CHAPTER XVI

In the months which had passed since their romantic parting on the bund

at Shanghai, Peter the Brazen had founded all of his roseate notions of

Eileen Lorimer upon the one-sided data furnished by those spirited few

hours.

He had thought of her as a lonely little creature, sole inhabitant of a

world apart, to which he would some time go and claim her.

He had not taken into his calculations at any time such prosaic objects

as parents, brothers, sisters, and, more vital than all, other young

men who might have found the same qualities in Eileen to adore as had

attracted and bound him.

When, from a long-distance telephone-booth in the Hotel St. Francis, he

finally was connected with the Lorimer residence in Pasadena, it was to

hear the gruff, masculine accents of a person who claimed to be her

father, and who was brusque and impulsive in his inquiries regarding

Peter's identity.

Peter did not know, or realize, that Mr. Lorimer would have willingly

cut off his right hand for the young man who had restored his daughter

to him nearly a year before. He was simply struck more or less dumb,

with a schoolboy sort of feeling, when he was aware that, five hundred

miles overland, a gruff father wanted righteously to know his business.

By adroit parrying, without giving out his identity, Peter at length

secured the information he wanted. Romola Borria had been truthful;

Eileen was attending the university at San Friole.

With her San Friole address jotted down in the back of his red

note-book, Peter endeavored to be connected with Miss Lorimer by

telephone. After a trying pause the long-distance operator advised him

that the residence in question did not possess a telephone.

Quartering what remained of his capital by the costly Pasadena call,

Peter resorted to the telegraph stand, and waited in the lobby for an

answer.

The first of the several bits of unpalatable news he was to be given

during the day was delivered to him as he waited, when, unnoticed at

first, a Chinese gentleman, a Mr. San Toy Fong, a passenger from

Shanghai on the _King of Asia_, came out of the dining-room and

occupied a chair at his side, cordially and candidly revealing an

identity which Peter had suspected during the entire voyage.

"Mr. Moore," the emissary began in a low, confident voice, "I am

returning to China to-night on the _Chenyo Maru_. Before I sail, if

there is some message----"

Peter shook a slow decision. "I'm through with China, through with Len

Yang, through with wireless. I intend settling down on my little ranch

near Santa Cruz. That may save your trailers annoyance."

The polished Chinese gentleman smiled. "Evidently you are not aware

that your little ranch is no longer in your possession. You see, Mr.

Moore, when we are interested in a person, we take pains to exhaust the

tiniest details. Your ranch was sold about three months ago; in a

moment of absent-mindedness, perhaps, you neglected to pay the taxes.

However, if you but say the word----"

"Thank you," Peter headed him off in a tired and indifferent voice.

"You've saved me a trip for nothing. After all, the property is

probably better off in other hands. Now I have nothing in the world to

worry about but myself. _Bon voyage_, Mr. Fong! And my respects

to----"

But San Toy Fong had departed.

After an exasperating wait, a bell-boy brought to Peter a telegraphic

reply to his San Friole message, which read:

"Take the twelve-thirty train. Will meet you at station."

And it was signed by Eileen Lorimer.

Peter was again conscious of his diminishing funds when he peeled off a

bill at the railroad ticket-window and paid the round-trip fare. But

any thoughts upon his possible financial embarrassment were set aside

as the train rolled out into the open country, and his mind pictured

his reception at the hands of the young woman who meant quite as much

to him as life.

He pictured a dozen greetings, each different and each the same, with

Eileen in every case weeping with joy at beholding him, and wrapping

her slim, warm arms about his neck.

He became more nervous and excited as the villages passed by, and

presently the trim concrete structure lettered in gold and black as San

Friole came into sight around a curve.

Alighting, he gave his grips to a boy with instructions to have them

checked; and he looked eagerly among the crowd of students for the

lovely face of Eileen.

At length he discovered her, and simultaneously she must have

discovered him; for she elbowed her way through the mob, flushed and

breathless, and seized his hands, looking at him with eyes that seemed

to glow.

And to Peter the Brazen she was quite the same Eileen as the girl of a

year ago; no older, and quite as lovely, with the same pretty flush in

her cheeks, the same rosebud mouth, the same sweet and lovable

expression.

The little speech he had prepared on the train would not leave his

lips; and he could only look, with the color heating his cheeks, as

Eileen smiled tenderly and a little meekly, as she had smiled when they

parted at the consulate in Shanghai over a year before.

He began to realize, even as he considered and reconsidered his motive,

that she was mutely begging him not to kiss her at this time. Perhaps

the pressure of her fingers, a subtle pressure away from her instead of

toward her, gave him this understanding.

He became aware gradually of another presence, as he was jostled from

this side to that by other new arrivals, conscious of the sidelong look

that Eileen was giving another man.

With a slight feeling of resentment, Peter examined this interloper,

finding himself gazing into the unfriendly, tanned face of a man of

about his own age, with keen, sharp, brown eyes, a dimple in his chin,

and a thick, blue book under his arm. Through a maze Peter heard his

name spoken, then the words "Professor Hodgson;" and he found himself

shaking hands briskly with the invader.

Then Peter excused himself, returning with the baggage-checks, and he

discovered both Eileen and Professor Hodgson examining him with the

frank curiosity that one might bestow upon some wandering minstrel, a

foreigner, an alien. He felt, as the odd member of any triangle is

sure to feel, that he was a lone bird; that Eileen and her glowering

professor were drawn together by some bond unknown to him, but whose

nature he warmly resented.

And thus began the crumbling of the rosy crystalline little world that

Peter had created for the sole occupation of Eileen Lorimer.

As the three walked slowly down the station platform, he felt the

tension, the exaggerated repugnance, which any outdone suitor is bound

to feel toward his successful rival. He felt sick and useless, and

somehow he wished he was back aboard the train again. He had blown his

dream-bubble, rapturously contemplating the shining, dancing,

multicolored surface as it expanded and became of size. And this

bubble had been rudely pricked.

He felt Eileen's light hand upon his arm, and he heard her voice

suddenly become weighted with feminine importance. She was saying:

"Mr. Moore and I have a great deal to talk over. You will excuse me,

won't you, until to-night?"

Professor Hodgson, frowning, nodded courteously. "Perhaps Mr. Moore

would like to go, if he cares to stag it. I'm afraid every girl in

town has been invited by now."

"Stag what?" queried Peter in a dry voice.

"There's to be a St. Valentine's ball to-night," enthused the girl.

"St. Valentine's Day is the fourteenth, you know. I'm sure you'd enjoy

it! You'll go, won't you?"

"But--but----" stammered Peter. "I had hoped that you and I could

spend the evening by ourselves."

"Oh, but I couldn't do that!" cried Eileen, with reproach in her big,

gray eyes. "Professor Hodgson invited me ages ago! Can't we talk this

afternoon and to-morrow. I'll cut classes all day. Please go! I'll

give you every other dance! The professor won't mind. He's an old

dear!"

The old dear frowned a shade more darkly, and Peter derived some

encouragement from the sign.

"I'll go on that condition," said Peter gaily. "Every other dance with

Miss Lorimer!"

"That's fine!" Professor Hodgson rejoined. "Have you a costume?"

"Your wireless uniform!" cried Eileen. "You look wonderful in that!"

Professor Hodgson was preparing to remove his dour look from their

vicinity. "I'll be around at eight," he said. "See you later, Mr.

Moore."

"So-long!" Peter retorted affably, and Eileen squeezed his arm ever so

lightly.

"I want to talk to you all afternoon!" she declared with her adorable

smile, when the professor was out of earshot. "Shall we take a

car-ride?"

They climbed into the front seat of an open car, and Peter was glad

when the girl linked her arm through his and snuggled close to his side.

"I want you to tell me everything from the very beginning," she said

with a bright smile. "I want to know why you left me so suddenly in

Shanghai. I had a hundred questions to ask. You were mean!"

"You can begin wherever you please," said Peter amiably.

"Then, why," demanded Eileen, giving him a hungry little look, "didn't

you let me stay in Shanghai?"

"Because I was in love with you," Peter replied abruptly. "You were in

danger. So was I. I wanted to get you out of China as quickly as

possible, because, you see, my dear, the man who had his agents kidnap

you, and who was having you transported to China on the _Vandalia_,

would have recaptured you without difficulty. Do you mind if I tell

you, Eileen, that it broke my heart when I realized that we wouldn't

see one another for goodness knows how long a time?"

Eileen glanced pensively at the green lawns and the flower-gardens

which flowed past the car, and her eyes returned to his face with a

question in them. Her hand snuggled into his.

"Tell me the truth, Peter. You thought I was just an innocent,

helpless little thing, now didn't you? You said to yourself, 'I'll get

myself into all sorts of trouble with her on my hands.' Didn't you say

that to yourself, Peter?"

"I did. You're right. You were not made for that place. If you'll

let me, I'll tell you what you were made for."

"You needn't," said Eileen with a sigh. "Because I know. You are

going to tell me that I am just the right size for a bungalow for two,

of which you are the second, and that I need some big man like yourself

to have around, to shield and protect me, to smooth and round off the

sharp corners of this harsh old life."

"How did you guess?" gasped Peter.

"Maybe your eyes said that when you told me to go home that day, and

maybe other men have told me the same thing! Anyway, that is what you

have come here to tell me--or haven't you?--that you are all ready now

to leave behind the terribly wicked and adventurous life you've been

leading, and settle down, and live respectably forever after! Isn't

that the truth?"

"You're something of a mind-reader."

"No, I'm not. But I have sense. Peter, I still think, just as I

thought that terrible night when you slid down the rope from the

_Vandalia_ with me dangling from your neck, that dreadful night on the

Whang-poo in the fog, that you're the finest and bravest man on earth.

That's why I let you make love to me on the bund; because--well,

because I wanted you to come back!"

"In return," Peter responded with enthusiasm, "I have kept you next to

my heart all of that time, thinking of you every time I felt

discouraged, looking upon you always as a refuge, exactly as you say,

when China got the best of me."

"Has China got the best of you, Peter?"

"It has! I was chased out of the Yellow Empire with a broken arm, by

agents of the same man who tried to kidnap you. I removed the splints

only this morning. Since I saw you, I have paid a visit to the

dreadful red city where you were being taken, escaped, and made my way

through India and the Straits Settlements and back to Hong Kong."

"And they shot you!"

He nodded, and she shivered again, while the fingers against his palm

stirred.

"I've put China behind me forever, I hope, and now, a little older, a

little wiser, and very weary, I've come to lay the same worthless old

heart at your dear little feet!"

"And the worthless old feet will have to kick the dear, big heart

aside," said Eileen sadly. "Oh, Peter," she exclaimed, suddenly

contrite as she saw the look of pain that came into his face, "you know

I wouldn't hurt you for anything in the world! But I am in earnest,

deadly in earnest, Peter! I refuse positively to have you consider me

any longer as a poor, helpless, clinging little thing, made only to be

petted and protected! I'm not like that, Peter! If you'd only

written, I would have told you. You're not afraid of anything in the

world; nor am I! I love adventure quite as much as you do, Peter, and

the moment you told me, back there in Shanghai, that I must hurry home

because it wasn't safe, I made up my mind that I would equip myself to

go into some of those wonderful adventures with you! Professor

Hodgson, the Chinese language professor, is an expert shot with a

revolver, and I've wheedled him into giving me lessons. That's for

self-protection. Then the Japanese woman who is general chambermaid in

my rooming-house is teaching me jiu-jitsu.

"In addition to that, I'm studying for a doctor's degree. When the

course is finished I am going to join you in China. We'll invade that

dreadful mining city alone, just you and I, and we'll make it the most

wonderful place in China! You see, Peter, I intend to be a medical

missionary; and you won't have to worry your dear old brain about me

the least bit. If you won't take me, I'll go by myself!"

"Sweetheart," Peter declared with difficulty, "you are talking through

your hat!"

She shrugged and smiled. "Won't you take me?"

"You know I'd fetch you the man in the moon if you wanted him badly

enough!"

"And you'll get that silly old notion of a bungalow for two out of your

head?"

"I'll try. It will be a hard job. And, Eileen----"

"Yes, Peter?"

"You don't care about this Professor Hodgson, do you?"

"Oh, no, Peter! Once or twice he's tried to make love, and you could

see, couldn't you, how furious he was when we left him?"

"I thought my goose was cooked," sighed Peter.

"Silly old goose!" said Eileen, squeezing his thumb.

With shaken but immeasurably higher notions of this girl, whose

appealing gray eyes suffocated him with longing, Peter helped his

charge to alight when the end of the car line was reached, and at her

suggestion they tramped through the blossoming California fields, back

to the village, talking seriously most of the way upon that ardent

subject which lay warmly upon both of their young hearts.