30. CHAPTER XXX.
Those travelled youths whom tender mothers wean
And send abroad to see and to be seen,
Have made all Europe's vices so well known,
They seem almost as natural as our own.
— Churchill.
On the next morning, Vinal, Morton, and two other young
Americans were seated together in the coffee room at Meurice's.
They were discussing plans of travel.
“Then you don't intend to stay long in Paris,” said one
of the strangers to Morton.
“Not at present. I shall set out in a few days for
Vienna, and then go down the Danube.”
“That's an original idea. What will you find there worth
seeing?”
“It's a fancy of mine. There is no place in Europe where
one can see such a conglomerate of nations and races as in
the provinces along the Danube. I like to see the human
animal in all his varieties, — that's my specialty.”
“But what facilities will you find there for travelling?”
“O, I shall be content with any that offer; the vehicles of
the country, whatever they are. I don't believe in travelling
en grand seigneur. By mixing with the people, and doing
at Rome as the Romans do, one learns in a month more than
he could learn in ten years by the other way.”
“You'll take your servant with you, I suppose.”
“No. I shall discharge him when I leave Paris.”
After conversing for some time longer, Morton and the two
young men left the room, while Vinal still remained faithful
to the attractions of his omelet. He was interrupted by
the advent of the small man who had accosted Morton in the
steamer, and had since favored him with his company from
Liverpool to Paris.
“Well, here's a pretty business, damned if there isn't,”
said the new arrival, seating himself indignantly.
“What's the matter?” asked Vinal.
“What's the matter! Why, there's a good deal the
matter. There was a young man in Philadelphy named Wilkins,
— John Wilkins, — I've known him ever sence he was
knee high to a toad, and a likelier young feller there isn't in
the States. He was goin' on to make a right smart, active,
business man, too. Well, he was clerk in one of the biggest
drug concerns south of New York city, — Gooch and Scammony,
— I tell you, they do a tall business out west, and
no mistake. No, sir, Gooch and Scammony ain't hardly got
their beat in the drug business nowhere.”
“But what about the clerk?”
“What about him? Why, that's just what I was going
on to tell you. Well, John, he had a little money laid up;
so he thought he'd just come out and see a bit of the world.
Well, there was a German there at Philadelphy who had to
cut stick from the old country on account of some political
muss or other. John and he worn't on good terms; — it was
about a gal, John says. However, jest about the time John
talked of coming out to Europe, the German comes and
makes it up, and pretends to be friends again. `John,' says
he, `I've got relations out to Vienny, where I come from;
first-rate, genteel folks; now,' says he, `perhaps you might
like me to make you acquainted with 'em. They'd do the
handsome thing by you, and no mistake.' `Well,' says John,
`I don't mind if you do.' So the German gives him some
letters; and, sure enough, they treated him very civil; but
the very next morning, before he was out of bed, up comes
the police, and carries him off to jail; and that, I guess,
would have been about the last we'd ever have seen of John
Wilkins, if, by the slimmest ghost of a chance, he hadn't got
word to our minister, and the minister blowed out so hard
about it, that they just let John go, and said they was very
sorry, and it was all a mistake, but he'd better make tracks
out of Austria in double quick time, because if he didn't,
they didn't know as there was any body there would undertake
to be responsible for what might happen.”
Here the orator's breath quite failed, and he coughed till
his hatchet face turned blue. Vinal reflected in silence.
“Wasn't he an Amerikin?” pursued the small man, “and
didn't he have an Amerikin passport in his pocket? I expect
to go where I please, and keep what company I please, —
uh, — uh, — uh. I'm an Amerikin, — uh, — and that's
enough; and a considerable wide margin to spare, — uh, —
uh, — uh.”
“But what evidence is there that the German had any
thing to do with the affair?”
“That's the deused part of the business. There ain't no
evidence to fix it on him.”
“Were the letters he gave your friend sealed?”
“Not a bit of it. They was open, and read jest as fair as
need be.”
“Probably he was imprudent, and said something which
compromised him. Stone walls, you know, have ears in
Austria.”
“Well, I don't know.”
“It is very easy for an American to get into trouble with
the Austrian government. There is a natural antipathy
between them.”
“Damn such a government.”
“Exactly; you're quite right there.”
“Why, if you or me was to go down to Austria, and happen
to rip out what we thought of 'em, where's the guarantee
that they wouldn't stick us down in some of their prisons,
and nobody be any wiser for it?”
“There is no guarantee at all.”
“I've heerd said that such things has happened.”
“No doubt of it. About this German, — I should advise
your friend to be cautious how he accuses him of any intention
of having him arrested. If the letters had been sealed,
there might have been some ground for suspicion; but as the
case stands, I do not see how there can be any. And it is a
little hard upon a man, when he meant to do a kindness, to
charge him with playing such a trick as that.”
“Well, it may be as you think. It looks like enough,
any way.”
The small man addressed himself to his breakfast. Vinal
sat playing with his spoon, his brain filled with busy and
feverish thoughts.
In a few minutes, a messenger from an American banking
house came in, looking about the room as if in search of
some person. Observing Vinal, whom he had seen before,
he asked if he knew where Mr. Morton was.
“Letters there for me?” demanded Vinal, taking several
which the messenger held in his hand, and glancing over the
directions.
“No, sir, they are all Mr. Morton's.”
At that instant Vinal discovered the well-remembered
handwriting of Edith Leslie. His pale face grew a shade
paler.
“O, Mr. Morton's! I don't know where you will find
him,” and he gave back the letters to the messenger, who
presently left the room.
Vinal sat for a few minutes more, brooding in silence;
then slowly rose, and walked away. In going towards the
room of the hotel which he occupied, he passed along a
corridor, opposite the end of which opened a parlor occupied
by Morton. The door was open, and Vinal, as he advanced,
could plainly see his rival within. Morton had been on the
point of going out. His hat and gloves lay on the table at his
side; near them were three or four sealed letters; another
— Vinal well knew from whom — was open in his hands;
and as he stood bending over it, there was a sunlight in the
eye of the successful lover which shot deadly envy into the
breast of Vinal. Hate and jealousy gnawed and rankled at
his heart.
