and thought Campanini the most enchant- ing of tenors. That house was prettier than this. Here we women in our evening toilets are like flowers in sepa- rate flower-pots in this wall of boxes. There in the open gallery loges we were all combined in one big glorious bouquet each night But what's the matter ? " This last in rather a startled tone, for Phil has sud- denlv muttered : " By heavens, it is he ! " and has hastily risen froQi 3 Is chair. MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 177 * Nothing ! " he replies, seating himself again. " Nothing ? Why, your eyes are blazing." "Are they? Wagner's music must have got into them, then," says Phil, laughing slightly and forcing himself to calmness, though the sight of a gentleman in evening dress has made him see again the telegraph office at Lordsburgh, with Arthur Willoughby whispering in his ear the lying message that made him take a gentle Eng- lish lady to her death just up the valley of the Gila. Then he goes on quite suddenly : " You know so many people in New York, Mrs. Willis, can you tell me the name of that gentleman who has replaced Grousemoor in Miss Follis's box the one who is just taking her opera- glass ? " " Certainly ! " replies the matron. " That is Lord Avonmere." " Ah ! " He rises from his seat and remarks : " Here's Grousemoor back and the curtain's coming down. You'll excuse me, I hope, from your supper party, Mrs. Willis, as I have some business that is imperative." With this he leaves the lady, who thinks him rather an abrupt sort of a personage, and passes into the foyer ; but after pacing the corridor toward the Follis box, Phil apparently changes his mind and goes hastily down the stairs and through the main entrance into the street. His first impulse had been to accost Avonmere and demand the particulars of Flossie Willoughby's death, for he believes this English lord has murdered the child who stood between him and wealth and title. That would have been the way Pete, the cowboy, would have attacked the matter ; but Philip Everett, the Boston business man, wants to be sure of his facts before he moves, and within an hour a long telegraphic message is speeding over the wires, addressed to Breckinridge Gar- vey, Sheriff of Grant County, Silver City, New Mexico. Matilde Follis this night watches the falling curtain of the Opera House. Her mind is too dazed to be able to analyze her emotions during this performance, that has seemed to her like a Chinese play which lasts for years. The one predominating idea in her mind is "It is over ! I've stayed to the end ! Thank Heaven ! None have seen me flinch upon the social rack ! " She has grown a little paler near the close ; that is the 178 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. only outward sign of suffering she has given, for her eyea have become more haughty as the time has gone on. They have softened somewhat as Grousemoor has taken his seat behind her. Though he has only passed the compliments of the season, she has understood what his visit to her meant, and her glance has been slightly grateful. Avonmere, however, who is behind her now, she has received with cordiality as he took the seat the other gave up to him. She has turned, and affecting a little laugh that mocked itself as it issued from her lips, has whispered : " You can stay a little longer than usual this evening ; I've no other entertainment to go to, and shall remain to the end." " Yes," chimed in Mrs. Marvin, " wait, and take us two lone women down to our carriage." " That is what I am here for, with your permission," remarked Avonmere, looking at the girl for his answer. But, thinking she sees compassion in his glance, her spirit grows haughty and she answers, indifferently : " You must please yourself, Lord Avonmere." " Certainly, I always please myself when I am seated here," he whispers into the little ear conveniently near him. She does not answer this, though he notes her look is more amiable than it has been in the last few minutes. So, after a significant glance that is returned by the wily Marvin, he remains quiet in his chair, and gazes at the white, glistening shoulders of the girl he thinks will some day belong to him ; for he is now pretty sure, if he plays his cards right, pride will make Miss Follis give her hand to him, to humiliate the man who to-night has slighted her. Thus he and Mrs. Marvin watch Matilde, whose face is very beautiful, though the pathos has all left it, and only pride and scorn remain upon it. The sole evidence of emotion she gives is from a little foot that taps impatiently the cushion on which it rests ; this suddenly ceases, her hand clinches itself and her eyes have a cruel look for it has suddenly occurred to her to tell her father of the public slight and leave her vengeance to him ; but she soon casts the whole idea from her, for she knows her father would kill her insulter, and Matilde Follis has too healthy a mind, with all its frivolity, to wish a blood atonement, MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERtt. 179 As she thinks this, the curtain falls, and passing into the vestibule of her box, she finds Avonmere ready with her opera wrap in his hand. He cloaks her, and notes with sudden joy that some- how the girl's engagement ring has disappeared from her finger. Mrs. Marvin also sees this, and her face becomes radiant. Once or twice this wily old lady has tried to beckon the new-made lord to her box, but he has always looked away, and so made his slight of Miss Follis more marked. So, quite pleased at her evening's work, the widow says pleasantly, " I'll move on before you, Matilde. Lord Avonmere will follow with you when you have your cloak arranged. Be careful of colds, my dear; the draughts in the lobbies of this house are simply Siberian." Coming out into the foyer and descending to the lower lobby that leads to one of the fortes cocheres for the use of subscribers and box owners, Mrs. Marvin chances to run upon the derelict Gussie. He makes an abortive attempt to dodge her, but she strides after him, cries, " Lord Bassington, you haven't let me congratulate you ! " and placing a plump and pow- erful hand upon his arm, laughs, " From whom are you flying ? Not from me, I hope ? " To this he listens, in an apologetic way, though he has neither the mind nor heart to appreciate what he has made Matilde suffer ; still he has a feeble idea in his head, which tells him he ought to be ashamed. " No a, I'm dodging the reporters. They're after me like flies ! " he mutters ; and making a sudden dash to escape both Mrs. Marvin and the reporters, he comes right upon Matilde Follis, and so gives to her her one chance for vengeance in this long night and she takes it! The crush is very great around them they are face to face, with no chance of dodging. He hesitates and is lost. Raising his hat, he smiles his sweetest smile and says, " Good evening, Miss Matilde ! " And she, looking straight in his face as if she had never known him, and talking quietly and easily, cuts him dead ! right under the eye of every one for those about them are gazing at their meeting. I So MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. He blushes, grows red and stands abashed as she sweeps on under Avonmere's wing to the porte cochkre and signals her footman for her carriage. " By Jove ! " says Mr. Mac, the great society leader, who is just behind her, to his friend Colonel Hicks Van Ransaleer. " Did you see that ? she cut the little cad like an archduchess. There's breeding in that girl, blood or no blood 1 " and following after Miss Follis, he cuts Lord Bassington also, though that new-made peer is holding out his hand, expecting an effusive greeting. Then overtaking the girl, whose social training he has admired this evening, Mr. Mac says a few pleasant words to Miss Follis and asks her to be sure and come to the next Patriarchs', of which, like most other subscription entertainments, he is lord and master ; and her carriage coming up, he and Lord Avonmere assist Mrs, Marvin and the young lady in. As they drive away into the street, lined with equipages waiting to pick up their owners, Mrs. Marvin reaches over in the seclusion of the carriage and gives the girl a hearty kiss, saying, " You won at the last in a canter, you brave little girl ! " But she suddenly stops her chatter, for, the strain being crer, Miiilde Follis is crying as if heart would break. BOOK III Miss SOMEBODY OF SOMEWHERE CHAPTER XVL LORD AVONMERE'S GHOST. THIS night Phil Everett has sent a telegram to Ne* Mexico, but he desires information from England, and doesn't know exactly from whom to get it. Waiting till Grousemoor's return from Mrs. Willis's supper party, he takes that gentleman aside, and know- ing he can trust his secrecy and discretion, says to him : " You told me to ask your aid in a matter that you saw troubled me." " Certainly." "That aid I wish now." " Very well, old man," returns Phil's listener. u It's serious, I see by your face. Out with it ! " " I wish your aid to bring the murderer of Florence Beatrice Stella Willoughby, Lady Avonmere, to justice. That's her name, I read it in Burke at the Club coming from the Opera." " What do you mean ? " gasps Grousemoor, half think- ing Phil crazy. " I mean that I have good reason to believe, Arthur, Lord Avonmere, murdered or in some way disposed of that child who stood between him and his present title." " Good Heavens ! " mutters the Scotchman, his fresh and ruddy face growing slightly pale under this startling disclosure. " You must have good reasons for thU ! " I$2 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. " Lots ! " says Phil ; and, not believing in half confi- dences, he tells him all he knows, reading him the curious document that bears the dead Englishman's signature. To this Grousemoor listens with occasional interjec- tions of surprise and horror. Concluding, Phil says : " Give me the name of some English solicitor to whom I can write for the proofs of little Flossie's death, that must have been given before Avonmere could get the title. I want to see how he said the Indians killed her." The peer considers a moment, and then says : " Ad- dress George Ramsey, 4 Cornhill, London. He's the man you want." " Thank you," replies Everett, " I'll write to him at once," and is about to go to his room. " You're resolved to take up this matter, Phil ? " says Grousemoor, striding after him. " Remember it's a very serious affair." " I only remember that I loved the child he has wronged and injured," mutters Phil. " When I think of her, braving bullets to bring me water in her little hat, and I wounded and too weak to move, I my God, if that cursed villain has killed her ! " and tears come into the Boston business man's eyes. The next day's outgoing mail steamer for England carries a letter, the reading of which would not have pleased Arthur, Lord Avonmere ; though at present he is one of the happiest of men, for everything has gone to his wishes in the Follis affair. Mrs. Marvin on the way home from the opera has played Avonmere's cards very well for him. The first portion of the ride has been a journey of horror to the widow, for in an outbreak of sobs Matilde has talked wildly of giving up the struggle of society, and going back to Denver, and dad and Bob ; where all are kind to her. During this La Marvin has gazed upon her in speech- less, panicky despair. But as Matilde's sobs have grown fainter, Mrs. Marvin has plucked up hope again, and saying nothing about the treatment the girl has received from little Gussie, she has turned the conversation upon other topics, chiefly MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 183 the attentions of Lord Avonmere and the compliment that Mr. Mac has paid her ; waiting for Miss Follis to bring up the subject that she knows is uppermost in her mind. This has a soothing effect on the girl's nerves. Aftei a little she says with a slight laugh : " It's lucky I never loved that wretch." " Loved who ? " " Lord Bassington Augustus little Gussie ! ** sneers the young lady. " Then I might have succumbed under his neglect and have shown it to that grinning crowd. As it is, I believe I've rather the best of it, and shall have more the best of it before I've done with him." This last is said in a significantly vindictive voice. " What do you mean to do ? " " Crush him crush him to the dust ! " cries Miss Tillie, and her ivory fan-sticks crash under her excited clutch. " Yes, you might have a sweet revenge," murmurs the widow contemplatively. "There are older titles than that of little Gussie." " Yes, and one of them is at my feet," mutters the girl. Then the cunning old diplomat puts in a deft master stroke. She whispers, " Of course every one says that." " Says what ? " " Says that you have jilted Gussie for Lord Avonmere. They all thought this evening that Gussie, being dis- carded, did not dare to come to your box." " Did they think THAT ? " cries the girl, with a triumph- ant laugh. " But we are at home, Mrs. Marvin." And running up her front stairs she says to the awaiting butler in the hall, " No supper this evening for me, thank you," and goes up to her room, a flash of triumph in her fresh young face ; leaving the w'dow gazing after her, with the smile of victory on her more mature and worldly coun tenance, at the heiress's significant words. Before she goes to bed that night, Mrs. Marvin nar- rates this conversation in a note to Lord Avonmere, end- ing with the old adage, " Strike while the iron is hot ! " This note sent by a messenger boy reaches Avonmere while he is at breakfast the next morning. Another lingering Mercury of the District Telegraph I&4 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. Company has brought to Mr. Gussie, whose apartments are on the same floor, a packet addressed " Baron Bas- sington," and demanded a receipt for the same. As he gives this, Augustus notes the handwriting on the package, and turns pale. He comes hurriedly into the breakfast room and ad dresses Avonmere. That gentleman is just finishing Mrs. Marvin's note, and looks up at him with a contented smile. " I want to ask your advice as a brother peer," says Gussie. " If there's any threat for damages for breach of promise I presume the proper thing would be to refer her to my solicitors. It's the usual form in such cases when men of title are persecuted." "Yes, I believe it's the usual form," mutters Avon- mere, who has had one or two such matters on his hands with adventuresses in days gone by. Then he says suddenly and savagely, " You don't suppose that Miss Follis will bring suit against you ? " and would break little Gussie 's head and throw him down-stairs, did not his plans compel him to remain on good terms with Baron Bassington for a day or two longer. " No, I hardly think so," mutters Gussie ; " but in case of any trouble I shall refer her to Stillman, Myth & Co." " I should by no means go to them ! " says Avonmere uneasily. "No! Why not?" ** They'll charge you a pretty penny." ** Oh ! " cries Gussie, " talent always comes high," and he opens the packet to find a little case containing his engagement ring and one or two other little knick- knacks he has presented but no word from his fiancee of yesterday. " By Jove ! not going to make a fuss after all. Poor little gal feels too bad to say anything. I was much obliged to you, old boy, last night, softening the affair for her, palliating my ignoring her. The proper thing in a brother peer do the same for you ! So that affair's over now for others ' Oh, what a pile of notes ! " he babbles on hurriedly running through his mail. " Invites from everybody, and all addressed 'Lord Bassington.' Do you know, when I woke this morning, I thought the whole thing was a dream and I was Gussie Van Beekman MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 185 again that awakening was worse than a nightmare I creamed. But I'm out of all little Gussie's trouble, thank Heaven I I've been having a levee this morning I've had all my tradespeople up and offered to pay their bills, but they wouldn't take their money from Lord Bassington, though Van Beekman's ducats would have been reaped with alacrity, so I ordered lots more to please them. Bought a mail phaeton and a drag from Brewster, and as for clothes, boots, gloves, and under- wear, wait till you gaze on them. I must have spent a cool ten thousand this morning." " Pounds ? " ejaculates Avonmere. " No, dollars ! And all I paid for were two teams, one seal brown and the other cross matched. These horse dealers are cash-on-the-naii chaps, so I gave 'em my check. I think I'll go down to Gill & Patrick's and look over their stock of jewelry," murmurs the new lord, slipping Matilde's engagement ring on his little finger. " Very glad Miss Follis didn't make a row." " No," returns Avonmere who has listened to this ef- fusion with a sneer of contempt. " Matilde Follis will give you no trouble ; but you forget her father, who is, I am informed, a very dangerous customer ; besides, the girl has a half brother, or sweetheart, or some relative out in the mines. He's a very sure shot, I'm told, and has laid out his man in street fights more than once." " Good Gad ! I'd forgotten the border-ruffian father," mutters Gussie. " What am I to do ? I'd better offer to renew the engagement till I get across the pond." At this Avonmere bursts out laughing, for the Crusa- der blood of old Hugo de Bassington has fled from the present lord's face, and his lips are trembling. The Englishman remarks slowly, fighting down a tone of sarcasm in his voice, " I think the safest way for you to do, my dear Bassington, will be to say nothing about jilting Miss Follis. She has a certain kind of plebeian backwoods pride that will perhaps prevent her mention- ing this matter to her cut-throat relatives, and they may let you live." " Yaas, that'll be the better way," lisps Gussie. ** Mum's the word ! " and he rises, leaving Avonmere looking over the newspapers. " Beastly jealous fellows those penny-a-liners," he 1 86 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. gazing back from the door. " The whole lot of them never gave me a head-line, when it's really a matter of national moment." " My lord's carriage is in waiting," announces the ser- vant with great empressement, and with a muttered " Au revoir" Baron Bassington departs to new extravagances and social honors. Avonmere is happy to note that the journals do not say as much about the recently discovered lord as he had ex- pected ; most of their city editors being wary individuals and suspicious of sudden and unaccountable things. Though none of the papers express a direct doubt as to the new peer's title, most of them mention the affair as a rumor in articles of only moderate length. " If little Gussie had mentioned Stillman, Myth & Co. to them," laughs Avonmere, " he'd probably had longer notices ; as it is, they'll make him celebrated in a day or two. If I know anything of the New York press they'll give him head-lines before they're done with him." A moment after a new thought comes to him, he quotes from Mrs. Marvin's letter, " Strike while the iron is hot!" Then going to his room he arrays himself very care- fully and faultlessly ; and with a face that is pale with anxiety at one moment and flushed with expectant pas- sion at another, for in his earthly way he loves this West- ern beauty, Lord Avonmere walks out of his house and strolls up Fifth Avenue, rings the door-bell of the Follis mansion TO STRIKE ! To his question, the footman says that Miss Follis is at home, and shows him into the reception room. Here he sits down and meditates upon his plan of campaign. But thought gives way to action under the rustle of approaching skirts. Looking up he sees Matilde stand- ing in the open doorway, a slight blush on her fair face, a little tremble in her coral lips, and blue eyes that droop and languish as their glance meets his ; for the wily Marvin's well-planted seed has come to fruitful harvest and filled Miss Follis's mind with this one great idea " Accept this man to-day, and the world will say that you, for his sake, yesterday jilted Augustus Baron Bassington not he you ! " MISS NOBODY OP NOWHIXB. 38? Being brought up in Madame Lamere's best school of aplomb, though nervous and perhaps a little frightened, she says " Good morning " to him quite prettily, but doesn't hold out her hand, and mentions that her mother and Mrs. Marvin have just gone to Madame Lamere's to bring Miss Flossie home from school. " Ah ! your charming sister ? " interjects her visitor. " How did you know she was my charming sister ? You have never seen her," remarks Matilde, archly. " No," he replies, gallantly, "but I have seen jw* /" " Oh, we're not at alt alike," she laughs ; and then stammers out, " What conceit in me taking a compli- ment I compelled you to make." " Reject the compliment if you wish, but remember I've been holding out my hand for a minute," he sug- gests. Thus compelled, she gives him a smiling blush and her hand also, which receives such tender treatment that the smile leaves her, and the blush grows deeper, as she explains to Avonmere that her sister is going to live at home, and come out in society right away ; Mrs. Marvin has suggested it, and Flossie has both implored and fought for it. " And you ? " he questions. " I fought for it also \ And when both her daughters take the war-path, the Indian fighter generally gives in," she rejoins with a slight laugh. " Flossie and I have always been together till this winter, and wish to be side by side again. Wait till you see her but they'll all be here in a few minutes and then you will say she is charming." All this has been given him in rather an embarrassed, disconnected, jerky way, as if she wished to keep the conversation all to herself and permit her visitor to say very little. But Matilde 's last remark brings upon her the denouement she has half wished to postpone. Avonmere knows his time will be short, and gets to business at once. " You seem a little distraite" he answers, " after your social triumph last night," and moves his seat quite close to her, which makes her lose her head and give him an opening. " My social triumph ? " she echoes. ** Why, I was sc igg MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. overcome at my social triumph last night that I thought of taking this morning's ' Limited ' to Denver ! " Then, with a little hollow laugh she is about to place her chair in retreat, but is too late for his hand is on her wrist He has his opportunity and uses it very quietly, very cunningly, but very quickly. " You were going away without a word to me 1 " he says, trying to keep the passion out of his voice and face, for he has a pretty shrewd idea that, if he does not frighten her by loving her too much, he will get her promise. The love business he thinks will come after- ward. She looks at him rather coolly, though she does not take her hand from his grasp. He goes on, " If I had known THAT, I should have spoken last night I would have spoken before" " Why, you've only known me a week ! " she gasps in surprise, and her blue eyes opening very wide become gorgeously beautiful to him. " True," he says, " I had forgotten that it seems to me as if I had known you my lifetime," and the passion comes into his voice despite himself. " Do you know what I am going to tell you ? " " No," she gasps nervously. Then becoming cool, for she likes him less the more he loves her, and his eyes are beginning to tell their tale, she remarks : " How should I?" " How should you ? " he cries bitterly. " How should any woman know a man loves her ? But since you will deceive yourself I will unmask myself I I love you, and I ask you to be my wife Lady Avonmere ! You are the first woman who has ever heard those words from my lips." Which is the grim truth of the matter, for until dearth of money suggested it, his worst enemy could never have accused him of being a marrying man. At this she grows very pale, and says very slowly, " I will be candid with you I do not love you I love no man ! I'll have no more pretended affection on my conscience. Do you know, my greatest happiness last night as I smiled into that inconstant idiot's face was that he had never kissed me ! " She is red as a rose now, but manages to stammer out, " If you'll take me after thig confession if you think me worthy of youf MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 1 89 name now my hand is yours," and she holds it out to him, trembling, and shaking, with both shame and feal shame at what she has revealed, fear that he may de- spise her, and crush her pride by refusing the apology offered for her heart. He looks at it a moment ; then takes the pretty mem ber in his grasp and salutes it as his ancestor would have done in the time of the Second Charles. " I accept this," he says, lightly. " Agreed, we marry ; but neither of us love." But here Mother Eve comes into Matilde ; she snatches her hand away and giving him a reproachful pout whis- pers, " You don't love me ? " and looking more beautiful than ever opens the flood-gates of his passion. "Don't I?" he cries. "By this I and THIS! I do." And crushing her beautiful figure in his strong arms, he draws her blushing face to his, and after this Matilde Follis can never say of him as she did of little Gussie, " Thank God, this man never kissed me ! " She struggles from him, throws herself upon a sofa with a faint affrighted cry and covers her face with her hands. Though he cannot see the working of her mind, curiously enough he has done the very best thing he could to further his plans ; for now she thinks, " I can wed no other man ; shame, if naught else, will drive me to the altar with this one." So he stands gazing at her, a smile of triumph on his clear-cut features and elated passion in his Italian eyes; her beauty as she pants and sobs is greater than it was before. But this does not last long. Among the sounds of the great thoroughfare outside, is that of a halting carriage. She springs up, and whispering an affrighted " Don't speak of your victory, yet" flies from the room. She is just in time ; a servant is opening the front door, and there are voices in the vestibule leading to the street. These come to Avonmere in a confused manner. Then Mrs. Follis enters and says cordially, " How are ycr ? We've just brought my Floss home, ahe'li be down in a minute ; you wait and see her," and will take no denial, for she is very proud of ber adopted child. 190 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. A moment after, Matilde comes back without a sign o! the agitation of her recent scene. She has a pleasant little fib on her lips, having just run in to see that they had a good lunch for Flossie servants are not to be trusted, and boarding-school girls are always hungry. So he remains, and they go into a pleasant little chat, Mrs. Follis telling him, in her peculiar diction, of the way her daughter Floss has struggled to get out of Madame Lamere's clutches and take a " posish " in society. Which Avonmere endures in a lazy, dreamy way, being quite anxious to get on good terms with the mother of his betrothed. During this he occasionally steals a glance at the young lady, whose cheeks blush under his gaze, though her eyes have an appealing look in them when they meet his, which is not often, as she seems interested in everything but her fiance. Noting this, Avonmere wisely judges that his kisses have conquered this haughty young lady, and that he has only to play the master, to be it. He is very happy in this idea, and when a moment after Mrs. Marvin comes in, he gives her a glance that telegraphs his triumph. But even while answering it, that astute diplomatist sees his face change under her eyes and grow suddenly ashen. " The same as he showed when he saw the photograph of the ' Baby ' mine canon," thinks the old lady, and looks round for the cause of this mental phe- pomenon. There is no change in the room, save that Miss Flossie, with sparkling happy eyes, at her freedom from school and entree into the world, is standing in the doorway. Mrs. Marvin takes another glance at Avonmere. Drops of perspiration are on his forehead, which is white as marble. He has even gripped the chair to save himself from falling for he had risen to receive Mrs. Marvin. " Can it be Flossie's voice ? " thinks his observer, for that young lady is crying out, " Oh ! what lovely rooms you've given me the best in the house. Mother, you've robbed yourself." " I got out of them not for your sake, but my own," says Mrs. Follis. "I don't like their posish. In that MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 191 corner suet the racket from milkmen and hack drivers would have made your dad crazy, when he turns up from Denver/' " You always say something of that kind when you do anything particularly generous for me, mother," returns the girl, coming up to Mrs. Follis and getting hold of her hand. The next instant Matilde has said : " Flossie, let me present Lord Avonmere," and turning round she for the first time sees the Englishman, and grows taller and more statuesque. " Oh, Lord Avonmere," she lisps in the nonchalant way Mrs. Marvin had seen when she first met her. " I'm very happy," and holds out a welcoming hand. " I've I've heard of you from your sister," that gentleman contrives to get out, though the widow notes two little gasps in his voice, which has grown hoarser and more guttural than it usually is. As the sound comes to Miss Flossie's ears, she looks disappointed for a second and then goes calmly on. " You've been very well known to me for some time." " A ah," he says in a kind of startled way. "Yes, Madame Lamere's opera class have devoted their lorgnettes to you I was one of them. I hope we'll be good friends. I'm going to my first dance to-night ; Mrs. Rivington's. Mrs. Marvin was so kind as to get me an invitation." " But your clothes ? " gasps her mother. "Oh, that's already arranged," laughs the girl. "Anti- cipating my nuptials, I ordered my trousseau a month ago. Behold White, Howard & Co. ! " and looking out of the window, she points to a wagon delivering a series of boxes and baskets with the brand of this well-known firm of caterers to woman's extravagance in dress. " Nuptials ? Trousseau ? Great Scott ! Who are you going to marry?" screams Mrs. Follis, overcome and pale. " Society, mother dear," lisps the girl. " Oh, that's what you're driving at," gasps Rachel. a You gave me an awful turn with your enigmatical language." Then sne says sternly : " I don't like double entenders from young girls." At this there is a ripple of laughter, during which Avonmere contrives to take his leave, Miss Flossie saying l$2 MISS NOBODY OP NOWHERE. to him as he bids her good-by, * Don't forget Mr&, Rivington's, I'm sure you have an invitation," m a tone that makes a very curious light come into Matilde's eyes. A moment after, noticing that her sister has no en- gagement ring on her finger, the debutante gives Mrs. Marvin a grateful glance and remarks : ' ' And now the society lady will take her lunch," assuming a grand air and striding off to the dining-room. Here she is followed by Matilde, who talks to her as she feasts, for it is quite late in the day and the others have lunched long ago. As for Avonmere, he gets down the street somehow for a block or two, then chancing to sight an empty cab, he hails the driver, gets in and is driven home, muttering to himself : " Impossible. There was her mother and sitfter. What nonsense ! And yet just how she would have grown up. The image of Agnes Willoughby ! That trick of the eyes." Then he suddenly gives a low but awful groaning laugh and cries : " By Jove ! I'm get- ting a conscience, like Macbeth I'm seeing ghosts I " CHAPTER XVIL "DARN ME IF IT AIN'T PETE I* " GOING to Mrs. Rivington's function to-night ?" bab- bles Mr. Gussie, coming into Avonmere's apartments about nine o'clock in the evening of the day that gentle- man has had his Macbeth soliloquy, and finding him rather out of sorts and in a very bad humor. " I may and I may not," he says shortly and snap* pily. "Thendont!" "Why not?" " Because I'm going to give a little supper to-night to some of the old crowd. I want to show them how an English nobleman with a big income entertains," he says pompously. At this declaration a peculiar grin comes over his listener's mobile features, and noting the returned en- MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 193 gagement ring, which has sparkled upon Gussie's finger during the gesticulation of his last speech, Avonmere remarks : " You wish me to join your party ? " "Y a a s. Thought you might like to give a brother peer your countenance." " Anything but the supper ? " "Well, perhaps a little game afterward. The usual thing, yer know." " All right ! " says his lordship briskly. " I'll accept your invitation with pleasure, Lord Bassington," and he twists up a little perfumed note he has in his hand. " Oh, by Jove ! I know that handwriting," cries Gussie. " I've heard of you ; the populace say you cut me out with Miss Tillie. Rather absurd idea, isn't it ! " " Very ! " answers Avonmere, who dares not say much for fear of letting his temper get the best of him. For this last insinuation has been made in such a self-confident tone that his listener wants to kick Augustus out of the room ; which he would do had it not occurred to him that it will be just as well if he gets back from Lord Bassing- ton some of the money that had been paid to him by Messrs. Stillman, Myth & Co., to induce him to believe he was an English peer with a lordly rent-roll. Besides, Avonmere has been considering his ways and means, and to give Miss Follis a betrothal token hand- some enough to be a suitable present from a nobleman to a great heiress, will make a serious inroad on his available cash. Noting the gleam of the diamond on Gussie's finger, he thinks this may be arranged, and keeps his temper. Therefore he says in his kindliest and most cordial tones : " My dear Bassington, I will be with you. At what hour ? ' * " Oh, about eleven ! Delmonico's, room i T. I'm going to see my venerable relatives, old Van Twiler and Lydia. They've fallen in love with me since I became a peer. So has the rest of the world. Jeems, is my broum in waiting ? ** "Yes, your lordship," answers the man, and little Gussie goes whistling off to pass a yawny hour at Washington Square. Avonmere shortly after this writes to his fianfie, stating that business will prevent him seeing her this evening 394 MIS S NOBODY OF NOWHERE. either at her own home or Mrs. Rivington's, and beg ging her to present his compliments to her sister and wish her a pleasant debut. This note he soon after despatches with a couple of magnificent bouquets from Klunders, one for Miss Follis and the other for Miss Florence ; then feeling himself free from the chance of seeing the girl's face this even- ing, he gives a sigh of relief. For in his soul of souls he is shrinking from the thought of meeting the flashing eyes of Flossie Follis. "I'll have no more Macbeth soliloquies," he says to himself, with a shudder. " I'll not look on my pretty ghost till I've got my nerves in training." With this he goes out to enjoy Mr. Gussie's hospitality, and meeting the young lord and several other of his inti- mate friends, they make a sportive night of it ; and the cards being brought in, somehow luck favoring him, though he handles the pasteboards with rare skill, he wins quite a large amount of money, most of it from his host, who plays very badly. Coming home together, Avonmere cautions Lord Bas- sington to be less reckless in his play ; but is answered with this remark : " What are a few hundreds or a few thousands to a nobleman of my means ? " " Still, great as they are, you may find them exhausted," murmurs the Englishman. " Besides, you hardly played as well as the rest." " Didn't I ? " cries Gussie. ** The luck was against me. The cards running fairly, I can play any man in New York you for instance." " I scarcely think so ! " What ? " ' You see I'm so very fortunate at games of chance," says Avonmere, confidently. " Are you ? Well, I'll back my skill against your luck," returns Augustus. " I owe you five hundred, I believe." " Five hundred and forty-five," corrects his companion. " Then come into my parlor, and I'll owe you nothing or more before we get up." " It's too late nearly four o'clock." " Pough ! that's about the right time for a thorough bred to wake up ! " cries Gussie. " Coma f " MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 195 " Very well, since you insist ! " says Avonmere. * Though I warn you, I nearly always win ! " " Oh, rats ! " remarks the new lord, who has too much champagne on board for caution, and will not be warned. So the two sit down for a quiet game, and at eight o'clock in the morning Avonmere, rising up from it, has a check on the Second National for twenty-five hundred and odd dollars in his hand, and upon his finger sparkles the engagement ring that Matilde had returned to Mr. Gussie. " You'll give a fellah his hie revenge ? " stutters out the latter, who having added brandy to his cham- pagne, is now in a fearful state. " Certainly. I hope the loss does not inconvenience you ? " returns Avonmere, very politely, and goes off to his breakfast, leaving Augustus to get to bed, muttering : " Inconvenience a lord with sixty thousand a year ? I'm afraid Avonmere's income can't be any great shakes. If so, I'll I'll cut him, by the blood of old Hugo de Bas Bassington ! when I cross the er herrin' pond." Strolling into Delmonico's, that he had left but five hours before, Avonmere makes a very comfortable break- fast, then walks down to Twenty-third Street, enters the Second National Bank, and as the clock strikes ten, presents Bassington's check, and gives a sigh of relief as it is paid. For he has been mortally afraid that there may not be funds enough to meet it, little Gussie's extravagance has been so great. Then strolling to Tiffany's, he twists the jewel out of the ring on his finger and orders it reset and properly initialled for his betrothal offering to Miss Follis. Being promised that it will be ready by the afternoon, he goes home, and getting to bed sleeps the sleep of the wicked, which is sometimes as sound as that of the just especially after the wicked has been spreeing, gaming, and tooting all night. That afternoon, his man calling him about four o'clock, Avonmere rises from his slumbers, and feeling quite cer- tain he has driven the ghost from his imagination, for that is what he terms Miss Flossie, thinks he will stroll up the avenue and slip his engagement manacle upon Matilde's pretty finger. This bauble has already arrived from Messrs. Tif a$6 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHEBLik fany, who usually keep their promises. So, with Gussie'* diamond sparkling in his pocket, my lord is in a quietly pleasant state of mind when he rings the door-bell of Number 637 Fifth Avenue. In answer to his inquiry, " Is Miss Follis at home ? " the servant, with the carelessness of American menials, says : " Yes, my lord ; she's in the reception room," and promptly shows him into that apartment, announcing him at the door. The room has not yet been lighted, and, the season being mid-winter, is quite dark at half-past four in the afternoon ; for in most New York houses the windows are very heavily curtained, partly to keep the apart- ments as warm as possible and partly to show off as much elaborate draperies and lace as can be exhib- ited. As he enters, a young lady arises. Then, taking a sudden glance around the room to see there is no one else present, Avonmere, with the eagerness of that emo- tion he compliments by calling love, steps rapidly toward her. " My darling " is already formed and on his lips, when a voice comes to him and makes him tremble and grow pale once more. But with an effort he controls himself and listens," for it is only the tones of Miss Flossie Follis, who is holding out her hand to him, and crying with the impulsive frankness of girlhood : " Thank you, so much, Lord Avonmere, for the beautiful bouquet you sent me last evening ; I carried it to Mrs. Rivington's dance." " I am glad you liked it," murmurs the gentleman addressed, with a tremor in his articulation that, fight how he may, will get into it ; the voice is so like-~-that of the past. " Oh, I did, thoroughly ! I told Tillie it was much prettier than hers, though she would not admit it. But why don't you sit down ? Mamma is out, so is Tillie and Mrs. Marvin, and I am arbiter of your comfort It is too dark to see, but I know you are standing up and uneasy." Then ringing the bell, Miss Flossie says : ' Lights, Thomas ! " in the easy tone of young ladyhood, that indicates she has already put Madame Lamere's boarding-school behind her, and instead of obeying, as- pects to command. MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 197 This being done, she turns to her guest, who has been gazing at her as if hypnotized, and asks : " Why were you not at Mrs. Rivington's ? " then pouts, " You might have come, to my first party." " Impossible ! Business ! " murmurs Avonmere. "Business? a lord has business?" she echoes in a suppressed laugh. "Why, I had supposed it one of the privileges of your rank to do nothing ?" " Oh ! " returns the gentleman, " I work often." " All last night, eh ? " " What makes you think that ? " " Why, you said so : your note told of midnight labors. Besides, I heard " " What ? " " Well, Mr. Benson was at Mrs. Rivington's last even- ing. He came late was introduced to me. He doesn't talk well to ladies. Seems to think it his glory to show how wicked he is : consequently, he is dangerous to the good name of the rest of you. In displaying his dissi- pations he discloses yours. He told me he had just left you and Lord Bassington. You had gone in for all- night poker." " Did he mention no other names ? " asks Avonmere. " No," returns the girl, lazily, playing with a bonbot holder she has in her hand. " The rest were Americans. I presume. Mr. Benson did not think their names would give importance to him, and so spared them." * c He didn't tell that story to Matilde, did he ? " ques. tions the English lord with a start, his brain heaping mental curses upon the head of the babbling Benson ; for he has suddenly remembered that his note told his fiancle of important and unpostponable business. " I I believe he did," answers Miss Flossie, some- what maliciously. " Mr. Benson is a curious young man, I asked him how he could leave such society as yours. Perhaps my vanity expected some of the stock-in-trade compliments of society men to society women, such as, ' I knew you were going to be here, Miss Florence, 1 or 1 Mrs. Rivington always has such beautiful girls, though she's a little ahead of her usual form this evening.' But I was disappointed ; he's a Wall Street man and gave mo a financial answer." " And that wa " say* his lordship, who !s anxiom 198 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. lo know the worst that Matilde may have heard o him. " Well," laughs the girl with a mischievous glance, " he said, * I never play with Lord Avonmere, it costs to* much money? But you mustn't be angry with him. Mr. Benson was only talking to amuse himself and me. Your family name is Willoughby, is it not ? " " Yes," returns the Englishman, for the girl's tone has been so easily conversational that for a moment he has lost all thought of the past. Then he suddenly asks, " How did you know ? " in a voice that astounds her. "Why," she says laughingly, "at Madame Lamere's we studied Debrett. Arthur, 23d Baron Avonmere I remember Thomas, 2ist Baron Florence Beatrice. Baroness Avonmere died aged nine killed by Indians in America country seats, Avonmere Castle, Hants Beach - man Manor, Berks. I looked you up again yesterday," and she laughs merrily at him, and plays with her bonbon box, while he sits gazing on her as if on a basilisk. This glance is so peculiar that in a moment Miss Flossie would notice it, did not Matilde suddenly enter and take note of it for her own instruction. She has just come in from some afternoon tea or reception ; and Mrs. Marvin, who is always pleased to chaperone the beautiful heiress, is just behind her. They are both in carriage dresses, the widow looking dowager-like in satins and brocades that cover her two hundred pounds of ruby-tinted figure, while Matilde seems like a blonde winter-fairy in violet velvet trimmed with the fur of the silver fox ; though as she looks on Avonmere, apparently devouring Miss Flossie .with his glance, the fairy's eyes become rather excited and an- noyed and earth-born. She says with a slight irritation in her voice, giving the gentleman, who has sprung hurriedly up to receive her, a rather haughty bow, " I am happy to see your midnight business, Lord Avonmere, is at length finished, I hope my sister has been able to keep you awake, after your prolonged exertions of last evening. " Thus compelled to compliment, Matilde's betrothed replies that Miss Florence has made his call a very pleasant one. And Flossie murmurs, meekly, <* I did my best to keep MI98 NOBODY OP NOWHERE. tfty him here till you arrived, and I am happy to say suc- ceeded.'* Her eyes emphasize the last word in a way that makes Matilde's orbs grow big with some new emo- tion an expression of countenance that causes the watchful Marvin great happiness. Her enjoyment is not shared by the others, for the conversation seems out of joint ; Avontnere appears unable to keep his eyes from the younger sister, which causes the elder to be distraite, nervous and irritable. Twice Matilde throws out hints as to Flossie's taking time enough to dress for dinner, or suggests some errand that will remove that young lady from the room. But hints are thrown away on the younger sister, who sits very calmly talking about the opera this evening, the first one she shall go to as a young lady, and giving them a dissertation on Madame Lamere's opera classes, till at length Avonmere rises to go. Matilde would follow him to the hall, for she is desper- ately anxious to have a two-word tte-a-tete with him ; but in the exuberant spirits of young ladyhood her sister comes out beside her and cries, "Don't forget our box to-night, Lord Avonmere ! I wish to make a goodly showing of young men on my first night as a debutante. Madame Lamere's girls will be there, and I'm naughty enough to wish the children to see that I am making good running for the social stakes. You haven't shaken hands with me coming or going." " Oh, I've reserved you for the last," says his lordship a little nervously, taking her offered palm. At this there comes an expression in Matilde's eyes that brings to Mrs. Marvin a chuckling joy. " The dear little innocent, how she plays my game for me ! " thinks that female diplomat. " If Miss Flossie keeps this up, Matilde'll be jealous enough to elope with Avonmere." That gentleman has just passed out Miss Florence is on her way up-stairs. So, anxious to give this idea a good start and favoring wind in Miss Follis's mind, the old lady rustles into the hall and putting her arm round Matilde's waist, who is standing pale and thoughtful, remarks laughingly, " Your younger sister should have been kept at school eh?" COO MISS NOBODY OP NOWHERE. " Nonsense ! " cries the girl, growing very red. " Flossia Can't take a hint that's all." " Then give her a fact that she must accept before " " Before what ? " interjects Matilde. " Well, young girls just from school are very suscepti- ble, and Avonmere is handsome. A proof of your taste Tell her in time/" At her words, Matilde, who has grown red, cries, " Absurd ! She's only seen him twice," and trying a laugh she moves up the stairs, for she doesn't care to discuss such a matter with any one. Mrs. Marvin looks at her protegee as she passes from her sight ; secure triumph on her ruddy face. She knows she has planted, and there will be a reaping ; and so goes merrily to dress for dinner. While this has been passing below, Miss Flossie is pac- ing her room above. Striding about like a tragedy queen she mutters, " Am I right ? Can it be ? Heaven help me to play my role till I discover ! " next cries, " Oh, for a little clew something to start my awakening mind some shock some lightning flash to save my Tillie in time ! " This is so wild, so disconnected, so illogical, that she seems almost a maniac, for she has thrown down her hair and tumbled off her dress, and her white arms are in such lovely but agitated gesticulation, they would denote the disorder of madness, did not a noble courage beam in her eyes when she cries out her sister's name. Perhaps Heaven has heard her prayer, for shortly after this the Patriarchs' ball brings a very curious com- plication into this young lady's life, and also a sensation to Philip Everett That gentleman has devoted himself to business as far as he can since the time of seeing Lord Avonmere at the Metropolitan on the night of Mr. Gussie's " Razzle Daz- zle." He has not wished to see his suspect until he receives advices from New Mexico and England, fearing that he may let his temper betray him into some indis- cretion ; therefore he has kept to Wall Street, knowing there was little chance of encountering this English lord on that arena of speculation. On the day of this subscription ball he has, however, Deceived a letter from New Mexico that has put him is, MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 3OI Mr. Everett ! " and takes the arm of somebody, Phil doesn't care who, for he is dazed at the girl's actions. Then vanity coming upon this man, who has received what many have asked for and not obtained, he thinks: " If Miss Flossie is a minx, she's the most charming, fas- cinating, and lovable minx in existence," and goes to watching her movements with some rather curious dis- coveries. First, he notes that two or three times, as her eyes catch his, there seems to come into them a perplexed look, and once she passes her hand over her forehead as if struggling with some mental problem that worries her young brain. Second, he perceives that whenever Avonmere is near her sister, which is quite often, Miss Flossie's eyes flame and blaze with some potent emotion perhaps anger, cer- tainly not love ; though, curiously enough, she seems to like the nobleman's company, throwing herself in his way as much as possible, as if striving to draw his attentions from Miss Tillie to herself. This peculiarity is apparently perceived by Miss Tillie also, who once or twice, catching her sister at this work, gives her some most unsisterly glances. The lanciers particularly emphasizes Miss Flossie's peculiar feelings to Avonmere. She is at the side of the set h at the head. While 8 10 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. he is going through the figure with the couple oppo&it^ she gazes at him with intensity, perhaps even with hate. When he turns to dance with her, as she looks into his face, her eyes grow soft, winning, even caressing. " Perhaps it's the effect of family blood," thinka Phil. An idea that Avonmere himself has; for this wily gentle- man, having been given a hint by his view of the canon of the Baby mine, has soon pumped out of the Follis family the story of the girl's discovery and adoption, and knows very well that the pretty white hands he holds in his as he turns Miss Flossie in the lanciers are those of his niece, who should, by every chance of nature, have been devoured by wild beasts or starved to death long years ago in the far-away Rocky Mountains. As Phil looks on this, a very nasty expression comes into his face, as he thinks of a letter he has just received this day from " Brick " Garvey. Brief, characteristic, and pointed, it states that the only telegrams received in Lordsburgh the day Everett had driven Mrs. Willoughby to her death had given the true direction of the Indian raid. " That cuss was 'cuter than an Apache ! " concludes Mr. Garvey ; " he tied the Britisher to destruction by his love for his wife and baby. You lure your young lordling, with his Greaser grin, here. Then the boys will lynch him sure, and the sheriff '11 be behind time, as usual ! " Remembering what this man has done, which makes it difficult to keep his hands off him, much less treat him with the courtesy common to the chance acquaintanceship of a ball-room, Phil suggests that, instead of remaining with Mrs. Marvin and Miss Tillie and Avonmere, they occupy a table with Mrs. Willis, his sister, and Grouse- moor. To this Miss Flossie assents; and finding Everett's party, they all go down together to the big restaurant upon the ground floor, that is now closed to general custom, and in which there is plenty of room for every one at the small tables. Here the younger Miss Follis makes herself so agree- able, bright, and charming that both the ladies and Grouse- moor fall in love with her conquests which please Phil greatly, though his watchful eyes can't help noticing that MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 211 at times the girl's gayety seems strained, not as if she were unhappy, but as if anxious and perplexed. Perplexed when his voice comes to her ear, for at such Simes her big eyes seem to have caught the far-away look that was in his when first they met ; anxious when she glances at the near-by table at which Avonmere and her sister are seated in earnest conversation, Mrs. Marvin, who sits with them, apparently devoting all her senses to the supper. Toward the close of the meal Miss Bessie, with that air of proprietorship peculiar to approaching brides, whis- pers : " Grousemoor, take up Miss Florence with Mrs. Willis ; I want to say a word to Phil." " Delighted ! " remarks that nobleman, and would do as he is bid, but Flossie suddenly says : " If you don't mind, I'll go over to Mrs. Marvin's table until they come up. I I want to see Matilde a second." * Shall I wait for you ? " asks Phil. "If you have the patience," returns the girl. So Everett remains alone at his table, while she hurries off to the one at which Lord Avonmere and Miss Tillie are in full tetc-b-titc, receiving a rather savage glance from her sister for this attention. Paying no heed to this, Flossie seats herself beside Avonmere, and proceeds to make herself so agreeable that, finding she can't get rid of her, Maltilde rises and says : " I suppose it's about time for the cotillon. Let's go up-stairs, since Flossie is tired of her big Bostonian." Now, the restaurant being nearly empty, and Miss Tillie's voice quite loud from anger or jealousy or some other unruly passion, this remark comes very clearly to Phil's ears, amid the pop of a champagne cork or two from distant quarters of the room. His face grows red. Glancing at him, Miss Flossie divines that he has heard and suddenly comes to his side. *' If you are ready, Mr. Everett," she says, with a rather quiet voice ; " may I have your arm ? " " Certainly," answers Phil ; and the two leave the tupper-room just behind Avonmere, Mis3 Follia. and Mrs. Marvin. As they walk very slowly, and the others quite fast, they are soon alone; and coming up the stairs. Miss 19 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. Flossie, growing red in the face, remarks : " What must you think of me ? You have met me only this evening, and I first cheat Mr. Reach out of his dance, and next am equally rude to you but but " She hesitates and seems so embarrassed .that Everett assists her. " But you have some reason for this last ? " he ven- tures. " Yes, and a very good one," says the girl ; " though not the one my sister so kindly attributed to me.'* " You are quite sure of that ? " " Come in to the german and I'll prove it to you," is her answer, as she is pounced upon by her partner for this dance. Phil, however, has faith enough in her words to go into the ball-room, where, to his delight, Miss Flossie takes him out so continuously that he becomes the envy of half the men in the room, for the younger Miss Follis's beauty and fortune have made her quite a belle even in her first week of metropolitan society. " It carn't be his darncing ? " lisps Tommy Remson. " It's because his sister's going to marry a lord. After my affair with her sister, Miss Flossie can't give me a favor, and so takes the awh next best article," suggests little Gussie. " I think I've hit his point," says the more practical Benson. " It's his grip ! Look how he squeezes her. Keep it to yourselves, or all the other girls in the room'll be after him also." Whereupon these three young gentlemen, who have been looking at Everett's success with Miss Flossie, and do not like it, burst into a derisive giggle. They are not entirely wrong, however. Phil does not waltz so well as these young gentlemen who make a prac- tice of it night after night, but he holds Flossie Follis as he would hold no other woman in the dance or out of it. His arm circles her dainty waist as if he loved her; for the joy of adoring has got into his head, and the hope of re- ciprocity is in his eyes as his meet those of this girl float- ing with him to the music of Lander, which seems to Phil as that of the spheres. The melody stimulates his im- agination ; the ball-room becomes the hot mesa of Ari- zona ; he is carrying a little girl who says : " Kiss me, deal Mr. Peter," as she rides in his arms ; the thump of a big MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 213 drum in the balcony is the stroke of Possum's hoofs on the trail. From this he awakes with a start. In his mad career, the thought of pursuing Apaches having made him dance very fast, he has nearly floored an unfortunate colliding couple. " You waltz enthusiastically," says his inspiration, with a panting smile, for the pace has been a very hot one. " Yes, like a cowboy ! " is the smothered anathema of one of the run-against. At this a very extraordinary look comes into Miss Flossie's face, and she dances no more with Phil Everett. But it is so near the close of the ball that he does not notice this, and goes home, very excited and very happy, and greatly in love ; not with the calculating passion of a AVall Street man, but with the ardor of a cowboy, or a foot- ball rusher, or a Romeo. In proof of this, he is no sooner at the Brevoort than he marches into Grousemoor's rooms. That gentleman, having left Delmonico's in advance of Phil, he finds already in bed. " By Jove ! what's the row ? " mutters the lord, aston- ished at this intrusion. " Do you know whom I've been dancing with to-night?" asks Everett. " That's not hard guessing," replies the other, with a grin ; " I only saw one, pretty little Miss Flossie Fol- lis." " Not Miss Flossie Follis," cries Phil, " but Florence Beatrice Stella Willoughby, Lady Avonmere, baroness by her own right in the peerage of England ! " This astounding announcement hardly produces the expected effect. Grousemoor cries out : "Go to bed, Phil. You are drunk ! " " Yes, drunk with astonishment joy love ! but not drunk with wine ! " answers the American. " You know I thought Avonmere had murdered the child. He at- tempted it by one of his cursed ' hand of God ' acci- dents, but she escaped, and I'll prove it to you ! " Whereupon he sits down by his friend's bedside, and tells him all he has learned from Abe Follis of the finding of his adopted daughter. Concluding, he says : " Thr 2i4 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. child was found on July 7th, 1881. Arthur Willoughbj and his niece stopped at Pueblo, on their way from New Mexico, on June i4th of the same year. In three weeks he could have carried the child to the place he deserted her. I recognize on her arm the wound of the Apache. I am as sure that girl I danced with to-night te Florence, Lady Avonmere, as that I was once Pete the, cowboy, who saved her life ! " " That being the case," says Grousemoor meditatively, " do you think Arthur Willoughby, the man called Lord Avonmere, knows it ? " " Why do you ask that ? K " Because, if he does," returns the Scotchman, with a very serious face, " don't you think he may be trying some of his ' hand of God ' accidents upon his newly discovered niece ? " " She's safe enough for the present," answers Phil. " Don't you suppose I've considered that ? " "Why?" " Because Avonmere, being a cunning scoundrel, will attempt no injury to Miss Flossie Follis so long as she doesn't know he has her fortune and her title." " You are sure she does not guess ? " " Certainly ! " " But you propose to show her who she is ? " " As soon as I have the proofs proofs that will destroy any danger from him." " How ? " " By making him an outcast and a criminal." " When do you commence this business ? " "Now!" '* You are a rapid creature ! " " I'm an American business man, and time means sue- cess i " cries Phil. And he sends a long cablegram to the London soli citor this very night, that makes that lawyer open his eyes and cry : * My great case has come to me at last ! ' MISS NOBODY OF NOWHRBJk CHAPTER THE BOGUS BASSINGTOW. WHILE this has been going on, another interview, much more enthusiastic, theatrical, and savage, has been taking place between Miss Tillie and Miss Flossie. The two girls had arrived at the Follis mansion on ap- parently good terms, though Mrs. Marvin and Avonmere, who had accompanied them home, had done most of the talking in the carriage. The few remarks of Miss Flossie to Avonmere, however, had been of a kind to put her sister upon her mettle, and had caused Mrs. Marvin to repeat her warning to Matilde to cut short any hope upon the debutante's part of getting their escort's coronet upon her brow. This she had whispered to Tillie after they had come into the hall and while Avonmere was mak- ing his adieux to her younger sister. Therefore, after kissing Flossie good-night, Miss Tillie, some recollection of the girl's tender manner to Avon- mere coming very vividly to her in the solitude of her own chamber as she disrobes, thinks she might as well at once define to her sister her status with Lord Avonmere. She mutters : " I'll stop Flossie's making a fool of herself right now ! " and, throwing on a pretty robe de chambre, walks through the dimly-lighted corridor to her sister's suite of apartments, to find that young lady just dismiss- ing her maid. " I thought I would just run in, Floss, dear," says the girl, affecting an ambiguous smile, "and ask my little sister how she enjoyed her first big ball ? " " Very well ; sit down by the fire, darling, and I will give you rny ideas on the Patriarchs',*' remarks the young lady addressed, toasting five pretty little toes in front of the blaze. Then she says suddenly : " What did you think of Mr. Everett ? " " Not much about him one way or the other." answers Miss Tillie, " though he reminded me of somebody I had seen ?ome where else." " Did he ? " cries Flossie ; " he affected mo in th same way ! " And the far-away expression again come* into the girl's eyes. tit MISS NOBODY OP NOWHERE. " After that," remarks Miss Tillie, her face growing serious, " I saw my sister was interested in him ; con sequently, did not interfere." Then she says suddenly, and perhaps bitterly : " Werejw/ equally generous?" " What do you mean ? " answers Flossie, growing red. " Oh, do not pretend that you don't understand ! " cries Tillie. " Don't add deceit to your other transgres- sions against me to-night." " Transgressions against you ? " " Did / poach on your Boston business man with a big scar on his cheek ? He got it at football, I presume, at which they say he was a mighty Yale kicker ; his feet up- hold his reputation," remarks Matilde, severely, con- templating her own little slipper, that is extended to the warming blaze. " Poach ! " cries Flossie. " What do you mean ? My Boston business man ? Absurd ! I ! " and a pretty little blush contradicts her assertion. " Perhaps I am wrong in my insinuation," sneers Til- lie, " considering that you devoted at least one-half your smiles to Arthur." "Arthur!" " Yes, Arthur, the man I am about to marry," cries the other, who, having come to the gist of her remarks, has warmed up to her subject " Arthur, Lord Avonmere." " Impossible ! " As this comes from Flossie's lips there is a look of horror in her eyes. " Impossible ! Why impossible ? Has your beauty lured him from me?" gasps Matilde, growing pale at the thought, which is a very natural one, for as Florence Follis stands, her bright eyes flashing indignation, her noble figure posed under its white, clinging night-draper- ies, like that of a Greek goddess, she might cause any rival to fear the wondrous power of her loveliness. " You are going to marry him ? " says Flossie, in so broken a voice it gives her opponent courage. " Yes," cries Matilde. And seeing on her sister's countenance what she thinks is jealousy and despair, her voice becomes bitter as she goes on : " By this ring I am ! " And flaunts the diamond Avonmere has given her in Flossie's face, with a mocking laugh. " Misery ! " gasps the girl, astonishment and horror in %er eyes astonishment because she has never yet seen MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 2IJ this token upon Matilde's finger, Avonmere having sug- gested that it would be well she did not announce the engagement to her family for a few days after the ter- mination of the Van Beekman affair ; horror for some unknown reason which Tillie mistakes. " Misery ? " she echoes. " Yes, misery for you, and you deserve it. How dare you ? " "Dare what?" " Dare to love the man I love ! " " Love him ? " mutters Florence, with a shudder. " Yes, love him ! " cries Matilde, who notes her sister'i appearance and thinks it is despair. And so it is for HER. " You can't pretend in this case it is Bob's cause you are fighting, as you did when you attacked me for little Gussie." Then, being very angry with other people besides Flossie, this erratic young lady sneers : " If Bob loved me he'd he'd come here and fight his own battle." And rage or some other emotion brings tears to Tillie's eyes. To this her sister cries, " Hush ! " in an awful tone. u Don't dare to reproach him ! " " And why not ? " " Because " here Flossie's cheeks grow pale and her *oice becomes low, and she whispers : " because he has been fighting for your fortune." " Fighting for my fortune ? Pough ! So was Gussie," echoes Matilde, with a nasty laugh. " Fighting to save your fortune ! ** Ah ! " ** Fighting the fire in the mine." " Good heavens ! " " For a week the Baby mine has been on fire. Father don't know it, nor should I, but I wrote Bob to come here as he valued his happiness, and he replied that the eight- hundred-foot level was on fire, and he could not leave his duty. He telegraphed me to-day he had it undei control. So he has saved your fortune. Has he lost you, my sister, in doing it ? " To this Matilde does not answer, though her lips tremble ; there is a blush upon her face, her eyes have a softer look in them, and perhaps Bob's battle might be won now, did not his advocate make a fearful error. Youth seldom knows when to stop, and Miss Eighteen 01 8 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. goes wildly on : " Can you hesitate is Avonmere worth? of you ? " " Why not ? " asks Matilde, in an undecided voice. " Does not rumor say of him that he will marry no one save a rich woman for her fortune ? " " Ah ! " Matilde has risen, her cheeks flaming at the insinuation against her beauty and her charms. " Does not that horrible old Marvin woman play his game for him ? Did she not come and get money from me to make that little Gussie think himself a lord, and, crazy with pride and caddishness, discard you, an heiress, that Avonmere might seize upon you and your fortune through your chagrin at being jilted and your fear of being the jeer of New York society ? " " Stop ! you are crazy yourself," screams Tillie, who has listened with astonished, staring eyes to this address, which would astound any one who only saw the surface of the situation. But, true or false, every word is a tortur- ing wound to her self-love, vanity, and pride, all of which are pretty well developed in this petted beauty and belle. " I won't stop, and I'm not crazy ! " returns Miss Flos- sie, who is growing very earnest in her work. " I've heard enough from Mrs. Marvin to join with one expres- sion I caught from Avonmere 's lips to-night to know I've guessed right. We were dancing together " " Yes, too often ! " " Bassington, or Van Beekman, or whatever you want to call him, bumped against us," continues the girl, un- heeding the interruption. " Avonmere muttered under his breath, ' The miserable pauper ! ' He didn't think I heard it, but I did, and I know it means what I've told you. I know other things, also " " What other things ? " " What I can't tell you ! But give him up before it is too late. Some day you'll bless me for this. Let me take his ring and throw it in his face. He marries you for your money. He is unworthy of you ! " And with this impassioned though tactless speech, Flossie would pluck Avonmere's token from her sister's hand. But that young lady, suffering from wounded vanity and pride, is in a most ungracious mood. " Keep your touch off my engagement-ring ! " she cries. " You wish it for your own finger. You want to be a MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 919 peeress of England yourself, you plotter I " And she flashes the diamond in her sister's eyes. At this a red spot comes on each of Florence's cheeks, and her eyes begin to glisten like the diamond held be- fore them ; but forcing herself to humility, she mutters : " He is unworthy any woman's love ! " " Except yours ! " screams Matilde. " You, who malign him behind his back to me, his sweetheart. You hear that ? The girl he loves, the girl who loves him ! " " A-ah 1 " This is a moan of anguish, perhaps de- spair, which goads Matilde to madness. She cries : " You coward, to slander in secret ! You " " Don't you dare to call me that ! " cries Flossie in a louder tone. " Don't make me forget I am your sister ! " And with glaring eyes the two white-robed beauties con- front each other. But now, to their dismay, another and a stronger voice dominates the apartment. It says : " Gals, ain't yer for- got that, both of ye ? " And striding between them comes another white-robed figure, more gaunt, not so lovely, but perchance much more potent as regards grip and fighting power in a scrimmage. It is the sleepless Rach. A door that connects Miss Flossie's bed room with her own has been left ajar, and the frontier mother, tossing sleeplessly on her bed awaiting the coming of the absent Abe, who comes not, has heard the sound of conflict. " Floss, keep quiet ! Till, shut up ! Don't yer know your posish ? Bean't you ladies ? " she cries in a tone that makes both the girls pause and gaze upon her in awe and silence as she towers over them, the embodiment of angry justice. She has been worrying over the absence of Abe, and would probably worry more did she know that gentleman was still in social confab at the Hoffman House, arrang ing with Hank Morris, of the " Bully Boy," Bill Cham- bers, of the " Boa Constrictor," and Charley Daily, of the " Last Blast," for a joint box at the coming Cerclt ., Miss Flossie Follis. But the day after the Patriarchs also brings about a wof ul disaster to Augustus Lord Basstngton, which, in its evolution, raises an insignificant but vindictive adversary to any and all of Avonmere's plans. This denouement has been approaching in the gradua course of events, and is now about due. In one of the morning papers issued after the Patri* archs appears the following squib : "MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE ON WALL STREET. " The suspicious occurrences connected with the opening of a so- called law office bearing the name and putting out the sign of ' Stillman, Myth & Co., Attorneys and Counsellors at Law/ has created some curiosity and excitement at No. 61 Wall Street. " They engaged the office for a month, paying a somewhat extra rental on account of the shortness of their occupation ; but stated that if the location pleased them they would renew the lease for a longer period. " This mysterious firm had only been in business two or three days when they suddenly disappeared, clerks, attorneys, and all ; since which time the office has been locked up. 41 This morning the key was surreptitiously returned to the Janitor, who entered the offices, to find them vacant. The furniture and be- longings, which had been quite elaborate, had all mysteriously dis- appeared. " During their two or three days of active business, Stillman, Myth & Co. had but few callers and no mail. " These facts were elicited by one of our ever-vigilant reporters from .he janitor, who states that in his opinion Stillman, Myth & Co. were in the ' GREEN-GOODS' business." This article coming to the eyes of Lord Bassington as he partakes of his breakfast on the morning after the Patriarchs' function, produces great loss of appetite and vexation of spirit. He bolts into Avonmere's apartments before that gentleman is ready to receive company, and cries out 994 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. u Look at that," shoving the paper under the nose of his brother peer. As he reads, a curious expression ripples Avonmere's face, but a moment after he says : " Pough ! You know Stillman, Myth & Co. were not in the ' green-goods ' business, Bassington ! Did they take any money from you ? " " No, but, by George, they've got my draft on London for ten thousand pounds," screams his lordship. " They may do me out of that. What would you advise ? By Jove, the beggars may rob me of ten thousand pounds. Even noblemen with sixty thousand a year can't afford to lose that, don't yer know." On hearing this, Avonmere, who is in his dressing- gown, suddenly bolts into his bedroom, where Gussie can hear him gasping and struggling. A moment after he returns and mutters something about getting soap in his eyes, which look both red and watery ; then he sarcastic- ally remarks : " Why don't you cable and inquire about your ten thousand pounds ? " " So I will ! " cries Gussie, and he orders his carriage, remarking : " I have been expecting that ten thousand, yer see. I have so many payments to make, there'd be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth if I didn't get it on time, don't yer know ? " Which is perfectly true, for the little fellow has practically discounted a great portion of his expected money. He has paid no bills, and has even borrowed from his cousin, the venerable Van Twiler, two thousand dol- lars to keep him running. This has been cordially loaned by the old gentleman, who has said good-naturedly : " You young spendthrift ! But then, boys will be boys. Cousin Bassington, return it at your leisure." Using this sum entirely for pocket-money, Augustus has succeeded in running himself in debt by orders for carriages, horses, bric-ti-brac, works of art, and a thousand other accessories and appurtenances necessary to the maintenance of the rank of an English peer. Most of his spare cash has been bestowed upon the charming little Rosalie Mountjoy of the Gaiety troupe, who has fallen desperately in love with the little aristocrat since he be- MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 23tj came a lord, and has summarily discharged from her affec- tions the plebeian Hicks. Consequently, as Mr. Gussie drives down to Wall Street his bank-account is represented by a balance in two figures, and his debts and liabilities, incurred since he has received his title, by nearly twenty thousand dollars. Therefore he is very anxious for his draft. Arriving at Wall Street, he goes tremblingly up to the office he had left in such high feather, joy, and glory but a little over a fortnight before, to discover that the squib in the newspaper is a horrible and undeniable fact. But here, to his more rapid and sudden undoing, he chances to encounter one of the reporters of a daily paper. This gentleman of the press, knowing his lordship by sight, and noting his agitated and excited appearance, introduces himself and begs to ask if Lord Bassington has suffered any loss by the absconding firm. " Loss ! " screams Gussie. " The beggars had my draft on Messrs. Brown, Studley & Wilberforce, of Lon- don, for ten thousand pounds ! Two weeks ago they an- nounced the discovery of my accession to the Barony of Bassington and its estates, so I drew through them on my London solicitors for ten thousand. That infernal scoundrel Stillman was the man who first brought me the information of my English title, and paid me a thousand pounds that had been cabled to him to my credit ! " At this extraordinary information " the knight of the quill " opens his eyes and his ears also, and proceeding to sympathize very greatly with Lord Bassington's evident loss, becomes quite friendly with the unsuspecting Gus- sie, and finally draws from him the whole story of his wondrous elevation to the peerage through Stillman, Myth & Co. After giving this information in an excited but some- what irrelevant manner, Mr. Gussie bolts for a telegraph office and immediately cables Brown, Studley & Wilber- force, stating that, as Lord Bassington, whose rents they collect, he has drawn on them for ten thousand pounds in favor of Messrs. Stillman, Myth & Co., and stopping payment of the same. Then he goes home and is miserably anxious all day for his money. He tells the men at the club that " he 226 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. fears he's been robbed by those infernal scoundrels, Stillman, Myth & Co., of Wall Street, of a cool ten thousand pounds ; they had his draft on his London agents for that amount," etc., etc. But, wonderful to relate, no doubt of title or wer.lth ever enters his head. He has enjoyed them for a little time, and they are to him as fixed and real as the streets he walks upon and the dinner he eats. While this has been going on, however, the gentleman of the press has rushed for the office of his city editor, and after relating to him the extraordinary conversation he has had with the newly-made English peer, a cable is sent to the London representative of their paper, direct- ing him to call on the well-known solicitors and cable at once the exact facts regarding Lord Bassington's title and estates ; and next morning VAN BEEKMAN'S ARISTO- CRATIC BUBBLE BURSTS ! Arising to his breakfast, Gussie finds among his mail a telegram addressed to "Bassington," tears it open and reads, and as he does so the sweat of horror comes upon his brow, for these are its awful words : "Bassington title still in abeyance. No rents to collect for you. You have been imposed upon. "BROWN STUDLEY & WILBBRFORCE. "Coll." With a gasp of dismay he sinks, weak and unnerved, into a chair, muttering : " The idiots ! there must be a mistake. I suppose they'll say they didn't cable a thou- sand pounds to me next ! " Then a spasm of agony shoots through him, and with a shriek of horrified anguish he bounds from his chair and falls limp and groaning on the floor, for his rolling eyes have caught sight of an open newspaper upon the table, and in its largest type, and heading its most prominent column, he has read : "THE BOGUS BASSINGTON! HA! HAH MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 93? CHAPTER XX. *DEAR GAL DO SOMETHING FOR HER SOME DAY.* " SHALL I let 'em bin ? " asks his man with a grin, assisting him to rise. "Who?" " The creditors. They're in a body houtside, and are getting wery impatient, your lordship." " Good heavens ! So soon ? " "Yes, my lord, it's near eleven o'clock. They read the papers afore you was hup, and 'ave been 'anging about for two hours or more. They're getting hob- streperous now. There's a jeweller's young man talking about harrest, and the horseshoer has hinted he'll let you 'ave it from the shoulder." " Great Lord ! Yes, I hear them," whispers Gussie. with white lips. Then he suddenly cries : " It ain't pos- sible. It must be a nightmare ! " And rushing at the newspaper, gives a moan and drops it in despair. For its head-lines, such as " Gussie Now Regrets the Baby Mine," " Van Beekman's Masquerade," " Hicks's Chances Improving," " Naughty Little Mountjoy ! " " The Hoax of the Season ! " " Who Did It ? ? ? " in startling type and sensational punctuation, appall and daze him, But after a moment he forces himself to read the article, and learning in it more about himself than he had ever guessed before, utters such shrieks and groans of agony that his valet, though choking with laughter, sym- pathizes with his despair. This fellow, a well-meaning youth of English birth, who has only been in Gussie's service a week, having been selected for his Cockney accent, now remarks again : " Your creditors ! Will you see 'em, your lordship ? " " Don't call me that cursed name ! " yells Gussie des- perately ; next whispers : "You let my creditors in, every one of them, and 111 go into Avonmere's rooms. While they're waiting for me here I'll get through the hall and dodge the beggars. Don't yer see ? " " Certainly, sir." " Then wait till I'm in the bath-room." And Gussii disappears. 228 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. The floor is arranged after the following manner : Van Beekman occupies a parlor and bedroom at the front of the house. Avo'nmere has the same accommo- dations at the rear. A bath-room for joint use is between. This has doors opening into both gentlemen's chambers, making it a passage between the two suites of apartments. Into this Gussie slips, and panting like a hunted animal locks the door to his bed-chamber behind him as he hears the rush of his creditors and their excited voices in his own parlor. " His lordship his just dressing ; he'll see you hall, gents, in a few moments," remarks his valet. Blessing his servitor for his ready lies, and moving along very cautiously for fear he may make a noise that will give his pursuers some suspicion of his whereabouts, th bath-room being rather dimly lighted from an air-shaft, the trembling Gussie perceives the door into Avonmere's bedroom is slightly open, and getting near to it, for the first time this day a ray of joy comes into his life. He hears and recognizes a voice ! It is that of Still- man, the lawyer who first announced his title to him and paid him five thousand dollars on account of his rents. For a moment he imagines this solicitor has come to see him and explain the horrible error the newspapers have made that he must have got into Avonmere's rooms by mistake. He is about to open the door and step in to him for hope and comfort when Avonmere's voice comes to him, bringing knowledge that petrifies him with despair, yet vivifies him with rage and fury. " I brought you into my bedroom ; there's no danger of any one hearing from the hall. You did your work very well, Chumpie," remarks his lordship. " There's the money for you and Machlin. He jilted the heiress in short order. The young lady's got my ring on her finger now. The joke's all over town. You can tell your part in the hoax to the reporters and make what dramatic capital you can out of it, though I would prefer you omitted my name, if possible, in connection with the little cad's undoing." " Thank you, my lord," answers the actor, and Gus. sie can hear the crinkle of the greenbacks as he fold! MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 229 them up and places them in his pocket-book. " You are sure the little brat's ruined ? " "What makes you so vindictive against him, Chum- pie ? " murmurs the peer with a smile. " He called me a bad actor ! " cries the Thespian. Upon this Avonmere breaks into a laugh and says : " Well, you can be certain of your revenge. Little Gus- sie's ruined to all eternity in New York, socially and every other way. He owes twenty thousand dollars, run up on the strength of the coronet your dramatic hands placed upon his brow. His creditors are hunting for him now. Listen to them ! " At this moment a hum of rage from the front apart- ments comes to their ears, as the enraged duns discover Van Beekman's absence and start down-stairs to hunt up their debtor at his club-haunts or run him down on the street. " They'll never forgive him ; neither will society, of whom he has made a fool. The lower they have bowed to him the lower they will kick Baron Bassington of the British Peerage," laughs the peer. " Yes, they'll evict him as he would his Irish tenants ! " roars the actor ; and he gives a jeering account of his interview with Augustus, in which he made him a lord of the realm, going over the affair with many chuckles and much glee. When suddenly he stops in mid-laugh, and shrieking, " Good Lord, I'm murdered ! " falls writhing on the bed- room floor, for little Gussie has sprung out of the bath- room with a howl of despairing rage, and has struck the comic Chumpie to the earth with an awful blow upon the back of the head with his trusty dude cane. At first Avonmere starts back in horror and surprise, the attack on the comedian has been of such a jack-in- box order ; next he bursts into such roars of lalighter that the tears roll down his cheeks till he can't see ; though he tries to pull himself together to go to Chum- pie's aid, for the belligerent Gussie has fallen upon the Thespian again, ana in a suent, vindictive, and fiendish way is thumping him into a mummy. Seizing Van Beekman, his lordship pulls him off his writhing antagonist, and after a struggle in which Gussie fights fiercely, h^ tosses him into the corner of the room 23 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. "Curse you!" cries Avonmere. "Why can't you stay in your part of the house, you little impostor ! " " Who's made me an impostor ? You and that play-act- ing liar," screams Gussie. And springing at Mr. Chum- pie, who has half-risen to his feet, he gives him another vindictive thwack that brings him. to the floor again. " Keep your hands off him, hang you ! Do you want to murder the man ? " cries his lordship. " Yes, and you too ! " answers Gussie. " You made me a lord for me to jilt Tillie Follis I heard you ! For that you threw away five thousand dollars, you trick- ster ! " " Not all of it," sneers the Englishman in a nasty voice. " You forget our little game at poker. Quiet, or I'll send for the police ! " For at this Gussie has gone into a jibbering invective that makes Avonmere think the little wretch insane. " To get that girl's money you've ruined me ! " he yells. " They'll kick me out of society ! Ha, ha ! They'll bounce me from the club ! Ho, ho ! Yesterday a peei of England, now a social pariah ! Ha, ha ! Ho, ho ! He, he ! Up like a rocket, down like the stick ! Look out for the stick, my Lord Avonmere ! If it hits you in the eye ha, ha ! Ho, ho ! He, he ! My God, I'n> going crazy ! " And with a giggle of despair little Gussie bolts through his host's parlor into the hall, flies down the stairs, and shoots along the street toward Fifth Avenue, followed by one or two of his duns who have been lingering in the vicinity of his domicile. " Egad ! I think he has gone mad," says his lordship, looking after the departing Gussie. " Mad ! " groans Chumpie, cautiously getting to his feet, " I hope so. The little demon has bruised me till I shan't be able to do my comic dance for a week ! A a little brandy." And he staggers to a sofa. From which, after being revived by stimulants, he is %ssisted to a cab by Avonmere and sent to his home. Plastered and bandaged up, however, he contrives to get about later in the afternoon, and to impart his version of his wonderful hoax upon the aspiring Van Beekman ta various inquiring reporters ; also stating that the little cad being impertinent to him, he- Chumpie had soundlj MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. Jl thrashed Augustus after the manner of the British P. R. " The coward hit me with his brutal dude-club from behind, twice," says the comedian, " but after that after THAT ! " And he waves his hand and rolls up his eyes in a manner that indicates if Gussie now lives he must be blessed with a feline tenacity of life. Then the evening papers giving whole columns to his story, Chumpie, the great practical joker, the inimitable farceur, appears that night at the Broadway Theatre to a packed house, who give him a wild reception, mingled with calls from the gallery of " How's his ludship ? " As for the butt of these gibes, after leaving his house he has skipped down the avenue to his club. Within its sacred portals he thinks he will be safe from pursuing creditors. He arrives there in a panting and despairing state. He has passed two ladies that he had flirted and danced with but two evenings ago at the Patriarchs. The sight of him produces so much laughter in his former partners that they forget to bow to him. They roll past in their carriage as he mutters to himself despond- ingly : " Cut the first dash ! That's what they'll all do ! I know 'em ! I'd better blow my brains out. No, no ; not till I've ruined that jeering devil Avonmere as he's ruined me." And this not very noble motive possibly keeps Augustus Van Beekman from suicide this day, for he has the cour- age of a rat an animal that, pursued and hunted, some- times does very desperate things. And on this day poor little Gussie is both pursued and hunted. He has thought the club will be a place of refuge. So it is, and so perhaps is the Hades of mythol- ogy. His creditors, outside fiends, cannot enter to torture him ; but there are enough energetic devils within to keep the coals bright and red for the broiling and roast- ing of Mr. Augustus. In the hall, prominently posted up by a wag, under new memberships, is a notice : FOR ELECTION. Gussie de P. Van Beekman, vice Baron Bassington, of Harrowby Castle, England. ON ICE ! 23 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERR Proposed by Stillman, Myth & Co., Seconded by Bab} Mine, and Sorrowing Members of the House of Lords. Tearing this down with a gasp of rage, Augustus strides to the office and .sks for his letters. " What name ? " asks the clerk, looking red in the face. " Oh, curse it, White ! all my names ! Give me every- thing meant for me. Damn it, don't laugh ! " he cries. " I I can't help it, my lord I ," stammers the man, placing before him what he asks. Seizing his mail, Gussie sneaks with it to the most retired spot in the house, a few jeering laughs following him from the smoking-room, though one man, whom he has scarcely known before, says : " Van Beekman I sym- pathize with you. It was a dastardly hoax of which you were a victim." Then he looks over his letters in an aimless, dazed way. All of them save one are addressed to him by his erst- while title ; they are mostly invitations to fetes and func- tions. " By George ! if poor Van Beekman went to one of these upon Lord Bassington's invite, I I believe they'd kick Gussie out," he groans to himself. " They don't love me any more. " Of this he has immediate proof. A senile hand is laid on his shoulder, and a septuagenarian voice whispers in his ear : " My two thousand dollars, you infernal scoundrel ! " And springing up, Gussie is confronted by the vener- able Van Twiler. " That's not my name ! " says the persecuted one, with an attempt at spirit. " No perhaps it's Lord Bassington ? That's what you borrow money under ! " " Oh, cousin, why do you jump on me to-day ? " says Gussie, piteously, breaking down. " Can't you see I'm so demned miserable I could blow out my brains ? " " The best thing for you to do, sir ! You pay me my money or I'll have you in jail ! False pretences, my Lord Bassington ! remember that ! " And Van Twiler walks away, muttering to himself, " Confidence man ! " But the unhappy Augustus is too miserable to resent even this. In a sort of hopeless, helpless semi-coma he sinks into a chair, lays his aching head upon the table among his MISS NOBOnt OF NOWHERE. 233 letters, and the tears of little Gussie Van Beekman roll down upon and wet the invitations written to beg the presence of the haughty Lord Bassington to fttc and revel. A moment after his eye catches sight of a note directed to Augustus Van Beekman. With a snarl of rage, for he thinks it has been so addressed to remind him of his fallen greatness, he is about to tear it up unopened, but the handwriting is that of a woman, and unknown to him. So, curiosity conquering anger, he tears it open, and gives out an astounded " By Jove ! " after perusing the following : " No. 637 FIFTH AVENUE, " Saturday, January 25 , 1890. " Miss Florence Follis presents her compliments to Mr. Augustus Van Beekman, and begs him, in case he receives this communication in time, to call upon her, at the above address, at three o'clock this afternoon. She wishes to speak to him on a matter of some per- sonal moment to himself. "Should Mr. Van Beekman not be able to come as specified, will he oblige Miss Follis by informing her at what hour on Mon- day she may expect him ? " " What the deuce does she want me for ? " he asks him- self. Then a very wild idea entering his head, from which even this day's humiliation has not driven all conceit, he thinks: " Perhaps Matilde has hopes of me now I've lost my title, and has put her sister up to sounding me on the matter. I'll not balk her this time. By jingo, with those harpies outside, what fellah would ? " Through the window he can see several of his duns loitering about to pounce upon him the moment he leaves the protecting portals of the club. Looking at his watch, he finds he can just reach Miss Flossie's home at the time mentioned in that young lady's note. " I'll give those infernal scoundrels out there a flying start ! " he mutters, looking at his persecutors in the street with a sarcastic and unkindly grin. Which he does after fortifying and strengthening him- self with a sandwich and glass of wine. He calls a hall-boy, and tipping him well, says; " Jimmy 234 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. go out and get that hansom with the smart horse and fly- looking driver, and tell him double fare if he does as I want him." " Double fare '11 fix him sure," answers the urchin. "Then give him these instructions." And Gussie whispering a few directions in his ear, the boy goes into the street on his errand. A few moments after he comes in and hurriedly an- nounces, " He's at the door ! " but looking out, Augustus sees it's too late. The cab is waiting opposite the portal, its door open and its driver ready to whip up the instant Gussie enters it ; i_ut the people on watch for him outside, being wary and experienced Li such matters, have come to the club portals also, making it almost impossible to elude them as he rushes to the hack. After a moment's glum consideration, Van Beekman whispers a few words to Jimmy, accompanying his sen- tence with a dollar bill. Then, in the course of a minute, that young gentleman hastily pursues, with cries and execrations, another hall- boy to the corner of Fifth Avenue, where, overtaking him, the two urchins go to fighting like fiends and roll about on the sidewalk with yells of pain and howls of anger. The waiting crowd rush after them. As this happens, with pale face and flying feet Augus- tus springs from the portals of the Stuyvesant into the hack ; the driver gives his horse a vicious cut, and though Van Beekman's persecutors note the ruse and pursue him, he escapes. Then, after a wild rush of some squares, none of his followers being in sight, he orders the hansom to drive to 637 Fifth Avenue. Here he is apparently expected ; the footman shows him into the reception room at once, and Miss Flossie, who has risen at his entrance, says to the servant : " At home to no one for the present." Then the girl remarks quietly : " Mr. Van Beekman, I believe," motioning Gussie to a chair, though she seems somewhat agitated and walks about in a nervous way as if she did not know exactly how to begin the conver- sation. Having nothing to say himself, Augustus does not attempt to assist Miss Flossie by opening his lips, save to MISS NOBODY OF NOWH2RE. 835 chew the end of his cane, which he does, gazing at the young lady, whose embarrassment adds to her beauty) which is pale and red in alternate moments, though her eyes are very bright from excitement of some kind. " Egad ! " thinks Gussie, looking at the pretty tableau before him. " Flossie wouldn't do badly herself for yours truly." He has a horrid familiar way of considering women in his weakly mind, and has been pondering upon the reason of this girl's note as he has been riding in the cab, with this astounding result : " Tillie is sure of Avonmere a genuine lord no chance of her. Flossie has seen me ! Perhaps no telling these erratic Western gals no telling ! " Before he has time for much thought, however, words strike Mr. Gussie's ear that make him start. " I've been thinking over my conduct in regard to the deceit practised upon you, Mr. Van Beekman," the girl begins, " the miserable hoax I assisted in, the bogus title you were made to believe was yours." " The hoax you assisted in ? " gasps her listener, astounded. " Yes. Without me," says the young lady, struggling with a smile, " you would never have been Lord Bassing- ton of the English peerage." " Don't laugh ! Hang it ! you didn't bring me here to have fun with me ? " yells Gussie, growing very angry. " No," answers the girl slowly. " I brought you here to make some kind of an atonement. It was my money that was paid to you as if cabled from London by your solicitors." " Your money cabled ? " " Yes ; I've read about it in the morning papers. I know exactly the part I and my contribution played in the affair," continues Flossie. " It was my five thousand dollais that was given you by Stillman, Myth & Co. to prove you were a lord and had a rent-roll." " Oh, it was you, was it ?" cries Gussie, savagely, the memory of his awful troubles coming very vividly to his mind and making him wild. "It was you? Do you know what you've done ? " " No," says the girl faintly, for the little wretch looks haggard, miserable, and pathetic, and she remembers him 236 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. but two days before as the light-hearted, haughty, and supercilious Lord Bassington. " Then, I'll tell you ! " screams Augustus. " You've made me a bankrupt and an outcast. They say I'll go to jail for money obtained under false pretences. They hint I'll be kicked out of the clubs for conduct unbecom- ing a gentleman. Society '11 jump on me. For every kick Lord Bassington gave them, they give poor, unpro- tected Gussie a dozen. All the morning, duns have haunted my house till I fled from it. All the after- noon, people have pointed at me on the street and jeered at me. But five minutes ago on the avenue, a lady who had invited Baron Bassington to her dinner-party this evening cut Mr. Van Beekman dead. That's what I am, DEAD ! socially, financially that's what I really will be corporally before night. There are two rivers " " Don't talk in that horrible way," interrupts the girl with a shudder. " Won't I ? Why not ? " he goes on at her, for in lit- tle matters he is sometimes very shrewd, and a sudden thought has struck him that sympathy from the great heiress can do him no harm. " What else have I in life ? An outcast with but the river to save me from prison and humiliation. I'll give the newspapers another item. Bogus Bassington shall have another head-line : Beek- man's Bound to Beelzebub. That'll suit them. Don't shrink from me. I I ain't crazy ; I'm only a poor so- ciety pariah. That's all, a PARIAH ! made so by a girl who has so much money she plays jokes that ruin men's lives ! That's all ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! " And making a faint and abortive attempt to kiss her hand, he sinks writhing into a chair, while Flossie stands gazing at him, half in terror, half in sorrow and sympathy. She falters : " It may not be so bad as you think. Couldn't I make atonement to you of some kind ? " " Atonement ? iromyou ? " he answers. " What atone- ment can you make for kicking a man out of his club and into prison ? That's what it means jail bread and water convict's clothes and no fashions." " These matters may perhaps be arranged," remarks Flossie. " If you would only calm yourself and think- not rave I I am rich. I might <" MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 37 * Settle with my creditors ? " cries Gussie, springing up, and hope illuminating his countenance. Then he says desperately: " The governors '11 kick me out of my clubs, anyway." "Couldn't your friends speak to them? " "I I haven't got any friends," he gasps hopelessly. " No friends ? " murmurs the girl, gazing at him in sympathetic horror. " Yes, lots, till you robbed me of 'em," he mutters. " When you made me Lord Bassington, you put me so high they all hated me ; and now I'm down again, they'll show it." " You have no friends that would help you arrange your matters if I would furnish the money?" asks Flossie, coming to the subject in a hesitating, shame- faced sort of way. " None I would trust," he replies. Then he cries joy- fully, " Oh, yes, there is. Phil Everett you know him, the Boston chap you darnced with all night at the Patri- archs ! " " Yes I know him slightly," returns Flossie, growing red. " Well, you go to him and tell him " " I go to him ? Nonsense ! " " Yaas ! But you'll have to, if you want to fix my affairs. There's Gill & Patrick '11 have me in jail. It '11 take a man to negotiate with them. It was for the dia- mond ring I gave your sister the one Avonmere won from me at poker. I saw it on Tillie's finger the other night. Kind of funny one ring and two fellahs. Why, what's the matter ? " For at this Flossie has given an exclamation of disgust, and covered her face with her hands. " Yes, it's not nice, such social eccentricity, is it ? " he babbles on, the thought of getting rid of his creditors elevating his spirits. "Why the deuce did you help Avonmere against me? He's worse than I am. You don't know Avonmere yet, nor the widow neither they're a pair ; they're pulling in your sister nicely. They've " But the girl cuts short any more of his gossip by rising suddenly and saying : " I made this appointment at three. because I did not presume it would be pleasant for Tillif 238 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. to see you. She will be returning home sooa I must ask you to go before she comes. I will pay the debts you have incurred, because you imagined as Lord Bassington you could afford to be extravagant. I owe that to my conscience. I shall do no more than that." " Very well," returns Gussie, rising. " I don't presume it would be pleasant to Matilde " " Miss Follis, sir ! " " Of course, Miss Follis. I presume that is the more formal way. Force of habit and all that, yer know. I'll go, as you suggest. I'll send a friend to arrange with you the matter you spoke of. Oh, Miss Flossie, you've saved me from suicide ! God bless you, dear girl, God bless you ! " And he seizes Flossie's hand, the beauty of which he has, been admiring for the last minute, and smothers it in such kisses that she gives a startled scream, and pulls it away from him with flaming eyes. Then he moves to the door, and turning, says with a little suggestive smile : " I awh think I know the rea- son you wished me to awh jilt Matilde. Au revoir." " Farewell ! " she cries very savagely, coming toward him. " Au revoir. By the bye, the name of the friend I shall ask to arrange my financial affairs with you " " Yes, let me know now, for I shall not speak to you again." " No a you don't mean it. Cruel ! " " The name of your friend, quick ! " "Phil Everett. Tell him to call at nine. Must be fixed to-night, yer know. You wouldn't have me a jail- bird ? Ta, ta ! " Then Mr. Gussie trips down to his cab, his mercurial temperament rising under the first ray of hope this day has brought to him, as he thinks to himself : " Dear little gal, going to pay my debts. Do something for her some day ! " Flossie gazes after him, and mutters to herself : " The miserable coxcomb ! Shall I leave him to his fate ? He'd never commit suicide. Why not ? " A moment more she thinks : " No, he has my promise. His debts shall be paid to a cent. Mr. Everett's coming at nine on his business i " Then her face grows a sudden vivid red, and her eyes MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 239 become brighter and more sparkling. She laughs : " How everything seems to force him near me. Pshaw ! what nonsense ! " But runs up-stairs and gives such orders that her maid mutters : " Lawks, how particular she are ! One would think she was going to a ball or is her best fellah coming to-night ? " CHAPTER XXL "SHE SHALL REMEMBER f " GOING direct to the Brevoort, Van Beekman sends up Kis card to Phil Everett, and this coming to Miss Bessie's pretty hands, that young lady runs to her brother's room, and knocking on his door, as soon as it is opened laughs, " His Lordship of Bassington wants to see you." " Impossible ! I'm too busy ! " answers her brother. " Busy ! That's what you've been for the last two days, and you also, Grousemoor ; at least, I've seen very little of you ! " says the young lady, giving her sweet- heart, who is in consultation with Everett, a somewhat reproachful glance. " Is it Atchison & Santa F bonds, stocks or mortgages ? " " Neither," replies Grousemoor in his sententious way. " It's cablegrams." " You won't see Mr. Gussie. then ? His card says he has a message to deliver from Miss Flossie Follis." " Florence Follis ? " cries Phil. " Tell them to show him up at once." " Ah, I thought he'd get audience ! " laughs the girJ " I'm glad Grousemoor did not shout out also ; but he's coming with me while you see Mr. Van Beekman." " Certainly," answers the Scotch lord. Then turning to Phil, he remarks : " While he's here you might find out something of Avonmere from him ; he lives in the same house." " Quite right ! " answers the Bostonian. " I'll do it ; for if these telegrams are true, we'll be getting to business xon." " What's the excitement ? " asks Miss Bessie suddenly 24 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. noting that the two men are looking at each other in an agitated, nervous way, after the manner of people who have some project out of the ordinary upon their minds " Something you'll hear of soon," answers Grousemoor. ' But here's the little cad I was so unfortunate as to vouch for as a Peer of the Realm." Then he and his sweetheart stroll away, leaving PhiL to meet Mr. Augustus, who is whistling an opera bouffe air and seems to be in extraordinary spirits for a man who, according to the evening papers, is being turned out of society and hunted by duns, and perhaps has com- mitted suicide, for that is the rumor now published be- cause no reporter has seen him for three hours. " Stop whistling ; come in and talk, quick ! " says Everett. " I'm an awfully busy man. What's your mes- sage from Miss Follis ? " " Awh ! she's going to pay my debts ! " " Pay your debts ? " " Yes, Lord Bassington's debts Flossie Follis put up the job on me. Did you ever hear anything like it ? Flossie Follis did you ever " " Stop screaming out that young lady's name ! Do you want to have every bell-boy in the house hear you ? Come in! Now, are you mad or crazy?" cries Phil, closing his door. " Neither, dear boy, though if your great big business brain had stood one-half of v/hat my poor, languid, soci- ety cerebrum has, you'd be in a padded cell and a strait-jacket ! But as you seem curious, listen to a tale of woe ! " And Augustus gives Phil a history of his ad- ventures, including the episodes of his attack on Chum- pie, and his interview with the younger Miss Follis. At the first of these Everett roars with laughter, but at the second he looks very grave and mutters : " I must keep the child's name out of the newspapers. " " Will you call on her in my behalf ? " asks Gussie. " With pleasure," answers Phil, and means it. " Then don't forget nine o'clock ! " " Certainly. But if I do this for you, you must do something for me." "Of course." " Then from your story I judge you arc not in love with Avonmerc?" MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 24! * I I hate him with my whole body ! " answers Gussie. "Very well. You live in the same house with him. You keep your eyes open, and if he does anything out of the common, report it to me." " You you think " gasps Gussie, excitedly. " I think this," answers Phil : " if you want revenge, here's your chance for it. If you wish to do a good turn to the generous girl who is perhaps going to keep you out of prison, here's your chance for it ! If you wish my aid in your troubles with creditors and with club men, here's your chance for it if you keep your mouth very close, your eyes very open, and ask no questions. Will you do it ? " " Won't I ! " answers Augustus, with a meaning wink. " Very well, where 's a list of your debts ? " " In my pocket-book," says Gussie. " Those marked with a star are private." He passes the article to his questioner, and takes his leave with many remarks about gratitude as Everett joins his sister and Grousemoor at dinner. At nine o'clock Phil rings the bell of 637 Fifth Avenue, asks for Miss Florence Follis, and a moment after is shak- ing that young lady's hand and looking into her eyes. " You come on behalf of Mr. Van Beekman ? " says the girl, who is robed in delicate blue, with colored effects, and makes a brilliant picture, though she looks slightly ashamed as she wonders what Mr. Everett must think of her connection with the plot that made Van Beekman a lord. This feeling makes her fascinatingly nervous and ex- cited, taking from her big eyes any heaviness that earnest truth might give to them. And Phil, gazing at her as he takes a seat, thinks she looks like a naughty fairy. In regard to the naughtiness he is nearly right, for the girl is in a very haughty as well as touchy mood ; which is, perhaps, owing to one or two slights this young lady has suddenly and unaccountably received in society in the last two days, and also to a battle royal with Mrs. Marvin on account of that widow's general performance on the Van Beekman- Avonmere-Matilde engagement question. This fairy effect is doubtless heightened by the dresa she wears. 242 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERR. At the ball she looked as if in a cloud ; now she seems in a rainbow from which her beautiful neck and arms spring out like those of a fay ; lace, tulle, and gauze, in the soft tints of the bow of heaven, floating about their gleaming whiteness, to make their loveliness rather that of the air than that of the earth. " Don't you think you had better sit down ? " remarks Everett. " In that dress one fears you'll float away. " " Where to ? " she asks, a little astonished. " To to fairy-land," suggests Phil, who has forgotten all about business, looking at this girl he has been dream- ing of and working for these last two days. " Sometimes I almost wish I could fly anywhere ! " an- swers Miss Flossie, and astounds him. " You'll find me earthy enough this evening, I'm afraid." Then she goes on : " You came to see me on business, I believe ? Per- haps what you will hear from me may make you think me like lolanthe -a fairy whose sins should condemn her to the spring for life, to wash out her enormities. But I am talking to you as if I had known you all my life, and we only met two days ago. Doubtless you'll think me forward, also. Earthy and forward to-night ; and at the Patriarchs rude, fibbing, and fickle. What do you think of me now ? Oh, no not for worlds / " For Phil is about to open his mouth in rhapsody. " Nothing but business ; you came on Mr. Van Beek- man's behalf." " Yes," answers Everett ; " you've made him a very generous proposition, I believe ? " " No, only an atonement," answers Flossie, slowly. Next she says suddenly : " When I wrote Mr. Van Beek- man to-day I had no expectation of having to speak to iny one else about the matter. I " " Neither need you do so now ! " cries Phil. " Don't say a word leave Van Beekman's troubles to me. Don't think of them again ! " For the thought of explanation has brought a vivid blush of embarrassment over the girl's face, neck, and shoulders. " Leave Mr. Van Beekman's troubles to you ? " say* Flossie, slowly. " How will that help him out of them ? How will that pay his debts ? " Then she bursts out suddenly ; " You mean to pay them yourself I To save me a few blushes to save me a few embarrassed mo MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 843 ments you mean to rob yourself for my folly ? No, no I I'll tell you everything. I insist ! I couldn't sleep to- night ! If you didn't know, you might think I had some selfish object in Van Beekman's downfall. You might think I was a really naughty fairy. Your generous offef proves that you deserve my confidence ! " cries the girl, and makes Phil very happy. Then, after the manner of women, she gives him an awful blow, for she says : " I feel I can tell you just as easily as I could Bob." And sitting down on the sofa beside him, in a mixture of blushes and embarrassment, mingled with a little laughter, she relates to Everett the story of Gussie's downfall, keeping Matilde's connec- tion with the matter as much in the background as pos- sible, though she doesn't hesitate to tell of Mrs. Marvin's perfidy to Bob. This disclosure as to Flossie's trustee and champion puts her listener in a very good humor. He shrewdly reasons that if the young lady wishes the mining super- intendent to marry Tillie, she has no wish to be more than a very good friend to him herself. But being anxious to have every detail regarding Avonmere for Flossie's eventful welfare, triumph, and right, Everett goes to cross-questioning the girl in a way that, under other circumstances, he might think ungen- erous. Thus forced to her own defence, she is compelled to let him into a good many family secrets, the revela- tion of which would not have pleased Avonmere nor Mrs. Marvin, nor, for that matter, Matilde nor her mother. This idea also gradually comes to the young lady ; she looks at him with reproachful eyes and mutters : " You act as if you were my father confessor. I I don't know why I have answered your questions. I I'm a traitor to Matilde ! What would she think of me ! telling about the same engagement ring from two men ? " " That," remarks Everett, " is part of Mr. Van Beek- man's debts ; the one it will be most difficult to settle. He bought the ring but did not pay for it and then gambled it away." With this he turns the conversa- tion upon the affairs of the late Lord Bassington, telling her that his lordship owes twenty thousand dollars for Phil can see the girl is reproaching herself for her revela- tions, and wishes to get her mind from this subject 244 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. " So much ? " she cries. " He threw all that away ia a week ? I'll I'll have to telegraph Bob ! " " Not at all ! " answers Everett. " All this can be arranged for something over five thousand." " You can pay twenty thousand with five thousand ? Oh, you must be tricking me ; you mean to liquidate the balance yourself." " By no means. You shall pay every cent of Mr. Van Beekman's liabilities." " With five thousand dollars ? " cries the girl, astonish- ment in her eyes. " Oh, yes, I forgot you're a Wall Street man. Tell me how, you clever financier ! I'd like to learn your methods ; I'll try them on my mil- liner." " Very well," remarks Phil. " First, you must lose everything you have in the world you must become bankrupt." "A ah!" " Then I'll compromise for you. Most of the articles Gussie owes for are things that can be returned horses, carriages, furniture, jewelry, etc. These I shall send back, and the venders '11 be very happy to get them, plus a little cash for their wear and tear." " Ah, I see." " What he has made away with or used, and all money he has borrowed, I'll settle in full. I shall take this upon my hands. Your name will never be heard of in the transaction, and when you find it convenient, without even telling your trustees, you can repay me my expen- diture." " Oh, you're the fairy now ! " cries Flossie ; then she sends a thrill of joy through her broker's heart, for she mutters, " My good fairy ! " Next she puts him to the torture again, for she says : " Add your commission to your bill." " How much ? " asks Phil, glumly. " Any price you please," she returns airily. "And you'll pay it? " " Of course ! " indifferently. "Very well. Remember your promise !" answers Ev- erett, in so pointed a tone that, glancing up at him, Miss Flossie sees something in his eyes that makes her start and blush and grow very haughty. MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 245 Her English manner comes back to her ; she says in that indifferent way which, coming from a woman, always sends a chill to man : " Awh ! I forgot I was speaking to a business man. Perhaps it is better you state your commission first. The charge may be so high I shall have to employ another broker." " My charges will be just the same as what Bob would make. I believe you placed us in the same category a few moments since, Miss Florence," answers Everett, getting red in the face. " Oh, I'm perfectly willing to settle that way ! " re- marks the girl. " I always pay Bob NOTHING ! " With this she gives him a little mocking laugh. " Very well, we will consider the business settled ! " says. Phil, making a move to depart, for he is greatly annoyed at his client's last words. Then, noting that he is going away probably angry, her visitor's face being flushed, though his manner is formal a marvellous change takes place in this volatile young lady. She cries : " Business over, pleasure begins ! I was dreading a lonely evening ; the most of the family are at the theatre." "But I've made a long call now perhaps too long a one," answers the young man, but half mollified. " Nonsense ! Mr. Everett, my man of affairs, was here before you on business. Mr. Everett, my friend, has just walked in. I can call you my friend of course I can ! You wish to be classed with Bob ! " cries the girl in a light, frivolous affectation of gayety that passes sud- denly away as she mutters in a desperate voice : " And I've got so few friends ! " " So few friends ? " gasps Phil, astounded. " Yes, in New York," she cries, " where I want so many. Oh, my heavens ! if Bob would only leave the mine and come ! " And wringing her hands, she sinks panting upon a sofa, while Everett gazes at her with wild eyes and throbbing pulses, for the beauty of this girl has been growing gradually greater all the evening. The concealed agitation of her mind has been breaking out in fits and starts, like flashes of electricity, here, there, everywhere, in her eyes, in her gestures, in her poses, and has made her loveliness almost celestial. A second more and she would become hysterical, did 2<0 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. Phil give her time ; but he bends over her, forgetting that she is Miss Flossie Follis, the great heiress, and only re- membering the little girl who had ridden all day in his arms and clung to his neck and kissed him on the Gila plains. " Your cause shall be my cause ! " he mutters. Then, the splendor of her charms tearing the senses out of this man, he puts out an audacious hand, and, touching the girl's white shoulder, says : " Bob's not here, but Phil is ready to do you any service man can do a woman ! " His touch electrifies the girl. She rises up, grows pale, white, haughty, and whispers : " I must be mad, talking in this way before you. Forget what I've said, that's the only favor I can ask you. And yet I have so little time," she mutters; then breaks out again: " To think that that awful villain is growing closer, closer to my dear sister day by day; that when he marries her he will be safe from my vengeance ! " " What do you know about him? " cries Phil, eagerly, for though she has not mentioned Avonmere's name, he guesses to whom she refers. " What do I know about him ? Only memories ! memories ! MEMORIES ! an unintelligible, flighty, will-o'- the-wisp horror ! That's all ! That's what makes me so desperate ! Oh, for some point to start from, something to be sure of, something I could really recollect ! " " Something I might help you to remember ? " suggests Phil. " You ? " cries the girl, and she suddenly looks him in the face with searching eyes and whispers : " Your voice seems part of the past the past that I must divine be- fore that man and woman drive me out of society, where I can see him talk to him discover his past expose him ! Oh, what nonsense ! You must think that I am mad to talk to you or any man in this way. If I stay here you will think me crazier than I appear to you even now ! Good-night, Mr. Everett, good-night ! " And she runs from the room, trying to gather up her hair that has fallen in disorder down her back, leaving Phil in a dazed state, during which he staggers from the house, mutter- ing to himself: " BY HEAVENS, SHE SHALL REMEMBER ! ' MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 347 CHAPTER XXII. " NOT TILL I HAVE A NAME ! " BUT the element of time now comes into this affair with rital import. Meditating that the presence of Miss Flossie is a standing menace to his suit with her sister, Avon- mere, during the next few days, makes plea to Matilde for earl} r marriage, stating that urgent business will recall him almost immediately to England, and that he wishes to take his bride with him, as it will be almost impossible for him to return to America for a number of months. This idea, which he presses persistently, is supported by Mrs. Marvin with her whole heart, and urged with every argument that her intellect can invent. Curiously, this proposition also finds favor with Mrs. Follis, who, noting how abhorrent the affair is to her younger daughter, thinks the sooner she gets the matter over, the less chance there will be of its breaking her Flossie's heart ; for she imagines the girl's opposition to Matilde's wedding comes not from hatred of Avon- mere, but from love of him, and attributes her drooping spirits and sad eyes to jealousy and unrequited affection. So, in the course of a few days, the rumor gets about the clubs and parlors of Fifth Avenue that Tillie Follis, the great Western heiress, is to be married to Arthur, Lord Avonmere, during the coming week. The ceremony will be quite private, and the bride will leave with her hus- band for England immediately after its completion. And this reaching the ears of Grousemoor, he comes in to Phil one day, and in his blunt, sententious way says : '" Are you ready to move yet ? " " In the Follis matter ? " asks Phil. " Certainly." " No ; not for several days. The documents are not all here from England, and Garvey and the requisition papers from Colorado and New Mexico are not arrived." " You must act sooner. " " Impossible ! I dare not ! I have too cunning a gentleman to deal with, and can give him no warning till I'm ready to strike him down and crush him in a mo- ment ! " 348 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. " You must ! " " Why ? " " Because in protecting one girl from this villain you are permitting another to fall into his clutches. Tillie Follis is going to marry Avonmere next week." " So soon ? " " When he's her husband, the other sister's hands will be tied. To gain her position and name she will have to strike at that of her sister, and you know Flossie Follis well enough to know that she will never do that." " The idea she gave me the other night," mutters Phil. A moment after he cries out suddenly : " There's but one way we must send for Abe Follis and tell him every- thing ; he will promise secrecy, and stick to it. And if he's the man he used to be, there won't be much chance of Avonmere putting the wedding-ring on his daughter's finger, even with the incomplete evidence we can show him to-day." " That's about the proper form," answers Grousemoor. " Send for him at once." Which they do ; and that evening to the astonishment of Tillie, rage of her mother, and dismay of Mrs. Mar- vin, Abraham Alcibiades Follis strides into his house and plays the Colorado father, and does it in such a way as to produce the very worst results both to Flossie and Tillie. He comes home, and taking the latter young lady on one side, says: " Matilda, you know I've been a good, square, straight-up dad to you " "Yes, father," mutters the girl. Then she cries out suddenly: "What's the matter?" For Abe's manner and appearance are of a kind that frighten her. " I I'm a going to break your heart, my child," says the old man in a pathetic, faltering tone. " Break my heart ? " " Yes ; bust it plum, wide open, as mine is from this day's developments. The man you were to marry can't have you ! " "Why not ? Is Arthur dead ?" gasps the girl. " No; them kind of critters don't die ! You send that engagement ring back to him, and tell him that if Abe Follis finds him in this house after this, he'll kick him out of it 1 " MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 349 " Father t He he has another wife ? *' " Not that I knows of. I shouldn't have come to you if I'd heerd that about him. I should have gone to headquarters ! " cries the frontiersman, the light of battle coming into his eye. " I wish that was the trouble ; that I could have settled with him, and told about it afterward, when he was planted 1 " "Then what is it?" " Something I am not free to tell you about, darter. Something that's been proved to me, and I've given my word not to tell for the sake of your sister." " Your word not to tell me ? of the slanders about my affianced husband, made behind his back ? for the sake of my sister ?" answers Matilde, a cruel ring in her voice on the last phrase. Then her head, which had been drooping, becomes erect and haughty, and fire springs into her eyes. " 'Tain't no good getting obstreperous, Tillie," contin- ues her father. " You jist take that scoundrel's ring off your finger right now ! " " Your reasons ? " " I can't give 'em at present ! Take off that ring ! I'll get you another, bigger and prettier than that." " Never, dad ! never ! I've given my word to the man you call a villain. Prove him one, and I'll take back my promise." " Didn't I tell you I've given my promise ? What makes you so sassy ? That ring ! Quick ! " Abe has risen with sorrow and indignation in his eyes sorrow at having to destroy his daughter's happiness, indignation that she will not obey him, and destroy it herself. * Obey me ! " he cries. " You know what I say is law in this house." " Not with mother in it I " cries his daughter back at him, and flies to Rach's protecting arms with a laugh on her lips, but tears in her eyes. Embraced by her mother, she sobs out that for Flossie's sake her father her own father has commanded her to give up the man she loves ; for Avonmere persecuted she feels should be called that " 'Tain't for Bob, Floss has set her father agin you now, my persecuted lamb," cries Rach. Then she lifts up her voice and calls out: " Abe Follit? 50 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. A-BRA-HAM AL-CI-BI-A-DES FOL-LIS ! " in a manner thai echoes through the hallways of the great house, and makes its owner and potentate grow pale and sickly, and shiver in his boots. He stands his ground, however, and the stalwart Rach finds the Colorado father is also a Roman one. To her questions, arguments, and attacks, he simply says : " I've heard enough about that lordling to make me say that no darter of mine can marry him. I do it for Tillie's sake. You'll thank me for it afore long, Rach, so will my girl." " What's your reasons ? What's Flossie been saying to you ? " cries his spouse. " Are you two in together to break poor Tillie's heart ? " " No," says Abe shortly ; " Flossie has had nothing to do with this. She's all a good loving sister should be to Tillie, and a true, loving darter to both of us. Don't you trouble the child about this 'ere matter, or by the Kentucky Major ! you'll hear from Abraham Alcibiades Follis ! " " If you've any good reasons for breaking your daugh- ter's heart, you'll give 'em if you're a man, and not sneak away to your Hoffman House gang ! " screams Rach in rage and anger. For having said his say, her helpmeet has suddenly seized his hat, stepped out of his front door, and is now on his way down the avenue. This he has done not from terror of his wife, but from fear that under her questions he may break his promise to Everett, and divulge secrets that may destroy Flossie's chance of gaining what he thinks are his adopted daughter's rights. So, going to the Hoffman House, he writes a letter to Lord Avonmere, charging that young man, as he values his personal safety, never to enter his house again, or dare to speak to his daughter Matilda Thompkins Follis. Then making a night of it with Hank Daily and other mining men, he does not appear at his home this evening, to the anger and solicitude of his spouse, who fears her Abe is going out of his head in this wicked city. Now, this letter of Mr. Follis, being delivered to Avon- mere by a messenger boy, produces sudden consternation MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 25! in that gentleman. He is not afraid of the mining man's threats of personal violence, but he is very much afraid Follis will withhold or curtail the gigantic marriage settle- ment he has expected with his daughter. He mutters to himself: "The widow must straighten this," and sends a note to Mrs. Marvin, begging her to be at the opera this evening. And finding her alone in the Follis box, Miss Tillie not having the spirits to be present, and Miss Flossie having another engagement, he and the wily Mrs. Marvin have an awful discussion. For this female social diplomat has worked upon Rach's rage against her husband, and Tillie's idea of her father's unreasonable interference in her love affair, until they have come to an understanding, in secret conclave, that, in a glow of triumph, she lays before Avonmere, and to her astonishment and rage he refuses the arrange- ment. After a long consultation, over which they become so excited, that were it not for the roar of the Wagnerian orchestra, a great deal of Avonmere's and Miss Tillie's romance would become the property of the adjoining boxes ; at the close of the first act the gentleman takes Mrs. Marvin down to her carriage. As he assists her in, she whispers to him in a voice hoarse with rage : " You must marry her without a settle- ment ! " " Without a settlement I marry nobody ! " is his reply; and he feels for a cigar. " You needn't light that," she says, " I want to talk to you." " We've discussed the affair pretty thoroughly already," he answers. "I see no need of going over the matter," and coolly lights his weed, to show her this interview is at an end. " Throw that thing away and get in with me," she says with equal coolness, though there is a nasty ring in her voice. " And why ? " " Because I wish to speak to you about place you* ear nearer mine." Something in her manner induces him to do as sht directs. 252 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. Then this old social general whispers a few words, anfi suddenly stops and says, " Hush ! Remember whom you are talking to." For the English peer has uttered undef his breath an awful oath. " Now, if you think it worth while to discuss the matter further, step in the carriage and drive home with me ; there's something in the Follis house I want to show you." And her whisper has been so potent that he obeys her without a word, and the two drive to 637 Fifth Avenue in silence, though each is thinking very deeply. "You need not regard Abe Follis's letter, Avonmere," says the lady as the carriage draws up ; " you are my guest, and enter this house at my invitation." " Oh, I don't mind him ! " answers the Englishman lightly, which is true, for there is no lack of personal courage in his composition. With this, he assists Mrs. Marvin out of the equipage, and silently follows her up the steps, into the room in which he has first been received by Tillie Follis. This is dimly lighted. Without a word she turns up every gas-burner to brill- iant illumination. " For what did you do that ?" he asks astonished. "Because I want to see your face when I show you a picture." She throws open the portfolio of Colorado views, and exclaims : " The canon of the Baby mine ! You're as white as when you first saw it, and the recollec- tion of it nearly gave your British nonchalance a fit ! Do you want me to explain to you why you nearly fainted when you first beheld Flossie Follis ? Ah, that hits you hard ! You don't like the two mentioned together! " for at her insinuation Avonmere has sunk into a chair, with lips that tremble and cheeks that grow white. " Do you want me for a friend or an enemy ? " she goes on rapidly. " Will you marry Tillie without a settlement ? and trust that her mother will see that she is as gener- ously provided for as if you had her father's sign-manual to any document that lawyers can draw up ? Don't you know he loves his daughter, and when you have his heart in your grasp you can bleed his poctet ? " " You put it quite strongly ! " mutters Avonmere, still agitated. " Besides, the girl is beautiful ; you love her ! Shai' we be friends, or shall I " MISS NOBODY OP NOWHERE. S$3 " No I - he say* shortly. " You shall not ! We are friends ! " " Then in proof of our friendship you will sign this," she goes on, growing commanding as he grows pliable, and places a document under his eyes. " It is only a letter from you to secure me for my kind ness to you," she remarks. " It proves that I believe thor- oughly in Tillie's dower being as certain as if her father turned over his securities to you now. In proof of my faith I have raised the stipulated reward to ten per cent, of any money coming to you on account of your future wife. Sign ! " she has already a pen in her hand and is holding it to him. But he dashes it aside with a muttered curse, and says: " Never ! " " Sign ! It is your last chance to wed Tillie Follis and her millions ! SIGN ! or I walk upstairs and tell her mother what I know of you, and she'll drive you out of her house ! Besides, Miss Flossie, your enemy the little girl you like so much she'll be pleased to hear the news ! " And she would mock him and be merry with him ; but he seizes the pen, signs the letter, and says : " Now, your part of the agreement ! " " With pleasure. You shall see Mrs. Follis at once." And going into the hall on her way to the Western matron, this old female Machiavelli chuckles to herself : " That fool Avonmere he was dodging bullets when I was fir- ing blank cartridges. I wonder why Baby mine canon and that waif of the wilderness frighten him so much ? It's something awful. If I could only discover ! " Then she mutters suddenly: " No ! There are some things better left in the indefinite." As for her customer, he thinks the matter over, and is rather pleased with the arrangement after all. He loves the girl as well as he can love any woman. With her heart in his grasp he has her father's purse also. Be- sides, if the younger sister loves the elder, his marriage will be an eternal barrier against her claim or her revenge. " Egad ! " thinks this easy-going scoundrel, " Marvin's medicine may be the best I can take under the circum- stances." With this he rises, and greets, in his polished way, the 54 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. stalwart Rachel, who has been awaiting Mrs. Marvin's report, and who now enters with her. THEN THE THREE SIT DOWN AND MAP OUT THE VARI- OUS DETAILS OF AN ARRANGEMENT THAT, COULD HE HAVE KNOWN IT, WOULD HAVE SENT ABRAHAM ALCI- BIADES FOLLIS OF COLORADO ON THE WAR-PATH WITH GUN AND PISTOL. Arising from this conference, Rachel remarks : " I'm sorry things couldn't have been done different and more in symmetery with our pos-sish ; but Abe has been contrary ever since he got with that Hoffman House gang, and to- day he went on as if he'd gone plump out of his head. This stand of mine '11 put the senses into him agin." " Yes," answers Avonmere, pleasantly, " I rather imag- ine this will be a surprise to Mr. Follis. Any more sur- prises for me, my dear Mrs. Marvin ? " " But one," says the old diplomat. Then she laughs, "Go into the next room; she's there expecting you. That's what you get for being a good boy. " "Yes," says Rach ; "you can talk to her but ten min- utes. The child's worn put with her dad's cuttings up, and ought to have been in bed along ago." " Agreed ! " cries Avonmere. And opening a neigh- boring door he finds himself face to face with \\isfiancfr, whose beauty and loveliness make him forget that his heiress is still unportioned, for Matilde Follis to-nighi seems more alluring than ever to this man whose love for her money is half forgotten in his passion for herself. Robed in some white clinging thing, her manner, tempered with the anxieties this afternoon has left upon her, and the hopes and fears this night has brought to her, her vivacious eyes drooping before the being she thinks she will soon call husband, her cheeks covered with the blushes of surrendering and conquered woman- hood, Matilde makes a picture that causes Avonmere's dark eyes to flash, and his Italian pulses to bound. He really thinks he loves his sweetheart. Shortly after this, being compelled to go by the in?.' placable Rachel, who makes him stand to his contract, the gentleman comes into the hall, and finds Mrs. Marvin waiting for him ; she has a smile of contentment on hef matronly face, being pretty certain Matilde 's beauty has destroyed any regret her customer may have had at MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 55 the ^oods she is delivering to him not being exactly as invoiced. She murmurs : " Is she not beautiful ? Are you not glad you threw away your cigar and came with me this evening, young man ?" " Very," answers Avonmere. " But with your permis- sion I'll light another to help me on my walk home." As he does so he remarks casually : " You've done what you promised in regard to our pretty little oppo- nent ? " " Certainly," whispers Mrs. Marvin. " It's in the clubs; it's in the air ; the women are all talking. Miss Flossie Follis will soon be longing for the genial climate of Denver." " Yes," he sneers ; " your sex are not generally kind to an heiress and a beauty when she can't tell who papa and mamma are. I've given our gossips another and stronger rumor in regard to Flossie's origin." " What is that ? " asks Mrs. Marvin, eagerly. He whispers a few words in the lady's ear that make her gasp with astonished horror. " How do you like that, Madame Machiavelli ? " he laughs, and goes whis- tling merrily on his way. Suddenly he pauses, looks across the street, and mut- ters : " By George ! " for on the opposite sidewalk, too much engrossed to notice him, Miss Florence Follis, in a pretty walking dress, is coming up the avenue on the arm of Philip Everett. Though Avonmere does not know it, the very matter he and Miss Marvin have been sneering about has pro- duced their tete-d-tte. For the last few days the Bostonian has been perfect- ing his plans. The affidavits from England have just arrived, having been hurried by cable without thought of expense. They are exactly what he wishes, and he only waits the coming of Garvey and a deputy sheriff from Colorado with certain requisitions from the gov- ernor of that State, and similar documents from the head executive officer of New Mexico, to open his bat- teries. Very much engaged, he still has found time to drop in at various society functions where he has thought it probable the young lady whose cause he has espoused 256 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. may be found ; and in this, as in most other matters ha has attempted lately, has met with a fair amount ot success. And though he has seen the object of his anxiety and devotion, the results of his interviews have hardly been of a nature to cause him extraordinary delight or self- confidence. In fact, from the time of her peculiar interview with him, Miss Flossie has seemed to dread any approach to a tte-d,-tie, and by various feminine devices has held Mr. Everett at arm's length. Once, driven to it by Phil's persistence, she has almost snubbed her devoted follower, though she has done it in a shame-faced way and with eyes that begged his pardon as she check-mated the gentleman's move which would have compelled her to sit out a dance with him in Mrs. Van Courtland's conser- vatory during a/efe at that lady's hospitable house. During this time, whenever Phil has seen the girl, he has noticed that some new feeling seems to dominate her. Her appearance is that of a woman struggling with something so illusive and intangible that she cannot do battle with it, though she feels its malign influence ; and as time goes on, this contest apparently becomes harder. On Monday she has been haughty and erect; on Tuesday, angrily defiant ; on Wednesday, for he sees her this evening at a fashionable fair given for some charity or other at Sherry's, she seems haughtier than ever ; though at times, her guard on herself relaxing, her beautiful eyes have an appeal in them. Phil at first proudly thinks to himself alone. But watching the young lady, to his astonishment he finds the girl's pathetic glances are turned most generally to women, and have, he thinks, been met quite often by ill-concealed sneers. "What the devil's the matter with her?" asks her observer to himself. A moment after, this is answered by Mr. Gussie, who comes beside him. " I've been trying to see you, old man," says the little gentleman. " It's been awfully kind the way you man- aged my settlement with my creditors, and put in a word for me with the governing committee at the Stuyvesant ! can hardly thank you enough." MISS NOEODY OF NOWHERE 257 " Thank that young lady there," answers Phil, glancing at Miss Flossie. " Yaas, but she won't let me, yer know ; appears not to remember my face ; looks at me as if she'd never seen me before ; cuts me dead ! I should think a fellow feel- ing would make her kinder this evening." " What do you mean ? " whispers Everett, eagerly. " Why, haven't you heard the rumors ? They've been about the clubs and everywhere for the last few days ; they're getting more pronounced, I can tell you. Poor little devil ! did you see her wince then ? Mrs. Farnam Van Cott cut her dead, and I saw that woman try to kiss her the night of the Patriarchs. Both Miss Flossie's and my social booms have busted since that night." "What do they say about her," cries Phil, "that makes that old harridan dare to insult my " he sud- denly checks himself, and mutters : " Tell me the ru- mors." " But you mightn't like 'em." " Tell me every one of them ! " " Yaas ; but you look as if you'd hold me responsible for them if I did ! " tt I shall hold you responsible for them if you dortt? says Everett, forcing a smile. " Well, then, first it was reported that the girl is an adopted daughter with no known parents at all. Now it is rumored mind you, only rumored don't be angry that she is old Abe Follis's child ; but her mother well, her mother is Dutch Kate of Aspen. That's the reason they say old Abe has put so much property in Miss Flossie's name ; that's the reason he has such rows with his wife that he don't dare go home and bunks at the Hoffman. There's another chap mixed up in it some- now, called Bob. Nobody seems exactly to know how he comes in ; it's all rumor, don't yer see. But Sammy Tomkins, who's been over the Denver and Rio Grande twice, says he's seen Dutch Kate, and Flossie Follis is hef living image, only thinner of course ; Dutch Kate's fatter than old woman Marvin, and weighs three hundred. Now don't go running against windmills, old Chappie. Keep cool ! " For Phil's face appalls him at this mo- ment ' I will keep cool,'* he answers ; a second's thought w 958 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. telling him with what crafty deftness the facts have beea made to support the lies in what has been told him. " You'd better tell Sammy Tomkins not to let Abe Follis hear his description of Dutch Kate of Aspen, or he'll need a tombstone," he shoots out at Gussie. Then he strides up to the persecuted one, who, on see- ing him, grows haughty, and says nonchalantly, " Good evening, Mr. Everett, you don't seem to be charitably disposed to-night." " Why ? " asks Phil. " Oh, I've been looking at you," answers the girl, mak- ing an attempt at a smile, "and you've kept persistently where there's lots of talking, but no business." " Come and direct my business efforts. I thought you were to be in the flower booth." " So I was but " here Flossie's voice falters despite herself, her head droops, her eyes look ashamed, and she mutters : " There was some misunderstanding about the matter, and I I " A moment after, some sudden res- olution seems to come to the girl. She says : " Will you do me a great favor ? " " Certainly anything ! " " Then take me home. The night is fine, the distance not far. I want to ask you a question, and Mrs. Shelton won't be sorry to get rid of me." Her voice is a little bitter as she speaks of the lady under whose wing she has come. For answer Phil silently offers his arm, and taking her to her chaperon, Miss Flossie states her errand, and finds that lady, who invited her a week ago in the height of her social success, is very happy to do without her company, now a cloud has come upon the glory of the debutante. So they pass out of the place, Phil catching a remark or two in the crowd, that makes the young lady on his arm shiver. " The beautiful Miss Nobody of Nowhere ! " he hears in a man's voice ; and shortly afterwards : " They say she's the image of her mother, Dutch Kate of Aspen," in a woman's tones, with a cruel little giggle behind it. But there is only a moment of this, and Everett thanks Heaven as he gets the girl to the sidewalk. Then she turns, lets the breeze play about her head a moment, and taking a long breath of relief says quietly MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 259 M I suppose you know what they are saying about me in there ? " " The miserable cowards ! " bursts forth Phil. " I rec- ognized the man who made one of the remarks," and he turns as if to go back. But she puts a detaining hand on his arm, and whispers: " Hush ! From ladies and gentlemen to-day I have re< ceived more punctilious kindness than ever ; from the rest what matters it ? Besides," they are walking along the street now, " no man can protect a woman without compromising her unless he is her husband or " She pauses suddenly, for Everett interjects : " Or her affianced. Let me act for you as that ? " As he speaks, the girl's hand is suddenly withdrawn from his arm, and she moves a little away from him. For a moment she walks by his side in silence ; then suddenly turns to him, looks him in the face, and mocks both herself and him by sneering : " Ah, the third offer I've had to-day ! " " What do you mean ? " asks Phil, astonished. "This," she says lightly, but sarcastically : "two men before you offered me their names because I had none of my own creatures who would not have dared to raise their eyes to me but for rumors that malign the memory of my mother, and throw a slur upon as true a man as ever breathed, Abe Follis, who took me to his generous heart when I was orphaned and deserted ! These things offered me marriage, hoping despair would make me throw self and fortune into their arms. Now you, whom I respect, make me the same offer from pity. Is that not equally humiliating ? " " From pity ? from love ! " whispers Everett, trying to get her little hand in his. But she draws away, and asks herself almost savagely, " Would you have said this to me to-night did not these rumors float about me ? " " No ! " " A-ah ! " This is a faint sigh, hardly audible to Phil, though it makes his heart beat very fast. " But I should have asked it soon ! Love would have opened my lips before long. Your answer, darling, to my question ? " he cries. But the girl cries back: " Pough ! You are mad ' 3<50 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. Who'd marry a girl without a name, who should, by the custom of the world, be an OUTCAST ! And if you would, I've too much pride to accept such sacrifice. No man shall talk to me of marrying or giving in marriage till I HAVE A NAME ! I had intended to ask you something, but your question has stopped mine. I shall fight my battle as best I can, till he gets my darling Tillie, or Pshaw ! I'm beginning to rave again ! It's lucky we are at my doorstep." "And you'll give me no more answer than this ? " asks Phil, chewing his mustache savagely, partly at his own faux pas, and partly at his charmer's hauteur. " Neither to you nor to any man, while I'm Miss Nobody of Nowhere ! Forgive me ! " whispers the girl. Then she flies up the stairs and into her house, as if afraid to let him press her further. But he runs after her, and catching a little hand as it is hurriedly closing the door, whispers : " What did you mean by ' forgive me ' ? * " Please let go ! " " Not till you answer ! " "What I meant," says the girl, excitedly, and still struggling, " was an apology from Miss Flossie Follis because Miss Nobody of Nowhere was so haughty to you. O-o-oh ! " For Phil has suddenly imprinted a long, lingering, fervent kiss on the one hand of both the young ladies mentioned, and has gone down the steps whistling as merrily as Avonmere did but a quarter of an hour before. CHAPTER XXIIL MRS. WARBURTON'S CIRCUS. GETTING to the Brevoort, he meets Grousemoor, who ss by this time nearly as interested as Everett in Miss Flos- sie's affairs, and comes in from the club with a fiown upon his face. "What's the matter, old man? "says Phil lightly, in confident good humor. " This/' returns the peer sententiously : " that Italia* MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 26l scoundrel has gone to circulating rumors about the girl that'll perhaps drive her to suicide if she hears them, which she's bound to soon, for the women have got to talking about her and snubbing her, I understand." " She's already heard them," answers Everett, his face growing black. " But there's no danger of suicide ; Miss Flossie's made of sterner stuff." And he gives his companion an account of his inter- view with the young lady ; then says with a sigh : " I wish I could make things easier for her." " You can't," replies Grousemoor, " but your sister and Mrs. Willis can. Under their wing, society would treat her differently than when protected by that widow Marvin, who only half likes the girl anyway, I imagine. Mrs. Willis and your sister are up-stairs now." " Then let's broach the matter to them at once," sug- gests Everett. So they go up to that young lady's pretty parlor, where Phil blurts out : " Bessie, I've a favor to ask you and Mrs. Willis. Will you not ask Miss Flossie Follis to go with you to a few entertainments this week ? " At this question, the maid and the matron look at each other in a peculiar way. Then his sister says : " I'd like to accommodate you if possible, Philip, but " here she blushes a little, glances at Grousemoor, and con- tinues : " You know I've so much to do to get ready for for Boston." " The idea of asking a young lady agitated by her trousseau to think of anything else ! " chimes in Mrs. Willis. " I'd take the duty off her hands if I were going out myself much." Then Everett, who has a point-blank way with him, bursts out suddenly and gloomily : " That means you have heard the infernal lies about that persecuted girl, and believe them ! " At this, Mrs. Willis gives a little startled " Oh ! " and his sister says quickly : " How do you know they are false ? and you, too, Grousemoor ? " looking inquiringly at both the men ; for her fiance" has just backed up Phil's speech by " It's a thundering shame ! " A moment after, Miss Bessie goes on : " You two seem the champions of this young lady." " Certainly," answers the nobleman. ?62 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. At this his sweetheart gives out a little affrighted " Ah ! " and looks somewhat horrified, slightly jealous, and very curious. " It's no use, Phil. To have their aid, we'll have to trust them with our mystery," mutters Grousemoor. " A mystery ! " cry both the ladies in one voice. Then Miss Bessie says : " Oh, that's been the cause of your private conferences, secret cables, and numerous telegrams for the last ten days ! That's the reason I've so little of either brother or lover ! " and she gives her nobleman such reproachful glances that he laughingly cries : " Out with it, Phil ! Quick, for your sister's peace of mind ! " " Very well," answers her brother. " 'Now listen, and remember, as you are women, this is a secret." " A SECRET ! " and both ladies become greatly ex- cited. " A secret that you must keep one I have half a mind not to tell you." " Rather than that," cries Mrs. Willis, " I'll promise anything ! " "Amputate my tongue if you like, only leave my ears I" gasps Bessie eagerly. " All right," says Phil, " prepare to use them ! " And sitting down, he tells the whole affair as far as it has progressed, together with his plans for the con- founding of Avonmere and the righting of Miss Flossie Follis. To his wondrous tale Mrs. Willis listens almost in unbelief. But as he goes on, his sister breaks out into little cries of astonishment and interest. Finally, on his producing affidavits received from England, stating that the proof of Florence Beatrice Stella Willoughby, Lady Avonmere's death had been chiefly made by an official record given under the coroner's seal, with an account of the inquest on her body, together with those of her father and mother, which took place at the towi: of Lordsburgh, in Grant County, New Mexico, in the month of June, 1881 ; and that the verdict of the coroner's jury had been that the said Florence Willoughby had received her death at the hands of one Nana and his band of renegade Apaches and other persons unknown ? MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 263 she suddenly cries : " That is false. I can swear my- self ! I saw that child, as well and strong as I am now, leave the railroad train at Pueblo, Colorado ! " 11 You believe this waif of the West is a peeress of England ? " gasps Mrs. Willis. " Pretty nearly," answers Miss Bessie. " Phil can swear to the marks upon her arm ; and now I think of it, all my chat with the young lady at the Patriarchs I was trying to recollect where I had seen her face. From nine to eighteen makes a great change in a girl, but I almost think " " Then prepare to be certain," says Phil ; and he shoves under her eyes a photograph, and asks : " Who's that?" " That," answers Miss Bessie, confidently, " is the likeness of Flossie Willoughby, or rather Lady Avon- mere, the little girl I saw at Lordsburgh in eighty-one." " Right ! " says her brother. " It is the picture poor Willoughby had in New Mexico, the one returned to me among his letters, and his curious statement I've just read to you. Now, whose likeness is that?" and he places another before his sister's excited eyes. " That," cries Bessie, " is Flossie Willoughby I mean Lady Avonmere also." " WRONG ! " cries Phil. " That is the picture of Miss Flossie Follis, one year after she was found and adopted. I obtained it from her present father." " Then the two are one ! I can swear it ! " says Bessie Everett very solemnly. Next she suddenly astounds them all by breaking out, " And now for the punishment of that cruel villain who could leave a helpless child to starve and die in that awful wilderness ! " " You are certain she's Baroness Avonmere ? " gasps the society matron. " As sure as I am that you are Mrs. Livingston Willis ! " " Then I'll do all I can to help you ! " ejaculates that lady. " We can count on you both ? " asks Grousemoor, who has been watching this scene in quiet interest. " Body and soul ! " answers Bessie. " Yes like like detectives ! " chimes in Mrs. Willis with a little shudder, for she is rather timid about burglart 364 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. and detective* and such people, classing them all in the same category. " So you will take up the cause of this persecuted girl ? " remarks Phil. " Won't we ! " cries Miss Bessie with enthusiastic eagerness. " Mrs. Willis will drive up to the Follises to- morrow, and invite her to stop with her ; then we two'll take her into society, and if any one dares to slight her, we'll say : ' Take care ! This is not an unknown waif you're snubbing, but Florence Beatrice Stella Willoughby, Lady Avonmere, and peeress in her own right in the Kingdom of England ! ' ' " Yes, and give Avonmere the hint ! Then we'll have him and every money-lender in Britain who's got a lien on that spendthrift's rents to fight along with him before we are ready," cuts in Grousemoor. " Pough ! Don't you suppose he knows who Flossie Follis is already ? Who's spread all these rumors to break the girl's heart ? " answers Miss Bessie airily. " Doubtless he knows it ; but he is also perfectly sure Florence doesn't know it, and has no idea that we have any knowledge of the fact or are taking any steps in the matter. His ideas are concentrated on Miss Tillie Follis and her fortune. When I come upon him it will be like a thunder-clap ! " answers Everett. " Then we're to say nothing of our protig&s rank ? " murmurs Mrs. Willis in a disappointed tone. " Not for the present ; but you can be kind to her, and invite her to your house, and use your great social in- fluence for her protection from the rumors that float about to annoy her and to put her to shame," answers Mr. Everett. His diplomatic allusion to Mrs. Willis's great social influence quite reconciles that matron to a few days' secrecy, and she readily consents to chaperon the coming Lady Avonmere. Then they all go to discussing Phil's plans for the un- doing of the villain uncle ; when suddenly his sister, who has occupied her time in thinking, not talking, cries out : " Do you want more proof good proof ? " " Of course I " answers her sweetheart ; " all we can get." "Then make Flossie Follis remember Flossie Wil MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 265 loughby ! " pants the girl, all excitement at her idea. " Give her memory a starting point, a fulcrum upon which the mind of Miss Nobody of Nowhere will swing into that of the child peeress of England ! If we can swear we saw this wonderful mental evolution, that will be good evidence to the world and to the law." " But how ? " answers Everett. " That's the thing I've been trying to do for a week." " How ? By letting her see that Phil Everett the Boston capitalist was Pete the New Mexican cowboy ? " " Pshaw ! I can't take her to the Gila plains 1 " cries Phil. " Pough ! " answers his sister enthusiastically. *' Take her to Mrs. Warburton's circus ! Show Florence Follis how you saved Florence Willoughby that day in New Mexico ! Do your great cowboy act, with child and Indian accompaniments 1 " " Impossible ! " says Grousemoor. " Not at all ! " answers the girl who has become enthusiastic over her plan. " This is Wednesday ; the circus is Friday night. " "But the Indians?" " Get 'em from Buffalo Bill's ' Wild West." " "And the child?" " Borrow a Fauntleroy from one of the theatres. Tele- graph to-night for Possum from our Massachusetts farm. I'll see your old cowboy dress gets here from home in time. And then oh, Phil, if you succeed you'll have an awful responsibility ! " " Responsibility ? Why so ? " " Because," answers Miss Bessie solemnly, " the mo- ment you give Miss Nobody of Nowhere a name, an English peeress will give you a heart ! Ou-gh ! take care ! I'm not Miss Flossie Follis ! " For upon this view of the situation Everett has given his adviser a salute of extraordinary fervor, coming from a brother's lips. " Why, he's in love with her ! " cries Mrs. Willis with amazed eyes. " Of course he is ! " laughs Grousemoor. " I saw it at the Patriarchs." " And I saw it when he was a cowboy a delirious cowboy ! Why, where are you going ? " says Miss Bessie. 266 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. "To be a cowboy again," answers her brother. " I'm going to telegraph for Possum." And he leaves the room, followed by the laughter of Grousemoor and the two ladies. Then they all go into the plan with the enthusiasm of a great excitement. Next morning Mrs. Willis invites Flossie to spend a few days with her. This invitation is eagerly accepted by the girl, who is very grateful for social kindness about this time, and is readily acceded to by Mrs. Follis, who has a project on hand that she greatly fears will fall under her adopted daughter's brilliant eyes. The other arrangements are made with the speed that money gives and the facility social influence permits. Phil finds Mr. Foxhunter Reach, the amateur ring- master, is very willing to put his grand cowboy act on his programme, in the place of honor before the " Mech- anique." Mrs. Willis obtains from Mrs. Warburton an invitation for her protegee. Possum and Pete's frontier equipments are all on hand; so are the child star and Indians. Phil is about to go down early on the day of the per- formance for a dress rehearsal, when into his room at the Brevoort comes a figure that causes him to spring hur- riedly up, and a voice speaks to him that makes the last nine years of his life seem but a day. He cries : " Garvey, by heavens ! " and seems to see the Gila plains again. For this wiry old frontier sheriff has scarcely changed since last he saw him on the mesas of New Mexico ; and though his hair is somewhat thinner, his eyes have still that wonderful brightness and gleam of perennial youth that kindly nature gives to some very old men patriarchs whom dissipation has not robbed of vitality nor enthu- siasm. " I come up quiet, Pete," says the old man, " for fear that chap we're after might hear of my being in town, and skip afore we got the drop on him ; likewise Bur- roughs, the Colorado deputy he's more up to this ex- trading business than I am, and he helped me out up at Albany, and we've got the papers all right if you've got the man to fit 'em." MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 26 ( " We can put our hands on him at any time," says PhiL " Well do it to-morrow afternoon ! " Then he explains to the sheriff his peculiar plan to right Miss Flossie Follis and undo Avonmere, showing him the documents from England, remarking on Arthur Willoughby's shrewdness in getting the report of a cor- oner's jury in New Mexico made acceptable evidence in English courts. "You see," explains Everett, "he first got a New Mexican notary to certify to the coroner's seal and signature; then a United States commissioner for New Mexico to certify to the notary's seal and signature ; and then the British consul to accredit the commissioner's seal and certification, which was all he knew about the matter." " And so our drunken young coroner's seal became English evidence ? That chap you're after's pretty peert. You'd better nail him to-day," remarks Garvey. " Impossible ! " answers Everett. Then after making all arrangements for the next day, he goes down to Mrs. Warburton's beautiful country place near Cedarhurst, where her roomy, old-fashioned barn has been turned into a beautiful temple to the honor of the horse an animal that a certain set of New York society worship with the same fervor that another por- tion bow down to the golden calf. At this time of the year, the weather not being pro- pitious for the glorification of said beast either by horse- racing, polo-playing, or fox-hunting that is, chasing the anise-seed bag they have concluded to give their four- footed deity an ovation in the way of a circus ; Mrs. Warburton, one of the high-priestesses of the order> kindly spending her money and throwing open her house and grounds for the Bucephalerian mysteries. After being hospitably welcomed by his hostess, he finds his child star, a pretty little precocity of about eleven, awaiting him with her mother ; also four or five Indians, these last being borrowed from a section of the :< Wild West " en route for Europe. Then, followed by his motley crew, he takes his way to the barn. This edifice, built in the lavish luxury common to New York princes of finance, is a palace in wood, of noble size and dimensions, and large enough to stable the horses 268 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. of a battery of artillery, with a troop or two of cavalry thrown in. It is still in the hands of a crowd of bus} workmen; but the master of ceremonies has kept the arena open for Everett's rehearsal, and most of the details hav- ing been prepared before in New York, he goes through his act for three or four hours, and is kindly informed by Mr. Reach, the amateur ring-master, that he thinks his performance will be a " go." Then he has a consultation with the electrician in charge, who starts at his suggestion, but finally accedes to his request. And so evening falls upon Mrs. Warburton's beautiful house and grounds, which now become brilliant with sparkling electric lights. These are strung down the avenue and placed here and there through the gardens, and also illuminate the barn, with its brilliant decorations and arena filled with perfumed sawdust, its over-hanging trapezes and swinging bars, and stable outside filled with neighing horses and grinning grooms. By this time the performers are nearly all present, in various stages of preparation for the coming file, and the guests by special train will arrive from New York in a few minutes. The brilliant audience are pretty well seated, when Mrs. Willis, Miss Bessie Everett, and Flossie Follis, ac- companied by Grousemoor, having made their bows to their hostess, enter the building. The orchestra is play- ing ; the peanut and candy girls, in full cry, are tossing their wares about with as much activity, vim, and attention to business as circus lemonade men ply their vocations for their daily bread at " Barnum's Greatest Show on Earth." The performance has not begun, and the buzz of expectation floats up through the air to the electric lamps burning above. -,-. The three ladies fortunately find seats near the front row, Miss Flossie sitting in the middle, Mrs. Willis on one side of her and Miss Bessie Everett on the other, both ladies all expectation, interest, and eyes to see how a certain portion of the performance will affect their frotfgte. Grousemoor takes a position immediately behind the young lady, even his matter-of-fact Scotch heart beating MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 269 a trifle quicker as he wonders whether to-night will bring back the memory of her earlier days into the beautiful head that is poised in front of him. They have been seated only a few moments, Miss Flossie contentedly munching some peanuts, obtained from one of the peanut maidens, dreamily listening to the orchestra, and rather indifferently looking over her pro- gramme, when she suddenly attracts the attention of the two ladies and gentleman who are watching her, by a little subdued " O-oh ! " and a start of interest. Looking carefully at her, they see she is inspecting the latter end of the athletic bill of fare, which contains the following announcement : ACT XII. THE COWBOY. An adventure in New Mexico. Pete. By an original cowboy. Apaches. By genuine Indians of the " Wild West," by permission of Buffalo Bill. The Little Girl from England. By la petite Fauntleroy. SYNOPSIS. PART I. The Sports of the Plains. By Broncho Pete. PART II. The Rescue of the Little Girl from England. The ride from the lone ranch on the San Francisco, where her father and mother have been killed, Pete bearing in his arms the child, and followed by Nana and a band of Apache braves. The crossing of the San Francisco the hurried drink the child crying for its mother and father lying dead among the melon vines of Comming's ranch. The chase across the mesa. The box canon of the Gila crossing the cation. The wounded cow- boy. The fight at the ford. The little Samaritan. " Dear Mr. Peter." The rain-storm and cloud-burst what the lightning showed I She reads this portion of the programme several times, each time more attentively ; a startled, wild expression comes into her face ; and though the band is playing the opening quadrille, and four of the prettiest horsewomen in New York and four of the most graceful horsemen of the various hunting clubs are prancing through the opening quadrille on polo ponies who vivaciously dance 270 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. to the music, she hardly looks at them ; and her eyes have a far-away expression that not all the applause of that enthusiastic audience can take from them. Once or twice in the evening she seems to rouse herself by an effort. She laughs slightly at the clowns when they are at their funniest ; the trained dogs get little atten- tion from her, though she dotes on canines ; the bare- back riding of the famed Mile. Sylphonia, which is done to immense applause by a graceful gentleman in low neck, short sleeves, tulle skirts, and the same general get-up of the dashing lady rider of the circus, attracts her eyes, but does not gain the attention of her mind. Whatever thoughts she has seem to be far away from this brilliant scene, this crowded auditorium. Once or twice her lips tremble ; several times tears are in her eyes, and Grousemoor, looking at her, thinks to himself : " If the announcement on the programme affects her so, what will the performance do to her ? " Turning from her, he sees on the opposite side of the arena Arthur, Lord Avonmere. This gentleman has run down to this performance alone ; Mrs. Marvin, Mrs. Follis, and Miss Tillie, having great preparations before them for the coming day, remaining in New York. " By Jove ! " thinks the Scotch nobleman, " he'll recog- nize the thing also, perhaps take a hint and give us no end of trouble." But nothing can be done to remedy this matter now, for " PETE, THE COWBOY," is the next act on the pro- gramme. The orchestra breaks into a wild flourish, and he comes dashing in just the same dirty, bronzed, rough-and- tumble bedouin of the prairies that Broncho Pete was nine long years ago, his face made up from a photograph of that time, his dress the one in which he fought and bled on the banks of the Gila the same bullet-holes in it, the same blood-stains still dark upon its cloth and leather. The saddle is the same ; and Possum, kept well and strong, and living easily on Phil's farm in Massa- chusetts, is the same wiry brute that raced over the hot mesas with Everett on his back, when he saved the little Flossie Willoughby's life. " By George ! he's the genuine article ! " whispers Mr Benson to Miss Budd. MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 3JI " His dirt seems genuine enough," replies that young lady with a giggle. But words are drowned in a wild yell of applause. Accident has permitted Pete the cowboy to make a hit on his entrtc. Little Gussie, who has officiated as a dude clown, and been nearly beaten and slapped to death several times in the evening by his confreres, two stalwart, burly, brutal, and funny creatures, has just thrown a lighted pack of fire-crackers under Possum's hoofs. With a snort of terror, the mustang is bucking wildly; but Phil has not forgotten his old tricks either, and his strong knees grip the broncho's sides as they did in other days. Then he pursues little Gussie, who, flying from the pony's mad rush, takes refuge upon the railing of the ring, and thinks himself safe, and chuckles in the glee of the dude mixed with the mirth of the clown. But even as he does so a lariat whirls from Pete the cowboy's once practised hand, and the dude clown caught in its rawhide noose is yanked down from his perch of safety, and rolled over and tumbled about in the sawdust of the arena, uttering hideous cries of real terror, that the crowd greet with a howl of hilarious joy. This general enthusiasm and excitement veils the greater agitations of Arthur, Lord Avonmere, and Flossie, his niece. As Pete rides in, Miss Flossie is leaning forward ; her eyes rest on the piebald mustang ; she gives a short, sharp sigh, and presses her hand to her heart, that Grousemoor can see by the throbbing silk and velvet above it is beating wildly. But if the effect is great on the niece, it is tremendous on the uncle ; and glancing at him the Scotchman sees him pale as death, with drooping jaw, and lips that mut- ter in stupefied surprise. While this is going on, Pete gives his exhibition of cow- boy riding in the reckless, devil-may-care way common to the real article, and dashes off in a volley of applause ; for he has done some tricks of horsemanship that have astonished the fox-hunting, polo-playing contingent pres- ent, and his episode with the dude clown had already made him a favorite 272 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. And so part first of " The Cowboy " ends. There is a slight interval ; the musicians change from the wild galop they have been playing to a heart-touch- ing Spanish air that stimulates the imagination, and brings the tears a little nearer the eyelids ; and as this is taking place the Scotchman notes that the girl sees Avonmere, and a wonderful change takes place in her. From now on he notes she is fighting with herself fighting to restrain some immense emotion that is dominat- ing her mind ; fighting to control something that she fears will conquer her ; and her manner is so repressed that she astounds Grousemoor and disappoints Bessie Everett and Mrs. Willis, who are eagerly looking for some wild outburst of returning memory and melodramatic passion. A moment after, part second begins. The rattle of firearms is heard off, and Pete dashes in on Possum, carrying in his arms a little girl who makes Bessie Everett scream with astonishment, for the child- actress has been made the likeness of Florence Beatrice Stella Willoughby, Lady Avonmere, whom Phil carried in his arms from the Apaches. As he comes in he slightly checks his horse, walks him along as if fording a river, and stooping down simulates taking up the water in his sombrero, giving the child a drink, and pets and caresses her, telling her not to grieve. Then tossing the liquid over her face, the little girl, who has been sobbing silently, suddenly cries : " Take me back ! I will go back to my dear father and mother ! They were alive five minutes since, when the dark bad men made the bang noise, and mamma fell down, and papa the dear papa I came all the way from England to see cried : ' Save the baby, Pete !' and fell down beside her. No, No ! They can't be really dead ! " And she struggles to get from his arms and to run back ; but he, clasping her tight upon his breast, whispers to her and soothes her, then shouts : " For the box canon of the Gila ! " and putting spurs to Possum dashes along. A moment after, with whoop and war-cry, the Indians spurring their ponies come on the scene, and race wildly after him. Till running the course some two or three times, Pete suddenly checks Possum, apparently rides into another river, gives the child another drink, and coming to MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 73 a part of the arena where some painted rocks have been placed, the little girl says, " Bad men behind us again ! " A shot comes from the pursuing Indians, and dropping the child in safety behind one of the rocks, Pete claps his hand to his thigh, and tumbles writhing, wounded and groaning, from the mustang. Seeing this, the child takes to caressing and soothing him ; but he cries : " I must keep them from crossing the Gila till the cloud-burst ! " and crawls with his gun to the top of the rock and looks over. During this, the Indians at the opposite side of the arena have been gesticulating and pointing to the heavens, and one says : " Heap big rain ! Cross the river and scalp ! " Then they dismount, and leaving their horses in care of one, come across what they pretend is a river-bed, shooting at Phil, who returns their fire and drives them back. They retreat, and he lies groaning and wounded ; but at his side is the little girl, who has caught some running water in her little straw hat, and placing it to his lips says in sympathetic voice : *' Dear Mr. Peter, I've brought you some water ! You look so thirsty now ! " And he replies : " What's the matter with your arm ? " then cries : " Curse the Apaches, they've shot you jnst below that little mole ; the mark '11 never leave you ! " And she whispers back : " It's going to rain and fill the river, isn't it, Mr. Peter, so you can save me ? " Even while she is speaking the audience start, for the electric lights are growing dim. But one among them does not note the darkness, for the world is growing bright with hope to her, and she is muttering to her- self : " Dear Mr. Peter the cowboy of my dream ! " Then the Indians come on, hurriedly firing, and of a sudden every light on the place goes out and it is dark, and the child is calling : " The river's rising to keep them from us ! " Then there are crashes of thunder and flashes of light- ning, and by its fitful lights the Indians are seen flying all save one who is on the rocks with the cowboy and the child and darkness comes again. A moment after, another and more vivid flash illumi- nates the arena, and the Indian is climbing up the rock 274 MliS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. while Pete is glaring into his painted face, and as the Apache springs for his adversary's throat the cowboy's revolver speaks. There is a mighty clap of thunder, and over it comes the death-shriek of the brave and all is dark once more. While in the gloom Flossie Follis is whispering : " I re- member how my poor mother and father died. Dear Mrs. Willis, take me from here ! " and Grousemoor supporting her to the open air finds that she has fainted in his arms. A moment after, the place becomes bright with electric lights once more, and the audience are gazing at each other in surprise, for the arena is empty of rocks, horses, Indians, child, and cowboy, and the three clowns are doing a harum-scarum tumbling act. But during the darkness Avonmere has also gone out. He walks about the grounds with a dazed expres- sion, and goes to muttering : " Everett the name of the woman who claimed him as son ; Bessie the name of the girl who nursed him as sister ; both saw me and the child leave the train at Pueblo. Phil ! Pete ! By heavens ! the delirious cowboy of the inquest! He's shown strange interest in her. This conglomeration to-night was to make her remember. By Jove ! it's lucky all's fixed for to-morrow ! Whatever they do will be TOO LATE ! " This last reflection has such a soothing effect upon his lordship's mind that he walks to the house, and finding some congenial spirits in the supper-room, which is now crowded, the performance being finished, he makes a very hilarious night of it, till the special train carries him back to New York. When Phil emerges from his dressing-room, once more the man of the world, he finds the arena deserted, and the guests at the big country-house enjoying supper and preparing for the dance. He looks about for his party, and to his astonishment none of them are there ; but while engaged in his search a servant hands him a note. This has been hurriedly written on a card and reads : " You've succeeded too well for her nervous system. Have taken her to Mrs. Willis'*. Follow u* soon as possible. "GROUSEMOOR.* Getting to his hostess to bid her good-by, that ladj MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 275 informs him that, Miss Follis becoming suddenly ill, Mrs. Willis had taken advantage of a train that left im- mediately after the performance to convey her party back to New York. Five minutes after this, Everett, having obtained Mr. Gussie's company for the trip, drives from Mrs. Warbur- ton's. Reaching the main Long Island Railroad, they fortunately catch a delayed accommodation train at Val- ley Stream, and get to New York but an hour later than Mrs. Willis's party. Chartering a night hack, Phil drives Mr. Van Beekman to Thirty-seventh Street, leaving him there with these significant words : " You've watched Avonmere for a week and discovered nothing ! Watch him from now on, and if he doesn't make a move soon, he never will ! " " Won't I, old chappie ? Wouldn't I like to down him as he downed me?" is the answer of Augustus as he limps into his house with sundry groans and sighs, the results of his clowning in the early evening. Then Everett rushes his hack up Madison Avenue to Mrs. Willis's. Here, finding the house lighted, he rings the bell, and a moment after is the centre of an excited trio. " She remembers everything," says Grousemoor. " Lady Avonmere won't go to bed till she sees you," ejaculates Mrs. Willis. " Go in and win her," whispers Bessie. She leads hei brother into a cosy little parlor at the rear of the house, and a moment after Phil is standing before the girl, who has risen in beautiful agitation to receive him. There are tears in her eyes as she murmurs, " God bless you, dear Mr. Peter, you have given me a name ! " " Yes," he says, a perhaps mistaken generosity prompt- ing him to claim nothing from one who owes him so much. " And to-morrow I propose to make the world recognize what you remember ! " Then he informs her of certain arrangements he haa made for the coming day, charging her to be ready when Mr. Follis comes for her. " Of course I I shall do as you desire,** says Flossie. with a slight sigh in her voice, and perchance a little reproach in her eyes. 276 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. " Very well, then you'd better get all the sleep yoe can ; to-morrow's ordeal will probably be more trying than to-night's." And he would leave her. But the girl steps after him, lays a hand that is trem- bling, perhaps from weakness, perchance from some emo- tion, on his arm and stammers : " You you don't let me thank you for for saving my life as a child, and giv- ing me memory as a a woman. You're you're very unkind to me, dear Mr. Peter." " I what have I done ?" gasps Phil. Then a blush of mingled shame and pride flies over her beautiful face ; she mutters : " Nothing ! You have done NOTHING ! " next says very haughtily and very coolly, " Good night, Mr. Everett," and so leaves him. " Is she yours ? " asks Bessie, excitedly, catching Phil in the hall. " No ; she seems a little annoyed," answers the Bosto- nian in a perplexed tone. Then he describes his inter- view to his sister. As he finishes, she sneers at him one word : " IDIOT ! " in a tone of jeering contempt ; then steps to Grouse- moor and says : " Let us take this cowboy away from the heiress to whom he once gave life, and now gives a grand name and another great fortune. Let us get him away before the dolt makes the girl whose heart he's won, hate him hate him ! and HAVE JUST CAUSE FOR DOING IT ! His forte is catching cattle and clowns, NOT WOMEN 1 " CHAPTER XXIV. AN INTERNATIONAL BRIDE. THB morning brings an unexpected complication. Everett, dressing leisurely for breakfast, is disturbed by a loud knocking upon his door, and little Gussie's voice comes to him through the panel, saying in excited tones: " Let me in, old chappie ! I have got a corker in the news line for you. Too much hurry to bother a bell-boy with card ; this is an eye-opener ! " MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 7J As the last words leave his lips, the door opens, and Mr. Van Beekman, who is panting with haste and ex- citement, finds himself pulled into the room, and Phil saying to him in a very serious voice : " What is it ? " " My dear boy, what time are you going to slap down on Avonmere ? " "Two P.M.," says Everett. "All arrangements are made for that time." " Then you won't get him ! " " By Heaven, I will ! What do you mean ?" " I mean if you don't jump on him this morning pretty early dear boy there will be nobody to jump on this afternoon. You know you asked me to keep my eye open on anything that Avonmere might do. So I en larged the key-hole in my bath-room door for my little eye, and piped him after the manner of detectives. What do you think he is going to do ? " " How can I guess ? Tell me ! " " Well, all last night after he came home from Mrs. Warburton's circus, he and his valet were packing like madmen." "Ah ! Going away ? " cries Everett. " To Europe, my boy." " To Europe ? " echoes Phil, astonished. "Yes. This morning to my astonishment I don't think he had been in bed all night I heard him dressing at eight o'clock most unusual hour for him so up I gets equally unusual hour for me. He didn't stop to take breakfast, neither did I. There was a coupe" at the door, and my man, who was loafing about the hall by my in- structions, heard him tell the driver : ' No. 4 Bowling Green.' " * Ah ! the office of the Cunard Line ! " " Certainly. I know that as well as you ; so he had no sooner driven away than I got a hack myself and drove down there, and what do you think I found ? By George ! a stateroom taken on the Aurania, that sails at i P.M. to- dayhe's going it extravagant this time and extra berths for what do you think ? a valet and maid ! " " Maid ? " cries Everett. " You must be mistaken I " " No, I don't think so. However, he's going anyway. If you want to put your band on him, you'll have to be moving^* 78 MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. " So I will ! " cries Phil, and he makes his arrangements rapidly, not even stopping to breakfast Assisted by Gussie, who has worked himself up into a grand state of excitement, and by aid of numerous well- tipped district telegraph boys and special messengers, he gets together, about half-past ten o'clock, most of the people that he wants. Then Van Beekman speeds back to his own apartments, with instructions, in case Avonmere leaves his rooms, to follow him wherever he goes. But after doing this, Everett, as an extra precaution, despatches two deputy sheriffs to wait at the Cunard pier and hold Avonmere there, in case he should make his appearance, at all hazards. While this has been going on, he has held a rapid con- sultation with Grousemoor. " You must never let that man get across the water," says that nobleman, who is endowed with a good deal of solid Scotch hard sense. " You must fight him here." " You think it would be much more difficult to win across the water ? " asks Phil. " Almost impossible. Here you find this man, Arthur Willoughby, commonly called Lord Avonmere, alone and unaided; there you would not fight him, but every money- changer who has advanced him money, and receives in payment the rents of the estates he occupies as Baron Avonmere. By George ! You would have half the money- changers of England against you; they always make a pretty long and hard battle for their shekels," says his lordship. " Then 111 nail him here ! " cries Phil; and with that goes to Garvey, who has made his appearance, and is sit- ting waiting, with the same quiet smile upon his face with which he would have tackled a horse-thief or served war- rants on cowboys or Mexican banditti. " If you're ready, we'll start agin the enemy," remarks the frontier sheriff. " But fust let me be sure," and he examines his revolver carefully. " For God's sake, Garvey," says Phil, noting this, " re- memberthat you're in New York, not in New Mexico; the man you arrest will be unarmed." " Well, ef he turns up his hands quick enough, ther ain't no danger from me nur Bobbie Burroughs," remark! MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. 79 the New Mexican official, with a grin, pointing to the Colorado deputy. " Burroughs has the fust chance at him fur murder, and I takes my second for felonious for- gery. It seems to me, Pete, ef you're in a huny, we'd better ketch your game before he leaves his den." So in two hacks Phil, accompanied by Grousemoon Garvey, the deputy sheriff from Colorado, a New York policeman to make the arrests in the name of the State, Phil's lawyer, a notary public, and a deputy from the British consular office, make their advance on the uncon> scious AvoniTiere. " With this crowd," remarks the frontier sheriff, " we ought to be able to get away with the hull British peer- age." They arrive at Thirty-seventh Street, and Phil gives a sigh of relief as they find a carriage in front of the house in which Avonmere lives ; he knows his enemy is still in his grasp. Little Mr. Gussie is waiting at the door, and comes to Everett quite excitedly, saying : " Just in time ! That hack is to take him away. Old Abe Follis and Miss Flossie are in my parlor up-stairs ; they arrived on the Q. T. five minutes ago." " Much obliged," says Phil, who has been very anxious on this point, and, followed by his posse, he also comes up to Van Beekman's parlor. " You can make your arrangements here," says his host. " Meantime, I'll pop my eye on the keyhole in my bath-room door, and report Avonmere's movements." For Phil has gone into a hurried consultation with the object of his solicitude and Mr. Follis. That gentleman seems to be much the more excited of the two, and wrings Phil's hand, who has hurriedly ex- plained the situation to him, and says with tears in his voice : " I'm skeered, Everett, in making my little Flossie such a social hummer, you'll be tracing me out of a darter." But the girl whispers to him, the ring of truth in her voice : " Never, father ! Never ! You have loved me as a father, and you are as much my father as if I were your own flesh and your own blood 1 " Then Phil leads Garvey to her, and, recognizing the frontier sheriff, she seizes his hand and thanks him foi *8o MISS NOBODY OF NOWHER*. what he did for her as a child. And all this time PhE stands in misery, for she never says a word more about gratitude to him. But, before he can despair greatly, Gussie hurriedly comes from his bedroom, and says : " You must nip him now ! He's getting his baggage out ! " and there is a great noise of moving impedimenta from the hallway. " Very well," remarks Phil to the policeman. " Make the arrests as I have explained them to you ; do exactly as I have bid you, and it will be the best day's work you have ever done ! " " All right," replies the officer, " I understand ! " and. preceded by the policeman, Mr. Everett's legal army advance on their opponent. As they reach the hall, the door of Avonmere's parlor opens, and that gentleman issues therefrom, leisurely drawing on a glove, robed in his finest raiment, a new glossy silk tile on his head, the breast of his coat of fault- less cut ornamented by a white and fragrant flower, and with a smile of triumph upon his lips. He says to his valet : " Jones, remember my instruc- tions ! " and is about to pass down to his hack, his hand in his vest pocket feeling to be certain that a little trinket is there ready for the finger of the woman he loves. He is strolling past Phil's minions with a look of wonder in his eyes, for he thinks such a crowd curious in the halls of this quiet apartment-house, when the policeman, tapping him on the shoulder, says : *' You are Lord Avonmere ? " " Certainly ! " he replies. " Can I have a word with you ? " " Yes ; but only a word," he answers, looking at his watch. " I haven't time for an extended conversation." " Will you please step back in your room ? " " No ! Say what you want here. " " Then, Arthur Willoughby, commonly known as Lord Avonmere," says the policeman, "I have a warrant of arrest for you, issued by the proper authorities of the State of New York, on requisition from the governor of Colorado, to answer the crime of MURDER ! " " From the governor of Colorado I " cries his lordship, thunderstruck; then he begins to laugh nervously and ays : " You must be crazy ! This is some practical joke MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. l8l to prevent my getting " Next he looks quickly at hii watch, and gasps, " I can't remain ! " "You must! " "Of whose murder am I accused?** he asks, his lips trembling a little, as he sees the affair is serious. " For the murder of your niece, known at the time of her death as Florence Willoughby, but in reality, accord- ing to English law and usage, Florence Beatrice Stella Willoughby, Baroness Avonmere, a peeress in her own right in the kingdom of England.*' This the policeman reads from the document. " I am arrested for the murder of Florence Willoughby in Colorado ! Why, it has always been understood that the child was killed in New Mexico." " Then it has been falsely understood ! " cries Phil, who has remained a little in the background, coming forward. " I can prove by my sister's and mother's evidence that you left the train with Flossie Willoughby at Pueblo, Colorado. If she died in that State, you are the one man who knows the particulars of her death ! Show us how she died." At these words, Avonmere, growing very pale, and shivering a little as if a chill had come upon him, cries : " Ah, this is a move of yours ! I expected something of this kind since last night. Come this way, Mr. Everett ; come into my room with these gentlemen I But for God's sake, BE QUICK ! " So they all walk into his parlor, which they find de- nuded of his ornaments and personal belongings ; but the furniture, being the property of the house, is undis- turbed, and they make themselves comfortable on the chairs about the room. While they are doing this, Avonmere has passed his hand once or twice through his hair, as if in very serious but very rapid reflection. Apparently having made up his mind to act, he sud- denly says to his valet : " Go down-stairs, Jones, get the balance of my trunks that are in the hall out of it, take them down to the steamer, and wait for me there." Next, turning to Phil, he says : " You see I have very little time. I have an idea of your business with me ; get through with it as rapidly as possible that's all 1 ask," and looking uneasily at the clock on the mantel, which *8a MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. showa the hour of eleven, he mutters : u I can only glv you five minutes ;" then cries : "You know as well as I that I am not the murderer of the young lady described in these papers ; you know SHE is ALIVE ! " " Certainly ! " replies Phil. " I know she is alive." " You have taken this extraordinary action," continues Avonmere, "not to prove that I murdered my niece, but to prove that the young lady for whose benefit you did your cowboy act last night at Mrs. Warburton's circus is not Flossie Follis, but Florence, Lady Avonmere." " Precisely ! " says Everett. " Then if I prove to you the lady mentioned in this warrant is alive, and Mr. Everett admits its truth," says Avonmere, sharply, turning to the officer, "I presume you will let me go at once ? " " That ain't my business," replies the policeman, " That's the say of the deputy from Colorado." " Then, if you won't let me go in five minutes, by Heaven, you'll get no proof from me ! " cries Avonmere, sinking into a chair and simulating nonchalance, though his eyes begin to look very wild. " You can have the pleasure and the expense of taking me to your con- founded State and trying me there," he goes on, sud- denly. " I will prove she lives to the Colorado jury, and have a nice bill of damages for false accusation against" he looks meaningly at Everett and sneers " the gen- tleman who is doing all this because he is in love with my pretended victim." Now, to try Avonmere for the murder of a living woman is not at all what Phil wishes. The very declara- tion that his opponent has made is what he is working for ; and noting the tone of despair in the man's voice, he sees Avonmere will probably be very willing to give proof of Flossie Follis's identity, providing he is prom- ised immunity from arrest. "I think," says Everett, shortly, "the deputy from Colorado, who knows my wealth, will be willing to accept my bond for one hundred thousand dollars to hold him harmless in case you prove the person you are accused of murdering is alive, if he does not press the execution of the warrant against vou, Avonmere ? " " That's as you say, Mr. Everett," remarks Burrougha " Let him prove the girl lives, and it would be absurd tc MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE. *8.J arrest him for her murder, and I will take the security you offer to withhold the warrant." " Are you willing to make the proof under this agree- ment?" asks Everett, rapidly turning to Avonmere. " Instantly ! " agrees that gentleman, with a sigh of relief. " You have some person with you who can ad- minister an oath ? " " Certainly ! " savs Phil. " That was already provided for." " Ah ! " returns the Englishman, a cynical smile light- ing his Italian eyes, " you have understood your work, and done it very thoroughly." Then, with another hurried glance at the clock, he sits do\n at the table in the centre of the room, and writes very rapidly while the party gaze on him in silence. After four or five minutes hurried composition, Avon- mere says : " Will this suit you ? " and reads the follow- ing lucid, didactic, but clear statement : " I, Arthur Willoughby, who have for nine years thought myself Baron Avonmere, of the peerage of England, do hereby, in justice to the person now known as Miss Florence Follis, of Colorado, but in reality my niece, Florence Beatrice Stella Willoughby, Baroness Avonmere, of the peerage of England, make under oath, and of my own free will and volition, the following declaration : "After my brother, Arthur Willoughby, and his wife's demise in New Mexico, I took my niece with me to return to England. Being compelled to look after mining interests in Colorado, I left the Atchi- son, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad at Pueblo, and journeyed to the town of Leadville. The prospects I had interest in were much fur- ther toward the Utah line, a portion of the State at that period made very dangerous by the Butbreak of the Ute Indians, so I could ob- tain no men to go with me to make an examination of my properties. Therefore I started alone. I was compelled to take my niece with me, from inability to find any one to take charge of her, and my expectation that I might be compelled to make my way out of the basin of the Colorado River by the Mormon settlements in Utah. So I took the child on horseback with me, carrying her most of the way upon my own saddle, as it was impossible to travel rapidly. I had journeyed in this manner for six days, when, in a gulch I have since recognized by photographs as that now known as the canon of the ' Baby ' mine, I left my little niece alone, tempted by ti* right oC setae big-hon* half vry up the mountain si