Further Adventures of Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason Corner Folks Part 18

"There's another matter, father, I wish to speak about. My former private secretary, Mr. Merry, is studying law. When my term expired he, of course, lost his position, for my successor, naturally, wished one of his own friends in the place. If I were a lawyer, I would take him into my office, but--"

"You can't use him in your grocery store," interrupted the Hon.

Nathaniel. Quincy took the sarcasm good-naturedly, and laughed. That his father had, to some extent, overcome his displeasure at his son becoming a tradesman, was shown by his next words.

"Our law business is increasing daily, and perhaps I can make an opening for him in the near future. I will bear him in mind."

The Hon. Nathaniel reserved his decision in relation to Florence's trip until he had discussed the matter with his wife, but the next day Maude saw Alice and told her that her father had consented, on one condition, and that was that Quincy would bring her back with him when he returned to America. The Hon. Nathaniel was still suspicious of Aunt Ella, and evidently thought that she wished to get control of his daughter as she had of his son.

Quincy gave his father the required promise. Florence must have time to prepare for such a long journey, so Quincy was obliged to give up the plan of sailing from Boston on a certain date as he had intended.

Besides, he wanted, personally, to see how Arthur Scates was getting along at the Sanatorium which was at Lyndon in the Adirondacks, and so he booked pa.s.sage on the steamer _Altonia_, to sail from New York in three weeks.

CHAPTER XI

THE WRECK OF THE _ALTONIA_

"Florence will be ready to start to-morrow," said Alice. This was welcome intelligence to Quincy, who wished several days to spare in New York before sailing.

As soon as his wife and sister were located at a hotel in New York, he made the trip to Lyndon in the Adirondacks to see Arthur Scates. He found him greatly improved, and he told Quincy that he had not felt so well in years. The doctors, too, were more than pleased with his condition, and said that it was only a question of a few months when he would be entirely well again.

When he returned to New York he found that Alice had been to visit Mrs.

Ernst in West 41st Street. Madame Archimbault lived with them and still carried on the millinery establishment on Broadway, in which Quincy had accidentally discovered the long-sought Linda Putnam masquerading under the name of Celeste. How that discovery had operated to change the lives of many people came forcibly to Quincy as he sought Leopold Ernst in his down-town office.

Leopold was almost hidden behind piles of ma.n.u.scripts and newspapers when Quincy entered his room.

"Up to your neck, Leopold?"

As soon as Leopold saw who had addressed him, he jumped up, pushed a pile of ma.n.u.scripts from his desk to the floor, and grasped Quincy's extended hand in both of his.

"Let me help you pick up your papers," said Quincy.

"No, they're in their proper places. They're rejected. I have accepted two out of fifty or more. The American author sends tons to the literary mill, but it grinds out but a few pounds. But the novices are improving.

They will yet lead the world, for we have a new country full of G.o.d's wonderful works, and a composite population whose loves and hates reproduce in new scenes all the pa.s.sions of the Old World. They are the same pictures of human goodness and frailty in new frames--and my business is to judge the workmans.h.i.+p of the frames."

They talked about old times, particularly the success of Alice's first romance.

"Marriage is often fatal to literary activity. Is your wife to write another book?"

"I think not. We expect an addition--not edition--to our family library soon after our return from England."

"That settles it. Literature takes a back seat when Maternity becomes its compet.i.tor. It is well. Otherwise, how could we keep up our supply of authors?"

The evening before the sailing of the _Altonia_, a happy party a.s.sembled in a private dining room at Quincy's hotel. Toasts were drunk. Alice and Rosa sang and Florence accompanied and played cla.s.sic selections upon the piano.

"Bon voyage," cried Leopold, as they separated. "Make notes of something really new, make a book of up-to-date travels, and our house will publish it for you, for I'll recommend it no matter how bad it is. We have to do that often for friends of the firm,--why not for our own?"

A foggy night on the ocean. The barometer ranged low. An upward glance disclosed a black mist--no sign of moon or stars. A bad night on land, when trains of cars crash into others laden with humanity--some dying mercifully without knowing the cause; others cruelly, by slow cremation, with willing hands nearby powerless to help.

A bad night off sh.o.r.e, when freight-laden craft, deceived by beacon lights, are beached upon the treacherous sand or dashed against jagged rocks. The life-savers, with rocket, and gun and line, and breeches-buoys, try in vain, and, as a last resort, grasp the oars of the life-boat and bring to safety one or two of a crew of ten. Sad hearts in homes when the news comes; but it is only one of the scenes in the drama of life.

A bad night at sea--with a great ocean liner, its iron heart pulsating, plunging through the black waves into dense mountains of fog.

Despite the darkness and chill of the winter night, Quincy, Alice, and Florence were on the deck of the _Altonia_. Alice shuddered and Quincy drew her wrap more closely about her.

"Shall we go down into the cabin?"

"Not yet. There is nothing enjoyable about this Cimmerian gloom, and yet it has its attractions. Florence, what is it that Tom Hood wrote about London fog?"

"I only remember one line, and I'm not sure I can quote that correctly.

I think it reads: 'No sun, no moon,' I should add 'no stars, no proper time of day.'"

During the two days since leaving New York, Florence had been a creature of moods: sad, when she brooded over her trouble due, she felt sure, to another's act; light-hearted when she thought of the prospect of again meeting Reginald and having him prove his innocence.

She had been spared newspaper publicity. Not for ten times the sum he had lost would the Hon. Nathaniel have had his daughter's name in the public prints. He was a lawyer, but it was his business to get other people out of trouble, and not to get his own family into it--which shows that great lawyers are not exempt from that very common human frailty, selfishness.

Sounds of applause were borne to their ears. "Let us go in," said Florence, "some one has been singing."

In the main saloon, all was merriment. Each pa.s.senger had faith in Capt.

Robert Haskins, who had crossed the Atlantic hundreds of times. The _Altonia_ belonged to a lucky line, the luck that follows careful foresight as regards every detail, the luck that brings safety and success from constant vigilance.

In the first cabin were more than two hundred souls--young and old, maids and matrons, young and middle-aged men, and a few beyond the allotted three score years and ten.

Mlle. Carenta, a member of a troupe of grand opera singers, whom many had heard during the company's engagement in New York, arose from the piano amid cries of "bravo," for her superb vocalism. She had sung Gounod's _Ave Maria_.

"How sweetly she sang," said Alice, as she touched her husband's arm to more fully draw his attention from the beautiful vocalist. "Don't you think so, Quincy?"

"Divine," was the reply. "One can almost fancy the doors of Heaven are open."

The cabin was warm--in reality, hot,--but Alice shuddered as she had when chilled by the mist and cold. She caught quickly at her husband's arm.

"I wish we were safe at Fernborough Hall with Aunt Ella."

"And so do I, my dear, but the walking is poor, and we must put up with our present method of locomotion for a few days longer. Think of the good times we have had and those in store for us."

Alice rea.s.sured by the words and the accompanying pressure of Quincy's hand exclaimed: "How delightful it was in the country, and how I enjoyed our visits. I shall always love Mason's Corner as it was called when--"

"I met my fate," her husband added. "My line fell in a pleasant place--"

"Don't call me a fish," said his wife, as she smiled half reprovingly.

"Well, we're on the water; if we were in it, we all might wish to be fish--or rather whales."

The next moment all was confusion. Faces that were white became red--those that were red turned white--even through the colour that art had given to n.i.g.g.ardly nature. Fully half the occupants of the saloon were thrown violently to the floor in a promiscuous heap. Others saved themselves from falling by grasping frantically at the nearest object.

Many of the lights went out. Some of the women swooned, while men who had deemed themselves brave shook like palsied creatures.