A Gentleman Vagabond and Some Others

n a suit of white flannel, carrying a light cane, and wearing a straw hat with a red band, and a necktie to match

hout that extreme gravity of manner which had characterized him the night of the game. Looked at as a mere passer-by, he would have impressed you as a rather debonair, overdressed habitué, who was enjoying his morning stroll under the trees, without other purpose in life than the breathing o

last night?" the croupi

to you." He touched the edge of his hat with one finger, opened a gold cigarett

the inquiry, but who was t

d at me

an madame w

es

the Baroness

! What is

ck, and leaned forward, flicking the pebbles with the point of his cane. "I

er, then?"

all come to us-when they are young, and their francs have wings; wh

ok like a gambler,"

ld cynical, tre

means to say that madame has not the appearance of being under the intoxication of the pl

istently. I was determined t

ders, laughed between his teeth, a little, hissing la

of a

g interest, "Monsieur would

r after another as he recounted her history. Thes

nd her a grand dame and rich, the wife of Baron Alphonse de Frontignac, first secretary of legation at Vienna. Then a mother with one child,-a boy, now six or seven y

he traced again little diagrams

lly interest y

estio

th a glance of suspicion as k

frankly, "and never shall again. I leave for P

nsive sweeps of the eye, as if he would read my inmost thought, and then, with

om Vienna, is arrested at the frontier, escapes, and is found the next morning under a brush-heap with a bullet through his head. This ends the search. Two

t to her ward. She nurses him back to life, inch by inch, and in six months he joins his regiment. Now please follow the plot. It is quite interesting. Is it not easy to see what will happen? Tender and beautiful, young and brave!

epartment; and all for love of her. Some, of course, said it was the sabre-cut; some that he could no longer hold his command, he was so badly slashed

ically over his case of cigarettes, selected one c

ruth as far as he had gone; but I felt, also, that he had stopped at the most c

eous. My aversion to him, too, was wearing off. Perhaps, after all, croupiers were n

d his hat with his forefinge

your mouths shut. Besides,"-this was spoken more to himself,-"you have never seen him, and never will. Le voilà.

Fronti

in Frontignac's clothes. The bullet-hole in his head was made by a b

ant exposure. At their home in Vienna, let me tell you, baccarat had been played nightly as a pastime for their guests. So great was her luck that 'As lucky as the Baronne Frontig

inue until Frontignac is discovered and captured; then he will put a second bullet into his own head. When I saw her enter my room I

ant. He was still the same bloodless spider of the

es, her life made miserable by this scoundrel, when a word,

love the cripple? Have I robbed the bank and murdered my double? This is no

NA

feet immense, hands like paddles, head set on a neck scrawny as a picked chicken's, hair badly put on and in patches, some about his head, some around his jaws, som

apron,-for greater safety in sliding over ledges and logs, he would tell you. Next came a leather belt polished with use, and then a woolen shirt,-any kind of a shirt,-cross-barred or striped,-whatever the store had cheapest, and over that a waistcoat with a cotton back and some kind of a front, looking like

r the rim of this thatch, and half hidden in the matted masses of badly adjusted hair, was a thin, peaked nose, bridged by a pair of big spectacles, and somewhere below these, again, a pitfall of a mouth covered with twigs of hair and an underbrush of beard, while deep-set in

cocoanut; and a flower that bristles with thorns before it blooms into waxen beauty; and there are agates e

under the rafters, there was a guest-chamber smelling of pine boards and drying herbs, and sheltering a bed gridironed with bed-cord and softened by a thin layer of feathers encased in a ticking and covered with a cotton quilt. This bed always made a deep impression upon me mentally and bodily. Mentally, because I always slept so

poked up from below, never stopping until he saw my sleepy face peering down into his own. There was no bureau,

d a body all angles,-chest, arms, everywhere,-outlined through her straight up and down calico dress. When she spoke, however, you stopp

ry went to the bad many generations before he was born. A dog part fox,-he got all his slyness here; and part wolf, this ma

dren found out what a coward he was, and sent him howling home to his hole under the porch, where he grumbled and pouted all day like a spoiled child that had been half whipped. Everybody knew him, and everybody despised him for a low-down, thieving, lazy cur,-everybody except Jonathan. Jona

v forgot it. It warn't a week afore he wuz runnin' a rabbet and run right into it. Wall, sir, them iron jaws took thet tail er his'n off julluk a knife. He's allus been kinder sore ag'in me sence, and I dunno but he's right, fur it wuz mighty keerless in me. Wall, sir, he come yowlin' hum, and when

t Jonathan forget it either. Then Jonathan would admire ruefully the end of the stump, stroking the dog all the wh

I,-we were obliged to wait, the trout being in Jonathan's

uess I got ter look him up." And he disappeared hurriedly into the darkening forest, his anxious, whistling call growing fainter and fainter as he was lost in its depths. Marthy wa

came trudging back, George in his arms,-a limp, soggy, half-dead dog, apparently.

she said quietly

nobody, noticing nobody, sulking all to himself. There he stayed until he caught a whiff of the fragrant, pungent odor of fried trout. Then he cocked one eye and lifted an

still see the high-water mark on his patched trousers. Another whiff of the frying-pan, and George got up. He dared not poke his nose into Marthy's lap,-there were

rough Hank Simons' holler. So I whistled to him and steered off up onto the maountin' to take a look at Bog-eddy and try and git a pickerel. When I come daown ag'in, I see George warn't whar I left him, so I hollered and whistled ag'in. Then, thinks I, you're mad 'cause I left ye, an' won't let on ye kin hear; so I come along hum without him. When I went back a while ago a-lookin' for him, would yer believe it, thar he wuz a-layin' in

in a tree blanketed with moss and lying across the wood road. George had tried to scrape an acquaintance by crawling in uninvited, nearly scaring the little fellows to

whine of discontent. I watched the old man one morning up beneath the ledges, groping, on his hands and knees, filling his pocket

l yer cubbud,-winter's a-comin'! Them leetle birches on Bog-eddy is turnin' yeller,-that's the fust sign. 'Fore ye knows it snow'll be flyin'. Then whar'll ye be with everything froze tighter'n Sampso

been fer George to-day, I'd clean forgot them leetle folks. I see him scra

Jonathan would lie down beside me, the old flo

ty decent people. Now take a look at them two white birches down by thet big rock. Ain't it a shame the way them fellers hez been goin' on sence they wuz leetle saplin's, makin' it so nothin' could grow raound 'em,-with their jackets all ragged an' tore like tramps, an' their toes all out of their shoes whar ther roots is

restless. He was never happy unl

he valley, my easel and canvas lashed to a tree, the wind blew so, when Jonathan came toiling up the slope, a precipice in fact, with a tin c

to let ye starve, be it?" throwing himself beside me. George had

on a tuft of limp, bruised daisies, flattened to the earth by t

tone barely audible,-he had entirely forgotten my presence,-"You never had no sense, Jonathan, nohow, stumblin' raound like er bull calf tramplin' everything. Jes' see what ye

es that would have scared a goat. It was snowing at the time, they said, and blowing a gale. When they got half way down White Face, Jonathan's foot slipped and he fell into the ravine, breaking his wrist. Only the drift

aout Luke," they say, listening t

until Jonathan crawled in. The child was pinned down between the beams, and the water rose so fast they feared the wreckage would sweep the mill. Jonathan clung to the sills waist-deep in the

not the things I love bes

ghtful eyes, filled with the calm serenity of his soul. And then the ease and freedom of his life! Plenty of air and space, and plenty of time to breathe and move! Having nothing, possessing all things! No bonds to guard,-no cares to stifle

no story-on

THE

th feathery foliage; gray rocks lichen-covered; low-ground meadows, knee-deep in lush grass; restful, lazy lakes dott

eed only the first touch of spring, the first glorious day in June, to break out into flower. When they do break out, they are generally chilled in the bl

ired man can touch that will revive for him all these delights in half an hour's walk, costing bu

ons when you plan to spend

ming city beyond; or, you can say "Hello!" to the Upper Harlem, with its house-boats and floating restaurants; or you can ring up Westche

s, what herds it refreshes, I know not. I only know that when I get off at Woodlawn-that City of the Silent-it comes down from somewhere up above the railroad station, and that it "takes a header," as the boys say, under an old mill, abandoned long since, and

ers just as dainty on Sundays as when first I knew her. And the wooden bench is still there, where the lovers used to sit; only Monsieur, her father, tells me that Fran?ois works very late in the big city,-three mouths to feed now, you see,-and only when le petit Fran?o

one, propped up on poles, has long since paid tribute to a spring freshet,-and quickens its pace below the old Dye-house,-also a wreck now (they say i

n long, stony ravines, plunging over respectable, well-to-do masonry dams, skirting once costly villas, whispering between dark defiles of rock, and otherwise d

ast from the station for half a mile, climb a fence, and strike through the

leaf, moss, ripple, and shade, of your early memories. And in the half-hour

of half the cast-off tinware of the earth; that only the shanty, the hen-coop, and the stable overhun

within a thousand miles of your door. That the rocks are encrusted with the thickest of moss and lichen, gray, green, black, and brilliant emerald. That the trees are superb, the solitude and rest complete. That it is finer, more subtle, mo

u must

the contractor pounce upon it and strangle it; before the crimes of the cast-iron fountain, the varnished grapevine arbor, with seats to match, the bronze statues presented by admiring groups of

re there for the picking; when the dogwood sprinkles the bare bra

me day soon for an

THE

heltering shops, their doorways piled with cheap stuffs, fruit, farm implements, and the like, and at the far end, it was almost the last house in the town, stood the old inn, where you breakfast. Such an old, old inn! with swinging sign framed by fantastic iron work, and decorated with overflows of foaming ale in green mugs, crossed clay pipes, and little round dabs of yellow-brown cakes. There was a great archway, too, wide and high, with enormous, barn-like doors fronting on

joy,-under this archway, I say, sat a big St. Bernard dog, squat on his haunches, his head well up, like a grenadier on guard. His eyes commanded the approaches down the road, up the road, and across the street; taking in the passi

udden growl or forbidding look in the eye. None of these things occurred to him, for none of these things was part of his duty. The landlord would do the welcoming, the blue-shirted porter take my knapsack and show me the way to the coffe

o, commanded a view down past the blacksmith shop, where they were heating a huge iron tire to clap on the hind wheel of a diligence, and up the street as far a

,-a look of authority backed by a sense of unlimited power. Then, too, there was such a dignified cut to his hairy chops as they drooped over his teeth beneath his black, stubby nose. His ears rose and fell easily, without undue haste or excitement when the sound of horses' hoofs put him on his guard, or a goat wandered too near. Yet one could see that he was not a meddlesome dog, nor a snarler, no running out and giving tongue at each passing object, not that kind of a dog at all!

most run to the masthead; the head was turned quickly down the road. A sound of wheels was heard

dog wa

ots, and sported a single white foot. Altogether, he was a dog of quality, of ancestry, of a certain position in his own land,-one who had clearly followed his master's mountain wagon to-day as much for love of adventure as anything else. A dog of parts, too, who could perhaps, hunt the

before he had spoken ten words to the concierge,-the St. Bernard dog, I mean. For he did talk to him, and the conversation was just as plain to

l, straightening his forelegs, and sidling around him kindly, as befitted the stranger's rank and quality, but with a certain dog-independence of manner, preserving his own dignities while courteou

was round and pudgy, the other lank and scrawny. Both were in knickerbockers, with green hats decorated with cock feath

ared. The man had been hungry, no doubt, and half blinded by the glare of the sun. After the manner of his kind, he had dived

uickly about with that uneasy, anxious look that comes into the face of a dog when he discovers that he is adrift in a strange place w

e tail, a glance toward the coffee-room, and a few frolicsome, kittenish jumps, these last plainly indicating that as for himself the occasion was one of great hilarity, with absolutely no cause in it for anxiety. Then, if you could have seen that anxious look fade away from the face of the strange dog, the responsive, reciprocal w

et laughs of more slappings of tails on the cobbles, as the concierge listened to

were on their feet, the concierge ready for whatever would turn up, the stranger trying to locate the sound and his master. Another whistle, and he was off, boun

t with spine rigid and hair bristling, he explained clearly and succinctly to that strange dog how absolutely impossible it would be for him to permit his crossing the archway. Up went the spine of the stranger,

wishes to see, and that all other live-stock, especially dogs, shall on no account be admitted." (This with head bent on one side and neck arched.) "Now, while I have the most distinguished consideration for your dogship" (tail wagging viole

erous explanation. With tail wagging more violently than ever, he assured the concierge that he understood h

iew up and down and across the road, where I sat still tilted back in my chair waiting for my cutlets, his whole body

his master. His search down the road being fruitless, he rushed back to

threshold, was there any other way he could get into the coffee-r

eat pleasure to show him the way to the side entrance." And the St. Bernard, everything wagging now,

agging his tail, and with a low, anxious whine springing one side and another, his paws now

nging at his master's chest with his dusty paws leaving marks on his vest front; no rushing around chairs and tables in mad joy at being let in, alarming waitresses and children. Only a low whine and gurgle of d

ing his neck, rubbing his nose under his forelegs, saying over and over again how deeply he thanked him,-how glad and proud he was of his acquaintance, and how del

t the cutlets and coffee were ready,

WAY'S

the edge of that high ground overlooking the two rivers. I could see through an opening in the woods the outline of the great aqueduct,-a huge stone centipede stepping across on its sturdy legs; the broad H

helter. Shouldering my trap and hurrying forward, I descended the hill, followed the road to the East River, and, find

al height. When I approached nearer it proved to be an old-fashioned canal-boat, sunk to the water line in the grass, its deck covered by a low-hipped roof. Midway its length was cut a small door, opening upon a short staging or portico which supported one end of a narrow, rambling bridge leading to the shore. This bridge was built of driftwood pro

signal of good cheer it had a menacing look, as it lay in its bed of mud glaring at me

idge, and knocked. The door was opened by a gray-bearded old man in a rough ja

me across the

he Hulk," he replied, holding th

thers. In its centre, before a square stove, stood a youn

g his hand on my shoulder, feeling me

I dropped into it I caught h

ance,-"a peddler." He said this standing over

ered smiling; my trap h

n, making a mental inventory of my exterior, beginning with my slouch h

d p

laughed; his manner made

m. His features relaxed and a more kindl

" I asked, offering him

way,-just Brockway,-that's all,-just Brockway." He kept repeating this in an abstr

that he would get the boat ready, went out into the night, shutting t

g away so soon. The man an

furniture of the curious interior,-the high-backed chairs, mahogany table,-one leg replaced with pine,-the hair sofa and tall clock in the corner by the door. They we

wind, and Brockway entered shak

to the Railroad Dock. He will return in an hour. If you are hu

e had been in some special ill humor when I entered. Perhaps, to

years old, slightly built and neatly dressed. Her eyes were singularly large and expressive.

ferred to; it was evidently a habit with him. I felt this refinement not only in the relics of what seemed to denote better days, but in the arrangement of the table, the placing

mode of life, their successes, etc. As he talked his eye brightened and his manner became more gentle. It was only his outside that seemed to belong to an old boatman

gh knowledge of his trade. He deplored the scarcity of bass, now that the steamboats and factories fouled the river; the decrease of the oysters, of which he had several beds, all be

in his face the change working in his mind. He looked at me

othing but what you see. But this hulk is mine,-mine from

t he seemed consumed with an inward rage,-not directed to me in a

e, rose quickly from her seat by th

ch had softened him, rose courteously, took her arm, seated her at the

otatoes, a loaf of bread, and stewed apples s

into an adjoining room, carrying the dishes. The old man lighted his pipe and seated himself in a lar

ed; the rain thrashed against the small windows, the leaka

I did not altogether like my surroundings or my host. One moment he was like a child; the next there came into his face an expressi

but every now and then he would peer through the window and raise his hand to his ear as if listeni

again, lighted a lantern, and pulled the door beh

g up his dripping garments, placed the lantern on the floor, and called the child into the adjoining room. When he c

decent man, and I believe you are. I knew some of your kind once, and I alwa

. If there was no chance of my getting away, I said, I preferred taking the floor, with my trap for a pillow. But he would not hear of it.

ad been altered into a sort of closet. On one side hung a row of shelves on which were such small knickknacks as a child always loves,-a Christmas card or two, some books, a pin-cushion backed with shells, a doll's bonnet, b

forehead. It was framed in an old-fashioned black frame with a gold mat. Not a beautiful face, but so in

ropped to sleep, the tide was swashing the floor beneath me, the

ed the point, the old man and little Emily were just pushing off in the boat. He was on his way to his oyster beds a short distance off, his grappling-tongs and basket beside him. In his quick, almost gruff way, he we

with the bluffs beyond. Before I had blocked in my sky, I caught sight of Brockway rowing hurriedly back, followed by a shell holding half a dozen oarsmen fro

r water-keg? We have come off from the boat

houlder, pushing her before him,-"Go into the Hulk, child." Then, lowering his voice to me, "They are all alike, d-- them, all al

t. Brockway unloaded his boat, clutching the tongs as if they were weapons; then, tying the painter to a stak

" he said, pointing to my sketch. I looked up. His face

that he had perhaps known some one who had been a painter, and that I reminded him of his friend, and on that account he trusted me; for I often detected him e

e old man, the conflicting elements in his character, his fierceness-almost brutality-at times, his extreme gentleness at others, his rough treatment of

ed a weird, forbidding look. When the wind blew a gale from the northeast, and the back water of the river overflowed the marsh,-submerging the withered grass and breaking high upon the foot-bridge,-it seemed for all the world like the original tenement of old Noah himse

rsions to the Hulk, sketching in the neighborhood, gathering

d. Then the incident passed out of my mind. A few days later I saw her again, sitting on a pile of stones as if waiting for some one. Little Emily had seen her too, and stopped to talk to her. I could follow their movements over my easel. As

to coax from him something of his earlier life, but he never referred to it

nt trip abroad, when he

in that little ro

answered,

that red curtain she is the

?" I asked, as quietly as m

rs ago, when

eth in his oyster tongs at the time, riveti

n with his hammering, remarking that the oysters were running so small that some slipped through his tongs and he was getting too o

before Christmas. This shut off all communication with the Brockways except by the roun

adrift and running with the tide, and the passage across was made doubly difficult by the floating cakes shelved one upon the other. When I reached the Hulk, the only sign of life was the

grandpa! We thought i

wrapped in a blanket. Holding out his han

id you

akeman

ws. He comes

o great a contrast to his ruddy skin, only added to the pallor of his face. He

him, and whatever I thought would interest him. He made no reply, except in monosyllables, his head buried in his hands. Soon the aftern

horitative gesture. Then, his voice faltering and with almost a ten

alled Emily to him, pushed her hair b

Frowsy-head. The pain

tried to smoke for a moment, but laid his pipe down. For some minutes he kept his eyes

child, I would be glad

e to care for

. When I am gone

r was alive. Why not send for her now," I said, looking

rom the chair, his eyes blazing as I had seen t

-do you hear?-your little girl, the only one you ever had, the one you laid store by and loved and dreamed dreams of,-she can tear your heart out. That's what Emily's mother did for me. Oh, a fine gentleman

rying to change his thoughts. I was afrai

en I am out raking my beds. Not long ago I met her outside on the foot-bridge; she did not look up; her hair is gray now, and her face

rom the table, and brought me the picture I ha

en the year before his death and came with

smooth hair pushed back from the high forehead, I now saw, marked all the more clearly the lines of anxious care which we

hter, Brockway, d

went on, "And a girl's heart is n

is throat, the end trailing on the floor. By the flickering light of the dying fire he looked like some g

. Forget these years of exile and poverty, living here in this hulk like a dog, my very name unknown. When I am dead, they will say I have been cruel to her. God knows, perhaps I have; listen!" Then, glancing cautiously towards Emily's room and lowering his voice, he sto

s; and muttering to himself, crossed the room, and threw himself on his bed. I stirred the fire, wrapped my coat about me and fel

come up on the night express and wanted to be rowed over to the Hulk at once. She was in great distress, and did not mind the danger. Dan was against taking her, the ice being heavy and the night

ooked over the waste of ice and snow. Under the leaden sky lay the lifeless Hulk. About the entrance an

sion slowly creeping along the tottering bridge, crunching the snow under f

n open wagon waited near the propped-up foot-bridge of the Hulk, the horse covered with a black blanket. Two men, carrying the b

ds. Then she turned, lifted her veil, and in a low

ly in the woods,-the same that lay upon