toward him. In his mind he framed a discouraged remark for early entry
in his diary: “It is of no use; they know a lord through any disguise,
and show awe of him–even something very like fear, indeed.”
Presently one of the gaping and adoring half-circle of boys ventured a
timid question. My lord answered it. The boys glanced wonderingly at
each other and from somewhere fell the comment:
“English cowboy! Well, if that ain’t curious.”
Another mental note to be preserved for the diary: “Cowboy. Now what
might a cowboy be? Perhaps–” But the viscount perceived that some more
questions were about to be asked; so he worked his way out of the crowd,
released the sleeve, put on the coat and wandered away to seek a humble
and obscure lodging. He found it and went to bed and was soon asleep.
In the morning, he examined his clothes. They were rather assertive, it
seemed to him, but they were new and clean, at any rate. There was
considerable property in the pockets. Item, five one-hundred dollar
bills. Item, near fifty dollars in small bills and silver. Plug of
tobacco. Hymn-book, which refuses to open; found to contain whiskey.
Memorandum book bearing no name. Scattering entries in it, recording in
a sprawling, ignorant hand, appointments, bets, horse-trades, and so on,
with people of strange, hyphenated name–Six-Fingered Jake, Young-Man-
afraid-of his-Shadow, and the like. No letters, no documents.
The young man muses-maps out his course. His letter of credit is burned;
he will borrow the small bills and the silver in these pockets, apply
part of it to advertising for the owner, and use the rest for sustenance
while he seeks work. He sends out for the morning paper, next, and
proceeds to read about the fire. The biggest line in the display-head
announces his own death! The body of the account furnishes all the
particulars; and tells how, with the inherited heroism of his caste, he
went on saving women and children until escape for himself was
impossible; then with the eyes of weeping multitudes upon him, he stood
with folded arms and sternly awaited the approach of the devouring fiend;
“and so standing, amid a tossing sea of flame and on-rushing billows of
smoke, the noble young heir of the great house of Rossmore was caught up
in a whirlwind of fiery glory, and disappeared forever from the vision of
men.”
The thing was so fine and generous and knightly that it brought the
moisture to his eyes. Presently he said to himself: “What to do is as
plain as day, now. My Lord Berkeley is dead–let him stay so. Died
creditably, too; that will make the calamity the easier for my father.
And I don’t have to report to the American Claimant, now. Yes, nothing
could be better than the way matters have turned out. I have only to
furnish myself with a new name, and take my new start in life totally
untrammeled. Now I breathe my first breath of real freedom; and how
fresh and breezy and inspiring it is! At last I am a man! a man on equal
terms with my neighbor; and by my manhood; and by it alone, I shall rise
and be seen of the world, or I shall sink from sight and deserve it.
This is the gladdest day, and the proudest, that ever poured it’s sun
upon my head!”
CHAPTER VIII.
“GOD bless my soul, Hawkins!”
The morning paper dropped from the Colonel’s nerveless-grasp.
“What is it?”
“He’s gone!–the bright, the young, the gifted, the noblest of his
illustrious race–gone! gone up in flames and unimaginable glory!”
“Who?”
“My precious, precious young kinsman–Kirkcudbright Llanover Marjoribanks
Sellers Viscount Berkeley, son and heir of usurping Rossmore.”
“No!”
“It’s true–too true.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Where?”
“Right here in Washington; where he arrived from England last night, the
papers say.”
“You don’t say!”
“Hotel burned down.”
“What hotel?”
“The New Gadsby!”
“Oh, my goodness! And have we lost both of them?”
“Both who?”
“One-Arm Pete.”
“Oh, great guns, I forgot all about him. Oh, I hope not.”
“Hope! Well, I should say! Oh, we can’t spare him! We can better
afford to lose a million viscounts than our only support and stay.”