Lord Loveland Discovers America. Williamson Charles Norris

yet. It's simmering – it'll soon begin to boil."

      Whether Jim Harborough's idea had already boiled or not, at all events that same afternoon a fat envelope went out by post, registered, and addressed to The Marquis of Loveland, Cragside Lodge, Dorloch, N. B. In it there were at least ten letters of introduction, all to names the bare mention of which had power to raise the circulation of Society papers in America, or create a flutter in Wall Street. Each envelope enclosed in the big one was left open, so that Loveland might acquaint himself with the terms in which his cousins described him to their millionaire friends.

      Perhaps he was slightly aggrieved that they did not paint him in more glowing terms, or dwell upon the honour conferred on the recipients of the letters. But there was no real fault to find, and – as Jim would perhaps have said – it was "up" to Loveland to make his own impression. On the whole, Val was satisfied with what he had got, and condescendingly wrote two lines of thanks to Betty.

      CHAPTER THREE

      The Inestimable Foxham

      Times were bad, said Battenborough, the polite and popular pawnbroker; therefore Lady Loveland got only six hundred pounds on the pink pearls. Two hundred were sprinkled about among Val's creditors, like pepper out of a pot, where such seasoning was necessary. A hundred more were spent outright, with heartburnings, upon obstinate tailors, hatters and hosiers, who would not tail, hat nor hose, except upon instalments of ready money. Fifty pounds were apologetically retained by Lady Loveland, who grudged every penny to herself and especially to her servants. Another fifty a little more than paid for a cabin almost worthy of his lordship on the big ship Baltic. Fifty and some vague dust of gold and silver went into Val's pocket for current expenses; and the remaining hundred and fifty condensed into the form of a letter of credit.

      Of course there ought to have been more, much more. But there would have been less had not Loveland's man, Foxham, given notice at the last moment. This inestimable person assured his master that nothing but the most urgent necessity could have induced him to take such a course. He suffered poignantly, Foxham intimated with proper respect, in the idea that another must perform for his lordship those services which had been his pleasure and duty; but Foxham's grandfather had died (even valets have grandfathers) leaving a tidy sum; and as there were peculiarities in the will, Foxham would lose his chance of inheriting if he left England.

      Loveland privately thought it almost equivalent to lèse majesté that his man should desert him for such a selfish trifle as private interest. But he would have scorned to retain a servant who wished to leave him; besides, there were advantages in losing even such a treasure as Foxham before the two passages were taken.

      Val had learned from a friend that, if you sent your valet second class, you were not able to command his services on shipboard. This seemed a disgusting waste of money, and ought to be protested against in The Times, or somewhere. On the other hand, he could not afford a first-class fare for Foxham.

      "I dare say I can get some fellow over there, if everything goes well," said he. "Meanwhile I shall save money on old Fox. He hasn't opened his mouth about wages. Jolly impudent if he had, because of course he knows I'll pay up when its convenient. And anyhow, a hundred and fifty in the letter of credit is the least I can rub along with, on the other side. I must 'look sharp' as Harborough says, and pick up the right girl, so as to get everything in shape as soon as possible, or I may find myself in a mess."

      "Don't imagine anything so horrid, darling," said Lady Loveland, anxious to prop up her son's spirits as well as his credit. "Think only of the best. But I'm sorry about Foxham. He turns you out so perfectly."

      "Oh, I learned to shift for myself like a regular navvy in South Africa," Loveland consoled her. "A chap has to keep clean and have the right folds in his trousers, whatever happens; and I worried along somehow without disgracing the family. I can do the same now, though it'll be a bore, especially till I get used to it again."

      Thus the pink pearl money was apportioned, a little here and a little there, and made to go as far as possible.

      Foxham stopped with his lordship till after the return to London, doing the final packing, and all his ordinary work as usual, without a greedy word as to arrears of wages. Perhaps this was due to an angelic disposition; or perhaps he guessed the motive of his master's errand, and was willing to speculate on the result. But Loveland took the man's devotion for granted, without going too deeply into causes.

      On getting back to his quarters near Wellington Barracks, Val was somewhat surprised to receive a visit from Harborough, who had never come to call on him before.

      "So you've got your leave, I hear, and are sailing for my blessed country in a few days," Jim remarked.

      Loveland replied that this was the case, and happened to think of thanking Jim for his letters of introduction.

      Harborough answered casually that that was all right; and went on to say that he had read in a paper, or heard from a man, that Loveland had taken his passage on the Baltic.

      "Yes," said Val. "I wanted to go over on a good ship."

      "Well, the Baltic's a ripping one – couldn't be a better," Jim admitted. "But I should have thought you'd have the curiosity to try the newest thing."

      "The Mauretania?" said Loveland. "Don't suppose I could have got a passage on her for the next three or four trips across."

      "Perhaps you couldn't," said Jim. "But I can get you one."

      "Why, she sails tomorrow, doesn't she?" asked Val.

      "Yes," said Jim, "but you can go on her if you like, with a good cabin too, all to yourself."

      "My passage is paid for on the Baltic, and my name's on her passenger list," said Loveland.

      "Well, it's too late to have your name printed on the Mauretania's passenger list, or perhaps to get back your money for the Baltic," said Jim, "but that needn't stand in your way. You won't have to pay for your cabin on the Mauretania. It's going begging. A friend of mine who can't sail has given his ticket to me, to do with as I like; but as he's a man whose movements make things in Wall Street jump up and down like a see-saw, he doesn't want it known that he's got to stay behind because he's seedy. That's all. If you want to go in his place, go, and say nothing till you get on the other side. By that time he'll be on his way, on a following ship. At least, that's what he hopes."

      "Do you mean, that if I want to cross in the Mauretania, I must pass under your friend's name?" asked Loveland, beginning to look haughty; for though he was tempted by the offer, he did not think that another man's name was worthy of his wearing even for five days. He would as willingly have appeared in Bond Street in a second-hand, ready-made coat.

      "Oh no, nothing of the sort," answered Jim Harborough, smiling his pleasant smile. "What I meant was, don't go advertising the fact that you've got Henry VanderPot's cabin because he's not well enough to sail. All you'll have to do is to swagger about as if you'd meant to be a passenger on the Mauretania from the beginning of things."

      Loveland was prepared to do any amount of swaggering, though he did not say so to Jim, or indeed acknowledge it to himself. He replied that, if this were the only condition, he would accept the ticket, and instruct Foxham (as he would not have time himself) to try and sell the passage which he had paid for on the Baltic.

      "Fox'll have several days to do it in, and I'll tell him if he brings it off, there's ten per cent for himself," said Val. "Meanwhile I'll be enjoying myself on the Mauretania."

      "Meanwhile you'll be enjoying yourself on the Mauretania," echoed Jim.

      "I suppose there are sure to be a lot of millionaires on board?" suggested Val.

      "Sure to be, even at this time of year."

      "With pretty daughters?" Loveland's tone and air in making this addition were so conceited that Jim would have wanted to kick him if he had not looked so ridiculously like Jim's own adored and beautiful Betty. Besides, the scar showed white on the brown. This had been a brave boy. Jim was inclined to believe that he was worth reforming.

      "With pretty daughters," Harborough repeated, his