The Ne'er-Do-Well. Rex Beach

"Now it seems to be my heart."

      "It doesn't seem to be seriously affected as yet, but it's remarkable the number of ways in which the heart of man may be reached. I remember once having breakfast in a queer little restaurant in the French quarter of New Orleans, famous for its cooking and for the well-known people who had eaten there. There was a sort of register which the guests were asked to sign, and in looking it over I read the inscription of one particularly enthusiastic diner. It ran, 'Oh, Madame Begue, your liver has touched my heart,' and the story is that the writer made desperate love to the proprietor's wife."

      "Oh, come, that's rather hard on me. I have some emotions besides a hearty appreciation of food."

      "No doubt. I only mentioned that as one of the ways, and, seriously, I am convinced that, however your awakening may come, you will be the better for it."

      "I do hope the cook will prove to be unmarried," he mused. "Imagine having to do away with a husband who can handle a cleaver."

      "Oh, I don't mean you should necessarily marry the woman. It would be quite as good for you if she refused even to look at you. However, let us hope that you meet some nice American girl—"

      "Why not a senorita? You have inspired me with Spanish romance."

      But Mrs. Cortlandt shook her head. "Wait until you have seen them."

      "Already I imagine myself under some moonlit balcony teasing chords out of a guitar. I have rather a good singing voice, you know."

      "It is not done that way nowadays. Panama is Americanized. You will need a pianola and an automobile."

      "And all the romance is gone?"

      "Oh, there is romance everywhere; there is quite as much in Pittsburg as in Andalusia. But to speak of more practical things"—Mrs. Cortlandt hesitated slightly—"I heard you tell the purser the other day about your financial troubles, and it occurred to me that Mr. Cortlandt might assist you."

      "Thanks, awfully," Kirk hastened to say, feeling himself flush uncomfortably. "But I sha'n't need anything. The old gentleman will wire me whatever I ask for. Does Mr. Cortlandt know how I am fixed?"

      "No."

      "Please don't tell him. I—I'm a little bit ashamed of myself. You're not going?"

      "Yes. It is getting late, and my maid is looking for me."

      "Oh, I'm sorry. It's lonesome around here without—somebody to talk to." He took her hand and shook it as if she were a man. "You've been mighty good to me and—I wish you had a sister. That's all."

      She left him the memory of a very bright and very girlish smile, and he found himself thinking that she could not be so much older than he, after all.

      Mr. Cortlandt was awaiting his wife and rose courteously as she entered their suite.

      "Did you send Annette for me?" she inquired.

      "Yes. I thought you had forgotten the hour. We rise at six."

      "My dear," she returned, coolly, "I was quite aware of the time. I was talking to Mr. Anthony."

      "Do you find him so amusing?"

      "Very much so."

      "He's such a boy. By-the-way, some of the passengers are remarking about your friendship for him."

      Mrs. Cortlandt shrugged. "I expected that. Does it interest you?"

      The man favored her with his wintry smile. "Not at all."

      "If he should need assistance while in Panama, I should be obliged if you would accommodate him."

      "Money?"

      "Yes, or anything else. He left New York unexpectedly."

      "Don't you think that is going a bit too far? You know I don't fancy him."

      Mrs. Cortlandt frowned slightly. "We won't discuss it," she said. "I assured him he was at liberty to call on us for anything and—naturally that ends the matter."

      "Naturally!" he agreed, but his colorless cheeks flushed dully.

VI

       Table of Contents

      IN WHICH KIRK ANTHONY IS GREATLY SURPRISED

      When Kirk came on deck early the following morning, he found the Santa Cruz nosing her way into Colony harbor. A land fog obscured his view somewhat, but through it he beheld a low, irregular line of mountains in the background, and close at hand a town. The ship came to anchor abreast of a point upon which he descried a squat little spider-legged lighthouse and long rows of frame dwellings half hidden behind slender palm-trees. Beyond were warehouses and docks and the funnels of many ships; on either side of the bay was a dense tropic wilderness. As the sun dissipated the morning haze, he saw that the hills were matted with a marvellous vivid green. There were no clearings on the slopes, no open spaces dotted with farm-houses or herds, the jungle flowed down to the water's edge in an unbroken sweep, and the town was cut out of it.

      A launch came plunging through the swells, and the deck steward made his rounds requesting the passengers to assemble for medical examination.

      Kirk found the Cortlandts ahead of him.

      "What's coming off?" he inquired.

      "Vaccination," Cortlandt explained, briefly. "They are very particular about disease."

      His wife added: "This used to be the worst fever-spot in the world, you know. When we were here five years ago, we saw car-loads of dead people nearly every day. A funeral train was a familiar sight."

      "What a pleasant place to spend my vacation!" exclaimed Kirk. "Now if I can rent a room over the morgue and board with the village undertaker, I'll have a nice time."

      "Oh, there's no more yellow fever—no sickness at all, in fact," said

       Mr. Cortlandt. "Will you go over to Panama City, or will you stay in

       Colon?"

      "I think I'll remain on the ship; then she can't get away without me," Kirk answered. But when, after taking his turn before the doctors, he explained his desire to the purser, that worthy replied:

      "I'm sorry, but you'll have to arrange that with the agent. We make a charge, you know, just like a hotel."

      "I'm going to cable my old man for money."

      The officer shook his head with finality. "Nothing doing, Mr. Locke."

      "Anthony."

      "I'll take no chances. If you don't pay, I'll have to. Look here! Do you want to know what I think of you, Mr.—Anthony Locke?"

      "I haven't any special yearnings in that direction, but—what do you think about me?"

      "Well, I don't think your name is either Locke or Anthony."

      "Marvellous!"

      "And I don't think you have any money coming to you, either."

      "Mighty intellect!"

      "I think you are no good."

      "You're not alone in that belief. But what has all that to do with my sleeping aboard the Santa Cruz?"

      "If you want to stay aboard, you'll have to pay in advance. You're not so foolish as you try to make out."

      "Those are glorious words of praise," Kirk acknowledged, "but I'll make a bet with you."

      "What?"

      "That you change your mind. I am just as foolish as I appear, and I'll prove it. I'll bet my ring against your shirts that my name is Anthony, and if I don't come through with the price of a ticket