The Ne'er-Do-Well. Rex Beach

the whole matter as a huge joke. It was this, perhaps, that enabled him to make friends in spite of his unsociable habits, for the men liked him. As for the women, he avoided them religiously, with the exception of Mrs. Cortlandt, whom he saw for an hour or two, morning and afternoon, as well as at meal-times. With her he got on famously, finding her nearly as entertaining as a male chum, though he never quite lost his dislike for her husband. Had she been unmarried and nearer his own age, their daily intimacy might have caused him to become self-conscious, but, under the circumstances, no such thought occurred to him, and he began to look forward with pleasure to their hours on deck.

      The Santa Cruz was four days out before Cortlandt joined them, and when he did he merely nodded casually to Kirk, then, after exchanging a polite word or two with his wife, lapsed into his customary silence, while Mrs. Cortlandt continued her conversation without a second glance in her husband's direction.

      "That's what I call an ideal married couple," Kirk reflected—"complete understanding, absolute confidence." And the more he saw of them, the stronger this impression grew. Cortlandt was always attentive and courteous, without being demonstrative, while his wife showed a charming graciousness that was plainly unassumed. Their perfect good-breeding made the young man feel at ease; but though he endeavored to cultivate the husband on several occasions, he made little headway. The man evidently possessed a wide knowledge of current events, a keen understanding of men and things, yet he never opened up. He listened, smiled, spoke rarely, and continued to spend nine-tenths of his time in that isolated corner of the smoking-room, with no other company than a long glass and a siphon.

      One day when Kirk had begun to feel that his acquaintance with Mrs.

       Cortlandt was well established, he said to her:

      "Stein told me to-day that your husband is in the diplomatic service."

      "Yes," said she. "He was Consul-General to Colombia several years ago, and since then he has been to France and to Germany."

      "I thought you were tourists—you have travelled so much."

      "Most of our journeys have been made at the expense of the Government."

      "Are you diplomatting now?"

      "In a way. We shall be in Panama for some time."

      "This Stein seems to be a nice fellow. He's taken quite a liking to me."

      Mrs. Cortlandt laughed lightly. "That is part of his business."

      "How so?"

      "He is one of Colonel Jolson's secret agents."

      "Who is Colonel Jolson?"

      "Chairman of the Isthmian Canal Commission. Your father knows him."

      "Do you mean that Stein is a—detective?" Kirk looked uncomfortable.

      "I do! Does he know you are the son of Darwin K. Anthony?"

      "Why, yes, I suppose so."

      "Colonel Jolson will be interested."

      "Again I don't see the point."

      "Your father is one of the most powerful and aggressive railroad men in the country. Perhaps you know something about the railroad opposition to the canal?"

      Kirk smiled. "Well, to tell you the truth," said he, "the governor doesn't consult me about his business as much as he ought to. He seems to think he can run it all right without me, and we've only been speaking over the telephone lately."

      "One of the strongest forces the Government had to combat in putting through the canal appropriations was the railroads. Colonel Jolson has no reason to love your father."

      "Yes, but I don't object to this canal. I think it must be a rather good idea."

      Mrs. Cortlandt laughed for a second time. "The Colonel's dislike for your father will not affect you, inasmuch as you are returning so soon, but if you intended to stay it might be different."

      "In what way?"

      "Oh, in many ways. There are two classes of people who are not welcomed on the Canal Zone—magazine writers and applicants for positions who have political influence back of them. The former are regarded as muckrakers, the latter as spies."

      "That's rather rough on them, isn't it?"

      "You must understand that there is a great big human machine behind the digging of this canal, and, while it is more wonderful by far than the actual machinery of iron and steel, it is subject to human weaknesses. Men like Colonel Jolson, who form a part of it, are down here to make reputations for themselves. They are handicapped and vexed by constant interference, constant jealousy. It is a survival of the fittest, and I suppose they feel that they must protect themselves even if they use underhand means to do so. It is so in all big work of this character, where the individual is made small. You would find the same condition in your father's railroad organization."

      "Oh, now! My old man is a pretty tough citizen to get along with, but he wouldn't hire detectives to spy on his employees."

      Mrs. Cortlandt smiled. "By-the-way, when are you going into business with him?" she said.

      "I? Oh, not for a long time. You see, I'm so busy I never seem to have time to work. Work doesn't really appeal to me, anyway. I suppose if I had to hustle I could, but—what's the use?"

      "What is it that keeps you so busy? What are you going to do when you get back, for instance?"

      "Well, I'm going to Ormond for the auto races, and I may enter my new car. If I don't get hurt in the races I'll take a hunting trip or two. Then I want to try out an iceboat on the Hudson, and I'll have to be back in New Haven by the time the baseball squad limbers up. Oh, I have plenty of work ahead!"

      Mrs. Cortlandt let her eyes dwell upon him curiously for a moment; then she said:

      "Have you no ambition?"

      "Certainly."

      "What is it?"

      "Why—" Kirk hesitated. "I can't say right off the reel, but I've got it—lots of it."

      "Is there no—girl, for instance? Have you never been in love?"

      "Oh, see here, now!" Anthony blushed in a manner to excite the envy of any woman. "I don't like 'em. I'd rather play football."

      "That explains something. When the time comes you will cease wasting your life and—"

      "I'm NOT wasting my life," the young man denied hotly. "I'm having a great time; simply immense."

      "I remember reading an article once by a man who attacked American colleges with bitter personal feeling, on the ground that they fostered exactly the attitude toward life which you have just expressed."

      Anthony looked sober. "That was my father," he said.

      "Really! How stupid of me to forget the name. But I don't agree with him," she continued, gently. "You merely lack stimulus. If you should meet the right woman—" Then, seeing the amusement in his face; "Believe me, I know what I am talking about. I know what a woman can do. Your life has been too easy and placid. You need some disturbing element to make it ferment."

      "But I don't want to ferment."

      "Why don't you stay in Panama and go to work?"

      "Work? Hideous word! For one thing, I haven't time. I must get back—"

      "You will find great opportunities there."

      "But how about the girl who is to sour the syrup of my being and make it ferment?"

      "Oh, she may appear at any moment; but, joking aside, you had better think over what I have said." She left him with an admonitory shake of her head.

      The SANTA CRUZ was now rapidly drawing out of the cold northern winter and into a tropic warmth. Already the raw chill of higher latitudes was giving way to a balmy, spring-like temperature, while the glittering sunshine transformed