The Ne'er-Do-Well Part 8

"Going to work on the ca.n.a.l?"

"What ca.n.a.l? Oh, of course! Now I remember hearing something about a Panama Ca.n.a.l. Is that where it is?"

"That's the place," Stein replied, dryly.

"I'm not going to work. I don't work--don't know how."

"I see. Pleasure trip?"

"Purely a pleasure trip. I'm having a great time. By-the-way, this ca.n.a.l affair is something new, isn't it?"

"It was begun about thirty years ago." Mr. Stein regarded the speaker with puzzled inquiry, as if undecided in what spirit to take him.

"What's the idea? Why don't they finish it up?"

"I thought you were an American," returned the other, politely.

"You have no accent."

"I am an American. I'm the fellow who was born in Albany, New York. If you look on the map you'll find the town has a little ring around it."

"And really don't you know anything about the Panama Ca.n.a.l?"

"Oh, I've heard it mentioned."

"Well, you won't hear anything else mentioned down here; it's the one and only subject of conversation. n.o.body thinks or talks or dreams about anything except the ca.n.a.l. Everybody works on it or else works for somebody who does. For instance, that white-haired man at the other end of the table is Colonel Bland, one of the commissioners. The man over there with the black beard is one of the engineers at Gatun."

Stein, who seemed a gossipy person, ran on glibly for a time, pointing out the pa.s.sengers of note and giving brief details about them. Suddenly he laid his hand on Anthony's arm, and said:

"See this fellow coming down the stairs?" Anthony beheld a slender, bald-headed man of youthful appearance. "That is Stephen Cortlandt. You've heard of the Cortlandts?"

"Sure! One of them pitched for the Cubs."

"I mean the Cortlandts of Was.h.i.+ngton. They're swell people, society folks and all that--" He broke off to bow effusively to the late comer, who seated himself opposite; then he introduced Kirk.

Mr. Cortlandt impressed Anthony as a cold-blooded, highly schooled person, absolutely devoid of sentiment. His face was stony, his eyes were cool, even his linen partook of his own unruffled calm.

He seemed by no means effeminate, yet he was one of those immaculate beings upon whom one can scarcely imagine a speck of dust or a bead of perspiration. His hair--what was left of it--was parted to a nicety, his clothes were faultless, and he had an air of quiet a.s.surance.

"By-the-way, we're getting up a pool on the s.h.i.+p's run," Stein told his new acquaintance. "Would you like to join?"

"Yes, indeed. I'm for anything in the line of chance."

"Very well. I'll see you in the smoking-room later. It will cost you only five dollars."

Kirk suddenly recalled his financial condition and hastened to say, a trifle lamely:

"Come to think about it, I believe I'll stay out. I never gamble."

Chancing to glance up at the moment, he found Mr. Cortlandt's eyes fixed upon him with a peculiarly amused look, and a few minutes later he followed Mr. Stein to the deck above.

Once in his own stateroom, the young man began a thorough exploration, realizing more keenly than before that without baggage or money his plight might prove distressing. But, look as he would, he could find no trace of either, and an inadvertent glance in the mirror betrayed the further fact that his linen was long since past a presentable stage. Another despairing search showed that even his watch was gone and that his only a.s.set, evidently overlooked by the hilarious Higgins and his co-partner in crime, was a modest three-stone finger ring. He was regarding this speculatively when the purser knocked, then entered at his call.

"I've just heard that there's a mistake about your ticket," the new-comer began. "It is made out to 'Mr. Jefferson Locke,' but the doctor says you insist your name is something else."

"That's right. My name is Anthony."

"Then how did I get this ticket?"

"I'm sure I don't know."

"Have you any baggage?"

"I don't know."

"What is your destination?"

"I don't know. You'll pardon my limited vocabulary?"

"Are you joking?"

"Do I look as if I were?"

"But I don't understand."

"Neither do I. But I must have some luggage--a fellow wouldn't make a trip like this without baggage, would he?"

"I should think not. I'll look it up for you if you wish. But about this ticket--"

"My dear man, don't bother me with that. I have worries enough as it is. What I want now is a clean s.h.i.+rt and collar."

"Yes, but this ticket says--"

"Please! Look at my linen. I'll create a scandal this way."

"Mr. Locke--"

"Anthony."

"Very well, Mr. Anthony. I must straighten out this ticket affair.

Really, I must."

"All right, straighten away."

"If you are not Mr. Locke, it is no good."

"Hurrah! Put me off."

"You don't understand--the ticket is good, but--See here, there's something mighty strange about this. You say your name isn't Locke, you have no baggage, you even thought this s.h.i.+p was a hotel--"

"I did. It was a great disappointment. And now I want a s.h.i.+rt."

Anthony began to laugh. "Funny, isn't it?"