CHAPTER I—IN WHICH A YOUNG MAN
TRESPASSES
He’s just an infernal
dude, your lordship, and I ‘ll throw him in the river if he says a
word too much.”
“ He has already said too much, Tompkins, confound him, don’t
you know.”
“ Then I ‘m to throw him in whether he says anything or not,
sir?”
“ Have you seen him?”
“ No, your lordship, but James has. James says he wears a red
coat and—”
“ Never mind, Tompkins. He has no right to fish on this side
of that log. The insufferable ass may own the land on the opposite
side, but, confound his impertinence, I own it on this
side.”This concluding assertion of the usually placid but now irate
Lord Bazelhurst was not quite as momentous as it sounded. As a
matter of fact, the title to the land was vested entirely in his
young American wife; his sole possession, according to report,
being a title much less substantial but a great deal more
picturesque than the large, much-handled piece of paper down in the
safety deposit vault—lying close and crumpled among a million
sordid, homely little slips called coupons.It requires no great stretch of imagination to understand
that Lord Bazelhurst had an undesirable neighbour. That neighbour
was young Mr. Shaw—Randolph Shaw, heir to the Randolph fortune. It
may be fair to state that Mr. Shaw also considered himself to be
possessed of an odious neighbour. In other words, although neither
had seen the other, there was a feud between the owners of the two
estates that had all the earmarks of an ancient romance.Lady Bazelhurst was the daughter of a New York millionaire;
she was young, beautiful, and arrogant. Nature gave her youth and
beauty; marriage gave her the remaining quality. Was she not Lady
Bazelhurst? What odds if Lord Bazelhurst happened to be a
middle-aged, addle-pated ass? So much the better. Bazelhurst castle
and the Bazelhurst estates (heavily encumbered before her father
came to the rescue) were among the oldest and most coveted in the
English market. Her mother noted, with unctuous joy, that the
present Lady Bazelhurst in babyhood had extreme difficulty in
mastering the eighth letter of the alphabet, certainly a most
flattering sign of natal superiority, notwithstanding the fact that
her father was plain old John Banks (deceased), formerly of Jersey
City, more latterly of Wall street and St. Thomas’s.Bazelhurst was a great catch, but Banks was a good name to
conjure with, so he capitulated with a willingness that savoured
somewhat of suspended animation (so fearful was he that he might do
something to disturb the dream before it came true). That was two
years ago. With exquisite irony, Lady Bazelhurst decided to have a
country-place in America. Her agents discovered a glorious section
of woodland in the Adirondacks, teeming with trout streams, game
haunts, unparalleled scenery; her ladyship instructed them to buy
without delay. It was just here that young Mr. Shaw came into
prominence.His grandfather had left him a fortune and he was looking
about for ways in which to spend a portion of it. College, travel,
and society having palled on him, he hied himself into the big
hills west of Lake Champlain, searching for beauty, solitude, and
life as he imagined it should be lived. He found and bought five
hundred acres of the most beautiful bit of wilderness in the
mountains.The same streams coursed through his hills and dales that ran
through those of Lady Bazelhurst, the only distinction being that
his portion was the more desirable. When her ladyship’s agents came
leisurely up to close their deal, they discovered that Mr. Shaw had
snatched up this choice five hundred acres of the original tract
intended for their client. At least one thousand acres were left
for the young lady, but she was petulant enough to covet all of
it.Overtures were made to Mr. Shaw, but he would not sell. He
was preparing to erect a handsome country-place, and he did not
want to alter his plans. Courteously at first, then somewhat
scathingly he declined to discuss the proposition with her agents.
After two months of pressure of the most tiresome persistency, he
lost his temper and sent a message to his inquisitors that suddenly
terminated all negotiations. Afterwards, when he learned that their
client was a lady, he wrote a conditional note of apology, but, if
he expected a response, he was disappointed. A year went by, and
now, with the beginning of this narrative, two newly completed
country homes glowered at each other from separate hillsides, one
envious and spiteful, the other defiant and a bit
satirical.Bazelhurst Villa looks across the valley and sees Shaw’s
Cottage commanding the most beautiful view in the hills; the very
eaves of her ladyship’s house seem to have wrinkled into a constant
scowl of annoyance. Shaw’s long, low cottage seems to smile back
with tantalizing security, serene in its more lofty altitude, in
its more gorgeous raiment of nature. The brooks laugh with the
glitter of trout, the trees chuckle with the flight of birds, the
hillsides frolic in their abundance of game, but the acres are
growling like dogs of war. “Love thy neighbour as thyself” is not
printed on the boards that line the borders of the two estates. In
bold black letters the sign-boards laconically say: “No trespassing
on these grounds. Keep off!”
“ Yes, I fancy you’d better put him off the place if he comes
down here again to fish, Tompkins,” said his lordship, in
conclusion. Then he touched whip to his horse and bobbed off
through the shady lane in a most painfully upright fashion, his
thin legs sticking straight out, his breath coming in agonized
little jerks with each succeeding return of his person to the
saddle.
“ By Jove, Evelyn, it’s most annoying about that confounded
Shaw chap,” he remarked to his wife as he mounted the broad steps
leading to the gallery half an hour later, walking with the
primness which suggests pain. Lady Bazelhurst looked up from her
book, her fine aristocratic young face clouding with ready
belligerence.
“ What has he done, Cecil dear?”
“ Been fishing on our property again, that’s all. Tompkins
says he laughed at him when he told him to get off. I say, do you
know, I think I ‘ll have to adopt rough methods with that chap.
Hang it all, what right has he to catch our fish?”
“ Oh, how I hate that man!” exclaimed her ladyship
petulantly.
“ But I ‘ve given Tompkins final instructions.”
“ And what are they?”
“ To throw him in the river next time.”
“ Oh, if he onlycould!”
‘rapturously.’
“ Could?My dear, Tompkins is an
American. He can handle these chaps in their own way. At any rate,
I told Tompkins if his nerve failed him at the last minute to come
and notify me.I ‘llattend to
this confounded popinjay!”
“ Good for you, Cecil!” called out another young woman from
the broad hammock in which she had been dawdling with half-alert
ears through the foregoing conversation. “Spoken like a true
Briton. What is this popinjay like?”
“ Hullo, sister. Hang it all, what’s he like? He’s like an
ass, that’s all. I’ve never seen him, but if I’m ever called upon
to—but you don’t care to listen to details. You remember the big
log that lies out in the river up at the bend? Well, it marks the
property line. One half of its stump belongs to the Shaw man, the
other half to m—to us, Evelyn. He shan’t fish below that log—no,
sir!” His lordship glared fiercely through his monocle in the
direction of the far-away log, his watery blue eyes blinking as
malevolently as possible, his long, aristocratic nose wrinkling at
its base in fine disdain. His five feet four of stature quivered
with illy-subdued emotion, but whether it was rage or the sudden
recollection of the dog-trot through the woods, it is beyond me to
suggest.
“ But suppose our fish venture into his waters, Cecil; what
then? Is n’t that trespass?” demanded the Honourable Penelope
Drake, youngest and most cherished sister of his
lordship.
“ Now, don’t be silly, Pen,” cried her sister-in-law. “Of
course we can’t regulate the fish.”
“ But I daresay his fish will come below the log, so what’s
the odds?” said his lord-ship quickly. “A trout ‘s a lawless brute
at best.”
“ Is he big?” asked the Honourable Penelope
lazily.
“ They vary, my dear girl.”
“ I mean Mr. Shaw.”
“ Oh, I thought you meant the—but I don’t know. What
difference does that make? Big or little, he has to stay off my
grounds.” Was it a look of pride that his tall young wife bestowed
upon him as he drew himself proudly erect or was it akin to pity?
At any rate, her gay young American head was inches above his own
when she arose and suggested that they go inside and prepare for
the housing of the guests who were to come over from the evening
train.
“ The drag has gone over to the station, Cecil, and it should
be here by seven o’clock.”
“ Confound his impudence, I ‘ll show him,” grumbled his
lordship as he followed her, stiff-legged, toward the
door.
“ What’s up, Cecil, with your legs?” called his sister. “Are
you getting old?”This suggestion always irritated him.
“ Old? Silly question. You know how old I am. No; it’s that
beastly American horse. Evelyn, I told you they have no decent
horses in this beastly country. They jiggle the life out of one—”
but he was obliged to unbend himself perceptibly in order to keep
pace with her as she hurried through the door.The Honourable Penelope allowed her indolent gaze to follow
them. A perplexed pucker finally developed on her fair brow and her
thought was almost expressed aloud: “By Jove, I wonder if she
really loves him.”Penelope was very pretty and very bright. She was visiting
America for the first time and she was learning rapidly. “Cecil ‘s
a good sort, you know, even—” but she was loyal enough to send her
thoughts into other channels.Nightfall brought half a dozen guests to Bazelhurst Villa.
They were fashionable to the point where ennui is the chief
characteristic, and they came only for bridge and sleep. There was
a duke among them and also a French count, besides the bored New
Yorkers; they wanted brandy and soda as soon as they got into the
house, and they went to bed early because it was so much easier to
sleep lying down than sitting up.All were up by noon the next day, more bored than ever,
fondly praying that nothing might happen before bedtime. The duke
was making desultory love to Mrs. De Peyton and Mrs. De Peyton was
leading him aimlessly toward the shadier and more secluded nooks in
the park surrounding the Villa. Penelope, fresh and full of the
purpose of life, was off alone for a long stroll. By this means she
avoided the attentions of the duke, who wanted to marry her; those
of the count who also said he wanted to marry her but could n’t
because his wife would not consent; those of one New Yorker, who
liked her because she was English; and the pallid chatter of the
women who bored her with their conjugal cynicisms.
“ What the deuce is this coming down the road?” queried the
duke, returning from the secluded nook at luncheon time.
“ Some one has been hurt,” exclaimed his companion. Others
were looking down the leafy road from the gallery.
“ By Jove, it’s Penelope, don’t you know,” ejaculated the
duke, dropping his monocle and blinking his eye as if to rest it
for the time being.
“ But she’s not hurt. She’s helping to support one of those
men.”
“ Hey!” shouted his lordship from the gallery, as Penelope
and two dilapidated male companions abruptly started to cut across
the park in the direction of the stables. “What’s up?” Penelope
waved her hand aimlessly, but did not change her course. Whereupon
the entire house party sallied forth in more or less trepidation to
intercept the strange party.
“ Who are these men?” demanded Lady Bazelhurst, as they came
up to the fast-breathing young Englishwoman.
“ Don’t bother me, please. We must get him to bed at once.
He’ll have pneumonia,” replied Penelope.Both men were dripping wet and the one in the middle limped
painfully, probably because both eyes were swollen tight and his
nose was bleeding. Penelope’s face was beaming with excitement and
interest.
“ Who are you?” demanded his lordship, planting himself in
front of the shivering twain.
“ Tompkins,” murmured the blind one feebly, tears starting
from the blue slits and rolling down his cheeks.
“ James, sir,” answered the other, touching his damp
forelock.
“ Are they drunk?” asked Mrs. De Peyton, with fresh
enthusiasm.
“ No, they are not, poor fellows,” cried Penelope. “They have
taken nothing but water.”
“ By Jove, deuced clever that,” drawled the duke. “Eh?” to
the New Yorker.
“ Deuced,” from the Knickerbocker.
“ Well, well, what’s it all about?” demanded
Bazelhurst.
“ Mr. Shaw, sir,” said James.
“ Good Lord, could n’t you rescue him?” in horror.
“ He rescued us, sir,” mumbled Tompkins.
“ You mean—”
“ He throwed us in and then had to jump in and pull us out,
sir. Beggin’ your pardon, sir, butdamnhim!”
“ And you did n’t throw him in, after all? By Jove,
extraordinary!”
“ Do you mean to tell us that he threw you great hulking
creatures into the river? Single-handed?” cried Lady Bazelhurst,
aghast.
“ He did, Evelyn,” inserted Penelope. “I met them coming
home, and poor Tompkins was out of his senses. I don’t know how it
happened, but—”
“ It was this way, your ladyship,” put in James, the groom.
“Tompkins and me could see him from the point there, sir, afishin’
below the log. So we says to each other ‘Come on,’ and up we went
to where he was afishin’. Tompkins, bein’ the game warden, says he
to him ‘Hi there!’ He was plainl [...]